19780	----	[Coat of Arms] REPORT OF THE NATIONAL LIBRARY SERVICE FOR THE YEAR ENDED 31 MARCH 1958 _Presented to the House of Representatives by Leave_ BY AUTHORITY: R. E. OWEN, GOVERNMENT PRINTER, WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND--1958 CONTENTS PAGE Letter of Transmission 3 Scientific, Technical, and Commercial Library Service 3 Regional and District Library Service 4 National Library Proposal 5 Book Stock 5 Request Service 5 Expenditure 5 Country Library Service 6 Free Public Libraries 6 Book Van 7 Minimum Standards for Public Libraries Participating in the Country Library Service 8 Independent Subscription Libraries 9 Hamper Service 9 Lighthouse Service 9 Free Service to Ministry of Works, State Hydro-electric, and New Zealand Forest Service Camps and Stations 9 Hospital and Institutional Library Service 9 Loan Collections 10 Periodicals Service 10 School Library Service 10 Loans to Smaller Public Libraries 11 Information and Request Service 11 Book List 11 Assistance to Islands Schools 13 Library School 14 National Library Centre 14 Inter-library Loan 15 Central Bureau for Library Book Imports 15 Libraries of Government Departments 16 Book Resources Committee of the NZLA 16 Union Catalogue 16 Bibliographical Section 16 The Hon. the MINISTER OF EDUCATION. Wellington, 16 July 1958. SIR, I have the honour to submit the following report of the activities of the National Library Service. The report covers the work of the Service as a whole and its four divisions--Country Library Service, School Library Service, Library School, and National Library Centre. The functions of the Service may be summed up as the provision of such assistance to any New Zealand library maintained directly or indirectly from public funds as circumstances and policy permit. More specifically, help is given by a lending service to rural, borough, and county libraries, by the provision of books for school libraries, by advancing professional training through the Library School, and by maintenance of records of all library holdings of books and periodicals, as well as other facilities and stock to aid the cooperative use of this material. The National Library Service was formed in 1945 from the Country Library Service by Cabinet decision with the strong support of the New Zealand Library Association. During the war the Country Library Service had been given responsibility for several tasks of national scope, such as the War Library Service, the Central Bureau for Library Book Imports, the formation of a Union Catalogue, and the operation of part of the inter-library loan scheme. The Country Library Service, which began in 1938, has maintained its van services to rural areas and has been brought into closer contact with its districts by decentralisation to three district offices--Christchurch in 1944, Palmerston North in 1948, and Hamilton in 1953. The number of free libraries regularly receiving service has grown to 112. Special assistance in a number of cases has been given to libraries serving a population of up to 50,000 operating a free and rental service. The assistance given to the Gisborne and Wanganui Public Libraries has continued. New Plymouth Public Library which changed to free service in November 1957, and Palmerston North Public Library, which is expanding its service, have also received assistance. The fundamental principle of encouraging full local responsibility for adequate rate-supported libraries has continued. The School Library Service has continued to bring a wide range and variety of books to school children, the rate of issue now exceeding one million copies annually. Distribution is effected through 15 centres. During the year this Service received three valuable sets of books chosen to represent all phases of American life and thought. The Carnegie Corporation of New York made these sets available to some 26 libraries in New Zealand. _Scientific, Technical, and Commercial Library Service_--A recommendation has been made by the New Zealand Library Association that impetus be given to scientific and technical library service, chiefly through public libraries. At a time when increasing reliance is being placed on the efficiency of our secondary industry the necessity of providing the fullest technical information to aid manufacturers will be apparent. Authority was obtained 12 years ago to establish such a service but it was not then possible to obtain qualified persons to begin it. It is hoped that conditions will permit a senior appointment during the present financial year to inaugurate the service. _Regional and District Library Service_--Study has continued on the problems of ensuring an efficient and soundly based library service for New Zealand's whole population. The problems facing a local authority overseas with a population of 2,000,000 within a radius of a few miles are minor ones compared with those facing New Zealand library authorities, where the secondary cities are small, where the pattern of local government is uneven, and where the population as a whole has a high standard of education and is avid for books. Costs in New Zealand, per head of population, are bound to be relatively high; vigilance is necessary to ensure that they are no higher than they need be. It has been apparent that cooperation between local authorities will be the major factor in making economies on a national scale. A note of the work of the Working Party on Library Cooperation of 27-28 August 1956 appeared in last year's annual report, and it was recorded that the Minister of Education, at the request of the New Zealand Library Association, had authorised payment of travelling expenses for its Committee on Regional Planning to enable its work to be carried out. The committee worked during the year and met in Wellington for two full-day sessions on 6 and 7 June 1957 for consideration of the "establishment of regional and district library services as the best method of providing a more effective library service for the whole country". Its report was made to the New Zealand Library Association. After consideration by the executive of the Local Authorities Section, some amendments were made and the report published by the Association as _Co-operation: A New Phase_. Fifteen hundred copies were printed and were circulated to all local authorities for discussion. The report states: "1. The main problems facing public libraries are: (i) The unfair distribution over the whole community of the costs of library service. (ii) The continuing growth of the cost of municipal government to the point where it has become an embarrassment to the cities and boroughs concerned. (iii) The failure of some local authorities to provide for library services." "8. The basic factor in improving library services will be cooperation among local authorities. Such cooperation should be the condition of increased Government assistance." "10. Government assistance to such federations should take the form of cash subsidies on all expenditure approved for subsidy by the federation, and by the Minister (or National Library Board)." This report formed the main topic of discussion at the New Zealand Library Association conference in Invercargill in February 1958. The Association approached the Government for favourable consideration of the proposals contained in the report on 11 April 1958. In the meantime the work of the Royal Commission on Local Government Finance is being followed carefully, as its findings will have considerable bearing on the problem of library finance. An effort is also being made to foster among local authorities the willingness to cooperate, but progress in this field is slow. _National Library Proposal_--The report of the Working Party of the Public Service Commission on the National Library proposal was earlier considered by the Government, which had approved it in principle. The House of Representatives last year approved the terms of reference of a Select Committee to be appointed to make recommendations for "ways and means of carrying out the decision of the Government to establish a National Library" and to consider various other associated matters. The decision to appoint such a Committee was reaffirmed in February 1958, the Committee was named shortly afterwards and has since met on several occasions. Independently of any solution of the accommodation problems of the Service which such a move might bring, the proposal merits the most careful consideration. _Book Stock_--During the year, 19,283 fiction and 35,573 non-fiction were added to stock, a total of 54,856. Of these, 10,442 separate titles of non-fiction and 205 fiction titles were added to the headquarters collection, which now contains approximately 135,000 titles together with 11,000 volumes of periodicals; 15,305 volumes were withdrawn--12,134 fiction and 3,171 non-fiction--making the net additions 39,551. The total of headquarters and Country Library Service stock now amounts to 652,308, comprising 176,600 fiction and 475,708 non-fiction. As at 31 March 1958 the stock of the School Library Service was 1,091,189 the grand total of stock in the Service as a whole being 1,743,497. _Request Service_--All libraries and groups receiving library service from the Country Library Service and all Government Departments may ask for special short-term loans of books of an informational type from the headquarters stock of this Service and, in addition, the headquarters stock is used extensively to satisfy inter-library loan requests. (See also the report of the Librarian, National Library Centre.) BOOKS REQUESTED AND SUPPLIED Year Ended 31 March Increase 1957 1958 Per Cent To Country Library Service libraries 55,782 61,870 10.9 To Government Department libraries 6,423 6,998 8.9 To interloan libraries 8,051 8,801 9.3 Total issues 70,256 77,669 10.6 During the year, 26,047 requests (an increase of 9.2 per cent) were referred to Wellington. Of the total issues, 4,975 were books belonging to other libraries throughout New Zealand, whose willing cooperation is gratefully acknowledged. _Expenditure_--Expenditure under Subdivision XII, vote "Education", for the year was £264,956. This figure includes £94,544 for the purchase of books, of which £45,357 was for books and periodicals on behalf of Government Departments. The expenditure on behalf of Departments represents 12,146 books and standing orders for approximately 11,000 serial publications. Expenditure under Subdivision III for the purchase of books by the School Library Service was £50,580. G. T. ALLEY, Director. SECTION I--COUNTRY LIBRARY SERVICE On 31 March 1958, 989 towns and small centres were receiving regular loans of books, an increase of 32 centres over the previous year. In addition, 54 Ministry of Works, State Hydro-electric, and New Zealand Forest Service camps and stations were given library service. Books are also on loan to six places in the Chatham Islands, and to Niue, Rarotonga, and Pitcairn Island. Free loans of books on a population basis are given to mental hospitals and prisons situated both in country and urban districts. Books, periodicals, and information are available to country people in the following ways: (a) Free loans of books on a population basis to libraries controlled by the local authorities, which in turn agree to make their libraries free and to maintain reasonable standards of library service. (b) Loans of books to independent subscription public libraries at a small annual charge per fifty books loaned. (c) Loans of books through hamper collections to isolated groups of readers at a small annual charge. (d) Free loans of books to lighthouse keepers and similar very remote readers. (e) Free loans of books on a population basis to Ministry of Works, State Hydro-electric, and New Zealand Forest Service camps. All libraries served under (a) and (b) and the majority under (c) receive regular visits from one of the especially equipped book vans of this Service; at least three visits being paid to each library during a normal year. In addition, all persons, by whichever of the above means they receive library service, may obtain loans of requested books by post. FREE PUBLIC LIBRARIES: "A" SERVICE On 31 March 1958 there were participating in the service 107 libraries controlled by the following local authorities: Administrative counties 5 Borough councils 94 Independent town districts 6 Dependent town districts 2 In addition, the following counties contribute to the funds of a public library supplying a free service to county residents: County Public Library ----------- -------------- Eltham Eltham Patea Waverley Wairoa Wairoa Golden Bay Takaka Lake Queenstown These libraries served an estimated local population of 437,000, with a considerable number in surrounding areas. Besides the many requested books and periodicals 91,954 books are on regular loan to them. By arrangement with the Waitemata, Patangata, Egmont, and Rangitikei County Councils the public libraries at Titirangi, Otane, Opunake, and Bulls respectively receive a free service. Library buildings continue to improve. During the year new libraries were opened in Geraldine, Greymouth, New Lynn, and Morrinsville, and new buildings are planned in several other centres. This Service continues to assist in making available material on good overseas practice and New Zealand achievement. Assistance is also given in the design of the interiors of libraries and in specifications for equipment. The best results are achieved when a local authority and the librarian prepare a written building programme, specifying the functions of the library, the various areas to be provided, the relationship between each, the number of books, readers, and librarians to be accommodated, and the equipment to be housed for efficient service. Such a document gives a clear directive to the architect, but at the same time allows him complete freedom of expression in designing the building. The shortage of trained librarians continues. Three students from the 1957 Library School professional course accepted positions in public libraries serving centres of under 20,000 population, but they were all replacements for qualified librarians who had taken library work in other fields, so there was no net gain. There was at least one public library in a small town unable to fill its vacancy for a qualified librarian. The short course for librarians from smaller centres, held at the Library School from 12 to 30 August 1957, was of great value to the participating librarians. The demand for training is very great and, with such eagerness to learn, the training given is immediately effective. Cooperation between libraries participating in the Country Library Service has been developing slowly. A little more interest has been shown in the cooperative book-buying scheme fostered by this Service. There are now 22 libraries taking part. Libraries working together in this way for the first time this year are Blenheim, Cambridge, Kaikoura, Morrinsville, Picton, Putaruru, and Te Kuiti. Assistance in staffing was given to the public libraries at Morrinsville and Picton for reorganisation and extension of local services. Field librarians continue to advise and assist on their regular visits. A collection of 300 books was lent to the New Zealand IGY party at Scott Base, Ross Dependency, as had been done in the case of the New Zealand Antarctic Expedition a year earlier. During the year ministerial approval was given for provision of a full-time librarian and complete service to be granted to the library at the new Benmore camp, subject to the Ministry of Works providing a satisfactory building. _Book Van_--During the year one of three book vans operating in the South Island was replaced. Using experience gained in recent replacements in the North Island the new van is constructed of aluminium alloy on a four-ton, long-wheel-base chassis. Particular care was taken in providing good sealing against dust and water, adequate natural lighting, and the best possible insulation. Excellent insulation is achieved by a thick layer of expanded polystyrene on all sides, roof, and floor. Very efficient lighting without excessive heat problems has been provided by the installation of two large roof lights of double glazed, toughened, anti-sun polished plate, the upper light being held an inch above the roof line with a free flow of air between the panes. This form of construction has contributed to the good handling qualities of the van. Approximately 2,000 books are carried. _Minimum Standards for Public Libraries Participating in the Country Library Service_--Overseas, most national and State organisations consider it their responsibility to publish statements of standard library practice, and codes for its evaluation. The most important statement is _Public Library Service: A Guide to Evaluation, with Minimum Standards_, which was approved by the Council of the American Library Association and published by the Association in Chicago in 1956. In 1952 the New Zealand Library Association Standards Research Committee prepared its "Basic Standards for New Zealand Libraries, 1952", which was published in _New Zealand Libraries 15_:121-131; 145-150, Jl-Ag, S '52. This was based on the survey attempted by the visiting American librarian, Miss Miriam Tompkins, in 1950, but was not a formal pronouncement of the Association. For the Country Library Service the problem has been present since 1938. Assistance to local authorities has been given on three conditions, approved by the Minister of Education at the inception of the Service. The third of these conditions is that the "local authority should maintain the library at a reasonable standard of service". Country Library Service assistance to libraries has always been planned as service to assist local effort, not to supplant it. Where the local service does not reach a certain standard a certain proportion of the Country Library Service assistance loses its force. No matter how much the assistance is increased the local people cannot benefit fully from it unless the local authority houses it in a fair building, grafts it on to a reasonable local book collection, and has the whole serviced by an active and informed librarian. Continuity of good service is assured only when the basic objectives of library service are enunciated and clearly understood by the local authority. Local authorities have not abused the flexible interpretation given to the "reasonable standard of service" condition, but have appreciated the fact that the Country Library Service always took into consideration any local difficulties that existed. Libraries generously supported by their local authorities without exception have made full use of all the services the Government has offered, and the local people have benefited from a first-class library service in its fullest cultural and educational sense. Local provision has naturally varied, but since 1950 the pattern of local achievement has become more apparent, and the possibility was seen of drawing up some code for evaluation. Local authorities participating in this service were consulted and agreed to provide statistical notes on their own work. These data formed the basis of a draft statement which set out standards under headings of functions, service, staff, books, and buildings, and which was sent to local authorities for comment. It was gratifying to receive replies from so many, saying that they would consider such a statement quite fair and reasonable. Accordingly, the "Minimum Standards for Public Libraries Participating in the Country Library Service" was approved by the Minister of Education on 22 April 1958 and issued formally. The document emphasises that it gives standards for minimum provision, and that local authorities aiming to give good service will not be satisfied until they are exceeded. That they are exceeded in several centres is a matter for congratulation, and the local authorities concerned have reason to be proud of their libraries, and are in every case anxious to maintain their good record. SMALL INDEPENDENT SUBSCRIPTION LIBRARIES: "B" SERVICE During the year, 832 of these libraries were linked with this Service, compared with 801 for the previous year. Of these libraries, 253 are served from Hamilton, 191 from Palmerston North, and 388 from Christchurch. Altogether 75,997 books were on loan to the 832 libraries, an average of over 91 books per library. Over the past 10 years the average for each library has increased from 79 books, or 15 per cent, thus demonstrating the increasing interest that country readers are taking in the type of books supplied by this Service. The figures shown as basic issues do not include the thousands of books loaned to these libraries on short term through the "request service". "C" OR HAMPER SERVICE In places where no library exists and where it is not possible for one to be formed and visited by a book van, a service to properly established groups by means of hampers is provided. During the year 45 of these groups received service, there being 3,325 books on regular loan to them. The hamper service is also extended to six places in the Chatham Islands and to Pitcairn Island. LIGHTHOUSE SERVICE The postal service has been continued to lighthouse keepers, fire lookouts in State Forests, and a few very remote readers in coastal islands. During the year a total of 1,851 books was issued, mostly by a hamper service. FREE SERVICE TO MINISTRY OF WORKS, STATE HYDRO-ELECTRIC, AND NEW ZEALAND FOREST SERVICE CAMPS AND STATIONS During the year 54 camps or stations received visits from the book van, in addition to one receiving hamper service from the Christchurch office. Altogether 7,691 books are on loan to such places. HOSPITAL AND INSTITUTIONAL SERVICE Visits have continued from the book vans to 12 general hospitals with an exchange of 1,405 books. Twelve mental hospitals received 3,910 books and 13 prisons 3,125 books. During the year assistance has been given to the Department of Justice in book and periodical selection. Difficulties occur from time to time in connection with the service to prisons and mental hospitals. They arise from the lack of supervision of these libraries by trained library staff. Officers engaged in other duties are not in a position to organise the full service which would be of such benefit to patients and prisoners. From the special TB collection 1,620 books were exchanged at four-monthly intervals for 15 sanatoria and tuberculosis wards of public hospitals. Three hundred and thirteen books were sent on request (250 non-fiction and 63 fiction). Sixty-four requests could not be fulfilled as the required books were not available through the stock or through purchase, and the resources of other collections are not used for these borrowers. LOAN COLLECTIONS Collections of books, pamphlets, and periodicals to illustrate particular subjects are available for short periods not only to affiliated libraries but also to university and the larger public libraries. USE OF LOAN COLLECTIONS Year ended 31 March 1957 1958 Number of collections sent 628 640 Number of books included 26,667 26,645 PERIODICALS SERVICE A total of 1,127 titles is now taken by the Wellington office, of which 821 copies are circulated regularly to Government Department libraries. Four hundred and eighty copies are sent direct from the publishers to the Country Library Service offices in Hamilton, Palmerston North, and Christchurch, and are sent out regularly to 93 affiliated libraries. In addition, the periodicals held in Wellington are available on short-term loan to public and other libraries which are interested in them. SECTION II--SCHOOL LIBRARY SERVICE In 1941 the Minister of Education approved the establishment of a New Zealand School Library Service, the purchasing of books to be financed from the augmented item "School and Class Libraries" in the vote "Education", the administration being undertaken by the Country Library Service, as it then was. This new service was to provide not school text books, but a wide and varied choice of books of high imaginative quality or technical excellence, suitable for children at all levels of ability and stages of development. The smaller and more remote country schools were to be given priority. Books were to be freely available for reading at home. The provision of supplies of books which circulate among schools goes some way towards setting free the money for library books, available to schools by way of annual capitation grant and from local contribution, which is eligible for subsidy. These funds may then be used to build at each school (a) a collection of such basic reference books as are needed always at hand; (b) reading material for the preparatory classes; (c) books of purely local interest; (d) other books which it is desired to have permanently. By cooperation between the Education Board and the Dunedin City Council considerable progress had been made in service to schools in Otago since 1938. Vigorous exploitation of a book stock selected in terms of children's interests followed the most enlightened overseas practice, linking skilfully the activities of home, school, and public library, as well as introducing to this country books not previously known here. Beginning in Canterbury in March 1942 by incorporating the Travelling Library for Rural Schools, the School Library Service has developed until, today, exchanges of books are sent to 2,490 schools with a total roll (excluding primers) of 298,317. These figures do not include those for post-primary schools, which make use of the information and request service only. Services available to schools and to the smaller public libraries can be broadly defined as general exchanges of books, information and request service, provision of book lists, and advice on library planning. General exchanges of books, changed regularly, are sent to all primary, intermediate, and district high schools and the primary departments of registered private schools which join the service, for the use of pupils in Standard 1 and upwards. These books are intended mainly for recreational reading, both at home and at school. The number sent in each exchange is based on the school roll, exclusive of primer classes, on a scale of not fewer than one per child, while for small schools it is usually possible to increase this to two or three books per child. Exchanges are made at least once a year, with further exchanges during the year for smaller schools to the extent that books and staff make possible. Where satisfactory arrangements for storage and adequate use can be made, exchanges of suitable books are also sent to the smaller public libraries which provide free service in their children's and young adults' sections. The number of books sent is based on the population of the area controlled by the local authority. Post-primary schools depending, as they do, mainly on their own libraries, do not receive exchanges of books but participate with the other schools in the information and request and other services available. The post-primary departments of district high schools are eligible for all services, including exchanges. The information and request service, available to all schools which have joined the service, supplies to both children and teachers, on short-term loan, books and other material to meet individual needs not satisfied by the general exchanges. The particular aim is to meet requests for children's books and books for school purposes. Schools have been urged to make the fullest use of this service which helps to ensure that the right book reaches the child who needs it, for classroom activity or any other worth-while purpose. Material for the personal or study needs of teachers cannot usually be supplied by the School Library Service; such requests can, however, be handed to the nearest public library or "B" library group linked with the Country Library Service. When schools are establishing new libraries extra help by way of special collections or indefinite loans is given. All public libraries and groups receiving library service from the Country Library Service may use the information and request service. During the year 328,482 books were sent out in response to requests. The preparation of book lists, which have proved of value to schools and public libraries has been continued this year. The supplements to _Junior Fiction_ and _Non-Fiction for Primary Schools_ are annotated lists of the better, recently published children's books, other than those appearing in countries with which there are currency difficulties; these supplements are distributed twice a year to schools and public libraries which ask to be placed on a mailing list. "For the Post-primary Library", a series of annotated lists of current titles, has been appearing regularly in the _Education Gazette_ since 16 July 1951. Public libraries and larger post-primary schools will find further suggestions in the cyclostyled series "Books for Young Adults" which appears at intervals; it includes books for recreational reading and gives special consideration to suitable adult titles. Other lists are prepared for publication as the need arises. A bibliography of material published by the Service from its inception in 1942 appeared in the annual report for the year ended 31 March 1956. Since that date the following items have been added: Books for young adults: List 5, October 1956; List 6, June 1957; List 7, November 1957. Books for young people, 1957. Interim list of subject headings for New Zealand school libraries, o.p. Junior fiction. Supplements: April 1956 to September 1956; October 1956 to March 1957; April 1957 to September 1957. Non-fiction for primary schools. (Supplements have title, _Junior Non-fiction_.) Supplements: April 1956 to September 1956; October 1956 to March 1957; April 1957 to September 1957. Quick-reference books for high-school libraries, 1956. Sets of books for French classes, August 1956. In addition to this published material, buying and reading lists are constantly being prepared to meet the special needs of individual schools, public libraries, and groups concerned with the reading of children and adolescents. Assistance is given to schools planning new libraries or reorganising existing libraries. The visiting of schools to give help where needed and to discuss the use of books is still limited by staff shortages. Except for small parcels which are sent by post, books are distributed in hampers or cartons by rail or road transport from 15 centres--North Island: Whangarei and Hastings public libraries; offices of the Country Library Service in Hamilton and Palmerston North and of the School Library Service in Auckland, Napier, New Plymouth, Wanganui, and Wellington. South Island: Greymouth, Timaru, Dunedin, and Invercargill public libraries; the office of the Country Library Service in Christchurch and of the School Library Service in Nelson. Schools are usually served by the nearest School Library Service office. The headquarters office at Wellington is responsible for the coordination of the service, for the selection, ordering, classifying, and cataloguing of new books and their dispatch to district offices, the maintenance of a comprehensive collection of children's and young people's books used to meet requests which cannot be supplied from local offices, and the distribution of books to schools and public libraries in or near Wellington city and the Hutt Valley. To enable children at smaller country schools to see and to choose for themselves from a wide range of books, the possibilities of service by book van are being considered. Since its establishment schools joining the service have paid a subscription at the rate of 1s. per pupil (Standard 1 and upwards) for each of the first two years. Ministerial authority was given during the year to discontinue this levy. Schools borrowing books are asked to accept responsibility for (a) safe-keeping of books while on loan to the school, including books issued to members of staff for school use; (b) return of books when due; (c) payment for books lost or damaged beyond fair wear and tear; (d) payment of freight and postal charges from school to School Library Service office. Books are made available to special institutions controlled by the Education Department. Primary pupils of the Correspondence School are provided with individual postal service from district offices. Child welfare institutions, training centres, health camps, and other special groups are given service according to their needs. Teachers' training colleges, young people's groups, kindergartens, and nursery play centre supervisors are also helped. Visits to School Library Service offices by teachers in training are arranged wherever possible. Assistance to several Pacific Island schools has been continued from the Auckland office by means of extended loans. Under this system the schools receive an original bulk loan which they check annually, reporting losses and returning damaged and worn books for replacement, wherever possible, by new titles, so that loans will not degenerate into collections of old books. The schools concerned were listed in last year's annual report. The desirability of extension of this service is constantly in review. During the year members of the staff acted as librarians at the usual teachers' refresher courses. Appropriate collections of books always create considerable interest. Discussions at these courses have been helpful in the selection of books and have brought about an increased awareness of the uses of books in a wide range of schools. Below are tables showing details of the School Library Service as at 31 March 1958. The figures for the number of "schools" and "pupils" include those for primary schools and post-primary departments of district high schools but do not include those for other post-primary schools as these do not receive general exchanges of books. (Figures in parentheses are for the previous year.) Schools Pupils Receiving (Standard 1 Exchanges and upwards) Education Board schools 2,004 (1,973) 252,469 (241,148) Departmental schools and institutions 211 (216) 13,996 (14,270) Private schools 275 (260) 31,852 (28,175) Totals 2,490 (2,449) 298,317 (283,593) Year Ended 31 March Books Supplied 1958 1957 In exchanges to-- All schools, Standard 1 to Form II 676,637 648,816 District high schools, Form III to Form VI 34,452 32,439 Public libraries, children's departments 34,639 30,926 Public libraries, young people's sections 22,724 22,307 Total for exchanges 768,452 734,488 On request and in loan collections, including indefinite loans-- Primary 263,374 244,175 Post-primary 72,956 78,358 Totals 1,104,782 1,057,021 _Book Stock_--Additions to stock were 70,228 fiction and 48,789 non-fiction. Withdrawals were 47,645 fiction and 11,834 non-fiction. The stock now stands at 1,091,189, of which 656,911 are fiction and 434,278 are non-fiction. One thousand four hundred and sixty-nine new titles were added during the year. SECTION III--LIBRARY SCHOOL 1957 PROFESSIONAL COURSE At the end of November nine diplomas and five certificates were awarded to 14 students who completed the course. For health reasons one student accepted under the Colombo Plan returned to his own country at the end of the first term. Of the successful students two returned to the libraries in which they had been employed before attending the school, three were appointed librarians of smaller public libraries, four joined the staffs of city public libraries, two are now members of the School Library Service staff, and one the librarian of the Central Military District. The two holders of UNESCO Fellowships are consolidating their training by carrying out practical work in the Delhi Public Library for three months. 1958 PROFESSIONAL COURSE This course began on 4 March with 17 New Zealand students and the three Indonesian students who have been working in libraries in New Zealand since February 1957. Four students have a master's and nine a bachelor's degree in arts, one a bachelor's degree in music, and two are holders of the New Zealand Library Association's Certificate. NEW ZEALAND LIBRARY ASSOCIATION TRAINING COURSE Part II of this course was held at the Library School from 14 January to 15 February. Twenty-two students attended and all were recommended for the award of the Association's certificate. 1957 SHORT COURSE A short course for librarians and library assistants mainly from smaller public libraries was held from 12 to 31 August. There were 21 students from the following public libraries: Birkenhead, Blenheim, Dargaville, Devonport, Hawera, Howick, Huntly, Inglewood, Kaiapoi, Kaikohe, Kaitaia, Martinborough, Mataura, Nelson Institute, Otaki, Palmerston, Rangiora, Taumarunui, Upper Hutt, Waiuku, Warkworth, and a field librarian from the Country Library Service, Hamilton. In addition to lectures and practical exercises, several hours were set aside for the informal discussion of problems and special questions raised by the students. Senior members of National Library Service headquarters joined the staff of the school in these discussions. Limits imposed by the size of the school made it necessary to defer acceptance of some students eligible for this course. A short course on similar lines will be offered again in August this year to librarians or library assistants of small public libraries who are not able to take advantage of other means of training. As in previous years we wish to acknowledge the valuable contribution made to these courses by visiting lecturers and the libraries which lend us books. SECTION IV--NATIONAL LIBRARY CENTRE The National Library Centre, in addition to acting as the division responsible for the headquarters work of the Service, has continued to promote the cooperative use of library resources. Staff at headquarters are still working under very difficult conditions and there is a continuing and pressing need both for administrative working space and adequate housing for the book collections. _Inter-library Loan_--All inter-library loan requests for books and periodicals the location of which is not known are sent to the National Centre. Items which are not found in the Union Catalogue of non-fiction books, the _Union List of Serials_, or other bibliographical sources are listed in the weekly publication _Book Resources_, which is sent to 39 libraries for checking. 1956-57 1957-58 Number % Number % Interloan cards received 7,197 100.0 7,640 100.0 Supplied from National Library Service 4,312 59.9 4,411 57.7 Supplied from other Wellington libraries 171 2.4 139 1.8 Supplied from Union Catalogue records 949 13.2 1,055 13.8 Supplied from _Union List of Serials_ 101 1.4 173 2.3 Not supplied for various reasons 641 8.9 664 8.7 Listed on _Book Resources_ 1,023 14.2 1,198 15.7 Four hundred and seventy-five titles not found in any library were ordered for national stock. The number of requests received by the centre represents probably less than half the total volume of traffic among New Zealand libraries, the proportion of direct interloan being higher in the special and university libraries. Interloan was devised and introduced among libraries by the New Zealand Library Association and in its operation the responsibility of the National Library Service is not merely to act as a clearing house but to provide all the material it reasonably can to make the system effective. Other libraries participate reciprocally, or lend so that they may the more freely borrow. The contribution, as has always been expected, is a varying one and one or two libraries may consider that they have a substantial and unrealisable credit balance in their favour. The point beyond which certain libraries may feel they cannot go in the common interest has not so far been determined administratively but it may be necessary to consider this. If so, it is better that it be done quantitatively on the basis of a common library policy rather than that the present procedure should become an embarrassment or be administered capriciously or conservatively. _Central Bureau for Library Book Imports_--After the introduction of import control in January the Government approved that the facilities of the bureau should be extended to meet the situation and assure libraries of their essential supplies. The bureau was set up in 1940 as a responsibility of the Country Library Service as a result of discussions between the Government and the Library Association. Because libraries undertook to avoid unnecessary duplication and develop cooperative ways of recording and using their holdings, the 50 per cent cut in book imports made in 1939 was restored and the necessary machinery established to safeguard the country's supply of essential publications. The situation now is that recommendations for licences are made to the Comptroller of Customs in two categories: firstly, block licence in annual or six-monthly lots to cover a full licensing period, on behalf of public libraries serving a population of 20,000 and over, university libraries, and a few special libraries; secondly, individual recommendations on behalf of smaller libraries which are made on the basis of orders sent in when making application. Book-sellers are expected to give libraries a proportionate share of their 1956 transactions on which their current licence would be computed. Block licence recommendations, normally made at the end of the year--and for some years only for anticipated imports from scheduled countries, chiefly the dollar area--were held over until the present calendar year and statistically will be included in the figures for the 1958 licensing period. _Libraries of Government Departments_--A total of £45,357 was spent on behalf of Government Departments financed from the Consolidated Fund and purchasing through the National Library Service. Of this total, £25,344 was for standing orders, chiefly periodical subscriptions. The value, nationally, of a range of periodicals wider than that which is now received by all the libraries would scarcely be disputed, but the degree of duplication between and particularly within Departments continues to cause concern. _Book Resources Committee of the New Zealand Library Association_--The Book Resources Committee of which the Librarian, National Centre, is Secretary, has continued to act as the national planning and advisory body in the cooperative acquisition, recording, and use of publications. In June and July of this year Dr K. D. Metcalf, Librarian Emeritus of Harvard, at the joint invitation of the United States Educational Foundation in New Zealand and the New Zealand Government, will visit New Zealand. Dr Metcalf will visit the main centres and will have discussions with the committee and the Government on policy matters. _Union Catalogue_--During the year 26,033 new titles were added including 2,928 from the microfilmed record of library catalogues. The catalogue now includes over 400,000 entries. BIBLIOGRAPHICAL SECTION _Union List of Serials_--The typing and printing of the sixth (cumulative) supplement to the _Union List of Serials_ has commenced and publication is anticipated early in 1959. _Index to New Zealand Periodicals_--The 1956 issue of the index, the first for which the National Library Service has accepted the responsibility of publication, was printed by photo-offset and distributed. The 1957 issue is being prepared in the same way. The possibility of simplifying production by printing direct from the typed cards is being explored. _General_--Printed catalogue cards for 247 New Zealand books and pamphlets were issued during the year. Work on the national bibliography, from 1890 to 1950, has continued and it is hoped to commence the typing of a preliminary check list of holdings at the end of the year. BY AUTHORITY: R. E. OWEN, GOVERNMENT PRINTER, WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND--1958 _Price 1 s._ 96098-58 G 
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14760	----	Proofreading Team. 1954 NEW ZEALAND REPORT OF THE SPECIAL COMMITTEE ON MORAL DELINQUENCY IN CHILDREN AND ADOLESCENTS _Laid upon the Table of the House of Representatives by Leave_ BY AUTHORITY: R.E. OWEN, GOVERNMENT PRINTER, WELLINGTON.--1954 20 September 1954. The Right Honourable the Prime Minister, Wellington. Sir, Having taking into consideration the matters referred to us on 23 July 1954, we submit herewith the report and recommendations upon which we are all agreed. Accompanying the report, for purposes of record, are four volumes containing the evidence of the witnesses who appeared before us and a large file of the submissions which were made in writing. We have the honour to be, Sir, Your Obedient Servants, O.C. MAZENGARB, Chairman. R.A. BLOODWORTH } J. LEGGAT } G.L. MCLEOD } Members. Lucy V. O'BRIEN } J.S. SOMERVILLE } F.N. STACE } _The Special Committee on Moral Delinquency in Children and Adolescents_ CHAIRMAN Dr OSWALD CHETTLE MAZENGARB, Q.C. MEMBERS Mrs RHODA ALICE BLOODWORTH, J.P. (_Children's Court_). Mr JAMES LEGGAT, E.D., M.A., _Headmaster, Christchurch Boys' High School_. Dr GORDON LOGIE MCLEOD, LL.B. (N.Z.), M.B.Ch.B. (N.Z.), D.P.H. (Eng.), _Director, Division of Child Hygiene, Department of Health_. Mrs LUCY VERONICA O'BRIEN, _Vice-President of Women's Auxiliary of Inter-Church Council on Public Affairs: Arch-Diocesan President, Catholic Women's League_. Rev. JOHN SPENSER SOMERVILLE, M.C., M.A., _Chairman of the Inter-Church Council on Public Affairs_. Mr FRANCIS NIGEL STACE, B.E.(Elec.-Mech.), B.E.(Mech), _President, N.Z. Junior Chamber of Commerce_. SECRETARY LEN JOSEPH GREENBERG, O.B.E., J.P. _Contents_ _Page_ I. Preliminary Observations-- (1) Sensational Press Reports 7 (2) Press Reports from Overseas 8 (3) A World-wide Problem 9 II. Order of Reference and Procedure followed 10 III. Narrative-- (1) The Hutt Valley Cases 11 (2) Cases in Other Districts 13 IV. Has Juvenile Immorality Increased?-- (1) Difficulties of Comparison in Absence of Statistics 13 (2) Unreliability of Available Statistics for Comparative 14 Purposes V. A Change of Pattern in Sexual Misbehaviour-- (1) Younger Groups Now Affected 18 (2) Precocity of Girls 18 (3) Organization of Immorality 19 (4) Recidivism 19 (5) Changed Mental Attitudes of Girls and Boys 19 (6) Homosexuality 20 VI. Searching for the Cause 20 VII. Some Visual and Auditory Influences-- (1) Objectionable Publications 21 (2) Films 23 (3) Broadcasting 25 (4) Press Advertising 26 (5) Television 26 VIII. The School-- (1) Teacher and the Child 27 (2) Co-education 28 (3) School Leaving Age 29 (4) Relations with the Child Welfare Division 30 (5) Sex Instruction in School 30 (6) "New Education" 31 IX. Community Influences-- (1) Housing Development 31 (2) Recreation and Entertainment 35 (3) Liquor and Gambling 36 X. The Home Environment-- (1) Feelings of Insecurity: The Unloved Child 37 (2) Absent Mothers and Fathers 39 (3) High Wages 40 XI. Information on Sex Matters-- (1) When Should This Information be Given? 41 (2) Who Should Give This Information? 42 (3) The Source of Information 42 XII. The Influence of Religion on Morality-- (1) The Need for a Religious Faith 43 (2) The Need for Religious Instruction 44 (3) The Need for Family Religion 44 XIII. The Family, Religion, and Morality-- (1) The Importance of the Family 44 (2) The Place of the Family in the Legal System 45 (3) The Sanctions of Religion and Morality in Family Life 46 (4) The Moral Drift 46 XIV. Changing Times and Concepts-- (1) Contraceptives 47 (2) The Broadening of the Divorce Laws 48 (3) Pre-marital Relations 48 (4) "Self Expression" in Children 49 (5) Materialistic Concepts in Society 49 XV. The Law and Morality-- (1) History of the Law Regarding Morality 50 (2) Protection of Women and Girls from Defilement 51 (3) Consent as a Defence 51 (4) Weaknesses in the Law 52 (5) Proposed Reforms 54 XVI. Child Welfare in New Zealand-- (1) History of Legislation 54 (2) The Children's Court 55 (3) Corporal Punishment Abolished 57 (4) Defects in the Act and its Application 57 (5) Changes Proposed 60 XVII. Summary of Conclusions 63 XVIII. Recommendations-- (1) Proposals for Legislation 66 (2) Proposals for Administrative Action 67 (3) Parental Example 68 XIX. Appreciation 68 Appendix A: Table of Sexual Offences for Which Proceedings Were Taken in New Zealand 69 Appendix B: List of Witnesses, Submissions, and Order of Appearance 70 _I. Preliminary Observations_ =(1) Sensational Press Reports= In the second week of July 1954 various newspapers throughout the Dominion featured reports of proceedings in the Magistrate's Court at Lower Hutt against youths charged with indecent assault upon, or carnal knowledge of, girls under 16 years of age. The prosecuting officer was reported as saying that: The police investigations revealed a shocking degree of immoral conduct which spread into sexual orgies perpetrated in several private homes during the absence of parents, and in several second rate Hutt Valley theatres, where familiarity between youths and girls was rife and commonplace. He also stated that: ... in many cases the children came from excellent homes. A few weeks previously reports had appeared in the press of statements made by a Child Welfare Officer and a Stipendiary Magistrate that juvenile delinquency (meaning delinquency in general and not only sexual delinquency) had more than doubled in recent years, and that in many cases the offenders came from: ... materially good homes where they are well provided for. Such statements naturally provoked a good deal of private and public comment throughout the Dominion. The anxiety of parents deepened, and one leading newspaper asserted editorially that: It is probably quite safe to assert that nothing that has occurred in the Dominion for a long time has caused so much public dismay and so much private worry as the disclosure of moral delinquency among children and adolescents. There is room for difference of opinion as to whether or not the ensuing public discussion of sexual offending was desirable. On the one hand it provoked many conversations on the subject between children themselves and a noticeable desire to purchase newspapers on the way to and from school. On the other hand the focusing of attention on the existence of the peril to school children caused many parents, temporarily at any rate, to take a greater interest in the training and care of their children than they might otherwise have taken; it caused some heads of schools to arrange for sex instruction; and it also resulted in a public demand that something should be done to bring about a better state of morality in the community. Following hard upon the newspaper reports of these cases in the Hutt Valley there was the news that two girls, each aged about 16 years had been arrested in Christchurch on a charge of murdering the mother of one of them. It soon became widely known (and this fact was established at their subsequent trial) that these girls were abnormally homosexual in behaviour. There were also published in the press extracts from the annual report of the Justice Department to the effect that sexual crime in New Zealand was, per head of population, half as much again as the sexual crime in England and Wales. The reasons why the Committee does not accept this statement at its face value are stated later under Section IV (2). =(2) Press Reports from Overseas= In view of the fact that the happenings in the Hutt Valley were reported in all New Zealand newspapers, and by many newspapers in Australia and Great Britain, the Committee points out that the increase of sexual delinquency is not confined to any one district or any one country. It cannot be too strongly asserted that the great majority of the young people of the Hutt Valley are as healthy-minded and as well behaved as those in other districts, whether in New Zealand or elsewhere. It just happened that, through the voluntary confession of one girl in Petone, many cases were immediately brought to the knowledge of the police. In the absence of comparable statistics from other countries, the Committee can merely quote from some of the reports received in New Zealand at about the same time that the Hutt Valley cases were reported. (_a_) _England_ In Monmouthshire last year there was an increase of 88 per cent in sexual offences. The biggest increases recorded were for indecent assault on females--132 in 1953, compared with 75 in 1952--and for offences against girls under 16 years of age. In his annual report the Chief Constable states that this shocking record is a further indication of the general lowering of moral standards ...--_The "Police Review" (London), 19 February 1954._ (_b_) _New South Wales_ POLICE UNCOVER WILD TEENAGE SEX ORGIES Detectives have uncovered evidence of an amazing sex cult in which a bodgie "high priest" and a number of pretty teenagers indulged in wild orgies in a Sydney suburb. It is alleged that the "high priest" made the girls participate in lewd rituals, swear a profane oath on "the bodgies' bible" and worship at a "bodgies' altar". Following these sensational allegations, four men were arrested. Police expect to arrest another seven. Disappearance of the 15-year-old daughter of a respected Erskineville family started the police investigation which uncovered the sex cult. Both the girl and the "high priest" undressed, and, as she lay on a bed, he compelled her to engage in grossly obscene acts with him. Then, while the "high priest" performed a gross act of indecency, the girl swore the "widgies' oath" on the "bodgies' bible".--_Sydney "Truth" 27 June 1954._ (_c_) _South Australia_ ADELAIDE POLICE SEIZE TEENAGERS IN SWIFT RAIDS In a series of lightning raids Port Adelaide police have arrested six teenagers who they claim are members of a sex cult. Vice Squad detectives say the cult indulged in sex and drug parties. The Port Adelaide Police Chief Inspector, G.E. Mensfort, said that when the cases came to Court he suspected revelations similar to those in the Hutt Valley, which recently shocked New Zealand. A number of teenage youths have already appeared in Port Adelaide Police and Juvenile Courts on carnal knowledge charges ...--_Telegram in the "Dominion", 30 July 1954._ (_d_) _London_ MANY GIRLS IN BAD COMPANY One black spot in an otherwise more optimistic report by the Police Commissioner on crime in London is a disturbing increase in the number of 17-and 18-year-old girls who are coming under the notice of policewomen on their beat, says the _Daily Mirror_.--_N.Z.P.A. to "Evening Post", 2 September 1954_. =(3) A World-wide Problem= There have been waves of sexual crime in various countries at various times. Juvenile delinquency itself has been the subject of much research (especially in the United States) during the past fifty years. But although such offences as indecent exposure and sexual assault by juniors have been included in published figures, no special mention has been found by this Committee of the aspect of sexual delinquency now being discussed in New Zealand. What is entirely new in New Zealand (and probably in other places, too) is the attitude of mind of some young people to sexual indulgence with one another, their planning and organization of it, and their assumption that when they consent together they are not doing anything wrong. Clergymen and publicists in various parts of the world have been declaiming about illicit sexual practices and their effects on young people, but this is the first time that any Government has set up a Committee to sift the available data on sexual misbehaviour with a view to finding the cause and suggesting a remedy. While this report was being typed there appeared in the local newspapers the following telegram despatched from London on September 14: INQUIRY INTO VICE WAVE IN BRITAIN A Government committee, including three women, is to open tomorrow a searching probe into Britain's homosexuals and prostitutes, to decide whether the country's vice laws should be changed. The Government's decision to set up the committee followed public alarm at the vice wave in Britain, highlighted by a steep increase in homosexual offences. The Home Secretary, Sir David Maxwell Fyfe, has charged the committee with considering the law and practice relating to homosexual offences and the treatment of persons convicted of such offences, and offences against the criminal law in connection with prostitution and solicitation for immoral purposes. According to the police, prostitutes in London alone have soared to a record of more than 10,000. Convictions for sexual offences exceed 5,000 a year, compared with the immediate pre-war total of 2,300. The figures for male homosexual offences have bounded even more sharply. The extent of juvenile immorality in New Zealand may have been greatly magnified abroad. If the good name of this Dominion has been sullied by these reports, the Committee hopes that any damage may be repaired by setting out the facts in their true perspective and by demonstrating that we can, and will, do something in the interests of morality which may also give a lead to other countries. _II. Order of Reference and Procedure Followed_ On 23 July 1954 a Special Committee was appointed by the Government with the following Order of Reference: _To inquire into and to report upon conditions and influences that tend to undermine standards of sexual morality of children and adolescents in New Zealand, and the extent to which such conditions and influences are operative, and to make recommendations to the Government for positive action by both public and private agencies, or otherwise._ The Committee held its first meeting on Tuesday, 27 July, to determine points of procedure and to make arrangements to hear all who desired to make submissions. There were placed before the Committee files of letters which had been written to Ministers of the Crown, and hundreds of newspaper clippings, relating to this topic. Some days were occupied in the sorting and reading of this material in anticipation of the task which lay ahead. The Committee commenced the hearing of evidence at Wellington on Tuesday, 3 August. It sat in Christchurch for the convenience of people in the South Island on 31 August and 1 September, and in Auckland from 6 September to 10 September. Altogether 145 persons (18 on more than one occasion), appearing either in a representative capacity or as private individuals, were heard. In addition, 203 written submissions were made by interested organizations and private persons, and a large volume of relevant correspondence, addressed direct to the Committee, was considered. A list of the persons who appeared before the Committee and of the organizations or societies which made either written or oral representations is attached. It should here be observed that the Committee, not having the powers of a Commission of Inquiry, could not summon witnesses before it. All officers of the Crown, and all public agencies from whom information was sought, were helpful. Much of the evidence, however, was secondary or hearsay evidence. The Committee had not the power to trace some of the stated facts back to their source. It was thought undesirable to interview any of the children involved in recent happenings. Reliance had to be placed on information regarding each individual made available by the police and Child Welfare Officers, and, in some cases, by the heads of their respective schools. Similarly, there was much secondary evidence of indecent behaviour and of other facts said to have been derived from reliable sources. The absence of direct evidence on some of these matters, however, did not prevent the Committee from looking at the problem in its broad general aspects, and from reaching conclusions which could not be affected by a closer scrutiny of some of the individual matters narrated to the Committee. _III. Narrative_ =(1) The Hutt Valley Cases= Before proceeding to examine the extent of sexual laxity among children and adolescents it is convenient to narrate the factual happenings which caused this problem to assume such large proportions in the public mind in July and August last. On the 20th day of June 1954 information was sought from the police concerning the whereabouts of a girl 15-1/2 years of age who was missing from her home at Petone. A few hours later this girl called at the Petone Police Station. She stated that, being unhappy at home with her stepfather, she had, since the previous Christmas, been a member of what she called a "Milk Bar Gang" which (in her own words) met "mostly for sex purposes"; she had "become tired of the sex life", was worried about the future of its younger members, and desired the police to break up the gang. She gave the names of other members of the gang to the police. By interviewing persons named by this girl, and then interviewing others whom they in turn named, the police were able, without difficulty, to obtain admissions and evidence of sexual misconduct by 65 children. The procedure followed was for the parents to be visited at their residences by a constable in plain clothes, told the nature of the inquiry, and informed of the desire of the police to interview the children at the police station. When a parent and child attended at the time appointed the parent was informed that, either through a sense of shame or fear of the parent, the child might not make a full disclosure of the facts known to her. Some parents consented to their children being interviewed alone; others desired, and were allowed, to remain for the questioning. After each interview the parents were permitted to read the statements of their children and to sign them before the children themselves were asked to sign. The disclosures thus made, immediately recalled certain similar occurrences in the same district during October/November 1952. It speedily became apparent that the 1954 situation was much more serious in that there were approximately three times as many children dealt with and that three of the children had been involved in the earlier trouble. For purposes of comparison the Hutt Valley cases are set out as follows: Girls involved 6 17 Girls pregnant 2 ... Boys involved 11 37 Boys over eighteen ... 5 Charges laid 61 107 Committed to care of State 3 girls 5 girls 1 boy Placed under supervision 3 girls 4 girls 7 boys 7 boys Admitted to probation 1 boy 6 boys Admonished and discharged or otherwise dealt with 3 30 Dismissed in Children's Court ... 3 Acquitted in Magistrate's Court ... 1 Acquitted in Supreme Court ... 3 (One boy appeared in both Supreme Court and Magistrate's Court; thus showing 60 persons dealt with.) =(2) Cases in Other Districts= It cannot be supposed that sexual misbehaviour was confined to the Hutt district. Similar environmental conditions obtain in other districts. It was reliably stated in evidence at Wellington that if a girl elsewhere were to carry her story to the police similar revelations would be made there. In Auckland matters came to the knowledge of the Committee which do cause grave concern. Here again the Committee was not engaged on a fact-finding mission, but was seeking to evaluate the evidence in a broad way. It appears that, a few weeks before the Hutt cases were reported, the headmaster of an intermediate school informed the police of a case of theft of money by a schoolboy who was found to have £22 in his wallet. In the course of their inquiries into this the police were started on a train of investigation into sexual practices of children on their way home from school, at the homes of parents, and elsewhere. As a result, about 40 boys and girls in the 12--15-year-old group (but including also a girl of 9 years) were implicated. In addition to this, there were two cases before the Court in which several girls had given evidence of their agreement to sexual intercourse with older men. One of the accused men has recently been sentenced to a term of imprisonment, while the other is still awaiting trial. As this latter case, and also a charge of murder against a boy aged 14, are still _sub judice_, the Committee is unable to comment on any of the factors involved. This much may, however, be said that, from the police, welfare officers, a headmaster, and social workers in Auckland, the Committee learned of an accumulation of sordid happenings occurring within a short space of time which people who regard themselves as men of the world could scarcely believe possible in this Dominion. No submissions were presented to the Committee that sexual offending by juveniles in the South Island had increased to any alarming extent. Such cases as were mentioned to the Committee followed previously recognized patterns. _IV. Has Juvenile Immorality Increased?_ =(1) Difficulties of Comparison in Absence of Statistics= In seeking to ascertain whether immorality among children and adolescents has increased or is increasing it should be pointed out that there are not any statistics available either in New Zealand or elsewhere from which reliable guidance may be obtained. Sexual immorality is, by its very nature, a clandestine vice. Any available figures can comprise only such things as detected offences against the law, or registration of ex-nuptial births, or births which have resulted from pre-marital intercourse. Figures are not available concerning immoral acts which do not become the subject of a criminal charge. Charges of unlawful carnal knowledge or indecent assault arise, for the most part, from complaints made by females. From feelings of chivalry or other reasons it is not in the nature of the male to inform on the female. The common experience is that a charge of sexual impropriety comes from information supplied by the female. So long as a girl is prepared to be silent, the offenders remain unknown. As with older people, so also with children. Whether sexual laxity has been increasing must be a matter largely of impression based, perhaps, upon inference from certain known facts. On this matter there is room for a wide divergence of opinion. If policemen, teachers, or social workers in the Hutt district had been asked in June of 1954 whether immorality had increased there, they would probably have replied that the wave of 1952 had receded and matters were back to normal. Yet a month later that district had achieved an unenviable, and even unfair, reputation in this respect. Sad to relate, the cases in respect of which the police took action in the Hutt do not represent the full extent of known sexual immorality among juveniles there. This is shown by the following pieces of evidence: (_a_) The office bearers of one Church gave to the Committee particulars of several recent cases which had come to their notice in the ordinary course of their social welfare work (two of them girls who had become pregnant before their sixteenth birthdays). These were cases which had not been investigated by the police. It was also the conclusion of these Church officers that the cases which had been revealed to them were far outnumbered by those which were not so revealed. (_b_) It was quite obvious to the police officials who made the investigations in July that no useful purpose would be served by extending their inquiries further. =(2) Unreliability of Available Statistics for Comparative Purposes= The previous section was written to show the difficulty of obtaining a comparison between vice at one period and that at another. This section is to indicate the difficulties which arise in making comparisons (even when figures are available) between different sections of the people at different times and between different groups of people. _(a) Sexual Crime Among Adults_ No inference can be drawn from any comparisons between sexual crime of adults and sexual misbehaviour among children. The Committee did, however, examine the statistics of sexual crime in New Zealand to see if there was any marked increase which might throw light upon the conduct of children. From the annual reports which had been submitted by succeeding Commissioners of Police it collated the figures of sexual crime. The table as prepared is set out in Appendix A to this report. A perusal of that table will show that the increase of sexual crime in the years 1920-1953 is not any greater than might reasonably have been expected having regard to the increase in population. In other words, the rate has remained constant. But the great increase in the number of indecent assaults on females (from 175 in 1952 to 311 in 1953) did call for special investigation. At the request of the Committee, these figures were broken down into the several districts in which the crimes had occurred and, as a result, it appeared that there had been an astonishingly big increase in the Auckland district. The Committee has had two separate explanations of this. In the first place, it was explained that the apparent increase was due to a change in the method of compiling the returns in Auckland. On reference to Auckland officials the Committee was informed that the method of compilation had not been changed. Whether or not this type of crime increased substantially throughout the Dominion in one year must, for the present, remain undetermined. _(b) Statistics of Juvenile Delinquency_ The figures compiled for the Committee by the Superintendent of the Child Welfare Division show that: (i) There was a substantial increase in juvenile delinquency during the Second World War. (ii) After the war was over, the rate settled down to something like the pre-war rate. The following is a fair selection of these figures (alternate years being taken): _Number of Offences and Rate per 10,000 of Complaints of Children Juvenile Population Year Out of Control, etc. 7-17 years 10-17 years_ 1934 1,653 53 73 1936 1,786 57 79 1938 2,447 77 105 1940 2,464 79 107 1942 2,421 79 107 1944 2,493 84 113 1946 1,786 60 83 1948 1,589 51 74 1950 1,464 46 66 1952 1,883 56 78 1954 2,105 56 81 In making comparisons it should be noted (as explained later) that during recent years the Department has undertaken much preventive work which may account for a return to the pre-war rate in spite of the existence of other factors leading to an increase in delinquency. _(c) Juvenile Delinquency in Maoris and Non-Maoris_ Another illustration of the care required in the use of statistics is afforded by a comparison as between Maori and non-Maori offenders in the 10-17-year-old group. (For the purpose of these figures "Maori" means of the half-blood or more). For the year ended 31 March 1954 there were 565 Maori delinquents, or 28 per cent of the total number of juvenile delinquents. During this same period there were 1,433 non-Maori offenders, or 72 per cent of those delinquents. But the Maori offenders came from 10 per cent of the juvenile population, whereas the non-Maoris came from 90 per cent of that population. On that basis juvenile delinquency among Maoris was three and a half times that among the rest of the child inhabitants of New Zealand. The Committee has been unable to arrange for a dissection of the figures to ascertain whether there was a bigger percentage of sexual offenders among young Maoris than among other sections of the people. A considerable portion of offences may come from factors inherent in the culture and traditions of the Maori and their difficulty in conforming to another mode of living. _(d) Children Under Control or Supervision_ It is interesting to find that after the war there was a steady decline in the number of children committed to the care of the State, or placed under supervision, until the year 1953. This is shown by the following table: _Year Ended_ | _Under Control or_ _31 March_ | _Supervision_ | 1934 | 7,259 1936 | 7,272 1938 | 7,403 1940 | 8,043 1942 | 8,221 1944 | 8,531 1946 | 8,048 1948 | 7,267 1950 | 6,525 1952 | 6,088 1953 | 6,177 1954 | 6,283 There would have to be reservations in any inferences drawn from these figures. For instance, the decrease may have been due to extra preventive work done by welfare officers. The earlier reduction or the later increase in the number of children placed under care or supervision may have been affected by the varying recommendations of Child Welfare Officers or the decisions of Magistrates. Finally, is the slight increase from 1952 to 1954 something to cause concern? _(e) Comparison Between New Zealand and England_ Almost coincidentally with the publication abroad of reports of immorality in the Hutt district and of juvenile murders in New Zealand, an extract from a brochure of the Justice Department was published. This extract was to the effect that, in relation to population, there were one and a half times as many adults convicted of sexual offences in this Dominion as there were in England and Wales. That statement results from a comparison of the figures in the two jurisdictions, but it may create a wrong impression unless it is remembered that in England only 47 per cent of the indictable offences reported to the police are "cleared up", whereas in New Zealand 64 per cent of indictable offences are "cleared up". A comparison which takes this and all other relevant factors into account could probably place this Dominion in a much more favourable light. Whatever inferences may be drawn from the statistics presented in this report--whether juvenile immorality has increased or not--any nation is wise that, from time to lime, surveys its moral health. _V. A Change of Pattern In Sexual Misbehaviour_ When this inquiry was mooted all members of the Committee heard the oft-repeated comment that sexual delinquency was not new--it had been going on through the ages and always would go on. Many people also said "You cannot make people moral by Act of Parliament". Although there is some truth in each of these statements the Committee does not feel that the matter should be dismissed in that way. First, such an attitude is not a desirable one to adopt when seeking a remedy for a social evil. Secondly, the continued existence of a vice, however far back it may be traced, is not a reason why special measures should not be used to deal with it when it assumes considerable proportions. Intemperance and dishonesty have always been apparent. But there have been times when these vices have reared their heads in new ways and in new circumstances which have compelled action by the Legislature. The consumption of alcohol by persons in charge of motor vehicles is but one illustration of the way in which an old vice may become such a great evil in altered circumstances that stern measures have to be taken. Stealing was reprehended in the Ten Commandments, and so was covetousness. Theft was always punishable at common law; but, soon after company promotion became a feature of our commercial life in the latter part of the nineteenth century, firm action had to be taken by the Legislature to protect the public from the effects of a misleading or fraudulent prospectus. Similarly, in this matter of improper sex behaviour among children, it is not merely its extent, but certain features in its new pattern, which command attention. These features are: =(1) Younger Groups now Affected= Immorality appears to be more prevalent now among younger groups in the community. In the Hutt, and also in Auckland, most of the cases were of boys and girls whose ages ranged from twelve to fifteen years; but some of the young girls also associated with boys several years older than themselves. =(2) Precocity of Girls= In former times it was the custom for boys to take the initiative in seeking the company of girls; it was conventional for the girls to await any advances. Nowadays, girls do not always wait for an advance to be made to them, nor are they as reticent as they used to be in discussing intimate matters with the opposite sex. It is unfortunate that in many cases girls, by immodest conduct, have become the leaders in sexual misbehaviour and have in many cases corrupted the boys. At one school there were 17 children involved--10 of them were girls of an average age of 13.2 years and 7 boys of an average age of 15 years. Another disturbing feature is that in the case of boys more than half were committing their first offence, whereas only one-fifth of the girls were offending for the first time. The Committee has not overlooked the fact that the offending girls may themselves have been corrupted by a male in the first place. But the fact remains that four-fifths of the girls involved in the particular cases that prompted this inquiry had an admitted history of prior sexual misconduct. The following extract from the evidence of a headmaster is impressive of this new feature: ... We have not the same worry about boys as we have about girls. The worst cases we have are girls, and it is quite clear some of them are an absolute menace. They have dragged boys into this sort of thing. In general the girls are far worse than the boys. =(3) Organization of Immorality= These immoral practices have been _organized_ in a way that was not evident before. For example, a boy of 17-1/2 years, trusted by his parents with the charge of their home, abused the trust by arranging sexual parties on three successive weekends for groups of several girls and boys. There was also the case of a girl of 14 years who invited a girl of the same age to her home during the absence of her parents for the express purpose of having intercourse[1] with her brother aged 15. This improper use of a parent's home has also occurred in other districts. =(4) Recidivism= The second outbreak of Hutt Valley cases revealed that two boys, one girl, and one family had become involved in misbehaviour within eighteen months of their previous offences. In another district three-quarters of the boys concerned had previously been before the Court as delinquents, though not all for sexual offences. =(5) Changed Mental Attitude of Girls and Boys= Perhaps the most startling feature is the changed mental attitude of many young people towards this evil. Some offend because they crave popularity or want to do what their friends are doing. Some assert a right to do what is regarded by religion, law, and convention as wrongful. It was reported that some of the girls were either unconcerned or unashamed, and even proud, of what they had done. Some of the boys were insolent when questioned and maintained this attitude. The Committee has not overlooked the fact that in some cases this attitude may have been due to a defensive reaction. The recent disclosures caused one headmistress of a city college to arrange for sex instruction to be given by a lady doctor to various forms. The girls were invited to submit written questions for the doctor to answer. Having read the questions, the doctor commented that she must have prepared the wrong lecture--it should have been for an older group. A transcript of the questions was produced to the Committee. They were inquiries which one would assume might be made by young women who had married or were about to marry. Whether these young girls were sincere in their questioning of the doctor, whether they wanted to exhibit advanced knowledge, or whether they were endeavouring to create a sensation, the fact remains that they had in mind aspects of sex which were well in advance of their years. This change in the mental attitude of offending children was further exemplified by evidence that, in one series of cases in Auckland, records were kept, and there was some competition between girls concerning the number of immoral acts in which they were involved. The Committee were shocked to hear from the police that one girl claimed a total of 148 instances in her favour. =(6) Homosexuality= The Committee has read reports from Great Britain of an increase in homosexual practices there. Recent New Zealand happenings might be taken to indicate a similar increase in this country. The Committee has made no investigation of these matters, but considers it wise to remind parents that sexual misbehaviour can occur between members of the same sex. The conclusion of the Committee is that the above pattern of immorality is of a kind which was not previously manifest in New Zealand. It cannot be dealt with on the footing that it has always been with us. The attitude of mind shown by those who have planned and organized sexual parties, and sometimes caught others within their net, is something which demands serious consideration. The subject cannot be dismissed in the light, airy way of those people who, without any adequate knowledge of the facts, have been saying that there is nothing new about the sexual misbehaviour of young people and that nothing can be done to improve matters. The situation is a serious one, and something must be done. _VI. Searching for the Cause_ Many have been the views expressed as to the reasons for this immorality and the suggested remedies. After considering the evidence, after reading much literature on the subject, and weighing up all the suggested factors, the view of the Committee is that the matter is not capable of simplification by regarding any, or even all, the causes suggested and discussed below as being the main cause. In seeking to remedy the evil it must steadily be borne in mind that we have not only to deal with the immediately apparent causes. Letters to the press, letters to this Committee, and many of the submissions made reveal a failure to dig below the surface or to look beyond the factors which came immediately to the mind of the writers or those which, from personal experience, appeared to them to be the decisive or motivating factors. The way in which the Committee approached a consideration of this problem was to distinguish between those causes which appeared to be the precipitating causes and those which it regarded as predisposing causes. The precipitating causes are those which are closely related in time or circumstance to the actual misbehaviour. The predisposing causes are those which create an emotional maladjustment in a person and thus induce a susceptibility to the precipitating cause. For instance, a semi-nude figure or a song with a double meaning will not incite a properly instructed adolescent to sexual misconduct. But if by parental neglect or failure to control a young person is predisposed to anti-social conduct, there is danger in any form of suggestiveness. The Committee has carefully considered many suggested causes (whether precipitating or predisposing) and now sets out its views on those which merit special mention. If, as the Committee believes, immoral behaviour should be regarded as a phase or facet of juvenile delinquency, the same influences which tend to incite other anti-social behaviour are in operation here. Much has been written in textbooks, in journals, and in various scattered articles about the causes of juvenile delinquency. What applies in other communities, and in other aspects of juvenile delinquency, must apply with much the same force in this Dominion as elsewhere, and to the sexual deviant as to all other juvenile delinquents. In searching for the real or substantive cause it must be borne in mind that juvenile delinquency, of the type now being considered, is a new feature of modern life and a facet of juvenile delinquency which does not appear to have engaged the attention of research workers. The state of affairs which has come about was uncertain in origin, insidious in growth, and has developed over a wide field. In searching for the cause, and in suggesting the remedies which may be applied, the Committee must not be thought to be laying the blame on any one section of the community more than another. _VII. Some Visual and Auditory Influences_ =(1) Objectionable Publications= There has been a great wave of public indignation against some paper-backed or "pulp" printed matter. Crime stories, tales of "intimate exciting romance", and so-called "comics" have all been blamed for exciting erotic feelings in children. The suggestiveness in the cover pictures of glamour girls dressed in a thin veiling often attracts more attention than the pages inside. Immorality would probably not result from the distribution of these publications, unless there were in the child, awaiting expression, an unhealthy degree of sexual emotionalism. Some of these publications are, possibly, more harmful to girls than to boys in that girls more readily identify themselves with the chief characters. One striking piece of information which was conveyed to the Committee was that the girls under detention in a certain institution (the greater number of them had had a good deal of sexual experience) decided that various publications were more harmful than films because the images conveyed by the printed matter were personal to them and more lasting. The Committee has been deluged with periodicals, paper-backed books, and "comics" considered by their respective senders to be so harmful to children and adolescents that their sale should not be permitted. But, while all the publications sent are objectionable in varying degrees, they cannot be rejected under the law as it at present stands because that law relates only to things which are indecent or obscene. An Inter-departmental Committee set up in 1952 to report on worthless and indecent literature similarly found that, while publications intended for adults are controlled by the Indecent Publications Act (which in the opinion of that Committee, was adequate providing the public initiated action under it), comics and other publications outside the scope of that Act might be objectionable for children. When considering comics it is essential to appreciate the difference between the traditional comic, intended exclusively for children, and the more modern style which is basically designed for low-mentality adults. Both styles and variations of them circulate widely in New Zealand among children and adolescents. In general, however, younger children buy, and even prefer, the genuine comic which is not harmful and may even be helpful. Adolescents, and adults also, are attracted by comic books that have been denounced by various authorities as anti-educational, and even pernicious, in moral outlook. The Inter-departmental Committee recommended that all comics be registered and that it be made an offence to deal in unregistered comics. There are strong doubts whether the adoption of those proposals would provide a satisfactory solution. Once registration were obtained (which would be almost automatic on application) much damage might be done by the distribution of a particular issue before registration could be cancelled. Surely a simpler, faster, and safer procedure would be to make initial registration more difficult and subsequent deregistration more speedy. Amendments recently made to the laws of various Australian States should result in a general improvement in the standard of publications distributed in Australia, and consequently in New Zealand. On the other hand, this tightening of the law may induce distributors to dump in New Zealand publications for which they have no longer a market in Australia. A banning, rather than a censorship, of printed matter injurious to children should be the subject of immediate legislation for three reasons: (_a_) To prevent the Dominion being used as a market to offset any trade lost in some Australian States; (_b_) To encourage the efforts of those people who seek to lead children through good reading to better things; and (_c_) To let publishers know that the time has passed when publications likely to be injurious to the minds of children and adolescents may be distributed by them with impunity. In order to meet the situation, it would be desirable for the Government to promote special legislation along the lines of the Victorian Police Offences (Obscene Publications) Act 1954. The Victorian legislation is particularly effective since not only does it widen the definition of "indecent" and "obscene", and enables the police themselves to institute proceedings for breaches of the Act, but it also compels all distributors to be registered. Then, should a distributor be convicted of an offence, he may be deregistered, and in that case would be unable to distribute any other publication whatever. Despite frequent reference to distributors dumping objectionable publications on a newsagent or bookseller, who has to accept the bad before he can get the good, the Committee has not received any definite evidence of this practice occurring in New Zealand. =(2) Films= The cinema is the only field of entertainment in New Zealand where official supervision in the interest of juveniles is exercised by a public servant with statutory powers. The Government Film Censor interprets his role chiefly as one of guiding parents. On occasions he bans a film; more often he makes cuts in films; most often he recommends a restriction of attendance to certain age groups. The onus is then on parents to follow the censor's advice, on theatre managers to adhere to his rulings, and on the Government to see that the law is enforced. It is not part of the censor's duty to see that his rulings are observed. A survey taken in 1952 revealed that about one-quarter of all films advertised in the press were advertised with wrong certificates. Reliance upon such incorrect advertisements therefore deprived parents of the protection which the legislature intended for them. Few prosecutions have ever been taken for such offences, and it is even doubtful whether, if they were taken, convictions would be recorded. Some regulations (essential for this purpose) under the 1934 Amendment Act have never been gazetted; nor have any under the 1953 amendment. Although the censor receives few specific complaints, and although film distributing and exhibiting interests state that they are complying with the spirit of the unwritten law, the following undesirable practices irritate a large section of the thinking public: _(a) Publication of Grossly Extravagant Posters and Newspaper Advertisements_ in which sex and sadism are often featured. The theatre managers concerned state most definitely that nothing more than genuine showmanship is behind this. _(b) Screening of Inappropriate Trailers on Unsuitable Occasions:_ By their very nature, trailers are difficult to censor adequately and, because of their origin and intent, are designed to have an exaggerated impact upon audiences. Trailers of the worst type, however, are sometimes shown at special children's sessions. _(c) Mixing "A" and "U" Certificate Films:_ In the words of the exhibitors, this is done "to obtain balanced programmes". _(d) Admitting Children and Adolescents to Films With Restricted Certificates:_ It is difficult for theatre managers to determine the age of their patrons, and the warning notice of restricted attendance exhibited at the theatre may have little effect. Should the age be queried when entry is sought, an incorrect answer will probably be given. Worst of all, perhaps, should the presence of an accompanying adolescent or adult be required, there is always the danger of undesirable strangers taking the place of a _bona fide_ parent or friend. _(e) Misbehaviour in Theatres:_ Once inside a darkened theatre, children, adolescents, and undesirable persons may behave improperly and the manager may have difficulty in exercising control. * * * * * Appropriate steps recommended are: (i) The gazetting of the outstanding regulations empowered by the 1934 and 1953 Amendment Acts. (ii) The provision to the maximum extent possible of non-restricted or "U" programmes for children's sessions. (iii) The drawing of the attention of parents, repeatedly, to the fact that through the censor's certificates they, the parents, have a reliable guide provided exclusively for their benefit and intended for their use. =(3) Broadcasting= Disapproval has been expressed of many of the broadcast serials and suggestive love songs. If considered dispassionately by adults, most of these are merely trashy, but quite possibly, and particularly in times like the present, the words of a song, or the incidents of a serial, may more readily give offence. Obviously, the New Zealand Broadcasting Service can never please each individual listener, but, equally obviously, it should seek to avoid giving any public offence. The Service seems conscious of its responsibilities and tries to make its programmes generally suitable for family audiences; but it also aims to reflect the standards of its listeners, and some may feel that it should try to raise those standards. Although the Service considers that it should never give the appearance of dictating what listeners should, or should not, hear, it has its own auditioning standards that should satisfy the morals of the most particular. Records must first conform with the very strict code of the Broadcasting Service, after which they are classified as suitable for children's sessions, for general sessions, or only for times when children are assumed not to be listening. The Service can, and does, reject episodes from overseas features, and in doing so experiences no difficulty with either overseas suppliers or local advertising sponsors. Restrictions on dollar purchases and the nonavailability of "sponsorable" programmes from the United Kingdom curtail the availability of commercial features, and generally restrict them to those produced in Australia. On the other hand, the Service points out that listeners have a wide choice of broadcast programmes, advertised well in advance, and it assumes that listeners will be selective in tuning in their sets, and restrictive in not allowing their children to listen after 7 p.m. when programmes specially suited for them cease. This assumption, however, is not well founded. Once switched on, the radio frequently stays on, and children are then allowed to continue listening far too long. Consequently, they not only lose part of their essential sleep, and sometimes even the mental state conducive to sleep, but they hear radio programmes not intended for them. Just when, how long, and how often, children, adolescents, and even parents listen to the radio is something that has never been accurately determined in New Zealand. It is well known that young children listen after 7 p.m. and that adolescents listen until a very late hour, particularly on holidays, and for this last-named fact no allowance is made when the programmes are being arranged. Adolescents listening to the latest songs stimulate the demand for popular sheet music. It is the words of those "hits" that form the chief target for criticism expressed to this Committee. Popular songs are transitory in nature, and it is the tune, rather than the words, that makes an impression. Crime serials for the young, and the not so young, are another target for criticism, but provided that the Service is adamant in its rule that "crime must never pay" loss of sleep is, possibly, the most serious consequence of over-indulgence by child listeners. Some people claim that they can detect a definite pattern of suggestive songs and unsuitable thrillers in the programmes. In times like the present the Service should critically re-examine its programmes in order to remove any wrongful impression that might be created, either by a too frequent repetition of items where sex and crime are prominent, or by the possibility of a meaning being taken out of them which was not intended. The Broadcasting Service should similarly review its ideas about children's listening hours and rearrange its classified times accordingly. When crime serials are broadcast it should be made obvious that crime does not pay. A married woman might well be included on the auditioning panel. Even if the Service does all these things, the major responsibility will still rest upon the parents, who should select their children's programmes and see that their listening hours are reasonably restricted. =(4) Press Advertising= An examination of advertisements in New Zealand newspapers during recent years clearly shows how far the bounds of propriety have been extended. What was a generation ago considered improper is now generally accepted as a subject for display. Advertisements, more and more based on sex attraction, horror, and crime, occupy a large and increasing proportion of all advertising. Because this trend is obviously objectionable to a section of the community, such advertising must partially fail in its object of attracting. In addition, this advertising may be harmful to those juveniles and adolescents with whom this Committee is primarily concerned. Advertisers should, in their own interests, raise their standards--perhaps by establishing a voluntary Advisory Council similar to that in the United Kingdom. =(5) Television= Although television is not yet available in New Zealand, its introduction is inevitable. Overseas reports of its effects on children, adolescents, and even adults indicate that plans to minimize any harmful effects in New Zealand should be made without delay. The arrival of another visual and auditory influence will add weight to the suggestion made to the Committee that liaison should be established between all the various censoring authorities. * * * * * Objectionable publications, films, broadcasting, and television have been the subject of expert appraisal in many countries. The Committee has made its recommendations in this section of the report fully aware that many authorities can describe these matters as no more than secondary influences in the causation of juvenile delinquency. To what degree these things are directly causative no one can say. Their influence is imponderable. But whatever their influence, the Committee is firmly of the opinion that practical measures to control what is offensive to many would be an indication of a renewed concern for the moral welfare of young people. The result would be the replacement of undesirable material with something much better. _VIII. The School_ =(1) Teacher and the Child= For several reasons, there has been a change in the relationship that used to exist between teacher and child. Earlier the teacher lived in, and was part of, the community and so knew something of local conditions and the tensions of his pupils' lives. This gave him a more intimate knowledge and sympathetic understanding of a child's difficulties. Today in the cities, and particularly in the quickly growing urban areas, there are different conditions. Schools are new and big, without a tradition of long community service; teachers have difficulty in finding accommodation in the district from which their pupils come; to meet the shortage of permanent staff many partially trained persons have to be used as relieving teachers; even qualified teachers have to move frequently to meet promotion requirements. As a result the knowledge that once came to a teacher from sharing the same environment as the child has now to be acquired in some other way and, probably, from within the school. This knowledge is of great importance in diagnosing maladjustments that might lead to delinquency. In primary schools the situation is met by the establishment of a system of visiting teachers who can investigate the circumstances of a problem child. Perhaps of greater importance, the presence of visiting teachers reminds class teachers that children have difficulties out of school. The Committee feels that: (_a_) As many of the problems have a medical origin, there should be as much official liaison as possible between the public health nurses and the visiting teachers. This would automatically make the services of a medical officer available. (_b_) Particularly in rapidly growing industrial areas, the number of visiting teachers should be increased. In pos t-primary schools there is at present no official system of linking the home and school in the investigation of problems. Traditionally the headmaster has done this, but with the increase in the size and complexity of schools he has now too little time for this work. Post-primary principals, in their evidence, appeared worried by the problems of conduct arising from the inability of pupils to leave school until they have reached fifteen years of age. It has already been shown that the pattern of juvenile delinquency which is the subject of this investigation is found particularly in this age group. It therefore seems desirable that some help should be given to post-primary schools. The Committee makes no specific recommendation[2] how this should be done, although it is emphatically of the opinion that there is a need for this help, and that the personality of those doing the work is of more importance than the question as to which organization should control them. This is only the immediate step. Everything possible should be done to restore the community bond between teacher, parent, and child--by the stabilizing of the teaching service, by the provision of houses for teachers in newly developed areas, and by continuing the effort to increase the number of women in the service. =(2) Co-education= At the hearing of the immorality charges in the Court at Lower Hutt the prosecuting officer attributed the delinquency, in part, to the association of boys and girls in co-educational schools. This directed the attention of the Committee to the effect on morality of the propinquity of the sexes in schools. There seemed to be no disagreement on the question of educating boys and girls of primary-school age together. The desirability of co-education at the post-primary school level, however, was frequently disputed. Many opinions were heard, for and against. The Committee was not concerned with the relative values of the different types of school, except in so far as they had an effect on juvenile delinquency. Statements were made that co-educational schools did, in fact, increase the chances of immorality, but although the Committee investigated these charges it could not find that acts of immorality among pupils did in fact arise from their association at school. There was evidence that one girl had incited seven boys to sexual misbehaviour on the way home from a co-educational school. Thorough investigation proved to the Committee that the group came from the same neighbourhood and had become known to one another from their home and street association. Acts of indecency had occurred long before they went to the post-primary school. Senior pupils of an intermediate school were concerned in depravity, both heterosexual and homosexual. The trouble probably spread through the acquaintanceships made at school, but in all cases the history of the instigators, in intelligence and environment, showed either that they were already concerned in immoral acts outside the school or that they had home circumstances conducive to delinquency. In many of the cases that were brought to the notice of the Committee the name of the school was associated with the offender, even although the offences did not occur within the school or arise from it. This linking of the school with the offender is unfortunate, as it is unsettling to the other pupils of the school and disturbing to the parents of the district. =(3) School Leaving Age= The school leaving age is now 15, but there are obviously some pupils, in the upper forms of primary schools and the lower in post-primary, who, either through lack of ability or lack of interest, are not only [not][3] deriving "appreciable benefit" from their further education, but are indeed unsettling and sometimes dangerous to other children. The School Age Regulations (1943/202) permit of exemption from attendance at school in cases where the Senior Inspector of Schools in any district certifies that a child of 14 who has completed the work of Form II is not likely to derive any appreciable benefit from the facilities available at a convenient school or the Correspondence School. The Committee recommends: (_a_) That the Department should consider whether some better method of educating these children can be evolved. It feels that the mere granting of an exemption certificate may transfer the problem from the school, where there is at least formal oversight, to the community, where this is not the case. (_b_) Where the underlying reason for exemption is the misconduct of the child, the Senior Inspector should have power to grant the exemption subject to the child being supervised by the Child Welfare Division of the Department. =(4) Relations With the Child Welfare Division= From the evidence received it is clear that principals of schools would welcome a closer liaison, by regulation, with the Child Welfare Division. A high degree of co-operation already exists in some places, but it depends on the personalities of the people concerned and is not general. With a full realization of the desirability of secrecy in the affairs of a delinquent child, but also with the knowledge that the principal of a school should know as much as possible of his pupils, and in most cases has known them longer, and in conditions of less tension than the Child Welfare Officer, it is suggested that: (_a_) Where a child in a school, or transferred to it, has come to the notice of the Child Welfare Division for acts of delinquency, the principal of the new school should be informed. (_b_) Where a pupil is to be charged before the Children's Court the principal should be asked to make a recommendation regarding the future of the child either independently of, or jointly with, that of the Child Welfare Officer. At the present time the principal is merely asked to report to the Child Welfare Officer, although, from his longer experience of the child, he may be in a better position than that officer to suggest what should be done. =(5) Sex Instruction in School= The views of the Committee on the whole subject of sex instruction are given elsewhere in the report. Here it is emphasized that, apart from the biological aspect as a part of nature study in the primary schools and general science in the post-primary schools, the school in general is not the place for class instruction in sex matters. Incidental features of sex hygiene will arise naturally from physical education and can be adequately treated there. It is felt that the teaching of the fuller aspects of the sex relation between men and women requires an emotional link between the teacher and the taught, and it should not be looked on as a duty of the school to forge this link. But where ignorance persists, through the failure of the natural agencies, the school should try, if a suitable person is available on the staff, or by the employment of a specialist, to remedy the omission. =(6) "New Education"= Several witnesses have claimed that the philosophy underlying the New Zealand education system is a predisposing cause of sexual delinquency, but in the absence of direct evidence, which is obviously difficult to obtain, such claims can only be an expression of personal opinion. Similarly, the terms "play way" and "free expression" have been quoted to show that traditional external disciplines have given way to a concentration on the development of the personality of the child--a development which could lead to licence. But as there are not sufficient comparative figures available for New Zealand, and as reports from overseas suggest that the pattern of immorality is a world-wide one, the Committee is unable to reach a conclusion on this matter. It does, however, feel justified in suggesting that nothing but benefit could come from representatives of the Department of Education attending meetings of Parent-Teacher and Home-and-School Associations to enable responsible and interested parents to obtain a clearer understanding of modern educational aims before expressing their views. _IX. Community Influences_ In an examination of the factors which promote juvenile delinquency special attention must be given to the type of community in which children grow up. The more normal and well balanced a community is, the greater are the child's chances of developing a well-balanced personality. The teaching at school may be good, the home training satisfactory, but these good influences may be upset by defects in the neighbourhood. When the atmosphere of home or school is unsatisfactory, the chances of normal healthy development are made progressively worse for any child whose community environment is also poor. =(1) Housing Development= In New Zealand there are a number of communities which have grown quickly and have become unbalanced. No one doubts the urgent need that there has been for houses to accommodate a rapidly expanding population. On the other hand, in the light of experience, it is considered that wise planning in the future could avoid some of the disadvantages which have become evident in these areas. These disadvantages are: _(a) Fewer Adults_ Large-scale housing is primarily for married people with growing families. Eventually the number of young people is much greater than the number of adults. There is a pronounced difference between a settlement of mushroom growth and one that has developed gradually with large family homes and smaller homes, grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, and children. In order to illustrate the disparity between the adult and juvenile population in all such areas the Committee obtained from the Education Department a statement of the primary and secondary school children in Wellington and the Hutt Valley as at 30 August 1954: _Wellington Hutt_ Pupils at primary public and private schools 15,300 12,250 Pupils at secondary public and private schools 5,750 3,000 ------ ------ 21,050 15,250 It must not be overlooked that the homes of many children who attend schools in Wellington are situated outside the ordinary confines of the city; many of the children are resident in the Hutt Valley. For instance, 250-300 of the girls at Wellington College come to that college from the Hutt, and many more children from outside the city attend other city schools. The exact total is not readily assessable, but it is known to be considerable. On the other hand, it is not thought that the rolls of Hutt schools are increased by the attendance of pupils from outside that district. Another statement shows that in Wellington city 70.4 per cent of the total population are adults, whereas in the Hutt only 60.1 per cent are adults. If that abnormal distribution of population is a causative factor in juvenile delinquency, the situation will have to be carefully watched because: (i) A graph compiled for the Committee shows that the biggest number of children is in the two-to-four-year-old group. When one considers that the delinquency now being considered is in the 13-to-17-year-old group, the period of greatest danger will not be reached until about another nine years have elapsed. This is a disturbing prospect and demands serious consideration. (ii) There are many similar housing settlements in New Zealand. The absence of public disclosures of delinquency in any of those places must not be taken to mean that they are free from it. (iii) In areas settled largely by people with growing families the rate of increase is striking. In planning one post-primary school the rate of 0.7 children to a family was adopted. Three years later the rate was found to be 1.5 per family. _(b) Absence of a Community Spirit_ In the normal development of towns and suburbs a community spirit comes from an ability to make one's own choice of dwelling. A newly-married couple prefers one district or one suburb to another, either because their relatives or friends are there, because it is handy to the husband's work, because of "the view", or for similar reasons. The house they build or buy or rent was the house of their choice. In that way they develop pride of ownership or of possession. They join such of the local churches, societies, and clubs as already exist, and themselves organize and support other agencies of community value. In quickly settled housing areas this community spirit has not yet had time to develop. The people have not chosen to live there: a house has been "allotted" to them. With a feeling of relief that their immediate problem is solved, they move in; but they soon find themselves in an area without any established traditions or the buildings associated with those traditions. Churches, schools, halls, and monuments are entirely non-existent or very new. The areas left for sports grounds, parks, and reserves are still largely undeveloped. The occupants of the new houses have not the financial capacity to provide these things, and there are seldom any private benefactors, because there is not a stratum of wealthy people in or near these settlements who might be benevolently inclined to help the district where they reside. The help which the new residents can give, or obtain from the State, churches, or other organizations to provide a community fellowship, must fall far short of what is usually obtainable in areas which grow up normally and naturally. _(c) Overcrowding of Houses_ Houses in the new areas are often found too small as the boys and girls grow up. The result is streets of overcrowded homes unsuitable for family life. The tendency for the young people to seek their pleasures away from their home and district is therefore greater than it is in mature communities. _(d) Tendency to Form Groups or Gangs_ Where a large number of children live near one another, and many of them are left by their parents to their own devices, the formation of groups or gangs is inevitable. Some of these children are not moulded into the activities of churches or other helpful organizations. They simply coalesce by the accident of their circumstances, and make their own fun, in which, unfortunately, the influence for good of the better among them is often outweighed by the misbehaviour and dangerous propensities of others. _(e) Emotional and Mental Factors_ New housing areas tend to be populated by a large proportion of those people whose outlook on life has been affected by disturbances in their early married years. Marrying during, or soon after, the Second World War, they were obliged to live in small apartments or transit camps and were thereby unable to live the normal life of a married couple. Either because of this, or because of conditions existing in the housing areas, there does not seem to be the same group willingness to improve their conditions as is seen in older communities. Indeed, individual cases show a virtual lack of self-reliance. There is the further factor that when the breadwinner has to travel a long distance to work he is not able to spend as much time with his family as is desirable, or to share in the work of the community. _(f) Little Variety in Amenities_ Young communities cannot immediately provide, from their own resources and enthusiasm, all the amenities normal in an established settlement. Necessarily, these must be added one by one, and in the meantime the residents have to participate in a restricted range of activities. * * * * * All the above matters show how difficult it is to expect a community spirit in any area which is just an aggregation of houses. Many years must pass before there can be anything like a desirable balance of community interests in such an area. Juvenile delinquency in new housing settlements might conceivably be reduced, if, in future, State houses were not erected in extensive blocks, but were built in such smaller numbers as could be more easily integrated into existing communities of people. =(2) Recreation and Entertainment= As in other forms of delinquency, the recent outbreak of immorality or, more correctly, the revealed evidence of it has directed the minds of many to an assumed dearth of organized recreation and entertainment. Such a thought more easily rises to the mind when it is known that many cases have occurred in new settlements where the building of State houses has gone far ahead of the ability of the community to arrange for the provision of playing fields, halls, and clubs. Further, those who have special ideas of the importance of hobbies, pet animals, square dancing, and things of that sort have been active in urging upon the Committee that greater attention should be given to such matters as possible ways of alleviating the trouble. It is true that a child who joins sporting and other clubs, or has its mind directed towards hobbies or other interests, is less likely to become a delinquent than one whose thoughts are not similarly occupied. But it is wrong to assume that the present trouble can be cured by the extension or encouragement of such activities. The reason is that the pre-delinquent is not attracted by such forms of recreation or healthy pleasure. If he is persuaded to join a club or society, he may soon make such a nuisance of himself that the leader will be obliged, for the good of the club, to rebuke him or warn him that he will not be allowed to attend in future unless he behaves. The pre-delinquent, therefore, either does not join, or else soon leaves, a club where he cannot feel happy. He is inclined toward a friendship with somebody else whose nature is compatible with his own. From this companionship a group of wayward children may be formed. They incite one another; they conspire together; they attract the attention of others; the group may become a gang. From the pairs, the group, or the gang, mischief or immorality soon begins, while all around there are many clubs and societies suitable and available for them. Furthermore, single-sex clubs will not provide the answer for those who desire the companionship of the other sex. In our society, boys and girls must meet socially. It is part of the growing-up process and, if supervised carefully and unobtrusively[4], the mixing of boys and girls can be very advantageous. From the evidence given by witnesses, the following four points emerge: (_a_) The school today provides so many interests and activities that the time of the pupil is fully occupied. Since it is essential to retain the family group as much as possible, in general, children should not be encouraged to go out excessively on week nights. The competition of organizations for good school children as leaders can become unsettling to the young. (_b_) Adolescents who have left school provide a field in which club organizations are able to provide interests and activities for those who have left the directed conditions of school life and are entering on the freedom of adulthood. Many of these activities will be for both sexes and their success depends upon trained leadership. (_c_) There is much advantage in having the clubs and organizations within a community locally co-ordinated. Over lapping can be avoided, facilities are more easily provided, and the opportunity is given to youth to share in the interests and efforts of the adult community. (_d_) The Committee warmly commends the work of all those societies and clubs which have been active in promoting the well-being of young people. Chief among the difficulties faced by these character-building organizations which have made representations to the Committee is the lack of trained leadership. Their appeal is for more leaders and for some means by which these leaders may be trained. But however desirable and commendable all these services to youth are, and even allowing for the fact that without them some children might slip into bad ways, their further development will not provide the cure. Indeed, much of the immorality which has occurred has been among children who have had the fullest opportunity for healthy sport and recreation. =(3) Liquor and Gambling= It was strongly urged by religious and benevolent organizations, and also by many private people, that juvenile delinquency could be attributed in part to the effects of drinking and betting. The Committee realizes that drinking and gambling to excess may well be symptomatic[5] of the type of home where there is child neglect. There is no need to stress the obvious. But the matter does not rest there. Much danger is inherent in the view that no social occasion is complete without liquor. It has come to the notice of the Committee that many parents are conniving at the practice of having liquor at adolescent parties. Such parents are being unfair to young people, and the Committee considers that if right-thinking parents took a firm stand in this matter a sound lead would be given to the community as a whole. _X. The Home Environment_ =(1) Feelings of Insecurity: The Unloved Child= A harmonious emotional development during childhood is one of the most important factors influencing human behaviour. Any child who feels unloved, unwanted, or jealous of the care and attention given to other members of the household suffers from a feeling of insecurity. This feeling of insecurity renders the child more susceptible to influences leading to delinquency. The mother's attitude to the child is of prime importance. There is a psychological link between mother and child from the very moment of birth--a link that can be substantially strengthened by breast feeding as far as it is practicable. The attitude of the mother to the child, even before birth, may well have a marked effect upon the child's sense of security. If pregnancy was not welcomed by the mother, her child may come into the world under a distinct handicap, that of being an unwanted child. Subsequent adjustment may not be as satisfactory as she imagines it to be. There is often, however, a vast difference between the parents' love of a child and the child's subsequent idea of being loved. The love that every child needs is affection combined with wisdom--a wisdom that will show itself in a watchful concern for the child's well-being throughout childhood to late adolescence. It can be summed up as the kind of love found in a warm family life where all the members--father, mother, and children--are in a proper relationship the one to the other. This relationship is mere difficult to obtain where the child was unwanted or where one parent becomes unwilling to share with the child the love which he or she formerly alone received from the other parent. A child living in an abnormal family environment, whether that abnormality arises from the birth of the child or the maladjusted personality of a parent, is the type of child which may later seek compensation in irregular sexual behaviour. But the child who, during its early years, lives in an environment where it feels secure, loved, and accepted is not likely to become a deviant. Evidence has been presented to the Committee of many cases of delinquency which may fairly be traced to one of the following causes: _(a) Emotional Disturbances_ that have arisen out of a divorce, separation, or remarriage. An emotional upset may arise from a home that is broken by a divorce or separation or, equally important, from a home in which tension follows discord between the parents. _(b) Poor Discipline_ arising out of a parental notion that love for the child can be shown by gifts in money or kind, or by allowing the child to do what it wants to do. Many of the parents of delinquent children are in that category of people who have been far too indulgent with their children and have been unable to say 'No'. It is a big mistake to suppose that the respect and love of a child will be lost by firm, kindly guidance. The Committee has evidence that a large group of delinquents detained in an institution attributed their situation to the failure of their parents to be firm with them in early life. _(c) Lack of Training for Parenthood:_ It was somewhat alarming to find that many parents have found the responsibilities of home life too much for them. They had entered into matrimony without having had their attention drawn to the ways in which a home can, and should, be managed. The duties which one spouse legally owes to the other are fairly well known. Thanks particularly to the efforts of the Plunket Society, great help is available in the rearing and management of babies. But there is a big gap in the knowledge of the art of home-making possessed by many parents. Much of that gap has been filled in by the school, the church, and various youth organizations, but the more these outside agencies do the less inclined are some parents to shoulder their own personal responsibilities. The home should be the place in which all these activities are co-ordinated: they should supplement home training and not subtract from it. _(d) Lack of Responsibility:_ There was no need for anybody to stress this factor before the Committee--it stood out as a matter of grave concern. Many of the parents of children affected by recent happenings throughout the Dominion showed a deplorable lack of concern for their responsibilities not only to their own children, but to the associates of their children. It is one thing to trust a youth; it is quite another thing for parents to go away for a day of golf or to spend their week-ends away from home leaving the boy to his own devices. It is one thing for Mrs A to give her daughter permission to stay the week-end with Mrs B's daughter, and for Mrs B, to give permission for her daughter to stay the same week-end with Mrs A's daughter. It is quite another thing when neither Mrs A nor Mrs B shows that interest in their daughter which would prevent their being shocked on finding from the police weeks later that the week-end was spent with other adolescents in the house of Mr and Mrs X, while those parents in turn had trusted their son. A simple inquiry by the parents of A, B, or X during or after the week-end could not be resented, and, indeed, children would respect their parents more if such an inquiry were made. Of lesser import, but still indicative of a lack of awareness of responsibility, is the attitude of parents who give money to their children to go to the pictures in order to get them out of the way without even bothering to look at the programme to see if it is a suitable one for children. Admittedly, parenthood, if it is not to end in disaster or the fear of disaster, is a great responsibility. It involves a continual struggle against harmful influences from outside. It demands also parental interest in the activities of the children and sometimes a measure of self-denial for the children's sake. Wisdom and experience combine in suggesting to all parents that they should guide their children, and not be governed by them. Those who read this report might usefully ponder the question whether the ever-increasing way in which responsibilities in character building are being assumed by schools, libraries, clubs, and many other organizations has not made parents less heedful of their own personal responsibilities for the training of their children. While the Committee realizes that the care shown by some parents for their children has proved to be inadequate, there are many parents who are examples of what parents ought to be. Above all, the Committee wishes to stress that parents should not suffer from feelings of inadequacy owing to a spate of modern knowledge often expressed in semi-technical terms. Parents should enjoy their children, and this enjoyment will lead to increasing co-operation within the family. =(2) Absent Mothers and Fathers= Many persons have expressed the opinion that sexual immorality among young people arises, in part, from the fact that mothers are frequently absent from their homes at times when their children need their care and guidance. Mothers who leave children to their own devices are in three categories: (_a_) Nearly one-third of the delinquent children whose cases were considered by the Committee belonged to homes where the mother worked for wages. Another survey showed that, in a closely populated area, 25 per cent of the mothers of pupils of a post-primary school went out to work. Some mothers may need to work; but many of them work in order to provide a higher standard of living than can be enjoyed on the wages earned by their husbands, or because they prefer the company at an office, shop, or factory to the routine of domestic duties. (_b_) The second category comprises those wives and mothers who extend their social, and even their public, activities beyond the hour at which they should be home to welcome their children on return from school. Happy and desirable is the home where the children burst in expectantly or full of news concerning something that interests them! (_c_) The third category of absentee mothers consists of those who give their children money to go to the pictures, while they themselves go to golf, or to a football match, or pay a visit to friends. When dealing with this kind of thoughtlessness it should be pointed out that fathers are not free from blame. As breadwinners they have necessarily to be away from home throughout the day, but they have opportunities in the evenings and at week-ends to identify themselves with their children's interests and activities. A satisfactory home life can be attained only by the co-operation of both parents in the upbringing of their children. =(3) High Wages= In striking contrast to the contention that the cost of living is so high that mothers are obliged to work is the complaint that many young people have too much money. This applies both to school children and to boys and girls who have commenced working. It cannot be denied that many children have too much spending money, and that others show too great a desire to have it. It is also a well-known fact that many children are not content to do normal tasks at home when they are able to obtain good pocket money by doing odd jobs for others. The starting wage for adolescents is often somewhat high, and thrift is not practised by them. A few years hence, these adolescents may be in the ranks of those who complain of their inability to obtain homes. This has prompted people to urge that a compulsory savings scheme should be instituted to guard young people from the evils of misspent leisure and to develop in them that sense of reliability which is so often lacking. There is certainly something wrong when mothers work to increase the income of the household while youths, who may be paid nearly as much as parents with family responsibilities, spend their earnings on expensive luxuries. If juvenile delinquents were admitted to probation instead of being admonished or placed under supervision, it might be practicable for the Courts, in suitable cases to make it a condition of probation that the offender paid a portion of his earnings into a compulsory savings scheme. Even if such a procedure could be devised it would apply only to those who have become delinquents when the major consideration should be given to the problem of the pre-delinquents. This is a matter to be considered further in Section XVI of this report. _XI. Information on Sex Matters_ For many years the expression "sex instruction" has been used and understood by most people. The Committee makes clear its appreciation of the fact that the term is inadequate as not indicating that the sexual relations of man and woman should be a harmonious blend of the physical and the spiritual. Many parents of children will agree that they themselves obtained only a knowledge of the mechanical aspects of sex from school companions. Even this information was often gleaned from undesirable conversations. Such parents wish that their children should receive this knowledge in a totally different fashion. The terms "sex instruction" and "sex knowledge" are employed here for other terms are not yet in common usage. In some of the cases investigated by the police the children concerned appear to have been very ignorant of the rudimentary facts of the subject. In other cases they showed knowledge far in advance of what would be expected. This advanced knowledge was, however, only in respect of isolated portions of the subject. The striking contrast between ignorant and precocious children confirms the view that a statement is required as to when the information should be given, who should give it, and what should be its source. =(1) When Should This Information be Given?= The best time to give any information is when a child asks a question. The simple answer giving no more than is necessary is the desirable one. The question "Mummy, where do babies come from"? should not involve a dissertation on sex. If this method of approach is clearly understood, the parent need never be worried about the time to impart information. =(2) Who Should Give This Information?= As children show varying degrees of curiosity concerning the subject at varying ages, the initial information should not be given as part of school instruction, but should come from a parent or parent-substitute. Since parents are obviously those best suited for imparting this knowledge, why do they so frequently fail to carry out this duty--a failure that is not restricted to any intellectual or economic group? First, there is a sense of guilt in parents concerning sexual relations, born out of their own unfortunate initiation into a knowledge of a subject discussion of which was generally frowned upon in their young days. Secondly, there is a real difficulty. As the sex organs are also the channels for the elimination of waste, exaggerated modesty often hinders discussion. Thirdly, there is often a genuine ignorance on the part of parents concerning what to say in answer to the natural questions of a child and what terms to use in reply--terms that will be neither embarrassing to the parent nor unintelligible to the child. Fourthly, many parents are not convinced of the necessity for any special action by them. They feel that, as the child grows, it will assimilate this knowledge, but they do not give consideration to the source from which the knowledge may be obtained, or the manner in which it will be imparted. =(3)The Source of Information= There is a need for reliable sources of knowledge for the parents. Suitable literature with a matter-of-fact approach that may yet include the spiritual factor will remove self consciousness. An indirect approach is not helpful. Specimen conversations between parent and child can be readily adapted for any family. Not all available literature on this subject is of equal quality. Several religious organizations already have publications suitable for the members of their respective denominations. The Committee is also informed that the Federation of Parent-Teacher and Home and School Associations, in conjunction with several experts, is now in the course of publishing pamphlets suited to different age groups. The barrier between parent and child can be lifted by meetings where talks are given and films shown. Heads of schools, in conjunction with Parent-Teachers' Associations could invite, on separate occasions, mothers with their daughters, fathers with their sons, or both parents together. The special value of such gatherings would be to enable those with adolescent children to do what they regret having avoided doing in earlier years. It will be argued that, whatever is done to help parents, there will still be a proportion likely to baulk at giving the information. Some may even remain indifferent. There could be no objection to some unaccompanied girls or boys attending the meetings for parents and children. The Committee states its views on sex instruction in schools elsewhere in the report. It is stressed here that sex instruction given in the absence of the parents may well increase the number of parents who neglect what should be a jealously guarded privilege. In conclusion, parents should remember that, even though adolescents may appear to possess a great deal of knowledge, it may be factually inaccurate and, above all, may require putting into correct perspective. This applies particularly to the older adolescents who have been involved in criminal charges. That group may have practical experience of the mechanics of sex; what they require is a more wholesome outlook on the intimate relations of man and woman. _XII. The Influence of Religion on Morality_ A common element in many of the statements made to the Committee is a desire for a better spiritual basis in our society on which a sound code of morals may be built. =(1) The Need for a Religious Faith= The consensus of opinion before the Committee is that there is a lack of spiritual values in the community. This is not merely because the majority of people do not go to church, but because of the general temper of society and standards of morality. Most people would affirm some sort of belief in God, but are unable to relate it to their daily lives. It may be a matter of argument that morality is dependent on religion, but the structure of western society and our codes of behaviour have, in fact, been based upon the Christian faith. If this faith is not generally accepted, the standard of conduct associated with it must deteriorate. Signs are not lacking that people are turning away from a purely materialistic conception of life, and seeking a more spiritual basis for conduct. The recent disclosures in the Hutt Valley indicate a largely nominal church affiliation in most of the cases under review. Although it was stated that thirty-six per cent of the offenders attended church or Sunday School regularly, and that sixty-four per cent had never attended or had ceased to attend, closer examination of the individual cases would be required before any deduction could be drawn from the figures given to the Committee. It is, however, safe to assume that there was little religious teaching; and it is unfortunately true that there was a failure to observe moral standards. The acceptance of the Christian position cannot fail to promote good conduct in all fields including the relationship between the sexes. =(2) The Need for Religious Instruction= The Committee considers that the Nelson system of religious teaching in schools should be encouraged and developed. In so far as the basic philosophy of education in New Zealand may not be religious, the Committee notes that a conference between the Department of Education and the New Zealand Council for Christian Education is being arranged. Church activities among youth affected were criticized on the grounds that they appealed only to the "good boys and girls", or to those who already belong to a church. This situation presents a challenge which needs to be met, and it will demand, in particular, a consideration of how young people are to be encouraged to spend their time on Sundays. =(3) The Need for Family Religion= As family life is vital in this inquiry something must be said about religion in the home. It is clear that, other things being equal, a home with a real religious atmosphere is a good safeguard against immorality, and a sound background for moral teaching, particularly for the development of knowledge about sex. The practice of family religion is to be strongly endorsed. _XIII. The Family, Religion, and Morality_ =(1) The Importance of the Family= From all that has been above written it will be seen that there is not any one cause of the sexual delinquency among children which has provoked this inquiry. There are many predisposing and precipitating causes. If there be any common denominator in the majority of cases studied by the Committee it is lack of appreciation by parents of their personal responsibility for the upbringing and behaviour of their children or, if they do appreciate their responsibility, they are unable to guide them correctly and to maintain control of them. This finding is in harmony with the current of public opinion expressed in the statements that "it all comes back to the parents" or "the parents are to blame". That much cannot be gainsaid. But what is the root cause of this failure or inability on the part of present-day parents? This is an aspect of its assignment to which the Committee has paid great attention. It should be made quite plain that the Committee does not subscribe to the view that the sexual immorality which has recently been brought to notice is entirely of the pattern which prevailed in former generations. Nor can the Committee be content with platitudinous recommendations as to how this immorality among young persons may be kept in check within the existing processes of the law. It is the view of the Committee that during the past few decades there have been changes in certain aspects of family life throughout the English-speaking world leading to a decline in morality as it has generally been understood. A remedy must be found before this decline leads to the decay of the family itself as the centre and core of our national life and culture. =(2) The Place of the Family in the Legal System= The emphasis which the Committee places upon this section of its report calls for a statement of the place of the family in English law. The family (meaning thereby the father, mother, and children) from time immemorial has had a definite and recognized status in our national life--a place which it has not always occupied or enjoyed in other cultures and other systems of law. There is in our culture an air of sanctity about the home where parents and children dwell. The rights of a parent against any intrusion into his family affairs have been expressed in such statements as "A man's house is his castle". Our law of domestic relations centres upon the home. When the Legislature or the law-courts have interfered in the conduct of a home it has only been because one member of the family has failed to discharge the duties which an individual is required to perform towards other members of the family or towards society. Speaking generally, the rights and duties of individual members of the family have been preserved and enforced in our statute law. Illustrations are to be found in the Infants Act, the Destitute Persons Act, the Child Welfare Act, the Family Protection Act, and the Joint Family Homes Act. The policy of English law is, and always has been, to keep the family together and to uphold the rights of parents. Those rights have correlative duties attaching to them. It is the failure of some parents to perform those duties which has now become a matter of grave concern. The irony of the situation is that this slipping of parental responsibility has occurred contemporaneously with the granting of financial and other help to parents. Family allowances and State homes should be concomitants of an increased sense of responsibility. Despite all that the State has done, and is doing, for families, the moral standards of the community have somehow been undermined. Is this because of a general lowering of the moral standards of adults? Is the attitude of children towards sexual matters a direct reflection of the thoughts and conduct of their elders? To borrow the words of a Jewish proverb "the apple never falls far from the tree". It has been firmly urged upon the Committee that there has been a "breakdown of the moral order and moral standards". That may be putting the matter too strongly, but there can be no denying the fact that the sanctions of morality today are not as strong as they were, say, forty or fifty years ago. =(3) The Sanctions of Religion and Morality in Family Life= Up till early in this century the chief sanctions operating in society were those dictated either by religion or by wisdom and past experience, i.e., religious sanctions and moral sanctions. The standard of religious morality is that which is prescribed in the Bible, interpreted perhaps in different ways by different denominations at different times. The standard of conventional morality is that which has been handed down from generation to generation. There have at times been differences between the religious standard and the conventional standard. For instance, the Church has always reprobated adultery, but even as late as the nineteenth century society accepted, without very much concern, the conduct of a man who had both a legal wife and a mistress. Despite those occasional differences between the religious standard and the conventional standard, our system of morals has been based on the standards of Christianity. =(4) The Moral Drift= During last century it was strongly urged by some scientists that a religion based on faith was untenable. Man, it was contended, should accept only what could be proved by reasoning from observed facts. Once again there emerged, particularly in scientific and literary circles, the belief that there could be a code of morals entirely devoid of religious content. This intellectual standpoint helped to undermine the authority of the churches. The views of the scientists were not the cause of, but undoubtedly did accelerate, the drift from organized religion. There is evidence of the effects of beliefs developed during the present century in another field of learning, that of psychology. On the one hand, it is held that there was in former days suppression of the natural development of human personality and, on the other, that a great deal of misery has been caused by feelings of guilt. Ill health, even mental illness, has been attributed to these two factors. Between the two world wars much of the material of the new psychologists began to drift into circulation in so-called popular editions. Doubtless much of the writing was from reputable sources, but the new views, good in origin, began to suffer as had religious faith in the past from poor exponents. A desire for scientific accuracy is understandable, a wish to understand the working of the human mind wholly commendable, but many people whose loose behaviour was instinctive, rather than inspired, now had apologists for their conduct. The moral drift had become moral chaos. _XIV. Changing Times and Concepts_ Since the beginning of the twentieth century the undermentioned aspects of a changed social order have become evident. It is not within the province of this Committee to make an appraisal of the tenets implicit in any of them. Ecclesiastics may preach against the sins involved; opposition may arise to the philosophy of education; commercial and professional interests may inveigh against the inroads of the State, but this Committee is concerned only in their effects on the sexual behaviour of young people whose habits and characters are being affected. It is now necessary to examine them. =(1) Contraceptives= Perhaps the first major shock to "respectable" society regarding sex was when it became known, soon after the beginning of the First World War, that the Army authorities were distributing "condoms" to troops about to go on leave. Probably this was the first recognition by the New Zealand Government of contraceptives. This decision by the Army was accepted by society, not without misgivings, on the basis that it was much more important to guard against the spread of venereal disease than to endeavour to enforce continence among the troops. Society was obliged to choose between two evils, and it chose what it regarded as the lesser. Contraceptives thereafter came into common use, are now purchased by a majority of married couples, and by many unmarried persons. Their acceptance by the married has posed some problems which have required the attention of the Courts in England. It was not foreseen, when they came into use, that questions would arise as to the validity of certain marriages where one party used contraceptives to avoid having children. The Committee has found a strong public demand that contraceptives should not be allowed to get into the hands of children and adolescents. Whatever views may be held concerning the use of contraceptives by older people (married or unmarried) no responsible father or mother would countenance their possession by their young sons and daughters. The Committee is unanimous that adolescents should not buy or have contraceptives in their possession. =(2) The Broadening of the Divorce Laws= The subject of divorce was very fully discussed in the Houses of Parliament in England, in New Zealand, and elsewhere after the First World War. If parents are unable to live happy lives together or to become reconciled after differences have arisen, the interests of the children may be improved, or may be worsened, by a legal separation or a divorce. Tension in the home may be just as big a factor in the causation of delinquency as a divorce or separation of the spouses. Juvenile delinquency in all its forms is frequently associated with homes where the marriage is broken either by a divorce, separation, or discord. It is not so much the separation as the tension which precedes and succeeds it that results in children getting out of control. The matter is noted here solely because, if parents cannot agree together, they are less likely to discharge their duties to their children. Greater is the responsibility which rests upon them in these unhappy circumstances. If parents are unwilling to shoulder the extra burden caused by the break-down of their marriage, some action by the State may be required if it seems likely that children may suffer. =(3) Pre-marital Relations= One aspect of the moral drift is the number of people who entertain the nebulous idea that it is somehow not wrong to have pre-marital relations or to live together as man and wife without marriage. Such a view is opposed to all the ideas of chastity which are inherent in our morality. Apart from that, an irregular sex relationship may be psychologically[6] disadvantageous. However much adults may desire a good moral standard to be observed by children and adolescents, they have no right to expect it unless they conform to proper moral standards themselves. =(4) "Self-expression" in Children= Early in this century psychologists said that the repressive influences of early discipline were stultifying to the development of the child. They advocated that the child's personality would mature better if uninhibited. This has been interpreted by many people to mean that you should not use corrective measures in the upbringing of children and that their natural impulses must not be suppressed. Some of these people have even thought it wrong to say "No" to a child. People brought up in this way have now become parents. It is difficult for them to adopt an attitude to their children which does not go to extremes either way. As a revolt against their own upbringing, they are either too firm in their control or too lax. Children brought up in both of these ways have been featured in the case notes of delinquent children placed before the Committee. =(5) Materialistic Concepts in Society= Education, medical and hospital treatment, industrial insurance, sickness and age benefits, and other things are all provided by the State, when the need arises, without direct charge upon the individual. The virtues of thrift and self-denial have been disappearing. Incentive does not have the place in our economy which it used to have. The tendency has been to turn to the State for the supply of all material needs. By encouraging parents to rely upon the State their sense of responsibility for the upbringing of their children has been diminished. The adolescent of today has been born into a world where things temporal, such as money values and costs, are discussed much more than spiritual things. The weekly "child's allowance" is regarded by some children as their own perquisite from the benevolent Government. The dangers inherent in this materialistic view is that many young people who could profit from further education do not feel a sufficient inducement to continue study. They leave school too soon, and the broadening influences which could come from further education in the daytime, or the evenings, is lost to them. In the result, these young people, having too much interest in material things, and not enough in the things of the mind and the spirit, become a potential source of trouble in the community. One suggestion made to the Committee was that saving and thrift should be encouraged, or that this might be enforced through the Children's Court in cases where it is found that offenders have fallen into criminal immorality through having more money than suffices to pay the reasonable necessaries of life. While the powers of the Children's Court might be extended or used for this purpose in extreme cases where adolescents are brought before the Court, the best help can come from wise action by parents to prevent their powers of direction and control being undermined through young persons having too much freedom and too many of the material things which are not necessary for their well-being. _XV. The Law and Morality_ =(1) History of the Law Regarding Morality= At no time in the history of the British Commonwealth have Parliaments or the law-courts endeavoured to impose a system or code of morality on the people. Men are not required by the governing powers to observe the moral law, any more than they are required to attend Divine worship. But Parliament, in the shaping of legislation, and the Judges in the administration of justice, have frequently had regard to that indefinable sense of right and wrong which becomes implanted in the human breast. Furthermore, the law, while not coercing any one into following a particular course of moral conduct, has, nevertheless, always been careful to restrain people from acting in such a way as may cause offence to those who do observe the principles of religion or of morality. Offences against religion (for example, blasphemy and disturbing public worship), and offences against decency and morality (for example, indecent exposure, indecent publications, and prostitution) are strongly reprehended. In determining what conduct on the part of an individual should be condemned the law has always endeavoured to maintain a balance between freedom of the individual and the rights of the community not to be harmed by the exercise of that freedom. The law is not interested in sin, or even immorality, but it is vitally interested in the effects of them. A person may stay away from church, but he must not scoff at the Holy Scriptures. He may bathe in the nude, but not at a public beach or near where persons are passing. A human model may be posed for an artist, but must not be exhibited in a shop window. One other feature of the law regarding morals is that there are some things which adults are not restrained from doing but which the law will not suffer to be done by minors. Common examples are found in the restraints which are imposed on children smoking, or entering upon premises open for "drinking" or betting. Similarly, through reason and experience, the law has found it necessary to set some limits on the right of an individual to do what he likes with his own person. The community has an interest in the life of every citizen. More particularly may this be said to be so when the State spends much money on the education and health of the people. Suicide has always been wrongful; attempts at suicide are therefore punishable, partly because the State has an interest in maintaining human life, and partly because suicide is a result of sin and a breach of morality. =(2) Protection of Women and Girls from Defilement= At common law the woman was always regarded as the mistress of her own person. Consent was therefore a defence to a charge of rape. The Legislature subsequently interfered for the good of society and in the interests of morality by legislating against abortion, against soliciting for the purpose of prostitution, against the keeping of brothels, and against procuration for the purpose of carnal knowledge. The next development of consequence in the law on this matter was in the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885 (England). This statute, which was subsequently followed in New Zealand, made it a criminal offence to have carnal knowledge of girls. The penalties were graded according to the ages of the girls involved. As an indication of the seriousness with which the law, by successive stages, has regarded sexual offences it is convenient here to summarize the penalties set out in sections 212 _et seq._ of the Crimes Act (N.Z.). Rape Imprisonment for life. Attempted rape Imprisonment for 10 years. Carnal knowledge of girl under 10 Imprisonment for life. Carnal knowledge of girl 10 to 11 years Imprisonment for 10 years. Attempted carnal knowledge of girl under 12 years Imprisonment for 7 years. Carnal knowledge of girl 12 to 16 years Imprisonment for 5 years. Indecent assault on female Imprisonment for 7 years. The above are the maximum penalties. The modern tendency is to inflict much lesser punishment upon an offender, to grade the punishment having regard to such matters as the damage done, the past history of the offender, and the prospect of reform. =(3) Consent as a Defence= The consent of a girl under 12 years of age cannot be raised as a defence to any defilement charge. But where the girl is over 12 and under 16 her consent may be raised as a defence if: (_a_) The girl is older than or of the same age as the person charged; or (_b_) It is made to appear to the jury that the accused is under the age of 21 and had reasonable cause to believe that the girl was of or over the age of 16 years. The law on this point is not uniform throughout the Commonwealth. In Victoria the defence of consent is available only when the girl is older than, or of the same age as, the accused (_vide_ Crimes Act 1928, Vict. 3664, sec. 45). The Committee has been officially informed that this law (most rigid when compared with the defence of consent available in this Dominion) has been working well since it was first enacted about fifty years ago. In England the defence of consent is available to any accused under the age of 23 years, but only on the first occasion on which he is charged with the offence. In an English case, _R._ v. _Banks_, (1916) 2 K.B. 621, this defence of consent was raised by a man who said that he had no idea that the girl was under the age of 16 and that he did not think about her age at all, but that she had the appearance of a girl of 16. The Court of Criminal Appeal held that he was properly convicted. On the other hand, the Court of Appeal in New Zealand in _R._ v. _Perry and Pledger_, (1920) N.Z.L.R. 21 (despite the argument of the Solicitor-General to the contrary), decided that, if in the eyes of the jury the girl might well be taken by an ordinary person to be of the age of 16, that would be evidence (not necessarily proof) of a reasonable cause for the belief that she was of that age. Hence it comes about that under our law it is not necessary for an accused person to go into the witness box or to call any evidence to show that the girl appeared to him to be over the age of consent. The nature of her clothing, red on her lips, the fact that she is said to smoke and drink, and evidence on other similar matters, enable a verdict of acquittal to be given. =(4) Weaknesses in the Law= _(a) Operation of the Rule Regarding Age of Consent_ The readiness of juries to acquit in cases of carnal knowledge of, or indecent assault upon, girls may be due to several facts, of which the following may be mentioned: (i) The failure of the law to make it an offence for a sophisticated girl to entice a male into carnal knowledge of her. (ii) The modern practice of not publishing the names of the girls involved. (iii) The fact that the defence of consent is available to persons under 21 years of age is a factor making it more difficult to obtain a conviction when the person charged is over 21 years. _(b) Girls Not Liable for Permitting Indecency or Carnal Knowledge_ The law has always been chivalrous to females. It is not an offence for them to allow to be done to themselves things which, when they are done, render the other party liable to heavy terms of imprisonment. There is also a practical reason why the State has not legislated against females on this point, viz., the anticipated difficulty of obtaining convictions if the female, when called as a witness, is able to plead that she should not be required to testify lest by doing so she might incriminate herself. This practical objection, however, would lose all force, both as regards cases where the accused are under 21 years and those in which they are over 21 years, if the proposed offence by females were restricted to girls under 16 and thus triable in the Children's Court, and not by indictment. The judicial process in the Children's Court is, or can be, such a speedy process that the Crown would not be hampered in making its charge against the male in the ordinary Criminal Court by the possibility that the case would fail if the girl pleaded that she should not be required to answer questions. _(c) Girls Not Liable for "Indecent Assault" on Boys_ It should also be made an offence punishable in the Children's Court for any girl to indecently assault a male. Under section 208 of the Crimes Act every person, male or female (including a boy under 14 years of age), may be convicted and sentenced to seven years imprisonment for an indecent assault on a female. Under section 154 a male may be sentenced to ten years imprisonment for an indecent assault on a male (consent is not a a defence); but a female cannot be convicted of "indecent assault" on a male if he permitted the act. This anomaly may have arisen because, in ancient times and, later, when the criminal law was set out in statutory form, it was not considered likely that females would descend to conduct which would entice males into the commission of one of these offences. Having regard to the evidence before the Committee that many boys have been tempted and encouraged into sexual crime by the indecent conduct of girls themselves, in picture theatres and elsewhere, the time has arrived when boys should be protected by letting the girls know that they too commit an offence when they act towards boys in an indecent manner. =(5) Proposed Reforms= (_a_) It should be made an offence punishable in the Children's Court for a girl whose age is under 16 years to permit a person to have carnal knowledge of her or to handle her indecently. (_b_) It should also be made an offence punishable in the Children's Court for any girl to indecently assault a male. (_c_) Consideration should also be given to the desirability of amending sections 208 and 216 of the Crimes Act and section 203 of the Justices of the Peace Act. There are three courses which might be followed: First, to allow the law to remain as it is. Secondly, to strike out the proviso which permits this defence of consent to be raised in cases where the accused is under 21 years and older than the girl. Thirdly, to alter the wording of the provision regarding age of consent from-- " ... it is made to appear ... that the accused was under 21 and had reasonable cause to believe that the girl was of or over the age of 16." to-- " ... if the accused (being a person under the age of 21 years) took all reasonable steps to ascertain that the girl was of or over the age of 16 years and did as a result thereof believe that she was of or over the age of 16 years." Any legislation such as is suggested in this subheading would involve an amendment of the Crimes Act and not merely an amendment of the Child Welfare Act. The Committee therefore suggests to the Government that further information be obtained as to how the law regarding "age of consent" is operating in other jurisdictions and that the information so obtained be submitted to the Law Revision Committee for its consideration. _XVI. Child Welfare in New Zealand_ =(1) History of Legislation= In order the better to understand the limits and extent of the powers under the Child Welfare Act, and how these powers are capable of improvement and extension, it is desirable to set out briefly the history of the law pertaining to institutions and homes established in New Zealand for children in need of care or correction. The first provisions were contained in the _Neglected and Criminal Children Act 1867_. This statute provided that boys and girls under fifteen years of age could be committed to industrial schools or reformatories for periods up to seven years. In 1873 the Master of any Industrial School established under the Act became _in loco parentis_ to children of parents who, because of their criminal and dissolute habits, were unfit to have the guardianship of their children. In 1874 a _Naval Training Schools Act_ was passed under which boys of 10 to 14 years of age, convicted by magistrates for reasons varying from vagrancy to bad associations, could be detained in naval training schools or on training ships and apprenticed to the sea. In 1882 the _Industrial Schools Act_ was passed making better provision for the control, maintenance, education, and training of children under the apparent age of fifteen years who were found to be destitute, neglected, uncontrollable, living in a detrimental environment, or associating with persons of ill repute, and also for children who had committed offences against the law. Prior to the passing of this Act several homes, orphanages, and schools had been established in various parts of the Colony by religious organizations and benevolent societies. They received financial aid out of a vote for charitable institutions administered by the Colonial Secretary. The _Private Industrial Schools Act_ of 1900 was introduced as a result of public resentment against the treatment of boys in a private school. For the protection of inmates a right of inspection of these private schools was given to Judges, Members of Parliament, and other named persons. The _Industrial Schools Act_ of 1908 was mainly a consolidation of the law up to that time but the age of children subject to the Act was increased to 16 years. The _Child Welfare Act_ of 1925 and the amending Act of 1927 made substantial changes in the attitude of the State towards children who had erred. They gave legislative expression to a new world-wide desire for a more scientific approach to the social problem of dealing with children who had manifested anti-social tendencies. The new features provided for in these Acts were: (_a_) A special branch (later renamed a Division) of the Department of Education to be known as the "Child Welfare Branch" was established. The Branch or Division consisted of the Superintendent of Child Welfare, who, under the control of the Minister and the Director of Education, was charged with the administration of the Act; a Deputy Superintendent; and such Welfare Officers, managers, etc., as might be required. (_b_) Power was taken for the creation of Children's Courts. =(2) The Children's Court= The idea of treating children who misbehaved as "delinquents" rather than as offenders against the law arose in Illinois in 1899. This experiment in social welfare was followed in other States of America, and the principle was introduced into New Zealand in 1925. There has been, and still is, much misunderstanding concerning the procedure in these Children's Courts and the duties of Welfare Officers. As some recommendations about to be made by this Committee could not be properly appreciated without a knowledge of the procedure of that Court, and the way in which Welfare Officers perform their duties, it is desirable to make the following brief explanation: Under the Act of 1925 it is the parent and _not_ the child, who is summoned to appear before the Children's Court. Section 13 (1) of the Act reads: On the complaint of any constable or of any Child Welfare Officer that any child is a neglected, indigent, or delinquent child, or is not under proper control, or is living in an environment detrimental to its physical or moral well-being, any Justice may issue his summons addressed to any person having the custody of the child requiring him to appear before a Children's Court at a time to be named in the summons, _either with or without the child_, in order that the child may be dealt with in accordance with the provisions of this Act. This new feature in our law did not displace the jurisdiction of Magistrates to deal with offences charged against young persons. Any doubt regarding the continuance of their powers was removed by the passing of the Child Welfare Amendment Act of 1927. All offences by children (except murder and manslaughter) are therefore still dealt with by a Magistrate, but in the Children's Court. In other words, it is not at present mandatory upon a parent to attend the Children's Court when a child is charged. In practice it is frequently found that the parent comes to Court with a child who is charged with a breach of the law. This may be due to a family interest; it may be due to a direction by a Magistrate in some district that he will not deal with a child in the absence of the parent; it may be due to a misunderstanding of the law that, because a parent is summoned for having a delinquent child and may be required to bring the child with him, therefore when the child is summoned the parent must also attend. This distinction between summoning the parent of a delinquent child to the Children's Court and bringing an offending child up on an offence can best be illustrated by what happened in the cases of carnal knowledge and indecent assault which were brought prominently to the notice of the public recently. The offending boys were charged under those sections of the Crimes Act which prescribed maximum penalties of five or seven years imprisonment. In most cases convictions were recorded and the boys were admonished and discharged; in a few cases the charges were dismissed; in other cases the boys were committed to the care of the Superintendent or placed under the supervision of a Child Welfare Officer. The girls, not having committed a breach of the Crimes Act or any other statute, could not be charged. Their parents were, in appropriate cases, summoned to Court upon the complaint that they had the custody of a "delinquent", or a child not under proper control. That the above distinction is not merely a formal one is shown by the fact that an offending boy's name, and the decision of the Court regarding him, is always recorded in the _Police Gazette_. As the girl is not charged as an offender her name is not so recorded, even although (as shown in Section V (2) of this report) it may have been the misbehaviour of the girl which led the boy into the commission of the offence charged against him. When a sophisticated girl entices a boy into the commission of an offence it is anomalous[7] that his name should be recorded in the _Police Gazette_ while the girl, who may be the real offender, is not charged and, even when the girl is committed to the care of the State, her offending is not recorded in the _Police Gazette_. =(3) Corporal Punishment Abolished= By the Statutes Amendment Act 1936 the power which formerly existed for the Court to order a whipping was abolished in so far as children are concerned. (The penalty of whipping was later abolished in all other cases by section 30 of the Crimes Amendment Act 1941.) Representations have been made to this Committee that the abolition of corporal punishment as a deterrent may have led to an increase in sexual misbehaviour. It was pointed out that parents and school teachers may resort to physical chastisement where thought desirable, and it was suggested that a Magistrate should have power to order a whipping in suitable cases. There is, however, a big difference between a parent or teacher himself punishing by the cane or strap soon after the offence, and a Magistrate ordering a beating to be inflicted by a complete stranger at a later date. The Committee, therefore, does not recommend the restoration of corporal punishment. It merely notes the matter here as part of the history of the law relating to child welfare and to show that the representations on this point have been considered. =(4) Defects in the Act and its Application= Several matters have come to the notice of the Committee during its investigations which prompt it respectfully to point out to the Government that the present statutory provisions are out-moded and that the time has arrived for a complete redrafting of the statute to remove anomalies and to suit the needs of the times. The terms of the order of reference scarcely require the Committee to make detailed recommendations. It should suffice to point out certain respects in which the Act itself might be improved and a new meaning given to "child welfare" which might go a long way towards reducing the amount of juvenile delinquency. _(a) "Child Welfare" a Misnomer_ The preamble to the Act of 1925 describes the limited nature of its intention. It is: An Act to make Better Provision with respect to the Maintenance, Care, and Control of Children who are specially under the Protection of the State; and to provide generally for the Protection and Training of Indigent, Neglected, or Delinquent Children. In other words, the Act aimed at dealing with children _after they have become delinquents_. The new provisions for the welfare of children were grafted on to statutes which were designed for "neglected" and "criminal" children and for the establishment of "industrial schools". The Act did not purport to have regard for the welfare of children who _might_ become delinquent. It did not contain any provisions for the doing of preventive work. That being so, it is not surprising to find that it operates in different ways in different districts. The Committee was impressed by the preventive work done in some districts, although the officers doing this work were unable to point to any provisions in the Act which required them to do it. In these circumstances it is not possible to blame any Child Welfare Officer for failing to do preventive work which, under the statute, he is not obliged, and, indeed, has no authority to perform. _(b) "Child Welfare" Merely a "Division"_ The Superintendent of Child Welfare is under the control of the Minister of Education and the Director of Education. But his duties do not appear to be integrated with those of the Education Department. The work of the Division appears to be more associated with the police and the Courts than the Education Department. In former times "industrial schools" conveniently came under the Education Department. But nowadays, when very many of the children committed to the care of the State are boarded out among foster-parents, the work of the Child Welfare Division is more closely associated with that of "Justice" than "Education". The establishment, a few years ago, of a Ministry of Social Welfare, and the urgent need for more preventive work to be done, suggest the possibility of better administration if "Child Welfare" were given an independent status under the control of the Ministry for Social Welfare. _(c) No Regulations Under the Act_ The Acts of 1925 and 1927 made provision for the gazetting of regulations. In particular, clause 45 of the 1925 Act contemplated regulations (_inter alia_) "regulating the appointment and prescribing the duties of Child Welfare Officers". After the lapse of twenty-nine years those duties have still not been defined and gazetted. Furthermore, "Child Welfare Officers" are, under section 6, "officers of the Public Service". It is astounding, therefore, to hear that, year by year, "Honorary Child Welfare Officers" are appointed. The Committee has been informed that this year 179 people were appointed or reappointed as "honorary" officers, although there is no statutory authority for their appointment and their duties are not prescribed. The Superintendent, in his evidence regarding honorary Welfare Officers stated: "Some of them have nominal office only. They have the name and that is all it amounts to". Such a position cannot be regarded as satisfactory. If any of them do perform useful functions (as to which no opinion can be here expressed) at least their duties should be defined. It is very easy (as happened a few weeks ago) for a person to pose as a Child Welfare Officer in such circumstances as pertain at present. _(d) No Special Selection of Magistrates_ The Act contemplates (section 27 of 1925 and section 16 of 1927) that Magistrates shall be specially appointed to the Children's Court. In practice, however, all Magistrates have been given jurisdiction to sit in the Children's Court. As a result, the practice and procedure of the Court varies throughout the Dominion. _(e) Separate Court Buildings Not Used_ The Act also contemplated that, when a Children's Court was established, it should not be held in an ordinary Court building. There is a provision that if a Court has not been established in any district the proceedings should be in a room other than the ordinary Court Room. Serious complaints were made to the Committee that some children in the Hutt cases had to remain in the precincts of the Magistrate's Court at Lower Hutt awaiting an opportunity for the cases as regards them to be called. After the children and parents had waited about for a long time most of these cases were adjourned till another date, when again much the same sort of thing happened. One special purpose of the Children's Court was defeated by the fact that the Children's Court in that city was held in the ordinary Court building. _(f) Should Proceedings be Open to the Press_ There may be reasons why a Children's Court should be open to the public even although the publication of names is prohibited. Under section 30 press reporters may not attend a sitting of the Children's Court unless "specially permitted or required by the Court to be present". It has often happened that a series of offences has created considerable apprehension in the public mind. On investigation they have been found to be due to the work of a gang or to the influence of some definite adverse factor in the community. The public has a right to know how child offenders have been dealt with. The Committee does not recommend any alteration in the provision prohibiting the publication of the name of any child or of any name or particulars likely to lead to identification. Subject to this, it is desirable that reporters should be allowed to attend. The Court should not be a completely secret chamber, the decisions of which have to be gathered by rumour or by the seeking of information through interviews away from the Court. _(g) No Follow-up Procedure_ When children are placed "under supervision" there is not any procedure whereby reports are submitted to the Court or other body concerning their welfare or their doings. Again, when children are committed to the care of the State or are under supervision as a result of delinquency they may lawfully be transferred from one institution to another or may be boarded out in foster-homes without any intimation being made to their own parents. If a child is boarded out in another district it may be enrolled at a school without the principal being given such information as might enable him to be of assistance in its reclamation. The Committee feels that there should be some person or body apart from the departmental officers to whom a child could turn for help if it is unhappy in its new surroundings or feels that it is not being properly treated. =(5) Changes Proposed= In the foregoing subsections it was sought to show how it came about that the statute itself is not a completely satisfactory one. Some of its provisions were adapted from earlier statutes which dealt with "neglected" and "criminal" children, and "industrial schools". In the course of the history of the legislation the age of a "child" has been progressively raised from 14 to 15, to 16, to 17, and to 18 years. Many of those dealt with would scorn to be regarded as "children" in the outside world, but they are glad to have the advantages accruing from being dealt with in a Children's Court. It is pleasing to know that some officers of the Division are concentrating upon preventive work, but just where, and how such work is being done, and the effect of it cannot be measured. The Committee makes the following recommendations for amendments to the existing legislation: _(a) The Creation of a New Offence_ under which children of either sex who are guilty of indecent behaviour may be charged as "delinquents" in lieu of the present procedure under which the boy must necessarily be charged and gazetted as a criminal while the girl is not charged at all. A suitable amending clause would be: Every child shall be deemed to be a delinquent child within the meaning of the Principal Act who-- (i) Being a male, carnally knows or attempts to carnally know any female child under the age of sixteen years; (ii) Being a female, incites or encourages a male to carnally know her and permits or suffers him to do so; (iii) Indecently assaults any other child. It shall not be a defence to an information or complaint under this section that any child consented to the act. _(b) The Attendance of Parents at a Children's Court Should be Made Compulsory:_ There is not at present any provision whereby the parents of a child who commits an offence must attend Court. The provision in section 13 (1) that the Justice may require the person having the custody of a "delinquent" child to attend, with or without the child, does not meet present needs. The Committee therefore recommends the acceptance by the legislature of the following new provision: In every case in which a complaint or information is laid against any child, or against the parent or guardian of a child, under section 13 of the principal Act, the Justice before whom the said complaint or information is laid shall issue his summons to at least one of the parents of the said child or to the guardian or other person having the custody of such child to appear before the Children's Court with the said child. _(c) The Court Should Have Power to Make Orders Against the Parents of Offending or Delinquent Children:_ Suitable clauses in this connection submitted for the consideration of the Government are: (1) Where a child is charged with any offence for the commission of which a fine or costs may be imposed, if the Court is of the opinion that the case would be best met by the imposition of a fine or costs, whether with or without any other punishment or remedy provided by the principal Act, the Court may order that the whole or any part of the fine or costs awarded to the informant or complainant be paid by any parent or guardian of such child unless the Court is satisfied that such parent or guardian has not conduced to the commission of the offence by neglecting to exercise due care and control of the child. (2) In the case of a child charged with any offence the Court may, in addition to or without entering a conviction against the child, order that the parent or guardian give security for the good behaviour of such child in the future for such period as to the Court may appear just and expedient. (3) The Court may also in its discretion make an order directing that the children's benefit or family benefit payable to the parent or guardian in respect of such child by the Social Security Commission be suspended until the parent or guardian gives the security required by the preceding subsection hereof for such future further or other period as the Court may think fit or until the Court is assured that the said parent or guardian is exercising due care and control of the child. (4) A copy of any order made in directing the suspension of the payment of any children's benefit or family benefit shall immediately be forwarded by the Court to the Social Security Commission. (5) The Court may suspend the coming into force of any such order or may at any time terminate the period of suspension or revoke any order made by it, whereupon the Commission of Social Security may pay to the parent or guardian all such benefits or allowances as would have been payable but for the order of suspension from the date of the said suspension or from such other date as the Court may think fair and just. (6) Nothing herein shall be deemed to effect or limit the powers vested in the Social Security Commission by sections 62 and 72 of the Social Security Act 1938. (7) An order under this section may be made against a parent or guardian who, having been required to attend at the Court with the said child, has failed to do so, but, save as aforesaid, no such order shall be made without giving the parent or guardian an opportunity of being heard. (8) A parent or guardian may appeal to the Supreme Court against any order made under this section. _(d) When Any Child is Expelled From School Notification of the Fact Should Immediately be Given to the Child Welfare Division:_ The following draft clause expresses what the Committee has in mind: When any child under the school leaving age has been expelled from school for any reason or any other child has been suspended or expelled for immoral behaviour, it shall be the duty of the principal or the governing body of the school or other person (whichever has the power to suspend or expel), to inform the Superintendent of Child Welfare or the nearest Child Welfare Officer of the fact that the said child has been suspended or expelled from the school, and the said Superintendent or Child Welfare Officer shall immediately on receipt of such information take such action as may be proper or desirable in the interests of the said child. _(e) Whenever Any Child Has Been Found by the Court to Have Committed an Offence or to be a Delinquent Child or a Child Not Under Proper Control the Principal of the School Should be Informed:_ The suggested clause might read as follows: Whenever any child has been found by the Court to have committed an offence or to be a delinquent child or a child not under proper control and is either a pupil of a school or is subsequently enrolled as a pupil it shall be the duty of the Superintendent of Child Welfare to inform the principal of such school of the nature of the offence and the circumstances which led to the delinquency in order that the principal may assist the said child and protect the other pupils of the school. _(f) That the Statute Should be Completely Redrafted and the Child Welfare Division Reorganized on an Autonomous Basis:_ In this redrafting and reorganization special regard should be had to: (_a_) The precise duties expected of every Child Welfare Officer, whether he or she be a member of the Public Service or an "honorary Child Welfare Officer". (_b_) The provision of Children's Court rooms away from the Magistrate's Court or the holding of sittings of the Children's Court on days when no other Court business is being conducted. (_c_) The selection of Magistrates who are specially qualified to perform the duties required of a Justice of the Children's Court. (_d_) The opening of proceedings to accredited representatives of the press, who should not, however, be permitted to publish the names of persons brought before the Court whether as offenders, parents, or witnesses, or any facts by which they may be identified. (_e_) The taking of the opinion of a school principal on any recommendation affecting the future of one of his pupils. (_f_) Provisions for a right of appeal from any decision of the Children's Court or from any decision of the Superintendent regarding any child. _XVII. Summary of Conclusions_ 1. Sexual immorality among juveniles has become a world-wide problem of increasing importance, but the great majority of the young people of this Dominion are healthy-minded and well-behaved. 2. As sexual immorality is generally clandestine, is often not criminal, and even when criminal may not be detected, there are not any statistics from which it can be shown whether, or to what extent, it has increased. 3. During recent years the pattern of sexual misbehaviour has changed: it has spread to younger groups; girls have become more precocious; immorality has been organized; the mental attitude of some boys and girls towards misconduct has altered; and there is evidence that homosexuality may be increasing. 4. The new pattern of juvenile immorality is uncertain in origin, insidious in growth, and has developed over a wide field. 5. Objectionable publications ought to be banned by establishing a system for the registration of distributors of certain printed matter. Urgent action is necessary so that publications now banned in other countries will not be dumped into this Dominion. 6. The absence of regulations necessary to make the Film Censor's recommendations effective deprives parents of the protection which the Legislature intended for them. 7. The possibility that children may hear radio programmes unsuitable for them calls for firmness and discretion on the part of parents and more care by the Broadcasting Service in arranging and timing programmes. Serials and recordings giving undue emphasis to crime or sex are not desirable, nor is the frequent repetition of recordings that are capable of misinterpretation, particularly in times like the present. 8. Advertisers should realize that the increasing emphasis on sex attraction is objectionable to some and, possibly, harmful to others. 9. Although television may not be introduced into New Zealand for some time, plans to cope with its effects on children should be made well in advance of its introduction. 10. There should be a closer bond between school and home. The system of visiting teachers should be expanded and as much liaison as possible established between them and public health nurses. 11. The evidence that the propinquity of boys and girls at co-educational schools contributed to sexual delinquency was not convincing. 12. The value of insisting upon all children remaining at school till they are 15 years of age should be further investigated. When the underlying cause for an application for exemption is misconduct, the exemption should only be granted subject to supervision by a Child Welfare Officer. 13. Whenever a pupil under the care or supervision of the Child Welfare Division is enrolled at a school the principal should be informed of any matters pertaining to the pupil which are within the knowledge of that Division. He should also be consulted as to any recommendation which it is proposed to make to the Court in respect of any of his pupils. 14. The school is not the proper place for fully instructing children about sex, although it may be a convenient place in which mothers and daughters together, fathers and sons together, or parents together, may listen to addresses or see appropriate films. This would help to break down some of the barriers of self-consciousness. 15. In the new housing settlements the younger age groups predominate. They are without the stabilizing influence of older people and established institutions. 16. The work of all organizations which aim at building character is warmly commended as they help to prevent children from becoming delinquent; but facilities for recreation and entertainment will not cure juvenile delinquency. 17. Liquor and gambling are symptomatic of some homes where there is child neglect. The Committee deprecates the growing practice of parents conniving at the consumption of liquor at young people's parties. 18. Tension in the household, separation of the parents, lack of training for parenthood, the absence of a parental sense of responsibility or poor discipline all help to create an unsatisfactory home environment; the child of such a home often feels unwanted or unloved. This unsatisfactory environment or feeling of being unloved is productive of much delinquency. 19. Nearly one-third of the delinquent children whose cases were considered came from homes where the mothers, possibly out of necessity, went out to work. Fathers themselves are also to blame when they neglect the opportunities available in the evenings or at the weekends to interest themselves in the welfare of their children. 20. The high wages paid to adolescents on leaving school are an important contributing factor especially when those youths have not been trained in the virtues of thrift and self-reliance. 21. In many of the cases investigated by the police the children have either been ignorant of the functions of sex or have too advanced a knowledge of its physical aspects. When, how, and by whom the information should be given is very important. 22. The present state of morals in the community has indicated the value of a religious faith, and of family religion. Encouragement should be given to the work of the New Zealand Council of Christian Education. 23. There has been a decline in certain aspects of family life because of a failure to appreciate the worth of religious and moral sanctions. 24. During the past forty years new concepts have entered into society. These concepts resulted from the unsettlement following two world wars. The changes were the increased use of contraceptives, the broadening of the divorce laws, an increase in pre-marital sexual relations, and the spread of new psychological ideas. 25. The Committee is unanimously of the opinion that adolescents should not buy or be in possession of contraceptives. There is, however, some difference of opinion as to how this decision could be made effective. 26. The state of the law regarding indecent conduct on the part of boys and girls operates very unfairly. Boys who admit this offence are charged in the Children's Court under sections of the Crimes Act for breach of which they are liable to terms of imprisonment of five to seven years. Their names and particulars of the offence are recorded in the _Police Gazette_. The girls (some of whom may have incited the boys to offend) cannot be charged; if they are brought before the Court at all, it is only when their parents are summoned for having delinquent children and their names are not gazetted. 27. The Child Welfare Act should be broadened to provide for the doing of preventive work. At present it provides only for the correction of children who have committed offences or who are delinquents. There are also grave weaknesses in this statute and in the whole procedure for dealing with offending and delinquent children. _XVIII. Recommendations_ =(1) Proposals for Legislation= (_a_) The definition of "obscene" and "indecent" in the statute law relating to printed and published matter should be enlarged so as to cover all productions which are harmful in that they place undue emphasis on sex, crime, or horror. (_b_) All distributors of books, magazines, and periodical (other than newspapers and educational or scientific publications) should be required to register their names and the names of their various publications. If they offend against the proposed law regarding objectionable publications, their licences to produce or distribute should be cancelled. (_c_) A new offence should be created whereunder boys and girls who are guilty of indecent conduct with one another should both be liable to be charged as delinquents in the Children's Court and the practice of recording the names of boys in the _Police Gazette_ as having been summarily dealt with should cease. (_d_) In all cases where children are summoned to Court their parents (if available) should be required to attend with them. (_e_) The Court should have the power to require the parent or guardian of an offending or delinquent child to pay the fine or costs and to give security for the future good behaviour of the child unless the Court is satisfied that the conduct of the parent or guardian has not conduced to the child's wrong doing. (_f_) The Court should also be given power to direct that the children's benefit or family benefit payable to any parent or guardian by the Social Security Commission be suspended until he gives the security required by the Court or for such further or other period as the Court may order. The material interests of the child should be preserved by enabling the Court to suspend the operation of the order, or to cancel it upon being satisfied that the parent or guardian has given the required security to exercise due care and control. (_g_) Effect should be given to the recommendations regarding enrolment or expulsion of children as set out in Section XVI (5) (_d_) and (_e_) of this report. (_h_) The Child Welfare Act should be completely recast in such a way as to remove the weaknesses indicated in this report and to suit modern needs. "Child welfare" should be given an autonomous status under the Minister of Social Welfare. =(2) Proposals for Administrative Action= The following outlines of administrative action are not dependent upon the amending of any Acts of Parliament such as were recommended above: _(a) Police Department_ The training and duties of policewomen should be considered with a view to deciding the best method of dealing with girls involved in sexual offences. _(b) Department of Internal Affairs (Films)_ To facilitate the practical working of film censorship steps should be taken to gazette the outstanding regulations empowered under the relevant Acts of 1934 and 1953. _(c) Broadcasting Service_ It is suggested: (i) That the service ensure that the concept "Crime must never pay" is more prominently featured in crime serials. (ii) That a married woman be immediately appointed to the auditioning panel. _(d) Censoring Authorities_ Any Departments concerned with censorship should maintain a liaison to produce as far as possible a uniform interpretation of public opinion and taste. _(e) Department of Education_ (i) The Department of Education should discuss with the Department of Health the respective duties of public health nurses and visiting teachers to prevent overlapping and to ensure the best possible employment of these officers. (ii) Following upon the conference outlined in the previous paragraph the appointment of additional visiting teachers should be accorded priority. (iii) The Department should consider what type of officer is best suited to help with problem pupils in post-primary schools. (iv) The Department should request that residences be set aside for some teachers in housing settlements. (v) In areas where there is a lack of facilities for recreation and entertainment the Department should consider the possibility of making school grounds and buildings available to responsible organizations. _(f) Research into Juvenile Delinquency_ A long-term project for the investigation of juvenile delinquency in all aspects should be undertaken. =(3) Parental Example= New laws, new regulations, and the prospect of stricter administration may help to allay the well-founded fears of many parents for the future of their children. It would, however, be a pity if parents were thereby led into any relaxation of their own efforts. Wise parenthood implies firm control and continual interest in the doings of sons and daughters. But what is most needed is that all people should, by right living and by the regularity of their own conduct, afford the best example for the conduct of the rising generation. _XIX. Appreciation_ As a supplement to this report the Committee desires to place on record its thanks to all those who have assisted it in discharging its responsibilities. The many organizations and witnesses who have expressed their views have been most helpful, and the Committee is also obliged to all those who have sent letters, books, and papers for consideration. The many press clippings of editorials, news articles, and letters to editors have enabled the Committee to obtain an understanding of public sentiment on various matters. The heads of Government Departments have answered every inquiry for information which has been submitted to them. The Public Service Commission has placed facilities at the disposal of the Committee and has released stenographers and typists from their ordinary duties to enable this report to be presented on the date fixed by the Committee early in its deliberations. In particular, the Committee expresses its great appreciation of the manner in which Mr L.J. Greenberg has performed the secretarial duties. He has dealt with correspondence, and has shown a splendid sense of timing in arranging for the appearance of witnesses. =APPENDIX A= =Table of Sexual Offences for Which Proceedings Were Taken in New Zealand= _1920 1925 1930 1935 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944_ Rape and attempted rape 11 16 16 19 12 6 22 40 34 Carnally knowing girls under 16 14 55 68 86 99 41 69 69 71 Attempts to carnally know girls under 16 7 9 8 14 15 6 5 5 2 Indecent assault: Females 63 98 107 122 153 113 171 105 134 Indecent assault: Males 12 47 38 46 103 104 118 68 61 _1945 1946 1947 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952 1953_ Rape and attempted rape 27 14 32 14 24 31 29 35 19 Carnally knowing girls under 16 59 73 66 61 82 90 81 106 109 Attempts to carnally know girls under 16 17 18 14 13 7 27 23 36 33 Indecent assault: Females 112 104 147 164 153 149 183 175 311 Indecent assault: Males 119 89 109 110 86 82 91 122 183 =APPENDIX B= =List of Witnesses, Submissions, and Order of Appearance= One hundred and forty-five (145) witnesses appeared before the Committee in Wellington, Christchurch, or Auckland, and 18 of these witnesses were recalled on one or more occasion. _(a) Witnesses_ Witnesses are grouped as follows: _Government Officials_-- Departmental Heads: Broadcasting, Education, Police. Other Officers: Customs, Film Censor, Police (4), Superintendent of Child Welfare 10 _Educational Authorities_-- New Zealand Council of Christian Education New Zealand Council of Education Research New Zealand Educational Institute (2) Professor of Social Science Director of Physical Education Tutor, Adult Education Director, Catholic Education Child Welfare Officers (5) Chairman, Board of Governors Principals (9) Inspectors (4) Visiting Teacher Federation of Parent Teachers Association 29 _Welfare Organizations_-- Religious-- Christian Endeavour Union Methodist Presbyterian (2) Roman Catholic (6) Salvation Army (8) 18 Other-- Boy Scouts (2) Crichton Cobbers Club (2) Girls' Life Brigade Hutt Valley Youth Survey Nursery Play Centres (3) Orphanages (3) Sea Cadets (2) Youth Hostels (2) Y.M.C.A. (3) Y.W.C.A. (4) 23 _Church Bodies_-- Inter-Church Council on Public Affairs (2) Hutt Valley Ministers Fraternal (4) Baptist Church of England Methodist Presbyterian (6) 15 _Women's Organizations_ Anglican Mothers' Union (2) Catholic Women's League National Council of Women (2) 5 _Commercial Interests_-- Booksellers (3) Chemists' Guild Film Distributors and Exhibitors (7) Milk Bars (3) Newspaper Editor 15 _Professional Societies_-- Christchurch Psychological Society (4) New Zealand Paediatric Society 5 _Civic Leaders_-- Mayor, Lower Hutt 1 _Sporting Bodies_-- Wellington Hockey Association 1 _Miscellaneous Groups_-- Communist Party of New Zealand New Zealand Rationalists Association 2 _Private Individuals_ 21 Total 145 (_b_) SUBMISSIONS Practically all the above witnesses, jointly or severally, provided written submissions, and some provided more than one submission. In all there were 83 written submissions from 77 witnesses or groups of witnesses. In addition, 120 submissions were received from individuals or organizations that did not appear before the Committee. Many other persons wrote to the Committee, and a large number supplied samples of publications containing material considered harmful. Submissions may be grouped as follows: (1) Those supplied by the witnesses whose names are marked with an asterisk (*) in the list showing the order of appearance. (2) Those supplied by the 120 other individuals and organizations listed below. Anglican Provincial Youth Council (J.C. Cottrel, Secretary), Auckland. Archibald, Jean K., Teacher's College, Ardmore. Arnold, Miss E.S., Children's Editress, Nelson Evening Mail, Nelson. Associated Booksellers of New Zealand (D.K. Carey, Secretary), Wellington. Associated Churches of Christ in New Zealand (Religious Education Department), Christchurch. Auckland Provincial Public Relations Office Inc. (George F. Gair), Auckland. Bell, Gordon C., 6 Kohia Terrace, Auckland. Bennett, L., Lower Hutt. Blamires, Rev. E.O., 13 Lighthouse Road, Napier. Brewerton, N.V., Box 2192, Auckland. Brough, Miss Aileen, 68A Wrigley Street, Tauranga. Burns, J., 575 New North Road, Kingsland. Caldwell, C.L., 9 Market Road, Auckland. Cane, Mrs C.M., 35 Waldegrave Street, Palmerston North. Carrington, Hon. C.J., P.O. Box 36, Tauranga. Catholic Youth Movement (Father Curnow), Christchurch. Child Welfare Officer (A.L. Rounthwaite), Whangarei. Child Welfare Officer (P. Goodwin), Chiropractic Health Institute Inc., Auckland. Christian and Co., Ltd., Devonport Road, Tauranga. Clark, T.J., 10 Church Road, Templeton, Christchurch. Clift, F.H. (Hon. Secretary, Wellington Headmasters' Association), Wellington. Cosgriff, P.B., 69 Hinau Street, Riccarton, Christchurch. Cousins, P.W., 4 Matai Road, Wellington. de Lacy, T.J., Taihape. Dewar, G.E., 65 Rhodes Street, Waimate. Dobbie, Mary, 24 Patterson Street, Sandringham, Auckland. Donovan-Lock, Mrs A., 103 Wrigley Street West, Tauranga. Duffy, G., Hon. Secretary, Christchurch District Peace Council, 81 Gasson Street, Christchurch. Duffy. J.A., 67 Wellesley Road, Napier. Edgar, M.R., Kaukapakapa (North Waitemata Circuit of the Methodist Church), Waitemata. Eisey, C.A., 400 South Road, Dunedin. Emmett, John D., Waikuku Beach, North Canterbury. Faith, Mrs L.C., President, Catholic Women's League, "Fairview", Te Horo. Faram, Mrs T.C., 14 Portage Road East, Papatoetoe. Fere, Dr M., 113 Seaview Road, New Brighton. Feron, L.J. (and 32 other petitioners), No. 2 R.D., Governors Bay, Christchurch. Flint, E.W., West Coast Road, Oratia. Fottrell, C.P., 18 Devon Street, Wellington. Frost, Mrs A., "Truth" (N.Z.) Ltd., Wakefield Street, Wellington. Graaf, Th. L.D., Beach Road, Otumoetai. Greenwood, Rev. F., 37 Charlotte Avenue, Wellington. Gilberd, D., No. 4 R.D., Whangarei. Gilbert, Miss G.M., 23 Reading Street, Wellington. Hall, Miss B., 1A Apuka Street, Wellington. Hansen, Harold, Orini. Harris, E.L., 4 Riddiford Street, Wellington. van Harskamp, J., 22 Lombard Street, Greymouth. Hastings Housewives Union (Alva Hogg, Hon. Secretary), Hastings. Jamieson, Miss C., National Council of Women, Manawatu Branch, 70 Albert Street, Palmerston North. Jebson, Mrs E.D., President, Methodist Ladies Guild, St. Paul's, London Street, Hamilton. Jessett, F.W., 5 London Terrace, Putaruru. Joblin, A.E.R., Headmaster, Hokowhitu School, Palmerston North. Jones, Ernest L., 1010 Taita Drive North, Lower Hutt. Jones, P.H., 31 Jollie Street, Christchurch. Kennedy, Mrs M., No. 4 R.D., Morrinsville. Kidd, Mrs A.W., J.P., "Glenavon", Middlemarch. Knight, Brian, Brian Knight Clinic Psch., 124 Symonds Street, Auckland. Lovell, W.P., Taupiri. Luekens, K.M., "Tuirangi", Auckland. Mackie, Mrs H., 165 Grafton Road, Wellington. Macky, Mrs V., 144 Mountain Road, Auckland. Marsden, E.E., Box 150, Napier. Martin, C.G., 39 Union Street, Foxton. Martin, W.E., 7 Whitby Terrace (St. John Ambulance), Auckland. Methodist Central Mission (Rev. W.E. Falkingham, Superintendent), Christchurch. Michie, L.A., 28 Tautari Street, Auckland. McAven, J.S., 164 Long Drive, Auckland. McBride, Frances, 18 Gladstone Road, Auckland. McCaw, Mrs M., 11 Seddon Street, Timaru. McCool, Mrs M.M.T., Raukawa Road, Ashhurst. McDonald, A.P., Headmaster, Shannon School, Shannon. Mclver, Mrs I., Westney Road (2), Mangere. McLachlan, A.A., former Magistrate, 57 Brunswick Street, Lower Hutt. McLean, O.G., 5 Thames Street, Hamilton. McLevie, Rev. E.M., St. Barnabas' Vicarage, Wellington. Neame, Mrs M.K., "Darwin", Maunganui Road, Mount Maunganui. Norris, Mrs E., 60 Melbourne Road, Wellington. North Canterbury Methodist Women's Guild Fellowship, Christchurch. North Shore Ladies' Representative Committee (Miss R.L. Muskett), Auckland. New Zealand Canoeing Association (D.J. Mason, President), Auckland. New Zealand Libraries Association (H.W.B. Bacon, President), Wellington. New Zealand National Party (Women's Division), Auckland. New Zealand Bible Testimony, Box 555, Palmerston North. Palmerston North Headmasters' Association (L.M. Morine), Palmerston North. Poole, L.; 5 Curran Street, Auckland. Potts, Nora Cramond, 23 Towai Street, Auckland. Public Opinion and Gallup Polls (N.Z.) Ltd., Auckland. Raeston, K., 68 Fitzherbert Street, Petone. Rallison, W., Post Office, Frankton. Reid, Mrs, "Reidhaven", Arrowtown. Ridder, E.H.C., Christchurch. Salmond, W.R., Acting Session Clerk, Tasman Presbyterian Church, Upper Moutere. Scherer, Sister L.A., 216 Great North Road, Auckland. Seymour, Douglas, Box 79, Hamilton. Senior, Gerard, Chaplain, R.N.Z.N., H.M.N.Z.S. _Black Prince_, Auckland. Solway, R., 28 Opapa Street, Titahi Bay. Taylor, Mrs G.E., 111 Upland Road, Wellington. Taylor, Miss J., "Melody Cottage", 156 Barnard Street, Wellington. Teasdel, W.J., 31 Waipapa Road, Wellington. Thompson, R.J., 89 Owens Road, Epsom, Auckland. Tole, J.G., 12 Seaview Road, Remuera, Auckland. Trio Publications (C.R. Dunford), Christchurch. Venoe, Miss J.C., Francis Street, Blenheim. Wanganui Girls' College Board of Governors, Wanganui. Waikato Justices of the Peace Association, Hamilton. Ward, Rev. N., Miller Memorial Congregational Church. 9 May Avenue, Napier. Warren, Rev. P.H., The Church of the Ascension, Auckland. Wells, Miss E., 175 Long Drive, Auckland. Wellington Diocesan Youth Council (Miss H. Sewell), Wellington. Werren, Rev. J.S., South Auckland Methodist Church, Hamilton. Western, Miss M., P.O. Box 382, Auckland. White, A.W., Principal, Technical High School, Stratford. Wilkes, T.G. (General Secretary, New Zealand National Party), Wellington. Williment, F., Wellington. Williams, G.T.P., 139 Eruera Street, Rotorua. Women's Christian Temperance Union (Mrs H.N. Toomer, Dominion President), Wellington. Y.M.C.A. New Building Campaign Committee (Mr J.C. Bonham), Auckland. Youne, Mrs R.A., 4 Hackthorne Road, Christchurch. (_c_) ORDER OF APPEARANCE OF WITNESSES *Mr E.H. Compton, Commissioner of Police. *Mr G.E. Peek, Superintendent of Child Welfare Division. Mr F.T. Castle, President, Wellington Chemists' Guild. *Senior Sergeant F.W. LeFort, Officer in Charge, Petone Police Station. *Mr G.W. Parkyn, Director, New Zealand Council for Educational Research. *Mr D.K.D. McGhie, Social Science Bursar, Chairman, Hutt Valley Youth Survey. Mr E.W. Mills, Principal, Hutt Valley Memorial Technical College. Dr C.E. Beeby, Director of Education. *Mr E.S. Gale, Assistant Comptroller of Customs. *Mr B.C. Penney, President, New Zealand Educational Institute. Mr G.R. Ashbridge, Secretary, New Zealand Educational Institute. *Mr J. Ferguson, District Child Welfare Officer, Wellington. *Mr G. Mirams, Film Censor, Wellington. Mr G. Briggs, National Secretary New Zealand Y.M.C.A. Mr A.L. Lummis, Elbes Milk Bar, Lower Hutt. Mr L.F. Elbe, Elbes Milk Bar, Lower Hutt. Mr W.L. Ellingham, Elbes Milk Bar, Lower Hutt. *Rev. R.S. Anderson, Presbyterian Church, Naenae. Mr J.D. Murray, Presbyterian, Church, Naenae. Mr M. Buist, Presbyterian Church, Naenae. Mrs J.B. Christensen, Former member of the Senate Sub-committee to Investigate Juvenile Delinquency in United States of America. *Mrs R. Wolfe, Private Citizen, Lower Hutt. Mrs S. Smith, Private Citizen, Lower Hutt. Mr W.B. Davy, Private Citizen, Lower Hutt. *Father D.P. O'Neill, Director of Catholic Social Services. *Miss E. Newton (Former Teacher), Wanganui. *Miss H. Kirkwood, Post-primary Inspector of Schools. Mr W. Yates, Director of Broadcasting. *Mr K.G. Gibson, Commissioner of Boy Scouts' Association. Mr R.E. Glensor, Dominion Secretary of Boy Scouts' Association. *Mr H.T. Robinson, Private Citizen (Technician, Dominion Physical Laboratories). *Mr R.A. Loe, General Manager, Gordon and Gotch Ltd. *Mr J.K. Torbit, Private Citizen, Khandallah. *Mrs Birchfield, Communist Party of New Zealand. *Rev. M.A. McDowell, Hutt Valley Ministers Fraternal. Rev. G.E. Dallard, Hutt Valley Ministers Fraternal. Rev. C.W.R. Madill, Hutt Valley Ministers Fraternal. Rev. Mr Hartford, Hutt Valley Ministers Fraternal. *Mr F.S. Ramson, Principal, Hutt Valley High School. Mr R.A. Usmar, New Zealand Motion Picture Exhibitors' Association. Mr H. Taylor, New Zealand Motion Picture Exhibitors' Association. Mr N. Hayward, New Zealand Motion Picture Exhibitors' Association. Mr N.E. Wrighton, New Zealand Motion Picture Exhibitors' Association. Miss C. Conway, Catholic Youth Movement. *Father Fouhy, Catholic Youth Movement. Mr T. Fox. Catholic Youth Movement. Professor W.G. Minn, Chair of Social Science, Victoria University College. Mrs A.M. Richardson } President and Programme Secretary, National Miss A.M. Blakey } Y.W.C.A. of New Zealand. *Mr T.H. Whitwell, Senior Inspector of Schools, Wellington. *Miss R. Reilly, Visiting Teacher, Wellington Education Board. *Rev. J. Grocott, New Zealand Inter-Church Council on Public Affairs and New Zealand Council of Christian Education. Rev. D.M. Williams, New Zealand Inter-Church Council Public Questions Committee. Rev. M.J. Savage, New Zealand Inter-Church Council Public Questions Committee. *Mr. W. Olphert, Sea Cadets. Mr. R. Sanders, Sea Cadets. Miss J.W. Whitton, Former Police Woman. *Rev. A.J. Johnson, Senior Youth Director, Methodist Church of New Zealand. *Mr G.A. Pitkethley, General Secretary, Hutt Valley Y.M.C.A. Mr H.J.M. Christie, Chairman, Youth Department, Hutt Valley Y.M.C.A. Mr P. Dowse, Mayor of Lower Hutt. *Superintendent D.R. Sugrue, In charge of Christchurch Police District. Mr H.A. Adams, President, Christchurch Psychological Society. Mr B.F. O'Connor, Secretary, Christchurch Psychological Society. Mrs Young, Member, Christchurch Psychological Society. Miss Saunders, Member, Christchurch Psychological Society. *Mr T.C. Cutler, Vice-President, Youth Hostels Association. Mr J.L. McKie, Secretary, Youth Hostels Association. *Mr P.A. Smithells, Director, School of Physical Education, Otago University. Mr J.C.H. Chapman, Farmer, Kurow. *Rev. C.R. Harris, Methodist Minister, Riccarton. *Mrs W. Averill, President, Young Members Department, Anglican Mothers' Union. Miss M.J. Havelaar, Branch President, National Council of Women. *Mrs W. Grant, President, Y.W.C.A., Christchurch. *Mrs R.W. Lattimore, President, Catholic Women's League. *Major H. Goffin, Divisional Commander, Salvation Army, Canterbury-Westland. Captain E. Orsborne, Youth Director, Salvation Army, Canterbury-Westland. *Mr J.R. O'Sullivan, District Child Welfare Officer, Christchurch. Mrs M.E. Barrance, Child Welfare Officer, Christchurch. *Mr J.F. Johnson, Senior Inspector of Schools, Canterbury. *Rev. W.M. Hendrie, Youth Director, Presbyterian Church of New Zealand. *Rev. T.C. Campbell, Superintendent, Presbyterian Social Services Association. Mr J. Bruorton, Crichton Cobbers Club. Mr J. McCracken, Crichton Cobbers Club. Miss K.J. Scotter, Principal, Girls' Training School, Burwood. *Mr W.H.E. Easterbrook-Smith, Senior Tutor Adult Education (Hutt Valley, Wairarapa). Miss N.J. Clark, Principal, Wellington Girls' College. *Mr K.A. Falconer, Secretary, Wellington Hockey Association. *Commissioner Hoggard, Territorial Commander, Salvation Army. Colonel B. Cook, Secretary, Salvation Army. Major R. Usher, Salvation Army. Brigadier B. Nicholson, Salvation Army. Dr N.H. Gascoigne, Director, Catholic Education. *Mrs H. Bullock, Anglican Mothers Union and National Council of Women. Miss Forde, National Council of Women. *Senior Superintendent P. Munro, In charge of Auckland Police District. Mr S.L. Vaile, President, New Zealand Booksellers' Association. *Miss G.M. Gebbie, Organizing Secretary, Girls' Life Brigade. Detective D.J. Brewer. Police Department, Auckland. *Mr G.C. Smith, District Child Welfare Officer, Auckland. *Mr J. Nesbitt, Teacher, Te Papapa School. Mr S.H. Craig, President, New Zealand Motion Picture Distributors' Association. Mr Phil Maddock, General Manager, J. Arthur Rank Organization. Mr A. McClure, Managing Director, Warner Bros. Ltd. *Rev. F.R. Bolmor, Minister, Presbyterian Church, Mount Roskill. *Mrs A.J. McClure, Mount Albert Baptist Church. *Dr B. Friedlander, Dental Surgeon, Auckland. Mr A.E. Campbell, Chief Inspector of Primary Schools, Department of Education, Wellington. *Miss G.M. Rohan, Retired School Teacher, Auckland. *Mr C.R. Bach, Teacher, Otahuhu College, Auckland. *Mr E.V. Dumbleton. Managing Editor, Auckland _Star_. *Mr A.G. Long, Nursery Play Centres Association. *Mr J.C. Reid, Lecturer in English, Auckland University. *Dr E.M. Blaiklock, Professor of Classics, Auckland University. *Professor A.G. Davis, Dean of Faculty of Law, Auckland University. *Mr M.F. Smith, National Secretary, Christian Endeavour Union. *Mrs O. Bickerton, Liaison Officer, Auckland Nursery Play Centre Association. Mr A. Gray, President, Auckland Nursery Play Centre Association. Dr Elizabeth Hughes, Vice-President, New Zealand Paediatric Society, Auckland. Miss C.R. Ashton, General Secretary, Y.W.C.A., Auckland. Mr L. Adams, Onehunga. Mr M.D. Nairn, Headmaster, Mount Albert Grammar School, Auckland. *Mr P.T. Keane, Headmaster, Kowhai Intermediate School. *Mr A.S.R. O'Halloran, President, New Zealand Rationalists Association. *Mr W.A.T. Underwood, Principal, Hamilton East School. *Dr R.J. Delargey, Catholic Youth Director. *Father L.V. Downey, Director, Catholic Social Services. *Mr C. Bennett, President, Auckland United Orphanages Council. Mr R.S. Harrop, Hon. Secretary, Auckland United Orphanages Council. Mr R.B. Giesen, Member, Auckland United Orphanages Council. Mr A. Gifford, Retired Chemist, Auckland. *Mr B.M. Kibblewhite, Former Vice-President, Teachers' Training College. Mr A.S. Partridge, Vice-President, Auckland National Council Parents and Teachers' Association. *Major H.G. Rogers, Matron, Salem House, Salvation Army. Captain T. Smith, Matron, Bethany Hospital, Salvation Army, Auckland. *Mr C.R. Shann, Engineer, Private Citizen, Auckland. Mr J.A. Lee, Writer and Bookseller, Auckland. *Rev. T.C. Somerville, Convener, Auckland Presbyterian Youth Committee. Mr J.R. McClure, Lecturer, Teachers' Training College, Auckland. *Mr H. Binstead, Retired Principal of the Manukau Intermediate School. *Archdeacon A.E. Prebble, Vicar of St. Marks, Remuera. *Mr T.C. Ward, Headmaster, Epuni Primary School, and President, Hutt Valley Headmasters' Association. Mr N.J. Caldwell, Headmaster, Rata Street School, and ex-President of Hutt Valley Headmasters' Association. *Mr I.B. Johnson, Headmaster, Naenae College, Lower Hutt. Mr W.B. Dyer, Chairman of the Board of Governors, Naenae College, Lower Hutt. BY AUTHORITY: R.E. OWEN, GOVERNMENT PRINTER, WELLINGTON.--1954 _Price 3s._ [Transcriber's notes:] There were no footnotes in this text. Most [#] markers indicate spelling mistakes, the original spelling is listed below. [1] was: intercouse [2] was: recomendation [3] handwritten addition to the text, which has been left, as it is fully in context. [4] was: unobstrusively [5] was: symtomatic [6] was: psychologicaly [7] was: anomolous 
19962	----	[Illustration: "They made strings of the scarlet nikau berries, and hung them round their necks."] PICCANINNIES BY ISABEL MAUD PEACOCKE Author of "Songs of the Happy Isles." "My Friend Phil." "Robin of the Round House." "The Bonny Books of Humorous Verse," etc. Illustrated by TREVOR LLOYD WHITCOMBE & TOMBS LIMITED Auckland, Christchurch, Dunedin and Wellington, N.Z. Melbourne and London DEDICATED TO MY LITTLE GOD-DAUGHTER JOAN LUSK TE KUITI, AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND If your heart is pure, and your eyes are clear, And you come the one right day of the year, And eat of the fruit of the Magic Tree The wee Bush Folk you will surely see. * * * * * In the green and woody places, Thickets shady, sunlit spaces, Have you never heard us calling, When the golden eve is falling-- When the noon-day sun is beaming-- When the silver moon is gleaming? Have you never seen us dancing-- Through the mossy tree-boles glancing? Have you never caught us gliding Through the tall ferns? laughing--hiding? We are here, we are there-- We are everywhere; Swinging on the tree tops, floating in the air; Hush! Hush! Hush! Creep into the Bush, You will find us everywhere. If you would see, First bathe your eyes, In dew that lies On the bracken tree. * * * * * If you would hear Our elfin mirth To Mother Earth Lay down your ear. * * * * * A-many have come with their bright eyes clear, And their young hearts pure, but--alas! Oh dear! They've made a mistake in the day of the year. Piccaninnies I. CHRISTMAS TREE. (_Pohutukawa_). Long ago the Piccaninnies didn't have a rag to their backs except a huia feather which they wore in their hair. They were the jolliest, tubbiest, brownest babies you ever saw with tiny nubbly knobs on their shoulders, as if they had started to grow wings and then changed their minds about it, and little furry pointed ears, as all wild creatures have. Only these were _not_ wild, but very, very shy. Where did they live? Oh, just anywhere--all about; among the fern, in the long grass, down on the sands, in all the places babies love to roll about in. And then _People_ began to come about, so tiresome! They began to make houses, sell things in shops, tear about in big boxes on wheels, and send great, clattering, shrieking, puffing monsters rushing through the country, dropping smoke and cinders like anything. There was such a clatter and a chatter, such gabbling and babbling, such hammering and banging and laughing and crying, and hurry and scurry and rush that it was enough to drive one crazy. There was such a _fuss_, the Piccaninnies simply couldn't stand it, and they fled to the Bush. Well, wouldn't you, with all that going on? And there they lived a long time. What fun they had swinging on the giant fern leaves, climbing the trees, chasing the fantails, riding the kiwis, who are very good-natured, though shy, and teasing the great, sleepy round-eyed morepork, who is so stupid and _owlish_ in the daytime. And then People came _into the Bush!_ Did you ever! The Piccaninnies took to the trees altogether then, and no wonder! II. And then one day some one in a picnic party left a scrap of paper blowing about--you know the horrid way picnic parties have!--and a Piccaninny found it. [Illustration: "To be sure they were looking at the pictures upside down, but that made no real difference."] As luck would have it, it was a girl Piccaninny; had it been a boy he would simply have torn it up and made paper darts with it to throw at the other boys, and no harm would have been done. _But girls are different!_ [Illustration: "Teasing the great, sleepy, round-eyed morepork."] She smoothed it out and looked at it carefully, and then she called the other girls to look at it. And soon there was such a clattering and chattering that the boys came racing that way to see if the girls had found anything good to eat. You know boys! The scrap of paper was a page out of a fashion book, and there were pictures on it of horrid little smug-faced boys in sky-blue suits bowling hoops in a way no real little boy ever bowled a hoop in his life, and simpering little girls in lace frocks holding dolls or sun-shades in un-natural attitudes. But the Piccaninnies were delighted. To be sure they were looking at the pictures upside down, but that made no real difference. They decided they must have clothes too. Of course the boys said pooh they wouldn't! It's much easier to slide down a fern-leaf, or jump off the end of a branch if you haven't any clothes--everyone knows that. But when the girls, after being absent for hours, came back all in darling little crimson kilts made out of blossoms from the Christmas tree, the boys simply couldn't bear to think the girls had something they hadn't got. You know what boys are! After laughing at the girls in the hopes they'd throw away their pretty little frocks, the boys went off together. They simply had to think of something, and it would never do to copy the girls. They came back later with the quaintest little breeches, made out of broad flax leaves, stitched together with the points downwards. It was clever of the boys! They had also stuck some of the red-brown flowers in their hair. The girls were vexed that they hadn't thought of that, but they went one better. They made strings of the scarlet nikau berries and hung them round their necks. (Trust the girls!) And that was how Fashions came to be started in the Bush. [Illustration] CLEMATIS. Of course fashions change, and no one need be surprised to find that crimson kilts were soon "out," while the Piccaninny girls were to be seen walking about in pretty little white, frilly petticoats made out of clematis blossoms, and sun hats of the same flowers. The hats were rather silly, because the Piccaninnies lived so deep in the Bush that the sun couldn't hurt them, but then fashions are absurd. (Look at the ladies who wear fur coats in hot climates!) The boys made no change because their kind of fashion doesn't change, except sometimes you take great pains to iron the crease out of them, and other times you iron it _in_ most carefull-_ee_. For some reason the boys didn't like the girls' change of frocks. Of course, they said, the girls would never play with them now, but the girls said oh yes, they would. The boys said: "You'd be scared to play berry fights like we used to." But the girls said, as brave as could be: "Would we?" And the boys answered: "Let's see you then!" So they all ran off and collected puriri berries, big purply red ones, rather squashy. Then the boys all yelled in chorus: _Ka mate! Ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora! Tenei te tangata puhuru huru Na na nei i tiki mai-- whaka whiti te ra! Upane! Upane! Upane! kaupani whiti te ra!_ which means something very warlike, and the girls answered shrilly: _Ka whawhai tonu! Ake! Ake! Ake!_ They said that because they had heard that someone had said that sometime about something, and it means "we will fight for ever and ever." But they didn't! At the very first volley the berries stained their dainty frocks, and the girls fled, screaming angrily: "You horrid things! You've ruined our frocks!" And the boys grinning delightedly, and rolling their black eyes, thumped their little brown heels on the ground, and beat their little bare, brown knees and chanted all together: "_Akarana Mototapu Rangitoto Ra!_" And of course you all know what that means! You don't? Well, I'm not quite sure myself, because I couldn't find it in the dictionary (so careless of Mr. Webster!) but it really doesn't matter. [Illustration] CABBAGE PALM. (Pickled Cabbages). Little Swanki, the Piccaninny girl, and Tiki, the Piccaninny boy, were up in a karaka tree eating the pulp of the ripe berries. When I was young I was told I would die if I ate the karaka berries, but I suppose Piccaninny tummies are different. Anyhow, there they were, skinning the soft yellow pulp, which _does_ took nice, off the hard inside of the berry with their sharp little white teeth, and throwing the hard part at a kiwi wandering about below their tree, and thinking it great fun to watch his surprised face as he tried to dodge the berries. Swanki had just eaten her fourteenth berry and was reaching for the fifteenth, when she sighed discontentedly. "Oh, Tiki," she said, "aren't you sick and tired of eating the same old foods for ever and ever? Berries--berries--berries! Roots--roots--roots! And only a few leaves that are worth eating." But Tiki was a contented little boy, and he couldn't think of anything nicer to eat than a handful of ripe puriri berries, or the root of a young fern. [Illustration: "Oh, Tiki, aren't you sick of eating the same old foods for ever and ever!"] "But what else could we eat?" he asked, "There isn't anything else!" "Of course there is--lots and lots," answered Swanki. "There's mince pie and ham sandwiches and jam tarts and vinegar and plum duff and cakes and pickled cabbages." [Illustration: "So they all ran off and collected puriri berries."] Tiki stared at Swanki in amazement; he had never even heard of these foods, and thought she must be wonderfully clever to know all about them. Sly little Swanki did not tell him that she had lately been hidden in a hollow tree stump near a picnic party which had come into the bush, and that she had heard the people offering these strange foods to one another, and they sounded as though they might be more interesting than just berries--berries--berries--roots--roots--roots. And that is always the way,--something we haven't got always seems more worth having than the things we have. When Tiki had recovered from his surprise he remembered one familiar word in Swanki's list of things to eat, and as he was always ready to please, he said: "Swanki, I don't know where the mince pie and plum duff and--and vinegar trees grow, but I can show you the pickled cabbage trees all right." "Oh, Tiki, can you?" cried Swanki. "Then let's go at once. I'm longing for some pickled cabbage." "It's a long way," said Tiki, doubtfully, "a long, long way to go;" (though he'd never heard of the popular song, which shows how easy it must be to write those songs). But Swanki said it didn't matter how far it was; the sooner they started, the sooner they'd be there, which was true in a way. They slid down the tree, and having persuaded the kiwi to give them a lift, which was pretty cool of them, considering, they set off and travelled in fine style for some way. But as they arrived near the edge of the bush and the trees grew thinner, the kiwi, who hates the open country for his own reasons, refused to go any farther, and the Piccaninnies had to get off and trudge the rest of the way on foot. And crossing a little green glade they met Miss Fantail darting round and round the glade after flies. Now, Miss Fantail is a friendly and harmless little bird, but she's the most inquisitive creature in the bush, and a regular little gossip. The Piccaninnies knew that if she got wind of where they were going it would soon be all over the bush, and they made up their minds to dodge her. So they pretended to be little brown lizards crawling through the moss, but Miss Fantail wasn't taken in for a moment, but flitted down to them and put her head on one side in her bright-eyed inquisitive way. [Illustration: Miss Fantail, the most inquisitive creature in the bush.] "Now she'll begin to ask questions," muttered Swanki, and sure enough Miss Fantail began in her usual manner: "Whit--Whit--Whit--What? What? What? What? Where are you two off to? Whit! What are you after? What? When are you coming back? Why are you going so fast? Whit--Whit--Whit--What? What? What?" And when they wouldn't answer she persisted in following them, flitting in her restless way from tree to tree, sometimes darting ahead of them, sometimes circling round them, and never ceasing to cry inquisitively: "Whit--Whit--Whit--What? What? What? What?" On the very edge of the bush, however, she hesitated. She had been born in the bush, and was used only to its cool green shade, and the glare of the sun on the outside world rather scared her. So after hanging about for a time to see what the Piccaninnies intended doing, she flitted away after a large blue fly, and while she was busy Tiki and Swanki gave her the slip. They, too, had been rather dismayed at the glare of the sun and the shelterless look of the outside world, but Tiki said that the Pickled Cabbage trees were not far away; he had seen them once when he had climbed to the top of a rata tree, and a bush pigeon had told him the name of them. So, shrinking a little and keeping a sharp look-out for enemies in case they had need to "drop dead" and pretend to be a dead stick or leaf, they ran on hand in hand, and came after a time to the edge of the swamp. "There!" said Tiki proudly, "there are the Pickled Cabbage trees." There were quite a number of them, tall slim trees with long bare trunks and a crown of long, narrow leaves at the top. "We must climb to the top to find the cabbages," said Swanki; but though they had done a lot of climbing in their day, it was usually up trees with plenty of branches and twigs to help them. They found it very hard to get a grip with their little, bare, brown knees on the long, smooth trunks, and Tiki frowned thoughtfully at his tree as he slid down for the fifth time. "You give me a leg up first," said Swanki, "and when I'm up I'll give you one," which was rather a silly thing to say when you come to think of it. However, you can do most things if you try hard enough, and Swanki, seeing how the last year's jackets of the cicadas, which they had quite grown out of, were clinging to the Cabbage trees with their tiny claws, slipped her hands and feet into a set of them and through this clever idea of hers was able to climb right up the trunk, followed by Tiki, who was busy all the time trying to explain that he had just been going to think of the plan himself. When they were at last nestled in the crown of leaves they began to look about for the cabbages, but could find nothing resembling Swanki's idea of a cabbage, which wasn't very clear, but quite different from anything they found in that tree. They nibbled some of the leaves which were bitter and stringy, and tried some of last year's flowers, which were very little better, and then Swanki cried out in disappointment: "You've played me a trick, Tiki. These are not cabbages." She gave him an angry little push, and to her surprise he fell backward out of the tree splash into the swamp, where she saw him struggling in the muddy water. Very frightened Swanki hurried down the tree and ran to the edge of the water, where she held out her hands to Tiki who grabbed them tightly. But just as she was drawing him to land the boggy piece of ground on which she was standing gave way, and she, too, fell into the water. Luckily it was not very deep, and a friendly old frog gave them a leg up the bank, and very wet and muddy and miserable they started back for the bush. The worst of it was that tiresome Miss Fantail had spread it all abroad that they had left the bush, and on the way home they met her and all her relations, and all the Piccaninnies too, setting out on a search party. [Illustration: "To her surprise he fell backward out of the tree."] How they stared and questioned and teased the poor little tired travellers, standing before them so wet and grimy and weary, and when they had heard the whole story how they all laughed at Swanki and Tiki! And glad, indeed, were those two Piccaninnies to sit down to a delicious tea of fern root, young nikau, and assorted berries, and never again did any one hear Swanki complain of just "berries--berries--berries--roots--roots--roots." [Illustration] [Illustration: " ... he rocked himself to sleep among the pretty little starry flowers."] TEA TREE. One of the Piccaninnies had a horrid adventure one day. He had heard a tui that morning singing in the Bush, and had made up his mind to speak to it, because he was sulking with the other Piccaninnies. You know they say a tui can be made to talk, but it's hard to get near enough to one to find out, but perhaps if you did get close and surprised it, it would be so mad at you that it would _answer back_. The Piccaninny followed his tui up and up, but it flitted from tree top to tree top, and he could hear it tolling a bell and cracking a whip, and chuckling at him, and finally it flew away, and that was the last of it. The Piccaninny, tired out, climbed up into a tea tree bush, and swung himself gently to-and-fro until he rocked himself to sleep among the pretty little starry flowers, a thing he should never have done unless a Piccaninny Boy Scout had been posted near by in case of danger. He was _so_ drowsy, that he never heard a voice saying: "Oh! look here, George, this is a lovely spray!" nor felt the spray on which he was sleeping torn from its mother-bush, and carried away. It was taken into a big room in a big house, and there on a big table it was placed in a silver vase. It was then the Piccaninny woke up because the bough had ceased to sway gently up and down. At first he was very surprised, and then, poking his little brown head out, he was horribly frightened. Instead of the green leafy arch above him, he saw a flat white thing, and all around him were enormous strange objects. Craning out still farther he over-balanced himself and fell thud! upon a hard, polished flat plain. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the ground under him was so slippery that he could only crawl gingerly on all fours and flounder about on it. Someone exclaimed suddenly: "Oh, look at that horrid brown insect. It must have come from the tea tree. Fetch the brush and dustpan." And someone else cried excitedly: "Kill it! Kill it!" But a third someone said quite calmly: "Nonsense! It's quite harmless!" Then a huge bristly thing fell upon him, and smothered and gasping he felt himself swept along, and then flying through the air. Again he fell with a thud upon something hard, but it was only the hardness of the good brown earth, and the tall green grass closed protectingly over him. You may be sure he lost no time in scuttling back to the bush, and he didn't hunt tuis again for many a long day. [Illustration] ~Bush Babies~ KOWHAI BLOSSOM. _The Bush Babies lie In cradles of gold; They haven't a stitch, But they never take cold; For the golden flowers, And the golden sun, And the golden smiles Upon everyone-- Keep the world warm and bright And flooded with light For the Bush Babies In their cradles of gold._ The Bush Babies come out of the kowhai flowers. They are the prettiest little things--fair as lilies with golden ringlets, and little golden peaked caps, bent over like a horn upon their heads. I don't think they wear anything else much, just an odd little fluff of green here and there, like stray feathers that have stuck to them. [Illustration: "They haven't a stitch, But they never take cold."] The Piccaninnies love to play with them; indeed, they're favourites with everyone, and it's the prettiest sight in the world at early morning, to see each Bush Baby crawling out of its cradle flower on its little tummy, yawning or smiling or stretching, or blinking at the light with round sleepy eyes. But you would never get up early enough to see that. They tell a story in the Bush about a Bush Baby and a Piccaninny--and laugh about it to this day. The Piccaninny told the Bush Baby that he would find some honey for her. Now the Bush Babies love honey better than anything else in the world, so she put her hand in his sweetly and off they set. They came to the edge of the swamp where the tall branching flax flowers grow (the flax is not in flower when the kowhai is, but I can't spoil my story for that), and every flax flower was alive with birds, dipping, and sipping the honey, so the two little creatures wandered off again. The Piccaninny led the Bush Baby to several other flowers, but at every one some bird or insect would edge them away, crying out: "We got here first!" [Illustration: "The Bush Lawyer, the most spiteful plant in the bush."] At last the Bush Baby began to cry. They are very young and tender things, these Babies, and this one had been caught and scratched by the Bush Lawyer, the most spiteful plant in the Bush, and had nearly fallen into a creek, and the peak of its cap was dangling into its eye, and it was a long way from home. To comfort it the Piccaninny put his little brown arms right round it and loved it, and they both sat down on a fallen tree to rest while he wiped its eyes with a soft green leaf--they didn't know about pocket handkerchiefs yet. _Oh!_ The next moment out of a hole in the tree flew a swarm of angry bees, with humming wings and large fierce eyes and tails curved down to strike. The Bush Baby was so astonished that she fell off the log, and there she lay face down on the green moss, so still that the bees took her for a fallen kowhai blossom and droned away from her. But the Piccaninny ran for his life, with all the bees after him, and when the noise of their angry buzzing had died away, the Bush Baby got up and had a rare feast of honey, and went back home very sticky and blissful and contented. As for the Piccaninny, who had escaped the bees, by lying down and pretending to be a Tea Tree Jack (they call that camouflage now), he only sniffed when they told him about it, and said: "Pooh! I knew that honey was there all the time. I said I'd find her some and I did!" _How like a boy!_ _When the tree of gold Turns a tree of green, The dear Bush Babies Are no more seen. To fields of gold They have gaily run, And are lost in the light Of the golden sun; Or caught in the mist Of gold that lies Like a net of dreams On Day's sleepy eyes. But behold! next year They are here! They are here! They come trooping back Down the wander-track, Like rays of light In the forest old, And the green tree turns To a tree of gold._ HOHERIA BLOSSOM. Do you know the Lovely Ladies of the Bush? They swing on the tips of the Hoheria tree, with their floating white gowns and tossing silvery ringlets, and are so light and graceful that they float on the wind as they swing. If you could _only_ see the Lovely Ladies dancing! But very few have been lucky enough for that! They dance on the wind, holding to the tips of the Hoheria and their white gowns flutter and swirl, and their ringlets float and sway, and sometimes in the joy of the dance a Lovely Lady lets go of her branch and comes fluttering down to earth. Then she can dance no more, but lies very still. It is rather sad, because once she has let go she may not go back and dance on the tree for a whole long year, and it is looked on rather as a disgrace to be the first to fall. However, she has not to wait long for company. For one by one, the Lovely Ladies, wild with the joy of the mazy dance, the soft rush of the wind and the laughing and clapping of the little leaves, loose their hold, and drift to earth light as thistle-down, and that is the end of their dancing for that year. Where do they go to while the year goes by? I have never found out, but I think it most likely that they go to the place they came from. The Lovely Ladies have a song which they and the wind sing together as they dance, and the way it is sung makes everyone that hears it, mad to dance too. This is it: "_The wind is shaking the Hoheria tree, Cling, Maidens, cling!" "I'll dance with you if you'll dance with me, Swing, Maidens, swing!" "So up with a windy rush we go, Floating, fluttering, to and fro," "Sing for the joy of it, Maidens, Oh! Sing, Maidens, sing!_" The Piccaninnies simply love to watch the Lovely Ladies dancing, and long to be able to dance in the same way. When they hear the song, their little brown toes go fidgeting among the moss and leaves, and their heads nod-nodding to the air. [Illustration: "They dance on the wind."] [Illustration: "They began working themselves up and down like mad."] Once they found a Hoheria tree after all the Lovely Ladies had left it, and now, they thought, was their chance. They swarmed all over the tree, clutched the tips of the delicate branches, and began working themselves up and down like mad. It was great fun, but with their chubby little brown bodies, short legs, and shock heads, it did not look quite the same thing, and three Bush Babies riding that way on a good-natured kiwi, laughed so much (and even the kiwi, which is a grave bird, looked up and smiled) that the Piccaninnies, feeling rather foolish, dropped to the the ground and ran away and hid in the fern. THE GREAT RED ENEMY. One day one of those tiresome picnic parties came again to the bush, and after a great deal of stupid and rather terrifying noise, during which every Piccaninny and Bush Baby and all the other bush folk lay hidden away in utter silence, the people all went away again, and the Wee Folk were free to come out of their hiding places and turn over curiously the few things the party had left. There was an empty meat tin which flashed so brightly that the Piccaninnies took it for a helmet, and each in turn tried to wear it; but it was so big that it simply hid them altogether, so very regretfully they had to throw it away. Then there were a few crusts of bread which quite by accident one of the boys discovered to be good to eat. They finished every crumb of the bread and enjoyed it, but on the whole agreed that fern root tasted nicer. There was an empty bottle that nobody dared go near, for they thought it was some kind of gun, and a baby's woollen bootee, which the Piccaninnies found most useful as an enormous bag to be filled with berries. But most mysterious, and therefore most interesting, though a little frightening, was a large heap of grey smoking ashes where the picnic fire had been. The Piccaninnies circled round and round this queer grey pile wondering what on earth it could be. One boy venturing a little nearer than the others trod on a live cinder, for the fire was not as dead as it ought to have been, and jumped back howling and hopping round and round on one foot, holding the other. When they crowded round him asking what had happened he cried in fear: "The Red Enemy bit me. He lives under that grey mound, and I saw his red eye flash as I went near. That is his breath you see rising up through the trees." The Piccaninnies looked frightened and backed away from the grey mound, but all the rest of that evening they came again and again to stare upon the Red Enemy, and each time they came his red eyes seemed to flash brighter, his thick white breath to grow denser as it wound up through the trees, and he seemed to be purring and growling to himself. [Illustration: "All the rest of the evening they came again and again to stare upon the Red Enemy."] When the Piccaninnies went to bed that night they were very uneasy and could not sleep well. The sound of the Red Enemy's breathing seemed to fill the bush with a low roaring, and his breath stole in and out of the trees like a reddish mist; the air was very hot and dry. One of the Piccaninnies, a brave little fellow, said that he would go and see what their strange new enemy was doing, and sliding down his sleeping-tree he set off. He had not gone far before the heat and the stifling air drove him hack, and rushing back to his friends he cried: "Run for your lives! Quick! Quick! The Great Red Enemy is coming. He is roaring with anger and tearing the trees down as he comes. None of us can hope to escape him, for he has a million bright red eyes which he sends flying through the bush in all directions to find us, and his breath is so thick that we will be lost in it if we don't run now. Run! Run!" The Piccaninnies did not wait to be told twice. Without waiting to pack up they slid down the trees and started to run through the dark bush, and soon there were hundreds of little bush creatures all joining in the race for life. On, on they ran in fear and excitement, hearing the angry roaring of the Great Red Enemy behind them, feeling his hot breath scorching them as it writhed and twisted through the trees in reddish-black billows. Some of his millions of angry, red searching eyes flew or drifted past them, but they never stopped for a moment. And now they had left the trees behind them and were running over clear ground, and before long they reached the edge of the swamp, lying dark and cool before them. In their haste and fear they all plunged in headlong and found the water so fresh and cool and delightful after their heat and hurry, that they burrowed deeper into it, only leaving their little black heads sticking out. All that night they lay and watched the Great Red Enemy in his wrath worrying and tearing their poor trees to pieces, and all next day and the next it lasted, and then nothing was left of their beautiful bush but a few black, ugly stumps and a great grey waste of ashes. And from the ashes rose the smoking dense breath of the Red Enemy, and every now and then he flashed an angry red eye. The Piccaninnies who had lived in that part of the bush could never again return to the cool green shades of the forest, never slide down a fern leaf, or swing on the branches, or pick puriri berries, or pelt the morepork in the daytime. What could they do? Where could they go? Poor, poor little Piccaninnies! Well, this is what they did. Having no home to go to, and finding the water very delightful they decided to make their home in it. At first they would only stay timidly near the edges where the water was not deep, but by-and-by through living entirely in the water they grew webbed-toes (you try it!) and became as much at home in the swamp as any other water-creature. Some of them even grew elegant little tails (believe me or not, as you choose!) and they became known in the swamp as the Teenywiggles, and some day you may hear something more of the doings of the Teenywiggles. * * * * * Charming Booklets by Isabel Maud Peacocke (illustrated by Trevor Lloyd) Piccaninnies a bewitchingly fanciful and humorous fairy story in a setting of New Zealand plant and bird life. 1/6 Bonny Books of Humorous Verse These two booklets of amusing verses on topics peculiar to childhood will delight both young and old. 1/6 Miss Peacocke's quaint humour is delightfully engaging, and Mr. Lloyd's drawings are no less droll and pleasing. * * * * * Dainty Booklets by Edith Howes (illustrated by Alice Poison) Wonderwings, and other Fairy Stories Three entrancing fairy stories by New Zealand's popular author of juvenile literature. 1/6 Little Make-Believe a companion booklet to "Wonderwings," also containing three delightful fairy stories. 1/6 Miss Howes's stories are at once entertaining and uplifting. Every one is written with a lofty purpose. 
11933	----	[Illustration: A New Zealand War Speech. (From a sketch by A. Earle.)] A NARRATIVE OF A NINE MONTHS' RESIDENCE IN NEW ZEALAND IN 1827 BY AUGUSTUS EARLE DRAUGHTSMAN TO HIS MAJESTY'S SURVEYING SHIP "THE BEAGLE." Whitecombe & Tombs Limited Christchurch, Wellington, and Dunedin, N.Z.; Melbourne and London 1909 INTRODUCTION. The author of this account of New Zealand in the year 1827 was an artist by profession. "A love of roving and adventure," he states, tempted him, at an early age, to sea. In 1815 he procured a passage on board a storeship bound for Sicily and Malta, where he had a brother stationed who was a captain in the navy. He visited many parts of the Mediterranean, accompanying Lord Exmouth's fleet in his brother's gunboat on his Lordship's first expedition against the Barbary States. He afterwards visited the ruins of Carthage and the remains of the ancient city of Ptolomea, or Lepida, situated in ancient Libya. Returning to Malta, he passed through Sicily, and ascended Mount Etna. In 1818 he left England for the United States, and spent nearly two years in rambling through that country. Thence he proceeded to Brazil and Chile, returning to Rio de Janeiro, where he practised his art until the commencement of 1824. Having received letters of introduction to Lord Amherst, who had left England to undertake the government of India, Mr. Earle left Rio for the Cape of Good Hope, intending to take his passage thence to Calcutta. On the voyage to the Cape the vessel by which he was a passenger touched at Tristan d'Acunha, and was driven off that island in a gale while Mr. Earle was ashore, leaving him stranded in that desolate land, where he remained for six months, when he was rescued by a passing ship, the "Admiral Cockburn," bound for Van Diemen's Land, whence he visited New South Wales and New Zealand, returning again to Sydney. In pursuance of his original resolution to visit India, he left Sydney in "The Rainbow," touching at the Caroline Islands, Manilla, and Singapore. After spending some time in Madras, where he executed many original drawings, which were afterwards copied and exhibited in a panorama, he set out for England by a French vessel, which was compelled by stress of weather to put into Mauritius, where she was condemned. Mr. Earle ultimately reached England in a vessel named the "Resource," but, being still animated by the desire for travel, he accepted the situation of draughtsman on His Majesty's ship "Beagle," commanded by Captain Fitzroy, which in the year 1831 left on a voyage of discovery that has been made famous by the observations of Charles Darwin, who accompanied the expedition in the capacity of naturalist. The notes which furnished the materials for this book were made by Mr. Earle during his first visit to New Zealand, in 1827. They are valuable as setting forth the impressions formed by an educated man, who came into the primitive community then existing at Hokianga and the Bay of Islands, without being personally connected either with the trading community, the missionaries, or the whalers. It should not be inferred from the reflections Mr. Earle casts upon the missionaries that he was himself an irreligious man, because the journal of his residence on Tristan d'Acunha shows that, while living there, he read the whole service of the Church of England to that little community every Sunday, and his diary in many places exhibits a reverence for Divine things. It may, however, be said in extenuation of the lack of hospitality on the part of the missionaries of which he complains, that many of the early residents and European visitors to New Zealand were of an undesirable class, and that they exercised a demoralising influence upon the Maoris. It was not easy for the missionaries to consort, upon terms of intimacy, with their fellow-countrymen whose relations with the Natives were such as they must strongly condemn. Earle's narrative is interesting because it conveys a realistic description of the Maoris before their national customs and habits had undergone any material change through association with white settlers. In dealing with Maori names, Mr. Earle, having at that period no standard of orthography to guide him, followed the example of Captain Cook in spelling words phonetically. Except in the case of certain well-known places the original spelling has been retained in the present edition of his book. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. VOYAGE FROM SYDNEY WRECKS AT HOKIANGA CHAPTER II. MAORI WELCOME NATIVE CHARACTERISTICS EUROPEANS AT HOKIANGA CANNIBALISM CHAPTER III. A MAORI VILLAGE THE TAPU ON CROPS MAORI ART CHAPTER IV. HOKIANGA RIVER MR. HOBBS' MISSION THE TIMBER INDUSTRY CHAPTER V. AN OVERLAND JOURNEY CHAPTER VI. THE CHIEF PATUONE CHAPTER VII. A PICTURESQUE SCENE CHAPTER VIII. IN THE DENSE FOREST CHAPTER IX. THE KERIKERI MISSION INHOSPITABLE RECEPTION CHAPTER X. THE BAY OF ISLANDS CHAPTER XI. MASSACRE OF THE BOYD CHAPTER XII. KORORAREKA A MIXED COMMUNITY SHULITEA (KING GEORGE) CHAPTER XIII. MAORI CONSERVATISM CHAPTER XIV. A MISSION SETTLEMENT THE MECHANIC MISSIONARY CHAPTER XV. VISIT FROM HONGI HONGI'S COAT OF MAIL CHAPTER XVI. INTERVIEW WITH HONGI CHAPTER XVII. A MAORI WELCOME CHAPTER XVIII. INLAND EXCURSIONS CHAPTER XIX. MAORI WOMEN'S CAMP CHAPTER XX. LOADING SPARS, HOKIANGA CHAPTER XXI. DEATH OF A CHIEF TRADING WITH MAORIS CHAPTER XXII. BRUTAL MURDER OF A WIFE CHAPTER XXIII. ANOTHER JOURNEY INTERIOR OF THE COUNTRY CHAPTER XXIV. A WAR PARTY CHAPTER XXV. HOSTILE DISPLAY THE LAW OF MURU CHAPTER XXVI. A SEDUCTION AND ITS CONSEQUENCES CHAPTER XXVII. LAW OF RETALIATION CHAPTER XXVIII. A WAR EXPEDITION CANNIBALISM CHAPTER XXIX. MAORI SLAVERY CHAPTER XXX. PIRACY BY CONVICTS CHAPTER XXXI. N.Z. CLIMATE THE STARVATION CURE CHAPTER XXXII. THE ART OF TATTOOING CHAPTER XXXIII. TRIBAL GOVERNMENT MAORI BELIEFS THE CUSTOM OF TAPU SUNDAY OBSERVANCE MASSACRE OF FRENCH NAVIGATOR MARION AND PARTY CHAPTER XXXIV. THE MAORIS' VIEW OF CHRISTIANITY CHAPTER XXXV. HONGI'S THREATS PREPARING FOR WAR CHAPTER XXXVI. ARRIVAL OF A WARSHIP CHAPTER XXXVII. WHALERS AND MISSIONARIES CHAPTER XXXVIII. THREATENED WAR CHAPTER XXXIX. CONSTRUCTION OF A PA CHAPTER XL. A SHAM FIGHT CHAPTER XLI. AN EXCITING INCIDENT VISIT OF A GREAT TOHUNGA CHAPTER XLII. VICTORIOUS WARRIORS TREATMENT OF PRISONERS BAKED HEADS CHAPTER XLIII. VISITS OF WHALERS CHAPTER XLIV. SOUTH SEA ISLANDERS CHAPTER XLV. DEATH OF HONGI CHAPTER XLVI. A TRIBAL CONFLICT SHULITEA (KING GEORGE) KILLED CHAPTER XLVII. EXCITEMENT AT KORORAREKA CHAPTER XLVIII. EARLE'S FAREWELL MISSIONARIES ALARMED CHAPTER XLIX. JOURNEY TO HOKIANGA CHAPTER L. EUROPEAN DEFENCES MR. HOBBS' MESSAGE OF PEACE CHAPTER LI. MAORI SOCIAL CUSTOMS EUROPEAN LIAISONS WITH MAORIS MAORI MARRIAGES CHAPTER LII. A MAORI TANGI CHAPTER LIII. MAORI CHARACTERISTICS ORIGIN OF OUTRAGES FAMILY AFFECTION CHAPTER LIV. TRADE OF HOKIANGA CHAPTER LV. A CREW MASSACRED CHAPTER LVI. FAREWELL TO NEW ZEALAND MAORIS IN SYDNEY APPENDIX I. MASSACRE OF FURNEAUX'S BOAT'S CREW CANNIBALISM APPENDIX II. A TRIBAL FIGHT LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. A Maori War Speech (Frontispiece) Patuone, a Hokianga Chief Mission Station, Kerikeri Scene of Boyd Massacre Maori War Expedition Maori Method of Tattooing Specimens of Tattooing Whalers at Bay of Islands CHAPTER I. VOYAGE FROM SYDNEY. Having made up my mind to visit the island of New Zealand, and having persuaded my friend Mr. Shand to accompany me, we made an arrangement for the passage with Captain Kent, of the brig Governor Macquarie, and, bidding adieu to our friends at Sydney, in a few hours (on October 20th, 1827) we were wafted into the great Pacific Ocean. There were several other passengers on board, who were proceeding to New Zealand to form a Wesleyan missionary establishment at Hokianga. Amongst these were a Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs, who were most enthusiastic in the cause. They had formerly belonged to the same mission at Whangaroa, when a war which took place amongst the natives totally destroyed their establishment; and, after enduring great varieties of suffering, they escaped, but lost everything they possessed, except the clothes they had on. We had a very fine wind for nine days, and on the 29th we saw a gannet, a sure sign we were within a hundred miles of land, for these birds are never seen at a greater distance from it. True to our anticipations, towards the afternoon the water became discoloured, and at midnight we saw the land. This interesting island, of which we now got sight, was first discovered by that eminent and enterprising Dutch navigator, Tasman, subsequently to the discovery of Van Diemen's Land. His voyage from Batavia in 1642, undertaken by order of the then Governor-General of Dutch India, Anthony Van Diemen, was one of the most important and successful ever undertaken, for it was during this voyage that New Holland was discovered, of which Van Diemen's Land was then supposed to form a part, the extensive island of New Zealand being supposed to form another portion.[1] The slight intercourse of the discoverers with the natives had so calamitous a termination, and the exaggerated accounts it was then a kind of fashion to give of savages, stigmatised the New Zealanders with such a character for treachery and cruelty, that their island was not visited again for upwards of a century, when the immortal Cook drew aside the veil of error and obscurity from this unexplored land, and rescued the character of its inhabitants from the ignominy which its original discoverers, the Dutch, had thrown upon them. This immense tract of land was imagined by Tasman to form but one island, and he most unaptly gave it the name of New Zealand, from its great resemblance (as was stated) to his own country.[2] In 1770 Cook discovered a strait of easy access and safe navigation, cutting the island nearly in half, thus making two islands of what had before been imagined but one. This strait bears his name, and is often traversed by vessels from New South Wales returning home by way of Cape Horn. In 1827 His Majesty's ship Warsprite passed through this strait in company with the Volage, twenty-eight guns, being the first English line of battleship which had ever made the attempt. A few years since, Captain Stewart, commanding a colonial vessel out of Port Jackson, discovered another strait, which cut off the extreme southern point, making it a separate island that bears his name, and now almost every year our sealers and whalers are making additional and useful discoveries along its coasts. These islands lie between lat. 34° and 48°S. and long. 166° and 180°E. The opening of the land to which we were now opposite, and which was our destined port, the accurate eye of Cook had observed, but did not attempt the entrance; and it is only about ten years since, when the two store ships, the Dromedary and Coromandel, loaded with spars on the coast, that a small vessel attending on those ships first crossed the bar; but although they took soundings and laid down buoys, the commanders of the large vessels were afraid of attempting the entrance, which proved their good sense, for their great draught of water would have rendered the undertaking more hazardous than the risk was worth. Yet during my residence in this country two large vessels crossed the bar, and recrossed it heavily laden, without the slightest accident--one the Harmony, of London, 400 tons burden; the other the Elizabeth, of Sydney, of nearly equal tonnage--but in proof that it is not always safe, a few months after this, two schooners of extremely light draught were lost, though they were both commanded by men who perfectly well knew the channels through the bar. It was a singular circumstance that both vessels had been built in New Zealand; one, the Herald, a small and beautiful craft, built by and belonging to the Church missionaries, the crew of which escaped, but the disastrous circumstances attending the wreck of the other, called the Enterprise, I shall relate in their proper place. The morning of the 30th was foggy and unfavourable, but it suddenly cleared up, and exhibited the entrance of Hokianga right before us, and a light breeze came to our aid to carry us in. The entrance to this river is very remarkable, and can never be mistaken by mariners. On the north side, for many miles, are hills of sand, white, bleak, and barren, ending abruptly at the entrance of the river, which is about a quarter of a mile across. Where the south head rises abrupt, craggy, and black, the land all round is covered with verdure; thus, at the first glimpse of these heads from the sea, one is white, the other black. The only difficulty attending the entrance (and, indeed, the only thing which prevents Hokianga from being one of the finest harbours in the world) is the bar. This lies two miles from the mouth of the river, its head enveloped in breakers and foam, bidding defiance and threatening destruction to all large ships which may attempt the passage. However, we fortunately slipped over its sandy sides, undamaged, in three-fathom water. After crossing the bar, no other obstacle lay in our way, and, floating gradually into a beautiful river, we soon lost sight of the sea, and were sailing up a spacious sheet of water, which became considerably wider after entering it; while majestic hills rose on each side, covered with verdure to their very summits. Looking up the river, we beheld various headlands stretching into the water, and gradually contracting in width, till they became fainter and fainter in the distance, and all was lost in the azure of the horizon. The excitement occasioned by contemplating these beautiful scenes was soon interrupted by the hurried approach of canoes, and the extraordinary noises made by the natives who were in them. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: The Dutch and Spanish had discovered N.E. Australia as early as 1606, and the Dutch had on several occasions visited the N.W. and South coasts of the Continent before the date of Tasman's voyage.] [Footnote 2: The name given by Tasman was Staten Landt. The name New Zealand was bestowed in 1643 by the States-General of the United Provinces.] CHAPTER II. RECEPTION BY THE NATIVES. As the arrival of a ship is always a profitable occurrence, great exertions are made to be the first on board. There were several canoes pulling towards us, and from them a number of muskets were fired, a compliment we returned with our swivels; one of the canoes soon came alongside, and an old chief came on board, who rubbed noses with Captain Kent, whom he recognised as an old acquaintance; he then went round and shook hands with all the strangers, after which he squatted himself down upon the deck, seeming very much to enjoy the triumph of being the first on board. But others very soon coming up with us, our decks were crowded with them, some boarding us at the gangway, others climbing up the chains and bows, and finding entrances where they could. All were in perfect good humour, and pleasure beamed in all their countenances. I had heard a great deal respecting the splendid race of men I was going to visit, and the few specimens I had occasionally met with at Sydney so much pleased me, that I was extremely anxious to see a number of them together, to judge whether (as a nation) they were finer in their proportions than the English, or whether it was mere accident that brought some of their tallest and finest proportioned men before me. I examined these savages, as they crowded round our decks, with the critical eye of an artist; they were generally taller and larger men than ourselves; those of middle height were broad-chested and muscular, and their limbs as sinewy as though they had been occupied all their lives in laborious employments. Their colour is lighter than that of the American Indian, their features small and regular, their hair is in a profusion of beautiful curls, whereas that of the Indian is straight and lank. The disposition of the New Zealander appears to be full of fun and gaiety, while the Indian is dull, shy, and suspicious. I have known Indians in America from the north to the south--the miserable, idiotic Botecooda of Brazil, the fierce warrior of Canada, and the gentle and civilised Peruvian, yet in their features and complexions they are all much alike. I observed their statures altered with their different latitudes; the Chilians and the Canadians being nearly the same, in figure tall, thin, and active, their climate being nearly the same, although at the two extremes of America; while those living between the equinoxes are short, fat, and lazy. I am persuaded that these South Sea Islanders, though so nearly of the same complexion, still are not of the same race, laziness being the characteristic of the American Indian from north to south, while the New Zealanders are laborious in the extreme, as their astonishing and minute carvings prove. The moment the Indian tasted intoxicating spirits his valour left him, he became an idiot and a tool in the hands of the white man. Here they have the utmost aversion to every kind of "wine or strong drink," and very often severely take us to task for indulging in such an extraordinary and debasing propensity, or, as they call it, "of making ourselves mad;" but both nations are equally fond of tobacco. The first thing which struck me forcibly was, that each of these savages was armed with a good musket, and most of them had also a cartouch box buckled round their waists, filled with ball cartridges, and those who had fired their pieces from the canoes carefully cleaned the pans, covered the locks over with a piece of dry rag, and put them in a secure place in their canoes. Every person who has read Captain Cook's account of the natives of New Zealand would be astonished at the change which has taken place since his time, when the firing of a single musket would have terrified a whole village. As we sailed up the river very slowly, the throng of savages increased to such a degree that we could scarcely move, and, to add to our confusion, they gave us "a dance of welcome," standing on one spot, and stamping so furiously that I really feared they would have stove in the decks, which our lady passengers were obliged to leave, as when the dance began each man proceeded to strip himself naked, a custom indispensable among themselves. We came to an anchor off a native village called Pakanae, where two chiefs of consequence came on board, who soon cleared our decks of a considerable number. We paid great attention to these chiefs, admitting them into the cabin, etc., and it had the effect of lessening the noise, and bringing about some kind of order amongst those who still continued on deck. The names of these chiefs were Moetara and Akaeigh, and they were the heads of the village opposite to which we had anchored. They were well known to our captain, who spoke their language. They were accustomed to the society of Europeans, also to transact business with them; and as they were flax, timber, and hog merchants, they and the captain talked over the state of the markets during the evening. They were clothed in mats, called Kaka-hoos. The ladies joined our party at supper, and we spent a very cheerful time with our savage visitors, who both behaved in as polite and respectful a manner as the best educated gentlemen could have done; their pleasing manners so ingratiated them into the good opinion of the ladies, that they all declared "they would be really very handsome men if their faces were not tattooed." The next day we received a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Butler, English people, who had taken up their residence here for the purpose of trading, and we returned with them on shore, taking our female passengers with us, and leaving them in charge of Mrs. Butler. I determined to stroll through the village, which is, in fact, a collection of rude huts, huddled together without system or regularity. Dock leaves and weeds of every description were growing luxuriantly all round them, and in many places actually overtopping the houses, few being more than four feet high, with a doorway about two feet. Scarcely any of them were inhabited, as at this season of the year the greater part of the population prefer living in the open air to remaining in their small, smoky ovens of houses. I had not rambled far before I witnessed a scene which forcibly reminded me of the savage country in which I then was, and the great alteration of character and customs a few days' sail will make. The sight to me so appalling was that of the remains of a human body which had been roasted, and a number of hogs and dogs were snarling and feasting upon it! I was more shocked than surprised, for I had been informed of the character of the New Zealanders long before my arrival amongst them; still, the coming suddenly and unexpectedly upon a sight like this completely sickened me of rambling, at least for that day, and I hastened back to Mr. Butler's, eager to inquire into the particulars of the horrid catastrophe. That gentleman informed me that the night of the arrival of our ship, a chief had set one of his kookies (or slaves) to watch a piece of ground planted with the kumara, or sweet potato, in order to prevent the hogs committing depredations upon it. The poor lad, delighted with the appearance of our vessel, was more intent upon observing her come to an anchor than upon guarding his master's property, and suffered the hogs to ramble into the plantation, where they soon made dreadful havoc. In the midst of this trespass and neglect of orders his master arrived. The result was certain; he instantly killed the unfortunate boy with a blow on the head from his stone hatchet, then ordered a fire to be made, and the body to be dragged to it, where it was roasted and consumed. It was now time to return on board, and we walked down to the beach for that purpose, but it was quite low water, and the boat was full two hundred feet off. She lay at the end of a long, slimy, muddy flat, and while we were debating how we should manage to get to her, the native chiefs took up the females in their arms, as though they were children, and, in spite of all their blushes and remonstrances, carried them to the boat and placed them safely in it, each seeming to enjoy the task. They then returned and gave us a passage, walking as easily with us upon their backs as if we had been no heavier than so many muskets. We took care not to shock the feelings of the females by letting them know the tragedy so lately acted in the village, or horrify them by telling them that one of their carriers was the murderer! It would have been difficult to have made them believe that such a noble-looking and good-natured fellow had so lately imbrued his hands in the blood of a fellow creature. We had now been lying here two days, and the curiosity of the people did not diminish, nor were our visitors less numerous. Parties were hourly coming up and down the river to pay their respects to our captain, and the report of there being numerous passengers on board greatly increased their desire to hold intercourse with us. They all appeared anxious to make themselves useful, some chopping wood for our cook, others assisting the steward, in order to get what might be left on the plates, others brought small presents of fish; in fact, all availed themselves of any excuse to get on board; yet, notwithstanding the crowd, and the confusion attending their movements, there was scarcely any thieving amongst them. They have seen the detestation that theft is held in by Europeans, and the injury it does to trade, and have, in consequence, nearly left it off. None but the meanest slaves will now practise it, and they do so at the risk of their lives; for, if caught in the act, and the charge is proved against them, their heads are cut off! CHAPTER III. A RAMBLE ASHORE. On November 3rd we visited Pakanae, a village lying round the base of a large conical hill, about three hundred feet high, with a fortification on the top, which gives it its name, pa signifying in their language a fortified place. Behind it lies a swamp, which is covered at high water, and which adds greatly to its security; for the unsettled and war-like spirit of the natives renders it absolutely necessary that they always should have a place of strength near at hand to retreat to, as they never know how suddenly their enemies may make an attack upon them. To the right of this swamp is a beautiful valley, in a very high state of cultivation. At the time I stood viewing it from the summit of the hill, I was charmed with the scene of industry and bustle it presented, all the inhabitants of the village having gone forth to plant their potatoes, kumaras, and Indian corn. In the rear, and forming a fine, bold background, is an immense chain of high and rugged hills, covered to their summits with thick forests, and forming, as it were, a natural barrier and protection to this smiling and fruitful valley, while from their wooded sides issue innumerable small streams of clear water, which, meeting at the base, form beautiful rivulets, and after meandering through the valley, and serving all the purposes of irrigation, they empty themselves into the Hokianga river. Standing on the spot from which I have described the above prospect, I felt fully convinced of the frugality and industry of these savages. The regularity of their plantations, and the order with which they carry on their various works, differ greatly from most of their brethren in the South Seas, as here the chiefs and their families set the example of labour; and when that is the case, none can refuse to toil. Round the village of Pakanae, at one glance is to be seen above 200 acres of cultivated land, and that not slightly turned up, but well worked and cleared; and when the badness of their tools is considered, together with their limited knowledge of agriculture, their persevering industry I look upon as truly astonishing. The New Zealanders have established here a wise custom, which prevents a great deal of waste and confusion, and generally preserves to the planter a good crop, in return for the trouble of sowing; namely, as soon as the ground is finished, and the seed sown, it is _tabooed,_ that, is rendered sacred, by men appointed for that service, and it is death to trample over or disturb any part of this consecrated ground. The wisdom and utility of this regulation must be obvious to every one. But, however useful this taboo system is to the natives, it is a great inconvenience to a stranger who is rambling over the country, for if he does not use the greatest caution, and procure a guide, he may get himself into a serious dilemma before his rambles be over, which had nearly been the case with our party this day. We were ascending a hill, for the purpose of inspecting a New Zealand fortification on the summit, when a little boy joined our party, either out of curiosity, or in hopes of getting a fish-hook from us--a thing the natives are continually asking for; but as we had a man with us who spoke the language fluently, we did not much regard the boy's guidance, though to us it speedily became of great importance. We were taking a short cut, to make a quick ascent to the top of the hill, when the little fellow uttered a cry of horror. Our interpreter asked him what he meant, when he pointed his finger forward, and told him to look, for the ground was tabooed. We did as he desired us, but beheld nothing particular, till he showed us, in one of the trees, among the branches, a large bunch of something, but we could not make out what it was. This, he told us, was the body of a chief, then undergoing the process of decomposition, previous to interment, which process is witnessed by men appointed for that purpose, who alone are permitted to approach the spot. The ground all round is tabooed, so that, had it not been for the interference of our young guide, we should certainly have been placed in a most distressing situation; and it is a question if our ignorance of their customs would have been considered a sufficient excuse for our offence. The top of this hill was level and square, and was capable of containing several hundred warriors. It was cut into slopes all round, and fortified by stockades in every direction, which rendered it impregnable. The natives assured me its strength had been often tried. The famous warrior Hongi had attacked it several times, but had always been defeated with great loss. After inspecting this fortification, which excited our admiration, we proceeded through the village at the bottom of the hill. Nearly the whole of the inhabitants were out working in the fields. We entered several of their habitations, and found all their property exposed and unguarded. Even their muskets and powder, which they prize above everything, were open to our inspection, so little idea of robbery have they amongst themselves. But as there are many hogs and dogs roaming at large through their villages, they are very careful to fence their dwellings round with wicker work, to preserve them from the depredations of these animals; and as the houses are extremely low, they have very much the appearance of bird cages or rabbit hutches. Their storehouses are generally placed upon poles, a few feet from the ground, and tabooed or consecrated. Great taste and ingenuity are displayed in carving and ornamenting these depositories. I made drawings from several of them, which were entirely covered with carving; and some good attempts at groups of figures, as large as life, plainly showed the dawning of the art of sculpture amongst them. Many of the attempts of the New Zealanders in that art are quite as good, if not better, than various specimens I have seen of the first efforts of the early Egyptians. Painting and sculpture are both arts greatly admired by these rude people. Every house of consequence is ornamented and embellished, and their canoes have the most minute and elaborate workmanship bestowed upon them. Their food is always eaten out of little baskets, rudely woven of green flax; and as they generally leave some for their next meal, they hang these baskets on sticks or props, till they are ready to eat again. Thus a village presents a very singular appearance, as it is stuck full of sticks, with various kinds of baskets hanging from them. This plan, however, is the most rational that could be adopted, as none of their eatables can be left on the ground, or they would become the prey of the hogs and dogs. In the course of our long ramble we noticed many pretty little huts, some having neat gardens all round them, planted with fruits and corn. One house which we saw was built by a chief who had made several voyages to Port Jackson, and it was really a very comfortable dwelling. It had a high door, which we could enter without stooping, and in a separate room was constructed a bed, after the pattern of one on ship-board. He had likewise a large sea-chest in his house, the key of which (highly polished) was hung round his neck as an ornament. In the course of our walk we came to a spot on which a group of old people were sitting sunning themselves, and they immediately all rose to welcome us. I remarked one amongst them who seemed, from his silvery locks and feeble limbs, to be very old. I asked him, among other questions, whether he remembered Captain Cook. He said he did not, but well recollected Captain Furneaux, and was one of the party which cut off and massacred his boat's crew; and from other information which I received I believe his assertion to have been correct.[3] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 3: Captain Furneaux's account of this massacre is printed in the Appendix.] CHAPTER IV. THE HOKIANGA RIVER EIGHTY YEARS AGO. As our missionary passengers had by this time fixed upon the spot where they intended to establish their settlement, and it being several miles up the river, we got under weigh to proceed thither. The captain's agreement being to that effect, we proceeded with the first fair wind, about twenty miles up the stream, which was as far as we could with safety take the vessel. The shores on each side this noble river are composed of hills gradually rising behind each other, most of them covered with woods to the water's edge. Not a vestige of a habitation is to be seen, and if it had not been for the occasional sight of a canoe, we might have imagined the country to be totally uninhabited. Opposite a small island, or, rather, sand-bank, the vessel grounded, and had to remain there till the next tide floated her off. It was a curious and interesting spot, being a native pa and depot, and was entirely covered with storehouses for provisions and ammunition. The centre was so contrived that all assailants might be cut off before they could effect a landing; and we were all much gratified by the judgment and forethought displayed in this little military work. The next morning we got off, but could not proceed far, as the shoals were becoming so numerous as to render the navigation dangerous. But here we beheld, with both surprise and satisfaction, a most unexpected sight, namely, a snug little colony of our own countrymen, comfortably settled and usefully employed in this savage and unexplored country. Some enterprising merchants of Port Jackson have established here a dockyard and a number of sawpits. Several vessels have been laden with timber and spars; one vessel has been built, launched, and sent to sea from this spot; and another of a hundred and fifty tons burthen was then upon the stocks! On landing at this establishment at Te Horeke, or, as the Englishmen have called it, "Deptford," I was greatly delighted with the appearance of order, bustle, and industry it presented. Here were storehouses, dwelling-houses, and various offices for the mechanics; and every department seemed as well filled as it could have been in a civilised country. To me the most interesting circumstance was to notice the great delight of the natives, and the pleasure they seemed to take in observing the progress of the various works. All were officious to "lend a hand," and each seemed eager to be employed. This feeling corresponds with my idea of the best method of civilising a savage. Nothing can more completely show the importance of the useful arts than a dockyard. In it are practised nearly all the mechanical trades; and these present to the busy enquiring mind of a New Zealander a practical encyclopaedia of knowledge. When he sees the combined exertions of the smith and carpenter create so huge a fabric as a ship, his mind is filled with wonder and delight; and when he witnesses the moulding of iron at the anvil, it excites his astonishment and emulation. The people of the dockyard informed me that, although it was constantly crowded with natives, scarcely anything had ever been stolen, and all the chiefs in the neighbourhood took so great an interest in the work that any annoyance offered to those employed would immediately be revenged as a personal affront. CHAPTER V. JOURNEY OVERLAND TO BAY OF ISLANDS. Here we left the brig to unload her cargo; my friend Shand and myself having determined to proceed overland to the Bay of Islands. An intelligent chief, hearing of our intention, offered to accompany us himself, and lent us two of his kookies to carry our baggage. We accepted the chieftain's offer, and several other natives joined the party to bear us company. November 7.--We all embarked in a canoe, in order to reach the head of the river before we began our pedestrian tour; and, after paddling about eight or nine miles further up, where the river became exceedingly narrow, we came to another English settlement. This consisted of a party of men who had come out in the Rosanna, the vessel employed by the New Zealand Company. When all ideas of settling were totally abandoned by the officers sent out for that purpose, these men chose rather to remain by themselves than to return home; and we found them busily employed in cutting timber, sawing planks, and making oars for the Sydney market. How far they may prove successful, time only can develop; but as these enterprising men had only their own industry to assist them, it could not be expected that their establishment could bear a comparison with the one at Te Horeke, which is supported by several of the most wealthy merchants of New South Wales. As the river became narrower, the habitations of the natives were more numerous. The chief of this district (whose name is Patuone) has a splendid village very near the carpenters' establishment we have just described. He had taken these industrious men under his especial protection, and seemed very proud of having a settlement of that kind in his territories, as it gave him power and consequence among all the neighbouring chiefs, from the trade he carried on by means of their exertions. Patuone had likewise induced the Wesleyan missionaries to settle upon his land, about a mile below; so that the head of this river assumed quite the appearance of a civilised colony. Our party now disembarked. We landed in a dense forest, which reached to the water's edge; and our guides and slaves began to divide the loads each was to carry on his back. Several joined us from the two English stations on the river, and we then amounted to a very large party; all in high spirits, and anxious to proceed on our journey. When our natives had distributed the luggage, they loaded themselves, which they did with both skill and quickness; for a New Zealander is never at a loss for cords or ropes. Their plan is to gather a few handfuls of flax, which they soon twist into a very good substitute: with this material they formed slings, with which they dexterously fastened our moveables on their backs, and set off at a good trot, calling out to us to follow them. CHAPTER VI. MEETING WITH THE CHIEF PATUONE. We travelled through a wood so thick that the light of heaven could not penetrate the trees that composed it. They were so large and so close together that in many places we had some difficulty to squeeze ourselves through them. To add to our perplexities, innumerable streams intersected this forest, which always brought us Europeans to a complete standstill. The only bridges which the natives ever think of making are formed by cutting down a tree, and letting it fall across; and over these our bare-legged attendants, loaded as they were, scrambled with all the agility of cats or monkeys; but it was not so with us: for several times they seated one of us on the top of their load, and carried him over. The chief, who accompanied us, made it his particular business to see me safe through every difficulty, and many times he carried me himself over such places as I dared scarcely venture to look down upon. In the midst of this wood we met the chief of this district, Patuone, who, together with all his family, were employed in planting a small, cleared patch of land. He appeared highly delighted at beholding strangers; and all his wives came from their occupations to welcome us. He told us that, a very few miles farther on, we should come to a village belonging to him, where his eldest son was residing, and that we must there pass the night. [Illustration: Patuone, a Notable Hokianga Chief.] We thanked him for the invitation, rubbed noses with him (their token of friendship), and parted. Soon after parting with Patuone, we fell in with a most beautiful bull, cow, and calf. I was amazed at seeing such fine animals in this country; but my companions soon cleared up the mystery by informing me that they were gifts from the missionaries, who had orders from Home to distribute these useful animals amongst such chiefs as they thought would take care of them: a wise and beneficial measure. These animals were tabooed, consequently they could ramble wherever they found food most to their liking. About dusk we arrived at the village Patuone had described to us. We were most happy to see it, as we were heartily tired, and dripping wet from a recent and heavy shower. CHAPTER VII. A MAORI VILLAGE. The village was situated on the side of a small, picturesque stream, one of the branches of the Hokianga, but continued droughts had at this time reduced it to a trifling brook. From its lofty banks, and the large trees lying athwart it, we conjectured that during heavy rains it must be a mighty flood. A long straggling collection of huts composed the village: a great deal of land in its vicinity was cleared and planted, which doubtless was the ostensible object of Patuone's people being here. As the village lay upon the opposite shore from that on which we arrived, we sat some time under the shelter of a large tree, to contemplate its appearance, and to give time to arrange our party for passing the stream, and also for my making a sketch. The red glare of the setting sun, just touching the top of every object, beautifully illuminated the landscape; and its rays bursting through the black woods in the background, gave the woods an appearance of being on fire; while a beautiful rainbow, thrown across the sky, tinged the scene with a fairy-land effect. As soon as they perceived us from the opposite shore, a loud shout of welcome was raised, and all the inhabitants came out to meet us. They carried us over the stream, conducted us to their huts, and then sat down to gaze at and admire us. As we were very hungry after our fatiguing walk, we soon unpacked our baggage, and in so doing made an unavoidable display of many valuable and glittering objects, which roused the attention of our savage spectators, and caused them, on the unfolding of every fresh object, to make loud and long exclamations of wonder and amazement. As I was then "a stranger in their land," and unaccustomed to their peculiarities, I felt a little alarmed at their shouts; but, on a longer acquaintance with them, I found my fears had been groundless. Here we saw the son of Patuone, accompanied by thirty or forty young savages, sitting or lying all round us. All were exceedingly handsome, notwithstanding the wildness of their appearance and the ferocity of their looks. Let the reader picture to himself this savage group, handling everything they saw, each one armed with a musket, loaded with ball, a cartouch-box buckled round his waist, and a stone patoo-patoo, or hatchet, in his hand, while human bones were hung round each neck by way of ornament; let the scene and situation be taken into consideration, and he will acknowledge it was calculated to make the young traveller wish himself safe at home; but, when I suspected, I wronged them; for after admiring everything we had brought with us (more especially our fowling-pieces, which were very beautiful ones), they begged a little tobacco, then retired to a distance from the hut which had been prepared for our reception, and left us to take our supper uninterrupted; after which they placed all our baggage in the hut, that we might be assured of its safety. It proved a rainy, miserable night; and we were a large party, crowded into a small, smoky hut, with a fire lighted in the middle; as, after our supper, the natives, in order to have as much of our company as possible, crowded it till it was literally crammed. However annoying this might be, still I was recompensed by the novelty and picturesque appearance of the scene. Salvator Rosa could not have conceived a finer study of the horrible. A dozen men, of the largest and most athletic forms, their cakahoos (or mat-dresses) laid aside, and their huge limbs exposed to the red glare of the fire; their faces rendered hideous by being tattooed all over, showing by the firelight quite a bright blue; their eyes, which are remarkable for their fierce expression, all fixed upon us, but with a look of good temper, co-mingled with intense curiosity. All my fears had by this time subsided, and, being master of myself, I had leisure to study and enjoy the scene; we smoked a social pipe with them (for they are all immoderately fond of tobacco), and I then stretched myself down to sleep amidst all their chattering and smoke. But all my attempts at slumber were fruitless. I underwent a simultaneous attack of vermin of all descriptions; fleas, mosquitoes, and sand-flies, which, beside their depredations on my person, made such a buzzing noise, that even the chattering of the natives could not drown it, or the smoke from the fire or pipes drive them away. CHAPTER VIII. TOILSOME JOURNEY THROUGH THE FOREST. Next morning, at daybreak, we took leave of our hosts, and proceeded on our journey; we had eight miles more of this thick forest to scramble through, and this part we found considerably worse than that we had traversed yesterday. The roots of trees covered the path in all directions, rendering it necessary to watch every step we took, in order to prevent being thrown down; the supple-jacks, suspended and twining from tree to tree, making in many places a complete net-work; and while we were toiling with the greatest difficulty through this miserable road, our natives were jogging on as comfortably as possible: use had so completely accustomed them to it, that they sprung over the roots, and dived under the supple-jacks and branches, with perfect ease, while we were panting after them in vain. The whole way was mountainous. The climbing up, and then descending, was truly frightful; not a gleam of sky was to be seen, all was a mass of gigantic trees, straight and lofty, their wide spreading branches mingling overhead, and producing throughout the forest an endless darkness and unbroken gloom. After three or four hours of laborious struggling, we emerged from the wood, and found ourselves upon an extensive plain, which, as far as the eye could reach, appeared covered with fern. A small path lay before us, and this was our road. The New Zealanders always travel on foot, one after the other, or in Indian file. Their pathways are not more than a foot wide, which to a European is most painful; but as the natives invariably walk with the feet turned in, or pigeon-toed, they feel no inconvenience from the narrowness. When a traveller is once on the path, it is impossible for him to go astray. No other animal, except man, ever traverses this country, and _his_ track cannot be mistaken, since none ever deviate from the beaten footpath, which was in consequence, in some places (where the soil was light), worn so deep as to resemble a gutter more than a road. We proceeded for many miles in this unsocial manner; unsocial, for it precludes all conversation. Our natives occasionally gave us a song, or, rather, dirge, in which they all joined chorus. Having at length attained the summit of a hill, we beheld the Bay of Islands, stretching out in the distance; and at sunset we arrived at the Kerikeri river, where there is a Church-missionary settlement. [Illustration: Mission Station, Kerikeri.] CHAPTER IX. THE MISSIONARY SETTLEMENT AT KERIKERI. We had travelled all day through a country in which every object we saw was of a character that reminded us forcibly of the savage community we were with. Occasionally we met groups of naked men, trotting along under immense loads, and screaming their barbarous songs of recognition; sometimes we beheld an uncouthly carved figure, daubed over with red ochre, and fixed in the ground, to give notice that one side of the road was tabooed. An extraordinary contrast was now presented to our view, for we came suddenly in front of a complete little English village. Wreaths of white smoke were rising from the chimneys, of neat weather-boarded houses. The glazed windows reflected the brilliant glow from the rays of the setting sun, while herds of fat cattle were winding down the hills, lowing as they leisurely bent their steps toward the farm-yard. It is impossible for me to describe what I felt on contemplating a scene so similar to those I had left behind me. According to the custom of this country, we fired our muskets, to warn the inhabitants of the settlement of our approach. We arranged our dresses in the best order we could, and proceeded towards the village. As the report of our guns had been heard, groups of nondescripts came running out to meet us. I could scarcely tell to what order of beings they belonged; but on their near approach, I found them to be the New Zealand youths, who were settled with the missionaries. They were habited in the most uncouth dresses imaginable. These pious men, certainly, have no taste for the picturesque; they had obscured the finest human forms under a seaman's huge clothing. Boys not more than fifteen wore jackets reaching to their knees, and buttoned up to the throat with great black horn buttons, a coarse checked shirt, the collar of which spread half-way over their face, their luxuriant, beautiful hair was cut close off, and each head was crammed into a close Scotch bonnet! These half-converted, or, rather, half-_covered_, youths, after rubbing noses, and chattering with our guides, conducted us to the dwellings of their masters. As I had a letter of introduction from one of their own body, I felt not the slightest doubt of a kind reception; so we proceeded with confidence. We were ushered into a house, all cleanliness and comfort, all order, silence, and unsociability. After presenting my letter to a grave-looking personage, it had to undergo a private inspection in an adjoining room, and the result was an invitation "to stay and take a cup of tea!" All that an abundant farm and excellent grocer in England could supply were soon before us. Each person of the mission, as he appeared during our repast, was called aside, and I could hear my own letter read and discussed by them. I could not help thinking (within myself) whether this was a way to receive a countryman at the Antipodes! No smile beamed upon their countenance; there were no inquiries after news; in short, there was no touch of human sympathy, such as we "of the world" feel at receiving an Englishman under our roof in such a savage country as this! The chubby children who peeped at us from all corners, and the very hearty appearance of their parents, plainly evidenced that theirs was an excellent and thriving trade. We had a cold invitation to stay all night; but this the number of our party entirely precluded; so they lent us their boat to convey us to the Bay of Islands, a distance of about twenty-five miles. As the night proved dark and stormy, and as our boat was crowded with natives, our passage down the Kerikeri river became both disagreeable and dangerous. The river being filled with rocks, some under, and others just above the water, we were obliged to keep a good look-out. After experiencing many alarms, we arrived safely at Kororareka beach about midnight, where an Englishman of the name of Johnstone gave us a shelter in his hut. CHAPTER X. THE BAY OF ISLANDS. In the morning we beheld two vessels at anchor in the harbour. The Indian, whaler, of London, and the East India Company's ship Research; which latter ship had been cruising in search of the wreck of the vessels under the command of La Perouse, and had completely elucidated the circumstances relating to that event. The Bay of Islands is surrounded by lofty and picturesque hills, and is secured from all winds. It is full of lovely coves, and a safe anchorage is to be found nearly all over it; added to this, a number of navigable rivers are for ever emptying themselves into the Bay, which is spotted with innumerable romantic islands all covered with perpetual verdure. It is with peculiar interest that we look upon the spot where the illustrious Cook cast anchor after his discovery of this Bay. Some unhappy quarrels with the natives occasioned much blood to be shed on both sides, and for a long time caused this island to be looked upon with horror, and avoided by all Europeans. It was the courage and enterprise of the crews of our South Sea Whalers who exhibited these interesting islanders in their true character, and proved to the world that it was quite as safe to anchor in the Bay of Islands as in the harbour of Port Jackson. CHAPTER XI. THE MASSACRE OF THE "BOYD." Since the time of Cook, and other circumnavigators of that period, the character of these people has undergone a thorough change. Then it was necessary when a ship anchored, that the boarding nettings should be up, and all the arms ready for immediate use. The principal object the chiefs had in view seemed to be to lull the commanders into a fatal security, then to rush upon them, seize their vessel, and murder all the crew! Too often had they succeeded, and as often have they paid most dearly for their treachery and cruelty. In the case of the ship Boyd, though they attained their object, they were as completely punished for their perfidy. From their ignorance of the nature of powder, and the use of a magazine, they blew up the ship, and vast numbers of the natives were destroyed. Besides this calamity, they brought down upon themselves the vengeance of every vessel that visited these shores for a long period afterwards. As the circumstances may not be generally known, Mr. Berry's letter, relating the particulars of that melancholy, yet interesting event, is here inserted:-- "Ship, City of Edinburgh, "Lima, Oct. 20, 1810. Sir,-- I am very sorry to have the painful task of introducing myself to you, with an account of the loss of your ship Boyd, Captain Thompson. Towards the end of last year I was employed in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, in procuring a cargo of spars for the Cape of Good Hope. About the middle of December the natives brought me an account of a ship's being taken at Whangaroa, a harbour about fifty miles to the N.W. At first we were disposed to doubt the truth of this report, but it every day became more probable, from the variety of circumstances they informed us of; and which were so connected as appeared impossible for them to invent. Accordingly, about the end of the month, when we had finished our cargo, although it was a business of some danger, I determined to go round. "I set out with three armed boats: we experienced very bad weather, and after a narrow escape were glad to return to the ship. As we arrived in a most miserable condition, I had then relinquished all idea of the enterprise; but having recruited my strength and spirits, I was shocked at the idea of leaving any of my countrymen in the hands of savages, and determined to make a second attempt. We had this time better weather, and reached the harbour without any difficulty. Whangaroa is formed as follows:--First, a large outer bay, with an island at its entrance; in the bottom of this bay is seen a narrow opening, which appears terminated at the distance of a quarter of a mile; but, upon entering it, it is seen to expand into two large basins, at least as secure as any of the docks on the banks of the Thames, and capable of containing (I think) the whole British navy. We found the wreck of the Boyd in shoal water, at the top of the harbour, a most melancholy picture of wanton mischief. The natives had cut her cables, and towed her up the harbour till she had grounded, and then set her on fire, and burnt her to the water's edge. In her hold were seen the remains of her cargo--coals, salted seal skins, and planks. Her guns, iron, standards, etc., were lying on the top, having fallen in when her decks were consumed. "The cargo must have been very valuable; but it appears that the captain, anxious to make a better voyage, had come to that port for the purpose of filling up with spars for the Cape of Good Hope. "Not to tire you with the minutia of the business, I recovered from the natives a woman, two children, and a boy of the name of Davies, one of your apprentices, who were the only survivors. I found also the accompanying papers, which, I hope, may prove of service to you. I did all this by gentle measures, and you will admit that bloodshed and revenge would have answered no good purpose. The ship was taken the third morning after her arrival. The captain had been rather too hasty in resenting some slight theft. Early in the morning the ship was surrounded by a great number of canoes, and many natives gradually insinuated themselves on board. Tippahee, a chief of the Bay of Islands, and who had been twice at Port Jackson, also arrived; he went into the cabin, and, after paying his respects to the captain, begged a little bread for his men; but the captain received him rather slightingly, and desired him to go away, and not trouble him, as he was busy. "The proud old savage (who had been a constant guest at the Governor's table at Port Jackson) was highly offended at this treatment, immediately left the cabin, and, after stamping a few minutes on the deck, went into his canoe. After breakfast the captain went on shore with four hands, and no other arms but his fowling-piece. From the account of the savages, as soon as he landed they rushed upon him; he had only time to fire his piece, and it killed a child. As soon as the captain left the ship, Tippahee (who remained alongside in his canoe) came again on board. A number of sailors were repairing sails upon the quarter deck, and the remainder were carelessly dispersed about, and fifty of the natives were sitting on the deck. In a moment they all started up, and each knocked his man on the head: a few ran wounded below, and four or five escaped up the rigging, and in a few seconds the savages had complete possession of the ship. The boy Davies escaped into the hold, where he lay concealed for several days, till they were fairly glutted with human blood, when they spared his life. The woman says she was discovered by an old savage, and that she moved him by her tears and embraces; that he (being a subordinate chief) carried her to Tippahee, who allowed him to spare her life. She says, that at this time the deck was covered with human bodies, which they were employed in cutting up; after which they exhibited a most horrid dance and song in honour of their victory, and concluded by a hymn of gratitude to their god. "Tippahee now took the speaking trumpet, and hailing the poor wretches at the mast-head, told them that he was now captain, and that they must in future obey his commands. He then ordered them to unbend the sails, they readily complied; but when he ordered them to come down they hesitated, but he enforced prompt obedience by threatening to cut away the masts. When they came down he received them with much civility, and told them he would take care of them; he immediately ordered them into a canoe, and sent them on shore. A few minutes after this the woman went on shore with her deliverer. The first object that struck her view was the dead bodies of these men, lying naked on the beach. As soon as she landed a number of men started up, and marched towards her with their patoo-patoos. A number of women ran screaming betwixt them, covered her with their clothes, and by tears and entreaties saved her life. "The horrid feasting on human flesh which followed would be too shocking for description. The second mate begged his life at the time of the general massacre; they spared him for a fortnight, and then killed and eat him. I think if the captain had received Tippahee with a little more civility, that he would have informed him of his danger, and saved the ship; but that from being treated in the manner I have mentioned, he entered into the plot along with the others. "I assure you it has been a most unpleasant thing for me to write about, and I could only have been induced to do it from a sense of duty, and a desire to give you all the information in my power, which I suppose may be of some use. "I am, Sir, "Your obedient humble servant, "ALEXANDER BERRY." Considering Mr. Berry's limited acquaintance with these islanders, and the horror of the scene before him, his is a good and an impartial account; but facts which have been obtained subsequently have exonerated the natives to a certain extent. By repeated conversations I have held with several chiefs who were engaged in this dreadful affair, and from information I procured at Sydney, I have no doubt but that the Captain himself was the most in fault. [Illustration: Whangaroa, Scene of the "Boyd" Massacre.] He was commissioned by the Government of New South Wales to land a native chief named Philip at New Zealand, whom he subjected to a cruel and impolitic punishment. This man, smarting from his stripes, and burning with a desire to revenge his dishonourable treatment, excited all his friends to the commission of that bloody massacre. CHAPTER XII. THE FIRST SETTLEMENT AT KORORAREKA. The tragic fate of the Boyd's crew is now fast sinking into oblivion; and, like the islanders of Hawaii, after the murder of Cook, they seem to wish to obliterate the remembrance of their disgraceful conduct by a kind and friendly intercourse with our nation. The severe chastisement which they have always received from us after a treacherous action, has proved to them how little they gain by so debasing a line of conduct; and as they are most anxious to possess many of our productions, they seem to have come to a resolution to abandon their former system; which, if they may not be sensible of the injustice of, they see is destructive to their own interests; and now every chief is as solicitous for the safety of a European vessel as he would have been formerly for its destruction. They have not only lost a portion of their ferocity, but also much of their native simplicity of character, which, in all parts of the world, is so highly interesting a study for the traveller. Their constant intercourse with whalers, who are generally low, unpolished men, leaves behind it a tinge of vulgarity, of which the native women retain the largest portion. In many instances, they quite spoil their good looks, by half adopting the European costume. Those who are living in the retirement of their own villages have a natural ease and elegance of manner, which they soon lose after their introduction to our rough sailors. I have seen a party of very handsome girls, just landing from one of the whalers, their beautiful forms hid under old greasy red or checked shirts, generally put on with the hind parts before. In some cases the sailors, knowing their taste for finery, bring out with them, from London, old tawdry gowns, and fierce coloured ribands. And thus equipped, they come on shore the most grotesque objects imaginable, each highly delighted with her gaudy habiliments. Kororareka beach, where we took up our residence, seemed the general place of rendezvous for all Europeans whom chance might bring into this bay. At this time there were two large vessels lying at anchor within a quarter of a mile of the shore, and I was informed there were sometimes as many as twelve or thirteen. The spot is a most delightful one, being about three-quarters of a mile in extent, sheltered by two picturesque promontories, and possessing a fine circular, firm, sandy beach, on which there is seldom much surf, so that boats can at all times land and haul up. Scattered amongst the rushes and small bushes is seen a New Zealand village, which at first landing is scarcely perceptible, the huts being so low. Some of them are of English design, though of native workmanship. These are generally the dwellings of some Europeans, who are of so doubtful a character that it would be difficult to guess to what order of society they belonged previous to their being transplanted amongst these savages. I found a respectable body of Scotch mechanics settled here, who came out in the New Zealand Company's ship Rosanna, and who determined to remain at Kororareka. Their persevering industry as yet has been crowned with success, and they seem well pleased with the prospects before them. Here, these hardy sons of Britain are employed in both carrying on and instructing the wondering savage in various branches of useful art. Here the smith has erected his forge, and his sooty mansion is crowded by curious natives, who voluntarily perform the hardest and most dirty work, and consider themselves fully recompensed by a sight of his mysterious labours, every portion of which fills them with astonishment. Here is heard daily the sound of the sawpit, while piles of neat white planks appear arranged on the beach. These laborious and useful Scotchmen interfere with no one, and pursue successfully their industrious career, without either requiring or receiving any assistance from Home. But there is another class of Europeans here, who are both useless and dangerous, and these lower the character of the white people in the estimation of the natives. These men are called "Beach Rangers," most of whom have deserted from, or have been turned out of whalers for crimes, for which, had they been taken Home and tried, they would have been hanged; some few among them, having been too lazy to finish the voyage they had begun, had deserted from their ships, and were then leading a mean and miserable life amongst the natives. There is still a third class of our countrymen to be met with here, whose downcast and sneaking looks proclaim them to be runaway convicts from New South Wales. These unhappy men are treated with derision and contempt by all classes; and the New Zealanders, being perfectly aware of their state of degradation, refuse all intercourse with them. They are idle, unprincipled, and vicious in the extreme, and are much feared in the Bay of Islands; for when by any means they obtain liquor, they prove themselves most dangerous neighbours. My friend Shand and myself were most comfortably situated. An intimate friend of mine (Captain Duke, of the whaler The Sisters) had, in consequence of ill-health, taken up his residence on shore while his vessel completed her cruise. In his hut we found comfort and safety; and from his information and advice we were enabled to avoid the advances of all whom his experience had taught him were to be shunned. On terms of the closest intimacy, and with his hut adjoining that of my friend Captain Duke, lived Shulitea[4] (or King George, as he styled himself), a chief of great power, who controlled the whole of the district where we were. We all felt grateful to him for his manifestations of friendship, and at the same time were conscious of enjoying a greater degree of security by his proximity. He was the first chief who offered protection to "the white people," and he has never been known to have broken his engagement. An unexpected and remarkable instance of his adherence to their interests, in spite of temptation, took place a few years since, which I deem worthy of relation here. The ship Brompton, in endeavouring to work out of the bay, by some accident got on shore, and finally became a complete wreck. This fine vessel, with a valuable cargo on board, lay helpless on the beach, and the crew and passengers expected nothing less than plunder and destruction. The natives from the interior, hearing of the circumstance, hastened down in vast numbers to participate in the general pillage. But King George summoned all his warriors to his aid, and with this party placed himself between the wreck and those who came to plunder it. I was informed by several who were present at the time, that, after declaring that "not an article should be taken till himself and all his party were destroyed," he advanced, and thus explained his reasons for protecting the strangers and their property:-- "You" (said King George) "come from the interior; all of you think only of what you can get, without considering the consequences, which, indeed, are of little import to you, living, as you do, out of reach of the reproaches and vengeance of the white men. But look how differently I am situated. I live on the beach; this Bay is my residence; I invite the white men to come and trade here under the promise of my protection; they come; several years of profitable trading have passed between us. King George, they say, is a good man; now an accident has befallen one of their ships in my territory, what must King George do? Why, he _must_ assist them; which he _will_ do, and defend them against everyone who shall attempt to injure them." In consequence of this speech, and his exertions, not a thing was taken from the wreck by the savages who had collected for that purpose. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 4: The chief referred to by Mr. Earle as Shulitea, or King George, was a noted Bay of Islands chief named Whareumu. He was killed in a fight with the Hokianga tribes, in March, 1828. (See appendix.)] CHAPTER XIII. MAORI NON-PROGRESSIVENESS. This anecdote proves that King George and his people possessed feelings of honour and generosity, which, if properly cultivated, might lead to the most happy results. From the length of time these people have been known to the Europeans, it might naturally be expected that great changes would have taken place in their habits, manners, arts, and manufactures; but this is not the case. Their huts are of the same diminutive proportions as described by Captain Cook; their clothing and mats, their canoes and paddles, are precisely the same as when that navigator described them. When they can obtain English tools, they use them in preference to their own; still their work is not better done. The only material change that has taken place is in their mode of warfare. The moment the New Zealanders became acquainted with the nature of firearms, their minds were directed but to one point, namely, to become possessed of them. After many ingenious and treacherous attempts to obtain these oft-coveted treasures, and which, for the most part, ended in their defeat, they had recourse to industry, and determined to create commodities which they might fairly barter for these envied muskets. Potatoes were planted, hogs were reared, and flax prepared, not for their own use or comfort, but to exchange with the Europeans for firearms. Their plans succeeded; and they have now fairly possessed themselves of those weapons, which at first made us so formidable in their eyes; and as they are in constant want of fresh supplies of ammunition, I feel convinced it will always be their wish to be on friendly terms with us, for the purpose of procuring these desirable stores. I have not heard of a single instance in which they have turned these arms against us, though they are often grossly insulted. In their combats with each other, firearms are used with dreadful effect. The whole soul of a New Zealander seems absorbed in the thoughts of war; every action of his life is influenced by it; and to possess weapons which give him such a decided superiority over those who have only their native implements of offence, he will sacrifice everything. The value attached by them to muskets, and their ceaseless desire to possess them, will prove a sufficient security to foreigners who enter their harbours, or remain on their coasts; as I know, from experience, that the New Zealanders will rather put up with injuries than run the risk of offending those who manufacture and barter with them such inestimable commodities. CHAPTER XIV. A MISSION SETTLEMENT. A few days after my arrival in the Bay, I crossed to the opposite side, to visit the Church missionary settlement, and to deliver a letter of introduction I had to one of the members. Here, on a beautiful bank, with a delightful beach in front, and the entrance of the bay open to them, the clear and blue expanse of water speckled over with fertile islands, reside these comfortable teachers of the Gospel. The name they have given this spot is "Marsden Vale." They very soon gave us to understand they did not wish for our acquaintance, and their coldness and inhospitality (I must acknowledge) created in my mind a thorough dislike to them. The object of the mission, as it was first planned, might have been attained, and might have proved highly beneficial to the New Zealanders; but as it is now conducted, no good result can be expected from it. Any man of common sense must agree with me, that a savage can receive but little benefit from having the abstruse points of the Gospel preached to him, if his mind is not prepared to receive them. This is the plan adopted here; and nothing will convince these enthusiasts that it is wrong, or induce them to change it for one more agreeable to the dictates of reason. Upon inquiring who and what these men were, I found that the greater part of them were hardy mechanics (not well-educated clergymen), whom the benevolent and well-intentioned people of England had sent out in order to teach the natives the importance of _different trades_--a most judicious arrangement, and which ought to be the foundation of all missions. What could be a more gratifying sight than groups of these athletic savages, toiling at the anvil or the saw; erecting for themselves substantial dwellings; thus leading them by degrees to know and to appreciate the comforts resulting from peaceful, laborious, and useful occupations? Then, while they felt sincere gratitude for services rendered them, at their leisure hours, and on certain days, _these_ missionaries should attempt to expound to them, in as simple a manner as possible, the nature of revealed religion! In New Zealand, the "mechanic" missionary only carries on his trade till he has every comfort around him--his house finished, his garden fenced, and a strong stockade enclosing all, to keep off the "pagan" savages. This done, then commences the easy task of preaching. They collect a few ragged urchins of natives, whom they teach to read and write their own language--the English tongue being forbidden; and when these children return to their families, they are despised by them, as being effeminate and useless. I once saw a sturdy blacksmith in the prime of life, sitting in the midst of a group of savages, attempting to expound to them the mysteries of our holy redemption--perplexing his own brains, as well as those of his auditors, with the most incomprehensible and absurd opinions. How much better would he have been employed in teaching them how to weld a piece of iron, or to make a nail! What causes much disapprobation here, is the contemptuous manner in which they treat their own countrymen, as they receive most of them on the outside of their stockade fence. On our return from Marsden Vale, our savage friends laughed heartily at us. They had warned us of the reception we should meet with; and their delight at seeing us again formed a strange contrast to that of their Christian teachers, whose inhospitable dwellings we determined never to reenter. CHAPTER XV. A VISIT FROM HONGI. A few days after my visit to the missionaries, while we were busily employed in constructing our huts, assisted by about fifty natives, on a sudden a great commotion took place amongst them. Each left his work and ran to his hut, and immediately returned armed with both musket and cartouch box: apparently all the arms in the village were mustered, and all seemed ready for immediate use. On inquiring into the cause of all these war-like preparations, I was informed that Hongi and his chief men were crossing the bay in several large war canoes; and though he was considered as a friend and ally, yet, as he was a man of such desperate ambition, and consummate cunning, it was considered necessary to receive him under arms, which he might take either as a compliment, or as a proof of how well they were aware of the guest they were receiving. This man, Hongi, was a most extraordinary character, and a person I had long had a great curiosity to see, his daring and savage deeds having often been the subject of conversation in New South Wales. In his own country he was looked upon as invulnerable and invincible. In the year 1821 he had visited England, during which he had been honoured by having a personal interview with George the Fourth, and had received from His Majesty several valuable presents; amongst others, were a superb suit of chain armour, and a splendid double-barrelled gun. From possessing these arms, so far superior to any of his neighbours, he looked upon himself as impossible to be conquered, and commenced a career of warfare and destruction on all his enemies, and nearly exterminated them. His friends called him "a god," and his enemies feared him as "a devil." Last year, Hongi made war upon, and totally annihilated, the tribe who had fifteen years previously attacked and murdered the crew of the Boyd. He had long determined to take revenge for that treacherous action, as he always styled himself "the friend of the English." After this, he removed his residence, and took possession of the conquered district. But in this his last battle he had to fight without his invulnerable coat of mail, his slaves having stolen it and gone over with it to the enemy. His people were now confirmed in their superstition respecting its being proof against shot, by his having received during the combat a bullet in the breast, from the effects of which he is fast sinking into the grave. His companions related the following extraordinary anecdote concerning him after he received this wound, which proves his great presence of mind. His party were retreating, and the enemy were charging him vigorously; Hongi stood alone when he received the bullet; he did not fall immediately, and the enemy were eagerly running up to despatch him, when he roused all his energies, and shouted aloud for the two hundred chiefs, who lay concealed, to rush forward and fall on. The foe, hearing this, paused, when about a dozen chiefs, and indeed, as Hongi well knew, all that he had, suddenly made their appearance. This caused a panic; they turned about; the pursued became the pursuers, and nearly the whole tribe were destroyed. CHAPTER XVI. INTERVIEW WITH THE GREAT MAORI CONQUEROR. He landed about a mile from the village, and we lost no time in procuring an interpreter, with whom we went instantly to pay our respects to this celebrated conqueror. We found him and his party; his slaves preparing their morning repast. The scene altogether was highly interesting. In a beautiful bay, surrounded by high rocks and overhanging trees, the chiefs sat in mute contemplation, their arms piled up in regular order on the beach. Hongi, not only from his high rank (but in consequence of his wound being toboo'd, or rendered holy), sat apart from the rest. Their richly ornamented war canoes were drawn up on the strand; some of the slaves were unlading stores, others were kindling fires. To me it almost seemed to realise some of the passages of Homer, where he describes the wanderer Ulysses and his gallant band of warriors. We approached the chief, and paid our respects to him. He received us kindly, and with a dignified composure, as one accustomed to receive homage. His look was emaciated; but so mild was the expression of his features, that he would have been the last man I should have imagined accustomed to scenes of bloodshed and cruelty. But I soon remarked, that when he became animated in conversation, his eyes sparkled with fire, and their expression changed, demonstrating that it only required his passions to be roused to exhibit him under a very different aspect. His wife and daughter were permitted to sit close to him, to administer to his wants, no others being allowed so to do, on account of his taboo. He was arrayed in a new blanket, which completely enveloped his figure, leaving exposed his highly-tattooed face, and head profusely covered with long, black, curling hair, adorned with a quantity of white feathers. He was altogether a very fine study; and, with his permission, I made a sketch of him, and also one including the whole group. Finding we were newcomers, he asked us a variety of questions, and, among others, our opinion of his country. His remarks were judicious and sensible, and he seemed much pleased with our admiration of his territory. I produced a bottle of wine that I had brought with me, and his wife supplied him with a few glasses, which seemed to revive and animate him. We were then invited to join him in a trip in one of his canoes, in which was placed a bed for him to recline upon; his wife seated herself close to him, while his daughter, a very pretty, interesting girl about fifteen years of age, took a paddle in her hand, which she used with the greatest dexterity. I took the liberty of presenting her with a bracelet, with which she seemed highly delighted; when Hongi, perceiving that I was in a giving mood, pointed to his beard, and asked me for a razor. Fortunately, I had put one in my pocket on setting out, and I now presented it to him, by which gifts we continued on terms of great sociability and friendship. After a pleasant cruise with this (to us) extraordinary family, and contriving to make ourselves pretty well understood, we returned about the close of the day, and landed at the bay. All the natives were much delighted at our confidence in them, and we were equally gratified by their hospitality. CHAPTER XVII. A MAORI WELCOME. I was much amused with the punctilios used in the visit of ceremony paid to King George. Hongi, accompanied by about a dozen of his chiefs, advanced towards our settlement, leaving their guns and hatchets behind them; as they approached, all our tribe discharged their pieces in the air. When they met, all rubbed noses (a ceremony never to be dispensed with on formal occasions). They were then conducted by King George to his huts on the beach, and in the enclosure in front of them the warriors squatted on the ground. Hongi, being tabooed, or under the immediate protection of their Atua, or God, still sat apart. Then the mother of George, called Tururo, or the Queen, and who is regarded quite as a sybil by the whole tribe, approached Hongi with the greatest respect and caution, and seated herself some paces from his feet. She then began, with a most melancholy cadence (her eyes streaming with tears and fixed upon the ground), the song of welcome. All their meetings of ceremony or friendship begin with the shedding of copious floods of tears; and as Hongi's visit was such an unhoped for and unexpected honour, so much greater in proportion was the necessity for their lamentations. This woeful song lasted half an hour, and all the assembly were soon in tears; and though at first I was inclined to turn it into ridicule, I was soon in the same state myself. The pathetic strain, and the scene altogether, was most impressive. As the song proceeded, I was informed of the nature of the subject, which was a theme highly calculated to affect all present. She began by complimenting the wounded warrior, deploring the incurable state of his wound, and regretting that God was wanting him, and was about so soon to take him from his friends! Then she recounted some of his most celebrated deeds of valour, naming and deploring the number of his friends who had fallen bravely in the wars, and lamenting that the enemies who had killed them were still living! This part seemed to affect them powerfully; and when Tururo ceased her song (being quite exhausted) they all rose, thus demonstrating their respect and approbation. This was followed by a general attack upon the good things King George had prepared for them. The slaves came flocking in, bearing baskets of hot kumaras, potatoes, and fish. I observed their tears had not spoiled their appetites; they ate voraciously. After having done great honour to the feast, they all started on their feet for a dance, which lasted a long while, and with which they concluded the evening. The dances of all savage nations are beautiful, but those of the New Zealanders partake also of the horrible. The regularity of their movements is truly astonishing; and the song, which always accompanies a dance, is most harmonious. They soon work themselves up to a pitch of frenzy; the distortions of their face and body are truly dreadful, and fill the mind with horror. Love and war are the subjects of their songs and dances; but the details of the latter passion are by far the most popular among them. I was astonished to find that their women mixed in the dance indiscriminately with the men, and went through all those horrid gestures with seemingly as much pleasure as the warriors themselves. The next morning I was awakened, at daybreak, by the most dismal sounds I had ever heard. I started up, and found it proceeded from the tribes parting with each other. They had divided themselves into little parties, each forming a circle, and were crying most piteously, and cutting their flesh as a cook would score pork for roasting. On such occasions each is armed with a sharp shell, or, if he can possibly obtain so valuable a prize, a piece of a broken glass bottle. All were streaming with tears and blood, while Hongi and his friends embarked in their large and richly-ornamented canoes, and sailed from our beach. After his departure, I soon discovered that, notwithstanding their apparent affection, King George and his friends were most happy their visitors had left them; and that it was more the dread of Hongi's power, than love for him, that induced them to treat him with such respect and homage. CHAPTER XVIII. EXCURSIONS IN THE INTERIOR. I made several excursions into the interior, and each confirmed me in the good opinion I had formed of the natives. I felt myself quite safe amongst them. There is a great peculiarity in rambling through this country; namely, the total absence of quadrupeds. There are abundance of birds, which are so numerous at times as almost to darken the air--many of them possessing very sweet notes; and wild ducks, teal, etc., cover the various streams. Wherever I went I did not discover any grass, almost every part being covered either with fern or flax; the former yielding the natives their principal article of food, and the latter their clothing. To this dearth of animals may be attributed the chief cause of their ferocity and propensity to cannibalism. In most uncivilised countries the natives use their arms against the wild animals of the forest. The dangers and difficulties they encounter in overcoming them form a kind of prelude to war, and perfect them in the use of their weapons. The rifle of the North American Indian would never be so much dreaded did he not depend upon its produce for his subsistence. I have myself (during my travels through North America) had many opportunities of witnessing the certain aim they take both with the arrow and the bullet; while those in the southern parts of that vast continent, who depend on taking the wild cattle, acquire, by constant practice, an equal dexterity with the _lassoo_, which those who have not witnessed it could scarcely imagine possible. The New Zealander, while handling a musket, is quite in a state of trepidation; and though it is his darling weapon he seems always afraid of it, and is never sure of his aim till he is quite close to his object. I have mentioned this fact to several Europeans who had accompanied various tribes to battle, and they all informed me they made a sad bungling use of the musket; their aim would be surer if they had large and ferocious animals to hunt or contend with. There is another circumstance that operates against their acquiring skill in the use of the gun: they are so fond of cleaning, scrubbing, and taking them to pieces, that in a short time the locks become loose, the screws are injured, and they are soon rendered entirely useless, to the great surprise and dismay of their owners, who are constantly pestering the Europeans by bringing them _sick_ muskets (as they call them) to look at, and put to rights, and are quite surprised that we "cannot make them well again." They cannot be made to comprehend that every white man does not know how to make a musket, or, at least, to repair it. CHAPTER XIX. ENTERTAINED BY MAORI WOMEN. On the 24th November we took our departure from the bay, as we had to return to Hokianga, where we had left our brig; and it was only under a promise of making a speedy return, and remaining longer with them, that our savage friends would suffer us to leave them. We expected to reach the Kerikeri River before night; but in this we were disappointed. It at length became quite dark; and the ebb tide making against us, rendered further advance impossible. We had to seek some place of shelter for the night, and not a hut was visible. While we were debating on what was best to be done, we observed a light from the shore, and made for it; but, it being low water, our boat stuck fast in the slime long before we reached the banks; we were, consequently, obliged to wade knee-deep through the slippery mud. We soon discovered a party of women sitting round a fire made in the midst of the swamp. They had come here for the purpose of procuring shell-fish; and as they are never very fastidious about shelter or dry beds, they had determined (according to their usual custom) to pass the night where they had been occupied during the day. This sort of bivouac I found excessively uncomfortable. The moment we were seated the water began to ooze out an inch or two all round us. We sought in vain for a dry place, for we were enveloped in darkness, and surrounded by rushes and flags six or seven feet high; but, being very much fatigued, we slept, notwithstanding the misery of a wet bed, with a cloud of fog for curtains. I did not wake till one of the women gave me a good shake, and informed me that the day was well up. They had prepared us a breakfast of hot shell-fish, which they had caught the preceding day, and they all seemed delighted by our eating heartily of them. As we had some biscuits in our boat, we sent for them, and gave our "fair founders of the feast" a share; and we were all very sociable and merry. When we left them, as it was again low water, the women carried us to our boat, and took their leave of us amidst peals of laughter. This was another proof to me that the English are quite safe, though travelling unguarded, amongst these people. CHAPTER XX. LOADING SPARS AT HOKIANGA. About nine the next morning we reached the Kerikeri River; and, it being Sunday, the members of the mission met us on landing, and used all their endeavours to prevent our travelling on that day; but, independent of the urgent necessity of our reaching Hokianga, the captain of our vessel, who was with us, being particularly anxious to return on board, we continued our journey, and at night came to a bivouac in a dense wood, so that we now had the luxury of stretching our weary limbs on dry ground. The next day, as we journeyed towards the river, we fell in with all our old friends, who inquired into the particulars of our adventures, and seemed highly delighted at our return. We found "all right" on board the brig; but as she was chartered to go to Tongataboo I and my friend Shand determined to remain at New Zealand till her return. Our principal difficulty seemed to be which side of the island we should make choice of for a dwelling-place. When it became known to the natives that we intended to remain with them, several chiefs came and offered us their protection; and each would have built us a house, but we preferred making our sojourn at the Bay of Islands. We were often at a loss how to evade the kind importunities of our savage hosts without giving them offence. "Is not our country as good as theirs?"--"Are you not as safe amongst us?"--"Are we not as willing and as capable of protecting you as Shulitea?" These were the arguments they used; and, finally, we were obliged to inform them that we had a friend and countryman (Captain Duke) settled on the other side, who was preparing a house for our reception. On being informed of this circumstance they consented to part with us, though evidently with great reluctance. While we lay here the ship Harmony, of London, Captain Middleton, arrived from Sydney for a cargo of spars. So large a vessel entering the port put the whole district into commotion; and when the chiefs understood the nature of her wants, and had seen the fine double-barrelled guns and store of powder to be given as payment for the wished-for freight, they hastened to the woods, and the axe was soon laid to the roots of the trees. I saw them pursuing their laborious employ with alacrity. In a few days a sufficient number of fine logs came floating down the river to load the ship, and they were all cleared in a workmanlike manner, ready to stow away. The chief things to induce these people to work are firearms and powder; these are two stimulants to their industry which never fail. CHAPTER XXI. DEATH OF A GREAT CHIEF. A few days after our return to Hokianga we received intelligence that A Rowa, the father of Mooetara, and the eldest chief in the district, was dead. These deaths, when they occur among men of rank, are generally accompanied by some horrible scenes of butchery among their slaves--a common custom among all savages, but practised here (I was informed) with peculiar cruelty. We went on shore to witness the ceremony of A Rowa's lying in state, hoping at the same time that our presence might induce them to dispense with some of those barbarous cruelties which generally accompany their funeral rites. We had, indeed, every reason to think we had conjectured rightly, for nothing of the kind took place; which was considered by all as a circumstance somewhat remarkable. A great concourse of savages had assembled all round the village of the deceased chief, and there was a tremendous firing of muskets, but no particular marks of grief. I spoke to Mooetara, and requested, as a favour, if it were not breaking through their established rules, that he would conduct me to the body of his father. He accordingly led me to the outside of the village; and under a rude hut (constructed for the purpose) lay the body of the deceased chief, closely covered up with mats, leaving only part of the face and head exposed; in his hair was stuck a profusion of long white feathers, by way of ornament. Two women (whom I understood were his wives) sat close to the corpse; they were painted all over with red ochre, and seemed to perform the parts of chief mourners. These kept up a low moaning noise, and occasionally whisked off the flies from the face of the deceased. The women, the corpse, the hut, and the ground for some space round them, were all strictly tapued. Some bundles of fish, and some calabashes filled with oil, were left close by the body, intended for his consumption during his passage to the next world. I imagine that one reason of no outrage having been committed during this solemn occasion was our brig being on the point of sailing, and previous to her departure a great deal of traffic was expected to be carried on with the natives, for there was still a considerable quantity of muskets undisposed of; and I think, in this instance, avarice overcame filial affection--the minds of the chief's family being so intent upon obtaining good bargains, that they had not time to sit and mourn over their departed parent, nor to work themselves up into a paroxysm of passion sufficiently violent to cause them to murder their slaves. This afforded me a convincing proof that as soon as they are occupied by commerce, or the useful arts, their barbarous rites will gradually be discontinued, and will speedily cease altogether. Our brig having sailed, we were again alone with these wild yet interesting people. We expected our stay might be about six months, and had provided a stock-in-trade, consisting of a barrel of powder, half a dozen muskets, some fish-hooks, and a quantity of tobacco. Everything we possessed we delivered into the hands of the natives, who accounted to us for the stock thus entrusted to their management with the most scrupulous exactness. Nothing can be fairer than their mode of bartering with the Europeans; the prices are fixed; ten large hogs, or 120 baskets of potatoes (about a ton and a-half), are given for a musket; for small articles, such as fish, Indian corn, or fruits, the ready money are fish-hooks and tobacco. As we were now about to become inhabitants of New Zealand, it became necessary that we should be well acquainted with the particulars of their methods of "doing business," and that we should apply ourselves diligently to the study of the language, which we acquired much more readily than I had anticipated. CHAPTER XXII. BRUTAL MURDER OF A WIFE. A few days after the departure of the brig I witnessed a specimen of their summary method of executing justice. A chief, resident in the village, had proof of the infidelity of one of his wives; and, being perfectly sure of her guilt, he took his patoo-patoo (or stone hatchet) and proceeded to his hut, where this wretched woman was employed in household affairs. Without mentioning the cause of his suspicion, or once upbraiding her, he deliberately aimed a blow at her head, which killed her on the spot; and, as she was a slave, he dragged the body to the outside of the village, and there left it to be devoured by the dogs. The account of this transaction was soon brought to us, and we proceeded to the place to request permission to bury the body of the murdered woman, which was immediately granted. Accordingly, we procured a couple of slaves, who assisted us to carry the corpse down to the beach, where we interred it in the most decent manner we could. This was the second murder I was very nearly a witness to since my arrival; and the indifference with which each had been spoken of induced me to believe that such barbarities were events of frequent occurrence; yet the manners of all seemed kind and gentle towards each other; but infidelity in a wife is never forgiven here; and, in general, if the lover can be taken, he also is sacrificed along with the adulteress. Truth obliges me to confess that, notwithstanding these horrors staring them in the face, they will, if opportunity offers, indulge in an intrigue. CHAPTER XXIII. ANOTHER JOURNEY TO BAY OF ISLANDS. As there were two roads across to the Bay of Islands, and I was anxious to see as much of the country as possible, I determined that my second journey should be by the longest route. I set off, accompanied only by a native boy to carry a small portmanteau and to serve me as a guide. As, on my former journey, we travelled many miles through thick tangled forests, fatiguing beyond description. In the midst of our toilsome progress, night frequently overtook us; then, by means of my fowling-piece, I procured a light, the boy made a fire, and we passed the night in this vast wilderness, far from the habitation of any human being! At daybreak we resumed our journey, and at length (about ten o'clock) we emerged from the wood, and entered upon extensive plains. These were not naked deserts, similar to the ones I had passed through on my former route, but were diversified with bush and brake, with a number of small villages scattered in various directions. At mid-day we arrived at what in New Zealand is considered a town of great size and importance, called Ty-a-my. It is situated on the sides of a beautiful hill, the top surmounted by a pa, in the midst of a lonely and extensive plain, covered with plantations of Indian corn, Kumara and potatoes. This is the principal inland settlement, and, in point of quiet beauty and fertility, it equalled any place I had ever seen in the various countries I have visited. Its situation brought forcibly to my remembrance the scenery around Canterbury. We found the village totally deserted, all the inhabitants being employed in their various plantations; they shouted to us as we passed, thus bidding us welcome, but did not leave their occupations to receive us. To view the cultivated parts of this country from an eminence a person might easily imagine himself in a civilised land; for miles around the village of Ty-a-my nothing but beautiful green fields present themselves to the eye. The exact rows in which they plant their Indian corn would do credit to a first-rate English farmer, and the way in which they prepare the soil is admirable. The greatest deficiency which I observed in the country around me was the total absence of fences; and this defect occasions the natives a great deal of trouble, which might very easily be avoided. Hogs are the principal part of their wealth, with which, at all times, they can traffic with vessels touching at their ports. These animals, consequently, are of the utmost importance to them; but during the growth of their crops, the constant watching the hogs require to keep them out of the plantations consumes more time than would effectually fence in their whole country; but I have no doubt, as they already begin to follow our advice and adopt our plans, they will soon see the utility of fencing in their land. I have at various times held many conversations with different chiefs on this subject, all of whom have acknowledged the propriety of so doing. A few miles after leaving this beautiful village we came to a spot covered with heaps of cinders and hillocks of volcanic matter. I found all these hillocks small craters, but none of them, burning; and for miles our road lay through ashes and lava. These fires must have been extinguished many ages since, as there is not the slightest tradition among any of the natives of their ever having been burning. After passing over this lava, our journey lay through a very swampy country, intersected with streams. I got completely wearied with stripping to wade through them, so that at length I plunged in clothes and all. At the close of a most fatiguing day's march, we arrived in sight of the bay, having travelled over an extent of about fifty miles since the morning! No canoe being in sight, and we being too distant to make signals to our brig, we had to pass another night in bivouac on a part of the beach called Waitangi; and as it did not rain we slept pretty comfortably. The next morning I procured a canoe, and went on board our vessel. The day following the brig took her final departure from New Zealand, and we bade farewell to Captain Kent. We now formally placed ourselves under the protection of King George, who seemed highly pleased with his charge; and in a few days three good houses were ready for our reception--one for ourselves, a second for our stores, and a third for our servants. But our pleasant prospects were soon obscured by a circumstance totally unexpected, which placed us in a most critical situation, and which we had every reason to fear would lead to our total destruction. CHAPTER XXIV. VISIT OF A WAR PARTY. I was roused one morning at daybreak by my servant running in with the intelligence that a great number of war canoes were crossing the bay. As King George had told us but the evening before that he expected a visit from Ta-ri-ah, a chief of the tribe called Ngapuhis, whose territory lay on the opposite side of the bay, and given us to understand that Ta-ri-ah was a man not to be trusted, and therefore feared some mischief might happen if he really came, the sight of these war canoes naturally caused us considerable alarm, and we sincerely wished that the visit was over. We dressed ourselves with the utmost expedition, and walked down to the beach. The landing of these warriors was conducted with a considerable degree of order, and could I have divested myself of all ideas of danger I should have admired the sight excessively. All our New Zealand friends--the tribe of Shulitea--were stripped naked, their bodies were oiled, and all were completely armed; their muskets were loaded, their cartouch boxes were fastened round their waists, and their patoo-patoos were fixed to their wrists. Their hair was tied up in a tight knot at the top of their heads, beautifully ornamented with feathers of the albatross. As the opposite party landed, ours all crouched on the ground, their eyes fixed on their visitors, and perfectly silent. When the debarkation was completed I observed the chief, Ta-ri-ah, put himself at their head, and march towards us with his party formed closely and compactly, and armed with muskets and paddles. When they came very near they suddenly stopped. Our party continued still mute, with their firelocks poised ready for use. For the space of a few minutes all was still, each party glaring fiercely on the other; and they certainly formed one of the most beautiful and extraordinary pictures I had ever beheld. The foreground was formed by a line of naked savages, each resting on one knee, with musket advanced, their gaze fixed on the opposite party, their fine, broad, muscular backs contrasting with the dark foliage in front, and catching the gleam of the rising sun. The strangers were clothed in the most grotesque manner imaginable--some armed, some naked, some with long beards, others were painted all over with red ochre; every part of each figure was quite still, except the rolling and glaring of their eyes on their opponents. The background was formed by the beach, and a number of their beautiful war canoes dancing on the waves; while, in the distance, the mountains on the opposite side of the bay were just tinged with the varied and beautiful colours of the sun, then rising in splendour from behind them. The stillness of this extraordinary scene did not last long. The Ngapuhis commenced a noisy and discordant song and dance, yelling, jumping, and making the most hideous faces. This was soon answered by a loud shout from our party, who endeavoured to outdo the Ngapuhis in making horrible distortions of their countenances; then succeeded another dance from our visitors, after which our friends made a rush, and in a sort of rough joke set them running. Then all joined in a pell-mell sort of encounter, in which numerous hard blows were given and received; then all the party fired their pieces in the air, and the ceremony of landing was thus deemed completed. They then approached each other, and began rubbing noses; and those who were particular friends cried and lamented over each other. The slaves now commenced the labour of making fires to cook the morning meal, while the chiefs, squatting down, formed a ring, or, rather, an oblong circle, on the ground; then one at a time rose up, and made long speeches, which they did in a manner peculiar to themselves. The speaker, during his harangue, keeps running backwards and forwards within the oblong space, using the most violent but appropriate gesticulation; so expressive, indeed, of the subject on which he is speaking, that a spectator who does not understand their language can form a tolerable idea as to what the affair is then under debate. The orator is never interrupted in his speech; but, when he finishes and sits down, another immediately rises up and takes his place, so that all who choose have an opportunity of delivering their sentiments, after which the assembly breaks up. Though the meeting of these hostile tribes had thus ended more amicably than King George and his party could have expected, it was easily to be perceived that the Ngapuhis were determined on executing some atrocity or depredations before their return; they accordingly pretended to recollect some old offence committed by the English settlers at the other end of the beach. They proceeded thither, and first attacked and broke open the house of a blacksmith, and carried off every article it contained. They then marched to the residence of an English captain (who was in England), and plundered it of everything that could be taken away, and afterwards sent word they intended to return to our end of the beach. Our fears were greatly increased by finding that our friends were not sufficiently strong to protect us from the superior force of the Ngapuhis, and our chief, George, being himself (we supposed) conscious of his inability, had left us to depend upon our own resources. CHAPTER XXV. BURNED OUT OF HOUSE AND HOME. We now called a council of war of all the Europeans settled here; and it was unanimously resolved that we should protect and defend our houses and property, and fortify our position in the best way we could. Captain Duke had in his possession four twelve-pounders, and these we brought in front of the enclosure in which our huts were situated, and were all entirely employed in loading them with round and grape shot, and had made them all ready for action, when, to our consternation and dismay, we found we had a new and totally unexpected enemy to contend with. By some accident one of our houses was in flames. Our situation was now perilous in the extreme. The buildings, the work of English carpenters, were constructed of dry rushes and well-seasoned wood, and this was one of a very respectable size, and we had hoped, in a very few days, would be finished fit for our removing into. For some seconds we stood in mute amazement, not knowing to which point to direct our energies. As the cry of "fire" was raised, groups of natives came rushing from all directions upon our devoted settlement, stripping off their clothes, and yelling in the most discordant pitch of voice. I entered the house, and brought out one of my trunks, but on attempting to return a second time I found it filled with naked savages, tearing everything to pieces, and carrying away whatever they could lay their hands upon. The fierce raging of the flames, the heat from the fire, the yells of the men, and the shrill cries of the women, formed, altogether, a horrible combination; added to all this was the mortification of seeing all our property carried off in different directions, without the least possibility of our preventing it. The tribe of the Ngapuhis (who, when the fire began, were at the other end of the beach) left their operations in that quarter and poured down upon us to share in the general plunder. Never shall I forget the countenance of the chief, as he rushed forward at the head of his destroying crew! He was called "The Giant," and he was well worthy of the name, being the tallest and largest man I had ever seen; he had an immense bushy black beard, and grinned exultingly when he saw the work of destruction proceeding with such rapidity, and kept shouting loudly to his party to excite them to carry off all they could. A cask containing seventy gallons of rum now caught fire and blew up with a terrible explosion; and, the wind freshening considerably, huge volumes of smoke and flame burst out in every direction. Two of our houses were so completely enveloped that we had given up all hopes of saving them. The third, which was a beautifully carved tapued one, some little distance from the others, and which we had converted into a store and magazine, was now the only object of our solicitude and terror. For, besides the valuable property of various kinds which were deposited within it, it contained several barrels of gunpowder! It was in vain we attempted to warn the frantic natives to retire from the vicinity of this danger. At length we persuaded about a dozen of the most rational to listen while we explained to them the cause of our alarm; and they immediately ascended to the roof, where, with the utmost intrepidity and coolness, they kept pouring water over the thatch, thus lessening the probability of an immediate explosion. About this time we noticed the reappearance of King George, which circumstance rekindled our hopes. He was armed with a thick stick, which he laid heavily on the backs of such of his subjects as were running away with our property, thus forcing them to relinquish their prizes, and to lay them down before his own mansion, where all was safe. By this means a great deal was recollected. The fire was now nearly extinguished; but our two really tolerably good houses were reduced to a heap of smoking ruins, and the greater part of what belonged to us was taken away by the Ngapuhis. This calamity had made us acquainted with another of their barbarous customs, which is, whenever a misfortune happens to a community, or an individual, every person, even the friends of his own tribe, fall upon and strip him of all he has remaining. As an unfortunate fish, when struck by a harpoon, is instantly surrounded and devoured by his companions, so in New Zealand, when a chief is killed, his former friends plunder his widow and children; and they, in revenge, ill-use and even murder their slaves--thus one misfortune gives birth to various cruelties. During the fire, our allies proved themselves the most adroit and active thieves imaginable, though previously to that event we had never lost an article, although everything we possessed was open to them. When we questioned them about our property, they frankly told us where it was; and, after some difficulty in settling the amount of its ransom, we got most of our things back again, with the exception of such as had been carried off by the Ngapuhis. Upon the cruelty of this custom I shall make no comments. Probably I should have remained in ignorance of this savage law, had I not had the misfortune to become its victim. By redeeming from the natives what they had purloined from the fire, we had restored to us some of our boxes, desks, and clothes; but all our little comforts towards housekeeping were irretrievably lost. When the fire was over we received a visit from one of the missionaries, who made us a cold offer of assistance. We accepted a little tea, sugar and some few articles of crockery from them; but, although they knew we stood there houseless, amongst a horde of savages, they never offered us the shelter of their roofs. I am very sure that had the calamity befallen them, we should immediately have offered our huts, and shared with them everything we possessed. Here was an opportunity of practically showing the "pagans" (as they termed the New Zealanders) the great Christian doctrine of "doing to others as we would they should do unto us." I must acknowledge I was sometimes mortified at being obliged to sleep (three of us huddled up close together) in a small New Zealand hut, filled with filth and vermin of all kinds, while at only two miles' distance from us stood a neat village, abounding in every comfort that a bountiful British public could provide; and we, members of that community, and, indeed, partly contributors to the funds for its support. The high state of excitement into which the savages had been thrown by the late conflagration gradually subsided, and as we had escaped the dreaded calamity of our magazine blowing up, we began to look with calmness on our desolate condition, and draw comfort from thinking how much worse we might have been circumstanced than we then were. I hope our distress may prove a benefit to future sojourners in this country, by showing them the great importance of forming a proper magazine for powder. The agonies I suffered in contemplating the destruction which six barrels of powder, each of an hundredweight, would cause amongst a mob of several hundred naked savages, it is impossible to imagine! King George, as well as all his people, were most anxious to build us a new habitation entirely themselves. They requested us to give them the dimensions of the various dwellings, and said we should have no further trouble about them. A party accordingly proceeded to the bush to collect materials. They first formed the skeleton of a cottage containing three rooms, with slight sticks, firmly tied together with strips of flax. While this was in progress, another party was collecting rushes (which grow plentifully in the neighbourhood, called Ra-poo). These they spread in the sun for twenty-four hours, when they considered them sufficiently dry. They then thatched every part of the house, which for neatness and strength was equal to anything I had ever seen. The doors and windows we employed our carpenter to make, these being luxuries quite beyond the comprehension of the natives. We were thus tolerably well lodged again; and our time passed on tranquilly, almost every day developing some fresh trait of character amongst these children of nature. CHAPTER XXVI. A HOSTILE DEMONSTRATION. I went to reside for a short time at a village about half a mile distant, where there was a pretty good house vacant. It was called Ma-to-we, and belonged to a chief named Atoi, a relation of George's, but a much younger man. His power was not so great, and he was every way subject to the authority of the tribe under whose protection I had placed myself. One morning, at daybreak, we were roused by the hasty approach of King George and all his warriors towards Ma-to-we. All were fully equipped for war, and each countenance looked fierce and wild. Our late misfortunes having rendered us more than usually anxious, this hostile appearance gave us considerable alarm. We left our house to inquire the reason thereof, and saw George and his followers enter the village, pull down several fences, fire a few muskets in the air, dance a most hideous dance of defiance, and then depart; but not one word of explanation could we obtain from him. In the course of the morning, however, the women acquainted us with the cause of this mysterious proceeding, which determined me to remove my things back again to George's village of Kororarika as soon as possible. The affair was simply this: Atoi had two wives. During the time of our visit to his village, he was absent, and had entrusted these women to the care of his brother; but he, instead of being faithful to the trust reposed in him, had actually seduced one of them. This circumstance came to the knowledge of George, and he, feeling for the honour of his absent friend, immediately proceeded to the village, and thus gave the parties warning that he was fully aware of the nature of their proceedings. He had also dispatched a messenger to Atoi, to inform him of his disgrace, and to request his immediate return. In the course of the day it was expected he would arrive, and bring with him a strong party of friends, all burning with revenge, and eager to punish his brother for his unnatural perfidy. It was thought that unless George interfered, much bloodshed might ensue; and it may readily be imagined how anxious we were that this dreaded meeting should be over; yet I (for one) had determined that I would be a witness of it. Therefore, when word was brought to me that Atoi was crossing the bay, I hastened down to the beach. There I found all parties assembled from both villages. George and his followers, who were to act as mediators, sat immediately in front of the place of landing; behind them were Atoi's brother and all his partizans; and in the rear were all the women and children, with about a dozen white faces scattered amongst them. The scene was picturesque and exceedingly interesting. It was near the close of a lovely summer's day--the sun, fast sinking towards the horizon, threw a warm and mellow glow over the wide expanse of the far-spreading bay, whose smooth waters were only disturbed by the approaching canoe cutting its foamy way. It was crowded with naked warriors, urging their rapid course towards the shore; and we heard the loud and furious song of the chief, animating his friends to exertion; we saw his frantic gestures, as he stood in the centre of his canoe, brandishing his weapons. As they came near the place of landing, George ran into the stream, and as the canoe touched the shore, attacked Atoi, but in a playful manner, splashing water over him. Thus irritated, Atoi jumped on land, and, with a double-barrelled musket in his hand, ran towards his brother, and doubtless would have killed him on the spot, had he not been prevented. I now saw the advantage of George and his party being present. He and three of his subjects seized upon Atoi, and tried to wrest the weapon from his hands, which if they had been able to effect, a mortal combat could not take place, such being the custom here. Atoi was a very powerful man of about thirty, and those who attacked him had a most difficult task; twice he broke from them; and I then watched the countenance of his brother, which was perfectly cool and collected, though the firelock was in readiness, and the finger on the trigger, which might despatch him instantly. All parties sat perfectly quiet during the desperate struggle; one of the barrels of Atoi's piece went off, and the contents flew amongst us, without, however, doing any material injury; and, finally, the musket was wrested out of his hands. He then sat still for about twenty minutes, to recover his breath, when he seized a club and rushed upon his brother (for mortal weapons were now prohibited). The brother started up, armed in the same manner; some heavy blows passed between them; when, having thrown aside their clubs, they grappled each other firmly, and a dreadful struggle ensued. As they were both completely naked, their hair was the only thing to take hold by; but being long, thick, and strong, it afforded a firm grasp, and they committed desperate havoc on each other's persons. At this period of the fight their poor old mother, who was quite blind, came forward to try and separate the combatants; the sister and younger brothers now followed her example; and, finally, the fair and frail cause of all this commotion. The brothers, having completely exhausted their strength, were easily separated; and as their friends had carefully removed all weapons out of their reach, they of course were deprived of the means of injuring each other. The members of Atoi's family, together with a few friends, now sat down in a circle, to converse and consult on the affair. Atoi's wife totally denied the charge, and protested her innocence, and many circumstances were brought forward to corroborate her statements. The husband at length was satisfied, and all parties were reconciled. CHAPTER XXVII. THE LAW OF RETALIATION. This affair was scarcely terminated, when we found that another of a still more serious nature was likely to arise from it and would threaten the peace of both villages. When King George sent his messenger to inform Atoi of the infidelity of his wife, the infuriated husband assaulted the man, and it was rumoured that he had killed him. This was an offence not to be forgiven, and George was so exasperated by it that he vowed he would exterminate the whole of Atoi's tribe. A native, however, arrived with the intelligence that the man was not dead, but only wounded. This did not seem to allay George's feelings of resentment, and he instantly made great preparations for war. When our anxiety was wound up to the utmost, we were greatly astonished to see Atoi and all his friends approach our settlement, totally unarmed. George went out to meet them, looking so full of rage that I thought Atoi stood but a slight chance for his life. After a great deal of violent pantomimic action and grimace, the apology offered by Atoi was accepted, and the visit was concluded by a grand war-dance and sham fight performed in their best manner. King George, in the fulness of his heart at this complete restoration of friendship, gave a great feast of kumaras and fish, to which we added some tobacco; and the whole of the party seated themselves by each other with the utmost sociality--a convincing proof that animosity is not long an inmate of their breasts. I took every opportunity of inquiring into the nature of their laws and mode of government, and I found that, in general, their method of redressing wrongs was very summary, and that their ideas of what was strictly just were, for the most part, simple and equitable. For any theft, or offence of that sort, committed by one tribe on another, the parties are called to instant account. If one native takes from another any part of his possessions, the party injured has a right to retaliate, and the party retaliated upon must not make the slightest resistance. We ourselves experienced a proof of this. Some part of our property, which we supposed had been destroyed by our late fire, we had been told was to be found in the hut of a neighbouring chief. We one day took advantage of his absence, searched the hut ourselves, and discovered our things carefully deposited therein. Thus assured of the fact, we laid our complaint before King George, who, after hearing our story to the end, replied, "Well, my friends, you must go to the hut and take away all your property, and whatever else you may find, which you may think sufficient payment for the injury you have received." We accordingly proceeded to the chief's dwelling, whom we found standing at his door. We charged him with having robbed us, and entered the house to seize our property. He held down his head, and seemed ashamed and overpowered at this discovery. He did not attempt to vindicate his conduct, but quietly allowed us not only to take away all that had belonged to us, but likewise a musket and double-barrelled gun, which he concluded he had lost for ever. These we had only taken away temporarily to deter him from theft in future, for a few days after we brought them back to him, to his infinite delight and astonishment. I was frequently shocked during my residence in this country by the number of accidents which continually happened to the natives from gunpowder, and not even the saddest experience could render them more careful. We were doubtful of the strength of a French fowling-piece we had, so we loaded it to the muzzle and discharged it, in order to prove it. Some young chiefs, who saw us do this (approving of this method), as soon as they returned home loaded a musket in the same manner, and then discharged it; but not managing the affair as we did--by means of a string fastened to the trigger--the piece burst, and mangled two of them dreadfully, and we got greatly blamed for showing them what was considered so bad an example. A few months since a native came from the interior driving a quantity of pigs to barter for powder; he obtained several pounds' weight, and set off to return home. On his journey he passed the night in a hut, and for safety put the bag of powder under his head as a pillow; and as a New Zealander always sleeps with a fire close to him, the consequence was, in the course of the night the fire communicated to the powder, and destroyed the man and the whole of his family, who were journeying with him. CHAPTER XXVIII. A WAR EXPEDITION AND A CANNIBAL FEAST. Last year a chief, and cousin of King George, named Pomare, was defeated and killed by the people of the Thames, and George was now resolved to revenge his death. This determination having become known, we had a constant succession of visitors, and a considerable number of blows, scratches, and rubbing noses were the consequence. Our beach presented a most interesting and busy scene. A dozen superb war canoes were lying ready to convey the forces; and, considering their limited means, the solidity of their structure and the carved work on them are surprising. None but men of rank are allowed to work upon them, and they labour like slaves. Some canoes were to be lengthened; others patched; others were condemned to be broken up, and the fragments taken to complete the new ones. Every morning we were awakened by the sound of the hammer and saw, and they were much gratified by our walking down to their dockyard to observe the progress they made, and by giving our opinions of their work. They thankfully received any hint we gave them as to better methods of completing or proceeding with their operations. Here were carvers, painters, caulkers, and sailmakers, all working in their different departments with great good humour and industry. Some of their vessels were eighty feet long, and were entirely covered with beautiful carving. Their form was light and delicate, and if their intentions were hostile towards us, they would be very formidable alongside any merchant man. If our Government should determine to colonise any part of New Zealand, they would find the natives hardy and willing assistants, and very different from the natives of New South Wales. [Illustration: Maori War Expedition (With Mission boat accompanying it.)] As their canoes were ready for launching, they ran them off the beach, jumped into them, and scudded across the bay with an almost incredible swiftness. When it is considered that in each canoe were seated eighty stout young men, each with a large paddle in his hand propelling the vessel forward, the velocity with which she flew may be imagined! It was in the midst of scenes like these that we were passing our time, and I had just become delighted with the appearance of innocence and industry so continually displayed by these people, when I was called upon to witness a sight which exhibited their character in its worst light, and confirmed all my horrible suspicions regarding their alleged cannibalism. The New Zealanders have been long charged with cannibalism; but as no person of importance or celebrity had actually been a witness to the disgusting act, in pity to our nature such relations have been universally rejected, and much has been written to prove the non-existence of so hideous a propensity. It was my lot to behold it in all its horrors! One morning, about eleven o'clock, after I had just returned from a long walk, Captain Duke informed me he had heard, from very good authority (though the natives wished it to be kept a profound secret), that in the adjoining village a female slave, named Matowe, had been put to death, and that the people were at that very time preparing her flesh for cooking. At the same time he reminded me of a circumstance which had taken place the evening before. Atoi had been paying us a visit, and, when going away, he recognised a girl whom he said was a slave that had run away from him; he immediately seized hold of her, and gave her in charge to some of his people. The girl had been employed in carrying wood for us; Atoi's laying claim to her had caused us no alarm for her life, and we had thought no more on the subject; but now, to my surprise and horror, I heard this poor girl was the victim they were preparing for the oven! Captain Duke and myself were resolved to witness this dreadful scene. We therefore kept our information as secret as possible, well knowing that if we had manifested our wishes they would have denied the whole affair. We set out, taking a circuitous route towards the village, and, being well acquainted with the road, we came upon them suddenly, and found them in the midst of their abominable ceremonies. On a spot of rising ground, just outside the village, we saw a man preparing a native oven, which is done in the following simple manner:--A hole is made in the ground, and hot stones are put within it, and then all is covered up close. As we approached, we saw evident signs of the murder which had been perpetrated; bloody mats were strewed around, and a boy was standing by them actually laughing: he put his finger to his head, and then pointed towards a bush. I approached the bush, and there discovered a human head. My feelings of horror may be imagined as I recognised the features of the unfortunate girl I had seen forced from our village the preceding evening! We ran towards the fire, and there stood a man occupied in a way few would wish to see. He was preparing the four-quarters of a human body for a feast; the large bones, having been taken out, were thrown aside, and the flesh being compressed, he was in the act of forcing it into the oven. While we stood transfixed by this terrible sight, a large dog, which lay before the fire, rose up, seized the bloody head, and walked off with it into the bushes, no doubt to hide it there for another meal! The man completed his task with the most perfect composure, telling us, at the same time, that the repast would not be ready for some hours! Here stood Captain Duke and myself, both witnesses of a scene which many travellers have related, and their relations have invariably been treated with contempt; indeed, the veracity of those who had the temerity to relate such incredible events has been everywhere questioned. In this instance it was no warrior's flesh to be eaten; there was no enemy's blood to drink, in order to infuriate them. They had no revenge to gratify; no plea could they make of their passions having been roused by battle, nor the excuse that they eat their enemies to perfect their triumph. This was an action of unjustifiable cannibalism. Atoi, the chief, who had given orders for this cruel feast, had only the night before sold us four pigs for a few pounds of powder; so he had not even the excuse of want of food. After Captain Duke and myself had consulted with each other, we walked into the village, determining to charge Atoi with his brutality. Atoi received us in his usual manner; and his handsome, open countenance could not be imagined to belong to so savage a monster as he had proved himself to be. I shuddered at beholding the unusual quantity of potatoes his slaves were preparing to eat with this infernal banquet. We talked coolly with him on the subject, for, as we could not prevent what had taken place, we were resolved to learn, if possible, the whole particulars. Atoi at first tried to make us believe he knew nothing about it, and that it was only a meal for his slaves; but we had ascertained it was for himself and his favourite companions. After various endeavours to conceal the fact, Atoi frankly owned that he was only waiting till the cooking was completed to partake of it. He added that, knowing the horror we Europeans held these feasts in, the natives were always most anxious to conceal them from us, and he was very angry that it had come to our knowledge; but, as he had acknowledged the fact, he had no objection to talk about it. He told us that human flesh required a greater number of hours to cook than any other; that if not done enough it was very tough, but when sufficiently cooked it was as tender as paper. He held in his hand a piece of paper, which he tore in illustration of his remark. He said the flesh then preparing would not be ready till next morning; but one of his sisters whispered in my ear that her brother was deceiving us, as they intended feasting at sunset. We inquired why and how he had murdered the poor girl. He replied that running away from him to her own relations was her only crime. He then took us outside his village, and showed us the post to which she had been tied, and laughed to think how he had cheated her: "For," said he, "I told her I only intended to give her a flogging; but I fired, and shot her through the heart!" My blood ran cold at this relation, and I looked with feelings of horror at the savage while he related it. Shall I be credited when I again affirm that he was not only a handsome young man, but mild and genteel in his demeanour? He was a man we had admitted to our table, and was a general favourite with us all; and the poor victim to his bloody cruelty was a pretty girl of about sixteen years of age! While listening to this frightful detail, we felt sick almost to fainting. We left Atoi, and again strolled towards the spot where this disgusting mess was cooking. Not a native was now near it: a hot, fetid steam kept occasionally bursting from the smothered mass; and the same dog we had seen with the head now crept from beneath the bushes, and sneaked towards the village. To add to the gloominess of the whole, a large hawk rose heavily from the very spot where the poor victim had been cut in pieces. My friend and I sat gazing on this melancholy place; it was a lowering, gusty day, and the moaning of the wind through the bushes, as it swept round the hill on which we were, seemed in unison with our feelings. After some time spent in contemplating the miserable scene before us, during which we gave full vent to the most passionate exclamations of disgust, we determined to spoil this intended feast. This resolution formed, we rose to execute it. I ran off to our beach, leaving Duke on guard, and, collecting all the white men I could, I informed them of what had happened, and asked them if they would assist in destroying the oven and burying the remains of the girl. They consented, and each having provided himself with a shovel or a pickaxe, we repaired in a body to the spot. Atoi and his friends had by some means been informed of our intention, and they came out to prevent it. He used various threats to deter us, and seemed highly indignant; but as none of his followers appeared willing to come to blows, and seemed ashamed that such a transaction should have been discovered by us, we were permitted by them to do as we chose. We accordingly dug a tolerably deep grave; then we resolutely attacked the oven. On removing the earth and leaves, the shocking spectacle was presented to our view--the four quarters of a human body half roasted. During our work clouds of steam enveloped us, and the disgust created by our task was almost overpowering. We collected all the parts we could recognise; the heart was placed separately, we supposed, as a savoury morsel for the chief himself. We placed the whole in the grave, which we filled up as well as we could, and then broke and scattered the oven. By this time the natives from both villages had assembled, and a scene similar to this was never before witnessed in New Zealand. Six unarmed men, quite unprotected (for there was not a single vessel in the harbour, nor had there been for a month), had attacked and destroyed all the preparations of the natives for what they consider a national feast; and this was done in the presence of a great body of armed chiefs, who had assembled to partake of it. After having finished this exploit, and our passion and disgust had somewhat subsided, I could not help feeling that we had acted very imprudently in thus tempting the fury of these savages, and interfering in an affair that certainly was no concern of ours; but as no harm accrued to any of our party, it plainly shows the influence "the white men" have already obtained over them; had the offence we committed been done by any hostile tribe, hundreds of lives would have been sacrificed. The next day our old friend King George paid us a long visit, and we talked over the affair very calmly. He highly disapproved of our conduct. "In the first place," said he, "you did a foolish thing, which might have cost you your lives; and yet did not accomplish your purpose after all, as you merely succeeded in burying the flesh near the spot on which you found it. After you went away it was again taken up, and every bit was eaten"--a fact I afterwards ascertained by examining the grave and finding it empty. King George further said: "It was an old custom, which their fathers practised before them; and you had no right to interfere with their ceremonies. I myself," added he, "have left off eating human flesh, out of compliment to you white men; but you have no reason to expect the same compliance from all the other chiefs. What punishment have you in England for thieves and runaways?" We answered, "After trial, flogging or hanging." "Then," he replied, "the only difference in our laws is, you flog and hang, but we shoot and eat." After thus reproving us, he became very communicative on the subject of cannibalism. He said, he recollected the time prior to pigs and potatoes being introduced into the island (an epoch of great importance to the New Zealanders), and stated that he was born and reared in an inland district, and the only food they then had consisted of fern roots and kumara; fish they never saw, and the only flesh he then partook of was human. But I will no longer dwell on this humiliating subject. Most white men who have visited the island have been sceptical on this point; I myself was before I had "ocular proof." Consequently I availed myself of the first opportunity to convince myself of the fact. I have reflected upon the subject, and am thoroughly satisfied that nothing will cure the natives of this dreadful propensity but the introduction of many varieties of animals, both wild and tame, and all would be sure to thrive in so mild and fine a climate. CHAPTER XXIX. SLAVERY AMONG THE MAORIS. The scene I have just described brings into consideration the subject of slavery, as it now exists in New Zealand. That slavery should be the custom of savage nations and cannibals, is not a cause of wonder: they are the only class of human beings it ought to remain with. Here slavery assumes its most hideous shape! Every one they can effect a seizure of in an enemy's country becomes the slave of the captors. Chiefs are never made prisoners; they either fight to the last, or are killed on the spot, and their heads are preserved (by a peculiar method) as trophies. Children are greatly prized: these they bring to their dwellings, and they remain slaves for life. Upon the number of slaves a chief can muster he takes his rank as a man of wealth and consequence in society; and the only chance these wretched beings have of being released from their miseries, is their master getting into a rage, and murdering them without further ceremony. On entering a village, a stranger instantly discovers which portion of its inhabitants are the slaves, though both the complexion and the dresses of all are alike. The free Zealander is a joyous, good-humoured looking man, full of laughter and vivacity, and is chattering incessantly; but the slaves have invariably a squalid, dejected look; they are never seen to smile, and appear literally half starved. The beauties characteristic of a New Zealander are his teeth and hair; the latter, in particular, is his pride and study; but the slaves have their heads half shorn. The male slave is not allowed to marry; and any intercourse with a female, if discovered, is generally punished by death. Never was there a body of men so completely cut off from all society as these poor slaves; they never can count, with certainty, on a single moment of life, as the savage caprice of their master may instantly deprive them of it. If, by chance, a slave should belong to a kind and good master, an accident happening to him, or any of his family, will probably prove equally fatal to the slave, as some are generally sacrificed on the death of a chief. Thus these poor slaves are deprived of every hope and stimulus by which all other classes and individuals are animated; no good conduct of theirs towards their master, no attachment to his person or family, no fidelity or long service can ensure kind treatment. If the slave effect his escape to his own part of the country, he is there treated with contempt; and when he dies (if a natural death), his body is dragged to the outside of the village, there to be made sport of by the children, or to furnish food for the dogs! but more frequently his fate is to receive a fatal blow in a fit of passion, and then be devoured by his brutal master! Even the female slaves who, if pretty, are frequently taken as wives by their conquerors, have not a much greater chance of happiness, all being dependent upon the caprice of their owners. When I can relate anything favourable to the missionaries, I invariably intend to do so, which will account for the introduction of the following: A few days since, I paid a visit to one of their settlements, and noticed a remarkably fine native woman attending as a servant. She was respectably dressed, and in every respect (except complexion) she was similar to a European. She spoke English fluently. Upon expressing my admiration of her, I was informed that this woman had been a slave of Hongi's, and that about a year previous he had lost one of his sons, and had determined to sacrifice this poor girl as an atonement. She was actually bound for the purpose, and nothing but the strong interference of the whole of the missionary society here could have saved her life. They exerted themselves greatly, and preserved her; and she had proved a faithful and valuable servant. CHAPTER XXX. PIRATICAL SEIZURE OF A VESSEL. Before finally quitting the subject of slavery, I must give an account of some white men I saw in this state of degradation, and who belonged to a chief who visited us some weeks since. In the beginning of 1827, the Government of New South Wales hired the brig Wellington to convey a number of prisoners to Norfolk Island, most of whom were felons of the worst description: the greater part were under sentence of banishment for life. These desperadoes amounted to seventy-four; by far too many for the size of the brig, as those whose duty is was to guard them, and the crew of the vessel, were too few to keep them under subjection. When within a few days' sail of their destination, they rose on the guard, and, after a desperate struggle, made themselves masters of the vessel, which was a very fine one, and was well provided with arms and stores of every kind, amounting to a sufficiency to carry them to any part of the world they chose. But the machinations of the wicked rarely prosper, and this was another proof of the truth of the observation; for, after a stormy and violent debate among themselves, they at length determined to run for the Bay of Islands, and if any vessel more eligible was there, they were to take possession of her, and leave the Wellington behind, she having no register. It is but justice to them to state that they behaved with humanity to their captives, and no lives were lost: they appointed officers amongst themselves, and, with the assistance of the deposed captain, made this port. On their arrival here, they found two English whalers, the Sisters, Captain Duke, and the Harriet. The commanders, as is usual on these occasions, went immediately on board the newcomer. Captain Duke well knew the vessel, having seen her at Sydney; but, of course, had no idea of what had happened. The pirates received them with great civility, and deceived them with a false description of their voyage--of being bound to a southern port with prisoners; and the two captains, not having the slightest suspicion of who their hosts really were, passed a very merry evening with these marauders. Soon, however, their bad management of the vessel, their want of discipline, and the general confusion on board, roused a vague suspicion in the minds of the two captains that all was not "quite right" on board the Wellington. The real captain, too, had succeeded in conveying a note to Duke, informing him of his situation, and claiming his assistance to recapture the brig, and entreating him to release them all from captivity. This communication produced universal alarm, as both the whalers were quite unprovided for attack or defence, and all the missionary settlements lay quite at the mercy of this band of pirates. Had the latter acted with promptness and spirit, they might easily have made themselves masters of the whole; but while they were arguing and hesitating where they would make their first attack, the whalers were actively employed in getting their great guns out of the hold, and in preparing their vessels for defence; so that, by the time the pirates came to the resolution to attack them, the whalers were in a good posture for resistance, and finally became the assailants. Aided by the prompt assistance of the natives, the whole of these outlaws were taken into custody, with the exception of six. The extreme interest the savages took in capturing these deluded men was truly astonishing. When they were made to understand that these were King George's (of England) slaves, who had broken loose, they knew, from their own laws, that they ought to be taken, and they displayed a great deal of courage and address in approaching and securing them. The pirates (having many passengers and others in their power) stipulated that they should be landed at Kororarika, unmolested by any of the English. This was granted; but no sooner were they left by themselves than a party of natives came forward, seized and bound them, stripped off their clothes, and, after dressing themselves up in them, conducted their prisoners on board the whalers; but notwithstanding the anxiety of the whalers to secure the whole, and the activity of the natives, six of them found means to elude the search, and here they now are. The day on which our houses were burned, these six landed in the train of one of the chiefs; and I have since entertained a suspicion that it was their desire of revenge that occasioned the destruction of our property at the time the calamity happened. I chanced to be in the house alone, and was amazed by seeing an Englishman enter the hut with his face tattooed all over. Not being aware he was one of the runaways from the Wellington, I spoke to him. He slunk into our cooking-house on pretence of lighting his pipe, and before ten minutes had elapsed, the house was in flames. CHAPTER XXXI. THE CLIMATE AND PRODUCTIONS. The summer was now far advanced, and never, during its progress, had we been incommoded by any very hot weather. Our house was generally crowded with visitors: for, as it was the workmanship of King George and his people, they were prodigiously proud of it, and each seemed to think he had an undoubted right to sit in it as much as he liked. This, at times, we felt as a great annoyance; but we were obliged to be very cautious not to say or do anything that should give offence to them, as all were exceedingly irritable, and we felt it to be most essential to our comfort to continue on friendly terms with them. Although we were situated in the same latitude as Sydney, we found the climate of New Zealand infinitely superior. Moderate heats and beautifully clear skies succeeded each other every day. We were quite free from those oppressive, feverish heats which invariably prevail in the middle of the day at Sydney, and from those hot pestilential winds which are the terror of the inhabitants of New South Wales; nor were we subject to those long droughts, which are often the ruin of the Australian farmer. The temperature here was neither too hot nor too cold, neither too wet nor too dry. Reflecting on this country--its situation, inhabitants, and climate--I felt convinced that, if it were the object of our Government to form a new colony, they could not select a more desirable spot than New Zealand. When we left Sydney, a disease was raging there of a most disagreeable nature, namely, catarrh. As usual, it affected strongly the eyes and nose, and generally proved fatal to the very old and to children. We found the poor natives here subject to the same complaint, which they called the "Murray," or "Murraybad"; and they declared they caught it from us Europeans. I could scarcely refrain from laughing while witnessing the strange methods they adopted to effect a cure. Sometimes they would envelope their heads entirely in green leaves, at other times they would almost roast themselves in a heated hut; but their universal remedy, and the one they generally found successful, was starvation, which is, in fact, the doctor who cures them of all the diseases the Europeans have imported amongst them: and, I confess, I have often been amazed at their rapid recovery from maladies which I should have thought incurable. The other day I asked the opinion of a clever medical man, who came here with one of the whalers, and he informed me the only cases he had met with amongst the natives, which terminated fatally, were a few instances of consumption. After the novelty of our savage life began to wear away, I rambled much about the country, in order to form some judgment of its capability of improvement. I never possessed any practical knowledge of farming, and therefore cannot give a scientific opinion or description of the different soils. In whatever direction I travelled, and at this time I had crossed the country in various directions several times, the soil appeared to me to be fat and rich, and also well watered. From every part of it which the natives have cultivated, the produce has been immense. Here, where the finest samples of the human race are to be found, the largest and finest timber grows, and every vegetable (yet planted) thrives, the introduction of European grasses, fruits, etc., etc., would be a great desideratum. Were this done, in a very short time farms would be more eagerly sought after here than they now are in New South Wales. All the fruits and plants hitherto introduced by the missionary establishments have succeeded wonderfully. Peaches and water melons now were in full season; the natives brought baskets full of them to our door every day, which they exchanged with us for the merest trifles, such as a fish-hook, or a button. Indian corn was likewise very abundant, but as the natives did not possess any means or knowledge of grinding it, they were not aware of its full value. Their only method of cooking it was one very disgusting to Europeans. They soaked the ear in water till it was quite soft and sour, the smell from which was exceedingly offensive; they then placed it in their earth ovens to bake, and when they partook of it they seemed to enjoy it very much. In one of my journeys across the island I was accompanied by my Scotch friend, Mr. Shand, who prided himself very much upon his general knowledge of agricultural pursuits; and when I indulged in some sudden bursts of admiration at the beauty of the surrounding prospect, he would invariably check my enthusiasm, by observing that no animals could possibly live in a country so overgrown with fern, and where no grass was indigenous. These observations, often repeated, obliged me to qualify my admiration of this picturesque and beautiful land; but my surprise, and I may say my triumph, were complete when, on approaching the missionary village of Kirikiri, we fell in with a herd of at least a hundred fat cattle, browsing on the sides of the hill, and having nothing else but this very fern to eat; and, on inquiry, we found they gave as good milk, and were in as healthy a condition, as when they grazed on the rich grasses of Lincolnshire. My friend, Captain Duke, made great preparations for the return of his ships, and purchased many pigs to be salted. The self-denial of the natives is wonderful: though very fond of animal food, they sell the whole to us Europeans for the means of war; thus conquering the appetite for the purpose of possessing arms to make them terrible in the sight of their enemies. This feeling, properly directed, may lead to their becoming a great nation. In the course of our saltings and picklings of pork, owing to the warmth of the weather, a considerable quantity was spoiled. I recommended its being immediately thrown into the sea, but Duke, who knew the propensities of the people better than I did, and wished to ingratiate himself among them, sent for some of his favourites, and presented them with the damaged meat, with which they marched off highly delighted, and made a public feast of it in the evening. [Illustration: New Zealand Method of Tattooing. (From a sketch by A. Earle.)] CHAPTER XXXII. THE ART OF TATTOOING. The art of tattooing has been brought to such perfection here, that whenever we have seen a New Zealander whose skin is thus ornamented, we have admired him. It is looked upon as answering the same purposes as clothes. When a chief throws off his mats, he seems as proud of displaying the beautiful ornaments figured on his skin as a first-rate exquisite is in exhibiting himself in his last fashionable attire. It is an essential part of war-like preparations. The whole of this district of Kororarika was preparing for the approaching war. Their canoes, muskets, powder and balls, increased daily; and a very ingenious artist, called Aranghie, arrived to carry on this important branch of his art, which was soon placed in requisition, for all the mighty men in the neighbourhood were one by one under his operating hands. As this "professor" was a near neighbour of mine, I frequently paid him a visit in his "studio," and he returned the compliment whenever he had time to spare. He was considered by his countrymen a perfect master in the art of tattooing, and men of the highest rank and importance were in the habit of travelling long journeys in order to put their skins under his skilful hands. Indeed, so highly were his works esteemed, that I have seen many of his drawings exhibited even after death. A neighbour of mine very lately killed a chief who had been tattooed by Aranghie, and, appreciating the artist's work so highly, he skinned the chieftain's thighs, and covered his cartouch box with it. I was astonished to see with what boldness and precision Aranghie drew his designs upon the skin, and what beautiful ornaments he produced; no rule and compasses could be more exact than the lines and circles he formed. So unrivalled is he in his profession, that a highly-finished face of a chief from the hands of this artist is as greatly prized in New Zealand as a head from the hands of Sir Thomas Lawrence is amongst us. It was most gratifying to behold the respect these savages pay to the fine arts. This "professor" was merely a _kooky_ or slave, but by skill and industry he raised himself to an equality with the greatest men of his country; and as every chief who employed him always made him some handsome present, he soon became a man of wealth, and was constantly surrounded by such important personages as Pungho Pungho, Ruky Ruky, Kivy Kivy, Aranghy Tooker, etc., etc. My friend Shulitea (King George) sent him every day the choicest things from his own table. Though thus basking in the full sunshine of court favour, Aranghie, like a true genius, was not puffed up with pride by his success, for he condescended to come and take tea with me almost every evening. He was delighted with my drawings, particularly with a portrait I made of him. He copied so well, and seemed to enter with such interest into the few lessons of painting I gave him, that if I were returning from here direct to England, I would certainly bring him with me, as I look upon him as a great natural genius. [Illustration: Specimens of Tattooed Faces and Thigh. (From "Expedition de l'Astrolabe.")] One of the important personages who came to the village to employ the talent of our artist was a _Mr_. Rooky Rooky (and he was always very particular in remembering the _Mister_); he brought four of his wives with him, leaving six more at home (polygamy in New Zealand being allowed to any extent). One of this man's wives was a little girl not more than ten years of age, and she excited a great deal of interest amongst us, which, when he discovered, he became very anxious to dispose of her to any of us. He importuned us incessantly on the subject, saying she was his slave, and offered her in exchange for a musket. CHAPTER XXXIII. TRIBAL GOVERNMENT AND RELIGION. Though from my increased knowledge of the language, I was enabled to hold longer conversations, I could not discover that the New Zealanders had any universal form of government: there appeared to me to be no public bodies, or any functionaries employed by the people. Each chief seemed to possess absolute power over his own slaves, and there his authority terminated. Wealth made him feared by his foes, but gave him no influence over his friends. All offence offered to any one of a tribe (or clan) is instantly followed by some act of retaliation by the aggrieved party; and if one tribe is too weak to contend against the one from whom they have received the injury, they call in the aid of another. But should the offence be of a very aggravated nature, and several families be injured by it, a meeting of the chiefs is called. They assemble in one of their forts, and, after a discussion, decide either for an amicable adjustment, or for an exterminating war. Thus these misguided beings are continually destroying each other for some imaginary insult. I became acquainted with a few venerable men of truly noble and praiseworthy characters, such as would do honour to any age, country, or religion. They had passed their whole lives in travelling from one chieftain's residence to another, for the purpose of endeavouring to explain away insults, to offer apologies, and to strive by every means in their power to establish peace between those about to plunge their country into the horrors of war. I have several times met these benevolent men journeying through the country on these pacific missions; and twice during my residence here they have been the happy means of preventing bloodshed. Although the New Zealander is so fond of war, and possesses such war-like manners, yet are these peacemakers held in the highest respect, although they do not hold any sacred function--indeed, no order of priesthood exists amongst the natives. I have never discovered any symptoms of religion in these people, except it consists in a great variety of absurd and superstitious ceremonies. Before I visited this island I used to imagine, from seeing so great a variety of carved figures which had been brought from this country, that they were idols, to whom they paid their devotions; but in this I was deceived. They were merely the grotesque carvings of rude artists, possessing a lively fancy, and were a proof of their industry as well as genius. Every chief's house is adorned with an abundance of these carved monsters. One of their favourite subjects is a lizard taking hold of the top of a man's head; their tradition being that that was the origin of man. The lizard is sacred, and never injured by them. Several of their chiefs assured me they believed in the existence of a great and invisible spirit, called Atna, who keeps a constant charge and watch over them; and that they are constantly looking out for tokens of his approbation or displeasure. There is not a wind that blows but they imagine it bears some message from him. And there are not wanting crafty men who pretend to a much more intimate knowledge of his sentiments than the generality, and they easily work on the minds of the credulous and the ignorant. These imposters obtain great consideration, and their counsel and advice is most anxiously sought after by those about to undertake any important business; but, like ancient astrologers and modern gypsies, they speak only in ambiguous terms; so that whatever may be the result, their prediction may still correspond with it. Like all rude and ignorant people, the New Zealanders seem more to fear the wrath of their God than to love his attributes; and constant sacrifices (too often human ones) are offered up to appease his anger. They imagine that the just and glorious Deity is ever ready to destroy, and that His hand is always stretched forth to execute vengeance. These sacred, or, more correctly speaking, these "cunning" men and women, who pretend to see into futurity, and to hold an intercourse with the Great Spirit, are here (in one way, at least) turned to a good and useful account. As they themselves are held sacred, everything they wish to have taken particular care of, they can render sacred also. All the chiefs find these people of the greatest use in protecting their property, for they possess the power of tabooing, and when once this ceremony is performed over any person or thing, no one dares to touch either; and for a sufficiently good bribe they will impart their sacred power to any chief, who, by means of this device, thus can protect a field of potatoes or grain, at fifty miles distance from his settlement, more securely and effectually than by any fences, or number of persons he might place to guard it. This ceremony of taboo, which is common to the whole of the South Sea Islands, seems the principal part of their religion, and it is really difficult to walk without trespassing or infringing on some spot under this influence. All those who touch a corpse are immediately taboo'd, and must be fed like an infant, as their own hands must not touch anything that is put into their mouths. In fact, as we strolled through the village at the time of their evening repast, it appeared as though some dreadful disease had suddenly struck the greater part of the inhabitants, and deprived them of the use of their limbs, most of them being either fed by their slaves, or lying flat down on the ground, and with their mouths eating out of their platters or baskets. The canoe that carries a corpse to the place of its interment is, from that time, taboo'd and laid up; and if any one by chance touches it, he does so at his peril. All those chiefs who were under the operating hands of Aranghie, the tatooer, were under this law, and all those who worked upon their war canoes were similarly situated. Unfortunately for me, I one day took away a handful of chips from their dockyard to make our fire burn clearly. I was informed they were taboo'd, and upon my pleading ignorance, and sorrow for the misdemeanour, together with a promise not to renew the offence, I was pardoned. A poor hen of ours did not escape so well; she, poor thing, ventured to form a nest, and actually hatched a fine family of chickens amongst these sacred shavings! Loud was the outcry, and great the horror she occasioned when she marched forth cackling, with her merry brood around her. She and "all her little ones" were sacrificed instantly. What became of their bodies we could never learn; probably the workmen were not too fastidious to eat them. I have observed, since my residence here, one circumstance which proves a kind feeling in the natives, and shows they are not averse to the preaching of the missionaries, or the doctrines they inculcate. It was the custom of all the Europeans settled here, on the beach at Kororarika, to refrain from all kinds of work on the Sabbath; to shave, and dress themselves in their best habiliments; and if any of the missionaries came over, they went forth to meet them, and hear divine service. Several of the natives generally assembled and witnessed the ceremony; and as they observed it came every seventh day, they called it "the white taboo'd day, when the pakeha (or white men) put on clean clothes, and leave off work;" and, strange to say, the natives also abstained from working on that day. Nothing could induce them to the contrary; not that we wished to persuade them to work, but merely endeavoured so to do to ascertain the strength of their politeness. Not a bit of work would they do upon a Sunday, although it was a critical time with them; for all the chiefs were unprepared with their war canoes for the approaching expedition. At length we discovered that their cunning was as conspicuous as their politeness. They had observed we generally lay longer in bed on a Sunday morning than any other; they accordingly were up by break of day, and had completed many hours' work before we made our appearance; but the moment one of us did appear the work was instantly left off. This degree of outward respect, though craftily managed, was infinitely more than could be reasonably expected from a rude and turbulent savage. It is mere respect than we Europeans pay to any religious ceremony we do not understand. Even their taboo'd grounds would not be so respected by us, if we were not quite certain they possessed the power instantly to revenge any affront offered to their sacred places. Of all animals introduced by the Europeans, the most unserviceable, and indeed injurious, have been the dogs. They have increased rapidly; every spot was crowded with poor half-starved curs, that were all night long committing depredations on the poultry, pigs, and goats; and if some effectual means of diminishing this pernicious breed is not soon resorted to, the island will be cleared of every other quadruped. Goats were beginning to increase, and the craggy heights round the bays formed a favourite retreat for these interesting wanderers. Captain Duke put himself to great expense and trouble, and effected the importation of some sheep from Van Diemen's Land; but the dogs soon destroyed them all. THE MASSACRE OF THE FRENCH NAVIGATOR MARION AND PARTY. Our friend George generally paid us a visit after the business of the day was over, and took a cup of tea; wine or grog he detested: so, while he sipped his beverage, we lit our pipes, and managed, with our slight knowledge of his language, together with his imperfect English, to keep up a sort of conversation. Sometimes this was rather wearisome; but occasionally it became interesting in the extreme. He told us that, when Captain Cook touched here, he was a little child; but that his mother (old Turero, who was then with him) remembered his coming well. The French navigator, Marion, he recollected perfectly, and made one of the party that murdered him and his people. His observation was, "They were all brave men; but they were killed and eaten." He assured us that the catastrophe was quite unpremeditated. Marion's entire ignorance of the customs of the New Zealanders occasioned that distressing event: as I have before observed, that strangers, not acquainted with their religious prejudices, are likely to commit some fatal error; and no action is more likely to lead a party into danger than an incautious use of the seine, for most of the beaches (best suited for that purpose) are taboo'd. This led to the dreadful fate of Marion and his party. I understood from George, that when Marion's men assembled to trail their net on the sacred beach, the natives used every kind of entreaty and remonstrance to induce them to forbear, but, either from ignorance or obstinacy, they persisted in their intentions, and drew their net to land. The natives, greatly incensed by this act of impiety, vowed revenge; and the suspicions of the French not being roused, an opportunity soon presented itself of taking ample retaliation. The seine being very heavy, the French required the assistance of the natives in drawing it on shore. These wily fellows instantly consented to the task, and placed themselves alternately between each Frenchman, apparently, to equalise the work. Consequently, in the act of pulling, each native had a white man before him; and, on an appointed signal, the brains of each European were knocked out by a tremendous blow of the stone hatchet. Captain Marion, who, from his ship, was an eye-witness of these horrid murders, instantly hastened on shore with the remainder of his crew to avenge the slaughter of his countrymen. Led on more by ardour than prudence, he suffered himself to be surrounded; was overpowered by numbers, defeated, and every one was put to death! This account of George's does not, I acknowledge, exactly agree with the published narrative of that unfortunate event, nor does his age agree with the dates. Only a few years elapsed between the time of Cook and Marion, yet he declares himself to have been a child at the death of the navigator, and a man at the murder of the latter; but as it was voluntary on his part to give me the above detail, and even if he were not present himself, he most probably had the facts from one who was, I thought it worth inserting, as tending to throw light on one of the most melancholy events which ever took place on these coasts. George also related to me the dreadful tragedy of the ship Boyd, and, horrible as these relations were, I felt a particular interest, almost amounting to pleasure, in hearing them related by an eye-witness; one who had been an actor in those bloody scenes which I had before read of: narratives which from my very childhood had always possessed particular charms for me; and at this time I was not only looking on the very spot the hero of my imagination, Cook, had trod, but was hearing the tale from one who had actually seen him; and was listening to every particular concerning the transactions of Marion and his men, as though they had just taken place. Even in the dreadful destruction of the Boyd, George laid the blame entirely on the English, and spoke with great bitterness of the ill-treatment of Philip, the native chief, who came as passenger in the ship. He described and mimicked his cleaning shoes and knives; his being flogged when he refused to do this degrading work; and, finally, his speech to his countrymen when he came on shore, soliciting their assistance in capturing the vessel, and revenging his ill-treatment. Over and over again our friend George, having worked up his passion by a full recollection of the subject, went through the whole tragedy. The scene thus portrayed was interesting although horrible. No actor, trained in the strictest rules of his art, could compete with George's vehemence of action. The flexibility of his features enabled him to vary the expression of each passion; and he represented hatred, anger, horror, and the imploring of mercy so ably that, in short, one would have imagined he had spent his whole life in practising the art of imitation. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE MAORI VIEW OF CHRISTIANITY. I frequently conversed with George upon the subject of religion, and from what he told me I found that the natives had not formed the slightest idea of there being a state of future punishment. They refuse to believe that the good Spirit intends to make them miserable after their decease. They imagine all the actions of this life are punished here, and that every one when dead, good or bad, bondsman or free, is assembled on an island situated near the North Cape, where both the necessaries and comforts of life will be found in the greatest abundance, and all will enjoy a state of uninterrupted happiness. A people of their simple habits, and possessing so little property, have but few temptations to excesses of any kind, excepting the cruelties practised by them in war, in which they fancy themselves perfectly justified, and the tyranny exercised by them over their slaves, whom they look upon as mere machines. There is, in fact, but little crime among them, for which reason they cannot imagine any man wicked enough to deserve eternal punishment. This opinion of theirs we saw an illustration of one Sunday, when one of the missionaries paid us a visit. The ceremony of all assembling to public worship astonished the natives greatly, though they always behaved with the utmost decorum when admitted into the house where the ceremony takes place. On the day in question the minister endeavoured to explain the sacred mysteries of our religion to a number of the chiefs who were present. They listened attentively to all he said, and expressed no doubts as to its truth, only remarking that "as all these wonderful circumstances happened only in the country of the white men, the great Spirit expected the white men only to believe them." The missionary then began to expatiate on the torments of hell, at which some of them seemed horrified, but others said "they were quite sure such a place could only be made for the white faces, for they had no men half wicked enough in New Zealand to be sent there;" but when the reverend gentleman added with vehemence that "all men" would be condemned, the savages all burst into a loud laugh, declaring "they would have nothing to do with a God who delighted in such cruelties; and then (as a matter of right) hoped the missionary would give them each a blanket for having taken the trouble of listening to him so patiently." I cannot forbear censuring the missionaries, inasmuch as they prevent the natives, by every means in their power, from acquiring the English language. They make a point of mastering the native tongue as quickly as possible, and being able to give their whole time and attention to it, this is easily accomplished. It is of importance that they should do so, otherwise they could not carry on the duties of the mission; but by thus engrossing the knowledge, they obtain great influence over the minds of the natives. We ourselves were sadly puzzled by a correspondence we had with two native chiefs, who had been taught to read and write by some of the Society; but their acquirements being in their native language, were of no possible use. The difficulty of teaching them English would not have been greater, and then what stores of information and improvement might not their instructors have laid open to them. CHAPTER XXXV. THREATENED INVASION BY HONGI. We had passed some months here, and were beginning to look out for the return of our brig, to take us again into civilised society, when we were once more thrown into alarm by a threatened invasion. A rumour was circulated in the village that Hongi, who now lay at the point of death, had declared that he would make one last glorious effort before he expired. He was resolved (it was reported) to collect his warriors, overcome George and his followers, possess himself of Kororarika, and die upon the conquered territory of his enemy; and I had no doubt that in his moment of delirium such had been his exclamations, as it had always been one of his favourite projects. When this was reported to George, he immediately came to us, and with a most doleful countenance told us we must take care of ourselves; for, if the report proved true, he was much too weak to protect us. This certainly caused us some alarm, but, fortunately for us, a good-sized whaler, the Marianne, was then lying at anchor in the port, having arrived but a few days previously. The presence of a ship, all over the world, is felt as a protection to Europeans, as in case of danger it is a sure place of refuge. King George sent off his messengers in every direction to inform his friends and dependants of the threats uttered against him by Hongi, and the next day eight large war canoes, filled with warriors, came to his assistance. They landed at some distance from the beach, and, as it was late in the day, they would not make their public _entree_ till the next morning; for the New Zealanders are very fond of giving a grand effect to all their public meetings. I determined to pay them a visit, to witness the ceremonies of the night bivouack, which proved a most picturesque scene, and wild and beautiful in the extreme. Their watch fires glanced upon the dark skins of these finely formed men, and on their bright weapons. Some groups were dancing; others were lying round a fire, chanting wild songs, descriptive of former wars; whilst the graver elders sat in a circle, and discussed the present state of affairs. All were delighted to see me, and each group offered to share their fire and provisions with the "white visitor," as they termed me. The next morning these auxiliary forces were seen descending the hills to our village; and, in order to return the compliment, we all went in our best array to receive them. There were upwards of two hundred athletic, naked savages, each armed with his firelock, and marching with the utmost regularity. The chiefs took the lead. The alarm such a sight might have created was dissipated by the certainty that they came as our protectors. I even imagined their countenances were not so ferocious as usual but as they approached near to our party, the usual sham fight began, accompanied by the war dance, and although I expected it, and indeed had come for the purpose of witnessing it, it was conducted with so much fury on both sides, that at length I became quite horrified, and for some time could not divest myself of the feeling that our visitors were playing false, so closely did this mock combat resemble a real one. The dreadful noises, the hideous faces, the screeching of the women, and the menacing gestures of each party, were so calculated to inspire terror, that stouter hearts than mine might have felt fear. When the tumult subsided, the elder chiefs squatted down, and had the long talk usual on these occasions. I was much delighted to recognise among these chiefs one I had known at Sydney. During his residence in that city I had permitted him to remain in my house, and the few presents which he had requested on his return to his own country I had provided him with, and sent him off delighted and happy, and never expected to behold him again. The moment I approached he recollected me, jumped up from the "council," ran up to me, hugged me in his arms, and rubbed noses so forcibly with me that I felt his friendship for some time, besides being daubed all over most plentifully with red ochre, which he, being then on a war-like and ceremonious visit, was smeared with from head to foot. When my savage friend (whom we used to call Mr. Tookee) had overcome his first burst of delight at seeing me, and had literally left off jumping for joy, he introduced me to his father, Mr. De Frookee, the chief of his tribe, a very fine specimen of an old New Zealander, who was (I found) highly respected for his integrity and benevolence. His eyes overflowed with tears when he heard I was the person who had shown such kindness to his son at Sydney. I soon felt quite "at home" with the old chief, and experienced the good effect of having kept my word with this uncultivated savage. I had, at the time I presented him with the gifts, been much laughed at by my acquaintances at Sydney for putting myself to such unnecessary expense; but, from the gratitude he displayed for the trifling services I had then rendered him, I felt assured he and his companions would do all in their power to protect me from every danger. A long discussion was now carried on, one speaker at a time occupying the oblong space round which the warriors sat, and the more animated the debate, the faster ran the speaker to and fro, flourishing his hatchet in a most dexterous manner. The instant one speaker finishes, another starts up to answer him; but previous to rising they throw a mat or blanket over their shoulders, and arrange it most tastefully around them; and, as their attitudes are all striking and graceful, and a great part of the figure is left exposed, it forms a study for an artist, well worth his going many miles to witness, and invariably reminded me of the fine models of antiquity. As a painter, I conceive that this must have been the great secret of the perfection to which the Greek and Roman sculptors brought their works; as they constantly contemplated the display of the human form in all its beauty in their various gymnastic exercises, which enabled them to transfer to marble such ease and elegance as we, living in an age of coats and breeches, never shall be able to rival. After the important subjects had been settled by the elders, the young men assembled without their weapons, and began another kind of sham fight, one grappling with another, till hundreds of them were locked in each other's arms, and were flung in heaps in every direction. After they were tired of this pastime, a regular ring was formed, and a wrestling match began, which was carried on in as regular and fair a manner as a boxing match in our own country, and as much skill and cunning were displayed in the art of throwing as the greatest connoisseur would desire. I was pleased, also, to observe that, whatever happened (and some most severe throws and blows passed), nothing could disturb their good humour. This party, having remained for seven days on our beach, and not hearing anything more of our intended invaders, their provisions also becoming rather scarce, took leave in order to return to their own district, placing scouts to give them quick intelligence of the movements of the enemy. CHAPTER XXXVI. ARRIVAL OF A WARSHIP. A few days after the departure of this friendly tribe, a "King's ship" of eighteen guns arrived in the Bay; consequently all our fears of an immediate invasion were over. No sooner had she cast anchor than our friend George came to us, expressing the greatest anxiety to visit King George of England's warship, and requesting we would accompany him, which we readily agreed to do; and he left us to adorn himself for the occasion. Soon after he reappeared in great state. A very splendid war-mat was thrown over his shoulders; his hair was dressed, oiled, and decorated with feathers, and his person was plentifully covered with red ochre: he appeared a very fine-looking fellow: his mother, his three wives, and all his sons and daughters were dressed in equal magnificence, and accompanied him. In this state we went off to visit the vessel; but the moment I came alongside, I repented my being there, for the rude and churlish manner in which we were received distressed me considerably. In the first place, an order was given that none but the chief himself should be allowed to come on board; consequently his wives and daughters were obliged to remain in the canoe. The captain spoke only a few words to George, who was allowed to remain but a few minutes in the cabin; on getting up to take leave, George took off his fine war-mantle and presented it to the captain; but, receiving no other covering in return for his gift, he went on shore naked! The officers of the vessel behaved differently: they conducted us all down into the gun-room, where they treated us most kindly, and paid every attention to our friend George, whose dignity was deeply wounded by the cool and contemptuous behaviour of the captain. How greatly is it to be regretted that some arrangements are not made by our Government at Home, and that there are not orders given to commanders of ships of war touching here to pay attention to the chiefs, and to make some trifling presents amongst them; for there never were a people more anxious to cultivate a friendly intercourse with British subjects than the inhabitants of New Zealand: and yet there is scarcely a Government vessel that puts into port here but the natives receive some insult, though they are sent for the express purpose of supporting the dignity of the English nation, and to cultivate the amicable feelings of the chiefs. When a "King's ship" comes to anchor, the chiefs (with all the glee of children going to a fair) collect together their wives, children, and friends, and pay a visit to the "fighting ships," to see King George's warriors (as they call them): when they come alongside they are kept off by an armed sentry; and, after a long parley, they are informed the chief may come, but his family and friends must not. In this case, the natives generally spit at the vessel, and, uttering execrations on their inhospitality, return on shore. One of the savage chieftains who accompanied us to the vessel in question, on our way back remarked, "that the white warriors were _afraid_ of admitting them, though they were unarmed and but a few; while the warriors in the ships were many, and armed with their great guns." Living entirely amongst these people so long as I had done, I felt the absurdity of such conduct, and the folly of treating them so harshly. If ever individuals are so situated as to need either the esteem or the confidence of savages, they must bear with their prying and childish curiosity, and not be afraid of treating them too kindly; by this means they become the quietest and gentlest creatures in the world; but, if treated with contumely, and their wives and families repulsed from your ship, they become dangerous, vindictive, and cruel neighbours, as many a dreadful deed which has taken place in this vicinity will fully prove. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE WHALERS AND THE MISSIONARIES. The South Sea whalers are the ships the natives are the most anxious to see on their coasts; and it is the crews of those vessels who have, in a manner, civilised these hardy islanders. Captain Gardiner, of the Marianne (the vessel now in the harbour), is the oldest person in that trade; and he informed me, that not longer than twenty years back scarcely any vessel would dare to touch at New Zealand; and when, from particular circumstances, they were obliged so to do, they kept their boarding-nettings up, and kept a strict guard night and day: their fears arose from a want of knowledge of the disposition of the people. The vessels frequenting the island use no precautions now: hundreds of natives are permitted to crowd on board each ship; and no accident has ever occurred from this mode of treatment. But when a ship of war arrives here for the first time, the precautions taken are, to arm the row-guard with cutlasses and pistols, and to harass the crew with constant watching, while the only enemy that exists is in their own imaginations. To the courage and enterprise of the commanders of whalers all credit is due for working the rapid change in these once bloody-minded savages, and forming safe and commodious harbours for their vessels to refit in: this have they done in a part of the world lately looked upon with horror. What credit soever the missionaries may take to themselves, or try to make their supporters in England believe, every man who has visited this place, and will speak his mind freely and disinterestedly, must acknowledge _they_ have had no share in bringing about this change of character; but, on the contrary, they have done all that in them lay to injure the reputation of the whaler in the estimation of the natives. Hitherto they have not succeeded: their want of hospitality and kindness to their own countrymen raises a strong dislike to them in the minds of these unsophisticated people. According to their simple notions of right and wrong, they think the want of hospitality an unpardonable offence, and that the counsel or advice of a man who shuts his door against his neighbour is not worthy of being attended to. I will give the reader one more anecdote of these men, who are sent out to set an example of the beauty of the Christian faith to the unenlightened heathens. A few weeks since, the festival of Christmas took place; and Englishmen, in whatever part of the world they chance to be, make a point of assembling together on that day, our recollections then being associated with "home" and our families, uniting to spend that day in mutual congratulations and wishes for happiness. For some time previous to its arrival, the captains of the two whalers and myself had been deliberating where we should spend this social day; and it was finally settled that we should cross the bay to Te Puna, a beautiful and romantic spot, the residence of an intelligent chief, called Warri Pork, and an Englishman, named Hanson. Near this was a church missionary establishment; and at this Englishman's house we determined we would spend the day. The captains of the two whalers then in the harbour joined our party; and as everyone contributed his share towards our picnic feast, the joint stock made altogether a respectable appearance. We proceeded to Te Puna in two whaleboats: it was a most delightful trip, the scenery being strikingly beautiful. The village of Ranghe Hue, belonging to Warri Pork, is situated on the summit of an immense and abrupt hill: the huts belonging to the savages appeared, in many places, as though they were overhanging the sea, the height being crowned with a mighty pah. At the bottom of this hill, and in a beautiful valley, the cottages of the missionaries are situated, complete pictures of English comfort, content, and prosperity; they are close to a bright sandy beach: a beautiful green slope lies in their rear, and a clear and never-failing stream of water runs by the side of their enclosures. As the boats approached this lovely spot, I was in an ecstasy of delight: such a happy mixture of savage and civilised life I had never seen before; and when I observed the white smoke curling out of the chimneys of my countrymen, I anticipated the joyful surprise, the hearty welcome, the smiling faces, and old Christmas compliments that were going to take place, and the great pleasure it would give our secluded countrymen to meet us, in these distant regions, at this happy season, and talk of our relatives and friends in England. My romantic notions were soon crushed; our landing gave no pleasure to these secluded Englishmen: they gave us no welcome; but, as our boats approached the shore, they walked away to their own dwellings, closed their gates and doors after them, and gazed at us through their windows; and during three days that we passed in a hut quite near them, they never exchanged one word with any of the party. Thus foiled in our hopes of spending a social day with our compatriots, after our dinner was over we sent materials for making a bowl of punch up the hill to the chiefs, and spent the remainder of the day surrounded by generous savages, who were delighted with our company, and who did everything in their power to make us comfortable. In the course of the afternoon two of the mission came up to preach; but the savages were so angry with them for not showing more kindness to their own countrymen, that none would listen to them. I have visited many of the Roman Catholic missionary establishments; their priests adopt quite a different line of conduct: they are cheerful and kind to the savage pagan, and polite and attentive to their European brethren; they have gained the esteem of those they have been sent to convert; they have introduced their own language amongst them, which enables them to have intercourse with strangers; and, however we may differ in some tenets of religious belief, we must acknowledge the success of their mission. They have brought nearly the whole of the Indian population in South America into the bosom of their church; and their converts form the greater part of the people. Notwithstanding the numerous church and sectarian missionaries sent from England, I never met with one Indian converted by them. I have attended mass in an Indian village; a native priest performed the ceremony, and the whole congregation (except myself) were of his cast and complexion: and, it is worthy of remark, that in Peru, and some of the most populous provinces, a pagan is scarcely to be found. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THREATENED WAR. We now heard that Tetoro (one of the most powerful chiefs of this part of the island) had taken offence, and had sent a defiance to King George, saying he intended coming to seek revenge, accompanied by a strong body of warriors; and the "herald" who brought this proclamation informed us that the English settlers were to be attacked and plundered also. We had every reason to fear this might prove a more calamitous affair than any we had yet experienced; as George immediately collected all his family and dependents, and took his departure for the Kawakawa river (the residence of De Kookie, the chief who had come to his assistance against Hongi's attack), leaving behind only a few slaves. Thus a second time were we left to our own resources on Kororarika Beach. George and his followers were too much scattered: some were trading with the ships, others were distributed in various districts, attending to their agricultural pursuits. Thus separated, each might become an easy prey to any of the powerful chiefs; but, were they united, they would be too strong for any of the tribes: unfortunately the hope of gain made them risk so great a danger. At this period, too, there was not a single vessel in the bay to protect us. The known partiality of all the tribes for Europeans was the only consolation we had; and we endeavoured to cheer each other with this hope, under what in reality might be considered very appalling circumstances. After enduring this state of suspense and anxiety for several days, and no enemy appearing, we determined to pay a visit to the camp of the combined army of our friends, which would, at the same time, gratify our own curiosity, and give them a degree of satisfaction; as it would prove to them that we were not afraid of venturing amongst them, even in times of danger. We accordingly prepared the whaleboats to proceed up the Kawakawa river; and, as I had never been there before, the present afforded an excellent opportunity for exploring that picturesque spot. At the top of the Bay of Islands, two rivers disembogue, the Wye Catte and the Kawakawa: they are both small but beautiful streams. It was early in the morning when we started: the dewy mist rose from the unruffled bosom of the river like the gradual lifting up of a curtain, and, at length, displayed its lofty sides, covered with immense trees, the verdure extending to the very edge of the water. All was quiet, beautiful, and serene; the only sounds which broke the calm were the wild notes of the tui (or New Zealand blackbird), the splashing of our own oars, or the occasional flight of a wild duck (or shag), disturbed by our approach. We rowed our boat many miles without seeing the slightest vestige of any human inhabitants or civilisation: all appeared wild and magnificent as if just fresh from the hands of nature; and it failed not to lead the mind up to the contemplation of the Creator. It seemed utterly impossible to reconcile the idea that such lonely, romantic, and sequestered scenes could conceal hordes of savage cannibals, or that the tranquility of this very place would soon be exchanged for the noise and tumult of savage warfare. We soon reached the village where the coalesced chiefs had taken up their station: they had fortified their position, and were waiting the approach of the enemy. No sooner, however, was our arrival known, than all came running down tumultuously to give us welcome: all business was laid aside to greet our landing, and we were conducted with great ceremony into the centre of the camp. CHAPTER XXXIX. CONSTRUCTION OF A PA. We found eight hundred warriors, who (to use a sea phrase) were "all at quarters." The magic pen of Scott might here have been well employed to describe "The Gathering." The chiefs sat apart from their followers in deep consultation: we did not approach near enough to hear their discussion; but it ended by their paying us a high compliment for coming amongst them. The young and active were busily employed in constructing a strong stockade fort to annoy the enemy as he approached; others were preparing their weapons, or practising the use of arms. The village itself was an object of extreme interest; and, after contemplating the war-like preparations of the chiefs, we turned with pleasure to gaze on the beauty of the surrounding country. In a plain, surrounded by high hills, with a beautiful stream of water meandering through it, was situated a group of huts; and many acres of cultivated ground, neatly fenced and cleared, encircled them. Their harvest, consisting of Indian corn, potatoes, and kumara, was now ready for gathering, and all the women were busily occupied. As I from an eminence looked down upon their labours, I could almost fancy I was in Italy, and beheld the peasantry at work in their vineyards: but the adjacent camp and naked warriors soon dissipated the illusion! On approaching the village we occasioned quite a commotion: the girls brought forth baskets filled with cooked kumaras and peaches, while the men erected a tent to screen us from the rays of the sun: indeed, all seemed anxious to do something that should prove acceptable to us. We had brought with us sufficient provision for a good dinner which was soon cooked, and we invited them to partake of our fare, and a very merry and noisy group we formed. After our repast, the chief warriors took us round their camp, and exhibited to us all their means of defence, and the different works they had thrown up. Where the use of artillery is unknown, the principles of fortification are simple, and the New Zealanders seem to possess a clear notion of the art: necessity being with them the mother of invention. In the direction where the approach of the enemy was expected, they had erected a strong square stockade, to molest the army; while the women and children retired to the principal fort, which was very strong, and situated at the summit of the highest hill: it had a breast-work all round it about five feet high, and a broad ditch beyond that. The fortress was large enough to contain several hundred men: it had a spacious glacis in front, and every approach to it was so completely exposed, that we thought even a body of regular troops, without artillery, would have found it very difficult to storm; and to the New Zealand warrior it seemed a wonderful and impregnable work. The chief who had the command of this fort was our old acquaintance Kiney Kiney, a younger brother of King George's, who seemed proud of this honour, and appeared highly delighted in showing us round, and explaining everything to us; even condescending to ask our advice as to any means of adding strength and security to the works. He listened attentively to all our observations; and if he approved any alteration we suggested he ordered it instantly to be carried into effect. I noticed a thicket too near the fort, and told him I thought it might shelter a body of men, and before I left the pa it was reduced to a heap of ashes. Sentinels were posted in every direction to give notice of the approach of an enemy. _Mr._ Kiney Kiney (as he was sometimes called) was splendidly apparelled on this occasion: he had, by some means or other, become possessed of a light infantry sabre, with all its paraphernalia of belts and buckles; this was girded round his naked body, which gave him a very gallant air, and, I have no doubt, was the envy and admiration of all his followers. CHAPTER XL. A SHAM FIGHT. After we had seen and approved all their preparations, we were treated with a grand review and sham fight: they divided themselves into two parties; one half the number took their station on a hill, and lay concealed; the other party crouched on the plains to receive the attack, all kneeling on one knee, with their eyes fixed on the spot whence they expected the rush of their pretended enemies. In a moment, the concealed party burst forth from their ambush, with a tremendous and simultaneous shout, and the mock battle began with great fury. Nothing in nature can be imagined more horrible than the noise they make on these occasions. I have heard, under circumstances of some peril, the North American Indian war-whoop; but that is trifling compared with it and their countenances are hideous beyond description. My principal astonishment on these occasions was, that they did not actually kill each other, or, at least, break each other's bones; for they seemed to strike with all the fury and vigour of a real engagement; but they kept such exact time, that at a moment's notice they all left off, and began joking and laughing, except a very few, whom I observed to sneak away to wash off some bloody witness, or to put a plaster on their broken skin. After these military and gymnastic exhibitions, they formed a grand assembly, and the chiefs, as usual, made long speeches in rotation. This rude parliament is one of the most beautiful features in savage government: all public matters are discussed openly, grievances are complained of, and justice is summarily administered. Thus, after spending a pleasant day, we rose to depart, and took an affectionate leave of our entertainers, who were most anxious that we should remain longer; but we thought we had better return to Kororarika, where our property had been left. Most of the chiefs accompanied us to our boats, and, after exhibiting various testimonies of their friendly feeling towards us, they suffered us to depart. The day following this visit, we were alarmed by the appearance of two war canoes crossing the bay: we waited their approach with considerable anxiety: what few valuables we had with us we concealed about our persons; but, as they neared our beach, our fears subsided, on finding there were only a few men in each. Three chiefs (unarmed) landed, whom we found to be Rivers and two of his near kinsmen, the most dreaded persons of our expected invaders; but they immediately informed us they came on a mission of peace, and, for that reason, had come to us unattended and unarmed. We were most happy to hear this, and to find hostilities were again likely to be deferred. Though we well knew the character of these men, and that they were capable of the most treacherous acts, and the deepest dissimulation, yet, their thus throwing themselves into our power, with the olive branch in their hands, was irresistible; and we received them with all the pomp we were capable of. We ordered a pig to be killed for the feast, and requested them to remain for that night. In order to do honour to our noble guests, and credit to our friend and ally King George, we produced all the luxuries we had; and, in addition to the pork, piles of pancakes and molasses were devoured: after this we gave them tea, of which they are very fond; and, over our pipes, in the evening, we informed them of the preparations the coalesced chiefs had made for their reception, had their intentions been hostile. The next morning they embarked for the camp at Kawakawa, where, I understood, they had considerable difficulty in arranging the "treaty of peace": George having been so often alarmed, now that such great preparations had been effected (as he well know the treacherous character of his foe), he was unwilling to give up the hopes of conquest; however, by the advice of the chiefs, it was finally settled amicably. George and his friends accordingly returned to Kororarika, leaving a strong party at the pa to finish the fortifications; and, though peace was made, our party still kept themselves in a posture of defence. CHAPTER XLI. RETURN OF THE BRIG.--AN EXCITING INCIDENT. We had been expecting with great anxiety the return of our brig; and, soon after the termination of this affair, we had the pleasure of seeing her enter the bay, after her cruise from Tongataboo and Tucopea. We found that, on leaving the Bay of Islands, she had touched at the Thames, or (as the natives call it) Hauraki, in order to land two chiefs, whom Captain Dillon had taken thence two years before, and, in the confusion occasioned by the disembarking, the visiting and congratulations of friends (the vessel being under weigh), one chief was left on board, who had not been discovered till all the canoes were out of sight, and there remained no other alternative for him than to proceed on the whole voyage. This was of no importance as it respected Tongataboo or Tucopea; but, on his return to Kororarika, it was not only placing him, but all of us, in a dreadful dilemma! His tribe being at deadly enmity with that of George, the moment he was seen on deck (which was as soon as the vessel arrived), George and all the men in the various canoes appeared to grow outrageous: nothing would convince them but that we were in league with their enemies, and had brought this spy into their territories from interested motives; and they seemed resolved upon boarding the brig and executing vengeance upon the unfortunate victim. To all our remonstrances George replied, "Any other man than this I would have pardoned; but it was only last year he killed, and helped to eat, my own uncle, whose death still remains unrevenged: I cannot allow him to leave my country alive; if I did, I should be despised for ever." I was greatly grieved at the circumstance; but, as I was somewhat of a favourite with George, I succeeded in convincing him that it arose purely from accident, and no intention of giving him offence; and he consented to leave him on board, but cautioned us not to allow him to land. "If I see him on shore he dies," he repeated several times. It would have been well for us had we attended to this warning: we did not; and we accordingly infringed on the customs of his country; thus placing ourselves in a most perilous situation with the natives, and plainly showing that the imprudence of our countrymen is invariably the cause of quarrels and misunderstandings with these islanders. Some days having passed since this altercation with George, we thought no more about it. The brig, from various causes, was certain to remain some time in this harbour; and, as our New Zealand guest expressed a great desire to go on shore one day, we consented to his accompanying us. We had scarcely entered our house, when we had reason to repent the imprudent step we had taken: all the natives were in commotion; messengers were sent off to George to acquaint him with the circumstance, and soon after we saw him, attended by all his relations, accoutred for war; that is, quite naked, their skins oiled and painted, and armed with muskets. Fury was in their looks and gestures as they hastened towards our residence. We had scarcely time to shut and fasten our door, when they made a rush to force it; and we had a severe struggle to keep them out. At one period their rage became so ungovernable that we expected every instant they would fire on us for preventing their entrance. The man who was the cause of all this violence crept into our bedroom, and kept out of sight; but he did not, at any period of the disturbance, exhibit the least sign of fear, so accustomed are they from childhood to these deadly frays. When the natives found we would not give up the man, but that they must murder us before they could accomplish their revenge, the disappointment rendered them nearly frantic. Our situation was most critical and appalling; and nothing can be a more convincing proof of the influence the Europeans have obtained over them, than that, at such a moment, they should have refrained from setting fire to or pulling down the house, and sacrificing every one of us. George again remonstrated with us, assuring us it was his sacred duty to destroy this man, now he was in his territory; a duty which, he said, he owed to the memory of his murdered relations, and which must be performed, even though he should sacrifice his "good English friends." He cautioned us not to stand between him and his enemy, who must die before the sun set, pointing, at the same time, to that luminary, and ordering his slaves to kindle a large fire to roast him on. Finally, he and his friends planted themselves all round the house to prevent the escape of their victim. Thus were we environed with fifty or sixty well armed and exasperated savages. Our imprudence had given us no other alternative than either to give up the man, who had put himself under our protection, or still to defend him at the risk of our own lives: we instantly adopted the latter course. Fortunately for us, a whaler was lying in the harbour, and a party of her men were then on shore in the neighbourhood procuring water. We had sent to them to explain the nature of our situation, and we saw them coming to our assistance, though the numbers of natives at this time assembled totally precluded all chance of our getting off by force; and a variety of schemes were suggested as to how we should save the man's life, and get clear of this difficulty, without sacrificing the good opinion we were held in by the natives. We were well aware of the great importance it was to George to continue on friendly terms with the English vessels touching here, as they not only afforded him various sources of considerable profit, but the intercourse gave him great importance in the eyes of his countrymen; and we determined to make this circumstance a means of saving the man's life, as we suspected that a threat of removing the seat of trade would soon make him compromise his revenge for his interest. We therefore sent him a formal message, that, if he was resolved to kill his enemy in our house, we had determined not to prevent him, but that we would not stay to witness such a cruelty; and that we should immediately remove every thing we possessed on board ship, leave the Bay of Islands, and seek the protection and shelter of some other chief; and, if he compelled us to do so, no other British ship would ever be seen at Kororarika. We accordingly ordered the ship's boats ashore, and our things were quickly conveyed into them. I trembled when I looked on the natives, and saw the rage depicted on their countenances; and I, trusting in Providence to avert from me the dreadful death with which I saw myself threatened, prepared myself for some fatal catastrophe. Tumultuous discussions ensued, and it at length became difficult for the elders to restrain the impetuosity of the younger chiefs. Fortunately for us, their vehement speeches soon produced a violent feud amongst themselves. Mutual upbraidings took place: each accused the other of being the cause of quarrel, and the consequent loss of the white men. This was precisely the state of things we wished for; and, while we were waiting the return of the last boat, a messenger came from the elder chiefs, to propose an amicable adjustment of the affair. The chiefs promised that, if we would reland our goods and remain with them, the man we protected should go without molestation on board the brig; but, if we persevered in leaving them, the man should be killed before our eyes. This was what we expected; and though I really now wished to leave them, being quite tired of these perpetual broils, we assented, in order that the man's life might be spared When they found we agreed to their proposal, they retreated out of sight, thereby carefully avoiding polluting their eyes by looking upon their enemy. No sooner had they disappeared than I visited the poor fellow who had been the cause of all this disturbance: he seemed half dead with anxiety; but I soon revived him with the information that all was settled amicably; and we lost no time in getting him off, which we safely accomplished, though, as the boat which conveyed him left the shore, a bullet whizzed close by me, aimed, no doubt, by some young fiery chief, who had concealed himself in the bushes for that purpose. During this transaction I witnessed the natural kindness of heart and disinterested tenderness of the female sex: no matter how distressing the circumstance or appalling the danger, they are, in all countries, the last to forsake man. While the enraged chiefs were yelling outside our house, and all our exertions could scarcely prevent them from making a forcible entry, all the women were sitting with, and trying to comfort the unhappy cause of this calamity. They had cooked for him a delicate dinner, brought him fruit, and were using every means by which they could keep up his spirits and buoy up his hopes, confidently assuring him the white men would not yield him up to his ferocious foes. Notwithstanding all their exertions, he was miserable, till informed by me of his safety; and I received the warmest thanks, and even blessings, from his "fair" friends, as if I had conferred upon each a personal favour. The man being now in safety, we determined to demand satisfaction for the affront which had been put upon us, and we sent George word we could not again receive him into our house unless he made an ample apology for his behaviour, painting in strong colours how deeply our feelings had been wounded, and how much this indignity had lowered us in the esteem of all our acquaintances. After some consultation among their leading men upon the subject of our message, King George presented himself at the door of our hut, and, in the most humble manner, surrendered his musket; and shortly after his brother Kiney Kiney did the same. Thus we gained our point, and received both payment and apologies for their violent behaviour. Friendship being thus restored, we soon gave them back their muskets, to their infinite surprise and satisfaction. On reflection, I felt quite convinced that the natives liked us the better for what we had done: it afforded them also a lesson of humanity, for they all well knew we had no other object in view when we stood forward to defend the poor fellow, who had relied upon our promise of protecting him. Several chiefs told us that they greatly admired our principles, and should always feel themselves quite safe with men like us, who would risk their own lives rather than break their word, or desert a friend in the hour of danger. At the close of this eventful day we received another token of peace, which was in its manner simple and affecting, and not such as could have been expected from a nation of savages. A procession of young girls approached our door, each bearing a basket: some were filled with nicely cooked potatoes, others with various fruits and flowers, which they set down before us, chanting, in a low voice, a song in praise of our recent exploit; a man bearing a very large fish closed the procession; he repeated the song also. We were informed that these presents had been sent by King George as a ratification of friendship, for the New Zealanders never think a reconciliation perfected till you have again eaten and drank with them. Two important conclusions may be drawn from the termination of this affair: first, that if a spirited interference takes place on the part of the Europeans, murder may be at times prevented, as we actually rescued a mortal foe from the vengeance of an exasperated enemy; and, secondly, their efforts to restore amity proves their extreme desire to have white people settle amongst them. About a week after this event we witnessed a most extraordinary ceremony, which partook more of the ludicrous than the horrible, though I have no doubt it was regarded by the natives as a most solemn affair. For some days we had been honoured by the presence of a great priest, or one of their chief tabooers; he came for the purpose of discussing with the chiefs the affairs of the nation, particularly the approaching war with the tribe of the Thames; and the day set apart for the discussion of the principal points was ushered in by a rich feast, not of pork nor fish, nor even the kumara, but of two old, sturdy, large dogs! I was much surprised on rising one morning to see Kiney Kiney, with several chiefs of the highest rank, stripped, and performing the offices of the meanest slave (the washing the feet of the pilgrims by cardinals and persons of rank in Rome came instantly to my remembrance). These chiefs were making a fire and cooking. I was still more astonished, on approaching them, to find the nature of the food they were singeing and scraping. This bow-wow meat they were preparing after the fashion of pork: pigs being the only quadruped they have ever seen cooked, they of course are not acquainted with any other way of dressing the animal creation, and a sad bungling job they made of it; for the dogs were old and tough, and the hair adhered most pertinaciously to the skin, and in many places would not come off. There were only five persons allowed to partake of this delicious meal, which was, as well as the five partakers, strictly taboo'd for the whole of that day: and we strongly recommended them to hold a similar feast every day, until they had cleared the country of these canine nuisances, the dogs being the greatest pests they have. CHAPTER XLII. WAR-LIKE EXPEDITION TO THE THAMES. One morning I was roused out of a sound sleep by continued discharges of musketry from a number of war canoes. I jumped up instantly in alarm; but I soon discovered them to be Atoi and his party, who had been absent about two months on a war-like expedition to the Thames, and they were now returning successful. I had witnessed the departure of this expedition, and considered it in the light of a reconnoitring party. I could not make out what the real object was they had been in search of; but, wherever they had been, they had been victorious, for they now returned with quantities of plunder, human heads, human flesh, and many prisoners! After the dance and sham fight had been duly gone through, they proceeded to land their cargo of spoil. First came a group of miserable creatures, women and children, torn by violence from their native homes, henceforth to be the slaves of their conquerors; some were miserably wounded and lacerated, others looked half-starved, but all seemed wretched and dejected. The women of Kororarika, with their usual humanity, instantly surrounded them, and endeavoured to console them, and then shed abundance of tears over them. I enquired of one of the warriors what they had done with the male prisoners: he coolly replied, they had all been eaten, except some "titbits," which had been packed up in the baskets and brought on shore, in order to regale particular friends and favourites! They had also brought with them several heads, which they have the art of preparing in their native ovens, so as not to disfigure the countenance nor injure the figure tatoo'd upon them. One of these, the skull of a distinguished chief, seemed to afford them amazing delight. Most of our people had known him well, and several of his near relations were present: but cruel war seemed to have eradicated every feeling of humanity; for all appeared to contemplate this ghastly object with great satisfaction. These heads were decorated profusely with yellow and red ribbons, and with white feathers: they were then stuck upon short poles, and placed, with great ceremony, in front of the old Queen Turero's house; who, sitting at the door, received this token of respect with approval and condescension. The group altogether formed an interesting picture of savage manners, in which ferocity was strongly blended with humanity, for their respect and devotion to the old sybil was manifested as feelingly as their hatred towards those whom they call their enemies: in fact, the young warrior chiefs presenting to her (as was the case with several) their first spoils of conquest, reminded me of young lions bringing part of the spoils of the chase to their aged dam. In this affray only a few of Atoi's party had been wounded, and twenty-five of the enemy had been killed. It was a fortunate circumstance for the wretched prisoners that none of the conquering party had been killed; for, if that had been the case, there would have been a dreadful slaughter of the captives on their arrival at the village, an act of cruelty never dispensed with. This sight I dreaded I should encounter when I went to witness the disembarkation; but, hoping that my presence might be some restraint upon their barbarities, I awaited the result with as much firmness as I was master of. [Illustration: Old Pa and Whalers at Bay of Islands.] CHAPTER XLIII. VISITS OF WHALERS. Two South Sea whalers were at this time lying in the bay: the Anne, from London, a full ship; and the Lynx, from Sydney. Since I have been living here, five vessels of this description have visited us; and many others would have touched here but for the want of proper regulations, and a dread of the dispositions of the natives. There being here no representatives of the British Government, the crews of whalers are often involved in disputes with the natives. This want of Government support has also frightened other vessels away; their commanders preferring going on to Port Jackson, where they half ruin themselves by the unavoidable expenses they incur. Even when their vessels have anchored here, the thoughtlessness and eccentricity of this class of men, when they are under no restraint or control, has sometimes not only led to disputes with the natives, but with each other, which eventually have proved equally detrimental. In short, New Zealand is a place of such vast importance to so many lucrative branches of British trade, that it must be well worthy the speedy attention of our Government at home. We spoke frequently to our friend George, as well as to several other of their powerful chiefs, respecting the erection of a small fort with a British garrison, and of permanently hoisting the English flag. They always expressed the utmost delight at the idea; and, from all I have seen of them, I feel convinced it would prove a most politic measure. George (who had visited Port Jackson) said: "This country is finer than Port Jackson; yet the English go and settle there. Our people are much better than the black natives of New South Wales, and yet you English live amongst them in preference to us." The ship Anne, Captain Gray, was out three years, and during that period she never entered a civilised port. She had touched twice at this bay, and had cruised four months on the coast of Japan, off Timor, through the Sandwich and Friendly Islands, and passed several times over the Pacific Ocean, in order to obtain a cargo of sperm oil, which she at length accomplished; and was at this time here to refit for her voyage home to England round Cape Horn, having picked up most of her cargo off this port. For twelve years past, notwithstanding all the disadvantages, this has been the favourite resort for ships in the above-mentioned trade. Here, surrounded with savages and cannibals, they heave down their vessels, land the cargoes and stores, and carry on work, both on board and on shore, in tolerable security. The safety of the harbour, the facility of wooding and watering, the supplies of pigs and potatoes, tempt them to run the risk of placing themselves in the power of capricious and barbarous people. It has been imagined that the residence of missionaries would have the effect of civilising the natives, and adding to the safety of ships touching here; but experience fully proves the fallacy of such an expectation. These people, abstracted by their own gloomy reflections, look with contempt on all who are in the pursuit of "worldly wealth"; and regard the arrival of a whaler as an enemy coming to interfere with the spiritual interests of "their flock," as they term the inhabitants, though I never yet saw one proselyte of their converting. They never visit a whaler except on a Sunday, and then it is to beg for the benefit of their society. It cannot, therefore, be expected that much sympathy can exist between parties, where the cold formality of one excites the contempt and disgust of the other. The ship Anne, of which I have formerly spoken, arrived here lately from Wahoo, one of the Sandwich Islands, which possesses the advantage of a British consul. The pacific disposition and orderly government of the natives do not require a British garrison, or any war-like force; and of the excellent effects produced by this representation of our Government Captain Gray speaks with admiration and enthusiasm. The harbours were crowded with shipping; houses, nay, even streets, were beginning to appear; the savage character of the people was gradually subsiding into industrious and peaceful occupations; and comfort and prosperity were spreading their benign influence over the whole island: yet Wahoo is not nearly so well situated as a rendezvous for South Sea whalers as New Zealand; at least so I have been informed by all the captains of those ships who have conversed with me on the subject. It is rather a remarkable and novel circumstance that the natives, who have been now for fourteen or fifteen years in close intercourse and carrying on traffic with Europeans, should not, in the course of that period, understand the nature and value of money; a laughable instance of which occurred to us a few days since. A native came to our house with a serious countenance and business-like manner, and said he wished to purchase a musket: we asked to see what he had brought in exchange for one, when, with great ceremony, he produced a copper penny piece in the way of payment. The poor fellow had, doubtless, seen some one pass a doubloon, and had mistaken his penny for one; as a doubloon is about the price given for a musket in our regulated list of charges. We, of course, refrained from laughter; but he was quite astonished and mortified when he was made to understand we could not trade with him. He took a stroll round the beach, offering his penny, by way of barter, to every white man he met, but everywhere with equally bad success. CHAPTER XLIV. VISIT OF TWO SOUTH SEA ISLANDERS. When our brig left Tucopea she brought away two natives of that island, who had most earnestly entreated the captain to take them off, and leave them upon any other land he pleased, as, according to their statement, Tucopea was so overstocked with inhabitants that it was scarcely possible to find subsistence; and the scarcity of food had become so general, that parents destroyed their children rather than witness their sufferings from famine. Captain Kent, therefore, from motives of compassion, received them on board his ship; and, not having touched at any inhabited spot, brought them with him here. Their extraordinary appearance excited a great deal of surprise, both among Europeans and New Zealanders. They appeared simple, timid creatures, though stout and comely, but their hair was unlike anything I had before beheld, as in length it reached below the waist, and was so abundantly thick as completely to conceal their faces. By some curious chemical process which the natives of Tucopea have discovered, they render their hair a bright sulphur colour; and, as this mass of yellow hangs over their faces and shoulders, they bear the most striking resemblance to the lion monkeys of the Brazils. These poor creatures, upon landing, shook with fear, and trembled greatly when they beheld the New Zealanders, whose character for cannibalism had reached even their remote island: when our friend George went up to them, and lifted up (in order to examine closely) the curious mass of hair in which they were enveloped, they burst into a passionate fit of tears, and ran up to us for protection. The New Zealanders, with characteristic cunning, perceiving the horror they had created, tormented them still more cruelly, by making grotesque signs, as if they were about to commence devouring them; and, at the same time (like most savages), evincing the most sovereign contempt for them, from their apparent pusillanimity. After they had been some days on shore, we had a very diverting scene with them, which exhibited strongly the great difference there is in the nature of the two classes of savages we now had such opportunities of observing. I had brought my violin from Sydney, on which I used to play occasionally. The New Zealanders generally expressed the greatest dislike to it; and my companions used to rally me much on the subject, saying it was not that the savages did not like music, but it was my discordant playing that frightened them away, which might be true. It was, however, a useful discovery for us all, as I often took that method of civilly driving them out of our house when we grew tired of their company. But when I began to play before the Tucopeans, the effect it had instantly upon them was ludicrous in the extreme. They sprang up, and began dancing most furiously; at the same time, so waving their heads about as to keep their long hair extended at its fullest length: as I played faster, they quickened their pace. A lively Scotch reel seemed to render them nearly frantic; and when I ceased playing, they threw themselves down on the floor quite exhausted, and unable to articulate a word. I have observed (generally speaking) that savages are not much affected by music; but these two Tucopeans were excited to a most extraordinary degree. CHAPTER XLV. THE DEATH OF HONGI. We at length received authentic intelligence of the death of the celebrated Hongi. Finding his dissolution fast approaching, he convened a meeting of all the neighbouring chiefs; and as many as could reach the spot in time attended. The wounded warrior expired, surrounded by the men he had so frequently led to battle and conquest. After the numerous and desperate risks he had run, the many encounters he had sustained with various enemies, it appeared extraordinary to us Europeans that he should die quietly in his hut. It is the custom to keep a guarded and mysterious silence relating to the subjects which are spoken of by a dying chief. I questioned several who had attended Hongi: all spoke with the greatest solemnity of his last moments. One sentence (uttered by him) was all I could obtain after much manoeuvring, and that was spoken but a few minutes before he breathed his last, which was, that "Shulitea (viz., our friend George) would not live one week longer than himself"; but, as our patron was in perfect health at the time, and all seemed peaceful around him, I only laughed at the improbability of the prophecy being fulfilled. The natives of New Zealand pay the greatest respect to courage and war-like talents: these were the only distinguishing characteristics of Hongi; yet, by possessing these, he was more feared, and had a greater number of followers, than any other chief in the island. His hereditary possessions were but small, and his name was little known; yet his undaunted courage, his skill, and success in many sanguinary battles, made him, at length, a most powerful chief, and obtained for him that which is considered wealth in this country, namely, an immense number of slaves. In his last moments he was attended by more men of rank than had ever before assembled to witness the dissolution of a warrior, and this is considered the greatest proof of attention and respect one chieftain can show towards another. CHAPTER XLVI. A TRIBAL CONFLICT. Our brig now sailed for Hokianga to take in a cargo of planks; and my friend, Mr. Shand, being tired of wandering, accompanied her; but I, being still anxious to procure more sketches of this interesting country, determined to remain as long as possible, and to take one more walk across the island, and join the brig by the time she was loaded. I was preparing to start on my last pedestrian tour, when a chain of events occurred which threw all the tribes into confusion. Bloodshed and devastation stared me in the face from all quarters; and from the state of security I had imagined myself to be in, I was roused to behold myself beset with difficulties; to crown which, our brig, which would have been a place of safety and refuge, was now on the opposite side of the island. Arising from a trifling circumstance, which was partly caused by us, though innocently, Pomare's only son had lost his life; and, as is usual among savage tribes, the severest retaliation soon took place. By relating the particulars, the reader will perceive how easily the war-cry is raised among these turbulent savages. Pomare's only surviving son. Tiki, was a very finely-formed, handsome young man, of twenty years of age, and he had made an arrangement with a captain of a ship here to supply him with a certain number of hogs. Accordingly, accompanied by a party of his friends, he started into the interior for the purpose of collecting them. In making his selection, he not only proceeded to drive off some of his own, but actually laid claim to, and began marching away with, some belonging to his neighbours. The right owners remonstrated with him in vain. He, being an insolent, over-bearing young fellow, persisted in his unjust claims, and set them all at defiance. They were compelled to yield up their property, as his tribe was a most powerful one; and Tiki was driving away the stolen hogs in triumph, when a sudden stop was put to his predatory career. Finding words were of no avail to induce the young man to restore the swine, one of the injured party had recourse to a musket. A bullet, aimed from behind a tree, killed Tiki on the spot; but from whose hand it came could only be conjectured. The greatest confusion instantly took place. His companions, being well armed, the war-cry was immediately raised; and the fray becoming general, seven more lives were lost. When the account of this melancholy affair reached our beach, everyone flew to arms, even all the women, for the young man was a general favourite. The war-cry spread in every direction. "Here," they exclaimed, "is the last of the Pomare family killed treacherously, a warrior related to and connected with every chief of consequence in the country, and a nephew of the great Shulitea." The cry for blood and revenge was universal. I must confess that, added to the danger it placed me in, I was much shocked when I heard of the fate of poor Tiki, for he was one of our particular friends, and had passed many an evening in our hut. I had taken leave of him only the day before, when he had set out, full of health and spirits, on this hog expedition, which had terminated thus fatally. The death of this young man excited the highest indignation in the minds of his countrymen, as well as in those of his numerous intimate friends and relations; for a report was industriously circulated that he had fallen by the hands of a slave. This was considered by his tribe as a degradation infinitely worse than the murder itself. The offended chiefs assembled on our beach, with all their followers, armed: and none appeared more indignant at the transaction than our friend George, who, with his brother Kiney Kiney, placed themselves at the head of the party, to revenge the insult which had been offered them. The night before they started on this expedition, George spent the evening with us. He was in particularly low spirits, and said he did not at all like the business he was going upon: but, as he was the nearest relation of the deceased, and the eldest of the tribe, he went in hopes of being able to prevent a great effusion of blood, and also to restrain the impetuosity of the young men. Little did we then think he would be the first victim; although his unusual depression of mind brought to my remembrance the prophecy of Hongi, and, spite of my endeavours to banish my forebodings, I felt convinced that the prediction would in all probability be fulfilled. Three days had elapsed from the time the avenging party had gone on their mission, when, at midnight, a messenger, faint and nearly exhausted, arrived on our beach with the following dreadful intelligence; and that night no other sounds were heard than those of agony and woe, the yelling of women, and the shrieks of slaves. The substance of the man's information was, that George and the offending party had met; but, as several days had passed since the murder of their friend, their feelings were in some degree appeased, and they had contented themselves with a general plunder of whatever property their enemies possessed. They had spared their lives, and the outrage was considered as atoned for. The chiefs were on their return home, laden with spoil, when, like other coalesced armies, disagreements began to take place among themselves, and discord long smothered, broke out in every quarter of the camp. George, the principal person of their party, was the one marked to be dissatisfied with. All were jealous of him, in consequence of his possessions at Kororarika giving him such a decided advantage over every other tribe, by his trade and intercourse with Europeans. It is probable, also, that as the other tribes went forth with an intention to fight, they were resolved not to be disappointed, and therefore determined to create a feud among themselves, rather than return home devoid of the pleasures or the trophies of a combat. Some irritating language had been uttered by both sides, when an accident of a fatal nature took place, which produced an instantaneous and general appeal to arms. At the close of the day a halt was made, as usual, and each party began erecting their temporary huts to pass the night in. One of George's wives, assisted by a little boy, his nephew, was busily engaged in constructing one; arms and baggage of every description being strewed about in all directions. At this period a lad took up one of George's muskets, and began to play with it; but not understanding the management of it, he, by his injudicious handling, accidentally discharged the piece, and killed both the wife and nephew, the ball passing through both their bodies. The sensation produced by this unfortunate accident may readily be conceived. As the woman who was killed was related to the tribe who had been disputing with George all day, her death furnished an ostensible motive for open war; and before the real cause of the accident could be explained, another shot was fired, which wounded a chief of the name of Moo-de-wy in the thigh. This proved the signal for a general fight: each party ran to their arms, ranged themselves under their different leaders, and a general discharge of muskets immediately took place. Almost at the beginning of the combat George received a shot, which broke both his legs: his brother and friends endeavoured to support him in their arms. It being then nearly dark, added much to the confusion, as it was difficult to distinguish friend from foe; indeed, so sudden had been the onset, that many could scarcely have been aware of the cause of the contest. But our unhappy friend, who seemed particularly marked out in this unfortunate affray, soon after received another bullet, which struck him on the throat, and terminated his existence; thus dying before a week had passed since the death of his rival Hongi. I heard from one of his friends who supported him in his last moments, that he died like a hero: finding both his legs were broken, and that consequently he was totally unable to move, he begged those friends who were about him to leave him to his fate, and either again enter the fight, or make their escape while they yet had time. He then gave his musket to one, took off his mantle to present to another, and while thus in the act of exhorting his friends and distributing amongst them his tokens of regard, he received his death-wound, and expired without a groan. When George fell, a general flight took place; and though the engagement had lasted but a short time, great numbers had fallen on both sides. CHAPTER XLVII. THE DEATH OF KING GEORGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. This news caused mourning and lamentation along our beach, and filled all the Europeans with dismay. We could not calculate the extent of the injury we might receive, but felt certain we should be considerable sufferers in some way or other. The light of day seemed to add to, rather than to diminish, the moans of George's faithful subjects. The violent sobbings from every dwelling were most dismal. Groups were scattered about, forming small crying parties, and cutting their skins deeply with knives and pieces of broken glass; in short, nothing was heard but yelling and groaning, and nothing was seen but streams of blood! But however shocked I might feel by the train of accidents and deaths which had made such cruel havoc amongst my friends, and notwithstanding my sincere grief and regret for the fate of poor George, who was a most humane and intelligent chief, and particularly kind to all the English; the predicament in which I was now placed demanded all my energies, for I felt that I stood in a situation of great danger. I have before noticed their barbarous custom, on the death of a chief, of plundering his family and friends. As we had always been considered as a part of George's family, living under his protection, adopted by him, and admitted into his tribe, I entertained great suspicions that we also should be sufferers by the general plunder about to take place: besides, I was so circumstanced as to be obliged to cross the country with all my goods, and my route lay through the territories of all those chiefs who had been fighting against George; and I was at no loss to guess in what light they would regard me. Depending, too securely, on the general tranquility, I had not sent my luggage by sea, as I might have done, and which would have saved me great anxiety, as I should have ventured alone without fear, but could not manage to carry what I possessed; and to engage any to convey them was an impossibility, for the moment I made the proposition to any (even the meanest of the slaves) to accompany me, they ran off into the bush, nor could any entreaty, presents, or threats induce them to venture with me; so, for security, I removed all the property I had, and went with it on board the Marianne, whaler. For three days after the death of George, all gave themselves up to grief; no work was done, and not an individual was to be seen but in an agony of tears. I began to feel strangely affected with melancholy myself, when, on the fourth morning, a scene of bustle took place, and low spirits were banished by tumult, noise, and confusion. At six o'clock on that morning we discovered upwards of twenty sail of war canoes, crowded with armed warriors, coming into the bay. What their intentions were we could not imagine; but for fear of the worst, the ships in the harbour shotted their guns, and when the canoes were abreast of us, we fired a blank one over their heads. On this they all stopped, and we saw some stir amongst them: at length a very small canoe left the main body, and pulled directly towards us; it contained the chief persons of the expedition: they came on board, and assured us they meant no harm to any persons; they were merely some of the late George's friends, who were going to pay a visit of condolence to his relations; and, after making a most hearty breakfast with us, they went on shore, and we accompanied them. Whether the account they gave of themselves was correct, or the reverse, we knew not at the time; but we felt assured their intentions were not hostile towards us Europeans, and their quarrels with each other we were determined not to interfere in. We soon discovered their falsehood, for George's eldest daughter informed me that amongst the chiefs who landed with us were several of the most inveterate foes of her father, and that they were only restrained from committing the most dreadful outrages, and carrying off all her relations as slaves, by witnessing the many friends of George by whom they were surrounded. The day was spent in savage dancing, yelling, making speeches, and debating as to who the proper person was to succeed George in his dignities: several times I thought the affair would end in blows. George's relation, Rivers, made great exertions "to keep the peace," and finally, by force of argument, succeeded. It was at length unanimously agreed that Kiney Kiney was to succeed his brother, and that Rivers should take the command until the time of Kiney Kiney's mourning for the loss of George should be completed. CHAPTER XLVIII. DEPARTURE FROM BAY OF ISLANDS. After these important matters were amicably disposed of, I made a sign to Rivers, and, separating him from the crowd, I explained to him the nature of my situation, and asked his assistance in getting me safely over to Hokianga. He replied, there would certainly be great danger in attempting it; but I soon discovered that he magnified the difficulties in order to increase his demand for payment, for even the greatest chiefs have here their price. He said (and I had every reason to think he was correct) that I ran no risk of being molested by any chiefs, like himself, who would always protect rather than molest every European; but that the country being in such a state of commotion, in consequence of the late events, it was full of runaway slaves, who always took advantage of such times to make their escape; and if I chanced to fall in with any of them, I should be exposed to great peril: "However (he added), keep up your spirits; I have two confidential slaves, who shall conduct you over, and carry your luggage, if you will make me a present of a stocking full of powder, a bag of small shot, and a powder-horn." He also proposed, as he himself was going to the Kirikiri, and thence to a village in the interior, to meet a large assemblage of chiefs, in order to talk over the late tragical events, that I should journey the first part of my way with him, in his own canoe. Accordingly, after having made preparations for my departure, I took leave of all my friends at the Bay of Islands, both civilised and savage. I must say I felt considerable regret when I found myself really going to take final leave of several native families, with whom I had been on terms of intimacy since my residence here, from whom I had received many proofs of personal regard, and whom, I felt convinced, I should never meet or hear of more; none I regretted parting with more than the family of poor Shulitea; the mere sight of me seemed to rekindle all their grief for the loss of their kinsman, and to remind them more forcibly than ever of his tragical fate. His mother, old Turero, in point of grief, had rivalled Niobe; she had never ceased weeping and lamenting from the time she heard of her son's death, and had twice attempted to strangle herself. But even in the midst of her passionate sorrow, I could scarcely refrain from laughing, while observing her care and anxiety to get all she could from me. After deploring the sad fate of her dear son, "You know," she continued, "you promised him that you would send him a handsome new musket from Sydney; and now, poor fellow, he is dead; and cannot shoot with it; but then you must remember that his brother Kiney Kiney is still alive, and he can shoot with it; and poor George would wish that his brother should have his new musket." This speech I felt quite irresistible; therefore, in order to comfort the old queen, I promised that I would send the musket for her second son; which declaration seemed to afford her great consolation, and considerably abated the violence of her grief. Just at the dawn of morning we started from the bay in Rivers' canoe, accompanied by his wife, one child, and the two stout slaves he had mentioned to me. My luggage, which consisted of one leathern portmanteau and my bed, was placed in the centre. I had also provided myself with a small basket of cooked meat, with bread, and a small bottle of brandy, which was given me by the captain of one of the whalers. The day broke around us with more than usual brightness; the dewy mists of night were just rising from the waters, and the huge and abrupt forms of the mountains were beginning to develop themselves; flights of wild ducks and stray birds skimmed rapidly by us. The thoughts that crowded my mind were strange and varied, while contemplating scenes of such tranquil beauty as were now presented, glowing with the tints of the rising sun. I contrasted these with the difficulties and dangers I might have to encounter from hordes of ferocious savages, who, now flushed with conquest, were plotting murder and destruction against each other: even a glance at my companions banished all peaceful illusions. While the wife, son, and slaves were using the paddles with the greatest exertions, Rivers was carefully examining his weapons. The beauty of the morning and the romantic scenery was unnoticed: his thoughts were directed solely to contemplating the depth and the width of my stocking of powder, which seemed to afford him infinite satisfaction. He had with him a beautiful double-barrelled gun, and a very good Tower musket; and seeing so many wild ducks fly past, he drew the bullet out of one of the barrels of the former, and, with some of my stock of small shot, fired occasionally amongst them. At about eight o'clock a light sea breeze sprang up: they then set their sail, and all went to sleep, excepting one slave, who was employed to steer the canoe; so that I had ample time to ruminate upon my solitary and perilous situation. The tide failed us at twelve o'clock, and we then went on shore, kindled a fire, and soon collected such a supply of shell-fish as furnished us a splendid repast. Here we remained till the flood-tide set in strong, when, again hoisting our sail, we arrived at the Kirikiri about sunset. I here found the missionaries in the greatest consternation and dismay, and learned that it was one of the chiefs of Hokianga who had shot George, and they dreaded lest the result of that deed should be that the whole of the savage tribes on that part of the island would be opposed to each other; that combats would ensue; and which side soever might be victorious, it would prove equally injurious to them, as they had settlements on both sides of the island. But their greatest alarm was occasioned by their possessions at Hokianga, as the most violent depredations were there being committed; and as this was the very point of my destination, the news was not very consolatory to me. "So anxious," said one of "the brethren" to me, "were we to inform our Christian brethren of our danger, that we actually gave a _warm piece_ to a native to carry a letter over to you, although that is strictly contrary to our orders." I expressed a desire to know what he meant by a _warm piece_; he kicked his foot against the stock of a gun I had at the time in my hand; and, looking at me with an expression of the greatest contempt, said, "It is what _you worldly_ folks call a musket!" They were making considerable preparations to repair to the great meeting of the chiefs, to which Rivers was journeying. This was a wise and politic measure for them to pursue; and they were highly delighted to have such an addition to their party as this well-known chief; and though they would not acknowledge it, their satisfaction was very visible. I earnestly requested them to inform me candidly, from all they had heard, whether they thought I might, with safety, venture across the country; but I could get nothing from them but vague and mysterious answers: one thing, however, they made me very clearly understand; which was, that they neither cared for me nor for my drawings; that their own safety engrossed all their thoughts; and that a worldly-minded, misguided creature like me was but as dust in the balance, compared to such godly people as themselves, who were now placed in jeopardy. They, without scruple, applied quotations from the Scriptures to themselves, such as, "Why do the heathen so furiously rage," etc., etc. My necessities compelled me to request a favour from them, which was, that they would allow one of their boys, who could speak English, to accompany me, as our loads were heavy; and his being known to belong to their establishment I thought might be some protection; but the short answer of the monosyllable "_No_" soon made me repent having asked it. I spread my bed in one of their empty rooms; and started at daybreak next morning, with my two native slaves. I could not banish from my remembrance the inhospitable conduct of these missionaries; they never even inquired whether I had any provision for a journey they themselves would not have dared to undertake, which was evident by their giving a native a _warm piece_ for merely taking a letter for them. As my shoes were nearly worn out, and I had a long distance to go, over execrable roads, I had intended asking them for a new pair, as they had abundance of everything of the kind sent to them from England, to distribute to the needy (and I fully came under that description of character); but finding them so selfish and cold-hearted, and meeting with one refusal, I refrained, and set off, literally almost barefooted. CHAPTER XLIX. THE JOURNEY TO HOKIANGA. We journeyed on all day by a road I had never been before, my attendants evidently taking by-paths to avoid meeting stragglers or runaways. I was well laden, having to carry my musket and my basket of provisions; and each of my men, in addition to the loads I had placed on his shoulders, bore a basket of potatoes. Once or twice, during our route, we saw some persons at a distance, and I was sorry to notice the great alarm it occasioned to my companions, as I now had every reason to apprehend, that, in case of danger, they would slip off their burdens, make their escape, and leave me and my baggage to my fate, which the missionaries had told me they considered a thing very likely to happen. Once we heard a great firing of muskets, which I afterwards ascertained to be the _feu de joie_ fired at the first meeting of the chiefs, at their grand assembling in the neutral village. At night, we arrived safe at Patuone's Village, where I had slept on my first journey across the island; but it now presented a very different appearance to what it had done then; instead of the tumult I had formerly heard, all was silence; the numerous families then there, all fully occupied, were exchanged for a few old surly-looking slaves, and the huts were all deserted. The inhabitants, in consequence of the rumour of approaching war, having betaken themselves to one of their fortified pas, I had no alternative but to pass the night with these suspicious-looking creatures, who, feeling themselves beyond the control of their cruel masters, soon gave way to their own vile passions, and became most impertinent and intrusive--taking every advantage of my loneliness to indulge their curiosity and familiarity. On my arrival, I had deposited my things in one of the empty huts, and spread my bed, hoping to enjoy the luxury of a few hours' repose after the fatigue and great anxieties of the day; but these fellows would force themselves into the hut I had chosen, where they lighted a fire, and sat chattering around it all the night long. Finding that I did not appear alarmed at their intrusion or noise, they kept doing everything they could think of to rouse my fears. They threatened to break open my portmanteau; and one old wretch sharpened his knife, and made motions as though he were going to cut my throat and eat me. I knew my only chance of safety was not to betray any sign of apprehension; so I forced a laugh, and made them believe I considered their tricks an excellent joke. I gave them all my tobacco to keep them in good humour; but I passed a most miserable night, nearly suffocated with smoke, distracted with their noise, and annoyed by vermin of every description. I was most happy when daybreak gave me an excuse for leaving these brutal savages, and resuming my journey. Every step I took brought before me proofs of the horrors of war: villages which had been crowded, were now entirely desolate, and, in many instances, burned to the ground. On that spot where I had left a party of enterprising Scotchmen busily employed in sawing timber, with crowds of natives assisting them, all was quiet and totally deserted, with the exception of a few nearly starved, wretched-looking dogs, who, hearing someone approach, came out, and tried to bark at us, but were too weak to utter a sound. CHAPTER L. EUROPEAN PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENCE. Our march along the banks of the river was through a most beautiful country; but all the inhabitants had fled; their plantations were in a most luxuriant state; fields which I had left bare and uncultivated were now covered with Indian corn standing higher than my head, the ripe ears hanging fantastically in all directions, and none to gather in the harvest; the crops of kumara and potatoes were equally abundant. I could not help thinking that, if they expected an invasion of their enemies, they had left an ample supply of forage for their use. In the evening I arrived at Horeke, or Deptford Dock-yard (of which I made mention in my first journey). I here found my countrymen in a state of considerable embarrassment. The various chiefs of that district had encamped all round them; so near to them had they taken up their position, that, whatever might be the result of their battles, the European settlement would be in danger. The settlers had fortified their place of refuge in the best manner they could; and all were determined to defend themselves and property to the last. They had four nine-pounders mounted on a hill, and a tolerable battery made of three-inch pine stuff. Before the English erected their fortifications, there was a great difference of opinion amongst them as to the propriety and utility of adopting so strong a measure, and the affair was finally put to the vote, when the majority proved to be in favour of a strong resistance. I opposed the measure all I could, for I felt convinced that in the event of our allies being worsted we all should be involved in one common massacre; whereas, if no resistance was made, plunder alone would have been the extent of the injury we should suffer; and even of that taking place I had strong doubts. However, as my opinion was overruled, I had to submit, which I did unhesitatingly; and, like a good soldier, I held myself in readiness in case of an attack. The proprietor and manager of the Dock-yard possessed certainly a "satisfying reason" for striving to defend himself at all hazards. The vessel I had left here, on my former visit, in frame, was now nearly completed, and a most beautiful one she was. He told me he would much rather part with life than see her destroyed; and I confess I could fully enter into his feelings on the subject; but as I had no such object at stake, and was not quite enthusiastic enough to fight for a vessel I had no share in, I felt very much inclined to let the natives war among themselves without interference; but as we Europeans had agreed to assist each other, I would not be behind-hand. I discharged Rivers' two slaves, and rewarded them liberally for conducting me with safety through such a wild and perilous country; they departed (after expressing the heartiest wishes for my reaching my own home in safety, and thanks for my generosity) to join their master at the great meeting of the chiefs in the interior. These men, while assisting me, were performing a great service to their master, by acting as spies. When we started from the Kirikiri each was armed with a musket; but when we had accomplished about half the journey, they concealed these in a hollow tree, under pretence of extreme fatigue. I felt convinced at the time that was not their real reason for so doing; and afterwards I learned the true motive. Had they been found armed when returning to their master (who was hostile to those assembled round the Dock-yard), they would have been detained; but, by their coming unarmed amongst us, they were suffered to depart; and I have no doubt the information they carried back to Rivers was very important. I did not mention to anyone the hiding of these muskets in the woods, though, according to "The Articles of War," I ought to have done so, as getting possession of them would have added two more to our strength, and lessened that of our enemy; my silence arose from a repugnance I felt to betray these poor creatures, who had behaved so well to me. Although prepared for war, we were very well pleased to find no attack was made upon us. Indeed, from the first, it had been my decided opinion, that unless we interfered, and made ourselves by that means obnoxious, they had too much respect for us, and were too anxious to retain our kindly feelings towards them, to molest us; at the same time, I felt that it might be a very politic measure to show them what powerful resistance we could make, if driven to extremities. After passing a week of the greatest anxiety, on account of our expected invasion, it afforded us the utmost satisfaction to receive a visit from Mr. Hobbs, the Wesleyan missionary, one of the persons who had visited the war-camp of the assembled chiefs, who were convened, on the death of our lamented friend George, to debate and decide upon the momentous question of peace or war. The subject (our informant stated) had been gone into at great length, and stormy and fierce had been the discussion. Finally, the good sense of the elder and more experienced chiefs prevailed over the fiercer passions of the younger, and peace was decided upon. This event forms a new era in "The Political History of the Few Zealanders," it being the first time so great an assemblage had met to discuss openly a national question, or in which they had allowed cool reasoning and good sense to prevail over their habitual ferocity. As may naturally be supposed, where such various interests were at stake, this pacific measure was not effected without considerable opposition from the young and furious chiefs. The provocations given by them to the elders, whose voices were for peace, were considerable. They did not confine themselves to abuse, but fired several muskets during debate, in hopes that one shot out of the many might prove fatal; which, if it had, and any distinguished chief had been killed, or even wounded, it would have immediately thrown all into confusion. Even when pacific measures were decided upon by a very large majority, and the chiefs were about to separate, a bullet was fired from the pa, which had evidently been aimed at a chief, a well-known ally of the late Shulitea, as it fell at his feet, and the earth it threw up fell upon him. For a few seconds surprise kept all silent; but, as the angry chief rose up, and was about to address the crowd, his friends eagerly surrounded him, and hurried him away. This was the first instance on record, in which these people had laid a statement of their private wrongs before a public assembly consisting of deputies from every part of the island, and abided by the decision of the majority; and it was the only instance of a chief being killed in battle, and his decease not having been followed up by the plundering and destruction of his whole family or tribe. This had been a question of peculiar interest to us Europeans, as several of their great men had fallen in a skirmish (whether an accidental one or a decided combat made not the slightest difference). We knew their barbarous custom; and, consequently, we were preparing for scenes of deadly revenge and insatiable fury to be acted by both parties, and which must have involved all settled here in destruction. Our feelings may therefore be imagined, when we were informed that a parliament had been convened, and all the parties interested were present by invitation, and took part in the debate. A central spot was fixed on to accommodate the various chieftains. The causes of the accident were then explained; they wept and lamented the fallen chiefs, and finally retired satisfied to their several homes. Surely everyone who is interested in tracing our own form of government, from the present time up to its first rude outline, will perceive the similarity of causes and events, and will anticipate the glorious prospect of beholding a clever, brave, and, I may add, noble race of men, like the New Zealanders, rescued from barbarism. This pacific and rational discussion among the chiefs seems, in reality, to give promise of the germ of a regular reform. Should a few more such meetings take place, and terminate in the same amicable manner (and I think it very probable), some clever individual may rise up amongst them, take the reins in his own hands, and establish something like a regular form of government. CHAPTER LI. OBSERVATIONS ON THE SOCIAL CONDITIONS OF THE MAORIS. Feeling that I was not likely now to be called upon to act offensively, I considered myself at liberty to make numerous excursions round our fortress, not only to admire this fertile and beautiful country, but to visit some of my old friends. I was very much astonished and shocked at seeing several very beautiful young women, whom I left only a few months back in perfect health and strength, now reduced to mere "living skeletons," and also to hear of the death of others by consumption. This disease seems to be the scourge of the young; and when they are once seized with its symptoms, they are very speedily brought to the grave. The natives say, "It is Atua, the Great Spirit, coming into them, and eating up their inside; for the patient can feel those parts gradually go away, and then they become weaker and weaker till no more is left; after which the Spirit sends them to the happy island." They never attempt any means of curing or of alleviating the pains caused by this cruel complaint; and all those under its influence are tabooed. I procured from the brig all my remaining stores of tapioca, sago, arrowroot, and sugar, and distributed them in the best way I could amongst my sick friends. They were anxious for wine; but that portion of my sea-stock, as well as spirits, had been long since expended. It seems unaccountable that the natives of an atmosphere so dry as this is--a country in which there are no marshy bogs, and where, though there is an abundance of water, it is generally seen in clear and sparkling rills rushing down from the mountains into the rivers--should be subject to so fatal a disease as galloping consumption. The only cause to which I can attribute such an affliction is, their indifference to lying out all night exposed to every change of weather--to cold and rain--which, in young and tender constitutions, must produce the most pernicious consequences. If some few are rendered hardy and robust by this process, many, no doubt, are killed by it. I endeavoured to impress on the minds of all my female friends the great danger of thus exposing themselves to cold; but they only laughed at my precautions, and said, "If Atua wished it, so it must be; they could not strive with the Great Spirit." I have heard so much said about the great impropriety of the white settlers admitting the native females into their society, so much of the scandalous conduct of captains of ships suffering their men to have sweethearts during their stay in port, and so much urged in justification of the indignation shown by the missionaries when this subject is touched on by them, that I feel it necessary to state one decided benefit which has resulted from that intercourse, and which, in my opinion, far more than counterbalances the evil against which there has been raised so loud an outcry. Before our intercourse took place with the New Zealanders, a universal and unnatural custom existed amongst them, which was that of destroying most of their female children in infancy, their excuse being that they were quite as much trouble to rear, and consumed just as much food, as a male child, and yet, when grown up, they were not fit to go to war as their boys were. The strength and pride of a chief then consisted in the number of his sons; while the few females who had been suffered to live were invariably looked down upon by all with the utmost contempt. They led a life of misery and degradation. The difference now is most remarkable. The natives, seeing with what admiration strangers beheld their fine young women, and what handsome presents were made to them, by which their families were benefited, feeling also that their influence was so powerful over the white men, have been latterly as anxious to cherish and protect their infant girls as they were formerly cruelly bent on destroying them. Therefore, if one sin has been, to a certain degree, encouraged, a much greater one has been annihilated. Infanticide, the former curse of this country, and the cause of its scanty population, a crime every way calculated to make men bloody-minded and ferocious, and to stifle every benevolent and tender feeling, has totally disappeared wherever an intercourse has taken place between the natives and the crews of European vessels. The New Zealand method of "courtship and matrimony" is a most extraordinary one; so much so, that an observer could never imagine any affection existed between the parties. A man sees a woman whom he fancies he should like for a wife; he asks the consent of her father, or, if an orphan, of her nearest relation, which, if he obtains, he carries his "intended" off by force, she resisting with all her strength; and, as the New Zealand girls are generally pretty robust, sometimes a dreadful struggle takes place; both are soon stripped to the skin, and it is sometimes the work of hours to remove the fair prize a hundred yards. If she breaks away, she instantly flies from her antagonist, and he has his labour to commence again. We may suppose that if the lady feels any wish to be united to her would-be spouse, she will not make too violent an opposition; but it sometimes happens that she secures her retreat into her father's house, and the lover loses all chance of ever obtaining her; whereas, if he can manage to carry her in triumph into his own, she immediately, becomes his wife. The women have a decided aversion to marriage, which can scarcely be wondered at, when we consider how they are circumstanced. While they remain single, they enjoy all the privileges of the other sex; they may rove where they please, and bestow their favours on whom they choose, and are entirely beyond control or restraint; but when married their freedom is at an end; they become mere slaves, and sink gradually into domestic drudges to those who have the power of life and death over them; and whether their conduct be criminal or exemplary, they are equally likely to receive a blow, in a moment of passion, of sufficient force to end life and slavery together! There are many exceptions to this frightful picture; and I saw several old couples, who had been united in youth, who had always lived in happiness together, and whose kind and friendly manner towards each other set an example well worthy of imitation in many English families. CHAPTER LII. A MAORI TANGI. April 2nd.--This day, perceiving that an unusual number of canoes were passing up the river, all proceeding towards the village of Par-Finneigh, we hailed one; and, upon its coming alongside, we inquired what had occurred, for every appearance of bustle or commotion amongst this restless and war-like people is truly alarming. They informed us that the great chief A-Rowa, who died four months since, and the ceremony of whose "lying in state" I had been permitted by his eldest son to be a witness of, was this day to be exposed to the view of his friends; was to be cried over; and was finally to be deposited in the tomb of his ancestors. As this was one of their imposing spectacles which I had never yet seen, I was anxious to witness it. We soon got a boat ready, and a party of us joined the throng, and proceeded with them to the village. Upon our arrival thither, we found an immense concourse of people assembled; for here, as in most uncivilised or early states of society, the disposition and good qualities of the deceased are made known by the number of friends and followers who meet at his funeral. As these New Zealanders were all fully equipped in arms, they had more the appearance of a hostile meeting in an enemy's camp, than of a group of mourners about to be occupied in the melancholy duty of depositing out of sight for ever the last remains of a beloved chief. Mooetara, the son and successor of the deceased, came to meet us on the beach, and seemed much gratified by our attention, our appearance on this solemn occasion giving him importance in the eyes of all the natives then assembled. He gave orders for our being conducted with much ceremony to the place of mourning, where, amidst a number of uncouth pieces of carving (which, we were informed were all tombs reared in honour of the memory of several former chiefs, and all tabooed), was erected a small hut, covered in at the top with thatch, but open at the sides. In the centre of this hut the bones of the deceased chief were exposed to view. After having undergone the process of decomposition during four months' exposure to heat, wind, and rain, they had been collected, cleaned, and decorated with a quantity of fresh white feathers, which rendered the appearance of the skull still more frightful. The women here invariably perform the parts of chief mourners; a group of them, with the widow of the deceased at their head, kept up a most mournful cadence, and at every pause in their dismal song slashed their skins with a piece of shell, till their faces, necks, and arms were literally streaming down with blood. This mourning and cutting is completely a matter of business, and is sometimes carried on without their feeling any real sorrow or sympathy. Parties kept arriving, and when there was not room for them to thrust themselves round the hut, they sat down in groups, perfectly unconcerned, employing themselves in cleaning their firelocks, or playing off upon each other some practical joke; but the moment a vacant space was presented near the hut, they deliberately stripped themselves, put on a most sorrowful countenance, and, seating themselves as near to the ornamented bones as possible, they immediately began their howling and slashing; no one seemed to like the idea of being outdone by his neighbour; but when the time allotted to this ceremony had expired, all instantly jumped up, wiped themselves, put on their mats, and joined the busy throng. There was, indeed, one real mourner, who never moved from the bones, nor once lifted up her eyes from them; she neither howled nor cut herself, and yet she inspired me with pity and commiseration for her forlorn state. This woman had been the only wife of the late chief; and I was informed they had lived many years together, and had a large family; she looked as if she herself was on the very brink of the grave. The contemplation of the mouldering remains of her partner through life must have been, even to her savage mind, most lacerating. After witnessing several parties perform their funeral ceremonies, and imbibing, in some degree, the melancholy tone of mind such a sight must necessarily create, we arose and joined Mooetara. Here I witnessed a scene that reminded me of an English country fair. An immense number of temporary huts had been erected for the accommodation of the chiefs and their families, where they might repose after their exertions, while their slaves cooked their provisions, of which an abundant quantity had been provided, consisting of piles of kumara and Indian corn, with heaps of fish, which were served out, to all who came for them, with a most liberal hand, and which, of course, added not a little to the pleasure of the day. After all had satisfied their hunger (and even the lowest slaves were permitted, on this occasion, to have as much as they wished for) they jumped up, flew to their muskets, and commenced their war dance with great noise and vigour. The violence of their exertions caused their recent wounds to bleed afresh, and added much to the horror of their hideous grimaces. They then divided into two parties, and had a sham battle. I must here do justice to the temperate habits of my savage friends. During my residence in New Zealand, I have known but very few who were addicted to drinking, and I scarcely ever saw one of them in a state of intoxication; and, on this occasion, where a profusion of what they esteem delicacies was provided gratuitously, they partook so moderately of the tempting fare as not to be prevented using the most violent exertions immediately after their meal. The entertainment being now over, the different parties gathered up what remained of the portions of food distributed to them, and without taking any leave of their entertainer, or returning any thanks for his bountiful providing, they all entered their canoes and paddled away. CHAPTER LIII. CHARACTER OF THE NEW ZEALANDERS. An unfortunate prejudice has gone forth into the world against the natives of New Zealand, which I have always endeavoured to counteract from a sense of justice, and, from a careful review of those circumstances which have fallen immediately under my own observation; this prejudice has long retarded our knowledge of their true character, but error must gradually give way to truth; and as the circumstances which first brought the stigma upon their name come to light, and are investigated and properly explained, I feel confident the conduct of these islanders will be found superior to that of any other nation in the South Seas. If we take the whole catalogue of dreadful massacres they have been charged with, and (setting aside partiality for our own countrymen) allow them to be carefully examined, it will be found that we have invariably been the aggressors; and when we have given serious cause of offence, can we be so irrational as to express astonishment that a savage should seek revenge? The last massacre was that of "The Boyd's" crew; every impartial person who reads the account of that melancholy transaction must acknowledge the unfortunate captain was most to blame. But that event took place nineteen years back; since which time they know us better, and respect us more; in proof of which, four years since, The Mercury brig was taken possession of by a crowd of natives, after they had endured a series of offences and every kind of ill-treatment; but the difference in their fate, compared with that of The Boyd's ship's company, was remarkable, and proved that the savage temper of the natives was much softened down and humanised, as they merely plundered the vessel, but made no attempt to murder or molest any of the crew, who, if they had possessed sufficient courage, would not have sacrificed their vessel; but, being terrified, they abandoned her, and she was finally wrecked. During my residence, I never heard of one of the men having been murdered; and I feel fully convinced no massacres will ever again be committed in any of the ports in New Zealand where European vessels have been accustomed to anchor. I once saw, with indignation, a chief absolutely knocked overboard from a whaler's deck by the mate. Twenty years ago so gross an insult would have cost the lives of every individual on board the vessel, but, at the time this occurred, it was only made the subject of complaint, and finally became a cause of just remonstrance with the commander of the whaler. The natives themselves (and I have heard the opinions of various tribes) have invariably told me that these things occurred from our want of knowledge of their laws and customs, which compelled them to seek revenge. "It was," they said, "no act of treachery on our part; we did not invite you to our shores for the purpose of plunder and murder: but you came, and ill-used us; you broke into our tabooed grounds. And did not Atua give those bad white men into the hands of our fathers?" I am confident that a body of Europeans may now reside in perfect security in any part of these islands. The late plundering of the missionaries at Whangaroa was a peculiar circumstance, which might have happened even in civilised Europe, had the seat of war approached so near their place of residence. If their houses and chapel had been on the plains of Waterloo during the June of 1815 they would not have experienced a better fate. This recent tumult has brought a circumstance into notice highly interesting to all who may hereafter wish to settle here. It has hitherto been their custom, when an accident occurs, such as the sudden death of a chief, to make a general plunder of everything belonging to the family of the deceased, and all under their protection. A knowledge of this horrible custom has deterred many from settling in New Zealand; and even those who have resolved to run so great a risk have lived in a continued state of alarm, lest the death of their protecting chief should leave them at the mercy of a savage enemy. The deaths of Hongi and Shulitea placed the missionaries and all the settlers on Kororarika Beach in considerable jeopardy: but it appeared as if reason had begun to dawn on the minds of these benighted savages, for this unjust and cruel custom was now for the first time discontinued. I was on the beach at the time when an immense party, well armed, came for the express purpose of satiating their revengeful feelings. I had taken the precaution of removing what I possessed on board a whaler then lying in the harbour. The chiefs first sat down to discuss the matter over amongst themselves, and their deliberations ended in their being satisfied with destroying the village of Matowe, the one adjoining ours, and which had been the residence of Pomare's son, whose death was the cause of all the late turbulent events. The great and leading defect in this country, and the principal cause of their frequent wars and disturbances, which harass and depopulate the tribes, and puts a stop to all improvement, is the want of some regular system of government. There are only two classes of people--chiefs and slaves; and, as consanguinity constitutes a high claim, the eldest son of a large family, who can bring the greatest number of warriors of his own name into the field, is considered the chief of that district or tribe; and as he, by reason of his followers, can take possession of the greatest number of prisoners or slaves, he becomes the ruling man. Every other man of his tribe considers himself on an equality with him in everything, except that he shows him obedience, and follows him to battle. Each is independent in his own family, and holds uncontrolled power of life and death over every individual it contains. They seem not to exercise any coercion over the younger branches of a family, who are allowed unbounded liberty till the girls have sweethearts and the boys are strong enough to go to war. They are kind and hospitable to strangers, and are excessively fond of their children. On a journey, it is more usual to see the father carrying his infant than the mother; and all the little offices of a nurse are performed by him with the tenderest care and good humour. In many instances (wherein they differ from most savage tribes) I have seen the wife treated as an equal and companion. In fact, when not engaged in war, the New Zealander is quite a domestic, cheerful, harmless character; but once rouse his anger, or turn him into ridicule, and his disposition is instantly changed. A being, whose passions have never been curbed from infancy, and whose only notion of what he conceives to be his right is to retaliate for an offence with blood, must naturally form a cruel and vindictive character. Such these islanders seemed to us on our first visiting them. The sight of beings so extraordinary (for thus we Europeans must have appeared to them) excited in their savage minds the greatest wonder; and they thought we were sent as a scourge and an enemy; and though Cook, one of their earliest visitors, adopted every method his ingenuity could devise to conciliate them, yet, as they never could thoroughly understand his intentions, they were always on the alert to attack him. Hence arose the horror and disgust expressed formerly at the mere mention of the name of "a New Zealander." I have often tried, in vain, to account for there being such a decided dissimilarity between the natives of New Holland and New Zealand. So trifling is the difference in their situation on the globe, and so _similar their climates_--both having remained so long unknown to the great continents, and so devoid of intercourse with the rest of the world--that one would be led to imagine a great resemblance must be the result. But the natives of the former seem of the lowest grade--the last link in the great chain of existence which unites man with the monkey. Their limbs are long, thin, and flat, with large bony knees and elbows, a projecting forehead, and pot-belly. The mind, too, seems adapted to this mean configuration; they have neither energy, enterprise, nor industry; and their curiosity can scarcely be excited. A few exceptions may be met with; but these are their general characteristics. While the natives of the latter island are "cast in beauty's perfect mould;" the children are so fine and powerfully made, that each might serve as a model for a statue of "the Infant Hercules;" nothing can exceed the graceful and athletic forms of the men, or the rounded limbs of their young women. These possess eyes beautiful and eloquent, and a profusion of long, silky, curling hair; while the intellects of both sexes seem of a superior order; all appear eager for improvement, full of energy, and indefatigably industrious, and possessing amongst themselves several arts which are totally unknown to their neighbours. CHAPTER LIV. THE SETTLEMENT AND TRADE OF HOKIANGA. On April the 14th, our brig being stored with planks, flax, and potatoes, and ready for sea, I went on board of her. We had fine weather till we dropped down to the entrance of the river, where we intended taking in our stock of water for the voyage, when the scene suddenly changed, and a severe gale came on, right out to sea, which we could not avail ourselves of; neither could we get the water off, as our rafts of casks got adrift in the attempt to get them on board. To add to our disasters, one of our cables parted, and we had to ride out the gale (of two days' continuance) with one only, the sea rolling heavily right open before us, and we in momentary expectation of the remaining cable's going; we had not a single day's allowance of water on board, and at one period all hands (except the carpenter and passengers) were out of the brig, on shore, filling the casks. Fortunately for us, the cable proved a tough one; had it parted, we should have been in a most perilous situation. April 20th.--For the last week we were stationary at the river's mouth, waiting for a fair wind to carry us over the bar; and during that time there was no appearance of any change; we also heard that vessels had been detained here for six weeks before they could accomplish it. We were visited daily by parties of natives, who seemed to rejoice at our being delayed, as it gave them more of our company than they had calculated upon. They were more delighted with our society than we were with theirs; in a small vessel they are a serious nuisance, on account of the swarms of vermin they bring with them, and which they communicate liberally to all. Myself and all the passengers on board had our leisure time fully occupied in dislodging these "little familiars" from their strongholds in different parts of our apparel. During the time we were lying here, I saw and conversed with several individuals who had attended the "Great Meeting," and their accounts gave rise to various opinions respecting the policy of supplying the natives with firearms. As I had always been an advocate for the measure, I was gratified by hearing that it was thought to be in consequence of each party's being possessed of a nearly equal quantity of muskets, that a general and exterminating war was avoided. Some may suppose that similar tranquility would have been preserved, had they been equally well supplied with their native weapons of war; but that would not have been the case. When they found that each party could furnish forth the same number of European muskets, they paused, well knowing that it was contrary to the wish of all the white settlers that they should proceed to hostilities. Indeed, Europeans intrepidly mingled amongst them, urging them to a reconciliation, and threatening that, if they failed in their endeavours, the supplies of arms and ammunition should be discontinued. This threat had its desired effect on the minds of the natives; no blood was spilt, and each chief returned quietly to his own home. On the night we heard of the death of George and his wife, "Revenge and war" was the universal cry. His party would not believe that it could be an accident, nor would they hear of any apology being received. At this time they imagined the tribes of Hokianga were possessed of but very few firearms; and, as the skirmish took place in that district, it was determined that an exterminating war should be carried into the heart of it. However, before all the preparations could be made to carry their intentions into effect, they received certain information that the people of Hokianga were even better supplied with muskets than those of the Bay of Islands. This intelligence occasioned an assemblage of the different tribes to be proposed, and when it took place the friends of George saw their opponents so well prepared for the "tug of war" that they deemed it judicious to come forward and to shake hands and to acknowledge that the death of Shulitea proceeded either from accident or mistake. A curious circumstance took place in the midst of their debate. An old chief, who wished for a fight, and did not approve of the introduction of firearms, but was an advocate for the old method of New Zealand warfare, proposed that each party should send away _all_ their muskets and ammunition, and engage manfully with their own native weapons, and then it could be easily proved which were the "best men;" but this mode of settling the dispute, not being agreeable to the majority, was instantly negatived, and treated with disdain. The colony of Scotch carpenters, who had formed a settlement at the head of the river, and of whom I made "honourable mention" on my first journey, finding themselves so close to what they feared might become the seat of war, and having no means whatever of defending themselves, made an arrangement with Mooetara, the chief of Parkunugh (which is situated at the entrance of the same river), and placed themselves under his protection. They accordingly moved down here, which gave great satisfaction to that chief. Neither could their former protector, Patuone, feel offended at their removal, from the peculiar nature of the circumstances they were placed in. These hardy North Britons were delighted to find a reasonable excuse for moving, their former establishment being situated too far from the sea for them to reap any advantage from ships coming into port. Nothing can be more gratifying than to behold the great anxiety of the natives to induce Englishmen to settle amongst them; it ensures their safety; and no one act of treachery is on record of their having practised towards those whom they had invited to reside with them. Mooetara is a man of great property and high rank, and is considered a very proud chief by the natives; yet he is to be seen every day working as hard as any slave in assisting in the erection of houses for the accommodation of his new settlers. He has actually removed from his old village of Parkunugh (a strong and beautiful place), and is erecting huts for his tribe near the spot chosen by his new friends; so that, in a very short time, a barren point of land, hitherto without a vestige of a human habitation, will become a thriving and populous village, for it is incredible how quickly the orders of these chiefs are carried into effect. I was frequently a witness to the short space of time they took to erect their houses; and, though small, they are tight, weather-proof, and warm: their storehouses are put together in the most substantial and workmanlike manner. It is very difficult to make the New Zealanders explain the nature of their religious belief. One superstition seems general with all the tribes respecting the formation of the world, or, rather, of their own island, for that is the place of the first importance in their estimation. They say a man, or a god, or some great spirit, was fishing in his war-canoe, and pulled up a large fish, which instantly turned into an island; and a lizard came upon that, and brought up a man out of the water by his long hair; and he was the father of all the New Zealanders. Almost all their grotesque carvings are illustrations of this idea in some way or other. The favourite theme on which (I observed) the missionaries discoursed to them were "the torments of hell." This has become a subject of ridicule to most of the natives; they do not deny that there may be such a place, but they add, it is not for them, for if Atua had intended it so he would have sent them word about it long before he sent the white men into their country; and they conclude by stating that they know perfectly well the situation of the island where they are to go to after this life. CHAPTER LV. MASSACRE OF A SCHOONER'S CREW. While remaining here wind-bound, in imaginary security, and amusing ourselves with noticing the curious customs and peculiarities of these islanders, a dreadful tragedy was taking place only a few miles' distance from us, and to which I before alluded, when I mentioned crossing the bar on our first arrival from Port Jackson. The Enterprise schooner, a very fine vessel, which was built at the settlement on this river, had been sent to Sydney, and while we were lying there we were in hourly expectation of her return. She did return. The unfavourable weather which detained us so long proved fatal to her, and she was wrecked a few miles to the northward of the river's mouth, and every soul on board perished. The moment this catastrophe was known every European hastened to the spot, and, with feelings of horror, perceived but too plainly, from the appearance of the wreck and the boat, and by finding also the clothes of the crew, that they had reached the shore in safety, and had afterwards all been murdered; but how, or by whom, it was impossible to discover. The most probable conclusion was that the tribes situated around the European dockyard at Hokianga, having meditated for some time past a great war-like expedition, waited the return of this schooner from Sydney to possess themselves of an additional supply of arms and ammunition, which might enable them to take the field with a certainty of conquest. They had regularly purchased the cargo of this vessel by their labour and their merchandise, and the schooner was merely employed to convey it thither from Sydney, for the use of the natives; unhappily for the poor creatures on board, in running for the mouth of the river, she fell to leeward, and got stranded on the beach, in the very territory of that tribe against whom these preparations were made--the tribe intended to be invaded. Though no formal declaration of war had taken place, the tribes well knew the preparations that were making against them, and the nature of the cargo contained in The Enterprise; falling into the hands of such fierce and vindictive savages, the fate of the crew may be imagined--all our poor fellows were sacrificed to gratify their feelings of revenge. Mooetara (the friendly chief of Hokianga) no sooner heard of the fate of the vessel and her crew than he hastened with his party to the spot; it was owing to the investigation which then took place that the conclusion was arrived at that all had been murdered. What remained for Mooetara to do (according to their savage notion of what was right) was to take ample revenge on all the hostile tribes that might fall in his way, whether our poor countrymen met their deaths through accident or treachery. Mooetara instantly commenced the work of destruction; and, having made his vengeance complete, he returned laden with spoil. The promptness with which he acted on this melancholy occasion greatly increased the feelings of security possessed by those Englishmen settled on the banks of the river, as it proved to them that he was both able and willing to protect them, and though the dead could not be restored, yet he had inflicted an awful punishment on their murderers. CHAPTER LVI. FAREWELL TO NEW ZEALAND. On the 21st a fair wind and smooth sea favoured our departure. Early in the morning the natives who were on board assured us everything would facilitate our passing over the bar with safety, and they prepared to leave the ship. When the moment of separation came, it caused a great deal of emotion on both sides. I must confess I felt much affected when I came to rub noses, shake hands, and say "Farewell" to these kind-hearted people. I saw them go over the ship's side, and reflected that I should never behold them more. There is always something repugnant to our feelings in the idea of separating from any being for ever; and as, in this instance, I felt assured that this was our last time of meeting, it cast a gloom over the pleasure the fair wind and smooth sea would otherwise have afforded me. As we fell down towards the river's mouth, and, indeed, as long as their canoes were to be seen, they kept waving their hands towards us. Thus terminated my visit to the islands of New Zealand. I had arrived with feelings of fear and disgust, and was merely induced to take up a temporary residence amongst the natives, in hopes of finding something new for my pencil in their peculiar and picturesque style of life. I left them with opinions, in many respects, very favourable towards them. It is true, they are cunning and over-reaching in trade, and filthy in their persons. In regard to the former, we Europeans, I fear, set them a bad example; of the latter, they will gradually amend. Our short visit to Kororarika greatly improved them in that particular. All took great pains to come as clean as possible when they attended our "evening tea-parties." In my opinion, their sprightly, free, and independent deportment, together with their kindness and attention to strangers, compensates for many defects. On looking round upon their country, an Englishman cannot fail to feel gratified when he beholds the good already resulting to these poor savages from their intercourse with his countrymen; and they themselves are fully sensible of, and truly grateful for, every mark of kindness manifested towards them. They have stores full of the finest Indian corn, which they consider a great luxury, a food which requires little trouble in preparing, keeps well, and is very nutritious. It is but a few years since this useful grain was introduced amongst them; and I sincerely hope this introduction may be followed up, not only by our sending out to them seeds of vegetables and fruits, but by our forwarding to them every variety of quadruped which can be used for food. Abundance of the finest water-melons are daily brought alongside vessels entering their ports; these, in point of flavour, are superior to any I ever met with. I have no doubt every variety of European produce essential to the support of life would thrive equally well; and as food became abundant, and luxuries were introduced, their disgusting feasts on human flesh would soon be discontinued altogether. We were soon at sea, and speedily felt considerable apprehensions as to the safe termination of our voyage. Our vessel (the brig Governor Macquarie) we well knew was a leaky one, though her leaks did not distress us on the outward voyage, she being then only in ballast trim; but now that she was loaded to the water's edge, and the winter coming on, we became greatly alarmed for her. Another disagreeable circumstance was having no bread or flour on board. To obviate the first evil, and to save the sailors a great deal of hard labour, our Captain offered to give a passage to Sydney to several natives, who accepted his offer, they being always anxious to see the colony; we likewise had on board the great Chief from the Thames, who had caused us so much trouble at Kororarika. These men, being fine, strong, active young fellows, were indefatigable in their exertions at the pumps; and though we had to contend with much heavy weather, and contrary winds, they kept our vessel pretty dry. The want of bread was not so easily remedied; though our Captain treated it lightly, saying he was sure of getting a supply by making a requisition to the missionaries. He accordingly waited upon them, and acquainted them with our distressed condition; they had plenty (for only a few weeks previously they had received a large supply), and as we knew their agent at Sydney, Mr. Campbell, we had no doubt of procuring a sufficiency from them to carry us home; but in this we were disappointed. Captain Kent did not ask them for a supply as a gift, but solicited merely the _loan_ of a cask or two till we arrived at Sydney, when he guaranteed that the owners of the brig should return the same quantity into the missionary storehouse there. The little monosyllable _No_ was again put in requisition, with this qualification--"that they did not like the Botany Bay skippers." Through their "dislike," the passengers and seamen of the brig might have gone unprovided to sea, had not a "worldly-minded" whaler (fortunately for us) at that critical moment come into port, who, the instant he heard of the ill-success of our entreaty, vented his indignation in pretty coarse language, and said, "if it detained his vessel a week, he would supply us;" and he kept his word; he gave us a bountiful supply, which rendered us comfortable during the whole way home. It was most interesting to observe our savages when we got well out to sea. They soon appeared to become accustomed to their novel situation, and seemed to feel quite at home and at their ease "on board ship." Their exertions at the pumps were indefatigable. I felt convinced they thought that during all voyages the same labour was gone through to keep the vessel afloat; and as it only required strength and exertion, they cheerfully took that department entirely to themselves, especially as they soon perceived how useless they were when they attempted to perform any other duty on board of the brig, as their knowledge of voyaging extended no further than the distance they go in their own canoes, which, though very beautiful, are sad leaky things at sea; and as, during the time they are out, the greater part of the crew are baling the water out of them, they thought the leaky state of our vessel was no uncommon occurrence. But however cheerfully they worked during the day, nothing could induce them to "turn out" at night; they always stowed themselves away, but in what part of the vessel I never could conjecture. They have a dread of some unknown evil spirit, which they imagine has power over them at night; and this supposition makes them terrible cowards in the dark. The second day after we were at sea, I saw a group of savages lying round the binnacle, all intently occupied in observing the phenomenon of the magnetic attraction; they seemed at once to comprehend the purpose to which it was applied, and I listened with eager curiosity to their remarks upon it. "This," said they, "is the white man's God, who directs them safely to different countries, and then can guide them home again." Out of compliment to us, and respect for its wonderful powers, they seemed much inclined to worship this silent little monitor. During our voyage to Port Jackson we experienced a succession of southerly gales, which Captain Kent informed me were very prevalent at this season of the year. Notwithstanding all our exertions to prevent it, we were carried considerably to leeward of the port. We made Lord Howe's Islands, whose high and bold features rise, as it were, out of the ocean; as we passed close to them, we perceived they were well wooded and watered; and one of the men, who had been on shore there, informed me that there was a tolerably good harbour for small craft. A few miles to the southward of these islands is Ball's Pyramid, a most singular and sublime-looking rock, rising perpendicularly out of the sea to a height of a thousand feet; the base of it is enveloped in perpetual surf, dashing and climbing up its craggy sides. Its appearance, as we saw it, relieved by the setting sun, and the coming on of a stormy night, was awful in the extreme! Nothing could exceed the delight manifested by our New Zealanders as we sailed up Port Jackson harbour; but, above all, the windmills most astonished them. After dancing and screaming with joy at beholding them, they came running and asking me "if they were not gods." I found they were inclined to attach that sacred appellation to most things they could not understand; they did so when they first became possessed of their muskets, and actually worshipped them, until they discovered how soon they got out of repair, and then, notwithstanding all the prayers they could bestow upon them, they would not mend again of their own accord. Our Chief from the Thames, who had a great idea of his own dignity, commenced adorning his person, as he felt convinced the Governor would instantly grant him an audience when he came on shore. All our lamps were emptied to add a more beautiful gloss to his hair and complexion; his whole stock of feathers and bones were arranged to the greatest advantage. He at length became quite enraged when he found that he was allowed to sit two days on our deck, amongst all manner of dirty porters and sailors, without either being visited or sent for; and he was loud in his reproaches to us for having deceived him. We certainly were to blame in having induced him to believe we had any influence with the Governor, for however politic we (who had lived in New Zealand) might think it, to pay some attentions to these simple savages, his Excellency, unfortunately, thought otherwise; and though the Chief, attended by his followers, used to sit in the verandah at Government House from morning till night, the Governor never once deigned to speak to them, and they were, in consequence, constantly coming to me with complaints. At length they told me that unless they obtained an audience from our Chief they should consider it so great an insult that they would revenge it upon all the Europeans they could get into their power; and I, well knowing that several families were settled in that part of the country wherein this man was Chief, thought it my duty to let the Governor know, that, however he might dislike their manners and appearance, it might lead to some serious calamity, if he continued to refuse to give them an audience. I accordingly waited upon the Brigade Major, and explained to him how unwise it was to treat these men with such undisguised contempt. The result was, the Governor saw the affair in the same point of view as myself, and condescended to meet them and converse with them for about five minutes; and with that they were satisfied. Other heads of departments (civil and military) behaved differently, and evidently felt a pleasure in having them with them. The Commander of the troops suffered them to sit at the same table with himself and officers, and had the war-dance performed in the mess-room, which I thought would have brought the house down upon our heads. He likewise permitted them to fall into the ranks with the soldiers, which pleased them beyond everything, inasmuch as they considered it a higher honour in being permitted to stand by our warriors on the martial parade than to take food with our Chiefs at their own table! The Attorney-General of the colony took a particular interest in these savages, and gave a large party, to which they were invited. Several of the visitors on this occasion came out of curiosity to see how these cannibals would conduct themselves, expecting, no doubt, to witness a display of disgusting gluttony; but in that they were disappointed, for never did any set of men behave with greater decorum than they did. On being apprised of this invitation, they were all most anxious to obtain European dresses, and when we refused to lend them ours, they requested of our servants the loan of a suit. This being denied them also, with the little money they had they attempted to bargain for whole suits of _convict_ dresses, in order to make their _debut_ in style at the table of the Attorney-General! When I discovered this to be the case, I explained to them the impropriety of their conduct, and roused their pride by pointing out to them the absurdity of men of their high rank in their own country wishing to appear in the cast-off dress of degraded slaves, and how much more suitable it was to the dignity of their character to appear in their own national costume. Accordingly, on the appointed day, they met the company superbly attired in mats and feathers; they made a splendid show at the dinner-table, and afforded great amusement to the evening visitors. At an early hour they got very sleepy, but were too polite to hint how much they felt oppressed by drowsiness. I saw their eyes grow heavy, and perceived that it was difficult for them to sit upright on their chairs. I mentioned these symptoms to their kind host, who immediately consented to their retiring. They accordingly withdrew into a corner of one of the adjoining rooms, where, lying down huddled together, and covering themselves with their mats, they were soon asleep, and gave no interruption to anyone during the remainder of the evening. The greatest treat it was in our power to bestow on them was to take them to a review of the troops then stationed at Sydney. The splendour of their regimentals, the regularity of their movements, and the precision of their firing, made them nearly mad with delight; they ran about the plain literally wild with joy, occasionally stopping to gaze with wonder on men performing what they deemed such prodigies. In their ecstasies they occasionally vociferated their own furious war-whoop. Their extravagant expressions of delight, and their many extraordinary gestures, caused great amusement both to the military and to the spectators assembled on the ground; and when the review was over my savage friends were quite exhausted with fatigue and excitement. After two months' residence at Sydney we had an opportunity of procuring a passage for them to their own country; and they departed, expressing the greatest gratitude for our attentions towards them. They were loaded with presents of all descriptions; for, finding they generally got what they begged for, while here, they importuned everyone they met, and they used daily to return home burthened with the most miscellaneous and extraordinary jumble of commodities it was possible to conceive; for, as everything they then beheld was new to them, and might be (they thought) of some service to them in their own country, each trifle was of great value in their estimation, and was carefully stowed away. They always expressed their concern that so few muskets were given to them, and that they were presented with ammunition in such small quantities. War-like stores were their grand desideratum; and though they would accept of any thing you chose to give them, yet they always had hopes they should finally receive their favourite presents of a stocking of powder, a piece of lead, or a musket. THE END. APPENDIX I. MASSACRE OF CAPT. FURNEAUX'S BOAT'S CREW. CANNIBALISM OF THE MAORIS. [_The following is the account given by Captain Furneaux of the massacre of his boat's crew, referred to in Earle's narrative on page 24._] * * * * * The Resolution, under command of Captain Cook, and the Adventure, commanded by Captain Furneaux, sailed from Plymouth on the 13th April, 1772, to continue the exploration of New Zealand begun during Captain Cook's first voyage. The vessels became finally separated in a gale off Cape Palliser in October, 1773, and the two navigators did not meet again until after Cook's return to England in July, 1775. Captain Furneaux reported that while his ship was refitting in Queen Charlotte Sound the astronomer's tent was robbed by a party of natives. One who was seen escaping was fired upon and wounded, when he and his confederates made for the woods, leaving their canoe with most of the stolen goods on the shore. "This petty larceny," Captain Furneaux remarks, "probably laid the foundation of that dreadful catastrophe which soon after happened," and which he thus describes: "On Friday, the 17th, we sent out our large cutter, manned with seven seamen, under the command of Mr. John Rowe, the first mate, accompanied by Mr. Woodhouse, midshipman, and James Tobias Swilley, the carpenter's servant. They were to proceed up the Sound to Grass Cove to gather greens and celery for the ship's company, with orders to return that evening; for the tents had been struck at two in the afternoon, and the ship made ready for sailing the next day. Night coming on, and no cutter appearing, the captain and others began to express great uneasiness. They sat up all night in expectation of their arrival, but to no purpose. At daybreak, therefore, the captain ordered the launch to be hoisted out. She was double manned, and under the command of our second lieutenant, Mr. Burney, accompanied by Mr. Freeman, master, the corporal of marines, with five private men, all well armed, and having plenty of ammunition and three days' provision. They were ordered first to look into East Bay, then to proceed to Grass Cove, and if nothing was to be seen or heard of the cutter there, they were to go farther up the cove, and return by the west shore. Mr. Rowe having left the ship an hour before the time proposed for his departure, we thought his curiosity might have carried him into East Bay, none of our people having ever been there, or that some accident might have happened to the boat, for not the least suspicion was entertained of the natives. Mr. Burney returned about eleven o'clock the same night, and gave us a pointed description of a most horrible scene, described in the following relation:-- "'On Saturday, the 18th, we left the ship about nine o'clock in the morning. We soon got round Long Island and Long Point. We continued sailing and rowing for East Bay, keeping close in shore, and examining with our glasses every cove on the larboard side, till near two o'clock in the afternoon, at which time we stopped at a beach on our left going up East Bay, to dress our dinner. "'About five o'clock in the afternoon, and within an hour after we had left this place, we opened a small bay adjoining to Grass Cove, and here we saw a large double canoe just hauled upon the beach, with two men and a dog. The two men, on seeing us approach, instantly fled, which made us suspect it was here we should have some tidings of the cutter. On landing and examining the canoe, the first thing we saw therein was one of our cutter's rowlock ports and some shoes, one of which among the latter was known to belong to Mr. Woodhouse. A piece of flesh was found by one of our people, which at first was thought to be some of the salt meat belonging to the cutter's men, but, upon examination, we supposed to be dog's flesh. A most horrid and undeniable proof soon cleared up our doubts, and convinced us we were among no other than cannibals; for, advancing further on the beach, we saw about twenty baskets tied up, and a dog eating a piece of broiled flesh, which, upon examination, we suspected to be human. We cut open the baskets, some of which were full of roasted flesh, and others of fern root, which serves them for bread. Searching others, we found more shoes and a hand, which was immediately known to have belonged to Thos. Hill, one of our forecastle men, it having been tattooed with the initials of his name. We now proceeded a little way in the woods, but saw nothing else. Our next design was to launch the canoe, intending to destroy her; but seeing a great smoke ascending over the nearest hill, we made all possible haste to be with them before sunset. "'At half after six we opened Grass Cove, where we saw one single and three double canoes, and a great many natives assembled on the beach, who retreated to a small hill, within a ship's length of the water side, where they stood talking to us. On the top of the high land, beyond the woods, was a large fire, from whence, all the way down the hill, the place was thronged like a fair. When we entered the cove, a musketoon was fired at one of the canoes, as we imagined they might be full of men lying down, for they were all afloat, but no one was seen in them. Being doubtful whether their retreat proceeded from fear or a desire to decoy us into an ambuscade, we were determined not to be surprised, and therefore, running close in shore, we dropped the grappling near enough to reach them with our guns, but at too great a distance to be under any apprehensions from their treachery. The savages on the little hill kept their ground, hallooing, and making signs for us to land. At these we now took aim, resolving to kill as many of them as our bullets would reach, yet it was some time before we could dislodge them. The first volley did not seem to affect them much, but on the second they began to scramble away as fast as they could, some howling and others limping. We continued to fire as long as we could see the least glimpse of any of them through the bushes. Among these were two very robust men, who maintained their ground without moving an inch till they found themselves forsaken by all their companions, and then, disdaining to run, they marched off with great composure and deliberation. One of them, however, got a fall, and either lay there or crawled away on his hands and feet; but the other escaped without any apparent hurt. Mr. Burney now improved their panic, and, supported by the marines, leaped on shore and pursued the fugitives. We had not advanced far from the water-side, on the beach, before we met with two bunches of celery, which had been gathered by the cutter's crew. A broken oar was stuck upright in the ground, to which the natives had tied their canoes, whereby we were convinced this was the spot where the attack had been made. We now searched all along at the back of the beach, to see if the cutter was there, but instead of her, the most horrible scene was presented to our view; for there lay the hearts, heads, and lungs of several of our people, with hands and limbs in a mangled condition, some broiled and some raw; but no other parts of their bodies, which made us suspect that the cannibals had feasted upon and devoured the rest. At a little distance we saw the dogs gnawing their entrails. We observed a large body of the natives collected together on a hill about two miles off, but as night drew on apace, we could not advance to such a distance; neither did we think it safe to attack them, or even to quit the shore to take an account of the number killed, our troop being a very small one, and the savages were both numerous, fierce, and much irritated. While we remained almost stupefied on the spot, Mr. Fannen said that he heard the cannibals assembling in the woods, on which we returned to our boat, and having hauled alongside the canoes, we demolished three of them. During this transaction the fire on the top of the hill disappeared, and we could hear the savages in the woods at high words, quarrelling, perhaps, on account of their different opinions, whether they should attack us and try to save their canoes. They were armed with long lances, and weapons not unlike a sergeant's halbert in shape, made of hard wood, and mounted with bone instead of iron. We suspected that the dead bodies of our people had been divided among those different parties of cannibals who had been concerned in the massacre, and it was not improbable that the group we saw at a distance by the fire were feasting upon some of them, as those on shore had been where the remains were found, before they had been disturbed by our unexpected visit. Be that as it may, we could discover no traces of more than four of our friends' bodies, nor could we find the place where the cutter was concealed. It now grew dark, on which account we collected carefully the remains of our mangled friends, and, putting off, made the best of our way from this polluted place. When we opened the upper part of the Sound, we saw a very large fire about three or four miles higher up, which formed a complete oval, reaching from the top of a hill down almost to the water-side, the middle space being enclosed all round by the fire, like a hedge. Mr. Burney and Mr. Fannen having consulted together, they were both of opinion that we could, by an attempt, reap no other advantage than the poor satisfaction of killing some more of the savages. Upon leaving Grass Cove we had fired a volley towards where we heard the Indians talking, but by going in and out of the boat our pieces had got wet, and four of them missed fire. What rendered our situation more critical, it began to rain, and our ammunition was more than half expended. We, for these reasons, without spending time where nothing could be hoped for but revenge, proceeded for the ship, and arrived safe aboard before midnight.'" It is a little remarkable that Captain Furneaux had been several times up Grass Cove with Captain Cook, where they saw no inhabitants, and no other signs of any but a few deserted villages, which appeared as if they had not been occupied for many years, and yet, in Mr. Burney's opinion, when he entered the same cove, there could not be less than fifteen hundred or two thousand people. On Thursday, the 23rd of December, the Adventure departed from, and made sail out of, the Sound. She stood to the eastward, to clear the straits, which was happily effected the same evening; but the ship was baffled for two or three days with light winds before she could clear the coast. In this interval of time the chests and effects of the ten men who had been murdered were sold before the mast, according to an old sea custom. When Captain Cook was in the Sound on his third voyage, he learned that the massacre arose over an unpremeditated quarrel. Kahura, who had been active in the tragedy, told Cook that a Maori having brought a stone hatchet to barter, the man to whom it was offered took it, and would neither return it nor give anything for it, and on which the owner snatched some bread from the party of Europeans, who were at dinner on the beach, as an equivalent, and then the quarrel began. Kahura himself had a narrow escape of being shot, while another was shot beside him; and the Europeans, outnumbered, were surrounded and killed. It was also stated by the natives that not one of the shots fired by the party of Captain Furneaux led by Mr. Burney to search for the missing people had taken effect so as to kill or even to hurt a single person. APPENDIX II. THE DEATH OF WHAREUMU (KING GEORGE). The death of this Bay of Islands chief, who acted as protector to Mr. Earle during his residence at Kororareka, is thus described by Messrs. Hobbs and Stack, Wesleyan missionaries at Hokianga, in a letter dated from Mangungu, Hokianga, on the 22nd March, 1828:-- "On the same day that Hongi died at Whangaroa a son of the late Pomare's, named Tiki, was killed at Waima by a chief of the tribe called Mahurihuri. Waima is in Hokianga, and only a few miles distance from us. The cause of the quarrel was this: Tiki had had some of his pigs stolen by the natives of Waima, and he was seeking utu by robbing their sweet potato plantations, for which he was shot. "As soon as the report of the young man's death reached the Bay of Islands, 400 natives collected together, forming two divisions, under two separate chiefs, Whareumu, or, as he is called by the Europeans, King George, and Toi, and came to Hokianga. Toi and his party arrived first at Waima, where he found Patuone and all the natives and other chiefs of our district. After robbing the natives of Waima of their potatoes, etc., peace was made, and no further evil consequences seemed likely to arise. The next day, the 14th, Whareumu and his party arrived. He was highly displeased with Toi for having made peace on such easy terms. He prevailed upon him, therefore, to break his league. Whareumu was also very insolent to Muriwai, intimated that he was a coward, and poured contempt upon the idea of the Hokianga natives standing in their own defence. On the morning of the 15th a quarrel ensued between the 400 Bay of Islanders and the natives of Waima, our natives also having now become their allies. This fray did not at the outset seem likely to be attended with fatal results, but, as Solomon justly observes, the beginning of strife is like the letting out of water; so it was in this instance. Shots were fired on both sides till several were killed and wounded. At length Muriwai, who was a pacificator, was wounded and fell. Supposing he was killed, our natives (for the natives of Waima fled as soon as matters assumed a serious aspect) no longer regarded matters lightly, but turned round in great rage, for they also were in the act of retreating, and singled out Whareumu as a satisfaction for Muriwai. Whareumu received two balls before he was killed. The one which killed him went through his throat. As soon as he fell all his followers fled, leaving about nine of their companions dead on the field, amongst whom was Oro, the chief who commenced our Whangaroa robbing. This ended the contest. Patuone and Nene immediately took up the body of the fallen chief and made great lamentation over him, and have since placed his body between the bodies of their own relations as a mark of respect." 
13760	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 13760-h.htm or 13760-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/3/7/6/13760/13760-h/13760-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/3/7/6/13760/13760-h.zip) JOHN RUTHERFORD, THE WHITE CHIEF A Story of Adventure in New Zealand Edited by JAMES DRUMMOND, F.L.S., F.Z.S. [Illustration: John Rutherford. From an original drawing taken in 1828.] CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. John Rutherford A Maori's shoulder mat Short striking weapons (clubs) used by the Maoris Kororareka Beach, in the Bay of Islands, where some of Rutherford's adventures are supposed to have taken place A door-lintel, showing Maori carving "Moko" on a man's face and on a woman's lips and chin Two Maori Chiefs--Te Puni, or "Greedy," and Wharepouri, or "Dark House" Scene in a New Zealand Forest Flute of bone A waist-mat Stone implements used by Maoris for cutting hair Carved boxes Greenstone axes, with carved wooden bandies, and ornamented with dogs' hair and birds' feathers Long striking and thrusting weapons used by the Maoris A Maori war-canoe INTRODUCTION. Eighty years ago, when the story told in these pages was first published, "forecastle yarns" were more thrilling than they are now. In these days we look for information in regard to a new land's capabilities for pastoral, agricultural, and commercial pursuits; in those days it was customary, with a large portion of the British public, at any rate, to expect sailors to tell stories Of the cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders, and to relate other particulars likely to arrest the attention and excite the imagination. Men then sailed to unknown lands, peopled by unknown barbarians, and their adventures in strange and mysterious countries were clothed in a romance which has been almost completely dispelled by the telegraph, the newspaper press, cheap books, and rapid transit, and by the utilitarian ideas which have swept over the world. It was largely to meet the public taste for something wonderful and striking that John Rutherford's story of adventures in New Zealand saw the light of publicity. In fairness to the original editor and the publisher, however, it should be stated that the story was given also as a means of supplying interesting information in regard to a country and a race of which very little was then known. It was embodied in a book of 400 pages, entitled "The New Zealanders," published in 1830, for the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, by the famous publisher, Charles Knight. He was a versatile, talented, and ambitious man; but all his ambitions ran in the direction of the public good. From the time of his early manhood, he wished to become a public instructor. At first he tried to achieve his end by means of journalism, which he entered in 1812, by reporting Parliamentary debates for "The Globe" and "The British Press," two London journals. Later on he started a publishing business in London. Dealing only with instructive subjects, he established "Knight's Quarterly Magazine," and other periodicals, to which he was one of the prominent contributors. He was not a business man, and in 1828 he was overwhelmed by financial difficulties. In the meantime he had become acquainted with the brilliant but erratic Lord Brougham, who had completed arrangements for putting into operation one of his great enterprises for educating the masses. This was the establishment of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. It began a series of publications under the title of "The Library of Entertaining Knowledge," which Knight published. The first volume, written by Knight himself, was "The Menageries"; the second was "The New Zealanders." Other publications were issued by the society until it was dissolved in 1846. Knight continued to send works out of the press nearly to the end of his useful life, in March, 1873. Some of these were written by himself, some by friends, and some were translations. His "Penny Magazine," at the end of its first year, had a sale of 200,000 copies. Amongst his other publications are Lane's "Arabian Nights," "The Pictorial Bible," "The Pictorial History of England," and--the object of his highest ambition--"The Pictorial Shakespeare." In "Passages of a Working Life," he wrote his own biography. In spite of his strenuous life he died a poor man. He was an enthusiast, but his impetuous nature induced him to attempt to carry out his schemes before they had matured. He had a quick temper and an eloquent tongue. The esteem in which he was held by his friends is shown by the admirable jest with which Douglas Jerrold took leave of him one evening at a social gathering. "Good Knight," Jerrold said. The "New Zealanders" was published anonymously, and for many years the authorship was attributed to Lord Brougham. There is no doubt now, however, that the author was George Lillie Craik, a scholar and a man of letters. He was born at Kennoway, Fife, in 1798. He studied at St. Andrew's, and went through a divinity course, but never applied to be licensed as a preacher. Like Knight, he was attracted by journalism, which he regarded as a means of instructing the public. When he was only twenty years of age he was editor of "The Star," a local newspaper. In London he adopted authorship as a profession. In 1849, he was appointed Professor of English Literature and History at the Queen's College, Belfast, and later on, although he still resided at Belfast, he became examiner for the Indian Civil Service. All his literary work is distinguished by careful research. Perhaps his best effort is represented by "The Pursuit of Knowledge Under Difficulties," published in the same year as "The New Zealanders." With a colleague he edited "The Pictorial History of England," in four volumes. Amongst his other works are "A Romance of the Peerage," "Spencer and his Poetry," "A History of Commerce," "The English of Shakespeare," and "Bacon, his Writings and Philosophy." He had a flowing and cultured style, and he embellished his work with many references to the classics. He was one of the best read men of his time. His extensive reading and the simplicity of his style made him a very welcome contributor to the "Penny Magazine," the "Penny Cyclopædia," and other popular publications. He had a paralytic stroke while lecturing in Belfast in February, 1866, and he died in June of the same year. It is said of him that he was popular with students and welcome in society. It is not known if Craik met Rutherford. He probably did not. He may have had "The New Zealanders" partly written when the manuscript describing Rutherford's adventures was placed in his hands. In that case, he wove it into his book, using it as a means of illustrating his remarks on the Maoris' customs. His work bears the stamp of honesty and industrious care. He collected all the information dealing with New Zealand available at the time, and he produced a fairly large book, which, for many years after it was published, must have been a valuable contribution to the public's store of "entertaining knowledge." Rutherford, as his narrative shows, was ten years amongst the Maoris. He was an ignorant sailor. He could not write, and the account of his adventures, it is explained, was dictated to a friend while he was on the voyage back to England. Craik says that if allowance is made for some grammatical solecisms, the story, as it appeared in the manuscript, was told with great clearness, and sometimes with considerable spirit. Knight evidently knew him, as it is stated in "The New Zealanders" that "the publisher of this volume had many conversations with him when he was exhibited in London." It is probable, too, that Brougham knew him. Brougham, indeed, may have "discovered" him and introduced him to Knight. Rutherford was just the kind of man in whose company Brougham delighted to spend hours. He would listen to the recital of the thrilling adventures with the Maoris with breathless interest. A story told of the madcap days of Brougham's youth gives some idea of the welcome he would extend to Rutherford. One evening, after Brougham and some other gay spirits had supped together in London, they saw a mob of idle scoundrels beating an unfortunate woman with brutal ferocity. The young fellows went to her rescue. Their interference increased the tumult, and all the watchmen in the neighbourhood were soon about their ears. In return for their chivalry they were lodged in the watch-house. Amongst their fellow-prisoners there was an old sailor, who sat cowering over the embers of the fire. He had been in the American War. Brougham picked up an acquaintance with him, and all night long the young man held the old one in conversation, ascertaining the strength of the forces in the engagements, the scenes of the battles, the nature of the manoeuvres, the advances and reverses, and so on, until his avariciousness for knowledge was satisfied. Neither Brougham nor Knight, nor even Craik, had sufficient means of testing the accuracy of Rutherford's story. Unfortunately there are many points on which the narrative is not only inaccurate but misleading. Craik concludes that Poverty Bay, where Cook first landed in New Zealand, is the scene of the capture of the "Agnes." Rutherford, however, gives the name as "Tokomardo." This corresponds with a bay some miles further north, and about forty miles from the East Cape. The Maoris call it Tokomaru, which Rutherford evidently intended. His description of the place might represent Tokomaru almost as well as Poverty Bay. The strangest part of the affair, however, is that the Maoris on that coast have no knowledge whatever of the "Agnes," the vessel which, according to Rutherford, was captured in the bay he describes. Eighty years ago the arrival of a vessel at New Zealand was an advent of the utmost importance. The news spread throughout the land with surprising rapidity, and whole tribes flocked to the port to see the "Pakehas" and trade for their iron implements and guns. The Maoris of the district know of three white men, whom they called Riki, Punga, and Tapore, who lived amongst them for some time in the early days, before colonization began; but they have no knowledge of Rutherford. The chiefs to whom Rutherford frequently refers did not belong to that district. The chief who takes the principal part in the story, "Aimy," cannot be traced. The name is spelt wrongly, and it is difficult to supply a Maori name that the spelling in the book might represent. This is surprising, as the Maoris are very careful in regard to their genealogical records.[A] While Rutherford was in New Zealand some terrible slaughters took place in the Poverty Bay district, but he does not refer to these, although they must have been one of the principal subjects of conversation amongst the Maoris for months, perhaps years. Near the end of the narrative, Rutherford gives an account of a great battle, in which the chief Hongi was a prominent figure. His description of what took place is incorrect in several respects. Victory went to Hongi, not, as Rutherford says, to the people of Kaipara and their allies, although they were victorious in the first skirmish. The battle is known as Te Ika-a-rangi-nui, that is the Great Fish of the Sky or the Milky Way, and it took place in February, 1825. As Rutherford states, Hongi was present, and wore the famous coat of mail armour which had been given to him by His Majesty King George IV. when he was in England in 1820. The strife was caused not by an attempt to steal Hongi's armour, as Rutherford suggests, but by a thirst for revenge for the death of a chief of the Nga-Puhi tribe, to which Hongi belonged. The chief Whare-umu, evidently identical with "Ewarree-hum" in Rutherford's narrative, did not belong to the party that Rutherford was connected with; he was related to the man whose murder was avenged, and seems to have been Hongi's first lieutenant. Some authorities, notably Bishop Williams, of Waiapu,[B] and Mr. Percy Smith,[C] believe that Rutherford was not present at the battle, and that he obtained all his information from others. Bishop Williams, who knows the Poverty Bay district as well as anyone, has come to the conclusion that Rutherford must have spent his years in New Zealand in the Bay of Islands district; and Mr Percy Smith, in a letter to me, says that he has always entertained the idea that Rutherford was one of the men taken when the schooner "Brothers" was attacked at Kennedy Bay in 1815. Bishop Williams sets up the theory that Rutherford was a deserter from a vessel which visited New Zealand, that he induced the Maoris to tattoo him in order that he might escape detection after he had returned to civilization, and that he concocted the story of the capture of the "Agnes" to account for his reappearance amongst Europeans. The weakness of this theory is that he evidently did not object to publicity, and that the tattooing would make him a conspicuous man who could not avoid public attention. If Bishop Williams is right in assuming that Rutherford wished to escape detection, he took the very best course to defeat his object. Whatever Rutherford's object may have been, and whether he deceived the author and publisher of "The New Zealanders," or merely erred through ignorance and lack of observation, there is no doubt that he spent some years with the Maoris in the northern part of New Zealand. His tattooed face is sufficient evidence of that. The pattern is the Maori "moko." The tattooing on his breast, stomach, and arms, however, is not the work of Maoris; that was done, probably, by natives at some of the islands, or by sailors. I hardly think that those who read the narrative will agree with Bishop Williams's opinion that it is "a mere romance." It is more like the story of an ignorant, unobservant, careless sailor, who entertained no idea that any importance would be attached to his statements. Many mistakes were probably made in the work of dictating the narrative to a fellow-sailor. If Rutherford had been bent upon making a romantic story, he would have told it in a different form. There is no straining after effect in the manuscript reproduced by Craik. The faults are inaccuracies, not exaggerations. Some excuse may be found for Rutherford's mistakes in the description of the battle Te Ika-a-rangi-nui in the fact that modern Maori scholars cannot agree on important details, there being differences of opinion in regard to even the year in which the battle was fought. [Illustration: A Maori's shoulder mat _Christchurch Museum_.] It is felt that, with all its blemishes, the story has a good claim to be included in the list of New Zealand works that are now being reprinted by Messrs. Whitcombe and Tombs, to whom the people of New Zealand are deeply indebted. When Mr. Whitcombe first asked me to edit Rutherford's story for his firm, I proposed to take it alone, leaving out all the rest of Craik's work in "The New Zealanders." On reading the book again I came to the conclusion that many of Craik's remarks, although discursive at times, are sufficiently interesting to be read now, and I have included in the reprint a large portion of his original writings. I have retained his spelling of Maori words, but have made many corrections in footnotes. The book is not sent out as an authentic account of the Maoris. "The New Zealanders" was the first book that attempted to deal with them, and it has been superseded by many which have been written in the light of more extensive knowledge, and in them students will find results of much patient study and research. JAMES DRUMMOND. Christchurch, February 13th, 1908. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: At my request, Mr. S. Percy Smith, the author of "Hawaiki, the Original Home of the Maori," endeavoured to trace "Aimy," but even his extensive knowledge of the Maori language and tribal histories failed to bring that man to light. Mr. Smith explains that "Ai" in Rutherford's spelling represents "E," a vocative, in the accepted method of spelling, and "my" represents "mai." The two words, combined, would be "E Mai." In this way, "Mai's" attention would be called. But "Mai" may be the first, second, or third syllable of a man's name, according to euphony. The name supplied in the narrative, therefore, is no guide in a search for Rutherford's friendly chief.] [Footnote B: Transactions New Zealand Institute, volume xxiii., page 453.] [Footnote C: "Journal of the Polynesian Society," volume x., page 35.] JOHN RUTHERFORD THE WHITE CHIEF. CHAPTER I. John Rutherford, according to his own account, was born at Manchester about the year 1796. He went to sea, he states, when he was hardly more than ten years of age, having up to that time been employed as a piecer in a cotton factory in his native town; and after that he appears to have been but little in England, or even on shore, for many years. He served for a considerable time on board a man-of-war off the coast of Brazil; and was afterwards at the storming of San Sebastian, in August, 1813. On coming home from Spain, he entered himself on board another king's ship, bound for Madras, in which he afterwards proceeded to China by the east passage, and lay for about a year at Macao. In the course of this voyage his ship touched at several islands in the great Indian Archipelago, among others at the Bashee Islands,[D] which have been rarely visited. On his return from the east he embarked on board a convict vessel bound for New South Wales; and afterwards made two trading voyages among the islands of the South Sea. It was in the course of the former of these that he first saw New Zealand, the vessel having touched at the Bay of Islands, on her way home to Port Jackson. His second trading voyage in those seas was made in the "Magnet," a three-masted schooner, commanded by Captain Vine; but this vessel having put in at Owhyhee,[E] Rutherford fell sick and was left on that island. Having recovered, however, in about a fortnight, he was taken on board the "Agnes," an American brig of six guns and fourteen men, commanded by Captain Coffin, which was then engaged in trading for pearl and tortoiseshell among the islands of the Pacific. This vessel, after having touched at various other places, on her return from Owhyhee, approached the east coast of New Zealand, intending to put in for refreshments at the Bay of Islands. Rutherford states in his journal that this event, which was to him of such importance, occurred on March 6th, 1816. They first came in sight of the Barrier Islands, some distance to the south of the port for which they were making. They accordingly directed their course to the north; but they had not got far on their way when it began to blow a gale from the north-east, which, being aided by a current, not only made it impossible for them to proceed to the Bay of Islands, but even carried them past the mouth of the Thames. It lasted for five days, and when it abated they found themselves some distance to the south of a high point of land, which, from Rutherford's description, there can be no doubt must have been that to which Captain Cook gave the name of East Cape. Rutherford calls it sometimes the East, and sometimes the South-East Cape, and describes it as the highest part of the coast. It lies nearly in latitude 37° 42' S. The land directly opposite to them was indented by a large bay. This the captain was very unwilling to enter, believing that no ship had ever anchored in it before. We have little doubt, however, that this was the very bay into which Cook first put, on his arrival on the coasts of New Zealand, in the beginning of October, 1769. He called it Poverty Bay, and found it to lie in latitude 38° 42' S. The bay in which Rutherford now was must have been at least very near this part of the coast; and his description answers exactly to that which Cook gives of Poverty Bay. It was, says Rutherford, in the form of a half-moon, with a sandy beach round it, and at its head a fresh-water river, having a bar across its mouth, which makes it navigable only for boats. He mentions also the height of the land which forms its sides. All these particulars are noticed by Cook. Even the name given to it by the natives, as reported by the one, is not so entirely unlike that stated by the other, as to make it quite improbable that the two are merely the same word differently misrepresented. Cook writes it Taoneroa, and Rutherford Takomardo. The slightest examination of the vocabularies of barbarous tongues, which have been collected by voyagers and travellers, will convince every one of the extremely imperfect manner in which the ear catches sounds to which it is unaccustomed, and of the mistakes to which this and other causes give rise, in every attempt which is made to take down the words of a language from the native pronunciation, by a person who does not understand it. Reluctant as the captain was to enter this bay, from his ignorance of the coast, and the doubts he consequently felt as to the disposition of the inhabitants, they at last determined to stand in for it, as they had great need of water, and did not know when the wind might permit them to get to the Bay of Islands. They came to anchor, accordingly, off the termination of a reef of rocks, immediately under some elevated land, which formed one of the sides of the bay. As soon as they had dropped anchor, a great many canoes came off to the ship from every part of the bay, each containing about thirty women, by whom it was paddled. Very few men made their appearance that day; but many of the women remained on board all night, employing themselves chiefly in stealing whatever they could lay their hands on. Their conduct greatly alarmed the captain, and a strict watch was kept during the night. The next morning one of the chiefs came on board, whose name they were told was Aimy, in a large war-canoe, about sixty feet long, and carrying above a hundred of the natives, all provided with quantities of mats and fishing-lines, made of the strong white flax[F] of the country, with which they professed to be anxious to trade with the crew. After this chief had been for some time on board, it was agreed that he should return to the land, with some others of his tribe, in the ship's boat, to procure a supply of water. This arrangement the captain was very anxious to make, as he was averse from allowing any of the crew to go on shore, wishing to keep them all on board for the protection of the ship. In due time the boat returned, laden with water, which was immediately hoisted on board; and the chief and his men were despatched a second time on the same errand. Meanwhile, the rest of the natives continued to take pigs to the ship in considerable numbers; and by the close of the day about two hundred had been purchased, together with a quantity of fern-root to feed them on. Up to this time, therefore, no hostile disposition had been manifested by the savages; and their intercourse with the ship had been carried on with every appearance of friendship and cordiality, if we except the propensity they had shown to pilfer a few of the tempting rarities exhibited to them by their civilised visitors. Their conduct as to this matter ought perhaps to be taken rather as an evidence that they had not as yet formed any design of attacking the vessel, as they would, in that case, scarcely have taken the trouble of stealing a small part of what they meant immediately to seize upon altogether. On the other hand, such an infraction of the rules of hospitality would not have accorded with that system of insidious kindness by which it is their practice to lull the suspicions of those whom they are on the watch to destroy. During the night, however, the thieving was renewed, and carried to a more alarming extent, inasmuch as it was found in the morning that some of the natives had not only stolen the lead off the ship's stern, but had also cut away many of the ropes, and carried them off in their canoes. It was not till daybreak, too, that the chief returned with his second cargo of water; and it was then observed that the ship's boat he had taken with him leaked a great deal; on which the carpenter examined her, and found that a great many of the nails had been drawn out of her planks. About the same time, Rutherford detected one of the natives in the act of stealing the dipson lead,--"which, when I took it from him," says he, "he grinded his teeth and shook his tomahawk at me." "The captain," he continues, "now paid the chief for fetching the water, giving him two muskets, and a quantity of powder and shot, arms and ammunition being the only articles these people will trade for. "There were at this time about three hundred of the natives on the deck, with Aimy, the chief, in the midst of them; every man was armed with a green stone, slung with a string around his waist. This weapon they call a 'mery,'[G] the stone being about a foot long, flat, and of an oblong shape, having both edges sharp, and a handle at the end. They use it for the purpose of killing their enemies, by striking them on the head. "Smoke was now observed rising from several of the hills; and the natives appearing to be mustering on the beach from every part of the bay, the captain grew much afraid, and desired us to loosen the sails, and make haste down to get our dinners, as he intended to put to sea immediately. As soon as we had dined, we went aloft, and I proceeded to loosen the jib. At this time, none of the crew was on deck except the captain and the cook, the chief mate being employed in loading some pistols at the cabin table. "The natives seized this opportunity of commencing an attack upon the ship. First, the chief threw off the mat which he wore as a cloak, and, brandishing a tomahawk in his hand, began a war-song, when all the rest immediately threw off their mats likewise, and, being entirely naked, began to dance with such violence that I thought they would have stove in the ship's deck. "The captain, in the meantime, was leaning against the companion, when one of the natives went unperceived behind him, and struck him three or four blows on the head with a tomahawk, which instantly killed him. The cook, on seeing him attacked, ran to his assistance, but was immediately murdered in the same manner. "I now sat down on the jib-boom, with tears in my eyes, and trembling with terror. "Here I next saw the chief mate come running up the companion ladder, but before he reached the deck he was struck on the back of the neck in the same manner as the captain and the cook had been. He fell with the blow, but did not die immediately. "A number of the natives now rushed in at the cabin door, while others jumped down through the skylight, and others were employed in cutting the lanyards of the rigging of the stays. At the same time, four of our crew jumped overboard off the foreyard, but were picked up by some canoes that were coming from the shore, and immediately bound hand and foot. "The natives now mounted the rigging, and drove the rest of the crew down, all of whom were made prisoners. One of the chiefs beckoned to me to come to him, which I immediately did, and surrendered myself. We were then put all together into a large canoe, our hands being tied; and the New Zealanders, searching us, took from us our knives, pipes, tobacco-boxes, and various other articles. The two dead bodies, and the wounded mate, were thrown into the canoe along with us. The mate groaned terribly, and seemed in great agony, the tomahawk having cut two inches deep into the back of his neck; and all the while one of the natives, who sat in the canoe with us, kept licking the blood from the wound with his tongue. Meantime, a number of women who had been left in the ship had jumped overboard, and were swimming to the shore, after having cut her cable, so that she drifted, and ran aground on the bar near the mouth of the river. The natives had not sense to shake the reefs out of the sails, but had chopped them off along the yards with their tomahawks, leaving the reefed part behind. "The pigs, which we had bought from them, were, many of them, killed on board, and carried ashore dead in the canoes, and others were thrown overboard alive, and attempted to swim to the land; but many of them were killed in the water by the natives, who got astride on their backs, and then struck them on the head with their merys. Many of the canoes came to the land loaded with plunder from the ship; and numbers of the natives quarrelled about the division of the spoil, and fought and slew each other. I observed, too, that they broke up our water-casks for the sake of the iron hoops. "While all this was going on, we were detained in the canoe; but at last, when the sun was set, they conveyed us on shore to one of the villages, where they tied us by the hands to several small trees. The mate had expired before we got on shore, so that there now remained only twelve of us alive. The three dead bodies were then brought forward, and hung up by the heels to the branch of a tree, in order that the dogs might not get at them. A number of large fires were also kindled on the beach, for the purpose of giving light to the canoes, which were employed all night in going backward and forward between the shore and the ship, although it rained the greater part of the time. "Gentle reader," Rutherford continues, "we will now consider the sad situation we were in; our ship lost, three of our companions already killed, and the rest of us tied each to a tree, starving with hunger, wet, and cold, and knowing that we were in the hands of cannibals. "The next morning, I observed that the surf had driven the ship over the bar, and she was now in the mouth of the river, and aground near the end of the village. Everything being now out of her, about ten o'clock in the morning they set fire to her; after which they all mustered together on an unoccupied piece of ground near the village, where they remained standing for some time; but at last they all sat down except five, who were chiefs, for whom a large ring was left vacant in the middle. The five chiefs, of whom Aimy was one, then approached the place where we were, and after they had stood consulting for some time, Aimy released me and another, and, taking us into the middle of the ring, made signs for us to sit down, which we did. In a few minutes, the other four chiefs came also into the ring, bringing along with them four more of our men, who were made to sit down beside us. "The chiefs now walked backward and forward in the ring with their merys in their hands, and continued talking together for some time, but we understood nothing of what they said. The rest of the natives were all the while very silent, and seemed to listen to them with great attention. At length, one of the chiefs spoke to one of the natives who was seated on the ground, and the latter immediately rose, and, taking his tomahawk in his hand, went and killed the other six men who were tied to the trees. They groaned several times as they were struggling in the agonies of death, and at every groan the natives burst out in great fits of laughter. "We could not refrain from weeping for the sad fate of our comrades, not knowing, at the same time, whose turn it might be next. Many of the natives, on seeing our tears, laughed aloud, and brandished their merys at us. "Some of them now proceeded to dig eight large round holes, each about a foot deep, into which they afterwards put a great quantity of dry wood, and covered it over with a number of stones. They then set fire to the wood, which continued burning till the stones became red hot. In the meantime, some of them were employed in stripping the bodies of my deceased shipmates, which they afterwards cut up, for the purpose of cooking them, having first washed them in the river, and then brought them and laid them down on several green boughs which had been broken off the trees and spread on the ground, near the fires, for that purpose. "The stones being now red hot, the largest pieces of the burning wood were pulled from under them and thrown away, and some green bushes, having been first dipped in water, were laid round their edges, while they were at the same time covered over with a few green leaves. The mangled bodies were then laid upon the top of the leaves, with a quantity of leaves also strewed over them; and after this a straw mat was spread over the top of each hole. Lastly, about three pints of water were poured upon each mat, which, running through to the stones, caused a great steam, and then the whole was instantly covered with earth. "They afterwards gave us some roasted fish to eat, and three women were employed in roasting fern-root for us. When they had roasted it, they laid it on a stone, and beat it with a piece of wood, until it became soft like dough. When cold again, however, it becomes hard, and snaps like gingerbread. We ate but sparingly of what they gave us. After this they took us to a house, and gave each of us a mat and some dried grass to sleep upon. Here we spent the night, two of the chiefs sleeping along with us. "We got up next morning as soon as it was daylight, as did also the two chiefs, and went and sat down outside the house. Here we found a number of women busy in making baskets of green flax, into some of which, when they were finished, the bodies of our messmates, which had been cooking all night, were put, while others were filled with potatoes, which had been prepared by a similar process. "I observed some of the children tearing the flesh from the bones of our comrades, before they were taken from the fires. A short time after this the chiefs assembled, and, having seated themselves on the ground, the baskets were placed before them and they proceeded to divide the flesh among the multitude, at the rate of a basket among so many. They also sent us a basket of potatoes and some of the flesh, which resembled pork; but instead of partaking of it we shuddered at the very idea of such an unnatural and horrid custom, and made a present of it to one of the natives." According to this account, the editor says, the attack made upon the "Agnes" would seem to have been altogether unprovoked by the conduct either of the captain or any of the crew; but we must not, in matters of this kind, assume that we are in possession of the whole truth, when we have heard the statement of only one of the parties. What may have been the exact nature of the offence given to the natives in the present case, the narrative we have just transcribed hardly gives us any data even for conjecturing; unless we are to suppose that their vindictive feelings were called forth by the manner in which their pilfering may have been resented or punished, about which, however, nothing is said in the account. But perhaps, after all, it is not necessary to refer their hostility to any immediate cause of this kind. These savages had probably many old injuries, sustained from former European visitors, yet unrevenged; and, according to their notions, therefore, they had reason enough to hold every ship that approached their coast an enemy, and a fair subject for spoliation. It is lamentable that the conduct of Europeans should have offered them an excuse for such conduct. [Illustration: _Christchurch Museum_. 1. Club (_patu_) of wood, inlaid with _paua_ shell and carved. 2. Greenstone club (_mere pounanu_). 3. Club (_onewa_) of stone. 4. _Kotiate_ of wood or bone.] The wanton cruelties committed upon these people by the commanders and crews of many of the vessels that have been of late years in the habit of resorting to their shores, are testified to, by too many evidences, to allow us to doubt the enormous extent to which they have been carried; and they are, at the same time, too much in the spirit of that systematic aggression and violence, which even British sailors are apt to conceive themselves entitled to practise upon naked and unarmed savages, to make the fact of their perpetration a matter of surprise to us. We must refer to Mr. Nicholas's book[H] for many specific instances of such atrocities; but we may merely mention here that the conduct in question is distinctly noticed and denounced in the strongest terms, both in a proclamation by Governor Macquarie, dated the 9th of November, 1814, and also in another by Sir Thomas Brisbane, dated the 17th of May, 1824. So strong a feeling, indeed, had been excited upon this subject among the more respectable inhabitants of the English colony, that, in the year 1814, a society was formed in Sydney Town, with the Governor at its head, for the especial protection of the natives of the South Sea Islands against the oppressions practised upon them by the crews of European vessels. The reports of the missionaries likewise abound in notices of the flagrant barbarities by which, in New Zealand, as well as elsewhere, the white man has signalised his superiority over his darker-complexioned brother. But it may be enough to quote one of their statements, namely, that within the first two or three years after the establishment of the society's settlement at the Bay of Islands, not less than a hundred at least of the natives had been murdered by Europeans in their immediate neighbourhood. With such facts on record, it ought indeed to excite but little of our surprise, that the sight of the white man's ship in their horizon should be to these injured people in every district the signal for a general muster, to meet the universal foe, and, if it may be accomplished by force or cunning, to gratify the great passion of savage life--revenge. The circumstances of this attack are all illustrative of the New Zealand character; and, indeed, the whole narrative is strikingly accordant with the accounts we have from other sources of the manner in which these savages are wont to act on such occasions, although there certainly never has before appeared so minute and complete a detail of any similar transaction. The gathering of the inland population by fires lighted on the hills, the previous crowding and almost complete occupation of the vessel, the sly and patient watching for the moment of opportunity, the instant seizure of it when it came, the management of the whole with such precision and skill, as in the case of the "Boyd,"[I] and indeed in every other known instance, while the success of the movement was perfect--this result was obtained without the expense of so much as a drop of blood on the part of the assailants--all these things are the uniform accompaniments of New Zealand treachery when displayed in such enterprises. The rule of military tactics among this people is, in the first place, if possible, to surprise their enemies; and, in the second, to endeavour to alarm and confound them. This latter is doubtless partly the purpose of the song and dance, which form with them the constant prelude to the assault, although these vehement expressions of passion operate also powerfully as excitements to their own sanguinary valour and contempt of death. Rutherford's description of the violence with which they danced on board the ship in the present case, immediately before commencing their attack on the crew, reminds us strikingly, even by its expression, of the account Crozet gives us, in his narrative of the voyage of M. Marion, of their exhibitions of a similar sort even when they were only in sport. "They would often dance," says he "with such fury when on board the ship that we feared they would drive in our deck." The alleged cannibalism of the New Zealanders is a subject that has given rise to a good deal of controversy; and it has been even very recently contended that the imputation, if not altogether unfounded, is very nearly so, and that the horrid practice in question, if it does exist among these people at all, has certainly never been carried beyond the mere act of tasting human flesh, in obedience to some feeling of superstition or frantic revenge, and even that perpetrated only rarely and with repugnance. Without attempting to theorise as to such a matter on the ground of such narrow views as ordinary experience would suggest, we may here state what the evidence is which we really have for the cannibalism of the New Zealanders. Cook was the first who discovered the fact, which he did in his first visit to the country. The strongest proof of all was that which was obtained in Queen Charlotte Sound. Captain Cook having one day gone ashore here, accompanied by Mr. Banks, Dr. Solander, Tupia, and other persons belonging to the ship, found a family of the natives employed in dressing some provisions. "The body of a dog," says Cook, "was at this time buried in their oven, and many provision baskets stood near it. Having cast our eyes carelessly into one of these as we passed it, we saw two bones pretty cleanly picked, which did not seem to be the bones of a dog, and which, upon a nearer examination, we discovered to be those of a human body. At this sight we were struck with horror, though it was only a confirmation of what we had heard many times since we arrived upon this coast. As we could have no doubt but the bones were human, neither could we have any doubt that the flesh which covered them had been eaten. They were found in a provision-basket; the flesh that remained appeared manifestly to have been dressed by fire, and in the gristles at the end were the marks of the teeth which had gnawed them. "To put an end, however, to conjecture founded upon circumstances and appearances, we directed Tupia to ask what bones they were; and the Indians, without the least hesitation, answered, the bones of a man. They were then asked what was become of the flesh, and they replied that they had eaten it; 'but,' said Tupia, 'why did you not eat the body of the woman we saw floating upon the water?' 'The woman,' said they, 'died of disease; besides, she was our relation, and we eat only the bodies of our enemies, who are killed in battle.' "Upon inquiry who the man was whose bones we had found, they told us that, about five days before, a boat belonging to their enemies came into the bay, with many persons on board, and that this man was one of seven whom they had killed. "Though stronger evidence of this horrid practice prevailing among the inhabitants of this coast will scarcely be required, we have still stronger to give. One of us asked if they had any human bones with the flesh remaining upon them; and upon their answering us that all had been eaten, we affected to disbelieve that the bones were human, and said that they were the bones of a dog; upon which one of the Indians, with some eagerness, took hold of his own forearm, and thrusting it towards us, said that the bone which Mr. Banks held in his hand had belonged to that part of a human body; at the same time, to convince us that the flesh had been eaten, he took hold of his own arm with his teeth, and made a show of eating. He also bit and gnawed the bone which Mr. Banks had taken, drawing it through his mouth, and showing by signs that it had afforded a delicious repast. Some others of them, in a conversation with Tupia next day, confirmed all this in the fullest manner; and they were afterwards in the habit of bringing human bones, the flesh of which they had eaten, and offering them to the English for sale." When Cook was at the same place in November, 1773, in the course of his second voyage, he obtained still stronger evidence of what he expressly calls their "great liking for this kind of food," his former account of their indulgence in which had been discredited, he tells us, by many. Some of the officers of the ship having gone one afternoon on shore, observed the head and bowels of a youth, who had been lately killed, lying on the beach; and one of them, having purchased the head, brought it on board. A piece of the flesh having then been broiled and given to one of the natives, he ate it immediately in the presence of all the officers and most of the men. Nothing is said of any aversion he seemed to feel to the shocking repast. Nay, when, upon Cook's return on board, for he had been at this time absent on shore, another piece of the flesh was broiled and brought to the quarter-deck, that he also might be an eye-witness of what his officers had already seen, one of the New Zealanders, he tells us, "ate it with surprising avidity. This," he adds, "had such an effect on some of our people as to make them sick." Of the persons who sailed with Cook, no one seems eventually to have retained a doubt as to the prevalence of cannibalism among these savages. Mr. Burney, who had been long sceptical, was at last convinced of the fact, by what he observed when he went to look after the crew of the "Adventure's" boat who had been killed in Grass Cove; and both the elder and the younger Forster, who accompanied Cook on his second voyage, express their participation in the general belief. John Ledyard, who was afterwards distinguished as an adventurous African traveller, but who sailed with Cook in the capacity of a corporal of marines, bears testimony to the same fact. It thus appears that the testimony of those who have actually visited New Zealand, in so far as it has been recorded, is unanimous upon this head. To the authorities that have been already adduced, may be now added that of Rutherford, whose evidence, both in the extract from his journal that has been already given, and in other passages to which we shall afterwards have occasion to refer, is in perfect accordance with the statements of all preceding reporters entitled to speak upon the subject. The facts that have been quoted would seem to show that the eating of human flesh among this people is not merely an occasional excess, prompted only by the phrenzy of revenge, but that it is actually resorted to as a gratification of appetite, as well as of passion. It is very probable, however, that the practice may have had its origin in those vindictive feelings which mix, to so remarkable a degree, in all the enmities and wars of these savages. This is a much more likely supposition than that it originated in the difficulty of procuring other food, in which case, as has been remarked, it could not well have, at any time, sprung up either in New Zealand or in almost any other of the countries in which it is known to prevail. Certain superstitious notions, besides, which are connected with it among this people, sufficiently indicate the motives which must have first led to it; for they believe that, by eating their enemies, they not only dishonour their bodies, but consign their souls to perpetual misery. This is stated by Cook. Other accounts, which we have from more recent authorities, concur in showing that the person who eats any part of the body of another whom he has slain in battle, fancies he secures to himself thereby a portion of the valour or good fortune which had hitherto belonged to his dead enemy. The most common occasion, too, on which slaves are slain and eaten is by way of an offering to the "_mana_" of a chief or any of his family who may have been cut off in battle. All this would go to prove that the cannibalism of the New Zealanders had, on its first introduction, been intimately associated with certain feelings or notions which seemed to demand the act as a duty, and not at all with any circumstances of distress or famine which compelled a resort to it as a dire necessity. There is too much reason for apprehending, however, that the unnatural repast, having ceased in this way to be regarded with that disgust with which it is turned from by every unpolluted appetite, has now become an enjoyment in which they not unfrequently indulge without any reference to the considerations which originally tempted them to partake of it. Indeed, such a result, instead of being incredible or improbable, would appear to be almost an inevitable consequence of the general and systematic perpetration, under any pretext, of so daring an outrage upon Nature as that of which these savages are, on all hands, allowed to be guilty. The practice of cannibalism, which has prevailed among other nations as well as the New Zealanders, has probably not had always exactly the same origin. According to Mr. Mariner, it is of very recent introduction among the people of Tonga, having been unknown among them till it was imported about fifty or sixty years ago, along with other warlike tastes, by their neighbours of the Fiji Islands, whose assistance had been called in by one of the parties in a civil struggle. Here is an instance of the practice having originated purely in the ferocity engendered by the habit of war. In other cases it has, perhaps, arisen out of the kindred practice of offering up human beings as sacrifices to the gods. Humboldt, in his work on the indigenous inhabitants of South America, gives us an interesting account of the introduction of this latter atrocity among the Aztecs, a people of Mexico, whose annals record its first perpetration to have taken place so late as the year 1317. But the most extraordinary instance of cannibalism which is known to exist in the world is that practised by the Battas, an extensive and populous nation of Sumatra. These people, according to Sir Stamford Raffles, have a regular government, and deliberative assemblies; they possess a peculiar language and written character, can generally write, and have a talent for eloquence; they acknowledge a God, are fair and honourable in their dealings, and crimes amongst them are few; their country is highly cultivated. Yet this people, so far advanced in civilization, are cannibals upon principle and system. Mr. Marsden,[J] in his "History of Sumatra," seems to confine their cannibalism to the accustomed cases of prisoners taken in war and to other gratifications of revenge. But it is stated by Sir Stamford Raffles, upon testimony which is unimpeachable, that criminals and prisoners are not only eaten according to the law of the land, but that the same law permits their being mangled and eaten while alive. The following extraordinary account, which we extract from a letter of Sir Stamford Raffles to Mr. Marsden himself, dated February 27, 1820, is sufficiently revolting; but it is important as showing the wonderful influence of ancient customs in hardening the hearts of an otherwise mild and respectable people, and is therefore calculated to make us look with less severity upon the practices of the more ignorant New Zealanders. The progress of knowledge and of true religion can alone eradicate such fearful relics of a tremendous superstition--the offering, in another shape, to Moloch, horrid king, besmear'd with blood Of human sacrifice. I have found all you say on the subject of cannibalism more than confirmed. I do not think you have even gone far enough. You might have broadly stated, that it is the practice, not only to eat the victim, but to eat him alive. I shall pass over the particulars of all previous information which I have received, and endeavour to give you, in a few words, the result of a deliberate inquiry from the Batta chiefs of Tappanooly. I caused the most intelligent to be assembled; and in the presence of Mr. Prince and Dr. Jack, obtained the following information, of the truth of which none of us have the least doubt. It is the universal and standing law of the Battas, that death by eating shall be inflicted in the following cases:--Adultery; midnight robbery; wars of importance, that is to say, one district against another, the prisoners are sacrificed; intermarrying in the same tribe, which is forbidden from the circumstance of their having ancestors in common; treacherous attacks on a house, village, or person. In all the above cases it is lawful for the victims to be eaten, and they are eaten alive, that is to say, they are not previously put to death. The victim is tied to a stake, with his arms extended, the party collect in a circle around him, and the chief gives the order to commence eating. The chief enemy, when it is a prisoner, or the chief party injured in other cases, has the first selection; and after he has cut off his slice, others cut off pieces according to their taste and fancy, until all the flesh is devoured. It is either eaten raw or grilled, and generally dipped in sambul (a preparation of Chili pepper and salt), which is always in readiness. Rajah Bandaharra, a Batta, and one of the chiefs of Tappanooly, asserted that he was present at a festival of this kind about eight years ago, at the village of Subluan, on the other side of the bay, not nine miles distant, where the heads may still be seen. When the party is a prisoner taken in war, he is eaten immediately, and on the spot. Whether dead or alive he is equally eaten, and it is usual even to drag the bodies from the graves, and, after disinterring them, to eat the flesh. This only in cases of war. From the clear and concurring testimony of all parties, it is certain that it is the practice not to kill the victim till the whole of the flesh cut off by the party is eaten, should he live so long; the chief or party injured then comes forward and cuts off the head, which he carries home as a trophy. Within the last three years there have been two instances of this kind of punishment within ten miles of Tappanooly, and the heads are still preserved. In cases of adultery the injured party usually takes the ear or ears; but the ceremony is not allowed to take place except the wife's relations are present and partake of it. In these and other cases where the criminal is directed to be eaten, he is secured and kept for two or three days, till every person (that is to say males) is assembled. He is then eaten quietly, and in cold blood, with as much ceremony, and perhaps more, than attends the execution of a capital sentence in Europe. The bones are scattered abroad after the flesh has been eaten, and the head alone preserved. The brains belong to the chief, or injured party, who usually preserves them in a bottle, for purposes of witchcraft, &c. They do not eat the bowels, but like the heart; and many drink the blood from bamboos. The palms of the hands and the soles of the feet are the delicacies of epicures. Horrid and diabolical as these practices may appear, it is no less true that they are the result of much deliberation among the parties, and seldom, except in the case of prisoners in war, the effect of immediate and private revenge. In all cases of crimes, the party has a regular trial, and no punishment can be inflicted until sentence is regularly and formally passed in the public fair. Here the chiefs of the neighbouring kampong assemble, hear the evidence, and deliberate upon the crime and probable guilt of the party; when condemned, the sentence is ratified by the chiefs drinking the tuah, or toddy, which is final, and may be considered equivalent to signing and sealing with us. I was very particular in my inquiries whether the assembly were intoxicated on the occasions of these punishments. I was assured it was never the case. The people take rice with them, and eat it with the meat, but no tuah is allowed. The punishment is always inflicted in public. The men alone are allowed to partake, as the flesh of man is prohibited to women (probably from an apprehension they might become too fond of it). The flesh is not allowed to be carried away from the spot, but must be consumed at the time. I am assured that the Battas are more attached to these laws than the Mahomedans are to the Koran, and that the number of the punishments is very considerable. My informants considered that there could be no less than fifty or sixty men eaten in a year, and this in times of peace; but they were unable to estimate the true extent, considering the great population of the country; they were confident, however, that these laws were strictly enforced wherever the name of Batta was known, and that it was only in the immediate vicinity of our settlements that they were modified and neglected. For proof, they referred me to every Batta in the vicinity, and to the number of skulls to be seen in every village, each of which was from a victim of the kind. With regard to the relish with which the parties devour the flesh, it appeared that, independent of the desire of revenge which may be supposed to exist among the principals, about one-half of the people eat it with a relish, and speak of it with delight; the other half, though present, may not partake. Human flesh is, however, generally considered preferable to cow or buffalo beef, or hog, and was admitted to be so even by my informants. Adverting to the possible origin of this practice, it was observed that formerly they ate their parents when too old for work; this, however, is no longer the case, and thus a step has been gained in civilization. It is admitted that the parties may be redeemed for a pecuniary compensation, but this is entirely at the option of the chief enemy or injured party, who, after his sentence is passed, may either have his victim eaten, or he may sell him for a slave; but the law is that he shall be eaten, and the prisoner is entirely at the mercy of his prosecutor. The laws by which these sentences are inflicted are too well known to require reference to books, but I am promised some MS. accounts which relate to the subject. These laws are called huhum pinang àn,--from depang àn, to eat--law or sentence to eat. I could give you many more details, but the above may be sufficient to show that our friends the Battas are even worse than you have represented them, and that those who are still sceptical have yet more to learn. I have also a great deal to say on the other side of the character, for the Battas have many virtues. I prize them highly. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote D: At the extreme north of the Philippine Islands.] [Footnote E: Hawaii.] [Footnote F: Phormium tenax.] [Footnote G: méré.] [Footnote H: Nicholas's "Voyage to New Zealand."] [Footnote I: The transport "Boyd" was taken by Maoris and burned at Whangaroa Harbour in 1809. Most of the people on board were massacred, there being only four survivors out of seventy souls.] [Footnote J: William Marsden, who was sent out from Dublin to Sumatra, about 1775, as a writer in the East India Company's service.] CHAPTER II. Rutherford and his comrades spent another night in the same manner as they had done the previous one; and on the following morning set out, in company with the five chiefs, on a journey into the interior. When they left the coast, the ship was still burning. They were attended by about fifty natives, who were loaded with the plunder of the unfortunate vessel. That day, he calculates, they travelled only about ten miles, the journey being very fatiguing from the want of any regular roads, and the necessity for making their way through a succession of woods and swamps. The village at which their walk terminated was the residence of one of the chiefs, whose name was Rangadi,[K] and who was received on his arrival by about two hundred of the inhabitants. They came in a crowd, and, kneeling down around him, began to cry aloud and cut their arms, faces, and other parts of their bodies with pieces of sharp flint, of which each of them carried a number tied with a string about his neck, till the blood flowed copiously from their wounds. [Illustration: Kororareka Beach, in the Bay of Islands, where some of Rutherford's adventures are supposed to have taken place.] These demonstrations of excited feeling, which Rutherford describes as merely their usual manner of receiving any of their friends who have been for some time absent, are rather more extravagant than seem to have been commonly observed to take place on such occasions in other parts of the island. Mr. Marsden,[L] however, states that on Korro-korro's[M] return from Port Jackson, many of the women of his tribe who came out to receive him "cut themselves in their faces, arms, and breasts with sharp shells or flints, till the blood streamed down." Some time after, when Duaterra[N] and Shungie[O] went on shore at the Bay of Islands, they met with a similar reception from the females of their tribes. Mr. Savage asserts that this cutting of their faces by the women always takes place on the meeting of friends who have been long separated; but that the ceremony consists only of embracing and crying, when the separation of the parties has been short. It may be remarked that the custom of receiving strangers with tears, by way of doing them honour, has prevailed with other savages. Among the native tribes of Brazil, according to Lafitau, it used to be the custom for the women, on the approach of any one to whom they wished to show especial fidelity, to crouch down on their heels, and, spreading their hands over their faces, to remain for a considerable time in that posture, howling in a sort of cadence, and shedding tears. Among the Sioux, again, it was the duty of the men to perform this ceremony of lamentation on such occasions, which they did standing, and laying their hands on the heads of their visitors. In some cases, the wounds which the New Zealand women inflict on themselves are intended to express their grief for friends who have perished in war; and probably this may have been a reason for the strong exhibition of feeling in the instance just noticed by Rutherford, as the chiefs had then returned from an expedition. Such a mode of mourning has been often observed in New Zealand. During the time that Cruise was at the Bay of Islands, they found one day, upon going on shore, that a body of the natives had just returned from a war expedition, in which they had taken considerable numbers of prisoners, consisting of men, women, and children, some of the latter of whom were not two years old; and among the women was one, distinguished by her superior beauty, who sat apart from the rest upon the beach, and, though silent, seemed buried in affliction. They learned that her father, a chief of some consequence, had been killed by the man whose prisoner she now was, and who kept near her during the greater part of the day. The officers remained on shore till the evening; "and as we were preparing to return to the ship," continues Cruise, "we were drawn to that part of the beach where the prisoners were, by the most doleful cries and lamentations. Here was the interesting young slave in a situation that ought to have softened the heart of the most unfeeling. The man who had slain her father, having cut off his head, and preserved it by a process peculiar to these islanders, took it out of a basket, where it had hitherto been concealed, and threw it into the lap of the unhappy daughter." At once she seized it with a degree of phrenzy not to be described; and subsequently, with a bit of sharp shell, disfigured her person in so shocking a manner that in a few minutes not a vestige of her former beauty remained. They afterwards learned that this fellow had married the very woman he had treated with such singular barbarity. The crying, however, seems to be a ceremony that takes place universally on the meeting of friends who have been for some time parted. We may give, in illustration of this custom, Cruise's description of the reception by their relatives of the nine New Zealanders who came along with him in the "Dromedary" from Port Jackson. "When their fathers, brothers, etc., were admitted into the ship," says he, "the scene exceeded description; the muskets were all laid aside, and every appearance of joy vanished. It is customary with these extraordinary people to go through the same ceremony upon meeting as upon taking leave of their friends. They join their noses together, and remain in this position for at least half-an-hour;[P] during which time they sob and howl in the most doleful manner. If there be many friends gathered around the person who has returned, the nearest relation takes possession of his nose, while the others hang upon his arms, shoulders, and legs, and keep perfect time with the chief mourner (if he may be so called) in the various expressions of his lamentation. This ended, they resume their wonted cheerfulness, and enter into a detail of all that has happened during their separation. As there were nine New Zealanders just returned, and more than three times that number to commemorate the event, the howl was quite tremendous, and so novel to almost every one in the ship that it was with difficulty our people's attention could be kept to matters at that moment more essential. Little Repero, who had frequently boasted, during the passage, that he was too much of an Englishman ever to cry again, made a strong effort when his father, Shungie, approached him, to keep his word; but his early habit soon got the better of his resolution, and he evinced, if possible, more distress than any of the others." The sudden thawing of poor Repero's heroic resolves was an incident exactly similar to another which Mr. Nicholas had witnessed. Among the New Zealanders who, after having resided for some time in New South Wales, returned with him and Mr. Marsden to their native country, was one named Tooi,[Q] who prided himself greatly on being able to imitate European manners; and accordingly, declaring that he would not cry, but would behave like an Englishman, began, as the trying moment approached, to converse most manfully with Mr. Nicholas, evidently, however, forcing his spirits the whole time. But "his fortitude," continues Nicholas, "was very soon subdued; for being joined by a young chief about his own age, and one of his best friends, he flew to his arms, and, bursting into tears, indulged exactly the same emotions as the others." Tooi was afterwards brought to England, and remained for some time in this country. He was in attendance upon his brother Korro-korro, one of the greatest chiefs in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands, and, as well as Shungie, who has just been mentioned, celebrated all over the country for his love of fighting, and the number of victories he had won. Yet even this hardy warrior was no more proof than any one of his wives or children against this strange habit of emotion. The first person he met on his landing happened to be his aunt, whose appearance, as, bent to the earth with age and infirmities, she ascended a hill, supporting herself upon a long staff, Nicholas compares to that which we might conceive the Sibyl bore, when she presented herself to Tarquin. Yet, when she came up to Korro-korro, the chief, we are told, having fallen upon her neck, and applied his nose to hers, the two continued in this posture for some minutes, talking together in a low and mournful voice; and then disengaging themselves, they gave vent to their feelings by weeping bitterly, the chief remaining for about a quarter of an hour leaning on his musket, while the big drops continued to roll down his cheeks. The old woman's daughter, who had come along with her, then made her approach, and another scene, if possible of still more tumultuous tenderness than the former, took place between the two cousins. The chief hung, as before, in an agony of affection, on the neck of his relation; and "as for the woman," says Nicholas, "she was so affected that the mat she wore was literally soaked through with her tears." A passionate attachment to friends is, indeed, one of the most prevailing feelings of the savage state. Dampier tells us of an Indian who recovered his friend unexpectedly on the island of Juan Fernandez, and who immediately prostrated himself on the ground at his feet. "We stood gazing in silence," says the manly sailor, "at this tender scene." The house of the chief to which Rutherford and his comrades were taken was the largest in the village, being both long and wide, although very low, and having no other entrance than an aperture, which was shut by means of a sliding door, and was so much lower even than the roof that it was necessary to crawl upon the hands and knees to get through it. Two large pigs and a quantity of potatoes were now cooked; and when they were ready, a portion having been allotted to the slaves, who are never permitted to eat along with the chiefs, the latter sat down to their repast, the white men taking their places beside them. The feast was not held within the house, but in the open air; and the meat that was not consumed was hung up on posts for a future occasion. One of the strongest prejudices of the New Zealanders is an aversion to be where any article of food is suspended over their heads; and on this account, they never permit anything eatable to be brought within their huts, but take all their meals out of doors, in an open space adjoining to the house, which has been called by some writers the kitchen, it being there that the meal is cooked as well as eaten. Crozet says that every one of these kitchens has in it a cooking hole, dug in the ground, of about two feet in diameter, and between one and two feet deep. Even when the natives are confined to their beds by sickness, and, it may be, at the point of death, they must receive whatever food they take in this outer room, which, however, is sometimes provided with a shed, supported upon posts, although in no case does it appear to be enclosed by walls. It is here, accordingly, that those who are in so weak a state from illness as not to be able to bear removal from one place to another usually have their couches spread; as, were they to choose to recline inside the house, it would be necessary to leave them to die of want. Nicholas, in the course of an excursion which he made in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands, was once not a little annoyed and put out of humour by this absurd superstition. It rained heavily when he and Marsden arrived very hungry at a village belonging to a chief of their acquaintance, where, although the chief was not at home, they were very hospitably received, their friends proceeding immediately to dress some potatoes to make them a dinner. But after they had prepared the meal, they insisted, as usual, that it should be eaten in the open air. This condition, Nicholas, in the circumstances, naturally thought a somewhat hard one; but it was absolutely necessary either to comply with it, or to go without potatoes. To make matters worse, the dining-room had not even a shed. So they had no course left but to take shelter in the best way they could, under a projection from the roof of the house, extending about three feet; and here they contrived to take their repast, without being very much drenched. However, they were not allowed this indulgence without many anxious scruples on the part of their friends, who considered even their venturing so near to the house on such an occasion as an act of daring impiety. As they had got possession of the potatoes, their entertainers, though very much shocked and alarmed, did not proceed to such rudeness as to take these from them again; but whenever they wanted to drink out of the calabash that had been brought to them, they obliged them to thrust out their heads for it from under the covering, although the rain continued to fall in torrents. Fatigued as he was, and vexed at being in this way kept out of the comfortable shelter he had expected, Nicholas at last commenced inveighing, he tells us, against the inhospitable custom, with much acrimony; and as Tooi, who was with them, had always shown so strong a predilection for European customs, he turned to him, and asked him if he did not think that these notions of his countrymen were all gammon. Tooi, however, replied sharply, that "it was no gammon at all"; adding, "New Zealand man say that Mr. Marsden's _crackee crackee_ (preaching) of a Sunday is all gammon," in indignant retaliation for the insult that had been offered to his national customs. But the worst part of the adventure was yet to come; for as the night was now fast approaching, and the rain still pouring down incessantly, it was impossible to think of returning to the ship; "and we were therefore," continues Nicholas, "obliged to resolve upon remaining where we were, although we had no bed to expect, nor even a comfortable floor to stretch upon. We wrapped ourselves up in our great coats, which by good fortune we had brought with us, and when the hour of rest came on, laid ourselves down under the projecting roof, choosing rather to remain here together, than to go into the house and mingle with its crowded inmates, which we knew would be very disagreeable. Mr. Marsden, who is blessed by nature with a strong constitution, and capable of enduring almost any fatigue, was very soon asleep; but I, who have not been cast in a Herculean mould, nor much accustomed to severe privations, felt all the misery of the situation, while the cold and wet to which I was unavoidably exposed, from the place being open, brought on a violent rheumatic headache, that prevented me from once closing my eyes, and kept me awake in the greatest anguish. "Being at length driven from this wretched shelter by the rain, which was still beating against me, I crept into the house, through the narrow aperture that served for a door; and, stretching myself among my rude friends, I endeavoured to get some repose; but I found this equally impossible here as in the place I had left. The pain in my head still continued; and those around me, being all buried in profound sleep, played, during the whole night, such music through their noses, as effectually prevented me from being able to join in the same chorus." On one occasion, in the course of his second visit, Marsden spent the night in the house of a chief, the entrance to which was of such narrow dimensions that he could not, he says, creep in without taking his coat off. The apartment altogether measured only about fourteen feet by ten; and when he looked into it he found a fire blazing on the centre of the floor, which made the place as hot as an oven, there being no vent for the smoke, except through the hole which served for a door. However, the fire, on his entreating it, was taken out, and then he and his friend, Butler, who was with him, crept in, and were followed by their entertainer, his wife and nephew. The hut was still extremely hot, and they perspired profusely when they lay down, but they were a little relieved by the New Zealanders consenting to allow the door to remain open during the night. Another time he was thrust into a still closer dormitory. "The entrance," says he, "was just sufficient for a man to creep into. Being very cold, I was glad to occupy such a warm berth. I judged the hut to be about eight feet wide, and twelve long. It had a fire in the centre; and no vent either for smoke or heat. The chiefs who were with us threw off their mats and lay down close together in a state of perfect nudity. I had not been many minutes in this oven, before I found the heat and smoke, above, below, and on every side, to be insufferable. Though the night was cold, Mr. Kendall and myself were compelled to quit our habitation. I crept out, and walked in the village, to see if I could meet with a shed to keep me from the damp air till the morning. I found one empty, into which I entered. I had not been long under my present cover before I observed a chief, who came with us from the last village, come out of the hut which I had left, perfectly naked. The moon shone very bright. I saw him run from hut to hut, till at last he found me under my shed, and urged me to return. I told him I could not bear the heat, and requested him to allow me to remain where I was; to which he at length consented with reluctance. I was surprised at the little effect that heat or cold seemed to have upon him. He had come out of the hut smoking like a hot loaf drawn from the oven, walked about to find me, and then sat down, conversed some time, without any clothing, though the night was cold. Mr. Kendall remained sitting under his mat, in the open air, till morning." The New Zealanders make only two meals in the day, one in the morning and another at sunset; but their voracity when they do eat is often very great. Nicholas remarks that the chiefs and their followers, with whom he made the voyage from Port Jackson, used, while in the ship, to seize upon every thing they could lay their hands upon in the shape of food. In consequence of this habit of consuming an extraordinary quantity of food, a New Zealander, with all his powers of endurance in other respects, suffers dreadfully when he has not the usual means of satisfying his hunger. The huts of the common people are described as very wretched, and little better than sheds; but Nicholas mentions that those which he saw in the northern part of the country had uniformly well-cultivated gardens attached to them, which were stocked with turnips, and sweet and common potatoes. Crozet tells us that the only articles of furniture the French ever found in these huts, were fishing-hooks, nets, and lines, calabashes containing water, a few tools made of stone, and several cloaks and other garments suspended from the walls. Amongst the tools, one resembling our adze is in the most common use; and it is remarkable that the handles of these implements are often composed of human bones. In the museum of the Church Missionary Society there are adzes, the handle of one of which is formed of the bone of a human arm, and another of that of a leg. The common people generally sleep in the open air, in a sitting posture, and covered by their mats, all but the head; which has been described as giving them the appearance of so many hay-cocks or beehives. The house of the chief is generally, as Rutherford found it to be in the present case, the largest in the village; but every village has, in addition to the dwelling-houses of which it consists, a public storehouse, or repository of the common stock of sweet potatoes, which is a still larger structure than the habitation of the chief. One which Cruise describes was erected upon several posts driven into the ground, which were floored over with deals at the height of about four feet, as a foundation. Both the sides and the roof were compactly formed of stakes intertwisted with grass; and a sliding doorway, scarcely large enough to admit a man, formed the entrance. The roof projected over this, and was ornamented with pieces of plank painted red, and having a variety of grotesque figures carved on them. The whole building was about twenty feet long, eight feet wide, and five feet high. The residences of the chiefs are built upon the ground, and have generally the floor, and a small space in front, neatly paved; but they are so low that a man can stand upright in very few of them. The huts, as well as the storehouses, are adorned with carving over the door. One of the arts in which the New Zealanders most excel is that of carving in wood. Some of their performances in this way are, no doubt, grotesque enough; but they often display both a taste and ingenuity which, especially when we consider their miserably imperfect tools, it is impossible to behold without admiration. This is one of the arts which, even in civilized countries, does not seem to flourish best in a highly advanced state of society. Even among ourselves, it certainly is not at present cultivated with so much success as it was a century or two ago. Machinery, the monopolizing power of our age, is not well fitted to the production of striking effects in this particular branch of the arts. Fine carving is displayed, as in the works of Gibbons, by a rich and natural variety, altogether opposed to that faultless and inflexible regularity of operation which is the perfection of a machine. Hence the lathe, with all the miraculous capabilities it has been made to evolve, can never here come into successful competition with the chisel, in so far as the quality and spirit of the performance are concerned; but the former may, nevertheless, drive the latter out of the market, and seems in a great measure to have done so, by the infinitely superior facility and rapidity of its operation. Hence the gradual decay, and almost extinction among us, of this old art, of which former ages have left us so many beautiful specimens. It is said to survive now, if at all, not among our artists by profession, whose taste is expended upon higher objects, but among the common workmen of our villages, who have pursued it as an amusement, long after it has ceased to be profitable. The New Zealand artist has no lathe to compete with; but neither has he even those ordinary hand-tools which every civilized country has always afforded. The only instruments he has to cut with are rudely fashioned of stone or bone. Yet even with these, his skill and patient perseverance contrive to grave the wood into any forms which his fancy may suggest. Many of the carvings thus produced are distinguished by both a grace and richness of design that would do no discredit even to European art. The considerations by which the New Zealanders are directed in choosing the sites of their villages are the same which usually regulate that matter among other savages. The North American Indians, for example, generally build their huts on the sides of some moderately sized hill, that they may have the advantage of the ground in case of being attacked by their enemies, or on the bank of a river, which may, in such an emergency, serve them for a natural moat. A situation in which they are protected by the water on more sides than one is preferred; and, accordingly, both on this account, and for the sake of being near the sea, which supplies them with fish, the New Zealanders and other savage tribes are much accustomed to establish themselves at the mouths of rivers. Among the American Indians, as in New Zealand, a piece of ground is always left unoccupied in the middle of the village, or contiguous to it, for the holding of public assemblies. So, also, it used to be in our own country, almost every village in which had anciently its common and its central open space; the latter of which, after the introduction of Christianity, was generally decorated by the erection of a cross. [Illustration: A door-lintel, showing Maori carving. _Tourist Dept. photo_] It is curious to remark how the genius of commerce--the predominating influence of a more civilized age--has seized upon more than one of these provisions of the old state of society, and converted them to its own purposes. The spacious area around the village cross, or the adjacent common, has been changed into the scene of the fair or the daily market; and the vicinity of the sea, or the navigable river, no longer needed as a protection against the attacks of surrounding enemies, has been taken advantage of to let in the wealth of many distant climes, and to metamorphose the straggling assemblage of mud cottages into a thronged and widespread city--the proud abode of industry, wealth, elegance, and letters. Rutherford states that the baskets in which the provisions are served up are never used twice; and the same thing is remarked by Cruise. The calabash, Rutherford adds, is the only vessel they have for holding any kind of liquid; and when they drink out of it, they never permit it to touch their lips, but hold their face up, and pour the liquor into their mouth. After dinner they place themselves for this purpose in a row, when a slave goes from one to another with the calabash, and each holds his hand under his chin as the liquor is poured by the slave into his mouth. They never drink anything hot or warm. Indeed, their only beverage appears to be water;[R] and their strong aversion to wine and spirits is noticed by almost all who have described their manners. Tetoro, one of the chiefs who returned from Port Jackson in the "Dromedary," was sometimes admitted, during the passage, into the cabin, and asked by the officers to take a glass of wine, when he always tasted it, with perfect politeness, though his countenance strongly indicated how much he disliked it. George of Wangaroa, the chief who headed the attack on the "Boyd," was the only New Zealander that Cruise met with who could be induced to taste grog without reluctance; and he really liked it, though a very small quantity made him drunk, in which state he was quite outrageous. His natural habits had been vitiated by having served for some time in an English ship. It is probable, however, that the sobriety of this people has been hitherto principally preserved by their ignorance of the mode of manufacturing any intoxicating beverage. Even the females, it would appear, have some of them of late years learned the habit of drinking grog from the English sailors; and Captain Dillon gives an account of a priestess, who visited him on board the "Besearch," and who, having among several other somewhat indecorous requests, demanded a tumbler of rum, quaffed off the whole at a draught as soon as it was set before her. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote K: Probably Rangatai, although no chief of that name is known.] [Footnote L: The Rev. Samuel Marsden, who was appointed chaplain to the convict settlement of New South Wales in 1793, and who held the first divine service in New Zealand, on Christmas Day, 1814.] [Footnote M: Koro-koro.] [Footnote N: Ruatara, a close friend of Mr. Marsden.] [Footnote O: Hongi.] [Footnote P: This is exaggerated.] [Footnote Q: Tui, in the accepted orthography.] [Footnote R: The ancient Maoris were one of the very few races that had no intoxicating drinks.] CHAPTER III. Dinner being finished, Rutherford and his companions spent the evening seated around a large fire, while several of the women, whose countenances he describes as pleasing, amused themselves by playing with the fingers of the strangers, sometimes opening their shirts at the breasts, and at other times feeling the calves of their legs, "which made us think," says Rutherford, "that they were examining us to see if we were fat enough for eating. "The large fire," he continues, "that had been made to warm the house, being now put out, we retired to rest in the usual manner; but although the fire had been extinguished, the house was still filled with smoke, the door being shut, and there being neither chimney nor window to let it out. "In the morning, when we arose, the chief gave us back our knives and tobacco-boxes, which they had taken from us while in the canoe, on our first being made prisoners; and we then breakfasted on some potatoes and cockles, which had been cooked while we were at the sea-coast, and brought thence in baskets. "Aimy's wife and two daughters now arrived, which occasioned another grand crying ceremony; and when it was over, the three ladies came to look at me and my companions. In a short time, they had taken a fancy to some small gilt buttons which I had on my waist-coat; and Aimy making a sign for me to cut them off, I immediately did so, and presented them for their acceptance. They received them very gladly, and, shaking hands with me, exclaimed, 'The white man is very good.' "The whole of the natives having then seated themselves on the ground in a ring, we were brought into the middle and, being stripped of our clothes, and laid on our backs, we were each of us held down by five or six men, while two others commenced the operation of tattooing us. "Having taken a piece of charcoal, and rubbed it upon a stone with a little water until they had produced a thickish liquid, they then dipped into it an instrument made of bone, having a sharp edge like a chisel, and shaped in the fashion of a garden-hoe, and immediately applied it to the skin, striking it twice or thrice with a small piece of wood. This made it cut into the flesh as a knife would have done, and caused a great deal of blood to flow, which they kept wiping off with the side of the hand, in order to see if the impression was sufficiently clear. When it was not, they applied the bone a second time to the same place. They employed, however, various instruments in the course of the operation; one which they sometimes used being made of a shark's tooth, and another having teeth like a saw. They had them also of different sizes, to suit the different parts of the work. "While I was undergoing this operation, although the pain was most acute, I never either moved or uttered a sound; but my comrades moaned dreadfully. Although the operators were very quick and dexterous, I was four hours under their hands; and during the operation Aimy's eldest daughter several times wiped the blood from my face with some dressed flax. After it was over she led me to the river, that I might wash myself, for it had made me completely blind, and then conducted me to a great fire. They now returned us all our clothes, with the exception of our shirts, which the women kept for themselves, wearing them, as we observed, with the fronts behind. "We were now not only tattooed, but what they called tabooed,[S] the meaning of which is, made sacred, or forbidden to touch any provisions of any kind with our hands. This state of things lasted for three days, during which time we were fed by the daughters of the chiefs, with the same victuals, and out of the same baskets, as the chiefs themselves, and the persons who had tattooed us. In three days, the swelling which had been produced by the operation had greatly subsided, and I began to recover my sight; but it was six weeks before I was completely well. I had no medical assistance of any kind during my illness; but Aimy's two daughters were very attentive to me, and would frequently sit beside me, and talk to me in their language, of which, as yet, however, I did not understand much." The custom of marking the skin, called _tattooing_, is one of the most widely-diffused practices of savage life, having been found, even in modern times, to exist, in one modification or another, not only in most of the inhabited lands of the Pacific, from New Zealand as far north as the Sandwich Isles, but also among many of the aboriginal tribes both of Africa and America. In the ancient world it appears to have been at least equally prevalent. It is evidently alluded to, as well as the other practice that has just been noticed, of wounding the body by way of mourning, in the twenty-eighth verse of the nineteenth chapter of Leviticus, among the laws delivered to the Israelites through Moses:--"Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you," both of these being doubtless habits of the surrounding nations, which the chosen people, according to their usual propensity, had shown a disposition to imitate. The few civilized communities of antiquity seem to have been all of them both singularly incurious as to the manners and conditions of the barbarous races by whom they were on all sides so closely encompassed, and, as might be expected, extremely ill-informed on the subject; so much so, as has been remarked by an author who has written on this topic with admirable learning and ability, that when Hanno, the Carthaginian, returned from his investigation of a small part of the west coast of Africa, he had no difficulty in making his countrymen believe that two hides, with the hair still on, which he brought back with him, and which he had taken from two large apes, were actually the skins of savage women, and deserving of being suspended in the temple of Juno as most uncommon curiosities. But, little as these matters seem in general to have attracted the attention of the ancient writers, their works still contain many notices of the practice of tattooing. We may cite only one or two of a considerable number that have been collected by Lafitau,[T] although even his enumeration might be easily extended. Herodotus mentions it as prevailing among the Thracians, certain of whom, he says, exhibit such marks on their faces as an indication of their nobility. Other authors speak of it as a practice of the Scythians, the Agathyrses, and the Assyrians. Cæsar remarks it as prevailing among the Britons; and there can be no doubt that the term _Picti_ was merely a name given to those more northerly tribes of our countrymen who retained this custom after it had fallen into decay among their southern brethren, who were in reality of the same race with themselves, under the ascendancy of the arts and manners of their Roman conquerors. The Britons, according to Cæsar, painted their skins to make themselves objects of greater terror to their enemies; but it is not unlikely that the real object of these decorations was with them, as it appears to have been among the other barbarous nations of antiquity, to denote certain ranks of nobility or chieftainship; and thus to serve, in fact, nearly the same purpose with our modern coats of arms. Pliny states that the dye with which the Britons stained themselves was that of a herb called _glastum_, which is understood to be the same with plantain. They introduced the juice of this herb into punctures previously made in the skin, so as to form permanent delineations of various animals, and other objects, on different parts of the body. The operation, which seems to have been performed by regular artists, is said to have been commonly undergone in boyhood; and a stoical endurance of the pain which it inflicted was considered one of the best proofs the sufferer could give of his resolution and manliness. Among the Indians of America, some races are much more tattooed than others, and some scarcely at all. It it stated that, among the Iroquois only, a few of the women are in the habit of tracing a single row of this sort of embroidery along the jaw; and that merely with the intent of curing or preventing toothache, an effect which they conceive is produced by the punctures destroying certain nerves. It appears to be the general practice in America, first to finish the cutting, or graving of the lines, and afterwards to introduce the colouring, which is commonly made of pulverised charcoal. This last part of the operation occasions by far the greatest pain. Among the native tribes of Southern Africa, the fashion is merely to raise the epidermis by a slight pricking, which is described as affording rather a pleasurable excitement. At the Society Isles these marks, according to Cook, were so general, that hardly anybody was to be seen without them. Persons of both sexes were commonly tattooed about the age of twelve or fourteen; and the decorations, which Cook imagined to vary according to the fancy, or perhaps, which is more likely, the rank of the individual, were liberally bestowed upon every part of the body, with the exception, however, of the face, which was generally left unmarked. They consisted not only of squares, circles, and other such figures, but frequently also of rude delineations of men, birds, dogs, and other animals. Banks saw the operation performed on a girl of about thirteen years of age, who was held down all the while by several women, and both struggled hard and made no little outcry as the artist proceeded with his labours. Yet it would seem that the process in use here is considerably more gentle than that practised in New Zealand; for the punctures, Cook affirms, could hardly be said to draw blood. Being afflicted by means of an instrument with small teeth, somewhat resembling a fine comb, the effect would be rather a pricking than a cutting, or carving, of the flesh. Unlike what we have seen to be the practice among the American savages, the tincture was here introduced by the same blow by which the skin was punctured. The substance employed was a species of lamp black, formed of the smoke of an oily nut which the natives burned to give them light. The practice of tattooing is now, we believe, discontinued at Otaheite; but the progress of civilization has not yet altogether banished it at the Sandwich Islands. When Lord Byron was at Hawaii, in 1825, he found it used as a mark of mourning, though some still had themselves tattooed merely by way of ornament. On the death of one of the late kings of the island, it is stated that all the chiefs had his name and the date of his death engraved in this manner on their arms. The ladies here, it seems, follow the very singular practice of tattooing the tips of their tongues, in memory of their departed friends. In the Tonga, or Friendly Islands, it would appear from Mariner's very minute description of the operation as there practised, as at Otaheite and elsewhere, the instrument used is always a sort of comb, having from six up to fifty or sixty teeth. There are, Mariner tells us, certain patterns or forms of the tattoo, and the individual may choose which he likes. On the brown skins of the natives the marks, which are imprinted by means of a tincture made of soot, have a black appearance; but on that of a European, their colour is a fine blue. The women here are not tattooed, though a few of them have some marks on the inside of their fingers. At the Fiji Islands, on the contrary, in the neighbourhood of the Tonga group, the men are not tattooed, but the women are. The term "tattoo" is not known in New Zealand, the name given to the marks, which are elsewhere so called, being in this country "Moko," or, as it has been more generally written, from a habit which the natives seem to have of prefixing the sound "a" to many of their words, "Amoco."[U] The description which Rutherford gives of the process agrees entirely with what has been stated by other observers; although it certainly has been generally understood that, in no case, was the whole operation undergone at once, as it would, however, appear to have been in his. Both Cruise and Marsden expressly state, that, according to their information, it always required several months, and sometimes several years, to tattoo a chief perfectly; owing to the necessity for one part of the face or body being allowed to heal before commencing the decoration of another. Perhaps, however, this prolongation of the process may only be necessary when the moko is of a more intricate pattern, or extends over a larger portion of the person, than that which Rutherford received; or, in his peculiar circumstances, it may have been determined that he should have his powers of endurance put to still harder proof than a native would have been required to submit to in undergoing the same ceremony. The portrait of Rutherford accurately represents the tattooing on his body. Cruise asserts that the tattooing in New Zealand is renewed occasionally, as the lines become fainter by time, to the latest period of life; and that one of the chiefs who returned home in the "Dromedary" was re-tattooed soon after his arrival. From Rutherford's account, and he is corroborated as to that point by the other authorities, it will be perceived that the operation of tattooing is one of a still more severe and sanguinary description in New Zealand than it would seem to be in any of the other islands of the South Sea; for it is performed here, not merely by means of a sort of fine comb, which merely pricks the skin and draws from it a little serum slightly tinged with blood, but also by an instrument of the nature of a chisel, which at every application makes an incision into the flesh, and causes the blood to start forth in gushes. This chisel is sometimes nearly a quarter of an inch broad, although, for the more minute parts of the figure, a smaller instrument is used. The stick with which the chisel is struck is occasionally formed into a broad blade at one end, which is applied to wipe away the blood. The tincture is said to be sometimes obtained from the juice of a particular tree. Rutherford has forgotten to mention that, before the cutting has begun the figure is traced out upon the place; this appears to be always done in New Zealand as well as elsewhere, a piece of burnt stick or red earth being, according to Savage,[V] used for the purpose. Some are tattooed at eight or ten years of age; but a young man is accounted very effeminate who reaches his twentieth year without having undergone the operation. Marsden told one of the chiefs, King George, as he was called, that he must not tattoo his nephew Racow,[W] who was a very fine-looking youth, with a dignified, open, and placid countenance, remarking that it would quite disfigure his face; "but he laughed at my advice," says Marsden, "and said he must be tattooed, as it would give him a noble, masculine, and warlike appearance; that he would not be fit for his successor with a smooth face; the New Zealanders would look on him merely as a woman if he was not tattooed." Savage says that a small spiral figure on each side of the chin, a semi-circular figure over each eyebrow, and two, or sometimes three, lines on each lip, are all the tattooing the New Zealand women are required to submit to. Rutherford's account is that they have a figure tattooed on the chin resembling a crown turned upside down; that the inside of their lips is also tattooed, the figures here appearing of a blue colour; and that they have also a mark on each side of the mouth resembling a candlestick, as well as two stripes about an inch long on the forehead, and one on each side of the nose. Their decorations of this description, as well as of the other sex, are no doubt different in different parts of the country. "With respect to the amocos," says Cook in his First Voyage, "every different tribe seemed to have a different custom; for all the men in some canoes seemed to be almost covered with it, and those in others had scarcely a stain, except on the lips, which were black in all of them, without a single exception." Rutherford states that in the part of the country where he was, the men were commonly tattooed on their face, hips, and bodies, and some as low as the knee. None were allowed to be tattooed on the forehead, chin, and upper lip, except the very greatest among the chiefs. The more they are tattooed, he adds, the more they are honoured. The priests, Savage says, have only a small square patch of tattooing over the right eye. These stains, although their brilliancy may perhaps decay with time, being thus fixed in the flesh, are of course indelible, just as much as the marks of a similar nature which our own sailors frequently make on their arms and breasts, by introducing gunpowder under the skin. One effect, we are told, which they produce on the countenances of the New Zealanders, is to conceal the ravages of old age. Being thus permanent when once imprinted, each becomes also the peculiar distinction of the individual to whom it belongs, and is probably sometimes employed by him as his mark or sign manual. An officer belonging to the "Dromedary," who happened to have a coat of arms engraved on his seal, was frequently asked by the New Zealanders if the device was his "amoco." When the missionaries purchased a piece of land from one of the Bay of Islands chiefs, named Gunnah,[X] a copy of the tattooing on the face of the latter, being drawn by a brother chief, was affixed to the grant as his signature; while another native signed as a witness, by adding the "amoco" of one of his own cheeks. [Illustration: _Moko_ on woman's lips and chin. _Moko_ on man's face. Names of lines in order of incision-- 1. _Kau-wae_ (13) 2. _Pere-pehi_ (7) 3. _Hupe_ (15) 4. _Ko-kiri_ (9) 5. _Koro-aha_ (10) 6. _Puta-ringa_ (12) 7. _Po-ngia-ngia_ (4) and _Tara-whakatara_ (5) 8. _Pae-pae_ (11), _Kumi-kumi_ (6), and _Wero_ (8) 9. _Rerepi_ (3) 10. _Ti-whana_ (1) and _Rawha_ (2) 11. _Ti-ti_ (14) 12. _Ipu-rangi_ (16)] This is certainly a more perfect substitute for a written name than that said to have been anciently in use in some parts of Europe. In Russia, for example, it is affirmed that in old times the way in which an individual generally gave his signature to a writing was by covering the palm of his hand with ink, and then laying it on the paper. Balbi, who states this, adds that the Russian language still retains an evidence of the practice in its phrase for signing a document, which is _roukou prilojite_, signifying, literally, to put the hand to it. It may be remarked, however, that this is a form of expression even in our own country; although there is certainly no trace of the singular custom in question having ever prevailed among our ancestors. Whatever may be the fact as to the Russian idiom, our own undoubtedly refers merely to the application of the hand with the pen in it. Each chief appears to be intimately acquainted with the peculiarities of his own "amoco." There is also in the possession of the Church Missionary Society a bust of Shungie, cut in a very hard wood by himself, with a rude iron instrument of his own fabrication, on which the tattooing on his face is exactly copied. The tattooing of the young New Zealander, before he takes his rank as one of the warriors of his tribe, is doubtless also intended to put his manhood to the proof; and may thus be regarded as having the same object with those ceremonies of initiation, as they have been called, which are practised among some other savage nations on the admission of an individual to any new degree of honour or chieftainship. Among many nations of the American Indians, indeed, this cutting and marking of the person is one of the principal inflictions to which the aspirant is required to submit on such occasions. Thus, in the account which Rochefort, in his "History of the Antilles," gives us of the initiation of a warrior among the people of those islands, it is stated that the father of the young man, after a very rude flagellation of his son, used to proceed to scarify (as he expresses it) his whole body with a tooth of the animal called the "acouti"; and then, in order to heal the gashes thus made, he rubbed into them an infusion of pimento, which occasioned an agonizing pain to the poor patient; but it was indispensable that he should endure the whole, adds our author, without the least contortion of countenance or any other evidence of suffering. Wherever, indeed, the spirit of war has entered largely into the institutions of a people, as it has almost always done among savage and imperfectly civilized nations, we find traces of similar observances. Something of the same object which has just been attributed to the tattooing of the New Zealanders, and the more complicated ceremonies of initiation practised among the American Indians, may be recognised even in certain of the rites of European chivalry, whether we take them as described in the learned volumes of Du Cange, or in the more amusing recitals of Cervantes. The New Zealanders, like many other savages, are also in the habit of anointing themselves with a mixture of grease and red ochre. This sort of rouge is very much used by the women, and "being generally," says Cook, "fresh and wet upon their cheeks and foreheads, was easily transferred to the noses of those who thought fit to salute them; and that they were not wholly averse to such familiarity, the noses of several of our men strongly testified." "The faces of the men," he adds, "were not so generally painted; yet we saw one, whose whole body, and even his garments, were rubbed over with dry ochre, of which he kept a piece constantly in his hand, and was every minute renewing the decoration in one part or another, where he supposed it was become deficient." It has been conjectured that this painting of the body, among its other uses, might also be intended, in some cases, as a protection against the weather, or, in other words, to serve the same purpose as clothing. Even where there is no plastering, the tattooing may be found to indurate the skin, and to render it less sensible to cold. This notion, perhaps, derives some confirmation from the appearance which these marks often assume. Cook describes some of the New Zealanders, whom he saw on his first visit to the country, as having their thighs stained entirely black, with the exception of a few narrow lines, "so that at first sight," says he, "they appeared to wear striped breeches." The Baron de Humboldt, too, informs us that the Indians of Guiana sometimes imitate, in the oddest manner, the clothes of Europeans in painting their skin. This observant traveller was much amused by seeing the body of a native painted to represent a blue jacket and black buttons. The missionaries also told him that the people of the Rio Caura paint themselves of a red ground, and then variegate the colour with transverse stripes of silver mica, so that they look most gallantly dressed. The painted cheeks that were once common in Europe, and are still occasionally seen, are relics of the same barbarism. The "taboo," or "tapu," prevails also in many of the South Sea Islands, where it may be considered as the substitute for law; although its authority, in reality, rests on what we should rather call religious considerations, inasmuch as it appears to be obeyed entirely from the apprehension that its violation would bring down the anger of heaven. It would require more space than we can afford to enumerate the various cases in which the "taboo" operates as a matter of course, even were we to say nothing of the numerous exigencies in which a resort to it seems to be at the option of the parties concerned. Among the former, we may merely mention that a person supposed to be dying seems to be uniformly placed under the "taboo"; and that the like consecration, if it may be so called, is always imposed for a certain space upon the individual who has undergone any part of the process of tattooing. But we are by no means fully informed either as to the exact rules that govern this matter, or even as to the peculiar description of persons to whom it belongs, on any occasion, to impose the "taboo." It is common in New Zealand for such of the chiefs as possess this power to separate, by means of the "taboo," any thing which they wish either to appropriate to themselves, or to protect, with any other object, from indiscriminate use. When Tetoro was shown, in the "Dromedary," a double-barrelled fowling-piece, belonging to one of the officers, he "tabooed" it by tying a thread, pulled out of his cloak, round the guard of the trigger, and said that it must be his when he got to New Zealand, and that the owner should have thirty of his finest mats for it. But this, according to Cruise, any native may do with regard to an article for which he has bargained, in order to secure it till he has paid the price agreed upon. On another occasion, Cruise found a number of people collected round an object which seemed to attract general attention, and which they told him was "tabooed." It turned out to be a plant of the common English pea, which was fenced round with little sticks, and had apparently been tended with very anxious care. When the "Prince Regent" schooner, which accompanied the "Dromedary," lay at anchor in the river Shukehanga,[Y] a chief named Moodooi,[Z] greatly to the comfort of the captain, came one day on deck and "tabooed" the vessel, or made it a crime for any one to ascend the side without permission, which injunction was strictly attended to by the natives during his stay in the harbour. So, when any land is purchased, it is secured to the purchaser by being "tabooed." Marsden states that upon one occasion he found a great number of canoes employed in fishing, and all the fish which they took were immediately "tabooed," and could not be purchased. These fish were probably intended to be cured and preserved as part of the common stock of the tribe. The principal inconveniences sustained by the person who is "tabooed" seem to be that he must have no communication with any who are not in the same condition as himself, and that in eating he must not help himself to his food with his hands. The chiefs are in such a case fed by their attendant; but the absurd prohibition is a serious punishment to the common people, who have nobody to assist them. Nicholas relates an amusing incident illustrative of this. "On going into the town," says he, "in the course of the day, I beheld several of the natives sitting round some baskets of dressed potatoes; and being invited to join them in their meal, I mingled with the group, when I observed one man stoop down with his mouth for each morsel, and scrupulously careful in avoiding all contact between his hands and the food he was eating. From this I knew at once that he was 'tabooed;' and upon asking the reason of his being so, as he appeared in good health, and not afflicted with any complaint that could set him without the pale of ordinary intercourse, I found that it was because he was then building a house, and that he could not be released from the 'taboo' till he had it finished. Being only a "cookee,"[AA] he had no person to wait upon him, but was obliged to submit to the distressing operation of feeding himself in the manner proscribed by the superstitious ordinance; and he was told by the tohunga, or priest, that if he presumed to put one finger to his mouth before he had completed the work he was about, the atua (divinity) would certainly punish his impious contempt, by getting into his stomach before his time, and eating him out of the world. Of this premature destiny he seemed so apprehensive that he kept his hands as though they were never made for touching any article of diet; nor did he suffer them by even a single motion to show the least sympathy for his mouth, while that organ was obliged to use double exertions, and act for those members which superstition had paralysed. "Sitting down by the side of this deluded being, whom credulity and ignorance had rendered hopeless," says Nicholas, "I undertook to feed him; and his appetite being quite voracious, I could hardly supply it as fast as he devoured. Without ever consulting his digestive powers, of which we cannot suppose he had any idea, he spared himself the trouble of mastication; and, to lose no time, swallowed down every lump as I put it into his mouth: and I speak within compass when I assert that he consumed more food than would have served any two ploughmen in England. "Perfectly tired of administering to his insatiable gluttony, which was still as ravenous as when he commenced, I now wished for a little intermission; and taking advantage of his situation, I resolved to give him as much to do as would employ him for at least a few minutes, while, in the meantime, it would afford me some amusement for my trouble. I therefore thrust into his mouth the largest hot potato I could find, and this had exactly the intended effect; for the fellow, unwilling to drop it, and not daring to penetrate it before it should get cool, held it slightly compressed between his teeth, to the great enjoyment of his countrymen, who laughed heartily, as well as myself, at the wry faces he made, and the efforts he used with his tongue to moderate the heat of the potato, and bring it to the temperature of his gums, which were evidently smarting from the contact. But he bore this trick with the greatest possible good humour, and to make him amends for it, I took care to supply him plentifully, till he cried out, 'Nuee nuee kiki,'[AB] and could eat no more; an exclamation, however, which he did not make till there was no more in the baskets."[AC] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote S: tapu'd.] [Footnote T: "Moeurs des Sauvages Ameriquains."] [Footnote U: "Moko" is the accepted form of spelling the word.] [Footnote V: "Account of New Zealand."] [Footnote W: Probably Rakau.] [Footnote X: This is the name given in the deed of sale, dated February 24th, 1815, but the correct spelling is probably "Kuna" or "Kena."] [Footnote Y: Hokianga Harbour.] [Footnote Z: Probably Muriwai, a celebrated Hokianga chief.] [Footnote AA: Mr. S. Percy Smith, of New Plymouth, states that this word was very common in New Zealand fifty or sixty years ago. It was applied to servants, and was derived from the English word "cook." In Maori it is "kuki."] [Footnote AB: This means "plenty of food," or "sufficient"; but it is European Maori. One Maori, speaking to another, would say "He nui te kai."] [Footnote AC: The best account of the operation of the law of tapu is given by Judge Maning in "Old New Zealand."] CHAPTER IV. Rutherford remained at the village for about six months, together with the others who had been taken prisoners with him and who had not been put to death, all except one, John Watson, who, soon after their arrival there, was carried away by a chief named Nainy.[AD] A house was assigned for them to live in, and the natives gave them also an iron pot they had taken from the ship, in which to cook their victuals. This they found a very useful article. It was "tabooed," so that no slave was allowed to eat anything cooked in it; that, we suppose, being considered the surest way of preventing it from being stolen. At last they set out in company with Aimy and another chief, to pursue their way further into the interior; one of them, however, whose name is not given, remaining with Rangadi. Having come to another village, the chief of which was called Plama,[AE] another of them, whose name was John Smith, was left with him. The number of those preserved alive, it will be recollected, was six; so that, three of them having been disposed of in the manner that has been stated, there were now, including Rutherford, as many more remaining together. When they had travelled about twelve miles further, they stopped at a third village, and there they remained two days. "We were treated very kindly," says Rutherford, "at this village by the natives. The chief, whose name was Ewanna,[AF] made us a present of a large pig, which we killed after our own country fashion, not a little to the surprise of the New Zealanders. I observed many of the children catch the flowing blood in their hands, and drink it with the greatest eagerness. Their own method of killing a pig is generally by drowning, in order that they may not lose the blood. The natives then singed off the hair for us, by holding the animal over a fire, and also gutted it, desiring nothing but the entrails for their trouble. We cooked it in our iron pot, which the slaves who followed us had brought along with the rest of the luggage belonging to our party. "No person was allowed to take any part of the pig unless he received some from us; and not even then, if he did not belong to a chief's family. "On taking our departure from this village, we left with Ewanna one of our comrades named Jefferson, who, on parting from us, pressed my hand in his, and with tears in his eyes, exclaimed, 'God bless you both! we shall never see each other again.' "We proceeded on our journey, in company with Aimy and his family, and another chief; and having walked about two miles without one word being spoken by any of the party, we arrived at the side of a river. Here we stopped, and lighted a fire; and the natives who had charge of the luggage having come up in about an hour, bringing with them some potatoes and dried fish, we cooked a dinner for ourselves in the usual manner. We then crossed the river, which was only about knee deep, and immediately entered a wood, through which we continued to make our way till sunset. On getting out of it we found ourselves in the midst of some cultivated ground, on which we saw growing potatoes, turnips, cabbage, tara[AG] (which is a root resembling a yam), water-melons, and coomeras,[AH] or sweet potatoes. "After a little while we arrived at another river, on the opposite side of which stood the village in which Aimy resided. Having got into a canoe, we crossed over to the village, in front of which many women were standing, who, waving their mats, exclaimed, as they saw us approaching, 'Arami, arami,'[AI] which means, 'Welcome home.' "We were then taken to Aimy's house, which was the largest in the village, having the walls formed of large twigs covered with rushes, with which it was also thatched. A pig was now killed for us, and cooked with some coomeras, from which we supped; and, afterwards seating ourselves around the fire, we amused ourselves by listening to several of the women singing. "In the meantime, a slave girl was killed, and put into a hole in the earth to roast in the manner already described in order to furnish a feast the following day, in honour of the chief's return home. "We slept that night in the chief's house; but the next morning a number of the natives were set to work to build one for ourselves, of the same form with that in which the chief lived, and nearly of the same size. "In the course of this day, many other chiefs arrived at the village, accompanied by their families and slaves, to welcome Aimy home, which they did in the usual manner. Some of them brought with them a quantity of water-melons, which they gave to me and my comrade. At last they all seated themselves upon the ground to have their feast; several large pigs, together with some scores of baskets of potatoes, tara, and water-melons, having first been brought forward by Aimy's people. The pigs, after being drowned in the river and dressed, had been laid to roast beside the potatoes. When these were eaten, the fire that had been made the night before was opened, and the body of the slave girl taken out of it, which they next proceeded to feast upon in the eagerest manner. We were not asked to partake of it, for Aimy knew that we had refused to eat human flesh before. After the feast was over, the fragments were collected, and carried home by the slaves of the different chiefs, according to the custom which is always observed on such occasions in New Zealand." The house that had been ordered to be built for Rutherford and his companion was ready in about a week; and, having taken up their abode in it, they were permitted to live, as far as circumstances would allow, according to their own customs. As it was in this village that Rutherford continued to reside during the remainder of the time he spent in New Zealand, we may consider him as now fairly domesticated among his new associates, and may therefore conveniently take the present opportunity of completing our general picture of the country and its inhabitants, by adverting to a few matters which have not yet found a place in our narrative. No doubt whatever can exist as to the relationship of the New Zealanders to the numerous other tribes of the same complexion, by whom nearly all the islands of the South Sea are peopled, and who, in physical conformation, language, religion, institutions, and habits, evidently constitute only one great family. Recent investigations, likewise, must be considered to have sufficiently proved that the wave of population, which has spread itself over so large a portion of the surface of the globe, has flowed from the same central region, which all history points to as the cradle of our race, and which may be here described generally as the southern tract of the great continent of Asia. This prolific clime, while it has on the one hand sent out its successive detachments of emigrants to occupy the wide plains of Europe, has on the other discharged its overflowing numbers upon the islands of the Pacific, and, with the exception of New Holland[AJ] and a few other lands in its immediate vicinity, the population of which seems to be of African origin, has, in this way, gradually spread a race of common parentage over all of them, from those that constitute what has been called the great Indian Archipelago, in the immediate neighbourhood of China, to the Sandwich Islands and Easter Island, in the remotest east of that immense expanse of waters. The Malay language is spoken, although in many different dialects and degrees of corruption, throughout the whole of this extensive range, which, measured in one direction, stretches over nearly half the equatorial circumference of the globe, and in another over at least seventy degrees of latitude. The people are all also of the same brown or copper complexion, by which the Malay is distinguished from the white man on the one hand, and the negro on the other. In New Zealand, however, as, indeed, in most of the other seats of this race, the inhabitants are distinguished from each other by a very considerable diversity in the shades of what may be called the common hue. Crozet was so much struck with this circumstance that he does not hesitate to divide them into three classes--whites, browns, and blacks,--the last of whom he conceives to be a foreign admixture received from the neighbouring continent of New Holland, and who, by their union with the whites, the original inhabitants of the country, and still decidedly the prevalent race, have produced those of the intermediate colour. [Illustration: Two Maori Chiefs--Te Puni, or "Greedy," and Wharepouri, or "Dark House."] Whatever may be thought of this hypothesis, it is certain that in some parts of New Zealand the natives are much fairer than in others. Cook remarks, in the account of his first voyage, that the people about the Bay of Islands seemed darker than those he had seen further to the south; and their colour generally is afterwards described as varying from a pretty deep black to a yellowish or olive tinge. In like manner, Marsden states that the people in the neighbourhood of the Shukehanga are much fairer than those on the east coast. It may also, perhaps, be considered some confirmation of Crozet's opinion as to the origin of the darkest coloured portion of the population, that those who come under this description are asserted to be characterized, in addition, by the other negro peculiarity of a diminutive stature.[AK] In general, however, the New Zealanders are a tall race of men, many of the individuals belonging to the upper classes being six feet high and upwards. They are also described as strong, active, and almost uniformly well-shaped. Their hair is commonly straight, but sometimes curly; Crozet says he saw a few of them with red hair. Cook describes the females as far from attractive; but other observers give a more flattering account of them. Savage, for example, assures us that their features are regular and pleasing; and he seems to have been much struck by their "long black hair and dark penetrating eyes," as well as "their well-formed figure, the interesting cast of their countenance, and the sweet tone of their voice." Cruise's testimony is almost equally favourable. The dress of the two sexes is exactly the same, and consists of an inner mat or tunic, fastened by a girdle round their waists, and an upper cloak, which is made of very coarse materials for ordinary wear, but is of a much finer fabric, and often, indeed, elaborately ornamented, when intended for occasions of display. Both these articles of attire are always made of the native flax. The New Zealanders wear no covering either for the head or the feet, the feathers with which both sexes ornament the head being excepted. The food upon which they principally live is the root of the fern-plant, which grows all over the country. Rutherford's account of the method of preparing it, which we have already transcribed, corresponds exactly with that given by Cook, Nicholas, and others. This root, sometimes swallowed entirely, and sometimes only masticated, and the fibres rejected after the juice has been extracted, serves the New Zealanders not only for bread, but even occasionally for a meal by itself. When fish are used, they do not appear, as in many other countries, to be eaten raw, but are always cooked, either by being fixed upon a stick stuck in the ground, and so exposed to the fire, or by being folded in green leaves, and then placed between heated stones to bake. But little of any other animal food is consumed, birds being killed chiefly for their feathers, and pigs being only produced on days of special festivity. The first pigs were left in New Zealand by Cook, who made many attempts to stock the country both with this and other useful animals, most of whom, however, were so much neglected that they soon disappeared. Cook, likewise, introduced the potato into New Zealand; and that valuable root appears to be now pretty generally cultivated throughout the northern island. The only agricultural implements, however, which the natives possess are of the rudest description; that with which they dig their potatoes being merely a wooden pole, with a cross-bar of the same material fixed to it about three feet from the ground. Marsden saw the wives of several of the chiefs toiling hard in the fields with no better spade than this; among others the head wife of the great Shungie, who, though quite blind, appeared to dig the ground, he says, as fast as those who had their sight, and as well, first pulling up the weeds as she went along with her hands, then setting her feet upon them that she might know where they were; and, finally, after she had broken the soil, throwing the mould over the weeds with her hands. The labours of agriculture in New Zealand are, in this way, rendered exceedingly toilsome, by the imperfection of the only instruments which the natives possess. Hence, principally, their extreme desire for iron. Marsden, in the "Journal of his Second Visit," gives us some very interesting details touching the anxiety which the chiefs universally manifested to obtain agricultural tools of this metal. One morning, he tells us, a number of them arrived at the settlement, some having come twenty, others fifty miles. "They were ready to tear us to pieces," says he, "for hoes and axes. One of them said his heart would burst if he did not get a hoe." They were told that a supply had been written for to England; but "they replied that many of them would be in their graves before the ship would come from England, and the hoes and axes would be of no advantage to them when dead. They wanted them now. They had no tools at present, but wooden ones to work their potato-grounds with; and requested that we would relieve their present distress." When he returned from his visit to Shukehanga, many of the natives of that part of the country followed him, with a similar object, to the settlement. "When we left Patuona's village," says he, "we were more than fifty in number, most of them going for an axe or a hoe, or some small edge-tool. They would have to travel, by land and water, from a hundred to a hundred and forty miles, in some of the worst paths, through woods, that can be conceived, and to carry their provisions for their journey. A chief's wife came with us all the way, and I believe her load would not be less than one hundred pounds; and many carried much more." But, perhaps, the most importunate pleader the reverend gentleman encountered on this journey was an old chief, with a very long beard, and his face tattooed all over, who followed him during part of his progress among the villages of the western coast. "He wanted an axe," says Marsden, "very much; and at last he said that if we would give him an axe, he would give us his head. Nothing is held in so much veneration by the natives as the head of their chief. I asked him who should have the axe when I had got his head. At length he said, 'Perhaps you will trust me a little time; and, when I die, you shall have my head.' This venerable personage afterwards got his axe by sending a man for it to the settlement." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AD: Probably Nene.] [Footnote AE: There is no "l" in the Maori orthography, and the name cannot be traced.] [Footnote AF: This is another case where Rutherford's pronunciation seems to have been at fault.] [Footnote AG: The taro.] [Footnote AH: The kumera, a sweet potato, which was extensively cultivated by the ancient Maoris.] [Footnote AI: "Haere mai," "come here," the usual words of welcome.] [Footnote AJ: That is, Australia.] [Footnote AK: The origin of the Maori is dealt with exhaustively by Mr. S Percy Smith in "Hawaiki"; by Mr. E. Tregear, in "The Maori Race"; and by Professor Macmillan Brown, in "Maori and Polynesian."] CHAPTER V. Taken altogether, New Zealand presents a great variety of landscape, although, even where the scenery is most subdued, it partakes of a bold and irregular character, derived not more from the aspect of undisturbed Nature, which still obtrudes itself everywhere among the traces of commencing cultivation, than from the confusion of hill and valley which marks the face of the soil, and the precipitous eminences, with their sides covered by forests, and their summits barren of all vegetation, or terminating perhaps in a naked rock, that often rise close beside the most sheltered spots of fertility and verdure. If this brokenness and inequality of surface oppose difficulties in the way of agricultural improvement, the variety and striking contrasts thereby produced must be often at least highly picturesque; and all, accordingly, who have visited New Zealand, agree in extolling the mingled beauty and grandeur which are profusely spread over the more favoured parts of the country, and are not altogether wanting even where the general look of the coast is most desolate and uninviting. The southern island, with the exception of a narrow strip along its northern shore, appears to be, in its interior, a mere chaos of mountains, and the region of perpetual winter; but even here, the declivities that slope down towards the sea are clothed, in many places to the water's edge, with gigantic and evergreen forests; and more protected nooks occasionally present themselves, overspread with the abundance of a teeming vegetation, and not to be surpassed in loveliness by what the land has anywhere else to show. The bleakness of the western coast of this southern island indeed does not arise so much from its latitude as from the tempestuous north-west winds which seem so much to prevail in this part of the world, and to the whole force of which it is, from its position, exposed. The interior and eastern side of the northern island owe their fertility and their suitableness for the habitation of man principally to the intervention of a considerable extent of land, much of which is elevated, between them and the quarter from which these desolating gales blow. The more westerly portion of it seems only to be inhabited in places which are in a certain degree similarly defended by the surrounding high grounds. In these, as well as in the more populous districts to the east, the face of the country, generally speaking, offers to the eye a spread of luxuriant verdure, the freshness of which is preserved by continual depositions of moisture from the clouds that are attracted by the mountains, so that its hue, even in the heat of midsummer, is peculiarly vivid and lustrous. Much of the land, both in the valleys and on the brows of the hills, is covered by groves of majestic pine, which are nearly impervious, from the thick underwood that has rushed up everywhere in the spaces between the trees; and where there is no wood, the prevailing plant is a fern, which rises generally to the height of six or seven feet. Along the skirts of the woodlands flow numerous rivers, which intersect the country in all directions, and several of which are navigable for miles up by ships of considerable burthen. Various lines of communication are in this way established between the opposite coasts of the northern island; while some of the minor streams, that rush down to the sea through the more precipitous ravines, are interrupted in their course by magnificent cataracts, which give additional effect to the other features of sublimity and romantic beauty by which the country is so distinguished. Many of the rocks on the coast are perforated, a circumstance which proceeds from their formation. The quality of the soil of this country may be best estimated from the profuse vegetation with which the greater part of it is clothed, and the extraordinary vigour which characterizes the growth of most of its productions. The botany of New Zealand has as yet been very imperfectly investigated, a very small portion of the native plants having been either classified or enumerated. From the partial researches, however, that have been made by the scientific gentlemen attached to Cook's expeditions, and subsequent visitors, there can be no doubt that the country is rich both in new and valuable herbs, plants, and trees as well as admirably adapted for the cultivation of many of the most useful among the vegetable possessions of other parts of the world. Rutherford, we have seen, mentions the existence of cultivated land in the neighbourhood of the village to which he was last conveyed. The New Zealanders had made considerable advances in agriculture even before Cook visited the country; and that navigator mentions particularly, in the narrative of his first voyage, the numerous patches of ground which he observed all along the east coast in a state of cultivation. Speaking of the very neighbourhood of the place at which the crew of the "Agnes" were made prisoners, he says:--"Banks saw some of their plantations, where the ground was as well broken down and tilled as even in the gardens of the most curious people among us. In these spots were sweet potatoes, coccos or eddas, which are well known and much esteemed both in the East and West Indies, and some gourds. The sweet potatoes were placed in small hills, some ranged in rows, and others in quincunx, all laid by a line with the greatest regularity. The coccos were planted upon flat land, but none of them yet (it was about the end of October) appeared above ground; and the gourds were set in small hollows, or dishes, much as in England. These plantations were of different extent, from one or two acres to ten. Taken together, there appeared to be from one hundred and fifty to two hundred acres in cultivation in the whole bay, though we never saw a hundred people. Each district was fenced in, generally with reeds, which were placed so close together that there was scarcely room for a mouse to creep between." Since the commencement of the intercourse of the New Zealanders with Europe, the sphere of their husbandry has been considerably enlarged by the introduction of several most precious articles which were formerly unknown to them. Cook, in the course of his several visits to the country, both deposited in the soil, and left with some of the most intelligent among the natives, quantities of such useful seeds as those of wheat, peas, cabbage, onions, carrots, turnips, and potatoes; but although he had sufficient proofs of the suitableness of the soil and climate to the growth of most of these articles, which he found that even the winter of New Zealand was too mild to injure, it appeared to him very unlikely that the inhabitants would be at the trouble to take care even of those whose value they in some degree appreciated. With the exception, in fact, of the turnips and potatoes, the vegetable productions which Cook took so much pains to introduce seem to have all perished. The potatoes, however, have been carefully preserved, and are said to have even improved in quality, being now greatly superior to those of the Cape of Good Hope, from which the seed they have sprung from was originally brought. In more recent times, maize has been introduced into New Zealand; and the missionaries have sown many acres in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands, both on their own property and on that of the native chiefs, with English wheat, which has produced an abundant return. Duaterra was the first person who actually reared a crop of this grain in his native country. On leaving Port Jackson the second time, to return home, he took with him a quantity of it, and much astonished his acquaintances by informing them that this was the very substance of which the Europeans made biscuits, such as they had seen and eaten on board their ships. "He gave a portion of wheat," says Marsden, "to six chiefs, and also to some of his own common men, and directed them all how to sow it, reserving some for himself and his uncle Shungie, who is a very great chief, his dominion extending from the east to the west side of New Zealand. "All the persons to whom Duaterra had given the seed-wheat put it into the ground, and it grew well; but before it was well ripe, many of them grew impatient for the produce; and as they expected to find the grain at the roots of the stems, similar to their potatoes, they examined the roots, and finding there was no wheat under the ground, they pulled it all up, and burned it, except Shungie. "The chiefs ridiculed Duaterra much about the wheat, and told him, because he had been a great traveller, he thought he could easily impose upon their credulity by fine stories; and all he urged could not convince them that wheat would make bread. His own and Shungie's crops in time came to perfection, and were reaped and threshed; and though the natives were much astonished to find that the grain was produced at the top, and not at the bottom of the stem, yet they could not be persuaded that bread could be made of it." Marsden afterwards sent Duaterra a steel mill to grind his wheat, which he received with no little joy. "He soon set to work," continues Marsden, "and ground some wheat before his countrymen, who danced and shouted for joy when they saw the meal. He told me that he made a cake and baked it in a frying-pan, and gave it to the people to eat, which fully satisfied them of the truth he had told them before, that wheat would make bread." The chiefs now begged some more seed, which they sowed; and such of it as was attended to grew up as strong a crop as could be desired. In all countries the securing of a sufficient supply of food is the primary concern of society; and, accordingly, even among the rudest tribes who are in any degree dependent upon the fruits of the earth for their sustenance, the different operations of agriculture, as regulated by the seasons, have always excited especial interest. Theoretical writers are fond of talking of the natural progress of the species to the agricultural state, from and through the pastoral, as if the one were a condition at which it was nothing less than impossible for a people to arrive, except by first undergoing the other. In countries circumstanced like New Zealand, at least, the course of things must have been somewhat different; inasmuch as here we find the agricultural state begun, where the pastoral could never have been known, there being no flocks to tend. Cook, as we have seen, found the inhabitants of this country extensive cultivators of land, and they, probably, had been so for many ages before. Although the fern-root is in most places the spontaneous produce of the soil, and enters largely into the consumption of the people, it would yet seem that they have not been wont to consider themselves independent of those other crops which they raise by regular cultivation. To these, accordingly, they pay the greatest attention, insomuch, that most of those who have visited the country have been struck by the extraordinary contrast between the neat and clean appearance of their fields, in which the plants rise in even rows, and not a weed is to be seen, and the universal air of rudeness, slovenliness, and discomfort which their huts present. But we must remember that in the latter case we see merely a few of the personal accommodations of the savage, his neglect of which occasions him but very slight and temporary inconvenience; whereas in the former it is the very sustenance of his life which is concerned, his inattention to which might expose him to all the miseries of famine. The same care and neatness in the management of their fields has been remarked as characteristics of the North American Indians; and both they and the New Zealanders celebrate the seasons of planting and gathering in their harvests with festivities and religious observances, practices which have, indeed, prevailed in almost every nation, and may be regarded as among the most beautiful and becoming of the rites of natural religion. The commencement of the coomera harvest in New Zealand is the signal for the suspension of all other occupations except that of gathering in the crop. First, the priest pronounces a blessing upon the unbroken ground; and then, when all its produce has been gathered in, he "taboos" or makes sacred, the public storehouse in which it is deposited. Cruise states that this solemn dedication has sometimes saved these depositories from spoliation, even on occasion of a hostile attack by another tribe. "One of the gentlemen of the ship," this writer adds, "was present at the 'shackerie,'[AL] or harvest-home, if it may be so called, of Shungie's people. It was celebrated in a wood, where a square space had been cleared of trees, in the centre of which three very tall posts, driven into the ground in the form of a triangle, supported an immense pile of baskets of coomeras. The tribe of Teeperree[AM] of Wangarooa[AN] was invited to participate in the rejoicings, which consisted of a number of dances performed round the pole, succeeded by a very splendid feast; and when Teeperree's men were going away, they received a present of as many coomeras as they could carry with them." In New Zealand all the cultivated fields are strictly "tabooed," as well as the people employed in cultivating them, who live upon the spot while they proceed with their labours, and are not permitted to pass the boundary until they are terminated; nor are any others allowed to trespass upon the sacred enclosure. We have already mentioned more than once the lofty forests of New Zealand. Of these, considered as a mere ornament to the country, all who have seen them speak in terms of the highest admiration. Anderson, the surgeon whom Cook took with him on board the "Resolution" in his third voyage, describes them as "flourishing with a vigour almost superior to anything that imagination can conceive, and affording an august prospect to those who are delighted with the grand and beautiful works of Nature." "It is impossible," says Nicholas, "to imagine, in the wildest and most picturesque walks of Nature, a sight more sublime and majestic, or which can more forcibly challenge the admiration of the traveller, than a New Zealand forest." And indeed, when we are told that the trees rise generally to the height of from eighty to a hundred feet, straight as a mast and without a branch, and are then crowned with tops of such umbrageous foliage that the rays of the sun, in endeavouring to pierce through them, can hardly make more than a dim twilight in the lonely recesses below, so that herbage cannot grow there, and the rank soil produces nothing but a thick spread of climbing and intertwisted underwood, we may conceive how imposing must be the gloomy grandeur of these gigantic and impenetrable groves. [Illustration: Scene in a New Zealand forest.] In the woods in the neighbourhood of Poverty Bay, Cook says he found trees of above twenty different sorts, altogether unknown to anybody on board; and almost every new district which he visited afterwards presented to him a profusion of new varieties. But the trees that have as yet chiefly attracted the attention of Europeans are certain of those more lofty ones of which we have just spoken. These trees had attracted Cook's attention in his first voyage, as likely to prove admirably adapted for masts, if the timber, which in its original state he considered rather too heavy for that purpose, could, like that of the European pitch-pine, be lightened by tapping; they would then, he says, be such masts as no country in Europe could produce. Crozet, however, asserts, in his account of Marion's voyage that they found what he calls the cedar of New Zealand to weigh no heavier than the best Riga fir. Nicholas brought some of the seeds of the New Zealand phormium with him to England in 1815; but unfortunately they lost their vegetative properties during the voyage. It appears, however, that, some years before, it had been brought to blossom, though imperfectly, in the neighbourhood of London; and in France it is said to have been cultivated in the open air with great success, by Freycinet and Faujas St. Fond. Under the culture of the former of these gentlemen it grew, in 1813, to the height of seven feet six lines, the stalk being three inches and four lines in circumference at the base, and two inches and a half, half-way up. Upon one stalk he had a hundred and nine flowers, of a greenish yellow colour; and he had made some very strong ropes from the leaves, from which he had obtained the flax by a very simple process. According to Rutherford, the natives, after having cut it down, and brought it home green in bundles, in which state it is called "koradee," scrape it with a large mussel-shell, and take the heart out of it, splitting it with the nails of their thumbs, which for that purpose they keep very long. It would seem, however, that the natives have made instruments for dressing this flax not very dissimilar from the tools of our own wool-combers. The outside they throw away, and the rest they spread out for several days in the sun to dry, which makes it as white as snow. In this prepared state it is, he says, called "mooka." They spin it, he adds, in a double thread, with the hand on the thigh, and then work it into mats, also by the hand: three women may work on one mat at a time. Nicholas, on one occasion, saw Duaterra's head wife employed in weaving. The mat on which she was engaged was one of an open texture, and "she performed her work," says the author, "with wooden pegs stuck in the ground at equal distances from each other, to which having tied the threads that formed the woof, she took up six threads with the two composing the warp, knotting them carefully together." "It was astonishing," he says, "with what dexterity and quickness she handled the threads, and how well executed was her performance." He was assured that another mat which he saw, and which was woven with elaborate ingenuity and elegance, could not have been manufactured in less time than between two and three years. Valuable, however, as is the phormium for the purposes to which alone it is applied in New Zealand, it would appear that the attempts which have been made to fabricate from it what is properly called cloth have not hitherto been attended with a favourable result. Some years ago, a quantity of hemp that had been manufactured from the plant at Sydney, was sent to be woven at Knaresborough; but "the trial," it is stated, "did not succeed to the full satisfaction of the parties." We have been favoured with a communication upon this subject by a gentleman who has given much attention to it, which seems to explain, in a very satisfactory manner, the true reason of the failure that has been here experienced. "A friend of mine," says our correspondent, "a few years ago imported a quantity of the phormium, in the expectation that it would answer admirably for making cloth even of the finest fabric. But in this he was altogether disappointed. Although it is infinitely stronger in its raw state than any other flax or hemp, yet when boiled with potash it becomes so exceedingly weak as not to bear the operation of weaving but with the utmost difficulty. A gentleman once showed me a pair of trousers made of this material. They appeared quite rough and nearly worn out, though they had been used but for a few weeks. "Although making cloth of it, however, is out of the question, it is admirably fitted for rope and twine of all descriptions. It will, therefore, prove highly valuable to our shipping and fishing interests. Another friend of mine made some rope of it, which, when proved by the breaking machine, bore, I think, nearly double the strain of a similar-sized rope made of Russian hemp. The great strength and tenacity of the New Zealand flax appears to me to be owing to the fibres, though naturally short, being firmly united by an elastic vegetable glue or gum, which the boiling process dissolves." Rutherford says the flax becomes black on being soaked, which may possibly be occasioned by its consequent loss of the gum here described. We find it stated in the "Annual Register" for 1819, that about the beginning of that year a favourable report had been made of the suitableness of the phormium for the manufacture both of small and large ropes, after some experiments in the dockyard at Portsmouth. The ropes turned out strong, pliable, and very silky. The notice adds that the plant may be cut down in New Zealand three times a year; and that it may be imported to this country at the rate of about eight pounds per ton, or one-seventh of the cost of hemp. Among the useful plants for which we are indebted to New Zealand, we must not forget their summer spinach (_Tetragonia expansa_--Murray), which was discovered on Cook's first voyage by Sir Joseph Banks, and was "boiled and eaten as greens" by the crew. It was afterwards seen by Forster at Tongataboo, though it was not used by the natives; but Thunberg found the Japanese acquainted with its value as a pot-herb. It was introduced into Kew Gardens in 1772; but the first account of it as a vegetable worthy of cultivation, was published by Count D'Auraches in the "Annales d'Agriculture" for 1809. Its chief advantage lies in the leaves being fit for use during the summer, even in the driest weather, up to the setting in of the frosts, when the common spinach is useless; but it is not reckoned of so fine a flavour as that plant. The Rev. J. Bransby says that the produce of three seeds, which must be reared by heat before planting out, supplied his own table and those of two of his friends from June till the frost killed it. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AL: The hakari, or feast, a great function in former times.] [Footnote AM: This name is spelt wrongly. It might be Te Pahi, a famous chief, but it is reported that he died soon after the affair of the "Boyd," in 1809, some time before Rutherford's arrival in New Zealand. The tribe, however, may still have been known as Te Pahi's.] [Footnote AN: Whangaroa.] CHAPTER VI. The native land animals of New Zealand are not numerous. The most common is said to be one resembling our fox-dog, which is sometimes eaten for food. It runs wild in the woods, and is described by Savage as usually of a black and white skin, with pricked up ears, and the hair rather long. But it may perhaps be doubted if even this quadruped is a native of the country.[AO] According to Rutherford the pigs run wild in the woods, and are hunted by dogs. He also mentions that there are a few horned cattle in the interior, which have been bred from some left by the discovery ships. No other account, however, confirms this statement. There are in New Zealand a few rats, and bats; and the coasts are frequented by seals of different species. One of the natives told Cook that there was in the interior a lizard eight feet long, and as thick as a man's body, which burrowed in the ground, and sometimes seized and devoured men. This animal, of the existence of which we have the additional evidence of an exactly similar description given by one of the chiefs to Nicholas, is probably an alligator. The natives, as we learn from Cruise, have the greatest horror of a lizard, in the shape of which animal they believe it is that the atua (or demon) is wont to take possession of the dying, and to devour their entrails--a superstition which may not be unconnected with the dread the alligator has spread among them by its actual ravages, or the stories that have been propagated respecting it. They report that in the part of the country where it is found it makes great havoc among children, carrying them off and devouring them whenever they come in its way.[AP] There are not many species of insects, those seen by Anderson, who accompanied Cook, being only a few dragonflies, butterflies, grasshoppers, spiders, and black ants, vast numbers of scorpion flies, and a sandfly, which is described as the only noxious insect in the country. It insinuates itself under the foot, and bites like a mosquito. The birds of New Zealand are very numerous, and almost all are peculiar to the country. Among them are wild ducks, large wood-pigeons, seagulls, rails, parrots, and parrakeets. They are generally very tame. Rutherford states that during his long residence he became very expert, after the manner of the natives, in catching birds with a noosed string, and that he has thus caught thousands of ground parrots with a line about fifty feet long. The most remarkable bird is one to which Cook's people gave the name of the mocking-bird, from the extraordinary variety of its notes.[AQ] There is also another which was called by the English the poe, or poi bird, from a little tuft of white curled feathers which it has under its throat, and which seemed to them to resemble certain white flowers worn as ornaments in the ears by the people of Otaheite, and known there by a similar name. This bird is also remarkable both for the beauty of its plumage and the sweetness of its note. Its power of song is the more remarkable as it belongs to the class of birds which feed on honey, whose notes are generally not melodious.[AR] The enchanting music of the woods of New Zealand is dwelt upon with rapture by all who have had an opportunity of listening to it. Describing one of the first days he spent in Queen Charlotte Sound, Cook says:--"The ship lay at the distance of somewhat less than a quarter of a mile from the shore, and in the morning we were awakened by the singing of the birds. The number was incredible, and they seemed to strain their throats in emulation of each other. This wild melody was infinitely superior to any that we had ever heard of the same kind; it seemed to be like small bells, exquisitely tuned; and perhaps the distance and the water between might be no small advantage to the sound." Upon inquiry, they were informed that the birds here always begin to sing about two hours after midnight, and, continuing their music till sunrise, were silent the rest of the day.[AS] One of the chief sources of natural wealth which New Zealand possesses consists in the abundance and variety of the fish which frequent its coasts. Wherever he went, Cook, in his different visits to the two islands, was amply supplied with this description of food, of which he says that six or eight men, with hooks and lines, would in some places catch daily enough to serve the whole ship's company. Among the different species which are described as being found, we may mention mackerel, crayfish, a sort called by the sailors colefish, which Cook says was both larger and finer than any he had seen before, and was, in the opinion of most on board, the highest luxury the sea afforded them; the herring, the flounder, and a fish resembling the salmon. To these may be added, besides, many other species of shell-fish, mussels, cockles, and oysters. The seas in the neighbourhood of New Zealand, also, we ought not to forget to add, are much frequented by whales, which, besides the value of their blubber, are greatly prized by the natives for the sake of their flesh, which they consider a first-rate delicacy. The New Zealanders are extremely expert in fishing. They are also admirable divers, and Rutherford states that they will bring up live fish from the deepest waters, with the greatest certainty. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AO: Craik is correct in this surmise. The Maori dog, Canis familiaris, (Variety Maorium), which is now extinct, was introduced to New Zealand when the Maoris came at the time of their great migration, about 500 years ago.] [Footnote AP: The alligator is purely mythical. The only reptiles in New Zealand are lizards, and a lizard-like animal called Tuatara. It is about 18 inches long, and is allied to crocodiles and turtles, as well as lizards. It is the sole representative of an ancient reptilian order named Rhyncocephalia.] [Footnote AQ: This is the bell-bird (Anthornis melanura).] [Footnote AR: The tui, or parson bird (Prosthemadera novæ zealandiæ.)] [Footnote AS: Large numbers of New Zealand birds unite in the spring in singing a magnificent Song of Dawn, which generally ceases when the sun has fairly risen, but individuals sing at intervals through the day.] CHAPTER VII. The details we have thus given will enable the reader to form a conception of the state of society in the country in which Rutherford now found himself imprisoned. The spot in the northern island of New Zealand, in which the village lay where his residence was eventually fixed, cannot be exactly ascertained, from the account which he gives of his journey to it from the coast. It is evident, however, from the narrative, that it was too far in the interior to permit the sea to be seen from it. "For the first year after our arrival in Aimy's village," says Rutherford, "we spent our time chiefly in fishing and shooting; for the chief had a capital double-barrelled fowling piece, as well as plenty of powder and duck-shot, which he had brought from our vessel; and he used to entrust me with the fowling-piece whenever I had a mind to go a shooting, though he seldom accompanied me himself. We were generally fortunate enough to bring home a good many wood-pigeons, which are very plentiful in New Zealand. "At last it happened that Aimy and his family went to a feast at another village a few miles distant from ours, and my comrade and I were left at home, with nobody but a few slaves, and the chief's mother, an old woman, who was sick, and attended by a physician. A physician in this country remains with his patients constantly both day and night, never leaving them till they either recover or die, in which latter case he is brought before a court of inquiry, composed of all the chiefs for many miles round. "During the absence of the family at the feast, my comrade chanced to lend his knife to a slave for him to cut some rushes with, in order to repair a house; and when this was done he received it back again. Soon after he and I killed a pig, from which we cut a portion into small pieces, and put them into our iron pot, along with some potatoes which we had also peeled with our knives. When the potatoes were cooked, the old woman who was sick desired us to give her some, which we did in the presence of the doctor, and she ate them. Next morning she died, when the chief and the rest of his family immediately returned home. "The corpse was first removed to an unoccupied piece of ground in the centre of the village, and there placed with a mat under it, in a sitting position against a post, being covered with another mat up to the chin. The head and face were anointed with shark oil, and a piece of green flax was also tied round the head, in which were stuck several white feathers, the sort of feathers which are here preferred to any other. "They then constructed, around the corpse, an enclosure of twigs, something like a bird's cage, for the purpose of keeping the dogs, pigs, and children from it; and these operations being over, muskets continued to be occasionally fired during the remainder of the day to the memory of the old woman. Meanwhile, the chiefs and their families from miles around were making their appearance in our village, bringing with them their slaves loaded with provisions. On the third day after the death, they all, to the number of some hundreds, knelt down around the corpse, and, having thrown off their mats, proceeded to cry and cut themselves, in the same manner as we had seen done on occasions of the different chiefs of the villages through which we passed being welcomed home. "After some time spent in this ceremony, they all sat down together to a great feast, made of their own provisions, which they had brought with them. "The next morning, the men alone formed a circle round the dead body, armed with spears, muskets, tomahawks, and merys, and the doctor appeared, walking backwards and forwards in the ring. By this time, my companion and I had learned a good deal of their language; and, as we stood listening to what was said, we heard the doctor relate the particulars of the old woman's illness and death; after which, the chiefs began to inquire very closely into what she had eaten for the three days before she expired. "At last, the doctor having retired from the ring, an old chief stepped forward, with three or four white feathers stuck in his hair; and, having walked several times up and down in the ring, addressed the meeting, and said that, in his opinion, the old woman's death had been occasioned by her having eaten potatoes that had been peeled with a white man's knife, after it had been used for cutting rushes to repair a house; on which account, he thought that the white man to whom the knife belonged should be killed, which would be a great honour conferred upon the memory of the dead woman. "To this proposal many of the other chiefs expressed their assent, and it seemed about to be adopted by the court. Meanwhile, my companion stood trembling, and unable to speak from fear. I then went forward myself into the ring, and told them that if the white man had done wrong in lending his knife to the slave, he had done so ignorantly, from not knowing the customs of the country. "I ventured at the same time to address myself to Aimy, beseeching him to spare my shipmate's life; but he continued to keep his seat on the ground, mourning for the loss of his mother, without answering me, or seeming to take any notice of what I said; and while I was yet speaking to him, the chief with the white feathers went and struck my comrade on the head with a mery, and killed him. Aimy, however, would not allow him to be eaten, though for what reason I never could learn. "The slaves, therefore, having dug a grave for him, he was interred after my directions. "As for the corpse of the old woman, it was now wrapt up in several mats, and carried away by Aimy and the doctor, no person being allowed to follow them. I learned, however, that they took her into a neighbouring wood, and there buried her. After this, the strangers all left our village, and returned to their respective homes. In about three months, the body of the woman was again taken up, and carried to the river side, where the bones were scraped and washed, and then inclosed in a box, which had been prepared for that purpose. "The box was afterwards fastened on the top of a post, in the place where the body first lay in state; and a space of about thirty feet in circumference being railed in around it, a wooden image was erected, to signify that the ground was 'tabooed,' or sacred, and as a warning that no one should enter the inclosure. This is the regular manner of interment in New Zealand for any one belonging to a chief's family. When a slave dies, a hole is dug, and the body is thrown into it without any ceremony; nor is it ever disinterred again, or any further notice taken of it. They never eat any person who dies of disease, or in the course of nature." Thus left alone among these savages, and taught by the murder of his comrade on how slight a tenure he held his own life, exposed as he was every moment to the chance of in some way or other provoking their capricious cruelty, Rutherford, it may be thought, must have felt his protracted detention growing every day more insupportable. One of the greatest inconveniences which he now began to feel arose from the wearing out of his clothes, which he patched and tacked as well as he could for some time, but at last, after he had been about three years in the country, they would hold together no longer. All that he had to wear, therefore, was a white flax mat, which was given to him by the chief, and which, being thrown over his shoulders, came as low as his knees. This, he says, was his only garment, and he was compelled to go both bareheaded and barefooted, having neither hat, shoes, nor stockings. His life, meanwhile, seems to have been varied by few incidents deserving of being recorded, and we are left to suppose that he spent his time principally in shooting and fishing, as before. For the first sixteen months of his residence at the village, he kept a reckoning of days by notches on a stick; but when he afterwards moved about with the chiefs, he neglected this mode of tracing the progress of time. [Illustration: Flute, made from the arm or thigh-bone of an enemy.] "At last, it happened one day," the narrative proceeds, "while we were all assembled at a feast in our village, that Aimy called me to him, in the presence of several more chiefs, and, having told them of my activity in shooting and fishing, concluded by saying that he wished to make me a chief, if I would give my consent. "This I readily did: upon which my hair was immediately cut with an oyster shell in the front, in the same manner as the chiefs have theirs cut; and several of the chiefs made me a present of some mats, and promised to send me some pigs the next day. I now put on a mat covered over with red ochre and oil, such as was worn by the other chiefs; and my head and face were also anointed with the same composition by a chief's daughter, who was entirely a stranger to me. I received, at the same time, a handsome stone mery, which I afterwards always carried with me. "Aimy now advised me to take two or three wives, it being the custom for the chiefs to have as many as they think proper; and I consented to take two. About sixty women were then brought up before me, none of whom, however, pleased me, and I refused to have any of them; on which Aimy told me that I was 'tabooed' for three days, at the expiration of which time he would take me with him to his brother's camp, where I should find plenty of women that would please me. "Accordingly we went to his brother's at the time appointed, when several women were brought up before us; but, having cast my eyes upon Aimy's two daughters, who had followed us, and were sitting on the grass, I went up to the eldest, and said that I would choose her. "On this she immediately screamed and ran away; but two of the natives, having thrown off their mats, pursued her, and soon brought her back, when, by the direction of Aimy, I went and took hold of her hand. The two natives then let her go, and she walked quietly with me to her father, but hung down her head, and continued laughing. Aimy now called his other daughter to him, who also came laughing; and he then advised me to take them both. "I then turned to them, and asked them if they were willing to go with me, when they both answered, _I pea_, or _I pair_, which signifies, 'Yes, I believe so.'[AT] "On this, Aimy told them they were 'tabooed' to me, and directed us all three to go home together, which we did, followed by several of the natives. We had not been many minutes at our own village, when Aimy, and his brother also, arrived; and in the evening, a great feast was given to the people by Aimy. During the greater part of the night, the women kept dancing a dance which is called 'Kane-Kane,'[AU] and is seldom performed, except when large parties are met together. While dancing it, they stood all in a row, several of them holding muskets over their heads; and their movements were accompanied by the singing of several of the men; for they have no kind of music in this country. "My eldest wife's name was Eshou,[AV] and that of my youngest Epecka.[AW] They were both handsome, mild, and good-tempered. I was now always obliged to eat with them in the open air, as they would not eat under the roof of my house, that being contrary to the customs of their country. When away for any length of time, I used to take Epecka along with me, and leave Eshou at home. "The chiefs' wives in New Zealand are never jealous of each other, but live together in great harmony; the only distinction among them being that the oldest is always considered the head wife. No other ceremony takes place on the occasion of a marriage, except what I have mentioned. Any child born of a slave woman, though the father should be a chief, is considered a slave, like its mother. "A woman found guilty of adultery is immediately put to death. Many of the chiefs take wives from among their slaves; but any one else that marries a slave woman may be robbed with impunity; whereas he who marries a woman belonging to a chief's family is secure from being plundered, as the natives dare not steal from any person of that rank. "With regard to stealing from others, the custom is that if any person has stolen anything, and kept it concealed for three days, it then becomes his own property, and the only way for the injured party to obtain satisfaction is to rob the thief in return. If the theft, however, be detected within three days, the thief has to return the article stolen; but, even in that case, he goes unpunished. The chiefs, also, although secure from the depredations of their inferiors, plunder one another, and this often occasions a war among them." By music in this passage, Rutherford evidently means instrumental music, which, it would appear, was not known in the parts of New Zealand where he resided. Other authorities, however, speak of different wind-instruments, similar to our fifes or flutes, which are elsewhere in common use. One which is frequently to be met with at the Bay of Islands consists, according to Savage, of a tube six or seven inches long, open at both extremities, and having three holes on one side, and one on the other. Another is formed of two pieces of wood bound together, so as to make a tube inflated at the middle, at which place there is a single hole. It is blown into at one extremity, while the other is stopped and opened, to produce different modifications of the sound. Nicholas once saw an instrument like a flute, made of bone, very ingeniously carved, hanging at the breast of one of the natives; and when he asked what bone it was formed from, the possessor immediately told him that it was the bone of a man. It was a larger bone than any of the native animals could have supplied. Vocal music is one of the favourite amusements of the New Zealanders. Destitute as they are of the art of writing, they have, nevertheless, their song poetry, part of which is traditionary, and part the produce of such passing events as strongly excite their feelings, and prompt their fancy to this only work of composition of which they have any knowledge. Certain individuals among them are distinguished for their success in these effusions; but the people inhabiting the vicinity of the East Cape seem generally to enjoy the highest reputation for this species of talent. These tribes, indeed, are described as in many other respects decidedly superior to the rest of their countrymen. It is among them that all the arts known in New Zealand flourish in the greatest perfection; as, for example, the working of mats, and the making and polishing of the different instruments used in war. Yet, although very numerous, they are themselves of a peaceful disposition. Their houses are said to be both larger and better built than those in any other part of the island; and their plantations are also more extensive. This seems, in short, to be the manufacturing district of New Zealand, the only part of the country in which anything like regular industry has found an abode. Hence the pre-eminence of its inhabitants, both in the useful and the elegant arts. Nicholas has printed some specimens of the songs of the New Zealanders, which, when sung, are always accompanied, he informs us, by a great deal of action. As he has given merely the words, however, without either the music or a translation, it is needless to transcribe them. The airs he describes as in general melodious and agreeable, and as having a resemblance to our chanting. One of the songs which he gives is that which is always sung at the feast which takes place when the planting of the potatoes commences. "It describes," he says, "the havoc occasioned by the violence of an east wind. Their potatoes are destroyed by it. They plant them again, and, being more successful, they express their joy while taking them out of the ground, with the words, _ah kiki! ah kiki! ah kiki!_--eat away! eat away! eat away! Which is the conclusion of the song." Of another, "the subject is a man carving a canoe, when his enemies approach the shore in a canoe to attack him; endeavouring to conceal himself, he runs in among the bushes, but is pursued, overtaken, and immediately put to death." Every more remarkable occasion of their rude and turbulent life seems to have its appropriate song. The planting of their potatoes, the gathering in of the crop, the commencement of the battle, the interment of the dead, are all celebrated, each by its peculiar chorus, as well as, probably, most of their other customary excitements, both of mirth and of mourning. The New Zealanders have a variety of national dances; but none of them have been minutely described. Some of them are said to display much grace of movement; others are chiefly remarkable for the extreme violence with which they are performed. As among the other South Sea tribes, when there are more dancers than one, the most perfect uniformity of step and attitude is preserved by all of them; and they do not consider it a dance at all when this rule is not attended to. Captain Dillon very much amused some of those who came on board his ship by a sample of English dancing, which he made his men give them on deck. A company of soldiers going through their manual exercise would certainly have come much nearer their notions of what a dance ought to be. Although there are no written laws in New Zealand, all these matters are, no doubt, regulated by certain universally understood rules, liberal enough in all probability, in the license which they allow to the tyranny of the privileged class, but still fixing some boundaries to its exercise, which will accordingly be but rarely overstepped. Thus, the power which the chief seems to enjoy of depriving any of his slaves of life may be limited to certain occasions only; as, for instance, the death of some member of the family, whose manes, it is conceived, demand to be propitiated by such an offering. That in such eases slaves are often sacrificed in New Zealand, we have abundant evidence. Cruise even informs us that when a son of one of the chiefs died in Marsden's house, in New South Wales, it required the interposition of that gentleman's authority to prevent some of the boy's countrymen, who were with him, from killing a few of their slaves, in honour of their deceased friend. On other occasions, it is likely that the life of the slave can only be taken when he has been convicted of some delinquency; although, as the chief is the sole judge of his criminality, he will find this, it may be thought, but a slight protection. The domestic slaves of the chiefs, however, it is quite possible, and even likely, are much more completely at the mercy of their caprice and passion than the general body of the common people, whose vassalage may, after all, consist in little more than the obligation of following them to their wars, and rendering them obedience in such other matters of public concern. Between the chiefs and the common people, who, as we have already mentioned, are called "cookees," there seems to be also a pretty numerous class, distinguished by the name of rungateedas, or, as it has been more recently written, rangatiras, which appears to answer nearly to the English term gentry.[AX] It consists of those who are connected by relationship with the families of the chiefs; and who, though not possessed of any territorial rights, are, as well as the chiefs themselves, looked upon as almost of a different species from the inferior orders, from whom they are probably as much separated in their political condition and privileges as they are in the general estimation of their rank and dignity. The term rangatira, indeed, in its widest signification, includes the chiefs themselves, just as our English epithet gentleman does the highest personages in the realm. Although there is no general government in New Zealand, the chiefs differ from each other in power; and some of them seem even to exercise, in certain respects, a degree of authority over others. Those who are called areekees,[AY] in particular, are represented as of greatly superior rank to the common chiefs. It was, probably, a chief of this class of whom Cook heard at various places where he put in along the east coast of the northern island, on his first visit to the country. He calls him Teratu; and he found his authority to extend, he says, from Cape Turnagain to the neighbourhood of Mercury Bay. The eight districts, too, into which this island was divided by Toogee,[AZ] in the map of it which he drew for Captain King, were in all likelihood the nominal territories, or what we may call feudal domains, of so many areekees. The account which Rutherford gives of the law, or custom, which prevails in New Zealand in regard to the crime of theft, may seem at first sight to be somewhat irreconcilable with the statements of other authorities, who tell us that this crime is regarded by the natives in so heinous a light that its usual punishment is death; whereas, according to him, it would seem scarcely to be considered by them as a crime at all. This apparent disagreement, however, arises, in all probability, merely from that misapprehension, or imperfect conception, of the customs of a foreign people into which we are so apt to be misled by the tendency we have to mix up constantly our own previously acquired notions with the simple facts that present themselves to us, and to explain the latter by the former. With our habits and improved ideas of morality, we see in theft both a trespass upon the arbitrary enactments of society, which demands the correction of the civil magistrate, and a violation of that natural equity which is independent of all political arrangements, and would make it unfair and wrong for one man to take to himself what belongs to another, although there were no such thing as what is commonly called a government in existence. But in the mind of the New Zealander these simple notions of right and wrong have been warped, and, as it were, suffocated, by a multitude of unnatural and monstrous inventions, which have grown up along with them from his very birth. How misapplied are the epithets, natural and artificial, when employed, as they often are, to characterise the savage and civilized state! It is the former, in truth, which is by far the most artificial; and much of civilization consists in the abolition of the numerous devices by which it has falsified and perverted the natural dispositions of the human heart and understanding, and in the reformation of society upon principles more accordant with their unsophisticated dictates. Probably the only case in which the New Zealander looks upon theft as a crime is when it is accompanied by a breach of hospitality, or is committed upon those who have, in the customary and understood manner, entrusted themselves to his friendship and honour. In any other circumstances, he will scarcely hold himself disgraced by any act of depredation which he can contrive to accomplish without detection; however much the fear of not escaping with impunity may often deter him from making the attempt. Then, as for the estimation in which the crime is politically held, this, we need not doubt, will be very much regulated by the relative situation in regard to rank of the two parties. Most of the European visitors who have hitherto given us an account of the country have mixed chiefly with the higher classes of its inhabitants, and consequently learned but little with regard to the condition of the great body of the population, except in so far as it affected, or was affected by, that of the chiefs. Hence the impression they have taken up that theft in New Zealand is looked upon as one of the worst of crimes, and always punished with death. It is so, we have no doubt, when committed by one of the common people upon any of the privileged class. In that case, the mean and despised condition of the delinquent, as compared with that of the person whose rights he has dared to invade, converts what might otherwise have scarcely been deemed a transgression at all into something little short of sacrilege. The thief is therefore knocked on the head at once, or strung up on a gallows; for that, too, seems to be one of the modes of public punishment for this species of crime in New Zealand. This severity is demanded by the necessity which is felt for upholding the social edifice in its integrity; and is also altogether in keeping with the slight regard in which the lives of the lower orders are universally held, and the love of bloodshed by which this ferocious people is distinguished. But when one "cookee," or common man, pilfers from another, it is quite another matter. In this case, the act entirely wants those aggravations which, in the estimation of a New Zealander, give it all its criminality; and the parties, besides, are so insignificant, that the notion of avenging any injury which the one may have suffered from the other by the public execution of the offender would probably be deemed in that country nearly as unreasonable as we should hold a proposal for the application of such a scheme of government in correction of the quarrels and other irregularities of the lower animals. It need not, therefore, surprise us to be told, especially when we consider also the trivial value of any articles of property they possess, that thieving among the common people there is regarded, not as a crime, but as an art, in which, as in other arts, the skilful and dexterous practitioner deserves reward rather than punishment; nearly as it was regarded among the Spartans, who punished the detected thief, indeed, but not so much for his attempt as for his failure; or more nearly still as it is said to have been among the ancient Egyptians, by whom such acts were, in all cases, allowed to be perpetrated with impunity. This view will go far to explain various incidents which we find noticed in the different accounts of New Zealand. The reports of the missionaries, in particular, abound with notices of individuals put to death by the chiefs for alleged acts of theft; but in every case of this kind which is mentioned, the person punished is, we believe, a slave. We have observed no instance, noted, in which the crime in question was punished, either with death or in any other way, when committed by one "cookee" on the property of another; and it is abundantly evident, from many things which are stated, that the natives themselves really do not consider the act as implying, in ordinary cases, that moral turpitude which we generally impute to it. In one case which Marsden mentions, the brother of a chief, named Ahoudee Ogunna,[BA] conceiving himself to have been improperly treated by one of the missionaries, stole two earthen pots from another of them; but the explanation which the chief gave of the matter was that his brother had not stolen the pots, but had only taken them away with an intention to bring on an explanation respecting the conduct which had given him offence. The man's expectation here evidently was that his theft (if it was to be so called) would merely have the effect of making the missionaries as angry as he himself was, and so of rendering both parties equally anxious for a full discussion of their differences. He had himself, as he conceived, been affronted in a manner not to be passed over; and his stealing of the pots he meant merely as a spirited act of retaliation, which would in some degree throw back the insult he had received upon those who had inflicted it, and make them in their turn feel mortified and on fire for satisfaction. He certainly did not imagine for a moment that he was at all degrading himself by the method he adopted for attaining this end. The degradation, in his conception of the matter, would be all with the party robbed. He had, however, in his anger, forgotten one thing, which, according even to the notions of the New Zealanders, it was most material that he should have remembered, as his more considerate brother felt as soon as he heard of the transaction, and as even he himself was afterwards brought to acknowledge. The chief, besides having experienced much kindness from the missionaries, was the very person from whom they had purchased the ground on which their settlement was established, and on whose friendship, at least, they had therefore a fair right to count, if they were not even to regard themselves as in some degree under his special protection. That personage felt the force of these considerations so strongly that, in order to show how much he was vexed and ashamed at his brother's conduct, he burned his own house to the ground, and left his usual place of residence, with a determination never to return to it so long as his brother lived. On the morning of his departure, the high-spirited chief came to take leave of the missionaries, when he told them that he had been on the spot where his house stood before he burned it, to weep with his friends, and showed them how much he had lacerated his face, arms, and other parts of his body, in which his friends had followed his example. His brother, too, at last came to them, quite penitent for his hasty conduct, and offered to restore the only one of the pots which he still had, the other having been already stolen from him by one of his countrymen. Accordingly, he soon after sent his son with the article; and the boy having been presented with six fish-hooks, he immediately brought them back, with a message, that his father would take nothing for the pot. Such acts of retaliation as that to which the brother of Ahoudee Ogunna here had recourse are often resorted to by the chiefs with something of a similar design, to avenge themselves, namely, for injuries which they conceive they have sustained, or to bring about those ulterior measures by which they may obtain for their grievances complete atonement or redress. In this way, many wars arise. But it is a point of honour with a chief never to touch what belongs to those who have trusted themselves to his friendship, and against whom he has no claim for satisfaction on account of any old affront or outrage. To be supposed capable of doing so would be felt by any of them as an intolerable imputation. [Illustration: A waist-mat. _Christchurch Museum_.] We find a striking instance of this, to pass over many others that might be quoted, in the conduct of Tetoro, who returned home to New Zealand from Port Jackson, along with Cruise, in the "Dromedary." It was thought necessary, during the passage, to take from this chief a box containing some gunpowder, which he had got with him, and to lodge it in the magazine until the ship arrived at New Zealand. "Though every exertion," says Cruise, "was used, to explain the reason why he was requested to give it up, and the strongest assurances made that it should be restored hereafter, he either could not or would not understand what was said to him. Upon parting with the property, which, next to his musket, was in his eyes the greatest treasure in the world, he fell into an agony of grief and despair which it was quite distressing to witness, repeatedly exclaiming, 'No good,' and, rolling himself up in his mat, he declined the conversation of every one. He remained in this state so long that the powder was at length brought back; but he refused to take it, saying, 'that they might again put it in the magazine, since they must now be aware that he had not stolen it.'" Similar to that of Tetoro, was the conduct of a chief whom Marsden met with on his first visit to New Zealand, and who was so much grieved and ashamed at the circumstance of one of his dependents having stolen some trifle from that gentleman, that he sat for two days and nights on the deck of the ship, and could not be prevailed upon to enter the cabin.[BB] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AT: I pea, "Of course."] [Footnote AU: Kanikani, to dance, as in the haka.] [Footnote AV: These words are not in accord with the present system of spelling, there being no "sh" and no "c" in the Maori orthography. The former name is probably Hau, and the latter Peka. The letter "E" placed in front of them is used by the Maoris to denote the vocative, and Rutherford has evidently taken it as part of the word. Sometimes the "E"--which is pronounced as "a" in "pay"--is placed both before and after the name of the person addressed, as "E Peka, e!"] [Footnote AW: These words are not in accord with the present system of spelling, there being no "sh" and no "c" in the Maori orthography. The former name is probably Hau, and the latter Peka. The letter "E" placed in front of them is used by the Maoris to denote the vocative, and Rutherford has evidently taken it as part of the word. Sometimes the "E"--which is pronounced as "a" in "pay"--is placed both before and after the name of the person addressed, as "E Peka, e!"] [Footnote AX: The latter word is correct.] [Footnote AY: Arikis.] [Footnote AZ: Tuki.] [Footnote BA: This is the man referred to in a previous chapter, who signed a deed of sale to Marsden by the pattern of his tattoo.] [Footnote BB: Maning, in "Old New Zealand," gives a delightful account of the manner in which the law of muru, or plunder, ruled with an iron hand in the ancient Maoriland.] CHAPTER VIII. With regard to many of the other habits of the New Zealanders, Rutherford in general corroborates the testimony of other travellers. He mentions particularly their extreme inattention to personal cleanliness, a circumstance which very much surprised Nicholas, as it seemed to present an unaccountable contrast to the neatness and order which were usually to be found both in their plantations and huts. All the natives, Rutherford states, are overrun with vermin, which lodge not only in their heads, but in their mats. "Their way of destroying them in their mats," he adds, "is by making a fire, on which, having thrown a quantity of green bushes, they spread the mat over the whole, when the steam from the leaves compels the vermin to retreat to the surface: these the women are very active in catching on such occasions with both hands, and devouring greedily. Sometimes two or three will be catching them at the same mat." The New Zealanders cure their fish, Rutherford tells us, by dipping them a great many times in salt water, and then drying them in the sun. The large mussels they first bake in the usual manner, and then, taking them out of the shell, string them together, and hang them up over the fire to dry in the smoke. Thus prepared, they eat like old cheese, and will keep for years. The coomeras, or sweet potatoes, are also cured in the same manner, which makes them eat like gingerbread. Their potatoes the natives pack in baskets made of green flax, and in this way preserve them for the winter. There are, however, three months in the year during which they live upon little except turnips, and at this time they do with almost no drink. The baskets in which they keep their provisions, and apply to other domestic purposes, are formed with considerable ingenuity, and with some taste, in their decorations. Notwithstanding the stormy seas by which their islands are surrounded, and the woods, swamps, and rivers, which oppose such difficulties in the way of passing from one place to another through the heart of the country, the New Zealanders are known to be in the habit of making long journeys, both along the coasts in their canoes, and through the interior on foot. Rutherford gives us some account of a journey which he once accomplished in company with the chief Aimy. "I took," says he, "my wife Epecka with me, and we were attended by about twenty slave-women to carry our provisions, every one of whom bore on her back, besides a supply for her own consumption, about thirty pounds of potatoes, and drove before her at the same time a pig, which she held by a string tied to its fore-leg. "The men never travel without being armed. Our journey was made sometimes by water and sometimes by land; and, proceeding in this manner, we arrived, in about a month, at a place called Taranake,[BC] on the coast of Cook Strait, where we were received by Otago,[BD] a great chief, who had come from near the South Cape. On meeting we saluted each other in the customary manner by touching noses, and there was also a great deal of crying, as usual. "Here I saw an Englishman, named James Mowry, who told me that he had formerly been a boy belonging to a ship called the 'Sydney Cove,' which had put in near the South Cape, when a boat's crew, of which he was one, had been sent on shore for the purpose of trading with the natives. They were attacked, however, and every man of them killed except himself, he having been indebted for his preservation to his youth and the protection of Otago's daughter: this lady he had since married. He had now been eight years in the country, and had become so completely reconciled to the manners and way of life of the natives, that he had resolved never to leave it. He was twenty-four years of age, handsome, and of middle size, and had been well tattooed. He had also been made a chief, and had often accompanied the natives to their wars. He spoke their language, and had forgotten a great deal of his own. He told me he had heard of the capture of our ship, and gave me an account of the deaths of Smith and Watson, two of my unfortunate shipmates. I, in turn, related to him my story, and what I had gone through.[BE] "The village of Taranake stands by the sea-side, and the manners and customs of the inhabitants are the same as prevail in other parts of the island. "We remained here six weeks; and during this time I employed myself in looking out for a ship passing through the Straits, by which I might make my escape, but was never fortunate enough to see one. I kept my intention, however, a secret from Mowry, for he was too much attached to the natives for me to trust him. "On leaving Taranake we took our way along the coast, and after a journey of six weeks arrived at the East Cape, where we met with a great chief, named Bomurry, belonging to the Bay of Islands. He told us that he resided in the neighbourhood of Kendal,[BF] the missionary. He had about five hundred warriors with him, and several war-canoes, in one of which I observed a trunk, having on it the name of Captain Brin, of the 'Asp,' South Seaman. These people had also with them a number of muskets, with polished barrels, and a few small kegs of powder, as well as a great quantity of potatoes and flax mats. They had plundered and murdered nearly every person that lived between the East Cape and the river Thames; and the whole country dreaded the name of Bomurry. "This great warrior showed us several of the heads of chiefs whom he had killed on this expedition, and these, he said, he intended to carry back with him to the Bay of Islands, to sell for gunpowder to the ships that touched there. He and his followers having taken leave of us, and set sail in their canoes, we also left the East Cape the day following, and proceeded on our journey homewards, travelling during the day, and encamping at night in the woods, where we slept around large fires under the branches of the trees. In this way we arrived in four days at our own village, where I was received by Eshou, my eldest wife, with great joy. I was much fatigued by my journey, as was also my other wife, Epecka, who had accompanied me." The person whom Rutherford here calls Bomurry is doubtless the chief described in most of the other recent accounts of New Zealand under the name of Pomaree, or Pomarree[BG], one of the most extraordinary characters in that country. He had taken this name instead of another by which he used to be called, Nicholas informs us, a short time before he first saw him in 1815, because he had heard that it was that of the king of Otaheite, according to the practice which prevails among his countrymen of frequently changing their names, and calling themselves after persons of whose power or rank they have conceived a high idea. Pomaree is described by this gentleman as having been looked upon, even in his own country, as a monster of rapacity and cruelty, always involved in quarrels with his neighbours, and in the habit of stealing their property whenever he had an opportunity. Duaterra asserted that on a recent occasion he had made an incursion into his territory, and, without any provocation, murdered six of his people, the bodies of all of whom he afterwards devoured, not even their heads having escaped his gluttony, after he had stuck them upon a stick and roasted them at the fire. The New Zealand chiefs, however, not excepting the most respectable among them, were found to be sadly given to calumniate one another by all sorts of fictions; and even Pomaree, bad as he really was, seems sometimes to have been worse reported of by the others than he deserved. Upon another occasion Korro-korro told a long story about a design which he said had been formed to cut off the ship belonging to the missionaries, and of which he maintained that Pomaree was the principal instigator; but this was afterwards discovered to be a mere invention of that otherwise very honourable chief. Notwithstanding Pomaree's bad reputation, indeed, it is remarkable that we do not find a single instance anywhere recorded in which any European had reason to complain of his conduct. Nicholas was once dreadfully alarmed by the apprehension that he had decoyed away his friend, Marsden, to murder him; but was very soon relieved by the return of the reverend gentleman from a friendly walk which he had been enjoying, in the company of his supposed assassin, through one of the woods on his territory. Pomaree, in truth, was too thoroughly aware of the advantages to be derived from the visits of the Europeans to think of exercising his murderous propensities upon their persons, however fond he might have been of embruing his hands in the blood of his own countrymen. "We found Pomaree," says Nicholas, "to be a very extraordinary character; he was of more service to us in procuring timber than all the other chiefs put together; and I never met, in any part of the world, with a man who showed so much impatient avidity for transacting business. His abilities, too, in this line were very great; he was an excellent judge of several articles, and could give his opinion of an axe as well as any European; while handling it with ecstasy the moment he got it in his possession, his eyes would still feast themselves on so valuable an acquisition." He then relates an anecdote of him which strikingly corresponds with one of the circumstances which Rutherford mentions: his custom of trafficking in preserved heads. "This man," continues Nicholas, "displayed upon every occasion a more uncomplying spirit of independence than any of the other chiefs. It is customary with the New Zealanders to preserve from putrefaction, by a curious method, the heads of the enemies they have slain in battle; and Pomaree had acquired so great a proficiency in this art that he was considered the most expert at it of any of his countrymen. The process, as I was informed, consists of taking out the brains, and drying the head in such a manner as to keep the flesh entire; but in doing this an uncommon degree of skill and experience is required. Marsden put some questions to Pomaree one day about the plan he pursued in this art that gave him so decided a superiority over the others; but he was not willing to make him a direct reply, as he knew it was a subject on which we reflected with horror, and one which in its detail must be shocking to our feelings. But my friend asking him if he could procure a head preserved in this manner, it occurred to him that he might receive an axe for his trouble; and this idea made the man of business not only enter into a copious explanation of his system, but induced him also to offer us a sample of his practice, by telling us he would go and shoot some people who had killed his son, if we would supply him with powder for the purpose; and then, bringing back their heads, would show us all we wished to know about his art of preserving them. "It will easily be supposed that this sanguinary proposal immediately put an end to all further interrogatories; and Marsden, whose motive for questioning him on the subject was not to discover the nature of a practice so revolting to humanity, but to develop more fully the character of the individual, told him he must fight no more, and desired him, in positive terms, never to attempt to bring any sample of his art on board, as he had no intention of seeing it himself at the time he inquired about it, nor would he suffer any one in the ship to countenance such a shocking exhibition. "This was a sad disappointment to Pomaree, who found himself deceived in the hopes he had formed of increasing his wealth by the addition of another axe; and I cannot help believing that, for so tempting a reward, he would not have hesitated to take the life of the first person that came in his way, provided he could have done it with impunity. This chief omitted no opportunity of setting forth his great personal qualifications, as likewise the extensive authority he possessed; and he was constantly boasting of his warlike achievements, despising his rivals, and extolling himself over all the other heroes of New Zealand." Cruise has given us a short account of the manner of preserving heads; and we find it also detailed in Rutherford's journal, somewhat more minutely. According to him the skull is first completely emptied of its contents, the eyes and tongue being likewise extracted; after which the nostrils and entire inside of the skull are stuffed with flax. At the neck, where the head has been cut from the body, they draw the skin together like the mouth of a purse, leaving, however, an open space large enough to admit the hand. They then wrap it up in a quantity of green leaves, and in this state expose it to the fire till it is well steamed; after which the leaves are taken off, and it is next hung up to dry in the smoke, which causes the flesh to become tough and hard. Both the hair and teeth are preserved, and the tattooing on the face remains as plain as when the person was alive. The head, when thus cured, will keep for ever, if it be preserved dry. Cruise says that the heads are only exposed to a current of dry air; but it appears, from Rutherford's account, that they are hung in the smoke of a wood fire, and are thus, in fact, preserved from decaying principally by being impregnated with the pyroligneous acid. That the New Zealanders are well acquainted with the antiseptic powers of this extract is proved also by what was formerly stated as to their method of curing mussels. A French writer considers that this art of preserving heads is a proof of some original connection between the New Zealanders and the ancient world; as the process is as effective as that by which the Egyptians prepared their mummies. In savage countries the spirit of war is very much a spirit of personal hostility; and both because of this, and from the state of society not admitting of the erection of expensive public memorials which elsewhere, or in another age, are employed to preserve the renown of military exploits, the barbarian victor generally celebrates his triumph on the body of his slain enemy, in disfiguring which he first exercises his ingenuity, and afterwards in converting it into a permanent trophy of his prowess. The ancient Scythian warrior, Herodotus tells us, was wont to carry away the heads of all those whom he slew in battle, to present to his king; and the ancient Gauls, it is said, used to hang these bloody spoils around the necks of their horses. The Gauls are asserted also to have been in the practice of embalming the heads which they brought home from their wars, of which they had large collections, which they kept in chests. These they used to show with much exultation to the strangers who visited their country; boasting that neither they nor their ancestors had ever been known to dispose of such honourable heirlooms for any price that could be offered. Among some races it has been the custom to preserve only the scalp; as, for instance, among the Indians of America. The taking of scalps, however, is also a practice of great antiquity. The Scythians used to hang the scalps of their enemies to the harness of their horses; and he was deemed the most distinguished warrior whose equipage was most plentifully decorated with these ornaments. Some were accustomed to sew numbers of scalps together, so as to form a cloak, in which they arrayed themselves. It was also usual for the warriors of this nation to tear off the skin from the right hands of their slain enemies, and to preserve it with the nails attached; and sometimes they flayed the whole body, and, after drying the skin, made use of it as a covering for their horses. Some of the savage tribes of America are said to have been accustomed to practice the same barbarity, and to convert the skins of the hands into pouches for holding their tobacco. The history of Scotland affords an instance, even in comparatively recent times, of a victorious party, in the bitterness of their contempt and hatred, employing the skin of a slain enemy in a somewhat similar manner. Hugh Cressingham, appointed by Edward I. Lord Chief Justice of Scotland, having been slain at Stirling Bridge in an attack by Wallace, the Scots flayed him, and made saddles and girths of his skin. To recur to the practices of a higher state of civilization, our own custom, which existed as late as the last century, of exposing the heads of traitors, although meant as a warning, in the same way as hanging in chains, was perhaps a relic of those ferocious ages when it was not considered mean and brutal to carry revenge beyond the grave. The executions in London, after the rebellion of 1745, were followed by such a revolting display, useless for any object of salutary terror, and calculated only to excite a vulgar curiosity. Horace Walpole, in a very few words, describes the feelings with which the public crowded to this sight:--"I have been this morning at the Tower, and passed under the new heads of Temple Bar, where people make a trade of letting spying glasses at a halfpenny a look." The New Zealanders have, therefore, in some degree, a justification for this custom in the somewhat similar acts of civilized communities. At any rate, in preserving, as they do, the heads of their enemies, they only follow a practice which has been common to many other barbarous tribes. Although Pomaree, it would appear, made a merchandise of these heads when he had the opportunity, his countrymen, in general, are far from treating them with so much disrespect. It was with great reluctance that some of them were prevailed upon to sell one to Mr. Banks, when he was with Cook in Queen Charlotte Sound, in 1770; and nothing could induce them to part with a second. They are, in fact, preserved as spoils or trophies during the continuance of the war; and their restoration to the party from whom they have been taken is so indispensable a preliminary to the conclusion of a peace, that it is said no chief would dispose of them, unless it were his determination never to come to terms with his opponents; so that we may suppose this was what Pomaree had resolved upon. The brain is eaten, like the rest of the body; and the eyes are also frequently devoured by the conqueror, especially the left eye, which, it is believed, ascends to heaven and becomes a star. Shungie is stated, upon one occasion, to have eaten the left eye of a great chief whom he had killed in battle, under the idea of thus increasing the glory and brightness of his own left eye, when it should be transferred to the firmament; for it is understood that when any one eats of the person he has killed, the dead man becomes a part of himself. [Illustration: _Christchurch Museum._ Stone implements used by Maoris for cutting hair.] Nicholas tells another amusing story of Pomaree's style of doing "business," which we shall also give in his own words. "This wily chief," says he, "had cast a longing eye upon a chisel belonging to one of the missionaries, and to obtain it he had brought some fish on board, which he presented to the owner of the chisel with so much apparent generosity and friendliness, that the other could not help considering it a gratuitous favour, and, receiving it as such, told him he felt very grateful for his kindness. "But Pomaree had no idea of any such disinterested liberality, and as soon as the fish were eaten, he immediately demanded the chisel in return; which, however, was not granted, as it was a present much too valuable to be given away for so trifling a consideration. Incensed at the denial, the chief flew into a violent rage, and testified, by loud reproaches, how grievously he was provoked by the ill-success of his project. He told the person, who very properly refused to comply with his demand, that 'he was no good,' and that he would never again bring him anything more. He attempted the same crafty experiment upon another of our party also, but this proved equally abortive, the person being well aware of his character, and knowing he would require from him ten times more than the worth of his pretended favour." Though so covetous and crafty himself, however, Pomaree had no mercy to show for the delinquencies of others. On one occasion, when a poor "cookee" had been detected in the commission of some petty theft about the vessel, he was loud in his exhortations to the captain to hang him up immediately. The man appears, indeed, to have been altogether divested even of those natural affections which scarcely any of his savage countrymen but himself were found to be without. When Marsden and Nicholas left New Zealand, a number of the chiefs sent their sons with them to Port Jackson; and such a scene of anguish took place on the parting between the parents and their children that there was no European present, Nicholas says, not excepting the most obdurate sailor on board, who was not more or less affected. "But I cannot help noticing," he adds, "that in the general expression of inconsolable distress, Pomaree was the only person who showed no concern; he took leave of his son with all the indifference imaginable, and hurrying into his canoe, paddled back to the shore--a solitary exception to the affecting sensibility of his countrymen." Even Pomaree, however, could weep on some occasions, as the following account which Marsden gives us of an interview he had with him four or five years after this will show. "He told me," says Marsden, "that he was very angry that I had not brought a blacksmith for him; and that when he heard that there was no blacksmith for him, he sat down and wept much, and also his wives. I assured him that he should have one, as soon as one could be got for him. He replied it would be of no use to him to send a blacksmith when he was dead; and that he was at present in the greatest distress: his wooden spades were all broke, and he had not an axe to make any more; his canoes were all broke, and he had not a nail or a gimlet to mend them with; his potato grounds were uncultivated, and he had not a hoe to break them up with, nor a tool to employ his people; and that, for want of cultivation, he and his people would have nothing to eat. He begged me to compare the land of Tippoonah,[BH] which belonged to the inhabitants of Ranghee-hoo[BI] and Shungie, with his; observing, that their land was already prepared for planting, because a smith was there, and they could get hoes, &c. I endeavoured to pacify his mind with promises, but he paid little attention to what I said in respect to sending him a smith at a future period." Pomaree was by much too cunning to be cheated of his object in this way. He was evidently determined not to go without something in hand; and nothing accordingly would drive him from his point. When Marsden tried to divert his attention to another subject by asking him if he should wish to go to England, he replied at once that he should not; adding, with his characteristic shrewdness, that he was a little man when at Port Jackson, and should be less in England; but in his own country he was a great king. The conference ended at last by an express promise that he should have immediately three hoes, an axe, a few nails, and a gimlet. This instantly put him in great good humour. We have collected these notices in order to give a more complete illustration of so singular and interesting a character as that formed by the union of the rude and bloodthirsty barbarian with the bustling trafficker. It is an exhibition of the savage mind in a new guise. We have only to add, with regard to Pomaree, that it appears by other authorities, as well as by the notice we find in Rutherford, that he was in the habit of making very devastating excursions occasionally to the southern part of the island. When Cruise left New Zealand in 1820, he had been away on one of these expeditions nearly a year, nor was it known exactly where he had gone to. The people about the mouth of the Thames said they had seen him since he left home, but he had long ago left their district for one still farther south. The last notice we find of him, is in a letter from the Rev. H. Williams, in the "Missionary Register" for 1827, in which it is stated, that he had a short time before fallen in battle, having been cut to pieces, with many of his followers, by a tribe on whom he had made an attack. This event, of the circumstances of which Dillon was furnished with a particular account by some of the near relations of the deceased chief, took place in the southern part of the island. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote BC: This is one of the discrepancies in Rutherford's narrative. Taranaki is a district on the West Coast of the North Island, and is about 150 miles from Cook Strait.] [Footnote BD: Otago is a large province in the southern part of the South Island, 300 miles from the Strait. Rutherford probably refers to Takou, a Wairarapa chief, who was connected with the Ngai-Tahu of Otago.] [Footnote BE: It is supposed that the man was "Jim the Maori," the latter word being wrongly spelt "Moury" in the manuscript of Rutherford's story. The man's real name was James Caddell. He was an Englishman by birth, and lived amongst the Maoris so long that he became one of them, adopting their customs and ideas. Those who have investigated his case believe that he belonged to the "Sydney Cove," a sealer, which sailed in New Zealand waters. Near the South Cape, a boat from a sealer was captured by the Maoris, and all the members of the crew except Caddell were killed and eaten. Caddell, according to his own account, was saved by running to a chief and touching his mat. He was sixteen years of age then. He married a chief's daughter, and became a Maori in all respects except colour. He was captured by Captain Edwardson, of the "Snapper," and was taken to Sydney, where he seems to have paraded as a savage chief. While he was with the Maoris, he almost forgot the English language, and found much difficulty in making himself understood by Captain Edwardson.] [Footnote BF: Mr. Kendal was one of the missionaries who went to New Zealand with Marsden when missionary work in the country was begun.] [Footnote BG: Pomare.] [Footnote BH: Te Puna, at that time the principal town in the Bay of Islands.] [Footnote BI: Rangihoua.] CHAPTER IX. The New Zealanders, according to Rutherford, have neither priests, nor places of worship, nor any religion except their superstitious dread of the Atua. To an uneducated man, coming from a Christian country, the entire absence of all regular religious observances among these savages would very naturally give such an impression. Cook ascertained that they had no "morais"[BJ] or temples, like some of the other tribes of the South Seas; but he met with persons who evidently bore what we should call the priestly character. The New Zealanders are certainly not without some notions of religion; and, in many particulars, they are a remarkably superstitious people. During the whole course of their lives, the imagined presence of the unseen and supernatural crosses them at every step. What has been already stated respecting the "taboo" may give some idea of how submissive and habitual is their sense of the power of the Divinity, and how entirely they conceive themselves to be in his hands; as well as what a constant and prying superintendence they imagine him to exercise over their conduct. It would be easy to enumerate many minor superstitions, all indicative of the extraordinary influence of the same belief. They think, for instance, that if they were to allow a fire to be lighted under a shed where there are provisions, their god would kill them. They have many superstitions, also, with regard to cutting their hair. Cook speaks, in the account of his third voyage, of a young man he had taken on board the ship, who, having one day performed this ceremony, could not be prevailed upon to eat a morsel till night, insisting that the atua would most certainly kill him if he did. Cruise tells us that Tetoro, on the voyage from Port Jackson, cut the hair of one of his companions, and continued to repeat prayers over him during the whole operation. Nicholas, having one day found another chief busy in cutting his wife's hair with a piece of sharp stone, was going to take up the implement after it had been used, but was immediately charged by the chief not to touch it, as the deity of New Zealand would wreak his vengeance on him if he presumed to commit so daring a piece of impiety. "Laughing at his superstition," continues Nicholas, "I began to exclaim against its absurdity, but like Tooi, on a former occasion, he retorted by ridiculing our preaching, yet at the same time asking me to sermonize over his wife, as if his object was to have her exorcised; and upon my refusing, he began himself, but could not proceed from involuntary bursts of laughter." On this occasion, the chief, when he had cut off the hair, collected it all together, and, carrying it to the outskirts of the town, threw it away. Cook remarks that he used to see quantities of hair tied to the branches of the trees near the villages. It is stated, in a letter from one of the missionaries, that the hair, when cut, is carefully collected, and buried in a secret place. Certain superstitions have been connected with the cutting of the hair, from the most ancient times. Many allusions are found in the Greek and Roman writers to the practice of cutting off the hair of the dead, and presenting it as an offering to the infernal gods, in order to secure a free passage to Elysium for the person to whom it belonged. The passage in the fourth book of the "Æneid," where Iris appears by the command of Juno to liberate the soul of the expiring Queen of Carthage, by thus severing from her head the fatal lock, will occur to many of our readers. Whatever may have been the origin of this superstition, it is probable that most of the other notions and customs which have prevailed in regard to the cutting of the hair are connected with it. The act in this way naturally became significant of the separation from the living world of the person on whom it was performed. Of the antiquity of this practice, we have a proof in a command given by Moses to the Jews:--"Ye shall not cut yourselves, nor make any baldness between your eyes for the dead." These were superstitious customs of the nations by whom they were surrounded. The Gentiles used excessive lamentations, amounting to frenzy, at their funeral rites. According to Bruce, the Abyssinian woman, upon the death of a near relation, cuts the skin of both her temples with the nail of her little finger, which she leaves long on purpose; and thus every fair face throughout the country is disfigured with scars. The same notion of abstraction from the present life and its concerns is expressed by the clerical tonsure, so long known in the Christian church, and still retained among the Roman Catholics. It is still common, also, among ourselves, for widows, in the earlier period of their mourning, to cut off their hair, or to remove it back from the brow. Among all rude nations, besides, the hair has been held in peculiar estimation from its ornamental nature, and its capability of being formed into any shape, according to the fancy of its possessor, or the fashion of the country. Amongst nations, especially, where the ordinary clothing of the people, from the materials of which it was formed, did not admit of being made very decorative, this consideration would be much regarded, and still more where no clothing was worn at all. In such cases, the hair, either of the head or of the beard, has usually been cherished with very affectionate care, and the mode of dressing it has been made matter of anxious regulation. Many of the barbarous nations of antiquity had each a method of cutting the hair peculiar to itself; and it was sometimes accounted the deepest mark of servitude which a conqueror could impose when he compelled the violation of this sacred rule of national manners. We have a remnant of these old feelings in the reverence with which his beard is regarded by a Turk of the present day. It is recorded, too, that no reform which Peter the Great of Russia essayed to introduce among his semi-barbaric subjects was so pertinaciously resisted as his attempt to abbreviate their beards. Marsden, on asking a New Zealander what he conceived the atua to be, was answered--"An immortal shadow." Although possessed, however, of the attributes of immortality, omni-presence, invisibility, and supreme power, he is universally believed to be in disposition merely a vindictive and malignant demon. When one of the missionaries had one day been telling a number of them of the infinite goodness of God, they asked him if he was not joking with them. They believe that whenever any person is sick, his illness is occasioned by the atua, in the shape of a lizard, preying upon his entrails; and, accordingly, in such cases, they often address the most horrid imprecations and curses to the invisible cannibal, in the hope of thereby frightening him away. They imagine that at other times he amuses himself in entangling their nets and oversetting their canoes. Of late years they have suspected that he has been very angry with them for having allowed the white men to obtain a footing in their country, a proof of which they think they see in the greater mortality that has recently prevailed among them. This, however, they at other times attribute to the God of the Christians, whom they also denounce, accordingly, as a cruel being, at least to the New Zealander. Sometimes they more rationally assign as its cause the diseases that have been introduced among them by the whites. Until the whites came to their country, they say, young people did not die, but all lived to be so old as to be obliged to creep on their hands and knees. The white man's God they believe to be altogether a different being from their own atua. Marsden, in one of his letters, relates a conversation he had upon this subject with some of the chiefs' sons who resided with him in New South Wales. When he told them that there was but one God, and that our God was also theirs, they asked him if our God had given us any sweet potatoes, and could with difficulty be made to see how one God should give these to the New Zealander and not equally to the white man; or, on the other hand, how he should have acted so partially as to give to the white man only such possessions as cattle, sheep, and horses, which the New Zealander as much required. The argument, however, upon which they seem most to have rested, was:--"But we are of a different colour from you; and if one God made us both, he would not have committed such a mistake as to make us of different colours." Even one of the chiefs, who had been a great deal with Marsden, and was disposed to acknowledge the absurdity both of the "taboo" and of many of his other native superstitions, could not be brought to admit that the same God who made the white men had also made the New Zealanders. Among themselves, the New Zealanders appear to have a great variety of other gods, besides the one whom they call emphatically the atua. Crozet speaks of some feeble ideas which they have of subordinate divinities, to whom, he says, they are wont to pray for victory over their enemies. But Savage gives us a most particular account of their daily adoration of the sun, moon, and stars. Of the heavenly host, the moon, he says, is their favourite; though why he should think so, it is not easy to understand, seeing that, when addressing this luminary, they employ, he tells us, a mournful song, and seem as full of apprehension as of devotion; whereas "when paying their adoration to the rising sun, the arms are spread and the head bowed, with the appearance of much joy in their countenances, accompanied with a degree of elegant and reverential solemnity, and the song used upon the occasion is cheerful." It is strange that none of their other visitors have remarked the existence of this species of idolatry among these savages. Yet two New Zealanders, who are now in this country, were in the habit of commencing the exhibition of their national customs with the ceremonies practised in their morning devotion to the sun. The vocal part of the rite, according to the account we have received, consisted in a low monotonous chant; the manual, in keeping a ball about the size of an orange constantly whirling in a vertical circle. The whole was performed in a kneeling posture. Like most other rude nations, the New Zealanders have certain fancies with regard to several of the more remarkable constellations; and are not without some conception that the issues of human affairs are occasionally influenced, or at least indicated, by the movements of the stars. The Pleiades, for instance, they believe to be seven of their departed countrymen, fixed in the firmament; one eye of each of them appearing in the shape of a star, being the only part that is visible. But it is a common superstition among them, as we have already noticed, that the left eyes of their chiefs, after death, become stars. This notion is far from being destitute of poetical beauty; and perhaps, indeed, exhibits the common mythological doctrine of the glittering host of heaven being merely an assemblage of the departed heroes of earth, in as ingenious a version as it ever has received. It would be easy to collect many proofs of the extensive diffusion of this ancient faith, traces of which are to be found in the primitive astronomy of every people. The classical reader will at once recollect, among many others of a similar kind, the stories of Castor and Pollux, and of Berenice's tresses, the latter of which has been so elegantly imitated by Pope, in telling us of the fate of the vanished lock of Belinda:-- "But trust the muse--she saw it upward rise, Though marked by none but quick poetic eyes; (So Home's great founder to the heavens withdrew, To Proculus alone confessed to view); A sudden star it shot through liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair." The New Zealanders conceive, also, that what we call a shooting star is ominous of the approaching dissolution of any one of their great chiefs who may be unwell when it is seen. Like the vulgar among ourselves, too, they have their man in the moon; who, they say, is one of their countrymen named Rona, who was taken up long ago, one night when he went to the well to fetch water. Nicholas has given us, on the authority of his friend Duaterra, the most particular account that has appeared of the inferior deities of New Zealand. Their number, according to him, is very great, and each of them has his distinct powers and functions; one being placed over the elements, another over the fowls and fishes, and so of the rest. Deifications of the different passions and affections, also, it seems, find a place in this extended mythology. In another part of his work, Nicholas remarks, as corroborative of the Malay descent of the New Zealanders, the singular coincidence, in some respects, between their mythology and that of the ancient Malay tribe, the Battas of Sumatra, whose extraordinary cannibal practices we have already detailed; especially in the circumstance of the three principal divinities of the Battas having precisely the same functions assigned to them with the three that occupy the same rank in the system of the New Zealanders.[BK] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote BJ: Marae. With Maoris and Samoans the word means an open space in a village; in the Tahitian, Mangaian, and Paumotan languages it means a temple, or a place where rites were performed.] [Footnote BK: The religion, and superstitions and legends of the Maoris are dealt with in Sir George Grey's "Polynesian Mythology," Mr. S. Percy Smith's "Hawaiki," articles by Mr. Elsdon Best in the "Transactions of the New Zealand Institute," articles by that author and by Mr. Percy Smith in the "Journal of the Polynesian Society," Mr. E. Tregear's "The Maori Race," and Mr. J.C. Andersen's "Maori Life in Ao-tea."] CHAPTER X. It is very remarkable that the New Zealanders attribute the creation of man to their three principal deities acting together; thus exhibiting in their barbarous theology something like a shadow of the Christian Trinity. What is still more extraordinary is their tradition respecting the formation of the first woman, who, they say, was made of one of the man's ribs; and their general term for bone is hevee, or, as Professor Lee gives it, iwi[BL] a sound bearing a singular resemblance to the Hebrew name of our first mother. [Illustration: _Christchurch Museum._ Carved boxes (_waka-papa_, or _waka_) for holding feathers and trinkets. The upper box is said to have formed part of Captain Cook's collection.] Particular individuals and places would also seem to have their own gods. When the "Active" was in the river Thames, a gale of wind, by which the ship was attacked, was attributed by the natives on board to the anger of the god of Shoupah,[BM] the Areekee who resided in the neighbourhood. Kórro-korro, who was among them said that as soon as he got on shore he would endeavour to prevail upon the Areekee to propitiate the offended deity. When Marsden asked the people of Kiperro[BN] if they knew anything of their god, or ever had any communication with him, they replied that they often heard him whistle. The chiefs, too, are often called atuas, or gods, even while they are alive. The aged chief, Tarra,[BO] maintained to one of the missionaries that the god of thunder resided in his forehead; and Shungie and Okeda[BP] asserted that they were possessed by gods of the sea. The part of the heavens in which the gods reside is represented as beautiful in the extreme. "When the clouds are beautifully chequered," writes Kendal, "the atua above, it is supposed, is planting sweet potatoes. At the season when these are planted in the ground, the planters dress themselves in their best raiment, and say that, as atuas on earth, they are imitating the atua in heaven." The New Zealanders believe that the souls of the higher orders among them are immortal; but they hold that when the "cookees" die they perish for ever. The spirit, they think, leaves the body the third day after death, till which time it hovers round the corpse, and hears very well whatever is said to it. But they hold also, it would seem, that there is a separate immortality for each of the eyes of the dead person; the left, as before-mentioned, ascending to heaven and becoming a star, and the other, in the shape of a spirit, taking flight for the Reinga. Reinga signifies, properly, the place of flight; and is said, in some of the accounts, to be a rock or a mountain at the North Cape from which, according to others, the spirits descend into the next world through the sea. The notion which the New Zealanders really entertain as to this matter appears to be that the spirits first leap from the North Cape into the sea, and thence emerge into an Elysium situated in the islands of the Three Kings. The submarine path to the blissful region of the New Zealanders is less intricate than that of the Huron of America:-- "To the country of the Dead, Long and painful is thy way! O'er rivers wide and deep Lies the road that must be past, By bridges narrow-wall'd, When scarce the soul can force its way, While the loose fabric totters under it." In the heaven of the New Zealanders, as in that of the ancient Goths, the chief employment of the blessed is war, their old delight while on earth. The idea of any more tranquil happiness has no charms for them. Speaking of an assembly of them which he had been endeavouring to instruct in the doctrines of Christianity, one of the Wesleyan missionaries says: "On telling them about the two eternal states, as described in the Scriptures, an old chief began to protest against these things with all the vehemence imaginable, and said that he would not go to heaven, nor would he go to hell to have nothing but fire to eat; but he would go to the Reinga or Po, to eat coomeras, (sweet potatoes) with his friends who had gone before." The slaves that are sacrificed upon the death of a chief, by his friends, are generally intended to prevent him from coming again to destroy them; but we find that on the occasion of a child having been drowned, the mother insisted upon a female slave being killed, to be a companion for it on its way to the Reinga. Though the New Zealanders do not assemble together at stated times to worship their gods, they are in the habit of praying to them in all their emergencies. Thus, when Korro-korro met his aunt, as before related, his brother Tooi informed Nicholas that the ejaculations the old woman uttered as she approached were prayers to the divinity. When Korro-korro urged Marsden to take his son with him to Port Jackson, and was told by that gentleman that he was afraid to do so lest the boy should die, as so many of his countrymen had done when removed from their native island, the chief replied, that he would pray for his son during his absence, as he had done for his brother Tooi when he was in England, and then he would not die. Tupee,[BQ] too, another of the Bay of Islands chiefs, Marsden tells us, used to pray frequently. When that gentleman lay sick in his cot, on the voyage home from his first visit to New Zealand, Tupee, who was with him, used to sit by his side, and, laying his hands on different parts of his body, addressed himself all the while with great devotion to his god, in intercession for his friend's recovery. The priests, or tohungas, as they are called, are persons of great importance and authority in New Zealand, being esteemed almost the keepers and rulers of the gods themselves. Many of the greatest of the chiefs and Areekees are also priests, as was, for example, Tupee, whom we have just mentioned. It is the priest who attends at the bedside of the dying chief, and regulates every part of the treatment of the patient. When the body of a chief who has been killed in battle is to be eaten, it is the priest who first gives the command for its being roasted. The first mouthfuls of the flesh, also, being regarded as the dues of the gods, are always eaten by the priest. In the case of any public calamity, it is the priest whose aid is invoked to obtain relief from heaven. Marsden states that on occasion of the caterpillars one year making great ravages among the crops of sweet potatoes at Rangheehoo,[BR] the people of that place sent to Cowa-Cowa[BS] for a great priest to avert the heavy judgment; and that he came and remained with them for several months, during which he employed himself busily in the performance of prayers and ceremonies. The New Zealanders also consider all their priests as a species of sorcerers, and believe they have the power to take the lives of whomsoever they choose by incantation. Themorangha,[BT] one of the most enlightened of the chiefs, came one day to Marsden, in great agitation, to inform him that a brother chief had threatened to employ a priest to destroy him in this manner, for not having sold to sufficient advantage an article which he had given him to dispose of. "I endeavoured," says Marsden, "to convince him of the absurdity of such a threat; but to no purpose; he still persisted that he should die, and that the priest possessed that power; and began to draw the lines of incantation on the ship's deck, in order to convince me how the operation was performed. He said that the messenger was waiting alongside, in a canoe, for his answer. Finding it of no use to argue with him, I gave him an axe, which he joyfully received, and delivered to the messenger, with a request that the chief would be satisfied, and not proceed against him." Themorangha seems to have been particularly selected by these priests as a subject for their roguish practices, perhaps by way of revenge for the freedom with which he occasionally expressed himself in regard to their pretensions, when his fears were not excited. A short time before this, one of them had terrified him not a little by telling him that he had seen his ghost during the night, and had been informed, by the atua, that if he went to a certain place to which he was then about to proceed, he would die in a few days. He soon, however, got so far the better of his fears as, notwithstanding this alarming intimation, to venture to accompany Marsden to the forbidden district; and he expressed his feelings of contempt for the sacred order in no measured terms, when he found that at the expiration of the predicted period he was still alive. He said that there were too many priests at New Zealand, and that they "tabooed" and prayed the people to death. Others, as well as the priests, however, are supposed sometimes to have the power of witchcraft. Two of the missionaries, when one day about to land at a place a short distance from the settlement, were alarmed by nearly running the boat's head on three human bodies, which lay close together by the water's edge among some rushes; and upon inquiry they were informed that they were the bodies of three slaves who had been killed that morning for makootooing a chief, _i.e._ betwitching or praying evil prayers against him, which had caused his death.[BU] A common method which the priests use of bewitching those whom they mean to destroy, is to curse them, which is universally believed to have a fatal effect. The curse seems usually to be uttered in the shape of a yell or song, so that the process is literally a species of incantation. Bishop Newton, in his commentary on the scriptural account of Balaam being sent for to curse the Israelites, says, "It was a superstitious ceremony in use among the heathens, to devote their enemies to destruction at the beginning of their wars; as if the gods would enter into their passions, and were as unjust and partial as themselves." The demeanour of most of the New Zealand priests is something so entirely different from that observed by the ministers of religion in civilized countries that it is not surprising Rutherford should have failed to recognise them as belonging to that order. Thus, we read of a priest who speaks of having killed, not by enchantment, but in the usual way, with his own hands, both a woman who had gone on board a ship contrary to his orders, and a man who had stolen some potatoes. Another is mentioned as having one day introduced himself into the house of Mr. Williams, one of the missionaries, by springing over the fence, and then, when his rude conduct was reproved, stripping himself to fight with that gentleman. The same personage, who bore the venerable name of Towee Taboo,[BV] or Holy Towee, a short time after attempted to break Mr. Williams's door to pieces with a long pole; and when he could not accomplish that object, effected his entrance by leaping over the fence as before. What he now wanted, he said, was hootoo,[BW] or payment, for a hurt which he had given his foot in performing this exploit on the former occasion. When this strange demand was refused, he attempted to set the house on fire; and having collected a mob of his friends, would certainly have done so, had not another party of the natives come to the assistance of Mr. Williams and his family. But one of the most remarkable among this order of men seems to be Tamanhena[BX], the priest of the head of the Shukehanga, who is believed to have absolute command over the winds and waves. Marsden met with this dignitary on his second visit to New Zealand; and found that, in addition to being a priest, he was in the habit of acting as a pilot, a profession with which the other suited very well, as by virtue of his sacred character he had the power of keeping the winds and waves quiet whenever he chose to put to sea. Accordingly, Marsden went out with him in a canoe to examine the entrance of the river; Tamanhena assuring him, though it blew very fresh, that he would soon make both the wind and the waves fall. "We were no sooner in the canoe," continues Marsden, "than the priest began to exert all his powers to still the gods, the winds, and the waves. He spake in an angry and commanding tone. However, I did not perceive either the winds or waves yield to his authority; and when we reached the head, I requested to go on shore." Tamanhena wished very much to learn to pray like the Europeans, and said he should willingly give a farm to any missionary who would come to reside near him. He also promised that he would let Marsden hear his god speak to him; but when they got to the place where the conference was to be held, he discovered that the god was not there. Marsden, however, found him remarkably well informed on all subjects relating to his country and religion, and thought him, upon the whole, a very sensible man, making allowance for his theological opinions. Cruise has, however, detailed some particulars of this venerable personage, whom he also met with a few months after Marsden had seen him, which grievously detract from his character for sanctity. He made the voyage with them in the "Dromedary" from the Bay of Islands to the mouth of the Shukehanga, but announced his intention of leaving them the day after their arrival. "During his stay in the ship," says Cruise, "there certainly was nothing of a very sacred character about him; he was by far the wildest of his companions; and, unfortunately, on the morning fixed for his departure, a soldier having missed his jacket, there was so great a suspicion of the pilot's honesty, that the sentinel at the gangway took the liberty of lifting up his mat, as he prepared to go down the side, and discovered the stolen property under it. "The jacket was of course taken from him; and as the only excuse he had to offer for his misconduct was that he had lost a shirt that had been given to him, and that he considered himself authorised to get remuneration in any way he could, he was dismissed without those presents which were given to the others. We were glad to see that his countrymen seemed to notice his conduct in the strongest terms of disapprobation; and the next day, when they were about to leave us, they seemed so determined to put him to death that they were requested not to do so, but to consider his having lost his presents, and his being forbidden ever to come near the ship, a sufficient punishment for his offence." It is very remarkable, that, whenever a child is born in New Zealand, it is the invariable practice to take it to the tohunga, or priest, who sprinkles it on the face with water, from a leaf which he holds in his hand. It is believed that the neglect of this ceremony would be attended with the most baneful consequences to the child. Much reverence is felt among the New Zealanders for dreams; and it is believed that the favoured of heaven often receive in this way the communications of the gods. We need hardly remark how universal this superstition has been. The reader of Homer will recollect the [Greek: kai gar t onar ek Dios estin] of that poet, and the [Greek: oulos oneiros], or evil dream, which, in the second book of the Iliad, Jupiter sends down to Agamemnon, to lure him to give battle to the Trojans in the absence of Achilles. We must refer to Lafitau's learned work on the savages of America for an account of the notions which prevail among them as to divination by dreams. Dillon tells us that he found no way so effectual of repressing the importunities of his New Zealand friends, in any case in which it was inconvenient to gratify them, as assuring them he had dreamed that the favour they requested would turn out a misfortune to them. When some of them, for example, entreated that he would take them with him to India, he told them that he had dreamed that if they went to that country they would die there; and this at once put an end to their solicitations. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote BL: The Maoris and Hawaiians use the word "iwi" for a bone; the Samoans, Tahitians, and other islanders say "ivi."] [Footnote BM: Probably Tupa.] [Footnote BN: Probably Kaipara.] [Footnote BO: Tara.] [Footnote BP: Okita.] [Footnote BQ: Tupi.] [Footnote BR: Rangihoua, in the Bay of Islands.] [Footnote BS: Kawa-kawa, in the same district.] [Footnote BT: Te Morenga, a chief of the Bay of Islands.] [Footnote BU: The maketu, which is correctly described here, was one of the most firmly established institutions in New Zealand in old times.] [Footnote BV: Tui Tapu.] [Footnote BW: Utu. This is another great institution amongst the ancient Maoris. It represents the principle of payment, an equivalent, a return, compensation, or satisfaction for injuries.] [Footnote BX: Tamihana.] CHAPTER XI. For some time after his return from Cook Strait, Rutherford's life appears to have been unvaried by any incident of moment. "At length," says he, "one day a messenger arrived from a neighbouring village, with the news that all the chiefs for miles round were about to set out, in three days, for a place called Kipara,[BY] near the source of the river Thames, and distant about two hundred miles from our village. The messenger brought also a request from the other chiefs to Aimy to join them along with his warriors; and he replied that he would meet them at Kipara at the time appointed. We understood that we were to be opposed at Kipara by a number of chiefs from the Bay of Islands and the river Thames, according to an appointment which had been made with the chiefs in our neighbourhood. "Accordingly, everything was got ready for our journey as quickly as possible; and the women were immediately set to work to make a great number of new baskets, in which to carry our provisions. It is the custom for every person going on such an expedition to find his own arms and ammunition, as also provisions, and slaves to carry them. On the other hand, every family plunder for themselves, and give only what they think proper to the chief. The slaves are not required to fight, though they often run to the assistance of their masters while engaged. "When the day was come for our departure, I started along with the rest, being armed with my mery, a brace of pistols, and a double-barrelled fowling-piece, and having also with me some powder and ball, and a great quantity of duck-shot, which I took for the purpose of killing game on our journey. "I was accompanied by my wife Epecka, who carried three new mats to be a bed for us, which had been made by Eshou during my absence at Taranake. "The warriors and slaves, whom we took with us, amounted in all to about five hundred; but the slaves, as they got rid of the provisions they carried, were sent home again, as we had no further use for them. While on our journey, if we came to a friendly village at night, we slept there; but, if not, we encamped in the woods. When the provisions we had brought with us were all consumed, we were compelled to plunder wherever we could find anything. Our journey, being made during the rainy season, was more than usually fatiguing. We were five weeks in reaching Kipara, where we found about eleven hundred more natives encamped by the side of a river. On our arrival, huts were immediately constructed for our party, and one was allotted to me and my wife. We had also two female slaves allowed us for the purpose of digging fern-root, gathering cockles, and catching fish, which articles were our only provisions while we remained here; unless now and then, when I went to the woods, and shot a few wood-pigeons or a wild pig." A party of New Zealanders thus wandering through their country, with all the inconveniences attending the movement of large bodies of men, but without the combinations of foresight which are necessary for the safety of an army, or the management of supplies, must be occasionally exposed to great privations. Their island, however, it would seem from Rutherford's narrative, abundantly supplied them with provisions, and their slaves were at hand to perform the office of cooks. Their method of procuring fire for culinary purposes and warmth is curious; and we may as well mention it somewhat fully here, before we proceed to the more busy parts of Rutherford's narrative. When Nicholas was in New Zealand, he had an opportunity of seeing the process usually resorted to. "The place where we landed," says he, speaking of an excursion which he made with Marsden, and some of the chiefs, to a place a short distance from the Missionary Settlement, "was a small plantation of potatoes belonging to Shungie, and here our party intended to prepare their refreshments, seating themselves, along the ground for the purpose. Fire, however, was wanting; and to procure it, Shungie took my fowling-piece, and, stopping up the touch-hole, he put a small piece of linen into the pan, and endeavoured to excite a spark. But this expedient proved unsuccessful, as the lock had got rusted and would not go off; he then got some dry grass and a piece of rotten wood, and turning a small stick rapidly between his hands, in the same manner as we mill chocolate, the friction caused the touchwood, in which the point of the stick was inserted, to take fire; while, wrapping it up in the dry grass, and shaking it backward and forward, he very soon produced a flame, which he communicated to some dry sticks, and other fuel that our party had collected." This was not, however, any sudden device of Shungie's, but merely the contrivance in general use in such emergencies among his countrymen. "We have mentioned two New Zealanders, who are at present in this country, and have recently been exhibiting the dances and other customs of their native land, in several of our provincial towns. Among other things which they show is this method of kindling fire, and we extract from the letter of a correspondent who saw them at Birmingham, the following account of this part of their performance:--'A small board of well-dried pine was laid upon the floor, and the younger New Zealander took in his hand a wedge about nine inches long, and of the same material; then rubbing with this upon the board, in a direction parallel to the grain, he made a groove, about a quarter of an inch deep and six or seven inches long. The friction, of course, produced a quantity of what, had it been produced by another means, would have been called sawdust; and this he collected at the end of the groove farthest from that part of the board on which he was kneeling. He then continued his operation; and in a short time the wood began to smoke, the sides of the groove becoming completely charred. On this he stopped and gathered the tinder over that part of the groove which appeared to be most strongly heated. After a few moments, it became manifest that the sawdust or tinder was ignited; and a gentle application of the breath now drew forth a flame which rose to the height of several inches. This experiment did not always succeed the first time; whenever it was repeated, whether after failure or success, the operator took a new wedge and formed a new groove, and it was stated that this was absolutely necessary. The process was evidently one of very great labour; at the conclusion of it, the operator was steaming with perspiration, and his elder countryman stated that his own strength was unequal to the feat.'" [Illustration: _Tourist Dept. Photo._ Greenstone axes, with carved wooden handles, and ornamented with dogs' hair and birds' feathers.] This method of procuring fire has, in fact, been in use from the most ancient times, and in all parts of the world. It was, as Lafitau remarks, the very method which was prescribed for rekindling the vestal fire at Rome, when it was accidentally extinguished. This writer describes it as in use also among several tribes of the Indians of South America. Among them, however, it is somewhat more artificially managed than it appears to be among the New Zealanders, inasmuch as their practice is first to make a hole in the wood with the tooth of the acouti, and then to insert in this an instrument resembling a wimble, by the rapid revolution of which the wood is set on fire. The Baron Alexander de Humboldt gives a similar account of the manner in which the operation appears to have been performed among the ancient Mexicans, who adopted this method of rekindling their fires, on their general extinction at the end of every cycle of fifty-two years. In a letter which Humboldt has printed at the conclusion of his work, from M. Visconti, it is remarked that we find mention made of this contrivance both in Homer's "Hymn to Mercury," and in the "Argonautics" of Apollonius Rhodius. The scholiast of the latter gives a description of the process, which exactly answers to the Mexican delineation. "On the opposite side of the river," Rutherford proceeds, "which was about half a mile wide, and not more than four feet deep in any part, about four hundred of the enemy were encamped, waiting for reinforcements. Meanwhile messengers were continually passing from the one party to the other, with messages concerning the war. "One of them informed us that there was a white man in his party who had heard of and wished to see me; and that the chiefs, who also wished to see me, would give me permission to cross the river to meet him, and I should return unmolested whenever I thought proper. With Aimy's consent, therefore, I went across the river; but I was not permitted to go armed, nor yet to take my wife with me. When I arrived on the opposite side, several of the chiefs saluted me in the usual manner by touching my nose with theirs; and I afterwards was seated in the midst of them by the side of the white man, who told me his name was John Mawman, that he was a native of Port Jackson, and that he had run away from the 'Tees' sloop of war while she lay at this island. He had since joined the natives, and was now living with a chief named Rawmatty;[BZ] whose daughter he had married, and whose residence was at a place called Sukyanna,[CA] on the west coast, within fifty miles of the Bay of Islands. He said that he had been at the Bay of Islands a short time before, and had seen several of the English missionaries. He also said that he had heard that the natives had lately taken a vessel at a place called Wangalore, which they had plundered and then turned adrift; but that the crew had escaped in their boats and put to sea. This is the same place where the crew of the ship 'Boyd' were murdered some years before.[CB] "While I remained among these people, a slave was brought up before one of the chiefs, who immediately arose from the ground, and struck him with his mery and killed him. This mery was different from any of the rest, being made of steel. The heart was taken out of the slave as soon as he had fallen, and instantly devoured by the chief who slew him. I then inquired who this chief was, and was informed that his name was Shungie, one of the two chiefs who had been at England, and had been presented to many of the nobility there, from whom he received many valuable presents; among others, a double-barrelled gun and a suit of armour, which he has since worn in many battles. His reason, they told me, for killing the slave, who was one belonging to himself, was that he had stolen the suit of armour, and was running away with it to the enemy, when he was taken prisoner by a party stationed on the outskirts of the encampment. This was the only act of theft which I ever saw punished in New Zealand. "Although Shungie has been two years among Europeans, I still consider him to be one of the most ferocious cannibals in his native country. He protects the missionaries who live on his ground entirely for the sake of what he can get from them. "I now returned to my own party. Early the next morning the enemy retreated to a distance of about two miles from the river; upon observing which our party immediately threw off their mats, and got under arms. The two parties had altogether about two thousand muskets among them, chiefly purchased from the English and American South Sea ships which touch at the island. We now crossed the river; and, having arrived on the opposite side, I took my station on a rising ground, about a quarter of a mile distant from where our party halted, so that I had a full view of the engagement. "I was not myself required to fight, but I loaded my double-barrelled gun, and, thus armed, remained at my post, my wife and the two slave girls having seated themselves at my feet. "The commander-in-chief of each party now stepped forward a few yards, and, placing himself in front of his troops, commenced the war-song. When this was ended both parties danced a war-dance, singing at the same time as loud as they could, and brandishing their weapons in the air. "Having finished their dance, each party formed into a line two-deep, the women and boys stationing themselves about ten yards to the rear. "The two bodies then advanced to within about a hundred yards of each other, when they fired off their muskets. Few of them put the musket to the shoulder while firing it, but merely held it at the charge. They only fired once; and then, throwing their muskets behind them, where they were picked up by the women and boys, drew their merys and tomahawks out of their belts, when, the war-song being screamed by the whole of them together in a manner most dismal to be heard, the two parties rushed into close combat. "They now took hold of the hair of each other's heads with their left hands, using the right to cut off the head. Meantime the women and boys followed close behind them, uttering the most shocking cries I ever heard. These last received the heads of the slain from those engaged in the battle as soon as they were cut off, after which the men went in among the enemy for the dead bodies; but many of them received bodies that did not belong to the heads they had cut off. "The engagement had not lasted many minutes, when the enemy began to retreat, and were pursued by our party through the woods. Some of them, in their flight, crossed the hill on which I stood; and one threw a short jagged spear at me as he passed, which stuck in the inside of my left thigh. It was afterwards cut out by two women with an oyster-shell. The operation left a wound as large as a common-sized tea-cup; and after it had been performed I was carried across the river on a woman's back to my hut, where my wife applied some green herbs to the wound, which immediately stopped the bleeding, and also made the pain much less severe. "In a short time our party returned victorious, bringing along with them many prisoners. Persons taken in battle, whether chiefs or not, become slaves to those who take them. One of our chiefs had been shot by Shungie, and the body was brought back, and laid upon some mats before the huts. Twenty heads, also, were placed upon long spears, which were stuck up around our huts; and nearly twice as many bodies were put to the fires, to be cooked in the accustomed way. "Our party continued dancing and singing all night; and the next morning they had a grand feast on the dead bodies and fern-roots, in honour of the victory they had gained. The name of the chief whose body lay in front of our huts was Ewanna. He was one of those who were at the taking of our vessel. His body was now cut into several pieces, which, being packed into baskets, covered with black mats, were put into one of the canoes, to be taken along with us down the river. There were, besides Ewanna, five other chiefs killed on our side, whose names were Nainy, Ewarree, Tometooi, Ewarrehum, and Erow.[CC] On the other side, three chiefs were killed, namely, Charly, Shungie's eldest son, and two sons of Mootyi,[CD] a great chief of Sukyanna. Their heads were brought home by our people as trophies of war, and cured in the usual manner. "We now left Kipara in a number of canoes, and proceeded down the river to a place called Shaurakke,[CE] where the mother of one of the chiefs who was killed resided. "When we arrived in sight of this place, the canoes all closed together, and joined in singing a funeral song. "By this time, several of the hills before us were crowded with women and children, who, having their faces painted with ochre, and their heads adorned with white feathers, were waving their mats, and calling out to us 'ara mi, ara mi,' the usual welcome home. "When the funeral song was ended, we disembarked from our canoes, which we hauled up from the river, and our party then performed a dance, entirely naked; after which they were met by another party of warriors, from behind the hill, with whom they engaged in a sham fight, which lasted about twenty minutes. Both parties then seated themselves around the house belonging to the chief of the village, in front of which the baskets containing the dead body were at the same time placed. They were then all opened, and the head, being taken out and decorated with feathers, was placed on the top of one of the baskets; while the rest of the heads that had been taken at the battle were stuck on long spears, in various parts of the village. Meanwhile, the mother of the slain chief stood on the roof of the house, dressed in a feathered cloak and turban, continually turning herself round, wringing her hands, and crying for the loss of her son. "The dead body having been in a few days buried with the usual ceremonies, we all prepared to return to our own village. Shaurakke is one of the most delightful spots in New Zealand, and has more cultivated land about it than I saw anywhere else. While I was here, I saw a slave-woman eat part of her own child, which had been killed by the chief, her master. I have known several instances of New Zealand women eating their children as soon as they were born." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote BY: Kaipara.] [Footnote BZ: Raumati.] [Footnote CA: Another rendition of Hokianga.] [Footnote CB: Mr. Craik adds a note stating that the place which Rutherford here calls Wangalore is Wangaroa. (The proper spelling is Whangaroa.) The ship, he says, was the "Mercury," of London, South Sea whaler, which put in at Wangaroa on March 5th, 1825, and was plundered of the greater part of her cargo by the natives. She was also so much disabled by the attack made upon her that, after a vain attempt to carry her round to the Bay of Islands, it was found necessary to abandon her, when she drove to sea, and asserted that no cause of offence whatever was given to the natives by the captain or crew of the "Mercury," while the conduct of the former was in all respects treacherous, unfeeling, and provoking.] [Footnote CC: All the names are spelt wrongly.] [Footnote CD: Probably Matui or Matohi.] [Footnote CE: Evidently Hauraki, which, however, is on the east coast, while Knipara is on the west.] CHAPTER XII. This is, we believe, the most complete account, and, at the same time, the one most to be depended on, which has yet been given to the public, of a New Zealand battle. None of the other persons who have described to us the manners of these savages have seen them engaged with each other, except in a sham fight; although Nicholas, on one occasion, was very near being afforded an opportunity of witnessing a real combat. That gentleman and Marsden, however, have given us some very interesting details respecting the preliminaries to an actual engagement. They describe the debates which generally take place in the war-council of a tribe or district previous to any declaration of hostilities; and those conferences between the two opposing parties in which, even after they have met on the intended field of action, the matter of dispute is often made the subject of a war of argument and eloquence, and sometimes, it would seem, is even settled without any resort to more destructive weapons. When Marsden visited the neighbourhood of the Shukehanga, in 1819, he found a quarrel just about to commence between two of the principal chiefs, whose lands lay contiguous, and who were also, it appeared, nearly related, in consequence of the pigs of the one having got into the sweet potato grounds of the other, who had retaliated by shooting several of them. The chief whose pigs had committed the trespass, and whom Marsden was now visiting, was an old man, apparently eighty years of age, named Warremaddoo,[CF] who had now resigned the supreme authority to his son Matanghee;[CG] yet this affair rekindled all the ancient enthusiasm of the venerable warrior. The other chief was called Moodewhy.[CH] The morning debate, at which several chiefs spoke with great force and dignity, had been suddenly interrupted; but it was resumed in the evening, when Marsden was again present. On this occasion, old Warremaddoo threw off his mat, took his spear, and began to address his tribe and the chiefs. He made strong appeals to them against the injustice and ingratitude of Moodeewhy's conduct towards them, recited many injuries which he and his tribe had suffered from Moodeewhy for a long period, mentioned instances of his bad conduct at the time that his father's bones were removed from the Ahoodu Pa to their family vault, stated acts of kindness which he had shown to Moodeewhy at different times, and said that he had twice saved his tribe from total ruin. In the present instance, Moodeewhy had killed three of his hogs. Every time he mentioned his loss, the recollection seemed to nerve afresh his aged sinews: he shook his hoary beard, stamped with indignant rage, and poised his quivering spear. He exhorted his tribe to be bold and courageous; and declared that he would head them in the morning against the enemy, and, rather than he would submit, he would be killed and eaten. All that they wanted was firmness and courage; he knew well the enemies they had to meet, their hearts did not lie deep; and, if they were resolutely opposed, they would yield. His oration continued nearly an hour, and all listened to him with great attention. This dispute, however, partly through Marsden's intercession, who offered to give each of the indignant leaders an adze if they would make peace, was at last amicably adjusted; and the two, as the natives expressed it, "were made both alike inside." But Marsden was a good deal surprised on observing old Warremaddoo, immediately after he had rubbed noses with Moodeewhy in token of reconcilement, begin, with his slaves, to burn and destroy the fence of the enclosure in which they were assembled, belonging to Moodeewhy, who, however, took no notice of the destruction of his property thus going on before his face. Upon inquiry, he was told that this was done in satisfaction for a fence of the old man's which Moodeewhy had destroyed in the first instance, and the breaking down of which had, in fact, given rise to the trespass. A New Zealander would hold himself to be guilty of a breach of the first principles of honour if he ever made up a quarrel without having exacted full compensation for what he might conceive to be his wrongs. The battle which Nicholas expected to witness was to be fought between the tribe of an old chief named Henou,[CI] and that of another, named Wiveah,[CJ] who had seduced his wife. The two parties met in adjoining enclosures, and Nicholas took his station on the roof of a neighbouring hut to observe their proceedings. The conference was commenced by an old warrior on Henou's side, who, rising, amid the universal silence of both camps, addressed himself to Wiveah and his followers. Nicholas describes the venerable orator as walking, or rather running, up and down a paling, which formed one side of the enclosure in which he was, uttering his words in a tone of violent resentment, and occasionally shaking his head and brandishing his spear. He was answered in a mild and conciliating manner by two of Wiveah's followers. To them another warrior of Henou's party replied, in what Nicholas calls a masterly style of native eloquence. In easy dignity of manner he greatly excelled the other orators. "He spoke," says the author, "for a considerable time; and I could not behold, without admiration, the graceful elegance of his deportment, and the appropriate accordance of his action. Holding his pattoo-pattoo[CK] in his hand he walked up and down along the margin of the river with a firm and manly step." The debate was carried on by other speakers for some time longer; but at last it appeared that conciliatory counsels had carried the day. The two parties satisfied themselves with a sham fight, Wiveah merely presenting the injured Henou with a quantity of potatoes. The most singular part of the debate, however, was yet to come; for immediately after the sham fight, the old orator again rose, and, although vehement enough at the beginning of his harangue, became still more so as he proceeded, till at last he grew quite outrageous, and jumped about the field like a person out of his senses. In the latter part of the debate, Wiveah and Henou themselves took up the discussion of the question, and seem, by the account given, to have handled it with more mildness and good temper than almost any of their less interested associates. At the close of Wiveah's last address, however, "his three wives," says Nicholas, "now deemed it expedient to interpose their oratory, as confirming mediators between the parties, though there was no longer any enmity existing on either side. They spoke with great animation, and the warriors listened to their separate speeches in attentive silence. They assumed, I thought, a very determined tone, employing a great deal of impressive action, and looking towards the opposite chief with an asperity of countenance not warranted by the mild forbearance of his deportment. The expostulating harangues, as I should suppose they were, of these sturdy ladies completed the ceremonials of this singular conference; and the reconciliation being thus consummated, the parties now entertained no sentiments towards each other but those of reciprocal amity." It would appear that the New Zealand women sometimes carry their martial propensities farther than they are stated to have done in the present case. Nicholas was once not a little surprised, while witnessing a sham fight, to observe Duaterra's wife, the Queen of Tippoonah,[CL] exerting himself, with most conspicuous courage, among the very thickest of the combatants. Her majesty was dressed in a red gown and petticoat, which she had received as a present from Marsden, that reverend gentleman having been obliged himself, in the first instance, to assist in decorating her with these novel articles of attire; and, holding in her hand a large horse-pistol, always selected the most formidable hero she could find as her antagonist. She was at last, however, fairly exhausted; and stood, at the conclusion of the exhibition, Nicholas tells us, panting for breath. "In this state," says he, "she was pleased to notice me with a distinguished mark of flattering condescension, by holding out her lips for me to kiss, an honour I could have very well dispensed with, but which, at the same time, I could not decline, without offering a slight to a person of such elevated consequence." He saw, also, some other female warriors, who exposed themselves in the combat with great gallantry. Among them, Marsden tells us, was the widow of Tippahee, a woman apparently not much less than seventy years of age. Cook also sometimes saw the women armed with spears. The principal native war-instrument of the New Zealanders is the short thick club, which has been so often mentioned. This weapon they all constantly wear, either fastened in their girdle or held in the right hand and attached by a string to the wrist. It is in shape somewhat like a battledore, varying from ten to eighteen inches in length, including a short handle, and generally about four or five broad, thick in the middle, but worked down to a very sharp edge on both sides. It is most commonly formed of a species of green talc, which appears to be found only in the southern island, and with regard to which the New Zealanders have many superstitious notions. Some of them are made of a darker-coloured stone, susceptible of a high polish; some of whalebone; and Nicholas mentions one, which he saw in the possession of Tippoui, brother of the celebrated George of Wangarooa, and himself one of the leaders of the attack on the 'Boyd,' which, like that of Shungie, which Rutherford speaks of, was of iron, and also highly polished. It had been fabricated by the chief himself, with tools of the most imperfect description; and yet was, in Nicholas's opinion, as well-finished a piece of workmanship as could have been produced by any of our best mechanics. This instrument is employed in close combat, the head being generally the part aimed at; and one well-directed blow is quite enough to split the hardest skull. The name usually given to it, in the earlier accounts of New Zealand, is patoo-patoo. Anderson, in his general remarks on the people of Queen Charlotte Sound, says it is also called Emeeta. But its correct and distinctive name seems to be that by which Rutherford always designates it, the mery or mairy. [Illustration: _Christchurch Museum_ 1. _Pou-wherma._ 2. _Taiaha_ of white whale-bone. 3. _Taiaha_ (6ft. 3in. long) of wood, with flax mat and dog's hair. 4. _Hoeroa_ of white whale-bone. 5. _Tewha-tewha_.] Savage tells us that when he took his friend, Moyhanger,[CM] to a shop in the Strand to purchase some tools, he was particularly struck with a common bill-hook, upon which he cast his eyes, as appearing to be a most admirable instrument of slaughter; and we find accordingly that since they have had so much intercourse with Europeans some of the New Zealand warriors have substituted the English bill-hook for their native battle-axe. Nicholas mentions one with which Duaterra was accustomed to arm himself. Their only missile weapons, except stones, which they merely throw from the hand, are short spears, made of hard wood or whalebone, and pointed at one extremity. These they are very dexterous with, both in darting at a mark, and in receiving or turning aside with the blades of their battle-axes, which are the only shields they use, except the folds of their thick and flowing mats, which they raise on the left arm, and which are tough enough to impede the passage of a spear. They have other spears, however, varying from thirteen or fourteen to thirty feet in length, which they use as lances or bayonets. These, or rather the shorter sort, are also sometimes called by English writers patoos, or patoo-patoos. Lastly, they often carry an instrument somewhat like a sergeant's halbert, curiously carved, and adorned with bunches of parrot's feathers tied round the top of it. The musket has now, however, in a great measure superseded these primitive weapons, although the New Zealanders are as yet far from being expert in the use of it. By Rutherford's account, as we have just seen, they only fire off their guns once, and throw them away as soon as they have got fairly engaged, much as some of our own Highland regiments are said formerly to have been in the habit of doing. Cruise, in like manner, states that they use their firelocks very awkwardly, lose an immense deal of time in looking for a rest and taking aim, and after all, seldom hit their object, unless close to it. Muskets, however, are by far more prized and coveted by the New Zealander than any of the other commodities to which his intercourse with the civilized world has given him access. The ships that touch at the country always find it the readiest way of obtaining the supplies they want from the natives, to purchase them with arms or ammunition; and the missionaries, who have declined to traffic in these articles, have often scarcely been able to procure a single pig by the most tempting price they could offer in another shape. Although the arms which they have obtained in this way have generally been of the most trashy description, they have been sufficient to secure to the tribes that have been most plentifully provided with them a decided superiority over the rest; and the consequence has been that the people of the Bay of Islands, who have hitherto had most intercourse with European ships, have been of late years the terror of the whole country, and while they themselves have remained uninvaded, have repeatedly carried devastation into its remotest districts. More recently, however, the River Thames, and the coasts to the south of it, have also been a good deal resorted to by vessels navigating those seas; and a great many muskets have in consequence also found their way into the hands of the inhabitants of that part of the island. When Rutherford speaks of the two parties whom he saw engaged having had about two thousand stand of arms between them, it may be thought that his estimate is probably an exaggerated one; but it is completely borne out by other authorities. Thus, for example, Davis, one of the missionaries, writes, in 1827: "They have at this time many thousand stand of arms among them, both in the Bay and at the River Thames." The method of fighting, which is described as being in use among the New Zealanders, in which, after the first onset, every man chooses his individual antagonist, and the field of battle presents merely the spectacle of a multitude of single combats, is the same which has, perhaps, everywhere prevailed, not only in the primitive wars of men, but up to a period of considerable refinement in the history of the military art. The Greeks and Trojans, at the time of the siege of Troy, used both chariots and missiles; and yet it is evident from Homer that their battles and skirmishes usually resolved themselves in a great measure into a number of duels between heroes who seem to have sometimes paused by mutual consent to hold parley together, without at all minding the course of the general fight. Exactly the same thing takes place in the battles of the American Indians, who are also possessed of bows and arrows. The New Zealanders have no weapons of this description, and, until their intercourse with Europeans had put muskets into their hands, were without any arms whatever by which one body could, by its combined strength, have made an impression upon another from a distance. Even the long spears which they sometimes used could evidently have been employed with effect only when each was directed with a particular aim. When two parties engaged, therefore, they necessarily always came to close combat, and every man singled out his adversary; a mode of fighting which was, besides, much more adapted to their tempers, and to the feelings of vehement animosity with which they came into the field, than any which would have kept them at a greater distance from each other. The details of such personal conflicts amongst more refined nations always formed a principal ingredient in poetry and romance, from the times of Homer to those of Spenser. They are, indeed, always uninteresting and tiresome, although related with the highest descriptive power; and even in the splendid descriptions of Ariosto and Tasso there is something absolutely ludicrous in the minute representations of two champions in complete armour, hammering each other about with their maces like blacksmiths. Still, the poets have clung to this love of individual prowess, wherever their subjects would admit of such descriptions; and, even to our own day, that habit which we derived from the times of chivalry, of describing personal bravery as the greatest of human virtues, is not altogether abandoned. The realities of modern warfare are, however, very unfavourable to such stimulating representations. The military discipline in use among the more cultivated nations of antiquity, for example the Persians, the Macedonians, the Grecian states, and above all, the Romans, undoubtedly did much to give to their armies the power of united masses, controllable by one will, and not liable to be broken down and rendered comparatively inefficient by the irregular movements of individuals. But it is the introduction of fire-arms which has, most of all, contributed to change the original character of war, and the elements of the strength of armies. Where it is merely one field of artillery opposed to another, and the efficient value of every man on either side lies principally in the musket which he carries on his shoulder, individual strength and courage become alike of little account. The result depends, it may be almost said, entirely on the skill of the commander, not on the exertions of those over whom he exercises nearly as absolute an authority as a chess-player does over his pieces. If this new system has not diminished the destructiveness of war, it has, at least, very much abated the rancorous feelings with which it was originally carried on. It has converted it from a contest of fierce and vindictive passions into an exercise of science. We have still, doubtless, to lament that the game of blood occasions, whenever it is played, so terrible a waste of human life and happiness; but even the displacement of that brute force, and those other merely animal impulses, by which it used to be mainly directed, and the substitution of regulating principles of a comparatively intellectual and unimpassioned nature, may be considered as indicating, even here, a triumph of civilization. It is impossible that the business of war can be so corrupting to those engaged in it when it is chiefly a contest of skill, as when it is wholly a contest of passion. Nor is it calculated in the one form to occupy the imagination of a people, as it will do in the other. The evil is therefore mitigated by the introduction of those arts which to many may appear aggravations of this curse of mankind. Rutherford does not take any notice of the pas, or as they have been called, eppas, or hippahs,[CN] which are found in so many of the New Zealand villages. These are forts, or strongholds, always erected on an eminence, and intended for the protection of the tribe and its most valuable possessions, when reduced by their enemies to the last extremity. These ancient places of refuge have also been very much abandoned since the introduction of fire-arms; but formerly, they were regarded as of great importance. Cook describes one which he visited on the East Coast, and which was placed on a high point of land projecting into the sea, as wholly inaccessible on the three sides on which it was enclosed by the water; while it was defended on the land side by a ditch of fourteen feet deep, having a bank raised behind it, which added about eight feet more to the glacis. Both banks of the ditch are also, in general, surmounted by palisades, about ten or twelve feet high, formed of strong stakes bound together with withies, and driven very deep into the ground. Within the innermost palisade is usually a stage, supported by posts, from which the besieged throw down darts and stones upon their assailants; and in addition to this, the interior space, which is generally of considerable extent, is sometimes divided into numerous petty eminences, each surrounded by its palisade, and communicating with each other by narrow lanes, admitting of being easily stopped up, in case of the enemy having effected his entrance within the general enclosure. The only road to the strong-hold is by a single narrow and steep passage. Cruise describes a fort at Wangarooa as situated on an insulated rock, about three hundred feet high, and presenting the most imposing appearance. These elevated palings were a subject of much speculation to those on board of Cook's vessel, when that navigator first approached the coast of New Zealand. Some, he tells us, supposed them to be inclosures for sheep and oxen, while others maintained they were parks of deer. The New Zealanders may, in some degree, be considered as a warlike people upon the sea. We have no distinct account of any maritime engagements between one tribe and another carried on in their vessels of war; but as these belong to the state, if it may be so termed--that is, as the war canoes are the property of a particular community inhabiting a village or district, as distinguished from the fishing-boats of individuals--it is probable that their hostile encounters may occasionally be carried on upon the element with which a nation of islanders are generally familiar. Rutherford has given a minute description of a war-canoe, which accords with the representation of such a large vessel in the plates to Cook's "Voyages":-- "Their canoes are made of the largest sized pine-trees, which generally run from 40 to 50 feet long, and are hollowed out, and lengthened about eight feet at each end, and raised about two feet on each side. "They are built with a figure head; the stern-post extending about ten feet above the stern of the canoe, which is handsomely carved, as well as the figure-head, and the whole body of the canoe. The sides are ornamented with pearl shell, which is let into the carved work, and above that is a row of feathers. On both sides, fore and aft, they have seats in the inside, so that two men can sit abreast. They pull about fifty paddles on each side, and many of them will carry two hundred people. When paddling, the chief stands up and cheers them with a song, to which they all join in chorus. These canoes roll heavy, and go at the rate of seven knots an hour. Their sails are made of straw mats in the shape of a lateen sail. They cook in their canoes, but always go on shore to eat. They are frequently known to go three or four hundred miles along the coast." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote CF: Probably Wharemata.] [Footnote CG: Matangi.] [Footnote CH: Muriwai.] [Footnote CI: Hinau.] [Footnote CJ: Probably Waitea.] [Footnote CK: patu-patu.] [Footnote CL: Te Puna.] [Footnote CM: Moehanga.] [Footnote CN: The former word, "Pa," is correct.] CHAPTER XIII. We have noticed all the adventures which Rutherford records to have befallen him during his residence in New Zealand, and have now only to relate the manner in which he at last effected his escape from the country, which we shall do in his own words. "A few days," says he, "after our return home from Showrackee, we were alarmed by observing smoke ascending in large quantities from several of the mountains, and by the natives running about the village in all directions, and singing out Kipoke,[CO] which signifies a ship on the coast. I was quite overjoyed to hear the news. "Aimy and I, accompanied by several of the warriors, and followed by a number of slaves, loaded with mats and potatoes, and driving pigs before them for the purpose of trading with the ship, immediately set off for Tokamardo; and in two days we arrived at that place, the unfortunate scene of the capture of our ship and its crew on the 7th of March, 1816. I now perceived the ship under sail, at about twenty miles distance from the land, off which the wind was blowing strong, which prevented her nearing. Meanwhile, as it was drawing towards night, we encamped, and sat down to supper. "I observed that several of the natives still wore round their necks and wrists many of the trinkets which they had taken out of our ship. As Aimy and I sat together at supper, a slave arrived with a new basket, which he placed before me, saying that it was a present from his master. I asked him what was in the basket, and he informed me that it was part of a slave girl's thigh, that had been killed three days before. It was cooked, he added, and was very nice. I then commanded him to open it, which he did, when it presented the appearance of a piece of pork which had been baked in the oven. I made a present of it to Aimy, who divided it among the chiefs. "The chiefs now consulted together, and resolved that, if the ship came in, they would take her, and murder the crew. Next morning she was observed to be much nearer than she had been the night before; but the chiefs were still afraid she would not come in, and therefore agreed that I should be sent on board, on purpose to decoy her to the land, which I promised to do. "I was then dressed in a feathered cloak, belt, and turban, and armed with a battle axe, the head of which was formed of a stone which, resembled green glass, but was so hard as to turn the heaviest blow of the hardest steel. The handle was of hard black wood, handsomely carved and adorned with feathers. In this attire I went off in a canoe, accompanied by a son of one of the chiefs, and four slaves. When we came alongside of the vessel, which turned out to be an American brig, commanded by Captain Jackson, employed in trading among the islands in the South Sea, and then bound for the coast of California, I immediately went on board, and presented myself to the captain, who, as soon as he saw me, exclaimed, 'Here is a white New Zealander.' "I told him that I was not a New Zealander, but an Englishman; upon which he invited me into his cabin, where I gave him an account of my errand and of all my misfortunes. "I informed him of the danger his ship would be exposed to if he put in at that part of the island; and therefore begged of him to stand off as quickly as possible, and take me along with him, as this was the only chance I had ever had of escaping. "By this time the chief's son had begun stealing in the ship, on which the crew tied him up, and flogged him with the clue of one of their hammocks, and then sent him down into his canoe. "They would have flogged the rest also had not I interceded for them, considering that there might be still some of my unfortunate shipmates living on shore, on whom they might avenge themselves. "The captain now consented to take me along with him; and, the canoe having been set adrift, we stood off from the island. For the first sixteen months of my residence in New Zealand, I had counted the days by means of notches on a stick; but after that I had kept no reckoning. I now learned, however, that the day on which I was taken off the island was January 9th, 1826. I had, therefore, been a prisoner among these savages ten years, all but two months." Captain Jackson now gave Rutherford such clothes as he stood in need of, in return for which the latter made him a present of his New Zealand dress and battle axe. The ship then proceeded to the Society Islands, and anchored on February 10th off Otaheite. Here Rutherford went into the service of the British consul, by whom he was employed in sawing wood. On May 26th he was married to a chief woman, whose name, he says, was Nowyrooa, by Mr. Pritchard, one of the English missionaries. While he resided here, he was also employed as an interpreter by Captain Peachy, of the "Blossom" sloop of war, then engaged in surveying those islands. Still, however, longing very much to see his native country, he embarked on January 6th, 1827, on board the brig "Macquarie," commanded by Captain Hunter, and bound for Port Jackson. On taking leave of his wife and friends, he made them a promise to return to the island in two years, "which," says he, "I intend to keep, if it is in my power, and end my days there." The "Macquarie" reached Port Jackson on February 19th, and Rutherford states that he met there a young woman who had been saved from the massacre of those on board the "Boyd," and who gave him an account of that event. This was probably the daughter of a woman whom Mr. Berry brought to Lima. He also found at Port Jackson two vessels on their way back to England, with a body of persons who had attempted to form a settlement in New Zealand, but who had been compelled to abandon their design, as he understood, by the treacherous behaviour of the natives. He now embarked on board the Sydney packet, commanded by Captain Tailor, which proceeded first for Hobart Town, in Van Diemen's Land,[CP] and after lying there for about a fortnight set sail again for Rio de Janeiro. On his arrival there he went into the service of Mr. Harris, a Dutch gentleman. Mr. Harris, on learning his history, had him presented to the Emperor Don Pedro, who asked him many questions by an interpreter, and made him a present of eighty dollars. He also offered him employment in his navy; but this Rutherford refused, preferring to return to England in the "Blanche" frigate, then on the point of sailing, in which he obtained a passage by an application to the British consul. On the arrival of the ship at Spithead, he immediately left her, and proceeded to Manchester, his native town, which he had not seen since he first went to sea in the year 1806. After his return to England Rutherford occasionally maintained himself by accompanying a travelling caravan of wonders, showing his tattooing, and telling something of his extraordinary adventures. The publisher of this volume had many conversations with him in January, 1829, when he was exhibited in London. He was evidently a person of considerable quickness, and great powers of observation. He went over every part of his journal, which was read to him, with considerable care, explaining any difficulties, and communicating several points of information, of which we have availed ourselves in the course of this narrative. His manners were mild and courteous; he was fond of children, to whom he appeared happy to explain the causes of his singular appearance and he was evidently a man of very sober habits. He was pleased with the idea of his adventures being published; and was delighted to have his portrait painted, though he suffered much inconvenience in sitting to the artist, with the upper part of his body uncovered, in a severe frost. Upon the whole he seemed to have acquired a great deal of the frankness and easy confidence of the people with whom he had been living, and was somewhat out of his element amidst the constrained intercourse and unvarying occupations of England. He greatly disliked being shown for money, which he submitted to principally that he might acquire a sum, in addition to what he received for his manuscript, to return to Otaheite. We have not heard of him since that time; and the probability is that he has accomplished his wishes. He said that he should have no hesitation in going to New Zealand; that his old companions would readily believe that he had been carried away by force; that from his knowledge of their customs, he could be most advantageously employed in trading with them; and that, above all, if he were to take back a blacksmith with him, and plenty of iron, he might acquire many of the most valuable productions of the country, particularly tortoiseshell,[CQ] which he considered the best object for an English commercial adventure.[CR] Rutherford is not the only native of a civilized country whose fate it has been to become resident for some time among the savages of New Zealand. Besides his shipmates, who were taken prisoners along with him, he himself, indeed, as we have seen, mentions two other individuals whom he met with while in the country, one of whom had been eight years there, and did not seem to have any wish to leave it. [Illustration: A Maori war canoe.] Savage gives a short notice of a European who was living in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands when he was there in 1805. This person, whose native country, or the circumstances that had induced him to take up his abode where he then was, Savage could not discover, shunned all intercourse with Europeans, and was wont to retire to the interior whenever a ship approached the coast. The natives, however, whose customs and manners he had adopted, spoke well of him; and Savage often saw a New Zealand woman who lived with him, and one of their children, which he represents as very far from exhibiting any superiority either in mind or person over his associates of unmixed breed. Its complexion was the same as that of the others, being distinguished from them only by its light flaxen hair. Marsden, also, in a letter written in 1813 to the secretary of the Church Missionary Society, mentions a young man, a native of America, with whom he had conversed in New South Wales, and who had lived for above a year with the New Zealanders. During all this time these savages, he said, had shown him the greatest attention, and he would have been very glad to return to live among them if he could have found any other Europeans to go with him. Since the Bay of Islands has become so much the resort of shipping, many seamen have left their ships and taken up their residence of their own accord among the natives. The "Missionary Reports" state that, about the close of the year 1824, there were perhaps twenty men who had thus found their way into the country, and were living on plunder; and that within the year not less, it was supposed, than a hundred sailors had in the same manner taken refuge for a time in the island. Although these men had all run away from their own ships, the captains of other vessels touching at any part of the coast did not hesitate to employ them when they wanted hands. Mawman, whom Rutherford met with at Kiperra, had, it will be recollected, made his escape, according to his own account, from a sloop of war. These fugitives, however, it would appear, do not always succeed in establishing themselves among the natives. Cruise mentions one who, having run away from the "Anne" whaler, hid himself at first in the woods, but soon after came on board the "Dromedary" in a most miserable state, beseeching to be taken on the strength of the ship. Convicts, too, occasionally make their escape to New Zealand, and attempt to secrete themselves in the interior of the country. When the "Active" was at the Bay of Islands in 1815, two men and a woman of this description were sent on board to be taken back to New South Wales. The woman, Nicholas says, was particularly dejected on being retaken; and it was found that while on shore she had done everything in her power to prevail upon one of the native females to assist her in her attempt to conceal herself. Her friend, however, resisted all her entreaties; and well knowing the hardships to which the poor creature would have exposed herself, only replied to her importunate solicitations, "Me would, Mary, but me got no tea, me got no sugar, no bed, no good things for you; me grieve to see you, you cannot live like New Zealand woman, you cannot sleep on the ground." The Rev. Mr. Butler, in March, 1821, found two convicts who had escaped from a whaler, in the hands of one of the chiefs, who was just preparing to put them to death. On Butler interfering and begging that their lives might be spared, the New Zealanders replied: "They are nothing but slaves and thieves; they look like bad men, and are very ragged; they do not belong to you, and we think they are some of King George's bad cookees." After a great deal of discussion, however, they yielded so far to Butler's entreaties and arguments as to agree not to kill the two men; but the chief insisted that they should go home with him and work for him four months, after which he said that he would give them up to any ship that would take them to "King George's farm at Port Jackson." When Nicholas was in New Zealand in 1815, he met with a Hindoo, who had made his escape from Captain Patterson's ship, the "City of Edinburgh," about five years before, and had been living among the natives ever since. Compared with the New Zealanders, he looked, Nicholas says, like a pigmy among giants. However, he had got so much attached to the manners of his new associates that he declared he would much rather remain where he was than return to his own country. He had married a native woman, and was treated, he said, in the kindest manner by the New Zealanders, who always supplied him with plenty of food without compelling him to do more work than he chose. Nicholas offered him some rice, but he intimated that he decidedly preferred fern-root. The circumstances of Rutherford's capture and detention in New Zealand were but indifferently calculated to reconcile him to the new state of society in which he was there compelled to mix, notwithstanding the rank to which his superior intelligence and activity raised him. Though a chief, he was still a prisoner; and even all the favour with which he had himself been treated could not make him forget the fate of his companions, or the warning which it afforded him to how sudden or slight an accident his own life might at any time fall a sacrifice. But it is certain that, where no such sense of constraint is felt, not only the notion, but even the reality, of savage life has a strong charm for many minds. The insecurity and privation which attend upon it are deemed but a slight counterbalance to the independence, the exemption from regular labour, and above all the variety of adventure, which it promises to ardent and reckless spirits. Generally, however, the Europeans that have adopted the life of the savage have been men driven out from civilization, or disinclined to systematic industry. They have not chosen the imaginary freedom and security of barbarians, in contempt of the artificial restraints and legal oppressions of a refined state of society, in the way that the Greek did, whom Priscus found in the camp of Attila, declaring that he lived more happily amongst the wild Scythians than ever he did under the Roman government. But if those who have been accustomed to the comforts of civilization have not infrequently felt the influence of the seductions which a barbarous condition offers to an excited imagination, it may well be conceived that, to the man who has been born a savage, and nurtured in all the feelings and habits of that state of society, they must address themselves with still more irresistible effect. We have many examples, accordingly, of how difficult it is to extinguish, by any culture, either in an old or a young savage, his innate passion for the wild life of his fathers. Tippahee's son, Matara, on his return from England, strove to regain an acquaintance with his native customs. Moyhanger, Savage's friend, might be quoted as another instance, in whom all the wonders and attractions of London would appear not to have excited a wish to see it again. Nor does any great preference for civilized life seem to have been produced in other cases, by even a much longer experience of its accommodations. When Nicholas and Marsden visited New Zealand in 1815, they met at the North Cape, where they first put on shore, a native of Otaheite, who had been brought from his own country to Port Jackson when a boy of about eleven or twelve years old. Here he had lived for some years in the family of Mr. McArthur, where he had been treated with great kindness, and brought up in all respects as an English boy would have been. Having been sent to school he soon learned not only to speak English with fluency, but to read and write it with very superior ability; and he showed himself besides in everything remarkably tractable and obedient. Yet nothing could wean him from his partiality to his original condition; and he at last quitted the house of his protector, and contrived to find his way to New Zealand. Here he settled among a people even still more uncivilized than his own countrymen, and married the daughter of one of the chiefs, to whose territories he had succeeded when Nicholas met with him. Jem (that was the name by which he had been known at Port Jackson) was then a young man of about twenty-three years of age. Unlike his brother chiefs, he was cleanly in his person; and his countenance not being tattooed, nor darker than that of a Spaniard, while his manners displayed a European polish, it was only his dress that betokened the savage. "His hair," says Nicholas, "which had been very carefully combed, was tied up in a knot upon the crown of his head, and adorned with a long white feather fancifully stuck in it; in his ears were large bunches of the down of the gannet, white as the driven snow, and napping about his cheeks with every gale. Like the natives, he wore the mat thrown over his shoulders; but the one he had on was bordered with a deep Vandyke of different colours, and gaily bedizened with the feathers of parrots and other birds, reflecting at the same moment all the various shades in the rainbow. He carried a musket in his hand, and had a martial and imposing air about him, which was quite in character with the station he maintained." He brought his wife with him in a canoe to the ship; and having known Marsden well in New South Wales, was delighted to see that gentleman, and proved of considerable use to him in his intercourse with the other New Zealanders. Although not accustomed to speak English in his new country, Jem had by no means forgotten that language. He had been on three warlike expeditions to the East Cape in the course of the past five years; but had gone, he said, only because he could not help it, and had never assisted in devouring the prisoners. Dillon met both Jem and the Hindoo, when he was at the Bay of Islands in July, 1827. The former had his son with him, a boy about twelve years of age. These, and many other examples which might be added, exhibit the force of habit which governs the actions of all men, whether in a savage or civilized state. There are, of course, exceptions. When Cook left Omai,[CS] during his last voyage, at Huaheine, with every provision for his comfort, he earnestly begged to return to England. It was nothing that a grant of land was made to him at the interposition of his English friends, that a house was built and a garden planted for his use. He wept bitter tears; for he was naturally afraid that his new riches would make him an object of hatred to his countrymen. He was much caressed in England; and he took back many valuable possessions and some knowledge. But he was originally one of the common people; and he soon saw, although he was not sensible of it at first, that without rank he could obtain no authority. He forgot this, when he was away from the people with whom he was to end his days; but he seemed to feel that he should be insecure when his protector, Cook, had left their shores. He divided his presents with the chiefs; and the great navigator threatened them with his vengeance if Omai was molested. The reluctance of this man to return to his original conditions was principally derived from these considerations, which were to him of a strictly personal nature. The picture which a popular poet has drawn of the feelings of Omai is very beautiful, and in great part true as applied to him as an individual; but it is not true of the mass of savages. The habits amidst which they were born may be modified by an intercourse with civilized men, but they cannot be eradicated. The following is the poetical passage to which we alluded. Omai had, altogether, a more distinguished destiny than any other savage--he was cherished by Cook, painted by Reynolds, and apostrophised by Cowper:-- "The dream is past, and thou hast found again Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou found Their former charms? And, having seen our state, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, And heard our music, are thy simple friends, Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys Lost nothing by comparison with ours? Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude And ignorant, except of outward show) I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart And spiritless, as never to regret Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot, If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, A patriot's for his country: thou art sad At thought of her forlorn and abject state, From which no power of thine can raise her up." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote CO: Kaipuke, a ship.] [Footnote CP: That is, Tasmania.] [Footnote CQ: There are no tortoises in New Zealand.] [Footnote CR: Rutherford did not return to New Zealand, and nothing more was heard of him. On December 5th, 1828, "The Australian," which 'was published in Sydney, stated that a man named Rutherford, who had been tattooed by the Maoris, and naturalized by them, was then in London, practising the trade of a pickpocket, in the character of a New Zealand chief, but that was before he supplied his story for "The New Zealanders."] [Footnote CS: Omai was an islander, who was taken to England, where he was lionized, and was afterwards taken back to the islands during Cook's last voyage.] 
27070	----	1937. NEW ZEALAND. REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF INQUIRY INTO THE VARIOUS ASPECTS OF THE PROBLEM OF ABORTION IN NEW ZEALAND. _Laid on the Table of the House of Representatives by Leave._ CONTENTS. PAGE Historical and Introduction 2 Part I.--Incidence of Abortion in New Zealand 3 Part II.--Underlying Causes 8 Part III.--Possible Remedial Measures 12 Part IV.--Medico-legal Aspects 19 Summary and Conclusions 26 Thanks 28 CONSTITUTION AND TERMS OF REFERENCE OF COMMITTEE. In accordance with the decision of Cabinet, a special Committee was appointed on 4th August, 1936,-- (1) To inquire into and report upon the incidence of septic abortion in New Zealand, including-- (_a_) The incidence among married and single women; (_b_) Whether the rate of incidence has increased during recent years; (_c_) How New Zealand compares with other countries in this respect; (2) To inquire into and report upon the underlying causes for the occurrence of septic abortion in New Zealand, including medical, economic, social, and any other factors; (3) To advise as to the best means of combating and preventing the occurrence of septic abortion in New Zealand; (4) Generally to make any other observations or recommendations that appear appropriate to the Committee on the subject. The following were appointed members of the Committee:-- Dr. D. G. McMillan, M.B., Ch.B. (N.Z.), M.P., Chairman. Mrs. Janet Fraser. Dr. Sylvia G. Chapman, M.D., D.G.O. (T.C.D.). Dr. Thomas F. Corkill, M.D. (Edin.), M.R.C.P. (Edin.), M.C.O.G. Dr. Tom L. Paget, L.R.C.P. (Lond.), M.R.C.S. (Eng.). REPORT. The Hon. the Minister of Health, Wellington. SIR,-- The Committee set up by Cabinet to inquire into the various aspects of the Problem of Abortion in New Zealand has the honour to submit herewith its report. HISTORICAL AND INTRODUCTION. Since the rise in the death-rate from septic abortion in 1930, the Department of Health, the medical profession, and women's organizations and societies have shown great concern regarding the problem. The Obstetrical and Gynæcological Society of the New Zealand Branch of the British Medical Association conveyed to the Prime Minister a resolution passed at the meeting of its executive held in Wellington on 12th March, 1936, wherein it begged the Prime Ministry to consider the advisability of setting up a Committee of inquiry to investigate this matter. This recommendation having been favourably considered, the following Committee was appointed:-- Dr. D. G. McMillan, M.B., Ch.B. (N.Z.), M.P., Chairman. Mrs. Janet Fraser. Dr. Sylvia G. Chapman, M.D. (N.Z.), M.B., Ch.B. (N.Z.). Dr. T. F. Corkill, M.D. (Edin.), M.R.C.P. (Edin.). Dr. T. L. Paget, M.R.C.S. (Edin.), L.R.C.P. (Lond.). Although the immediate purpose of this inquiry was to investigate the problem of septic abortion, it at once became apparent that this matter was so inextricably bound up with the subject of abortion in general that all aspects would require consideration. The Committee has therefore attempted to make this wider survey and to bring before you as complete a picture as possible. The Committee has been guided by the Order of Reference, which was as follows:-- I. To inquire into and report upon the incidence of abortion in New Zealand, including-- (_a_) The incidence among married and single women; (_b_) Whether the rate of incidence has increased during recent years; (_c_) How New Zealand compares with other countries in this respect. II. To inquire into and report upon the underlying causes for the occurrence of abortion in New Zealand, including medical, economic, social, and any other factors. III. To advise as to the best means of combating and preventing the occurrence of abortion in New Zealand. IV. Generally to make any other observations or recommendations that appear appropriate to the Committee on the subject. The preliminary meeting of the Committee was held on the 18th August, and in all sixteen meetings have been held, of which thirteen meetings were held in Wellington, one in Dunedin, one in Auckland, and one in Christchurch. Evidence was heard from-- British Medical Association. Church of England. Crown Solicitor. Dominion Federation of Women's Institutes. Dominion Federation of Women's Institutes (Auckland Branch). Government Statistician. Lecturer in Medical Jurisprudence, Otago Medical School. Maternity Protection Society. Mothers Union. National Council of Women. National Council of Women (Canterbury Branch). New Zealand Labour Party (Auckland Women's Branch). New Zealand Registered Nurses Association. New Zealand Registered Nurses Association (Auckland Branch). New Zealand Registered Nurses Association (Christchurch Branch). Obstetrical and Gynæcological Society. Obstetricians and Gynæcologists attached to the Public Hospitals in Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch, and Dunedin. Pharmaceutical Society. Police Department. Presbyterian Church of New Zealand. Roman Catholic Church. Royal Society for the Health of Women and Children. St. John Ambulance Association Nursing Guild. Women's Division of the Farmers Union. Women's Division of the Farmers Union (Otago Branch). Women's Division of the Farmers Union (South Auckland Branch). Women's International League for Peace and Freedom. Women's Service Guild. Working Women's Movement (Auckland Branch). In addition to these, evidence was heard from twelve other persons. The Committee would like to express its thanks to the witnesses, many of whom have gone to considerable trouble to collect information and prepare their evidence. PART I.--INCIDENCE OF ABORTION IN NEW ZEALAND. All the evidence brought before the Committee indicates that abortion is exceedingly frequent in New Zealand. It is quite impossible to assess the incidence with complete accuracy, for the reason that a very considerable number of these cases do not come under medical or hospital observation, but some definite indication of the frequency is given by the statistics obtained from various hospitals and practices. In one urban district, for instance, in which the total live births for a two-year period were 4,000, the number of cases of abortion treated in the public hospital alone was 400. When to this number were added the cases treated in the various private hospitals, those attended by doctors in the patients' homes, and those not medically attended at all, it was computed that a total of 1,000 abortions was a conservative figure. In other words, roughly twenty pregnancies in every 100 terminated in abortion. Looked at from a somewhat different angle, figures were presented from one hospital showing that in a group of 568 unselected women of child-bearing age, there were 549 abortions in 2,301 pregnancies, or 23 per hundred. HOW DO THESE CASES ORIGINATE? It must be explained that a certain number of cases of abortion occur perfectly innocently as the result of some condition of ill health, or, occasionally, as the result of accident. These _spontaneous_ cases constitute an entirely medical problem. All other cases are artificially produced or _induced_. A very small number of these are honourably performed by medical practitioners when the mother's life is seriously endangered. This procedure is termed "_Therapeutic induction of abortion_." Certain important questions in relation to therapeutic abortion will be discussed at a later stage in this report. The remainder of the induced cases are unlawfully produced by the person herself or by some other person--_criminal abortion_. The Committee received much evidence regarding the methods used in the attempt to procure abortion. In the first instance it was shown that the use of so-called abortifacient drugs was extensively practised and was usually a first resort. Little need be said about the matter at this stage except to state that the New Zealand evidence entirely supports the opinions expressed elsewhere that drug-taking is rarely effective. Those tempted to use these drugs should realize the futility of the practice for the purpose intended and the frequency with which disturbances of health are caused by taking them. Their only value is as a lucrative source of gain to those people who, knowing their inefficacy, yet exploit the distress of certain women by selling them. It is perfectly clear that the real menace is the instrumentally produced abortion, either self-induced by the person herself or the result of an illegal operation performed by some outside person. These abortionists include a few unprincipled doctors and chemists, a few women with varying degrees of nursing training, and a number of unskilled people. It was a matter of considerable importance for the Committee to attempt to determine first the extent to which spontaneous abortions contribute to the total figures: the prevalence of unlawful abortion could then be better realized. Here again it was found exceedingly difficult to obtain exact figures, but the evidence suggests that probably less than seven pregnancies in every 100 terminate in spontaneous abortion. Taking the records of one group of 1,095 women where the incentives to interference were probably at a minimum, it was found that out of a total of 2,180 pregnancies only 152, or 6·97 per cent., terminated in abortion, while in a series of 5,337 pregnancies in patients taken from the records of St. Helens Hospitals, 6 per cent. terminated in abortion. Even assuming that _all_ these were spontaneous (which was probably not the case), the incidence is approximately 6 per cent. to 7 per cent. If, then, the total abortion rate is 20 per 100, it is clear that the incidence of criminal abortion is at least 13 in every 100 pregnancies. The Committee believes that this figure can be accepted as a conservative estimate of the prevalence of unlawful abortion in New Zealand. Some of the figures presented suggested a still higher incidence. Applying the figures given to the whole of New Zealand it means that while in the year ending March, 1936, there were 24,395 live births there were probably 6,066 abortions, of which nearly two-thirds (4,000) were criminally induced. The impression of the Committee is that this is an underestimate. Serious as this is on general grounds, the matter is of particular importance in regard to the special problem which led to the setting-up of this Committee of inquiry--the _incidence of septic abortion_. Septic infection, or blood-poisoning, is the most serious complication which may follow abortion. Grave concern has been occasioned by a realization of the frequency of septic abortion, the most significant indication of which is the number of women who lose their lives as the result of this complication. Attention has repeatedly been drawn to this problem by the officers of the Department of Health, the New Zealand Obstetrical and Gynæcological Society, and others interested in maternal welfare. During the five-year period 1931-35, 176 women died from sepsis following abortion. In the same period there were only 70 deaths from sepsis following full-time child-birth. Some of the distressing repercussions from these tragedies have been revealed in the annual report of the Director-General of Health, 1936, which shows that in that period 338 children were left motherless by the death of 109 married women. Another serious fact is that, while, owing to the strenuous efforts of those engaged in the direction and practice of midwifery, there has been a most gratifying fall in deaths from post-confinement sepsis from 2.02 per 1,000 live births in 1927 to 0.4 per 1,000 in 1935, deaths from post-abortion sepsis in the same period rose from 0.50 per 1,000 live births in 1927 to 1.73 per 1,000 in 1934, with a fall to 1 per 1,000 in 1935. These figures are illustrated by the following graph and accompanying table:-- _Maternal Mortality._ Showing the number of deaths and the death-rate per 1,000 live births from certain causes, 1927 to 1935. --------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----- |1927|1928|1929|1930|1931|1932|1933|1934|1935 --------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----- Maternal mortality, | | | | | | | | | _including_ septic | | | | | | | | | abortion-- | | | | | | | | | Number | 137| 134| 129| 136| 127| 101| 108| 118| 101 Rate |4·91|4·93|4·82|5·08|4·77|4·08|4·44|4·85|4·21 | | | | | | | | | Maternal mortality, | | | | | | | | | _excluding_ septic | | | | | | | | | abortion-- | | | | | | | | | Number | 123| 120| 110| 106| 98| 75| 82| 76| 78 Rate |4·41|4·42|4·11|3·96|3·68|3·02|3·37|3·12|3·25 | | | | | | | | | Puerperal septicæmia-- | | | | | | | | | Number | 56| 42| 30| 27| 18| 13| 14| 17| 8 Rate |2·01|1·54|1·12|1·01|0·68|0·52|0·58|0·70|0·33 | | | | | | | | | Septic abortion-- | | | | | | | | | Number-- | | | | | | | | | Married |} | | {| 26| 26| 24| 16| 29| 17 |} 14| 14| 19{| | | | | | Single |} | | {| 4| 3| 2| 10| 13| 6 Rate |0·50|0·51|0·71|1·12|1·09|1·04 1·07|1·73|0·96 --------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----- [Illustration: Maternal Mortality. Showing the Deathrate per 1,000 Live Births from Certain Causes 1927-1935.] One of the unfortunate features of this matter from the public health point of view is the extent to which this increase in deaths from abortion sepsis is counterbalancing and masking the very real improvement which has been achieved by the obstetrical services in the work for which they may justly be held responsible. According to the international system of recording, these cases are included in the total maternal mortality. Actually in New Zealand in the five-year period mentioned, abortion sepsis was responsible for one-quarter of the total maternal deaths. In the larger urban areas the position is even more unfortunate, as the following instance will indicate:-- _Maternal Mortality in Urban Areas for the Five-year Period, 1930-34._ --------------------------------------------------------------------------- | | | | |Maternal | | Death- | | | | | Death- | | rate | | Total |Maternal|Maternal |rate per | Deaths | from | | Mater-| Death- | Deaths | 1,000 | from | Septic Urban Area | Live | nal |rate per|excluding| Live | Septic |Abortion |Births.|Deaths.| 1,000 | Septic | Births |Abortion| per | | | Live |Abortion.|excluding| | 1,000 | | |Births. | | Septic | | Live | | | | |Abortion.| | Births. ------------+-------+-------+--------+---------+---------+--------+-------- Auckland |14,290 | 81 | 5·67 | 55 | 3·85 | 26 | 1·82 Wellington |11,690 | 61 | 5·22 | 32 | 2·74 | 29 | 2·48 Christchurch| 9,599 | 51 | 5·31 | 29 | 3·02 | 22 | 2·29 Dunedin | 5,960 | 24 | 4·03 | 17 | 2·96 | 7 | 1·17 | | | | | | | Total, four |41,539 | 217 | 5·22 | 133 | 3·20 | 84 | 2·02 urban areas| | | | | | | | | | | | | | Total, |58,623 | 273 | 4·66 | 204 | 3·48 | 69 | 1·18 remainder | | | | | | | of Dominion| | | | | | | --------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the case of the four urban areas deaths from septic abortion account for approximately two-fifths of the total maternal mortality. With these cases excluded, the maternal mortality associated with child-birth proper was 3.20 per 1,000 live births. Clearly, any comparison between different maternity services should be made on the basis of these latter figures alone. WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF THIS HIGH INCIDENCE OF DEATHS FROM SEPTIC ABORTION. The evidence offered to the Committee by medical witnesses indicates conclusively that sepsis, and death from sepsis particularly, is almost entirely due to illegal instrumental interference. Spontaneous abortion, provided that proper medical care is given, rarely results in sepsis. Therapeutic abortion, done with all the safeguards of modern surgical practice, is associated with very little acute sepsis. But criminal abortion is associated with an extremely high sepsis rate. The reasons are not far to seek: the surreptitious nature of the operation and the lack of skill and surgical cleanliness so frequently shown by the operator make this result almost inevitable. HAS THE PRACTICE OF ABORTION INCREASED IN RECENT YEARS? In so far as the deaths from septic abortion can be taken as a comparative indication of the occurrence of abortion generally--and the Committee believes this is a fair index--there seems little doubt that there has been a marked increase. A reference to the graph already given will indicate this rise. There is reason to hope that the fall in 1935 means an improvement in the general situation. Professor Dawson, giving evidence regarding admissions to the Dunedin Hospital, showed that in the five-year period 1931-35 there was an increase of 23.7 per cent. in the cases of abortion as compared with the previous five-year period. The evidence of other medical witnesses was practically unanimous on this point. HOW DOES NEW ZEALAND COMPARE WITH OTHER COUNTRIES IN THIS MATTER? According to the report of the British Medical Association Committee on the Medical Aspects of Abortion (1936), the position in Great Britain would appear to be very similar to that existing in New Zealand. In that report it is stated that the incidence of abortion is generally reckoned at from 16 per cent. to 20 per cent. of all pregnancies. The spontaneous-abortion rate is suggested as probably about 5 per cent. of all pregnancies. The evidence set before that Committee suggested that there has been an increase in criminal abortion in the last decade. In England and Wales 13·4 per cent. of the total maternal deaths were due to abortion. That Committee concludes that "illegal instrumentation contributes to an overwhelming degree to the mortality from abortion." One of the most interesting investigations into this aspect of the subject is reported by Parish[1] in a study of 1,000 cases of abortion treated as in-patients in St. Giles's Hospital, Camberwell, during the years 1930 to 1934. [1] "The Journal of Obstetrics and Gynæcology of the British Empire," December, 1935, p, 1107. T. M. Parish. In 374 of these cases where instrumentation was admitted the febrile rate was 88·2 per cent., and the death rate 3·7 per cent., while in 246 cases with no history of interference and presumably spontaneous the febrile rate was 5·7 per cent. and the mortality rate _nil_. The following table compiled by the Government Statistician shows New Zealand's position in comparison with eleven other countries:-- _Puerperal Mortality per 1,000 Live Births in Eleven Countries, 1934._ ------------------------------------------------------------------- | | | Total Puerperal | | | Mortality. | | Puerperal |------------------- Country. | Septic | Sepsis |Including|Excluding |Abortion.| following | Septic | Septic | |Child-birth.|Abortion.|Abortion. ------------------------+---------+------------+---------+--------- Norway | 0·47 | 0·57 | 2·75 | 2·28 Netherlands | 0·30 | 0·73 | 3·20 | 2·90 New Zealand | 1·73 | 0·70 | 4·85 | 3·12 Switzerland | 0·73 | 0·82 | 4·58 | 3·85 England and Wales | 0·49 | 1·53 | 4·60 | 4·11 Australia | 1·45 | 0·90 | 5·76 | 4·31 Irish Free State | 0·07 | 1·73 | 4·68 | 4·61 Canada | 0·58 | 1·23 | 5·26 | 4·68 United States of America| 1·02 | 1·30 | 5·93 | 4·91 Union of South Africa | 0·67 | 2·03 | 5·99 | 5·32 Scotland | 0·38 | 2·30 | 6·20 | 5·82 Northern Ireland | 0·32 | 1·85 | 6·27 | 5·95 ------------------------------------------------------------------- PART II.--THE UNDERLYING CAUSES OF ABORTION IN NEW ZEALAND. As seen by the Committee, the reasons which lead to a resort to abortion may be set out under the following broad headings:-- (1) Economic and domestic hardship. (2) Fear of labour and its sequelæ. (3) Pregnancy in the unmarried. (4) Changes in social outlook. (5) Ignorance of effective methods of contraception and of the dangers of abortion. (6) Influence of advertising. (1) ECONOMIC AND DOMESTIC HARDSHIP. (_a_) _Poverty._--Cases arise where the parents are on the bread-line and have no means of supporting a child, but the Committee is of opinion that such extreme poverty is rare in New Zealand. More common are the cases in which income is sufficient for a small family but a larger one would constitute hardship, or, alternatively, in which income is sufficient to support several small children but not to provide education, &c., in later life. The view, formerly widely accepted, that membership of a large family is in itself a valuable contribution to education and to the training of responsible citizens, appears to be at a discount, and many parents now consider that advantages which can be _given_ to a child as a result of family limitation outweigh the natural advantages of a large family in which the children develop initiative through companionship. (_b_) _Housing._--This constitutes an acute problem in crowded city areas. In many cases houses which are past repair and already condemned form the only shelter for a growing family. Ordinary domestic and hygienic conveniences are often lacking. Where a family is able to pay for better accommodation, difficulties frequently arise owing to the unwillingness of landlords to accept tenants with children, and, as the demand for houses exceeds the supply, landlords are able to pick and choose. The lack also of suitable cottages on farms for married couples with children probably has a considerable influence on the limitation or avoidance of families and leads to a premium being placed on childlessness because married couples without "encumbrances" can more easily obtain employment. This is an aspect of the problem that should receive earnest consideration. (_c_) _Domestic._--Lack of help in the home even by those who can afford it is a factor of very great importance. This applies especially to country life, where a woman's whole physical energy is taken up by attention to domestic matters and often also to farm-work, to the detriment of family life. The following is an account given to one witness by a farmer's wife, describing an average day's work:-- "Rise 4.30, have cup of tea--wife to shed, set machines, hubby to bring cows--start milking 5 a.m., hard going to 8 o'clock; wife returns house to get breakfast, also see to children and cut lunches for them to take to school. Hubby feeds calves, fowls, and ducks, then breakfast. Load milk on express, harness horse, away to factory mile away--get whey return. Now 9 o'clock, wife has machines down and washes, hubby hose down shed. Drive whey down to paddocks and feed 40 pigs, returns, unharness horse, wash cart down, yoke team to plough, disk, &c. Wife to start housework about 10 o'clock, dinner at 12.30 to be ready, or taken down to paddocks (if harvesting 3 or 4 men are working). Usual times fencing, repairing sheds, fixing yards, besides other farm duties till 3.30--afternoon tea--children given something to eat on returning from school. Husband and wife to sheds again 4 till 7. Hubby washes machines, feeds calves, &c., wife in meantime has returned house, washed children and put to bed before sitting down to her tea at 8 o'clock--by time washed up is 9 o'clock--too tired to do anything else but crawl into bed." The lack of adequate playing-areas, kindergartens, and other means of employing the time of the pre-school child outside the home is a matter that was brought before the notice of the Committee as another of the domestic difficulties. This is one of the factors preventing that amount of leisure which is necessary for the well-being of the mother. (_d_) _Cost of Confinement._--This was stressed particularly by country witnesses. Where a woman is beyond the reach of medical attendance and has to travel a considerable distance to hospital this adds materially to the cost of the confinement. To some women even moderate hospital and medical fees are prohibitive, and the problem is rendered more difficult still by the necessity for providing extra help in the home or on the farm during the wife's absence. It was, however, rightly pointed out by one witness that the fees paid to an abortionist and the economic waste due to subsequent ill health would in many cases more than pay the expenses of an ordinary confinement. (2) FEAR OF LABOUR AND ITS SEQUELÆ. This was referred to by several witnesses, some of who cited cases from their own experience. An erroneous idea seems to be prevalent among certain sections of the laity that the total abolition of pain during labour is possible for every patient. The fear that such relief will be withheld has been suggested as a cause for women seeking the abortionist. It would seem, however, that, with the increasing knowledge of methods of pain-relief in labour, more extensive ante-natal and post-natal care, and the cultivation of a more normal psychological outlook among pregnant women, the fear complex will in future assume progressively less importance. The Committee believes that increasing attention is being paid to these aspects by the medical profession. As to the bearing of this matter on the subject of abortion, several witnesses, among whom were two obstetricians of wide experience, expressed the opinion that, while fear of pregnancy and labour is rare, fear of infection following abortion is a factor the recognition of which is becoming more general. The Committee is of opinion that fear of labour is not a major factor, and this opinion is supported by many witnesses. Ill health was alleged as a cause in a few instances, but it would appear that, in spite of the ambiguous state of the law, no genuine ease of ill health need resort to abortion by clandestine methods. This is referred to in greater detail elsewhere. (3) PREGNANCY IN THE UNMARRIED. While this constitutes only a small part of the general problem of abortion, it is, nevertheless, a matter of great importance, and one which merits the closest study. Undoubtedly the general attitude towards the unmarried mother to-day is kinder and more tolerant than was formerly the case, but the fact remains that the single girl who determines to face the world with her child may find herself subject to unreasonable and unnecessary cruelty and injustice. Excellent work in assisting the single mother is done by various religious and charitable organizations, and where a girl is driven to the abortionist this is more likely to be due to fear of social ostracism than to lack of ways and means of caring for the child. Several witnesses mentioned ignorance of matters relating to sex as being frequently responsible for pregnancy in the unmarried. This is undoubtedly the case, and the responsibility of parents, guardians, and teachers in this matter is evident. The evil influence of drinking on young people was also stressed, medical and social workers being well aware of the importance of this factor. Alcohol consumption need not be excessive to undermine self-control and dull the moral sense. (4) CHANGES IN THE SOCIAL OUTLOOK. The Committee believes that, in the altered social outlook, particularly towards the rearing of large families, lies a very important cause for the present situation. This aspect of the matter is intimately interwoven with the economic considerations already set forth, but extends far beyond them. The point of view of what we believe to be a very large body of women is illustrated by the following evidence, which is but one of many similar expressions of opinion heard by the Committee. This witness, speaking on behalf of a group with incomes of £300 to £400 per annum, stated:-- "On present incomes, not more than two or three children at the outside can be given educational and economic opportunities. It may be said that it is quite possible to mitigate to a quite tolerable degree the strain put upon the parents by the provision of (1) adequate wages for husbands, and (2) a system of domestic help for wives. With regard to (1) it is not probable within our lifetime that everybody will be guaranteed an income adequate to the needs of a family of, say, three children--'needs' as viewed by educated parents. The most sympathetic administration would have its hands full for many a year coping with the problem of helping those thousands of our people who have been just on or very near the bread-line. Those worst off hitherto need help first. A man earning between three and four hundred a year should not claim Government help to breed children, when there are such numbers of people living on a much lower wage. But it must be perfectly clear to each member of the Commission who figures the matter out that a salary of less than £400 will not enable more than two children to be given such chance of development as every parent reasonably desires. It is pertinent to ask here what is the average number of children in the families of the British middle class--which is mainly the stratum from which our legislators, rulers, and magistrates have been drawn. Do such people breed freely? Self-respecting parents prefer to do without such Government help as family allowances; but knowing the cost of training a child they claim the rights first, to decide how many children they will breed, and, secondly, to live themselves normally satisfied married lives. Few women, moreover, of average intelligence are to-day content to be breeding-machines, and their husbands support them in that attitude. With regard to domestic help, even were this, or nursing schools, or both, provided by the State, the responsibility for her children's well-being would be still all-absorbing, at least during the first four years of each one's growth. Students of child psychology are insistent that the pre-school period is the most important in the life of the individual and requires the most skilful attention. Natural affection is not enough; it must be wedded to care for the child's mind. Now, willy-nilly, modern life itself takes such toll of nervous energy that there are few educated women today who go through all the child-bearing period and have sufficient nerve force to welcome each child that may 'come along' and rear it happily. Yet without adequate nervous energy in the mother what family can develop into healthy and well-balanced useful citizens? It necessarily follows that the output of children will be limited if the parents are to do their part adequately. Quantity, the mass production of the past, must give way to quality. That involves birth-control. How is it to be achieved?" Without necessarily assenting to the sentiments expressed in the above quotation, the Committee considers that such opinions cannot but demand thoughtful consideration. Dread of large families or of close-interval pregnancies under modern conditions is undoubtedly a common reason for attempting to limit the family. But having made all allowances for the more difficult circumstances of modern times, the more thoughtful consideration of some husbands for their wives and of some parents for their children, and a legitimate intention to maintain a higher standard of living, it seems clear that amongst a considerable section of the community the demand for the limitation of families has passed beyond these motives into regions of thoughtlessness and selfishness. Furthermore, an attitude of pitying superiority towards the woman with many children appears to be a current fashion. Many witnesses expressed the opinion that a young and sensitive mother was frequently deterred from a further pregnancy, for which she would in other circumstances be quite prepared, or tempted to seek abortion, because of the fear of ridicule by current public opinion. Still other women, it has been explained, are influenced by comparisons. Seeing their neighbours leading less burdensome and more pleasure-full lives, they decide to follow suit. The modern desire for pleasure and freedom from responsibility has led many to lose sight of the ideal of the family as a service to the State and the unit of social life. Unwillingness on the part of the wife to give up remunerative work is a factor that operates in certain cases; this may be due to the position of the wife as the support of an invalid husband and family, but in other cases the reason is obviously selfish. While dealing with this question of social outlook, it will not be out of place to refer to an aspect which, though mentioned by only a few witnesses, is known to all social workers as a factor of increasing importance. This is the fear of war. It may take the form of (_a_) conscious visualization of the horrors of war, or (_b_) sub-conscious fear evidenced by excessive anxiety regarding the future. In either case it acts as a powerful deterrent from child-bearing, although it is doubtful whether those who are influenced by this fear would resort to abortion where contraception had failed. Speaking of social conditions, some witnesses, under the impression that the average age at marriage was rising, attribute the increasing abortion-rate among the unmarried partly to this cause. The actual fact is that the age at marriage has decreased of late years, but is still probably higher than would be the case if economic conditions were more favourable. It is clear that, whether the motives be worthy or selfish, women of all classes are demanding the right to decide how many children they will have. Methods which depend on self-control are ruled out as impracticable. Contraceptives are largely used, and, judging by the marked decline in the birth-rate in recent years, are in many cases successful. In other cases, however, they are not so, and there is then frequently a resort to abortion. (5) IGNORANCE OF EFFECTIVE METHODS OF CONTRACEPTION AND OF THE DANGERS OF ABORTION. The public as a whole is ignorant of the physiology of reproduction. This results in attempts being made to prevent conception by methods which are doomed to failure at the outset. The use of defective methods owing to their comparative cheapness and the unnecessarily high cost of effective appliances are undoubtedly among the causes of such failure. While it is not the function of this Committee to report upon the wider aspect of contraception, but to deal with it only in relation to the abortion problem, yet we would point out that the evidence given showed that, though contraception is widely practised, many of the methods used are unreliable and not founded upon physiological knowledge, and that when they fail abortion is resorted to. Abortion is a delayed, dangerous, and unsatisfactory form of birth-control. It was stressed by some witnesses that many women have no idea of the risks to life and health involved in the procuring of abortion, a medical witness mentioning, among other evils, the tendency to spontaneous abortion arising from damage to the generative organs sustained at an initial induced abortion. Other witnesses, on the contrary, maintained that these risks are well known to the majority of women, but that when faced with an unwanted pregnancy they are willing to incur any risk. Fuller reference to these dangers appears in another section of the report. (6) INFLUENCE OF ADVERTISING. The attention of the Committee was drawn to advertisements appearing in certain periodicals which, while openly advocating the use of various contraceptives, referred to restraint and self-control in deprecatory terms. Abortifacients were advertised in terms which, while equally offensive, were less obvious. Other advertisements set forth the contents of certain books on sex matters of a very undesirable nature. The language of these advertisements can only be described as obscene, and their possible effects on immature and inexperienced minds can well be imagined. A reprehensible practice is that of certain so-called "mail order chemists," who send out price-lists of contraceptives and abortifacients indiscriminately through the post. In some cases these advertisements were shown to be of a definitely misleading and fraudulent character. PART III.--POSSIBLE REMEDIAL MEASURES. Having reviewed the position as it exists in New Zealand, and having set out what appear to be the main causes, it now remains to consider possible preventive measures. (1) THE RELIEF OF ECONOMIC STRESS. In so far as hardships resulting from economic difficulties are genuine, the Committee believes that there is a real call for and that there are definite possibilities of relief by the State. Two classes in particular call for most sympathetic consideration:-- (1) The wives of the unemployed, or of those precariously employed. (2) The wives of those engaged in small farming, especially in the dairy-farming districts of the North Island. For such women we consider that much could be done by way of financial, domestic, and obstetrical help. _Financial Help._--In general terms all efforts at social betterment--the reduction of unemployment, the improvement of wages and relief, the reduction of taxation, direct and indirect, and the provision of better housing conditions--should undoubtedly help to make conditions more secure and more satisfactory for the rearing of larger families. But further than this, we believe that really adequate financial assistance _directly related to the encouragement of the family_ is urgently called for. It is perfectly clear that general financial improvement does not, itself, necessarily bring about larger families; limitation of the family is probably more prevalent amongst those more fortunately placed. What form this financial aid to the family should take requires much consideration. The assistance is required not merely at the time of confinement, but also during the much longer period of the rearing and the education of the family. A general extension of the maternity allowance under any national health scheme would afford some immediate financial assistance. Income-tax exemption for children, however generous the scale, would not benefit these badly circumstanced cases, for already they are below the income-tax limit. It would appear that further financial provision would have to take the form of a direct children's allowance. It is suggested that this might be put into effect by amending the present Family Allowances Act to provide that-- (1) The amount be increased; (2) The permissible income-level be increased; (3) That, where given, the allowance be in respect of all the children in the family; and (4) That the age-limit of the children be increased to sixteen. _Domestic Assistance._--Equally important is the provision of domestic assistance, and here we are faced with a problem of the greatest difficulty--a national problem which is affecting women in all walks of life and of which this is but one aspect. In many farming districts it is clear that lack of domestic help is a greater burden to the harassed mother than even financial stringency. Many admirable efforts are being made to give assistance in this direction--in the country by the housekeeper plans of the Women's Division of the Farmers' Union and other organizations, in the cities by the Mothers Help Society and similar agencies. Extension of such system is highly desirable, and the possibility of their organization on a much larger scale with Government subsidy well deserves consideration. In many cases these efforts are limited as much by lack of personnel as by lack of funds. Alternatively, we suggest-- (1) That the Government should inaugurate and recruit a National Domestic Service Corps of young women agreeable to enter the domestic-service profession; (2) That the recruits be guaranteed continuity of employment and remuneration as long as their service was satisfactory; (3) That they undergo whatever training is considered desirable at technical school or otherwise; (4) That they agree to perform service wherever required by the Domestic Service Department, which Department shall ensure that the living and working conditions are up to standard; (5) That the service be made available to all women, and that first consideration be given to expectant mothers, mothers convalescent after childbirth, and mothers who have young families, and that the service be either free or charged for according to the circumstances of each case. Again, realizing the fact that many of the considerations involved in this question of domestic help are beyond the scope of this Committee, we recommend that a full investigation should be made of the whole matter. _Obstetrical Aid._--As for obstetrical help, we believe that the position is in the main adequate and good. As far as the larger centres are concerned, no woman, however poor her circumstances, need lack complete ante-natal supervision, for which no charge is made, and proper confinement care, at most moderate cost, in the St. Helens Hospitals or the various maternity annexes of the public hospitals; where the mother is actually indigent, free provision is available through the Hospital Boards or St. Helens Hospitals. The country mother in certain districts is, however, much less well placed, although the Health Department through its district nurses, maternity annexes, and subsidized small country hospitals is trying to meet the need. We commend all possible efforts in this direction, and suggest that transport difficulties as they affect the country mother be given special consideration. To a certain extent transport difficulties can be eliminated by making more use of public hospitals nearest to the patient's residence, or of private maternity hospitals subsidized by the Hospital Board of the district. Certain general criticisms of the maternity services are elsewhere discussed and certain recommendations are made. It is in respect of overburdened and debilitated women of those classes who are not in a position to obtain it privately that we have suggested that the State might make provision for birth-control advice. It is for such mothers especially that we have recommended the establishment of birth-control clinics in connection with our public hospitals. We realize, however, that genuine economic hardship is not confined to the unemployed, the wives of struggling farmers, and those on the lowest wage-levels; relative to their own circumstances and responsibilities, the difficulties of many women whose husbands are in the lower-salaried groups, or in small businesses, for instance, are just as anxious. For these we should also advocate the extension of the maternity allowance and such further direct financial encouragement of the family as can be devised. Here, too, is the definite need for domestic help--possibly on a subsidized plan. Many of these women prefer to make their own private arrangements for their confinements, and to enable them to do so we suggest that further assistance might be given by the provision of more maternity hospitals of the intermediate type, in which these mothers may have all adequate facilities with the right of attendance by their own doctors. Here, too, we believe that proper knowledge of child spacing is most desirable, though we consider that this is a matter for private arrangement. (2) REMOVAL OF FEAR OF CHILDBIRTH. It has been indicated that whereas the majority of witnesses expressed the opinion that the fear of pregnancy and labour played little part in the demand for abortion, and that the majority of women were satisfied with the help and relief which they received at the time of their confinement, yet there were some witnesses who held very strongly that inadequate pain relief and lack of sympathetic understanding of the individual on the part of the attendants were factors of considerable importance. We believe that these complaints are, as far as the maternity services in general are concerned, entirely unjustified. Taken as a whole, there is probably a more general use of pain-relieving measures in New Zealand to-day than anywhere else in the world. Nevertheless, while commending what has already been done, we trust that every endeavour will be made by the Health Department, the doctors of the Dominion, and those responsible for the management of our maternity hospitals to do everything possible to extend these pain-relieving measures within the limits of safety, and to encourage that sympathetic consideration of the individual which is so desirable. While deprecating certain attacks which have been made on the St. Helens Hospitals, and appreciating the fact that there are other considerations involved besides the relieving of pain, we feel sure that the Health Department will investigate the possibility of improving the services rendered by these Hospitals by the introduction of resident medical officers. We agree with one witness who expressed the opinion that too much had been done in the past in the way of publishing the risks of maternity. We feel that there are real grounds for confidence in the obstetrical services of the Dominion and that any fear of pregnancy which does exist would be largely removed if the public were made aware that New Zealand now has a very low death-rate in actual childbirth, that relief in labour is largely used, and that further developments in this direction are continually being investigated. (3) CONTROL OF ABORTION AMONGST THE UNMARRIED. The evidence before the Committee indicates that, while this is not the major problem, it is, nevertheless, an important one. Obviously, the main cause is a looseness of the moral standard, and the remedy must be educational. It is not the province, nor is it within the capacity of this Committee, to make detailed recommendations on this matter, but we would urge upon all those concerned--the educational authorities, religious bodies, the various youth movements and women's organisations, and individual parents--the importance of enlightened education of the young in the matter of sex problems. One factor of great importance we believe to be the widespread use of contraceptives amongst the unmarried. It might, at first thought, seem likely that the use of contraceptives, however reprehensible, would tend to diminish the incidence of abortion. But we believe that actually this is not the case: there is reason to think that many young women, relying on undependable methods of prevention, are tempted, and then, finding themselves in misfortune, resort to some method of abortion. It is our opinion that not only is immorality encouraged by the indiscriminate sale of contraceptives, but, indirectly, criminal abortion has increased amongst the young. For these reasons above all we are convinced that there should be a determined effort to suppress the indiscriminate sale of contraceptives. While realizing the great practical difficulties, we believe that much could be done. In particular, we believe that some effective measures could be devised to control the distribution of that type of contraceptive which is mainly used in these circumstances. We recommend the consideration of the licensing of the importation of certain contraceptive goods. We urge that the sale or distribution of contraceptives should be restricted entirely to registered practising chemists, doctors, hospital departments or clinics, and that their sale by other persons should be illegal and subject to severe penalty. Evidence placed before the Committee showed that, a profit up to 300 per cent. was being made on contraceptive appliances. We recommend that the restriction on the advertisement of contraceptives should be more rigidly enforced, and particularly that the promiscuous advertisement and sale of contraceptives by "mail order" agencies should be made illegal. We recommend that it should be made unlawful to supply contraceptives to young persons. Difficulties and possibilities of evasion are of course obvious, but, nevertheless, similar restrictions have been applied with at least some measure of success in other directions. We would also appeal to the Pharmaceutical Society and to the individual chemists, since the responsibility rests so largely with them, to co-operate most earnestly in this matter. With regard to abortifacients, the recommendations we later make apply with even greater force to unmarried women. Several witnesses, speaking on behalf of women's organizations, advocated the introduction of women police for the guidance and protection of the young in places of public resort. Reference to the effect of alcohol on moral restraint has already been made. The second big consideration is the care of the unmarried woman who is in trouble. It has been suggested that if there were a more tolerant attitude towards such girls many who now resort to abortion would be prepared to go forward and face the future. As one witness stated:-- "She should be treated with the greatest tenderness. Usually she is more sinned against than sinning; but she carries all the blame which belongs not only to the man but also to society, which has been guilty of supine acquiescence in the surrender of standards of moral conduct. "She has to give birth to a child which has the rights of every unborn infant; and she has to re-establish herself in the community.... It is terribly difficult for them afterwards with the child, and they need all the help they can get. It seems to me that some of them must go in sheer dread to the abortionist. My definite opinion is that something more needs to be done." In all fairness to the many fine organizations which are helping these girls, the Committee is satisfied that there is no lack of tolerance, sympathy, and helpfulness with them. If fault there is, it is in the attitude of the general public to this matter. Some criticism has been directed at the St. Helens Hospitals because they are not freely open to unmarried women, but it is only right that the position should be made clear. The actual position is that, in the majority of cases, the St. Helens Hospitals, which can only offer accommodation to an expectant mother for the period of her confinement, are _not suitable_ for dealing with single women, who require protection and care before and after their confinements as well. There are, throughout the country, many admirable institutions which are equipped to give this service. Discussion before this Committee has, however, made it clear that where an unmarried mother can make adequate private arrangements for the care of herself and her infant after confinement, the St. Helens Hospitals are prepared to take her for the actual confinement period. In regard to the maternity homes which deal with unmarried women, there has also been some criticism of the usual regulations in these homes which call for a period of residence in the home both before and, especially, after confinement. It should be pointed out, however, that this is a wise and humane provision, entirely in the interests of the mothers and their babies; it ensures for the mother that very period of convalescence which other witnesses have so strongly advocated under other circumstances, it gives the baby protection in the most difficult early months, and it allows the helpers in the home an opportunity to make provision for the baby's future. Here, again, where the mother is able to make adequate provision for herself and her infant, these regulations are certainly relaxed in some of the homes concerned, and we would commend this practice in suitable cases to those responsible for the management of all these homes. Regarding the obstetrical care given to the unmarried mothers in these homes, the evidence given indicates clearly that it is of a standard equal to that in our other maternity hospitals. Indeed, whereas the risks of childbirth amongst unmarried mothers the world over is notoriously high, amongst the women who place themselves in the care of these homes in New Zealand the maternal mortality and the infant mortality are both exceedingly low. In the homes of which the members of the Committee have personal knowledge the same ante-natal care (indeed, since these patients are resident in the home and under close observation, more complete care) is given and the same methods of pain relief are used. It is only right that these reassuring facts should be made public. Regarding the provision for the children in these cases, while we are satisfied that the State and the various organisations responsible for their care deal with them in a kindly and sympathetic manner, we agree that every effort should be made to give them a fair prospect in life, to avoid any stigma, and to keep secret their misfortune. It has been suggested by one witness that the privacy of an unmarried mother's affairs has been interfered with the present regulations regarding the notification of births. Under the Child Welfare Act as it at present operates there is a duty on the Registrar to inform the Child Welfare Department of every birth, and the register is also open to the Plunket Society for purposes of following up. Good as the intention of these provisions is in the interests of the babies, the assertion has been made that in certain cases the knowledge of this lack of secrecy has deterred women from allowing their pregnancies to continue, and has constrained them to seek abortion. The Committee is not prepared to comment on this complaint, but would suggest that it be investigated, and that, if there is any justification in it, the regulations be amended so that, while fully protecting the child, full secrecy is maintained. (4) TO MEET CHANGES IN SOCIAL OUTLOOK. The Committee has concluded that, beyond the economic and domestic considerations already discussed, there are many changes in modern social outlook which are operating in the direction of family limitation, and which, in many cases, lead to the practice of abortion. Can anything be done to prevent the occurrence of abortion resulting from these tendencies in modern life? Concerning birth-control the realities of the position must be faced. There can be no doubt that there is a widespread uncontrolled and ill-instructed use of contraceptives. As one witness put it, "New Zealand is saturated with birth-control." Owing to this extensive half-knowledge there is in many cases an entirely unwarranted dependence on their reliability to the exclusion of any measure of self-discipline whatever. The Committee is under no illusion in this matter. With this attitude prevailing in the community and provided with such a weapon--even though it is likely to explode in their own hands--women will continue to limit their families. No social legislation, however generous, will prevent it, nor, as far as the Committee can see, will legal prohibitions do much to restrict it. Two lines of action are suggested:-- (1) To direct the knowledge of birth-control through more responsible channels, where, while the methods advised would be more reliable, the responsibilities and privileges of motherhood, the advisability of self-discipline in certain directions, and other aspects of the question could be discussed. It is this view which has led the Committee to the recommendations it has made in the discussion of birth-control. (2) To appeal to the womanhood of New Zealand in so far as selfish and unworthy motives have entered into our family life, to consider the grave physical and moral dangers, not to speak of the dangers of race suicide which are involved. We can but urge all those who have to do with the education of our youth and the moulding of women's opinion to give these matters earnest consideration, and the Committee is of the opinion that it is necessary to develop the education of young people in biology and physiology in our primary and secondary schools as a foundation for a more rational and wholesome outlook on sex matters. (5) CONTRACEPTION. The practice of contraception is a debatable question, and one on which the most varied evidence has been given. Witnesses opposed this practice, some on moral grounds, some with the plea for a greater natural increase in the population of New Zealand. Others again, particularly the representatives of women's organizations, advocated the establishment of clinics for the general instruction of married women in the practice of reliable methods of contraception. They expressed the opinion, and some of them supported their opinions with sound argument and overseas experience, that the instruction of the mothers of New Zealand in the practice of child-spacing rather than resulting in a diminution of the birth-rate might well cause an increase in the size of many families, for, in addition to enabling mothers to plan their families, such clinics also specialize in propaganda calculated to awaken women to an appreciation of the privileges and responsibilities of motherhood. The Committee agrees that the possession of reliable contraceptive knowledge by the married women of New Zealand would tend to augment rather than to diminish further the natural rate of increase of our population, for an additional factor to those given above lies in the large amount of sterility which follows induced abortion, that most unsatisfactory of all forms of birth-control. The evidence laid before the Committee shows that in New Zealand every year thousands of women imperil, and indeed negate, their future prospects of motherhood by submitting to the induction of abortion. It has been shown that abortion is a delayed, dangerous, and unsatisfactory form of birth-control, and it can quite logically be argued that if a reliable and simple method of contraception was known to all married people the abortion problem would assume very small proportions. This is, to a large extent, true, but it must not be forgotten that both abortion and contraception have various aspects, and that apart from other objections there are practical difficulties which are not easily surmounted. There is no known contraceptive which is simple, inexpensive, and 100 per cent. reliable for the thoughtless, the careless, and the stupid. Contraception may be considered under three headings:-- (1) The practice of contraception extramaritially, which only needs to be mentioned to be deprecated. (2) The practice of contraception by married people irrespective of their circumstances. Evidence was given by responsible and representative women in support of a mother's right to say when she will bear her children, and although we agree that this privilege might well be conceded her, we are of the opinion that it is not the function of the State to undertake the dissemination of the knowledge and give the practical instruction necessary to enable the general adoption of this principle. This general instruction can well be left to the medical profession, who should also undertake the responsibility of impressing the privileges of motherhood upon young women seeking such advice. In recommending that such general instruction should be left to the medical practitioners, we are cognizant of the fact that many members of that profession are at a loss to know what methods of contraception can be reliably recommended to lay persons. A sub-committee of the Obstetrical Society, consisting of members who have made a special study of this problem, has been set up, and the presentation of their report will doubtless clarify the position in the minds of the medical profession. (3) The practice of contraception by married women who, in the opinion of their medical attendant, should have temporary or permanent freedom from the fact or fear of pregnancy. Not only are there cases in which severe illness exists making further pregnancies dangerous, but there is also a heterogenous group including all gradations of health and economic reasons. Here we have the mother with health undermined and reserve vitality reduced to a minimum by the strain of bearing and rearing a large family. She approaches the menopausal stresses with anxiety and apprehension, having done her duty to family and race, often having lived an exemplary self-sacrificing life, the intolerable contemplation of a late pregnancy drives her to desperate measures often for the first time in her life. Again, there is the relatively young, tired, anæmic, debilitated mother, with a number of young children born at very close intervals, often denied even a half-holiday, let alone an adequate one, unable to afford suitable domestic assistance, often with poor housing or domestic arrangements, and completely exhausted with the incessant round of cleaning, cooking, and the strain of the inevitable fretfulness of a number of young children. The Committee is of the opinion that it is the State's duty to ensure that mothers within this group should obtain the respite that the health of themselves and their present and future families demands. The economic aspects of these problems are dealt with in our general recommendations, but we also recommend that departments should be established, preferably in conjunction with the out-patients' departments of our public hospitals, whither medical practitioners could refer for instruction and equipment with contraceptive appliances mothers who in their opinion should be assured of temporary or permanent freedom from child-bearing. It might be desirable that the certifying doctor's recommendation should be endorsed by the officer in charge of the department before admission, but that is a practical point which could be discussed at a later date with members of the Obstetrical Society and medical profession. Though the Committee discounts the exaggerated statements that have been made at intervals about the sale of contraceptives to juveniles, and though no first-hand information on such matters was laid before the Committee, yet we are of the opinion that the sale of contraceptives to young persons should be prohibited. (6) THE CONTROL OF THE ADVERTISEMENT AND SALE OF ABORTIFACIENT DRUGS AND APPLIANCES. The Committee recommends the advertising and sale (except by doctor's prescription) of drugs euphemistically described as for the "correction of women's ailments" or "correction of irregularities" should be forbidded. For their alleged purpose of correcting functional menstrual irregularities they have no value; as abortifacients though usually ineffective their unrestricted sale should be forbidden. As stated previously, "their only value is as a lucrative source of gain to those people who, knowing their inefficiency, yet exploit the distress of certain women by selling them." An example of this exploitation was obtained by the Committee. The drugs were advertised as "corrective pills, ordinary strength, 7s. 6d.; extra strong, 12s. 6d.; special strength, 20s." A supply of the last was obtained, and analysis showed that they consisted of (1) a capsule containing about 12 drops of oil of savin, value about 6d., dangerous to health but usually useless for the purpose sold; (2) 9 tablets of quinine, worth about 4s., and quite ineffective; (3) 24 iron and aloes pills, worth about 6d., and equally ineffective. The gross profit on this 2s. worth of rubbish was at least 900 per cent. If it is possible to legislate to stop such fraudulent exploitation of people we recommend that it be done. The Committee also recommends that the sale of surgical instruments which can be used for the purpose of procuring abortions, such as catheters, Bougies, and sea-tangle tents, be prohibited, except on the prescription of a medical practitioner, and that if possible their importation be placed under control. PART IV.--QUESTIONS RELATING TO THE MEDICO-LEGAL ASPECTS OF ABORTION. At the present time there is in many countries much criticism of the existing laws regarding abortion, and various suggestions have been made for the alteration of the law. Such representations have, indeed, been made to this Committee. A consideration of these matters, therefore, could not escape our attention. THE NEW ZEALAND LAW REGARDING ABORTION. The law in regard to abortion as set down in sections 221, 222, and 223 of the Crimes Act, 1908, is as follows:-- _Procuring Abortion._ "221. (1). Every one is liable to imprisonment with hard labour for life who, with intent to procure the miscarriage of any woman or girl, whether with child or not, unlawfully administers to or causes to be taken by her any poison or other noxious thing, or unlawfully uses any instrument or other means whatsoever with the like intent. "(2) The woman or girl herself is not indictable under this section." This section re-enacts s. 201 of the Criminal Code Act, 1893. _Cf._ s. 223, _infra_. "Other means" must be read _ejusdem generis_ with "instrument." (_R._ v. _Skellon_ [1913] 33 N.Z.L.R. 102.) "_Procuring her own Miscarriage._ "222. Every woman or girl is liable to seven years' imprisonment with hard labour who, whether with child or not, unlawfully administers to herself, or permits to be administered to her, any poison or other noxious thing, or unlawfully uses on herself, or permits to be used on her, any instrument or other means whatsoever with intent to procure miscarriage." This section re-enacts s. 202 of the Criminal Code Act, 1893. "_Supplying the Means of Procuring Abortion._ "223. (1) Every one is liable to three years' imprisonment with hard labour who unlawfully supplies or procures any poison or other noxious thing, or any instrument or thing whatsoever, knowing that the same is intended to be unlawfully used or employed with intent to procure the miscarriage of any woman or girl, whether with child or not. "(2) Every one who commits this offence after a previous conviction for a like offence is liable to imprisonment with hard labour for life." This section re-enacts s. 203 of the Criminal Code Act, 1893. In _R._ v. _Thompson_ [1911] 30 N.Z.L.R. 690, a person was convicted of an attempt (s. 93. p. 209, _ante_) to procure a noxious thing although the thing actually procured was innoxious. "Knowing" has the meaning of "believing," and a person supplying "a noxious thing" is guilty even when the person supplied, who states that he required it for procuring abortion, had no intention of using it and did not use it for that purpose (_R._ v. _Nosworthy_ [1907] 36 N.Z.L.R. 536). If the evidence shows that prisoner intended the instrument to be used for the purpose stated, it is sufficient without evidence of intention on the part of the woman to use it or allow it to be used (_R._ v. _Scully_ [1903] 23 N.Z.L.R. 380). The word "thing" where secondly used in this section includes only things _ejusdem generis_ with instrument and capable of being used to produce miscarriage (_R._ v. _Austin_ [1905] 24 N.Z.L.R. 893). _Therapeutic Abortion._--In New Zealand, as in Great Britain and other countries, the medical profession has always held that when the mother's life is seriously endangered by a continuation of the pregnancy the termination of the pregnancy is justifiable and right. This the law allows, not specifically but by inference. It is probably a correct statement of the position to say that, with advances in medical knowledge and thought, even the most conservative medical opinion, apart from that which is influenced by certain religious views, holds that the indications for the termination of pregnancy have been extended somewhat to include not only cases in which the mother's life is immediately jeopardized, but also certain cases in which her life is more remotely endangered. This view is supported by the social thought of to-day. This is not to say that the occasions for this operation are frequent; they are, indeed, infrequent. The general standards which guide the medical profession in this matter are very strict, and are conscientiously conformed to by the majority of its members. It is also a well-recognized rule of the profession that such operations should only be performed after consultation between two medical practitioners. With this change in medical outlook, however, there has been no corresponding alteration in the law, which, as it stands, is as uncompromising as ever, and allows of no interference except to save the _life_ of the mother. It is a fact that the law is _interpreted_ liberally, and no doctor who has acted honestly in the belief that the mother's health was seriously endangered has ever been challenged. Nevertheless, it has been urged by a large body of the medical profession, especially of those most intimately affected by the question, that there are possible dangers in the situation, and that the law should be altered to indicate more specifically the rightful position of the doctor in this matter; in other words, it is advocated that the present interpretation of the law should be incorporated in the law itself. Much is made of the fact that an honourable practitioner occasionally finds himself in the unsatisfactory position of having actually to break the letter of the law in doing what according to accepted medical standards is in the best interests of the patient. As safeguards against the possible dangers of a widening of the law, it has been suggested that new regulations should be introduced governing the practice of therapeutic abortion. It has been recommended that operations should only be performed after adequate consultation, and that written certificates should be given by both parties to the consultation; that in certain cases the consultant should be a specialist; that all operations should be performed in public or licensed hospitals; that every therapeutic abortion should be notified to the Medical Officer of Health, to whom also the two certificates should be forwarded; and that every operation not performed under these conditions should be subject to strict investigation. It has also been recommended by some that there should be a general notification of all abortions. Those who are opposed to any alteration of the present state argue that any specific legalization of therapeutic abortion to save the serious impairment of health as well as to save life might lead to abuses of this sanction. They point out that even at the present time doctors differ considerably in their views and in their practice, and they fear that such divergences in thought and practice might be seriously exaggerated. As to the suggested safeguarding regulations, there is by no means general agreement in the medical profession concerning their advisability or their value. The Committee, having investigated the matter very fully, is satisfied that any disability under which the doctor rests in terminating a pregnancy for genuine, accepted therapeutic reasons is only theoretical. No actual instance was brought before the Committee in which a doctor had been penalized or even subject to question when acting in good faith, nor was any evidence presented to show that any patient had suffered by reason of a doctor refraining from operating through fear of possible legal consequences. Both medical and legal witnesses competent to speak on these medico-legal aspects were definite in their assurance that, under the existing law, no doctor acting in accordance with the accepted standards of the profession was in any danger. The only person who need have any fear was one who ignored guidance of the existing standards of his profession, and to this extent the law was, at least in part, a deterrent against laxity of practice. The Committee considers that, as it stands, the law has shown itself adaptable in practice to all reasonable changes in medical thought. Further, the Committee was impressed by the possible dangers which might be associated with any alteration in the existing law. While it is undoubtedly true that the majority of doctors are straightforward and honest in their interpretation of the indications for therapeutic abortion, it was made clear that even at the present time there are some who are inclined to terminate pregnancy for reasons which would not be accepted by most. It would be quite impossible to lay down a hard-and-fast list of indications. There are definite grounds for fearing that any alteration in the law would lead, in certain quarters, to a widening of the interpretations far beyond the intention of the alteration. Under any alteration it would be exceedingly difficult to control the merging of the therapeutic into the social and economic reasons. For these reasons, then, the Committee is not prepared to suggest any alteration in the law regarding therapeutic abortion; the Committee believes, however, that some benefit might accrue from the compulsory notification of all abortions to the Medical Officer of Health. _Abortion for Social and Economic Reasons._--Having received certain representations in favour of this practice, and having examined a large mass of evidence on this subject, the Committee is utterly opposed to any consideration of the legalization of abortion for social and economic reasons. The Committee does not hesitate to state its first objection on moral grounds. That the deliberate destruction of embryo human lives should be allowed for all the varying and indeterminate reasons suggested by different advocates would lead the way to intolerable license. We would draw your attention and that of the public to the extreme views which are held by some of the most active advocates of legalized abortion. In its most blatant form this advocacy is based on the argument of woman's right to determine for herself whether a pregnancy shall continue or not. "The right to abortion should be taken quite away from legal technicality and legal controversy. Up to the viability of her child it is as much a woman's right as the removal of a dangerously diseased appendix." This is the view of Miss Stella Browne in her essay on "The Right to Abortion"[2] and of others who hold similar opinions. [2] "Abortion Spontaneous and Induced." Taussig. Is any comment necessary? The representative of one of the largest women's organizations in New Zealand who gave evidence before the Committee advocated the introduction of legislation permitting abortion under certain circumstances after a woman had had two children, subsequently qualifying the suggestion by the words "if contraceptives fail." In the case of such ill-considered opinions, the Committee believes that it would be impossible to limit the practice if the law were in any way relaxed. Of course there are others who confine their advocacy of legalized abortion to cases in which there are elements of real tragedy and which appeal to public sympathy, but, granting that there are many cases in which social and economic conditions create situations of great hardship, nevertheless the Committee is fairly convinced that abortion is not justifiable; the remedies lie in the removal of the causes and the alleviation of these difficult situations by social legislation and other measures, and in the education of the public conscience. The Committee is also opposed to the legalization of abortion for social reasons on account of the very considerable risks to health which are associated with the practice. Medical witnesses were agreed that, while the immediate risk to life in surgically performed termination of pregnancy was slight, there were very definite possibilities of more remote disabilities, and that such sequelæ occurred in a considerable proportion of cases. In the case of a genuine therapeutic abortion these risks are outweighed by the dangers of the condition calling for the termination of pregnancy, but were the operation to be performed freely for social reasons the effect in the community might be very serious. World-wide interest has been aroused in the matter through the experience on Soviet Russia, where, for a number of years, abortion for social and economic reasons was legalized and extensively practised. The operations were performed in special hospitals and by skilled operators. At first it was claimed that when the operation was done openly and carefully the risk to life was exceedingly small. It was stated, for instance, that in 1926 artificial abortion was carried out on 29,306 women in Moscow with no mortality, and that in a total of 175,000 operations in Moscow there were only nine deaths. But now come most significant reports of the after-effects to these operations, which state that 43 per cent. of these women suffered from some definite illness as a result of the operation, and that "the most enthusiastic Russian advocates of legalized abortion are appalled at the growing evidence of serious pelvic disturbances, endocrine dysfunctions, sterility, ectopic pregnancy, and other complications following in the wake of artificial abortions."[3] [3] "Abortion Spontaneous and Induced." Taussig. A recognition of these remoter dangers has undoubtedly been an important factor in bringing about the complete reversal of the previous policy in Russia, where abortion for social and economic reasons is now illegal. The opinion of A. M. Ludovici, admittedly an extreme exponent, may well be considered when, in "The Case against Legalized Abortion"[4] he writes:-- "If only the disingenuous propaganda in favour of legalized abortion would cease, and if only those who carried it on refrained from dinning into the ears of an uninformed gallery of women the alleged safety and harmlessness of abortion carried out under the best hospital conditions, there would be less eagerness to face the ordeal of criminal abortion. "So long as ignorant women are led to believe that abortion, when skilfully performed, is as easy and harmless as having a corn extracted, they will naturally infer that it can be done just as harmlessly in secret as in public, especially if they are assured that the surreptitious abortionist is skilled, as presumably they always are, and are, moreover, kept in total darkness concerning the kind of operation that is necessary for the interruption of pregnancy. "If, however, they knew the truth, which is that artificial abortion, even under the best hospital conditions, is a precarious undertaking, so frequently leading to invalidism as never to be 'safe'; if, moreover, we spread the truth about Russia's legalized abortions, and put a stop to the false reports circulated by ill-informed enthusiasts regarding the ease and safety of skilled induced abortion, we should be going a long way towards reducing criminal or surreptitious abortion to vanishing-point." [4] "Abortion," by Stella Browne. Ludovici and Roberts. _Sterilization._--Brief mention must be made of _sterilization_--an operation whereby further pregnancy is prevented--which has been put forward by certain witnesses as a method of preventing abortion. Just as therapeutic abortion is, in certain cases, legitimately performed by medical practitioners, so has the operation of sterilization a recognized place in medical treatment of exceptional cases in which a woman's life is likely to be endangered or her health gravely impaired by further pregnancy. It can, indeed, be reasonably argued that in such cases sterilization is very definitely to be preferred to the very unsatisfactory alternative of repeated therapeutic abortion. Nevertheless, any general extension of this practice would, in the opinion of the Committee, be open to serious abuse. The Committee sees a tendency in some quarters to extend the indications for this operation far beyond the bounds of generally accepted medical opinion. The attitude of the Committee towards this matter is therefore the same as towards more specific legalization of therapeutic abortion. _The Prosecution of the Criminal Abortionist._--A very disquieting aspect of this problem is the relative immunity of the criminal abortionist from punishment. Conviction for the crime is rare, even in cases where guilt appears to be proved beyond all reasonable doubt. The Committee has sought to discover the reasons for the failure to obtain conviction. It is apparent that the police authorities are faced with many difficulties. In the first instance conviction is largely dependent on the evidence of a woman who, in the eyes of the law, is an accomplice to the offence, and corroboration of her evidence may be demanded. It has been suggested by certain witnesses that, if the woman were legally exempt from penalty, there would be less reticence about giving evidence and a greater fear on the part of the abortionist. On the other hand, it has been stated to the Committee that where such an indemnity is actually given, this very fact operates against conviction. The Commissioner of Police gave information that-- "Juries are loth to convict in such cases and appear to be impressed by the argument usually advanced by counsel for the defence that, as it was at the solicitation of the woman that the offence was convicted, she is the principal offender, and they adopt the view that unless she also is charged it would be unfair to convict the abortionist. The fact that if the woman was charged she could not be called as a witness, and that, without her evidence, there would be no case, does not appear to weigh with them." It would therefore appear that legalized exemption of the woman would not be a remedy. The very serious statement has been made that-- "In many cases professional abortionists have the assistance of one particular doctor who attends their patients when medical skill becomes necessary. The doctor either treats the patient successfully or sends her to hospital on his own personal note, and in neither case does the identity of the abortionist come to light. There is reason to believe that in many such cases the assistance of the doctor is given knowingly and in collaboration with the abortionist contrary to the rule laid down in Sydney Smith's 'Forensic Medicine,' 3rd edition, page 362, that 'It is no part of a doctor's duty to act as a detective, but it is equally certain that it is no part of his duty to act as a screen for the professional abortionist.'" The Committee would earnestly draw the attention of the responsible medical authorities to the suggestion that there are even a few members of the profession who are prepared to "cover" the abortionist when difficulties arise. It is quite well realized that there are many occasions on which the general practitioner quite innocently comes in contact with these cases: that is an entirely different matter. It is a further complaint of the police that they are hampered by the fact that rarely are they notified of a case of criminal abortion until the woman's condition is so critical that it is impossible to obtain a statement from her, and if she dies the evidence she might have given is lost. Without such evidence there is little chance of successfully prosecuting the abortionist. To overcome this difficulty it has been advocated that, where a patient is admitted to hospital and is suspected to be suffering from the effects of criminal abortion, it should be the duty of the responsible medical officer of the hospital to notify the police forthwith and supply all the information in his possession. This suggestion, however, involving as it does the confidential relationship between doctor and patient, is open to serious objections. It is proposed to consider the position of the medical practitioner in relation to criminal abortion more fully in a subsequent section. Finally, it is evident that the general public as represented by some members of juries do not regard this crime with the same seriousness as does the law. A heavy responsibility rests on the public in allowing the present position to continue. The Committee cannot but take a serious view of the repeatedly demonstrated difficulties in securing convictions, even in the face of apparently conclusive evidence, of persons charged with inducing abortion, and consider that the time has arrived when careful consideration should be given to the condition of the law relating to such crimes and to what steps are necessary to discourage effectively their practice. With that object in view the Committee respectfully and earnestly directs the attention of the Government to the position that has arisen, and the serious social, physical, and moral consequences which are likely to follow if effective steps are not taken to enforce the clear intention of the law. _The Position of the Medical Practitioner in Relation to Criminal Abortion._--The duties and responsibilities of medical practitioners in connection with cases in which the performance of an illegal operation is suspected or known to have occurred are of great public importance. Two main questions arise--(1) The duty of a doctor before the death of a patient or in a case where a fatal result is not expected, and (2) his duty in a case where the patient has died. Concerning the first issue there are very conflicting opinions. As already pointed out, it has been urged by the Police Department that in every case where a patient is admitted to a hospital and is suspected to be suffering from the effects of induced abortion or attempted abortion it should be the duty of the Medical Superintendent or Senior Medical Officer of the hospital to notify the police forthwith, and supply all information in his possession which would assist in establishing the identity of the offender and bringing him to justice. The widely accepted view of the medical profession, supported by high legal authority, is that the bond of professional secrecy as between doctor and patient is so important that it would be entirely wrong for a doctor, without the patient's consent, to give information to the police before her death. It has been insisted that, were it to be compulsory for the doctor to notify the police on the strength of information obtained in his professional capacity, patients would refrain from obtaining the necessary medical help under these circumstances, thus accentuating the problem of deaths from abortion rather than limiting it. It has been stated that already in one centre a disinclination to enter hospital has been expressed by patients because they feared that the police would be informed. It is agreed, however, that the doctor should attempt to persuade the patient, especially if her condition is serious, to make a statement to the police. The actual legal position in New Zealand was made quite clear by the law officer of the Crown when asked by the New Zealand Obstetrical Society in 1932 for an opinion. This opinion, as published in the _New Zealand Medical Journal_ (Obstetrical Section), 29th October, 1932, was as follows:-- "A doctor is under no legal obligation to inform the police as to the cause of the illness of a person which has been due to an illegal operation, either in a case where the patient recovers or in a case where the patient dies. He is, of course, under an obligation to insert in the certificate of death which he furnishes under the Births and Deaths Registration Act, 1924, the cause of death, both primary and secondary. In that certificate, where the death was the consequence of an illegal operation, he should insert the nature of the operation as the primary cause of death. He need not, of course, describe it as an illegal operation, but he would describe the type of operation and the reason why such operation was the primary cause of death--_e.g._, owing to incompetence or ignorance, if that be the case. "In giving this ruling I am, of course, referring merely to the legal obligation--_i.e._, the duties imposed according to law. Speaking generally, there is a moral duty on every person having knowledge of a serious crime which is an offence against morality as well as against law, to assist the police as far as possible in its detection and suppression. The confidence of a patient may be a legitimate ground for excluding that duty in some, or even in most, of the cases of this kind. But no doubt there are certain cases where the duty is clear. Instances are the case of a young and inexperienced woman who has reluctantly submitted to the operation at the hands of a person who is known as a practised abortionist, or where the operation has been done by violence and against the will of the subject. These, however, are questions of morality upon which varying opinions may be held, and upon which I do not desire to be taken as expressing a final opinion." This legal opinion has not been challenged, though it has been criticised. Although the Committee appreciates the difficulties under which the police are working, the evidence of other witnesses has led them to agree that any extension in the direction of compulsory notification to the police before death, and against the patient's wish, is open to serious objections and is therefore not advisable. Regarding the second issue, there is general agreement that there is a duty on the doctor to assist the police, and that this should be done by withholding a certificate of death and informing the Coroner. The position has been more clearly defined as a result of a recent amendment to section 41 of the Births and Deaths Registration Act, as contained in section 12 of the Statutes Amendment Act, 1936:-- "12. (1) On the death of any person who has been attended during his last illness by a registered medical practitioner, that practitioner shall forthwith sign and deliver to the Registrar of the district in which the death occurred a certificate, on the printed form to be supplied for that purpose by the Registrar-General, stating to the best of his knowledge and belief the causes of death, both primary and secondary, the duration of the last illness of the deceased, the date on which he last saw the deceased alive, and such other particulars as may be required by the Registrar-General, and the particulars stated therein shall be entered in the register together with the name of the certifying medical practitioner. "(2) The medical practitioner shall at the same time sign and deliver to the undertaker or other person having charge of the burial a notice on the printed form to be supplied for that purpose by the Registrar-General to the effect that he has furnished a certificate under the last preceding subsection to the Registrar. "(3) In any case where, in the opinion of the medical practitioner, the death has occurred under any circumstances of suspicion, the practitioner shall forthwith report the case to the Coroner. "(4) Every medical practitioner required to give a certificate and a notice as aforesaid, or to report to the Coroner as provided by the last preceding subsection, who refuses or neglects to do so is liable to a fine not exceeding five pounds." Recently a consultation on this matter was held between the Minister of Health and members of the Council of the New Zealand Branch of the British Medical Association. The Association expressed the opinion that the resolutions of the Royal College of Physicians (England), which were laid down as a result of a similar controversy in Great Britain, constituted the most satisfactory guide in these difficult and responsible situations, and informed the Minister that steps would be taken to make the position clear to all its members. The resolutions are as follows:-- "The College is of opinion-- "1. That a moral obligation rests upon every medical practitioner to respect the confidence of his patient; and that without her consent he is not justified in disclosing information obtained in the course of his professional attendance on her. "2. That every medical practitioner who is convinced that criminal abortion has been practised on his patient should urge her, especially when she is likely to die, to make a statement which may be taken as evidence against the person who has performed the operation, provided always that her chances of recovery are not thereby prejudiced. "3. That in the event of her refusal to make such a statement he is under no legal obligation (so the college is advised) to take further action, but he should continue to attend the patient to the best of his ability. "4. That before taking any action which may lead to legal proceedings, a medical practitioner will be wise to obtain the best medical and legal advice available, both to ensure that the patient's statement may have value as legal evidence and to safeguard his own interest since in the present state of the law there is no certainty that he will be protected against subsequent litigation. "5. That if the patient should die he should refuse to give a certificate of the cause of death, and should communicate with the Coroner. "The college has been advised to the following effect:-- "1. That the medical practitioner is under no legal obligation either to urge the patient to make a statement, or, if she refuses to do so, to take any further action. "2. That when a patient who is dangerously ill consents to give evidence, her statement may be taken in any of the following ways." [The procedure employed in taking this statement is then specified.] The Committee is also of the opinion that if the medical profession closely follows this guidance and that of the amended section 41 of the Births and Deaths Registration Act, the public interests will best be served. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS. I. The Committee is convinced that the induction of abortion is exceedingly common in New Zealand, and that it has definitely increased in recent years. It has been estimated that at least one pregnancy in every five ends in abortion; in other words that some 6,000 abortions occur in New Zealand every year. Of these, it is believed that 4,000, at a conservative estimate, are criminally induced either through the agency of criminal abortionists or by self-induction, either of which is equally dangerous. It is clear that death from septic abortion occurs almost entirely in such cases. Such deaths have greatly increased in recent years, and now constitute one-quarter of the total maternal mortality: in some urban districts it amounts to nearly half of the total maternal mortality. New Zealand has, according to comparative international statistics, one of the highest death-rates from abortion in the world. II. The Committee, after taking evidence from witnesses representing all sections of the community, has formed the conclusion that the main causes for this resort to abortion are:--(1)Economic and domestic hardship; (2)changes in social and moral outlook; (3) pregnancy amongst the unmarried; and (4) in a small proportion of cases, fears of childbirth. These matters are fully discussed. III. Consideration has been given to the possible remedying of these causes. (_a_) In so far as economic hardship is the primary factor, certain recommendations have been made regarding financial, domestic, and obstetrical help by the State. (_b_) To lessen any fear of childbirth where this exists, it has been recommended that the public should be informed that New Zealand now has a very low death-rate in actual childbirth and that relief of pain in labour is largely used. At the same time the Committee has advocated that further efforts in the direction of pain relief should be explored. (_c_) For dealing with the problem of the unmarried mother, the Committee considers that the attack must be along the lines of more careful education of the young in matters of sex, prohibition of the advertisement and sale of contraceptives to the young, and a more tolerant attitude on the part of society towards these girls and their children. (_d_) The Committee believes, however, that the most important cause of all is a change in the outlook of women which expresses itself in a demand of the right to limit--or avoid--the family, coupled with a widespread half-knowledge and use of birth-control methods--often ineffective. These failing, the temptation to abortion follows. The Committee can see only two directions in which abortion resulting from these tendencies can be controlled:-- (1) By the direction of birth-control knowledge through more responsible channels, where, while the methods would be more reliable, the responsibilities and privileges of motherhood, the advisability of self-discipline in certain directions, and other aspects of the matter would be discussed. The Committee believes that it is through the agency of well-informed doctors, and, to a certain extent, through clinics associated with our hospitals, that this advice should be given. It is not, however, considered that this is a matter for the State except to a limited degree. (2) To appeal to the womanhood of New Zealand, in so far as selfish and unworthy motives have entered into our family life, to consider the grave physical and moral dangers, not to speak of the dangers of race suicide which are involved. This, it is considered, is a matter for all women's social organizations to take up seriously. IV. Certain further measures of a more general nature came under the examination of the Committee. The prohibition of the promiscuous advertisement of contraceptives, and of their sale to the young; the licensing of the importation of certain types of contraceptives; the restriction of the sale or distribution of contraceptives to practising chemists, doctors, hospitals, and clinics; the prohibition of the advertisement, or of the sale, except on medical prescription, of certain drugs and appliances which might be used for abortion purposes; these measures are recommended. The specific legalization of therapeutic abortion (by doctors for health reasons) as a safeguard to doctors was fully examined but is not recommended. The Committee is satisfied that the present interpretation of the law is such that, where the reasons for the operation are valid, the doctor runs no risk of prosecution. The risks of an alteration in the law are great. Legalization of abortion for social and economic reasons was also put forward. The Committee has discussed the matter, and strongly condemns any countenancing of this measure. Though it may be conceded that legalized performance of the operation by doctors in hospitals might reduce the incidence of surreptitious abortion and deaths from septic abortion, we do not accept this as any justification of a procedure which is associated with grave moral and physical dangers. With regard to sterilization, the Committee adopts the same view as towards the specific legalization of therapeutic abortion. It is believed that, where the reasons for the operation are in accord with generally accepted medical opinion, there is no bar to its performance. We see, however, tendencies in the direction of extending this operation far beyond the bounds of this accepted medical opinion. For this reason we do not recommend any alteration in the present position. The failure to obtain the conviction of the criminal abortionist, even in cases where the guilt seems beyond all doubt, has been discussed as a matter of serious concern, and the Committee can only bring before the public its responsibility, as represented by members of juries, for the virtual encouragement of this evil practice. Finally, the Committee, while fully conscious of its inability to place before you a complete and certain solution of this grave problem, or one which will satisfy all shades of opinion, believes that a definite service will have been done through this investigation if full publicity is given to the facts of the situation as here revealed, and if the public conscience is awakened to the fact that, although State aid and legal prohibitions may do something to remove causes and to deter crime, the ultimate issue rests with the attitude and action of the people themselves. THANKS. To Mr. C. Stubley, of the staff of the Department of Health, we extend our thanks for the efficient manner in which he carried out his duties as Secretary to the Committee, and also to Misses B. Frost and O. Clist who, as stenographers to the Committee, had a very arduous task, and whose excellent reports materially assisted the members of the Committee in their final deliberations. D. G. McMILLAN, CHAIRMAN. JANET FRASER. SYLVIA G. CHAPMAN. T. F. CORKILL. T. L. PAGET. _Approximate Cost of Paper._--Preparation not given; printing (500 copies, including graph), £26 10s. * * * * * By Authority: E. V. PAUL, Government Printer. Wellington.--.1937. _Price 9d._] 
33987	----	generously made available by Biodiversity Heritage Library.) BEAUTIFUL SHELLS OF NEW ZEALAND. An Illustrated Work for Amateur Collectors of New Zealand Marine Shells WITH Directions for Collecting and Cleaning them. BY E. G. B. MOSS, BARRISTER, AUCKLAND. Photographs by C. SPENCER, Auckland. 1908. PUBLISHERS: COLLINS BROS. & CO., LIMITED, AUCKLAND. [Transcriber's Note: Words surrounded by tildes, like ~this~ signifies words in bold.] CONTENTS. PAGE. Preface 3 Chapter I.--Shells and their Inmates 5 Chapter II.--Collecting and Cleaning Shells 10 Chapter III.--Description of Plates 14 INDEX. Page. Acmæa fragilis, 43 Acmæa octoradiata, 43 Acmæa pileopsis, 43 Amphibola crenata, 26 Anatina angasi, 32 Anaitis yatei, 37 Ancilla australis, 17 Ancilla pyramidalis, 17 Anomia walteri, 46 Apollo argus, 22 Apollo australasia, 22 Arca decussata, 40 Argonauta nodosa, 14 Astralium heliotropium, 27 Astralium sulcatum, 27 Atactodea subtriangulata, 36 Bankivia varians, 29 Barbatia decussata, 40 Barnea similis, 32 Buccinulus kirki, 30 Bulla quoyi, 32 Calliostoma pellucidum, 24 Calliostoma punctulatum, 24 Calliostoma selectum, 24 Calliostoma tigris, 23 Calyptræa maculata, 42 Cantharidus fasciatus, 29 Cantharidus iris, 28 Cantharidus purpuratus, 28 Cantharidus tenebrosus, 28 Cardita australis, 39 Cardita aviculina, 38 Cassis, 23 Cerithidea, 30 Chione costata, 36 Chione crassa, 39 Chione oblonga, 36 Chione stutchburyi, 36 Chione yatei, 27 Cochlodesma angasi, 32 Cominella huttoni, 21 Cominella lurida, 21 Cominella maculata, 21 Cominella nassoides, 22 Cominella testudinea, 21 Cominella virgata, 22 Cookia sulcata, 27 Corbula zelandica, 33 Crenella impacta, 40 Crepidula aculeata, 42 Crepidula monoxyla, 42 Crepidula unguiformis, 42 Cylichna striata, 31 Daphnella lymneiformis, 29 Dentalium nanum, 43 Divaricella cumingi, 39 Dolium variegatum, 18 Dosinea australis, 40 Dosinea lambata, 40 Dosinea subrosea, 40 Drillia zelandica, 29 Emarginula striatula, 42 Ethalia zelandica, 25 Euthria flavescens, 20 Euthria lineata, 20 Euthria vittata, 20 Galerus zelandicus, 42 Glycymeris laticostata, 37 Glycymeris striatularis, 37 Haliotis iris, 37 Haliotis rugoso-plicata, 37 Haliotis virginea, 37 Haminea zelandiæ, 32 Hemimactra notata, 34 Hiatula nitida, 34 Hipponyx australis, 42 Janthina exigua, 28 Janthina fragilis, 28 Janthina globosa, 28 Kalydon, 30 Lima bullata, 41 Lima zelandica, 41 Lithodomus truncatus, 38 Lithophago truncata, 38 Litorina cincta, 29 Litorina mauritiana, 29 Lotorium cornutum, 23 Lotorium olearium, 22 Lotorium rubicundum, 19 Lotorium spengleri, 22 Lucina dentata, 39 Mactra æquilatera, 33 Mactra discors, 33 Magellania lenticularis, 38 Marinula filholi, 31 Mesodesma novæ zelandiæ, 36 Mesodesma ventricosa, 35 Mitra melaniana, 18 Modiola australis, 46 Modiolaria impacta, 40 Monodonta aethiops, 26 Monodonta lugubris, 26 Monodonta nigerrima, 26 Monodonta subrostrata, 26 Murex eos, 16 Murex octogonus, 16 Murex ramosus, 16 Murex zelandicus, 15 Myodora boltoni, 33 Myodora striata, 33 Mytilicardia excavata, 38 Mytilus edulis, 45 Mytilus latus, 45 Mytilus magellanicus, 46 Natica zelandica, 25 Nerita nigra, 25 Ophicardelus costellaris, 31 Ostrea angasi, 46 Ostrea glomerata, 46 Panopea zelandica, 32 Paphia, 35 Parmophorus, 41 Patella radians, 43 Patella stellifera, 43 Pecten convexus, 44 Pecten medius, 44 Pecten zelandiæ, 45 Pectunculus, 37 Pholadidea tridens, 32 Pinna zelandica, 45 Pisania, 20 Placunanomia zelandica, 46 Pleurotoma, 30 Polytropa, 17 Potamides bicarinatus, 30 Potamides sub-carinatus, 30 Psammobia lineolata, 34 Psammobia stangeri, 34 Purpura haustrum, 17 Purpura scobina, 17 Purpura succincta, 17 Ranella, 22 Resania lanceolata, 34 Rhynchonella nigricans, 38 Rotella, 25 Saxicava arctica, 33 Scalaria tenella, 30 Scalaria zelebori, 30 Scaphella gracilis, 18 Scaphella pacifica, 18 Scutum ambiguum, 41 Semi-cassis labiata, 23 Semi-cassis pyrum, 23 Siliquaria australis, 30 Siphonalia dilatata, 19 Siphonalia mandarina, 19 Siphonalia nodosa, 19 Siphonaria australis, 41 Siphonaria obliquata, 41 Solenomya parkinsoni, 40 Solenotellina nitida, 34 Solenotellina spenceri, 34 Solidula alba, 30 Spirula peroni, 15 Standella elongata, 34 Standella ovata, 33 Struthiolaria papulosa, 19 Struthiolaria vermis, 20 Sub-emarginula intermedia, 41 Surcula cheesemani, 30 Surcula novæ zelandiæ, 29 Tapes intermedia, 39 Taron dubius, 29 Tellina alba, 35 Tellina disculus, 35 Tellina glabrella, 35 Tellina strangei, 35 Tenagodes weldii, 30 Terebra tristis, 30 Terebratella rubicunda, 38 Terebratella sanguinea, 38 Tralia australis, 31 Tricotropis inornata, 31 Triton, 19 Trivia australis, 31 Trochus chathamensis, 24 Trochus tiaratus, 24 Trochus viridis, 24 Trophon ambiguus, 16 Trophon cheesemani, 17 Trophon duodecimus, 30 Trophon plebeius, 31 Trophon stangeri, 16 Turbo granosus, 26 Turbo helicinus, 27 Turritella rosea, 31 Turritella vittata, 31 Vanganella taylori, 34 Venericardia australis, 39 Venerupis elegans, 39 Venerupis reflexa, 39 Venus, 36 and 39 Volsella australis, 46 Volsella fluviatilis, 46 Voluta, 18 Waldheimia lenticularis, 38 Zenatia acinaces, 34 Zizyphinus, 23 PREFACE Often have I heard my young friends regret the great difficulty experienced in identifying the things of beauty found on our coast; and some time back it occurred to me that the time had arrived when an attempt should be made to remedy this. New Zealand is a maritime country, most of its inhabitants living near the sea, and there are few indeed who do not enjoy occasionally the pleasure of wandering along the seashore, gathering shells, seaweed, echini, and the numerous other relics of the deep. This pleasant hobby is robbed of a great deal of its interest by a lack of knowledge as regards the names, habits, and mode of preserving the various finds, and especially the finds of shells. When properly preserved and carefully classified they are much more attractive than otherwise they would be. In almost every home shells are seen; some highly prized as ornaments, others as mementoes of pleasant hours in foreign lands; but seldom are our really beautiful shells represented in a collection. In this work marine shells alone are dealt with, our numerous land and fresh water shells being, with six or seven exceptions, small and insignificant. Of land and fresh water shells about two hundred varieties, and of marine shells about four hundred and fifty varieties, have up to the present been discovered in New Zealand. For some inscrutable reason, however, the New Zealand authorities are continually changing the classical names of our shells. The names I have used are taken from the late Professor F. W. Hutton's last list, published in 1904. It is really time some attempt was made to stop this foolish proceeding. Most of the shells, since I began collecting 20 odd years ago, have had their names changed once, many of them twice, and some even three times. It is more than probable some of the names will be altered while this volume is in the press. These frequent changes in the names cause great confusion, and but for the kindly help and encouragement given me by Mr. T. F. Cheeseman, F.L.S., of Auckland, I should have hesitated to undertake its publication. What most ennobles science is the willingness to give assistance to beginners shown by really scientific men, and doubly pleasing is that help to the recipient when given spontaneously and without stint. This is the first attempt to publish a popular work on New Zealand shells, and is written by an amateur for amateurs. Nearly every shell likely to be met with by an ordinary collector (except the minute shells) will be found in the ten plates at the end of this work. I have endeavoured to describe the shells in simple language, as the scientific words may puzzle some of my readers. For instance, Professor Hutton describes a certain shell as "thick, irregular, sharp ribbed, with the margin dentated or lobed, very inequivalve; upper valve opercular, compressed, wrinkled, with thick concentric laminae; lower valve cucullated, purple, white within, edged with purple or black; lateral margins denticulated; hinge generally attenuated, produced, pointed." When a shell is found that fully answers this description you will know it is an Auckland rock oyster. Errors and omissions will, I trust, be charitably dealt with, as the inevitable mistakes of a man who is blazing a track. I have endeavoured to give the Maori names also, but, unfortunately, in different parts of New Zealand the same name is frequently used for different shells. My own collection of New Zealand marine shells, made during my residence in Tauranga, Bay of Plenty, is, I believe, the best and largest yet made, and among the specimens I can number no less than a dozen new shells which I had the pleasure of adding to the recognised list. Over 90 per cent. of the known species of New Zealand marine shells were found there by my friends or myself during the 15 happy years I spent in that delightful, though not very progressive, part of New Zealand. My thanks are especially due to Mr. Charles Spencer, of Auckland, an ardent conchologist, and for many years my colleague in collecting shells, for the care taken with the photographs, and for valuable suggestions and help. CHAPTER I. SHELLS AND THEIR INMATES. Before the study of shellfish, or molluscs, was conducted on the scientific principles of the present day, shells were classified as univalves, bivalves, and multivalves. The univalves were shells in one piece, such as the whelk; the bivalves those in two pieces, such as the mussel or oyster; and the multivalves those in more than two pieces, such as barnacles or chitons, barnacles, however, being no longer classed with shells. The highest of the five types, or natural divisions, of animals are the Vertebrata, the Mollusca, and the Annulosa. The vertebrates usually have vertebrae, or jointed backbones, and from this the highest division takes its name; but the real test is the colour of the blood, which in the vertebrates is always red. The molluscs have soft bodies and no internal skeleton, but in lieu of this the animal is usually protected by an external shell, harder than the bones of vertebrates. The annulosa, like the molluscs, have soft bodies and no internal skeletons; but the external shell is divided into joints or segments, and is usually softer than the bones of vertebrates. Fishes belong to the vertebrate division, oysters to the mollusc, and crabs and starfish to the annulosa. The remaining two of the five divisions are the Caelenterata, in which the general cavity of the body communicates freely with that of the digestive apparatus, and the Protozoa, which includes all animals, such as sponges, etc., not included in the above four divisions. The shell of an oyster takes the place of the bones of a dog; and although it may seem strange for an animal to have its bones on the outside of its body, it is really no more strange than for a fruit, such as the strawberry or raspberry, to have its seeds on the outside. Lime is the principal ingredient of all bones; and the bones of vertebrate animals contain a large proportion of phosphate of lime, while the shells of molluscs, or shellfish (as they are popularly called), consist almost entirely of carbonate of lime. When scientists began more carefully to examine the structure of shellfish, they found that those similarly constructed had shells with certain marked peculiarities. The days of conchology were then doomed; and the study of the mollusc, or malacology, took its place. Besides those necessary for digesting food, most shellfish have organs equivalent to those of vertebrate animals, such as feet, arms, eyes, head, heart, and tongue. Although bearing the same names, these organs rarely have a similar shape to those of the vertebrates, being necessarily adapted to the different mode of living. The foot of a cockle, shaped like an animal's tongue, enables it to move slowly from place to place, as well as to burrow in a sandy beach with the comical jerks so well known to observers. The tongues are beautifully designed for their work. The long, narrow tongue of the vegetarian mollusc works like a scythe, and mows down the delicate marine grasses on which the animal feeds. The powerful tongues of those that prefer an animal diet are able to bore through the strongest shells; and woe betide the unfortunate shellfish which, having shown signs of weakness, or disease, is surrounded by its active, carnivorous brethren. The tongue, sometimes longer even than the shell itself, is covered with rows of very hard spikes, or teeth, arranged similarly to the burrs on a file. As these teeth break, or are worn out, they are replaced by others that push themselves forward when wanted. Under a microscope of moderate power, the radula, or tongue, of a shellfish, especially a limpet, is a most interesting sight, and many molluscs can be identified merely by examining the tongue under a microscope. The shape of the teeth, the number, and the arrangement of them will settle the question. The appetites of molluscs verge on the voracious. Break up a few cockles, or other shellfish, and place them in shallow water on a calm day, and watch the result. If in the vicinity of rocks, and during a rising tide, all the better. First come the wary little shrimps to the feast. Some are creeping cautiously, and some are jumping and racing, as if afraid of not being in time. Then the carnivorous shellfish approach from all directions, foremost amongst them being the different species of Cominella. While they are lumbering along, shells appear to be actually running; but a close inspection shows that these contain active little hermit crabs, whose tender tails, having no hard covering of their own, are snugly stowed in the empty shells of defunct molluscs. Then the sand or gravel moves, and crabs appear. The shrimps, crabs, and hermit crabs run off with the smaller morsels; but the molluscs gather round the remnants and pull and haul and roll over one another until the feast is ended, when some, being satiated, contentedly burrow into the sand; while others, with their appetites only sharpened, will wander away in search of fresh prey. In many shells, such as the Triton, or Lotorium as it is now called (Plate III.), every increase in growth can be traced in the thick lip formed by the animal when it has increased the size of its shell. Others again, such as the Struthiolaria (Plate IV., Fig. 4), only form a lip when their full size has been attained, and by this the difference between an old and young Struthiolaria can at a glance be seen. Others form a lip at each growth, and then dissolve the lip before starting again. Vertebrate fish are supposed to grow, and increase in size, till the day of their death, but shellfish do not do this. The shell becomes stronger and thicker with age, the animal having the ability to add layer after layer of nacreous, or pearly deposit, on the inside of the shell; and as the animal shrivels and lessens in size the thickness of the shell increases. And some, when they become too large, have power to dissolve the partitions in the shell, and deposit the material on the outside of the shell. The time it takes a shellfish to grow to its full size varies a great deal. Oysters take about five years; but the giant Tridacna, the largest bivalve in the world, has been found so enclosed in the slow-growing coral that it could hardly open its valves. The young of most shellfish are active little things, and are usually so different from their parents as to be unrecognisable. Some swim, or frisk about, and travel even long distances in search of suitable quarters to settle in. Others float on the surface, and are driven where the winds and currents list. Some, like mussels, are distributed all over the world, others again are found, perhaps, on one rock, or on one small sandbank in a large district. Many shells are rare, because we do not know where to look for them; but if we know and can find their food, we will find the shellfish not far away. Some change their shape so much that, as they age, they have to dissolve all the partitions made in their youth in the shell. The eggs of some are scattered on the surface of the water, while the eggs of others are hatched by the mother before being turned adrift. Marine shellfish live in all kinds of places below high water mark; and some of the semi-amphibious ones thrive even above ordinary high water mark, where for days at a time nothing but the tops of the waves could reach them. They are found on seaweed and on rocks, and on sand or mud-banks; but especially in places near rocks on marine grass banks bare at low spring tides. Some live on the surface of the water, some burrow in sand or mud, and some bore holes for themselves in the softer rocks. Some live in deep water; but the better coloured shells are found near low water mark, or in shallow water; for light is as necessary to the perfecting of colour in shells as in flowers. Shells that have grown in a harbour are more fragile than those grown in the ocean, and are usually less brilliant in colour, as harbour water is not as clean as ocean water. The colour of shells (as of insects) depends largely on environment, and is only one, and by no means the most reliable, method of deciding the species. An expert can at a glance tell whether a given shell has come from shallow or deep water, and whether from an exposed or sheltered spot. Most shellfish move about a great deal, and migrate into deeper water in summer; and on bright clear days retire into dark corners amongst, and even under, stones. On a dull day a collector is frequently more successful than on a bright, sunny day; and in spring or early summer the best hauls of live shells can be made. Nearly all shells have an epidermis, or outer skin. In some this is very apparent, as in the Lotorium olearium (Plate V., Fig. 1), or the Solenomya parkinsoni (Plate IX, Fig. 18), while in others it is nearly transparent, and hardly perceptible. To enable the true colours of a shell to be seen the epidermis must be removed. The supposed original form of a shell was that of a volute univalve, such as the Triton (now Lotorium), or Struthiolaria. To properly enclose the animal, and make it safe from enemies, an operculum, or lid, was so formed that when the animal retired into the shell this filled up the opening. The operculum is usually like a piece of thin, rough brown horn, and where no reference is made to an operculum in this work, it must be understood that the operculum is horny. Some shells, such as the Astralium sulcatum (Plate VI., Fig. 18), and the Turbo helicinus (Plate VI., Fig. 17), have a shelly operculum; that of the latter being the well-known cat's eye. In some shells the operculum is small, in others large, and progressing step by step we find some, such as the scallop and oyster, with one side round, and the other (really an operculum) flat and as large as the shell; until we come to the perfect type with each valve the same shape and size. Then the operculum disappears, as in the limpet, and the covering shell becomes smaller and smaller, till in the Scutum ambiguum (Plate IX., Fig. 23) the shell bears about the same proportion to the animal that the little bonnet, fashionable a few years ago, bore to the lady that wore it. The shell is built up of very thin layers of nacre, or mother of pearl, and calcareous or chalky matter, the thinner being the layers of nacre the more lustrous and iridescent is the shell. As would be expected from its isolated position, many of the genera of New Zealand shells are not found elsewhere. The late Professor Hutton mentions nine genera in this position. The dispersal of shells is an interesting natural phenomenon. The eggs of molluscs are so small that they can easily be carried by currents, attached to floating seaweed or floating timber, on the hulls of ships, or in the feathers or feet of our migratory birds, such as the godwit, which every year travels from New Zealand to Siberia and back. A great many of our shells are found on the Australian coasts; and a surprising number are common to both New Zealand and Queensland. In describing the illustrations, length means extreme length, and by measuring the shell on the plate the proportionate width can be ascertained. The illustrations are, generally speaking, half the natural length of the shell depicted; and the shell photographed, although in most cases an average full-sized specimen, in some instances was smaller than the average. [Illustration] CHAPTER II COLLECTING AND CLEANING SHELLS. Shells are described as live and dead shells. Live shells are those found with the animal enclosed, and are more likely to be perfect in form and colour than dead shells. Dead shells found amongst rocks are nearly always battered and worn, and useless from the collector's point of view. Live shells are found below high water mark, among rocks, or in the sand, or amongst seaweed and marine grasses. Wait till a storm from the sea is ended, and then, if the wind is blowing from the land, a rich harvest of live and dead shells will be found on the sandy beaches and amongst the seaweed and wrack that comes ashore. Many of the smaller shells will be found amongst the leaves and roots of kelp. Start early in the morning, or pigs, rats, and seabirds will have destroyed the choicest specimens. Even such solid bivalves as the Dosinia will be carried skywards by the gulls and dropped on to a hard part of the beach, so that the shells may be cracked and the gulls get the contents. Most birds have this habit; even thrushes can be seen carrying snails up in the air and dropping them on to paths. Soak the dead shells in hot water for a few hours to get rid of the salt, and then scrub with a hard brush, or, if encrusted or very dirty, rub with sand, using a brush or cloth. No need to fear hurting them, unless very fragile, in which case the best thing is a soft toothbrush, with fine sand. If patches of dirt, or encrustations, still remain, scrape with a piece of hard wood or a knife. As a last resource use muriatic acid, diluted with an equal volume of water; but be careful to put it only on the spots to be cleaned, using a penholder, or small stick, with a small piece of rag tied to the point. The inside of the shell, if discoloured, can be cleaned in the same way. When cleaned, wash again carefully, and dry thoroughly. Then rub the shell with a mixture of sewing machine oil and chloroform in equal parts. The machine oil, being fish oil, will replace the oil the shell has lost, and chloroform is the best restorer of colour we have. For very delicate shells poppy oil is sometimes used; but it is expensive and difficult to obtain. The greatest trouble is getting the animal out of live shells. Anthills are few and small in New Zealand, so the lazy man's method of putting shells on an anthill, and letting the insects do the work, is impracticable. Boiling for a minute will not hurt the stronger and heavier shells; but even pouring boiling water on the more delicate shells will cause them in time to fade. After taking the shells out of the boiling water, let them cool, and then place them in cold, fresh water for a couple of days in summer or for a week in winter, changing the water every day. The animal can then usually be removed with a bradawl, or, better still, a sail needle stuck into a cork. Although soaking in fresh water for a few days makes the animal slip out more easily, still a large proportion will break during extraction. The piece left behind must also be extracted, or the shell will be offensive. The coarser shells can be buried for a few months in sandy soil, or for a few weeks on a sandy beach below high water mark, or put in baskets or bags made of twine or netting, and placed in tidal pools, or fastened to stakes at low water mark, where the marine insects will quickly do their share of the work. Or they may be buried in a boxful of clean sand or sandy soil, and the sand kept moist by watering it every few days. The box is all the better for being put away in a damp place under a tree, or on the shady side of a building or fence. This, however, is a slow process, and if the specimens are required at once, the best way is to extract all you can of the animal by the hot water and soaking process, and then keep the shell half-full of water in a shady place, every morning holding it under a water tap and shaking it carefully. After each shaking a very little pure muriatic acid may be put into the shell, and when all the effervescing from the acid is over, wash and shake it again. Two or three mornings of this treatment should clean the shell. The more delicate shells will lose their colour if put into boiling water, so first put the boiling water in a basin and then place the shells in it. Nearly all salt water shellfish, if soaked for a few hours in fresh water, will die. The only exceptions I know of are the Nerita and Littorina, families which are semi-amphibious. The best way to remove coral or vegetable growths from shells is to leave them for a few weeks, or if very hard, for a few months, in a shady place, where the wind and rain can get at them, but not the sun. The growths will then be sufficiently soft to be scraped off with a piece of hard wood or a knife, or rubbed off with sand. It is a good plan to oil or paste calico over portions not covered with growths, so as to reduce the risk of the colour fading. When the animal is removed and the growth cleaned away, wash, scrub, and dry, as with dead shells. Shellfish are sometimes obtained by dredging with a naturalist's dredge, or by diving for them, or lifting them out of the water with instruments such as hay forks and hooks. Sandy beaches and banks yield many of the most beautiful specimens, but only with experience will the collector be able to identify the marks of the syphons of the various shellfish. Nearly all shellfish that burrow have two syphons, or tubes, which they push through the sand. The water is drawn down one syphon and up the other; and as it passes through its stomach the mollusc absorbs the animal and vegetable particles in the water. Some of these shellfish live feet below the surface of the sand; some, such as the common cockle, only a fraction of an inch. Apparently even cockles do not come to the surface, except to die. Some instinct seems to urge a shellfish, when sick unto death, to save its fellows from infection by leaving the common shelter. Cockles found on the surface are to be avoided as unhealthy, and, unless they die naturally, are soon killed by the carnivorous shellfish. It does not take one of the whelk family long to bore a hole in the centre of the cockle shell. It knows too much to risk having its radula, or tongue, nipped off by putting it between the partly-open valves of the dying cockle. The end of the syphon, which projects from the sand, is like a miniature sea anemone. Each sand-burrowing shellfish has a different shaped end to its syphon, and the skilled collector can tell at a glance what shellfish is down below. If he can grip the syphon with his hand he will have no difficulty in digging up the shellfish, even such a deep-living one as the Panopaea (Plate VIII., Fig. 3), one of which was captured by Mr. C. Spencer on Cheltenham Beach, near Takapuna Head, in Auckland Harbour. I believe this was the only Panopaea captured in New Zealand in situ, and was about eighteen inches below the surface of the sand at half-tide mark. If he miss gripping the syphon he will probably lose the shellfish; as it can burrow nearly as fast as a man can dig with his hand. A beginner cannot do better than take a small spade, and walk along a sandy beach at low water. As the tide begins to rise, and the buried shellfish feel the water, he will see the sand moving, or showing signs of life; and if he digs quickly enough he may unearth rare and beautiful specimens for his cabinet. Wherever animals or vegetables are crowded, disease appears. This is true of molluscs, and it is seldom worth while looking for a specimen fit for a collection where any particular kind of shellfish lives in great numbers. Animal and vegetable parasites will be found wherever shellfish are crowded together. For instance, a perfect cockle, or one good enough for a collection, will not be found on a cockle bank, but solitary ones must be looked for elsewhere. [Illustration] CHAPTER III. DESCRIPTION OF PLATES. Amongst the best known shells in any part of the world the Nautilus takes a leading position. Named Argonauta by scientific men, after the Argonautae, or sailors of the Argo, it has been the subject of many legends from the earliest times. Aristotle describes it as floating on the surface of the sea in fine weather, and holding out its sail-shaped arms to the breeze. This is now known to be incorrect, as the use it makes of these arms is to help it in swimming through the water. New Zealand's specimen, the Argonauta nodosa, also known as Argonauta argo, the most beautiful of the four known species, is depicted on Plate I. Being a floating shell, and found even hundreds of miles from land, our Nautilus is not peculiar to New Zealand. Its beautiful white, horny-looking shell can be obtained from most parts of the Pacific and Indian Oceans, but in no part of the world can finer specimens than ours be found. It is known to the Maoris as Muheke or Ngu, and colloquially as the Paper Nautilus. The animal that produces this shell belongs to the octopus, or cuttlefish, family. The male is an insignificant-looking octopus, about an inch long. The female grows many times larger, as can be imagined from a glance at the shell in the plate, which measured nine inches across, and was found at Mayor Island, in the Bay of Plenty, and is now in the possession of Mr. C. Spencer. In the shell the female lays her eggs, and in it the young are hatched. Unlike all other shells, the Nautilus is not moulded on the animal, nor is she even attached to her shell by muscles. When washed ashore she can wriggle out of her shell and swim away. In her shell she lies as in a boat, propelling herself by slowly sucking up water, and violently ejecting it through a funnel, or syphon, at the same time using her arms as oars, to increase her speed. Dame Nautilus can sink to the bottom of the sea if she chooses; and when wishing to crawl about the sand or rocks she turns over and carries her shell on her back, like a snail. Beside the Nautilus is her little cousin, the Spirula peroni, which sometimes, although not quite scientifically correct, is called an Ammonite. Our Nautilus is frequently found alive, but only one living specimen of this Ammonite has hitherto been caught, though several shells have been obtained from different parts of the world with portions of the fish attached. Neither towing nets nor dredges have been successful in catching the Ammonite, so it evidently does not live either on the surface or bottom of the sea, but probably between the two, in deep water. The shell is in a number of divisions, connected by a fine tube, and no doubt its use is to regulate the depth at which the animal wishes to stay. This the creature does by filling a number of the divisions with water or air, according as it wishes to sink deeper or float upwards. After a gale, on looking amongst the wrack cast up by the highest waves, large numbers of our Spirula will be found. Light and fragile the shells are, and they ride ashore without injury, and frequently are found covered with small barnacles, a proof that many weeks must have elapsed between the death of the owner and the casting ashore of its shell. In places in New Zealand, and elsewhere, large fossil deposits of Spirula peroni occur. It is worth remembering that, even though this shell is found as far away as England, the only living specimen was caught on the New Zealand coast. Our only other floating shells are three species of Janthina, or violet shells, two of which are shown on Plate VII., Figures 1 and 2. The first three shells on Plate II. belong to the Murex family. From this species the ancient Tyrians obtained a portion of their celebrated purple dye. The Janthina family (Plate VII.), however, contributed the greater portion. The dye was extracted by bruising the smaller shells in mortars. ~MUREX ZELANDICUS~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 1 is known as the spider shell, from the spines, which look like spider's legs. It is a white or greyish shell, about two inches in length. The long spines would interfere with the growth of this Murex if it had not the power of dissolving them as the outside of one whorl becomes the inside of the next. The removal is supposed to be assisted by chemical action, as the saliva of some shellfish is known to contain a small percentage of muriatic acid. Such powers have some shellfish of dissolving or altering the form of their shells, that the Cyprae, or Cowry, our representative of which family is the Trivia australis (Plate VII., Fig. 29), not only can dissolve the inner part of its shell, but can deposit new layers on the outside. This Murex lives on sand in the open ocean, and is found in the North Island only. ~MUREX OCTOGONUS~ (Plate II.).--Fig 2 is a slightly longer shell than the Murex zelandicus, and, like it, is found only in the North Island. But in place of being round or oval, this shell is octagonal, from which peculiarity it derives its name. The grooves that cross the shell are deep, and between them are small curved spines. The shell is thick and solid, the exterior being reddish white, sometimes stained with brown. There is a smaller variety of this shell, darker in colour and with more numerous spines than the photographed specimens shown. ~MUREX EOS~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 3 is a beautiful pink shell, about an inch long. Dead shells only have been found, and a good specimen is much prized. None of the Murex family are common, and they are seldom found alive. Murex eos, although existing in Tasmania and Australia, has so far been found in New Zealand nowhere South of the Bay of Islands. ~MUREX RAMOSUS.~--Two specimens of this well-known Island shell have been found in Tauranga during the last five years. One excellent specimen, 8-1/2 inches long, was a live shell, and is now in the possession of Mrs. T. M. Humphreys, of Tauranga. An illustration of this shell will be found on Plate X., Fig. 10. ~TROPHON STANGERI~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 4 is a rough grey shell, with a dark purple interior. It is covered with parallel ridges and lines, which are known as varices, very thin and close together, and running from the apex to the mouth of the shell. It is over an inch in length, and usually found on cockle banks in harbours. ~TROPHON AMBIGUUS~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 5 is in shape very like the Murex stangeri, but twice the dimensions, and can be easily distinguished, as the varices are much higher and further apart; besides which they cross one another at right angles, forming a perfect network, and the interior is pinkish brown. This shell is found on ocean beaches, as well as on cockle banks. ~TROPHON CHEESEMANI~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 6 is a small, grey Trophon, with a dark interior. The shell is deeply grooved, and about three-quarters of an inch long. Found, so far, only on the West Coast, near Waikato Heads. We have 3 other small Trophons, two of which are shown on Plate VII., Figs. 22 and 23. ~ANCILLA AUSTRALIS~ (Plate II.)--Fig. 7 (also known as the New Zealand Olive) is a beautiful clean bright shell, and looks as if covered with shining enamel. The upper part of shells of the Ancilla family is kept polished by the mollusc's foot, which swells to such an extent when the animal is moving about that the whole shell is concealed in its folds. The broad band in the centre is usually dark chestnut or brownish purple, the points of the shell being tipped with darker shades of the same colour. The interior is purplish. Large numbers are found on the edges of channels in harbours, buried in the sand; but their presence is easily located by the oval-shaped mound under which they conceal themselves. When washed up on ocean beaches, they are frequently bleached to a brown or chocolate colour. The Maoris sometimes use them for buttons, and very pretty buttons the medium-sized ones make. The largest I have seen were two inches long. There are two other kinds of Ancilla found in New Zealand, the one much larger, and the other much smaller, than the one depicted. The larger is Ancilla pyramidalis, the smaller Ancilla mucronata. The native names are Pupurore and Tikoaka. ~PURPURA SUCCINCTA~ (Plate II.).--Figs. 8 and 9 is found all over the North Island, on ocean beaches and in harbours. It may have a comparatively smooth exterior, as in Fig. 8, or be deeply grooved, as in Fig. 9. The interior is usually yellow or brown, and generally has a pale band round the margin of the outer lip. It is very variable in colour and general outside appearance, and although at one time divided by naturalists into 3 or 4 varieties, under different names, it is now believed to be only one very variable species. ~PURPURA SCOBINA~ (Plate II.)--Fig. 10 (late Polytropa scobina) is a rough, thick, brown shell, with a dark interior. It varies in colour and shape, and is found everywhere in New Zealand on surf-beaten rocks. It is usually under an inch in length. ~PURPURA HAUSTRUM~ (Plate II.).--Fig 11 (late Polytropa haustrum) is a brown shell, with a greyish or yellow interior. It is found in great numbers on rocks in all parts of New Zealand. Sometimes it is over three inches in length. The animal equals the Cominella in voracity. The Maori name is Kakare, or Kaeo, both of which names are also given to the Astralium sulcatum (Plate VI., Fig. 18). ~SCAPHELLA PACIFICA~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 12 (late Voluta pacifica) is a yellow or chestnut-coloured shell, with dark markings, and is sometimes nine inches in length. It is found in large numbers washed up on the beaches in both Islands after gales, and varies so much in colour, markings, and shape that a good pair is seldom procurable. Sometimes even the nodules, or lumps, shown in the plate, are wanting, and sometimes the markings are wanting. It was until lately known as the Voluta pacifica, being one of the well-known Volute family. It lives in the sand on exposed beaches. The Maori name is Pupurore, which name is also used for the Ancilla australis (Plate II., Fig. 7). ~SCAPHELLA GRACILIS~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 13 (late Voluta gracilis), besides being smaller and narrower than the Scaphella pacifica, is distinguished by the markings, which in the latter appear to form bands, while in the former they do not. With such a variable shell, however, it is difficult to distinguish the one from the other. ~MITRA MELANIANA~ (Plate II.).--Fig. 14 is a dark chocolate-coloured mitre-shaped shell. Being smooth and of the same colour, both internally and externally, it cannot be mistaken. About a score of dead ones, varying from one and a-half to two inches in length, have been found by my friends and myself on the ocean beaches near the entrance to Tauranga Harbour, and at Maketu, in the Bay of Plenty. This is a particularly interesting discovery, as the Mitre shells (so called from their shape resembling that of a bishop's mitre) hitherto found out of the tropics were minute. We have one other Mitre shell, which is pink or brownish, and under one-third of an inch long. Plate III. represents two of our largest and most handsome shells. ~DOLIUM VARIEGATUM~, the upper figure (from Latin dolium--a jar with a wide mouth) is a yellowish brown shell, with dark brown spots, and exceeds six inches in length. Being fragile, and having a very wide mouth, perfect specimens are rare, although numbers of broken shells are from time to time washed up on the ocean beaches in the Province of Auckland. It lives in sand, but sometimes may be found crawling amongst rocks. It has no operculum. The Australian specimens are more handsome than the New Zealand ones. The Maori name is Pupuwaitai. ~LOTORIUM RUBICUNDUM.~--The lower figure, until lately known as the Triton nodiferus, from the old legend that it was the shell on which Triton blew at the bidding of Neptune to calm or rouse the waves, is a heavy, solid shell, varying a great deal in shape and colour; but usually brownish pink, variegated with dark brown. No difficulty will be found in identifying it. The specimens from Australia have more pink and less brown, and are not quite as fine as those of New Zealand. It is found on rocks and grassy banks in the North Island, but from being sluggish in its habits the point of the spire in large shells is usually worm-eaten, and good specimens over six inches long are seldom seen. The Lotorium tritonis, the largest univalve in the world, is similar to the Lotorium rubicundum, but not quite as solid or heavy. It has occasionally been found in the Northern part of New Zealand. The Maoris used it as a trumpet, fastening a mouth-piece to the spire. The Polynesian specimens of the Lotorium tritonis attain a length of nearly three feet, but nine or ten inches is the extreme length of our specimens. The Maori name is Pupukakara, or Putara. ~SIPHONALIA DILATATA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 1 has a pale yellow or greenish interior, the outside being reddish brown. Common on sandy, exposed beaches, and is sometimes over five inches long. The Maori name is Onare roa. ~SIPHONALIA MANDARINA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 2 grows to the same length as the Dilatata; but is a narrower and more graceful shell. The interior is usually greenish. Found in the same localities as the Siphonalia dilatata. ~SIPHONALIA NODOSA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 3 is a pretty shell, sometimes 2-1/2 inches long. The interior is whitish, and the exterior the same colour, with purple and white markings. It is common on ocean beaches and sand banks in harbours. ~STRUTHIOLARIA PAPULOSA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 4 is a handsome yellowish shell, with brown or purplish stripes. The interior is purple. The nodules on the whorls are very prominent. This shell is sometimes four inches long, and the lip, when the shell has attained full size, is remarkably strong and solid, forming a shell ring. From this it is known as the ring shell. In some places the lips, bleached to a perfect whiteness, come ashore in great numbers, the more delicate body of the shell having been broken to pieces among the rocks. These rings are sometimes seen strung together as ornaments. The lip does not form till the shell has attained its full growth, and though the shell is fairly common in the North Island, it is rare in the South. It is edible, and much esteemed by some people. The Maori name is Kaikai karoro, which is also the name for the Chione costata (Plate VIII., Fig. 26), and the Mactra æquilatera (Plate VIII., Fig 10). It is also called Tote rere. ~STRUTHIOLARIA VERMIS~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 5 is smaller than the Struthiolaria papulosa, which it resembles in its habits of growth. It is a pale brownish or yellowish shell, usually without nodules; and on the edge of each whorl nearest to the spire is a groove, as shown in the plate. The best Struthiolaria papulosa are found in the clean sandy margins of tidal channels, but their burrowing habits make them difficult to detect. I have never found the Struthiolaria vermis except cast up on ocean beaches, and it is comparatively rare. The Struthiolaria family, which derives its name from Struthio, an ostrich, as its mouth is supposed to be shaped like an ostrich's foot, is found only in New Zealand, Australia, and Kerguelen's Land. The Maori name is Takai. ~EUTHRIA LINEATA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 6 (late Pisania lineata) is a solid, heavy shell, varying from grey to brown, and the lines shown in the plate are almost black. It is sometimes one and a-half inches long, and is found under stones and rocks. The colours vary very much, and the lines, in number and breadth, vary even more. ~EUTHRIA FLAVESCENS~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 9 (late Pisania flavescens) is a whitish or orange variety, with very pale markings, and much smaller than the Euthria lineata. ~EUTHRIA VITTATA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 10 (late Pisania vittata) is a yellowish-brown shell, with broad brown bands. Another variety of the Euthria is somewhat like the Cominella lurida (Plate IV., Fig. 7) in shape and size. Another, the Euthria littorinoides, is an orange-brown shell, but the interior of the aperture is a pale flesh-colour. In other respects, it is like the Euthria lineata. It is very difficult to draw any distinct line of demarcation between the varieties of this variable shell. Figs. 7, 8, 11, 12, 13, and 14 are of the Cominella family, the New Zealand representatives of the voracious English whelks. ~COMINELLA LURIDA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 7 is the most active and, for its size, the most voracious of our shellfish. Found in all harbours in the Province of Auckland, even up to high water mark, this greedy little animal, seldom more than an inch long, is well worth watching. In some localities, when a cart has been driven along a beach, the track, as soon as the tide reaches it, will swarm with the Cominella lurida. They are looking for cockles or other shellfish smashed by the wheel, and will even burrow in the sand to get at them. If you lift up a broken or injured cockle, some will cling to it with their rasp-like tongues till they are lifted out of the water. In calm, sunny weather, what looks like little bits of fat or candle-grease will be seen floating with the rising tide in very shallow water. These are Cominella lurida, which have perhaps eaten up everything in their vicinity, and have therefore decided to emigrate. A Cominella lurida, when shifting camp, will turn upside down, spread out its large white foot into a cup-shape, and let the rising tide sweep it along. They vary very much, from grey to purple or black, and sometimes even a mixture of two or more of these colours. ~COMINELLA HUTTONI~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 8 is a small pale brown shell, spotted with reddish-brown. The ridges on the exterior of the shell make it easy to identify. ~COMINELLA MACULATA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 11 is a yellowish shell, with reddish-purple spots on the outside, the interior being also yellow. Its length is sometimes over two inches, and it is found in large numbers on sandy or shelly beaches, near low-water mark, in the North Island. Although a heavy, solid shell, it is of coarse texture, and therefore open to attacks by animal and vegetable parasites. A large specimen in good order is by no means common, the spire, or upper end of the shell, as shown in the plate, being usually worm-eaten. ~COMINELLA TESTUDINEA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 12 is a handsome purple shell, the interior being darker than the exterior. It is about the same length as the Cominella maculata, but narrower, and the shell is thinner and harder. The exterior is covered with brown and white spots and splashes. It is common in the North Island and as far south as Banks' Peninsula. It is found on cockle banks and amongst rocks, especially those where sand is mixed with mud. The name Testudinea, from Latin testudo, a tortoise, is an appropriate one, as when held up to the light this Cominella looks like tortoise-shell. ~COMINELLA VIRGATA~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 13 is a greyish-brown shell, the raised lines, or ridges, that cross it being almost black. I have rarely found it, except amongst rocks in the harbours. It is much narrower than the Cominella testudinea, and not quite as long. The best way to obtain good specimens of these two Cominella is to break limpets, or other shellfish, and throw them into shallow water, close to rocks. In a few minutes, on revisiting the baits, the best specimens can be selected for the cabinet. ~COMINELLA NASSOIDES~ (Plate IV.).--Fig. 14 is a pinkish-yellow shell, with very pronounced ridges on the exterior. The interior is brownish. So far, I have heard of its being found only in the South Island and the Chathams. ~LOTORIUM OLEARIUM~ (Plate V.).--Fig. 1 (late Triton olearium) is a mottled brown and white shell, similar in its habits to the Lotorium rubicundum (Plate III.), but usually found on grassy banks in harbours at or below low water mark. The second figure on the plate is a good specimen of this shell, with its epidermis untouched, while the first figure has had the epidermis removed. To such shells as this and the Solenomya parkinsoni (Plate IX., Fig. 18) the epidermis adds an additional beauty, and to preserve it I have used a preparation of glycerine and chloride of calcium, being careful to put it on before the epidermis has time to dry or crack. ~APOLLO ARGUS~ (Plate V.).--Fig. 2 (late Ranella argus) is a white or light grey shell, covered with a thin chestnut-brown epidermis. The lines that show so distinctly on the figure are dark chestnut. It is found on ocean beaches in both Islands, and attains a length of four inches. ~APOLLO AUSTRALASIA~ (Plate V.).--Fig. 3 (late Ranella leucostoma) is a reddish-brown shell, covered with a fine hairy epidermis. The interior is purple. It is found amongst rocks in the open sea around the North Island. The edge of the lip is very deeply grooved. It attains a length of 4 inches. ~LOTORIUM SPENGLERI~ (Plate V.).--Fig. 4 (late Triton spengleri) is a yellowish-white shell, covered with a pale brown transparent epidermis. The lines shown on the plate mark the grooves which cross the shell, and are slightly darker in shade than the ridges. It attains a length of five inches, and is found on the grass banks in sheltered places. ~SEMI-CASSIS PYRUM~ (Plate V.).--Fig. 5, the helmet shell, from the Latin cassis, a helmet, is familiar to residents on the seaside, both in Australia and New Zealand, as it is a handsome shell, sometimes upwards of four inches in length. The colour varies a good deal, but is usually pinkish-white or pale chestnut, the wavy spots arranged in bands round the shell being usually dark brown. Sometimes the shell is nearly white. After heavy gales numbers are washed up on ocean beaches from the sandy banks on which they live. ~SEMI-CASSIS LABIATA~ (Plate V.).--Fig. 6 (late Cassis achatina) is a smaller and narrower shell than the former, and somewhat rare. The dark markings are splashed, and not arranged in bands, thereby giving the shell a mottled appearance. The interior is brown or purplish. ~LOTORIUM CORNUTUM~ (Plate V.).--Fig. 7 is a bright reddish-yellow shell, covered with a very long epidermis, which makes the shell appear more than double its real size. I have found a dozen or more of them on the ocean beaches in the Bay of Plenty. They were all dead shells, about one and a-half inches long, and the epidermis was wanting. The uneven, blunt-pointed lumps, with which this shell is covered, make it easily recognised. I have not heard of its being found anywhere in New Zealand, except in the Bay of Plenty, but it is fairly common in Sydney. ~CALLIOSTOMA TIGRIS~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 1 (late Zizyphinus tigris) is a whitish shell, striped or dotted in rows with red. Although sometimes over two inches across, the shell is thin and light. Its glistening interior, and shapely lines, make it one of our most handsome shells. These shells are sometimes found at low water mark, under and amongst rocks in harbours, as well as amongst kelp in the surf. When once a rock, or small patch of rocks, frequented by them is found, subsequent visits in the spring or early summer will nearly always be successful. It is common to both Islands. During the hot weather of summer, they apparently move to below low-water mark, and remain there in the deeper water until the winter. I obtained a considerable number of excellent specimens from a strip of rocks near the water tank at the entrance to Tauranga Harbour, but never found them except in spring or early summer. The Maori name is Mata-ngo-ngore, which name is also used for the Cantharidus family, on Plate VII. ~CALLIOSTOMA SELECTUM~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 2 (late Zizyphinus cunninghamii) is about the same width, but not the same height as the Tigris. The colour is white, with pale red spots arranged in rows around the spire. ~CALLIOSTOMA PELLUCIDUM~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 3 (late Zizyphinus selectus) is a whitish shell, covered with chestnut-coloured spots and splashes. It is about 1-1/2 inches across. ~CALLIOSTOMA PUNCTULATUM~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 4 (late Zizyphinus punctulatus) is the commonest and least fragile of this family. It is seldom more than 1-1/4 inches across. Its rounded whorls, and prominent chestnut and white granules, make it easily distinguishable. ~TROCHUS VIRIDIS~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 5 is a greenish, cone-shaped shell. The interior is nacreous, and the exterior covered with coarse granules. The base, which is flat, is greyish. The figure but faintly shows the contour of this shell, which is a perfect cone. The young differ somewhat from the adult shells, and have a bright pink tip to the spire. In the plate the upper shell is a young one, and the two lower are adults. They are found amongst rocks at low water mark, in harbours, as well as in the surf. It is very difficult to extract the animal from the shell. Its maximum size is one inch across. ~TROCHUS TIARATUS~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 6 is usually white, with large grey or brownish-purple dots and bands on both the upper surface and the base, but it is a very variable shell. It is seldom as much as half an inch in length, and has a nacreous interior. It is covered with fine granules, and the base is flat. It appears to live slightly below low water mark, and can be easily obtained by dredging in harbours. The cup-shaped hollow at the base of the spire is much more pronounced than in the Viridis. There is another not shown on the plate, the Trochus chathamensis, a small white shell, with pink or brownish-purple markings, that hitherto has only been found in the Chatham Islands. ~ETHALIA ZELANDICA~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 7 (late Rotella zelandica) is a well-polished, smooth shell, washed up in large numbers on the ocean beaches. The colours of the upper side vary, but are usually chestnut or purple waving lines on a yellowish-white ground. On the base is a circular band of purple round the columella, which is white. The interior is nacreous. Occasionally a shell is entirely pink, and then the circular band on the base is pink also. The largest shell I have seen was nearly one inch across, and, being very flat, would be only half an inch high. They appear to live in sandy ground, below low water mark in the ocean; and a dredge if drawn over one of their favourite spots will be filled with them. I have dredged half a bucketful at one cast between Karewa and Tauranga in five fathoms of water. The former name was Rotella zealandica, and Rotella, meaning a little wheel, well described the appearance of the shell, the waving line representing the spokes. ~NATICA ZELANDICA~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 8, a yellowish or reddish-brown shell, with chestnut-brown bands, the interior being pale brown, the mouth and its vicinity white. It is a clean, bright little shell, upwards of an inch across. Those in the ocean are lighter in colour, and larger and more solid than those found in harbours. As the tide falls in harbours, they conceal themselves near low water mark, especially in the vicinity of marine grass banks. When the tide is rising on a warm, sunny day, they spring out of the sand, dropping sometimes two or three inches from where they had been concealed. The operculum is horny, with a shelly outer layer; and the animal is prettily mottled and striped red and white. There are two other Natica found in New Zealand, neither of which exceeds one-third of an inch across, and in shape are very like the N. zelandica. The Natica australis is a brown or grey shell, and the Natica vitrea is white. ~NERITA NIGRA~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 9 (late Nerita saturata) is a heavy, solid blue-black shell, with a whitish interior. This sombre-looking member of a handsome tropical family (of which the bleeding tooth Nerita is the best known) is sometimes over an inch in length, and found in large numbers clinging to the surf-beaten rocks of the North Island, quite up to high water mark. The operculum is shelly and prettily mottled with purple. This shell will stand boiling water, and, in fact, boiling water is required to kill the animal, which is quite as tenacious of life as an oyster. The Maori name is Mata ngarahu. ~AMPHIBOLA CRENATA~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 10 (the New Zealand winkle), lately known as Amphibola avellana, is an uneven, battered-looking shell of a mixed brown and purple colour, the interior being purple and the mouth whitish. It is an inch or more in length. Most mud flats up to high water mark are strewn with Amphibola. The natives eat this shellfish, which they call Titiko or Koriakai, in large numbers; but the muddy flavour, according to our ideas, makes it unpalatable. ~MONODONTA SUBROSTRATA~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 11 is a yellowish shell, about half an inch across, and is usually found near half-tide mark in harbours. The exterior is covered with black or bluish irregular bands. The interior is nacreous, and of a greenish colour, with a white patch round the columella. ~MONODONTA AETHIOPS~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 12 is a purplish-black shell, tesselated with white between the grooves. These grooves look like lines in the plate. The interior of the mouth is white. Besides being usually covered with vegetable growth, part of which is seen in the illustration, the point of the spire is frequently worm-eaten and defective. This is the usual state in which all shellfish that herd together are found. It is upwards of an inch across, and found in large numbers amongst rocks, especially at the entrance to harbours, and from half-tide mark downwards. ~MONODONTA NIGERRIMA~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 13 has a smooth, purplish-black exterior, sometimes with small blue spots. The interior is white, and the shell about half an inch across. ~MONODONTA LUGUBRIS~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 14 is a thick, solid black shell, sometimes over half an inch across, and covered with coarse, irregular granules. The interior is white. This shell is found in large numbers under stones, at the entrances to harbours and sheltered beaches, almost up to high water mark. There are six or seven other Monodonta in New Zealand, but they are small, and the four above described are the ones most likely to be met with. ~TURBO GRANOSUS~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 15 is a reddish-purple shell, varied with white, and is sometimes over 2-1/2 inches across. The specimen photographed was much below the average size. The exterior is covered with well-defined rows of granules, while the interior is iridescent. It is found on rocks in the open sea in both Islands, but is a rare shell. The operculum is white and shelly. ~TURBO HELICINUS~ (Plate VI.).--Figs. 16 and 17 (late Turbo smaragdus) is a blackish-green shell, found in great numbers at half tide mark on rocks all over New Zealand, especially at the entrance to harbours and in sheltered bays. Some are as much as 2-1/2 inches across. The inside is white and glistening. The operculum is a solid, round, shelly one, with a greenish centre. In some specimens the outer side of the whorl, instead of being round and smooth, has two or three prominent raised ribs or bands on it. This variety is called Tricostata, and is represented by Fig. 16. I am inclined to believe it is only the young form of the ordinary variety. The Maori name is Ata marama. ~ASTRALIUM SULCATUM~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 18 (late Cookia sulcata) is a pinkish-brown shell, sometimes over 3-1/2 inches wide. The interior is pearly, and the operculum is shelly, solid, and white. The laminae which cover the shell are easily bleached off, and when the shell is cleaned it has a handsome appearance. It is found in considerable numbers at low water mark amongst rocks on exposed beaches all over the North Island. The Maori name is Kakara or Kaeo, both of which names are also given to the Purpura haustrum (Plate II., Fig. 11). ~ASTRALIUM HELIOTROPIUM~ (Plate VI.).--Fig. 19 is generally known as the circular-saw shell, and, although found all over New Zealand, is comparatively rare. It is reddish-purple, with an iridescent interior, and is sometimes over four inches in width. The shells on the plate are adults. The spines of the younger shells are much longer than those of adults. The best specimens have been dredged by oyster boats. Plate VII.--Figs. 1 and 2 are Janthina, or violet shells, representatives of which are found all over the warmer parts of the world. The Janthinae live in great numbers on the surface of the ocean, being unable to sink, and are swept by gales and currents in every direction. At intervals, after very heavy gales, they come ashore in the Northern part of New Zealand in cart-loads; but after any ordinary gale a few specimens can be procured amongst the grass cast up by the highest waves. The animal, when touched, emits a quantity of violet-coloured fluid, the same colour as the shell. The shells are very light and fragile. A singular provision for its eggs is found attached to the female Janthina, in the shape of a float, or raft, to the under surface of which the eggs in little bags or capsules are attached, and there they remain until hatched. ~JANTHINA EXIGUA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 1 is the smallest of the Janthina found in New Zealand, being rarely half an inch in width. The whorls are more rounded than in the other two varieties, and the spire is usually the same violet colour as the mouth, and the grooves on the shell are deep and prominent. ~JANTHINA FRAGILIS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 2 is sometimes over an inch in width, the spire being much lighter in colour than the rest of the shell, frequently indeed being white. The grooves on the shell are fine, but clearly visible. There is another variety occasionally found in New Zealand, the Janthina globosa, like the Janthina exigua in shape, but larger, and the grooving being very faint the shell has a glistening appearance. This variety is rare. ~CANTHARIDUS IRIS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 3, from Iris, a rainbow, well describes the colour of this pretty little shell, seldom more than one and a-half inches in length. Pink, purple, yellow, and red seem to be the prevailing colours; and they are arranged in irregular waving lines on its smooth and polished surface. The interior is highly iridescent. It lives amongst seaweed and rocks below low water mark. The Maori name is Mata-ngo-ngore, which is also used for the Calliostoma shells on Plate VI. ~CANTHARIDUS TENEBROSUS, var. Huttoni~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 7 is a little bluish-black shell, about a-third of an inch long, with fine striæ or grooves running down the whorls. Alive, it is found in great numbers at low water on marine grass banks in harbours, and seems to be very active, as the anchors and cables of boats, moored for a few hours over one of their favourite haunts, will be liberally sprinkled with them. ~CANTHARIDUS PURPURATUS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 8 is a heavier and rougher shell than the Iris, and of a rose-pink colour. Sometimes the whole shell is of this colour, but frequently only the top of the spire. It also lives amongst seaweed and rocks; but when living on grassy banks in harbours seems to lose its pink colour and become a pale grey. ~CANTHARIDUS FASCIATUS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 9 (lately known as Bankivia varians) is found in Westland. White, green, rose, purple, or black in colour and plain or banded, and sometimes even with longitudinal wavy lines. It is about half an inch in length. All of the Cantharidus family have beautiful nacreous interiors, and are the favourite New Zealand shells for necklaces and bracelets. When cleaned with acid, they are much admired. We have six or eight other varieties of Cantharidus, but they are small, and are not figured on the plate. ~TARON DUBIUS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 4 is a shell about three-quarters of an inch long, and found under rocks in partly-sheltered harbours. The exterior varies from chocolate to black. The interior varies between purple and white. The lip end of the spire is usually reddish. ~LITORINA CINCTA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 5 is a semi-amphibious shellfish common to both Islands. It is found amongst rocks in the open sea near high water mark. The exterior is brown, or bluish-black, with fine grooves or lines round it. The interior is violet, and the extreme length about 3/4 inch. ~LITORINA MAURITIANA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 6 is a very common shell in the North Island, where it is found on rocks in the open sea, or in harbours up to, and even above, high water mark. The shell is under half an inch long, and usually not more than a quarter of an inch. The colour outside is bluish-white, with a broad spiral band of dark blue. The interior is violet. ~DAPHNELLA LYMNEIFORMIS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 10 is a very thin, whitish shell, with irregular brown markings, and is often dredged up in the vicinity of Auckland. Its extreme length appears to be 1-1/4 inches. ~SURCULA NOVÆ-ZELANDIÆ~ (Plate VII.).--Figs. 11 and 12 (late Drillia zelandica) is a pale rose-coloured shell, nearly 1-1/2 inches in length. It belongs to the Pleurotoma family, any of which can easily be identified by the notch in the outer lip, as shown near the centre of the figure. All of this family live below low water mark, and are obtained by dredging. It is found in both Islands. ~SURCULA CHEESEMANI~ (Plate VII.)--Figs. 15 and 16 (late Pleurotoma) is a shell varying from pale pink to brown in colour. Interior rose or purple. The spire end is usually smooth. It is found in Auckland, and is about one inch in length. ~SOLIDULA ALBA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 14 (late Buccinulus kirki) is a whitish shell, found in the North of Auckland. Its extreme length is 3/4 inch. ~POTAMIDES SUB-CARINATUS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 13 (late Cerithidea subcarinata) is a dull black shell seldom over half an inch long. The colour is usually concealed by the reddish-brown epidermis. The interior is dark purple. ~POTAMIDES BICARINATUS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 19 (late Cerithidea bicarinatus) is a reddish-brown or purple shell, covered with a blue or brown epidermis. The interior is purple. It is found in the North Island in large numbers on banks of sand mixed with mud near high water mark. Its extreme length is one inch. ~SCALARIA ZELEBORI~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 17 is the New Zealand representative of the Wentletrap family. It is a pure white shell, sometimes over an inch in length. The numerous ribs across the whorls are very prominent, and look like the steps of a ladder, whence it derives its name. It lives in the ocean below low water mark, and I have dredged it up with the Ethalia zelandica (Plate VI., Fig. 7). The Maori name is Totoro. ~SCALARIA TENELLA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 18 is a dirty yellow, almost transparent, shell about a-third of an inch long. There is usually a pale brown band near the centre of the whorl. Found about half-tide mark in sheltered water. ~TEREBRA TRISTIS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 20 is a bluish or blue-grey shell, slightly over half an inch in length. The interior is brownish-white, with a yellow band in the centre of the whorl. The varices on the exterior are not so prominent as in the Potamides (Fig. 13). ~TENAGODES WELDII~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 21 (late Siliquaria australis) is a small white shell, not more than one inch long. It is found in Hauraki Gulf. ~TROPHON DUODECIMUS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 22 (late Kalydon duodecimus) is a pale yellow shell, usually covered with a thick, rough grey or brown coralline growth. The length is under half an inch; and it is found in the North Island amongst rocks on partly-sheltered beaches. ~TROPHON PLEBEIUS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 23 (late Kalydon plebeius) is a brown or slate-coloured shell half an inch in length. The interior is reddish-purple, with six or eight narrow darker lines on the whorl. ~TRICOTROPIS INORNATA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 24 is a pale brown or white shell, under half an inch in length, and found all over New Zealand. ~MARINULA FILHOLI~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 25 is a pale chestnut-coloured shell, with two large and one small white plaits on the inner lip. It is about a-third of an inch long, and is found in Auckland and Massacre Bay. ~TRALIA AUSTRALIS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 26 (late Ophicardelus costellaris) is a brown, horny-looking shell, over half an inch long. It has two plaits on the inner lip. It is found in Auckland amongst mangroves near high water mark, and is also found in Australia. The maturer shells have narrow, dark brown bands on them. ~TURRITELLA VITTATA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 27 is a yellowish-white shell, with spiral brown bands. It is under two inches in length, and found in the North Island. ~TURRITELLA ROSEA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 28 is a reddish-brown, or yellowish, shell, finely banded with purplish-brown. It is found over three inches in length, and, though common enough in the North Island, is rare in the South. It is found amongst grassy banks during very low tides, point down, and almost buried in the sand. A sand bank of considerable size near Rangiawahia, in Tauranga Harbour, was inhabited by nothing but Turritella rosea. Four other kinds of Turritellæ are found in New Zealand, all smaller, but similar to the above. ~TRIVIA AUSTRALIS~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 29 is the New Zealand Cowry shell. It is less than 1/2 inch in length, and is white, with one or more flesh-coloured spots. It is found in the Northern part of Auckland Province and in Australia. ~CYLICHNA STRIATA~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 30 is a small, very narrow, smooth white shell. It is found in Auckland. ~HAMINEA ZELANDIÆ~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 31 is an exceedingly thin, horny, white or grey shell. It is sometimes called the sea snail, and is found on the marine grass in harbours, as well as in the open sea. Stray ones may be found in mud or sand. ~BULLA QUOYI~ (Plate VII.).--Fig. 32 is a smooth, greenish shell, an inch and a-half long. It is sometimes marbled with purplish-grey, or with white dots. This shell is found in Auckland and Australia. The Maori name is Pupu wharoa. ~BARNEA SIMILIS~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 1 is a white rock borer, up to two and a-half inches long. It is found all over the North Island, and at Waikowaiti, in the South Island. ~PHOLADIDEA TRIDENS~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 2 is also a white rock borer, found up to nearly two inches in length. It seems particularly fond of the soft sandstone in the Auckland Harbour. ~PANOPEA ZELANDICA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 3 is a widely-gaping white shell, upwards of four inches long. It is common in the North Island, but rare in the South. It lives a considerable distance below the surface of the sand in the open sea or on exposed beaches. One, caught in situ, by Mr. C. Spencer at Cheltenham Beach (Auckland) was about eighteen inches below the surface of the sand at about half-tide mark. One species of the Panopea family, which is found in South Africa, lives at a depth of several feet. All bivalves that live in the sand have shells which gape more or less, apparently to enable them to push their syphons through the sand to the water. The deeper in the sand the shellfish lives, the longer and stronger the syphon must be. The Panopea burrows deeper than any other of our shellfish, and therefore requires the largest gape. As mentioned on page 12, bivalves do not leave their beds to feed, but push the syphon through the sand to the water and draw the water down one syphon and eject it through the other, absorbing the animal and vegetable matter as it passes through the mollusc's stomach. The Maori name is Hohehohe, which is also given to the Tellina family, on Plate VIII. ~COCHLODESMA ANGASI~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 4 (late Anatina angasi) is a very white, almost transparent, thin shell, three and a-half inches long. One valve is nearly flat, and the shell gapes to a considerable extent at the narrower end. It is found in the open sea in sand in the North Island, Cook Strait, and Australia. ~CORBULA ZELANDICA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 5 is a yellowish or pinkish-white shell, with fine longitudinal lines on it. The interior is brownish, and the shell over half an inch long. It is common in the North Island and Australia. ~SAXICAVA ARCTICA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 6 is a rough, distorted, yellowish-grey shell, about three-quarters of an inch long. The interior is whitish. It is usually found in the roots of kelp or in sponges, and is obtained in both Islands. ~MYODORA STRIATA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 7 is a whitish or greyish-white shell, with fine longitudinal lines, the interior being pearly. It is 1-3/4 inches long. The right valve is rounded and the left valve flat. It is found in harbours, as well as on ocean beaches. The flat valves make excellent counters for card-players. ~MYODORA BOLTONI~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 8 is a smaller and narrower shell than the Myodora striata, and the left valve is flat. In colour it is similar to the Striata. It is seldom over half an inch long, and lives on flat, sandy beaches. It is often found when sifting sand for small shells through a fine meshed sieve. ~MACTRA DISCORS~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 9 is a large, rotund, greyish-white shell, with a blackish-brown epidermis. It is over 3-1/2 inches across, and is found on sandy ocean beaches all over New Zealand. The Maori name is Kuhakuha. ~MACTRA ÆQUILATERA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 10 is a yellowish or white shell. It generally has a bluish-purple patch round the hinge. It is found on ocean beaches, and is over two inches long. The Maori name is Kaikaikaroro, which is also used for the Struthiolaria (Plate IV.), and Chione costata (Plate VIII.). ~STANDELLA OVATA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 11 is a thin, brownish-white, and somewhat wrinkled, shell over three inches long. The edge of the shell, and sometimes the whole shell, is covered with a brownish epidermis, the interior being yellowish. This shell is found all over New Zealand on muddy beaches, and especially near mangrove bushes in Auckland Harbour. ~STANDELLA ELONGATA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 12 (late Hemimactra notata) is a solid, greyish-white shell, four inches long. It is covered with an epidermis of pale chestnut, sometimes with darker chestnut bands, dots and splashes. The interior of the shell is yellowish. ~RESANIA LANCEOLATA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 13 (lately known as Vanganella taylori) is a smooth, white shell, covered with a thin, pale chestnut epidermis, the interior being white. It is upwards of four and a-half inches in length. It inhabits sandy ocean beaches in both Islands of New Zealand. ~ZENATIA ACINACES~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 14 is a greyish-yellow shell, four inches long, and covered with a brown epidermis. The interior is bluish-green, pearly, and iridescent. This shell also inhabits the sandy ocean beaches of both Islands. ~PSAMMOBIA STANGERI~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 15 is a purplish-white shell, sometimes rayed with darker purple. The interior is pinkish-purple. Its length is 2-1/2 inches, and the shell is found in both Islands on sandy ocean beaches. The natives call it Wahawaha. ~PSAMMOBIA LINEOLATA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 17 is a purplish-pink shell, with darker concentric bands. Its interior is reddish-purple. This shell, which is found in both Islands on open ocean beaches, attains a length of 2-1/2 inches. The Maori name is Kuwharu, or Takarape. ~SOLENOTELLINA NITIDA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 16 (late Hiatula nitida) is a thin, almost transparent, purplish-white shell, covered with a smooth, polished, horny epidermis. The interior is much the same colour as the exterior. Its length is about two inches. It is found in both Islands on sandy banks in harbours, and on sandy ocean beaches, but those found in harbours have sometimes little or no colour. The Maori name is Pi-Pipi. ~SOLENOTELLINA SPENCERI~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 18 is a thin, almost transparent, milky-white shell. The interior is white. It is very like the Tellina alba (Fig. 21) in colour and general appearance, but much narrower, and the posterior end is curved and comes to a finer point. Its length is about two inches. I have found over a dozen live specimens washed up on Buffalo Beach, in Mercury Bay. ~TELLINA GLABRELLA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 19 is a smooth white, or pale yellow, shell, 3 inches in length, with a thin brown epidermis on the outer edge. The interior is chalky white. It is found on ocean beaches, but is also common on cockle banks in harbours. It lives some inches below the surface. Dead shells are found in considerable numbers, but the live ones are rare. The Maoris call this shell Hohehohe or Ku waru or Peraro. The name Hohehohe is also given to the Panopea (Plate VIII., Fig. 3). ~TELLINA DISCULUS~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 20 is a clean smooth yellowish-white shell, with a bright yellow centre, the interior being the same colour as the exterior. Its length is 1-1/2 inches, and it is found only in the North Island. ~TELLINA ALBA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 21 is a very thin, flat, nearly transparent, glistening white shell, the interior being the same colour. Its length is 2-1/2 inches, and it is found on sandy ocean beaches in both Islands. The native name for this shell is Hohehohe, which name is also used for the Tellina glabrella. ~TELLINA STRANGEI~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 22 (late Tellina subovata) is a whitish shell, similar to the Tellina alba, but more globose. It is under an inch long. ~MESODESMA VENTRICOSA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 23 (late Paphia ventricosa) is an opaque white, solid, smooth shell, found in the North Island, especially on the ocean beach near Kaipara. It is one of the many useful food molluscs we have. In the Kaipara district the natives take horses and ploughs on to the beach, and plough up the Mesodesma ventricosa like potatoes. Under the native name of Toheroa, a factory at Dargaville preserves these bivalves in tins. The specimen photographed was only a half-grown shell. In the Bay of Plenty I have found this shell seven inches long and extremely solid and heavy, and I am inclined to think from the shape and structure of the valve that the Bay of Plenty Mesodesma is different from the Ventricosa; but I never secured a live one while in Tauranga. ~MESODESMA NOVÆ-ZELANDIÆ~ (Plate VIII.)--Fig. 25 (late Paphia novæ-zelandiæ) is the common oval Pipi, or Kokota, of the Maoris. This whitish shell, covered with a thin, horny epidermis, is sometimes 2-1/2 inches long. It is found in both the North and South Islands on sandy banks in harbours and in tidal rivers. ~ATACTODEA SUBTRIANGULATA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 24 (late Paphia spissa) is a white shell, found in considerable quantities on sandy ocean beaches at half-tide mark. When the tide is flowing it is a very common sight to see great numbers of these bivalves washed up by the surf from their beds, and it is very interesting to watch the speed with which they can bury themselves again. They attain a length of about two inches, and are known to the Maoris as Tuatua or Kahitua. ~CHIONE COSTATA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig 26 (late Venus costata) is a strong, solid white shell, with thick radiating ribs. The only live ones I have found were either washed up on ocean beaches, or inside schnappers. This fish appears very fond of the Chione costata, and swallows it without attempting to crack the shell. It attains a length of about two inches, and the Maoris call it Kaikai karoro, which name is also given to the Struthiolaria papulosa (Plate IV.) and the Mactra æquilatera (Plate VIII.). ~CHIONE STUTCHBURYI~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 27 (late Venus stutchburyii) is the common round cockle, found in both North and South Islands. Although when found on clean sandy banks it is usually reddish-brown on the outside and bluish-white inside, it varies in colour if the sand contains an appreciable quantity of mud. It is called Anga or Huai or Pipi by the Maoris, and attains a length of two inches. ~CHIONE OBLONGA~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 28 (late Venus oblonga) is a brown or brownish-white shell, with a white interior, and is rather larger and more solid than the Stutchburyii, besides being more oval. ~ANAITIS YATEI~ (Plate VIII.).--Fig. 29 (late Chione yatei) is a pale yellowish or brown shell, with a purple or slate-coloured patch round the hinge. The ridges on the outside, especially on the young shells, are thin and very high. As the shell attains its full size these ridges wear down. The old shells become thick and heavy, and are over two inches in width. It is found on exposed or ocean beaches in the North Island, and rarely in the South. The Maoris call it Pukauri. ~HALIOTIS IRIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 1 is the Pawa or Papa of the Maori, and the Mutton fish of the colonist. The outside is brown, and the inside a dark metallic blue and green, with an iridescent play of yellow and other colours. It is found on rocks in the open sea or on exposed beaches, and is six or seven inches wide. ~HALIOTIS RUGOSO-PLICATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 2 is about half the size of the Haliotis iris, and is known to the Maoris as the Pawa-rore or Koro-riwha. The outside is pinkish-brown, the interior being pale and highly iridescent. It is usually found with the Haliotis iris, but is not so common. Another Haliotis, named the Virginea, is much smaller and thinner than either of the above. The interior of this is like that of the Haliotis rugoso-plicata, but the exterior is variegated, and dotted and splashed with every conceivable colour. It is rare, and usually found on the sheltered side of small islands in the open sea. ~GLYCYMERIS LATICOSTATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 3 (late Pectunculus laticostatus) is a very solid, reddish-brown shell, sometimes (especially in the immature shells) splashed with chestnut and white. The six or eight teeth near the hinge on both valves are of even size and shape. It is usually found cast up on ocean beaches. The shell attains a length and breadth of three and a-half inches. The younger shells have ridges or ribs on the outside, but these wear off with age. The Maori name is Kuakua. ~GLYCYMERIS STRIATULARIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 4 (late Pectunculus striatularis) is a small brownish shell, irregularly marked with chestnut, red, or white. The interior is whitish and brown, the exterior being smooth, and the extreme length of the shell about an inch. The markings of the hinge and teeth are similar to those of the Glycymeris laticostata. ~CARDITA AVICULINA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 5 (late Mytilicardia excavata) is an irregular-shaped white shell, with yellow, pink, or dirty brown markings. The longitudinal grooves on the outside are very rugged and deep. The shell is over an inch in length, and is found in both Islands and in Australia. ~RHYNCHONELLA NIGRICANS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 6 is an irregular-shaped, ribbed, black or dark brown shell, the left valve being much more rounded than the other. It is found up to one and a-quarter inches in breadth in the South Island and in the Bay of Plenty. ~TEREBRATELLA SANGUINEA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 7 (late Terebratella cruenta) is an orange-red, evenly ribbed, shell up to one and three-quarter inches in breadth, found in the South Island. The left valve in this shell is nearly flat. ~TEREBRATELLA RUBICUNDA~ (not shown on plate) is a smooth, pink, or dark red shell, of the same shape, but only half the size, of the Telebratella sanguinea, and found in considerable numbers in both Islands amongst stones. It is particularly plentiful amongst the stones on Rangitoto Island, in Auckland Harbour. ~MAGELLANIA LENTICULARIS~ (late Waldheimia lenticularis) is not shown in the plate, but is a large, smooth, red or brown shell, two inches long, similar in shape to the above. All the above four shells, namely, the Rhynchonella, Terebratella (2), and Magellania, belong to the Terebratula family, and the right valve is longer than the left, and there is a small round orifice at the hinge end for the foot of the animal. On account of the resemblance these shells bear to the old Roman lamp, they are known as Lamp shells. ~LITHOPHAGO TRUNCATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 8 (late Lithodomus truncatus) is a thin brown shell, covered with a black or dark brown epidermis. It is found in the North Island, and attains a length of over one and a-half inches. It is a rock borer, and can bore into very hard rock. I have seen a small one that had bored into a thick Glycymeris shell. ~VENERUPIS REFLEXA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 9 is a very irregular-shaped greyish shell, with prominent ridges on the outside. The interior is yellow, with a large blackish-purple patch. It is sometimes an inch in length, and is found in both Islands in the sand or mud, amongst rocks. ~VENERUPIS ELEGANS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 10 is a white shell, with a white interior, and up to one and a-half inches long. The ridges on one end are very prominent. This shell is found only in the North Island. ~DIVARICELLA CUMINGI~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 11 (late Lucina dentata) is a milk-white shell, sometimes 1-1/4 inches in length. The grooves or furrows on the outside bend in the centre to almost a right-angle, giving it a peculiarly beautiful appearance, and making it easily recognisable. Found in both Islands on ocean beaches and in harbours. ~VENERICARDIA AUSTRALIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 12 (late Cardita australis) is a pale brownish-white shell, with prominent ribs. Sometimes the outside is marked and splashed with reddish-brown. The interior is white, with pink or rose-coloured patches. The shell is about one and three-quarter inches wide. It is found in both Islands attached to kelp roots, which usually discolour one end of the shell. The Maori name is Purimu. ~CHIONE CRASSA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 13 (late Venus mesodesma) is a white or brown shell, one inch in length. It is found in large numbers on ocean beaches after a gale. The markings on it vary very much, and consist of radiating bands, or zigzag lines, of brown or purple brown. The interior is white, with a violet band round the margin. ~TAPES INTERMEDIA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 14 is a brown or yellowish-white shell, with a white or grey interior. The young shells are marked with brown wavy or zigzag lines. It is found in both Islands on ocean beaches and in harbours, being sometimes over two inches wide. It is known to the Maoris as Hakari. ~DOSINIA AUSTRALIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 15 is a pale, pinkish-brown shell, with a white interior, turning to violet round the margin. It is found on ocean beaches in both Islands, and attains a length of three inches. The Maoris call it Tupa or Tuangi haruru. ~DOSINIA SUBROSEA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 16 is a smooth copy of the above. It is pale pinkish-white, and found up to two inches long in the same localities as Dosinia australis. The Maori name for this shell is Hakari, the same as for Tapes intermedia. There is another species of Dosinea (not shown in plate), about one inch long and pure white, found in the North Island. It is called Dosinia lambata. ~BARBATIA DECUSSATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 17 (late Arca decussata) is an irregular-shaped, brown or yellowish shell, the interior being white, varied with brownish-purple. It is covered with a long, brown, hairy epidermis. It is found in both Islands on ocean beaches and under rocks, and is up to three inches in length. ~SOLENOMYA PARKINSONI~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 18 is a dark brown, delicate shell, rayed with paler brown. The interior is greyish. The shining, thick, chestnut and black epidermis, which covers this shell, cannot be mistaken. It is found in both Islands on sandy banks in harbours, and is up to two inches in length. When the mantle is spread out in shallow water, this shellfish looks like a pink and purple flower. ~MODIOLARIA IMPACTA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 19 (late Crenella impacta) is a brown shell, frequently with a mixture of green near the edge. The centre is smooth, but both ends are ornamented with fine radiating ridges. The interior is highly iridescent. The shell attains a length of 1-1/2 inches, and is found in both Islands, in seaweed or grass and under rocks, both in harbours and on ocean beaches. The Maori name is Korona. ~LIMA BULLATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 20 is a white shell, about one and a-half inches long, and found in the North Island. Both it and the Lima zelandica are rare shells. ~LIMA ZELANDICA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 21 (lately known as Lima squamosa and recently renamed Lima lima) is a beautiful white shell, with eighteen ribs. The spikes on the ribs are sometimes tinted with brown. It is found at Whangaroa North, and has also been dredged up at Stewart's Island. It attains a breadth of 2-1/2 inches. Although Lima lima is the latest name given this shell, I trust the name of Lima zelandica given it by Sowerby will be adhered to. It is quite as silly to duplicate the names of the family, to describe a species, as to have a kind of horse known as "horse horse." Crepidula crepidula (Fig. 27) is a similar instance. ~SUB-EMARGINULA INTERMEDIA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 22 (late Parmophorus intermedia) is a white limpet-like shell, covered with a thin brown epidermis. It is sometimes 1-1/2 inches long, the animal being like a large yellow slug. ~SCUTUM AMBIGUUM~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 23 (late Parmophorus unguis) is a white shell, covered with a thin brown epidermis, and is sometimes over 2-1/2 inches long. The animal is like a big black slug, and, in comparison with the size of the slug, the shell is very small. A slug the size of a man's fist would have a shell about an inch long. Most shell-hunters would pass by a Scutum abiguum, not thinking it had a shell embedded in its folds. The shell is found amongst rocks in sheltered places on ocean beaches. ~SIPHONARIA OBLIQUATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 24 is like a brown limpet, about one and three-quarter inches long. On the right side is the siphonal groove, which is much more clearly defined in the Siphonaria australis (Fig. 25). The shell is found in Dunedin. ~SIPHONARIA AUSTRALIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 25 is a brown or chestnut-coloured limpet, up to one inch in length. The siphonal groove can be seen on the upper side of the figure. The best specimens I have found were on the piles of Tauranga Wharf. ~EMARGINULA STRIATULA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 26 is a whitish limpet, about an inch in length. The notch, or fissure, which is a peculiar feature of this shell, is seen on the end of the shell facing the Lima zelandica (Fig. 21). ~CREPIDULA UNGUIFORMIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 27 is a parasite shell, over an inch long, and found inside the lips of other shells. It is a thin, clear white shell, and is well named, from unguis, a finger-nail, which it much resembles. It varies in shape from nearly flat to semi-circular, according to the curve of the part of the shell on which it grows. The Crepidula shells are easily identified by the shelly internal appendage, or lamina, in which the body of the animal rests. From the peculiar effect of this lamina the Crepidula shell looks like a boat. This shell has recently been renamed Crepidula crepidula, a silly duplication, like Lima lima (Fig. 21). The Maori name for the Crepidula is the same as for a limpet, namely, Ngakahi or Ngakihi. ~CREPIDULA ACULEATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 28 (late Crepidula costata) is an oval-shaped white parasite shell, with purplish lines on the edge. It is a common shell in the North Island, and found on rocks and amongst roots of kelp, and on the outside of other shells, especially mussels. It varies in colour and shape, but is usually deeply ribbed, and attains a length of 1-1/2 inches. There is another species of the Crepidula, viz., Monoxyla, similar in shape to the Crepidula aculeata, but white and smooth, and much smaller. ~CALYPTRÆA MACULATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 29 (late Galerus zelandicus) is a circular shell, found on rocks or kelp, and sometimes is attached to other shells, especially mussels. It attains a width of 1-1/2 inches, and is covered with a brown, hairy epidermis. ~HIPPONYX AUSTRALIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 30 is a limpet, which takes its name from its shape, being like a horse's foot. There was a colony of some hundreds of this Hipponyx under a flat rock, resting on other rocks, on the ocean side of Mount Maunganui, at the entrance to Tauranga Harbour. Although there were thousands of other rocks round it, I never found the Hipponyx except under the one rock I have mentioned, and as far as I know it has never been found alive in any other part of New Zealand. ~DENTALIUM NANUM~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 31 is like a miniature white tusk of an elephant. It is about 1-1/2 inches long. It is really a limpet, which, having chosen mud and sand as its habitat, has adapted itself to its surroundings and become long and thin, instead of broad and flat, like the rock-loving limpet. It is found on the West Coast of Auckland Province, especially between Manukau and Raglan. ~ACMÆA OCTORADIATA~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 32 is one of the dozen Acmæa found in New Zealand. It is a very flat shell, and lives amongst rocks in the surf. ~ACMÆA PILEOPSIS~ (Plate IX.).--Fig. 33 is a nearly round, smooth limpet, the outside being blackish, spotted with white, and the interior bluish, with a black margin. It is about an inch across. Amongst the other ten Acmæa found in New Zealand the most noticeable is the Acmæa fragilis, a very delicate, thin, green shell, with narrow brown bands. There is a green ring in the interior of the shell. It is found under stones, and is about 1/2 inch across. ~PATELLA RADIANS~ (Plate IX., Fig. 34), and ~PATELLA STELLIFERA~ (Fig. 35) are two representatives of the many species of beautiful limpets we have. The limpet family has not had the attention of our scientists which it merits. The shells vary so much that it is extremely difficult to classify them. In the attempt to do so, Patella radians has been subdivided into five sub-species, but even this division is not a success. We have few more beautiful or interesting shells than limpets. We have them of every shape, and from three inches in width down to microscopic specimens. The limpet resides on one spot, but moves about with the rising tide in search of the vegetation on which it lives. This it mows down with its long scythe-like tongue, and, when satisfied, it returns to rest in its favourite spot. Limpets have the reputation of being indigestible, if not poisonous, but this is due to the head not being removed before the mollusc is eaten. If the head be removed carefully, the tongue, or radula, which is usually the length of the shell itself, will come with it. The 2000 or so fine teeth found on the average limpet's tongue will quite account for the belief that the fish is poisonous, as great irritation must be caused by these sharp little teeth. The Patella stellifera is usually found in caves or sheltered places amongst rocks exposed to the ocean swell. It is always covered with a coraline growth, usually of a pinkish tint, which growth has to be removed before the markings can be seen. Stars of all shapes, regular and irregular, will be found on the spire of the Patella stellifera. There is a reputation yet to be made by the man who can classify our New Zealand limpets. The Maori name for the limpet is Ngakihi, or Ngakahi, which name is also used for the Crepidula family. ~PECTEN MEDIUS~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 1 (late Pecten laticostatus) is the well-known scallop found among the grass banks in harbours as well as in the open sea. The shells are sometimes five or even six inches across, and of all conceivable colours and mixtures of colours. The valve shown in the plate is the flat valve, which looks like a fan. The other valve, which is rounded, makes a good substitute for a scoop. This Pecten, or scallop, is the most delicate of our edible shellfish, but is never seen in our markets. The animal moves by opening its shell, slowly swallowing a large quantity of water, and in a rapid manner ejecting it, thereby pushing the shell backwards. The Maori name is Tipa. ~PECTEN CONVEXUS~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 2 is a much smaller shell than No. 1, and quite as brilliantly coloured. The valves are nearly equal in shape. It is found amongst rocks, but is usually dredged in comparatively shallow water. ~PECTEN ZELANDIÆ~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 3 is a still smaller shell, and the most brilliantly coloured of our Pecten family. The valves are similar in shape, and covered with short spikes. It has only the one ear, or lug, at the hinge end, but sometimes a portion of the ear is found on the other side. This shell lives amongst rocks, or in sponges, or on the roots of kelp, in sheltered or fairly sheltered portions of open beaches. It is found attached to the rocks by a byssus, or beard. ~PINNA ZELANDICA~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 4 is generally known as the Horse Mussel. It is usually found amongst the grass, about low water mark, on sandy beaches, especially those containing a proportion of mud. The natives call it Hururoa or Kupa, and in some places it is a staple article of diet with them. This horse mussel is found in certain spots in great numbers, and is then useless for a cabinet. The collector should look for odd scattered specimens. As a rule, only about half an inch of the shell will be found protruding above the beach, in very shallow water, but in deep water more of the shell will protrude. ~MYTILUS LATUS~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 5 is the ordinary mussel, with a green epidermis, and the part near the hinge is usually eroded, as shown in the plate. It grows to a considerable size in New Zealand, being sometimes 8 inches in length, and is found in enormous quantities in favoured localities on rocks or attached by its beard in clusters to old cockle and other shells on the banks. About twenty years ago hundreds of acres of banks between the town of Tauranga and the sea were in one season colonised by mussel spawn, and although the mussel was before that date a rare thing on these banks, yet after the colonisation the banks were simply a mass of mussels, and the water, being only from one to two fathoms deep at low spring tide, they were easily procurable. On the other hand, banks near Kati Kati Heads, that were covered a few years ago, are now without mussels. This is probably due to some disease breaking out through overcrowding. The Mytilus edulis (not shown on plate) is a purplish shell, of similar shape and habits to the above, but much smaller in size. The Maori name for a mussel is Kuku or Porope or Tore-tore or Kutai, and for the smaller mussels Kukupara or Purewa or Toriwai. ~MYTILUS MAGELLANICUS~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 6 is a bluish mussel, with prominent ribs, as shown in the plate. The interior is white, and the shell is found up to three inches in length. ~VOLSELLA AUSTRALIS~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 7 (late Modiola australis) is a rough-looking, uneven shell, of a pale chestnut colour. It usually has a hairy-looking growth near the edge, as shown in the plate. It is found up to four inches in length. There are two other of the Volsella family in New Zealand, neither of which are illustrated. The Volsella fluviatilis, a shiny, black mussel, shaped like the Edulis, and about 1-1/2 inches long, found in brackish water, is the most common. The inside is bluish-white, and purplish round the margin. ~OSTREA ANGASI~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 8 is a mud oyster, of which those dredged at Stewart's Island are the largest we have. Fine specimens were found in Ohiwa Harbour prior to the Tarawera eruption of 1886, but the deposit from that eruption appears for the time being to have destroyed them. There must be some large banks of this oyster in the Bay of Plenty, judging by the number of dead shells washed up in places; but, although I many times used the dredge while in Tauranga, I never had the good fortune to find one of the banks. Cartloads of the shells were at times washed up on the beach between the town of Tauranga and the entrance to the harbour. The best known oyster in New Zealand is the Auckland rock oyster, the Ostrea glomerata (not shown in the plate), which is familiar to all who visit the seashore in the North. The Maori name for the rock oyster is Tio, and for the mud oyster Tiopara. ~PLACUNANOMIA ZELANDICA~ (Plate X.).--Fig. 9 is of the family known in England as the pepper and salt oyster. The lower valve is flat and has the large oval opening, shown in the plate, through which the foot of the animal protrudes and holds the shell on to the rock. The shell is thin and fragile, and is found in both Islands. Another shell of the same family, the Anomia walteri (not shown on plate), is found at the Bay of Islands, and is usually coloured bright yellow or orange. ~MUREX RAMOSUS~, the last figure, is the latest addition to our New Zealand marine shells, and is described with the others of the Murex family on Plate II., and on page 16. [Illustration: PLATE I. Page Argonauta nodosa 14 Spirula peroni 15] [Illustration: PLATE II. Page 1--Murex zelandicus 15 2--Murex octogonus 16 3--Murex eos 16 4--Trophon stangeri 16 5--Trophon ambiguus 16 6--Trophon cheesemani 17 7--Ancilla australis 17 8 and 9--Purpura succincta 17 10--Purpura scobina 17 11--Purpura haustrum 17 12--Scaphella pacifica 18 13--Scaphella gracilis 18 14--Mitra melaniana 18] [Illustration: PLATE III. Page Dolium variegatum 18 Lotorium rubicundum 19] [Illustration: PLATE IV. Page 1--Siphonalia dilatata 19 2--Siphonalia mandarina 19 3--Siphonalia nodosa 19 4--Struthiolaria papulosa 19 5--Struthiolaria vermis 20 6--Euthria lineata 20 7--Cominella lurida 21 8--Cominella huttoni 21 9--Euthria flavescens 20 10--Euthria vittata 20 11--Cominella maculata 21 12--Cominella testudinea 21 13--Cominella virgata 22 14--Cominella nassoides 22] [Illustration: PLATE V Page 1--Lotorium olearium 22 2--Apollo argus 22 3--Apollo australasia 22 4--Lotorium spengleri 22 5--Semi-cassis pyrum 23 6--Semi-cassis labiata 23 7--Lotorium cornutum 23] [Illustration: PLATE VI. Page 1--Calliostoma tigris 23 2--Calliostoma selectum 24 3--Calliostoma pellucidum 24 4--Calliostoma punctulatum 24 5--Trochus viridis 24 6--Trochus tiaratus 24 7--Ethalia zelandica 25 8--Natica zelandica 25 9--Nerita nigra 25 10--Amphibola crenata 26 11--Monodonta subrostrata 26 12--Monodonta aethiops 26 13--Monodonta nigerrima 26 14--Monodonta lugubris 26 15--Turbo granosus 26 16 and 17--Turbo helicinus 27 18--Astralium sulcatum 27 19--Astralium heliotropium 27] [Illustration: PLATE VII. Page 1--Janthina exigua 28 2--Janthina fragilis 28 3--Cantharidus iris 28 4--Taron dubius 29 5--Litorina cincta 29 6--Litorina mauritiana 29 7--Cantharidus tenebrosus 28 8--Cantharidus purpuratus 28 9--Cantharidus fasciatus 29 10--Daphnella lymneiformis 29 11 & 12--Surcula novae-zelandiæ 29 13--Potamides sub-carinatus 30 14--Solidula alba 30 15 & 16--Surcula cheesemani 30 17--Scalaria zelebori 30 18--Scalaria tenella 30 19--Potamides bicarinatus 30 20--Terebra tristis 30 21--Tenagodes weldii 30 22--Trophon duodecimus 30 23--Trophon plebeius 31 24--Tricotropis inornata 31 25--Marinula filholi 31 26--Tralia australis 31 27--Turritella vittata 31 28--Turritella rosea 31 29--Trivia australis 31 30--Cylichna striata 31 31--Haminea zelandia 32 32--Bulla quoyi 32] [Illustration: PLATE VIII. Page 1--Barnea similis 32 2--Pholadidea tridens 32 3--Panopea zelandica 32 4--Cochlodesma angasi 32 5--Corbula zelandica 33 6--Saxicava arctica 33 7--Myodora striata 33 8--Myodora boltoni 33 9--Mactra discors 33 10--Mactra æquilatera 33 11--Standella ovata 33 12--Standella elongata 34 13--Resania lanceolata 34 14--Zenatia acinaces 34 15--Psammobia stangeri 34 16--Solenotellina nitida 34 17--Psammobia lineolata 34 18--Solenotellina spenceri 34 19--Tellina glabrella 35 20--Tellina disculus 35 21--Tellina alba 35 22--Tellina strangei 35 23--Mesodesma ventricosa 35 24--Atactodea subtriangulata 36 25--Mesodesma novæ-zelandiæ 36 26--Chione costata 36 27--Chione stutchburyi 36 28--Chione oblonga 36 29--Anaitis yatei 37] [Illustration: PLATE IX. Page 1--Haliotis iris 37 2--Haliotis rugoso-plicata 37 3--Glycymeris laticostata 37 4--Glycymeris striatularis 37 5--Cardita aviculina 38 6--Rhynchonella nigricans 38 7--Terebratella sanguinea 38 8--Lithophago truncata 38 9--Venerupis reflexa 39 10--Venerupis elegans 39 11--Divaricella cumingi 39 12--Venericardia australis 39 13--Chione crassa 39 14--Tapes intermedia 39 15--Dosinia australis 40 16--Dosinia subrosea 40 17--Barbatia decussata 40 18--Solenomya parkinsoni 40 19--Modiolaria impacta 40 20--Lima bullata 41 21--Lima zelandica 41 22--Sub-emarginula intermedia 41 23--Scutum ambiguum 41 24--Siphonaria obliquata 41 25--Siphonaria australis 41 26--Emarginula striatula 42 27--Crepidula unguiformis 42 28--Crepidula aculeata 42 29--Calyptræa maculata 42 30--Hipponyx australis 42 31--Dentalium nanum 43 32--Acmæa octoradiata 43 33--Acmæa pileopsis 43 34--Patella radians 43 35--Patella stellifera 43] [Illustration: PLATE X. Page 1--Pecten medius 44 2--Pecten convexus 44 3--Pecten zelandiæ 45 4--Pinna zelandica 45 5--Mytilus latus 45 6--Mytilus magellanicus 46 7--Volsella australis 46 8--Ostrea angasi 46 9--Placunanomia zelandica 46 10--Murex ramosus 46] 
12411	----	Distributed Proofreaders Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 12411-h.htm or 12411-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/2/4/1/12411/12411-h/12411-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/2/4/1/12411/12411-h.zip) THE LONG WHITE CLOUD AO TEA ROA By William Pember Reeves Agent-General In London for New Zealand 1899 [Illustration: Frontispiece. TE REINGA WATERFALL, GISBORNE Photo by W.F. CRAWFORD.] Preface I believe that there is amongst the people of the Mother Country a minority, now ceasing to be small, which takes a quickening interest in the Colonies. It no longer consists merely of would-be investors, or emigrants who want to inquire into the resources, industries, and finances of one or other of the self-governing parts of the Empire. Many of its members never expect to see a colony. But they have come to recognise that those new-comers into the circle of civilized communities, the daughter nations of Britain, are not unworthy of English study and English pride. They have begun to suspect that the story of their struggles into existence and prosperity may be stirring, romantic, and interesting, and that some of their political institutions and experiments may be instructive, though others may seem less safe than curious. Some of those who think thus complain that it is not always easy to find an account of a colony which shall be neither an official advertisement, the sketch of a globe-trotting impressionist, nor yet an article manufactured to order by some honest but untravelled maker of books. They ask--or at least some of them, to my knowledge, ask--for a history in which the picturesque side of the story shall not be ignored, written simply and concisely by a writer who has made a special study of his subject, or who has lived and moved amongst the places, persons, and incidents he describes. I have lived in New Zealand, have seen it and studied it from end to end, and have had to do with its affairs: it is my country. But I should not have presumed to endeavour to supply in its case the want above indicated had any short descriptive history of the colony from its discovery to the present year been available. Among the many scores of books about the Islands--some of which are good, more of which are bad--I know of none which does what is aimed at in this volume. I have, therefore, taken in hand a short sketch-history of mine, published some six months ago, have cut out some of it and have revised the rest, and blended it with the material of the following chapters, of which it forms nearly one-third. The result is something not quite so meagre in quantity or staccato in style, though even now less full than I should have liked to make it, had it been other than the work of an unknown writer telling the story of a small archipelago which is at once the most distant and well-nigh the youngest of English states. I have done my best in the later chapters to describe certain men and experiments without letting personal likes and dislikes run away with my pen; have taken pains to avoid loading my pages with the names of places and persons of no particular interest to British readers; and at the same time have tried not to forget the value of local colour and atmosphere in a book of this kind. If _The Long White Cloud_ should fail to please a discerning public, it will not prove that a good, well-written history of a colony like New Zealand is not wanted, and may not succeed, but merely that I have not done the work well enough. That may easily be, inasmuch as until this year my encounters with English prose have almost all taken the form of political articles or official correspondence. Doubtless these do not afford the best possible training. But of the quality of the material awaiting a capable writer there can be no question. There, ready to his hand, are the beauty of those islands of mid-ocean, the grandeur of their Alps and fiords, the strangeness of the volcanic districts, the lavishness, yet grace, of the forests; the mixture of quaintness, poetry, and ferocity in the Maori, and the gallant drama of their struggle against our overwhelming strength; the adventures of the gold-seekers and other pioneers; the high aims of the colony's founders, and the venturesome democratic experiments of those who have succeeded them. If in these there is not the stuff for a fine book, then I am most strangely mistaken. And if I have failed in the following pages, then let me hope that some fellow-countryman, and better craftsman, will come to the rescue, and will do with a firmer hand and a lighter touch the work attempted here. NOTE OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT I have to thank Major-General Robley, not only for drawing the tail-piece to the second chapter, and thereby giving the book a minute but correct pattern of the Maori _moko_ or face-tattooing, but for kindly lending me photographs and drawings from which several other illustrations have been taken. Two or three of the tail-pieces are after designs in Mr. Hamilton's _Maori Art_. I have also to thank Mr. A. Martin of Wanganui for his kind permission to use his fine photograph of Mount Egmont and a view on a "papa" river. Mr. W.F. Crawford was good enough to put at my disposal his photograph of the Te Reinga waterfall, a view which will be new even to most New Zealanders. The portrait of Major Kemp and that of a Muaopoko Maori standing by a carved canoe-prow were given to me by Sir Walter Buller. "A New Zealand Settler's Home" was the gift of Mr. Winckleman of Auckland, well known amongst New Zealand amateur photographers. I have also gratefully to acknowledge the photographs which are the work of Mr. Josiah Martin of Auckland, Messrs. Beattie and Sanderson of Auckland, Mr. Iles of the Thames, and Mr. Morris of Dunedin, and to thank Messrs. Sampson, Low and Co. for the use of the blocks from which the portraits of Sir Harry Atkinson and the Hon. John McKenzie are taken. Contents Chapter I THE LONG WHITE CLOUD Chapter II THE MAORI Chapter III THE MAORI AND THE UNSEEN Chapter IV THE NAVIGATORS Chapter V NO MAN'S LAND Chapter VI MISSION SCHOONER AND WHALE BOAT Chapter VII THE MUSKETS OF HONGI Chapter VIII "A MAN OF WAR WITHOUT GUNS" Chapter IX THE DREAMS OF GIBBON WAKEFIELD Chapter X IN THE CAUDINE FORKS Chapter XI THROUGH WEAKNESS INTO WAR Chapter XII GOOD GOVERNOR GREY Chapter XIII THE PASTORAL PROVINCES Chapter XIV LEARNING TO WALK Chapter XV GOVERNOR BROWNE'S BAD BARGAIN Chapter XVI _TUPARA_ AGAINST ENFIELD Chapter XVII THE FIRE IN THE FERN Chapter XVIII GOLD-DIGGERS AND GUM-DIGGERS Chapter XIX THE PROVINCES AND THE PUBLIC WORKS POLICY Chapter XX IN PARLIAMENT Chapter XXI SOME BONES OF CONTENTION Chapter XXII EIGHT YEARS OF EXPERIMENT Chapter XXIII THE NEW ZEALANDERS BIBLIOGRAPHY List of Illustrations Te Reinga Waterfall A Western Alpine Valley The White Terrace, Rotomahana On a River--"Papa" Country Maori and Carved Bow of Canoe A Maori Maiden Stern of Canoe Maori Wahiné Carved Gateway of Maori Village Mount Egmont, Taranaki View of Nelson Sir George Grey The Curving Coast War Map Rewi Major Kemp Kauri Pine Tree The Hon. John Mackenzie Sir Harry Atkinson A New Zealand Settler's Home Picton--Queen Charlotte's Sound The Hon. John Balance Te Waharoa. Henare Kaihau, M.H.R. Hon. James Carroll, M.H.R. Right Hon. R.J. Seddon (_Premier_). Mahuta (_The Maori "King"_) Maoris Conveying Guests in a Canoe A Rural State School Map of New Zealand Chapter I THE LONG WHITE CLOUD[1] [Footnote 1: Ao-Tea-Roa, the Maori name of New Zealand.] "If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face--and you'll forget them all." Though one of the parts of the earth best fitted for man, New Zealand was probably about the last of such lands occupied by the human race. The first European to find it was a Dutch sea-captain who was looking for something else, and who thought it a part of South America, from which it is sundered by five thousand miles of ocean. It takes its name from a province of Holland to which it does not bear the remotest likeness, and is usually regarded as the antipodes of England, but is not. Taken possession of by an English navigator, whose action, at first adopted, was afterwards reversed by his country's rulers, it was only annexed at length by the English Government which did not want it, to keep it from the French who did. The Colony's capital bears the name of a famous British commander, whose sole connection with the country was a flat refusal to aid in adding it to the Empire. Those who settled it meant it to be a theatre for the Wakefield Land System. The spirit of the land laws, however, which its settlers have gradually developed is a complete negation of Wakefield's principle. Some of the chief New Zealand settlements were founded by Church associations; but the Colony's education system has long been purely secular. From the first those who governed the Islands laboured earnestly to preserve and benefit the native race, and on the whole the treatment extended to them has been just and often generous--yet the wars with them were long, obstinate, and mischievous beyond the common. The pioneer colonists looked upon New Zealand as an agricultural country, but its main industries have turned out to be grazing and mining. From the character of its original settlers it was expected to be the most conservative of the colonies; it is just now ranked as the most democratic. Not only by its founders, but for many years afterwards, Irish were avowedly or tacitly excluded from the immigrants sent to it. Now, however, at least one person in eight in the Colony is of that race. It would be easy to expand this list into an essay on the vanity of human wishes. It would not be hard to add thereto a formidable catalogue of serious mistakes made both in England and New Zealand by those responsible for the Colony's affairs--mistakes, some of which, at least, seem now to argue an almost inconceivable lack of knowledge and foresight. So constantly have the anticipations of its officials and settlers been reversed in the story of New Zealand that it becomes none too easy to trace any thread of guiding wisdom or consistent purpose therein. The broad result, however, has been a fine and vigorous colony. Some will see in its record of early struggles, difficulties and mistakes endured, paid for and surmounted, a signal instance of the overruling care of Providence. To the cynic the tale must be merely a minor portion of the "supreme ironic procession with laughter of gods in the background." To the writer it seems, at least, to give a very notable proof of the collective ability of a colonizing race to overcome obstacles and repair blunders. The Colony of New Zealand is not a monument of the genius of any one man or group of men. It is the outcome of the vitality and industry of a people obstinate but resourceful, selfish but honest, often ill-informed and wrong, but with the saving virtue of an ability to learn from their own mistakes. From one standpoint the story of New Zealand ought not to take long to tell. It stretches over less time than that of almost any land with any pretensions to size, beauty, or interest. New Zealand was only discovered by Europeans in the reign of our King Charles I., and even then the Dutch explorer who sighted its lofty coasts did not set foot upon them. The first European to step on to its shores did so only when the great American colonies were beginning to fret at the ties which bound them to England. The pioneers of New Zealand colonization, the missionaries, whalers, and flax and timber traders, did not come upon the scene until the years of Napoleon's decline and fall. Queen Victoria had been on the throne for three years before the Colonial Office was reluctantly compelled to add the Islands to an Empire which the official mind regarded as already overgrown. Yet so striking, varied, and attractive are the country's features, so full of bustle, change and experiment have its few years been, that lack of material is about the last complaint that need be made by a writer on New Zealand. The list of books on the Colony is indeed so long that its bibliography is a larger volume than this; and the chief plea to be urged for this history must be its brevity--a quality none too common in Colonial literature. A New Zealander writing in London may be forgiven if he begins by warning English readers not to expect in the aspect of New Zealand either a replica of the British Islands or anything resembling Australia. The long, narrow, mountainous islands upon which Abel Jansen Tasman stumbled in December, 1642, are so far from being the antipodes of Britain that they lie on an average twelve degrees nearer the equator. Take Liverpool as a central city of the United Kingdom; it lies nearly on the 53rd parallel of north latitude. Wellington, the most central city of New Zealand, is not far from the 41st parallel of southern latitude. True, New Zealand has no warm Gulf Stream to wash her shores. But neither is she chilled by east winds blowing upon her from the colder half of a continent. Neither her contour nor climate is in the least Australian. It is not merely that twelve hundred miles of ocean separate the flat, rounded, massive-looking continent from the high, slender, irregular islands. The ocean is deep and stormy. Until the nineteenth century there was absolutely no going to and fro across it. Many plants are found in both countries, but they are almost all small and not in any way conspicuous. Only one bird of passage migrates across the intervening sea. The dominating trees of Australia are myrtles (called eucalypts); those of New Zealand are beeches (called birches), and various species of pines. The strange marsupials, the snakes, the great running birds, the wild dogs of Australia, have no counterpart in New Zealand. The climate of Australia, south of Capricorn, is, except on the eastern and south-eastern coast, as hot and dry as the South African. And the Australian mountains, moderate in height and flattened, as a rule, at the summit, remind one not a little of the table-topped elevations so familiar to riders on the veldt and karroo. The western coast of New Zealand is one of the rainiest parts of the Empire. Even the drier east coast only now and then suffers from drought On the west coast the thermometer seldom rises above 75° in the shade; on the other not often above 90°. New Zealand, too, is a land of cliffs, ridges, peaks, and cones. Some of the loftier volcanoes are still active, and the vapour of their craters mounts skyward above white fields of eternal snow. The whole length of the South Island is ridged by Alpine ranges, which, though not quite equal in height to the giants of Switzerland, do not lose by comparison with the finest of the Pyrenees. No man with an eye for the beautiful or the novel would call Australia either unlovely or dull. It is not, however, a land of sharp and sudden contrasts: New Zealand is. The Australian woods, too, are park-like: their trees, though interesting, and by no means without charm, have a strong family likeness. Their prevailing colours are yellow, brown, light green, and grey. Light and heat penetrate them everywhere. The cool, noiseless forests of New Zealand are deep jungles, giant thickets, like those tropic labyrinths where traveller and hunter have to cut their path through tangled bushes and interlacing creepers. Their general hue is not light but dark green, relieved, it is true, by soft fern fronds, light-tinted shrubs, and crimson or snow-white flowers. Still the tone is somewhat sombre, and would be more noticeably so but for the prevalent sunshine and the great variety of species of trees and ferns growing side by side. The distinction of the forest scenery may be summed up best in the words dignity and luxuriance. The tall trees grow close together. For the most part their leaves are small, but their close neighbourhood hinders this from spoiling the effect. The eye wanders over swell after swell, and into cavern after cavern of unbroken foliage. To the botanist who enters them these silent, stately forests show such a wealth of intricate, tangled life, that the delighted examiner hardly knows which way to turn first. [Illustration: A WESTERN ALPINE VALLEY Photo by MORRIS, Dunedin.] As a rule the lower part of the trunks is branchless; stems rise up like tall pillars in long colonnades. But this does not mean that they are bare. Climbing ferns, lichens, pendant grasses, air-plants, and orchids drape the columns. Tough lianas swing in air: coiling roots overspread the ground. Bushes, shrubs, reeds and ferns of every size and height combine to make a woven thicket, filling up and even choking the spaces between trunk and trunk. Supple, snaky vines writhe amid the foliage, and bind the undergrowth together. The forest trees are evergreens, and even in mid-winter are fresh-looking. The glowing autumnal tints of English woods are never theirs; yet they show every shade of green, from the light of the puriri to the dark of the totara, from the bronze-hued willow-like leaves of the tawa to the vivid green of the matai, or the soft golden-green of the drooping rimu. Then, though the ground-flowers cannot compare in number with those of England or Australia,[1] the Islands are the chosen land of the fern, and are fortunate in flowering creepers, shrubs, and trees. There are the koromiko bush with white and purple blossoms, and the white convolvulus which covers whole thickets with blooms, delicate as carved ivory, whiter than milk. There are the starry clematis, cream-coloured or white, and the manuka, with tiny but numberless flowers. The yellow kowhai, seen on the hillsides, shows the russet tint of autumn at the height of spring-time. Yet the king of the forest flowers is, perhaps, the crimson, feathery rata. Is it a creeper, or is it a tree? Both opinions are held; both are right. One species of the rata is an ordinary climber; another springs sometimes from the ground, sometimes from the fork of a tree into which the seed is blown or dropped. Thence it throws out long rootlets, some to earth, others which wrap round the trunk on which it is growing. Gradually this rata becomes a tree itself, kills its supporter, and growing round the dead stick, ends in almost hiding it from view. [Footnote 1: The Alps, however, show much floral beauty, and the ground-flowers of the Auckland Islands, an outlying group of New Zealand islets, impressed the botanist Kirk as unsurpassed in the South Temperate Zone.] In the month of February, when the rata flowers in the Alps, there are valleys which are ablaze for miles with "Flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire." But the most gorgeous of all flowering trees, as distinguished from creepers, is the sea-loving pohutu kawa. When the wind is tossing its branches the contrast is startling between its blood-red flowers and the dark upper side and white, downy under side of its leaves. Like the Australians, New Zealand Colonists call their forest "bush." What in England might be called bush or brushwood is called "scrub" in the Colonies. The wood of many of the trees is not only useful timber, but when cut and polished is often beautiful in grain. Unhappily, their destruction goes on with rapid strides. The trees, as is usually the case with those the wood of which is hard, grow slowly. They feel exposure to wind, and seem to need the society and shelter of their fellows. It is almost impossible to restore a New Zealand forest when once destroyed. Then most of the finest trees are found on rich soil. The land is wanted for grazing and cultivation. The settler comes with axe and fire-stick, and in a few hours unsightly ashes and black funereal stumps have replaced the noble woods which Nature took centuries to grow. No attempt is made to use a great part of the timber. The process is inevitable, and in great part needful, frightfully wasteful as it seems. But the forest reserves of the Colony, large as they are, should be made even more ample. Twelve hundred thousand acres are not enough--as the New Zealanders will regretfully admit when a decade or so hence they begin to import timber instead of exporting it. As for interfering with reserves already made, any legislator who suggests it should propose his motion with a noose round his neck, after the laudable custom followed in a certain classic republic. New Zealand is by no means a flat country, though there are in it some fair-sized plains, one of which--that of Canterbury--is about as flat a stretch of one hundred miles as is to be found in the world. On the whole, however, both North and South Islands are lands of the mountain and the flood, and not only in this, but in the contour of some of their peaks and coast-line, show more than a fanciful resemblance to the west of Scotland. But the New Zealand mountains are far loftier than anything in the British Islands. The rocky coasts as a rule rise up steeply from the ocean, standing out in many places in bold bluffs and high precipices. The seas round are not shallow, dull, or turbid, but deep, blue, wind-stirred, foam-flecked, and more often than not lit by brilliant sunshine. The climate and colouring, too, are not only essentially un-English, but differ very widely in different parts of the Islands. For New Zealand, though narrow, has length, stretching through 13 degrees of latitude, and for something like 1,100 miles from north to south. As might be looked for in a mountainous country, lying in the open ocean, the climate is windy, and except in two or three districts, moist. It is gloriously healthy and briskly cheerful. Summed up in one word, its prevailing characteristic is light! Hot as are many summer days, they are seldom sultry enough to breed the heavy, overhanging heat-haze which shrouds the heaven nearer the tropics. Sharp as are the frosts of winter nights in the central and southern part of the South Island, the days even in mid-winter are often radiant, giving seven or eight hours of clear, pleasant sunshine. For the most part the rains are heavy but not prolonged; they come in a steady, business-like downpour, or in sharp, angry squalls; suddenly the rain ceases, the clouds break, and the sun is shining from a blue sky. Fogs and mists are not unknown, but are rare and passing visitors, do not come to stay, and are not brown and yellow in hue but more the colour of a clean fleece of wool. They do not taste of cold smoke, gas, sulphur, or mud. High lying and ocean-girt, the long, slender islands are lands of sunshine and the sea. It is not merely that their coast-line measures 4,300 miles, but that they are so shaped and so elevated that from innumerable hilltops and mountain summits distant glimpses may be caught of the blue salt water. From the peak of Aorangi, 12,350 feet in air, the Alpine climber Mannering saw not only the mantle of clouds which at that moment covered the western sea twenty miles away, but a streak of blue ocean seventy miles off near Hokitika to the north-west, and by the hills of Bank's Peninsula to the north-east, a haze which indicated the Eastern Ocean. Thus, from her highest peak, he looked right across New Zealand. The Dutch, then, its discoverers, were not so wrong in naming it Zealand or Sea-land. Next to light, perhaps the chief characteristic of the country and its climate is variety. Thanks to its great length the north differs much from the south. Southland is as cool as northern France, with an occasional southerly wind as keen as Kingsley's wild north-easter. But in gardens to the north of Auckland I have stood under olive trees laden with berries. Hard by were orange trees, figs, and lemon trees in full bearing. Not far off a winding tidal creek was fringed with mangroves. Exotic palm trees and the cane-brake will grow there easily. All over the North Island, except at high altitudes, and in the more sheltered portions of the South Island, camellias and azaleas bloom in the open air. The grape vine bids fair to lead to wine-making in both islands--unless the total abstainers grow strong enough to put their foot on the manufacture of alcohol in any form in an already distinctly and increasingly sober Colony. But in New Zealand not only is the north in marked contrast with the south, but the contrast between the east and west is even more sharply defined. As a rule the two coasts are divided by a broad belt of mountainous country. The words "chain" and "spine" are misnomers, at any rate in the South Island, inasmuch as they are not sufficiently expressive of breadth. The rain-bringing winds in New Zealand blow chiefly from the north-west and south-west. The moisture-laden clouds rolling up from the ocean gather and condense against the western flanks of the mountains, where an abundant rainfall has nourished through ages past an unbroken and evergreen forest. Nothing could well be more utterly different than these matted jungles of the wet west coast--with their prevailing tint of rich dark green, their narrow, rank, moist valleys and steep mountain sides--and the eastern scenery of the South Island. The sounds or fiords of the south-west are perhaps the loveliest series of gulfs in the world. Inlet succeeds inlet, deep, calm, and winding far in amongst the steep and towering mountains. The lower slopes of these are clothed with a thick tangle of forest, where foliage is kept eternally fresh and vivid by rain and mist. White torrents and waterfalls everywhere seam the verdure and break the stillness. Cross to the east coast. Scarcely is the watershed passed when the traveller begins to enter a new landscape and a distinct climate. The mountains, stripped of their robe of forest, seem piled in ruined, wasting heaps, or stand out bleak and bare-ribbed, "The skeletons of Alps whose death began Far in the multitudinous centuries." Little is left them but a kind of dreary grandeur. The sunshine falls on patches of gleaming snow and trailing mist, and lights up the grey crags which start out like mushrooms on the barren slopes. On all sides streams tear down over beds of the loose shingle, of which they carry away thousands of tons winter after winter. Their brawling is perhaps the only sound you will hear through slow-footed afternoons, save, always, the whistle or sighing of the persistent wind. A stunted beech bush clothes the spurs here and there, growing short and thick as a fleece of dark wool. After a storm the snow will lie powdering the green beech trees, making the rocks gleam frostily and sharpening the savage ridges till they look like the jagged edges of stone axes. Only at nightfall in summer do the mountains take a softer aspect. Then in the evening stillness the great outlines show majesty; then in the silence after sunset rivers, winding among the ranges in many branches over broad, stony beds, fill the shadowy valleys with their hoarse murmur. To the flock-owner, however, this severe region is what the beautiful West is not--it is useful. Sheep can find pasture there. And as the mountains decline into hills, and the hills into downs and flats, the covering of herbage becomes less and less scanty. When the colonists came to the east coast, they found plains and dales which were open, grassy, almost treeless. Easy of access, and for the most part fertile, they were an ideal country for that unaesthetic person, the practical settler. Flocks and herds might roam amongst the pale tussock grass of the slopes and bottoms without fear either of man, beast, climate, or poisonous plant.[1] A few wooden buildings and a certain extent of wire fencing represented most of the initial expenses of the pioneer. Pastoral settlement speedily overran such a land, followed more slowly and partially by agriculture. The settler came, not with axe and fire to ravage and deform, but as builder, planter and gardener. Being in nineteen cases out of twenty a Briton, or a child of one, he set to work to fill this void land with everything British which he could transport or transplant His gardens were filled with the flowers, the vegetables, the fruit trees of the old land. The oak, the elm, the willow, the poplar, the spruce, the ash grew in his plantations. His cattle were Shorthorns, Herefords, and Devons. His farm horses were of the best Clydesdale and Suffolk Punch blood. The grasses they fed upon were mixtures of cocks-foot, timothy, rye-grass, and white clover. When it was found that the red clover would not flourish for want of penetrating insects, the humble bee was imported, and with compete success, as many a field now ruddy with crimson blossom testifies. The common English bee is found wild in the forest, where it hives in hollow trees, and robs its competitors--the honey-eating native birds--of much of their food. The hedges round the fields aforesaid are also English, but with a difference. The stunted furze which beautifies English commons is at the other end of the earth a hedge plant, which makes a thick barrier from five to eight feet high, and, with its sweet-smelling blooms, has made the New Zealand fields "green pictures set in frames of gold." The very birds which rise from the clover or wheat, and nest in the trees or hedgerows of furze or quickset, are for the most part English--the skylark, the blackbird, finches, green and gold, thrushes, starlings, and that eternal impudent vagabond the house-sparrow. Heavy is the toll taken by the sparrow from the oat-crops of his new home; his thievish nature grows blacker there, though his plumage often turns partly white. He learns to hawk for moths and other flying insects. Near Christchurch rooks caw in the windy skies. Trout give excellent sport in a hundred streams, though in the lakes they grow too gross to take the fly. Many attempts have so far failed to acclimatise the salmon. The ova may be hatched out successfully, but the fish when turned out into the rivers disappears. The golden carp, however, the perch, and the rainbow trout take readily to New Zealand. The hare increases in size and weight, and has three and four leverets at a birth. The pheasant has spread from end to end of the Colony. The house-fly drives back the loathsome flesh-fly or blue-bottle, to the salvation of blankets and fresh meat. The Briton of the south has indeed taken with him all that he could of the old country. [Footnote 1: The _tutu_, a danger to inexperienced sheep and cattle, was not eaten by horses. The berries were poisonous enough to kill an imported elephant on one occasion. Would that they had done as much for the rabbit!] He has also brought a few things which he wishes he had left behind. The Hessian fly, the wire-worm, the flea, and grubs and scale insects thrive mischievously. The black and grey rats have driven the native rat into the recesses of the forest. A score of weeds have come, mixed with badly-screened grass-seed, or in any of a hundred other ways. The Scotch thistle seemed likely at one stage to usurp the whole grass country. Acts of Parliament failed to keep it down. Nature, more effectual, causes it to die down after running riot for a few years. The watercress, too, threatened at one time to choke half the streams. The sweetbriar, taking kindly to both soil and climate, not only grows tall enough to arch over the head of a man on horseback, but covers whole hillsides, to the ruin of pasture. Introduced, innocently enough, by the missionaries, it goes by their name in some districts. Rust, mildew, and other blights, have been imported along with plant and seed. The rabbit, multiplying in millions, became a very terror to the sheep farmers, is even yet the subject of anxious care and inspection, and only slowly yields to fencing, poison, traps, dogs, guns, stoats, weasels, ferrets, cats, and a host of instruments of destruction. In poisoning the rabbit the stock-owners have well-nigh swept the native birds from wide stretches of country. The weka, or wood-hen, with rudimentary wings like tufts of brown feathers, whose odd, inquisitive ways introduce it so constantly to the shepherd and bushman, at first preyed upon the young rabbits and throve. Now ferrets and phosphorus are exterminating it in the rabbit-infested districts. Moreover, just as Vortigern had reason to regret that he had called in the Saxon to drive out the Picts and Scots, so the New Zealanders have already found the stoat and weasel but dubious blessings. They have been a veritable Hengist and Horsa to more than one poultry farmer and owner of lambs. In addition they do their full share of the evil work of bird extermination, wherein they have active allies in the rats and wild cats. On the whole, however, though acclimatization has given the Colony one or two plagues and some minor nuisances, it would be ridiculous to pretend that these for a moment weigh in the scale against its good works. Most of the vegetable pests, though they may flourish abnormally for a few years in the virgin soil, soon become less vigorous. With the growth of population even the rabbit ceases to be a serious evil, except to a few half-empty tracts. The truth is that outside her forests and swamps New Zealand showed the most completely unoccupied soil of any fertile and temperate land on the globe. It seems possible that until about five or six hundred years ago she had no human inhabitants whatever. Her lakes and rivers had but few fish, her birds were not specially numerous, her grasses were not to be compared in their nourishing qualities with the English. Of animals there were virtually none. Even the rat before mentioned, and the now extinct dog of the Maori villages, were Maori importations from Polynesia not many centuries ago. Not only, therefore, have English forms of life been of necessity drawn upon to fill the void spaces, but other countries have furnished their quota. The dark eucalypt of Tasmania, with its heavy-hanging, languid leaves, is the commonest of exotic trees. The artificial stiffness and regularity of the Norfolk Island pine, and the sweet-smelling golden blooms of the Australian wattle, are sights almost as familiar in New Zealand as in their native lands. The sombre pines of California and the macro carpa cypress cover thousands of acres. The merino sheep brought from Spain, _viâ_ Saxony and Australia, is the basis of the flocks. The black swan and magpie represent the birds of New Holland. The Indian minah, after becoming common, is said to be retreating before the English starling. The first red deer came from Germany. And side by side with these strangers and with the trees and plants which colonists call specifically "English"--for the word "British" is almost unknown in the Colony--the native flora is beginning to be cultivated in gardens and grounds. Neglected by the first generation, it is better appreciated by their children--themselves natives of the soil. In the north and warmer island the traveller also meets sharp contrasts. These, however, except in the provinces of Wellington and Napier, where the Tararua-Ruahiné spine plays to some extent the part taken by the Alps in the South Island, are not so much between east and west as between the coasts and the central plateau. For the most part, all the coasts, except the south-east, are, or have been, forest-clad. Nearly everywhere they are green, hilly and abundantly watered; windy, but not plagued with extremes of cold and heat. Frost touches them but for a short time in mid-winter. [Illustration: THE WHITE TERRACE, ROTOMAHANA] The extreme south and north of the North Island could hardly, by any stretch of imagination, be called rich and fertile. But the island demonstrates the "falsehood of extremes," for between them is found some of the finest and pleasantest land in the southern hemisphere. Nearly all of this, however, lies within fifty miles of one or other coast. When you have left these tracts, and have risen a thousand feet or so, you come to a volcanic plateau, clad for the most part in dark green and rusty bracken or tussocks of faded yellow. Right in the centre rise the great volcanoes, Ruapehu, Tongariro and Tarawera, majestic in their outlines, fascinating because of the restless fires within and the outbreaks which have been and will again take place. Scattered about this plateau are lakes of every shape and size, from Taupo--called Te Moana (the sea) by the Maoris--to the tiniest lakelets and ponds. Here are found pools and springs of every degree of heat. Some are boiling cauldrons into which the unwary fall now and again to meet a death terrible, yet--if the dying words of some of them may be believed--not always agonizing, so completely does the shock of contact with the boiling water kill the nervous system. Many pools are the colour of black broth. Foul with mud and sulphur, they seethe and splutter in their dark pits, sending up clouds of steam and sulphurous fumes. Others are of the clearest green or deepest, purest blue, through which thousands of silver bubbles shoot up to the surface, flash, and vanish. But the main use of the hot springs is found in their combination of certain chemical properties,--sulphur-acid, sulphur-alkaline. Nowhere in the world, probably, are found healing waters at once so powerful and so various in their uses. Generations ago the Maori tribes knew something of their effects. Now invalids come from far and near in hundreds and thousands, and when the distractions and appliances of the sanitary stations equal those of the European spas they will come in tens of thousands, for the plateau is not only a health-resort but a wonderland. Its geysers rank with those of Iceland and the Yellowstone. Seen in the clear sunny air, these columns of water and white foam, mounting, swaying, blown by the wind into silver spray, and with attendant rainbows glittering in the light, are sights which silence even the chattering tourist for a while. Solfataras, mud volcanoes and fumaroles are counted in hundreds in the volcanic zone. If there were not such curiosities, still the beauty of the mountains, lakes, streams and patches of forest would, with the bright invigorating air, make the holiday-maker seek them in numbers. Through the middle of this curious region runs the Waikato, the longest and on the whole most tranquil and useful of that excitable race the rivers of New Zealand. Even the Waikato has its adventures. In one spot it is suddenly compressed to a sixth of its breadth, and, boiling between walls of rock, leaps in one mass of blue water and white foam into a deep, tree-fringed pool below. This is the Huka Waterfall. It is but one of the many striking falls to be met with in the Islands. New Zealand is a land of streams of every size and kind, and almost all these streams and rivers have three qualities in common--they are cold, swift, and clear. Cold and swift they must be as they descend quickly to the sea from heights more or less great. Clear they all are, except immediately after rain, or when the larger rivers are in flood. In flood-time most of them become raging torrents. Many were the horses and riders swept away to hopeless death as they stumbled over the hidden stony beds of turbid mountain crossings in the pioneering days before bridges were. Many a foot-man--gold-seeker or labourer wandering in search of work--disappeared thus, unseen and unrecorded. Heavy were the losses in sheep and cattle, costly and infuriating the delays, caused by flooded rivers. Few are the old colonists who have not known what it is to wait through wet and weary hours, it might be days, gloomily smoking, grumbling and watching for some flood to abate and some ford to become passable. Even yet, despite millions spent on public works, such troubles are not unknown. It is difficult, perhaps, for those living in the cool and abundantly watered British Islands to sympathise with dwellers in hotter climates, or to understand what a blessing and beauty these continual and never-failing watercourses of New Zealand seem to visitors from sultrier and drier lands. The sun is quite strong enough to make men thankful for this gift of abundant water, and to make the running ripple of some little forest rivulet, heard long before it is seen through the green thickets, as musical to the ears of the tired rider as the note of the bell-bird itself. Even pleasanter are the sound and glitter of water under the summer sunshine to the wayfarer in the open grassy plains or valleys of the east coast. As for the number of the streams--who shall count them? Between the mouths of the Mokau and Patea rivers--a distance which cannot be much more than one hundred miles of coast--no less than eighty-five streams empty themselves into the Tasman Sea, of which some sixty have their source on the slopes or in the chasms of Mount Egmont. Quite as many more flow down from Egmont on the inland side, and do not reach the sea separately, but are tributaries of two or three larger rivers. It is true that travellers may come to the Islands and leave them with no notion of a New Zealand river, except a raging mountain torrent, hostile to man and beast. Or they may be jolted over this same torrent when, shrunk and dwindled in summer heat to a mere glittering thread, it meanders lost and bewildered about a glaring bed of hot stones. But then railways and ordinary lines of communication are chiefly along the coasts. The unadventurous or hurried traveller sticks pretty closely to these. It happens that the rivers, almost without exception, show plainer features as they near the sea. He who wishes to see their best must go inland and find them as they are still to be found in the North Island, winding through untouched valleys, under softly-draped cliffs, or shadowed by forests not yet marred by man. Or, in the South Island, they should be watched in the Alps as, milky or green-tinted, their ice-cold currents race through the gorges. [Illustration: ON A RIVER--"PAPA" COUNTRY Photo by A. MARTIN, Wanganui.] Of forest rivers, the Wanganui is the longest and most famous, perhaps the most beautiful. Near the sea it is simply a broad river, traversed by boats and small steamers, and with grassy banks dotted with weeping willows or clothed with flax and the palm-lily. But as you ascend it the hills close in. Their sides become tall cliffs, whose feet the water washes. From the tops of these precipices the forest, growing denser and richer at every turn, rises on the flanks of the hills. In places the cliffs are so steep and impracticable that the Maoris use ladders for descending on their villages above to their canoes in the rivers below. Lovely indeed are these cliffs; first, because of the profusion of fern frond, leaf, and moss, growing from everything that can climb to, lay hold of, or root itself in crack, crevice, or ledge, and droop, glistening with spray-drops, or wave whispering in the wind; next, because of the striking form and colour of the cliffs themselves. They are formed of what is called "Papa." This is a blue, calcareous clay often found with limestone, which it somewhat resembles. The Maori word "papa" is applied to any broad, smooth, flattish surface, as a door, or to a slab of rock. The smooth, slab-like, papa cliffs are often curiously marked--tongued and grooved, as with a gouge, channelled and fluted. Sometimes horizontal lines seem to divide them into strata. Again, the lines may be winding and spiral, so that on looking at certain cliffs it might be thought possible that the Maoris had got from them some of their curious tattoo patterns. Though pale and delicate, the tints of the rock are not their least beauty. Grey, yellow, brown, fawn, terra-cotta, even pale orange are to be noted. No photograph can give the charm of the drapery that clothes these cliffs. Photographs give no light or colour, and New Zealand scenery without light and colour is Hamlet with Hamlet left out. How could a photograph even hint at the dark, glossy green of the glistening karaka leaves, the feathery, waving foliage of the lace bark, or the white and purple bloom of the koromiko? How could black-and-white suggest the play of shade and shine when, between flying clouds, the glint of sunlight falls upon the sword-bayonet blades of the flax, and the golden, tossing plumes of the toe-toe, the New Zealand cousin of the Pampas grass? Add to this, that more often than the passenger can count as he goes along the river, either some little rill comes dripping over the cliff, scattering the sparkling drops on moss and foliage, or the cliffs are cleft and, as from a rent in the earth, some tributary stream gushes out of a dark, leafy tunnel of branches. Sometimes, too, the cliffs are not cleft, but the stream rushes from their summit, a white waterfall veiling the mossy rocks. Then there are the birds. In mid-air is to be seen the little fan-tail, aptly named, zig-zagging to and fro. The dark blue tui, called parson bird, from certain throat-feathers like white bands, will sing with a note that out-rivals any blackbird. The kuku, or wild pigeon, will show his purple, copper-coloured, white and green plumage as he sails slowly by, with that easy, confiding flight that makes him the cheap victim of the tyro sportsman. The grey duck, less easy to approach, rises noisily before boat or canoe comes within gunshot. The olive and brown, hoarse-voiced ka-ka, a large, wild parrot, and green, crimson-headed parakeets, may swell the list. Such is a "papa" river! and there are many such. Features for which the traveller in New Zealand should be prepared are the far-reaching prospects over which the eye can travel, the sight and sound of rapid water, and the glimpses of snow high overhead, or far off--glimpses to be caught in almost every landscape in the South Island and in many of the most beautiful of the North. Through the sunny, lucid atmosphere it is no uncommon thing to see mountain peaks sixty and eighty miles away diminished in size by distance, but with their outlines clearly cut. From great heights you may see much longer distances, especially on very early mornings of still midsummer days. Then, before the air is heated or troubled or tainted, but when night seems to have cooled and purged it from all impurity, far-off ridges and summits stand out clean, sharp and vivid. On such mornings, though standing low down by the sea-shore, I have seen the hills of Bank's Peninsula between sixty and seventy miles off, albeit they are not great mountains. Often did they seem to rise purple-coloured from the sea, wearing "the likeness of a clump of peaked isles," as Shelley says of the Euganean hills seen from Venice. On such a morning from a hill looking northward over league after league of rolling virgin forest I have seen the great volcano, Mount Ruapehu, rear up his 9,000 feet, seeming a solitary mass, the upper part distinctly seen, blue and snow-capped, the lower bathed and half-lost in a pearl-coloured haze. Most impressive of all is it to catch sight, through a cleft in the forest, of the peak of Mount Egmont, and of the flanks of the almost perfect cone curving upward from the sea-shore for 8,300 feet. The sentinel volcano stands alone. Sunrise is the moment to see him when his summit, sheeted with snow, is tinged with the crimson of morning and touched by clouds streaming past in the wind. Lucky is the eye that thus beholds Egmont, for he is a cloud-gatherer who does not show his face every day or to every gazer. Almost as fine a spectacle is the sight of the "Kaikouras," or "Lookers-on." When seen from the deck of a coasting steamer they seem almost to hang over the sea heaving more than 8,000 feet below their summits. Strangely beautiful are these mighty ridges when the moonlight bathes them and turns the sea beneath to silver. But more, beautiful are they still in the calm and glow of early morning, white down to the waist, brown to the feet with the sunshine full on their faces, the blue sky overhead, and the bluer sea below. If the Southern Alps surpass the Kaikouras in beauty it is because of the contrast they show on their western flanks, between gaunt grandeur aloft, and the softest luxuriance below. The forest climbs to the snow line, while the snow line descends as if to meet it. So abrupt is the descent that the transition is like the change in a theatre-scene. Especially striking is the transformation in the passage over the fine pass which leads through the dividing range between pastoral Canterbury and Westland. At the top of Arthur's Pass you are among the high Alps. The road winds over huge boulders covered with lichen, or half hidden by koromiko, ferns, green moss, and stunted beeches, grey-bearded and wind-beaten. Here and there among the stones are spread the large, smooth, oval leaves and white gold-bearing cups of the shepherd's lily. The glaciers, snowfields, and cliffs of Mount Rolleston lie on the left. Everything drips with icy water. Suddenly the saddle is passed and the road plunges down into a deep gulf. It is the Otira Gorge. Nothing elsewhere is very like it. The coach zig-zags down at a gentle pace, like a great bird slowly wheeling downwards to settle on the earth. In a few minutes it passes from an Alpine desert to the richness of the tropics. At the bottom of the gorge is the river foaming among scarlet boulders--scarlet because of the lichen which coats them. On either side rise slopes which are sometimes almost, sometimes altogether precipices, covered, every inch of them, with thick vegetation. High above these tower the bare crags and peaks which, as the eye gazes upwards, seem to bend inwards, as though a single shock of earthquake would make them meet and entomb the gorge beneath. In autumn the steeps are gay with crimson cushion-like masses of rata flowers, or the white blooms of the ribbon-wood and koromiko. Again and again waterfalls break through their leafy coverts; one falls on the road itself and sprinkles passengers with its spray. In the throat of the gorge the coach rattles over two bridges thrown from cliff to cliff over the pale-green torrent. In an hour comes the stage where lofty trees succeed giant mountains. As the first grow higher the second diminish. This is the land of ferns and mosses. The air feels soft, slightly damp, and smells of moist leaves. It is as different to the sharp dry air of the Canterbury ranges as velvet is to canvas; it soothes, and in hot weather relaxes. The black birch with dark trunk, spreading branches, and light leaves, is now mingled with the queenly rimu, and the stiff, small-leaved, formal white pine. Winding and hanging plants festoon everything, and everything is bearded with long streamers of moss, not grey but rich green and golden. Always some river rushes along in sight or fills the ear with its noise. Tree ferns begin to appear and grow taller and taller as the coach descends towards the sea, where in the evening the long journey ends. On the western coast glaciers come down to within 700 feet of the sea-level. Even on the east side the snow is some 2,000 feet lower than in Switzerland. This means that the climber can easily reach the realm where life is not, where ice and snow, rock and water reign, and man feels his littleness. Though Aorangi has been ascended to the topmost of its 12,349 feet, still in the Southern Alps the peaks are many which are yet unsealed, and the valleys many which are virtually untrodden. Exploring parties still go out and find new lakes, new passes, and new waterfalls. It is but a few years since the Sutherland Falls, 2,000 feet high, were first revealed to civilized man, nor was there ever a region better worth searching than the Southern Alps. Every freshly-found nook and corner adds beauties and interests. Falls, glaciers and lakes are on a grand scale. The Tasman glacier is eighteen miles long and more than two miles across at the widest point; the Murchison glacier is more than ten miles long; the Godley eight. The Hochstetter Fall is a curtain of broken, uneven, fantastic ice coming down 4,000 feet on to the Tasman glacier. It is a great spectacle, seen amid the stillness of the high Alps, broken only by the occasional boom and crash of a falling pinnacle of ice. Of the many mountain lakes Te Anau is the largest, Manapouri the loveliest. Wakatipu is fifty-four miles long, and though its surface is 1,000 feet above the sea-level, its profound depth sinks below it. On the sea side of the mountains the fiords rival the lakes in depth. Milford Sound is 1,100 feet deep near its innermost end. But enough of the scenery of the Colony. This is to be a story, not a sketch-book. Enough that the drama of New Zealand's history, now in the second act, has been placed on one of the most remarkable and favourable stages in the globe. Much--too much--of its wild and singular beauty must be ruined in the process of settlement. But very much is indestructible. The colonists are also awakening to the truth that mere Vandalism is as stupid as it is brutal. Societies are being established for the preservation of scenery. The Government has undertaken to protect the more famous spots. Within recent years three islands lying off different parts of the coast have been reserved as asylums for native birds. Two years ago, too, the wild and virgin mountains of the Urewera tribe were by Act of Parliament made inalienable, so that, so long as the tribe lasts, their ferns, their birds and their trees shall not vanish from the earth. Chapter II THE MAORI "The moving finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on. Nor all your piety or wit Can lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all your tears wash out a word of it." The first colonists of New Zealand were brown men from the South Seas. It was from Eastern Polynesia that the Maoris unquestionably came. They are of the same race as the courteous, handsome people who inhabit the South Sea Islands from Hawaii to Rarotonga, and who, in Fiji, mingle their blood with the darker and inferior Melanesians of the west. All the Polynesians speak dialects of the same musical tongue. A glance at Tregear's Comparative Maori-Polynesian Dictionary will satisfy any reader on that point. The Rarotongans call themselves "Maori," and can understand the New Zealand speech; so, as a rule, can the other South Sea tribes, even the distant Hawaiians. Language alone is proverbially misleading as a guide to identity of race. But in the case of the Polynesians we may add colour and features, customs, legends, and disposition. All are well though rather heavily built, active when they choose, and passionately fond of war and sport. The New Zealanders are good riders and capital football players. The Samoans are so fond of cricket that they will spend weeks in playing gigantic matches, fifty a side. Bold as seamen and skilful as fishermen, the Polynesians are, however, primarily cultivators of the soil. They never rose high enough in the scale to be miners or merchants. In the absence of mammals, wild and tame, in their islands, they could be neither hunters nor herdsmen. Fierce and bloodthirsty in war, and superstitious, they were good-natured and hospitable in peace and affectionate in family life. There is no reason to think that the New Zealanders are more akin to the modern Malays than they are to the Australian blacks; nor have attempts to connect them with the red men of America or the Toltecs of Mexico succeeded. They are much more like some of the Aryans of Northern India. But the truth is, their fortunes before their race settled in Polynesia are a pure matter of guess-work. Some centuries ago, driven out by feuds or shortness of food, they left their isles of reef and palm, and found their way to Ao-tea-roa, as they called New Zealand. On the map their new home seems at first sight so isolated and remote from the other groups of Oceania as to make it incredible that even the most daring canoe-men could have deliberately made their way thither. But this difficulty disappears upon a study of the ascertained voyages of the Polynesians. Among the bravest and most venturesome navigators of the ocean, the brown mariners studied and named the stars, winds and currents. As allies they had those friends of the sailor, the trade-winds. In cloudy weather, when the signs in the sky were hidden, the regular roll of the waves before the steady trade-wind was in itself a guide.[1] Their large double-canoes joined by platforms on which deck-houses were built were no despicable sea-boats, probably just as good as the vessels in which the Phoenicians circumnavigated Africa. Even their single canoes were sometimes between 100 and 150 feet long, and the crews of these, wielding their elastic paddles, kept time in a fashion that has won respect from the coxswain of a University eight. For their long voyages they stored water in calabashes, carried roots and dried fish, and had in the cocoa-nut both food and drink stored safely by nature in the most convenient compass. In certain seasons they could be virtually sure of replenishing their stock of water from the copious tropical or semi-tropical rains. Expert fishermen, they would miss no opportunity of catching fish by the way. They made halting-places of the tiny islets which, often uninhabited and far removed from the well-known groups, dot the immense waste of the Pacific at great intervals. The finding of their stone axes or implements in such desolate spots enables their courses to be traced. Canoe-men who could voyage to solitary little Easter Island in the wide void towards America, or to Cape York in the distant west, were not likely to find insuperable difficulties in running before the north-east winds to New Zealand from Rarotonga, Savaii or Tahiti. The discovery in the new land of the jade or greenstone--far above rubies in the eyes of men of the Stone Age--would at once give the country all the attractiveness that a gold-field has for civilized man. [Footnote 1: S. Percy Smith on _The Geographical Knowledge of the Polynesians_.] The Maori stories of their migration to New Zealand are a mixture of myth and legend. Among them are minute details that may be accurate, mingled with monstrous tales of the utterly impossible. For example, we are told that one chief, on his canoe first nearing the coast, saw the feathery, blood-red rata-flowers gleaming in the forest, and promptly threw overboard his Polynesian coronet of red feathers, exclaiming that he would get a new crown in the new land. Such an incident might be true, as might also the tale of another canoe which approached the shore at night. Its crew were warned of the neighbourhood of land by the barking of a dog which they had with them and which scented a whale's carcass stranded on the beach. On the other hand we are gravely told that the hero Gliding-Tide having dropped an axe overboard off the shore, muttered an incantation so powerful that the bottom of the sea rose up, the waters divided, and the axe returned to his hand. The shoal at any rate is there, and is pointed out to this day. And what are we to say to the tale of another leader, whose canoe was upset in the South Seas, and who swam all the way to New Zealand? The traditions say that the Maori Pilgrim Fathers left the island of Hawaiki for New Zealand about the beginning of the 15th century. Hawaiki is probably one of the "shores of old romance." Other Polynesian races also claim to have come thence. Mr. Percy Smith gives good reasons for the suggestion that the ancestors of the Maoris migrated from the Society Islands and from Rarotonga, and that their principal migration took place about five hundred years ago. It seems likely enough, however, that previous immigrants had gone before them. One remnant of these, the now almost extinct Moriori, colonised the Chatham Islands, whither they were not followed by the conquering Maori until the present century. The two most famous of the great double canoes of the Maori settlers were the Arawa (shark), and the Tainui (flood-tide). On board thereof, with the men, women, and children, were brought dogs, rats, the gourd and taro root, and the invaluable kumara or sweet potato. The karaka tree, whose glossy, almost oily-looking leaves were in after days to be seen in every village, was another importation. With these tradition ranks the green parakeet and blue pukeko or swamp-hen, two birds whose rich plumage has indeed something in it of tropical gaudiness, at any rate in contrast with the sober hues of most New Zealand feathers. The Tainui canoe was said to have found its last resting-place near the mouth of the Mokau river. A stone still lies there which is treasured by the natives as the ancient anchor of their sacred craft. Some years ago, when a European carried this off, they brought an action against him and obtained an order of the Court compelling him to restore it. Not far away stands a grove of trees alleged to have sprung from the Tainui's skids. Certainly Sir James Hector, the first scientific authority in the Colony, finding that these trees grow spontaneously nowhere else in New Zealand, named them _Pomaderris Tainui_. But though, for once, at any rate, science was not indisposed to smile on tradition and Maori faith triumphed, and the unbeliever was for a while confounded, it unhappily seems now quite certain that the congener of _Pomaderris Tainui_ is found only in Australia, one of the few lands nigh the Pacific which cannot have been Hawaiki. It will be safe to say that the Maori colonists landed at different points and at widely different dates, and that later immigrants sometimes drove earlier comers inland or southward. More often, probably, each small band sought out an empty territory for itself. On this tribes and sub-tribes grew up, dwelling apart from each other. Each district became the land of a clan, to be held by tomahawk and spear. Not even temporary defeat and slavery deprived a tribe of its land: nothing did that but permanent expulsion followed by actual seizure and occupation by the conquerors. Failing this, the right of the beaten side lived on, and could be reasserted after years of exile. The land was not the property of the _arikis_ or chiefs, or even of the _rangatiras_ or gentry. Every free man, woman and child in each clan had a vested interest therein which was acknowledged and respected. The common folk were not supposed to have immortal souls. That was the distinction of the well born. But they had a right to their undivided share of the soil. Even when a woman married into another tribe, or--in latter days--became the wife of a white, she did not forfeit her title, though sometimes such rights would be surrendered by arrangement, to save inconvenience. Trade never entered into Maori life. Buying and selling were unknown. On and by the land the Maori lived, and he clung to it closely as any Irish peasant. "The best death a man can die is for the land," ran a proverb. "Let us die for the land!" shouted a chieftain, haranguing his fighting men before one of their first battles with the English. No appeal would be more certain to strike home. Though the tribal estate was communal property in so far that any member could go out into the wilderness and fell trees and reclaim the waste, the fruits of such work, the timber and plantations, at once became personal property. The fields, houses, weapons, tools, clothes, and food of a family could not be meddled with by outsiders. The territory, in a word, was common, but not only products but usufructs were property attaching to individuals, who could transfer them by gift. Though in time they forgot the way to "Hawaiki," and even at last the art of building double-canoes, yet they never wanted for pluck or seamanship in fishing and voyaging along the stormy New Zealand coasts. Their skill and coolness in paddling across flooded rivers may still sometimes be witnessed. Always needing fish, they placed their villages near the sea beaches or the rivers and lakes. In their canoes they would paddle as far as twelve miles from land. Amongst other fish they caught sharks, killing them before they hauled them into the crank canoes; or, joining forces, they would sweep some estuary with drag nets, and, with much yelling and splashing, drive the fish into a shallow corner. There with club and spear dog-fish and smooth-hound would be done to death amid shouts and excitement. Then would come a gorge on a grand scale, followed by business--the cutting into strips and drying of the shark-meat for winter food. In the forests they found birds, and, not having the bow-and-arrow, made shift to snare and spear them ingeniously. To add to the vegetable staples which they had brought with them from their Polynesian home, they used the root of the fern or bracken, and certain wild fruits and berries--none of them specially attractive. What between fish, birds and vegetables, with occasional delicacies in the shape of dogs and rats, they were by no means badly provisioned, and they cooked their food carefully and well, chiefly by steaming in ovens lined with heated stones. Without tea, coffee, sugar, alcohol or tobacco, they had also but seldom the stimulant given by flesh meat. Their notorious cannibalism was almost confined to triumphal banquets on the bodies of enemies slain in battle. Without the aid of metals or pottery, without wool, cotton, silk or linen, without one beast of burden, almost without leather, they yet contrived to clothe, feed and house themselves, and to make some advance in the arts of building, carving, weaving and dyeing. [Illustration: MAORI AND CARVED BOW OF CANOE] The labour and patience needed to maintain some degree of rude comfort and keep up any kind of organised society with the scanty means at their disposal were very great indeed. The popular notion of the lazy savage basking in the sunshine, or squatting round the fire and loafing on the labour of his women, did not fairly apply to the Maori--at any rate to the unspoiled Maori. As seen by the early navigators, his life was one of regular, though varied and not excessive toil. Every tribe, in most ways every village, was self-contained and self-supporting. What that meant to a people intelligent, but ignorant of almost every scientific appliance, and as utterly isolated as though they inhabited a planet of their own, a little reflection will suggest. The villagers had to be their own gardeners, fowlers, fishermen and carpenters. They built their own houses and canoes, and made every tool and weapon. All that they wore as well as what they used had to be made on the spot. They did not trade, though an exchange of gifts regulated by strict etiquette amounted to a rude and limited kind of barter, under which inland tribes could supply themselves with dried sea-fish and sea-birds preserved in their melted fat, or northern tribes could acquire the precious greenstone found in the west of the South Island. Without flocks and herds or domestic fowls, theirs was the constant toil of the cultivator. Their taro and their kumara fields had to be dug, and dug thoroughly with wooden spades. Long-handled and pointed at the end, these implements resembled stilts with a cross-bar about eighteen inches from the ground on which the digger's foot rested. Two men worked them together. The women did not dig the fields, but theirs was the labour almost as severe of carrying on their backs the heavy baskets of gravel to scatter over the soil of the plantations. Almost the only staple article of Maori vegetable food which grew wild and profusely was the fern or bracken _(pteris aquilina_ var. _esculenta_), which indeed was found on every hill and moor and in every glade, at any rate in the North Island. But the preparation of the fibrous root was tedious, calling as it did for various processes of drying and pounding. Fishing involved not only the catching of fish, but the manufacture of seine nets, sometimes half a mile long, of eel-weirs, lines made of the fibre of the native flax, and of fish-hooks of bone or tough crooked wood barbed with human bone. The human skeleton was also laid under contribution for the material of skewers, needles and flutes. The infinite patience and delicacy requisite in their bird-snaring and spearing are almost beyond the conception of the civilized townsmen untrained in wood-craft. To begin with, they had to make the slender bird spears, thirty feet long, out of the light wood of the _tawa_ tree. A single tree could provide no more than two spears, and the making of them--with stone tools of course--took many months. Think of the dexterity, coolness and stealth required to manage such a weapon in a jungle so dense and tangled that white sportsmen often find a difficulty in handling their guns there! The silent adroitness needed to approach and spear the wild parrot or wood-pigeon without stirring the branch of a tree would alone require a long apprenticeship to wood-craft. Maori house-building showed a knowledge of architecture decidedly above that of the builders of Kaffir kraals, to say nothing of the lairs of the Australian blacks. The poorest huts were definitely planned and securely built. The shape was oblong, the walls low, the roof high pitched and disproportionately large, though not so much so as in some of the South Sea Islands. The framework was of the durable totara-wood, the lining of reeds, the outside of dried rushes. At the end turned to the sunshine was a kind of verandah, on to which opened the solitary door and window, both low and small. The floor was usually sunk below ground, and Maori builders knew of no such thing as a chimney. Though neither cooking nor eating was done in their dwelling-houses, and offal of all kinds was carefully kept at a decent distance, the atmosphere in their dim, stifling interiors was as a rule unendurable by White noses and lungs. Even their largest tribal or meeting halls had but the one door and window; the Maori mind seemed as incapable of adding thereto, as of constructing more than one room under a single roof. On the other hand, the dyed patterns on the reed wainscoting, and the carvings on the posts, lintel and boards, showed real beauty and a true sense of line and curve. Still less reason is there to find fault with their canoes, the larger of which were not only strangely picturesque, but, urged by as many as a hundred paddles, flew through the water at a fine speed, or under sail made long coasting voyages in seas that are pacific only in name. To the carving on these crafts the savage artists added decoration by red ochre, strips of dyed flax, gay feathers and mother-o'-pearl. Both the building of the canoes and their adornment entailed long months of labour. So did the dressing of the fibre of the flax and palm-lily, and the weaving therefrom of "mats" or mantles, and of kirtles. Yet the making of such ordinary clothing was simple indeed compared to the manufacture of a chief's full dress mat of _kiwi_ feathers. The soft, hairy-looking plumage of the _kiwi_ (apteryx) is so fine, each feather so minute, that one mantle would occupy a first-rate artist for two years. Many of these mantles, whether of flax, feathers or dog-skin, were quaintly beautiful as well as warm and waterproof. Nor did Maori skill confine itself to ornamenting the clothing of man. The human skin supplied a fresh and peculiar field for durable decoration. This branch of art, that of Moko or tattooing, they carried to a grotesque perfection. Among the many legends concerning their demi-god Maui, a certain story tells how he showed them the way to tattoo by puncturing the muzzle of a dog, whence dogs went with black muzzles as men see them now. For many generations the patterns cut and pricked on the human face and body were faithful imitations of what were believed to be Maui's designs. They were composed of straight lines, angles, and cross-cuts. Later the hero Mataora taught a more graceful style which dealt in curves, spirals, volutes and scroll-work. Apart from legend it is a matter of reasonable certitude that the Maoris brought tattooing with them from Polynesia. Their marking instruments were virtually the same as those of their tropical cousins; both, for instance, before the iron age of the nineteenth century, often used the wing-bones of sea-birds to make their tiny chisels. Both observed the law of _tapu_ under which the male patients, while undergoing the process of puncturing, were sacred, immensely to their own inconvenience, for they had to dwell apart, and might not even touch food with their hands. As to the source of the peculiar patterns used by the New Zealanders, they probably have some relation with the admirable wood-carving before mentioned. Either the Moko artists copied the style of the skilful carvers of panels, door-posts, clubs, and the figure-heads on the prows of canoes, or the wood-carvers borrowed and reproduced the lines and curves of the Moko. The inspiration of the patterns, whether on wood or skin, may be found in the spirals of sea-shells, the tracery on the skin of lizards and the bark of trees, and even, it may be, in the curious fluting and natural scroll-work on the tall cliffs of the calcareous clay called _papa_. But, however the Moko artist learned his designs, he was a painstaking and conscientious craftsman in imprinting them on his subject. No black-and-white draughtsman of our time, no wood-cutter, etcher, or line-engraver, worked with slower deliberation. The outlines were first drawn with charcoal or red ochre. Thus was the accuracy of curve and scroll-work ensured. Then, inch by inch, the lines were cut or pricked out on the quivering, but unflinching, human copper-plate. The blood was wiped away and the _narahu_ (blue dye) infused. In the course of weeks, months, or years, as leisure, wealth, or endurance permitted, the work was completed. In no other society did the artist have his patron so completely at his mercy. Not only was a Moko expert of true ability a rarity for whose services there was always an "effective demand," but, if not well paid for his labours, the tattooer could make his sitter suffer in more ways than one. He could adroitly increase the acute anguish which had, as a point of honour, to be endured without cry or complaint; or he could coolly bungle the execution of the design, or leave it unfinished, and betake himself to a more generous customer. A well-known tattooing chant deals with the subject entirely from the artist's standpoint, and emphasises the business principles upon which he went to work. It was this song that Alfred Domett (Robert Browning's Waring) must have had in his mind when, in his New Zealand poem, he thus described the Moko on the face of the chief Tangi-Moana:-- "And finer, closer spirals of dark blue Were never seen than in his cheek's tattoo; Fine as if engine turned those cheeks declared No cost to fee the artist had been spared; That many a basket of good maize had made That craftsman careful how he tapped his blade, And many a greenstone trinket had been given To get his chisel-flint so deftly driven." When, however, the slow and costly agony was over, the owner of an unusually well-executed face became a superior person. He united in himself the virtues and vices of a chieftain of high degree (shown by the elaborateness of his face pattern), of a tribal dandy, of a brave man able to endure pain, of the owner of a unique picture, and of an acknowledged art critic. In the rigid-looking mask, moreover, which had now taken the place of his natural face were certain lines by which any one of his fellow-tribesmen could identify him living or dead. In this way the heads of Maori chiefs have been recognised even in the glass cases of museums. On some of the earlier deeds and agreements between White and Maori, a chief would sign or make his mark by means of a rough reproduction of his special Moko. The Maori _pas_ or stockaded and intrenched villages, usually perched on cliffs and jutting points overhanging river or sea, were defended by a double palisade, the outer fence of stout stakes, the inner of high solid trunks. Between them was a shallow ditch. Platforms as much as forty feet high supplied coigns of vantage for the look-out. Thence, too, darts and stones could be hurled at the besiegers. With the help of a throwing-stick, or rather whip, wooden spears could be thrown in the sieges more than a hundred yards. Ignorant of the bow-and-arrow and the boomerang, the Maoris knew and used the sling. With it red-hot stones would be hurled over the palisades, among the rush-thatched huts of an assaulted village, a stratagem all the more difficult to cope with as Maori _pas_ seldom contained wells or springs of water. The courage and cunning developed in the almost incessant tribal feuds were extraordinary. Competent observers thought the Maoris of two generations ago the most warlike and ferocious race on earth. Though not seldom guilty of wild cruelty to enemies, they did not make a business of cold-blooded torture after the devilish fashion of the North American Indians. Chivalrous on occasion, they would sometimes send warning to the foe, naming the day of an intended attack, and abide thereby. They would supply a starving garrison with provisions in order that an impending conflict might be a fair trial of strength. War was to them something more dignified than a mere lawless struggle. It was a solemn game to be played according to rules as rigidly laid down and often as honourably adhered to as in the international cricket and football matches of Englishmen and Australians. As is so often the case with fighting races capable of cruelty, they were strictly courteous in their intercourse with strangers. Indeed, their code of manners to visitors was so exact and elaborate as to leave an impression of artificiality. No party of wayfarers would approach a _pa_ without giving formal notice. When the strangers were received, they had the best of everything, and the hosts, who saw that they were abundantly supplied, had too much delicacy to watch them eat. Maori breeding went so far as to avoid in converse words or topics likely to be disagreeable to their hearers. Their feeling for beauty was shown not merely in their art, but in selecting the sites of dwelling-places, and in a fondness for shady shrubs and trees about their huts and for the forest-flowers. The natural images and similes so common in their wild, abrupt, unrhymed chants and songs showed how closely they watched and sympathised with nature. The hoar-frost, which vanishes with the sunrise, stood with them for ephemeral fame. Rank without power was "a fountain without water." The rushing stream reminded the Maori singer, as it did the Mantuan, of the remorseless current of life and human fate. "But who can check life's stream? Or turn its waters back? 'Tis past," cried a father mourning for his dead son. In another lament a grieving mother is compared to the drooping fronds of the tree-fern. The maiden keeping tryst bids the light fleecy cloudlets, which in New Zealand so often scud across the sky before the sea-wind, to be messengers to her laggard gallant. "The sun grows dim and hastes away As a woman from the scene of battle," says the lament for a dead chief.[1] The very names given to hills, lakes, and rivers will be witnesses in future days of the poetic instinct of the Maori--perhaps the last destined to remain in his land. Such names are the expressive Wai-orongo-mai (Hear me, ye waters!); Puké-aruhé (ferny hill); Wai-rarapa (glittering water); Maunga-tapu (sacred mount); Ao-reré (flying cloud). Last, but not least, there is the lordly Ao-rangi (Cloud in the heavens), over which we have plastered the plain and practical "Mount Cook." [Footnote 1: The Maori is deeply imbued with the poetry of the woods. His commonest phraseology shows it. 'The month when the pohutu-kawa flowers'; 'the season when the kowhai is in bloom'; so he punctuates time. And the years that are gone he softly names' dead leaves!'--HAY, _Brighter Britain_.] Many of the Maori chiefs were, and some even now are, masterly rhetoricians. The bent of the race was always strongly to controversy and discussion. Their ignorance of any description of writing made them cultivate debate. Their complacent indifference to time made deliberative assembly a prolonged, never-wearying joy. The chiefs met in council like Homer's heroes--the commons sitting round and muttering guttural applause or dissent. The speeches abounded in short sententious utterances, in proverbs, poetic allusions and metaphors borrowed from legends. The Maori orator dealt in quotations as freely as the author of the _Anatomy of Melancholy_, and his hearers caught them with as much relish as that of a House of Commons of Georgian days enjoying an apt passage from the classics. Draped in kilt and mantle, with spear or carved staff of office in the right hand, the speakers were manly and dignified figures. The fire and force of their rhetoric were not only aided by graceful gesture but were set out in a language worthy of the eloquent. If we cannot say of the Maori tongue as Gibbon said of Greek, that it "can give a soul to the objects of sense and a body to the abstractions of philosophy," we can at any rate claim for it that it is a musical and vigorous speech. Full of vowel-sounds, entirely without sibilants, but rich in guttural and chest notes, it may be made at will to sound liquid or virile, soft or ringing. The seamy side of Maori life, as of all savage life, was patent to the most unimaginative observer. The traveller found it not easy to dwell on the dignity, poetry and bravery of a race which contemned washing, and lived, for the most part, in noisome hovels. A chief might be an orator and skilled captain, but, squatting on the ground, smeared with oil, daubed with red ochre and grimly tattooed, he probably impressed the white visitor chiefly as an example of dirt and covetousness. The traveller might be hospitably entertained in a _pa_ the gate of which was decorated with the smoke-dried heads of slain enemies by a host whose dress might include a necklace of human teeth,[1] the owner of which he had helped to eat. Though a cannibal feast was a rare orgie, putrid food was a common dainty. Without the cringing manner of the Oriental, the Maori had his full share of deceitfulness. Elaborate treachery is constantly met with in the accounts of their wars. If adultery was rare, chastity among the single women was rarer still. The affection of parents for young children was requited by no kindness on the part of youth for old age. Carving never rose higher than grotesque decoration. The attempts at portraying the human face or form resulted only in the monstrous and the obscene. [Footnote 1: At any rate among the Ngatiporou tribe.] [Illustration: A MAORI MAIDEN Photo by ILES, Thames] The Maori men are as a rule tall and bulky, long-bodied and short-legged, and with fairly large pyramidal skulls, showing well-developed perceptive faculties. Their colour varies from maize to dusky olive, and their features from classic to negroid; but usually the nose, though not flat, is wide, and the mouth, though not blubber-lipped, is heavy and sensual. Shorter and more coarsely built than the males, the women, even when young, are less attractive to the European eye, despite their bright glances and black, abundant hair. It might well be thought that this muscular, bulky race, with ample room to spread about a fertile and exceptionally healthy country, would have increased and multiplied till it had filled both islands. It did not, however. It is doubtful whether it ever numbered more than a hundred and fifty thousand. Except on the shores of Cook's Straits, it only planted a few scattered outposts in the South Island. Yet that is the larger island of the two. It is also the colder, and therein lies at least one secret of the check to the Maori increase. They were a tropical race transplanted into a temperate climate. They showed much the same tendency to cling to the North Island as the negroes in North America to herd in the Gulf States. Their dress, their food and their ways were those of dwellers on shores out of reach of frost and snow. Though of stout and robust figure, they are almost always weak in the chest and throat. Should the Maoris die out, the medical verdict might be summed up in the one word tuberculosis. The first European observers noted that they suffered from "galloping" consumption. Skin disorders, rheumatism and a severe kind of influenza were other ailments. In the absence equally of morality and medical knowledge among their unmarried women, it did not take many years after the appearance of the Whites to taint the race throughout with certain diseases. A cold-blooded passage in Crozet's journal tells of the beginning of this curse. Though not altogether unskilful surgeons, the Maoris knew virtually nothing of medicine. Nor do they show much nervous power when attacked by disease. Cheerful and sociable when in health, they droop quickly when ill, and seem sometimes to die from sheer lack of the will to live. Bright and imaginative almost as the Kelts of Europe, their spirits are easily affected by superstitious dread. Authentic cases are known of a healthy Maori giving up the ghost through believing himself to be doomed by a wizard. There are, however, other evil influences under which this attractive and interesting people are fading away. Though no longer savages, they have never become thoroughly civilized. Partial civilization has been a blight to their national life. It has ruined the efficacy of their tribal system without replacing it with any equal moral force and industrial stimulus. It has deprived them of the main excitement of their lives--their tribal wars--and given them no spur to exertion by way of a substitute. It has fatally wounded their pride and self-respect, and has not given them objects of ambition or preserved their ancient habits of labour and self-restraint. A hundred years ago the tribes were organized and disciplined communities. No family or able-bodied unit need starve or lack shelter; the humblest could count on the most open-handed hospitality from his fellows. The tribal territory was the property of all. The tilling, the fishing, the fowling were work which could not be neglected. The chief was not a despot, but the president of a council, and in war would not be given the command unless he was the most capable captain. Every man was a soldier, and, under the perpetual stress of possible war, had to be a trained, self-denying athlete. The _pas_ were, for defensive reasons, built on the highest and therefore the healthiest positions. The ditches, the palisades, the terraces of these forts were constructed with great labour as well as no small skill. The fighting was hand to hand. The wielding of their weapons--the wooden spear, the club, the quaint _meré_[1] and the stone tomahawk--required strength and endurance as well as a skill only to be obtained by hard practice. The very sports and dances of the Maori were such as only the active and vigorous could excel in. Slaves were there, but not enough to relieve the freemen from the necessity for hard work. Strange sacred customs, such as _tapu_ (vulgarly Anglicized as taboo) and _muru_, laughable as they seem to us, tended to preserve public health, to ensure respect for authority, and to prevent any undue accumulation of goods and chattels in the hands of one man. Under the law of _muru_ a man smitten by sudden calamity was politely plundered of all his possessions. It was the principle under which the wounded shark is torn to pieces by its fellows, and under which the merchant wrecked on the Cornish coast in bye-gone days was stripped of anything the waves had spared. Among the Maoris, however, it was at once a social duty and a personal compliment. If a man's hut caught fire his dearest friends clustered round like bees, rescued all they could from the flames, and--kept it. It is on record that a party about to pay a friendly visit to a neighbour village were upset in their canoe as they were paddling in through the surf. The canoe was at once claimed by the village chief--their host. Moreover they would have been insulted if he had not claimed it. Of course, he who lost by _muru_ one week might be able to repay himself the next. [Footnote 1: Tasman thought the meré resembled the _parang_, or heavy, broad-bladed knife, of the Malays. Others liken it to a paddle, and matter-of-fact colonists to a tennis-racket or a soda-water bottle flattened.] Certain colonial writers have exhausted their powers ridicule--no very difficult task--upon what they inaccurately call Maori communism. But the system, in full working order, at least developed the finest race of savages the world has seen, and taught them barbaric virtues which have won from their white supplanters not only respect but liking. The average colonist regards a Mongolian with repulsion, a Negro with contempt, and looks on an Australian black as very near to a wild beast; but he likes the Maoris, and is sorry that they are dying out. No doubt the remnants of the Maori tribal system are useless, and perhaps worse than useless. The tribes still own land in common, and much of it. They might be very wealthy landlords if they cared to lease their estates on the best terms they could bargain for. As it is, they receive yearly very large sums in rent. They could be rich farmers if they cared to master the science of farming. They have brains to learn more difficult things. They might be healthy men and women if they would accept the teachings of sanitary science as sincerely as they took in the religious teachings of the early missionaries. If they could be made to realize that foul air, insufficient dress, putrid food, alternations of feast and famine, and long bouts of sedulous idleness are destroying them as a people and need not do so, then their decay might be arrested and the fair hopes of the missionary pioneers yet be justified. So long as they soak maize in the streams until it is rotten and eat it together with dried shark--food the merest whiff of which will make a white man sick; so long as they will wear a suit of clothes one day and a tattered blanket the next, and sit smoking crowded in huts, the reek of which strikes you like a blow in the face; so long as they will cluster round dead bodies during their _tangis_ or wakes; so long as they will ignore drainage--just so long will they remain a blighted and dwindling race, and observers without eyes will talk as though there was something fateful and mysterious in their decline. One ray of hope for them has quite lately been noted. They are caring more for the education of their children. Some three thousand of these now go to school, not always irregularly. Very quaint scholars are the dark-eyed, quick-glancing, brown-skinned little people sitting tied "to that dry drudgery at the desk's dull wood," which, if heredity counts for anything, must be so much harder to them than to the children of the _Pakeha_.[1] Three years ago the Government re-organized the native schools, had the children taught sanitary lessons with the help of magic lanterns, and gave power to committees of native villagers to prosecute the parents of truants. The result has been a prompt, marked and growing improvement in the attendance and the general interest. Better still, the educated Maori youths are awakening to the sad plight of their people. Pathetic as their regrets are, the healthy discontent they show may lead to better things. [Footnote 1: Foreigner.] [Illustration] Chapter III THE MAORI AND THE UNSEEN "Dreaming caves Full of the groping of bewildered waves." The Maori mind conceived of the Universe as divided into three regions--the Heavens above, the Earth beneath, and the Darkness under the Earth. To Rangi, the Heaven, the privileged souls of chiefs and priests returned after death, for from Rangi had come down their ancestors the gods, the fathers of the heroes. For the souls of the common people there was in prospect no such lofty and serene abode. They could not hope to climb after death to the tenth heaven, where dwelt Rehua, the Lord of Loving-kindness, attended by an innumerable host. Ancient of days was Rehua, with streaming hair. The lightning flashed from his arm-pits, great was his power, and to him the sick, the blind, and the sorrowful might pray. It was not the upper world of Ao or Light, but an under world of Po or Darkness, to which the spirit of the unprivileged Maori must take its way. Nor was the descent to Te Reinga or Hades a _facilis descensus Averni_. After the death-chant had ceased, and the soul had left the body--left it lying surrounded by weeping blood-relations marshalled in due order--it started on a long journey. Among the Maoris the dead were laid with feet pointing to the north, as it was thither that the soul's road lay. At the extreme north end of New Zealand was a spot _Muri Whenua_--Land's End. Here was the Spirits' Leap. To that the soul travelled, halting once and again on the hill-tops to strip off the green leaves in which the mourners had clad it. Here and there by the wayside some lingering ghost would tie a knot in the ribbon-like leaves of the flax plant--such knots as foreigners hold to be made by the whipping of the wind. As the souls gathered at their goal, nature's sounds were hushed. The roar of the waterfall, the sea's dashing, the sigh of the wind in the trees, all were silenced. At the Spirits' Leap on the verge of a tall cliff grew a lonely tree, with brown, spreading branches, dark leaves and red flowers. The name of the tree was Spray-Sprinkled.[1] One of its roots hung down over the cliff's face to the mouth of a cavern fringed by much sea-weed, floating or dripping on the heaving sea. Pausing for a moment the reluctant shades chanted a farewell to their fellow-men and danced a last war-dance. Amid the wild yells of the invisible dancers could be heard the barking of their dogs. Then, sliding down the roots, the spirits disappeared in the cave. Within its recesses was a river flowing between sandy shores. All were impelled to cross it. The Charon of this Styx was no man, but a ferrywoman called Rohé. Any soul whom she carried over and who ate the food offered to it on the further bank was doomed to abide in Hades. Any spirit who refused returned to its body on earth and awoke. This is the meaning of what White men call a trance. [Footnote 1: _Pohutu-kawa_.] As there were successive planes and heights in Heaven, so there were depths below depths in the Underworld. In the lowest and darkest the soul lost consciousness, became a worm, and returning to earth, died there. Eternal life was the lot of only the select few who ascended to Rangi. Yet once upon a time there was going and coming between earth and the place of darkness, as the legend of the origin of the later style of tattooing shows. Thus the story runs. The hero Mata-ora had to wife the beautiful Niwa Reka. One day for some slight cause he struck her, and, leaving him in anger, she fled to her father, who dwelt in the Underworld. Thither followed the repentant Mata-ora. On his way he asked the fan-tail bird whether it had seen a human being pass. Yes, a woman had gone by downcast and sobbing. Holding on his way, Mata-ora met his father-in-law, who, looking in his face, complained that he was badly tattooed. Passing his hand over Mata-ora's face he wiped out with his divine power the blue lines there, and then had him thrown down on the ground and tattooed in a novel, more artistic and exquisitely agonizing fashion. Mata-ora in his pain chanted a song calling upon his wife's name. Report of this was carried to Niwa Reka, and her heart was touched. She forgave her husband, and nursed him through the fever caused by the tattooing. Happier than Orpheus and Eurydice, the pair returned to earth and taught men to copy the patterns punctured on Mata-ora's face. But, alas! in their joy they forgot to pay to Ku Whata Whata, the mysterious janitor of Hades, Niwa Reka's cloak as fee. So a message was sent up to them that henceforth no man should be permitted to return to earth from the place of darkness. In the age of the heroes not only the realms below but the realms above could be reached by the daring. Hear the tale of Tawhaki, the Maori Endymion! When young he became famous by many feats, among others, by destroying the submarine stronghold of a race of sea-folk who had carried off his mother. Into their abode he let a flood of sunshine, and they, being children of the darkness, withered and died in the light. The fame of Tawhaki rose to the skies, and one of the daughters of heaven stole down to behold him at night, vanishing away at dawn. At last the celestial one became his wife. But he was not pleased with the daughter she bore him and, wounded by his words, she withdrew with her child to the skies. Tawhaki in his grief remembered that she had told him the road thither. He must find a certain tendril of a wild vine which, hanging down from the sky to earth, had become rooted in the ground. Therefore with his brother the hero set out on the quest, and duly found the creeper. But there were two tendrils. The brother seized the wrong one; it was loose, and he was swung away, whirled by the wind backwards and forwards from one horizon to the other. Tawhaki took the right ladder, and climbed successfully.[1] At the top he met with adventures, and had even to become a slave, and carry axes and firewood disguised as a little, ugly, old man. At last, however, he regained his wife, became a god, and still reigns above. It is he who causes lightning to flash from heaven. [Footnote 1: Another version describes his ladder as a thread from a spider's web; a third as the string of his kite, which he flew so skilfully that it mounted to the sky; then Tawhaki, climbing up the cord, disappeared in the blue vault.] The man in the moon becomes, in Maori legend, a woman, one Rona by name. This lady, it seems, once had occasion to go by night for water to a stream. In her hand she carried an empty calabash. Stumbling in the dark over stones and the roots of trees she hurt her shoeless feet and began to abuse the moon, then hidden behind clouds, hurling at it some such epithet as "You old tattooed face, there!" But the moon-goddess heard, and reaching down caught up the insulting Rona, calabash and all, into the sky. In vain the frightened woman clutched, as she rose, the tops of a ngaio-tree. The roots gave way, and Rona with her calabash and her tree are placed in the front of the moon for ever, an awful warning to all who are tempted to mock at divinities in their haste. All beings, gods, heroes and men, are sprung from the ancient union of Heaven and Earth, Rangi and Papa. Rangi was the father and Earth the great mother of all. Even now, in these days, the rain, the snow, the dew and the clouds are the creative powers which come down from Rangi to mother Earth and cause the trees, the shrubs and the plants to grow in spring and flourish in summer. It is the self-same process that is pictured in the sonorous hexameters:-- "Tum pater omnipotens fecundis imbribus Aether Coniugis in gremium laetae descendit, et omnes Magnus alit, magno commixtus corpore, fetus." But in the beginning Heaven lay close to the Earth and all was dim and dark. There was life but not light. So their children, tired of groping about within narrow and gloomy limits, conspired together to force them asunder and let in the day. These were Tu, the scarlet-belted god of men and war, Tané, the forest god, and their brother, the sea-god. With them joined the god of cultivated food, such as the kumara, and the god of food that grows wild--such as the fern-root. The conspirators cut great poles with which to prop up Heaven. But the father and mother were not to be easily separated. They clung to each other despite the efforts of their unnatural sons. Then Tané, the tree-god, standing on head and hands, placed his feet against Heaven and, pushing hard, forced Rangi upwards. In that attitude the trees, the children of Tané, remain to this day. Thus was the separation accomplished, and Rangi and Papa must for ever remain asunder. Yet the tears of Heaven still trickle down and fall as dew-drops upon the face of his spouse, and the mists that rise in the evening from her bosom are the sighs of regret which she sends up to her husband on high.[1] [Footnote 1: Sir George Grey, _Polynesian Mythology_.] Vengeance, however, fell upon the conspirators. A sixth brother had had nothing to do with their plot. This was Tawhiri-Matea, the god of winds and storms. He loyally accompanied his father to the realms above, whence he descended on his rebel brothers in furious tempests. The sea-god fled to the ocean, where he and his children dwell as fishes. The two gods of plant-food hid in the Earth, and she, forgiving mother that she was, sheltered them in her breast. Only Tu, the god of mankind, stayed erect and undaunted. So it is that the winds and storms make war to this day upon men, wrecking their canoes, tearing down their houses and fences and ruining all their handiwork. Not only does man hold out against these attacks, but, in revenge for the cowardly desertion of Tu by his weaker brethren, men, his people, prey upon the fish and upon the plants that give food whether wild or cultivated. Space will scarcely permit even a reference to other Maori myths--to the tale, for instance, of the great flood which came in answer to the prayers of two faithful priests as punishment for the unbelief, the discords and the wickedness of mankind; then all were drowned save a little handful of men and women who floated about on a raft for eight moons and so reached Hawaiki. Of the creation of man suffice it to say that he was made by Tiki, who formed him out of red clay, or, as some say, out of clay reddened by his own blood. Woman's origin was more ethereal and poetic; her sire was a noonday sunbeam, her mother a sylvan echo. Many are the legends of the hero, Maui. He lassooed the sun with ropes and beat him till he had to go slower, and so the day grew longer. The first ropes thus used were of flax, which burned and snapped in the sun's heat. Then Maui twisted a cord of the tresses of his sister, Ina, and this stayed unconsumed. It was Maui who went to fetch for man's use the fire which streamed from the finger-nails of the fire goddess, and who fished up the North Island of New Zealand, still called by the Maoris _Te Ika a Maui_, the fish of Maui. He first taught tattooing and the art of catching fish with bait, and died in the endeavour to gain immortality for men. Death would have been done away with had Maui successfully accomplished the feat of creeping through the body of a certain gigantic goddess. But that flippant and restless little bird, the fan-tail, was so tickled at the sight of the hero crawling down the monster's throat that it tittered and burst into laughter. So the goblin awoke, and Maui died for man in vain. Such are some of the sacred myths of the Maori. They vary very greatly in different tribes and are loaded with masses of detail largely genealogical. The religious myths form but one portion of an immense body of traditional lore, made up of songs and chants, genealogies, tribal histories, fables, fairy-tales and romantic stories. Utterly ignorant as the Maoris were of any kind of writing or picture-drawing, the volume of their lore is amazing, and is an example of the power of the human memory when assiduously cultivated. Very great care was, of course, taken to hand it down from father to son in the priestly families. In certain places in New Zealand, notably at Wanganui, sacred colleges stood called Whare-kura (Red-house). These halls had to be built by priestly hands, stood turned to the east, and could only be approached by the purified. They were dedicated by sacrifice, sometimes of a dog, sometimes of a human being. The pupils, who were boys of high rank, went, at the time of admission, through a form of baptism. The term of instruction lasted through the autumns and winters of five years. The hours were from sunset to midnight. Only one woman, an aged priestess, was admitted into the hall, and she only to perform certain incantations. No one might eat or sleep there, and any pupil who fell asleep during instruction was at once thrust forth, was expected to go home and die, and doubtless usually did so. Infinite pains were taken to impress on the pupils' memories the exact wording of traditions. As much as a month would be devoted to constant repetitions of a single myth. They were taught the tricks of the priestly wizard's trade, and became expert physiognomists, ventriloquists, and possibly, in some cases, hypnotists. Public exhibitions afterwards tested the accuracy of their memories and their skill in witchcraft. On this their fate depended. A successful _Tohunga_, or wizard, lived on the fat of the land; a few failures, and he was treated with discredit and contempt. Though so undoubted an authority as Mr. William Colenso sums up the old-time Maori as a secularist, it is not easy entirely to agree with him. Not only had the Maori, as already indicated, an elaborate--too elaborate--mythology, but he had a code of equally wide and minute observances which he actually did observe. Not only had he many gods both of light and evil, but the Rev. James Stack, a most experienced student, says that he conceived of his gods as something more than embodiments of power--as beings "interested in human affairs and able to see and hear from the highest of the heavens what took place on earth." Mr. Colenso himself dwells upon the Maori faith in dreams, omens, and charms, and on the universal dread felt for _kehuas_ or ghosts, and _atuas_ or demon spirits. Moreover, the code of observances aforesaid was no mere secular law. It was the celebrated system of _tapu_ (taboo), and was not only one of the most extraordinary and vigorous sets of ordinances ever devised by barbarous man, but depended for its influence and prestige not mainly upon the secular arm or even public opinion, but upon the injunction and support of unseen and spiritual powers. If a man broke the _tapu_ law, his punishment was not merely to be shunned by his fellows or--in some cases--plundered of his goods. Divine vengeance in one or other form would swiftly fall upon him--probably in the practical shape of the entry into his body of an evil spirit to gnaw him to death with cruel teeth. Men whose terror of such punishment as this, and whose vivid faith in the imminence thereof, were strong enough to kill them were much more, or less, than secularists. The well-known principle that there is no potent, respected, and lasting institution, however strange, but has its roots in practical usefulness, is amply verified in the case of _tapu_. By it authority was ensured, dignity hedged about with respect, and property and public health protected. Any person, place or thing laid under _tapu_ might not be touched, and sometimes not even approached. A betrothed maiden defended by _tapu_ was as sacred as a vestal virgin of Rome; a shrine became a Holy Place; the head of a chief something which it was sacrilege to lay hands on. The back of a man of noble birth could not be degraded by bearing burdens--an awkward prohibition in moments when no slave or woman happened to be in attendance on these lordly beings. Anything cooked for a chief was forbidden food to an inferior. The author of _Old New Zealand_ tells of an unlucky slave who unwittingly ate the remains of a chiefs dinner. When the knowledge of this frightful crime was flashed upon him, he was seized with internal cramps and pains and, though a strong man, died in a few hours. The weapons and personal effects of a chief were, of course, sacred even in the opinion of a thief, but _tapu_ went further. Even the fire a chief had lit might not be used by commoners. As for priests, after the performance of certain ceremonies they for a time had perforce to become too sacred to feed themselves with their hands. Food would be laid down before them and kneeling, or on all-fours like dogs, they had to pick it up with their teeth. Perhaps their lot might be so far mitigated that a maiden would be permitted to convey food to their mouths on the end of a fern-stalk--a much less disagreeable process for the eater. Growing fields of the sweet potato were sacred for obvious reasons, as were those who were working therein. So were burial-places and the bones of the dead. The author above-mentioned chancing one day on a journey to pick up a human skull which had been left exposed by a land-slide, immediately became an outcast shunned by acquaintances, friends and his own household, as though he were a very leper. Before he could be officially cleansed and readmitted into decent Maori society, his clothing and furniture had to be destroyed, and his kitchen abandoned. By such means did this--to us--ridiculous superstition secure reverence for the dead and some avoidance of infection. To this end the professional grave-digger and corpse-bearer of a Maori village was _tapu_, and lived loathed and utterly apart. Sick persons were often treated in the same way, and inasmuch as the unlucky might be supposed to have offended the gods, the victims of sudden and striking misfortune were treated as law-breakers and subjected to the punishment of _Muru_ described in the last chapter. Death in Maori eyes was not the Great Leveller, as with us. Just as the destiny of the chief's soul was different from that of the commoner or slave, so was the treatment of his body. A slave's death was proverbially that of a dog, no man regarded it. Even the ordinary free man was simply buried in the ground in a sitting posture and forgotten. But the departure of a chief of rank and fame, of great _mana_ or prestige, was the signal for national mourning. With wreaths of green leaves on their heads, friends sat round the body wailing the long-drawn cry, _Aué! Aué!_ or listening to some funeral chant recited in his praise. Women cut themselves with sharp sea-shells or flakes of volcanic glass till the blood ran down. The corpse sat in state adorned with flowers and red ochre and clad in the finest of mantles. Albatross feathers were in the warrior's hair, his weapons were laid beside him. The onlookers joined in the lamenting, and shed actual tears--a feat any well-bred Maori could perform at will. Probably a huge banquet took place; then it was held to be a truly great _tangi_. Often the wives of the departed killed themselves in their grief, or a slave was sacrificed in his honour. His soul was believed to mount aloft, and perhaps some star was henceforth pointed out as his eye shining down and watching over his tribe. The tattooed head of the dead man was usually reverently preserved--stored away in some secret recess and brought out by the priest to be gazed upon on high occasions. The body, placed in a canoe-shaped coffin, was left for a time to dry on a stage or moulder in a hollow tree. After an appointed period the bones were scraped clean and laid away in a cavern or cleft known only to a sacred few. They might be thrown down some dark mountain abyss or _toreré_. Such inaccessible resting-places of famous chiefs--deep well-like pits or tree-fringed chasms--are still pointed out to the traveller who climbs certain New Zealand summits. But, wherever the warrior's bones were laid, they were guarded by secrecy, by the dreaded _tapu_, and by the jealous zeal of his people. Even now no Maori tribe will sell such spots, and the greedy or inquisitive _Pakeha_ who profanely explores or meddles with them does so at no small risk. Far different was the fate of those unlucky leaders who fell in battle, or were captured and slaughtered and devoured thereafter. Their heads stuck upon the posts of the victor's _pa_ were targets for ribaldry, or, in later days, might be sold to the _Pakeha_ and carried away to be stared at as oddities. Their bones might be used for flutes and fishing-hooks, for no fisherman was so lucky as he whose hook was thus made; their souls were doomed to successive stages of deepening darkness below, and at length, after reaching the lowest gulf, passed as earth-worms to annihilation. [Illustration] Chapter IV THE NAVIGATORS "A ship is floating on the harbour now, A wind is hovering o'er the mountain's brow. There is a path on the sea's azure floor, No keel hath ever ploughed that path before." Nearly at the end of 1642, Tasman, a sea captain in the service of the Dutch East India Company, sighted the western ranges of the Southern Alps. He was four months out from Java, investigating the extent of New Holland, and in particular its possible continuation southward as a great Antarctic continent. He had just discovered Tasmania, and was destined, ere returning home, to light upon Fiji and the Friendly Islands. So true is it that the most striking discoveries are made by men who are searching for what they never find. In clear weather the coast of Westland is a grand spectacle, and even through the dry, matter-of-fact entries of Tasman's log we can see that it impressed him. He notes that the mountains seemed lifted aloft in the air. With his two ships, the small _Heemskirk_ and tiny _Zeehan_, he began to coast cautiously northward, looking for an opening eastward, and noting the high, cloud-clapped, double range of mountains, and the emptiness of the steep desolate coast, where neither smoke nor men, ships nor boats, were to be seen. He could not guess that hidden in this wilderness was a wealth of coal and gold as valuable as the riches of Java. He seems to have regarded New Zealand simply as a lofty barrier across his path, to be passed at the first chance. Groping along, he actually turned into the wide opening which, narrowing further east into Cook's Strait, divides the North and South Islands. He anchored in Golden Bay; but luck was against him. First of all the natives of the bay paddled out to view his ships, and, falling on a boat's crew, clubbed four out of seven of the men. Tasman's account--which I take leave to doubt--makes the attack senselessly wanton and unprovoked. He tells how a fleet of canoes, each carrying from thirteen to seventeen men, hung about his vessels, and how the strongly-built, gruff-voiced natives, with yellowish-brown skins, and with white feathers stuck in their clubbed hair, refused all offers of intercourse. Their attack on his boat as it was being pulled from the _Zeehan_ to the _Heemskirk_ was furious and sudden, and the crew seem to have been either unarmed or too panic-stricken to use their weapons. Both ships at once opened a hot fire on the canoes, but hit nobody. It was not until next day, when twenty-two canoes put out to attack them, that the Dutch marksmen after much more firing succeeded in hitting a native. On his fall the canoes retired. Satisfied with this Tasman took no vengeance and sailed away further into the strait. Fierce north-westerly gales checked for days his northward progress. The strait, it may be mentioned, is still playfully termed "the windpipe of the Pacific." One night Tasman held a council on board the _Heemskirk_, and suggested to the officers that the tide showed that an opening must exist to the east, for which they had better search. But he did not persevere. When next evening the north wind died away there came an easterly breeze, followed by a stiff southerly gale, which made him change his mind again. So are discoveries missed. He ran on northward, merely catching glimpses, through scud and cloud, of the North Island. Finally, at what is now North Cape, he discerned to his joy a free passage to the east. He made one attempt to land, in search of water, on a little group of islands hard by, which, as it was Epiphany, he called Three Kings, after Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. But the surf was rough and a throng of natives, striding along, shaking spears and shouting with hoarse voices, terrified his boat's crew. He gave up the attempt and sailed away, glad, no doubt, to leave this vague realm of storm and savages. It says something for his judgment that amid such surroundings he saw and noted in his log-book that the country was good. He had called it Staaten Land, on the wild guess that it extended to the island of that name off the coast of Terra del Fuego. Afterwards he altered the name to New Zealand. The secretive commercial policy of the Dutch authorities made them shroud Tasman's discoveries in mystery. It is said that his discoveries were engraved on the map of the world which in 1648 was cut on the stone floor of the Amsterdam Town Hall. The full text of his log has only been quite recently published. His curt entries dealing with the appearance of the New Zealand coast and its natives seem usually truthful enough. The tribe which attacked his boat was afterwards nearly exterminated by invaders from the North Island. This would account for the almost utter absence among the Maoris of tradition concerning his visit. It is noteworthy that he describes the natives of Golden--or, as he named it, Murderers'--Bay as having double-canoes. When the country was annexed, two hundred years afterwards, the New Zealanders had forgotten how to build them. The Dutch made no use of their Australian discoveries. They were repelled by the heat, the drought, and the barrenness of the north-western coasts of New Holland. For a century and a quarter after Tasman's flying visit, New Zealand remained virtually unknown. Then the veil was lifted once and for all. Captain James Cook, in the _Endeavour_, sighted New Zealand in 1769. He had the time to study the country, and the ability too. On his first voyage alone nearly six months were devoted to it. In five visits he surveyed the coast, described the aspect and products of the islands, and noted down a mass of invaluable details concerning the native tribes. Every one may not be able to perceive the literary charm which certain eulogists have been privileged to find in Cook's admirable record of interesting facts. But he may well seem great enough as a discoverer and observer, to be easily able to survive a worse style--say Hawkesworth's. He found New Zealand a line on the map, and left it an Archipelago, a feat which many generations of her colonists will value above the shaping of sentences. The feature of his experiences which most strikes the reader now, is the extraordinary courage and pugnacity of the natives. They took the _Endeavour_ for a gigantic white-winged sea-bird, and her pinnace for a young bird. They thought the sailors gods, and the discharge of their muskets divine thunderbolts. Yet, when Cook and a boat's crew landed, a defiant war-chief at once threatened the boat, and persisted until he was shot dead. Almost all Cook's attempts to trade and converse with the Maoris ended in the same way--a scuffle and a musket-shot. Yet the savages were never cowed, and came again. They were shot for the smallest thefts. Once Cook fired on the crew of a canoe merely for refusing to stop and answer questions about their habits and customs, and killed four of them--an act of which he calmly notes that he himself could not, on reflection, approve. On the other hand he insisted on discipline, and flogged his sailors for robbing native plantations. For that age he was singularly humane, and so prudent that he did not lose a man on his first and most troubled visit to New Zealand. During this voyage he killed ten Maoris. Later intercourse was much more peaceful, though Captain Furneaux, of Cook's consort, the _Adventure_, less lucky, or less cautious, lost an entire boat's crew, killed and eaten. Cook himself was always able to get wood and water for his ships, and to carry on his surveys with such accuracy and deliberation that they remained the standard authority on the outlines of the islands for some seventy years. He took possession of the country in the name of George the Third. Some of its coast-names still recall incidents of his patient voyaging. "Young Nick's Head" is the point which the boy Nicholas Young sighted on the 6th of October, 1769--the first bit of New Zealand seen by English eyes. At Cape Runaway the Maoris, after threatening an attack, ran away from a discharge of firearms. At Cape Kidnappers they tried to carry off Cook's Tahitian boy in one of their canoes. A volley, which killed a Maori, made them let go their captive, who dived into the sea and swam back to the _Endeavour_ half crazed with excitement at his narrow escape from a New Zealand oven. The odd name of the very fertile district of Poverty Bay reminds us that Cook failed to get there the supplies he obtained at the Bay of Plenty. At Goose Cove he turned five geese ashore; at Mercury Bay he did astronomical work. On the other hand, Capes North, South, East, and West, and Capes Brett, Saunders, Stephens, and Jackson, Rock's Point, and Black Head are neither quaint nor romantic names. Cascade Point and the Bay of Islands justify themselves, and Banks' Peninsula may be accepted for Sir Joseph's sake. But it could be wished that the great sailor had spared a certain charming haven from the name of Hicks's Bay, and had not rechristened the majestic cone of Taranaki as a compliment to the Earl of Egmont. He gave the natives seed potatoes and the seeds of cabbages and turnips. The potatoes were cultivated with care and success. One tribe had sufficient self-control not to eat any for three years; then they had abundance. Gradually the potato superseded amongst them the taro and fern-root, and even to some extent the kumara. The cabbages and turnips were allowed to run wild, and in that state were still found flourishing fifty years afterwards. The Maoris of Poverty Bay had a story that Cook gave to one of their chiefs a musket with a supply of powder and lead. The fate of the musket was that the first man to fire it was so frightened by the report and recoil that he flung it away into the sea. The powder the natives sowed in the ground believing it to be cabbage seed. Of the lead they made an axe, and when the axe bent at the first blow they put it in the fire to harden it. When it then ran about like water they tried to guide it out of the fire with sticks. But it broke in pieces, and they gave up the attempt. With better results Cook turned fowls and pigs loose to furnish the islanders with flesh-meat. To this day the wild pigs which the settlers shoot and spear in the forests and mountain valleys, are called after Captain Cook, and furnish many a solitary shepherd and farmer with a much more wholesome meal than they would get from "tame" pork. The Maoris who boarded Cook's ships thought at first that pork was whale's flesh. They said the salt meat nipped their throats, which need not surprise us when we remember what the salt junk of an eighteenth century man-of-war was like. They ate ship's biscuit greedily, though at first sight they took it for an uncanny kind of pumice-stone. But in those days they turned with loathing from wine and spirits--as least Crozet says so. What Captain Cook thought of the Maori is a common-place of New Zealand literature. Every maker of books gives a version of his notes. What the Maori thought of Captain Cook is not so widely known. Yet it is just as interesting, and happily the picture of the great navigator as he appeared to the savages has been preserved for us. Among the tribe living at Mercury Bay when the _Endeavour_ put in there was a boy--a little fellow of about eight years old, but possessing the name of Horeta Taniwha (Red-smeared Dragon)--no less. The child lived through all the changes and chances of Maori life and warfare to more than ninety years of age. In his extreme old age he would still tell of how he saw Kapene Kuku--Captain Cook. Once he told his story to Governor Wynyard, who had it promptly taken down. Another version is also printed in one of Mr. John White's volumes.[1] The two do not differ in any important particular. The amazing apparition of the huge white-winged ship with its crew of goblins, and what they said, and what they did, and how they looked, had remained clearly photographed upon the retina of Taniwha's mind's-eye for three-quarters of a century. From his youth up he had, of course, proudly repeated the story. A more delightful child's narrative it would be hard to find. [Footnote 1: _Ancient History of the Maori_, vol. v., p. 128.] The people at Mercury Bay knew at once, says Taniwha, that the English were goblins, because a boat's crew pulled ashore, rowing with their backs to the land. Only goblins have eyes in the backs of their heads. When these creatures stepped on to the beach all the natives retreated and the children ran into the bush. But seeing that the wondrous beings walked peaceably about picking up stones and grasses and finally eating oysters, they said to each other, "Perhaps these goblins are not like our Maori goblins," and, taking courage, offered them sweet potatoes, and even lit a fire and roasted cockles for them. When one of the strangers pointed a walking-staff he had in his hand at a cormorant sitting on a dead tree, and there was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, followed by the cormorant's fall there was another stampede into the bush. But the goblins laughed so good-humouredly that the children took heart to return and look at the fallen bird. Yes, it was dead; but what had killed it? and still the wonder grew! The _Endeavour_ lay in the bay for some time, and a brisk trade grew up between ship and shore. On one great, never-to-be-forgotten day little Taniwha and some of his play-fellows were taken out in a canoe and went on board the magic ship. Wrapped in their flax cloaks they sat close together on the deck, not daring to move about for fear they might be bewitched in some dark corner, and so might never be able to go away and get home again. But their sharp brown eyes noted everything. They easily made out the leader of the goblins. He was a _tino tangata_ (a very man--emphatically a man). Grave and dignified, he walked about saying few words, while the other goblins chatted freely. Presently the goblin-captain came up to the boys and, after patting their heads and stroking their cloaks, produced a large nail and held it up before them temptingly. The other youngsters sat motionless, awe-struck. But the bolder Taniwha laughed cheerfully and was at once presented with the prize. The children forthwith agreed amongst themselves that Cook was not only a _tino tangata_, but a _tino rangatira_--a combination of a great chief and a perfect gentleman. How otherwise could he be so kind to them, and so fond of children, argued these youthful sages? Then they saw the captain draw black marks on the quarter-deck and make a speech to the natives, pointing towards the coast. "The goblins want to know the shape of the country," said a quick-witted old chief, and, rising up, he drew with charcoal a map of The Fish of Maui, from the Glittering Lake at the extreme south to Land's End in the far north. Then, seeing that the goblins did not understand that the Land's End was the spot from which the spirits of the dead slid down to the shades below, the old chief laid himself down stiffly on the deck and closed his eyes. But still the goblins did not comprehend; they only looked at each other and spoke in their hard, hissing speech. After this little Taniwha went on shore, bearing with him his precious nail. He kept it for years, using it in turns as a spear-head and an auger, or carrying it slung round his neck as a sacred charm.[1] But one day, when out in a canoe, he was capsized in the breakers off a certain islet and, to use his own words, "my god was lost to me, though I dived for it." [Footnote 1: _Heitiki_.] Taniwha describes how a thief was shot by Lieutenant Gore for stealing a piece of calico. The thief offered to sell a dog-skin cloak, but when the calico was handed down over the bulwarks into his canoe which was alongside the _Endeavour_, he simply took it, gave nothing in return, and told his comrades to paddle to land. "They paddled away. The goblin went down into the hold of the ship, but soon came up with a walking-stick in his hand, and pointed it at the canoe. Thunder pealed and lightning flashed, but those in the canoe paddled on. Then they landed; eight rose to leave the canoe, but the thief sat still with his dog-skin mat and the goblin's garment under his feet. His companions called him, but he did not answer. One of them shook him and the thief fell back into the hold of the canoe, and blood was seen on his clothing and a hole in his back." What followed was a capital example of the Maori doctrine of _utu_, or compensation, the cause of so many wars and vendettas. The tribe decided that as the thief had stolen the calico, his death ought not to be avenged, but that as he had paid for it with his life _he_ should keep it. So it was buried with him. The French were but a few months behind the English in the discovery of New Zealand. The ship of their captain, De Surville, just missed meeting Cook at the Bay of Islands. There the French made a fortnight's stay, and were well treated by the chief, Kinui, who acted with particular kindness to certain sick sailors put on shore to recover. Unfortunately one of De Surville's boats was stolen, and in return he not only burnt the nearest village and a number of canoes, but kidnapped the innocent Kinui, who pined away on shipboard and died off the South American coast a few days before De Surville himself was drowned in the surf in trying to land at Callao. For this rough-handed and unjust act certain of De Surville's countrymen were destined to pay dearly. Between two and three years afterwards, two French exploring vessels under the command of Marion du Fresne entered the Bay of Islands. They were in want of masts and spars, of wood and water, and had many men down with sickness. The expedition was on the look-out for that dream of so many geographers--the great south continent. Marion was a tried seaman, a man of wealth and education, and of an adventurous spirit. It is to Crozet, one of his officers, that we owe the story of his fate. Thanks probably to the Abbé Rochon, who edited Crozet's papers, the narrative is clear, pithy, and business-like: an agreeable contrast to the Hawkesworth-Cook-Banks motley, so much more familiar to most of us. For nearly five weeks after Marion's ships anchored in the bay all went merry as a marriage bell, though the relations of the French tars with the Maori _wahiné_ were not in the strict sense matrimonial. The Maoris, at first cautious, soon became the best of friends with the sailors, conveying shooting parties about the country, supplying the ships with fish, and showing themselves expert traders, keenly appreciative of the value of the smallest scrap of iron, to say nothing of tools. Through all their friendly intercourse, however, it was ominous that they breathed no word of Cook or De Surville. Moreover, a day came on which one of them stole Marion's sword. Crozet goes out of his way to describe how the kindly captain refused to put the thief in irons, though the man's own chief asked that it should be done. But it leaks out--from the statement of another officer--that the thief was put in irons. We may believe that he was flogged also. [Illustration: STERN OF CANOE] Crozet marked the physical strength of the Maori, and was particularly struck with the lightness of the complexions of some, and the European cast of their features. One young man and a young girl were as white as the French themselves. Others were nearly black, with frizzled hair, and showed, he thought, Papuan blood. To the Frenchman's eye the women seemed coarse and clumsy beside the men. He was acute enough to notice that the whole population seemed to be found by the sea-shore; though he often looked from high hill-tops he saw no villages in the interior. Children seemed few in number, the cultivations small, and the whole race plainly lived in an incessant state of war. He admired the skilful construction of the stockades, the cleanliness of the _pas_, the orderly magazines of food and fishing gear, and the armouries where the weapons of stone and wood were ranged in precise order. He praises the canoes and carving--save the hideous attempts at copying the human form. In short he gives one of the most valuable pictures of Maori life in its entirely primitive stage. A camp on shore was established for the invalids and another for the party engaged in cutting down the tall kauri pines for masts. Crozet calls the kauri trees cedars, and is full of praises of their size and quality. He was the officer in charge of the woodcutters. On the 13th June he saw marching towards his camp a detachment from the ship fully armed and with the sun flashing on their fixed bayonets. At once it occurred to him that something must be amiss--otherwise why fixed bayonets? Going forward, Crozet bade the detachment halt, and quietly asked what was the matter. The news was indeed grave. On the day before M. Marion with a party of officers and men, seventeen strong, had gone on shore and had not been seen since. No anxiety was felt about them until morning; the French had often spent the night at one or other of the _pas_. But in the morning a terrible thing had happened. A long-boat had been sent ashore at 7 a.m. for wood and water. Two hours later a solitary sailor with two spear-wounds in his side swam back to his ship. Though badly hurt he was able to tell his story. The Maoris on the beach had welcomed the boat's crew as usual--even carrying them pick-a-back through the surf. No sooner were they ashore and separated than each was surrounded and speared or tomahawked. Eleven were thus killed and savagely hacked to pieces. The sole survivor had fought his way into the scrub and escaped unnoticed. Crozet promptly dismantled his station, burying and burning all that could not be carried away, and marched his men to the boats. The natives met them on the way, yelling, dancing, and shouting that their chief had killed Marion. Arrived at the boats, Crozet says that he drew a line along the sand and called to a chief that any native who crossed it would be shot. The chief, he declares, quietly told the mob, who at once, to the number of a thousand, sat down on the ground and watched the French embark. No sooner had the boats pushed out than the natives in an access of fury began to hurl javelins and stones and rushed after them into the water. Pausing within easy range, the French opened fire with deadly effect and continued to kill till Crozet, wearying of the slaughter, told the oarsmen to pull on. He asks us to believe that the Maoris did not understand the effect of musketry, and yet stood obstinately to be butchered, crying out and wondering over the bodies of their fallen. The French next set to work to bring off their sick shipmates from their camp. Strange to say they had not been attacked, though the natives had been prowling round them. Thereafter a village on an islet close by the ship's anchorage was stormed with much slaughter of the inhabitants. Fifty were slain and the bodies buried with one hand sticking out of the ground to show that the French did not eat enemies. Next the ship's guns were tried on canoes in the bay. One was cut in two by a round shot and several of her paddle-men killed. A day or two later the officers recovered sufficient confidence to send a party to attack the village where their captain had presumably been murdered. The Maoris fled. But Marion's boat-cloak was seen on the shoulders of their chief, and in the huts were found more clothing--blood-stained--and fragments of human flesh. The ships were hurriedly got ready for sea. The beautiful "cedar" masts were abandoned, and jury-masts set up instead. Wood and water were taken in, and the expedition sailed for Manila, turning its back upon the quest of the great southern continent. Meanwhile the Maoris had taken refuge in the hills, whence the cries of their sentinels could be heard by day and their signal fires be descried by night. Crozet moralizes on the malignant and unprovoked treachery of these savages. He pours out his contempt on the Parisian _philosophes_ who idealized primitive man and natural virtue. For his part he would rather meet a lion or a tiger, for then he would know what to do! But there is another side to the story. The memory of the _Wi-Wi_,[1] "the bloody tribe of Marion," lingered long in the Bay of Islands. Fifty years after Captain Cruise was told by the Maoris how Marion had been killed for burning their villages. Thirty years later still, Surgeon-Major Thomson heard natives relating round a fire how the French had broken into their _tapu_ sanctuaries and put their chiefs in irons. And then there were the deeds of De Surville. Apart from certain odd features in Crozet's narrative, it may be remarked that he errs in making the Maoris act quite causelessly. The Maori code was strange and fantastic, but a tribal vendetta always had a reason. [Footnote 1: _Out-Out_.] Thus did the Dutch, English, and French in succession discover New Zealand, and forthwith come into conflict with its dauntless and ferocious natives. The skill and moderation of Cook may be judged by comparing his success with the episodes of De Surville's roughness and the troubles which befel Tasman, Furneaux, and Marion du Fresne. Or we may please ourselves by contrasting English persistency and harsh but not unjust dealing, with Dutch over-cautiousness and French carelessness and cruelty. One after the other the Navigators revealed the islands to the world, and began at the same time that series of deeds of blood and reprisal which made the name of New Zealand notorious for generations, and only ended with the massacre of Poverty Bay a long century afterwards. [Illustration] Chapter V NO MAN'S LAND "The wild justice of revenge." The Maoris told Cook that, years before the _Endeavour_ first entered Poverty Bay, a ship had visited the northern side of Cook's Strait and stayed there some time, and that a half-caste son of the captain was still living. In one of his later voyages, the navigator was informed that a European vessel had lately been wrecked near the same part of the country, and that the crew, who reached the shore, had all been clubbed after a desperate resistance. It is likely enough that many a roving mariner who touched at the islands never informed the world of his doings, and had, indeed, sometimes excellent reasons for secrecy. Still, for many years after the misadventure of Marion du Fresne, the more prudent Pacific skippers gave New Zealand a wide berth. When D'Entrecasteaux, the French explorer, in his voyage in search of the ill-fated _La Perouse_, lay off the coast in 1793, he would not even let a naturalist, who was on one of his frigates, land to have a glimpse of the novel flora of the wild and unknown land. Captain Vancouver, in 1791, took shelter in Dusky Bay, in the sounds of the South Island. Cook had named an unsurveyed part of that region Nobody-Knows-What. Vancouver surveyed it and gave it its present name, Somebody-Knows-What. But the chief act for which his name is noted in New Zealand history is his connection with the carrying off of two young Maoris--a chief and a priest--to teach the convicts of the Norfolk Island penal settlement how to dress flax. Vancouver had been asked by the Lieutenant-Governor of Norfolk Island to induce two Maoris to make the voyage. He therefore sent an officer in a Government storeship to New Zealand, whose notion of inducement was to seize the first Maoris he could lay hands on. The two captives, it may be mentioned, scornfully refused to admit any knowledge of the "woman's work" of flax-dressing. Soothed by Lieutenant-Governor King, they were safely restored by him to their people loaded with presents. When in Norfolk Island, one of them, at King's request, drew a map of New Zealand, which is of interest as showing how very little of his country a Maori of average intelligence then knew. Of even more interest to us is it to remember that the kindly Lieutenant-Governor's superior officer censured him for wasting time--ten whole days--in taking two savages back to their homes. For two generations after Cook the English Government paid no attention to the new-found land. What with losing America, and fighting the French, it had its hands full. It colonized Australia with convicts--and found it a costly and dubious experiment. The Government was well satisfied to ignore New Zealand. But adventurous English spirits were not The islands ceased to be inaccessible when Sydney became an English port, from which ships could with a fair wind make the Bay of Islands in eight or ten days. In the seas round New Zealand were found the whale and the fur-seal. The Maoris might be cannibals, but they were eager to trade. In their forests grew trees capable of supplying first-class masts and spars. Strange weapons, ornaments, and cloaks, were offered by the savages, as well as food and the dressed fibre of the native flax. An axe worth ten shillings would buy three spars worth ten pounds in Sydney. A tenpenny nail would purchase a large fish. A musket and a little powder and lead were worth a ton of scraped flax. Baskets of potatoes would be brought down and ranged on the sea-beach three deep. The white trader would then stretch out enough calico to cover them. The strip was their price. The Maoris loved the higgling of the market, and would enjoy nothing better than to spend half a day over bartering away a single pig. Moreover, a peculiar and profitable, if ghastly, trade sprang up in tattooed heads. A well-preserved specimen fetched as much as twenty pounds, and a man "with a good head on his shoulders" was consequently worth that sum to any one who could kill him. Contracts for the sale of heads of men still living are said to have been entered into between chiefs and traders, and the heads to have been duly delivered "as per agreement." Hitherto hung up as trophies of victory in the _pas_, these relics of battle were quickly turned to account, at first for iron, then for muskets, powder, and lead. When the natural supply of heads of slain enemies ran short, slaves, who had hitherto never been allowed the aristocratic privilege and dignity of being tattooed, had their faces prepared for the market. Sometimes, it is recorded, a slave, after months of painful preparation, had the audacity to run away with his own head before the day of sale and decapitation. Astute vendors occasionally tried the more merciful plan of tattooing "plain" heads after death in ordinary course of battle. But this was a species of fraud, as the lines soon became indistinct. Such heads have often been indignantly pointed at by enthusiastic connoisseurs. Head-sellers at times would come forward in the most unlikely places. Commodore Wilkes, when exploring in the American _Vincennes_, bought two heads from the steward of a missionary brig. It was missionary effort, however, which at length killed the traffic, and the art of tattooing along with it. Moved thereby, Governor Darling issued at Sydney, in 1831, proclamations imposing a fine of forty pounds upon any one convicted of head-trading, coupled with the exposure of the offender's name. Moreover, he took active steps to enforce the prohibition. When Charles Darwin visited the mission station near the Bay of Islands in 1835, the missionaries confessed to him that they had grown so accustomed to associate tattooing with rank and dignity--had so absorbed the Maori social code relating thereto--that an unmarked face seemed to them vulgar and mean. Nevertheless, their influence led the way in discountenancing the art, and it has so entirely died out that there is probably not a completely tattooed Maori head on living shoulders to-day. Cook had found the Maoris still in the Stone Age. They were far too intelligent to stay there a day after the use of metals had been demonstrated to them. Wits much less acute than a Maori's would appreciate the difference between hacking at hardwood trees with a jade tomahawk, and cutting them down with a European axe. So New Zealand's shores became, very early in this century, the favourite haunt of whalers, sealers, and nondescript trading schooners. Deserters and ship-wrecked seamen were adopted by the tribes. An occasional runaway convict from Australia added spice to the mixture. The lot of these unacknowledged and unofficial pioneers of our race was chequered. Some castaways were promptly knocked on the head and eaten. Some suffered in slavery. In 1815 two pale, wretched-looking men, naked, save for flax mats tied round their waists threw themselves on the protection of the captain of the _Active_, then lying in the Bay of Islands. It appeared that both had been convicts who had got away from Sydney as stowaways in a ship bound for New Zealand, the captain of which, on arrival, had handed them over to the missionaries to be returned to New South Wales. The men, however, ran away into the country, believing that the natives would reverence them as superior beings and maintain them in comfortable idleness. They were at once made slaves of. Had they been strong, handy agricultural labourers, their lot would have been easy enough. Unfortunately for them, one had been a London tailor, the other a shoemaker, and the luckless pair of feeble Cockneys could be of little use to their taskmasters. These led them such a life that they tried running away once more, and lived for a time in a cave, subsisting chiefly on fern-root. A period of this diet, joined to their ever-present fear of being found out and killed, drove them back to Maori slavery. From this they finally escaped to the _Active_--more like walking spectres than men, says an eye-witness--and resigned, if needs must, to endure once more the tender mercies of convict life in Botany Bay. More valuable whites were admitted into the tribes, and married to one, sometimes two or three, wives. The relatives of these last occasionally resorted to an effectual method of securing their fidelity by tattooing them. One of them, John Rutherford, survived and describes the process. But as he claims to have had his face and part of his body thoroughly tattooed in four hours, his story is but one proof amongst a multitude that veracity was not a needful part of the equipment of the New Zealand adventurer of the Alsatian epoch. Once enlisted, the _Pakehas_ were expected to distinguish themselves in the incessant tribal wars. Most of them took their share of fighting with gusto. As trade between whites and Maoris grew, each tribe made a point of having a white agent-general, called their _Pakeha_ Maori (Foreigner Maorified), to conduct their trade and business with his fellows. He was the tribe's vassal, whom they petted and plundered as the mood led them, but whom they protected against outsiders. These gentry were for the most part admirably qualified to spread the vices of civilization and discredit its precepts. But, illiterate ruffians as most of them were, they had their uses in aiding peaceful intercourse between the races. Some, too, were not illiterate. A Shakespeare and a Lemprière were once found in the possession of a chief in the wildest part of the interior. They had belonged to his _Pakeha_ long since dead. Elsewhere a tattered prayer-book was shown as the only relic of another. One of the kind, Maning by name, who lived with a tribe on the beautiful inlet of Hokianga, will always be known as _the_ Pakeha Maori. He was an Irish adventurer, possessed not only of uncommon courage and acuteness, but of real literary talent and a genial and charming humour. He lived to see savagery replaced by colonization, and to become a judicial officer in the service of the Queen's Government. Some of his reminiscences, embodied in a volume entitled _Old New Zealand_, still form the best book which the Colony has been able to produce. Nowhere have the comedy and childishness of savage life been so delightfully portrayed. Nowhere else do we get such an insight into that strange medley of contradictions and caprices, the Maori's mind. We have already seen that a lieutenant in Her Majesty's service thought it no crime in 1793 to kidnap two chiefs in order to save a little trouble. We have seen how Cook shot natives for refusing to answer questions, and how De Surville could seize and sail away with a friendly chief because some one else had stolen his boat. When in 1794 that high and distinguished body, the East India Company, sent a well-armed "snow" to the Hauraki gulf for kauri spars she did not leave until her captain had killed his quota of natives,--two men and a woman,--shot, because, forsooth, some axes had been stolen. If such were the doings of officials, it came as a matter of course that the hard-handed merchant-skippers who in brigs and schooners hung round the coasts of the Islands thought little of carrying off men or women. They would turn their victims adrift in Australia or on some South Sea islet, as their humour moved them. With even more cruel callousness, they would sometimes put Maoris carried off from one tribe on shore amongst another and maybe hostile tribe. Slavery was the best fate such unfortunates could expect. On one occasion the missionaries in the Bay of Islands rescued from bondage twelve who had in this fashion been thrown amongst their sworn enemies. Their only offence was that they had happened to be trading on board a brig in their own port when a fair wind sprang up. The rascal in command carried them off rather than waste any of the wind by sending them on shore. An even more heartless piece of brutality was the conduct of a certain captain from Sydney, who took away with him the niece of a Bay of Islands chief, and after living with her for months abandoned her on shore in the Bay of Plenty, where she was first enslaved and finally killed and eaten by the local chief. The result was a bitter tribal war in which she was amply avenged. Another skipper, after picking up a number of freshly-cured tattooed heads, the fruit of a recent tribal battle, put into the bay of the very tribe which had been beaten in the fighting. When a number of natives came on board to trade, he thought it a capital joke--after business was over--to roll out on the deck a sackful of the heads of their slain kinsfolk. Recognising the features, the insulted Maoris sprang overboard with tears and cries of rage. [Illustration: MAORI WAHINÉ Photo by GENERAL ROBLEY.] A third worthy, whilst trading in the Bay of Islands, missed some articles on board his schooner. He at once had the chief Koro Koro, who happened to be on board, seized and bound hand and foot in the cabin. Koro Koro, who was noted both for strength and hot temper,P Land. They were varied by tragedies on a larger scale. In 1809 the _Boyd_, a ship of 500 tons--John Thompson, master--had discharged a shipload of English convicts in Sydney. The captain decided to take in a cargo of timber in New Zealand, and accordingly sailed to Whangaroa, a romantic inlet to the north of the Bay of Islands. Amongst the crew were several Maoris. One of these, known as George, was a young chief, though serving before the mast. During the voyage he was twice flogged for refusing to work on the plea of illness. The captain added insult to the stripes by the words, "You are no chief!" The sting of this lay in the sacredness attached by Maori custom to a chief's person, which was _tapu_--_i.e._ a thing not to be touched. George--according to his own account[1]--merely replied that when they reached New Zealand the captain would see that he was a chief. But he vowed vengeance, and on reaching Whangaroa showed his stripes to his kinsfolk, as Boadicea hers to the Britons of old. The tribesmen, with the craft of which the apparently frank and cheerful Maori has so ample a share, quietly laid their plans. The captain was welcomed. To divide their foes, the Maori beguiled him and a party of sailors into the forest, where they killed them all. Then, dressing themselves in the clothes of the dead, the slayers made off to the _Boyd_. Easily coming alongside in their disguises, they leaped on the decks and massacred crew and passengers without pity. George himself clubbed half a dozen, who threw themselves at his feet begging for mercy. Yet even in his fury he spared a ship's boy who had been kind to him, and who ran to him for protection, and a woman and two girl-children. All four were afterwards rescued by Mr. Berry, of Sydney, and took refuge with a friendly neighbouring chief, Te Pehi. Meanwhile, the _Boyd_ had been stripped and burned. In the orgie that followed George's father snapped a flint-lock musket over a barrel of gunpowder, and, with the followers round him, was blown to pieces. Nigh seventy lives were lost in the _Boyd_ massacre. Of course the slain were eaten. [Footnote 1: As given by him to J.L. Nicholas five years afterwards. See Nicholas' _Voyage to New Zealand_, vol. i., page 145. There are those who believe the story of the flogging to be an invention of George. Their authority is Mr. White, a Wesleyan missionary who lived at Whangaroa from 1823 to 1827, and to whom the natives are said to have admitted this. But that must have been, at least, fourteen years after the massacre, and George was by that time at odds with many of his own people. He died in 1825. His last hours were disturbed by remorse arising from an incident in the _Boyd_ affair. He had not, he thought, properly avenged the death of his father--blown up by the powder-barrel. Such was the Maori conscience.] Then ensued a tragedy of errors. The captains of certain whalers lying in the Bay of Islands, hearing that the survivors of the _Boyd_ were at Te Pehi's village, concluded that that kindly chief was a partner in the massacre. Organizing a night attack, the whalers destroyed the village and its guiltless owners. The unlucky Te Pehi, fleeing wounded, fell into the hands of some of George's people, who, regarding him as a sympathiser with the whites, made an end of him. Finally, to avenge him, some of the survivors of his tribe afterwards killed and ate three seamen who had had nothing to do with any stage of the miserable drama. Less well known than the fate of the _Boyd_ is the cutting-off of the brig _Hawes_ in the Bay of Plenty in 1829. It is worth relating, if only because it shows that the Maoris were not always the provoked party in these affairs, and that, moreover, vengeance, even in No Man's Land, did not always fall only on the guiltless. In exchange for fire-arms and gunpowder the captain had filled his brig with flax and pigs. He had sailed out to Whale Island in the Bay, and by a boiling spring on the islet's beach was engaged with some of his men in killing and scalding the pigs and converting them into salt pork. Suddenly the amazed trader saw the canoes of his friendly customers of the week before, headed by their chief "Lizard," sweep round and attack the _Hawes_. The seamen, still on board, ran up the rigging, where they were shot. The captain, with those on the islet, rowed away for their lives. The brig was gutted and burnt. The Maoris, perplexed by finding a number of bags of the unknown substance flour, emptied the contents into the sea, keeping the bags.[1] [Footnote 1: Judge Wilson's _Story of Te Waharoa_.] Certain white traders in the Bay of Islands resolved to bring "Lizard" to justice, in other words to shoot him. They commissioned a schooner, the _New Zealander_, to go down to the scene of the outrage. A friendly Bay of Islands chief offered to do the rest. He went with the schooner. On its arrival the unsuspecting "Lizard" came off to trade. At the end of a friendly visit he was stepping into his canoe when his unofficially appointed executioner stepped quietly forward, levelled his double-barrelled gun, and shot "Lizard" dead. As a matter of course the affair did not end there: "Lizard's" tribe were bound in honour to retaliate. But upon whom? The _Pakehas_ who had caused their chiefs death were far out of reach in the north. Still they were not the only _Pakehas_ in the land. In quite a different direction, in the harbour which Captain Cook had dubbed Hicks's Bay, lived two inoffensive Whites who had not even heard of "Lizard's" death. What of that? They were Whites, and therefore of the same tribe as the _Pakehas_ concerned! So the village in which they lived was stormed, one White killed at once, the other captured. As the latter stood awaiting execution and consumption, by an extraordinary stroke of fortune a whaling ship ran into the bay. The adroit captive offered, if his life were spared, to decoy his countrymen on shore, so that they could be massacred. The bargain was cheerfully struck; and when an armed boat's crew came rowing to land, the _Pakeha_, escorted to the seaside by a murderous and expectant throng, stood on a rock and addressed the seamen in English. What he told them to do, however, was to get ready and shoot his captors directly he dived from the rock into the water. Accordingly his plunge was followed by a volley. The survivors of the outwitted Maoris turned and fled, and the clever _Pakeha_ was picked up and carried safely on board. At that time there was living among "Lizard's" people a certain Maori from the Bay of Islands. This man, a greedy and mischievous fellow, had instigated "Lizard" to cut off the _Hawes_. This became known, and Waka Néné, a Bay of Islands chief, destined to become famous in New Zealand history, punished his rascally fellow-tribesman in a very gallant way. On a visit to the Bay of Plenty he bearded the man sitting unsuspecting among his partners in the piracy, and, after fiercely upbraiding him, shot him dead. Nor did any present venture to touch Waka Néné. The South Island had its share of outrages. On December 12, 1817, the brig _Sophia_ anchored in Otago Harbour. Kelly, her captain, was a man of strength and courage, who had gained some note by sailing round Tasmania in an open boat. He now had use for these qualities. The day after arrival he rowed with six men to a small native village outside the harbour heads, at a spot still called Murdering Beach. Landing there, he began to bargain with the Maoris for a supply of potatoes. A Lascar sailor, who was living with the savages, acted as interpreter. The natives thronged round the seamen. Suddenly there was a yell, and they rushed upon the whites, of whom two were killed at once. Kelly, cutting his way through with a bill-hook he had in his hand, reached the boat and pushed out from the beach. Looking back, he saw one of his men (his brother-in-law, Tucker) struggling with the mob. The unhappy man had but time to cry, "Captain Kelly, for God's sake don't leave me!" when he was knocked down in the surf, and hacked to death. Another seaman was reeling in the boat desperately wounded. Kelly himself was speared through one hand. The survivors regained their ship. She was swarming with natives, who soon learned what had happened and became wildly excited. Kelly drew his men aft and formed them into a solid body. When the Maoris, headed by their chief Karaka--Kelly spells it Corockar--rushed at them, the seamen beat them off, using their large sealing-knives with such effect that they killed sixteen, and cleared the decks. The remaining natives jumped overboard. A number were swept away by the ebb-tide and drowned. Next day the crew, now only fourteen in number, repulsed an attempt made in canoes to take the vessel by boarding, and killed Karaka. Emboldened by this, they afterwards made an expedition to the shore and cut up or stove in all their enemies' canoes lying on the beach. This was on Christmas Eve. On Boxing Day they landed and burnt the principal native village, which Kelly calls the "beautiful city of Otago of about six hundred fine houses"--not the only bit of patent exaggeration in his story. Then they sailed away.[1] [Footnote 1: _Transactions New Zealand Institute_, vol. xxviii.] What prompted the attack at Murdering Beach is uncertain--like so much that used to happen in No Man's Land. It is said that Tucker had been to Otago some years previously and had stolen a baked head from the Maoris. It is hinted that an encounter had taken place on the coast not long before in which natives had been shot and a boat's crew cut off. As of most occurrences of the time, we can only suspect that lesser crimes which remained hidden led to the greater, which are more or less truthfully recorded. [Illustration] Chapter VI MISSION SCHOONER AND WHALE BOAT "Behold I bring you good tidings of great joy."--_Text of Samuel Marsden's first sermon at the Bay of Islands, Christmas Day_, 1814. Maoris, shipping before the mast on board whalers and traders, made some of the best seamen on the Pacific. They visited Sydney and other civilized ports, where their fine physique, bold bearing, and strangely tattooed faces, heightened the interest felt in them as specimens of their ferocious and dreaded race. Stories of the Maoris went far and wide--of their fierce fights, their cannibal orgies, their grotesque ornaments and customs, their lonely, fertile, and little-known country. Humane men conceived the wish to civilize and Christianize this people. Benjamin Franklin had planned something of the kind when the news of Cook's discovery first reached England. Thirty years later, Samuel Marsden, a New South Wales chaplain, resolved to be the Gregory or Augustine of this Britain of the South. The wish became the master-passion of his life, and he lived to fulfil it. How this resolve was carried out makes one of the pleasantest pages of New Zealand history. The first step was his rescue of Ruatara. In 1809 a roaming Maori sailor had worked his passage to London, in the hope of seeing the great city and--greatest sight of all--King George III. The sailor was Ruatara, a Bay of Islands chief. Adventurous and inquiring as he was intelligent and good-natured, Ruatara spent nearly nine years of his life away from his native land. At London his captain refused to pay him his wages or to help him to see King George, and solitary, defrauded, and disappointed, the young wanderer fell sick nigh unto death. All the captain would do for him was to transfer him to the _Ann_, a convict ship bound for Sydney. Fortunately Marsden was among her passengers. The chaplain's heart was touched at the sight of the wan, wasted Maori sitting dull-eyed, wrapped in his blanket, coughing and spitting blood. His kindness drew back Ruatara from the grave's brink and made him a grateful and attached pupil. Together they talked of the savage islands, which one longed to see and the other to regain. Nor did their friendship end with the voyage. More adventures and disappointments awaited Ruatara before he at last reached home. Once in a whale ship he actually sighted the well-beloved headlands of the Bay of Islands, and brought up all his goods and precious presents ready to go on shore. But the sulky captain broke his promise and sailed past the Bay. Why trouble to land a Maori? Ruatara had to choose between landing at Norfolk Island or another voyage to England. Cheated of his earnings and half-drowned in the surf, he struggled ashore on the convict island, whence he made his way to Sydney and to Marsden's kindly roof. The whaling captain went on towards England. But Justice caught him on the way. He and his ship were taken by an American privateer. Ruatara gained his home at the next attempt. There he laboured to civilize his countrymen, planted and harvested wheat, and kept in touch with Marsden across the Tasman Sea. Meanwhile the latter's official superiors discountenanced his venturesome New Zealand project. It was not until 1814 that the Governor of New South Wales at last gave way to the chaplain's persistent enthusiasm, and allowed him to send the brig _Active_ to the Bay of Islands with Messrs. Hall and Kendall, lay missionaries, as the advance party of an experimental mission station. Ruatara received them with open arms, and they returned to Sydney after a peaceful visit, bringing with them not only their enthusiastic host, but two other chiefs--Koro Koro and Hongi, the last-named fated to become the scourge and destroyer of his race. At last Marsden was permitted to sail to New Zealand. With Kendall, Hall, and King, the three friendly chiefs, and some "assigned" convict servants, he reached New Zealand in December, 1814. With characteristic courage he landed at Whangaroa, among the tribe who had massacred the crew of the unhappy _Boyd_. Going on shore there, he met the notorious George, who stood to greet the strangers, surrounded by a circle of seated tribesmen, whose spears were erect in the ground. But George, despite a swaggering and offensive manner, seems to have been amicable enough. He rubbed noses with Hongi and Ruatara, and shook hands with Marsden, who passed on unharmed to the Bay of Islands. There, by Ruatara's good offices, he was enabled to preach to the assembled natives on the Sunday after arrival, being Christmas Day, from the text printed at the head of this chapter. The Maoris heard him quietly. Koro Koro walked up and down among the rows of listeners keeping order with his chief's staff. When the service ended, the congregation danced a war dance as a mark of attention to the strangers. Marsden settled his missionaries at Rangihu, where for twelve axes he bought two hundred acres of land from a young _rangatira_ named Turi. The land was conveyed to the Church Missionary Society by a deed of sale. As Turi could not write, Hongi made the ingenious suggestion that his _moko_, or face-tattoo, should be copied on the deed. This was done by a native artist. The document began as follows: "Know all men to whom these presents shall come, That I, Ahoodee O Gunna, King of Rangee Hoo, in the Island of New Zealand, have, in consideration of twelve axes to me in hand now paid by the Rev. Samuel Marsden, of Paramatta, in the territory of New South Wales, given, granted, bargained and sold, and by this present instrument do give, grant, bargain and sell," etc., etc. The deed is not only the first New Zealand conveyance, but has an interest beyond that. It is evidence that, at any rate in 1815, a single Maori, a chief, but of inferior rank, could sell a piece of land without the specific concurrence of his fellow-tribesmen, or of the tribe's head chief. Five and forty years later a somewhat similar sale plunged New Zealand into long years of war. After this Marsden returned to Sydney. The _Active_ took back spars and dressed flax to the value of £450. The flax was sold at £110 a ton. Kauri timber brought half a crown a foot, and the duty charged on it at the Sydney customs house was a shilling a foot. The day of Free Trade there was not yet. One cloud was hanging over the mission when Marsden sailed. Ruatara lay dying. He had been seized with a fever, and the natives, believing him to be attacked by a devouring demon, placed him under _tapu_, and kept food, medicine, and his white friends from him. When Marsden, by threatening to bombard the village obtained access to the sick man, it was too late; he found his friend past hope. Thus was the life of this staunch ally--a life which might have been of the first value to the Maori race--thrown away. Though the missionary's friend, Ruatara died a heathen, and his head wife hung herself in customary Maori form. Such was the setting up of the first mission station. Its founders were sterling men. Kendall had been a London schoolmaster in good circumstances. King, a master carpenter, had given up £400 a year to labour among the savages. Marsden, though he made seven more voyages to the country, the last after he had reached threescore years and ten, never settled there. Henry Williams, however, coming on the scene in 1823, became his chief lieutenant. Williams had been a naval officer, had fought at Copenhagen, and had in him the stuff of which Nelson's sailors were made. Wesleyan missionaries, following in the footsteps of Marsden's pioneers, established themselves in 1822, and chose for the place of their labours the scene of the _Boyd_ disaster. Roman Catholic activity began in 1838. It took ten years to make one convert, and up to 1830 the baptisms were very few. After that the work began to tell and the patient labourers to reap their harvest. By 1838 a fourth of the natives had been baptized. But this was far from representing the whole achievement of the missionaries. Many thousands who never formally became Christians felt their influence, marked their example, profited by their schools. They fought against war, discredited cannibalism, abolished slavery. From the first Marsden had a sound belief in the uses of trade and of teaching savages the decencies and handicrafts of civilized life. He looked upon such knowledge as the best path to religious belief. Almost alone amongst his class, he was far-sighted enough to perceive, at any rate in the latter years of his life, that the only hope of New Zealand lay in annexation, and that any dream of a Protestant Paraguay was Utopian. Quite naturally, but most unfortunately, most missionaries thought otherwise, and were at the outset of colonization placed in antagonism to the pioneers. Meanwhile they taught the elements of a rough-and-ready civilization, which the chiefs were acute enough to value. But the courage and singleness of purpose of many of them gave them a higher claim to respect. To do the Maoris justice, they recognised it, and the long journeys which the preachers of peace were able to make from tribe to tribe of cannibals and warriors say something for the generosity of the latter as well as for the devotion of the travellers. For fifty years after Marsden's landing no white missionary lost his life by Maori hands. Almost every less serious injury had to be endured. In the face of hardship, insult, and plunder, the work went on. A schooner, the _Herald_, was built in the Bay of Islands to act as messenger and carrier between the missionary stations, which--pleasant oases in the desert of barbarism--began to dot the North Island from Whangaroa as far south as Rotorua among the Hot Lakes. By 1838 there were thirteen of them. The ruins of some are still to be seen, surrounded by straggling plots run to waste, "where once a garden smiled." When Charles Darwin, during the voyage of the _Beagle_, visited the Bay of Islands, the missionary station at Waimate struck him as the one bright spot in a gloomy and ill-ordered land. Darwin, by the way, was singularly despondent in his estimate both of Australia and New Zealand. Colonial evolution was clearly not amongst his studies. [Illustration: CARVED GATEWAY OF MAORI VILLAGE _From a Sketch by_ GENERAL ROBLEY.] Colonists as a rule shrug their shoulders when questioned as to the depth of Maori religious feeling. It is enough to point out that a Christianity which induced barbarian masters to release their slaves without payment or condition must have had a reality in it at which the kindred of Anglo-Saxon sugar-planters have no right to sneer. Odd were the absurdities of Maori lay preachers, and knavery was sometimes added to absurdity. Yet these dark-skinned teachers carried Christianity into a hundred nooks and corners. Most of them were honest enthusiasts. Two faced certain death in the endeavour to carry the Gospel to the Taupo heathen, and met their fate with cheerful courage. Comic as Maori sectarianism became, it was not more ridiculous than British. It is true that rival tribes gloried in belonging to different denominations, and in slighting converts belonging to other churches. On one occasion, a white wayfarer, when asking shelter for the night at a _pa_, was gravely asked to name his church. He recognised that his night's shelter was at stake, and had no notion what was the reigning sect of the village. Sharpened by hunger, his wit was equal to the emergency, and his answer, "the true church," gained him supper and a bed. Too much stress has been laid on the spectacle of missionaries engaging in public controversies, and of semi-savage converts wrangling over rites and ceremonies and discussing points of theology which might well puzzle a Greek metaphysician. Such incidents were but an efflorescence on the surface of what for a number of years was a true and general earnestness. The missionaries, aided by Professor Lee, of Cambridge, gave the Maori a written language. Into this the Scriptures were translated, chiefly by William Williams, who became Bishop of Waiapu, and by Archdeacon Maunsell. Many years of toil went to the work, and it was not completed until 1853. In 1834 a printing press was set up by the Church Mission Society at the Bay of Islands, in charge of Mr. William Colenso. Neither few nor small were the difficulties which beset this missionary printer. At the outset he got his press successfully from ship to shore by lashing two canoes together and laying planks across them. Though the chiefs surveyed the type with greedy eyes and hinted that it would make good musket-balls, they did not carry it off. But on unpacking his equipment Colenso found he had not been supplied with an inking-table, composing-sticks, leads, galleys, cases, imposing-stone, or printing-paper. A clever catechist made him an imposing-stone out of two boulders of basalt found in a river-bed hard by. Leads he contrived by pasting bits of paper together, and with the help of various make-shifts, printed on February 21, 1835 the first tract published in New Zealand. It consisted of the Epistles to the Ephesians and Philippians in Maori, printed on sixteen pages of writing-paper and issued in wrappers of pink blotting-paper. Much the most capable helpers whom the lonely printer had in his first years were two one-time compositors who had turned sailors and who, tiring of foc'sle life under Yankee captains, made up their minds to resume the stick and apron in the cannibal islands. Impish Maori boys made not inappropriate "devils." With such assistants Colenso, working on, had by New Year's Day, 1838, completed the New Testament and was distributing bound copies to the eager Maoris, who sent messengers for them from far and near. Pigs, potatoes, flax were offered for copies of the precious volume, in one case even that rarest of curiosities in No Man's Land--a golden sovereign. Not the least debt, which any one having to do with New Zealand owes the missionaries and Professor Lee, is a scholarly method of writing Maori. In their hands the spelling of the language became simple, systematic, and pleasant to the eye. What it has done to save the names of the country's places and persons from taking fantastic and ridiculous shapes, a few examples will show. For sixty years after Cook's discovery every traveller spelt these names as seemed good to him. The books of the time offer us such things of beauty as Muckeytoo (Maketu), Kiddy-Kiddy (Keri-Keri), Wye-mattee (Waimate), Keggerigoo (Kekerangu), Boo Marray and Bowmurry (Pomaré), Shunghee and E'Ongi (Hongi), Corroradickee (Kororáreka). The haven of Hokianga figures alternately as Showkianga, Sukyanna, Jokeeangar and Chokahanga. Almost more laughable are Towackey (Tawhaki), Wycaddie (Waikare), Crackee (Karakia), Wedder-Wedder (Wera-Wera), and Rawmatty (Raumati). These, however, are thrown into the shade by some of the courageous attempts of the two Forsters, Cook's naturalists, at the names of native birds. It must have taken some imaginative power to turn pi-waka-waka into "diggowaghwagh," and kereru into "haggarreroo," but they achieved these triumphs. Their _chef-d'oeuvre_ is perhaps "pooadugghiedugghie," which is their version of putangi-tangi, the paradise-duck. After that it is not so easy to smile at the first sentences of an official statement drawn up by Governor King, of New South Wales, relative to the carrying off to Norfolk Island of the two New Zealanders before mentioned, which begins: "Hoodoo-Cockoty-Towamahowey is about twenty-four years of age, five feet eight inches high, of an athletic make, and very interesting. He is of the district of Teerawittee ... Toogee Teterrenue Warripedo is of the same age as Hoodoo, but about three inches shorter." Poor Huru, poor Tuki! While the missionaries were slowly winning their way through respect to influence in the northern quarter of the country, and were giving the Maori a written language and the Bible, very different agents were working for civilization further south. From the last decade of the eighteenth century onwards the islands were often sought by whaling-ships. Gradually these came in greater numbers, and, until about the year 1845, were constantly to be seen in and about certain harbours--notably the Bay of Islands. But not by the utmost stretch of charity could their crews be called civilizing agencies. To another class of whalers, however, that title may not unfairly be given. These were the men who settled at various points on the coast, chiefly from Cook's Straits southward to Foveaux Straits, and engaged in what is known as shore-whaling. In schooners, or in their fast-sailing, seaworthy whale boats, they put out from land in chase of the whales which for so many years frequented the New Zealand shores in shoals. Remarkable were some of the catches they made. At Jacob's River eleven whales were once taken in seventeen days. For a generation this shore-whaling was a regular and very profitable industry. Only the senseless slaughter of the "cows" and their "calves" ruined it. Carried on at first independently by little bands of adventurers, it in time fell into the hands of Sydney merchants, who found the capital and controlled and organized whaling-stations. At these they erected boiling-down works, shears for hoisting the huge whales' carcasses out of the water, stores, and jetties. As late as 1843 men were busy at more than thirty of these stations. More than five hundred men were employed, and the oil and whalebone they sent away in the year were worth at least £50,000. Sometimes the profits were considerable. A certain merchant, who bought the plant of a bankrupt station for £225 at a Sydney auction, took away therefrom £1,500 worth of oil in the next season. But then he was an uncommon merchant. He had been a sealer himself, and finally abandoned mercantile life in Sydney to return to his old haunts, where he managed his own establishment, joined farming to whaling, endowed a mission station,[1] and amazed the land by importing a black-coated tutor and a piano for his children. Moreover, the harpooners and oarsmen were not paid wages or paid in cash, but merely had a percentage of the value of a catch, and were given that chiefly in goods and rum. For this their employers charged them, perhaps, five times the prices current in Sydney, and Sydney prices in convict times were not low. Under this truck system the employers made profits both ways. The so-called rum was often inferior arrack--deadliest of spirits--with which the Sydney of those days poisoned the Pacific. The men usually began each season with a debauch and ended it with another. A cask's head would be knocked out on the beach, and all invited to dip a can into the liquor. They were commonly in debt and occasionally in delirium. Yet they deserved to work under a better system, for they were often fine fellows, daring, active, and skilful. Theirs was no fair-weather trade. Their working season was in the winter. Sharp winds and rough seas had to be faced, and when these were contrary it required no small strength to pull their heavy boats against them hour after hour, and mile after mile, to say nothing of the management of the cumbrous steering-oar, twenty-seven feet in length, to handle which the steersman had to stand upright in the stern sheets. [Footnote 1: John Jones, of Waikouaiti. His first missionary found two years at a whaling-station quite enough, if we may judge from his greeting to his successor, which was "Welcome to Purgatory, Brother Creed!" Brother Creed's response is not recorded.] The harpooning and lancing of the whale were wild work; and when bones were broken, a surgeon's aid was not always to be had. The life, however, could give change, excitement, the chance of profit, and long intervals of comparative freedom. To share these, seamen deserted their vessels, and free Australians--nicknamed currency lads--would ship at Sydney for New Zealand. Ex-convicts, of course, swelled their ranks, and were not always and altogether bad, despite the convict system. The discipline in the boats was as strict as on a man-of-war. On shore, when "trying down" the blubber, the men had to work long and hard. "Sunday don't come into this bay!" was the gruff answer once given to a traveller who asked whether the Sabbath was kept. Otherwise they might lead easy lives. Each had his hut and his Maori wife, to whom he was sometimes legally married. Many had gardens, and families of half-caste children, whose strength and beauty were noted by all who saw them. The whaler's helpmate had to keep herself and children clean, and the home tidy. Cleanliness and neatness were insisted on by her master, partly through the seaman's instinct for tidiness and partly out of a pride and desire to show a contrast to the reeking hovels of the Maori. As a rule she did her best to keep her man sober. Her cottage, thatched with reeds, was perhaps whitewashed with lime made by burning the sea-shells. With its clay floor and huge open fireplace, with its walls lined with curtained sleeping bunks, and its rafters loaded with harpoons, sharp oval-headed lances, coils of rope, flitches of bacon or bags of flour, it showed a picture of rude comfort.[1] [Footnote 1: Wakefield, _Adventures in New Zealand_; Shortland, _Southern Districts of New Zealand_; S. Thomson, _Story of New Zealand_: Sir W.T. Power, _Sketches in New Zealand_; G.F. Angas, _Savage Scenes_.] If the seats were the joints of a whale's backbone, there was always food in plenty, washed down with grog or tea made from manuka sprigs. Whale's heart was a delicacy set before guests, who found it rather like beef. Maoris, sharks, and clouds of sea-gulls shared much of the flesh of the captured whales' carcasses. Maori relatives learned to envy and, to some extent, to copy what they saw. They took service as oarsmen, and even bought and equipped boats for themselves. They learned to be ashamed of some of their more odious habits, and to respect the pluck and sense of fair play shown by their whaling neighbours. As a rule, each station was held by license from the chief of the proprietary tribe. He and tenants would stand shoulder to shoulder to resist incursions by other natives. Dicky Barrett, head-man of the Taranaki whaling-station, helped the Ngatiawa to repulse a noteworthy raid by the Waikato tribe. Afterwards, when the Ngatiawa decided to abandon their much-harried land, Barrett moved with them to Cook's Straits, where, in 1839, the Wakefields found him looking jovial, round, and ruddy, dressed in a straw hat, white jacket, and blue dungaree trousers, and married to a chief's daughter--a handsome and stately woman. It was Dicky Barrett who directed Colonel Wakefield to what is now Wellington, and who, in consequence, may be recorded as the guide who pointed out to the pioneer of the New Zealand Company the future capital of the colony. Nor was Barrett the only specimen of this rough race whom New Zealanders may remember with interest. There was Stewart, ex-Jacobite, sealer, and pilot, whose name still conceals Rakiura, and whose Highland pride made him wear the royal tartan to the last as he sat in Maori villages smoking among the blanketed savages. There was the half-caste Chaseland, whose mother was an Australian "gin," and who was acknowledged to be the most dexterous and best-tempered steersman in New Zealand--when sober. He needed his skill when he steered an open boat from the Chathams to Otago across five hundred miles of wind-vexed sea. Chaseland's mighty thews and sinews were rivalled by those of Spencer, whose claim to have fought at Waterloo was regarded as doubtful, but whose possession of two wives and of much money made by rum-selling was not doubtful. Another notable steersman was Black Murray, who once made his boatmen row across Cook's Straits at night and in a gale because they were drunk, and only by making them put out to sea could he prevent them from becoming more drunk. A congener of his, Evans--"Old Man Evans"--boasted of a boat which was as spick and span as a post-captain's gig, and of a crew who wore uniform. Nor must the best of Maori whalers be forgotten--the chief Tuhawaiki--brave in war, shrewd and businesslike in peace, who could sail a schooner as cleverly as any white skipper, and who has been most unfairly damned to everlasting fame--local fame--by his whaler's nickname of "Bloody Jack!" These, and the "hands" whom they ordered about, knocked down, caroused with, and steered, were the men who, between 1810 and 1845, taught the outside world to take its way along the hitherto dreaded shores of New Zealand as a matter of course and of business. Half heroes, half ruffians, they did their work, and unconsciously brought the islands a stage nearer civilization. Odd precursors of English law, nineteenth-century culture, and the peace of our lady the Queen, were these knights of the harpoon and companions of the rum-barrel. But the isolated coasts and savage men among whom their lot was cast did not as yet call for refinement and reflection. Such as their time wanted, such they were. They played a part and fulfilled a purpose, and then moved off the stage. It so happened that within a few years after the advent of the regular colonists whaling ceased to pay, and the rough crew who followed it, and their coarse, manly life, disappeared together. Chapter VII THE MUSKETS OF HONGI "He sang of battles, and the breath Of stormy war and violent death." Marsden's notes help us to picture his first night in New Zealand. The son of the Yorkshire blacksmith, the voyager in convict-ships, the chaplain of New South Wales in the days of rum and chain-gangs, was not the man to be troubled by nerves. But even Marsden was wakeful on that night. Thinking of many things--thoughts not to be expressed--the missionary paced up and down on the sea beach by which a tribe was encamped. The air was pleasant, the stars shone brightly, in front of him the sea spread smoothly, peacefully folded among the wooded hills. At the head of the harbour the ripple tapped lightly upon the charred timbers of the _Boyd_. Around lay the Maori warriors sleeping, wrapped in their dyed mantles and with their spears stuck upright in the ground. It was a quiet scene. Most of the scenes of that time which have come down to us were not of quietness. Some of them have been sketched in the last two chapters, and are examples of the condition of things which the missionaries landed to confront, and amidst which they worked. More have now to be described, if only to show things as they were before annexation, and the miseries which the country, and the Maori along with it, suffered before the influences of White adventurers and their fatal gifts were tempered by a civilized government. From 1818 to 1838 was a time of war far surpassing in bloodshed and ruin anything witnessed in the Islands before or since. For the first time the Maoris used firearms. Probably a fourth of their race perished in this ill-starred epoch. Hongi, the chief of the Ngapuhi tribe, before referred to, is usually spoken of as the first to introduce the musket into the tribal wars. This was not so. His tribe, as the owners of the Bay of Islands and other ports frequented by traders, were able to forestall their fellow-Maoris in getting firearms. A war-party of the Ngapuhi, only one hundred and forty strong, is said to have gone through the length and breadth of the North Island putting all they met to flight with the discharge of two old flint-lock guns. The cunning warriors always followed up the awe-inspiring fire with a prompt charge in which spear and tomahawk did the work for which panic had prepared the way. Another Ngapuhi chief, the leader of an attack on the men of Tauranga, managed to arm his men with thirty-five muskets, which they used with crushing effect. This was in 1818. Hongi saw the bravest warriors run before the new and terrible weapon. He never forgot the sight. To go to England and get guns became the dream of his life. A hopeful pupil of Marsden, in Sydney, he knew the ways of the white men. In 1820, he and a brother chief were taken to England by Kendall to help Professor Lee with his grammar and dictionary. The pair were lionized, and on all sides presents were made to them. They were presented to King George IV., who gave Hongi a suit of armour. On his return this grammarian's assistant heard at Sydney that his tribe was at war with the natives of the Hauraki or Thames district, and that one of his relatives had been killed. Now was his time. He at once sold all his presents, except the suit of armour, and bought three hundred muskets and a supply of powder and bullets. The Sydney Government did not prevent him. At Marsden's table, at Parramatta, Hongi met a chief of the offending tribe. Grimly he warned his fellow-guest to take himself home, make ready for war, and prepare to be killed--and eaten. Landing in New Zealand, he determined to imitate Napoleon. Allowing for the enormous difference in his arena, he managed to be nearly as mischievous. His luckless enemies, armed only with spears, tomahawks, stones and clubs, were shot and enslaved by thousands and eaten by hundreds. Wide districts were swept bare of people. No man cared for anything except to procure a gun and thereby have a chance to save his life. A musket was, indeed, a pearl of great price. It has been pleaded for Hongi that he protected the missionaries, and that by forcing his race to get guns at any price he unwittingly developed trade. It is indeed true that in their desperate straits the tribes sold flax, timber, potatoes, mats, tattooed heads, pigs--even their precious land--for firearms. Without them their lives were not worth a month's purchase. Men and women toiled almost frantically at growing and preparing flax or providing anything exchangeable for muskets, powder and lead. An old Brown Bess was worth three tons of scraped flax. Undoubtedly whites were welcomed, both as traders and fighters, with a readiness unknown before. In 1835, New Zealand exports to Sydney alone were valued at £113,000, her imports at £31,000. It was a poor set-off against an era of butchery. Determined to carry out the threats he had made in Sydney, Hongi began his campaigns by sailing southward with a great fleet of war-canoes. Passing to the head of the Hauraki Gulf he sat down before the _pa_ of Totara, the chief fortress of the Thames tribes--the men whom he had doomed in Sydney. The place was well garrisoned, and commanded by the head chief, Trembling-Leaf. Even the three hundred musketeers found the _pa_ too strong for open assault, though those inside had but one gun and no ammunition. Hongi fell back upon fraud and offered honourable peace, if a certain sacred greenstone _mere_ were handed to him as a trophy. It was solemnly handed over, and the principal invaders were feasted in the _pa_. One of them, ashamed of the intended treachery, whispered to an acquaintance in the garrison, "Beware!" In vain. That night, as Hongi's victims were sleeping securely, the Ngapuhi rushed the stockade and all within were killed or taken. The dead were variously reckoned at from two hundred to a thousand. One division of the Ngapuhi were sufficiently disgusted at Hongi's deceit to refuse to join in the surprise, and Waikato, the powerful chief who had accompanied him to England, declared he would go afield with him no more. Even his own special clan, though they had yielded to the furious exhortations of his blind wife Kiri, an Amazon who followed him in all his fights, urged him to spare some of the captives of rank. The pitiless victor spared none. Five he killed with his own spear. The death songs of two have been preserved and are quoted as choice specimens of Maori poetry. Between 1821 and 1827 Hongi carried fire and sword into almost every corner of what is now the Province of Auckland. At first none could stand before him. He assailed in 1822 two large _pas_ near where the suburbs of Auckland city now spread. In vain the terrified inmates tried to buy off the savage with presents. Nearly all were slaughtered or taken, and Hongi left naught in their villages but bones, with such flesh on them "as even his dogs had not required." He invaded the Waikato and penetrated to a famous _pa_--a triple stockade at Mataki-taki (Look-out). To get there he dragged his war-canoes overland across the Auckland isthmus, straightened winding creeks for their passage, and, when the Waikatos felled large trees across one channel, patiently spent two months in cutting through the trunks. At length the Look-out fortress was stormed with horrible slaughter. Defended on one side by a creek, on another by the Waipa river, elsewhere by deep ditches and banks that were almost cliffs, the lofty stronghold was as difficult to escape from as to enter. It was crowded with women and children: ten thousand people were in it, says one account. When the spear-men broke before the terrible musket-fire, the mass of the despairing on-lookers choked the ways of escape. In their mad panic hundreds of the flying Waikatos were forced headlong over a cliff by the rush of their fellow-fugitives. Hundreds more were smothered in one of the deep ditches of the defences, or were shot by the merciless Ngapuhi, who fired down upon the writhing mass till tired of reloading. It was the greatest of Hongi's victories, though not bloodless for the conquerors, like that of Totara, where only one Ngapuhi had been killed. Famous fighting men, the Waikato chiefs had died bravely, despite the amazement caused by the mystery of firearms. One had killed four Ngapuhi before he was shot. Another of Hongi's triumphs was at Rotorua in the Hot Lakes district--the land of the Arawa tribe. He began by defeating them on the Bay of Plenty, and thence turning inland found the tribe gathered in strength on the green island-hill of Mokoia, encircled by the Rotorua lake. Hongi's war-canoes were twenty-five miles away on the sea-beach, and the Mokoians ridiculed him as he lay encamped by the edge of their lake, unable to get at them. Day after day they paddled to within hailing distance and insulted him with yells and gestures. But the Ngapuhi general was not to be stopped. Like Mahomet the second, he made his slaves drag their craft overland, and the astonished islanders saw his flotilla sweep across Rotorua bearing the irresistible musketeers. On their exposed strand they were easily mown down. Flying they were followed by the Ngapuhi, and few indeed were the survivors of the day. Hongi's ravages reached far to the south and east. Even the Ngatiporou, who dwelt between Cape Runaway and Poverty Bay, felt his hand. Their _pas_ fell one after the other, and only those were not slaughtered who fled to the mountains. For a while it seemed as though Hongi's dream might come true, and all New Zealand hail him as sole king. His race trembled at his name. But his cruelty deprived him of allies, and the scanty numbers of his army gave breathing time to his foes. He wisely made peace with the Waikatos, who, under Te Whero Whero, had rallied and cut off more than one Ngapuhi war-party. In the Hauraki country he could neither crush nor entrap the chief Te Waharoa, as cunning a captain and as bloodthirsty a savage as himself. His enemies, indeed, getting muskets and gaining courage, came once far north of the Auckland isthmus to meet him; and though he beat them there in a pitched battle, it cost him the life of his eldest son. He became involved in feuds with his northern neighbours, and finally marched to attack our old acquaintances the Whangaroans of _Boyd_ notoriety. In a bush-fight with them he neglected to wear the suit of chain armour, the gift of George IV., which had saved his life more than once. A shot fired by one of his own men struck him in the back and passed through a lung. He did not die of the wound for fifteen months. It is said that he used to entertain select friends by letting the wind whistle through the bullet-hole in his body. Mr. Polack, who was the author of the tale, was not always implicitly believed by those who knew him; but as Surgeon-Major Thomson embodies the story in his book, perhaps a writer who is not a surgeon ought not to doubt it. Of Hongi's antagonists none were more stubborn or successful than Te Waharoa, a fighting chief whose long life of warfare contains in it many stirring episodes of his times. Born in 1773 in a village near the upper Thames, he owed his life, when two years old, to a spasm of pity in the heart of a victorious chief from the Hot Lakes. This warrior and his tribe sacked the _pa_ of Te Waharoa's father, and killed nearly all therein. The conqueror saw a pretty boy crying among the ashes of his mother's hut, and struck with the child's face, took him up and carried him on his back home to Lake Rotorua. "Oh! that I had not saved him!" groaned the old chief, when, nearly two generations later, Te Waharoa exacted ample vengeance from the Rotorua people. After twenty years of a slave's life, Te Waharoa was allowed to go back to his people. Though, in spite of the brand of slavery, his craft and courage carried him on till he became their head, he was even then but the leader of a poor three hundred fighting men. To the north of him lay the Thames tribe, then the terror of half New Zealand; to the south, his old enemies the Arawas of the Hot Lakes. To the west the main body of the Waikatos were overwhelmingly his superiors in numbers. Eastward the Tauranga tribe--destined in aftertimes to defeat the Queen's troops at the Gate _Pa_--could in those days muster two thousand five hundred braves, and point to a thousand canoes lying on their beaches. But Te Waharoa was something more than an able guerilla chief. He was an acute diplomatist. Always keeping on good terms with the Waikatos, he made firm allies of the men of Tauranga. Protected, indeed helped, thus on both flanks, he devoted his life to harassing the dwellers by the lower Thames and the Hauraki Gulf. One great victory he won over them with the aid of his Waikato allies. Their chief _pa_, Mata-mata, he seized by a piece of callous bad faith and murder. After being admitted there by treaty to dwell as friends and fellow-citizens, his warriors rose one night and massacred their hosts without compunction. Harried from the north by Hongi, the wretched people of the Thames were between the hammer and the anvil. When at last their persecutors--the Ngapuhi and Te Waharoa--met over their bodies, Te Waharoa's astuteness and nerve were a match for the invaders from the north. In vain the Ngapuhi besiegers tried to lure him out from behind the massive palisades of Mata-mata, where, well-provisioned, he lay sheltered from their bullets. When he did make a sally it was to catch half a dozen stragglers, whom, in mortal defiance, he crucified in front of his gateway. Then he challenged the Ngapuhi captain to single combat with long-handled tomahawks. The Northerners broke up their camp, and went home; they had found a man whom even muskets could not terrify. Te Waharoa's final lesson to the Ngapuhi was administered in 1831, and effectually stopped them from making raids on their southern neighbours. A war-party from the Bay of Islands, in which were two of Hongi's sons, ventured, though only 140 strong, to sail down the Bay of Plenty, slaying and plundering as they went. Twice they landed, and when they had slain and eaten more than their own number the more prudent would have turned back. But a blind wizard, a prophet of prodigious repute, who was with them, predicted victory and speedy reinforcement, and urged them to hold on their way. Disembarking on an islet in the bay, the inhabitants of which had fled, they encamped among the deserted gardens. Looking out next morning, they saw the sea blackened with war-canoes. Believing these to be the prophesied reinforcement, they rushed down to welcome their friends. Cruelly were they undeceived as the canoes of Te Waharoa and his Tauranga allies shot on to the beach. Short was the struggle. Only two of the Ngapuhi were spared, and as the blind soothsayer's blood was too sacred to be shed, the victors pounded him to death with their fists. Never again did the Ngapuhi come southwards. So for the remaining years of his life Waharoa was free to turn upon the Arawas, the men who had slain his father and mother. From one raid on Rotorua his men came back with the bodies of sixty enemies--cut off in an ambush. Not once did Waharoa meet defeat; and when, in 1839, he died, he was as full of fame as of years. Long afterwards his _mana_ was still a halo round the head of his son Wiremu Tamihana, whom we shall meet in due time as William Thompson the king-maker, best of his race. Hongi once dead and the Ngapuhi beaten off, the always formidable Waikato tribes began in turn to play the part of raiders. At their head was Te Whero Whero, whom in the rout at Mataki-taki a friendly hand had dragged out of the suffocating ditch of death. Without the skill of Hongi, or the craft of Te Waharoa, he was a keen and active fighter. More than once before Hongi's day he had invaded the Taranaki country, and had only been forced back by the superior generalship of the famous Rauparaha, of whom more anon. In 1831 Rauparaha could no longer protect Taranaki. He had migrated to Cook's Strait, and was warring far away in the South Island. Therefore it was without much doubt that, followed by some three thousand men, Te Whero Whero set his face towards Mount Egmont, and swept all before him. Only at a strong hill-_pa_ looking down upon the Waitara river, did his enemies venture to make a stand. They easily repulsed his first assaults, but hundreds of women and children were among the refugees, and as was the wont of the Maoris, no proper stock of provisions had been laid in. On the thirteenth day, therefore, the defenders, weakened and half starved, had to make a frantic attempt to break through the Waikatos. Part managed to get away; most were either killed at once, or hunted down and taken. Many women threw themselves with their children over the cliff into the Waitara. Next day the captives were brought before Te Whero Whero. Those with the best tattooed faces were carefully beheaded that their heads might be sold unmarred to the White traders. The skulls of the less valuable were cleft with tomahawk or _mere_. Te Whero Whero himself slew many scores with a favourite greenstone weapon. A miserable train of slaves were spared to labour in the villages of the Waikato. [Illustration: MOUNT EGMONT, TARANAKI Photo by I.A. MARTIN, Wanganui] Ahead of the victorious chieftain lay yet another _pa_. It was near those quaint conical hills--the Sugar-Loaves--which, rising in and near the sea, are as striking a feature as anything can be in the landscape where Egmont's white peak dwarfs all else. Compared to the force in the Waitara _pa_ the garrison of this last refuge was small--only three hundred and fifty, including women and children. But among them were eleven Whites. Some of these may have been what Mr. Rusden acidly styles them all--"dissipated Pakeha-Maoris living with Maori Delilahs." But they were Englishmen, and had four old ship's guns. They decided to make a fight of it for their women and children and their trade. They got their carronades ready, and laboured to infuse a little order and system into the excitable mob around them. So when the alarm-cry, _E! Taua! Taua!_ rang out from the watchmen of the _pa_, the inmates were found resolute and even prepared. In vain the invaders tried all their wiles. Their rushes were repulsed, the firebrands they showered over the palisades were met by wet clay banking, and their treacherous offers of peace and good-will declined. Though one of the carronades burst, the others did good execution, and when shot and scrap-iron failed, the artillerymen used pebbles. Dicky Barrett, already mentioned, was the life and soul of the defence. The master of a schooner which came upon the coast in the midst of the siege tried to mediate, and stipulated for a free exit for the Whites. Te Whero Whero haughtily refused; he would spare their lives, but would certainly make slaves of them. He had better have made a bridge for their escape. The siege dragged on. The childish chivalry of the Maoris amazed the English. Waikato messengers were allowed to enter the _pa_ and examine the guns and defences. On the other hand, when the besiegers resolved on a last and grand assault they sent notice thereof the day before to the garrison. Yet, after that, the latter lay down like tired animals to sleep the night through, while Barrett and his comrades watched and waited anxiously. The stormers came with the dawn, and were over the stockade before the Whites could rouse the sleepers. Then, however, after a desperate tussle--one of those sturdy hand-to-hand combats in which the Maori fighter shone--the assailants were cut down or driven headlong out. With heavy loss the astonished Waikatos recoiled in disgust, and their retreat did not cease till they reached their own country. Even this victory could not save Taranaki. With the fear of fresh raids in their mind the survivors of its people, together with their White allies, elected to follow where so many of their tribes had already gone--to Cook's Straits, in the footsteps of Rauparaha. So they, too, chanted their farewells to their home, and turning southward, marched away. When the Waikatos had once more swept down the coast, and had finally withdrawn, it was left empty and desolate. A remnant, a little handful, built themselves a _pa_ on one of the Sugar-Loaves. A few more lurked in the recesses of Mount Egmont. Otherwise the fertile land was a desert. A man might toil along the harbourless beaches for days with naught for company but the sea-gulls and the thunder of the surf; while inland,--save for a few birds,--the rush of streams and pattering of mountain-showers on the leaves were all that broke the silence of lifeless forests. To the three warrior chiefs, whose feuds and fights have now been outlined, must be added a fourth and even more interesting figure. Rauparaha, fierce among the fierce, cunning among the cunning, was not only perhaps the most skilful captain of his time, not only a devastator second only to Hongi, but was fated to live on into another era and to come into sharp and fatal collision with the early colonists. One result among others is that we have several portraits of him with both pen and pencil. Like Waharoa and Hongi he was small, spare and sinewy; an active man even after three-score years and ten. In repose his aquiline features were placid and his manners dignified. But in excitement, his small, keen, deep-sunken eyes glared like a wild beast's, and an overhanging upper lip curled back over long teeth which suggested to colonists--his enemies--the fangs of a wolf. Born near the picturesque inlet of Kawhia, he first won fame as a youth by laying a clever ambuscade for a Waikato war-party. When later the chief of his tribe was dying and asked doubt-fully of his councillors who there was to take his place, Rauparaha calmly stepped forward and announced himself as the man for the office. His daring seemed an omen, and he was chosen. In 1819 he did a remarkable thing. He had been on a raid to Cook's Straits, and when there had been struck with the strategic value of the island of Kapiti--steep, secure from land attacks, not infertile, and handy to the shore. It was the resort, moreover, of the _Pakehas_ trading-ships. Like Hongi, Rauparaha saw that the man with the most muskets must carry all before him in New Zealand. Out of the way and overshadowed by the Waikato his small tribe were badly placed at Kawhia. But if he could bring them and allies along with them to Kapiti and seize it, he could dominate central New Zealand. He persuaded his people to migrate. Their farewell to their old dwellings is still a well-known Maori poem. Joined by a strong contingent of Waitara men under Wi Kingi--to be heard of again as late as 1860--they won their way after many fights, adventures and escapes to their goal at Kapiti. There Rauparaha obtained the coveted muskets. Not only did he trade with the visiting ships but he protected a settlement of whalers on his island who did business with him, and whose respect for the craft and subtlety of "Rowbulla" was always great. Rauparaha set out for Kapiti a year before Hongi sailed for England on his fatal quest. From his sea-fortress he kept both coasts in fear and turmoil for twenty years. More than once he was defeated, and once his much-provoked foes attacked Kapiti with a united flotilla. But though they "covered the sea with their canoes," they parleyed after landing when they should have fought. By a union of astuteness and hard fighting Rauparaha's people won, and signal was the revenge taken on his assailants. Previous to this he had almost exterminated one neighbour-tribe whose villages were built on small half-artificial islets in a forest-girt lake. In canoes and by swimming his warriors reached the islets, and not many of the lake people were left alive. More than one story is preserved of Rauparaha's resource and ruthlessness. One night, when retreating with a weak force, he had the Waikatos at his heels. He held them back by lighting enough watchfires for a large host, and by arming and dressing his women as fighting-men. Again, when he was duck-hunting near the coast of the South Island, his enemies, led by the much-libelled "Bloody Jack," made a bold attempt to surround his party. Most of his men were cut off. Rauparaha, lowered down a sea-cliff, hid among the kelp by the rocks beneath. A canoe was found and brought, and he put to sea. It was over-loaded with fugitives, and their chief therefore ordered half to jump overboard that the rest might be saved. The lightened canoe then carried him to a place of safety. Yet, after the capture of Kaiapoi he showed generosity. Amongst the prisoners, who were lying bound hand and foot waiting for the oven, was a young brave who had killed one of Rauparaha's chiefs in a daring sortie. Him now the conqueror sought out, spared his life, cut his bonds, and took him into service and favour. The most famous and far-reaching of Rauparaha's raids were among the Ngaitahu, whose scattered bands were masters of nearly all the wide half-empty spaces of the South Island. In one of their districts was found the famous greenstone. On no better provocation than a report which came to his ears of an insulting speech by a braggart southern chief, Rauparaha, early in 1829, manned his canoes, and sailed down the east coast to attack the boastful one's _pa_. The unsuspecting natives thronged down to the beach to meet the raiders with shouts of welcome, and on hospitable thoughts intent. Springing on to land, the invaders ran amongst the bewildered crowd, and slew or captured all they could lay hands on. Then they burned the village. Further south lay a larger _pa_, that of Kaiapoi. Here the inhabitants, warned by fugitives from the north, were on their guard. Surprise being impossible, Rauparaha tried guile, and by assurances of friendship worked upon the Kaiapois to allow his chiefs to go in and out of their _pa_, buying greenstone and exchanging hospitalities. But for once he met his match. The Kaiapois waited until they had eight of the chiefs inside their stockades, and then killed them all. Amongst the dead was Te Pehi, Rauparaha's uncle and adviser, who three years before had visited England. Powerless for the moment, Rauparaha could but go home, vow vengeance, and wait his opportunity. After two years it came. Pre-eminent in infamy amongst the ruffianly traders of the time was a certain Stewart. At the end of 1830, he was hanging about Cook's Straits in the brig _Elizabeth_. There he agreed to become Rauparaha's instrument to carry out one of the most diabolical acts of vengeance in even Maori annals. The appearance of Stewart, ripe for any villainy, gave the Kapiti chief the chance he was waiting for. For thirty tons of flax the _Elizabeth_ was hired to take Rauparaha and a war-party, not to Kaiapoi, but to Akaroa, a beautiful harbour amongst the hills of the peninsula called after Sir Joseph Banks. It lay many miles away from Kaiapoi, but was inhabited by natives of the same tribe. There, moreover, was living Tamai-hara-nui (Son-of-much-evil), best-born and most revered chief in all the South Island. Him Rauparaha determined to catch, for no one less august could be payment for Te Pehi. Arrived at Akaroa, Rauparaha and his men hid below, and waited patiently for three days until their victim came. Stewart, by swearing that he had no Maoris in the brig, but merely came to trade, tempted the chief and his friends on board. The unhappy Son-of-much-evil was invited into the cabin below. There he stepped into the presence of Rauparaha and Te Pehi's son. The three stared at each other in silence. Then Te Pehi's son with his fingers pushed open the lips of the Akaroa chief, saying, "These are the teeth which ate my father." Forthwith the common people were killed, and the chief and his wife and daughter bound. Rauparaha landed, fired the village, and killed all he could catch. Coming on board again, the victors feasted on the slain, Stewart looking on. Human flesh was cooked in the brig's coppers. The entrapped chief was put in irons--lent by Stewart. Though manacled, he signed to his wife, whose hands were free, to kill their young daughter, a girl whose ominous name was Roimata (Tear-drops). The woman did so, thus saving the child from a worse fate. Returning to Cook's Straits, Rauparaha and comrades went on shore. A Sydney merchant, Mr. Montefiore, came on board the _Elizabeth_ at Kapiti and saw the chief lying in irons. As these had caused mortification to set in, Montefiore persuaded Stewart to have them taken off, but the unhappy captive was still held as a pledge until the flax was paid over. It was paid over. Then this British sea-captain gave up his security, who with his wife was tortured and killed, enduring his torments with the stoicism of a North American Indian. The instrument of his death was a red-hot ramrod. The _Elizabeth_, with thirty tons of flax in her hold, sailed to Sydney. But Stewart's exploit had been a little too outrageous, even for the South Pacific of those days. He was arrested and tried by order of Governor Darling, who, it is only fair to say, did his best to have him hanged. But, incredible as it seems, public sympathy was on the side of this pander to savages, this pimp to cannibals. Witnesses were spirited away, and at length the prosecution was abandoned. Soon after Stewart died at sea off Cape Horn. One authority says that he dropped dead on the deck of the _Elizabeth_, and that his carcass, reeking with rum, was pitched overboard without ceremony. Another writes that he was washed overboard by a breaking sea. Either way the Akaroa chief had not so easy a death. Next year, Rauparaha, whose revenge was nothing if not deliberate, organized a strong attack on Kaiapoi. With complete secrecy he brought down his men from Cook's Straits, and surprised his enemies peacefully digging in the potato grounds outside their stockade. A wild rush took place. Most of the Kaiapois escaped into the _pa_, shut the gate and repulsed a hasty assault. Others fled southward, and skulking amid swamps and sand-hills got clear away, and roused their distant fellow-tribesmen. A strong relieving force was got together, and marching to the beleaguered _pa_, slipped past Rauparaha and entered it at night, bending and creeping cautiously through flax and rushes as they waved in a violent wind. But sorties were repulsed, and the garrison had to stand on the defensive. Unlike most _pas_, theirs was well supplied with food and water, and was covered on three sides by swamps and a lagoon. A gallant attempt made on a dark night to burn the besiegers' canoes on the sea-beach was foiled by heavy rain. At last Rauparaha, reaching the stockade by skilful sapping, piled up brushwood against it, albeit many of his men were shot in the process. For weeks the wind blew the wrong way for the besiegers and they could only watch their piles--could not fire them. All the while the soothsayers in the beleaguered fort perseveringly chanted incantations and prayed to the wind-god that the breeze might not change. At length one morning the north-west wind blew so furiously away from the walls that the besieged boldly set alight to the brushwood from their side. But the wilder the north-west wind of New Zealand, the more sudden and complete may be the change to the south-west. Such a shifting came about, and in a moment the flames enveloped the walls. Shouting in triumph, Rauparaha's men mustered in array and danced their frenzied war-dance, leaping high in air, and tossing and catching their muskets with fierce yells. "The earth," says an eye-witness, "shook beneath their stamping." Then they charged through the burning breach, and the defenders fell in heaps or fled before them. The lagoon was black with the heads of men swimming for life. Through the dense drifting smoke many reached the swamps and escaped. Hundreds were killed or taken, and piles of human bones were witnesses many years after to the massacre and feast which followed the fall of Kaiapoi. Nearly seventy years have passed since these deeds were done. The name Kaiapoi belongs to a pretty little country town, noted for its woollen-mill, about the most flourishing of the colony. Kapiti, Rauparaha's stronghold, is just being reserved by the Government as an asylum for certain native birds, which stoats and weasels threaten to extirpate in the North Island. Over the English grasses which now cover the hills round Akaroa sheep and cattle roam in peace, and standing by the green bays of the harbour you will probably hear nothing louder than a cow-bell, the crack of a whip, or the creaking wheels of some passing dray. Then it is pleasant to remember that Rauparaha's son became a missionary amongst the tribes which his father had harried, and that it is now nearly a generation since Maori blood was shed in conflict on New Zealand soil. Chapter VIII "A MAN OF WAR WITHOUT GUNS" "Under his office treason was no crime; The sons of Belial had a glorious time." _Dryden_. Between 1830 and 1840, then, New Zealand had drifted into a new phase of existence. Instead of being an unknown land, peopled by ferocious cannibals, to whose shores ship-captains gave as wide a berth as possible, she was now a country with a white element and a constant trade. Missionaries were labouring, not only along the coasts, but in many districts of the interior, and, as the decade neared its end, a large minority of the natives were being brought under the influence of Christianity. The tribal wars were dying down. Partly, this was a peace of exhaustion, in some districts of solitude; partly, it was the outcome of the havoc wrought by the musket, and the growing fear thereof. Nearly all the tribes had now obtained firearms. A war had ceased to be an agreeable shooting-party for some one chief with an unfair advantage over his rivals. A balance of power, or at any rate an equality of risk, made for peace. But it would be unjust to overlook the missionaries' share in bringing about comparative tranquillity. Throughout all the wars of the musket, and the dread slaughter and confusion they brought about, most of the teachers held on. They laboured for peace, and at length those to whom they spoke began to cease to make themselves ready unto the battle. In the worst of times no missionary's life was taken. The Wesleyans at Whangaroa did indeed, in 1827, lose all but life. But the sack of their station was but an instance of the law of _Muru_. Missionaries were then regarded as Hongi's dependants. When he was wounded they were plundered, as he himself was more than once when misfortune befel him. In the wars of Te Waharoa, the mission-stations of Rotorua and Matamata were stripped, but no blood was shed. The Wesleyans set up again at Hokianga. Everywhere the teachers were allowed to preach, to intercede, to protest. At last, in 1838, the extraordinary spectacle was seen of Rauparaha's son going from Kapiti to the Bay of Islands to beg that a teacher might come to his father's tribe; and accordingly, in 1839, Octavius Hadfield, afterwards primate, took his life in his hand and his post at a spot on the mainland opposite to the elder Rauparaha's island den of rapine. By 1840 the Maoris, if they had not beaten their spears into pruning hooks, had more than one old gun-barrel hung up at the gable-end of a meeting-house to serve when beaten upon as a gong for church-goers.[1] [Footnote 1: See Taylor's _New Zealand, Past and Present_.] By this time there were in the islands perhaps two thousand Whites, made up of four classes--first, the missionaries; second, the _Pakeha_ Maoris; third, the whalers and sealers chiefly found in the South Island; and fourth, the traders and nondescripts settled in the Bay of Islands. Of the last-named beautiful haven it was truly said that every prospect pleased, that only man was vile, and that he was very vile indeed. On one of its beaches, Kororáreka--now called Russell--formed a sort of Alsatia. As many as a thousand Whites lived there at times. On one occasion thirty-five large whaling ships were counted as they lay off its beach in the bay. The crews of these found among the rum-shops and Maori houris of Kororáreka a veritable South Sea Island paradise. The Maori chiefs of the neighbourhood shared their orgies, pandered to their vices, and grew rich thereby. An occasional murder reminded the Whites that Maori forbearance was limited. But even Kororáreka drew the line. In 1827 a brig, the _Wellington_, arrived in the bay in the hands of a gang of convicts, who had preferred the chances of mutiny to the certainties of Norfolk Island. Forthwith Alsatia was up in arms for society and a triple alliance of missionaries, whalers, and cannibals combined to intercept the runaways. The ship's guns of the whalers drove the convicts to take refuge on shore, where the Maoris promptly secured them. The captives were duly sent to their fate in Sydney, and the services of the New Zealanders gratefully requited by a payment at the rate of a musket per convict. Alsatia had its civil wars. In 1831 a whaling-captain deserted the daughter of a chief in the neighbourhood in order to take to himself another chief's daughter, also of a tribe by the Bay. The tribe of the deserted woman attacked that of the favoured damsel. A village was burnt, a benevolent mediator shot, and a hundred lives lost. Only the arrival on the scene of Marsden, on one of his visits to the country, restored peace. So outrageous were the scenes in the Bay that its own people had to organize some sort of government. This took the form of a vigilance committee, each member of which came to its meetings armed with musket and cutlass. Their tribunal was, of course, that of Judge Lynch. They arrested certain of the most unbearable offenders, tarred and feathered them, and drummed them out of the township. When feathers were lacking for the decoration, the white fluff of the native bullrush made a handy substitute. In the absence of a gaol, the Vigilants were known to keep a culprit in duress by shutting him up for the night in a sea-chest, ventilated by means of gimlet-holes. They were not, however, the only representatives of law and order in New Zealand. The British authorities in New South Wales had all along, perforce, been keeping their eye on this troublesome archipelago in the south-east. In 1813 Governor Macquarie made Sydney shipmasters sailing for the country give bonds for a thousand pounds not to kidnap Maori men, take the women on board their vessels, or meddle with burying grounds. In 1814 he appointed the chiefs Hongi and Koro Koro, and the missionary Kendall, to act as magistrates in the Bay of Islands. Possibly the two first-named magistrates were thus honoured to induce them not to eat the third. No other advantage was gained by the step. A statute was passed in England in 1817 authorizing the trial and punishment of persons guilty of murder and other crimes in certain savage and disturbed countries, amongst which were specified New Zealand, Otaheite, and Honduras. Two others, in 1823 and 1828, gave the Australian courts jurisdiction over Whites in New Zealand. One White ruffian was actually arrested in New Zealand, taken back to Sydney, and executed. But this act of vigour did not come till the end of 1837. Then the crime punished was not one of the atrocities which for thirty years had made New Zealand a by-word. The criminal, Edward Doyle, paid the extreme penalty of the law for stealing in a dwelling in the Bay of Islands and "putting John Wright in bodily fear." Governor Bourke issued a special proclamation expressing hope that Doyle's punishment would be a warning to evil-doers in New Zealand. Governor Darling, as already mentioned, prohibited the inhuman traffic in preserved and tattooed heads by attaching thereto a penalty of £40, coupled with exposure of the trader's name. In England more than one influential believer in colonies had long been watching New Zealand. As early as 1825, a company was formed to purchase land and settle colonists in the North Island. This company's agent, Captain Herd, went so far as to buy land on the Hokianga Estuary, and conduct thither a party of settlers. One of the first experiences of the new-comers was, however, the sight of a native war-dance, the terrifying effects of which, added to more practical difficulties, caused most of them to fold their tents and depart to Australia. Thus for the first time did an English company lose £20,000 in a New Zealand venture. The statesmen of the period were against any such schemes. A deputation of the Friends of Colonization waited upon the Duke of Wellington to urge that New Zealand should be acquired and settled. The Duke, under the advice of the Church Missionary Society, flatly refused to think of such a thing. It was then that he made the historically noteworthy observation that, even supposing New Zealand were as valuable as the deputation made out, Great Britain had already colonies enough. When one reflects what the British Colonial Empire was then, and what it has since become, the remark is a memorable example of the absence of the imaginative quality in statesmen. But the Duke of Wellington was not by any means alone in a reluctance to annex New Zealand. In 1831 thirteen Maori chiefs, advised by missionaries, had petitioned for British protection, which had not been granted. The truth is, not only that the Empire seemed large enough to others besides the Duke, but that the missionaries stood in the way. As representing the most respectable and the only self-sacrificing element amongst those interested in the islands, they were listened to. It would have been strange had it been otherwise. Nevertheless, the growing trade and the increasing number of unauthorized white settlers made it necessary that something should be done. Consequently, in 1832, Lord Goderich sent to the Bay of Islands Mr. James Busby to reside there as British resident. He was paid a salary, and provided with £200 a year to distribute in presents to the native chiefs. He entered on his duties in 1833. He had no authority, and was not backed by any force. He was aptly nicknamed "a man-of-war without guns." He presented the local chiefs with a national flag. Stars and stripes appeared in the design which the chiefs selected, thanks, says tradition, to the sinister suggestion of a Yankee whaling-skipper. H.M.S. _Alligator_ signalised the hoisting of the ensign with a salute of twenty-one guns. After this impressive solemnity, Mr. Busby lived at the bay for six years. His career was a prolonged burlesque--a farce without laughter, played by a dull actor in serious earnest. Personally he went through as strange an experience as has often fallen to the lot of a British official. A man of genius might possibly have managed the inhabitants of his Alsatia. But governments have no right to expect genius in unsupported officials--even when they pay them £300 a year. Mr. Busby was a well-meaning, small-minded person, anxious to justify his appointment. His Alsatians did not like him, and complained that his manners were exclusive and his wit caustic. Probably this meant nothing more than that he declined to join in their drinking-bouts. His life, however, had its own excitements. A chief whom he had offended tried to shoot him. Crouching one night in the verandah of the resident's cottage, he fired at the shadow of Mr. Busby's head as it appeared on the window-blind. As he merely hit the shadow, not the substance, the would-be assassin was not punished, but the better disposed Maoris gave a piece of land as compensation--not to the injured Busby, but to his Government. It has been well said of Mr. Busby that "his office resembled a didactic dispatch; it sounded well, and it did nothing else." Nevertheless, New Zealand was in a state such that, from time to time, even the English Government had to do something, so urgent was the need for action. After despatching their man-of-war without guns, they next year sent a man-of-war with guns. Nor did the captain of the _Alligator_ confine himself to the harmless nonsense of saluting national flags. In 1834 the brig _Harriet_ was wrecked on the coast of Taranaki. Her master, Guard, an ex-convict, made his way to Sydney, asserting that the Maoris had flocked down after the wreck, and attacked and plundered the crew; had killed some, and held Guard's wife and children in captivity. As a matter of fact, it was the misconduct of his own men which had brought on the fighting, and even to his Sydney hearers it was obvious that his tale was not wholly true. But the main facts were correct. There had been a wreck and plunder; there were captives. The _Alligator_ was at once sent with soldiers to the scene of the disaster to effect the rescue of the prisoners by friendly and pacific means. Arrived on the scene, the captain sent his only two interpreters on shore to negotiate. They were Guard himself and a lying billiard-marker from Kororáreka. They promised the natives ransom--a keg of gunpowder--if the captives were released; an offer which was at once accepted. They did not tell the captain of their promise, and he, most unwisely, refused to give the natives anything. All the captives were at once given up except the woman and the children, who were withheld, but kindly treated, while the natives awaited the promised payment. A chief who came down to the shore to negotiate with a boat's crew was seized, dragged on board, and so savagely mishandled that the ship's surgeon found ten wounds upon him. Yet he lived, and to get him back his tribe gave up Mrs. Guard and a child. The other child was withheld by another chief. Again a strong armed party was landed and was peacefully met by the natives, who brought the child down, but still asked, naturally, for the stipulated ransom. The sailors and soldiers settled the matter by shooting down a chief, on whose shoulders the child was sitting, and firing right and left before the officers in charge could stop them. Next day these men made a football of the chief's head. Before departing the _Alligator_ bombarded _pas_, and her crew burnt villages and destroyed canoes and cultivations. If the man-of-war without guns was a figure of fun, the man-of-war with guns excited disgust by these doings even as far away as England. The whole proceeding was clumsy, cruel, and needless. A trifling ransom would have saved it all. The Maori tribal law under which wrecks were confiscated and castaways plundered was, of course, intolerable. Whites again and again suffered severely by it. But blundering and undisciplined violence and broken promises were not the arguments to employ against it. So long as England deliberately chose to leave the country in the hands of barbarians, barbaric customs had to be reckoned with. From this discreditable business it is a relief to turn to Mr. Busby's bloodless puerilities. In 1835 he drew up a federal constitution for the Maori tribes, and induced thirty-five of the northern chiefs to accept it. This comical scheme would have provided a congress, legislation, magistrates, and other machinery of civilization for a race of savages still plunged in bloodshed and cut asunder by innumerable feuds and tribal divisions. A severe snubbing from Mr. Busby's official superiors in Australia was the only consequence of this attempt to federate man-eaters under parliamentary institutions. The still-born constitution was Mr. Busby's proposed means of checkmating a rival. In the words of Governor Gipps, this "silly and unauthorized act was a paper pellet fired off" at the hero of an even more pretentious fiasco. An adventurer of French parentage, a certain Baron de Thierry, had proclaimed himself King of New Zealand, and through the agency of missionary Kendall bought, or imagined he bought--for thirty axes--40,000 acres of land from the natives. He landed at Hokianga with a retinue of ninety-three followers. The Maoris of the neighbourhood gravely pointed out to him a plot of three hundred acres, which was all they would acknowledge of his purchase. Unabashed, he established himself on a hill, and began the making of a carriage-road which was to cross the island. Quickly it was found that his pockets were empty. Laughed at by whites and natives alike, he at once subsided into harmless obscurity, diversified by occasional "proclamations," which a callous world allowed to drop unheeded. Yet this little burlesque was destined to have its share in hastening the appearance of England on the scene. Thierry had tried to enlist the sympathies of the French Government. So also had another Frenchman, Langlois, the captain of a whaling ship, who professed to have bought 300,000 acres of land from the natives of Banks Peninsula in the South Island. Partly owing to his exertions, a French company called "The Nanto-Bordelaise Company" was incorporated, the object of which was to found a French colony on the shores of the charming harbour of Akaroa, on the land said to have been purchased by Langlois. In this company Louis Philippe was a shareholder. In 1837, also, the Catholic missionary Pompallier was dispatched to New Zealand to labour among the Maoris. Such were the sea-routes of that day that it took him some twelve months voyaging amid every kind of hardship and discomfort to reach his journey's end. In New Zealand the fact that he showed Thierry some consideration, and that he and his Catholic workers in the mission-field were not always on the best of terms with their Protestant competitors, aroused well-founded suspicions that the French had their eye upon New Zealand. The English missionaries were now on the horns of a dilemma. They did not want a colony, but if there was to be annexation, the English flag would, of course, be far preferable. Moreover, a fresh influence had caused the plot to thicken, and was also making for annexation. This was the appearance on the scene of the "land-sharks"--shrewd adventurers, from Sydney and elsewhere, who had come to the conclusion that the colonization of New Zealand was near at hand, and were buying up preposterously large tracts of land on all sides. Most of the purchases were either altogether fictitious, or else were imperfect and made for absurdly low prices. Many of the deeds of sale may be dismissed with the brief note, "no consideration specified"! A hundred acres were bought for a farthing. Boundaries were inserted after signature. Some land was bought several times over. No less than eight purchasers claimed the whole or part of Kapiti Island. The whole South Island was the subject of one professed sale by half a dozen natives in Sydney. Certain purchased blocks were airily defined by latitude and longitude. On the other hand, the Maoris often played the game in quite the same spirit, selling land which they did not own, or had no power to dispose of, again and again. In some cases diamond cut diamond. In others both sides were playing a part, and neither cared for the land to pass. The land-shark wanted a claim with which to harass others; the Maori signed a worthless document on receipt of a few goods. By 1840 it was estimated that, outside the sweeping claim on the South Island, 26,000,000 acres, or more than a third of the area of New Zealand, was supposed to have been gobbled up piecemeal by the land-sharks. The claims arising out of these transactions were certain at the best to cause confusion, ill-feeling, and trouble, and indeed did so. Some legally-constituted authority was clearly wanted to deal with them. Otherwise armed strife between the warlike Maoris and adventurers claiming their lands was inevitable. Before Marsden's death in 1838 both he and his ablest lieutenant, Henry Williams, had come to see that the only hope for the country and the natives lay in annexation and the strong hand of England. [Illustration] Chapter IX THE DREAMS OF GIBBON WAKEFIELD Twin are the gates of sleep: through that of Horn, Swift shadows winged, the shapes of truth are borne. Fair wrought the Ivory gate gleams white anigh, But false the dreams dark gods despatch thereby. The founder of the Colony now comes on the scene. It was time he came. The Islands were neither to fall into the hands of the French nor remain the happy hunting-ground of promiscuous adventurers. But the fate which ordained that Edward Gibbon Wakefield should save them from these alternatives interposed in the way of the great colonizer a series of difficulties from which any mind less untiring and resourceful than his must have recoiled. The hour had come and the man. Yet few bystanders could have thought either the hour propitious or the man promising. The word colony was not in favour when William the Fourth came to the throne. It was associated with memories of defeat and humiliation in America, and with discontent and mutterings of rebellion in Canada. Australia was scarcely more than an expensive convict station. Against the West Indian planters the crusade of Wilberforce was in full progress, and the very name of "plantation" had an evil savour. South Africa promised little but the plentiful race troubles, which indeed came. The timid apathy of the Colonial Office was no more than the reflex of the dead indifference of the nation. None but a man of genius could have breathed life into it. Fortunately the genius appeared. Though the name of Gibbon Wakefield will probably be remembered as long as the history of Australia and New Zealand is read, the man himself was, during most of his active career, under a cloud. The abduction of an heiress--a mad freak for which he paid by imprisonment and disgrace--deprived him of the hope of ordinary public distinction. For many years he had to work masked--had to pour forth his views in anonymous tracts and letters, had to make pawns of dull men with respectable names. This and more he learned to do. He found information and ideas for personages who had neither, and became an adept at pulling strings and manipulating mediocrities. All things to all men, plausible to the old, magnetic to the young, persuasive among the intellectual, impressive to the weak-minded, Gibbon Wakefield was always more than the mere clever, selfish schemer which many thought him. Just as his fresh face and bluff British manner concealed the subtle mind ever spinning webs and weaving plans, so, behind and above all his plots and dodging, was the high dream and ideal to which he was faithful, and which redeemed his life. He saw, and made the commonplace people about him see, that colonization was a national work worthy of system, attention, and the best energies of England. The empty territories of the Empire were no longer to be treated only as gaols for convicts, fields for negro slavery, or even as asylums for the persecuted or refuges for the bankrupt and the social failures of the Mother Country. To Wakefield the word "colony" conveyed something more than a back yard into which slovenly Britain could throw human rubbish, careless of its fate so long as it might be out of sight. His advocacy revived "Ships, Colonies, Commerce!" as England's motto. But for colonies to be worthy, they must be, not fortuitous congregations of outcasts, but orderly bands of representative British citizens, going forth into the wilderness with some consciousness of a high mission. From the outset his colonies were to be civilized communities where men of culture and intellect need not find themselves companionless exiles. Capital and labour, education and religion, were all to work together as in the Mother Country, but amid easier, happier surroundings. For Wakefield conceived of his settlements not as soulless commercial outposts, but as free, self-governing communities. How was all this to be brought about? Whence was the money to come? Whence the organizing power? At that point came in Wakefield's conception of the sale of waste lands at a "sufficient price." He saw the immense latent value of the fertile deserts of the Empire. He grasped the full meaning of the truth that the arrival of a population with money and industry instantly gives good land a value. His discernment showed him the absurdity of giving colonial lands away in indefinite areas to the first chance grabbers, and the mistake of supposing that wage labour would not be required in young countries. His theory, therefore, was that colonizing associations should be formed in England--not primarily to make money; that these bodies should hold tracts of land in the colonies as capital; that the sale of these lands at a "sufficient price" to intending colonists, selected for character and fitness, should provide the funds for transporting the colony across the earth, for establishing it in working order on its land, and for recruiting it with free labour. The numerous _ex post facto_ assailants of Wakefield's theory usually assume that he wished to keep labour divorced from the soil and in a state of permanent political and industrial inferiority. That is sheer nonsense. There are few more odd examples of the irony of fate in colonial history than that the man who warred against the convict system, fought the battle of colonial self-government, was ever the enemy of the land-shark and monopolist, who denounced low wages, and whose dream it was that the thrifty, well-paid colonial labourer could and should develop into the prospering farmer, should be railed at in the Colonies as the enemy of the labourer. The faults of Wakefield's "sufficient price" theory were indeed grave enough. But compare them with the lasting mischief wrought in New Zealand by Grey's unguarded scheme of cheap land for everybody, and they weigh light in the balance. Later on I shall return to Wakefield's system and its defects. Here I have but to say that, as a temporary expedient for overcoming at that time the initial difficulties of a colony, it ought not to be hastily condemned. It has long ago been abandoned after working both good and evil, and in the same way the schemes of Church Settlement Wakefield made use of are now but interesting chapters of colonial history. But we must not forget that these things were but some of the dreams of Gibbon Wakefield. At the most he regarded them as means to an end. His great dream of lifting colonization out of disrepute, and of founding colonies which should be daughter-states worthy of their great mother, has been no false or fleeting vision. That dream, at any rate, came to him through the Gate of Horn and not through the Ivory Gate. By Wakefield it was that the Colonial Office was forced to annex New Zealand. In the face of the causes making for annexation sketched in the last chapter, the officials hung back to the last. In 1837 a body of persons appeared on the scene, and opened siege before Downing Street, whom even permanent officials could not ignore. They were composed of men of good standing, in some cases of rank and even personal distinction. They were not traders, but colonizers, and as such could not be ignored, for their objects were legitimate and their hands as clean as those of the missionaries. They first formed, in 1837, a body called "The New Zealand Association." At their head was Mr. Francis Baring. Their more prominent members included John Lambton Earl of Durham, Lord Petre, Mr. Charles Enderby, Mr. William Hutt, Mr. Campbell of Islay, Mr. Ferguson of Raith, Sir George Sinclair, and Sir William Molesworth. The Earl of Durham was an aristocratic Radical of irregular temper, who played a great part in another colonial theatre--Canada. Sir William Molesworth did much to aid the agitation which put an end to the transportation of convicts to Australia. For the rest, the Association thought the thoughts, spoke the words, and made the moves of Gibbon Wakefield. Yet though he pervaded it sleeplessly, its life was but an episode in his career. He fought against the convict system with Molesworth and Rentoul of the _Spectator_. He went to Canada as Lord Durham's secretary and adviser. He was actively concerned in the foundation of South Australia, where his system of high prices for land helped to bring about one of the maddest little land "booms" in colonial history. And as these things were not enough to occupy that daring, original, and indefatigable spirit, he threw himself into the colonization of New Zealand. He and his brother, Colonel Wakefield, became the brain and hand of the New Zealand colonizers. For years they battled against their persistent opponents the Church Missionary Society and the officials of the Colonial Office. The former, who hit very hard at them in controversy, managed Lord Glenelg, then Colonial Secretary; the latter turned Minister after Minister from friends of the colonizers into enemies. Thus Lord Melbourne and Lord Howick had to change face in a fashion well-nigh ludicrous. The Government offered the Association a charter provided it would become a joint-stock company. Baring and his friends refused this on the ground that they did not want any money-making element to come into their body. Moreover, in those days joint-stock companies were concerns with unlimited liability. The Association tried to get a bill of constitution through Parliament and failed. Mr. Gladstone spoke against it, and expressed the gloomiest apprehensions of the fate which the Maoris must expect if their country were settled. New Zealand, be it observed, was already a well-known name in Parliament. The age of committees of inquiry into its affairs began in 1836. Very interesting to us to-day is the evidence of the witnesses before the committee of that year; nor are the proceedings of those of 1838, 1840, and 1844, less interesting. In the third of the four Gibbon Wakefield, under examination, tells the story of the New Zealand Association. In 1839 it became the New Zealand Land Company. Baffled in Parliament, as already described, the colonizers changed their ground, decided to propitiate the powers, and become a joint-stock company. Having done so, and subscribed a capital of £100,000, they tried to enlist the sympathies of Lord Normanby, who had just succeeded Lord Glenelg at the Colonial Office. They found the new-made Secretary of State very affable indeed, and departed rejoicing. But, like many new-made ministers, Lord Normanby had spoken without reckoning with his permanent officials. A freezing official letter, following swiftly on the pleasant interview, dashed the hopes of the Company. They were getting desperate. Lord Palmerston had, in November, 1838, promised them to send a consul to New Zealand to supersede poor Mr. Busby, but the permanent officials thwarted him, and nothing was done for eight months. At last, in May, 1839, Gibbon Wakefield crossed the Rubicon. As the Government persisted in treating New Zealand as a foreign country, let the Company do the same, and establish settlements there as in a foreign land! Since repeated efforts to obtain the help and sanction of the English Government had failed, let them go on unauthorized. Secretly, therefore, the ship _Tory_, bearing Colonel Wakefield, as Agent for the Company, was despatched in May to Cook's Straits to buy tracts of land for the Company. He was given a free hand as to locality, though Port Nicholson was hinted at as the likeliest port. With him went Gibbon Wakefield's son, Jerningham Wakefield, whose book, _Adventures in New Zealand_, is the best account we New Zealanders have of the every-day incidents of the founding of our colony. Arriving in August among the whalers then settled in Queen Charlotte's Sound, Colonel Wakefield enlisted Dicky Barrett's services, and, passing on to Port Nicholson, entered into a series of negotiations with the Maori chiefs, which led to extensive land purchases. Ultimately Colonel Wakefield claimed that he had bought twenty millions of acres--nearly the whole of what are now the provincial districts of Wellington and Taranaki, and a large slice of Nelson. It is quite probable that he believed he had. It is certain that the Maoris, for their part, never had the least notion of selling the greater portion of this immense area. It is equally probable that such chiefs as Rauparaha and Rangihaeata, who were parties to the bargain, knew that Wakefield thought he was buying the country. Fifty-eight chiefs in all signed the deeds of sale. Even if they understood what they were doing, they had no right, under the Maori law and custom, thus to alienate the heritage of their tribes. Had Colonel Wakefield's alleged purchases been upheld the Company would have acquired nine-tenths of the lands of no less than ten well-known tribes. The price paid for this was goods valued at something less than £9,000. The list of articles handed over at the Wakefield purchases is remarkable enough to be worth quoting:-- 300 red blankets. 200 muskets. 16 single-barrelled guns. 8 double-barrelled guns. 2 tierces tobacco. 15 cwt. tobacco. 148 iron pots. 6 cases soap. 15 fowling pieces. 81 kegs gunpowder. 2 casks ball cartridges. 4 kegs lead slates. 200 cartouche boxes. 60 tomahawks. 2 cases pipes. 10 gross pipes. 72 spades. 100 steel axes. 20 axes. 46 adzes. 3,200 fish-hooks. 24 bullet moulds. 1,500 flints. 276 shirts. 92 jackets. 92 trousers. 60 red nightcaps. 300 yards cotton duck. 200 yards calico. 300 yards check. 200 yards print. 480 pocket-handkerchiefs. 72 writing slates. 600 pencils. 204 looking glasses. 276 pocket knives. 204 pairs scissors. 12 pairs shoes. 12 hats. 6 lbs. beads. 12 hair umbrellas. 100 yards ribbons. 144 Jews' harps. 36 razors. 180 dressing combs. 72 hoes. 2 suits superfine clothes. 36 shaving boxes. 12 shaving brushes. 12 sticks sealing wax. 11 quires cartridge paper. 12 flushing coats. 24 combs. The purchasing took three months. While it was going on Henry Williams and other missionaries urged the chiefs not to sell. But with the goods spread out before them--especially the muskets--the chiefs were not to be stopped. The Wakefields justified the transactions on the ground that population would rapidly make the ten per cent. of the country reserved for the natives more valuable than the whole. Gibbon Wakefield talked airily to the parliamentary committee next year of a value of 30s. an acre, which, on a reserve of two million acres, would mean three million sterling for the Maoris! Nothing can justify the magnitude of Colonel Wakefield's claims, or the payment of fire-arms for the land. But at the bottom of the mischief was the attempt of the missionaries and officials at home to act as though a handful of savages--not then more, I believe, than 65,000 in all, and rapidly dwindling in numbers--could be allowed to keep a fertile and healthy Archipelago larger than Great Britain. The haste, the secrecy, the sharp practice, of the New Zealand Company were forced on the Wakefields by the mulish obstinacy of careless or irrational people. Their land-purchasing might have taken place legally, leisurely, and under proper Government supervision, had missionaries been business-like, had Downing-Street officials known what colonizing meant, and had Lord Glenelg been fitted to be anything much more important than an irreproachable churchwarden. Meanwhile the Company had been advertising, writing, canvassing, and button-holing in England, had kept a newspaper on foot, and was able to point to powerful friends in Parliament and in London mercantile circles. By giving scrip supposed to represent plots and farms in its New Zealand territory, it secured numbers of settlers, many of whom were men of worth, education, and ability. The character of the settlers which it then and afterwards gave New Zealand may well be held to cover a multitude of the Company's sins. Towards the end of 1839 its preparations were complete, and, without even waiting to hear how Colonel Wakefield had fared, the first batch of its settlers were shipped to Port Nicholson. They landed there on January 22nd, 1840, and that is the date of the true foundation of the colony. But for some weeks after that New Zealand remained a foreign country. Not for longer, however. In June, 1839, the Colonial Office had at length given way. What between the active horde of land-sharks in New Zealand itself--what between the menace of French interference, and the pressure at home of the New Zealand Company, the official mind could hold out no longer. Captain Hobson, of the Royal Navy, was directed to go to the Bay of Islands, and was armed with a dormant commission authorizing him, after annexing all or part of New Zealand, to govern it in the name of Her Majesty. In Sydney a royal proclamation was issued under which New Zealand was included within the political boundary of the colony of New South Wales. Captain Hobson was to act as Lieutenant-Governor, with the Governor of New South Wales as his superior officer. On January 29th, 1840, therefore, he stepped on shore at Kororáreka, and was loyally received by the Alsatians. The history of New Zealand as a portion of the British Empire now begins. [Illustration] Chapter X IN THE CAUDINE FORKS I would rather be governed by Nero on the spot than by a Board of Angels in London.--_John Robert Godley_. Though Governor Hobson landed in January, the formal annexation of the Colony did not take place until May. He had first to take possession; and this could only be effectually done with the consent of the native tribes. The northern chiefs were therefore summoned, and came to meet the Queen's representative at Waitangi (Water of Weeping). Tents and a platform were erected, and the question of annexation argued at length. The French Bishop Pompallier appeared in full canonicals, and it was found that chiefs under his influence had been well coached to oppose the new departure. Behind the scenes, too, that worst of beachcombers, Jacky Marmon, secretly made all the mischief he could. On the other hand, Henry Williams, representing the Protestant missionaries, threw his weight into the scale on the Governor's side and acted as translator. While many of the chiefs were still doubtful, if not hostile, Waka Nene, the most influential of the Ngapuhi tribe, spoke strongly and eloquently for annexation. His speech gained the day, and a treaty was drawn up and signed. By the preamble, Queen Victoria invited the confederated and independent Chiefs of New Zealand to concur in Articles to the following effect:-- (1) The Chiefs of New Zealand ceded to Her Majesty, absolutely and without reservation, all their rights and powers of Sovereignty. (2) Her Majesty guaranteed to the Chiefs and Tribes of New Zealand, full, exclusive, and undisturbed possession of their Lands and Estates, Forests, Fisheries and other properties; but the Chiefs yielded to Her Majesty the exclusive right of Pre-emption over such lands as the proprietors thereof might be disposed to alienate, at such prices as might be agreed upon. (3) Her Majesty gave to the natives of New Zealand all the Rights and Privileges of British Subjects. Nearly fifty chiefs signed the treaty there and then, and within six months--so energetically did the missionaries and Government agents carry it throughout the tribes--it had been signed by five hundred and twelve. Only about one chief of first-class rank and importance refused to sign it. This was that fine barbarian, Te Heu Heu, whose home lay at the foot of the great volcanoes by Lake Taupo on the plateau in the centre of the North Island. Te Heu Heu was the last of the old heathen warriors. Singularly fair-skinned, and standing fully six feet high, he looked what he was, a patriarch and leader of his people. Scoffing at the White men and their religion, he defied Governor and missionaries alike until his dramatic end, which came in 1846, when he and his village were swallowed up in a huge landslide. At present, as he could neither be coerced nor persuaded, he was let alone. For the rest, it may fairly be claimed that the Maori race accepted the Treaty of Waitangi. They had very good reason to do so. To this day they regard it as the Magna Charta of their liberties. They were fully aware that under it the supreme authority passed to the Queen; but they were quite able to understand that their tribal lands were guaranteed to them. In other words, they were recognised as the owners in fee simple of the whole of New Zealand. As one of them afterwards expressed it, "The shadow passes to the Queen, the substance stays with us." At the same time Governor Hobson had announced to the white settlers by proclamation that the Government would not recognise the validity of any of their land titles not given under the Queen's authority. It is not easy to see how else he could have dealt with the land-sharks, of whom there had been an ugly rush from Sydney on the news of the coming annexation, and most of whom as promptly retreated on finding the proclamation to be a reality. But at the same time his treaty and his proclamation were bound to paralyse settlement, to exasperate the entire white population, and to plunge the infant colony into a sea of troubles. Outside the missionaries and the officials every one was uneasy and alarmed. All the settlers were either landowners, land claimants, or would-be land purchasers. Yet they found themselves at one and the same time left without titles to all that they thought they possessed, and debarred from the right of buying anything more except from the Crown. And as the Governor was without funds, and the Crown, therefore, could not buy from the natives, there was a deadlock. Space will not admit here of a full discussion of the vexed question of the land clause in the Treaty of Waitangi. As a rule civilized nations do not recognise the right of scattered handfuls of barbarians to the ownership of immense tracts of soil, only a fraction of which they cultivate or use. However, from the noblest and most philanthropic motives an exception to this rule was made in the case of New Zealand, and by treaty some sixty to seventy thousand Maoris were given a title guaranteed by England--the best title in the world--to some sixty-six million acres of valuable land. Putting aside the question of equity, it may be observed that, had not this been done, the Maoris, advised by the missionaries, would certainly have refused their assent to the Treaty. The millions sterling which have had to be spent in New Zealand, directly and indirectly, in acquiring Maori land for settlement, supply of course no argument whatever against the equity of the Treaty. When honour is in the scale, it outweighs money. Yet had Captain Hobson been able to conceive what was entailed in the piecemeal purchase of a country held under tribal ownership, it is difficult to think that he would have signed the Treaty without hesitation. He could not, of course, imagine that he was giving legal force to a system under which the buying of a block of land would involve years of bargaining even when a majority of its owners wished to sell; that the ascertainment of a title would mean tedious and costly examination by courts of experts of a labyrinth of strange and conflicting barbaric customs; that land might be paid for again and again, and yet be declared unsold; that an almost empty wilderness might be bought first from its handful of occupants, then from the conquerors who had laid it waste, and yet after all be reclaimed by returned slaves or fugitives who had quitted it years before, and who had been paid for the land on which they had been living during their absence. Governor Hobson could not foresee that cases would occur in which the whole purchase money of broad lands would be swallowed up in the costs of sale, or that a greedy tribe of expert middlemen would in days to come bleed Maori and settler alike. Yet it would have been but reasonable for the Colonial Office to exert itself to palliate the effects of the staggering blows it thus dealt the pioneer colonists of New Zealand. They were not all land-sharks; most of them were nothing of the sort. It was but natural that they felt with extreme bitterness that the Queen's Government only appeared on the scene as the friend and protector of the aborigines. For the Whites the Government had for years little but suspicion and restraint. It would have been only just and statesmanlike if the recognition of Maori ownership had been accompanied by a vigorous policy of native land purchase by the authorities. But it was not. Captain Hobson was only scantily supplied with money--he had £60,000 sent him in three years--and did not himself appear to recognise the paramount need for endowing the Colony with waste land for settlement. He is said to have held that there need be no hurry in the matter inasmuch as the steady decrease of the Maoris would of itself solve the problem. Nearly sixty years have passed since then, and the Maori race is by no means extinct. But Captain Hobson, though a conscientious and gallant man, was no more imbued with the colonizing spirit than might be expected of any honest English naval officer. Of such money as he had he wasted £15,000 at the outset in buying a site for a town in the Bay of Islands on a spot which he quickly had to abandon. Moreover, he was just what a man in his irksome and difficult position should not have been--an invalid. Within a few weeks after the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi he was stricken with paralysis. Instead of being relieved he was left to be worried slowly to death at his post. To have met the really great difficulties and the combination of petty annoyances which beset him, the new governor should have had the best of health and spirits. The complications around him grew daily more entangled. In the North the excellent settlers, who with their children were to make the province of Auckland what it is, were scarcely even beginning to arrive. The Whites of his day there were what tradesmen call a job lot. There were the old Alsatian; the new speculator; genuine colonists, _rari nantes_; a coterie of officials; and the missionaries, regarding all with distrust. The whole barely numbered two thousand. Confronting the Whites were the native tribes, who, if united and irritated, could have swept all before them. Hobson, a man accustomed to command rather than to manage, was instructed to control the Maoris by moral suasion. He was to respect their institutions and customs when these were consistent with humanity and decency, otherwise not. How in the last resort he was to stamp out inhuman and indecent customs was left unexplained, though he asked for an explanation. Certainly not by force; for it would have been flattery to apply such a term to the tiny handful of armed men at his back. Troops were not sent until the war of 1844. During the five years after that the defence of New Zealand probably cost the Imperial Government a round million, the result of the starving policy of the first five years. [Illustration: VIEW OF NELSON Photo by HENRY WRIGHT] Moreover, for the reasons already sketched, the English in New Zealand formed a house divided against itself. The differences in the north between Maoris' officials, Alsatians of the old school, and settlers of the new, were sufficient to supply the Governor with a daily dish of annoyance. But the main colony of New Zealand was not in the north round Governor Hobson, but in Cook's Straits. There was to be found the large and daily increasing antagonistic element being brought in by the New Zealand Company. With an energy quite unchecked by any knowledge of the real condition of New Zealand, the directors of the Company in London kept on sending out ship-load after ship-load of emigrants to the districts around Cook's Straits. The centre of their operations was Port Nicholson, but bodies of their settlers were planted at Wanganui, at the mouth of the fine river described in the first chapter; at New Plymouth, hard by the Sugar-Loaves, in devastated almost empty Taranaki; and at pleasant but circumscribed Nelson in the South Island. Soon these numbered five times as many Whites as could be mustered in the north. Upon them at the very outset came the thunderbolt of Governor Hobson's proclamation refusing recognition to their land purchases. Of this and of the land clause in the Treaty of Waitangi the natives were made fully aware by the missionaries. Rauparaha, before told of and still the most influential chief near Cook's Straits, was exactly the man to take advantage of the situation. He had taken the muskets and gunpowder of the Company, and was now only too pleased to refuse them the price they thought to receive. It was, as already said, impossible to justify all, or nearly all, of Colonel Wakefield's gigantic purchase. But it was certainly incumbent on the Government to find a _modus vivendi_ with the least possible delay. On the one hand they had thousands of decent, intelligent English colonists newly landed in a savage country, and not in any way responsible for the Company's haste and ignorance. The settlers at any rate had paid ample value for their land. They had given £1 for each acre of it. Angry as the English Government had been with the New Zealand Company for the defiant dispatch of its settlers, Lord John Russell had instructed Hobson's superior, Sir George Gibbs, that the emigrants should be regarded with kindness and consideration. On the other side were the native tribes, who, as the price of land went in those days, had certainly received the equivalent for a considerable territory. There was room for an equitable arrangement just as there was most pressing need for promptitude. Speed was the first thing needful, also the second, and the third. Instead of speed the settlers got a Royal Commission. A Commissioner was appointed, who did not arrive until two years after the Governor, and whose final award was not given for many months more. When he did give it, he cut down the Company's purchase of twenty million acres to two hundred and eighty-three thousand. As for land-claims of private persons, many of them became the subjects of litigation and petition, and some were not settled for twenty years. Why three or four Commissioners were not sent instead of one, and sent sooner, the official mind alone knows. Meantime, the weary months dragged on, and the unfortunate settlers of the Company were either not put in possession of their land at all, or had as little security for their farms as for their lives. They were not allowed to form volunteer corps, though living in face of ferocious and well-armed savages. Yet the Governor who forbade them to take means to defend themselves had not the troops with which to defend them. To show the state of the country it may be noted that the two tribes from whom Colonel Wakefield bought the land round Port Nicholson quarrelled amongst themselves over the sale. The Ngatiraukawa treacherously attacked the Ngatiawa, were soundly beaten, and lost seventy men. At first, it is true, settlers and natives got on excellently well together. The new-comers had money, and were good customers. But as time went on, and the settlers exhausted their funds and hopes, they ceased to be able to buy freely. And when they found the Maoris refusing to admit them to the farms for which they had paid £1 an acre in London, feeling grew more and more acute. The Company's settlement at Port Nicholson was perversely planted just on that place in the inner harbour which is exposed to the force of the ocean. It had to be shifted to a more sheltered spot, and this the natives denied they ever sold. That was but one of a series of disputes which led to murder and petty warfare, and were hardly at an end seven years later. The settlers, though shut out of the back country, did, however, hold the townland on which they had squatted, and which is now the site of Wellington, the capital of New Zealand. Cooped up in their narrow plots by the sea, Colonel Wakefield and his settlers established a provisional Government. Captain Hobson, hearing probably some very exaggerated account of this, sent down his Lieutenant, Mr. Willoughby Shortland, in a Government vessel, with sailors and marines, to put down this act of insubordination. Mr. Shortland, who suffered from the not uncommon failing of a desire to magnify his office made the process as ridiculous as possible. He began by stealthily sending a scout on shore at daybreak to haul down the Company's flag in Wellington and hoist the Union Jack instead. Then he landed amongst the settlers, who had gathered to welcome him, in the fashion of a royal commander sent to suppress a rebellion. The settlers consoled themselves by laughing at him. Apart from one circular visit occupying two months, Captain Hobson himself kept sedulously away from the southern settlements, and stayed in the north, then a longer journey away from Wellington than Australia is now. Under the rather high-sounding title of Chief Protector of the Aborigines, Mr. Clarke, a missionary, was appointed to be the Governor's adviser on native matters; yet Mr. Clarke, the settlers complained, was a larger land claimant than any of themselves. It is not to be wondered at if a feeling grew up among the New Zealand settlers directed against both officials and missionaries, which at times intensified to great bitterness, and which took many years to die down. Even now its faint relics may be observed in a vague feeling of dislike and contempt for the Colonial Office. The New Zealand Company, however, cannot be acquitted of blame in more respects than one. The foundation of the Wakefield theory rested on a secure supply of useful land. This not available, the bottom dropped out of the whole scheme. When in New Zealand the Company's estate was put into chancery, the Wakefield system could not, of course, work. Not only were the Company's purchases such as could not be sustained, not only did the directors hurry out thousands of settlers without proper knowledge or consideration, but they also committed a capital error in their choice of localities for settlements. Wellington, with its central position and magnificent harbour, is undeniably the key of New Zealand. It was in after years very properly made the seat of government, and is always likely to remain so. But it was an almost criminal error on the part of the Company to plump down its settlers in districts that were occupied and certain to be stubbornly held by warlike natives. Nearly the whole of the South Island had no human occupants. Shut off by the Kaikoura mountains from the more dangerous tribes, the east and south-east of that island lay open to the first comer. Moreover, the country there was not only fertile, but in large part treeless, and therefore singularly suited for rapid and profitable settlement. It is quite easy to see now that had the New Zealand Company begun its first operations there, a host of failures and troubles would have been avoided. The settlement of the North Island should not have been begun until after an understanding had been come to with the Imperial authorities and missionaries, and on a proper and legal system of land purchase. This and other things the Company might have found out if it had taken early steps to do so. The truth is that the first occupation of New Zealand was rushed, and, like everything else that is done in a hurry, it was in part done very badly. So little was known or thought of the South Island that sovereignty was not proclaimed over it until four months after the Governor's arrival in the north, and even then the royal flag was not hoisted there. The consequence was a narrow escape from an attempt by the French to plant a colony at Akaroa in Banks Peninsula. The French frigate _L'Aube_ put in at the Bay of Islands in July, 1840, bound for the south. Her captain, hospitably entertained by Hobson, let fall some incautious words about the object of his voyage. Hobson took the alarm, and promptly dispatched the _Britomart_ to hoist the English flag at Akaroa. Thanks to bad weather, the _Britomart_ only reached the threatened port a few days before the Frenchmen. Then it was found that an emigrant ship, with a number of French settlers, was coming with all the constituent parts of a small colony. The captain of _L'Aube_, finding himself forestalled, good-humouredly made the best of it. A number of the immigrants did indeed land. Some of them were afterwards taken away to the Marquesas Islands in the South Seas: others remained permanently settled at Akaroa. There around a bay, still called French Bay, they planted vineyards and built cottages in a fashion having some pathetic reminiscences of rural France. There they used to be visited from time to time by French men-of-war; but they gave no trouble to any one, and their children, by removal or intermarriage, became blended with the English population which in later days surrounded them. Captain Hobson had to choose a capital. After throwing away much good money at Russell in the Bay of Islands, he saw that he must come further south. A broader-minded man might have gone at once to Wellington, and planted himself boldly amongst the English settlers. But the prejudice of the officials and the advice of the missionaries combined with Hobson's own peculiar views of the Cook's Straits colonists, to keep him in the north. From his despatches it is clear that he regarded the immigrants in the south--one of the finest bodies of settlers that ever left England--as dangerous malcontents of anarchical tendencies. As he would not go to Wellington and take his natural position at the head of the main English colony and at the centre of New Zealand, he did the next best thing in going to Auckland. In pitching upon the Waitemata isthmus he made so good a choice that his name is likely to be remembered therefore as long as New Zealand lasts. By founding the city of Auckland he not only took up a strategic position which cut the Maori tribes almost in half, but selected a very fine natural trading centre. The narrow neck of land on which Auckland stands between the winding Waitemata on the east and the broader Manu-kau Harbour on the west, will, before many years, be overspread from side to side by a great mercantile city. The unerring eye of Captain Cook had, seventy years before, noted the Hauraki Gulf as an admirable position. Hobson's advisers, in choosing it as his seat of Government, are said to have been the missionary, Henry Williams, and Captain Symonds, a surveyor. As the capital of New Zealand it was the wrong place from the first. From every other standpoint the selection was a master-stroke. Twenty-four years later Auckland ceased to be the capital of the Colony; but though in this she had to yield to the superior claims of Wellington, she could afford to lose the privilege. First in size and beauty, she is to-day second to no other New Zealand city in prosperity and progress. In 1841, however, by way of making as bad a start as possible, little Auckland began with a land boom. Forty-four acres were sold at auction by the Government for £24,275. Small suburban lots a few months later fetched £45 an acre, and cultivation lots £8 an acre. For one or two picked city frontages as much as £7 10s. a foot was paid. The hanging up of the northern land claims, and the inability of the Government to buy native land while it refused to let private persons do so, joined, with a trade collapse in Australia, to make the condition of the Auckland settlers soon almost as unenviable as that of their fellow-colonists in the Company's settlements. Governor Hobson died at Auckland after ruling New Zealand for a little less than three years. His best monument is the city which he founded, and the most memorable verdict on his life is written in a letter addressed by a Maori chief to the Queen. "Let not," said this petition, "the new Governor be a boy or one puffed up. Let not a troubler come amongst us. Let him be a good man like this Governor who has just died." When these words were written, the judgment of the English in New Zealand would have been very different. But time has vindicated Hobson's honesty and courage, and in some important respects even his discernment. He anticipated the French, baffled the land-sharks, kept the peace, was generous to the Maori, and founded Auckland. No bad record this for the harassed, dying sailor, sent to stand between his own countrymen and savages at the very end of the earth, and left almost without men or money! If under him the colonists found their lot almost unbearable, the fault was chiefly that of his masters. Most of his impolicy came from Downing Street; most of his good deeds were his own. It must be remembered that he was sent to New Zealand, not to push on settlement, but to protect the natives and assert the Queen's authority. These duties he never forgot. Chapter XI THROUGH WEAKNESS INTO WAR "Awhile he makes some false way, undebarred By thwarting signs, and braves The freshening wind and blackening waves, And then the tempest strikes him; and between The lightning-bursts is seen Only a driving wreck, And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck." In 1842 it took eight months before an official, when writing from New Zealand to England, could hope to get an answer. The time was far distant when the results of a cricket match in the southern hemisphere could be proclaimed in the streets of London before noon on the day of play. It was not therefore surprising that Hobson's successor did not reach the Colony for more than a year after his death. Meantime the Government was carried on by Mr. Secretary Shortland, not the ablest of his officials. He soon very nearly blundered into war with the Maoris, some of whom had been killing and eating certain of another tribe--the last recorded instance of cannibalism in the country. The Acting-Governor was, however, held back by Bishop Selwyn, Chief Justice Martin, and Swainson the Attorney-General, a trio of whom more will be said hereafter. The two former walked on foot through the disturbed district, in peril but unharmed, to proffer their good advice. The Attorney-General advised that what the Acting-Governor contemplated was _ultra vires_, an opinion so palpably and daringly wrong that some have thought it a desperate device to save the country. He contended that as the culprits in the case were not among the chiefs who had signed the Treaty of Waitangi, they were not subject to the law or sovereignty of England. Though it is said that Dr. Phillimore held the same opinion, the Colonial Office put its foot upon it heavily and at once. Her Majesty's rule, said Lord Stanley, having once been proclaimed over all New Zealand, it did not lie with one of her officers to impugn the validity of her government. Mr. Shortland's day was a time of trial for the land claimants. After nearly two years' delay Mr. Spain, the Commissioner for the trial of the New Zealand Company's claims, had landed in Wellington in December, 1841, and had got to work in the following year. As the southern purchases alone gave him work enough for three men, Messrs. Richmond and Godfrey were appointed to hear the Auckland cases. By the middle of 1843 they had disposed of more than half of 1,037 claims. Very remorselessly did they cut them down. A well-known missionary who had taken over a block of 50,000 acres to prevent two tribes going to war about it, was allowed to keep 3,000 acres only. At Hokianga a purchaser who claimed to have bought 1,500 acres for £24 was awarded 96 acres. When we remember that among the demands of the greater land-sharks of the Colony had been three for more than a million acres each, three for more than half a million each, and three for more than a quarter of a million each, we can appreciate what the early Governors and their Commissioners had to face. The Old Land Claims, now and afterwards looked into, covered some eleven million acres. Of these a little less than one twenty-second part was held to have passed from the natives, and was divided between the Crown and the claimants. A number of the Church of England missionaries had to go through the ordeal with the rest. Some twenty-four of these, together with members of their families, had, between 1830 and 1843, bought about 216,000 acres of land from the natives. The Commissioners cut down this purchase to about 66,000 acres. Even then there was some litigation and much bitterness. Some of the very missionaries who had been most prominent in thwarting and denouncing the land purchases of the New Zealand Company were themselves purchasers of land. As may be imagined, the criticisms directed at them were savage, noisy, and often unjust and exaggerated. Years afterwards Governor Grey became involved in this miserable controversy, which only slowly died away when he passed ordinances that did much to settle doubtful and disputed claims. Not all the missionaries laid themselves open to these attacks. Neither Hadfield, Maunsell, nor the printer Colenso were amongst the land-buyers, and the same honourable self-denial was shown by all the Catholic missionaries, and by all the Wesleyans but two. Nor were the lay land-claimants always ravenous. Maning, the Pakeha Maori, had paid £222 for his 200 acres at Hokianga. At Tauranga £50 had been given for a building site fifty feet square, in a _pa_. At Rotorua the price given for half an acre had been £12 10s. Many of the most monstrous claims, it may be noted, were never brought into court. In the Cook's Straits settlements Mr. Spain strove to do equity. The very sensible plan was adopted of allowing the Company to make some of their incomplete purchases good by additional payments. But this, which might have brought about a tolerable adjustment in 1840, led to little but delays and recriminations in 1843. After three years of stagnation the Company was as exasperated and impecunious as the settlers. The positions of Colonel Wakefield in Wellington, and his brother and fellow-agent, Arthur Wakefield, in Nelson, were almost unbearable. It is hardly to be wondered at that the latter, in June, 1843, committed the very great mistake which led to the one misfortune from which the unhappy Colony had so far escaped--war. In the north-east corner of the South Island lies the grassy valley of the Wairau. Rich in alluvial soil, open and attractive to the eye, and near the sea, it wanted only greater extent to be one of the finest districts in the Islands. The Company claimed to have bought it from Rauparaha and Rangihaeata, whose ownership--for they did not live in it--was based on recent conquest, and on occupation by some members of their tribe. The chiefs denied the sale, and, when the Company's surveyors came into the valley, warned them off, and burned down the huts they had put up. Commissioner Spain was coming almost at once to try the dispute as to the title. But the delays and vexations of the previous years had infuriated Captain Wakefield. He looked upon the chiefs as a pair of "travelling bullies" who wanted but firmness to cow them. With hasty hardihood he obtained a warrant for the arrest of Rauparaha on a charge of arson, and set out to arrest him, accompanied by the Nelson police magistrate, at the head of a _posse_ of some fifty Nelson settlers very badly equipped. Rauparaha, surrounded by his armed followers, was found in a small clearing backed by a patch of bush, his front covered by a narrow but deep creek. The leaders of the arresting party crossed this, and called on the chief to give himself up. Of course he defied them. After an argument the police magistrate, an excitable man, made as though to arrest him. There was a scuffle; a gun went off, and in the conflict which followed the undisciplined settlers, fired upon by hidden natives, and divided by the stream, became panic-stricken, and retreated in confusion, despite Wakefield's appeals and entreaties to them to stand. As he could do nothing with them, Wakefield held up a white handkerchief, and with four gentlemen and four labourers gave himself up to Rauparaha. But Rangihaeata had a blood-feud with the English. A woman-servant of his--not his wife--had been accidentally shot in the fray. Moreover, some time before, another woman, a relative of his, had been murdered by a white, who, when tried in the Supreme Court, had been acquitted. Now was the hour for vengeance. Coming up wild with rage, Rangihaeata fell upon the unresisting prisoners and tomahawked them all. Captain Wakefield, thus untimely slain, was not only an able pioneer leader, but a brave man of high worth, of singularly fine and winning character, and one of whom those who knew him spoke with a kind of enthusiasm. Twenty-two settlers in all were killed that day and five wounded. The natives, superior in numbers, arms, and position, had lost only four killed and eight wounded. So easily was the first tussle between Maori and settler won by the natives. In the opinion of some the worst feature of the whole unhappy affair was that something very like cowardice had been shown on the losing side. Naturally the Wairau Massacre, as it was called, gave a shock to the young Colony. The Maoris triumphantly declared that the _mana_ (prestige) of the English was gone. A Wesleyan missionary and a party of whalers buried the dead. No attempt was ever made to revenge them. Commissioner Spain visited Rauparaha, at the request of the leading settlers of Wellington, to assure him that the matter should be left to the arbitrament of the Crown. The Crown, as represented by Mr. Shortland, was, perhaps, at the moment more concerned at the defenceless position of Auckland, in the event of a general rising, than at anything else. Moreover, the philo-Maori officials held that Rauparaha and Rangihaeata were aggrieved persons. A company of fifty-three Grenadiers was sent to Wellington and a man-of-war to Nelson. Strict orders were given to the disgusted settlers not to meet and drill. On the whole, in the helpless state of the Colony, inaction was wisest. At any rate Mr. Shortland's successor was on his way out, and there was reason in waiting for him. Now had come the result of Hobson's error in fixing the seat of government in Auckland, and in keeping the leading officials there. Had Wellington been the seat of government in 1843, the Wairau incident could hardly have occurred. Not the least of poor Mr. Shortland's troubles were financial. He inherited debts from his predecessor. Indeed, the New Zealand Treasury may be said to have been cradled in deficits. In 1841 Hobson's expenditure had been £81,000 against a revenue of £37,000, most of which was the product of land sales. In 1842 the revenue was £50,000, of which only £11,000 came from land sales; and in 1843 this source of income fell to £1,600. The southern settlers complained, truly enough, that whilst they found much of the money, nearly all of it was spent in Auckland. In 1844--if I may anticipate--Mr. Shortland's successor had the melancholy duty of warning the Colonial Office that to meet an inevitable outlay of £35,000 he could at the best hope for a revenue of £20,000. Mr. Shortland himself, in 1843, tried to replenish the treasury chest by borrowing £15,000 in Sydney. But New Zealand, which has lately borrowed many times that sum at about three per cent. interest, could not then raise the money at fifteen per cent. Mr. Shortland next drew bills on the English treasury, which were dishonoured, though the mother country afterwards relented so far as to lend the sum, adding it to the public debt of the Colony. Finally, the Governor, who on arrival superseded Mr. Shortland, made a beginning by publicly insulting that gentleman. With proper spirit the Secretary at once resigned, and was sent by Downing Street to govern a small island in the West Indies. If neither Captain Hobson nor Mr. Shortland found official life in New Zealand otherwise than thorny, their career was smooth and prosperous compared to that of the Governor who now appears on the scene. Admiral--then Captain--Robert Fitzroy will have a kind of immortality as the commander of the _Beagle_--Darwin's _Beagle_. His scientific work as a hydrographer at the Admiralty is still spoken of in high terms. He was unquestionably a well-meaning sailor. But his short career in New Zealand is an awful example of the evils which the Colonial Office can inflict on a distant part of the Empire by a bad appointment. It is true that, like his predecessors, Fitzroy was not fairly supported by the authorities at Home. They supplied him with neither men nor money, and on them therefore the chief responsibility of the Colony's troubles rest. But a study of his two years of rule fails to reveal any pitfall in his pathway into which he did not straightway stumble. Captain Fitzroy was one of those fretful and excitable beings whose manner sets plain men against them, and who, when they are not in error, seem so. Often wrong, occasionally right, he possessed in perfection the unhappy art of doing the right thing in the wrong way. Restless and irascible, passing from self-confidence to gloom, he would find relief for nerve tension in a peevishness which was the last quality one in his difficult position should have shown. An autocratic official amid little rough, dissatisfied communities of hard-headed pioneers was a king with no divinity to hedge him round. Without pomp, almost without privacy, everything he said or did became the property of local gossips. A ruler so placed must have natural dignity, and requires self-command above all things. That was just the quality Captain Fitzroy had not. It was said that the blood of a Stuart king ran in his veins; and, indeed, there seemed to be about the tall, thin, melancholy man something of the bad luck, as well as the hopeless wrong-headedness, of that unteachable House. For he landed at Auckland in November, 1843, to find an ample legacy of trouble awaiting him. The loyal and patriotic address with which the Aucklanders welcomed him was such as few viceroys have been condemned to receive at the outset of their term of office. It did not mince matters. It described the community as bankrupt, and ascribed its fate to the mistakes and errors of the Government. At New Plymouth a similar address declared that the settlers were menaced with irretrievable ruin. Kororáreka echoed the wail. Nor was the welcome of Wellington one whit more cheerful--a past of bungling, a present of stagnation, a future of danger: such was the picture it drew. It was not much exaggerated. On the coasts of New Zealand some twelve thousand colonists were divided into eight settlements, varying in population from 4,000 at Wellington to 200 at Akaroa. Not one of them was defensible in military eyes. There were no troops, no militia, no money. Neither at Wellington nor Nelson had more than one thousand acres of land been cleared and cultivated. Labourers were riotously clamouring for work or rations. Within fifty miles of Wellington was Rauparaha, who, had he appealed to his race, could probably have mustered a force strong enough to loot and burn the town. Some wondered why he did not; perhaps Hadfield's influence amongst his tribe supplied the answer. Governor Fitzroy began at his first _levee_ at Wellington by scolding the settlers, inveighing against the local newspaper, and grossly insulting Gibbon Wakefield's son when he was presented to him. At Nelson he rated the magistrates after such a fashion that they threw up their commissions. He then went to Rauparaha's _pa_ at Waikanae near Kapiti. A dozen whites were with the Governor; five hundred Maoris surrounded the chief. After lecturing the latter for the slaughter of the captives at Wairau, Fitzroy informed him that, as the slain men had been the aggressors, he was to be freely forgiven. Only one utterly ignorant of the Maori character could have fancied that this exaggerated clemency would be put down to anything but weakness. Even some missionaries thought that compensation should have been demanded for the death of the prisoners. As for the settlers, their disgust was deep. Putting together the haste, violence, and want of dignity of his proceedings, they declared the new Governor could not be master of his own actions. That Gibbon Wakefield's brother should have been savagely butchered and not avenged was bad enough; that his fellow-settlers should be rated for their share in the disaster seemed a thing not to be endured. The Maoris grew insolent, the settlers sullen, and for years afterward a kind of petty warfare lingered on in the Wellington district. Governor Fitzroy was no more successful in Taranaki. There the Company, after claiming the entire territory, had had their claim cut down by the Commissioners' award to 60,000 acres. But even this was now disputed, on the ground that it had been bought from a tribe--the Waikato--who had indeed conquered it, and carried away its owners as slaves, but had never taken possession of the soil by occupation. When Colonel Wakefield bought it, the land was virtually empty, and the few score of natives living at the Sugar-Loaves sold their interest to him readily enough. But when the enslaved Ngatiawa and Taranaki tribesmen were soon afterwards released through the influence of Christianity, they returned to the desolated land, and disputed the claim of the Company. Moreover, there were the Ngatiawas, who, led by Wiremu Kingi, had migrated to Cook's Straits in the days of devastation. They claimed not only their new possessions--much of which they sold to the Company--but their old tribal lands at Waitara, from which they had fled, but to which some of them now straggled back. On this nice point Captain Fitzroy had to adjudicate. He decided that the returned slaves and Ngatiawa fugitives were the true owners of the land. Instead of paying them fairly for the 60,000 acres--which they did not require--he handed the bulk of it back to them, penning the unhappy white settlers up in a miserable strip of 3,200 acres. The result was the temporary ruin of the Taranaki settlement, and the sowing of the seeds of an intense feeling of resentment and injustice which bore evil fruit in later days. Nor did Captain Fitzroy do any better with finance than in his land transactions. His very insufficient revenue was largely derived from Customs duties. Trade at the Bay of Islands had, by this time, greatly fallen away. Whalers and timber vessels no longer resorted there as in the good old Alsatian days. Both natives and settlers grumbled at the change, which they chose to attribute to the Government Customs duties. To conciliate them, the Governor abolished Customs duties at Kororáreka. Naturally a cry at once went up from other parts of the Colony for a similar concession. The unhappy Governor, endeavouring to please them all, like the donkey-owner in Æsop's Fables, abolished Customs duties everywhere. To replace them he devised an astounding combination of an income-tax and property-tax. Under this, not only would the rich plainly pay less in proportion than the poor, but a Government official drawing £600 a year, but owning no land, would pay just half the sum exacted from a settler who, having invested £1,000 in a farm, was struggling to make £200 a year thereby. The mere prospect of this crudity caused such a feeling in the Colony that he was obliged to levy the Customs duties once more. His next error was the abandonment of the Government monopoly of land purchase from the Maoris. As might be expected, the pressure upon all rulers in New Zealand to do this, and to allow private bargaining with the natives for land, has always been very strong, especially in the Auckland district. Repeated experience has, however, shown that the results are baneful to all concerned--demoralizing to the natives, and by no means always profitable to the white negotiators. When Fitzroy proclaimed that settlers might purchase land from the natives, he imposed a duty of ten shillings an acre upon each sale. Then, when this was bitterly complained of, he reduced the fee to one penny. Finally, he fell back on the desperate expedient of issuing paper money, a thing which he had no right to do. All these mistakes and others he managed to commit within two short years. Fortunately for the Colony, he, in some of them, flatly disregarded his instructions. The issue of paper money was one of the few blunders the full force of which Downing Street could apprehend. Hence his providential recall. Before this reached him he had drifted into the last and worst of his misfortunes, an unsuccessful war, the direct result of the defeat at the Wairau and the weakness shown thereafter. It was not that he and his missionary advisers did not try hard enough to avert any conflict with the Maoris. If conciliation pushed to the verge of submission could have kept the peace, it would have been kept. But conciliation, without firmness, will not impress barbarians. The Maoris were far too acute to be impressed by the well-meaning, vacillating Governor. They set to work, instead, to impress him. They invited him to a huge banquet near Auckland, and danced a war-dance before their guest with the deliberate intention of overawing him. Indeed, the spectacle of fifteen hundred warriors, stripped, smeared with red ochre, stamping, swaying, leaping, uttering deep guttural shouts, and brandishing their muskets, while their wild rhythmic songs rose up in perfect time, and their tattooed features worked convulsively, was calculated to affect even stronger nerves than the Governor's. It was among the discontented tribes in the Bay of Islands, where Alsatia was now deserted by its roaring crews of whalers and cheated of its hoped-for capital, that the outbreak came. In the winter of 1844, Honé Heké, son-in-law of the great Hongi, presuming on the weakness of the Government, swaggered into Kororáreka, plundered some of the houses, and cut down a flagstaff on the hill over the town on which the English flag was flying. Some White of the beach-comber species is said to have suggested the act to him by assuring him that the flag-staff represented the Queen's sovereignty--the evil influence which had drawn trade and money away to Auckland. Heké had no grievance whatever against the Government or colonists, but he and the younger braves of the Northern tribes had been heard to ask whether Rangihaeata was to do all the _Pakeha_-killing? At the moment Fitzroy had not two hundred soldiers in the country. He hurried up to the scene of disturbance. Luckily Heké's tribe--the Ngapuhi--were divided. Part, under Waka Nené, held with the English. Accepting Nené's advice Fitzroy allowed Heké to pay ten muskets in compensation for the flagstaff, and then foolishly gave back the fine as a present and departed. Nené and the friendly chiefs undertook to keep peace--but failed, for Heké again cut down the flagstaff. This, of course, brought war definitely on. The famous flagstaff was re-erected, guarded by a block-house, and a party of soldiers and sailors were sent to garrison Kororáreka. As H.M.S. _Hazard_ lay off the beach in the Bay and guns were mounted in three block-houses, the place was expected to hold out. Heké, however, notified that he would take it--and did so. He marched against it with eight hundred men. One party attacked the flagstaff, another the town. The twenty defenders of the flag-staff were divided by a stratagem by which part were lured out to repel a feigned attack. In their absence the stockade was rushed, and, for the third time, the flagstaff hewn down. During the attack the defenders of the town, however, under Captain Robertson of the _Hazard_, stood their ground and repulsed a first attack. Even when Robertson fell, his thigh-bone shattered by a bullet, Lieutenant Philpotts, taking command, had the women and children sent safely on board the ships, and all was going well when the outnumbered garrison were paralysed by the blowing up of their powder magazine. The townsmen began to escape, and a council of war decided to abandon the place. This was done. Lovell, a gunner, would not leave his piece until he had spiked it, and was killed, but not before doing so. Bishop Selwyn, landing from his mission ship in the Bay, had been doing the work of ten in carrying off women and children and succouring the wounded, aided therein by Henry Williams. To Selwyn, as he toiled begrimed with smoke and sweat, came running a boy, young Nelson Hector, whose father, a lawyer, was in charge of a gun in position on one of the hillsides outside the town. The boy had stolen away unnoticed, and crept through the Maoris to find out for his father how things stood. The bishop offered to take him on board with the women, but the youngster scouted the notion of leaving his father. "God bless you, my boy!" said the big-hearted Selwyn; "I have nothing to say against it"; and the lad, running off, got back safely. Out in the Bay the American corvette _St. Louis_ lay at anchor. Her men were keen to be allowed to "bear a hand" in the defence. Though this could not be, her captain sent boats through the fire while it was still hot to bring off the women and children, and gave them shelter on board. Anglo-Saxon brotherhood counted for something even in 1845. The scene became extraordinary. The victorious Maoris, streaming gleefully into the town, began to plunder in the best of good tempers. Some of the townspeople went about saving such of their goods as they could without molestation, indeed, with occasional help from the Maoris, who considered there was enough for all. Presently a house caught fire, the flames spread, and the glowing blaze, the volumes of smoke, and the roar of the burning under the red-lit sky, gave a touch of dignity to the end of wicked old Kororáreka. Loaded with booty, Heké's men went off inland in high spirits. Three vessels crowded with the ruined Alsatians sailed to Auckland, where for a while the astonished people expected nightly to be roused from their beds by the yells of Ngapuhi warriors. Our loss had been thirty-one killed and wounded, and it was small consolation to know that, thanks to the ship's guns, the Maoris' had been three times as great. The disaster was a greater blow to the English _Mana_ than even the Wairau Massacre. But the settlements showed spirit everywhere, and under the stress of the time the Governor forgot some of his prejudices. Even those much-suspected people, the Wellington settlers, were allowed to form themselves into a militia at last. Thanks to the divisions among the Ngapuhi, Heké did not follow up his victory. Troops were procured from Sydney, but they had no artillery. The natives relied on their _pas_ or stockades. These, skilfully constructed by means of double or triple rows of heavy palisades, masked by flax and divided by shallow ditches which did duty for rifle-pits, could not be carried without being breached by cannon. A fruitless attack upon one of them soon demonstrated this. The _pa_, called Okaihau, though strong in front, was weak in the rear. Four hundred soldiers, supported by as many Ngapuhi friendlies under Waka Nené, marched against it. Fruitlessly Nené advised the English Colonel to assail the place from behind. The Colonel, who had seen Nené yelling in a war-dance, and looked upon him as a degraded savage, approached the front, where Okaihau was really strong. As he had no guns he tried the effect of rockets, but though terrified by the strange fire, the defenders gained heart when they found that the rockets hit nothing. They even charged the English in the open with long-handled tomahawks, and only fell back before a bayonet charge in regular form. After skirmishing all day and losing fifty-four in killed and wounded with but negative results, the English retreated to Auckland to request artillery. Waka Nené carried on the fighting on his own account, and in a skirmish with him Heké was badly wounded. Guns were fetched from Australia, and Heké's men were brought to bay at their principal _pa_, Ohaeawai. Colonel Despard commanded the besiegers, who outnumbered the defenders by more than three to one. After bombarding the palisades for some days, the colonel, in defiance of the advice of his artillery officer--who declared there was no practicable breach--ordered an assault. Two hundred soldiers and sailors were told off for the duty, and at four o'clock on a pleasant, sunny afternoon they charged up a gentle, open slope to the simple-looking stockade. Only two or three got inside. In a quarter of an hour half the force were shot down, and the survivors only saved by the bugle-call which Despard ordered to be sounded. Forty, including a captain and two lieutenants, were killed on the spot or died of their wounds. Sixty-two others were wounded. Gallant Lieutenant Philpotts, the first through the stockade, lay dead, sword in hand, inside the _pa_. At the outset of the war he had been captured by the natives whilst scouting, and let go unharmed with advice to take more care in future. Through no fault of his own he had lost Kororáreka. Stung by this, or, as some say, by a taunt of Despard's, he led the way at Ohaeawai with utterly reckless courage, and, to the regret of the brave brown men his enemies, was shot at close quarters by a mere boy. The wounded could not be removed for two days. During the night the triumphant Maoris shouted and danced their war-dance. They tortured--with burning kauri gum--an unfortunate soldier whom they had captured alive, and whose screams could be plainly heard in the English camp. Despard, whose artillery ammunition had run short, remained watching the _pa_ for several days. But when he was in a position to renew his bombardment, the natives quietly abandoned the place by night, without loss. According to their notions of warfare, such a withdrawal was not a defeat. Such are the facts of one of the worst repulses sustained by our arms in New Zealand. It will scarcely be believed that after this humiliation Captain Fitzroy, on missionary advice, endeavoured to make peace--of course, without avail. Heké became a hero in the eyes of his race. The news of Ohaeawai reached England, and the Duke of Wellington's language about Colonel Despard is said to have been pointed. But already the Colonial Office had made up its mind for a change in New Zealand. Fitzroy was recalled, and Captain Grey, the Governor of South Australia, whose sense and determination had lifted that Colony out of the mire, was wisely selected to replace him. Chapter XII GOOD GOVERNOR GREY "No hasty fool of stubborn will, But prudent, wary, pliant still, Who, since his work was good, Would do it as he could." Captain Grey came in the nick of time. That he managed because he wasted no time about coming. The despatch, removing him from South Australia to New Zealand, reached Adelaide on the 15th of October, 1845, and by the 14th of November he was in Auckland. He arrived to find Kororáreka in ashes, Auckland anxious, the Company's settlers in the south harassed by the Maoris and embittered against the Government, the missionaries objects of tormenting suspicions, and the natives unbeaten and exultant. The Colonists had no money and no hope. Four hundred Crown grants were lying unissued in the Auckland Land Office because land-buyers could not pay the fee of £1 apiece due on them. But the Colonial Office, now that it at last gave unfortunate New Zealand a capable head, did not do things by halves. It supplied him with sufficient troops and a certain amount of money. The strong hand at the helm at once made itself felt. Within a month the circulating debentures were withdrawn, the pre-emptive right of the Crown over native lands resumed, the sale of fire-arms to natives prohibited, and negotiations with Heké and his fellow insurgent chief, Kawiti, sternly broken off. The Governor set to work to end the war. High in air, on the side of a thickly-timbered hill, lay Kawiti's new and strongest _pa_, Rua-peka-peka (the Bat's Nest). Curtained by a double palisade of beams eighteen feet high by two feet thick, strengthened by flanking redoubts, ditches, and traverses, honeycombed with rifle-pits and bomb-proof chambers below ground, "large enough to hold a whist-party," it was a model Maori fortification of the later style. [Illustration: SIR GEORGE GREY Photo by RUSSELL, Baker St., W.] Against it the Governor and Despard moved with 1,200 soldiers and sailors, a strong native contingent, and what for those days and that corner of the earth was a strong park of artillery. The first round shot fired carried away the _pa's_ flagstaff; but though palisades were splintered and sorties were repulsed, the stubborn garrison showed no sign of yielding, and the Bat's Nest, for all our strength, fell but by an accident. Our artillery fire, continued for several days, was--rather to the surprise of our Maori allies--not stopped on Sunday. The defenders, Christians also, wishing to hold divine service, withdrew to an outwork behind their main fort to be out of reach of the cannon balls. A few soldiers and friendly natives, headed by Waka Nené's brother, struck by the deserted aspect of the place, crept up and got inside before they were discovered. The insurgents, after a plucky effort to retake their own fortress, fled with loss. Our casualties were but forty-three. The blow thus given ended the war. Heké, weakened by his wound, sued for peace. Even tough little Kawiti wrote to the Governor that he was "full." Grey showed a wise leniency. Waka Nené was given a pension of £100 a year, and ostentatiously honoured and consulted. As time went on the Ngapuhi themselves re-erected the historic flagstaff in token of reconciliation. From that day to this there has been no rebellion amongst the tribes north of Auckland. Heké's relation and name-sake, Honé Heké, M.H.R., is now a member of the New Zealand House of Representatives, which he addresses in excellent English, and only in May of this year the good offices' of Mr. Honé Heké were foremost in quelling what threatened to be a troublesome riot among the Ngapuhi on the Hokianga. The petty warfare against Rangihaeata in the Cook's Straits district took longer to end. It was a series of isolated murders, trifling skirmishes, night surprises, marchings and counter-marchings. Their dreary insignificance was redeemed by the good-tempered pertinacity shown by our troops in enduring month after month of hardship and exposure in the rain-soaked bush and the deep mud of the sloughs, miscalled tracks, along which they had to crawl through the gloomy valleys. And there was one story of heroism. An out-post of the fifty-eighth regiment had been surprised at dawn. The bugler, a lad named Allen, was raising his bugle to sound the alarm, when a blow from a tomahawk half severed his arm. Snatching the bugle with the other hand, he managed to blow a warning note before a second tomahawk stroke stretched him dead. Grey adopted the Fabian plan of driving the insurgents back into the mountain forests and slowly starving them out there. In New Zealand, thanks to the scarcity of wild food plants and animals, even Maoris suffer cruel hardships if cut off long from their plantations. Rauparaha, now a very old man, was nominally not concerned in these troubles. He lived quietly in a sea-coast village by the Straits, enjoying the reputation earned by nearly fifty years of fighting, massacring and plotting. The Governor, however, satisfied himself that the old chief was secretly instigating the insurgents. By a cleverly managed surprise he captured Rauparaha in his village, whence he was carried kicking and biting on board a man-of-war. The move proved successful. The _mana_ of the Maori Ulysses was fatally injured in the eyes of his race by the humiliation. The chief, who had killed Arthur Wakefield and laughed under Fitzroy's nose, had met at length a craftier than himself. Detained at Auckland, or carried about in Grey's train, he was treated with a studied politeness which prevented him from being honoured as a martyr. His influence was at an end. Peace quickly came. It is true that at the end of the year 1846 there came a small outbreak which caused a tiny hamlet, now the town of Wanganui, to be attacked and plundered. But the natives, who retired into the bush, were quietly brought to submission by having their trade stopped, and in particular their supply of tobacco cut off. Fourteen years of quiet now followed the two years of disturbance. During the fighting from the Wairau conflict onwards, our loss had been one hundred and seven Whites killed and one hundred and seventy-two wounded. To this must be added several "murders" of settlers and the losses of our native allies. Small as the total was, it was larger than the casualties of the insurgents. For his success Governor Grey was made Sir George, and greatly pleased the natives by choosing Waka Nené and Te Whero Whero, our old Waikato acquaintance, to act as esquires at his investiture. But it was in the use he made of the restored tranquillity that he showed his true capacity. He employed the natives as labourers in making roads, useful both for war and peace. They found wages better than warfare. As navvies, they were paid half a crown a day, and were reported to do more work as spade-men than an equal number of soldiers would. At no time did the Maoris seem to make such material progress as during the twelve peaceful years beginning with 1848. With his brown subjects, Grey, after once beating them, trod the paths of pleasantness and peace. The chiefs recognised his imperturbable courage and self-control, and were charmed by his unfailing courtesy and winning manners. He found time to learn their language. The study of their character, their myths, customs, and art was not only to him a labour of love, but bore practical fruit in the knowledge it gave him of the race. So good were the volumes in which he put together and published the fruits of his Maori studies, that for nearly half a century students of Maori literature have been glad to follow in the way pointed out by this busy administrator. Few men have ever understood the Natives better. He could humour their childishness and respect their intelligence. When a powerful chief refused to allow one of the Governor's roads to be pushed through his tribe's land, Grey said nothing, but sent the chief's sister a present of a wheeled carriage. Before long the road was permitted. But on the all-important question of the validity of the land clause in the treaty of Waitangi, the Governor always gave the Maoris the fullest assurance. Striving always to keep liquor and fire-arms from them, he encouraged them to farm, helped to found schools for them, and interested himself in the all-important question of their physical health, on which he consulted and corresponded with Florence Nightingale. After a good deal of tedious litigation Grey was able to settle nearly all the outstanding land claims. By a misuse of one of Fitzroy's freakish ordinances land-grabbers had got hold of much of the land near Auckland. Grey was able to make many of them disgorge. His influence with the Maoris enabled him to buy considerable tracts of land. By him the Colonial Office was persuaded to have a reasonable force retained for the protection of the Colony. He put an end to the office of "Protector of the Aborigines," the source of much well-meant but unpractical advice. When Earl Grey sent out in 1846 a constitution prematurely conferring upon the Colonists the right of governing themselves--and also of governing the Maoris--Sir George had the moral courage and good sense to stand in the way of its adoption. For this, and for refusing to allow private purchase of native land, he was bitterly attacked; but he stood his ground, to the advantage of both races. Especially in the settlements of the New Zealand Company was the agitation for free institutions carried on with vigour and ability. It is scarcely needful now to scan in detail the various compromises and expedients by which Grey vainly endeavoured to satisfy the Colonists, first with nominated councils, then with local self-governing powers; or how, finally, he completely changed front, went further than Lord Grey, and drafted and sent home a constitution which, for that day, seemed the quintessence of Radicalism. Meanwhile he remained an autocrat. Even an autocrat has his advisers, and in some of them he was fortunate. Mr. William Swainson, his Attorney-General, was an English lawyer of striking abilities of more than one kind. Fortunately one of these lay in drafting statutes. On him devolved the drawing-up of the laws of the infant Colony. In doing so he ventured to be much simpler in language and much less of a slave to technical subtleties than was usual in his day. By an ordinance dealing with conveyancing he swept away a host of cumbrous English precedents relating to that great branch of law. Other excellent enactments dealt with legal procedure and marriage. Mr. Swainson's ordinances were not only good in themselves, but set an example in New Zealand which later law reformers were only too glad to follow and improve upon. Another official of ability and high character was Sir William Martin, Chief Justice, long known, not only as a refined gentleman and upright judge, but as an enthusiastic and unswerving champion of what he believed to be the rights of the Maori race. But a more commanding figure than either Martin or Swainson was George Augustus Selwyn, the first Bishop of the Colony. No better selection could have been made than that by which England sent this muscular Christian to organize and administer a Church of mingled savages and pioneers. Bishop Selwyn was both physically and mentally a ruler of men. When young, his tall, lithe frame, and long, clean-cut aquiline features were those of the finest type of English gentleman. When old, the lines on his face marked honourably the unresting toil of the intellectual athlete. Hard sometimes to others, he was always hardest to himself. When in the wilderness, he could outride or outwalk his guides, and could press on when hunger made his companions flag wearily. He would stride through rivers in his Bishop's dress, and laugh at such trifles as wet clothes, and would trudge through the bush with his blankets rolled up on his back like any swag-man. When at sea in his missionary schooner, he could haul on the ropes or take the helm--and did so.[1] If his demeanour and actions savoured at times somewhat of the dramatic, and if he had more of iron than honey in his manner, it must be remembered that his duty lay in wild places and amongst rough men, where strength of will and force of character were more needed than gentler virtues. For more than a generation he laboured strenuously amongst Maoris and Europeans, loved by many and respected by all. He organized the Episcopal Church in New Zealand upon a basis which showed a rare insight into the democratic character of the community with which he had to deal. The basis of his system is found in the representative synods of clergy and laity which assemble annually in each New Zealand diocese. The first draft of this Church constitution came indeed from the brain and hand of Sir George Grey, but for the rest the credit of it belongs to Selwyn. [Footnote 1: The lines with which Mr. Punch in December, 1867, saluted "Selwyn the pious and plucky," then just translated to Lichfield, had truth in them as well as fun:-- "Where lawn sleeves and silk apron had turned with a shiver, From the current that roared 'twixt his business and him, If no boat could be come at he breasted the river, And woe to his chaplain who craned at a swim! * * * * * "What to him were short commons, wet jacket, hard-lying The savage's blood-feud, the elements' strife, Whose guard was the Cross, at his peak proudly flying, Whose fare was the bread and the water of life?"] Among the many interesting figures on the stage of the New Zealand of the first generation three seem to me to rise head and shoulders above the crowd--Gibbon Wakefield, Grey, and Selwyn, the founder, the ruler, the pastor. Nor must it be supposed, because these towered above their fellow-actors, that the latter were puny men. Plenty of ability found its way to the Colony, and under the stress of its early troubles wits were sharpened and faculties brightened. There is nothing like the colonial grindstone for putting an edge on good steel. Grey, Selwyn, and Wakefield, as unlike morally as they were in manner, had this in common, that they were leaders of men, and that they had men to lead. That for thirty years the representatives of the English Government, from Busby to Browne, were, with the exception of Grey, commonplace persons or worse, must not blind us to the interest of the drama or to the capacity of many of the men whom these commonplace persons were sent to guide. Of the trio referred to, Grey is the greatest figure, and most attractive and complex study. Of such a man destiny might have made a great visionary, a capable general, an eloquent tribune, or a graceful writer. He had in him the stuff for any of these. But the south wing of the British Empire had to be built, and the gods made Grey a social architect in the guise of a pro-consul. Among the colonies of the southern hemisphere he is already a figure of history, and amongst them no man has played so many parts in so many theatres with so much success. Not merely was he the saviour and organizer of New Zealand, South Australia, and South Africa; not merely was he an explorer of the deserts of New Holland, and a successful campaigner in New Zealand bush-warfare, but he found time, by way of recreation, to be an ethnologist, a literary pioneer, and an ardent book-collector who twice was generous enough to found libraries with the books which had been the solace and happiness of his working life. A mere episode of this life was the fanning of the spark of Imperialism into flame in England thirty years ago. There are those who will think the eloquence with which he led the New Zealand democracy, the results he indirectly obtained for it, and the stand which at the extreme end of his career he made with success for a popular basis for the inevitable Australian Federation, among the least of his feats. To the writer they do not seem so. Before a life so strenuous, so dramatic, and so fruitful, criticism--at least colonial criticism--is inclined respectfully to lay down its pen. But when we come to the man himself, to the mistakes he made, and the misunderstandings he caused, and to the endeavour to give some sort of sketch of what he _was_, the task is neither easy nor always pleasant. I have known those who thought Grey a nobler Gracchus and a more practical Gordon; and I have known those who thought him a mean copy of Dryden's Achitophel. His island-retreat, where Froude described him as a kind of evangelical Cincinnatus, seemed to others merely the convenient lurking-place of a political rogue-elephant. The viceroy whose hated household the Adelaide tradesmen would not deal with in 1844, and the statesman whose visit to Adelaide in 1891 was a triumphal progress, the public servant whom the Duke of Buckingham insulted in 1868, and the empire-builder whom the Queen delighted to honour in 1894, were one and the same man. So were the Governor against whom New Zealanders inveighed as an arch-despot in 1848, and the popular leader denounced as arch-demagogue by some of the same New Zealanders thirty years afterwards. In a long life of bustle and change his strong but mixed character changed and moulded circumstances, and circumstances also changed and moulded him. The ignorant injustice of some of his Downing Street masters might well have warped his disposition even more than it did. The many honest and acute men who did not keep step with Grey, who were disappointed in him, or repelled by and embittered against him, were not always wrong. Some of his eulogists have been silly. But the student of his peculiar nature must be an odd analyst who does not in the end conclude that Grey was on the whole more akin to the Christian hero painted by Froude and Olive Schreiner than to the malevolent political chess-player of innumerable colonial leader-writers. Grey had the knightly virtues--courage, courtesy, and self-command. His early possession of official power in remote, difficult, thinly-peopled outposts gave him self-reliance as well as dignity. Naturally fond of devious ways and unexpected moves, he learned to keep his own counsel and to mask his intentions; he never even seemed frank. Though wilful and quarrelsome, he kept guard over his tongue, but, pen in hand, became an evasive, obstinate controversialist with a coldly-used power of exasperation. He learned to work apart, and practised it so long that he became unable to co-operate, on equal terms, with any fellow-labourer. He would lead, or would go alone. Moreover, so far as persons went, his antipathies were stronger than his affections, and led him to play with principles and allies. Those who considered themselves his natural friends were never astonished to find him operating against their flank to the delight of the common enemy. Fastidiously indifferent to money, he was greedy of credit; could be generous to inferiors, but not to rivals; could be grateful to God, but hardly to man. When he landed in New Zealand, he was a pleasant-looking, blue-eyed, energetic young officer, with a square jaw, a firm but mobile mouth, and a queer trick of half closing one eye when he looked at you. For all his activity he suffered from a spear-wound received from an Australian blackfellow. He was married to a young and handsome wife; and, though this was not his first Governorship, was but thirty-three. The colonists around him were quite shrewd enough to see that this was no ordinary official, and that beneath the silken surcoat of courtesy and the plate-armour of self-confidence lay concealed a curious and interesting man. The less narrow of them detected that something more was here than a strong administrator, and that they had among them an original man of action, with something of the aloofness and mystery that belong to "a mind for ever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone." None imagined that his connection with the Islands would not terminate for half a century, and that the good and evil of his work therein would be such as must be directly felt--to use his own pet phrase--by unborn millions in distant days. Chapter XIII THE PASTORAL PROVINCES "Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full Out of their choicest and their whitest wool." The Company's settlements were no longer confined to the shores of Cook's Straits. In 1846, Earl Grey, formerly Lord Howick, came to the Colonial Office, and set himself to compensate the Company for former official hostility. He secured for it a loan of £250,000, and handed over to it large blocks of land in the South Island, which--less certain reserves--was in process of complete purchase from its handful of Maori owners. The Company, gaining thus a new lease of life, went to work. In 1848 and 1850 that was done which ought to have been done a decade sooner, and the void spaces of Otago and Canterbury were made the sites of settlements of a quasi-religious kind. The Otago settlement was the outcome of the Scottish Disruption; its pioneers landed in March, 1848. They were a band of Free Kirk Presbyterians, appropriately headed by a Captain Cargill, a Peninsular veteran and a descendant of Donald Cargill, and by the Rev. Thomas Burns, a minister of sterling worth, who was a nephew of the poet. Otago has this year celebrated her jubilee, and the mayor of her chief city, Captain Cargill's son, is the first citizen of a town of nearly 50,000 inhabitants which in energy and beauty is worthy of its name--Dunedin. For years, however, the progress of the young settlement was slow. Purchasers of its land at the "sufficient price"--£2 an acre--were provokingly few, so few indeed that the regulation price had to be reduced. It had no Maori troubles worth speaking of, but the hills that beset its site, rugged and bush-covered, were troublesome to clear and settle, the winter climate is bleaker than that of northern or central New Zealand, and a good deal of Scottish endurance and toughness was needed before the colonists won their way through to the more fertile and open territory which lay waiting for them, both on their right hand and on their left, in the broad province of Otago. Like General Grant in his last campaign, they had to keep on "pegging away," and they did. They stood stoutly by their kirk, and gave it a valuable endowment of land. Their leaders felt keenly the difficulty of getting good school teaching for the children, a defect so well repaired later on that the primary schools of Otago are now, perhaps, the best in New Zealand, while Dunedin was the seat of the Colony's first university college. They had a gaol, the prisoners of which in early days were sometimes let out for a half-holiday, with the warning from the gaoler, Johnnie Barr, that if they did not come back by eight o'clock they would be locked out for the night.[1] The usual dress of the settlers was a blue shirt, moleskin or corduroy trousers, and a slouch hat. Their leader, Captain Cargill, wore always a blue "bonnet" with a crimson knob thereon. They named their harbour Port Chalmers, and a stream, hard by their city, the Water of Leith. The plodding, brave, clannish, and cantankerous little community soon ceased to be altogether Scotch. Indeed, the pioneers, called the Old Identities, seemed almost swamped by the flood of gold-seekers which poured in in the years after 1861. Nevertheless, Otago is still the headquarters of that large and very active element in the population of the Colony which makes the features and accent of North Britain more familiar to New Zealanders than to most Englishmen. [Footnote 1: An amusing article might be written on the more primitive gaols of the early settlements. At Wanganui there were no means of confining certain drunken bush-sawyers whose vagaries were a nuisance; so they were fined in timber--so many feet for each orgie--and building material for a prison thus obtained. When it was put up, however, the sawyers had departed, and the empty house of detention became of use as a storehouse for the gaoler's potatoes. In a violent gale in the Southern Alps one of these wooden "lock-ups" was lifted in air, carried bodily away and deposited in a neighbouring thicket. Its solitary prisoner disappeared in the whirlwind. Believers in his innocence imagined for him a celestial ascent somewhat like that of Elijah. What is certain is that he was never seen again in that locality. A more comfortable gaol was that made for himself by a high and very ingenious provincial official. Arrested for debt, he proclaimed his own house a district prison, and as visiting Justice committed himself to be detained therein.] The next little colony founded in New Zealand dates its birth from 1850. Though it was to be Otago's next-door neighbour, it was neither Presbyterian nor Scottish, but English and Episcopalian. This was the Canterbury settlement. It owed its existence to an association in which the late Lord Lyttelton was prominent. As in the case of Otago, this association worked in conjunction with the New Zealand Company, and proposed to administer its lands on the Wakefield system. Gibbon Wakefield himself (his brother, the Colonel, had died in 1847) laboured untiringly at its foundation, amid troubles which were all the more annoying in that the association was in financial difficulties from its birth.[1] Three pounds an acre was to be the price of land in the Canterbury Block, of which one pound was to go to the church and education, two pounds to be spent on the work of development. The settlers landed in December, 1850, from four vessels, the immigrants in which have ever since had in their new home the exclusive right to the name of Pilgrims. The dream of the founders of Canterbury was to transport to the Antipodes a complete section of English society, or, more exactly, of the English Church. It was to be a slice of England from top to bottom. At the top were to be an Earl and a Bishop; at the bottom the English labourer, better clothed, better fed, and contented. Their square, flat city they called Christchurch, and its rectangular streets by the names of the Anglican Bishoprics. One schismatic of a street called High was alone allowed to cut diagonally across the lines of its clerical neighbours. But the clear stream of the place, which then ran past flax, koromiko, and glittering toé-toé, and now winds under weeping-willows, the founders spared from any sacerdotal name; it is called Avon. When wooden cottages and "shedifices" began to dot the bare urban sections far apart, the Pilgrims called their town the City of Magnificent Distances, and cheerfully told you how new-comers from London rode through and out of Christchurch and thereafter innocently inquired whether the town still lay much ahead. The Canterbury dream seems a little pathetic as well as amusing now, but those who dreamed it were very much in earnest in 1850, and they laid the foundation stones of a fine settlement, though not precisely of the kind they contemplated. Their affairs for some years were managed by John Robert Godley, a name still well remembered at the War Office, where he afterwards became Under-Secretary. He had been the life and soul of the Canterbury Association, and as its agent went out to New Zealand, partly in search of health and partly with the honourable ambition to found a colony worthy of England. He made a strong administrator. Their Earl and their Bishop soon fled from the hard facts of pioneer life, but the Pilgrims as a rule were made of sterner stuff, and sticking to their task, they soon spread over the yellow, sunny plains, high-terraced mountain valleys, and wind-swept hillsides of their province. Their territory was better suited than Otago for the first stages of settlement, and for thirty years its progress was remarkable. [Footnote 1: It was when he was at this work that Dr. Garnett pictures him so vividly--"the sanguine, enthusiastic projector, fertile, inventive creator, his head an arsenal of expedients and every failure pregnant with a remedy, imperious or suasive as suits his turn; terrible in wrath or exuberant in affection; commanding, exhorting, entreating, as like an eminent personage of old he "With head, hands, wings or feet pursues his way, And swims, or wades, or sinks, or creeps, or flies."] On the surface there were certain differences between the Canterbury colonists and those of Otago, which local feeling intensified in a manner always paltry, though sometimes amusing. When the stiff-backed Free-Churchmen who were to colonize Otago gathered on board the emigrant ship which was to take them across the seas, they opened their psalm-books. Their minister, like Burns' cottar, "waled a portion wi' judicious care," and the Puritans, slowly chanting on, rolled out the appeal to the God of Bethel:-- "God of our fathers, be the God of their succeeding race!" Such men and women might not be amusing fellow-passengers on a four months' sea-voyage,--and, indeed, there is reason to believe that they were not,--but settlers made of such stuff were not likely to fail in the hard fight with Nature at the far end of the earth; and they did not fail. The Canterbury Pilgrims, on the other hand, bade farewell to old England by dancing at a ball. In their new home they did not renounce their love of dancing, though their ladies had sometimes to be driven in a bullock-dray to the door of the ballroom, and stories are told of young gentlemen, enthusiastic waltzers, riding on horseback to the happy scene clad in evening dress and with coat-tails carefully pinned up. But the Canterbury folk did not, on the whole, make worse settlers for not taking themselves quite so seriously as some of their neighbours. The English gentleman has a fund of cheery adaptiveness which often carries him through Colonial life abreast of graver competitors. So the settler who built a loaf of station-bread into the earthen wall of his house, alleging that it was the hardest and most durable material he could procure, did not, we may believe, find a sense of humour encumber him in the troubles of a settler's life. For there were troubles. The pastoral provinces were no Dresden-china Arcadia. Nature is very stubborn in the wilderness, even in the happier climes, where she offers, for the most part, merely a passive resistance. An occasional storm or flood was about her only outburst of active opposition in South-eastern New Zealand. Nevertheless, an educated European who finds himself standing in an interminable plain or on a windy hillside where nothing has been done, where he is about to begin that work of reclaiming the desert which has been going on in Europe for thousands of years, and of which the average civilized man is the calm, self-satisfied, unconscious inheritor, finds that he must shift his point of view! The nineteenth-century Briton face to face with the conditions of primitive man is a spectacle fine in the general, but often ludicrous or piteous in the particular. The loneliness, the coarseness, the everlasting insistence of the pettiest and most troublesome wants and difficulties, harden and brace many minds, but narrow most and torment some. Wild game, song-birds, fish, forest trees, were but some of the things of which there were few or none round nearly all the young pastoral settlements. Everything was to make. The climate might be healthy and the mountain outlines noble. But nothing but work, and successful work, could reconcile an educated and imaginative man to the monotony of a daily outlook over league after league of stony soil, thinly clothed by pallid, wiry tussocks bending under an eternal, uncompromising wind; where the only living creatures in sight might often be small lizards or a twittering grey bird miscalled a lark; or where the only sound, save the wind aforesaid, might be the ring of his horse's shoe against a stone, or the bleat of a dull-coated merino, scarcely distinguishable from the dull plain round it. To cure an unfit new-comer, dangerously enamoured of the romance of colonization, few experiences could surpass a week of sheep-driving, where life became a prolonged crawl at the heels of a slow, dusty, greasy-smelling "mob" straggling along at a maximum pace of two miles an hour. If patience and a good collie helped the tyro through that ordeal, such allies were quite too feeble to be of service in the supreme trial of bullock-driving, where a long whip and a vocabulary copious beyond the dreams of Englishmen were the only effective helpers known to man in the management of the clumsy dray and the eight heavy-yoked, lumbering beasts dragging it. Wonderful tales are told of cultivated men in the wilderness, Oxonians disguised as station-cooks, who quoted Virgil over their dish-washing or asked your opinion on a tough passage of Thucydides whilst baking a batch of bread. Most working settlers, as a matter of fact, did well enough if they kept up a running acquaintance with English literature; and station-cooks, as a race, were ever greater at grog than at Greek. Prior to about 1857 there was little or no intercourse between the various settlements. Steamers and telegraphs had not yet appeared. The answer to a letter sent from Cook's Straits to Auckland might come in seven weeks or might not. It would come in seventy hours now. Despatches were sometimes sent from Wellington to Auckland _viâ_ Sydney, to save time. In 1850 Sir William Fox and Mr. Justice Chapman took six days to sail across Cook's Straits from Nelson to Wellington, a voyage which now occupies eight hours. They were passengers in the Government brig, a by-word for unseaworthiness and discomfort. In this vessel the South Island members of the first New Zealand parliament spent nearly nine weeks in beating up the coast to the scene of their labours in Auckland. But the delight with which the coming of steamships in the fifties was hailed was not so much a rejoicing over more regular coastal communication, as joy because the English Mail would come sooner and oftener. How they did wait and watch for the letters and newspapers from Home, those exiles of the early days! Lucky did they count themselves if they had news ten times a year, and not more than four months old. One of the best of their stories is of a certain lover whose gallant grace was not unworthy a courtier of Queen Elizabeth. One evening this swain, after securing at the post-office his treasured mail budget, was escorting his lady-love home through the muddy, ill-lighted streets of little Christchurch. A light of some sort was needed at an especially miry crossing. The devoted squire did not spread out his cloak, as did Sir Walter Raleigh. He had no cloak to spread. But he deftly made a torch of his unread English letters, and, bending down, lighted the way across the mud. His sacrifice, it is believed, did not go wholly unrewarded. [Illustration: THE CURVING COAST Photo by HENRY WRIGHT] One first-rate boon New Zealand colonists had--good health. Out of four thousand people in Canterbury in 1854 but twenty-one were returned as sick or infirm. It almost seemed that but for drink and drowning there need be no deaths. In Taranaki, in the North Island, among three thousand people in 1858-59 there was not a funeral for sixteen months. Crime, too, was pleasantly rare in the settlements. When Governor Grey, in 1850, appointed Mr. Justice Stephen to administer law in Otago, that zealous judge had nothing to do for eighteen months, except to fine defaulting jurors who had been summoned to try cases which did not exist and who neglected to attend to try them. Naturally the settlers complained that he did not earn his £800 a year of salary. His office was abolished, and for seven years the southern colonists did very well without a judge. Great was the shock to the public mind when in March, 1855, a certain Mackenzie, a riever by inheritance doubtless, "lifted" a thousand sheep in a night from the run of a Mr. Rhodes near Timaru, in South Canterbury, and disappeared with them among the Southern Alps. When he was followed and captured, it was found that he had taken refuge in a bleak but useful upland plain, a discovery of his which bears his name to this day. He was set on horseback, with his hands tied, and driven to Christchurch, 150 miles, by captors armed with loaded pistols. That he was a fellow who needed such precautions was shown by three bold dashes for freedom, which he afterwards made when serving a five years' sentence. At the third of these attempts he was shot at and badly wounded. Ultimately, he was allowed to leave the country. A sheep-stealer might easily have fallen into temptation in Canterbury at that time. In three years the settlers owned 100,000 sheep; in four more half a million. Somewhat slower, the Otago progress was to 223,000 in ten years. Neither in Canterbury nor Otago were the plough and the spade found to be the instruments of speediest advance. They were soon eclipsed by the stockwhip, the shears, the sheep-dog, and the wire-fence. Long before the foundation of New Zealand, Macarthur had taught the Australians to acclimatize the merino sheep. Squatters and shepherds from New South Wales and Tasmania were quick to discover that the South Island of New Zealand was a well-nigh ideal land for pastoral enterprise, with a climate where the fleece of a well-bred merino sheep would yield 4 lbs. of wool as against 21/2 lbs. in New South Wales. Coming to Canterbury, Otago, and Nelson, they taught the new settlers to look to wool and meat, rather than to oats and wheat, for profit and progress. The Australian _coo-ee_, the Australian buck-jumping horse, the Australian stockwhip and wide-awake hat came into New Zealand pastoral life, together with much cunning in dodging land-laws, and a sovereign contempt for small areas. In a few years the whole of the east and centre of the island, except a few insignificant cultivated patches, was leased in great "runs" of from 10,000 to 100,000 acres to grazing tenants. The Australian term "squatter" was applied to and accepted good-humouredly by these. Socially and politically, however, they were the magnates of the colony; sometimes financially also, but not always. For the price of sheep and wool could go down by leaps and bounds, as well as up; the progeny of the ewes bought for 30s. each in 1862 might have to go at 5s. each in 1868, and greasy wool might fluctuate in value as much as 6d. a lb. Two or three bad years would deliver over the poor squatter as bond-slave to some bank, mortgage company or merchant, to whom he had been paying at least 10 per cent. interest, _plus_ 21/2 per cent. commission exacted twice a year, on advances. In the end, maybe, his mortgagee stepped in; he and his children saw their homestead, with its garden and clumps of planted eucalypts, willows, and poplars--an oasis in the grassy wilderness--no more. Sometimes a new squatter reigned in his stead, sometimes for years the mortgagee left the place in charge of a shepherd--a new and dreary form of absentee ownership. Meanwhile, in the earlier years the squatters were merry monarchs, reigning as supreme in the Provincial Councils as in the jockey clubs. They made very wise and excessively severe laws to safeguard their stock from infection, and other laws, by no means so wise, to safeguard their runs from selection, laws which undoubtedly hampered agricultural progress. The peasant cultivator, or "cockatoo" (another Australian word), followed slowly in the sheep farmer's wake. As late as 1857 there were not fifty thousand acres of land under tillage in the South Island. Even wheat at 10s. a bushel did not tempt much capital into agriculture, though such were the prices of cereals that in 1855 growers talked dismally of the low price of oats--4s. 6d. a bushel. Labour, too, preferred in many cases, and not unnaturally, to earn from 15s. to £1 a day at shearing or harvest-time to entering on the early struggles of the cockatoo. Nevertheless, many workers did save their money and go on the land, and many more would have done so but for that curse of the pioneer working-man--drink. The Colony's chief export now came to be wool. The wool-growers looked upon their industry as the backbone of the country. So, at any rate, for many years it was. But then the system of huge pastoral leases meant the exclusion of population from the soil. A dozen shepherds and labourers were enough for the largest run during most of the year. Only when the sheep had to be mustered and dipped or shorn were a band of wandering workmen called in. The work done, they tramped off to undertake the next station, or to drink their wages at the nearest public-house. The endowed churches, the great pastoral leases, high-priced land (in Canterbury), and the absence of Maori troubles, were the peculiar features of the southern settlements of New Zealand. These new communities, while adding greatly to the strength and value of the Colony as a whole, brought their own special difficulties to its rulers. With rare exceptions the settlers came from England and Scotland, not from Australia, and were therefore quite unused to despotic government. Having no Maori tribes in overwhelming force at their doors, they saw no reason why they should not at once be trusted with self-government. They therefore threw themselves heartily into the agitation for a free constitution, which by this time was in full swing in Wellington amongst the old settlers of the New Zealand Company. Moreover, in this, for the first time in the history of the Colony, the settlers were in accord with the Colonial Office. As early as 1846, Earl Grey had sent out the draft of a constitution the details of which need not detain us, inasmuch as it never came to the birth. Sir George Grey refused to proclaim it, and succeeded in postponing the coming-in of free institutions for six years For many reasons he was probably right, if only because the Maoris still much outnumbered the Whites; yet under Earl Grey's proposed constitution they would have been entirely governed by the white minority. Warlike and intelligent, and with a full share of self-esteem, they were not a race likely to put up with such an indignity. But Governor Grey's action, though justifiable, brought him into collision with the southern settlers. Godley, with questionable discretion, flung himself into the constitutional controversy. Grey was successful in inducing the Maoris to sell a fair amount of their surplus land. During the last years of his rule and the four or five years after he went, some millions of acres were bought in the North Island. This, following on the purchase of the whole of the South Island, had opened the way for real progress. The huge estate thus gained by the Crown brought to the front new phases of the eternal land problem. The question had to be faced as to what were to be the terms under which this land was to be sold and leased to the settlers. Up to 1852 the settlers everywhere, except in Auckland, had to deal, not with the Crown, but with the New Zealand Company. But in 1852 the Company was wound up, and its species of overlordship finally extinguished. By an English Act of Parliament its debt to the Imperial Government was forgiven. The Colony was ordered to pay it £263,000 in satisfaction of its land lien. This was commuted in the end for £200,000 cash, very grudgingly paid out of the first loan raised by a New Zealand parliament. Thereafter, the Company, with its high aims, its blunders, its grievances, and its achievements, vanishes from the story of New Zealand. In the Church settlements of the South the Wakefield system came into full operation under favourable conditions. Three pounds an acre were at the outset charged for land. One pound went to the churches and their schools. This system of endowment Grey set himself to stop, when the Company's fall gave him the opportunity, and he did so at the cost of embittering his relations with the Southerners, which already were none too pleasant. For the rest, Canterbury continued within its original special area to sell land at £2 an acre. When Canterbury was made a province this area was enlarged by the inclusion of a tract in which land had been sold cheaply, and in which certain large estates had consequently been formed. Otherwise land has never been cheap in Canterbury. The Wakefield system has been adhered to there, has been tried under favourable conditions, and on the whole, at any rate up to the year 1871, could not be called a failure. As long as the value of land to speculators was little or nothing above the "sufficient price," things did not go so badly. The process of free selection at a uniform price of £2 an acre had amongst other merits the great advantage of entire simplicity. A great deal of good settlement went on under it, and ample funds were provided for the construction of roads, bridges, and other public works. Meantime, Grey was called upon to devise some general system of land laws for the rest of the Colony. The result was the famous land regulations of 1853, a code destined to have lasting and mischievous effects upon the future of the country. Its main feature was the reduction of the price of land to ten shillings an acre. Had this been accompanied by stringent limitations as to the amount to be purchased by any one man, the result might have been good enough. But it was not; nor did those who ruled after Grey think fit to impose any such check until immense areas of the country had been bought by pastoral tenants and thus permanently locked up against close settlement. Grey's friends vehemently maintain that it was not he, but those who afterwards administered his regulations, who were responsible for this evil. They point out that it was not until after his departure that the great purchases began. Possibly enough Sir George never dreamt that his regulations would bring about the bad results they did. More than that one can hardly say. In drawing them up his strong antipathy to the New Zealand Company and its system of a high price for land doubtless obscured his judgment. His own defence on the point, as printed in his life by Rees, is virtually no defence at all. It is likely enough that had he retained the control of affairs after 1853 he would have imposed safeguards. He is not the only statesman whose laws have effects not calculated by their maker. Chapter XIV LEARNING TO WALK "Some therefore cried one thing and some another; for the Assembly was confused; and the more part knew not wherefore they were come together." The Constitution under which the colonists were granted the management of their own affairs was partly based on Grey's suggestions, though it was drafted in England by Mr. Adderley under Gibbon Wakefield's supervision. Its quality may be judged from its duration. It worked almost without alteration for twenty-two years, and in the main well. Thereafter it was much cut about and altered. Briefly described, it provided the Colony with a dual system of self-government under a Viceroy appointed by the Colonial Office, who was to be Commander-in-Chief of the Queen's forces in the Colony, and might reserve Bills for the consideration of Her Majesty--in effect for that of the Home Government. Under this proviso laws restricting immigration from other parts of the Empire or affecting mercantile marine have, it may be mentioned, been sometimes reserved and vetoed. Foreign affairs and currency were virtually excluded from the scope of the Colonial Government. The Viceroy might use his judgment in granting or withholding dissolutions of Parliament. Side by side with the central Parliament were to exist a number of provincial assemblies. The central Parliament was to have two Chambers, the Provincial Councils one. Over the Parliament was to be the Viceroy ruling through Ministers; over each Provincial Council, a superintendent elected, like the Councils, by the people of his province. Each superintendent was to have a small executive of officials, who were themselves to be councillors--a sort of small Cabinet. The central Parliament, called the General Assembly, was to have an Upper House called the Legislative Council, whose members were, Grey suggested, to be elected by the Provincial Councils. But in England, Sir John Pakington demurred to this, and decided that they should be nominated for life by the Crown. Their number was not fixed by law. Had Grey's proposal been carried out, New Zealand would have had a powerful Senate eclipsing altogether the Lower Chamber. The thirty-seven members of the Lower House were, of course, to be elected--on a franchise liberal though not universal. To be eligible, a member must be qualified to have his name on an electoral roll, and not have been convicted of any infamous offence, and would lose his seat by bankruptcy. Until 1880 the ordinary duration of Parliament was five years. The Provinces numbered six: Auckland, Taranaki, Nelson, Wellington, Canterbury, and Otago. Maoris had no special representation. They might register as landowners, and vote with the white electors, but as a matter of fact not many did so, and after a foolish and unfair delay of fifteen years they were given four members solely chosen by Maoris, and who must themselves be Maoris or half-castes. Two of their chiefs were at the same time called to the Legislative Council. In 1853, the year of the land regulations, the Governor was entrusted with the task of proclaiming the constitution. He took the rather curious course of bringing the Provincial Councils into existence, and leaving the summoning of the central Parliament to his successor. He left the Colony in December of the same year, praised and regretted by the Maoris, regarded by the settlers with mixed feelings. Nevertheless, it would not be easy now to find any one who would refuse a very high meed of praise to Governor Grey's first administration. It was not merely that he found the Colony on the brink of ruin, and left it in a state of prosperity and progress. Able subalterns, a rise in prices, the development of some new industry, might have brought about the improvement. Such causes have often made reputation for colonial rulers and statesmen. But in Grey's case no impartial student can fail to see that to a considerable extent the change for the better was due to him. Moreover, he not only grappled with the difficulties of his time, but with both foresight and power of imagination built for the future, and--with one marked exception--laid foundations deep and well. If the Colonial Office did not see its way to retain Grey in the Colony until his constitution had been put into full working order, it should, at least, have seen that he was replaced by a capable official. This was not done. His successor did not arrive for two years, and meanwhile the Vice-regal office devolved upon Colonel Wynyard, a good-natured soldier, unfitted for the position. The first Parliament of New Zealand was summoned, and met at Auckland on the Queen's birthday in 1854. Many, perhaps most, of its members were well-educated men of character and capacity. The presence of Gibbon Wakefield, now himself become a colonist, added to the interest of the scene. At last, those who had been agitating so long for self-government had the boon apparently within their grasp. In their eyes it was a great occasion--the true commencement of national life in the Colony. The irony of fate, or the perversity of man, turned it into a curious anticlimax. The Parliament, indeed, duly assembled. But it dispersed after weeks of ineffectual wrangling and intrigue, amid scenes which were discreditable and are still ridiculous. Those who had drawn up the constitution had forgotten that Government, through responsible Ministers forming a Cabinet and possessing the confidence of the elective Chamber, must be a necessary part of their system. Not only was no provision made for it in the written constitution, but the Colonial Office had sent the Governor no instructions on the subject. The Viceroy was surrounded by Patent Officers, some of whom had been administering since the first days of the Colony. No place of refuge had been prepared for them, and, naturally, they were not going to surrender their posts without a struggle. Colonel Wynyard was wax in the hands of the cleverest of these--Mr. Attorney-General Swainson. When the Parliament met, he asked three members to join with his old advisers in forming a Cabinet. They agreed to do so, and one of them, Mr. James Edward Fitzgerald, a Canterbury settler of brilliant abilities, figured as the Colony's first Premier. An Irish gentleman, an orator and a wit, he was about as fitted to cope with the peculiar and delicate imbroglio before him as Murat would have been to conceive and direct one of Napoleon's campaigns. In a few weeks he and his Parliamentary colleagues came to loggerheads with the old officials in the Cabinet, and threw up the game. Then came prorogation for a fortnight and another hybrid ministry, known to New Zealand history as the "Clean-Shirt Ministry," because its leader ingenuously informed Parliament that when asked by the Governor to form an administration, he had gone upstairs to put on a clean shirt before presenting himself at Government House. The Clean-Shirt Ministry lived for just two days. It was born and died amid open recrimination and secret wire-pulling, throughout which Mr. Attorney Swainson, who had got himself made Speaker of the Upper House while retaining his post as the Governor's legal adviser, and Mr. Gibbon Wakefield, who was ostensibly nothing but a private member of the Lower House, pulled the strings behind the scenes. Wakefield began by putting himself at the head of the agitation for responsible Ministers. When later, after negotiating with the Governor's _entourage_, he tried compromise, the majority of the House turned angrily upon him. At last a compromise was arrived at. Colonel Wynyard was to go on with his Patent Officers until a Bill could be passed and assented to in England establishing responsible government; then the old officials were to be pensioned off and shelved. At one stage in this singular session, the Governor sent a message to the House written on sheets of paper, one of the leaves of which the clerk found to be missing. Gibbon Wakefield thereupon coolly pulled the missing portion out of his pocket and proposed to hand it in--a piece of effrontery which the House could not stomach. On another occasion the door of the House had to be locked to prevent the minority running away to force on a count-out, and one honourable member assaulted another with his fists. Australia laughed at the scene, which, it may here be said, has never been repeated in the New Zealand Legislature. The greatest man in the Parliament was the greatest failure of the session. Gibbon Wakefield left Auckland unpopular and distrusted. Soon afterwards his health broke down, and the rest of his life was passed in strict retirement in the Colony which he had founded and in which he died. The Colonial Office snubbed Colonel Wynyard and Mr. Swainson, and informed them that responsible government could be initiated without an Act of Parliament. A year, however, passed before the General Assembly was summoned together, and then it merely did formal work, as the Acting-Governor had taken upon himself to ordain that there should be a dissolution previous to the establishment of responsible Ministers. This put everything off till the middle of 1856, by which time Colonel Wynyard had left the Colony. To his credit be it noted that he had kept out of native wars. Moreover, in his time, thanks to the brisk trade caused by the gold discoveries in Australia and the progress of sheep-farming in the South Island, the Colony was waxing prosperous. The second Parliament met in 1856, and still for a time there was confusion. First, Mr. Sewell formed a ministry which lived for thirteen days; then Sir William Fox another which existed for thirteen days more. After that, Sir Edward Stafford took the helm and made headway. A loan of £600,000 was the fair wind which filled his sails. Judgment in choosing colleagues and officials, very fair administrative abilities, attention to business, and an indisposition to push things to extremes in the House were some of the qualities which enabled him to retain office for four years, and to regain it more than once afterwards. Until 1873 he and his rival, Mr. Fox, were considered inevitable members of almost any combination. Native affairs were in the forefront during that period. Mr. Fox, the most impulsive, pugnacious, and controversial of politicians, usually headed the peace party; Sir Edward Stafford, much more easy going in ordinary politics, was usually identified with those who held that peace could only be secured by successful war. The other principal moving cause in public affairs between 1856 and 1876 was the Provincial system. That had had much to do with the confusion of the sessions of 1854 and 1856. Then and afterwards members were not so much New Zealanders, or Liberals, or Conservatives, as they were Aucklanders, or men of Otago, or some other Province. The hot vigorous local life which Provincial institutions intensified was in itself an admirable thing. But it engendered a mild edition of the feelings which set Greek States and Italian cities at each others' throats. From the first many colonists were convinced that Provincialism was unnatural and must go. But for twenty years the friends of the Provinces were usually ready to forego quarrelling with each other when the Centralists in Parliament threatened the Councils. There were able men in the Colony who devoted their energies by preference to Provincial politics. Such was Dr. Featherston, who was for eighteen years the trusted superintendent of Wellington, and who, paternally despotic there, watched and influenced Parliament, and was ever vigilant on the Provinces' behalf. In truth the Provinces had been charged with important functions. The management and sale of Crown lands, education, police, immigration, laws relating to live-stock and timber, harbours, the making of roads and bridges--almost the entire work of colonization--came within their scope. By a "compact" arrived at in the session of 1856 each Province was in effect given the entire control of its public lands--an immense advantage to those of the South Island, where these were neither forest-covered nor in Maori hands. On the other hand, it would have been grossly unfair to confiscate them for general purposes. The Wakefield system in Canterbury would have been unbearable had the £2 paid by the settlers for each acre been sent away to be spent elsewhere. The Wakefield price was a local tax, charged and submitted to to get a revenue to develop the lands for which it was paid. As it was, half a crown an acre was handed over by each Province to the Central Treasury as a contribution for national purposes. Loans were also raised by Parliament to buy native land for the North Island Provinces. On the other hand, the Provinces enjoyed their land revenue--when there was any--their pastoral rents, a dog tax, and such fag-ends of customs revenue as the central Government could spare them. Their condition was quite unequal. Canterbury, with plenty of high-priced land, could more than dispense with aid from the centre. Other Provinces, with little or no land revenue, were mortified by having to appear at Wellington as suppliants for special grants. When the Provinces borrowed money for the work of development, they had to pay higher rates of interest than the Colony would have had. Finally, the colonial treasurer had not only to finance for one large Colony, but for half a dozen smaller governments, and ultimately to guarantee their debts. No wonder that one of her premiers has said that New Zealand was a severe school of statesmanship. Yet for many years the ordinary dissensions of Liberal and Tory, of classes and the parties of change and conservatism, were hardly seen in the Parliament which sat at Auckland until 1864 and thereafter at Wellington. Throughout the settlements labour as a rule was in demand, often able to dictate its own terms, nomadic, and careless of politics. The land question was relegated to the Provincial councils, where round it contending classes and rival theories were grouped. It was in some of the councils, notably that of Otago, that the mutterings of Radicalism began first to be heard. The rapid change which bred a parliamentary Radical party after the fall of the Provinces in 1876 was the inevitable consequence of the transfer of the land problem to the central legislature and the destruction of those local safety-valves--the councils. Meanwhile, the ordinary lines of division were not found in the central legislature. According as this or that question came into the foreground, parties and groups in the House of Representatives shifted and changed like the cloud shown to Polonius. Politics made strange bedfellows; Cabinets were sometimes the oddest hybrids. One serviceably industrious lawyer, Mr. Henry Sewell, was something or other in nine different Ministries between 1854 and 1872. The premier of one year might be a subordinate minister the next; or some subtle and persistent nature, like that of Sir Frederick Whitaker, might manage chiefs whom he appeared to follow, and be the guiding mind of parties which he did not profess to direct. Lookers-on asked for more stable executives and more definite lines of cleavage. Newly arrived colonists impatiently summed it all up as mere battling of Ins against Outs, and lamented the sweet simplicity of political divisions as they had known them in the mother country. Chapter XV GOVERNOR BROWNE'S BAD BARGAIN "In defence of the colonists of New Zealand, of whom I am one, I say most distinctly and solemnly that I have never known a single act of wilful injustice or oppression committed by any one in authority against a New Zealander." --_Bishop Selwyn_ (1862). Colonel Gore Browne took the reins from Colonel Wynyard. The one was just such an honourable and personally estimable soldier as the other. But though he did not involve his Parliament in ridicule, Governor Browne did much more serious mischief. In ordinary matters he took the advice of the Stafford Ministry, but in Native affairs the Colonial Office had stipulated that the Governor was to have an over-riding power. He was to take the advice of his ministers, but not necessarily to follow it. To most politicians, as well as the public, the Native Department remained a secret service, though, except as to a sum of £7,000, the Governor, in administering Native affairs, was dependent for supplies on his ministers, and they on Parliament. On Governor Browne, therefore, rests the chief responsibility for a disastrous series of wars which broke out in 1860, and were not finally at an end for ten years. The impatience of certain colonists to buy lands from the Maori faster than the latter cared to sell them was the simple and not too creditable cause of the outbreak. A broad survey of the position shows that there need have been no hurry over land acquisition. Nor was there any great clamour for haste except in Taranaki, where rather less than 3,000 settlers, restricted to 63,000 acres, fretted at the sight of 1,750 Maoris holding and shutting up 2,000,000 acres against them. So high did feeling run there that Bishop Selwyn, as the friend of the Maori, was, in 1855, hooted in the streets of New Plymouth, where the local newspaper wrote nonsense about his "blighting influence." Yet, as he tersely put it in his charge to his angry laity of the district guilty of this unmannerly outburst, the Taranaki Maoris and others of their race had already sold 30,000 acres near New Plymouth for tenpence an acre, a million of acres at Napier for a penny three-farthings an acre, the whole of the territory round Auckland for about fourpence an acre, and the whole South Island below the Kaikouras for a mite an acre. They had also--the bishop might have added--leased large tracts ultimately turned into freeholds. Yet the impatience of the Taranaki settlers, though mischievous, was natural. The Maoris made no use of a hundredth part of their lands. Moreover, members of the Taranaki tribes who were anxious to sell plots to the Whites were threatened, attacked, and even assassinated by their fellow-tribesmen. Never bullied, and not much interfered with by the Government, the Maori tribes as a whole were prospering. They farmed, and drove a brisk trade with the settlements, especially Auckland, where, in 1858, no less than fifty-three coasting vessels were registered as belonging to Native owners. Still, the growing numbers of the colonists alarmed them. They saw their race becoming the weaker partner. Originating in Taranaki, a league was formed by a number of the tribes against further selling of land. To weld this league together, certain powerful Waikato chiefs determined to have a king. Of them the most celebrated was the son of Hongi's old antagonist, Te Waharoa. This leader, Wiremu Tamihana, usually known as William Thompson, was an educated Christian and a brown-skinned gentleman, far in advance of his race in breadth of view, logical understanding, and persistence. He honestly wanted to be at peace with us, but regarding contact with our race as deadly to his own, desired to organize the Maori as a community dwelling apart from the _Pakeha_ on ample and carefully secured territories. Had the Maori race numbered 500,000 instead of 50,000, and been capable of uniting under him for any purpose whatever, he might conceivably have established a counterpart to Basutoland. But the scanty dwindling tribes could not be welded together. New Zealand was, as she is, the land of jealousies, local and personal. It would seem as though every change of wind brought fresh rivalry and division. The Waikato chiefs themselves were at odds. After years of argument and speech-making they came to the point of choosing their king. But they compromised on the old chief, Te Whero Whero. The once famous warrior was now blind, broken, and enfeebled. When, in 1860, he died, they made the still greater mistake of choosing as successor his son Matutaera (Methuselah), better known as Tawhiao, a dull, heavy, sullen-looking fool, who afterwards became a sot. They disclaimed hostility to the Queen, but would sell no land, and would allow no Whites to settle among them except a few mechanics whose skill they wished to use. They even expelled from their villages white men who had married Maori wives, and who now had to leave their families behind. They would not allow the Queen's writ to run beyond their _aukati_ or frontier, or let boats and steamers come up their rivers. Amongst themselves the more violent talked of driving the _Pakeha_ into the sea. Space will not permit of any sketch of the discussions and negotiations by which attempts were made to deal with the King Movement. Various mistakes were made. Thompson, while still open to conciliation, visited Auckland to see the Governor and ask for a small loan to aid his tribe in erecting a flour-mill. Governor Grey would have granted both the interview and the money with good grace. Governor Browne refused both, and the Waikato chief departed deeply incensed. A much graver error was the virtual repeal of the ordinance forbidding the sale of arms to the natives. Because a certain amount of smuggling went on in spite of it, the insane course was adopted of greatly relaxing its provisions instead of spending money and vigilance in enforcing them. The result was a rapid increase of the guns and powder sold to the disaffected tribes, who are said to have spent £50,000 in buying them between 1857 and 1860. Between July, 1857, and April, 1858, at any rate, 7,849 lbs. of gunpowder, 311 double-barrelled guns, and 441 single-barrelled guns were openly sold to Maoris. Finally, in 1860, came the Waitara land purchase--the spark which set all ablaze. The name Waitara has been extended from a river both to a little seaport and to the surrounding district in Taranaki, the province where, as already said, feeling on the land difficulty had always been most acute. Enough land had been purchased, chiefly by Grey, to enable the settlement to expand into a strip of about twenty miles along the seashore, with an average depth of about seven miles. During a visit to the district, Governor Browne invited the Ngatiawa natives to sell land. A chief, Teira, and his friends at once offered to part with six hundred acres which they were occupying. The head of their tribe, however, Wiremu Kingi, vetoed the sale. The Native Department and the Governor sent down commissioners, who, after inquiry, decided erroneously that Teira's party had a right to sell, and the head chief none to interfere. A fair price was paid for the block, and surveyors sent to it. The Ngatiawa good-humouredly encountered these with a band of old women well selected for their ugliness, whose appalling endearments effectually obstructed the survey work. Then, as Kingi threatened war, an armed force was sent to occupy the plot. After two days' firing upon a stockade erected there, the soldiers advanced and found it empty. Kingi, thus attacked, astutely made the disputed piece over to the King tribes, and forthwith became their _protege_. Without openly making war, they sent him numbers of volunteer warriors. He became the protagonist of the Maori land league. The Taranaki tribe hard by New Plymouth and the Ngatiruanui further south joined him openly. Hostilities broke out in February, 1860. It should be mentioned that while all this was going on, the Premier, Mr. Stafford, was absent in England, and that his colleagues supported the Governor's action. Parliament did not assemble until war had broken out, and then a majority of members conceived themselves bound to stand by what had been done. Nevertheless, so great was the doubt about the wisdom and equity of the purchase that most of the North Island members even then condemned it. Most of the South Island members, who had much to lose and nothing to gain by war, thought otherwise. Very heavily has their island had to pay for the Waitara purchase. It was not a crime, unless every purchaser who takes land with a bad title which he believes to be good is a criminal. But, probably wrong technically, certainly needless and disastrous, it will always remain for New Zealand the classic example of a blunder worse than a crime. [Illustration] Chapter XVI _TUPARA_[1] AGAINST ENFIELD "The hills like giants at a hunting lay, Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay." [Footnote 1: _Tupara_ (two-barrel), the Maori name for the short double-barrelled guns which were their handiest weapons against us in bush warfare.] In 1860 the Taranaki settlement was growing to be what it now is--a very pleasant corner of the earth. Curving round the seashore under the lofty, lonely, symmetrical cone of Egmont, it is a green land of soft air and many streams. After long delays and much hope deferred, the colonists--mostly English of the south-west counties--had begun to prosper and to line the coast with their little homesteads standing among peach orchards, grassy fields, and sometimes a garden gay with the flowers of old Devon. Upon this quiet little realm the Maoris swept down, and the labour of twenty years went up in smoke. The open country was abandoned; the settlers took refuge in their town, New Plymouth. Some 600 of their women and children were shipped off to Nelson; about twice as many more who could not be induced to leave stayed huddled up in the little town, and the necessity of keeping a strong force in the place to defend them from a sudden dash by the Maoris hampered the conduct of the campaign. Martial law was proclaimed--destined not to be withdrawn for five years. After a time the town was protected by redoubts and a line of entrenchment. Crowded and ill-drained, it became as unhealthy as uncomfortable. Whereas for sixteen months before the war there had not been a funeral in the district, they were now seen almost daily. On the alarm of some fancied Maori attack, noisy panics would break out, and the shrieks of women and cries of children embarrassed husbands and brothers on whom they called for help, and whose duty as militiamen took them to their posts. The militia of settlers, numbering between four and five hundred, were soon but a minor portion of the defenders of the settlement. When fighting was seen to be inevitable, the Government sent for aid to Australia, and drew thence all the Imperial soldiers that could be spared. The Colony of Victoria, generous in the emergency, lent New Zealand the colonial sloop-of-war _Victoria_, and allowed the vessel not only to transport troops across the Tasman Sea, but to serve for many months off the Taranaki coast, asking payment for nothing except her steaming coal. By the end of the year there were some 3,000 Europeans in arms at the scene of operations, and they probably outnumbered several times over the fluctuating forces of the natives. The fighting was limited to the strip of sea-coast bounded by the Waitara on the north and the Tataramaika plain on the south, with the town of New Plymouth lying about midway between. The coast was open and surf-beaten, the land seamed by ravines or "gulleys," down which the rainfall of Egmont streamed to the shore. Near the sea the soil was--except in the settlers' clearings--covered with tough bracken from two to six feet high, and with other troublesome growths. Inland the great forest, mantling the volcano's flanks, and spreading its harassing network like a far-stretching spider's web, checked European movements. From the first the English officers in command in this awkward country made up their minds that their men could do nothing in the meshes of the bush, and they clung to the more open strip with a caution and a profound respect for Native prowess which epithets can hardly exaggerate, and which tended to intensify the self-esteem of the Maori, never the least self-confident of warriors. A war carried on in such a theatre and in such a temper was likely to drag. There was plenty of fighting, mostly desultory. The Maoris started out of the bush or the bracken to plunder, to cut off stragglers, or to fight, and disappeared again when luck was against them. Thirteen tiresome months saw much marching and counter-marching, frequent displays of courage--more courage than co-operation sometimes,--one or two defeats, and several rather barren successes. For the first eight months the advantage inclined to the insurgents. After that their overweening conceit of their Waikato contingent enabled our superior strength to assert itself. The Maoris, for all their courage and knowledge of the country, were neither clever guerillas nor good marksmen. Their tribal wars had always been affairs of sieges or hand-to-hand encounters. Half the skill displayed by them in intrenching, half the pluck they showed behind stockades, had they been devoted to harassing our soldiers on the march or to loose skirmishing by means of jungle ambuscades, might, if backed by reasonably straight shooting, have trebled our losses and difficulties. Early in the war we did none too well in an attack upon a hill _pa_ at Waireka, a few miles south of New Plymouth. Colonel Murray was sent out from the town with some 300 troops and militia to take it, and at the same time to bring in some families of settlers who had stuck to their farms, and who, if we may believe one of them, did not want to be interfered with. The militia were sent by one route, the troops took another. The Maoris watched the arrangements from the hills, let the militia cross two difficult ravines, and then occupied these, cutting off the Taranaki contingent. The militia officers, however, kept their men together, and passed the day exchanging shots with their enemy and waiting for Colonel Murray to make a diversion by assailing Waireka. This, however, Colonel Murray did not do. He sent Lieutenant Urquhart and thirty men to clear the ravines aforesaid, and give the militiamen a chance of retreat. But when the latter, still expecting him to attack the _pa_, did not retire, he rather coolly withdrew Urquhart's party and retraced his steps to the town, alleging that his orders had been not to go into the bush, and, in any case, to return by dusk. Great was the excitement amongst the wives, children, and friends of the settlers away in the fight when the soldiers returned without them, and when one terrified woman, who clutched at an officer's arm and asked their whereabouts, got for answer, "My good woman, I don't know"! Loud was the joy when by the light of the moon the militiamen were at length seen marching in. They had been rescued without knowing it by Captain Cracroft and a party of sixty bluejackets from H.M.S. _Niger_. These, meeting Colonel Murray in his retreat, and hearing of the plight of the colonial force, pushed on in gallant indignation, and in the dusk of the evening made that assault upon the _pa_ which the Colonel had somehow not made during the day. Climbing the hill, the sailors chanced upon a party of natives, whom they chased before them pell-mell. Reaching the stockade at the heels of the fugitives, the bluejackets gave each other "a back" and scrambled over the palisades, hot to win the £10 promised by the Captain to the first man to pull down the Maori flag. The defenders from their rifle-pits cut at their feet with tomahawks, wounding several nastily; but in a few minutes the scuffle was over, and the _Niger's_ people returned victorious to New Plymouth in high spirits. Moreover, their feat caused the main body of the natives to withdraw from the ravines, thus releasing the endangered militia. Among these, Captain Harry Atkinson--in after years the Colony's Premier and best debater--had played the man. Our loss had been small--that of the natives some fifty killed and wounded. Month followed month, and still the settlers were pent up and the province infested by the marauding Taranaki, Ngatiawa, and Ngatiruanui Maoris, and by sympathisers from Waikato, who, after planting their crops, had taken their guns and come over to New Plymouth to enjoy the sport of shooting _Pakeha_. The farms and homes of the devastated settlement lay a plundered wreck, and the owners complained bitterly of the dawdling and timidity of the Imperial officers, who on their side accused the settlers of unreason in refusing to remove their families, of insolence to Native allies and prisoners, of want of discipline, and of such selfish greed for compensation from Government that they would let their cattle be captured by natives rather than sell them to the commissariat. On the other hand, the natives were far from a happy family. The Waikato had not forgotten that they had been aforetime the conquerors of the Province, now the scene of war, that the Ngatiawa and Taranaki had been their slaves, and that Wiremu Kingi had fled to Cook's Straits to escape their raids. They swaggered among their old foes and servants, and ostentatiously disregarded their advice, much to our advantage. In June we were defeated at Puké-te-kauere on the Waitara. Three detachments were sent to surround and storm a _pa_ standing in the fork of a Y made by the junction of two swampy ravines. The plan broke down; the assailants went astray in the rough country and had to retreat; Lieutenant Brooks and thirty men were killed and thirty-four wounded. The Maori loss was little or nothing. In August General Pratt came on the scene from Australia. He proceeded to destroy the plantations and to attack the _pas_ of the insurgents. He certainly took many positions. Yet so long and laborious were his approaches by sapping, so abundant his precautions, that in no case did the natives stay to be caught in their defences. They evacuated them at the last moment, leaving the empty premises to us. Once, however, with an undue contempt for the British soldier, a contingent, newly arrived from the Waikato, occupied a dilapidated _pa_ at Mahoe-tahi on the road from New Plymouth to Waitara. Their chief, Tai Porutu, sent a laconic letter challenging the troops to come and fight. "Make haste; don't prolong it! Make haste!" ran the epistle. Promptly he was taken at his word. Two columns marched on Mahoe-tahi from New Plymouth and Waitara respectively. Though the old _pa_ was weak, the approaches to it were difficult, and had the Maoris waylaid the assailants on the road, they might have won. But at the favourable moment Tai Porutu was at breakfast and would not stir. He paid for his meal with his life. Caught between the 65th regiment and the militia, the Maoris were between two fires. Driven out of their _pa_, they tried to make a stand behind it in swamp and scrub. Half a dozen well-directed shells sent them scampering thence to be pursued for three miles. They lost over 100, amongst whom were several chiefs. Our killed and wounded were but 22. Here again Captain Atkinson distinguished himself. Not only did he handle his men well, but a prominent warrior fell by his hand. This was in November, 1860. For five months General Pratt, in the face of much grumbling, went slowly on sapping and building redoubts. He always reached his empty goal; but the spectacle of British forces worming their way underground and sheltering themselves behind earthworks against the fire of a few score or hundred invisible savages who had neither artillery nor long-range rifles was not calculated to impress the public imagination. On the 23rd January, 1861, our respectful prudence again tempted the Maoris to rashness. They tried a daybreak attack on one of the General's redoubts. But, though they had crept into the ditch without discovery, and, scrambling thence, swarmed over the parapet with such resolution that they even gripped the bayonets of the soldiers with their hands, they were attacked, in the flank and rear, by parties running up to the rescue from neighbouring redoubts, and fled headlong, leaving fifty killed and wounded behind. In March hostilities were stopped after a not too brilliant year, in which our casualties in fighting had been 228, beside certain settlers cut off by marauders. Thompson, the king-maker, coming down from the Waikato, negotiated a truce. There seemed yet a fair hope of peace. Governor Browne had indeed issued a bellicose manifesto proclaiming his intention of stamping out the King Movement. But before this could provoke a general war, Governor Browne was recalled and Sir George Grey sent back from the Cape to save the position. Moreover, the Stafford Ministry, which headed the war party amongst colonists, fell in 1862, and Sir William Fox, the friend of peace, became Premier. For eighteen months Grey and his Premier laboured for peace. They tried to conciliate the Kingite chiefs, who would not, for a long time, meet the Governor. They withdrew Governor Browne's manifesto. They offered the natives local self-government. At length the Governor even made up his mind to give back the Waitara land. But a curse seemed to cling to those unlucky acres. The proclamation of restitution was somehow delayed, and meanwhile Grey sent troops to resume possession of another Taranaki block, that of Tataramaika, which fairly belonged to the settlers, but on which Maoris were squatting. Under orders from the King natives, the Ngatiruanui retaliated by surprising and killing a party of soldiers, and the position in the province became at once hopeless. The war beginning again there in 1863 smouldered on for more than three long and wearisome years. But the main interest soon shifted from Taranaki. In the Waikato, relations with the King's tribes were drifting from bad to worse. Grey had been called in too late. His _mana_ was no longer the influence it had been ten years before. His diplomatic advances and offers of local government were met with sheer sulkiness. The semi-comic incident of Sir John Gorst's newspaper skirmish at Te Awamutu did no good. Gorst was stationed there as Commissioner by the Government, as an agent of peace and conciliation. In his charge was an industrial school. It was in the heart of the King Country. The King's advisers must needs have an organ--a broad-sheet called the _Hokioi_, a word which may be paraphrased by Phoenix. With unquestionable courage, Gorst, acting on Grey's orders, issued a sheet in opposition, entitled _Te Pihoihoi Mokémoké_, or The Lonely Lark. Fierce was the encounter of the rival birds. The Lark out-argued the Phoenix. But the truculent Kingites had their own way of dealing with _lèse majesté_. They descended on the printing-house, and carried off the press and type of _Te Pihoihoi Mokémoké_. The press they afterwards sent back to Auckland; of the type, it is said, they ultimately made bullets. Gorst, ordered to quit the King Country, refused to budge without instructions. The Maoris gave him three weeks to get them and depart, and very luckily for him Grey sent them. The Governor pushed on a military road from Auckland to the Waikato frontier--a doubtful piece of policy, as it irritated the natives, and the Waikato country, as experience afterwards showed, could be best invaded with the help of river steamers. The steamers were, however, not procured at that stage. About the same time as the Gorst incident in the Upper Waikato, the Government tried to build a police-station and barracks on a plot of land belonging to a friendly native lower down the river. The King natives, however, forbade the erection, and, when the work went on, a party of them paddled down, seized the materials and threw them into the stream. It was now clear that war was coming. The utmost anxiety prevailed in Auckland, which was only forty miles from the frontier and exposed to attack both from sea and land. Moreover, some hundreds of natives, living quite close to the town, had arms, and were ascertained to be in communication with the Waikatos. The Governor attempted to disarm them, but the plan was not well carried out, and most of them escaped with their weapons to the King Country. The choice of the Government then lay between attacking and being attacked. They learned, beyond a doubt, that the Waikatos were planning a march on Auckland, and in a letter written by Thompson about this time he not only stated this, but said that in the event of an assault the unarmed people would not be spared. By the middle of the year 1863, however, a strong force was concentrated on the border, just where the Waikato River, turning from its long northward course, abruptly bends westward towards the sea. No less than twelve Imperial Regiments were now in New Zealand, and their commander, General Sir Duncan Cameron, a Crimean veteran, gained a success of some note in Taranaki. He was a brave, methodical soldier, destitute of originality, nimbleness or knowledge of the country or of savage warfare. In July, the invasion of the Waikato was ordered. On the very day before our men advanced, the Maoris had begun what they meant to be their march to Auckland, and the two forces at once came into collision. In a sharp fight at Koheroa the natives were driven from their entrenchments with some loss, and any forward movement on their part was effectually stopped. But, thanks to what seemed to the colonists infuriating slowness, the advance up the Waikato was not begun until the latter part of October, and the conquest of the country not completed until February. To understand the cause of this impatience on the part of the onlookers, it should be mentioned that our forces were now, as usual in the Maori wars, altogether overwhelming. The highest estimate of the fighting men of the King tribes is two thousand. As against this, General Cameron had ultimately rather more than ten thousand Imperial troops in the Colony to draw upon. In addition to that, the colonial militia and volunteers were gradually recruited until they numbered nearly as many. About half of these were, at any rate after a short time, quite as effectual as the regulars for the peculiar guerilla war which was being waged. In armament there was no comparison between the two sides. The _Pakeha_ had Enfield rifles and a good supply of artillery. The Maoris were armed with old Tower muskets and shot-guns, and were badly off both for powder and bullets, while, as already said, they were not very good marksmen. Their artillery consisted of two or three old ship's guns, from which salutes might have been fired without extreme danger to their gunners. If the war in the Waikato, and its off-shoot the fighting in the Bay of Plenty, had been in thick forest and a mountainous country, the disparity of numbers and equipment might have been counterbalanced. But the Waikato country was flat or undulating, clothed in fern and with only patches of forest. A first-class high road--the river--ran right through it. The sturdy resistance of the natives was due first to their splendid courage and skilful use of rifle-pits and earthworks, and in the second place to our want of dash and tactical resource. Clever as the Maori engineers were, bravely as the brown warriors defended their entrenchments, their positions ought to have been nothing more than traps for them, seeing how overwhelming was the white force. The explanation of this lies in the Maori habit of taking up their positions without either provisions or water. A greatly superior enemy, therefore, had only to surround them. They then, in the course of two or three days at the outside, had either to surrender at discretion or try the desperate course of breaking through the hostile lines. [Illustration: War Map] General Cameron preferred the more slap-dash course of taking entrenchments by assault. A stubborn fight took place at Rangiriri, where the Maoris made a stand on a neck of land between the lake and the Waikato River. Assaulted on two sides, they were quickly driven from all their pits and earthworks except one large central redoubt. Three times our men were sent at this, and three times, despite a fine display of courage, they were flung back with loss. The bravest soldier cannot--without wings--surmount a bank which rises eighteen feet sheer from the bottom of a broad ditch. This was seen next day. The attack ceased at nightfall. During the dark hours the redoubt's defenders yelled defiance, but next morning they surrendered, and, marching out, a hundred and eighty-three laid down their arms. Our loss was one hundred and thirty-two killed and wounded; the Maori loss was fifty killed, wounded unknown. By January, General Cameron had passed beyond Ngaruawahia, the village which had been the Maori King's head-quarters, and which stood at the fine river-junction where the brown, sluggish Waipa loses its name and waters in the light-green volume of the swifter Waikato. Twice the English beat the enemy in the triangle between the rivers. A third encounter was signalised by the most heroic incident in the Colony's history. Some three hundred Maoris were shut up in entrenchments at a place called Orakau. Without food, except a few raw potatoes; without water; pounded at by our artillery, and under a hail of rifle bullets and hand grenades; unsuccessfully assaulted no less than five times--they held out for three days, though completely surrounded. General Cameron humanely sent a flag of truce inviting them to surrender honourably. To this they made the ever-famous reply, "Enough! We fight right on, for ever!" (Heoi ano! Ka whawhai tonu, aké, aké, aké.) Then the General offered to let the women come out, and the answer was, "The women will fight as well as we." At length, on the afternoon of the third day, the garrison assembling in a body charged at quick march right through the English lines, fairly jumping (according to one account) over the heads of the men of the Fortieth Regiment as they lay behind a bank. So unexpected and amazing was their charge, that they would have got away with but slight loss had they not, when outside the lines, been headed and confronted by a force of colonial rangers and cavalry. Half of them fell; the remainder, including the celebrated war-chief Rewi, got clear away. The earthworks and the victory remained with us, but the glory of the engagement lay with those whose message of "Aké, aké, aké," will never be forgotten in New Zealand. [Illustration: REWI, THE WAIKATO LEADER Photo by J. MARTIN, Auckland.] The country round the middle and lower Waikato was now in our hands, and the King natives were driven to the country about its upper waters. They were not followed. It was decided to attack the Tauranga tribe, which had been aiding them. Tauranga lies on the Bay of Plenty, about forty miles to the east of the Waikato. It was in the campaign which now took place there that there occurred the noted repulse at the Gate _Pa_. The Maoris, entrenched on a narrow neck of land between two swamps, were invested by our forces both in the front and rear We were, as usual, immensely the stronger in numbers. Our officers, non-commissioned officers and drummers by themselves almost equalled the garrison. After a heavy though not always very accurate bombardment, General Cameron decided to storm the works. The attacking parties of soldiers and sailors charged well enough and entered the front of the defences, and the Maoris, hopeless and endeavouring to escape, found themselves shut in by the troops in their rear. Turning, however, with the courage of despair, they flung themselves on the assailants of their front. These, seized with an extraordinary panic, ran in confusion, breaking from their officers and sweeping away their supports. The assault was completely repulsed, and was not renewed. In the night the defenders escaped through the swamps, leaving us the empty _pa_. Their loss was slight. Ours was one hundred and eleven, and amongst the killed were ten good officers. As a defeat it was worse than Ohaeawai, for that had been solely due to a commander's error of judgment. The blow stung the English officers and men deeply, and they speedily avenged it. Hearing that the Tauranga warriors were entrenching themselves at Te Rangi, Colonel Greer promptly marched thither, caught them before they had completed their works, and charging into the rifle-pits with the bayonet, completely routed the Maoris. The temper of the attacking force may be judged from the fact that out of the Maori loss of one hundred and forty-five no less than one hundred and twenty-three were killed or died of wounds. The blow was decisive, and the Tauranga tribe at once submitted. [Illustration] Chapter XVII THE FIRE IN THE FERN "But War, of its majestic mask laid bare, The face of naked Murder seemed to wear." From the middle of 1864, to January, 1865, there was so little fighting that it might have been thought that the war was nearing its end. The Waikato had been cleared, and the Tauranga tribes crushed. Thompson, hopeless of further struggling ceased to resist the irresistible, made his peace with us and during the short remainder of his life was treated as became an honourable foe. Nevertheless, nearly two years of harassing guerilla warfare were in store for the Colony. Then there was to be another imperfect period of peace, or rather exhaustion, between the October, 1866, and June, 1868, when hostilities were once more to blaze up and only to die out finally in 1870. This persistency was due to several causes, of which the first was the outbreak, early in 1864, of a curious superstition, the cult of the Hau-Haus. Their doctrine would be hard to describe. It was a wilder, more debased, and more barbaric parody of Christianity than the Mormonism of Joe Smith. It was an angry reaction, a kind of savage expression of a desire to revolt alike from the Christianity and civilization of the _Pakeha_ and to found a national religion. For years it drove its votaries into purposeless outbreaks, and acts of pitiless and ferocious cruelty. By the Hau-Haus two white missionaries were murdered--outrages unknown before in New Zealand. Their murderous deeds and the reprisals these brought about gave a darker tinge to the war henceforth. Their frantic faith led to absurdities as well as horrors. They would work themselves up into frenzy by dances and incantations, and in particular by barking like dogs--hence their name. At first, they seem to have believed that the cry _Hau! Hau!_ accompanied by raising one hand above the head with palm turned to the front, would turn aside the _Pakeha's_ bullets. It was in April, 1864, that they first appeared in the field. A Captain Lloyd, out with a reconnoitring party in Taranaki, fell, rather carelessly, into an ambuscade, where he and six of his people were killed and a dozen wounded. When Captain Atkinson and his rangers came up at speed to the rescue, they found that the heads of the slain had been cut off and carried away. Lloyd's, it appears, was carried about the island by Hau-Hau preachers, who professed to find in it a kind of diabolical oracle, and used it with much effect in disseminating their teaching. One of these prophets, or preachers, however, had a short career. Three weeks after Lloyd's death, this man, having persuaded himself and his dupes that they were invulnerable, led them against a strong and well-garrisoned redoubt at Sentry Hill, between New Plymouth and Waitara. Early one fine morning, in solid column, they marched deliberately to within 150 yards of the fort, and before straight shooting undeceived them about the value of their charms and passes, thirty-four of the poor fanatics were lying beside their prophet in front of the redoubt. A number more were carried off hurt or dying, and thenceforward the Taranaki natives were reduced to the defensive. In the summer of the same year another prophet met his death in the most dramatic fight of the war, that by which the friendly natives of the Wanganui district saved it from a Hau-Hau raid by a conflict fought on an island in the Wanganui River, after a fashion which would have warmed the heart of Sir Walter Scott had he been alive to hear of a combat so worthy of the clansmen in "The Fair Maid of Perth." It came about a month after the repulse at the Gate _Pa_. For months the friendlies had been guarding the passage of the river against a strong Hau-Hau force. At last, tired of waiting, they challenged the enemy to a fair fight on the island of Moutua. It was agreed that neither side should attempt to take advantage of the other by surprise or ambuscade. They landed at opposite ends of the islet. First came the friendlies, 100 strong; 50 formed their first line under three brave chiefs; 50 stood in reserve under Haimona (Simon) Hiroti; 150 friends watched them from one of the river banks. Presently the Hau-Haus sprang from their canoes on to the river-girt arena, headed by their warrior-prophet Matené (Martin). After much preliminary chanting of incantations and shouting of defiance, the Hau-Haus charged. As they came on, the friendly natives, more than half believing them to be invulnerable, fired so wildly that every shot missed. Three of the Wanganui leaders fell, and their line wavered and broke. In vain a fourth chief, Tamihana, shot a Hau-Hau with each barrel of his _tupara_, speared a third, and cleft the skull of yet another with his tomahawk. Two bullets brought him down. It was Haimona Hiroti who saved the day. Calling on the reserve, he stopped the flying, and, rallying bravely at his appeal, they came on again. Amid a clash of tomahawks and clubbed rifles, the antagonists fought hand to hand, and fought well. At length our allies won. Fifty Hau-Haus died that day, either on the island or while they endeavoured to escape by swimming. Twenty more were wounded. The Hau-Hau leader, shot as he swam, managed to reach the further shore. "There is your fish!" said Haimona, pointing the prophet out to a henchman, who, _meré_ in hand plunged in after him, struck him down as he staggered up the bank, and swam back with his head. His flag and ninety sovereigns were amongst the prizes of the winners in the hard trial of strength. The victors carried the bodies of their fallen chiefs back to Wanganui, where the settlers for whom they had died lined the road, standing bareheaded as the brave dead were borne past. That three such blows as Sentry Hill, Moutua, and Te Rangi had not a more lasting effect was due, amongst other things, to the confiscation policy. To punish the insurgent tribes, and to defray in part the cost of the war, the New Zealand Government confiscated 2,800,000 acres of native land. As a punishment it may have been justified; as a financial stroke it was to the end a failure. Coming as it did in the midst of hostilities, it did not simplify matters. Among the tribes affected it bred despair, amongst their neighbours apprehension, in England unpleasant suspicions. At first both the Governor and the Colonial Office endorsed the scheme of confiscation. Then, when Mr. Cardwell had replaced the Duke of Newcastle, the Colonial Office changed front and condemned it, and their pressure naturally induced the Governor to modify his attitude. An angry collision followed between him and his ministers, and in November, 1864, the Ministry, whose leaders were Sir William Fox and Sir Frederick Whitaker, resigned. They were succeeded by Sir Frederick Weld, upon whose advice Grey let the confiscation go on. Weld became noted for his advocacy of what was known as the Self-reliance Policy--in other words, that the Colony should dispense with the costly and rather cumbrous Imperial forces, and trust in future to the militia and Maori auxiliaries. And, certainly, when campaigning began again in January, 1865, General Cameron seemed to do his best to convert all Colonists to Weld's view. He did indeed appear with a force upon the coast north of Wanganui. But his principal feat was the extraordinary one of consuming fifty-seven days in a march of fifty-four miles along the sea beach, to which he clung with a tenacity which made the natives scornfully name him the Lame Seagull. At the outset he pitched his camp so close to thick cover that the Maoris twice dashed at him, and though of course beaten off, despite astonishing daring, they killed or wounded forty-eight soldiers. After that the General went to the cautious extreme. He declared it was useless for regulars to follow the natives into the forest, and committed himself to the statement that two hundred natives in a stockade could stop Colonel Warre with five hundred men from joining him. He declined to assault the strong Weraroa _pa_--the key to the west coast. He hinted depressingly that 2,000 more troops might be required from England. In vain Sir George Grey urged him to greater activity. The only result was a long and acrid correspondence between them. From this--to one who reads it now--the General seems to emerge in a damaged condition. The best that can be said for him is that he and many of his officers were sick of the war, which they regarded as an iniquitous job, and inglorious to boot. They knew that a very strong party in England, headed by the Aborigines Protection Society, were urging this view, and that the Colonial Office, under Mr. Cardwell, had veered round to the same standpoint. This is probably the true explanation of General Cameron's singular slackness. The impatience and indignation of the colonists waxed high. They had borrowed three millions of money to pay for the war. They were paying £40 a year per man for ten thousand Imperial soldiers. They naturally thought this too much for troops which did not march a mile a day. Whatever the colonists thought of Grey's warfare with his ministers, they were heartily with him in his endeavours to quicken the slow dragging on of the military operations. He did not confine himself to exhortation. He made up his mind to attack the Weraroa _pa_ himself. General Cameron let him have two hundred soldiers to act as a moral support. With these, and somewhat less than five hundred militia and friendly Maoris, the Governor sat down before the fort, which rose on a high, steep kind of plateau, above a small river. But though too strong for front attack, it was itself liable to be commanded from an outwork on a yet higher spur of the hills. Bringing common sense to bear, Grey quietly despatched a party, which captured this, and with it a strong reinforcement about to join the garrison. The latter fled, and the bloodless capture of Weraroa was justly regarded as among the most brilliant feats of the whole war. The credit fairly belonged to Grey, who showed, not only skill, but signal personal daring. The authorities at home must be assumed to have appreciated this really fine feat of his, for they made the officer commanding the two hundred moral supports a C.B. But Grey, it is needless to say, by thus trumping the trick of his opponent the General, did not improve his own relations with the Home authorities. He did, however, furnish another strong reason for a self-reliant policy. Ultimately, though gradually, the Imperial troops were withdrawn, and the colonists carried on the war with their own men, as well as their own money. [Illustration: MAJOR KEMP MEIHA KEPA TE RANGI-HIWINUI] In January, 1866, however, after General Cameron had by resignation escaped from a disagreeable position, but while the withdrawal of the troops was still incomplete, his successor, General Chute, showed that under officers of determination and energy British soldiers are by no means feeble folk even in the intricacies of the New Zealand bush. Setting out from the Weraroa aforesaid on January 3rd with three companies of regulars, a force of militia, and 300 Maoris under the chief Kepa, or Kemp, he began to march northward through the forest to New Plymouth. At first following the coast he captured various _pas_ by the way, including a strong position at Otapawa, which was fairly stormed in the face of a stout defence, during which both sides suffered more than a little. There, when one of the buttons on Chute's coat was cut off by a bullet, he merely snapped out the remark, "The niggers seem to have found me out." Both the coolness and the words used were characteristic of the hard but capable soldier. Further on the route Kemp in one day of running skirmishes took seven villages. Arriving at the southern side of Mount Egmont, the General decided to march round its inland flank through a country then almost unknown except to a few missionaries. Encumbered with pack-horses, who were checked by every flooded stream, the expedition took seven days to accomplish the sixty miles of the journey. But they did it, and met no worse foes than continual rain, short commons, deep mud, and the gloomy silence of the saturated forest, which then spread without a break over a country now almost entirely taken up by thriving dairy-farmers. Turning south again from New Plymouth by the coast-road, Chute had to fight but once in completing a march right round Mount Egmont, and thenceforward, except on its southern verge, long-distracted Taranaki saw no more campaigning. Other districts were less fortunate. By the early part of 1865 the Hau-Hau craze was at work on the east as well as the west coast. It was in the country round the Wanganui River to the west, and in the part of the east coast, between Tauranga on the Bay of Plenty and Hawkes Bay, that the new mischief gave the most trouble. The task of coping with it devolved on the New Zealand Militia, and the warriors of certain friendly tribes, headed by the chiefs called by the Europeans Ropata and Kemp. In this loose and desultory but exceedingly arduous warfare, the irregulars and friendlies undoubtedly proved far more efficient than the regular troops had usually been permitted to be. They did not think it useless to follow the enemy into the bush; far from it. They went there to seek him out. They could march many miles in a day, and were not fastidious as to commissariat. More than once they gained food and quarters for the night by taking them from their opponents. In a multitude of skirmishes in 1865 and 1866, they were almost uniformly victorious. Of the laurels gained in New Zealand warfare, a large share belongs to Ropata, to Kemp, and to Militia officers like Tuke, McDonnell and Fraser. Later in the war, when energetic officers tried to get equally good results out of inexperienced volunteers, and when, too--in some cases--militia discipline had slackened, the consequences were by no means so satisfactory. It did not follow that brave men ready to plunge into the bush were good irregulars merely because they were not regulars. Nor were all friendly natives by any means as effective as the Wanganui and Ngatiporou, or all chiefs as serviceable as Ropata and Kemp. The east coast troubles began in March, 1865, with the murder at Opotiki, on the Bay of Plenty, of Mr. Volckner, a missionary and the most kindly and inoffensive of mankind. At the bidding of Kereopa, a Hau-Hau emissary, the missionary's people suddenly turned on him, hung him, hacked his body to pieces, and smeared themselves with his blood. At another spot in the same Bay a trading schooner was seized just afterwards by order of another Hau-Hau fanatic, and all on board killed save two half-caste boys. A force of militia soon dealt out condign punishment for these misdeeds, but meanwhile Kereopa and his fellow fire-brands had passed down the coast and kindled a flame which gradually crept southward even to Hawkes Bay. In village after village the fire blazed up, and a rising equal to that in the Waikato seemed imminent. It was, indeed, fortunate that much the ablest warrior on that side of the island at once declared against the craze. This was Ropata Te Wahawaha, then and afterwards the most valuable Maori ally the Government had, and one of the very few captains on either side who went through the wars without anything that could be called a defeat. Without fear or pity, he was a warrior of the older Maori type, who with equal enjoyment could plan a campaign, join in a hand-to-hand tussle, doom a captive to death, or shoot a deserter with his own rifle. As he would not join the Hau-Haus, they and their converts made the mistake of attacking him. After beating them off he was joined by Major Biggs and a company of militia. Together they advanced against the stronghold of the insurgents, perched on a cliff among the Waiapu hills. By scaling a precipice with twenty picked men, Ropata and Biggs gained a crest above the _pa_, whence they could fire down into the midst of their astonished adversaries, over 400 of whom surrendered in terror to the daring handful. But the mischief had run down the coast. Spreading from point to point, dying down and then starting up, it was as hard to put out as fire abroad in the fern. The amiable Kereopa visited Poverty Bay, three days' journey south of the Waiapu, and tried hard to persuade the natives to murder Bishop Williams, the translator of the Scriptures into Maori. Though they shrank from this, the Bishop had to fly, and his flock took up arms, stood a siege in one of their _pas_, and lost over a hundred men before they would surrender to the militia. Further south still the next rising flared up on the northern frontier of the Hawkes Bay province. Once more Ropata stamped it under, and the generalship with which he repaired the mistakes made by others, and routed a body of 500 insurgents was not more remarkable than the cold-blooded promptitude with which after the fight he shot four prisoners of note with his own hand. It took ten months for the spluttering fire to flame up again. Then it was yet another stage further south, within a few miles of Napier, amid pastoral plains, where, if anywhere, peace, it would seem, should have an abiding-place. The rising there was but a short one-act play. To Colonel Whitmore belonged the credit of dealing it a first and final blow at Omaranui, where, with a hastily raised force of volunteers, and some rather useless friendlies, he went straight at the insurgents, caught them in the open, and quickly killed, wounded, or captured over ninety per cent. of their number. After this there was a kind of insecure tranquillity until June, 1868. Then fighting began again near the coast between Wanganui and Mount Egmont, where the occupation of confiscated lands bred bitter feelings. Natives were arrested for horse-stealing. Straggling settlers were shot. A chief, Titokowaru, hitherto insignificant, became the head and front of the resistance. In June a sudden attack was made by his people upon some militia holding a tumble-down redoubt--an attack so desperate that out of twenty-three in the work, only six remained unwounded when help came, after two hours' manful resistance. Colonel McDonnell, then in command on the coast, had proved his dash and bravery in a score of bush-fights. In his various encounters he killed ten Maoris with his own hand. He was an expert bushman, and a capital manager of the friendly natives. But during the eighteen months of quiet the trained militia which had done such excellent work in 1865 and 1866, had been in part dispersed. The force which in July McDonnell led into the bush to attempt Titokowaru's _pa_, at Ngutu-o-te-manu (Beak-of-the-bird) was to a large extent raw material. The Hau-Haus were found fully prepared. Skilfully posted, they poured in a hot cross-fire, both from the _pa_ and from an ambush in the neighbouring thickets. Broken into two bodies, McDonnell's men were driven to make a long and painful retreat, during which two died of exhaustion. They lost twenty-four killed and twenty-six wounded. McDonnell resigned in disgust. Whitmore, who replaced him, demanded better men, and got them, but to meet no better success. At Moturoa his assault on another forest stockade failed under a withering fire; the native contingent held back sulkily; and again our men retreated, with a loss this time of forty-seven, of which twenty-one were killed. This was on November 5th. Before Whitmore could try again he was called to the other side of the island by evil tidings from Poverty Bay. These had their cause in the strangest story of the Maori wars. Amongst the many blunders in these, some of the oddest were the displays of rank carelessness which repeatedly led to the escape of Maori prisoners. Three times did large bodies get away and rejoin their tribes--once from Sir George Grey's island estate at Kawau, where they had been turned loose on parole; once from a hulk in Wellington Harbour, through one of the port-holes of which they slipped into the sea on a stormy night; the third time from the Chatham Islands. This last escape, which was in July, 1868, was fraught with grave mischief. Fruitlessly the officer in charge of prisoners there had protested against being left with twenty men to control three hundred and thirty captives. The leader of these, Te Kooti, one of the ablest as well as most ferocious partisans the colonists ever had to face, had been deported from Poverty Bay to the Chathams two years before, without trial. Unlike most of his fellow prisoners he had never borne arms against us. The charge against him was that he was in communication with Hau-Hau insurgents in 1865. His real offence seems to have been that he was regarded by some of the Poverty Bay settlers as a disagreeable, thievish, disaffected fellow, and there is an uncomfortable doubt as to whether he deserved his punishment. During his exile he vowed vengeance against those who had denounced him, and against one man in particular. In July, 1868, the schooner _Rifleman_ was sent down to the Chathams with supplies. The prisoners took the chance thus offered. They surprised the weak guard, killed a sentry who showed fight, and seized and tied up the others, letting the women and children escape unharmed. Going on board the _Rifleman_, Te Kooti gave the crew the choice between taking his people to New Zealand and instant death. They chose the former, and the schooner set sail for the east coast of New Zealand with about one hundred and sixty fighting men, and a number of women and children. The outbreak and departure were successfully managed in less than two hours. When head winds checked the runaways, Te Kooti ordered an old man, his uncle, to be bound and thrown overboard as a sacrifice to the god of winds and storms. The unhappy human sacrifice struggled for awhile in the sea and then sank. At once the wind changed, the schooner lay her course, and the _mana_ of Te Kooti grew great. After sailing for a week, the fugitives had their reward, and were landed at Wharé-onga-onga (Abode-of-stinging-nettles), fifteen miles from Poverty Bay. They kept their word to the crew, whom they allowed to take their vessel and go scot-free. Then they made for the interior. Major Biggs, the Poverty Bay magistrate, got together a force of friendly natives and went in pursuit. The Hau-Haus showed their teeth to such effect that the pursuers would not come to close quarters. Even less successful was the attempt of a small band of White volunteers. They placed themselves across Te Kooti's path; but after a long day's skirmishing were scattered in retreat, losing their baggage, ammunition, and horses. Colonel Whitmore, picking them up next day, joined them to his force and dragged them off after him in pursuit of the victors. It was winter, and the weather and country both of the roughest. The exhausted volunteers, irritated by Whitmore's manner, left him half-way. For himself the little colonel, all wire and leather, knew not fatigue. But even the best of his men were pretty well worn out when they did at last catch a Tartar in the shape of the enemy's rearguard. The latter made a stand under cover, in an angle of the narrow bed of a mountain-torrent floored with boulders and shut in by cliffs. Our men, asked to charge in single file, hung back, and a party of Native allies sent round to take the Hau Haus in flank made off altogether. Though Te Kooti was shot through the foot, the pursuit had to be given up. The net result of the various skirmishes with him had been that we had lost twenty-six killed and wounded, and that he had got away. Whitmore went away to take command on the west coast. Thus Te Kooti gained time to send messengers to the tribes, and many joined him. He spoke of himself as God's instrument against the _Pakeha_, preached eloquently, and kept strict discipline amongst his men. In November, after a three months' lull, he made his swoop on his hated enemies the settlers in Poverty Bay, and in a night surprise took bloody vengeance for his sojourn at the Chathams. His followers massacred thirty-three white men, women and children, and thirty-seven natives. Major Biggs was shot at the door of his house. Captain Wilson held out in his till it was in flames. Then he surrendered under promise of life for his family, all of whom, however, were at once bayonetted, except a boy who slipped into the scrub unnoticed. McCulloch, a farmer, was shot as he sat milking. Several fugitives owed their lives to the heroism of a friendly chief, Tutari, who refused to gain his life by telling their pursuers the path they had taken. The Hau Haus killed him and seized his wife, who, however, adroitly saved both the flying settlers and herself by pointing out the wrong track. Lieutenant Gascoigne with a hasty levy of friendly Natives set out after the murderers, only to be easily held in check at Makaretu with a loss of twenty-eight killed and wounded. Te Kooti, moreover, intercepted an ammunition train and captured eight kegs of gunpowder. Fortifying himself on a precipitous forest-clad hill named Ngatapa, he seemed likely to rally round him the disaffected of his race. But his red star was about to wane. Ropata with his Ngatiporou now came on the scene. A second attack on Makaretu sent the insurgents flying. They left thirty-seven dead behind, for Ropata gave no quarter, and had not his men loitered to plunder, Te Kooti, who, still lame, was carried off on a woman's back, must have been among their prizes. Pushing on to Ngatapa, Ropata found it a very formidable stronghold. The _pa_ was on the summit of an abrupt hill, steep and scarped on two sides, narrowing to a razor-backed ridge in the rear. In front three lines of earthwork rose one above another, the highest fourteen feet high, aided and connected by the usual rifle-pits and covered way. Most of Ropata's men refused to follow him against such a robbers' nest, and though the fearless chief tried to take it with the faithful minority, he had to fall back, under cover of darkness, and return home in a towering passion. A month later his turn came. Whitmore arrived. Joining their forces, he and Ropata invested Ngatapa closely, attacked it in front and rear, and took the lowest of the three lines of intrenchment. A final assault was to come next morning. The Hau Haus were short of food and water, and in a desperate plight. But one cliff had been left unwatched, and over that they lowered themselves by ropes as the storming party outside sat waiting for the grey dawn. They were not, however, to escape unscathed. Ropata at once sent his men in chase. Hungry and thirsty, the fugitives straggled loosely, and were cut down by scores or brought back. Short shrift was theirs. The Government had decided that Poverty Bay must be revenged, and the prisoners were forthwith shot, and their bodies stripped and tossed over a cliff. From first to last at Ngatapa the loss to the Hau Haus was 136 killed outright, ours but 22, half of whom were wounded only. It was the last important engagement fought in New Zealand, and ended all fear of a general rising. Yet in one respect the success was incomplete: Te Kooti once more escaped. This time he reached the fastnesses of the wild Urewera tribe, and made more than one bloodstained raid thence. In April he pounced on Mohaka, at the northern end of the Hawkes Bay Province, killed seven whites, fooled the occupants of a Native _pa_ into opening their gates to him, and then massacred 57 of them. But the collapse of the insurrection on the West Coast enabled attention to be concentrated upon the marauder. He fell back on the plateau round Lake Taupo. There, in June, 1869, he outwitted a party of militia-men by making his men enter their camp, pretending to be friendlies. When the befooled troopers saw the trick and tried to seize their arms, nine were cut down. McDonnell, however, was at the heels of the Hau Haus, and in three encounters in the Taupo region Te Kooti was soundly beaten with a loss of 50 killed. He became a hunted fugitive. Ropata and Kemp chased him from district to district, backwards and forwards, across and about the island, for a high price had been put on his head. For three years the pursuit was urged or renewed. Every band Te Kooti got together was scattered. His wife was taken; once he himself was shot in the hand; again and again the hunters were within a few yards of their game. Crossing snow-clad ranges, wading up the beds of mountain torrents, hacking paths through the tangled forest, they were ever on his track, only to miss him. It was in the Uriwera wilderness that Te Kooti lost his congenially bloodthirsty crony Kereopa, who was caught there and hung. Left almost without followers, he himself at last took refuge in the King Country, where he stayed quiet and unmolested. In the end he received a pardon, and died in peace after living for some twenty years after his hunters had abandoned their chase. Colonel Whitmore, crossing to the Wanganui district after the fall of Ngatapa, had set off to deal with Titokowaru. He, however, threw up the game and fled to the interior, where he was wisely left alone, and, except for the fruitless pursuit of Te Kooti, the year 1870 may be marked as the end of warfare in New Zealand. The interest of the Maori struggle, thus concluded, does not spring from the numbers engaged. To a European eye the combats were in point of size mere battles of the frogs and mice. What gave them interest was their peculiar and picturesque setting, the local difficulties to be met, and the boldness, rising at moments to heroism, with which clusters of badly armed savages met again and again the finest fighting men of Europe. It was the race conflict which gave dignity to what Lieutenant Gudgeon in his chronicle truthfully reduces to "expeditions and skirmishes grandiloquently styled campaigns". Out of a multitude of fights between 1843 and 1870, thirty-seven (exclusive of the raid on Poverty Bay, which was a massacre) may be classed as of greater importance than the rest. Out of these we were unmistakably beaten nine times, and a tenth encounter, that of Okaihau, was indecisive. Of twenty-seven victories, however, those of Rangi-riri and Orakau were dearly bought; in the double fight at Nukumaru we lost more than the enemy, and at Waireka most of our forces retreated, and only heard of the success from a distance. Two disasters and six successes were wholly or almost wholly the work of native auxiliaries. The cleverness and daring of the Maori also scored in the repeated escapes of batches of prisoners. By 1870 it was possible to try and count the cost of the ten years' conflict. It was not so easy to do so correctly. The killed alone amounted to about 800 on the English side and 1,800 on the part of the beaten natives. Added to the thousands wounded, there had been many scores of "murders" and heavy losses from disease, exposure and hardship. The Maoris were, for the most part, left without hope and without self-confidence. The missionaries never fully regained their old moral hold upon the race, nor has it shown much zeal and enthusiasm in industrial progress. On the other side, the colonists had spent between three and four millions in fighting, and for more than fifteen years after the war they had to keep up an expensive force of armed police. There had been destruction of property in many parts of the North Island, and an even more disastrous loss of security and paralysis of settlement. Since 1865, moreover, the pastoral industry in the south had been depressed by bad prices. It is true that some millions of acres of Maori land had been gained by confiscation, but of this portions were handed over to loyal natives. Much more was ultimately given back to the insurgent tribes, and the settlement of the rest was naturally a tardy and difficult process. Farmers do not rush upon land to be the mark of revengeful raids. The opening of the year 1870 was one of New Zealand's dark hours. Nevertheless, had the colonists but known it, the great native difficulty was destined to melt fast away. Out of the innumerable perplexities, difficulties, and errors of the previous generation, a really capable Native Minister had been evolved. This was Sir Donald McLean, who, from the beginning of 1869 to the end of 1876, took the almost entire direction of the native policy. A burly, patient, kindly-natured Highlander, his Celtic blood helped him to sympathize with the proud, warlike, clannish nature of the Maori. It was largely owing to his influence that Ropata and others aided us so actively against Te Kooti. It was not, however, as a war minister, but as the man who established complete and lasting peace through New Zealand, that his name should be remembered. By liberal payment for service, by skilful land purchases, by showing respect to the chiefs, and tact and good humour with the people, McLean acquired a permanent influence over the race. The war party in the Colony might sneer at his "Flour and Sugar Policy"; but even the dullest had come to see by this time that peace paid. Into the remnant of the King Country McLean never tried to carry authority. He left that and the Urewera country further east discreetly alone. Elsewhere the Queen's writ ran, and roads, railways, and telegraphs, coming together with a great tide of settlement, made the era of war seem like an evil dream. It is true that the delays in redeeming promises concerning reserves to be made and given back from the confiscated Maori territory were allowed to remain a grievance for more than another decade, and led, as late as 1880, to interference by the natives with road making in some of this lost land of theirs in Taranaki. There, round a prophet named Te Whiti, flocked numbers of natives sore with a sense of injustice. Though Te Whiti was as pacific as eccentric, the Government, swayed by the alarm and irritation thus aroused, took the extreme step of pouring into his village of Parihaka an overwhelming armed force. Then, after reading the Riot Act to a passive and orderly crowd of men, women and children, they proceeded to make wholesale arrests, to evict the villagers and to destroy houses and crops. Public opinion, which had conjured up the phantom of an imminent native rising, supported the proceeding. There was no such danger, for the natives were virtually not supplied with arms, and the writer is one of a minority of New Zealanders who thinks that our neglect to make the reserves put us in the wrong in the affair. However, as the breaking up of Parihaka was at last followed up by an honourable and liberal settlement of the long-delayed Reserves question, it may be classed as the last of the long series of native alarms. There will be no more Maori wars. Unfortunately, it has become a question whether in a hundred years there will be any more Maoris. They were perhaps, seventy thousand when the Treaty of Waitangi was signed; they and the half-castes can scarcely muster forty-three thousand now. Chapter XVIII GOLD-DIGGERS AND GUM-DIGGERS "Fortune, they say, flies from us: she but wheels Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiff, Lost in the mist one moment, and the next Brushing the white sail with a whiter wing As if to court the aim. Experience watches, And has her on the turn." When the Waitara war broke out the white population did not number more than seventy-five thousand. When Te Kooti was chased into the King Country it had grown to nearly four times that sum, in the face of debt, doubt, and the paralyzing effects of war. A great ally of settlement had come upon the scene. In 1861 profitable goldfields were discovered in Otago. The little Free Church colony, which in thirteen years had scarcely increased to that number of thousands, was thunderstruck at the news. For years there had been rumours of gold in the river beds and amongst the mountains of the South Island. From 1857 to 1860 about £150,000 had been won in Nelson. In 1858, a certain Asiatic, Edward Peters, known to his familiars as Black Pete, who had somehow wandered from his native Bombay through Australia to Otago, had struck gold there; and in March, 1861, there was a rush to a short-lived goldfield at the Lindis, another spot in that province. But it was not until the winter of that year that the prospector, Gabriel Read, found in a gully at Tuapeka the indubitable signs of a good alluvial field. Digging with a butcher's knife, he collected in ten hours nearly five-and-twenty pounds' worth of the yellow metal. Then he sunk hole after hole for some distance, finding gold in all. Unlike most discoverers, Read made no attempt to keep his fortune to himself, but wrote frankly of it to Sir John Richardson, the superintendent of the province. For this he was ultimately paid the not extravagant reward of £1,000. The good Presbyterians of Dunedin hardly knew in what spirit to receive the tidings. But some of them did not hesitate to test the field. Very soberly, almost in sad solemnity, they set to work there, and the result solved all doubts. Half Dunedin rushed to Tuapeka. At one of the country kirks the congregation was reduced to the minister and precentor. The news went across the seas. Diggers from Australia and elsewhere poured in by the thousand. Before many months the province's population had doubled, and the prayerful and painful era of caution, the day of small things, was whisked away in a whirl of Victorian enterprise. For the next few years the history of Otago became a series of rushes. Economically, no doubt, "rush" is the proper word to apply to the old stampedes to colonial goldfields. But in New Zealand, at any rate, the physical methods of progression thither were laborious in the extreme. The would-be miner tramped slowly and painfully along, carrying as much in the way of provisions and tools as his back would bear. Lucky was the man who had a horse to ride, or the rudest cart to drive in. When, as time went on, gold was found high up the streams amongst the ice-cold rivers and bleak tussock-covered mountains of the interior, the hardships endured by the gold-seekers were often very great. The country was treeless and wind-swept. Sheep roamed over the tussocks, but of other provisions there were none. Hungry diggers were thankful to pay half a crown for enough flour to fill a tin pannikin. £120 a ton was charged for carting goods from Dunedin. Not only did fuel fetch siege prices, but five pounds would be paid for an old gin-case, for the boards of a dray, or any few pieces of wood out of which a miner's "cradle" could be patched up. The miners did not exactly make light of these obstacles, for, of the thousands who poured into the province after the first discoveries, large numbers fled from the snow and starvation of the winters, when the swollen rivers rose, and covered up the rich drift on the beaches under their banks. But enough remained to carry on the work of prospecting, and the finds were rich enough to lure new-comers. In the year 1863 the export of gold from Otago rose to more than two millions sterling. Extraordinary patches were found in the sands and drift of the mountain torrents. It is recorded of one party that, when crossing a river, their dog was swept away by the current on to a small rocky point. A digger went to rescue it, and never was humanity more promptly rewarded, for from the sands by the rock he unearthed more than £1,000 worth of gold before nightfall. Some of the more fortunate prospectors had their footsteps dogged by watchful bands bent on sharing their good luck. One of them, however, named Fox, managed to elude this espionage for some time, and it was the Government geologist--now Sir James Hector--who, while on a scientific journey, discovered him and some forty companions quietly working in a lonely valley. The goldfields of Otago had scarcely reached the zenith of their prosperity before equally rich finds were reported from the west coast of the Canterbury province. From the year 1860 it was known that gold existed there, but the difficulties of exploring a strip of broken surf-beaten coast, cut off from settled districts by range upon range of Alps, and itself made up of precipitous hills, and valleys covered with densest jungle and cloven by the gorges of bitterly cold and impassable torrents, were exceptionally great. More than one of the Government officers sent there to explore were either swept away by some torrent or came back half-crippled by hunger and rheumatism. One surveyor who stuck to his work for months in the soaking, cheerless bush, existing on birds, bush-rats, and roots, was thought a hero, and with cause. Even Maoris dreaded parts of this wilderness, and believed it to be the abode of dragons and a lost tribe of their own race. They valued it chiefly as the home of their much-prized jade or greenstone. Searching for this, a party of them, early in 1864, found gold. Later on in the same year a certain Albert Hunt also found paying gold on the Greenstone creek. Hunt was afterwards denounced as an impostor, and had to fly for his life from a mob of enraged and disappointed gold-seekers; but the gold was there nevertheless. In 1865 the stream which had been pouring into Otago was diverted to the new fields in Westland, and in parties or singly, in the face of almost incredible natural difficulties, adventurous men worked their way to every point of the west coast. In a few months 30,000 diggers were searching its beaches and valleys with such results that it seemed astonishing that the gold could have lain unseen so long. Many lost their lives, drowned in the rivers or starved to death in the dripping bush. The price of provisions at times went to fabulous heights, as much as £150 being paid for a ton of flour, and a shilling apiece for candles. What did prices matter to men who were getting from 1 oz. to 1 lb. weight of gold-dust a day, or who could stagger the gold-buyers sent to their camps by the bankers by pouring out washed gold by the pannikin? So rich was the wash-dirt in many of the valleys, and the black sand on many of the sea-beaches, that for years £8 to £10 a week was regarded as only a fair living wage. In 1866 the west coast exported gold to the value of £2,140,000. On a strip of sand-bank between the dank bush and the bar-bound mouth of the Hokitika river a mushroom city sprang up, starting into a bustling life of cheerful rashness and great expectations. In 1864 a few tents were pitched on the place; in 1865 one of the largest towns in New Zealand was to be seen. Wood and canvas were the building materials--the wood unseasoned pine, smelling fresh and resinous at first, anon shrinking, warping, and entailing cracked walls, creaking doors, and rattling window-sashes. Every second building was a grog-shanty, where liquor, more or less fiery, was retailed at a shilling a glass, and the traveller might hire a blanket and a soft plank on the floor for three shillings a night. Under a rainfall of more than 100 inches a year, tracks became sloughs before they could be turned into streets and roads. All the rivers on the coast were bar-bound. Food and supplies came by sea, and many were the coasting-craft which broke their backs crossing the bars, or which ended their working-life on shoals. Yet when hundreds of adventurers were willing to pay £5 apiece for the twelve hours' passage from Nelson, high rates of insurance did not deter ship-owners. River floods joined the surf in making difficulties. Eligible town sections bought at speculative prices were sometimes washed out to sea, and a river now runs over the first site of the prosperous town of Westport. It was striking to note how quickly things settled down into a very tolerable kind of rough order. Among the diggers themselves there was little crime or even violence. It is true that a Greymouth storekeeper when asked "How's trade?" concisely pictured a temporary stagnation by gloomily remarking, "There ain't bin a fight for a week!" But an occasional bout of fisticuffs and a good deal of drinking and gambling, were about the worst sins of the gold-seekers. Any one who objected to be saluted as "mate!" or who was crazy enough to dream of wearing a long black coat or a tall black hat, would find life harassing at the diggings. But, at any rate, in New Zealand diggers did not use revolvers with the playful frequency of the Californians of Mr. Bret Harte. Nor did they shoe the horse of their first Member of Parliament with gold, or do a variety of the odd things done in Australian gold-fields. They laughed heartily when the Canterbury Provincial Government sent over the Alps an escort of strapping mounted policemen, armed to the teeth, to carry away gold securely in a bullet-proof cart. They preferred to send their gold away in peaceful coasting steamers. When, in 1867, one or two Irish rows were dignified with the title of Fenian Riots, and a company of militia were sent down from their more serious Maori work in the North Island to restore order in Hokitika, they encountered nothing more dangerous than a hospitality too lavish even for their powers of absorption. One gang of bushrangers, and one only, ever disturbed the coast. The four ruffians who composed it murdered at least six men before they were hunted down. Three were hung; the fourth, who saved his neck by turning Queen's evidence, was not lynched. No one ever has been lynched in New Zealand. For the rest the ordinary police-constable was always able to deal with the sharpers, drunkards, and petty thieves who are among the camp-followers of every army of gold-seekers. So quietly were officials submitted to that sometimes, when a police-magistrate failed to appear in a goldfields' court through some accident of road or river, his clerk would calmly hear cases and impose fines, or a police-sergeant remand the accused without authority and without resistance. In the staid Westland of to-day it is so impossible to find offenders enough to make a show of filling the Hokitika prison that the Premier, who sits for Hokitika, is upbraided in Parliament for sinful extravagance in not closing the establishment. No sooner had the cream been skimmed off the southern goldfields than yields of almost equal value were reported from the north. The Thames and Coromandel fields in the east of the Auckland province differed from those in the South Island. They were from the outset not alluvial but quartz mines. So rich, however, were some of the Thames mines that the excitement they caused was as great as that roused by the alluvial patches of Otago and Westland. The opening up of the Northern fields was retarded throughout the sixties by Maori wars, and the demands of peaceful but hard-fisted Maori landlords. £1 a miner had to be paid to these latter for the right to prospect their country. They delayed the opening of the now famous Ohinemuri field until 1875. When on March 3rd of that year the Goldfields' Warden declared Ohinemuri open, the declaration was made to an excited crowd of hundreds of prospectors, who pushed jostling and fighting round the Warden's table for their licenses, and then galloped off on horseback across country in a wild race to be first to "peg out" claims. Years before this, however, the shores of the Hauraki Gulf had been systematically worked, and in 1871 the gold export from Auckland had risen to more than £1,100,000. New Zealand still remains a gold-producing colony, albeit the days of the solitary adventurer working in the wash-dirt of his claim with pick, shovel, and cradle are pretty nearly over. The nomadic digger who called no man master is a steady-going wage-earner now. Coal-mines and quartz-reefs are the mainstays of Westland. Company management, trade unions, conciliation cases, and laws against Sunday labour have succeeded the rough, free-and-easy days of glittering possibilities for everybody. Even the alluvial fields are now systematically worked by hydraulic sluicing companies. They are no longer poor men's diggings. In Otago steam-dredges successfully search the river bottoms. In quartz-mining the capitalist has always been the organizing and controlling power. The application of cyanide and other scientific improvements has revived this branch of mining within the last four years, and, despite the bursting of the usual number of bubbles, there is good reason to suppose that the £54,000,000 which is so far the approximate yield of gold from the Colony will during the next decade be swelled by many millions. The gold-digger is found in many parts of the earth; the gum-digger belongs to New Zealand alone. With spade, knife, and gum-spear he wanders over certain tracts of the province of Auckland, especially the long, deeply-indented, broken peninsula, which is the northern end of New Zealand. The so-called gum for which he searches is the turpentine, which, oozing out of the trunk of the kauri pines, hardens into lumps of an amber-like resin. Its many shades of colour darken from white through every kind of yellow and brown to jet. A little is clear, most is clouded. Half a century ago, when the English soldiers campaigning against Heké had to spend rainy nights in the bush without tent or fire, they made shift to get light and even warmth by kindling flame with pieces of the kauri gum, which in those days could be seen lying about on the ground's surface. Still, the chips and scraps which remain when kauri-gum has been cleaned and scraped for market are used in the making of fire-kindlers. But for the resin itself a better use was long ago found--the manufacture of varnish. At the moment when, under Governor Fitzroy, the infant Auckland settlement was at its lowest, a demand for kauri-gum from the United States shone as a gleam of hope to the settlers, while the Maoris near the town became too busied in picking up gum to trouble themselves about appeals to join Heké's crusade against the _Pakeha_. Though the trade seemed to die away so completely that in a book written in 1848 I find it briefly dismissed with the words, "The bubble has burst," nevertheless it is to-day well-nigh as brisk as ever, and has many a time and oft stood Auckland in good stead. [Illustration: KAURI PINE TREE Photo by J. MARTIN, Auckland] The greater kauri pines show smooth grey trunks of from eight to twelve feet in diameter. Even Mr. Gladstone would have recoiled from these giants, which are laid low, not with axes, but with heavy double saws worked on scaffolds six feet high erected against the doomed trees. As the British ox, with his short horns and cube-like form, is the result of generations of breeding with a single eye to meat, so that huge candelabrum, the kauri, might be fancied to be the outcome of thousands of years of experiment in producing the perfection of a timber tree. Its solid column may rise a hundred feet without a branch; its small-leaved patchy foliage seems almost ludicrously scanty; it is all timber--good wood. Clean, soft, easily worked, the saws seem to cut it like cheese. It takes perhaps 800 years for the largest pines to come to their best. So plentiful are they that, though fires and every sort of wastefulness have ravaged them, the Kauri Timber Company can put 40,000,000 feet of timber through their mills in a year, can find employment for two thousand men, and can look forward to doing so for another twenty years. After that----! The resin may be found in tree-forks high above the ground. Climbing to these by ropes, men have taken thence lumps weighing as much as a hundredweight. But most and the best resin is found in the earth, and for the last generation the soil of the North has been probed and turned over in search of it, until whole tracts look as though they had been rooted up by droves of wild swine. In many of these tracts not a pine is standing now. How and when the forests disappeared, whether by fire or otherwise, and how soil so peculiarly sterile could have nourished the finest of trees, are matters always in dispute. There is little but the resin to show the locality of many of the vanished forests. Where they once were the earth is hungry, white, and barren, though dressed in deceptive green by stunted fern and manuka. In the swamps and ravines, where they may thrust down their steel-pointed flexible spears as much as eight feet, the roaming diggers use that weapon to explore the field. In the hard open country they have to fall back upon the spade. Unlike the gold-seeker, the gum-digger can hope for no great and sudden stroke of fortune. He will be lucky if hard work brings him on the average £1 a week. But without anything to pay for house-room, fuel, or water, he can live on twelve and sixpence while earning his pound, and can at least fancy that he is his own master. Some 7,000 whites and Maoris are engaged in finding the 8,000 tons or thereabouts of resin, which is the quantity which in a fairly good year England and America will buy at an average price of £60 a ton. About 1,500 of the hunters for gum are Istrians and Dalmatians--good diggers, but bad colonists; for years of work do not attach them to the country, and almost always they take their savings home to the fringing islands and warm bays of the Adriatic. Chapter XIX THE PROVINCES AND THE PUBLIC WORKS POLICY "Members the Treasurer pressing to mob; Provinces urging the annual job; Districts whose motto is cash or commotion; Counties with thirsts which would drink up an ocean; These be the horse-leech's children which cry, 'Wanted, Expenditure!' I must supply." --_The Premier's Puzzle_. Sir George Grey had been curtly recalled in the early part of 1868. His friends may fairly claim that at the time of his departure the Colony was at peace, and that he left it bearing with him the general esteem of the colonists. True, his second term of office had been in some ways the antithesis of his first. He had failed to prevent war, and had made mistakes. But from amid a chaos of confusion and recrimination, four things stand out clearly: (1) he came upon the scene too late; (2) he worked earnestly for peace for two years; (3) the part that he personally took in the war was strikingly successful; (4) he was scurvily treated by the Colonial Office. He was the last Viceroy who took an active and distinct share in the government of the country. Since 1868, the Governors have been strictly constitutional representatives of a constitutional Sovereign. They have been without exception honourable and courteous noblemen or gentlemen. They have almost always left the Colony with the good wishes of all with whom they have come into contact. They have occasionally by tact exercised a good deal of indirect influence over some of their Ministers. They have sometimes differed with these about such points as nominations to the Upper House, or have now and then reserved bills for the consideration of the Home Government. But they have not governed the country, which, since 1868, has enjoyed as complete self-government as the constitution broadly interpreted can permit. When peace at last gave the Colonists time to look round, the constitution which Grey and Wakefield had helped to draw up was still working. Not without friction, however. Under the provincial system New Zealand was rather a federation of small settlements than a unified colony. This was in accord with natural conditions, and with certain amendments the system might have worked exceedingly well. But no real attempt was ever made to amend it. Its vices were chiefly financial. The inequalities and jealousies caused by the rich landed estate of the southern provinces bred ill-feeling all round. The irregular grants doled out by the Treasurer to the needier localities embarrassed the giver without satisfying the recipients. The provinces without land revenue looked with hungry eyes at those which had it. There was quarrelling, too, within each little provincial circle. The elective superintendents were wont to make large promises and shadow forth policies at the hustings. Then when elected they often found these views by no means in accord with those of their council and their executive. Yet, but for one great blunder, the provinces should and probably would have existed now. 1870 is usually named as the birth-year of the colonial policy of borrowing and public works. This is not strictly true. In that year the central and provincial exchequers already owed about seven millions and a quarter between them. The provincial debts, at any rate, had been largely contracted in carrying out colonizing work, and some of that work had been exceedingly well done, especially in Canterbury and Otago. What the Central Government did do in 1870 was to come forward boldly with a large and continuous policy of public works and immigration based on borrowed money. The scheme was Sir Julius Vogel's. As a politician this gentleman may not unfairly be defined as an imaginative materialist and an Imperialist of the school of which Cecil Rhodes is the best-known colonial exponent. His grasp of finance, sanguine, kindly nature, quick constructive faculty, and peculiarly persuasive manner rapidly brought him to the front in New Zealand, in the face of personal and racial prejudice. As Treasurer in 1870 he proposed to borrow ten millions to be expended on railways, roads, land purchase, immigration, and land settlement. With great wisdom he suggested that the cost of the railways should be recouped from a public estate created out of the crown lands through which they might pass. With striking unwisdom the Provincialists defeated the proposal. This selfish mistake enabled them to keep their land for five years longer, but it spoilt the public works policy and converted Vogel from the friend into the enemy of the Provinces. His policy, _minus_ the essential part relating to land settlement, was accepted and actively carried out. Millions were borrowed, hundreds of miles of railways and roads were made, immigrants were imported by the State or poured in of their own accord. Moreover, the price of wool had risen, and wheat, too, sometimes yielded enormous profits. Farmers were known who bought open land on the downs or plains of the South Island at £2 an acre, and within twelve months thereafter made a net profit of £5 an acre from their first wheat crop. Labour-saving machinery from the United States came in to embolden the growers of cereals; the export of wheat rose to millions of bushels; and the droning hum of the steam threshing-machine and the whir of the reaper-and-binder began to be heard in a thousand fields from northern Canterbury to Southland. In the north McLean steadfastly kept the peace, and the Colony bade fair to become rich by leaps and bounds. The modern community has perhaps yet to be found which can bear sudden prosperity coolly. New Zealand in the seventies certainly did not. Good prices and the rapid opening up of the country raised the value of land. Acute men quickly bought fertile or well-situated blocks and sold them at an attractive profit. So men less acute began to buy pieces less fertile and not so well situated. Pastoral tenants pushed on the process of turning their leaseholds into freeholds. So rapid did the buying become that it grew to be a feverish rush of men all anxious to secure some land before it had all gone. Of course much of this buying was speculative, and much was done with borrowed money. The fever was hottest in Canterbury, where the Wakefield system of free selection without limit as to area or condition as to occupation, and with the fixed price of £2 an acre, interposed less than no check at all to the speculators. Hundreds of thousands of acres were bought each year. The revenue of the Provincial Council rose to half a million; the country road-boards hardly knew how to spend their money. Speculation, extravagance, reaction--such were the fruits the last years of Wakefield's system bore there. Not that the fault was Gibbon Wakefield's. It rests with the men who could not see that his system, like every other devised for a special purpose, wanted to be gradually changed along with the gradual change of surrounding circumstances. The southern land revenue, thus swollen, was a glittering temptation to politicians at Wellington. As early as 1874 it was clear that more colonial revenue would be wanted to pay the interest on the growing public debt. Vogel decided to appeal to the old Centralist party and overthrow the Provinces. Their hour was come. The pastoral tenants nearly everywhere disliked the democratic note growing louder in some of them. New settlers were overspreading the country, and to the new settlers the Provincial Councils seemed cumbrous and needless. Fresh from Great Britain and with the ordinary British contempt for the institutions of a small community, they thought it ridiculous that a colony with less than half a million of people should want nine Governments in addition to its central authority. The procedure of the Provincial Councils, where Mr. Speaker took the chair daily and a mace was gravely laid on the table by the clerk, seemed a Lilliputian burlesque of the great Mother of Parliaments at Westminster. Nevertheless, the Provinces did not fall without a struggle. In both Otago and Auckland the older colonists mostly clung to their local autonomy. Moreover, Sir George Grey had taken up his abode in the Colony, and was living quietly in an islet which he owned near Auckland. Coming out of his retirement, he threw himself into the fight, and on the platform spoke with an eloquence that took his audiences by storm, all the more because few had suspected him of possessing it. Keen was the fight; Major Atkinson, _quondam_ militia officer of Taranaki, made his mark therein and rose at a bound to take command of the Centralists; the Provincialists were fairly beaten; the land passed to the Central Government. The management of local affairs was minutely subdivided and handed over to some hundreds of boards and councils which vary a good deal in efficiency, though most of them do their special work fairly enough on accepted lines. Though colonists join in complaining of the number of these no serious attempt has, however, been yet made to amalgamate them, much less to revive any form of Provincialism. Municipal enterprise has made few attempts in New Zealand to follow, however humbly, in the wake of the great urban councils of England and Scotland. Water companies indeed are unknown, but most of the towns depend upon contractors for their supplies of light; municipal fire insurance is only just being talked of; recreation grounds are fairly plentiful, but are not by any means always managed by the municipality of the place. None of the town councils do anything for the education of the people, and but few think of their entertainment. The rural county councils and road boards concern themselves almost solely with road-making and bridge-building. The control of hospitals and charitable aid, though entirely a public function not left in any way to private bounty, is entrusted to distinct boards. Indeed, the minute subdivision of local administration has been carried to extreme lengths in New Zealand, where the hundreds of petty local bodies, each with its functions, officers, and circle of friends and enemies, are so many stumbling-blocks to thorough--going amalgamation and rearrangement. In New Zealand the English conditions are reversed; the municipal lags far behind the central authority on the path of experiment. This is no doubt due, at least in part, to the difference in the respective franchises. The New Zealand ratepayers' franchise is more restricted than that under which the English councils are elected. A few words will be in place here about the continuance and outcome of the Public Works policy. Sir Julius Vogel quitted the Colony in 1876, but borrowing for public works did not cease. It has not yet ceased, though it has slackened at times. In 1879 a commercial depression overtook the Colony. The good prices of wool and wheat sank lower and lower; the output of gold, too, had greatly gone down. There had been far too much private borrowing to buy land or to set up or extend commercial enterprises. The rates of interest had often been exorbitant. Then there happened on a small scale what happened in Victoria on a larger scale twelve years later. The boom burst amid much suffering and repentance. In some districts three-fourths of the prominent colonists were ruined, for the price of rural produce continued on the whole to fall relentlessly year after year until 1894. The men who had burdened themselves with land, bought wholly or largely with borrowed money, nearly all went down. Some were ruined quickly, others struggled on in financial agony for a decade or more. Then when the individual debtors had been squeezed dry the turn of their mortgagees came. Some of these were left with masses of unsalable property on their hands. At last, in 1894, the directors of the bank which was the greatest of the mortgagees--the Bank of New Zealand--had to come to the Government of the day to be saved from instant bankruptcy. In 1895 an Act was passed which, while guaranteeing the bank, virtually placed it beneath State control, under which it seems likely gradually to get clear of its entanglements. This was the last episode in the long drama of inflation and depression which was played out in New Zealand between 1870 and 1895. No story of the Colony, however brief, can pretend to be complete which does not refer to this. The blame of it is usually laid upon the public works policy. The money borrowed and spent by the Treasury is often spoken of as having been wasted in political jobs, and as having led to nothing except parliamentary corruption and an eternal burden of indebtedness and taxation. This is but true to a very limited extent. It was not the public borrowing of the Colony, but the private debts of the colonists, which, following the extraordinary fall in the prices of their raw products between 1873 and 1895, plunged so many thousands into disaster. Nine-tenths of the money publicly borrowed by the Colony has been very well spent. No doubt the annual distribution of large sums through the Lands and Public Works departments year after year have had disagreeable effects on public life. In every Parliament certain members are to be pointed out--usually from half-settled districts--who hang on to the Ministry's skirts for what they can get for their electorates. The jesting lines at the head of this chapter advert to these. But they must not be taken too seriously. It would be better if the purposes for which votes of borrowed money are designed were scrutinized by a board of experts, or at least a strong committee of members. It would be better still if loans had to be specially authorized by the taxpayers. But when the worst is said that can be said of the public works policy, its good deeds still outweigh its evil. It is true that between 1870 and 1898 the public debt has been multiplied six times; but the white population has nearly tripled, the exports have more than doubled, and the imports increased by 75 per cent. Moreover, of the exports at the time when the public works policy was initiated, about half were represented by gold, which now represents but a tenth of the Colony's exports. Again, the product of the workshops and factories of the Colony are now estimated at above ten millions annually, most of which is consumed in New Zealand, and therefore does not figure in the exports. The income of the bread-winners in the Colony and the wealth of the people per head, are now nearly the highest in the world. In 1870 the colonists were without the conveniences and in many cases comforts of modern civilization. They had scarcely any railways, few telegraphs, insufficient roads, bridges and harbours. Education was not universal, and the want of recreation and human society was so great as to lead notoriously to drunkenness and course debauchery. New Zealand is now a pleasant and highly civilized country. That she has become so in the last thirty years is due chiefly to the much-criticised public works policy. Before parting with the subject of finance, it should be noted that in 1870 the Treasury was glad to borrow at slightly over five per cent. Now it can borrow at three. The fall in the rate of private loans has been even more remarkable. Mortgagors can now borrow at five per cent. who in 1870 might have had to pay nine. This steady fall in interest, coupled with the generally reproductive nature of the public works expenditure, should not be overlooked by those who are appalled by the magnitude of the colonial debts. For the rest, there is no repudiation party in New Zealand, nor is there likely to be any. The growth of the Colony's debt is not a matter which need give its creditors the slightest uneasiness, though no doubt it is something which the New Zealand taxpayers themselves should and will watch with the greatest care. It is quite possible that some special check will ultimately be adopted by these to ensure peculiar caution and delay in dealing with Parliamentary Loan Bills. It may be that some application of the "referendum" may, in this particular instance, be found advisable, inasmuch as the Upper House of the New Zealand Parliament, active as it is in checking general legislation, may not amend, and in practice does not reject, loan bills. Chapter XX IN PARLIAMENT "Shapes of all sorts and sizes, great and small That stood upon the floor or by the wall, And some loquacious Vessels were, and some Listened, perhaps, but never talked at all." When we come to look at the men as distinct from the measures of the parliament of New Zealand between 1870 and 1890, perhaps the most interesting and curious feature was the Continuous Ministry. With some approach to accuracy it may be said to have come into office in August, 1869, and to have finally expired in January, 1891. Out of twenty-one years and a half it held office for between sixteen and seventeen years. Sir Edward Stafford turned and kept it out for a month in 1872; Sir George Grey for two years, 1877-79; Sir Robert Stout for three years, 1884-7. None of the ministries which thus for longer or shorter periods supplanted it ever commanded strong majorities, or held any thorough control over the House. The Continuous Ministry was a name given to a shifting combination, or rather series of combinations, amongst public men, by which the cabinet was from time to time modified without being completely changed at any one moment. It might be likened to the pearly nautilus, which passes, by gradual growth and movement, from cell to cell in slow succession; or, more prosaically, to that oft-repaired garment, which at last consisted entirely of patches. Like the nautilus, too, it had respectable sailing and floating powers. The continuous process was rather the outcome of rapidly changing conditions and personal exigencies than of any set plan or purpose. With its men its opinions and actions underwent alterations. Naturally the complete transformation which came over the Colony during the two decades between 1870 and 1890, had its effect on the point of view of colonists and their public men. The Continuous Ministry began by borrowing, and never really ceased to borrow; but its efforts at certain periods of the second of these two decades to restrict borrowing and retrench ordinary expenditure were in striking contrast to the lavishness of the years between 1872 and 1877. At its birth under Sir William Fox its sympathies were provincial and mildly democratic. It quickly quarrelled with and overthrew the Provinces, and became identified with Conservatism as that term is understood in New Zealand. From 1869 to 1872 its leaders were Fox, Vogel, and McLean. Fox left it in 1872; Major Atkinson joined it in 1874; Vogel quitted it in 1876; McLean died in 1877. Put out of office by Sir George Grey, it was for a short time led once more by Sir William Fox. It came back again in 1879 as a Hall-Atkinson-Whitaker combination. Hall retired in 1881, but Atkinson and Whitaker, helped by his advice, continued to direct it to the end. Now for its opponents. Rallying under Sir George Grey in 1876, the beaten Provincialists formed a party of progress, taking the good old name of Liberal. Though Sir George had failed to save their Provinces, his eloquent exhortations rapidly revived in the House of Representatives the democratic tendencies of some of the Councils. Hitherto any concessions to Radicalism or Collectivism made by the House had been viewed in the most easy-going fashion. Vogel in his earlier years had adopted the ballot, and had set up a State Life Insurance Department, which has been successfully managed, and has now about ten millions assured in it. More interesting and valuable still was his establishment of the office of Public Trustee. So well has the experiment worked, that it may be said as a plain truth that in New Zealand, the best possible Trustee, the one least subject to accidents of fortune, and most exempt from the errors which beset man's honesty and judgment, has been found by experience to be the State. The Public Trust Office of the Colony worked at first in a humble way, chiefly in taking charge of small intestate estates. Experience, however, showed its advantages so clearly, that it has now property approaching two millions' worth in its care. Any owner of property, whether he be resident in the Colony or not, wishing to create a trust, may use the Public Trustee, subject, of course, to that officer's consent. Any one who desires so to do may appoint him the executor of his will. Any one about to leave, or who has left the Colony, may make him his attorney. The Public Trustee may step in and take charge, not only of intestate estates, but of an inheritance where no executor has been named under the will, or where those named will not act. He manages and protects the property of lunatics. Where private trust estates become the cause of disputes and quarrels, between trustees and beneficiaries, the parties thereto may relieve themselves by handing over their burden to the public office. The Public Trustee never dies, never goes out of his mind, never leaves the Colony, never becomes disqualified, and never becomes that extremely disagreeable and unpleasant person--a trustee whom you do not trust. In addition to his other manifold duties he holds and administers very large areas of land reserved for the use of certain Maori tribes. These he leases to working settlers, paying over the rents to the Maori beneficiaries. Naturally, the class which has the most cause to be grateful to the Public Trust Office is that composed of widows and orphans and other unbusinesslike inheritors of small properties, persons whose little inheritances are so often mismanaged by private trustees or wasted in law costs. Another reform carried out by Vogel had been the adoption of the Torrens system of land transfer. Henceforth under the Land Transfer Law, Government officers did nearly all the conveyancing business of the Colony. Land titles were investigated, registered, and guaranteed, and sales and mortgages then became as simple and almost as cheap as the transfer of a parcel of shares in a company. Even earlier the legislature had done a creditable thing in being the first in the Empire to abolish the scandal of public executions. 1877 may be accounted the birth year of more militant and systematic reform. Grey's platform speeches in the summer of 1876-77 brought home the new Radicalism to the feelings of the mass of the electors, and to the number, then considerable, who were not electors. For the first time one of the Colony's leaders appealed to the mass of the colonists with a policy distinctly and deliberately democratic. The result was awakening. Then and subsequently Grey advocated triennial parliaments, one man one vote, a land tax, and a land policy based upon the leasing of land rather than its sale, and particularly upon a restriction of the area which any one man might acquire. The definite views of the Radicals bore fruit at once in the session of 1877. It was necessary to establish a national system of education to replace the useful, but ill-jointed work done peacemeal by the Provinces. A bill--and not a bad bill--was introduced by Mr. Charles Bowen, a gentleman honourably connected with the founding of education in Canterbury. This measure the Radicals took hold of and turned it into the free, secular, compulsory system of primary school-teaching of which the Colony is to-day justly proud, and under which the State educates thirteen-fourteenths of the children of the Colony. Now, in 1898, out of an estimated population of about 780,000 all told, some 150,000 are at school or college. Of children between ten and fifteen years of age the proportion unable to read is but o·68. The annual average of attendance is much higher in New Zealand than in any of the Australian Colonies. The primary school system is excellent on its literary, not so excellent on its technical side. Nearly three-fourths of the Roman Catholic children do not take advantage of it. Their parents prefer to support the schools of their church, though without State aid of any kind. These, and a proportion of the children of the wealthier, are the only exceptions to the general use made of the public schools. It is not likely that any change, either in the direction of teaching religion in these, or granting money to church schools, will be made. Each political party in turn is only too eager to charge the other with tampering with the National system--a sin, the bare hint of which is like suspicion of witchcraft or heresy in the Middle Ages. Grey gained office in 1877, but with a majority too small to enable him to carry his measures. Ballance, his treasurer, did indeed carry a tax upon land values. But its chief result at the time was to alarm and exasperate owners of land, and to league them against the Radicals, who after a not very brilliant experience of office without power fell in 1879. Thereafter, so utterly had Grey's angry followers lost faith in his generalship, that they deposed him--a humiliation which it could be wished they had seen their way to forego, or he to forgive. Yet he was, it must be confessed, a very trying leader. His cloudy eloquence would not do for human nature's daily food. His opponents, Atkinson and Hall, had not a tithe of his emotional power, but their facts and figures riddled his fine speeches. Stout and Ballance, lieutenants of talent and character, became estranged from him; others of his friends were enough to have damned any government. The leader of a colonial party must have certain qualities which Sir George Grey did not possess. He may dispense with eloquence, but must be a debater; whether able or not able to rouse public meetings, he must know how to conduct wearisome and complicated business by discussion; he must not only have a grasp of great principles, but readiness to devote himself to the mastery of uninteresting minds and unappetizing details; above all, he must be generous and considerate to lieutenants who have their own views and their own followers, and who expect to have their full share of credit and influence. In one word, he should be what Ballance was and Grey was not. Nevertheless, one of Grey's courage, talent, and prestige was not likely to fail to leave his mark upon the politics of the country; nor did he. Though he failed to pass the reforms just mentioned, he had the satisfaction of seeing them adopted and carried into law, some by his opponents, some by his friends. Only one of his pet proposals seems to have been altogether lost sight of, his oft-repeated demand that the Governor of the Colony should be elected by the people. The Grey Ministry had committed what in a Colonial Cabinet is the one unpardonable crime--it had encountered a commercial depression, with its concomitant, a shrunken revenue. When Hall and Atkinson succeeded Grey with a mission to abolish the land-tax, they had at once to impose a different but more severe burden. They also reduced--for a time--the cost of the public departments by the rough-and-ready method of knocking ten per cent. off all salaries and wages paid by the treasury, a method which, applied as it was at first equally to low and high, had the unpopularity as well as the simplicity of the poll-tax. That retrenchment and fresh taxation were unpleasant necessities, and that Hall and Atkinson more than once tackled the disagreeable task of applying them, remains true and to their credit. Between 1880 and 1890 the colonists were for the most part resolutely at work adapting themselves to the new order of things--to lower prices and slower progress. They increased their output of wool and coal--the latter a compensation for the falling-off of the gold. They found in frozen meat an export larger and more profitable than wheat. Later on they began, with marked success, to organize co-operative dairy factories and send cheese and butter to England. Public affairs during the decade resolved themselves chiefly into a series of expedients for filling the treasury and carrying on the work of land settlement. Borrowing went on, but more and more slowly. Times did not soon get better. In 1885 and 1886 the industrial outlook was perhaps at its worst. In 1887, Atkinson and Whitaker, coming again into power, with Hall as adviser, administered a second dose of taxation-cum-retrenchment. They cut down the salaries of the Governor and the ministers, and the size and pay of the elected chamber. They made efforts, more equitable this time, to reduce the cost of the public departments. They stiffened the property-tax, and for the second time raised the Customs Duties, giving them a distinctly Protectionist complexion. The broad result was the achievement of financial equilibrium. For ten years there have been no deficits in New Zealand. Apart from retrenchment, Atkinson had to rely upon the Opposition in forcing his financial measures through against the Free Traders amongst his own following. This strained his party. Moreover, in forming his cabinet in 1887 he had not picked some of his colleagues well. In particular, the absence of Mr. Rolleston's experience and knowledge from the House and the government weakened him. Mr. Rolleston has his limitations, and his friends did the enemy a service when, after his return to public life in 1891, they tried to make a guerilla chief out of a scrupulous administrator. But he was a capable and not illiberal minister of lands, and his value at that post to his party may be gauged by what they suffered when they had to do without him. The lands administration of the Atkinson cabinet became unpopular, and the discontent therewith found a forcible exponent in an Otago farmer, Mr. John McKenzie, a gigantic Gael, in grim earnest in the cause of close settlement, and whose plain-spoken exposures of monopoly and "dummyism" not only woke up the Radicals, but went home to the smaller settlers far and wide. It may be that these things hastened the breaking-down of Sir Harry Atkinson's health in 1890. At any rate fail it did, unhappily. His colleague, Sir Frederick Whitaker, was ageing palpably. Nor did Sir John Hall's health allow him to take office. [Illustration: THE HON. JOHN MACKENZIE _By permission of_ Messrs. SAMPSON LOW] With their _tres Magi_ thus disabled, the Conservative party began to lose ground. More than one cause, no doubt, explains how it was that up to 1891 the Liberals hardly ever had a command of Parliament equal to their hold upon the country. But the abilities of the three men just named had, I believe, a great share in holding them in check. Sir John Hall's devotion to work, grasp of detail, and shrewd judgment were proverbial. He was the most businesslike critic of a bill in committee the House of Representatives ever had, and was all the more effective in politics for his studiously conciliatory manner. Astute and wary, Sir Frederick Whitaker was oftener felt than seen. But with more directness than Whitaker, and more fighting force than Hall, it was Atkinson who, from 1875 to his physical collapse in 1890, was the mainstay of his party. He carried through the abolition of the Provinces; he twice reorganized the finances; he was the protagonist of his side in their battles with Grey, Ballance, and Stout, and they could not easily have had a better. This chief of Grey's opponents was as unlike him in demeanour and disposition as one man can well be to another. The two seemed to have nothing in common, except inexhaustible courage. Grey had been trained in the theory of war, and any part he took therein was as leader. Atkinson had picked up a practical knowledge of bush-fighting by exchanging hard knocks with the Maoris as a captain of militia. Grey was all courtesy; the other almost oddly tart and abrupt. Grey's oratory consisted of high-pitched appeals to great principles, which were sometimes eloquent, sometimes empty. His antagonist regarded Parliament as a place for the transaction of public business. When he had anything to say, he said it plainly; when he had a statement to make, he made it, and straightway went on to the next matter. His scorn of the graces of speech did not prevent him from being a punishing debater. Theories he had--of a quasi-socialistic kind. But his life was passed in confronting hard facts. Outside the House he was a working colonist; inside it a practical politician. The only glory he sought was "the glory of going on," and of helping the Colony to go on. When, with tragic suddenness, he died in harness, in the Legislative Council in 1892, there was not alone sincere sorrow among the circle of friends and allies who knew his sterling character, but, inasmuch as however hard he had hit in debate it had never been below the belt, his opponents joined in regretting that so brave and faithful a public servant had not been spared to enjoy the rest he had well earned. [Illustration: SIR HARRY ATKINSON _By permission of_ Messrs. SAMPSON LOW.] What kind of an assembly, it may be asked, is the New Zealand Parliament which Atkinson's force of character enabled him to lead so long, and which has borne undivided rule over the Colony since 1876? The best answer can be found in the story of the Colony, for the General Assembly, at all events, has never been a _fainéant_ ruler. It has done wrong as well as right, but it has always done something. After the various false starts before referred to, it has, since getting fairly to work in 1856, completed forty-three years of talk, toil, legislation and obstruction. It may fairly be claimed that its life has been interesting, laborious and not dishonourable. It has exactly doubled in size since Governor Wynyard's day. Old settlers say that it has not doubled in ability. But old settlers, with all their virtues, are incorrigible _laudatores temporis acti_. The industry of the members, the difficulties they had to cope with in the last generation, and the number and variety and novelty of the questions they have essayed to solve in this, are undoubted. Their work must, of course, be tested by time. Much of it has already borne good fruit, and any that does manifest harm is not likely to cumber the earth long. If laws in colonies are more quickly passed, they are also more easy to amend than in older countries. The Lower House of a Colonial Parliament resembles, in most ways, the London County Council more than the House of Commons. But in New Zealand members have always been paid--their salary is now £240 a year. Farmers and professional men make up the largest element. The Labour members have never numbered more than half a dozen. At present there are five in each House. In the more important debates speeches are now limited to an hour, otherwise to half an hour. The length of speeches in committee must not exceed ten minutes. About twenty per cent. of the speaking is good; most of it is made with little or no preparation, and suffers--together with its hearers--accordingly. Bores are never shouted or coughed down--the House is too small, and nearly all the members are on friendly terms with each other. Until the adoption of the time limit business was in daily danger of being arrested by speeches of phenomenal length and dreariness. Anthony Trollope, who listened to a debate at Wellington in 1872, thought the New Zealand parliamentary bores the worst he had known. The discussions in Committee are often admirably businesslike, except when there is obstruction, as there frequently is. As elsewhere, special committees do much work and get little thanks therefor. As compared with the House of Commons, the debates would seem to lack dignity; as compared with the proceedings of the Sydney Parliament, they would have appeared models of decorum, at any rate until quite recently. No New Zealand debater would be held great in England, but seven or eight would be called distinctly good. The House supports a strong Speaker, but is disposed to bully weakness in the chair. For the last thirty years the Maori race has returned four members to the House. They usually speak through an interpreter. In spite of that, when discussing native questions they often show themselves fluent and even eloquent. Outside local and private bills, nearly all important legislation is conducted by Government. Private members often profess to put this down to the jealousy and tyranny of Ministers, but the truth is that Parliament, as a whole, has always been intolerant of private members' bills. There is no direct personal corruption. If the House were as free from small-minded jealousy and disloyalty as it is from bribery and idleness, it would be a very noble assembly. In character, the politicians have been at least equal to the average of their fellow-colonists. But party ties are much looser than in England. Members will sometimes support Governments for what they can get for their districts, or leave them because they have not been given a portfolio. Attempts to form a third party are incessant but unsuccessful. Ministries, if not strangled at the birth--as was the "Clean Shirt" Cabinet--usually last for three years. Since August, 1884, there have virtually been but two changes of the party in power. Reconstructions owing to death or retirement of a Premier have now and then added to the number of apparently new Cabinets. Of the seven or eight Ministers who make up a Cabinet, four or five are usually able and overworked men. The stress of New Zealand public life has told on many of her statesmen. Beside Governor Hobson, McLean, Featherston, Crosbie Ward, Atkinson and Ballance died in harness, and Hall had to save his life by resigning. Most of the Colony's leaders have lived and died poor men. Parliaments are triennial, and about one-third of the constituencies are pretty certain to return new members at a general election. All the elections take place on one day, and if a member--even the leader of a party--loses his seat, he may be cut out for years. This is a misfortune, as experience is a quality of which the House is apt to run short. Block votes frequently prevent elections from being fought on the practical questions of the hour. The contests are inexpensive, and there is very little of the cynical blackmailing of candidates and open subsidising by members which jar so unpleasantly on the observer of English constituencies. Indeed, cynicism is by no means a fault of New Zealand political life. The most marked failings are, perhaps, the savagely personal character of some of its conflicts, and a general over-strained earnestness and lack of sense of proportion or humour. Newspapers and speeches teem with denunciations which might have been in place if hurled at the corruption of Walpole, the bureaucracy of Prussia, the finance of the _Ancien Régime_, or the treatment of native races by the Spanish conquerors of the New World. Nor is bitterness confined to wild language in or out of parliament. The terrible saying of Gibbon Wakefield, fifty years ago, that in Colonial politics "every one strikes at his opponent's heart," has still unhappily some truth in it. The man who would serve New Zealand in any more brilliant fashion than by silent voting or anonymous writing must tread a path set with the thorns of malice, and be satisfied to find a few friends loyal and a few foes chivalrous. Chapter XXI SOME BONES OF CONTENTION "Now who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; Ten who in ears and eyes Match me; we all surmise, They this thing, and I that; whom shall my soul believe?" During the ten years beginning in 1879 New Zealand finance was little more than a series of attempts to avert deficits. In their endeavours to raise the revenue required for interest payments on the still swelling public debt, and the inevitably growing departmental expenditure, various treasurers turned to the Customs. In raising money by duties they received support both from those who wished to protect local industries and from those who wished to postpone the putting of heavy taxation upon land. Sir Harry Atkinson, the treasurer who carried the chief protectionist duties, used to disclaim being either a protectionist or a free-trader. The net result of various conflicts has been a tariff which is protectionist, but not highly protectionist. The duties levied on New Zealand imports represent twenty-four per cent. of the declared value of the goods. But the highest duties, those on spirits, wine, beer, sugar, tea, and tobacco, are not intentionally protectionist; they are simply revenue duties, though that on beer has undoubtedly helped large and profitable colonial breweries to be established. English free-traders accept as an axiom that Customs duties cannot produce increased revenue and at the same time stimulate local manufactures. Nevertheless, under the kind of compromise by which duties of fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five per cent. are levied on so many articles, it does come about that the colonial treasurer gets his revenue while, sheltered by the fiscal hedge, certain colonial manufactures steadily grow up. The factories of the Colony now employ some 40,000 hands, and their annual output is estimated at ten millions sterling. Much of this would, of course, have come had the Colony's ports been free; but the factories engaged in the woollen, printing, clothing, iron and steel, tanning, boot, furniture, brewing, jam-making, and brick and tile-making industries owe their existence in the main to the duties. Nor would it be fair to regard the Colony's protection as simply a gigantic job managed by the more or less debasing influence of powerful companies and firms. It was adopted before such influences and interests were. It could not have come about, still less could it last, were there not an honest and widespread belief that without duties the variety of industries needful to make a civilized and prosperous nation could not be attained in young countries where nascent enterprises are almost certain to be undercut and undersold by the giant capitalists and cheaper labour of the old world. Such a belief may conceivably be an economic mistake, but those who hold it need not be thought mere directors or tools of selfish and corrupt rings. The Colony will not adopt Free Trade unless a change comes over the public mind, of which there is yet no sign; but it is not likely to go further on the road towards McKinleyism. Its protection, such as it is, was the outcome of compromises, stands frankly as a compromise, and is likely for the present to remain as that. So long as the Provinces lasted the General Assembly had little or nothing to do with land laws. When, after abolition, the management of the public estate came into the hands of the central authority, the regulations affecting it were a bewildering host. Some fifty-four statutes and ordinances had to be repealed. Nor could uniformity be substituted at once, inasmuch as land was occupied under a dozen different systems in as many different provincial districts. Only very gradually could these be assimilated, and it was not until the year 1892 that one land act could be said to contain the law on the subject, and to be equally applicable to all New Zealand. In the meantime the statute-books of 1877, 1878, 1883, 1885 and 1887 bore elaborate evidence of the complexity of the agrarian question, and the importance attached to it. On it more than on any other difference party divisions were based. Over it feelings were stirred up which were not merely personal, local, or sectional. It became, and over an average of years remained, the matter of chief moment in the Colony's politics. Finance, liquor reform, labour acts, franchise extension may take first place in this or that session, but the land question, in one or other of its branches, is always second. The discussions on it roused an enduring interest in Parliament given to no other subject. The Minister of Lands ranks with the Premier and the Treasurer as one of the leaders in every Cabinet. Well may he do so. Many millions of acres and many thousands of tenants are comprised in the Crown leases alone. Outside these come the constant land sales, the purchases from the Maori tribes, and in recent years the buying back of estates from private owners, and the settlement thereof. These form most, though not all, of the business of the Minister of Lands, his officers, and the administrative district boards attached to his department. If there were no land question in New Zealand, there might be no Liberal Party. It was the transfer of the land from the Provinces to the central Parliament in 1876 which chiefly helped Grey and his lieutenants to get together a democratic following. [Illustration: A NEW ZEALAND SETTLER'S HOME Photo by WINCKLEMAN] Slowly but surely the undying agrarian controversy passed with the Colony's progress into new stages. In the early days we have seen the battle between the "sufficient price" of Gibbon Wakefield and the cheap land of Grey, the good and evil wrought by the former, the wide and lasting mischief brought about by the latter. By 1876 price had ceased to be the main point at issue. It was agreed on all hands that town and suburban lands parted with by the Crown should be sold by auction at fairly high upset prices; and that rural agricultural land should be divided into classes--first, second, and third--and should not be sold by auction, but applied for by would-be occupants prepared to pay from £2 to 10s. an acre, according to quality. More and more the land laws of the Colony were altered so as to favour occupation by small farmers, who were not compelled to purchase their land for cash, but permitted to remain State tenants at low rentals, or allowed to buy the freehold by gradual instalments, termed deferred payments. Even the great pastoral leaseholds were to some extent sub-divided as the leases fell in. The efforts of the land reformers were for many years devoted to limiting the acreage which any one person could buy or lease, and to ensuring that any person acquiring land should himself live thereon, and should use and improve it, and not leave it lying idle until the spread of population enabled him to sell it at a profit to some monopolist or, more often, some genuine farmer. As early as 1856 Otago had set the example of insisting on an outlay of 30s. an acre in improvement by each purchaser of public land. Gradually the limiting laws were made more and more stringent, and were partly applied even to pastoral leases. Now, in 1898, no person can select more than 640 acres of first-class or 2,000 acres of second-class land, including any land he is already holding. In other words, no considerable landowner can legally acquire public land. Pastoral "runs"--_i.e._, grazing leases--must not be larger than such as will carry 20,000 sheep or 4,000 cattle, and no one can hold more than one run. The attempts often ingeniously made to evade these restrictions by getting land in the names of relatives, servants, or agents are called "dummyism," and may be punished by imprisonment--never inflicted--by fines, and by forfeiture of the land "dummied."[1] [Footnote 1: Many a good story is founded on the adventures of land-buyers in their endeavours to evade the spirit and obey the letter of land regulations. In 1891 a rhymester wrote in doggerel somewhat as follows of the experiences of a selector who "took up" a piece of Crown land-- "On a certain sort of tenure, which his fancy much preferred, That convenient kind of payment which is known as the 'deferred.' "Now the laws in wise New Zealand with regard to buying land, Which at divers times and places have been variously planned, Form a code that's something fearful, something wonderful and grand. "You may get a thousand acres, and you haven't got to pay Aught but just a small deposit in a friendly sort of way. "But you mustn't own a freehold, and you mustn't have a run, And you mustn't be a kinsman of a squatter owning one; "But must build a habitation and contentedly reside, And must satisfy the Land Board that you pass the night inside. "For if any rash selector on his section isn't found He is straightway doomed to forfeit all his title to the ground."] The political battles over the land laws of New Zealand during the sixteen years since 1882 have not, however, centred round the limitation of the right of purchase, or insistence on improvements, so much as round the respective advantages of freehold and perpetual leasehold, and round the compulsory repurchase of private land for settlement. Roughly speaking, the political party which has taken the name of Liberal has urged on the adoption of the perpetual lease as the main or sole tenure under which State lands should in the future be acquired. As a rule the party which the Liberals call Conservative has advocated that would-be settlers should be allowed to choose their tenure for themselves, and to be leaseholders or freeholders as they please. Then there have arisen, too, important questions affecting the perpetual lease itself. Should the perpetual leaseholders retain the right of converting at any time their leasehold into a freehold by paying down the cash value of their farm, or should the State always retain the fee simple? Next, if the State should retain this, ought there to be periodical revisions of the rent, so as to reserve the unearned increment for the public? Fierce have been the debates and curious the compromises arrived at concerning these debatable points. The broad result has been that the sale of the freehold of Crown lands, though not entirely prohibited, has been much discouraged, and that the usual tenure given now is a lease for 999 years at a rent of four per cent. on the prairie value of the land at the time of leasing. As this tenure virtually hands over the unearned increment to the lessee, it is regarded by the advanced land reformers with mixed feelings. From their point of view, however, it has the advantage of enabling men with small capital to take up land without expending their money in a cash purchase. Inasmuch, too, as transfers of a lease can only be made with the assent of the State Land Board for the district--which assent will only be given in case the transfer is to a _bona fide_ occupier not already a landowner--land monopoly is checked and occupancy for use assured. Meanwhile there is plenty of genuine settlement; every year sees many hundred fresh homes made and tracts reclaimed from the wilderness. [Illustration: PICTON--QUEEN CHARLOTTE'S SOUND Photo by HENRY WRIGHT.] Quite as keen has been the fighting over the principle of State repurchase of private lands with or without the owner's consent. It was a favourite project of Sir George Grey's; but it did not become law until he had left public life, when it was carried by the most successful and determined of the Liberal Ministers of Lands, John McKenzie, who has administered it in a way which bids fair to leave an enduring mark on the face of the Colony. Under this law £700,000 has been spent in buying-forty-nine estates, or portions of estates, for close settlement. The area bought is 187,000 acres. A few of these have, at the time of writing, not yet been thrown open for settlement; on the rest 2,252 human beings are already living. They pay a rent equal to 5.2 per cent. on the cost of the land to the Government. Even taking into account interest on the purchase money of land not yet taken up, a margin remains in favour of the Treasury. Nearly 700 new houses and £100,000 worth of improvements testify to the genuine nature of the occupation. As a rule there is no difficulty in buying by friendly arrangement between Government and proprietor. The latter is commonly as ready to sell as the former to buy. The price is usually settled by bargaining of longer or shorter duration. Twice negotiations have failed, and the matter has been laid before the Supreme Court, which has statutory power to fix the price when the parties fail to agree. It must be remembered that as a rule large holdings of land mean something quite different in New Zealand from anything they signify to the English mind. In England a great estate is peopled by a more or less numerous tenantry. In New Zealand it is, as a rule, not peopled at all. Sheep roam over its grassy leagues, cared for by a manager and a few shepherds. Natural and proper as this may be on the wilder hills and poorer soils, it is easy to see how unnatural and intolerable it appears in fertile and accessible districts. In 1891 there were nearly twelve and a half million acres held in freehold. Of these rather more than seven millions were in the hands of 584 owners, none of whom held less than five thousand acres. In spite of land-laws, land-tax, and time, out of thirty-four million acres of land occupied under various tenures, twenty-one millions are held in areas of more than five thousand acres. Much the largest of the estates purchased by the Government came into their hands in an odd way, and not under the Act just described. The Cheviot property was an excellent example of what the old cheap-land regulations led to. It was a fine tract of 84,000 acres of land, on which up to 1893 some forty human beings and about 60,000 sheep were to be found. Hilly but not mountainous, grassy, fertile, and lying against the sea-shore, it was exactly suited for fairly close settlement. Under the provisions of the land-tax presently to be described, a landowner who thinks the assessors have over-valued his property may call upon the Government to buy it at his own lower valuation. A difference of £50,000 between the estimate of the trustees who held the Cheviot estate and that of the official valuers caused the former to give the Government of the day the choice between reducing the assessment or buying the estate. Mr. McKenzie, however, was just the man to pick up the gauntlet thus thrown down. He had the Cheviot bought, cut up, and opened by roads. A portion was sold, but most leased; and within a year of purchase a thriving yeomanry, numbering nearly nine hundred souls and owning 74,000 sheep, 1,500 cattle, and 500 horses, were at work in the erstwhile empty tract. Four prosperous years have since added to their numbers, and the rent they pay more than recoups the Treasury for the interest on its outlay in the purchase and settlement. In 1886, John Ballance, then Minister of Lands, made a courageous endeavour to place a number of workmen out of employment on the soil in what were known as village settlements. In various parts of the Colony blocks of Crown land were taken and divided into allotments of from twenty to fifty acres. These were let to the village settlers on perpetual lease at a rental equal to five per cent. on the prairie value of the land. Once in a generation there was to be a revision of the rental. The settlers, many of whom were quite destitute, were helped at first not only by two years' postponement of their rent, but by small advances to each to enable them to buy seed, tools, food, and building material. Ballance was fiercely attacked in 1887 for his experiment, and his opponents triumphantly pointed to the collapse of certain of his settlements. Others, however, turned out to be successes, and by last accounts the village settlers and their families now number nearly five thousand human beings, occupying 35,000 acres in allotments of an average size of twenty-four acres. Most of them divide their time between tilling their land and working for wages as shearers, harvesters, or occasionally mechanics. Some £27,000 has been lent them, of which they still owe about £24,000. As against this the Government has been paid £27,000 in rent and interest, and the improvements made by the settlers on their allotments are valued at about £110,000, and form very good security for their debts to the Treasury. Of late years Mr. McKenzie has been aiding the poorer class of would-be farmers by employing them at wages to clear the land of which they afterwards become tenants. The money paid them is, of course, added to the capital value of the land. For the last five years Liquor has disputed with Land the chief place in the public interest. It has introduced an element of picturesque enthusiasm and, here and there, a passion of hatred rarely seen before in New Zealand politics. It brought division into the Liberal Party in 1893, at the moment when the Progressive movement seemed to have reached its high-water mark, and the feeling it roused was found typified in the curious five years' duel between Mr. Seddon and Sir Robert Stout, which began in 1893 and ended only with Sir Robert's retirement at the beginning of the present year. It has strangely complicated New Zealand politics, is still doing so, and is the key to much political manoeuvring with which it might seem to have nothing whatever to do. For many years total abstainers in New Zealand have grown in numbers. Though for the last thirty years drinking and drunkenness have been on the decline among all classes of colonists, and though New Zealanders have for a long time consumed much less alcohol per head than Britons do, that has not checked the growth of an agitation for total prohibition, which has absorbed within itself probably the larger, certainly the more active, section of temperance reformers.[1] In 1882 a mild form of local option went on to the statute-book, while the granting of licenses was handed over to boards elected by ratepayers. For the next ten years no marked result roused attention. Then, almost suddenly, the Prohibition movement was seen to be advancing by leaps and bounds. Two clergymen, the Rev. Leonard Isitt and the Rev. Edward Walker, were respectively the voice and the hand of the Prohibitionists. As a speaker Mr. Isitt would perhaps be the better for a less liberal use of the bludgeon, but his remarkable energy and force on the platform, and his bold and thorough sincerity, made him a power in the land. Mr. Walker had much to do with securing tangible results for the force which Mr. Isitt's harangues aroused, and in which the Liberal Party was to a large extent enrolled. In 1893 the temperance leaders thought themselves strong enough to make sweeping demands of Parliament. Ballance, the Liberal Premier, had just died; his party was by many believed to be disorganized. In Sir Robert Stout, the Brougham of New Zealand public life, the Prohibitionists had a spokesman of boundless energy and uncommon hitting power in debate. He tabled a Bill briefly embodying their complete demands, and it was read a second time. Old parliamentary hands knew full well that the introduction of so controversial and absorbing a measure in the last session before a General Election meant the sacrifice for that year, at least, of most of the policy bills on labour, land, and other matters. But, whether it would or would not have been better to postpone Licensing Reform to a Parliament elected to deal with it, as matters came to stand, there was no choice. The Ministry tried to deal with the question on progressive, yet not unreasonable, lines. A Local Option Bill was passed, therefore, and nearly every other important policy measure, except the Female Franchise Bill, went by the board--blocked or killed in one Chamber or the other. The hurried Government licensing measure of 1893 had of course to be expanded and amended in 1895 and 1896. Now, though it has failed to satisfy the more thorough-going Prohibitionists, it embraces a complete and elaborate system of local option. Except under certain extraordinary conditions, the existing number of licenses cannot be increased. The licensing districts are coterminous with the Parliamentary electorates. The triennial licensing poll takes place on the same day as the General Election, thus ensuring a full vote. Every adult male and female resident may vote: (1) to retain all existing licenses; or (2) to reduce the number of licenses, and (3) to abolish all licenses within the district. To carry No. 3 a majority of three to two is requisite. No compensation is granted to any licensed house thus closed. Two local option polls have been held under this law. The first resulted in the closing of some seventy houses and the carrying of a total prohibition of retail liquor sales in the district of Clutha. Limited Prohibition has been the law in Clutha for some four years. The accounts of the results thereof conflict very sharply. In the writer's opinion--given with no great confidence--the consumption of beer and wine there has been greatly reduced, that of spirits not very greatly. There is much less open drunkenness. In certain spots there is sly grog-selling with its concomitants of expense, stealthy drinking, and perjury. The second general Licensing Poll was held in December, 1896. Then for the first time it was taken on the same day as the Parliamentary elections. In consequence the Prohibitionist vote nearly doubled. But the Moderate vote more than trebled, and the attacking abstainers were repulsed all along the line, though they, on their side, defeated an attempt to recapture Clutha. [Footnote 1: In 1884 the consumption of liquor among New Zealanders per head was--beer, 8.769 gallons; wine, 0.272 gallons; spirits, 0.999 gallons. The proportions had fallen in 1895 to 7.421 gallons of beer, 0.135 of wine, and 0.629 of spirits.] The Prohibitionists are now disposed, it is believed, to make the fullest use in future of their right to vote for the reduction of the number of licensed houses. They still, however, object to the presence of the Reduction clause in the Act, and unite with the publicans in the wish to restrict the alternatives at the Local Option polls to two--total Prohibition and the maintenance of all existing licensed houses. They have also decided to oppose having the Licensing Poll on General Election day. Strongest of all is their objection to the three to two majority required to carry total and immediate Prohibition. These form the line of cleavage between them and a great many who share their detestation of the abuses of the liquor traffic. [Illustration] Chapter XXII EIGHT YEARS OF EXPERIMENT "For I remember stopping by the way To watch a potter thumping his wet clay." In 1890 a new force came into the political field--organized labour. The growth of the cities and of factories in them, the decline of the alluvial and more easily worked gold-fields, and the occupation of the more fertile and accessible lands, all gradually tended to reproduce in the new country old-world industrial conditions. Even the sweating system could be found at work in holes and corners. There need be no surprise, therefore, that the labour problem, when engaging so much of the attention of the civilized world, demanded notice even in New Zealand. There was nothing novel there in the notion of extending the functions of the State in the hope of benefiting the community of the less fortunate classes of it. Already in 1890, the State was the largest landowner and receiver of rents, and the largest employer of labour. It owned nearly all the railways and all the telegraphs just as it now owns and manages the cheap, popular, and useful system of telephones. It entirely controlled and supported the hospitals and lunatic asylums, which it managed humanely and well. It also, by means of local boards and institutions, controlled the whole charitable aid of the country--a system of outdoor relief in some respects open to criticism. It was the largest trustee, managed the largest life insurance business, did nearly all the conveyancing, and educated more than nine-tenths of the children. It will thus be seen that the large number of interesting experiments sanctioned by the New Zealand Parliament since 1890 involved few new departures or startling changes of principle. The constitution was democratic: it has simply been made more democratic. The functions of the State were wide; they have been made yet wider. The uncommon feature of the last eight years has been not so much the nature as the number and degree of the changes effected and the trials made by the Liberal-Labour fusion which gained power under Mr. Ballance at the close of 1890 and still retains office. The precise cause of their victory was the wave of socialistic, agrarian, and labour feeling which swept over the English-speaking world at the time, and which reached New Zealand. [Illustration: THE HON. JOHN BALLANCE] The oft-repeated assertion that the Australasian maritime strike of August, 1890, was not only coincident with the forming of Labour Parties in various colonies, but was itself the chief cause thereof, is not true Colonial Labour Parties have, no doubt, been influenced by two noted strikes, themselves divided by the width of the world. I mean the English dockers' strike and our own maritime strike. But the great Thames strike may be said rather to have given a fillip to Colonial Trades Unionism, apart from politics altogether, than to have created any Party. As for the other conflict, though the utter rout of the colonial maritime strikers in 1890 undoubtedly sent Trades Unionists to the ballot-box sore and with a keen desire to redress the balance by gaining political successes, it was not the sole or the chief cause of their taking to politics. Before it took place New Zealand politicians knew the Labour organizations were coming into their field. The question was what they would do. The Opposition of 1889-90, though not without Conservative elements--the remnants of a former coalition--was mainly Radical. It had always supported Sir George Grey in his efforts to widen the franchise, efforts which in 1889 were finally crowned by the gain of one-man-one-vote. And in 1889 it choose as its head, John Ballance, perhaps the only man who could head with success a Liberal-Labour fusion. A journalist, but the son of a North Irish farmer, he knew country life on its working side. His views on the land question were not therefore mere theories, but part of his life and belief. Though not a single-taxer, he advocated State tenancy, as opposed to freehold, and his extension of village settlements had made him amongst New Zealand workmen a popular Lands Minister. Experience had made him a prudent financier, a humane temper made him a friend of the Maori. His views on constitutional reform were advanced, on liquor and education reactionary. In Labour questions apart from land settlement he took no special part. He was an excellent debater and a kindly, courteous, considerate chief. In Ballance and his followers in 1890 New Zealand Labour Organizations found a ready-made political Party from which they had much to hope. With it, therefore, they threw in their lot. The result showed the power the agrarian feeling of Unionism and of one-man-one-vote. In New Zealand, all the elections for the House of Representatives take place on one day. In 1890 the day was the 5th December. On the 6th it was clear enough that Ballance would be the Colony's next Premier. His defeated opponents made a short delay, in order to commit the huge tactical mistake of getting the Governor to make seven additions to the Upper House. Then they yielded, and on 24th January, 1891, he took office. Within his cabinet, he had the staunchest of lieutenants in Mr. John McKenzie aforesaid, whose burly strength combined with that of Mr. Seddon, now Premier, to supply the physical fighting force lacking in their chief. Mr. Cadman, another colleague, was an administrator of exceptional assiduity. But none of these had held office before, and outside his cabinet Ballance had to consolidate a party made up largely of raw material. Amongst it was a novel and hardly calculable element, the Labour Members. At the elections, however, no attempt had been made to reserve the Labour vote for candidates belonging exclusively to Trades Unions, or who were workmen. Of some score of Members who owed their return chiefly to the Labour vote, and who had accepted the chief points of the Labour policy, six only were working mechanics. Moreover, though the six were new to Parliament, several of their closest allies had been there before, and were old members of the Ballance Party. Not only, therefore, was a distinct Labour Party not formed, but there was no attempt to form one. For the rest, any feeling of nervous curiosity with which the artisan parliamentarians were at first regarded soon wore off. They were without exception men of character, intelligence, and common-sense. They behaved as though their only ambition was to be sensible Members of Parliament. As such, they were soon classed, and lookers-on were only occasionally reminded that they held a special brief. Anything like a detailed history of the struggles which followed would be out of place here. Nor is it possible yet to sum up the results of changes, none of which are eight years old. A mere enumeration of them would take some space: a succinct description would require a fairly thick pamphlet. Some were carried after hot debate; some after very little. Some were resolutely contested in the popular chamber, and were assented to rather easily in the Upper House; others went through the Lower House without much difficulty, but failed again and again to run the gauntlet of the nominated chamber. The voting of some was on strict party lines: in other instances leading Opposition Members like Captain Russell frankly accepted the principle of measures. Some were closely canvassed in the newspapers and country; others were hardly examined outside Parliament. But, roughly speaking, the chief experiments of the last eight years not already dealt with many be divided into three sections. These relate to (1) Finance; (2) Constitutional Reform; (3) Labour. One of the first and--to a New Zealander's eyes--boldest strokes delivered was against the Property Tax. This, the chief direct tax of the Colony, was an annual impost of 1d. in the £ on the capital value of every citizen's possessions, less his debts and an exemption of £500. Its friends claimed for this tax that it was no respecter of persons, but was simple, even-handed, and efficient. The last it certainly was, bringing as it did into the Treasury annually about as many thousands as there are days in the year. But inasmuch as different kinds of property are by no means equally profitable, and therefore the ability of owners to pay is by no means equal, the simplicity of the Property Tax was not by many thought equity. The shopkeeper, taxed on unsaleable stock, the manufacturer paying on plant and buildings as much in good years as in bad, bethought them that under an Income Tax they would at any rate escape in bad seasons when their income might be less or nothing. The comfortable professional man or well-paid business manager paid nothing on their substantial and regular incomes. The working-farmer settling in the desert felt that for every pound's worth of improvements made by muscle and money he would have to account to the tax-collector at the next assessment. Nevertheless the Conservative politicians rallied round the doomed tax. It was a good machine for raising indispensable revenue. Moreover, it did not select any class of property-owners or any description of property for special burdens. This suited the landowners, who dreaded a Land Tax, for might not a Land Tax contain the germ of that nightmare of the larger colonial landowner--the Single Tax? It suited also the wealthy, who feared graduated taxation, and the lawyers, doctors, agents, and managing directors, whose incomes it did not touch. So when in the autumn the rumour went round that the Ballance Ministry meant to abolish the Property Tax and bring forward Bills embodying a Progressive Land Tax, and Progressive Income Tax, the proposal was thought to represent the audacity of impudence or desperation. When the rumour proved true, it was predicted that the farmers throughout the length and breath of the country would rise in wrath and terror, scared by the very name of Land Tax. Nevertheless Parliament passed the Bills, with the addition of a light Absentee Tax. The smaller farmers, at any rate, took the appeals of the Property Taxers with apathy, suspecting that under a tax on bare land values they would pay less than under a Property Tax which fell on land, improvements, and live stock as well. Since 1891, therefore, progression or graduation has been in New Zealand a cardinal principle of direct taxation. Land pays no Income Tax, and landowners who have less than £500 worth of bare land value pay no Land Tax. This complete exemption of the very small land owners forms an almost insuperable barrier to the progress of singletaxers. On all land over £500 value 1d. in the £ is paid. The mortgaged farmer deducts the amount of his mortgage from the value of his farm and pays only on the remainder. The money-lender pays 1d. in the £ on the mortgage, which for this purpose is treated as land. An additional graduated tax begins on holdings worth, £5,000. At that stage it is an eighth of a penny. By progressive steps it rises until, on estates assessed at £210,000, it is 2d. Thus under the graduated and simple Land Tax together, the holders of the largest areas pay 3d. in the £, whilst the peasant farmers whose acres are worth less than £500 pay nothing. The owner who pays graduated tax pays upon the whole land value of his estate with no deduction for mortgage. The Graduated Tax brings in about £80,000 a year; the 1d. Land Tax about £200,000; the Income Tax about £70,000. The assessment and collection cause no difficulty. South Australia had a Land Tax before New Zealand; New South Wales has imposed one since. Both differ from New Zealand's. Income earners pay on nothing up to £300 a year. Between £300 and £1,300 the tax is 6d. all round; over £1,300 it rises to a shilling. Joint-stock companies pay a shilling on all income. Another law authorizes local governing bodies to levy their rates on bare land values. Three times the Bill passed the Lower House, only to be rejected in the Upper. It became law in 1896. The adoption of the principle permitted by it is hedged about by various restrictions but some fourteen local bodies have voted in favour thereof. The unexampled and, till 1895, continuous fall of prices in the European markets made it hard for colonial producers to make both ends meet. The cultivator found his land depreciated because, though he grew more than before, he got less for it. As the volume of produce swelled, so the return for it sank as by some fatal compensation. To pay the old rates of interest is for the mortgaged farmer, therefore, an impossibility. Various schemes for using the credit of the State to reduce current rates of interest have been before the public in more than one colony. The scheme of the New Zealand Government is contained in the Advances to Settlers Act, 1894. Under it a State Board may lend Government money on leasehold and freehold security, but not on urban or suburban land, unless occupied for farming or market-gardening. The loan may amount to three-fifths of the value of the security when freehold, and one-half when leasehold. The rate of interest charged is 5 per cent., but the borrower pays at the rate of 6 per cent. in half-yearly instalments, the extra 1 per cent. being by way of gradual repayment of the principal. Mortgagees must in this way repay the principal in 73 half-yearly instalments, provided they care to remain indebted so long. If able to wipe off their debts sooner, they can do so. The Act came into force in October, 1894. Machinery for carrying it out was quickly set up; applications for loans came in freely, and about a million has been lent, though the State Board, in its anxiety to avoid bad security, has shown a proper spirit of caution. With one exception, the constitutional changes of the eight years may be dismissed in a very few words. The Upper Chamber, or Legislative Council of New Zealand, is nominative and not elective, nor is there any fixed limit to its numbers. Liable, thus, to be diluted by Liberal nominees, it is not so strong an obstacle to the popular will as are the Elective Councils of certain Australian Colonies. Prior to 1891, however, the nominations in New Zealand were for life. This was objected to for two reasons. A Councillor, who at the age of sixty might be a valuable adviser, might twelve years later be but the shadow of his former self. Moreover, experience showed that Conservatism was apt to strengthen in the nominated legislator's mind with advancing years. So a seven years' tenure has been substituted for life tenure. Then, again, in 1891 the Liberal majority in the Colony was scarcely represented in the Council at all. In important divisions, Government measures passed by decisive majorities in the popular Chamber could only muster two, three, four, or five supporters in the Council. This not only meant that a hostile majority could reject and amend as it pleased, but that measures were not even fairly debated in the Upper House. Only one side was heard. In 1892 the Ballance Ministry, therefore, asked the Governor to call twelve fresh Councillors. His Excellency demurred to the number. As there was about to be a change of Governors the matter stood over. The new Governor proved as unwilling as his predecessor. Ballance held that in this matter, as in others, the constitutional course was for the Governor to take the advice of his Ministers. His Excellency thought otherwise. By mutual consent the matter was referred to the Colonial Office, where Lord Ripon decided in favour of the Premier. Twelve new Councillors were nominated. Though this submission to the arbitration of the Colonial Office was attacked not only by colonial Conservatives but by Sir George Grey, it was highly approved of both by the Lower House and the mass of the electors, and was regarded as one of Ballance's most important successes. Another he did not live to see achieved. His Electoral Bill, wrecked twice in the Council, was only passed some months after his death. Under it the one-man-one-vote was carried to its complete issue by the clause providing for one man one registration; that is to say, that no voter could register on more than one roll. Consequently property-owners were not only cut down to one vote in one district at a general election, but were prevented from voting in another district at a by-election. The right to vote by letter was extended from seamen to shearers. But much the greatest extension of the franchise was the giving it to women. This was a curious example of a remarkable constitutional change carried by a Parliament at the election of which the question had scarcely been discussed. Labour, Land, and Progressive Taxation had been so entirely the ascendant questions at the General Election of 1890, that it came as a surprise to most to learn next year that the House of Representatives was in favour of women's suffrage. Even then it was not generally supposed that the question would be settled. Sir John Hall, however, its consistent friend, brought it up in the House, and Ballance, an equally earnest supporter, at once accepted it. After that, the only doubts as to its becoming law sprang from the attitude of the Legislative Council, and from the scruples of certain persons who thought that so great a change should be definitely submitted to the constituencies. Feeling was both strengthened and exacerbated by the enthusiasm of the Prohibition lodges, some of whose members at the same time demanded that the Government should pass the measure, and emphatically assured every one that its passing would forthwith bring about the Government's downfall and damnation. There is no doubt that many of the Ministry's opponents believed this, and that to their mistake was due the escape of the Bill in the Council. It was passed on the eve of the General Elections by the narrowest possible majority. The rush of the women on to the rolls; the interest taken by them in the elections; the peaceable and orderly character of the contests; and the Liberal majority returned at two successive General Elections are all matters of New Zealand history. Most of the women voters show as yet no disposition to follow the clergy in assailing the national system of free, secular, and compulsory education. They clearly favour temperance reform, but are by no means unanimous for total prohibition. On the whole, the most marked feature of their use of the franchise is their tendency to agree with their menkind. Families, as a rule, vote together, and the women of any class or section are swayed by its interests, prejudices, or ideals to just about the same extent as the males thereof. Thus, the friends and relatives of merchants and professional men, large landowners, or employers of labour, usually vote on one side; factory girls, domestic servants, wives of labourers, miners, artisans, or small farmers, on the other. Schoolmistresses are as decidedly for secular education as are schoolmasters. It is too soon to pronounce yet with anything like confidence on the results of this great experiment. We have yet to see whether female interest in politics will intensify or fade. At present, perhaps, the right of every adult woman to vote is more remarkable for what it has not brought about than for what it has. It has not broken up existing parties, unsexed women, or made them quarrel with their husbands, or neglect their households. It has not interfered with marriage, or society, or the fashion of dress. The ladies are not clamouring to be admitted to Parliament. They do less platform-speaking than Englishwomen do, though many of them study public affairs--about which, to say truth, they have much to learn. Observers outside the Colony need not suppose that New Zealand women are in the least degree either "wild," or "new," or belong to any shrieking sisterhood. Though one or two have entered learned professions, most of them are engaged in domestic duties. Those who go out into the world do so to work unassumingly as school teachers, factory hands, or household servants. As school teachers they are usually efficient, as domestic servants civil and hard-working, as factory hands neat, industrious, and moral. It is true that they are, without exception, educated to the extent of having had at least good primary school teaching. But though they read--clean, healthy English books--this, so far from making them inclined to favour frantic or immoral social experiments, should have, one may hope, just the opposite effect. Far from being a spectacled, angular, hysterical, uncomfortable race, perpetually demanding extravagant changes in shrill tones, they are, at least, as distinguished for womanly modesty, grace, and affection, as Englishwomen in any other part of the Empire. There are some who connect the appearance of women in the political arena with the recent passing of an Infants' Life Protection Act, the raising of the age of consent to fifteen, the admission of women to the Bar, the appointment of female inspectors to lunatic asylums, factories, and other institutions, improvements in the laws dealing with Adoption of Children and Industrial Schools, a severe law against the keepers of houses of ill-fame, and with the new liquor laws and the Prohibitionist movement which is so prominent a feature of New Zealand public life. A handy volume issued by the Government printer contains most of the Labour Laws of New Zealand. They are now twenty-six in number, comprising Acts, amending Acts, and portions of Acts. Their aim is not the abolition of the wages system, but, as far as may be to make that system fair and tolerable, and in protecting the labourer to protect the fair employer. Some twenty of these laws have been passed during the last seven years. Of these an Employers' Liability Act resembles Mr. Asquith's ill-fated Bill. Worked in conjunction with a law for the inspection of machinery and a thorough-going system of factory inspection, it has lessened accidents without leading to litigation. It neither permits contracting-out nor allows employers to escape liability by means of letting out contracts. A Truck Act declares the right of every wage-earner to be paid promptly, in full, in the current coin of the realm, and to be allowed to spend wages as they choose. Two more enactments deal with the earnings of the workmen of contractors and sub-contractors, make them a first charge on all contract money, give workers employed on works of construction a lien thereon, and compel a contractor's employer to hold back at least one-fourth of the contract money for a month after the completion of a contract, unless he shall be satisfied that all workmen concerned have been paid in full. A Wages Attachment Act limits without entirely abolishing a creditor's right to obtain orders of court attaching forthcoming earnings. The Factories Act of 1894, slightly extended by an amending Act in 1896, consolidates and improves upon no less than four previous measures, two of which had been passed by the Ballance Government. As compared with similar European and American laws, it may fairly claim to be advanced and minute. Under its pivot clause all workshops, where two or more persons are occupied, are declared to be factories, must register, pay an annual fee, and submit to inspection at any hour of the night or day. A master and servant working together count as two hands. Inspectors have absolute power to demand such cubic space, ventilation, and sanitary arrangements generally as they may consider needful to preserve life and health. The factory age is fourteen; there are no half-timers; and, after a struggle, the Upper House was induced to pass a clause enforcing an education test before any child under fifteen should be allowed to go to factory work. This is but logical in a country wherein primary education is not only free, but compulsory. Children under sixteen must be certified by an inspector to be physically fit for factory life. Women and children under eighteen may not work before 7.45 a.m. or after 6 p.m., nor more than forty-eight hours per week. Whether time-workers or piece-workers, they are equally entitled to the half-holiday after 1 p.m. on Saturday. In the case of time-workers, this half-holiday is to be granted without deduction of wages. The rates of pay and hours of work in factories have to be publicly notified and returned to the inspectors. Overtime may be permitted by inspectors on twenty-eight days a year, but overtime pay must be not less than 6d. an hour extra. The factory-owners who send work out have to make complete returns thereof. All clothing made outside factories for sale is to be ticketed "tenement made," and any person removing the ticket before sale may be fined. No home work may be sublet. A peculiar feature in the Act relates to the board and lodging provided on sheep stations for the nomadic bands of shearers who traverse colonies, going from wool-shed to wool-shed during the shearing season. The huts in which these men live are placed under the factory inspectors, who have power to call upon station-owners to make them decent and comfortable. The Act has clauses insisting on the provision of a separate dining-room for women workers, of fire-escapes, and protection against dangerous machinery. Girls under fifteen may not work as type-setters; young persons of both sexes are shut out of certain dangerous trades; women may not work in factories within a month after their confinement. Such are the leading features of the Factories Act. It is strictly enforced, and has not in any way checked the growth of manufactures in the colony. The laws which regulate retail shops do not aim at securing what is known as early closing. A weekly half-holiday for all, employer and employed alike; a fifty-four hours' working week for women and young persons; seats for shop girls, and liberty to use them; sanitary inspection of shops. These were the objects of those who framed the acts, and these have been attained. Under a special section merchants' offices must close at 5 o'clock p.m. during two-thirds of each month. On the weekly half-holiday shops in towns must be closed at 1 o'clock, but each town chooses its own day for closing. Nearly all choose Wednesday or Thursday, so as not to interfere with the Saturday market-day of the farmers. Much feeling was stirred up by the passing of this Act, but it has since entirely died away. Until 1894 the legal position of Trade Unionists in New Zealand was much less enviable than that of their brethren in England. The English Act of 1875 repealing the old Labour Conspiracy law and modifying the common law doctrine relating thereto, had never been enacted in New Zealand. The Intimidation law (6 George IV.) was still in force throughout Australasia; the common law doctrine relating thereto had not been in any way softened. Within the last few years Australian Trade Unionists had found the old English law unexpectedly hunted up for the purpose of putting them into gaol. Three short clauses and a schedule, passed in 1894, swept from the Statute-Book and the common law of New Zealand all laws and doctrines specially relating to conspiracy among members of Trades Unions who in future will only be amenable to such conspiracy laws as affect all citizens. In New Zealand most domestic servants and many farm hands and gardeners are engaged through Servants' Registry Offices. A law, passed in 1895, provides for the inspection of these, and regulates the fees charged therein. Office-keepers have to be of good character; have to register and take out a license; have to keep books and records which are officially inspected. They are not allowed to keep lodging-houses or to have any interest in such houses. To certain students the most interesting and novel of the New Zealand labour laws is that which endeavours to settle labour disputes between employers and Trade Unions by means of public arbitration instead of the old-world methods of the strike and the lock-out. Under this statute, which was passed in 1894, the Trade Unions of the Colony have been given the right to become corporate bodies able to sue and be sued. In each industrial locality a Board of Conciliation is set up, composed equally of representatives of employers and workmen, with an impartial chairman. Disputes between Trade Unions and employers--the Act deals with no others--are referred first of all to these Boards. The exclusion of disputes between individuals, or between unorganized workmen and their masters, is grounded on the belief that such disputes are apt to be neither stubborn nor mischievous enough to call for State interference; moreover, how could an award be enforced against a handful of roving workmen, a mere nebulous cluster of units? At the request of any party to an industrial dispute the District Board can call all other parties before it, and can hear, examine, and recommend. It is armed with complete powers for taking evidence and compelling attendance. Its award, however, is not enforceable at law, but is merely in the nature of friendly advice. Should all or any of the parties refuse to accept it, an appeal lies to the Central Court of Arbitration, composed of a judge of the Supreme Court sitting with two assessors representing capital and labour respectively. The trio are appointed for three years, and in default of crime or insanity can only be removed by statute. Their court may not be appealed from, and their procedure is not fettered by precedent. No disputant may employ counsel unless all agree to do so. The decisions of this Court are binding in law, and may be enforced by pains and penalties. The arbitration law has been in active operation for about three years, during which time some thirty-five Labour disputes have been successfully settled. As a rule, the decisions of the Local Conciliation Boards are not accepted. Either some of the parties refuse to concur, or some of the recommendations are objected to by all those on one side or the other. In nearly all cases the awards of the Arbitration Court have been quietly submitted to. In three minor cases proceedings have been taken for penalties. Twice these have been dismissed on technical grounds. In the third instance a small penalty was imposed. All the important Labour disputes of the last three years have been brought before the tribunals set up under the Act. The only strike which has occurred and has attracted any attention during this period was by certain unorganized bricklayers working for the government. As the Act applied to neither side an attempt was made to settle the dispute by voluntary arbitration. Some of the men, however, refused to accept the arbitrators' award, and lost their work. But of strikes by Trades Unions there have been none, and there should be none so long as the Act can be made to work. As to the kind of questions arbitrated upon, they comprise most of the hard nuts familiar to students of the Labour problem. Among them are hours of labour, holidays, the amount of day wages, the price to be paid for piece-work, the proportion of apprentices to skilled artizans, the facilities to be allowed to Trade Union officials for interviews with members, the refusal of Unionists to work with non-Union men, and the pressure exerted by employees to induce workmen to join private benefit societies. A New Zealand employer, it may be mentioned, cannot take himself outside the Act of discharging his Union hands, or even by gradually ceasing to engage Union men, and then pleading that he has none left in his employ. A Union, whose members are at variance with certain employers in a trade, may bring all the local employees engaged in that trade into court, so that the same award may be binding on the whole trade in the district. Most of the references have been anything but trivial affairs, either as to the numbers of workmen concerned, or the value of the industries, or importance of the points in dispute. It is wrong to suppose that the operation of the Act is confined to industries protected by high customs duties, or to workers in factories. It may be applied wherever workers are members of legally constituted bodies, set up either under the Trade Union Act, or under the Arbitration Statute itself. Unions who want to make use of it, register under it; and some eighty have already done so. Trade Unions who do not specially register may nevertheless be brought before the Arbitration Court by the employers of their members. So far the Act has met with a remarkable measure of success. The Trade Unions are enthusiastic believers in it,--rather too enthusiastic, indeed, for they have shown a tendency to make too frequent a use of it. Some of their officials, too, would do well to be more brief and businesslike in the conduct of cases. On the other hand, employers in most of the localities have made a serious mistake in refusing to elect representatives for the local Conciliation Boards, and thus forcing the Government to nominate members. This has weakened the Boards, has hindered them from having the conciliatory character they ought to have, and has led in part to the frequent appeals to the Central Court of which the employers themselves complain. The lawyers claim to have discovered that the penalty clauses of the Act are badly drafted, and some of them assert that unless these are amended, they will be able to drive a coach and six through the statute. No doubt technical amendments will be required from time to time. What is still more requisite is an understanding between the more reasonable leaders on both sides of industry, by which arrangements may be made for the more effectual and informal use of the Conciliation Boards. Meanwhile it savours of the absurd to talk and write--as certain fault-finders have done--as though every arbitration under the Act were a disturbance of industry as ruinous as a prolonged strike. Other critics have not stickled to assert that it has mischievously affected the volume of the Colony's industries, a statement which is simply untrue. It is the reviving prosperity of the Colony during the last three years which has led the Trade Unions to make so much use of the Act. In place of striking on a rising market, as they do in other countries, they have gone to arbitration. Public opinion in New Zealand has never been one-sided on the question. It has all along been prepared to give this important experiment a fair trial, and is quite ready to have incidental difficulties cured by reasonable amendment. The Shipping and Seamen's Act, 1894, and the amending Acts of the two following years, mitigate the old-fashioned severity of punishments for refusal of duty, assaults on the high seas, and other nautical offences. The forecastle and the accommodation thereof become subject to the _fiat_ of the Government inspector, as are factories on shore. Regular payment of wages is stipulated for, overcrowding amongst passengers is forbidden. Complete powers are given to the marine authorities to enforce not only a full equipment of life-boats and life-saving appliances, but boat-drill. Deck loading is restricted, and the Plimsoll mark insisted on. But the portion of the Act which gave rise to the intensest opposition was the proviso by which all sailing vessels are obliged to carry a certain complement of able seamen and ordinary seamen, according to their tonnage, while steamers must carry a given number of able seamen, ordinary seamen, firemen, trimmers, and greasers, according to their horse-power. Foreign vessels, while engaging in the New Zealand coasting-trade, have to pay their crews the rate of wages current on the coast. Parliament was warned that the passing of this Act would paralyze the trade of the Colony, but passed it was--with certain not unreasonable amendments--and trade goes on precisely as before. In 1891, moreover, the colonial laws relating to mining generally, and to coal-mining especially, were consolidated and amended. An interesting feature in the New Zealand Coal Mines' Act is the provision by which mine-owners have to contribute to a fund for the relief of miners or the families of miners in cases where men are injured or killed at work. Every quarter the owners have to pay a halfpenny per ton on the output, if it be bituminous coal; and a farthing a ton, if it be lignite. Payment is made into the nearest Post Office Savings Bank and goes to the credit of an account called "The Coal Miners' Relief Fund." From 1891 mineral rights are reserved in lands thereafter alienated by the Crown. Most of the Labour laws are watched and administered by the Department of Labour, a branch of the public service created in 1891. It costs but £7,000 or £8,000 a year, much of which is recouped by factory fees and other receipts. It also keeps labour statistics, acts as a servants' registry office, and by publishing information, and by shifting them from congested districts, endeavours to keep down the numbers of the unemployed. In this, though it is but a palliative, it has done useful and humane work, aided--so far as the circulation of labour goes--by the State-owned railways. [Illustration: TE WAHAROA HENARE KAIHAU, M.H.R. HON. JAMES CARROLL, M.H.R RIGHT HON. R.J. SEDDON (_Premier_) MAHUTA (_The Maori "King"_) Photo by_ BEATTIE & SANDERSON, Auckland.] From what has gone before, readers will readily understand that the New Zealand Government has usually in its employ several thousand labourers engaged in road-making, bridge-building, draining, and in erecting and repairing public buildings. To avoid the faults of both the ordinary contract and the day-wage system, a plan, clumsily called The Co-operative Contract System, has been adopted by the present Premier, Mr. Seddon. The work is cut up into small sections, the workmen group themselves in little parties of from four to eight men, and each party is offered a section at a fair price estimated by the Government's engineers. Material, when wanted, is furnished by the Government, and the tax-payer thus escapes the frauds and adulteration of old contract days. The result of the system in practice is that where workmen are of, at any rate, average industry and capacity, they make good, sometimes excellent, wages. In effect they are groups of piece-workers, whose relation with each other is that of partners. Each band elects a trustee, with whom the Government officials deal. They are to a large extent their own masters, and work without being driven by the contractor's foreman. They are not encouraged to work more than eight hours a day; but as what they get depends on what they do, they do not dawdle during those hours, and if one man in a group should prove a loafer, his comrades, who have to suffer for his laziness, soon get rid of him. The tendency is for first-class men to join together, and for second-class men to similarly arrange themselves. Sometimes, of course, the officers, in making estimates of the price to be paid for work, make mistakes, and men will earn extravagantly high wages, or get very poor returns. But as the sections are small, this does not last for long, and the balance is redressed. After some years' experience, it seems fairly proved that the average of earnings is not extravagant, and that the taxpayer loses nothing by the arrangement as compared with the old contract system, while the change is highly popular with workmen throughout the Colony. Those who know anything of politics anywhere, will not need to be told that the changes and experiments here sketched have been viewed with suspicion, alarm, contempt, or anger, by a large class of wealthy and influential New Zealanders. It is but fair that, in a sketch like this, some emphasis should be laid upon their dissent and protests. Into the personal attacks of which very much of their criticism has consisted this is not the place to enter. A summary of the Conservative view of the progressive work ought, however, to have a place. Disqualified as I might be thought to be from attempting it, I prefer to make use of an account written and published in 1896 by an English barrister, who, in the years 1894-95, spent many months in the Colony studying with attention its politics and public temper. As his social acquaintanceships lay chiefly among the Conservatives, he had no difficulty in getting frank expressions of their views. In the following sentences he sums up the more moderate and impersonal of these, as he heard and analysed them:-- "... It must not be supposed that the Conservatives of New Zealand, any more than those of the mother country, are apologists for 'sweating.' Indeed, as Mr. Reeves himself has acknowledged, the labour legislation with which he is associated was inaugurated by the Government's predecessors, and in carrying his Bills he had the cordial support of Captain Russell, the leader of the Opposition. At the same time it is urged that this protective legislation has been carried to an unreasonable extent, and people allege, no doubt with a certain amount of exaggeration, that they feel themselves regulated in all the relations of life. The measure which has created the most irritation seems to be the Shop Assistants Act. Employers say that Mr. Reeves has made every man 'a walking lawsuit,' and that they are chary of having one about their premises. Moreover, this constant succession of labour laws, and the language of some of their supporters, have created, so they say, in the minds of the working classes the impression that the squatters, manufacturers, and the classes with which they associate, are tyrants and oppressors, and their lives are embittered by the feeling that they are regarded as enemies of the people. Further, they say that the administrative action of the Government tends to keep up the price of labour, that the price of labour is unreasonably high, and that this fact, coupled with the necessity of keeping all the provisions of the labour laws in mind, and the spirit which they have generated, makes them disinclined to employ labour in the improvement of their lands. As to the Government's land policy, while it is admitted that small settlers are desirable, it is not admitted that large properties are necessarily a curse. What is resented more fiercely than anything else is the fact that they are liable to have their own properties appropriated at the arbitrary will of the Minister of lands, and though the Government promises to work the law reasonably, neither this nor any other of their declarations is regarded with confidence. It is asserted that the Government is flooding the country with incompetent settlers, who imagine that anyone can get a living out of the land; that the resumed properties have been purchased and cut up in such a way that a cry for a reduction of rents will soon become inevitable, and that the Cheap Money Scheme has created a class of debtors, who, in conceivable circumstances, might be able to apply effectual political pressure for the reduction of their interest. In point of fact they do not share the Progressist idea, that much can be done by legislation to ameliorate the condition of the masses of the population, nor do they see that in a country like New Zealand, where labour is dear, food cheap, and the climate mild and equable, their condition need necessarily be so deplorable. They still cherish the old theories of individualism. The humanitarian ideals of Mr. Reeves, not being idealists, they regard with little interest. What they see is the Government of their Colony, which they had been accustomed to control, in the hands of men whose characters they despise or detest, and the House of Representatives, which was once the most dignified and distinguished assembly in the Colonies, now become (in their circle at any rate) a byword of reproach--full of men who vote themselves for a three months' session salaries which many of them would be unable to earn in any other walk of life." Despite the Socialistic tendency of the Acts thus denounced, it must not be thought that there is any strong party of deliberate State Socialists in the Colony at all corresponding to the following of Bebel and Liebknecht in Germany, or even the Independent Labour Party in England. There is not. The reforms and experiments which show themselves so many in the later chapters of the story of New Zealand have in all cases been examined and taken on their merits, and not otherwise. They are the outcome of a belief which, though much more boldly trusted and acted upon by the Progressives than by the Conservatives, is not now the monopoly of one political party. The leaders of the rival parties, the robust Mr. Seddon and the kindly Captain Russell, both admit one main principle. It is that a young democratic country, still almost free from extremes of wealth and poverty, from class hatreds and fears and the barriers these create, supplies an unequalled field for safe and rational experiment in the hope of preventing and shutting out some of the worst social evils and miseries which afflict great nations alike in the old world and the new. To sum up the experiments themselves, it may be said that the Colony has now reached the stage when the State, without being in any way a monopolist, is a large and active competitor in many fields of industry. Where it does not compete it often regulates. This very competition must of course expose it to the most severe tests and trials. Further progress will chiefly depend on the measure of success with which it stands these, and on the consequent willingness or unwillingness of public opinion to make trial of further novelties. Chapter XXIII THE NEW ZEALANDERS "No hungry generations tread thee down." Some 785,000 whites, browns, and yellows are now living in New Zealand. Of these the browns are made up of about 37,000 Maoris and 5,800 half-castes. The Maoris seem slowly decreasing, the half-castes increasing rather rapidly. 315,000 sheep, 30,000 cattle, many horses, and much land, a little of which they cultivate, some of which they let, support them comfortably enough. The yellows, some 3,500 Chinese, are a true alien element. They do not marry--78 European and 14 Chinese wives are all they have, at any rate in the Colony. They are not met in social intercourse or industrial partnership by any class of colonists, but work apart as gold-diggers, market-gardeners, and small shop-keepers, and are the same inscrutable, industrious, insanitary race of gamblers and opium-smokers in New Zealand as elsewhere. At one time they were twice as numerous. Then a poll-tax of £10 was levied on all new-comers. Still, a few score came in every year, paying the tax, or having it paid for them; and about as many went home to China, usually with £200 or more about them. In 1895 the tax was raised to £50, and this seems likely to bring the end quickly. Despised, disliked, dwindling, the Chinese are bound soon to disappear from the colony. Of the 740,000 whites, more than half have been born in the country, and many are the children, and a few even the grandchildren, of New Zealand-born parents. An insular race is therefore in process of forming. What are its characteristics? As the Scotch would say--what like is it? Does it give any signs of qualities, physical or mental, tending to distinguish it from Britons, Australians, or North Americans? The answer is not easy. Nothing is more tempting, and at the same time more risky, than to thus generalize and speculate too soon. As was said at the outset, New Zealand has taken an almost perverse delight in upsetting expectations. Nevertheless, certain points are worth noting which may, at any rate, help readers to draw conclusions of their own. The New Zealanders are a British race in a sense in which the inhabitants of the British Islands scarcely are. That is to say, they consist of English, Scotch, and Irish, living together, meeting daily, intermarrying, and having children whose blood with each generation becomes more completely blended and mingled. The Celtic element is larger than in England or in the Scottish lowlands. As against this there is a certain, though small, infusion of Scandinavian and German blood; very little indeed of any other foreign race. The Scotch muster strongest in the south and the Irish in the mining districts. In proportion to their numbers the Scotch are more prominent than other races in politics, commerce, finance, sheep farming, and the work of education. Among the seventy European members of the New Zealand House of Representatives there is seldom more than one Smith, Brown, or Jones, and hardly ever a single Robinson; but the usual number of McKenzies is three. The Irish do not crowd into the towns, or attempt to capture the municipal machinery, as in America, nor are they a source of political unrest or corruption. Their Church's antagonism to the National Education system has excluded many able Catholics from public life. The Scandinavians and Germans very seldom figure there. Some 1,700 Jews live in the towns, and seem more numerous and prominent in the north than in the south. They belong to the middle class; many are wealthy. These are often charitable and public-spirited, and active in municipal rather than in parliamentary life. [Illustration: MAORIS CONVEYING GUESTS IN A CANOE Photo by Beattie & Sanderson, Auckland.] Among the Churches the Church of England claims 40 per cent. of the people; the Presbyterians 23 per cent.; other Protestants, chiefly Methodists, 17 per cent.; and Catholics 14. Methodists seem increasing rather faster than any other denomination. Though the National School system is secular, it is not anti-Christian. 11,000 persons teach 105,000 children in Sunday-schools. In the census returns about two per cent. of the population object or neglect to specify their religion; only about one per cent. style themselves as definitely outside the Christian camp. The average density of population throughout the Colony's 104,000 square miles is somewhat less than eight to the mile. Two-thirds of the New Zealanders live in the country, in villages, or in towns of less than 5,000 inhabitants. Even the larger towns cover, taken together, about seventy square miles of ground--not very cramping limits for a quarter of a million of people. Nor is there overcrowding in houses; less than five persons to a house is the proportion. There are very few spots in the towns where trees, flower gardens, and grass are not close at hand, and even orchards and fields not far away. The dwelling-houses, almost all of wood, seldom more than two storeys high, commonly show by their shady verandahs and veiling creepers that the New Zealand sun is warmer than the English. Bright, windy, and full of the salt of the ocean, the air is perhaps the wholesomest on earth, and the Island race naturally shows its influence. Bronzed faces display on every side the power of sun and wind. Pallor is rare; so also is the more delicate pink and white of certain English skins. The rainier, softer skies of the western coasts have their result in smoother skins and better complexions on that side of the Islands than in the drier east. On the warm shores of Auckland there are signs of a more slightly-built breed, but not in the interior, which almost everywhere rises quickly into hill or plateau. Athletic records show that the North Islanders hold their own well enough against Southern rivals. More heavily built as a rule than the Australians, the New Zealanders have darker hair and thicker eyebrows than is common with the Anglo-Saxon of Northern England and Scotland. Tall and robust, the men do not carry themselves as straight as the nations which have been through the hands of the drill-sergeant. The women--who are still somewhat less numerous than the males--are as tall, but not usually as slight, as those of the English upper classes. To sum up, the New Zealand race shows no sign of beating the best British, or of producing an average equal to that best; but its average is undoubtedly better than the general British average. The puny myriads of the manufacturing towns have no counterpart in the Colony, and, if humanitarian laws can prevent it, never should. The birth-rate and death-rate are both strikingly low: the latter, 9.14 per 1,000, is the lowest in the world. The birth-rate has fallen from 37.95 in 1881 to 25.96 in 1897. The yearly number of births has in effect remained the same for sixteen years, though the population has grown thirty per cent. larger in the period. The gain by immigration is still appreciable, though not large. Their speech is that of communities who are seldom utterly illiterate, and as seldom scholarly. I have listened in vain for any national twang, drawl, or peculiar intonation. The young people, perhaps, speak rather faster than English of the same age, that is all. On the other hand, anything like picturesque, expressive language within the limits of grammar is rarely found. Many good words in daily use in rural England have been dropped in the Colony. Brook, village, moor, heath, forest, dale, copse, meadow, glade are among them. Young New Zealanders know what these mean because they find them in books, but would no more think of employing them in speaking than of using "inn," "tavern," or "ale," when they can say "hotel," "public-house," or "beer." Their place is taken by slang. Yet if a nation is known by its slang, the New Zealanders must be held disposed to borrow rather than to originate, for theirs is almost wholly a mixture of English, American, and Australian. Most of the mining terms come from California; most of the pastoral from Australia, though "flat" and "creek" are, of course, American. "Ranche" and "gulch" have not crossed the Pacific; their place is taken by "run" and "gulley." On the other hand, "lagoon" has replaced the English "pond," except in the case of artificial water. Pasture is "feed," herd and flock alike become "mob." "Country" is used as a synonym for grazing; "good country" means simply good grazing land. A man tramping in search of work is a "swagman" or "swagger," from the "swag" or roll of blankets he carries on his back. Very few words have been adopted from the vigorous and expressive Maori. The convenient "mana," which covers prestige, authority, and personal magnetism; "wharé," a rough hut; "taihoa," equivalent to the Mexican _manana_; and "ka pai," "'tis good," are exceptions. The South Island colonists mispronounce their beautiful Maori place-names murderously. Even in the North Island the average bushman will speak of the pukatea tree as "bucketeer," and not to call the poro-poro shrub "bull-a-bull" would be considered affectation. There is or was in the archives of the Taranaki Farmers' Club a patriotic song which rises to the notable lines-- "And as for food, the land is full Of that delicious bull-a-bull!" In Canterbury you would be stared at if you called Timaru anything but "Timmeroo." In Otago Lake Wakatipu becomes anything, from "Wokkertip" to "Wackatipoo"; and I have heard a cultured man speak of Puke-tapu as "Buck-a-tap." The intellectual average is good. Thanks in great part to Gibbon Wakefield's much-abused Company, New Zealand was fortunate in the mental calibre of her pioneer settlers, and in their determined efforts to save their children from degenerating into loutish, half-educated provincials. Looking around in the Colony at the sons of these pioneers, one finds them on all sides doing useful and honourable work. They make upright civil servants, conscientious clergymen, schoolmasters, lawyers, and journalists, pushing agents, resourceful engineers, steady-going and often prosperous farmers, and strong, quick, intelligent labourers. Of the "self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control" needful to make a sound race they have an encouraging share. Of artistic, poetic, or scientific talent, of wit, originality, or inventiveness, there is yet but little sign. In writing they show facility often, distinction never; in speech fluency and force of argument, and even, sometimes, lucidity, but not a flash of the loftier eloquence. Nor has the time yet arrived for Young New Zealand to secure the chief prizes of its own community--such posts and distinctions as go commonly to men fairly advanced in years. No native of the country has yet been its Prime Minister or sat amongst its supreme court judges or bishops. A few colonial-born have held subordinate Cabinet positions, but the dozen leading Members of Parliament are just now all British-born. So are the leading doctors, engineers, university professors, and preachers; the leading barrister is a Shetlander. Two or three, and two or three only, of the first-class positions in the civil service are filled by natives. On the whole, Young New Zealand is, as yet, better known by collective usefulness than by individual distinction. The grazing of sheep and cattle, dairying, agriculture, and mining for coal and gold, are the chief occupations. 47,000 holdings are under cultivation. The manufactures grow steadily, and already employ 40,000 hands. A few figures will give some notion of the industrial and commercial position. The number of the sheep is a little under 20,000,000; of cattle, 1,150,000; of horses, 250,000. The output of the factories and workshops is between £10,000,000 and £11,000,000 sterling a year; the output of gold, about £1,000,000; that of coal, about 900,000 tons. The export of wool is valued at £4,250,000. Among the exports for 1897 were: 2,700,000 frozen sheep and lambs; 66,000 cwt. cheese, and 71,000 cwt butter; £433,000 worth of kauri gum; £427,000 worth of grain. The exports and imports of the Colony for the year 1897 were a little over £10,000,000 and £8,000,000 sterling respectively. It would appear that, taking a series of years, about three-quarters of the Colony's trade has been with the mother-country, and nearly all the remainder with other parts of the Empire. The public debt is about £44,000,000; the revenue, £5,000,000. The State owns 2,061 miles of railway. [Illustration: A RURAL STATE SCHOOL Photo by BEATTIE & SANDERSON, Auckland.] Socially the colonists are what might be expected from their environment. Without an aristocracy, without anything that can be called a plutocracy, without a solitary millionaire, New Zealand is also virtually without that hopeless thing, the hereditary pauper and begetter of paupers. It may be doubted whether she has a dozen citizens with more than £10,000 a year apiece. On the other hand, the average of wealth and income is among the highest in the world. Education is universal. The lectures of the professors of the State University--which is an examining body, with five affiliated colleges in five different towns--are well attended by students of both sexes. The examiners are English; the degrees may be taken by either sex indifferently. Not two per cent. of the Colony's children go to the secondary schools, though they are good and cheap. It is her primary education that is the strength and pride of New Zealand. It is that which makes the list of crimes light. Criminals and paupers are less often produced than let in from the outside. The regulations relating to the exclusion of the physically or mentally tainted are far too lax, and will bring their own punishment. The colonists, honestly anxious that their country shall in days to come show a fine and happy race, are strangely blind to the laws of heredity. They carelessly admit those whose children to the third and fourth generation must be a degrading influence. On the other hand, the Colony gains greatly by the regular and deliberate importation of English experts. Every year a small but important number of these are engaged and brought out. They vary from bishops and professors to skilled artizans and drill-instructors; but whatever they are, their quality is good, and they usually make New Zealand the home of their families. With wealth diffused, and caste barriers unknown, a New Zealander, when meeting a stranger, does not feel called upon to act as though in dread of finding in the latter a sponge, toady, or swindler. Nor has the colonist to consider how the making of chance acquaintances may affect his own social standing. In his own small world his social standing is a settled thing, and cannot be injured otherwise than by his own folly or misconduct. Moreover, most of the Islanders are, or have been, brought face to face with the solitude of nature, and many of all classes have travelled. These things make them more sociable, self-confident, and unsuspicious than the middle classes of older countries. Such hospitality as they can show is to them a duty, a custom, and a pleasure. The Islanders are almost as fond of horses and athletics as their Australian cousins. They are not nearly such good cricketers, but play football better, are often good yachtsmen, and hold their own in rowing, running, jumping, and throwing weights. Fox-hunting is a forbidden luxury, as the fox may not be imported. But they have some packs of harriers, and ride to them in a way which would not be despised in the grass counties at Home. There are fair polo teams too. They are just as fond of angling and shooting as the race elsewhere. Capital trout-fishing, some good deer-shooting, and a fine supply of rabbits, hares, and wild ducks help to console the sportsman for the scarcity of dangerous game. As might be expected in an educated people passionately fond of out-door exercises, well fed and clothed, and with sun and sea air for tonics, drink is not their national vice. Gambling, especially over horse races, has more claim to that bad eminence. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why the land rings with denunciations of drink, while comparatively little has until quite lately been said against gambling. Of colonial art there is not much to be said. Sculpture is represented by an occasional statue brought from England. Architecture in its higher form is an unknown quantity. Painting is beginning to struggle towards the light, chiefly in the form of water-colour drawings. Political satire finds expression in cartoons, for the most part of that crude sort which depicts public men as horrific ogres and malformed monsters of appalling disproportions. Music, reading, and flower gardening are the three chief refining pastimes. The number and size of the musical societies is worthy of note. So are the booksellers' shops and free libraries. The books are the same as you see in London shops. There is no colonial literature. As for flowers, New Zealanders promise to be as fond of them as the Japanese. There is a newspaper of some description in the Islands to about every 1,500 adults. Every locality may thus count upon every item of its local news appearing in print. The Colonists who support this system may be assumed to get what they want, though, of course, under it quality is to some extent sacrificed to number. As a class the newspapers are honest, decent, and energetic as purveyors of news. Every now and then public opinion declares itself on one side, though the better known newspapers are on the other. But on the average their influence is not slight. There is no one leading journal. Of the four or five larger morning newspapers, the _Otago Daily Times_ shows perhaps the most practical knowledge of politics and grasp of public business. It is partisan, but not ferociously so, except in dealing with some pet aversion, like the present Minister of Lands. You may read in it, too, now and then, what is a rarity indeed in colonial journalism--a paragraph written in a spirit of pure, good-natured fun. The working classes are better, the others more carelessly, dressed than in England. The workpeople are at the same time more nomadic and thriftier. Amongst the middle classes, industrious as they are, unusual thrift is rare. Their hospitality and kindliness do not prevent them from being hard bargainers in business. Compared with the races from which they have sprung, the Islanders seem at once less conventional, less on their guard, and more neighbourly and sympathetic in minor matters. In politics they are fonder of change and experiment, more venturesome, more empirical, law-abiding, but readier to make and alter laws. Hypercritical and eaten up by local and personal jealousies in public life, they are less loyal to parties and leaders, and less capable of permanent organization for a variety of objects. They can band themselves together to work for one reform, but for the higher and more complex organization which seeks to obtain a general advance along the line of progress by honourable co-operation and wise compromise, they show no great aptitude. In politics their pride is that they are practical, and, indeed, they are perhaps less ready than Europeans to deify theories and catchwords. They are just as suspicious of wit and humour in public men, and just as prone to mistake dulness for solidity. To their credit may be set down a useful impatience of grime, gloom, injustice, and public discomfort and bungling. In social life they are more sober and more moral, yet more indifferent to the opinion of any society or set. Not that they run after mere eccentrics; they have a wholesome reserve of contempt for such. British in their dislike to take advice, their humbler position among the nations makes them more ready to study and learn from foreign example. Though there is no division into two races as in London, it would be absurd to pretend that social distinctions are unknown. Each town with its rural district has its own "society." The best that can be said for this institution is that it is not, as a rule, dictated to by mere money. It is made up of people with incomes mostly ranging from £500 to £2,000, with a sprinkling of bachelors of even more modest means. Ladies and gentlemen too poor to entertain others will nevertheless be asked everywhere if they have either brightness or intellect, or have won creditable positions. You see little social arrogance, no attempt at display. Picnics, garden parties, and outings in boats and yachts are amongst the pleasanter functions. A yacht in New Zealand means a cutter able to sail well, but quite without any luxury in her fittings. The indoor gatherings are smaller, more kindly, less formal, less glittering copies of similar affairs in the mother country. Brilliant talkers there are none. But any London visitor who might imagine that he was about to find himself in a company of clownish provincials would be much mistaken. A very large proportion of colonists have travelled and even lived in more lands than one. They have encountered vicissitudes and seen much that is odd and varied in nature and human nature. In consequence they are often pleasant and interesting talkers, refreshingly free from mannerism or self-consciousness. They both gain and lose by being without a leisured class; it narrows their horizon, but saves them from a vast deal of hysterical nonsense, social mischief and blatant self-advertising. Though great readers of English newspapers and magazines, and much influenced thereby in their social, ethical, and literary views, their interest in English and European politics is not very keen. A cherished article of their faith is that Russia is England's irreconcileable foe, and that war between the two is certain. Both their geographical isolation and their constitution debar them from having any foreign policy. In this they contentedly acquiesce. Loyal to the mother country, resolved not to be absorbed in Australia, they are torpid concerning Imperial Federation. Their own local and general politics absorb any interest and leisure not claimed by business and pastimes. Their isolation is, no doubt, partly the cause of this. It takes their steamers from four to six days to reach Australia, and nearly as long to travel from one end of their own land to the other. Most of them can hardly hope to see Europe, or even Asia or America, or any civilized race but their own. This is perhaps the greatest of their disadvantages. Speedier passage across the oceans which divide them from the rest of the human race must always be in the forefront of their aims as a nation. Industrious, moral, strong, it is far too soon to complain of this race because it has not in half a century produced a genius from amongst its scanty numbers. Its mission has not been to do that, but to lay the foundations of a true civilization in two wild and lonely, though beautiful, islands. This has been a work calling for solid rather than brilliant qualities--for a people morally and physically sound and wholesome, and gifted with "grit" and concentration. There is such a thing as collective ability. The men who will carve statues, paint pictures, and write books will come, no doubt, in good time. The business of the pioneer generations has been to turn a bloodstained or silent wilderness into a busy and interesting, a happy, if not yet a splendid, state. BIBLIOGRAPHY Books about New Zealand are numerous enough. A critic need not be fastidious to regret that most of them are not better written, useful and interesting as they are in the mass. Every sort of information about the country is to be got from them, but not always with pleasure or ease. To get it you must do a good deal of the curst hard reading which comes from easy writing. And even then, for the most part, it is left to your own imaginative power to see-- "The beauty, and the wonder, and the power, The shapes of things, their colours, lights, and shades, Changes, surprises." The undoubted and agreeable exceptions, too, require in you some knowledge of the Islands, if they are to be enjoyed. How is that knowledge to be obtained? A hard-headed student with a hearty appetite for facts might, of course, start with F.J. Moss's careful and accurate school history and the latest Government Year Book in his hand, and would soon be well on his way. Those who like easier paths to knowledge may try Edward Wakefield's "New Zealand After Fifty Years," or Gisborne's "Colony of New Zealand." When one comes to periods, districts, or special subjects, the choice is much wider. To begin at the beginning; "Tasman's Log" is little but dry bones; of Cook and Crozet I have written elsewhere. Of the writers who tell of Alsatian days, none is worth naming in the same breath with Maning. Personally I like Polack and Savage the best of them, despite the lumbering pretentiousness and doubtful veracity of the former. Earle and Major Cruise are more truthful than readable--conditions which are exactly reversed in the case of Rutherford. If, as is said, Lord Brougham helped to write Rutherford's narrative, he did his work very well; but after the exposure of its "facts" by Archdeacon W.L. Williams, it can only be read as the yarn of a runaway sailor, who had reasons for not telling the whole truth, and a capacity and knowledge of local colour which would have made him a capital romance-writer, had he been an educated man. As a picture of the times, Rutherford's story in the "Library of Entertaining Knowledge" will always, however, be worth reading. The missionaries have not been as fortunate in their chroniclers as they deserve. The tumid cant of Nicholas is grotesque enough to be more amusing than the tract-and-water style of Yate and Barret Marshall, or the childishness of Richard Taylor. Much better in every way are Buller's (Wesleyan) "Forty Years In New Zealand," and Tucker's "Life and Episcopate of George Augustus Selwyn." Among the descriptions of the country as it was when the colonists found it, Edward Shortland's account of the whalers and Maoris of the South Island, Jerningham Wakefield's of the founding of the New Zealand Company's settlements, Dieffenbach's travels, and Bidwill's unpretending little pamphlet telling of his tramp to the volcanoes and hot lakes in 1842, seem to me at once to tell most and be easiest to read. On the Maoris, their myths, legends, origin, manners, and customs, William Colenso is admittedly the chief living authority. For his views it is necessary to go to pamphlets, and to search the Transactions of the New Zealand Institute, where much other good material will also reward the seeker. To John White's ill-jointed but invaluable compilation "The Ancient History of the Maori," every student henceforth will have to turn. The selections therein from the papers of Stack on the South Island Maoris, from Travers' "Life of Te Rauparaha," and Wilson's "Story of Te Waharoa," are less stony than the more genealogical portions. Sir George Grey's collection of the historical and legendary traditions of the race has not been superseded. Messrs. Percy Smith and Edward Tregear edit the valuable journal of the Polynesian Association; the former has made a special study of the origin and wanderings of the Maori race, the latter has produced the Comparative Maori-Polynesian Dictionary. General Robley has written the book on Maori tattooing; Mr. Hamilton is bringing out in parts what promises to be a very complete and worthily illustrated account of Maori art. As narratives of the first twenty years of the Colony two books stand out from among many: Thomson's "Story of New Zealand," and Attorney--General Swainson's "New Zealand and its Colonization." It would not be easy to find a completer contrast than the gossipy style of the chatty army medico and the dry, official manner of the precise lawyer, formerly and for upwards of fifteen years Her Majesty's Attorney-General for New Zealand, as he is at pains to tell you on his title-page. But Swainson's is the fairest and most careful account of the time from the official, philo-Maori and anti-Company side, and may be taken as a safe antidote to Jerningham Wakefield, Sir W.T. Power, Hursthouse, and others. A comparison with Rusden, when the two are on the same ground, shows Swainson to be the better writer all round. Of Rusden's "History of New Zealand" no one doubts the honest intent. The author, believing the Maori to be a noble, valiant, and persecuted race, befriended by the missionaries and those who took missionary advice, and robbed and cheated by almost all others, says so in three long, vehement, sincere, but not fascinating volumes, largely composed of extracts from public papers and speeches. Sweeping condemnation of the Public Works policy, of Radical reforms, and recent Socialistic experiments, complete his tale. The volumes have their use, but are not a history of New Zealand. Of early days in the pastoral provinces we get contemporary sketches by Samuel Butler, L.J. Kennaway, Lady Barker, and Archdeacon Paul. Butler's is the best done picture of the country, Kennaway's the exactest of the settlers' every-day rough-and-tumble haps and mishaps, and Lady Barker's the brightest. One of the volumes of General Mundy's "Our Antipodes" gives a nice, light sketch of things as they were in the North Island in the first years of Governor Grey. Dr. Hocken's recent book has at once become the recognised authority on the first years of Otago, and also has interesting chapters on the South Island before settlement. Fitzgerald's selections from Godley's writings and speeches is made more valuable by the excellent biographical sketch with which it opens. Dr. Richard Garnett's admirable "Life of Gibbon Wakefield" is the event of this year's literature from the point of view of New Zealanders. Of the books on the Eleven Years' War from 1860 to 1871, Sir William Fox's easily carries away the palm for vigour of purpose and performance. Sir William was in hot indignation when he wrote it, and some of his warmth glows in its pages. It is a pity that he only dealt with the years 1863-65. Generals Carey and Alexander supply the narrative of the doings of the regulars; Lieutenant Gudgeon that of the militia's achievements. General Carey handles the pen well enough; not so his gallant brother-soldier. Of Gudgeon's two books I much prefer the Reminiscences, which on the whole tell more about the war than any other volume one can name. Sir John Gorst describes the King Movement and his own experiences in the King's country. Swainson takes up his parable against the Waitara purchase. Gisborne's "Rulers and Statesmen of New Zealand," though not a connected history, is written with such undoubted fairness and personal knowledge, and in so workmanlike, albeit good--natured, a way, as to have a permanent interest. Most of the many portraits which are reproduced in its pages are correct likenesses, but it is the pen pictures which give the book its value. Of volumes by travellers who devote more or less space to New Zealand, the most noteworthy are Dilke's brilliant "Greater Britain," the volumes of Anthony Trollope, and Michael Davitt, and Froude's thoughtful, interesting, but curiously inaccurate "Oceana." Mennell's serviceable "Dictionary of Australasian Biography" gives useful details concerning the pioneer colonists. Scientific students may be referred to the Works of Hooker and Dieffenbach, to Von Haast's "Geology of Canterbury and Westland," Kirk's "New Zealand Forest Flora," Sir Walter Buller's "Birds of New Zealand," Hudson's "New Zealand Entomology," and to the papers of Hector, Hutton and Thompson. Dr. Murray Moore has written, and written well, for those who may wish to use the country as a health resort. Mountaineers and lovers of scenery should read Green's "High Alps of New Zealand," and T. Mackenzie's papers on West Coast Exploration. Mannering Fitzgerald and Harper are writers on the same topic. Murray's guide book will, of course, be the tourist's main stay. Delisle Hay's Brighter Britain deals in lively fashion with a settler's life in the bush north of Auckland and in the Thames goldfields. Reid and Preshaw have written of the Westland gold-seekers; Pyke of the Otago diggings. Domett's "Ranolf and Amohia" is not only the solitary New Zealand poem which has achieved any sort of distinction, but is also an interesting picture of Maori life and character. The Official Year-Book is a mass of well-arranged information, and the economic enquirer may be further referred to Cumin's "Index of the Laws of New Zealand," and to the numerous separate annual reports of the Government offices and departments. Historical students must, of course, dive pretty deeply into the parliamentary debates and appendices to the journals of the House of Representatives, into the bulky reports and correspondence relating to New Zealand published in London by the Imperial authorities, and into the files of the larger newspapers The weekly newspapers of the Colony are especially well worth consulting. For the rest, Collier's New Zealand Bibliography (Wellington), and the library catalogues of the N.Z. Parliament and of the Royal Colonial Institute, London, are the best lists of the books and pamphlets on New Zealand. [Illustration: Map showing TRIBAL BOUNDARIES OF THE MAORI] [Illustration: (map of) NEW ZEALAND] INDEX Aborigines' Protection Society, 291. Absentee Tax, 374. Adoption of children, 381. Advances to Settlers Act, 376. Agriculture of the Maori, 42. Akaroa and the French, 192. _Alligator_ brig at Taranaki, 160. Alps of New Zealand, 29. Annexation, 170, 179, 180. Annexation proposals, 157, 163-165. Arawa and Tainui, 37. Arbitration, Court of, 387, 389. Architecture of the Maori, 44. Artistic development, 405, 409. Athletic development, 402, 408. Atkinson, Sir Harry, 272, 274, 286, 329, 342-344, 346, 351. Auckland chosen as capital, 193. Ballance, John, 341, 345, 361, 369-371, 377, 378. Barrett the Whaler, 126, 142. Bird-snaring, 43. Borrowing, Prevalence of, 331. Bowen, Charles, 340. _Boyd_ massacre, 104, 105. Browne, Governor, 260, 264. recalled, 275. Busby as British Resident, 158-162. Busby's Federation Scheme, 161. Cameron, General, 278-283, 290, 292. Cannibalism, 41. Canterbury settled, 234. Cargill, Captain, 232, 233. Cattle introduced, 15. Canoes of Polynesians, 35. Characteristics of Maoris, 34, 53-59. Characteristics of New Zealanders, 399-414. Chatham Islands Escape, 299. Cheap Money Scheme, 396. Chinese element, 398. Christchurch founded, 235. Church endowment in the South, 247. Church Missionary Society, 114, 119, 172. Church statistics, 400. Chute, General, 292. Civilization and the Maori, 55, 59. Clean Shirt Ministry, 253. Cliff scenery, 25, 26. Climate, 11. Clutha and Prohibition, 365. Colenso's New Testament, 120. Colonising companies, 157. Commissioners and New Zealand Company, 197. Conciliation Boards, 386, 387-390. Confiscation of native land, 289. Continuous ministry, 335, 336. Contractors, 382. Contrasts in scenery, 13. Conveyance of land, 115. Convicts and Maori, 98. Coal Mines Act, 391. Cook, Captain, 79-81. Co-operative Contract System, 393. Coromandel goldfields, 318. Costume of the Maori, 45. Creation of man, 67. Crime, Absence of, 241. Crozet, 87-91. Cruelty of traders, 102-104. Customs duties, 208, 343, 352. Dairy produce exports, 343. Dark side of Maori life, 52. Darwin on New Zealand, 118. Death and future existence, 61. Death customs and beliefs, 72. Debts, private, 332. Defeat at Puke-te-kauere, 273. Depreciation of land, 375. Despard repulsed by Heké, 215. De Surville at the Bay of Islands, 86, 87. Discovery, 3. Domett ("Waring"), 47. Drink, 409. Dunedin, 232, 311. Education, 340, 383, 407. Egmont volcano, 28. Eloquence of the Maori, 51. Employers' Liability Act, 382. _Endeavour_ visited by the Maori, 84. Episcopal Church in New Zealand, 226. Escapes of Maori prisoners, 298. Export development, 335, 343. statistics, 406. Factories Act, 382, 383. Financial changes, 331-334, 351. Fitzgerald first premier, 253. Fitzroy, Governor, 204, 206-209. Floods, 23. Flood myth, 67. Flora and fauna, 5, 16. Forest scenery, 6-9. Fox, Sir William, 336, 419. Franchise reforms, 378. French attempts at colonisation, 163, 192. French and English in New Zealand, 86. Frozen meat, 343. Gambling, 409. Gaols, primitive, 233. Garnett, Dr. Richard, 234, 419. General Assembly founded, 250. Gisborne's book, 420. Glaciers and snow, 31. Gladstone and annexation, 172. Godley as Administrator, 236. Gold discovered in Otago, 310. Gorst, Sir John, 276, 277. Grazing, 406. Grey's achievements, 227. Grey and Atkinson, 341, 345, 346. Grey, Earl, 231, 245. Grey, Sir George, 199, 217-230, 291, 339. attacks Weraroa, 291. leaves New Zealand, 251. recalled, 323. second command, 275. Gum-digging, 319. Gun-selling, 264. Hadfield, the Missionary, 153. Hall and Atkinson, 337, 342-344, 345. Half-castes, 398. Hau-Hau defeat at Moutua, 287. outrages, 286, 295, 301. Hau-Haus finally crushed, 303. Hawaiki, 37. _Hawes_ outrage, 105, 106. Head-trading, 97, 98. Heaven and Earth separated, 65, 66. Heaven and the Underworld, 62. Heké craves peace, 219. Heké's bold acts, 211. Hobson and Auckland, 193. and Colonel Wakefield, 189. and the land-sharks, 181. character, 194, 195. Hochstetter Fall, 31. Hocken, Dr., 419. Hongi, chief of the Ngapuhi, 130-136. at Rotorua, 135. and the missionaries, 153. in England, 131. Hongi storms Mataki-taki, 134. his treachery at Totara, 133. Hot Springs, 21. Hokitika founded, 315. Hospitals and the State, 368. Houses, 401. Huka waterfall, 22. Imperialism, 227. Imperial troops withdrawn, 292. Income Tax, 373. Industrial Schools, 381. Infants' Life Protection Act, 381. Insurance Department, 337. Irish riots in Hokitika, 317. settlers, 2. Jade, or greenstone, 36. Jewish element, 400. Joint-Stock companies, 375. Kaiapoi attacked, 149. falls before Rauparaha, 151. Kaikouras, 28. Kauri gum, 319-322. pines, 320. Kelly's escape, 108, 109. Kemp, 292-294. Kepa, _see_ Kemp. King-maker, 262. King movement, 263. Kingi, _see_ Wiremu, pp. 264, 265, 273. Kororáreka an Alsatia, 154, 155 burnt, 213. Labour Department, 392. laws, 381, 382. Labour members, 347. party, 369. problems, 367-372. Lakes, 21. Land Commissioners' Strictures, 198. difficulties, 187, 188. law reforms and dissensions, 353-360. laws of Grey, 248. Minister of, 354. purchase, 164. purchase regulations of Fitzroy, 209. questions, 246. Tax, 373. tenure in early Maori days, 39. Transfer Law, 339. leasehold question, 357. Lee, Professor, 119, 131. Legislative Council, 250, 376. Literature, 409. on New Zealand, 415-422. Liquor questions, 362-366. Local administration, 330. Lodging regulations, 384. Lower House, 347. Lunatic asylums, 368. Lynch law at Kororáreka, 155. Macquarie appoints magistrates, 156. Maning, the Pakeha Maori, 100, 199, 416. Maori ailments, 54. before the mast, 111. bravery, 281. codes of observances, 69. Maori, decrease of, 398. fishing, 40, 43. language written, 119. lore and legend, 68. Members of Parliament, 348. place names, 51. trading, 262. voyages, 35. Marion du Fresne, 87-91. Marsden, 129. as missionary, 111-117. Martin, Sir William, 224. Mata-ora, 62. Maui, 45. the God-hero, 67. McDonnell, Colonel, 297, 298. defeats Te Kooti, 304. McKenzie, John, 344, 359, 362, 370. McLean, Sir Donald, 307, 308. Migration of the Maori, 36. Mining Acts, 391. Missionaries, 198, 199, 306. Missionary efforts, 111-120. reforms, 97. Mountains, 27. Mountain scenery, 10. Moko, or tattooing, 45-48. Municipal shortcomings, 329. Murray at Waireka, 270. Muri Whenua, the Land's End, 61. Muru, Law of, 56. Mythology of the Maori, 60-74. Native Department, 260. Nature and the Maori, 50, 51. Nene, 221. Nene at Okaihau, 214. honoured by Grey, 219. New Plymouth under martial law, 268. Newspapers, 410. New Zealand Association, 171. Company, 231. Company wound up, 246. Land Company, 173. Ngapuhi finally checked, 139. Ngatapa captured, 303. Ngutu-o-te-manu retreat, 298. _Niger_ bluejackets at Waireka, 271, 272. Notable whalers, 127. Occupation of New Zealanders, 406. Ohaeawai attacked by Despard, 215. Old Identities, 233. Omaranui victory, 297. Orakau besieged, 281. Otago _Daily Times_, 410. goldfields, 312, 313. settled, 231. Otira Gorge, 29. Overtime, 383. Pakeha Maori, 100. Maori, _see_ Maning. Papa, 25. Paper money issued by Fitzroy, 209. Parihaka, 308. Parliament, account of, 347-350. established, 250. Parties in Parliament, 258, 259. Pa, or fortified village, 48. Pastoral developments, 242, 243. restrictions, 356. Pasture land, 14. Payment of Members, 347. Pests, animal and vegetable, 18, 19. Physical features, 5, 10. Pohutu-Kawa, 61. Polynesian origin of Maoris, 33. Poll-tax on Chinese, 398. Population, 401, 402. Postal difficulties, 239. Poverty Bay massacre, 301. Pratt, General, 273, 274. Presbyterians, 231. Preservation of scenery, 32. Priests as instructors, 68. Printing, first attempts, 120. press established, 119. Prohibition movement, 363. Property Tax, 372. Protectionist policy, 352. Provincial Councils established, 250. system, 256, 324. Provincialism abolished, 328. Public debt, 406. Trustee Office, 337, 338. Works policy, 325, 330. Quartz mining, 319. Railways, 326, 367, 406. Rata, 8. Rangi, 60, 62, 65. Rangihaeata, 219. kills Captain Wakefield, 201. Rangitiri, fight at, 280. Rauparaha, 140, 143-151, 187. and Captain Wakefield, 200. at Akaroa, 148. taken by Grey, 220. Rauparaha's treachery toward the Ngaitahu, 146. Reeves, Hon. W.P., 395. Reform, 354. Rehua, 60. Rent of Government land, 359. Revenue, 406. Rewi, 282. Rivers and streams, 22-24. Robe, the Charon of the Maori, 62. Rolleston, 344. Rona of the Moon, 64. Ropata at Ngatapa, 302, 303. Ropata Te Wahawaha, 294-296. Ruapehu volcano, 28. Rua-peka-peka taken, 218. Ruatara, 112-115. Rusden's History, 418. Schools in Otago, 232. public, 340. Scots settlers, 232. Scriptures translated into Maori, 119. Seddon, Rt. Hon. R.J., 362, 370, 393. Self-reliance policy, 290. Selwyn, Bishop, 212, 225, 261. Sentry Hill repulse, 287. Servants' registry regulations, 386. Settlement by Polynesians, 33. Settlers among the Maori, 99. difficulties, 238. sent to Port Nicholson, 177. Sheep-lifting by Mackenzie, 241. Shipping and Seamen's Act, 390. Shop Acts, 384, 385. Assistants Act, 395, 396. Shortland as Acting Governor, 196. Shortland's financial troubles, 202, 203. Slang, 403, 404. Smith, Percy, 417. Social life, 412. Socialism, 396, 397. South Island a later settlement, 191. South Sea tribes, 33. Speech of New Zealand, 403. Spelling of Maori words, 121. Spirits' Leap, 61. Stafford and Fox, 256. State institutions, 367. Land Board, 358. socialism, 396, 397. Stewart arrested, 149. assists Rauparaha, 147. Stout, Sir Robert, 345, 362, 364. Strikes, 388. Sugar-Loaves pa attacked by Te Whero Whero, 141. Sunday schools, 401. Swainson as Speaker, 254. Swainson's book, 418. ordinances, 224. Tainui stories, 38. Tai Porutu killed, 274. Tané and Tu, 65, 66. Taniwha's account of Captain Cook, 83. Tapu, Law of, 46. (taboo) Customs 70-73. Taranaki devastated, 143, 267. crippled by Fitzroy, 208. settlers' grievances, 261. Tasman sights New Zealand, 75. refused a landing, 76. reaches North Cape, 77. Tattooed heads, 157. heads for sale, 97. Tattooing, 45-48. Tauranga defeat, 283. tribe attacked, 282. Tawhaki, 63. Tawhiri-Matea, the god of storms, 66. Taxation difficulties, 342, 343. Te Heu Heu opposes annexation, 180. Te Kooti a fugitive, 304. at Mohaka, 304. pardoned, 305. Te Kooti's escape from the Chathams, 300. revenge, 301. Te Pihoihoi Mokemoke, 277. Te Rangi engagement, 283. Te Waharoa, 136-140. Te Whero Whero, 140-142, 221, 263. Te Whiti, 308. Thames goldfields, 318. Thierry, Baron de, 162. Thompson, William, 139, 262, 278, 285. Titokowaru leads the insurgents, 297. Torere, or Maori cemeteries, 73. Trade statistics, 406. Union disputes, 386. Unionism, 369, 385, 388, 389. Trading with the Maori, 96. Treasury deficits, 203. Tregear, Edward, 418. Tribal customs, 41, 42, 57. Truck Act, 382. Tuapeka goldfields, 311. Tutari killed by Hau-Hau, 302. University, State, 407. Upper Chamber, 376. Vancouver, 95. Victorian assistance, 268. Vogel, Sir Julius, 325-330. Vogel's reforms, 337-339. Volcanoes, 20. Volckner murdered, 295. Wages, 382. Waiapu victory, 296. Waikato defeated at Koheroa, 278. land invaded, 278. river, 22. troubles, 264. Wairau fiasco, 200, 201. Waitangi, Treaty of, 180. Waitara massacre, 140. Wakefield, Arthur, 199, 200. Wakefield, Arthur, surrenders to Rauparaha, 201. murdered, 201. Wakefield, Colonel, 172-176. Wakefield, Gibbon, 166-172. and Canterbury, 234. in Parliament, 254. Wakefield's land schemes, 169. Wakefield system, 247, 257, 327, 328. War, a game, 49. customs, 48, 49. with Maori, beginning of, 200. begun by Heké, 211. outbreak in 1860, 265. at an end, 305. statistics, 306. Weld, Sir Frederick, 289, 290. Wellington, 127. as capital, 194. Duke of, 157, 158. Weraroa captured, 292. Wesleyan missionaries, 153. Westland goldfields, 314. Whalers approach New Zealand, 122. and their Maori wives, 125. at Kororáreka, 154. Whaling stations erected, 123. Whitaker, Sir Fredk., 337, 343, 344, 345. Whitmore, Colonel, 297, 298, 300, 301, 305. Williams, Henry, 116, 193, 212. Wiremu Tamihana, _see_ Thompson, William. Wool-growing, 244, 245. Women and the franchise, 378-381. Women-fighters, 282. Work hours, 383. Wynyard as Viceroy, 252, 253. 
44096	----	Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they are listed at the end of the text. Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Page numbers enclosed by curly braces (example: {25}) have been incorporated to facilitate the use of the General Index. * * * * * Frontispiece. [Illustration] Fig. 1. Bolitophila luminosa. 1_a_. Larva, 1_b_. Pupa. AN ELEMENTARY MANUAL OF NEW ZEALAND ENTOMOLOGY. BEING An Introduction to the Study OF OUR NATIVE INSECTS. _WITH 21 COLOURED PLATES._ BY G. V. HUDSON, F.E.S., WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND. London: WEST, NEWMAN, & CO., 54, HATTON GARDEN. 1892. To THE RIGHT HON. LORD WALSINGHAM, M.A., F.R.S., F.L.S., F.Z.S., LATE PRESIDENT OF THE ENTOMOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON, THIS LITTLE BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. The object of the present volume is to give a brief account of the Natural History of the insects inhabiting New Zealand in a form intelligible to the ordinary reader. For this reason every effort has been made to avoid all unnecessary technicalities, and to adapt the book as far as possible to the requirements of youthful entomologists and collectors. Several very elaborate systematic lists and descriptions have been published from time to time of the insects of New Zealand, amongst which may be specially mentioned--Captain Broun's "Manual of New Zealand Coleoptera," the illustrated "Catalogue of New Zealand Butterflies," edited by Mr. Enys, and Mr. Meyrick's "Monographs" of various groups of the Lepidoptera; but as yet no attempt has been made to present the subject in a suitable form for beginners. It is hoped that this book will, to some extent, fill up the blank, and help to render what is now one of the most popular natural sciences in Europe, equally appreciated in New Zealand. The author is much indebted to Captain Broun, Mr. R. W. Fereday, Mr. E. Meyrick, and others, for assistance in identifying the various species mentioned in this work. _Wellington, New Zealand, 1891._ CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE GENERAL OBSERVATIONS 1 CHAPTER II. COLLECTING INSECTS 9 CHAPTER III. THE COLEOPTERA 19 CHAPTER IV. THE HYMENOPTERA 33 CHAPTER V. THE DIPTERA 40 CHAPTER VI. THE LEPIDOPTERA 65 CHAPTER VII. THE NEUROPTERA 99 CHAPTER VIII. THE ORTHOPTERA 103 CHAPTER IX. THE HEMIPTERA 118 GENERAL INDEX 123 EXPLANATION OF PLATES 129 {1}AN ELEMENTARY MANUAL OF NEW ZEALAND ENTOMOLOGY. ------ CHAPTER I General Observations. In the present chapter I propose to give a brief sketch of the general principles of Entomology, including a rudimentary glance at the anatomy and classification of insects; after which I think the reader will be in a better position to study the habits and life-histories of the individual species which follow. The first requisite is a definition of what constitutes an INSECT. _An Insect is an articulate animal having the body divided into three distinct divisions_, viz., _the_ HEAD (Fig. I. A), _the_ THORAX (B), _and the_ ABDOMEN (C). _It is furnished with three pairs of legs, and generally has two pairs of wings, and to acquire this structure the creature passes through several changes, termed its metamorphoses._ {2}The head exhibits no distinct divisions, but bears the following appendages: the eyes, antennæ, and organs of the mouth, or trophi. The eyes are of two kinds, compound and simple. The former (Fig. I. c c) are situated on the sides of the head above the mouth, and consist of two large hemispheres, composed of a great number of hexagonal divisions, each of which is a complete eye in itself. The latter (s s) are usually three in number, and are situated on the top of the head between the compound ones. They are, however, frequently wanting. The antennæ (a) are two jointed organs, one of which is placed on each side of the head, between the eyes; their functions are at present extremely doubtful, but they are invariably found in all insects. The organs of the mouth consist of the following: the labrum (Fig. II. 3), or upper lip, a horny plate, closing the mouth from above; the mandibles (1 1), or upper jaws, two strong bent hooks, articulated to the head on each side of the mouth, and opposed to one another like scissor blades; the maxillæ (2 2), or under jaws, resembling the mandibles, but more delicately constructed, and furnished with a pair of jointed appendages termed maxillary palpi (5 5); and the labium (4), or lower lip, consisting of a horny plate somewhat resembling the labrum, but provided with two jointed appendages termed the labial palpi (6 6). All these organs are subject to great modification in suctorial insects, which I shall notice further on, when dealing with the differences between the various orders. The thorax consists of three primary divisions, viz., the prothorax (Fig. I. b), mesothorax (d), and metathorax (k). The upper surfaces of these are termed the pronotum, mesonotum, and metanotum respectively, and the under the prosternum, mesosternum, and metasternum; other divisions exist in some insects, but they are not of a sufficiently {3}general character to be noticed here. The six legs are attached to the under surface of the thorax, a single pair to each division; they are composed of the following joints: coxa (Fig. I. n), trochanter (o), femur (p), tibia (r), and tarsus (s). [Illustration] [Illustration: FIG. I.--Body of an insect (Hymenoptera), showing the principal divisions: A, head; B, thorax; C, abdomen; _a_, antenna; _c_, compound eyes; _m_, mandible; _s_, simple eyes; _b_, prothorax; _d_, mesothorax; _k_, metathorax; 1W, fore-wing; 2W, hind-wing; _n_, coxa; _o_, trochanter; _p_, femur; _r_, tibia; _t_, tarsus; 1 to 9 segments of the abdomen.] [Illustration: FIG. II.--Oral and digestive system of _Deinacrida megacephala_ (this insect is drawn on Plate XVIII., fig. 2): 1, mandibles; 2, maxillæ; 3, labrum; 4, labium; 5, maxillary palpi; 6, labial palpi; 8, oesophagus; 9, crop; 10, gizzard; 11, pancreas; 12, stomach; 13, biliary vessels; 14, ilium; 15, colon; 16, anus.] {4}The wings are attached to the meso- and metanotum; they consist of two membranes traversed by numerous horny ribs (Fig. I. 1W and 2W). The abdomen is made up of nine segments (C 1 to 9), some of which are not infrequently wanting. It contains the organs of nutrition, circulation, and generation. The digestive system, the structure of which is apparent from Fig. II., consists of the following divisions: the throat, or oesophagus (8); the crop (9); the gizzard, or proventriculus (10); the pancreas (11 11); the stomach, or ventriculus (12); the biliary vessels (13 13 13); the ilium, or little gut (14 14); and the colon (15); ending in the anus (16). In the suctorial tribes, the crop is modified into a very peculiar organ, termed the sucking stomach, which presents itself as a small bag, attached to the throat by a thin tube. This bag exhausts the air from the throat, when the insect is sucking, thus producing a vacuum therein, and causing a rapid ascent of fluid into the stomach. The heart of insects consists of an elongated tube lying along the back, and termed the dorsal vessel. It is composed of a variable number of chambers, the blood being driven forward towards the head by its contractions. These motions may be easily seen in transparent species. The breathing organs are distributed throughout the body in the form of numerous minute air-tubes, which are supplied with air from a variable number of apertures, situated on the sides of the insect, and termed spiracles. The nervous system consists of a chain of ganglia, running down the ventral surface of the insect, and analogous to the spinal cord of higher animals. The number of ganglia varies greatly among the different tribes. The metamorphosis of insects, which I have previously mentioned as one of their most essential attributes, consists of four distinct stages, _viz._, the Egg, Larva, Pupa, and Imago. {5}The eggs of these animals exhibit a great diversity in shape among the different species. They are deposited by the parent with unerring instinct on substances suitable for the food of the larvæ, which, in the majority of cases, is quite different from that on which she herself subsists. The larva state immediately succeeds the egg, and is spent almost exclusively in feeding, the insect growing at a great rate, and being frequently compelled to change its skin. The pupa is usually completely quiescent, the insect being at this time quite incapable of any motion, except, perhaps, a slight twirling of its abdomen. Exceptions to this rule occur, however, in two of the orders, in which the pupa state does not differ materially from that preceding it. In the imago, or perfect state, the insect appears under its final form, with every organ completely developed. We will now consider the seven great divisions, or Orders, into which insects are divided, the complete knowledge of which is one of the most important elements in the entomologist's preliminary education. I trust that by a careful perusal of the following definitions, aided by references to the Plates, which illustrate numerous members of each order in their several states, the reader will be enabled to master the subject without much difficulty. ORDER I.--COLEOPTERA. Wings four; the anterior pair (termed elytra) horny and opaque, the posterior membranous, and employed in flight; mouth masticatory. The larva a grub with or without legs, but a distinct head always present. The pupa inactive, taking no food, the limbs of the future insect enclosed in distinct cases, and applied closely to the body. This is the largest of the Orders, and consists of all those insects popularly known as Beetles. (Plates I. and II.) {6}ORDER II.--HYMENOPTERA. Wings four, membranous, the posterior pair being the smaller, and connected with the anterior during flight by a row of minute hooklets; mouth masticatory, the maxillæ and labium being elongated, in many of the families, into a long sucking instrument or "tongue." Metamorphosis as in the Coleoptera. A large Order, containing the numerous tribes of Sawflies, Bees, Wasps, Ants, and Ichneumon-flies. (Plate III.) ORDER III.--DIPTERA. Wings two; the posterior pair represented by two minute clubbed appendages termed poisers; mouth a suctorial tube formed by an elongation of the labium, enclosing within it a variable number of setæ answering to the mandibles, &c., of biting insects. The larva without legs, a distinct head being often absent. The pupa inactive, the limbs of the imago firmly attached to the body, but plainly visible. Among the majority of species included in this Order the larval skin is not cast away, but envelopes the insect in a hard shell; the true pupa is consequently only visible on the removal of this covering, when it is found to closely resemble those in which no such arrangement occurs. The Order comprises the numerous Gnats and two-winged Flies. (Plates IV., V., VI., VII.) ORDER IV.--LEPIDOPTERA. Wings four, generally covered with scales; the anterior pair slightly superior in size; mouth suctorial, the maxillæ forming a spiral tongue, which is coiled between the large labial palpi when not in use; other oral organs rudimentary. In many instances the whole mouth and alimentary canal are more or less obliterated, a considerable number of the species taking no food in their {7}final state. The larvæ always possess a distinct head and six thoracic legs, and in addition a variable number of prolegs are often present on the abdominal segments. Pupa inactive, the limbs of the future insect being usually indicated by lines in the integment. This Order contains all the varied tribes of Butterflies and Moths. (Plates VIII., IX., X., XI., XII., XIII.) ORDER V.--NEUROPTERA. Wings four, of equal size, membranous, and traversed with numerous branching ribs; the mouth masticatory, and in many instances but slightly developed. Larva with a distinct head and three strong thoracic legs; chiefly carnivorous. Pupa inactive; the limbs very perceptible and loosely applied to the body, but incapable of distinct motion. A small Order, comprising the Stoneflies, Lace-wings, Ant-lions, &c. (Plate XIV.) ORDER VI.--ORTHOPTERA. Wings four, of nearly equal size; the anterior pair often more or less leathery, but with distinct veins. The larva and pupa closely resembling the imago; the latter with rudimentary wings. In the instances where these organs are wanting in the mature insect, the metamorphosis merely consists of a series of moultings, and it is consequently a matter of some difficulty to determine when the insect is full-grown. This Order is of small extent; it includes the Earwigs, Cockroaches, Grasshoppers, Crickets, Termites, Dragonflies, Mayflies and Perlidæ; the last four being transferred from the Neuroptera of most authors. The minute species of Mallophaga and Thysanura will also come under this heading. (Plates XV., XVI., XVII., XVIII., XIX.) {8}ORDER VII.--HEMIPTERA. Wings four, in some cases wholly membranous, but in a large proportion of the families the basal portions of the anterior pair are horny, and form protective cases for the other pair when not in use; mouth suctorial, consisting of an elongate rostrum, enclosing four fine setæ. The larva and pupa resemble the imago, the latter being active, with rudimentary wings. In a few instances, a slight divergence from the parent form is shown in the preparatory states (Cicadas, &c.). This is a small Order, containing the Cicadas or "Singers," Bugs, Plant Lice, and all the suctorial animal lice. (Plate XX.) After the Orders, the divisions to be considered are the Groups, Families, Genera and Species. Groups are large divisions immediately subordinate to the orders, and consist of a number of _kindred_ families. They are of great assistance to the student in dealing with the very large Orders, such, for instance, as the Coleoptera. Families, again, consist of a number of allied genera, and Genera, in the same way, of allied species. With regard to the Families, I have in the main followed those of Professor Westwood in his 'Modern Classification of Insects,' as most recent writers appear very much divided in opinion as to the correct limits of these divisions. Much diversity also prevails with respect to the proper definitions of Genera and even Species, but I have deemed it best to follow the authority of the latest catalogues in this matter, as any changes in nomenclature are always liable to produce confusion. {9}CHAPTER II Collecting Insects. So many excellent essays have been written on collecting insects that it would probably be a most difficult task to supply much fresh information on the subject; but as many of my readers may be unable to consult works specially devoted thereto, the present chapter will, perhaps, be of some value in showing them a few of the most convenient methods of collecting insects in New Zealand. Coleoptera, or Beetles, may be found almost everywhere. Overturning logs and stones, peeling off bark, and cutting into the solid wood of trees, all produce a great variety of species. A small axe and an iron wrench, shaped something like a chisel, but bent round at the upper end, are the best instruments for working old trees. The bark should be all stripped off and examined, as well as the surface of the log underneath. The same remarks apply to stones, which should be searched as well as the places from which they were removed. Sacks, if left about the fields for a few weeks, often harbour good beetles, and when found they should always be pulled up and examined. An umbrella, held upside down under flowering shrubs in the forest, will often be found swarming with beetles after the plants have been sharply tapped with a stout {10}walking-stick. The same object may be attained by spreading a newspaper, or sheet, under the trees and then shaking them; the beetles will fall on to the sheet, and may then be captured. The only advantage of the umbrella is that it can be more readily used in awkward places, such as on steep hill sides. The dead bodies of birds and animals also contain peculiar species; they may be held over the umbrella and shaken into it, when the inhabitants will fall out, and can easily be obtained. Dead fish on the sea beach are often very productive. Moss and fungi are unfailing resorts of many of the smaller species of Coleoptera, and can be examined in the winter when the entomologist is otherwise idle. Beetles should always be brought home alive. The small round tin boxes sold with Bryant and May's wax matches will be found very serviceable for this purpose. These boxes are far better for all kinds of collecting than either pill- or chip-boxes, as they do not break when knocked about. A separate box should always be given to a large or rare species, but most of the smaller kinds will travel quite safely in company, especially if a wisp of grass or a leaf is put into the box to give them foothold. Beetles must be killed with boiling water, and left immersed some hours before setting. They must be pinned through either the right or left elytron, and each collector must always keep to one side, as nothing looks worse than to see some of the specimens pinned on the right and others on the left side. When pinned the beetles are set on a corked board, the legs, &c., being placed in a natural position, and retained until dry by means of pins and pieces of paper and card. The smaller species should be mounted with transparent gum on a neat piece of card, which can be pinned in the store-box or cabinet with the others. The greatest care should be taken to set {11}symmetrically, so that the limbs on the right-hand side of an insect are in the same position as those on the left. Hymenoptera may be captured with the ordinary butterfly-net, and are found abundantly during the summer. The larger species are pinned through the centre of the thorax, and set in the same way as Coleoptera, the smaller ones on card with gum. These insects should, if possible, be made to fly into the vessel of boiling water, as by this means they generally die with their wings expanded, which is a great assistance when setting them. This can usually be managed by holding the box containing the specimen immediately over the water, and giving it a sharp tap with the finger of the other hand. Diptera are also captured with the net, and pinned in the same way, but should be killed with the laurel bottle. Lepidoptera are the most difficult of all to collect, and are at the same time the most attractive to beginners. They may be captured with a net made of fine gauze (mosquito net dyed green is the best material); the frame to support the net is constructed of a piece of cane bent into a hoop, each of the ends being supported in a forked tube shaped like a Y, and the long tube, forming the base of the Y, is firmly fitted on to the end of a walking-stick. This form of net is light, strong, and easily made; the only thing requiring special attention is the Y, but this can be readily made by any tinsmith out of two pieces of gas-pipe of different sizes, the larger one for the stick, and the smaller one for the ends of the cane to fit into. The collector should also be furnished with a number of small tin boxes.[1] All this apparatus can easily be packed into an ordinary satchel. {12}When the entomologist reaches his hunting-ground, he will mount his net and place a number of the boxes in his left-hand coat pocket. The foliage of all trees and shrubs should be vigorously beaten and the insects captured as they fly out. When a moth is taken, the collector will first turn the net half way round so as to close the entrance, and then, directly the insect ceases fluttering, he should carefully place one of the little boxes over it and slip on the lid. The box is then transferred to the right-hand pocket. He will soon learn to do this without in any way damaging the insect. On arrival at home, the insects should be immediately killed in the laurel bottle. This is an ordinary wide-necked bottle with a small bag of well-bruised _young_ laurel shoots at the bottom, covered with a circular piece of card fitting accurately to the sides of the bottle. Laurel shoots can always be obtained about the middle of October, when several killing bottles can be prepared. They must always be wiped out before using, and kept carefully corked. After a few hours the insects should be tilted out of the bottle on to a tablecloth, and pinned exactly through the centre of the thorax. The rough surface of the tablecloth prevents them from slipping during the operation. About one-third of an inch of pin should project below the body of the insect. If a moth or butterfly dies with its wings folded upwards over the back, it must be carefully picked up between the thumb and index finger of the left hand, and the pin inserted with the corresponding fingers of the right hand. When all are pinned they should be transferred to a tin box, lined with cork, which has been previously well damped with water. While pinning them into this box great care must be taken not to allow the wings to come in contact with the damp cork. In about twenty-four hours the specimens thus treated will be ready for setting. This process is performed by means of corked boards of various widths for different sized {13}species. Each board has a groove down the centre for the bodies of the insects to rest in, while the wings are spread out on either side. They should be carefully moved forwards with a fine-pointed needle to the desired position, and retained by strips of tracing cloth pinned firmly down at the ends. These strips must not be removed until the insects are thoroughly dry and ready to place in the store-box or cabinet. In setting Lepidoptera, as with other insects, symmetry and a natural position are the main points to be aimed at, special care being taken that the antennæ, fore- and hind-legs, and wings, are shown in correct positions, the middle pair of legs being of course, in the majority of cases, hidden by the wings. It is almost needless to say that different sized pins should be used for various insects, but this point must be left to the discretion of the collector. Entomological pins of all sizes can be obtained from James Gardner, of 29 Oxford Street, London. Gilt pins are useful for many species which are liable to form verdigris on the pins, and are universally employed by many entomologists, but are probably not so strong as the silvered ones. Many species of moths are only to be found at night. When working at this time the collector must suspend a bulls-eye lantern round his neck or waist, and can then have both arms free for capturing insects on the wing or at blossoms. Honey mixed with a little rum, and applied with a small brush to the trunks of trees a few minutes after sunset, will, on some evenings, attract large numbers of valuable species, but not infrequently it is quite unproductive. This mode of collecting has been termed "sugaring" by entomologists, and may be employed during the whole summer. The best blossoms for attracting insects in New Zealand are those of the white rata,[2] which blooms in the forest from February till April, and from which the {14}collector may generally rely on getting a rich harvest. The insects can usually be slipped directly from the flowers into the killing bottle. This is much better than netting them, although occasionally one will escape during the process. When dead the specimens should be placed in a small tin box which has been filled with cotton-wool, packed very lightly. In this way a large number of moths may be carried a long distance with perfect safety, and the extremely inconvenient process of pinning them in the field obviated. If Jahncke's patent boxes are employed it is quite unnecessary to kill the moths in the field. They can be boxed directly from the blossoms and taken home alive without suffering any injury. Lepidoptera, and in fact all insects, are attracted by light, and in some situations the collector will find that he may frequently obtain good species by merely opening his sitting-room window and waiting for the insects to arrive. Much of course depends on the situation of the collector's residence and the nature of the night, which should be dark and warm. I have occasionally tried taking a lamp into the forest to attract insects, but have not met with much success. In swampy and flat situations, no doubt, attracting by light would be very effective, especially if a powerful lamp was employed, in an exposed situation, with a sheet behind it, supported between two poles. This method has been followed with great success by many English entomologists in the fens, but has not yet been tried in the New Zealand swamps, where it would probably be the means of bringing many new and interesting species to "light." With regard to collecting members of the three remaining Orders but little need be said. Neuroptera can be treated in the same way as Lepidoptera, but they should be set on flat boards. The treatment of the Orthoptera will resemble that of the Coleoptera, but the larger species will require {15}to be stuffed with cotton-wool before setting. A few of the largest species of the Lepidoptera must also be stuffed. For this purpose the specimens should be placed on their backs on a piece of clean glass so that none of the scales may be rubbed off. After the contents have been removed, a little chalk should be introduced into the abdomen with the cotton-wool. Hemiptera can be collected and set like Coleoptera, but some of the more delicate species, such as the _Cicadæ_, should be killed in the laurel bottle instead of in boiling water. Before concluding the present chapter I should like to say a few words on the subject of rearing insects, which the entomologist will soon learn to regard as by far the most interesting method of acquiring specimens for his collection. Members of the Coleoptera are probably the most difficult insects to rear in captivity. Their larvæ may be kept in ordinary jam-pots covered with perforated zinc, and filled with earth or rotten wood. The carnivorous species must, of course, be supplied with the animals on which they feed. Beetle larvæ are often some years in attaining maturity. Many of the Hymenoptera and some of the Diptera are parasitic on the larvæ of the Lepidoptera; they are consequently found in rearing these insects, and their economy should always be carefully recorded. Lepidoptera are, perhaps, the most satisfactory insects to rear. Most of the larvæ feed on the leaves of different plants, and all that is needed is to keep them well supplied with fresh food. So great a variety of cages have been devised for the rearing of caterpillars that it would be quite impossible to describe them here. I will therefore only give a short account of those which I have used myself, and have found so convenient that I do not hesitate in recommending them to those entomologists who wish not only to rear insects but to study their habits. {16}The cages I have been in the habit of using are made of two or three thicknesses of cardboard bent round into a cylinder and strongly pasted together. They may be of various sizes, from three to four inches in diameter up to eight or ten, and constructed so that one will go inside the other. The height should exceed the diameter by about one and a half inches. The cylinders should be made so as to stand exactly level on a flat surface, and they should have two rows of small openings round the sides for the admission of air. It is a good plan to have four of these openings in each row and place them opposite one another. They should be covered on the inside with gauze, stiffened with green or brown paint, as the dark colour will enable the observer to see inside more readily. A circular piece of glass is fitted into the upper end of the cylinder, and fixed by means of paste and paper. The base of the cage consists of two round pieces of wood, one about half an inch smaller than the other, the smaller one nailed exactly in the centre of the larger piece. These are made so that the cardboard cylinder fits _accurately_ on the outside of the smaller piece of wood. The whole cage is then neatly covered with white paper inside and brown outside. A complete view of the interior can of course be obtained by looking in at the top, while the cages can be stowed away one within the other when not in use. A stone ink-bottle should be put on the floor of each cage and filled with water, into which a sprig of the food-plant can be introduced. Care must be taken to plug up the mouth of the bottle, so that the larvae may not crawl down the stem of the plant into the water and thus meet with an untimely end. This may readily be done by means of a cork with a hole bored in it for the stem to pass through, or a plug of moss or blotting-paper. Members of almost all the orders can be reared in these cages, as jam-pots full of earth may easily be introduced, in the place of the stone {17}bottle, when required for species which bury. A circular piece of blotting-paper should be placed over the bottom of each cage, while larvæ are feeding in them, and renewed when at all soiled. The excrement must also be removed when the larvæ are supplied with fresh food. As a rule, this is only necessary about twice a week, as the water will keep most plants fresh for quite a lengthened period. When it is necessary to remove a larva it should always be done with a fine camel-hair brush, never with the fingers. Generally, however, it is better to allow the larvæ themselves to crawl from the old sprig on to the new one, which they usually do in a few hours after the food is changed. The old plants should of course then be taken out so as to afford more room for fresh air. Many female moths may be induced to lay their eggs in captivity, especially if put in a box with some of the food-plant of the larva. It is extremely instructive and interesting to rear an insect from the egg. When the young larvæ first emerge they must be kept in a tumbler with a piece of glass put over the top, as they might escape through the ventilators of the cages, but they ought to be transferred immediately they are large enough. When rearing a lot of caterpillars from a batch of eggs, care should be taken to avoid overcrowding. A collection of insects should always eventually be placed in a neatly constructed cabinet. They should be arranged in rows, systematically, with the correct names under each species, and the name of the order or group at the commencement of each drawer. Numerous modifications in arrangement are often needed to meet the requirements of different sized insects, but an inspection of any good collection will at once explain the general principles. Camphor should be pinned in the corner of each drawer or store-box, and the whole collection fumigated with carbolic acid, or equal parts of oil of thyme, oil of anise, {18}and spirits of wine, every six months. These can be introduced in a watch glass containing a small quantity of the chemicals on a pellet of cotton-wool, care being taken not to stain the paper at the bottom of the drawer. For the same reason, while using carbolic acid, the camphor should be taken out, as otherwise it will "sweat." All boxes for the reception of insects must of course be lined with cork and paper. It is most important that an accurate record should be kept of every specimen that is placed in the collection. This may be done by attaching to the pin underneath each insect a small numbered label, which refers to a book containing locality, date of capture and other particulars. I have found it a good plan to give every species a number, and every specimen a letter. Thus, supposing _Vanessa gonerilla_ is numbered "6," the first specimen taken would be "6a," the second "6b," and so on, all the specimens, perhaps, having different dates and localities. This system is very convenient when specimens are sent away to be identified by another entomologist, as, provided the collector always retains a single specimen of the species which he desires named, it obviates the necessity of having his specimens returned, the number showing at once to what species the name refers. At least five lines should be allotted to each species in the collection journal, and the writing should be small but distinct. A collection formed in this manner will not only be a constant source of pleasure to the collector and those who succeed him, but very probably of great value in deciding many important questions in entomological science. {19}CHAPTER III The Coleoptera. The observations on the natural history of the New Zealand beetles, forming the subject of the present chapter, are much less numerous than might have been expected from the great number of species which have been described. The difficulties attendant on rearing these insects are, however, very great, and it thus happens that the life-histories here given bear a smaller proportion to the number of the Coleoptera than will be found to be the case with the majority of the other Orders. I hope, however, that the few details I have collected, referring to the following species, may induce some of my readers to investigate others for themselves. Group GEODEPHAGA. Family _Cicindelidæ_. _Cicindela tuberculata_ (Plate I., fig. 1, 1a larva). This is a very abundant insect found throughout the country in all dry situations. It delights in hot sunshine, and may be constantly observed flying from our footsteps with great rapidity as we walk along the roads on a hot summer's day. Its larva (Fig. 1a) is an elongate fleshy grub, the head {20}and first segment being horny and much flattened, and the body provided with two large dorsal humps, each bearing at its apex a slender curved hook. The burrows of these insects are very conspicuous, and must have been noticed by every one, in garden paths, sandbanks, and other _dry_ situations; they are sometimes very numerous, and may be best described as perfectly round shafts, about one line in diameter, and extending to the depth of three or four inches, generally slightly curved at the bottom. The sides are perfectly smooth, and the larva may be often discovered near the mouth of its burrow, using its dorsal hooks to support it, and thus having both legs and jaws free to dispose of the unfortunate insects that fall into its snare. These usually consist of flies and small beetles, which appear to be urged by curiosity to crawl down these pitfalls, and thus bring about their own destruction. By reference to the figure it will be seen how admirably the hollowed head and prothorax serve the purpose of a shovel to the larva, when forming its shaft. These burrows are first observed about the middle of November; the perfect insects coming abroad three weeks or a month later, when they may be often seen in the neighbourhood of their old domiciles. They are very voracious, devouring large quantities of flies, caterpillars, and other insects, some of which are much superior to themselves in size. On one occasion I saw a male specimen of _Cicindela parryi_ (a species closely allied to but smaller than _C. tuberculata_) attack a large Tortrix caterpillar, an inch and a half in length. The beetle invariably sprang upon the back of the caterpillar and bit it in the neck, being meanwhile flung over and over by the larva's vigorous efforts to free itself from so unpleasant an assailant. During the fight, which lasted fully twenty minutes, the beetle was compelled to retire periodically to gain fresh strength to renew its attacks, which were eventually {21}successful, the unfortunate tortrix becoming finally completely exhausted. The beetle devoured but a very small portion of the caterpillar, and abandoning the remainder went off in search of fresh prey. Eight other closely allied species of _Cicindela_ are described by Captain Broun in the "Manual of the New Zealand Coleoptera," but they offer no especial peculiarities, and _C. tuberculata_ may be taken as a type of the genus. Family CARABIDÆ. _Pterostichus opulentus_ (Plate I., fig. 3, 3a larva). This fine beetle is very common in most wooded situations in the Nelson district; it may be at once distinguished from the numerous other closely allied species by the beautiful metallic coppery tints that adorn its thorax and elytra. During the day it is usually discovered concealed under logs and stones, and when disturbed, rushes into the first crevice to get out of the light. At night time, it comes abroad to feed, killing an immense number of flies, caterpillars, and other insects, to satisfy its voracious appetite. Although of a most ferocious disposition, it is not wanting in maternal affection. The female, when about to deposit her eggs, excavates a small cavity nearly three inches square, in which they are placed. These she broods over until hatched, and probably some little time afterwards, as I have found a specimen close to a nest, which contained both eggs and larvæ, and the zealous mother furiously bit at anything presented to her. The eggs are oval in shape, quite smooth, and yellowish white in colour. The young larva is drawn at Plate I., fig. 3a; it is remarkable for its superficial resemblance to a small Iulus, and being found in similar situations to that animal, its mimicry has probably some useful object. The older larva differs chiefly in having the head and thoracic segments proportionately {22}smaller. Twenty-one closely allied insects belonging to two genera are described by Captain Broun in his Manual, the largest being _Pterostichus australasiæ_, which is found in similar localities to the present species, but is not so common. Group HYDRADEPHAGA. Family DYTICIDÆ. _Colymbetes rufimanus_ (Plate I., fig. 4, 4a larva). This insect is found plentifully in all still waters during the summer months. Its larva is a soft elongate grub, provided with six slender thoracic legs, and a pair of powerful mandibles. The posterior extremity of the body is furnished with two curious appendages bearing a spiracle at the apex of each, which the larva frequently protrudes above the surface of the water. The air is taken in through the spiracles, and conveyed to all parts of the body by two main air-tubes, one of which springs from each spiracle, and branches throughout the insect in every direction. During the spring months the larvæ may be found of various sizes in similar situations to the imago; they are very voracious, devouring freshwater shrimps, _Ephemera_ larvæ, and occasionally, when pressed by hunger, they will even destroy individuals of their own species for food. These they capture by means of their powerful mandibles, retaining a firm hold of the victim until they have consumed all the fleshy portions, the rest of the carcase being thrown aside, and a fresh search made for more. One individual I kept for some time, remained perpetually concealed in a small patch of green weed, growing in the middle of its aquarium. In a short time it became surrounded with the skeletons of small water shrimps which had been seized by the larva as they passed by its hiding place, the unfortunate crustaceans only discovering their enemy when it was too late. I have not yet observed the pupa of this {23}insect, but it probably does not differ materially from those of its European allies. Although so very different in general appearance to the preceding insects, this beetle will be found on careful examination to agree with them in all important respects, being only what a ground beetle might naturally become if forced to lead an aquatic existence. Breathing is effected in all the water beetles by the spiracles of the abdomen, which alone are developed. The air is taken in between the elytra and the body, and owing to the convexity of the former, a supply can be retained sufficient to last the insect some twenty or thirty minutes. The beetles may be often observed with the extremity of their elytra protruded above the surface, renewing their supplies of air. On very hot days _C. rufimanus_ may be occasionally seen flying with great rapidity far away from its native ponds. When doing so it makes a loud humming noise, and is a much more conspicuous object than when in the water. Group CLAVICORNIA. Family NITIDULIDÆ. _Epuræa zealandica._ This curious little beetle is found abundantly in the neighbourhood of decaying fungi, throughout the year, being most plentiful in the autumn and early winter. Its larva is a small cylindrical grub, with the head and legs so minute that they are scarcely perceptible, causing it to closely resemble the maggots of many dipterous insects, occurring in similar localities. It is generally found in the large yellow fungi, so abundant in wet situations during the late autumn and winter months. It forms numerous galleries through the plant in all directions, and owing to the large amount of moisture which is usually present, these galleries are often filled with water, so that the insect may {24}be said to be sub-aquatic in its habits. I have not yet detected the pupa of this species, although the discovery of a large quantity of both larvæ and perfect insects is of everyday occurrence with the entomologist in winter. Family ENGIDÆ. _Dryocora Howittii_ (Plate I., fig. 6, 6a larva). This quaint-looking little insect occurs occasionally in damp matai logs, when in an advanced state of decay. The larva (Fig. 6a) is very flat and thin, possessing the usual thoracic legs, which, however, are rather short. The last segment of the abdomen is furnished with an anal proleg and a pair of small setiform appendages. Its mode of progression is very peculiar, resembling that of the Geometer larvæ among the Lepidoptera. The thoracic legs are first brought to the ground, and the rest of the body is then drawn up in an arched position close behind them. The anal proleg then supports the insect while the anterior segments are thrust out, and the others follow as before. This method is only employed on smooth surfaces, the larva crawling along elsewhere in the usual manner. The perfect beetle is a very sluggish insect, and difficult to find owing to its colour, which closely resembles that of the wood in which it lives. Family ENGIDÆ. _Chætosoma scaritides_ (Plate I., fig. 2). This insect may be at once recognized by its peculiar shape, no other New Zealand beetle resembling it in this respect. Although tolerably common and generally distributed, it is very seldom seen abroad, spending almost the whole of its life concealed in the burrows of various wood-boring weevils. Its larva, which feeds on the grubs {25}of these insects, is of a pinkish colour, very fat and sluggish; the head and three anterior segments are strong and horny, the legs being rather short. It undergoes its transformation into the pupa within the weevil burrows, when the limbs of the perfect insect can be seen folded down the breast, the wings and elytra being much smaller than in the beetle. Specimens in all stages of existence may be readily procured by splitting up old perforated logs which have been long tenanted by weevils. Group BRACHELYTRA. Family STAPHYLINIDÆ. _Staphylinus oculatus_ (Plate I., fig. 5). This is the New Zealand representative of _S. olens_ or the "Devil's Coach Horse," one of the most familiar of British beetles. It is found occasionally in the neighbourhood of slaughter-houses, and may be at once distinguished from any of the allied species by a large spot of brilliant scarlet situated on each side of its head behind the eyes; this very conspicuous feature has given it the specific name of _oculatus_. I am at present unacquainted with the transformations of this fine insect, but they will probably closely resemble those of the typical species (_S. olens_) described in the majority of standard books on European Coleoptera. This beetle may be frequently seen flying in the sunshine, when it has a most striking appearance, owing to its large size and rapid motion. An unpleasant odour is found to arise when it is handled, this being noticeable in nearly all the members of the family. These beetles are comparatively numerous in New Zealand, the genus _Philonthus_ comprising several elongate active insects, of which _P. oeneus_ is one of the commonest, and may be found abundantly amongst garden refuse. Others frequent the seashore, feeding on decaying seaweed, and {26}may be noticed flying in all directions along the coast immediately after sundown. Another genus (_Xantholinus_) includes a number of interesting beetles found in old weevil burrows, and probably feeding on their inmates. Group LAMELLICORNES. Family LUCANIDÆ. _Dorcus punctulatus_ (Plate I., fig. 7). An abundant species chiefly attached to the red pine tree or rimu, where it may be found concealed beneath the scaly bark, in the angles of the trunk near the roots. When disturbed, it folds up its legs and antennæ on its breast, and, extending its powerful jaws, awaits the approach of the enemy, ready to bite anything coming within its reach. These, however, are purely defensive measures, the insect being quite harmless when left alone. The larva is at present unknown to me. Another species, _D. reticulatus_, is a much handsomer insect than the preceding; it may be at once recognized by four deep impressions in the thorax, filled in with light-brown scales; the margins of the elytra are similarly scaled, as well as four spots on each elytron, the remainder of the beetle being dark-brown and shining. It is generally found in totara bark, but is much scarcer than the last species. One small specimen I possess, remarkable for its brilliant appearance, was taken under the bark of a stunted black birch tree, over two thousand feet above the sea-level. Family MELOLONTHIDÆ. _Stethaspis suturalis_ (Plate I., fig. 8, 8a larva). This conspicuous insect occurs abundantly in all open situations. Its larva (Fig. 8a) inhabits the earth, feeding on the roots of various plants, and is especially abundant {27}in paddocks, where it occasionally does considerable damage to the grass, and threatens ere long to become as great a pest as its first cousin, the renowned Cockchaffer of England (_Melolontha vulgaris_), whose fearful ravages need no description. It may be taken as a typical larva of the family, the rest differing from one another in little else than size. When full-grown it is quite as large as the illustration, and is nearly always in the position there indicated, owing to the size of its posterior segments and the absence of any anal proleg, which compel it to lie always on its side. I have not yet succeeded in obtaining the pupa of this insect, although larvæ may be frequently found enclosed in oval cells, evidently about to undergo their transformation. Several of these have been kept in captivity, but they have hitherto always died without undergoing any change. I have, however, no doubt as to its being the larva of _S. suturalis_, as there are no other large Lamellicorns found near Wellington to which it could possibly be referred. The perfect beetle appears in great numbers from November to March; it is best taken at dusk, when it flies with a loud humming noise, about four feet above the ground. If knocked down it always falls amongst the herbage, and is not readily perceived until a few minutes later, when the humming noise is resumed as the insect again gets under weigh, and the would-be captor must not lose time if he wishes to secure it. Occasionally individuals are seen disporting themselves on the wing during the day, but this must be regarded as a purely exceptional circumstance. Unlike the majority of nocturnal Coleoptera, this insect does not appear to be attracted by light; in fact I have never obtained any specimens by this method, although most other night-flying beetles may be taken in goodly numbers at the attracting lamp. {28}Family MELOLONTHIDÆ. _Pyronota festiva_. This brilliant little insect is extremely abundant amongst manuka, during the early summer. In general appearance it reminds one of a miniature specimen of the last species, but is more elongate in form; the green thorax and elytra are also much brighter. The latter are bordered with flashing crimson, the legs and under surface being reddish-brown, sparsely clothed with white hairs. A small Lamellicorn grub, found amongst refuse in manuka thickets, is probably the larva of this insect; it is less thickened posteriorly than that of _S. suturalis_, but otherwise closely resembles it. The perfect insect is diurnal in its habits, flying round flowering manuka in countless numbers on a hot day. The descent of thirty or forty of these little beetles on to the beating sheet, out of a single bush, is of frequent occurrence, and is particularly noticed by the New Zealand entomologist accustomed to the meagre supply of specimens offered in the majority of instances. Group STERNOXI. Family ELATERIDÆ. _Thoramus wakefieldi_ (Plate II., fig. 1, 1b larva, 1a pupa). This fine beetle may be taken under rimu bark in tolerable abundance, and is often observed flying about at dusk during the summer. Its larva inhabits rotten wood, usually selecting the red pine, in which it excavates numerous flat galleries near the surface of the logs. When disturbed it is very sluggish, the head being immediately withdrawn into the large thoracic segment and completely concealed. The legs are very minute, and are of but little use in walking, the insect being chiefly dependent for locomotion on its large anal proleg, which is furnished with numerous horny spines. When full-grown this larva closes up one end of {29}its burrow, and thus forms a closed cell, in which it is transformed into the pupa shown at Fig. 1a, remaining in this condition until the warmer weather calls the insect from its retreat. Two closely allied species are _T. perblandus_ and _Metablax acutipennis_. The former is occasionally found under the large scales on matai trees, and resembles the present insect in general appearance, but is much smaller and more elongate in form, its elytra being also ornamented with longitudinal rows of yellowish-brown hairs. The latter may be often taken on the wing in the hottest sunshine, and is chiefly remarkable for its elongate prothorax and pointed elytra; its colour is dark reddish-brown, ornamented with a few scattered white hairs. All these insects possess the singular habit of leaping into the air when placed on their backs, the last-named species exercising this faculty in a most marked degree. The movement is effected by the joint between the pro- and meso-thorax, the sternum of the former being elongated into a long process, fitting into a corresponding cavity in the latter, so that by means of the two being suddenly brought together, the insect is thrown high into the air with a loud clicking sound, hence the English name of the Skipjack or Click Beetles, the scientific name, Elater, doubtless having reference to the same habit. The object of this curious arrangement is in all probability twofold; the sharp click and rapid movement of the insect deterring many enemies from attacking it, whilst the short legs of the beetle, which are quite unable to reach the ground when it is thrown on its back, render a special contrivance necessary. Group HETEROMERA. Family TENEBRIONIDÆ. _Uloma tenebrionides_ (Plate II., fig. 2, 2a larva, 2b pupa). One of our commonest beetles, found in great abundance {30}in all moist wood when much decayed, the favourite trees being apparently rimu and matai. Its cylindrical larva may be taken in similar situations, and much resembles in general appearance the well-known "wire-worm" of England, whose destructive habits, however, it does not share. At present, whilst bush-clearing is going on, its influence is beneficial, as it devours large quantities of useless wood, which is thus rapidly broken up and got rid of. The pupa is enclosed in an oval cell, constructed by the larva before changing, from which the perfect insect emerges in due course. When first exuded its colour is pale red, but this rapidly changes into dark brown after the insect has been hardened by exposure to the air. Specimens are often met with of every intermediate shade, and are rather liable to deceive the beginner, who mistakes them for distinct species. An account of a small Dipterous insect infesting this beetle in its preparatory states will be found on page 62. Group LONGICORNIA. Family PRIONIDÆ. _Prionus reticularis_ (Plate II., fig. 3, 3b larva, 3a pupa). This is the largest species of beetle found in New Zealand, and is common throughout the summer in the neighbourhood of forests. Its larva (Fig. 3b) is a large, fat grub, with minute legs; it inhabits rimu and matai, logs, often committing great ravages on sound timber although frequently eating that which is decayed; posts, rails, and the rafters of houses alike suffer from its attacks; the great holes formed by a full-grown larva of this insect creating rapid destruction in the largest timbers. It may be remarked, in connection with these wood-boring species, that a good thick coat of paint put on the timber as soon as it is exposed, and renewed at frequent intervals, to a great extent prevents their attacks. The pupa (Fig. 3a) {31}is enclosed in one of the burrows formed by the larva, which, before changing, blocks up any aperture, so as to rest secure from all enemies. The perfect insect emerges in the following summer, when it may be often observed flying about at night. It is greatly attracted by light, and this propensity frequently leads it on summer evenings to invade ladies' drawing-rooms, when its sudden and noisy arrival is apt to cause much needless consternation amongst the inmates. Closely allied to the above is _Ochrocydus huttoni_, which may be at once known by its smaller size and plain elytra; it is very much scarcer than _P. reticularis_, but may occasionally be cut out of dead manuka trees in company with its larva. Group RHYNCOPHORA. Family CURCULIONIDÆ. _Oreda notata_ (Plate II., fig. 4, 4a larva). This weevil is not often noticed in the open, but may be found in great abundance in the dead stems of fuchsia, mahoe, and other soft-wooded shrubs, whose trunks are frequently noticed pierced with numerous cylindrical holes. The larva also inhabits these burrows, devouring large quantities of the wood; it is provided with a large head and powerful pair of mandibles, but, in common with all other weevil larvæ, does not possess legs of any description, the insect being absolutely helpless when removed from its home in the wood. The pupa might also be found in similar situations, but I have not yet observed it. The perfect insect may be cut out of the trees throughout the year, and is occasionally taken amongst herbage during the summer. Family CURCULIONIDÆ. _Psepholax coronatus_ (Plate II., fig. 5 [F], 5a [M]). This curious species is found abundantly in the stems of {32}dead currant trees (_Aristotelia racemosa_), in which it excavates numerous cylindrical burrows like the last species, which it closely resembles when in the larval state. The sexes are widely different, the elytra of the male being furnished with the characteristic coronet of spines, which is entirely wanting in the female. Numerous other members of this genus may be taken in company with the present insect, and should be carefully examined, as a correct determination of the males and females of the several species is sadly wanted. Digging beetles out of the wood is good employment for the entomologist in winter, when he will find that a day spent in this manner will frequently produce as rich a harvest as one in the height of summer. Before finally leaving the Coleoptera, I should like to direct the attention of my readers to the immense number of interesting weevils found in New Zealand. Chief among these is the remarkable _Lasiorhynchus barbicornis_, a large insect furnished with a gigantic rostrum, which will at once distinguish it from any of the rest. Other genera contain numerous beetles, which may be found in various kinds of dead timber in company with their larvæ, and are worthy of a more minute investigation than has at present been given them. {33}CHAPTER IV The Hymenoptera. The Hymenoptera are perhaps the most interesting order of insects, their brilliant colours, great activity, and unparalleled instincts rendering them alike attractive to the young collector and scientific entomologist. They are, however, not very numerous in New Zealand, several of the most important families being completely absent; in fact, with the exception of the ants, there are no social Hymenoptera native to this country. The information I here give in connection with these insects does not adequately represent the large amount of interest which can be derived from their investigation, and I must therefore refer the reader to those admirable works by Sir J. Lubbock on Ants and by Huber on Bees, which cannot fail to interest all who read them. Family ANDRENIDÆ. _Dasycolletes hirtipes_ (?) (Plate III., fig. 1). This is the true native bee of New Zealand, and may be taken abundantly during the whole of the summer. Its nest is constructed in crevices in the bark of trees, &c., the insect very frequently selecting the spaces between the boards of outhouses, where the loud buzzing noise {34}made by the perfect bees when emerging from their retreat at once arrests our attention. These nests consist of about ten oval cells, formed of clay, and neatly smoothed within. They are all constructed by a single female, which also provisions them with honey and pollen, depositing an egg in each. The larva, after consuming the food, changes into a pupa, from which the perfect insect emerges about January. If the reader will imagine a great number of these nests closely packed together, the formation and storing of the cells being performed by a number of sterile individuals (workers), while the eggs are deposited by a single female (queen), he will have a fair idea of the economy of the social bees and wasps, whose wonderful instincts attain their maximum in the well-known hive-bee, successfully introduced and cultivated in various parts of the country. Closely allied to this species is _Dasycolletes purpureus_ (?) (Fig. 10), which forms its nests in sand-banks, its cylindrical holes having a great resemblance to the burrows of _Cincindela tuberculata_, which frequently occur in the same situation. Family SPHEGIDÆ. _Pompilus fugax_ (Plate III., fig. 2). This is a very abundant insect, and may be observed flying about on any fine day during the summer, occasionally stopping to examine leaves and crevices in the bark of trees, where it is looking for the unfortunate spiders, which constitute the food of its progeny. The larva is a fat apodal grub, and may be found in the cells constructed by the perfect insect, which usually selects a large cylindrical hole in a log, previously drilled out by a weevil. Into this burrow she pushes a large quantity of spiders, which she has previously captured and paralyzed with her venomous sting. When her nest is {35}properly provisioned she deposits an egg in it, closes the hole with a neat plug of clay, and leaves the larva to quietly consume its half-dead companions. Each female, no doubt, forms a large number of these cells during the summer. While cutting up old logs for Coleoptera, the entomologist will not infrequently come across these nests, when the insects may be found in various stages of development. Unfortunately, however, the sight which usually meets his eye is a large number of legs and other fragments of spiders, the _fugax_ having long since deserted the burrow, and being very probably engaged in forming others in a neighbouring tree. These insects are very ferocious, and will attack spiders which considerably exceed them in size. On one occasion I noticed a very large one at rest in the centre of its web, which was suddenly noticed by a passing _fugax_, which immediately sprang upon its back, and, in spite of violent movements on the part of the spider, twisted her abdomen dexterously round and stung her victim in the centre of the thorax, between the insertions of the legs. This produced almost instantaneous paralysis in the spider; but it was apparently too large for the _fugax_ to carry away to her nest, as I saw the unfortunate creature hanging helplessly in its web some hours after the occurrence. Family FORMICIDÆ. _Formica zealandica_ (Plate III., fig. 3 [M], 3a [F], 3b [N], 3c, cocoon). This is one of our commonest ants, and may be noticed under logs and stones throughout the year. The nest consists of a number of irregular cavities dug out by the workers either in the ground or in soft rotten wood. Its size varies considerably, but the societies of this species are not usually so extensive as those of _Atta antarctica_, {36}an insect I shall have occasion to refer to presently. The larvæ are minute apodal grubs, which are dependent entirely on the workers for food. When full grown they spin an oval cocoon of white silk, in which they are converted into pupæ, and these the patient neuter ants may be observed carrying away with great anxiety when disturbed, risking their own lives to preserve their adopted offspring from destruction. The females, or queens, of which there are several in each nest, do not appear to participate in these labours, but are only instrumental in perpetuating the species, and the same remark applies to the males. A large number of these winged males and females may be observed in the nests about February, the general emergence taking place during that month. At this time they leave their native homes and mount to a great height in the air, and after sporting for some hours they re-alight on the earth, and in a short space of time cast their wings. The neuters at this time are said to carry them away to form fresh colonies, but I have not carried my investigations sufficiently far to verify this in connection with the New Zealand species. Family FORMICIDÆ. _Ponera castanea_ (Plate III., fig. 4 [M], 4a [N], 4b, larva). This is a much larger species of ant than the last, but is apparently not unlike it in habits. I have figured a male (Fig. 4) and worker (4a), the female not differing from the latter in any great degree, except in being provided with wings. It will be noticed, however, that the male is very divergent. The larvæ of this insect are covered with numerous minute spines, and may be often found in the nests; also the cocoons which they form when full grown, these latter being of a dark brown colour, and rather elongate. The winged insects are not frequently seen. They appear only for a short time in February, the earlier {37}ones being invariably held captive by the workers until the rest have emerged, when they are all allowed to fly away and form fresh colonies as in the last species. Family FORMICIDÆ. _Atta antarctica_ (Plate III., fig. 5 [M], 5a [F], 5b, larva). This is another very abundant species, found occasionally amongst rotten wood in very large communities. Its larva, which is represented at Fig. 5b, does not form any cocoon, the pupa being quite naked and defenceless. It is a beautiful little object when examined with a microscope of moderate power. The annual migration of the winged males and females of this species usually takes place on a hot day in the last week of March, at which time I have observed the air throughout a day's journey absolutely swarming with these little insects. Many specimens are captured in the spiders' webs, while the logs, fences, and ground are covered with ants in the proportion of about ten males to one female. At other seasons of the year the winged individuals of _Atta antarctica_ are seldom observed. Family CHALCIDIDÆ. _Pteromalus_ sp. (?) (Plate III., fig. 9). This little insect was reared, in company with thirteen others of the same species, from a pupa of _Eurigaster marginatus_ which had been procured from a larva of _Oeceticus omnivorus_, and is consequently a true hyperparasite.[3] Its curious habits will be better understood by the reader after perusal of the life-histories of those two insects, which I have given on pages 60 and 74. The method by which the females of the Hymenoptera whose larvæ are parasitic on insects inhabiting other insects, {38}introduce their eggs into their hosts,[4] is not at present known to entomologists, but it seems at least probable that they are deposited in the eggs of the parasitic Dipteron before these gain access to the caterpillar of the moth. Family ICHNEUMONIDÆ. _Ichneumon sollicitorius_ (Plate III., fig. 6). This is the most abundant of our ichneumon-flies, and may be taken amongst herbage from August till May. Its larva is parasitic in the caterpillars of various Noctuæ, having occurred in the following species: _Mamestra composita_, _M. mutans_, and _M. ustistriga_. The pupa may be frequently discovered inside that of the moth, and is quite white in its early stages, but as age advances all the colours of the future insect can be seen through the thin pellicle which invests it. The perfect insect makes its escape through a circular hole, which it drills in the upper end of the unfortunate moth pupa it has destroyed. The sexes of all ichneumon-flies may be at once recognized by the females possessing an ovipositor[5] differing considerably in length among the various species, but nearly always plainly visible. Family ICHNEUMONIDÆ. _Ichneumon deceptus_ (Plate III., fig. 7). This conspicuous insect is chiefly mentioned on account of a very curious habit possessed by the females of congregating in large numbers on matai trees, as many as fifty or sixty specimens being often found huddled together under a single flake of the bark. The males are occasionally taken flying in the open, but I have never seen any amongst these large assemblages of females. Whether the {39}ichneumons are parasitic on some insect which lives on the matai, or whether they assemble to feast on the sweet juice occasionally exuded from its bark, it is impossible to say, but in either case the complete absence of males is a very remarkable circumstance. Family ICHNEUMONIDÆ. _Scolobates varipes_ (Plate III., fig. 8). The larva of this little insect is parasitic on the useful larva of _Syrphus ortas_ whose life-history is recorded on page 57. It is very common in some instances, and must consequently destroy a considerable number. It entirely eats the soft portions of the insect, and may afterwards be found lying snugly within the hard empty shell of the deceased syrphus pupa, which acts as a cocoon for it while undergoing its own pupa state. The perfect insect may be often observed amongst herbage, searching for syrphus larvæ to deposit its eggs in. {40}CHAPTER V The Diptera. The next Order which comes under review is the Diptera, which includes all the two-winged insects, and constitutes a most extensive Order in respect to the number of distinct species. When, however, the numbers of individuals of the same species are considered, it is probable that this Order includes a greater proportion of the insect-world than all the others put together. The preponderance of these insects over the rest holds good with greater force in New Zealand than in many other countries, and this fact may be almost inferred from the large number of spiders present here, which are chiefly dependent on Diptera for their support. The important function of clearing away refuse matter is almost entirely performed by the members of this Order, as the Necrophagous Coleoptera and other scavengers which exist in such large numbers in many countries are practically absent here, and their work consequently devolves upon dipterous insects. Group NEMOCERA. Family CULICIDÆ. _Culex iracundus_ (Plate IV., fig. 1, 1a larva, 1b pupa). The mosquito is only too familiar to every one from {41}its ceaseless attacks; it occurs almost everywhere, but is most abundant in marshy situations. The larva (Fig. 1a) inhabits all stagnant waters, where it may be found very abundantly throughout the summer, and when disturbed it plunges about with great agility. Its food consists of the numerous animalculæ swarming in all still waters during the greater portion of the year. These are captured by means of two curious anterior appendages, which are fringed with long hair, and pulled through the water like a fisherman's net; they are then withdrawn into the mouth and the contents devoured, the hungry insect again extending them for a fresh supply. These larvæ are generally seen suspended from the surface of the water by the curious air-tube which takes its rise from the penultimate segment of the abdomen, which is of considerable length. Its apex is armed with a row of stiff bristles, which effectually prevent the water from entering the spiracle there situated, so that the insect is enabled to respire when hanging from the surface, independently of any muscular action. It is also worthy of note that the intestine discharges itself into this tube, an arrangement which does not exist among the British species. After several moultings the transformation to the pupa state takes place. At this stage the insect (Fig. 1b) becomes much thickened anteriorly, this being the region of the head and thorax of the future gnat; all the limbs are easily detected on a close examination, as with lepidopterous pupæ. The upper portion is provided with two short appendages, fulfilling the same function as the air-tube of the larva, and which constantly support the pupa at the surface of the water. The terminal fins enable it to dash through the water with great rapidity when pursued by enemies; at other times it remains perfectly motionless, suspended from the surface of the water. It should be mentioned that none of these aquatic pupæ take any nourishment, neither have they any limbs properly {42}so called. Their locomotion, although in some cases unquestionably rapid, is entirely effected by violent motions of the abdomen. I have been careful to point out these peculiarities as these animals have been regarded by many authors as _active_ pupæ on a level with those of the Orthoptera and Hemiptera. This opinion, however, is manifestly erroneous; the pupæ of the nemocerous Diptera are on precisely the same footing as those of the Lepidoptera, and it would be almost as reasonable to call one of these _active_, because it wriggles out of its cocoon in the earth before the emergence of the moth. The perfect mosquito emerges from a rent in the thoracic shield of the pupa, drawing each pair of legs out separately, and placing them in front of it on the water; the wings and abdomen are then extracted and in a few moments it flies away. The bites of these insects appear to distress some people much more than others, probably owing to constitutional differences. I should mention that the females alone engage in these attacks, the males being quite harmless and subsisting entirely on honey, which is doubtless the natural food of both sexes. The male and female mosquito are readily distinguished, the specimen figured belonging to the latter sex; her companion is chiefly remarkable for his plumed antennæ and beautiful palpi, which are very long and gracefully plumed. As many of the harmless insects which will be investigated are often mistaken for this species, and destroyed accordingly, I should like to advise my readers that they may at once distinguish all the venomous species of gnats by their long, lancet-like proboscis and loud humming noise during flight. Closely allied to this insect is _Culex argyropus_, which might be called the coast mosquito as it is always found near the seashore, its larva living in brackish pools just above high-water mark. The perfect insect may be also seen skating along the surface of the water like a {43}gerris[6]; it may be at once distinguished by its dark colour,. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Corethra antarctica_, n.s.[7] (Plate IV., fig. 3, 3a larva, 3b pupa). An elegant little gnat, frequenting the margins of ponds and ditches during the spring months. The larva (Fig. 3a) is bright green, ornamented with numerous yellow spots; it is very sluggish, living in the green slime weed which floats on the water in such large masses during that season. Not being very common it is difficult to find, as its colour so closely resembles that of the weed which it always frequents. The pupa (Fig 3b), is not very agile, and is nearly always observed suspended from the surface by its thoracic air-tubes and caudal fins, the abdomen being directed upwards and thus bringing the two pairs of organs close together. In its metamorphosis and general appearance this insect forms a convenient link between the present family and the Culicidæ. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Chironomus zealandicus_, n.s. (Plate IV., fig. 2, 2a larva, 2b pupa). This is the common midge of New Zealand, and is extremely abundant throughout the country. Its larva (Fig. 2a) inhabits the soft mud at the bottom of stagnant ponds and streams, and is very conspicuous, being of a brilliant crimson colour and thus much resembling the well-known "Bloodworm" of English anglers, which is the larva of a closely allied European species (_C. plumosus_). It may be readily kept in an aquarium, and if supplied with a little soil and green weed will rapidly cover the {44}walls of its glass prison with numerous tubular galleries. These take their rise from the mud at the bottom, and, extending upwards to a distance of three or four inches, afford the larva a convenient retreat from all enemies. These insects are occasionally seen swimming laboriously through the water with a peculiar zigzag motion. When out of their burrows they have considerable difficulty in keeping beneath the surface, and may be often observed floating helplessly with their exposed portions quite dry; in fact the whole integment of the insect appears to have a peculiar power of resisting the water. The pupa (Fig. 2b), is a most beautiful object, its anterior extremity being obtusely thickened and the limbs of the future insect quite discernible. On each side of the thorax the gills form a set of graceful plumes, a much smaller group being also situated at the extremity of its abdomen. In this state the insect remains almost entirely concealed in the burrows previously constructed by the larva, its gills imbibing sufficient air from the surrounding medium, and thus rendering ascension to the surface unnecessary. The water is periodically circulated in the tunnels by violent movements on the part of the pupa. About a day before emergence the insect assumes a peculiar silvery appearance, which is occasioned by the presence of a large quantity of air between the imago and its pupa skin. This air has been first imbibed by the gills and afterwards expelled through the spiracles of the enclosed gnat, thus inflating the skin of the pupa, and helping to buoy it up during its last and most important transformation. Leaving its tunnel the insect rises to the surface, the thorax is lifted above the water which retreats from it on all sides, the skin cracks open at the back and the insect slowly extricates itself in a similar manner to the mosquito. In about ten minutes' time the wings are sufficiently hardened for use and the insect then flies ashore, but we may occasionally notice, {45}beside their old pupa-skins, drowned individuals which have failed to effect a successful emergence. The perfect insect is extremely common in all swampy situations throughout the summer; it has a great partiality for light, and may be occasionally noticed in vast numbers round the street lamps on a hot summer's night, especially if rain is impending. It is a most graceful insect, and will amply repay a minute examination (Fig. 2). Family TIPULIDÆ. _Ceratopogon antipodum_, n.s. (Plate IV., fig. 4, 4a larva, 4b pupa). Very plentiful in the forest throughout the year, often enlivening the winter sunshine by its merry gambols. The larva (Fig. 4a), is found under the bark of newly fallen trees, feeding on the sap which exudes in large quantities from the logs whilst drying. When first discovered it often has a curiously spangled appearance, owing to the minute beads of moisture retained by numerous bristles clothing the larva. When about to change, these insects assemble in large companies of thirty or forty, firmly affixing their basal segments to the wood, their heads all pointing inwards and forming a small circle. In some cases, where an unusually large gathering has occurred, a number arrange themselves into an outer row, their heads being immediately behind the extremities of the inner group, the whole thus bearing a rough likeness to the radiations of a star-fish. The pupa is very short, and is furnished with two clubbed horns on the thorax for respiration. Its abdominal portions are retained within the old larval skin, thus keeping it firmly anchored to the log. The perfect insect emerges from a rent in the thorax of the pupa, groups of exuviæ being of common occurrence under the bark. The sexes differ considerably, the individual figured {46}(Fig. 4) being a male; the female is slightly larger, and much more stoutly built; her antennæ are filiform[8], and the limbs generally shorter. Both are equally common, but the male is more often noticed, owing to his greater activity. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Psychoda conspicillata_ (Plate IV., fig. 6). A common species, occurring plentifully on window panes during August, and bearing a great superficial resemblance to a small moth of the Tineina group, often deceiving the novice in consequence. It is a beautiful object for the microscope, the figure being a careful drawing of the insect, seen with a power of about ten diameters. I regret to say that its transformations are at present unknown. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Mycetophila antarctica_, n.s. (Plate IV., fig. 5, 5a larva, 5b pupa). Tolerably common in the vicinity of forest during the major part of the year. The larva (Fig. 5a), is a small elongate maggot of a pinkish colour; it is a social insect, inhabiting rotten pine logs, which it perforates with numerous cylindrical burrows. These larvæ, entirely confine their attention to damp wood of a "pappy" consistency, leaving the harder logs for the wood-boring Coleoptera, which are provided with much stronger jaws. They consequently do not injure the rafters and boards of houses, or other valuable timbers. The pupa (Fig. 5b) is very elongate, reposing in one of the burrows, previously constructed by the larva. It probably breathes by means of its spiracles, as no special organs of respiration are visible. The perfect insect appears in a short time, flying sluggishly in the sunshine, the female possessing an enormous abdomen, which {47}almost incapacitates her for aerial locomotion; in other respects she resembles the male, which is the sex figured (Fig. 5). Family TIPULIDÆ. _Tipula holochlora_ (Plate V., fig. 1, 1a larva, 1b pupa). This beautiful insect is very common in the forest throughout New Zealand. Its larva (Fig. 1a) inhabits various kinds of decaying wood, frequently occurring in vegetable refuse at the roots of trees. It is a large, sluggish-looking grub, and the anterior segments are very retractile. Its colour appears to vary according to its surroundings, those specimens found in red pine being of the dull reddish hue characteristic of that wood, while those taken from pukatea and henau are dark brown larvæ, resembling the illustration. These insects are very voracious, but their growth is gradual, each larva probably occupying at least six months to reach maturity. They mostly feed during the winter, but may be often taken at other times. The pupa (Fig. 1b) is enclosed in a small oval cell, previously excavated by the larva, which also constructs a ready means of escape for the future insect in the form of a small tunnel leading out of one end of its prison to the open air. Through this the pupa wriggles, assisted by the spines, which arm the edges of all the segments; the coronet of hooks at its extremity retaining the insect firmly at the mouth of its burrow while undergoing its final transformation. After numerous twistings and contortions on the part of the pupa, a rent is formed in the thoracic plates, and the imago draws itself out, standing on the log until its wings are sufficiently hardened for flight. In many old houses numbers of these exuviæ may be seen projecting from holes in the boards--a relic of the destruction that has taken place within. These insects naturally inhabit dead trees, but as they will devour unsound timber in any {48}form they are very injurious to old wooden buildings. The perfect insect chiefly frequents forest, where it is difficult to detect owing to its green colour harmonizing so closely with the leaves. The specimen figured (Fig. 1) is a male, the female being considerably smaller with a much stouter body and shorter legs. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Tipula fumipennis_, n.s. (Plate V., fig. 2, 2a larva, 2b pupa). Another fine species, occurring in similar situations to the last, but not quite so commonly. The larva (Fig. 2a) may be found throughout the year under the bark of very rotten henau and pukatea, feeding on the moist decaying wood. It constructs in this material numerous burrows, which are lined with a viscous fluid constantly emitted from the mouth. Its movements in these are very rapid, frequently eluding the most careful searches. When divested of its slimy covering, it is anything but an offensive-looking larva, the great air-tubes, which run the whole length of the insect, being very conspicuous, and many of the other internal organs are easily detected owing to its partial transparency. The pupa (Fig. 2b) is enclosed in a small cocoon, having ready access to the air; it is chiefly remarkable for its very large thoracic horns, which are curiously toothed. The air-tubes connected with these are distinctly visible in the abdomen of the insect, where they may be seen branching in all directions. When about to emerge this pupa works its way to the surface of the log, the head and thorax are thrust outside, and the perfect insect escapes in the ordinary way. The illustration (Fig. 2) is taken from a female; the male differs in being less robust, and in being provided with longer legs. {49}Family TIPULIDÆ. The Glow-worm. _Bolitophila luminosa_, Skuse. (Frontispiece, fig. 1). Every one who has walked in the forest at night has no doubt noticed, in many damp and precipitous situations, numerous brilliant points of greenish white light shining out from amongst the dense undergrowth. The animal which causes this light may be seen at Fig. 1a on the Frontispiece, and is probably one of the most interesting insects we have in New Zealand. It inhabits irregular cavities, mostly situated in the banks of streams, where it hangs suspended in a glutinous web which is stretched across the cavity and supported by several smaller threads running right and left, and attached to the sides and ends of the niche. On this the larva invariably rests, but when disturbed immediately glides back along the main thread and retreats into a hole which it has provided at the end of it. From the lower side of this central thread numerous smaller threads hang down, and are always covered with little globules of water, constituting a conspicuous, though apparently unimportant, portion of the insect's web. It should be mentioned that all these threads are constructed by the larva from a sticky mucus exuded from the mouth. The organ which emits the light can easily be seen by referring to Fig. 1a. It is situated at the posterior extremity of the larva, and is a gelatinous and semi-transparent structure capable of a great diversity of form. It can be extended or withdrawn at the will of the larva, which, however, can shut off the light independently of this latter action. Larvæ cease to shine on very cold nights, in the daytime, and in a room which is artificially lighted. They gleam most brilliantly on dark, damp nights, with a light north-west wind. These larvæ appear to suffer great mortality in a state of nature, as the {50}young ones will always be found greatly in excess of those that are approaching maturity. When full-grown this insect is transformed into the curious pupa shown at Fig. 1b. It is furnished with a large process on the back of the thorax which is attached to the web and holds the pupa suspended in the middle of the niche previously inhabited by the larva. The light is emitted from the posterior segment of the pupa, but is much fainter than in the larva, and a distinct organ is not apparent. It is frequently suppressed for days together. The perfect insect is drawn at Fig. 1. It emits a strong light from the posterior segment of the abdomen, about half as bright as that emanating from a full grown larva. It has been recently described by Mr. Skuse, of Sydney, as _Bolitophila luminosa_. During the whole course of my observations[9] on this insect, extending over five years, I have only succeeded in bringing two specimens to maturity, and both of these were females. The uses of the light and the web to the larva are at present quite unknown to me, as well as its food, which, however, possibly consists of fungi. It should also be mentioned that the larvæ are found in the greatest abundance in mining tunnels, many feet below the surface of the earth, as well as in caves. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Cloniophora subfasciata_ (Plate V., fig. 3, 3a larva). Tolerably common in damp gullies during summer and autumn. The larva (Fig. 3a) inhabits decayed henau logs, {51}drilling deep into the wood, where its burrows are seldom noticed, as they are filled up with refuse almost as soon as they are made. The pupa resembles that of _Tipula holochlora_, but is rather more attenuated in the body, and the thoracic horns are slightly thicker. It is not enclosed in any cocoon, but lies amongst the powdery wood, wriggling to the surface when about to emerge. The illustration represents the male insect, the female having a much stouter body, with short thick legs; she also differs in her antennæ, which are much less branched than those of the male. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Rhyphus neozealandicus_ (Plate V., fig. 4, 4a larva, 4b pupa). A most abundant species occurring in most damp situations throughout the year. Its larva (Fig. 4a) closely resembles a small worm, being of an elongate form attenuated at each end. The skin is very hard and of a dull yellow colour, with black markings. The food of this insect consists of decaying vegetable matter, which it procures by means of two small appendages, situated on each side of the mouth, and which it is continually moving about in search of suitable materials. The pupa is a curious object (Fig. 4b), the two little respiratory horns having a singular resemblance to a pair of ears. It is enclosed in a small oval cell about one inch below the surface of the earth, the insect working its way to the air before emergence. The perfect _Rhyphus_ may be almost regarded as one of our domestic insects, and is seldom found in the open country, but frequents cowhouses and other farm buildings in great numbers, the larvæ feeding on the manure in these situations. It is often mistaken by ignorant people for the mosquito and at once destroyed, but quite unfairly, as the species is in reality perfectly harmless, frequently {52}benefiting mankind by the removal of considerable quantities of effete matter, which if allowed to remain could not fail to be injurious. Family TIPULIDÆ. _Bibio nigrostigma_ (Plate V., fig. 5, 5a larva, 5b pupa). This insect is very abundant during the spring months, but rapidly disappears, and few specimens are noticed after Christmas. Its larva (Fig. 5a) inhabits the woody powder often found under logs, which frequently consists of the accumulated excrement of wood-boring insects. It is gregarious in its habits, being found in large companies of fifty or a hundred individuals. When first disturbed these appear as a wriggling mass, but very shortly become so still that they can only be distinguished with the greatest difficulty from morsels of bark. A considerable portion of the powdered wood is also retained on the body of the insect by a row of short spines situated in the middle of each segment, which helps to render the larva still more inconspicuous. In this condition it remains for at least eight months, during which time growth takes place very slowly. About September the larvæ separate, each being afterwards transformed into a small yellowish pupa (5b), whose abdominal extremity is usually retained within the old skin, thus closely resembling that of the genus _Ceratopogon_. I have figured this pupa entirely naked, in order to show its characteristics, some of which are rather remarkable, more completely, the agglutination of nearly all the anterior portions of the body being especially noteworthy. The perfect insects may be found everywhere, the males sucking honey from the flowers and performing many antics in the air, often clinging hold of one another and whirling about together. The female seldom flies, but is usually observed crawling about fences or the trunks of trees. She may be at once recognized by her heavy body {53}which is very large when distended with eggs. Her general colour is dull red, thus differing widely from the male insect represented in the illustration (Fig. 5). Family TIPULIDÆ. _Simulia australiensis_ (Plate VI., fig. 1, 1a larva, 1b pupa). Every one knows the sandfly, the little black insect that so persistently perches on our hands and faces and inflicts its painful punctures, which in many cases are followed by large swellings, often lasting for several days and causing much irritation. Its larva (Fig. 1a) inhabits clear running water, climbing about in strong currents by means of a pair of suckers situated at each end of the body, two being placed on the prothoracic segment just behind the head and two others close to the anal extremity. These the insect employs rather curiously, the anterior pair being first affixed and the others drawn up close behind them, its elongate body consequently forming a loop. Clinging by the posterior suckers for a moment the larva then reaches forward, re-affixes the anterior ones, and draws up the posterior as before. Breathing is performed by two spiracles situated on the last abdominal segments near the hind pair of suckers. Two large air-tubes originate from these and run forwards, giving off branches to all parts of the body; they terminate in a number of air-sacs in the thorax. The food of this larva consists of animalculæ, which are no doubt obtained by drawing the two ciliated appendages rapidly through the water several times in succession, their contents being afterwards gathered up by the smaller organs and passed into the mouth. When about to assume the pupa state the insect covers itself with a glutinous envelope, which is firmly joined to the under side of a leaf, the transformation taking place within a few days. The pupa can hardly be distinguished from a small moth chrysalis except for a pair of branching {54}filaments, which arise from the top of the thorax and serve the purpose of gills (Fig. 1b). Before emergence the anterior segments are projected nearly out of the cocoon from which the perfect sandfly makes its escape, and floating to the surface of the water ascends the stem of an aquatic plant to expand its wings. I should here remark that as with the mosquitoes, the bloodthirsty propensities of the present species have no doubt been acquired since the arrival of man and other warm-blooded animals. Group BRACHOCERA. Family TABANIDÆ. _Tabanus impar_ (Plate VI., fig. 6). I have figured this fine species as a representative of a most important family of Dipterous insects, but am at present quite unacquainted with its life-history. It occurs plentifully on the margins of the forest throughout the summer. Family BOMBYLIDÆ. _Comptosia bicolor_ (Plate VI., fig. 2). This conspicuous species is very abundant in glades throughout the summer, flying with great rapidity, and delighting to suck honey from the numerous shrubs which are in blossom at that time of year. It is a social species, and is usually found in companies of fifteen or twenty individuals, which engage in endless dances, two insects often seizing one another on the wing and then revolving together like a wheel in rapid motion. Their manoeuvres in avoiding the strong gusty wind, so often prevalent in early summer, are also interesting; the insects play upon the wing whilst the air is quiet, but if a breeze springs up they instantly settle on the nearest bush, rising to renew their sports when it is again calm. These flies are rather variable in colour, some specimens being dark brown, {55}whilst others are more or less covered with greyish-white hairs; individuals are also often met with quite black and shining, their hirsute covering having been completely rubbed off. The female may be at once recognized by her solid, fleshy abdomen, that of the male being inflated by two great air-bladders, which cause that portion of the body to appear semi-transparent when the insect is held up to the light. The figure (2) is taken from a specimen of the latter sex. Closely allied to the present insect is _Comptosia virida_, n.s. (Fig. 3), which can be at once distinguished by its brilliant green eyes and pale grey clothing. The larva of this species is a large white maggot, rather robust, and possessing a small head. It inhabits the dense moss growing on the trunks of trees in the forest, feeding on the roots of these plants, and finally forming an oval cocoon, in which it changes into the pupa shown at Fig. 3b. The perfect insect appears in a few weeks' time, when it may be taken in similar situations to _C. bicolor_, but in much fewer numbers. Family ASILIDÆ. _Sarapogon viduus_ (Plate VI., fig. 4, 4a larva, 4b pupa). A voracious insect, frequenting all dry sand-banks and pathways throughout the summer, and destroying the numerous minute diptera found in those situations. These unfortunate victims are drilled through the thorax by their destroyer, which sucks them completely dry with its long beak-like proboscis. The larva (Fig. 4a) inhabits rotten wood, chiefly feeding upon the moist, powdery portions. It is usually somewhat sluggish, but when disturbed hops about with electrical rapidity. The head is very minute, and the elongate body consists of twenty segments, a number very unusual among larvæ, the normal number being twelve exclusive of the head. It lives for a {56}considerable time and is finally transformed into the blunt-looking pupa, drawn at Fig. 4b, without having previously constructed any cocoon. From this the perfect insect emerges in a month or six weeks' time, commencing its work of destruction as soon as its wings are hardened, which takes place within a few hours. Family STRATIOMIDÆ. _Exaireta spiniger_ (Plate VI., fig. 5). Abundant during November, when it may be taken in great numbers in the vicinity of water. The larva is probably aquatic, but I have not yet observed it, although its habits would, no doubt, be very interesting. The perfect insects frequent flowers, and are generally very sluggish in their movements. Family ACROCERIDÆ. _Acrocera longirostris_, n.s. (Plate VII., fig. 4). An extraordinary and very rare species, occurring amongst white rata[10] blossoms in February. At present I have only taken three specimens, _viz._, two in Wellington and one in Nelson. The transformations of all the Acroceridæ are as yet unknown. Family SYRPHIDÆ. _Syrphus ortas_ (Plate VII., fig. 3, 3a larva, 3b pupa). Very common everywhere from September till May, or even later, when specimens may be often seen basking in the winter sunshine. The larva (3a) is a most useful insect to gardeners as it destroys an immense number of aphides, those noxious little insects that commit such fearful ravages on many valuable plants (see Hemiptera, page {57}120). In general appearance this larva resembles a small green slug, with the skin much wrinkled, and bearing at its extremity a short thick tube, which is probably the respiratory apparatus, the four lunate holes situated at its apex being no doubt the spiracles. These insects grow very slowly, occupying several weeks to attain maturity. Their mode of capturing the aphides is very curious, and is, briefly, as follows:--The larva lies in the midst of a number of aphides, and it occasionally happens that some of them crawl over it. On feeling an aphis touch its back the larva instantly darts out its long, pointed head and strikes its prey with the apex, which is enveloped in a quantity of very sticky mucus constantly ejected from the mouth. On the aphis being thus captured the larva withdraws its head into the hinder segments of its body and devours all the juicy portions of the aphis, whose dry skin is afterwards thrown aside. When full-grown it slowly shrinks up and changes into the pupa shown at Fig. 3b. In this state it is not protected by any kind of cocoon, but lies amongst the refuse of the aphides, near the stem of the plant. The fly emerges in a fortnight or three weeks' time, and is very fond of hovering over and sucking honey from the flowers, but the females may be often noticed running about plants, probably in search of a suitable place to oviposit.[11] For an account of _Scolobates varipes_, a species parasitic on the present insect, I refer to page 39. Family SYRPHIDÆ. _Eristalis cingulatus_ (Plate VII., fig. 2). This conspicuous insect occurs occasionally in glades in the forest about January, but is by no means common. It is very fond of the white rata flowers, where it may be {58}taken, if anywhere. Its life-history is at present unknown, but no doubt resembles that of the following insect. Family SYRPHIDÆ. _Helophilus trilineatus_ (Plate VII., fig. 1, 1a larva, 1b pupa). This fine species occurs abundantly in all damp situations throughout the summer. Its larva may be found in stagnant pools and is often met with in the mud at the bottom of ditches. Its posterior segments are enormously elongated, forming a telescopic breathing apparatus, composed of two tubes, the smaller of which is capable of being more or less extended at the will of the larva, which is thus enabled to adjust the length of its breathing tube, according to the depth of water or mud in which it happens to reside. This peculiarity has given all these larvæ the name of rat-tailed maggots. The other segments are very stout, each being furnished with a pair of minute feet, and the head is also provided with two small appendages which are supposed to be the outlets through which the exhausted air is discharged by the larva. When mature this insect leaves the water, forming a small oval cell in the neighbouring moist earth, in which it lies with its long tail folded along the breast. The skin then gradually hardens, and it is finally transformed into the pupa shown at Fig. 1b, the conical pair of breathing-tubes on the thorax being slowly protruded from two hardly perceptible warts, whilst the telescopic apparatus shrinks up, its functions being at an end. A variable time, dependent upon the season, elapses before the perfect insect makes its appearance, but prior to this occurring, a large circular plate, forming the thorax of the pupa, is thrust off, thus assisting the escape of the fly, which immediately ascends a plant, or other convenient object, to dry and expand its wings (Fig. 1). In the perfect {59}state it delights to hover in the air, darting away with great rapidity on the approach of any enemies. It also frequently enters houses, where its presence is at once betrayed by a peculiarly shrill noise made while flying. The sexes of this insect differ chiefly in size, the female (Fig. 1) being about twice as large as her companion. Closely allied to this species are _Helophilus ineptus_, and _H. hochstetteri_. The former is slightly smaller than _H. trilineatus_ and may be at once distinguished by its tessellated orange-yellow and black abdomen. It is rather local, but extremely abundant wherever found. The latter has a superficial resemblance to some of the smaller blowflies (_Musca_), but may be readily known by its large brownish-red scutellum.[12] It is the commonest of the genus and may be found in great numbers throughout the summer amongst veronica and other flowers. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Miltogramma mestor_ (?) (Plate VII, fig. 5). A conspicuous species, found occasionally on forest-clad hills round Wellington. The life-history is at present unknown, but its larva is very possibly parasitic in some large Lepidoptera. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Nemorea nyctemerianus_ (Plate VII., fig. 6). This little fly is seldom met with in the perfect state. Its larva is parasitic on the caterpillar of _Nyctemera annulata_[13], the eggs being deposited on the moth larva at an early age. The caterpillar grows and eats in the ordinary way, until it has assumed the chrysalis state, when the {60}maggot eats its way out and changes into a dark-brown pupa. In this condition the parasite is protected by the web which was previously constructed by the unfortunate caterpillar for its own use. The perfect fly appears in about six weeks' time, its great agility and large white scales rendering it very conspicuous. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Eurigaster marginatus_ (Plate VII., fig. 7). Another parasitic species, its larva inhabiting the caterpillars of various noctuæ which it destroys just before they change into the chrysalis state. The pupa of the parasite lies in a small oval cell constructed in the earth by its larva. A variable number of these maggots are found associated in one host, the smaller caterpillars only harbouring a single individual, while a large larva will frequently contain three or four. This species has been bred from the following Lepidoptera: _Mamestra composita_, _M. ustistriga_ and _M. mutans_. It also occurs in the curious _Oeceticus omnivorus_, being found in the cocoons of that moth in numbers varying from two to eleven, or even more, and it is especially interesting, as it is in turn destroyed by a small species of _Pteromalus_ already noticed among the Hymenoptera (page 37). The perfect insect occurs occasionally on flowers throughout the summer. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Calliphora quadrimaculata_ (Plate VII., fig. 9). This is the large blue-bottle fly of New Zealand and is found everywhere in great abundance. Its larva feeds on decaying flesh and is of a dirty yellow colour, measuring, when full-grown, about seven lines in length. The pupa is buried at a considerable depth in the ground, the {61}larva having descended before changing. The duration of this, and in fact of all the stages of the insect, depends entirely upon the temperature, but the females invariably deposit eggs, even during the hottest weather, and are never ovo-viviparous like the next species, and several others of the genus. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Sarcophaga læmica_ (Plate VII., fig. 10). Another extremely abundant species having a similar history to the last, but its powers of development are very much accelerated owing to the larva being positively born alive. The females hover over meat and other suitable substances, depositing a number of minute wriggling maggots thereon, not infrequently to the great disgust of some hungry individual, who perhaps is making his dinner off a mutton chop which the fly has selected as a home for her offspring. These larvæ are all produced from distinct ova, which hatch before being laid, as I have often proved, by removing them from the insect's abdomen, and watching the young larva emerge from a minute elliptical white egg, covered with a thin leathery skin. Every one who has travelled in New Zealand must have noticed that, in the wildest spots, these insects assemble in large numbers as soon as any meat is uncovered, thus not only showing their universal distribution throughout the country, but also that they possess a very keen sense of smell. Two British species at least, allied to this genus, have been introduced into New Zealand, _viz._, _Musca domestica_ and _Musca cæsar_. The former is probably a world-wide insect, every ship teeming with it, but the latter is at present rather scarce and is usually found in the neighbourhood of farm-yards, where the larva feeds on {62}cow-dung. The perfect insect may be at once known by its brilliant green colour. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Cylindria sigma_ (Plate VII., fig. 14). A curious species, occurring occasionally in damp situations in the forest where it may be noticed leisurely walking over the leaves of various shrubs. It is very sluggish and may often be captured between the fingers without the aid of a net. Its life-history is at present unknown, but the larva probably feeds on fungi. The pretty little insect depicted at Fig. 11 may be found in similar situations but is not so common. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Phora omnivora_, n.s. (Plate VII., fig. 15, 15a pupa). This minute species may be found in large numbers nearly all the year round. Its larva is parasitic on a great variety of insects and is also not infrequently met with among decaying vegetable matter. Its habits are, therefore, very varied. When parasitic in the Lepidoptera it usually selects the noctuæ, destroying a great number of many of the commoner species[14]. The infected caterpillars usually turn into chrysalides some time before the little maggots emerge, but this is not invariably the case, the parasite often destroying the larva at a comparatively early stage. The pupæ are buried in the earth, near the remains of their host, and are light brown in colour, with the segments much more distinct than is usual (Fig. 15a). From these the perfect flies proceed in about a month's time. The occurrence of this insect as a parasite in Coleoptera is not common, but I know of one instance {63}in which a number of these little flies were produced from a pupa of _Uloma tenebrionides_ (Plate II., Figs. 2, 2a, 2b), which I was rearing at the time (page 29). In this case it is difficult to understand how the female contrives to deposit her eggs in a horny beetle larva which lies safely hidden in its narrow tunnel in the middle of a large log of wood. Among bees this is a most destructive insect, its larva being parasitic in their grubs, and thus greatly reducing the population of the hive, which is finally ruined by the wholesale destruction of its honey when the flies emerge. Driving the bees into a fresh box would, no doubt, be frequently beneficial in these cases, but it is to be feared that bee-keepers will have much difficulty in contending with this insect. Its sexes are readily distinguished by their size, the female being considerably the larger. Family MUSCIDÆ. _Coelopa littoralis_ (Plate VII., fig. 13). Extremely abundant on the sea-beach. Its larva feeds on decaying seaweed, burying itself in the sand before changing. The perfect insects often congregate in such vast numbers on some of the rocks that it is necessary to run past them in order to avoid being positively suffocated by the countless multitudes which fly up into one's face. This insect must be regarded as the New Zealand representative of the well-known dungfly of England (_S. stercoraria_), which many of my readers will recollect has a similar habit of assembling in great numbers. Family OESTRIDÆ. _Oestrus perplexus_, n.s. (Plate VII., fig. 12). This species is mentioned here as it is the only New Zealand exponent of a very important and well-known {64}family of Dipterous insects. I am at present quite ignorant as to its life-history which would, no doubt, be very interesting. The only two specimens I possess were taken at Nelson, some four years back, so that it appears to be very rare. The two remaining groups of the Diptera are of very limited extent. The _Pupipara_ include a few anomalous species, in which the young are not deposited until they become pupæ, thus undergoing all their transformations within the body of the parent, while the _Pulicina_ comprise the well-known fleas, which are probably identical with the European species. They are placed by many authors in a distinct order termed the _Aphaniptera_. {65}CHAPTER VI The Lepidoptera. This Order includes the well-known Butterflies and Moths which are the first insects to arrest attention on account of their beautiful colouring and conspicuous appearance. Some of the families are fairly numerous in New Zealand, but the diurnal section is decidedly poorly represented, our total number of butterflies being limited to fifteen, of which one (_Diadema nerina_) has unquestionably been introduced from Australia, although it will doubtless shortly effect a permanent settlement in the Nelson district, where several specimens have recently been observed. Among the others only four species can be called at all common, the remaining twelve only occurring in certain favoured localities. Of the moths there are a large number, chiefly belonging to the Geometridæ and Micro-Lepidoptera, many of which are very interesting. Of the life-histories of the latter, however, I regret to say there is little known at present, the attention of naturalists having been hitherto chiefly occupied with the larger and more conspicuous species. Group RHOPALOCERA. Family NYMPHALIDÆ. _Argyrophenga antipodum_ (Plate VIII., fig. 1 type, 1a var.). Passing over the local but conspicuous _Danais plexippus_, {66}about which so much doubt exists as to its origin in this country, we come to _A. antipodum_, one of the most curious and interesting butterflies found in New Zealand. It occurs in great abundance amongst the tussock grass on the plains in the South Island, but becomes an alpine species further north. I have taken a very peculiar form (Fig. 1a) on the "Mineral Belt" near Nelson, but can find no record of its appearance in the North Island at present. Its larva is as yet unknown, but in all probability it feeds on tussock grass, a fractured pupa having been found attached to that plant by Mr. G. F. Mathew in January, 1884. Two other closely allied species are _Erebia pluto_ and _Erebia butleri_, both strictly alpine insects, occurring in the South Island at elevations ranging from 4,000 to 6,000 feet. Family NYMPHALIDÆ. _Vanessa gonerilla_[15] (Plate VIII., fig. 2, 2a underside, 2b 2c larvæ, 2d 2e pupæ). One of our most beautiful butterflies, found abundantly throughout the country from August till May. The larva feeds on the New Zealand nettle, where it may be taken in great plenty by careful searching. The caterpillar joins several of the leaves together and forms a sort of tent, in which it lives secure from all enemies. While young, these insects are of a uniform dull brown colour, with two faint lines on each side, but as age advances they become very variable. The two extreme forms of variation are depicted at Figs. 2b and 2c, the dark-coloured variety being by far the commoner. When full-grown, this larva suspends itself by the tail to a small patch of silk, which it has previously spun on the under side of a leaf. In this position it remains for about twenty hours, when it begins to twist and distend the lower portions of its body, thus {67}causing the skin to eventually break on the back of the thoracic segments, when the soft green pupa may be seen through the rent. The insect now works the skin upwards by violent wriggling motions until it is gathered in a crumpled mass round its tail, the old rent extending on one side almost up to the silken pad to which it is suspended. Through this rent the tail of the pupa is brought and firmly anchored in the silk by a few vigorous strokes, the insect hanging meanwhile to the skin which has not been quite cast off on the reverse side to the rent. When thus firmly attached to the silken pad, the pupa shakes itself entirely free, whirling itself round and round until the old skin is dislodged from the silk and falls to the ground. The two usual varieties of pupæ are shown at Figs. 2d and 2e, many of them being more or less ornamented with metallic gold or silver spots. The butterfly emerges in a fortnight or three weeks, and is common from February till April in most situations, but the greatest numbers are to be found in the spring months. These hybernated specimens appear as early as August, and some of them survive till the end of December or beginning of January, when the earliest of the new ones are just emerging. In fact it is not infrequent at this time to take both hybernated and recent specimens together. This species is a great traveller, and may be often seen flying over the tops of the trees at a great rate. It shows a singular indifference to shadow, and is constantly flying out of the sunlight into shady places in the forest, probably in search of the food-plant of the larvæ. The two other species of _Vanessa_ are _V. cardui_, a periodical insect only distinguished from the "Painted Lady Butterfly" of England by the blue centres in three of the black spots on its hind-wings, and _V. Itea_, a lovely butterfly found in the northern portions of this island, of which I have at present only taken three specimens. {68}Family LYCÆNIDÆ. _Chrysophanus salustius_ (Plate VIII., fig. 3 [M], 3a [F], 3b larva). This is the commonest of our Butterflies, and is found in great abundance throughout both islands from November till April. It is double brooded, and is consequently most abundant in the early summer and in the autumn, few of these merry little insects being seen at midsummer. The most forward individuals of the second brood usually emerge about the middle of March, but the butterflies are very irregular in their appearance at this season. The young larva (Fig. 3b) is much thickened anteriorly, the head being concealed from above by the large thoracic segments. Its colour is pale green, with a pair of long, erect bristles on each segment, a large number of shorter ones being situated on the ventral surface, and behind the head. After the second moult, a brilliant crimson dorsal line is noticeable, but beyond this I have no record, as my larvæ unfortunately died just after completing their third moult. Up to this time they had fed but sparingly on the dock, eating minute holes in the leaves and clinging to them with great firmness. It is much to be regretted that their subsequent history could not be followed, especially as I only succeeded in obtaining the eggs on this one occasion, although I frequently kept females in captivity with this object. Three other species of _Chrysophanus_ occur in New Zealand, viz., _C. feredayi_, common round Nelson, and chiefly distinguished by the olive-green under-surface of its hind-wings; _C. enysii_, which is occasionally met with amongst forest, and may be at once known by its broad black markings and pale yellow colour; and _C. boldenarum_, a little insect uniting the "Coppers" with the "Blue Butterflies," and found in great abundance in certain river beds and shingly places. The western side of Lake {69}Wairarapa is one of the best localities I know of for this curious little species. Family LYCÆNIDÆ. _Lycæna phoebe._ This is the common blue butterfly of New Zealand, which may be observed in great numbers along the roadside on a hot summer's day. Its larva must be very abundant, but has hitherto escaped attention, owing, probably, to its small size. The perfect insect is on the wing from October till May. Group HETEROCERA. Family SPHINGIDÆ. This family is represented in New Zealand by the splendid _Sphinx convolvuli_, an insect I am at present unacquainted with. Family HEPIALIDÆ. _Porina signata_ (Plate IX., fig. 2). Common throughout the summer, when it may be taken in great numbers round lighted windows during any mild evening. The larva is as yet unknown, but is in all probability subterranean in its habits, and feeds on the roots of plants. A large _Hepialus_ larva I once discovered under a stone, whilst looking for Coleoptera, was very likely referable to this insect, but as it unfortunately died shortly afterwards it is impossible to speak with any degree of certainty at present. Two closely allied species are _P. umbraculata_, and _P. cervinata_. The former is rather smaller than _P. signata_ and of a more uniform brown, with a white stripe in the centre of each fore-wing, surrounded with darker colouring. The latter is one of the smallest of the family, its size at once distinguishing it {70}from any of the rest. In colour it is pale brownish with numerous black and white markings, varieties occasionally occurring much suffused with the darker colour. It is rather local, but may be found abundantly in the Manawatu district. Family HEPIALIDÆ. _Hepialus virescens_ (Plate IX., fig. 1 [M], 1a [F], 1c larva, 1b pupa). This gigantic insect is seen occasionally in the forest during the early summer. The larva (1c) tunnels the stems of living trees, feeding entirely on wood which it bites off with its strong mandibles. The plant most usually selected by the caterpillar is _Aristotelia racemosa_, called by the settlers "New Zealand currant," from its large clusters of rich-looking black berries, which appear in autumn. Other food-plants are numerous, the black maire (_Olea apetala_) and manuka (_Leptospermum_) being among those more frequently chosen. This larva, for the most part, inhabits the main stem of the tree, its gallery always having an outlet to the air, which is covered with a curtain of dull brown silk, spun exactly level with the surrounding bark, and consequently very inconspicuous. These burrows usually run down towards the ground, and are mostly two or three inches from the surface of the trunk. In some instances the larvæ inhabit branches, in which case, if the branch is of small dimensions, the tunnel is made near the centre. These remarks only refer to galleries constructed by young larvæ, as the tunnel made by the insect prior to becoming a pupa is of a very complicated character and merits a somewhat detailed description. It consists of a spacious, irregular, but shallow cavity, just under the bark, having a large opening to the air, which is entirely covered with a thin silken covering, almost exactly the same shape and size as {71}the numerous scars which occur at intervals on the trunks of nearly all the trees. Three large tunnels open into this shallow cavity: one in the centre, which runs right into the middle of the stem, and one on each side, which run right and left just under the bark. These are usually very short, but sometimes extend half-way round the tree, and occasionally even join one another on the opposite side. The central tunnel has a slightly upward direction for a short distance inwards, which effectually prevents it from becoming flooded with water; afterwards it pursues an almost horizontal course until it reaches the centre of the tree when it appears to suddenly terminate. This, however, is not the case, for, if the gallery floor is carefully examined a short distance before its apparent termination, a round trap-door will be found, compactly constructed of very hard, smooth silk, and corresponding so closely with the surrounding portion of the tunnel that it almost escapes detection. When this lid is lifted a long perpendicular shaft is disclosed which runs down the middle of the tree to a depth of 14 or 16 inches, and is about six lines in diameter. At the bottom of this the elongated pupa (Fig. 1b) sleeps quietly and securely in an upright position, the old larval skin forming a soft support for the terminal segment of the pupa to rest on. The upper end of this vertical shaft is lined with silk, which forms a framework on which the trap-door rests when closed. The lid itself is of a larger size than the orifice which it covers, and this makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to force it from the outside, whilst it fits down so closely to the aperture as not to be readily lifted. The object of this most ingenious contrivance is, in all probability, to prevent the ingress of insects, large numbers of spiders, slugs, and various Orthoptera being frequently found in both central and lateral tunnels, but they are quite unable to pass the trap-door. The galleries of different individual larvæ are all wonderfully {72}alike, the only differences observable being in the length of the perpendicular shaft and the direction of the horizontal burrow, which is sometimes curved. These variations are usually caused by the presence of other tunnels in the tree, which the larva invariably avoids, although how it can ascertain that it is approaching another tunnel before actually reaching it, is hard to understand. As development progresses in the pupa, it becomes darker in colour, especially on the wing-cases, which in some individuals show the future black markings of the moth, as early as two months before emergence. Others remain quite white and soft, the green wings suddenly appearing through their cases a fortnight or three weeks prior to the bursting forth of the imago. Previous to this change the pupa works its way up the vertical tunnel, lifts the trap-door, which yields to the slightest pressure from within, and wriggles along the horizontal burrow until it reaches the air, the last three or four segments only remaining in the tree. The thoracic shield then ruptures, and the moth crawls out and expands its wings in the ordinary way, resting on the trunk of the tree until they are of sufficient strength and hardness for flight. The perfect insect, although it must be common, is very rarely seen. It is best reared from the pupæ, which can be often successfully cut out of their burrows and kept amongst damp moss until they emerge. It appears to be much persecuted by birds, as we often observe its large green wings lying about on the ground.[16] The curious "vegetable caterpillar," which is usually referred to this species, probably belongs to one of the larger subterranean larvæ of the family. {73}Family BOMBYCIDÆ. _Nyctemera annulata_ (Plate IX., fig. 3 [M], 3a larva, 3b pupa). This abundant species is usually mistaken for a butterfly by the uninitiated owing to its diurnal habits and conspicuous colouring. Its larva feeds on various plants, the most usual being a light green kind of ivy with yellow flowers, but its original food no doubt consisted of the "New Zealand groundsel" (_Senecio bellidioides_), on which it may now be occasionally taken in wild situations. Its general colour is black, with interrupted dorsal and lateral lines, the ventral surface and connecting membrane between the segments being slate-coloured. In younger larvæ there are also several slate-coloured lines extending the whole length of the insect, and thus dividing the black into squares. Round the middle of each segment, at its greatest circumference, a variable number of brilliant blue warts are situated, and out of these dense tufts of long black hair take their rise. There are, however, no warts along the ventral surface. This description applies very well as a rule, but the larva is subject to many slight variations. It remains in this state for nearly three months, or more, according to the season, and is very common, numbers being found on the different plants which constitute its food. The pupa (Fig. 3b) is of a shining black colour, with many longitudinal rows of small yellow blotches on the abdominal segments; there is also a stripe of the same colour at the tip of the wing-case. It is enclosed in a slight cocoon, formed of a mixture of silk and hair, and is attached near the ground to any firm object. The moth emerges in the course of a month or six weeks. It is very common, being found profusely in the neighbourhood of its food-plants, and appears in the greatest numbers during the early morning hours in the middle of summer. {74}For an account of a Dipterous insect, parasitic in the present species, I refer to page 59. Family PSYCHIDÆ. _Oeceticus omnivorus_ (Plate X., fig. 1 [M], 1a [F], 1b larva, 1c [M] pupa). This insect is very rarely seen abroad, but can be easily reared from the larva, which feeds on manuka and other plants throughout the year. When very young, and in fact immediately after leaving the egg, it constructs a wide spindle-shaped case, principally composed of silk, with a few small fragments of leaves, &c., attached to the outside. It has a large aperture in front, through which the head and anterior portion of the larva are projected, and a much smaller one at the posterior extremity, which allows the pellets of excrement to fall out of the case as they are evacuated. The body of the enclosed caterpillar is of a light straw colour, the head and three first segments being dark brown, with numerous white markings. The abdominal segments are considerably thickened near the middle of the insect, rudimentary prolegs being present on the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth segments of the abdomen. The anal prolegs are very strong, and are furnished with numerous sharp hooklets, which retain the larva very firmly in its case. As it grows it increases the length of its domicile from the anterior, causing it gradually to assume a more tubular form, tapering towards the posterior aperture, which is enlarged from time to time. The outside is covered with numerous fragmentary leaves and twigs of various sizes, placed longitudinally on the case, and frequently near the anterior aperture, the materials, owing to their recent selection, are fresh and green. The interior is lined with soft, smooth silk of a light brown colour, the thickness of the whole fabric being about the same {75}as that of an ordinary kid glove, and so strong that it is impossible to tear it, or indeed to cut it, except with sharp instruments. The size of the case when the caterpillar is mature varies considerably, ranging from 25 to 30 lines or more in length, and about three in diameter, the widest portion being a little behind the anterior aperture (see Fig. 1b). During the day the larva closes the entrance and spins a loop of very strong silk over a twig, the ends being joined to the upper edges of the case on each side; in this way it hangs suspended, the caterpillar lying snugly within. I have often known a larva to remain thus for over three weeks without moving, and afterwards resume feeding as before; this probably occurs while the inmate is engaged in changing its skin. At night the larvæ may be seen busily engaged: they project the head and first four segments of the body beyond the case, and walk about with considerable rapidity, often lowering themselves by means of silken threads; the only locomotive organs are, of course, their strong thoracic legs, which appear to easily fulfil their double function of moving both larva and case. If disturbed, these insects at once retreat into their cases closing the anterior aperture with a silken cord which is kept in readiness for the purpose, and pulled from the inside by the retreating larva. This operation is most rapidly performed, as the upper edges of the case are flexible, and thus fold closely together, completely obstructing the entrance. When full fed, this caterpillar fastens its case to a branch with a loop of strong silk, which is drawn very tight, preventing the case from swinging when the plant is moved by the wind, and also rendering the insect's habitation more inconspicuous, by causing it to resemble a broken twig. The anterior aperture is completely closed, the loose edges being drawn together and fastened like a bag. The posterior end of the case is {76}twisted up for some little distance above the extremity, thus completely closing the opening there situated. It is lined inside with a layer of very soft silk, spun loosely over the sides, and partly filling up each end. In the centre of this the pupa lies with its head towards the lower portion of the case, the old larval skin being thrust backwards amongst the loose silk above the chrysalis. In this stage of existence the extraordinary sexual disparities, which are so characteristic of the family, manifest themselves, the male and female pupæ being very widely different in all respects. The former is figured at 1c, the female pupa differing from it in the following particulars. It is much larger and more cylindrical in shape, the abdomen occupying nearly the whole of the body, and consisting of nine visible segments, the terminal one being obtusely conical. The head and thorax are very rudimentary, more resembling those of the larva than the male, all the appendages being, however, reduced to hardly visible warts. In colour it is pitchy black and shining, and its length is about ten lines. This insect remains in the pupa state during the winter months, viz., from May till September. When about to emerge, the male chrysalis works its way down to the lower end of the case, forces open the old aperture there, and projects the head, thorax, and upper portion of the abdomen, the pupa being secured from falling by the spines on its posterior segments, which retain a firm hold in the silk. Its anterior portion then ruptures, and the moth makes its escape, clinging to the outside of its old habitation, and drying its wings. It is probable that the female insect does not leave her case, communication with the male being no doubt effected through one of the orifices, and the eggs afterwards deposited inside. On one occasion I found a case full of eggs, containing the shrivelled body of the female and her old pupa shell, which would seem to confirm the above opinion. The perfect insects are drawn at {77}Figs. 1 and 1a. The male (1) is extremely active, dashing about the breeding cage with great rapidity when first emerged, and rapidly beating his wings to tatters; but the female (1a) closely resembles a large maggot, all the appendages being completely rudimentary, except the two-jointed ovipositor at the end of her body; she is incapable of any motion, except a slight twirling of the abdomen, which takes place while the eggs are being laid.[17] Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Leucania nullifera_ (Plate XIII., fig. 3, 3a larva). This large, though dull-looking insect, is occasionally taken at light during the summer and autumn months. The larva feeds on the spear-grass (_Aciphylla squarrosa_), an abundant plant on the coast hills near Wellington. It devours the soft central-growing point, and its presence in a tussock can be at once seen by a quantity of pale-brown "frass," visible at the bases of the leaves. The formidable spear-like points with which this plant is armed must afford the caterpillar considerable protection from enemies. As a rule a single specimen only is found in each clump of the grass, so that the female probably deposits her eggs singly. This larva is full-grown about August, and may be found feeding in the plants during the autumn and winter. The pupa state is spent, in an earthen chamber, amongst the roots of the spear-grass, and the moth emerges during the summer. This species occurs at considerable elevations. I have seen it as high as 4,000 feet in the Nelson province, where its food-plant may also be found. {78}Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Leucania atristriga_ (Plate X., fig. 2). Abundant among various blossoms during the latter end of summer, being one of the last of the Noctuæ to disappear in the autumn. The larva probably feeds on grasses, but I have not yet met with it. The illustration (Fig. 2) is taken from the male insect, the female differing only in having her abdomen rounded at the tip, a sexual distinction which holds good throughout the family. Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Erana graminosa_ (Plate X., fig. 5, 5a larva). This beautiful insect occurs commonly on the white rata blossoms (_Metrosideros scandens_) round Wellington during March and April, at which time it may be readily taken just after dark with a lantern and killing-bottle. The larva (Fig. 5a) feeds on the mahoe (_Melicytus ramiflorus_) in the spring and autumn. It remains concealed in crevices in the bark during the day, not infrequently selecting the deserted burrows of wood-boring beetles as a secure retreat from its enemies. When full grown it is olive-green, the colour being lighter on the ventral surface and between the segments. A row of ill-defined, feathery, black markings extends down the back and sides and there are also two tolerably conspicuous ochreish spots on every segment except the last. The head, legs, and prolegs are reddish-yellow, and the whole insect is more or less spotted with black. Younger larvæ differ in being of a light yellowish-green, with very pale yellow dorsal and lateral lines. A row of black warts, emitting a few bristles, extend round each of the segments, while the head is pale ochreous with a few black dots. When full-grown this larva descends to the ground, and {79}forms a slight cocoon in the earth round the roots of the tree, where it is transformed into a very stout, ruddy-brown-coloured pupa, somewhat paler on the wing-cases. The moth emerges in two or three months' time. Its colouring renders it so inconspicuous amongst moss that I have frequently lifted a handful of the latter out of the breeding cage, and only discovered that the insects had emerged by their falling from the moss on to the table. A very noticeable peculiarity in this species is the presence of a fringe of long hairs in a fold on the anterior margin of the fore-wing. This organ emits a fragrant perfume, and is confined to the male sex (Fig. 5). Only one or two other instances of this kind are at present known among the New Zealand moths. Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Mamestra mutans_ (Plate X., fig. 7, 7a larva, 7b pupa). This extremely abundant species occurs almost without intermission during the whole of the year. The sluggish larva (7a) feeds on plantain, and is best obtained by overturning logs and stones, when it may be discovered among the grass and other plants growing round their edge. Its head is pale green, with two broad black stripes, and is clothed with numerous short bristles; the four succeeding segments are of a ruddy-brown colour, considerably wrinkled, the remainder being light green, suffused with a dull, pinkish hue towards the dorsal surface. The markings consist of a triangular black spot on each side of the second to eighth abdominal segments, and a cloudy lateral line of the same colour; the legs and prolegs being pale green, and the whole insect more or less marbled with black. This description and the figure on Plate X. exhibit the usual peculiarities of the larva, but in some individuals the markings there indicated are quite obsolete, and the {80}insect is of an almost uniform pale-green colour. When mature, this caterpillar sometimes constructs a slight cocoon amongst moss, on fallen trees, but more often buries itself in the usual manner, the moth appearing in a few weeks' time. Nearly all pupæ collected at random in New Zealand will be found to give rise to either this species or the one which immediately follows (_Mamestra composita_). The perfect insect is most abundant in the spring and early summer, but may be found fluttering round lamps on any mild night throughout the year. The sexes differ considerably: the female is greyish white, with faint brown markings, while the male is dull reddish-brown, with the markings considerably darker (Fig. 7). His antennæ are also slightly pectinated, those of the female being quite simple. Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Mamestra composita_ (Plate X., fig. 3, 3a larva). Very common during the spring and autumn in all open situations. Its pretty larva (Fig. 3a) feeds on various grasses, and threatens in time to do considerable damage to pastures. The head and dorsal surface of the first segment are dark shining green, with one or two obscure white markings; the rest of the body is ornamented with a number of parallel brown, white, and orange lines, which render the larva very inconspicuous when amongst the grass. Sometimes it occurs in great numbers, nearly every blade of grass having its caterpillar; in fact this was almost the case in the Wairarapa valley in the summer of 1886, when the larvæ must have produced a marked effect on the paddocks. When full-grown this caterpillar changes into a light chestnut-brown pupa, which lies on the surface of the ground amongst the vegetable refuse. The perfect insect appears in about a month's time, and if the evening be mild {81}may be seen flying with great rapidity at dusk; it may also be readily captured at light. The figure (3) represents the male insect, the female differing only in her simple antennæ. Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Mamestra ustistriga_ (Plate X., fig. 6 [M]). This handsome insect is rather uncertain in its appearance, but is occasionally taken quite unexpectedly at rest on tree-trunks or palings in the daytime. Specimens may also be captured while feeding on the white rata blossoms early in March, where they occasionally occur among the hosts of other Noctuæ. The larva, which feeds on the honeysuckle, is of a pale brown colour, with two obscure darker lines on each side, the under-surface being light slate-colour. The pupa state is spent in the ground, and many fine specimens may be reared from chrysalids picked up while gardening, &c. The sexes of this insect differ considerably in colour: the male is of a pinkish grey with black markings, while the female is of a uniform pale grey, and considerably smaller. Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Heliothis armigera_ (Plate X., fig. 4, 4a larva). This conspicuous insect occurs in great abundance during certain seasons, but is very irregular in its appearance, it frequently happening that only two or three specimens are noticed in a whole year. It is generally seen flying in the daytime, when it delights to suck honey from the flowers of the Scotch thistle, a plant which much overruns the forest lands when first cleared. The larva (Fig. 4a) is a very handsome caterpillar, of a dark brownish black colour, ornamented with yellow subdorsal and lateral lines and numerous streaks and dots of the same hue. The ventral surface is a rich yellowish brown, and the subventral line {82}white, the spiracles being white with black rings; a reddish blotch also adorns each of the three thoracic segments. It feeds voraciously on geraniums, tomatoes, peas, and many other garden plants, where it often commits the most serious ravages. About the end of April it is full-grown, when it descends to the ground and buries itself two or three inches below the surface. In this situation it is shortly transformed into a pupa, remaining in that state until the following summer, when the moth appears. The sexes of this insect differ considerably, the male having the fore-wings of a ruddy-brown colour, sometimes inclining to orange, while in the female they are pale ochreish; both sexes are, however, subject to considerable variation, and the figure (4) is taken from a rather dark male specimen. Family NOCTUIDÆ. _Plusia eriosoma_ (Plate X., fig. 8, 8a larva). An abundant species round Nelson, where almost any number may be taken hovering over flowers on a still summer's evening. In Wellington it occurs occasionally. The larva (Fig. 8a) is a pseudo-geometer, having twelve legs, and thus showing a strong affinity with the next family. In colour it is pale green, darker on the dorsal surface than elsewhere. A white line runs down each side, and the whole insect is covered with black dots and bristles. The colouring of different individuals varies in intensity, and a fainter white line, above the usual one, exists in some specimens. It feeds on beans, geraniums, and many other imported plants, and is doing much good in the Nelson gardens by the havoc which it is committing among the Scotch thistles--weeds equally injurious to the agriculturalist and the gardener, not only crowding out useful plants, but rapidly exhausting the soil in which they grow. Formerly this insect must have fed exclusively on the New Zealand {83}nightshade (_Solanum aviculare_), on which plant it may still be occasionally found in the forest, where no imported species are available, but, like many other caterpillars in this country, it is forsaking the native vegetation for the European. When full-grown, this larva spins a slight cocoon of white silk, which is generally placed between two leaves. The pupa is of a shiny black colour, the membrane between the segments being reddish-brown. The moth emerges in about three weeks' time. The figure (8) is taken from a female insect, the male being readily distinguishable by two large tufts of hair situated at the end of his body and often very conspicuous. In some cases the wings of the female are considerably lighter than in the illustration, but otherwise the species does not seem to vary. It is the New Zealand representative of the English "Silver Y Moth" (_P. gamma_), no doubt familiar to many of my readers. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Declana floccosa_ (Plate XI., fig. 1, 1a larva). I have started the Geometridæ with _Declana_ because it exhibits a great many more points in common with the Noctuidæ than does the genus _Acidalia_, which latter is placed at the head of the Geometridæ by some modern Lepidopterists, chiefly, I believe, on account of neuration, a character which if taken alone cannot but produce the most unnatural divisions. The present insect is one of the commonest of the genus, and may often be observed throughout the whole summer resting on the sheltered sides of trees and fences, occasional stragglers being met with as late as the end of May. Its larva is a pseudo-geometer possessing twelve legs (Fig. 1a), and thus almost exactly resembling the caterpillars of the genus _Catocala_, belonging to the Noctuidæ; the curious filaments on each side of the insect making this likeness still more complete. It feeds {84}on the "New Zealand currant" (_A. racemosa_), from which, individuals can be occasionally beaten during the spring and early summer. They are almost impossible to find by searching in the ordinary way, from a habit they possess of clinging firmly to the twigs, which they exactly imitate in colour. When full-grown this caterpillar constructs a small cocoon just below the ground, where it is transformed into a robust-looking pupa, from which the moth emerges in a month or six weeks' time. The sexes of this species may be readily distinguished, the male (Fig. 1) having the antennæ slightly pectinated, while those of the female are quite simple, and her body much more robust. The moth drawn at Fig. 1b has been reared from larvæ exactly resembling those of the present insect, of which it is consequently now known to be only an extreme variety. It was formerly ranked as a distinct species under the name of _Declana junctilinea_. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Chalastra pelurgata_ (Plate XI., fig. 2 [M], 2a [F], 2b larva). This delicate species may be taken flying about the forest at night, from October till March, but is most abundant on the white rata blossoms during the latter end of summer. Its caterpillar feeds sparingly on a delicate fern (_Todea hymenophyllioides_) which grows in dark glades in the forest, where the sun seldom or never shines. In colour it is generally dull brown, with a row of green or pale brown lunate spots on each side; on the ventral surface the colour is darker, except on the thorax, where it is green, the legs being also green. There are in addition numerous fine, wavy lines down the back and sides of the larva, and the dorsal surface of the thoracic segments and ventral prolegs are bright reddish brown (Fig. 2b). These larvæ are, however, very variable; in many the "lunate" stripes are much longer, having a diagonal direction, and {85}thus extending up the sides of the insect towards its dorsal surface, while others have the ventral surface dark green, and additional markings of more or less importance. When full-grown it spins a loose cocoon of earth and dead leaves, from which the perfect insect emerges in a month or six weeks' time. The sexes are widely different, both being figured on the Plate (Fig. 2 [M], 2a [F]). I have noticed that at least four females occur to every male, which is a very unusual arrangement, the males being generally much the commoner among the Lepidoptera. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Ploseria hemipteraria_ (Plate XI., fig. 3, 3a larva). A curious moth, occurring in some numbers at various blossoms during the summer evenings, but rather uncertain in its appearance. The larva (Fig. 3a) feeds at night on veronica, where it may be often found with a lantern, devouring the flowers and leaves. In colour it is light green with two yellow lines on each side, the dorsal surface being considerably darker, and almost blue. Specimens are not infrequently met with of a uniform dark brown, and the two conspicuous lateral lines are then reduced to a single obscure ochreous band. These caterpillars are very inconspicuous during the daytime, as they remain quite motionless for hours together, sticking straight out from the stems of their food-plant, which they closely resemble. The pupa is unusually robust, and possesses a sharp spine at its extremity. In colour it is pale olive brown, with a pinkish line on each side of the abdomen, the wing-cases being more or less suffused with pink. It is not enclosed in any cocoon, but may be found amongst the dead leaves round the stems of the veronica. The perfect insect appears in about three weeks' time. It is liable to be passed over for a faded leaf, the general outline and colouring of the wings rendering the {86}insect very inconspicuous, especially amongst foliage. The specimens I have reared all closely resemble Fig. 3, so that this insect does not appear at all prone to vary. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Ploseria alectoraria_ (Plate XI., fig. 4; Plate XIII., fig. 7 larva). One of our most variable moths, occurring occasionally amongst foliage during the summer, but most abundant on the white rata blossoms in February and March. The larva feeds on _Pittosporum eugenioides_, where it may be sometimes found in October and November. It has a most wonderful resemblance to the buds of the plant, and can only be dislodged by vigorous beating. It is easily reared in captivity--in fact the female moths may often be induced to lay their eggs and the insect observed through all its stages. The eggs are very flat, oval, and light green in colour, becoming brown at one end about five days before hatching. The young larva is pale green with a dull yellowish head. It has no markings until after the first moult when a reddish dorsal line appears. As age advances the larva becomes darker in colour and is ornamented with a series of diagonal yellow stripes. The spiracles and antennæ are pink and very conspicuous. The legs and prolegs are very small, and the latter are bright red in colour; a fleshy process which projects from the last segment of the larva is similarly coloured. The whole insect is also speckled with yellow. When full-grown this caterpillar is very robust and measures about ten lines in length. The pupa is enclosed in a light cocoon formed of three or four leaves fastened together with silk. It is greenish brown in colour. The perfect insect first appears in December. It may be observed during the whole of the autumn and occasionally in the winter. As the larvæ grow very slowly I am {87}inclined to think that the females hibernate and lay their eggs early in the spring (Fig. 4). Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Sestra humeraria_ (Plate XI., fig. 5, 5a larva). This abundant species occurs in large numbers round Wellington, amongst brushwood, whence it may be often dislodged during the daytime, but is most readily procurable in the evening. The larva (Fig. 5a), feeds on _Pteris incisa_, a pale green fern, growing in many open spots in the forest to a height of three or four feet. Its general colour is dull brownish yellow, slightly darker on the back, and ornamented with a number of wavy yellow lines on each side. The ventral surface and legs are green and the head is dark brown; the whole insect being covered with numerous black dots and bristles. When disturbed these larvæ immediately drop to the ground, and coiling themselves up like small snakes, become very inconspicuous. The pupa is buried in the earth about two inches below the surface, the insect remaining in this state during the winter months. The moths generally emerge about October. So far as my experience goes they are not subject to any notable variations. The specimen drawn at Fig. 6 is regarded as a variety of this species by Mr. Meyrick, but I myself believe it to be quite distinct, as among over a dozen _humeraria_ larvæ reared in captivity, none of the imagines had the slightest resemblance to Fig. 6, although the caterpillars were all taken within a few yards of the place where such moths occurred. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Selidosema dejectaria_ (Plate XI., fig. 8 [M], 8a [F], 8b larva). An abundant and conspicuous species, occurring throughout the summer, often noticed at rest on fences and trees {88}during the day and always taken in great numbers on various blossoms in the evening. The caterpillar is extremely variable, the colouring of different individuals being apparently much influenced by their surroundings; those specimens, for instance, taken from the pale green foliage of the mahoe (_M. ramiflorus_) resemble in colour the twigs of that plant, while others captured feeding on the white rata (_Metrosideros scandens_) are dark reddish brown. Fig. 8b is drawn from a larva found on the fuchsia, which, when in its favourite position, viz., sticking straight out from the side of a branch, is so much like one of the sprouting twigs that it absolutely defies detection. When full-grown this insect buries itself about two inches in the earth, where it shortly becomes a dark chestnut-brown pupa, lighter between the segments. The time required for the development of the perfect insect depends upon the season, larvæ which undergo their transformations in the spring developing much more rapidly than those that feed up in the autumn.[18] This insect is extremely variable, having been formerly divided into several distinct species; the two most usual forms are those shown at Figs. 8 and 8a, but every intermediate variety exists. The sexes are distinguished by the usual differences in the antennæ. My experience leads me to believe that the light varieties occur more frequently in the female than in the male sex, and also that the dark larvæ give rise to dark moths, and _vice versâ_, although a great many more specimens will have to be reared before these can be regarded as established facts. {89}Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Selidosema panagrata_ (Plate XI., fig. 7 [M], 7a [F], 7b larva). One of our commonest moths, occurring in great numbers in the forest throughout the whole summer. The larvæ (Fig. 7b) are extremely variable, the most usual colouring being that of the individual figured, but when very young they are all of a uniform green with a conspicuous white dorsal line; as age advances the caterpillars become dark olive brown of varying degrees of intensity in different specimens, some retaining a considerable amount of their original green colouring, especially those feeding on the kawakawa (_Piper excelsum_), whose hue consequently harmonizes with that of the plant. These larvæ often select a forked twig to rest in, where they lie curled round with the head and tail close together. They are very voracious, and are the primary cause of the riddled appearance which the leaves of the kawakawa almost invariably present. Other food-plants are the "currant" (_A. racemosa_), and the _Myrtus bullata_; those taken from the latter have a strong pinkish tint, and are consequently very inconspicuous amongst the young shoots where they generally feed. The burrows of _Hepialus virescens_ are frequently utilized by the larvæ which feed on the "currant," as convenient retreats during the winter, a large number being often found in a single hole. When full-grown they descend to the ground and construct, on the under-side of fallen leaves, loose cocoons of silk and earth from which the perfect insects emerge in about a month's time. The autumnal larvæ, however, either hibernate or remain in the pupa state throughout the winter. This moth is even more variable than the last species (_S. dejectaria_), which it occasionally somewhat resembles. The sexes are very different, the colouring of the male consisting of various {90}shades of warm brown (Fig. 7), while in the female the prevailing hue is slaty brown or even grey (Fig. 7a). Many specimens are much suffused with ochre and reddish-brown, while the stigma near the centre of the fore-wing, although sometimes almost obsolete, is often very conspicuous and black, white, or even yellow in colour. It would be of great interest to learn, by rearing a large number of these insects, whether the many varieties existing in the larval and perfect states could be traced to differences in food-plant, or some other external circumstance. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Selidosema productata_ (Plate XII., fig. 1 [M], 1a [F], 1b larva). Abundant in the forest, where it may be dislodged from ferns and undergrowth during the day or captured flying about in the evening. Its larva is rather attenuated, and possesses a large hump on the second abdominal segment. In colour it is dark reddish brown, mottled with creamy white and pale green, and is sparsely supplied with a few isolated hairs (Fig. 1b). It feeds on the white rata (_Metrosideros scandens_), and when in its usual position--_i.e._, sticking straight out from a branch--absolutely defies detection. Specimens, however, may be readily procured with a lantern at night, when they may be found walking about and eating. The pupa state is spent in the earth, about two inches below the surface, the moth appearing in three or four weeks' time, this period, however, being extended in the case of autumnal larvæ, to as many months. It is extremely variable, scarcely two individuals being found exactly alike. The colouring, as in the caterpillar, is chiefly protective, consisting of a delicate tracery of browns and greys, which render the insect quite invisible when resting on the trunk of a tree, with its pale yellowish hind-wings concealed, a position it invariably assumes {91}during the daytime (Fig. 1 male, 1a female). The curious and interesting "_Tatosomas_," with their enormously elongated bodies, are closely allied to the present insect; one of them (_Tatosoma agrionata_) being found in similar situations, although in much more limited numbers; as, however, I know nothing of their transformations, I am forced reluctantly to pass them by. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Hydriomena deltoidata_ (Plate XIII., fig. 1, 1a larva). One of our commonest moths, appearing in great numbers during January and February, in all open situations. It is especially abundant on the fern-hills. The larva (Fig. 1a) feeds on the plantain. It is very sluggish, and lives all through the winter, becoming full-grown in September, when it changes into a pupa, among the roots of its food-plant. In colour it is a uniform dark brown. The moth is extremely variable, but the figure may be taken as representing a fairly typical specimen. It is a pretty insect, and may be often seen resting on fences with its fore-wings folded backwards and forming together a triangle, whence its name of _deltoidata_. Any unusual-looking specimens of this species should always be netted, in order to form a thoroughly representative series, as many of the varieties are very interesting. A rather uncommon and remarkable-looking form occasionally occurs, in which the dark central band of the fore-wings is completely divided near the middle. Family GEOMETRIDÆ. _Asthena schistaria_ (Plate XII., fig. 2, 2a larva). This delicate little insect may be often taken at rest on fences and tree-trunks during the day, and is a {92}conspicuous moth when flying in the evening, owing to its light colour. The larva (Fig. 2a), which feeds on the manuka (_Leptospermum ericoides_), is very ornamental. Its general colour is light green, with black dorsal and lateral stripes, and a series of diagonal markings bordered with crimson; the legs and prolegs are also crimson, and the segments are divided by brilliant yellow rings, a white line extending down each side of the larva. It is difficult to find, as it remains closely concealed amongst the dense manuka foliage, from which it can only be dislodged by vigorous and continued beating. The caterpillars allow themselves to fall a short distance, hanging suspended by a silken thread, which they rapidly ascend when the danger is passed. The pupa is rather attenuated, dark-brown, and much pointed at its posterior extremity. It is found buried about an inch in the earth, and the moth appears in a month's time. This insect varies much in intensity of markings. The males are generally considerably darker than the females, but are more certainly distinguished by their attenuated bodies. The pearly white _Asthena pulchraria_ occurs in October and April; it is a most beautiful insect, and may be found amongst the foliage of the kawakawa (_P. excelsum_), on which its larva will probably be found to feed. Family PYRALIDÆ. _Scoparia hemiplaca_ (Plate XII., fig. 4). This pretty little moth was reared from a larva found feeding amongst moss during the winter of 1885, but unfortunately I neglected to make a drawing until it was too late. Doubtless many of the other Pyrales we meet with in the New Zealand forest have similar habits, their larvæ probably feeding on different kinds of mosses. These can always be examined during the winter months, {93}when the entomologist is usually in want of work, and thus much information may be obtained regarding this interesting but little-known family. Family PYRALIDÆ. _Scoparia sabulosella_ (Plate XIII., fig. 4, 4a larva). This is that extremely abundant, though dull-coloured little insect, that rises in such multitudes from every field before one's footsteps during the early summer. Its larva (Fig. 4a) feeds on various mosses, forming numerous silken galleries amongst the roots in which it resides. These caterpillars are very active, and consequently rather difficult to obtain, as they move either backwards or forwards in their galleries with equal rapidity. They feed during the whole of the autumn and winter, changing into pupæ about September, from which the moths emerge in a month or six weeks' time. The habits of the numerous other species belonging to this genus and the closely allied genus _Xeroscopa_ (Meyr) probably do not materially differ from those of the species here described. Family PYRALIDÆ. _Crambus flexuosellus_ (Plate XII., fig. 5). An extremely abundant insect, occurring in swarms over meadows during the summer, where it may be captured in the daytime or taken by hundreds at the attracting lamp in the evening. Its larva is at present unknown, but probably feeds on the roots of grasses. Closely allied is _Crambus tahulalis_, found in similar situations, but appearing rather later in the season, the earliest specimens being met with about January, while _C. flexuosellus_ is on the wing throughout the summer. {94}Family PYRALIDÆ. _Siculodes subfasciata_ (Plate XII., fig. 3, 3a larva, 3b pupa). This curious insect may be occasionally taken flying round patches of _Muhlenbeckia adpressa_, which grows freely amongst brushwood in many parts of the country. Its larva (Fig. 3a), is very stout and sluggish, resembling the caterpillar of an ordinary Pyrale in general appearance. It feeds in the stems of the creeper, causing large swellings therein, which readily betray its presence, and should therefore be cut off and kept until the moth emerges, as specimens obtained in this way are far superior to any captured in the open. The pupa is dark brown, and shining; it lies in the centre of one of the swellings, the larva having previously prepared a safe outlet for the moth in the form of a small burrow leading to the air, its extreme end remaining closed by a thin pellicle of the original bark, which effectually prevents the inmate's resting-place being discovered from the exterior (see Fig. 3b, the small circle marked * represents the outlet). The perfect insect appears about December, flying rapidly in the hottest sunshine. It varies greatly, both in size and colour, some of the small males being very much suffused with dark brown, while the females usually resemble the figure (3), and are often more than twice the size of their mates. This insect is generally placed in a family called the _Siculidæ_, but I think without sufficient reason, and have therefore located it among the Pyralidæ, with which it has unquestionably a great affinity. Family TORTRICIDÆ. _Isonomeutis amauropa_ (Plate XIII., fig. 2, 2a larva). This odd little moth may be occasionally seen basking in openings in the forest, and usually flies away {95}with lightning speed when an attempt is made to capture it. The larva lives under the scaly bark of the matai-tree, feeding on the soft, juicy inner bark and sap. In colour it is light yellowish white, darker on the back, some specimens becoming quite pink on the dorsal surface. When full-grown it encloses itself in a tough silken cocoon, covered on the outside with fragments of wood, from which the moth emerges in about a fortnight's time. The sexes differ considerably in appearance, the male having much broader wings, and darker in colour than those in the female from which the illustration (Fig. 2) is taken. This insect is probably single-brooded, as the larva may be found feeding in the trees during the whole of the winter. Family TORTRICIDÆ. _Cacoecia excessana_ (Plate XIII., fig. 5, 5a larva). This is the commonest species of _Tortricidæ_ in New Zealand, and may be found almost without interruption during the whole of the year. The larva (Fig. 5a) feeds on a great variety of plants, the common manuka being probably the most usual food for the species when in a state of nature. It now, however, eats numerous European plants, including honeysuckle and occasionally the fruit of the apple, but further evidence is required on the latter subject before we can really consider it as actually injurious in that direction. In colour this caterpillar is light green with a yellow line on each side, but varies considerably; it feeds between several rolled-up leaves, in which it is afterwards converted into a pupa whence the moth emerges in about three weeks' time. The perfect insect is also excessively variable and is often more or less suffused with yellow. It is most abundant in {96}the middle of summer, and may be taken at light, or in the daytime at rest on fences and trees. Family TORTRICIDÆ. _Ctenopseustis obliquana_ (Plate XII., fig. 6). This little moth is occasionally noticed at rest on garden fences during the autumn. Its larva inhabits the interior of the peach, feeding on the kernel, which appears to exactly meet its requirements, the caterpillar being full-grown as soon as it has completely devoured the nut. Before assuming the pupa state this insect provides a ready means of escape for the future moth by drilling a small hole through the hard shell and pulp of the peach to the air; it also spins a slight cocoon inside the stone, the pupa resting in the place formerly occupied by the kernel, in which position it is often discovered. The only noticeable mischief produced by this insect is delay in the ripening of the fruit. In fact all the infected specimens which I have seen were quite hard and green, whilst other fruit from the same tree had reached complete perfection. Family TINEIDÆ. _Endrosis fenestrella_ (Plate XII., fig. 7, 7a larva, 7b pupa). This common species may be observed in almost any house in New Zealand, and is often mistaken for the dreaded "clothes moth" (_Tinea tapezella_), which it somewhat resembles in general appearance. Its larva (Fig. 7a) is very destructive, feeding on dried peas, amongst which it creates great havoc, drilling numerous holes through them and spinning a large number together, in the centre of which the caterpillar undergoes its change into a pupa (Fig. 7b), from which the moth emerges in about a fortnight's time. This insect should be destroyed whenever seen, as there is no doubt that much loss will be caused by its ravages in the future. It also infests bee-hives. {97}Family TINEIDÆ. _Oecophora scholæa_ (Plate XIII., fig. 6, 6a larva). This dull-coloured insect is extremely abundant during the early summer. The larva feeds on the roots of various plants, forming numerous white silken galleries in the earth where it resides. In colour it is dark chocolate-brown with a yellowish head and white markings. It is very large, considering the size of the future moth, full-grown specimens often measuring as much as 10½ lines in length. About the end of September these caterpillars are transformed into pupæ, and the moths emerge in a month or six weeks' time. The perfect insect may be often disturbed amongst brushwood. It is very sluggish on the wing and usually drops to the ground, where it is very inconspicuous. It also has a habit of running into any crevice immediately on the approach of an enemy. This peculiarity is shared by the other members of the genus _Oecophora_, of which there are large numbers in New Zealand. Family TINEIDÆ. _Semiocosma platyptera_ (Plate XII., fig. 8, 8a larva, 8b pupa). This is one of the largest of the _Tineidæ_ found in New Zealand, measuring fully fifteen lines across the expanded wings. Its larva (Fig. 8a) is abundant under the bark of dead henau trees (_Eleocarpus dentatus_), feeding on the soft inner surface, but leaving the hard wood untouched. In colour it is pale yellow, the head and prothorax are dark brown and corneous, and the remaining segments are provided with two horny warts, from which numerous hairs arise; its legs are all very small, and the caterpillar is considerably attenuated posteriorly; it is very active, wriggling about with great violence when disturbed. {98}The pupa (Fig. 8b) is enclosed in a compact cocoon, constructed of minute fragments of wood, firmly woven together with silk, and attached to the inner surface of the bark, where it may be soon found by careful searching, and the finest specimens may thus be easily reared in captivity. The perfect insect appears about November, and may be often observed at rest on the trunks of trees; its pale hind-wings are completely concealed by the dark upper pair, which render its discovery very difficult. The sexes may be at once distinguished by their size, the males being much smaller than the female (Fig. 8) and usually lighter in colour. {99}CHAPTER VII The Neuroptera. The Order Neuroptera, as here considered, is a very limited one, consisting only of the seven small families, which comprise the Lace-wings, Ant-lions, Caddis-flies, and a few others. It forms a most convenient passage from the insects undergoing a complete metamorphosis with a quiescent pupa, to those which are active during the whole of their life, as the larvæ are widely different from the adults, but the pupæ, although incapable of walking or eating, approximate very closely in structure to the perfect insects. I regret that my observations have been at present restricted to three families only, _i.e._, the _Hemerobiidæ_, _Sialidæ_, and _Phryganidæ_, which will consequently have to represent the entire series. I understand, however, from Mr. A. S. Atkinson, that a species of _Myrmeleontidæ_ (Ant-lion) is not uncommon round Nelson, and doubtless future investigation will reveal insects belonging to the other families. Family PHRYGANIDÆ. _Oxyethira albiceps_ (?) (McLach.) (Plate XIV., fig. 3, 3a larva, 3b pupa). This insect occurs in the neighbourhood of ponds and streams during the summer. Its larva may be found {100}commonly in the green, slimy weed floating in large masses on all stagnant waters. Being very small it is rather difficult to detect, and is best procured by washing a small quantity of the weed in a saucer of water, when the little insects will be at once seen walking about at the bottom. On examination with the microscope the case will first arrest attention, being of a most unique structure. Its shape is best described as closely resembling that of a minute pocket-flask, very much flattened at the lower end and almost transparent. Its surface is slightly corrugated, and the neck of the flask constructed of a much denser material than the body. It is open at both ends, the posterior end being perforated by a long shallow slit, which extends for nearly the whole width of the case, thus admitting a free circulation of water round the larva, which is also able to turn round and project its head and anterior segments through the lower aperture, thus occupying the reverse position to that shown in the illustration (Fig. 3a). It is, however, prevented from actually leaving the case by its abdomen, which is too large to be withdrawn from either end. The head and thorax of the larva are very horny in comparison with those portions permanently retained in the case, the legs being constructed to fold up into the smallest possible compass, a cavity existing in each joint for the reception of the preceding one--a structure which is almost universal among the caddis-worms. The two organs, situated on the posterior segments, are doubtless respiratory in their function, a large air-tube taking its rise from each and ramifying through the body in all directions. When alarmed these insects retreat into their cases with lightning rapidity, remaining concealed until the danger is passed. Their food probably consists of the green weed, although they are perhaps carnivorous, feeding on the rotifers and other animalculæ, which swarm in the water where they are found. {101}With regard to the method employed by the young larva in constructing, and subsequently enlarging, its case, I can give no positive information, although it is undoubtedly made of a viscous fluid, secreted by the insect, which hardens when exposed to the water; this secretion is no doubt analogous to the silk of caterpillars, which always exists in the form of a gummy fluid before being spun. When about to change, the insect fixes its case down by four ligaments, two at each end, the extremities of these being firmly fastened to a stone; it then closes the small aperture, and constructs a curious arch-shaped partition, of dense material, a short distance from the broad end (Fig. 3b). In about a week's time the larva is transformed into a pupa, having the limbs, &c., free from the body but incapable of motion. The fixing down of the case prior to the change may be easily performed from each of the apertures, which are no doubt left open till the last for this purpose. Before the final transformation the pupa breaks through the partition at the broad end of the case and rises to the surface, the imago (Fig. 3) ascending a blade of grass to dry and expand its wings. The little exuvia of the pupa may be often noticed floating on the water, and the empty cases are very conspicuous on the sides of a glass aquarium, where the insects generally fix them down when in captivity. Family HEMEROBIIDÆ. _Stenosmylus incisus_ (Plate XIV., fig. 2). This lovely insect is figured as an example of this family, being found occasionally in the New Zealand forest, but is rather scarce as a rule. I regret that nothing is at present known of its transformations. {102}Family Sialidæ. _Chauliodes diversus_ (Plate XIV., fig. 1, 1a larva, 1b pupa). During still warm weather, from December till March, this large insect is frequently observed flying lazily over water at dusk, when it may be readily captured with the ordinary net. Its larva is aquatic, living under stones in running streams, where it devours large quantities of Ephemeræ and other insect larvæ, which are always abundant in those situations. It is very ferocious and will bite violently when disturbed, being furnished with a pair of powerful mandibles. The curious filaments on each side are gills, and it will be noticed that they are situated exactly where the spiracles of the perfect insect afterwards appear (see Fig. 1a). This larva probably lives over a year, its growth proceeding very slowly, but mature specimens are not infrequently met with quite as large as the illustration. When full-grown it leaves the water and forms an oval cell in the mud, usually under a large stone; its gills then gradually shrivel up, and in ten days or a fortnight it is transformed into the curious pupa, shown at Fig. 1b, from which the perfect insect proceeds in about six weeks' time. The sexes of this species may be readily distinguished by their size, the male being considerably smaller than the female (Fig. 1), and possessing longer antennæ. {103}CHAPTER VIII The Orthoptera. This Order, although including a comparatively small number of species, comprises some of the largest and most conspicuous insects inhabiting New Zealand, many of them reminding one of the denizens of the tropics in their gigantic size and striking appearance. They may be conveniently divided into the three following groups:--The _Aquatic group_, or those whose larvæ inhabit the water, including the Dragonflies, Mayflies, and Perlidæ; the _Terrestrial group_, including all the typical Orthoptera, Termites, and Mallophaga; and the _Euplexoptera_, including the Earwigs. We start our observations with the Aquatic group, as these exhibit the greatest affinity with the Neuroptera. AQUATIC Group. Family LIBELLULIDÆ.[19] _Uropetala carovei_ (Plate XV., fig. 1 [M], 1a larva.) This magnificent insect occurs in all swampy situations during January and February, when it may be seen dashing about with amazing rapidity intent on catching {104}the various flies which constitute its food. Its curious larva is represented at Fig. 1a, the drawing having been taken from a singularly perfect exuvia, which I had the good fortune to discover, clinging to the stem of a fuchsia-tree in a swamp, the rent through which the perfect insect escaped having almost closed up. In this state it no doubt feeds on various aquatic animals, which it procures with a prehensile instrument similar in structure to the "mask" of British dragonfly larvæ, but much larger. The female of this species may be at once recognized by the absence of the two peculiar leaf-like appendages at the anal extremity, from which the insect takes its name. Her abdomen is also much stouter. My experience leads me to believe either that she is very retired in her habits or else that there are at least six males to one female. Closely allied, and much commoner than the above insect, is _Cordulia Smithii_, found almost everywhere, its rapid and continuous flight frequently taking it many miles away from any water. The specimen figured is a male (Plate XV., fig. 2), the female possessing a pair of slender sickle-shaped hooks, attached to the end of her body. She may occasionally be seen depositing her eggs in stagnant streams, the abdomen being violently beaten against the surface of the water during the operation. I have not yet met with the larva, which probably lives concealed in the mud. One specimen, taken near Lake Wairarapa, is remarkable in possessing a cloudy brown patch near the tip of each wing, but it is no doubt only a variety of the ordinary insect. Family LIBELLULIDÆ. _Lestes colensonis_ (Plate XV., fig. 3, 3a larva). Extremely abundant in all damp situations from September till May, being one of the last insects to disappear in the autumn. The larva is found under stones, &c., in {105}every stream, feeding on various aquatic insects and crustaceans. When very young the wing-cases are scarcely discernible, but gradually become more distinct at each moult, until the larva assumes the form shown in the illustration (Fig. 3a), which is taken from a specimen about a week before the emergence of the perfect insect. In all these insects it would be much more convenient to regard the metamorphosis as consisting of only two stages, viz., larva and imago, as there is really no condition analogous to the quiescent pupa of other orders. The female is rather stouter than the male, which is the sex figured, and her abdomen is of a dull bronze colour, instead of metallic blue. The only other dragonfly found in my neighbourhood (Wellington) is the pretty little _Telebasis zealandica_ (Fig. 4), which occurs in similar situations to the last, but is not quite so common. The male is of a brilliant red colour, the female being bronzy green, but she may be readily distinguished from the same sex in _Lestes colensonis_ by her smaller size. The larva of this species is rather more attenuated than that of the previous insect, and is of course considerably smaller. Family EPHEMERIDÆ. _Ephemera_, n.s., near _Coloburus_[20] (Plate XVI., fig. 4, 4a larva). The well-known mayflies are very extensively represented in New Zealand, hovering in swarms over running water during the summer evenings. The larva of the present species (Fig. 4a) occurs abundantly under stones in rapid streams. It may be immediately distinguished from its numerous congeners by its large head and conspicuous black eyes. It is carnivorous, {106}feeding on various small insects, chiefly those belonging to the present family, but in lack of these it will even devour individuals of its own species. It is consequently a most difficult insect to rear, and it was a long time before I succeeded in obtaining a single imago in captivity. When mature the insect leaves the water, and an apparently perfect imago escapes through a rent in the thorax in the usual way. In a few hours, however, a second moult occurs, the wings gaining additional size and beauty, and the anal setæ becoming very much more elongated than before (Fig. 4). This second change, which has so perplexed some entomologists, is merely an _apparent_ departure from the general rule, a careful examination of the exuviæ of the dragonflies, and pupa shells of many other insects, revealing a delicate membrane within, which invests the imago, and is cast off at the same time as the harder external envelope. In the case of the mayflies, the retention of this internal membrane some two or three hours longer than usual, will fully explain its apparently unique metamorphosis. Family PERLIDÆ. _Stenoperla prasina_ (Plate XVI., fig. 3, 3a larva). This is the green gauzy-winged insect which we see flying feebly over running water, during the twilight, throughout the summer. Its larva (Fig. 3a) is aquatic, hiding itself under stones, and devouring the unfortunate _Ephemeræ_ found in similar situations. Towards the end of its career the rudimentary wings become very conspicuous, at which time it is a most interesting object. The curious appendages on each side of the abdomen are gills, which the larva is constantly vibrating, in order to obtain a fresh supply of aërated water. When mature, it ascends the stem of some aquatic plant, the skin becomes dry and brittle, and finally bursting, allows the perfect insect to escape, {107}and in a few hours its wings are sufficiently hardened for flight. Several other species occur in New Zealand, one of the commonest being _Perla cyrene_, a black insect much resembling _S. prasina_, but considerably smaller; its larva may be occasionally found, and is at once known by its dark colour. TERRESTRIAL Group. Family PSOCIDÆ. _Psocus zealandicus_, n.s. (Plate XVI., fig. 2, 2a larva). During the hottest days in summer every one must have noticed numbers of minute active insects assembled on garden fences in groups, ranging from ten to fifty, immediately dispersing when disturbed. These are individuals of _Psocus zealandicus_ (Fig. 2), a curious little species, closely allied to the renowned "Book Tick" (_Atropos pulsatorium_), whose ravages in museums and libraries need no description. Its larva (2a) may be found in the same situations as the imago, and often assembles in similar groups. Its food probably consists of rotten wood and other decaying vegetable matter, and in its later stages it is provided with wing-cases, thus differing from the Book Tick (_A. pulsatorium_), which remains apterous during the whole of its life. Family TERMITIDÆ. _Stolotermes ruficeps_ (Plate XVI., fig. 1 [M], 1a [F], 1b "soldier," 1c "worker"). The termites, or white ants, which occur in such great numbers in the tropics, are represented in New Zealand by several small species, the commonest in this neighbourhood being _Stolotermes ruficeps_. This species inhabits rotten logs, excavating extensive burrows, resembling in a very humble manner the {108}wonderfully elaborate nests constructed by the African and other species, about which so much has been written, and so much remains to be discovered. The present insect appears in the perfect state during January and February. It is seldom noticed flying about, but may be readily obtained by opening the nests, where a large number are frequently seen huddled together in the main galleries. At this time the community consists of three classes of individuals, viz., males, females, and workers, which last are in all probability nothing more than the larvæ. After pairing they shed their wings and return to the nest, the female becoming very much distended with eggs. About March she commences to lay. This is continued for several months, and during this time the female is queen of the nest. She resides in a capacious chamber, from which numerous galleries diverge in all directions, some extending as far as eighteen or twenty inches, but the most populous portion of the nest is contained within a radius of six inches from the queen's apartment. The "soldiers" (Fig. 1b) now appear in considerable numbers. They are chiefly stationed in the royal chamber, and furiously attack any intruders; but the workers which stream in and out, carrying the eggs from the queen, they treat with the greatest gentleness. I have never seen soldiers in a nest containing winged insects, nor indeed later in the spring than October, when they seem to have all disappeared. With regard to the nature of these individuals I am unable to supply any positive information, but it appears probable that they are abortive males, in the same way that the neuters of the bees and ants are abortive females. As none of these insects have yet been reared, many points of great interest remain to be discovered in connection with their economy, and a rigid investigation of a number of nests kept in captivity, is the only mode by which we can hope to become fully acquainted with the habits of this interesting family. {109}Family BLATTIDÆ. _Periplaneta fortipes_ (Plate XVII., fig. 5). Few people who cut up old wood remain unacquainted with this species for very long, its insufferable odour immediately betraying its presence independently of anything else. It is very common under the bark of rimu, henau, and other large trees, where specimens may be found in all stages of growth; the mature individuals only differing from the young in the matter of size and the possession of rudimentary wing-cases. I have never found the females of this species carrying their eggs, but have, on several occasions, discovered the closely allied, but smaller, _Periplaneta undulivitta_ thus engaged under stones on the hills round Nelson. This is a much more agreeable insect to study than _P. fortipes_, not possessing the disgusting odour so characteristic of the latter species. The only winged _Blattidæ_ found round Wellington are _Blatta conjuncta_, and _Periplaneta orientalis_. The former (Fig. 6), may be occasionally noticed under the scaly bark of rimu and matai trees, but a sharp eye and hand are needed to effect a capture, the insect running with marvellous rapidity. The latter species I have not yet noticed, but as it is the ordinary "cockroach" of Europe its habits have already been amply described. Family MANTIDÆ. _Tenodera intermedia_ (Plate XVII., fig. 2). A local species confined, I believe, to the South Island, and occurring in some numbers round Nelson, where my specimens were obtained. It seldom flies, but crawls stealthily about the trunks of trees, in the hottest sunshine, capturing and destroying great quantities of insects, its green colouring and leaf-like form rendering it very inconspicuous {110}to its victims. The purple spots on the tibiæ of this insect are very noticeable, and resemble small drums in structure, hence they are regarded by Mr. A. H. Swinton ("Insect Variety," page 239), as the organs of hearing. These curious drums may be also found in insects belonging to nearly all the remaining families of the Orthoptera, but, as we find no auditory organs occupying a similar situation in any other groups of insects, I think that Mr. Swinton's explanation of their function must be regarded at present as a somewhat doubtful one.[21] Family PHASMIDÆ. _Acanthoderus horridus_ (Plate XIX.). The curious Stick Insects are familiar to most people from their remarkable similarity to the twigs of trees. The present species is one of the largest, the mature insect frequently attaining a length of five inches. It is best taken at night, when it may be readily discovered, feeding on the leaves of shrubs, and suddenly becoming perfectly motionless when the lantern is turned upon it. The favourite plant for this (and indeed most of the species) is the white rata, upon which they are often seen in large numbers when the entomologist is collecting Lepidoptera in autumn. One of the commonest species found in this way is _Bacillus_ (_hookeri?_) chiefly remarkable for its great sexual disparities, the male resembling a very slender stick about twenty-eight lines long, while the female is nearly half as long again (thirty-eight lines), and much more stoutly built. A more systematic investigation of this family is needed before we can pretend to correctly determine the various species, as there is little doubt that in other cases the sexes will be found quite as divergent. In addition to this {111}the insects are most variable in colour, and their completely apterous character rendering the distinction between larva and imago a matter of considerable difficulty, it is very probable that some of the smaller species may be only immature specimens of the larger ones. Stick insects are easily kept in captivity, and will not be found devoid of interest. They are great eaters, and grow with considerable rapidity, frequently casting their skin, a task of no easy accomplishment, which I once had the pleasure of watching in the case of a specimen of _Acanthoderus prasinus_ which I had under observation for several months. The insect first suspends itself by its hind pair of legs, keeping the others in the same position as when walking, the head is bent in, and the antennæ are placed along the breast, the long abdomen hanging over backwards. The skin then splits along the back of the thorax, and the head and thorax are gradually pushed out. The front and middle legs are immediately afterwards extracted, the long femora and tibiæ easily passing the sharp angles in the exuvia, owing to their complete flexibility. When these are finally clear, the insect reaches forwards with its fore-legs and draws the abdomen and hind-legs out of the old skin, which remains attached to the branch until dislodged by some accident. During the spring months great quantities of little stick insects may be noticed on the parasitic ferns covering the tree stems in the forest; they are curious little animals, their antics when simulating inanimate twigs being often most amusing, and if the reader wishes to investigate a comparatively untouched branch of entomology he cannot do better than keep a number of these until mature, when he will doubtless contribute much to our scanty knowledge of this curious family. {112}Family ACHETIDÆ. _Acheta fuliginosa_ (Plate XVIII., fig. 1). This destructive insect is not indigenous to New Zealand, having been introduced from Australia into the Nelson district many years ago. Strange to say it has never been seen in Wellington, where specimens must be constantly landed amongst produce, &c., but appear to be unable to effect a settlement, owing, probably, to some peculiarity of the climate which renders the place unsuitable for them. The larvæ may be first observed about December, when they are often seen hopping about the vegetation. They are extremely obnoxious, devouring everything, and frequently entering houses, where they consume provisions, clothes, and even boots. During the summer of 1875 the farmers round Nelson were fairly eaten out by this insect, the cattle absolutely starving for the want of food, but since that time the pest seems to have gradually diminished, although it is still very injurious to many garden plants. The illustration (Fig. 1) is taken from a female, the male wanting the long ovipositor. These insects appear in the imago state about March, and continue in great abundance until the end of summer, the cold weather which generally sets in about the beginning of May rapidly destroying them. Family GRYLLIDÆ. _Deinacrida megacephala_ (Plate XVIII., fig. 2 [M], XVII., fig. 8 [F]). This conspicuous species is especially interesting, as it may be regarded as the type of a very peculiar assemblage of apterous crickets, pre-eminently characteristic of New Zealand. It is very abundant round Wellington, and may be occasionally taken under logs, &c., but is best procured {113}from the hollow stems of various trees, where it is found inhabiting the deserted galleries of wood-boring species--frequently enlarging them to suit its own requirements. The plant most usually selected by these insects is the mahoe (_Melicytus ramiflorus_), whose stems may be often seen pierced with large holes. Out of these the insects emerge at night to feed on the leaves. To extract a number of specimens, without injury, requires considerable care, and is best performed with a small axe, which should be first used to cut in about three-quarters through the trunk, just below one of the holes. Another notch is then cut about a foot lower down, and the intermediate wood split off in long pieces, until the tunnel is laid bare. On approaching an insect the first thing seen are two red threads, which are the antennæ, laid back as shown at Fig. 8. A deep notch is then cut into the trunk, some nine or ten inches below this point, and the piece bodily wrenched off. If the individual thus treated is a male he will cling firmly to the log, elevating his hind-legs in the air and biting viciously at anything within reach, but the females, in the majority of cases, endeavour to escape and hide themselves under the leaves, &c., on the ground. Both sexes when irritated emit a peculiar grating sound, which may be often heard at night in the forest, and is produced by the friction of the femur against a small file situated on each side of the second abdominal segment. They can also leap a short distance, but not so far as many of the smaller species (_Libanasa macropathus_, &c.). They are evidently strictly arboreal in their habits, as they exhibit great skill in walking along branches, and will climb up a thin stick with wonderful rapidity. When in their burrows the posterior legs are extended behind the insect and push, while the anterior and intermediate ones are thrust forwards, the claws being firmly inserted, so as to enable the insect to pull itself along. {114}Travelling along the burrow in this manner, they frequently evade all efforts to extract them, until they are stopped by arriving at the end of the gallery. The sexes of this species are readily distinguishable, the male (Plate XVIII., fig. 2) possessing an immense head furnished with a pair of enormously powerful mandibles. The female (Plate XVII., fig. 8) is a more attractive insect, her gracefully curved ovipositor and smaller head having a much more pleasing appearance than the terribly menacing jaws of her mate. Both sexes are able to give severe bites, but it is extremely doubtful whether they would prove anything worse than slight mechanical injuries, as the insect is not likely to be poisonous. I am, however, unable to speak from experience. Family GRYLLIDÆ. _Xiphidium maoricum_ (Plate XVII., fig. 1). This pretty insect may be found in great abundance round Nelson during the autumn, but is rarer in the Wellington Province. Its presence may be at once detected by the curious chirping heard in various directions shortly before sunset and lasting till eight or nine o'clock in the evening. This sound is produced with the wing-cases, which the male insects may be seen vigorously rubbing together. The females are quite mute, and they may be also distinguished by possessing a short curved ovipositor at the end of the body. The peculiarly leaf-like shape of the insect and its bright green colour render its discovery amongst the herbage a most difficult matter, even when its whereabouts is indicated by its cry--in fact, were it not for their music, there is little doubt that very few of these insects would ever be captured, as they are practically invisible, and are an instance of protective resemblance carried to great perfection. When disturbed these crickets fly about twenty yards {115}and again settle in a bush or amongst herbage, carefully avoiding alighting on the ground where they would be readily visible. Their flight is somewhat feeble for such large insects. Great care must be taken, when capturing specimens for preservation, not to hold them by their powerful hind-legs, as they will not infrequently cast one off while endeavouring to escape. I have not yet noticed the larva of this species, but should imagine it would closely resemble a wingless imago. Family LOCUSTIDÆ. _Caloptenus marginalis_ (Plate XVII., fig. 4). This is the little grasshopper which rises before our footsteps in swarms on a hot summer's day; it is one of the last insects to leave us in the autumn, being frequently found in warm situations on fine days in the middle of winter. Owing to its great abundance this species must inflict considerable damage on the grass, as it has taken up its quarters like the English grasshopper in the cultivated fields, where an unlimited supply of food is always at hand. Formerly, no doubt, it was much less common round Wellington than at present, owing to the few open spots then existing, none of these grasshoppers being found in the forest. The perfect insect may be recognized by the rudimentary wings which are present on the thorax, thus causing it to closely resemble the larval form of many of the winged species, and for which it might readily be mistaken were its true character unknown. Family LOCUSTIDÆ. _Oedipoda cinerascens_ (Plate XVII., fig. 3). This large and conspicuous insect occurs abundantly in all open situations near Nelson, but is very rare in the {116}Wellington district, becoming, however, again common further north. When disturbed it leaps into the air, spreads its wings, and flies away with great rapidity for thirty or forty yards, when it alights, and allows its pursuer to get within a few yards of his prize before again making off. This habit renders the capture of a good series of this insect a most arduous matter. The sexes may be readily distinguished by their size, the female being nearly twice as large as her mate. This species is very variable in colour, some individuals being dark green whilst others are of a uniform drab. The food of this insect consists of various domestic grasses, but I do not think it is at present sufficiently abundant to exercise any harmful influence on agriculture. By some entomologists, however, it is regarded as only a variety of the renowned migratory locust (_Locusta migratoria_), and as such its advent in large numbers might be viewed with serious apprehension. It is also strange that although I have often seen large numbers of this species in the perfect state I have never observed the larva. I can only conjecture that the insect breeds in very secluded localities and then migrates in search of fresh food supplies. Group EUPLEXOPTERA. Family FORFICULIDÆ. _Forficesila littorea_ (Plate XVII., fig. 7). Abundant on the sea beach throughout the year, where it may be readily captured under stones and seaweed. It is a very bold insect, and when disturbed will grasp a blade of grass, or other object, very firmly with its powerful abdominal forceps, and allow itself to be lifted off the ground and carried away rather than relinquish its hold. {117}The food of this species probably consists of seaweed, although it is possibly carnivorous, and feeds on the small insects and crustaceans, which are numerous on the beach. Being permanently apterous, mature individuals can only be recognized by their large size, and the perfect development of their anal forceps. It is evidently erroneous to regard these as organs exclusively employed in opening and shutting the wings, as we see that in the present insect, which does not require them for that purpose, they are larger than in many of the flying earwigs. They are probably chiefly used to _intimidate_ intruders. This species is strictly marine in its habits and is seldom found more than a few yards above high-water-mark. The females may be often observed hatching their eggs. For this purpose they excavate an oval chamber underneath a log or large stone, and after carefully smoothing it within, deposit the eggs at the bottom. These eggs are most faithfully guarded by the mother, which boldly attacks all intruders, and will suffer herself to be killed rather than leave the spot. She also remains with the young ones for a considerable time after they are hatched, as we sometimes observe the females accompanied by a number of larvæ of quite a large size. {118}CHAPTER IX The Hemiptera. The present Order of insects, although of very limited extent, contains several important species, of which the noisy Cicadas, destructive Aphides, and numerous Bugs, and Lice, can be cited as familiar examples. The Hemiptera may be conveniently divided into the two following groups:-- The _Homoptera_, comprising all the species in which the anterior wings are entirely membranous, and-- The _Heteroptera_, including those having the basal portion of the anterior wings thickened, and quite opaque. These peculiarities have induced some entomologists, who regard the structure of the wings of the greatest importance in classifying, to arrange the insects included in the Homoptera and Heteroptera, into two distinct Orders; but their uniform character in all other respects renders this, I think, hardly desirable. Group HOMOPTERA. Family CICADIDÆ. _Cicada cingulata_[22] (Plate XX., fig. 1, 1a pupa). This beautiful insect may be found in great numbers {119}amongst brushwood during the hot sunny days so common from January till March. Its larva inhabits the earth earlier in the summer, and its curious pupa can often be observed crawling up the stems of trees in order to allow the perfect insect to emerge. After this has taken place the exuviæ still remain firmly attached to the tree, and are very conspicuous objects; but if it is desired to remove them great care must be taken not to break off the legs, which are always very brittle. The perfect insects are at once betrayed by their loud singing, which, in certain localities, becomes quite deafening. This noise is entirely confined to the males, and proceeds from two large drum-like organs, situated on the under surface of the abdomen near its base, which, in conjunction with the curious ovipositor existing in the females constitute good sexual distinctions throughout the family. The structure of these two organs having been admirably described by several European authors renders it quite unnecessary for me to do so here. Closely allied to the present insect is _Cicada muta_, the female of which is depicted on Plate XX., fig. 2. The male is often of a reddish-brown colour, but the insect is an extremely variable one. It is found in similar situations to _C. cingulata_, but appears rather earlier in the year. Family CICADIDÆ. _Cicada iolanthe_, n.s. (Plate XX., fig. 3, 3a larva, 3b pupa). This is the first species of Cicada to appear in the spring, and is found during November and December. Its larva (Fig. 3a) is a curious little animal, the two hind-legs being very long. I am at present unable to state with certainty what constitutes its food, but am extremely doubtful whether it consists of the juices imbibed from the roots of plants, as is generally supposed. The anterior legs, although probably chiefly constructed for digging, {120}appear to be also suited for raptorial purposes, which leads me to believe that the insect may be carnivorous in its habits. The pupa (Fig. 3b) does not materially differ from that of the last, except in size, and its empty exuvia is also frequently found attached to the stems of trees. The perfect insect may be at once discovered by the peculiarly shrill note emitted by the male. Family APHIDÆ. This family is extensively represented in New Zealand, but as I have not yet been able to obtain any information respecting their specific identity I am compelled to pass them by for the present, hoping that future investigation will reveal much that is interesting in their habits, and also help both gardener and agriculturist to protect himself from their ravages. Family COCCIDIDÆ. _Coelostoma zealandicum_ (Plate XX., fig. 4 [M]). This species is figured as a representative of this very curious family chiefly on account of its great similarity to a Dipterous insect, the rudimentary condition of its posterior wings being most perplexing to the beginner. Its habits have been amply described by Mr. Maskell, in his work on the Coccididæ of New Zealand, to which I consequently refer. Group HETEROPTERA. Family NOTONECTIDÆ. _Corixa zealandica_, n.s. (Plate XX., fig. 5). Abundant throughout the summer in all slow-running streams. The larva closely resembles the imago except that it has no wings. Its food probably consists of the juices of other insects. The present insect invariably swims with {121}its back exposed, thus differing considerably from the English Water-boatman (_Notonecta glauca_), whose keel-like back is kept beneath the water, while the two long hind-legs are rapidly moved backwards and forwards like oars. Family SCUTELLERIDÆ. _Cermatulus nasalis_ (Plate XX., fig. 6, 6a larva). This insect may be beaten out of various trees during the summer, and is usually taken in some abundance in February amongst white rata blossoms, on which it may be often observed sucking the honey from the blossoms with its long rostrum. Its larva, which is represented at Fig. 6a, is found in similar situations. This concludes the series of insects I have selected as representative of the several orders in New Zealand. The brief sketch of entomology thus given is of necessity extremely fragmentary, and many important groups and families are entirely unrepresented. Should, however, this little book induce some of its readers to investigate insects for themselves, I shall feel that my efforts have been amply rewarded. THE END. {123}GENERAL INDEX. PAGE Abdomen, 4 Acanthoderus, 110 " horridus, 110 " prasinus, 111 Acroceridæ, 56 Acrocera, 56 " longirostris, 56 Achetidæ, 112 Acheta, 112 " fuliginosa, 112 Andrenidæ, 33 Antennæ, 2 Ants, 35 Ant-lions, 99 Anus, 4 Aphides destroyed by Syrphus, 57 Aphidæ, 120 Aphaniptera, 64 Aquatic insects, 22, 40, 100, 103 Argyrophenga, 65 " antipodum, 65 Asilidæ, 55 Asthena, 91 " schistaria, 91 " pulchraria, 92 Atta antarctica, 37 Attracting by light, 14 Atropos, 107 " pulsatorium, 107 Bacillus, 110 " hookeri, 110 Beating, 9 Bee parasites, 63 Bees, 33 Beetles, 19 Beetles under sacks, 9 " killing, 10 " pinning, 10 Bibio, 52 " nigrostigma, 52 Blattidæ, 109 Blatta, 109 " conjuncta, 109 "Bloodworm", 43 Blossoms, 13 Blue butterfly, 69 "Blue-bottles", 60 Bolitophila, 49 " luminosa, 49 Bombycidæ, 73 Bombylidæ, 54 Book tick, 107 Boxes, 10 Brachelytra, 25 Brachocera, 54 Breathing organs, 4 Butterflies, 65 " setting, 12 " rearing, 15 Cacoecia, 95 " excessana, 95 Calliphora, 60 " quadrimaculata, 60 Camphor, 17 Catocala, 83 Caloptenus, 115 " marginalis, 115 Caterpillar cages, 15 Carabidæ, 21 Carbolic acid, 17 Case-bearing larvæ, 74 Casting skin, 111 Ceratopogon, 45 " antipodum, 45 Cermatulus, 121 " nasalis, 121 Chætosoma, 24 " scaritides, 24 Chalastra, 84 " pelurgata, 84 Chalcididæ, 37 Chauliodes, 102 " diversus, 102 Chironomus, 43 " zealandicus, 43 " plumosus, 43 Chrysophanus, 68 " salustius, 68 " boldenarum, 68 " feredayi, 68 " enysii, 68 Cicadidæ, 118 Cicada, 118 " cingulata, 118 " muta, 119 " iolanthe, 119 Cicindela, 19 " tuberculata, 19 " parryi, 20 Cicindelidæ, 19 Clavicornia, 23 Cloniophora, 50 " subfasciata, 50 Clothes moth, 96 Click beetles, 29 Cockchaffer, 27 Cockroaches, 109 Coccididæ, 120 Coelopa, 63 " littoralis, 63 Coelostoma, 120 " zealandicum, 120 Coleoptera, 5, 19 " rearing, 15 " collecting, 9 Collecting insects, 9 " at night, 13 Collection, 17 Collectional journal, 18 Coloburus, 105 Colon, 4 Colymbetes, 22 " rufimanus, 22 Comptosia, 54 " bicolor, 54 " virida, 55 Copper butterflies, 68 Cordulia, 104 " smithii, 104 Corethra, 43 " antarctica, 43 Corixa, 120 " zealandica, 120 Compound eyes, 2 Coxa, 3 Crambus, 93 " flexuosellus, 93 " tahulalis, 93 Crickets, 112 Crop, 4 Ctenopseustis, 96 " obliquana, 96 Culex, 40 " argyropus, 42 " iracundus, 40 Culicidæ, 40 Curculionidæ, 31 Cylindria, 62 " sigma, 62 Danais, 65 " plexippus, 65 Dasycolletes, 33 " hirtipes, 33 " purpureus, 34 Declana, 83 " floccosa, 83 " floccosa _v._ junctilinea 84 Deinacrida, 112 " megacephala, 112 Diadema, 65 " nerina, 65 Digestive system, 4 Diptera, 6, 40 Dorcus, 26 " punctulatus, 26 " reticulatus, 26 Dorsal vessel, 4 Dragon-flies, 103 Dryocora, 24 " howittii, 24 Dyticidæ, 22 Earwigs, 116 Eggs of insects, 5 Elateridæ, 28 Elytra, 5 Endrosis, 96 " fenestrella, 96 Engidæ, 24 Entomologist in winter, 10 Entomological pins, 13 Ephemeridæ, 105 Ephemera, 105 Epuræa, 23 " zealandica, 23 Eristalis, 57 " cingulatus, 57 Erana, 78 " graminosa, 78 Erebia pluto and butleri, 66 Euplexoptera, 116 Eurigaster, 60 " marginatus, 60 Exaireta, 56 " spiniger, 56 External organs, 2 Eyes, 2 Family, 8 Femur, 3 Flea, 64 Forficulidæ, 116 Forficesila, 116 " littorea, 116 Formicidæ, 35 Formica, 35 " zealandica, 35 Ganglia, 4 Genus, 8 Geodephaga, 19 Geometridæ, 83 Geometer, 83 Gerris, 43 Glow-worm, 49 Gilt pins, 13 Gizzard, 4 Grasshopper, 115 Gryllidæ, 112 Head, 2 Heart, 4 Heliothis, 81 " armigera, 81 Helophilus, 58 " trilineatus, 58 " ineptus, 59 " hochstetteri, 59 Hemerobiidæ, 101 Hemiptera, 8, 118 Hepialus, 70 " virescens, 70 Hepialidæ, 69 Heterocera, 69 Heteromera, 29 Heteroptera, 118 Homoptera, 118 Host, 38 Hydradephaga, 22 Hydriomena, 91 " deltoidata, 91 Hymenoptera, 6, 33 Ichneumon, 38 " deceptus, 38 " sollicitorius, 38 Ichneumonidæ, 38 Ilium, 4 Imago, 4 Internal organs, 4 Insect, definition of, 1 Isonomeutis, 94 " amauropa, 94 Jaws, 2 Journal, 18 Killing insects, 10, 12 " bottle, 12 Labelling insects, 18 Labial palpi, 2 Labium, 2 Labrum, 2 Lace-wings, 101 Lamellicornes, 26 Larva, 4 Lasiorhynchus, 32 " barbicornis, 32 Laurel bottle, 12 Lepidoptera, 6, 65 Lestes colensonis, 104 Leucania, 78 " atristriga, 78 " nullifera, 77 Libanasa macropathus, 113 Libellulidæ, 103 Light, insects at, 14 Locusta, 116 " migratoria (?), 116 Locustidæ, 115 Longicornia, 30 Lower lip, 2 Lucanidæ, 26 Luminous larva, 49 Lycænidæ, 68 Lycæna, 69 " phoebe, 69 Mamestra, 79 " composita, 80 " mutans, 79 " ustistriga, 81 Mandibles, 2 Mantidæ, 109 Maxillae, 2 Mayflies, 105 Melampsalta, 118 Melolonthidæ, 26 Melolontha, 27 " vulgaris, 27 Mesothorax, 2 Mesonotum, 2 Mesosternum, 2 Metamorphosis, 4 Metablax, 29 " acutipennis, 29 Metathorax, 2 Migrations of ants, 37 Miltogramma, 59 " mestor?, 59 Mosquito, 40 Moths, 69 " setting, 12 Musca, 61 " cæsar, 61 " domestica, 61 Muscidæ, 59 Mycetophila, 46 " antarctica, 46 Myrmeleontidæ, 99 Nemocera, 40 Nemorea, 59 " nyctemerianus, 59 Nervous system, 4 Net, 11 Neuroptera, 7, 99 Nitidulidæ, 23 Noctuidæ, 77 Notonectidæ, 120 Notonecta, 121 " glauca, 121 Nyctemera, 73 " annulata, 73 Nymphalidæ, 65 Oeceticus, 74 " omnivorus, 74 Oecophora, 97 " scholæa, 97 Oedipoda, 115 " cinerascens, 115 Oestridæ, 63 Oestrus, 63 " perplexus, 63 Ochrocydus, 31 " huttoni, 31 Orders, 5 Oreda, 31 " notata, 31 Orthoptera, 7, 103 Ovipositor, 38 Oxyethira, 99 " albiceps, 99 Painted Lady Butterfly, 67 Palpi, 2 Parasites, 59 Periplaneta, 109 " fortipes, 109 " orientalis, 109 " undulivitta, 109 Perla, 107 " cyrene, 107 Perlidæ, 106 Phasmidæ, 110 Philonthus, 25 " oeneus, 25 Phora, 62 " omnivora, 62 Phryganidæ, 99 Pinning insects, 12 Pins, 13 Plant-lice, 118 Ploseria, 85 " alectoraria, 86 " hemipteraria, 85 Plusia, 82 " eriosoma, 82 " gamma, 83 Pompilus, 34 " fugax, 34 " " and spider, 35 Porina, 69 " signata, 69 " cervinata, 69 " umbraculata, 69 Ponera, 36 " castanea, 36 Prionidæ, 30 Prionus, 30 " reticularis, 30 Pronotum, 2 Prothorax, 2 Prosternum, 2 Proventriculus, 4 Psepholax, 31 " coronatus, 31 Psocidæ, 107 Psocus, 107 " zealandicus, 107 Psychidæ, 74 Psychoda, 46 " conspicillata, 46 Pteromalus, 37 Pterostichus, 21 " opulentus, 21 Pulicina, 64 Pupa, 4 Pupipara, 64 Pyralidæ, 92 Pyrameis, 66 Pyronota, 28 " festiva, 28 Queens, 34 Rearing Insects, 15 Rhopalocera, 65 Rhyncophora, 31 Rhyphus, 51 " neozealandicus, 51 Sandfly, 53 Sarcophaga, 61 " læmica, 61 Sarapogon, 55 " viduus, 55 Scutelleridæ, 121 Scolobates, 39 " varipes, 39 Scoparia, 92 " hemiplaca, 92 " sabulosella, 93 Selidosema, 87 " dejectaria, 87 " panagrata, 89 " productata, 90 Sestra, 87 " humeraria, 87 Setting boards, 12 " insects, 12 Semiocosma, 97 " platyptera, 97 Sialidæ, 102 Siculidæ, 94 Siculodes, 94 " subfasciata, 94 Simple eyes, 2 Simulia, 53 " australiensis, 53 Skipjack beetles, 29 Social bees, 34 Soldiers, 108 Sphegidæ, 34 Sphinx, 69 " convolvuli, 69 Sphingidæ, 69 Staphylinus, 25 " oculatus, 25 Stenoperla, 106 " prasina, 106 Stenosmylus, 101 " incisus, 101 Stick insects, 110 Sternoxi, 28 Stethaspis, 26 " suturalis, 26 Stolotermes, 107 " ruficeps, 107 Stomach, 4 " sucking, 4 Stuffing insects, 15 Stratiomidæ, 56 Sugaring, 13 Syrphidæ, 56 Syrphus, 56 " ortas, 56 Tabanus, 54 " impar, 54 Tatosoma, 91 " agrionata, 91 Tarsus, 3 Telebasis, 105 " zealandica, 105 Tenebrionidæ, 29 Tenodera, 109 " intermedia, 109 Termitidæ, 107 Thoramus, 28 " wakefieldi, 28 " perblandus, 29 Thorax, 2 Throat, 4 Tinea, 96 " tapezella, 96 Tineidæ, 96 Tipula, 47 " holochlora, 47 " fumipennis, 48 Tipulidæ, 43 Tortricidæ, 94 Trap-door, 71 Trochanter, 3 Uloma tenebrionides, 29 Umbrella, 9 Uropetala carovei, 103 Vanessa cardui, 67 " gonerilla, 66 " itea, 67 Vegetable caterpillar, 73 Ventriculus, 4 Weevils, 32 White rata, 13 Wings, 4 Wireworm, 30 Wood destroyers, 30 Workers, 108 Xantholinus, 26 Xiphidium maoricum, 114 {129}EXPLANATION OF PLATES. _NOTE.--In all the Plates and references thereto the sign_ [M] _indicates that the specimen figured belongs to the male sex,_ [F] _to the female sex, and_ [N] _to the neuter sex._ _In the case of enlarged figures the insect's natural size is indicated by a line._ PLATE I. COLEOPTERA. Fig. 1.--Cicindela tuberculata. " 1a.--Larva. " 2.--Chætosoma scaritides. " 3.--Pterostichus opulentus. " 3a.--Larva. " 4.--Colymbetes rufimanus. " 4a.--Larva. " 5.--Staphylinus oculatus. " 6.--Dryocora howittii. " 6a.--Larva. " 7.--Dorcus punctulatus. " 8.--Stethaspis suturalis. " 8a.--Larva. [Illustration] PLATE II. COLEOPTERA (_concluded_). Fig. 1.--Thoramus wakefieldi. " 1a.--Pupa. " 1b.--Larva. " 2.--Uloma tenebrionides. " 2a.--Larva. " 2b.--Pupa. " 3.--Prionus reticularis. " 3a.--Pupa. " 3b.--Larva. " 4.--Oreda notata. " 4a.--Larva. " 5.--Psepholax coronatus [F]. " 5a.-- " " [M]. [Illustration] PLATE III. HYMENOPTERA. Fig. 1.--Dasycolletes hirtipes. (?) " 2.--Pompilus fugax. " 3.--Formica zealandica [M]. " 3a.-- " " [F]. " 3b.-- " " [N]. " 3c.--Cocoon. " 4.--Ponera castanea [M]. " 4a.-- " " [N]. " 4b.--Larva. " 5.--Atta antarctica [M]. " 5a.-- " " [F]. " 5b.--Larva. " 6.--Ichneumon sollicitorius. " 7.-- " deceptus. " 8.--Scolobates varipes. " 9.--Pteromalus (?), n.s. " 10.--Dasycolletes purpureus. [Illustration] PLATE IV. DIPTERA. Fig. 1.--Culex iracundus [F]. " 1a.--Larva. " 1b.--Pupa. " 2.--Chironomus zealandicus, n.s. " 2a.--Larva. " 2b.--Pupa. " 3.--Corethra antarctica, n.s. " 3a.--Larva. " 3b.--Pupa. " 4.--Ceratopogon antipodum, n.s. " 4a.--Larva. " 4b.--Pupa. " 5.--Mycetophila antarctica, n.s. " 5a.--Larva. " 5b.--Pupa. " 6.--Psychoda conspicillata. [Illustration] PLATE V. DIPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Tipula holochlora. " 1a.--Larva. " 1b.--Pupa. " 2.--Tipula fumipennis, n.s. " 2a.--Larva. " 2b.--Pupa. " 3.--Cloniophora subfasciata. " 3a.--Larva. " 4.--Rhyphus neozealandicus. " 4a.--Larva. " 4b.--Pupa. " 5.--Bibio nigrostigma [M]. " 5a.--Larva. " 5b.--Pupa. [Illustration] PLATE VI. DIPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Simulia australiensis. " 1a.--Larva. " 1b.--Pupa. " 2.--Comptosia bicolor. " 3.--Comptosia virida, n.s. " 3b.--Pupa. " 4.--Sarapogon viduus. " 4a.--Larva. " 4b.--Pupa. " 5.--Exaireta spiniger. " 6.--Tabanus impar. [Illustration] PLATE VII. DIPTERA (_concluded_). Fig. 1.--Helophilus trilineatus. " 1a.--Larva. " 1b.--Pupa. " 2.--Eristalis cingulatus. " 3.--Syrphus ortas. " 3a.--Larva. " 3b.--Pupa. " 4.--Acrocera longirostris, n.s. " 5.--Miltogramma mestor? " 6.--Nemorea nyctemerianus, n.s. " 7.--Eurigaster marginatus. " 9.--Calliphora quadrimaculata. " 10.--Sarcophaga læmica. " 12.--Oestrus perplexus, n.s. " 13.--Coelopa littoralis. " 14.--Cylindria sigma. " 15.--Phora omnivora, n.s. " 15a.--Pupa. [Illustration] PLATE VIII. LEPIDOPTERA. Fig. 1.--Argyrophenga antipodum. " 1a.--Northern form of same insect. " 2.--Vanessa gonerilla. " 2a.--Underside. " 2b, 2c.--Larvæ. " 2d, 2e.--Pupæ. " 3.--Chrysophanus salustius [M]. " 3a.-- " " [F]. " 3b.--Young larva (magnified). [Illustration] PLATE IX. LEPIDOPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Hepialus virescens [M]. " 1a.-- " " [F]. " 1b.--Pupa. " 1c.--Larva. " 2.--Porina signata. " 3.--Nyctemera annulata [M]. " 3a.--Larva. " 3b.--Pupa. [Illustration] PLATE X. LEPIDOPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Oeceticus omnivorus [M]. " 1a.-- " " [F]. " 1b.--Larva. " 1c.--Male pupa. " 2.--Leucania atristriga [M]. " 3.--Mamestra composita [M]. " 3a.--Larva. " 4.--Heliothis armigera [M]. " 4a.--Larva. " 5.--Erana graminosa [M]. " 5a.--Larva. " 6.--Mamestra ustistriga, [M]. " 7.-- " mutans [M]. " 7a.--Larva. " 7b.--Pupa. " 8.--Plusia eriosoma [F]. " 8a.--Larva. [Illustration] PLATE XI. LEPIDOPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Declana floccosa [M]. " 1a.--Larva. " 1b.--Declana floccosa, _var._ junctilinea [M]. " 2.--Chalastra pelurgata [M]. " 2a.-- " " [F]. " 2b.--Larva. " 3.--Ploseria hemipteraria. " 3a.--Larva. " 4.--Ploseria alectoraria. (Larva at Plate XIII. fig. 7.) " 5.--Sestra humeraria. " 5a.--Larva. " 6.--Sestra humeraria, _var._ (?) " 7.--Selidosema panagrata [M]. " 7a.-- " " [F]. " 7b.--Larva. " 8.--Selidosema dejectaria [M]. " 8a.-- " " [F]. " 8b.--Larva. [Illustration] PLATE XII. LEPIDOPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Selidosema productata [M]. " 1a.-- " " [F]. " 1b.--Larva. " 2.--Asthena schistaria. " 2a.--Larva. " 3.--Siculodes subfasciata. " 3a.--Larva. " 3b.--Section of stem showing enclosed pupa and aperture (*) through which moth escapes. " 4.--Scoparia hemiplaca. " 5.--Crambus flexuosellus. " 6.--Ctenopseustis obliquana. " 7.--Endrosis fenestrella. " 7a.--Larva. " 7b.--Pupa. " 8.--Semiocosma platyptera. " 8a.--Larva. " 8b.--Pupa. [Illustration] PLATE XIII. LEPIDOPTERA (_concluded_). Fig. 1.--Hydriomena deltoidata. " 1a.--Larva. " 2.--Isonomeutis amauropa. " 2a.--Larva. " 3.--Leucania nullifera. " 3a.--Larva. " 4.--Scoparia sabulosella. " 4a.--Larva. " 5.--Cacoecia excessana. " 5a.--Larva. " 6.--Oecophora scholæa. " 6a.--Larva. " 7.--Larva of Ploseria alectoraria. (For imago see Plate XI. Fig. 4.) [Illustration] PLATE XIV. NEUROPTERA. Fig. 1.--Chauliodes diversus. " 1a.--Larva. " 1b.--Pupa. " 2.--Stenosmylus incisus. " 3.--Oxyethira albiceps. (?) " 3a.--Larva. " 3b.--Pupa. [Illustration] PLATE XV. ORTHOPTERA. Fig. 1.--Uropetala carovei [M]. " 1a.--Larva. " 2.--Cordulia Smithii [M]. " 3.--Lestes Colensonis [M]. " 3a.--Larva. " 4.--Telebasis zealandica [Illustration] PLATE XVI. ORTHOPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Stolotermes ruficeps [M]. " 1a.--Female. " 1b.--Soldier. " 1c.--Worker. " 2.--Psocus zealandicus, n.s. " 2a.--Larva. " 3.--Stenoperla prasina. " 3a.--Larva. " 4.--Ephemera, n.s. (near Coloburus). " 4a.--Larva. [Illustration] PLATE XVII. ORTHOPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Xiphidium maoricum [M]. " 2.--Tenodera intermedia. " 3.--Oedipoda cinerascens. " 4.--Caloptenus marginalis. " 5.--Periplaneta fortipes. " 6.--Blatta conjuncta. " 7.--Forficesila littorea. " 8.--Deinacrida megacephala [F]. [Illustration] PLATE XVIII. ORTHOPTERA (_continued_). Fig. 1.--Acheta fuliginosa [F]. " 2.--Deinacrida megacephala [M]. [Illustration] PLATE XIX. ORTHOPTERA (_concluded_). Fig. 1.--Acanthoderus horridus. [Illustration] PLATE XX. HEMIPTERA. Fig. 1.--Cicada cingulata [F]. " 1a.--Pupa. " 2.--Cicada muta [F]. " 3.-- " iolanthe, n.s. " 3a.--Larva. " 3b.--Pupa. " 4.--Coelostoma zealandicum [M]. " 5.--Corixa zealandica. " 6.--Cermatulus nasalis. " 6a.--Larva. [Illustration] Notes. [1] For Lepidoptera I can strongly recommend "Jahncke's Patent Round Boxes" with glass lids. They may be obtained from any chemist, or from Messrs. Sharland & Co., Wholesale Druggists, Wellington. [2] Metrosideros scandens. [3] Hyperparasite is an animal parasitic in a parasite. [4] "Host" is a term applied to any animal harbouring a parasite. [5] Ovipositor, a boring instrument employed in depositing the eggs. [6] A genus of Hemipterous insects commonly seen skipping over ponds in England. [7] "n.s." is the accepted abbreviation for new species. [8] Thread-like. [9] For an extended account of these observations see "Transactions of the New Zealand Institute," vol. xxiii. (1890). [10] Metrosideros scandens. [11] Or lay eggs. [12] Scutellum: A horny plate situated on the mesonotum, usually somewhat triangular in form. [13] For life-history of this insect see page 73. [14] Mamestra composita, M. mutans, M. ustistriga, Erana graminosa, &c. [15] This genus, as represented in New Zealand, is often called Pyrameis. [16] For a more detailed account of the metamorphosis of this insect see _The Entomologist_, vol. xviii. p. 30. [17] For accounts of parasites and hyperparasites of this insect see pages 60 and 37, also _The Entomologist_, vol. xviii. p. 153. [18] On one occasion I enclosed a full-grown caterpillar of this insect in a pot of earth with a recently formed Noctua pupa, whose internal portions it immediately devoured, employing the empty shell of the unfortunate chrysalis as a cocoon. It is impossible to say whether this horrible proceeding often occurs in a state of nature. [19] The _Libellulidæ_, _Ephemeridæ_, _Perlidæ_, _Psocidæ_, and _Termitidæ_ are usually included in the _Neuroptera_. [20] One mutilated [F] specimen of this insect was sent to Mr. McLachlan, but was too imperfect to describe from. [21] For account of the earlier stages of this, or a closely allied insect, see "Transactions of New Zealand Institute," vol. xvi. p. 114. [22] This genus is frequently called Melampsalta. * * * * * Corrections made to printed text P. 110: 'similar situation' corrected from 'similiar ...'. P. 114: 'to speak from experience' corrected from 'to tpeak ...'. Index: 'Chætosoma scaritides' corrected from '... scaratides'. Footnote [19]: 'Neuroptera' corrected from 'Neuropteria'. 
56471	----	produced from scans of public domain works at The National Library of Australia.) Corporal Tikitanu, V.C., BY J. C. FUSSELL (Author of "Letters from Private Henare Tikitanu.") AUCKLAND: Worthington & Co., Printers, Albert Street. 1918. Cover design by permission of Proprietors Auckland Weekly News. [Illustration: CONTENTS.] CHAP. PAGE I. FROM ELOPEMENT TO ENLISTMENT ... 5 II. OFF TO THE WAR ... ... 10 III. THE LITTLE FRENCH NURSE ... ... 15 IV. A CHAT WITH THE NURSE ... ... 21 V. A LETTER TO THE KAISER ... ... 27 VI. A PRISONER ... ... ... 32 VII. EARNING THE V.C. ... ... 38 VIII. HOME AGAIN! ... ... 46 _I._ FROM ELOPEMENT TO ENLISTMENT. The first time I remember catching sight of Henare Tikitanu was when he was acting as referee at a dog-fight in a Maori village in the Waikato district. [Illustration] The dog-fight was no concern of mine. I was just riding past when my attention was drawn to Henare. He was endeavouring to see fair play for both the combatants. He was very excited over the affair because another Maori, named Wiremu, was hampering one dog by pulling his tail. After fruitlessly yelling at Wiremu for some time in classical Maori, Henare suddenly relapsed into pidgin-English, and fired this volley at him: "Py cripes, you te ploomin' ole taurekareka,--tinkin' fish--all right. You no good for te fight. More better your ole woman drown you in te hot mud hole when you te piccanini. Gar!" Then they flew into each other's arms and settled it that way. The dogs looked up in surprise, retired to a safe distance, and watched the proceedings, giving an occasional bark of encouragement. Henare won. He deserved to, for he was a clean fighter and a true sport. This event happened about two years before the Great War broke out, when Henare was eighteen. So it was not surprising that he should have been one of the first of the Waikato tribe to volunteer for service at the front, when he had reached twenty-three. But he had his difficulties. You see he had a sweetheart named Kiri, a fine Maori maiden of twenty; and Wiremu wanted her. Henare and Kiri had been sweethearts from early school-days, and they rather laughed at Wiremu's aspirations. But if Henare went to the war, it might be different. During their moonlight rambles along the banks of the dark and silent Waikato river, Henare and Kiri talked the matter over. He said he would enlist if they could be secretly married first. He said he would feel more settled, and more disposed to fight, as his forefathers fought of old, inspired by the love and admiration of his wahine. [Illustration] Kiri was undecided. The war might be long; the distance to France was great; the dangers and risks were many. Henare naively chaffed her by saying that he might pick up an American heiress away over in Paris if she did not marry him before he enlisted. That settled it. Before they left the shade of a beautiful pohutukawa one charming summer's evening they fixed the day and made their plans--talking to one another in soft and musical Maori. "You will be true to your absent warrior as he fights beside his Pakeha brothers, adding fresh glories to the honour of the noble Maori race?" "Yes, my brave Tikitanu. Your Kiri will be with you in heart and spirit day and night until your return to the fair land which holds in its bosom the bodies of our noble heroes of days gone by." A few gentle and poetic words like these made them both feel rather sentimental and emotional, so they solemnly rubbed noses and went back to the kianga. These two dusky lovers decided on a secret marriage at Ngaruawahia in a fortnight's time. Kiri was to go by road to the place, and Henare by train from Mercer. The appointed day dawned bright and fine, and Kiri arrived at Ngaruawahia in proper style half-an-hour late. But there was no sign of Henare. [Illustration] As a matter of fact he did not turn up at all, for he got a bit excited at Mercer, and as there were two trains standing end to end at the station he entered the wrong carriage and got out at Pukekohe, about thirty or forty miles in the wrong direction. They met again in about two days' time, and after a good deal of both tender and violent Maori talk, sprinkled with pidgin-English, the matter was patched up. However, they dropped the elopement idea, rubbed noses duly and canonically, and Henare went off and enlisted as a soldier of the King. But he was anxious about his old enemy Wiremu. _II._ OFF TO THE WAR. The relatives of Henare and Kiri were very proud of Henare in his new uniform, and they told him that he must prove himself worthy of the hand of Kiri, the Maori princess, and grand-daughter of a great warrior chief. Henare looked at himself in the glass and felt that he was worthy of her, or any other princess, already. He did not want to seem too cheap, because there was Wiremu to be reckoned with. He enjoyed the camp life, the drills and parades, and entered into soldiering with as much ease and good will, as if he had been born to it. The general opinion of the officers was that Tiki (or "Dickie" as they nick-named him) would give a good account of himself at the front. It was a great day in Wellington when the first batch of Maori volunteers embarked on the grey troopship. Henare and his mates were bubbling over with fun and excitement. The cheering crowds of Pakehas and Maoris, the fluttering flags, and the cheerful music of the bands, made them all feel that they were off to a grand old picnic. They laughed and joked, and sang until they were hoarse. A few hours later, however, things did not look so bright. These Maori lads had never been away from New Zealand before, and it was sad to see their beloved land sinking out of sight into the deep blue ocean. When the last trace had disappeared, Henare, leaning over the vessel's side, said to Honi in a hoarse whisper: "My korry, Noo Zealan' all gone now." Honi replied with affected cheerfulness: "Nemine, he jump up again bimeby," and then walked away. All the boys tried to make out that they were not seasick, and poked themselves away into all sorts of nooks and corners to conceal the fact. Henare thought that up in the rigging would be a good place, but they soon chased him out of that. He then leant over the taffrail and mused of home and Kiri. A voyage to England in these days is eventful for anyone, but it was very much more so for the Maori boys. When they had settled down to the routine of life on a troopship, they became keenly interested in it all and never had a "dull" day. The first port of call filled them with much excitement and gratification--and a thirst for further adventures. Henare rather prided himself on his letter-writing, and seized every opportunity to exercise his "gift." He disdained to write in his native language, but preferred "te good Englan' talk" even when writing to Maoris. At the first port he posted several letters to friends in New Zealand. One was to Kiri and another was to Wiremu. To Kiri he wrote, among other things: "I no forget about you yet, t'that why I write t'this letter, tell you no forget me. More better you have te British soldier than te frightened bloke like Wiremu stoppin' away from te fight. T'this ole troopship take us over te sea all right, and when te war all over he bring us back an' t'then I marry you pretty quick." To Wiremu he wrote:-- "Py cripes, you look out when I come back if you talk too much wid te Kiri. She no belong to you. She my wahine all right. No good yer trick, you better come to te war; no stop home spoilin' te dog fight and try take another feller gel when him away in Shermany. Me te crack shot now so you look out." After a voyage of nine weeks without serious mishap the Maoris landed in England "All well," and ready for the Huns. [Illustration] _III._ THE LITTLE FRENCH NURSE. It was not very long before the Maori boys, who had gone straight to old England, were drafted across to France, and they were soon in the thick of the Great War, fighting for all they were worth. Henare was well to the fore, and it was often remarked that he would soon distinguish himself or know the reason why. In fact, all the Maori boys were as keen and fearless as any of their Pakeha comrades, and made a deep impression on all the officers and men about them--and on the Germans in front of them too! At every turn Henare proved himself a wag, a wit, and a hero. He caused many a hearty laugh by his quaint comments on the Anglo-French gibberish, and the churned up conditions of the country--"Py korry t'this country like te kramble egg on tose." He called the mixed-up speech "te half-caste langwidge." But everyone was cheerful and witty on that battlefront--though sometimes there was a grim lull in the fun; just before a battle, and in the thick of it. The wittiest men fought the most desperately, but saved their wit for a pick-me-up afterwards. [Illustration] During an awful fight over shell-holes and battered trenches, Henare was too eager and daring, and the result was a bad wound in the chest by a fragment of shell. He was unconscious and bleeding profusely when picked up by the Red Cross men, so, after first aid, he was conveyed with all speed to the base hospital. He soon became delirious and was not expected to recover. One night about twelve o'clock he opened his eyes and glared at an attendant standing near his bunk. Then, without a moment's warning, he sprang up and grabbed the attendant by the throat yelling at the top of his voice, "Py Hori, you bally ole nigger Wiremu, I catch you t'this time." With some trouble he was put back to bed again, and relapsed into unconsciousness. [Illustration] The next time he awoke, a pretty little French nurse, Marie Bouvard, was sitting by and watching him. She was just a slim little thing, more like a girl of seventeen than a woman of twenty-one. She was a born nurse, her very presence always did the sufferers good. Her voice was soft and healing, her touch was gentle and sympathetic, and her footsteps were like the falling of the snow. When Marie smiled she was at her best, for her solemn little face brightened up like a sudden burst of sunshine on the flowers. Henare watched her calmly for some time without moving, then he closed his eyes, and the man in the next bed heard him murmur,-- "Py ... korry, Py ... korry, I tink I got to Heaven at lars ... t'that the angel face all right ... you bet." * * * * * It is not surprising that under the care of a nurse like the little French Marie, the Maori hero gradually recovered. When he had reached a certain stage of recovery, he did not appear to be particularly anxious to progress any further. Most of Marie's patients felt like that. It meant parting with the charming little nurse, and they dreaded it. Henare was no exception, though, be it said, Kiri was never far from his thoughts. But Marie simply fascinated him, and really the nurse herself became very much attached to the noble brown boy from England's far off Maoriland. He had been such a splendid patient, and such a grand "case" too. As time went on, during Henare's convalescence, he and Marie became at least very good friends, and always enjoyed one another's company, and whatever conversation it was possible for them to have, with Anglo-French and pidgin-Maori as the medium. In the middle of this pretty romance, Henare got a letter from Kiri, and it had a steadying effect upon his emotions. For patriotic reasons it was written in pidgin-Maori. Partly it ran,-- "I hope you no get kill too quick yet. Wiremu no good for me, he te shirker bloke. T'that why I want you come back without te shot. Wiremu tell my mother all te Parani gell want to marry te Maori soldier. No you get up to that trick with me. Good-bye, come back quick when you beat te Sherman. I wait." KIRI x x x x x [Illustration] _IV._ A CHAT WITH THE NURSE. Seated cosily in an easy chair, with Marie near by at work on some bandages, Henare was listening most attentively to her efforts to tell him some of the dreadful sufferings of France in the early days of the war. It took him all his time to make out what she said. The scene was a sadly busy one. There were several interruptions, many were coming and going all the time. Fresh batches of broken and groaning men were being brought in every hour; and restored men were taking farewell of nurses and friends before returning to the slaughter. The cannon-boom could be distinctly heard day and night, but it disturbed no one at the hospital, for they had grown accustomed to it. All the while Marie was talking, in the midst of this strange sad scene, the irregular punctuation kept on. Boom--boom . . . . boom . . . . boom--boom--boom. With many a shrug of the shoulders, and many a shake of her pretty head, Marie related to Henare all she dared of the brutal and revolting conduct of the Germans when first they swept over the border. She told him of the coarseness, the drunkenness, and the bullying of all ranks and grades of the invading Huns. Every now and again Henare ground his teeth, and muttered "Py cripes; I pay him out," and "Te taipo, te bally taipo." When he heard as much as he could stand, he ventured the remark, "I tink the Sherman soldier no hurt te gell and te woman, eh?" Marie looked at him a moment, and then said, "What you say, M'sieur?" "I say te ole brute no hurt te wahine an' te piccanini--te woman an' te gell"--he answered slowly. "Oh dear me," said Marie in real surprise, "did you nefar read ze newspaper?" "Oh, my korry," he replied, "I can't read te Prenchy langwidge, all te word spell wrong, and te talk all silly." "No, no, no, M'sieur, ze French speech ees ze most beauteeful in all ze land." "Werra, where te Maori come in?" "Ah!" "Eh?" When left to himself the manly Maori boy pictured up the whole scene as well as he could, and longed to get back to the trench--or over the parapet--to pay out the demons who had outraged Marie's noble people. He was getting well unusually quickly, and though loth to leave the charmed spot, he felt that he would soon be fit to fight again. He was busy thinking out all kinds of plans for getting even with the Huns; and he formed a mental picture of the Kaiser which was not very complimentary to that potentate. Henare saw him as a big villain with short, sharp horns above his ears, to match his upturned moustache; small wicked eyes, and a big mouth, with little tusks protruding. [Illustration] This image was very vivid to Henare's native imagination, and he muttered to himself, "Py cripes, that him all right; he just want te cow feet and te monkey tail, then he te ole taipo, straight." * * * * * A week after his chat with the little French nurse, Henare was passed as fit for service again. He had made many friends, both French and English, around the hospital; so on the day of his departure he hunted up each one and solemnly shook hands and said "good-bye." He came to Marie last of all. She was standing just outside the big, sunlit doorway, watching the far off train of waggons slowly bringing in another batch of wounded men. Her sweet little Frenchy face looked dreadfully serious--but she turned round with that sunny smile of hers when Henare spoke. He shuffled nervously, gave a funny little cough, that he ought to have been ashamed of as a "Maori brave," then held out his hand and said, "So long, Marie, I go back now. My korry, you make me get well too quick." She put her head picturesquely on one side, took hold of the brown hand held out to her, and said, "Au revoir, Henri; I hope you weel be vera safe." Henare felt queer. Sensations passed all over him that he had never known before. The impulse was to pick up this lovely French doll and run right away with it. But he pulled himself up and said, "Py cripes, I better go, I tink," and he bolted. On the way back to the lines a New Zealander was chaffing Henare about Marie, and asking him whether he was going to hand over Kiri to Wiremu. "No ploomin fear," he replied, "Not me." "What about Marie, then?" Henare stopped short and said-- "I tell you bout that, mate. I like to have Marie just for te pretty doll. She te beauty, py cripes, yeh. When she put te head on one side an smile, she mak me feel wery funny on te shest, t'that all!" _V._ A LETTER TO THE KAISER. "Hey boss, what te name of t' place where te Kaiser stop?" "Potsdam." "Eh? No fear! T'that te bally swear word." "No it's not, Dicky; that's the place all right." "Oh, py korry, I no like to put t'that on te letter; te gell in te Post Oppis might see him." The officer whom Henare addressed laughed heartily, and said-- "Your compunction is evidently due to the refining influence of Nurse Bouvard, eh?" "Oh, go on, you got te rat," he replied. When he was quite convinced about the Kaiser's address, Henare proceeded to make use of his "gift" at letter-writing for an attack on him by post. To Kaiser Pilly, Potdam. I been come all te way from Noo Zeelan to fight te Sherman soldier in Parani and make him clear outer t'this country. When I come here some feller been tell me all about t'that dirty trick all te Sherman been up to in Parani an Peljimi. No good you say t'that all gammon, it te true talk all right. What te taipo you want to make te wery big fight for? More better you keep your ole Sherman soldier in Shermany--t'that te place for him. Py cat, he not fit for go any more place--cept herra. I tink you te bally ole fool you tink you goin to beat Englan. No good for you try t'that game. What about te Maori? He not too many, but py korry he te beggar for the fight. What about te Pritis Navy? He chase every ploomin Sherman ship off te sea; an keep te Sherman navy in te wery safe place--friten to come out. What about te wery strong tank, an te wery quick harepeni flyin about everywhere? Py cripes, you te wery bad ole man make all te fight for nothing. You goin to get lick bimeby. What te good of t'that silly bloke you got over there--te Klown Prince? he no good for te fight, only for te smoke an te peer. Now, I tell you what we goin to do, straight. We goin to keep on t'this fight till all you Sherman bloke plown up sky-high. You want ter fight te Pritis; werra, py korry, you got ter fight to te finish up now. No time ter stop an spit on yer hands--got to keep on wid te war widout te holiday. No ploomin harmitis (armistice) for te Pritis--we know t'that trick all right. If you had enough an want ter stop te bally fight, I tell yer what yer goterdo: Clear out of Parani an Peljimi, an all te place where ye got no ploomin right to stop in; pay all te peoples for te house an te pretty church you been burn an break him down; give Englan all t'that navy which he hidin away in te dark; an, t'then dont you try t'this dirty trick any more, or py cripes you get wipe off te map nex time. T'this letter no te humbug, he te true talk; you find that out bimeby all right. Py cripes, you goin ter get it straight for the start this wery bad war. You better hurry up quick an get sorry, plenty more Maori boy in Noo Zeelan gettin ready to come an fight. HENARE TIKITANU. Henare took great pains to write what he felt was a very convincing ultimatum--and, after much scratching out and altering, he sealed the letter and gave it to an airman to drop behind the German lines. The censor passed it with a merry laugh. [Illustration] _VI._ A PRISONER. It was a great relief to Henare's troubled mind to get his letter to the Kaiser written, and sent off by its famous postman; in his native simplicity he felt that he had dealt the German Emperor a blow from which that old Fritz would not quickly recover. He had told him as plainly as possible what a Maori soldier thought of him, and that of course would affect the Kaiser's "_morale_." The incident also got him talked about, until his resourcefulness and bravery came under the notice of the authorities, with the result that Henare was made a Corporal; which fact he duly mentioned in a postscript to some of his letters--with pardonable pride. He now became more zealous and daring than ever, making quite a business of the war. He was turning out to be one of the best soldiers in the British line; an encouragement and inspiration to all about him. But his zeal and daring often nearly cost him his life, and eventually cost him his liberty. It happened during a most unexpected gas attack. Henare lingered too long, was overcome by the poisonous fumes, and was taken prisoner by the Germans. He was not badly gassed, so when he recovered enough to walk about he wanted to fight one of the guards, but a London Tommy restrained him. Henare appeared to be the first Maori prisoner captured by the Germans, for they regarded him with a good deal of interest, which he resented with expressions that were wasted on his captors. He soon chummed up with his fellow-prisoner--the London Tommy, who urged him to be less talkative, so as to avoid trouble. But, as Henare could not indulge in his favourite pastime of "letter writing," he persisted in talking to Tommy about the war. He told him wonderful stories about gigantic preparations on the British front, and about the inexhaustible resources of New Zealand. Several of the sentries understood English and Henare was listened to with undisguised interest. Then he was sent for, and taken between two guards to a German officer, who was very affable to Henare, and asked him several kindly and interesting questions. Had he quite recovered from his unfortunate "gassing"? Did he get enough to eat? Was it the kind of food the Maoris were used to? and so on. After this the officer told the guards to withdraw twenty paces. He then smiled at Henare and asked him, in broken English, whether he would like plenty of money and a certain amount of freedom during his stay in Germany. Henare grinned and said that would be "kapai." "Vell, you shust tell me some leedle tings about der English." "All right, I know plenty ting about him. What yer want ter know?" "Ah! dot is goot! Now tell me how much damage der German bombs do on London." "Wery bad, wery bad. Him brake down te shop, te church, te school, and te piccanini." "Och! anyting else?" "Yeh; kill te plenty ole woman too; my word yeh, te Zepp wery bad for ole Englan." "Haf England got much food?" "Not too many; only butter from Noo Zeelan." The officer made a note of that, as a most significant fact. He then asked: "How many soldiers vos coming from New Zealand efery mont?" "Oh, tousan an tousan. Not enuf ship yet to bring him all." "How many Maoris vos der bein trained?" "Oh, bout two million, I tink." "Gott in himmel! Are dey as big as you?" Henare grinned and said: "Oh, te Maori bigger 'n me. Me te little bloke, all right. No room for te big Maori on te ole troopship I came in." The German looked thoughtful, and a bit suspicious. "Are you telling me der truth?" Henare fixed his soft brown eyes on the small blue-grey eyes of his questioner, and said, with well-feigned indignation: "Oh, py korry, me te Sunday School poy; what for you tink me tell a lie?" "Vell, I will ask you von more question: "Vat do all dose big Maoris feed on?" "Oh, te Pakeha no let te Maori eat up te prisoner now, so he eat te poaka." "Vat is der poaka?" "Te pig, te Sher----, I mean te Noo Zeelan pig. But te Maori like te prisoner more better." Although the German officer was not at all satisfied with the result of his enquiries, he made up his mind to treat Henare well, with the object of getting all the information possible from him. _VII._ EARNING THE V.C. With their usual lack of humour, the Germans fondly imagined that they would yet be able to get some valuable information out of the "unsuspecting" native of New Zealand; for he seemed so agreeable and talkative! Little did those self-conceited Teutons understand the Maoris! This being so, Henare was allowed a certain amount of liberty to ramble about within a given area--well behind the lines. Two weeks after his capture a most astounding thing happened--as if it had been long cut and dried. During a semi-bright moonlight night a British plane made its appearance over the camp, and was being duly shelled. Presently it wavered like a wounded bird, then rapidly descended to a spare piece of ground near where Henare rambled. Hurrying towards it he found that it was not "wounded," but had alighted for a minor but necessary adjustment. As Henare approached, the airman drew his revolver, but the Maori threw up his arms and cried out: "Hey! Don't shoot! Me te Pritis prisoner." [Illustration] "Be the saints," came the reply, "Yez don't look much like a prisoner! Phat the mischief are yez doing here?" "Py korry, you better hurry up--all te Sherman looking for you. I tink you better take me up in te sky, too. I can ride." With that they both jumped into the plane, fixed the straps, and flew away. Only just in time, however, for bullets and shells soon began once more to liven things up. The plane dived, and swooped, and looped the loop until Henare thought his woolly head would drop off. They then had a safe run for an hour, but just as the aeroplane was crossing the German lines she was winged and had to descend in No-Man's-Land. Enemy searchlights soon discovered where they landed, and shells started to dance and sing all around them. The two men left the machine just before it was blown to pieces. They hid for awhile in a crater, until the welcome sound of a tank was heard. Presently she was seen lumbering along in the moonlight. Henare and the Irish airman made for her with all haste, waving their caps. The tank lurched towards them suspectingly, and then came to a standstill. [Illustration] When the back door opened a voice called out: "Weel naw, an' who might ye be?" The Irishman answered: "We're just lookin' for a bhuss to carry us back to the loines." "This wee cabby is no takin' passengers, but maybe ye can squeeze in--for its rough walkin' here." They had not travelled--or lumbered--far when the old tank tumbled headfirst into a deep shell-hole. With difficulty they all crawled out and had a good look at the undignified position of H.M.L.S. with her nose fast in the mud. Each one of them said a few simple words suitable to the occasion. Henare's contribution was--"Py cripes! she can buck worse'n te wild Maori hoss." There was nothing for it now but to walk. The enemy shelling became so fierce that the wanderers separated and dodged along--each man for himself--hiding here and there, and sheltering from time to time in large craters. Dead and dying men were lying about in all directions--giving evidence of recent heavy fighting. When Henare realized this, he forgot his own danger and set to work carrying wounded men--British and German--to the shelter of a crater. [Illustration] Searchlights were on him nearly all the time, while bullets whistled past him and shells ploughed up the ground. He still pegged away at his noble work, until a bullet found him as he was bringing in his twentieth man--an English Captain. He had just managed to roll into the crater with his burden and then collapsed. The Red Cross picked them all up the next afternoon. Henare was in the hospital when he came to. He was staring wildly at the man in the next cot--a big, brown man, bandaged, but grinning away cheerfully. [Illustration] Yes! it was Wiremu all right. He had finally enlisted and the military training had made a man of him. In a desperate battle Wiremu was badly wounded, and was one of the first men that Henare had carried to the crater. When Henare had got over the shock of meeting Wiremu, he asked after Kiri. "Oh, she all right Henare, when I left Noo Zealan. She no forget you. She te brick." And so, far into the night, the gentle murmur of musical Maori was heard as these two wounded heroes discussed the war, and old time quarrels, and Kiri's loyalty to Henare, and also the good times they themselves would have together in New Zealand, when the war was won. [Illustration] _VIII._ HOME AGAIN! It was a very happy Maori soldier who was in London a month later, preparing to go before the King and receive the noble and much-coveted badge of V.C. When Henare left the kindly French hospital, Wiremu was getting over his wound,--more quickly than he wished, for he had completely fallen in love with Nurse Marie, and was using all the arts and devices known to the civilized Maori, to win the affections of that charming little angel of mercy. As for Henare himself, he was not again passed for active service, but received orders to return to New Zealand, after he had obtained the highest badge of honour at the hands of the King. On the day fixed for the ceremony he was all excitement. He put his things on wrong, and had to take them off again; lost belongings, and wanted to fight those that he suspected of taking them. But the most confusing time was when they were telling him how to behave at the ceremony and in the presence of His Majesty. He couldn't remember for five minutes what he had to say and do. At last he said to the officer instructing him-- "Py korry, mate, I gettin' too shaky. More better you get te Wikitoria Cross an bring him to me--an I get home quick." "That would never do, my boy; half the honour is having the medal pinned on by the King himself." "My wurra, I tink you right. We better go now; King Hori he get too tire waitin' for us." Though still weak, Henare had lost all his nervousness when they arrived at Buckingham Palace grounds. He watched everything with the keenest interest, and did not hesitate to quaintly express his opinion about anything that took his fancy. [Illustration] The officers felt a bit anxious when Henare showed signs of talkativeness as the King was pinning the V.C. on his breast, but they could see by His Majesty's pleasant smile that no harm was being done. No one could help smiling when Henare remarked to the King-- "Py cripes, you got te wery fine whare here." Anyhow, the impressive ceremony passed off without a hitch, and Corporal Tikitanu, V.C., looked every inch a British soldier and hero--admired of all. The very next thing to be considered was "New Zealand" with all speed. * * * * * At last, after an absence of nearly twelve months, into which were crammed the experiences and feelings of years, the Maori brave returned to his native land, bringing with him the fame and the honours he had so nobly won. The wildest enthusiasm prevailed at the reception in Henare's native village. Maori and Pakeha customs and phrases followed one another in quick succession in the eager desire to express a joyous welcome. "Haeremai's" were shouted at the returned soldier boy from every quarter of the crowd; vigorous nose rubbing threatened to become serious, until it was relieved by the more European ceremony of carrying the hero shoulder high through the excited crowd. When they reached a flag-bedecked platform, Maori orators poured forth a flood of poetic welcome, until the women broke down and wailed their solemn tangi. As Henare stood up to reply the ground shook with the hakas and feet stamping. It was a real ovation that the loyal brown-boy received. For the sake of the distinguished Pakehas present, Henare spoke in pidgin-English. He had often heard about the great Lord Kitchener, so he began by saying: "Te Pritis soldier no talk too much. He te man of the do things, not t'talk it. T'that why I no got too much for te speech." He then thanked them all very warmly for the kind and unexpected welcome they had tendered him, and concluded with this: "Any bloke here want te nice soft job, no good for him go to te Sherman war; more better him stop home wid te mudder. But if all you big fat feller want to be te MAN and te decent bloke, get outer Noo Zeelan quick and help all your mate lick up te Sherman." [Illustration] Kiri, his faithful Maori maiden, was foremost among those who welcomed him home; and the Rev. Honi Maki celebrated their happy wedding a week later. Bearing on his body the honourable scars of war, and on his breast the King's acknowledgment of his bravery and loyalty, Henare spent his days going in and out among the Waikatos and neighbouring tribes, telling them thrilling tales of Britain's might and honour; and showing them the terrible need there is for Pakeha and Maori alike to do and dare--for the sake of Britannia, the friend of Justice and Liberty. [Illustration] WORTHINGTON & CO., PRINTERS, ALBERT STREET, AUCKLAND--5380 "LETTERS FROM PRIVATE HENARE TIKITANU." By J. C. FUSSELL. [Illustration: PRESS OPINIONS] "A very humorous account of the experiences and impressions of a typical Maori soldier on the long journey from New Zealand to France." --N.Z. HERALD. * * * * * "If you can't raise a smile for Private Henare there is a fissure somewhere in your diaphragm."... "It is a quaint and appropriate greeting to send to friends across the seas." --THE SUN, Christchurch. * * * * * "The Booklet will have a large and ready sale because of its decided merit and originality." * * * * * "They are splendid, and just the thing for sending to the trenches." * * * * * "The letters of the Maori soldier, as he sees active service." [Illustration: PRICE: ONE SHILLING] Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 24, "villian" was replaced with "villain". On page 25, "her's" was replaced with "hers". On page 42, "H.M. L.S." was replaced with "H.M.L.S.". 
25828	----	[Illustration: CAPTAIN COOK.] * * * * * THE HISTORY OF AUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND FROM 1606 TO 1890 BY ALEXANDER SUTHERLAND, M.A. AND GEORGE SUTHERLAND, M.A. LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET GEORGE ROBERTSON AND CO. MELBOURNE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, AND BRISBANE 1894 * * * * * THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS. * * * * * LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE Captain Cook, _frontispiece._ William Dampier, 6 Rocks, South Heads, Sydney, 13 Town and Cove of Sydney, in 1798, 17 Matthew Flinders, 21 Cook's Monument, Botany Bay, 24 The Explorers' Tree, Katoomba, N.S.W., 26 Governor Collins, 33 Governor Macquarie, 39 Blue Mountain Scenery, Wentworth Falls, N.S.W., 41 St. Andrew's Cathedral, Sydney, 46 Captain Charles Sturt, 51 The First House Built in Victoria, 56 The First Hotel in Victoria, 57 Edward Henty, 61 John Pascoe Fawkner, 62 Governor Latrobe, 65 Collins Street, Melbourne, in 1840, 66 First Settlement at Adelaide, 1836, 69 Governor Hindmarsh, 71 Proclamation Tree, Glenelg, 74 Colonial Secretary's Office, Sydney, 81 Edward Hargraves, 92 Perth, Western Australia, in 1838, 114 Perth, 1890, 115 Boomerangs, or Kylies, 122 Parliament House, Brisbane, 123 Victoria Bridge, Brisbane, 126 Government House, Brisbane, 130 Robert O'Hara Burke, 144 William John Wills, 145 Sir John Franklin, 156 Queen Truganina, the last of the Tasmanians, 163 King William Street, Adelaide, 167 George Street, Sydney, 169 The Lithgow Zigzag, the Blue Mountains, 172 The Town Hall, Sydney, 174 Collins Street, Melbourne, 177 Town Hall, Melbourne, 182 Port of Melbourne, 183 A Maori Dwelling, 185 Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand, 191 Rev. S. Marsden, "the Apostle of New Zealand," 195 Auckland, from the Wharf, 206 Stronghold of the Maoris at Rangiriri, 222 Sir George Grey, 224 Knox Church, Dunedin, 228 Christchurch Cathedral, 230 The Maori King, 232 Rangiriri, from the Waikato, 236 The Cargill Fountain, 243 Victoria Defence Fleet, 245 * * * * * CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I.--The Early Discoverers, 1 II.--Convict Settlement at Sydney, 1788 to 1890, 11 III.--Discoveries of Bass and Flinders, 18 IV.--New South Wales, 1800 to 1808, 25 V.--Tasmania, 1803 to 1836, 31 VI.--New South Wales, 1808 to 1837, 38 VII.--Discoveries in the Interior, 1817 to 1836, 48 VIII.--Port Phillip, 1800 to 1840, 55 IX.--South Australia, 1836 to 1841, 67 X.--New South Wales, 1838 to 1850, 75 XI.--South Australia, 1841 to 1850, 84 XII.--The Discovery of Gold, 89 XIII.--Victoria, 1851 to 1855, 98 XIV.--New South Wales, 1851 to 1860, 107 XV.--West Australia, 1829 to 1890, 111 XVI.--Queensland, 1823 to 1890, 119 XVII.--Explorations in the Interior, 1840 to 1860, 131 XVIII.--Discoveries in the Interior, 1860 to 1886, 143 XIX.--Tasmania, 1837 to 1890, 155 XX.--South Australia, 1850 to 1890, 163 XXI.--New South Wales, 1860 to 1890, 168 XXII.--Victoria, 1855 to 1890, 175 XXIII.--The Times of the Maoris, 184 XXIV.--New Zealand Colonised, 200 XXV.--White Men and Maoris, 215 XXVI.--New Zealand, 1843 to 1890, 227 * * * * * HISTORY OF AUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND. CHAPTER I. THE EARLY DISCOVERERS. #1.# To the people who lived four centuries ago in Europe only a very small portion of the earth's surface was known. Their geography was confined to the regions lying immediately around the Mediterranean, and including Europe, the north of Africa, and the west of Asia. Round these there was a margin, obscurely and imperfectly described in the reports of merchants; but by far the greater part of the world was utterly unknown. Great realms of darkness stretched all beyond, and closely hemmed in the little circle of light. In these unknown lands our ancestors loved to picture everything that was strange and mysterious. They believed that the man who could penetrate far enough would find countries where inexhaustible riches were to be gathered without toil from fertile shores, or marvellous valleys; and though wild tales were told of the dangers supposed to fill these regions, yet to the more daring and adventurous these only made the visions of boundless wealth and enchanting loveliness seem more fascinating. Thus, as the art of navigation improved, and long voyages became possible, courageous seamen were tempted to venture out into the great unknown expanse. Columbus carried his trembling sailors over great tracts of unknown ocean, and discovered the two continents of America; Vasco di Gama penetrated far to the south, and rounded the Cape of Good Hope; Magellan, passing through the straits now called by his name, was the first to enter the Pacific Ocean; and so in the case of a hundred others, courage and skill carried the hardy seaman over many seas and into many lands that had lain unknown for ages. Australia was the last part of the world to be thus visited and explored. In the year 1600, during the times of Shakespeare, the region to the south of the East Indies was still as little known as ever; the rude maps of those days had only a great blank where the islands of Australia should have been. Most people thought there was nothing but the ocean in that part of the world; and as the voyage was dangerous and very long--requiring several years for its completion--scarcely any one cared to run the risk of exploring it. #2. De Quiros.#--There was, however, an enthusiastic seaman who firmly believed that a great continent existed there, and who longed to go in search of it. This was De Quiros, a Spaniard, who had already sailed with a famous voyager, and now desired to set out on an expedition of his own. He spent many years in beseeching the King of Spain to furnish him with ships and men so that he might seek this southern continent. King Philip for a long time paid little attention to his entreaties, but was at last overcome by his perseverance, and told De Quiros that, though he himself had no money for such purposes, he would order the Governor of Peru to provide the necessary vessels. De Quiros carried the king's instructions to Peru, and two ships were soon prepared and filled with suitable crews--the _Capitana_ and the _Almiranta_, with a smaller vessel called the _Zabra_ to act as tender. A nobleman named Torres was appointed second in command, and they set sail from Peru, on a prosperous voyage across the Pacific, discovering many small islands on their way, and seeing for the first time the Coral Islands of the South Seas. At length (1606) they reached a shore which stretched as far as they could see both north and south, and De Quiros thought he had discovered the great Southern Continent. He called the place "Tierra Australis del Espiritu Santo," that is, the "Southern Land of the Holy Spirit". It is now known that this was not really a continent, but merely one of the New Hebrides Islands, and more than a thousand miles away from the mainland. The land was filled by high mountains, verdure-clad to their summits, and sending down fine streams, which fell in hoarse-sounding waterfalls from the edges of the rocky shore, or wandered amid tropical luxuriance of plants down to the golden sands that lay within the coral barriers. The inhabitants came down to the edge of the green and shining waters making signs of peace, and twenty soldiers went ashore, along with an officer, who made friends with them, exchanging cloth for pigs and fruit. De Quiros coasted along the islands for a day or two till he entered a fine bay, where his vessels anchored, and Torres went ashore. A chief came down to meet him, offering him a present of fruit, and making signs to show that he did not wish the Spaniards to intrude upon his land. As Torres paid no attention, the chief drew a line upon the sand, and defied the Spaniards to cross it. Torres immediately stepped over it, and the natives launched some arrows at him, which dropped harmlessly from his iron armour. Then the Spaniards fired their muskets, killing the chief and a number of the naked savages. The rest stood for a moment, stupefied at the noise and flash; then turned and ran for the mountains. The Spaniards spent a few pleasant days among the fruit plantations, and slept in cool groves of overarching foliage; but subsequently they had quarrels and combats with the natives, of whom they killed a considerable number. When the Spaniards had taken on board a sufficient supply of wood and of fresh water they set sail, but had scarcely got out to sea when a fever spread among the crew, and became a perfect plague. They returned and anchored in the bay, where the vessels lay like so many hospitals. No one died, and after a few days they again put to sea, this time to be driven back again by bad weather. Torres, with two ships, safely reached the sheltering bay, but the vessel in which De Quiros sailed was unable to enter it, and had to stand out to sea and weather the storm. The sailors then refused to proceed further with the voyage, and, having risen in mutiny, compelled De Quiros to turn the vessel's head for Mexico, which they reached after some terrible months of hunger and thirst. #3. Torres.#--The other ships waited for a day or two, but no signs being seen of their consort, they proceeded in search of it. In this voyage Torres sailed round the land, thus showing that it was no continent, but only an island. Having satisfied himself that it was useless to seek for De Quiros, he turned to the west, hoping to reach the Philippine Islands, where the Spaniards had a colony, at Manila. It was his singular fortune to sail through that opening which lies between New Guinea and Australia, to which the name of "Torres Strait" was long afterwards applied. He probably saw Cape York rising out of the sea to the south, but thought it only another of those endless little islands with which the strait is studded. Poor De Quiros spent the rest of his life in petitioning the King of Spain for ships to make a fresh attempt. After many years he obtained another order to the Governor of Peru, and the old weather-beaten mariner once more set out from Spain full of hope; but at Panama, on his way, death awaited him, and there the fiery-souled veteran passed away, the last of the great Spanish navigators. He died in poverty and disappointment, but he is to be honoured as the first of the long line of Australian discoverers. In after years, the name he had invented was divided into two parts; the island he had really discovered being called Espiritu Santo, while the continent he thought he had discovered was called Terra Australis. This last name was shortened by another discoverer--Flinders--to the present term Australia. #4. The Duyfhen.#--De Quiros and Torres were Spaniards, but the Dutch also displayed much anxiety to reach the great South Continent. From their colony at Java they sent out a small vessel, the _Duyfhen_, or _Dove_, which sailed into the Gulf of Carpentaria, and passed half-way down along its eastern side. Some sailors landed, but so many of them were killed by the natives that the captain was glad to embark again and sail for home, after calling the place of their disaster Cape Keer-weer, or Turnagain. These Dutch sailors were the first Europeans, as far as can now be known, who landed on Australian soil; but as they never published any account of their voyage, it is only by the merest chance that we know anything of it. #5. Other Dutch Discoverers.#--During the next twenty years various Dutch vessels, while sailing to the settlements in the East Indies, met with the coast of Australia. In 1616 Dirk Hartog landed on the island in Shark Bay which is now called after him. Two years later Captain Zaachen is said to have sailed along the north coast, which he called Arnhem Land. Next year (1619) another captain, called Edel, surveyed the western shores, which for a long time bore his name. In 1622 a Dutch ship, the _Leeuwin_, or _Lioness_, sailed along the southern coast, and its name was given to the south-west cape of Australia. In 1627 Peter Nuyts entered the Great Australian Bight, and made a rough chart of some of its shores; in 1628 General Carpenter sailed completely round the large gulf to the north, which has taken its name from this circumstance. Thus, by degrees, all the northern and western, together with part of the southern shores, came to be roughly explored, and the Dutch even had some idea of colonising this continent. #6. Tasman.#--During the next fourteen years we hear no more of voyages to Australia; but in 1642 Antony Van Diemen, the Governor of the Dutch possessions in the East Indies, sent out his friend Abel Jansen Tasman, with two ships, to make new discoveries in the South Seas. Tasman first went to the Island of Bourbon, from which he sailed due south for a time; but finding no signs of land, he turned to the east, and three months after setting out he saw a rocky shore in the distance. Stormy weather coming on, he was driven out to sea, and it was not till a week later that he was able to reach the coast again. He called the place Van Diemen's Land, and sent some sailors on shore to examine the country. These men heard strange noises in the woods, and saw trees of enormous height, in which notches were cut seven feet apart. These they believed to be the steps used by the natives in climbing the trees, and they therefore returned to report that the land was exceedingly beautiful, but inhabited by men of gigantic size. Tasman, next day, allowed the carpenter to swim ashore and set up the Dutch flag; but having himself seen, from his ship, what he thought to be men of extraordinary stature moving about on the shore, he lost no time in taking up his anchor and setting sail. Farther to the east he discovered the islands of New Zealand, and after having made a partial survey of their coasts, he returned to Batavia. Two years after he was sent on a second voyage of discovery, and explored the northern and western shores of Australia itself; but the results do not seem to have been important, and are not now known. His chief service in the exploration of Australia was the discovery of Tasmania, as it is now called, after his name. This he did not know to be an island; he drew it on his maps as if it were a peninsula belonging to the mainland of Australia. #7. Dampier.#--The discoveries that had so far been made were very imperfect, for the sailors generally contented themselves with looking at the land from a safe distance. They made no surveys such as would have enabled them to draw correct charts of the coasts; they seldom landed, and even when they did, they never sought to become acquainted with the natives, or to learn anything as to the nature of the interior of the country. The first who took the trouble to obtain information of this more accurate kind was the Englishman, William Dampier. [Illustration: WILLIAM DAMPIER.] When a young man Dampier had gone out to Jamaica to manage a large estate; but not liking the slave-driving business, he crossed over to Campeachy, and lived for a time in the woods, cutting the more valuable kinds of timber. Here he became acquainted with the buccaneers who made the lonely coves of Campeachy their headquarters. Being persuaded to join them, he entered upon a life of lawless daring, constantly fighting and plundering, and meeting with the wildest adventures. He was often captured by the American natives, still more often by the Spaniards, but always escaped to enter upon exploits of fresh danger. In 1688 he joined a company of buccaneers, who proposed to make a voyage round the world and plunder on their way. It took them more than a year to reach the East Indies, where they spent a long time, sometimes attacking Spanish ships or Dutch fortresses, sometimes leading an easy luxurious life among the natives, often quarrelling among themselves, and even going so far as to leave their captain with forty men on the island of Mindanao. But at length the time came when it was necessary to seek some quiet spot where they should be able to clean and repair the bottoms of their ships. Accordingly, they landed on the north-west coast of Australia, and lived for twelve days at the place now called "Buccaneers' Archipelago". They were the first Europeans who held any communication with the natives of Australia, and the first to publish a detailed account of their voyage thither. Growing tired of a lawless life, and having become wealthy, Dampier bought an estate in England, where he lived some years in retirement, till his love of adventure led him forth again. The King of England was anxious to encourage discovery, and fitted out a vessel called the _Roebuck_, to explore the southern seas. Dampier was the only man in England who had ever been to Australia, and to him was given the command of the little vessel, which sailed in the year 1699. It took a long time to reach Australia, but at last the _Roebuck_ entered what Dampier called Shark Bay, from an enormous shark he caught there. He then explored the north-west coast as far as Roebuck Bay, in all about nine hundred miles; of which he published a full and fairly accurate account. He was a man of keen observation, and delighted to describe the habits and manners of the natives, as well as peculiarities in the plants and animals, of the various places he visited. During the time he was in Australia he frequently met with the blacks and became well acquainted with them. He gives this description of their appearance:-- "The inhabitants are the most miserable wretches in the universe, having no houses nor garments. They feed upon a few fish, cockles, mussels, and periwinkles. They are without religion and without government. In figure they are tall, straight-bodied and thin, with small, long limbs." The country itself, he says, is low and sandy, with no fresh water and scarcely any animals except one which looks like a racoon, and jumps about on its long hind legs. Altogether, his description is not prepossessing; and he says that the only pleasure he had found in this part of his voyage was the satisfaction of having discovered the most barren spot on the face of the earth. This account is, in most respects, correct, so far as regards the portion of Australia visited by Dampier. But, unfortunately, he saw only the most inhospitable part of the whole continent. There are many parts whose beauty would have enchanted him, but as he had sailed along nearly a thousand miles without seeing any shore that was not miserable, it is not to be wondered at that he reported the whole land to be worthless. He was subsequently engaged in other voyages of discovery, in one of which he rescued the famous Alexander Selkirk from his lonely island; but, amid all his subsequent adventures, he never entertained the idea of returning to Australia. Dampier published a most interesting account of all his travels in different parts of the world, and his book was for a long time the standard book of travels. Defoe used the materials it contained for his celebrated novel, _Robinson Crusoe_. But it turned away the tide of discovery from Australia; for those who read of the beautiful islands and rich countries Dampier had elsewhere visited would never dream of incurring the labour and expense of a voyage to so dull and barren a spot as Australia seemed to be from the description in his book. Thus we hear of no further explorations in this part of the world until nearly a century after; and, even then, no one thought of sending out ships specially for the purpose. #8. Captain Cook.#--But in the year 1770 a series of important discoveries was indirectly brought about. The Royal Society of London, calculating that the planet Venus would cross the disc of the sun in 1769, persuaded the English Government to send out an expedition to the Pacific Ocean for the purpose of making observations which would enable astronomers to calculate the distance of the earth from the sun. A small vessel, the _Endeavour_, was chosen; astronomers with their instruments embarked, and the whole placed under the charge of James Cook, a sailor whose admirable character fully merited this distinction. At thirteen he had been a shopkeeper's assistant, but, preferring the sea, he had become an apprentice in a coal vessel. After many years of rude life in this trade, during which he contrived to carry on his education in mathematics and navigation, he entered the Royal Navy, and by diligence and honesty rose to the rank of master. He had completed so many excellent surveys in North America, and, besides, had made himself so well acquainted with astronomy, that the Government had no hesitation in making their choice. That it was a wise one, the care and success of Cook fully showed. He carried the expedition safely to Tahiti, built fortifications, and erected instruments for the observations, which were admirably made. Having finished this part of his task, he thought it would be a pity, with so fine a ship and crew, not to make some discoveries in these little-known seas. He sailed south for a time without meeting land; then, turning west, he reached those islands of New Zealand which had been first seen by Tasman. But Cook made a far more complete exploration than had been possible to Tasman. For six months he examined their shores, sailing completely round both islands and making excellent maps of them. Then, saying good-bye to these coasts at what he named Cape Farewell, he sailed westward for three weeks, until his outlook man raised the cry of "land," and they were close to the shores of Australia at Cape Howe. Standing to the north-east, he sailed along the coast till he reached a fine bay, where he anchored for about ten days. On his first landing he was opposed by two of the natives, who seemed quite ready to encounter more than forty armed men. Cook endeavoured to gain their good-will, but without success. A musket fired between them startled, but did not dismay them; and when some small shot was fired into the legs of one of them, though he turned and ran into his hut, it was only for the purpose of putting on a shield and again facing the white men. Cook made many subsequent attempts to be friendly with the natives, but always without success. He examined the country for a few miles inland, and two of his scientific friends--Sir Joseph Banks and Dr. Solander--made splendid collections of botanical specimens. From this circumstance the place was called Botany Bay, and its two headlands received the names of Cape Banks and Cape Solander. It was here that Captain Cook, amid the firing of cannons and volleys of musketry, took possession of the country on behalf of His Britannic Majesty, giving it the name, "New South Wales," on account of the resemblance of its coasts to the southern shores of Wales. Shortly after they had set sail from Botany Bay they observed a small opening in the land; but Cook did not stay to examine it, merely marking it on his chart as "Port Jackson," in honour of his friend Sir George Jackson. The vessel still continued her course northward along the coast, till they anchored in Moreton Bay. After a short stay, they again set out towards the north, making a rough chart of the shores they saw. In this way they had sailed along thirteen hundred miles without serious mishap, when one night, at about eleven o'clock, they found the sea grow very shallow; all hands were quickly on deck, but before the ship could be turned she struck heavily on a sunken rock. No land was to be seen, and they therefore concluded that it was upon a bank of coral they had struck. The vessel seemed to rest upon the ridge; but, as the swell of the ocean rolled past, she bumped very heavily. Most of the cannons and other heavy articles were thrown overboard, and, the ship being thus lightened, they tried to float her off at daybreak. This they were unable to do; but, by working hard all next day, they prepared everything for a great effort at the evening tide, and had the satisfaction of seeing the rising waters float the vessel off. But now the sea was found to be pouring in through the leaks so rapidly that, even with four pumps constantly going, they could scarcely keep her afloat. They worked hard day and night, but the ship was slowly sinking, when, by the ingenious device of passing a sail beneath her and pulling it tightly, it was found that the leakage was sufficiently decreased to keep her from foundering. Shortly after, they saw land, which Captain Cook called "Cape Tribulation". He took the vessel into the mouth of a small river, which they called the Endeavour, and there careened her. On examining the bottom, it was found that a great sharp rock had pierced a hole in her timbers, such as must inevitably have sent her to the bottom in spite of pumps and sails, had it not been that the piece of coral had broken off and remained firmly fixed in the vessel's side, thus itself filling up the greater part of the hole it had caused. The ship was fully repaired; and, after a delay of two months, they proceeded northward along the coast to Cape York. They then sailed through Torres Strait, and made it clear that New Guinea and Australia are not joined. #9. Subsequent Visits.#--Several ships visited Australia during the next few years, but their commanders contented themselves with merely viewing the coasts which had already been discovered, and returned without adding anything new. In 1772 Marion, a Frenchman, and next year Furneaux, an Englishman, sailed along the coasts of Van Diemen's Land. In 1777 Captain Cook, shortly before his death, anchored for a few days in Adventure Bay, on the east coast of Van Diemen's Land. La Perouse, Vancouver, and D'Entrecasteaux also visited Australia, and, though they added nothing of importance, they assisted in filling in the details. By this time nearly all the coasts had been roughly explored, and the only great point left unsettled was, whether Van Diemen's Land was an island or not. CHAPTER II. THE CONVICT SETTLEMENT AT SYDNEY, 1788-1800. #1. Botany Bay.#--The reports brought home by Captain Cook completely changed the beliefs current in those days with regard to Australia. From the time of Dampier it had been supposed that the whole of this continent must be the same flat and miserable desert as the part he described. Cook's account, on the other hand, represented the eastern coast as a country full of beauty and promise. Now, it so happened that, shortly after Cook's return, the English nation had to deal with a great difficulty in regard to its criminal population. In 1776 the United States declared their independence, and the English then found they could no longer send their convicts over to Virginia, as they had formerly done. In a short time the gaols of England were crowded with felons. It became necessary to select a new place of transportation; and, just as this difficulty arose, Captain Cook's voyages called attention to a land in every way suited for such a purpose, both by reason of its fertility and of its great distance. Viscount Sydney, therefore, determined to send out a party to Botany Bay, in order to found a convict settlement there; and in May, 1787, a fleet was ready to sail. It consisted of the _Sirius_ war-ship, its tender the _Supply_, together with six transports for the convicts, and three ships for carrying the stores. Of the convicts, five hundred and fifty were men and two hundred and twenty were women. To guard these, there were on board two hundred soldiers. Captain Phillip was appointed Governor of the colony, Captain Hunter was second in command, and Mr. Collins went out as judge-advocate, to preside in the military courts, which it was intended to establish for the administration of justice. On the 18th, 19th, and 20th of January, 1788, the vessels arrived, one after another, in Botany Bay, after a voyage of eight months, during which many of the convicts had died from diseases brought on by so long a confinement. #2. Port Jackson.#--As soon as the ships had anchored in Botany Bay, convicts were landed and commenced to clear the timber from a portion of the land; but a day or two was sufficient to show the unsuitability of Botany Bay for such a settlement. Its waters were so shallow that the ships could not enter it properly, and had to lie near the Heads, where the great waves of the Pacific rolled in on them by night and day. Governor Phillip, therefore, took three boats, and sailed out to search for some more convenient harbour. As he passed along the coast he turned to examine the opening which Captain Cook had called Port Jackson, and soon found himself in a winding channel of water, with great cliffs frowning overhead. All at once a magnificent prospect opened on his eyes. A harbour, which is, perhaps, the most beautiful and perfect in the world, stretched before him far to the west, till it was lost on the distant horizon. It seemed a vast maze of winding waters, dotted here and there with lovely islets; its shores thickly wooded down to the strips of golden sand which lined the most charming little bays; and its broad sheets of rippling waters bordered by lines of dusky foliage. The scene has always been one of surpassing loveliness; but to those who filled the first boats that ever threw the foam from its surface, who felt themselves the objects of breathless attention to groups of natives who stood gazing here and there from the projecting rocks, it must have had an enchanting effect. To Captain Phillip himself, whose mind had been filled with anxiety and despondency as to the future prospects of his charge, it opened out like the vision of a world of new hope and promise. [Illustration: ROCKS, SOUTH HEADS, SYDNEY.] Three days were spent in examining portions of this spacious harbour, and in exploring a few of its innumerable bays. Captain Phillip selected, as the place most suitable for the settlement, a small inlet, which, in honour of the Minister of State, he called Sydney Cove. It was so deep as to allow vessels to approach to within a yard or two of the shore, thus avoiding the necessity of spending time and money in building wharves or piers. After a few days the fleet was brought round and lay at anchor in this little cove which is now the crowded Circular Quay. The convicts were landed, and commenced to clear away the trees on the banks of a small stream which stole silently through a very dense wood. When an open space had been obtained, a flagstaff was erected near the present battery on Dawe's Point; the soldiers fired three volleys, and the Governor read his commission to the assembled company. Then began a scene of noise and bustle. From dawn to sunset, nothing could be heard but the sound of axes, hammers, and saws, with the crash of trees and the shouts of the convict overseers. They lost no time in preparing their habitations on shore; for the confinement of the overcrowded ships had become intolerably hateful. #3. Early Sufferings.#--More than a third of their number were ill with scurvy and other diseases--sixty-six lay in the little hospital which had been set up, and many of them never recovered. Those who were well enough to work began to clear the land for cultivation; but so soon as everything was ready for the ploughing to begin, the amazing fact was discovered that no one knew anything of agriculture; and had it not been that Governor Phillip had with him a servant who had been for a time on a farm, their labour would have been of little avail. As it was, the cultivation was of the rudest kind; one man, even if he had been a highly experienced person, could do very little to instruct so many. The officers and soldiers were smart enough on parade, but they were useless on a farm; the convicts, instead of trying to learn, expended all their ingenuity in picking each other's pockets, or in robbing the stores. They would do no work unless an armed soldier was standing behind them, and if he turned away for a moment, they would deliberately destroy the farm implements in their charge, hide them in the sand or throw them into the water. Thus, only a trifling amount of food was obtained from the soil; the provisions they had brought with them were nearly finished, and when the news came that the _Guardian_ transport, on which they were depending for fresh supplies, had struck on an iceberg and had been lost, the little community was filled with the deepest dismay. Soon after, a ship arrived with a number of fresh convicts, but no provisions; in great haste the _Sirius_ was sent to the Cape of Good Hope, and the _Supply_ to Batavia; these vessels brought back as much as they could get, but it was all used in a month or two. Starvation now lay before the settlement; every one, including the officers and the Governor himself, was put on the lowest rations which could keep the life in a man's body, and yet there was not enough of food, even at this miserable rate, to last for any length of time. Numbers died of starvation; the Governor stopped all the works, as the men were too weak to continue them. The sheep and cattle which they had brought with so much trouble to become the origin of flocks and herds were all killed for food, with the exception of two or three which had escaped to the woods and had been lost from sight. #4. Norfolk Island.#--Under these circumstances, Governor Phillip sent two hundred convicts, with about seventy soldiers, to Norfolk Island, where there was a moderate chance of their being able to support themselves; for, immediately after his arrival in New South Wales, he had sent Lieutenant King to take possession of that island, of whose beauty and fertility Captain Cook had spoken very highly. Twenty-seven convicts and soldiers had gone along with King, and had cleared away the timber from the rich brown soil. They had little trouble in raising ample crops, and were now in the midst of plenty, which their less fortunate companions came to share. But the _Sirius_, in which they had been carried over, was wrecked on a coral reef near the island before she could return, and with her was lost a considerable quantity of provisions. #5. The Second Fleet.#--The prospects of the colony at Sydney had grown very black, when a store-ship suddenly appeared off the Heads. Great was the rejoicing at first; but when a storm arose and drove the vessel northward among the reefs of Broken Bay, their exultation was changed to a painful suspense. For some hours her fate was doubtful; but, to the intense relief of the expectant people on shore, she managed to make the port and land her supplies. Shortly after, two other store-ships arrived, and the community was never again so badly in want of provisions. Matters were growing cheerful, when a fresh gloom was caused by the arrival of a fleet filled to overflowing with sick and dying convicts. Seventeen hundred had been embarked, but of these two hundred had died on the way, and their bodies had been thrown overboard. Several hundreds were in the last stages of emaciation and exhaustion; scarcely one of the whole fifteen hundred who landed was fit for a day's work. This brought fresh misery and trouble, and the deaths were of appalling frequency. #6. Escape of Prisoners.#--Many of the convicts sought to escape from their sufferings by running away; some seized the boats in the harbour and tried to sail for the Dutch colony in Java; others hid themselves in the woods, and either perished or else returned, after weeks of starvation, to give themselves up to the authorities. In 1791 a band of between forty and fifty set out to walk to China, and penetrated a few miles into the bush, where their bleached and whitened skeletons some years after told their fate. #7. Departure of Governor Phillip.#--Amid these cares and trials the health of Governor Phillip fairly broke down, and, in 1792, forced him to resign. He was a man of energy and decision; prompt and skilful, yet humane and just in his character; his face, though pinched and pale with ill-health, had a sweet and benevolent expression; no better man could have been selected to fill the difficult position he held with so much credit to himself. He received a handsome pension from the British Government, and retired to spend his life in English society. Major Grose and Captain Patterson took charge of the colony for the next three years; but in 1795 Captain Hunter, who, after the loss of his ship, the _Sirius_, had returned to England, arrived in Sydney to occupy the position of Governor. #8. Governor Hunter.#--By this time affairs had passed their crisis, and were beginning to be favourable. About sixty convicts, whose sentences had expired, had received grants of land, and, now that they were working for themselves, had become successful farmers. Governor Hunter brought out a number of free settlers, to whom he gave land near the Hawkesbury; and, after a time, more than six thousand acres were covered with crops of wheat and maize. There was now no fear of famine, and the settlement grew to be comfortable in most respects. Unfortunately, the more recent attempts to import cattle with which to stock the farms had proved more or less unsuccessful; so that the discovery of a fine herd of sixty wandering through the meadows of the Hawkesbury was hailed with great delight. These were the descendants of the cattle which had been lost from Governor Phillip's herd some years before. #9. State of the Settlement.#--Twelve years after the foundation of the colony, its population amounted to between six and seven thousand persons. These were all settled near Sydney, which was a straggling town with one main street 200 feet wide, running up the valley from Sydney Cove, while on the slopes at either side the huts of the convicts were stationed far apart and each in a fenced-in plot of ground. On the little hills overlooking the cove, a number of big, bare, stone buildings were the Government quarters and barracks for the soldiers. [Illustration: TOWN AND COVE OF SYDNEY IN 1798. (Compare with page 169.)] Attempts had been made to penetrate to the west, though without success. The rugged chain of the Blue Mountains was an impassable barrier. Seventy miles north of Sydney a fine river--the Hunter--had been discovered by Lieutenant Shortland while in pursuit of some runaway convicts who had stolen a boat. Signs of coal having been seen near its mouth, convicts were sent up to open mines, and, these proving successful, the town of Newcastle rapidly formed. In 1800 Governor Hunter returned to England on business, intending to come out again; but he was appointed to the command of a war-ship, and Lieutenant King was sent out to take his place. CHAPTER III. THE DISCOVERIES OF BASS AND FLINDERS. #1.# No community has ever been more completely isolated than the first inhabitants of Sydney. They were three thousand miles away from the nearest white men; before them lay a great ocean, visited only at rare intervals, and, for the greater part, unexplored; behind them was an unknown continent, a vast, untrodden waste, in which they formed but a speck. They were almost completely shut out from intercourse with the civilised world, and few of them could have any hope of returning to their native land. This made the colony all the more suitable as a place of punishment; for people shrank with horror at the idea of being banished to what seemed like a tomb for living men and women. But, for all that, it was not desirable that Australia should remain always as unknown and unexplored as it then was; and, seven years after the first settlement was made, two men arrived who were determined not to suffer it so to remain. When Governor Hunter came in 1795, he brought with him, on board his ship the _Reliance_, a young surgeon, George Bass, and a midshipman called Matthew Flinders. They were young men of the most admirable character, modest and amiable, filled with a generous and manly affection for one another, and fired by a lofty enthusiasm which rejoiced in the wide field for discovery and fame that spread all around them. Within a month after their arrival they purchased a small boat about eight feet in length, which they christened the _Tom Thumb_. Its crew consisted of themselves and a boy to assist--truly a poor equipment with which to face a great and stormy ocean like the Pacific. They sailed out, and after tossing for some time like a toy on the huge waves, they succeeded in entering Botany Bay, which they thoroughly explored, making a chart of its shores and rivers. On their return, Governor Hunter was so highly pleased with their work, that, shortly after, he gave them a holiday, which they spent in making a longer expedition to the south. It was said that a very large river fell into the sea south of Botany Bay, and they went out to search for its mouth. #2. Boat Excursion.#--In this trip they met with some adventures which will serve to illustrate the dangers of such a voyage. On one occasion, when their boat had been upset on the shore, and their powder was wetted by the sea-water, about fifty natives gathered round them, evidently with no friendly intention. Bass spread the powder out on the rocks to dry, and procured a supply of fresh water from a neighbouring pond. But they were in expectation every moment of being attacked and speared, and there was no hope of defending themselves till the powder was ready. Flinders, knowing the fondness of the natives for the luxury of a shave, persuaded them to sit down one after another on a rock, and amused them by clipping their beards with a pair of scissors. As soon as the powder was dry the explorers loaded their muskets and cautiously retreated to their boat, which they set right, and pushed off without mishap. Once more on the Pacific, new dangers awaited them. They had been carried far to the south by the strong currents, and the wind was unfavourable. There was therefore no course open to them but to row as far as they could during the day, and at night throw out the stone which served as an anchor, and lie as sheltered as they could, in order to snatch a little sleep. On one of these nights, while they lay thus asleep, the wind suddenly rose to a gale, and they were roughly wakened by the splashing of the waves over their boat. They pulled up their stone anchor and ran before the tempest--Bass holding the sail and Flinders steering with an oar. As Flinders says: "It required the utmost care to prevent broaching to; a single wrong movement or a moment's inattention would have sent us to the bottom. The task of the boy was to bale out the water, which, in spite of every care, the sea threw in upon us. The night was perfectly dark, and we knew of no place of shelter, and the only direction by which we could steer was the roar of the waves upon the neighbouring cliff's." After an hour spent in this manner, they found themselves running straight for the breakers. They pulled down their mast and got out the oars, though without much hope of escape. They rowed desperately, however, and had the satisfaction of rounding the long line of boiling surf. Three minutes after they were in smooth water, under the lee of the rocks, and soon they discovered a well-sheltered cove, where they anchored for the rest of the night. It was not till two days later that they found the place they were seeking. It turned out not to be a river at all, but only the little bay of Port Hacking, which they examined and minutely described. When they reached Sydney they gave information which enabled accurate maps to be constructed of between thirty and forty miles of coast. #3. Clarke.#--On arriving at Port Jackson, they found that an accident had indirectly assisted in exploring that very coast on which they had landed. A vessel called the _Sydney Cove_, on its way to Port Jackson, had been wrecked on Furneaux Island, to the north of Van Diemen's Land. A large party, headed by Mr. Clarke, the supercargo, had started in boats, intending to sail along the coasts and obtain help from Sydney. They were thrown ashore by a storm at Cape Howe, and had to begin a dreary walk of three hundred miles through dense and unknown country. Their small store of provisions was soon used, and they could find no food and little fresh water on their path. Many dropped down, exhausted by hunger and fatigue, and had to be abandoned to their fate. Of those who contrived to approach within thirty miles of Sydney, the greater part were murdered by the same tribe of blacks from whom Bass and Flinders had apprehended danger. Clarke and one or two others reached Port Jackson; their clothes in tatters, their bodies wasted almost to the bones, and in such a state that, when a boat was brought to carry them over the bay to Sydney, they had to be lifted on board like infants. Mr. Clarke, on his recovery, was able to give a very useful account of a great tract of land not previously explored. The crew of the _Sydney Cove_ were meanwhile living on one of the Furneaux Group, and several small ships were sent down from Sydney to rescue the crew and cargo; these also served to make the coast better known. Flinders was very anxious to go in one of them, in order to make a chart of the places he might pass; but his ship, the _Reliance_, sailed for Norfolk Island, and he had to be a long time absent. [Illustration: MATTHEW FLINDERS.] #4. Discovery of Bass Straits.#--His friend Bass was more fortunate; for Governor Hunter gave him an open whaleboat, together with provisions for six weeks, and six men to manage the boat. With these he discovered the harbour and river of Shoalhaven; entered and mapped out Jervis Bay; discovered Twofold Bay, then rounded Cape Howe, and discovered the country now called Victoria. After sailing along the Ninety-mile Beach, he saw high land to the south-west; and, standing out towards it, discovered the bold headland which was afterwards named Wilson's Promontory. Bad weather drove him to seek for shelter, and this led to the discovery of Western Port, where he remained thirteen days. But as his provisions were running short, he was forced, with a heavy heart, to turn homeward. He had again to seek shelter, however, from strong head winds, and in doing so discovered what is called Corner Inlet. In all he prolonged his voyage to eleven weeks, before he again reached Sydney: during that time he had explored six hundred miles of coast, and had discovered four important bays, as well as what is perhaps the most important cape in Australia. His greatest service, however, was the proof that Van Diemen's Land is not joined to Australia, but is divided from it by the wide strait to which Bass's name is now so justly given. All this, effected in an open whaleboat on a great ocean, may well fill us with admiration for the courage and skill of the young surgeon. #5. Flinders.#--When Flinders returned from Norfolk Island, he obtained leave to join the next vessel that should start for the wreck of the _Sydney Cove_. Having arrived at Furneaux Island, during the time that the wreckage and remaining cargo were being gathered, he obtained the loan of a small boat for five days, and in it made careful surveys of the islands and straits to the north of Van Diemen's Land. It was in this trip that he made the first discovery of that peculiar Australian animal, the wombat. #6. Circumnavigation of Van Diemen's Land.#--Next year (1798) Governor Hunter gave to the two ardent young men a small sloop--the _Norfolk_--in which to prosecute their discoveries. They received three months' leave of absence, in which time they proposed to sail round Van Diemen's Land. This they did, and discovered during their voyage the river Tamar and its estuary, Port Dalrymple. It was not in discovery alone that they were successful. Flinders made the most beautiful and exact charts of all the coasts; he sometimes spent whole days in careful and laborious observations and measurements, in order to have the latitude and longitude of a single place correctly marked. #7. Fate of Bass.#--On their return to Sydney Bass met some friends, who persuaded him to join them in making their fortune by carrying contraband goods into South America, in spite of the Spaniards. What became of Bass is not known, but it is supposed that he was captured by the Spaniards and sent to the silver mines, where he was completely lost from sight. He who entered those dreary mines was lost for ever to human knowledge; and Bass may have perished there after years of wearisome and unknown labour. After all his hardships and adventures, his enthusiasm and his self-devotion, he passed away from men's eyes, and no one was curious to know whither he had gone; but Australians of these days have learnt to honour the memory of the man who first, in company with his friend, laid the foundation of so much of their geography. #8. The Publication of Flinders' Charts.#--Flinders remained in His Majesty's service, and in the following year was raised to the rank of lieutenant. With his little ship, the _Norfolk_, he examined the coasts of New South Wales, from Sydney northward as far as Hervey Bay. Next year (1800) he went to London, where his charts were published, containing the first exact accounts of the geography of Australia. They were greatly praised, and the English Government resolved to send out an expedition to survey all the coasts of Australia in like manner. Flinders was placed at the head of it; a vessel was given to him, which he called the _Investigator_; a passport was obtained for him from the French Government, so that, though England and France were then at war, he might not be obstructed by French war-ships. Sailing to the south coast of Australia, he discovered Kangaroo Island and Spencer's Gulf, and then entered Port Phillip under the impression that he was the discoverer of that inlet, but afterwards learnt that Lieutenant Murray, in his ship the _Lady Nelson_, had discovered it ten weeks before. #9. Baudin.#--As Flinders sailed down towards Bass Strait he met with a French expedition, under M. Baudin, who had been sent out by Napoleon to make discoveries in Australia. He had loitered so long on the coast of Tasmania that Flinders had been able to complete the examination of the southern coast before he even approached it. Yet Baudin sailed into the very bays which had already been mapped out, gave them French names, and took to himself the honour of their discovery. Some months later the two expeditions met one another again in Port Jackson. Flinders showed his charts, and the French officers allowed that he had carried off the honours of nearly all the discoveries on the south coast; but, in spite of that, a report was published in France in which Flinders' claims were quite ignored, and Baudin represented as the hero of Australian discovery. The colonists at Port Jackson, however, treated the French sailors with much kindness. Many of them were suffering from scurvy, and these were carried to the Sydney hospital and carefully tended; and though the colonists had themselves eaten only salt meat for months before, in order to preserve their cattle, yet they killed these very cattle to provide fresh meat for the sick sailors. Baudin and his officers were feasted, and everything was done both by Flinders and the people of Sydney to make their stay agreeable. #10. Imprisonment of Flinders.#--Flinders continued his voyage northwards, rounded Cape York, and examined the northern coasts, making an excellent chart of Torres Strait; but his vessel becoming too rotten to be longer used, he was forced to return to Sydney. Desiring to carry his charts and journals to England, he took his passage in an old store-ship, but she had not sailed far before she struck on a coral reef; the crew with difficulty reached a small sandbank, from which they were not released till two months after. Flinders saved his papers, and brought them back to Sydney. A small schooner, the _Cumberland_, was given him in which to sail for England; but she was too leaky, and too small a vessel to carry food for so long a voyage; so that he was forced to put into the Mauritius, which then belonged to France. He fancied that his passport from Napoleon would be his protection; but the Governor, De Caen, a low and ignorant fellow, seized him, took his papers from him, and cast him into prison. [Illustration: COOK'S MONUMENT, BOTANY BAY.] Baudin soon after called at the Mauritius, and would probably have procured the release of his brother-mariner had he not died immediately after his arrival. The charts of Flinders, however, were all sent to France, where they were published with altered names, as if they were the work of Frenchmen. Meanwhile, Flinders was spending the weary months in close confinement at the Mauritius. #11. Death of Flinders.#--Nearly six years passed away before the approach of an English fleet compelled the French to release him; and when he went to England he found that people knew all about those very places of which he thought he was bringing the first tidings. He commenced, however, to write his great book, and worked with the utmost pains to make all his maps scrupulously accurate. After about four years of incessant labour, the three volumes were ready for the press; but he was doomed never to see them. So many years of toil, so many nights passed in open boats or on the wet sands, so many shipwrecks and weeks of semi-starvation, together with his long and unjust imprisonment, had utterly destroyed his constitution; and on the very day when his book was being published, the wife and daughter of Flinders were tending his last painful hours. He was, perhaps, our greatest maritime discoverer: a man who worked because his heart was in his work; who sought no reward, and obtained none; who lived laboriously, and did honourable service to mankind; yet died, like his friend Bass, almost unknown to those of his own day, but leaving a name which the world is every year more and more disposed to honour. CHAPTER IV. NEW SOUTH WALES, 1800-1808. #1. Governor King.#--Governor Hunter, who left Sydney in the year 1800, was succeeded by Captain King, the young officer who has been already mentioned as the founder of the settlement at Norfolk Island. He was a man of much ability, and was both active and industrious; yet so overwhelming at this time were the difficulties of Governorship in New South Wales, that his term of office was little more than a distressing failure. The colony consisted chiefly of convicts, who were--many of them--the most depraved and hardened villains to be met with in the history of crime. To keep these in check, and to maintain order, was no easy task; but to make them work, to convert them into industrious and well-behaved members of the community, was far beyond any Governor's power. King made an effort, and did his very best; but after a time he grew disheartened, and, in his disappointment, complained of the folly which expected him to make farmers out of pickpockets. His chances of success would have been much increased had he been properly seconded by his subordinates. But, unfortunately, circumstances had arisen which caused the officers and soldiers not only to render him no assistance whatever, but even to thwart and frustrate his most careful plans. [Illustration: THE EXPLORERS' TREE, KATOOMBA, N.S.W.] #2. The New South Wales Corps.#--In 1790 a special corps had been organised in the British army for service in the colony; it was called the New South Wales Corps, and was intended to be permanently settled in Sydney. Very few high-class officers cared to enter this service, so far from home and in the midst of the lowest criminals. Those who joined it generally came out with the idea of quickly gathering a small fortune, then resigning their commissions and returning to England. The favourite method of making money was to import goods into the settlement and sell them at high rates of profit; and, in their haste to become rich, many resorted to unscrupulous devices for obtaining profits. A trade in which those who commanded were the sellers, whilst the convicts and settlers under their charge were the purchasers, could hardly fail to ruin discipline and introduce grave evils, more especially when ardent spirits began to be the chief article of traffic. It was found that nothing sold so well among the convicts as rum, their favourite liquor; and, rather than not make money, the officers began to import large quantities of that spirit, thus deliberately assisting to demoralise still further the degraded population which they had been sent to reform. So enormous were the profits made in this debasing trade that very few of the officers could refrain from joining it. Soon the New South Wales Corps became like one great firm of spirit merchants, engaged in the importing and retailing of rum. The most enterprising went so far as to introduce stills and commence the manufacture of spirits in the colony. By an order of the Governor in Council this was forbidden, but many continued to work their stills in secret. This system of traffic, demoralising to every one engaged in it, was shared even by the highest officials in the colony. In the year 1800 the chief constable was a publican, and the head gaoler sold rum and brandy opposite the prison gates. #3. State of the Colony.#--Under these circumstances, drunkenness became fearfully prevalent; the freed convicts gave themselves up to unrestrained riot, and, when intoxicated, committed the most brutal atrocities; the soldiers also sank into the wildest dissipation; and many of the officers themselves led lives of open and shameless debauchery. This was the community Governor King had to rule. He made an effort to effect some change, but failed; and we can hardly wonder at the feeling of intense disgust which he entertained and freely expressed. #4. Mutiny of Convicts.#--Most of the convicts, on their arrival in the colony, were "assigned"--that is, sent to work as shepherds or farm-labourers for the free settlers in the country; but prisoners of the worst class were chained in gangs and employed on the roads, or on the Government farms. One of these gangs, consisting of three or four hundred convicts, was stationed at Castlehill, a few miles north of Parramatta. The prisoners, emboldened by their numbers and inflamed by the oratory of a number of political exiles, broke out into open insurrection. They flung away their hoes and spades, removed their irons, seized about two hundred and fifty muskets, and marched towards the Hawkesbury, expecting to be there reinforced by so many additional convicts that they would be able to overpower the military. Major Johnstone, with twenty-four soldiers of the New South Wales Corps, pursued them; they halted and turned round to fight, but he charged with so much determination into their midst that they were quickly routed, and fled in all directions, leaving several of their number dead on the spot. Three or four of the ringleaders were caught and hanged; the remainder returned quickly to their duty. #5. Origin of Wool-growing.#--During Governor King's term of office a beginning was made in what is now an industry of momentous importance to Australia. In the New South Wales Corps there had been an officer named Macarthur, who had become so disgusted with the service that, shortly after his arrival in Sydney, he resigned his commission, and, having obtained a grant of land, became a settler in the country. He quickly perceived that wool-growing, if properly carried on, would be a source of much wealth, and obtained a number of sheep from the Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope, with which to make a commencement. These were of a kind which did not suit the climate, and his first attempt failed; but in 1803, when he was in England on a visit, he spoke so highly of New South Wales as a country adapted for wool-growing, that King George III. was interested in the proposal, and offered his assistance. Now, the sheep most suitable for Macarthur's purpose were the merino sheep of Spain; but these were not to be obtained, as the Spaniards, desirous of keeping the lucrative trade of wool-growing to themselves, had made it a capital crime to export sheep of this kind from Spain. But it so happened that, as a special favour, a few had been given to King George, who was an enthusiastic farmer; and when he heard of Macarthur's idea, he sent him one or two from his own flock to be carried out to New South Wales. They were safely landed at Sydney, Governor King made a grant of ten thousand acres to Mr. Macarthur, at Camden, and the experiment was begun. It was not long before the most marked success crowned the effort, and in the course of a few years the meadows at Camden were covered with great flocks of sheep, whose wool yielded annually a handsome fortune to their enterprising owner. #6. Governor Bligh.#--In 1806 Governor King was succeeded by Captain Bligh, whose previous adventures have made his name so well known. In his ship, the _Bounty_, he had been sent by the British Government to the South Sea Islands for a cargo of bread-fruit trees. But his conduct to his sailors was so tyrannical that they mutinied, put him, along with eighteen others, into an open boat, then sailed away, and left him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Bligh was a skilful sailor, and the voyage he thereupon undertook is one of the most remarkable on record. In an open boat he carried his little party over 3,500 miles of unknown ocean to the island of Timor, where they found a vessel that took them home. In appointing Captain Bligh to rule the colony, the English Government spoiled an excellent seaman to make a very inefficient Governor. It was true that New South Wales contained a large convict population, who required to be ruled with despotic rigour; yet there were many free settlers who declined to be treated like slaves and felons, and who soon came to have a thorough dislike to the new Governor. Not that he was without kindly feeling; his generous treatment of the Hawkesbury farmers, who were ruined by a flood in 1806, showed him to have been warm-hearted in his way; he exerted himself to the utmost, both with time and money, to alleviate their distress, and received the special thanks of the English Government for his humanity. And yet his arbitrary and unamiable manners completely obscured all these better qualities. He caused the convicts to be flogged without mercy for faults which existed only in his own imagination; he bullied his officers, and, throughout the colony, repeated the same mistakes which had led to the mutiny of the _Bounty_. At the same time, he was anxious to do what he conceived to be his duty to his superiors in England. He had been ordered to put a stop to the traffic in spirits, and, in spite of the most unscrupulous opposition on the part of those whose greed was interested, he set himself to effect this reform by prompt and summary measures, and with a contemptuous disregard of the hatred he was causing; but, in the end, the officers were too strong for him, and in the quarrel that ensued the Governor was completely defeated. #7. Expulsion of Bligh.#--Month after month Bligh became more and more unpopular; those whom he did not alienate in the course of his duty he offended by his rudeness, until, at last, there was scarcely any one in the colony who was his friend. Many were inflamed by so bitter a hatred that they were ready to do anything for revenge, and affairs seemed to be in that critical state in which a trifling incident may bring about serious results. This determining cause was supplied by a quarrel which took place between Mr. Macarthur and Mr. Atkin, the new judge-advocate of the colony. Mr. Macarthur was condemned to pay a heavy fine for neglect, in having permitted a convict to escape in a vessel of which he was partly the owner. He refused to pay, and was summoned before the court, of which Atkin was the president. He declined to appear, on the ground that Atkin was his personal enemy. Thereupon Atkin caused him to be seized and put in gaol. Bligh appointed a special court to try him, consisting of six officers, together with Atkin himself. Macarthur was brought before it, but protested against being judged by his enemy, stating his willingness, however, to abide by the decision of the six officers. The officers supported his protest, and the trial was discontinued. Bligh was exceedingly angry, and, by declaring he would put the six officers in gaol, brought matters to a crisis. The officers of the New South Wales Corps all took part with their comrades; they assisted Mr. Macarthur to get up a petition, asking Major Johnstone, the military commander, to depose Governor Bligh, and himself take charge of the colony. Major Johnstone was only too glad of the opportunity. He held a council of officers, at which Mr. Macarthur and several others were present. Their course of action was decided upon, and next morning the soldiers marched, with colours flying and drums beating, to the gate of the Governor's house. Here they were met by Bligh's daughter, who endeavoured to persuade them to retire; but they made her stand aside and marched up the avenue. Meantime the Governor had hidden himself in the house; the soldiers entered and searched everywhere for him, till at length they discovered him behind a bed, where he was seeking to hide important papers. He was arrested, and sentinels were posted to prevent his escape. Major Johnstone assumed the Governor's position, and appointed his friends to the most important offices in the Government service. He continued to direct affairs for some time, until Colonel Foveaux superseded him. Foveaux, in his turn, was superseded by Colonel Patterson, who came over from Tasmania to take charge of the colony until a new Governor should be sent out from home. Patterson offered Bligh his liberty if he would promise to go straight to England, and not seek to raise a disturbance in the colony. This promise was given by Bligh, and yet no sooner was he free than he began to stir up the Hawkesbury settlers in his behalf. They declined to assist him, however, and Bligh went over to Tasmania, where the settlement to be described in the next chapter had been formed. Here he was received with great good-will, until the news arrived from Sydney that, according to the solemn promise he had given, he ought at that time to have been on his way to England. An attempt was made to capture him, but he escaped to England, where his adventures in New South Wales were soon forgotten, and he rose to be an admiral in the English navy. When the news of the rebellion reached the authorities in England, Major Johnstone was dismissed from the service, and Major-General Lachlan Macquarie was sent out to be Governor of the colony. Major Johnstone retired to a farm in New South Wales, where he lived and prospered till his death in 1817. CHAPTER V. TASMANIA, 1803-1836. #1. First Settlement.#--After the departure of Baudin from Sydney it was discovered that there was an inclination on the part of the French to settle in some part of Australia. It was known that the inlet called Storm Bay, in the island then known as Van Diemen's Land, had especially attracted their notice, its shores having been so green and leafy. It was now known that Van Diemen's Land was severed by a broad strait from the mainland, and the Governor at Sydney thought that if the French proposed to make a settlement anywhere they would be certain to appropriate this island, and deny that the English had any claim to it. He, therefore, prepared an expedition to proceed to Storm Bay and take possession of its shores. For that purpose he chose Lieutenant John Bowen, who had recently arrived as an officer of a ship of war, and appointed him commandant of the proposed settlement. The colonial ship called the _Lady Nelson_ was chosen as the means of conveying him and eight soldiers, while a whaling ship called the _Albion_ was chartered for the purpose of carrying twenty-four convicts and six free persons, who were to found the new colony. This was a very small number with which to occupy a large country; but Governor King thought that in the meantime they would be sufficient to assert a prior claim, and that the authorities in England could subsequently decide whether the settlement should be increased or withdrawn. Governor King saw also another object in founding this new colony. He had some most unruly convicts in Sydney, who were only a source of trouble and annoyance to all the rest. It seemed to him an advantage to be able to send these off to a place by themselves, under specially severe discipline. In September, 1803, the two ships sailed up Storm Bay and into the mouth of the river Derwent. Lieutenant Bowen caused them to anchor on the right side of the estuary, in a little bay called Risdon Cove. The people were soon on shore, and pitched their tents on a grassy hill a little back from the water. Bowen went out to survey the country, while the convicts set to work to build huts for themselves; a little village soon appeared, and in the long grass that surrounded it a few sheep and goats were pastured for the use of the rising colony. The place was named Hobart Town, after Lord Hobart, who was then Secretary of State for the Colonies. A month later Governor King sent forty-two convicts and fifteen soldiers to increase the strength of the settlement; and the little village was beginning to look populous, when, unexpectedly, there came a great accession from another source. #2. Collins.#--During this same year, 1803, the British Government, moved by fears of a French occupation, had resolved to form a settlement on the shores of Port Phillip. Accordingly David Collins, who had been judge-advocate at Sydney, but had taken a trip to England, was chosen to be Lieutenant-Governor of the new colony, and was despatched with 307 convicts, 24 wives of convicts, 51 soldiers, and 13 free settlers, on board two ships, the _Calcutta_ and the _Ocean_. Collins had made an effort to form a settlement at Port Phillip, on a sandy shore, near the site of Sorrento, but had grown disgusted with the place; and early in 1804 he carried off all the people, and resolved to abandon Port Phillip in favour of the Derwent. He landed at Risdon on the 15th February, and, after a short examination, came to the conclusion that the situation was unsuitable. Next day he went in search of a better place, and chose a little bay on the opposite side, some six miles nearer the mouth of the estuary, and thither the whole settlement was soon after removed. There, at the very foot of the lofty Mount Wellington, Hobart Town began to grow in its new situation. Houses were rapidly erected; most of them consisted of posts stuck in the ground, interwoven with twigs of wattle trees, and then daubed over with mud. The chimneys were built of stones and turf, and the roofs were thatched with grass. Whilst the new town was growing, a party of convicts and soldiers was still busy on the little farms at Risdon, and early in May they had a most unfortunate affray with the natives. A party of two or three hundred blacks, who were travelling southward, came suddenly in sight of the white men and their habitations. These were the first Europeans whom they had seen, and they became much excited at the strange spectacle. While they were shouting and gesticulating, the Englishmen thought they were preparing for an attack and fired upon them. The blacks fled and the white men pursued them, killing about thirty of the unfortunate natives. Thus was begun a long warfare, which ended only with the complete extinction of the native races. [Illustration: GOVERNOR COLLINS.] #3. Patterson.#--Next year, 1804, the Sydney Government sent another party of convicts, under Colonel Patterson, to found a colony in the north of Tasmania. The position selected was near the entrance to Port Dalrymple; and here, for eight years, a small settlement continued to exist in an independent state, until, in 1812, it was placed under the charge of the Governor at Hobart Town. #4. Death Of Collins.#--The colony at the latter place was meanwhile slowly establishing itself; and in 1808, when Bligh visited it after his expulsion from Sydney, he found the little township with quite a settled and comfortable appearance. In 1810 it lost its amiable and warm-hearted Governor. While calmly and cheerfully conversing with a friend, Mr. Collins fell back dead in his chair. He was a man of a good and kindly nature, a little vain and self-important, but earnest and upright, and possessed of very fair abilities. The distinguished part he played in the early colonisation of Australia will always render him a prominent person in our history. #5. Governor Davey.#--It took some time for the news of the Governor's death to reach England, and during the three years that elapsed before his successor could be sent out, the place was filled in turn by three gentlemen, named Lord, Murray, and Geils, till, in 1813, the new Governor, Davey, arrived. He had been a colonel of marines, and had shown himself a good soldier, but he had few of the qualities of a Governor. He was rough and excessively coarse in his manners, and utterly regardless of all decorum. He showed his defiance of all conventional rules by the manner of his entry. The day being warm, he took off his coat and waistcoat, and marched into the town in a costume more easy than dignified; he listened to the address of welcome with careless indifference, and throughout showed little respect either for himself or for the people he had come to govern. Yet, under his rule, the colony made progress. In his first year he opened the port to ordinary merchant ships; for, previously, as the town was a convict settlement of the most severe type, no free person was allowed to land without special permission. From this time commerce began to spring up; free settlers spread over the country, and cultivated it with such success that, in 1816, besides supplying all the necessities of their own community, they were able to export grain to Sydney. #6. New Norfolk.#--In 1807 the settlement of Norfolk Island had been abandoned by the British Government, on account of its expense, and the convicts, of whom many had there grown to be decent, orderly farmers, were brought to Tasmania. They formed a new settlement on the Derwent, about fifteen miles above Hobart Town, at a place which they called "New Norfolk," in affectionate memory of their former island home. #7. Bushranging.#--About this time the colony began to be greatly annoyed by bushrangers. From twenty to forty convicts generally escaped every year and betook themselves to the wild country around the central lakes of Tasmania. There, among the fastnesses of the western mountains, they led a desperate and daring life, sometimes living with the natives, whom they quickly taught all the wickedness they themselves knew. Their ordinary lives were wretchedly debased; and, in search of booty, or in revenge for fancied injuries, they often committed the most savage crimes. They treated their native companions like beasts, to be used for a while, and then shot or mangled when no longer wanted; and it is not surprising that the blacks soon became filled with intense hatred of all the white invaders of their land. Frequently the aboriginal tribes united to attack the lonely farm-house and murder all its inhabitants. Hence, every settler in the country districts was well supplied with arms, and taught all his household to use them; the walls were pierced here and there with holes, through which a musket might be directed in safety against an advancing enemy. The fear of bushrangers who might attack them for the sake of plunder, and of natives who might massacre them in revenge, kept the scattered settlers in constant terror and trouble. #8. Governor Sorell.#--But in 1817, when Governor Davey grew tired of his position and resigned it, choosing rather to live an easy-going life on his estate near Hobart Town, than be troubled with the cares of office, Colonel Sorell, the new Governor, set himself with vigour to suppress these ruthless marauders. He was to some extent successful, and the young colony enjoyed an interval of peace. Farming was profitable, and the exports of wheat began to assume large dimensions. The best breeds of sheep were brought into the island, and Van Diemen's Land wool, which at first had been despised in England, and used only for stuffing mattresses, grew into favour, and was bought by the manufacturers at high prices. Thus many of the settlers became wealthy, and the estates from which their wealth was derived began to have a correspondingly high value, so as to give the colony an assured prosperity which was certainly remarkable in the sixteenth year from its foundation. Another industry was added, which indirectly contributed to the wealth of Tasmania. The captain of a merchant vessel, on his way to Sydney, had seen a great shoal of whales off the south coast of Tasmania, and, along with the Governor of New South Wales, secretly formed a scheme to fit out a whaling expedition. But his crew also had seen the whales, and soon made the fact widely known; so that, by the time the captain's party was ready to sail, there were several other whaling vessels on the point of starting. They were all successful, and very soon a large number of ships was engaged in whale fishing. Now, as Hobart Town was the nearest port, the whalers found that it saved time to go thither with their oil, and to buy their provisions and refit their ships there; so that the trade and importance of the little city received a very material impetus in this way. Much of the progress was due to the sensible management of Governor Sorell, who spared no effort to reform the convicts, as well as to elevate and refine the free settlers. Hence it was with great regret that the colonists saw his term of office expire in 1824. They petitioned the English Government to allow him to stay for another six years; and when the reply was given that this could not be done, as Colonel Sorell was required elsewhere, they presented him with a handsome testimonial, and settled on him an income of £500 a year from their own revenues. #9. Governor Arthur.#--After Colonel Sorell had left, bushranging became as troublesome as ever. Governor Arthur arrived in 1824, and found the colony fast relapsing into its former unsettled state. He learnt that, shortly before, some thirteen or fourteen convicts had succeeded in escaping from the penal settlement in an open boat, and had landed on a lonely part of the coast. They were joined by a great crowd of concealed convicts, and, under the leadership of Crawford and Brady, formed a dangerous horde of robbers, who, for years, kept the whole colony in terror. For a while they plundered without hindrance, till a party of about a dozen attacked the house of an old gentleman named Taylor, who had the courage to fight and defeat them. With his three sons, his carpenter, and his servant, he fired upon the advancing ruffians, whilst his daughters rapidly reloaded the muskets. The robbers retreated, leaving their leader--Crawford--and two or three others, who had been wounded, to be captured by Mr. Taylor and sent to Hobart Town, where they were executed. Brady then became chief leader of the band, and though his encounter with Mr. Taylor had taken away all his ardour for fighting, he contrived to plunder and annoy for a long time. Deep in the woods, along the silent banks of the Shannon, the outlaws lived securely; for, even when the soldiers ventured to penetrate into these lonely regions, the outlaws could easily escape to the rugged mountain sides, where they could hide or defend themselves. Governor Arthur's task was not an easy one, for Brady could command a powerful force, and his was not the only one of the kind; the result was that, for a long time, the country was unsettled and trade was paralysed. Seeing no other course open, Governor Arthur offered a pardon and a free passage home to those who surrendered. So many were thus induced to submit peaceably that, at length, Brady was almost alone; and whilst he wandered in a secluded valley, without followers, he was surprised by John Batman, who, several years after, assisted in the settlement of Victoria. Brady surrendered and was executed; the bushrangers, by degrees, disappeared, and the colonists once more breathed freely. #10. Separation.#--Hitherto Tasmania had only been a dependency of New South Wales, but in 1825 it was made a separate colony, with a Supreme Court of its own. In 1829 it received its first legislative body, fifteen gentlemen being appointed to consult with the Governor and make laws for the colony. For some years after, the history of Tasmania is simply an account of quiet industry and steady progress. Hobart Town, by degrees, grew to be a fine city, with handsome buildings and well kept streets. The country districts were fenced in and well tilled, good roads and bridges were made, and everything looked smiling and prosperous. The only serious difficulty was the want of coin for the ordinary purposes of trade. So great was the scarcity of gold and silver money that pieces of paper, with promises to pay a certain sum--perhaps a sixpence or a shilling--were largely used in the colony, in place of the money itself. At the request of Governor Arthur, coins to the value of a hundred thousand pounds were sent out from England for the use of the colonists. Governor Arthur's period of office expired in 1836, and he left the colony, greatly to the regret of the colonists, who subscribed £1,500 to present him with a testimonial. He was succeeded by Sir John Franklin, the famous voyager, whose history will be related in a subsequent chapter. CHAPTER VI. NEW SOUTH WALES, 1808-1837. #1. Governor Macquarie.#--In 1808 the English Government held an inquiry as to the circumstances which had caused the expulsion of Governor Bligh; and though they cashiered Major Johnstone, and indeed ordered the whole of the New South Wales Corps to be disbanded, yet, as it was clear that Bligh had been himself very much to blame, they yielded to the wishes of the settlers in so far as to appoint a new Governor in his place, and therefore despatched Major-General Macquarie to take the position. He was directed to reinstate Bligh for a period of twenty-four hours, in order to indicate that the authorities in England would not suffer the colonists to dictate to them in these matters; but that they reserved completely to themselves the right to appoint and dismiss the Governors. However, as Bligh had by this time gone to Tasmania, Macquarie was forced to content himself, on his arrival, with merely proclaiming what had been his instructions. [Illustration: GOVERNOR MACQUARIE.] In the early days of the colonies their destinies were, to a great extent, moulded by the Governors who had charge of them. Whether for good or for evil, the influence of the Governor was decisive; and it was, therefore, a matter of great good fortune to Sydney that, during the long administration of Governor Lachlan Macquarie, this influence was almost wholly on the side of good. Not that Macquarie had no faults. He was a man full of vanity and self-conceit; a man who, instead of sober despatches to his superiors in England, wrote flowery accounts of himself and his wonderful doings; a man who, in his egoism, affixed the names of himself and of his family to nearly every place discovered in the colony during his term of office. Yet, apart from this weakness, Macquarie may be characterised as an exemplary man and an admirable Governor. He devoted himself heartily to his work; his chief thought for twelve years was how to improve the state of the little colony, and how to raise the degraded men who had been sent thither. An ardent feeling of philanthropy gave a kindly tone to his restless activity. Once every year he made a complete tour of the settled portions of the colony, to observe their condition and discover what improvements were needed. He taught the farmers to build for themselves neat houses, in place of the rude huts they had previously been content with; he encouraged them to improve their system of farming, sometimes with advice, sometimes with money, but more often with loans from the Government stores. He built churches and schools; he took the warmest interest in the progress of religion and of education; and neglected nothing that could serve to elevate the moral tone of the little community. Certainly, no community has ever been in greater need of elevation. The fact that the British Government thought it necessary to send out 1,100 soldiers to keep order among a population of only 10,000 indicates very plainly what was the character of these people, and almost justifies the sweeping assertion of Macquarie, that the colony consisted of those "who had been transported, and those who ought to have been". Yet Macquarie uniformly showed a kindly disposition towards the convicts; he settled great numbers of them as free men on little farms of their own; and if they did not succeed as well as they might have done, it was not for want of advice and assistance from the Governor. #2. Road over the Blue Mountains.# The most important result of Macquarie's activity was the opening up of new country. He had quite a passion for road-making; and though, on his arrival in the colony, he found only forty-five miles of what were little better than bush tracks, yet, when he left, there were over three hundred miles of excellent and substantial roads spreading in all directions from Sydney. He marked out towns--such as Windsor, Richmond, and Castlereagh--in suitable places; then, by making roads to them, he encouraged the freed convicts to leave Sydney and form little communities inland. But his greatest achievement in the way of road-making was the highway across the Blue Mountains. This range had for years presented an insurmountable barrier. Many persons--including the intrepid Bass--had attempted to cross it, but in vain; the only one who succeeded even in penetrating far into that wild and rugged country was a gentleman called Caley, who stopped at the edge of an enormous precipice, where he could see no way of descending. But in 1813 three gentlemen--named Wentworth, Lawson, and Blaxland--succeeded in crossing. After laboriously piercing through the dense timber which covers some of the ranges, they traversed a wild and desolate country, sometimes crawling along naked precipices, sometimes fighting their way through wild ravines, but at length emerging on the beautiful plains to the west. On their return they found that by keeping constantly on the crest of a long spur, the road could be made much easier, and Governor Macquarie, stimulated by their report, sent Surveyor Evans to examine the pass. His opinion was favourable, and Macquarie lost no time in commencing to construct a road over the mountains. The difficulties in his way were immense; for fifty miles the course lay through the most rugged country, where yawning chasms had to be bridged, and oftentimes the solid rock had to be cut away. Yet, in less than fifteen months, a good carriage highway stretched from Sydney across the mountains; and the Governor was able to take Mrs. Macquarie on a trip to the fine pasture lands beyond, where he founded a town and named it Bathurst, after Lord Bathurst, the Secretary of State. This was a measure of great importance to the colony, for the country between the mountains and the sea was too limited and too much subject to droughts to maintain the two hundred and fifty thousand sheep which the prosperous colony now possessed. Many squatters took their flocks along the road to Bathurst, and settled down in the spacious pasture lands of the Macquarie and Lachlan Rivers. [Illustration: BLUE MOUNTAIN SCENERY, WENTWORTH FALLS, NEW SOUTH WALES.] #3. Governor Brisbane.#--In 1821 Governor Macquarie left for England, much regretted by the colonists. The only serious mistake of his policy had been that he had quietly discouraged the introduction of free settlers, "because," as he said, "the colony is intended for convicts, and free settlers have no business here". His successor--Sir Thomas Brisbane--and, afterwards, Sir Ralph Darling--adopted a more liberal policy, and offered every inducement to free immigrants to make their homes in the colony. It was never found possible, however, to obtain many of that class which has been so successful in America, consisting of men who, having with difficulty gathered sufficient money for their passages, landed in their adopted country without means and with no resources beyond the cheerful labour of themselves and of their families, yet settled down in the deep, untrodden forests, and there made for themselves happy and prosperous homes. This was not the class of immigrants who arrived in New South Wales during the times of Brisbane and Darling. For in 1818 free passages to Australia had been abolished, and the voyage was so long and so expensive that a poor man could scarcely hope to accomplish it. Hence, those who arrived in Sydney were generally young men of good education, who brought with them a few hundred pounds, and not only were willing to labour themselves, but were able to employ the labour of others. In America, the "squatter" was a man who farmed a small piece of land. In Australia, he was one who bought a flock of sheep and carried them out to the pasture lands, where, as they increased from year to year, he grew rich with the annual produce of their wool. Sir Thomas Brisbane was pleased with the advent of men of this class: he gave them grants of land and assigned to them as many convicts as they were able to employ. Very speedily the fine lands of the colony were covered with flocks and herds; and the applications for convicts became so numerous that, at one time, two thousand more were demanded than could be supplied. Hence began an important change in the colony. The costly Government farms were, one after another, broken up, and the convicts assigned to the squatters. Then the unremunerative public works were abandoned; for many of these had been begun only for the purpose of occupying the prisoners. All this tended for good; as the convicts, when thus scattered, were much more manageable, and much more likely to reform, than when gathered in large and corrupting crowds. In Macquarie's time, not one convict in ten could be usefully employed; seven or eight years after, there was not a convict in the colony whose services would not be eagerly sought for at a good price by the squatters. This important change took place under Governors Brisbane and Darling, and was in a great measure due to those Governors; yet, strange to say, neither of them was ever popular. Brisbane, who entered upon office in 1821, was a fine old soldier, a thorough gentleman, honourable and upright in all his ways. Yet it could not be doubted that he was out of his proper sphere when conducting the affairs of a young colony, and in 1825 the British Government found it necessary to recall him. #4. Governor Darling.#--He was succeeded by Sir Ralph Darling, who was also a soldier, but was, at the same time, a man well adapted for business. Yet he, too, failed to give satisfaction. He was precise and methodical, and his habits were painfully careful, exhibiting that sort of diligence which takes infinite trouble and anxiety over details, to the neglect of larger and more important matters. His administration lasted six years, from 1825 to 1831. During this period an association was formed in England, consisting of merchants and members of Parliament, who subscribed a capital of one million pounds, and received from Government a grant of one million acres in New South Wales. They called themselves the Australian Agricultural Company, and proposed to improve and cultivate the waste lands of Australia, to import sheep and cattle for squatting purposes, to open up mines for coal and metals, and, in general, to avail themselves of the vast resources of the colony. Sir Edward Parry, the famous Polar navigator, was sent out as manager. The servants and _employés_ of the association formed quite a flourishing colony on the Liverpool Plains, at the head of the Darling River; and though, at first, it caused some confusion in the financial state of New South Wales, yet, in the end, it proved of great benefit to the whole colony. #5. The Legislative Council.#--In 1824 a small Executive Council had been formed to consult with Governor Brisbane on colonial matters. In 1829 this was enlarged and became the Legislative Council, consisting of fifteen members, who had power to make laws for the colony. But as their proceedings were strictly secret, and could be completely reversed by the Governor whenever he chose, they formed but a very imperfect substitute for a truly legislative body. Yet this Council was of some service to the colony: one of its first acts was to introduce the English jury system, in place of arbitrary trials by Government officials. #6. The Newspaper War.#--Governor Darling was never popular. During the greater part of his period of office intrigues were continually on foot to obtain his recall; and from this state of feeling there arose what has been called the newspaper war, which lasted for four years with great violence. The first Australian newspaper had been established in 1803 by a convict named Howe. It was in a great measure supported by the patronage of the Government, and the Governors always exercised the right of forbidding the insertion of what they disliked. Hence this paper, the _Sydney Gazette_, was considered to be the Government organ, and, accordingly, its opinions of the Governors and their acts were greatly distrusted. But, during the time of Brisbane, an independent newspaper, the _Australian_, was established by Mr. Wentworth and Dr. Wardell. A second of the same kind soon followed, and was called the _Monitor_. These papers found it to their advantage, during the unpopularity of Darling, to criticise severely the acts of that Governor, who was defended by the _Gazette_ with intemperate zeal. This altercation had lasted for some time, when, in the third year of Darling's administration, a very small event was sufficient to set the whole colony in an uproar. A dissipated soldier named Sudds persuaded his companion, Thompson, that their prospects were not hopeful so long as they remained soldiers; but that, if they became convicts, they had a fair chance of growing rich and prosperous. Accordingly, they entered a shop and stole a piece of cloth. They were tried, convicted, and sentenced to be transported to Tasmania for seven years. This was what they wished; but Governor Darling, having heard of the scheme they were so successfully carrying out, took it upon himself to alter the course of the law, and directed them to be chained together with heavy spiked collars of iron about their necks, and to be set to labour on the roads. Sudds was suffering from liver disease; he sank beneath the severity of his punishment, and in a few days he died--while Thompson, about the same time, became insane. This was an excellent opportunity for the opposition papers, which immediately attacked the Governor for what they called his illegal interference and his brutality. The _Gazette_ filled its columns with the most fulsome flattery in his defence, and Darling himself was so imprudent as to mingle in the dispute, and to do what he could to annoy the editors of the two hostile papers. Very soon the whole colony was divided into two great classes--the one needlessly extolling the Governor, the other denouncing him as the most cowardly and brutal of men. For four years this abusive warfare lasted, till at length the opponents of Darling won the day; and in 1831 he was recalled by the English Government. #7. Governor Bourke.#--Sir Richard Bourke, who succeeded him, was the most able and the most popular of all the Sydney Governors. He had the talent and energy of Macquarie; but he had, in addition, a frank and hearty manner, which insensibly won the hearts of the colonists, who, for years after his departure, used to talk affectionately of him as the "good old Governor Bourke". During his term of office the colony continued in a sober way to make steady progress. In 1833 its population numbered 60,000, of whom 36,000 were free persons. Every year there arrived three thousand fresh convicts; but as an equal number of free immigrants also arrived, the colony was benefited by its annual increase of population. [Illustration: ST. ANDREW'S CATHEDRAL, SYDNEY.] #8. The Land Question.#--Governor Bourke, on his landing, found that much discontent existed with reference to what was called the Land Question. It was understood that any one who applied for land to the Government, and showed that he would make a good use of it, would receive a suitable area as a free grant. But many abuses crept in under this system. In theory, all men had an equal right to obtain the land they required; but, in practice, it was seldom possible for one who had no friends among the officials at Sydney to obtain a grant. An immigrant had often to wait for months, and see his application unheeded; while, meantime, a few favoured individuals were calling day by day at the Land Office, and receiving grant after grant of the choicest parts of the colony. Governor Bourke, under instructions from the English Parliament, made a new arrangement. There were to be no more free grants. In the settled districts all land was to be put up for auction; if less than five shillings an acre was offered, it was not to be sold; when the offers rose above that price, it was to be given to the highest bidder. This was regarded as a very fair arrangement; and, as a large sum of money was annually received from the sale of land, the Government was able to resume the practice, discontinued in 1818, of assisting poor people to emigrate from Europe to the colony. #9. The Squatters.#--Beyond the surveyed districts the land was occupied by squatters, who settled down where they pleased, but had no legal right to their "runs," as they were called. With regard to these lands new regulations were urgently required; for the squatters, who were liable to be turned off at a moment's notice, felt themselves in a very precarious position. Besides, as their sheep increased rapidly, and the flocks of neighbouring squatters interfered with one another, violent feuds sprang up, and were carried on with much bitterness. To put an end to these evils Governor Bourke ordered the squatters to apply for the land they required. He promised to have boundaries marked out; but gave notice that he would, in future, charge a rent in proportion to the number of sheep the land could support. In return, he would secure to each squatter the peaceable occupation of his run until the time came when it should be required for sale. This regulation did much to secure the stability of squatting interests in New South Wales. After ruling well and wisely for six years, Governor Bourke retired in the year 1837, amid the sincere regrets of the whole colony. CHAPTER VII. DISCOVERIES IN THE INTERIOR, 1817-1836. #1. Oxley.#--After the passage over the Blue Mountains had been discovered--in 1813--and the beautiful pasture land round Bathurst had been opened up to the enterprise of the squatters, it was natural that the colonists should desire to know something of the nature and capabilities of the land which stretched away to the west. In 1817 they sent Mr. Oxley, the Surveyor-General, to explore the country towards the interior, directing him to follow the course of the Lachlan and discover the ultimate "fate," as they called it, of its waters. Taking with him a small party, he set out from the settled districts on the Macquarie, and for many days walked along the banks of the Lachlan, through undulating districts of woodland and rich meadow. But, after a time, the explorers could perceive that they were gradually entering upon a region of totally different aspect; the ground was growing less and less hilly; the tall mountain trees were giving place to stunted shrubs; and the fresh green of the grassy slopes was disappearing. At length they emerged on a great plain, filled with dreary swamps, which stretched as far as the eye could reach, like one vast dismal sea of waving reeds. Into this forbidding region they penetrated, forcing their way through the tangled reeds and over weary miles of oozy mud, into which they sank almost to the knees at every step. Ere long they had to abandon this effort to follow the Lachlan throughout its course; they therefore retraced their steps, and, striking to the south, succeeded in going round the great swamp which had opposed their progress. Again they followed the course of the river for some distance, entering, as they journeyed, into regions of still greater desolation; but again they were forced to desist by a second swamp of the same kind. The Lachlan here seemed to lose itself in interminable marshes, and as no trace could be found of its further course, Oxley concluded that they had reached the end of the river. As he looked around on the dreary expanse, he pronounced the country to be "for ever uninhabitable"; and, on his return to Bathurst, he reported that, in this direction at least, there was no opening for enterprise. The Lachlan, he said, flows into an extensive region of swamps, which are perhaps only the margin of a great inland sea. Oxley was afterwards sent to explore the course of the Macquarie River, but was as little successful in this as in his former effort. The river flowed into a wide marsh, some thirty or forty miles long, and he was forced to abandon his purpose; he started for the eastern coast, crossed the New England Range, and descended the long woodland slopes to the sea, discovering on his way the river Hastings. #2. Allan Cunningham.#--Several important discoveries were effected by an enthusiastic botanist named Allan Cunningham, who, in his search for new plants, succeeded in opening up country which had been previously unknown. In 1825 he found a passage over the Liverpool Range, through a wild and picturesque gap, which he called the Pandora Pass; and on the other side of the mountains he discovered the fine pastoral lands of the Liverpool Plains and the Darling Downs, which are watered by three branches of the Upper Darling--the Peel, the Gwydir, and the Dumaresq. The squatters were quick to take advantage of these discoveries; and, after a year or two, this district was covered with great flocks of sheep. It was here that the Australian Agricultural Company formed their great stations already referred to. #3. Hume and Hovell.#--The southern coasts of the district now called Victoria had been carefully explored by Flinders and other sailors, but the country which lay behind these coasts was quite unknown. In 1824 Governor Brisbane suggested a novel plan of exploration; he proposed to land a party of convicts at Wilson's Promontory, with instructions to work their way through the interior to Sydney, where they would receive their freedom. The charge of the party was offered to Hamilton Hume, a young native of the colony, and a most expert and intrepid bushman. He was of an energetic and determined, though somewhat domineering disposition, and was anxious to distinguish himself in the work of exploration. He declined to undertake the expedition in the manner proposed by Governor Brisbane, but offered to conduct a party of convicts from Sydney to the southern coasts. A sea-captain named Hovell asked permission to accompany him. With these two as leaders, and six convict servants to make up the party, they set out from Lake George, carrying their provisions in two carts, drawn by teams of oxen. As soon as they met the Murrumbidgee their troubles commenced; the river was so broad and swift that it was difficult to see how they could carry their goods across. Hume covered the carts with tarpaulin, so as to make them serve as punts. Then he swam across the river, carrying the end of a rope between his teeth; and with this he pulled over the loaded punts. The men and oxen then swam across, and once more pushed forward. But the country through which they had now to pass was so rough and woody that they were obliged to abandon their carts and load the oxen with their provisions. They journeyed on, through hilly country, beneath the shades of deep and far-spreading forests; to their left they sometimes caught a glimpse of the snow-capped peaks of the Australian Alps, and at length they reached the banks of a clear and rapid stream, which they called the Hume, but which is now known as the Murray. Their carts being no longer available, they had to construct boats of wicker-work and cover them with tarpaulin. Having crossed the river, they entered the lightly timbered slopes to the north of Victoria, and holding their course south-west, they discovered first the river Ovens, and then a splendid stream which they called the Hovell, now known as the Goulburn. Their great object, however, was to reach the ocean, and every morning when they left their camping-place they were sustained by the hope of coming, before evening, in view of the open sea. But day after day passed, without any prospect of a termination to their journey. Hume and Hovell, seeing a high peak at some little distance, left the rest of the party to themselves for a few days, and with incredible labour ascended the mountain, in the expectation of beholding from its summit the great Southern Ocean in the distance. Nothing was to be seen, however, but the waving tops of gum trees rising ridge after ridge away to the south. Wearily they retraced their steps to the place where the others were encamped. They called this peak Mount Disappointment. Having altered the direction of their course a little, in a few days they were rejoiced by the sight of a great expanse of water. Passing through country which they declared to resemble, in its freshness and beauty, the well-kept park of an English nobleman, they reached a bay, which the natives called Geelong. Here a dispute took place between the leaders, Hovell asserting that the sheet of water before them was Western Port, Hume that it was Port Phillip. Hume expressed the utmost contempt for Hovell's ignorance; Hovell retorted with sarcasms on Hume's dogmatism and conceit; and the rest of the journey was embittered by so great an amount of ill-feeling that the two explorers were never again on friendly terms. Hume's careful and sagacious observations of the route by which they had come enabled him to lead the party rapidly and safely back to Sydney, where the leaders were rewarded with grants of land and the convicts with tickets-of-leave. [Illustration: CAPTAIN CHARLES STURT.] #4. Captain Sturt.#--The long drought which occurred between 1826 and 1828 suggested to Governor Darling the idea that, as the swamps which had impeded Oxley's progress would be then dried up, the exploration of the river Macquarie would not present the same difficulties as formerly. The charge of organising an expedition was given to Captain Sturt, who was to be accompanied by Hume, with a party of two soldiers and eight convicts. They carried with them portable boats; but when they reached the Macquarie they found its waters so low as to be incapable of floating them properly. Trudging on foot along the banks of the river they reached the place where Oxley had turned back. It was no longer a marsh; but, with the intense heat, the clay beneath their feet was baked and hard; there was the same dreary stretch of reeds, now withered and yellow under the glare of the sun. Sturt endeavoured to penetrate this solitude, but the physical exertion of pushing their way through the reeds was too great for them. If they paused to rest, they were almost suffocated in the hot and pestilent air; the only sound they could hear was the distant booming of the bittern, and a feeling of the most lonely wretchedness pervaded the scene. At length they were glad to leave this dismal region and strike to the west through a flat and monotonous district where the shells and claws of crayfish told of frequent inundations. Through this plain there flowed a river, which Sturt called the Darling, in honour of the Governor. They followed this river for about ninety miles, and then took their way back to Sydney, Sturt being now able to prove that the belief in the existence of a great inland sea was erroneous. #5. The Murray.#--In 1829, along with a naturalist named Macleay, Sturt was again sent out to explore the interior, and on this occasion carried his portable boats to the Murrumbidgee, on which he embarked his party of eight convicts. They rowed with a will, and soon took the boat down the river beyond its junction with the Lachlan. The stream then became narrow, a thick growth of overhanging trees shut out the light from above, while, beneath, the rushing waters bore them swiftly over dangerous snags and through whirling rapids, until they were suddenly shot out into the broad surface of a noble stream which flowed gently over its smooth bed of sand and pebbles. This river they called the Murray; but it was afterwards found to be only the lower portion of the stream which had been crossed by Hume and Hovell several years before. Sturt's manner of journeying was to row from sunrise to sunset, then land on the banks of the river and encamp for the night. This exposed the party to some dangers from the suspicious natives, who often mustered in crowds of several hundreds; but Sturt's kindly manner and pleasant smile always converted them into friends, so that the worst mishap he had to record was the loss of his frying-pan and other utensils, together with some provisions, which were stolen by the blacks in the dead of night. After twilight the little encampment was often swarming with dark figures; but Sturt joined in their sports, and Macleay especially became a great favourite with them by singing comic songs, at which the dusky crowds roared with laughter. The natives are generally good-humoured, if properly managed; and throughout Sturt's trip the white men and the blacks contrived to spend a very friendly and sociable time together. After following the Murray for about two hundred miles below the Lachlan they reached a place where a large river flowed from the north into the Murray. This was the mouth of the river Darling, which Sturt himself had previously discovered and named. He now turned his boat into it, in order to examine it for a short distance; but after they had rowed a mile or two they came to a fence of stakes, which the natives had stretched across the river for the purpose of catching fish. Rather than break the fence, and so destroy the labours of the blacks, Sturt turned to sail back. The natives had been concealed on the shore to watch the motions of the white men, and seeing their considerate conduct, they came forth upon the bank and gave a loud shout of satisfaction. The party in the boat unfurled the British flag, and answered with three hearty cheers, as they slowly drifted down with the current. This humane disposition was characteristic of Captain Sturt, who, in after life, was able to say that he had never--either directly or indirectly--caused the death of a black fellow. When they again entered on the Murray they were carried gently by the current--first to the west, then to the south; and, as they went onward, they found the river grow deeper and wider, until it spread into a broad sheet of water, which they called Lake Alexandrina, after the name of our present Queen, who was then the Princess Alexandrina Victoria. On crossing this lake they found the passage to the ocean blocked up by a great bar of sand, and were forced to turn their boat round and face the current, with the prospect of a toilsome journey of a thousand miles before they could reach home. They had to work hard at their oars, Sturt taking his turn like the rest. At length they entered the Murrumbidgee; but their food was now failing, and the labour of pulling against the stream was proving too great for the men, whose limbs began to grow feeble and emaciated. Day by day they struggled on, swinging more and more wearily at their oars, their eyes glassy and sunken with hunger and toil, and their minds beginning to wander as the intense heat of the midsummer sun struck on their heads. One man became insane; the others frequently lay down, declaring that they could not row another stroke, and were quite willing to die. Sturt animated them, and, with enormous exertions, he succeeded in bringing the party to the settled districts, where they were safe. They had made known the greatest river of Australia and traversed one thousand miles of unknown country, so that this expedition was by far the most important that had yet been made into the interior; and Sturt, by land, with Flinders, by sea, stands first on the roll of Australian discoverers. #6. Mitchell.#--The next traveller who sought to fill up the blank map of Australia was Major Mitchell. Having offered, in 1831, to conduct an expedition to the north-west, he set out with fifteen convicts and reached the Upper Darling; but two of his men, who had been left behind to bring up provisions, were speared by the blacks, and the stores plundered. This disaster forced the company soon after to return. In 1835, when the major renewed his search, he was again unfortunate. The botanist of the party, Richard Cunningham, brother of the Allan Cunningham already mentioned, was treacherously killed by the natives; and, finally, the determined hostility of the blacks brought the expedition to an ignominious close. In 1836 Major Mitchell undertook an expedition to the south, and in this he was much more successful. Taking with him a party of twenty-five convicts, he followed the Lachlan to its junction with the Murrumbidgee. Here he stayed for a short time to explore the neighbouring country; but the party was attacked by hordes of natives, some of whom were shot. The major then crossed the Murray; and, from a mountain top in the Lodden district, he looked forth on a land which he declared to be like the Garden of Eden. On all sides rich expanses of woodland and grassy plains stretched away to the horizon, watered by abundant streams. They then passed along the slopes of the Grampians and discovered the river Glenelg, on which they embarked in the boats which they had carried with them. The scenery along this stream was magnificent; luxurious festoons of creepers hung from the banks, trailing downwards in the eddying current, and partly concealing the most lovely grottos which the current had wrought out of the pure white banks of limestone. The river wound round abrupt hills and through verdant valleys, which made the latter part of their journey to the sea most agreeable and refreshing. Being stopped by the bar at the mouth of the Glenelg, they followed the shore for a short distance eastward, and then turned towards home. Portland Bay now lay on their right, and Mitchell made an excursion to explore it. What was his surprise to see a neat cottage on the shore, with a small schooner in front of it at anchor in the bay. This was the lonely dwelling of the brothers Henty, who had crossed from Tasmania and founded a whaling station at Portland Bay. On Mitchell's return he had a glorious view from the summit of Mount Macedon, and what he saw induced him, on his return to Sydney, to give to the country the name "Australia Felix". As a reward for his important services he received a vote of one thousand pounds from the Council at Sydney, and he was shortly afterwards knighted; so that he is now known as Sir Thomas Mitchell. CHAPTER VIII. PORT PHILLIP, 1800-1840. #1. Discovery of Port Phillip.#--The discovery of Bass Strait in 1798 had rendered it possible for the captains of ships bound for Sydney to shorten somewhat their voyage thither; and as this was recognised by the English Government to be a great advantage, a small vessel, the _Lady Nelson_, was sent out under the command of Lieutenant Grant, in order to make a thorough exploration of the passage. She reached the Australian coast at the boundary between the two present colonies of Victoria and South Australia. Grant called the cape he first met with Cape Northumberland. He saw and named Cape Nelson, Portland Bay, Cape Schanck, and other features of the coast. When he arrived in Sydney he called the attention of Governor King to a small inlet which he had not been able to examine, although it seemed to him of importance. In 1802 the Governor sent back the _Lady Nelson_, now under the command of Lieutenant Murray, to explore this inlet. Lieutenant Murray entered it, and found that a narrow passage led to a broad sheet of water, thoroughly landlocked, though of very considerable extent. He reported favourably of the beauty and fertility of its shores, and desired to name it Port King, in honour of the Governor; but Governor King requested that this tribute should be paid to the memory of his old commander, the first Australian Governor, and thus the bay received its present name, Port Phillip. Only sixty days later Flinders also entered the bay; but when he arrived, some time afterwards, in Sydney, he was surprised to find he was not the first discoverer. It was at this time that the Governor in Sydney was afraid of the intrusion of the French upon Australian soil, and when he heard how favourable the appearance of this port was for settlement he resolved to have it more carefully explored. Accordingly he sent a small schooner, the _Cumberland_, under the charge of Mr. Robbins, to make the examination. The vessel carried Charles Grimes, the Surveyor-General of New South Wales, and his assistant, Meehan; also a surgeon named M'Callum, and a liberated convict named Flemming, who was to report on the agricultural capabilities of the district. [Illustration: THE FIRST HOUSE BUILT IN VICTORIA.] On arriving at Port Phillip they commenced a systematic survey, Robbins sounding the bay, and making a careful chart, while the other four were every morning landed on the shore to examine the country. They walked ten or fifteen miles each day, and in the evening were again taken on board the schooner. Thus they walked from the site of Sorrento round by Brighton till they reached the river Yarra, which they described as a large fresh-water stream, but without naming it. Then they went round the bay as far as Geelong. They carried a good chart and several long reports to the Governor at Sydney, who would probably have sent a party down to settle by the Yarra, had it not been that an expedition had already set sail from England for the purpose of occupying the shores of Port Phillip. #2. Governor Collins.#--This was the expedition of David Collins, already mentioned. He brought out nearly 400 persons, of whom over 300 were convicts. There is good reason to believe that Collins from the first would have preferred to settle at the Derwent, in Tasmania, but at any rate he carried out his work at Port Phillip in a very half-hearted manner. Tuckey chose for the settlement a sandy shore at Sorrento, where scarcely a drop of fresh water was to be had, and where the blazing sun of midsummer must have been unusually trying to a crowd of people fresh from colder climates. [Illustration: THE FIRST HOTEL IN VICTORIA.] It soon became apparent that the site selected would never prove suitable, and Collins sent Lieutenant Tuckey in search of a better place. That officer seems to have made a very inefficient search. He found no river, and no stream better than the little one on which the town of Frankston now stands. Here he was attacked by a great crowd of blacks, and had a conflict with them sufficiently severe to prevent his landing again. He was thus debarred from exploration by land, and the stormy weather prevented him from remaining long in the open bay. Tuckey therefore returned with a very gloomy report, and increased the despondency of the little community. Every one was dull and dispirited, except the two or three children who had been allowed to accompany their convict parents. Among these, the leader of all their childish sports, was a little lad named John Pascoe Fawkner, who was destined to be afterwards of note in the history of Port Phillip. Everybody grew dispirited under the heat, the want of fresh water, and the general wretchedness of the situation; and very soon all voices were unanimous in urging the Governor to remove. Collins then sent a boat, with letters, to Sydney, and Governor King gave him permission to cross over to Tasmania. He lost not a moment in doing so, and founded the settlement at the Derwent, to which reference has already been made. Before he left, there were four convicts who took advantage of the confusion to escape into the bush, hoping to make their way to Sydney. One returned, footsore and weary, just in time to be taken on board; the other three were not again seen. Two are believed to have perished of hunger, and thirty-two years passed away before the fate of the third was discovered. #3. Western Port.#--When Hume and Hovell returned to Sydney after their exploring expedition, Hovell insisted that the fine harbour he had seen was Western Port. He had really been at Geelong Harbour, but was all that distance astray in his reckoning. Induced by his report, the Government sent an expedition under Captain Wright to form a settlement at Western Port. Hovell went with him to give the benefit of his experience. They landed on Phillip Island; but the want of a stream of permanent water was a disadvantage, and soon after they crossed to the mainland on the eastern shore, where they founded a settlement, building wooden huts and one or two brick cottages. Hovell had now to confess that the place he had formerly seen was not Western Port, and he went off in search of the fine country he had previously seen, but came back disappointed. The settlement struggled onward for about a year, and was then withdrawn. It is not easy to explain in a few words why they abandoned their dwellings and the land they had begun to cultivate. It seems to have been due to a general discontent. However, there were private settlers in Tasmania who would have carried out the undertaking with much more energy. For in Tasmania the sheep had been multiplying at a great rate, while the amount of clear and grassy land in that island was very limited. One of the residents in Tasmania, named John Batman, who has been already mentioned, conceived the idea of forming an association among the Tasmanian sheep-owners, for the purpose of crossing Bass Strait and occupying with their flocks the splendid grassy lands which explorers had seen there. #4. Batman.#--John Batman was a native of Parramatta, but when he was about twenty-one years of age he had left his home to seek his fortune in Tasmania. There he had taken up land and had settled down to the life of a sheep-farmer in the country around Ben Lomond. But he was fond of a life of adventure, and found enough of excitement for a time in the troubled state of the colony. It was he who captured Brady, the leader of the bushrangers, and he became well known during the struggle with the natives on account of his success in dealing with them and in inducing them to surrender peaceably. But when all these troubles were over, and he had to settle down to the monotonous work of drafting and driving sheep, he found his land too rocky to support his flocks. Knowing that others in Tasmania were in the same difficulty, he and his friend Gellibrand, a lawyer in Hobart, in the year 1827 asked permission to occupy the grassy lands supposed to be round Western Port, but the Governor in Sydney refused. In 1834 some of them resolved to go without permission, and an association of thirteen members resolved to send sheep over to Port Phillip, which was now known to be the more suitable harbour. Before they sent the sheep, they resolved to send some one to explore and report. John Batman naturally volunteered, and the association chartered for him a little vessel, the _Rebecca_, in which, after nineteen days of sea-sickness and miserable tossing in the strait, he succeeded in entering Port Phillip on the 29th of May, 1835. Next morning he landed near Geelong and walked to the top of the Barrabool Hills, wading most of the way through grass knee-deep. On the following day he went in search of the aboriginals, and met a party of about twenty women, together with a number of children. With these he soon contrived to be on friendly terms; and after he had distributed among them looking-glasses, blankets, handkerchiefs, apples and sugar, he left them very well satisfied. #5. The Yarra.# A day or two later the _Rebecca_ anchored in Hobson's Bay, in front of the ti-tree scrub and the lonely shores where now the streets of Williamstown extend in all directions. Batman again started on foot to explore that river whose mouth lay there in front of him. With fourteen men, all well armed, he passed up the river banks; but, being on the left side, he naturally turned up that branch which is called the Saltwater, instead of the main stream. After two days of walking through open grassy lands, admirably suited for sheep, they reached the site of Sunbury. From a hill at that place they could see fires about twenty miles to the south-east; and, as they were anxious to meet the natives, they bent their steps in that direction till they overtook a native man, with his wife and three children. To his great satisfaction, he learnt that these people knew of his friendly meeting with the women in the Geelong district. They guided him to the banks of the Merri Creek, to the place where their whole tribe was encamped. He stayed with them all night, sleeping in a pretty grassy hollow beside the stream. In the morning he offered to buy a portion of their land, and gave them a large quantity of goods, consisting of scissors, knives, blankets, looking-glasses, and articles of this description. In return, they granted him all the land stretching from the Merri Creek to Geelong. Batman had the documents drawn up, and on the Northcote Hill, overlooking the grass-covered flats of Collingwood and the sombre forests of Carlton and Fitzroy, the natives affixed their marks to the deeds, by which Batman fancied he was legally put in possession of 600,000 acres. Trees were cut with notches, in order to fix the boundaries, and in the afternoon Batman took leave of his black friends. He had not gone far before he was stopped by a large swamp, and so slept for the night under the great gum trees which then spread their shade over the ground now covered by the populous streets of West Melbourne. In the morning he found his way round the swamp, and in trying to reach the Saltwater came upon a noble stream, which was afterwards called the Yarra. In the evening he reached his vessel in the bay. Next day he ascended the Yarra in a boat; and when he came to the Yarra Falls, he wrote in his diary, "This will be the place for a village," unconscious that he was gazing upon the site of a great and busy city. Returning to Indented Head, near the heads of Port Phillip, he left three white men and his Sydney natives to cultivate the soil and retain possession of the land he supposed himself to have purchased. Then he set sail for Tasmania, where he and his associates began to prepare for transporting their households, their sheep and their cattle, to the new country. #6. The Henty Brothers.#--But even earlier than this period a quiet settlement had been made in the western parts of Victoria. There, as early as 1828, sealers had dwelt at Portland Bay, had built their little cottages and formed their little gardens. But they were unauthorised, and could only be regarded by the British Government as intruders, having no legal right to the land they occupied. In 1834, however, there came settlers of another class--Edward, Stephen, and Frank Henty. Their father--a man of some wealth--had in 1828 emigrated with all his family to Western Australia, carrying with him large quantities of fine stock. But the settlement at Swan River proving a failure, he had removed to Tasmania, where his six sons all settled. Very soon they found the pastoral lands of Tasmania too limited, and as Edward Henty had in one of his coasting voyages seen the sealers at Portland Bay and noticed how numerous the whales were in that bay, and how fine the grassy lands that lay within, he chartered a vessel, the _Thistle_, and crossed in her to settle at Portland Bay with servants, sheep, cattle, and horses. [Illustration: EDWARD HENTY.] The land was all that had been anticipated, and soon Frank, and then Stephen, arrived, with more stock and more men to tend them. Houses and stores were put up, and fields were ploughed. Ere long other settlers followed, and in the course of five or six years all the district lying inland from Portland Bay was well settled and covered with sheep, while at Portland Bay itself so many whales were caught that there were not tanks enough to hold the oil, and much of it was wasted. The English Government after some delay agreed to sell land to the settlers, and before 1840 a thriving little town stood on the shores of Portland Bay. [Illustration: JOHN PASCOE FAWKNER.] #7. Fawkner.#--John Pascoe Fawkner, who, as a boy, had landed at Sorrento in 1803, had grown up to manhood in Tasmania through stormy times, and had at length settled down as an innkeeper in Launceston; with that business, however, combining the editing and publishing of a small newspaper. For he was always a busy and active-minded worker, and had done a great deal to make up for the defective education of his earlier years. When Batman arrived in Launceston with the news of the fine pastoral country across the water, Fawkner became quite excited at the prospects that seemed possible over there. He accordingly began to agitate for the formation of another association, and five members joined him. At his expense, the schooner _Enterprise_ was chartered and loaded with all things necessary for a small settlement. On the 27th July, 1835, he set sail from Launceston; but the weather was so rough that, after three days and two nights of inexpressible sickness, Fawkner found himself still in sight of the Tasmanian coast. He therefore asked to be put ashore, and left Captain Lancey to manage the trip as he thought best. The captain took the vessel over to Western Port, as had been originally arranged; but the land there was not nearly so good as they understood it to be in the Port Phillip district. So they sailed round and safely anchored in Hobson's Bay, bringing with them horses and ploughs, grain, fruit trees, materials for a house, boats, provisions, and, indeed, everything that a small settlement could want. Getting out their boat, they entered upon the stream which they saw before them; but, unfortunately, they turned up the wrong arm, and, after rowing many miles, were forced to turn back, the water all the way being salt and unfit for drinking. For this reason they called this stream the Saltwater; but next morning they started again and tried the other branch. After pulling for about an hour and a half they reached a basin in the river whose beauty filled them with exultation and delight. A rocky ledge over which the river flowed kept the water above it fresh; the soil was rich, and covered with splendid grass, and they instantly came to the conclusion to settle in this favoured spot. Next day they towed the vessel up, and landed where the Custom House now is. At night they slept beside the falls, where the air was fragrant with the sweet scent of the wattle trees just bursting into bloom. They had not been on the river many days before Mr. Wedge--one of Batman's party--in crossing the country from Indented Head to the Yarra, was astonished to see the masts of a vessel rising amid the gum trees. On reaching the river bank, what was his surprise to find, in that lonely spot, a vessel almost embedded in the woods, and the rocks and glades echoing to the sound of hammer and saw and the encouraging shouts of the ploughmen! Wedge informed Fawkner's party that they were trespassers on land belonging to John Batman and Company. Captain Lancey, having heard the story of the purchase, declared that such a transaction could have no value. When Wedge was gone, the settlers laid their axes to the roots of the trees, and began to clear the land for extensive cultivation. A fortnight later Wedge brought round all his party from Indented Head in order to occupy what Batman had marked as the site for a village, and the two rival parties were encamped side by side where the western part of Collins Street now stands. A little later Fawkner arrived with further settlers and with a wooden house, which he soon erected by the banks of the Yarra, the first regularly built house of Melbourne. He placed it by the side of the densely wooded stream, which was afterwards turned into Elizabeth Street. Great crowds of black and white cockatoos raised their incessant clamour at the first strokes of the axe; but soon the hillside was clear, and man had taken permanent possession of the spot. #8. William Buckley.#--Meanwhile a circumstance had happened which favoured Batman's party in no small degree. The men left at Indented Head were surprised one morning to see an extremely tall figure advancing towards them. His hair was thickly matted; his skin was brown, but not black, like that of the natives; he was almost naked, and he carried the ordinary arms of the aborigines. This was William Buckley, the only survivor of the three convicts who had escaped from Governor Collins's expedition. He had dwelt for thirty-two years among the natives. During this long time he had experienced many strange adventures, but had not exercised the smallest influence for good upon the natives. He was content to sink at once to their level, and to lead the purely animal life they led. But when he heard that there was a party of whites on Indented Head, whom the Geelong tribes proposed to murder, he crossed to warn them of their danger. Batman's party clothed him and treated him well, and for a time he acted as interpreter, smoothing over many of the difficulties that arose with the natives, and rendering the formation of the settlement much less difficult than it might have been. #9. Excitement in Tasmania.#--The news taken over by Batman caused a commotion in Tasmania. Many settlers crossed in search of the new country, and, before a year had passed, nearly two hundred persons, with more than 15,000 sheep, had landed on the shores of Port Phillip. But they soon spread over a great extent of country--from Geelong to Sunbury. They were in the midst of numerous black tribes, who now, too late, began to perceive the nature of Batman's visit, and commenced to seek revenge. Frequent attacks were made, in one of which a squatter and his servant were killed beside the Werribee. Their bodies lie buried in the Flagstaff Gardens. #10. Governor Bourke.#--These were not the only troubles of the settlers; for the Sydney Government declared that all purchases of land from ignorant natives were invalid, and Governor Bourke issued a proclamation, warning the people at Port Phillip against fixing their homes there, as the land did not legally belong to them. Still new settlers flocked over, and a township began to be formed on the banks of the Yarra. Batman's association found that their claims to the land granted them by the natives would not be allowed; and, after some correspondence on the subject with the Home Government, they had to be content with 28,000 acres, as compensation for the money they had expended. #11. Lonsdale.#--Towards the close of 1836 Governor Bourke found himself compelled to recognise the new settlement, and sent Captain Lonsdale to act as a magistrate; thirty soldiers accompanied him to maintain order and protect the settlers. Next year (1837) the Governor himself arrived at Port Phillip, where he found the settlers now numbering 500. He planned out the little town, giving names to its streets, and finally settling that it should be called Melbourne, after Lord Melbourne, who was then the Prime Minister of England. #12. Latrobe.#--in 1838 Geelong began to grow into a township, and the settlers spread west as far as Colac. Next year Mr. Latrobe was sent to take charge of the whole district of Port Phillip, under the title of Superintendent, but with almost all the powers of a Governor. The settlers held a public meeting, in an auction-room at Market Square, for the purpose of according a hearty welcome to their new Governor, whose kindliness and upright conduct soon made him a great favourite. [Illustration: GOVERNOR LATROBE.] A wattle-and-daub building was put up as a police-office, on the site of the Western Markets, where it did duty for some time, until one night it fell; some say because it was undermined by a party of imprisoned natives; but others, because a bull belonging to Mr. Batman had rushed against it. A court-house was erected, and four policemen appointed. A post-office next followed, and, one by one, the various institutions of a civilised community arose in miniature form. Numerous ships began to enter the bay, and a lucrative trade sprang up with Tasmania. In 1838 the first newspaper appeared. It was due to the enterprise of Fawkner. Every Monday morning sheets containing four pages of writing were distributed to the subscribers, under the title of the _Advertiser_. After nine issues of this kind had been published, a parcel of old refuse type was sent over from Tasmania; and a young man being found in the town who had, in his boyhood, spent a few months in a printing office, he was pressed into the service, and thenceforward the _Advertiser_ appeared in a printed form--the pioneer of the press of Victoria. Mr. Batman had fixed his residence not far from the place now occupied by the Spencer Street Railway Station. Here, in the year 1839, he was seized with a violent cold; and, after being carefully nursed by one of his daughters, died without seeing more than the beginning of that settlement he had laboured so hard to found. Mr. Fawkner lived to an advanced age, and saw the city--whose first house he had built--become a vast metropolis. [Illustration: COLLINS STREET, MELBOURNE, IN 1840. (Compare with page 177.)] The year 1839 brought further increase to the population; and before the beginning of 1840 there were 3,000 persons, with 500 houses and 70 shops, in Melbourne. In 1841, within five years of its foundation, it contained 11,000 persons and 1,500 houses. CHAPTER IX. SOUTH AUSTRALIA, 1836-1841. #1. Edward Gibbon Wakefield.#--In 1829 a small book was published in London which attracted a great deal of attention, not only by reason of its charming style and the liveliness of its manner, but also on account of the complete originality of the ideas it contained. It purported to be a letter written from Sydney, and described the annoyances to be endured by a man of taste and fortune if he emigrated to Australia. He could have no intellectual society; he could not enjoy the pleasures of his library or of his picture gallery; he could hope for none of the delights of easy retirement, seeing that he had to go forth on his land, and with his own hands labour for his daily food. For, said Mr. Wakefield, the author of this little book, you cannot long have free servants in this country; if a free man arrives in the colony, though he may for a short time work for you as a servant, yet he is sure to save a little money, and as land is here so excessively cheap, he soon becomes a landed proprietor. He settles down on his farm, and, though he may have a year or two of heavy toil, yet he is almost certain to become both happy and prosperous. Thus, the colony is an excellent place for a poor man, but it is a wretched abode for a man of means and of culture. Wakefield therefore proposed to found in Australia another colony, which should be better adapted to those who had fortunes sufficient to maintain them and yet desired to emigrate to a new country. His scheme for effecting this purpose was to charge a high price for the land, and so to prevent the poorer people from purchasing it; the money received from the sale of land he proposed to employ in bringing out young men and women, as servants and farm labourers, for the service of the wealthier colonists. Now, said Wakefield, on account of the immense natural resources of these colonies, their splendid soil, their magnificent pasture lands, their vast wealth in minerals, and their widespread forests of valuable timber, which stand ready for the axe, a gentleman possessed of only £20,000 will obtain as large an income from it as could be procured from £100,000 in England; yet he will be able to enjoy his learned and cultured leisure, just as he does at home, because all the work will be done for him by the servants he employs. For three or four years this agreeable fallacy made quite a stir in England: famous authors, distinguished soldiers, learned bishops were deceived by it; noblemen, members of Parliament, bankers and merchants, all combined to applaud this novel and excellent idea of Mr. Wakefield. #2. South Australian Association.#--in 1831 the first effort was made to give a practical turn to these theories, and the southern shores of Australia were selected as a suitable locality for the proposed colony. A company was formed; but when it applied to the British Government for a charter, which would have conceded the complete sovereignty of the whole southern region of Australia, Lord Goderich, the Secretary of State, replied that it was asking a great deal too much, and abruptly closed the negotiation. Two years later the South Australian Association was formed, and as this company asked for nothing beyond the power to sell waste lands and apply the proceeds to assist immigration, the British Government gave its consent, and an Act was passed by the Imperial Parliament to give the association full power to found a colony. This Act directed that commissioners should be appointed to frame laws for the colony, to establish courts, and to nominate its officers; land was to be thrown open for sale at not less than twelve shillings an acre, and even this comparatively high price was to be raised, after a short time, to £1 per acre, in order to keep the land in the hands of the wealthy. It was expressly stated that no convict would be allowed to land in the new settlement, which, it was hoped, would become in every respect a model community. The British Government declined to incur any expense in establishing or in maintaining the colony, which was to be purely self-supporting. Eleven commissioners were appointed, of whom Colonel Torrens was chairman in England, and Mr. Fisher the representative in Australia, where he was to take charge of the sale of lands and supervise the affairs of the colony. At the same time, Captain Hindmarsh was appointed Governor, and Colonel Light was sent out to survey the waste lands preparatory to their being offered for sale. [Illustration: THE FIRST SETTLEMENT AT ADELAIDE, 1836. (Compare with page 167.)] In May, 1835, during the very month in which Batman was wandering for the first time on the banks of the Yarra, these appointments for the foundation of a fourth Australian colony were being published in the English _Government Gazette_. Thus Victoria and South Australia took their widely different origins at almost the same time; but while the first actual settlers landed at Port Phillip towards the end of 1835, the pioneers of South Australia did not reach that colony until the middle of 1836. #3. Adelaide.#--The first emigrants to South Australia landed on Kangaroo Island, of which Flinders had given a most attractive account; but though the place was beautifully wooded, and of the most picturesque aspect, it was found to be in many respects unsuitable for the foundation of a city; and when Colonel Light shortly afterwards arrived with his staff of surveyors, he at once decided to remove the settlement to St. Vincent's Gulf. Here, about six miles from the shores of the gulf, he selected a broad plain between the sea and the pleasant hills of the Mount Lofty Range; and on the bank of a small stream, which he called the Torrens, he marked out the lines of the infant city. Queen Adelaide was the wife of the reigning King of England, and, as she was exceedingly popular, the colonists, with enthusiasm, adopted her name for their capital. A harbour was found seven miles distant from the city, and on it a town was established, to which the name Port Adelaide was given. #4. Governor Hindmarsh.#--In December, 1836, Governor Hindmarsh landed, and beneath a spreading gum tree near the beach he read his commission to a small audience of emigrants and officials; but when he proceeded to examine what had been done, he was filled with disgust and indignation. The only landing-place for vessels was in the midst of a mangrove swamp at the mouth of a muddy little creek; and all goods would have to be carried six or seven miles inland to the city. To a sailor's eye, it seemed the most reckless folly to make so unusual a choice, and he at once determined to remove the settlement to Encounter Bay; but neither Colonel Light nor Mr. Fisher would permit any change to be made, and a violent quarrel took place. As resident commissioner, Mr. Fisher had powers equal to those of the Governor, and was thus enabled to prolong the contest. Of the settlers, some sided with the Governor; others gave their support to the commissioner, and the colony was quickly divided into two noisy factions. After fourteen months of constant wrangling, the English Government interfered. Mr. Fisher was dismissed and Governor Hindmarsh recalled, while the offices of both were conferred on Colonel Gawler, who arrived in the colony during the year 1838. [Illustration: GOVERNOR HINDMARSH.] #5. Early Failures.#--The Wakefield system could not possibly realise the hopeful anticipations which had been formed of it; for the foundation of a new colony and the reclaiming of the lonely forest wilds are not to be accomplished by merely looking on at the exertions of hired servants. Ladies and gentlemen who had, in England, paid for land they had never seen, were, on their arrival, greatly disgusted at the sight of the toils before them. They had to pull their luggage through the dismal swamp, for there were neither porters nor cabs in waiting; they had to settle down in canvas tents, on a grassy plain, which was called a city, but where a few painted boards here and there, fastened to the trunks of gum trees, were the only indications of streets. Then, when they went out to see their estates, and beheld great stretches of rude and unpromising wilderness--when they considered how many years must pass away before there could possibly arise the terraces and gardens, the orchards and grassy lawns, which make an English country-house delightful--their courage failed them, and, instead of going forth upon the land, they clustered together in Adelaide. Every one wished to settle down in the city, and as it was expected that, with the growth of population, the value of town allotments would rapidly increase, the idea became prevalent that to buy land in the city and keep it for sale in future years would be a profitable investment. But there were so many who entertained the same astute design that, when they all came to put it in practice, there was little gain to any one; and the only result was that Adelaide was turned into a scene of reckless speculation and gambling in land. #6. Governor Gawler.#--Meantime poorer emigrants were arriving in expectation of obtaining employment from their wealthier predecessors, who had been able to pay the high price demanded for land. They found that those whom they expected to be their employers had abandoned the idea of going out into the country to cultivate the soil. There was, therefore, nothing for them to do; they had no money with which to speculate in town allotments, they had no land on which to commence farming for themselves, and they were in a wretched plight. Provisions had rapidly increased in price, so that flour rose from £20 to £80 per ton; no food was being produced from the land, and nothing whatever was being done to develop the resources of the colony, whilst the money which the settlers had brought with them was rapidly being spent in importing shiploads of provisions from other countries. In order to give employment to those of the settlers who were really destitute, Governor Gawler commenced a series of Government works. He constructed a good road between Adelaide and its port. He formed wharves, and reclaimed the unwholesome swamp; he built a Custom House, with warehouses and many other costly buildings, the Government House alone costing £20,000. Now, these were all in themselves very desirable things; but it was difficult to see how they were to be paid for. Colonel Gawler spent nearly the whole of his own private fortune in paying the wages of the unfortunate persons he employed, but that could not long support so great a concourse of people. He persuaded merchants in England to send out provisions and clothing for the famished people; but the only means he had of paying for these goods was by drafts on the British Treasury, which were accepted at first as equivalent to money, for it was believed that, whenever they were presented in London, payment would immediately be made by the British Government. But this was a serious mistake: though the first series of drafts were paid readily enough, yet when the authorities in England found that others, for larger and larger amounts, continued to pour in, they refused to pay, and reminded the colony that, by the terms of its charter, it was to be entirely self-supporting. A series of drafts, to the amount of £69,000, were therefore dishonoured; and the merchants, finding the drafts to be worth no more than so much paper, demanded their money from the Governor; but he had nothing with which to pay, and the colony had to be declared insolvent, having debts to the amount of about £400,000 which it could not meet. #7. The Collapse.#--Matters were now in a very gloomy condition. Most of the colonists became anxious to return to England, and therefore sought to sell their land. But when nearly all wished to sell, and scarcely any wished to buy, the price went down to a trifle, and men who had invested fortunes in town allotments, realised no more than enough to pay their passage home. In the meantime the English merchants declined to send out any further supplies, and those who had not the means of leaving Adelaide seemed in great danger of starving. But as land could now be bought very cheaply, many industrious people of the poorer class settled down to clear the country for farming. This was what should have been done at the very beginning; for no colony can be prosperous, or look for anything but bankruptcy, until it commences to produce grain, or wool, or minerals, or some other commodity with which it can purchase from other lands the goods which they produce. The lands of South Australia are admirably adapted for the growth of wheat; and, after a time, success attended the efforts of the farmers, who thus laid the foundations of future prosperity. [Illustration: PROCLAMATION TREE, GLENELG. (The colony of S. Australia proclaimed a British dependency, 28th December, 1836.)] Another industry was also added about this time. The young squatters of New South Wales, attracted by the high prices given for sheep in the early days of Adelaide, had been daring enough, in spite of the blacks and of the toilsome journey, to drive their flocks overland; and the new-comers soon gave quite a wool-growing tone to the community. These "overlanders," as they were called, affected a bandit style of dress; in their scarlet shirts and broad-brimmed hats, their belts filled with pistols, and their horses gaily caparisoned, they caused a sensation in the streets in Adelaide, which rang all evening with their merriment and dissipation. But as they brought about fifty thousand sheep into the colony during the course of only a year or so, they were of essential benefit to it. Many of them settled down and taught the new arrivals how to manage flocks and prepare the wool, and thus they assisted in raising Adelaide from the state of despondency and distress into which it had sunk. #8. Recall of Governor Gawler.#--The British Government eventually decided to lend the colony a sufficient sum of money to pay its debts; but it was resolved to make certain changes. The eleven commissioners were abolished, Captain George Grey, a young officer, was appointed Governor; and one day in May, 1841, he walked into the Government House at Adelaide, presented his commission to Governor Gawler, and at once took the control of affairs into his own hands. This summary mode of dismissing Governor Gawler must now be regarded as somewhat harsh; for he had laboured hard and spent his money freely in trying to benefit the colony, and the mistakes which were made during his administration were not so much due to his incapacity as to the impracticable nature of the theory on which the colony had been founded. In 1841 he sailed for England, deeply regretted by many who had experienced his kindness and generosity in their time of trouble. CHAPTER X. NEW SOUTH WALES, 1838-1850. #1. Gipps.#--In 1838, when Governor Bourke left Australia to spend the remainder of his life in the retirement of his native county in Ireland, he was succeeded in the government of New South Wales by Sir George Gipps, an officer who had recently gained distinction by his services in settling the affairs of Canada. The new Governor was a man of great ability, generous and well meaning, but of a somewhat arbitrary nature. No Governor has ever laboured more assiduously for the welfare of his people, and yet none has ever been more unpopular than Gipps. During his term of office the colonists were constantly suffering from troubles, due, in most instances, to themselves, but always attributed to others, and, as a rule, to the Governor. It is true that the English Government, though actuated by a sincere desire to benefit and assist the rising community, often aggravated these troubles by its crude and ill-informed efforts to alleviate them. And as Sir George Gipps considered it his chief duty to obey literally and exactly all the orders sent out by his superiors in England, however much he privately disapproved of them, it was natural that he should receive much of the odium and derision attendant on these injudicious attempts; but, on the whole, the troubles of the colony were due, not so much to any fault of the Governor or to any error of the English Government, as to the imprudence of the colonists themselves. #2. Monetary Crisis.#--During twelve years of unalloyed prosperity, so many fortunes had been made that the road to wealth seemed securely opened to all who landed in the colony. Thus it became common for new arrivals to regard themselves, on their first landing, as already men of fortune, and, presuming on their anticipated wealth, they often lived in an expensive and extravagant style, very different from the prudent and abstemious life which can alone secure to the young colonist the success he hopes for. In Sydney the most profuse habits prevailed, and in Melbourne it seemed as if prosperity had turned the heads of the inhabitants. The most expensive liquors were the ordinary beverages of waggoners and shepherds; and, on his visit to Port Phillip in 1843, Governor Gipps found the suburbs of Melbourne thickly strewed with champagne bottles, which seemed to him to tell a tale of extravagance and dissipation. #3. Land Laws.#--Whilst many of the younger merchants were thus on their way to ruin, and the great bulk of the community were kept impoverished by their habits, the English Government brought matters to a crisis by its injudicious interference with the land laws. The early years of South Australia, and its period of trouble, have been already described. In 1840 South Australia was on the verge of bankruptcy, and the Wakefield policy of maintaining the land at a high price had not produced the results anticipated. Now, many of the greatest men in England were in favour of the Wakefield theory; and, in particular, the Secretary of State for the Colonies--that is, the member of the British Government whose duty it is to attend to colonial affairs was a warm supporter of the views of Wakefield; so that when the people of South Australia complained that their scheme could not be successful so long as the other colonies charged so low a price for their land, he sympathised with them in their trouble. "Who," they asked, "will pay one pound an acre for land in South Australia, when, by crossing to Port Phillip, he can obtain land equally good at five shillings an acre?" To prevent the total destruction of South Australia, the Secretary of State ordered the other colonies to charge a higher price for land. New South Wales was to be divided into three districts. (1) The Middle District, round Port Jackson, where land was never to be sold for less than twelve shillings an acre. (2) The Northern District, round Moreton Bay, where the same price was to be charged. (3) The Southern District, round Port Phillip, where the land was of superior quality, and was never to be sold for less than one pound an acre. A great amount of discontent was caused throughout New South Wales by this order; but South Australia was saved from absolute ruin, and the Secretary of State declined to recall the edict. In vain it was urged that a great part of the land was not worth more than two or three shillings an acre; the answer was that land was worth whatever people were willing to pay for it. For a time it seemed as if this view had been sound, and land was eagerly purchased, even at the advanced prices; in 1840 the amounts received from land sales were three times as great as those received in 1838. But this was mostly the result of speculation, and disastrous effects soon followed; for the prices paid by the purchasers were far above the real value of the land. If a man brought a thousand pounds into the colony and paid it to the Government for a thousand acres of land, he reckoned himself to be still worth a thousand pounds, and the banks would be willing to lend him nearly a thousand pounds on the security of his purchase. But if he endeavoured, after a year or two, to resell it, he would then discover its true value, and find he was in reality possessed of only two or three hundred pounds: every purchaser had found the land to be of less value than he had expected; every one was anxious to sell; and, there being few buyers, most of it was sold at a ruinous price. Men who had borrowed money were unable to pay their debts, and became insolvent. The banks, who had lent them money, were brought to the verge of ruin; and one of the oldest--the Bank of Australia--became bankrupt in 1843, and increased the confusion in monetary affairs. In order to pay their debts, the squatters were now forced to sell their sheep and cattle; but there was scarcely any one willing to buy, and the market being glutted, the prices went down to such an extent that sheep, which two years before had been bought for thirty shillings, were gladly sold for eighteenpence. Indeed, a large flock was sold in Sydney at sixpence per head. Fortunately, it was discovered by Mr. O'Brien, a squatter living at Yass, that about six shillings worth of tallow could be obtained from each sheep by boiling it down; and, if this operation had not been extensively begun by many of the sheep-owners, they would, without doubt, have been completely ruined. So great was the distress that, in 1843, the Governor issued provisions at less than cost price, in order to prevent the starvation of large numbers of the people. Yet, the Secretary of State in England knew nothing of all this, and in 1843 he raised the price of land still higher, ordering that, throughout all Australia, no land should be sold for less than one pound an acre. #4. Immigration.#--It is not to be imagined, however, that the English Government ever took to itself any of this land revenue. Every penny was used for the purpose of bringing immigrants into the colony. Agents in Europe were appointed to select suitable persons, who received what were called bounty orders. Any one who possessed an order of this kind received a free passage to Sydney, all expenses being paid by the Colonial Government with the money received from the sale of land. The Governor had the power of giving these orders to persons in New South Wales, who sent them home to their friends or relatives, or to servants and labourers, whom they wished to bring to the colonies. Now, Governor Gipps imagined that the land would continue to bring in as much revenue every year as it did in 1840, and, in the course of that year and the next, gave bounty orders to the extent of nearly one million pounds. But in 1841 the land revenue fell to about one-twentieth of what it had been in 1840; so that the colony must have become bankrupt had it not been that more than half of those who received bounty orders, hearing of the unsettled state of the colony, never made use of the permission granted. Governor Gipps was blamed by the colonists, and received from the Secretary of State a letter of sharp rebuke. As for the immigrants who did arrive in New South Wales, their prospects were not bright. For a long time many of them found it impossible to obtain employment. Great numbers landed friendless and penniless in Sydney, and in a few weeks found themselves obliged to sleep in the parks, or in the streets, and, but for the friendly exertions of a benevolent lady, Mrs. Chisholm, who obtained employment at different times for about two thousand of them, their position would, indeed, have been wretched. Mrs. Chisholm founded a home for defenceless and friendless girls, of whom nearly six hundred were at one time living in Sydney in destitution, having been sent out from home with bounty orders, under the impression that employment was certain whenever they might land at Port Jackson. Gradually the return of the colonists to habits of prudence and thrift removed the financial distress which had been the primary cause of all these troubles. Land ceased to be bought at the ruinously high rates, and goods returned to their former prices. #5. Separation.#--But these were not the only cares which pressed upon the mind of Sir George Gipps. He was entrusted with the management of the eastern half of Australia, a region stretching from Cape York to Wilson's Promontory. There were, it is true, but 150,000 inhabitants in the whole territory. But the people were widely scattered, and there were in reality two distinct settlements--one consisting of 120,000 people round Sydney, the other of 30,000 round Port Phillip. The latter, though small, was vigorous, and inclined to be discontented; it was six hundred miles distant from the capital, and the delays and inconveniences due to this fact caused it no little annoyance. There was, indeed, a Superintendent in Melbourne, and to him the control of the southern district was chiefly entrusted. But Mr. Latrobe was undecided and feeble. Though personally a most worthy man, yet, as a ruler, he was much too timid and irresolute. He seldom ventured to take any step on his own responsibility; no matter how urgent the matter was, he always waited for instructions from his superior, the Governor. Under these circumstances, it was natural that the people of Melbourne should wish for an independent Governor, who would have full power to settle promptly all local affairs. In 1840 they held a meeting in a room at the top of the hill in Bourke Street, to petition for separation from New South Wales. But, next year, the Sydney people held a meeting in the theatre to protest against it. Here, then, was another source of trouble to Gipps; for, from this time, the colony was divided into two parties, eagerly and bitterly disputing on the separation question. Governor Gipps and Mr. Latrobe were not in favour of separation, and, by their opposition, they incurred the deep dislike of the people of Port Phillip. The authorities at home, however, were somewhat inclined to favour the idea, and as Gipps was necessarily the medium of announcing their views to the colonists, and carrying them into force, he became unpopular with the Sydney colonists also. No man has ever occupied a more trying position; and a somewhat overbearing temperament was not at all suited for smoothing away its difficulties. [Illustration: COLONIAL SECRETARY'S OFFICE, SYDNEY.] #6. Representative Government.#--In 1842 a meeting was held in Sydney to petition for representative government. The British Parliament saw its way clear to concede this privilege; and in July, 1843, the first representatives elected by the people assembled in Sydney. The new Council consisted of thirty-six members, of whom twelve were either officials or persons nominated by the Governor, and the other twenty-four were elective. It was the duty of this body to consult with the Governor, and to see that the legitimate wishes of the people were attended to. Six gentlemen were elected for Port Phillip; but residents of Melbourne found it impossible to leave their business and go to live in Sydney. The people of Port Phillip were therefore forced to elect Sydney gentlemen to take charge of their interests. However, these did their duty excellently. Dr. Lang was especially active in the interests of his constituents, and in the second session of the Council, during the year 1844, he moved that a petition should be presented to the Queen, praying that the Port Phillip district should be separated from New South Wales, and formed into an independent colony. The Port Phillip representatives, together with the now famous Robert Lowe, gave their support to the motion; but there were nineteen votes against it, and this effort was supposed to have been completely baffled. But Dr. Lang drew up a petition of his own, which was signed by all the Port Phillip members and sent to England. Nothing further was heard on the subject for some time, until Sir George Gipps received a letter from Lord Stanley, the Secretary of State, directing him to lay the matter before the Executive Council in Sydney; and stating that, in the opinion of the English Government, the request of Port Phillip was very fair and reasonable. An inquiry was held, the Sydney Council sent to England a report on the subject, and received a reply to the effect that steps would at once be taken to obtain from the Imperial Parliament the required Act. The people of Port Phillip were overjoyed, and in 1846 gave a grand banquet to Dr. Lang to celebrate the occasion. But they were not destined to quite so speedy a consummation of their desires. The English Government which had given so favourable an ear to their petition was defeated and succeeded by another Government, to whom the whole question was new. Year after year passed away, and the people of Port Phillip began to grow impatient, and to complain loudly of their grievances. First of all, they complained that, although it was a well-recognised principle that the money received by Government for the waste lands of any district should be employed in bringing out emigrants to that district, yet the Sydney Government used much of the money obtained from the sale of land in Port Phillip for the purpose of bringing out new colonists--not to Melbourne or Geelong, but to Sydney itself. And thus, it was said, the people of Sydney were using the money of the Port Phillip district for their own advantage. And, again, the people of Melbourne complained that, although they were allowed to elect six members of the Legislative Council, yet this was merely a mockery, because none of the Port Phillip residents could afford to live in Sydney for five months every year and to neglect their own private business. The former of these accusations seems, so far as we can now determine, to have been unfounded; the latter was undoubtedly a practical grievance, though more or less unavoidable in every system of representation. #7. Earl Grey.#--For a year or two the English Government forgot all about the separation question; and, in 1848, the wearied colonists at Port Phillip determined to call attention to their discontent. Accordingly, when the elections for that year approached, they determined not to elect any member, so that the English Government might see of how little use to them their supposed privilege really was. It was agreed that no one should come forward for election, and it seemed likely that there would be no election whatever, when a gentleman named Foster offered himself as a candidate. This placed the non-election party in a dilemma; for if they declined to vote at all, and if Mr. Foster could persuade only two or three of his friends to vote for him, then, since there was no other candidate, he would be legally elected. Now, at this time, Earl Grey was Secretary of State for the Colonies; and when some one proposed to nominate him for election, in opposition to Mr. Foster, the idea was hailed as a happy one. The non-election party could then vote for Earl Grey, and he would be returned by a large majority. But Earl Grey, being an English nobleman and a member of the British Government, would certainly never go to Sydney to attend a small Colonial Council; so that there would be, in reality, no member elected. But the attention of the Secretary of State would be drawn to the desires of the district. Earl Grey was triumphantly elected, and when the news went home it caused some merriment. He was jokingly asked in the House of Lords when he would sail for Sydney. And for several weeks he underwent so much banter on the subject that his attention was fully aroused to the long-neglected question. He weighed the matter carefully, and, resolving to do the people of Port Phillip full justice, sent out word that he would at once prepare a Bill for the Imperial Parliament, in order to obtain the necessary powers. At the same time he intimated that Queen Victoria would be pleased if the new colony should adopt her name. Nothing could give the colonists more satisfaction, and they waited with patience until affairs should be properly arranged in England. #8. Sir Charles Fitzroy.#--All this agitation, however, had not taken place without much irritation and contention between the people at Port Phillip and their Governor at Sydney, from whose authority they wished to free themselves. Sir George Gipps had much to harass him, and in 1846 he was glad to retire from his troublesome position. He was succeeded by Sir Charles Fitzroy, a gentleman in every respect his opposite. By no means clever, yet good-tempered and amiable, he troubled himself very little with the affairs of the colony. The Sydney Council managed everything just as it pleased; Sir Charles was glad to be rid of the trouble, and the colonists were delighted to have their own way. As for the separation question, he cared very little whether Port Phillip was erected into a colony or not. In 1850 the news arrived that Port Phillip was to be separated from New South Wales, and in the middle of the next year its independence was declared. Its Superintendent, Latrobe, was raised to the dignity of Governor, and the new colony received its Constitution, conferring on it all the legislative and other powers which had previously been possessed only by New South Wales. #9. Abolition of Transportation.#--It was during this period that the English Government resolved on sending no more convicts to Australia. A committee of the Imperial Parliament held an inquiry into the effects of transportation, and reported that it would be unwise to continue the system. From 1842, therefore, there was practically a cessation of transportation, although the majority of the squatters were averse to the change. They found that the convicts, when assigned to them, made good shepherds and stockmen, and that at cheap rates. They subsequently petitioned for a revival of transportation; but, after some hesitation, the British Government resolved to adhere to their resolution to send no more convicts to Sydney. Van Diemen's Land was still unfortunate; it was to receive, indeed, the full stream of convicts, but from 1842 Australia itself ceased to be the receptacle for the criminals of Great Britain. CHAPTER XI. SOUTH AUSTRALIA, 1841-1850. #1. Governor Grey.#--The colonists of South Australia had, in 1841, received a sharp but salutary lesson, and we have seen that they profited by it. They had discovered that the land was their only source of wealth, and many, who had sufficient means to purchase farms or stations, went out into the country, determined to endure a year or two of hardship in hopes of prosperity to come. Nor had they very long to wait; in 1844 they were able to export corn to the extent of £40,000, and in that year the colony possessed 355,000 sheep and 22,000 cattle. The new Governor, Captain George Grey, took every care to assist the colonists in returning to more prudent courses. Many changes were needed; for in 1840, while the colony had a revenue of only £30,000, it had spent at the rate of £171,000 per annum. Such imprudence could lead to nothing but ruin, and the first task of the Governor was to reduce all expenses as far as possible. In the first year the expenditure was cut down to £90,000; in the next, to £68,000; and in 1843, to £34,000. Instead of employing the poorer labourers on costly and unnecessary public works, he persuaded them to take employment in the country with the farmers and squatters, who were rapidly opening up the interior parts of the colony. He settled many on small farms or stations of their own, but in this he was greatly impeded by the high price of land; for Wakefield's friends in England were not yet convinced that their favourite scheme was defective--they attributed every mishap to the incompetence of Governors Hindmarsh and Gawler. "To lower the price," said they, "will be to ruin the colony;" and lest such a thing should happen, they raised the price of all lands, whether good or bad, to one pound per acre. But many of those who had bought land in the first days of the settlement had been so anxious to part with it during the crisis that they had sold it for much less than it cost them; and thus a great number of the poorer people became possessed of land at very moderate prices. In 1839 there were but 440 acres under cultivation; three years afterwards there were 23,000 acres bearing wheat, and 5,000 acres of other crops. So rich and fertile was the soil that, in 1845, the colonists not only raised enough of corn to supply their own wants, but were able to export about 200,000 bushels at cheap rates to the neighbouring colonies, and even then were left with 150,000 bushels, which they could neither sell nor use. So rapid a development of resources and so sudden an accession of prosperity have probably never occurred in the history of any other country. #2. Mineral Wealth.#--Such was the success attendant upon careful industry, exercised with prudence, and under favourable circumstances; but the colony was to owe yet more to accidental good fortune. During the year 1841, a carrier, while driving his team of bullocks over the Mount Lofty Range, had been obliged, by the steepness of the road, to fasten a log to the back of his waggon in order to steady the load and prevent its descending too quickly. As the log dragged roughly behind on the road, it tore great furrows in the soil, and in one of these the carrier noticed a stone which glanced and glittered like a metal. On looking more closely, he saw that there were large quantities of the same substance lying near the surface of the earth in all directions. Having taken some specimens with him, he made inquiries in Adelaide, and learned that the substance he had discovered was galena, a mineral in which sulphur is combined with lead and small quantities of silver. The land on which this valuable ore had been found was soon purchased, and mines opened upon it. At first there was a large profit obtained from the enterprise; and though, in after years, the mines became exhausted, yet they served to call the attention of the colonists to the possibility of discovering more permanent and lucrative sources of mineral wealth. #3. Copper.#--At the Kapunda Station, about forty miles north-west of Adelaide, there lived a squatter named Captain Bagot. One day, during the year 1842, he sent his overseer--Mr. Dutton--to search for a number of sheep which had strayed into the bush. After spending some time in fruitless efforts, Mr. Dutton ascended a small hill in order to have a more extensive view of the country, but still he saw nothing of the lost sheep. On turning to descend, his attention was attracted by a bright green rock jutting from the earth. It seemed to him peculiar, so he broke a small piece off and carried it down to Captain Bagot's house, where he and the captain examined the specimen, and came to the conclusion that it consisted of the mineral malachite, containing copper in combination with water and carbonic dioxide. They let no one know of the discovery, but proceeded to apply for the land in the usual manner, without breathing a word as to their purpose. The section of eighty acres was advertised for a month, and then put up to auction; but as no one was anxious for this barren piece of ground, they had no competitors, and the land fell to them for the price of eighty pounds. As soon as they became possessed of it, they threw off all appearance of mystery, and commenced operations. During the first year the mines yielded £4,000; during the next, £10,000; and for several years they continued to enrich the two proprietors, until each had realised a handsome fortune, when the land was bought by an English company. #4. The Burra Mines.#--The discovery of copper at Kapunda caused much excitement in the colony. Every one who possessed land examined it carefully for the trace of any minerals it might contain; and soon it was rumoured that, at a place about one hundred miles north of Adelaide, a shepherd had found exceedingly rich specimens of copper ore. The land on which these were discovered had not yet been sold by the Government, and in great haste a company was formed to purchase it. This company consisted of the merchants, professional men, and officials of Adelaide; but a rival company was immediately started, consisting of shopkeepers and tradesmen, together with the farmers of the country districts. The former always maintained a haughty air, and soon came to be known throughout the colony as the "nobs"; while they, in their turn, fixed on their rivals the nickname of the "snobs". For a week or two the jealousies of the companies ran high, but they were soon forced to make a temporary union; for, according to the land laws of the colony, if any one wished to buy a piece of land, he had to apply for it and have it advertised for a month; it was then put up for auction, and he who offered the highest price became the purchaser. But a month was a long time to wait, and it was rumoured that a number of speculators were on their way from Sydney to offer a large sum for the land, as soon as it should be put up to auction. It was, therefore, necessary to take immediate action. There was another regulation in the land laws, according to which, if a person applied for 20,000 acres, and paid down £20,000 in cash, he became at once the proprietor of the land. The "nobs" determined to avail themselves of this arrangement; but when they put their money together, they found they had not enough to pay so large a sum. They therefore asked the "snobs" to join them, on the understanding that, after the land had been purchased, the two companies would make a fair division. By uniting their funds they raised the required amount, and proceeded with great exultation to lodge the money. But part of it was in the form of bills on the Adelaide banks; and as the Governor refused to accept anything but cash, the companies were almost in despair, until a few active members hunted up their friends in Adelaide, and succeeded in borrowing the number of sovereigns required to make up the deficiency. The money was paid into the Treasury, the two companies were the possessors of the land, and the Sydney speculators arrived a few days too late. Now came the division of the 20,000 acres. A line was drawn across the middle; a coin was tossed up to decide which of the two should have the first choice, and fortune favoured the "snobs," who selected the northern half, called by the natives Burra Burra. To the southern part the "nobs" gave the name of "Princess Royal". The companies soon began operations; but though the two districts appeared on the surface to be of almost equal promise, yet, on being laid open, the Princess Royal was soon found to be in reality poor, while the Burra Burra mines provided fortunes for each of the fortunate "snobs". During the three years after their discovery they yielded copper to the value of £700,000. Miners were brought from England, and a town of about 5,000 inhabitants rapidly sprang into existence. The houses of the Cornish miners were of a peculiar kind. A creek runs through the district, with high precipitous banks of solid rock; into the face of these cliffs the miners cut large chambers to serve for dwellings; holes bored through the rock, and emerging upon the surface of the ground above, formed the chimneys, which were capped by small beer barrels instead of chimney-pots. The fronts of the houses were of weatherboard, in which doors were left; and for two miles along each side of the stream these primitive dwellings looked out upon the almost dry bed of the creek, which formed the main street of the village. Here the miners dwelt for years, until the waters rose one night into a foaming flood, which destroyed the houses and swept away several of their inhabitants. In 1845 Burra Burra was a lonely moor; in 1850 it was bustling with men, and noisy with the sounds of engines, pumps and forges. Acres of land were covered with the company's warehouses and offices, and the handsome residences of its officers; behind these there rose great mounds of blue, green, and dark-red ores of copper, worth enormous sums of money. Along the roads eight hundred teams, each consisting of eight bullocks, passed constantly to and fro, whilst scores of ships were employed in conveying the ore to England. From this great activity the whole community could not but derive the utmost benefit, and for a time South Australia had every prospect of taking the foremost place among the colonies. #5. Governor Robe.#--In 1841 Governor Grey had been of the greatest service to the colony in changing the state of its prospects, but he was not permitted to see more than the commencement of its great prosperity; for, in 1845, he was sent to govern New Zealand, where troubles had arisen similar to those which he had helped to cure in South Australia. His place was filled by Colonel Robe, a military gentleman, of what is called the old school, honourable and upright, but inclined to think that everything ought always to be as it has been. He disliked all innovation, and did what he could to prevent it, much to the discontent of the young and thriving colony, which was of necessity the scene of constant and rapid changes. He passed a very troublous time for three years, and in 1848 was heartily glad to be recalled. #6. Governor Young.#--The colony was then placed under the care of Sir Henry Young, whose policy was completely the reverse. He sought by every means in his power to encourage the ceaseless activity of the people. His failing was, perhaps, an injudicious zeal for progress. For instance, in his desire to open up the river Murray to navigation, he wasted large sums of money in schemes that proved altogether useless. He made an effort to remove the bar at the mouth of the river, but fresh deposits of sand were constantly being brought down by the current, and lashed up into a new bar by the waves that rolled ceaselessly in from the Southern Ocean. He spent about £20,000 in trying to construct a harbour called Port Elliot, near the entrance to the Murray; but there are now only a few surf-beaten stones to indicate the scene of his fruitless attempt. He offered a bonus of £4,000 to the first person who should ascend the Murray in an iron steamer as far as the river Darling. A gentleman called Cadell made the effort, and succeeded; he obtained the reward, but it was not enough to pay his heavy expenses, and when he endeavoured afterwards to carry on a trade, by transporting wool to the sea in flat-bottomed steamers, he found that the traffic on the river was not sufficiently great to repay his heavy outlay, and in a short time he was almost ruined. The attempt was premature; and though, in our time, the navigation of the Murray is successfully carried on, and is, undoubtedly, of immense advantage not only to South Australia, but also to New South Wales and Victoria, yet, at the time when the first efforts were made, it led to nothing but loss, if not ruin to the pioneers. CHAPTER XII. THE DISCOVERY OF GOLD. #1. Importance of the Year 1851.#--The year 1851 was in many ways an eventful one to Australia. In that year the colonies received from the Imperial Parliament the amended Constitutions they had so long expected. Tasmania, South Australia, Port Phillip, and Western Australia were now no longer under the absolute control of Governors sent out by the colonial authorities in England; they could henceforth boast the dignity of being self-governed communities, for, in 1851, they were invested with political powers which had previously been possessed by New South Wales alone. They now had the privilege of electing two-thirds of the members of a Legislative Council which not only had the power of making laws each for its own colony, but also of framing any new constitution for itself according to its own taste and requirements. Each colony kept its Legislative Council for only a year or two until it could discuss and establish a regular system of parliamentary government with two Houses and a Cabinet of responsible Ministers. Again, it was on the 1st of July in the same year that Port Phillip gained its independence; from that date onward its prosperous career must be related under its new title--Victoria. But the event which made the year 1851 especially memorable in the annals of Australia was the discovery, near Bathurst, of the first of those rich goldfields which, for so long a time, changed the prospects of the colonies. For several years after the date of this occurrence the history of Australia is little more than the story of the feverish search for gold, with its hopes, its labour, its turmoil, and its madness; its scenes of exultation and splendid triumph, and its still more frequent scenes of bitter and gloomy disappointment. #2. Early Rumours of Gold.#--For many years there had been rumours that the Blue Mountains were auriferous. It was said that gold had been seen by convicts in the days of Macquarie, and, indeed, still earlier; but to the stories of prisoners, who claimed rewards for alleged discoveries, the authorities in Sydney always listened with extreme suspicion, more especially as no pretended discoverer could ever find more than his first small specimens. In 1840 a Polish nobleman named Strzelecki, who had been travelling among the ranges round Mount Kosciusko, stated that, from indications he had observed, he was firmly persuaded of the existence of gold in these mountains; but the Governor asked him, as a favour, to make no mention of a theory which might, perhaps, unsettle the colony, and fill the easily excited convicts with hopes which, he feared, would prove delusive. Strzelecki agreed not to publish his belief; but there was another man of science who was not so easily to be silenced. The Rev. W. B. Clarke, a clergyman devoted to geology, exhibited specimens in Sydney, on which he based an opinion that the Blue Mountains would, eventually, be found to possess goldfields of great extent and value. Some of these were taken to London by Strzelecki; and in 1844 a great English scientist, Sir Roderick Murchison, read a paper before the Royal Geographical Society in which he expressed a theory similar to that of Mr. Clarke. In 1846 he again called attention to this subject, and showed that, from the great similarity which existed between the rocks of the Blue Mountains and those of the Urals, there was every probability that the one would be found as rich as the other was known to be in the precious metals. So far as theory could go, the matter had been well discussed before the year 1851, but no one had ventured to spend his time and money in making a practical effort to settle the question. [Illustration: EDWARD HARGRAVES.] #3. Edward Hargraves.#--About that, time, however, the rich mines of California attracted a Bathurst settler, named Edward Hargraves, to seek his fortune on the banks of the Sacramento; and though, among the great crowds of struggling and jostling diggers, he met with but little success, yet he learned the methods by which gold is discovered and secured, and laid the foundation for adventures in Australia which were afterwards to bring him both wealth and renown. Whilst he toiled with increasing disappointment on one of these famous goldfields, the scenery around him, and the appearance of the rocks, recalled to his memory a certain secluded valley beyond the Blue Mountains, which he had visited thirteen years before; the notion floated vaguely through his mind that, perhaps, in that silent spot, there might lie great treasures, such as he saw his more fortunate companions from time to time draw forth from the rocks and soil around him. Day after day the image of that winding creek among the hills near Bathurst recurred with increasing vividness to stimulate his imagination and awaken his hopes. At length this feeling impelled him to seek once more the shores of Australia in order to examine the spot which had so often been present to his day-dreams. He lost no time in sailing, and scarcely had he arrived in Sydney ere he set out on horseback to cross the Blue Mountains. On the 11th of February, 1851, he spent the night at a little inn a few miles from the object of his journey, and shortly after dawn he sallied forth on his ride through the forest, carrying with him a spade and a trowel and a little tin dish. In the cool air of the morning the scent of the spreading gum trees braced up his frame as he plunged deeper and deeper among those lonely hollows and wood-clad hills. In an hour or two he reached the well-remembered spot--the dry course of a mountain torrent which, in rainy seasons, finds its way into the Summerhill Creek. He lost no time in placing a little of the grey-coloured soil into his tin dish, and at once carried it to the nearest pool, where he dipped the whole beneath the water. By moving the dish rapidly, as he had learned to do in California, he washed away the sand and earth; but the particles of gold, which are more than seven and a half times heavier than sand, were not so easily to be carried off. They sank to the corner of the dish, where they lay secure--a few small specks, themselves of little value, yet telling of hidden treasures that lay scattered in all the soil around. A few days were spent in a careful examination of the neighbouring valleys, and when he was absolutely certain that the hopes he had so warmly indulged would not prove empty, he set out for Sydney, taking care, however, to breathe no word of what he thought or of what he had proved. On the 3rd of April he wrote a letter to the Colonial Secretary, in which he stated that, if the Government were willing to give him £500, he would point out localities in New South Wales where gold was abundantly to be found. In reply, the Colonial Secretary announced that no preliminary reward could be given; but that, if he chose first of all to point out the localities, he would afterwards be recompensed in proportion to the results. He accepted these conditions; and Mr. Stutchbury, the Colonial Geologist, was sent to accompany him to the Summerhill Creek. On the 8th of May they set to work, and soon obtained several ounces of grain gold; on the 13th, they discovered a single piece worth £30, and next day Mr. Stutchbury reported to the Government that he had seen enough to convince him that the district was rich in the precious metal. Five days afterwards, the little valley of the Summerhill contained four hundred persons, all stooping over the creek in a row about a mile long, each with a dish in his hand, scarcely ever raising his head, but busily engaged in washing the sand for gold. Lumps were frequently found of value varying from £5 to £200. A week later, there were a thousand persons at work on the creek near the formerly lonely gully. #4. Rush to the Goldfield.#--The excitement throughout the colony now became intense: workmen quitted their employment, shepherds deserted their flocks, shopkeepers closed their stores, and a great tide of fortune-seekers pressed onward, day by day, to the west. Most of these had sold everything they possessed, in order to make up a little bundle of necessary articles. Yet there were very many but ill-provided for a lengthened stay; they hurried along the road with the fallacious idea that gold was simply to be shovelled into bags and carted to Sydney. But when they came upon the scene, and saw that in the case of most of them it would only be after weeks and months of severe and constant toil that they could be rich, they grew faint-hearted, lounged for a week or two on the diggings, and then started for home again; so that, for some time, there was a counter-current of grumbling and discontented men passing back to Sydney by the road. These men thought themselves befooled by Hargraves, and it might, perhaps, have cost him his life had he fallen into their hands. On his trip to Sydney he was careful to disguise himself, to avoid their threatened revenge. He received from Government, however, his preliminary reward of £500, and, in after years, New South Wales voted him the sum of £10,000, which was supplemented by a present of £2,381 from Victoria. Other profits also accrued to Hargraves; so that he was, in the end, recompensed for his toil and trouble with a handsome competency. The gloomy reports of returning diggers checked for a time the flow of people to the west; but in the month of July an aboriginal shepherd on a station near Bathurst burst in upon his master while seated at dinner, his eyes glistening with excitement. He was only able to stammer out: "Oh, massa, white man find little fellow, me find big fellow". When his master drove him in a buggy through the forest, the shepherd pointed to where a hundredweight of gold was sticking out from a rock. It was so heavy that they had to chop it in two with their axes before they could lift it into the buggy. It was afterwards sold for £4,000. So splendid a prize, obtained in so easy a manner, was a temptation too dazzling to be resisted; and the stream of people along the Bathurst road was now tenfold denser than before. #5. Government Regulations.#--When the population on the goldfields began to grow numerous, the Government found it necessary to make arrangements for the preservation of law and order. A commissioner was appointed, who was to act as a magistrate; he was to be assisted by a small body of police, and was to take charge of the gold escorts. As the lands on which the gold was being found were the public property of the colony, it was thought to be but just that the community, as a whole, should participate, to some small extent, in the wealth raised from them; and the order was, therefore, issued that diggers should in all cases take out licences before seeking for gold, and should pay for them at the rate of thirty shillings per month. New diggings were, from time to time, opened up, and fresh crowds of eager men constantly pressed towards them, leaving the towns deserted and the neighbouring colonies greatly reduced in population. For some months the Turon River was the favourite; at one time it had no less than ten thousand men upon its banks. At Ophir, and Braidwood, and Maroo the most industrious and sagacious miners were generally rewarded by the discovery of fine pieces of gold, for which the Californian name of "nuggets" now began to be extensively used. #6. Gold in Victoria.#--When Latrobe was sworn in to fill the office of Governor of Victoria on the 16th July, 1851, it appeared probable that he would soon have but a small community to rule over. So great were the numbers of those who were daily packing up their effects and setting off for the goldfields of New South Wales that Victoria seemed likely to sink into a very insignificant place on the list of Australian colonies. In alarm at this prospect, a number of the leading citizens of Melbourne on the 9th of June united to form what was called the Gold Discovery Committee, and offered a reward of £200 to the person who should give the first intimation of a paying goldfield within two hundred miles of Melbourne. Many persons set out, each in hopes of being the fortunate discoverer; and a report having been circulated that signs of gold had been seen on the Plenty Ranges, there were soon no less than two hundred persons scouring those hills, though for a long time without success. The first useful discovery in Victoria seems to have been made on 1st July, by a Californian digger named Esmond, who, like Hargraves, had entered on the search with a practical knowledge of the work. His experience had taught him the general characteristics of a country in which gold is likely to be found, and he selected Clunes as a favourable spot. He found the quartz rock of the district richly sprinkled with gold; and his discovery having been made known, several hundred people were quickly on the scene. Almost on the same day, gold was discovered by a party of six men, at Anderson's Creek, only a few miles up the Yarra from Melbourne. It is thus difficult to determine with certainty whether or not Esmond was in reality the first discoverer; but, at any rate, he received honours and emoluments as such; and in after years the Victorian Parliament presented him with £1,000 for his services. #7. Ballarat.#--On the 10th of August the Geelong newspapers announced that deposits of auriferous earth had been discovered at Buninyong, and very soon the sunny slopes of that peaceful and pastoral district were swarming with prospecting parties; the quietly browsing sheep were startled from their favourite solitudes by crowds of men, who hastened with pick and spade to break up the soil in every direction, each eager to out-strip the other in the race for wealth. This region, however, did not realise the expectations that had been formed of it, and many of the diggers began to move northwards, in the direction of Clunes. But at Clunes, also, there had been disappointment, for the gold was mostly embedded in quartz rock, and these early miners were not prepared to extract it; parties from Clunes were therefore moving southwards to Buninyong, and the two currents met on the slopes of the Yarrowee, a streamlet whose banks were afterwards famous as the Ballarat diggings. The first comers began to work at a bend in the creek, which they called Golden Point. Here, for a time, each man could easily earn from £20 to £40 a day, and crowds of people hurried to the scene. Every one selected a piece of ground, which he called his claim, and set to work to dig a hole in it; but when the bottom of the sandy layer was reached, and there seemed to be nothing but pipe-clay below, the claim was supposed to be worked out, and was straightway abandoned. However, a miner named Cavanagh determined to try an experiment, and, having entered one of these deserted claims, he dug through the layer of pipe-clay, when he had the good fortune to come suddenly upon several large deposits of grain gold. He had reached what had been in long past ages the bed of the creek, where, in every little hollow, for century after century, the flowing waters had gently deposited the gold which they had washed out of the rocks in the mountains. In many cases these "pockets," as they were called, were found to contain gold to the value of thousands of pounds, so that very soon all the claims were carried down a few feet further, and with such success that, before a month had passed, Ballarat took rank as the richest goldfield in the world. In October there were ten thousand men at work on the Yarrowee; acre after acre was covered with circular heaps of red and yellow sand, each with its shaft in the middle, in which men were toiling beneath the ground to excavate the soil and pass it to their companions above, who quickly hurried with it to the banks of the creek, where twelve hundred "cradles," rocked by brawny arms, were washing the sand from the gold. #8. Mount Alexander.#--In the month of September a party, who had gone about forty miles north-east of Clunes to Mount Alexander, discovered near the present site of Castlemaine a valuable seam of gold-bearing earth. The fame of this place soon spread through all the colony; many left Ballarat to seek it, and crowds of people hastened from Melbourne and Geelong to share in the glittering prizes. In October, eight thousand men had gathered in the district; in November, there were not less than twenty-five thousand diggers at work, and three tons of gold were waiting in the tent of the commissioner to be carried to Melbourne. The road to Mount Alexander was crowded with men of all ranks and conditions, pressing eagerly onward to be in time. #9. Sandhurst.#--A few weeks later the glories both of Ballarat and of Mount Alexander were dimmed for a time by the discovery of gold on the Bendigo Creek, which seemed at first to be the richest of all the goldfields. In the course of a few months nearly forty thousand persons were scattered along the banks of the streamlet where the handsome streets of Bendigo now stand. In the month of May, 1852, there must have been close upon seventy thousand men in the country between Buninyong and Bendigo, all engaged in the same occupation. Melbourne and Geelong were silent and deserted; for all classes were alike infected with the same excitement--lawyers, doctors, clerks, merchants, labourers, mechanics, all were to be found struggling through the miry ruts that served for a highway to Bendigo. The sailors left the ships in the bay with scarcely a man to take care of them; even the very policemen deserted, and the warders in the gaols resigned in a body. The price of labour now became excessive, for no man was willing to stay away from the diggings unless tempted by the offer of four or five times the ordinary wage. #10. Immigration.#--Meanwhile the news of these great discoveries had travelled to Europe, so that, after the middle of 1852, ships began to arrive freighted with thousands of men of all nations, who no sooner landed in Melbourne than they started for the diggings. During this year nearly one hundred thousand persons were thus brought into the country, and the population was doubled at a bound. Next year ninety-two thousand fresh arrivals landed, and Victoria thus became the most populous of the colonies. During the two following years it received a further accession of a hundred and fifty thousand; so that, in 1856, it contained four hundred thousand inhabitants, or about five times the number it possessed in 1850. The staple industry was, of course, the mining for gold, of which, in 1852, one hundred and seventy-four tons were raised, valued at £14,000,000. During the next ten years £100,000,000 worth of gold was exported from Victoria. Some of the nuggets that were found are of historic note. The "Sarah Sands," discovered in 1853, was worth about £6,500. In 1857 the "Blanche Barkly," worth £7,000, was discovered; and the following year produced the "Welcome Nugget," which was sold for £10,500, and was the greatest on record, until, in 1869, the "Welcome Stranger" was dug out, which proved to be slightly larger. CHAPTER XIII. VICTORIA, 1851-1855. #1. Effects of Gold Excitement.#--For the first few months after the discovery of gold in Victoria, many shrewd persons believed that the colony would be ruined by its seeming good fortune. None of the ordinary industries could be carried on whilst workmen were so scarce and wages so high. But, happily, these expectations proved fallacious; for, in 1852, when the great stream of people from Europe began to flow into the colony, every profession and every trade sprang into new and vigorous life. The vast crowds on the goldfields required to be fed, so the farmers found ample market for their corn, and the squatters for their beef and mutton. The miners required to be clothed, and the tailor and shoemaker must be had, whatever might be the prices they charged. Mechanics and artisans of every class found their labours in demand, and handsomely paid for. The merchants, also, found trade both brisk and lucrative; while the imports in 1850 were worth only three-quarters of a million, those of three years later were worth about twenty times that amount. After this enormous increase in population and business, it was found that there was quite as great an opportunity of gaining riches by remaining quietly engaged in one's own occupation as by joining the restless throng upon the goldfields. The public revenue of the colony was in 1852 six times, and in 1853 twelve times as great as it had been before the discovery of gold; so that, both as individuals and as a nation, the people of Victoria had reason to be satisfied with the change. #2. Convicts Prevention Act.#--There existed, however, one drawback; for the attractions of the goldfields had drawn from the neighbouring colonies, and more especially from Tasmania, great numbers of that class of convicts who, having served a part of their time, had been liberated on condition of good behaviour. They crossed over by hundreds, and soon gave rise to a serious difficulty; for, in the confused and unsettled state of the colony, they found only too great an opportunity for the display of their criminal propensities and perverted talents. Being by no means charmed with the toilsome life of the gold-miner, many of them became bushrangers. There were, in 1852, several bands of these lawless ruffians sweeping the country and robbing in all directions. As the gold was being conveyed from the diggings, escorted by bands of armed troopers, the bushrangers lurked upon the road, treacherously shot the troopers, and rifled the chests. On one occasion, their daring rose to such a height that a band of them boarded the ship _Nelson_ whilst it lay at anchor in Hobson's Bay, overpowered the crew, and removed gold to the value of £24,000--remarking, as they handed the boxes over the side of the vessel, that this was the best goldfield they had ever seen. To prevent any further introduction of these undesirable immigrants, the Legislature, in 1852, passed what was called the "Convicts Prevention Act," declaring that no person who had been convicted, and had not received an absolutely free pardon, should be allowed to enter the colony; and that all persons who came from Tasmania should be required to prove that they were free, before being allowed to land. Any ship captain who brought a convict into the colony was to be fined £100 for the offence. #3. Aspect of Goldfields.#--Meanwhile the goldfields were growing apace. The discovery of the Eureka, Gravel Pits, and Canadian Leads made Ballarat once more the favourite; and in 1853 there were about forty thousand diggers at work on the Yarrowee. Hotels began to be built, theatres were erected, and here and there a little church rose among the long line of tents which occupied the slopes above the creek. #4. Scene on the Goldfields.#--Below, on the flats, the scene was a busy one. Thousands upon thousands of holes covered the earth, where men emerged and disappeared like ants, each bearing a bag of sand which he either threw on a wheelbarrow or slung over his shoulder, and then carried forward, running nimbly along the thin paths among a multitude of holes, till he reached the little creek where he delivered the sand to one of the men who stood shoulder to shoulder, in long rows, for miles on either bank, all washing the sand and clay into the shallow current, whose waters were turned to a tint of dirty yellow. Such is the scene which presents itself by day; but at sunset a gun is fired from the commissioner's tent and all cease work: then, against the evening sky, ten thousand fires send up their wreaths of thin blue smoke, and the diggers prepare their evening meals. Everything is hushed for a time, except that a dull murmur rises from the little crowds chatting over their pannikins of tea. But, as the darkness draws closer around, the noises begin to assume a merrier tone, and, mingling pleasantly in the evening air, there rise the loud notes of a sailor's song, the merry jingle of a French political chant, or the rich strains of a German chorus. In some tents the miners sit round boxes or stools, while, by the light of flaming oil-cans, they gamble for match boxes filled with gold-dust; in others they gather to drink the liquors illicitly sold by the "sly grog shops". Many of the diggers betake themselves to the brilliantly-lighted theatres, and make the fragile walls tremble with their rough and hearty roars of applause: everywhere are heard the sounds of laughter and good humour. Then, at midnight, all to bed, except those foolish revellers who have stayed too late at the "grog shop". At dawn, again, they are all astir; for the day's supply of water must be drawn from the stream ere its limpid current begins to assume the appearance of a clay-stained gutter. Making the allowances proper to the occasion, the community is both orderly and law-abiding, and the digger, in the midst of all his toil, enjoys a very agreeable existence. #5. The Licence Fee.#--He had but one grievance to trouble his life, and that was the monthly payment of the licence fee. This tax had been imposed under the erroneous impression that every one who went upon the goldfields must of necessity earn a fortune. For a long time this mistake prevailed, because only the most successful diggers were much heard of. But there was an indistinguishable throng of those who earned much less than a labourer's wage. The average monthly earnings throughout the colony were not more than eight pounds for each man; and of this sum he had to pay thirty shillings every month for the mere permission to dig. To those who were fortunate this seemed but a trifle; but for those who earned little or nothing there was no resource but to evade payment, and many were the tricks adopted in order to "dodge the commissioners". As there were more than one-fifth of the total number of diggers who systematically paid no fees, it was customary for the police to stop any man they met and demand to see his licence; if he had none, he was at once marched off to the place that served for a gaol, and there chained to a tree. The police were in the habit of devoting two days a week to what was called "digger hunting"; and as they often experienced much trouble and vexation in doing what was unfortunately their duty, they were sometimes rough and summary in their proceedings. Hence arose a feeling of hostility among the diggers, not only to the police, but to all the officials on the goldfields. The first serious ebullition of the prevailing discontent took place on the Ovens, where a commissioner who had been unnecessarily rough to unlicensed diggers was assaulted and severely injured. But as violence was deprecated by the great body of miners, they held large meetings, in order to agitate in a more constitutional manner for the abolition of the fee. At first they sent a petition to Governor Latrobe, who declined to make any change. It was then hinted that, possibly, they might be driven to use force; and the Governor replied that, if they did, he was determined to do his duty. But in August, 1853, when the agitation was increasing, Latrobe hurriedly reduced the fee to twenty shillings per month. This appeased the miners for a time; but the precipitancy with which the Governor had changed his intention showed too plainly the weakness of the Government, for there was at that time scarcely a soldier in Victoria to repress an insurrection, if one should break out. Among the confused crowds on the goldfields there were numbers of troublesome spirits, many of them foreigners, who were only too happy to foment dissension. Thousands of miners had been disappointed in their hopes of wealth, and, being in a discontented frame of mind, they blamed the Governor for their misfortunes. In spite of the concession that had been made to them, a spirit of dissatisfaction prevailed throughout all the goldfields; mutterings were heard as of a coming storm, and Latrobe, in alarm, sent to all the neighbouring colonies to ask for troops. As the Ninety-ninth Regiment was lying idle in Hobart Town, it was at once despatched to Melbourne. #6. Governor Hotham.#--While matters were in this state, Governor Latrobe retired from office; and in June, 1854, Sir Charles Hotham arrived to fill the position. On his first arrival, he showed that his sympathies were, to a great extent, with the diggers. But he could scarcely be expected to make any important change until he had been a few months in the colony, and had learnt exactly the state of affairs, and, meanwhile, the discontent on the goldfields was daily increasing. The months of September and October, in 1854, were exceedingly dry; the creeks were greatly shrunk in volume, and in many places the diggers could find no water either for drinking or for gold-washing; and their irritation was not at all soothed by the manners of the commissioners and police. Besides this, the Government had thought it necessary to form a camp on the goldfields, so that a large body of soldiers dwelt constantly in the midst of the miners. The soldiers and officers, of course, supported the commissioners, and, like them, soon came to be regarded with the greatest disfavour. The goldfield population was in this irritable state when a trifling incident kindled revolt. #7. Riot at Ballarat.#--A digger named Scobie, late one evening, knocked at the door of Bentley's Hotel, at Ballarat. Finding the place closed for the night, he tried to force an entrance, and continued his clamour so long that Bentley became angry, and sallied forth to chastise him. A crowd gathered to see the fight, and, in the darkness, Scobie's head was split open with a spade. Whose hand it was that aimed the blow no one could tell; but the diggers universally believed that Bentley was himself the murderer. He was therefore arrested and tried, but acquitted by Mr. Dewes, the magistrate, who was said by the diggers to be secretly his partner in business. A great crowd assembled round the hotel, and a digger, named Kennedy, addressed the multitude, in vigorous Scottish accents, pointing out the spot where their companion's blood had been shed, and asserting that his spirit hovered above and called for revenge. The authorities sent a few police to protect the place, but they were only a handful of men in the midst of a great and seething crowd of over eight thousand powerful diggers. For an hour or two the mob, though indulging in occasional banter, remained harmless. But a mischievous boy having thrown a stone, and broken the lamp in front of the hotel, the police made a movement as if they were about to seize the offender. This roused the diggers to anger, and in less than a minute every pane of glass was broken; the police were roughly jostled and cut by showers of stones; and the doors were broken open. The crowd burst tumultuously into the hotel, and the rooms were soon swarming with men drinking the liquors and searching for Bentley, who, however, had already escaped on a swift horse to the camp. As the noise and disorder increased, a man placed a handful of paper and rags against the wooden walls of the bowling alley, deliberately struck a match, and set fire to the place. The diggers now deserted the hotel and retired to a safe distance, in order to watch the conflagration. Meanwhile a company of soldiers had set out from the camp for the scene of the riot, and on their approach the crowd quietly dispersed; but by this time the hotel was reduced to a heap of smouldering ruins. #8. Conviction of Rioters.#--For this outrage three men were apprehended and taken to Melbourne, where they were tried and sentenced to imprisonment. But Bentley was also re-arrested and tried, and as his friend Dewes could on this occasion be of no assistance to him, he was sentenced to three years of hard labour on the roads. Dewes was dismissed from the magistracy, and Sir Charles Hotham did everything in his power to conciliate the diggers. They were not to be thus satisfied, however, and held a stormy meeting at Ballarat, in which they appointed a deputation, consisting of Kennedy, Humffray, and Black, to demand from the Governor the release of the three men condemned for burning Bentley's Hotel. Hotham received them kindly, but declined to accept their message, because, he said, the word "demand" was not a suitable term to use in addressing the representative of Her Majesty. As the diggers were haughty, and refused to alter the phrase, the Governor intimated that, under these circumstances, no reply could be given. The delegates having returned to Ballarat, a great meeting was held, and Kennedy, Humffray, Black, Lalor, and Vern made inflammatory speeches, in which they persuaded the diggers to pass a resolution, declaring they would all burn their licences and pay no more fees. #9. Insurrection at Ballarat.#--Skirmishes between the soldiers and diggers now became frequent; and, on the 30th of November, when the last "digger hunt" took place, the police and soldiers were roughly beaten off. The diggers, among their tents, set up a flagstaff, and hoisted a banner of blue, with four silver stars in the corner. Then the leaders knelt beneath it, and, having sworn to defend one another to the death, proceeded to enrol the miners and form them into squads ready for drilling. Meantime the military camp was being rapidly fortified with trusses of hay, bags of corn, and loads of firewood. The soldiers were in hourly expectation of an attack, and for four successive nights they slept fully accoutred, and with their loaded muskets beside them. All night long lights were seen to move busily backwards and forwards among the diggers' tents, and the solid tread of great bodies of men could be heard amid the darkness. Lalor was marshalling his forces on the slopes of Ballarat, and drilling them to use such arms as they possessed--whether rifles, or pistols, or merely spikes fastened at the ends of poles. #10. The Eureka Stockade.#--Sir Charles Hotham now sent up the remaining eight hundred soldiers of the Ninety-ninth Regiment, under Sir Robert Nickle, and to these he added all the marines from the men-of-war and nearly all the police of the colony. They were several days on the march, and only arrived when the disturbance was over. The diggers had formed an entrenchment, called the Eureka Stockade, and had enclosed about an acre of ground with a high slab fence. In the midst of this stronghold they proclaimed the "Republic of Victoria"; and here they were able to carry on their drilling unmolested, under the command of the two leaders--Vern, a German, and Peter Lalor, the son of an Irish gentleman. They sent out parties in every direction to gather all the arms and ammunition they could obtain, and made extensive preparations for an assault; but, imagining that the soldiers would never dream of attacking them until the arrival of Sir Robert Nickle, they kept guard but carelessly. Captain Thomas--who commanded the troops in the camp--determined to finish the affair by a sudden attack; and, on Saturday night, whilst the diggers were amusing themselves in fancied security, he was carefully making his preparations. On Sunday morning, just after daybreak, when the stockade contained only two hundred men, Captain Thomas led his troops quietly forth, and succeeded in approaching within three hundred yards of the stockade without being observed. The alarm was then given within; the insurgents rushed to their posts, and poured a heavy volley upon the advancing soldiers, of whom about twelve fell. The attacking party wavered a moment, but again became steady, and fired with so calm and correct an aim, that, whenever a digger showed himself, even for a moment, he was shot. Peter Lalor rose on a sand heap within the stockade to direct his men, but immediately fell, pierced in the shoulder by a musket ball. After the firing had lasted for twenty minutes there was a lull; and the insurgents could hear the order "Charge!" ring out clearly. Then there was an ominous rushing sound--the soldiers were for a moment seen above the palisades, and immediately the conflict became hand-to-hand. The diggers took refuge in the empty claims, where some were bayoneted and others captured, whilst the victors set fire to the tents, and soon afterwards retired with 125 prisoners. A number of half-burnt palisades, which had fallen on Lalor, concealed him from view; and, after the departure of the soldiers, he crawled forth, and escaped to the ranges, where a doctor was found, who amputated his arm. The Government subsequently offered a reward of £500 for his capture; but his friends proved true, and preserved him till the trouble was all past. The number of those who had been wounded was never exactly known, but it was found that twenty-six of the insurgents had died during the fight, or shortly afterwards; and in the evening the soldiers returned and buried such of the dead bodies as were still lying within the stockade. On the following day, four soldiers who had been killed in the engagement were buried with military honours. Many of the wounded died during the course of the following month, and in particular the colony had to lament the loss of Captain Wise, of the Fortieth Regiment, who had received his death wound in the conflict. #11. Trial of the Rioters.#--When the news of the struggle and its issue was brought to Melbourne, the sympathies of the people were powerfully roused in favour of the diggers. A meeting, attended by about five thousand persons, was held near Prince's Bridge, and a motion, proposed by Mr. David Blair, in favour of the diggers, was carried almost unanimously. Similar meetings were held at Geelong and Sandhurst, so that there could be no doubt as to the general feeling against the Government; and when, at the beginning of 1855, thirteen of the prisoners were brought up for trial in Melbourne, and each in his turn was acquitted, crowds of people, both within and without the courts, greeted them, one after another, with hearty cheers as they stepped out into the open air, once more free men. #12. Improvements on the Goldfields.#--The commission appointed by Sir Charles Hotham commenced its labours shortly after the conclusion of the riot, and in its report the fact was clearly demonstrated that the miners had suffered certain grievances. Acting upon the advice of this commission, the Legislative Council abolished the monthly fee, and authorised the issue of "Miners' Rights," giving to the holders, on payment of one pound each per annum, permission to dig for gold in any part of the colony. New members were to be elected to the Council, in order to watch over the interests of the miners, two to represent Sandhurst, two for Ballarat, two for Castlemaine, and one each for the Ovens and the Avoca Diggings. Any man who held a "Miner's Right" was thereby qualified to vote in the elections for the Council. These were very just and desirable reforms, and the Government added to the general satisfaction by appointing the most prominent of the diggers to be justices of the peace on the goldfields. Thus the colony very rapidly returned to its former state of peaceful progress, and the goldfields were soon distinguished for their orderly and industrious appearance. CHAPTER XIV. NEW SOUTH WALES, 1851-1860. #1. Effects of Gold Discovery.#--For some years after 1851 the colony of New South Wales passed through a severe ordeal. The separation of Port Phillip had reduced her population by one-fourth and decreased her wealth by fully a third; the discoveries of gold at Ballarat and Bendigo had deprived her of many of her most desirable colonists. But the resources of the colony were too vast to allow of more than a merely temporary check, and, after a year or two, her progress was steady and marked. The gloomy anticipations with which the gold discoveries had been regarded by the squatters and employers of labour were by no means realised; for though men were for a time scarce, and wages exceedingly high, yet, when the real nature of a gold-digger's life and the meagreness of the average earnings became apparent, the great majority of the miners returned to their ordinary employments and the colony resumed its former career of steady progress, though with this difference, that the population was greater, and business consequently brisker than it had ever been before. Fortune, however, had given to Victoria so great an impetus in 1851, that the firm prosperity of New South Wales was completely lost sight of in the brilliant success of its younger neighbour. The yield of gold in New South Wales was never great as compared with that of Victoria; for, with the exception of 1852, no year produced more than two million pounds worth. But the older colony learnt more and more to utilise its immense area in the growth of wool, an industry which yielded greater and more permanent wealth than has ever been gained from gold mining. #2. Governor Denison.#--Governor Fitzroy, who had been appointed in 1847, remained eight years in office, and thus was present during the events which made so great a change in the prospects of the colonies. In 1855 he returned to England, and his place was taken by Sir William Denison, who had previously been Governor of Tasmania. In 1854 great excitement had been caused in Sydney by the outbreak of the Crimean War, and the people, in their fear lest they might suddenly receive an unwelcome visit from Russian cruisers, hastened to complete a system of fortifications for the harbour. The new Governor, who had in youth been trained as an officer of the Royal Engineers in England, took a warm interest in the operations. He built a small fortress on an islet in the middle of the harbour, and placed batteries of guns at suitable spots along the shores. The advance of the science of warfare in recent times has left these little fortifications but sorry defences against modern ironclads; but they have since been replaced by some of those improvements in defence which have accompanied the invention of new methods of attack. #3. Constitutional Changes.#--The Constitutions which had been framed for the colonies by the Imperial Parliament in 1850 were not expected to be more than temporary. The British Government had wisely determined to allow each of the colonies to frame for itself the Constitution which it deemed most suitable to its requirements, and had instructed the Legislative Councils which were elected in 1851 to report as to the wishes of their respective colonies. In Sydney the Council entrusted the framing of the new Constitution to a committee, which decided to adopt the English system of government by two Houses--the one to represent the people as a whole, the other to watch over the interests of those who, by their superior wealth, might be supposed to have more than an ordinary stake in the welfare of the country. It was very quickly arranged that the popular House should consist of not less than fifty-four members, to be elected by men who paid a small rental, or possessed property of a certain annual value. But with regard to the nature of the Upper House, it was much more difficult to come to a decision. Wentworth proposed that the Queen should establish a colonial peerage to form a small House of Lords, holding their seats by hereditary right; but this idea raised so great an outcry that he made haste to abandon it. Several of the committee were in favour of the scheme, afterwards adopted in Victoria, of making the Upper House elective, while limiting the choice of members to those who possessed at least £5,000 worth of real property. After much discussion, however, it was decided to give to the Governor the power of nominating the members of this chamber, which was to consist of not less than twenty-one persons. The Legislative Council adopted this scheme, and sent it to England for the assent of the Queen; they also requested that their Constitution might be still further assimilated to that of Great Britain by the introduction of responsible government, so that the Ministers who controlled the affairs of the colony should be no longer officials appointed or dismissed by the Governor and Secretary of State, but should, in future, be chosen by the Parliament to advise the Governor on all matters of public interest, and should be liable to dismissal from office so soon as the Parliament lost confidence in their ability or prudence. The British Government at once gave its assent to this Constitution, which was accordingly inaugurated in 1856; and from that date the political management of New South Wales has been an imitation of that of the British Empire. In 1858 two small modifications were introduced: the Lower House was increased in numbers to sixty-eight members, and the privilege of voting for it was extended to every male person over twenty-one years of age who had dwelt not less than six months in the colony. #4. Floods and Droughts.#--From the very commencement of its existence, New South Wales has been subject to the two extremes of heavy floods and dreary periods of drought. The mountains are so near to the coast that the rivers have but short courses, and the descent is so steep that, during rainy seasons, the rush of waters deluges the plains near the sea, causing floods of fatal suddenness. At the same time, the waters are carried off so rapidly that there are no supplies of moisture left to serve for those seasons in which but little rain falls. The districts along the banks of the Hunter, Hawkesbury, and Shoalhaven Rivers have been especially liable to destructive inundations; and, from time to time, the people of Sydney have been obliged to send up lifeboats for the purpose of releasing the unfortunate settlers from the roofs and chimneys of their houses, where they have been forced to seek refuge from the rising waters. The Murrumbidgee also used occasionally to spread out into a great sea, carrying off houses and crops, cattle, and, oftentimes, the people themselves. In 1852 a flood of this description completely destroyed the town of Gundagai, and no less than eighty persons perished, either from drowning or from being exposed to the storm as they clung to the branches of trees. #5. The Dunbar.#--A great gloom was cast over the colony in 1857 by the loss of a fine ship within seven miles of the centre of Sydney. The _Dunbar_ sailed from Plymouth in that year with about a hundred and twenty people on board, many of them well-known colonists who had visited England, and were now on their way homewards. As the vessel approached the coast, a heavy gale came down from the north-east, and, ere they could reach the entrance to Port Jackson, night had closed around them. In the deep and stormy gloom they beat to and fro for some time, but at length the captain thought it safer to make for Sydney Heads than to toss about on so wild a sea. He brought the vessel close in to the shore in order to search for the entrance, and when against the stormy sky he perceived a break in the black cliff's he steered for the opening. This, however, was not the entrance, but only a hollow in the cliffs, called by the Sydney people the "Gap". The vessel was standing straight in for the rocks, when a mass of boiling surf was observed in the place where they thought the opening was, and ere she could be put about she crashed violently upon the foot of a cliff that frowned ninety feet above; there was a shriek, and then the surf rolled back the fragments and the drowning men. At daybreak the word was given that a ship had been wrecked at the Gap, and during the day thousands of people poured forth from Sydney to view the scene of the disaster. On the following morning it was discovered that there was a solitary survivor, who, having been washed into a hollow in the face of the rock, lay concealed in his place of refuge throughout that dreadful night and all the succeeding day. A young man was found who volunteered to let himself down by a rope and rescue the half-dead seaman. To prevent the repetition of so sad an occurrence, lighthouses were erected for the guidance of ship captains entering the harbour. In 1852 the people of Sydney had the satisfaction of inaugurating the first Australian University--a structure whose noble front, magnificent halls, and splendid appointments for the furtherance of science will always do credit to the liberality and high aspirations of the colony. In 1857 the "Australian Museum" was opened, and formed the nucleus of the present excellent collection of specimens. During this period several newspapers sprang into existence, railways began to stretch out from the metropolis, and lines of telegraph united Sydney with the leading cities of the other colonies. In August, 1853, the first mail steamer from England, named the _Chusan_, arrived in Port Jackson, and helped to make the settlers of Australia feel less exiled, as they now could have regular news of their friends and of European events little more than two months old. CHAPTER XV. WEST AUSTRALIA, 1829-1890. #1. King George's Sound.#--In 1825, when Sir Ralph Darling was appointed Governor of New South Wales, his commission was supposed to extend over all that part of Australia which lies between the 139th meridian and the eastern coast. Not that the whole of this country, or even the twentieth part of it, was occupied by settlers--the region was merely claimed as British territory. But the remainder of Australia, comprising about two-thirds of the continent, had not, as yet, been annexed by any European nation; and when, in 1826, a rumour prevailed that the French were about to occupy that region, the Sydney people were alarmed lest so great a territory should thus be lost for ever to the British Empire; they, therefore, in that year, sent a detachment of soldiers to take formal possession of the country and to found a settlement at King George's Sound. From this early effort, however, no practical result ensued; and, during the few years of its existence, the place continued to be nothing more than a small military station. #2. Swan River.#--But, in 1827, an English captain, named Stirling, after having sailed along the western coast, gave a most favourable account of a large river he had seen on his voyage. He was not the first discoverer of this river, which, as early as 1697, had been visited by a Dutch navigator, named Vlaming, who was sailing in quest of a man-of-war supposed to have been wrecked on these shores. Vlaming had seen this stream, and, astonished by the wonderful sight of thousands of jet black swans on its surface, had given to it the name of Swan River. But it had remained unthought of till Captain Stirling, by his report, awakened a warm and hopeful interest in this district. Shortly afterwards the British Government resolved to found a colony on the banks of this river, and Captain Fremantle arrived as the pioneer of the intended settlement. When he landed on the shore, he found that a nearer view of the country was far from realising the expectations formed by those who had viewed it merely from the open sea. He began to have forebodings, but it was now too late--the ships, containing eight hundred of the first settlers, were already close at hand; and, in the course of a week or two, after narrowly escaping shipwreck on the reefs along the shore, they landed Captain Stirling, the first Governor, with his little band, on the wilderness of Garden Island. Here, in this temporary abode, the colonists remained for several months--sheltering themselves in fragile tents, or in brushwood huts, from the rough blasts and the rains that beat in from the winter storms of the Indian Ocean. Exploring parties set out from time to time to examine the adjoining mainland; but, however fair it seemed from a distance, they found it to be merely a sandy region, covered with dense and scrubby thickets. The only port was at a place called Fremantle, where there was but little shelter from the storms of the open ocean; and the only place suitable for a town was several miles up the Swan River, where the waters expand into broad but shallow lagoons. Here the colonists determined to build their city, to which they gave the name of Perth. But the site was not favourable to enterprise; an impassable bar stretched across the mouth of the river, which was, therefore, inaccessible to vessels. The goods of the colonists had to be landed on an exposed beach at Fremantle, and then carried overland through miles of sand and scrub. In 1830 about a thousand new immigrants arrived; and towards the end of this year the colonists succeeded in settling down in their new homes at Perth. #3. Land Grants.#--Most of these immigrants were attracted to Western Australia by the prospect of obtaining large estates; they knew how valuable land was in the well-settled countries of Europe, and, when they heard of square miles in Australia to be had for a few pounds, they were captivated by the notion of so easily becoming great landed proprietors. But the value of land depends upon surrounding circumstances, and ten acres in England may be worth more than a whole wilderness in West Australia. At that time foolish notions were in every quarter prevalent as to what could be done by means of land. The British Government thought it possible to make the colony self-supporting by paying for everything with grants which cost it nothing, but which would be readily accepted by others as payment. Thus the Governor, instead of his yearly salary, was to receive a hundred thousand acres, and all the officials were to be paid in the same manner. The land was distributed in great quantities to people who had no intention of using it, but who expected that, by the progress of colonisation, it would increase enormously in value, and might then be sold for splendid prices. To induce immigrants to bring with them useful property, the Government offered a bonus of twenty acres for every three pounds worth of goods imported; and the colonists--quite unconscious of the future that lay before them--carried out great numbers of costly, though often unsuitable, articles, by means of which the desired grants were obtained. It was found difficult to convey this property to the town, and much of it was left to rot on the shore, where carriages, pianos, and articles of rich furniture lay half-buried in sand and exposed to the alternations of sun and rain. [Illustration: PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA, IN 1838.] [Illustration: PERTH, 1890.] Splendid horses and cattle of the finest breed had been brought out, but they wandered useless in the bush. For, till the country was surveyed, nothing could be done in the way of agriculture; and, even after the surveys were completed, owing to a regulation that those whose grants exceeded a square mile should be allowed the first choice, all the sections nearest to the town were obtained by officials and wealthy speculators, who had no intention of using them. Many of these persons held a district almost as large as an English county, and, therefore, the lands remaining for selection by farmers and small purchasers were generally far in the interior. The sections were pointed out on the maps, but the places themselves had never been trodden by a white man's foot, and were held by tribes of hostile savages. Some, indeed, tried to settle upon these distant regions, but they were lonely and isolated, and many of them perished, either from disease and hunger, or by the spears of the natives. Yet there were very few who made any attempt at agriculture, and the costly ploughs and implements that had been imported lay rusting on the beach. The horses and cattle died off, the sheep that had been introduced at great expense were almost all killed through feeding on a poisonous plant, which grew in patches over the country; and the men themselves were forced to loiter at Perth, consuming their provisions and chafing at their ruinous inaction. #4. Mr. Peel.#--There was one gentleman who had spent fifty thousand pounds in bringing with him to the colony everything that could be required for farming and sheep-breeding on a magnificent scale. He brought with him three hundred labourers; but the land was by no means so fertile as he had imagined, and he had scarcely commenced his farming operations when he found that his only escape from ruin was to enter, single-handed, on the self-dependent life of the ordinary settler. #5. Gloomy Prospects.#--Matters grew worse and worse, and those of the disappointed colonists who had sufficient prudence to start before their means were all exhausted either returned to Europe or sought the other colonies, where several achieved success--notably the brothers Henty, who settled at Launceston and established at Portland Bay the whaling station already mentioned. The gloomy reports of those who reached England prevented any further accession of immigrants, and in 1835 it was rumoured, though erroneously, that the British Government intended to abandon the place. In the following year (1836) the colony of South Australia was founded; and a great extent of territory previously marked as belonging to West Australia was assigned to the new settlement. These two colonies, during their early years, experienced trials and difficulties of the same kind; but while South Australia, in a short time, emerged to a career of brilliant prosperity through sturdy determination to make the land productive, West Australia for forty years never enjoyed more than a transitory gleam of success. #6. Introduction of Convicts.#--This little improvement consisted of a message received from Earl Grey in 1848 asking the settlers if they were willing to accept convicts in their midst. The other colonies had refused them, but it was thought not unlikely that West Australia might be glad to get them. Opinions were divided as to the reply which ought to be given: while some were averse to the idea, others believed that the money sent out by the British Government to maintain the convicts and soldiers would originate a trade which might give to the colony new life and fresh prospects. These arguments prevailed, and in 1849 the first shipload of convicts arrived. From time to time new gangs were received, and the place began to be much more populous than before. The shopkeepers in Perth became rich, and the farmer squatters of the surrounding districts found a ready market for their produce. Yet this success was only partial; and there was nothing which might be said to constitute general prosperity. In the little town of Fremantle, the few and scattered houses had still a rural aspect, and the streets echoed to the sound of no commercial bustle. In Perth the main street was still a grassy walk, shaded by avenues of trees, and even in the business quarter the houses stood each in the midst of its spacious garden. #7. Evils of Convictism.#--West Australia had now to suffer the consequences of having become a penal settlement. Many of the convicts, on being liberated, took up their abode in the colony; but their dispositions were seldom either amiable or virtuous, and from the vices of these men the whole population began to lose character in the eyes of other countries. A large number of the prisoners were no sooner liberated than they set off for the goldfields in the eastern colonies, which thus began to share in the evils of convictism. These colonies were not inclined to suffer long in this manner; and, to defend themselves, they refused admission to any person who came from West Australia, unless he could show that he had never been a convict. Thus the colony at Swan River was branded, and held to be contaminated; no free immigrants sought its shores, and many of its best inhabitants departed. This stigma continued to rest on West Australia until the year 1868, when the transportation of criminals from Great Britain altogether ceased, and the colony no longer received its periodical supply of convicts. Since that time it has, in a great measure, retrieved its character; it is now doing what it can to attract free immigrants, and offers large tracts of pastoral land at low rentals, while the farming classes are attracted by free selection at only ten shillings an acre, with ten years in which to pay it. It has joined Perth to Albany by a good railway, and several branch railways have been constructed, as well as a large number of telegraph lines; and at Albany, the town on King George's Sound, it has established a coaling depôt for the mail steamers on their way to Adelaide, Melbourne, and Sydney. But West Australia is still what it was called twenty years ago, "the giant skeleton of a colony," consisting of about forty thousand people, scattered over a hundred thousand square miles of territory, behind which stretches a vast region of unexplored wilderness. There is every indication, however, that its progress in the near future will be rapid. Up to 1870 it formed what was called a Crown colony: the people had no voice in their own government; their affairs were managed for them by the officers of the English Government. At that date, however, when transportation was abolished, the colony was promoted to the partial management of its own affairs, and the people began periodically to elect a Legislative Council. In 1890 it was still further promoted, being raised to the full dignity of an independent colony, having, like the other colonies of Australia, a Parliament of two Houses, with power to make and unmake its own laws as it pleases. Perth is now rapidly increasing, and the colony is on the eve of its palmy days. CHAPTER XVI. QUEENSLAND, 1823-1890. #1. Moreton Bay.#--When Captain Cook, in 1770, sailed into the wide opening of Moreton Bay, several of his friends on board observed the sea to be paler than usual, and formed the opinion that, if a careful search were made along the shores, it would be found that a large river fell into the sea somewhere in the neighbourhood. Cook attached so little weight to this idea that he did not stay to make any examination; and when, about twenty years later, Captain Flinders surveyed the same bay, he saw no trace of a river, though he made special search for one. But the reports of both these travellers were subsequently found to be erroneous; for, in 1823, when Governor Brisbane sent the discoverer Oxley, in the _Mermaid_, to select a place for a new convict station in the northern district of New South Wales, Moreton Bay was found to receive the waters of a large and important river. His success was, at least in part, due to accident. Among the blacks, on the shores of the bay, was a naked man, who was seen to be white. This man was taken on board. He had sailed in an open boat from Sydney, with three others, about a year before, but had been driven by gales out to sea and far to the north. They had landed and had been well received by the blacks. The rest had started to walk along the shore to Sydney, but one man, named Pamphlett, had remained with the natives; and it was he who now was rescued by Oxley, to whom he gave the information that, when roving inland with the tribe among whom he was living, he had seen a fine river of fresh water. Under the guidance of Pamphlett, Oxley left his little vessel in the bay, and with a boat entered upon the broad current of the stream. Before sunset he had ascended about twenty miles, and had been delighted by the richness of the scenery and the magnificence of the timber. On the following day he proceeded thirty miles farther up, and throughout the whole distance found the stream to be broad and of sufficient depth to be navigable for vessels of considerable size. Oxley was justly proud of his discovery, and wished to penetrate still farther into the forests that lay beyond; but his boat's crew had been so exhausted by their long row under a burning sun that he could go no farther, and found it necessary to turn and glide with the current down to his vessel, which he reached late on the fourth night. To the stream he had thus discovered he gave the name of the Brisbane River. #2. Convict Station.#--On his return he recommended this district as a suitable position for the new convict station, and during the following year (1824) he was sent to form the settlement. With a small party, consisting of convicts and their guards, he landed at Redcliff, now known as Humpy Bong, a peninsula which juts out into Moreton Bay a few miles above the mouth of the Brisbane. Here the settlement remained for a few months, but afterwards it was moved twenty miles up the river to that pleasant bend which is now occupied by the city of Brisbane. Here, under Captain Logan, the first permanent commandant of the settlement, large stone barracks for the soldiers were erected, and lines of gaols and other buildings for the convicts. And in these for twelve or fourteen years the lonely community dwelt--about a thousand twice-convicted prisoners, and a party of soldiers and officials to keep them in order. No free person was allowed to approach within fifty miles of the settlement, unless with special permission, which was very sparingly granted. The place was a convict settlement of the harshest type; and stern were the measures of that relentless commandant, Captain Logan, who flogged and hanged the unfortunate people under his charge until he became hated with a deadly hatred. He was an active explorer, and did much to open up the interior country, till at length, on a trip in which he was accompanied only by some convicts, they glutted their vengeance by spearing him and battering his head with a native tomahawk. #3. The Squatters.#--For thirteen years the settlement was not affected by anything that went on in that outside world from which it was so completely excluded. But in 1840 the onward progress of squatting enterprise brought free men with sheep and cattle close to Moreton Bay. That fine district, discovered by Allan Cunningham in 1827, and called by him the Liverpool Plains, had almost immediately attracted squatters, who by degrees filled up the whole of the available land, and those who were either new-comers, or who found their flocks increasing too fast for the size of their runs, were forced to move outward, and, as a rule, northward. It was about the year 1840 that the pioneers entered that fine tableland district called by Allan Cunningham, in 1829, the Darling Downs, and when the year 1844 was ended there were at least forty squatters over the Queensland borders, with nearly 200,000 sheep and 60,000 cattle, and with many hundreds of shepherds and stockmen to attend them. #4. A Free Settlement.#--Whilst the squatters were gathering all round, a change took place at Brisbane itself. We have seen that about 1840 the English Government had resolved to discontinue transportation, except to Van Diemen's Land. The word, therefore, went forth that Brisbane was no longer to be a place of exile for criminals. It was to be the home of free men and the capital of a new district. In 1841 Governor Sir George Gipps arrived from Sydney, and laid out the plan of what is now a handsome city. Blocks of land were offered for sale to free settlers, and eagerly bought. The Governor also laid out a little town, now called Ipswich, farther inland. Meanwhile the township of Drayton, and that which is now much larger, Toowoomba, began to gather round two wayside inns established for the convenience of travellers. Captain Wickham was sent up to assume the position of Superintendent of Moreton Bay, which thus became practically a new colony, just as Port Phillip was in the south, though both were then regarded as only districts of New South Wales. #5. The Natives.#--In these early years the squatters of the district were scattered, at wide intervals, throughout a great extent of country, and, being in the midst of native tribes who were not only numerous but of a peculiarly hostile disposition, they often found themselves in a very precarious situation. The blacks swarmed on the runs, killing the sheep, and stealing the property of the squatters, who had many annoyances to suffer and injuries to guard against. But their retaliation oftentimes exhibited a ferocity and inhumanity almost incredible in civilised men. [Illustration: BOOMERANGS, OR KYLIES.] The Government troopers showed little compunction in destroying scores of natives, and, strange to say, the most inhuman atrocities were committed by blacks, who were employed to act as troopers. On one occasion, after the murder of a white man by two blacks, a band of troopers, in the dead of night, stealthily surrounded the tribe to which the murderers belonged, whilst it was holding a corrobboree, and, at a given signal, fired a volley into the midst of the dancing crowd--a blind and ruthless revenge, from which, however, the two murderers escaped. On another occasion the shepherds and hutkeepers out on a lonely plain had begun to grow afraid of the troublesome tribes in the neighbourhood, and cunningly made them a present of flour, in which white arsenic had been mixed. Half a tribe might then have been seen writhing and howling in the agony of this frightful poison till death relieved them. On such occasions the black tribes took a terrible revenge when they could, and so the hatred of black for white and white for black became stronger and deadlier. #6. Separation.#--In less than five years after the removal of convicts the district began to agitate for separation from New South Wales; and, in 1851, a petition was sent to the Queen, urging the right of Moreton Bay to receive the same concession as had, in that year, been made to Port Phillip. On this occasion their request was not granted, but, on being renewed about three years later, it met with a very favourable reception; and, in the following year, an Act was passed by the Imperial Parliament giving to the British Government power to constitute the new colony. Again, as in the case of Port Phillip, delays occurred; and, in 1856, a change of Ministry caused the matter to be almost forgotten. It was not until the year 1859 that the territory to the north of the twenty-ninth parallel of latitude was proclaimed a separate colony, under the title of QUEENSLAND. [Illustration: PARLIAMENT HOUSE, BRISBANE.] In the December of that year Sir George F. Bowen, the first Governor, arrived; and the little town of Brisbane, with its 7,000 inhabitants, was raised to the dignity of being a capital, the seat of government of a territory containing more than 670,000 square miles, though inhabited by only 25,000 persons. A few months later Queensland received its Constitution, which differed but little from that of New South Wales. There were established two Houses of Legislature, one consisting of members nominated by the Governor, and the other elected by the people. #7. Gold.#--In 1858 it was reported that gold had been discovered far to the north, on the banks of the Fitzroy River, and in a short time many vessels arrived in Keppel Bay, their holds and decks crowded with men, who eagerly landed and hastened to Canoona, a place about sixty or seventy miles up the river. Ere long there were about fifteen thousand diggers on the scene; but it was soon discovered that the gold was confined to a very small area, and by no means plentiful; and those who had spent all their money in getting to the place were in a wretched plight. A large population had been hurriedly gathered in an isolated region, without provisions, or the possibility of obtaining them; their expectations of the goldfield had been disappointed, and for some time the Fitzroy River was one great scene of misery and starvation till the Governments of New South Wales and Victoria sent vessels to convey the unfortunate diggers away from the place. Some, however, in the extremity of the famine, had selected portions of the fertile land on the banks of the river, and had begun to cultivate them as farms. They were pleased with the district, and, having settled down on their land, founded what is now the thriving city of Rockhampton. A great amount of success, however, attended a subsequent effort in 1867. The Government of Queensland offered rewards, varying from two hundred to a thousand pounds, for the discovery of paying goldfields. The result was that during the course of the next two or three years many districts were opened up to the miner. Towards the end of 1867 a man named Nash, who had been wandering in an idle way over the country, found an auriferous region of great extent at Gympie, about 130 miles from Brisbane. He concealed his discovery for a time, and set to work to collect as much of the gold as possible, before attracting others to the spot. In the course of a day or two he gathered several hundred pounds worth of gold, being, however, often disturbed in his operations by the approach of travellers on the adjacent road, when he had to crouch among the bushes, until the footsteps died away and he could again pursue his solitary task. After some time it seemed impossible to avoid discovery; and lest any one should forestall him in making known the district, he entered Maryborough, not far away, announced his discovery, and received the reward. A rush took place to the Gympie, which was found to be exceedingly rich, and it was not long before a nugget worth about four thousand pounds was met with close to the surface. Far to the north, on the Palmer River, a tributary of the Mitchell, there have been discovered rich goldfields, where, in spite of the great heat and dangers from the blacks, there are crowds of diggers at work. Many thousands of Chinamen have settled down in the district, and to these the natives seem to have a special antipathy, as they spear them on every possible occasion. But all the stories which Australia offers of gold-digging romance are eclipsed by that of the Mount Morgan Mine. Near Rockhampton, and in the midst of that very district to which the diggers had rushed in 1858, but in which they had starved through being unable to find gold, a young squatter bought from the Government of Queensland a selection of 640 acres. It was on a rocky hill, so barren that he considered it useless, and was glad to sell it for £640 to three brothers of the name of Morgan. These gentlemen were lucky enough to find out that the dirty grey rocks of which the hill was composed were very richly mixed with gold, so that twenty or thirty pounds worth of gold could be got by crushing and washing every cart-load of rock. They immediately set to work, and before long showed that they were the possessors of the richest gold mine in the world. A year or two later the hill was sold at a price equivalent to eight millions of pounds, and it is now reckoned that it contains gold to the value of at least double that sum. What a strange adventure for the man who owned it and reckoned it worth almost nothing! #8. Cotton.#--Throughout most of the colony the climate is either tropical or semi-tropical, and it is therefore, in its more fertile parts, well suited to the growth of cotton and sugar. About the year 1861 the cultivation of the cotton plant was commenced on a small scale; but, although the plantations were found to thrive, yet the high rate of wages which prevailed in Queensland, and the low price of cotton in Europe, caused the first attempts to be very unprofitable. Matters were changed, however, in 1863, for then a great civil war was raging in America; and as the people of the Southern States were prevented, by the long chain of blockading vessels stationed by the Northern States along their coasts, from sending their cotton to Europe, there was a great scarcity of cotton in England, and its price rose to be exceedingly high. This was a favourable opportunity for Queensland. The plantations were, of course, still as expensive as ever, but the handsome prices obtained for the cotton not only covered this great expense, but also left considerable profits. The cultivation of the sugar cane was introduced in 1865, and, after a few years had passed away, great fields of waving cane were to be seen in various parts of the country, growing ripe and juicy beneath the tropical sun. #9. Polynesian Labour.#--The prices of cotton and sugar remained high for some years; but when the American Civil War was over they fell to their former rates, and the planters of Queensland found it necessary to obtain some cheaper substitute for their white labourers. At first it was proposed to bring over Hindoos from India, but nothing came of this idea; and afterwards, when Chinese were introduced, they were not found to give the satisfaction expected. But it happened that one of the planters, named Robert Towns, was the owner of a number of ships which traded to the South Sea Islands, and having persuaded a few of the islanders to cross to Queensland, he employed them on his sugar plantation. He took some little trouble in teaching them the work he wished them to do, and found that they soon became expert at it. As the remuneration they required was very small, they served admirably to supply the necessary cheap labour. [Illustration: VICTORIA BRIDGE, BRISBANE.] The practice of employing these South Sea Islanders, or "Kanakas," as they were called, soon became general, and parts of Queensland had all the appearance of the American plantations, where crowds of dusky figures, decked in the brightest of colours, plied their labours with laughter and with song, among the tall cane brakes or the bursting pods of cotton. The "Kanakas" generally worked for a year or two in the colony, then, having received a bundle of goods--consisting of cloth, knives, hatchets, beads, and so forth, to the value of about £10--they were again conveyed to their palm-clad islands. A system of this kind was apt to give rise to abuses, and it was found that a few of the more unscrupulous planters, not content with the ordinary profits, stooped to the shameful meanness of cheating the poor islander out of his hard-earned reward. They hurried him on board a vessel, and sent after him a parcel containing a few shillings worth of property; then, when he reached his home, he found that all his toil and his years of absence from his friends had procured him only so much trash. Happily, this was not of very frequent occurrence; but there was another abuse both common and glaring. As the plantations in Queensland increased, they required more labourers than were willing to leave their homes in the South Sea Islands; and, as the captains of vessels were paid by the planters a certain sum of money for every "Kanaka" they brought over, there was a strong temptation to carry off the natives by force, when, by other means, a sufficient number could not be obtained. There were frequent conflicts between the crews of labour vessels and the inhabitants of the islands. The white men burnt the native villages, and carried off crowds of men and women; while, in revenge, the islanders often surprised a vessel and massacred its crew; and in such cases the innocent suffered for the guilty. The sailors often had the baseness to disguise themselves as missionaries, in order the more easily to effect their purpose; and when the true missionaries, suspecting nothing, approached the natives on their errand of good will, they were speared or clubbed to death by the unfortunate islanders. But, as a rule, the "Kanakas" were themselves the sufferers; the English vessels pursued their frail canoes, ran them down, and sank them; then, while struggling in the sea, the men were seized and thrust into the hold, and the hatches were fastened down. When in this dastardly manner a sufficient number had been gathered together, and the dark interior of the ship was filled with a steaming mass of human beings densely huddled together, the captains set sail for Queensland, where they landed those of their living cargoes who had escaped the deadly pestilence which filth and confinement always engendered in such cases. #10. Polynesian Labourers' Act.#--These were the deeds of a few ruthless and disreputable seamen; but the people of Queensland, as a whole, had no sympathy with such barbarities, and in 1868 a law was passed to regulate the labour traffic. It enacted that no South Sea Islanders were to be brought into the colony unless the captain of the vessel could show a document, signed by a missionary or British consul, stating that they had left the islands of their own free will; Government agents were to accompany every vessel, in order to see that the "Kanakas" were well treated on the voyage; and, on leaving the colony, no labourer was to receive less than six pounds worth of goods for every year he had worked. These regulations were of great use, but they were often evaded; for, by giving a present to the king of an island, the sailors could bribe him to force his people to express their willingness before the missionary. The trembling men were brought forward, and, under the fear of their chief's revenge, declared their perfect readiness to sail. Sometimes the Government agents on board the vessels were bribed not to report the misdeeds of the sailors; and in the case of the _Jason_, on which the agent was too honest to be so bribed, he was chained below by the captain, on the pretence that he was mad. When the ship arrived in Queensland, the unfortunate man was found in a most miserable state of filth and starvation. For this offence the captain was arrested, tried, and imprisoned. Whatever regulations may be made, a traffic of this sort will occasionally have its dark and ugly features, yet it may be truly enough said that while the "Kanakas" have been of great service to Queensland, the colony has also been of service to them. The islanders are generally glad to be taken; they have better food and easier lives on the plantations than they have in their homes; they gather a trunkful of property such as passes for great wealth in the islands, and when they are sent home, after two years' absence, to their palms and coral shores, it is in full costume, generally in excellent spirits, and always more or less civilised. Sometimes, poor fellows, they are stripped and plundered by their naked relatives, but at any rate they help, by what they have learnt, to improve the style of life in those native groves, so sunny but so full of superstition and barbarous rites. #11. Present State of the Colony.#--In 1868 Sir George Bowen was sent to govern New Zealand, and Governor Blackall took charge of affairs in Queensland. He was a man of fine talents, and amiable character, and was greatly respected by the colonists; but he died not long after his arrival, and was succeeded by the Marquis of Normanby, who, in his turn, was succeeded, in 1874, by Mr. Cairns. Sir Arthur Kennedy, in 1877, Sir Anthony Musgrave, in 1883, Sir Arthur Hunter Palmer, in 1888, and General Sir H. Wylie Norman bring the list of Governors to the present year (1894). Queensland possesses magnificent resources, which have only recently been made known, and are now in process of development. Her exports of gold exceed two million pounds a year; she produces large quantities of tin, copper, silver, and other minerals. The wool clipped from her sheep exceeds one million four hundred thousand pounds in annual value; and her total exports, including cotton, sugar, and other tropical productions, amount to about six million pounds per annum. The population is now about half a million, and immigrants continue to arrive at the rate of about sixteen thousand a year. Though the youngest of the Australian colonies, Queensland now ranks fourth on the list, and appears to have a most promising future before her. Her cotton industry has almost vanished, and her sugar plantations have passed through troublous times, but there seem to be good hopes for them in the future. However, it will be in the raising of sheep and of cattle, as well as in gold-mining, that the colony will have to look for her most permanent resources. She has now nearly twenty million sheep and six million cattle, and sends wool, tallow, hides, and frozen meat to England, while she supplies prime bullocks for the Melbourne Market. #12. The Aborigines.#--Australian history practically begins with the arrival of the white man, for before that time, though tribe fought with tribe and there were many doings of savage men, there is nothing that could be told as a general story. Each tribe of from twenty to a couple of hundred dusky forms wandered over the land, seeking animals to hunt and fresh water to drink. They were very thinly spread, not more than one person to ten square miles, yet every little tribe was at deadly feud with its neighbour. [Illustration: GOVERNMENT HOUSE, BRISBANE.] The tribe wandered over the grassy and park-like lands, the men stalking ahead with spears and boomerang in hand; the women trudging behind loaded with babies, and utensils. At evening they camp and the men put up frail break-winds, consisting of a few branches and leafy tufts; behind this on the sheltered side a few leaves made a bed. Meantime the fire was lit close by, and soon a dozen little columns of blue smoke curl up among the trees. The opossum, or duck, or wallaby is soon cooked or half-cooked; the men devour as much as they want and pass on the remains to the women and children. A frog or two and a lizard, or a few grubs taken out of decayed timber, or perhaps a few roots that have been dug up on the march by the women, form a sort of dessert. After dusk there is the sound of chatter round the fires; then all retire to rest, with the glowing embers of the fires to give them warmth. At daybreak all are awake. If there is food at hand they may stay in the same camp for weeks together, but if not they journey on. Each man had as many wives as he could obtain. He did not support them, but they supported him, and when children became too numerous he lessened his family by killing off a few. More than half the children were thus destroyed. Their enjoyments consisted of games with a kind of ball, and mock-fights, but especially in a wild dance they called the corrobboree. They were in general good-humoured when things went pleasantly; but a man would spear his wife through the leg or dash his child's brains out readily enough when things were not to his taste, and nobody would think any the worse of him for it. CHAPTER XVII. EXPLORATIONS IN THE INTERIOR, 1840-1860. #1. Progress of Exploration.#--The coasts of Australia had all been examined before the year 1815. From that date those who wished to make fresh discoveries were obliged to penetrate into the interior; and we have already seen that, previous to the year 1836, explorers were busy in opening up the south-east portion of the continent. Oxley had made known the northern districts of New South Wales, and Allan Cunningham the southern part of what is now the colony of Queensland. Hume and Hovell, Sturt and Mitchell, had traversed the southern districts of New South Wales and the territory now occupied by Victoria. Following closely in the footsteps of these intrepid discoverers, the squatters had entered all these districts, and, wherever the land was suitable, had settled down with their flocks; so that, ere long, all that corner of Australia which would be cut off by drawing a straight line from Brisbane to Adelaide was fully surveyed. But there still remained to be explored about seven-eighths of the continent; and from this date onward there was an unbroken succession of adventurous travellers, who entered the vast central territory for the purpose of making known its nature and capacities. But the manner of conducting an expedition was now very different from what it had been. Previous explorers had been provided with parties of convicts, and had traversed lands for the greater part grassy and well watered. These expeditions had their dangers, arising chiefly from the hostility of the blacks; and Allan Cunningham, his brother Richard, with many others, sacrificed their lives in their ardour for discovery. But subsequent travellers had to encounter, in addition, the pangs of hunger and thirst in that dry and desolate country which occupies so great a portion of Central Australia. #2. Eyre.#--The first on this roll of gallant discoverers was Edward John Eyre, who, in 1840, offered to conduct an expedition to the interior. He himself provided about half the money required, the South Australian Government--which was then in difficulties--gave a hundred pounds, and a number of Eyre's personal friends made up the remainder. With five Europeans, three natives, and thirteen horses, and with forty sheep to serve as food on the way, he set out from Adelaide and travelled to the head of Spencer's Gulf, where a small vessel lay waiting to supply them with provisions sufficient for three months. Having traversed forty or fifty miles of desert land, he turned to the west, and came in sight of what he called Lake Torrens. It was now dried up, so that in place of a sheet of water twenty miles broad, he saw only a dreary region covered with glittering salt. When he entered upon it the thin crust of salt broke, and a thick black mud oozed up. The party plunged onward for about six miles, the mud becoming always deeper and deeper, till at length it half covered the saddles of their horses. He was then forced to turn back, and to seek a passage round this lake of mud; but, having followed its shores for many miles, there seemed to be so little prospect of reaching the end of the obstacle, that he turned his course again, from west to north. After travelling about two hundred miles through a very desolate country, he was once more arrested by coming upon a similar sheet of salt-encrusted mud, which he called Lake Eyre. Again there appeared no hope of either crossing the lake or going round it; no water was to be found, and his supplies were fast failing, so that he was forced to hasten back a long distance to the nearest stream. Setting out once more, he twice attempted to penetrate westward into the interior, but, on each occasion, the salt lakes barred his progress, and as a last effort he urged his failing party towards the north-east. Here the country was the most barren and desolate that can be imagined. It was not always so, but after a period of drought, when the grass is burnt to the roots and not a drop of fresh water to be seen in a hundred miles, it has all the appearance of a desert. His supplies of water ran short, and frequently the explorers were on the point of perishing. When they approached the Frome River--a creek which flows northwards into Lake Eyre--they were inexpressibly delighted to view from afar the winding current; but its waters were found to be as salt as the ocean. After a long and dreary journey, Eyre ascended a hill, in order to see if there was any hope of finding better country; but the view was only a great and barren level, stretching far away to the horizon on every side. He had now no water, and his only course was to turn back; so, leaving this place--which he called Mount Hopeless--he retraced his steps to the head of Spencer's Gulf. #3. Australian Bight.#--Here he changed the object of his journey, and made efforts to go along the shores of the Great Australian Bight, in order to reach West Australia. Three times he rounded Streaky Bay; but in that bare and desert land the want of water was an insuperable obstacle, and each time he was forced to retreat to less desolate country. Governor Gawler now sent word to him to return to Adelaide, as it seemed madness to make further efforts; but Eyre replied that to go back without having accomplished anything would be a disgrace he could never endure. Seeing that his only chance of reaching West Australia was to push rapidly forward with a simple and light equipment, he sent back the whole of his party except Mr. Baxter, his black servant Wylie, and the other two natives; and taking with him a few horses, carrying a supply of water and provisions for several weeks, he set out to follow the coast along the Great Australian Bight. His party had to scramble along the tops of rough cliffs which everywhere frowned from three hundred to six hundred feet above the sea; and if they left the coast to travel inland they had to traverse great stretches of moving sands, which filled their eyes and ears, covered them when asleep, and, when they sat at meals, made their food unpleasant. But they suffered most from want of water; for often they were obliged to walk day after day beneath a broiling sun when all their water was gone, and not a drop to be seen on the burning soil beneath them. On one occasion, after they had thus travelled 110 miles, the horses fell down from exhaustion, and could not be induced to move. Eyre and a native hastened forward; but, though they wandered for more than eighteen miles, they saw no sign of water, and when darkness came on they lay down, with lips parched and burning, and tossed in feverish slumber till morning. At early dawn they perceived a ridge of sand-hills not far away, and making for them they found a number of little wells--places where the natives had dug into the sand for six or eight feet, and so had reached fresh water. Here Eyre and his black companion drank a delicious draught, and hastened back with the precious beverage to revive the horses. The whole party was then able to go forward; and there, around these little waterholes, Eyre halted for a week to refresh his men and animals before attempting another stretch of similar country. They saw some natives, who told them that there was plenty of water farther on, and when Eyre set out again he carried very little with him, so as not to overburden the horses. But after sixty miles of the desert had been traversed without meeting any place in which water was to be found, he became alarmed, and sent back Mr. Baxter with the horses to bring up a better supply, whilst he himself remained to take charge of the baggage. When Baxter returned they all set forward again, and reached a sandy beach, where they had great difficulty in preventing the horses from drinking the sea-water, which would certainly have made them mad. As it was, two of them lay down to die, and part of the provisions had to be abandoned. Baxter now grew despondent, and wished to return; but Eyre was determined not yet to give up. Onward they toiled through the dreary wilderness, and two more horses fell exhausted; 126 miles from the last halting-place, and still no signs of water. Still onward, and the horses continued to drop by the way, Baxter constantly entreating Eyre to return. It was only after a journey of 160 miles that they came to a place where, by digging, they could obtain fresh water in very small quantities. They were now forced to eke out their failing provisions by eating horseflesh. Baxter was altogether disheartened; and, if to return had not been as dangerous as to go forward, Eyre would himself have abandoned the attempt. The three natives, however, were still as light-hearted and merry as ever; whilst the food lasted they were always full of frolic and laughter. #4. Death of Baxter.#--Each evening Eyre formed a little camp, loaded the muskets, and laid them down ready for use in case of an attack by the blacks; the horses were hobbled, and set free to gather the little vegetation they could find. But this forced Eyre and Baxter to keep watch by turns, lest they should stray so far as to be lost. One evening when Eyre had taken the first watch, the horses, in their search for grass, had wandered about a quarter of a mile from the camp. He had followed them, and was sitting on a stone beneath the moonlight, musing on his gloomy prospects, when he was startled by a flash and a report. Hastening to the camp, he was met by Wylie, who was speechless with terror, and could only wring his hands and cry: "Oh, massa". When he entered, he saw Baxter lying on his face, whilst the baggage was broken open, and scattered in all directions. He raised the wounded man in his arms, but only in time to support him as his head fell back in death. Then placing the body on the ground, and looking around him, he perceived that two of his natives had plundered the provisions, shot Mr. Baxter as he rose to remonstrate with them, and had then escaped. The moon became obscured, and in the deep gloom, beside the dead body of his friend, Eyre passed a fearful night, peering into the darkness lest the miscreants might be lurking near to shoot him also. He says, in his diary: "Ages can never efface the horrors of that single night, nor would the wealth of the world ever tempt me to go through a similar one". The slowly-spreading dawn revealed the bleeding corpse, the plundered bags, and the crouching form of Wylie, who was still faithful. The ground at this place consisted of a great hard sheet of rock, and there was no chance of digging a grave; so Eyre could only wrap the body in a blanket, leave it lying on the surface, and thus take farewell of his friend's remains. #5. Arrival at King George's Sound.#--Then he and Wylie set out together on their mournful journey. They had very little water, and seven days elapsed before they reached a place where more was to be obtained. At intervals they could see the murderers stealthily following their footsteps, and Eyre was afraid to lie down lest his sleep should prove to have no awaking; and thus, with parching thirst by day, and hours of watchfulness by night, he slowly made his way towards King George's Sound. After a time the country became better; he saw and shot two kangaroos, and once more approached the coast. His surprise was great on seeing two boats some distance out at sea. He shouted and fired his rifle, without attracting the attention of the crews. But, on rounding a small cape, he found the vessel to which these boats belonged. It was a French whaling ship; and the two men, having been taken on board, were hospitably entertained for eleven days. Captain Rossiter gave them new clothes and abundance of food; and when they were thoroughly refreshed, they landed to pursue their journey. The country was not now so inhospitable; and three weeks afterwards they stood on the brow of a hill overlooking the little town of Albany, at King George's Sound. Here they sat down to rest; but the people, hearing who they were, came out to escort them triumphantly into the town, where they were received with the utmost kindness. They remained for eleven days, and then set sail for Adelaide, which they reached after an absence of one year and twenty-six days. This expedition was, unfortunately, through so barren a country that it had but little practical effect beyond the additions it made to our geography; but the perseverance and skill with which it was conducted are worthy of all honour, and Eyre is to be remembered as the first explorer who braved the dangers of the Australian desert. #6. Sturt.#--Two years after the return of Eyre, Captain Sturt, the famous discoverer of the Darling and Murray, wrote to Lord Stanley offering to conduct an expedition into the heart of Australia. His offer was accepted; and in May, 1844, a well-equipped party of sixteen persons was ready to start from the banks of the Darling River. Places which Sturt had explored sixteen years before, when they were a deep and unknown solitude, were now covered with flocks and cattle; and he could use, as the starting-place of this expedition, the farthest point he had reached in that of 1828. Mr. Poole went with him as surveyor, Mr. Browne as surgeon, and the draughtsman was Mr. J. M'Douall Stuart, who, in this expedition, received a splendid training for his own great discoveries of subsequent years. Following the Darling, they reached Laidley's Ponds, passed near Lake Cawndilla, and then struck northward for the interior. The country was very bare--one dead level of cheerless desert; and when they reached a few hills which they called Stanley Range, now better known as Barrier Range, Sturt, who ascended to one of the summits, could see nothing hopeful in the prospect. How little did he dream that the hills beneath him were full of silver, and that one day a populous city of miners should occupy the waterless plain in front of him! In this region he had to be very careful how he advanced, for he had with him eleven horses, thirty bullocks, and two hundred sheep, and water for so great a multitude could with difficulty be procured. He had always to ride forward and find a creek or pond of sufficient size, as the next place of encampment, before allowing the expedition to move on; and, as water was often very difficult to find, his progress was but slow. Fortunately for the party, it was the winter season, and a few of the little creeks had a moderate supply of water. But after they had reached a chain of hills, which Sturt called the Grey Range, the warm season was already upon them. The summer of 1844 was one of the most intense on record; and in these vast interior plains of sand, under the fiery glare of the sun, the earth seemed to burn like plates of metal: it split the hoofs of the horses; it scorched the shoes and the feet of the men; it dried up the water from the creeks and pools, and left all the country parched and full of cracks. Sturt spent a time of great anxiety, for the streams around were rapidly disappearing; and, when all the water had been dried up, the prospects of his party would, indeed, be gloomy. His relief was therefore great when Mr. Poole found a creek in a rocky basin, whose waters seemed to have a perennial flow. Sturt moved forward, and formed his depôt beside the stream; and here he was forced to remain for six weeks. For it appeared as though he had entered a trap; the country before him was absolutely without water, so that he could not advance; while the creeks behind him were now only dry courses, and it was hopeless to think of returning. He made many attempts to escape, and struck out into the country in all directions. In one of his efforts, if he had gone only thirty miles farther, he would have found the fine stream of Cooper's Creek, in which there was sufficient water for the party; but hunger and thirst forced him to return to the depôt. He followed down the creek on which they were encamped, but found that, after a course of twenty-nine miles, it lost itself in the sand. Meantime the travellers passed a summer such as few men have ever experienced. The heat was sometimes as high as 130 deg. in the shade, and in the sun it was altogether intolerable. They were unable to write, as the ink dried at once on their pens; their combs split; their nails became brittle and readily broke, and if they touched a piece of metal it blistered their fingers. In their extremity they dug an underground room, deep enough to be beyond the dreadful furnace-glow above. Here they spent many a long day, as month after month passed without a shower of rain. Sometimes they watched the clouds gather, and they could hear the distant roll of thunder, but there fell not a drop to refresh the dry and dusty desert. The party began to grow thin and weak; Mr. Poole became ill with scurvy, and from day to day he sank rapidly. At length, when winter was again approaching, a gentle shower moistened the plain; and, as the only chance of saving the life of Poole, half of the party was sent to carry him quickly back to the Darling. They had been gone only a few hours when a messenger rode back with the news that he was already dead. The mournful cavalcade returned, bearing his remains, and a grave was dug in the wilderness. A tree close by, on which his initials were cut, formed the only memorial of the hapless explorer. #7. Journey to the Centre.#--Shortly afterwards there came a succession of wet days, and, as there was now an abundance of water, the whole party once more set off; having travelled north-west for sixty-one miles farther, they formed a new depôt, and made excursions to explore the country in the neighbourhood. M'Douall Stuart crossed over to Lake Torrens; while Sturt, with Dr. Browne and three men, pushing to the north, discovered the Strzelecki Creek, a stream which flows through very agreeable country. But as they proceeded farther to the north their troubles began again; they came upon a region covered with hill after hill of fiery red sand, amid which lay lagoons of salt and bitter water. They toiled over this weary country in hopes that a change for the better might soon appear; but when they reached the last hill, they had the mortification to see a great plain, barren, monotonous and dreary, stretching with a purple glare as far as the eye could reach on every side. This plain was called by Sturt the "Stony Desert," for, on descending, he found it covered with innumerable pieces of quartz and sandstone, among which the horses wearily stumbled. Sturt wished to penetrate as far as the tropic of Capricorn; but summer was again at hand, their water was failing, and they could find neither stream nor pool. When the madness of any farther advance became apparent, Sturt, with his head buried in his hands, sat for an hour in bitter disappointment. After toiling so far, and reaching within 150 miles of his destination, to be turned back for the want of a little water was a misfortune very hard to bear, and, but for his companions, he would have still gone forward and perished. As they hastened back their water was exhausted, and they were often in danger of being buried by moving hills of sand; but at length they reached the depôt, having traversed 800 miles during the eight weeks of their absence. It was not long before Sturt started again, taking with him M'Douall Stuart as his companion. On this trip he suffered the same hardships, but had the satisfaction of discovering a magnificent stream, which he called Cooper's Creek. On crossing this creek he again entered the Stony Desert, and was once more compelled reluctantly to retrace his steps. When he reached the depôt he was utterly worn out. He lay in bed for a long time, tenderly nursed by his companions; and, when the whole party set out on its return to the settled districts, he had to be lifted in and out of the dray in which he was carried. As they neared their homes his sight began to fail. The glare of the burning sands had destroyed his eyes, and he passed the remainder of his days in darkness. His reports of the arid country gave rise to the opinion that the whole interior of Australia was a desert; but this was afterwards found to be far from correct. #8. Leichardt.#--Allan Cunningham's discoveries extended over the northern parts of New South Wales and the southern districts of Queensland. But all the north-eastern parts of the continent were left unexplored until 1844, when an intrepid young German botanist, named Ludwig Leichardt, made known this rich and fertile country. With five men he started from Sydney, and, passing through splendid forests and magnificent pasture lands, he made his way to the Gulf of Carpentaria, discovering and following up many large rivers--the Fitzroy, with its tributaries--the Dawson, the Isaacs and the Mackenzie; the Burdekin, with several of its branches; then the Mitchell; and, lastly, the Gilbert. He also crossed the Flinders and Albert, without knowing that, a short time previously, these rivers had been discovered and named by Captain Stokes, who was exploring the coasts in a British war-ship. Having rounded the gulf, he discovered the Roper, and followed the Alligator River down to Van Diemen's Gulf, where a vessel was waiting to receive his party. On his return to Sydney the utmost enthusiasm prevailed; for Leichardt had made known a wide stretch of most valuable country. The people of Sydney raised a subscription of £1,500, and the Government rewarded his services with £1,000. Leichardt was of too ardent a nature to remain content with what he had already done; and, in 1847, he again set out to make further explorations in the north of Queensland. On this occasion, however, he was not so successful. He had taken with him great flocks of sheep and goats, and they impeded his progress so much that, after wandering over the Fitzroy Downs for about seven months, he was forced to return. In 1848 he organised a third expedition, to cross the whole country from east to west. He proposed to start from Moreton Bay, and to take two years in traversing the centre of the continent, so as to reach the Swan River settlement. He set out with a large party, and soon reached the Cogoon River, a tributary of the Condamine. From this point he sent to a friend in Sydney a letter, in which he described himself as in good spirits, and full of hope that the expedition would be a success. He then started into the wilderness, and was lost for ever from men's view. For many years parties were, from time to time, sent out to rescue the missing explorers, if perchance they might still be wandering with the blacks in the interior; but no traces of the lost company have ever been brought to light. #9. Mitchell.#--Whilst Leichardt was absent on his first journey, Sir Thomas Mitchell--the discoverer of the Glenelg--had prepared an expedition for the exploration of Queensland. Having waited till the return of Leichardt, in order not to go over the same ground, he set out towards the north, and, after discovering the Culgoa and Warrego--two important tributaries of the Darling--he turned to the west. He travelled over a great extent of level country, and then came upon a river which somewhat puzzled him. He followed the current for 150 miles, and it seemed to flow steadily towards the heart of the continent. He thought that its waters must eventually find their way to the sea, and would, therefore, after a time, flow north to the Indian Ocean. If that were the case, the river--which the natives called the Barcoo--must be the largest stream on the northern coast, and he concluded that it was identical with the Victoria, whose mouth had been discovered about nine years before by Captain Stokes. He, therefore, provisionally gave it the name of the Victoria River. #10. Kennedy.#--On the return of Mitchell, the further prosecution of exploration in these districts was left to his assistant-surveyor--Edmund Kennedy--who, having been sent to trace the course of the supposed Victoria River, followed its banks for 150 miles below the place where Mitchell had left it. He was then forced to return through want of provisions; but he had gone far enough, however, to show that this stream was only the higher part of Cooper's Creek, discovered not long before by Captain Sturt. This river has a course of about 1,200 miles; and it is, therefore, the largest of Central Australia. But its waters spread out into the broad marshes of Lake Eyre, and are there lost by evaporation. In 1848 Kennedy was sent to explore Cape York Peninsula. He was landed with a party of twelve men at Rockingham Bay, and, striking inland to the north-west, travelled towards Cape York, where a small schooner was to wait for him. The difficulties met by the explorers were immense; for, in these tropical regions, dense jungles of prickly shrubs impeded their course and lacerated their flesh, while vast swamps often made their journey tedious and unexpectedly long. Thinking there was no necessity for all to endure these hardships, he left eight of his companions at Weymouth Bay, intending to call for them on his way back in the schooner. He was courageously pushing through the jungle towards the north with three men and his black servant Jackey, when one of the party accidentally received a severe gunshot wound, which made it impossible for him to proceed. Kennedy was now only a few miles distant from Cape York; and, leaving the wounded man under the care of the two remaining whites, he started--accompanied by Jackey--to reach the cape and obtain assistance from the schooner. They had not gone far, and were on the banks of the Escape River, when they perceived that their steps were being closely followed by a tribe of natives, whose swarthy bodies, from time to time, appeared among the trees. Kennedy now proceeded warily, keeping watch all around; but a spear, urged by an unseen hand from among the leaves, suddenly pierced his body from behind, and he fell. The blacks rushed forward, but Jackey fired, and at the report they hastily fled. Jackey held up his master's head for a short time, weeping bitterly. Kennedy knew he was dying, and he gave his faithful servant instructions as to the papers he was to carry, and the course he must follow. Not long after this he breathed his last, and Jackey, with his tomahawk, dug a shallow grave for him in the forest. He spread his coat and shirt in the hollow, laid the body tenderly upon them, and covered it with leaves and branches. Then, packing up the journals, he plunged into the creek, along which he walked, with only his head above the surface, until he neared the shore. Hastily making for the north, he reached the cape, where he was taken on board the schooner. This expedition was one of the most disastrous of the inland explorations. The wounded man, and the two who had been left with him, were never afterwards heard of--in all probability they were slaughtered by the natives; whilst the party of eight, who had been left at Weymouth Bay, after constant struggles with the natives, had been reduced, by starvation and disease, to only two ere the expected relief arrived. #11. Gregory.#--In 1856 A. C. Gregory went in search of Leichardt, and, thinking he might possibly have reached the north-west coast, took a small party to Cambridge Gulf. Travelling along the banks of the Victoria River, he crossed a low range of hills and discovered a stream, to which he gave the name of "Sturt Creek". By following this, he was led into a region covered with long ridges of glaring red sand, resembling those which had baffled Captain Sturt, except that in this desert there grew the scattered blades of the spinifex grass, which cut like daggers into the hoofs of the horses. The creek was lost in marshes and salt lakes, and Gregory was forced to retrace his steps till he reached the great bend in the Victoria River; then, striking to the east, he skirted the Gulf of Carpentaria about fifty miles from the shore; and, after a long journey, arrived at Moreton Bay, but without any news regarding Leichardt and his party. His expedition, however, had explored a great extent of country, and had mapped out the courses of two large rivers--the Victoria and the Roper. CHAPTER XVIII. DISCOVERIES IN THE INTERIOR, 1860-1886. #1. Burke and Wills.#--In the year 1860 a merchant of Melbourne offered £1,000 for the furtherance of discovery in Australia; the Royal Society of Victoria undertook to organise an expedition for the purpose of crossing the continent, and collected subscriptions to the amount of £3,400; the Victorian Government voted £6,000, and spent an additional sum of £3,000 in bringing twenty-six camels from Arabia. Under an energetic committee of the Royal Society, the most complete arrangements were made. Robert O'Hara Burke was chosen as leader; Landells was second in command, with special charge of the camels, for which three Hindoo drivers were also provided; W. J. Wills, an accomplished young astronomer, was sent to take charge of the costly instruments and make all the scientific observations. There were two other scientific men and eleven subordinates, with twenty-eight horses to assist in transporting the baggage. On the 20th August, 1860, the long train of laden camels and horses set out from the Royal Park of Melbourne, Burke heading the procession on a little grey horse. The mayor made a short speech, wishing him God-speed; the explorers shook hands with their friends, and, amid the ringing cheers of thousands of spectators, the long and picturesque line moved forward. [Illustration: ROBERT O'HARA BURKE.] The journey, as far as the Murrumbidgee, lay through settled country, and was without incident; but, on the banks of that river, quarrelling began among the party, and Burke dismissed the foreman; Landells then resigned, and Wills was promoted to be second in command. Burke committed a great error in his choice of a man to take charge of the camels in place of Landells. On a sheep station he met with a man named Wright, who made himself very agreeable; the two were soon great friends, and Burke, whose generosity was unchecked by any prudence, gave to this utterly unqualified person an important charge in the expedition. On leaving the Murrumbidgee they ascended the Darling, till they reached Menindie--the place from which Sturt had set out sixteen years before. Here Burke left Wright with half the expedition, intending himself to push on rapidly, and to be followed up more leisurely by Wright. Burke and Wills, with six men and half the camels and horses, set off through a very miserable country--not altogether barren, but covered with a kind of pea, which poisoned the horses. A rapid journey brought them to the banks of Cooper's Creek, where they found fine pastures and plenty of water. Here they formed a depôt and lived for some time, waiting for Wright, who, however, did not appear. The horses and camels, by this rest, improved greatly in condition, and the party were in capital quarters. But Burke grew tired of waiting, and, as he was now near the centre of Australia, he determined to make a bold dash across to the Gulf of Carpentaria. He left one of his men, called Brahe, and three assistants, with six camels and twelve horses, giving them instructions to remain for three months; and if within that time he did not return, they might consider him lost, and would then be at liberty to return to Menindie. On the 16th December Burke and Wills, along with two men, named King and Gray, started on their perilous journey, taking with them six camels and one horse, which carried provisions to last for three months. [Illustration: WILLIAM JOHN WILLS.] #2. Rapid Journey to Gulf of Carpentaria.#--They followed the broad current of Cooper's Creek for some distance, and then struck off to the north, till they reached a stream, which they called Eyre Creek. From this they obtained abundant supplies of water, and, therefore, kept along its banks till it turned to the eastward; then abandoning it, they marched due north, keeping along the 140th meridian, through forests of boxwood, alternating with plains well watered and richly covered with grass. Six weeks after leaving Cooper's Creek they came upon a fine stream, flowing north, to which they gave the name "Cloncurry," and, by following its course, they found that it entered a large river, on whose banks they were delighted to perceive the most luxuriant vegetation and frequent clusters of palm trees. They felt certain that its waters flowed into the Gulf of Carpentaria, and therefore, by keeping close to it, they had nothing to fear. But they had brought only three months' provisions with them; more than half of that time had now elapsed, and they were still 150 miles from the sea. Burke now lost no time, but hurried on so fast that, one after another, the camels sank exhausted; and, when they had all succumbed, Burke and Wills took their only horse to carry a small quantity of provisions, and, leaving Gray and King behind, set out by themselves on foot. They had to cross several patches of swampy ground; and the horse, becoming inextricably bogged, was unable to go farther. But still Burke and Wills hurried on by themselves till they reached a narrow inlet on the Gulf of Carpentaria, and found that the river they had been following was the Flinders, whose mouth had been discovered by Captain Stokes in 1842. They were very anxious to view the open sea; but this would have required another couple of days, and their provisions were already exhausted; they were, therefore, obliged to hasten back as quickly as possible. The pangs of hunger overtook them before they could reach the place where King and Gray had remained with the provisions. Burke killed a snake, and ate a part of it, but he felt very ill immediately after; and when, at length, they reached the provisions, he was not able to go forward so quickly as it was necessary to do, if they wished to be safe. However, they recovered the horse and camels, which had been greatly refreshed by their rest; and, by taking easy stages, they managed to move south towards home. But their hurried journey to the north, in which they had traversed, beneath a tropical sun, about 140 miles every week, had told severely on their constitutions; Gray became ill, and it was now necessary to be so careful with the provisions that he had little chance of regaining his lost strength. One evening, after they had come to a halt, he was found sitting behind a tree, eating a little mixture he had made for himself of flour and water. Burke said he was stealing the provisions, fell upon him, and gave him a severe thrashing. He seems after this never to have rallied; whilst the party moved forward he was slowly sinking. Towards the end of March their provisions began to fail; they killed a camel, dried its flesh, and then went forward. At the beginning of April this was gone, and they killed their horse. Gray now lay down, saying he could not go on; Burke said he was "shamming," and left him. However, the gentler counsel of Wills prevailed; they returned and brought him forward. But he could only go a little farther; the poor fellow breathed his last a day or two after, and was buried in the wilderness. Burke now regretted his harshness, all the more as he himself was quickly sinking. All three, indeed, were utterly worn out; they were thin and haggard, and so weak that they tottered rather than walked along. The last few miles were very, very weary; but, at last, on the 21st of April, they came in sight of the depôt, four months and a half after leaving it. Great was their alarm on seeing no sign of people about the place; and, as they staggered forward to the spot at sunset, their hearts sank within them when they saw a notice, stating that Brahe had left that very morning. He would be then only seven hours' march away. The three men looked at one another in blank dismay; but they were so worn out that they could not possibly move forward with any hope of overtaking the fresh camels of Brahe's party. On looking round, however, they saw the word "dig" cut on a neighbouring tree; and, when they turned up the soil, they found a small supply of provisions. Brahe had remained a month and a half longer than he had been told to wait; and as his own provisions were fast diminishing, and there seemed, as yet, to be no signs of Wright with the remainder of the expedition, he thought it unsafe to delay his return any longer. This man Wright was the cause of all the disasters that ensued. Instead of following closely on Burke, he had loitered at Menindie for no less than three months and one week, amusing himself with his friends; and, when he did set out, he took things so leisurely that Brahe was half-way back to the Darling before they met. #3. Sufferings.#--On the evening when they entered the depôt, Burke, Wills, and King made a hearty supper; then, for a couple of days, they stretched their stiff and weary limbs at rest. But inaction was dangerous, for, even with the greatest expedition, their provisions would only serve to take them safely to the Darling. They now began to deliberate as to their future course. Burke wished to go to Adelaide, because, at Mount Hopeless--where Eyre had been forced to turn back in 1840--there was now a large sheep station, and he thought it could not be more than 150 miles away. Wills was strongly averse to this proposal. "It is true," he said, "Menindie is 350 miles away, but then we know the road, and are sure of water all the way." But Burke was not to be persuaded, and they set out for Mount Hopeless. Following Cooper's Creek for many miles, they entered a region of frightful barrenness. Here, as one of the camels became too weak to go farther, they were forced to kill it and to dry its flesh. Still they followed the creek, till at last it spread itself into marshy thickets and was lost; they then made a halt, and found they had scarcely any provisions left, while their clothes were rotten and falling to pieces. Their only chance was to reach Mount Hopeless speedily; they shot their last camel, and, whilst Burke and King were drying its flesh, Wills struck out to find Mount Hopeless; but no one knew which way to look for it, and Wills, after laboriously traversing the dry and barren wastes in all directions, came back unsuccessful. A short rest was taken, and then the whole party turned southward, determined this time to reach the mount. But they were too weak to travel fast; day after day over these dreary plains, and still no sign of a hill; till at length, when they were within fifty miles of Mount Hopeless, they gave in. Had they only gone but a little farther, they would have seen the summit of the mountain rising upon the horizon; but just at this point they lost hope and turned to go back. After a weary journey, they once more reached the fresh water and the grassy banks of Cooper's Creek, but now with provisions for only a day or two. They sat down to consider their position, and Burke said he had heard that the natives of Cooper's Creek lived chiefly on the seed of a plant which they called nardoo; so that, if they could only find a native tribe, they might, perhaps, learn to find sufficient subsistence from the soil around them. Accordingly, Burke and King set out to seek a native encampment; and, having found one, they were kindly received by the blacks, who very willingly showed them how to gather the little black seeds from a kind of grass which grows close to the ground. With this information they returned to Wills; and, as the nardoo seed was abundant, they began at once to gather it; but they found that, through want of skill, they could scarcely obtain enough for two meals a day by working from morning till night; and, when evening came, they had to clean, roast, and grind it; and, besides this, whatever it might have been to the blacks, to them it was by no means nutritious--it made them sick, and gave them no strength. Whilst they were thus dwelling on the lower part of Cooper's Creek, several miles away from the depôt, Brahe had returned to find them and bring them relief. On his way home he had met with Wright leisurely coming up, and had hastened back with him to the depôt; but when they reached it they saw no signs of Burke and Wills, although the unfortunate explorers had been there only a few days before. Brahe, therefore, concluded that they were dead, and once more set out for home. Meanwhile Burke thought it possible that a relief party might in this way have reached the creek, and Wills volunteered to go to the depôt to see if any one was there. He set out by himself, and after journeying three or four days reached the place; but only to find it still and deserted. He examined it carefully, but could see no trace of its having been recently visited; there could be no advantage in remaining, and he turned back to share the doom of his companions. He now began to endure fearful pangs from hunger. One evening he entered an encampment that had just been abandoned by the natives, and around the fire there were some fish bones, which he greedily picked. Next day he saw two small fish floating dead upon a pool, and they made a delicious feast; but, in spite of these stray morsels, he was rapidly sinking from hunger, when suddenly he was met by a native tribe. The black men were exceedingly kind; one carried his bundle for him, another supported his feeble frame, and gently they led the gaunt and emaciated white man to their camp. They made him sit down and gave him a little food. Whilst he was eating he saw a great quantity of fish on the fire. For a few minutes he wondered if all these could possibly be for him, till at length they were cooked and the plentiful repast was placed before him. The natives then gathered round and clapped their hands with delight when they saw him eat heartily. He stayed with them for four days, and then set out to bring his friends to enjoy likewise this simple hospitality. It took him some days to reach the place where he had left them; but when they heard his good news they lost no time in seeking their native benefactors. Yet, on account of their weakness, they travelled very slowly, and when they reached the encampment it was deserted. They had no idea whither the natives had gone. They struggled a short distance farther; their feebleness overcame them, and they were forced to sink down in despair. All day they toiled hard to prepare nardoo seed; but their small strength could not provide enough to support them. Once or twice they shot a crow, but such slight repasts served only to prolong their sufferings. Wills, throughout all his journeyings, had kept a diary, but now the entries became very short; in the struggle for life there was no time for such duties, and the grim fight with starvation required all their strength. At this time Wills records that he cannot understand why his legs are so weak; he has bathed them in the stream, but finds them no better, and he can hardly crawl out of the hut. His next entry is, that unless relief comes shortly he cannot last more than a fortnight. After this his mind seems to have begun to wander; he makes frequent and unusual blunders in his diary. The last words he wrote were that he was waiting, like Mr. Micawber, for something to turn up, and that, though starving on nardoo seed was by no means unpleasant, yet he would prefer to have a little fat and sugar mixed with it. #4. Death of Burke and Wills.#--Burke now thought that their only chance was to find the blacks, and proposed that he and King should set out for that purpose. They were very loath to leave Wills, but, under the circumstances, no other course was possible. They laid him softly within the hut, and placed at his head enough of nardoo to last him for eight days. Wills asked Burke to take his watch, and a letter he had written for his father; the two men pressed his hands, smoothed his couch tenderly for the last time, and set out. There, in the utter silence of the wilderness, the dying man lay for a day or two: no ear heard his last sigh, but his end was as gentle as his life had been free from reproach. Burke and King walked out on their desperate errand. On the first day they traversed a fair distance; but, on the second, they had not proceeded two miles when Burke lay down, saying he could go no farther. King entreated him to make another effort, and so he dragged himself to a little clump of bushes, where he stretched his limbs very wearily. An hour or two afterwards he was stiff and unable to move. He asked King to take his watch and pocket-book, and, if possible, to give them to his friends in Melbourne; then he begged of him not to depart till he was quite dead: he knew he should not live long, and he should like some one to be near him to the last. He spoke with difficulty, but directed King not to bury him, but to let him lie above the ground, with a pistol in his right hand. They passed a weary and lonesome night; and in the morning, at eight o'clock, Burke's restless life was ended. King wandered for some time forlorn, but, by good fortune, he stumbled upon an abandoned encampment, where, by neglect, the blacks had left a bag of nardoo, sufficient to last him a fortnight; and, with this, he hastened back to the hut where Wills had been laid. All he could do now, however, was to dig a grave for his body in the sand, and, having performed that last sad duty, he set out once more on his search, and found a tribe, differing from that which he had already seen. They were very kind, but not anxious to keep him, until, having shot some birds and cured their chief of a malady, he was found to be of some use, and soon became a great favourite with them. They made a trip to the body of Burke, but, respecting his last wishes, they did not seek to bury it, and merely covered it gently with a layer of leafy boughs. #5. Relief Parties.#--When Wright and Brahe returned to Victoria with the news that, though it was more than five months since Burke and Wills had left Cooper's Creek, there were no signs of them at the depôt, all the colonies showed their solicitude by organising parties to go to the relief of the explorers, if, perchance, they should be still alive. Victoria was the first in the field, and the Royal Society equipped a small party, under Mr. A. W. Howitt, to examine the banks of Cooper's Creek. Queensland offered five hundred pounds to assist in the search, and with this sum, an expedition was sent to examine the Gulf of Carpentaria. Landsborough, its leader, was conveyed in the Victoria steamer to the gulf, and followed the Albert almost to its source, in hopes that Burke and Wills might be dwelling with the natives on that stream. Walker was sent to cross from Rockhampton to the Gulf of Carpentaria; he succeeded in reaching the Flinders River, where Burke and Wills had been; but, of course, he saw nothing of them. M'Kinlay was sent by South Australia to advance in the direction of Lake Torrens and reach Cooper's Creek. These various expeditions were all eager in prosecuting the search, but it was to Mr. Howitt's party that success fell. In following the course of Cooper's Creek downward from the depôt he saw the tracks of camels, and by these he was led to the district in which Burke and Wills had died. Several natives, whom he met, brought him to the place where, beneath a native hut, King was sitting, pale, haggard, and wasted to a shadow. He was so weak that it was with difficulty Howitt could catch the feeble whispers that fell from his lips; but a day or two of European food served slightly to restore his strength. Howitt then proceeded to the spot where the body of Wills was lying partly buried, and, after reading over it a short service, he interred it decently. Then he sought the thicket where the bones of Burke lay with the rusted pistol beside them, and, having wrapped a union jack around them, he dug a grave for them hard by. Three days later the blacks were summoned, and their eyes brightened at the sight of knives, tomahawks, necklaces, looking-glasses, and so forth, which were bestowed upon them in return for their kindness to King. Gay pieces of ribbon were fastened round the black heads of the children, and the whole tribe moved away rejoicing in the possession of fifty pounds of sugar, which had been divided among them. When Howitt and King returned, and the sad story of the expedition was related, the Victorian Government sent a party to bring the remains of Burke and Wills to Melbourne, where they received the melancholy honours of a public funeral amid the general mourning of the whole colony. In after years, a statue was raised to perpetuate their heroism and testify to the esteem with which the nation regarded their memory. #6. M'Douall Stuart.#--Burke and Wills were the first who ever crossed the Australian Continent; but, for several years before they set out, another traveller had, with wonderful perseverance, repeatedly attempted this feat. John M'Douall Stuart had served as draughtsman in Sturt's expedition to the Stony Desert, and he had been well trained in that school of adversity and sufferings. He was employed, in 1859, by a number of squatters, who wished him to explore for them new lands in South Australia, and having found a passage between Lake Eyre and Lake Torrens, he discovered, beyond the deserts which had so much disheartened Eyre, a broad district of fine pastoral land. Next year the South Australian Government offered £2,000 as a reward to the first person who should succeed in crossing Australia from south to north; and Stuart set out from Adelaide to attempt the exploit. With only two men he travelled to the north, towards Van Diemen's Gulf, and penetrated much farther than Sturt had done in 1844. Indeed, he was only 400 miles from the other side of Australia, when the hostility of the blacks forced him to return: he succeeded, however, in planting a flag in the centre of the continent, at a place called by him Central Mount Stuart. Next year he was again in the field, and following exactly the same course, approached very near to Van Diemen's Gulf; being no more than 250 miles distant from its shores, when want of provisions forced him once more to return. The report of this expedition was sent to Burke and Wills, just before they set out from Cooper's Creek on their fatal trip to the Gulf of Carpentaria. It was not until the following year, 1862, that Stuart succeeded in his purpose. He had the perseverance to start a third time, and follow his former route; and on this occasion he was successful in reaching Van Diemen's Gulf, and returned safely, after having endured many sufferings and hardships. His triumphal entry into Adelaide took place on the very day when Howitt's mournful party entered that city, bearing the remains of Burke and Wills, on their way to Melbourne. Stuart then learnt that these brave explorers had anticipated him in crossing the continent, for they had reached the Gulf of Carpentaria in February, 1861; whilst he did not arrive at Van Diemen's Gulf until July, 1862. However, Stuart had shown so great a courage, and had been twice before so near the completion of his task, that every one was pleased when the South Australian Government gave him the well-merited reward. #7. Warburton.#--In a subsequent chapter it will be told how a line of telegraph was, in 1872, constructed along the track followed by Stuart; and as the stations connected with this line are numerous, it is now an easy matter to cross the continent from south to north. But in recent years a desire has arisen among the adventurous to journey overland from east to west. Warburton, in 1873, made a successful trip of this kind. With his son, two men, and two Afghans to act as drivers of his seventeen camels, he started from Alice Springs, a station on the telegraph line close to the tropic of Capricorn. The country immediately round Alice Springs was very beautiful, but a journey of only a few days served to bring the expedition into a dry and barren plain, so desolate that Warburton declared it could never be traversed without the assistance of camels. After travelling about four hundred miles, he reached those formidable ridges of fiery red sand in which the waters of Sturt's Creek are lost, and where A. C. Gregory was in 1856 compelled to turn back. In traversing this district, the party suffered many hardships; only two out of seventeen camels survived, and the men were themselves frequently on the verge of destruction. It was only by exercising the greatest care and prudence that Warburton succeeded in bringing his party to the Oakover River, on the north-west coast, and when he arrived once more in Adelaide it was found that he had completely lost the sight of one eye. #8. Giles and Forrest.#--Towards the close of the same year, 1873, a young Victorian named Giles started on a similar trip, intending to cross from the middle of the telegraph line to West Australia. He held his course courageously to the west, but the country was of such appalling barrenness that, after penetrating half-way to the western coast, he was forced to abandon the attempt and return. But when three years afterwards he renewed his efforts, he succeeded, after suffering much and making long marches without water. He had more than one encounter with the natives, but he had the satisfaction of crossing from the telegraph line to the West Australian coast, through country never before traversed by the foot of civilised man. In 1874 this region was successfully crossed by Forrest, a Government surveyor of West Australia, who started from Geraldton, to the south of Shark Bay, and, after a journey of twelve hundred miles almost due east, succeeded in reaching the telegraph line. His entry into Adelaide was like a triumphal march, so great were the crowds that went out to escort him to the city. Forrest was then a young man, but a most skilful and sagacious traveller. Lightly equipped, and accompanied by only one or two companions, he has on several occasions performed long journeys through the most formidable country with a celerity and success that are indeed surprising. His brother, Alexander Forrest, and a long list of bold and skilful bushmen, have succeeded in traversing the continent in every direction. It is not all desert. They have found fine tracts of land in the course of their journeys. Indeed, more than half of the recently explored regions are suitable for sheep and cattle, but there are other great districts which are miserable and forbidding. However, thanks to the heroic men whose names have been mentioned, and to such others as the Jardine Brothers, Ernest Favenc, Gosse, and the Baron von Mueller, almost the whole of Australia is now explored. Only a small part of South Australia and the central part of West Australia remain unknown. We all of us owe a great debt of gratitude to the men who endured so much to make known to the world the capabilities of our continent. CHAPTER XIX. TASMANIA, 1837-1890. #1. Governor Franklin.#--Sir John Franklin, the great Arctic explorer, arrived in 1837 to assume the Governorship of Tasmania. He had been a midshipman, under Flinders, during the survey of the Australian coasts, and for many years had been engaged in the British Navy in the cause of science. He now expected to enjoy, as Governor of a small colony, that ease and retirement which he had so laboriously earned. But his hopes were doomed to disappointment. Although his bluff and hearty manner secured to him the good-will of the people, yet censures on his administration were both frequent and severe; for during his rule commenced that astonishing decline of the colony which continued, with scarcely any interruption, for nearly thirty years. [Illustration: SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.] #2. Flood of Convicts.#--After the cessation of transportation to New South Wales, in 1840, hopes were entertained that Tasmania would likewise cease to be a penal settlement; and, under this impression, great numbers of immigrants arrived in the colony. But, ere long, it became known that Tasmania was not only to continue, as before, a receptacle for British felons, but was, in fact, to be made the _only_ convict settlement, and was destined to receive the full stream of criminals, that had formerly been distributed over several colonies. The result was immediately disastrous to the free settlers, for convict labour could be obtained at very little cost, and wages therefore fell to a rate so miserable that free labourers, not being able to earn enough for the support of their families, were forced to leave the island. Thus, in 1844, whilst the arrival of energetic and hard-working immigrants was adding greatly to the prosperity of the other colonies, Tasmania was losing its free population, and was sinking more and more into the degraded position of a mere convict station. Lord Stanley, the British Colonial Secretary, in 1842, proposed a new plan for the treatment of convicts, according to which they were to pass through various stages, from a condition of absolute confinement to one of comparative freedom; and, again, instead of being all collected into one town, it was arranged that they should be scattered throughout the colony in small gangs. By this system it was intended that the prisoners should pass through several periods of probation before they were set at liberty; and it was, therefore, called the Probation Scheme. The great objection to it was that the men could scarcely be superintended with due precaution when they were scattered in so many separate groups, and many of them escaped, either to the bush or to the adjacent colonies. #3. Franklin's Difficulties.#--The feelings of personal respect with which the people of Van Diemen's Land regarded Sir John Franklin were greatly increased by the amiable and high-spirited character of his wife. Lady Franklin possessed, in her own right, a large private fortune, which she employed in the most generous and kindly manner; her counsel and her wealth were ever ready to promote prosperity and alleviate sufferings. And yet, in spite of all this personal esteem, the experience of the new Governor among the colonists was far from being agreeable. Before the arrival of Sir John Franklin, two nephews of Governor Arthur had been raised to very high positions. One of them, Mr. Montagu, was the Chief Secretary. During his uncle's government he had contrived to appropriate to himself so great a share of power that Franklin, on assuming office, was forced to occupy quite a secondary position. By some of the colonists the Governor was blamed for permitting the arbitrary acts of the Chief Secretary; while, on the other hand, he was bitterly denounced as an intermeddler by the numerous friends of the ambitious Montagu, who, himself, lost no opportunity of bringing the Governor's authority into contempt. At length Montagu went so far as to write him a letter containing--amid biting-sarcasm and mock courtesy--a statement equivalent to a charge of falsehood. In consequence of this he was dismissed; but Sir John Franklin, who considered Montagu to be a man of ability, magnanimously gave him a letter to Lord Stanley, recommending him for employment in some other important position. This letter, being conveyed to Lord Stanley, was adduced by Montagu as a confession from the Governor of the superior ability and special fitness of the Chief Secretary for his post. Lord Stanley ordered his salary to be paid from the date of his dismissal; and Franklin, shortly after this insult to his authority, suddenly found himself superseded by Sir Eardley Wilmot, without having received the previous notice which, as a matter of courtesy, he might have expected. In 1843 he returned to England, followed by the regrets of nearly all the Tasmanians. Two years afterwards he sailed with the ships _Erebus_ and _Terror_ to search for a passage into the Pacific Ocean through the Arctic regions of North America. He entered the ice-bound regions of the north, and for many years no intelligence regarding his fate could be obtained. Lady Franklin prosecuted the search with a wife's devotion, long after others had given up hope; and, at last, the discovery of some papers and ruined huts proved that the whole party had perished in those frozen wastes. #4. Governor Wilmot.#--Sir Eardley Wilmot had gained distinction as a debater in the British Parliament. Like Governors Bligh and Gipps, in New South Wales, Wilmot found that to govern at the same time a convict population and a colony of free settlers was a most ungrateful task. A large proportion of the convicts, after being liberated, renewed their former courses: police had to be employed to watch them, judges and courts appointed to try them, gaols built to receive them, and provisions supplied to maintain them. If a prisoner was arrested and again convicted for a crime committed in Tasmania, then the colony was obliged to bear all the expense of supporting him, and amid so large a population of criminals these expenses became intolerably burdensome. It is true that colonists had to some extent a compensating advantage in receiving, free of charge, a plentiful supply of convict labour for their public works. But when Lord Stanley ordered that they should in future pay for all such labour received, they loudly complained of their grievances. "Was it not enough," they asked, "to send out the felons of Great Britain to become Tasmanian bushrangers, without forcing the free settlers to feed and clothe them throughout their lives, after the completion of their original sentences?" To all such remonstrances Lord Stanley's answer was that Tasmania had always been a convict colony; and that the free settlers had no right to expect that their interests would be specially consulted in the management of its affairs. Sir Eardley Wilmot found it impossible to obtain the large sums required for the maintenance of the necessary police and gaols, and he proposed to the Legislative Council to borrow money for this purpose. Those of the Council who were Government officials were afraid to vote in opposition to the wishes of the Governor, who, therefore, had a majority at his command. But the other members, six in number, denounced the proposed scheme as injurious to the colony; and when they found that the Governor was determined to carry it out, they all resigned their seats. For this action they were honoured with the title of the "Patriotic Six". About this time Mr. Gladstone succeeded Lord Stanley in England as the Secretary of State for the Colonies; and as he had shortly afterwards to complain that, in reporting on these and other important matters, Sir Eardley had sent home vague statements for the purpose of deceiving the Imperial authorities, the Governor was recalled. But he was destined never to leave the scene of his troubles; for, two or three months after his recall, he became ill and died in the colony. #5. Denison and the Transportation Question.#--On the arrival of the next Governor, Sir William Denison, in 1847, the Queen reinstated the "Patriotic Six"; and the colonists, encouraged by this concession, vigorously set to work to obtain their two great desires--namely, government by elective parliaments, and the abolition of transportation. It was found that, between the years 1846 and 1850, more than 25,000 convicts had been brought into Tasmania; free immigration had ceased, and the number of convicts in the colony was nearly double the number of free men. In all parts of the world, if it became known that a man had come from Tasmania, he was looked upon with the utmost distrust and suspicion, and was shunned as contaminated. On behalf of the colonists, a gentleman named M'Lachlan went to London for the purpose of laying before Mr. Gladstone the grievances under which they suffered; at the same time, within the colony, Mr. Pitcairn strenuously exerted himself to prepare petitions against transportation, and to forward them to the Imperial authorities. These representations were favourably entertained, and, in a short time, Sir W. Denison received orders to inquire whether it was the unanimous desire of the people of Tasmania that transportation should cease entirely. The question was put to all the magistrates of the colony, who submitted it to the people in public meetings. The discussion was warm, and party feeling ran high. There were some who had been benefited by the trade and the English subsidies which convicts brought to the colony, and there were others who desired, at all hazards, to retain the cheap labour of the liberated convicts. These exerted themselves to maintain the system of transportation; but the great body of the people were determined on its abolition, and the answer returned by every meeting expressed the same unhesitating sentiment--Transportation ought to be abolished entirely. Accordingly, it was not long before the Tasmanians were informed by the Governor that transportation should, in a short time, be discontinued. But Earl Grey was now preparing another scheme for the treatment of convicts: they were to be kept for a time in English prisons; after they had served a part of their sentence, if they had been well conducted, the British Government would take them out to the colonies and land them there as free men, so as to give them a chance of starting an honourable career in a new country. It was a scheme of kind intention for the reformation of criminals that were not utterly bad, while the English Government would keep all the worst prisoners at home under lock and key. But the colonies had no desire to receive even the better half of the prisoners. They were afraid that cunning criminals would sham a great deal of reformation in order to be set free, and would then revert to their former ways whenever they were let loose in the colonies. But Earl Grey was resolved to give the criminal a fair chance. Ships filled with convicts were sent out to the various colonies, but the prisoners were not allowed to land. In 1849 the _Randolph_ appeared at Port Phillip Heads; but the people of Melbourne forbade the captain to enter. He paid no attention to the order, and sailed up the bay to Williamstown. But when he was preparing to land the convicts, he perceived among the colonists signs of resistance so stern and resolute that he was glad to take the advice of Mr. Latrobe and sail for Sydney. But in Sydney also the arrival of the convicts was viewed with the most intense disgust. The inhabitants held a meeting on the Circular Quay, in which they protested very vigorously against the renewal of transportation to New South Wales. West Australia alone accepted its share of the convicts; and we have seen how the reputation of that colony suffered in consequence. #6. The Anti-Transportation League.#--The vigorous protest of the other colonies had procured their immunity from this evil in its direct form; but many of the "ticket-of-leave men" found their way to Victoria and New South Wales, which were, therefore, all the more inclined to assist Tasmania in likewise throwing off the burden. A grand Anti-Transportation League was formed in 1851; and the inhabitants of all the colonies banded themselves together to induce the Home Government to emancipate Tasmania. Immediately after this, the discovery of gold greatly assisted the efforts of the league, because the British Government perceived that prisoners could never be confined in Tasmania, when, by escaping from the colony, and mixing with the crowds on the goldfields, they might not only escape notice but also make their fortunes; and there was now reason to suppose that banishment to Australia would be rather sought than shunned by the thieves and criminals of England. #7. End of Transportation.#--In 1850 Tasmania, like the other colonies, received its Legislative Council; and when the people proceeded to elect _their_ share of the members, no candidate had the slightest hope of success who was not an adherent of the Anti-Transportation League. After this new and unmistakable expression of opinion, the English authorities no longer hesitated, and the new Secretary of State, the Duke of Newcastle, directed that, from the year 1853, transportation to Tasmania should cease. Up to this time the island had been called Van Diemen's Land. But the name was now so intimately associated with ideas of crime and villainy, that it was gladly abandoned by the colonists, who adopted, from the name of its discoverer, the present title of the colony. Sir Henry Young, formerly Governor of South Australia, was appointed to Tasmania in 1855, and held office till 1861. During this period responsible government was introduced. When the Legislative Council undertook the task of drawing up the new Constitution, it was arranged that the nominee element, which had now become extremely distasteful, should be entirely abolished, and that both of the legislative bodies should be elected by the people. After Sir Henry Young, the next three Governors were Colonel Browne, Mr. Du Cane, and Mr. Weld--all men of ability, and very popular among the Tasmanians. After the initiation of responsible government in 1856, various reforms were introduced. By a very liberal Land Act of 1863, inducements were offered to industrious men to become farmers in the colony. For the purpose of opening up the country by means of railways, great facilities were given to companies who undertook to construct lines through the country districts; and active search was made for gold and other metals. But, in spite of these reforms, the population was steadily decreasing, owing to the attractions of the gold-producing colonies. No great amount of land was occupied for farming purposes, and even the squatters on the island were contented with smaller runs than those in the other colonies. They reared stock on the English system, and their domains were sheep-farms rather than stations. Indeed, the whole of Tasmania wore rather the quiet aspect of rural England than the bustling appearance of an Australian colony. But the efforts to throw off the taint of convictism were crowned with marked success; and, from being a gaol for the worst of criminals, Tasmania has become one of the most moral and respectable of the colonies. Of late years Tasmania has made great advances. Her population has risen to about 150,000, and her resources have been enormously increased by the rapid development of her mineral enterprise. Tin mines of great value are now widely spread over the west of the island, and gold mines of promising appearance are giving employment to many persons who formerly could find little to do. There is room for a very great further development of the resources of Tasmania; but the colony is now on the right track, and her future is certain to be prosperous. [Illustration: QUEEN TRUGANINA, THE LAST OF THE TASMANIANS.] The Tasmanian natives were of a different type from those of Australia, having more of the negro in them. They were even ruder and less advanced in their habits, although not without qualities of simplicity and good-humour that were attractive. When white men first landed in their island there were about 7,000 of them roving through the forest and living upon opossums. But by the year 1869 all were gone but a man and three women. In that year, the man died, and one by one the women disappeared, till at last with the death of Truganina in 1877 the race became extinct. CHAPTER XX. SOUTH AUSTRALIA, 1850-1890. #1. Temporary Decline.#--In 1851 the prosperity of South Australia was somewhat dimmed by the discovery of gold in Victoria; for, before the middle of the following year, the colony was deserted by a very large proportion of its male inhabitants. The copper mines were with difficulty worked, for want of men; the fields were uncultivated, the sheep untended, and the colony experienced a short period of rapid decline. However, the results obtained on the goldfields by most of these fortune-seekers were hardly to be compared with the steady yield of the fertile cornfields and rich copper mines of South Australia; and the majority of those who had thus abandoned the colony returned in a short time to their families and their former employments. Governor Young adroitly turned the discovery of gold to the advantage of his own colony by establishing an escort between Bendigo and Adelaide; and, as this was remarkably well equipped, many of the diggers sent their gold by this route rather than to Melbourne, thus giving to South Australia some of the advantages of a gold-producing country. The crowds of people rushing to the goldfields had carried with them nearly all the coins of the colony; and the banks, although they had plenty of rough gold, were yet unable, from scarcity of coined money, to meet the demands upon them. In this emergency, Sir Henry Young took the extreme and somewhat illegal step of instituting a new currency, consisting of gold cast into small bars or ingots; and, although afterwards mildly censured by the Home Government for exceeding his powers, yet he could justly assert that this measure had saved the colony from serious commercial disaster. But South Australia was still more benefited by the great market opened for its flour and wheat among the vast crowds on the goldfields; and, when the first period of excitement was over, it was found that the colony was, at any rate, not a loser by the success of its neighbours. #2. The Real Property Act.#--In 1858 South Australia took the lead in a reform which is now being adopted by nearly all the civilised nations of the world. According to English law, each time an estate was transferred from one person to another, a deed had to be made out for the purpose; and if changes in its ownership had been frequent, it would be held by the last purchaser in virtue of a long series of documents. Now, if any one wished to buy a piece of land, he was obliged for safety to examine all the preceding deeds in order to be quite certain that they were valid; even then, if he bought the land, and another person, for any reason whatever, laid claim to it, the owner had to prove the validity of each of a long series of documents, going back, perhaps, for centuries. A flaw in any one of these would give rise to a contest which could be settled only after a very tedious investigation; and thus arose the long and ruinous Chancery suits which were the disgrace of English law. When a man's title to his estate was disputed, it often happened that he had to spend a fortune and waste half a lifetime in protracted litigation before all the antecedent deeds could be proved correct. Mr. R. Torrens had his attention drawn to this very unsatisfactory state of things by the ruin of one of his relatives in a Chancery suit. He thought long and carefully over a scheme to prevent the occurrence of such injustice, and drafted a bill for a new method of transferring property. He proposed to lay this before the South Australian Parliament, but his friends discouraged him by declaring it was impossible to make so sweeping a change; and the lawyers actively opposed any innovation. But Torrens brought forward the bill; its simplicity and justice commended themselves to the people and to the House of Assembly, and it was carried by a large majority. According to the new scheme, all transferences of land were to be registered in a public office called the Lands Titles Office, the purchaser's name was to be recorded, and a certificate of title given to him; after this his right to the property was indisputable. If his possession was challenged, he had simply to go to the Lands Titles Office and produce his certificate to the officer in charge, who could turn to the register and at once decide the question of ownership. After this, no dispute was possible. If he sold his land, his name was cancelled in the public register, and the buyer's name was inserted instead, when he became the undisputed owner. Mr. Torrens was appointed to be registrar of the office, and soon made the new system a great success; it was adopted one after another in all the colonies of Australia, and must become eventually the law of all progressive nations. #3. The Northern Territory.#--In 1864 the Northern Territory was added to the dominion of South Australia, and from Adelaide an expedition was despatched by sea to the shores of Van Diemen's Gulf, in order to form a new settlement. After many difficulties, caused chiefly by the disputes between the first Government Resident, or Superintendent, and the officers under him, a branch colony was successfully founded at Port Darwin, opposite to Melville Island. This settlement has become a prosperous one: all the fruits and grains of tropical countries flourish and thrive to perfection; gold has been discovered; and it is asserted that there exist in the neighbourhood rich mines of other metals, which will, in the future, yield great wealth, while the stations that are now being formed are peculiarly favourable to the rearing of cattle and of horses. Yet the number of people who settle there continues small on account of the very hot climate; Palmerston, the capital, is as yet a town of only a few hundred inhabitants, and all the really hard work of the district is done by Chinese. #4. Overland Telegraph.#--In a previous chapter it has been described how M'Douall Stuart, after two unsuccessful efforts, managed to cross the continent from Adelaide to Van Diemen's Gulf. Along the route which he then took, the people of South Australia resolved to construct a telegraph line. A gentleman named Charles Todd had frequently urged the desirability of such a line, and in 1869 his representations led to the formation of the British Australian Telegraph Company, which engaged to lay a submarine cable from Singapore to Van Diemen's Gulf, whilst the South Australian Government pledged itself to connect Port Darwin with Adelaide by an overland line, and undertook to have the work finished by the 1st of January, 1872. Mr. Todd was appointed superintendent, and divided the whole length into three sections, reserving the central portion for his own immediate direction, and entrusting the sections at the two ends to contractors. It was a daring undertaking for so young a colony. For thirteen hundred miles the line would have to be carried through country which never before had been traversed by any white men but Stuart's party. Great tracts of this land were utterly destitute of trees, and all the posts required for the line had to be carted through rocky deserts and over treacherous sand-hills. Todd had, with wonderful skill and energy, completed his difficult portion of the task, and the part nearest to Adelaide had also been finished before the time agreed upon; but it fared differently with those who had undertaken to construct the northern section. Their horses died, their provisions failed, and the whole attempt proved a miserable collapse. The Government sent a party to the north, in order to make a fresh effort. Wells were dug, at intervals, along the route, and great teams of bullocks were employed to carry the necessary provisions and materials to the stations; and yet, in spite of every precaution, the result was a failure. Meanwhile the cable had been laid, and the first message sent from Port Darwin to England announced that the overland telegraph was not nearly finished. The 1st of January, 1872, being now close at hand, Mr. Todd was hastily sent to complete the work. But the time agreed upon had expired before he had even made a commencement, and the company threatened to sue the South Australian Government for damages, on account of the losses sustained by its failure to perform its share of the contract. For the next eight months the work was energetically carried forward; Mr. Todd rode all along the line to see that its construction was satisfactory throughout. He was at Central Mount Stuart in the month of August, when the two ends of the wire were joined, and the first telegraphic message flashed across the Australian Continent. But, meantime, a flaw had occurred in the submarine cable, and it was not until October that communication was established with England. On the second day of that month, the Lord Mayor of London, standing at one end of the line, sent his hearty congratulations through twelve thousand five hundred miles of wire to the Mayor of Adelaide, who conversed with him at the other extremity. The whole work was undertaken and accomplished within two years; and already not only South Australia, but all the colonies, are reaping the greatest benefits from this enterprising effort. Another undertaking of a similar character has been completed by the efforts of both South and West Australia; along the barren coast on which Eyre so nearly perished there stretches a long line of posts, which carries a telegraph wire from Perth to Adelaide. [Illustration: KING WILLIAM STREET, ADELAIDE.] A period of depression began in South Australia after 1882. For a time everything was against the colony. Long droughts killed its sheep and ruined its crops; while the copper mines were found to be worked out. But fortune began to smile again after a few years of dull times, and when in 1887 an exhibition was held in Adelaide to commemorate the jubilee of the colony, it was also the commemoration of the return of brighter prospects. In the growth of wheat and fruits as well as in the making of wine South Australia has great openings for future prosperity. CHAPTER XXI. NEW SOUTH WALES, 1860-1890. #1. The Land Act.#--Sir John Young became Governor of New South Wales in 1861. He was a man of great talent; but, at this stage of the colony's history, the ability of the Governor made very little difference in the general progress of affairs. The political power was now chiefly in the hands of responsible Ministers, and without their advice the Governor could do nothing. The Ministry of the period--headed by Charles Cowper and John Robertson--prepared a bill to alter the regulations for the sale of land, and to give to the poor man an opportunity of obtaining a small farm on easy terms. Any person who declared his readiness to live on his land, and to cultivate it, was to be allowed to select a portion, not exceeding a certain size, in any part of the colony which he thought most convenient. The land was not to be given gratuitously; but, although the selector was to pay for it at the rate of one pound per acre, yet he was not expected to give more than a quarter of the price on taking possession. Three years afterwards he had the option of either paying at once for the remaining three-quarters, or, if this were beyond his means, of continuing to hold the land at a yearly rental of one shilling an acre. This was an excellent scheme for the poorer class of farmers; but it was not looked upon with favour by the squatters, whose runs were only rented from the State, and were, therefore, liable, under this new Act, to be invaded by selectors, who would pick out all the more fertile portions, break up the runs in an awkward manner, and cause many annoyances. [Illustration: GEORGE STREET, SYDNEY.] Hence, though the Legislative Assembly passed the bill, the Upper House, whose members were mostly squatters, very promptly rejected it; and upon this there arose a struggle, the Ministry being determined to carry the bill, and the Council quite as resolute never to pass it. Acting on the advice of his Ministers, Sir John Young entreated the Upper House to give way; but it was deaf to all persuasions, and the Ministers determined to coerce it by adopting extreme measures. Its members had been nominated by a previous Governor for a period of five years, as a preliminary trial before the nominations for life; the term of their appointment was now drawing to a close, and Sir John Young, by waiting some little time, might easily have appointed a new Council of his own way of thinking. But the Ministers were impatient to have their measure passed, and, instead of waiting, they advised the Governor to nominate twenty-one new members of Council, who, being all supporters of the bill, would give them a majority in the Upper House; so that, on the very last night of its existence, it would be obliged to pass the measure and make it law. But when the opponents of the bill saw the trick which was being played upon them, they rose from their seats and resigned in a body. The President himself vacated his chair; and as no business could then be carried on, the Land Bill was delayed until the Council came to an end, and the Ministers thus found themselves outwitted. They were able, somewhat later, to effect their purpose; but this little episode in responsible government caused considerable stir at the time, and Sir John subsequently received a rebuke from the Colonial Secretary for his share in it. #2. Prince Alfred.#--In 1868 Lord Belmore became Governor of New South Wales, and during his term of office all the colonies passed through a period of excitement on the occasion of a visit from the Queen's second son, Prince Alfred. He was the first of the Royal Family who had ever visited Australia, and the people gave to him a hearty and enthusiastic reception. As he entered the cities flower-decked arches spanned the streets; crowds of people gathered by day to welcome him, and at night the houses and public buildings were brilliantly illuminated in his honour. But during the height of the festivities at Sydney a circumstance occurred which cast a gloom over the whole of Australia. The Prince had accepted an invitation to a picnic at Clontarf, and was walking quietly on the sands to view the various sports of the holiday-makers, when a young man named O'Farrell rushed forward and discharged a pistol at him. The ball entered his back, and he fell dangerously wounded. For a day or two his life trembled in the balance, and the colonists awaited the result with the greatest excitement, until it was made known that the crisis was past. No reason was alleged for the crime except a blind dislike to the Royal Family; and O'Farrell was subsequently tried and executed. [Illustration: THE LITHGOW ZIGZAG, THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.] #3. Railway Construction.#--New South Wales has three main lines of railway with many branches. One starts from Sydney, and passes through Goulburn to Albury on its way to Melbourne; one goes north to Newcastle, then through the New England district, and so to Brisbane; and the third runs from Sydney over the Blue Mountains to Bathurst, and away to Bourke, on the Darling River. Those rugged heights, which so long opposed the westward progress of the early colonists, have proved no insuperable barrier to the engineer; and the locomotive now slowly puffs up the steep inclines and drags its long line of heavily-laden trucks where Macquarie's road, with so much trouble, was carried in 1815. The first difficulty which had to be encountered was at a long valley named Knapsack Gully. Here the rails had to be laid on a great viaduct, where the trains run above the tops of the tallest trees. The engineers had next to undertake the formidable task of conducting the line up a steep and rocky incline, seven hundred feet in height. This was effected by cutting a "zigzag" in the rock; the trains run first to the left, rising upon a slight incline; then, reversing, they go to the right, still mounting slightly upwards; then, again, to the left; and so on till the summit is reached. By these means the short distance is rendered long, but the abrupt steepness of the hill is reduced to a gentle inclination. The trains afterwards run along the top of the ridge, gradually rising, till, at the highest point, they are three thousand five hundred feet above the level of the Sydney station. The passengers look down from the mountain tops on the forest-clad valleys far below; they speed along vast embankments or dash through passages cut in the solid rock, whose sides tower above them to the height of an ordinary steeple. In some places long tunnels were bored, so that the trains now enter a hill at one side and emerge from the other. One of these tunnels was thought to be unsafe; the immense mass of rock above it seemed likely to crush downwards upon the passage, and the engineers thought that their best course would be to remove the hill from above it. Three and a half tons of gunpowder were placed at intervals in the tunnel, and connected by wires with a galvanic battery placed a long distance off. The operation of firing the mine was made a public occasion, and Lady Belmore agreed to go up to the mountains and perform the ceremony of removing the hill. When all was ready, she touched the knob which brought the two ends of the wire together. A dull and rumbling sound was heard, the solid rock heaved slowly upward, and then settled back to its place, broken in a thousand pieces, and covered with rolling clouds of dust and smoke. All that the workmen had then to do was to carry away the immense pile of stone, and the course was clear for laying the rails. When the line reached the other side of the Blue Mountains there were great difficulties in the descent, and here the engineers had to lay out zigzags of greater extent than the former. By these the trains now descend easily and safely from the tops of the mountains down into the Lithgow Valley far below. [Illustration: THE TOWN HALL, SYDNEY.] By the southern railway to Albury, crowds of people are daily whirled in a few hours to places which, forty years ago, were reached by Sturt, and Hume, and Mitchell, only after weeks of patient toil, through unknown lands that were far removed from civilisation. #4. Sydney Exhibition.#--So on every hand the colony made progress. Her railways expanded in scores of branches; her telegraph lines stretched out their arms in every direction; her sheep increased so that now there are nearly sixty millions of them; her wheat and maize extended to more than half a million of acres; her orangeries and vineyards and orchards, her mines of coal and tin, and her varied and extensive manufactures, make her people, now numbering a million, one of the most prosperous on the face of the earth. Her pride was pardonable when, in 1879, she held an international exhibition to compare her industries side by side with those of other lands, so as to show how much she had done and to discover how much she had yet to learn. A frail, but wonderfully pretty building rapidly arose on the brow of the hill between Sydney Cove and Farm Cove; and that place, the scene of so much squalor and misery a hundred years before, became gay with all that decorative art could do, and busy with daily throngs of gratified visitors. The place had a most distinguished appearance; seen from the harbour, its dome and fluttering flags rose up from among the luxuriant foliage of the Botanic Gardens, as if boldly to proclaim that New South Wales had completed the period of her infancy and was prepared to take her place among the nations as one grown to full and comely proportions. When the building had served its purpose, the people were too fond and too proud of it to dismantle and destroy it, but unfortunately it was not long after swept away by an accidental fire. In 1885, the colony was stirred by a great wave of enthusiasm when it was known that its Government had sent to England the offer of a regiment of soldiers to fight in the Soudan side by side with British troops. The offer was accepted, and some seven or eight hundred soldiers, well equipped and full of high hopes, sailed for Africa. The war was too soon over for them to have any chance of displaying what an Australian force may be like upon a battle-field. There were many persons who held that the whole expedition was a mistake. But it had one good effect; for it showed that, for the present at least, the Australian colonies are proud of their mother-country; that their eyes are fondly turned to her, to follow all her destinies in that great career which she has to accomplish as the leading nation of the earth; and that if ever she needed their help, assistance would flow spontaneously from the fulness of loving hearts. The idea of this expedition and its execution belonged principally to C. B. Dalley. But the great leader of New South Wales during the last quarter of a century, and the most zealous worker for its welfare and prosperity, has been the veteran statesman Sir Henry Parkes. CHAPTER XXII. VICTORIA, 1855-1890. #1. Responsible Government.#--In 1855, when each of the colonies was engaged in framing for itself its own form of government, Victoria, like all the others, chose the English system of two Houses of Legislature. At first it was resolved that the Lower House, called the Legislative Assembly, should consist of only sixty members; but by subsequent additions, the number has been increased to eighty-six: in 1857 the right of voting was conferred upon every man who had resided a sufficient length of time in the colony. With regard to the Upper House Victoria found the same difficulty as had been experienced in New South Wales; but, instead of introducing the system of nomination by the Government, it decided that its Legislative Council should be elected by the people. In order, however, that this body might not be identical in form and opinion with the Lower House, it was arranged that no one should be eligible for election to it who did not possess at least five thousand pounds worth of real property, and that the privilege of voting should be confined to the wealthier part of the community. Along with this new Constitution responsible government was introduced; and Mr. Haines, being sent for by the Governor, formed the first Ministry. Before the close of the year, the first contest under the new system took place. Mr. Nicholson, a member of the Assembly, moved that the voting for elections should in future be carried on in secret, by means of the ballot-box, so that every man might be able to give his opinion undeterred by any external pressure, such as the fear of displeasing his employer or of disobliging a friend. The Government of Mr. Haines refused its assent to this proposal, which was, nevertheless, carried by the Assembly. Now, the system of responsible government required that, in such a case, Mr. Haines and his fellow-Ministers, being averse to such a law and declining to carry it out, should resign and leave the government to those who were willing and able to inaugurate the newly-appointed system. Accordingly they gave in their resignations, and the Governor asked Mr. Nicholson to form a new Ministry; but, though many members had voted for his proposal, they were not prepared to follow him as their leader. He could obtain very few associates, and was thus unable to form a Ministry; so that there appeared some likelihood of a total failure of responsible government before it had been six months in existence. In the midst of this crisis Sir Charles Hotham was taken ill. He had been present at a prolonged ceremony--the opening of the first gasworks in Melbourne--and a cold south wind had given him a dangerous chill. He lay for a day or two in great danger; but the crisis seemed past, and he had begun to recover, when news was brought to him of Mr. Nicholson's failure. He lay brooding over these difficulties, which pressed so much upon his mind that he was unable to rally, and on the last day of the year 1855 he died. This was a great shock to the colonists, who had learnt highly to respect him. The vacant position was for a year assumed by Major-General Macarthur, who invited Mr. Haines and his Ministry to return. They did so, and the course of responsible government began again from the beginning. At the end of 1856 another Governor--Sir Henry Barkly--arrived; and during the seven years of his stay the new system worked smoothly enough, the only peculiarity being the rapid changes in the Government. Some of the Ministries lasted only six weeks, and very few protracted their existence to a year. [Illustration: COLLINS STREET, MELBOURNE.] #2. The Deadlock.#--Sir Henry Barkly left the colony in 1863, and his place was immediately filled by Sir Charles Darling, nephew of Sir Ralph Darling, who, forty years before, had been Governor of New South Wales. Sir Charles was destined to troublous times; for he had not been long in the colony ere a most vexatious hitch took place in the working of constitutional government. It arose out of a straggle with regard to what is called "Protection to Native Industry". The colony was filled with vigorous and enterprising men, who had come to it for the purpose of digging for gold. For four or five years gold digging had been on the average a fairly remunerative occupation. But when all the surface gold had been gathered, and it became necessary to dig shafts many hundreds of feet into the earth, and even then in many cases only to get quartz, from which the gold had to be extracted by crushing and careful washing, then the ordinary worker, who had no command of capital, had to take employment with the wealthier people, who could afford to sink shafts and wait for years before the gold appeared. These men, therefore, had to take small wages for toiling at a most laborious occupation. But most of them had learnt trades of some sort in Europe; and the idea sprang up that if the colony prevented boots from coming into it from outside there would be plenty of work for the bootmakers; if it stopped the importation of engines there would no longer be any reason why engineers should work like navvies at the bottom of gold mines--they would be wanted to make the engines of the colony. After a long agitation, therefore, James M'Culloch, the Premier of the colony, in 1864 brought a bill into the Victorian Legislative Assembly according to which taxes were to be placed on all goods coming into the colony if they were of a sort that might be made within the colony. M'Culloch proposed to make this change because it was ardently desired by the working men of the colony, and these could by their votes control the action of the Legislative Assembly. But the Upper House, called the Legislative Council, composed of wealthy men, who had been elected by the wealthier part of the community, thought, after careful decision, that any such plan would ruin the commerce of the colony without much benefiting its industries. They therefore rejected the proposed bill. M'Culloch tried to persuade them to pass it, but they were obstinate. He then resorted to a trick which is in itself objectionable, but which is perhaps excusable when the great body of the people wish a certain thing and a small body like the Legislative Council are resolved to thwart them. It is part of our constitutional law that all bills dealing with money matters must be prepared in the Lower House; the Upper House can then accept them or reject them as they stand, but is not allowed to alter them. Now, once a year Parliament has to pass a bill called the Appropriation Act, by which authority is given to the Government to spend the public money in the various ways that Parliament directs. In 1865 M'Culloch put the whole of the Protective Tariff Bill into the Appropriation Act as if it were a part of that Act, though really it had nothing to do with it. The Legislative Assembly passed the Appropriation Act with this insertion. The Legislative Council now found itself in a most unlucky position. If it passed the Appropriation Act it would also pass the Protective Tariff Bill, which it detested. But if it rejected the Appropriation Act, then the Government would have no authority to pay away any money, and so all the officers of the State, the civil servants and the policemen, the teachers, the gaolers, the surveyors and the tide-waiters, would all have to go on for a year without any salaries. There was no middle course open, for the Council could not alter the Appropriation Act and then pass it. Whether was it to pass the Act and make the protective tariff the law of the land; or reject it, and run the risk of making a number of innocent people starve? It chose the latter alternative, and threw out the bill. The whole country became immensely excited, and seemed like one debating club, where men argued warmly either for or against the Council. Matters were becoming serious, when the Ministry discovered an ingenious device for obtaining money. According to British law, if a man is unable to obtain from the Government what it owes him, he sues for it in the Supreme Court; and then, if this Court decides in his favour, it orders the money to be paid, quite independently of any Appropriation Act, out of the sums that may be lying in the Treasury. In their emergency, the Ministry applied to the banks for a loan of money; five of them refused, but the sixth agreed to lend forty thousand pounds. With this the Government servants were paid, and then the bank demanded its money from the Government; but the Government had no authority from Parliament to pay any money, and could not legally pay it. The bank then brought its action at law. The Supreme Court gave its order, and the money was paid to the bank out of the Treasury. Thus a means had been discovered of obtaining all the money that was required without asking the consent of Parliament. Throughout the year 1865 the salaries of officers were obtained in this way; but in 1866 the Upper House, seeing that it was being beaten, offered to hold a conference. Each House made concessions to the other, the Tariff Bill was passed, with some alterations, the Appropriation Bill was then agreed to in the ordinary way, and the "Deadlock" came to an end. #3. The Darling Grant.#--But, in its train, other troubles followed; for the English authorities were displeased with Sir Charles Darling for allowing the Government to act as it did. They showed how he might have prevented it, and, to mark their dissatisfaction, they recalled him in 1866. He bitterly complained of this harsh treatment; and the Assembly, regarding him as, in some measure, a martyr to the cause of the people, determined to recompense him for his loss of salary. In the Appropriation Act of 1867 they therefore passed a grant of £20,000 to Lady Darling, intending it for the use of her husband. The Upper House owed no debt of gratitude to Sir Charles, and, accordingly, it once more threw out the Appropriation Bill. Again there was the same bitter dispute, and again the public creditors were obliged to sue for their money in the Supreme Court. In a short time four thousand five hundred such pretended actions were laid, the Government making no defence, and the order being given in each case that the money should be paid. In 1866 the new Governor--Viscount Canterbury--arrived; but the struggle was still continued, till, in 1868, Sir Charles Darling informed M'Culloch that Lady Darling would decline to receive the money, as he was receiving instead five thousand pounds as arrears of salary and a lucrative position in England. The Upper House then passed the Appropriation Bill, and the contest came to an end. #4. Payment of Members.#--But they had other things to quarrel about. The working men of the colony thought that they never would get fair treatment in regard to the laws until working men were themselves in Parliament. But that could not be, so long as they had to leave their trades and spend their time in making laws while getting nothing for it. Hence they were resolved on having all members of Parliament paid, and they elected persons to the Lower House who were in favour of that principle. But the better-off people sent persons into the Upper House who were against it. Thus for twenty years a struggle took place, but in the end the working men carried their point; and it was settled that every member of Parliament should receive three hundred pounds a year. The two Houses also quarrelled about the manner in which the land was to be sold; the Lower House being anxious to put it into the hands of industrious people who were likely to work on it as farmers, even though they could pay very little for it; the Upper House preferring that it should be sold to the people who offered the most money for it. On this and other questions in dispute the Lower House gained the victory. #5. Exhibitions.#--It was not till the year 1880 that all these contentions were set at rest, but from that time the colony passed into a period of peace, during which it made the most astonishing progress in all directions. That progress was indicated in a most decided way by the exhibitions held in the colony. It had from time to time in previous years held inter-colonial exhibitions at which all the colonies had met in friendly competition. But in 1880, and again in 1888, Victoria invited all the world to exhibit their products at her show. A magnificent building was erected in one of the parks of Melbourne, and behind it were placed acres of temporary wooden erections, and the whole was filled with twenty acres of exhibits. A similar show, held in 1888, was much larger, and helped, by its fine collection of pictures, its grand displays of machinery, its educational courts, its fine orchestral music, and so on, in a hundred ways to stimulate and develop the minds of the people. During recent years Victoria has been very busy in social legislation. While enjoying peace under the direction of a coalition Government with Mr. Duncan Gillies and Mr. Alfred Deakin at its head, the colony has tried experiments in regulating the liquor traffic; in closing shops at an early hour; in irrigating the waterless plains of the north-west, and in educating farmers and others into the most approved methods of managing their businesses. What is to be the eventual result no one can as yet very definitely prophesy. But the eyes of many thoughtful persons throughout the world are at present turned to Victoria to see how those schemes are working which have been so zealously undertaken for the good of the people. [Illustration: THE TOWN HALL, MELBOURNE.] [Illustration: THE PORT OF MELBOURNE.] Up till 1890 the progress of the colony was astonishing. Its central half forms a network of railways. Its agriculture and its trades have doubled themselves every few years; and though a period of restless activity and progress was in 1890 followed by a time of severe depression, the community, like all the other Australian colonies, has great times of prosperity in store for it. CHAPTER XXIII. THE TIMES OF THE MAORIS. #1. The Maoris.#--So far as we know, the original inhabitants of New Zealand were a dark-skinned race called Maoris, a people lithe and handsome of body, though generally plain of features: open, frank and happy in youth, grave and often melancholy in their older years. They numbered forty thousand in the North Island, where the warmth of the climate suited them, but in the South Island there were only two thousand. They were divided into tribes, who fought fiercely with one another; cooked and ate the bodies of the slain, and carried off the vanquished to be slaves. They dwelt in houses sometimes neatly built of wooden slabs, more often of upright poles with broad grass leaves woven between them. The roofs were of grass, plaited and thatched. To these abodes the entrances were only some two or three feet high, and after crawling through, the visitor who entered at night would see the master of the house, his wives, his children, his slaves, indeed all his household, to the number of twenty or thirty, lying on mats in rows down either side, with their heads to the walls and their feet to the centre, leaving a path down the middle. In these rooms they slept, with a fire burning all night, till, what with the smoke and the breaths of so many people, the place was stifling. The roofs were only four feet higher than the ground outside, but, then, inside, the earth was hollowed a foot or two to make the floor so that a man could just stand upright. These houses were gathered in little villages, often pleasantly situated beside a stream, or on the sea-shore; but sometimes for defence they were placed on a hill and surrounded by high fences with ditches and earthen walls so as to make a great stronghold of the kind they called a "pah". The trenches were sometimes twenty or thirty feet deep; but generally the pah was built so that a rapid river or high precipices would defend two or three sides of it, while only the sides not so guarded by nature were secured by ditches and a double row of palisades. Within these enclosures stages were erected behind the palisades so that the fighting men could hurl stones and spears and defy an attacking party. [Illustration: A MAORI DWELLING.] #2. Maori Customs.#--Round their villages and pahs they dug up the soil and planted the sweet potato, and the taro, which is the root of a kind of arum lily; they also grew the gourd called calabash, from whose hard rind they made pots and bowls and dishes. When the crops of sweet potato and taro were over they went out into the forest and gathered the roots of certain sorts of ferns, which they dried and kept for their winter food. They netted fish and eels; they caught sharks with hook and line and dried their flesh in the sun. To enjoy these meals in comfort they had a broad verandah round their houses which formed an open and generally pleasant dining-room, where they gathered in family circles bound by much affection for one another. The girls especially were sweet and pretty; their mild manners, their soft and musical voices, the long lashes of their drooping eyes, with the gloss of their olive-tinted skins made them perfect types of dusky beauty. Grown a little older they were by no means so attractive, and then when married they deeply scored their faces by the process of tattooing. The men had their faces, hips, and thighs tattooed, that is, all carved in wavy lines which were arranged in intricate patterns. The women tattooed only their lips, chins, and eyelids, but often smeared their faces with red ochre, and soaked their hair with oil. Men and women wore round the waist a kilt of beautifully woven flax, and over the shoulders a mat of the same material. They were expert sailors, and built themselves large canoes which thirty or forty men would drive forward, keeping time with their paddles. Their large war canoes were sixty and seventy feet long, and would carry 100 men. Thus they were by no means uncivilised, but their condition was in some respects most barbarous. In person they were dirty, and in manners proud and arrogant. They were easily offended, and never forgave what they considered as an injury or insult. This readiness to take offence and to avenge themselves caused the neighbouring tribes to be for ever at war. They fought with great bravery, slaughtered each other fiercely, and ate the bodies. Sometimes they killed their captives or slaves in order to hold a cannibal feast. According to their own traditions they had not been always in these islands. Their ancestors came from afar, and each tribe had its own legendary account. But they all agreed that they came from an island away to the north in the Pacific, which they called Hawaiki, and there is little doubt but that some hundreds of years ago their forefathers must in truth have emigrated from some of the South Sea Islands. Whether they found natives on the islands and killed them all, we cannot now discover. There are no traces of any earlier people, but the Maoris in their traditions say that people were found on the islands and slain and eaten by the invaders. One tribe declared that long ago in far-off Hawaiki a chief hated another, but was too weak to do him harm. He fitted out a canoe for a long voyage, and suddenly murdered the son of his enemy. He then escaped on board the canoe with his followers and sailed away for ever from his home. This legend declared how after many adventures he at length reached New Zealand. Another legend relates that in Hawaiki the people were fighting, and a tribe being beaten was forced to leave the island. Sorrowfully it embarked in two canoes and sailed away out upon the tossing ocean, till, directed by the voice of their god sounding from the depths below them, they landed on the shores of New Zealand. How many centuries they lived and multiplied there it is impossible to say, as they had no means of writing and recording their history. #3. Tasman.#--The earliest we know of them for certain is in the journal of Tasman, who writes under the date of 13th December, 1642, that he had that day seen shores never before beheld by white men. He was then holding eastward after his visit to Tasmania, and the shore he saw was the mountainous land in the North Island. He rounded what we now call Cape Farewell, and anchored in a fine bay, whose green and pleasant shores were backed by high snow-capped mountains. Several canoes came off from the beach filled by Maoris, who lay about a stone's throw distant and sounded their war trumpets. The Dutch replied by a flourish of their horns. For several days the Maoris would come no nearer, but on the sixth they paddled out with seven canoes and surrounded both vessels. Tasman noticed that they were crowding in a somewhat threatening manner round one of his ships, the _Heemskirk_, and he sent a small boat with seven men to warn the captain to be on his guard. When the Maoris saw these seven men without weapons sailing past their canoes they fell on them, instantly killed three and began to drag away their bodies; no doubt to be eaten. The other four Dutchmen, by diving and swimming, escaped and reached the ship half dead with fright. Then with shouts the whole line of Maori canoes advanced to attack the ships; but a broadside startled them. They were stupefied for a moment at the flash and roar of the cannon and the crash of the wood-work of their canoes; then they turned and fled, carrying with them, however, one of the bodies. Tasman sailed down into Cook Strait, which he very naturally took to be a bay, the weather being too thick for him to see the passage to the south-east. He then returned and coasted northwards to the extreme point of New Zealand, which he called Cape Maria Van Diemen, probably after the wife of that Governor of Batavia who had sent out the expedition. Tasman called the lands he had thus discovered "New Zealand," after that province of Holland which is called Zealand, or the Sea-land. The bay in which he had anchored was called Murderers' or Massacre Bay. #4. Captain Cook.#--For more than a hundred years New Zealand had no white men as visitors. It was in 1769 that Captain Cook, on his way home from Tahiti, steering to the south-west in the hope of discovering new lands, saw the distant hills of New Zealand. Two days later he landed on the east coast of the North Island, a little north of Hawke Bay. There lay the little ship the _Endeavour_ at anchor, with its bulging sides afloat on a quiet bay, in front a fertile but steeply sloping shore with a pah on the crown of a hill, and a few neat little houses by the side of a rapid stream. In the evening Cook, Banks, and other gentlemen took the pinnace and rowed up the streamlet. They landed, leaving some boys in charge of the boat, and advanced towards a crowd of Maoris, making friendly signs as they approached. The Maoris ran away, but some of them seeing their chance made a dash at the boys in the boat and tried to kill them. The boys pushed off, and dropped down the stream; the Maoris chased them, determined on mischief. Four of them being very murderous, the coxswain fired a musket over their heads. They were startled, but continued to strike at the boys with wooden spears. Seeing the danger the coxswain levelled his musket and shot one of the Maoris dead on the spot. The others fled, and Cook, hearing the report of the gun, hurried back and at once returned to the ship. Over and over again Cook did everything he could devise to secure the friendship of these people; but they always seemed to have only one desire, and that was to kill and eat the white visitors. One day five canoes came out to chase the _Endeavour_ as she was sailing along the coast. Another time nine canoes densely filled with men sailed after her, paddling with all their might to board the vessel. In these and many other cases cannon had to be fired over their heads to frighten them before they would desist from their attempt to capture the ship. At one bay, the Maoris made friends and went on board the _Endeavour_ to sell provisions, but when all was going forward peaceably they suddenly seized a boy and pulled him into their canoe. They were paddling away with him when some musket shots frightened them, and in the confusion the boy dived and swam back. Cook sailed completely round the North Island, charting the shores with great care, often landing, sometimes finding tribes who made friends, more often finding tribes whose insolence or treachery led to the necessity of firing upon them with small shot. If he had only known the customs of these people he would have understood that to be friendly with one tribe meant that the next tribe would murder and eat them for revenge. He then sailed round the South Island, landing less frequently, however, till at length he took his leave of New Zealand at what he called Cape Farewell, and sailed away to Australia. He had been nearly six months exploring the coasts of these islands, and that in a very small vessel. During this time he had left pigs and goats, fowls and geese to increase in the forests, where they soon multiplied, especially the pigs. Potatoes and turnips were left with many tribes, who quickly learnt how to grow them, so that after ten or twelve years had passed away these vegetables became the chief food of all the Maoris. #5. French Visitors.#--Whilst Cook was sailing round the North Island, a French vessel anchored in a bay of that island in search of fresh water. The Ngapuhi tribe received them with pleasure and gave them all the assistance in their power, but some of them stole a boat. The captain, named De Surville, then seized one of the chiefs and put him in irons. The boat not being given up, he burnt a village and sailed to South America, the chief dying on the road. Three years later in 1772 came another Frenchman, Marion du Fresne, with two ships; this time for the express purpose of making discoveries. He sailed up the west coast, rounded the North Cape and anchored in the Bay of Islands. He landed and made friends with the Ngapuhi tribe and took his sick sailors ashore. The Maoris brought him plenty of fish, and Du Fresne made them presents in return. For a month the most pleasant relations continued, the Maoris often sleeping on board and the French officers spending the night in the Maori houses. One day Captain Marion went ashore with sixteen others to enjoy some fishing. At night they did not return. Captain Crozet, who was second in command, thought they had chosen to sleep ashore, but the next day he sent a boat with twelve men to find where they were. These men were scattering carelessly through the woods when suddenly a dense crowd of Maoris, who had concealed themselves, attacked and killed all the Frenchmen but one. He who escaped was hidden behind some bushes, and he saw his comrades brained one after another; then he saw the fierce savages cut their bodies in pieces, and carry them away in baskets to be eaten. When the Maoris were gone he crept along the shore and swam to the ship, which he reached half dead with terror. Crozet landed sixty men, and the natives gathered for a fight; but the Frenchmen merely fired volley after volley into a solid mass of Maori warriors, who, stupefied at the flash and roar, were simply slaughtered as they stood. Crozet burnt both the Maori villages and sailed away. In later times the Maoris explained that the French had desecrated their religious places by taking the carved ornaments out of them for firewood. #6. Cook's Later Visits.#--In his second voyage Cook twice visited New Zealand in 1773 and 1774. He had two vessels, one of them under the command of Captain Furneaux. While this latter vessel was waiting in Queen Charlotte Sound, a bay opening out of Cook Strait, Captain Furneaux sent a boat with nine men who were to go on shore and gather green stuff for food. A crowd of Maoris surrounded them, and one offered to sell a stone hatchet to a sailor, who took it; but to tease the native, in silly sailor fashion, this sailor would neither give anything for it nor hand it back. The Maori in a rage seized some bread and fish which the sailors were spreading for their lunch. The sailors closed to prevent their touching the victuals; a confused struggle took place, during which the English fired and killed two natives, but before they could load again they were all knocked on the head with the green stone axes of the Maoris. An officer sent ashore later on with a strong force found several baskets of human limbs, and in one of them a head which he recognised as that of a sailor belonging to the party. The officer attacked some hundreds of the Maoris as they were seated at their cannibal feast, and drove them away from the half-gnawed bones. [Illustration: MILFORD SOUND, SOUTH ISLAND, NEW ZEALAND.] Cook again touched at New Zealand in the course of his third voyage, and this time succeeded in maintaining friendly relations with the Maoris during a short visit. But when the story of Cook's voyage was published in later years the people of Europe conceived a deep horror of these fierce man-eating savages. #7. The Whalers.#--For ten or twelve years New Zealand was not visited by white men, but the foundation of a town at Sydney, in 1788, brought ships out much more often into these waters, and before long it was found that the seas round New Zealand were well stocked with whales. Vessels came out to carry on the profitable business of catching them and taking their oil to Europe. For fresh water and for fuel for their stoves they called at the shores of New Zealand, chiefly at Queen Charlotte Sound, at Dusky Bay on the west coast of South Island, but especially at the Bay of Islands near the extreme north of North Island. There they not only got fresh water but bought fish and pork and potatoes from the friendly tribes of natives, paying for them with knives and blankets; and although quarrels sometimes occurred and deaths took place on both sides, the whalers continued more and more to frequent these places. Sometimes the sailors, attracted by the good looks of the Maori girls, took them as wives and lived in New Zealand. These men generally acted as sealers. They caught the seals that abounded on some parts of the coast, and gathered their skins until the ships called back, when the captain would give them tobacco and rum, guns and powder in exchange for their seal-skins. These the sealers generally shared with the Maoris, who therefore began to find out that it was good to have a white man to be dwelling near them: he brought ships to trade, and the ships brought articles that the Maoris began to value. #8. Maoris visit Sydney.#--In 1793, Governor Hunter at Sydney directed that the convicts at Norfolk Island should be set to weave the fine flax that grew wild in that island. They tried, but could make no cloth so fine and soft as that made by the Maoris out of very much the same sort of plant. A ship was sent to try and persuade some Maoris to come over and teach the art. The captain of the ship, being lazy or impatient, did not trouble to persuade; he seized two Maoris and carried them off. They were kept for six months at Norfolk Island, but Captain King treated them very well, and sent them back with ten sows, two boars, a supply of maize-seed and other good things to pay them for their time. When King became Governor of New South Wales he sent further presents over to Te Pehi, chief of the tribe to which these young men belonged, and hence Te Pehi longed to see the sender of these things. He and his four sons ventured to go in an English vessel to Sydney, where they were astonished at all they saw. On his return Te Pehi induced a sailor named George Bruce, who had been kind to him when he was sick on board ship, to settle in the tribe; the young Englishman married Te Pehi's most charming daughter, and was tattooed and became the first of the Pakeha Maoris, or white men who lived in Maori fashion. Pleased by Te Pehi's account of what he had seen, other Maoris took occasional trips to Sydney, working their passages in whaling ships. #9. Friendly Relations.#--Meanwhile English vessels more and more frequently visited New Zealand for pork and flax and kauri pine, or else to catch seals, or merely to take a rest after a long whaling trip. The Bay of Islands became the chief anchorage for that purpose, and thither the Maoris gathered to profit by the trade. Some of the more adventurous, when they found that the English did them no harm, shipped as sailors for a voyage on board the whalers; but though they made good seamen they were sometimes sulky and revengeful, and rarely continued at it more than two or three years. In 1805 a Maori went with an English surgeon all the way to England, and returned with the most astounding tales of London and English wonders. During the next four or five years several other Maoris went to England, while, on the other hand, a few very respectable white men began to settle down in New Zealand. They were far superior to the rough sailors and liberated convicts of Sydney, who so far had been the most frequent visitors, so that mutual good-will seemed to be established, as the Maoris found that there was much they could gain by the visits of the white men. But all this friendliness was marred by an unfortunate occurrence. #10. The Boyd Massacre.#--In 1809 a ship named the _Boyd_ sailed from Sydney to go to England round Cape Horn. She had on board seventy white people, including some children of officers at Sydney who were on their way to England to be educated. As she was to call at New Zealand to get some kauri spars, five Maoris went with her, working their passage over. One of these Maoris, named Tarra, was directed during the voyage to do something which he refused to do. The captain caused him to be twice flogged. When the ship anchored in a bay a little to the north of the Bay of Islands, Tarra went ashore, and showed to his tribe his back all scarred with the lash. Revenge was agreed on. The captain was enticed ashore with a few men; and they were suddenly attacked and all killed. Then the Maoris quietly got alongside the ship, rushed on board and commenced the work of massacre among men, women and children, who were all unarmed. Some of the children fell and clasped the feet of Tarra, begging him to save them, but the young savage brained them without mercy. All were slain except a woman and two children who hid themselves during the heat of the massacre, and a boy who was spared because he had been kind to Tarra. All the bodies were taken ashore and eaten. One of the chiefs while curiously examining a barrel of gunpowder caused it to explode, blowing himself and a dozen others to pieces. Te Pehi, the head chief of the Ngapuhi, was extremely vexed when he heard of this occurrence, and took some trouble to rescue the four survivors, but five whaling vessels gathered for revenge; they landed their crews, who shot thirty Maoris whether belonging to Tarra's tribe or not, and in their blind fury burnt Te Pehi's village, severely wounding the chief himself. This outrage stopped all friendly intercourse for a long time. The whalers shot the Maoris whenever they saw them, about a hundred being killed in the next three years, while the Maoris killed and ate any white people they could catch. Thus in 1816 the _Agnes_, an American brig, happened to be wrecked on their shores. They killed and ate everybody on board, except one man, who was tattooed and kept for a slave during twelve years. #11. The Missionaries.#--In spite of all these atrocities a band of missionaries had the courage to settle in New Zealand and begin the work of civilising these Maori tribes. This enterprise was the work of a notable man named Samuel Marsden, who had in early life been a blacksmith in England, but had devoted himself with rare energy to the laborious task of passing the examinations needed to make him a clergyman. He was sent out to be the chaplain to the convicts at Sydney, and his zeal, his faith in the work he had to do, and his roughly eloquent style, made him successful where more cultured clergymen would have failed. For fourteen years he toiled to reform convicts, soldiers, and officers in Sydney; and when Governor King went home to England in 1807, after his term was expired, Marsden went with him on a visit to his friends. While in London, Marsden brought before the Mission Society the question of doing something to Christianise these fierce but intelligent people, and the society not only agreed, but employed two missionaries named Hall and King to undertake the work. [Illustration: THE REV. SAMUEL MARSDEN, "THE APOSTLE OF NEW ZEALAND".] When Marsden, along with these two courageous men, started back to Sydney in the _Ann_ convict ship, in 1809, there was on board, strangely enough, a Maori chief called Ruatara. This young fellow was a nephew of Hongi, the powerful head chief of the Ngapuhi tribe. Four years before, being anxious to see something of the wonders of civilised life, he had shipped as a sailor on board a whaler. He had twice been to Sydney and had voyaged up and down all the Pacific. At length, in 1809, he had gone to London, where he was lost in surprise at all he saw. The climate, however, tried him severely, and he was sick and miserable on the voyage back to Sydney. Marsden was kind to him and gave him a home in his own house. Ruatara had many troubles and dangers to meet, through many months, before he was at last settled among his own people. Meantime, the new Governor of Sydney refused to allow the missionaries to go to New Zealand. The massacre of the sixty-six people of the _Boyd_ had roused a feeling of horror, and it seemed a wicked waste of life to try to live among savages so fierce. The missionaries were therefore employed in Sydney. In 1813 Governor Macquarie directed that every vessel leaving for New Zealand should give bonds to the extent of a thousand pounds to guarantee that the white men should not carry off the natives or interfere with their sacred places. Then the trouble between the two races quieted down a little, and in 1814 the missionaries thought they might at least make further inquiries. A brig called the _Active_ of 100 tons was bought; and on board it went Hall with another missionary called Kendall (grandfather of the poet) who had lately come out. They reached the Bay of Islands, taking with them abundance of presents. They saw Ruatara, and persuaded him with his uncle, Hongi, and other chiefs to go to Sydney in the _Active_, and there discuss the question of a mission station. They went, and Hongi guaranteed the protection of his tribe, the Ngapuhi, if the missionaries would settle in their territory. #12. The Mission Station.#--It was in November, 1814, that the _Active_ sailed with the mission colony, consisting of Kendall, King, and Hall, their wives and five children and a number of mechanics; in all twenty-five Europeans, together with eight Maoris. They took three horses, a bull, two cows, and other live stock, and after a quick passage anchored near the north of the North Island. Marsden was with them as a visitor, to see the place fairly started. He was troubled on landing to find that the Ngapuhi were at war with their near neighbours, the Wangaroans, and he saw that little progress would be made till these tribes were reconciled. Marsden fearlessly entered with only one companion into the heart of the hostile tribe; met Tarra, the instigator of the _Boyd_ massacre, and slept that night in the very midst of the Wangaroans. Wrapt up in his greatcoat, he lay close by Tarra, surrounded by the sleeping forms of men and women who, only a few years before, had gathered to the horrid feast. Surprised at this friendly trust, the Wangaroans were fascinated, and subsequently were led by him like children. They were soon induced to rub noses with the chiefs of Ngapuhi as a sign of reconciliation, and were then all invited on board the _Active_, where a merry breakfast brought old enemies together in friendly intercourse. The missionaries with twelve axes bought 200 acres of land on the shore of the Bay of Islands. Half an acre was soon enclosed by a fence; a few rough houses were built and a pole set up, upon which floated a white flag with a cross and a dove and the words "Good tidings"; Ruatara made a pulpit out of an old canoe, covered it with cloth, and put seats round it. There, on Christmas Day, 1814, Marsden preached the first sermon in New Zealand to a crowded Maori audience, who understood not one word of what was said, but who, perhaps, were benefited by the general impressiveness of the scene. In the following February, Marsden returned to Sydney, thinking the mission in a fair way of success. But all was not to be so harmonious as he dreamt; the liberated convicts, who formed the bulk of the crews of sealing and whaling vessels, treated the natives with coarseness and arrogance; the Maoris were quick to revenge themselves, and the murders, thefts, and quarrels along all the shore did more harm than the handful of missionaries could do good. Three or four times they wished to leave, and as often did Marsden return and persuade them to stay. Their lives at least were safe; for Hongi, the Ngapuhi chief, found that they were useful in the way of bringing trade about, but he was dissatisfied because they would not allow guns and powder to be sold by the white men to him and his people. #13. Tribal Wars.#--Hongi saw that the tribe which possessed most guns was sure to get the upper hand of all the others. He therefore contrived in another way to secure these wonderful weapons. For in 1820 when Kendall went home to England for a trip Hongi went with him, and saw with constant wonder the marvels of the great city. The sight of the fine English regiments, the arsenals, the theatres, the big elephant at Exeter Change Menagerie, all impressed deeply the Maori from New Zealand forests. He stayed for a while at Cambridge, assisting a professor to compile a dictionary of the Maori language, and going to church regularly all the time. Then he had an audience from George IV., who gave him many presents, and among others a complete suit of ancient armour. For a whole season, Hongi was a sort of lion among London society. People crowded to see a chief who had eaten dozens of men, and so many presents were given him that when he came back to Sydney he was a rich man. He sold everything, however, except his suit of armour, and with the money he bought 300 muskets and plenty of powder, which he took with him to New Zealand. Having reached his home he informed his tribe of the career of conquest he proposed; with these muskets he was going to destroy every enemy. "There is but one king in England," he said; "there shall be only one among the Maoris." He soon had a force of a thousand warriors, whom he embarked on board a fleet of canoes, and took to the southern shores of the Hauraki Gulf, where the Ngatimaru lived, ancient enemies of the Ngapuhi, who, however, felt secure in their numbers and in the strength of their great pah Totara. But Hongi captured the pah, and slew five hundred of the unfortunate inmates. The Ngatimaru tribe then retreated south into the valley of the Waikato River, and summoned their men and all their friends; a total of over three thousand were arrayed on that fatal battle-field. Hongi with his muskets gained a complete victory. He shot the hostile chief with his own gun, and tearing out his eyes, swallowed them on the field of battle. Over a thousand were killed, and Hongi and his men feasted on the spot for some days till three hundred bodies had been eaten. The victors then returned, bearing in their canoes another thousand captives, of whom many were slain and cooked to provide a share of the horrid feast to the women of the tribe. In his bloodthirsty wars Hongi showed great skill and energy. During the two following years he defeated, slaughtered, and ate large numbers of the surrounding tribes, and when a number of these unfortunate people withdrew to a pah of enormous strength, nearly surrounded by a bend of the Waikato River, he dragged his canoes over to that river, ascended it, dashed at the steep cliffs, the ditches and palisades, and once more the muskets won the day. A thousand fell in the fight; then the women and children were slaughtered in heaps. The strong tribe of the Arawa further south had their chief pah on an island in the middle of Lake Rotorua. Hongi with great labour carried his canoes over to the lake. The spear-armed Maoris could do nothing in defence while he shot at them from the lake; and when he assaulted the island, though they came down to the water's edge to repel him, again there was victory for the muskets. Thus did Hongi conquer till the whole North Island owned his ascendancy. But in 1827 his career came to an end, for having quarrelled with his former friends, the tribe of which Tarra was chief, he killed them all but twenty, but in the fight was himself shot through the lungs; for that tribe had now many muskets also, and a ball fired when the massacre was nearly over passed through Hongi's chest, leaving a hole which, though temporarily healed, caused his death a few months later. Pomaré succeeded him as chief of the Ngapuhi, and made that tribe still the terror of the island. At one pah Pomaré killed 400 men; and he had his own way for a time in all his fights. But the other tribes now began to see that they could not possibly save themselves except by getting muskets also, and as they offered ten times their value for them in pork and flax and other produce, English vessels brought them over in plenty. The remnant of the Waikato tribe having become well armed and well exercised in shooting under Te Whero Whero, they laid an ambush for Pomaré and killed him with almost the whole of the 500 men who were with him. The other tribes joined Te Whero Whero, and in successive battles ruined the Ngapuhi. Te Whero Whero held the leadership for a time, during which he almost exterminated the Taranaki tribe. He was practically lord of all the North Island till he met his match in Rauparaha, the most determined and wily of all the Maori leaders. He was the chief of a tribe living in the south of the North Island, and he gathered a wild fighting band out of the ruined tribes of his own and the surrounding districts. Many battles were fought between him and Te Whero Whero, in which sometimes as many as a thousand muskets were in use on each side. Rauparaha was at length overcome, and with difficulty escaped across the strait to the South Island, while Te Whero Whero massacred and enslaved all over the North Island, cooking as many as 200 bodies after a single fight. And yet the evil was in a way its own cure, for, through strenuous endeavours, by this time every tribe had a certain proportion of its men well armed with muskets; and thus no single tribe ever afterwards got the same cruel ascendancy that was obtained first by the Ngapuhi and then by the Waikato tribe. But fights and ambushes, slaughters, the eating of prisoners and all the horrid scenes of Maori war went on from week to week all over the North Island. CHAPTER XXIV. NEW ZEALAND COLONISED. #1. Kororarika.#--All this fighting of the Maori tribes made them more dependent on the trade they had with white men. They could neither make guns nor powder for themselves, and the tribe that could purchase none of the white man's weapons was sure to be slaughtered and eaten by other tribes. Hence white men were more eagerly welcomed, and in course of time nearly two hundred of them were living Maori fashion with the tribes. But it was at the Bay of Islands that the chief trading was carried on. For it was there that the kauri timber grew; it was there that the pigs were most plentiful and the cargoes of flax most easily obtained; and when a man named Turner set up a grog-shop on the shores of the bay all the whaling ships made this their usual place for resting and refitting. Behind the beach the hills rise steeply, and on these hills a number of white men built themselves homes securely fenced, and defended, sometimes even by a cannon or two. But down on the little green flat next to the beach, rude houses were more numerous. In the year 1838 there were about 500 persons resident in the little town, which was now called Kororarika, but at times there were nearly double that number of people resident in it for months together. A wild and reckless place it was, for sailors reckoned themselves there to be beyond the reach of English law. At one time as many as thirty-six ships lay off the town of Kororarika, and in a single year 150 ships visited the bay; generally staying a month or more at anchor. The little church and the Catholic mission station up on the hill did less good to the natives than these rough sailors did harm, and at length the more respectable white men could stand the disorder no longer. They formed an association to maintain decency. They seized, tried, fined or sometimes locked up for a time the worst offenders, and twice they stripped the ruffians naked, gave them a coat of tar, stuck them all over with white down from a native plant, and when they were thus decorated, expelled them from the town, with a promise of the same treatment if ever they were seen back in it. #2. Hokianga.#--Long before this the capacities of New Zealand and the chances of making wealth there became well known in England, and in 1825 an association was formed to colonise the country. It sent out an agent, who reported that Hokianga, a deep estuary on the west coast, just opposite to Kororarika, and only thirty miles away from it, was a charming place for a settlement. The agent bought a square mile of land from the Maoris and also two little islands in the harbour. The company fitted out a ship the _Rosanna_, and sixty colonists sailed out in her to form the pioneers of the new colony. They landed, and liked the look of the place, but they were timid by reason of the tales they had heard of Maori ferocity. Now at this time the Ngapuhis were at war with the Arawas, and the latter were getting up a war dance, which the settlers were just in time to see. Five or six hundred men stood in four long rows, stamping in time to a chant of their leader. It was night, a fire lit up their quivering limbs and their rolling eyes; they joined in a chorus, and when they came to particular words they hissed like a thousand serpents; they went through the performance of killing their enemies, cutting up their bodies and eating them. The settlers fell into deep meditation and departed. Not half a dozen remained in New Zealand, the others went to Sydney, and so after an expense of £20,000 this association, which had been formed for the kindly purpose of putting people in lands less crowded than their own, failed and was disbanded. #3. Settled Government.#--Between 1825 and 1835 the Maoris of the North Island were in a miserable state. Wars and massacres and cannibal feasts made the country wretched, and though the missionaries were respected they could not secure peace. But they persuaded the chiefs of some of the weaker tribes to appeal to England for protection against the conquering warriors who oppressed and destroyed their people. It was in 1831 that this petition was sent to King William, and about the same time the white men at Kororarika, terrified at the violence with which the Waikato men were ravaging the surrounding lands, asked the Governor at Sydney to interfere. The result was that although the English would not regularly take possession of New Zealand, they chose Mr. Busby, a gentleman well known in New South Wales, to be the Resident there, his business being, so far as possible, to keep order. How he was to keep order without men or force to make his commands obeyed it is hard to see; but he was expected to do whatever could be done by persuasion, and to send for a British war-ship if ever he thought it was needed. The first war-ship that thus came over did more harm than good. Its visit was caused by a disastrous wreck. The whaling barque _Harriet_, under the command of a man named Guard, a low fellow who had formerly been a convict, was trading among the islands when she was wrecked off the coast of Taranaki. The Maoris attacked the stranded ship, but the crew stayed on her and fired into the assailants, and it was not till after quite a siege, in which twelve seamen were killed, that the rest fled from the wreck, leaving Mrs. Guard and her two children in the hands of the Taranaki tribe. Guard and twelve seamen, however, though they escaped for a time were caught by a neighbouring tribe, to whom he promised a cask of gunpowder if they would help him to reach an English ship. This they did, and Guard reached Sydney, where he begged Sir Richard Bourke to send a vessel for the rescue of his wife and children. Bourke sent the _Alligator_, with a company of soldiers, who landed and demanded the captive seamen. These were given up, but the captain of the ship supported Guard in breaking his promise and refusing to give the powder, under the plea that it was a bad thing for natives. The _Alligator_ then went round to Taranaki for the woman and children. The chief of the tribe came down to the beach and said they would be given up for a ransom. The white men seized him, dragged him into their boat to be a hostage, but he jumped out of the boat and was speared with bayonets. He was taken to the ship nearly dead. Then the natives gave up the woman and one child in return for their chief. After some parley a native came down to the beach with the other child on his shoulders. He said he would give it up if a proper ransom was paid. The English said they would give no ransom, and when the man turned to go away again, they shot him through the back, quite dead. The child was recovered, but Mrs. Guard and the children testified that this native had been a good friend to them when in captivity. Nevertheless, his head was cut off and tumbled about on the beach. The _Alligator_ then bombarded the native pah, destroyed all its houses to the number of 200, with all the provisions they contained, killing from twenty to thirty men in the process. This scarcely agreed with the letter which Mr. Busby had just received, in which he was directed to express to the Maori chiefs the regret which the King of England felt at the injuries committed by white men against Maoris. #4. Captain Hobson.#--But there were many difficulties in securing justice between fickle savages and white men who were in general so ruffianly as those who then dwelt in New Zealand. The atrocities of the _Harriet_ episode did some good, however, for along with other circumstances they stirred up the English Government to make some inquiries into the manner in which Englishmen treated the natives of uncivilised countries. These inquiries showed much injustice and sometimes wanton cruelty, and when a petition came from the respectable people of Kororarika, asking that some check should be put upon the licence of the low white men who frequented that port, the English Government resolved to annex New Zealand if the Maoris were willing to be received into the British Empire. For that purpose they chose Captain Hobson, a worthy and upright sea-captain, who in his ship of war, the _Rattlesnake_, had seen much of Australia and New Zealand. It was he who had taken Sir Richard Bourke to Port Phillip in 1837, and Hobson's Bay was named in his honour. After that he had been sent by Bourke to the Bay of Islands to inquire into the condition of things there, and when he had gone home to England he had given evidence as to the disorder which prevailed in New Zealand. He was sent in a war-ship, the _Druid_, with instructions to keep the white men in order, and to ask the natives if they would like to become subjects of Queen Victoria and live under her protection. If they agreed to do so, he was to form New Zealand into an English colony and he was to be its Lieutenant-Governor under the general control of the Governor of New South Wales. Hobson reached Sydney at the end of 1839 and conferred with Governor Gipps, who helped him to draw up proclamations and regulations for the work to be done. On leaving Sydney, Hobson took with him a treasurer and a collector of customs for the new colony, a sergeant of police and four mounted troopers of the New South Wales force, together with a police magistrate to try offenders, and two clerks to assist in the work of government. It was the 29th of January, 1840, when he landed at the Bay of Islands. Next day, on the beach, he read several proclamations, one of which asserted that all British subjects, even though resident in New Zealand, were still bound to obey British laws; and another declared that as white men were tricking the Maoris into selling vast tracts of land for goods of little value, all such bargains made after that date would be illegal, while all made before that date would be inquired into before being allowed. It was declared that if the Maoris in future wished to sell their land the Governor would buy it and pay a fair price for it. All white men who wished for land could then buy from the Governor. Three days later the respectable white men of Kororarika waited on Captain Hobson to congratulate him on his arrival and to promise him their obedience and assistance. #5. Treaty of Waitangi.#--Meantime Hobson had asked the missionaries to send word round to all the neighbouring chiefs that he would like to see them, and on the 5th of February, 1840, a famous meeting took place on the shore of the Bay of Islands near the mouth of the pretty river Waitangi. There on a little platform on a chair of state sat the new Governor, with the officers of the ship in their uniform, and a guard of mariners and sailors; while beside the platform stood the leading white men of Kororarika. Flags fluttered all round the spot. At noon, when Hobson took his seat, there were over five hundred Maoris, of whom fifty were chiefs, in front of the platform. Then one of the missionaries rose and in the Maori tongue explained what the Queen of England proposed. First, that the Maoris, of their own accord, should allow their country to be joined to the British Empire. Second, that the Queen would protect them in their right to their land and all their property, and see that no white men interfered with them in it, but that if they chose to sell any of their land, then the Governor would buy it from them. Third, that the Queen would extend to the Maoris, if they so desired, all the rights and privileges of British subjects and the protection of British law. When these proposals had been fully explained the Maoris were asked to say what they thought of them. Twenty-six chiefs spoke in favour of accepting, and so bringing about peace and order in the land. Six spoke against them, declaring that thus would the Maoris be made slaves. The natives seemed very undecided, when Waka Nene arose and in an eloquent address showed the miseries of the land now that fire-arms had been introduced, and begged his countrymen to place themselves under the rule of a queen who was able and willing to make the country quiet and happy. The Maoris were greatly excited, and Hobson therefore gave them a day to think over the matter. There was much discussion all night long among the neighbouring pahs and villages; but the next day when the Maoris gathered, forty-six chiefs put their marks to the parchment now always known as the treaty of Waitangi. This treaty was taken by missionaries and officers from tribe to tribe, and in the course of two or three months over five hundred chiefs had signed it. On the 21st May, Hobson proclaimed that the islands of New Zealand were duly added to the British Empire, and that he would assume the rule of the new colony as Lieutenant-Governor. Meantime houses had been built at Kororarika for the Governor and his officers; a custom-house had been set up, and taxes were levied on all goods landed, so as to provide a revenue with which to pay these and other Government expenses. #6. Auckland.#--But the people at Kororarika had bought from the natives all the level land in the place, and thinking their town would soon be a great city, and the capital of an important colony, they would not sell it except at very high prices. Now Captain Hobson had seen at the head of the Hauraki Gulf a place which seemed to him to be more suitable for the capital of the future colony. To this lovely spot he changed his residence. He bought from the natives about thirty thousand acres, and on an arm of the gulf, where the Waitemata harbour spreads its shining waters, he caused a town to be surveyed and streets to be laid out. In April, 1841, after he had reserved sufficient land for Government offices, parks and other public purposes, he caused the rest to be offered in allotments for sale by auction. There was a general belief that now, when the islands were formally annexed to the British Empire, New Zealand would be a most prosperous colony, and that land in its capital would go up rapidly in value. Many speculators came over from Sydney. The bidding was brisk, and the allotments were sold at the rate of about six hundred pounds per acre. A few months later a sale was held of lands in the suburbs and of farming lands a little way out from the town. This was again successful. Houses began to spring up, most of them slender in structure, but with a few of solid appearance. Next year ships arrived from England with 560 immigrants, who rapidly settled on the land, and before long a thriving colony was formed. The little town was very pretty, with green hills behind the branching harbour that lay in front, dotted with volcanic islets. The whole district was green; and the figures of Maoris in the grassy streets, their canoes bringing in vegetables to market, their pahs seen far off on the neighbouring hills, gave the scene a charming touch of the romantic. A company of six soldiers with four officers came from Sydney to defend the settlers, and barracks were built for them. The name chosen for the city was Auckland, after a gentleman named Eden, who had taken for half a century a deep interest in colonising experiments, and who had been raised to the peerage with the title of Lord Auckland. [Illustration: AUCKLAND FROM THE WHARF.] #7. New Zealand Company.#--Meantime another part of New Zealand had been colonised under very different circumstances. The English association, which in 1825 attempted to form a settlement at Hokianga and failed, had consisted of very influential men. They had not given up their plans altogether, and in 1837 they formed a new association called the New Zealand Company. That restless theorist Edward Gibbon Wakefield, who had already sent out the settlers who had just founded Adelaide, joined this association, and impressed the members with his own idea already described on page 67. It was arranged that a colony should be sent out to New Zealand on the plan of a complete little community. There were to be gentlemen and clergymen and teachers; so many farmers, so many carpenters, so many blacksmiths; every trade was to be represented so that everybody would have something to do, and there would be none too many of any one kind. A bill was brought before Parliament for the purpose of establishing a colony after this fashion, and at first Parliament was inclined to favour the bill. But the missionaries in New Zealand were hostile to the proposal. They were steadily converting the Maoris to Christianity. They hoped to turn them into quiet, industrious and prosperous people, if white men did not come and take away their land from them. Parliament, therefore, refused to pass the bill. But the company had gone too far to retreat. It had already arranged with many settlers to take them and their families out to New Zealand, and had begun to sell land at so much an acre, nobody knew where except that it was to be in New Zealand. They therefore quietly purchased and fitted out a vessel named the _Tory_ to go to New Zealand and make arrangements. The party was under the charge of Colonel Wakefield, brother of Edward Gibbon Wakefield; and he took with him surveyors to lay out the land, farming experts to judge of the soil, and a scientific man to report on the natural products. This vessel sailed away quietly in May, 1839, hoping to reach New Zealand unnoticed. The English Government heard of it however, informed the company that its action was illegal, and immediately afterwards sent off Captain Hobson in the _Druid_, as has been already described, to take possession on behalf of the British nation. The New Zealand Company then apologised; said that they would direct their agents who had gone out to New Zealand to obey the Governor in all things, and promised that the new settlement should abide by the law. #8. Wellington.#--Meantime the _Tory_ was ploughing the deep on her way to New Zealand. Her passengers first saw the new country on the west coast of the South Island. They were then very much disappointed, for the shore was high and wild, the mountains were close behind it, and their lofty sides were gloomy and savage. The whole scene was grand, but did not promise much land that would be suitable for farming. They turned into Cook Strait, and anchored in Queen Charlotte Sound, a lovely harbour, but surrounded by high hills clothed in dark and heavy forests. When they landed, they were amazed at the depth and richness of the black soil and the immense size to which the trees grew. Such a soil could grow all sorts of produce in rich abundance, but it would cost forty pounds an acre to clear it for ploughing. Boats were got out, however, and parties rowed up into all the branches of the beautiful harbour, but without seeing any sufficient extent of level or open land. Then they crossed the strait, and sailing in by a narrow entrance, viewed all the wide expanse of Port Nicholson. It was a great harbour with a little wooded island in its middle; it opened out into quiet arms all fringed with shelly beaches, and behind these rose range after range of majestic mountains. The trouble was that here too the land which was fairly level was too limited in extent to satisfy the colony's needs; for already in England the company had sold 100,000 acres of farming land, and the purchasers would soon be on their way to occupy it. After examining the shores with care they chose the beach of the east side as the site for their town. Behind it stretched the beautiful valley of the Hutt River, enclosed by mountains, but with broad grassy meadows lying between. Here they started to build a town which they called Britannia, and they made friends with the Maoris of the district. A Pakeha Maori named Barrett acted as interpreter. The natives went on board the _Tory_, were shown 239 muskets, 300 blankets, 160 tomahawks and axes, 276 shirts, together with a quantity of looking-glasses, scissors, razors, jackets, pots, and scores of other things, with eighty-one kegs of gunpowder, two casks of cartridges and more than a ton of tobacco. They were asked if they would sell all the land that could be seen from the ship in return for these things. They agreed, signed some papers and took the goods on shore, where they at once began to use the muskets in a grand fight among themselves for the division of the property. It was soon discovered that the site of the town was too much exposed to westerly gales, and the majority of the settlers crossed Port Nicholson to a narrow strip of grassy land between a pretty beach and some steep hills. Here was founded the town called Wellington, after the famous duke. By this time the settlers were arriving thick and fast. The first came in the _Aurora_, which reached the settlement on 22nd January, 1840; other ships came at short intervals, till there were twelve at anchor in Port Nicholson. The settlers were pleased with the country; they landed in good spirits and set to work to make themselves houses. All was activity--surveyors, carpenters, bricklayers, blacksmiths, every one busy, and rapidly a smart little town of some hundred houses rose behind the beach. The Maoris came and helped in the work, getting three or four shillings a day for their services, and proving themselves very handy in many ways. All were in sanguine spirits, when word came from Governor Hobson at Auckland that, in accordance with his proclamation, all purchases of land from the natives were illegal, he having come to protect the Maoris from imposition. #9. The Land Question.#--Now Colonel Wakefield had fancied that he had bought 20,000,000 acres for less than £9,000 worth of goods, and he was assigning it as fast as he could to people who had paid £1 an acre to the company in England. Here was a sad fix. The Governor sent down his chief officer, Mr. Shortland, who rode across the island with the mounted police, and told the settlers not to fancy the land theirs, as he would ere long have to turn them off. Disputes arose, for it seemed absurd that fifty-eight Maori chiefs should sell the land on which many thousands of people dwelt, the majority of these people never having so much as heard of the bargain. The settlers talked of starting for South America and forming a colony in Chili, but more kept on coming, so that they had not ships enough to take them across. And, besides, they had paid a pound an acre to the company and demanded their land. Colonel Wakefield went off to Auckland to talk the matter over with Governor Hobson, who left the difficulty to be settled by his superior, Governor Gipps, at Sydney. Wakefield then went to Sydney to see Governor Gipps, who said that the whole thing was irregular, but that he would allow the settlers to occupy the land, supposing that every Maori who had a proper claim to any part of it got due compensation, and if twenty acres of the central part of Wellington were reserved for public buildings. These conditions Wakefield agreed to, and, very glad to have got out of a serious difficulty, he returned with the good tidings. Shortly afterwards Governor Hobson himself visited Wellington, but was very coldly received by the settlers there. In the next two years 350 ships arrived at Wellington, bringing out over 4,000 settlers. Of these about 1,000 went up into the valleys and made farms; but 3,000 stayed in and around Wellington, which then grew to be a substantial little town, with four good piers, about 200 houses of wood or brick and about 250 houses of more slender construction. More than 200 Maoris could be seen in its streets clad in the European clothes given as payment for the land. In all there were about 700 Maoris in the district, and for their use the company set apart 11,000 acres of farm lands, and 110 acres in the town. Roads were being made into the fertile valleys, where eight or ten thousand acres were occupied as farms and being rapidly cleared and tilled. Parties were organised to go exploring across the mountains. They brought back word that inland the soil was splendid, sometimes covered with forests, sometimes with meadows of long grass or New Zealand flax, but always watered by beautiful rivers and under a lovely climate. The Maoris were everywhere friendly throughout their journey. #10. Taranaki.#--In the beginning of the year 1840, an emigration society had been formed in the south-west of England to enable the farm labourers and miners of Cornwall, Devon, and Dorset to settle in less crowded lands. The Earl of Devon was its president, and Plymouth its headquarters. They chose New Zealand for the site of their colony, and understanding that the New Zealand Company had bought half of the North Island they gave that company £10,000 for the right to select 60,000 acres of it. It was in March, 1841, that the pioneers of this new colony arrived at Wellington under the guidance of Mr. Carrington, a surveyor in the ship _William Bryant_. The exploring party had just come back, and its report of the Taranaki land was very tempting. Immediately after receiving that report Colonel Wakefield had gone off to purchase it. He found a few natives left there, the remnant of the tribes whom Te Whero Whero had either destroyed or carried into slavery. These few people had taken refuge up in the awful solitudes of the giant Mount Egmont, but had come back to dwell, a sorrow-stricken handful, in the homes of their fathers. Barrett was left to arrange a bargain with them, and in return for a quantity of goods they sold all the land along sixty miles of coast with a depth of fifteen miles inland. This was the land which Wakefield recommended for the new settlers, and he lent them a ship to take them round. There they landed, and in spite of their disappointment at the want of a safe harbour, they set to work and built up their little town, which they called New Plymouth. In September of the same year the main body of settlers arrived for this new colony, and were landed at Taranaki, when they immediately scattered out over the country, as fast as Carrington could survey it for them. But there was now a difficulty. For Te Whero Whero and his tribe had released many hundreds of the Taranaki natives who had been carried off as slaves. Whether it was because they had now become Christians or because the slaves were more in number than they could use, it was not easy to determine; but at any rate, in that very month of September when hundreds of white men were arriving to occupy the land, hundreds of Maoris were coming back to re-occupy it. They begged the settlers not to fell their big trees, but were very mild in their conduct. They chose places not yet claimed by the white men, and there fenced in the land on which to grow their sweet potatoes. Meanwhile there was another complication. By Maori custom a warrior had the ownership of the lands he conquered. Governor Hobson therefore regarded Te Whero Whero as the owner of the Taranaki land, and gave him £400 for his right to it. Hobson declared that the Auckland Government was the owner of this land, and that all settlers must buy it from him. Eventually the trouble was cleared up for the time being, when Hobson allowed the company to keep ten miles of coast running back five or six miles, the rest to belong to the Government, which would set aside a certain part for the use of the Maoris. In December, 1842, a settler claimed a piece of land which a Maori had fenced in; he pulled down the fence; the Maoris put it up again. The settler assisted by an officer pulled it down once more. A young chief who brandished a tomahawk and threatened mischief was arrested, and carried into New Plymouth where a magistrate liberated him, and declared the action of the settler illegal. Matters for a time kept in this unfriendly state, ominously hinting the desperate war that was to follow. #11. Wanganui.#--Meanwhile the settlers in the Wellington district were finding that by crossing difficult mountains they could get sufficient level land for their purpose, and at the close of 1840 two hundred of them sailed 150 miles north to where the river Wanganui falls into Cook Strait. The land was rich and the district beautiful. Colonel Wakefield supposed that he had bought the whole of it, though the natives afterwards proved that they sold only a part on the north side of the river. Here, about four miles from the mouth of the stream, the settlers formed a little town which they called Petre, but which is now known as Wanganui. The natives were numerous; on the river banks their villages were frequent, and up on the hills, that rose all around like an amphitheatre, the palisades of their fortified pahs were easily visible. But the fine black soil of the district, in places grassy, in places with patches of fine timber, proved very attractive to the settlers, and soon there came half a dozen ships with more colonists direct from England. The natives were friendly to white men, and gave them a cordial welcome. Down the river came their canoes laden with pigs, potatoes, melons, and gourds for sale in the market of the little town. All was good-will until the Maoris found that the white men had come not merely to settle among them, but to appropriate all the best of the land. Then their tempers grew sour and the prospect steadily grew more unpleasant. #12. Nelson.#--The emigration spirit was at this time strong in England; for it was in the year 1840 to 1841 that free settlers chiefly colonised both Victoria and South Australia. New Zealand was as much a favourite as any, and when the New Zealand Company proposed in 1841 to form a new colony somewhere in that country to be called Nelson, nearly 100,000 acres were sold at thirty shillings an acre to men who did not know even in which island of New Zealand the land was to be situated. In April of the same year the pioneers of the new settlement started in the ships _Whitby_ and _Will Watch_, with about eighty settlers, their wives, families and servants. Captain Arthur Wakefield was the leader, and he took the ships to Wellington, where they waited while he went out to search for a suitable site. He chose a place at the head of Tasman Bay, where, in a green hollow fringed by a beautiful beach and embosomed deep in majestic hills, the settlers soon gathered in the pretty little town of Nelson. The soil was black earth resting on great boulders; out of it grew low bushes easily cleared away, and here and there stood a few clumps of trees to give a grateful shade. The place was shut in by the hills so as to be completely sheltered from the boisterous gales of Cook Strait, and altogether it was a place of dreamy loveliness. Its possession was claimed by Rauparaha, the warrior, on the ground of conquest. With him and other chiefs the settlers had a conference, the result of which was that a certain specified area round the head of the bay was purchased. But the white men regarded themselves as having the right of superior beings to go where they wished and do with the land what they wished. Finding a seam of good coal at a place outside their purchase they did not in any way scruple to send a vessel to carry it off, in spite of the protests of the Maoris. #13. Death of Governor Hobson.#--These things hinted at troubles which were to come, but in 1842 all things looked promising for the colonies of New Zealand. There were altogether about 12,000 white persons, most of them being men who wore blue shirts and lived on pork and potatoes. Auckland the capital had 3,000 but, Wellington was the largest town with 4,000 people. Next to that came Nelson with 2,500; New Plymouth and Wanganui were much smaller but yet thriving places. They had no less than nine newspapers, most of them little primitive sheets, but wonderful in communities so young. In October, 1841, Dr. George Selwyn was appointed to be Bishop of New Zealand; and he left England with a number of clergymen who settled in Auckland, Wellington, Nelson, and New Plymouth. Churches began to spring up, and schools not only for white children, but also for Maoris. An immense change for the better had appeared among the Maoris. The last case of cannibalism took place about this time; and though they still fought among one another, it was not with the same awful bloodshed that had characterised the previous twenty years. On the 16th November, 1840, the Queen declared New Zealand an independent colony. Hobson was then no longer Lieutenant-Governor merely, and subject to the Governor at Sydney. He was Governor Hobson, and of equal rank with all the other Governors. He now had a Legislative Council to assist him in making for New Zealand such laws as might be needed in her peculiar circumstances. In that council the Chief Justice, the Colonial Secretary, the Surveyor-General, the Attorney-General and the Protector of the Maoris had seats. But Hobson did not long enjoy his new dignity. He had had a difficult task to perform, and his duty had led him into conflict with many people who wished to purchase their land from the natives at ridiculous prices. In the midst of his worries he had several strokes of paralysis, of which the last killed him in September, 1842; and he was buried in the cemetery at Auckland. He had lived, however, to see New Zealand colonised, and had died much liked by the Maoris, without seeing any of that bitter struggle between the two races which was soon to shed so much blood and waste so much treasure. CHAPTER XXV. WHITE MEN AND MAORIS. #1. Govenor Fitzroy.#--When Governor Hobson died, his place was taken by his friend Lieutenant Shortland until a new Governor could be sent out. The English people were at this time very anxious to see that the natives of new lands which they colonised should be fairly treated, and for that purpose they chose Captain Fitzroy to be the new Governor. Up to this time he had been the captain of a ship and had made himself famous in surveying and mapping little known shores in his ship the _Beagle_, in which he had visited New Zealand on a trip round the world, and he was therefore called to give evidence as to its condition before the Committee of the House of Lords in 1838. He was well known to have shown much consideration to native tribes, and his strong wish to deal justly by them had often been shown. This was the main reason for his appointment. He landed in November, 1843, and found the colony in a state of great depression, the public treasury being not only empty but in debt. For many officials had been appointed, judges, magistrates, policemen, customs receivers and so on; and to pay the salaries of these every one had relied on the continued sale of land. But in 1841 there had come out the first Land Commissioner, William Spain, who began to inquire into the disputes about land which had arisen between white men and Maoris. Out of every ten acres the white men said they had bought he allowed them to keep only one. This was but fair to the Maoris, who had been induced very often to make most foolish bargains; but the settlers ceased to buy land when they were not certain of keeping it. Hence the land sales stopped; the Governor owed £20,000 more than he could pay, and so he was confronted with troubles from his very first arrival. #2. Wairau Massacre.#--Just before he came an incident had happened which deepened the trouble of the colony. At the north of the South Island, not far from Nelson, there was a fine valley watered by the stream Wairau, which Colonel Wakefield claimed, alleging that it was part of the land he had bought with the Nelson district. Rauparaha and his son-in-law, Rangihaeata, claimed it by right of conquest, and they had a couple of hundred stout warriors at their back, all well armed with muskets. Mr. Spain sent word that he was coming to settle the dispute, but, in spite of that, Captain Wakefield sent surveyors to measure out the land for occupation by the settlers. The surveyors were turned off by Rauparaha, who carried their instruments and other property carefully off the land and then burnt the huts they had put up. The Maoris did no violence, and were courteous though determined. The surveyors returned to Nelson, and Captain Wakefield induced the local magistrates to issue a warrant for the arrest of Rauparaha and Rangihaeata. To execute this warrant Mr. Thompson, the police magistrate, himself went in a small vessel, and with him went Captain Wakefield, seven other gentlemen, and forty labourers, in all a party of forty-nine, of whom thirty-five were armed with guns. When they landed at the mouth of the Wairau River, Piraha, a Christian native, met them and begged them not to go on, as Rauparaha was ready to fight, but they paid no attention, and after marching eight miles up the pretty valley they saw the Maoris about 100 in number standing behind the stream, which though only waist-deep had a rushing current of chilly water. Rauparaha said: "Here am I. What do you want with me?" Mr. Thompson said he must go to Nelson; and an irritating conversation ensued. Rangihaeata drew up his tall form, his curly black hair setting off a face of eagle sharpness, and from his eye there gleamed an angry light. Behind him stood his wife, the daughter of Rauparaha, and near them this latter chief himself, short and broad, but strong and wiry-looking, a man with a cunning face, yet much dignity of manner. When the handcuffs were produced by Mr. Thompson, Rauparaha warned him not to be so foolish. The magistrates gave the order to fix bayonets and advance; as the white men were crossing the stream a shot was fired by one of them. It struck dead the wife of Rangihaeata. Thereupon the Maoris fired a volley and the white men hesitated on the brink of the water; a second volley and a third told upon them with deadly effect, and the labourers, who carried arms but had neither martial spirit nor experience, turned and fled. Five of the gentlemen with four of the labourers stood their ground, and when the Maoris crossed they surrendered. Rauparaha called out to spare them; but Rangihaeata, mad at the loss of a wife he loved, brained them with his tomahawk one after another, while the young men hunted the labourers through the trees and slew such as they overtook. Twenty-seven white men reached the shore and were carried quickly in the boats to the brig, five of them badly wounded. Twenty-two lay dead alongside of five natives whom the white men had slain. Rauparaha feared the vengeance of the white man. He had few resources in the South Island, while the Nelson settlers could send 500 armed men against him. He crossed in his own war canoes, over a stormy strait in wild weather; weary and wet with spray, he landed in the south of the North Island, roused his countrymen by his fervid oratory, to which he gave a fine effect by jingling before them the handcuff's with which he was to have been led a prisoner to Nelson. A day or two after the massacre, a Wesleyan clergyman went out from Nelson to Wairau and reverently buried those ghastly bodies with the cloven skulls. Not one had been mangled, far less had there been any cannibalism. #3. Effects of Wairau Massacre.#--The Maoris were clearly less ferocious than they had been, and more than half of them had become fervid Christians after a fashion, but in some respects they were getting their eyes opened. The missionaries had told them that the white men were coming for their benefit; yet now they began to see that the white men were soon to be the lords of the soil, and that the natives must sink back into the position of servants. If a white man visited a Maori village he was received as a man of distinction and entertained. If a Maori chief went to a white man's town, he was allowed to wander in the street; or if at all accosted it was with the condescension of a superior race to a race of servants. The Maori blood was firing up. The story of Wairau made them change their mind about the white man's courage. The whalers had been hearts of daring; these new-comers had run and bawled for their lives. The natives were anxious also as to the result which would happen when all the lands near the shore should have been occupied by white men, and they themselves hemmed up in the interior. A special interest was given to these feelings when in 1844 Te Whero Whero gave a great feast, only two miles out of Auckland, partly as a welcome to Governor Fitzroy, and partly as a demonstration in regard to the land question. He displayed a lavish bounty; 11,000 baskets of potatoes and 9,000 sharks, with great stores of other provisions, were distributed. But when the settlers saw a war dance of 1,600 men, all well armed with muskets, and drilled with wonderful precision, they felt that their lives were at the mercy of the native tribes. Not one-fourth of that number of armed men with any training for battle could have been sent forth from the settlement for its own defence. This gave a significance to the Wairau massacre that created quite a panic. Fresh settlers ceased to come; many that were there already now left. Those who had taken up farms far out in the country abandoned them and withdrew to the towns. #4. Honi Heke.#--And yet the great majority of the Maoris seem to have had no unfriendly purpose. When Governor Fitzroy went down to see Rauparaha he had no more than twelve white men with him, when he entered an assemblage of 500 Maoris. He said he had come to inquire about the sad quarrel at Wairau, and Rauparaha told him his story while others supported it by their evidence. Fitzroy stated that the Maoris had been very wrong to kill those who had surrendered, but as the white men had fired first he would take no vengeance for their death. Indeed, at Wellington and Nelson, Fitzroy openly said that the magistrates were wholly misguided in trying to arrest the native chief; and at Nelson he rebuked all those who had been concerned in the affair. This gave great offence to the white men. They asked if the blood of their friends and relatives was thus to be shed and no sort of penalty to be exacted for the slaughter. Many of the magistrates resigned, and a deep feeling of irritation was shown towards the Governor, some of the settlers petitioning the English Government to recall him. In the August of 1844 a young chief named Honi Heke, who dwelt at the Bay of Islands, on account of a private quarrel with a rough whaler, entered the town of Kororarika with a band of armed followers. He plundered a few shops and cut down a flagstaff on which the Union Jack floated from a steep hill behind the town. There were then not more than ninety soldiers in New Zealand, and when Heke threatened to burn Kororarika, and do the same to Auckland, there was too good reason to fear that he might be as good as his word, for he had 200 well-armed men at his back, and a comrade of his, named Kawiti, had nearly as many. A chief named Waka-Nene with his men kept Heke in check, while Fitzroy sent to Sydney and received 160 soldiers with two cannon. These landed at the Bay of Islands, but Waka-Nene begged the Governor not to hurry into hostilities. He arranged for a friendly meeting. Fitzroy met nine principal chiefs, who apologised and made Heke send also a written apology. Fitzroy said he would redress some wrongs the natives said they suffered, and having obtained from Heke ten muskets by way of fine and having again set up the flagstaff he returned to Auckland. But before the year was ended Heke approached the town once more with 100 armed men. He insulted it from the hills, cut down the flagstaff again, and then withdrew to the forests. Fitzroy published a proclamation offering £100 for his capture, and Heke replied by offering £100 for the head of Fitzroy. The Governor now caused a new flagstaff to be set up, all sheathed with iron at the bottom, and with a strong wooden house attached to it, in which a score of soldiers were always to keep guard. A block-house or small wooden fortress was set up at a little distance down the hill towards Kororarika. Nevertheless, Heke said he would come and cut down the flagstaff again. Then the inhabitants of Kororarika began to drill in order to give him a warm reception if he came. Lieutenant Philpott, the commander of the _Hazard_ ship of war, came ashore to drill them, and to mount one or two cannon. Yet Heke, lurking among the hills, contrived by a sudden dash to capture Lieutenant Philpott. However, after dealing courteously with him, he released him. #5. Kororarika Burnt.#--On 11th March, 1845, at daylight, Heke with 200 men crept up to the flagstaff, surprised the men in the house attached, and when twenty men came out of the lower block-house to help their friends on the top of the hill, he attacked them and drove them down to the town in the hollow beside the shore. Close to the beach was a little hill, and on the top of this hill stood a house with a garden surrounded by a high fence. Behind this the soldiers and all the people of Kororarika took refuge. From the rocky high ground round about the Maoris fired down upon them, while the white men fired back, and the guns of the _Hazard_, which had come close in to the shore, kept up a constant roar. For three hours this lasted, ten white men being killed as well as a poor little child, while thirty-four of the natives were shot dead. The Maoris were preparing to retreat when, by some accident, the whole of the powder that the white men possessed was exploded. Then they had to save themselves. The women and children were carried out boat after boat to the three ships in the harbour. Then the men went off, and the Maoris, greatly surprised, crept cautiously down into the deserted town. They danced their war dance; sent off to their parents in the ships some white children who had been left behind, and then set fire to the town, destroying property to the value of £50,000. Heke's fame now spread among the Maoris. When the settlers from Kororarika were landed at Auckland, homeless, desperate, and haggard, a panic set in, and some settlers sold their houses and land for a trifle, and departed. Others with more spirit enrolled themselves as volunteers. Three hundred men were armed and drilled. Fortifications were thrown up round the town, and sentries posted on all the roads leading to it. At Wellington and Nelson also men were drilled and stockades were built for defence. #6. First Maori War.#--But Honi Heke was afraid of the soldiers, and when Colonel Hulme arrived from Sydney with several companies he withdrew to a strong pah of his, eighteen miles inland. Hulme landed at the nearest point of the coast, with a force of 400 men; these were joined by 400 friendly allies under Waka-Nene, whose wife led the tribe in a diabolic war dance, not a little startling to the British soldiers. The road that was to lead them to Honi Heke was only a track through a dense forest. Carts could not be taken, but each man carried biscuits for five days and thirty rounds of ammunition. Under four days of heavy rain they trudged along in the dripping pathway, all their biscuits wet and much of their powder ruined. At last on a little plain, between a lake and a wooded hill, they saw before them the pah of Honi Heke. Two great rows of tree trunks stuck upright formed a palisade round it. They were more than a foot thick, and twelve feet high, and they were so close that only a gun could be thrust between them. Behind these there was a ditch in which stood 250 Maoris, who could shoot through the palisades in security. The British slept that night without tents round fires of kauri gum, but next morning all was astir for the attack. A rocket was sent whizzing over the palisades. It fell and burst among the Maoris, frightening them greatly, but succeeding discharges were failures, and the Maoris gathered courage to such an extent that a number under Kawiti came out to fight. The soldiers lowered their bayonets and charged, driving them back into the pah. During the night while the white men were smoking round their fires, the sound of the plaintive evening hymn rising in the still air from the pah suggested how strong was the hold that the new faith now had on the Maori mind. Next day Colonel Hulme, seeing that a place defended on all sides by such a strong palisade could not be captured without artillery, dug the graves of the fourteen soldiers killed, and marched back carrying with him thirty-nine wounded men. [Illustration: STRONGHOLD OF THE MAORIS AT RANGIRIRI.] There was dismay in Auckland when this news arrived. What could be said when 400 English soldiers retreated from 250 savages? But, on the other hand, the Maoris had learnt a lesson. They could not fight against English bayonets in the open, but while taking aim from behind palisades they were safe. Therefore they began in different places to strengthen their fortresses, and Honi Heke added new defences to his pah of Oheawai, which stood in the forest nineteen miles from the coast. #7. Oheawai.#--More soldiers were sent from Sydney, and with them, to take the chief command, Colonel Despard, who had seen much fighting against hill tribes in India. He landed 630 men and six cannons; but these latter, being ship's cannons on wooden carriages with small wheels, stuck in the boggy forest roads. The men had to pull the guns, and they were assisted by 250 friendly Maoris. On the evening of 22nd June, 1845, they spread out before the pah during the gathering dusk. It was a strong place. In the midst of a deep and gloomy forest, a square had been cleared about a third of a mile in length and in breadth. Great trunks of trees had been set up in the earth, and they stood fifteen feet high; between their great stems, a foot or eighteen inches thick, there was just room enough left for firing a musket. Three rows of these gigantic palings, with a ditch five feet deep between the inner ones, made the fortress most dangerous to assault; and in the ground within hollows had been dug where men could sleep secure from shells and rockets. Two hundred and fifty warriors were there with plenty of muskets and powder. On the second morning the British had got their guns planted within a hundred yards of the palisade, but the small balls they threw did little harm to such huge timber. The whole expedition would have had to retire had not a heavier gun come up. This threw shot thirty-two pounds in weight, and after twenty-six of these had struck the same place, a breach was seen of a yard or two in width. Colonel Despard ordered 200 men with ropes and hatchets and ladders to be ready for an assault at daybreak. In the still dawn of a wintry morning, the bugles rang out and the brave fellows gathered for the deadly duty. They rushed at the breach, and for ten minutes a wild scene ensued. The place was very narrow, and it was blocked by resolute Maoris, who shot down exactly half of the attacking party. Many of the soldiers forced their way through, but only to find a second and then a third palisade in front of them. Then they returned, losing men as they fled, and the whole British force fell back a little way into the forest. That night the groans and cries of the wounded, lying just outside the pah, were mingled with the wild shouts of the war dance within. Two days later the Maoris hoisted a flag of truce, and offered to let the white men carry off the dead and wounded. Thirty-four bodies lay at the fatal breach, and sixty-six men were found to have been wounded. A week later another load of cannon balls for the heavy gun was brought up, and the palisades were further broken down. A second assault would have been made, but during the night the Maoris tied up their dogs, and quietly dropping over the palisades at the rear of the pah, got far away into the forest before their retreat was known, for the howling of the dogs all night within the pah kept the officers from suspecting that the Maoris were escaping. The British destroyed the palisades, and carried off the stores of potatoes and other provisions which they found inside. [Illustration: SIR GEORGE GREY.] #8. Governor Grey.#--Fitzroy was preparing to chase Heke and Kawiti into their fastnesses, when he was recalled. The English Government thought he had not acted wisely in some ways and they blamed him for disobeying their instructions. They had more faith in that young officer, George Grey, who, after exploring in Western Australia, was now the Governor of South Australia. He arrived in November, 1845, to take charge of New Zealand; and at once went to Kororarika, where he found 700 soldiers waiting for orders. But he did not wish for fighting, if it could be avoided. He sent out a proclamation that Maoris who wished peace were to send in their submission by a certain day. If they did, he would see that the treaty of Waitangi was kept, and that justice was done to them. Honi Heke sent two letters, but neither of them was satisfactory; and as more than a year passed without any signs of his submitting, Colonel Despard was directed to go after him. Heke was at a pah called Ikorangi; but Kawiti had 500 Maoris at a nearer pah called Ruapekapeka. #9. Ruapekapeka.#--Despard took his men sixteen miles in boats up a river; then nine miles through the forest, and on the 31st December he had 1,173 soldiers with 450 friendly natives in a camp 800 yards from the pah. It was like the other pahs, but bigger and stronger, for behind the palisades there were earthen walls into which cannon balls would only plunge without doing any harm. Three heavy guns, however, were mounted, and when the Maoris sent up their flag, the first shot was so well aimed as to bring its flagstaff down amid the ringing cheers of the white men. All New Year's Day was spent in pouring in cannon balls by the hundred, but they did little harm. Next day the Maoris made a sally, but were driven back with the bayonet. Meantime, Heke came in one night with men to help his friend, and heavy firing on both sides was kept up for a week, after which two small breaches appeared near one of the corners of the palisades. The next day was Sunday, which the Maoris thought would be observed as a day of rest, but the soldiers, creeping cautiously up, pushed their way through the breaches; a number of the Maoris ran to arms and fired a volley or two, but before the main body could do anything several hundred soldiers were in the place. A stout fight took place, during which thirteen white men were killed. The Maoris, now no longer under cover, were no match for the soldiers, and they fled, leaving behind them all the provisions that were to have kept them for a whole season. This discouraged them, and Heke and Kawiti saw their men scatter out and join themselves to the quieter tribes for the sake of food. They therefore wrote to Grey asking peace, and promising to give no further trouble. Grey agreed, but left 200 soldiers at Kororarika in order to keep the Maoris of the district in check. #10. Rauparaha.#--During the eighteen months while Heke's war was going on, troubles had been brewing at Wellington, where Rauparaha and Rangihaeata kept up an agitation. The latter declared his enmity; he plundered and sometimes killed the settlers; and when soldiers were sent round to keep him in order he surprised and killed some of them. But Rauparaha pretended to be friendly, though the Governor well knew he was the ringleader in the mischief. Grey quietly sent a ship, which by night landed 130 soldiers just in front of Rauparaha's house on the shore. They seized him sleeping in bed, and he was carried round to Auckland, where for some months he was kept a prisoner, though allowed to go about. Rangihaeata fled into the wildly wooded mountain ranges of the interior. Once or twice he made a stand, but was driven from his rocky positions, with the slaughter of men on both sides. At last he and his followers scattered out as fugitives into lonely and savage regions into which they could not be followed. Thinking that good roads would do much to keep the country quiet, Grey offered half a crown a day to Maoris who would work at making roads. Quite a crowd gathered to the task, and for a while white men and Maoris toiled happily together, making good carriage roads into the heart of the country. But at Wanganui, in May, 1847, land disputes roused a tribe to bloodshed. They killed a white woman and her four little children; they attacked the town, and when the inhabitants withdrew to a stockade they had made, a fight took place which lasted for five hours, after which the Maoris burnt the town and retreated, carrying off all the cattle. Two months later, Governor Grey reached Wanganui, with 500 men. He chased the Maoris up the valley and fought them, gaining a decisive victory over them with the loss of two white men killed. He gave them no rest till the chiefs applied for peace, and early in the next year a meeting was held, and the principal chiefs of the district promised to obey the Queen's laws. The war had lasted five years, had cost a million pounds, and the lives of eighty-five white men, besides those of perhaps a hundred Maoris. The English Government withdrew the larger part of the soldiers from New Zealand; but the colonists, to make themselves safe, enrolled a body they called the New Zealand Fencibles. They were all old soldiers who had retired from the British army, and who were offered little farms and a small payment. Five hundred came out from England on these terms, and were placed in four settlements round Auckland for the protection of that town. They were really farmers, who were paid to be ready to fight if need should arise. With their wives and children they made a population of 2,000 souls. In this same year Rauparaha was allowed to go home. He was surprised at the permission and grateful for it; but he was an old man and died in the following year. In 1850 Honi Heke died, but Rangihaeata lingered on till 1856, giving no further trouble. Governor Grey dealt fairly with the Maoris. He paid them for their lands. He hung such white men as murdered them. He set up schools to educate their children, and distributed ploughs and carts, harrows and horses, and even mills, so that they might grow and prepare for themselves better and more abundant food than they had ever known before. CHAPTER XXVI. NEW ZEALAND, 1843-1890. #1. Otago.#--Meantime the New Zealand Company had not been idle, and E. G. Wakefield's busy brain was filled with fresh schemes. In 1849 an association had been formed at Glasgow in connection with the Free Church of Scotland, to send Scottish families out to New Zealand. Not knowing anything of the country, the new association asked the help of the New Zealand Company, which was readily given, as the new settlers proposed to buy land from the company. In 1844 an exploring party was sent out, and, after some inquiry, chose a place on the east coast of the South Island, called Otago. With the consent of the Governor 400,000 acres were there bought from the natives, and it seemed as if a new colony would soon be formed. But the news of the Wairau massacre and the unsettled state of the natives frightened intending settlers for a time. It was not till November, 1847, that the _John Wycliff_ and the _Philip Lang_ sailed from Greenock with the first company of settlers. They reached their new home in March, 1848, under the guidance of Captain Cargill, an old soldier, who had been chosen as leader of the new settlement. At the head of a fine harbour, which they called Port Chalmers, they laid the foundations of a town, to which they gave the patriotic name of Dunedin, Gaelic for Edinburgh. It was in a fine district, troubled by few natives, and it steadily grew. Less than a year later, it had 745 inhabitants, who could boast of a good jetty, and a newspaper. The life of pioneers cannot be very easy, but these were of the right sort and prospered, and more would have joined them but for two circumstances. First came the news of the rich gold discoveries in California; and the most adventurous spirits hurried thither. Not only did this keep settlers from coming to New Zealand, but indeed a thousand of those she possessed left her shores for the goldfields. Then in this same year, 1848, a violent earthquake took place, which knocked down £15,000 worth of buildings in Wellington, and killed a man with his two children. [Illustration: KNOX CHURCH, DUNEDIN.] #2. Canterbury.#--Yet these unlucky accidents only delayed the progress of the colony by a year or two, and in the year 1850 a new settlement was formed. Seven years before this, Wakefield had conceived the idea of a settlement in connection with the Church of England. A number of leading men took up the notion, and among them was the famous Archbishop Whately. An association was formed which bought 20,000 acres of the New Zealand Company's land, to be selected later on. The settlers paid a high price for this land, but the greater part of the money so received was to be used for their own benefit, either in bringing out fresh settlers or in building churches and schools. A bishop and schoolmasters were to go out; a nobleman and other men of wealth bought land and prepared to take stock and servants out to the fine free lands of the south. Wakefield had enlisted in the new scheme a gentleman named John Robert Godley, who became very ardent, and under his direction three ships were filled with 600 settlers and their property, and left England on their long voyage to the Antipodes. They reached their destination, the east coast of the South Island, on 16th December, 1850, and gladly felt the soil of a lovely land under their feet. In their enthusiasm they sang the National Anthem, and scattered out to view their new homes. A high and rugged hill prevented their seeing inland till they climbed to its brow, and then they perceived long plains of fertile soil, watered by numerous streams of bright and rapid water. They resolved to found their city on the plains, making only a port upon the sea-shore. Governor Grey and his wife came over from Wellington to welcome them, and they found that much had been done to make them comfortable. Large sheds had been put up in which they could find shelter till they should build their own homes. A pretty spot by a river named the Avon was chosen for the town, which was laid out in a square; and a church and schoolroom were built among the first erections. In keeping with the religious fervour that lay at the basis of the whole undertaking, the town was called Christchurch; while the name of Lyttelton was given to the seaport, a road being made between the two and over the hill. [Illustration: CHRISTCHURCH CATHEDRAL.] During the next year 2,600 settlers arrived. Some of these were young men of birth and fortune, who brought with them everything needed to transplant to New Zealand the luxuries of England. A large proportion of the settlers were labouring men of a superior class, who were brought out as servants at the expense of the wealthy settlers. There was a good deal of disappointment. Many of the labourers crossed over to Australia, where the gold discoveries offered every man a chance of fortune, and where wages were very high. The wealthiest people therefore had to do their own work, and few of them liked it. The result was that many left the settlement and never came back to it. But from Australia came relief. For some of the squatters who had been dislodged by the inroad of diggers to Victoria, hearing of the great grassy plains of Canterbury, with never a tree to be cleared from the natural pasturage, crossed with flocks of sheep, and bought land in the new settlement. In 1853 Canterbury had 5,000 people; it produced £40,000 worth of wool a year, and seventy vessels reached its seaport. For a place in its third year such progress was wonderful. #3. New Zealand Prosperous.#--The natives being at peace, and the price of land being reduced, settlers streamed steadily into New Zealand. In 1853 there were 31,000 white people in the colony, and they had bought from the natives 24,000,000 acres of land. They had a million of sheep, and their exports were over £300,000 in value. The Government was quite solvent again, having a revenue of £140,000 a year. A very large number of farms were by this time in full work, those in the North Island being chiefly used for crops, those in the South Island chiefly for sheep. But the New Zealand Company had disappeared. In 1850 it was a quarter of a million pounds in debt, and it was wound up, leaving its shareholders with heavy losses. An important event in the history of New Zealand occurred on 30th June, 1852, when the English Parliament gave the colony power to make its own laws and manage its own affairs, practically without interference from London. A bill was passed providing that there should be six provinces, each with its own provincial council, consisting of not less than nine persons to be chosen to manage local affairs. There was also to be the General Assembly, consisting of a legislative council, appointed by the Governor, and a House of Representatives consisting of forty members to be chosen by the colonists. The Governor, who was now Sir George Grey, did much to bring these new arrangements into force and to adapt them to the needs of the settlers. Having ruled well for eight years and brought the colony into a prosperous condition, and being required to set in order the affairs of Cape Colony, he left New Zealand on the last day of 1853, much regretted by the Maoris and also by the majority of the colonists. [Illustration: THE MAORI KING.] Colonel Wynyard acted as Governor for the time being, and summoned the first Parliament of New Zealand to meet in May, 1854. He had much difficulty in getting the system of Cabinets of responsible Ministers to work smoothly. The colonists from different provinces had interests which lay in opposite directions, and political matters did not move easily. He was glad when the new Governor, Colonel Gore Browne, arrived in September, 1855. At that time New Zealand had 45,000 white settlers in it, and the discovery next year of rich goldfields in Otago attracted many more, and gave a great impetus to Dunedin. Everything promised a splendid future, when again the Maoris became troublesome. #4. The King Movement.#--The Waikato tribe had always been averse to the selling of their land. They said truly enough that the money the white men gave for it was soon spent, but the land was gone for ever, and the settlers were fencing in 40,000 additional acres every year. They called a meeting on the banks of Lake Taupo to discuss the question. A large number of chiefs were present, and they agreed to form a Land League, all members of which undertook to sell no more land to white men. At this time also a new project was formed. The Maoris felt their weakness whilst divided up into so many tribes. Union would make them strong. They resolved to select one chief to be king of all the Maoris, and for that purpose they chose the redoubted Te Whero Whero, who hoisted the Maori flag. But he was old and inclined to die in peace, and, dying soon afterwards, was succeeded by his son, a young man of no ability. Many of the Maoris held aloof from these leagues; they were of tribes hostile to the Waikatos, or else they were glad to get the white man's money, and felt that they had still plenty of land for their own use. But in the heart of the North Island, some 4,000 or 5,000 Maori warriors nursed a wild project of driving the English out of the country. They gathered muskets and powder; they strengthened their pahs and filled them with potatoes and yams. Governor Browne took no steps to check them, and suffered several thousand muskets to be bought from English ships along the coasts. #5. Taranaki War.#--Meantime a quarrel had been going forward which gave the Maoris a pretext for fighting. In 1859 Governor Browne had visited Taranaki, and announced that if any of the natives had land to sell he was ready to buy it. A Maori offered him 600 acres, proving that he was the owner of the land. The Governor gave him £200 for it; but the chief of the tribe to which this Maori belonged was one of the Land League, and refused to let the land be sold. The Governor after inquiry came to the conclusion that as the rightful owner of the land was willing to sell it, no one else had a claim to interfere. He sent surveyors up to measure the land. They were stopped by the chief. The Governor sent some soldiers to protect the surveyors. The whole of the Taranaki Maoris rose in arms, and swept the few soldiers down to the coast. They then ravaged the whole district, burning houses, crops, and fences; and all the settlers of Taranaki crowded for defence into the town of New Plymouth. Most of them were ruined, and many of them left for other colonies. Governor Browne now sent round from Auckland all the soldiers he had; but, in accordance with their agreement, the Waikato tribes sent warriors to assist the Taranaki tribe. Their Maori king having no great influence, these were placed under the command of Te Waharoa, a Maori chief of much skill and popularity. Many skirmishes took place, in which the natives, through their quickness and subtle plans, inflicted more injury than they received. But General Pratt having arrived from Sydney with fresh soldiers, and prepared to sap the pahs and blow them up, the Maoris became afraid, and Te Waharoa proposed that peace should be made, which was done in May, 1861. #6. Second Maori War.#--Governor Browne then called upon the Waikato tribes, who were then in arms, to make submission and take the oath of obedience to the Queen's laws. Very few did so; and when Sir Duncan Cameron arrived to take the chief command with more troops and big guns, he stated that he would invade the Waikato territory and punish those tribes for their disobedience. But then came news that the English Government, being dissatisfied with the way in which matters were drifting into war, was going to send back Sir George Grey. He arrived in September, 1861, to take the place of Colonel Browne, and after a month or two summoned a great meeting of the Waikatos to hear him speak. They gathered and discussed the land question. Grey said that those who did not wish to sell their land could keep it by the treaty of Waitangi; but that no one must hinder another man from selling what was his own. The land for which Governor Browne had given £200 at Taranaki was still in the occupation of armed Maoris, and it must be given up. Grey reasoned with them, but they were obstinate. Bishop Selwyn went among them and exhorted them to peace, but made no impression. Meanwhile General Cameron set his men at work to make roads, and during the year and a half while the Governor was trying to bring the Maoris to reason, he was making good military highways throughout the North Island. In October, 1862, the Maoris held another great meeting among themselves to discuss their position. They had grown confident, and thought that the Governor's mildness arose from weakness. They resolved to fight. The Governor sent soldiers to take possession of the land at Taranaki. Te Waharoa sent word to the Taranaki Maoris to begin shooting, and he would soon be with them. He was as good as his word, and laid a trap for a body of English soldiers and killed ten of them. The Waikatos sent an embassy to all the other tribes, urging them to join and drive the white men out of the country. Te Waharoa was chosen to command in a grand attack at Auckland, and for that purpose the Maoris in two columns moved stealthily through the forest down the Waikato valley towards the town, threatening to massacre every white man in it. But General Cameron was there in time to meet them. They fell back to a line of rifle pits they had formed, and from that shelter did much damage to the British troops. But at last the Maoris were dislodged and chased with bayonets up the Waikato, losing fifty of their men. They had stronger entrenchments farther up, where a thousand men were encamped with women to cook for them and to make cartridges. So strongly were they posted that Cameron waited for four months whilst guns and supplies were being brought up along the roads, which were now good and well made. By getting round to the side of their camp, and behind it, he made it necessary for them to fall back again, which they did. #7. Rangiriri.#--They now made themselves very secure at a place called Rangiriri, where a narrow road was left between the Waikato River and a boggy lake. This space they had blocked with a fence of thick trees twenty feet high, and with two ditches running across the whole length. In the midst of this strong line they had set up a redoubt, a sort of square fortress, from the walls of which they could fire down upon the attackers in any direction. About 500 Maoris well armed took up their position in this stronghold. Cameron advanced against them with 770 men and two guns, each throwing shot of forty pounds weight. At the same time four gunboats with 500 soldiers were sent up the river to take the Maori position in flank. At half-past four on a July morning the British bugles sounded the attack, and the fight lasted until the darkness of night put an end to it. During that fierce day the British charged again and again, to be met by a murderous fire from behind the palisades and from the walls of the redoubt. Forty-one soldiers had been killed and ninety-one wounded, the line of palisades had been captured, but the Maoris had all gathered safely within the redoubt. During the night the troops were quartered all round so as to prevent them from escaping, and a trench was cut to lead to a mine under the redoubt so that it could be blown up with gunpowder in the morning. The Maoris saw this project and could not prevent it. In the early dawn, after a night spent in war dances and hideous yelling, some of them burst out by the side towards the lake, and rushed past or jumped over the soldiers who were resting there. A heavy fire, poured into them from their rear, killed a great many of them. Seeing this, a large party of the Maoris, and among them Te Waharoa and the Maori king, stayed in the redoubt. But they knew that they were trapped, and next day they surrendered, in all 183 men with a few women. Sixty or seventy of the Maoris had been killed, but several hundreds escaped. [Illustration: RANGIRIRI, FROM THE WAIKATO.] #8. Orakau.#--Meantime General Carey, who was next in command to General Cameron, had been chasing another large body of the Waikato tribe far up the river more than half way to its source in Lake Taupo. It was a wild and mountainous district, and the Maoris were sheltered at Orakau, a pah in a very strong position. Carey spent three days in running a mine under the walls, while his guns and mortars kept up a perfect storm of shot and shell. Then he offered to accept their surrender. They refused to give in. He begged them at least to let the women and children go and they would be allowed to pass out unhurt. They said that men and women would fight for ever and ever. Yet when the mines began to burst, and the guns poured in redoubled showers of death, they found they could hold the place no longer. They formed a column, and made a sudden rush to escape. So quick were they and so favourable the ground, that they would have escaped if the British had not had a body of 300 or 400 cavalry, who rode after them and sabred all who would not surrender. About 200 were killed, and although several hundreds escaped yet they were so dispersed that they made no further stand. They left their pahs, and though a series of skirmishes took place, yet the Waikato rebellion was ended, and Cameron had only to leave a sufficient number of military settlers along the Waikato Valley to make certain that peace and order would be maintained. #9. The Gate Pah.#--There was a tribe at Tauranga, on the Bay of Plenty, with whom Governor Grey was displeased, for they had sent men, guns and food to help the Waikatos, and they showed a warlike disposition. He demanded their submission, and they refused it. He then sent General Cameron with 1,500 soldiers to deal with them. This force found the Tauranga tribe prepared to fight in a strong place called the Gate Pah, built on a ridge with a swamp at each side. They had 500 men in it, all well armed. Cameron had three heavy guns placed in position, and during the night 700 soldiers passed round one of the swamps to get at the rear of the Maoris. In the morning a terrific fire was opened, and for two hours the place was swept by shot and shell, but the Maoris had dug underground shelters for themselves, and were little injured. After that the guns were used to break a hole in the palisades, and at four o'clock there was a sufficient breach to admit an attacking party. Three hundred men were chosen, and put in front of the place. A rocket was sent up as a signal, and the attacking party dashed at the breach. As they entered it, not a Maori could be seen, but puffs of smoke all along the earthen bank showed where they were concealed. The assailants were a dense crowd, on whom every shot told. All the officers were killed. More men kept crowding in, only to drop before the murderous fire. Suddenly a panic seized the men. A rush was made to get out of the breach again, and while the soldiers were running away volley after volley was fired into the crowd. General Cameron did not renew the attack, for evening was falling. There came on a dark wet night; and although surrounded on all hands, the Maoris contrived to slip gently past the sentries, leaving some wounded men behind them. #10. Te Ranga.#--The Maoris fell back a few miles and chose a strong position at Te Ranga for a new pah. They had only dug the ditches and made some rifle pits when the British were upon them. The troops carried the position with a rush, the Maoris standing up against the bayonets with the coolest courage. A hand-to-hand fight forced the natives out of the ditches, and then they turned and fled. The horse soldiers pursued and killed many. Altogether 123 of the Maoris were killed and a large number captured, while the English lost ten men killed. #11. Wereroa.#--After this action, though skirmishes were frequent, the Maoris made no determined stand, and on the English side affairs were carried on in a slow fashion. General Cameron had under him 10,000 regular soldiers, and nearly 10,000 colonial volunteers. He had nearly a dozen vessels of different sorts, either on the coasts or up the river, and he had an abundance of heavy guns. There arose quarrels between him and the Governor, who thought that with less than 1,000 Maoris under arms more progress ought to have been made. General Cameron resigned and departed in the middle of 1865. The Governor wished him before he went to attack a pah called Wereroa, but the general said he required 2,000 more men to do it, and refused. Yet Sir George Grey, taking himself the command of the colonial forces, captured the fort without losing a man. The bulk of the Maoris escaped, and kept up for a time a guerilla warfare in forests and on mountain sides; but at last the Tauranga tribes, or the miserable remnant that was left, surrendered to the Governor. Grey, in admiration of their generous and often noble conduct and their straightforward mode of fighting, allowed all the prisoners to go free; and though he punished them by confiscating a quarter of their land, he did his best to settle them on the other three-fourths in peace and with such advantages as British help could secure them. So there came quietness round the Bay of Plenty. #12. The Hau Hau Religion.#--Meantime new trouble was brewing in the Taranaki district. There the soldiers were skirmishing with the Maoris, but had them well in control, when a pair of mad or crafty native priests set the tribes in wild commotion, by declaring that the Angel Gabriel had told them in a vision that at the end of the year 1864 all white men would be driven out of New Zealand, that he himself would defend the Maoris, and that the Virgin Mary would be always with them; that the religion of the white men was false, and that legions of angels would come and teach the Maoris a better religion. In the meantime all good Maoris who shouted the word Hau Hau as they went into battle would be victorious, and angels would protect their lives. A body of these fanatics, deeply impressed with the belief in these and many other follies, tried their fortunes against the soldiers at Taranaki, but with small success. Forty of them, in spite of shouting their Hau Hau, fell before the muskets and guns of the white men. Then 300 of them made an effort in another direction, and, moving down the river Wanganui, threatened the little town at its mouth. Wanganui was defended by 300 soldiers; but all the out settlers up the valley were leaving their farms and hurrying in for shelter, when 300 men of the Wanganui tribe, who liked the white men and were friendly with them, offered to fight the Hau Haus. The challenge was accepted; and about 200 of the fanatics landed on a little island called Moutoa, in the middle of the river. Though surrounded by a pretty margin of white pebbles, it was covered with ferns and thick scrub. Through this at daybreak the combatants crept towards each other, the Hau Haus gesticulating and making queer sounds. At last they fell to work, and volley after volley was discharged at only ten yards distance. The friendly natives, having seen three of their chiefs fall, turned and fled. Many had plunged into the river, when one of their chiefs made a stand at the end of the island, and gathering twenty men around him poured in a volley and killed the Hau Hau leader. This surprised the fanatics and they hesitated; then a second volley and a charge routed them. Back came the friendly Maoris who had fled, and chased their enemies into the stream, wherein a heavy slaughter took place. About seventy of the Hau Haus were slain. The twelve who fell on the friendly side were buried in Wanganui with military honours, and a handsome monument now marks the place where their bones rest. #13. Conclusion of Maori Wars.#--In 1866 General Chute came to take command of the troops, in place of General Cameron. A vigorous campaign crushed the Hau Haus after much skirmishing in different parts of the Wellington district. But the chief trouble arose from another source. The 183 prisoners taken at Rangiriri, together with some others taken afterwards, were detained on board a hulk near Auckland. Sir George Grey wished to deal in a kindly fashion with them, and proposed to release them if they gave their word not to give further trouble. The Ministers of his Cabinet were against this proposal, but agreed that he should send them to an island near Auckland to live there without any guards. They gave their promise, but broke it and all but four escaped, Te Waharoa being among them. They chose the top of a circular hill thirty-five miles from Auckland and there fortified themselves in a pah called Omaha. But they did no harm to any one, and as they soon quietly dispersed they were not meddled with. A wild outburst of Hau Hau fanaticism on the east coast of the Bay of Plenty stirred up the fires of discord again, when a worthy old Church of England missionary named Mr. Volkner was seized, and, after some savage rites had been performed, was hanged on a willow tree as a victim. More fighting followed, in which a large share was taken by a Maori chief named Ropata, who, clad in European uniform and with the title of Major Ropata, fought stoutly against the Hau Haus, and captured several pahs. #14. Te Kooti.#--When the last of these pahs was captured an English officer declared that one of the friendly chiefs named Te Kooti was playing false and acting as a spy. Thinking to do as Governor Grey had done with Rauparaha, this officer seized the chief, who, without trial of any sort, was sent off to the Chatham Islands, a lonely group 300 miles away, which New Zealand was now using as a penal establishment for prisoners. This conduct was quite unfair, as Te Kooti, so far as can now be known, was not a spy, and was friendly to the English. Nearly 300 Maoris were on the Chatham Islands, most of them Hau Hau prisoners. They were told that if they behaved well they would be allowed to return in two years. When two years were past and no signs of their liberation appeared, Te Kooti planned a bold escape. An armed schooner, the _Rifleman_, having come in with provisions the Maoris suddenly overpowered the twelve soldiers who formed their guard, and seized the vessel. One soldier was killed whilst fighting, but all the rest were treated gently. The whole of the Maoris went on board and then the crew were told that unless they agreed to sail the vessel back to New Zealand they would all be killed. Day and night Maori guards patrolled the deck during the voyage, and one of them with loaded gun and drawn sword always stood over the helmsman and compelled him to steer them home. They reached the shores of New Zealand a little north of Hawke Bay, and landed, taking with them all the provisions out of the vessel, but treating the crew in a kindly way. A ship was sent round with soldiers who attacked the runaways, but they were too few, and too hastily prepared, so that Te Kooti easily defeated them. Three times was he attacked by different bodies of troops, and three times did he drive off his assailants. Cutting a path for himself through the forests, he forced his way a hundred miles inland to a place of security. But his people had no farms, and no means of raising food in these wild mountain regions, and the provisions they had taken from the _Rifleman_ were used in a few months. #15. Poverty Bay Massacre.#--Then, roused to madness by hunger, of which some of them had died, they crept cautiously back to the Poverty Bay district. Falling at night upon the little village, they slaughtered men, women, and children, as well as all the quiet Maoris they could catch. The dawn woke coldly on a silent village, wherein fifty or sixty bodies lay gashed and mangled in their beds, or at their doors, or upon their garden paths. An old man and a boy escaped by hiding. After taking all the provisions out of the place, Te Kooti set fire to the houses and retreated to the hills, where, on the top of a peak 2,000 feet high, he had made a pah called Ngatapa, which was defended on every side by precipices and deep gorges. There was only one narrow approach, and that had been fortified with immense care. The colonial troops under Colonel Whitmore, and bodies of friendly Maoris under Ropata, attacked him here. The work was very difficult, for after climbing those precipitous hills there were two palisades to be carried, one seven feet high and the other twelve. But science prevailed. After great exertions and appalling dangers the place was captured by Ropata, who climbed the cliffs and gained a corner of the palisades, killing a great number of Te Kooti's men in the action. During the night the rest escaped from the pah, sliding from the cliffs by means of ropes. But in the morning they were chased, and for two days the fugitives were brought back to the pah in twos and threes. Ropata took it for granted that they were all concerned in the massacre at Poverty Bay. Each of the captives as he arrived was stripped, taken to the edge of the cliff, shot dead, and his body thrown over. About a hundred and twenty were thus slaughtered. But Te Kooti himself escaped, and for the next two years he lived the life of a hunted animal, chased through the gloomy forests by the relentless Ropata. He fought many fights; his twenty Hau Hau followers were often near to death from starvation; but at length wearied out he threw himself on the mercy of the white men, was pardoned, sunk into obscurity, and died in peace. War was not really at an end till 1871; as up to that date occasional skirmishes took place. But there never was any fear of a general rising of the Maoris after 1866. #16. Progress of New Zealand.#--These wars were confined to the North Island. Otago, Canterbury, and Nelson felt them only by way of increased taxes. Otherwise they were left in peace to pursue their quiet progress. They multiplied their population sixfold; they opened up the country with good roads; a railway was cut through the mountain to join Christchurch with its seaport, Lyttelton, by a tunnel half a mile long. A similar but easier railway was made to join Dunedin to Port Chalmers; gold was found in various parts, especially in Otago, and on the west coast round Hokitika. For a time New Zealand sent out gold every year to the value of two and a half million pounds, and this lucrative pursuit brought thousands of stout settlers to her shores. [Illustration: THE CARGILL FOUNTAIN, DUNEDIN.] In 1864 the New Zealand Parliament chose Wellington to be the capital of the colony, as being more central than Auckland. In 1868 an Act was passed to abolish the provinces, and to make New Zealand more completely a united colony. A great change began in this same year, when the first Maori chief was elected to be a member of the New Zealand Parliament. Before long there were six Maoris seated there, two of them being in the Upper House. These honourable concessions, together with a fairer treatment in regard to their land, did much to show the Maoris that their lives and liberties were respected by the white men. They had lost much land, but what was left was now of more use to them than the whole had formerly been. Their lives and their property were now safer than ever, and they learnt that to live as peaceful subjects of Queen Victoria was the happiest course they could follow. The Government built schools for them and sent teachers; it built churches for them and cared for them in many ways. Thus they became well satisfied, even if they sometimes remembered with regret the freer life of the olden times. But Sir George Grey, who was the warm friend of the Maori, was no longer Governor. He had finished his work and his term of office had expired. Sir George Bowen came out to take his place. Grey after a trip to England returned to take up his residence in New Zealand, and a few years later allowed himself to be elected a member of its Parliament. Subsequently he became its Prime Minister, sinking his own personal pride in his desire to do good to the country. From 1870 to 1877 the affairs of the country were chiefly directed by ministries in which Sir Julius Vogel was the principal figure. He started and carried out a bold policy of borrowing and spending the money so obtained in bringing out fresh settlers and in opening up the land by railways. This plan plunged the colony deeply into debt, but it changed the look of the place, and although it had its dangers and its drawbacks, it has done a great deal for the colony. At first the natives refused to let the railways pass through their districts, but in 1872 a great meeting of chiefs agreed that it would be good for all to have the country opened up. Some maintained a dull hostility till 1881, but all the same the railways were made, until at length 2,000 miles were open for traffic. Between 1856 and 1880 nineteen different ministries managed the affairs of New Zealand, one after the other, the same Prime Minister however presiding over different ministries. The most notable of these have been, Sir William Fox, Edward W. Stafford, Major Atkinson, and Sir Julius Vogel. In 1880 the colony had increased to 500,000 white people, owning 12,000,000 sheep and exporting nearly £6,000,000 worth of goods. The Maoris were 44,000, but while the whites were rapidly increasing, the Maoris were somewhat decreasing. They had 112,000 sheep and nearly 50,000 cattle, with about 100,000 pigs. The heavy expenditure of the borrowing years from 1870 to 1881 was followed by a time of depression from 1880 to 1890, during which Sir Robert Stout and Major Atkinson were Prime Ministers; but at the end of that period the colony began rapidly to recover. Its population approached 750,000, with 42,000 Maoris; its sheep were nearly 20,000,000 in number; and its farms produced 20,000,000 bushels of wheat and oats. It sent £4,000,000 worth of wool to England, and about £1,000,000 worth of frozen meat. The general history of the last twenty years may be summed up as consisting of immense progress in all material and social interests. [Illustration: VICTORIA DEFENCE FLEET.] * * * * * INDEX. PAGE Abolition of Transportation 83 _Active_ 196 Adelaide 70 Agricultural Co., N.S.W. 44 Albany 118, 136 Alexander, Mount 97 Alexandrina, Lake 53 Alfred, Prince 171 _Alligator_ 202 Anti-Transportation 161 Arthur, Governor 36 Atkin, Judge-Advocate 30 Auckland 205 Australia, name given 2 Australian Bight 133 Ballarat 95 Bass 18, 20, 40 Bathurst 42 Batman 37, 58, 62 Baudin 23 Bentley 103 Bligh 29 Blue Mountains 40 Botany Bay 9, 11 Bourke 45, 64 Bowen, Lieutenant 32 Bowen, Sir George 129 _Boyd_ 193 Brady 37 Brisbane, Governor 42 Brisbane River 120 Britannia 209 Browne, Colonel 162 Browne, Colonel Gere 232 Buccaneers' Archipelago 7 Buckley 63 Burke and Wills 143 Burra Mines 86 Busby 202 Caen, De 24 Caley's Repulse 40 Cameron, Sir Duncan 234 Canterbury 229 Carpenter, General 5 Castlemaine 97 Castlereagh 40 Chisholm, Mrs. 79 Christchurch 230 Clarke 20 Clarke, Rev. W. B. 91 Clunes 95 Collins, Governor 12, 32, 57 Convicts Prevention Act 99 Cook's Voyages 8, 118 Corner Inlet 21 Cotton Plantations 125 Cowper, Charles 170 Crawford 37 Crozet, Captain 190 _Cumberland_, vessel 24 Cunningham, Allan 49 Dalley 175 Dalrymple 22, 34 Dampier 6 Darling River 52 Darling, Sir Charles 178 Darling, Sir Ralph 43 Davey, Governor 34 Denison, Governor 108, 159 D'Entrecasteaux 11 Despard, Colonel 223 Du Cane 162 Du Fresne 190 _Dunbar_ 110 Dunedin 229 _Duyfhen_ 4 Edel 5 _Endeavour_ 8, 188 Esmond 95 Eureka Stockade 104 Exhibitions-- Sydney 174 Melbourne 182 Adelaide 168 Eyre, Edward 132 Fawkner 57, 62, 66 Fisher 70 Fitzroy, Governor 215 Fitzroy, Sir Charles 83 Flinders 18, 22, 24 Forrest 154 Foveaux, Colonel 31 Franklin, Sir John 38, 155 Fremantle 112 Furneaux 11 Garden Island 112 Gate Pah 238 Gawler, Colonel 71, 75 Geelong 60 Giles 154 Gipps, Governor 75 Glenelg River 54 Godley, John Robert 229 Gold, early rumours of 90 Gold in Queensland 123 Goldfields, aspect of 99 Goldfields, rush to 93 Gregory, A. C. 143 Grey, Earl 82 Grey, Governor 75, 84, 224 Grimes 56 Grose, Major 16 Hacking, Port 20 Haines 176 Hargraves 91 Hartog, Dirk 4 Hau Hau 239 Hawaiki 186 Hawkesbury 16 Henty Bros. 61 Hervey Bay 23 Hindmarsh, Governor 71 Hobart Town 32 Hobson, Governor 203, 214 Hokianga 201 Hongi 195 Honi Heke 218 Hotham, Sir Charles 103 Howe, Cape 9 Howitt 151 Hulme, Colonel 221 Hume and Hovell 49 Humffray 104 Hunter, Captain 12, 16 _Investigator_, vessel 23 Jackson, Port 10, 12 Johnstone, Major 28, 30 Kangaroo Island 23, 70 Kapunda Mines 85 Keer-weer, Cape 4 Kennedy, the explorer 141 Kennedy, a miner 103 Kororarika 200, 220 King, Lieutenant 15, 25 King George's Sound 111, 118, 136 Lalor 104, 105 Lancey, Captain 62 Land Grants, W.A. 113 Land Laws, N.S.W. 76 Land League 233 Land Question 46, 210 Landsborough 152 Lang, Dr. 80 La Perouse 11 Latrobe 65, 80 _Leeuwin_ 4 Legislative Assembly 108, 175 Legislative Council 44, 80, 108, 215 Leichardt 140 Licence Fee 101 Lonsdale 65 Lyttelton 230 Macarthur, John 28 M'Culloch 179 M'Kinlay 152 Macleay 52 Macquarie, Governor 38 Macquarie River 42, 49 Marion 11 Marsden, Samuel 194 Melbourne 60, 65 Merri Creek 60 Mitchell 54 Moreton Bay 10, 119 Murray, Lieutenant 23, 55 Murray River 52 Nelson 213 New Hebrides 2 New Plymouth 212 New South Wales Corps 26 New South Wales named 10 New Zealand 9, 188 New Zealand Company 207 New Zealand Fencibles 227 Norfolk Island 15, 35 _Norfolk_, sloop 22 Nuggets 98 Nuyts 5 Oheawai 223 Orakau 237 Otago 227 Ovens River 50, 101 Oxley 48, 119 Parkes, Sir H. 175 Patriotic Six 159 Patterson, Colonel 16, 31, 34 Peel, Mr. 116 Perth 113 Phillip, Governor 12 Polynesian Labour 126 Poole 137 Portland Bay 55 Port Chalmers 229 Port Phillip 55 Poverty Bay 242 Queen Charlotte Sound 190, 208 Queensland 123 Quiros, De 2 Railways in N.S.W. 171 Rangihaeata 216, 226 Rangiriri 235 Rauparaha 216, 226 Ruapekapeka 225 Ruatara 195 _Rebecca_, vessel 59 Redcliff Peninsula 120 Representative Government 80, 232 Risdon 32 Robe, Governor 88 Robertson, John 170 Rockhampton 124 _Roebuck_ 7 Saltwater River 60 Sandhurst 97 Selwyn, Dr. George 214 Separation of Port Phillip 79 Separation of Queensland 122 Settled Government 201 Shoalhaven River 21 Shortland, Lieutenant 17, 210, 215 _Sirius_, war-ship 12 Sorell, Governor 35 Soudan Expedition 175 South Australian Association 68 Spain, William 216 Spencer's Gulf 23 Stony Desert 139 Strzelecki 90 Stuart, M'Douall 137, 153 Sturt 15, 136 _Supply_, war-ship 12 Surville De 189 Sydney Cove 13 Tamar River 22 Taranaki 211, 233 Tarra 193 Tasman 5, 187 Tasmania named 162 Taylor 37 Te Kooti 241 Telegraph, overland 166 Te Pehi 192, 194 Te Ranga 238 Te Whero Whero 199, 212, 233 Todd, Charles 166 _Tom Thumb_, boat 18 Torrens' Real Property Act 164 Torrens, Colonel 70 Torres 3 Tribulation, Cape 10 Twofold Bay 21 University of Sydney 111 Vancouver 11 Van Diemen 5 Vern 105 Victoria 83, 175 Vlaming 112 Wairau 216 Waitangi 204 Wakefield, Edward Gibbon 67, 207, 227 Wakefield Colonel 208 Walker 152 Wanganui 212 Warburton 154 Weld, Governor 162 Wellington 208 Wentworth 40, 109 Wereroa 239 Western Port 21, 58 West Australia 111 Wilmot, Sir Eardley 158 Wilson's Promontory 21 Windsor 40 Wool-growing 28 Wynyard, Colonel 232 Yarra 59 York, Cape 4, 24, 142 Young, Sir Henry 89, 162 Young, Sir John 168 Zaachen 4 ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS 
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33342	----	OLD NEW ZEALAND: BEING INCIDENTS OF NATIVE CUSTOMS AND CHARACTER IN THE OLD TIMES. By A PAKEHA MAORI. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL M.DCCC.LXIII. [_The right of Translation is reserved._] PREFACE. To the English reader, and to most of those who have arrived in New Zealand within the last thirty years, it may be necessary to state that the descriptions of Maori life and manners of past times, found in these sketches, owe nothing to fiction. The different scenes and incidents are given exactly as they occurred, and all the persons described are real persons. Contact with the British settlers has of late years effected a marked and rapid change in the manners and mode of life of the natives, and the Maori of the present day are as unlike what they were when I first saw them as they are still unlike a civilized people or British subjects. The writer has, therefore, thought it might be worth while to place a few sketches of old Maori life on record, before the remembrance of them has quite passed away; though in doing so he has by no means exhausted an interesting subject, and a more full and particular delineation of old Maori life, manners, and history has yet to be written. CONTENTS. Page CHAPTER I. Introductory.--First View of New Zealand.--First Sight of the Natives, and First Sensations experienced by a mere Pakeha.--A Maori Chief's Notions of Trading in the Old Times.--A Dissertation on "Courage."--A few Words on Dress.--The Chief's Soliloquy.--The Maori Cry of Welcome. 1 CHAPTER II. The Market Price of a Pakeha.--The Value of a Pakeha "as such."-- Maori Hospitality in the Good Old Times.--A respectable Friend.-- Maori Mermaids.--My Notions of the Value of Gold.--How I got on Shore. 16 CHAPTER III. A Wrestling Match.--Beef against Melons.--The Victor gains a Loss. --"Our Chief."--His Speech.--His _status_ in the Tribe.--Death of "Melons."--Rumours of Peace and War.--Getting the Pa in Fighting Order.--My Friend the "Relation Eater."--Expectation and Preparation. --Arrival of doubtful Friends.--Sham Fight.--The "Taki."--The War Dance.--Another Example of Maori Hospitality.--Crocodile's Tears.-- Loose Notions about Heads.--Tears of Blood.--Brotherly Love.-- Capital Felony.--Peace. 28 CHAPTER IV. A little Affair of "Flotsam and Jetsam."--Rebellion crushed in the Bud.--A Pakeha's House sacked.--Maori Law.--A Maori Lawsuit.--Affair thrown into Chancery. 61 CHAPTER V. Every Englishman's House is his Castle.--My Estate and Castle.--How I purchased my Estate.--Native Titles to Land, of what Nature.--Value of Land in New Zealand.--Land Commissioners.--The Triumphs of Eloquence.--Magna Charta. 70 CHAPTER VI. How I kept House.--Maori Freebooters.--An Ugly Customer.--The "Suaviter in Modo."--A Single Combat to amuse the Ladies.--The true Maori Gentleman.--Character of the Maori People. 78 CHAPTER VII. Excitement caused by first Contact with Europeans.--The two great Institutions of Maori Land.--The Muru.--The Tapu.--Instances of Legal Robbery.--Descriptions and Examples of the Muru.--Profit and Loss.--Explanation of some of the Workings of the Law of Muru. 94 CHAPTER VIII. The Muru falling into Disuse.--Why.--Examples of the Tapu.--The Personal Tapu.--Evading the Tapu.--The Undertaker's Tapu.--How I got Tabooed.--Frightful Difficulties.--How I got out of them.--The War Tapu.--Maori War Customs. 107 CHAPTER IX. The Tapu Tohunga.--The Maori Oracle.--Responses of the Oracle.-- Priestcraft. 136 CHAPTER X. The Priest evokes a Spirit.--The Consequences.--A Maori Tragedy.-- The "Tohunga" again. 143 CHAPTER XI. The Local Tapu.--The Taniwha.--The Battle of Motiti.--The Death of Tiki Whenua.--Reflections.--Brutus, Marcus Antonius, and Tiki Whenua.--Suicide. 151 CHAPTER XII. The Tapa.--Instances of.--The Storming of Mokoia.--Pomare.--Hongi Ika.--Tareha.--Honour amongst Thieves. 160 CHAPTER XIII. "My Rangatira."--The respective Duties of the Pakeha and his Rangatira.--Public Opinion.--A "Pakeha Kino."--Description of my Rangatira.--His Exploits and Misadventures.--His Moral Principles. --Decline in the Numbers of the Natives.--Proofs of former Large Population.--Ancient Forts.--Causes of Decrease. 164 CHAPTER XIV. Trading in the Old Times.--The Native Difficulty.--Virtue its own Reward.--Rule, Britannia.--Death of my Chief.--His Dying.--Rescue. --How the World goes round. 193 CHAPTER XV. Mana.--Young New Zealand.--The Law of England.--"Pop goes the Weasel."--Right if we have Might--God save the Queen.--Good Advice. 204 GLOSSARY 213 OLD NEW ZEALAND. CHAPTER I. Introductory.--First View of New Zealand.--First Sight of the Natives, and First Sensations experienced by a mere Pakeha.--A Maori Chief's Notions of Trading in the Old Times.--A Dissertation on "Courage."--A few Words on Dress.--The Chief's Soliloquy.--The Maori Cry of Welcome. Ah! those good old times, when first I came to New Zealand, we shall never see their like again. Since then the world seems to have gone wrong, somehow. A dull sort of world this, now. The very sun does not seem to me to shine as bright as it used. Pigs and potatoes have degenerated; and everything seems "flat, stale, and unprofitable." But those were the times!--the "good old times"--before Governors were invented, and law, and justice, and all that. When every one did as he liked,--except when his neighbours would not let him, (the more shame for them,)--when there were no taxes, or duties, or public works, or public to require them. Who cared then whether he owned a coat?--or believed in shoes or stockings? The men were bigger and stouter in those days; and the women,--ah! Money was useless and might go a-begging. A sovereign was of no use, except to make a hole in and hang it in a child's ear. The few I brought went that way, and I have seen them swapped for shillings, which were thought more becoming. What cared I? A fish-hook was worth a dozen of them, and I had lots of fish-hooks. Little did I think in those days that I should ever see here towns and villages, banks and insurance offices, prime ministers and bishops; and hear sermons preached, and see men hung, and all the other plagues of civilization. I am a melancholy man. I feel somehow as if I had got older. I am no use in these dull times. I mope about in solitary places, exclaiming often, "Oh! where are those good old times?" and echo, or some young Maori whelp from the Three Kings, answers from behind a bush,--NO HEA. I shall not state the year in which I first saw the mountains of New Zealand appear above the sea; there is a false suspicion getting about that I am growing old. This must be looked down, so I will at present avoid dates. I always held a theory that time was of no account in New Zealand, and I do believe I was right up to the time of the arrival of the first Governor. The natives hold this opinion still, especially those who are in debt: so I will just say, it was in the good old times, long ago, that from the deck of a small trading schooner, in which I had taken my passage from somewhere, that I first cast eyes on Maori land. It _was_ Maori land then; but, alas! what is it now? Success to you, O King of Waikato. May your _mana_ never be less;--long may you hold at bay the demon of civilization, though fall at last I fear you must. Plutus with golden hoof is trampling on your land-marks. He mocks the war-song, but should _I_ see your fall, at least one Pakeha Maori shall raise the _tangi_; and with flint and shell as of old shall the women lament you. Let me, however, leave these melancholy thoughts for a time, forget the present, take courage, and talk about the past. I have not got on shore yet; a thing I must accomplish as a necessary preliminary to looking about me, and telling what I saw. I do not understand the pakeha way of beginning a story in the middle; so to start fair, I must fairly get on shore, which, I am surprised to find, was easier to _do_ than to describe. The little schooner neared the land, and as we came closer and closer, I began in a most unaccountable manner to remember all the tales I had ever heard of people being baked in ovens, with cabbage and potato "fixins." I had before this had some considerable experience of "savages," but as they had no regular system of domestic cookery of the nature I have hinted at, and being, as I was in those days, a mere pakeha (a character I have since learned to despise), I felt, to say the least, rather curious as to the then existing demand on shore for butchers' meat. The ship sailed on, and I went below and loaded my pistols; not that I expected at all to conquer the country with them, but somehow because I couldn't help it. We soon came to anchor in a fine harbour before the house of the very first settler who had ever entered it, and to this time he was the only one. He had, however, a few Europeans in his employ; and there was at some forty miles distance a sort of nest of English, Irish, Scotch, Dutch, French, and American runaways from South Sea whalers, with whom were also congregated certain other individuals of the pakeha race, whose manner of arrival in the country was not clearly accounted for, and to inquire into which was, as I found afterwards, considered extremely impolite, and a great breach of _bienséance_. They lived in a half-savage state, or, to speak correctly, in a savage and-a-half state, being greater savages by far than the natives themselves. I must, however, turn back a little, for I perceive I am not on shore yet. The anchoring of a vessel of any size, large or small, in a port of New Zealand, in those days, was an event of no small importance; and, accordingly, from the deck we could see the shore crowded by several hundreds of natives, all in a great state of excitement, shouting and running about, many with spears and clubs in their hands, and altogether looking to the inexperienced newcomer very much as if they were speculating on an immediate change of diet. I must say these, at least, were my impressions on seeing the mass of shouting, gesticulating, tattooed fellows, who were exhibiting before us, and who all seemed to be mad with excitement of some sort or other. Shortly after we came to anchor, a boat came off, in which was Mr. ----, the settler I have mentioned, and also the principal chief of the tribe of natives inhabiting this part of the country. Mr. ---- gave me a hearty welcome to New Zealand, and also an invitation to his house, telling me I was welcome to make it my home for any unlimited time, till I had one of my own. The chief also, having made some inquiries first of the captain of the schooner--such as, whether I was a _rangatira_, if I had plenty of _taonga_ (goods) on board, and other particulars; and having been answered by the captain in the most satisfactory manner,--came up to me and gave me a most sincere welcome. (I love sincerity.) He would have welcomed me, however, had I been as poor as Job, for pakehas were, in those days, at an enormous premium. Even Job, at the worst (a _pakeha_ Job), might be supposed to have an old coat, or a spike nail, or a couple of iron hoops left on hand, and these were "good trade" in the times I speak of; and under a process well understood at the time by my friend the chief, were sure to change hands soon after his becoming aware of their whereabouts. His idea of trade was this:--He took them, and never paid for them till he took something else of greater value, which, whatever it might be, he never paid for till he made a third still heavier haul. He always paid just what he thought fit to give, and when he chose to withdraw his patronage from any pakeha who might be getting too knowing for him, and extend it to some newer arrival, he never paid for the last "lot of trade;" but, to give him his due, he allowed his pakeha friends to make the best bargain they could with the rest of the tribe, with the exception of a few of his nearest relations, over whose interests he would watch. So, after all, the pakeha would make a living; but I have never heard of one of the old traders who got rich by trading with the natives: there were too many drawbacks of the nature I have mentioned, as well as others unnecessary to mention just yet, which prevented it. I positively vow and protest to you, gentle and patient reader, that if ever I get safe on shore, I will do my best to give you satisfaction; let me get once on shore, and I am all right: but, unless I get my feet on _terra firma_, how can I ever begin my tale of the good old times? As long as I am on board ship I am cramped and crippled, and a mere slave to Greenwich time, and can't get on. Some people, I am aware, would make a dash at it, and manage the thing without the aid of boat, canoe, or life preserver; but such people are, for the most part, dealers in fiction, which I am not: my story is a true story, not "founded on fact," but fact itself, and so I cannot manage to get on shore a moment sooner than circumstances will permit. It may be that I ought to have landed before this; but I must confess I don't know any more about the right way to tell a story, than a native minister knows how to "come" a war dance. I declare the mention of the war dance calls up a host of reminiscences, pleasurable and painful, exhilarating and depressing, in such a way as no one but a few, a very few, pakeha Maori can understand. Thunder!--but no; let me get ashore; how can I dance on the water, or before I ever knew how? On shore I will get this time, I am determined, in spite of fate--so now for it. The boat of my friend Mr. ---- being about to return to the shore, leaving the chief and Mr. ---- on board, and I seeing the thing had to be done, plucked up courage, and having secretly felt the priming of my pistols under my coat, got into the boat. I must here correct myself. I have said "plucked up courage," but that is not exactly my meaning. The fact is, kind reader, if you have followed me thus far, you are about to be rewarded for your perseverance, I am determined to make you as wise as I am myself on at least one important subject, and that is not saying a little, let me inform you, as I can hardly suppose you have made the discovery for yourself on so short an acquaintance. Falstaff, who was a very clever fellow, and whose word cannot be doubted, says, "The better part of valour is discretion." Now, that being the case, what in the name of Achilles,--(he was a rank coward, though, for he went about knocking people on the head, being himself next thing to invulnerable, as he could not be hurt till he turned his back to the enemy. There is a deep moral in this same story about Achilles, which, perhaps, by-and-by, I may explain to you)--what, I say again, in the name of everything valorous, can the worser part of valour be, if "discretion" be the better? The fact is, my dear sir, I don't believe in courage at all, nor ever did: but there is something far better, which has carried me through many serious scrapes with _éclat_ and safety; I mean the appearance of courage. If you have this, you may drive the world before you. As for real courage, I do not believe there can be any such thing. A man who sees himself in danger of being killed by his enemy and is not in a precious fright, is simply not courageous but mad. The man who is not frightened because he cannot see the danger, is a person of weak mind--a fool--who ought to be locked up lest he walk into a well with eyes open; but the appearance of courage--or rather, as I deny the existence of the thing itself, that appearance which is thought to be courage--that is the thing will carry you through! get you made K.C.B., Victoria Cross, and all that! Men by help of this quality do the most heroic actions, being all the time ready to die of mere fright, but keeping up a good countenance all the time. Here is the secret--pay attention, it is worth much money--if ever you get into any desperate battle or skirmish, and feel in such a state of mortal fear that you almost wish to be shot to get rid of it, just say to yourself--"If I am so preciously frightened, what must the other fellow be?" The thought will refresh you; your own self-esteem will answer that, of course, the enemy is more frightened than you are, consequently the nearer you feel to running away the more reason you have to stand. Look at the last gazette of the last victory, where thousands of men at one shilling _per diem_, minus certain very serious deductions, "covered themselves with glory." The thing is clear: the other fellows ran first; and that is all about it! My secret is a very good secret; but one must of course do the thing properly: no matter of what kind the danger is, you must look it boldly in the face and keep your wits about you, and the more frightened you get the more determined you must be--to keep up appearances--and half the danger is gone at once. So now, having corrected myself, as well as given some valuable advice, I shall start again for the shore, by saying that I plucked up a very good appearance of courage and got on board the boat. For the honour and glory of the British nation, of which I considered myself in some degree a representative on this momentous occasion, I had dressed myself in one of my best suits. My frock-coat was, I fancy, "the thing;" my waistcoat was the result of much and deep thought, in cut, colour, and material; I may venture to affirm that the like had not been often seen in the southern hemisphere. My tailor has, as I hear, long since realized a fortune and retired, in consequence of the enlightenment he at different times received from me on the great principles of, not clothing, but embellishing the human subject. My hat looked down criticism, and my whole turn-out was such as I calculated would "astonish the natives," and create awe and respect for myself individually and the British nation in general; of whom I thought fit to consider myself no bad sample. Here I will take occasion to remark that some attention to ornament and elegance in the matter of dress is not only allowable but commendable. Man is the only beast to whom a discretionary power has been left in this respect: why then should he not take a hint from nature, and endeavour to beautify his person? Peacocks and birds of paradise could no doubt live and get fat though all their feathers were the colour of a Quaker's leggings, but see how they are ornamented! Nature has, one would say, exhausted herself in beautifying them. Look at the tiger and leopard! Could not they murder without their stripes and spots?--but see how their coats are painted! Look at the flowers--at the whole universe--and you will see everywhere the ornamental combined with the useful. Look, then, to the cut and colour of your coat, and do not laugh at the Maori of past times, who, not being "seised" of a coat, because he has never been able to seize one, carves and tattoos legs, arms, and face. The boat is, however, darting towards the shore, rapidly propelled by four stout natives. My friend ---- and the chief are on board. The chief has got his eye on my double gun, which is hanging up in the cabin. He takes it down and examines it closely. He is a good judge of a gun. It is the best _tupara_ he has ever seen, and his speculations run something very like this:--"A good gun, a first-rate gun; I must have this; I must _tapu_ it before I leave the ship:--[here he pulls a piece of the fringe from his cloak and ties it round the stock of the gun, thereby rendering it impossible for me to sell, give away, or dispose of it in any way to any one but himself]--I wonder what the pakeha will want for it? I will promise him as much flax or as many pigs as ever he likes for it. True, I have no flax just now, and am short of pigs, they were almost all killed at the last _hahunga_; but if he is in a hurry he can buy the flax or pigs from the people, which ought to satisfy him. Perhaps he would take a piece of land!--that would be famous. I would give him a piece quite close to the _kainga_, where I would always have him close to me. I hope he may take the land; then I should have two pakehas, him and ----. All the inland chiefs would envy me. This ---- is getting too knowing; he has taken to hiding his best goods of late, and selling them before I knew he had them. It's just the same as thieving, and I won't stand it. He sold three muskets the other day to the Ngatiwaki, and I did not know he had them, or I should have taken them. I could have paid for them some time or another. It was wrong, wrong, very wrong, to let that tribe have those muskets. He is not their pakeha; let them look for a pakeha for themselves. Those Ngatiwaki are getting too many muskets--those three make sixty-four they have got, besides two _tupara_. Certainly we have a great many more, and the Ngatiwaki are our relations; but then there was Kohu, we killed, and Patu, we stole his wife. There is no saying what these Ngatiwaki may do if they should get plenty of muskets; they are game enough for anything. It was wrong to give them those muskets; wrong, wrong, wrong!" After experience enabled me to tell just what the chief's soliloquy was, as above. But all this time the boat is darting to the shore; and as the distance is only a couple of hundred yards, I can hardly understand how it is that I have not yet landed. The crew are pulling like mad, being impatient to show the tribe the prize they have made,--a regular _pakeha rangatira_ as well as a _rangatira pakeha_ (two very different things), who has lots of tomahawks, and fish-hooks, and blankets, and a _tupara_, and is even suspected to be the owner of a great many "pots" of gunpowder! "He is going to stop with the tribe, he is going to trade, he is going to be a pakeha _for us_." These last conclusions were, however, jumped at; the "pakeha" not having then any notions of trade or commerce, and being only inclined to look about and amuse himself. The boat nears the shore, and now arises from a hundred voices the call of welcome,--"_Haere mai! haere mai! hoe mai! hoe mai! haere mai, e-te-pa-ke-ha, haere mai!_" Mats, hands, and certain ragged petticoats put into requisition for that occasion, all at the same time waving in the air in sign of welcome. Then a pause. Then, as the boat came nearer, another burst of _haere mai!_ But unaccustomed as I was then to the Maori salute, I disliked the sound. There was a wailing melancholy cadence that did not strike me as being the appropriate tone of welcome; and as I was quite ignorant up to this time of my own importance, wealth, and general value as a pakeha, I began, as the boat closed in with the shore, to ask myself whether possibly this same "_haere mai_" might not be the Maori for "dilly, dilly, come and be killed." There was, however, no help for it now; we were close to the shore, and so, putting on the most unconcerned countenance possible, I prepared to make my _entrée_ into Maori land in a proper and dignified manner. CHAPTER II. The Market Price of a Pakeha.--The Value of a Pakeha "as such."--Maori Hospitality in the Good Old Times.--A respectable Friend.--Maori Mermaids.--My Notions of the Value of Gold.--How I got on Shore. Here I must remark that in those days the value of a pakeha to a tribe was enormous. For want of pakehas to trade with, and from whom to procure gunpowder and muskets, many tribes or sections of tribes were about this time exterminated, or nearly so, by their more fortunate neighbours who got pakehas before them, and who consequently became armed with muskets first. A pakeha trader was therefore of a value say about twenty times his own weight in muskets. This, according to my notes made at the time, I find to have represented a value in New Zealand something about what we mean in England when we talk of the sum total of the national debt. A book-keeper, or a second-rate pakeha, not a trader, might be valued at, say, his weight in tomahawks; an enormous sum also. The poorest labouring pakeha, though he might have no property, would earn something--his value to the chief and tribe with whom he lived might be estimated at, say, his weight in fish-hooks, or about a hundred thousand pounds or so: value estimated by eagerness to obtain the article. The value of a musket was not to be estimated to a native by just what he gave for it: he gave all he had, or could procure, and had he ten times as much to give, he would have given it, if necessary; or if not, he would buy ten muskets instead of one. Muskets! muskets! muskets! nothing but muskets, was the first demand of the Maori: muskets and gunpowder, at any cost. I do not, however, mean to affirm that pakehas were at this time valued "as such,"--like Mr. Pickwick's silk stockings, which were very good and valuable stockings, "as stockings;" not at all. A loose straggling pakeha--a runaway from a ship for instance, who had nothing, and was never likely to have anything--a vagrant straggler passing from place to place,--was not of much account, even in those times. Two men of this description (runaway sailors) were hospitably entertained one night by a chief, a very particular friend of mine, who, to pay himself for his trouble and outlay, ate one of them next morning. Remember, my good reader, I don't deal in fiction; my friend ate the pakeha sure enough, and killed him before he ate him: which was civil, for it was not always done. But then, certainly, the pakeha was a _tutua_, a nobody, a fellow not worth a spike-nail; no one knew him; he had no relations, no goods, no expectations, no anything: what could be made of him? Of what use on earth was he except to eat? And, indeed, not much good even for that--they say he was not good meat. But good well-to-do pakehas, traders, ship-captains, labourers, or employers of labour, these were to be honoured, cherished, caressed, protected--and plucked: plucked judiciously (the Maori is a clever fellow in his way), so that the feathers might grow again. But as for poor, mean, mere _Pakeha tutua, e aha te pai_? Before going any farther I beg to state that I hope the English reader or the new-comer, who does not understand Maori morality--especially of the glorious old time--will not form a bad opinion of my friend's character, merely because he ate a good-for-nothing sort of pakeha, who really was good for nothing else. People from the old countries I have often observed to have a kind of over-delicacy about them, the result of a too effeminate course of life and over-civilization; which is the cause that, often starting from premises which are true enough, they will, being carried away by their over-sensitive constitution or sickly nervous system, jump at once, without any just process of reasoning, to the most erroneous conclusions. I know as well as can be that some of this description of my readers will at once, without reflection, set my friend down as a very rude ill-mannered sort of person. Nothing of the kind, I assure you. You never made a greater mistake in your life. My friend was a highly respectable person in his way; he was a great friend and protector of rich, well-to-do pakehas; he was, moreover, a great warrior, and had killed the first man in several different battles. He always wore, hanging round his neck, a handsome carved flute (this at least showed a soft and musical turn of mind), which was made of the thigh-bone of one of his enemies; and when Heke, the Ngapuhi, made war against us, my friend came to the rescue, fought manfully for his pakeha friends, and was desperately wounded in so doing. Now can any one imagine a more respectable character?--a warrior, a musician, a friend in need, who would stand by you while he had a leg to stand on, and would not eat a _friend_ on any account whatever--except he should be very hungry. The boat darts on; she touches the edge of a steep rock; the "_haere mai_" has subsided; six or seven "personages"--the magnates of the tribe--come gravely to the front to meet me as I land. There are about six or seven yards of shallow water to be crossed between the boat and where they stand. A stout fellow rushes to the boat's nose, and "shows a back," as we used to say at leap-frog. He is a young fellow of respectable standing in the tribe, a far-off cousin of the chief's, a warrior, and as such has no back: that is to say, to carry loads of fuel or potatoes. He is too good a man to be spoiled in that way; the women must carry for him; the able-bodied men of the tribe must be saved for its protection; but he is ready to carry the pakeha on shore--the _rangatira pakeha_--who wears a real _koti roa_ (a long coat) and beaver hat! Carry! He would lie down and make a bridge of his body, with pleasure, for him. Has he not half a shipful of _taonga_? Well, having stepped in as dignified a manner as I knew how, from thwart to thwart, till I came to the bow of the boat, and having tightened on my hat and buttoned up my coat, I fairly mounted on the broad shoulders of my aboriginal friend. I felt at the time that the thing was a sort of failure--a come down; the position was not graceful, or in any way likely to suggest ideas of respect or awe, with my legs projecting a yard or so from under each arm of my bearer, holding on to his shoulders in the most painful, cramped, and awkward manner: to be sacked on shore thus, and delivered like a bag of goods thus, into the hands of the assembled multitude, did not strike me as a good first appearance on this stage. But little, indeed, can we tell in this world what one second may produce. Gentle reader, fair reader, patient reader! The fates have decreed it; the fiat has gone forth; on that man's back I shall never land in New Zealand. Manifold are the doubts and fears which have yet to shake and agitate the hearts and minds of all my friends as to whether I shall ever land at all, or ever again feel _terra firma_ touch my longing foot. My bearer made one step; the rock is slippery; backwards he goes; back, back! The steep is near--is passed! down, down, we go! backwards, and headlong to the depths below! The ebb tide is running like a sluice; in an instant we are forty yards off, and a fathom below the surface; ten more fathoms are beneath us. The heels of my boots, my polished boots, point to the upper air--ay, point; but when, oh, when again, shall I salute thee, gentle air; when again, unchoked by the saline flood, cry _Veni, aura?_ When, indeed! for now I am wrong end uppermost, drifting away with the tide, and ballasted with heavy pistols, boots, tight clothes, and all the straps and strings of civilization. Oh, heavens! and oh, earth! and oh, ye little thieves of fishes who manage to live in the waters under the earth (a miserable sort of life you must have of it)! oh, Maori sea nymphs! who, with yellow hair--yellow? egad--that's odd enough, to say the least of it: how ever the Maori should come to give their sea nymphs or spirits yellow hair is curious. The Maori know nothing about yellow hair; their hair is black. About one in a hundred of them have a sort of dirty brown hair; but even if there should be now and then a native with yellow hair, how is it that they have come to give this colour to the sea-sprites in particular?--who also "dance on the sands, and yet no footstep seen." Now I confess I am rather puzzled and struck by the coincidence. I don't believe Shakspeare ever was in New Zealand; Jason might, being a seafaring man, and if he should have called in for wood and water, and happened to have the golden fleece by any accident on board, and by any chance put it on for a wig, why the thing would be accounted for at once. The world is mad now-a-days about gold, so no one cares a fig about what is called "golden hair:" nuggets and dust have the preference; but this is a grand mistake. Gold is of no use, or very little, except in so far as this--that through the foolishness of human beings, one can purchase the necessaries and conveniences of life with it. Now, this being the case, if I have a chest full of gold (which I have not), I am no richer for it, in fact, until I have given it away in exchange for necessaries, comforts, and luxuries, which are, properly speaking, riches or wealth; but it follows from this, that he who has given me this same riches or wealth for my gold, has become poor, and his only chance to set himself up again, is to get rid of the gold as fast as he can, in exchange for the same sort and quantity of things, if he can get them: which is always doubtful. But here lies the gist of the matter--how did I, in the first instance, become possessed of my gold? If I bought it, and gave real wealth for it, beef, mutton, silk, tea, sugar, tobacco, ostrich feathers, leather breeches, and crinoline,--why, then, all I have done in parting with my gold, is merely to get them back again, and I am, consequently, no richer by the transaction; but if I steal my gold, then I am a clear gainer of the whole lot of valuables above mentioned. So, upon the whole, I don't see much use in getting gold honestly, and one must not steal it: digging it certainly is almost as good as stealing, if it is not too deep, which fully accounts for so many employing themselves in this way; but then the same amount of labour would raise no end of wheat and potatoes, beef and mutton: and all farmers, mathematicians, and algebraists will agree with me in this--that after any country is fully cultivated, all the gold in the world won't force it to grow one extra turnip, and what more can anyone desire? So now Adam Smith, McCulloch, and all the rest of them may go and be hanged. The whole upshot of this treatise on political economy and golden hair (which I humbly lay at the feet of the Colonial Treasurer), is this:--I would not give one of your golden locks, my dear, for all the gold, silver, pearls, diamonds, _mere ponamus_--stop, let me think: a good _mere ponamu_ would be a temptation. I had once a _mere_, a present from a Maori friend, the most beautiful thing of the kind ever seen. It was nearly as transparent as glass; in it there were beautiful marks like fern leaves, trees, fishes--and I would not give much for a person who could not see almost _anything_ in it. Never shall I cease to regret having parted with it. The Emperor of Brazil, I think, has it now; but he does not know the proper use of it. It went to the Minister many years ago. I did not sell it. I would have scorned to do that: but I did expect to be made Knight of the Golden Pig-knife, or Elephant and Watch-box, or something of that nature: but here I am still, a mere pakeha Maori--and, as I recollect, in desperate danger of being drowned. Up we came at last, blowing and puffing like grampuses. With a glance I "recognized the situation:" we had drifted a long way from the landing-place. My hat was dashing away before the land breeze towards the sea, and had already made a good "offing." Three of the boat's crew had jumped overboard, had passed us a long distance, and were seemingly bound after the hat; the fourth man was pulling madly with one oar, and consequently making great progress in no very particular direction. The whole tribe of natives had followed our drift along the shore, shouting and gesticulating, and some were launching a large canoe, evidently bent on saving the _hat_, on which all eyes were turned. As for the pakeha, it appears they must have thought it an insult to his understanding to suppose he could be drowned anywhere in sight of land. "'Did he not come from the sea?' Was he not a fish? Was not the sea solid land to him? Did not his fire burn on the ocean? Had he not slept on the crests of the waves?" All this I heard afterwards; but at the time, had I not been as much at home in the water as anything not amphibious could be, I should have been very little better than a gone pakeha. Here was a pretty wind up! I was going to "astonish the natives," was I?--with my black hat and my _koti roa_? But the villain is within a yard of me--the rascally cause of all my grief. The furies take possession of me! I dart upon him like a hungry shark! I have him! I have him under! Down, villain! down to the kraken and the whale, to the Taniwha cave!--down! down! down! As we sank I heard one grand roar of wild laughter from the shore: the word _utu_ I heard roared by many voices, but did not then know its import. The pakeha was drowning the Maori for _utu_ for himself, in _case_ he should be drowned. No matter: if the Maori can't hold his own, it's fair play; and then, if the pakeha really does drown the Maori, has he not lots of _taonga_ to be robbed of?--No, not exactly to be robbed of, either; let us not use unnecessarily bad language--we will say to be distrained upon. Crack! What do I hear? Down in the deep I felt a shock, and actually heard a sudden noise. Is it the "crack of doom?" No, it is my frock-coat gone at one split "from clue to earing"--split down the back. Oh, if my pistols would go off, a fiery and watery death shouldst thou die, Caliban. Egad! they have gone off--they are both gone to the bottom! My boots are getting heavy! Humane Society, ahoy! where is your boat-hook?--where is your bellows? Humane Society, ahoy! We are now drifting fast by a sandy point, after which there will be no chance of landing,--the tide will take us right out to sea. My friend is very hard to drown--I must finish him some other time. We both swim for the point, and land. And this is how I got ashore on Maori land. CHAPTER III. A Wrestling Match.--Beef against Melons.--The Victor gains a Loss.--"Our Chief."--His Speech.--His _status_ in the Tribe.--Death of "Melons."--Rumours of Peace and War.--Getting the Pa in Fighting Order.--My Friend the "Relation Eater."-- Expectation and Preparation.--Arrival of doubtful Friends.--Sham Fight.--The "Taki."--The War Dance.--Another Example of Maori Hospitality.--Crocodile's Tears.--Loose Notions about Heads.-- Tears of Blood.--Brotherly Love.--Capital Felony.--Peace. Something between a cheer, a scream, and a roar, greets our arrival on the sand. An English voice salutes me with "Well, you served that fellow out." One half of my coat hangs from my right elbow, the other from my left; a small shred of the collar is still around my neck. My hat, alas! my hat is gone. I am surrounded by a dense mob of natives, laughing, shouting, and gesticulating, in the most grotesque manner. Three Englishmen are also in the crowd; they seem greatly amused at something, and offer repeated welcomes. At this moment, up comes my salt-water acquaintance, elbowing his way through the crowd; there is a strange serio-comic expression of anger in his face; he stoops, makes horrid grimaces, quivering at the same time his left hand and arm about in a most extraordinary manner, and striking the thick part of his left arm with the palm of the right hand. "_Hu!_" says he, "_hu! hu!_" "What _can_ he mean?" said I. "He is challenging you to wrestle," cried one of the Englishmen; "he wants _utu_." "What is _utu_" said I. "Payment." "I won't pay him." "Oh, that's not it, he wants to take it out of you wrestling." "Oh, I see; here's at him; pull off my coat and boots: I'll wrestle him. 'His foot is in his own country, and his name is'--what?" "Sir, his name in English means 'An eater of melons:' he is a good wrestler; you must mind." "_Water_-melons, I suppose! Beef against melons for ever, hurrah! Here's at him." Here the natives began to run between us to separate us, but seeing that I was in the humour to "have it out," and that neither self nor friend were actually out of temper--and, no doubt, expecting to see the pakeha floored--they stood to one side and made a ring. A wrestler soon recognizes another, and my friend soon gave me some hints that showed me I had some work before me. I was a youngster in those days, all bone and sinew, full of animal spirits, and as tough as leather. A couple of desperate main strength efforts soon convinced us both that science or endurance must decide the contest. My antagonist was a strapping fellow of about five-and-twenty, tremendously strong, and much heavier than me. I, however, in those days actually could not be fatigued: I did not know the sensation, and I could run from morning till night. I therefore trusted to wearing him out, and avoiding his _ta_ and _wiri_. All this time the mob were shouting encouragement to one or other of us. Such a row never was seen. I soon perceived I had a "party." "Well done, pakeha!" "Now for it, Melons!" "At him again!" "Take care the pakeha is a _taniwha_! the pakeha is a _tino tangata_!" "Hooray!" (from the British element). "The pakeha is down!" "No, he isn't!" (from English side). Here I saw my friend's knees beginning to tremble. I made a great effort, administered my favourite remedy, and there lay the "Eater of Melons" prone upon the sand. I stood a victor; and, like many other conquerors, a very great loser. There I stood, _minus_ hat, coat, and pistols; wet and mauled, and transformed very considerably for the worse since I left the ship. When my antagonist fell, the natives gave a great shout of triumph, and congratulated me in their own way with the greatest good will. I could see I had got their good opinion, though I scarcely could understand how. After sitting on the sand some time, my friend arose, and with a very graceful movement, and a smile of good-nature on his dusky countenance, he held out his hand and said in English, "How do you do?" I was much pleased at this; the natives had given me fair play, and my antagonist, though defeated both by sea and land, offered me his hand, and welcomed me to the shore with his whole stock of English--"How do you do?" But the row is not half over yet. Here comes the chief in the ship's boat. The other is miles off with its one man crew still pulling no one knows, or at all cares, where. Some one has been off in a canoe and told the chief that "Melons" and the "New Pakeha" were fighting like mad on the beach. Here he comes, flourishing his _mere ponamu_. He is a tall, stout fellow, in the prime of life, black with tatooing, and splendidly dressed, according to the splendour of those days. He has on a very good blue jacket, no shirt or waistcoat, a pair of duck trousers, and a red sash round his waist; no hat or shoes, these being as yet things beyond a chief's ambition. The jacket was the only one in the tribe; and amongst the surrounding company I saw only one other pair of trousers, which had a large hole at each knee; but this was not considered to detract at all from its value. The chief jumps ashore; he begins his oration, or rather to "blow up," all and sundry, the tribe in general, and poor "Melons" in particular. He is really vexed, and wishes to appear to me more vexed than he really is. He runs gesticulating and flourishing his _mere_ about ten steps in one direction, in the course of which ten steps he delivers a sentence; he then turns and runs back the same distance, giving vent to his wrath in another sentence, and so back and forward, forward and back, till he has exhausted the subject, and tired his legs. The Englishmen were beside me, and gave a running translation of what he said. "Pretty work this," he began, "_good_ work; killing my pakeha: look at him! (here a flourish in my direction with the _mere_.) I won't stand this; not at all! not at all! not at all! (the last sentence took three jumps, a step, and a turn-round, to keep correct time.) Who killed the pakeha? It was Melons. You are a nice man, are you not? (this with a sneer.) Killing my pakeha! (in a voice like thunder, and rushing savagely, _mere_ in hand, at poor Melons, but turning exactly at the end of the ten steps and coming back again.) It will be heard of all over the country; we shall be called the 'pakeha killers;' I shall be sick with shame; the pakeha will run away, and take all his _taonga_ along with him: what if you had killed him dead, or broken his bones? his relations would be coming across the sea for _utu_. (Great sensation, and I try to look as though I would say 'of course they would.') What did I build this pa close to the sea for?--was it not to trade with the pakehas?--and here you are killing the second that has come to stop with me! (Here poor Melons burst out crying like an infant.) Where is the hat?--where the _koti roa_?--where the shoes?--(Boots were shoes in those days.) The pakeha is robbed! he is murdered! (Here a howl from Melons, and I go over and sit down by him, clap him on the bare back, and shake his hand.) Look at that,--the pakeha does not bear malice; I would kill you if he asked me: you are a bad people, killers of pakehas; be off with you, the whole of you, away!" This command was instantly obeyed by all the women, boys, and slaves. Melons also, being in disgrace, disappeared; but I observed that "the whole of you" did not seem to be understood as including the stout, able-bodied, tattooed part of the population, the strength of the tribe--the warriors, in fact, many of whom counted themselves to be very much about as good as the chief. They were his nearest relations, without whose support he could do nothing, and were entirely beyond his control. I found afterwards that it was only during actual war that this chief was perfectly absolute, which arose from the confidence the tribe had in him, both as a general and a fighting man, and the obvious necessity that in war implicit obedience be given to one head. I have, however, observed in other tribes, that in war they would elect a chief for the occasion, a war chief, and have been surprised to see the obedience they gave him, even when his conduct was very open to criticism. I say with surprise, for the natives are so self-possessed, opinionated, and republican, that the chiefs have at ordinary times but little control over them; except in very rare cases, where the chief happens to possess a singular vigour of character, or some other unusual advantage, to enable him to keep them under. I will mention here that my first antagonist, "The Eater of Melons," became a great friend of mine. He was my right-hand man and manager when I set up house on my own account, and did me many friendly services in the course of my acquaintance with him. He came to an unfortunate end some years later. The tribe were getting ready for a war expedition; poor Melons was filling cartridges from a fifty pound barrel of gunpowder, pouring the gunpowder into the cartridges with his hand, and smoking his pipe at the time, as I have seen the natives doing fifty times since: a spark fell into the cask, and it is scarcely necessary to say that my poor friend was roasted alive in a second. I have known three other accidents of the same kind, from smoking whilst filling cartridges. In one of these accidents three lives were lost, and many injured; and I really do believe that the certainty of death will not prevent some of the natives from smoking for more than a given time. I have often seen infants refuse the mother's breast, and cry for the pipe till it was given to them; and dying natives often ask for a pipe, and die smoking. I can clearly perceive that the young men of the present day are neither so tall, or stout, or strong, as men of the same age were when I first came to the country; and I believe that this smoking, from their infancy, is one of the chief causes of this decrease in strength and stature. I am landed at last, certainly; but I am tattered and wet, and in a most deplorable plight: so, to make my story short--for I see, if I am too particular, I shall never come to the end of it--I returned to the ship, put myself to rights, and came on shore next day with all my _taonga_, to the great delight of the chief and tribe. My hospitable entertainer, Mr. ----, found room for my possessions in his store, and a room for myself in his house; and so now that I am fairly housed we shall see what will come of it. I have now all New Zealand before me to caper about in; so I shall do as I like, and please myself. I shall keep to neither rule, rhyme, nor reason, but just write what comes uppermost to my recollection of the good old days. Many matters which seemed odd enough to me at first, have long appeared such mere matters of course, that I am likely to pass them over without notice. I shall, however, give some of the more striking features of those delectable days, now, alas! passed and gone. Some short time after this, news came that a grand war expedition, which had been absent nearly two years at the South, had returned. This party were about a thousand strong, being composed of two parties, of about five hundred men each, from two different tribes, who had joined their force for the purpose of the expedition. The tribe with which Mr. ---- and myself were staying, had not sent any men on this war party; but, I suppose to keep their hands in, had attacked one of the two tribes who had, and who were, consequently, much weakened by the absence of so many of their best men. It, however, turned out that after a battle--the ferocity of which has seldom been equalled in any country but this--our friends were defeated with a dreadful loss, having inflicted almost as great on the enemy. Peace, however, had afterwards been formally made; but, nevertheless, the news of the return of this expedition was not heard without causing a sensation almost amounting to consternation. The war chief of the party who had been attacked by our friends during his absence, was now, with all his men, within an easy day's march. His road lay right through our village, and it was much to be doubted that he would keep the peace, being one of the most noted war chiefs of New Zealand, and he and his men returning from a successful expedition. All now was uproar and confusion; messengers were running like mad, in all directions, to call in stragglers; and the women were carrying fuel and provisions into the pa, or fortress, of the tribe. This pa was a very well built and strong stockade, composed of three lines of strong fence and ditch, very ingeniously and artificially planned; and, indeed, as good a defence as well could be imagined against an enemy armed only with musketry. All the men were now working like furies, putting this fort to rights, getting it into fighting order, mending the fences, clearing out the ditches, knocking down houses inside the place, clearing away brushwood and fern all around the outside within musket shot. I was in the thick of it, and worked all day lashing the fence; the fence being of course not nailed, but lashed with _toro-toro_, a kind of tough creeping plant, like a small rope, which was very strong and well adapted for the purpose. This lashing was about ten or twelve feet from the ground, and a stage had to be erected for the men to stand on. To accomplish this lashing or fastening of the fence well and with expedition required two men, one inside the fence and another outside; all the men therefore worked in pairs, passing the end of the _toro-toro_ from one to the other through the fence of large upright stakes and round a cross piece which went all along the fence, by which means the whole was connected into one strong wall. I worked away like fury, just as if I had been born and bred a member of the community; and moreover, not being in those days very particularly famous for what is called prudence, I intended also, circumstances permitting, to fight like fury too, just for the fun of the thing. About a hundred men were employed in this part of the work, new lashing the pa. My _vis-à-vis_ in the operation was a respectable old warrior of great experience and approved valour, whose name being turned into English meant "The eater of his own relations." This was quite a different sort of diet from "melons;" and he did not bear his name for nothing, as I could tell you if I had time; but I am half mad with haste, lashing the pa. I will only say that my comrade was a most bloodthirsty, ferocious, athletic savage, and his character was depicted in every line of his tattooed face. About twenty men had been sent out to watch the approach of the dreaded visitors. The repairing of the stockade went on all one day and all one night, by torchlight and by the light of huge fires lit in the inside. No one thought of sleep. Dogs barking, men shouting, children crying, women screaming, pigs squealing, muskets firing (to see if they were fit for active service and would go off), and above all the doleful _tetere_ sounding. This was a huge wooden trumpet six feet long, which gave forth a groaning, moaning sound, like the voice of a dying wild bull. Babel, with a dash of Pandemonium, will give a faint idea of the uproar. All preparations having been at last made, and no further tidings of the enemy, as I may call them, I took a complete survey of the fort; my friend the "Relation Eater" being my companion and explaining to me the design of the whole. I learned something that day; and I, though pretty well "up" in the noble science of fortification, ancient and modern, was obliged to confess to myself that a savage who could neither read nor write--who had never heard of Cohorn or Vauban--and who was moreover avowedly a gobbler up of his own relations, could teach me certain practical "dodges" in the defensive art quite well worth knowing. A long shed of palm leaves had been also built at a safe and convenient distance from the fort. This was for the accommodation of the expected visitors, supposing they came in peaceful guise. A whole herd of pigs were also collected and tied to stakes driven into the ground in the rear of the fort. These were intended to feast the coming guests, according to their behaviour. Towards evening a messenger from a neighbouring friendly tribe arrived to say that next day, about noon, the strangers might be expected; and also that the peace, which had been concluded with their tribe during their absence, had been ratified and accepted by them. This was satisfactory intelligence; but, nevertheless, no precaution must be neglected. To be thrown off guard would invite an attack, and ensure destruction; everything must be in order: gun cleaning, flint fixing, cartridge making, was going on in all directions; and the outpost at the edge of the forest was not called in. All was active preparation. The path by which these doubtful friends were coming led through a dense forest, and came out on the clear plain about half a mile from the pa; which plain continued and extended in every direction around the fortress to about the same distance, so that none could approach unperceived. The outpost, of twenty men, was stationed at about a couple of hundred yards from the point where the path emerged from the wood; and as the ground sloped considerably from the forest to the fort, the whole intervening space was clearly visible. Another night of alarm and sleepless expectation, the melancholy moan of the _tetere_ still continuing to hint to any lurking enemy that we were all wide awake; or rather, I should say, to assure him most positively of it, for who could sleep with that diabolical din in his ears? Morning came, and an early breakfast was cooked and devoured hurriedly. Then groups of the younger men might be seen here and there fully armed, and "getting up steam" by dancing the war-dance, in anticipation of the grand dance of the whole warrior force of the tribe, which, as a matter of course, must be performed in honour of the visitors when they arrived: in honour, but quite as much in intimidation, or an endeavour at it, though no one said so. Noon arrived at last. Anxious glances are turning from all quarters towards the wood, from which a path is plainly seen winding down the sloping ground towards the pa. The outpost is on the alert. Straggling scouts are out in every direction. All is expectation. Now there is a movement at the outpost. They suddenly spread in an open line, ten yards between each man. One man comes at full speed, running towards the pa, jumping and bounding over every impediment. Now something moves in the border of the forest,--it is a mass of black heads. Now the men are plainly visible. The whole _taua_ has emerged upon the plain. "Here they come! here they come!" is heard in all directions. The men of the outpost cross the line of march in pretended resistance; they present their guns, make horrid grimaces, dance about like mad baboons, and then fall back with headlong speed to the next advantageous position for making a stand. The _taua_ however comes on steadily; they are formed in a solid oblong mass. The chief at the left of the column leads them on. The men are all equipped for immediate action; that is to say, quite naked except their arms and cartridge boxes, which are a warrior's clothes. No one can possibly tell what this peaceful meeting may end in, so all are ready for action at a second's notice. The _taua_ still comes steadily on. As I have said, the men are all stripped for action, but I also notice that the appearance of nakedness is completely taken away by the tattooing, the colour of the skin, and the arms and equipments. The men in fact look much better than when dressed in their Maori clothing. Every man, almost without exception, is covered with tattooing from the knees to the waist; the face is also covered with dark spiral lines. Each man has round his middle a belt, to which is fastened two cartridge boxes, one behind and one before; another belt goes over the right shoulder and under the left arm, and from it hangs, on the left side and rather behind, another cartridge box, and under the waist-belt is thrust, behind, at the small of the back, the short-handled tomahawk for close fight and to finish the wounded. Each cartridge box contains eighteen rounds, and every man has a musket. Altogether this _taua_ is better and more uniformly armed and equipped than ordinary; but they have been amongst the first who got pakehas to trade with them, and are indeed in consequence the terror of New Zealand. On they come, a set of tall, athletic, heavy-made men; they would, I am sure, in the aggregate weigh some tons heavier than the same number of men taken at random from the streets of one of our manufacturing towns. They are now half way across the plain; they keep their formation, a solid oblong, admirably as they advance, but they do not keep step; this causes a very singular appearance at a distance. Instead of the regular marching step of civilized soldiers, which may be observed at any distance, this mass seems to progress towards you with the creeping motion of some great reptile at a distance, and when coming down a sloping ground this effect is quite remarkable. The mimic opposition is now discontinued; the outpost rushes in at full speed, the men firing their guns in the air as they run. "_Takina! takina!_" is the cry, and out spring three young men, the best runners of our tribe, to perform the ceremony of the _taki_. They hold in their hands some reeds to represent darts or _kokiri_. At this moment a tremendous fire of _ball_ cartridge opens from the fort; the balls whistle in every direction, over and around the advancing party, who steadily and gravely come on, not seeming to know that a gun has been fired; though they perfectly well understand that this salute is also a hint of full preparation for any unexpected turn things may take. Now, from the whole female population arises the shrill "_haere mai! haere mai!_" Mats are waving, guns firing, dogs barking; the chief roaring to "fall in," and form for the war dance. He appears half mad with excitement, anxiety, and something very like apprehension of a sudden onslaught from his friends. In the midst of this horrible uproar off dart the three runners. They are not unexpected. Three young men of the _taua_ are seen to tighten their waist-belts and hand their muskets to their comrades. On go the three young men from the fort. They approach the front of the advancing column; they dance and caper about like mad monkeys, twisting their faces about in the most extraordinary manner, showing the whites of their eyes, and lolling out their tongues. At last, after several feints, they boldly advance within twenty yards of the supposed enemy, and send the reed darts flying full in their faces: then they turn and fly as if for life. Instantly, from the stranger ranks, three young men dart forth in eager pursuit; and behind them comes the solid column, rushing on at full speed. Run now, O "Sounding Sea," (_Tai Haruru_), for the "Black Cloud" (_Kapua Mangu_), the swiftest of the Rarawa, is at your back: run now, for the honour of your tribe and your own name, run! run! It was an exciting scene. The two famous runners came on at a tremendous pace, the dark mass of armed men following close behind at full speed, keeping their formation admirably, the ground shaking under them as they rushed on. On come the two runners (the others are left behind and disregarded). The pursuer gains upon his man; but they are fast nearing the goal, where, according to Maori custom, the chase must end. Run, "Sounding Sea;" another effort! your tribe are near in full array, and armed for the war dance; their friendly ranks are your refuge: run! run! On came the headlong race. When within about thirty yards of the place where our tribe was now formed in a solid oblong, each man kneeling on one knee, with musket held in both hands, butt to ground, and somewhat sloped to the front, the pursuing native caught at the shoulder of our man, touched it, but could do no more. Here he must stop; to go farther would not be "correct." He will, however, boast everywhere that he has touched the shoulder of the famous "Sounding Sea." Our man has not, however, been caught, which would have been a bad omen. At this moment the charging column comes thundering up to where their man is standing; instantly they all kneel upon one knee, holding their guns sloped before their faces, in the manner already described. The _élite_ of the two tribes are now opposite to each other, all armed, all kneeling, and formed in two solid oblong masses, the narrow end of the oblong to the front. Only thirty yards divide them; but the front ranks do not gaze on each other: both parties turn their eyes towards the ground, and with heads bent downwards, and a little to one side, appear to listen. All is silence; you might have heard a pin drop. The uproar has turned to a calm; the men are kneeling statues; the chiefs have disappeared--they are in the centre of their tribes. The pakeha is beginning to wonder what will be the end of all this; and also to speculate on the efficacy of the buck shot with which his gun is loaded, and wishes it was ball. Two minutes have elapsed in this solemn silence; the more remarkable as being the first quiet two minutes for the last two days and nights. Suddenly from the extreme rear of the strangers' column is heard a scream--a horrid yell. A savage, of herculean stature, comes, _mere_ in hand, and rushing madly to the front. He seems hunted by all the furies. Bedlam never produced so horrid a visage. Thrice, as he advances, he gives that horrid cry; and thrice the armed tribe give answer with a long-drawn gasping sigh. He is at the front; he jumps into the air, shaking his stone weapon; the whites only of his eyes are visible, giving a most hideous appearance to his face; he shouts the first words of the war song, and instantly his tribe spring from the ground. It would be hard to describe the scene which followed. The roaring chorus of the war song; the horrid grimaces; the eyes all white; the tongues hanging out; the furious, yet measured, and uniform gesticulation, jumping, and stamping. I felt the ground plainly trembling. At last the war dance ended; and then my tribe (I find I am already beginning to get Maorified), starting from the ground like a single man, endeavoured to out-do even their amiable friends' exhibition. They end; then the newcomers perform another demon dance; then my tribe give another. Silence again prevails, and all sit down. Immediately a man from the new-arrivals comes to the front of his own party; he runs to and fro; he speaks for his tribe; these are his words:--"Peace is made! peace is made! peace is firm! peace is secure! peace! peace! peace!" This man is not a person of any particular consequence in his tribe, but his brother was killed by our people in the battle I have mentioned, and this gives him the right to be the first to proclaim peace. His speech is ended and he "falls in." Some three or four others "follow on the same side." Their speeches are short also, and nearly verbatim what the first was. Then who, of all the world, starts forth from "ours," to speak on the side of "law and order," but my diabolical old acquaintance the "Relation Eater." I had by this time picked up a little Maori, and could partly understand his speech. "Welcome! welcome! welcome! Peace is made! not till now has there been true peace! I have seen you, and peace is made!" Here he broke out into a song, the chorus of which was taken up by hundreds of voices, and when it ended he made a sudden and very expressive gesture of scattering something with his hands, which was a signal to all present that the ceremonial was at an end for the time. Our tribe at once disappeared into the pa, and at the same instant the strangers broke into a scattered mob, and made for the long shed which had been prepared for their reception, which was quite large enough, and the floor covered thickly with clean rushes to sleep on. About fifty or sixty then started for the border of the forest to bring their clothes and baggage, which had been left there as incumbrances to the movements of the performers in the ceremonials I have described. Part, however, of the "_impedimenta_" had already arrived on the backs of about thirty boys, women, and old slaves; and I noticed amongst other things some casks of cartridges, which were, as I thought, rather ostentatiously exposed to view. I soon found the reason my friend of saturnine propensities had closed proceedings so abruptly was, that the tribe had many pressing duties of hospitality to fulfil, and that the heavy talking was to commence next day. I noticed also that to this time there had been no meeting of the chiefs, and, moreover, that the two parties had kept strictly separate: the nearest they had been to each other was thirty yards when the war dancing was going on, and they seemed quite glad, when the short speeches were over, to move off to a greater distance from each other. Soon after the dispersion of the two parties, a firing of muskets was heard in and at the rear of the fort, accompanied by the squeaking, squealing, and dying groans of a whole herd of pigs. Directly afterwards a mob of fellows were seen staggering under the weight of the dead pigs, and proceeding to the long shed already mentioned, in front of which they were flung down, _sans ceremonie_, and without a word spoken. I counted sixty-nine large fat pigs flung in one heap, one on the top of the other, before that part of the shed where the principal chief was sitting; twelve, were thrown before the interesting savage who had "started" the war dance; and several single porkers were thrown without any remark before certain others of the guests. The parties, however, to whom this compliment was paid, sat quietly saying nothing, and hardly appearing to see what was done. Behind the pigs was placed, by the active exertion of two or three hundred people, a heap of potatoes and _kumera_, in quantity about ten tons, so there was no want of the raw material for a feast. The pigs and potatoes having been deposited, a train of women appeared--the whole, indeed, of the young and middle-aged women of the tribe. They advanced with a half-dancing, half-hopping sort of step, to the time of a wild but not unmusical chant, each woman holding high in both hands a smoking dish of some kind or other of Maori delicacy, hot from the oven. The groundwork of this feast appeared to be sweet potatoes and _taro_, but on the top of each smoking mess was placed either dried shark, eels, mullet, or pork, all "piping hot." This treat was intended to stay our guests' stomachs till they could find time to cook for themselves. The women having placed the dishes, or, to speak more correctly, baskets, on the ground before the shed, disappeared; and in a miraculously short time the feast disappeared also, as was proved by seeing the baskets flung in twos, threes, and tens, empty out of the shed. Next day, pretty early in the morning, I saw our chief (as I must call him for distinction) with a few of the principal men of the tribe, dressed in their best Maori costume, taking their way towards the shed of the visitors. When they got pretty near, a cry of _haere mai!_ hailed them. They went on gravely, and observing where the principal chief was seated, our chief advanced towards him, fell upon his neck, embracing him in the most affectionate manner, and commenced a _tangi_, or melancholy sort of ditty, which lasted a full half-hour; during which, both parties, as in duty bound and in compliance with custom, shed floods of tears. How they managed to do it is more than I can tell to this day; except that I suppose you may train a man to do anything. Right well do I know that either party would have almost given his life for a chance to exterminate the other with all his tribe; and twenty-seven years afterwards I saw the two tribes fighting in the very quarrel which was pretended to have been made up that day. Before this, however, both these chiefs were dead, and others reigned in their stead. While the _tangi_ was going on between the two principals, the companions of our chief each selected one of the visitors, and, rushing into his arms, went through a similar scene. Old "Relation Eater" singled out the horrific savage who had begun the war dance, and these two tenderhearted individuals, for a full half-hour, seated on the ground, hanging on each other's necks, gave vent to such a chorus of skilfully modulated howling as would have given Momus the blue devils to listen to. After the _tangi_ was ended, the two tribes seated themselves in a large irregular circle on the plain; into this circle strode an orator, who, having said his say, was followed by another, and so the greater part of the day was consumed. No arms were to be seen in the hands of either party, except the greenstone _mere_ of the principal chiefs; but I took notice that about thirty of our people never left the nearest gate of the pa, and that their loaded muskets, although out of sight, were close at hand, standing against the fence inside the gate: I also perceived that under their cloaks or mats they wore their cartridge boxes and tomahawks. This caused me to observe the other party more closely. They also, I perceived, had some forty men sleeping in the shed; these fellows had not removed their cartridge boxes either, and all their companions' arms were carefully ranged behind them in a row, six or seven deep, against the back wall of the shed. The speeches of the orators were not very interesting, so I took a stroll to a little rising ground at about a hundred yards distance, where a company of natives, better dressed than common, were seated. They had the best sort of ornamented cloaks, and wore in their heads, feathers, which I already knew "commoners" could not afford to wear, as they were only to be procured some hundreds of miles to the south. I therefore concluded these were magnates or "personages" of some kind or other, and determined to introduce myself. As I approached, one of these splendid individuals nodded to me in a very familiar sort of manner, and I, not to appear rude, returned the salute. I stepped into the circle formed by my new friends, and had just commenced a _tena koutou_, when a breeze of wind came sighing along the hill-top; my friend nodded again, and his cloak blew to one side. What do I see?--or rather what do I not see? _The head has nobody under it!_ A number of heads had been stuck on slender rods, a cross stick being tied on to represent the shoulders, and the cloaks thrown over all in such a natural manner as to deceive any one at a short distance; but a green _pakeha_, who was not expecting any such matter, to a certainty. I fell back a yard or two, so as to take a full view of this silent circle, and felt that at last I had fallen into strange company. I began to look more closely at my companions, and to try to fancy what their characters in life had been. One had undoubtedly been a warrior; there was something bold and defiant about the look of the head. Another was the head of a very old man, grey, shrivelled, and wrinkled. I was going on with my observations when I was saluted by a voice from behind with, "Looking at the eds, sir?" It was one of the pakehas formerly mentioned. "Yes," said I, turning round just the least possible thing quicker than ordinary. "Eds has been a getting scarce," says he. "I should think so," says I. "We an't ad a ed this long time," says he. "The devil!" says I. "One o' them eds has been hurt bad," says he. "I should think all were rather so," says I. "Oh, no, only one on 'em," says he; "the skull is split, and it won't fetch nothin'," says he. "Oh, murder! I see, now," says I. "Eds was _werry_ scarce," says he, shaking his own "ed." "Ah!" said I. "They had to tattoo a slave a bit ago," says he, "and the villain ran away, tattooin' and all!" says he. "What?" said I. "Bolted afore he was fit to kill," says he. "Stole off with his own head?" says I. "That's just it," says he. "_Capital_ felony!" says I. "You may say that, sir," says he. "Good morning," said I, and walked away pretty smartly. "Loose notions about heads in this country," said I to myself; and involuntarily putting up my hand to my own, I thought somehow the bump of combativeness felt smaller, or indeed had vanished altogether. "It's all very funny," said I. I walked down into the plain, and saw in one place a crowd of women, boys, and others. There was a great noise of lamentation going on. I went up to the crowd, and there beheld, lying on a clean mat, which was spread on the ground, another head. A number of women were standing in a row before it, screaming, wailing and quivering their hands about in a most extraordinary manner, and cutting themselves dreadfully with sharp flints and shells. One old woman, in the centre of the group, was one clot of blood from head to feet, and large clots of coagulated blood lay on the ground where she stood. The sight was absolutely horrible, I thought at the time. She was singing or howling a dirge-like wail. In her right hand she held a piece of _tuhua_, or volcanic glass, as sharp as a razor: this she placed deliberately to her left wrist, drawing it slowly upwards to her left shoulder, the spouting blood following as it went, and from the left shoulder downwards, across the breast to the short ribs on the right side; she then shifted the rude but keen knife from the right hand to the left, placed it to the right wrist, drawing it upwards to the right shoulder, and so down across the breast to the left side, thus making a bloody cross on the breast. And so the operation went on all the time I was there; the old creature all the time howling in time and measure, and keeping time, also with the knife, which at every cut was shifted from one hand to the other, as I have described. She had scored her forehead and cheeks before I came; her face and body were one mass of blood, and a little stream was dropping from every finger: a more hideous object could scarcely be conceived. I took notice that the younger women, though they screamed as loud, did not cut near so deep as the old woman; especially about the face. This custom has been falling gradually out of use; and when practised now, in these degenerate times, the cutting and maiming is a mere form: slight scratching to draw enough blood to swear by; but, in "the good old times," the thing used to be done properly. I often, of late years, have felt quite indignant to see some degenerate hussy making believe with a piece of flint in her hand, but who had no notion of cutting herself up properly as she ought to do. It shows a want of natural affection in the present generation, I think; they refuse to shed tears of blood for their friends as their mothers used to do. This head, I found on inquiry, was not the head of an enemy. A small party of our friends had been surprised, and two brothers were flying for their lives down a hill-side; a shot broke the leg of one of them and he fell. The enemy were close at hand; already the exulting cry "_Na! na! mate rawa!_" was heard; and the wounded man cried to his brother, "Do not leave my head a plaything for the foe." There was no time for deliberation. The brother _did not_ deliberate; a few slashes with the tomahawk saved his brother's head, and he escaped with it in his hand, dried it, and brought it home. The old woman was the mother, the young ones were cousins: there was no sister, as I heard, when I inquired. All the heads on the hill were heads of enemies, and several of them are now in museums in Europe. With reference to the knowing remarks of the pakeha who accosted me on the hill on the state of the head market, I am bound to remark that my friend Mr. ---- never speculated in this "article;" but the skippers of many of the colonial trading schooners were always ready to deal with a man who had "a real good head," and used to commission such men as my companion of the morning to "pick up heads" for them. It is a positive fact that some time after this the head of a live man was sold and paid for beforehand, and afterwards honestly delivered "as per agreement." The scoundrel slave who had the conscience to run away with his own head after the trouble and expense had been gone to to tattoo it to make it more valuable, is no fiction either. Even in "the good old times" people would sometimes be found to behave in the most dishonest manner. But there are good and bad to be found in all times and places. Now if there is one thing I hate more than another it is the raw-head-and-bloody-bones style of writing, and in these random reminiscences I shall avoid all particular mention of battles, massacres, and onslaughts; except there be something particularly characteristic of my friend the Maori in them. As for mere hacking and hewing, there has been enough of that to be had in Europe, Asia, and America of late; and very well described too, by numerous "our correspondents." If I should have to fight a single combat or two, just to please the ladies, I shall do my best not to get killed; and I hereby promise not to kill any one myself, if I possibly can help it. I, however, hope to be excused for the last two or three pages, as it was necessary to point out that in the good old times, if one's own head was not sufficient, it was quite practicable to get another. I must, however, get rid of our visitors. Next day, at daylight, they disappeared: canoes from their own tribe had come to meet them (the old woman with the flint had arrived in these canoes), and they departed _sans ceremonie_, taking with them all that was left of the pigs and potatoes which had been given them, and also the "fine lot of eds." Their departure was felt as a great relief; and though it was satisfactory to know peace was made, it was even more so to be well rid of the peacemakers. Hail, lovely peace, daughter of heaven! meek-eyed inventor of Armstrong guns and Enfield rifles; you of the liquid-fire-shell, hail! Shooter at "bulls'-eyes," trainer of battalions, killer of wooden Frenchmen, hail! (A bit of fine writing does one good.) Nestling under thy wing, I will scrape sharp the point of my spear with a _pipi_ shell; I will carry fern-root into my pa; I will _cure_ those heads which I have killed in war, or they will spoil and "won't fetch nothin'": for these are thy arts, O peace! CHAPTER IV. A little Affair of "Flotsam and Jetsam."--Rebellion crushed in the Bud.--A Pakeha's House sacked.--Maori Law.--A Maori Lawsuit. --Affair thrown into Chancery. Pakehas, though precious in the good old times, would sometimes get into awkward scrapes. Accidents, I have observed, will happen at the best of times. Some time after the matters I have been recounting happened, two of the pakehas, who were "knocking about" Mr. ----'s premises, went fishing. One of them was a very respectable old man-of-war's man, the other was the connoisseur of heads; who, I may as well mention, was thought to be one of that class who never could remember to a nicety how they had come into the country, or where they came from. It so happened that on their return, the little boat, not being well fastened, went adrift in the night, and was cast on shore at about four miles distance, in the dominions of a petty chief who was a sort of vassal or retainer of ours. He did not belong to the tribe, and lived on the land by the permission of our chief as a sort of tenant at will. Of late an ill-feeling had grown up between him and the principal chief. The vassal had in fact begun to show some airs of independence, and had collected more men about him than our chief cared to see; but up to this time there had been no regular outbreak between them: possibly because the vassal had not yet sufficient force to declare independence formally. Our chief was, however, watching for an excuse to fall out with him before he should grow too strong. As soon as it was heard where the boat was, the two men went for it as a matter of course; little thinking that this encroaching vassal would have the insolence to claim the right of "flotsam and jetsam," which belonged to the principal chief, and which was always waived in favour of his pakehas. On arrival, however, at this rebellious chief's dominions, they were informed that it was his intention to stick to the boat until he was paid a "stocking of gunpowder"--meaning a quantity as much as a stocking would hold, which was the regular standard measure in those days in that locality. A stocking of gunpowder! who ever heard of such an awful imposition? The demand was enormous in value and rebellious in principle. The thing must be put an end to at once. The principal chief did not hesitate: rebellion must be crushed in the bud. He at once mustered his whole force (he did not approve of "little wars"), and sent them off under the command of the Relation Eater, who served an ejectment in regular Maori form, by first plundering the village and then burning it to ashes; also destroying the cultivation and provisions, and forcing the vassal to decamp with all his people on pain of instant massacre--a thing they did not lose a moment in doing; and I don't think they either ate or slept till they had got fifty miles off, where a tribe related to them received them and gave them a welcome. Well, about three months after this, about day-light in the morning, I was aroused by a great uproar of men shouting, doors smashing, and women screaming. Up I jumped, and pulling on a few clothes in less time, I am sure, than ever I had done before my in life, out I ran, and at once perceived that Mr. ----'s premises were being sacked by the rebellious vassal, who had returned with about fifty men, and was taking this means of revenging himself for the rough handling he had received from our chief. Men were rushing in mad haste through the smashed windows and doors, loaded with anything and everything they could lay hands on. The chief was stamping against the door of a room in which he was aware the most valuable goods were kept, and shouting for help to break it open. A large canoe was floating close to the house, and was being rapidly filled with plunder. I saw a fat old Maori woman, who was washerwoman to the establishment, being dragged along the ground by a huge fellow who was trying to tear from her grasp one of my shirts, to which she clung with perfect desperation. I perceived at a glance that the faithful old creature would probably save a sleeve. A long line of similar articles, my property, which had graced the _taiepa_ fence the night before, had disappeared. The old man-of-war's man had placed his back exactly opposite to that part of the fence where hung a certain striped cotton shirt and well-scrubbed canvas trowsers, which _could_ belong to no one but himself. He was "hitting out" lustily right and left. Mr. ---- had been absent some days on a journey, and the head merchant, as we found after all was over, was hiding under a bed. When the old sailor saw me, he "sang out," in a voice clear as a bell, and calculated to be distinctly heard above the din:--"Hit out, sir, if you please; let's make a fight of it the best we can; our mob will be here in five minutes; Tahuna has run to fetch them." While he thus gave both advice and information, he also set a good example, having delivered just one thump per word, or thereabouts. The odds were terrible, but the time was short that I was required to fight; so I at once floored a native who was rushing by me. He fell like a man shot, and I then perceived he was one of our own people who had been employed about the place; so, to balance things, I knocked down another, and then felt myself seized round the waist from behind, by a fellow who seemed to be about as strong as a horse. At this moment I cast an anxious glance around the field of battle. The old Maori woman had, as I expected, saved a good half of my shirt; she had got on the top of an outhouse, and was waving it in a "Sister Anne" sort of manner, and calling to an imaginary friendly host which she pretended to see advancing to the rescue. The old sailor had fallen under, but not surrendered to, superior force. Three natives had got him down; but it took all they could do to _keep_ him down: he was evidently carrying out his original idea of making a fight of it, and gaining time. The striped shirt and canvas trowsers still hung proudly on the fence; none of his assailants could spare a second to pull them down. I was kicking and flinging in the endeavour to extricate myself; or, at least, to turn round, so as to carry out a "face to face" policy: which it would be a grand mistake to suppose was not understood long ago in the good old times. I had nearly succeeded, and was thinking what particular form of destruction I should shower on the foe, when a tremendous shout was heard. It was "our mob" coming to the rescue; and, like heroes of old, "sending their voice before them." In an instant both myself and the gallant old tar were released; the enemy dashed on board their canoe, and in another moment were off, darting away before a gale of wind and a fair tide at a rate that put half a mile at least between them and us before our protectors came up. "Load the gun!" cried the sailor--(there was a nine-pound carronade on the cliff before the house, overlooking the river). A cartridge was soon found, and a shot, and the gun loaded. "Slew her a little," cried my now commander; "fetch a fire stick." "Aye, aye, sir" (from self). "Wait a little; that will do--Fire!"--(in a voice as if ordering the discharge of the whole broadside of a three-decker). Bang! The elevation was perfectly correct. The shot struck the water at exactly the right distance, and only a few feet to one side. A very few feet more to the right and the shot would have entered the stern of the canoe, and, as she was end on to us, would have killed half the people in her. A miss, however, is as good as a mile off. The canoe disappeared behind a point, and there we were with an army of armed friends around us, who, by making great expedition, had managed to come exactly in time to be too late. This was a _taua muru_ (a robbing expedition) in revenge for the leader having been cleaned out by our chief, which gave them the right to rob any one connected with, related to, or under the protection of, our chief aforesaid, provided always that they were able. We, on the other hand, had the clear right to kill any of the robbers, which would then have given them the right to kill us; but until we killed some of them, it would not have been "correct" for them to have taken life, so they managed the thing neatly, in order that they should have no occasion to do so. The whole proceeding was unobjectionable in every respect, and _tika_ (correct). Had we put in our nine-pound shot at the stern of their canoe, it would have been correct also; but as we were not able, we had no right whatever to complain. The above is good law: and here I may as well inform the New Zealand public that I am going to write the whole law of this land in a book, which I shall call "_Ko nga ture_;" and as I intend it for the good of both races, I shall mix the two languages up in such a way that neither can understand; but this does not matter, as I shall add a "glossary," in Coptic, to make things clear. Some time after this, a little incident worth noting happened at my friend Mr. ----'s place. Our chief had, for some time back, a sort of dispute with another magnate, who lived about ten miles off. I really cannot say who was in the right: the arguments on both sides were so nearly balanced, that I should not like to commit myself to a judgment in the case. The question was at last brought to a fair hearing at my friend's house. The arguments on both sides were very forcible; so much so that in the course of the arbitration our chief and thirty of his principal witnesses were shot dead in a heap before my friend's door, and sixty others badly wounded, and my friend's house and store blown up and burnt to ashes. My friend was all but, or, indeed, quite ruined; but it would not have been "correct" for him to complain--_his_ loss in goods being far overbalanced by the loss of the tribe in men. He was, however, consoled by hundreds of friends who came in large parties to condole and _tangi_ with him, and who, as was quite correct in such cases, shot and ate all his stock, sheep, pigs, goats, ducks, geese, fowls, &c., all in high compliment to himself: at which he felt proud, as a well conducted and conditioned pakeha Maori (as he was) should do. He did not, however, survive these honours long, poor fellow. He died; and, strange to say, no one knew exactly what was the matter with him: some said it was the climate, they thought. After this, the land about which this little misunderstanding had arisen, was, so to speak, "thrown into chancery," where it has now remained about forty years. But I hear that proceedings are to commence _de novo_ (no allusion to the "new system") next summer, or at farthest the summer after; and as I witnessed the first proceedings, when the case comes on again "may I be there to see." CHAPTER V. Every Englishman's House is his Castle.--My Estate and Castle.-- How I purchased my Estate.--Native Titles to Land, of what Nature. --Value of Land in New Zealand.--Land Commissioners.--The Triumphs of Eloquence.--Magna Charta. "Every Englishman's house is his castle," "I scorn the foreign yoke," and glory in the name of Briton, and all that. The natural end, however, of all castles is to be burnt or blown up. In England it is true you can call the constable, and should any foreign power attack you with grinding organ and white mice, you may hope for succours from without; from which cause "castles" in England are more long-lived. In New Zealand, however, it is different, as, to the present day, the old system prevails, and castles continue to be disposed of in the natural way, as has been seen lately at Taranaki. I now purchased a piece of land and built a "castle" for myself. I really can't tell to the present day who I purchased the land from, for there were about fifty different claimants, every one of whom assured me that the other forty-nine were "humbugs," and had no right whatever. The nature of the different titles of the different claimants were various. One man said his ancestors had killed off the first owners; another declared his ancestors had driven off the second party; another man, who seemed to be listened to with more respect than ordinary, declared that his ancestor had been the first possessor of all, and had never been ousted, and that this ancestor was a huge lizard that lived in a cave on the land many ages ago: and, sure enough, there was the cave to prove it. Besides the principal claims there were an immense number of secondary ones--a sort of latent equities--which had lain dormant until it was known the pakeha had his eye on the land. Some of them seemed to me at the time odd enough. One man required payment because his ancestors, as he affirmed, had exercised the right of catching rats on it; but which he (the claimant) had never done, for the best of reasons, _i.e._, there were no rats to catch: except indeed pakeha rats, which were plenty enough, but this variety of rodent was not counted as game. Another claimed because his grandfather had been murdered on the land, and--as I am a veracious pakeha--another claimed payment because _his_ grandfather had committed the murder! Then half the country claimed payments of various value, from one fig of tobacco to a musket, on account of a certain _wahi tapu_, or ancient burying-ground, which was on the land, and in which every one almost had had relations or rather ancestors buried, as they could clearly make out, in old times; though no one had been deposited in it for about two hundred years, and the bones of the others had been (as they said) removed long ago to a _torere_ in the mountains. It seemed an awkward circumstance that there was some difference of opinion as to where this same _wahi tapu_ was situated, being, and lying; for in case of my buying the land it was stipulated that I should fence it round and make no use of it, although I had paid for it. I, however, have put off fencing till the exact boundaries have been made out; and indeed I don't think I shall ever be called on to do so, the fencing proviso having been made, as I now believe, to give a stronger look of reality to the existence of the sacred spot, it having been observed that I had some doubts on the subject. No mention was ever made of it after the payments had been all made, and so I think I may venture to affirm that the existence of the said _wahi tapu_ is of very doubtful authenticity, though it certainly cost me a round "lot of trade." There was one old man who obstinately persisted in declaring that he, and he alone, was the sole and rightful owner of the land; he seemed also to have a "fixed idea" about certain barrels of gunpowder; but as he did not prove his claim to my satisfaction, and as he had no one to back him, I of course gave him nothing; he nevertheless demanded the gunpowder about once a month for five-and-twenty years, till at last he died of old age, and I am now a landed proprietor, clear of all claims and demands, and have an undeniable right to hold my estate as long as ever I am able. It took about three months' negotiation before the purchase of the land could be made; and, indeed, I at one time gave up the idea, as I found it quite impossible to decide whom to pay. If I paid one party, the others vowed I should never have possession, and to pay all seemed impossible; so at last I let all parties know that I had made up my mind not to have the land. This, however, turned out to be the first step I had made in the right direction; for, thereupon, all the different claimants agreed amongst themselves to demand a certain quantity of goods, and divide them amongst themselves afterwards. I was glad of this, for I wished to buy the land, as I thought, in case I should ever take a trip to the "colonies," it would look well to be able to talk of "my estate in New Zealand." The day being now come on which I was to make the payment, and all parties present, I then and there handed over to the assembled mob the price of the land, consisting of a great lot of blankets, muskets, tomahawks, tobacco, spades, axes, &c., &c.; and received in return a very dirty piece of paper with all their marks on it, I having written the terms of transfer on it in English to my own perfect satisfaction. The cost per acre to me was, as near as can be, about five and a half times what the same quantity of land would have cost me at the same time in Tasmania. But this was not of much importance, as the value of land in New Zealand then (and indeed now) being chiefly imaginary, one could just as easily suppose it to be of a very great value as a very small one; I therefore did not complain of the cost. While I am on the subject of land and land titles, I may as well here mention that many years after the purchase of my land I received notice to appear before certain persons called "Land Commissioners," who were part and parcel of the new inventions which had come up soon after the arrival of the first governor, and which are still a trouble to the land. I was informed that I must appear and prove my title to the land I have mentioned, on pain of forfeiture of the same. Now, I could not see what right any one could have to plague me in this way, and if I had had no one but the commissioners and two or three hundred men of their tribe to deal with, I should have put my pa in fighting order, and told them to "come on;" for before this time I had had occasion to build a pa, in consequence of a little misunderstanding, and being a regularly naturalized member of a strong tribe, could raise men to defend it at the shortest notice. But somehow these people had cunningly managed to mix up the name of Queen Victoria, God bless her! (no disparagement to King Potatau) in the matter; and I, though a pakeha Maori, am a loyal subject of her Majesty, and will stick up and fight for her as long as ever I can muster a good imitation of courage, or a leg to stand upon. This being the case, I made a very unwilling appearance at the court, and explained and defended my title to the land in an oration of four hours' and a half duration; and which, though I was much out of practice, I flatter myself was a good specimen of English rhetoric, and, for its own merits--as well as for another reason which I was not aware of at the time--was listened to by the court with the greatest patience. When I had concluded, and been asked "if I had anything more to say?" I saw the commissioner beginning to count my words, which had been all written, I suppose, in short-hand; and having ascertained how many thousand I had spoken, he handed me a bill, in which I was charged by the word, for every word I had spoken, at the rate of one farthing and one twentieth per word. Oh, Cicero! Oh, Demosthenes! Oh, Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan! Oh, Daniel O'Connell! what would have become of you, if such a stopper had been clapt on your jawing tackle? Fame would never have cracked her trumpet, and "Dan" would never have raised the _rint_. For my part I have never recovered the shock. I have since that time become taciturn, and have adopted a Spartan brevity when forced to speak, and I fear I shall never again have the full swing of my mother tongue. Besides this, I was charged ten shillings each for a little army of witnesses I had brought, by way of being on the sure side--five shillings a head for calling them into court, and five more for "examining" them; said examination consisting of one question each, after which they were told to "be off." I do believe had I brought up a whole tribe, as I had thoughts of doing, the commissioners would not have minded examining them all. They were, I am bound to say, very civil and polite; one of them told me I was "a damned, infernal, clever fellow, and he should like to see a good many more like me." I hope I am not getting tedious; but this business made such an impression on me, that I can't help being too prolix, perhaps, when describing it. I have, however, often since that time had my doubts whether the Queen (God bless her) got the money, or knew half as much of the affair as they wanted to make out. I _don't_ believe it. Our noble Queen would be clean above such a proceeding; and I mean to say it's against Magna Charta, it is! "Justice shall _not be sold_," saith Magna Charta; and if it's not selling justice to make a loyal pakeha Maori pay for every word he speaks when defending his rights in a court of justice, I don't know what is. Well, to make matters up, they after some time gave me a title for my land (as if I had not one before); but then, after some years, they made me give it back again, on purpose, as they said, that they might give me a better! But since that time several more years have passed, and I have not got it; so, as these things are now all the fashion, "I wish I may get it." CHAPTER VI. How I kept House.--Maori Freebooters.--An Ugly Customer.--The "Suaviter in Modo."--A Single Combat to amuse the Ladies.--The true Maori Gentleman.--Character of the Maori People. I never yet could get the proper knack of telling a story. Here I am now, a good forty years ahead of where I ought to be, talking of "title deeds" and "land commissioners," things belonging to the new and deplorable state of affairs which began when this country became "a British colony and possession," and also "one of the brightest jewels in the British crown." I must go back. Having purchased my "estate," I set up housekeeping. My house was a good commodious _raupo_ building; and as I had a princely income of a few hundred a year "in trade," I kept house in a very magnificent and hospitable style. I kept always eight stout paid Maori retainers; the pay being one fig of tobacco per week, and their potatoes, which was about as much more. Their duties were not heavy; being chiefly to amuse themselves fishing, wrestling, shooting pigeons, or pig-hunting, with an occasional pull in the boat when I went on a water excursion. Besides these paid retainers, there was always about a dozen hangers on, who considered themselves apart of the establishment, and who, no doubt, managed to live at my expense; but as that expense was merely a few hundredweight of potatoes a week, and an odd pig now and then, it was not perceptible in the good old times. Indeed these hangers on, as I call them, were necessary; for now and then, in those brave old times, little experiments would be made by certain Maori gentlemen of freebooting propensities, who were in great want of "British manufactures," to see what could be got by bullying "the pakeha," and to whom a good display of physical force was the only argument worth notice. These gentry generally came from a long distance, made a sudden appearance, and, thanks to my faithful retainers--who, as a matter of course, were all bound to fight for me, though I should have found it hard to get much _work_ out of them--made as sudden a retreat; though on one or two occasions, when my standing army were accidentally absent, I had to do battle single-handed. I think I have promised somewhere that I would perform a single combat for the amusement of the ladies, and I may as well do it now as at any other time. I shall, therefore, recount a little affair I had with one of these gentry; as it is indeed quite necessary I should, if I am to give any true idea of "the good old times." I must, however, protest against the misdeeds of a few ruffians--human wolves--being charged against the whole of their countrymen. At the time I am speaking of, the only restraint on such people was the fear of retaliation, and the consequence was, that often a dare-devil savage would run a long career of murder, robbery, and outrage, before meeting with a check, simply from the terror he inspired, and the "luck" which often accompanies outrageous daring. At a time, however, and in a country like New Zealand, where every man was a fighting man or nothing, these desperadoes, sooner or later, came to grief; being at last invariably shot, or run through the body, by some sturdy freeholder, whose rights they had invaded. I had two friends staying with me, young men who had come to see me from the neighbouring colonies, and to take a summer tour in New Zealand; and it so happened that no less than three times during my absence from home, and when I had taken almost all my people along with me, my castle had been invaded by one of the most notorious ruffians who had ever been an impersonation of, or lived by, the law of force. This interesting specimen of the _genus homo_ had, on the last of these visits, demanded that my friends should hand over to him one pair of blankets; but as the prospectus he produced, with respect to payment, was not at all satisfactory, my friends declined to enter into the speculation, the more particularly as the blankets were mine. Our freebooting acquaintance then, to explain his views more clearly, knocked both my friends down; threatened to kill them both with his tomahawk; then rushed into the bedroom, dragged out all the bedclothes, and burnt them on the kitchen fire. This last affair was rather displeasing to me. I held to the theory that every Englishman's house was his castle, and was moreover rather savage at my guests having been so roughly handled. In fact I began to feel that, though I had up to this time managed to hold my own pretty well, I was at last in danger of falling under the imposition of "black mail," and losing my _status_ as an independent potentate--a _rangatira_ of the first water. I then and there declared loudly that it was well for the offender that I had not been at home, and that if ever he tried his tricks with _me_ he would find out his mistake. These declarations of war, I perceived, were heard by my men in a sort of incredulous silence (silence in New Zealand gives _dis_-sent), and though the fellows were stout chaps who would not mind a row with any ordinary mortal, I verily believe they would have all run at the first appearance of this redoubted ruffian. Indeed his antecedents had been such as might have almost been their excuse. He had killed several men in fair fight, and had also--as was well known--committed two most diabolical murders; one of which was on his own wife, a fine young woman, whose brains he blew out at half a second's notice for no further provocation than this:--he was sitting in the verandah of his house, and told her to bring him a light for his pipe. She, being occupied in domestic affairs, said, "Can't you fetch it yourself? I am going for water." She had the calibash in her hand and their infant child on her back. He snatched up his gun and instantly shot her dead on the spot; and I had heard him afterwards describing quite coolly the comical way in which her brains had been knocked out by the shot with which the gun was loaded. He also had, for some trifling provocation, lopped off the arm of his own brother, or cousin, I forget which; and was, altogether, from his tremendous bodily strength and utter insensibility to danger, about as "ugly a customer" as one would care to meet. I am now describing a regular Maori ruffian of the good old times; the natural growth of a state of society wherein might was to a very great extent right, and where bodily strength and courage were almost the sole qualities for which a man was respected or valued. He was a bullet-headed, scowling, bow-legged, broad-shouldered, herculean savage, and all these qualifications combined made him unquestionably "a great _rangatira_;" and, as he had never been defeated, his _mana_ was in full force. A few weeks after the affair of the blankets, as I was sitting all alone reading a Sydney newspaper (which, being only a year old, was highly interesting), my friends and all my natives having gone on an expedition to haul a large fishing-net, whom should I see enter the room and squat down on the floor, as if taking permanent possession, but the amiable and highly interesting individual I have taken so much trouble to describe. He said nothing, but his posture and countenance spoke whole volumes of defiance and murderous intent. He had heard of the threats I had made against him, and there he was; let me turn him out if I dare. That was his meaning,--there was no mistaking it. I have all my life been an admirer of the _suaviter in modo_; though it is quite out of place in New Zealand. If you tell a man--a Maori I mean--in a gentle tone of voice and with a quiet manner that if he continues a given line of conduct you will begin to commence to knock him down, he simply disbelieves you, and thereby forces you to do that which, if you could have persuaded yourself to have spoken very uncivilly at first, there would have been no occasion for. I have seen many proofs of this, and though I have done my best for many years to improve the understanding of my Maori friends in this particular, I find still there are but very few who can understand at all how it is possible that the _suaviter in modo_ can be combined with the _fortiter in re_. They in fact can't understand it, for some reason perfectly inexplicable to me. It was, however, quite a matter of indifference, I could perceive, how I should open proceedings with my friend; as he evidently meant mischief. "Habit is second nature," so I instinctively took to the _suaviter_. "Friend," said I, in a very mild tone, and with as amiable a smile as I could get up, in spite of a certain clenching of the teeth which somehow came on me at the moment, "my advice to you is to be off." He seemed to nestle himself firmer in his seat, and made no answer but a scowl of defiance. "I am thinking, friend, that this is my house," said I; and springing upon him, I placed my foot to his shoulder and gave a shove which would have sent most people heels over head. Not so, however, with my friend. It shook him, certainly, a little; but in an instant, as quick as lightning, and as it appeared with a single motion, he bounded from the ground, flung his mat away over his head, and struck a furious blow at my head with his tomahawk. I escaped instant death by a quickness equal to or greater than his own. My eye was quick, and so was my arm: life was at stake. I caught the tomahawk in full descent: the edge grazed my hand; but my arm, stiffened like a bar of iron, arrested the blow. He made one furious, but ineffectual, effort to tear the tomahawk from my grasp; and then we seized one another round the middle, and struggled like maniacs in the endeavour to dash each other against the boarded floor; I holding on for dear life to the tomahawk, and making desperate efforts to get it from him, but without a chance of success, as it was fastened to his wrist by a strong thong of leather. He was, as I soon found, somewhat stronger than me, and heavier; but I was as active as a cat, and as long-winded as an emu, and very far from weak. At last he got a _wiri_ round my leg; and had it not been for the table on which we both fell, and which, in smashing to pieces, broke our fall, I might have been disabled, and in that case instantly tomahawked. We now rolled over and over on the floor like two mad bulldogs; he trying to bite, and I trying to stun him by dashing his bullet head against the floor. Up again!--still both holding on to the tomahawk. Another furious struggle, in the course of which both our heads, and half our bodies, were dashed through the two glass windows in the room, and every single article of furniture was reduced to atoms. Down again, rolling like mad, and dancing about amongst the rubbish--the wreck of the house. By this time we were both covered with blood from various wounds, received I don't know how. I had been all this time fighting under a great disadvantage, for my friend was trying to kill me, and I was only trying to disarm and tie him up--a much harder thing than to kill. My reason for going to this trouble was, that as there were no witnesses to the row, if I killed him, I might have had serious difficulties with his tribe. Up again; another terrific tussle for the tomahawk; down again with a crash: and so this life or death battle went on, down and up, up and down, for a full hour. At last I perceived that my friend was getting weaker, and felt that victory was only now a question of time. I, so far from being fatigued, was even stronger. We had another desperate wrestling match. I lifted my friend high in my arms, and dashed him, panting, furious, foaming at the mouth--but _beaten_--against the ground. There he lies: the worshipper of force. His God has deserted him. But no, not yet. He has one more chance; and a fatal one it nearly proved to me. I began to unfasten the tomahawk from his wrist. An odd expression came over his countenance. He spoke for the first time. "Enough! I am beaten; let me rise." Now I had often witnessed the manly and becoming manner in which some Maoris can take defeat, when they have been defeated in what they consider fair play. I had also ceased to fear my friend, and so incautiously let go his left arm. Quick as lightning, he snatched at a large carving fork, which, unperceived by me, was lying on the floor amongst the smashed furniture and _débris_ of my household effects; his fingers touched the handle and it rolled away out of his reach: my life was saved. He then struck me with all his remaining force on the side of the head, causing the blood to flow out of my mouth. One more short struggle, and he was conquered. But now I had at last got angry: the drunkenness, the exhilaration of fight, which comes on some constitutions, was fairly on me. I had also a consciousness that now I must kill my man, or, sooner or later, he would kill me. I thought of the place I would bury him; how I would stun him first with the back of the tomahawk, to prevent too much blood being seen; how I would then carry him off (I could carry two such men now, easy): I would _murder_ him and cover him up. I unwound the tomahawk from his wrist: he was passive and helpless now. I wished he was stronger, and told him to get up and "die standing," as his countrymen say. I clutched the tomahawk for the _coup-de-grace_ (I can't help it, young ladies, the devil is in me);--at this instant a thundering sound of feet is heard--a whole tribe are coming! Now am I either lost or saved!--saved from doing that which I should afterwards repent, though constrained by necessity to do it. The rush of charging feet comes closer, and in an instant comes dashing and smashing through doors and windows, in breathless haste and alarm, a whole tribe of friends. Small ceremony now with my antagonist. He was dragged by the heels, stamped on, kicked, and thrown half-dead, or nearly quite dead, into his canoe. All the time we had been fighting, a little slave imp of a boy belonging to my antagonist had been loading the canoe with my goods and chattels, and had managed to make a very fair plunder of it. These were all now brought back by my friends, except one cloth jacket, which happened to be concealed under the _whariki_; and which I only mention because I remember that the attempt to recover it some time afterwards cost one of my friends his life. The savage scoundrel, who had so nearly done for me, broke two of his ribs, and so otherwise injured him that he never recovered, and died after lingering about a year. My friends were going on a journey, and had called to see me as they passed. They saw the slave boy employed as I have stated, and knowing to whom he belonged had rushed at once to the rescue, little expecting to find me alive. I may as well now dispose of this friend of mine, by giving his after history. He for a long time after our fight went continually armed with a double gun, and said he would shoot me wherever he met me; he however had had enough of attacking me in my "castle," and so did not call there any more. I also went continually armed, and took care also to have always some of my people at hand. After this, this fellow committed two more murders, and also killed in fair fight with his own hand the first man in a native battle, in which the numbers on each side were about three hundred, and which I witnessed. The man he killed was a remarkably fine young fellow, a great favourite of mine. At last, having attacked and attempted to murder another native, he was shot through the heart by the person he attempted to murder, and fell dead on the spot, and so there died "a great _rangatira_." His tribe quietly buried him and said no more about it, which showed their sense of right. Had he been killed in what they considered an unjust manner, they would have revenged his death at any cost; but I have no doubt they themselves were glad to get rid of him, for he was a terror to all about him. I have been in many a scrape both by sea and land, but I must confess that I never met a more able hand at an argument than this Maori _rangatira_. I have not mentioned my friend's name with whom I had this discussion on the rights of Englishmen, because he has left a son, who is a great _rangatira_, and who might feel displeased if I was too particular; and I am not quite so able now to carry out a "face-to-face" policy as I was a great many years ago: besides there is a sort of "honour-amongst-thieves" feeling between myself and my Maori friends on certain matters which we mutually understand are not for the ears of the "new people." Now, ladies, I call that a fairish good fight, considering no one is killed on either side. I promise to be good in future and to keep the peace, if people will let me; and indeed, I may as well mention, that from that day to this I have never had occasion to explain again to a Maori how it is that "every Englishman's house is his castle." "Fair play is a jewel;" and I will here, as bound in honour to do, declare that I have met amongst the natives with men who would be a credit to any nation; men on whom nature had plainly stamped the mark of "Noble," of the finest bodily form, quick and intelligent in mind, polite and brave, and capable of the most self-sacrificing acts for the good of others; patient, forbearing, and affectionate in their families: in a word, gentlemen. These men were the more remarkable as they had grown up surrounded by a set of circumstances of the most unfavourable kind for the development of the qualities of which they were possessed; and I have often looked on with admiration, when I have seen them protesting against, and endeavouring to restrain some of, the dreadful barbarities of their countrymen. As for the Maori people in general, they are neither so good nor so bad as their friends and enemies have painted them, and I suspect are pretty much like what almost any other people would have become, if subjected for ages to the same external circumstances. For ages they have struggled against necessity in all its shapes. This has given to them a remarkable greediness for gain in every visible and immediately tangible form. It has even left its mark on their language. Without the aid of iron the most trifling tool or utensil could only be procured by an enormously disproportionate outlay of labour in its construction, and, in consequence, it became precious to a degree scarcely conceivable by people of civilized and wealthy countries. This great value attached to personal property of all kinds, increased proportionately the temptation to plunder; and where no law existed, or could exist, of sufficient force to repress the inclination, every man, as a natural consequence, became a soldier; if it were only for the defence of his own property and that of those who were banded with him--his tribe, or family. From this state of things regular warfare arose, as a matter of course; the military art was studied as a science, and brought to great perfection, as applied to the arms used; and a marked military character was given to the people. The necessity of labour, the necessity of warfare, and a temperate climate, gave them strength of body, accompanied by a perseverance and energy of mind, perfectly astonishing. With rude and blunt stones they felled the giant kauri--toughest of pines; and from it, in process of time, at an expense of labour, perseverance, and ingenuity, perfectly astounding to those who know what it really was, produced, carved, painted, and inlaid, a masterpiece of art, and an object of beauty--the war canoe, capable of carrying a hundred men on a distant expedition, through the boisterous seas surrounding their island. As a consequence of their warlike habits and character, they are self-possessed and confident in themselves and their own powers, and have much diplomatic finesse and casuistry at command. Their intelligence causes them theoretically to acknowledge the benefits of law, which they see established amongst us; but their hatred of restraint causes them practically to abhor and resist its full enforcement amongst themselves. Doubting our professions of friendship, fearing our ultimate designs, led astray by false friends, possessed of that "little learning" which is, in their case, most emphatically "a dangerous thing," and divided amongst themselves,--such are the people with whom we are now in contact--such the people to whom, for our own safety and their preservation, we must give new laws and institutions, new habits of life, new ideas, sentiments and information--whom we must either civilize or, by our mere contact, exterminate. How is this to be done?[1] Let me see. I think I shall not answer this question until I am prime minister. [1] PRINTER'S DEVIL.--How is _this_ to be done?--_which?_--_civilize_ or _exterminate_? PAKEHA MAORI.--_Eaha mau._ CHAPTER VII. Excitement caused by first Contact with Europeans.--The two great Institutions of Maori Land.--The Muru.--The Tapu. Instances of Legal Robbery.--Descriptions and Examples of the Muru.--Profit and Loss.--Explanation of some of the Workings of the Law of Muru. The natives have been for fifty years or more in a continual state of excitement on one subject or another: this has had a markedly bad effect on their character and physical condition, as I shall by-and-by take occasion to point out. When the first straggling ships came here, the smallest bit of iron was a prize so inestimable that I might be thought to exaggerate were I to tell the bare truth on the subject. The excitement and speculation caused by a ship being seen off the coast were immense. Where would she anchor? What _iron_ could be got from her? Would it be possible to seize her? The oracle was consulted, preparations were made to follow her along the coast, even through an enemy's country, at all risks; and when she disappeared she was not forgotten, but would continue long to be the subject of anxious expectation and speculation. After this, regular trading began. The great madness then was for muskets and gunpowder. A furious competition was kept up. Should any tribe fail to procure a stock of these articles as soon as its neighbours, extermination was its probable doom. We may then imagine the excitement, the over-labour, the hardship, the starvation (occasioned by crops neglected whilst labouring to produce flax or other commodity demanded in payment)--I say imagine, but I have seen at least part of it. After the demand for arms was supplied, came a perfect furor for iron tools, instruments of husbandry, clothing, and all kinds of pakeha manufactures. These things having been quite beyond their means while they were supplying themselves with arms, they were in the most extreme want of them; particularly iron tools. A few years ago the madness ran upon horses and cattle; now, young New Zealand believes in nothing but money, and they are continually tormenting themselves with plans to acquire it in large sums at once, without the trouble of slow and saving industry; which, as applied to the accumulation of money, they neither approve of nor understand: nor will they ever, as a people, take this mode till convinced that money, like everything else of value, can only be procured as a rule by giving full value for it, either in labour or the produce of labour. Here I am, I find, again before my story. Right down to the present time, talking of "young New Zealand," and within a hair's-breadth of settling "the Maori difficulty" without having been paid for it; which would have been a great oversight, and contrary to the customs of New Zealand. I must go back. There were in the old times two great institutions, which ruled with iron rod in Maori land--the _Tapu_ and the _Muru_. Pakehas who knew no better called the _muru_ simply "robbery," because the word _muru_, in its common signification, means to plunder. But I speak of the regular legalized and established system of plundering, as penalty for offences; which in a rough way resembled our law by which a man is obliged to pay "damages." Great abuses had, however, crept into this system--so great, indeed, as to render the retention of any sort of movable property almost an impossibility, and in a great measure, too, discourage the inclination to labour for its acquisition. These great inconveniences were, however, met, or in some degree softened, by an expedient of a peculiarly Maori nature, which I shall by-and-by explain. The offences for which people were plundered were sometimes of a nature which, to a _mere_ pakeha, would seem curious. A man's child fell in the fire and was almost burnt to death. The father was immediately plundered to an extent that almost left him without the means of subsistence: fishing-nets, canoes, pigs, provisions--all went. His canoe upset, and he and all his family narrowly escaped drowning--some were, perhaps, drowned. He was immediately robbed, and well pummelled with a club into the bargain, if he was not good at the science of self-defence--the club part of the ceremony being always fairly administered one against one, and after fair warning given to defend himself. He might be clearing some land for potatoes, burning off the fern, and the fire spreads farther than he intended, and gets into a _wahi tapu_ or burial-ground. No matter whether any one has been buried in it or no for the last hundred years: he is tremendously robbed. In fact, for ten thousand different causes a man might be robbed; and I can really imagine a case in which a man for scratching his own head might be legally robbed. Now as the enforcers of this law were also the parties who received the damages, as well as the judges of the amount--which in many cases (such as that of the burnt child) would be everything they could by any means lay hands on--it is easy to perceive that under such a system, personal property was an evanescent sort of thing altogether. These executions or distraints were never resisted. Indeed in many cases (as I shall explain by-and-by), it would have been felt as a slight, and even an insult, _not_ to be robbed; the sacking of a man's establishment being often taken as a high compliment, especially if his head was broken into the bargain: and to resist the execution would not only have been looked upon as mean and disgraceful in the highest degree, _but it would have debarred the contemptible individual from the privilege of robbing his neighbours_; which was the compensating expedient I have alluded to. All this may seem a waste of words to my pakeha Maori readers, to whom these things have become such matters of course as to be no longer remarkable; but I have remembered that there are so many new people in the country who don't understand the beauty of being knocked down and robbed, that I shall say a few more words on the subject. The tract of country inhabited by a single tribe might be, say, from forty to a hundred miles square, and the different villages of the different sections of the tribe would be scattered over this area at different distances from each other. We will by way of illustrating the working of the _muru_ system, take the case of the burnt child. Soon after the accident it would be heard of in the neighbouring villages; the family of the mother are probably the inhabitants of one of them, and have, according to the law of _muru_, the first and greatest right to clean out the afflicted father; a child being considered to belong to the family of the mother more than to that of the father--in fact, it is their child, which the father has the rearing of. The child was, moreover, a promising lump of a boy, the makings of a future warrior, and consequently very valuable to the whole tribe in general; but to the mother's family in particular. "A pretty thing to let him get spoiled." Then he is a boy of good family, a _rangatira_ by birth, and it would never do to let the thing pass without making a noise about it: that would be an insult to the dignity of the families of both father and mother. Decidedly, besides being robbed, the father must be assaulted with a spear. True, he is a famous spearsman, and for his own credit must "hurt" some one or another if attacked. But this is of no consequence: a flesh wound more or less deep is to be counted on; and then think of the plunder! It is against the law of _muru_ that any one should be killed, and first blood ends the duel. Then the natural affection of all the child's relations is great. They are all in a great state of excitement, and trying to remember how many canoes, and pigs, and other valuable articles, the father has got: for this must be a clean sweep. A strong party is now mustered, headed probably by the brother of the mother of the child. He is a stout chap, and carries a long tough spear. A messenger is sent to the father, to say that the _taua muru_ is coming, and may be expected tomorrow, or the next day. He asks, "Is it a great _taua_?" "Yes; it is a very great _taua_ indeed." The victim smiles, he feels highly complimented; he _is_ then a man of consequence. His child is also of great consideration; he is thought worthy of a large force being sent to rob him! Now he sets all in motion to prepare a huge feast for the friendly robbers, his relations. He may as well be liberal, for his provisions are sure to go, whether or no. Pigs are killed and baked whole, potatoes are piled up in great heaps, all is made ready; he looks out his best spear, and keeps it always ready in his hand. At last the _taua_ appears on a hill half a mile off; then the whole fighting men of the section of the tribe of which he is an important member, collect at his back, all armed with spear and club, to show that they could resist, if they would: a thing, however, not to be thought of under the circumstances. On comes the _taua_. The mother begins to cry in proper form; the tribe shout the call of welcome to the approaching robbers; and then with a grand rush, all armed, and looking as if they intended to exterminate all before them, the _kai muru_ appear on the scene. They dance the war dance, which the villagers answer with another. Then the chief's brother-in-law advances, spear in hand, with the most alarming gestures. "Stand up!--stand up!--I will kill you this day," is his cry. The defendant is not slow to answer the challenge. A most exciting, and what to a new pakeha would appear a most desperately dangerous, fencing bout with spears, instantly commences. The attack and defence are in the highest degree scientific; the spear shafts keep up a continuous rattle; the thrust, and parry, and stroke with the spear shaft follow each other with almost incredible rapidity, and are too rapid to be followed by an unpractised eye. At last the brother-in-law is slightly touched; blood also drops from our chief's thigh. The fight instantly ceases; leaning on their spears, probably a little badinage takes place between them, and then the brother-in-law roars out, "_Murua! murua! murua!_" Then the new arrivals commence a regular sack, and the two principals sit down quietly with a few others for a friendly chat, in which the child's name is never mentioned, or the inquiry as to whether he is dead or alive even made. The case I have just described would, however, be one of more than ordinary importance; slighter "accidents and offences" would be atoned for by a milder form of operation. But the general effect was to keep personal property circulating from hand to hand pretty briskly, or indeed to convert it into public property; for no man could say who would be the owner of his canoe, or blanket, in a month's time. Indeed, in that space of time, I once saw a nice coat, which a native had got from the captain of a trading schooner, and which was an article much coveted in those days, pass through the hands, and over the backs, of six different owners, and return, considerably the worse for wear, to the original purchaser; and all these transfers had been made by legal process of _muru_. I have been often myself paid the compliment of being robbed for little accidents occurring in my family, and have several times also, from a feeling of politeness, robbed my Maori friends; though I can't say I was a great gainer by these transactions. I think the greatest haul I ever made was about half a bag of shot, which I thought a famous joke, seeing that I had sold it the day before to the owner for full value. A month after this I was disturbed early in the morning, by a voice shouting "Get up!--get up! I will kill you this day. You have roasted my grandfather. Get up!--_stand_ up!" I, of course, guessed that I had committed some heinous though involuntary offence, and the "stand up" hinted the immediate probable consequences; so out I turned, spear in hand, and who should I see, armed with a bayonet on the end of a long pole, but my friend the late owner of the bag of shot. He came at me with pretended fury; made some smart bangs and thrusts, which I parried, and then explained to me that I had "cooked his grandfather;" and that if I did not come down handsome in the way of damages, deeply as he might regret the necessity, his own credit, and the law of _muru_, compelled him either to sack my house, or die in the attempt. I was glad enough to prevent either event, by paying him two whole bags of shot, two blankets, divers fish-hooks, and certain figs of tobacco, which he demanded. I found that I had really and truly committed a most horrid crime. I had on a journey made my fire at the foot of a tree, in the top of which the bones of my friend's grandfather had once been deposited, but from which they had been removed ten years before. The tree caught fire and had burnt down: and I, therefore, by a convenient sort of figure of speech, had "roasted his grandfather," and had to pay the penalty accordingly. It did not require much financial ability on my part, after a few experiences of this nature, to perceive that I had better avail myself of my privileges as a pakeha, and have nothing further to do with the law of _muru_--a determination I have kept to strictly. If ever I have unwittingly injured any of my neighbours, I have always made what I considered just compensation, and resisted the _muru_ altogether: and I will say this for my friends, that when any of them have done an accidental piece of mischief, they have, in most cases without being asked, offered to pay for it. The above slight sketch of the penal law of New Zealand I present and dedicate to the Law Lords of England; as it might, perhaps, afford some hints for a reform in our own. The only remark I shall have to add is, that if a man killed another, "malice prepense aforethought," the act, in nineteen cases out of twenty, would be either a very meritorious one, or of no consequence whatever; in either of which cases the penal code had, of course, nothing to do in the matter. If, however, a man killed another by _accident_, in the majority of cases the consequences would be most serious; and not only the involuntary homicide, but every one connected with him, would be plundered of everything they possessed worth taking. This, however, to an English lawyer, may require some explanation, which is as follows:--If a man thought fit to kill his own slave, it was nobody's affair but his own; the law had nothing to do with it. If he killed a man of another tribe, he had nothing to do but declare it was in revenge or retaliation for some aggression, either recent or traditional, by the other tribe; of which examples were never scarce. In this case, the action became at once highly meritorious, and his whole tribe would support and defend him to the last extremity. If he, however, killed a man by accident, the slain man would be, as a matter of course, in most instances, one of his ordinary companions--_i.e._, one of his own tribe. The accidental discharge of a gun often caused death in this way. Then, indeed, the law of _muru_ had full swing, and the wholesale plunder of the criminal and family was the penalty. Murder, as the natives understood it: that is to say, the malicious destruction of a man of _the same tribe_, did not happen so frequently as might be expected; and when it did, went in most cases unpunished: the murderer, in general, managed to escape to some other section of the tribe where he had relations; who, as he fled to them for protection, were bound to give it, and always ready to do so; or otherwise he would stand his ground and defy all comers, by means of the strength of his own family or section, who all would defend him and protect him as a mere matter of course: and as the law of _utu_ or _lex talionis_ was the only one which applied in this case, and as, unlike the law of _muru_, nothing was to be got by enforcing it but hard blows, murder in most cases went unpunished. CHAPTER VIII. The Muru falling into Disuse.--Why.--Examples of the Tapu.--The Personal Tapu.--Evading the Tapu.--The Undertaker's Tapu.--How I got Tabooed.--Frightful Difficulties.--How I got out of them.--The War Tapu.--Maori War Customs. The law of _muru_ is now but little used, and only on a small scale. The degenerate men of the present day in general content themselves with asking "payment," and, after some cavilling as to the amount, it is generally given; but if refused, the case is brought before a native magistrate: the pleadings on both sides are often such as would astound our barristers, and the decisions of a nature to throw those famous ones by Sancho Panza and Walter the Doubter for ever into the shade. I think the reason that the _muru_ is so much less practised than formerly, is the fact that the natives are now far better supplied with the necessaries and comforts of life than they were many years ago; especially iron tools and utensils, and in consequence the temptation to plunder is proportionately decreased. Money would still be a temptation; but it is so easily concealed, and in general they have so little of it, that other means are adopted for its acquisition. When I first saw the natives, the chance of getting an axe or a spade by the summary process of _muru_, or--at a still more remote period--a few wooden implements, or a canoe, was so great a temptation, that the lucky possessor was continually watched by many eager and observant eyes, in hopes to pick a hole in his coat, by which the _muru_ might be legally brought to bear upon him. I say legally, for the natives always tried to have a sufficient excuse: and I absolutely declare, odd as it may seem, that actual, unauthorized, and inexcusable robbery or theft was less frequent than in any country I ever have been in, though the temptation to steal was a thousandfold greater. The natives of the present day are, however, improving in this respect, and, amongst other arts of civilization, are beginning to have very pretty notions of housebreaking; they have even tried highway robbery, though in a bungling way. The fact is they are just now between two tides. The old institutions which, barbarous and rude as they were, were respected and in some degree useful, are wearing out, and have lost all beneficial effect, and at the same time the laws and usages of civilization have not acquired any sufficient force. This state of things is very unfavourable to the _morale_ of Young New Zealand; but it is likely to change for the better, for it is a maxim of mine that "laws, if not _made_, will _grow_." I must now take some little notice of the other great institution, the _tapu_. The limits of these flying sketches of the good old times will not allow of more than a partial notice of the all-pervading _tapu_. Earth, air, fire, water, goods and chattels, growing crops, men, women, and children,--everything, absolutely, was subject to its influence; and a more perplexing puzzle to new pakehas, who were continually from ignorance infringing some of its rules, could not be well imagined. The natives, however, made considerable allowance for this ignorance; as well they might, seeing that they themselves, though from infancy to old age enveloped in a cloud of _tapu_, would sometimes fall into similar scrapes. The original object of the ordinary _tapu_ seems to have been the preservation of property. Of this nature in a great degree was the ordinary personal _tapu_. This form of the _tapu_ was permanent, and consisted in a certain sacred character which attached to the person of a chief, and never left him. It was his birthright: a part, in fact, of himself, of which he could not be divested; and it was well understood and recognized at all times, as a matter of course. The fighting men and petty chiefs, and every one, indeed, who could by any means claim the title of _rangatira_--which, in the sense I now use it, means gentleman--were all in some degree more or less possessed of this mysterious quality. It extended or was communicated to all their movable property; especially to their clothes, weapons, ornaments, and tools, and to everything, in fact, which they touched. This prevented their chattels from being stolen or mislaid, or spoiled by children, or used or handled in any way by others. And as in the old times, as I have before stated, every kind of property of this kind was precious, in consequence of the great labour and time necessarily, for want of iron tools, expended in the manufacture, this form of the _tapu_ was of great real service. An infringement of it subjected the offender to various dreadful imaginary punishments; of which deadly sickness was one, as well as to the operation of the law of _muru_ already mentioned. If the transgression was involuntary, the chief, or a priest, or _tohunga_, could, by a certain mystical ceremony, prevent or remit the doleful and mysterious part of the punishment, if he chose; but the civil action, or the robbery by law of _muru_, would most likely have to take its course, though possibly in a mitigated form, according to the circumstances. I have stated that the worst part of the punishment of an offence against this form of the _tapu_ was imaginary; but in truth, though imaginary, it was not the less a severe punishment. "Conscience makes cowards of us all," and there was scarcely a man in a thousand, _if_ one, who had sufficient resolution to dare the shadowy terrors of the _tapu_. I actually have seen an instance where the offender, though an involuntary one, was killed stone dead in six hours, by what I considered the effects of his own terrified imagination; but what all the natives at the time believed to be the work of the terrible avenger of the _tapu_. The case I may as well describe, as it was a strong one, and shows how, when falsehoods are once believed, they will meet with apparent proof from accidental circumstances. A chief of very high rank, standing, and _mana_, was on a war expedition; with him were about five hundred men. His own personal _tapu_ was increased twofold, as was that of all the warriors who were with him, by the _war tapu_. The _taua_ being on a very dangerous expedition, they were, over and above the ordinary personal _tapu_, made sacred in the highest degree, and were obliged to observe strictly several mysterious and sacred customs; some of which I may have to explain by-and-by. They were, in fact, as irreverent pakehas used to say, "tabooed an inch thick;" and as for the head chief, he was perfectly unapproachable. The expedition halted to dine. The portion of food set apart for the chief, in a neat _paro_ or shallow basket of green flax leaves, was, of course, enough for two or three men, and consequently the greater part remained unconsumed. The party, having dined, moved on; and soon after a party of slaves and others, who had been some mile or two in the rear, came up, carrying ammunition and baggage. One of the slaves, a stout hungry fellow, seeing the chief's unfinished dinner, ate it up before asking any questions. He had hardly finished, when he was informed by a horror-stricken individual--another slave who had remained behind when the _taua_ had moved on--of the fatal act he had committed. I knew the unfortunate delinquent well: he was remarkable for courage, and had signalized himself in the wars of the tribe. (The able-bodied slaves are always expected to fight in the quarrels of their masters; to do which they are nothing loth.) No sooner did he hear the fatal news than he was seized with the most extraordinary convulsions and cramps in the stomach, which never ceased till he died, about sundown the same day. He was a strong man, in the prime of life; and if any pakeha free-thinker should have said he was not killed by the _tapu_ of the chief, which had been communicated to the food by contact, he would have been listened to with feelings of contempt for his ignorance and inability to understand plain and direct evidence. It will be seen at once that this form of the _tapu_ was a great preserver of property. The most valuable articles might, in ordinary circumstances, be left to its protection, in the absence of the owners, for any length of time. It also prevented borrowing and lending in a very great degree; and though much laughed at and grumbled at by unthinking pakehas--who would be always trying to get the natives to give it up, without offering them anything equally effective in its place, or indeed knowing its real object or uses--it held its ground in full force for many years; and, in a certain but not so very observable a form, it exists still. This form of the _tapu_, though latent in young folks of _rangatira_ rank, was not supposed to develope itself fully till they had arrived at mature age, and set up house on their own account. The lads and boys "knocked about" amongst the slaves and lower orders, carried fuel or provisions on their backs, and did all those duties which this personal _tapu_ prevented the elders from doing; and which restraint was sometimes very troublesome and inconvenient. A man of any standing could not carry provisions of any kind on his back; or if he did they were rendered _tapu_, and in consequence useless to any one but himself. If he went into the shed used as a kitchen (a thing, however, he would never think of doing except on some great emergency), all the pots, ovens, food, &c., would be at once rendered useless: none of the cooks or inferior people could make use of them, or partake of anything which had been cooked in them. He might certainly light a little fire in his own house; not for cooking, as that never by any chance could be done in his house, but for warmth: but that, or any other fire, if he should have blown upon it with his breath in lighting it, became at once _tapu_, and could be used for no common or culinary purpose. Even to light a pipe at it would subject any inferior person (and in many instances an equal) to a terrible attack of the _tapu morbus_; besides being a slight or affront to the dignity of the person himself. I have seen two or three young men when on a journey fairly wearing themselves out on a wet day and with bad apparatus, trying to make fire to cook with, by rubbing two sticks together; when at the same time there was a roaring fire close at hand at which several _rangatira_ and myself were warming ourselves: but it was _tapu_, sacred fire--one of the _rangatira_ had made it from his own tinder box, and blown upon it in lighting it, and as there was not another tinder box amongst us, fast we must, though hungry as sharks, till common culinary fire could be obtained. A native whose personal _tapu_ was perhaps of the strongest, might, when at the house of a pakeha, ask for a drink of water; and the pakeha, being green, would hand him some water in a glass, or, in those days, more probably in a tea-cup; the native would drink the water, and then gravely and quietly break the cup to pieces, or otherwise he would appropriate it by causing it to vanish under his mat. The new pakeha would immediately fly into a passion, to the great astonishment of the native; who considered as a matter of course, that the cup or glass was, in the estimation of the pakeha, a very worthless article, or he would not have given it into his hand and allowed him to put it to his head, the part most strongly infected by the _tapu_. Both parties would be surprised and displeased; the native wondering what could have put the pakeha into such a taking, and the pakeha "wondering at the rascal's impudence, and what he meant by it?" The proper line of conduct for the pakeha in the above case made and provided, supposing him to be of a hospitable and obliging disposition, would be to lay hold of some vessel containing about two gallons of water (to allow for waste), and hold it up before the native's face; the native would then stoop down and put his hand, bent into the shape of a funnel or conductor for the water, to his mouth; then, from the height of a foot or so, the pakeha would send a cataract of water into the said funnel, and continue the shower till the native gave a slight upward nod of the head, which meant "enough:" by which time, from the awkwardness of the pakeha, the two gallons of water would be about expended, half, at least, on the top of the native's head; but he would not, however, appear to notice the circumstance, and would appreciate the civility of his pakeha friend. I have often drunk in this way in the old times: asking for a drink of water at a native village, a native would gravely approach with a calabash, and hold it up before me ready to pour forth its contents; when I, of course, cocked my hand and lip in the most knowing manner. If I had laid hold of the calabash and drunk in the ordinary way, as practised by pakehas, I should have at once fallen in the estimation of all by-standers, and been set down as a _tutua_, a nobody, who had no _tapu_ or _mana_ about him--a mere scrub of a pakeha, whom any one might eat or drink after without the slightest danger of being poisoned. These things are all changed now; and though I have often, in the good old times, been tabooed in the most diabolical and dignified manner, there are only a few old men left now who, by little unmistakable signs, I perceive consider it would be very uncivil to act in any way which would suppose my _tapu_ to have disappeared before the influx of new-fangled pakeha notions. Indeed I feel myself sometimes as if I had somehow insensibly become partially civilized. What it will all end in, I don't know. This same personal _tapu_ would even hold its own in some cases against the _muru_; though not in a sufficiently general manner to seriously affect the operation of that well-enforced law. Its inconveniences were, on the other hand, many, and the expedients resorted to to avoid them were sometimes comical enough. I was once going on an excursion with a number of natives; we had two canoes, and one of them started a little before the other. I was with the canoe which had been left behind, and just as we were setting off it was discovered that amongst twenty stout fellows my companions there was no one who had a back!--as they expressed it: consequently there was no one to carry our provisions into the canoe. All the lads, women, and slaves had gone off in the other canoe,--all those who had backs,--and so there we were left, a very disconsolate lot of _rangatira_, who could not carry their own provisions into the canoe, and who at the same time could not go without them. The provisions consisted of several heavy baskets of potatoes, some dried sharks, and a large pig baked whole. What was to be done? We were all brought to a full stop, though in a great hurry to go on. We were beginning to think we must give up the expedition altogether, and were very much disappointed accordingly, when a clever fellow--who, had he been bred a lawyer, would have made nothing of driving a mail coach through an act of parliament--set us all to rights in a moment. "I'll tell you what we must do," said he, "we will not carry (_pikau_) the provisions, we will _hiki_ them." (_Hiki_ is the word in Maori which describes the act of carrying an infant in the arms.) This was a great discovery! A huge handsome fellow seized on the baked pig and dandled it, or _hiki'd_ it, in his arms like an infant; another laid hold of a shark, others took baskets of potatoes, and carrying them in this way deposited them in the canoe. And so, having thus evaded the law, we started on our expedition. I remember another amusing instance in which the inconvenience arising from the _tapu_ was evaded. I must, however, notice that these instances were only evasions of the ordinary kind of _tapu_,--what I have called the personal _tapu_; not the more dangerous and dreadful kind connected with the mystic doings of the _tohunga_, or that other form of _tapu_ connected with the handling of the dead. Indeed, my companions in the instance I have mentioned, though all _rangatira_, were young men on whom the personal _tapu_ had not arrived at the fullest perfection: it seemed, indeed, sometimes to sit very lightly on them, and I doubt very much if the play upon the words _hiki_ and _pikau_ would have reconciled any of the elders of the tribe to carrying a roasted pig in their arms; or, if they did do so, I feel quite certain that no amount of argument would have persuaded the younger men to eat it: as for slaves or women, to _look_ at it would almost be dangerous to them. The other instance of dodging the law was as follows. I was the first pakeha who had ever arrived at a certain populous inland village. The whole of the inhabitants were in a great state of commotion and curiosity, for many of them had never seen a pakeha before. As I advanced, the whole juvenile population ran before me at a safe distance of about a hundred yards, eyeing me, as I perceived, with great terror and distrust. At last I suddenly made a charge at them, rolling my eyes and showing my teeth; and to see the small savages tumbling over one another and running for their lives was something curious: and though my "demonstration" did not continue more than twenty yards, I am sure some of the little villains ran a mile before looking behind to see whether the ferocious monster called a pakeha was gaining on them. They did run! I arrived at the centre of the village and was conducted to a large house or shed, which had been constructed as a place of reception for visitors, and as a general lounging place for all the inhabitants. It was a _whare noa_, a house to which, from its general and temporary uses, the _tapu_ was not supposed to attach: I mean, of course, the ordinary personal _tapu_ or _tapu rangatira_. Any person, however, _infected_ with any of the more serious or extraordinary forms of the _tapu_ entering it, would at once render it uninhabitable. I took my seat. The house was full, and nearly the whole of the rest of the population were blocking up the open front of the large shed; all striving to see the pakeha, and passing to the rear from man to man every word he happened to speak. I could hear them say to the people behind, "The pakeha has stood up!" "Now he has sat down again!" "He has said, how do you all do?" "He has said, this is a nice place of yours!" &c. &c. Now there happened to be at a distance, an old gentleman engaged in clearing the weeds from a _kumera_ or sweet potato field, and as the kumera in the old times was the crop on which the natives depended chiefly for support, like all valuable things it was _tapu_, and the parties who entered the field to remove the weeds were _tapu pro tem._ also. One of the effects of this temporary extra _tapu_ was that the parties could not enter any regular dwelling-house, or, indeed, any house used by others. The breach of this rule would not be dangerous in a personal sense, but the effect would be that the crop of sweet potatoes would fail. The industrious individual I have alluded to, hearing the cry of "A pakeha! a pakeha!" from many voices, and having never had an opportunity to examine that variety of the species, or _genus homo_, flung down his wooden _kaheru_ or weed exterminator, and rushed towards the town house before mentioned. What could he do? The _tapu_ forbade his entrance, and the front was so completely blocked up by his admiring neighbours that he could not get sight of the wonderful guest. In these desperate circumstances a bright thought struck him: he would, by a bold and ingenious device, give the _tapu_ the slip. He ran to the back of the house, made with some difficulty a hole in the padded _raupo_ wall, and squeezed his head through it. The elastic wall of _raupo_ closed again around his neck; and the _tapu_ was fairly beaten! No one could say he was _in_ the house. He was certainly more out than in; and there, seemingly hanging from, or stuck against the wall, remained for hours, with open mouth and wondering eyes, this brazen head; till at last, the shades of night obstructing its vision, a rustling noise in the wall of flags and reeds announced the departure of my ingenious admirer. Some of the forms of the _tapu_, however, were not to be trifled with, and were of a most virulent kind. Of this kind was the _tapu_ of those who handled the dead, or conveyed the body to its last resting-place. This _tapu_ was, in fact, the uncleanness of the old Jewish law; it lasted about the same time, and was removed in almost the same way. It was a most serious affair. The person who came under this form of the _tapu_ was cut off from all contact, and almost all communication, with the human race. He could not enter any house, or come in contact with any person or thing, without utterly defiling them. He could not even touch food with his hands; which had become so frightfully _tapu_, or unclean, as to be quite useless. Food would be placed for him on the ground, and he would then sit or kneel down, and, with his hands carefully held behind his back, would gnaw it in the best way he could. In some cases he would be fed by another person, who, with out-stretched arm, would manage to do it without touching the _tapu'd_ individual; but this feeder was subjected to many and severe restrictions, not much less onerous than those to which the other was subject. In almost every populous native village there was a person who--probably for the sake of immunity from labour, or from being good for nothing else--took up the undertaking business as a regular profession, and, in consequence, was never for a moment, for years together, clear of the horrid inconveniences of the _tapu_, as well as its dangers. One of these people might be easily recognized, after a little experience, even by a pakeha. Old, withered, haggard, clothed in the most miserable rags, and daubed all over from head to foot with red paint (the native funereal colour), made of stinking shark oil and red ochre mixed, keeping always at a distance, silent and solitary, often half insane, he might be seen sitting motionless all day at forty or fifty yards distance from the common path or thoroughfare of the village. There, under the "lee" of a bush, or tuft of flax, he gazed silently, and with "lacklustre eye," on the busy doings of the Maori world, of which he was hardly to be called a member. Twice a day some food would be thrown on the ground before him, to gnaw as best he might, without the use of hands; and at night, tightening his greasy rags around him, he would crawl into some miserable lair of leaves and rubbish; there, cold, half starved, miserable, and dirty, to pass, in fitful ghost-haunted slumbers, a wretched night, as prelude to another wretched day. It requires, they say, all sorts of people to make a world; and I have often thought, in observing one of these miserable objects, that his, or hers, was the very lowest ebb to which a human being's prospects in life could be brought by adverse fate. When I met, or rather saw, a female practitioner, I fairly ran for it; and, believing my readers to be equally tender-hearted, I shall not venture on any more description, but merely say that the male undertaker, such as I have described him, would be an Apollo, in comparison with one of these hags. What will my kind reader say when I tell him that I myself once got _tapu'd_ with this same horrible, most horrible, style of _tapu_? I hold it to be a fact that there is not one man in New Zealand but myself who has a clear understanding of what the word "excommunication" means: indeed I did not understand what it meant till I got _tapu'd_. I was returning with about sixty men from a journey along the west coast, and was a short distance in advance of the party, when I came to where the side of a hill had fallen down on to the beach and exposed a number of human bones. There was a large skull rolling about in the water, and I took up this skull without consideration, carried it to the side of the hill, scraped a hole, and covered it up. Just as I had finished burying it up came my friends, and I saw at once, by the astonishment and dismay depicted on their countenances, that I had committed some most unfortunate act. They soon let me know that the hill had been a burial-place of their tribe, and jumped at once to the conclusion that the skull was the skull of one of their most famous chiefs; whose name they told me. They informed me also that I was no longer fit company for human beings, and begged me to fall to the rear and keep my distance. They told me all this from a very respectful distance, and if I made a step towards them, they all ran as if I had been infected by the plague. This was an awkward state of things, but as it could not be helped, I voted myself _tapu_, and kept clear of my friends till night. At night when they camped, I was obliged to take my solitary abode at a distance under shelter of a rock. When the evening meal was cooked, they brought me a fair allowance, and set it down at a respectful distance from where I sat; fully expecting, I suppose, that I should bob at it as Maori _kai tango atua_, or undertakers, are wont to do. I had, however, no idea of any such proceeding; and, pulling out my knife, proceeded to operate in the usual manner. I was checked by an exclamation of horror and surprise from the whole band--"Oh, what are you about? You are not going to touch food with your _hands_!" "Indeed, but I am," said I, and stretched out my hand. Here another scream--"You must not do that: it's the worst of all things. One of us will feed you: it's wrong, wrong, very wrong!" "Oh, bother," said I, and fell too at once. I declare, positively, I had no sooner done so than I felt sorry. The expression of horror, contempt, and pity, observable in their faces, convinced me that I had not only offended and hurt their feelings, but that I had lowered myself greatly in their estimation. Certainly I was a pakeha, and pakehas will do most unaccountable things, and may be, in ordinary cases, excused; but this, I saw at once, was an act which, to my friends, seemed the _ne plus ultra_ of abomination. I now can well understand that, while sitting there eating my potatoes, I must have appeared to them a ghoul, a vampire; worse than even one of their own dreadful _atua_, who, at the command of a witch, or to avenge some breach of the _tapu_, enters into a man's body and slowly eats away his vitals. I can see it now, and understand what a frightful object I must have appeared. My friends broke up their camp at once, not feeling sure, after what I had done, but I might walk in amongst them, in the night, when they were asleep, and bedevil them all. They marched all night, and in the morning came to my house, where they spread consternation and dismay amongst my household by telling them in what a condition I was coming home. The whole of my establishment at this time being natives, ran off at once; and when I got home next evening, hungry and vexed, there was not a soul to be seen. The house and kitchen were shut up, fires out, and, as I fancied, everything looked dreary and uncomfortable. If only a dog had come and wagged his tail in welcome, it would have been something; but even my dog was gone. Certainly there was an old tom cat; but I hate cats: there is no sincerity in them, and so I had kicked this old tom, on principle, whenever he came in my way, and now, when he saw me, he ran for his life into the bush. The instinct of a hungry man sent me into the kitchen; there was nothing eatable to be seen but a raw leg of pork, and the fire was out. I now began to suspect that this attempt of mine to look down the _tapu_ would fail, and that I should remain excommunicated for some frightfully indefinite period. I began to think of Robinson Crusoe, and to wonder if I could hold out as well as he did. Then I looked hard at the leg of pork. The idea that I must cook it for myself, brought home to me the fact more forcibly than anything else how I had "fallen from my high estate"--cooking being the very last thing a _rangatira_ can turn his hand to. But why should I have anything more to do with cooking?--was I not cast off and repudiated by the human race? (A horrible misanthropy was fast taking hold of me.) Why should I not tear my leg of pork raw, like a wolf? "I will run a-muck!"--suddenly said I. "I wonder how many I can kill before they 'bag' me? But--I must have some supper." I soon made a fire, and, after a little rummaging, found the _matériel_ for a good meal. My cooking was not so bad either, I thought; but certainly hunger is not hard to please in this respect, and I had eaten nothing since the diabolical meal of the preceding evening, and had travelled more than twenty miles. I washed my hands six or seven times, scrubbing away and muttering with an intonation that would have been a fortune to a tragic actor, "Out, damned spot;" and so, after having washed and dried my hands, looked at them, returned, and washed again, again washed, and so on, several times, I sat down and demolished two days' allowance. After which, reclining before the fire with my pipe, and a blanket over my shoulders, a more kindly feeling towards my fellow-men stole gradually upon me. "I wonder," said I to myself, "how long this devilish _tapu_ will last! I wonder if there is to be any end at all to it! I won't run a-muck for a week, at all events, till I see what may turn up. Confounded plague though to have to cook!" Having resolved as above, not to take any one's life for a week, I felt more patient. Four days passed, somehow or another, and on the morning of the fifth, to my extreme delight, I saw a small canoe, pulled by one man, landing on the beach before the house. He fastened his canoe and advanced towards the kitchen, which was detached from the house, and, in the late deplorable state of affairs, had become my regular residence. I sat in the doorway, and soon perceived that my visitor was a famous _tohunga_, or priest, and who also had the reputation of being a witch of no ordinary dimensions. He was an old, grave, stolid-looking savage, with one eye; the other had been knocked out long ago in a fight, before he turned parson. On he came, with a slow, measured step, slightly gesticulating with one hand, and holding in the other a very small basket, not more than nine or ten inches long. He came on, mumbling and grumbling a perfectly unintelligible _karakia_ or incantation. I guessed at once he was coming to disenchant me, and prepared my mind to submit to any conditions or ceremonial he should think fit to impose. My old friend came gravely up, and putting his hand into the little basket pulled out a baked _kumera_, saying, "_He kai mau._" I of course accepted the offered food, took a bite, and as I ate he mumbled his incantation over me. I remember I felt a curious sensation at the time, like what I fancied a man must feel who had just sold himself, body and bones, to the devil. For a moment I asked myself the question whether I was not actually being then and there handed over to the powers of darkness. The thought startled me. There was I, an unworthy but believing member of the Church of England as by Parliament established, "knuckling down" abjectly to the ministration of a ferocious old cannibal, wizard, sorcerer, high priest,--or, as it appeared very probable,--to Satan himself. "Blacken his remaining eye! knock him over and run the country!" whispered quite plainly in my ear my guardian angel, or else a little impulsive sprite who often made suggestions to me in those days. For a couple of seconds the sorcerer's eye was in desperate danger; but just in those moments the ceremony, or at least this most objectionable part of it, came to an end. The _tohunga_ stood back and said, "Have you been in the house?" Fortunately I had presence of mind enough to _forget_ that I had, and said, "No." "Throw out all those pots and kettles." I saw it was no use to resist, so out they went. "Fling out those dishes" was the next command. "The dishes?--they will break." "I am going to break them all." Capital fun this. Out go the dishes; "and may the ----." I fear I was about to say something bad. "Fling out those knives, and those things with sharp points"--(the old villain did not know what to call the forks!)--"and those shells with handles to them"--(spoons!)--"out with everything." The last sweeping order is obeyed, and the kitchen is fairly empty. The worst is over now at last, thank goodness, said I to myself. "Strip off all your clothes." "What?--strip naked!--you desperate old thief--mind your eye." Human patience could bear no more. Out I jumped. I did "strip." Off came my jacket. "How would you prefer being killed, old ruffian?--can you do anything in this way?" (Here a pugilistic demonstration.) "Strip!--he doesn't mean to give me five dozen, does he?" said I, rather bewildered, and looking sharp to see if he had anything like an instrument of flagellation in his possession. "Come on!--what are you waiting for?" said I. In those days, when labouring under what Dickens calls the "description of temporary insanity which arises from a sense of injury," I always involuntarily fell back upon my mother tongue; which in this case was perhaps fortunate, as my necromantic old friend did not appreciate the full force of my eloquence. He could not, however, mistake my warlike and rebellious attitude, and could see clearly I was going into one of those most unaccountable rages that pakehas were liable to fly into, without any imaginable cause. "Boy," said he, gravely and quietly, and without seeming to notice my very noticeable declaration of war and independence, "don't act foolishly; don't go mad. No one will ever come near you while you have those clothes. You will be miserable here by yourself. And what is the use of being angry?--what will _anger_ do for you?" The perfect coolness of my old friend, the complete disregard he paid to my explosion of wrath, as well as his reasoning, began to make me feel a little disconcerted. He evidently had come with the purpose and intention to get me out of a very awkward scrape, and I began also to feel that, looking at the affair from his point of view, I was just possibly not making a very respectable figure: then, if I understood him rightly, there would be no _flogging_. "Well," said I, at last, "Fate compels: to fate, and not old Hurlo-thrumbo there, I yield--so here goes." Let me not dwell upon the humiliating concession to the powers of _tapu_. Suffice it to say, I disrobed, and received permission to enter my own house in search of other garments. When I came out again, my old friend was sitting down with a stone in his hand, battering the last pot to pieces, and looking as if he was performing a very meritorious action. He carried away all the smashed kitchen utensils and my clothes in baskets, and deposited them in a thicket at a considerable distance from the house. (I stole the knives, forks, and spoons back again some time after, as he had not broken them.) He then bid me good-by; and the same evening all my household came flocking back: but years passed before any one but myself would go into the kitchen, and I had to build another. And for several years also I could observe, by the respectable distance kept by young natives and servants, and the nervous manner with which they avoided my pipe in particular, that they considered I had not been as completely purified from the _tapu tango atua_ as I might have been. I now am aware, that in consideration of my being a pakeha--and also, perhaps, lest, driven to desperation, I should run away entirely, which would have been looked upon as a great misfortune to the tribe--I was let off very easy, and might therefore be supposed to retain some tinge of the dreadful infection. Besides these descriptions of _tapu_, there were many other. There was the _war tapu_, which in itself included fifty different "sacred customs," one of which was this. Often when the fighting men left the pa or camp, they being themselves made _tapu_--or sacred, as in this particular case the word means--all those who remained behind, old men, women, slaves, and all non-combatants, were obliged strictly to fast while the warriors were fighting; and, indeed, from the time they left the camp till their return, even to smoke a pipe would be a breach of this rule. These war customs, as well as other forms of the _tapu_, are evidently derived from a very ancient religion, and did not take their rise in this country. I shall, probably, some of these days, treat of them at more length, and endeavour to trace them to their source. Sacrifices were often made to the war demon, and I know of one instance in which, when a tribe were surrounded by an overwhelming force of their enemies, and had nothing but extermination--immediate and unrelenting--before them, the war chief cut out the heart of his own son as an offering for victory; and then he and his tribe, with the fury of despair and the courage of fanatics, rushed upon the foe, defeated them with terrific slaughter, and the war demon had much praise, and many men were eaten. The warriors, when on a dangerous expedition, also observed strictly the custom to which allusion is made in 1st Samuel, xxi. 4, 5. CHAPTER IX. The Tapu Tohunga.--The Maori Oracle.--Responses of the Oracle.--Priestcraft. Then came the _tapu tohunga_, or priest's _tapu_, a quite different kind or form of _tapu_ from those which I have spoken of. These _tohunga_ presided over all those ceremonies and customs which had something approaching to a religious character. They also pretended to the power--by means of certain familiar spirits--to foretell future events, and even in some cases to control them. The belief in the power of these _tohunga_ to foretell events was very strong, and the incredulous pakeha who laughed at them was thought a person quite incapable of understanding plain evidence. I must allow that some of their predictions were of a most daring nature, and, happening to turn out perfectly successful, there may be some excuse for an ignorant people believing in them. Most of these predictions were, however, given--like the oracles of old--in terms which would admit a double meaning and secure the character of the soothsayer, no matter how the event turned out. It is also remarkable that these _tohunga_ did not pretend to divine future events by any knowledge or power existing in themselves; they pretended to be for the time inspired by the familiar spirit, and passive in his hands. This spirit "entered into" them, and, on being questioned, gave a response in a sort of half-whistling half-articulate voice, supposed to be the proper language of spirits; and I have known a _tohunga_ who, having made a false prediction, laid the blame on the "tricksy spirit," who he said had purposely spoken false, for certain good and sufficient spiritual reasons which he then explained. Amongst the fading customs and beliefs of the good old times the _tohunga_ still holds his ground, and the oracle is as often consulted (though not so openly) as it was a hundred years ago, and is as firmly believed in; and this by natives who are professed Christians: the inquiries are often on subjects of the most vital importance to the welfare of the colony. A certain _tohunga_ has even quite lately, to my certain knowledge, been paid a large sum of money to do a miracle! I saw the money paid, and I saw the miracle. And the miracle was a good enough sort of miracle, as miracles go in these times. The natives know we laugh at their belief in these things, and they would much rather we were angry, for then they would defy us; but as we simply laugh at their credulity, they do all they can to conceal it from us: but nevertheless the chiefs, on all matters of importance, continue to consult the Maori oracle. I shall give two instances of predictions which came under my own observation, and which will show how much the same priestcraft has been in all times. A man--a petty chief--had a serious quarrel with his relations, left his tribe, and went to a distant part of the country, saying that he cast them off and would never return. After a time the relations became both uneasy at his absence and sorry for the disagreement. The presence of the head of the family was also of consequence to them. They therefore inquired of the oracle if he would return. At night the _tohunga_ invoked the familiar spirit, he became inspired, and in a sort of hollow whistle came the words of fate:--"He will return; but yet not return." This response was given several times, and then the spirit departed, leaving the priest or _tohunga_ to the guidance of his own unaided wits. No one could understand the meaning of the response: the priest himself said he could make nothing of it. The spirit of course knew his own meaning; but all agreed that, whatever that meaning was, it would turn out true. Now the conclusion of this story is rather extraordinary. Some time after this, several of the chief's relations went to offer reconciliation and to endeavour to persuade him to return home. Six months afterwards they returned, bringing him along with them _a corpse_: they had found him dying, and carried his body home. Now all knew the meaning of the words of the oracle, "He will return, but yet not return." Another instance, which I witnessed myself, was as follows:--A captain of a large ship had run away with a Maori girl--or a Maori girl had run away with a ship captain; I should not like to swear which is the proper form of expression--and the relations, as in such cases happens in most countries, thought it incumbent on them to get into a great taking, and make as much noise as possible about the matter. Off they set to the _tohunga_. I happened to be at his place at the time, and saw and heard all I am about to recount. The relations of the girl did not merely confine themselves to asking questions, they demanded active assistance. The ship had gone to sea loaded for a long voyage; the fugitives had fairly escaped; and what the relations wanted was that the _atua_, or familiar spirit of the _tohunga_, should bring the ship back into port, so that they might have an opportunity to recover the lost ornament of the family. I heard the whole. The priest hummed and hawed. "He did not know; could not say. We should hear what the 'boy' would say. He would do as he liked. Could not compel him;" and so forth. At night all assembled in the house where the priest usually performed. All was expectation. I saw I was _de trop_, in the opinion of our soothsayer: in fact, I had got the name of an infidel (which I have since taken care to get rid of), and the spirit was unwilling to enter where there was an unbeliever. My friend the priest hinted to me politely that a nice bed had been made for me in the next house. I thanked him in the most approved Maori fashion, but said I was "very comfortable where I was;" and, suiting the action to the word, rolled my cloak about me, and lay down on the rushes, with which the floor was covered. About midnight I heard the spirit saluting the guests, and them saluting him; and I also noticed they hailed him as "relation," and then gravely preferred the request that he would "drive back the ship which had stolen his cousin." The response, after a short time, came in the hollow mysterious whistling voice,--"The ship's nose I will batter out on the great sea." This answer was repeated several times, and then the spirit departed, and would not be recalled. The rest of the night was spent in conjecturing what could be the meaning of these words. All agreed that there must be more in them than met the ear; but no one could say it was a clear concession of the request made. As for the priest, he said he could not understand it, and that "the spirit was a great rogue"--a _koroke hangareka_. He, however, kept throwing out hints now and then that something more than common was meant, and talked generally in the "we shall see" style. Now here comes the end of the affair. About ten days after this in comes the ship. She had been "battered" with a vengeance. She had been met by a terrible gale when a couple of hundred miles off the land, and had sprung a leak in the bow. The bow in Maori is called the "nose" (_ihu_). The vessel had been in great danger, and had been actually forced to run for the nearest port; which happened to be the one she had left. Now, after such a coincidence as this, I can hardly blame the ignorant natives for believing in the oracle, for I actually caught myself quoting, "Can the devil speak truth?" Indeed I have in the good old times known several pakehas who "thought there was something in it," and two who formally and believingly consulted the oracle, and paid a high _douceur_ to the priest. I shall give one more instance of the response of the Maori oracle. A certain northern tribe, noted for their valour, but not very numerous, sent the whole of their best men on a war expedition to the south. This happened about forty years ago. Before the _taua_ started, the oracle was consulted, and the answer to the question, "Shall this expedition be successful?" came. "A desolate country!--a desolate country!--a desolate country!" This the eager warriors accepted as a most favourable response: they said the enemy's country would be desolated. It, however, so turned out that they were all exterminated to a man; and the miserable remnant of their tribe, weakened and rendered helpless by their loss, became a prey to their more immediate neighbours, lost their lands, and have ceased from that day to be heard of as an independent tribe. So, in fact, it was the country of the eager inquirers which was laid "desolate." Every one praised the oracle, and its character was held higher than ever. CHAPTER X. The Priest evokes a Spirit.--The Consequences.--A Maori Tragedy.--The "Tohunga" again. These priests or _tohunga_ would, and do to this hour, undertake to call up the spirit of any dead person, if paid for the same. I have seen many of these exhibitions, but one instance will suffice as an example. A young chief, who had been very popular and greatly respected in his tribe, had been killed in battle; and, at the request of several of his nearest friends, the _tohunga_ had promised on a certain night to call up his spirit to speak to them, and answer certain questions they wished to put. The priest was to come to the village of the relations, and the interview was to take place in a large house common to all the population. This young man had been a great friend of mine; and so, the day before the event, I was sent to by his relations, and told that an opportunity offered of conversing with my friend once more. I was not much inclined to bear a part in such outrageous mummery, but curiosity caused me to go. It is necessary to remark that this young chief was a man in advance of his times and people in many respects. He was the first of his tribe who could read and write; and, amongst other unusual things for a native to do, he kept a register of deaths and births, and a journal of any remarkable events which happened in the tribe. Now this book was lost: no one could find it; although his friends had searched unceasingly for it, as it contained many matters of interest, and they wished to preserve it for his sake. I also wished to get it, and had often inquired if it had been found, but had always been answered in the negative. The appointed time came, and at night we all met the priest in the large house I have mentioned. Fires were lit, which gave an uncertain flickering light, and the priest retired to the darkest corner. All was expectation, and the silence was only broken by the sobbing of the sister, and other female relations of the dead man: they seemed to be, and indeed were, in an agony of excitement, agitation, and grief. This state of things continued for a long time, and I began to feel in a way surprising to myself, as if there was something real in the matter. The heartbreaking sobs of the women, and the grave and solemn silence of the men, convinced me, that to them at least, this was a serious matter: I saw the brother of the dead man now and then silently wiping the tears from his eyes. I wished I had not come, for I felt that any unintentional symptom of incredulity on my part would shock and hurt the feelings of my friends extremely; and yet, whilst feeling thus, I felt myself more and more near to believing in the deception about to be practised: the real grief, and also the general undoubting faith, in all around me, had this effect. We were all seated on the rush-strewn floor; about thirty persons. The door was shut; the fire had burnt down, leaving nothing but glowing charcoal, and the room was oppressively hot. The light was little better than darkness; and the part of the room in which the _tohunga_ sat was now in perfect darkness. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, a voice came out of the darkness. "Salutation!--salutation to you all!--salutation!--salutation to you, my tribe!--family, I salute you!--friends, I salute you!--friend, my pakeha friend, I salute you." The high-handed daring imposture was successful: our feelings were taken by storm. A cry expressive of affection and despair, such as was not good to hear, came from the sister of the dead chief, a fine, stately and really handsome woman of about five-and-twenty. She was rushing, with both arms extended, into the dark, in the direction from whence the voice came; but was instantly seized round the waist and restrained by her brother by main force, till, moaning and fainting, she lay still on the ground. At the same instant another female voice was heard from a young girl, who was held by the wrists by two young men, her brothers. "Is it you?--is it you?--_truly_ is it you?--_aue! aue!_ they hold me, they restrain me: wonder not that I have not followed you; they restrain me, they watch me; but I go to you. The sun shall not rise, the sun shall not rise, _aue! aue!_" Here she fell insensible on the rush floor, and with the sister was carried out. The remaining women were all weeping and exclaiming, but were silenced by the men, who were themselves nearly as much excited, though not so clamorous. I, however, did notice two old men, who sat close to me, were not in the slightest degree moved in any way, though they did not seem at all incredulous, but quite the contrary. The spirit spoke again. "Speak to me, the tribe!--speak to me, the family!--speak to me, the pakeha!" The "pakeha," however, was not at the moment inclined for conversation. The deep distress of the two women, the evident belief of all around him of the presence of the spirit, the "darkness visible," and the novelty of the scene, gave rise to a state of feeling not favourable to the conversational powers. Besides, I felt reluctant to give too much apparent credence to an imposture, which at the very same time, by some strange impulse, I felt half ready to give way to. At last the brother spoke, and asked, "How is it with you?--is it well with you in _that_ country?" The answer came--(the voice all through, it is to be remembered, was not the voice of the _tohunga_, but a strange melancholy sound, like the sound of the wind blowing into a hollow vessel,)--"It is well with me: my place is a good place." The brother spoke again--"Have you seen ----, and ----, and ----?" (I forget the names mentioned.) "Yes, they are all with me." A woman's voice now from another part of the room anxiously cried out--"Have you seen my sister?" "Yes, I have seen her." "Tell her my love is great towards her and never will cease." "Yes, I will tell." Here the woman burst into tears, and the pakeha felt a strange swelling of the chest, which he could in no way account for. The spirit spoke again. "Give my large tame pig to the priest," (the pakeha was disenchanted at once,) "and my double-gun." Here the brother interrupted--"Your gun is a _manatunga_; I shall keep it." He is also disenchanted, thought I, but I was mistaken; he believed, but wished to keep the gun his brother had carried so long. An idea now struck me that I could expose the imposture without showing palpable disbelief. "We cannot find your book," said I, "where have you concealed it?" The answer instantly came, "I concealed it between the _tahuhu_ of my house and the thatch, straight over you as you go in at the door." Here the brother rushed out; all was silence till his return. In five minutes he came back _with the book in his hand_! I was beaten, but made another effort.--"What have you written in that book?" said I. "A great many things." "Tell me some of them." "Which of them?" "Any of them." "You are seeking for some information, what do you want to know? I will tell you." Then suddenly--"Farewell, O tribe! farewell, my family, I go!" Here a general and impressive cry of "farewell" arose from every one in the house. "Farewell," again cried the spirit, _from deep beneath the ground_! "Farewell," again from _high in air_! "Farewell," again came moaning through the distant darkness of the night. "Farewell!" I was for a moment stunned. The deception was perfect. There was a dead silence--at last. "A ventriloquist," said I--"or--or--_perhaps_ the devil." I was fagged and confused. It was past mid-night; the company broke up, and I went to a house where a bed had been prepared for me. I wished to be quiet and alone; but it was fated there should be little quiet that night. I was just falling asleep, after having thought for some time on the extraordinary scenes I had witnessed, when I heard the report of a musket at some little distance, followed by the shouting of men and the screams of women. Out I rushed. I had a presentiment of some horrible catastrophe. Men were running by, hastily armed. I could get no information, so went with the stream. There was a bright flame beginning to spring up at a short distance, and every one appeared going in that direction: I was soon there. A house had been set on fire to make a light. Before another house, close at hand, a dense circle of human beings was formed. I pushed my way through, and then saw, by the bright light of the flaming house, a scene which is still fresh before me: there, in the verandah of the house, was an old grey-bearded man; he knelt upon one knee, and on the other he supported the dead body of the young girl who had said she would follow the spirit to spirit land. The delicate-looking body from the waist upwards was bare and bloody; the old man's right arm was under the neck, the lower part of his long grey beard was dabbled with blood, his left hand was twisting his matted hair; he did not weep, he _howled_, and the sound was that of a heathen despair, knowing no hope. The young girl had secretly procured a loaded musket, tied to the trigger a loop for her foot, placed the muzzle to her tender breast, and blown herself to shatters. And the old man was her father, and a _tohunga_. A calm low voice now spoke close beside me, "She has followed her _rangatira_," it said. I looked round, and saw the famous _tohunga_ of the night. Now, young ladies, I have promised not to frighten you with raw-head-and-bloody-bones stories; a sort of thing I detest, but which has been too much the fashion with folks who write of matters Maori. I have vowed not to draw a drop of blood except in a characteristic manner. But this story is tragedy, or I don't know what tragedy is; and the more tragic because, in every particular, literally true: and so, if you cannot find some pity for the poor Maori girl who "followed her lord to spirit land," I shall make it my business not to fall in love with any of you any more for I won't say how long. CHAPTER XI. The Local Tapu.--The Taniwha.--The Battle on Motiti.--The Death of Tiki Whenua.--Reflections.--Brutus, Marcus Antonius, and Tiki Whenua.--Suicide. A story-teller, like a poet or a pugilist, must be _born_, and not _made_, and I begin to fancy I have not been born under a story-telling planet, for by no effort that I can make can I hold on to the thread of my story, and I am conscious the whole affair is fast becoming one great parenthesis. If I could only get clear of this _tapu_ I would "try back." I believe I ought to be just now completing the purchase of my estate. I am sure I have been keeping house a long time before it is built, which is I believe clear against the rules; so I must get rid of this talk about the _tapu_ the best way I can, after which I will start fair and try not to get before my story. Besides these different forms of the _tapu_ which I have mentioned, there were endless others; but the temporary local _tapus_ were the most tormenting to a pakeha: as well they might, seeing that even a native could not steer clear of them always. A place not _tapu_ yesterday might be most horribly _tapu_ to-day, and the consequences of trespassing thereon proportionately troublesome. Thus, sailing along a coast or a river bank, the most inviting landing-place would be almost to a certainty the freehold property of the Taniwha, a terrific sea monster, who would to a certainty, if his landed property was trespassed on, upset the canoe of the trespassers and devour them all the very next time they put to sea. The place was _tapu_, and let the weather be as bad as it might, it was better to keep to sea at all risks than to land there. Even pakeha, though in some cases invulnerable, could not escape the fangs of the terrible Taniwha. "Was not little Jackey-_poto_, the sailor, drowned by the Taniwha? He _would_ go on shore, in spite of every warning, to get some water to mix with his _waipiro_; and was not his canoe found next day floating about with his paddle and two empty case-bottles in it?--a sure sign that the Taniwha had lifted him out bodily. And was not the body of the said Jackey found some days after with the Taniwha's mark on it,--one eye taken out?" These Taniwha would, however, sometimes attach themselves to a chief or warrior, and in the shape of a huge sea monster, a bird, or a fish, gambol round his canoe, and by their motions give presage of good or evil fortune. When the Ngati Kuri sailed on their last and fated expedition to the south, a huge Taniwha attached to the famous warrior, Tiki Whenua, accompanied the expedition, playing about continually amongst the canoes; often coming close to the canoe of Tiki Whenua, so that the warrior could reach to pat him approvingly with his paddle, at which he seemed much pleased; and when they came in sight of the island of Tuhua, this Taniwha chief called up the legions of the deep! The sea was blackened by an army of monsters, who, with uncouth and awful floundering and wallowing, performed before the chief and his companions a hideous _tu ngarahu_, and then disappeared. The Ngati Kuri, elated, and accepting this as a presage of victory, landed on Tuhua, stormed the pa, and massacred its defenders. But they had mistaken the meaning of the monster review of the Taniwha. It was a leave-taking of his favourite warrior; for the Ngati Kuri were fated to die to a man on the next land they trod. A hundred and fifty men were they--the pick and prime of their tribe. All _rangatira_, all warriors of name, few in number, but desperately resolute, they thought it little to defeat the thousands of the south, and take the women and children as a prey! Having feasted and rejoiced at Tuhua, they sail for Motiti. This world was too small for them. They were impatient for battle. They thought to make the name of Kuri strike against the skies; but in the morning the sea is covered with war canoes. The thousands of the south are upon them! Ngati Awa, with many an allied band, mad for revenge, come on. Fight now, O Ngati Kuri!--not for _victory_, no, nor for _life_. Think only now of _utu_!--for your time is come. That which you have dealt to many, you shall now receive. Fight!--fight! Your tribe shall be exterminated, but you must leave a name! Now came the tug of war on "bare Motiti." From early morning till the sun had well declined, that ruthless battle raged. Twice their own number had the Ngati Kuri slain; and then Tiki Whenua, still living, saw around him his dead and dying tribe. A handful of bleeding warriors still resisted--a last and momentary struggle. He thought of the _utu_; it was great. He thought of the ruined remnant of the tribe at home, and then he remembered--horrid thought--that ere next day's setting sun, he and all the warriors of his tribe would be baked and eaten. (Tiki, my friend, thou art in trouble.) A cannon was close at hand--a nine-pound carronade. They had brought it in the canoes. Hurriedly he filled it half full of powder, seized a long firebrand, placed his breast to the cannon's mouth, and fired it with his own hand. Tiki Whenua, good-night! Now I wonder if Brutus had had such a thing as a nine-pounder about him at Philippi, whether he would have thought of using it in this way. I really don't think he would. I have never looked upon Brutus as anything of an original genius; but Tiki Whenua most certainly was. I don't think there is another instance of a man blowing himself from a gun. Of course there are many examples of people blowing others from cannon; but that is quite a different thing; any blockhead can do that. But the _exit_ of Tiki Whenua has a smack of originality about it which I like, and so I have mentioned it here. But all this is digression on digression: however, I suppose the reader is getting used to it, and I cannot help it. Besides, I wanted to show them how poor Tiki "took arms against a sea of troubles," and for the want of a "bare bodkin" made shift with a carronade. I shall never cease to lament those nice lads who met with that little accident (poor fellows!) on Motiti. A fine, strapping, stalwart set of fellows, who believed in force. We don't see many such men now-a-days. The present generation of Maori are a stunted, tobacco-smoking, grog-drinking, psalm-singing, special-pleading, shilling-hunting set of wretches: not above one in a dozen of them would know how to cut up a man _secundum artem_. 'Pshaw! I am ashamed of them. I am getting tired of this _tapu_, so will give only one or two more instances of the local temporary _tapu_. In the autumn, when the great crop of _kumera_ was gathered, all the paths leading to the village and cultivated lands were made _tapu_, and any one coming along them would have notice of this by finding a rope stretched across the road about breast-high; when he saw this, his business must be very urgent indeed or he would go back: indeed, it would have been taken as a very serious affront, even in a near relation, supposing his ordinary residence was not in the village, to disregard the hint given by the rope,--that for the present there was "no thoroughfare." Now, the reason of this blockade of the roads was this. The report of an unusually fine crop of _kumera_ had often cost its cultivators and the whole tribe their lives. The news would spread about that Ngati so-and-so, living at so-and-so, had housed so many thousands of baskets of _kumera_. Exaggeration would multiply the truth by ten, the fertile land would be coveted, and very probably its owners, or rather its _holders_, would have to fight both for it and for their lives before the year was out. For this reason strangers were not welcome at the Maori harvest home. The _kumera_ were dug hurriedly by the whole strength of the working hands, thrown in scattered heaps, and concealed from the casual observation of strangers by being covered over with the leaves of the plants: when all were dug, then all hands set to work, at night, to fill the baskets and carry off the crop to the storehouse or _rua_; and every effort was made to get all stored and out of sight before daylight, lest any one should be able to form any idea of the extent of the crop. When the digging of one field was completed another would be done in the same manner, and so on till the whole crop was housed in this stealthy manner. I have been at several of these midnight labours, and have admired the immense amount of work one family would do in a single night; working as it were for life and death. In consequence of this mode of proceeding, even the families inhabiting the same village did not know what sort of a crop their neighbours had, and if a question was asked (to do which was thought impertinent and very improper), the invariable answer was "Nothing at all; barely got back the seed: hardly that; we shall be starved; we shall have to eat fern root this year," &c. The last time I observed this custom was about twenty-seven years ago, and even then it was nearly discontinued and no longer general. Talking of bygone habits and customs of the natives, I remember I have mentioned two cases of suicide. I shall, therefore, now take occasion to state that no more marked alteration in the habits of the natives has taken place than in the great decrease of cases of suicide. In the first years of my residence in the country, it was of almost daily occurrence. When a man died, it was almost a matter of course that his wife, or wives, hung themselves. When the wife died, the man very commonly shot himself. I have known young men, often on the most trifling affront or vexation, shoot themselves; and I was acquainted with a man who, having been for two days plagued with the toothache, cut his throat with a very blunt razor, without a handle: which certainly was a radical cure. I do not believe that one case of suicide occurs now, for twenty when I first came into the country. Indeed, the last case I have heard of in a populous district, occurred several years ago. It was rather a remarkable one. A native owed another a few shillings; the creditor kept continually asking for it; but the debtor, somehow or other, never could raise the cash. At last being out of patience, and not knowing anything of the Insolvent Court, he loaded his gun, went to the creditor's house, and called him out. Out came the creditor and his wife. The debtor then placed the gun to his own breast, and saying, "Here is your payment," pulled the trigger with his foot, and fell dead before them. I think the reason suicide has become so comparatively unfrequent is, that the minds of the natives are now filled and agitated by a flood of new ideas, new wants and ambitions, which they knew not formerly, and which prevents them, from one single loss or disappointment, feeling as if there was nothing more to live for. CHAPTER XII. The Tapa.--Instances of.--The Storming of Mokoia.--Pomare.--Hongi Ika.--Tareha.--Honour amongst Thieves. There was a kind of variation on the _tapu_, called _tapa_, of this nature. For instance, if a chief said, "That axe is my head," the axe became his to all intents and purposes; except, indeed, the owner of the axe was able to break his "head," in which case, I have reason to believe, the _tapa_ would fall to the ground. It was, however, in a certain degree necessary to have some legal reason, or excuse, for making the _tapa_; but to give some idea of what constituted the circumstances under which a man could fairly _tapa_ anything, I must needs quote a case in point. When the Ngapuhi attacked the tribe of Ngati Wakawe, at Rotorua, the Ngati Wakawe retired to the island of Mokoia in the lake of Rotorua, which they fortified; thinking that, as the Ngapuhi canoes could not come nearer than Kaituna on the east coast, about thirty miles distant, that they in their island position would be safe. But in this they were fatally deceived, for the Ngapuhi dragged a whole fleet of war canoes over land. When, however, the advanced division of the Ngapuhi arrived at Rotorua, and encamped on the shore of the lake, the Ngati Wakawe were not aware that the canoes of the enemy were coming, so every morning they manned their large canoes, and leaving the island fort, would come dashing along the shore deriding the Ngapuhi, and crying, "_Ma wai koe e kawe mai ki Rangitiki?_"--"Who shall bring you, or how shall you arrive, at Rangitiki?" Rangitiki was the name of one of their hill forts. The canoes were fine large ornamented _totara_ canoes, very valuable, capable of carrying from fifty to seventy men each, and much coveted by the Ngapuhi. The Ngapuhi of course considered all these canoes as their own already; but the different chiefs and leaders, anxious to secure one or more of these fine canoes for themselves and people, and not knowing who might be the first to lay hands on them in the confusion of the storming of Mokoia, which would take place when their own canoes arrived, each _tapa'd_ one or more for himself, or--as the native expression is--_to_ himself. Up jumped Pomare, and standing on the lake shore in front of the encampment of the division of which he was leader, he shouts--pointing at the same time to a particular canoe at the time carrying about sixty men--"That canoe is my back-bone." Then Tareha, in bulk like a sea elephant, and sinking to the ankles in the shore of the lake, with a hoarse croaking voice roars out, "That canoe! my scull shall be the bailer to bail it out." This was a horribly strong _tapa_. Then the soft voice of the famous Hongi Ika, surnamed "The eater of men," of _Hongi kai tangata_, was heard, "Those two canoes are my two thighs." And so the whole flotilla was appropriated by the different chiefs. Now it followed from this, that in the storming and plunder of Mokoia, when a warrior clapped his hand on a canoe and shouted, "This canoe is mine," the seizure would not stand good, if it was one of the canoes which were _tapa-tapa_; for it would be a frightful insult to Pomare to claim to be the owner of his "back-bone," or to Tareha to go on board a canoe which had been made sacred by the bare supposition that his "scull" should be a vessel to bail it with. Of course the first man laying his hand on any other canoe and claiming it secured it for himself and tribe; always provided that the number of men there present representing his tribe or _hapu_ were sufficient to back his claim and render it dangerous to dispossess him. I have seen men shamefully robbed, for want of sufficient support, of their honest lawful gains; after all the trouble and risk they had gone to in killing the owners, of their plunder. But dishonest people are to be found almost everywhere; and I will say this, that my friends the Maoris seldom act against law, and always try to be able to say that what they do is "correct"--(_tika_). This _tapu_ is a bore, even to write about, and I fear the reader is beginning to think it a bore to read about. It began long before the time of Moses, and I think that steam navigation will be the death of it; but lest it should kill my reader I will have done with it for the present, and "try back," for I have left my story behind completely. CHAPTER XIII. "My Rangatira."--The respective Duties of the Pakeha and his Rangatira.--Public Opinion.--A "Pakeha Kino."--Description of my Rangatira.--His Exploits and Misadventures.--His Moral Principles.--Decline in the Number of the Natives.--Proofs of former large Population.--Ancient Forts.--Causes of Decrease. When I purchased my land, the payment was made on the ground, and immediately divided and subdivided amongst the different sellers. Some of them who, according to their own representations formerly made to me, were the sole and only owners of the land, received for their share about the value of one shilling, and moreover, as I also observed, did not appear at all disappointed. One old _rangatira_, before whom a considerable portion of the payment had been laid as his share of the spoil, gave it a slight shove with his foot, expressive of refusal, and said, "I will not accept any of the payment; I will have the pakeha." I saw some of the magnates present seemed greatly disappointed at this, for I dare say they had expected to have the pakeha _as well_ as the payment. But the old gentleman had regularly check-mated them by refusing to accept any payment; and being also a person of great respectability, _i.e._, a good fighting man, with twenty more at his back, he was allowed to have his way: thereby, in the opinion of all the natives present, making a far better thing of the land sale than any of them, though he had received no part of the payment. I consequently was therefore a part, and by no means an inconsiderable one, of the payment for my own land; but though now part and parcel of the property of the old _rangatira_ aforementioned, a good deal of liberty was allowed me. The fact of my having become his pakeha made our respective relations and duties to each other about as follows-- Firstly.--At all times, places, and companies, my owner had the right to call me "his pakeha." Secondly.--He had the general privilege of "pot-luck" whenever he chose to honour my establishment with a visit: said pot-luck to be tumbled out to him on the ground before the house; he being far too great a man to eat out of plates or dishes, or any degenerate invention of that nature; as, if he did, they would all become _tapu_ and of no use to any one but himself: nor indeed to himself either, as he did not see the use of them. Thirdly.--It was well understood that to avoid the unpleasant appearance of paying "black mail," and to keep up general kindly relations, my owner should from time to time make me small presents, and that in return I should make him presents of five or six times the value: all this to be done as if arising from mutual love and kindness, and not the slightest allusion to be ever made to the relative value of the gifts on either side. (An important article.) Fourthly.--It was to be a _sine quâ non_ that I must purchase everything the chief or his family had to sell, whether I wanted them or not, and give the highest market price, or rather more. (Another very important article.) Fifthly.--The chief's own particular pipe was never to be allowed to become extinguished for want of the needful supply of tobacco. Sixthly.--All desirable jobs of work, and all advantages of all kinds, to be offered first to the family of my _rangatira_, before letting any one else have them; payment for same to be about 25 per cent. more than to any one else, exclusive of a _douceur_ to the chief himself, because he did not work. In return for these duties and customs, well and truly performed on my part, the chief was understood to-- Firstly.--Stick up for me in a general way, and not let me be bullied or imposed upon by any one but himself, so far as he was able to prevent it. Secondly.--In case of me being plundered or maltreated by any powerful marauder, it was the duty of my chief to come in hot haste, with all his family, armed to the teeth, to my rescue--after all was over, and when it was too late to be of any service. He was also bound on such occasions to make a great noise, dance the war dance, and fire muskets (I finding the powder), and to declare loudly what he would have done had he only been in time. I, of course, on such occasions, for my own dignity, and in consideration of the spirited conduct of my friends, was bound to order two or three fat pigs to be killed, and lots of potatoes to be served out to the "army;" who were always expected to be starving, as a general rule. A distribution of tobacco, in the way of largess, was also a necessity of the case. Thirdly.--In case of my losing anything of consequence by theft--a thing which, as a veracious pakeha, I am bound to say, seldom happened: the natives in those days being, as I have already mentioned, a very law observing people (of the law of _muru_), had, indeed, little occasion to steal; the above-named law answering their purposes in a general way much better, and helping them pretty certainly to any little matter they coveted: yet, as there are exceptions to all rules, theft would sometimes be committed--and then, as I was saying, it became the bounden duty of my _rangatira_ to get the stolen article back, if he was able, and keep it for himself for his trouble, unless I gave him something of more value in lieu thereof. Under the above regulations, things went on pleasantly enough: the chief being restrained, by public opinion and the danger of the pakeha running away, from pushing his prerogative to the utmost limit; and the pakeha, on the other hand, making the commonalty pay for the indirect taxation he was subjected to; so that in general, after ten or fifteen years' residence, he would not be much poorer than when he arrived: unless, indeed, some unlucky accident happened, such as pakehas were liable to sometimes in the good old times. Mentioning "public opinion" as a restraint on the chiefs' acquisitiveness, I must explain that a chief possessing a pakeha was much envied by his neighbours, who, in consequence, took every opportunity of scandalizing him, and blaming him for any rough plucking process he might subject the said pakeha to; and should he, by any awkward handling of this sort, cause the pakeha at last to run for it, the chief would never hear the end of it from his own family and connections: pakehas being, in those glorious old times, considered to be geese who laid golden eggs, and it was held to be the very extreme of foolishness and bad policy either to kill them, or, by too rough handling, to cause them to fly away. On the other hand, should the pakeha fail in a culpable manner in the performance of his duties--though he would not, as a rule, be subjected to any stated punishment--he would soon begin to find a most unaccountable train of accidents and all sorts of unpleasant occurrences happening; enough, in the aggregate, to drive Job himself out of his wits: and, moreover, he would _get a bad name_, which, though he removed, would follow him from one end of the island to the other, and effectually prevent him having the slightest chance of doing any good,--that is, holding his own in the country; as the natives, wherever he went, would consider him a person out of whom the most was to be made at once, since he was not to be depended on as a source of permanent revenue. I have known several industrious, active, and sober pakehas who never could do any good, and whose lives, for a long series of years, were a mere train of mishaps, till at last they were reduced to extreme poverty; merely from having, in their first dealings with the natives, got a bad name, in consequence of not having been able to understand clearly the beauty of the set of regulations I have just mentioned, and from an inability to make them work smoothly. The bad name I have mentioned was short and expressive: wherever they went, there would be sure to be some one who would introduce them to their new acquaintances as "a pakeha _pakeke_,"--a hard pakeha; "a pakeha _taehae_"--a miser; or, to sum up all, "a pakeha _kino_." The chief who claimed me was a good specimen of the Maori _rangatira_. He was a very old man, and had fought the French when Marion, the French circumnavigator, was killed. He had killed a Frenchman himself, and carried his thighs and legs many miles as a _bonne bouche_ for his friends at home at the pa. This old gentleman was not head of his tribe; but he was a man of good family, related to several high chiefs. He was head of a strong family, or _hapu_, which mustered a considerable number of fighting men; all his near relations. He had been himself a most celebrated fighting man, and a war chief; and was altogether a highly respectable person, and of great weight in the councils of the tribe. I may say I was fortunate in having been appropriated by this old patrician. He gave me very little trouble; did not press his rights and privileges too forcibly on my notice; and, in fact behaved in all respects towards me in so liberal and friendly a manner, that before long I began to have a very sincere regard for him, and he to take a sort of paternal interest in me; this was both gratifying to observe, and also extremely comical sometimes, when he, out of real anxiety to see me a perfectly accomplished _rangatira_, would lecture on good manners, etiquette, and the use of the spear. He was, indeed, a model of a _rangatira_, and well worth being described. He was a little man, with a high massive head, and remarkably high square forehead, on which the tattooer had exhausted his art. Though, as I have said, of a great age, he was still nimble and active: he had evidently been one of those tough active men, who though small in stature, are a match for any one. There was in my old friend's eyes a sort of dull fiery appearance, which, when anything excited him, or when he recounted some of those numerous battles, onslaughts, massacres, or stormings, in which all the active part of his life had been spent, actually seemed to blaze up and give forth real fire. His breast was covered with spear wounds, and he also had two very severe spear wounds on his head; but he boasted that no single man had ever been able to touch him with the point of a spear. It was in grand _mélées_, where he would have sometimes six or eight antagonists, that he had received these wounds. He was a great general, and I have heard him criticise closely the order and conduct of every battle of consequence which had been fought for fifty years before my arrival in the country. On these occasions the old "martialist" would draw on the sand the plan of the battle he was criticising and describing; and, in the course of time I began to perceive that, before the introduction of the musket, the art of war had been brought to great perfection by the natives: when large numbers were engaged in a pitched battle, the order of battle resembled, in a most striking manner, some of the most approved orders of battle of the ancients. Since the introduction of fire-arms the natives have entirely altered their tactics, and adopted a system better adapted to the new weapon and the nature of the country. My old friend had a great hatred for the musket. He said that in battles fought with the musket there were never so many men killed as when, in his young days, men fought hand to hand with the spear: then a good warrior would kill six, eight, ten, or even twenty men in a single fight. For when once the enemy broke and commenced to run, the combatants being so close together, a fast runner would knock a dozen on the head in a short time; and the great aim of these fast-running warriors, of whom my old friend had been one, was to chase straight on and never stop, only striking one blow at one man, so as to cripple him, in order that those behind should be sure to overtake and finish him. It was not uncommon for one man, strong and swift of foot, when the enemy were fairly routed, to stab with a light spear ten or a dozen men, in such a way as to ensure their being overtaken and killed. On one occasion of this kind my old tutor had the misfortune to stab a running man in the back: he did it of course scientifically, so as to stop his running; and as he passed him by he perceived it was his wife's brother, who was finished immediately by the men close behind. I should have said that the man was a brother of one of my friend's four wives; which being the case, I dare say he had a sufficient number of brothers-in-law to afford to kill one now and then. A worse mishap, however, occurred to him on another occasion. He was returning from a successful expedition from the south (in the course of which, by-the-by, he and his men killed and cooked in Shortland-crescent, several men of the enemy, and forced three others to jump over a cliff which is, I think, now called Soldier's-point), when off the Mahurangi a smoke was seen rising from amongst the trees near the beach. They at once concluded that it came from the fires of people belonging to that part of the country, and who they considered as game; they therefore waited till night, concealing their canoes behind some rocks, and when it became dark, landed; they then divided into two parties, took the supposed enemy completely by surprise, and attacked, rushing upon them from two opposite directions at once. My _rangatira_, dashing furiously among them, and--as I can well suppose--those eyes of his flashing fire, had the happiness of once again killing the first man, and being authorized to shout "_Ki au te mataika!_" A few more blows, and the parties recognize each other: they are friends!--men of the same tribe! Who is the last _mataika_ slain by this famous warrior? Quick, bring a flaming brand--here he lies dead! Ha! It is his father! Now an ancient knight of romance, under similar awkward circumstances, would probably have retired from public life, sought out some forest cave, where he would have hung up his armour, let his beard grow, flogged himself twice a day "regular," and lived on "pulse"--which I suppose means pea-soup--for the rest of his life. But my old _rangatira_ and his companions had not a morsel of that sort of romance about them. The killing of my friend's father was looked upon as a very clever exploit in itself; though a very unlucky one. So after having scolded one another for some time--one party telling the other they were served right for not keeping a better look out, and the other answering that they should have been sure who they were going to attack before making the onset--they all held a _tangi_ or lamentation for the old warrior who had just received his _mittimus_; and then killing a prisoner, whom they had brought in the canoes for fresh provisions, they had a good feast; after which they returned all together to their own country, taking the body of their lamented relative along with them. This happened many years before I came to the country, and when my _rangatira_ was one of the most famous fighting-men in his tribe. This Maori _rangatira_ I am describing had passed his whole life, with but little intermission, in scenes of battle, murder, and bloodthirsty atrocities of the most terrific description; mixed with actions of the most heroic courage, self-sacrifice, and chivalric daring, as leaves one perfectly astounded to find them the deeds of one and the same people: one day doing acts which, had they been performed in ancient Greece, would have immortalized the actors, and the next committing barbarities too horrible for relation, and almost incredible. The effect of a life of this kind was observable plainly enough, in my friend. He was utterly devoid of what weak mortals call "compassion." He seemed to have no more feeling for the pain, tortures, or death of others than a stone. Should one of his family be dying or wounded, he merely felt it as the loss of one fighting man. As for the death of a woman, or any non-combatant, he did not feel it at all; though the person might have suffered horrid tortures: indeed I have seen him scolding severely a fine young man, his near relative, when actually expiring, for being such a fool as to blow himself up by accident, and deprive his family of a fighting man. The last words the dying man heard were these:--"It serves you right. There you are, looking very like a burnt stick! It serves you right--a burnt stick! Serves you right!" It really _was_ vexatious. A fine stout young fellow to be wasted in that way. As for fear, I saw one or two instances to prove he knew very little about it: indeed, to be killed in battle seemed to him a natural death. He was always grumbling that the young men thought of nothing but trading; and whenever he proposed to them to take him where he might have a final battle (_he riri wakamutunga_), where he might escape dying of old age, they always kept saying, "Wait till we get more muskets," or "more gunpowder," or more something or another: "as if men could not be killed without muskets!" He was not cruel either; he was only unfeeling. He had been guilty, it is true, in his time, of what we should call terrific atrocities to his prisoners; which he calmly and calculatingly perpetrated as _utu_, or retaliation for similar barbarities committed by them or their tribe. And here I must retract the word guilty, which I see I have written inadvertently; for--according to the morals and principles of the people of whom he was one, and of the time to which he belonged, and the training he had received--so far from being guilty, he did a praiseworthy, glorious, and public-spirited action when he opened the jugular vein of a bound captive and sucked huge draughts of his blood. To say the truth, he was a very nice old man, and I liked him very much. It would not, however, be advisable to put him in a passion; not much good would be likely to arise from it: as, indeed, I could show by one or two very striking instances which came under my notice; though, to say the truth, he was not easily put out of temper. He had one great moral rule,--it was, indeed, his rule of life: he held that every man had a right to do everything and anything he chose, provided he was able and willing to stand the consequences; though he thought some men fools for trying to do things which they could not carry out pleasantly, and which ended in getting them baked. I once hinted to him that, should every one reduce these principles to practice, he himself might find it awkward; particularly as he had so many mortal enemies. To which he replied, with a look which seemed to pity my ignorance, that every one _did_ practise this rule to the best of their abilities, but that some were not so able as others; and that as for his enemies, he should take care they never surprised _him_: a surprise being, indeed, the only thing he seemed to have any fear at all of. In truth, he had occasion to look out sharp. He never was known to sleep more than three or four nights in the same place, and often, when there were ill omens, he would not sleep in a house at all, or two nights following in one place, for a month together. I never saw him without both spear and tomahawk, and ready to defend himself at a second's notice: a state of preparation perfectly necessary, for though in his own country and surrounded by his tribe, his death would have been such a triumph for hundreds, not of distant enemies, but of people within a day's journey, that none could tell at what moment some stout young fellow in search of _utu_ and a "_ingoa toa_" (a warlike reputation) might rush upon him, determined to have his head or leave his own. The old buck himself had, indeed, performed several exploits of this nature; the last of which occurred just at the time I came into the country, but before I had the advantage of his acquaintance. His tribe were at war with some people at the distance of about a day's journey. One of their villages was on the border of a dense forest. My _rangatira_, then a very old man, started off alone, and without saying a word to any one, took his way through the forest, which extended the whole way between his village and the enemy, crept like a lizard into the enemy's village, and then, shouting his war cry, dashed amongst a number of people he saw sitting together on the ground, and who little expected such a salute. In a minute he had run three men and one woman through the body, received five dangerous spear-wounds himself, and escaped to the forest; and finally he got safe home to his own country and people. Truly my old _rangatira_ was a man of a thousand,--a model _rangatira_. This exploit, if possible, added to his reputation, and every one said his _mana_ would never decline. The enemy had been panic stricken, thinking a whole tribe were upon them, and fled like a flock of sheep: except the three men who were killed. They all attacked my old chief at once, and were all disposed of in less than a minute, after, as I have said, giving him five desperate wounds. The woman was just "stuck," as a matter of course, as she came in his way. The natives are unanimous in affirming that they were much more numerous in former times than they are now, and I am convinced that such was the case, for the following reasons. The old hill forts are many of them so large that an amount of labour must have been expended in trenching, terracing, and fencing them--and all without iron tools, which increased the difficulty a hundred-fold--that must have required a vastly greater population to accomplish than can be now found in the surrounding districts. These forts were also of such an extent that, taking into consideration the system of attack and defence used necessarily in those times, they would have been utterly untenable unless held by at least ten times the number of men the whole surrounding districts, for two or three days' journey, can produce. And yet, when we remember that in those times of constant war--being the two centuries preceding the arrival of the Europeans--the natives always, as a rule, slept in these hill forts with closed gates, bridges over trenches removed, and ladders of terraces drawn up, we must come to the conclusion that the inhabitants of the fort, though so numerous, were merely the population of the country in the close vicinity. Now from the top of one of these pointed, trenched, and terraced hills, I have counted twenty others, all of equally large dimensions, and all within a distance, in every direction, of fifteen to twenty miles; and native tradition affirms that each of these hills was the stronghold of a separate _hapu_ or clan, bearing its distinctive name. There is also the most unmistakable evidence that vast tracts of country, which have lain wild time out of mind, were once fully cultivated. The ditches for draining the land are still traceable, and large pits are to be seen in hundreds, on the tops of the dry hills, all over the northern part of the North Island, in which the _kumera_ were once stored; and these pits are, in the greatest number, found in the centre of great open tracts of uncultivated country, where a rat in the present day would hardly find subsistence. The old drains, and the peculiar growth of the timber, mark clearly the extent of these ancient cultivations. It is also very observable that large tracts of very inferior land have been in cultivation; which would lead to the inference that either the population was pretty nearly proportioned to the extent of available land, or that the tracts of inferior land were cultivated merely because they were not too far removed from the fort: for the shape of the hill, and its capability of defence and facility of fortification, was of more consequence than the fertility of the surrounding country. These _kumera_ pits, being dug generally in the stiff clay on the hill tops, have, in most cases, retained their shape perfectly; and many seem as fresh and new as if they had been dug but a few years. They are oblong in shape, with the sides regularly sloped. Many collections of these provision stores have outlived Maori tradition, and the natives can only conjecture to whom they belonged. Out of the centre of one of them which I have seen, there is now growing a kauri tree one hundred and twenty feet high, and out of another a large totara. The outline of these pits is as perfect as the day they were dug, and the sides have not fallen in in the slightest degree; from which perhaps they have been preserved by the absence of frost, as well as by a beautiful coating of moss, by which they are everywhere covered. The pit in which the kauri grew, had been partially filled up by the scaling off of the bark of the tree; which, falling off in patches, as it is constantly doing, had raised a mound of decaying bark round the root of the tree. Another evidence of a very large number of people having once inhabited these hill forts is the number of houses they contained. Every native house, it appears, in former times, as in the present, had a fire-place composed of four flat stones or flags sunk on their edges into the ground, so as to form an oblong case or trunk, in which at night a fire to heat the house was made. Now, in two of the largest hill forts I have examined (though for ages no vestige of a house had been seen) there remained the fire-places--the four stones projecting like an oblong box slightly over the ground; and their position and number denoted clearly that, large as the circumference of the huge volcanic hill was which formed the fortress, the number of families inhabiting it necessitated the strictest economy of room. The houses had been arranged in streets, or double rows, with a path between them; except in places where there had been only room on a terrace for a single row. The distances between the fire-places proved that the houses in the rows must have been as close together as it was possible to build them; and every spot, from the foot to the hill-top, not required and specially planned for defensive purposes, had been built on in this regular manner. Even the small flat top, sixty yards long by forty wide,--the citadel,--on which the greatest care and labour had been bestowed to render it difficult of access, had been as full of houses as it could hold; leaving only a small space all round the precipitous bank for the defenders to stand on. These little fire-places, and the scarped and terraced conical hills, are the only mark the Maori of ancient times have left of their existence. And I have reasons for believing that this country has been inhabited from a more remote period by far than is generally supposed. These reasons I found upon the dialect of the Maori language spoken by the Maori of New Zealand, as well as on many other circumstances. We may easily imagine that a hill of this kind, covered from bottom to top with houses thatched and built of reeds, rushes, and raupo, would be a mere mass of combustible matter; and such indeed was the case. When an enemy attacked one of these places, a common practice was to shower into the place, from slings, red-hot stones, which, sinking into the dry thatch of the houses, would cause a general conflagration. Should this once occur the place was sure to be taken. This mode of attack was consequently much feared; all hands not engaged at the outer defences, and all women and non-combatants, being employed guarding against this danger, by pouring water out of calabashes on every smoke that appeared. The natives also practised both mining and escalade in attacking a hill fort. The natives attribute their decrease in numbers, before the arrival of the Europeans, to war and sickness; disease possibly arising from the destruction of food and the forced neglect of cultivation caused by the constant and furious wars which devastated the country for a long period before the arrival of the Europeans: and to such an extent that the natives at last believed a constant state of warfare to be the natural condition of life, and their sentiments, feelings, and maxims became gradually formed on this belief. Nothing was so valuable or respectable as strength and courage, and to acquire property by war and plunder was more honourable and also more desirable than by labour. Cannibalism was glorious. In a word, the island was a pandemonium. A rugged wight, the worst of brutes, was man; On his own wretched kind he ruthless prey'd. The strongest then the weakest overran, In every country mighty robbers sway'd, And guile and ruffian force was all their trade. Since the arrival of the Europeans the decrease of the natives has also been rapid. In that part of the country where I have had means of accurate observation, they have decreased in number since my arrival rather more than one-third. I have, however, observed that this decrease has for the last ten years been very considerably checked; though I do not believe this improvement is general through the country, or even permanent where I have observed it. The first grand cause of the decrease of the natives since the arrival of the Europeans is the musket. The nature of the ancient Maori weapons prompted them to seek out vantage ground, and to take up positions on precipitous hill-tops, and make those high, dry, airy situations their regular fixed residences. Their ordinary course of life, when not engaged in warfare, was regular, and not necessarily unhealthy; their labour, though constant in one shape or other, and compelled by necessity, was not too heavy. In the morning, but not early, they descended from the hill pa to the cultivations in the low ground; they went in a body, armed like men going to battle, the spear or club in one hand, and the agricultural instrument in the other. The women followed. Long before night (it was counted unlucky to work till dark) they returned to the hill in a reversed order; the women, slaves, and lads, bearing fuel and water for the night, in front: these also bore probably heavy loads of _kumera_ or other provisions. In the time of year when the crops, being planted and growing, did not call for their attention, the whole tribe would remove to some fortified hill, at the side of some river, or on the coast, where they would pass months in fishing and making nets, clubs, spears, and implements of various descriptions; the women, in all spare time, making mats for clothing, or baskets to carry the crop of _kumera_ in, when fit to dig. There was very little idleness; and to be called "lazy" was a great reproach. It is to be observed that for several months the crops could be left thus unguarded with perfect safety, for the Maori, as a general rule, never destroyed growing crops, or attacked their owners in a regular manner until the crops were nearly at full perfection, so that they might afford subsistence to the invaders; and consequently the end of the summer all over the country was a time of universal preparation for battle, either offensive or defensive, the crops then being near maturity. Now when the natives became generally armed with the musket they at once abandoned the hills, and, to save themselves the great labour and inconvenience occasioned by the necessity of continually carrying provisions, fuel, and water to these precipitous hill-castles--which would be also, as a matter of necessity, at some inconvenient distance from at least some part of the extensive cultivations--descended to the low lands, and there, in the centre of the cultivations, erected a new kind of fortification adapted to the capabilities of the new weapon. _This_ was their destruction. For they built their oven-like houses in mere swamps, where the water, even in summer, sprang with the pressure of the foot, and where in winter the houses were often completely flooded. There, lying on the spongy soil, on beds of rushes which rotted under them--in little low dens of houses, or kennels, heated like ovens at night and dripping with damp in the day--full of noxious exhalations from the damp soil, and impossible to ventilate--they were cut off by disease in a manner absolutely frightful. No advice would they take: they could not _see_ the enemy which killed them, and therefore could not believe the Europeans who pointed out the cause of their destruction. This change of residence was universal, and everywhere followed by the same consequences, more or less marked: the strongest men were cut off and but few children were reared. And even now, after the dreadful experience they have had, and all the continual remonstrances of their pakeha friends, they take but very little more precaution in choosing sites for their houses than at first; and when a native village or a native house happens to be in a dry healthy situation, it is often more the effect of accident than design. Twenty years ago a _hapu_, in number just forty persons, removed their _kainga_ from a dry healthy position to the edge of a _raupo_ swamp. I happened to be at the place a short time after the removal, and with me there was a medical gentleman who was travelling through the country. In creeping into one of the houses (the chief's) through the low door, I was obliged to put both my hands to the ground; they both sank into the swampy soil, making holes which immediately filled with water. The chief and his family were lying on the ground on rushes, and a fire was burning, which made the little den, not in the highest place more than five feet high, feel like an oven. I called the attention of my friend to the state of this place called a "house." He merely said, "_men_ cannot live here." Eight years from that day the whole _hapu_ were extinct; but, as I remember, two persons were shot for bewitching them and causing their deaths. Many other causes combined at the same time to work the destruction of the natives. Besides the change of residence from the high and healthy hill forts to the low grounds, there were the hardship, over-labour, exposure, and half-starvation, to which they submitted themselves--firstly, to procure these very muskets which enabled them to make the fatal change of residence and afterwards to procure the highly and justly valued iron implements of the Europeans. When we reflect that a ton of cleaned flax was the price paid for two muskets, and at an earlier date for one musket, we can see at once the amount of exertion necessary to obtain it. But supposing a man to get a musket for half a ton of flax, another half-ton would be required for ammunition; and in consequence, as every man in a native _hapu_ of, say a hundred men, was absolutely forced on pain of death to procure a musket and ammunition at any cost, and at the earliest possible moment (for, if they did not procure them, extermination was their doom by the hands of those of their country-men who had), the effect was that this small _hapu_, or clan, had to manufacture, spurred by the penalty of death, in the shortest possible time, one hundred tons of flax, scraped by hand with a shell, bit by bit, morsel by morsel, half-a-quarter of an ounce at a time. Now as the natives, when undisturbed and labouring regularly at their cultivations, were never far removed from necessity or scarcity of food, we may easily imagine the distress and hardship caused by this enormous imposition of extra labour. They were obliged to neglect their crops in a very serious degree, and for many months in the year were in a half-starving condition; working hard all the time in the flax swamps. The insufficient food, over-exertion, and unwholesome locality, killed them fast. As for the young children, they almost all died; and this state of things continued for many years: for it was long after being supplied with arms and ammunition before the natives could purchase, by similar exertion, the various agricultural implements, and other iron tools so necessary to them; and it must always be remembered, if we wish to understand the difficulties and over-labour the natives were subjected to, that while undergoing this immense extra toil, they were at the same time obliged to maintain themselves by cultivating the ground with sharpened sticks, not being able to afford to purchase iron implements in any useful quantity, till first the great, pressing, paramount want of muskets and gunpowder had been supplied. Thus continual excitement, over-work, and insufficient food, exposure, and unhealthy places of residence, together with a general breaking up of old habits of life, thinned their numbers: European diseases also assisted, but not to any very serious extent. In the part of the country in which I have had means of observing with exactitude, the natives have decreased in numbers over one-third since I first saw them. That this rapid decrease has been checked in some districts, I am sure, and the cause is not a mystery. The influx of Europeans has caused a competition in trading, which enables them to get the highest value for the produce of their labour, and at the same time has opened to them a hundred new lines of industry, and afforded them other opportunities of becoming possessed of property. They have not at all improved these advantages as they might have done; but are, nevertheless, as it were in spite of themselves, on the whole, richer--_i.e._, better clothed, fed, and in some degree lodged, than in past years; and I see the plough now running where I once saw the rude pointed stick poking the ground. I do not, however, believe that this improvement exists in more than one or two districts in any remarkable degree, nor do I think it will be permanent where it does exist; insomuch as I have said that the improvement is not the result of providence, economy, or industry, but of a train of temporary circumstances favourable to the natives: and which, if unimproved, as they most probably will be, will end in no permanent good result. CHAPTER XIV. Trading in the Old Times.--The Native Difficulty.--Virtue its own Reward.--Rule, Britannia.--Death of my Chief.--His Dying Speech. --Rescue.--How the World goes round. From the years 1822 to 1826, the vessels trading for flax had, when at anchor, boarding nettings up to the tops; all the crew were armed, and, as a standing rule, not more than five natives, on any pretence, allowed on board at one time. Trading for flax in those days was to be undertaken by a man who had his wits about him; and an old flax trader of those days, with his 150 ton schooner "out of Sydney," cruising all round the coast of New Zealand, picking up his five tons at one port, ten at another, twenty at another, and so on, had questions, commercial, diplomatic, and military, to solve every day, that would drive all the "native department," with the minister at their head, clean out of their senses. Talk to me of the "native difficulty"--pooh! I think it was in 1822 that an old friend of mine bought, at Kawhia, a woman who was just going to be baked. He gave a cartridge-box full of cartridges for her; which was a great deal more than she was really worth: but humanity does not stick at trifles. He took her back to her friends at Taranaki, whence she had been taken, and her friends there gave him at once two tons of flax and eighteen pigs, and asked him to remain a few days longer till they should collect a still larger present in return for his kindness; but, as he found out their intention was to take the schooner, and knock himself and crew on the head, he made off in the night. Yet he maintains, to this day, that "virtue is its own reward:" "at least 'tis so at Taranaki." Virtue, however, must have been on a visit to some other country (she _does_ go out sometimes), when I saw and heard a British subject, a slave to some natives on the West Coast, begging hard for somebody to buy him. The price asked was one musket; but the only person on board the vessel possessing those articles, preferred to invest in a different commodity. The consequence was, that the above-mentioned unit of the great British nation lived, and ("Rule, Britannia" to the contrary notwithstanding) died a slave: but whether he was buried, deponent sayeth not. My old _rangatira_ at last began to show signs that his time to leave this world of care was approaching. He had arrived at a great age, and a rapid and general breaking up of his strength became plainly observable. He often grumbled that men should grow old, and oftener that no great war broke out in which he might make a final display, and die with _éclat_. The last two years of his life were spent almost entirely at my house; which, however, he never entered. He would sit whole days on a fallen puriri near the house, with his spear sticking up beside him, and speaking to no one, but sometimes humming in a low droning tone some old ditty which no one knew the meaning of but himself, and at night he would disappear to some of the numerous nests, or little sheds, he had around the place. In summer, he would roll himself in his blanket and sleep anywhere; but no one could tell exactly where. In the hot days of summer, when his blood, I suppose, got a little warm, he would sometimes become talkative, and recount the exploits of his youth. As he warmed to the subject, he would seize his spear and go through all the incidents of some famous combat, repeating every thrust, blow, and parry, as they actually occurred, and going through as much exertion as if he was really and truly fighting for his life. He used to go through these pantomimic labours as a duty whenever he had an assemblage of the young men of the tribe around him; to whom, as well as to myself, he was most anxious to communicate that which he considered the most valuable of all knowledge, a correct idea of the uses of the spear, a weapon he really used in a most graceful and scientific manner; but he would ignore the fact that "Young New Zealand" had laid down the weapon for ever, and already matured a new system of warfare adapted to their new weapons, and only listened to his lectures out of respect to himself, and not for his science. At last this old lion was taken seriously ill, and removed permanently to the village; and one evening a smart, handsome lad, of about twelve years of age, came to tell me that his _tupuna_ was dying, and had said he would "go" to-morrow, and had sent for me to see him before he died. The boy also added that the tribe were _ka poto_, or assembled, to the last man, around the dying chief. I must here mention that, though this old _rangatira_ was not the head of his tribe, he had been for about half a century the recognized war chief of almost all the sections, or _hapu_, of a very numerous and warlike _iwi_, or tribe, who had now assembled from all their distant villages and pas to see him die. I could not, of course, neglect the invitation, so at daylight next morning I started on foot for the native village. On my arrival about mid-day, I found it crowded by a great assemblage of natives. I was saluted by the usual _haere mai!_ and a volley of musketry. I at once perceived that, out of respect to my old owner, the whole tribe from far and near, hundreds of whom I had never seen, considered it necessary to make much of me,--at least for that day,--and I found myself consequently at once in the position of a "personage." "Here comes the pakeha!--_his_ pakeha!--make way for the pakeha!--kill those dogs that are barking at the pakeha!" Bang! bang! Here a double barrel nearly blew my cap off, by way of salute: I did for a moment think my head was off. However, being quite _au fait_ in Maori etiquette by this time, thanks to the instructions and example of my old friend, I fixed my eyes with a vacant expression, looking only straight before me, recognized nobody, and took notice of nothing; not even the muskets fired under my nose or close to my back at every step, and each, from having four or five charges of powder, making a report like a cannon. On I stalked, looking neither to the right or the left, with my spear walking-staff in my hand, to where I saw a great crowd, and where I of course knew the dying man was. I walked straight on, not even pretending to see the crowd: as was "correct" under the circumstances; I being supposed to be entranced by the one absorbing thought of seeing "mataora," or once more in life my _rangatira_. The crowd divided as I came up, and closed again behind me as I stood in the front rank before the old chief, motionless; and, as in duty bound, trying to look the image of mute despair: which I flatter myself I did, to the satisfaction of all parties. The old man I saw at once was at his last hour. He had dwindled to a mere skeleton. No food of any kind had been prepared for or offered to him for three days: as he was dying it was of course considered unnecessary. At his right side lay his spear, tomahawk, and musket. (I never saw him with the musket in his hand all the time I knew him.) Over him was hanging his greenstone _mere_, and at his left side, close, and touching him, sat a stout, athletic savage, with a countenance disgustingly expressive of cunning and ferocity; and who, as he stealthily marked me from the corner of his eye, I recognized as one of those limbs of Satan, a Maori _tohunga_. The old man was propped up in a reclining position, his face towards the assembled tribe, who were all there waiting to catch his last words. I stood before him and I thought I perceived he recognized me. Still all was silence, and for a full half hour we all stood there, waiting patiently for the closing scene. Once or twice the _tohunga_ said to him in a very loud voice, "The tribe are assembled, you won't die silent?" At last, after about half an hour, he became restless, his eyes rolled from side to side, and he tried to speak; but failed. The circle of men closed nearer, and there was evidence of anxiety and expectation amongst them; but a dead silence was maintained. Then suddenly, without any apparent effort, and in a manner which startled me, the old man spoke clearly out, in the ringing metallic tone of voice for which he had been formerly so remarkable, particularly when excited. He spoke. "Hide my bones quickly where the enemy may not find them: hide them at once." He spoke again--"Oh my tribe, be brave! be brave that you may live. Listen to the words of my pakeha; he will unfold the designs of his tribe." This was in allusion to a very general belief amongst the natives at the time, that the Europeans designed sooner or later to exterminate them and take the country; a thing the old fellow had cross-questioned me about a thousand times: and the only way I could find to ease his mind was to tell him that if ever I heard any such proposal I would let him know, protesting at the same time that no such intention existed. This notion of the natives has since that time done much harm, and will do more, for it is not yet quite given up. He continued--"I give my _mere_ to my pakeha,"--"my two old wives will hang themselves,"--(here a howl of assent from the two old women in the rear rank)--"I am going; be brave after I am gone." Here he began to rave; he fancied himself in some desperate battle, for he began to call to celebrated comrades who had been dead forty or fifty years. I remember every word--"Charge!" shouted he--"Charge! _Wata_, charge! _Tara_, charge! charge!" Then after a short pause--"Rescue! rescue! to my rescue! _ahau! ahau! rescue!_" The last cry for "rescue" was in such a piercing tone of anguish and utter desperation, that involuntarily I advanced a foot and hand, as if starting to his assistance; a movement, as I found afterwards, not unnoticed by the superstitious tribe. At the same instant that he gave the last despairing and most agonizing cry for "rescue," I saw his eyes actually blaze, his square jaw locked, he set his teeth, and rose nearly to a sitting position, and then fell back dying. He only murmured--"How sweet is man's flesh," and then the gasping breath and upturned eye announced the last moment. The _tohunga_ now, bending close to the dying man's ear, roared out, "_Kia kotahi ki te ao! Kia kotahi ki te ao! Kia kotahi ki te po!_" The poor savage was now, as I believe, past hearing, and gasping his last "_Kia kotahi ki te ao!_"--shouted the devil priest again in his ear, and shaking his shoulder roughly with his hand--"_Kia kotahi ki te ao!--Kia kotahi ki te po!_" Then giving a significant look to the surrounding hundreds of natives, a roar of musketry burst forth. _Kia kotahi ki te ao!_ Thus in a din like pandemonium, guns firing, women screaming, and the accursed _tohunga_ shouting in his ear, died "Lizard Skin," as good a fighting man as ever worshipped force or trusted in the spear. His death on the whole was thought happy; for his last words were full of good omen:--"How sweet is man's flesh." Next morning the body had disappeared. This was contrary to ordinary custom, but in accordance with the request of the old warrior. No one, even of his own tribe, knows where his body is concealed, but the two men who carried it off in the night. All I know is that it lies in a cave, with the spear and tomahawk beside it. The two old wives were hanging by the neck from a scaffold at a short distance, which had been made to place potatoes on out of the reach of rats. The shrivelled old creatures were quite dead. I was for a moment forgetful of the "correct" thing, and called to an old chief, who was near, to cut them down. He said, in answer to my hurried call, "By-and-by; it is too soon yet: _they might recover_." "Oh," said I, at once recalled to my sense of propriety, "I thought they had been hanging all night," and thus escaped the great risk of being thought a mere meddling pakeha. I now perceived the old chief was employed making a stretcher, or _kauhoa_, to carry the bodies on. At a short distance also were five old creatures of women sitting in a row, crying, with their eyes fixed on the hanging objects, and everything was evidently going on _selon les règles_. I walked on. "_E tika ana_," said I, to myself. "It's all right, I dare say." The two young wives had also made a desperate attempt in the night to hang themselves, but had been prevented by two young men, who, by some unaccountable accident, had come upon them just as they were stringing themselves up; and who, seeing that they were not actually "ordered for execution," by great exertion, and with the assistance of several female relations, whom they called to their assistance, prevented them from killing themselves out of respect for their old lord. Perhaps it was to revenge themselves for this meddling interference that these two young women married the two young men before the year was out; in consequence of which, and as a matter of course, the husbands were robbed by the tribe of everything they had in the world (which was not much), except their arms. They also had to fight some half-dozen duels each with spears; in which, however, no one was killed, and no more blood drawn than could be well spared. All this they went through with commendable resignation; and so, due respect having been paid to the memory of the old chief, and the appropriators of his widows duly punished according to law, farther proceedings were stayed, and everything went on comfortably. And so the world goes round. CHAPTER XV. Mana.--Young New Zealand.--The Law of England.--"Pop goes the Weasel."--Right if we have Might.--God save the Queen.--Good Advice. In the afternoon I went home musing on what I had heard and seen. "Surely," thought I, "if one half of the world does not know how the other half live, neither do they know how they die." Some days after this a deputation arrived to deliver up my old friend's _mere_. It was a weapon of great _mana_, and was delivered with some little ceremony. I perceive now that I have written this word _mana_ several times, and think I may as well explain what it means. This is the more necessary, as the word has been bandied about a good deal of late years, and meanings have been often attached to it by Europeans which are incorrect, but which the natives sometimes accept because it suits their purpose. This same word _mana_ has several different meanings; the difference between these diverse meanings is sometimes very great, and sometimes only a mere shade of meaning, though one very necessary to observe; and it is, therefore, quite impossible to find any one single word in English, or in any other language that I have any acquaintance with, which will give the full and precise meaning of _mana_. Moreover, though I myself do know all the meanings and different shades of meaning, properly belonging to the word, I find a great difficulty in explaining them; but as I have begun, the thing must be done. It will also be a tough word disposed of to my hand, when I come to write my Maori dictionary, in a hundred volumes; which, if I begin soon, I hope to have finished before the Maori is a dead language. Now then for _mana_. _Virtus_, _prestige_, authority, good fortune, influence, sanctity, luck, are all words which, under certain conditions, give something near the meaning of _mana_, though not one of them gives it exactly: but before I have done, the reader shall have a reasonable notion (for a pakeha) of what it is. _Mana_ sometimes means a more than natural virtue or power attaching to some person or thing, different from and independent of the ordinary natural conditions of either, and capable of either increase or diminution, both from known and unknown causes. The _mana_ of a priest or _tohunga_ is proved by the truth of his predictions, as well as the success of his incantations; _which same incantations, performed by another person of inferior mana, would have no effect_. Consequently, this description of _mana_ is a virtue, or more than natural or ordinary condition attaching to the priest himself; and which he may become possessed of and also lose without any volition of his own. When Apollo from his shrine, No longer could divine, The hollow steep of Delphos sadly leaving,-- _then_ the oracle had lost its _mana_. Then there is the doctors' _mana_. The Maori doctors in the old times did not deal much in "simples," but they administered large doses of _mana_. Now when most of a doctor's patients recovered, his _mana_ was supposed to be in full feather; but if, as will happen sometimes to the best practitioners, a number of patients should slip through his fingers _seriatim_, then his _mana_ was suspected to be getting weak, and he would not be liable to be "knocked up" so frequently as formerly. _Mana_ in another sense is the accompaniment of power, but not the power itself: nor is it even in this sense exactly "authority," according to the strict meaning of that word, though it comes very near it. This is the chiefs _mana_. Let him lose the power, and the _mana_ is gone. But mind you do not translate _mana_ as power; that won't do: they are two different things entirely. Of this nature also is the _mana_ of a tribe; but this is not considered to be the supernatural kind of _mana_. Then comes the _mana_ of a warrior. Uninterrupted success in war proves it. It has a _slight_ touch of the supernatural, but not much. Good fortune comes near the meaning, but is just a little too weak. The warrior's _mana_ is just a little something more than bare good fortune; a severe defeat would shake it terribly; two or three in succession would show that it was gone: but before leaving him, some supernaturally ominous occurrence might be expected to take place, such as are said to have happened before the deaths of Julius Cæsar, Marcus Antonius, or Brutus. Let not any one smile at my comparing, even in the most distant way, the old Maori warriors with these illustrious Romans; for if they do, I shall answer that some of the old Maori _Toa_ were thought as much of in _their_ world, as any Greek or Roman of old was in his: and, moreover, it is my private opinion, that if the best of them could only have met my friend "Lizard Skin," in his best days, and would have taken off his armour and fought fair, that the aforesaid "Lizard Skin" would have tickled him to his heart's content with the point of his spear. A fortress often assailed but never taken has a _mana_, and one of a high description too. The name of the fortress becomes a _pepeha_, a war boast or motto, and a war cry of encouragement or defiance; like the _slogan_ of the ancient Highlanders in Scotland. A spear, a club, or a _mere_, may have a _mana_; which in most cases means that it is a lucky weapon which good fortune attends, if the bearer minds what he is about: but some weapons of the old times had a stronger _mana_ than this, like the _mana_ of the enchanted weapons we read of in old romances or fairy tales. Let any one who likes give an English word for this kind of _mana_. I have done with it. I had once a tame pig, which, before heavy rain, would always cut extraordinary capers and squeak like mad. Every pakeha said he was "weather-wise;" but all the Maori said it was a "_poaka whai mana_," a pig possessed of _mana_; _for it had more than natural powers_, and could foretell rain. If ever this talk about the good old times be printed and published, and every one should buy it, and read it, and quote it, and believe every word in it--as they ought, seeing that every word is true--then it will be a _puka puka whai mana_, a book of _mana_; and I shall have a high opinion of the good sense and good taste of the New Zealand public. When the law of England is the law of New Zealand, and the Queen's writ will run, then both the Queen and the law will have great _mana_: but I don't think either will ever happen, and so neither will have any _mana_ of consequence. If the reader has not some faint notion of _mana_ by this time, I can't help it: I can't do any better for him. I must confess I have not pleased myself. Any European language can be translated easily enough into any other; but to translate Maori into English is much harder to do than is supposed by those who do it every day with ease; but who do not know their own language, or any other but Maori, perfectly. I am always blowing up "Young New Zealand," and calling them "reading, riting, rethmatiking" vagabonds, who will never equal their fathers; but I mean it all for their good--(poor things!)--like a father scolding his children. But one _does_ get vexed sometimes. Their grandfathers, if they had "no backs," had at least good legs; but the grandsons can't walk a day's journey to save their lives: _they_ must _ride_. The other day I saw a young Maori chap on a good horse; he wore a black hat and polished Wellingtons, his hat was cocked knowingly to one side, and he was jogging along with one hand jingling the money in his pocket; and may I never see another war dance, if the hardened villain was not whistling "Pop goes the weasel!" What will all this end in? My only hope is in a handy way (to give them their due) which they have with a _tupara_; and this is why I don't think the law will have much _mana_ here in my time: I mean the _pakeha_ law; for, to say the worst of them, they are not yet so far demoralized as to stand any nonsense of that kind; which is a comfort to think of. I am a loyal subject to Queen Victoria, but I am also a member of a Maori tribe; and I hope I may never see this country so enslaved and tamed that a single rascally policeman, with nothing but a bit of paper in his hand, can come and take a _rangatira_ away from the middle of his _hapu_, and have him hanged for something of no consequence at all, except that it is against the law. What would old "Lizard Skin" say to it? His grandson certainly is now a magistrate, and if anything is stolen from a pakeha, he will get it back, _if he can_, and won't stick to it, because he gets a salary in lieu thereof; but he has told me certain matters in confidence, and which I therefore cannot disclose. I can only hint there was something said about "the Law," and "driving the pakeha into the sea." I must not trust myself to write on these matters. I get so confused, that I feel just as if I was two different persons at the same time. Sometimes I find myself thinking on the Maori side, and then just afterwards wondering if "we" can lick the Maori, and set the law upon its legs; which is the only way to do it. I therefore hope the reader will make allowance for any little apparent inconsistency in my ideas, as I really cannot help it. I belong to both parties, and I don't care a straw which wins; but I am sure we shall have fighting. Men _must_ fight; or else what are they made for? Twenty years ago, when I heard military men talking of "marching through New Zealand with fifty men," I was called a fool because I said they could not do it with five hundred. Now I am also thought foolish by civilians, because I say we can conquer New Zealand with our present available means, if we set the right way about it (which we won't). So hurrah again for the Maori! We shall drive the pakeha into the sea, and send the Law after them! If we can do it, we are right; and if the pakeha beat us, _they_ will be right too. God save the Queen! So now, my Maori tribe, and also my pakeha countrymen, I shall conclude this book with good advice; and be sure you take notice: it is given to both parties. It is a sentence from the last speech of old "Lizard Skin." It is to you both. "Be brave, that you may live." VERBUM SAPIENTI. GLOSSARY. _A pakeha tutua_--A mean, _poor_ European.--p. 18. _Bare Motiti_--The Island of Motiti is often called "_Motiti wahie kore_," as descriptive of the want of timber, or bareness of the island. A more fiercely contested battle, perhaps, was never fought than that on Motiti, in which the Ngati Kuri were destroyed.--p. 153. _E aha te pai?_--What is the good (or use) of him? Said in contempt.--p. 18. _Haere mai! &c._--Sufficiently explained as the native call of welcome. It is literally an invitation to advance.--p. 14. _Hahunga_--A _hahunga_ was a funeral ceremony, at which the natives usually assembled in great numbers, and during which "baked meats" were disposed of with far less economy than Hamlet gives us to suppose was observed "in Denmark."--p. 13. _Jacky-poto_--Short Jack; or stumpy Jack.--p. 152. _Kainga_--A native town, or village: their principal headquarters.--p. 13. _Kia kotahi ki te ao! Kia kotahi ki te po!_--A close translation would not give the meaning to the English reader. By these words the dying person is conjured to cling to life, but as they are never spoken until the person to whom they are addressed is actually expiring, they seemed to me to contain a horrid mockery, though to the native they no doubt appear the promptings of an affectionate and anxious solicitude. They are also supposed to contain a certain mystical meaning.--p. 200. _Ki au te mataika_--I have the _mataika_. The first man killed in a battle was called the _mataika_. To kill the _mataika_. To kill the _mataika_, or first man, was counted a very high honour, and the most extraordinary exertions were made to obtain it. The writer once saw a young warrior, when rushing with his tribe against the enemy, rendered almost frantic by perceiving that another section of the tribe would, in spite of all his efforts, be engaged first, and gain the honour of killing the _mataika_. In this emergency he, as he rushed on, cut down with a furious blow of his tomahawk, a sapling which stood in his way, and gave the cry which claims the _mataika_. After the battle the circumstances of this question in Maori chivalry having been fully considered by the elder warriors, it was decided that the sapling tree should, in this case, be held to be the true _mataika_, and that the young man who cut it down should always claim, without question, to have killed, or, as the natives say, "caught," the _mataika_ of that battle.--p. 174. _Mana_--As the meaning of this word is explained in the course of the narrative, it is only necessary to say that in the sense in which it is used here, it means dominion or authority.--p. 3. _Mere ponamu_--A native weapon made of a rare green stone, and much valued by the natives.--p. 24. _Na! Na! mate rawa!_--This is the battle cry by which a warrior proclaims, exultingly and tauntingly, the death of one of the enemy.--p. 58. _No hea_--Literally, from whence? Often used as a negative answer to an inquiry, in which case the words mean that the thing inquired for is not, or in fact is nowhere.--p. 2. _Pakeha_--An Englishman; a foreigner.--p. 3. _Rangatira_--A chief, a gentleman, a warrior. _Rangatira pakeha_--A foreigner who is a gentleman (not a _tutua_, or nobody, as described above), a _rich_ foreigner.--p. 20. _Tangi_--A dirge, or song of lamentation for the dead. It was the custom for the mourners, when singing the _tangi_, to cut themselves severely on the face, breast, and arms, with sharp flints and shells, in token of their grief. This custom is still practised, though in a mitigated form. In past times, the mourners cut themselves dreadfully, and covered themselves with blood from head to feet. See a description of a _tangi_ further on.--p. 3. _Taniwha_--A sea monster: more fully described further on.--p. 30. _Taonga_--Goods; property.--p. 20. _Taua_--A war party; or war expedition.--p. 42. _Tena koutou_; _or Tenara ko koutou_--The Maori form of salutation, equivalent to our "How do you do?"--p. 54. _Tino tangata_--A "good man," in the language of the prize-ring; a warrior; or literally, a very, or perfect man.--p. 30. _Toa_--A warrior of pre-eminent courage; a hero.--p. 179. _Torere_--An unfathomable cave, or pit, in the rocky mountains, where the bones of the dead, after remaining a certain time in the first burying place, are removed to and thrown in, and so finally disposed of.--p. 72. _Tu ngarahu_--This is a muster, or review, made to ascertain the numbers and condition of a native force; generally made before the starting of an expedition. It is, also, often held as a military spectacle, or exhibition, of the force of a tribe when they happen to be visited by strangers of importance: the war dance is gone through on these occasions, and speeches declaratory of war, or welcome, as the case may be, made to the visitors. The "review of the Taniwha," witnessed by the Ngati Kuri, was possibly a herd of sea-lions, or sea-elephants; animals scarcely ever seen on the coast of that part of New Zealand, and, therefore, from their strange and hideous appearance, at once set down as an army of Taniwha. One man only was, at the defeat of the Ngati Kuri, on Motiti, rescued to tell the tale.--p. 153. _Tupara_--A double gun; an article, in the old times, valued by the natives above all other earthly riches.--p. 12. _Tutua_--A low, worthless, and, above all, a _poor_, fellow--a "nobody."--p. 18. _Utu_--Revenge, or satisfaction; also payment.--p. 26. THE END. London: SMITH, ELDER and Co., Little Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey, E.C. 
29070	----	BRIGHTER BRITAIN OR SETTLER AND MAORI IN _NORTHERN NEW ZEALAND._ BY WILLIAM DELISLE HAY, AUTHOR OF "THREE HUNDRED YEARS HENCE," "THE DOOM OF THE GREAT CITY," ETC. "Queen of the seas, enlarge thyself! Send thou thy swarms abroad! For in the years to come,-- Where'er thy progeny, Thy language and thy spirit shall be found,-- If-- --in that Austral world long sought, The many-isled Pacific,-- When islands shall have grown, and cities risen In cocoa-groves embower'd; Where'er thy language lives. By whatsoever name the land be call'd, That land is English Still." SOUTHEY. IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1882. (_All rights reserved._) PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCELES. PREFACE. This book is descriptive of things as they are in a part of New Zealand, together with some reference to past history. It does not attempt to handle the colony as a whole, but refers to scenes within the northern half of the North Island only. This part of the country, the natural home of the kauri pine, is what I here intend to specify under the title of Northern New Zealand. I am not an emigration-tout, a land-salesman, or a tourist. When I went to New Zealand I went there as an emigrant. Not until a few days before I left its shores had I any other idea but that the rest of my life was destined to be that of a colonist, and that New Zealand was my fixed and permanent home. I have, therefore, written from the point of view of a settler. Circumstances, which have nothing to do with this chronicle, caused me to lay down axe and spade, and eventually to become a spoiler of paper instead of a bushman. The materials of this work, gathered together in the previous condition of life, are now put in print in the other. I trust no one of my colonial friends will feel offended, should he think that he discovers a caricature of himself in these pages. I have used disguises to veil real identities, occasionally taking liberties as regards time, situation, and personality. I think that no one but themselves could recognize my characters. The substance of one or two chapters of this book has, in part, been already placed before the public in papers that I contributed to _The Field_ last year, and is used again here by kind permission of the proprietor of that newspaper. Also, I have made the Kaipara the scene of several tales and sketches, which have appeared in sundry periodicals. If, in writing this book, I had any object beyond that of amusing the reader, it has been to give accurate information to young Englishmen belonging to the middle-classes. From this section of home society a considerable number of emigrants go out who had much better stop at home. On the other hand, there are many who do not stir, and who would be much better off in a colony. Perhaps, from the record I am now able to put before them, some of these young gentlemen will be more able to decide whether they are personally adapted to become colonists in Northern New Zealand or not. If one unsuitable emigrant is hereby deterred from leaving home, and if one capable colonist is added to the population of "Brighter Britain," my labour will not have been altogether useless. For the rest, I throw myself again upon the indulgence of critics, and on that of a public which has already abundantly favoured the efforts I have made to please and serve it. THE AUTHOR. LONDON, _June 25th, 1882._ CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER PAGE I. A "NEW-CHUM'S" INTRODUCTION 1 II. AUCKLAND 21 III. GOING UP COUNTRY 63 IV. IN THE KAIPARA 93 V. OUR SHANTY 115 VI. OUR HOME-LIFE 143 VII. OUR PIONEER FARM. I. 174 VIII. OUR PIONEER FARM. II. 196 IX. OUR SHOW-PLACE 227 X. OUR NATIVE NEIGHBOURS 253 XI. OUR SETTLER FRIENDS 285 XII. A PIG-HUNT 319 BRIGHTER BRITAIN! CHAPTER I. A "NEW-CHUM'S" INTRODUCTION. Three months on board ship seems a long while to look forward to, yet it is but a short time to look back upon. Emigrants, being for the most part drawn from among dry-land-living populations, are apt to be daunted by the idea of a long voyage. People would be more ready, perhaps, to contemplate becoming colonists, were it not for that dreaded crossing of the sea which must necessarily be their first step. Their terrors may be natural enough, but they are more fanciful than real; and once overcome, the emigrant smiles at his former self. After the first week or two at sea, the most inveterate "land-lubber" begins to feel at home; in another week or two he has become quite nautical, and imagines himself to have been a sailor half his life; while, when the voyage is over and the time come to go ashore, there are few who leave their floating home without regret. As things are managed nowadays, there exists no reason for apprehension of the voyage on the part of would-be colonists. Emigrants who are taken out "free"--that is, at the expense of the colonial government--as well as those who pay their own passage, are cared for in most liberal and considerate style. The rivalry between the various colonies of Australia has had this effect among others--that the voyage is made as safe, smooth, and inviting to emigrants as is possible. They are berthed with an ever-increasing attention to their care and comfort, while they are absolutely pampered and fattened with abundance and variety of the best food. No one expects to commence life in a new country without undergoing some amount of hardship and difficulty, and when the emigrant gets on shore, and begins to experience the various little annoyances that a "new-chum" must necessarily undergo, he realizes most thoroughly the pleasures and comforts he has left behind him on board ship; and, very frequently, vainly endeavours to suppress the wish that he was back on board "the old hooker" making the voyage out over again. As to _danger_, nothing amuses an old salt more than the bare idea of the "perils of the sea." To him, a railway journey, short or long, appears an infinitely more terrible and risky undertaking than a voyage half round the globe; and he will enumerate the various dangers to which a landsman is exposed as vastly in excess of those which may happen to the mariner. Life on board an emigrant-ship would, it might be thought, be somewhat dull and monotonous. As a matter of fact, it is scarcely ever found to be so. First of all, the little community of two or three hundred souls--men, women, and children--contrives to find sufficient fund for amusement in itself, in all the varieties of social intercourse. The progress of each day is marked by some fresh events that, insignificant as they may seem when regarded from a distance, do yet bear the strongest interest to all on board. A glimpse at some distant land, the signalling or speaking of other vessels, the appearance of strange birds and fish, the passage into different climates, the excitement of a storm, or the opportunity which a calm gives for general junketing; all such incidents are looked upon as a real gain by the voyagers, while there is always something stirring on board to divert and enliven them. All kinds of games are resorted to, many more, in fact, than landsmen have any idea of; a vast amount of reading is done; there are sure to be one or two on board who know how to spin a yarn with due effect; some are musical, and others can sing. Concerts, lectures, theatricals, and dances are got up; while, as there is generally a due admixture of the sexes, not a little flirting and downright courting is carried on; and, lastly, if there is any quarrelling and bickering, the differences of those who engage in it afford much amusement to the rest. Altogether, the modern emigrant's existence on board ship is a calm, easy, indolent, well-fed, and cheerful interlude of repose, amid the storms and worries of the great battle of life. If existence has been to him hitherto rather hard and thorny than otherwise, he finds the voyage out a pleasant interval of rest and refreshment; and, in any case, it recruits and prepares him to better commence the new life in the colony, with good spirits and high hopes, with invigorated strength, and renewed health in both mind and body. Although it might be thought that social equality would necessarily prevail on board ship, such is by no means the case. Of course there are great differences in the social tone of various ships, but, as a rule, "aft" seldom condescends to mix much with "forrard." Yet there are generally many interchanges of courtesy, as between upper, middle, and lower classes; and different messes will sometimes banquet one another. The "cuddy" will, perhaps, get up amateur theatricals or charades, to which spectacle the whole vessel will be invited; while the "steerage" will return the compliment with a concert, more or less brilliant in performance. Thus, a pleasant interchange of civilities goes on aboard most ships, and serves to help make the time pass away. Differences of rank and station are supposed to be pretty well levelled down in the colonies. Most of the time-worn prejudices of the old country, it is true, melt away before the revivifying breath of colonial life, yet sometimes "Mrs. Grundy's" awful features will show themselves, hiding the old foolish face under a new and somewhat strange aspect. It would be interesting to note how many of the most prominent and influential citizens of a colony came there originally in the humblest possible way; and how many of the dregs of colonial society--the occupiers of the lowest rung on the colonial ladder--reached their new home with all the pomp and circumstance of quarter-deck sublimity, and all the humbug and pretension of real or fancied aristocracy. Is the result we see--for these contrasts are to be found plentifully in all the colonies at the Antipodes--what it ought to be, or not? That is the question. In the colonies, and particularly in the younger and newer among them, a man must perforce be the sole architect of his own fortunes. Industry and energy, enterprise and perseverance pave the pathway to success, and yield a real and lasting benefit to him who holds such endowments. A man must prove what he _is_, not what he _was_; his antecedents go for but little, and his "forbears" for nothing at all. In the Antipodean colonies of Great Britain is realized, perhaps, the nearest approach to true freedom; and, in a wide social sense, the closest approximation to the ideal republic. However, we are still on board ship, and, after an easy and not too eventful voyage of some three months, are looking eagerly out for the first sight of the promised land. Bound to Auckland, New Zealand, our vessel is one of the largest that has yet sailed from Gravesend to that port; and she carries some three hundred emigrants and passengers on board. We have grown so accustomed to our good ship, and to our life on board of her, that we have got a strange feeling that this voyaging will never end; nor does the idea altogether arouse our discontent. We have had one or two births, and, alas! one poor child has been taken from our little company. There have, of course, been no weddings on board, but the prevailing opinion is that several have been arranged to take place as soon as we get on shore. And the time is very near now. At last, late one afternoon, as the ship is bowling steadily along with a ten-knot breeze on the port quarter, the deck is hailed from aloft, and the cheery, long-expected, and long-wished-for cry of "land ho!" is taken up by a hundred voices, and rings out across the sea. But there is nothing to be seen for all that; and though more than three hundred pairs of eyes keep anxious ward and watch, darkness falls before an almost imperceptible cloud upon the far horizon is pronounced oracularly by the mate to be Cape Maria Van Diemen, New Zealand's north-western-most promontory. One may easily imagine that it is difficult to "turn in" on a night when such a fresh excitement fills every mind, but, I suppose, most of us do contrive to get to sleep eventually. With the first break of dawn in the morning there is a stir and commotion all through the ship. Rules are forgotten, and etiquette broken through, as men, women, and children rush hastily on deck to take their first look at our future home. It is a beautiful summer morning. There is only a slight ripple on the surface of the water, and not a cloud in the blue sky overhead. The gentle breeze that just keeps us in motion blows off the land, bearing with it a subtle perfume of trees and flowers and herbage; how unspeakably grateful to our nostrils none can tell so well as we, who inhale it with ardour after so many weeks at sea. Yonder, a mile or two to starboard, and seeming within a stone's throw, is the land we have come so far to seek. A wall of rock, the northern cliff of New Zealand rises abrupt and imposing from the sea, broken here and there into groups of pillared, pinnacled islets, nobly irregular in outline, piled and scarred, indented and projected, uplifted and magnificent. On the summit of the cliffs, on ledges and terraces, down at the bottom of the rocks, filling every little bay, and sweeping down the gullies and ravines, is everywhere abundant the wild foliage of the evergreen forest. Glorifying the rich and splendid scene, diversifying with numberless effects of light and shadow the whole panorama, shining upon the glowing sea, touching the topmost crags with sparkling grandeur, and bathing in beauty the thousand-tinted green of the forest, is the sun, which, on the eastern horizon, is rising clear and bright and steady. And so we gaze rapturously on the wide and beautiful picture--a picture the remembrance of which will remain with us long: our first sight of the new land of hope and promise. Varied are the emotions that take possession of the individuals of our company; but I think there are some among us, more thoughtful or sentimental, perhaps, who, unconsciously to themselves, draw a kind of inspiration from the noble scene. To such there seems, in those majestic cliffs, sea-swept and forest-crowned, first seen as lighted by the rising sun, a nameless sermon preached, a wordless lesson taught, an everlasting poem sung. And our minds and spirits are calmed, refreshed, and invigorated; while in some dim way we grasp ideas that the silent scene irresistibly conveys to us. Rising within us, as we gaze, comes with fresh new force the knowledge of the qualities that should be ours: the high-hoping courage, the unshrinking energy, the dauntless resolution, and the unfailing industry that must animate the colonist, and be the best endowments of an inceptive nation! Later in the day we round the North Cape, and go sailing on down the coast, with light and rather baffling winds that eventually bring us to port on the following evening. Among our passengers are several old colonists, who are returning from a visit "home." In the colonies Great Britain is always spoken of as "home," even by colonial-born people. Talk about the raptures at returning to "my own, my native land!" that is nothing to the transports of joy that now infect our colonists. They laugh, they sing, they dance about the decks, they chatter "sixteen to the dozen," and display every eccentricity of unbounded delight and satisfaction. Probably a good deal of this is put on for the edification of us new chums, but there is no question that most of it is an expression of real feeling. All through the voyage these good people have been in great force, relating numberless yarns of their past experiences, more or less truthful in detail. But now their self-importance is overwhelming and superior to all considerations. Every headland, bay, or island that we pass is expatiated upon, and its especial story told, in which, I note, the narrator generally seems to have been the most prominent figure himself. No one is allowed to remain below, even for meals, scarcely for sleeping; he or she must be up on deck to hear strange-sounding names applied to every place we sight. Cape Kara-Kara is a name to us and nothing more. Whangaroa Heads, that guard the harbour of that name, with its settlements and saw-mills, is but little better, though some few, who have been industriously reading up, remember Whangaroa as the scene of the ghastly massacre of the crew of the _Boyd_, half a century ago. Capes Wiwiki and Brett we have no previous acquaintance with, though we have heard of the Bay of Islands, over whose wide entrance they are the twin sentinels. And then in slow succession we sight the Poor Knights Islands, Bream Head, the Hen and Chickens, the Barrier Islands--Great and Little, Cape Colville, Rodney Point, and the Kawau, Sir George Grey's island home. And now, on the afternoon of the second day, we are running closer and closer to the shore; islands and islets are becoming more numerous, and the seas are getting narrower. Right ahead a conical mountain top is perceived, Tiri-Tiri is close to, and it is high time the pilot came aboard. That mountain top is Rangitoto, an extinct volcanic cone upon a small island that protects the entrance to Auckland Harbour. Presently we shall see the similar elevations of Mount Eden and Mount Hobson, that look down on Auckland from the mainland. Of course, we are all on the _qui vive_ of expectation, looking out for the first signs of life. Hitherto we have seen nothing to rob us of the notion that we are a veritable cargo of Columbuses, coming to colonize some new and virgin land, until now utterly unknown to the rest of the world. The shores we have passed along have presented to us every possible variety of savage wilderness, rocks and bush and scrub and fern, but no appearance of settlement at all, not even any signs of aboriginal life have we descried. There is a growing idea getting the better of our common sense--an impression that there has been some sort of mistake somewhere or other. For, how can it be possible that we are just outside the harbour of a considerable city, with the shores of mainland and island as far as we can see, just as wild as Nature made them, wilder than anything most of us have ever seen before. The utmost recesses of Scotland, or Ireland, or Wales would look quite tame and domesticated contrasted with these rugged solitudes. Not a house nor a hut anywhere, not a trace of the presence of man, not even--so it chanced--another sail upon the sea! It is close upon sunset, the foresail is backed, the pilot's signal is flying, and the foghorn sounding, and soon we shall see if there is any life or not in this weird new land. Presently, comes a shout of "Ship ahoy! ahoy!" apparently from the sea, and a little boat emerges from the shadow of the shore and makes its way alongside. Of course every one rushes to the side to see the pilot come aboard. It being more than three months since we saw a strange face, we are naturally consumed with a burning curiosity. It is rather disappointing though, to have come half round the world only to be met by men like these. The pilot might be own brother to his fellow-craftsman who took us down the Channel, and his crew are just the same kind of brawny, bearded, amphibious-looking men that are to be seen any day in an English seaport. We had nourished an insane kind of hope that we should have been boarded by a canoe full of Maoris, in all the savage splendour of tattooing and paint and feathers; but here, instead of all that romantic fancy, are three or four ordinary "long-shore" boatmen, with a pilot who steps on board in the most matter-of-fact manner possible. Well, we must make the best we can out of the circumstances; so, when the pilot has come out of the captain's cabin, where he has shown his certificate and discussed his "nobbler," when he has formally taken charge of the ship, and we are once more moving through the water, we begin to pester him with the question, "What's the news?" Now, as we have been between three and four months at sea, isolated from the rest of the world, we are naturally all agog to hear what has happened in our absence. New Zealand's news of the old world is at least a month old, but then that is considerably in advance of our dates. The pilot has, therefore, enough to do in answering all the questions that are levelled at him, and as he is probably pretty well accustomed to similar experiences, he is, I fear, in the habit of allowing his fancy to supply any gaps in his actual knowledge of the progress of events; hence we glean many scraps of information that on further inquiry turn out to be more or less imaginative. And now that we are entering the harbour of Auckland, it is unfortunately getting too dark to see much. There is not a long gloaming in northern New Zealand--once the sun has dropped below the horizon darkness succeeds very rapidly; so, though we get an indistinct glimpse at some houses on the shore as we sail along, it is quite dark as we round the North Shore and come into Auckland harbour. There goes the anchor at last, with a plunge and a rattle! Now the good ship is swinging in the current of the Waitemata, and the voyage, that at its commencement seemed so long and that now appears to have been so short, is fairly terminated. Before us, extending to right and left, and up and down, are thousands of lights glittering and twinkling over the shadowy outlines of the city; while into our ears is borne the welcome hum and stir of city life. There is no going ashore until next morning--until the health officer and the customs shall have boarded and inspected us. So that night is devoted to the bustle and confusion of packing up; and various spoony couples moon about the decks, renewing promises and vows in expectation of their parting on the morrow. When morning comes we make our bow to Auckland. There it lies, this Antipodean city, looking so white and clean and fair in the morning sunshine, stretching away to right and left, rising in streets and terraces from the shore, cresting the heights with steeples and villa-roofs, and filling up the valleys below. In the far background is the heavy brow of Mount Eden, whose extinct crater we shall explore by-and-by, and whence we shall obtain a splendid view of the entire city, its suburbs, and the surrounding country. From our point of view out in the harbour the city presents a scattered and uneven appearance, that adds to its generally picturesque aspect. As a central feature are the long lines of wharves and quays with their clustering shipping; just beyond these is evidently the densest part of the city. Huge and imposing stone buildings stand thickly here, showing that it is the centre of the business part of Auckland. To right and left the ground rises abruptly and steeply, and the streets become irregular in outline. Nor is the shore a straight and continuous line; these heights on either hand are promontories jutting out into the stream, and hiding deep bays behind them, round which, straggling and irregular, sweeps the city. The further our eyes travel from the centre of the picture, the more do we lose sight of any trace of uniformity in building. Quite close to the busy parts, so it seems to us, houses stand in their own wide gardens; the streets and roads are lost amid the embowering foliage of trees and shrubs. The house-structures are built on every conceivable plan, up and down the wooded shores; every builder has evidently been his own architect to a great extent, and there is no lack of elbow-room hereaway. What surprise us most are the evidences of taste and cultivation and general prosperity everywhere in view. Our previous glimpses at the shore of our new country had not prepared us for anything like this. It is decidedly encouraging to new-comers, who are disturbed somewhat by the prospect of doing battle with the wilderness, to find a sort of Anglo-Saxon Naples here in the Southern Sea. We had an idea that our arrival would have been quite an event in this little place. Nothing of the sort; Aucklanders are too well used to the arrival of emigrant ships. One or two enter the harbour every month, besides other craft; and then the Pacific Mail steamers, large and splendidly equipped vessels, call here twice a month on their way to and fro between Sydney and San Francisco. There are one or two vessels like ours lying out in the stream at the present time, others are lying alongside the principal wharf, or its cross-tees, amid a forest of spars belonging to small coasting craft. Plenty of shore boats have come off to us on one errand or another; but it is evident that our arrival has not created that impression upon the city which we had had a notion that it would have done. The morning papers will notice our advent, with a brief account of the voyage, and will give exceedingly inaccurate lists of our passengers. Only those people who expect friends or cargo by us will take any special interest in us; the evening promenaders on the wharf will glance at our ship with a brief passing interest; and the current of Auckland life will flow on unchanged, regardless of the fact that some three hundred more souls have been absorbed into its population. Breakfast this morning is partaken of in the midst of a hurry-skurry of excitement, but, for all that, it is an imposing meal, and comprises all sorts of luxuries to which we have long been strangers. Beefsteaks, milk, eggs, fruit, and vegetables, fresh fish just caught over the side, and other fondly-loved delicacies are on the bill of fare. By-and-by, all formalities having been gone through, comes the parting with shipmates and the confusion of landing. It is not without a strong feeling of astonishment that we step out of the boat that has brought us off, and enter the city. We were totally unprepared for the scene before us. From the accounts we had read and received, we had pictured Auckland to our minds as little better than a collection of log-huts, with here and there, perhaps, a slightly more comfortable frame-house. And here is the reality. A city that would put to shame many an old English town. A main street--Queen Street--that might even compare favourably with many a leading London thoroughfare in all its details. Fine handsome edifices of stone, with elaborate architecture and finish; large plate-glass shop-windows, filled with a display of wares; gas-lamps, pillar letter-boxes, pavements, awnings, carts, carriages, and cabs; all the necessities, luxuries, and appurtenances of city life, civilized and complete. Truly, all this is a wonderful surprise to us. Our preconceived ideas, gathered from various books dating only a few years back, had led our fancies completely astray. Learning from these sources that, not much more than thirty years ago--in 1840,--the first ship-load of British emigrants landed in New Zealand; that since then the colony had struggled for bare life against many and great difficulties; that it had had to wage several desperate wars with the aborigines; had had its financial and legislative troubles; and was still so very very young, we were naturally prepared to find Auckland a rude, rough, and inchoate settlement, pitched down in the midst of a wilderness as savage and uncouth as those shores we passed along yesterday. We know that a very few years ago, Auckland really was but what we had fancied it still would be, and so we comprehend now how little the people at home actually realize of the conditions of life at their Antipodes. Moreover, as we pass along the streets of this British city, set down here on the shaggy shores of Britain's under-world, in the very heart of recent Maori-dom, so remote and far removed from the tracks of ancient civilization, we look around us and are filled with wonder and a feeling akin to awe. This is what colonization means; this is the work of colonists; this is the evidence of energy that may well seem titanic, of industry that appears herculean; this is Progress! The thought thrills us through and through. We, too, have made our entry into the new world; we, too, have crossed the threshold of colonial life; and thus to-day, at the outset of our new life, our minds have opened to receive the first true lesson of the colonist. CHAPTER II. AUCKLAND. Passing up Queen Street, after landing on the wharf, a party of us notice--or fancy we notice--a rather singular feature in the Aucklanders we meet. The men are grave and serious in deportment, and nearly all are profusely bearded; but one of us draws attention to the fact that all have strangely aquiline noses. Hebrews they are not--we know, they are of the same nationality as ourselves--so we seek explanation from a whimsical fellow-voyager, himself an old Aucklander. "Ah!" says he, "that's a peculiarity of the climate. You'll have long noses, too, after a year or so. There's an Auckland proverb, that a new-chum never does any good until his nose has grown. You've got to learn the truth of that pretty soon." Following up these remarks, he proceeded to add-- "It's like the proverbial cutting of the wisdom-teeth. After inhaling this magnificent air of ours for a year or two, your nose will grow bigger to receive it; and about the same time you will have spent the money you brought with you, gone in for hard work, learnt common-sense, and become 'colonized.'" The reader will understand that a new-chum is, throughout the colonies, regarded as food for mirth. He is treated with good-humoured contempt and kindly patronage. He is looked upon as a legitimate butt, and a sort of grown-up and incapable infant. His doings are watched with interest, to see what new eccentricities he will develop; and shouts of laughter are raised at every fresh tale of some new-chum's inexperienced attempts and failures. Half the stories that circulate in conversation have a new-chum as the comic man of the piece; and if any unheard of undertaking is noised about, "Oh, he's a new-chum!" is considered sufficient explanation. However, the new-chum is not supposed to be altogether a fool, since he will sooner or later develop into the full-blown colonist, and since sometimes it happens that one of his order will show colonists "a thing or two." He is one of the recognized characters of colonial society, and as he affords much material that seems infinitely ludicrous to the older colonist, so his faults and failings meet with lenient condonation. Even the law seems to feel that the new-chum is scarcely a responsible being. At the time I write of, drunkenness was severely legislated against in New Zealand. A man who was merely drunk, without being actually incapable or riotous, was liable, if any constable saw fit, to be haled before the magistrate and fined one pound; and, on a subsequent conviction, might be sent to the Stockade (prison), without the option of a fine at all. The law stood something like that, and was impartially administered by the Auckland Dogberry. However, if an individual were pulled up, charged with even the most excessive tipsiness, including riot, assault, incapability, or what not, and could show that he was a new-chum, the sacred folly attributed to that state of being was held sufficient to bear him blameless, and he was always discharged on his promise not to do it again. I do not know whether this was intended as a sort of indulgence to newly-arrived voyagers, or whether, in the eye of the law, a new-chum was held to be an irresponsible being, who had not yet arrived at the moral manhood of a New Zealander. Certain it is, it was fact, and was largely taken advantage of, too. In order to bear out one of the received theories regarding new-chums, namely, their utter want of frugality, we, some half-a-dozen young "gentlemen," who have come out in the cabin, go to put up at one of the leading hotels of the city. We have looked in at some of the minor hotels and houses of accommodation, but are daunted by the rough, rude, navvy-like men, who appear to chiefly frequent them; and we do not care to go to any of the boarding-houses, where parsons, missionaries, and people of that class mostly abound, and tincture the very air with a savour of godliness and respectability that is, alas! repugnant to our scapegrace youth. We are young fellows with slender purses but boundless hopes, an immense belief in ourselves and our golden prospects; but with the vaguest possible idea of what manual labour, roughing it, and colonial work really mean. Therefore, we have decided that there is no reason to plunge at once into the middle of things, that we will look about a bit, let ourselves down gently, and taste a little comfort before proceeding further. Our hotel is a solid, comfortable-looking edifice of stone, standing on a wide street that traverses a high ridge, and commanding a fine view of the harbour. It is well furnished throughout in English fashion, resembling any first-class family and commercial hotel of the old country. There is a long bar or saloon occupying the ground floor, with a parlour behind it; there are also a spacious dining-room and business-room. Upstairs there is a billiard-room, smoking-room, ladies' drawing-room, and bedrooms capable of accommodating thirty or forty guests. Behind the house is a large courtyard, round which are ranged the bath-rooms, kitchens, offices, and stables; while further back is the garden, principally used for strictly utilitarian purposes. According to colonial custom there is little or no privacy, no private sitting-rooms, and if a visitor have a bedroom to himself, it is not quite such a sanctum as it would be in Britain. People stopping in the house are free to permeate it from kitchen to attic, if so minded. There are three common meals--breakfast, luncheon-dinner, and dinner-supper--and any one who is not present at them, or who is hungry between times, will have to go without in the interval, and wait till the next regular meal-time comes round, unless he dare to invade the kitchen and curry favour with the cook, or goes down to some restaurant in the city. Generally speaking, the table is furnished in a style most creditable as to both quantity and quality of the viands. There may not be such a show of plate and glass and ornament as there would be at a London hotel of similar status, but there is a plenteous profusion of varied eatables, fairly cooked and served up, to which profusion the home establishment is an utter stranger. Fish, fowl, butcher's meat, vegetables, breads and cakes, eggs, cream, and fruit, appear in such abundance that, when every one is nearly gorged, we wonder what can possibly be done with the overplus, especially since we are told that this is a city without paupers, as yet. Fresh from the crystallized decorum of English manners, we are necessarily struck by the freedom of intercourse that prevails. Class prejudices have certainly been imported here from Europe, and exist to a small extent in Auckland society, but there is, withal, a nearer approach to true liberty, equality, and fraternity, at any rate in the manners and customs of colonists. The hotel servants show no symptoms of servility, though in civility they are not lacking. Every one is perfectly independent, and considers himself or herself on an equal footing with every one else, no matter what differences may exist in their present position--new-chums always excepted--while they ever bear in mind that such differences are only temporary, and may disappear any day in the chances and changes of life in a new country. Our landlord and his wife preside at the meals, and, whoever may or might be present, comport themselves as a host and hostess entertaining a friendly party. In common with every one else, they take a lively interest in our intentions and prospects, and we are bewildered with conflicting advice and suggestions, some real and some jocular. They make us feel at home in the house very speedily, and cause us to forget that we are paying lodgers. Not but what the bill will come up with due regularity, and will have to be met as promptly. And the mention of it reminds me to state that the tariff is eight shillings per day, inclusive of everything but liquors. This would be moderate enough in all conscience, according to English notions, but it is thought to be a luxurious price here. The minor hotels and boarding-houses in Auckland charge from a pound to thirty-five shillings per week. At present there is nothing higher than the price we pay at our hotel. Having hinted at the social relations that obtain here, there will seem to be nothing outrageous in the following slight incident that illustrates them. One morning, soon after our arrival, I get down to breakfast rather late, after most of the guests have dispersed. Something seems to have creased our landlady's temper, for she greets me with-- "Look here, young man! I can't have people walking in to breakfast at all hours of the day. If you don't come down at the proper time, you'll have to go without in future--mind that!" But at this juncture arrives the waiter, who is kind enough to favour me with his friendship, bringing with him a dish he has been keeping hot, and, as he slaps it down in front of me, he observes in a tone of mild remonstrance-- "Leave the man alone. I'll look after him. Now just you walk into that, my boy, and see if it won't suit your complaint!" This is quite colonial style. But fancy an old-country landlady venturing to remonstrate with her boarder in such terms; and imagine the pitiable horror of a precise and formal Englishman, who might find himself so addressed by a waiter, and in the presence of the latter's mistress, too! I am particular in styling Auckland a "city," and not a "town," for were I to use the latter term I should expect to earn the undying hostility of all true Aucklanders. It is a point they are excessively touchy upon, and as the city and its suburbs contains a population of more than twenty thousand--increasing annually at an almost alarming rate--it were as well for me to be particular. We take a stroll or two about the city in company with a colonial friend, who obligingly acts as our cicerone. The wharf is naturally the first point of interest to new-comers. It stretches continuously out into the river from the lower end of Queen Street, and is over a quarter of a mile in length. It is built of wood, and has several side-piers or "tees," whereat ships discharge and take in cargo. The scene is always a busy one; and in the evening the wharf is a favourite promenade with citizens. Out in the river, lying at anchor, is the good ship that brought us here, and not far from her are a couple of others, one of which will shortly sail for England. Puffing its way between these vessels is a little white cock-boat of a steamer, that seems tolerably well crowded with men, whose white sun-helmets and yellow silk coats give quite an Indian air to the scene. These persons are probably business men coming over in the ferry-boat from North Shore, where we can see some of their villas from the wharf. Lying alongside the wharf are one or two vessels of considerable tonnage, loading or discharging cargo, while at their respective tees, whereon are offices and goods-sheds, are several fine steamers of moderate size. These ply in various directions, taking passengers chiefly, but also goods. Some go and come between Auckland and Grahamstown, or Coromandel, in the Hauraki Gulf; others go to Tauranga, the Bay of Plenty, Napier, Wellington, and the South Island; one or two go northward to Mahurangi, Whangarei, the Bay of Islands, Whangaroa, and Mongonui. The splendid and sumptuously fitted-up Pacific liners that call here once a month, on their way between "Frisco," Hawaii, Fiji, and Sydney, are none of them in the harbour at present; but there, at the extreme end of the wharf, lies _The Hero_, the Sydney packet, and a magnificent steam-ship is she. All the schooners, cutters, and craft of small tonnage that fill up the scene, and crowd alongside the wharf and its tees, are coasting or Island traders. There is one from the Fijis with cotton, coffee, and fresh tropical fruits; there is another from the Friendlies with copra and cocoa-nut fibre, which she will shortly transfer to some ship loading for England; and there is the _Magellan Cloud_, fresh from a successful whaling cruise in Antarctic Seas. There is a vessel from Kororareka with coal and manganese, or kauri-gum; there are others from Mahurangi with lime, from Whangarei with fat cattle, from Tauranga with potatoes, from Poverty Bay with wool, from the Wairoa with butter and cheese, from Port Lyttelton with flour, or raw-hides for the Panmure tannery, from Dunedin with grain or colonial ale, and so on and so on. Just off the wharf, and facing the river at either corner of Queen Street, are two large and handsome hotels, while to right and left on the river frontage are sundry important commercial edifices. Passing to the left as we leave the wharf, we come to several extensive timber-yards, and to a long jetty, used exclusively as a timber-wharf. The immense piles of sawn timber lying here give to us new-chums some notion of the vast timber-trade of Northern New Zealand, especially since we learn that much which goes to the South Island and elsewhere is shipped direct from Whangaroa, Hokianga, the Kaipara, and other ports in the north. The road along the river front, here, is shortly brought up abruptly at the base of a lofty bluff, whereon is a church and other buildings, near the site of old Fort Britomart. Retracing our steps, we enter Queen Street, the main street of the city. All the lower portion of it abutting on to the wharf was, we are told, reclaimed from swamp and mud only a very few years ago. The street is a fine one, leading straight away from the river, curving imperceptibly to the right, and gradually ascending for about a mile, until it branches off into other streets and roads. Down at the lower end of the street most of the buildings are of brick and stone; and some of them are of tolerably fine architecture. There are banks and warehouses and merchants' stores of all kinds, interspersed with hotels and public buildings. Higher up Queen Street, and in the cross-streets, stone and brick edifices are less numerous, and wooden houses more plentiful. The broad, well-paved thoroughfare is crowded at certain times of the day with carriages, cabs, buggies, omnibuses, equestrians, express-carts, waggons, drays, and every species of vehicle. The side-walks are thronged with passengers, who pass up and down under the awnings that stretch from the houses across the wide pavement. Many of the shop-windows would do no discredit to Oxford Street or the Strand, either as respects their size or the goods displayed in them. Some distance up Queen Street, and turning a little out of it, is the Market House, where a very fine show of fruit, vegetables, and other eatables is frequently to be seen; and then there is the United Service Hotel, at the corner of Wellesley Street, which is a structure that Aucklanders point to with pride, as evidence of their progress in street architecture. At night, when the gas is lit in the streets, the shops, and the saloons, and one mingles with the crowd that throngs them, or pours into the theatre, the Choral Hall, the Mechanics' Institute, the Oddfellows' Hall, or other places of amusement, instruction, or dissipation, it is almost possible sometimes to imagine oneself back in the old country, in the streets of some English town. New-chums are able to notice some of the peculiarities of Auckland street-life, wherein it most differs from an old-country town. These arise principally from that absence of conventionality, which, certainly in many external things, is the prerogative of colonists. There is a mingling of people who seem on terms of perfect equality, and who yet present the most extraordinary difference in appearance. The gentleman and the roughest of roughs may happen to get together on the same piece of work, and when their temporary chum-ship ends the one cannot entirely cut the other, such being a course quite inadmissible with colonial views of life. Only one man _may_ be scouted by any one, and that is the loafer. Of course there are good people here who would fain introduce all the class barriers that exist in the old country; but they cannot do more than form little cliques and coteries, which are constantly giving way and being broken down under the amalgamating process of colonization. Where these offer most resistance to the levelling influence is where they are cemented by religious denominational spite, which is, unhappily, very prevalent in Auckland. This general fusion of all sorts of people together produces a very amiable and friendly state of things. Etiquette is resolved into simple courtesy, not very refined, perhaps, but which is sufficient "between man and man," as Micawber would say. Prejudice must not be entertained against any man on account of his birth, connections, education, poverty, or manner of work; he is "a man for a' that," and entitled to the same consideration as the more fortunate individual who possesses what he lacks. Only if he be a loafer, or dishonest, or otherwise positively objectionable, will any man find himself under the ban of colonial society. And this society is not a mere set of wealthy exclusives banded together against the rest of the world; it comprehends everybody. One sees in the streets abundant evidence of these conditions of social relationship. In the first place, costume goes for little or nothing. Men--I am coming to your sex presently, ladies!--men wear just what they please at all times and in all places, and without remark from others. One sees men apparelled in all sorts of ways; and it would be impossible to guess at a man's condition from his coat, hereaway. In Queen Street once, I saw a well-dressed and thriving store-keeper touch his hat to a ragged, disreputable-looking individual, who was carrying a hod full of bricks, where some building operations were going on. It was a sudden impulse of old habit, I suppose, which had wrung that very uncolonial salute from the sometime valet to his former master, in whose service he had originally come out. I knew of one case where master and servant actually came to change places, and I may add, to their mutual advantage eventually. A man would not be likely to receive an invitation to the governor's ball unless he had some pretensions to gentility, or was locally important. Yet, I suppose that the recipient of such an invite might turn up at Government House in a grey jumper and moleskins, if he were so minded, and would pass unquestioned. In such a case it would only be surmised that Mr. So-and-so was "not doing very well at present." Women, as a rule, dress "to death;" and the more gorgeous the toilette the more likely is it that the wearer is unmarried, and a worker of some sort. The merest Irish slut can earn her ten shillings a week as a domestic, besides being found in everything; and better-class girls get proportionately more; so it is not surprising that they can clothe themselves in fine raiment. But there is no rule to go by--the expensively dressed woman may be either mistress or maid, and the plain cotton gown may clothe either as well. Only one thing is certain, the Auckland woman of any class will dress as well as she knows how, on her own earnings or her husband's. We new-chums observe one or two peculiarities of this kind as we stroll about the city, and they are explained to us by our colonial friend. Some extremely dowdy females we see riding in a barouche are the wife and daughters of a high official, who is stingy to his woman-kind, so they say. Two youths we pass are in striking contrast, as they walk along arm-in-arm. One is got up according to the fullest Auckland idea of Bond Street foppery, while the other prefers to go about in very "creeshy flannen;" yet the two sit at the same desk in one of the banks, and earn the same salary; and neither they themselves, nor anyone else, seems to notice any peculiarity in the costume of either. Then comes along a more remarkable pair still: a "lady" and a "man" apparently, or so they might be described at home. She is dressed in the latest fashion and with killing effect--muslin, silk, embroidery, chains, bracelets, laces, ribbons, the newest thing in bonnets, and the last in parasols--and has quite the air of a fine lady. He is a burly rough, bearded to the eyes, the shapeless remnant of a coarse wide-awake covering a head of hair that has seemingly been long unknown to the barber; his blue flannel shirt, ragged jacket, breeches, and long riding-boots, are all crusted deep with mud, while a stock-whip is coiled round his shoulders. They walk amicably along together, conversing, though there is something of an air of constraint between them. Our colonial friend nods to the man as they pass; and we ask him who the strangely assorted couple may be. "Oh! he's a well-to-do stock-farmer," is the reply, "and has just come in with a herd of fat beasts." "And the lady?" we ask. "The lady! Ha! That's a new dairy-maid and house-servant my friend's just engaged. Guess she'll have to leave her fine feathers in Auckland! Precious little good they'd be to her at his place in the bush!" And now for a sample of the native race, but very sparingly represented in the city at any time. A dignified and portly gentleman is rolling along, with an air as though the place belonged to him. He is a Maori, as we plainly see; moreover, he is a chief, and is at present a member of the House of Representatives. There is no trace of the savage about him, as he struts along in his patent leather boots, shining broadcloth, snowy shirt-front, massive watch-guard, and glossy silk hat, unless it be in the richly decorative tattoo that adorns his brown face, and over which a gold double-eyeglass has a somewhat incongruous effect There is another Maori on the curbstone, looking a horrible tatterdemalion as he stands there in the scantiest and wretchedest of European rags, offering peaches and water-melons for sale. Him and his proffered wares the chief waves off with aristocratic hauteur, until he suddenly recollects that his humble countryman has a vote at the elections; then he stops, enters into a brief conversation, examines the kitful of fruit through his glasses with supercilious disdain, but eventually purchases a chunk of melon, and goes on his way munching it. In the shops the same sense of equality is noticeable. Shopkeepers and their assistants are not the cringing, obsequious slaves that we know so well in England. There is none of that bowing and smirking, superfluous "sir"-ing and "ma'am"-ing, and elaborate deference to customers that prevails at home. Here we are all freemen and equals; and the Auckland shopman meets his customer with a shake of the hand, and a pleasant hail-fellow-well-met style of manner. Not but what all the tricks of trade are fully understood at the Antipodes, and the Aucklander can chaffer and haggle, and drive as hard a bargain as his fellow across the seas; only his way of doing it is different, that is all. Auckland possesses a class whose members are akin to the street-arabs of London and elsewhere, but differ from them in many respects. The Auckland "larrikin" is a growing nuisance, but he is neither so numerous nor so objectionable as yet as his fellow in Melbourne and Sydney. Unlike the street-arab, he is either a school-boy, or earns his living somehow, or he is a truant from work of either kind. He probably belongs to some working family, whom he favours with his company only at such times as pleases himself, for he is utterly unmanageable by his parents. He has exuberant spirits and an inordinate love of mischief, which shows itself in manifold ways. He has a sort of organization of his own, and seems to revel in uncurbed liberty of action. Occasionally some wrathful citizen executes summary justice upon him, in spite of the fear that such an act may bring down the vengeance of the whole boyish gang; and sometimes the youth finds himself in the police-court, charged with "larrikinism," an offence that is sure to be severely punished. The "larrikin" easily gets a job, and works by fits and starts when it suits him, or when he wants money. He lives in the open air, sleeping anywhere, and getting his food no one knows how. He is not altogether bad--not so frequently thieving and breaking the law, as intent on simple mischief and practical jokes of the coarsest and roughest sort--still, he is a pest that Aucklanders inveigh heartily against, and would gladly see extirpated by the strong arm of the law. We turn out of Queen Street into Shortland Crescent. At the corner is a large and handsome block of buildings constructed of brick, and having an imposing frontage on the Crescent. This contains the General Post-office and the Custom House. Not far distant, on the opposite side of Queen Street, is the New Zealand Insurance Company's establishment, more generally known as "The Exchange." It is the finest building in the city, excepting the Supreme Court, perhaps, and has a tower, and a clock which is the Big Ben of Auckland. At the corner of Shortland Crescent and Queen Street, and just under the front of the Post-office, is a kind of rendezvous that serves as a _Petite Bourse_, or Cornhill, to those who go "on 'Change" in Auckland. Here congregate little knots of eager-eyed men--stock-jobbers most of them--waiting for news from the Thames gold field, perhaps, or for telegrams from elsewhere. Ever and anon some report spreads among them, there is an excited flutter, mysterious consultations and references to note books, and scrip of the "Union Beach," the "Caledonian," or the "Golden Crown," changes hands, and goes "up" or "down," as the case may be, while fortunes--in a small way--are made or marred. Toiling on up the steep ascent of the Crescent, we come out on a broad road that runs along the summit of the range, and close to an ugly church, St. Matthew's, that crowns the bluff looking over the harbour. From various points here there are good views of the city obtainable; and our guide is able to expatiate on most of its beauties and characteristics. Down below us is the splendid and extensive harbour, land-locked, and capable of containing the whole British navy. Right opposite is the North Head, or North Shore, as it is usually termed, on whose twin volcanic peaks is an Armstrong battery, to defend the harbour entrance in case of need. There is also the signal station on Mount Victoria, whence incoming vessels may be sighted outside of Tiri-tiri and the Barrier Islands. There are the villages of Stokes' Point, West Devonport, and East Devonport beyond, facing the open Pacific, and renowned for its salubrious sea-breezes. Just beneath us is the railway station, whence the line runs across the isthmus, connecting Auckland with Onehunga on the Manukau Harbour, where the West Coast traffic is carried on, and thus placing Auckland, like Corinth, upon two seas. The railway also extends southwards to the Waikato.[1] Onehunga is only some half-dozen miles from the outskirts of the city, and the road to it lies between fields and meadows, bordered with hedgerows, by villa and cottage and homestead, quite in English rural style. The road also leads by Ellerslie race-course, and the Ellerslie Gardens, the Auckland Rosherville. The coastal traffic that is carried on in the Manukau is nearly equal in extent to the similar trade done in the Waitemata, hence the commercial importance of Auckland can hardly be rivalled by that of any other city of New Zealand. Dunedin, in the far south, holds a similar status to Auckland in the north, but the cities are too far distant (some eight hundred nautical miles) to become rivals to the detriment of each other. Beyond the railway, we look across the inland sweep of Mechanic's Bay to the rising ground on its further side, crowned by the popular and picturesque suburb of Parnell. On the river side the streets descend to the shore; the houses, most of them pretty wooden villas, standing each in its terraced garden grounds, embowered in rich foliage. On the land side a gully divides Parnell from the Domain. This serves as a public park and recreation ground for citizens of Auckland. It is a tract of original forest or bush, through whose bosky glades winding walks have been cut, leading up and down range and gully, furnished with seats and arbours and artificial accessories. Conjoined to the Domain are the gardens of the Acclimatization Society, which are beautiful and interesting on account of their botanical and zoological contents. Rising at some distance behind the Domain, we catch a glimpse of Mount Hobson, upon whose sides nestles the suburb of the same name. To the right of it lies the Great South Road, whereon is the village of Newmarket, and beyond it again the scattered suburb of Epsom, and that gem of lovely hamlets, Remuera. Our eyes, slowly travelling round to take in all these points, are now turned directly away from the harbour. Before us stretches a long road named Symonds Street, leading past the Supreme Court--a brick and stone building of considerable architectural pretension--past the wide cemetery, and allowing beyond a sight of the hospital in the valley below, on till the large suburb of Newton--hardly disconnected at all from the city proper--is reached. In this direction is situated Government House, a large mansion of wood, standing in park-like grounds, where the English oak, the American maple, the Australian blue-gum, the semi-tropical palm, and the New Zealand kauri mingle their foliage together. Some distance further, and to the left of the road, rises Mount Eden. On one side of it is the gaol, a group of buildings surrounded by a wall and palisades, and situated in a scoria quarry. Among the spurs and declivities of the mount are many villas of the wealthier citizens, standing in well laid-out grounds, and making a very pleasing picture. We now look right across the densest part of the city, from our first standpoint near St. Matthew's Church. Below is Queen Street, with the roofs of the various buildings already noticed in it. Beyond it there is a corresponding high ground to that on which we are, and behind that again is Freeman's Bay. On the crest of the eminence is St. Paul's "cathedral"--so styled; the principal Anglican church of the city. In the distance the breezy suburb of Ponsonby is pointed out to us, occupying high ground, from which is visible the winding valley of the Waitemata, stretching away up into the hills. Here and there can be seen the spires or belfries of numerous churches and chapels, for Auckland is an eminently religious city, and has temples and tabernacles for almost every Christian creed. Our companion dilates upon the institutions of the city, which are highly creditable to so young a community, and are in advance of those of many European towns of equal population, that can trace back their history considerably further than Auckland's thirty-and-odd years. In matters ecclesiastical and educational the young city is indeed well endowed. There are two bishops, Roman and Anglican, a Presbytery, and governing bodies of other denominations. There is a College and Grammar School of the New Zealand University, common schools in the city, private schools of all sorts and sects, a training school and ship at Kohimarama, an establishment for young clergymen, and convent schools. There are asylums, orphanages, and refuges. There are institutes and halls belonging to all kinds of societies: Young Men's Christian Association, Mechanics, Good Templars, Freemasons, Orangemen, Oddfellows, Foresters, etc. There is the Auckland Institute and Museum, the Acclimatization Society, Agricultural Society, Benevolent Societies, etc. There are Cricketing, Rowing, and Yachting Clubs. There is a mayor and City Council, with Harbour Board, Highway Board, Domain Board, and Improvement Commissions. There is the Supreme Court, the District Court, the Resident Magistrate's Court, and the Police Court. There are public and circulating libraries, two daily morning newspapers, an evening newspaper, two weekly newspapers, two weekly journals of fiction, and two monthly religious periodicals. The city is lighted by gas supplied by a private company; and the water-supply is under municipal control. It returns three members to the House of Representatives, while Parnell and Newton each return one. So much and more does our cicerone favour us with, until he has, as he thinks, convinced us that Auckland is really the finest place of residence in the world. We now pass down into the city again, taking a new route past the Northern Club, a lofty and unsightly building, whose members are notoriously hospitable, and much given to whist and euchre. Downhill a short distance, and we come to the Albert Barracks, where newly-arrived immigrants are housed, and where most of our sometime shipmates now are. They are comfortably quartered here for the present, but no incitement is held out to them to remain long, and every inducement is given them to get an engagement and quit as soon as may be. It seldom happens that there is any difficulty in this; usually, indeed, there is a rush to engage the new-comers, so much are servants and labourers, mechanics and artizans in request. There have been times when would-be employers would go off in shore-boats to the immigrant ship in the harbour, and though not allowed on board, would make efforts to hire domestics and labourers at the side of the vessel. Again, when the government immigrants were landed, and were marched up from the wharf to the barracks, a mob of employers would escort the procession, endeavouring to hire helps, and with such success that sometimes the barracks were hardly needed at all. But such scenes are becoming rarer now, though there must continue, for many years to come, to be a run upon certain classes of immigrants, notably single girls for house-servants.[2] Turning into the barrack-yard, round which are the various buildings where the immigrants are temporarily housed, we find an animated scene before us. Here are assembled most of our immigrant shipmates, some few of whom have already got engagements and gone off. A considerable party of settlers and agents are now busily at work trying to hire the people they severally want; while the poor bewildered immigrants find themselves treated as though they were goods in an auction-room, and scarcely know whether they are standing on their heads or their heels. It so happens that there is just now a great demand for agricultural and domestics, so that settlers are actually bidding against each other for the individuals they want to engage. Our ship-load was no special body of people, but a motley collection of men, women, and children from all parts of the old country. Among them are natives of Kent and of Cornwall, of Yorkshire and of Wales, of Inverness and of Galway. Here are a couple of brothers whom we made special friends with on the voyage, young hardy Scots; let us see how they get on. We find them at a premium, surrounded by a little crowd of farmers from the Waikato, who each and all seem intent on hiring them. The lads do not wish to part if they can help it; and so, as to get one means to get both, the farmers are all the hotter in their pursuit of them. For these young men are just the right sort that are most wanted, having the thews and sinews and power of endurance so necessary for a rough life; having experience of sheep and cattle and agricultural work from their earliest infancy; having, in fact, all the qualities most essential and useful to the pioneer farmer. They come of the right race, too, as all the world knows--colonists especially--for honesty, sobriety, and patient industry. What a change for them--from the inclement sky, the hostile winter, the rugged battle for life they have left behind them with their native Grampians, to this bright clime of everlasting summer, of strange fertility, to these sunshiny isles of beauty and plenty! Well, well, it is not a land of indolence either; the work demanded here is stern and hard and rough; but what a reward may be reaped in the end from earnest and unshrinking toil! No wonder if, in a year or two's time, our friends yonder will write to the dear ones they left at home, in the Perthshire glen, such an account as shall bear witness that they, at least, have found on earth the Peasant's Paradise! There is hot and excited bargaining going on in the group of which the brothers form the centre. They are a little dazed, and do not venture to speak; but they are canny for all that, and bide their time. Amid the babel of voices that surrounds us on all sides, we catch a few utterances as follows:-- "Five shillings a day, and your tucker!" "Five and threepence, lads!" "He'll give you nothing but salt pork; try me at the same wage!" "And you'll have to live on potatoes and pumpkins with him!" "Five and six, and as much mutton as you want!" "Too much, perhaps, and braxy at that!" "Come, a cottage to yourselves, rations, and five and six a day!" "Cottage! A tumble-down wharè is what he means!" "Fresh meat every day with me, boys--beef, mutton, and pork!" "Yes; and he'll want you to work twelve hours!" "Better engage with me at five and nine; I'll lodge you well, and feed you first chop!" And so on and so on, until at last the brothers pluck up determination, and make choice of an employer. So our Caledonian friends begin to gather together their traps and make preparations to accompany their complaisant and well-satisfied boss to his farm on the banks of the Waikato. And an indescribable joy is in their hearts, for they are to receive six shillings and sixpence a day, and to be provided with comfortable lodging and lavish "tucker" withal; and though, no doubt, they will prove worthy of that high wage to their employer, yet what marvellous wealth it is, compared to the most they could have earned had they remained to toil upon the braes of Albyn! Of course, very few of the other immigrants get such a wage as that. The two young Scots are the picked men of the crowd. Five shillings a day and "all found" is the ordinary wage for an agricultural, and though some are worth more, new-chums are generally held to be worth a good deal less for their first year. The distich-- "Eight hours' sleep and eight hours' play, Eight hours' work and eight bob a day," has been, and is, verified literally over and over again in New Zealand; but the "eight bob a day" cannot be called an ordinary wage. A man must be worth his salt and something over to get it, and will not do so unless labour is scarce and in much demand. Those who contract, or do work by the piece, often make as much and more if they are first-rate workers; and that kind of engagement is preferred by both employers and employés, as a rule. All sorts of skilled labourers get high wages. Carpenters and blacksmiths will get ten and twelve shillings a day with their keep; and when they have saved a little money, and can go on the job by themselves, they may earn an advance on that. I have already noticed the great demand that there is for female house-servants, and the high wages they can get. Girls cannot be relied on to stop in a situation very long, as they are sure to receive numerous matrimonial offers; hence there is a perpetual seeking after new domestics. Marriage is an institution that turns out uncommonly well here. There is no such thing as a descent to pauperism for those who will work. By little and little the working couple thrive and prosper, and as their family--New Zealand families run large, by the way--multiplies and grows up round them, they are able to enjoy the comforts of a competence they could never have attained at home. Some settlers, who originally came out, man and wife, as government immigrants drawn from the peasant class, are now wealthy proprietors of broad acres, flocks, and herds; and are able to send their sons to college and their daughters to finishing-schools; the whilom humble servant girl now riding in her carriage, and wearing silk and satin if she list. Such are the rewards that may tempt the peasant here. Difficulties there are in plenty, but they lessen year by year; while comfort and competence are certain in the end, and wealth even is possible to the industrious. Occasionally it happens that among a body of immigrants are one or two who are decidedly unsuitable. There is an example among our particular ship-load. Here is a woman, purblind, decrepit, looking sixty years old at least, and, by some incomprehensible series of mistakes, she has found her way out here as a "single girl!" What was the Agent-General in London about, and what could the Dispatching Officer have been thinking of, when they let this ancient cripple pass them? Yet here she is, a "single girl" in immigrant parlance; and work she must get somehow and somewhere, for there are no poorhouses or paupers here as yet. But even she, useless to all seeming as she is, and unable to bear her part in the energetic industry of a new country, will find her billet. A good-natured farmer takes her off, judging that she may earn her keep in his kitchen, and if not--well! he is prosperous, and should be generous too. And so old granny toddles away amid the friendly laughter of the crowd, satisfied enough to find there is a niche even for her in our Canaan. The great question that of late years has been continually asked of old colonials in England is, what are the prospects afforded by New Zealand to men of the middle classes? The answer is usually unfavourable, simply because many colonials cannot disassociate the idea of a gentleman adventurer from that of a scapegrace or ne'er-do-well. Secondly, they look at the questioner's present condition; and never take into consideration the power he may have of adapting himself to totally different circumstances. I think this view admits of considerable enlargement, and my experience has led me to believe that many a man, who struggles through life in the old country in some exacting and ill-paid sedentary occupation, might have been benefited by emigration. The colonies have been inundated with ruined spendthrifts, gamblers, drunkards, idle good-for-nothings, who have been induced to emigrate in the belief that that alone was a panacea for their moral diseases. Very very few of them have reformed or done any good, so that colonists are naturally prejudiced against their class, and look upon gentleman-new-chums with great suspicion. Again, some go out who are too delicate or sensitive to stand the roughnesses they are bound to undergo, and these break down in their apprenticeship the first year or two, and, if they can, go home again to speak evil of the colony ever afterwards. One thing is certain, the educated man has the advantage over the uneducated, and his abler mind will sooner or later be of use to him, although his physique may be weaker than the other's. The gently-nurtured individual finds the preliminary trials of colonial life very hard indeed--he is heavily handicapped at the start--but there is no reason why he may not do well after a time. Gentlemen-immigrants usually think they may find work of a congenial sort, such as clerking, assisting in a store, or some occupation of the kind in the city. That is a mistake; while yet they are new-chums there is but one thing for them to do--to go away into the bush and labour with their hands. Of new-chums, only artisans are absorbed into the city population as a rule; all others have to look to manual labour of some kind, and generally up-country, for a means of subsistence. All the clerks, counter-jumpers, secretaries, and so on, are either old colonials, or colonists' sons. Very rare is it for a gentleman new-chum to find a berth of that sort, perhaps he may after he has become "colonized," but at first he will have to go straight away and fell bush, chop firewood, drive cattle, or tend pigs. About the best advice I ever heard given to middle-class men, who thought of emigrating to New Zealand, was couched in some such terms as these. "What are your prospects here? If you have any, stop where you are. But if you have no particular profession, nothing better before you than laborious quill-driving and the like, at eighty pounds a year, and small probability of ever rising so high as two hundred, however many years you stick to the desk, or the yard-measure, then you may think of emigrating. If you are strong and able-bodied, somewhere between sixteen and twenty-six years of age--for over twenty-six men are generally too old to emigrate, I think--I say, emigrate by all means, for you will have a better chance of leading a healthy, happy, and fairly comfortable life. But you must throw all ideas of gentility to the winds, banish the thought of refinement, and prepare for a rough, hard struggle, and it may be a long one, too. You may please yourselves with the prospect of competence, comfort, and even luxury in the distance, but you must look at it through a lengthy vista of real hard work, difficulty, and bodily hardship. Success, in a greater or lesser degree, _always_ follows patient industry at the Antipodes; it can scarcely be said to do so in Britain. "Now, _Il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte_, and the worst time you will have is at the first; also, it is only for the start that you need advice, after you become 'colonized' you can look out for yourselves. If you have any particular acquaintance with a useful trade, so much the better; if you have not, and can do so, learn one before you go--carpentry, boat-building, blacksmithing, tinkering, cobbling; it will help you through wonderfully. It doesn't matter twopence _how_ you go out, whether saloon, intermediate, or steerage, so far as your future prospects are concerned. If you can compass the means, go saloon--the extra comfort on a long voyage is well worth the extra price; besides, you might have some returning colonist as fellow-voyager, whose friendship would prove useful. When you land, bank any money you may have brought with you--whether it be ten pounds or ten thousand, I say the same--and resolve not to touch it, however you may be tempted, for two years at least. Then go about freely, get into the bush away from the city, make friends with every one everywhere, and let it be known that you are in search of work. Very soon you will hear of something or other. Take the job, the first that comes in your way, and stick to it till something better turns up. Don't be afraid of it whatever it is; don't imagine anything will hurt you or lower your dignity in the slightest so long as it is honest. Even if they make you a street-scavenger, remember that is better than loafing. In one year, or two, or three, you will be perfectly at home in the new life, and able to see, according to your abilities, the path that offers you the best prospect of the greatest success. During your new-chum days of apprenticeship you must consider yourself as a common peasant, like the men you will probably have to associate with; don't be disconcerted at that, just work on, and by-and-by you will get ahead of them. You will meet plenty of nice gentlemanly fellows in any part of New Zealand, and they will think all the better of you if you are earnestly and energetically industrious. Lastly, don't run away with the notion that you are going to jump into luck directly you land. Wages are high to the right people, but you are not among those at the outset. You may be satisfied if you do anything more than just earn your keep, for the first six or twelve months." I think that that is, upon the whole, pretty sound advice for the class of men to whom it is addressed; but I will go further, and point out what advantages the average middle-class "young gentleman" may reasonably look forward to from emigration to New Zealand. In the first place, he may expect to enjoy robust health, more perfect and enjoyable than he could hope for if tied down to a counting-house stool in the dingy atmosphere of a city. He will exchange the dull monotony of a sedentary occupation in the chill and varying climate of Britain, for a life of vigorous action in a land whose climate is simply superb. When he gets through the briars that must necessarily be traversed at the outset, he will find himself happier, freer from anxiety, and, on the whole, doing better than he would be if he had remained at the old life. He will "feel his life in every limb," and, remote from the world, know naught of its cares. If he be anything of a man, before ten or a dozen years are gone he will find himself with a bit of land and a house of his own; he will be married, or able to marry, his earnings will suffice for existence, while every pound saved and invested in property will be growing, doubling, and quadrupling itself for his age and his children. There is something to work for and hope for here: independence, contentment, and competence. It is not a stern struggle from year's end to year's end, with naught at the finish but a paltry pension, dependence on others, or the workhouse. The gentleman-colonist we are talking of is working for a _home_, and, long before his term of life draws to its close, he will find himself, if not rich, at any rate, in the possession of more comfort and happiness than he could hope for in the old country. I am not an emigration-tout, and have no interest in painting my picture in too vivid colours, and in these remarks I have transgressed against some of the ordinary colonial views on the subject; but I have done so with intention, because I consider them not entirely in the right. The colonist says--we don't want gentlemen here, we want MEN! But he forgets that the unfortunate individual he disparages has often more real manhood at bottom than the class below him. Therefore, the middle-class emigrant must remember the qualities most required in him--pluck, energy, and resolution. I have met many middle-class men in the colony, and all contrived to bear out the view I have put forward by their own condition. Those who come to grief do so from their own failings and deficiencies. Some growl and grumble a little now and then, and think they would rather be back in England; but, when they reflect upon the condition they would probably be occupying at home in the ordinary course of things, they are forced to admit that they are better off. At any rate, such bitter and terrible distress as overtook so many thousands in Britain a year or two ago, could scarcely fall to the lot of the same people under any circumstances, if they were industrious colonists. But I have digressed inordinately, and must get back to Auckland forthwith. The barracks are empty at last, and all our fellow-voyagers have found each his or her starting-point in the new life. Our own little party of cuddy-passengers is dispersed as well. Some have gone off to join friends in the country, some are gone on to distant parts of the colony, some have gone this way or that, scattering to work in all directions; only a couple of us are left, and it is time that we should begin to follow the plan we have conceived for ourselves. Parting with shipmates, with the faces that have been so long familiar to us, seems to have severed the last link that bound us to the old country, the old home, and the old ways. We shall meet with many of them again, no doubt, but then the old "Englishness" will have disappeared, and we shall be at one with those who now are strangers to us, we too shall be New Zealanders. Henceforth all before us and around us is strange and new, an untried, unknown world. We are about to enter on a life totally different to that we have hitherto led, and it is a life that we have got to make ours for the time to come; for there is no thought in our minds of retreat, even if we find the unknown more distasteful than we think. But, courage! "Hope points before to guide us on our way," and, as yet, there is nothing in the prospect but what is bright and inspiriting, surely; nothing to diminish our youthful energy, nothing to daunt our British pluck! The past lies behind us, with its sweet and tender recollections, and with a softened sense of remembrance of those failures and sadnesses and bitternesses that are linked with them. Now our cry must be "Forward!" for a page in the book of our lives is completely turned down, and we may imagine there is endorsed upon it, "Sacred to the memory of auld lang syne!" FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: 1882. The railway now runs northward to Helensville, connecting Auckland with the Kaipara; and is being pushed on to Whangarei. To the south, it penetrates far into the Waikato country, and it is only a question of a few years before Auckland, New Plymouth, Wellington, and Napier will be joined by rail.] [Footnote 2: 1882. During the last year or two, there has been some depression in New Zealand, and, for the first time in her history, many labourers have had difficulty in getting work. But that crisis is now past, and things are rapidly returning--as they were bound to do--to former conditions, such as I have described.] CHAPTER III. GOING UP COUNTRY. I and my last remaining shipmate certainly came out here without any very clear idea of what we were going to do. We came to make our fortunes, of course, after the manner of all new-chums, but as to how we were to set about it, and what were to be the first steps we should take, we had the very vaguest notion. However, our condition of existence as new-chums sat very lightly upon us. Hope! We were all hope; we were hope incarnate! We felt that we were bound to win. It seemed, though, that the beginning must be made in some fashion that was, to say the least of it, unpleasant, now that we were face to face with the reality. Plenty of work offered, but none of it seemed to be of a particularly engaging kind; and, moreover, the wage offered us was extremely paltry, so we considered. For we belonged to that much maligned middle-class, which, in the chrysalis or new-chum stage, is so greatly contemned by colonists. But it happened that, long long ago, a certain schoolfellow of ours had gone forth into the colonial world. He was in the sixth form when we were in the first, or thereabouts; but, as his family and ours were neighbours in the old home, there had been enough intimacy between us. It was owing to his letters home that we had determined on emigration. He had been apprised of our coming, so now we were not surprised to receive a message from him through a resident in Auckland. This was an invitation to join him at a distant settlement called Te Pahi, there to make a beginning at pioneer farm work, and see what might turn up. We found on inquiry that little or nothing was known in Auckland of Te Pahi. It was a new township in the Kaipara district, lying sixty or eighty miles north of Auckland. That was about the sum of what we could learn of our destination, except that there were very few settlers in the Kaipara, and that communication between it and Auckland was not very good. Somewhat later than this date--in fact, to be precise, in 1875--an Auckland newspaper wrote of the Kaipara under the title of Terra Incognita. So that when we decided on going there, we felt that we were about to penetrate an almost unexplored country. But we found out what were the means of transit, and prepared to set out without further delay. Now that we were on the point of starting into the bush, and entering into the realities of our new life, we began to encounter the difficulties of our situation. The first that met us would be more annoying were it not for the ludicrousness of it. It was the baggage difficulty, a thing that took us quite by surprise; for, till then, we had never appreciated the word "transport" at its full meaning. Like most home-living Britons, hitherto surrounded by every facility for locomotion of persons and goods, we had utterly failed to understand that in a new country things are wholly different in this respect. One can get about one's self easily enough; travel can always be accomplished somehow, even if one has to walk; but it is quite another thing to move baggage. In a roadless country, where labour is scarce and dear, the conveyance of goods from place to place is a difficult matter. It can be done, of course, but the cost of it is frightful. Our old schoolfellow, who, by the way, will be known under the appellation of "Old Colonial" in these pages, had apparently had some experience of new-chums before. His agent in Auckland had been instructed to see to us, and one of that person's first inquiries was regarding our impedimenta. We had been out-fitted in London by the world-renowned firm of Argent and Joy. There being no experience to guide us, we had placed ourselves unreservedly in the hands of the firm, and had been provided by them with a sumptuous stock of what they were pleased to term necessaries. Altogether, these formed a goodly pile. Our bedroom at the hotel was cram full of boxes, trunks, and portmanteaus; and their contents were now spread out for the inspection of our adviser. "Good gracious!" was his exclamation when he surveyed our property, and then he mused awhile. "Look here!" he said suddenly. "I've got some distressing intelligence to break to you. Prepare your minds for a shock. This inheritance is a _dead horse_. Chuck it overboard at once!" And he waved his hand impressively over our belongings. We did not understand; we thought this was some new kind of joke--which it was, but not to us. We asked for explanations; all that we wanted was to know how we were to get these things up to the Kaipara. Our colonial friend sighed deeply, and proceeded mournfully to expound the position. He told us that we could not afford to possess more personals than were absolutely necessary, and these ought to pack into one box of easily portable size. In the first place, the freight of our baggage into the bush would cost us something approaching to the expense of our passage out from England. In the second place, we were not going to a house of our own, but were going to work on different farms, and might be moving about a good deal. We could not carry such a cargo about with us, for the cost of doing so would be simply ruinous. It appeared, too, that we could not even keep the things until we _had_ got a house of our own to store them in. For, our only resource, with that in view, would be to warehouse them in Auckland, and the expense of even this dead weight would make too large a hole in our possible earnings. Finally, there was hardly anything in our entire outfit that would be of much practical use to us. Aghast and grieving, we comprehended at last that we should have to rid ourselves of the too heavy burden with which Messrs. Argent and Joy had weighted us, in consideration of that prodigious and ever-to-be-regretted cheque. There was no help for it. An Israelitish dealer, who happily abided in the city, would have to be called in. And it could scarcely be said that he bought our property of us; it was a nearer approach to our having to pay him to take it away. Our friend contemptuously examined parcel after parcel of things. Dress suits and white waistcoats, broadcloth and doeskin, scarves and gloves, white shirts, collars, and cuffs all appeared to move his derision. He kicked aside a dozen pairs of boots with the remark that-- "There's nothing there fit for this country. Rough-hide and hobnails is what you want." Certain tweed suits that the fancy of our London tailor had invested with the title "New Zealand Specialities" were, said our friend, only suitable for colonists who intended to settle on the top of the Southern Alps. Various knick-knacks, dressing-cases, writing-cases, clocks, etcetera, were regarded by him as contemptible lumber. Some silk socks he looked upon almost as a criminal possession. In the end we were reduced to a single box apiece, containing something like the following assortment, several items of which had to be purchased in Auckland. Six flannel shirts, two blankets, two pair moleskin breeches, one light pilot coat, one light tweed coat and trousers (which we wore at the time), some handkerchiefs, some socks, two towels, brush and comb, two pairs of boots, and one pair of leggings, a wide-awake hat, and a few odds and ends. Such books as we had we were allowed to retain, for, although the time for reading is very limited in the bush, yet, books being a rare commodity, are much prized there. Of course, there was much merriment among the colonials at our expense, but I think the greatest mirth was excited by our cases of revolvers. These we had brought under the idea that they would prove to be a necessity, imagining that war with the Maoris was the normal condition of things, and that society was constituted something like what Bret Harte writes of in the Rocky Mountains. We had had to pay a tax of five shillings each upon our pistols before bringing them on shore. We were now told that this tax was a main source of the Government revenue. Again, we were told that the exportation of new-chums' pistols to the United States was one of the main industries of the colony. But our purgatory was over at last, and our splendid outfits had passed into Hebrew hands, leaving a very meagre sum of money with us to represent them. And now we are ready to start in earnest. Low down in the water, almost beneath the timbers of the wharf, is lying a queer little steam-tub, the _Gemini_, which will convey us on the first stage of our journey. A loafer on the wharf cautions us mockingly to step aboard with care, lest we overset the little steamer, or break through her somewhat rickety planking. She is about the size of some of those steam-launches that puff up and down the English Thames, but she would look rather out of place among them; for the _Gemini_ and her sister boat, the _Eclipse_, which carry on the steam service of the Waitemata, are neither handsome nor new. They are rough and ready boats, very much the worse for wear. Such as they are, however, they suffice for the limited traffic up to Riverhead, and to the districts reached through that place. When that increases, doubtless their enterprising owner will replace them with more serviceable craft. Punctuality is by no means one of the chief points of the _Gemini_, and it is an hour or two after the advertised time before we get off. There is a good deal of snorting and shrieking, of backing and filling, on the part of our bark, and then at last we are fairly on our way up the river. We take a last long look at the good ship that brought us from England, as she lies out at anchor in the harbour, and when a bend in the river hides Auckland's streets and terraces from our view, we feel that we have turned our backs on civilization for a while, and are fast getting among the pioneers. On board the _Gemini_ is a face we know. It is that of Dobbs, a sometime shipmate of ours. He is a farm labourer from Sussex, and he and his wife have come out among our ship-load of emigrants. There is a chronic look of wonder on their broad English faces. They are in speechless surprise at everything they see, but chiefly, apparently, at finding themselves actually in a new country at all. Dobbs touches his hat, and addresses me as "sir," when he sees me, quite forgetting that we are now in the colonies, where such modes are not practised; regardless also of the fact that I am on my way to just the same life and work that he is himself. The skipper of the _Gemini_ notices the action, and grins sarcastically, while he tells a subordinate in a stage-whisper to "just look at them new-chums." English readers must not suppose from this that colonial manners are discourteous. Far from it. Colonials will not touch their hats, or use any form that appears to remind them of servility, flunkeyism, or inequalities of station. On the other hand, incivility is much more rarely experienced among even the roughest colonials than it is in many parts of the old country, in Birmingham, for example. Apart from that, the new-chum is the incarnate comedy of colonial life. He is eagerly watched, and much laughed at; yet he is seldom or never subjected to any actual rudeness. On the contrary, he is generally treated with extra tenderness and consideration, on account of his helpless and immature condition. Perhaps I may sum up the analysis by saying, that, if polish is lacking to the colonial character, so also is boorishness. Our fellow-emigrant tells us that he has been engaged as a farm labourer by a settler at Ararimu, near Riverhead, and that his wife is to do washing and cooking and dairy-work. They are to have thirty shillings a week, and they, with their child, will have board and lodging provided for them as well, and that in a style a good deal better than agriculturals are accustomed to in England. They seem well enough contented with things, though a trifle daunted by the strangeness of their surroundings. Dobbs has misgivings as to the work that will be required of him. He knows, however, that the labourer's day is reckoned at only eight hours here, and is much consoled thereby. Very likely we may find him a thriving farmer on his own account, and on his own land, if we should chance to meet again in a few years' time. There is little or no attraction in the scenery along the eighteen or twenty miles of river between Auckland and Riverhead. Great stretches of mud-bank are visible in many places at low tide, varied by occasional clumps of mangrove, and by oyster-covered rocks. The land on either side is mostly of very poor quality, though a good deal of it has been taken up. Here and there, we pass in sight of some homestead; a white verandah-ed wooden house, surrounded by its gardens, orchards, paddocks, and fields. The steamer stops, and lies off three or four such places while her dingey communicates with the shore, embarking or disembarking passengers, mails, or goods. Generally, though, when the river-banks are low enough to permit of a view beyond them, we see nothing but very barren and shaggy-looking tracts, not unlike Scottish moorlands in general aspect. Occasionally there are poor scrubby grasslands, where the soil has not done justice to the seed put upon it; and where cattle, horses, and sheep appear to be picking up a living among the fern and ti-tree. As we get nearer to Riverhead the stream narrows. This is the point to which the tide reaches. Beyond it the Waitemata is supplied by two creeks, the Riverhead Creek and the Rangitopuni. Here the banks are steep and high, somewhat picturesque, with varied ferns and shrubbery. On the north side the ranges rise into a background of hills. This is the end of our river journey, as is evidenced by the Riverhead wharf, built out from the bank. Here we land, and are received by two men, who represent the population of the district, and who apparently are idle spectators. By their advice we shoulder our traps, and climb up some steps to the top of the bank. Right before us here is an unpretending house, built in the usual rambling style of architecture peculiar to frame-houses in this country. A board stuck up over the verandah announces that this is the hotel; and, as the arrival of the steamer is the signal for dinner, every one makes for the open French windows of the dining-room. Dinner is ready we find, and we are ready for it. Perhaps about a dozen passengers came up from Auckland in the boat, and as many of these as are not at home in the immediate neighbourhood sit down to the table. The party is further augmented by the skipper and his assistants, the wharf-keepers, one or two residents in the hotel, and the host and hostess with their family. Quite a large company altogether, and of very promiscuous elements. The only persons not entirely at their ease are Dobbs and his wife. They find themselves dining with the "quality," as they would have said at home, and have not yet learnt that that word is written "equality" in this part of the world. At the head of the table sits somebody who is evidently a personage, judging by the flattering attentions paid to him by the daughters of the house, and by the regard with which all but we strangers treat him. It is Dandy Jack, afterwards to become one of our most intimate and cherished chums. As I shall have more to say about him, perhaps I may here be allowed to formally introduce him to the reader. The first glance at him reveals the origin of his sobriquet. Amid the rawness and roughness of everything in the bush, its primitive society included, the figure of Dandy Jack stands out in strong relief. Contrasted with the unkempt, slovenly, ragged, and dirty bushmen with whom he mostly comes in contact, he is the very essence of foppery. Yet, as we are afterwards to learn, he is anything but the idle, effeminate coxcomb, whose appearance he so assiduously cultivates. Here is a photograph of Dandy Jack. Five feet six inches; broad and muscular, but spare and clean-limbed. Curly black hair, and a rosy-complexioned face, clean shaven--contrary to the ordinary custom of the country--all except a thick drooping moustache with waxed ends. A grey flannel shirt, with some stitching and embroidery in front; and a blue silk scarf loosely tied below the rolling collar. No coat this warm weather, but a little bouquet in the breast of the shirt. A tasselled sash round the waist; spotless white breeches, and well-blacked long boots. A Panama straw hat with broad brim and much puggeree. An expression of affected innocence in the eyes, and a good deal of fun about the mouth. Such is the figure we now look upon for the first time. Dandy Jack is a character; that one sees at once. He is generally understood to have passed lightly through Eton and Oxford, to have sown wild oats about Europe at large, to have turned up in Western America and the Pacific, and to be now endeavouring to steady down in New Zealand. He has a considerable spice of the devil in him, and is at once the darling of the ladies and the delight of the men. For to the one he is gallantry itself; while, to the other, he is the chum who can talk best on any subject under the sun, with a fluency and power of anecdote and quotation that is simply enchanting. Just at present Dandy Jack has charge of the portage, as it is called, between the Waitemata and the Kaipara rivers.[3] He drives the coach, carries the mails, and bosses the bullock-drays that convey goods between Riverhead and Helensville. And he is rapidly becoming the most horsey man in the whole of the North, being especially active and prominent in every possible capacity on the local race-courses. Dinner is over very soon, and a very good one it was, well worth the shilling each of us pays for it. Then we take leave of Dobbs and his wife, whose future boss has arrived in a rude cart drawn by two horses, in which to drive them and their traps over to his place in Ararimu. We ourselves are going on to Helensville in the coach, a distance of about eighteen miles. The coach partakes of the crudity which seems impressed upon everything in this new locality. The body of it is not much larger, apparently, than a four-wheeled cab, and does not seem as if it could possibly accommodate more than eight passengers altogether. Yet Dandy Jack avers that he has carried over a score, and that he considers sixteen a proper full-up load. On the present occasion there are not more than half a dozen, besides my chum and I. Glass there is none about the coach, but a good deal of leather. Springs, properly so-called, are also wanting. The body is hung in some strong rude fashion on broad, substantial wheels. Altogether, the machine looks as if it were intended for the roughest of rough work. As strangers, we are invited to occupy the seats of honour--on the box beside the driver. There are no lady passengers to snatch the coveted post from us. Dandy Jack says to me-- "Of course, I should prefer to have a lady beside me, but, somehow, I'm always glad when there arn't any. It's a grave responsibility--a grave responsibility!" Whilst we are endeavouring to evolve the meaning of this mysterious remark--it is not until a while later that we fully comprehend it--preparations are being made for the start. Four ungroomed, unshod horses are hitched on, and their plunging and capering shows they are impatient to be off. Our driver's lieutenant, Yankee Bill, mounts a fifth horse, and prepares to act as outrider. Then Dandy Jack, loudly shouting, "All aboard! All abo-ard!" springs to his seat, gathers up the reins, without waiting to see whether every one has obeyed his injunction or not, bids the men who are holding the cattle stand clear, gives a whoop and a shake of his whip, and then, with a jolt and a lurch and a plunge, off we go. Hitherto we have seen nothing of the settlement, except the hotel and the goods warehouse on the bank above the wharf. These appear to have been shot down into the middle of a moorland wilderness. But now, as the coach surmounts some rising ground, several homesteads come into view, scattered about within a distance of one or two miles. Beyond the paddocks surrounding these, all of the country that is visible appears to be covered with tall brown fern, and a low brushwood not unlike heather. As we go lumbering up the rise we are passed by a young lady riding down towards the hotel. Very bright and pretty she looks, by contrast with the rough surroundings. Quite a lovely picture, in her graceful riding-habit of light drab, and her little billycock hat with its brilliant feather. So think we all, especially our gallant Jehu, who bows profoundly in response to a nod of recognition, and turns to look admiringly after the fair equestrian. Then, upon the right, we look down upon the great feature of the district, Mr. Lamb's flour-mill and biscuit-factory. In this establishment are made crackers that are well-known and much esteemed far beyond the limits of New Zealand. The Riverhead manufacture is known in the South Sea and Australia. The factory stands on the bank of the creek, having water-power and a water highway at its door. It is a large structure, mostly of timber, with a tall chimney of brick. Near it is the residence of the proprietor, and a row of houses inhabited by his employès. The whole is surrounded by a grove of choice trees and shrubs, by gardens and paddocks, evidently in a high state of cultivation. Beyond tower the brown and shaggy ranges, and all around is the uncouth moorland. It is an oasis in the desert, this green and fertile spot, a Tadmor in the wilderness. Yet when we make some remarks, as new-chums will, about the apparent richness of the land down there, a settler, who sits behind, takes us up rather shortly. He appears to consider Mr. Lamb's estate as a positive offence. "Bone-dust and drainage!" he says with a snort of contempt. It seems that the land about us is considered to be of the very poorest quality, sour gum-clay; and any one who sets about reclaiming such sort is looked upon as a fool, at least, although, in this case, it is evident that the cultivation is merely an ornamental subsidiary to the factory. But these poor lands are only bad comparatively. Much of the soil in them is better by far than that of many productive farms at home; only our colonial pioneer-farmers have no notion of any scientific methods in agriculture. They have been spoilt by the wondrous fertility of the rich black forest mould, and the virgin volcanic soils. They will continue to regard manuring and draining and so forth as a folly and a sin almost, until the population becomes numerous, and all the first-class lands are filled up. Fresh from high-dried systems and theories of agriculture as practised in Great Britain, we are dumbfounded by the tirade against manuring, and the revolutionary ideas which our coach-companion further favours us with. We are evidently beginning to learn things afresh, though this is our first day in the bush. By the way, I must explain this term to English readers. "Bush" has a double signification, a general and a particular one. In its first and widest sense it is applied to all the country beyond the immediate vicinity of the cities or towns. Thus, Riverhead may be described as a settlement in the "bush," and our road lies through the "bush," though here it is all open moorland. But, in a more particular way, "bush" simply indicates the natural woods and forests. A farmer up-country, who says he has been into the "bush" after cattle, means that he has been into the forest, in contradistinction to his own cleared land, the settlement, or the open country. Our road lies at first through the fern lands beyond Riverhead, and we soon lose sight of the settlement. We appear to be travelling at random across the moor, for not a trace of what our English eyes have been taught to regard as a road can we discern. The country is all a rugged wilderness of range and gully: "gently undulating," you say, if you want to convey a favourable impression; "abruptly broken and hilly," if you would speak the literal truth. There is not a level yard of land--it is all as rough and unequal as it is possible for land to be. The road is no macadamized way: it is simply a track that, in many parts, is barely visible except to practised eyes. Further on, where we pass through tracts of forest, the axe has cleared a broad path; and down some steep declivities there has been a mild attempt at a cutting. Where we come upon streams of any size or depth, light wooden bridges have been built; and fascines have made some boggy parts fordable in wet weather. Such is our road, and along it we proceed at a hand-gallop for the most part. The jolting may be imagined, it cannot be described; for the four wheels are never by any chance on the same level at one and the same time. When we have proceeded eight or nine miles, Dandy Jack seems to be preparing himself for some exciting incident. Yankee Bill gallops alongside, exchanging a mysterious conversation in shouts with him. "Better take round by the ford, Cap!" "Ford be blanked!" answers Dandy Jack. "The rest of the planking's sure to be gone by this time," continues the cavalier. "Then I reckon we'll jump it. Ford's two miles round at least, and we're late now." Our dandy charioteer glances round on his passengers, and remarks-- "Hold on tight, boys; and, if we spill, spring clear for a soft place." So saying, he plants his feet firmly out, takes a better grip of the reins, and crams his hat well on to his head. We ignorant new-chums sit perturbed, for we don't know what is coming, only we do not admire the grim determination of our driver's mouth, or the devilry flashing from his eyes. The rest of the passengers say nothing. They know Dandy Jack, and are philosophically resigned to their fate. And now we plunge down the side of a gully, steep and wooded, with a brawling torrent pouring along its bottom. The road runs obliquely down the incline, and this descent we proceed to accomplish at a furious gallop, Dandy Jack shouting and encouraging his horses; his mate riding beside them, and flogging them to harder exertions. Then we see what is before us. Right at the bottom of the steep road is a bridge across the creek; or, at least, what was once a bridge, for a freshet or something seems to have torn it partially up. Originally built by throwing tree-trunks across from bank to bank, and covering these with planking, what we now see seems little more than a bare skeleton; for nearly all the planking is gone, and only the rough bare logs remain--and of these several are displaced, so that uncomfortable-looking gaps appear. Some feet below the level of this ruined bridge a regular cataract is flowing. Across the frail scaffolding--you can call it no more--that spans the torrent, it is clearly Dandy Jack's intention to hurl the coach, trusting to the impetus to get it over. We shut our eyes in utter despair of a safe issue, and hold on to our seats with the clutch of drowning men. It is all that we can do. Meanwhile the four horses, maddened by the whoops and lashes of our excited Jehu and his aid, are tearing down the slope at racing speed. The coach is bounding, rocking, jolting at their heels in frightfully dangerous fashion. We dare not glance at Dandy Jack, but we feel that he is in his element; and that, consequently, we are in deadly peril. Then the chorus of yells grows louder and fiercer, the swish of the whips more constant and furious. There is a tremendous rattle, a series of awful bumps that seem to dislocate every bone in my body, a feeling that the coach is somersaulting, I appear to be flying through space among the stars, and then--all is blank. When I recall my shocked and scattered senses, a minute or two later, I find myself half-buried, head downward, among moss and fern. I pick myself out of that, and stupidly feel myself all over, fortunately finding that I have sustained no particular injury. Then I survey the scene. We are on the other side of the stream--so much I discover--but we have evidently not attained it without a mishap. Not to put too fine a point upon it, we have experienced a most decided spill. The coach has overturned just as it crossed the bridge, and passengers and baggage have been shot forth into the world at large. Fortunately, the ground was soft with much vegetation, so that no one is much hurt; the "insides" alone being badly bruised. There is a confused heap of plunging hoofs, and among them Dandy Jack and Yankee Bill are already busy, loosening the traces and getting the horses on their feet. The passengers go one by one to their assistance, and much objurgation and ornamental rhetoric floats freely through the atmosphere. Presently, the coach is got on its wheels again by united effort, and it is found to be none the worse for the accident. In truth, its builder seems to have had an eye to such casualties as that we have suffered, and has adapted the construction of the machine to meet them. But with the horses it is different. Three of them are speedily got on their legs and rubbed down, being no more than scared. The fourth, however, cannot rise, and examination shows that one of its legs is broken, and probably the spine injured as well. It is evident the poor creature is past all further service. So Dandy Jack sits on its head, while Yankee Bill pulls out his sheath-knife and puts the animal out of misery. I overhear our eccentric driver murmuring-- "Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day That cost thy life, my gallant grey!"-- Adding, in a louder voice-- "Twelve pounds I paid for that critter; but I reckon I've had the profit out of it, anyhow!" The horse that Yankee Bill was riding is now unsaddled and hitched up with the others, in place of the dead one. For baggage and passengers are being collected again, and it seems we are going on as though nothing had happened. It is, perhaps, not strange that no one should express surprise at the accident; but it is certainly singular that no one shows any resentment towards our driver, or blames him in any way. The prevailing feeling is one of simple congratulation that things are no worse. One would think the accident was quite a usual affair, and had even been expected. A passenger remarks quite seriously-- "I will say this for Dandy Jack: he always contrives that you shall pitch into a soft place." They seem about to offer a vote of thanks to this reckless madman, for having overturned us without hurt to any one! It occurs to us two new-chums that our life in this country is likely to be eventful, if this kind of thing is the ordinary style of coaching. And we begin to understand what our driver meant, when he alluded to the grave responsibility of having a lady among his passengers; for his driving is only comparable to the driving of the son of Nimshi. Before we proceed on our way, the foppery of our charioteer reasserts itself. Of course, his neat and spruce trim has been considerably disarrayed, so now he proceeds to reorganize his appearance. Gravely and calmly he draws brushes and so on from a receptacle under the box-seat, and commences to titivate himself. This is too much. Laughter and jibes and energetic rebukes fall on him thick as hail. At first he pays no attention; then he says slowly-- "Look here! If any one wants to walk the rest of the way, he can do it. I'm willing to split fares for the half journey!" There is a covert threat in this, and as no one cares to quarrel with the speaker, his eccentricities are allowed to develop themselves without further interference. Then we resume our drive on to Helensville. For the most part the road passes through open country, but we now more frequently see scrub and bush in various directions. At one place, indeed, for about two miles, we pass through forest. The trees, mostly kahikatea, seem to our English eyes of stupendous proportions, but we are told they grow much bigger in many other parts. Signs of human life are not altogether wanting in these wilds. We pass a dray coming down from the Kaipara, laden with wool, and pull up, that Dandy Jack may have a private conversation with the driver of it. This dray is a huge waggon, built in a very strong and substantial style, and it is drawn by twelve span of bullocks. Here and there among the fern, usually in the bottom of a gully beside some patch of scrub, we have noticed little clusters of huts. These are not Maori wharès, as we suppose at first, but are the temporary habitations of gum-diggers, a nomadic class who haunt the waste tracts where kauri-gum is to be found buried in the soil. In a few places we pass by solitary homesteads, looking very comfortable in the midst of their more or less cultivated paddocks and clearings. These are usually fixed on spots where the soil, for a space of a few hundred acres, happens to be of better quality than the gum-lands around. At most of these settlers' houses somebody is on the look-out for the coach, and there is a minute's halt to permit of the exchange of mails or news. For travellers along the road are very few in number, and the bi-weekly advent of the coach is an event of importance. The afternoon is wearing late, and the rays of the declining sun are lengthening the shadows, when we emerge on the top of a high hill that overlooks the valley of the Kaipara. A wide and magnificent prospect lies spread before us. Far down below the river winds through a broad valley, the greater expanse of which, being low and swampy, is covered with a dense thicket of luxuriant vegetation. In parts we see great masses of dark, sombre forest, but even in the distance this is relieved by variety of colouring, flowering trees, perhaps, or the brilliant emerald of clusters of tree-ferns. Right out on the western boundary a line of hills shuts out the sea, and their summits glisten with a strange ruddy and golden light--the effect of the sun shining on the wind-driven sand that covers them. To the north the river widens and winds, until, far away, we get a glimpse of the expanding waters of the Kaipara Harbour. Successive hills and rolling ranges, clothed with primeval forest, close in upon the valley. About the centre of the broad-stretching vale, we discern a little patch of what looks like grass and cleared land. There is here a cluster of houses, whitely gleaming beside the river, and that hamlet is Helensville--the future town and metropolis of the Kaipara. The road, from the hill-top where we are, winds in a long descent of about two miles down to the township. It is scarcely needful to say that Dandy Jack considers it incumbent on him to make his entrance into Helensville with as much flourish and _éclat_ as possible. Accordingly, we proceed along the downhill track at breakneck speed, and come clattering and shouting into the village, amid much bustle and excitement. We are finally halted in an open space before the hotel, which is evidently intended to represent a village green or public square, the half-dozen houses of the place being scattered round it. The entire population has turned out to witness our arrival: a score or so of bearded, sunburnt, rough-looking men, three or four women, and a group of boys and children. A babel of conversation ensues. We, as new-chums, are speedily surrounded by a group anxious to make our acquaintance, and are eagerly questioned as to our intentions. Several persons present are acquainted with Old Colonial, and when it is known that we are going to join him, we are at once placed on the footing of personal friends. Hospitality is offered, invitations to take a drink at the bar are given us on all sides. We accept, for we are not total abstainers--or sich!--and are in that condition when the foaming tankard is an idea of supreme bliss. The hotel is larger and more pretentious than that at Riverhead. It is better built, and has a second storey and a balcony above the verandah. It is furnished, too, in a style that would do credit to Auckland--we particularly noticing some capital cabinet-work in the beautiful wood of the mottled kauri. And then we are treated to a dissertation on the wonderful advantages and prospects of Helensville, some day to be a city and seaport, a manufacturing centre and emporium of the vast trade of the great fertile tracts of the Kaipara districts. We are assured that there is no place in all New Zealand where it could be more advantageous to our future to settle in than here. And so to supper, and finally to bed, to sleep, and to dream of the wonders that shall be; to dream of cathedrals and factories and theatres rising here, and supplanting the forest and scrub around us; to dream of splendid streets along the banks of the Kaipara, but streets which ever end in rocky wooded gullies, down which we plunge incessantly, behind a rushing nightmare that is driven either by a demon or by Dandy Jack. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 3: A railway across this portage was opened for traffic in 1876. It has since been continued from Riverhead to Auckland, and is now--1882--being pushed forward to the north, from Helensville on to Whangarei.] CHAPTER IV. IN THE KAIPARA. The next morning after our arrival at Helensville, we go down to the wharf, close behind the hotel, and embark on board the steamer _Lily_. This vessel is the only regular means of communication, at present, with the young settlements lying round the Kaipara. She is a much larger craft than the _Gemini_, but she is of the same ancient and ruinous character. One would have thought that, on these new waters, such craft as there were must necessarily be new also.[4] Such does not appear to be the case, however, for the steam service on the Waitemata and the Kaipara is conducted by very second-hand old rattle-traps. Where they were worn out I know not. Bad as they are, they are considered a local improvement, for, until quite recently, settlers had to depend on small sailing-boats, that plied very irregularly. The Kaipara is a name applied rather indiscriminately to a river, a harbour, and to a tract of country. The Kaipara river is that on which Helensville stands. It waters an extensive valley, and, flowing north-westerly, falls into the Kaipara Harbour, some miles below Helensville. It is tidal to a short distance above the settlement. The harbour is a vast inlet of the sea, almost land-locked, since its entrance, the Heads, is only about three or four miles wide. Opening from the harbour are sundry great estuaries, resembling the sea-lochs of Western Scotland. They are the Kaipara, the Hoteo, the Oruawharo, the Otamatea, the Wairau, the Arapaoa, and the Wairoa. Several of these have branches. Thus the Pahi, to which we are going, branches out of the Arapaoa. They are fed by creeks--that is to say, by freshwater rivers, as one would call them at home. The tidal estuaries are here called rivers; and the freshwater streams, of whatever size, creeks. All these waters have the generic name of the Kaipara. The united water-frontage is said to be over a thousand miles; and nearly two million acres of land lying round are comprised within the so-called Kaipara district. Ships of heavy tonnage can get up to Tokatoka on the Wairoa, to Te Pahi and Te Otamatea, and within a short distance of Helensville, these places being, respectively, from twenty-five to thirty-five miles from the Heads. Smaller vessels can, of course, go anywhere. The Wairoa creek is navigable for schooners and cutters for more than eighty miles, as well as its tributaries, the Kaihu, Kopura, Tauraroa, and Maungakahia. We have come into a district admirably adapted for pioneer settlement. For nature has supplied water-ways in every direction, and thus the first great difficulty in opening up a new country, the want of roads, is obviated. Here, indeed, as we shall find, no one walks to his township, or rides to see a neighbour, he jumps into his boat and rows or sails wherever he wants to go. As the _Lily_ steams down the Kaipara, we get a better idea of the bush than our previous day's coach-ride had given us. There is no more of the brown and shaggy gum-land, but, instead of it, such glorious woods and jungles and thickets of strange beautiful vegetation. Mile after mile it is the same, the dense evergreen forest stretching away over the ranges as far as one can see. Here it is the light bush, woods of young trees that have grown over what were once the sites of Maori cultivation; there it is the heavy bush, the real primeval forest. One great feature of the Kaipara tidal estuary is the quantity of mangroves. Immense tracts are covered with water at high tide, and are left bare at low tide. These mud-banks are covered with mangroves in many places, forming great stretches of uniform thicket. The mangrove is here a tree growing to a height of twenty or thirty feet, branching thickly, and bearing a dark, luxuriant foliage. At high water, the mangrove swamps present the appearance of thickets growing out of the water. When the tide recedes, their gnarled and twisted stems are laid bare, often covered with clinging oysters. Below, in the mud, are boundless stores of pipi (cockles), and other shell-fish and eels. The channel of the river is broad and deep, but often, to save some bend, the _Lily_ ploughs her way along natural lanes and arcades among the mangroves. It is a novel experience to us to glide along the still reaches among these fluviatile greenwoods. We are embosomed in a submerged forest, whose trees are uniform in height and kind. All round us, like a hedge, is the glossy green foliage, sometimes brushing our boat on either side. And we scare up multitudes of water fowl, unused to such invasion of their solitudes. Wild duck, teal, grey snipe, shags, and many kinds that no one on board knows the names of, start from under our very bows. Not gay plumaged birds, though, for the most part; only now and then a pair of kingfishers, flashing green and orange as they fly, or the purple beauty of a pukeko, scuttling away into the depths of the swamp. By-and-by we emerge into the expanse of the harbour. Once out in it we could almost imagine ourselves at sea, for, from the low deck of the _Lily_, we only see the higher grounds and hill-tops round, looking like islands in the distance, as we cannot descry the continuity of shore. And now we have leisure to make closer acquaintance with the boat that carries us. The _Lily_ is a queer craft. Though old and rickety, she gets through a considerable amount of work, and is sufficiently seaworthy to fight a squall, when that overtakes her in the harbour. Not that a gale is by any means a light affair, in this wide stretch of water. When one is blowing, as it sometimes does for two or three days at a time, the _Lily_ lies snugly at anchor in some sheltered cove, and settlers have to wait as patiently as may be for their mails or goods. She knows her deficiencies, and will not face stormy weather, if she can help it. Three times a week she visits certain of the Kaipara settlements, returning from them on alternate days. The arrangement is such that each township gets--or is supposed to get--one weekly visit from her. She is a boat with a character, or without it, which means about the same thing in the present instance. She has also a skipper, who is something of a character in his way. The Pirate, or Pirate Tom, as he is indifferently called, is a gentleman of some importance locally, for he is the channel of communication between the Kaipara settlers and the outside world. He is a man of ferocious aspect, black-bearded to the eyes, taciturn, and rough in demeanour. In his hot youth, he is credited with having borne his part in certain questionable proceedings in the South Sea, and hence his appellation. Freights run very high on the _Lily_, and it is by no means certain how far the Pirate may be concerned in keeping them so. He is apt to be captious, too, as regards the transit of cargo, and will refuse to do business if it is his whim, or if any particular individual happen to offend him; for he is lord paramount over the river traffic, and well does he know how to turn that to his own advantage. Apparently, he considers that he does you a personal favour if he carries you or your goods, and you have to keep on his good books, lest he should not condescend to do either. Besides the playful way in which he manipulates the commerce of the district, Pirate Tom has another mode in which he adds to his gains. At some of the river townships and stations there is no hotel, or store, where liquor can be obtained. The only immediate facility that settlers and bushmen at such places have for procuring it, is such as is afforded by the boat. The Pirate is always ready to dispense the vile compounds he call spirits to all comers--sixpence per drink being his price, as it is the established tariff of the colony. It is held to be manners to ask him to partake himself, when any one desires to put away a nobbler; and the Pirate, being an ardent disciple of Bacchus, was never yet known to refuse any such invitation. He also sells, at seven shillings a bottle, the most atrocious rum, brandy, or "square" gin. To assist him in the management of his craft, the Pirate has under him an engineer and a Dutch lad. The former of these has, of course, his special duties; the latter is cook and steward, sailor, landing-agent, and general utility man. He goes by the name of "The Crew." To beguile the tedium and monotony of constant voyaging, "The Crew" is wont to exercise his mind by conversation with such passengers as there may be. He is of a very inquiring disposition, and asks leading questions of a very personal nature. Seeing that I am a new-chum, he begins to ask me my name, age, birthplace, who my parents were, where I formerly lived, what I did, what my cousins and aunts are, their names, and all about them, and so on, a series of interminable catechetical questions on subjects that, one would think, could not possibly have any interest for him. This would be gross impertinence, were it not that "The Crew" is perfectly unconscious of giving any offence. He only asks for information, like Rosa Dartle; and this questioning is his idea of polite sociability. Among the points of interest about the _Lily_, the most noticeable are the engines with which she is supplied. These are fearfully and wonderfully contrived. How such rusty, battered, old-fashioned, rough-and-ready machinery can be got to work at all, it is hard to say; but it does. Of course the engines are continually breaking down, or bursting, or doing something or other offensive. But whatever may happen, the Pirate and his two aids consider themselves equal to the emergency, and make shift to tinker up the mishap somehow. Such unlooked for examples of misapplied force are constantly occurring, the consequence being that repairs are as often called for. Thus it is that the engines present a very extraordinary and uncommon appearance. Report has, perhaps, added somewhat to the truth, but numerous legends are current in the Kaipara about the _Lily_, her engines, and her captain. These amateur artificers are not in the least particular as to the materials they use for effecting their repairs, nor are they given to considering the relative differences of the metals. On one occasion, rust had eaten a hole through the boiler, and leakage ensued. Promptly they set to work, and soldered the lid of a biscuit-tin over the weak place. Then the boat went on as usual. Once again, so it is said, something or other gave way--some screw, or cock, or lever failed to act. The boat became unmanageable, could not be stopped, or slowed, or done anything with. In short, she ran away. But Pirate Tom was not to be imposed on by any such feeble tricks. He immediately steered the _Lily_ slap into the nearest bank and tied her up to a tree. Then the three went on shore, with a bottle of rum and a pack of cards, and sat down at a respectful distance to await the progress of events, and to enjoy a game of cut-throat euchre. The engineer bet Pirate Tom a note--colonial for a sovereign--that the engines would blow up, and the latter laid on the chance that the rebel craft would spend herself kicking at the bank. After churning up the mud, plunging at the bank, and straining at her tether for an hour or so, the _Lily_ quieted down, all her steam having worked off. So the Pirate won and pocketed the engineer's note; and then the party adjourned on board again, to resume their ordinary avocation of tinkering up. In the log of the _Lily_ there is supposed to be an entry, which would seem to indicate that the Pirate is not invariably so lucky as on the last-mentioned occasion. It is his rule never to spend any more money on repairs than what cannot possibly be avoided. There was an unsafe steam-pipe, which might easily have been replaced at a trifling cost; but, of course, the Pirate would spend nothing on it, and relied on his own usual resources. One day the steam-pipe burst, when a number of passengers were on board, and a woman got her legs scalded. After that, the Pirate found it absolutely necessary to get a new steam pipe; and was, besides, heavily mulcted in an action brought against him by the injured lady. The entry referred to probably runs like this:-- £ s. d. To a new steam-pipe 0 10 0 To fine and costs 3 12 6 To damages awarded to Mrs. ---- by the Court 5 0 0 To doctor's fees for attendance on Mrs. ---- 4 0 0 On the whole, Pirate Tom did not take much by his economy on that occasion. But the lesson was not of any lasting use. He will go on in his old way, and will take his chance of accidents. The defects of the _Lily_ do not cause us any annoyance, on this occasion of our first voyage aboard of her. She is on her best behaviour, for a wonder, and neither breaks down, nor bursts up, nor runs away. We steam over a great stretch of the harbour, noticing here that strange effect, when the distant land seems to be lifted above the horizon, and to have a belt of sky between it and the water. Then we pass into river after river, proceeding up each some miles, to the townships, or stations, where we have to call, then descending into the harbour again, only to go on to the entrance of yet another river. The scenery is very varied, and there is much in it to attract our regard. Sometimes we pass below lofty bluffs, by wild rocky shores and islets, sometimes along great stretches of mud-bank or mangrove swamp. The land on all sides is a primitive wilderness for the most part. Range after range sweeps and rolls away, while ravines and gullies and basins open upon the rivers, with tumbling creeks or graceful cascades pouring through them. One might suppose that some giant of yore had ploughed out this country and left it. A newly-ploughed field must seem, to an ant's vision, something like the contour of this to ours. The land is richly wooded. Here and there we see the heavy bush, mammoth trees soaring up, overhung with creepers and ferns; but the heavy bush is chiefly at some distance from the waterside. What we see most of here is the light bush; dense thickets of shrubs, and smaller trees, resembling our remembrance of the denes and copses of England, or Epping and the New Forest. To us new-chums it seems absurd to call this bush "light," but we can see that it is so by comparison with the primeval forest, where the tree-trunks run from ten to forty feet in girth. Once upon a time, when they numbered millions, the Maoris inhabited these shores pretty thickly. They preferred to be near the water, as settlers do now, for the same reason of convenience in communication, and also because fish was a chief article of their diet. All the land near the rivers has been at some time under their cultivation, and the light bush has grown up upon it since. So late as fifty years ago, the Ngatewhatua tribe, who were lords of the Kaipara, were very numerous; but were then nearly exterminated in a war with the Ngapuhi of the north. Still, numerous as they may have been then, they could not have held the immense tracts here under cultivation. That must date from a more remote period. But the places where their villages stood, in the early part of this century, are now buried under such a wealth of scrub and shrubbery, as to show very clearly how rich is the soil and how fruitful the climate. We see at last what we have long been looking for, hitherto to no purpose, namely, Maoris and their habitations. Brown, gypsey-like people they appear in the distance, wearing ordinary clothes like Europeans, only dirty and ragged usually. Here and there we pass a cluster of their wharès, low down near the beach--brown huts of thatch-like appearance, for they are made of raupo grass. Some of them are very neat, with carved and painted doors and fronts. Near them is usually some fenced-in cultivation, and possibly a rough-grassed clearing, on which may be a few cattle or horses. There are always pigs and dogs visible, and brown naked children disporting themselves on the beach, where canoes are drawn up, fishing nets spread out, and a scaffolding erected to dry shark-meat upon. Few and far between are these evidences of the native race, and few and far between, also, are evidences of the new nation that is supplanting it. Frere, the statesman, speaking of Spain, said--he loved it because God had so much land there in His own holding. If he could say that of Spain's bare sierras and bleak barrancas, what would he not have said of this land, whose splendid woods and forests clothe the hills and fill the glens with verdure. Here and there we lie off some settler's station, a white wooden homestead, perhaps with a few outbuildings beside it, perhaps alone; round it the pastures won by the axe and the fire, a mere bite out of the boundless woods behind. At such places "The Crew" paddles ashore in the dingey, or possibly a boat comes off to us, bearing two or three bushmen, who, may be, think that the opportunity for getting a nobbler ought not to be suffered to pass by. We have three or four townships to call at, places where the Government has set aside a certain tract of land for a future town. A township site is cut up--on paper--into allotments, which are sold, or kept in the Land Office until wanted. From what we see of the Kaipara towns, they are very much in embryo as yet. Te Otamatea, for instance, is a single house and nothing more. This is our ideal of a bush settlement; it is as it should be--not too much humanity and crowd. The house, a rambling, wooden building, is of a good size though, being an hotel and store. Round it are several hundred acres of grass. Sometimes it is very festive, for a large Maori kainga is not far off; and at Te Otamatea a race-course has been made, where the annual races of the Kaipara districts are held. Altogether, we like Te Otamatea, with its beautiful situation and lovely views, better than Port Albert. This is a sort of bloated Manchester or Birmingham of the district. No less than six or seven houses are visible close together. If you count barns and byres, and such more distant houses as are visible from the steamer's deck, there must be over a dozen. It is horridly populous. Moreover, one sees here, so strongly marked, that uncouth rawness that attends incipient civilization. Nature has been cleared away to make room for the art of man, and art has not yet got beyond the inchoate unloveliness of bare utilitarianism. The beautiful woods have given place to a charred, stumpy, muddy waste, on which stand the gaunt, new frame-houses. Gardens, orchards, cornfields, and meadows are things to come; until they do the natural beauty of the place is killed and insulted. But what have we to do with sentimental rubbish? This is Progress! Bless it! Of course we did not expect to get to our destination all in a minute, for Te Pahi is more than forty miles from Helensville, in a straight line. We started about five o'clock in the morning, but it is late in the day before we get into the Arapaoa. By taking advantage of the tides, the _Lily_ manages to accomplish ten knots an hour. But the going in and out of different rivers, though we do not go far up any of them, and the various stoppages, short though they be, make it late in the afternoon before we sight Te Pahi. We are coming up the broad Arapaoa, and before us we suddenly see Te Pahi, a vision of loveliness, "our" township, as we are already calling it. A high, wooded bluff, the termination of a hill-range behind, rushes out into the tranquil, gleaming water. Round the base of the bluff, on a little flat between it and the white shingly beach, are the houses of the settlement. Four families live here at this time; and besides their abodes, there are a row of three cottages, called immigrant barracks, a boatbuilder's workshop, and an assembly hall. The neatest, fairest, best, and to-be-the-most-progressive of all the Kaipara townships. We say this "as shouldn't;" but it is so. The broad, lake-like expanse of water over which we are moving--four miles across from shore to shore--parts before Te Pahi. It stretches away to the left in a wide reach, to form the Matakohe, out of which opens the Paparoa, hidden from sight at this point. Before us, bearing to the right, is the Pahi river. It is a vista of woodland scenery, glorious in the rays of the declining sun. Its shores are steep, and broken into numberless little bays and promontories, all clothed with bush to the water's edge. Far up, the towering ranges close down and terminate the view. On the left of our position the shore is not so high, and we can see a good deal of grass, with the white homestead of a settler's station. Beyond is what appears to be a chain of distant mountains. Looking to the right an exclamation bursts from our lips, for there is the loveliest view we have yet seen. A deep, semi-circular bay falls back from the river, bordered with a belt of dazzling shingle. Beyond and round it rises a perfect amphitheatre, filled with bush more sumptuous and varied than any we have gazed upon all day. The range seems to rise in terraces, and just one abrupt gap about the centre discloses the peak of a conical hill behind. The whole is a perfect idyllic picture, not to be described in a breath; for this is the showplace of the Kaipara. It is Te Puke Tapu, famous in Maori history as the scene of a great battle. Beautiful as this place is, it would doubtless soon have been marred by the pitiless axe and fire of the settler, but that it is sacred soil. The Maoris will not enter it, and they prohibit Europeans from transgressing within its boundaries. Nor will they sell the land, although its superb fertility has induced some settlers to offer almost fabulous prices. For, under those rich greenwoods, caressed and buried in ferns, lie scattered the bony relics of the flower of Ngatewhatua chivalry. So much and more a fellow-passenger tells us, while we gaze at the view, inwardly wondering whether wandering artist will ever present this glorious landscape now before us to people at home. But the story must be reserved for another time, until we are able to do justice to it. At last the _Lily_ is lying right off the beach of Te Pahi township, and her whistle is echoing among the woods on the ranges above, scaring the shags, kingfishers, and rock-snipe on the oyster-beds and beaches. Very speedily, two or three people appear at the township, and one of them puts off in a boat to board us. To him we are shortly introduced by the Pirate, and handed over to his care, as candidates for a berth in the immigrant barracks. We discuss a nobbler, which is at once a farewell one with Pirate Tom, "The Crew," and the rest of our fellow-passengers, and an introductory ceremony with our new acquaintance, "The Mayor." A merry, athletic, thoroughly healthy and hearty Englishman is our friend, the Mayor, always in a hurry and bustle of business, for his avocations are startlingly numerous. He is the oldest inhabitant of the township, and was called the Mayor when he dwelt there solitary, a few years ago. Now he is postmaster, storekeeper, justiciary, acting-parson, constabulary, board of works, tax-gatherer, customs officer, farmer, dealer in everything, town clerk, lawyer, doctor, and, perhaps, a score of things beside, as they reckon such in Te Pahi. The Mayor hurries us and our traps ashore in his boat, and deposits us on the beach. Then he hastens back to the steamer, bidding us wait there, as "he'll be back to fix us before we can have time to wink." Half a dozen men and boys--the entire population--stand at a little distance, regarding us shyly, but inquisitively, with pocketed hands. Some young children are also apparent. As we stand gazing about us, and wondering how to make acquaintance with the group, a little girl comes running up to us. It is always the superior sex, you see, even in the bush, that make the first advances. She offers us peaches, the little bright-eyed, sunny-faced thing; and readily submits to be kissed; indeed, appears to expect it. Then she prattles away to us in right merry fashion. The little incident breaks the ice. The group of men come forward and enter into conversation. Perhaps a trifle constrained at first--for dwellers in the bush necessarily lose the readiness of people more accustomed to society--they show themselves anxious enough to be hospitable and welcoming. They are eager to know who we are, naturally, what we are going to do, and so forth. When it comes out that we have advented to join Old Colonial, we are admitted as chums at once, and formally accepted as free citizens of the soon-to-be prosperous and thriving town of Te Pahi. By-and-by the Mayor gets back; and the _Lily_ steams off again on her way to Matakohe, where she will anchor for the night, returning to Helensville next day. Old Colonial, it seems, is away up the river somewhere, but is expected at the township that night, as he knows that the steamer is due, and that we were likely to come by it. And now what are we to do? Go to the immigrant barracks, we suppose, since they are expressly designed for the accommodation of such new-chums as ourselves. Barracks be hanged! Is it likely that we are to be allowed to go there while the Mayor has a comfortable house in which to receive guests? Not likely! Why, others of the citizens are intent on hospitality as well, and any of the four homes of the place may be ours for the present, if we will. But the Mayor is not going to be choused out of his guests; don't you believe it! What is he Mayor and boss of the township for, he would like to know, if not to look after new-chums? Besides, on his own sole responsibility, he has turned the immigrant barracks into a warehouse for produce, since no immigrants ever seemed to be coming to occupy them. So, he is in a measure bound to take possession of us, don't you see? and, by Jove, he means to, what's more! Then we walk along to the Mayor's residence, and a comfortable, well-furnished house it is, quite a surprise to us, who hardly expected home-comforts in the bush. But then the Mayor is a thriving man, and has a wife to look after him. A cheerful, amiable lady bids us welcome, with a heartiness as though she were only too glad to see us, although it would appear as if her hands were full enough of housework already, without the additional care of looking after a couple of helpless, unready new-chums. But strangers are so rare up here, that much must be made of them when they do come; therefore, the fatted calf is killed, so to speak, and we are regaled in handsome fashion. Later, after supper, there is a sudden arrival in the darkness of the night. We hear a stamping on the verandah outside, and a loud, lusty, half-remembered voice addressing the Mayor. "Have they come, I say? Where are they, then?" The door of the room we are sitting in bursts open, and a burly, bearded man, rough and savage enough in outward appearance, sooth to say, rushes in upon us. He seizes our hands in a grip that brings the tears to our eyes, he shakes them up and down with vehemence, and while we are trying to make out whether this Old Colonial can really and truly be our sometime schoolfellow, he exclaims-- "Well, this _is_ good! I _am_ glad to see you! _Now_ we'll have a splendid time! Now we'll _make_ this old place hum round! Oh, but this is glorious!" Thus, and much more; and so, with the true, hearty good-fellowship of the bush, are we welcomed to our future home. * * * * * And now that we have arrived at the scene of our future work, let this chapter close. No need any longer to pursue our history as new-chums. In the pages that follow we will resume the story at a further date, when we have arrived at the full estate of settlers and colonists. Such thread of narrative as these sketches possess shall henceforth be unwound off another reel. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 4: It must be remembered that this is ten or twelve years ago though it holds good down to 1876. Since the railway was made more colonists have come into the district, and two fine new steamers now ply on the Kaipara waters.] CHAPTER V. OUR SHANTY. Several years ago now, we bought our land from the Maoris, and settled down here upon the Pahi. Necessarily, our first proceeding was to construct a habitation. We might have employed the carpenter and boat-builder, who resides at the township, to put up a good and well-made frame-house for us, for a price of a hundred pounds or upwards. But we had entire confidence in our own abilities, and besides, there was something enticing in the idea of building our future home with the actual labour of our own hands. Moreover, there was another reason, possibly of chief importance: we could not afford to pay for a house. After paying for our land, paying for our farm-stock, and calculating our resources for meeting the current expenses of the first year or two, we found there was but slight margin for anything else; therefore we decided to build a shanty ourselves. Meantime, we were camped on our new estate in a manner more picturesque than comfortable. A rude construction of poles covered with an old tarpaulin sufficed us. It was summer weather, and this was quite good enough for a beginning. From step to step, that is the way to progress, so we said. First the tent or wharè, temporarily for a few weeks; then the shanty, for a year or two; then, as things got well with us, a well-finished frame-house; finally, a palace, a castle in the air, or anything you like. There are shanties and shanties. It is necessary to explain. Primarily, in its Canadian and original sense, the term means a log-house--a hut made of rough squared logs, built up upon each other. Such log-huts are not common in this country, though they may be seen here and there. The mild climate does not require such a style of building. The labour of cutting and squaring logs for the purpose is great. The native wharè of thatch is quickly and easily raised, serves all requirements, and lasts for years. In most parts hitherto settled, water-communication places the settler within reach of a saw-mill, where he can obtain boards and so on at very moderate cost. A shanty here, is a name applied to almost any kind of nondescript erection, which would not come under the designation of wharè, or be honoured by the ambitious title of house. Rough edifices of planking are the common form. We went up to Tokatoka on the Wairoa, and there we purchased enough sawn timber for our purpose, for about twelve or fifteen pounds. We hired a big punt, and fetched this stuff down to our place, a distance of some forty miles or so by water. Then we set to work at building. The site we selected was an ambitious one; too much so, as we were afterwards to discover. From the first Old Colonial objected to it. It was too far from the river, he said, and would necessitate such an amount of "humping." Bosh about humping! returned the majority. It was only a temporary affair; in a year or two we should be having a regular frame-house. Old Colonial gave way, for he perceived that, as our acknowledged boss, he would have but little of the humping to do himself. And the chosen site was central for the first proposed clearings of our future farm. The selected spot was a rising ground in the centre of a broad basin, nearly a mile across. Steep ranges surround this basin, and the whole was then covered with light bush. Half a mile in front is a mangrove swamp, beyond which flows the river--the mangroves filling up a space that without them would have been an open bay. The prospect in this direction is bounded by the forest-clothed ranges on the opposite side of the river, which is here about a mile in breadth. The land within the basin is nothing like level, and English farmers might be frightened at its ruggedness. To colonial eyes, however, it seems all that could be desired. Knolls and terraces gradually lead up to the ranges, which sweep away to run together into a high hill called Marahemo, about three miles behind us. The little eminence, on which stands the shanty, slopes down on the left to a flat, where originally flax and rushes did most abound. Through this flat a small creek has channelled a number of little ponds and branches on its way to the river beyond. On the right the bank is steeper, and upon it stand a number of cabbage-tree palms. Down below is a little rocky, rugged gully, with a brawling stream rushing through it. Just abreast of the shanty this stream forms a cascade, tumbling into a pool that beyond is still and clear and gravelly. It is a most romantically beautiful spot, shaded and shut in completely by fern-covered rocks and overhanging trees. This is our lavatory. Here we bathe, wash our shirts, and draw our supplies of water. This creek flows down through the mangrove swamp to the river; and, at high-water, we can bring our boats up its channel to a point about a quarter of a mile below the shanty. The site of the shanty has its advantages; but it has that one serious drawback foreseen by Old Colonial. Somehow or other, year after year has flown by, and still we have not got that frame-house we promised ourselves. It is not for want of means, or because we have not been quite so rapidly successful as we anticipated. Of course not! Away with such base insinuations! But we have never any time to see about it, and are grown so used to the shanty that we do not seem to hanker after anything more commodious. So all these years, we have had to hump on our backs and shoulders every blessed thing that we have imported or exported, from the shanty to the water, or the contrary--sacks of flour, sugar, and salt, grindstones, cheeses, meat, furniture. Oh, misery! how our backs have ached as we have toiled up to our glorious site, while Old Colonial laughed and jeered, as his unchristian manner is. Our work began with the timbers of the shanty itself, and with the heavy material for the stockyard. But humping was then a novelty, and we regarded it as a labour of love. Now we know better, and, when we do get that frame-house, we are going to have it just as near to the landing-place as we can possibly stick it. You may bet your pile on that! Of course, in building the shanty, we employed the usual fashion prevalent in the colony. Because, when we set to work we said we were going to build a proper frame-house, _not_ a shanty. That is a name for our habitation, which has since grown up into usage. We were none of us practised carpenters; but what did that matter? We knew how to use our hands; and had so often seen houses built that we knew precisely how to do it. First of all, then, are the piles. These are of puriri wood, tough, heavy, and durable. They are rough-split sections of the great logs, some two feet thick, with squarely-sawn ends. They are fixed in the ground two or three feet apart, so as to bring their flat-sawn tops upon a uniform level. The irregularities of the ground are thus provided against, while a suitable foundation is laid. The next process is to build a scaffolding, or skeleton frame, of scantling and quartering. When that has been done, the floor is planked over, the sides weather-boarded, doors, windows, and partitions being put in according to the design of the architect. Lastly, the roof is shingled, that is, covered with what our chum, O'Gaygun, calls "wooden slates." Our shanty is thirty feet long by ten in width. The sides are seven feet high, and the ridge-pole is double that height from the floor. There are a door and two windows, the latter having been bought at the township. There is a partition across the shanty, two rooms having originally been intended; but as this partition has a doorway without a door, and is only the height of the sides, being open above, the original intention in raising it has been lost, and it now merely serves for a convenient rack. There is no verandah on the outside of the shanty, for we regarded that as a waste of material and labour. The fireplace is an important part of the shanty. Ten feet of the side opposite the door was left open, not boarded up. Outside of this a sort of supplementary chamber, ten feet square, was boarded up from the ground. The roof of this little outroom slopes away _from_ that of the rest of the shanty, and at its highest point a long narrow slit is left open for a chimney. There is no flooring to this chamber, the ground being covered with stones well pounded down. Its level is necessarily sunk a little below that of the shanty floor, which is raised on the piles, so the edge of the flooring forms a bench to sit on in front of the fire. The fire used simply to be built up on the stones, in the middle of this chimney-place; but, after a year or two, we imported an American stove, with its useful appliances, from Auckland. Our shanty is the habitation of some half-dozen of us, year out and year in. There are in the district a good many settlers of the middle-classes. Men of some education, who would be entitled to the designation of "gentleman" in Europe. Of such sort are we. Some of us are landowners, and some have no capital, being simply labourers. Which is which does not matter. I shall not particularize, as each and all have the same work to do, and live in exactly the same style. There is brotherhood and equality among us, which is even extended to some who would _not_ be called by that old-world title just alluded to, anywhere at all. We do not recognize class distinctions here much. We take a man as we find him; and if he is a good, hearty, honest fellow, that is enough for us. A good many of us come from the classes in England among whom manual labour is considered low and degrading. That is, unless it is undertaken solely for amusement. Out here we are navvies, day-labourers, mechanics, artisans, anything. At home, we should have to uphold the family position by grinding as clerks on a miserable pittance, or by toiling in some equally sedentary and dull routine of life. If we attempted to work there as we work here, we should be scouted and cut by all our friends. Out here we have our hardships, to be sure; we have got to learn what roughing it really means. It is no child's play, that is certain. But here, an industrious man is always getting nearer and nearer to a home and a competence, won by his toil. Can every one in the old country, no matter how industrious, say that of himself? Is it not too often the poor-house, or the charity of friends, that is the only goal of labouring-class and middle-class alike, in overcrowded Britain? Does patient industry invariably lead to a better fortune for the declining years in England? We know that it does here. This is enough for one digression, though. Be it understood, then, that we are not horny-handed sons of toil by birth. We were once called gentlemen, according to the prevailing notions of that caste at home. Here, the very air has dissolved all those ancient prejudices, and much better do we feel for the change. Only occasionally does some amusing instance of the old humbug crop up. I may light upon some such example before I lay down my pen. It is now some years since our shanty was built--seven or eight, I suppose. The edifice certainly looks older. Not to put too fine a point on it, one might candidly call it ruinous, rather than otherwise. This is singular and surprising; we cannot account for it. Frame-houses in this country ought to require no repairs for twenty years at least. That is the received opinion. We dogmatically assert that the house we built ourselves, with such infinite labour and trouble, is as good as any other of its size and kind. Consequently, it will not want repairing for twenty years. _But it does._ It looks as old as the hills, and seems to be coming to pieces about us, though only eight years old. Nevertheless, we will not forswear ourselves, we will _not_ repair our shanty till twenty years are gone! As for allowing that there could be any fault in our workmanship, that our inexperienced joinery can have been the cause of the shanty's premature decay, that, even Old Colonial says, is ridiculous. No, the wood was unseasoned; or, perhaps, it was over-seasoned. We admit so much, but our handicraft was certainly not to blame. The imperfections of the shanty are many and grievous. The door and windows have quarrelled desperately with their settings. On windy nights we get no sleep, as every one is engaged trying to fasten and wedge them into noiseless security. The door developed a most obstreperous and noxious habit of being blown into the middle of the house during the night, with much hideous clatter and clamour. We stopped that at last by nailing it up altogether, and making a new entrance through the side of the chimney-place. Then, each particular board in the sides of the shanty has somehow warped itself out of place. We are thus enabled to view the lovely scenery lying round the place from our bunks, without the trouble of rising and going to the window. Old Colonial says that free ventilation is one of the great blessings of life. He thinks that the chinks in our walls are absolutely a provision of Nature, since, he says, we would certainly be choked with smoke if there were none. Sometimes the cattle, feeding on the clearings round the shanty, come and thrust their noses through the gaps in the boards, or stand and eye us as we are taking our meals. The Saint says he has invited them to breakfast with us, on the first of April next, by which time he expects that the chinks will have gaped wide enough to permit of the passage of cattle. Of course, the smoke of the fire will not go up the chimney as it ought, but floats freely about the shanty. This is good for the bacon and hams, when there are any, that depend from the rafters. It is also a wholesome thing, says Old Colonial, and sweetens and preserves everything. "None of your gassy, sooty coal-smoke, but the fragrant vapours of the burning forest!" so he remarked one night, when we were all blinded and choked by the volumes of smoke that rolled through the shanty. O'Gaygun is often funny, but not always original. He says that the smoke floats about our habitation because it never knows which hole it ought to go out at! On rainy nights--and that is nearly every night during some three months of the year--there is perpetual misery in the shanty. One hears some choice varieties of rhetorical flowers of speech; there is a continual shifting about of beds; and often unseemly scuffling for drier places. O'Gaygun says that he loves to "astthronomise" when lying comfortably in bed; but he adds, that, "a shower-bath is a quare place to sleep in." It will be surmised from this that our roof is leaky. All roofs are that, you know, in a greater or lesser degree, only ours in a greater, perhaps. Those shingles _will_ come off. We are sure we put them on properly and securely. The nails must have been some inferior rotten quality, doubtless. Loose shingles lie about all around the shanty. They come in useful as plates, as our crockery is generally short. In fact, O'Gaygun prefers them to the usual article, and always goes outside to pick up a plate for any stranger who may happen to drop in to lunch. To use his words, "They fall aff the shanty roof loike the laves aff the tthrees!" Somehow or other all these things go unremedied. It would, of course, be an admission that our work had been unsatisfactory, if we were to earnestly set about repairing the shanty, and thereby formally allow that it required such renovation. No one will dare to initiate such a serious thing. Besides, it is no one man's particular business to begin the work of mending; while we are always busy, and have acquired such an amazing notion of the value of our time, that we consider the necessary repairs would not be worth the time it would take us to effect them. Moreover, Old Colonial is a bush-philosopher, and delivers himself of moral orations in the shanty of nights. His views on some subjects are peculiar, and they are always hurled at our heads with the utmost scorn and contempt for all who may differ from them. This is his theory on repairing-- "We are pioneers; it is our special duty and purpose to make, to begin, to originate. We inherit nothing; we are ourselves the commencement of a future society, just as Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden. Our whole time and labour must be given to the one purpose of hewing out the new path. We cannot stop to repair our faults and failures. For _us_ that would be a waste of energy and of time. It is for those who inherit the commencement we have made to do that; not for us, the pioneers. They will improve our beginnings; we must continue onward. _Never mend anything_, except your manners, boys! Put up with discomforts and hardships, as pioneers should!" The furniture and internal arrangements of our shanty are more simple in construction than elegant in appearance. We go in for utility, and not for show. As a central feature is the table. It is our pride and glory, that table, for it was made in Auckland, and imported by us from Helensville. It is the one piece of furniture we possess that displays an art superior to our own. Solid, strong and large, made of stout kauri wood, it has borne a great deal of rough usage, and is capable of bearing a great deal more. Besides all the customary uses to which a table may be put, this article of ours fulfils even another purpose. It comes in very handy sometimes as a bedstead. I have known two men to sleep upon it on occasions; its breadth being considerable. For a long time it went by the name of O'Gaygun's four-poster, that gentleman having a predilection for sleeping on it. He is a huge, bony Irishman, and somewhat restless in his sleep. Accordingly, it was no unusual thing for him to roll off the table in the night, and descend upon the floor with considerable uproar. This was got over by inverting the table at night, and making him recline on the inside of it, with the legs sticking up around him. He does not like this position, though, for he says the rats run across him all night. Chairs we have none, except two curious contrivances belonging to the Saint and the Little'un. We use empty kegs and boxes, sawn logs set up on end, and the sides of our bunks, when we sit at table. When at our ease and our tobacco, we either recline in our bunks, or sit on the edge of the floor opening into the chimney-place. The two curious contrivances alluded to are styled armchairs by their manufacturers, and somewhat remarkable objects they are. The Saint's is made out of the section of a cask set up on four legs. It possesses a fifth leg, or outrigger at the back, and has cushions of flour-bags, stuffed with turkey's feathers. The owner doubtless finds it to his mind, but he has to guard against leaning to either side, or collapse is always the consequence. The other armchair is the Little'un's. Now, this young gentleman, though the most youthful of our party, is by no means the least. He is, in fact, six feet six inches in height, and is of broad and muscular build. His private seat is therefore of the ponderous kind. At first sight it would seem to be of immense strength, since it is made of heavy stakes, cut in the adjoining bush. These are abundantly jointed with bars and bolts of the same solid and substantial kind; the seat and back being composed of sacking. But, in spite of the apparent power displayed by this fabrication, disastrous accidents are continually happening. The Little'un has no inborn genius for joinery. Sometimes it has happened that, as we sat at a meal, a loud crack would be heard, some part of his throne would give way, and the Little'un would disappear from view. Shouts of laughter from the rest. Old Colonial, in high delight, would proceed to show how cleverly the Little'un had adapted his armchair to his exact weight; and how it was unable to support the addition of the great load of victuals which that individual had unthinkingly stowed away. The Little'un would arise silent and perplexed; and, by-and-by, we would find him deeply pondering over the manufacture of his scaffolding, and probably shaping another small tree with his axe to add to it. The most important items of the shanty's plenishing are the bunks and beds. The former are made in this way, having been constructed by the carpenter at the township. A simple folding trestle at head and foot supports two parallel bars. Across these is stretched and nailed stout canvas. Each of us has one of these bedsteads, which are very convenient in the limited dimensions of our shanty, for they can be folded and stacked out of the way when necessary. The beds themselves are curiously fabricated. Old potato-sacks, flour-bags, and the like have been utilized. The stuffing is of fern, feathers, mounga, and sundry other matters. Each of us has two or more blankets, which, I regret to say, are a trifle frowsy as a rule. O'Gaygun's call for special remark. This descendant of Hibernian kings is content to undergo even greater inconveniences than he necessarily need do, since he has determined to make his fortune in the shortest possible space of time. Moreover, he professes the profoundest contempt for luxury and even comfort. He holds that almost anything civilized is an effeminacy, and out of place in the bush, where he considers that life ought to be lived in a stern and "natchral" way. He is intensely conservative in the primitive usages and habits of the roughest pioneering times, and emphatically condemns any innovations thereupon. He works with furious zeal and unflagging energy, and saves all the money he earns, generally investing it in gold-mine scrip, or something that rarely turns out well. In the matter of blankets and bedding, the spirit of O'Gaygun's economy and self-sacrifice is apparent. His bedding is like that of all of us, except that it is less bulky--O'Gaygun asserting that a soft bed is a sin. His blankets have long been worn out; in fact, they are the mere shreds and tatters of what once were blankets. Bunk he has none. It would go against his principles to get one. If any of us is absent, O'Gaygun borrows his bunk for the time. When all are present he contents himself with the inverted table, his especial four-poster. To see this eccentric Milesian settling himself for the night is invariably a mirthful spectacle, and, it may be added, that, no one of us is more volubly humorous and laughter-loving than O'Gaygun himself. Reclining on the sacks which he has spread out upon the table, he proceeds to draw his tattered blankets carefully over his lengthy limbs. Piece by piece he spreads the coverings. First one foot and then another, then the waist, and so on, until at last he is entirely covered. The process is troublesome, perhaps; but when it is finished O'Gaygun lies as warm and comfortable as need be. Why should he go to the expense of new blankets? Of course there is in the shanty a litter of cans, kegs, old packing-cases, and the like, which come into use in various ways. Among them are the remains of former state, in the shape of certain trunks, portmanteaus, and boxes. These receptacles held our wardrobes, when we possessed such things, and the sundry personals we brought with us from England years ago, and imported up here. We have long got over the feeling that it is imperative to hoard up clothes and things in boxes; in fact, we have no longer any clothes and things that require such disposal. But in the bush everything must serve some purpose or other; and so all these now disused trunks are turned to use. One grand old imperial is now a brine-tub, within whose dank and salt recesses masses of beef and pork are always kept stored ready for use. Other cases hold sugar, salt, flour, and so on; a uniform case is now our bread-basket; each has its proper purpose, and is accomplishing its final destiny. There is a fine leather portmanteau, or what was once such, now the residence of a colley bitch and her litter of pups. Mildewed and battered as it is, it still seems to recall to mind faint memories of English country-houses, carriages, valets, and other outlandish and foreign absurdities. There must be magic in that old valise, for, the other day, Dandy Jack was looking at the pups that live in it, and remarked their kennel. A fragment of schoolboy Latin came into his head, and, to our astonishment, he murmured, "_Sic transit gloria mundi!_" To avoid the possibility of any mistakes arising from an admission just made, I hereby beg to state that we do _not_ consider clothing as entirely superfluous. But we no longer regard it from any artistic or ornamental point of view; that would be to derogate from our character as bushmen. We are not over-burdened with too large a choice of clothing. Such as we have is pretty much held in common, and all that is not in immediate use finds a place on the partition-rack, or the shelves upon it. We are supposed to possess _another_ change of garments apiece, but no one knows exactly how he stands in this matter, unless it be the Little'un, whose superior amplitude of limb debars him from the fullest exercise of communal rights. Our ordinary costume consists of flannel shirt and moleskin breeches, boots, socks, leggings, belt, and hat. In chilly and wet weather we sling a potato-sack, or some ancient apology for a coat, round our shoulders. When we visit the township, or our married neighbours, we clean ourselves as much as possible, and put on the best coat we can find in the shanty. We do not entirely dispense with such things as towels and handkerchiefs, though the use of them is limited, and substitutes are employed. Razors, of course, were discarded long ago, but some antique brushes, and a small piece of cracked looking-glass, represent the toilette accessories of the shanty. Our custom is to wear our clothes just as long as they will hold together, before we renew any garment by purchasing another of its kind at the township store. There is no time for mending in the bush, so we are often rather ragged. Washing is a nuisance, but we feel bound to go through it sometimes; and very knowing laundrymen are we, up to every dodge for economizing elbow-grease, and yet satisfactorily cleansing the things. But we do not undertake this work too often. Old Colonial has laid down a law upon the subject. He says-- "Frequent washing spoils clothes, and causes them to rot sooner. Besides, it is unnecessary where there are no women about, and a loss of time if it trenches on more important work." Dandy Jack is an exception to the common sumptuary habits of the bush. In fact, he is an exceptional character altogether. Place him where you will, and he always looks fit for a drawing-room. How he manages it, no one knows. Many have tried to imitate him, but without success. They have expended much money, and time, and thought, in the endeavour to compete with our dandy chum, but have had, sooner or later, to give up in despair, and return to tatters and grime like the common run of folk. Dandy Jack always carries a small swag about with him from place to place, wherever he may temporarily pitch his tent. If he rides, it is behind his saddle; if he boats, it is beside him; if he walks, it is on his back. Yet it is not only this that enables him to appear as he does. Other people can carry swags as well as he. But Dandy Jack has a peculiar genius which other persons lack. That must be it! There is one portion of our domicile that we are accustomed to speak of with a certain fond and lingering reverence. This is THE LIBRARY. High up in one corner, festooned with cobwebs, are a couple of shelves. Upon them are a pile of tattered newspapers and periodicals, a row of greasy volumes, mostly of the novel sort, one or two ancient account-books, and the fragmentary relics of a desk containing pens, ink, and paper. Such as it is, our library is more than every establishment like ours can boast of. There is precious little time for reading or writing in the bush. The smaller half of the shanty, divided from the rest and from the chimney-place by the incomplete partition already spoken of, is termed by us the dairy. It is not in any way separate from the rest of the house, though, since we use it and sleep in it as part of the general apartment. But here, arranged on shelves all round the walls, are tin dishes and billies, a churn, a cheese-press, and the various appurtenances of a dairy. Humble and primitive as are these arrangements, we do yet contrive to turn out a fair amount of butter and cheese. At such seasons as we have cows in milk, this makes a fair show to our credit every week, in the ledger of the township storekeeper, our good friend the Mayor. It will be readily understood that our table equipage is not of the best or most sumptuous description. It fluctuates in extent a good deal from time to time, and always presents the spectacle of pleasing variety. We are never without appliances and substitutes of one kind or other; and members of the society now and then add to the stock such items as they severally deem desirable, or happen to pick up cheap "down the river." Experience has taught us that meat is meat still, although it may be eaten direct out of frying-pan or stew-pot. It is just as good, better we think, as when served up on Palissy ware or silver. Knives and forks are distinctly a product of civilization; custom holds us to the use of them. But what are a sheath-knife and a wooden skewer, if not everything that is needed? Those ultra-conservatives among our number, those rigid adherents to the most primitive bush-life, of course despise all the refinements of the table. Plates, forks, and spoons are to them degeneracies,--things that no noble bushman needs or requires. They scorn any leanings towards luxury and ease. Give _them_ a life that is totally free from the petty trammels and slavish conventionalities of the old world! At one time we were possessed of but a single plate, an iron one, which had lost its enamel, and was half eaten through by rust; we had only one fork, and that had only a prong and a half remaining. But we had our cooking-pots and billies, our sheath-knives, wooden skewers, fingers, and O'Gaygun's shingle-plates. What more could any one want? And if there were not enough pannikins or mugs to hold our tea all round, there were empty preserve-cans, gallipots, and oyster-shells! We were content and happy. But this blissful state was to be rudely broken. One day, a member of our party had been down Helensville way. There had been an auction of the effects of a settler, who was moving off to the South Island. Our chum had not been able to resist the temptation, and had invested all he was worth in an assortment of goods. It was night when he returned, and we were all in the shanty. He came up from the boat, staggering under the weight of a great kit full of crocks and such-like. Of course, the excitement was great as we surveyed the heap of new treasures we had acquired. Even O'Gaygun was enchanted for a moment, till he remembered himself, and assumed the stern and savage bearing befitting the leader of our conservatives. His scorn was withering. "F'what might this be?" he would ask, fingering contemptuously first one thing and then another. "An' f'what do ye do wid it, at all?" he inquired, as article after article was reviewed, affecting the airs of wonderment supposed to belong to a child of nature. Presently his humour changed, and he passed into the declamatory stage. "'Tis a sinful exthravagance! a temptin' av Providence!" he exclaimed. "Plates! an' faaks! an' dishes! an' sacers! did ivver anny wan see the loike? F'what do ye expict nixt? Kid gloves to work in, maybe! That ivver I'd see the day whan sich degrading emblems av the ould superstitions of sassiety was brought into the bush! Ough!" So much and more the O'Gaygun. But there is a sequel to the incident. Some time after, when we had learnt to love and cherish these acquisitions, the Little'un was one day detailed as hut-keeper. It so happened that he had our entire stock of crockery to wash up, as we generally work through the set before any one will act as scullery-maid. The Little'un got through his task; he washed every plate and cup we had got; but, not finding any towel or cloth handy, he disposed the things on the stones in the chimney-place, round the stove to dry. There he left them, and went off to chop firewood, forgetting to fasten the door. Directly the Little'un's back was turned, a wandering pig arrived on the scene. Seeing the open door, he resolved to prospect a bit, and accordingly entered the shanty. What followed can now never be precisely known, but conjecture allows us to arrive at the probable truth. The pig's first discovery was a number of comical objects, whose purpose he could not divine, stuck about among stones and gravel. He ruminated over these awhile, and at last inquisitively snouted one dish that stood alone, like a small monument. Down went the strange thing and smashed. The pig thought this was singular, and was somewhat startled. Still, he resolved to persevere in his investigations. He inserted his nose into a long, hollow thing that lay there, but could not get it out of the jug again. In his horror and fright at such an extraordinary accident, he plunged round and round the place; and, as he went, things fell and cracked and crashed under his feet in an awful and terrifying manner. At last he hit the thing that covered his snout against something hard, and it, too, broke. But a splinter wounded his nose, and made him squeal and fairly scream with pain and fright. At last, executing one final pirouette and gambado, while the strange things crunched and crackled at every move of his, he rushed out through the door, oversetting a man who was coming in with a bundle of firewood. It was a scene of woe when the rest of us arrived from work. Concern and consternation sat on every brow, as the Little'un unfolded his tale, and we surveyed the universal smash of our crockery. Only O'Gaygun showed signs of levity. In stentorian tones he shouted:-- "A jedgment! a jedgment on ye, bhoys! The very bastes is sint to prache aginst yer exthravagance an' lukshury! The pigs is tachin' ye as they tached the howly St. Anthony av ould! O glory, glory! 'tis grand!" But his remarks were ill-timed. Conservatism was out of favour just then, and the Liberals were in power. The wrath of the assembly was turned upon this audacious prophet; and, excommunicated from the shanty, it was very late before humanity compelled us to let him have his supper. And I may mention that fresh pork chops were added to the bill of fare that night. CHAPTER VI. OUR HOME-LIFE. Among the friends of colonists at home in Britain, among those who talk most and know least of this land of the blest, I specify three classes. First, there are the people who talk of "roughing it" with an air of rapturous enjoyment, and a Micawber-like roll of the voice, as if that were really something good, something both pleasant and praiseworthy in itself. Again, there are those who shudder at the bare idea, and who conceive it, perhaps, to be a good deal worse than it really is. Lastly, there are some who are quite vacuous in the matter, either because the term conveys no meaning to their minds, or because Nature has made them indifferent to personal comfort and discomfort. Now, in the first place, roughing it is not a nice process. There is nothing at all delightful or charming about it. Plainly, it is suffering. Suffering of numberless discomforts and privations, slight in themselves as a rule, though not invariably so, but certainly a serious matter in the aggregate. Nor is there anything grand or glorious in the prospect of roughing it. Merely in itself it does not add to a man's good in any particular way. It has to be got through in order that certain ends may be achieved. That is about the sum of it. On the other hand, there is nothing to daunt healthy young fellows in the prospect of roughing it. Only those who are delicate, or who are of sensitive nature, need turn back from the possibility of it. And it must be remembered that, to succeed eventually in any path of life whatsoever, some sort of hardship, toil, and self-sacrifice must be undergone. Of course, you cannot carry the drawing-room with you into the bush. That side of life, with much of the refinement belonging to it, is swept completely out of your reach. And what is of more importance still, your existence is apt to grow somewhat unintellectual. Yet these are matters that are already remedying themselves. As comfort and competence are gradually achieved, and as society becomes large, so do the higher results of civilization follow. And as pioneering progresses into the more advanced stages of improvement, so do the opportunities and possibilities for mental work and culture become more generally and readily appreciable. To us, when we first came out from England, the life here seemed utterly delightful, because it was so fresh and novel. We were quite captivated with it. Our existence was a perpetual holiday and picnic, to which the various difficulties and discomforts that cropped up only seemed to add more zest. But we soon got over that. We soon began to find that it did not rain rosewater here. A rude picnic prolonged day after day, year after year, soon lost its enchantment, and merged into something very like suffering. We began to yearn after those flesh-pots of Egypt which we had left behind us; and there were times when we have regretted that we ever emigrated at all. Now we have settled down to a calm and placid contentment with our lot. We begin to see what results are possible to us, and there are signs that our chrysalis condition is finite after all, and that some reward for our toil will be ours ere long. The days of our worst poverty and difficulty lie behind us, and better things are in store. We have been thankful for one thing. Our society in this district is limited; but it comprises persons of some small amount of cultivation and intelligence. We appreciate this at its fullest, for most of us have, at one time or other, had to work in other parts of the colony, where our only associates were of the rudest and dullest mental organization. We are kindred spirits, and are happy in our way, making light of difficulties, laughing at hardships and privations, and mocking at poverty and toil. By this means we believe that we enjoy to the utmost all the good that there is in this life of ours, and that we measurably lessen the struggles and troubles that have to be gone through. And now to revert more particularly to our home life in the shanty. The insect world is a great feature in Northern New Zealand, both as to variety, which is extensive, and as to quantity, which is illimitable. Within our shanty there are certain species which make themselves felt, smelt, or otherwise apparent to our annoyance, without taking into consideration the hosts that, as far as we are concerned, are innocuous. St. Patrick is reported to have driven all the snakes out of Ireland; and, according to O'Gaygun, he afterwards journeyed over here, and performed the same service in these islands. The deed was done, says my informant, in order that this Canaan of the South Sea might be made ready for descendants of Hibernian kings, when the proper time should come; and that time, he continues, was when loyal and true sons of Erin should be seeking afar for a home, where the Land League would cease from troubling; and the landlord be at rest! Well, we have no snakes, thanks to St. Patrick, but if that gentleman had only continued and completed his work, so far as to have excluded certain insect pests as well, we could have felt more beholden to him. We have them both out of doors and indoors, but it is with the invaders of our sanctuary that I have at present to deal. First, there is the mosquito. We have them here of all sorts and sizes. Sometimes they come by twos and threes, and sometimes they come in swarms. They are a deadly nuisance anyway, and a most obnoxious addition to the inhabitants of our shanty. The peculiar delight of a mosquito is to arrive just at the moment when you are falling off to sleep, properly fatigued with your day's work. You hear a long, threatening boom, which finally ends with a sharp jerk, like buzz-z-z-z-z-z-zup. Then you wait in anxious expectancy for what you well know will come next. It does come, a sharp prick on some part where you least expected it. You slap angrily at the place, and hurt yourself, but not the mosquito. O no! he is gone before you can satisfy your just vengeance, and he leaves a mark of his visit that will worry you for days after. Wise people envelope themselves in gauze mosquito-bars, but we are not wise, and we do not. Conceive the fury of O'Gaygun at such an innovation, such pampering, effeminacy, luxury! Who would venture to introduce a mosquito-bar into a community of which he is member? What might not be expected from this most conservative of pioneers? Even Old Colonial says it is better that we should "harden ourselves to it." But occasionally, in the stilly watches of the night, I hear a hasty remark from his corner of the shanty, which leads me to believe that, with all the years of his mosquito experience, he is not wholly hardened yet. Then there is the sandfly, another enemy of our peace. This creature is not so bad as the first, though. It is true his sting is sharp, and always draws a drop of blood, but there is no after irritation. Sometimes, when sandflies abound about us, we make them contribute to our amusement in moments of leisure. Bets are made, or a pool is formed, and we stretch out our closed fists together and wait. By-and-by a sandfly settles on the back of some one's hand, and proceeds to browse. Once his proboscis is buried in the skin, the hand is opened, and he is caught, for he cannot withdraw his weapon from the now contracted skin. Then the capturer pockets the stakes, and executes the bloodsucker. Such is one of our simple pastimes. Another insect foe of ours is one not wholly unknown in other parts of the world. It is the nimble flea. St. Patrick is not to blame for leaving this reptile here. He is not indigenous. He was unknown to the Maoris until the coming of the Pakeha; but he has naturalized himself most thoroughly now. The "little stranger," as the natives playfully term him, is to be found in abundance in every Maori wharè. Excluded with the greatest difficulty from the best appointed houses in the colony, in the humbler residences of the bush, and in our shanty, for example, his name is Legion. Why this should be so, we have never troubled our heads to inquire; we simply accept the fact as it is. Possibly our floor, that, in spite of a daily brooming and a weekly sluicing, is ever well carpeted with dust and mud, is one source of these pests. And, now I think of it, there is a nightly scuffling underneath the boards, which leads to the conclusion that pigs, dogs, and fowls, are harbouring among the piles beneath. Every night, before turning in, we are accustomed to shake whole regiments of fleas out of our blankets. Not infrequently we sprinkle the blankets with kerosene oil; and, sometimes, in hot weather find it necessary to anoint our bodies all over with the same thing. That keeps off the crawling plagues until we have time to get to sleep, and then we do not care for them. But I think we really have got hardened to the fleas. We feel the annoyance of them but little now. One of the chums, a harmless, peaceable fellow yclept "The Fiend"--I know not for what particular reason--has lately invented a new game for our evening's diversion. He calls it flea-loo. After supper it is our usual custom to sit on the edge of the floor, where it abuts upon the fireplace. That part of our domicile, it will be remembered, is paved with a sort of gravel of loose stones, and, sooth to say, with a good deal of _débris_ of every sort and kind. The stove stands in the middle. As we sit there, the sensations in our legs remind us that fleas like warmth too, and that the gravelly bottom of the chimney-place is a favourite assembly-room of theirs. But they are of aspiring nature, and this fact was known to the Fiend. Under his advice, each man plants a stick upright in the gravel before him. Then we make a pool and await the result. The fleas soon come out, and begin to crawl up the sticks; and, by-and-by, some individual of the race reaches the top of the stick. The owner of that stick takes the pool. Here is another gentle and Arcadian sport. And now, with considerable trepidation, and with something verging upon veritable awe, I approach a subject that I feel myself scarcely competent to handle. Fraught with the deepest interest to every new-chum, and a matter of no light concern to even the oldest colonist, it is one that demands an abler and more facile pen than mine to do full justice to it. Some one has boldly asserted that, throughout the infinite treasure-house of Nature, every separate and single thing has its particular and well-defined purpose. Without attempting to dispute a proposition so emphatically and dogmatically brought forward, it will be sufficient for me to say that men have asked in shuddering horror, and must still continue to ask, what part in the economy of creation is the sphere of duty or usefulness of that malignant thing we call the KAURI-BUG.[5] We do not know whether this insect is known to naturalists or not. That is a slight matter, and not particularly pertinent to the question of its interest for us. We believe, however, that no naturalist has yet been found of sufficiently ardent temperament, and of sufficiently hardy nerves, to attempt to classify or examine this most infamous of bugs. Appearances are deceptive very often; they are so in this instance. Nothing could look more innocent and inoffensive than the kauri-bug, yet few insects rival it in crime. It is an oval shape, anything under and up to the size of a crown piece. It is flat, black, hard, and shiny, and resembles a cross between the English black-beetle and the woodlouse or slater. It stinks. That is all it does, but it is enough. Look at it, and it is harmless enough. But tread on it, touch it, disturb it never so slightly, and instantly the whole surrounding atmosphere is permeated with a stench more infernally and awfully horrible than anything else this side of the Styx! The kauri-bug inhabits dead-wood of various kinds, but chiefly does it love that of the tree from which it derives its name. It invades houses built with open joints like ours in regiments and battalions, bringing all its family and luggage with it. The best class of houses are here built in a fashion styled bug-proof, but even they cannot wholly exclude this fearful thing. It comes in hidden in the firewood, and once in the house it stops there, since no one is courageous enough to turn it out. It appears to be indifferent as to whether the house is new or old, well-built or ruinous. If the structure is of kauri timber the kauri-bug will be there, and it will put up with any other wood if kauri timber is not available. It is one of the peculiar products indigenous to Northern New Zealand, and it is the least attractive of all. Dandy Jack, who has been in North America, is my authority for stating that the celebrated odour of the skunk is mild and refreshing, compared to the unutterable loathsomeness of that of the kauri-bug. I can well believe it. How well I remember one of my first nights in the bush! It appears that one of these diabolical insects had got into my blankets. I rolled over and crushed it in my sleep. Inured as I had been by circumstances to bad smells, this conquered me. I awoke perspiring from a frightful nightmare. I rushed from my bed, from the room, from the house, to escape the hideous effluvium; and--well, darkness veiled the rest! Nature has in this insect achieved the very acme and culmination of repulsive villainy. Fortunately she has mitigated it in two ways. The stench is volatile and soon disappears; while settler's noses get used to it in a measure. Were it not for these merciful provisions, colonization in this land would be an utter impossibility for people who had olfactory nerves at all. The kauri-bug would have driven us back to England long ago. As an instance of an earnest but mistaken striving after the true colonial fertility of invention and readiness of resource, I put on record the following. The Fiend once evolved from the obscurest depths of his inner consciousness a truly fearful and alarming plan. In this gentleman's somewhat feeble intellect there floats a sort of hazy reverence for a mysterious force denominated by him "kimustry." And to this occult power he appears to ascribe a magical potency, that recalls memories of the "Arabian Nights." We conclude that, at some time or other, the Fiend had been told, or had read, that a certain delightful perfume, _eau de millefleurs_ I think it is called, was derived by chemical agency from sewage, or some equally malodorous matter. He appears to have formed the idea that any disgusting stink could be turned, by "kimustry," into a delicious perfume; and, further, that the more horrible the original stink might be, the more ravishingly delightful would be the perfume to be derived from it. One night, when the parliament of our shanty was assembled in full conclave, the Fiend enunciated his views. Seriously and circumstantially he put forward his proposition. This was that we were to form ourselves into a joint-stock company; that we were to cultivate and make collections of kauri-bugs; that we were to find a "kimust" who could "do the trick," and employ him; and that we were to introduce to the world, and grow rich by, the sale of a sort of celestialized essence of kauri-bugs. In proof of good faith, the Fiend produced a box full of kauri-bugs that he had collected for experiment, and handed them among the midst of us. Conceive our horror and consternation at this unnatural and appalling proposal. Springing instantly to his feet, O'Gaygun demanded that the Fiend be forthwith taken out and hung from the nearest tree. But the Fiend saved his life by immediately withdrawing his proposition and his bugs, humbly suing for mercy. It was then thought that our duty to humanity would necessitate our sending the unhappy Fiend for incarceration in the Whau Lunatic Asylum, where they were in want of "subjects," as Old Colonial significantly remarked. That point is still under debate. Meanwhile, the Fiend still lives, but is kept under strict surveillance. There is another of our insect enemies which must have special mention, and that is the Maori blow-fly. We have flies of many sorts, house-flies and blue-bottles among them. The latter, the blue-bottles, get very big, and have an increased propensity for multiplying themselves, and that in their usual unpleasant manner. But over all the blue-bottles' old-fashioned systems the Maori blow-fly soars supreme. It is a colonizer with a vengeance. It does not go to the trouble of laying eggs or nits; it carries its family about ready hatched. The blow-fly is always ready, at a moment's notice, to deposit an incredible number of lively, hungry maggots upon any desirable surface. The difficulty of keeping fresh or cooked meat, and various other provisions, will be readily appreciated. The blow-fly will cause its disagreeable offspring to take part in every meal. Maggots are showered down on your very plate. A string of them may be deposited on the mouthful on your fork. The blow-fly is not particular. If you have a wound, cover it up, or the maggots will speedily be in it. The eyes of cattle and sheep are often full of them. If blankets or clothes are hung up to air in the sun, they will soon be white with living organisms; though, for want of moisture, they cannot live more than a few minutes in such a situation, luckily. There is little or nothing we can do against these foes. We get used to them, and try to forget their existence. We keep them out where possible. We salt our food, which they do not like. But we are unable to keep them down, or fight with them. Even argument with a blow-fly is inadmissible. We have spiders as big as walnuts, with great hairy legs two or three inches long. We would rather encourage them, as they help to keep down the flies, and they do no harm, though not pretty to look at. There is said to be a poisonous spider in the country, but no one in the North seems to know anything about it. We regard it as a myth. Other insects we have in profusion, but none that affect us like those I have specially spoken of. After all, we have no great cause for complaint. Some trivial annoyance is the worst we have to suffer in this way. We have no scorpions, snakes, poisonous centipedes, or any other vile thing of that sort. I have told the worst of our indoor plagues. Rats and mice we have, of course, as they swarm in the bush; but our dogs, and a cat or two, keep the shanty fairly clear of them. Our commissariat is plentiful and varied enough. With slight exception we are our own providers, living almost entirely on our own produce, as farmers should. Sometimes the pressure of work leads to carelessness in catering and cooking, and we are consequently reduced to short commons, for which there is no sort of need. In the worst times of poverty we should not starve. The river is always full of fish; and things must be more than bad if one could not get credit for a sack of flour or potatoes with the Mayor, or with some other storekeeper on the rivers. And, after the first year, the garden ought to produce enough vegetables, potatoes, kumera, taro, pumpkins, and maize, to keep the family going, even if everything else failed them. Pig-meat, in its various forms, is our staple article of food. We breed and fatten a large number of pigs on the clearings round the shanty. These we butcher in batches of six or eight, as required, and turn into salt pork, bacon, and ham. We have occasionally sent a cask or two of pork, some flitches or hams, to market; but as a rule we consume our pigs on the farm. Pig-meat is most reliable as a staple. One does not tire of it so utterly as one does of either mutton or beef, if one of these be the invariable daily food. Beef we rarely see in our shanty. The steers we breed are too valuable to be used by ourselves; they have to go to market. Only occasionally we find it necessary to slaughter some unmanageable rusher, a cow, or bullock, and then we have beef, fresh and salted down. Mutton was just as scarce for several years, as we could not afford to kill out of our small flock; and mutton is not good to salt down. Now, we kill a sheep every week, sometimes a couple, as the township will take the surplus meat, and so it pays us. We keep a great number of turkeys on the clearings, as also a less number of ducks and poultry, to diminish the crickets, caterpillars, and other insect foes. These birds are now practically wild, and give us something like sport to shoot them. There are hundreds of turkeys, as they thrive amazingly, consequently we often have them at table. Eggs, too, are plentiful enough, whenever any one takes the trouble to hunt up some nests. As to wild game of any sort, we get little enough of that; for we cannot spare time to go after it. Sometimes we may shoot some of the splendid wild pigeons, some kakas, parrots, tuis, wild duck, teal, or the acclimatized pheasants. Wild pig is nauseous eating, so that is not sought after. Every now and then we go in for fish. There are schnapper, rock-cod, mullet, mackerel, and herring, or species that answer to those, to be had for very little trouble. There are also soles, which we catch on the mud-banks and shallows at night, wading by torchlight, and spearing the dazzled fish as they lie. When we make a great haul we salt, dry, or smoke the capture for lasting use. The endless oyster-beds, and other shell-fish, we rarely touch, they are not worth the time and trouble, we consider. Tea is the invariable beverage at every meal, and almost the only one, too. Milk is generally available in our shanty as a substitute, but somehow we stick to the tea. We drink quarts and quarts of it every day, boiling hot, and not too weak. Throughout New Zealand and all the Australian colonies this excessive tea-drinking is the universal practice. Even the aboriginal races have taken to it just as kindly. It is such a good thirst-quencher, every one says, so cooling in warm weather, and so warming in cold seasons. We had an earnest medico on a visit to us lately. He inveighs strongly against tea-drinking, which he says is the curse of these countries. I think he would preach a crusade against it if he dared; for, of course, he would have to join issue with Good Templars, Sons of Temperance, and all the fanatical anti-alcoholists. These zealous reformers are so blindly infatuated with their hatred for alcohol, that tea seems to them its natural antithesis, and they vaunt it as if it were a celestial boon. And such people are a political power out here--worse luck! The doctor declares--"Tea-drinking is one of the most serious mistakes of our age and race in these new countries. It produces, first of all, a low form of chronic dyspepsia, whose effect is immediately perceived in early decay of the teeth. It often seriously affects the great organs--the liver, kidneys, stomach, and heart--predisposing them to derangement, and aiding the progress of organic mischief in them, should that arise from other causes. It affects the nerves, causing irritability and debility in them. Nervous power becomes impaired, reacting with evil effect upon the ganglionic centres and the brain. Hence the mind must become insidiously affected also. I am quite sure that the character of our colonists is being modified by their practice of excessive tea-drinking, and I cannot believe that the change will be for the better. I believe that we may trace to tea, gloominess, misanthropy, loss of cheerfulness, a restless energy without fixity of purpose, a sour temper, a morbid and abnormal simplicity, leading to intellectual retrogression instead of progress, and to a tendency to yield to superstitious fancies, with loss of control over reason and its advancement. What will be the future of these young tea-drowned nations?" Fortunately, we only understood a fraction of this tirade, yet we trembled and shivered ever afterwards as we drank our tea. Then the doctor showed us how to make sugar-beer, treacle-beer, cabbage-tree-root-beer, honey-beer, peach-cider, corn-cider, and various other drinks of a more or less unlicensed kind. So now we have usually something else to quaff besides tea. Peaches we have in any quantity; and the cider they make is capital stuff. Honey abounds in every hollow tree; and the mead or metheglin we compound is a fine drink. Flour and meal we have to buy. By-and-by there will be a flour-mill at the township, for already some of the more forward settlers near are growing wheat. Maize we do not use ourselves, except as a green vegetable. Some people grind it and use the meal for cakes, but we principally turn it into pig-meat or fowl-flesh. Our garden department, though not always so well managed as it might be, yet adds largely to our food supply. The principal crops are potatoes, kumera (sweet potatoes), and pumpkins; good substantial food that will keep, and, should we have a surplus, will sell. We don't bother with green vegetables; they don't pay, we think, and boiled green maize-cobs suffice us for that class of thing. But, in such seasons as it has occurred to any one to go in for more extensive gardening, we rejoice in a profusion of carrots, turnips, parsnips, onions, taro, beet-root, and sundry other things. Fruit can hardly be looked on as a food; it is merely an ornamental accessory to it, in our opinion. We are great fruit-consumers, but we look on such trifles as only refreshers for odd moments, and not as having anything to do with the serious business of eating. We have pretty well all the fruits that are seen in English gardens, and besides them we have quantities of various sorts of melons and peaches, also specimens of oranges, lemons, shaddocks, grapes, loquats, quinces, pomegranates, guavas, Cape gooseberries, figs, almonds, and some others. We have even bananas, which are a success in most seasons. The marvellous profusion and richness of our fruit-crops, leads to the belief that industries connected with fruit-growing will eventually be found to succeed best in the North. Of course, long practice in cooking has made us tolerably proficient in the simpler processes of the art. Several of us are very fair all-round cooks, but Old Colonial is supreme in this, as in most things. He is a veritable Soyer of the bush. When he chooses to exert his skill he can turn out the most wonderful dishes. Where he learnt, and how he learnt, no one can tell; but he seems to be a perfect master of cookery in every shape and form. In spite of the peculiarities of our table-service, we fare sumptuously often enough, much more so than many people who would disdain to feed without linen and dishes and plates, forks, spoons, and other things that we hold in slight regard. Old Colonial's name has gone abroad through the country. When any one of our neighbours goes in for the luxury of a wife, Old Colonial is not infrequently called in to educate her in culinary matters. He is a past master in endless wrinkles, dodges, makeshifts, and substitutes of all sorts; and has, besides, an unbounded faculty of invention that is highly satisfactory to our little commonwealth. One hot and blazing Christmas-tide we invited all the married people, who lived within anything like reasonable distance, to visit our shanty--Bachelor's Hall, as the ladies termed it. Such an entirely novel and unusual event as the visit of some of the gentler sex to our shanty was an occasion of no light moment. Old Colonial determined to banquet our visitors in the superbest possible style, and vast preparations were at once undertaken. Two days before the expected arrival, all hands set to work in the arduous and unavailing endeavour to render the shanty approximately clean and respectable. Such a turn out as that was! Such an unlooked for bringing to light of things that must be nameless! We broomed and we scrubbed, we washed and we sluiced, we even tinkered and mended, we cleaned and we swore, and made our lives temporarily miserable; and yet, with all this, how grimy, and dirty, and mean, and wretched, that shanty of ours would continue to look! Never had our household property been subjected to such a cleaning up as that was. Gradually some order was introduced into the chaos, and at last we began to think we should convey a favourable impression after all. But our chief concern was in the matter of table equipage. One of us was sent over to the township, with orders to beg, borrow, or steal, all the crockery and table-cutlery in the place. Another was dispatched on horseback through the bush somewhere else, and on the same errand, that something like proper table furniture might grace the feast. Then our wardrobe underwent inspection. Some one had to go over to the township and buy new shirts for all of us, with several pairs of trousers, and other things. O'Gaygun stormed and wept at this outrage; but our boss was firm for the proprieties, as he estimated them. The worst of it was, we had to contemplate frightful expenditure. And more, it was humiliating that our previous condition should be made known to the Mayor, who, with his wife, were to be among our guests. But, what matter? The Mayor is a good fellow, and a friend; and what can be too great a sacrifice to make for England, Home, and Beauty!--especially the last. We all had our tasks. There was the path between the shanty and the landing-place to be put in proper condition; various muddy places in it to be covered with fascines; a certain watercourse we were in the habit of jumping to be newly-bridged, and so forth. Then there was the catering. Two of us were out with guns, shooting turkeys, pheasants, pigeons, fowls, and anything else that was eatable. Others were butchering the fairest and fattest pig in our drove, and doing the same by a lamb. Two were out on the river diligently fishing, or collecting oysters and cockles. Some, too, were employed in the garden, picking fruit, gathering vegetables, and so forth, and so on. All day and all night the stove was redhot, while a supplementary fire blazed outside the shanty. Between them oscillated Old Colonial, pipe in mouth, hirsute and unkempt, grim, grimy, and naked to the waist. His two aids, the Saint and the Fiend, had a bad time of it. They were his scullions, marmitons, turnspits, or whatever you like to call it. They had to keep up the supplies of firewood, to prepare the fowls and fish, and generally to do all the dirty work; and the way that Old Colonial "bossed" them round was an edifying sight to see. The preparations were stupendous. Victuals enough had been laid in to feed a regiment, and the variety of them was endless. But Old Colonial, once having given way to the mania of extravagance, was determined to lay under contribution every conceivable thing, and to turn out more dishes than even an American palace hotel would put on its bill of fare. Finally, it was discovered that the shanty was far too small a place for our banquet. So, on the appointed morning we were up at sunrise, and, from then till noon, we laboured at the construction of a bower; while Old Colonial was busy with his hot meats and confections. The bower was an open shed, running all along the shadiest side of the shanty and beyond. It was a rude erection of rough poles, latticed and thatched--Maori fashion--with fern-fronds and flax. Under it was _the_ table, supplemented by another of loose boards on such supports as we could fabricate; and round it planks resting on kegs and boxes made sufficient seats. Hardly were our preparations finished when the first boat was descried, coming through the mangroves from the river down below, and a parasol was visible in the stern. Then there was a hasty stampede down to the gully to wash; an agonized scuttle into the new shirts; and a hot and anxious assumption of restful calm. And so we welcomed the guests as they came. What a feast that was, and how it astonished everybody! And such a party as our shanty had never witnessed before! For curiosity brought half a dozen ladies--all there were in the district--and fully a score of masculine friends honoured our establishment with their presence. It is not to be supposed, of course, that all our neighbours inhabit rude shanties like ours. Some are further forward, or had more capital at the start; and men do not bring wives into the bush until they can manage to furnish forth a decently comfortable house for them. Our married friends live in respectable comfort. Still, the ladies, living in the bush, get to know its more primitive ways, though they may not experience them themselves. So, our domestic arrangements, though made the occasion for a great deal of banter and fun, were neither unexpected nor novel to our lady visitors. But the banquet that was provided for them made them open their eyes indeed. It was something altogether new to the bush. Such a miracle of catering! such marvellous unheard of cookery! It surpassed anything any one of them had ever seen before, anywhere. The table was covered with white linen, borrowed at the township, and all the equipage we could muster was displayed upon it. Plates, forks, spoons, and knives, there were in plenty; but we had not been able to collect enough dishes and bowls for the profusion of viands Old Colonial had provided. Some parts of the service were therefore peculiar, and caused much addition to the merriment. There was always such incongruity between the excellence of the comestible and the barbaric quaintness of the receptacle that happened to contain it. Soups in billies, turkeys in milk-pans, salads in gourd-rinds, custards in cow-bells, jellies in sardine-boxes, plum-pudding in a kerosene case, vegetables, fruits, and cakes in kits of plaited flax; anything and everything was utilized that possibly could be. High enthroned upon a pile of potato sacks, Old Colonial presided over the feast he had created; while, as vice, sat O'Gaygun, his barbaric conservatism laid aside for the nonce in favour of grace and gallantry. What glorious fun we had! What a flow of wit beneath the august influence of ladies' smiles! And we were cool in our ferny bower, out of the strong hot sunshine. And in the intervals of eating and drinking, we could look about us on the splendid perspective of bush and river, across the clearings, where the air shimmered in the heat, where the crickets whistled and hummed, and where the cattle were lazily lying among the stumps. It was a magnificent picnic, so everybody declared. There never was anything to match it in all New Zealand! I can fancy, that in days to come, when the full tide of civilization has overtaken this fair country, some of those ladies will be sitting in boudoirs and drawing-rooms talking to their children; and they will tell them of the early pioneering days. And one of their best-remembered stories will be that of the Christmas-time, when they were banqueted by Old Colonial and his chums at our shanty in the bush. To a certain extent we are of musical tastes, and, though our time for practice is limited to an occasional half-hour of an evening, we consider ourselves no mean instrumentalists, and sometimes give public performances, as will appear hereafter. We have two flutes, a clarionet, a cornet, and a French horn, often supplemented by two violins and a concertina. Old Colonial does not play, neither does O'Gaygun. They fiercely decline to add to what they term the beastly uproar. If we have a failing, it is to be found in an inability to hang together in our play, and an incapacity for comprehending the said fact. Set either instrumentalist by himself, and he will manage to stumble through a tune; but put the whole orchestra together, and the result usually falls short of what should be harmony. The hornist is our feeblest musician. He has not yet succeeded in eliciting more than two notes and a half out of his instrument, and these he lets off in spasmodic puffs, governed by a curious notion of the proper places for them to fit into the general performance. The flutes are a little unsteady and unreliable; the clarionet always squeaks in pathetic parts; and the cornet imagines that loudness is the chief thing to be desired. There was a newly-married couple recently established a few miles away up the river. Of course, they were received in the district with great acclamation, when they first came up here, after being tied up in Auckland. Bonfires blazed on the ranges, guns were fired, and a procession of boats escorted theirs home. As a strictly bachelor community, we felt some hesitation about going to call and congratulate the couple. This was owing to our own shyness and uncouthness, you understand, not to any disfavour with which we looked upon matrimony as an abstract thing. For we were previously unacquainted with the bride. However, some demon prompted us to give them a midnight serenade. By dint of tremendous practice, we had mastered, as we thought, those three famous melodies, "Home, Sweet Home," "Juanita," and "God Save the Queen." The orchestra was equal to _them_, anyhow, we considered. Neither of our two unmusical associates cared to be left out of the proposed excursion, so a drum was manufactured for Old Colonial, by stretching a sheepskin over the open ends of a cask; O'Gaygun was found incompetent to play on any other instrument but the ancient comb and piece of paper of his happy youth. Then we started, rowing up the river, and anchoring silently off the beach opposite our victim's residence, one night soon after their arrival. The moon was at the full, throwing sombre shadows down from the woods upon the gleaming water, and making the splendid scenery of the river mysterious and romantic. The husband and wife were out on their verandah, enjoying the calm beauty of the night, and sentimentalizing, as newly-married couples will. Suddenly, from the river below them, rises the melancholy and discordant clamour of our performance. Quickly, the voices of the night awake in earnest protest against it. Roosting shags and waterfowl fly screaming away. In the swamp a bittern booms; and strange wailing cries come from the depths of the bush. On the farm dogs bark energetically, cattle bellow, horses neigh, sheep bleat, pigs grunt, ducks quack, and turkeys gobble. Frightful is the din that goes echoing among the woods. And then the outraged bridegroom gets out his gun, and commences rapid file-firing in our direction. But nothing daunts us, or makes us flinch from our fell purpose. Perspiring from every pore, we labour manfully on to the bitter end. Cornet and clarionet strive for the mastery, the flutes tootle along in the rear, the violins screech and squeal, the horn brays with force and fury, and Old Colonial pounds at his drum as if he were driving piles. Not until the last notes of "God Save the Queen" have been duly murdered do we cease; then, breathless and exhausted, we row down river on our homeward way, rejoicing in the performance of a meritorious deed. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 5: A species of _Blatta_, or cockroach, called by entomologists _Polyzosteria Novæ Zealandiæ_.] CHAPTER VII. OUR PIONEER FARM. I. Of course, all farms are not the same, even in the North. Nevertheless, there is a good deal of similarity in the work that has to be got through at the outset. The modifications in it are various, consisting in the character of the land, the amount of capital available, the labour employed, and so forth. But, generally speaking, most settlers must go through pretty much what we did before they get the wilderness reclaimed into an orderly farm. People who commence with plenty of capital have naturally a great advantage. They can employ more labourers, and get the first operations over more quickly. But, more than that, they are not hampered by the necessity of making a living as they go along. They can afford to wait until the farm is in thorough working order before they expect any returns from it. Not many of this class have settled in the North. When a man has large capital, his chief idea is sheep or cattle. And he is not impressed with the notion of making a home, but with the desire to make a great pot. So, if he comes to New Zealand, he goes South as a general thing, and leases a vast run of natural pasturage. In ten or twenty years he has made his pile, and gives up farming altogether. Then he either goes home, or settles down in one of our cities. We were circumstanced very differently from that. When we made up our minds to work for ourselves, instead of acting as labourers to others, we were not blessed with much capital. Our joint purse contained just enough, as we calculated, and it did not contain more. But our notion was to make ourselves a comfortable home, primarily, though, of course, we had our golden dreams as well. The bulk of the land in the North Island belongs to the Maori tribes, who sell tracts of it to Government or private individuals occasionally. In the South Island all the waste land is the property of the Crown--a nice little estate of about the size of England and Wales. Most of the Kaipara district belonged to the Ngatewhatua tribe when we came on the scene; and the early settlers bought their stations from them. We had our korero with the chiefs, and arranged to purchase a block, or section of a block rather, on the Pahi. We selected our location--from such a creek to such a creek, and back from the river as far as such and such a range. We offered ten shillings an acre for it, the then market-price. The chief said, "Kapai!" and so that was settled. Then we got up the Government surveyor for the district, and to it we went with billhook and axe, theodolite and chain, fixing the boundaries and dimensions of our slice of forest. Said the surveyor, after plotting and planning and making a map, "There you are! Two thousand and twenty-one acres, two roods and a half!" "Right," said we; and proceeded to the next business. A Land Court was held by the Crown official at Helensville. Thither proceed the Ngatewhatua chiefs, with the surveys and maps of the section we had chosen. They make out their claim to the land, according to established usage, and receive a Crown grant as a legal title. This is then properly transferred to us, in lieu of our cheque. Various documents are signed and registered, and we stand the proud possessors of so much soil and timber; while the Maoris make tracks straight to the hotel and store, with much rejoicing. Not that we paid in full at the time. Such a simple arrangement would not have suited our pockets, any more than it would have suited the Maori idea of a bargain. A part of the land was paid for and bought outright, the rest was to be paid off in certain terms of years, or sooner, if we liked. Meanwhile, we were to pay interest on the sums remaining due, which was actually a sort of rent for the balance of the estate. As a concession on their side, the Maoris gave us the right of running cattle free over the unpaid-for acres. And as there were no fences, of course, this really meant that we might run our cattle over the whole country side, which was practically what we paid the interest or rent for. Then we entered into possession, and built the shanty. But observe what we had to do in the forthcoming years. We had to get a living, first. We had to pay the annual sum agreed on as a sort of rent, second. We had to provide for the purchase of implements, sundry accessories, and stock, third. Lastly, we had to lay by to meet the future large payments for the land, which would make us proprietors of the whole of it, and, of course, annul the annual rent. Perhaps it will be better understood now why we live in a shanty, and why the furniture of it is so unique in quality and restricted in quantity. How we have got on so well is a marvel, and shows what hard work will do in this country. A thousand pounds would have bought our station outright. But we had not a thousand pounds among us, or anything like it; and we had to reserve money to live on for the first year, to buy our axes and spades and milk-pans, and to buy the nucleus of our future herds and flocks and droves. We have done all we had to do, and now we are beginning to see that our joint work during all these years will eventually produce for us homes and comfort. It is a hard and difficult thing to make money without capital to start with. It is as hard a thing to do in the colonies as it is at home, though people at home are apt to think differently. And it is always the early years of toil that are the worst. Money is like an apple-tree. At first it grows but slowly, and there is no fruit. Then there come little scanty crops, increasing year by year, until at length the tree attains maturity. Then there are full crops, and you realize a handsome profit on your planting. Our station--or, as you may choose to term it, our estate, selection, place, farm, location, homestead, or run--may be reckoned a choice bit of land. The soil is not all of one character, it seldom is so on any one farm in this country, but it is all good class. Most of it is a rich black humus, resting on clay and mountain limestone. In configuration it is of the roughest, like the country generally, being an abrupt succession of ranges, gullies, and basins, in every variety of form and size. When we took possession, nearly every inch of the property was covered with what is termed light bush. It might have been a slice out of the New Forest. The light bush is just as dense a wood of small trees, twenty to fifty feet in height, shrubs, creepers and undergrowth, as can well be conceived of. Where the thicket is thinner the trees are larger, and the smaller they are the denser the covert. If you wish to journey through this light bush, where there is no semblance of a track, it will take you perhaps two hours to make a single mile, so thick is it. To ride through it is, of course, impossible, unless a track has been cut. Two or three miles back from the river--at our back, or behind us, as we say--the heavy bush begins. This is the primeval forest: endless miles of enormous timber-trees, girthing ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet, forty feet, and even more, and of startling height. People cannot make farms out of that; at least, not all at once. The timber is slowly encroached upon to feed the saw-mills. Then the land so denuded can be done something with. The stumps can be fired and left to rot, which they do in about twelve or fifteen years, or they can be stubbed up with infinite labour, or blown out with dynamite, the quickest and least expensive way. We have not much big timber on our section. Here and there are groves of larger trees amidst the jungle, and most of this sort we shall leave standing, for it is not good to totally clear a large farm. Patches of bush are wanted for shade, for cover, and to keep up the supply of moisture. Settlers before us, who have inconsiderately made a clean sweep of everything, have found out their error, and are now planting out groves. But when you get a slice out of miles and miles of pathless woods, and have to hew your future farm out of them, you are apt to forget the more distant future, and go at everything before you with axe and fire. You want to see grass-paddocks and plough-lands. Time enough to think of planting again, or of saving bits of bush. Our first operation was to clear some twenty acres or so, as a primary clearing, wherein our shanty might be built, and a little grass provided to keep the milch-cows near home. We had two or three weeks chopping, then, in the height of the dry season, managed a successful burn of the fallen stuff, letting the fire run among the standing bush where it would, and which it would not to any great extent, as the undergrowth always keeps fresh on such rich soil. Thus we had a small clearing ready to be sown with grass-seed directly the rains should come. And then we were occupied with the erection of the shanty, as already described. After that we had our first stockyard to set up. It is a simple enclosure, measuring a chain or two square; but had to be made of great strength, in view of the contingency of unruly mobs of charging cattle. To procure material we went six or eight miles off, to a creek that ran through heavy bush. There we felled certain giant puriri trees, cut them into lengths, and split them up with wedges into posts and rails. Puriri timber is terribly tough stuff to work. It is harder than oak, and very heavy, too, so that transporting it is serious toil. We groaned over this job, and spoilt numerous axes; but we did it. Terrible work it was getting this material on to the ground. After we had finished cutting, and had split out all the posts and rails we wanted, it was comparatively easy work to punt the stuff into our own water. But then the carrying up from the landing-place, a quarter-mile or so, to the spot selected for the stockyard, was a labour indeed. It took six of us to lift one of the posts, so solid were they, and so heavy the timber. Old Colonial said-- "We are giving over work, and taking to humping." This is a bit of pleasantry that only those who have tried it can understand, for humping timber is one of the most undesirable occupations possible; as many a galled shoulder and aching back could testify. Puriri timber is the strongest and most durable of any in the country. We knew that kauri would give us less work, but the result would not be so lasting or satisfactory. Therefore, we elected to go in for puriri. The posts stand about eight feet above ground, and are sunk some three or four into it. Their average thickness will be from nine inches to a foot. They carry five rails almost as substantial as the posts, both being of roughly split timber. The rails are fixed into holes, bored and wedged in the posts. Slip-panels form an entrance. Such was our first stockyard--a substantial, thoroughly secure, and cattle-proof enclosure. And it is as good now as it was eight years ago. For a long time it served all our needs; but, subsequently, we have put up other yards, a milking-shed with bails, sheep-pens and hog-pens, all constructed of rough material, cut by ourselves in the bush. Having now got our habitation and our stockyard completed, and it being well on in the wet season, with the newly-sown grass springing green over the charred surface of the clearing, obviously it was time to introduce stock. Our agent in Auckland bought for us a dozen good, young cows and a bull, which were despatched to us on a small schooner. She brought them up the river; and then they were dumped into the water, and swum ashore. The whole lot cost us about a hundred pounds, freight and other charges included, the cows being four or five pounds apiece, and the bull forty, he being a well-bred shorthorn from the Napier herd. The cows were belled, and the whole little herd turned loose in the bush. But the cows were tame, some of them being in milk, and we had not much trouble in keeping them near home. The bull would not wander far from the cows, and we drove them up and yarded them, with a good feed of fresh koraka, every now and then. Besides the cattle we introduced some pigs, fowls, and a dog or two. Before long we were milking daily, and beginning to turn out butter and cheese; for the cows throve on the plenteous feed in the bush. Although the wet season is not the usual time for felling bush, yet we went to work at that at once. We were anxious to get as much grass as we could the first year, so that we might get some sheep on it. For, though cattle find plenty of feed in the bush--leafage, and shoots of trees--sheep must be provided with grass, and there is no grass suitable for pasturage indigenous to _Northern_ New Zealand. Accordingly, we worked steadily at bush-falling right along to the end of the succeeding summer; and when the next wet season came round again, we were able to contemplate a hundred and forty acres sown down with grass. Axe-work was our principal daily toil, and it is a somewhat different thing as practised here, to what the English woodman has to do. A bushman's work is severe and energetic, altogether in contrast with the lazy stop-and-rest methods of too many labourers at home. It is a fierce but steady and continuous onslaught upon the woods. Everything must fall before the axe, and everything does fall. Once I was watching the prostration of a Worcestershire oak. It was a tree that might have had some twelve feet of girth. Three men and a boy were employed at it, armed with ropes and pulleys, wedges, saws, and all sorts of implements, besides axes; and it was two days and a half before they got the tree to earth. If a single bushman could not have knocked that tree over before dinner-time, he would not have been worth wages in this country; I am sure of that. Of course, it is an understood thing that England cannot turn out an axe. If you want an axe that is really good for anything, you must go to America for it. Here, in the bush, all our tools come from the land of the Stars and Stripes. Why it should be so ask English cutlers. English tools and cutlery of all sorts cannot find a sale here; for bitter experience has taught us what inferior and unreliable goods they are. American things never fail us. We do not buy them because they are cheaper, but because they are better. They are exactly what we want, and of sterling quality. Now, Sheffield can turn out the best hardware in the world, no one can deny that. Then, why do we not get some of it out here? Some settlers, who have furnished themselves in Sheffield itself, can show tools of finer make than the American ones. But all the cutlery that we see anything of in the stores, if it be English, is thoroughly worthless. Why will English traders continue to suppose that any rubbish is good enough for the colonies? We are afraid to buy English implements and tools out here; and every experienced colonist prefers to trust America. Our patriotism is humiliated, but we cannot afford to be cheated. Surely, trade interests must suffer in the long run, by the pertinacity with which English traders send inferior goods to the colonies. In felling bush, or "falling" it, as we say here, advantage is taken of the lay of the land. To make the burn which is to follow a good one, the stuff must all lie in the same direction. The tops of the felled trees should point downhill as much as possible. The trees are gashed at about three feet from the ground. This saves the bushman's back, obviating the necessity of his stooping, and, moreover, allows him to get through more work. Also, in after years, when the stumps are rotten, they are more easily pulled out of the ground. By a simple disposition of the direction in which the gashes are cut, the bushman is able to bring down his tree to whichever side he wishes. A bill-hook, or slasher, supplements the axe, for the purpose of clearing all the undergrowth. Nothing is left standing above waist-height. The usual time for bush-falling is the dry season, that is to say, from August till March, in which last month the burn is usually accomplished. By that time the fallen stuff has been pretty well dried in the summer sun, and will burn clean. Fires are started along the bottoms on days when the wind is favourable. Some experience is needful to ensure a good burn. Should the burn be a bad one, after work is much increased, and wages consequently spoilt. After the burn comes the logging, that is, the collection into heaps of such _débris_ as lies about unburnt, and the final burning of these heaps. During April and May the rains begin; and then grass seed is sown broadcast over the charred expanse. It soon sprouts up, and in a couple of months there will begin to be some pasturage. Before next season a good strong turf ought to have formed among the stumps. Every farmer has his own particular ideas as to the kinds of seed to use. We used a mixture of poa pratensis, timothy, and Dutch clover, and have abundant reason to be satisfied with the result. When bush-falling is performed by hired labour, it usually goes by contract. The bushman agrees to fall, fire, and log a specified tract, at a fixed price per acre. Such bush as ours would go at thirty shillings to three pounds an acre, according to the size of the trees on the average. A bushman reckons to earn five shillings a day, taking one day with another, so he ought to knock down an acre of stuff in from five to ten days. Thirty or forty acres represent one man's work for the season. A good deal of judgment is required in making these contracts. Where there is a great deal of supple-jack, or tawhera scrub, the work may get on as slowly as if the trees were comparatively large. And there is a good deal of luck in the burn, for if it be a bad one there may be weeks of logging afterwards. Sometimes, at the end of the season, a bushman may find that his contract has not paid him much more than the worth of his tucker during the time; or, on the other hand, he may find he has made ten shillings a day clear out. New-chums often find a job of bush-falling is the first thing they can get hold of, and a bitter apprenticeship it is. Their aching backs and blistered hands convey a very real notion of what hard work and manual labour means. And this goes wearily on day after day, while, very likely, they find they are not earning a shilling a day, do all they may. The ordinary English agricultural labourer, transplanted here, does not seem to do better at this work at the start than the "young gentleman." His class take a lot of teaching, and anything new appears to be a tremendous difficulty to them. Moreover, they have to learn the meaning of an Antipodean ganger's frequent cry, "Double up, there! Double up!" And they do not like to work so hard that every now and then a stop must be made to wring out the dripping shirt. Worst of all, there is seldom any beer in the bush! After we had got some grass clearings, the next thing to do was to fence them in. A very necessary thing that; first, to keep the sheep in--and, second, to keep the wild pigs out. Two most important reasons, besides other lesser ones. Fencing of many kinds has been tried in the colony, the question of relative cost under different circumstances mainly influencing settlers in their choice. I need only mention four varieties as being general in the North. They are post-and-rail, wire, wattle, and stake. The first is undoubtedly the best of any, but the labour of cutting, splitting, getting on the ground, and setting up is so great, that the cost of such a fence is very heavy. It may cost two to five pounds a chain, or more; but it should require no repairs for ten or twelve years, and is proof against cattle, sheep, or pigs. The materials, whether kauri, totara, or other timber, is much the same as that we used for our stockyard, only, of course, it is not needed anything like so strong. But it is the same sort of rough stuff, procured in the same way. As to wire fences, they are useful enough for keeping sheep in, and come in well for inner fences, being sufficiently cheap and easily set up. But they will not keep out wild pigs, and cattle, accustomed to force their way through the thickets of the bush, mistake wire fences for mere supple-jack, and walk straight through them. Wattles interlaced on stakes make first-rate protection, but they can only be used with economy when the supply of them is close handy. The fence most commonly seen on new farms, and that may fairly be termed the pioneer's mainstay, is a simple one of stakes. This is the kind we went in for, as we had the material for it in any quantity upon our own land. The stakes are the trunks of young trees, either whole or split. They are about four inches diameter at the thickest end, and are set up at three or four inches apart. The stakes are connected by one or more battens nailed along them, or by wires. They are cut eight or nine feet in length, so as to allow of a good six feet above ground when set up. Red, black, and white birch are used, also red and white ti-tree, the last variety being most esteemed, as it is more durable. A stake-fence ought to be proof against both pigs and cattle, and is reckoned to be good for seven years; if of white ti-tree it will last ten or twelve years. It will cost, in labour, from eight shillings a chain and upwards, according to the distance the cut stakes have to be moved. Our work in fencing was as follows. The first clearing we set about enclosing was on the side of a range, and included forty or fifty acres. If this were a square there would be some eighty chains or a mile of fencing required to enclose it. Practically, there were nearer a hundred chains of boundary. Each chain required from a hundred to a hundred and thirty stakes. This is about the number that one of us could cut in the day, and bring out of the adjoining bush on to the line. For we got our material in the standing bush close to the clearing, working along the edge of the woods, and seldom having to go further than five chains away from the edge of the clearing to find suitable trees. Two or three men were engaged in pointing the stakes, and dumping and malleting them into the ground. Sometimes they would put up four or five chains in the day, sometimes only one; it depended on the nature of the ground. When the weather was wet, and the ground soft, the work was naturally lighter. After the stakes were set up we had to batten them together. We bought several boatloads of battens--rough outside boards split up, and the like--for next to nothing, at the Wairoa saw-mills, and got them down to our place. Then we had to hump them up to the ground; no light work, for a load had to be carried often nearly a mile uphill. We purchased a keg or two of nails, and finally fixed up the fence. We were proud of our clearings when they were new, and we are proud of them still. But they would look strange sort of paddocks to an English farmer's eye. The ground is all hills and hollows, lying on the sides of ranges, or stretching across the gullies. Amidst the grass is a dazzling perspective of black and white stumps, looking like a crop of tombstones, seen endways; and round the whole careers, uphill and down dale, the rough, barbarous, uncouth-looking stake fence. Never mind! Off that gaunt and unseemly tract has come many a good bale of wool, many a fair keg of butter, or portly cheese. What have we to do with trim appearances? In the course of fencing operations, the Little'un developed a wonderful aptitude for the manufacture of gates. Whether he had learnt the whole art of carpentry from his practice upon a certain chair, elsewhere described, I do not know; but his gates are a marvel of ingenuity, and really very capital contrivances. Only, he is so vain of his performance, that he wishes to put a gate about every hundred yards. A constant warfare is waged upon this point, between him and Old Colonial, who does not seem to approve of gates at all. In subsequent years we have done something towards making live-fences. We have dug ditches and banks within some of the fences, planting them with thorn, acacia, Vermont damson, Osage orange, and other hedge material. We have now some very good and sightly hedges. Luckily, we never tried whins, or furze, as here called. This is a vile thing. It makes a splendid hedge, but it spreads across the clearing and ruins the grass; and it is the worst of weeds to eradicate. Whins and thistles are the only bad things that Bonnie Scotland has sent out here. They, and sweetbriar, are given to spreading wherever they go. In some localities in the North there are clearings submerged under whins or sweetbriar, and there are forests of thistles, which march onward and devour all before them. Whins you cannot clear, unless by toil inadequate to the present value of land. But thistles can be effectually burnt, I believe. At any rate, they die out after a term of years, and, it is said, leave the land sweet and clean. So they are, perhaps, not an unmixed curse. We think that thorn makes the best hedge. But there are objections to it. It is not easily or quickly reared, and it straggles on light soils; moreover, it is always needing attention. We have no time to spare for clipping and laying and all that sort of thing. Labour has to be severely economized on pioneer farms. Of course, all the time these things were proceeding, we were simultaneously busied with other matters. Chiefly were we providing for our own immediate sustenance. The pigs were bred and well looked after, fattened, butchered, made into pork, or cured. Poultry was also carefully regarded, especially the turkeys, which are so valuable in keeping down crickets, and make such an important addition to the commissariat. Then there was the garden. We have several gardens at present, as we follow the custom of enclosing any particularly choice bit of land, and using it for our next year's crop of potatoes, kumera, or maize. Some of these enclosures are afterwards turned into the general grass, or are converted into orchards, and so on. The first garden we made was set apart for the purpose directly after the shanty was finished, and certain of our party were engaged exclusively upon it for the time being. It comprehended two or three acres on the shoulder of a low range, and was once the site of a Maori kainga, or village. Hence, the scrub that covered it was not of large growth, while the soil is exceptionally loose and rich, consisting of black mould largely intermixed with shells. This space we cleared and fenced in. Then we went to work with spade and pickaxe and mattock. We cut drains through the garden, and laid it off into sections. These were planted with potatoes, kumera, melons, pumpkins, onions, and maize. Digging was, of course, a hard job, the ground being full of roots. We threw out these as we dug, or left them; it does not matter much, for as long as we just covered the seeds anyhow, the rest was of small concern. After a crop or two the ground gets into better condition, and what we put in thrives just as well among the stumps as not. Round the sides of the garden we planted peach-stones, which have now developed into an avenue of fine trees. We also set cuttings of fig-trees, apples, pears, loquats, and oranges, obtained from some neighbour. Thus, before we had been a year on the land, we had gone a good way towards providing the bulk of our food-supply for the future. We have since seldom had to buy anything but our flour, tea, sugar, salt and tobacco, so far as important and absolutely needful items are concerned. And now that I have recorded the manner of our start, I may go on to speak of things as they are, seven or eight years later. CHAPTER VIII. OUR PIONEER FARM. II. We have a large farm, and a great deal of work to get through, but then there are eight or nine of us to share in the first and to do the latter; yet we find that we never have time to do all that we ought to do, and all that we want to do. Every year brings with it an increasing amount of labour, just to keep things going as they are, consequently the time for enlarging the farm becomes more and more limited. Thus it is, that though we cleared and grassed a hundred and forty acres in our first year, yet we have now only five or six hundred acres of grass in our eighth. Hampered as we were by the lack of capital, and by the necessity of scraping and pinching to meet those payments spoken of, it is little wonder that we seem as poor and pauperized as we were at the commencement. But we are by no means really so. We are actually in very good circumstances. Our farm is immensely increased in value, and is now beginning to pay substantially. Another year will see the sum completed, which will close the purchase of the land. After that, we shall have means to make outlays of sundry kinds, be able to build a fine house, go in for marriage. Who knows what else? The grass on our clearings is rich and abundant, and, owing to the nature of the soil, keeps fresh and green all through the dry season, when other districts are crying out against the drought. In spite of the standing stumps, the rough ground, and the mere surface-sowing, our grass will carry four sheep per acre all the year round; some of it more. It is not all fenced in--that would be too much to expect--but most of it is; and what is not gives the milch cows plenty of feed, and so keeps them from wandering off. The clearings are not all in one piece. They are divided off into paddocks, and there is a good deal of standing bush among them, some of which will eventually come down, and some of which will be left. We have now seven or eight hundred head of sheep. We had to buy our original store flock on credit, but the increase and wool has enabled us to pay that off long since. Similarly, grass-seed, some stock, and other things were bought on credit, which has since been liquidated. What we have is our own. We have had years of incessant toil, the hardest possible work, with plenty of food, but little comfort and no holidays to speak of. Two or three years more of it, and then we shall be in a condition to really enjoy the prosperity we have laboured for. Except at shearing and lambing seasons, our Lincolns and Leicesters give us but little trouble. We did try the merino breed, but they broke through the fence and ran away into the bush, where we occasionally see traces of them, and have once or twice caught one and turned it into mutton. Shearing is a great business, but we are all accomplished hands at it now, and our bales are larger every year as the flock increases. Wool is ready money here, being an article that can always be negotiated at once with the Auckland dealers. Our wool is reckoned of even better quality than that grown on the great sheepwalks of Canterbury and Otago. During a great part of the year we are milking ten to twenty cows daily, and, in spite of the seeming inefficiency of our dairy arrangements, we send a goodly store of butter and cheese to the township, whence it goes to Auckland and elsewhere. We fatten pigs, too, on skim-milk, maize, pumpkins, and peaches grown by ourselves. A score or two are usually to be seen on the clearings round the shanty. We are able butchers and curers; and Old Colonial excels in the manufacture of brawn, sausages, collared head, and the like. Most of the pig-meat is consumed by ourselves. In one form or other it is our staple food. But occasionally we sell a barrel of pork, or some flitches and hams, to such local buyers as the bushmen employed at the saw-mills. Dandy Jack talks of introducing Angora goats. I do not know exactly why, but he appears to think the project a good one. He has long ago given up mere coaching. In fact, people began to have doubts about entrusting themselves to his driving, though I hesitate to record such a disagreeable matter. He joined our society some years ago, though he is not always with us, gravitating invariably towards all the races, horse and cattle fairs of the country. But he has set up as a horse breeder and trainer, keeping his stud on our clearings, and thus adding another industry to the various others of our pioneer farm. This is a good thing for us, as Jack's horses come in very usefully sometimes, for carrying or dragging purposes. Our largest source of income just at present is the herd. First there is the dairy business, which I have already spoken of. The milch cows keep on the clearings, or near to them, and soon get tame enough to come up when called. They are brought to the bails morning and evening, fastened up, and given a feed of koraka. All cattle are very fond of the leaves of the koraka-tree, and it is used to entice them with when that is required. Of course, it will be understood that, as there is no cold winter here, we do not require to house our cattle at any season, nor do we need to provide them with hay or root food. They find their own living all the year round, either in the bush or on the clearings, and the most we do is to give them maize-stalks when we have some. The bulk of the herd, numbering now upwards of two hundred head, runs free in the bush. There is no native grass, as I have before mentioned, and the feed is tree leafage. This suits the cattle, and they fatten well upon it, though not turning out very large beasts. But the pasture-fed cattle of the South are not in prime condition for market during the dry-season. Our bush-raised beasts are, and this gives us a pull. The best part of one man's time is always taken up with stock duty. To keep the cattle from becoming unmanageably wild, and from getting too far away, they must be constantly driven up to the yards, and accustomed to discipline. It is our practice to give every beast a night in the yard at least once in six weeks. And it is also essentially necessary to keep an eye on calving cows, for if the calf is not brought up at once, branded, and so forth, it will be sure to turn out wild and a rusher, and then it would have to be shot at once, to prevent its infecting other beasts. Of course, we are all stockmen more or less; but Old Colonial and the Saint are the chief hands at this work. The latter gentleman did not receive his appellation, as might be supposed, from any relations which his character bore to it. He was intended for the Church at one time; but, perhaps, the Church is to be congratulated in that it did not receive him. There is nothing mild or milk-and-watery about our Saint, though he has his own peculiar moral code, and is strictly scrupulous in its observance. The Saint is the most elaborate swearer I ever heard. That is, when he is driving cattle. At other times he most conscientiously refrains from everything but abstract rectitude of speech. He says that you cannot drive cattle without swearing; that they understand you so far, and never think you are in earnest till they hear an oath. Whip and dogs and roaring will not do without some good hearty swearing, too. The Saint says so, and he ought to know. He declares that he could never bring up cattle unless he swore at them. I think I have heard something similar from other drovers. Perhaps some naturalist will be good enough to explain this extraordinary characteristic of cattle. The cattle associate themselves into mobs. Each such mob is headed by an old bell-cow, sometimes by two or three. Bulls, of which we have now two, are sometimes with one mob and sometimes with another. Individual beasts, belonging to neighbours of ours, are to be found running with certain mobs belonging to us, and the reverse is also the case. We have to look after the strange beasts with our own, and our neighbours do the same by us. At musters, or when drafting for market, we make the necessary exchanges. But we have only two neighbours on this side the river who run cattle in the bush; one lives six miles off, and the other fifteen. We keep a stock-book, in which every beast is entered. Each cow receives a name when she becomes a mother, and her offspring are known by numbers. Steers are never named. They have only four years of it, being sent off to market at the end of that time. Then a line is drawn through the "Beauty's third," or "Rosebud's fourth," which has designated their individuality in the stock-book; and the price they have fetched is entered opposite. The various mobs are known by the names of the old cows that lead them. Thus, we speak of "White Star's mob," or "Redspot's mob." It is the stockman's duty to know each individual beast, and also to know the members that compose each mob. He has to go out with the dogs almost every day to hunt up some mob or other. Our bush is much too dense to admit of riding, except along certain narrow tracks, partly natural and partly cut with the axe, which serve as bridle-roads, and keep open communication with distant settlements or settlers' places. So the member of our fraternity who happens to be stockman has to go cattle-hunting afoot. Cattle-hunting, as we term this employment, has a certain charm and air of sporting about it; but it is by no means light work, especially in warm weather. The stockman has to travel through pathless woods all the time, and has an area of twenty to thirty miles round our place in which to search for his cattle. He takes some fixed route to start with, making for some distant locality, where experience has taught him such and such a mob are likely to be feeding. On his way he takes note of any cattle he may come across, marks the gullies they are in, and thus, having knowledge of the ways of cattle, is able to guess within a mile or two where those mobs are likely to be found when wanted. Moreover, a good stockman gets to be experienced in tracking. He reads "sign" in every broken bough or trampled water-hole, and this guides him in finding the mob he wants. We know the bush around us pretty well by this time, about as well, in fact, as a cabman knows the streets of London. It is all mapped out in our minds, and we talk of various spots by name, either their Maori names, if they have such, or fancy titles we have given them. Of course, the dogs are our main reliance, though, even without them, such able hands as Old Colonial and the Saint can get on well enough. But clever, well-trained cattle-dogs are a treasure beyond price in the bush; and this we know, taking great pains with our colleys. The cattle lie very close in the dense thickets of foliage, and hide themselves from sight. One may run slap into a beast before it will move. But the dogs traverse the gullies on the stockman's flanks, and start up any cattle that may be in them. Here is where the value of the dogs consists, for, if they are not well-trained, they may run after wild pigs, or rats, or kiwis, and give a lot of trouble. Sometimes, after tracking the forest for many a weary mile, the stockman will have to return without finding the mob he wanted. Occasionally he will have to camp out, not because of losing himself--that seldom happens to us now--but because of the distance he is from home. So a stockman rarely goes out without three requisites about him--food, matches, and tobacco. Except in wet weather, camping out is no particular hardship to us. One can always make oneself comfortable enough in the bush, if one has those three articles, that are the bushman's "never-be-withouts." When the cattle are found, belonging to a mob that the stockman thinks proper to drive home, comes some very heavy and exciting work. We call our beasts tame, and so they are in a sense; still, compared to the gentle creatures one sees on English meadows, they are scarcely to be so characterized. At one time a mob will head for home, and go straight and quietly enough, needing only the dogs at their heels to keep them in the right direction. At another time the mob will scatter, and the members of it prove very unruly. They will charge and rush in every direction but the right one, and the very devil seems to be in the beasts. Scrambling up steep ranges, dashing down precipitous ravines, and always forcing a passage through dense undergrowth and jungle, plunging through marsh and bog, chasing to right and to left, it is a wonder how dogs and men get through the work they do. And often there are miles and miles of this before the welcome clearing comes in view. What is the condition of a stockman after he has brought up his mob and yarded it for the night? He has walked and run and scrambled, perhaps, twenty or thirty miles during the day, and that not over a plain road, but through the rough and hilly forest. He is totally tired out and exhausted. He is dripping with sweat, caked with mud from head to foot, his shirt torn to rags, his skin scratched all over, and very likely some nasty bruises from tumbles. He has hardly energy enough left to wash himself. Supper does not revive him, though he stows away an appallingly large one. And then he stretches himself in his bunk and is happy. Only, when morning comes again, he awakes stiff and sore. But, no matter for that, inexorable duty claims him for the same toil. And so wags our daily life--hard, unremitting, unromantic labour, day after day, year after year. Still we say it is a glorious life, and we believe what we say. Anyhow, it is better than being chained to a desk, or growing purblind "poring over miserable books." If you can only realize what cattle-hunting means, the shouting and roaring after them and the dogs, the loss of temper that fatigue induces, and the consequent aggravation when beasts are unruly, perhaps you will forgive the Saint for his "exuberant verbosity" in relation to cattle. Even a real saint might swear under the circumstances, and be held excused by his peers in the celestial hierarchy. Our four-year-old steers do not show very large, considered from English farmers' points of view. Fifteen or sixteen hundred lbs. is about the maximum of our fat beasts. But the beef is of first-rate quality; and as bush-fed beasts are in good condition at the end of the dry season, when pasture-raised cattle are poor, we do as well by them as could be desired. The bush is always cool and fresh and moist, even when all the grass is withered and brown on the pastures; and this is one of the reasons why we prefer bush-land to open-land for pioneer farming. There is a standing controversy waged among settlers, as to whether it is better to take up such land as ours or to go in for a tract of open fern-land. On open lands you can easily clear the ground, and, though it will not, as a rule, yield grass for mere surface-sowing, yet the plough can be put into it within a year or two. But the cost of fencing it is much higher; and the open-land farmer must wait longer for returns such as will keep him. He has no bush-feed for cattle as we have, and it is cattle that the pioneer relies on for his support at first. It is eight or twelve years before the bush-farmer gets a chance of ploughing; but then his cattle keep him going from the outset. Also, our burnt clearings will yield us good grass for surface-sowing, which will feed sheep until the stumps have rotted and the plough can be used. The sum of it is that open-lands will pay a man with good capital quicker, while bush-lands are the only possible thing for such poorer folk as ourselves. We send steers to Auckland market two or three times a year. Once or twice we have driven them overland, a distance of eighty miles or so by the map. This is not so far, certainly; but then there are no proper roads, and most of the way lies through thick bush. There is a faint apology for a bridle-track through the forest, not very easy to find, which strikes the Great North Road about twenty miles from here. And this same Great North Road, in spite of a pretentious title, and also in spite of being marked in the maps with a heavy black line, as though it were a highway of the Watling Street description, is just a mere bridle-track, too, hardly discoverable at all for the greater portion of its length. Two or three of us ride along these tracks with the cattle. One or two have to be most of the time on foot, while the third leads their horses. They are plunging through the otherwise impenetrable scrub after dogs and cattle, which last will not keep the line. The whole journey takes about a week. We camp down at night, and half the next day is taken up with hunting for some of the beasts that have strayed. Usually one or two are lost altogether before Auckland is reached. This sort of thing hardly pays, unless a considerable number of beasts have to be sent at once; and then the steers have lost condition before they can be got to market. I have had some experience of this cattle-driving work; and of all the aggravating jobs I know, it certainly is the very worst. We usually send up our fat steers in batches of a dozen or so at a time, and prefer now to have them conveyed by water. When we have arranged to do so, there is a grand muster of the herd. Mob after mob is brought up and enclosed in the fenced clearings, until we have collected together all we deem necessary. Then comes the job of drafting out the steers selected for market. This is a work of difficulty. All hands are required to achieve it, and often several neighbours will come over to assist. A small paddock, or a stockyard, opens out of the larger one wherein the herd is assembled. The slip-panels between are guarded by four men. Others on horseback, armed with the formidable loud-cracking stock-whips, drive the cattle slowly towards the gate. Then comes the tug of war. Each man uses all his endeavours to drive the chosen steers through the gate, while the rest are excluded. A regular battle is fought over every steer; for the guardians of the gate often fail in preventing other beasts from getting through as well, as they will not separate. Then the driving is renewed from the other side. The cattle get wild and furious, charging and rushing at everything and everybody, and the men on foot have to look out for themselves very warily. The racket and row make up an indescribable din. As each four-year-old is finally drafted out, it is driven into a separate yard, until all are secured there. Then the bulk of the herd are turned loose into the bush again. By-and-by, perhaps a day or two later, comes the job of shipping the steers. In order to effect this they are transferred to a stockyard on the beach. We have chartered a sea-going cutter, and she lies off in the river, possibly two or three hundred yards from the beach. A rope connects her with the beach; and the noosed end of this is passed over the horns of one of the steers in the yard. Then comes a tussle to get that particular beast out of the yard while the others shall be kept in. Often, in spite of the dreaded stockwhips, one of the guardians of the slip-panels gets knocked over, and then away goes the mob of terrified beasts, tearing along the beach, and giving no end of trouble to get them back again. Once, I remember, a heavy steer bounded clean over the eight-foot fence of the stockyard, and got away. When the roped animal is got out on the beach, a ring of men drives him down to the water, the people on board the cutter hauling at the rope meanwhile. By this means he is easily got alongside of her, when once he is off his legs and swimming. Then a sling is passed under his belly, tackle is affixed, and, with a "Yeo, heave ho!" he is lifted on board and deposited in the hold. Then the process begins afresh until all the batch is shipped. The cutter sails down the river and out through the Heads into the open sea. She then coasts down and enters the Manukau Harbour, going up to Onehunga to unload. Onehunga is only six miles from Auckland, of which it is practically a part, being the port of the city on the west coast. It is connected with Auckland by railway and macadamized carriage-road. In Auckland market fat cattle sell at twenty to thirty shillings per hundred lbs., sometimes even a little more. Our beasts usually fetch us ten or twelve pounds apiece, after deducting freightage, and our agent's charges for receiving and selling them. This year, our herd of two hundred head yielded us three batches of four-year-old fat steers, each batch containing about a dozen head. When cattle breed wild in the bush they may be a source of considerable annoyance and loss. This does not matter in remoter districts, such as the recesses of the Hokianga forests. Wild cattle abound there, possibly in hundreds; and the Maoris make a good thing by hunting them for their hides. There are no settlers' cattle running in the bush there; but where there are, wild cattle would make them as wild as themselves, and would spoil a herd in no time. When they appear in a district, cattle-farmers have to combine to hunt them down and extirpate them. Once there were some wild cattle in the bush between Te Pahi and Paparoa, on the opposite side of our river. The settlers of Paparoa were hunting them down, and we were warned to look out, for fear the beasts should take to the water. They did do so, and a whole mob of them tried to swim over to our side. Fortunately we were on the look-out. At once a party took to the boats, while others watched along the shore. We were in a great funk about the matter, for if the wild bulls got over to our side it might mean almost ruin for us. So we charged gallantly at them in the water, and strove to head them back to the other side, where the Paparoa men were waiting for them. Such guns as we had were brought out, but they were little good, not being rifled, and we had no ball cartridge. Dandy Jack performed prodigies of valour with an old harpoon; and O'Gaygun used his axe with great success. Altogether, the excitement was great and the sport good. One bull overturned a boat, as it rowed alongside him; but the Fiend, who was in it, adroitly clambered on to the animal's back as it swam, and, with great difficulty, managed to open its throat with his knife. Seven or eight were killed in the water. Even the despised new-chums' pistols were brought into use, and in this emergency they proved really valuable. The beasts that effected the crossing were slaughtered on the beach; and altogether we killed some eighteen or twenty. We prevented them thus from getting into our bush, so saving our own herd from contamination. This has been our only experience of the kind in this district, luckily. There was an incident that happened once, in connection with cattle, of rather an unusual sort. So much so, in fact, that most people to whom we have at times spoken of it have doubted our veracity. I suppose it will add but little weight to the story if I premise it with the assertion that it is simple truth. Nevertheless, it _is_ actual fact, believe it or not who list. There was a grand assemblage at the station of a friend and neighbour of ours, on one of the Kaipara rivers. He had been running a large herd, over a thousand head of cattle, and was now going to dispose of the greater number. This was because the feed for them was getting short in his immediate neighbourhood; and because his land was now becoming ready for sheep and the plough. Nearly all the men in the district had been asked to come and assist at the mustering, drafting, and so on, of the herd. It was a gathering of the kind known in America as a "bee." And as a bee usually winds up with festivity, feasting, dancing, and the like, such femininities as the district possessed were brought over by their respective husbands or male relatives. While we busied ourselves with the cattle in the yard and on the run, the ladies were occupied with industries peculiar to themselves indoors, giving the mistress of the house the benefit of a sewing, scandal, and cooking bee, probably. We had been all day hard at work, and had pretty well got through all there was to do. Most of the cattle had been drafted into yards, had been branded or handled as required, and the work was nearly complete. Towards sundown we came to be most of us assembled about one of the yards. This was a stockyard, or paddock, of about two acres in extent, and within it an obstinate young bull remained solus, holding his own against us. It was necessary, for purposes which need not be specified, that the beast should be thrown and tied down. We usually accomplish the overthrow of big beasts by noosing their legs, and so tripping them up; but this bull was far too wary to let any one get near him, and was wild and vicious, moreover. Several of us had been fruitlessly trying, for an hour or more, to do something with him, and our host was now saying the beast had better be shot out of hand; but we had spent so much time over him already that we did not like to give in, and resolved we would throw him anyhow. None of us could stay inside the fence, so fierce were the rushes of the bull, and he was too cunning to let himself be caught by coming near the rails. As man after man concluded his other tasks, and came up to assist, our perplexity seemed to increase. Various plans were discussed, and put in operation, but the bull baffled them all. There was beginning to be a good deal of ill-temper and swearing among us. And now Dandy Jack appeared on the scene. He had not been with us during the day, having just rowed over from somewhere else. Of course he had gravitated towards the house when he arrived, and had been sunning himself in the ladies' smiles. Now he was strolling out to have a pipe, and to see what we were about. Tired, ill-tempered, and covered with muck as we all were, there was a tendency among us to resent this late arrival of Master Dandy Jack's; and this feeling, you may be sure, was not lessened by a contemplation of the extravagant cleanliness and daintiness of apparel that, as usual, pervaded this spruce lady-killer's outward man. He was hailed with a volley of sarcasm and personalities, amid which he stood, hands in pockets and pipe in mouth, placidly surveying us and the situation. At length, when a pause in the tempest of words gave him an opportunity of speaking, he said, in his softest and most delicate tones-- "I see before me a number of gentlemen with whom I have the honour to be more or less acquainted. They are all hot, dirty, and disagreeable. I also see a stockyard, and within it four quarters of fresh beef, likewise hot, dirty, and disagreeable. There would seem to be a difficulty somewhere. Can I assist in removing it?" He was answered by a burly giant of a bushman, a Wairoa man, who had scant knowledge of our dandy. "P'raps you'll be so blanked polite as to show us how to capsize that blanked beast," he said, adding with bitter irony, "if it ain't too much to ask from such a blanked, pretty, drawing-room ornament!" "Oh, certainly! with all the pleasure in life!" responded Dandy Jack urbanely. "Will you kindly keep my pipe alight for a minute?" Then, to everybody's amazement, he vaulted over the fence and approached the bull. Instantly that animal saw him, down went his head, of course, and up went his tail, as he charged upon the sauntering figure. But Jack dodged the rush with the nimbleness of a practised picador; and the bull crashed against the fence. Again and again the same performance was repeated, while we all watched round the fence, calling to Jack at intervals to come out of his dangerous situation. He only nodded carelessly, and continued to saunter about as if no bull was near him. Presently, the bull stood stock-still, then commenced pawing the ground, tossing his head and tail, bellowing, and eyeing Jack, who was leisurely moving towards him right in front. He had apparently grown tired of charging this figure that always eluded him, and was uncertain what to do next. So Dandy Jack walked on till he was within a yard or two of the bull's nose. Then the beast thought it was time to do something, and concluded to try the effect of one more rush. But he was too late. Directly that his angry head went down, with a preparatory sweep, Dandy Jack, whose assumed carelessness really covered a preternatural degree of alertness, sprang at him. It was all done so quickly that we spectators could hardly distinguish what was happening. We saw Jack seize one of the bull's horns with both hands, we saw him place his foot upon the other. Then came a wrench and a wrestle, all in the space of one moment, and then Jack was whirling through the air, to fall lightly enough on the soft ground half a dozen yards off. But the bull lay rolling on his back. That twist of his head had overbalanced him. And before he could recover himself and scramble to his feet, we had sprang over the fence and got him securely tied with our ready ropes. A few minutes later, our eccentric chum was quietly sitting on the prostrate and helpless carcase of his late antagonist. With his usual dainty care he was ridding himself of the dust and dirt that had soiled him when he fell. The Wairoa man was regarding him in blank astonishment. Clearly, Dandy Jack was an entirely new species of the _genus homo_ to him. Thus spake the bull-fighter, with elaborate affectation of languor and softness-- "Look here, old fellow! You don't understand what a bull is. I'll tell you. It's a thing that some people look at from the safe side of the fence, and that other people take by the horns." This was hardly fair upon the giant, perhaps. But after his doughty deed, Dandy Jack was to be excused if he improved the occasion, and revenged himself for the sneer that had previously been cast upon him. Oh! we are getting on fast and famously now, with our farm. The stumps on the first clearing are now completely rotten; so we have pulled them out, piled them in heaps, and burnt them. This clearing is ready for the plough. Besides, there is a piece of flat, marshy ground below our shanty on the left, and this was only covered originally with flax, swamp-grass, and small shrubs. In the dry season we have burnt this off as it stood. The soil is not deep, but it is good, and we shall plough this in with the other. There will be about fifty acres of plough land altogether, and twice as much more next year, or the year after. We have borrowed a plough and harrows from a neighbour, and are going to work. Ploughing is quite a new industry up here. There are some of the settlers round who have got lands under plough before this; but not to any great extent. To us it seems to open up a boundless vista of opulence, and there is no end to our speculations, and to the general excitement in our shanty. Wheat! We must grow it, of course; and a flour-mill at the township is an imperative necessity. Somebody must start one, and that quickly. Why should we go on eating Adelaide flour, when we are growing wheat ourselves? They have reaped sixty and eighty bushels to an acre, in the South Island, and their average is thirty! So Old Colonial tells us. Well, our land is richer than theirs, and our climate is better too, so much cannot be gainsaid. _Ergo_, we shall have better crops. South Island corn has been sold in London at a profit; and has been judged first-class in quality. _Ergo_, again, ours must infallibly top the markets of the world. That is, what we are _going_ to grow, you understand. Then there is the great sugar question. Government is always offering divers incentives to new industries. It has offered a bonus of £500 to whomsoever produces the first fifty tons of beet-root sugar in New Zealand. That is, over and above what the sugar may fetch in the market. We say, why should not we go in for it? So many acres of beet, a crushing mill, a few coppers and some tubs, and there you are! Wealth, my boy! Wealth! But O'Gaygun has misgivings. "This is not a whate-growin' counthry," he declares. It is far too rough and hilly. There are too many difficulties in the way. You can grow wheat to a certain extent, of course. The North can produce enough for its own consumption, and more. It will pay as one among other operations and productions. But we must not think of it as our principal or staple industry. And then as to sugar. You must have a couple of hundred acres of beet at least, to begin with. A mill and appliances that are to be of real use would cost £2000 or so. Your bonus would be but a small thing if you got it. If all the farmers in the district were to combine to grow beet-root on every acre they could plough, and nothing else, even then it would hardly pay the sugar-mills, or possibly the farmers either. Stick to cattle and sheep, to pigs and potatoes, "Ontil ye're able to give ye're attintion to fruit. Fruit! Whativver ye can do wid it, that's what this counthry's made for! Wine! an' ile! an' raisins! an'----" "Oh, shut up, O'Gaygun! Get out, you miserable misanthrope!" Nevertheless, I think our Irish chum was about right in what he said, after all, especially in the last part of his remarks. Dandy Jack had been training horses, and Old Colonial had been gentling bullocks; so we had a choice of draggers for the plough. We ploughed in those fifty acres, fenced them round, and put in potatoes for a cleaning crop, to thoroughly break up the old turf. We hope to get two crops in the year. The second will be maize and pumpkins. Then, next year, wheat. The new-ploughed land is surveyed with rapture by us; but it is something different from an English field, after all. The ground was so irregular and rough; our beasts were not too easy to manage; and then--but this is unimportant--it was our first essay at ploughing. The furrows are not exactly straight, and there is a queer, shaggy look about them. But the potatoes are in, and a crop we shall have, no doubt about it. What more can possibly be needed? I have mentioned that we have several enclosures that may be termed gardens. So we have, and what they produce fully bears out O'Gaygun's opinion, as to this being essentially a fruit country. Of course our spade industry gives us all the vegetables we require, when we lay ourselves out for it. The worst of growing anything except roots is the immense amount of weeding required; the weeds spring in no time; and they are of such a savage sort in this fertile land. We grow large quantities of melons--water-melons, musk-melons, rock-melons, Spanish melons, pie-melons, and so on. Also, we grow marrows and pumpkins in profusion, as the pigs are fed on them as well as ourselves. These plants do not want much weeding. They may be grown, too, among the maize. Kumera, or sweet potatoes, we grow a good deal of; also many other vegetables, when we think we have time to plant them. But in fruit we excel. There is a neighbour of ours who goes in for tree-culture exclusively, and who has a nursery from which he supplies Auckland. To him we owe a greater variety than we should otherwise have, perhaps. First, there are peaches. We have a great number of trees, as they will grow from the stone. We eat them in quantities; pickling, preserving, and drying them sometimes. But the principal use to which we put them is to fatten our pigs. We have several kinds of peaches, coming on at different seasons. The earliest kind are ripe about Christmas, and other sorts keep on ripening to March or April. Then we have some few apricots, nectarines, plums, cherries, loquats, etc., all yielding bounteously. The last are a very delicious fruit, ripening about October or November. Figs we have till late into the winter, and they begin again early; we are very fond of them. Oranges, lemons, and shaddocks grow fairly well, and are fruiting all the year round. Apples do badly, being subject to blight, though the young trees grow rapidly, and, if freely pruned, will yield enormous crops. To obviate the blight we keep a constant succession of young trees to replace those that are killed. Pears are not subject to the blight, and do well. Grapes are very luxuriant; and, no doubt, this will be a wine-country in the future. Already, some people at Mangawai have made good wine, and have started a little trade in it. Of strawberries, guavas, Cape gooseberries, and other small fruit we have a little. The former fruit so plenteously here, that the leaves are entirely hidden by the clusters of berries and blossom. The second is a bush; and the last a plant like a nettle, which sows itself all over. The fruit is nice. Both the gardens and the clearings are subject to a horrible plague of crickets. They are everywhere, and eat everything. But turkeys and ducks fatten splendidly on them, acquiring a capital gamey flavour. Cricket-fed turkey would shame any stubble-fed bird altogether, both as to fatness and meatiness and flavour. We have hundreds of turkeys wild about the place, which keep down the crickets a good deal. Although we eat them freely, they increase very rapidly, like everything else here. The worst of it is they will not leave the grapes alone, and if they would the crickets won't, which is a difficulty in the way of vine-growing. But notwithstanding that, some of us are convinced that wine-making is the coming industry of the Kaipara. Then there is the olive, and the mulberry for serici-culture. Both these things are to come. Experiment has been made in growing them, but that is all as yet. Tobacco, too, will have its place. It grows well; and the Maoris sometimes smoke their own growth. We prefer the Virginian article. A man at Papakura has done well with tobacco, we hear. Government has bonused him, so it is said; and his manufactured product is to be had in all the Auckland shops--strong, full-flavoured stuff; wants a little more care in manufacture, perhaps. Tobacco, like some other things we have tried--hops, castor-oil, spices, drugs, and so on--needs cheap labour for picking. That is the _sine quâ non_ to success in these things. And for cheap labour we must wait, I suppose, till we are able to marry, and to rear those very extensive families of children, which are one of the special products of this fruitful country, and which are also such aids to the pioneer in getting on. Take it altogether, we--the pioneers of Te Pahi--are of opinion that pioneer-farming here is a decided success. We are satisfied that it yields, and will yield, a fair return for the labour we have invested in it. We think that we are in better case, on the whole, than we should have been after eight years' work at other avocations in the old country. Putting aside the question of the magnificent health we enjoy--and that is no small thing--we are on the high road to a degree of competence we might never have attained to in England. Not that we wish to decry England; on the contrary, we would like to return there. But for a visit, merely. Here is our home, now. The young country that is growing out of its swaddling clothes, and that we hope, and we know, will one day be a Brighter Britain in deed and in truth. CHAPTER IX. OUR SHOW-PLACE. We have a show-place, and one of which we are excessively proud. It is not a castle, a baronial hall, or ruined abbey, as one would expect a properly constituted show-place to be--at "home." In this new country, it is needless to say, we have no antiquities of that sort. Yet this place, of which we are so proud, and that it delights us to extol to strangers, has a history that renders its singular picturesqueness additionally striking. Mere scenery is never so effective if it has no story to tell. There must be something, be it fact or fiction, to attach to a place before its beauties can be fully appreciated. The charm of poetry and romance is a very real one, and can add much to one's enjoyment of a particular view. I suppose that something is needed to interest and attract the intelligence, at the same moment that the sense of sight is captivated, so that a double result is produced. Scotland is one fair example of this. Fine as the scenery there may be, is it to be supposed that alone would attract such hordes of tourists every summer? Certainly not; it is the history associated with each spot that throws a glamour over it. Much magnificence of nature is passed by unheeded in Scotland, because history or tradition has conferred a higher title to regard upon some less picturesque place beyond. The fiction and poetry of Scott, and of Burns and others in less degree, have clothed the mountains and the glens with a splendid lustre, that causes people to view their natural beauties through a mental magnifying glass. Nature unadorned seldom gets the admiration bestowed on it that it does when added to by art. But why pursue this topic? Every one knows and feels the power that associations have of rendering picturesque nature more picturesque still. Therefore, a show-place, to be regarded as such in the true sense of the word, must possess features of interest of another kind, underlying the external loveliness of form and outline that merely please and captivate the eye. Here, in our Britain of the South Sea, we have abundance and variety of the most glorious and splendid scenery. So far as wild nature is concerned, there is nothing in Europe that we cannot match. Our Alps might make Switzerland envious; one or two of our rivers are more beautiful than the Rhine; the plains of Canterbury are finer than midland England; the rolling ranges and lakes of Otago may bear comparison with Scotland and with Wales; Mount Egmont or Tongariro would make Vesuvius blush; the hot-spring region of Rotomahana and Rotorua contains wonders that cannot be matched between Iceland and Baku; and here in the North our forest country is grander than the Tyrol, and more voluptuously lovely than the wooded shores of the Mediterranean. At least, that is what those who have seen all can say. But, though nature has given us such sublime triumphs of her raw material, these have no history, no spirit. They tell to us no story of the past; and poetry has not crowned them with a diadem of romance. Hence their effect is partly lost, and when we New Zealanders go "home" for a trip, we find a charm in the time-hallowed landscapes of the Old World, above and beyond all our greater scenic glories here. Still, here and there in this new land, we have contrived to invest some special spot with a kind of infant spirit or baby romance of its own. Here and there our short history has left a landmark, or Maori tradition a monument. Already we are beginning to value these things; already we are conscious of the added interest they give to our scenery. But to our children's children, and to their descendants, some of these places will speak with more vivid earnestness. They will appreciate the stories that as yet are so new, and will take a rare and lively pleasure in the scenery enriched by the tale of their pioneer ancestors, or by legends of the native race that then will be extinct. New Zealand has even now what may be termed its "classic ground," as will be found in another chapter. But there exists a great deal of Maori tradition connected with various spots, and some of us do the best we can to preserve the tales that adorn certain localities. Some of the legends are mythological. Of such sort is that which gives such vivid interest to lonely Cape Reinga; the place where the spirits of dead Maori take their plunge into the sea, on their way from earth to the next world. Such, too, is the dragon legend, the tale of the Taniwha, which graces the volcanic country in the interior. Besides these are the numerous stories of a more historical sort, incidents of love and war, which hang around the places where they happened. A country like this, so rich in natural beauties, so filled with the glories and magnificences of the Creator's hand, is surely-- "Meet nurse for a poetic child." It is not surprising, then, that we find the Maori character actively alive to such impressions. The oldest men absolutely revel in the abundance of the tales, both prose and poetry, that they are able to relate about the scenes around them. But Young Maori is more civilized, and does not trouble his head so much with these old narratives. It is well, then, that some should be preserved while that is possible. Old Colonial is a great hand at yarns. He loves to hear himself talk, and, in truth, he can tell a tale in first-class dramatic fashion. O'Gaygun and Dandy Jack are both given to the same thing a good deal. They run Old Colonial pretty close in all respects save one, and that is when he gets into a peculiarly Maori vein. There they cannot follow him, for neither has achieved his command over the intricacies of Maori rhetoric, nor has that intimate experience of the natives, which enables Old Colonial to enter so thoroughly into the spirit and character of their narrations. As I know that Old Colonial's hands are more accustomed to the axe than to the pen, and that he will never take the trouble to give his wonderful collection of anecdotes to a larger audience than his voice can reach, I have made notes of his narratives, and some day, perhaps, shall put them in print. In the meantime, I may as well mention, that, it was from his lips that I heard the tale of our show-place. One day, some lime was wanted on the farm for some purpose or other, and it became a question as to how we had better get it. The usual method employed in the neighbourhood was to utilize oysters for this purpose. A rude kiln would be constructed in the bank, where it sloped down to the river-beach. In this would be placed alternate layers of dead wood and of living oysters, with a proper vent. The burn usually resulted in a fair supply of good shell-lime, than which there can be no better. But on this occasion we wanted a tolerably large quantity of lime, so that there were objections to the plan I have just detailed. For though oysters abounded on our beach, and covered the rocks that low-tide laid bare, yet, when a good many tons of them were wanted, all of which must be gathered with a handshovel and carried on men's backs to the kiln, it became evident that a considerable amount of labour must be undergone before our ultimate object could be attained. Now, one of the first and chiefest considerations of the pioneer-farmer is always how he may most closely economize time and labour. It is particularly necessary for him, because of the scarcity of the latter commodity, and the consequent pressure upon the first. It is usually a strictly _personal_ question. On this occasion the subject was debated at one of our nightly parliaments in the shanty. Then the Saint broke out with one of those quaintly simple remarks that used to amuse us so much. He said-- "I don't think it can be right to burn oysters, you know. It must hurt them so awfully, poor things!" Of course, we all laughed long and loudly. It seemed too ridiculous to consider the possibilities of an oyster feeling pain. "Well done, Saint!" was the general exclamation; "that's a good excuse to get yourself off a job of humping over the rocks." The Saint flushed up, and proceeded argumentatively, "Look here! Wouldn't it be better to burn dead shells?" "F'what did shells is it, me dear?" asked O'Gaygun, in a wheedling tone. "Well, there's plenty on Marahemo, for instance." Marahemo, I may mention, is a hill about three miles back from the river. It is about one thousand feet high, I suppose, and lies behind our land. "Did ye ivver hear the loike av that, now?" roared O'Gaygun, boisterously. "Here's the bhoy for ye! Here's the bhoy that's afraid to ate an eyester fur fear av hurtin' the baste, an' that's goin' to hump Marahemo down to the farrum, aal so bould an' gay! Shure now, thim's the shouldhers that can do that same!" After a brief, friendly passage of arms between the two, the Saint continued hotly-- "Well, all I can say is, it seems to me more sensible to burn our lime on Marahemo and to hump it down here, than to hump oysters along the beach, and then have to hump the lime again up from there." "By Jove!" broke in Old Colonial, "the boy's right, I believe. Shut up, you Milesian mudhead, and listen to me. Right from the old pa on the top of Marahemo down to the very foot, there's the Maori middens: a regular reef of nothing but shell, oysters and pipi and scollops and all the rest. There must be hundreds and hundreds of tons of pure shell. All we've got to do is to make a kiln near the bottom and shovel the shell into it; and there's any amount of firewood, dead stuff, round about." "Well, but look at the long hump from there down to the farm." "I know; but won't it be simpler to do that than to collect oysters on the beach? We should have to hump treble the weight of the lime we should get after burning them. And then we should have to hump the lime at least half a mile up from the beach. There is a track through the bush up to Marahemo, and we could easily open it a bit. Half a day's work for the lot of us would make it passable for a bullock-sled; or we might pack the lime down on some of Dandy Jack's horses. Then the stuff we should get there would be easier burnt and make better lime. And we could make enough to supply the neighbourhood. A few boat-loads sold at a fair price would pay us for our work, and we should have the lime we want for our own use as pure profit. If we didn't find a market on the rivers, I'm certain it would pay to charter a schooner, load her up, and send her round to the Manukau. Auckland has to get all her lime from Whangarei or Mahurangi as it is." So the thing was settled, and we went to work on Marahemo as lime-burners. One day when we were "nooning," Old Colonial and I chanced to be together on the top of Marahemo. We were looking at the splendid prospect, glorious under the mid-day sun. All around us was bush--a dense jungle of shrubs and trees. The conical hill on which we stood was thickly clothed, and all round, over the steep, rough ranges, the abrupt ravines and gullies, with their brawling streams, was spread the one variegated mantle of gorgeous foliage. Since then I have seen certain of the far-famed forests of the tropics, but I must candidly say that the scenery they offer is, on the whole, far less striking and beautiful than that of the bush of Northern New Zealand. The colouring is not so good; in the mass, it is not so lustrous, nor so varied. The rich flowers are hidden away, so that the fewer and less gaudy blossoms of our bush are more conspicuous, because severally more plentiful. But a woodland scene in England, the old home across the seas, even surpasses all in the glory of its autumn dress. From where we stood on Marahemo we could see for considerable distances, where the ranges did not intervene. Here and there, through some vista of wooded gullies, we could catch a glimpse of shining river reaches, and, in one or two directions, could make out the house of some neighbour, easily distinguishable in the pure atmosphere, though possibly ten or twelve miles distant. Looking towards the west, we could see our own farm. The distance was just enough to mellow the view softly. The shanty looked neat and tidy; the grass in the paddocks bright and fresh; the fences appeared regular and orderly; the asperities and irregularities of the ground were not seen, even the stumps were almost hidden; and the cattle and sheep that dotted the clearings might have been browsing on English meadows, so fair and smooth was the picture. As we looked on our home thus, the growth of our labour, we realized our independence of the outer world. And I dare say that, for a moment, "our hearts were lifted up within us," to use the Scriptural phraseology. I believe I was guilty, under the inspiration of the scene, of uttering some sentimental nonsense or other, in which occurred reference to "primeval forests," or something of the sort. Old Colonial took me up shortly-- "'Tain't primeval," he said. "There's the heavy bush, the real primeval stuff," pointing to a well-marked line that commenced about half a mile further back. "No," he continued; "all this round us is only about fifty years old." "Only fifty years!" I exclaimed wonderingly, for the woods looked to me as old as the New Forest, at least; judging by the size and luxuriance of the trees." "Oh, here and there, there are older trees; but half a century ago all this land was under Maori cultivation." Then he showed me the old ramparts that had defended the crest of the hill. A double bank of earth, now all overgrown with trees and shrubs, not unlike the outlines of ancient British and Roman encampments. On every point around us similar traces could be found, showing that the district had been thickly inhabited. As the Maoris had no grazing stock in those days, and no grass in these parts, their lands were solely spade-cultivations. Some thousands of acres between the Pahi and the Wairau had once grown their taro and kumera and hue, together with potatoes and other things introduced by Captain Cook. Marahemo Pa was the capital of the district. Its position, occupying the crest of a sugar-loaf hill, defended by earthworks and stockades, must have made it seem impregnable to people unacquainted with artillery. The space enclosed was considerable; and the immense quantities of shells thrown down the sides of the hill attested the numbers of its population--for all the shell-fish would have to be brought up here on the backs of women and slaves from the beach, which is over three miles distant; and shell-fish was by no means the principal item of the Maori commissariat. "That must have been the way they went," said Old Colonial, looking in a direction where a strip of the Arapaoa was visible through a gap made in the ranges by a narrow gully. "Who went?" I asked, for I did not follow his thought. "Hoosh!" cried he. "Do you mean to say you've never heard the story of the battle and capture of Marahemo, the tale of Te Puke Tapu?" No, I had not heard it. At least, I remembered only some confused account of a conflict having taken place at the latter spot, which, being our show-place, I had often seen and knew well. "Well," said Old Colonial, "there's no time now; but we've got to get some schnapper for supper to-night, so you and I will go and fish down the Arapaoa yonder; then I'll tell you." In the evening we were sitting in the boat, anchored in the river nearly opposite our much venerated show-place. We were fishing with line and bait, diligently securing a supper and breakfast for ourselves and the rest of the company who make our shanty their home. Every now and then either of us would pull up a great pink slab-sided schnapper, a glistening silvery mullet, or a white-bellied whapuka; we were in a good pitch, and the fish were biting freely. Our minds were relieved from the anxiety of a possible shortness of provisions. The scenery around us is truly magnificent, if only it were possible to describe it. I must, however, try to convey an idea of its outlines. We are lying in the Arapaoa Firth, at the point where it loses its distinctive name and divides into three heads. These three lesser firths, together with the main creek that flows into each above the point where the tide reaches, are respectively the Pahi, the Paparoa, and the Matakohe. Our boat seems to be floating in a lake, rather than in a river, for here the Arapaoa is between three and four miles across. Looking down to the right we see it stretching away, between bold, high banks of irregular outline, flowing down to the harbour and the sea thirty miles off. To our left is our own river, the Pahi, narrower than the other. It is, perhaps, a mile across at the mouth. Its shores present a diminishing perspective of woods; and, as mangroves line the beach on either side, the leafage and the water seem to melt into one another. Five or six miles up, the ranges rise higher and run together, so that the beautiful Pahi appears to lose itself in the forest. The opposite shore of the Pahi ends in a high bluff that, from our point of view, appears like an island in the expanse of gleaming water. Round the base of the bluff are gathered the white houses of Te Pahi township; and the masts of several small sailing-craft are seen off the beach. Behind and above is a bold sweep of dark woods, forming a background to the baby town. The township bluff hides from us all view of the Paparoa, which lies just behind it. But we have a full prospect of the wide reach of the Matakohe, which has quite a lake-like look. Just within it, on the further shore, are some low mud-banks, partially covered with stunted mangrove. Here great flocks of grey snipe continually assemble, together with kingfishers, shags, wild duck, teal, and other waterfowl. The high bank conceals all behind it; but in one or two places we catch a glimpse of some settler's house, cresting the bold bluff, or half hiding in its orchards. And now we face to the east, with the setting sun behind us sending its rays full upon the central interest of the view, and thus we gaze our fill upon Te Puke Tapu. A small but deep bay forms a bend in the shore of the river, guarded by steep heights on either hand. On the left a long promontory runs out into the Pahi, as though to meet the township bluff upon its further shore. On the right a towering scaur shows the abrupt termination of the range behind it. The tide in the Arapaoa flows swiftly by, but within the bay the water lies smooth as glass. Between these two points may be a distance of about a mile straight across. The curving line of the shore, sweeping round from one to the other, forms a complete crescent. No rocks or mangroves, no mud-banks or oyster-beds spoil the effect of a narrow belt of white and glittering shingle, which lines the beach of the little bay. And right at the edge of this border-line begins the mingled green of fern and forest. The land slopes upward gradually from the beach, rising by regular steps into a grand semicircle of heights. The general shape is that of an amphitheatre. And here so rich is the soil, so sheltered the situation, that all the wild vegetation of the country seems growing with magnified luxuriance. The colouring is brighter and more brilliant than it often is in the bush; and there is a more extensive mingling of different trees and shrubs, a more picturesque grouping of forms and tints. There are emerald feathery fern-trees, copper-tinted "lancewoods," with their hair-like tufts, the tropic strangeness of nikau palms, crested cabbage-trees, red birch and white ti-tree, stately kauri, splendid totara, bulky rimu, dark glossy koraka, spreading rata, and half the arboreal catalogue of the country besides. And, in their several seasons, the blossoms which all the evergreen trees and shrubs put forth bloom more brightly here than elsewhere; and, while creepers of strange and beautiful forms twine and suspend and stretch from tree to tree, the woodland greenery is set with a rich variety of scarlet cups and crimson tassels, of golden bells or flesh-pink clusters, or the darker depths are lit up by showering masses of star-like clematis. Terrace above terrace, receding from the water's edge, the encircling lines of bush rise upwards and away, until at last the leafy mantle flows over the summit of the topmost range. Far back, and central, in the wide sweep of the amphitheatre is a sudden dip in the outline. It is the opening of a little gully, through which a hidden stream comes down below the trees and babbles out across the shingle; and that opening just reveals Mount Marahemo behind. His wooded crest has caught the tinted radiance of the sunset, and stands out in glorious relief against the purpling background of sky, framed in the glowing beauty of the nearer Puke Tapu. Such is our show-place, the "Sacred Soil," where sleep the departed warriors of the Ngatewhatua. The bell-bird and the tui sing a requiem over them by day, while the morepork and the kiwi wail for them at night. And the wonderful loveliness of this spot, where they fought and died, might well inspire a Tennyson to pen another "Locksley Hall." "Jee--roosalem!" sighed Dandy Jack. "Only put _that_ on canvas, and hang it in Burlington House, and what an advertisement it would be for us!" Old Colonial goes on to tell the tale of Te Puke Tapu, in the intervals of hauling up schnapper. He says-- "The boys call it 'The Burying Ground,' because of the bones and skulls that are lying about or stuck up in the trees. That's rather misleading, though, for it was never a wahi tapu, or native cemetery. This bay was evidently the landing-place or port for Marahemo, and the subordinate kaingas on the ranges yonder. You can see it was naturally that. As such there would be constant traffic through it, even if there were no wharès in the place itself. Now a wahi tapu was so sacred that no one but a tohunga dared to approach its boundaries, even under pain of death and damnation; so that such a place was always in some very out-of-the-way locality, certainly never near a spot so much frequented as this would be. "It's tapu enough now, though, and has been ever since the battle, which, I opine, must have been fought somewhere about 1825. The chiefs won't sell an inch of this piece to any one; and not a Maori dares go near it. Lots of people have tried to buy it, and have even offered as much as five pounds an acre for its magnificent soil; but the Maoris are not to be tempted, and, what's more, say they'll have utu from any Pakeha that goes into it. "Once, some years ago, I was out pig-hunting, and killed a big one just on the top of that scaur. The carcase rolled down into the water, and the tide carried it away down river. It was washed up at Tama-te-Whiti's place, six miles below this. Now Tama, although he's an ordained parson, still retains most of the old superstitions, as all the older Maoris do. He was in a terrible stew when this pig, killed on tapu ground, and consequently tapu itself, stranded on his beach. His wife and he came out with long poles and pushed it into the water. Then they got into their boat, and managed to get the pig out into the channel and set it floating off again. Afterwards they carefully burnt the poles that had touched the dreadful thing. Finally, Tama came up to me and demanded utu, which I had to pay him. If we had not been such good friends, and if Tama had not been more sensible than the other Maoris, I believe the district would have been too hot to hold me. "Tama told me the whole history of the place; and gave me a graphic account of the battle, in which he took part. He is one of the 'last of the cannibals,' one of the few survivors of the old fighting days, before the missionaries caused the abolition of cannibalism. "You know who Hongi was, I suppose? The great chief of the Ngapuhi, who was so friendly with Marsden and the first missionaries, who went to Sydney and then to England, was presented to King George and made much of. When he got back to Sydney, this astute savage 'realized' on all the fine things that had been given him, and turned the proceeds into muskets, powder, and ball. Then he loaded up a trading-schooner, chartering her with a promise of a return cargo of pigs, timber, and flax, and joyfully sailed back to New Zealand. "All his life, Hongi was very friendly to the missionaries, as well as to traders from Sydney. But the former never converted him. He remained a ferocious manslayer and cannibal to the last. Yet it was owing to this chief that missionaries gained a first footing in the country. "Hongi's great idea was to make himself king of all New Zealand. In pursuance of this plan he armed his fighting men with fire-arms, and when they were drilled in the use of them, he started on a grand maraud all through the island. His notion of kingly power seems to have been to kill and eat, or enslave, every other tribe but his own. He certainly slew his thousands; and utterly depopulated the country wherever he went. "The Ngatewhatua, whose country lay all round these waters, were the ancient foemen of the Ngapuhi; consequently, they were among the first to experience Hongi's new mode of civilizing. A great battle was fought up on the Wairoa, where two or three thousand of our fellows were discomfited by Hongi's army. The fugitives came down the rivers and rallied again. Every man of the Ngatewhatua who was able to bear arms, took up his merè and patu and spear, and went forth to fight for his fatherland. They fought the invading Ngapuhi all the way down from the Wairoa, as they marched through the forests between this and Mangapai. "But badly-armed bravery had little chance against the superior equipment of Hongi's bands. Do all they might, the Ngatewhatua could not stay the progress of their foes. When, at last, the invaders drove them as near as the Maungaturoto bush, our tribe gave way in despair, and came back to this place. They had still one hope, one refuge, the hitherto unconquered Marahemo Pa. "Into that pa, then, where we stood this morning, crowded the whole population of the district--men, women, and children. Here they would make their last despairing stand. The attack would come from the north-east, consequently this bay would be in rear; and in it the canoes were drawn up for flight, if that were necessary. "Then Hongi and his ruthless army swept out of the woods, and rushed upon Marahemo. They surrounded the hill, and, advancing to the fortifications, poured in a hot fire. Frightful were the losses among the besieged; and little could they do in return, spears and stones being their only missiles. Still, they held out for three days, their crowded ranks gradually thinning and thinning. "At last, at daybreak on the third day, Hongi delivered a grand assault. The Ngapuhi came up in three columns on the eastern slope of the hill, where the principal gate of the pa was. The two outer flanks concentrated all their fire on the point, while the centre, headed by Hongi himself, wearing a helmet and breastplate that King George had given him, constituted the storming party. "The struggle at the gate must have been terrific. At close quarters fire-arms were no longer of service, and the Ngatewhatua would be equal to their assailants. Both sides fought with all the fierce courage of their race. Tama says that the bodies of the slain lay in piles, and that their blood flowed in streams down the hill. "Tuwhare was the name of the ariki or supreme chief of the Ngatewhatua; he was also a tohunga, or priest. A lion-like old man he seems to have been, from Tama's description. Seeing that all was lost, when the conquering Ngapuhi had forced their way into the pa, and were mercilessly slaughtering men, women, and children, he did the only thing left to be done. He took from its perch the palladium of the tribe, an heitiki ponamu, or greenstone image, and, summoning around him the remnant of his men, together with some of the women, they fled from the western side of the pa, hotly pursued by the victors. "The fugitives came down through that little gully, here to the bay, intending to take to their boats, and escape down the river. Tama was among them, and he afterwards concealed himself in a tree, and, thus hidden, was a witness of the final scene; for a band of Hongi's men had come along the beach, and had captured the canoes beforehand, so that retreat was cut off. "But a short time was there to consider what should now be done. The pursuing Ngapuhi were close at their heels. The sacred tiki was placed in the branches of a tree for safety. And as the yelling and elated victors came bounding down the gully, brave old Tuwhare and his remaining warriors, with merè in hand and war-cry ringing through the woods, hurled themselves against the foe. Overpowered by numbers, and by superiority of weapons, the grim fight was soon over, and the last of the Ngatewhatua were slain. But, beside their bodies, many a Ngapuhi corpse showed that the vanquished had died as warriors should. "The Ngapuhi who had slain Tuwhare, cut off the dead chiefs head, and placing it in the nearest tree, rushed back towards Marahemo to summon Hongi. Now Hongi was brave as man could be, but, like all Maoris then, he was intensely superstitious, and held all the Maori gods and devils in the very highest respect. "Hongi and his principal warriors were led across the field of battle by the lucky slayer of the Ngatewhatua chief, in order that they might insult and taunt Tuwhare's head, as was their custom. When they were all assembled round the tree, with the bodies of the dead lying about where they had fallen--'There! that's the place, to the left yonder, where the koraka trees are thickest!'--the branches were drawn aside to expose the grim trophy of the conquered chief. There it was, sure enough, just where the victor had put it, fresh and gory, with its white locks and richly tattooed features. But, oh, horror of horrors! right above the head, with all its hideous fluttering adornments of feathers and tassels, was the horrible, grotesque, and grinning idol! "Chance had led the slayer of Tuwhare to put his head into the self-same tree where the dead ariki had, a short time previously, disposed the tiki. There it now appeared, stuck in a fork, just where he had put it for safety. None of the Ngapuhi knew how it had got there, and to their superstitious minds it seemed to have come by supernatural means. And this thing was tapu in the most deadly degree. "The mighty and terrible Hongi trembled and shrieked when he saw the unlooked-for wonder. He and his men turned and ran out of the amphitheatre of the bay as fast as they could, shouting, 'Te tapu! te tapu! The gods have taken to themselves the bodies of the slain!' "So they left this part of the battle-field, not daring to carry off the bodies as usual for a cannibal orgy. A long time afterwards, Tama, and certain priests of the almost exterminated Ngatewhatua tribe, ventured to return here. With much solemn karakia and propitiatory sacrifice, they tremblingly crept into the precincts of the bay. They placed the remains of their kindred in the forks of the trees, and hid the sacred tiki for ever from mortal eyes. Then they departed, and the ægis of a holy place invests for posterity Te Puke Tapu. "It is a charnel-house if you like, under those trees there, but a very beautiful one as is evident. We ought to keep alive the memories that make the place romantic. It would be a pity if utilitarian axe and fire were to spoil the beauty of Te Puke Tapu. There is plenty of other good land to be had. No need for us to covet this, fertile as it is; no need to make a commonplace farm out of that picturesque old battle-ground. May it long remain just as it is now--a lovely natural monument to ancient Maori valour, a quiet undisturbed resting-place for the warrior dead, the patriot chivalry of the Ngatewhatua!" Such is our show-place and its tale. CHAPTER X. OUR NATIVE NEIGHBOURS. A great friend of ours, and a near neighbour, is Tama-te-Whiti, the old Maori. He is not _the_ chief of the Ngatewhatua, but as he comes of the royal stock he is _a_ chief. He belongs to the caste styled tana, or chieftains, a degree above that of rangatira, or simple gentlemen-warriors. In the old feudal times--for the ancient Maori system may be so designated--Tama would have held a delegated authority over some portion of the tribe, just as a Norman baron did in the elder world. Now the tribe is very small, having been almost exterminated by the Ngapuhi fifty years ago. Three or four families form the section over which Tama presides. But civilization and European colonization have abolished the old order of things, so that even a head chief's authority is now more nominal than real. In his youth Tama was a warrior, having taken part in the battle which ended with the affair at Marahemo, as described in the previous chapter. A fugitive from his own district, his hopes of one day becoming a lordly ruler over some large kainga of his own being shattered by defeat, he fell in with Samuel Marsden, and by that Apostle of New Zealand was converted to Christianity. So now, in his old age, Tama is a worthy exponent of the new dispensation. Born to warfare, he is now an ordained deacon of the Anglican Church; instead of cannibalism, he has taken to thrifty farming; instead of fighting, he preaches among his countrymen; instead of leading a ferocious taua, he finds himself the venerated pastor of a little community of earnest Christians. Tama's place is some seven or eight miles away, down the Arapaoa. He has a very comfortable little kainga, a fenced-in enclosure, wherein are raupo wharès built in the best styles of Maori architecture, with little verandahs in front of them, and curiously carved doors and fronts. Here reside Tama and his wife, and one or two others; while just across the river is a larger kainga, where live the remainder of Tama's flock. Round about his wharès is a plentiful clearing, whereon are to be seen pigs and poultry, a few cattle, and a horse or two. On a well-selected hill-side close by are his cultivations--some few acres of maize, potatoes, kumera, melons, taro, fruit-trees, and so on, surrounded by a strong stake-fence. A few yards below the kainga is the beach, where a capital boat shows that Tama prefers Pakeha workmanship to the native article--a canoe that also lies near. Nets and other matters prove that he reaps a harvest in the water as well as on land. A very "comfortable" man is our Maori friend, for he has a claim over many hundred acres of good land around, some of which has already been sold to the Pakeha. Much of this is heavily timbered with valuable kauri and puriri. Bushmen cut on his land to a small extent, and pay him a royalty of a pound per tree. We often say, jokingly, that the old fellow must have a tolerably well-filled stocking somewhere. Tama is amazingly industrious. He and his wife together get through an immense amount of work. The produce of the farm is amply sufficient to provide them with all necessaries. More than that, the surplus produce probably pays for all the groceries, tools, and clothes required by the family. His seventy years weigh lightly on him. He is as strong and active as most men of forty, and is never idle. He fully understands the duty that devolves on him of setting an example to his flock, as well as of preaching to them. Tama's ordinary costume is much the same as ours, except that he prefers to go barefooted. On Sundays and occasions of state he dons the black cloth and white choker of an orthodox clergyman; but even then he avoids boots. Only on very special occasions, such as when there is a grand gathering at the township, or on the rare occurrence of an English clergyman's visit, only then does Tama put on boots; even then he brings them in his hand to the door of the place of meeting, puts them on before entering, and takes them off with evident relief directly he feels free to go. Tama is about five feet ten inches in height. He is broad and square, very muscular, and without an inch of fat on him. His body is long and his legs short; the usual Maori characteristic. His face bears the elaborate moku that denotes his rank, and is without hair. The hair of his head is grizzly; but his features, the shape of his head, and the expression of his eyes, bespeak an intelligence superior to that of many Europeans who come in contact with him. Tama visits us very frequently, and often brings his wife with him. She is a pleasant, buxom body, with a contented smile always on her face. Though not young, being probably between thirty and forty, she has not yet grown at all hag-like, as Maori women generally do. She dresses cleanly and nicely--cotton or chintz gowns being her usual wear--but she leans to an efflorescence of colour in her bonnet, and has a perfect passion for brilliant tartan shawls. I think I once saw her at the Otamatea races in a blue silk dress. But, both she and her husband have discarded all the feathers and shells and pebbles that are purely native adornments. Astute and intelligent as Tama really is, it is, of course, to be expected that he cannot comprehend all the novelties of civilization. His deportment is always admirable, and he would carry himself through a drawing-room without any sensible _gaucherie_. He would be calm, composed, and dignified among any surroundings, however strange to him; only his keen and roving eyes would betray his internal wonder. Like Maoris in general, he is critically observant of every little thing among his Pakeha friends, but, with true native courtesy, endeavours to hide from you that he is so. But the extraordinary mixture of grave intelligence and childish simplicity in him is perpetually leading to very quaint little incidents. One day, when routing among the "personals" I had brought with me from England, I discovered at the bottom of my chest an umbrella. Now, in England, I suppose most people consider an umbrella as quite an indispensable article of attire, and even in colonial cities its use is by no means uncommon; but I need hardly say that in the bush such a thing is never seen. I brought out my relic of other days, and displayed it to the boys in the shanty. It was received with great applause, and I was unmercifully chaffed. It pleases our community to regard all the comforts and luxuries of a more complete civilization as effeminacies; and it is the received theory among us that we live the purest and highest life, having turned our backs upon all the corrupting influences of an effete, old world. There is among us a party, headed by O'Gaygun, who take the position of ultra-conservatives; the object of their conservatism being the keeping alive of all the most primitive usages of the bush. To them anything new is an insult; the introduction of imported comforts and appliances a horrible iniquity. It will be remembered how fierce was O'Gaygun's wrath on the occasion when forks and spoons were brought into the shanty. Now, his sublime indignation was roused to the utmost at the spectacle of such an outrageous incongruity as an umbrella, in the pure and holy atmosphere of our shanty. An umbrella! Did it not convey an instant recollection of all the worst emasculating tendencies from which we had come out? Why, it was almost as bad as that acme of horrors, a chimney-pot hat! "Smash it! Burn it!" he shouted. "Mother av Moses! f'what nixt?" However, it was eventually decided that I should give the umbrella to old Tama, it being a handsome one, with carved ivory handle, silver mounting and crest, etc. This would ensure the removal of the obnoxious invention from the shanty; and, moreover, so O'Gaygun declared, the vile thing would be an acceptable addition to a museum of Pakeha curiosities, which, he said, Tama was collecting. The next time that Tama visited us I formally presented him with the umbrella, giving him the minutest instructions concerning the spreading and furling of it. He had taken a strong fancy to me; and was much pleased with the gift. His first inquiry was, naturally, what I expected to get out of him by such a splendid gift. Knowing that it would be futile to attempt to persuade him that I gave the thing freely, and without expecting any return, I said that, although the umbrella was worth a merè ponamu,[6] at least, yet that I should be satisfied if he would give me a kitful of taro in exchange. This thoroughly jumped with the old man's humour. Not only did he shake hands with me, but he also accorded me the nose salutation. The rubbing of noses is now disused; and when a Maori confers it on a Pakeha it means an extra display of feeling, almost a making brotherhood. It was the highest honour old Tama could pay me. I thought I had fully explained to the reverend gentleman the uses of an umbrella. I had over and over again hammered into him that it was meant to protect one from rain. But it appears that the idea failed to reach his mind. When Tama left the shanty it looked threatening to rain, so I unfurled the umbrella, and placed it open in his hand. He stumped off proudly with it held above him. We watched him go down the clearing towards the river, where his boat was moored. Presently it came on to rain in earnest. Then Tama seemed to hesitate, it evidently occurring to him that something was wrong. In an undecided sort of way he inverted the umbrella, and held it handle upwards in front of him; but as the rain came thicker and faster, even this seemed unsatisfactory. At last he stopped altogether, having apparently come to the conclusion that the wet would injure the umbrella. After a prolonged struggle, for the catch was a mystery to his unaccustomed fingers, he managed to close it. Then he took off his coat, laid it flat upon the ground, and placing the umbrella upon it, wrapped that up in the coat. Lastly, he cut some strips from a flax-bush close by, and carefully tied up the parcel. Then he put it under his arm, and marched off in his shirt-sleeves contentedly, evidently feeling that he had got the better of the pouring rain. Tama keeps the umbrella stowed away in the recesses of his wharè. He often tells me, with a quiet, good-humoured sneer, as of one talking to a child, that it does not keep off the rain. His view is that I, in my incomprehensible Pakeha way, imagine the thing to be an anti-rain fetish; a notion which superior Maori wisdom has found to be erroneous. I saw that umbrella once again. It was a fine moonlit night, and two or three of us were rowing up the river on a return from some excursion. On the way we passed a boat-load of Maoris coming down. In the stern of their boat sat Tama, and above him he held the umbrella open. As the boats crossed, he called to me:-- "It is not raining to-night. But it is not this thing that keeps it off; it is God only who does that!" And so the good man went on his way, doubtlessly glowing at the thought that he had fitly rebuked my folly; for, like some other Christians, though he might retain some superstitions of his own, yet those are real, and all other people's false. On another occasion Old Colonial had been away in Australia. On his return, Tama and his wife came up to welcome him home again. Old Colonial had brought back presents for all our Maori friends; and he had selected for Tama a silver watch, with a gorgeous guard and seals. This pleased the old fellow mightily; and for three mortal hours did Old Colonial strive to instruct him in how to tell the time, and how to wind it up. He thought at last that he had thoroughly succeeded in enlightening the Maori about his new acquisition. Tama departed with ill-concealed glee, stopping every now and then, as he went, to listen to the watch ticking. However, the next morning, as we sat at breakfast, Tama appeared, with a serious and sad expression on his face. He would eat nothing; but, drawing Old Colonial aside, communicated to him the distressing intelligence that the watch had _died_ during the night. Without betraying any amusement, Old Colonial wound up the watch again, and proceeded to give another lecture on its action to the ancient child. He went away apparently satisfied, and much lightened in his mind; but we began to have a fear that the watch would prove an injudicious present. The next morning Tama appeared again, with the same sad and serious aspect, this time complicated with a look of intense puzzlement. He contemplated Old Colonial's hands as he wound up the watch again and set it going. This was a total mystery to the old fellow. He said he had been "doing that" to the watch all night long, talking to it, and telling it not to die. We opined that he had not succeeded in opening the case of the watch, but had sat twiddling the key about the outside of it. The same thing went on day after day. Tama began to grow weak and ill. He was haggard with anxiety, spending his days in listening to the regular tick-tick of the watch, and his nights in trying to keep it alive. In vain he sat up with it night after night, holding it in his hands, caressing it, wrapping it in warm clothes, and laying it beside the fire, even, so he told us, reading the Bible and praying for it. In spite of this generous treatment the watch invariably died about five o'clock in the morning. Then the miserable proprietor had to take his boat and row up the eight miles of river that lay between his place and ours. At last the old fellow began to get a better idea of the hang of the thing. He essayed to wind the watch at night, but failed, and in some indescribable way managed to break the key. Then the charm was dissolved. Feeling that his health was becoming impaired by his devotion to this Pakeha fetish, and that consideration finally overcoming his pride in its possession, he returned the watch to Old Colonial. He said it was "Kahore pai;" or, as a Scotsman would put it, "no canny." Tama keeps the guard and seals to wear on festive occasions. But the watch, no. He has had enough of such silly things. Henceforth, as formerly, the sun will suffice him for a timekeeper. That is not given to dying, nor does it require sitting up with at night and such like attentions, and it manages its own winding up. We have other Maori neighbours besides Tama and his immediate following. There are several families living on the different rivers and creeks round about, and with them all we are on friendly terms; with some we are passably intimate, though with none quite so affectionately at one as with Tama. Perhaps our next best friends would be found at Tanoa. Tanoa is a large kainga on the Otamatea river, and lies about sixteen miles across the bush from our farm, or somewhat more by the water-road. It contains a population of two or three hundred; men, women, and children. This Maori town may be considered the metropolis of the Ngatewhatua tribe. Tanoa is prettily situated, for the Otamatea, though a larger river than the Pahi, is very picturesque in parts. The kainga lies embosomed in orchards of peach and pear, cherry and almond, and extensive cultivations and grass-paddocks surround it. Most of the houses are, of course, the usual raupo wharès, but there are carpentered frame-houses in the kainga as well. A Wesleyan mission has been established in this place for about a score of years; and an English minister and schoolmaster reside permanently at it. The former has great influence with his flock, who are fervent Christians to a man. The latter is bringing up the rising generation to a standard of education that would put to shame many a rural village of the old country. The ariki of the Ngatewhatua lives at Tanoa. He is between forty and fifty, if as much, a very tall and very portly personage. He is a great man, corporeally certainly, and, perhaps, in other ways as well. Arama Karaka, or Adam Clark in Pakeha pronunciation, has had more English education than Tama, and is altogether of larger mind. Nevertheless, we do not feel that we can like him quite so well as our dear old barbarian. Arama rules his little community in paternal and patriarchal spirit. He understands the Pakeha better than many Maoris; and in most things accepts the guidance of his friend, the missionary. He carries on affairs of state in a manner blended of Maori and Pakeha usages. He is, of course, a politician, and takes a leading part in the local elections. But he adheres to Maori customs in their modified and civilized form, and may be called a Conservative in such things. Arama has a pet theory, on which he often enlarges in picturesque style to such Pakehas as he considers as of more than common note. Pre-eminent among these is Old Colonial. Indeed, our chum is generally looked upon by the Maoris as a sort of chief among the Pakehas of the district. His experience and acumen have made him a general referee among the Kaipara settlers; and, in all important matters, he is usually the interpreter and spokesman between them and the natives. Moreover, he is now the oldest settler in the district; that is, he is not the oldest man, but has been in the Kaipara longer than any other Pakeha, having come here before any settlement had been made in this part. And so he is an old and intimate friend of the Maoris. To him, then, I have heard Arama discoursing on his project for the regeneration of the Maori race, talking as one chief among men may talk to another. For the ariki is thoroughly aware of the gradual extinction which is coming for his race. He sees and knows that the Maori is dying out before the Pakeha, and his great idea is how the former may be perpetuated. Says he to Old Colonial, for example, somewhat as follows:-- "Oh, friend! What shall be for the Maori? Where are they now since the coming of the Pakeha? The forest falls before the axe of the Pakeha; the Maori birds have flown away, and strange Pakeha birds fly above the new cornfields; the Pakeha rat has chased away the kiore; there are Pakeha boats on our waters, Pakeha fish in our rivers. All that was is gone; and the land of the Maori is no longer theirs. God has called to the Maori people, and they go. The souls of our dead crowd the path that leads to the Reinga. "Lo! the Pakeha men are very many. It is good that they should see our maidens, and it is good that they should marry them. Then there will be children that shall live, and a new race of Maori blood. So there shall be some to say in the time to come, 'This is the land of our mothers. This was the land of the Maori before the Pakeha came out of the sea.' "Oh, friend! send your young men to Tanoa, that they may see our maidens, and may know that they are good for wives. The mihonere and the kuremata[7] have taught them the things of the Pakeha. It is good that we should cause them so to marry." Thus does Arama propound his plan for a fusion between the races. Still more to further it, he proposes to endow certain young ladies of his tribe with considerable areas of land, in the event of any Pakeha--_rangatira_ Pakeha--who may be acceptable to the tribe, offering to marry any of them. We have tried to urge the Little'un, or the Saint, or even O'Gaygun into some such match; but they are shy, I suppose, and do not seem to fancy taking "a savage woman to rear their dusky race." Yet it would be unfair to call the brunette beauties of Tanoa savages. _Place aux dames!_ Let us get on to consider the ladies. Ema, and Piha, and Ana, and Hirene, and Mehere; there they are, the pick and particular flower of all that is beautiful, fashionable, young, and _marriageable_ in Tanoa. Bright and cheerful, neat and comely, pleasant partners at a bush-ball are these half-Anglicized daughters of the Ngatewhatua. They can prattle prettily in their soft Maori-English, while their glancing eyes and saucy lips are provoking the by no means too hard hearts of Pakeha bushmen. Ah! live in the bush, reader! Live and work from month's end to month's end without even a sight of a petticoat, and then go slap into the middle of a "spree" at some such place as Tanoa or Te Pahi. Then you would appreciate the charms of our Maori belles. Under the influence of music and the dance, supple forms and graceful motions, scented hair and flower-wreaths, smiles and sparkling eyes, the graces of nature not wholly lost under the polish of civilization, you would say our Maori girls were very nice indeed. And so say all of us, _although_ the Saint and the Little'un and O'Gaygun hold aloof from matrimony--as yet. These Maori maidens are not to be thought of as savages. Far from it. They can read and they can write, in English as well as Maori. They can read the newspaper or the Bible to their less accomplished papas and mammas. They can cipher and sew; have an idea of the rotundity of the earth, with some knowledge of the other countries beyond the sea. They are fully up in all the subjects that are usually taught in Sunday schools. They can play croquet--with flirtation accompaniment--and wear chignons. Oh no! they are not savages. At least, _I_ should say not. But far pre-eminent among the young ladies of Tanoa is Rakope. She is the daughter of Mihake, the nephew and heir of Arama, and who is himself a great favourite and good friend of ours. Mihake is a jolly, good-tempered kind of man, very knowing in stock and farming matters, and a frequent guest of ours. His daughter, as Arama is childless, ranks as the principal unmarried lady of the tribe, and most worthy is she to bear such a dignity. O Rakope! princess of the Ngatewhatua and queen of Maori beauty! how am I to describe the opulence of your charms, your virtues, and your accomplishments? How am I to convey an idea of what you really are to the dull and prejudiced intellects of people in far-off foggy Britain? Yet have I sworn, as your true knight, O beautiful Rakope! to noise your fame abroad to the four corners of the earth, with the sound of shouting and of trumpets! Prepare, O reader! with due reverence, with proper admiration, to hear of our Maori paragon. For she is a beauty, our Rakope; and more, her intelligence amounts almost to what is genius, by comparison with her companions. You can see it in her broad, low brow, in her large, clear, liquid eyes, shaded with their black velvety fringe of lashes. Her features may not be good, judged by Greek art standards; but what do we care about art and its standards here in the bush? We can see that Rakope is beautiful, and we know that she is as good as she is beautiful. Her colour is a soft dusky brown, under which you can see the blood warming her dimpling cheeks. Her figure is perfection's self, ripe and round and full, while every movement shows some new grace and more seductive curve. Her rich brown hair reaches far below her slender waist, and when it is dressed with crimson pohutakawa blossoms, the orange flowers of the kowhaingutu kaka, or the soft downy white feathers that the Maoris prize, then it would compel the admiration of any London drawing-room. And what is it in Rakope's cheeks and chin, and rare red lips and pearly teeth, that makes one think of peaches and of rosebuds and of honey, and of many other things that are nicest of the nice? Away, away with your washed-out, watery Venuses, your glassy-eyed Junos, your disdainful, half-masculine Dianas! Away with all your pretended and pretentious beauties of the older Northern world! We will have none of them. Give us our Rakope, our Rakope as she is, glowing with the rich warm colour, the subtle delicacies of form, and all the luxuriant beauty that is born between the South Sea and the sun! And is she not clever? Words fail the schoolmaster when he attempts to sound her praises; for she has learnt nearly all that he can teach her. She is the apple of his eye and the crown of his labours. To hear Rakope sing is to believe in the Syrens; to chat with her and receive her looks and smiles, to dance with her--ah! She is the pet of the tribe. Men and women, girls and boys are never weary of admiring or caressing or spoiling her. She can coax and wheedle her father and Arama, mihonere and kuremata alike, to do almost anything she desires, and through them she may be said to reign over the Ngatewhatua. She is the delight and darling of all the settlers round. She is the idyll of our shanty, and our regard for her approaches to idolatry. O Rakope, Rakope! I hope you will some day marry a Pakeha rangatira, and endow him with your ten thousand acres; for if you mate with even an ariki from among your own people, your lot will be but a hard one when age has dimmed the brighter glories of your beauty! There was a spree at the township; an event that had been looked forward to by everybody for months past. English people are given to associating the idea of a "spree" with that of a bacchanal orgy. Not so we. With us the word is simply colonial for a festivity of any kind, private or public. And whatever may be the primary object of the spree, it is pretty certain to conclude with a dance. On this occasion "The Pahi Minstrels," who had advertised themselves for long beforehand, were to give a musical entertainment, disguised as niggers. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to explain who these personages were, since it will be remembered that our shanty was given to sending out serenading expeditions. _We_ were the Pahi Minstrels; having laboriously trained ourselves in a certain _repertoire_, and having been reinforced by one or two other amateur instrumentalists. In the bush a very little is accepted as an excuse for amusement. The public festivities of our district are confined to two events in the year--the Otamatea races and the Pahi regatta; so that any addition to these is received with unanimous pleasure and applause. Our present intention had met with a hearty reception. On the appointed evening, just about sundown and after, there was a grand gathering at the township. All along the beach boats lay drawn up, and the number of people walking about made the place seem quite populous. Of course, everybody was there from our own river, and from Paparoa and Matakohe besides. There were people, too, from the Wairoa settlements, from the Oruawharo, even from Maungaturoto and distant Mangawai. Our hearts sunk into our boots when we saw the prodigious audience that was assembling to hear our crude attempts at minstrelsy. Our Maori friends were there in full force. Rakope, Piha, Mehere, and the rest of the girls, a blooming band of native beauty, escorted by a large contingent of their male relatives. All the married settlers round had brought their wives, and--theme of all tongues!--there were actually as many as four young single ladies! This was evidently going to be a spree on a most superb scale. Dandy Jack fairly beamed with rapture, and the gallant O'Gaygun almost burst with the overflow of his exuberant feelings. The scene of the spree was, of course, to be our Assembly Hall, although every citizen of Te Pahi township kept open house that night. The Assembly Hall has been already mentioned, but must now be more particularly described. Although the township is all parcelled out into town and suburban allotments, yet, for the most part, it remains in its original bush-covered condition. There is a piece of flat land round the base of the bluff, and this is all under grass; the half-dozen houses of the citizens, with their gardens and paddocks, being here. But all beyond is bush, with a single road cut through it, that leads up and along the range to Paparoa and Maungaturoto. When it occurred to us as advisable to build a hall, and when we had subscribed a sum for the purpose, a site was selected further along the beach up the Pahi. Here there is a little cove or bend in the shore, and, just above it, a quarter-acre lot was bought. This was cleared, and the hall built upon it. All around the little patch of clearing the bush remains untouched. A track connects it with the houses on the flat, about a quarter of a mile off; and the beach just below is an admirable landing-place for boats. The hall is simply a plain, wooden structure, capable of containing two or three hundred people. The Saint, when describing it in a letter home, said it was "a big, wooden barn with a floor to it." However, we voted this statement to be libellous, and cautioned the Saint on the misuse of terms. The Pahi Town Hall is not to be rashly designated with opprobrious epithets. Such as it is, it serves us well, by turns as chapel, court-house, music-hall, and ball-room. On the night in question the hall was brilliantly illuminated with candles and kerosene lamps. The benches were filled with an eagerly expectant audience, brown and white, who applauded loudly when the Pahi Minstrels emerged from a little boarded room in one corner, and took up their positions on the platform at the end of the hall. Then, for two mortal hours, there was a dismal and lugubrious travesty of the performances of that world-famous troupe which never performs out of London. But our audience were not captiously critical, and received our well-meant but weak attempts to please them with hearty pleasure and vigorous applause; and when we finally took ourselves off down to the river to wash our faces, every one declared we were a great success, as they busied themselves in clearing the hall for the dancing that was to follow. It is not my purpose to describe the entire spree. I have merely alluded to it in order to record one of its incidents, which may fittingly conclude this brief account of our Maori neighbours; moreover, it is an illustration of something I said once before about caste and class prejudices. Of the four young English ladies who were present at the spree, three were known to us as the daughters or sisters of settlers in the district. The fourth was a visitor from Auckland, who was staying with some friends in the district, and had come with them to the township. Miss "Cityswell" I will call her, the name will do as well as another. Now, it is the praiseworthy custom of settlers' wives in the bush, to ask their unmarried lady friends from the city to visit them as much as possible. There is a dearth of feminine society in the newer districts; and the most insignificant miss, on her travels from house to house up country, receives pretty nearly as much homage and attention as did the Queen of Sheba on her visit to King Solomon. If she be matrimonially inclined--and, to do them justice, our colonial ladies are not backward in that respect--she has an infinite variety of choice among suitors eligible and ineligible. But on that head more anon. Every woman is a lady in the bush, and Miss Cityswell was, of course, no exception to the general rule. We were aware, however, that her father and mother were of the English peasant class, though he had prospered and was now an Auckland magnate. She was a fairly educated young woman, passably good-looking; but her head was evidently turned by the attentions of which she was the recipient. Certainly, if mannerisms, affectation, vanity, and dress have anything to do with it, her claim to be called a lady was a most emphatic one. Auckland city people know little or nothing of Maoridom. In fact, the generations born and bred in Auckland seem to be as ignorant about the natives as people at home. They never come into contact with them. They see an occasional Maori in the streets, or perhaps witness a native canoe-race at the regatta. But as for knowing anything of Maori life and character, past or present, that they do not. And they are generally absolutely ignorant of the history of the colony. They are given to looking on the Maoris much as people at home regard gypsies--as quite an inferior order of beings, in fact. Miss Cityswell was naturally imbued with these notions. She regarded the Maoris who were present at the spree with sublime contempt and gathered skirts. During the early part of the evening, she confined herself to saying that she thought we took too much notice of our native neighbours. But when it came to the dancing, and when she saw the Maori girls making ready to take part in it, then the storm burst. "Pray, are you gentlemen actually going to dance with those creatures?" We intimated, mildly, that such was our explicit intention. The lady's indignation was almost too great for words. She regarded us with mingled horror and disgust, replying-- "Well, all I can say is, that I shall certainly decline to dance with any gentleman who demeans himself by taking one of those brown wretches for a partner." Here was a terrible to-do. Expostulations, explanations, entreaties, all alike failed to move Miss Cityswell's determination. The matter began to assume a darker complexion as we thought it over. Under ordinary circumstances, every gentleman present would consider it his privilege to lead out the fair stranger for at least one dance, an honour he would not concede on any account, and would fight and bleed for if necessary. But now we began to perceive that we were between the horns of a dilemma. An eager and excited group of us withdrew to consider the matter. Something like _lèse majesté_ must be committed either way, that was apparent. To give up the chance of a dance with Miss Cityswell was to forego a rare and exquisite moment of ecstasy; and yet, to qualify ourselves for it, we were required to put an insult upon, and to neglect, our beautiful Rakope and her sisters. Whatever was to be done? Dandy Jack, O'Gaygun, the Fiend, and another, in spite of their exuberant gallantry, declared themselves firmly for the belle of the Kaipara, _versus_ her white and more sophisticated rival. Probably, these gentlemen were actuated by a sneaking expectation that Miss Cityswell would not be able to hold out against the advances of such magnificoes as themselves, all night. But the Saint, Yankee Bill, and Whangarei Jim headed a party who were all for the Auckland lady. Her slightest wish was to them an absolute law, for that evening, at least. They would dance with no one else, look at no one else, speak to no one else, if this heaven-descended apparition so desired it. Then there was a party of moderates, represented by Little'un, the Pirate, Wolf, Dark Charlie, and the Member. These were all for a compromise of some sort. And at last they were inspired with a plan that seemed the best that could be done under the circumstances, and that was finally, after much dispute, accepted as our line of action by all parties. It was this. Each one of us was to go in rotation and to lead out Miss Cityswell for a single dance; after that he would be free to devote himself to all and sundry. No one was to dance with any other until he had had his turn with the haughty Aucklander. We hoped that such homage to her would appease her pride; while we relied on the good sense of all the other ladies, to put our singular conduct down to a whimsical desire on our part to pay a fanciful attention to a fair visitor and stranger. But there was one factor we had entirely forgotten to reckon. As we were proceeding in a body back to the hall, we met all the Maori girls coming out, and a high state of indignation they seemed to be in. Some officious person had carried Miss Cityswell's dictum to their ears, and up went all the brown noses in the air as a consequence. _They_ were not going to stop in the hall to be grossly and gratuitously insulted! No, thank you! If they were not good enough for Pakeha men to dance with, they had no further business there! It was time for them to be going home! Here was another nice little mess. All the Maori girls, from Rakope downwards, were as wrathful as such brown darlings could be. They would go straight home at once, they said, and never, never again come to a Pakeha spree! And their masculine friends were siding with them, and already making for the boats, though, for the most part, indignantly silent, waiting to see what we would do. Several of the Pakeha ladies present tried to pacify the outraged Maori feeling, but without avail. On the other hand, it appeared that Miss Cityswell was inwardly somewhat frightened at the turn things had taken, and at the excitement every one was in. She would not move from her silly standpoint, however; but when Dandy Jack blandly, and with many elaborate compliments, proceeded to lay our proposal for compromise before her, she eagerly grasped at it as an escape from the awkwardness of the situation. So far that was settled, then; but how the Maori beauties were to be pacified it passed our understanding to conceive. Old Colonial was at last discovered behind a flax-bush, deep in a discussion on beet-root sugar-making with a stranger, and wholly oblivious of the row. He was instantly dragged forward into the light, and every one turned to him as the one person who could save our honour and our partners. When the case had been fully explained to him, Old Colonial's eyes twinkled with fun. "I see my way to square matters," he said, "but you must leave me to do it by myself." He then went down to the beach, where the Tanoa ladies were sitting in a group in the moonshine, waiting for the tide to turn before they embarked to return home. He sat down amidst them, and after some desultory chat, and flirtation perhaps, he brought the talk round to Miss Cityswell and her proceedings. "Yes, she's a niceish girl," he drawled meditatively, "rather foolish and ignorant, though, I think. You see, she is a visitor up here, this Auckland person; and we are bound to be hospitable and attentive, and to put up with her whims." His auditors assented to this, but intimated that _they_ were not bound to put up with Miss Cityswell's arrogance, and did not intend to. "Of course not," returned Old Colonial, with a wave of his pipe-hand, as he reclined at Rakope's feet; "of course not. But then, you see," and here he glanced cautiously round to make sure that no Pakehas were within hearing, "she's not worth thinking about, _not being rangatira_." "Oh!" cried Rakope, with round open eyes; and "Oh!" cried Piha and Mehere, and all the chorus. "No," continued he, lazily contemplating a smoke-ring in the moonlight; "her father and mother were only kukis, or something not far off it, and she, of course, is not rangatira, not a lady." "Oh!" cried Rakope and the others briskly, and joyously jumping to their feet, "that alters the case. We thought she was a lady, and were offended at what she said; but as she is not, it does not matter--she knows no better, and what she says is nothing. _We_ are ladies, and don't mind what common persons say or do." So, back to the hall came the whole body, romping and laughing round Old Colonial, the acute and wise diplomatist, who had made matters straight and pleasant once more. And we, standing in a body near the hall, heard the rippling laughter of the merry band, and saw their white muslin dresses and bright ribbons glancing among the trees. From within the lighted hall came the sound of fiddles and of stamping feet. We forgot all about Miss Cityswell; we left her to the care of Saint and Whangarei Jim; we forgot the terms of our compromise. We rushed into the bush to meet our partners, as they came up from the beach, with streaming hair and eager eyes. And presently twenty couples took the floor--we Pakeha men and the dusky daughters of the land; and Old Colonial and Rakope waltzed fast and furiously at the head. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 6: A battle-axe of polished green jade. One of the most valued of Maori possessions.] [Footnote 7: Missionary and schoolmaster.] CHAPTER XI. OUR SETTLER FRIENDS. I think I need hardly say that we are not æsthetic here in the bush. In point of fact, we have no sympathy whatever with æstheticism or high art culture. We are, to put it shortly, Goths, barbarians, antithetics, what you will. The country is not æsthetic either; it is too young yet to use or abuse intellectual stimulants. There exists among us a profound contempt for all the fripperies and follies of fashion and civilization. We hold these things to be wrong--to be a sort of crime against manhood. In a measure we are Puritan; not altogether in a religious sense, but in a moral and social one, certainly. We regard our horny hands with pride, and talk about "honest labour" with something more than a virtuous glow. We are apt to be rather down on city foplings and soft-handed respectabilities. All such people we despise with positively brutal heartiness. When we read of what is doing in London and Paris we swell with indignation and contempt. We look upon the civilization we have come out of as no fine thing. Life is a serious matter-of-fact business to us, and we hold in stern derision the amenities of more sophisticated communities. I think that we must look upon things at home much in the same light as the Norsemen of old did upon the frivolities of Rome or Byzantium. The spirit of O'Gaygun's philosophy pervades the colonial mind a good deal, and, possibly, we may be prone to cultivate it as a means of stifling any regrets we may have after the old life. We are very natural men, you see, very simple and childlike, unused to the artificialities of larger and organized society. Our characters have been reformed back to primary essentials; and the raree-show of civilization dazzles and frightens our primitive nervous systems. We may have our little failings, but we ask no pity for them from people whom we so utterly scorn, as we do the denizens of the elder world. Art! Culture! �stheticism! Bah! Pouf! Away with all such degrading, debasing, dehumanizing trumpery! We are men of a harder, sterner, simpler mould than the emasculate degeneracies of modern England! We are the pioneers and founders of a new Britain, of a stronger and purer life! When describing our farm I gave some hint as to the causes which have kept us from building a better house hitherto. Some day we shall have one, of course; or, possibly, we shall have more than one, for some of our chums have been showing a tendency towards matrimony of late; and if any of us marry they must have houses of their own, I suppose. We should need a barrack else, you understand, for families _do_ run large out here. Some of our neighbours live in very comfortable houses; and by visiting them we are kept from becoming reformed into the uttermost savagery altogether. Other people had more capital than we, or spent what they possessed in a different manner. There are those who have laid themselves out to render their homes more in accordance with the taste that prevails among--I had nearly written _decent_ people, but will say worldly instead. They have got nicer domiciles than our shanty; but, then, it takes a woman to look after things. There must be a mistress in a house that is to be a house, and not a--well, shanty, let us say. Even Old Colonial is sensible of that. A frame-house here is built upon exactly the same plan as ours, so far as regard the piles, framework, outside wall and roof; but the plan of it varies much. Every man is his own architect, or at least that business lies between him and the carpenter who builds for him. One sees some very singular examples sometimes. Rows of isolated rooms connected by a verandah; houses all gable-ends and wings; all sorts in fact. A good house will have the outside walls boarded up and down, with battens covering the chinks, instead of weather-boarding like our shanty. The inside walls and ceilings will be lined with grooved and jointed planking, so as to make the house what is styled bug-proof. There is a broad verandah round the whole or part of the house. There are brick chimneys inside the house, though, as they are usually an item of considerable expense, this is not invariable, and chimney out-puts like ours will be seen not infrequently. There are various rooms, and possibly an upper storey, which may or may not have a balcony above the verandah. It is a common practice to have French windows, opening upon the verandah, instead of doors. Such houses can be made very elegant as well as comfortable. They are painted and decorated with carvings outside, and the inside walls may be painted, papered, or varnished. Furniture and upholstery of all kinds is, of course, procurable in Auckland; so that one can have all the comfort of an English home, if one is able to pay for it. Necessarily, the cost of house-building will vary considerably, according to the style and size of residence. A cottage with two to four rooms will cost £100, or less. The average price paid for houses in our district--large roomy houses for prosperous family-men, contracted for with a carpenter, to build, paint, and thoroughly finish off--runs from £250 to £500, or something like it. Kauri timber is used almost exclusively in the North, so that we may say we live under the shadow of the Kauri pine. We keep up the usages of society so far as to pay visits occasionally, especially to houses where there are ladies. You have got to live in a country where petticoats are few and far between, where there is not one woman to twenty or thirty men, as is the case here, in order to thoroughly appreciate the delights of feminine society. People at home don't know how to treat a lady; they are too much used to them. Why, there are actually more women than men in England! We treasure our ladies, because they are so rare among us in the bush. Good creatures they are, these settler's wives. How kind and benevolent they are to us, to be sure! And how they do delight to "boss" us about! But we like it, we enjoy it, we revel in it. We would lay ourselves down for them to trample on us, and be truly grateful for the attention. That is our loyal feeling towards the married ladies resident in the district. Conceive, if you can, how much more extravagant is our gallantry when certain other persons are in question--young ladies whom the irreverent covertly term "husband-hunters!" Those good lady dwellers in the bush--how it does delight them to promote the matrimonial felicity of others! How they do enjoy matchmaking! Every settler's wife, so soon as she has got over the exclusiveness of honeymoon happiness, does her best to induce her girl friends from the city to come and visit her. She is so lonely, she says--poor thing! No one but her husband, and his neighbours and workmen; her devoted slaves every one of them, but still, all rough men, you know. She pines for a companion of her own sex. Oh yes; very much so! It would be a charity, indeed, if dear Ada or Fanny would come and stay with her a bit. Dear Ada or Fanny is only too glad of the opportunity. She did want to see what the bush was like, for she has never been out of Auckland yet, except a trip to the hot lakes, or so. In fact, her school-days are scarcely over yet. And then she is so sorry for her friend's loneliness. It must be dreadful to be isolated in the bush like that. She will certainly come and see her. So Miss Ada or Fanny packs up her box. Sweet, amiable creature! She flies to alleviate her friend's hard lot. She constrains her inclinations, and sets out bravely for the bush, solely at friendship's call; for, of course, there is no _arrière pensée_ in her mind. Oh no; how could there be? The young lady was not considered exactly a belle in the city, perhaps; but the bush receives her as an incarnation of Venus herself. Directly she gets beyond the confines of the city, into the rough, primitive, and inchoate wilderness, she finds herself elevated to a rank she never knew before. Coach-drivers, steamboat-captains, hotel-keepers treat her with a deference and attention that is quite captivating, rude examples of male humanity though they may be. Some settler is introduced, or introduces himself, who is travelling too. He will be delighted, honoured, to be permitted to act as her escort. Perhaps he has been deputed by her parents, or by her friend, to look after her. Whether or no, he almost suffocates with importance if she graciously accords him permission to act as her courier and footman. Other men who are journeying on the roads or rivers somehow become attached to Miss Ada's luggage. It appears that they are going in the same direction. They say so, at any rate. They form themselves into a sort of bodyguard to look after this wonderful visitant. Mysterious dangers, not to be explained, are darkly hinted at, in order that cause may be shown for their attendance. They are necessary as porters to look after her traps, as purveyors to fetch her milk and fruit, and so on. Miss Ada may not unnaturally be a little timid at first, but she soon gets over that, finding that these big, bearded men are a good deal more timid of her. Some of them actually colour up when she looks at them. She discovers that she is a wit; her little jokes being applauded uproariously, and repeated by one of her bodyguard to another. Every eye is upon her, gazing at her with undisguised admiration; and every ear is humbly bent to catch the slightest whisper that falls from her lips. Really, these bushmen are very nice fellows, after all, in spite of their rough looks. Quite different from the affected young fops of the city. As the young lady journeys onward her train swells, like a snowball gathering snow. Somehow or other, it seems that the whole district is meditating a visit to the place that is her destination. And everybody is so polite to her, so embarrassingly attentive, and so determined she shall enjoy her trip, that she begins to think the bush is the most delightful part of the habitable globe; while the scenery grows more and more enchanting every minute. By-and-by the end of the journey is reached. The settler's wife comes out to meet her guest, while a long procession files up from the river, actually quarrelling for the privilege of carrying Miss Ada's various impedimenta. The ladies are embracing and kissing with effusion, to the manifest discomfiture and perturbation of the crowd, who try to look indifferently in opposite directions. "_So_ good of you to come, dear, to these far away solitudes; so _kind_ of you, and so _disinterested_, for I'm sure there's nothing here to attract you in the _least_!" "Oh, I think you've got a _charming_ place! And the gentlemen have been _so_ kind. I didn't mind the journey at _all_, I assure you. And, of course, I would come to keep _you_ company, you poor, banished thing!" Thus do these innocent creatures chatter to each other in their hypocritical fashion. But the wife just glances slyly at her husband, and he looks guiltily away at the far horizon; for the dear schemer has been making a confidant of him, for want of a better. And Miss Ada's tail makes itself at home, after the free hospitable manner of the bush. And the men are received with greater unction than ever on the part of their hostess; albeit they profess to have called casually, on some mysterious business or other with her husband. And they are housed for the night, at least, and to each of them separately the good little woman finds an opportunity of saying-- "Isn't she a sweet, pretty girl? And such a capital manager, I do assure you. Be sure you come up on Sundays, and every other day you can spare, while she is with us. It will be so dull for her, you know, coming from all the gaieties of the city!" Rumour flies about the country, apprising it of the fact that a young lady visitor is stopping at So-and-so's. The district incontinently throws itself at her feet, and worships Beauty in her person. Each of the few married ladies round invites the stranger to come and stop with _her_, after a bit, and to lighten _her_ heavy load of solitude, and _her_ craving for a companion of her own sex. And Miss Ada finds it impossible to refuse these invitations; and so the district entraps her, and keeps her in it. What wonder that when she does return to the city, it is only to make ready for an impending event; for she was really obliged to take pity on one of those poor bachelors, you understand. And the bush is so charming! And she will be near her dear friend! And so--it comes about that there will be one "husband-hunter" the less. One season there had been an entire dearth of lady visitors. In our shanty people were going melancholy mad. The district was losing its charm for us. We had not set eyes upon any young lady of flirtable estate for months and months. Old Colonial and the Saint had taken to making their cattle-hunting expeditions invariably lead them to Tanoa; where they said they went to talk to Mihake about stock, but where, it was remembered, too, pretty Rakope and her sisters dwelt. O'Gaygun's conversation was burdened with constant reference to "purty gurls," whom he had seen in former days; and he became so violently attentive to the wife of one of our neighbours, that, we began to think he would have to be seriously expostulated with. Dandy Jack was restless, betraying less interest than usual in his personal appearance, and talking of going to Auckland for a spell. All of us were getting gloomy and dispirited. Our life didn't seem to be so glorious a one as usual. But relief came at last. One Saturday, the Fiend had been over to the township, taking our weekly consignment of butter, and bringing back such news as there was, and such stores as we required. He returned with intelligence that set our shanty in a ferment. A young lady had come up from Auckland on a visit! The Fiend had found a note at the township, left there for our community generally. It was from the wife of a settler whom we speak of as the Member. She informed us that her friend. Miss ---- Fairweather, let it be, was on a visit to her; and she invited us to go there on Sunday, the next day, and whenever else we could. The epistle concluded with some adroit reference to the charms and graces of her guest, conveyed in that vague and curiosity-exciting manner so peculiarly feminine. Full parliament of the shanty was instantly summoned, and we proceeded to discuss the matter. It was decided, without opposition, that we should accept the invitation, and should spend the following day at the Member's. Not a dissentient voice so far as that was concerned. The whole parliament would pay its respects to Miss Fairweather, somehow or other; no question about _that_. And then we had to take into consideration the important subject of dress. Every one wished to make the best appearance he possibly could, and Old Colonial peremptorily commanded that we should turn out in our best attire. But our best was a poor thing. The common wardrobe of the shanty was overhauled; and it became evident that we were worse off than we had at first supposed. Under ordinary circumstances, not more than two or three of us would require a go-to-meeting rig-out at one and the same time. Even a full change of garments was scarcely ever called for by the whole party at once. Commonly, when going to visit one of our married neighbours, we thought it enough to clean ourselves a bit and put a coat over our shirts; that was all. But something more killing was needful on this occasion; and, to our consternation, we found we had not got a square change of clothes to go round. It was too late to go to the township to buy some additional clothes; besides, we could not afford such extravagances just then. Three or four of us might have turned out pretty decently, perhaps, but not the whole crew. And no one would hear of any plan that might keep him at home. We would all go, making shift as well as we could. All other work was at once put aside, and we were soon briskly at it, washing out shirts and trousers. A roaring fire was kindled outside the shanty, for the purpose of quickly drying the cleansed integuments; for, some two or three were reduced to the temporary necessity of draping themselves in blankets, _à la_ Maori, while the only clothes they had were being washed and dried. Two of the boys had canvas breeches, that were supposed to be white when they were clean. Now canvas goes hard and stiff when wet, and is therefore not readily washed. Our chums were dissatisfied with the stained and discoloured appearance their nether garments presented, after all the washing they could give them. Pipeclay was suggested, but of pipeclay we had none. In lieu of it the boys got some white limestone, which they first calcined, and then puddled up into a paste with water. This mixture they rubbed into the fabric of their breeches. The effect of this could not be very well made out by firelight, and next morning there was no time to alter it if it did not suit. However, the ingenious whitewashes were satisfied. They had what Dandy Jack called "stucco breeches," which had a dazzling effect at a distance, certainly. The worst of it was that the plaster cracked and peeled off in flakes, and that the four whitewashed legs left visible traces upon everything else they touched. Still, we do not go courting every day, you know, and some little variation from conventional routine is excusable when we do. We had all to take to tailoring, sewing, mending, and cobbling. Everything we had was tattered and torn; and had to be patched and repaired somehow. We could not confront the gaze of Beauty with great rents in our shirts. This was a fearful business, the materials for effecting it being exceedingly limited, and our fingers unused to the work. It was a sight to see O'Gaygun, his philosophy and gallantry at war with one another, sewing blue flannel patches on a red shirt, and groaning lamentably over the task. Old Colonial officiated as barber, and, one by one, we all passed under his hands, he himself being operated upon by the Saint. With a pair of wool-shears, and the relics of the common comb, he clipped our flowing tresses close to our heads, reducing the unruly touzles to something like order; and he trimmed our beards to a uniform pattern, such as he considered was neat and becoming. We did not want to look like savages, he said. Unfortunately, the Saint was not such a good hand at the hair-cutting business, so Old Colonial looked rather singular, the white scalp showing in patches among his raven curls. But the boss could not see this himself, and no one mentioned the matter to him, out of merciful consideration for the Saint. Then Old Colonial manufactured pomatum out of lard and beeswax, scenting it with lemon-peel and a sweet-smelling leaf. This stuff he styled "Te Pahi Brilliantine," and with it he plentifully bedaubed our hair and beards. As a customary thing we never dream of cleaning our boots. It is altogether a waste of time, and it would be entirely useless to do it. Moreover, our boots are of rough hide, and not adapted for blacking. We merely scrape the mud off them with a shingle; that is quite enough. But, on this unusual occasion, it was decreed that we should black our boots and leggings. The tide would be full when we started in our boat, therefore we could get on board in the creek; and, not being under the necessity of plodging through the deep mud that is laid bare at low tide, we should reach our destination with passably clean feet. Blacking we had none, of course; that had to be made. We did not know exactly how to do it, so we tried various experiments. We prepared charcoal, and we scraped soot out of the top of the stove. We mixed these with kerosene oil, and, as some one said there ought to be sulphuric acid in blacking, we put in some vinegar instead of it. This mess was held to be the most effective, and was consequently used. Our foot and leg-gear was ridded of the mud of many weeks, and was smeared with the newly invented blacking. Behold us next morning ready to start! A line of nine ruffianly-looking scarecrows, under review by Old Colonial, head-master of the ceremonies. Our shirts are clean, though elaborately embroidered in many colours. Our trousers ditto. Our boots, whether high ankle-jacks, or lace-ups and leggings, are black, if not polished. Each man wears a coat. Rather ragged, rather ancient are these coats, originally of very varied kinds. But the etiquette of the bush does not demand much in coats. So long as your shirt is clean and whole, your coat may be a little off colour, so to put it. People are not so particular about the coat. It is an excrescence, not an essential garment like the shirt and breeches. There is one coat short, but Dandy Jack gracefully waives any claim he might have had, and goes without. He can well do so. Such is the force of habit, that, somehow or other, he looks more elegant than any of us. He is even well dressed, as we estimate that condition. It is aggravating, because----But no matter! There is one garment that has been the cause of introducing "hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness" among us. It is a coat of brown hemp-cloth, faced with leather. A coat of English make, with many pockets, such as sportsmen and gamekeepers wear sometimes. It had been thought too good to be used, and had been stowed aside in the library. Such as it is, it is the best garment we have got. After much wrangling we had to draw lots for it, and, much to his satisfaction, Old Colonial acquired the right to wear it. A box of paper collars had been discovered, so our unaccustomed necks are all tightly throttled in them. They do not fit, of course, and have to be fixed up with string and slips of flax; still, the effect is dazzling. The wet had got into the box, however, and a brown patch appears on the left side of each collar. This does for a trade mark, or badge of the shanty. Scarves or neckties we have none, nor any substitute or apology for them. Our newly-cropped and pomatumed heads are thatched with strangely ancient and weather-worn hats. These are of three general varieties, or were, when they were new. First, come soft felt wide-awakes, broad-brimmed and steeple-crowned, now presenting every diversity of slouch. Next, are hats of the same original shape, made of coarse plaited straw or reeds, now very much broken and bent. Finally, there are the remains of one or two pith helmets and solar topees. We have striven to make our head-gear look as jaunty and fresh as was possible. We have blacked the hats or whitewashed them, and have stuck feathers and flowers in them to give an air of gaiety to our otherwise sombre and sedate aspect. And thus we stand, while Old Colonial examines the regiment, giving a finishing touch here and there, where he deems it requisite. Then he draws back and proudly surveys us, and, bearing in mind the contrast we present to our customary everyday appearance, he says-- "We shall do, boys! Proceed to victory, my Pahi lady-killers!" We have a good distance to go, for the Member's place is fully twenty miles off; but we have plenty of rowers, and have wind as well as tide in our favour. Locomotion by water being our customary means of getting about, we think nothing of the distance, and get over it in fair time. The Member's place is a very different style of thing to ours. He has been some years longer here than we have on the Pahi; and has had plenty of means to enable him to do as he liked. In former times some of us worked for him, and we are all very good friends. But it is a year or two since most of us visited here, and so we are much struck with the improvement that has been effected since we last saw the place. To begin with, we land upon a little wharf or causeway of planks laid upon piles, which runs out over the mud to low-water mark, and enables people to land or embark at any time, without struggling through the mud first of all. For, on all these rivers, mud is the general rule. Shingle and sand appear in places, and there is often a belt of either above high-water mark; but below that, and as far as the ebb recedes, is almost invariably a stretch of greenish-grey sticky ooze. It is in this that the mangroves flourish, and it contains the shell-fish which the Maoris largely eat. Our boats are usually built flat-bottomed, so that they may be readily hauled up from, or shoved down to the water on the slippery surface of the mud, as may be required. The Member's house stands close to the beach, but on a little elevation just above it. It is placed in an irregularly shaped basin, that opens out upon the river. Round the basin run low ranges, covered still with their original bush. But all the undulating extent between them and the river, some seven hundred acres or so, is under grass or cultivation. It is all enclosed with a boundary fence of strong pig-proof post-and-rail, and divided off by well cared for hedges, or wire fences. There are other and newer clearings beyond the ranges and out of sight, but here all that is visible is very much trimmer and neater in appearance than our farm. Over three parts of the basin the plough has passed. About one-half is under wheat, maize, and other crops, while the grass on the remainder looks wonderfully rich, freed as it is from stumps, drained, and, to a measurable extent, levelled. Cattle, sheep, horses, and pigs are feeding in the paddocks. We eye the scene with great admiration, and even envy. This is the sort of thing our farm ought to be, and will be. It is what it might have been already, perhaps, if we had been capitalists. But then we weren't. The Member has got beyond the stage where we are still stuck. He is scarcely a pioneer farmer any longer. He has made his home, and a beautiful home it is, though shut out, seemingly, from all the world beside. The ranges, dark with woods, sweep round the fertile fields, the river flows below, and beyond it the untouched virginity of forest is again picturesquely apparent. But we are in a hurry to get up to the house, and so we walk at once from the landing-place. A well-made gravelled path leads up from the waterside, not straight to the house, which is rather to the right, but along a neat paling, which encloses the gardens round it. On the left is an orchard of some extent, within which we see a great many more fruit-trees than we possess ourselves; they have been grown with care, and the varied produce of that fruit-yard would be a mine of wealth in Covent Garden. Beyond the orchard, which is divided from the path by a hedge of orange, lemon, and quince, cut down into a dense shrubbery, we catch a glimpse through the trees of several labourers' cottages, and some barns or wool-sheds. The path is shaded by an avenue of fine trees, very large considering how young they are. Among them may be seen English oaks and beeches, American maples and sumachs, Spanish chestnuts, Australian blue-gums, Chinese and Japanese trees and shrubs, tropic palms, and some of the indigenous ornaments of the bush. A hundred yards up this avenue, and we pass to the right through a gate in the garden paling. There we find ourselves in enchanted ground, for there is surely no garden in the North, except, perhaps, that of the Horticultural Society at Auckland, which is superior to this. It is beautifully laid out, and to us, fresh from the uncouth barbarism of our shanty and its surroundings, this place seems to breathe of the "Arabian Nights." And is there not a certain princess within, into whose seraphic presence we are now entering? We inhale a new atmosphere, and tread lightly, almost on tiptoe, speaking unconsciously in whispers, and with the blood running quicker through our veins. The Member has money, as I have mentioned, and here, as elsewhere, money is a magician's rod that will work wonders. To the Member labour and the cost of it bear other relations than they do to us. He is able to look on life in a different light, and may expend toil on other matters than such as are of bare utility. And he has done so, wisely and lavishly, and so his home is what a home should be in this fair land--an Eden of natural beauty. In this garden there are smooth lawns and dainty flower-beds, winding walks and blossomy banks, trellised arbours and shady groves. Taste and elegance are manifest all round us, from the scented rosery to the well-kept melon-patch. The rich and splendid hues of countless flowers delight our eyes, while their unwonted sweetness sends a mild intoxication into us with every breath we draw. We pass up to the house along a straight, broad path, smooth and white with shell-gravel. The path divides the garden in a part of its length, and has a hedge on either side. But these hedges are of ornamental rather than useful kind. One is of geranium and the other of fuchsia. Here those beautiful plants, which are guarded so carefully in English conservatories, grow into trees in the open air. These geranium and fuchsia hedges are composed of many varieties of both. They are about eight or ten feet in height, and are constantly and carefully pruned to keep down their too exuberant tendencies. They are loaded with blossom, while the fuchsia fruit is a palatable addition to the many dainties of garden and orchard. The house before us carries about it the same air of comfort and ease as the garden, not to speak of elegance. It is a large villa, similar to some of the mansions one may see about colonial cities. Of what style its architecture may be I cannot say. It appears to partake of the character, externally, both of a Swiss châlet and a Norwegian country house. Of course, the material of the building is entirely kauri timber, with the exception of the chimneys, which are of brick, and the piles, hidden from sight, which are of puriri wood. There are many angles, corners, gables, wings, and outputs, designed for utility as well as appearance. Round the whole house runs a broad verandah, following the irregularities of the edifice. Above it is a balcony, forming a verandah for the upper storey, and the high, steep roof extends evenly over this. Between the pillars of the verandah is a light rail or trellis, upon which flowering creepers are twined, passion-flowers, with their handsome blossoms and refreshing fruit, conspicuous among them. Openings give admittance from the garden here and there; while light staircases connect the upper and lower verandahs outside the house. There has been some care in the ornamentation and finish; suitable carvings and mouldings adding beauty to the general design. The walls are painted white, picked out with green, while the shingled roof, being coloured red, looks passably like tiling. Altogether, the Member is to be congratulated on his domicile. It is a very different affair to ours. It would be honestly called a mansion in any country. This is the sort of house _we_ intend to have, we say, as we walk up to it. And this is the kind of garden we will have round it, too. O'Gaygun sniffs at the flowers with pretended disrespect, and mutters something about "taters" being more useful and to the purpose. But even he is a little quelled by the surroundings, and we hear no more of his barbaric philosophy for a time. Still, mark this, there is an air about the place that makes it different from so many old-country habitations. You do not feel that you may look but mustn't touch. You are not reminded that everything is for show, and not for use. There is no primness in the garden. There is an honest degree of orderly disorder, and an absence of formality. You do not feel as if you ought not to walk on the grass for fear of hurting it. There is no artificiality apparent; no empty pretences whatsoever. The house partakes of the same characteristic. It looks homely, and as if it was meant to be lived in. As we reach the verandah we notice a saddle or two carelessly slung over the rail; we see a hammock hung in one corner; and some clothes drying on lines in another. A couple of colley dogs come barking to meet us from their kennels on a shady side; and various other slight details betoken that we are still in the unsophisticated bush. We tramp heavily along the verandah, a formidable gang of uncouth barbarians. Old Colonial, at our head, gives a gentle coo-ee to intimate our arrival. Then out pops our hostess from somewhere. A merry, bright-eyed little woman is she, such as it does one's heart good to behold. She comes forward, with two of her children beside her, not a whit dismayed at the invasion. She gives us a hearty welcome, shaking hands religiously all along our lengthy line. This is one of those women who always make you feel gratified and contented with yourself and all the world, after you have shaken hands with or spoken to her. "Magnetic," some people call it. She is every one's sister, and you feel an instinctive affection for her, of that sober and yet warm kind which may be termed loyalty. She is queen in the Kaipara; and all of us think it the greatest pleasure in life to obey her behests. Chatting gaily, our hostess leads us through an open French window into the drawing-room, and we follow her, with a pleased and yet bashful sense of expectancy. Into the drawing-room, mark you! and a real drawing-room, too; not a visible make-believe, like the library in our shanty. This is a large room, furnished as people do furnish their best reception-chamber in civilized lands. Pictures hang on the varnished walls; books and book-cases stand here and there; tables loaded with knick-knacks, vases of flowers, workboxes, albums, and so forth; chairs and sofas and lounges; ornaments, statuettes, brackets, and various etcetera, betoken a life of greater ease than that of our shanty. We sit around in an uncouth semicircle, awkward and somewhat ill at ease, for we feel ourselves a little out of place in that room. One cannot live the life that we have lived for years past, without feeling strange and uncomfortable when once again brought within the influence of refinement. So we look at our boots with a sense that our hobnails do not match with the white Japanese matting that covers the floor; and we sit on the edge of our chairs just as other rustics would do at home. Our hats removed, the results of Old Colonial's tonsorial operations are made fully apparent. Our hostess surveys us with a puzzled air. I think she is struggling with a desire to laugh at the quaint simplicity of the communal wardrobe of our shanty, as it is now displayed on our persons before her. We have been petting the children, and, like other children, these are a trifle too observant. One of them, who is sitting on Old Colonial's knee, suddenly becomes aware of the state of his poll, and, pulling his beard to attract attention, asks-- "What made you cut your hair off?" Old Colonial looks across at the Saint; and then, catching Mrs. Member's eye, he and she and all of us go off into peals and roars of laughter. In the midst of this the door opens, we catch sight of another lady entering, and we stumble confusedly to our feet. It is _she_! Miss Fairweather comes forward, escorted by the Member, and followed by a straggling crowd of half a dozen men, similar barbarians to ourselves, who have got here before us. She is a pretty girl, a very pretty girl, would be considered so anywhere. Here, in her dainty elegance of costume, to our rude senses she appears almost too beautiful. She dazzles us altogether; we know no longer whether we are standing on our heads or our heels. We are being severally introduced with all due ceremony. The little beauty is not by any means disconcerted at the ordeal; she is evidently used to the position she occupies; used to being regarded with awe as a superior being by ranks and regiments of bearded bushmen. She receives our reverential bows with an amused expression in her blue eyes, and shakes hands with us, one by one, with the air of a princess according gracious favours to her subjects. And a funny little incident occurs. Miss Fairweather remarks to the Little'un that she thinks she has met him before; in Auckland, probably. Either she is mistaken, or, the Little'un has forgotten, and is shamefaced. He blushes the colour of beet-root. His huge frame wobbles in confusion; and, awkwardly trying to shrink out of sight, as his bashful habit is, he steps backward, and plants a giant heel upon O'Gaygun's toe. That outraged individual startles the assemblage with the sudden exclamation, "Gosh!" Endeavouring to extricate himself, he lumbers against the Saint and Dark Charlie, whom he sends flying into a centre-table. The table overturns, of course, and Dark Charlie's short, thick person sprawls and flounders heavily over it. The ice is now thoroughly broken. The ladies fall into seats, fairly screaming with laughter, and all of us, except the unlucky ones, begin to feel more at home. Then Mrs. Member tells her friend all sorts of wild legends about our shanty, such as obtain among the feminine public of the district. She says we are just a pack of overgrown schoolboys, who are rapidly turning into absolute savages. And they banter us deliciously to their hearts' content. But we are not noisy visitors, you know, on such occasions as these. On the contrary, the ladies do most of the talking, as some of us are absolutely tongue-tied. We can do nothing but sit and gaze at the young lady in our midst with all our eyes. She is a houri straight from Paradise, and we poor mortals just get a glimpse from beyond the gate, as it were. Then more arrivals keep dropping in by twos and threes, neighbouring settlers and chums of ours. So at last a circle of some thirty more or less rough-looking men form a court about those two ladies. Then we go to dinner in another room. Most of us dine chiefly off Miss Fairweather, devouring her with our admiring gaze, listening enraptured to her chat, and pulsating with wild joy if she do but smile or speak to us personally. Many can hardly eat anything; they are too love-sick already. After dinner our shyness has disappeared, and our native manhood re-asserts itself. The men of the Pahi must not be cut out by rivals from other rivers. They must do all they know to find favour in those beautiful eyes. We go strolling about the place in little knots, admiring the garden, eating fruit in the orchard, visiting the paddocks to see the stock and the crops, and generally enjoying ourselves after our manner. Each of our ladies has a little group around her, which goes off separately. The component parts of Miss Fairweather's immediate train may change from time to time; men may come and men may go, as it pleases her; but the gallant O'Gaygun, the devoted Dandy Jack, the obliging Old Colonial, and the fascinating Fiend are ever hovering around her, deferent, attentive, and adoring. Whether she is strolling or sitting, walking or talking, one or all of them seem to be by her side. They will not leave the field open to their numerous rivals, not for one minute, if they know it. How it was managed I cannot tell, but I have the fact on the best authority, Mrs. Member's in good sooth, that something happened very much. That is to say, my informant tells me that the young lady received no less than sixteen distinct proposals of marriage that day, nearly all of which were renewed on subsequent occasions. It can only have been for the barest fraction of a minute that any gentleman could find himself alone with her. But, whenever any one did get the chance, he must have jumped at the opportunity. You see, it is the custom of the country, of the bush at all events. We have no time for courting, scarcely any opportunity for it. We propose first--marry first if we can--and do the courting afterwards. We have to be spry about these things if we ever intend to get wedded at all. It is the result of competition. A great many men are hungering and yearning for wives, and there are very few girls for them to choose among. So matches are made without very extensive preliminaries. The ladies appear to like this celerity. Perhaps they are unwittingly philosophic, and reflect that, with months of courting, they can really know little more of a man than they did the first hour they met him, because he is naturally on his best behaviour then. Marriage is a lottery any way you can work it. It is only afterwards that each partner can obtain a true knowledge of the other. And I am bound to say that you will not find better wives or better husbands anywhere, than you will in the bush. So, as I have said, Miss Fairweather received sixteen offers that day. In point of fact she took all hearts by storm. Not a man in the Kaipara who would not have laid down and died for her. Not a bachelor among us who would not have felt exalted to the seventh heaven if he could have won her for his wife. But I dare say no more on this topic, and no more about the dear little beauty either, lest the too fortunate and ever-to-be envied gentleman, who now calls himself her husband, should come after me with his stock-whip. When the sun has set and evening has come, supper over, we sit in the lamp-lit drawing-room, enjoying the sweet intoxication of the ladies' presence. Or we lounge on the verandah outside the open windows, listening to the chat within, hearing around us the whispers of the forest, or the ripple and risp of the moonlit river, gazing at the profound shadows of the wooded ranges opposite, and inhaling the fragrant sweets of the sleeping garden. Peaceful and silent is that starlit night in the bush. Then, it being Sunday, the Member gives us service. And as the piano sounds, and we all join in singing the 23rd Psalm-- "In pastures green, He leadeth me, The quiet waters by," I think, that to even the most irreligious or most careless among us, the words, under the influences of our situation, come fraught with homely inspiration. Later, we are rowing back home with the tide. But we carry with us renewed hope and energy for our daily toil; for we have had, as it were, a foretaste of what is to be ours, some day, not so very far hence. We, too, shall have a home like that, as a reward for years of toil and hardship. And, God willing, it shall be graced for each of us with a wife like--_her_. CHAPTER XII. A PIG-HUNT. It is a beautiful morning in March, when an unusually large party assembles at "our shanty." The sun is just rising, and is not yet visible above the sheltering ranges which hem in the central flat that forms the farm. The sky is cloudless, the air still and fragrant with the odours of the awakening woods. Day-dawn is always the most beautiful time in New Zealand. It is especially so on this occasion, for a few showers had refreshed the thirsty earth on the previous day; and to us, as we emerge from our blankets eager with expectation, all Nature seems to wear a fresher and more blooming aspect. Half a mile below the shanty rolls the river, broad and blue, while the wooded shore opposite seems scarcely a stone's throw distant. The smoke curls lazily up from the fire within the shanty, where men are breakfasting and girding themselves for the fray. Outside on the clearings the hum of the crickets is as yet scarcely perceptible, but a party of turkeys can be seen advancing across the grass in line of battle, commencing their day's onslaught on the insect tribes. Cattle and sheep, pigs and poultry, have withdrawn from the immediate neighbourhood of the shanty, and are assembled in groups at a respectful distance, wondering and frightened at the unusual gathering of the human species. For with the sun come settlers and Maoris from all sides, some brought by boats and canoes upon the river, some galloping on horseback along the beach, others on foot struggling through the woods and across the ranges on either hand, all converging upon the shanty with shouting salutations, that are responded to with loudly demonstrated welcome. A rough and wild-looking assemblage we are, I make no doubt, yet fitting well into the foreground of the scene, with its rude and incipient civilization insulting the dominant wildness of Nature all around. Long before the sun has had time to climb above the ranges our muster is complete, and a larger party assembled than a stranger would imagine it possible to gather from so sparsely populated a district. Some thirty, settlers and their workmen, are there, together with about twice as many natives. All are equipped for the hunt in the lightest possible marching order--shirt, trousers and belt, boots and leggings, with an apology for a hat to crown the whole--such is the costume; a sheath-knife and tomahawk the weapons; with a store of food, tobacco and matches, to provide against all emergencies--such is the provision. Our native allies are attired in much the same guise, only slightly more ragged and dirty--if that be possible--and, generally speaking, barefooted. They are in a state of suppressed excitement, shown by their gleaming eyes and teeth, and in their wild exclamations and gestures. And I must not forget the most important members of the hunting party--the dogs. Some two dozen have been collected for the occasion, most of them belonging to Maoris; of no particular breed, but all large and heavy, strong-jawed and supple-limbed animals, wolfish-looking fierce creatures, but all more or less trained to the work before them. Good pig-dogs are not easily met with, and in the bush they are esteemed a prize. Our lot are a scratch pack, made up of any that can be induced to seize a pig, and have weight sufficient to hold on to him; a few are thought to be more experienced and capable. The men, on assembling, mostly go into the shanty to get some breakfast, in the shape of tea, bread, smoked fish and pork, and then straggle about the place, smoking, chatting, and waiting for the order to start. Picture the rough grassy slopes, covered with the standing stumps among the new grass, the rude shanty in the middle of the lower ground, as I have described it, the background of bush-covered heights, with the sun just coming up from behind them into the brilliant sky; and people this scene with the groups of men--Maori and Pakeha, uncouth in appearance as the shaggy cattle that are looking on from a corner of the clearing, or as the clumsy-looking but savage dogs that roam about, or are held in leash by their owners. Such is a "meet" in the bush. "Rather a different affair from the last meet of the Pytchley that you and I rode to," remarks one brawny, blue-shirted and ankle-jacked giant to another, as they squat on a log, comfortably enjoying an early whiff of "Venus" from their short, black clays. "What would they say at home, if they could see us now?" replies his friend, pushing back the battered relic of a "topee" from his unkempt hair and somewhat dirty face. Truly, the pair would scarcely appear to advantage in an English huntingfield, in their present trim. And now, while the last preparations are being made for the start, let us see what it is we are about to attack. The New Zealand wild pig of the present day is the descendant of animals introduced by Captain Cook and other of the early voyagers from the old countries. These people gave pigs to the natives with whom they opened intercourse, and the Maoris, not being used to live stock, lost a good many of their new acquisitions, which ran away into the bush and easily eluded pursuit in its dense coverts. Here they bred and multiplied to such a degree that immense droves of them are now to be found in all parts of the islands. In the fern-root and other roots of the bush they find an endless supply of food, which, if it does not tend to make their meat of good quality, at any rate seems to favour an increase in their numbers. Whatever may have been the original breed of these animals, the present representatives of the race are neither particularly good-looking or useful. They are lank and lean, with large heads and high shoulders, narrow, spiny backs sloping downwards to the short hind legs; hams they have none. They are thickly covered with bristles, and are mostly black, brown, and grizzled in colour. The mass of them are not large, but the patriarchal boars attain a great size, some of them standing over three feet in height. These fellows have enormous tusks curling on each side of their massive jaws, sharp as razors and strong as crowbars. Wild pigs are usually shy, and keep well out of the way of human invaders of their solitudes; but boars have occasionally been known to "tree" some incautious wayfarer, while, when hunted, they become exceedingly ferocious. One of our stockmen, out riding on open ground, was attacked by a boar that suddenly rushed upon him from a thicket; his horse was ripped up in a moment, and he only escaped by nimbly climbing into a tree that was fortunately near. In hunting the pigs it is necessary to go afoot, on account of the density of the bush, and accidents sometimes occur. Some dogs are sure to be killed; while now and then a too rash hunter may get the calf of his leg torn off, and might be otherwise injured, even fatally, though I never knew of any case of so grave a nature. Settlers regard wild pigs as vermin, only made to be exterminated; and they have, I think, considerable reason for their hatred. The pigs are capable of doing a great deal of damage. Fences must be strongly and closely put up to keep them out, and they must be continually examined and carefully repaired when necessary; for one rotten stake in a fence has often been the cause of a loss of great magnitude. In a single night the wild pigs may devastate many acres, if they once gain admittance, and destroy tons of potatoes, maize, or any sort of crop. But there is also another way in which they are prejudicial to the farmer, and peculiarly so to the newer settler. I have said that they are excessively lean and ill-shaped beasts, and I may add that their flesh is not only very tough, but it also has a strong smell, and a peculiarly nauseous flavour. The old pigs, both male and female, are absolutely uneatable in any part, though very young sows are appreciated by the Maoris--when they cannot get domestic-bred pork--and are eaten on a pinch by settlers and bushmen, whose vigorous appetites overcome all fastidiousness. Pork--fresh and salted, bacon and ham--is the natural and invariable food of the settler. Beef and mutton are too valuable as marketable steers, dairy cattle, and wool-growers, and are not so conveniently prepared into keeping forms; hence the pigs he breeds on his clearings are looked upon by the bush-farmer as the regular source whence to draw his household provision in the meat way. Now, if the wild boars out of the bush get among the brood sows upon the clearings, the result is deplorably manifest in the next generation, which will display more or less of the evil characteristics of the wild race. Thus, both the older farmer and the newest settler are nearly touched, and both unite in a common warfare with the enemy. It is often possible to stalk down and to shoot individual wild pigs on open ground, but that is looked upon merely as a cheerful interlude of sport; it has no deterrent or scaring effect upon the bulk of the droves, and is a waste of time, so far as regards the clearance of a district. A grand and well-organized drive, such as that we are about to see, will often result in not a single wild pig being visible in the district for six months and more afterwards. It is good sport, too; very arduous, since the hunter has to run and scramble through miles of forest. It has in it a good spice of danger, such as Britons love, and is, on the whole, pretty popular. Pig-hunting may be described as a sort of national sport in New Zealand. But here is Old Colonial issuing from the shanty, and a start seems imminent. The plan of campaign has been arranged between him and Mihake Tekerahi, the Maori, and another settler from a neighbouring river. The straggling groups of men and dogs are divided into three bodies, two of which will proceed to right and left respectively, and the third will go directly "back" from the farm. All the parties will become subdivided into smaller gangs, in the course of the day, but all will converge upon a given point in the bush, which will be the limit of the hunt. The block of land on which we are lies between three large rivers, and, owing to the conformation of the country and the winding of the rivers, its fourth side is a narrow neck of land not more than a mile and a half wide. Here there is a very lofty and rugged range, and it is the spot agreed on as our final rendezvous, being some fifteen miles distant from our shanty. Besides the men who have met at the farm, there are several parties who will start from more distant places, and who will also make for the range as their terminal point. We hope, by this concentrated drive, to kill as many pigs as possible, and to cause the rest of them to retire beyond the narrow space between the rivers; then the whole of our block will be free from them for some time to come. We have thought of running a fence across from river to river, but the rough nature of the ground, and the absence of suitable material quite close to the required spot, would make this rather too arduous--and therefore too expensive--a work for us to perform just yet, in our incipient stage of settlement. So we content ourselves with an annual hunt on a grand and conjoint scale, and with such minor forays as it pleases individuals to make from time to time. Our way at first--I speak of the band which regards Old Colonial as its chief director--lies up the clearings, through the bush above, and so to the elevated ground behind the shanty. Here a halt is called, and our band is again subdivided into two divisions, which are to take along the two ranges that commence from this point, hunting the gullies on both sides of them as they go. Then there is a loud fire of coo-ees, to ascertain the position of the brigades that started under Mihake and the other man. Their answering coo-ees come faintly but clearly out of the distant bush on both sides of us, denoting that they have severally reached their appointed starting places. And now the work begins in earnest. There is a tightening of belts, a putting out of pipes, and a general air of alertness on every face. For a time we go plunging on among the trees and brushwood, encouraging the dogs that are hunting the gullies below with frequent shouts of "Hi, there, Rimu! Go in, Shark!" and so forth. We have not yet started any pigs, though here and there we pass tracts of ground ploughed up by them. But, soon, there is a sudden burst of barking from the right, and some of us rush frantically off in that direction. But the loud voice of Old Colonial is heard calling in the dogs and shouting-- "Ware cattle! Ware cattle! Keep back there, it's Red Spot's mob!" And presently, with flying tails and tossing horns, a score of great beasts go lumbering and crashing by, pursued by that ill-conditioned Shark, who never will remember his duty, and persists in chasing pigs when his business is to be after cattle, and so, to-day, is earnestly and conscientiously driving cattle when he ought to give his mind only to pigs. All the roaring and swearing that goes ringing through the trees only serves to convince Shark that he is in the right; and he is only stopped in his wild career by the fortunate fact that the Saint, who has lagged far in the rear, steps in the way, cajoles Shark into listening to his advice, and, with a big stick and a few of the most gorgeous expletives of which he is eminently the master, persuades the errant hound of his mistake. Deep and dire are the maledictions heaved at the unhappy Shark, and in which his companions, Rimu and Toto, Wolf and Katipo, have unjustly to share. For the row occasioned by the episode has been enough to scare away all the pigs in the district; or, as a Maori near me mysteriously phrases it, "Make te tam poaka runny kanui far hihi!"--a sentence that I put on record, as a specimen of the verbal excesses to which education may lead the once untutored savage. However, the most knowing may sometimes be mistaken, and so it luckily proves in the present instance, for scarcely have we recovered from our disgust at Shark's misconduct, and resumed our hunting operations, than again the canine music breaks merrily out, followed by shouts in a dozen voices of-- "Pig! pig! Lay up there, dogs! Good dogs! Lay up there, Rimu, Rimu, Toto! At 'em, boys! At 'em! Lay up! Pig! pig!" And then the hot excitement seizes upon us all, and, as we hear the unmistakable grunting, squealing, and hough-houghing of pigs, we plunge madly down to the scene of action. It is no time for considering one's steps; we go straight for the point where the noise leads us, crashing against trees, stumbling over logs, regardless of every obstacle. We pitch headlong into holes hidden by treacherous banks of ferns; we swing over little precipices by the help of supple-jacks and lianes; we press through thorny bush-lawyers, heedless of the rags and skin we leave behind us; we splash through mud and water up to our waists; hot and breathless, torn and bleeding, bruised and muddy, we come tumbling, crashing, plunging, bounding down the sides of the gully, mad with the fierce excitement of the moment. A number of pigs are rushing wildly about among the flax and fern-trees, not knowing which way to escape. The dogs are at them gallantly, seizing them by the ears, laying up against them flank to flank, and holding on like grim death. The din is terrific, every one is shouting encouragement to the dogs, or to himself; the pigs are squealing and crying as only pigs can. Half a dozen dogs have fastened on to as many pigs, growling and worrying, but holding fast in spite of the twisting and shaking of their prey, in spite of the clashing of tusks and the savage snorting of one or two boars among the drove, in spite of being dragged and scraped through brushwood and timber, keeping always flank to flank with the pigs they hold, like good dogs as they are. I see Old Colonial bounding on before me, after a huge pig that is dragging the great dog on his ear as a bull-dog would drag a rat in a similar position. The pig heads up the bank, but Old Colonial is upon him; he grabs at a hind leg and seizes it with both hands. He is down, and is also dragged on his face for a moment; but he still keeps his grip in spite of kicking and struggling; keeps a firm, hard hold, regardless of the bruises and scratches he is getting; never leaves go till he gets his opportunity, till he can put foot to the ground; and then, with one mighty heave, over goes the pig on his back. Then triumphantly does Old Colonial put his knee on the boar's belly, calmly he presses back the snout with one hand, while, in the other, his knife glitters for a moment in the sunshine, and is then driven well home. In another minute, with Old Colonial's whoop of victory ringing in my ears, I, too, am engaged. A great, heavy sow passes close before me, with Katipo tearing at her ear. Simultaneously a couple of Maoris and myself charge after her. One of them stops behind to tomahawk such of her litter as he can catch; the other man and I hurl ourselves down upon the animal, after chasing her a hundred yards or so among the scrub. I seize at a leg and am thrown violently to the ground, getting a kick in the face that sets my nose bleeding. The Maori comes to my aid and gets a hold, and together we are rolled over on the ground. Alas! we have not between us Old Colonial's knack and activity, nor are we endowed with muscles of such steely fibre. We keep our clutch determinedly, desperately, and we are flung and bumped among the tree-roots and brushwood. The pig is screaming like a hundred railway engines; kicking, plunging, stamping, tearing, twisting from side to side in a vain endeavour to rid herself of us, or to get at us with those formidable jaws; shaking Katipo--a big mastiff-like cur--about, as a cat would shake a mouse. But still we two men hold on to that hind leg of hers, careless of our hurts, prone on our faces, but straining every muscle to keep the grip. Presently we get a chance; together we get our knees upon a log, together we put our backs into the effort, and heave. Over she goes. Hurrah! On to her at once! Sit on her belly and keep her down! Never mind the kicking legs in the air! Get a hand between the struggling forelegs, gently, along the neck! Now then, out with the ready sheath-knife, and dig it in! There! Right to the heart, till the blood spurts out over us! Hurrah! Good! There's another mother of a family the less! And now we may take breath for a minute or two, praise old Katipo, and cut off the pig's ears as a trophy. Only for the shortest possible minute, though, for the hunt is going on with headlong haste and hurry. We must be up and off after more pigs, and must rejoin the rest of the scattered party, whose shouts may be heard in various directions; there must be no loitering when pigs are near, for _they_ will not wait, we may be sure. As we run and scramble on through the scrub, making way upwards along the gully, we pass several dead pigs at intervals, which show that the rest of the boys have been well employed. Presently we come upon the Saint, in the midst of a gloomy thicket of birch, sitting astride of a great dead boar, and employed with his tomahawk in endeavouring to chop out the tusks. Then Katipo discovers a small family of pigs comfortably stowed away among the dense vegetation of a little marshy hollow. These give the three of us some diversion; we manage to kill two of them, and drive out the remainder upwards through the bush. Following them up hotly for about a mile, Katipo lays hold of one after another, which we turn over and stick as we can, killing two or three more in this way. But the work is very arduous, and the day is wearing towards noon, and is consequently very hot--March being here equivalent to an English September, but much warmer and drier. We are dripping with sweat, our shirts torn and muddied, blood all over us--both pigs' and our own--and we feel well-nigh exhausted for the time being by the tremendous and violent exertions we have been making. After the next pig is finally, and with desperate fighting, slaughtered, there seems to be a general tacit advance towards taking a rest. Katipo and another dog that we have picked up have taken to lapping at the creek in the gully, and laying themselves down near the stream, seem inclined for a brief snooze. The two Maoris are hacking at some nikaus, and extracting the pith therefrom; and the Saint and I think it well to do likewise. After munching away at the refreshing stuff for a considerable while, we guiltily put on our pipes; guiltily, for we know that our earnest leader, Old Colonial, will persevere with unflagging zeal and untiring energy, and will continue the chase without a moment's cessation. Many of the settlers will do the same, though probably but few of the natives, for they have not a fine power of endurance, and it pleases them usually to do things by spurts. However, we are all the better for the temporary relaxation, and pursue our course with renewed vigour. We have now reached the recesses of the heavy forest, after passing through various gradations of lighter bush. Here and there, on our way, we have come across stretches of open fern-land; but in this district bush is the most prevalent characteristic of the vegetation. Now and then we come upon some gully or flat that has been fired at some previous period, either by Maoris or settlers. These old burns are now covered with a dense and uniform jungle of ti-tree second-growth, through which it is often not easy to pass. The cane-like stems of the young ti-tree grow close together, like a field of corn, bearing a feathery green foliage and a white flower, and having a pleasant balsamic odour. High above the soft green surface of the second-growth are lifted the bleached trunks and skeleton arms of dead trees, standing gaunt and grim at intervals among the younger growths below. These ti-tree coverts afford very close harbourage for pigs. In them pigs may hide so well that the hunter might touch them before he saw them; nay, cattle even may hide as closely. Through the ti-tree there frequently run narrow paths, or irregular tracks, worn by pigs and cattle; and, as the wayfarer passes along any one of these tracks, he has the pleasant excitement of knowing that at any moment he may come face to face with a boar, in a position where the boar naturally has all the advantage, if he chooses to avail himself of it. In the course of the day our little party makes way onward through the bush, in the direction of the general rendezvous. Occasionally we start up pigs, sometimes losing them, and sometimes getting one or two; but the details of the capture and sticking of those we manage to catch do not differ very much from the account already given, except that we have not killed any pigs of particularly large size. About noon, or somewhat after, we make a decided halt for the purpose of getting our dinners, of which we begin to feel very much in need. Unhappily, no one has brought a tin pannikin along with him, so we cannot make ourselves any tea; but we light a fire at the bottom of a shady gully, beside some running water, and commence to cook our repast. Each man has got his little parcel of bread or biscuit and meat, tied up firmly in flax, and fastened to his belt; but besides this, the bush is affording us other kinds of tucker. Katipo killed a kiwi in the course of our morning's hunt, and this bird is now being skinned, cut up, and roasted on sticks. We wish it had been a weka, or bush-hen, as that is more succulent eating; but we have hearty appetites, and will do justice to the kiwi, anyhow. Then the Maoris have cut out the livers of a couple of young pigs, and these are toasted in strips, and are not such bad eating after all. By way of desert we have some berries from the trees around, that prove very nice. After our appetites are satisfied, and the digestive pipe duly smoked, we resume our hunting operations. But luck is no longer with us, and when, after walking and scrambling for two or three miles, and feeling that the time is fast slipping by, we do come upon pigs, we get separated in the chase that ensues, and I find myself very shortly after that completely alone. I keep walking on, however, in the direction I judge will bring me out upon the place of assembly; and, after an hour or two, I begin to hear sounds of life. I am on somewhat high ground, which gradually slopes downward in the direction I am taking. It is all heavy bush in this part; huge trees, covered with ferns and creepers, soar upwards on all sides. The sunlight falls in patches here and there, through the canopy of branches far overhead, and occasionally there occur little glades and dells and openings, quite open to the light. Below the great trees are many smaller ones, among which I notice nikau-palms, cabbage-palms, fern-trees, and tingahere, attracting the eye with their stranger forms. Below these, again, is a thick jungle of shrubs of many species, masses of creeping-plants matting the bushes together, or depending from the trees and ferns in infinite profusion and luxuriance. The late afternoon sun is slanting from behind me, so that when its rays shoot through the branches they light up the scenes in front, and thus the picture I presently witness comes before me with proper artistic effect. I hear sounds of life coming through the trees in advance of me--the sounds of men shouting and yelling in excitement; the noise of dogs barking and yelping; and through it and above it all, clearer and clearer heard as I run hastily forward, the horrid hoarse "hough-hough"--that sound so hollow and booming as heard in the "echoing woods,"--with the sharper metallic clashing of savage jaws, that I know can only proceed from some patriarchal boar. A minute later and I come out upon the scene of action. It is a comparatively open glade, surrounded on all sides by the dense forest, and having, near the opposite extremity, a small, abruptly-rising knoll, that is crowned by a single gigantic rata-tree. The little glade is full of unwonted life; nigh a score of the hunting party, and eight or ten dogs, are making things pretty lively within it. The cause of all the uproar and excitement is seen among the spreading and massive roots of the rata; it is a boar, one of the largest any of us ever saw, and he is now "bailed up" below the great tree. To say that he seems as big as a donkey but feebly expresses the apparent size of the beast. His stern is set back against the tree; but the mighty and ferocious head is turned full upon his foes. Every bristle on his crest stands erect with rage. The small but fierce eyes take in every movement, and survey dogs and men with desperate and fiend-like animosity. The long snout is pointed straight forward, showing the gleaming teeth below it, while the great tusks, curving up from the jaws, shine like scimitars. Nor is the huge brute one moment still; his fore-feet are pawing and tearing at the ground; his head is turned first in one direction and then in another; his whole body is quivering and shaking; foam flies from his grinding jaws; while his continued snorting, with its roaring, bellowing, and shrieking intonations, is horrible to hear. Yet as this savage king of the forest stands there at bay, there is a something grand and majestic about him, something of barbaric and unconquerable pride and courage, despite his demoniac and ogre-like ugliness; but, I am afraid, no one sees anything but a big fierce pig, who must be slaughtered as speedily and cleverly as possible. Most of the men keep at a respectful distance, not caring to get too close to those formidable tusks; but they are actively employed in shouting and brandishing knives and tomahawks. Close in front of the pig, amid a whirling circle of barking dogs, Old Colonial, O'Gaygun, and one or two Maoris appear to be performing an exciting kind of war-dance. They are endeavouring to urge in the dogs, and are trying to draw the pig out from among the tree-roots; while, at the same time, they are springing actively about in order to avoid each fancied and expected rush of the boar. But the boar is not to be drawn out from among the high branching roots that protect his flanks and stern. At every near approach of dog or man he feints to charge, lowering and tossing his head, uttering yet fiercer notes of wrath, or tearing up the ground, and sending splinters flying from the tree with blows from his tusks; such threatening movements on his part effectually deterring his foes in their advance. Sticks and stones, large and weighty, are hurled at him from all sides. What does he care for such puny projectiles? Even a well-aimed tomahawk, that strikes him full and fairly, fails to hurt or penetrate his armour of bristles and tough hide. Like Achilles, his weak place is in his heels--his rear, and that is well protected behind him. But another foeman to the swinish champion now appears upon the scene. A man, whom I have come close to in the hurry-skurry, suddenly calls to me-- "Look at old Tama up there behind the tree!" Then he shouts in stentorian delight-- "Te toa rere, te toa mahuta! Go it, Tama, old boy! Hopu te poaka! Jump in and kill him!" Looking up at the great trunk of the rata, with its extensive pedestal of gnarled and twisting roots, that for six or eight feet from the ground branch down all round its base, I see peering round the stem, and from above the roots, a face that I know well; it is that of Tama-te-Whiti. He has made a circuit, got behind the tree, and is now climbing over and among the extended roots, cautiously and silently stealing upon the pig, with intent to drive it out of the cover of the tree. Old Tama's grey hair hangs loosely over his brows; his elaborate tattooing looks unusually conspicuous; his arms are bare to the shoulder; and, as he gradually draws himself into our view, we see his body is almost bare, except a few fluttering rags of shirt that still remain about him. The other day I saw Tama at the township, elaborately attired in black broadcloth and white linen and all the rest of it, looking a perfect picture of smug respectability and aged innocence. Now here he is, grasping a tomahawk in his sinewy hand, with a knife held between his teeth, and--albeit 'tis only a boar he is attacking--with a fire dancing in his eyes like that which shone there in his hot youth, when, here in these self-same woods, he and the young braves of his tribe met in deadly conflict with the invading Ngapuhi. The boar is unconscious of Tama's approach; he is occupied with his adversaries in front, who are redoubling their efforts to attract his attention. And at this moment another of the hunters is seized with an heroic impulse. It has at last come home to the mind of that impetuous and much objurgated dog, Shark, that his destiny in life is to be a boar-hound. Hitherto, his experience of the manners and customs of pigs has not been great; but the conviction has come to him that he knows all about the business; and, too, he is probably anxious to retrieve his disgraceful conduct of the morning. Shark is a fresh arrival on the scene, having just come in with one of the straggling parties. He is not contented to join his canine companions, who are warily waiting their opportunity to dash in on the boar's flanks and rear; but, like all high-couraged and impetuous youth, Shark dashes, barking, to the front, and blindly, quixotically, and madly, he charges on the boar. Alas! poor dog! great as was his bravery, his size, his strength, what could they avail in such foolhardy strife? One jerk of the black snout, one flash of the white tusks, and, with a last yelping scream, the body of poor Shark goes whirling up into the air, and falls a bleeding, bisected, lifeless lump. Poor Shark! with all his faults, I think we loved him well! But even in his death he is avenged. The boar darted a few feet forward in his onslaught upon Shark, and the opportunity has been seized upon. The war-cry of the Ngatewhatua goes echoing through the forest, as old Tama springs down in rear of the boar; his swinging tomahawk inflicts a gaping wound, and he seizes a hind leg of the pig before that animal can back itself among the roots. Other Maoris, Old Colonial, and more of the party rush to his aid. Dogs seize on the boar's bleeding ears. For a minute there is a scene of direful confusion, an indescribable struggle in which men, dogs, and pig are mingled in a twisting, shouting, panting, wrestling heap. Another dog gets his flank slit up, a man has his legging and trouser torn off his leg, and then the giant brute is conquered. Overturned and shrieking, kicking, biting, struggling desperately to the last, till half a dozen knives are buried in his heart. With the slaughter of the monster boar the day's hunt comes to an end. The spot is close to the rendezvous, and most of the parties have arrived, or are not far off. There is an interchange of gossip over the doings of the day among the various groups; and, by-and-by, a count up of the number of pigs killed. Ears and tails are produced as vouchers, and about three hundred and fifty pigs, big and little, are thus accounted for, while half a dozen pair of tusks, of more than ordinary size, denote the killing of as many large boars. The tusks from the last slain monster become the property of Old Colonial, and, gaily mounted in silver, they may now be found among the ornaments of an English drawing-room. But now evening is upon us, and many of the party are tramping homewards in divers directions through the bush. Others make their way to a point on one of the rivers, a mile or so from the rendezvous, where boats have been brought up, and whence they will have a long row to their various places. But by far the greater number are too much fagged out with the exertions of the day to move from their present resting-places. So a camp is formed in a suitable spot, and one or two of the least tired set about getting some supper ready, and gather fern for bedding. And when night deepens overhead, and the shadows of the forest fold round us, recumbent forms are stretched around the roaring camp-fire; supper, rude and rough, but hearty, has been eaten, pipes are lighted, and while some are snoring, others are lazily recounting their doughty deeds, and enjoying to the full the well-earned rest that fitly terminates a pig-hunt in the bush. END OF VOL. I. 
49207	----	ANNO DOMINI 2000; OR, _WOMAN'S DESTINY_. BY SIR JULIUS VOGEL, K.C.M.G. LONDON: HUTCHINSON AND CO., 25, PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1889. Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. Dedicated TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF CARNARVON, WHO, BY HIS SUCCESSFUL EFFORTS TO CONSOLIDATE THE CANADIAN DOMINIONS, HAS GREATLY AIDED THE CAUSE OF FEDERATION. CONTENTS. PAGE PROLOGUE 3 CHAPTER I. THE YEAR 2000--UNITED BRITAIN 27 CHAPTER II. THE EMPEROR AND HILDA FITZHERBERT 59 CHAPTER III. LORD REGINALD PARAMATTA 67 CHAPTER IV. A PARTIAL VICTORY 83 CHAPTER V. CABINET NEGOTIATIONS 99 CHAPTER VI. BAFFLED REVENGE 119 CHAPTER VII. HEROINE WORSHIP 165 CHAPTER VIII. AIR-CRUISERS 177 CHAPTER IX. TOO STRANGE NOT TO BE TRUE 193 CHAPTER X. LORD REGINALD AGAIN 215 CHAPTER XI. GRATEFUL IRELAND 233 CHAPTER XII. THE EMPEROR PLANS A CAMPAIGN 251 CHAPTER XIII. LOVE AND WAR 261 CHAPTER XIV. THE FOURTH OF JULY RETRIEVED 287 CHAPTER XV. CONCLUSION 295 EPILOGUE 309 PROLOGUE. A.D. 1920. George Claude Sonsius in his early youth appeared to have before him a fair, prosperous future. His father and mother were of good family, but neither of them inherited wealth. When young Sonsius finished his university career, the small fortune which his father possessed was swept away by the failure of a large banking company. All that remained from the wreck was a trifling annuity payable during the lives of his father and mother, and this they did not live long to enjoy. They died within a year of each other, but they had been able to obtain for their son a fairly good position in a large mercantile house as foreign correspondent. At twenty-five the young man married; and three years afterwards he unfortunately met with a serious accident, that made him for two years a helpless invalid and at the end of the time left him with his right hand incapable of use. Meanwhile his appointment had lapsed, his wife's small fortune had disappeared, and during several years his existence had been one continual struggle with ever-increasing want and penury. The end was approaching. The father and mother and their one crippled son, twelve years old, dwelt in the miserable attic of a most dilapidated house in one of the poorest neighbourhoods of London. The roof over their heads did not even protect them from the weather. The room was denuded of every article of furniture with the exception of two worthless wooden cases and a horsehair mattress on which the unhappy boy stretched his pain-wrung limbs. Early in life this child suffered only from weakness of the spine, but his parents could afford no prolonged remedial measures. Not that they were unkind to him. On the contrary, they devoted to him every minute they could spare, and lavished on him all the attention that affection comparatively powerless from want of means could dictate. But the food they were able to give him was scant instead of, as his condition demanded, varied and nutritious. At length chronic disease of the spine set in, and his life became one long misery. Parochial aid was refused unless they would go into the poor-house, but the one thing Mrs. Sonsius could not bring herself to endure was the separation from her son which was demanded of her as a condition of relief. For thirty hours they had been without food, when the father, maddened by the moanings of his wife and child, rushed into the street, and passing a baker's shop which appeared to be empty, stole from it a loaf of bread. The proprietor, however, saw the action from an inner room. He caught Sonsius just as he was leaving the shop. He did not care to give the thief in charge, necessitating as it would several attendances at the police court. He took the administration of justice into his own hands, and dealt the unhappy man two severe blows in the face. To a healthy person the punishment would have done comparatively little harm, but Sonsius was weakened by disease and starvation, and the shock of the blows was too much for him. He fell prone on the pavement, and all attempts to restore him to consciousness proved unavailing. Then his history became public property. Scores of people remembered the pleasant-mannered, well-looking young man who had distinguished himself at college, and for whom life seemed to promise a pleasant journey. The horrible condition of his wife and child, the desperation that drove him to the one lapse from an otherwise stainless life, the frightful contrast between the hidden poverty and the gorgeous wealth of the great metropolis, became themes upon which every newspaper dilated after its own fashion. Some papers even went so far as to ask, "Was it a crime for a man to steal a loaf of bread to save his wife and child from starvation?" In grim contrast with the terrible conclusion of his wretched career, the publicity cast upon it elicited the fact that a few weeks earlier he had inherited by the death of a distant relative an enormous fortune, all efforts to trace him through the changes of residence that increasing poverty had necessitated having proved unavailing. Now that the wretched father and husband was dead, the wife for whom the bread was stolen had become a great lady, the boy was at length to receive the aid that wealth could give him. Poor George Claude Sonsius has nothing to do with our story, but his fate led to the alleviation of a great deal of misery that otherwise might have been in store for millions of human beings. Loud and clear rang out the cry, "What was the use of denouncing slavery when want like this was allowed to pass unheeded by the side of superfluous wealth?" The slave-owner has sufficient interest in his slaves, it was alleged, as a rule, to care for their well-being. Even criminals were clothed and fed. Had not, it was asked, every human being the right to demand from a world which through the resources of experience and science became constantly more productive a sufficiency of sustenance? The inquest room was crowded. The coroner and jury were strongly affected as they viewed the body laid out in a luxuriously appointed coffin. Wealth denied to the living was lavished on the dead. No longer in rags and tatters, the lifeless body seemed to revert to the past. Shrunken as was the frame, and emaciated the features, there remained evidence sufficient to show that the now inanimate form was once a fine and handsome man. The evidence was short, and the summing up of the coroner decisive. He insisted that the baker had not wilfully committed wrong and should not be made responsible for the consequences that followed his rough recovery of his property. A butcher and a general provision dealer on the jury took strongly the same view. How were poor tradesmen to protect themselves? They must take the law in their own hands, they argued, otherwise it would be better to submit to being robbed rather than waste their time in police courts. They wanted a verdict of justifiable homicide. Another juryman (a small builder) urged a verdict of misadventure; at first he called it peradventure. But the rest of the jury felt otherwise. Some desired a verdict of manslaughter, and it was long before the compromise of "Death by accident" was agreed to. Deep groans filled the room as the result was announced. That same night a large crowd of men and women assembled outside the baker's shop with hostile demonstrations. The windows were destroyed, and an attempt made to break in the door. A serious riot would probably have ensued but for the arrival of a large body of police. Again the fate of George Sonsius became the familiar topic of the press. But the impression was not an ephemeral one. The fierce spirit of discontent which for years had been smouldering burst into flames. A secret society called the "Live and Let Live" was formed, with ramifications throughout the world. The force of numbers, the force of brute strength, was appealed to. A bold and outspoken declaration was made that every human being had an inherent right to sufficient food and clothing and comfortable lodging. Truly poor George Sonsius died for the good of many millions of his fellow-creatures. Our history will show the point at length achieved. Shortly after poor Sonsius' death a remarkable meeting was held in the city of London. The representatives of six of the largest financial houses throughout the globe assembled by agreement to discuss the present material condition of the world and its future prospects. There was Lord de Cardrosse, head of the English house of that name and chief, moreover, of the family, whose branches presided over princely houses of finance in six of the chief cities of the continent of Europe. Second only in power in Great Britain, the house of Bisdat and Co. was represented by Charles James Bisdat, a man of scarcely forty, but held to be the greatest living authority on abstruse financial questions. The Dutch house of Von Serge Brothers was represented by its head, Cornelius Julius Von Serge. The greatest finance house in America, Rorgon, Bryce and Co., appeared by its chief, Henry Tudor Rorgon; and the scarcely less powerful house of Lockay, Stanfield and Co., of San Francisco, Melbourne, Sydney, and Wellington, was represented by its chief, Alfred Demetrius. The German and African house of Werther, Scribe and Co. was present in the person of its head, Baron Scribe; and the French and Continental houses of the De Cardrosse family were represented by the future head of the family, the Baroness de Cardrosse. The deliberations were carried on in French. Two or more of these houses had no doubt from time to time worked together in one transaction; but their uniform position was one of independence towards each other, verging more towards antagonism than to union. In fact, the junction for ordinary purposes of such vast powers as these kings of finance wielded would be fatal to liberty and freedom. A single instance will suffice to show the power referred to, which even one group of financiers could wield. Five years previously all Europe was in a ferment. War was expected from every quarter. It depended not on one, but on many questions. The alliances were doubtful. Nothing seemed certain but that neutrality would be impossible, and that the Continent would be divided into two or more great camps. The final decision appeared to rest with Great Britain. There an ominous disposition for war was displaying itself. The inclination of the Sovereign and the Cabinet was supposed to be in that direction. But the family of De Cardrosses throughout Europe was for peace. The chief of the family was the head of the English house, and it was decided he should interview the Prime Minister of England and acquaint him with the views of this great financial group. His reception was not flattering; but if he felt mortified, he did not show it. He expressed himself deeply sensible of the honour done to him by his being allowed to state his opinions; and with a reverential inclination he bowed himself from the presence of the greatest statesman of his day, the Right Honourable Randolph Stanley. That afternoon it was bruited about that, in view of coming possibilities, the De Cardrosse family had determined to realise securities all over Europe and send gold to America. The next morning a disposition to sell was reported from every direction, and five millions sterling of gold were collected for despatch to New York. In twenty-four hours there was a panic throughout Great Britain and Europe. The Bank of England asked for permission to suspend specie payments, but could indicate no limit to which such a permission should be set. It seemed as if Europe would be drained of gold. The great rivals of the De Cardrosses looked on and either could not or would not interfere. A hurried Cabinet meeting was convened, and as a result a conference by telephone was arranged between the Prime Minister of Great Britain and the Ministers of the Great Powers of Europe. Commencing by twos and threes, the conference developed into an assemblage for conversational purposes of at least twenty of the chief statesmen and diplomatists of the Old World. Rumour said that even monarchs in two or three cases were present and inspired the telephonic utterances of their Ministers. How the result was arrived at was known best to those who took part in the conference, but peace and disarmament were agreed on if certain contingencies involving the exercise of vast power and the expenditure of enormous capital could be provided for. No other conclusion could be arrived at, and one way or the other the outcome had to be settled within twenty-four hours. The conference had lasted from ten o'clock to four. At five o'clock by invitation Lord de Cardrosse waited on the Prime Minister, who received him much more cordially than before. "You have caused me," he said, "to learn a great deal during the last forty-eight hours." "I could not presume to teach you anything. Events have spoken," was the reply. "And who controlled them if not the houses of De Cardrosse?" "You do us too much honour. It is you who govern; we are of those who are governed." "The alliance between power and modesty," said the Prime Minister, with pardonable irony, "is irresistible. Tell me, my Lord, is it too late for your views to prevail?" A slight, almost imperceptible start was the only movement the De Cardrosse made. The enormous self-repression he was exercising cannot be exaggerated. The future strength of the family depended on the issue. There was, however, no tremor in his voice when he answered, "If you adopt them, I do not think it is too late." "But do you realise the sacrifices in all directions that have to be made?" said the Minister in faltering tones. "I think I do." "And you think to secure peace those sacrifices should be made?" "I do." "Will you tell me what those sacrifices are?" he asked. Lord de Cardrosse smiled. "You desire me," he said, "to tell you what you already know." Then he proceeded to describe to the amazed Prime Minister in brief but pregnant terms one after the other the conditions that had been agreed on. Once only he paused and indicated that the condition he was describing he accepted reluctantly. "I do not conceal," said the astounded Prime Minister, "my surprise at the extent of your knowledge; and clearly you approve the only compromise possible. It is needless to tell you that the acceptance of this compromise requires the use of means not at the disposal of the Governments. In one word, will it suit you to supply them?" "I might," responded Lord de Cardrosse, "ask you until two o'clock to-morrow to give an answer; but I do not wish to add to your anxiety. If you will undertake to entirely and absolutely confine within your own breast the knowledge of what my answer will be, I will undertake that that answer at two o'clock to-morrow shall be 'Yes.'" Silently they shook hands. Probably these two men had never before so thoroughly appreciated the strength and speciality of their several powers. The panic continued until two o'clock the following day, when an enormous reaction took place. The part the De Cardrosse family played in securing peace was suspected by a few only. Its full extent the Prime Minister alone knew. He it was who enjoyed the credit for saving the world from a desolating war. And now, after an interval of five years, the sovereigns of finance met in conclave. In obedience to the generally expressed wish, Lord de Cardrosse took the chair. "I need scarcely say," he began, "that I am deeply sensible of the compliment you pay me in asking me to preside over such a meeting. We in this room represent a living power throughout the globe, before which the reigning sovereigns of the world are comparatively helpless. But, because of our great strength, it is undesirable that we should work unitedly except for very great and humane objects. For the mere purpose of money-making, I feel assured you all agree with me in desiring no combination, no monopoly, that would pit us against the rest of the world." He paused for a moment, evidently desiring to disguise the strength of the emotion with which he spoke. He resumed in slower and apparently more mastered words. "I wish I could put it to you sufficiently strongly that our houses would not have considered any good that could result to them and to you a sufficient excuse for inviting such a combination. We hold that the only cause that could justify it is the conviction that for the good of mankind a vast power requires to be wielded which is not to be found in the ordinary machinery of government." A murmur of applause went round the table; and Mr. Demetrius, with much feeling, said, "You make me very happy by the assurance you have given. I will not conceal from you that our house anticipated as much, or it would not have been represented. We are too largely concerned with States in which free institutions are permanent not to avoid anything which might savour of a disposition to combine financial forces for the benefit of financial houses." Lord de Cardrosse then proceeded to explain that his family, in serious and prolonged conclave, could come to no other conclusion than that certain influences were at work which would cause great suffering to mankind and sap and destroy the best institutions which civilisation and science had combined to create. The time had come to answer the question, Should human knowledge, human wants, and human skill continue to advance to an extent to which no limit could be put, or should the survival of the fittest and strongest be fought out in a period of anarchy? "It amounts," he said in a tone of profound conviction, "to this: the ills under which the masses suffer accumulate. There is no use in comparing what they have to-day with what they had fifty years ago. A person who grows from infancy to manhood in a prison may feel contented until he knows what the liberty is that others enjoy. The born blind are happier than those who become blind by accident. To our masses the knowledge of liberty is open, and they feel they are needlessly deprived of it. Wider and wider to their increasing knowledge opens out the horizon of possible delights; more and more do they feel that they are deprived of what of right belongs to them." He paused, as if inviting some remarks from his hearers. Mr. Bisdat, who spoke in an interrogative rather than an affirmative tone, took up the thread. "I am right, I think, in concluding that your remarks do not point against or in favour of any school of politics or doctrines of party. You direct our notice to causes below the surface to which the Government of the day--I had almost said the hour,--do not penetrate, causes which you believe, if left to unchecked operation, will undermine the whole social fabric." "It is so," emphatically replied Lord de Cardrosse. "The evils are not only apparent; but equally apparent is it that no remedy is being applied, and that we are riding headlong to anarchy." Again he paused, and Mr. Rorgon took up the discussion. "If we," he said, "the princes of finance, do not find a remedy, how long will the enlarged intelligence of the people submit to conditions which are at war with the theory of the equality and liberty of mankind?" "Yes," said the Baroness de Cardrosse, speaking for the first time, "it is clear that there is a limit to the inequality of fortune to which men and women will submit. Equality of possessions there cannot be; but, if I may indulge in metaphor, we cannot expect that the bulk of humankind will be content with being entirely shut out from the sunlight of existence." The gentlemen present bowed low in approval; and Mr. Demetrius said, "The simile of the Baroness is singularly appropriate. There are myriads of human beings to whom the sunshine of life is denied. A too universal evil invites resistance by means which in lesser cases might be scouted. In short, if the remedy is left to anarchy, anarchy there will be. Even in our young lands the shadow of the coming evil is beginning to show itself. Indeed," he added, with an air of musing abstraction, "it is not unfair to deduce from what has been said, that, even if the evils are less in the new lands of the West and the South, superior general intelligence may more than proportionally increase the wants of the multitude and the sense of wrong under which they labour." The conference extended over three days. Every one agreed that interference with the ordinary conditions of finance was inexpedient except in extreme cases, but they were unanimous in thinking that an extreme case had to be dealt with. They finally decided by the use of an extended paper currency, with its necessary guarantees, to increase the circulating medium and to raise the prices both of products and labour. Some other decisions were adopted having especial reference to the employment of labour and insurance against want in cases of disablement through illness, accident, or old age. So ended the most remarkable conference of any age or time. CHAPTER I. THE YEAR 2000--UNITED BRITAIN. Time has passed. There have been many alterations, few of an extreme character. The changes are mostly the results of gradual developments worked out by the natural progress of natural laws. But as constant dropping wears away a stone, constant progression, comparatively imperceptible in its course, attains to immense distances after the lapse of time. This applies though the momentum continually increases the rate of the progress. Thus the well-being of the human kind has undoubtedly increased much more largely during the period between 1900 and 2000 than during the previous century, but equally in either century would it be difficult to select any five years as an example of the turning-point of advancement. Progression, progression, always progression, has been the history of the centuries since the birth of Christ. Doubtless the century we have now entered on will be yet more fruitful of human advancement than any of its predecessors. The strongest point of the century which "Has gone, with its thorns and its roses, With the dust of dead ages to mix," has been the astonishing improvement of the condition of mankind and the no less striking advancement of the intellectual power of woman. The barriers which man in his own interest set to the occupation of woman having once been broken down, the progress of woman in all pursuits requiring judgment and intellect has been continuous; and the sum of that progress is enormous. It has, in fact, come to be accepted that the bodily power is greater in man, and the mental power larger in woman. So to speak, woman has become the guiding, man the executive, force of the world. Progress has necessarily become greater because it is found that women bring to the aid of more subtle intellectual capabilities faculties of imagination that are the necessary adjuncts of improvement. The arts and caprices which in old days were called feminine proved to be the silken chains fastened by men on women to lull them into inaction. Without abating any of their charms, women have long ceased to submit to be the playthings of men. They lead men, as of yore, but not so much through the fancy or the senses as through the legitimate consciousness of the man that in following woman's guidance he is tending to higher purposes. We are generalising of course to a certain extent. The variable extent of women's influence is now, as it has been throughout the ages past, the point on which most of the dramas of the human race depend. The increased enjoyment of mankind is a no less striking feature of the last hundred years. Long since a general recognition was given to the theory that, whilst equality of possession was an impossible and indeed undesirable ideal, there should be a minimum of enjoyment of which no human being should be deprived unless on account of crime. Crime as an occupation has become unknown, and hereditary crime rendered impossible. On the other hand, the law has constituted such provisions for reserves of wealth that anything more than temporary destitution is precluded. Such temporary destitution can only be the result of sheer improvidence, the expenditure, for instance, within a day of what should be expended in a week. The moment it becomes evident, its recurrence is rendered impossible, because the assistance, instead of being given weekly, is rendered daily. Private charity has been minimised; indeed, it is considered to be injurious: and all laws for the recovery of debts have been abolished. The decision as to whether there is debt and its amount is still to be obtained, but the satisfaction of all debt depends solely on the sense of honour or expediency of the debtor. The posting the name of a debtor who refuses to satisfy his liabilities has been found to be far more efficacious than any process of law. The enjoyment of what in the past would have been considered luxuries has become general. The poorest household has with respect to comforts and provisions a profusion which a hundred years since was wanting in households of the advanced classes. Long since there dawned upon the world the conviction-- First. That labour or work of some kind was the only condition of general happiness. Second. That every human being was entitled to a certain proportion of the world's good things. Third. That, as the capacity of machinery and the population of the world increased production, the theory of the need of labour could not be realised unless with a corresponding increase of the wants of mankind; and that, instead of encouraging a degraded style of living, it was in the interests of the happiness of mankind to encourage a style of living in which the refinements of life received marked consideration. Great Britain, as it used to be called, has long ceased to be a bundle of sticks. The British dominions have been consolidated into the empire of United Britain; and not only is it the most powerful empire on the globe, but at present no sign is shown of any tendency to weakness or decay. Yet there was a time--about the year 1920--when the utter disintegration of the Empire seemed not only possible, but probable. The Irish question was still undecided. For many years it had continued to be the sport of Ministers. Cabinet succeeded Cabinet; each had its Irish nostrum; each seemed to think that the Irish question was a good means of delaying questions nearer home. The power of the nation sensibly waned. What nation could be strong with pronounced disaffection festering in its midst? At length, when rumours of a great war were rife upon the result of which the very existence of Great Britain as a nation might depend, the Colonies interposed. By this time the Canadian, Australasian, and Cape colonies had become rich, populous, and powerful. United, they far exceeded in importance the original mother-country. At the instigation of the Premier of Canada, a confidential intercolonial conference was held. In consequence of the deliberations that ensued, a united representation was made to the Prime Minister of England to the effect that the Colonies could no longer regard without concern the prolonged disquiet prevailing in Ireland. They would suffer should any disaster overtake the Empire, and disaster was courted by permitting the continuation of Irish disaffection. Besides, the Colonies, enjoying as they did local government, could see no reason why Ireland should be treated differently. The message was a mandate, and was meant to be so. The Prime Minister of England, however, puffed up with the pride of old traditions, did not or would not so understand it, and returned an insolent answer. Within twenty-four hours the Colonial Ministers sent a joint respectful address to the King of England representing that they were equally his Majesty's advisers with his Ministers residing in England, and refusing to make any further communications to or through his present advisers. The Ministry had to retire; a new one was formed. Ireland received the boon it had long claimed of local government, and the whole Empire was federated on the condition that the federation was irrevocable and that every part of it should fight to the last to preserve the union. The King of England and Emperor of India was crowned amidst great pomp Emperor of Britain. All parts of the Empire joined their strength and resources. A federal fleet was formed on the basis that it was to equal in power in every respect the united fleets of all the rest of the world. Conferences with the Great Powers took place in consequence of which Egypt, Belgium, and the whole of the ports bordering the English Channel and Straits of Dover, and the whole of South Africa became incorporated into the empire of Britain. Some concessions, however, were made in other directions. These results were achieved within fifteen years of the interference by the Colonies in federal affairs, and the foundation was laid for the powerful empire which Britain has become. Two other empires and one republic alone approach it in power, and a cordial understanding exists between them to repress war to the utmost extent possible. They constitute the police of the world. Each portion of the Emperor of Britain's possessions enjoys local government, but the federal government is irresistibly strong. It is difficult to say which is the seat of government, as the Federal Parliament is held in different parts of the world, and the Emperor resides in many places. With the utmost comfort he can go from end to end of his dominions in twelve days. If a headquarter does remain, it may probably be conceded that Alexandria fulfils that position. The House of Lords has ceased to exist as a separate chamber. The peers began to feel ashamed of holding positions not in virtue of their abilities, but because of the accident of birth. It was they who first sought and ultimately obtained the right to hold seats in the elective branch of the Legislature; and finally it was decided that the peerage should elect a certain number of its own members to represent it in the Federal Parliament: in other words, the accidents of birth were controlled by the selection of the fittest. Our scene opens in Melbourne, in the year 2000--a few years prior to the date at which we are writing. The Federal Parliament was sitting there that year. The Emperor occupied his magnificent palace on the banks of the Yarra, above Melbourne, which city and its suburbs possessed a population of nearly two millions. In a large and handsome room in the Federal buildings, a young woman of about twenty-three years of age was seated. She was born in New Zealand. She entered the local parliament before she was twenty.[A] At twenty-two she was elected to the Federal Parliament, and she had now become Under-Secretary of State for Home Affairs. From her earliest youth she had never failed in any intellectual exercise. Her intelligence was considered phenomenal. Her name was Hilda Richmond Fitzherbert. She was descended from families which for upwards of a century produced distinguished statesmen--a word, it should be mentioned, which includes both sexes. She was fair to look at in both face and figure. Dark violet eyes, brown hair flecked with a golden tinge, clearly cut features, and a glorious complexion made up a face artistically perfect; but these charms were what the observer least noticed. The expression of the face was by far its chief attraction, and words fail to do justice to it. There was about it a luminous intelligence, a purity, and a pathos that seemed to belong to another world. No trace of passion yet stamped it. If the love given to all humanity ever became a love devoted to one person, the expression of the features might descend from the spiritual to the passionate. Even then to human gaze it might become more fascinating. But that test had not come. As she rose from her chair you saw that she was well formed, though slight in figure and of full height. She went to an instrument at a side-table, and spoke to it, the materials for some half-dozen letters referring to groups of papers that lay on the table. When she concluded, she summoned a secretary, who removed the papers and the phonogram on which her voice had been impressed. These letters were reproduced, and brought to her for signature. Copies attached to the several papers were initialled. Meanwhile she paced up and down the room in evident deep distraction. At length she summoned a messenger, and asked him to tell the Countess of Middlesex that she wished to see her. In a few minutes Lady Middlesex entered the room. She was about thirty years of age, of middle height, and pleasing appearance, though a close observer might imagine he saw something sinister in the expression of her countenance. After a somewhat ceremonious greeting, Miss Fitzherbert commenced: "I have carefully considered what passed at our last interview. It is difficult to separate our official and unofficial relations. I am still at a loss to determine whether you have spoken to me as the Assistant Under-Secretary to the Under-Secretary or as woman to woman." Lady Middlesex quickly rejoined, "Will you let me speak to you as woman to woman, and forget for a moment our official relations?" "Can you doubt it?" replied Miss Fitzherbert. "But remember that our wishes are not always under our control, and that, though I may not desire to remember to your prejudice what you say, I may not be able to free myself from recollection." "And yet," said Lady Middlesex, with scarcely veiled irony, "the world says Miss Fitzherbert does not know what prejudice means!" The slightest possible movement of impatience was all the rejoinder vouchsafed to this speech. Lady Middlesex continued, "I spoke to you as strongly as I dared, as strongly as my position permitted, about my brother Reginald--Lord Reginald Paramatta. He suffers under a sense of injury. He is miserable. He feels that it is to you that he owes his removal to a distant station. He loves you, and does not know if he may venture to tell you so." "No woman," replied Miss Fitzherbert, "is warranted in regarding with anger the love of a good man; but you know, or ought to know, that my life is consecrated to objects that are inconsistent with my entertaining the love you speak of." "But," said Lady Middlesex, "can you be sure that it always will be so?" "We can be sure of nothing." "Nay," replied Lady Middlesex, "do not generalise. Let me at least enjoy the liberty you have accorded me. If you did not feel that there were possibilities for Reginald in conflict with your indifference, why should you trouble yourself with his removal?" "I have not admitted that I am concerned in his removal." "You know you are; you cannot deny it." Miss Fitzherbert was dismayed at the position into which she had allowed herself to be forced. She must either state what truth forbade or admit that to some extent Lord Reginald had obtained a hold on her thoughts. "Other men," pursued Lady Middlesex, with remorseless directness, "have aspired as Reginald does; and you have known how to dispose of their aspirations without such a course as that of which my brother has been the object." "I have understood," said Miss Fitzherbert, "that Lord Reginald is promoted to an important position, one that ought to be intensely gratifying to so comparatively young a man." "My brother has only one wish, and you are its centre. He desires only one position." "I did not infer, Lady Middlesex," said Miss Fitzherbert, with some haughtiness, "that you designed to use the permission you asked of me to become a suitor on your brother's behalf." "Why else should I have asked such permission?" replied Lady Middlesex, with equal haughtiness. Then, with a sudden change of mood and manner, "Miss Fitzherbert, forgive me. My brother is all in all to me. My husband and my only child are dead. My brother is all that is left to me to remind me of a once happy home. Do not, I pray, I entreat you, embitter his life. Ask yourself--forgive me for saying so--if ambition rather than consecration to a special career may not influence you; and if your conscience replies affirmatively, remember the time will come to you, as it has come to other women, when success, the applause of the crowd, and a knowledge of great deeds effected will prove a poor consolation for the want of one single human being on whom to lavish a woman's love. Most faculties become smaller by disuse, but it is not so with the affections; they revenge themselves on those who have dared to disbelieve in their force." "You assume," said Miss Fitzherbert, "that I love your brother." "Is it not so?" "No! a thousand times no!" "You feel that you might love him. That is the dawn of love." "Listen, Lady Middlesex. That dawn has not opened to me. I will not deny, I have felt a prepossession in favour of your brother; but I have the strongest conviction that my life will be better and happier because of my refusing to give way to it. For me there is no love of the kind. In lonely maidenhood I will live and die. If my choice is unwise, I will be the sufferer; and I have surely the right to make it. My lady, our interview is at an end." Lady Middlesex rose and bowed her adieu, but another thought seemed to occur to her. "You will," she said, "at least see my brother before he goes. Indeed, otherwise I doubt his leaving. He told me this morning that he would resign." Miss Fitzherbert after a moment's thought replied, "I will see your brother. Bid him call on me in two hours' time. Good-bye." As she was left alone a look of agony came over her face. "Am I wise?" she said. "That subtle woman knew how to wound me. She is right. I could love; I could adore the man I loved. Will all the triumphs of the world and the sense of the good I do to others console me during the years to come for the sunshine of love to which every woman has a claim? Yes, I do not deny the claim, high as my conception is of a woman's destiny." After a few moments' pause, she started up indignantly. "Am I then," she ejaculated half aloud, "that detestable thing a woman with a mission, and does the sense of that mission restrain me from yielding to my inclination?" Again she paused, and then resumed, "No, it is not so. I have too easily accepted Lady Middlesex's insinuation. I am neither ambitious nor philanthropic to excess. It is a powerful instinct that speaks to me about Lord Reginald. To a certain extent I am drawn to him, but I doubt him, and it is that which restrains me. I am more disposed to be frightened of than to love him. Why do I doubt him? Some strong impulse teaches me to do so. What do I doubt? I doubt his loving me with a love that will endure, I doubt our proving congenial companions, and--why may I not say it to myself?--I doubt his character. I question his sincerity. The happiness of a few months might be followed by a life of misery. I must be no weak fool to allow myself to be persuaded." Hilda Fitzherbert was a thoroughly good, true-hearted, and lovable girl. Clever, well informed, and cultivated to the utmost, she had no disposition to prudery or priggishness. She was rather inclined to under- than over-value herself. Lady Middlesex's clever insinuations had caused her for the moment to doubt her own conduct; but reflection returned in time, and once more she became conscious that she felt for Lord Reginald no more attachment than any woman might entertain for a handsome, accomplished man who persistently displayed his admiration. She was well aware that under ordinary circumstances such feelings as she had, might develop into strong love if there were no reverse to the picture; but in this case conviction--call it, if you will, an instinct--persuaded her there was an opposite side. She felt that Lord Reginald was playing a part; that, if his true character stood revealed to her, an unfathomable abyss would yawn between them. Her reflections were disturbed by the entrance of a lady of very distinguished mien. She might indeed look distinguished, for the Right Honourable Mrs. Hardinge was not only Prime Minister of the empire of Britain, but the most powerful and foremost statesman in the world. In her youth she had been a lovely girl; and even now, though not less than forty years of age, she was a beautiful--it might be more correct to say, a grand--woman. A tall, dignified, and stately figure was set off by a face of which every feature was artistically correct and capable of much variety of expression; and over that expression she held entire command. She had, if she wished it, an arch and winning manner, such as no one but a cultivated Irishwoman possesses; the purest Irish blood ran through her veins. She could say "No" in a manner that more delighted the person whose request she was refusing than would "Yes" from other lips. An adept in all the arts of conversation, she could elicit information from the most inscrutable statesmen, who under her influence would fancy she was more confidential to them than they to her. By indomitable strength she had fought down an early inclination to impulsiveness. The appearance still remained, but no statesman was more slow to form opinions and less prone to change them. She could, if necessary, in case of emergency, act with lightning rapidity; but she had schooled herself to so act only in cases of extreme need. She had a warm heart, and in the private relations of life no one was better liked. Hilda Fitzherbert worshipped her; and Mrs. Hardinge, childless and with few relations, loved and admired the girl with a strength and tenacity that made their official relations singularly pleasant. "My dear Hilda," she said, "why do you look so disturbed, and how is it you are idle? It is rare to find you unoccupied." Hilda, almost in tears, responded, "Dear Mrs. Hardinge, tell me, do tell me, what do you really think of Lord Reginald Paramatta?" If Mrs. Hardinge felt any surprise at the extraordinary abruptness of the question, she did not permit it to be visible. "My dear, the less you think of him the better. I will tell you how I read his character. He is unstable and insincere, capable of any exertion to attain the object on which he has set his mind; the moment he has gained it the victory becomes distasteful to him. I have offered him the command of our London forces to please you, but I tell you frankly I did so with reluctance. Nor would I have promoted him to the post but that it has long ceased to possess more than traditional importance. Those chartered sybarites the Londoners can receive little harm from Lord Reginald, and the time has long passed for him to receive any good. Such as it is, his character is moulded; and professionally he is no doubt an accomplished officer and brave soldier. Besides that, he possesses more than the ordinary abilities of a man." Hilda looked her thanks, but said no more than "Your opinion does not surprise me, and it tallies with my own judgment." "Dear girl, do not try to dispute that judgment. And now to affairs of much importance. I have come from the Emperor, and I see great difficulties in store for us." Probably Hilda had never felt so grateful to Mrs. Hardinge as she did now for the few words in which she had expressed so much, with such fine tact. An appearance of sympathy or surprise would have deeply wounded the girl. "Dear mamma," she said--as sometimes in private in moments of affection she was used to do--"does his Highness still show a disinclination to the settlement to which he has almost agreed?" "He shows the most marked disinclination, for he told me with strong emotion that he felt he would be sacrificing the convictions of his race." The position of the Emperor was indeed a difficult one. A young, high-spirited, generous, and brave man, he was asked by his Cabinet to take a step which in his heart he abhorred. A short explanation is necessary to make the case clear. When the Imperial Constitution of Britain was promulgated, women were beginning to acquire more power; but no one thought of suggesting that the preferential succession to the direct heirs male should be withdrawn. Meanwhile women advanced, and in all other classes of life they gained perfect equality with regard to the laws of succession and other matters, but the custom still remained by which the eldest daughter of the Emperor would be excluded in favour of the eldest son. Some negotiations had proceeded concerning the marriage of the Emperor to the daughter of the lady who enjoyed the position of President of the United States, an intense advocate of woman's equality. She was disposed, if not determined, to make it a condition of the marriage that the eldest child, whether son or daughter, should succeed. The Emperor's Cabinet had the same view, and it was one widely held throughout the Empire. But there were strong opinions on the other side. The increasing number of women elected by popular suffrage to all representative positions and the power which women invariably possessed in the Cabinet aroused the jealous anger of men. True, the feeling was not in the ascendant, and other disabilities of women were removed; but in this particular case, the last, it may be said, of women's disabilities, a separate feeling had to be taken into account. The ultra-Conservatives throughout the Empire, including both men and women, were superstitiously tenacious of upholding the Constitution in its integrity and averse to its being changed in the smallest particular. They felt that everything important to the Empire depended upon the irrevocable nature of the Constitution, and that the smallest change might be succeeded by the most organic alterations. The merits of the question mattered nothing in their opinion in comparison with the principle which they held it was a matter of life and death not to disturb. It was now proposed to introduce a Bill to enable the Emperor to declare that the succession should be to the eldest child. The Cabinet were strongly in favour of it, and to a great extent their existence as a Government depended on it. The Emperor was well disposed to his present advisers, but, it was no secret, was strongly averse to this one proposal. The contemplated match was an affair of State policy rather than of inclination. He had seldom met his intended bride, and was not prepossessed with her. She was good-looking and a fine girl; but she had unmistakably red hair, an adornment not to his taste. Besides, she was excessively firm in her opinions as to the superiority of women over men; and he strongly suspected she would be for ever striving to rule not only the household, but the Empire. It is difficult to fathom the motives of the human mind, difficult not only to others, but to the persons themselves concerned. The Emperor thought that his opposition to placing the succession on an equality between male and female was purely one of loyalty to his ancestors and to the traditions of the Empire. But who could say that he did not see in a refusal to pass the necessary Act a means of escaping the distasteful nuptials? Mrs. Hardinge had come from a long interview with him, and it was evident that she greatly doubted his continued support. She resumed, "His Highness seems very seriously to oppose the measure, and indeed quite ready to give up his intended marriage. I wonder," she said, looking keenly at Hilda, "whether he has seen any girl he prefers." The utter unconsciousness with which Hilda heard this veiled surmise appeared to satisfy Mrs. Hardinge; and she continued, "Tell me, dear, what do you think?" "I am hardly in a position to judge. Does the Emperor give no reasons for his opposition?" "Yes, he has plenty of reasons; but his strongest appears to be that whoever is ruler of the Empire should be able to lead its armies." "I thought," said Miss Fitzherbert, "that he had some good reason." "Do you consider this a good reason?" inquired Mrs. Hardinge sharply. "From his point of view, yes; from ours, no," said Hilda gently, but promptly. "Then you do not think that we should retreat from our position even if retreat were possible?" "No," replied Hilda. "Far better to leave office than to make a concession of which we do not approve in order to retain it." "You are a strange girl," said Mrs. Hardinge. "If I understand you rightly, you think both sides are correct." "I think that there is a great deal to be said on both sides, and this is constantly the case with important controversies. Between the metal and the flint the spark of truth is struck. I should think it no disgrace to be defeated on a subject about which we could show good cause. I might even come to think that better cause had been shown against us after the discussion was over; but to flee the discussion, to sacrifice conviction to expediency--that would be disgraceful." "Then," said Mrs. Hardinge, with some interest, "if the Emperor were to ask your opinion, you would try to persuade him to our side?" "Yes and no. I would urge strongly my sense of the question and my opinion that it is better to settle at once a controversy about which there is so much difference of opinion. But I should respect his views; and if they were conscientious, I should not dare to advise him to sacrifice them." An interruption unexpected by Miss Fitzherbert, but apparently not surprising to Mrs. Hardinge, occurred. An aide-de-camp of the Emperor entered. After bowing low to the ladies, he briefly said, "His Imperial Majesty desires the presence of Miss Fitzherbert." A summons so unusual raised a flush to the girl's cheek. She looked at Mrs. Hardinge. "I had intended to tell you," said that lady, "that the Emperor mentioned he would like to speak to you on the subject we have been considering." Then, turning to the aide-de-camp, she said, "Miss Fitzherbert will immediately wait on his Majesty." The officer left the room. Hilda archly turned to Mrs. Hardinge. "So, dear mamma, you were preparing me for this interview?" "Dear child," said the elder lady, "you want no preparation. Whatever the consequences to me, I will not ask you to put any restraint on the expression of your opinions." FOOTNOTE: [A] Every adult of eighteen years of age was allowed to vote and was consequently, by the laws of the Empire, eligible for election. CHAPTER II. THE EMPEROR AND HILDA FITZHERBERT. The Emperor received Miss Fitzherbert with a cordial grace, infinitely pleasing and flattering to that young lady. She of course had often seen his Majesty at Court functions, but never before had he summoned her to a separate audience. And indeed, high though her official position and reputation were, she did not hold Cabinet rank; and a special audience was a rare compliment, such as perhaps no one in her position had ever previously enjoyed. The Emperor was a tall man of spare and muscular frame, with the dignity and bearing of a practised soldier. It was impossible not to recognise that he was possessed of immense strength and power of endurance. He had just celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday, and looked no more than his age. His face was of the fair Saxon type. His eyes were blue, varying with his moods from almost dark violet to a cold steel tint. Few persons were able to disguise from him their thoughts when he fixed on them his eyes, with the piercing enquiry of which they were capable. His eyes were indeed singularly capable of a great variety of expression. He could at will make them denote the thoughts and feelings which he wished to make apparent to those with whom he conversed. Apart from his position, no one could look at him without feeling that he was a distinguished man. He was of a kindly disposition, but capable of great severity, especially towards any one guilty of a mean or cowardly action. He was of a highly honourable disposition, and possessed an exalted sense of duty. He rarely allowed personal inclination to interfere with public engagements; indeed, he was tenaciously sensitive on the point, and sometimes fancied that he permitted his judgment to be obscured by his prepossessions when he had really good grounds for his conclusions. On the very subject of his marriage he was constantly filled with doubt as to whether his objection to the proposed alteration in the law of succession was well founded on public grounds or whether he was unconsciously influenced by his personal disinclination to the contemplated union. He realised the truth of the saying of a very old author-- "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." After indicating to Miss Fitzherbert his wish that she should be seated, he said to her, "I have been induced to ask your attendance by a long conversation I have had with Mrs. Hardinge. I have heard the opinions she has formed, and they seem to me the result of matured experience. It occurred to me that I would like to hear the opinions of one who, possessed of no less ability, has been less subject to official and diplomatic exigencies. I may gather from you how much of personal feeling should be allowed to influence State affairs." "Your Majesty is very gracious," faltered Hilda, "but Mrs. Hardinge has already told you the opinion of the Cabinet. Even if I differed from it, which I do not, I could not venture to obtrude my view on your Majesty." "Yes, you could," said the Emperor, "if I asked you, or let me say commanded you." "Sir, your wishes are commands. I do not pretend to have deeply studied the matter. I think the time has come to finally settle a long-mooted question and to withdraw from woman the last disability under which she labours." "My objection," interposed the Emperor, "or hesitation is in no manner caused by any doubt as to woman's deserving to be on a par with man in every intellectual position." "Then, Sir, may I ask, why do you hesitate? The greatest Sovereign that ever reigned over Great Britain, as it was formerly called, was a woman." "I cordially agree with you. No Sovereign ever deserved better of the subjects of the realm than my venerated ancestress Queen Victoria. But again I say, I do not question woman's ability to occupy the throne to the greatest advantage." "Why, may I ask, then does your Majesty hesitate?" "I can scarcely reply to my own satisfaction. I give great heed to the objections commonly stated against altering the Constitution, but I do not feel certain that these alone guide me. There is another, and to me very important, reason. It appeals to me not as Sovereign only, but as soldier. My father and my grandfather led the troops of the Empire when they went forth to battle. Happily in our day war is a remote contingency, but it is not impossible. We preserve peace by being prepared for war. It seems to me a terrible responsibility to submit to a change which might result in the event of war in the army not being led by its emperor." "Your Majesty," said Miss Fitzherbert, "what am I to say? To deny the cogency of your reasons is like seeking to retain power, for you know the fate of the Cabinet depends upon this measure, to which it has pledged itself." "Miss Fitzherbert," said the Emperor gravely, "no one will suspect you of seeking to retain office for selfish purposes, and least of all would I suppose it, or I would not ask your counsel. Tell me now," he said, with a winning look, "as woman to man, not as subject to Sovereign, what does your heart dictate?" "Sir," said Miss Fitzherbert with great dignity, rising from her seat, "I am deeply sensible of the honour you do me; and I cannot excuse myself from responding to it. In the affairs of life, and more especially State affairs, I have noticed that both sides to a controversy have frequently good grounds for their advocacy; and, moreover, it often happens that previous association fastens on each side the views it holds. I am strong in the belief, we are right in wishing this measure to pass; but since you insist on my opinion, I cannot avoid declaring as far as I, a non-militant woman, can judge, that, were I in your place, I would hold the sentiment you express and refuse my sanction." Hilda spoke with great fervour, as one inspired. The Emperor scarcely concealed his admiration; but he merely bowed courteously, and ended the interview with the words, "I am greatly indebted to you for your frankness and candour." CHAPTER III. LORD REGINALD PARAMATTA. As Miss Fitzherbert returned to her room, she did not know whether to feel angry or pleased with herself. She was conscious she had not served the interest of her party or of herself, but she realised that she was placed in a situation in which candour was demanded of her, and it seemed to her that the Emperor was the embodiment of all that was gracious and noble in man. Her secretary informed her that Lord Reginald Paramatta was waiting to see her by appointment. Lord Reginald was a man of noticeable presence. Above the ordinary height, he seemed yet taller because of the extreme thinness of his frame. Yet he by no means wore an appearance of delicacy. On the contrary, he was exceedingly muscular; and his bearing was erect and soldierlike. He was well known as a brilliant officer, who had deeply studied his profession. But he was not only known as a soldier: he held a high political position. He had for many years continued to represent an Australian constituency in the Federal Parliament. His naturally dark complexion was further bronzed by exposure to the sun. His features were good and strikingly like those of his sister, the Countess of Middlesex. He had also the same sinister expression. The Paramattas were a very old New South Wales family. They were originally sheep-farmers, or squatters as they used to be called. They owned large estates in New South Wales and nearly half of a thriving city. The first lord was called to the peerage in 1930, in recognition of the immense sums that he had devoted to philanthropic and educational purposes. Lord Reginald was the second son of the third and brother of the fourth peer. He inherited from his mother a large estate in the interior of New South Wales. Miss Fitzherbert greeted Lord Reginald with marked coolness. "Your sister," she said, "told me you were kind enough to desire to wish me farewell before you left to take the London command, upon which allow me to congratulate you." "Thanks!" briefly replied his Lordship. "An appointment that places me so far from you is not to my mind a subject of congratulation." Miss Fitzherbert drew herself up, and with warmth remarked, "I am surprised that you should say this to me." "You ought not to be surprised," replied Lord Reginald. "My sister told you of my feelings towards you, if indeed I have not already sufficiently betrayed them." "Your sister must have also told you what I said in reply. Pray, my lord, do not inflict on both of us unnecessary pain." "Do not mistake my passion for a transitory one. Miss Fitzherbert, Hilda, my life is bound up in yours. It depends on you to send me forth the most happy or the most miserable of men." "Your happiness would not last. I am convinced we are utterly unsuited to each other. My answer is 'No' in both our interests." "Do not say so finally. Take time. Tell me I may ask you again after the lapse of some few months." "To tell you so would be to deceive. My answer can never change." "You love some one else, then?" "The question, my lord, is not fair nor seemly, nor have you the right to put it. Nevertheless I will say there is no foundation for your surmise." "Then why finally reject me? Give me time to prove to you how thoroughly I am in earnest." "I have not said I doubted it. But no lapse of years can alter the determination I have come to. I hope, Lord Reginald, that you will be happy, and that amidst the distractions of London you will soon forget me." "That would be impossible, but it will not be put to the test. I shall not go to London. I believe it is your wish that we should be separated." "I have no wish on the subject. There is nothing more to be said," replied Hilda, with extreme coldness. "Yes, there is. Do not think that I abandon my hope. I will remain near you. I will not let you forget me. I leave you in the conviction that some day you will give me a different answer. When the world is less kind to you than hitherto, you may learn to value the love of one devoted being. There is no good-bye between us." Hilda suppressed the intense annoyance that both his words and manner occasioned. She merely remarked, with supreme hauteur, "You will at least be good enough to rid me of your presence here." Her coldness seemed to excite the fury of Lord Reginald beyond the point of control. "As I live, you shall repent this in the future," he muttered in audible accents. Shortly afterwards a letter from Lord Reginald was laid before the Premier. He was gratified, he wrote, for the consideration the official appointment displayed; but he could not accept it: his parliamentary duties forbade his doing so. If, he continued, it was considered that his duty as an officer demanded his accepting the offer, he would send in his papers and retire from the service, though of course he would retain his position in the Volunteer force unless the Emperor wished otherwise. It should be explained that the Volunteer force was of at least equal importance to the regular service. Officers had precedence interchangeably according to seniority. Long since the absurdity had been recognised of placing the Volunteer force on a lower footing than the paid forces. Regular officers eagerly sought to be elected to commands in Volunteer regiments, and the colonel of a Volunteer regiment enjoyed fully as much consideration in every respect as the colonel of any of the paid regiments. The duty of defending all parts of the Empire from invasion was specially assigned to volunteers. The Volunteer force throughout the Empire numbered at least two million, besides which there was a Volunteer reserve force of three quarters of a million, which comprised the best men selected from the volunteers. The vacancies were filled up each year by fresh selections to make up the full number. The Volunteer reserve force could be mobilised at short notice, and was available for service anywhere. Its members enjoyed many prized social distinctions. The regular force of the Empire was comparatively small. In order to understand the availability of the Volunteer reserve force, regard must be had to the immense improvement in education. No child attained man or woman's estate without a large theoretical and practical knowledge of scientific laws and their ordinary application. For example, few adults were so ignorant as not to understand the modes by which motive power of various descriptions was obtained and the principles on which the working depended--each person was more or less an engineer. A hundred years since, education was deemed to be the mastering of a little knowledge about a great variety of subjects. Thoroughness was scarcely regarded, and the superficial apology for preferring quantity to quality was "Education does not so much mean imparting knowledge as training the faculties to acquire it." This plausible plea afforded the excuse for wasting the first twenty years of life of both sexes in desultory efforts to acquire a mastery over the dead languages. "It is a good training to the mind and a useful means of learning the living languages" was in brief the defence for the shocking waste of time. Early in the last century it fell to the lot of the then Prince of Wales, great-grandfather to the present Emperor, to prick this educational bladder. He stoutly declared that his sons should learn neither Latin nor Greek. "Why," he said, "should we learn ancient Italian any more than the Italians should learn the dialects of the ancient Britons?" "There is a Greek and Latin literature," was the reply, "but no literature of ancient Britain." "Yes," replied the Prince, "there is a literature; but does our means of learning the dead languages enable two persons in ten thousand after years of study to take up promiscuously a Latin or Greek book and read it with ease and comfort? They spend much more time in learning Latin and Greek than their own language, but who ever buys a Latin or Greek book to read when he is travelling?" "But a knowledge of Latin is so useful in acquiring living languages." "Fudge!" said this unceremonious prince, who, by the way, was more than an average classical scholar. "If I want to go to Liverpool, I do not proceed there by way of New York. I will back a boy to learn how to speak and read with interest three European languages before he shall be able, even with the aid of a dictionary, to laboriously master the meaning of a Latin book he has not before studied." He continued, "Do you think one person out of fifty thousand who have learnt Greek is so truly imbued with the spirit of the Iliad as are those whose only acquaintance with it is through the translations of Derby, Gladstone, or even Pope? It is partly snobbishness," he proceeded, with increased warmth. "The fact is, it is expensive and wasteful to learn Greek and Latin; and so the rich use the acquirement as another means of walling up class against class. At any rate, I will destroy the fashion; and so that there shall be no loss of learning, I will have every Greek and Latin work not yet translated that can be read with advantage by decent and modest people rendered into the English language, if it cost me a hundred thousand pounds: and then there will be no longer an excuse for the waste of millions on dead languages, to say nothing of the loss occasioned by the want of education in other subjects that is consequent on the prominence given to the so-called classical attainments." The Prince was equal to his word. Science and art, mathematical and technical acquirements, took the place of the classics; and people became really well informed. Living languages, it was found, could be easily learnt in a few months by personal intercourse with a fluent speaker. This digression has been necessary to explain how it was that the volunteers were capable of acquiring all the scientific knowledge necessary to the ranks of a force trained to the highest military duties. As to the officers, the position was sufficiently coveted to induce competitors for command in Volunteer regiments to study the most advanced branches of the profession. It will be understood Lord Reginald, while offering to retire from the regular service, but intending to retain his Volunteer command, really made no military sacrifice, whilst he took up a high ground embarrassing to the authorities. He forced them either to accept his refusal of the London command, and be a party to the breach of discipline involved in a soldier declining to render service wherever it was demanded, or to require his retirement from the regular service, with the certainty of all kinds of questions being asked and surmises made. It was no doubt unusual to offer him such a splendid command without ascertaining that he was ready to accept it, and there was a great risk of Miss Fitzherbert's name being brought up in an unpleasant manner. Women lived in the full light of day, and several journals were in the habit of declaring that the likes and dislikes of women were allowed far too much influence. What an opportunity would be afforded to them if they could hang ever so slightly Lord Reginald's retirement on some affair of the heart connected with that much-envied young statesman Miss Fitzherbert! Mrs. Hardinge rapidly realised all the features of the case. "He means mischief, this man," she said; "but he shall not hurt Hilda if I can help it." Then she minuted "Write Lord Reginald that I regret he is unable to accept an appointment which I thought would give him pleasure, and which he is so qualified to adorn." She laughed over this sentence. "He will understand its irony," she thought, "and smart under it." She continued, "Add that I see no reason for his retirement from the regular service. It was through accident he was not consulted before the offer was officially made. I should be sorry to deprive the Empire of his brilliant services. Mark 'Confidential.'" Then she thought to herself, "This is the best way out of it. He has gained to a certain extent a triumph, but he cannot make capital out of it." CHAPTER IV. PARTIAL VICTORY. Parliament was about to meet, and the Emperor was to open it with a speech delivered by himself. Much difference of opinion existed as to whether reference should be made to the question of altering the nature of the succession. The Emperor desired that all reference to it should be omitted. He told Mrs. Hardinge frankly he had decided not to agree to an alteration, but he said his greatest pain in refusing was the consciousness that it might deprive him of his present advisers. If the recommendation were formally made, he should be compelled to say that he would not concur until he had recourse to other advisers. He wished her not to impose on him such a necessity. "But," said Mrs. Hardinge, "your Majesty is asking us to hold office at the expense of our opinions." "Not so," replied his Majesty. "All pressing need of dealing with the question is over. I have resolved to break off the negotiations with the President of the United States for her daughter's hand. I do not think the union would be happy for either, and I take exception to the strong terms in which the President has urged a change in the succession of our imperial line. You see that the question is no longer an urgent one." "I hardly know to which direction our duty points," Mrs. Hardinge said. "We think the question urgent whether or not your Majesty marries at once." "Pray do not take that view. There is another reason. I have determined, as I have said, not to accept such advice without summoning other advisers. In adopting this step, I am strictly within my constitutional rights; and I do not say, if a new Cabinet also recommends an alteration in the law of succession I will refuse to accept the advice. I will never voluntarily decline to recognise the constitutional rights which I have sworn to uphold. So it might be that a change of Cabinet would not alter the result, and then it would be held that I had strained my constitutional power in making the change. I do not wish to appear in this or any other question to hold individual opinions. Frankly I will tell you that I doubt if you have the strength to carry your proposed change even if I permitted you to submit it. If I am correct in my conjecture, the question will be forced on you from the other side; and you will be defeated on it. In that case I shall not have interfered; and, as I have said, I prefer not to do so. So you see, Mrs. Hardinge, that I am selfish in wishing you to hold back the question. It is in my own interest that I do so, and you may dismiss all feeling of compunction." "Your Majesty has graciously satisfied me that I may do as you suggest without feeling that I am actuated by undue desire to continue in office. I agree with your Majesty the parliamentary result is doubtful. It greatly depends on the line taken by Lord Reginald Paramatta and the forty or fifty members who habitually follow him." The Emperor's speech was received with profound respect. But as soon as he left the council-chamber a murmur of astonishment ran round. It was generally anticipated that the announcement of the royal marriage would be made. The Federal Chamber was of magnificent dimensions. It accommodated with comfort the seven hundred and fifty members and one thousand persons besides. The Chamber was of circular shape. A line across the centre divided the portion devoted to the members from that occupied by the audience. The latter were seated tier on tier, but not crowded. The members had each a comfortable chair and a little desk in front, on which he could either write or by the hand telegraph communicate telegrams to his friends outside for retransmission if he desired it. He could receive messages also, and in neither case was the least noise made by the instrument. The council-chamber possessed astonishing acoustic powers. Vast as were its dimensions, a comparatively feeble voice could be clearly heard at the remotest distance. As soon as some routine business was concluded the leader of the Opposition, a lady of great reputation for statesmanship, rose, and, partly by way of interrogation, expressed surprise that no intimation had been made respecting the future happiness of the reigning family. This was about as near a reference to the person of the Sovereign as the rules of the House permitted. Mrs. Hardinge curtly replied that she had no intimation to make, a reply which was received with a general murmur of amazement. The House seemed to be on the point of proceeding to the ordinary business, when Lord Reginald Paramatta rose and said "he ventured to ask, as no reference was made to the subject in the speech, what were the intentions of the Government on the question of altering the law of succession of the imperial family." This interruption was received with much surprise. Lord Reginald had long been a member possessed of great influence. He had a considerable following, numbering perhaps not less than fifty. His rule of conduct hitherto had been to deprecate party warfare. He tried to hold the balance, and neither side had yet been able to number him and his following as partisans. That he should lead the way to an attack of an extreme party character seemed most astonishing. The few words that he had uttered were rapidly translated into meaning that he intended to throw in his lot with the Opposition. Mrs. Hardinge, however, appeared to feel no concern as she quietly replied that she was not aware that the question pressed for treatment. "I am afraid," said Lord Reginald, "that I am unable to agree with this opinion; and it is my duty to test the feelings of the House on the subject." Then he read to the intently listening members a resolution of which he gave notice that it was desirable, in order that no uncertainty should exist on the subject, to record the opinion of the House that the law of succession should not be altered. Loud cheers followed the announcement; and the leader of the Opposition, who was equally taken by surprise, congratulated Lord Reginald, with some little irony, on the decided position he had at last assumed. Mrs. Hardinge, without any trace of emotion or anxiety, rose amidst the cheers of her side of the House. The noble and gallant member, she said, had given notice of a resolution which the Government would consider challenged its position. It would be better to take it before proceeding to other business, and if, as she expected, the reply to the Imperial speech would not occasion discussion, to-morrow could be devoted to it. Lord Reginald replied to-morrow would suit him, and the sitting soon came to an end. Mrs. Hardinge could not but feel surprise at the accuracy of the Emperor's anticipation. She was sure he was not aware of Lord Reginald's intention, and she knew that the latter was acting in revenge for the slight he had received at the hands of Hilda Fitzherbert. She felt that the prospect of the motion being carried was largely increased through Lord Reginald having so cleverly appropriated it to himself. But it was equally evident from the cordiality with which the proposal was received that, if Lord Reginald had not brought it on, some one else would. She saw also that the Countess of Cairo (the leader of the Opposition) had rapidly decided to support Lord Reginald, though she might have reasonably objected to his appropriating the subject. "He is clever," Mrs. Hardinge reflected. "He accurately gauged Lady Cairo's action. What a pity neither Hilda nor I can trust him! He is as bad in disposition as he is able in mind." The next day, after the routine business was disposed of, Lord Reginald's resolution was called on. That it excited immense interest the crowded state of the hall in every part attested. Two of the Emperor's aides-de-camp were there, each with a noiseless telegraph apparatus in front of him to wire alternately the progress of the debate. Reporters were similarly communicating with the _Argus_, _Age_, and _Telegraph_ in Melbourne, and with the principal papers in Sydney, Brisbane, Adelaide, and New Zealand. Lord Reginald rose amidst loud cheers from the Opposition side of the House. He made a temperate but exceedingly able speech. He would explain before he concluded why he had taken the lead in bringing the question on. Hitherto he had not sought to take a prominent place in politics. He was a soldier by profession, and he would infinitely prefer distinguishing himself as a soldier than as a politician; and, as he would show, it was as a soldier that he came forward. He disclaimed any hostility to the equality of the sexes or any objection to the increasing power in public affairs to which women were attaining. He fully recognised that the immense progress of the world during the last hundred years was largely due to the intellectual advancement of women. He equally rejected the idea that women were unfitted to rule over a constitutionally governed empire. Then he dwelt at great length on the inexpediency of permitting the Constitution to be altered in any one particular, and this part of his speech was warmly cheered by a considerable section on each side of the Chamber. The effect of these remarks was, however, marred as far as the Government party were concerned by a sneering reference to their disposition to changes of all kinds; and he attempted a feeble joke by insinuating that the most desirable change of all might be a change of government. Then he came to his main argument and explained that it was this consideration which had impelled him to take up the question. He was, as he had said, a soldier; but he was not one who overlooked the misery caused by war. He did not long for war, nor did he think that war was a probable contingency; but he felt that the British Empire should always be ready for war as the best means of avoiding it, and as a soldier he believed no greater prestige could be given to the forces of their vast dominions than the knowledge that the Emperor was ready to lead them in person. "I would not," he said, "exclude the female line; but I would not give it larger probabilities of succession than it enjoys at present. Again, as a soldier I declare that the interests of the Empire forbid our doing anything to limit the presence at the head of his forces of the ruler of the Empire." Lord Reginald sat down amidst cheers. He had been listened to with profound attention, and parts of his speech were warmly applauded. Still, on the whole, the speech was not a success. Every one felt that there was something wanting. The speaker seemed to be deficient in sincerity. The impression left was that he had some object in view. The malign air with which the little joke was uttered about a change of government was most repelling. It came with singularly bad grace from one who tried to make out that he was unwillingly forced into opposition to a Government with which he had been friendly. Mrs. Hardinge rose amidst loud and continuous cheers. She combated each argument of the last speaker. She admitted her great disinclination to change the Constitution, but, she asked, was reverence for the Constitution promoted by upholding it on the ground not of its merits, but of the inexpediency of varying it? She freely admitted that her feelings were in favour of changing the laws of succession, but she had not brought forward any proposal to that effect, nor, as an advocate of a change, did she see any immediate or early need of bringing down proposals. Was it a good precedent to make great Ministerial changes depend on resolutions affecting not questions before the House, not proposals made by the Government, but sentiments or opinions they were supposed to entertain? This was a great change in parliamentary procedure, a larger one than those changes which the noble lord had sneeringly credited her with advocating. Then she gave Lord Reginald a very unpleasant quarter of an hour. She pictured him as head of the Government in consequence of carrying his resolution; she selected certain unpopular sentiments which he was known to entertain, and, amidst great laughter, travestied Lord Reginald's defence of his fads in response to resolutions of the same kind as they were now discussing. She grew eloquent even to inspiration in describing the abilities of the female Sovereigns of the past. And as to the soldier's point of view she asked did not history tell them that the arms of the country had been as successful under female as under male rulers? The noble lord, she said, amidst roars of laughter, had intended to come forward as a soldier; but, for her part, she thought he had posed as a courtier, and sarcastically she hinted that he was as able in one capacity as the other. "He is sad, sir," she continued, "over the possibility that any one but the Emperor should lead the forces; but if all that is said as to the noble lord's ambition be correct, he would prefer leading the troops himself to following the lead of the most exalted commander." She concluded with an eloquent appeal to her own party. She did not deny the opinions of her colleagues and herself, but asked was it wise to allow a great party to be broken up by a theoretical discussion upon a subject not yet before the country, and which for a long while might not come before it? Mrs. Hardinge's speech was received most enthusiastically, and at its conclusion it was clear that she had saved her party from breaking up. Not a vote would be lost to it. The result merely depended on what addition Lord Reginald's own following could bring to the usual strength of the Opposition. After some more debating a division ensued, and the resolution was lost by two votes only. Both sides cheered, but there was breathless silence when Mrs. Hardinge rose. She made no reference to the debate beyond the very significant one of asking that the House should adjourn for a week. CHAPTER V. CABINET NEGOTIATIONS. Mrs. Hardinge tendered the resignation of the Government to the Emperor, who at once sent for Lady Cairo, the leader of the Opposition. He asked her to form an administration. "Your Majesty," she said, "knows that, though I am in opposition to the present Premier, I greatly admire both her ability and honesty of purpose. I am not at all satisfied that she is called on to resign, or that the small majority she had on the late resolution indicates that she has not a large following on other questions." "I hold," said the Emperor, "the balance evenly between the great parties of the State; and I respect the functions of the Opposition no less than those of the Government. It is the opinion of my present advisers that a strong administration is necessary, and that, after such a division as that of the other night, the Opposition should have the opportunity offered to them of forming a Government." "I respect," replied Lady Cairo, "Mrs. Hardinge's action, and under like circumstances would have pursued a like course. But though Mrs. Hardinge is right in offering us the opportunity, it does not follow that we should be wise in accepting it." "You are of that," replied the Emperor, "of course the best judge. But I should not like so grave a step as the one which Mrs. Hardinge has felt it her duty to take to be construed into a formality for effacing the effect of a vote of the House. I am averse," said the wise ruler, "to anything which might even remotely make me appear as the medium of, or interferer with, parliamentary action. I esteem Mrs. Hardinge, and I esteem you, Lady Cairo; but if the resignation now tendered to me went no further than at present, it might justly be surmised that I had permitted myself to be the means of strengthening what Mrs. Hardinge considered an insufficient parliamentary confidence. I therefore ask you not to give me a hasty answer, but to consult your friends and endeavour to form a strong Government." No more could be said. Lady Cairo, with becoming reverence, signified her submission to the Emperor's wishes. She summoned her chief friends and colleagues, and had many earnest conferences with them separately and collectively. It was readily admitted that, if they formed a Government, there was a considerable number of members who, though not their supporters, would protect them in a fair trial. It was indeed certain that Mrs. Hardinge would be too generous to indulge in factious opposition, and that, if they avoided any notoriously controversial measure, she would herself help them to get through the session. But Lady Cairo was a large-minded statesman. She loved power, but, because she loved it, was averse to exercising it on sufferance. She could not but be sensible such would be her position, and that she would have to trust less to the strength of her own party than to the forbearance of her opponents. Besides, there was a point about which a great difference of opinion existed. She could not attempt to form a Government unless in combination with Lord Reginald, who moved the resolution. The animosity he had displayed to the Government made it probable, almost certain, that he would do what he could to aid her; it might even be expected that he would induce all or nearly all of his followers to come over to her; but again and again she asked herself the question would such an alliance be agreeable to her? Joint action during an animated debate was widely different from the continued intimacy of official comradeship. She liked Lord Reginald no better than other persons liked him. She had very clear perceptions, and was of a high and honourable nature. Lord Reginald inspired her with distrust. It was his misfortune to awaken that feeling in the minds of those persons with whom he came into contact. Her most trusted colleagues were generally of the same opinion, though several prominent members of the party thought it a mistake not to accept the opportunity and test its chances. Her intimate friends expressed their opinion with diffidence. They would not accept the responsibility of dissuading her from taking office. They knew that it was a high position and one to which individually she would do justice, and they knew also that many contingencies might convert a Government weak at the outset into a strong one. But she could read between the lines, the more especially that she shared the distrust at which they hinted. Two of the colleagues she most valued went so far as to leave her to understand that they would not join her Government, though of course they would support it. They excused themselves on private grounds; but she was shrewd enough to see these were the ostensible, not the real, reasons. Lady Cairo was not one of those persons who habitually try to persuade themselves to what their inclinations lead. What she had said to the Emperor satisfied the most fastidious loyalty. She was perfectly free to take office. No one could question either her action or her motive. She need not fear the world's opinion if she consulted her own inclination, and nineteen out of twenty persons would have been satisfied. She was not; she still saw before her the necessity of acting with one colleague at least, Lord Reginald, who would be distasteful to her: and as a strong party statesman, she was not well disposed generally to the bulk of his followers, whose inclination led them to endeavour to hold the balance of power between contending parties. She determined on consulting her aged mother, now a confirmed invalid, but once a brilliant and powerful statesman, noted for her high sense of honour. "My dear," said this helpless lady when she had heard all her daughter had to tell her, "no one but yourself can measure the strength or the justice of the distaste you feel for the alliance you must make if you accept the splendid responsibilities offered to you. But the distaste exists, and it is not likely to become less. I doubt if you are justified in disregarding it. Your time will come, my dear; and it will be a pleasure to you to think that you have not sought it at the expense of a personal sacrifice of doubts, that would not exist if all grounds for them were wanting. You must decide. I will go no further than to say this. I cannot persuade you to allow your inclination for office to overrule your disinclination to a powerful section of those who must share your responsibilities. It is sadly often the case that the instinct to sacrifice inclination is more reliable than the disposition to follow it." Three days after their last interview the Emperor again received Lady Cairo. "Your Majesty, I have to decline, with great respect and much gratitude for the confidence you reposed in me, the task of forming a Government with which you graciously charged me." "Is this your deliberate decision? I am told that you would have no difficulty in carrying on the business of the session if Lord Reginald and his party supported you.' "That is a contingency, Sir, on which I could not count." "How! He has not promised to support you?" "I have not asked him. Our chance presence in the same division lobby did not appear to me a sufficient basis of agreement." "Then," said the Emperor, "the mover of the resolution that has occasioned so much trouble has not been consulted?" "It is so, your Majesty, as far as I am concerned. I did not understand that you made coalition with him a condition of my attempt to form a Government. I hope, Sir, you acquit me of having disregarded your wishes." "I do, Lady Cairo. I made no conditions, nor was I entitled to do so. I left you quite free. Only it seemed to me you must act with the support of Lord Reginald and his following, and that therefore you would necessarily consult him." "I would not say anything in disparagement of Lord Reginald; but may it not be that my party do not think there has been such habitual agreement with him as to warrant our assuming that a coalition would be for the public interest, to say nothing of our own comfort?" "I see," muttered the Emperor in barely audible voice, "always the same distrust of this man, able and brave though he be." Then aloud, "Lady Cairo, what am I to do? Should I send for Lord Reginald and ask him to attempt to form a Government?" "I implore your Majesty not to ask me for advice. Mrs. Hardinge is still in power. May I," she said in a tone of pathetic entreaty, "utter half a dozen words not officially, but confidentially?" "Certainly you have my permission." "Then, Sir, you will understand me when I say that personal opinions, confidence, trust, and liking may have so much to do with the matter that it will be graciously kind of your Majesty to allow me to state only this much in my place in the House: that, after considering the charge you entrusted to me, I felt compelled to refuse it, not believing that I could form a Government which would enjoy the confidence of a majority of the House." "Let it be so," said the Emperor good-humouredly. "That may be your version. I must not put my troubles upon you." "Your Majesty is most good, most kind. I can never be sufficiently grateful." The Emperor had gained one more devoted admirer. Few who came into personal contact with him failed to be fascinated by his wonderful sympathy and grace. All human character appeared an open book to his discernment. He sent for Mrs. Hardinge. "I fear," he said, "you will not be pleased at what I am about to say. Lady Cairo has declined to form a Government. I may have to refuse to accept your resignation, or rather to ask you to withdraw it. First, however, I wish your advice; but before I formally seek it tell me would it be distasteful to you to give it." He paused to afford an opportunity to Mrs. Hardinge to speak, of which she did not avail herself. "Lady Cairo," he continued, "did not communicate at all with the mover of the resolution, Lord Reginald. Will you be averse to my asking you to advise me on the subject?" It will be observed that he did not ask for the advice. He well knew, if he did so, Mrs. Hardinge would be bound to declare that he had asked for advice, and whether she gave it or not, would still be unable to conceal that it was sought from her. The Emperor now only put his question on the footing of whether she was willing that he should seek her opinion. Mrs. Hardinge appreciated his consideration. It all came back to the point that the objection to Lord Reginald was of a personal nature, and as such it was in the last degree distasteful to every one to be mixed up with its consideration. "Your Majesty," said Mrs. Hardinge, "has a claim to seek my advice on the subject; but there are reasons which make me very averse to giving it. If I can avoid doing so, you will make me very grateful." The Emperor mused. "Whatever the special reasons may be, why should I force on so valuable a public servant the necessity of making a lifelong enemy of this unscrupulous man? To me his enmity matters little. I will myself decide the point. Lord Reginald did not carry his resolution, and Mrs. Hardinge need not have tendered her resignation. She did offer it; and, guided by constitutional rule, I sent for the leader of the Opposition. I did not take advice from Mrs. Hardinge as to whether I should send for Lord Reginald or Lady Cairo. I acted on my own responsibility, as in such cases I prefer doing. I am opposed to the principle of a retiring Minister selecting his or her successor. I had the right to suppose that Lady Cairo would consult Lord Reginald, though not to complain of her failing to do so. If I send for Lord Reginald, it must be of my own initiative There is no reason why I should consult Mrs. Hardinge now, seeing that I did not consult her at first. So much then is settled. Now I must myself decide if I will send for Lord Reginald. It will be distasteful to me to do so. I have no confidence in the man, and it would be a meaningless compliment, for he cannot form a Government. Why should I make a request I know cannot be complied with? Constitutional usage does not demand it; in fact, the precedent will be injurious. Because of a sudden accidental combination, the representative of a small party has no right to be elevated into the most important leader. Such a practice would encourage combinations injurious to party government. If I had intended to send for Lord Reginald, I ought to have summoned him before I sought Lady Cairo. I am quite satisfied that the course I pursued was constitutional and wise, and I should throw doubt upon it by sending for Lord Reginald now." These reflections were made in less time than it takes to write them down. "Mrs. Hardinge," said the Emperor, "we now begin our official interview. Be kind enough to efface from your mind what has hitherto passed. I have to ask you to withdraw your resignation. Lady Cairo, the leader of the Opposition, has declined to act, on the ground that she cannot form a Government which will sufficiently possess the confidence of a majority of the House." "It shall be as your Majesty wishes," said Mrs. Hardinge. When the House met, Mrs. Hardinge, by agreement with Lady Cairo, merely stated that, after the division of last week, she had felt it her duty to tender the resignation of her Government to the Emperor. Lady Cairo in very few words explained that the Emperor had sent for her and entrusted her with the formation of a Government, and that, after sufficient consideration, she resolved it was not desirable she should undertake the task, as she could not rely on a majority in the House and could not submit to lead it on sufferance. Mrs. Hardinge again rose, and explained that, at the request of the Emperor, she had withdrawn her resignation. Loud cheers from all sides of the House followed the intimation. Public feeling during the week had abundantly shown itself to be against a change of government upon what really amounted to a theoretical question, as the matter was not before the House upon which the resolution was nearly carried. It was argued that even if carried it would have been a most unsatisfactory reason for a change of government. There was one member in the Chamber to whom all that had passed was gall and wormwood. Lord Reginald left the House last week a marked and distinguished man. For the first twenty-four hours he received from those persons throughout the Empire who made it their business to stand well with "the powers that be" congratulations of a most flattering description. To-day there was "none so poor to do him reverence." The change was intolerable to a man of his proud and haughty disposition. The worst feature of it was that he could not single out any one specially for complaint. There was no disguising from himself what every one in the House knew, and what every one throughout the Empire soon would know: that the Emperor himself and the leaders of both the great parties did not think him worthy of consideration. As we have seen, there was no actual slight; that is to say, constitutional usages had been followed. But to his mind he had been slighted in a most marked and offensive fashion. Why was he not sent for at first? Why did not Lady Cairo consult him? Why was Mrs. Hardinge asked to withdraw her resignation without his assistance being sought--he, the mover of the resolution; he, the man who brought on the crisis about which miles of newspaper columns had since been written? He forgot that no one had asked him to take the action he did, that he had sought no advice on the subject, and that politicians who elect to act on their own account have no right to complain of the isolation they court. Scarcely any one spoke to him. A member near him, noticing his extreme pallor, asked him if he was unwell; but no one seemed to care about him or to remember that he had had anything to do with the crisis which, to the rejoicing of all sides, was over. "The newspapers," he thought, "will not forget." They had blamed him during the last week; now they would ridicule and laugh at him. He writhed at the reflection; and when he reached the quiet of his own home, he paced his large study as one demented. "I will be revenged," he muttered over and over again. "I will show them I am not so powerless a being; they shall all repent the insult they have put on me: and as for that girl, that image of snow--she has set Mrs. Hardinge against me. She shall grovel at my feet; she shall implore me to marry her." CHAPTER VI. BAFFLED REVENGE. Hilda's most confidential secretary was her sister, Maud Fitzherbert. She was some two or three years younger, a lovely, graceful girl, and possessed of scarcely less intellectual power than Hilda. She had perhaps less inclination for public life; but both the girls were learned in physical laws, in mathematics, in living languages, in everything, in short, to which they devoted their extraordinary mental powers. They adored each other, and Maud looked up to Hilda as to a divinity. The latter was writing in her room. Maud came to her. "Lord Montreal is most anxious to see you for a few minutes." Lord Montreal was a fine-looking, handsome young man of twenty-five years of age. He was a brave soldier, a genial companion, and a general favourite. He was the second son of the Duke of Ontario. He had known the Fitzherberts since they were children, and the families were intimate. Hilda greeted him cordially. "I will not detain you," he said; "but I have had important information confided to me in strict secrecy. I cannot tell you who was my informant, and you must not use my name. Will you accept the conditions?" "I must, I suppose, if you insist on them." "I must insist on them. My information much concerns my commanding officer, Lord Reginald Paramatta, with whom I am only on formal terms; and therefore my name must not appear. As to my informant, his condition was absolute secrecy as to his name. The gist of what he told me was that Lord Reginald is organising a secret society, with objects certainly not loyal to the Emperor, if indeed they are not treasonable. I gathered that there is something more contemplated than theoretical utterances, and that action of a most disastrous character may follow if steps to arrest it be not at once taken. The information was imparted to me in order that I might bring it to you. I feel that I have been placed in a false position by being made the recipient without proof of statements so damaging to my superior officer; and though I fear that I may be placing a trouble upon you, I have on reflection not thought myself warranted in withholding the statement, as it was made to me with the object of its reaching you. Never again will I give assurances about statements the nature of which I do not know." Miss Fitzherbert seemed to be destined to annoyance through Lord Reginald. She was now called to set the detective power in force against a man who a few days since so eagerly sought her hand. "I certainly wish," she said, "that you will not give promises which will land you into bringing me information of this kind." "You surely," said Montreal, "do not care for Lord Reginald?" "I may not and do not care for him, but it is not agreeable to be asked to search out criminal designs on the part of a person with whom one is acquainted." "Forgive me, Hilda," said Montreal. "It was thoughtless of me not to think that I might give you pain. But, you see, I regard you as indifferent to everything but public affairs. Now Maud is different;" and he looked at the fair girl who still remained in the room, with eyes in which warm affection was plainly visible. "Maud has a heart, of course; but I have not," said Hilda, with more irritation than she was accustomed to display. The poor girl had suffered much annoyance during the last few days, and the climax was attained that afternoon when she read in a paper purposely sent to her a strangely inverted account of her relations with Lord Reginald. According to this journal, Mrs. Hardinge had treated Lord Reginald cruelly because she could not induce him to respond to the affection which her protegée Hilda Fitzherbert felt for the great soldier. In spite of, or perhaps on account of, her vast mental power, Hilda was possessed of a singularly sensitive character. She gave herself up to public affairs in the full conviction that women could do so without sacrificing in the smallest degree their self-respect. She had a high conception of the purity and holiness of woman's individual existence, and it seemed to her a sacrilege to make the public life of a woman the excuse for dragging before the eyes of the world anything that affected her private feelings. She was intensely annoyed at this paragraph. In the end, we may say in anticipation. Lord Reginald did not come out of it with advantage. The next issue of the paper contained the following passage: "In reference to what appeared in our columns last week about Miss Fitzherbert, we must apologise to that lady. We are informed by Mrs. Hardinge that the facts were absolutely inverted. It is not Lord Reginald who is unwilling. It is Lord Reginald who has received a _decidedly_ negative reply." Hilda was not one to readily inflict her own annoyances on others. She recovered herself in a moment as she saw the pained look on Maud's face. "Forgive me, Montreal; forgive me, Maud," she said. "I have much to disturb me. I did not mean to be unkind. Of course, Montreal, I should have liked your aid in this matter; but as you cannot give it, I must see what I can do without it. Good-bye, Montreal. Maud dear, send at once to Colonel Laurient, and ask him if he will do me the kindness to come to see me at once." Colonel Laurient was a very remarkable man. He was on his mother's side of an ancient Jewish family, possessing innumerable branches all over the world. At various times members of the family had distinguished themselves both in public life and in scientific, commercial, and financial pursuits. Colonel Laurient was the second son of one of the principal partners in the De Childrosse group, the largest and most wealthy financial house in the world. When his education was completed, he decided not to enter into the business, as his father gave him the option of doing. He had inherited an enormous fortune from his aunt, the most celebrated scientific chemist and inventor of her day. She had left him all the law permitted her to leave to one relation. He entered the army, and also obtained a seat in Parliament. As a soldier he gained a reputation for extreme skill and discretion in the guerilla warfare that sometimes was forced on the authorities in the British Asiatic possessions. On one occasion by diplomatic action he changed a powerful foe on the frontier of the Indian possessions to a devoted friend, his knowledge of languages and Asiatic lore standing him in good stead. This action brought him to the notice of the Emperor, who soon attached him to his personal service, and, it was said, put more faith in his opinions than in those of any person living. He was rather the personal friend than the servant of the Emperor. Some twenty years before the date of our story it was found necessary to give to the then Sovereign a private service of able and devoted men. It was the habit of the Emperor of United Britain to travel about the whole of his vast dominions. The means of travelling were greatly enlarged, and what would at one time have been considered a long and fatiguing expedition ceased to possess any difficulty or inconvenience. A journey from London to Melbourne was looked upon with as much indifference as one from London to the Continent used to be. It became apparent that either the freedom of the Emperor to roam about at pleasure must be much curtailed, or that he must be able to travel without encroaching on the ordinary public duty of his constitutional advisers. Thus a species of personal bodyguard grew up, with the members of which, according as his temperament dictated, the Sovereign became on more or less intimate personal terms. The officers holding this coveted position had no official status. If there was any payment, the Emperor made it. There was no absolute knowledge of the existence of the force, if such it could be called, or of who composed it. That the Sovereign had intimate followers was of course known, and it was occasionally surmised that they held recognised and defined positions. But it was merely surmise, after all; and not half a dozen people outside of Cabinet rank could have positively named the friends of the Emperor who were members of the bodyguard. Colonel Laurient retired from Parliament, where he had rather distinguished himself in the treatment of questions requiring large geographical and historical knowledge; and it was commonly supposed, he wished to give more attention to his military duties. In reality he became chief of the Emperor's bodyguard, and, it might be said, was the eyes and ears of the Sovereign. With consummate ability he organised a secret intelligence department, and from one end of the dominions to the other he became aware of everything that was passing. Not infrequently the Emperor amazed Cabinet Ministers with the extent of his knowledge of immediate events. Colonel Laurient never admitted that he held any official position, and literally he did not hold any such position. He received no pay, and his duties were not defined. He loved the Emperor personally for himself, and the Emperor returned the feeling. Really the most correct designation to give to his position was to term him the Emperor's most devoted friend and to consider that in virtue thereof the members of the bodyguard regarded him as their head, because he stood to them in the place of the Emperor himself. Hilda Fitzherbert knew something, and conjectured more, as to his position. She was frequently brought into communication with him, and after she heard Lord Montreal's story she instantly determined to consult him. He came quickly on her invitation. He was always pleased to meet her. Colonel Laurient was a tall, slender man, apparently of about thirty-five years of age. His complexion was very dark; and his silky, curly hair was almost of raven blackness. His features were small and regular, and of that sad but intellectual type common to some of the pure-bred Asiatic races. You would deem him a man who knew how to "suffer and be strong;" you would equally deem him one whom no difficulty could frighten, no obstacle baffle. You would expect to see his face light up to enjoyment not because of the prospect of ordinary pleasure, but because of affairs of exceeding gravity which called for treatment by a strong hand and subtle brain. His manner was pleasing and deferential; and he had a voice of rare harmony, over which he possessed complete control. Cordial greetings passed between him and Miss Fitzherbert. There was no affectation of apology being necessary for sending for him or of pleasure on his part at the summons. Briefly she told him of Lord Montreal's communication. He listened attentively, then carelessly remarked, "Lord Reginald's conduct has been very peculiar lately." Do what she would, the girl could not help giving a slight start at this remark, made as it was with intention. Colonel Laurient at once perceived that there was more to be told than he already was aware of. He knew a great deal that had passed with Lord Reginald, and guessed more; and gradually, with an apparently careless manner, he managed to elicit so much from Hilda that she thought it wiser to tell him precisely all that had occurred, especially the account of her last interview with Lord Reginald and his subsequent letter resigning his appointment. "Confidences with me," he said, "are entirely safe. Now I understand his motives, you and I start on fair terms, which we could not do whilst you knew more than I did." Then they discussed what had better be done. "It may be," Colonel Laurient said, "that there is nothing in it. There is a possibility that it is a pure invention, and it is even possible that Lord Reginald may have himself caused the invention to reach you for the purpose of giving you annoyance. Montreal's informant may have been instigated by Lord Reginald. Then there is the possibility--we may say probability--that the purposes of the society do not comprise a larger amount of disaffection or dissatisfaction than the law permits. And, lastly, there is let us say the barest possibility that Lord Reginald, enraged to madness, may have determined on some really treasonable action. You know in old days it was said, 'Hell has no fury like a woman scorned;' but in our time we would not give the precedence for wounded vanity to woman; man is not wanting in the same susceptibility, and Lord Reginald has passed through a whole series of humiliating experiences. I knew some of them before I saw you this afternoon. You have filled up the list with a bitter from which he doubtless suffers more than from all the rest." Miss Fitzherbert appeared to care little for this strain of conjecture. "What is the use of it?" she said. "However infinitesimal the risk of treasonable designs, the Emperor must not be allowed to run it." "You are right," said Colonel Laurient. "I do not, as you know, appear in these matters; but I have means of obtaining information of secret things. Within twenty-four hours I will see you again and let you know what it all means. We can then decide the course to take." Some explanation is necessary to enable Colonel Laurient's remarks about the limits of disaffection to be understood. Freedom of thought and expression was amongst the cardinal liberties of the subject most prized. In order to recognise its value, it was long since determined that a line should be drawn beyond which the liberty should not extend. It was argued that nothing could be more cruel than to play with disaffection of a dangerous nature. Not only was it the means of increasing the disaffection, but of gradually drawing eminent people into compromising positions. The line then was drawn at this point:--upon any subject that did not affect the fundamental principles of the Constitution change might be permissible, but any advocacy or even suggestion of destroying those fundamental principles was regarded as treasonable. The Constitution was so framed as to indicate within itself the principles which were susceptible of modification or change, such, for example, as the conditions of the franchise and the modes of conducting elections. But there were three fundamental points concerning which no change was allowable, and these were--first, that the Empire should continue an empire; secondly, that the sovereignty should remain in the present reigning family; and thirdly, that the union of the different parts of the dominion was irrevocable and indissoluble. It will be remembered that a great aversion had been expressed by the upholders of the Constitution to the proposal to change the law of succession within the imperial family. It could not be said to touch on the second fundamental principle, as it did not involve a change of dynasty; yet many thought it too nearly approached one of the sacred, unchangeable principles. As regards the fundamental principles, no discussion was permissible. To question even the wisdom of continuing the Empire, of preserving the succession in the imperial family, or of permitting a separation of any of the dominions was held to be rank treason; and no mercy was shown to an offender. Outside of these points changes could be made, and organisations to promote changes were legitimate, however freely they indulged in plain speech. The conduct of the Emperor himself was legitimately a subject of comment, especially on any point in which he appeared to fail in respect to the Constitution he had sworn to uphold. It need scarcely be said that the Constitution was no longer an ill-defined and unwritten one. Such a Constitution worked well enough as long as the different parts of the Empire were united only during pleasure. When the union became irrevocable, it was a natural necessity that the conditions of union should be defined. It may be convenient here to state some of the broad features of the governing and social system. It has already been said that, without approaching to communism, it had long since been decided that every human being was entitled to a share in the good things of the world, and that destitution was abhorrent. It was also recognised that the happiest condition of humanity was a reasonable amount of work and labour. For that very reason, it was decided not to make the labour distasteful by imposing it as a necessity. The love of work, not its necessity, was the feeling it was desirable to implant. Manual work carried with it no degradation, and there was little work to be done which did not require intelligence. Mere brute force was superseded by the remarkable contrivances for affording power and saving labour which were brought even to the humblest homes. The waves, tides, and winds stored up power which was convertible into electricity or compressed air; and either of these aids to labour-saving could be carried from house to house as easily as water. If men and women wished to be idle and State pensioners, it was open to them to follow their inclination; but they had to wear uniforms, and they were regarded as inferior by the healthy body politic. The aged, infirm, and helpless might enjoy State aid without being subjected to such a humiliation or to any disability. The starting-point was that, if a person was not sufficiently criminal to be the inmate of a prison, he should not be relegated to a brutal existence. It was at first argued that such a system would encourage inaction and idleness; the State would be deluged with pensioners. But subtler counsels prevailed. Far-seeing men and women argued that the condition of the world was becoming one of contracted human labour; and if the viciously inclined refused to work, there would be more left to those who had the ambition to be industrious. "But," was the rejoinder, "you are stifling ambition by making the lowest round of the ladder so comfortable and luxurious." To this was replied, "Your argument is superficial. Survey mankind; and you will see that, however lowly its lowest position, there is a ceaseless, persistent effort to rise on the part of nearly every well-disposed person, from the lowliest to the most exalted." Ambition, it was urged, was natural to man, but it was least active amongst the poverty-crushed classes. Mankind as a whole might be described as myriads of units striving to ascend a mountain. The number of those contented to rest on the plateaus to which they had climbed was infinitesimal compared with the whole. It would be as difficult to select them as it would be to pick out a lazy bee from a whole hive. Whether you started at the lowest class, with individuals always on the point of starvation, with families herded together with less decency than beasts of the fields, and with thousands of human beings who from cradle to grave knew not what happiness meant, or made the start from a higher elevation, upon which destitution was impossible, there would still continue the climbing of myriads to greater heights and the resting on plateaus of infinitesimally few; indeed, as poverty tended to crush ambition, there would be a larger range of aspiration accompanying an improvement in the condition of the lowliest class. And so it proved. The system of government and taxation followed the theory of the range above destitution. Taxes were exacted in proportion to the ability to pay them. The payments for the many services the Post Office rendered were not regarded as taxation. The customs duties were looked upon as payments made in proportion to the desires of the people to use dutiable goods. If high customs duties meant high prices, they also meant high wages. The Empire, following the practice of other countries, was utterly averse to giving employment to the peoples of foreign nations. Every separate local dominion within the Empire was at liberty to impose by its legislature what duties it pleased as between itself and other parts of the Empire, but it was imperatively required to collect three times the same duties on commodities from foreign countries. This was of course meant to be prohibitive of foreign importations, and was practicable because the countries within the Empire could supply every commodity in the world. It was argued that to encourage foreign importations merely meant to pit cheap labour against the price for labour within the Empire. Besides the customs duties, the revenue was almost entirely made up of income tax and succession duties. Stamp duties, as obstacles to business, were considered an evidence of the ignorance of the past. The first five hundred pounds a year of income was free; but beyond that amount the State appropriated one clear fourth of all incomes. Similarly one quarter of the value of all successions, real or personal, in excess of ten thousand pounds, was payable to the State; and disposition by gifts before death came within the succession values. A man or woman was compelled to leave half his or her property, after payment of succession duty, in defined proportion to the children and wife or husband, as the case might be, or failing these to near relations; the other half he or she might dispose of at pleasure. It was argued that to a certain extent the amasser of wealth had only a life interest in it, and that it was not for the happiness of the successors of deceased people to come into such wealth that the ambition to work and labour would be wanting. The system did not discourage the amassment of wealth; on the contrary, larger fortunes were made than in former times. Higher prices gave to fortunes of course a comparatively less purchasing power; but taking the higher prices into consideration, the accumulation of wealth became a more honourable ambition and a pleasanter task when it ceased to be purchased at the expense of the comfort of the working classes. The customs duties belonged to the separate Governments that collected them, and the quarter-income tax and succession duties were equally divided between the Imperial and the Dominion Governments. Thus the friction between them was minimised. The Imperial Government and the Dominion Governments both enjoyed during most years far more revenue than they required, and so large a reserve fund was accumulated that no inconvenience was felt in years of depression. Part of the surplus revenues arising from the reserve fund was employed in large educational and benevolent works and undertakings. The result of the system was that pecuniary suffering in all directions was at an end; but the ambition to acquire wealth, with its concomitant powers, was in no degree abated. Of course there was not universal content--such a condition would be impossible--but the controversies were, as a rule, less bitter than the former ones which prevailed between different classes. The man-and-woman struggle was one of the large points of constant difference, and again there was much difference of opinion as to whether the quarter-income and succession duties might be reduced to a fifth. It was argued, on the one hand, that the reserve funds were becoming too large, and that the present generation was working too much for its successors. On the other hand, it was urged that the present generation in working for its successors was merely perpetuating the gift which it had inherited, and that by preserving the reserve funds great strength was given to contend against any reverses that the future might have in store. Another point of controversy was the strength of the naval and military forces. A comparatively small school of public men argued that the cost and strength might be materially reduced without risk or danger, but the general feeling was not with them. This has been a long digression, but it was necessary to the comprehension of our story. It will easily be understood from what has been said that, supposing the alleged action of Lord Reginald was dictated by revenge, it was difficult to see, unless he resorted to treasonable efforts, what satisfaction he could derive from any agitation. Colonel Laurient the next afternoon fulfilled his promise of waiting on Hilda. She had suffered great anxiety during the interval--the anxiety natural to ill-defined fears and doubts. He looked careworn, and his manner was more serious than on the previous day. "I have found out all about it," he said; "and I am sorry there is more cause for anxiety than we thought yesterday. It is undoubtedly true that Lord Reginald is organising some combination; and although the proof is wanting, there is much reason to fear that his objects are not of a legitimate nature. It is impossible to believe, he would take the trouble which he is assuming, to deal only with questions to which he has never shown an inclination. I am persuaded that behind the cloak of his ostensible objects lies ambition or revenge, or perhaps both, pointing to extreme and highly dangerous action." "You are probably right," said Miss Fitzherbert, who knew from the manner of the Emperor's favourite that he was much disturbed by what he had heard. "But even so, what obstacle lies in the way of putting an end to the projected action, whatever its nature?" "There is a great obstacle," promptly replied the Colonel; "and that is the doubt as to what the nature of the project is. Lord Reginald is a clever man; and notwithstanding his late failure, he has plenty of friends and admirers, especially among his own sex, and amongst soldiers, both volunteers and regulars. I have ascertained enough to show me that the leaders intend to keep within ostensibly legitimate limits until the time comes to unfold their full design to their followers, and that then they will trust to the comradeship of the latter and to their fears of being already compromised." Hilda was quick of apprehension. "I see they will organise to complain perhaps of the nature of the taxation, and only expose their treasonable objects at a later time." Colonel Laurient gazed on her with admiration. "How readily you comprehend!" he said. "I believe you alone can grapple with the situation." The girl flushed, and then grew pale. She did not know what physical fear meant. Probably, if her feelings were analysed, it would have been found that the ruling sensation she experienced was an almost delirious pleasure at the idea that she could do a signal service to the Emperor. She replied, however, with singular self-repression. "I am not quick enough," she said, with a slight smile, "to understand how I can be of any use." "The organisation has been proceeding some time, although I fancy Lord Reginald has only lately joined and accepted the leadership. It numbers thousands who believe themselves banded together only to take strong measures to reduce taxation, on the ground that the reserve funds have become amply large enough to permit such reduction. But the leaders have other views; and I have ascertained that they propose to hold a meeting three days hence, at which it is possible--nay, I think, probable--there will be an unreserved disclosure." "Why not," said Miss Fitzherbert, "arrest them in the midst of their machinations?" "There lies the difficulty," responded the Colonel. "It entirely depends on the nature of the disclosures whether the Government authorities are entitled to take any action. If the disclosures fall short of being treasonable, it would be held that there was interference of a most unpardonable character with freedom of speech and thought; and the last of it would never be heard. Dear Miss Fitzherbert," he said caressingly, "we want some one at the meeting with a judgment so evenly balanced and accurate that she will be able on the instant to decide if the treasonable intentions are sufficiently expressed or if it would be safer not to interfere. I know no one so quick and at the same time so logical in her judgment as you. In vain have I thought of any one else whom it would be nearly so safe to employ." "But how could it be managed?" inquired Hilda. "Every one knows my appearance. My presence would be immediately detected." "Pray listen to me," said the Colonel, delighted at having met with no strenuous opposition. He had feared, he would have great difficulty in persuading Miss Fitzherbert to take the part he intended for her; and, to his surprise, she seemed inclined to meet him half-way. Then he explained that the meeting was to be held in the Parliamentary Hall, a celebrated place of meeting. It had been constructed with the express purpose of making it impossible that any one not inside the Hall could hear what was taking place. The edifice was an enormous one of stone. Inside this building, about fifteen feet from the walls all round, and twenty feet from the roof, was a second erection, composed entirely of glass. So that as long as the external building was better lighted than the interior one the presence of a human being could be detected outside the walls or on the roof of the hall of meeting. The chamber was artificially cooled, as indeed were most of the houses in the cities of Australia, excepting during the winter months. "This is the place of all others," said Miss Fitzherbert, "where it would be difficult for an unauthorised person to be present." "Not so," replied Colonel Laurient. "The inside hall is to be in darkness, and the exterior dimly lighted. Only the vague outlines of each person's form will be revealed; and every one is to come cloaked, and with a large overshadowing hat. From what I can gather, the revelation is to be gradual and only to be completed if it should seem to be approved during its progress. I expect Lord Reginald will be the last to give in his adhesion, so that it might be said he was deceived as to the purpose of the meeting if he should see fit to withdraw from the declaration of its real object. Mind, you are to be sole judge as to whether the meeting transgresses the line which divides the legitimate from the treasonable." "Why not act yourself?" said Hilda. "If you think for a moment," he replied, "you will understand my influence is maintained only so long as it is hidden. If I appeared to act, it would cease altogether. Unfortunately I must often let others do what I would gladly do myself. Believe me, it is painful to me to put tasks on you of any kind, much less a task of so grave a nature. By heavens!" he exclaimed, carried away for a moment, "there is a reason known to me only why I might well dread for myself the great service you will do the Emperor." He was recalled to himself by the amazed look of the girl. "Forgive me," he ejaculated. "I did not mean anything. But there is no danger to you; of that be assured." "Colonel Laurient," said Hilda gravely, "you ought to know me well enough not to suppose I am guided by fear." "I do know it," he answered, "otherwise I should not have asked you to undertake the great task I have set before you. No woman whose mind was disturbed by alarm could do justice to it." He told her that in some way, he did not mention how, he had control over the manager of the building, who had let it under a false impression, and asked her if she was aware of the comparatively late discovery of how to produce artificial magnetism. "I ought to be," she replied, with a smile, "for I am credited with having been the first to discover the principle of the remote branch of muscular magnetising electricity on which it depends." "I had forgotten," he said, with an answering smile. "One may be forgiven for forgetting for a moment the wide nature of your investigations and discoveries." Then he explained to her that the principle could be put into practice with perfect certainty and safety, and that he would take care everything was properly arranged. He would see her again and tell her the pass-words, the part of the Hall she was to occupy, and the mode she was to adopt to summon assistance. The evening of the meeting came, and for half an hour there were numerous arrivals at the many doors of the huge building. Each person had separately to interchange the pass-words at both the outer and inner doors. At length about twelve hundred people were assembled. The lights outside the glass hall were comparatively feeble. The powerful electric lamps were not turned on. The inner hall was unlighted, and received only a dull reflection from the outer lights. Some surprise was expressed by the usual frequenters of the Hall at the appearance inside the glass wall of a wooden dais, sufficiently large to hold three or four people, and with shallow steps on one side leading up to it. Inquiry was made as to its object. The doorkeeper, suitably instructed, replied carelessly it was thought, they might require a stage from which the speakers could address the audience. The present meeting certainly did not want it. The speakers had no desire to individually bring themselves into notice. Hilda, muffled up as were the rest, quietly took a seat close to the steps of the dais. No president was appointed; no one appeared to have any control; yet as the meeting proceeded it was evident that its tactics had been carefully thought out, and that most, if not all, of the speakers were fulfilling the parts allotted to them. First a tall, elderly man rose, and with considerable force and fluency enlarged upon the evils of the present large taxation. He went into figures, and his speech ought to have been effective, only no one seemed to take any interest in it. Then there loomed on the meeting the person apparently of a middle-aged woman. The cloaks and hats carefully mystified the identities of the sexes and individual peculiarities. This speaker went a little further. She explained that maintaining the Empire as a whole entailed the sacrifice of regulating the taxation so as to suit the least wealthy portions. She carefully guarded herself from being more than explanatory. The comparative poverty of England and the exactions of the self-indulgent Londoners, she said, necessitated a scale of taxation that hardy and rich Australia, New Zealand, and Canada did not require. Then a historically disposed young woman rose and dwelt upon the time when England thought a great deal more of herself than of the Colonies and to curry favour with foreign countries placed them on the same footing as her own dominions. Little by little various speakers progressed, testing at every step the feelings of the audience, until at last one went so far as to ask the question whether the time would ever come when Australia would be found to be quite large and powerful enough to constitute an empire of itself. "Mind," said he, "I do not say the time will come." Then an apparently excited Australian arose. She would not, she said, say a word in favour of such an empire; but she, an Australian bred and born, and with a long line of Australian ancestors, was not going to listen to any doubts being thrown on Australia or Australians. The country and the people, she declared, amidst murmuring signs of assent, were fit for any destiny to which they might be called. Then a logical speaker rose and asked why were they forbidden to discuss the question as to whether it was desirable to retain the present limits of the Empire or to divide it. He would not state what his opinion was, but he would say this: that he could not properly estimate the arguments in favour of preserving the integrity of the Empire unless he was at liberty to hear the arguments and answer them of those who held an opposite opinion. When this speaker sat down, there was a momentary pause. It seemed as if there was a short consultation between those who were guiding the progress of the meeting. Whether or not this was the case, some determination appeared to be arrived at; and a short, portly man arose and said he did not care for anybody or anything. He would answer the question to which they had at length attained by saying that in his opinion the present empire was too large, that Australia ought to be formed into a separate empire, and that she would be quite strong enough to take care of herself. The low murmur of fear with which this bold announcement was heard soon developed into loud cheers, especially from that part of the Hall where the controlling influence seemed to be held. Then all restraint was cast aside; and speaker after speaker affirmed, in all varieties of eloquence, that Australia must be an empire. Some discussed whether New Zealand should be included, but the general opinion appeared to be that she should be left to her own decision in the matter. Then the climax was approached. A speaker rose and said there appeared to be no doubt in the mind of the meeting as to the Empire of Australia; he hoped there was no doubt that Lord Reginald Paramatta should be the first Emperor. The meeting seemed to be getting beyond the control of its leaders. It did not appear to have been part of their programme to put forward Lord Reginald's name at this stage. It was an awkward fix, for no person by name was supposed to be present, so that he could neither disclaim the honour nor express his thanks for it. One of the controllers, a grave, tall woman, long past middle age, dealt with this difficulty. They must not, she said, go too far at first; it was for them now to say whether Australia should be an empire. She loved to hear the enthusiasm with which Lord Reginald Paramatta's name was received. Australia boasted no greater or more distinguished family than the Paramattas; and as for Lord Reginald, every one knew that a braver and better soldier did not live. Still they must decide on the Empire before the Emperor, and each person present must answer the question was he or she favourable to Australia being constructed into a separate empire? They could not in this light distinguish hands held up. Each person must rise and throw off his or her cloak and hat and utter the words, "I declare that I am favourable to Australia being constituted an empire." Then, evidently with the intention of making the controllers and Lord Reginald speak last, she asked the occupant of the seat to the extreme left of the part of the Hall most distant from her to be the first to declare. Probably he and a few others had been placed there for that purpose. At any rate, he rose without hesitation, threw off his cloak, removed his hat, and said, "I declare myself in favour of Australia being constituted an empire." Person after person from left to right and from right to left of each line of chairs followed the same action and uttered the same words, and throughout the Hall there was a general removal of cloaks and hats. At length it came to Hilda Fitzherbert's turn. Without a moment's hesitation, the brave girl rose, dropped her cloak and hat, and in a voice distinctly heard from end to end of the Hall said, "I declare I am not in favour of Australia being constituted an empire." For a second there was a pause of consternation. Then arose a Babel of sounds: "Spy!" "Traitor!" "It is Hilda Fitzherbert;" "She must not leave the Hall alive;" "We have been betrayed." Shrieks and sobs were amongst the cries to be distinguished. Then there arose a mighty roar of "She must die," and a movement towards her. It was stilled for a moment. Lord Reginald rose, and, with a voice heard above all the rest, he thundered forth, "She shall not die. She shall live on one condition. Leave her to me;" and he strode towards her. In one second the girl, like a fawn, sprang up the steps of the dais, and touched a button concealed in the wall, and then a second button. Words are insufficient to describe the effect. The first button was connected with wires that ran through the flooring and communicated to every being in the Hall excepting to Hilda, on the insulated dais, a shock of magnetic electricity, the effect of which was to throw them into instantaneous motionless rigidity. No limb or muscle could be moved; as the shock found them they remained. And the pressure of the second button left no doubt of the fact, for it turned on the electric current to all the lamps inside and outside of the Hall, until the chamber became a blaze of dazzling light. There was no longer disguise of face or person, and every visage was at its worst. Fear, terror, cruelty, or revenge was the mastering expression on nearly every countenance. Some faces showed that the owners had been entrapped and betrayed into a situation they had not sought. But these were few, and could be easily read. On the majority of the countenances there was branded a mixture of greed, thwarted ambition, personal malignity, and cruelty horrible to observe. The pose of the persons lent a ludicrous aspect to the scene. Lord Reginald, for instance, had one foot in front of the other in the progress he was making towards Hilda. His body was bent forward. His face wore an expression of triumphant revenge and brutal love terrible to look at. Evidently he had thought there "was joy at last for my love and my revenge." Hilda shuddered as she glanced down upon the sardonic faces beneath her, and touched a third button. An answering clarionet at once struck out the signal to advance, and the measured tread of troops in all directions was heard. The poor wretches in the Hall preserved consciousness of what was passing around, though they could not exercise their muscular powers and felt no bodily pain. An officer at the door close to the dais saluted Miss Fitzherbert. "Be careful," she said, "to put your foot at once on the dais and come up to me." He approached her. "Have you your orders?" she asked. "My orders," he said, "are to come from you. We have photographers at hand." "Have a photograph," she instructed him, "taken of the whole scene, then of separate groups, and lastly of each individual. Have it done quickly," she added, "for the poor wretches suffer mental, if not physical, pain. Then every one may go free excepting the occupants of the three top rows. The police should see that these do not leave Melbourne." She bowed to the officer, and sprang down the steps and out of the Hall. At the outer door a tall form met her. She did not require to look--she was blinded by the light within--to be convinced that it was Colonel Laurient who received her and placed her in a carriage. She was overcome. The terrible scene she had passed through had been too much for her. She did not faint; she appeared to be in a state of numbed inertness, as if she had lost all mental and physical power. Colonel Laurient almost carried her into the house, and, with a face of deathly pallor, consigned her to the care of her sister. Maud had been partly prepared to expect that Hilda would be strongly agitated by some painful scene, and she was less struck by her momentary helplessness than by the agonised agitation of that usually self-commanding being Colonel Laurient. Probably no one had ever seen him like this before. It may be that he felt concern not only for Hilda herself, but for the part he had played in placing her in so agitating a position. CHAPTER VII. HEROINE WORSHIP. It was nearly twelve o'clock before Hilda roused herself from a long and dreamless slumber, consequent upon the fatigue and excitement of the previous evening. She still felt somewhat exhausted, but no physician could have administered a remedy so efficacious as the one she found ready to hand. On the table beside her was a small packet sealed with the imperial arms. She removed the covering; and opening the case beneath, a beautifully painted portrait of the Emperor on an ivory medallion met her enraptured gaze. The portrait was set round with magnificent diamonds. But she scarcely noticed them; it was the painting itself that charmed her. The Emperor looked just as he appeared when he said to her, "Tell me now as woman to man, not as subject to emperor." There was the same winning smile, the same caressing yet commanding look. She involuntarily raised the medallion to her lips, and then blushed rosy red over face and shoulders. She turned the medallion, and on the back she found these words engraved: "Albert Edward to Hilda, in testimony of his admiration and gratitude." He must have had these words engraved during the night. The maid entered. "Miss Fitzherbert," she said, "during the last two hours there have been hundreds of cards left for you. There is quite a continuous line of carriages coming to the door, and there have been bundles of telegrams. Miss Maud is opening them." Hilda realised the meaning of the line-- "Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame." Then the maid told her Mrs. Hardinge was most anxious to see her and was waiting. She would not allow her to be awakened. Hilda said she would have her bath and see Mrs. Hardinge in the little boudoir adjoining her dressing-room in a few minutes. Quite recovered from her last night's agitation, Hilda looked her best in a charmingly fashioned dressing-gown as she entered the room where Mrs. Hardinge was waiting to receive her. "My dear, dear girl," said that lady as she embraced her, "I am delighted. You are well again? I need not ask. Your looks proclaim it. You are the heroine of the hour. The Emperor learnt everything last night, and the papers all over the world are full of it to-day. Maud says the telegrams are from every part of the globe, not only within our own empire, but from Europe, and the United States, and South America. You are a brave girl." "Pray do not say so, Mrs. Hardinge. I only did my duty--what any one in my place would have done. Tell me all that has happened." Mrs. Hardinge, nothing reluctant, replied with animated looks and gestures. "Laurient has told me everything. You instructed the officer, it seems, to keep a watch over only the occupants of the three further rows. Lord Reginald had left those, and was approaching you. The officer, following your words literally, allowed him to leave unwatched. Some sixty only of the people were placed under espionage. Nearly every one of the rest who were present is supposed to have left Melbourne, including Lord Reginald. We sent to his house to arrest him, but he had departed in one of his fastest long-distance air-cruisers. It is supposed that he has gone to Europe, or to America, or to one of his remote estates in the interior of this continent. I am not sure that the Emperor was displeased at his departure. When the intelligence reached him, he said to me, 'That will save Miss Fitzherbert from appearing in public to give evidence. As for the rest, it does not matter. They have been fooled to serve that man's ends.' So now they are free. But their names are known; indeed, their ridiculous appearance is immortalised. A likeness was taken of every one, but the _tout ensemble_ is superbly grotesque. It is well so few people know the secret of artificial magnetism." Hilda showed Mrs. Hardinge the Emperor's magnificent present, and asked what was she to do. Should she write a letter of thanks? "Do so," said the shrewd woman of the world. "Who knows that he will not value the acknowledgment as you value the gift?" Again Hilda's face was suffused in red. "I must go away," she said to herself, "until I can better command myself." Then she begged Mrs. Hardinge not to mention about the Emperor's gift. "I shall only tell Maud of it. I felt it was right to tell you." "Of course it was," said Mrs. Hardinge; "but it may be well not to mention it further. There are thousands of persons who honour and admire you; but there are thousands also who already envy you, and who will not envy you the less because of this great deed." Then she told Hilda that the Emperor wished to do her public honour by making her a countess in her own right. Hilda shrank from the distinction. "It will lose me my seat in Parliament," she said. "No. You will only have to stand for re-election, and no one will oppose you." "But," said the girl, "I am not rich enough." "If report is correct, you soon will be. The river-works in New Zealand are nearly finished; they will make you, it is said, a millionaire." "I had forgotten them for the moment, but it is not safe to count on their success until the test is actually made. This reminds me that they will be finished next week; and my friends in New Zealand think that my sister and I ought to be present, if only in honour of our dear grandfather, who left us the interest we hold in the river. Can you spare me for ten days?" "Of course I can, Hilda dear. The change will do you good. Laurient is going. He is said to have an interest in the works. And Montreal is going also. He too had an interest, but I think he parted with it." They discussed whether Hilda should go to the fête that was to be held on Monday to celebrate the centenary of the completion of the irrigation of the Malee Scrub Plains. These plains were once about as desolate and unromantic a locality as could be found; but a Canadian firm, Messrs. Chaffey Brothers, had undertaken to turn the wilderness into a garden by irrigation, and they had entirely succeeded. An enormous population now inhabited the redeemed lands, and a fête was to be held in commemoration of the century that had elapsed since the great work was completed. The Emperor himself had agreed to be there. Hilda begged to be excused. Her nerves were shaken. She would dread the many congratulations she would receive and the requests to repeat over and over again the particulars of the scene which inspired her now with only horror and repulsion. "You must not show yourself to-day," Mrs. Hardinge said; "and I will cry you off to-morrow on the ground of illness. Next day go to New Zealand, and by the time you return you will be yourself again." "You may say too I am abundantly occupied," said Hilda archly as Maud entered the room with an enormous package of open telegrams in her hands. "Dear Hilda, you do look well to-day. I am so pleased," said the delighted girl as she flung down the telegrams and embraced her sister. There was something singularly pathetic in the love of these two girls. Mrs. Hardinge left them together. Hilda showed the medallion in strict confidence. Maud was literally enraptured with it. "How noble, how handsome, he is! I know only one other man so beautiful." Then she paused in confusion; and Hilda rather doubted the exception, though she knew it was their old playfellow Montreal who was intended. "Who is the traitor," she said, "you dare to compare with your Sovereign?" Maud, almost in tears, declared she did not mean what she said. The Emperor was very handsome. "Do not be ashamed, my dear, to be true to your feelings," said Hilda sententiously. "A woman's heart is an empire of itself, and he who rules over it may be well content with a single loyal subject." "Nonsense, Hilda! Do not tease me. An emperor, too, may rule over a woman's heart." This was rather carrying the war into the opposite camp. Miss Fitzherbert thought it time to change the subject. They discussed the telegrams. Then Maud told Hilda how frightfully agitated Laurient was the previous evening. Finally they decided they would go to New Zealand the day after the next. They debated if they should proceed in their own air-cruiser or in the public one that left early every morning. It was about a sixteen hours' journey in the public conveyance, but in their own it would take less time. Besides, they wished to go straight to Dunedin, where the girls had a beautiful residence, and where their friends were chiefly located. Hilda represented Dunedin in the New Zealand Parliament, and local government honours had been freely open to her; but, under the tutelage of Mrs. Hardinge, she had preferred entering into federal politics, though she continued in the New Zealand Parliament. Most of the leading federal statesmen interested themselves with one or other Dominion government. There was such an absence of friction between the federal and the separate dominion governments that no inconvenience resulted from the dual attention, while it led to a more intimate knowledge of local duties. Maud bashfully remembered that Lady Taieri had asked them to go to Dunedin on her beautiful cruiser. "She was making up a party," said Maud; "and she mentioned that Colonel Laurient and Lord Montreal were amongst the number." Hilda saw the wistful look in Maud's eyes. "Let us go with Lady Taieri," she said; and so it was arranged. CHAPTER VIII. AIR-CRUISERS. We trust our readers will not be wearied because it is necessary to give them at some length an explanation concerning the aerial machines to which reference has so often been made as air-cruisers. It need scarcely be said that from time immemorial a great deal of attention has been directed to the question whether aerial travelling could he made subservient to the purposes of man. Balloons, as they were called, made of strong fabrics filled with a gas lighter than air, were to some extent used, but rarely for practical purposes. They were in considerable request for military objects, and it is recorded that Gambetta managed to get out of Paris in a balloon when that city was beleaguered by the German army in 1871. The principle of the balloon was the use of a vessel which, weighing, with all its contents, less than a similar volume of the atmosphere, would consequently rise in the air. But evidently no great progress could be made with such an apparatus. The low specific gravity of the atmosphere forbade the hope of its being possible to carry a heavy weight in great quantity on a machine that depended for its buoyancy on a less specific gravity. Besides, there was danger in using a fabric because of its liability to irreparable destruction by the smallest puncture. The question then was mooted, Could not an aerial machine be devised to work although of higher specific gravity than the air? Birds, it was argued, kept themselves afloat by the motion of their wings, although their weight was considerably greater than a similar volume of the air through which they travelled. This idea was pursued. The cheap production of aluminium, a strong but light metal, gave an impulse to the experiment; and it was at length proved quite satisfactorily that aerial travelling was practicable in vessels considerably heavier than the air, by the use of quickly revolving fans working in the directions that were found to be suitable to the progress of the vessel. But great power was required to make the fans revolve, and the machinery to yield great power was proportionately heavy. It was especially heavy if applied separately to a portion of the fans, whilst it was dangerous to rely on one set of machinery, since any accident to it would mean cessation of the movement of the whole of the fans and consequently instant destruction. It was considered that, for safety's sake, there should be at least three sets of fans, worked by separate machinery, and that any one set should be able to preserve sufficient buoyancy although the other two were disabled. But whilst it was easy to define the conditions of safety, it was not easy to give them effect. All applications of known engines, whether of steam, water gas, electricity, compressed air, or petroleum, were found to be too bulky; and although three sets of machines were considered necessary, one set only was generally used, and many accidents occurred in consequence. The aerial mode of travelling was much employed by the adventurous, but hundreds of people lost their lives annually. At length that grand association the Inventors' Institution came to the rescue. The founders of the Inventors' Institution, though working really with the object of benefiting humanity, were much too wise to place the undertaking on a purely philanthropic basis. On the contrary, they constructed it on a commercial basis. The object was to encourage the progress of valuable inventions, and they were willing to lend sums from trifling amounts to very large ones to aid the development of any invention of which they approved. They might lend only a trifle to obtain a patent or a large sum to make exhaustive experiments. The borrower had to enter into a bond to repay the amount tenfold or to any less extent demanded by the Institution at its own discretion. It was clearly laid down that, when the invention proved a failure through no fault of the inventor, he would not be asked for any repayment. In case of moderate success, he would only be asked for moderate repayment, and so on. The fairness of the Institution's exercise of discretion was rarely, if ever, called into question. Once they lent nearly thirty thousand pounds to finally develop an invention. Within four years they called upon the inventor to repay nearly three hundred thousand, but he was nothing loath. The invention was a great commercial success and yielding him at the rate of nearly a million per annum. This association offered a large reward for the best suggestion as to the nature of an invention to render aerial travelling safe, quick, and economical. A remarkable paper gained the prize. The writer was an eminent chemist. He expressed the opinion that the one possible means of success was the use of a power which, as in the case of explosives, could be easily produced from substances of comparative light weight. He urged, it was only of late years that any real knowledge of the nature of explosives was obtained. It was nearly four hundred years after the discovery of gunpowder before any possible substitutes were invented. It was again a long time before it was discovered that explosives partook of two distinctly separate characters. One was the quick or shattering compound producing instantaneous effect; the other was the slow or rending compound of more protracted action. He dwelt on the fact that in all cases the force yielded by explosives was through the change of a solid into a gaseous body, and that the volume of the gaseous body was greatly increased by the expansion consequent on the heat evolved during decomposition. The total amount of heat evolved during decomposition did not differ, but evidently the concentration of heat at any one time depended on the rapidity of the decomposition. The volume of gas, independent of expansion by heat, varied also with different substances. Blasting oil, for instance, gave nearly thirteen hundred times its own volume of gas, and this was increased more than eight times by the concentration of heat; gunpowder only yielded in gas expanded by heat eight hundred times its own volume: or, in other words, the one yielded through decomposition thirteen times the volume of the other. He went on to argue that what was required was the leisurely chemical decomposition of a solid into a gas without sensible explosion, and of such a slow character as to avoid the production of great heat. He referred, as an example of the change resulting from the contact of two bodies, to the effect of safety matches. The match would only ignite by contact with a specially prepared surface. This match was as great an improvement on the old primitive match, as would be a decomposing material the force of which could be controlled, an improvement on the present means of obtaining power. He expressed a positive opinion that substances could be found whose rapidity of decomposition, and consequent heat and strength, could be nicely regulated, so that a force could be employed which would not be too sudden nor too strong to be used in substitution of steam or compressed air. He was, moreover, of opinion that, instead of the substances being mixed ready for use, with the concurrent danger, a mode could be devised of bringing the different component parts into contact in a not dissimilar manner to the application of the safety match, thereby assuring absolute immunity from danger in the carriage of the materials. This discovery could be made, he went on to say; and upon it depended improvement in aerial travelling. Each fan could be impelled by a separate machine of a light weight, worked with perfect safety by a cheap material; for the probabilities were, the substance would be cheaply producible. Each aerial vessel should carry three or four times the number of separate fans and machinery necessary to obtain buoyancy. The same substances probably could be used to procure buoyancy in the improbable event of all the machines breaking down. Supposing, as he suspected would be the case, that the resultant gas of the decomposition was lighter than air, a hollow case of a strong elastic fabric could be fastened to the whole of the outside exposed surface of the machine; and this could be rapidly inflated by the use of the same material. The movement of a button should be sufficient to produce decomposition, and as a consequence to charge the whole of this casing with gas lighter than the air. As the heat attending the decomposition subsided the elastic fabric would sufficiently collapse. The danger then would not be so much of descending too rapidly through the atmosphere as of remaining in it; a difficulty, however, which a system of valves would easily overcome. The Institution offered twenty-five thousand pounds for a discovery on the lines indicated; and the Government offered seventy-five thousand pounds more on the condition that they should have the right to purchase the invention and preserve it as a secret, they supplying the material for civil purposes, but retaining absolute control over it for military purposes. This proviso was inserted because of the opinion of the writer that the effects he looked for might not so much depend on the chemical composition of the substances as on their molecular conditions, and that these might defy the efforts of analysts. If he was wrong, and the nature of the compound could be ascertained by analysis, the Government need not buy the invention; they could leave the discoverer to enjoy its advantages by patenting it, and share with other nations the uses that could be made of it for purposes of warfare. It was some time before the investigations were completely successful. There was no lack of attention to the subject, the inducements being so splendid. Many fatal accidents occurred through the widely spread attention given to the properties of explosives and to the possibility of modifying their effects. On one occasion it was thought that success was attained. Laboratory experiments were entirely satisfactory, and at length it was determined to have a grand trial of the substance. A large quantity was prepared, and it was applied to the production of power in various descriptions of machinery. Many distinguished people were present, including a Cabinet Minister, a Lord of the Admiralty, the Under-Secretary for Defence, the President of the Inventors' Institution, several members of Parliament, a dozen or more distinguished men and women of science, and the inventor himself. The assemblage was a brilliant one; but, alas! not one of those present lived to record an opinion of the invention. The substance discovered was evidently not wanting in power. How far it was successful no one ever learnt. It may have been faultily made or injudiciously employed. But the very nature of the composition was lost, for the inventor went with the rest. An explosion occurred; and all the men and women within the building were scattered miles around, with fragments of the edifice itself. The largest recognisable human remains discovered were the well-defined joint of a little finger. A great commotion followed. The eminent chemist who wrote the paper suggesting the discovery was covered with obloquy. Suggestions were made that the law should restrain such investigations. Some people went so far as to describe them as diabolical. All things, however, come to those who wait; and at length a discovery was made faithfully resembling the one prognosticated by the great chemist. Strange to say, the inventor or discoverer was a young Jewish woman not yet thirty years of age. From childhood she had taken an intense interest in the question, and the terrible accident above recorded seemed to spur her on to further exertion. She had a wonderful knowledge of ancient languages, and she searched for information concerning chemical secrets which she believed lost to the present day. She had a notion that the atomic structure of substances was better known to students in the early ages. It was said that the hint she acted on was conveyed to her by some passage in a Chaldean inscription of great antiquity. She neither admitted nor denied it. Perhaps the susceptibilities of an intensely Eastern nature led her to welcome the halo of romance cast over her discovery. Be that as it may, it is certain she discovered a substance, or rather substances which, brought into contact with each other, faithfully fulfilled all that the chemist had ventured to suggest. Together with unwavering efficiency there was perfect safety; and so much of the action depended on the structure, not the composition, that the efforts of thousands of _savants_ failed to discover the secret of the invention. What the substances were in composition, and what they became after decomposition was easily determined, but how to make them in a form that fulfilled the purpose required defied every investigation. The inventor did not patent her invention. After making an enormous fortune from it, she sold it to the Government, who took over the manufactory and its secrets; and whilst they sold it in quantity for ordinary use, they jealously guarded against its accumulation in foreign countries for possible warlike purposes. This invention, as much almost as its vast naval and military forces, gave to the empire of Britain the great power it possessed. The United States alone affected to underrate that power. It was the habit of Americans to declare that they did not believe in standing armies or fleets. If they wanted to fight, they could afford to spend any amount of treasure; and they could do more in the way of organising than any nation in the world. They were not going to spend money on keeping themselves in readiness for what might never happen. But we have not now to consider the aerial ships from their warlike point of view. It should be mentioned that the inventor of this new form of power was the aunt of Colonel Laurient. She died nearly twenty years before this history, and left to him, her favourite nephew, so much of her gigantic fortune as the law permitted her to devise to one inheritor. CHAPTER IX. TOO STRANGE NOT TO BE TRUE. A little after sunrise on a prematurely early spring morning at the end of August Lady Taieri's air-cruiser left Melbourne. There was sufficient heat to make the southerly course not too severe, and it was decided to call at Stewart's Island to examine its vast fishery establishments. A gay and happy party was on board. Lord and Lady Taieri were genial, lively people, and liked by a large circle of friends. They loved nothing better than to assemble around them pleasant companions, and to entertain them with profuse hospitality. No provision was wanting to amuse the party, which consisted, besides the two Miss Fitzherberts, Lord Montreal, and Colonel Laurient, of nearly twenty happy young people of both sexes. General and Lady Buller also were there. The General was the descendant of an old New Zealand family which had acquired immense wealth by turning to profitable use large areas of pumice-stone land previously supposed to be useless. The Bullers were always scientifically disposed; and one lady of the family, a professor of agricultural science, was convinced that the pumice-stone land could be made productive. It was not wanting in fertilising properties; but the difficulty was that on account of its porous nature, it could not retain moisture. Professor Buller first had numerous artesian wells bored, and obtained at regular distances an ample supply of water over a quarter of a million of acres of pumice land, which she purchased for two shillings an acre. After a great many experiments, she devised a mixture of soil, clay, and fertilising agents capable of being held in water by suspension. She drenched the land with the water thus mixed. The pumice acted as a filter, retaining the particles and filtering the water. As the land dried it became less porous. Grass seed was surface-sown. Another irrigation of the charged water and a third, after some delay, of clear water, completed the work. When once vegetation commenced, there was no difficulty. The land was found particularly suitable for subtropical fruits and for grapes. Vast fruit-canning works were established; and a special effervescent wine known as Bullerite was produced, and was held in higher estimation than the best champagne. Whilst more exhilarating, it was less intoxicating. It fetched a very high price, for it could be produced nowhere but on redeemed pumice land. Not a little proud was General Buller of his ancestor's achievement. He was in the habit of declaring that he did not care for the wealth he inherited in consequence; it was the genius that devised and carried out the reclamation, he said, which was to him its greatest glory. Nevertheless in practice he did not seem to disregard the substantial results he enjoyed. General Buller was a soldier of great scientific attainments. His only child, Phoebe, a beautiful girl of seventeen, was with them. She was the object of admiration of most of the young men on board, Lord Montreal alone excepted. Beyond some conventional civilities, he seemed unconscious of the presence of any one but Maud Fitzherbert; and she was nothing reluctant to receive his attentions. The cruiser was beautifully constructed of pure aluminium. Everything conducive to the comfort of the passengers was provided. The machinery was very powerful, and the cruiser rose and fell with the grace and ease of a bird. After clearing the land, it kept at about a height of fifty feet above the sea, and, without any strain on the machinery, made easily a hundred miles an hour. About four o'clock in the afternoon a descent was made on Stewart's Island. The fishing establishments here were of immense extent and value. They comprised not only huge factories for tinning the fresh fish caught on the banks to the south-east, but large establishments for dressing the seal-skins brought from the far south, as also for sorting and preparing for the market the stores of ivory brought from near the Antarctic Pole, the remnants of prehistoric animals which in the regions of eternal cold had been preserved intact for countless ages. To New Zealand mainly belonged the credit of Antarctic research. Commenced in the interests of science, it soon became endowed with permanent activity on account of its commercial results. A large island, easily accessible, which received the name of Antarctica, was discovered within ten degrees of the Pole, stretching towards it, so that its southern point was not more than ten miles from the southern apex of the world. From causes satisfactorily explained by scientists, the temperature within a hundred-mile circle of the Pole was comparatively mild. There was no wind; and although the cold was severe, it was bearable, and in comparison with the near northern latitudes it was pleasant. On this island an extraordinary discovery was made. There were many thousands of a race of human beings whose existence was hitherto unsuspected. The instincts of man for navigating the ocean are well known. A famous scientific authority, Sir Charles Lyell, once declared that, if all the world excepting one remote little island were left unpeopled, the people of that island would spread themselves in time over every portion of the earth's surface. The Antarctic Esquimaux were evidently of the same origin as the Kanaka race. They spoke a language curiously little different from the Maori dialect, although long centuries must have elapsed since the migrating Malays, carried to the south probably against their own will, found a resting-place in Antarctica. Nature had generously assimilated them to the wants of the climate. Their faces and bodies were covered with a thick growth of short curly hair, which, though it detracted from their beauty, greatly added to their comfort. They were a docile, peaceful, intelligent people. They loved to come up to Stewart's Island during the winter and to return before the summer made it too hot for them to exist, laden with the presents which were always showered upon them. They were too useful to the traders of Stewart's Island not to receive consideration at their hands. The seal-skins and the ivory obtained from Antarctica were the finest in the world, and the latter was procured in immense quantities from the ice-buried remains of animals long since extinct as a living race. Lady Taieri's friends spent a most pleasant two hours on the island. Some recent arrivals from Antarctica were objects of great interest. A young chief especially entertained them by his description of the wonders of Antarctica and his unsophisticated admiration of the novelties around him. He appeared to be particularly impressed with Phoebe Buller. The poor girl blushed very much; and her companions were highly amused when the interpreter told them that the young chief said she would be very good-looking if her face was covered with hair, and that he would be willing to take her back with him to Antarctica. Lady Taieri proposed that they should all visit the island and be present at the wedding. This sally was too much. Phoebe Buller retired to her cabin on the cruiser, and was not seen again until the well-lighted farms and residences on the beautiful Taieri plains, beneath the flying vessel, reminded its occupants that they were close to their destination. During the next six days Lady Taieri gave a series of magnificent entertainments. There were dances, dinner-parties, picnics, a visit to the glacier region of Mount Cook, and finally a ball in Dunedin of unsurpassed splendour. This was on the eve of the opening of the river-works; and all the authorities of Wellington, including the Governor and his Ministers, honoured the ball with their presence. An account of the river-works will not be unacceptable. So long since as 1863 it was discovered that the river Molyneux, or Clutha as it was sometimes called, contained over a great length rich gold deposits. More or less considerable quantities of the precious metal were obtained from time to time when the river was unusually low. But at no time was much of the banks and parts adjacent thereto uncovered. Dredging was resorted to, and a great deal of gold obtained; but it was pointed out that the search in that manner was something like the proverbial exploration for a needle in a haystack. A great scientist, Sir Julius Von Haast, declared that during the glacial period the mountains adjacent to the valley of the Molyneux were ground down by the action of glaciers from an average height of several thousand feet. Every ounce of the pulverised matter must have passed through the valley drained by the river; and he made a calculation which showed that, if the stuff averaged a grain to the ton, there must be in the interstices of the river bed many thousands of tons of gold. Nearly fifty years before the period of this history the grandfather of Hilda and Maud Fitzherbert set himself seriously to unravel the problem. His design was to deepen the bed of the Mataura river, running through Southland, and to make an outlet to it from Lake Whakatip. Simultaneously he proposed to close the outlet from the lake into the Molyneux and, by the aid of other channels, cut at different parts of the river to divert the tributary streams, to lay bare and clear from water fully fifty miles of the river bed between Lake Whakatip and the Dunstan. It was an enormous work. The cost alone of obtaining the various riparian and residential rights absorbed over two millions sterling. Twice, too, were the works on the point of completion, and twice were they destroyed by floods and storms. Mr. Fitzherbert had to take several partners, and his own enormous fortune was nearly dissipated. He had lost his son and his son's wife when his grandchildren, Hilda and Maud, were of tender age. After his death the two girls found a letter from him in which he told them he had settled on each of them three thousand pounds a year and left to them jointly his house and garden near Dunedin, with the furniture, just as they had always lived in it. Beyond this comparatively inconsiderable bequest, he wrote, he had devoted everything to the completion of the great work of his life. It was certain now that the river would be uncovered; and if he was right in his expectations, they would become enormously wealthy. If it should prove he was wrong, "which," he continued, "I consider impossible, you will not think unkindly of the old grandfather whose dearest hope it was to make you the richest girls in the world." The time had come when these works, upon which so much energy had been expended, and which had been fruitful of so many disappointments, were to be finished; and a great deal of curiosity as to the result was felt in every part of the Empire. Hilda and Maud Fitzherbert had two and a half tenths each of the undertaking, and Montreal and his younger brother had each one tenth, which they had inherited, but it was understood that Montreal had parted with his own share to Colonel Laurient; two tenths were reserved for division amongst those people whose riparian and other rights Mr. Fitzherbert had originally purchased; and of the remaining tenth one half was the property of Sir Central Vincent Stout, Baronet, a young though very able lawyer, the other half belonged to Lord Larnach, one of the wealthiest private bankers in the Empire. There was by no means unanimity of opinion concerning the result of the works. Some people held, they would prove a total failure, and that the money spent on them had been wasted by visionary enthusiasts; others thought, a moderate amount of gold might be obtained; while very few shared the sanguine expectations which had led old Fitzherbert to complacently spend the huge sums he had devoted to his life's ideal. And now the result of fifty years of toil and anxiety was to be decided. It was an exceptionally fine day, and thousands of people from all parts of New Zealand thronged to the ceremony. Some preferred watching the river Molyneux subside as the waters gradually ran out; others considered the grander sight to be the filling of the new channel of the Mataura river. It had been arranged that two small levers pressed by a child would respectively have the effect of opening the gates that barred the new channel to the Mataura and of closing the gates that admitted the lake waters to the Molyneux. As the levers were pressed a signal was to run down the two rivers, in response to which guns stationed at frequent intervals were to thunder out a salute. Precisely at twelve the loud roar of artillery announced the transfer of the waters. Undoubtedly the grander sight was on the Mataura river. The progress of the liberated water as it rushed onward in a great seething, foaming, swirling mass, gleaming under the bright rays of the sun, formed a picture not easily to be forgotten. But the other river attracted more attention, for there not only nature played a part, but the last scene was to be enacted in a drama of great human interest. And this scene was more slowly progressing. The subsidence of the water was not very quick. The Molyneux was a quaint, many-featured river, partly fed by melted snow, partly by large surface drainage, both finding their way to the river through the lake, and by independent tributaries. At times the Molyneux was of great volume and swiftness. On the present occasion it was on moderate terms--neither at its slowest nor fastest. But as the river flowed on without its usual accession from the lake and the diverted tributaries, an idealist might have fancied that it was fading away through grief at the desertion of its allies. Lady Taieri's party were located on a dais erected on the banks of the river about twenty miles from the lake. After an hour or so the subsidence of the water became well marked; and occasionally heaps of crushed quartz, called tailings, from gold workings on the banks, became visible. Some natural impediments had prevented these from flowing down the river and built them up several feet in height. Here and there crevices, deep and narrow or shallow and wide, became apparent. The time was approaching when it would be known if there was utter failure or entire success or something midway between. It had been arranged that, if any conspicuous deposit of gold became apparent, a signal should be given, in response to which all the guns along the river banks should be fired. At a quarter past one o'clock the guns pealed forth; and loud as was the noise they made, it seemed trifling compared with the cheers which ran up and down the river from both banks from the throats of the countless thousands of spectators. The announcement of success occasioned almost delirious joy. It seemed as if every person in the vast crowd had an individual interest in the undertaking. The telephone soon announced that at a turn in the river about seven miles from the lake what appeared to be a large pool of fine gold was uncovered. Even as the news became circulated there appeared in the middle of the river right opposite Lady Taieri's stand a faint yellow glow beneath the water. Gradually it grew brighter and brighter, until at length to the eyes of the fascinated beholders there appeared a long, irregular fissure of about twenty-five feet in length by about six or seven in width which appeared to be filled with gold. Some of the company now rushed forward, and, amidst the deafening cheers of the onlookers, dug out into boxes which had been prepared for the purpose shovelsful of gold. Fresh boxes were sent for, but the gold appeared to be inexhaustible. Each box held five thousand ounces; and supposing the gold to be nearly pure, fifty boxes would represent the value of a million sterling. Five hundred boxes were filled, and still the pool opposite Hilda was not emptied, and it was reported two equally rich receptacles were being drained in other parts. Guards of the Volunteer forces were told off to protect the gold until it could be placed in safety. Hilda and Maud were high-minded, generous girls, with nothing of a sordid nature in their composition; but they were human, and what human being could be brought into contact with the evidence of the acquisition of such vast wealth without feelings of quickened, vivid emotion? It is only justice to them to say that their feelings were not in the nature of a sense of personal gratification so much as one of ecstatic pleasure at the visions of the enormous power for good which this wealth would place in their hands. Every one crowded round with congratulations. As Colonel Laurient joined the throng Hilda said to him, "Why should I not equally congratulate you? You share the gold with us." "Do I?" he said, with his inscrutable smile. "I had forgotten." Lord Montreal, with a face in which every vestige of colour was wanting, gravely congratulated Hilda, then, turning to her sister, said in a voice the agitation of which he could not conceal, "No one, Miss Maud, more warmly congratulates you or more fervently wishes you happiness." Before the astonished girl could reply he had left the scene. It may safely be said that Maud now bitterly regretted the success of the works. She understood that Montreal, a poor man, was too proud to owe to any woman enormous wealth. "What can I do with it? How can I get rid of it?" she wailed to Hilda, who in a moment took in the situation. "Maud dearest," she said, "control yourself. All will be well." And she led her sister off the dais into the cruiser, in which they returned to Lady Taieri's house. They met Montreal in the gallery leading to their apartments. He bowed gravely. Maud could not restrain herself. "You will kill me, Montreal," she said. "What do I care for wealth?" "Maud, you would not have me sacrifice my self-respect," he said, and passed on. He seemed almost unconscious where he was going. He was roused from his bitter reverie. "Colonel Laurient will be greatly obliged if you will go to him at once," said a servant. "Show me to his room," replied Montreal briefly. "Laurient," said Montreal, "believe me, I am not jealous of your good fortune." "My good fortune!" said Laurient. "I do not know of anything very good. I always felt sure that you would pay me what you owe me." "Pay you what I owe you!" said Montreal, in a voice of amazement. "Yes," replied Laurient. "You know that I come of a race of money-lenders, and I have sent for you to ask you for my money and interest." But Montreal was too sad to understand a joke; and Laurient had noticed what passed with Maud, and formed a shrewd conjecture that the gold had not made either of them happy. "Listen to me," he continued. "It is three years since you came to me and asked me to buy your share in the Molyneux works, as you had need of the money. I replied by asking what you wanted for your interest. You named a sum much below what I thought its value--a belief which to-day's results have proved to be correct. I am not in the habit of acquiring anything from a friend in distress at less than its proper value, and I was about to say so when I thought, 'I will lend this money on the security offered. I will not worry Montreal by letting him think that he is in debt and has to find the interest every half-year. There is quite sufficient margin for interest and principal too; and when the gold is struck, he will repay me.' I made this arrangement apparent in my will and by the execution of a deed of trust. The share is still yours, and out of the first money you receive you can repay me. Nay," he said, stopping Montreal's enthusiastic thanks. "I said I was a money-lender. Here is a memorandum of the interest, and you will see each year I have charged interest on the previous arrears--perfect usury. Go, my dear boy. I hate thanks, and I do not want money." Montreal could not control himself to speak. Two minutes afterwards he was in Hilda and Maud's sitting-room. "Forgive me, Maud darling! I have the share. I thought I had lost it," he said incoherently; but he made his meaning clear by the unmistakable caress of a lover. Hilda left the room--an example the historian must follow. CHAPTER X. LORD REGINALD AGAIN. The following telegram reached Hilda next morning: "I heartily congratulate you, dear Hilda, on the success of your grandfather's great undertaking. The Emperor summoned me and desired me to send you his congratulations. I am also to say that he wishes as a remarkable event of his reign to show his approval of the patience, skill, and enterprise combined in the enormous works successfully concluded yesterday. The honour is to come to you as your grandfather's representative. Besides that, on account of your noble deed last week he wished to raise you to the peerage. He will now raise you to the rank of duchess, and suggests the title of Duchess of New Zealand; but that of course is as you wish. You must, my dear, accept it. A duchess cannot be an under-secretary, and I am not willing to lose you. Mr. Hazelmere has repeated his wish to resign; and I now beg you to enter the Cabinet as Lord President of the Board of Education, a position for which your acquirements peculiarly fit you. Your re-election to Parliament will be a mere ceremony. Make a speech to your constituents in Dunedin. Then take the waters at Rotomahana and Waiwera. In two months you can join us in London, where the next session of Parliament will be held. You will be quite recovered from all your fatigue by then." In less than two weeks Hilda, Duchess of New Zealand, was re-elected to Parliament by her Dunedin constituents. Next day she left for Rotomahana with a numerous party of friends who were to be her guests. She had engaged the entire accommodation of one of the hotels. Maud and Hilda before they left Dunedin placed at the disposal of the Mayor half a million sterling to be handed to a properly constituted trust for the purpose of encouraging mining pursuits, and developing mining undertakings. New Zealand was celebrated for the wonderfully curative power of its waters. At Rotomahana, Te Aroha, and Waiwera in the North Island, and at Hammer Plains and several other localities in the Middle Island innumerable springs, hot and cold, existed, possessing a great variety of medicinal properties. There was scarcely a disease for which the waters of New Zealand did not possess either cure or alleviation. At one part of the colony or another these springs were in use the whole year round. People flocked to them from all quarters of the world. It was estimated that the year previous to the commencement of this history, more than a million people visited the various springs. Rotomahana, Te Aroha, and Waiwera were particularly pleasant during the months of October, November, and December. Hilda proposed passing nearly three weeks at each. Rotomahana was a city of hotels of all sizes and descriptions. Some were constructed to hold only a comparatively few guests and to entertain them on a scale of great magnificence. Every season these houses were occupied by distinguished visitors. Not infrequently crowned heads resorted to them for relief from the maladies from which even royalty is not exempt. Others of the hotels were of great size, capable indeed of accommodating several thousands of visitors. The Grandissimo Hotel comfortably entertained five thousand people. Most of the houses were built of ground volcanic scoria, pressed into bricks. Some of them were constructed of Oamaru stone, dressed with a peculiar compound that at the same time hardened and gave it the appearance of marble. The house that Hilda took appeared like a solid block of Carrara marble, relieved with huge glass windows and with balconies constructed of gilt aluminium. Balconies of plain or gilt aluminium adorned most of the hotels, and gave them a very pretty appearance. Te Aroha was a yet larger city than Rotomahana, as, besides its use as a health resort, it was the central town of an extensive and rich mining district. Waiwera was on a smaller scale, but in point of appearance the most attractive. Who indeed could do justice to thy charms, sweet Waiwera? A splendid beach of sand, upon which at short intervals two picturesque rivers debouched to the sea, surrounded with wooded heights of all degrees of altitude, and with many variations in the colour of the foliage, it is not to be wondered at that persons managed in this charming scene to forget the world and to reveal whatever of poetry lay dormant in their composition. Few who visited Waiwera did not sometimes realise the sentiment-- "I love not man the less, but nature more." Hilda had duly passed through the Rotomahana and Te Aroha cures, and she had been a week at Waiwera, when one morning two hours after sunrise, as she returned from her bath, she was delighted at the receipt of the following letter, signed by Mrs. Hardinge: "I have prepared a surprise for you, dearest Hilda. Mr. Decimus has lent me his yacht, and I am ready to receive you on board. Come off at once by yourself. We can talk over many things better here than on shore." A beautifully appointed yacht lay in the offing six hundred yards from the shore, and a well-manned boat was waiting to take Hilda on board. She flew to her room, completed her toilet, and in ten minutes was on the boat and rowing off to the yacht. She ascended the companion ladder, and was received on deck by a young officer. "I am to ask your Grace to wait a few minutes," he said. Hilda gazed round the entrancing view on sea, land, and river, beaming beneath a bright and gorgeous sun, forgetting everything but the sense of the loveliness around her. She could never tell how long she was so absorbed. She aroused herself with a start to feel the vessel moving and to see before her the dreaded figure of Lord Reginald Paramatta. Meanwhile the spectators on the shore were amazed to see Hilda go off to the yacht alone, and the vessel weigh anchor and steam away swiftly. Maud and Lady Taieri, returning from their baths along the beautiful avenue of trees, were speedily told of the occurrence, and a council rapidly held with Laurient and Montreal. Mrs. Hardinge's letter was found in Hilda's room. "Probably," said Lady Taieri, "the morning is so fine that Mrs. Hardinge is taking the Duchess for a cruise while they talk together." "I do not think so," said the Colonel. "Look at the speed the vessel is making. They would not proceed at such a rate if a pleasant sail were the only object. She is going at the rate of thirty miles an hour." Maud started with surprise, and again glanced at the letter. "You are right, Colonel Laurient," she said, with fearful agitation; "this writing is like that of Mrs. Hardinge, but it is not hers. I know her writing too well not to be sure it is an imitation. Oh, help Hilda; do help her! Montreal, you must aid. She is the victim of a plot." Meanwhile the vessel raced on; but with a powerful glass they could make out that there was only one female figure on board, and that a male figure stood beside her. "Hilda," said Lord Reginald, bowing low, "forgive me. All is fair in love and war. My life without you is a misery." "Do you think, my lord," said the girl, very pale but still courageous, "that this course you have adopted is one that will commend you to my liking?" "I will teach you to love me. You cannot remain unresponsive to the intense affection I bear you." "True love, Lord Reginald, is not steeped in selfishness; it has regard for the happiness of its object. Do you think you can make me happy by tearing me from my friends by an artifice like this?" "I will make it up to you. I implore your forgiveness. Try to excuse me." Hilda during this rapid dialogue did not lose her self-possession. She knew the fears of her friends on shore would soon be aroused. She wondered at her own want of suspicion. Time, she felt, was everything. When once doubt was aroused, pursuit in the powerful aerial cruiser they had on shore would be rapid. "I entreat you, Lord Reginald," she said, "to turn back. Have pity on me. See how defenceless I am against such a conspiracy as this." Lord Reginald was by nature brave, and the wretched cheat he was playing affected him more because of its cowardly nature than by reason of its outrageous turpitude. He was a slave to his passions and desires. He would have led a decently good life if all his wishes were capable of gratification, but there was no limit to the wickedness of which he might be guilty in the pursuit of desires he could not satisfy. He either was, or fancied himself to be, desperately in love with Hilda; and he believed, though without reason, that she had to some extent coquetted with him. Even in despite of reason and evidence to the contrary, he imagined she felt a prepossession in his favour, that an act of bravery like this might stir into love. He did not sufficiently understand woman. To his mind courage was the highest human quality, and he thought an exhibition of signal bravery even at the expense of the woman entrapped by it would find favour in her eyes. Hilda's words touched him keenly, though in some measure he thought they savoured of submission. "She is imploring now," he thought, "instead of commanding." "Ask me," he said, in a tone of exceeding gentleness, "anything but to turn back. O Hilda, you can do with me what you like if you will only consent to command!" "Leave me then," she replied, "for a time. Let me think over my dreadful position." "I will leave you for a quarter of an hour, but do not say the position is dreadful." He walked away, and the girl was left the solitary occupant of the deck. The beautiful landscape was still in sight. It seemed a mockery that all should appear the same as yesterday, and she in such dreadful misery. Smaller and smaller loomed the features on the shore as the wretched girl mused on. Suddenly a small object appeared to mount in the air. "It is the cruiser," she exclaimed aloud, with delight. "They are in pursuit." "No, Hilda," said Lord Reginald, who suddenly appeared at her side, "I do not think it is the cruiser; and if it be, it can render you no aid. Look round this vessel; you will observe guns at every degree of elevation. No cruiser can approach us without instant destruction." "But you would not be guilty of such frightful wickedness. Lord Reginald, let me think better of you. Relent. Admit that you did not sufficiently reflect on what you were doing, and that you are ready to make the only reparation in your power." "No," said Lord Reginald, much moved, "I cannot give you up. Ask me for anything but that. See! you are right; the cruiser is following us. It is going four miles to our one. Save the tragedy that must ensue. I have a clergyman in the cabin yonder. Marry me at once, and your friends shall come on board and congratulate you as Lady Paramatta." "That I will never be. I would prefer to face death." "Is it so bitter a lot?" said Lord Reginald, stung into irritation. "If persuasion is useless, I must insist. Come to the cabin with me at once." "Dare you affect to command me?" said Hilda, drawing herself up with a dignity that was at once grave and pathetic. "I will dare everything for you. It is useless," he said as she waved her handkerchief to the fast-approaching cruiser. "If it come too close, its doom is sealed. Be ready to fire," he roared out to the captain; and brief, stern words were passed from end to end of the vessel. "Now, Hilda, come. The scene is not one fit for you. Come you shall," he said, approaching her and placing his arm round her waist. "Never! I would rather render my soul to God," exclaimed the brave, excited girl. With one spring she stood on the rail of the bulwarks, and with another leapt far out into the ocean. Lord Reginald gazed on her in speechless horror, and was about to follow overboard. "It is useless," the captain said, restraining him. "The boat will save her." In two minutes it was lowered, but such was the way on the yacht that the girl floating on the water was already nearly a mile distant. The cruiser and the boat raced to meet her. The yacht's head also was turned; and she rapidly approached the scene, firing at the cruiser as she did so. The latter reached Hilda first. Colonel Laurient jumped into the water, and caught hold of the girl. The beat was near enough for one of its occupants with a boathook to strike him a terrible blow on the arm. The disabled limb fell to his side, but he held her with iron strength with his other arm. The occupants of the cruiser dragged them both on board; and Colonel Laurient before he fainted away had just time to cry out, "Mount into the air, and fly as fast as you can." The scene that followed was tragical. Two of the occupants of the boat had grasped the sides of the cruiser, and were carried aloft with it. Before they could be dragged on board a shot from the yacht struck them both, and crushed in part of the side of the vessel, besides injuring many sets of fans. Another shot did damage on the opposite side. But still she rose, and to aid her buoyancy the casing was inflated. Soon she was out of reach of the yacht; and, with less speed than she left it, she returned to Waiwera. The yacht turned round, and steamed out to sea at full speed. Hilda's immersion did her no harm, but her nerves were much shaken, and for many days she feared to be left alone. Colonel Laurient's arm was dreadfully shattered. The doctor at first proposed amputation, but the Colonel sternly rejected the suggestion. With considerable skill it was set, and in a few days the doctors announced that the limb was saved. Colonel Laurient, however, was very ill. For a time, indeed, even his life was in danger. He suffered from more than the wounded arm. Perhaps the anxiety during the dreadful pursuit as to what might be happening on board the yacht had something to do with it. Hilda was untiring in her attention to Laurient; no sister could have nursed him more tenderly, and indeed it was as a sister she felt for him. One afternoon, as he lay pale and weak, but convalescent, on a sofa by the window, gazing out at the sea, Hilda entered the room with a cup of soup and a glass of bullerite. "You must take this," she said. "I will do anything you tell me," he replied, "if only in acknowledgment of your infinite kindness." "Why should you talk of kindness?" said the girl, with tears in her eyes. "Can I ever repay you for what you have done?" "Yes, Hilda, you could repay me; but indeed there is nothing to repay, for I suffered more than you did during that terrible time of uncertainty." The girl looked very sad. The Colonel marked her countenance, and over his own there came a look of weariness and despair. But he was brave still, as he always was. "Hilda, dearest Hilda," he said, "I will not put a question to you that I know you cannot answer as I would wish; it would only pain you and stand in the way perhaps of the sisterly affection you bear for me. I am not one to say all or nothing. The sense of your presence is a consolation to me. No, I will not ask you. You know my heart, and I know yours. Your destiny will be a higher and happier one than that of the wife of a simple soldier." "Hush!" she said. "Ambition has no place in my heart. Be always a brother to me. You can be to me no more." And she flew from the room. CHAPTER XI. GRATEFUL IRELAND. At the end of October Maud was married from the house of the two sisters in Dunedin. No attribute of wealth and pomp was wanting to make the wedding a grand one. Both Maud and Montreal were general favourites, and the number and value of the presents they received were unprecedented. Hilda gave her sister a suite of diamonds and one of pearls, each of priceless value. One of the most gratifying gifts was from the Emperor; it was a small miniature on ivory of Hilda, beautifully set in a diamond bracelet. It was painted by a celebrated artist. The Emperor had specially requested the Duchess to sit for it immediately Maud's engagement became known. It was surmised that the artist had a commission to paint a copy as well as the original. Immediately after the wedding Lord and Lady Montreal left in an air-cruiser to pass their honeymoon in Canada, and the Duchess of New Zealand at once proceeded to London, where she was rapturously received by Mrs. Hardinge. She reached London in time to be present at its greatest yearly fête, the Lord Mayor's Show, on the 9th November. According to old chronicles, there was a time when these annual shows were barbarous exhibitions of execrable taste, suitably accompanied with scenes of coarse vulgarity. All this had long since changed. The annual Lord Mayor's Show had become a real work of elaborated art. Either it was made to represent some particular event, some connected thread of history, or some classical author's works. For example, there had been a close and accurate representation of Queen Victoria's Jubilee procession, again a series of tableaux depicting the life of the virtuous though unhappy Mary Queen of Scots, a portrayal of Shakespeare's heroes and heroines, and a copy of the procession that celebrated the establishment of local government in Ireland. The present year was devoted to a representation of all the kings and queens of England up to the proclamation of the Empire. It began with the "British warrior queen," Boadicea, and ended with the grandfather of the present Emperor. Each monarch was represented with his or her retinue in the exact costumes of the respective periods. No expense was spared on these shows. They were generally monumental works of research and activity, and were in course of preparation for several years. In many respects London still continued to be the greatest city of the Empire. Its population was certainly the largest, and no other place could compare with it in the possession of wealthy inhabitants. But wealth was unequally distributed. Although there were more people than elsewhere enjoying great riches, the aggregate possessions were not as large in proportion to the population as in other cities, such as Melbourne, Sydney, and Dublin. The Londoners were luxurious to the verge of effeminacy. A door left open, a draught at a theatre, were considered to seriously reflect on the moral character of the persons responsible for the same. A servant summarily dismissed for neglecting to close a door could not recover any arrears of wages due to him or her. Said a great lady once to an Australian gentleman, "Are not these easterly winds dreadful? I hope you have nothing of the kind in your charming country." "We have colder winds than those you have from the east," he replied. "We have blasts direct from the South Pole, and we enjoy them. My lady, we would not be what we are," drawing himself up, "if the extremes of heat and cold were distasteful to us." She looked at him with something of curiosity mixed with envy. "You are right," she said. "It is a manly philosophy to endeavour to enjoy that which cannot be remedied." The use of coal and gas having long since been abandoned in favour of heat and light from electricity, the buildings in London had lost their begrimed appearance, and the old dense fogs had disappeared. A city of magnificent buildings, almost a city of palaces, London might be termed. Where there used to be rookeries for the poor there were now splendid edifices of many stories, with constant self-acting elevators. It was the same with regard to residence as with food and clothing. The comforts of life were not denied to people of humble means. Parliament was opened with much pomp and magnificence, and a mysterious allusion, in the speech from the throne, to large fiscal changes proposed, excited much attention. The Budget was delivered at an early date amidst intense excitement, which turned into unrestrained delight when its secrets were revealed. The Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Right Honourable Gladstone Churchill, examined critically the state of the finances, the enormous accumulations of the reserve funds all over the dominions, and the continued increase of income from the main sources of revenue. "The Government," he said, "are convinced the time has come to make material reductions in the taxation. They propose that the untaxable minimum of income shall be increased from five to six hundred pounds, and the untaxable minimum of succession value from ten to twelve thousand pounds, and that, instead of a fourth of the residue in each case reverting to the State, a fifth shall be substituted." Then he showed by figures and calculations that not only was the relief justifiable, but that further relief might be expected in the course of a few years. He only made one exception to the proposed reductions. Incomes derived from foreign loans and the capital value of such loans were still to be subject to the present taxation. Foreign loans, he said, were mischievous in more than one respect. They armed foreign nations, necessitating greater expense to the British Empire in consequence. They also created hybrid subjects of the Empire, with sympathies divided between their own country and foreign countries. There was room for the expenditure of incalculable millions on important works within the Empire, and those who preferred to place their means abroad must contribute in greater proportion to the cost of government at home. They had not, he declared, any prejudice against foreign countries. It was better for them and for Britain that each country should attend to its own interests and its own people. Probably no Budget had been received with so much acclamation since that in which the Chancellor of the Exchequer declared the policy of the Empire to be one of severe protection to the industries of its vast dominions. Singularly, it was Lord Gladstone Churchill, great-grandfather of the present Chancellor of the Exchequer, who made the announcement, seventy years previously, that the time had arrived for abandoning the free trade which however he admitted had been of benefit to the parent country prior to federation. The proposed fiscal reforms were rapidly confirmed; and Parliament rose towards the middle of December, in time to allow members to be present at the great annual fête in Dublin. We have already described how it was that the federation of the Empire, including local government in Ireland, was brought about by the intervention of the Colonies. The Irish people, warm-hearted and grateful, felt they could never be sufficiently thankful. They would not allow the declaration of the Empire to be so great an occasion of celebration, as the anniversary of the day on which the premiers of the six Australasian colonies, of the Dominion of Canada, and of the South African Dominion met and despatched the famous cablegram which, after destroying one administration, resulted in the federation of the empire of Britain. A magnificent group representing these prime ministers, moulded in life-size, was erected, and has always remained the most prominent object, in Dublin. The progress of Ireland after the establishment of the Empire was phenomenal, and it has since generally been regarded as the most prosperous country in the world. Under the vivifying influence of Protection, the manufactures of Ireland advanced with great strides. Provisions were made by which the evils of absenteeism were abated. Formerly enormous fortunes were drawn from Ireland by persons who never visited it. An Act was passed by which persons owning large estates but constantly absent from the country were compelled to dispose of their property at a full, or rather, it might be said, an excessive, value. The Government of Ireland declared that the cost of doing away with the evils of absenteeism was a secondary consideration. The population of Ireland became very large. Hundreds of thousands of persons descended from those who had gone to America from Ireland came to the country, bringing with them that practical genius for progress of all sorts which so distinguishes the American people. The improvement of Ireland was always in evidence to show the advantages of the federation of the Empire and of the policy of making the prosperity of its own people the first object of a nation. The Irish fête-day that year was regarded with even more than the usual fervour, and that is saying a great deal. It was to be marked by a historical address which Mrs. Hardinge had consented to deliver. Mrs. Hardinge was the idol of the Irish. With the best blood of celebrated Celtic patriots in her veins, she never allowed cosmopolitan or national politics to make her forget that she was thoroughly Irish. She gloried in her country, and was credited with being better acquainted with its history and traditions than any other living being. She spoke in a large hall in Dublin to thousands of persons, who had no difficulty in hearing every note of the flexible, penetrating, musical voice they loved so well. She spoke of the long series of difficulties that had occurred before Ireland and England had hit upon a mode of living beneficial and happy to both, because the susceptibilities of the people of either country were no longer in conflict. "Undoubtedly," she said, "Ireland has benefited materially from the uses she has made of local government; but the historian would commit a great mistake who allowed it to be supposed that aspirations of a material and sordid kind have been at the root of the long struggle the Irish have made for self-government. I put it to you," she continued, amidst the intense enthusiasm of her hearers, "supposing we suffered from the utmost depression, instead of enjoying as we do so much prosperity, and we were to be offered as the price of relinquishing self-government every benefit that follows in the train of vast wealth, would we consent to the change?" The vehement "No" which she uttered in reply to her own question was re-echoed from thousands of throats. She directed particular attention to what she called the Parnell period. "Looked at from this distance," she said, "it was ludicrous in the extreme. Government succeeded Government; and each adopted whilst in office the same system of partial coercion, partial coaxing, which it condemned its successor for pursuing. The Irish contingent went from party to party as they thought each oscillated towards them. Many Irish members divided their time between Parliament and prison. The Governments of the day adopted the medium course: they would not repress the incipient revolution, and they would not yield to it. Agrarian outrages were committed by blind partisans and weak tools who thought that an exhibition of unscrupulous ferocity might aid the cause. The leaders of the Irish party were consequently placed on the horns of a dilemma. They had either to discredit their supporters, or to admit themselves favourable to criminal action. They were members of Parliament. They had to take the oath of allegiance. They did not dare to proclaim themselves incipient rebels." Then Mrs. Hardinge quoted, amidst demonstrative enthusiasm, Moore's celebrated lines-- "Rebellion, foul, dishonouring word, Whose wrongful blight so oft has stained The holiest cause that tongue or sword Of mortal ever lost or gained-- How many a spirit born to bless Has shrunk beneath that withering name Whom but a day an hour's success, Had wafted to eternal fame." "But, my dear friends," pursued Mrs. Hardinge, "do not think that I excuse crime. The end does not justify the means. Even the harm from which good results is to be execrated. The saddest actors in history are those who by their own infamy benefited or hoped to benefit others. "For one sad losel soils a name for aye, However mighty in the olden time; Not all that heralds rake from coffined clay, Nor florid prose, nor honeyed words of rhyme Can blazon evil deeds or consecrate a crime." When the applause these lines elicited subsided, Mrs. Hardinge dilated on the proposed Home Rule that Mr. Gladstone offered. Naturally the Irish party accepted it, but a close consideration convinced her that it was fortunate it was not carried into effect. The local powers Mr. Gladstone offered were very moderate, far less than the Colonies then possessed, whilst, as the price of them, Ireland was asked to virtually relinquish all share in the government of the country. Gladstone saw insuperable difficulties in the way of establishing a federal parliament; and without it his proposals, if carried into operation, would have made Ireland still more governed from England than it was without the so-called Home Rule. In fact, the fruition of Mr. Gladstone's proposals would have driven Ireland to fight for independence. "We Irish are not disposed," declared Mrs. Hardinge, "to submit to be excluded from a share in the government of the nation to which we belong. Mr. Gladstone would virtually have so excluded us; and if we had taken as a boon the small instalment of self-government he offered, we could only have taken it with the determination to use the power we acquired for the purpose of seeking more or of gaining independence. Yes, my fellow-countrymen," she continued amidst loud cheers, "it was good for us, seeing how happily we now live with England, that we did not take Mr. Gladstone's half-measure. Yet there was great suffering and great delay. Weariness and concession stilled the question for a time; but the Irish continued in a state of more or less suppressed irritation, both from the sense of the indignity of not being permitted local government, and from the actual evils resulting from absenteeism. Relief came at length. It came from the great Colonies the energy of all of us--Irish, English, and Scotch--had built up." Long, continuous cheering interrupted the speaker. "You may well cheer," she continued. "The memory of the great colonial heroes whose action we this day commemorate, and whom, as usual, we will crown with wreaths of laurel, will always remain as green in our memory as the Isle of Erin itself." She proceeded to describe individually the prime ministers of the Colonies who had brought the pressure to bear upon the Central Government. "The Colonies," she said, "became every day, as they advanced in wealth and progress, more interested in the nation to which they belonged. They saw that nation weakened and discredited at home and abroad by the ever-present contingency of Irish disaffection. They felt, besides, that the Colonies, which had grown not only materially, but socially, happy under the influence of free institutions, could not regard with indifference the denial of the same freedom to an important territory of the nation. Their action did equal honour to their intellect and virtue." Mrs. Hardinge concluded by describing with inimitable grace the various benefits which had arisen from satisfying Ireland's wants. "The boon she received," the speaker declared, "Ireland has returned tenfold. It was owing to her that the Empire was federated; at one moment it stood in the balance whether this great cluster of States should be consolidated into the present happy and united Empire or become a number of disintegrated communities, threatened with all the woes to which weak States are subject." After this address Mrs. Hardinge, in the presence of an immense multitude, placed a crown of laurel on the head of each of the statues of the colonial statesmen, commencing with the Prime Minister of Canada. Those statues later in the day were almost hidden from sight, for they were covered with a mass of many thousand garlands. CHAPTER XII. THE EMPEROR PLANS A CAMPAIGN. One day early in May Colonel Laurient was alone with the Emperor, who was walking up and down the room in a state of great excitement. His eyes glittered with an expression of almost ferocity. The veins in his forehead stood out clear and defined, like cords. No one had seen him like this before. "To think they should dare to enter my territory! They shall never cease to regret it," he declared as he paced the room. Two hours before, the Emperor had been informed that the troops of the United States had crossed into Canada, the excuse, some dispute about the fisheries, the real cause, chagrin of the President at the Emperor's rejection of her daughter's hand. "This shall be a bitter lesson to the Yankees," continued the Emperor. "They do not know with whom they have to deal. I grant they were right to seek independence, because the Government of my ancestor goaded them to it. But they shall learn there is a limit to their power, and that they are weak as water compared with the parent country they abandoned. Listen, Laurient," he went on more calmly as he took a seat by a table on which was spread a large map of the United States and Canada. "I have made up my mind what to do, and you are to help me. You are now my first military aide-de-camp. In that capacity and as head of the bodyguard you may appear in evidence." "I shall only be too glad to render any assistance in my power. I suppose that the troops will at once proceed to Canada?" "Would you have me," said the Emperor, "do such a wrong to my Canadian subjects? You know, by the constitution of the Empire, each State is bound to protect itself from invasion. Do you think that my Canadian volunteers are not able to perform this duty?" "I know, your Majesty, that no finer body of troops is to be found in the Empire than the Canadian volunteers and Volunteer reserve. But I thought you seemed disinclined to refrain from action." "There you are right, nor do I mean to remain idle. No; I intend a gigantic revenge. I will invade the States myself." Colonel Laurient's eyes glittered. He recognised the splendid audacity of the idea, and he was not one to feel fear. "Carry the war into the enemy's camp!" he said. "I ought to have thought of it. It is an undertaking worthy of you, Sir." "I have arranged everything with my advisers, who have given me, as commander of the forces, full executive discretion. You have a great deal to do. You will give, in strict confidence, to some person information which he is to cause to be published in the various papers. That information will be that all the ships and a large force are ordered immediately to the waters of the St. Lawrence. To give reality to the intelligence, the newspapers are to be severely blamed and threatened for publishing it. But you are to select trustworthy members of the bodyguard who are verbally to communicate to the admirals and captains what is really to be done. Nothing is to be put in writing beyond the evidence of your authority to give instructions, which I now hand to you. Those instructions are to be by word of mouth. All the large, powerful vessels on the West Indian, Mediterranean, and Channel stations are to meet at Sandy Hook, off New York, on the seventeenth evening from this, with the exception of twenty which are to proceed to Boston. They are to carry with them one hundred thousand of the Volunteer reserve force, fifty thousand of the regular troops, and fifty thousand ordinary volunteers who may choose to offer their services. In every case the ostensible destination is Quebec. My faithful volunteers will not object to the deceit. Part of the force may be carried in air-cruisers, of which there must be in attendance at least three hundred of the best in the service. The air-cruisers as soon as it is dark on the evening appointed are to range all round New York for miles and cut and destroy the telegraph wires in every direction. Twenty of the most powerful, carrying a strong force of men, are to proceed to Washington during the night and bring the President of the United States a prisoner to the flagship, the _British Empire_. They are to leave Washington without destroying property. About ten o'clock the men are to disembark at New York from the air-cruisers, and take possession of every public building and railway station. They are also during the night to disembark from the vessels. There will be little fighting. The Yankees boast of keeping no standing army. They have had a difficulty to get together the hundred and fifty thousand men they have marched into Canada. Similar action to that at New York is to be adopted at Boston. As soon as sufficient troops are disembarked I will march them into Canada at the rear of the invaders, and my Canadian forces are to attack them in front. I will either destroy the United States forces or take them prisoners. All means of transport by rail or river are to be seized, and also the newspaper offices. The morning publication of the newspapers in New York and Boston is to be suppressed; and if all be well managed, only a few New York and Boston people will know until late the day after our arrival that their cities are in my hands. My largest yacht, the _Victoria_, is to go to New York. I will join it there in an air-cruiser. Confidential information of all these plans is to be verbally communicated to the Governor of Canada by an aide-de-camp, who will proceed to Ottawa to-morrow morning in a swift air-cruiser. During this night you must arrange for all the information being distributed by trusty men. I wish the intended invasion to be kept a profound secret, excepting from those specially informed. Every one is to suppose that Canada is the destination. I want the United States to strengthen its army in Canada to the utmost. As to its fleet, as soon as my vessels have disembarked the troops they can proceed to destroy or capture such of the United States vessels of war as have dared to intrude on our Canadian waters." The Emperor paused. Colonel Laurient had taken in every instruction. His eyes sparkled with animation and rejoicing, but he did not venture to express his admiration. The Emperor disliked praise. "Laurient," he continued as he grasped his favourite's hand, "go. I will detain you no longer. I trust you as myself." The Colonel bowed low and hastened away. It may seem that the proposed mobilization was incredible. But all the forces of the Empire were constantly trained to unexpected calls to arms. Formerly intended emergency measures were designed for weeks in advance; and though they purported to be secret, every intended particular was published in the newspapers. This was playing at soldiering. The Minister presiding over all the land and sea forces has long since become more practical. He orders for mobilization without notice or warning, and practice has secured extraordinarily rapid results. CHAPTER XIII. LOVE AND WAR. We seldom give to Hilda her title of Duchess of New Zealand, for she is endeared to us, not on account of her worldly successes, but because of her bright, lovable, unsullied womanly nature. She was dear to all who had the privilege of knowing her. The fascination she exercised was as powerful as it was unstudied. Her success in no degree changed her kindly, sympathetic nature. She always was, and always would be, unselfish and unexacting. She was staying with Mrs. Hardinge whilst the house she had purchased in London was being prepared for her. When Maud was married, she had taken Phoebe Buller for her principal private secretary. Miss Buller was devoted to Hilda, and showed herself to be a very able and industrious secretary. She had gained Hilda's confidence, and was entrusted with many offices requiring for their discharge both tact and judgment. She was much liked in London society, and was not averse to general admiration. She was slightly inclined to flirtation, but she excused this disposition to herself by the reflection that it was her duty to her chief to learn as much as she could from, and about every one. She had a devoted admirer in Cecil Fielding, a very able barrister. As a rule, the most successful counsel were females. Men seldom had much chance with juries. But Cecil Fielding was an exception. Besides great logical powers, he possessed a voice of much variety of expression and of persuasive sympathy. But however successful he was with juries, he was less fortunate with Phoebe. That young lady did not respond to his affection. She inclined more to the military profession generally and to Captain Douglas Garstairs in particular. He was one of the bodyguard, and now that war was declared was next to Colonel Laurient the chief aide-de-camp. By the Colonel's directions, the morning after the interview with the Emperor, he waited on the Duchess of New Zealand to confer with her as to the selection of a woman to take charge of the ambulance corps to accompany the forces on the ostensible expedition to Canada. Hilda summoned Phoebe and told her to take Captain Garstairs to see Mary Maudesley, and ascertain if that able young woman would accept the position on so short a notice. Hilda had always taken great interest in the organisation of all institutions dedicated to dealing with disease. Lately she had contributed large sums to several of these establishments in want of means, and she had specially endowed an ambulance institution to train persons to treat cases of emergency consequent on illness or accident. She had thus been brought into contact with Mary Maudesley, and had noticed her astonishing power of organisation and her tenderness for suffering. Mary Maudesley was the daughter of parents in humble life. She was about twenty-seven years of age. Her father was subforeman in a large metal factory. He had risen to the position by his assiduity, ability, and trustworthiness. He received good wages; but having a large family, he continued to live in the same humble condition as when he was one of the ordinary hands at the factory. He occupied a flat on the eighth story of a large residential building in Portman Square, which had once been an eminently fashionable neighbourhood. Besides the necessary sleeping accommodation, he had a sitting-room and kitchen. His residence might be considered the type of the accommodation to which the humblest labourers were accustomed. No one in the British Empire was satisfied with less than sufficient house accommodation, substantial though plain food, and convenient, decent attire. Mary when little more than fourteen years old had been present at an accident by which a little child of six years old was knocked down and had one leg and both arms broken. The father of the child had recently lost his wife. He lived in the same building as the Maudesleys, and Mary day and night attended to the poor little sufferer until it regained health and strength. Probably this gave direction to the devotion which she subsequently showed to attendance on the sick. She joined an institution where nurses were trained to attend cases of illness in the homes of the humble. She was perfectly fearless, notwithstanding she had been twice stricken down with dangerous illness, the result of infection from patients she had nursed. Miss Buller thought it desirable to see Miss Maudesley at her own house, both because it might be necessary to consult her further, and because she wished to observe what were her domestic surroundings. They were pleased with what they saw. The flat was simply but usefully furnished. There was no striving after display. Everything was substantial and good of its kind without being needlessly expensive. Grace and beauty were not wanting. Some excellent drawings and water-coloured paintings by Mr. Maudesley and one or two of his children decorated the walls. There were two or three small models of inventions of Mr. Maudesley's and one item of luxury in great beauty in the shape of flowers, with which the sitting-room was amply decorated. We are perhaps wrong in terming flowers luxuries, for after all, luxuries are things with which people can dispense; and there were few families who did not regard flowers as a necessary ornament of a home, however humble it and its surroundings might be. Miss Buller explained to Miss Maudesley that the usual head of the war ambulance corps required a substitute, as she was unable to join the expedition. It was her wish as well as that of the Duchess of New Zealand that Miss Maudesley should take her place. Fortunately Miss Maudesley's engagements were sufficiently disposable to enable her to accept the notable distinction thus offered to her. Miss Buller was greatly pleased with the unaffected manner in which she expressed her thanks and her willingness to act. Captain Garstairs returned with Phoebe Buller to her official room. "Good-bye, Miss Buller," he said. "I hope you will allow me to call on you when I return, if indeed the exigencies of war allow me to return." "Of course you will return. And why do you call me Miss Buller?" said the girl, with downcast eyes and pale face. For the time all traces of coquetry were wanting. "May I call you Phoebe? And do you wish me to return?" "Why not? Good-bye." The cold words were belied by the moistened eyes. The bold soldier saw his opportunity. Before he left the room they were engaged to be married. It is curious how war brings incidents of this kind to a crisis. At the risk of wearying our readers with a monotony of events, another scene in the same mansion must be described. The Emperor did Mrs. Hardinge the honour of visiting her at her own house. So little did she seem surprised, that it almost appeared she expected him. She, however, pleaded an urgent engagement, and asked permission to leave Hilda as her substitute. The readiness with which the permission was granted seemed also to be prearranged, and the astonished girl found herself alone with the Emperor before she had fully realised that he had come to see Mrs. Hardinge. He turned to her a bright and happy face, but his manner was signally deferential. "You cannot realise, Duchess, how I have longed to see you alone once more." Hilda, confused beyond expression, turned to him a face from which every trace of colour had departed. "Do you remember," he proceeded, "the last time we were alone? You allowed me then to ask you a question as from man to woman. May I again do so?" He took her silence for consent, and went on in a tone from which he vainly endeavoured to banish the agitation that overmastered him. "Hilda, from that time there has been but one woman in the world for me. My first, my only, love, will you be my wife?" "Your Majesty," said the girl, who as his agitation increased appeared to recover some presence of mind, "what would the world say? The Emperor may not wed with a subject." "Why not? Am I to be told that, with all the power that has come to me, I am to be less free to secure my own happiness than the humblest of my subjects? Hilda, I prefer you to the throne if the choice had to be made. But it has not. I will remain the Emperor in order to make you the Empress. But say you can love the man, not the monarch." "I do not love the Emperor," said the girl, almost in a whisper. These unflattering words seemed highly satisfactory to Albert Edward as he sought from her sweet lips a ratification of her love not for the Emperor, but the man. They both thought Mrs. Hardinge's absence a very short one when she returned, and yet she had been away an hour. "Dear Mrs. Hardinge," said the Emperor, with radiant face, "Hilda has consented to make me the happiest man in all my wide dominions." Mrs. Hardinge caught Hilda in her arms, and embraced her with the affection of a mother. "Your Majesty," she said at length, "does Hilda great honour. Yet I am sure you will never regret it." "Indeed I shall not," he replied, with signal promptitude. "And it is she who does me honour. When I return from America and announce my engagement, I will take care that I let the world think so." On the evening which had been fixed, the war and transport vessels and air-cruisers met off New York; and in a few hours the city was in the hands of the Emperor's forces. There was a little desultory fighting as well as some casualties, but there were few compared with the magnitude of the operation. The railway and telegraph stations, public buildings, and newspaper offices were in the hands of the invaders. Colonel Laurient himself led the force to Washington. At about four o'clock in the morning between twenty and thirty air-cruisers, crowded with armed soldiers, reached that city. With a little fighting, the Treasury and Arsenal were taken possession of, and the newspaper offices occupied. About one thousand men invaded the White House, some entering by means of the air-cruisers through the roof and others forcing their way through the lower part of the palace. There was but little resistance; and within an hour the President of the United States, in response to Colonel Laurient's urgent demand, received him in one of the principal rooms. She was a fine, handsome woman of apparently about thirty-five years of age. Her daughter, a young lady of seventeen, was in attendance on her. They did not show much sign of the alarm to which they had been subjected or of the haste with which they had prepared themselves to meet the British envoy. They received Colonel Laurient with all the high-bred dignity they might have exhibited on a happier occasion. Throughout the interview his manner, though firm, was most deferential. "Madam," he said, bowing low to the President, "my imperial master the Emperor of Britain, in response to what he considers your wanton invasion of British territory in his Canadian dominions, has taken possession of New York, and requires me to lead you a prisoner to the British flagship stationed off that city. I need scarcely say that personally the task so far as it is painful to you is not agreeable to me. I have ten thousand men with me and a large number of air-cruisers. I regret to have to ask you to leave immediately." The President, deeply affected, asked if she might be allowed to take her daughter and personal attendants with her. "Most certainly, Madam," replied Laurient. "I am only too happy to do anything to conduce to your personal comfort. You may be sure, you will suffer from no want of respect and attention." Within an hour the President, her daughter, and attendants left Washington in Colonel Laurient's own air-cruiser. An hour afterwards a second cruiser followed with the ladies' luggage. Meanwhile the telegraph lines round Washington were destroyed, and the officers of the forces stationed at Washington were made prisoners of war and taken on board the cruisers. At six o'clock in the morning the whole of the remaining cruisers left, and rapidly made their way to New York. The President, Mrs. Washington-Lawrence, and her daughter were received on board the flagship with the utmost respect. The officers vied with each other in showing them attention, but they were not permitted to make any communication with the shore. About noon the squadron, after disembarking the land forces, left for the St. Lawrence waters, and succeeded in capturing twenty-five of the finest vessels belonging to the United States, besides innumerable smaller ones. The Emperor left fifty thousand men, well supplied with guns, arms, and ammunition, in charge of New York, and at the head of an army of one hundred thousand men, the flower of the British force in the Northern Hemisphere, proceeded rapidly to the Canadian frontier. About a hundred miles on the other side of the frontier they came upon traces of the near presence of the American forces. Here it was that the most conspicuous act of personal courage was displayed, and the hero was Lord Reginald Paramatta. He happened to be in London when war was announced, and he volunteered to accompany one of the battalions. It should be mentioned that no proceedings had been initiated against Lord Reginald either for his presence at the treasonable meeting, or for his attempted abduction of Hilda. Her friends were entirely averse to any action being taken, as the publicity would have been most repugnant to her. It became necessary early in the night to ascertain the exact position of the American forces, and to communicate with the Canadian forces on the other side, with the view to joint action. The locality was too unknown and the night too dark to make the air-cruisers serviceable. The reconnoitring party were to make their way as best they could through the American lines, communicate with the Canadian commander, and return as soon as possible in an air-cruiser. Each man carried with him an electric battery of intense force, by means of which he could either produce a strong light, or under certain conditions a very powerful offensive and defensive weapon. Only fifty men were to compose the force, and Lord Reginald's offer to lead them was heartily accepted. His bravery, judgment, and coolness in action were undeniable. At midnight he started, and, with the assistance of a guide, soon penetrated to an eminence from which the lights of the large United States camp below could be plainly discerned. The forces were camped on the plain skirted by the range of hills from one of which Lord Reginald made his observations. The plain was of peculiar shape, resembling nearly the figure that two long isosceles triangles joined at the base would represent. The force was in its greatest strength at the middle, and tapered down towards each end. Far away on the other edge of the plain, evidence of the Canadian camp could be dimly perceived. The ceaseless movements in the American camp betokened preparations for early action. After a long and critical survey both of the plain and of the range of hills, Lord Reginald determined to cross at the extreme left. The scouts of the Americans were stationed far up upon the chain of hills, and Lord Reginald saw that it would be impossible to traverse unnoticed the range from where he stood to the point at which he had determined to descend to the plain. He had to retire to the other side of the range and make his progress to the west (the camp faced the north) on the outer side of the range that skirted the camp. The hill from which he had decided to descend was nearly two miles distant from the point at which he made his observation. But the way was rough and tortuous, and it took nearly two hours to reach a comparatively low hill skirting the plain at the narrowest point. The force below was also narrowed out. Less than half a mile in depth seemed to be occupied by the American camp at this point. The Canadian camp was less extended. Its extreme west appeared to be attainable by a diagonal line of about two miles in length, with an inclination from the straight of about seventy degrees. Lord Reginald had thus to force his way through nearly half a mile of the camp, and then to cross nearly two miles between both forces. The commander halted his followers, and in a low tone proceeded to give his instructions. The men were to march in file two deep, about six feet were to separate each rank, and the files were to be twenty feet apart. Each two men of the same file were to carry extended between them the flexible platinum aluminium electric wire, capable of bearing an enormous strain, that upon a touch of the button of the battery, carried by each man, would destroy any living thing which came in contact with it. Lord Reginald and the officer next to him in rank, who was none other than Captain Douglas Garstairs, were to lead the way. In a few moments the wires between each two men were adjusted. They were to proceed very slowly down the hill until they were observed, then with a rush, to skirt the outside of the camp. Once past the camp, the wires were to be disconnected, and the men, as much separated as possible, were to make to the opposite camp with the utmost expedition. Slowly and noiselessly amidst the intense shadow of the hill Lord Reginald and his companion led the way towards the extreme end of the camp. They had nearly reached the level ground when at three feet distance a sentry stood before them and shouted, "Who goes there?" Poor wretch, they were his last words. Lord Reginald and his companion with a rapid movement rushed on either side of him, and the moment the wire touched him he sank to the ground a lifeless mass. Then ensued a commotion almost impossible to describe. Lord Reginald and Captain Garstairs were noted runners. They proceeded at a strong pace outside of the tents. As the men rushed out to stop them, the fatal wire performed its ghastly execution. Three times three men sank lifeless in their path, before they cleared the outside of the tents. The Americans could only fire at intervals, for fear of hitting their own men. Of the twenty-five couples of Lord Reginald's force, fifteen passed the tents; twenty of the brave men were stricken down, whilst the way was strewn with the bodies of the Americans who had succumbed to the mysterious electric force. And now the time had come for each one to save himself. The wires were disconnected, the batteries thrown down, and for dear life every one rushed towards the Canadian camp. But the noise had been heard along the line, and a wonderful consequence ensued. From end to end of the American camp the electric lights were turned on to the strength of many millions of candle-power. The lights left the camp in darkness; the rays were turned outwards to the spare ground that separated the camps. The Canadians responded by turning on their lights, and the plain between the two camps was irradiated with a dazzling brightness which even the sunlight could not emulate. The forlorn hope dashed on. Thousands of pieces were fired at the straggling men. It was fortunate they were so much apart, as it led to the same man being shot at many times. Of the thirty who passed the tents ten men at intervals fell before the murderous fire. Lord Reginald had been grazed by a shot the effects of which he scarcely felt. He and his companions were within a hundred yards of safety. But that safety was not to be. Captain Garstairs was struck. "Good-bye, Reginald. Tell Phoebe Buller----" He could say no more. Lord Reginald arrested his progress, and as coolly as if he were in a drawing-room lifted the wounded man tenderly and carefully in his arms, and without haste or fear covered the intervening distance to the Canadian camp. He was not struck. Who indeed shall say that he was aimed at? His great deed was equally seen by each army in the bright blaze of light; and when he reached the haven of safety, a cheer went up from each side, for there were brave men in both armies, ready to admire deeds of valour. Only ten men reached the Canadian camp; but, under the sanction of a flag of truce, five more were brought in alive, and they subsequently recovered from their wounds. Captain Garstairs was shot in the leg both above and below the knee. He remained in the Canadian camp that day. At first it was feared he would lose the limb. But, to anticipate events, when the Emperor's forces joined the Canadian, Mary Maudesley took charge of him; and Captain Garstairs had ample cause to congratulate himself on the visit he had paid to secure the services of that lady. He was in the habit of declaring afterwards that it was the most successful expedition of his life, for it was the means of securing him a wife and of saving him a limb. Lord Reginald rapidly explained the situation to the Canadian commander-in-chief. The Emperor's army could come up in three hours. It was evident from the movements under the hills opposite, as shown by the electric light, that the Americans did not mean to waste time. It was probable that at the first dawn of day they would set their army in motion; and it was arranged that the Canadians, without hastening the action, should, on the Americans advancing, proceed to meet them, so that they would be nearer the Emperor's forces as these advanced in rear of the enemy. Scarcely half an hour after he reached the Canadian lines Lord Reginald ascended in a swift air-cruiser, and passing high above the American camp, reached the Emperor's forces before day dawned. Lord Reginald briefly communicated the result of his expedition. He took no credit to himself, did not dwell on the dangerous passage nor his heroic rescue of Captain Garstairs. Nevertheless the incident soon became known, and enhanced Lord Reginald's popularity. The army was rapidly in motion; and after the Canadian and American forces became engaged, the British army, led by the Emperor in person, appeared on the crest of the hills and descended towards the plains. The American commander-in-chief knew nothing of the British army in his rear. Tidings had not reached him of the occupation of New York and Boston. The incident of the rush of Lord Reginald and his party across the plain from camp to camp and the return of an air-cruiser towards the United States frontier had occasioned him surprise; but his mind did not dwell on it in the midst of the immediate responsible duties he had to perform. On the other hand, he was expecting reinforcements from the States; and when the new force appeared on the summit of the hills, he congratulated himself mentally; for the battle with the Canadian army threatened to go hard with him. Before he was undeceived the British troops came thundering down the hills, and he was a prisoner to an officer of the Emperor's own staff. The British troops went onwards, and the destruction of the American forces was imminent. But the Emperor could not bear the idea of the carnage inflicted on persons speaking the same language, and whose forefathers were the subjects of his own ancestors. "Spare them," he appealed to the commander-in-chief. "They are hopelessly at our mercy. Let them surrender." The battle was stayed as speedily as possible; and the British and Canadian forces found themselves in possession of over one hundred and thirty thousand prisoners, besides all the arms, ammunition, artillery, and camp equipage. It was a tremendous victory. CHAPTER XIV. THE FOURTH OF JULY RETRIEVED. The prisoners were left at Quebec suitably guarded; but the British and Canadian forces, as fast as the railways could carry them, returned to New York. The United States Constitution had not made provision for the imprisonment or abduction of the President of the Republic, and there was some doubt as to how the place of the chief of the executive should be supplied. It was decided that, as in the President's absence on ordinary occasions the deputy President represented him, so the same precedent should be followed in the case of the present extraordinary absence. The President, however, was not anxious to resume her position. It was to her headstrong action that the invasion of Canada was owing. The President of the United States possesses more individual power in the way of moving armies and declaring war than any other monarch. This has always been the case. A warlike spirit is easily fostered in any nation. Still the wise and prudent were aghast at the President's hasty action on what seemed the slight provocation of the renewal of the immemorial fisheries dispute. Of course public opinion could not gauge the sense of wrong that the rejection by the Emperor of her daughter's hand had occasioned in the mind of the President. Now that the episode was over, and the empire of Britain had won a triumph which amply redeemed the humiliation of centuries back, when the English colonies of America won their independence by force of arms, public opinion was very bitter against the President. The glorious 4th of July was virtually abolished. How could they celebrate the independence and forget to commemorate the retrieval by their old mother-country of all her power and prestige? No wonder then that Mrs. Washington-Lawrence did not care to return to the States! "My dear," she said to her daughter in one of the luxurious cabins assigned to them on the flagship, "do you think that I ought to send in my resignation?" "I cannot judge," replied the young lady. "You appear quite out of it. Negotiations are said to be proceeding, but you are not consulted or even informed of what is going on." "If it were not for you," said the elder lady, "I would never again set foot on the United States soil. Captain Hamilton" (alluding to the captain of the vessel they were on, the _British Empire_) "says I ought not to do so." "I do not see that his advice matters," promptly answered the young lady. "If Admiral Benedict had said so, I might have considered it more important." "I think more of the captain's opinion," said Mrs. Washington-Lawrence. "Perhaps he thinks more of yours," retorted the unceremonious daughter. "But what do you mean about returning for my sake?" "My dear, you are very young, and cannot remain by yourself. Besides, you will want to settle in the United States when you marry, to look after the large property your father left you, and that will come to you when you are twenty-one." "I think, mother, you have interfered quite sufficiently about my marrying. We should not be here now but for your anxiety to dispose of me." Mrs. Washington-Lawrence thought this very ungrateful, for her efforts were not at the time at all repugnant to the ambitious young lady. However, a quarrel was averted; and milder counsels prevailed. At length the elder lady confessed, with many blushes, Captain Hamilton had proposed to her, and that she would have accepted him but for the thought of her daughter's probable dissatisfaction. This aroused an answering confession from Miss Washington-Lawrence. The admiral, it appeared, had twice proposed to her; and she had consented to his obtaining the Emperor's permission, a condition considered necessary under the peculiar circumstances. The Emperor readily gave his consent. It was an answer to those of his own subjects who had wished him to marry the New England girl with the red hair, and opened the way to his announcing his marriage with Hilda. The two weddings of mother and daughter took place amidst much rejoicing throughout the whole squadron. The Emperor gave to each bride a magnificent set of diamonds. Negotiations meanwhile with the United States proceeded as to the terms on which the Emperor would consent to peace, a month's truce having been declared in the meanwhile. Mrs. Hardinge and Hilda met the chief ministers of the two powerful empires in Europe, and satisfied them that the British Government would not ask anything prejudicial to their interests. The terms were finally arranged. The United States were to pay the empire of Britain six hundred millions sterling and to salute the British flag. The Childrosse family and Rorgon, Mose and Co. undertook to find the money for the United States Government. The Emperor consented to retire from New York in six months unless within that time a plebiscite of that State and the New English States declared by a majority of two to one the desire of the people to again become the subjects of the British Empire, in which case New York would be constituted the capital of the Dominion of Canada. To anticipate events, it may at once be said that the majority in favour of reannexation was over four to one, and that the union was celebrated with enormous rejoicing. Most of the United States vessels were returned to her, and the British Government, on behalf of the Empire, voluntarily relinquished the money payment, in favour of its being handed to the States seceding from the Republic to join the Canadian Dominion. This provision was a wise one, for otherwise the new States of the Canadian Dominion would have been less wealthy than those they joined. CHAPTER XV. CONCLUSION. The Emperor went to Quebec for a week, and thence returned to London, in the month of July. There he announced his intended marriage, and that it would very soon take place. The ovations showered on the Emperor in consequence of his successful operations in the United States defy description. He was recognised as the first military genius of the day. Many declared that he excelled all military heroes of the past, and that a better-devised and more ably carried-into-effect military movement was not to be found in the pages of history, ancient or modern. At such a time, had the marriage been really unpopular, much would have been conceded to the desire to do honour to his military successes. But the marriage was not unpopular in a personal sense. There was great difference of opinion as to the wisdom of an emperor marrying a subject instead of seeking a foreign alliance. On the one hand, difficulties of court etiquette were alleged; on the other, it was contended that Britain had nothing to gain from foreign marriage alliances, that she was strong enough without them, and that they frequently were sources of weakness rather than strength. The Duchess of New Zealand sat alone in her study in the new mansion in London of which she had just taken possession. It was magnificently furnished and decorated, but she would soon cease to have a use for it. She was to be married in a week, and the Empress of Britain would have royal residences in all parts of her wide dominions. She intended to make a present of her new house, with its contents, to Phoebe Buller on her marriage with Colonel Garstairs. He won his promotion in the United States war. She was writing a letter to her sister, Lady Montreal. A slight noise attracted her attention. She looked up, and with dismay beheld the face of Lord Reginald Paramatta. "How dare you thus intrude?" she said, in an accent of strong indignation, though she could scarcely restrain a feeling of pity, so ill and careworn did he look. "Do not grudge me," he said, in deprecatory tones, "a few moments of your presence. I am dying for the want of you." "My lord," replied Hilda, "you should be sensible that nothing could be more distasteful to me than such a visit after your past conduct." "I do not deny your cause of complaint; but, Hilda--let me call you so this once--remember it was all for love of you." "I cannot remember anything of the kind. True love seeks the happiness of the object it cherishes, not its misery." "You once looked kindly on me." "Lord Reginald, I never loved you, nor did I ever lead you to believe so. A deep and true instinct told me from the first that I could not be happy with you." "You crush me with your cruel words," said Lord Reginald. "When I am away from you, I persuade myself that I have not sufficiently pleaded my cause; and then with irresistible force I long to see you." "All your wishes," said the girl, "are irresistible because you have never learned to govern them. If you truly loved me, you would have the strength to sacrifice your love to the conviction that it would wreck my happiness." The girl paused. Then, with a look of impassioned sincerity, she went on, "Lord Reginald, let me appeal to your better nature. You are brave. No one more rejoiced than I did over your great deed in Canada. I forgot your late conduct, and thought only of our earlier friendship. Be brave now morally as well as physically. Renounce the feelings I cannot reciprocate; and when next I meet you, let me acknowledge in you the hero who has conquered himself." "In vain. In vain. I cannot do it. There is no alternative for me but you or death. Hilda, I will not trifle with time. I am here to carry you away. You must be mine." "Dare you threaten me," said she, "and in my own house?" Her hand was on the button on the table to summon assistance, but he arrested the movement and put his arm round her waist. With a loud and piercing scream, Hilda flew towards the door. Before she reached it, it opened; and there entered a tall man, with features almost indistinguishable from the profuse beard, whiskers, and moustache with which they were covered. Hilda screamed out, "Help me. Protect me." "I am Laurient," he whispered to the agitated girl. "Go to the back room, and this whistle will bring immediate aid. The lower part of the house and staircase are crowded with that man's followers." Hilda rushed from the room before Lord Reginald could reach her. Colonel Laurient closed the door, and pulled from his face its hirsute adornments. "I am Colonel Laurient, at your service. You have to reckon with me for your cruel persecution of that poor girl." "How came you here?" asked Lord Reginald, who was almost stunned with astonishment. "My lord," replied Laurient, "since your attempt at Waiwera to carry the Duchess away you have been unceasingly shadowed. Your personal attendants were in the pay of those who watched over that fair girl's safety. Your departure from Canada was noted, the object of your stay in London suspected. Your intended visit to-day was guessed at, and I was one of the followers who accompanied you. But there is no time for explanation. You shall account to me as a friend of the Emperor for your conduct to the noble woman he is about to marry. She shall be persecuted no longer; one or both of us shall not leave this room alive." He pulled out two small firing-pieces, each with three barrels. "Select one," he said briefly. "Both weapons are loaded. We shall stand at opposite ends of this large room." At no time would Lord Reginald have been likely to refuse a challenge of this kind, and least of all now. His one desire was revenge on some one to satisfy the terrible cravings of his baffled passions. "I am under the impression," he said, with studied calmness, "that I already owe something to your interference. I am not reluctant to acquit myself of the debt." In a few minutes the help Hilda summoned arrived. Laurient had taken care to provide assistance near at hand. When the officers in charge of the aid entered the room, a sad sight presented itself. Both Lord Reginald and Colonel Laurient were prostrate on the ground, the former evidently fatally stricken, the latter scarcely less seriously wounded. They did not venture to move Lord Reginald. At his earnest entreaty, Hilda came to him. It was a terrible ordeal for her. It was likely both men would die, and their death would be the consequence of their vain love for her. But how different the nature of the love, the one unselfish and sacrificing, seeking only her happiness, the other brutally indifferent to all but its own uncontrollable impulses. It seemed absurd to call by the same name sentiments so widely opposite, the one so ennobling, the other so debasing. She stood beside the couch on which they had lifted him. "Hilda," he whispered in a tone so low, she could scarcely distinguish what he said, "the death I spoke of has come; and I do not regret it. It was you or death, as I told you; and death has conquered." He paused for a few moments, then resumed, "My time is short. Say you forgive me all the unhappiness I have caused you." Hilda was much affected. "Reginald," she faltered, "I fully, freely forgive you for all your wrongs to me; but can I forget that Colonel Laurient may also meet his death?" "A happy death, for it will have been gained in your service." "Reginald, dear Reginald, if your sad anticipation is to be realised, should you not cease to think of earthly things?" "Pray for me," he eagerly replied. "You were right in saying my passions were ungovernable, but I have never forgotten the faith of my childhood. I am past forgiveness, for I sinned and knew that I was sinning." "God is all-merciful," said the tearful girl. She sank upon her knees before the couch, and in low tones prayed the prayers familiar to her, and something besides extemporised from her own heart. She thought of Reginald as she first knew him, of the great deeds of which he had been capable, of the melancholy consequence of his uncontrolled love for herself. She prayed with an intense earnestness that he might be forgiven; and as she prayed a faint smile irradiated the face of the dying man, and with an effort to say, "Amen," he drew his last breath. Three days later Hilda stood beside another deathbed. All that care and science could effect was useless; Colonel Laurient was dying. The fiat had gone forth; life was impossible. The black horses would once more come to the door of the new mansion. He who loved Hilda so truly, so unselfishly, was to share the fate of that other unworthy lover. Hilda's grief was of extreme poignancy, and scarcely less grieved was the Emperor himself. He had passed most of his time since he had learnt Laurient's danger beside his couch, and now the end was approaching. On one side of the bed was the Emperor, on the other Hilda, Duchess of New Zealand. How puerile the title seemed in the presence of the dread executioner who recognises no distinction between peasant and monarch. The mightiest man on earth was utterly powerless to save his friend, and the day would come when he and the lovely girl who was to be his bride would be equally powerless to prolong their own lives. In such a presence the distinctions of earth seemed narrowed and distorted. "Sir," said the dying man, "my last prayer is that you and Hilda may be happy. She is the noblest woman I have ever met. You once told me," he said, turning to her, "that you felt for me a sister's love. Will you before I die give me a sister's kiss and blessing?" Hilda, utterly unable to control her sobs, bent down and pressed a kiss upon his lips. It seemed as if life passed away at that very moment. He never moved or spoke again. He was buried in the grounds of one of the royal residences, and the Emperor and Hilda erected a splendid monument to his memory. No year ever passed without their visiting the grave of the man who had served them so well. Their marriage was deferred for a month in consequence of Colonel Laurient's death, but the ceremony was a grand one. Nothing was wanting in the way of pomp and display to invest it with the utmost importance. Throughout the whole Empire there were great rejoicings. It really appeared as if the Emperor could not have made a more popular marriage, and that unalloyed happiness was in store for him and his bride. EPILOGUE. Twenty years have passed. The Emperor is nearly fifty, and the Empress is no longer young. They have preserved their good looks; but on the countenance of each is a settled melancholy expression, wanting in the days which preceded their marriage. Their union seemed to promise a happy life, no cloud showed itself on the horizon of their new existence, and yet sadness proved to be its prominent feature. A year after their marriage a son was born, amidst extravagant rejoicings throughout the Empire. Another year witnessed the birth of a daughter, and a third child was shortly expected, when a terrible event occurred. A small dog, a great favourite of the child, slightly bit the young prince. The animal proved to be mad, a fact unsuspected until too late to apply adequate remedial measures to the boy, and the heir to the Empire died amidst horrible suffering. The grief of the parents may be better imagined than described. The third child, a boy, was prematurely born, and grew up weak and sickly. Two more children were subsequently born, but both died in early childhood. The princess, the elder-born of the two survivors, grew into a beautiful woman. She was over eighteen years old when this history reopens. Her brother was a year younger. The contrast between the two was remarkable. Princess Victoria was a fine, healthy girl, with a lovely complexion. She inherited her mother's beauty and her father's dignity and grace of manner. She was the idol of every one with whom she came in contact. The charm and fascination of her demeanour were enhanced by the dignity of presence which never forsook her. Her brother, poor boy, was thin and delicate-looking, and a constant invalid, though not afflicted with any organic disease. They both were clever, but their tastes were widely apart. The Princess was an accomplished linguist; and few excelled her in knowledge of history, past and contemporaneous. She took great interest in public affairs. No statesman was better acquainted with the innumerable conditions which cumbered the outward seeming of affairs of state. Prince Albert Edward, on the contrary, took no heed of public affairs. He rarely read a newspaper; but he was a profound mathematician, a constant student of physical laws: and, above all, he had a love for the study of human character. When only sixteen, he gained a gold medal for a paper sent in anonymously to the Imperial Institute, dealing with the influence of circumstances and events upon mental and moral development. The essay was very deep, and embodied some new and rather startling theories, closely reasoned, as to the effects of training and education. The Princess was her father's idol; and though he was too just to wish to prejudice his son's rights, he could not without bitter regret remember that but for his action long ago his daughter would have been heiress to the throne. Fate, with strange irony, had made the Empress also alter her views. The weak and sickly son had been the special object of long years of care. The poor mother, bereaved of three children out of five, clung to this weak offspring as the shipwrecked sailor to the plank which is his sole chance of life. The very notion of the loved son losing the succession was a cruel shock to her. The theoretical views which she shared with Mrs. Hardinge years since, were a weak barrier to the promptings of maternal love. So it happened that the Emperor ardently regretted that he had prevented the proposed change in the order of succession, and the Empress as much rejoiced that the views of her party had not prevailed. But the Emperor was essentially a just man. He recognised that before children had been born to him the question was open to treatment, but that it was different now when his son enjoyed personal rights. Ardently as he desired his daughter should reign, he would not on any consideration agree that his son should be set aside without his own free and full consent. What annoyed him most was the fallacy of his own arguments long ago. It will be remembered, he had laid chief stress on the probability that the female succession would reduce the chance of the armies being led by the Emperor in person in case of war. But it was certain that, if his son succeeded, he would not head the army in battle. The young Prince had passed through the military training prescribed for every male subject of the Empire, but he had no taste for military knowledge. Not that he wanted courage; on the contrary, he had displayed conspicuous bravery on several occasions. Once he had jumped off a yacht in rough weather to save one of his staff who had fallen overboard; and on another occasion, when a fire took place at sea, he was cooler and less terror-stricken than any of the persons who surrounded him. But for objects and studies of a militant character he had an aversion, almost a contempt; and it was certain he never would become a great general. The fallacy of his principal objection to the change in the order of succession was thus brought home to the Emperor with bitter emphasis. Perhaps the worst effect of all was the wall of estrangement that was being built up between him and the Empress. When two people constantly in communication feel themselves prevented from discussing the subject nearest to the heart and most constant to the mind of each, estrangement must grow up, no matter how great may be their mutual love. The Emperor and Empress loved each other as much as ever, but to both the discussion of the question of succession was fraught with bitter pain. The time had, however, come when they must discuss it. The Princess had already reached her legal majority, and the Prince would shortly arrive at the age which was prescribed as the majority of the heir to the throne. His own unfitness for the sovereignty and the exceeding suitability of his sister were widely known, and the newspapers had just commenced a warm discussion on the subject. The Cabinet, too, were inclined to take action. Many years since, Mrs. Hardinge died quite suddenly of heart disease; and Lady Cairo had for a long period filled the post of Prime Minister. Lady Garstairs, _née_ Phoebe Buller, was leader of the Opposition. She was still a close friend of the Empress, and she shared the opinion of her imperial mistress that the subject had better not be dealt with. But Lady Cairo, who had always thought it ought to have been settled before the Emperor's marriage, was very much embarrassed now by the strong and general demand that the question should be immediately reopened. She had several interviews with the Emperor on the subject. His Majesty did not conceal his personal desire that his daughter should succeed, or his opinion that she was signally fitted for the position; but nothing, he declared, would induce him to allow his son's rights to be assailed without the Prince's full and free consent. Meanwhile the Prince showed no sign. It seemed as if he alone of all the subjects of the Empire knew and cared nothing about the matter. He rarely spoke of public affairs, and scarcely ever read the newspapers, especially those portions of them devoted to politics. The Emperor felt a discussion with the Empress could no longer be avoided; and we meet them once more at a long and painful interview, in which they unburdened the thoughts which each had concealed from the other for years past. "Dear Hilda," said the Emperor, "do not misunderstand me. I would rather renounce the crown than allow our son's rights to be prejudiced without his approval." "Yes, yes, I understand that," said the Empress; "and I recognise your sense of justice. I do not think that you love Albert as much as you do Victoria, and you certainly have not that pride in him which you have in her; whilst I--I love my boy, and cannot bear that he should suffer." "My dear," said the Emperor, "that is where we differ. I love Albert, and I admire his high character; but I do not think it would be for his happiness that he should reign, nor that he should now relinquish all the studies in which he delights, in order to take his proper position as heir to the throne. In a few weeks he will be of age; and if he is to succeed me, duties of a most onerous and constant character will devolve on him. He is, I will do him the justice to say, too conscientious to neglect his duty; and I believe he will endeavour to attend to public affairs and cast away all those studies that most delight him: but the change will make him miserable." "You are a wise judge of the hearts and ways of men and women, and it would ill become me to disregard your opinion; but, Albert, does it not occur to you that our Albert might live to regret any renunciation he made in earlier life?" "I admit the possibility," said the Emperor; "but he is stable and mature beyond his years. His dream is to benefit mankind by the studies he pursues. He has already met with great success in those studies, and I think they will bring their own reward; but should anything occur to make him renounce them, he may, I admit, lament too late the might-have-been." "Supposing," said the Empress, "he married an ambitious wife and had sons like you were, dear Albert, in your young manhood?" "One cannot judge one's self; yet I think I should have accepted whatever was my position, and not have allowed vain repinings to prevent my endeavouring to perform the duties that devolved on me." "Forgive me, Albert, for doubting it. You would, I am sure, have been true to yourself." "You confirm my own impression. Recollect, Hilda, true ambition prompts to legitimate effort, not to vain grief for the unattainable. It may be that Victoria's own children will succeed; but Albert's children, if they are ambitious, will not be denied a brilliant career." "I cannot argue the matter, for it is useless to deny that I refuse to see our son as he is. I love him to devotion, yet the grief is always with me that the son is not like the father." "Hilda dear, he is not like the father in some respects; but the very difference perhaps partakes of the higher life. When the last day comes to him and to me, who shall say that he will not look back to his conduct through life with more satisfaction than I shall be able to do?" "I will not allow you to underrate yourself. You are faultless in my eyes. No human being has ever had cause to complain of you." "Tut! tut! You are too partial a judge." But he kissed her tenderly, and his eyes gleamed with a pleasure for a very long while unknown to them, as she brought to him the conviction that the love and admiration of her youth had survived all the sorrows of their after-lives. At this juncture the Prince entered the room. "Pardon me," he said. "I thought my mother was alone;" and he was about to retire. The Emperor looked at the Empress, and he gathered from her answering glance that she shared with him the desire that all reserve and concealment should be at an end. In a moment his resolution was formed. His son should know everything and decide for himself. "Stay, Albert," he said. "I am glad to have an opportunity of talking with you in the presence of your mother." "I am equally glad, Sir. Indeed, I should have asked you later in the day to have given me an audience." "Why do you wish to see me?" said the Emperor, who in a moment suspected what proved to be the case: that his son anticipated his own wish for an exchange of confidence. "During the last few days it has become known to me, Sir, that a controversy is going on respecting the order of succession to the throne. I have," producing a small package, "cuttings from some of the principal newspapers from which I gather there is a strong opinion in favour of a change in the order of succession. I glean from them that by far the larger number are agreed on the point that it would be better my sister should succeed to you." He paused a moment, and then in a clear and distinct tone said, "I am of the same opinion." The Empress interposed. "Are you sure of your own mind? Do you recognise what it is you would renounce--the position of foremost ruler on the wide globe?" "I think I realise it. I am not much given to the study of contemporaneous history, but I am well acquainted with all the circumstances of my father's great career." The parents looked at each other in surprise. "Yes; there is no one," he resumed, "who is more proud of the Emperor than his only son." With much emotion the father clasped the son's hand. "What is it you wish, Albert?" he said. "I would like Victoria to be present if you would not mind," replied the Prince, looking at his mother. "May I fetch her?" The Empress nodded. "You will find her in the next room." The Princess Victoria was a lovely and splendid girl. It was impossible to look at her without feeling that she would adorn the highest position. The Emperor's face lighted up as he glanced at her; and the Empress, much impressed with what her husband had said, kissed the Princess with unusual tenderness. She probably wished her daughter to feel that she was not averse to any issue which might result from the momentous interview about to take place. "Sir," said the young Prince, addressing his father, "I know how important your time is, so I will not prolong what I wish to say. Until I saw these papers," holding up the extracts, "I confess I was unaware of the great interest which is now being taken in the question of the succession. But I cannot assert that the subject is new to me; on the contrary, I have thought it over deeply, and it was my intention to speak to you about it when in a few weeks I should attain my majority." "My dear boy, pray believe that it was through consideration to you I have refrained from speaking to you on the subject." "I know it, Sir, and thank you," said the boy with feeling; "but the time has come when there must be no longer any reserve between us. You know, I do not take much interest in public affairs, and I fear it has grieved you that my inclinations have been so alien to what my position as heir to the throne required. But I am not unacquainted with the principles of the constitution of the Empire. I will not pretend that I have studied them from a statesman's point of view. They have absorbed my attention in the course of my favourite study of human character. I have closely (if it did not seem conceited, I might say philosophically) investigated the Constitution with the object of determining to what extent it operates as an educational medium affecting the character of the nation. The question of the succession is settled by the Constitution Act, and no alteration is possible in justice, that does not fully reserve the rights of all living beings. I am first in the order of succession, and no law of man can take it from me excepting with my full consent." "Albert," interrupted the Emperor, "you say rightly; and I assure you that I am fully prepared to adopt this view. No consideration will induce me to consent to any alteration which will prejudice you excepting with your own desire; and indeed I am doubtful if even with your desire I should be justified in allowing you at so early a period of your life to make a renunciation." "I am grateful, Sir, for this assurance. Its memory will live in my mind. And now let me say that, having for a long while considered the subject with the utmost attention I could give to it, I am of opinion that the present law by which the female succession is partly barred is not a just one. I will not, however, say that it ought to be altered against a living representative; but I decidedly think that it should be amended as regards those unborn. The decision I have come to then does not depend upon the amendment in the Constitution which I believe to be desirable. It arises from personal causes. I believe that my sister Victoria is as specially fitted for the dignity and functions of empress, as I am the reverse." The Princess Victoria started up in great agitation. She was not without ambition, and it could not be questioned that the position of empress had fascinating attraction for her active mind and courageous spirit. But she dearly loved her brother, and her predominant feeling at the moment was regard for his interests. "Albert," she said with great energy, "I will not have you make any sacrifice for me. You will be a good and clever man, and will adorn whatever position you are called to." "I thank you, Victoria," said the boy gravely. "I am delighted that you think so well of me. But you must not consider I am making a sacrifice. My inclinations are entirely against public life. The position of next heir, and in time of emperor, would give me no pleasure. My ambition--and I am not without it--points to triumphs of a different kind. No success in the council or in the field would give me the gratification that the reception of my paper by the Imperial Institute occasioned me, and the gold medal which I gained without my name as author being known. Why I have dwelt on your fitness for the position, Victoria, is because I do not believe that I should be justified in renouncing the succession unless I could honestly feel that a better person would take my place." "Albert," interposed the Empress, "let your mother say a word before you proceed further. I will not interfere with any decision that may be arrived at. I leave that to your father, in whose wisdom I have implicit faith. But I must ask you, Have you thought over all contingencies, not only of what has happened in the past or of what is now occurring, but of what the future may have in store?" "I have, my mother, thought over the future as well as the past." "You may marry, Albert. Your wife may grieve for the position you have renounced; you may have children: they may inherit your father's grand qualities. Will you yourself not grieve to see them subordinate to their cousins, your sister's children?" "Mother, I probably shall not marry; and if I do, my renunciation of the succession will justify me in marrying as my heart dictates, and not to satisfy State exigencies. I shall be well assured that whomever I marry will be content to take me for myself, and not for what I might have been. As to the children, they will be educated to the station to which they will belong, surely a sufficiently exalted one." The Emperor now interposed. "You are young," he said, "to speak of wife and children; but you have spoken with the sense and discretion of mature years. I understand, that if you renounce the succession, you will do so in the full belief that you will be consulting your own happiness and not injuring those who might be your subjects, because you leave to them a good substitute in your sister." "You have rightly described my sentiments," said the boy. "Then, Albert," said the Emperor, "I will give my consent to the introduction of a measure that, preserving your rights, will as regards the future give to females an equal right with males to the succession. As regards yourself, I think the Act should give you after your majority a right, entirely depending on your own discretion, of renunciation in favour of your sister, and provide that such renunciation shall be finally operative." Our history for the present ends with the passage of the Act described by the Emperor; an Act considered to be especially memorable, since it removed the last disability under which the female sex laboured. * * * * * It is perhaps desirable to explain that three leading features have been kept in view in the production of the foregoing anticipation of the future. First, it has been designed to show that a recognised dominance of either sex is unnecessary, and that men and women may take part in the affairs of the world on terms of equality, each member of either sex enjoying the position to which he or she is entitled by reason of his or her qualifications. The second object is to suggest that the materials are to hand for forming the dominions of Great Britain into a powerful and beneficent empire. The third purpose is to attract consideration to the question as to whether it is not possible to relieve the misery under which a large portion of mankind languishes on account of extreme poverty and destitution. The writer has a strong conviction that every human being is entitled to a sufficiency of food and clothing and to decent lodging whether or not he or she is willing to or capable of work. He hates the idea of anything approaching to Communism, as it would be fatal to energy and ambition, two of the most ennobling qualities with which human beings are endowed. But there is no reason to fear that ambition would be deadened because the lowest scale of life commenced with sufficiency of sustenance. Experience, on the contrary, shows that the higher the social status the more keen ambition becomes. Aspiration is most numbed in those whose existence is walled round with constant privation. Figures would of course indicate that the cost of the additional provision would be enormous, but the increase is more seeming than real. Every commodity that man uses is obtained by an expenditure of more or less human labour. The extra cost would mean extra employment and profit to vast numbers of people, and the earth itself is capable of an indefinite increase of the products which are necessary to man's use. The additional employment available would in time make work a privilege, not a burden; and the objects of the truest sympathy would be those who would not or who could not work. The theory of forcing a person to labour would be no more recognised than one of forcing a person to listen to music or to view works of art. Of course it will be urged that natives of countries where the earth is prolific are not, as a rule, industrious. 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31234	----	images generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 31234-h.htm or 31234-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31234/31234-h/31234-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31234/31234-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://www.archive.org/details/historyofenglish00purc +----------------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Note: | | | |The spelling in this text has been left as it appears in the | |original book except where it was inconsistent within the text. | |Details of changes made are listed at the end of the text. | +----------------------------------------------------------------+ A HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH IN NEW ZEALAND To the RIGHT REVEREND WILLIAM LEONARD WILLIAMS, sometime Bishop of Waiapu. THIS BOOK is respectfully dedicated in memory of the eminent services rendered to the New Zealand Church by himself and others of his name. [Illustration: REV. SAMUEL MARSDEN.] A HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH IN NEW ZEALAND by H. T. PURCHAS, M.A. Vicar of Glenmark, N.Z. Canon of Christchurch Cathedral, and Examining Chaplain to the Bishop. Author of "Bishop Harper and the Canterbury Settlement," "Johannine Problems and Modern Needs." Simpson & Williams Limited Christchurch, N.Z. G. Robertson & Co. Propy. Ltd., Melbourne. Sampson Low & Co. Ltd., London. 1914 * * * * * _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ Bishop Harper and the Canterbury Settlement. _PRESS NOTICES_ Original Edition. "We are glad to welcome this book. It has been very well written; it is interesting throughout; one's attention never flags; it is exactly what was wanted by churchmen, and should be on the book-shelf of every churchman in at least this Colony.... We simply advise every one of our readers to buy it and read it, and let their boys and girls read it too." _Auckland Church Gazette._ "One reads it as eagerly as though it were a novel." _N. Z. Guardian_ (Dunedin). "Just the book to present to any young clergyman who wishes to have the life of an ideal pastor before him." _Nelson Diocesan Gazette._ "A valuable addition to our growing library of historical literature." _Lyttelton Times._ "In many respects the book is a model biography." _Evening Post_ (Wellington). "A very valuable contribution to the early history of New Zealand.... Throws considerable light on the pioneering days in Canterbury." _The Outlook._ REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION "To some extent re-written.... The additions considerably exceed the omissions.... Generally, in all respects in which the book is fuller it may be said to be more full of interest." _Guardian_ (England). Whitcombe & Tombs Ltd. - Publishers * * * * * PREFACE. If asked why I took in hand a task of such difficulty and delicacy as that of writing a History of the Church in our Dominion, I can really find no more truthful answer than that of the schoolboy, "Please, Sir, I couldn't help it." From boyhood's days in the old country, when a copy of the Life of Marsden fell into my hands, I felt drawn to the subject; the reading of Selwyn's biography strengthened the attraction; the urging of friends in later years combined with my own inclinations; and thus the work was well on its way when the General Synod of 1913 committed it to my hands as a definite duty. For the last quarter of a century the Church of this Dominion has indeed possessed a history by my honoured teacher, Dean Jacobs. That scholarly volume could hardly be bettered on the constitutional side. In this department the Dean wrote as one who had taken no mean part in the events which he describes. His ecclesiastical learning and his judicial temper rendered him admirably qualified for the task. In working over the same ground I have perhaps been able to point out a few facts which he had missed or ignored, but on the whole I have left this part of the field to him. This is not a constitutional history: it seeks rather to depict the general life of the Church, and the ideals which guided its leading figures. The Dean's description of the missionary period is also an admirable piece of work, but he had not the advantage of the stores of material which are now available. Through the indefatigable enthusiasm of the late Dr. Hocken the journals of the early missionaries have been brought to this country, and are made available to the student. His comprehensive collection enables us to come into close touch with days which are already far distant from our own. Of course the historian must be guided by the principle, _summa sequi fastigia rerum_; but he cannot estimate aright the work of the heroic leaders and rulers of the Church unless he can follow the thoughts and careers of the less conspicuous agents--the humble missionary or catechist, the native convert or thinker. In acknowledging my obligations to the late Dr. Hocken, I would wish to express my gratitude to the authorities of the Dunedin Museum, where his library is kept; and also to my friend Archdeacon Woodthorpe, who kindly placed at my service the unpublished volume in which Dr. Hocken's researches into the life of Marsden are contained. For permission to consult the Godley correspondence in the Christchurch Museum I have to thank the Board of Governors of Canterbury College; and for the loan of a rare and valuable pamphlet on the death of the Rev. C. S. Volkner I am greatly indebted to Mr. Alexander Turnbull, of Wellington. Archdeacon Fancourt, of the same city, has afforded me generous help in recovering some of the early history of the diocese he has so long served; while, in Auckland, the Rev. J. King Davis--a descendant of the two missionaries whose names he bears--has enabled me to identify the positions of some long forgotten _pas_, and has furnished valuable information on other points. Other correspondents, from the Bay of Islands to Otago, have assisted generously with their local knowledge. Outside of New Zealand I have to acknowledge help from Mrs. Hobhouse, of Wells, and the Ven. Archdeacon Hobhouse, of Birmingham, the widow and son of the first Bishop of Nelson. Many clergy have kindly acceded to my application for photographs of their churches. A fair number of these I have been able to use, and to all the senders I desire to express my thanks. For the view of the ruined church at Tamaki I am indebted to Miss Brookfield, of Auckland, and for the excellent representation of the scene at the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi to Mr. A. F. McDonnell, of Dunedin. In the preparation of the MS. for the press I have been greatly assisted by the Rev. H. East, Vicar of Leithfield. But the greatest help of all remains to be told. To the aged and venerable Bishop Leonard Williams this book owes more than I can estimate. Not only has he furnished me with abundant information from the stores of his own unique and first-hand knowledge, but, on many points, he has engaged in fresh and laborious research. Every chapter has been sent to him as soon as written, and has benefited immensely by his careful and judicial criticism. Without this thorough testing my book would be far more imperfect than it is. It is due, however, to the bishop, as well as to my readers, to state emphatically that he is in no way responsible for the views expressed in this book. There are, in fact, a few points on which we do not quite agree. The intricacies of high policy or of mingled motive will never appeal in exactly the same way to different minds. My aim throughout has been to arrive at the simple truth, and I have often been driven to abandon long-cherished ideas by its imperative demand. In the spelling of Maori names Bishop Williams' authority has always been followed except when a place is looked at from the pakeha or colonial point of view. Then it is spelt in the colonial manner. Readers may be glad to be warned against confusing Turanga (Poverty Bay) with Tauranga in the Bay of Plenty. Similarly, it may be well to call attention to the wide difference between Tamihana Te Waharoa and Tamihana Te Rauparaha. Both were notable men, but their characters were not alike, and they took opposite sides in the great war. The scope of this book has not permitted me to trace the history of the Melanesian Mission, nor to deal with the island dependencies of our Dominion. Even within the limits of New Zealand itself the treatment of the later period may perhaps seem inadequate. But the events of the years 1850-1890 have been already covered to some extent in my book, "Bishop Harper and the Canterbury Settlement," while for the latest stage of all I have the pleasure of appending to this preface a valuable letter from the present Primate, whose high office and long experience enable him to speak with unique authority upon the life of the Church of to-day. H. T. P. Glenmark Vicarage, Canterbury, N.Z., March, 1914. LETTER FROM THE MOST REVEREND THE PRIMATE. Dear Canon Purchas-- In consideration of my long career as a church-worker in New Zealand, you have honoured me with a request to add to your forthcoming volume of the History of the Church here a short account of my impressions as to her life and progress since 1871, and also my ideas as to her prospects and the chief tasks which lie before her. I think the most convenient form in which I could attempt to supply the need would be by addressing a letter to you embracing these topics, which letter, should you esteem it worthy, could be printed with your Preface. In turning, then, to your first question, I have to premise that the life and progress of any institution are very largely affected by attendant circumstances and surroundings for which perhaps the leaders of the institution itself are not responsible. Thus, with reference to our Provincial Church at the period you mention, she was weakened by the loss of not a few of those upon whom she had leaned for counsel and stimulating influence. Bishops Hobhouse and Abraham, Sir William Martin and Mr. Swainson, besides other prominent churchmen, such as Sir George Arney, and others less known, speedily followed their great leader, Bishop Selwyn, to England, or were removed by other causes. Without any surrender to the weakness of a mere _laudator temporis acti_, I look back to the time of my arrival in New Zealand with a feeling that there were giants in the earth in those days. Many whom we have more recently lost were also with us then--men like Messrs. Acland and Hanmer and Maude and Sewell, Col. Haultain, Mr. Hunter-Brown, and, of course, Bishop Hadfield and Dean Jacobs. Many of these were men of marked ability, men who made the synod halls ring with their forcible utterances, men full of knowledge of the Church and love for her, full of self-sacrificing spirit and determination to make her a praise in the faithful guardian of our Church's influence, Primate Harper. The loss of such fathers of the Church has been felt in the interval under review, and could not but affect the life and progress of the Church. It is not for me to say anything of those by whom their places have been filled. Another adverse circumstance which must be called to mind in such a review is the long period of commercial depression which followed a short period of fictitious prosperity and inflated values. Misled by the apparently fair prospect of making money rapidly--of which prospect a shoal of interested persons sprang up to make the most--undertakings were entered upon on borrowed capital and properties were bought at prices which could not be realised upon them perhaps twenty years afterwards. The consequence of all this was a widespread desolation. My diocesan visitations were in those days largely made on horseback, and in a journey of perhaps many hundred miles I had to look upon stations and homesteads at which I had formerly been hospitably received, whether their owners belonged to our communion or not, either closed altogether or left in charge of a shepherd. Many of the proprietors of these sheep stations had been liberal supporters of the Church, and their ruin spelt disaster to the authorities of the nearest clerical charge, if not also the weakness of diocesan institutions. During those long, long years, diocesan management was a weariness indeed, and not the less so because it was so hard to keep up the courage even of our church-workers themselves. I am thankful to say that no organised charge within my own diocese was closed in that period, but it was manifestly impossible to subdivide districts and so to introduce additional clergy. Little else could be thought of than holding on. By these circumstances, then, the life of the Church was affected and her progress hindered. New conditions were developed, and the rulers of the Church had to accept and provide for these new conditions. I am far from saying that the large displacement of the pastoral industry by the agricultural was a misfortune either to the country or the Church: as regards the latter, the large increase of the population upon the land has given the Church more scope for the exercise of her ministerial activities; but for vestries and church committees the work is harder, demanding, as it does, so much closer attention to details. In the old days one man might ride round the eight or ten stations within a district, and by collecting £10 to £20 from each would thus easily raise a large part of the stipend of the clergyman, and at the same time enjoy a pleasant visit to his friends. The collecting from a large number of scattered persons is a different matter, and means many workers and much patience. It is not unnatural, therefore, that this outlying work is avoided, and that the church officials rely too much upon the residents in towns and villages. This is a danger of the present, and needs close attention. A vestry easily becomes content so soon as in one way or another it has got together enough money wherewith to discharge its obligations; but there can be no free and elastic expansion unless the interest of all her members is enlisted by the Church, and each is willing to do his part in the establishment of the kingdom of Christ. I think the progress of the Church of late years has been satisfactory. We have a body of clergy who, in devotion to their work and ability for the performance of it, need not fear comparison with those of other countries, not excluding the average of the English clergy themselves; and I think it high time that that insulting enactment known as the "Colonial Clergy Act" was rescinded. It is an unworthy bar to full inter-communion between areas of the Church which profess to be at one. As to our lay people I can only say that I often stand amazed at the willing and patient sacrifice they make of time and effort in the management of church affairs in synods, on vestries, and committees of every kind for the promotion of her work. As to the future, the great task of the Church is, to my mind, the instruction both of the young clergy and the young laity as to the Divine Commission and real nature of the Church. Since union through the truth is the only method authorised by Holy Scripture, we must teach and teach and teach. That is the task of our divinity schools and of the clergy in preparing their candidates for confirmation: line upon line and precept upon precept, definite and clear instruction should be given so that the future heads of families may know and value their privileges, and the whole population will be impressed by the strength of our convictions. I am afraid I have allowed my pen to run beyond the limits you had in view, but you must do what you think well with this letter, and believe me to remain, Faithfully yours, S. T. DUNEDIN, Primate. Bishopsgrove, January, 1914. The Keystone Printing Co., 552-4 Lonsdale Street, Melb. CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. Slow progress of Christianity towards Antipodes--Moslem barrier-- Effect of the Renaissance--Europeans south of the barrier--Dutch in East Indies--Tasman's discovery of New Zealand--"Three Kings Island"-- Cook's visit--Convict settlement at Port Jackson--Conclusions. FIRST PERIOD. CHAPTER I. THE PREPARATION (1805-1813). The Bay of Islands--Te Pahi--His visit to New South Wales--Meeting with Marsden--Te Pahi's return and death--Ruatara--His arrival in England--Marsden at Home--The Church Missionary Society--Its plans for New Zealand Mission--Hall and King--Marsden meets Ruatara on _Active_ --_Boyd_ massacre--Delay--Ruatara's return to New Zealand--The years of waiting. CHAPTER II. THE ENTERPRISE (1813-1815). Conditions more favourable--Preliminary voyage of _Active_--"Noah's Ark"--Arrival of mission in New Zealand--Interview with Whangaroans-- "Rangihoo"--Landing of Marsden, &c.--Preparation for service-- Christmas Day, 1814--Marsden's narrative--Planting of settlement-- Gathering timber--Ruatara's illness and death--His work. CHAPTER III. THE RECEPTION (1815-1822). Position of settlers--Hall at Waitangi--Communistic experiment-- Difficulty with Kendall--The mission in trouble--Visit of Rev. S. Leigh--Renewed zeal--Second visit of Marsden--Foundation of Kerikeri station--Marsden's third visit--Hongi and Kendall leave for England--Reception by King George IV--Marsden's journeys in New Zealand--Hinaki of Mokoia--Return of Hongi and Kendall--Change in Hongi--Siege of Mokoia--Devastation of Thames district--Miserable plight of missionaries--Closing of seminary at Parramatta. CHAPTER IV. THE NEW BEGINNING (1823-1830). Need of the mission--Arrival of Rev. H. Williams--His character-- Settlement at Paihia--New workers--Difficulties in farming--Richard Davis--Building of the _Herald_--Schools--Flight of Wesleyans from Whangaroa--Death of Hongi--Peace-making--The "Girls' War"-- Conversions--Taiwhanga--Baptisms--Effectiveness of schools-- Evidences of progress. CHAPTER V. THE FORWARD MOVE (1831-1837). Exploration--Expedition to Kaitaia--Station formed--Cape Reinga-- Expedition to Thames--Evening service--Surprising reception--Visit to Te Waharoa--Station at Puriri--Visit to Waikato--Station at Mangapouri --Tauranga--Rotorua--The Rotorua-Thames war--Looting of Ohinemutu station--Flight from Matamata--Mrs. Chapman's bonnet--Withdrawal of missionaries--Ngakuku and Tarore--Marsden's last visit--Progress in the north--Departure of Marsden--Estimate of his work and character. CHAPTER VI. YEARS OF THE RIGHT HAND (1838-1840). Re-occupation of Rotorua and Tauranga--Visit to Opotiki--Station there --Maunsell at Waikato Heads--Visit of Bishop Broughton--Influenza-- Octavius Hadfield--The east coast--Taumatakura--W. Williams moves to Poverty Bay--Ripahau at Cook Strait--Rauparaha--Tamihana learns from Ripahau--Tamihana and Te Whiwhi come to Bay of Islands--Hadfield offers to return with them--H. Williams and Hadfield visit Port Nicholson--Kapiti--Work of Ripahau--Peace-making--Williams at Whanganui--Ascends the river--Village bells--March to Taupo--Tauranga --Wairarapa--The instructions of Karepa. CHAPTER VII. RETROSPECT (1814-1841). Arrival of Hobson--Treaty of Waitangi--Opposition of New Zealand Company--The work of the missionaries--Absence of authority--Kendall the Gnostic--The new workers--Bible translation--Simplicity in worship --And in life--Buying of land--Motives tested by selection of Auckland --Darwin's verdict--Missionaries and Methodists--Friendly relations-- Disagreement on West Coast--Arrival of Roman mission--Hardships-- Koinaki's taua--Causes of rapid spread of Christianity among Maoris-- Gifts of civilisation--Religiousness of Maori nature--Letters of converts--The old heart--Marvellous memory--Hopes for the future. SECOND PERIOD. CHAPTER VIII. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE NEW ORDER (1839-1842). Arrival of immigrants--Principles of the New Zealand Company-- Opposition of the C.M.S.--Henry Williams and the Wellington settlers-- Arrival of Bishop Selwyn--His ideals--His choice of Waimate--Condition of the country--Bishop's first tour--Nelson--Wellington--Whanganui-- New Plymouth--Journey across the island--Waiapu--Bay of Plenty-- Waikato--Return to Waimate. CHAPTER IX. ADJUSTMENT (1843-1844). Bishop Selwyn's ecclesiastical position--Religious divisions-- Formation of St. John's College--Death of Whytehead--Communism in practice--A lesson to the world--Ordinations--Bishop's second tour-- White Terraces--Whanganui River--Wairau tragedy--Hadfield and Wiremu Kingi save Wellington--Tamihana Te Rauparaha--His mission to the south --Bishop's visit to Canterbury--Otago--Stewart Island--Akaroa--Return to Waimate--Difference with C.M.S.--Bonds of fellowship--Ordinations-- Synod--Bishop leaves Waimate. CHAPTER X. CONFLICT AND TROUBLE (1845-1850). Settlement in Auckland--College founded at Tamaki--Continued disagreement with C.M.S.--Heke's rebellion--His tactics--Burning of Kororareka--Charge against Henry Williams--Ohaeawai--Governor Grey-- The Bats' Nest--"Blood and Treasure Despatch"--"Substantiation or Retractation"--Bishop joins Governor--His motives--Dismissal of Henry Williams by C.M.S.--Removal to Pakaraka--Subsequent history of Bay of Islands. CHAPTER XI. SACRIFICE AND HEALING (1850-1856). Selwyn visits Chatham Islands--Melanesia--Progress at Otaki and Wanganui--Troubles--Epidemic at St. John's--Failure of communistic system--Lutherans at Chatham Island--Porirua--Effect of H. Williams' dismissal--Journey of W. Williams to England--Improvement of relations between bishop and missionaries--Arrival of Rev. C. J. Abraham--Of Canterbury colonists--Ideals of Canterbury Association--Godley captured by Selwyn--Disagreement between them and the Association-- Bishop wins affections of colonists--Break-up of Maori side of St. John's College--Visit of Bishop to England--Concordat between him and the C.M.S.--Return to New Zealand--Election of Rev. H. J. C. Harper to Christchurch--Arrival and installation of Bishop Harper. CHAPTER XII. ORGANISATION AND PROGRESS (1850-1859). Difficulty of creating ecclesiastical government in the colonies-- Governor Grey drafts constitution--Its favourable reception--Discussed by Australian bishops--The Royal Supremacy--Godley's advocacy of freedom--Meetings to discuss constitution--C.M.S. opposition disarmed --"Voluntary compact"--Taurarua Conference--Struggle over ecclesiastical franchise--Promulgation of Constitution--Legal recognition--The new bishoprics--Wellington, Nelson, Waiapu-- Completion of organisation of Church. CHAPTER XIII. TROUBLE AND ANGUISH (1859-62). Sudden darkness--Working of constitution--Paucity of Maori clergy-- Inadequacy of mission Staff--Tamihana Te Waharoa--His ideals--The king movement--Suspicion of its loyalty--Governor Gore-Browne precipitates war in Taranaki--Sympathy of "king" natives--Growth of king movement-- Good order of its rule--Defeat of Taranaki natives--Truce--Attempt at justice to Maoris--General Synod at Nelson--Discontent of Canterbury churchmen. CHAPTER XIV. RUIN AND DESOLATION (1862-1868). Position in 1862--Meeting at Peria--Position of Waikato Maoris--Grey brings on another war--Rangiaohia--Defeat of "king" forces--Henare Taratoa--His rules--Heroic action--Death--Devastation by British forces--Hauhauism--Wiremu Hipango--Hauhaus at Opotiki--Murder of Rev. C. S. Volkner--A night of horror--The trial--Bishop Patteson's memorial sermon--Selwyn starts to the rescue of Rev. T. Grace-- Critical situation of Bishop Williams--Rescue of Grace--Removal of Bishop Williams--The third General Synod--Death of Tamihana--And of Henry Williams--Journey of Bishop Selwyn to England--Offer of Lichfield bishopric--Refusal--Acceptance--Tribute to his character and work. THIRD PERIOD. CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE WAR. THE MAORIS. Changes produced by war and immigration--Separateness of Maori and pakeha--Maoris and Sir George Grey--Siege of Waerenga-a-hika-- S. Williams at Te Aute--Return of Bishop Williams--Reconstitution of diocese of Waiapu--Te Kooti at Chatham Island--His prayers--Poverty Bay massacre--Ringa-tu--Depressed state of Maori Christianity--Present condition of Maoris. CHAPTER XVI. AFTER THE WAR. THE COLONISTS (1868-1878). Troubles in the colonial Church--Dunedin--Nomination of the Rev. H. L. Jenner--Opposition to his appointment--His rejection by General Synod --And by the Synod of Dunedin--Illness of Bishop Patteson--His last voyage--His death--Weakness in the dioceses--Education Act of 1877-- Episcopal changes. CHAPTER XVII. THE CHURCH OF TO-DAY (1878-1914). The Blue Gum period--The Pine period--The Macrocarpa period--Recovery --New churches--Bishop Harper's resignation--Disputed election--Bishop Hadfield, primate--Labour movement--Retirement of bishops--Fresh episcopal appointments--The General Mission of 1910. CHAPTER XVIII. THE CHURCH AT WORK. Doctrine and discipline--Worship--Hymns--Clergy--Theological colleges --Parish priests of the past--Church buildings--ADMINISTRATION--Legal position of priests and people--The General Synod--Patronage--Finance --EDUCATION--Grammar schools--Primary education--Bible-in-schools movement--Sunday-schools--CHARITABLE RELIEF--MISSIONARY EFFORTS--Maori Mission--Melanesian Mission--the Church Missionary Association-- Conclusion. MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. Portrait of Samuel Marsden Frontispiece 2. Map of North Island, showing Missionary Routes Facing page 16 3. View of Paihia " " 32 4. Henry Williams at the Treaty of Waitangi " " 48 5. Portrait of Bishop Selwyn " " 64 6. Ruins of St. Thomas', Tamaki " " 80 7. Old Church at Russell " " 88 8. Nelson Cathedral " " 96 9. A Village Church, Stoke, near Nelson " " 112 10. St. Matthew's Church, Auckland " " 128 11. St. Matthew's Church, Dunedin " " 144 12. Canterbury Churches " " 160 13. Map of the Bay of Islands " " 168 14. St. John's Cathedral, Napier " " 176 15. All Saints' Church, Palmerston North " " 192 16. St. John's, Invercargill " " 200 17. St. Luke's, Oamaru " " 208 18. Wanganui School Chapel " " 224 19. Baptistery of St. Matthew's, Auckland " " 232 20. New Zealand Bishops " " 240 INTRODUCTION. Beginning from Jerusalem. --_Acts._ A commercial message of trifling import may now be flashed in a few minutes from Jerusalem to the Antipodes: the message of Christ's love took nearly eighteen centuries to make the journey. For a time, indeed, the advance was direct and swift, for before the third century after Christ a Church had established itself in South India. But there the missionary impulse failed. Had the first rate of progress been maintained, the message would have reached our shores a whole millennium before it actually arrived. But what would have been then its form and content? Had it made its way from island to island, passing through the minds of Malay, Papuan, or Melanesian on its passage, how much of its original purity would have been preserved? And who would have been here to receive it? Possibly, only the moa and the apteryx. Who knows? These considerations enable us to look with less regret upon the check which the Christian message received after its first rapid advance. The rise of Mohammedanism in the sixth century drove the faith of Christ from Asia and from Africa, but it kept it "white." It threw a barrier across the old road which led from Jerusalem to the Antipodes, but the barrier enabled preparation to be made on either side for a grander and more fruitful intercourse. On the south of the Islamic empire the migrations of the peoples brought to our islands the Maori race, who made them their permanent home. On the north, the Christian faith took firm hold of the maritime nations of Europe, from whom the missionaries of the future were to spring. The capture of Constantinople by the Turks in 1452 may be taken as the turning point. It closed more firmly than ever the land-route to the south, but the libraries of this great city, in which was preserved nearly all that remained of ancient learning, were scattered by the captors, and their contents carried far and wide. New Testament manuscripts awakened fresh study in the western world, and led to a cleansing and quickening of religion; narratives of old Greek explorers made men impatient of the barrier which blocked them from the lands which the ancients had known, and thus drove them to seek new routes by sea. Marvellous was the energy which now awoke. By 1492 Columbus had crossed the Atlantic, and Vasco da Gama, having rounded the African continent, had reached India by an ocean road which had nothing to fear from the Mussulman power. Two routes, in fact, had now been opened, for not only did the Portuguese follow up da Gama's discoveries in the Indian Ocean, but the Spaniards from the American side soon entered the Pacific. But neither of these nations quite reached our distant islands. Their ships were swept from the sea in the seventeenth century by the Dutch, whose eastern capital was Batavia. From this port there started in 1642 a small expedition of two ships under the command of Abel Tasman. Heading his journal with the words, "May the Almighty God give His blessing to this voyage," the courageous Hollander went forth, and, sailing round the Australian continent, struck boldly across the sea which now bears his name. On December 16th the mountainous coast of our South Island rose before him, and what we may now call New Zealand was seen by European eyes. The ferocity of the inhabitants prevented the explorer from landing on its shores, but his expedition spent some weeks along the coast. His austere Calvinism prevented Tasman from observing in any special manner the festival of Christmas, but as a Rhinelander he could not forget the "Three Kings of Cologne," whom legend had associated with the Magi of the Gospels. On Twelfth Night his ships were abreast of the small island which lies at the extreme north of the country, and "this island," wrote Tasman, "we named Drie Koningen Eyland (i.e., Three Kings Island), on account of this being the day of Epiphany." Here then, at last, was a spot of New Zealand soil to which a name was attached which told of something Christian. The name stood alone as yet, but it contained a promise of the time when the Gentile tribes should come to Christ's light, and their kings to the brightness of His rising. For nearly a century and a half the startled Maoris treasured the memory of the white-winged ships of the Hollander, before they saw any others like them. At length, in 1769, there appeared the expedition of Captain Cook. England had now wrested from the Dutch the sovereignty of the seas, and Cook was looking for the "New Zealand" which appeared on the Dutch maps, but which no living European had ever seen. More tactful and more fortunate than his forerunner, Cook was able to open a communication with the islanders and to conciliate their good-will. Not yet, however, was England prepared to follow up the lead thus given. Not until her defeat by the American colonists, which closed the "New World" against her convicts, did Britain's statesmen bethink them of the still newer world which had been made known by the explorer. In 1787 an expedition went forth from England--not indeed to New Zealand, but--to South-east Australia, where a penal colony was established at Port Jackson. A strange and repulsive spectacle the enterprise presented, yet these convict ships were the instruments for carrying on the message which had been sent out from Jerusalem by apostolic bearers. "Did God send an army of pious Christians to prepare His way in the wilderness?" asked Samuel Marsden, the second chaplain of this colony. "Did He establish a colony in New South Wales for the advancement of His glory and the salvation of the heathen nations in those distant parts of the globe by men of character and principle? On the contrary, He takes men from the dregs of society, the sweepings of gaols, hulks, and prisons. Men who had forfeited their lives to the laws of their country, He gives them their lives for a prey, and sends them forth to make a way for His chosen, for them that should bring glad tidings of good things. How unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out!" Advance and retreat; check and recovery; failure of methods which seemed direct and divine; compensating success through agencies that looked hostile; the winds of the Spirit blowing where they list--none able to tell beforehand whence they are coming or whither they will go: such are the outstanding features of the long journey of the Christian faith across the globe; such will be found to mark its history when established in this land. First Period. CHAPTER I. THE PREPARATION. (1805-1813). Every noble work is at first "impossible." In very truth: for every noble work the possibilities will lie diffused through immensity, inarticulate, undiscoverable except to faith. --_Carlyle._ For the seed-plot of Christianity and of civilisation in New Zealand we must look away from the present centres of population to the beautiful harbours which cluster round the extreme north of the country. Chief among these stands the Bay of Islands. This noble sheet of water, with its hundred islands, its far-reaching inlets, its wooded coves and sheltered beaches, was for more than a quarter of a century the focus of whatever intellectual or spiritual light New Zealand enjoyed. Here the Gospel of Christ was first proclaimed, and the first Mission stations were established. Here were founded the first schools, the first printing press, the first theological college, the first library. Here the first bishop fixed his headquarters, and here he convened the first synod. Here was signed the Treaty of Waitangi, by which the islands passed under British rule, and here was the temporary capital of the first governor. Here, too, was the theatre of the first war between Maoris and white men; here stood the flagstaff which Heke cut down; from these hills on the west the missionaries beheld the burning of Kororareka, whose smoke went up "like the smoke of a furnace." At the opening of the nineteenth century this important locality was occupied by the warlike and enterprising tribe of the Ngapuhi. The soil was generally infertile, but the waters teemed with fish, while the high clay cliffs and the narrow promontories lent themselves readily to the Maori system of fortification. The safe anchorage which the Bay afforded early drew to it the whaling ships of Europe, especially as the harbour was accessible from the ocean in all weathers. The Ngapuhi eagerly welcomed these new comers, and prepared to take full advantage of whatever benefits the outside world might offer. Among the various _hapus_ of this tribe stands out pre-eminent that which owed allegiance to the chief Te Pahi. This warrior had fortified an island close to Te Puna on the north side of the bay. In readiness to receive new ideas, and in the power to assimilate them, he and his kinsmen, Ruatara and Hongi, were striking examples of the height to which the Maori race could attain. Hardly had the century dawned which was to bring New Zealand within the circle of the Christian world, when word came to Te Pahi of the wonders to be seen at Norfolk Island, and of the friendly nature of its governor, Captain King. To test for himself the truth of these tidings, the chief, with his four sons, set forth (about 1803) across the sea to the great convict station. The friendly governor had left the island, but Te Pahi followed him on to New South Wales, little thinking of the mighty consequences which would result from his journey. Everyone at Port Jackson was struck with the handsome presence and dignified manners of the New Zealander. He was received by the governor into his house at Parramatta; he went regularly to church, where he behaved "with great decorum;" and loved nothing so much as to talk to the chaplain about the white man's God. His enquiries met with ready sympathy, for the chaplain was no other than the Reverend Samuel Marsden. This remarkable man had hitherto found little to encourage him in his labours, but his light shone all the more brightly from its contrast with the surrounding darkness. Selected while still a student at Cambridge, by no less a person than the philanthropist Wilberforce, for this difficult position, Marsden had brought to his work a heart full of evangelical fervour, a strong Yorkshire brain, and "the clearest head in Australia." During the eleven years which had passed since his arrival, he had been fighting a courageous fight against vice in high places and in low, but nothing had daunted his spirit nor soured his temper. His large heart had a place for all classes and for all races. When he met Te Pahi his sympathies were at once excited. Like Gregory in the marketplace at Rome, he had found a people who must be brought into the fold of Christ. Years were indeed to pass before active steps could be taken, but the new-born project never died within him. Amidst all the difficulties of his lot the thought of the New Zealanders was ever in his mind, and their evangelisation the constant subject of his prayers. Many years afterwards, on one of his journeys through their country, Marsden remarked to those about him, "Te Pahi just planted the acorn, but died before the sturdy oak appeared above the surface of the ground." What this Maori pioneer had done may seem little enough, but that little cost him his life. The presents which he carried home, and the house built for him by Governor King upon his island, excited the envy of his neighbours, who eventually found a way to compass his destruction by means of the Europeans themselves. Te Pahi happened to be at Whangaroa when the _Boyd_ was captured in 1809, and he did his best to save some of the crew from the terrible slaughter that followed. But his presence at the scene was enough to give a handle to his enemies. They accused him to the whalers of participation in the outrage, and these stormed the island _pa_ by night and slaughtered the unsuspecting inhabitants. Te Pahi himself escaped with a wound, but he was soon afterwards killed by the real authors of the _Boyd_ massacre for his known sympathy with the Europeans. It is a piteous story, and one that reflects only too faithfully the temper of the times. Hardly less piteous is the history of his young kinsman, Ruatara, the inheritor of his influence over the tribe. This notable man, while still young, determined that he too would see the world, and in the year 1805 engaged himself as a common sailor on board a whaling vessel. The roving life suited his adventurous temperament, and in spite of many hardships and much foul play he served in one ship after another. His duties carried him more than once to Port Jackson, where he, too, met Samuel Marsden and talked about the projected mission to his race. After many vicissitudes he at length nearly attained the object of his desire, for his ship reached the Thames and cast anchor below London Bridge. Now he would see the king, and would learn the secret of England's power. But the London of those days was a cruel place. There were no kindly chaplains, no sailors' institutes nor waterside missions for the care of those who thronged its waterways. There was little care for the poor anywhere, and little religion among employers or employed. The close of the eighteenth century was indeed the low-water mark of English religion and morality. But by 1809--the year of Ruatara's arrival--an improvement had begun. What is known as the Evangelical movement was changing the tone of life and thought. The excesses of the French Revolution had led to a reaction among the upper classes and made them think more seriously. This revival did not at once lead to much thought for the poor at home; it reached out rather towards the heathen abroad. The "Romantic" school was in the ascendant, and a black skin under a palm-tree formed a picture which appealed to the awakened conscience. Much of the fervour of the time had its being outside the historic Church of England, but in the last year of the old century a few earnest clergy and laity--without much encouragement from the bishops or others in high places--had formed what was afterwards known as "The Church Missionary Society." This Society had the New Zealanders under its consideration at the very time when Ruatara was being starved and beaten in the docks of London itself. What had drawn its attention to a place so distant? It was the presence of Marsden in England. He had come thither in 1807 on business of grave and various import. The Government of the day had recognised the value of his practical knowledge, and had sought his advice on many matters concerning the welfare of Australia. But he did not forget New Zealand, and it was to the young Church Missionary Society that he betook himself. So great, in fact, and so various were the plans which Marsden entertained for the welfare of the many races in which he was interested, that the grandiloquent words of his biographer seem not too strong: "As the obscure chaplain from Botany Bay paced the Strand, from the Colonial Office at Whitehall to the chambers in the city where a few pious men were laying plans for Christian missions in the southern hemisphere, he was in fact charged with projects upon which not only the civilisation, but the eternal welfare, of future nations were suspended." Marsden's proposals were the outcome of his own original mind. He appealed for a mission to the Maoris, but he wished it to be an industrial mission. He proposed that artisans should be sent out who should prepare the way for ordained clergy. A carpenter, a smith, and a twine-spinner should form the missionary staff. They must be men of sound piety and lively interest in the spiritual welfare of the heathen; but their religious lessons should be given whilst they were instructing the Maoris in the building of a house, the forging of a bolt, or the spinning of their native flax. Such a scheme was only half relished by the Committee of the Society. These excellent men had hardly yet realised that the dark-skinned savage was a real human being. They had begun by picturing the whole population of a heathen island as rushing gladly to meet the missionary, receiving his message with unquestioning belief, and crying out in an agony of terror, "What must we do to be saved?" Now that apparent failure had met their efforts in different parts of the world, they were inclined to go to the opposite extreme and to despair of the heathen ever accepting Christianity at all. Marsden's unromantic proposals jarred upon their old ideas, but in their perplexity they could not help feeling that at least here was a man who had had experience of real, not of imaginary, heathen; a man who did not despair, and who had a definite and carefully prepared plan. Gradually they yielded to his influence, and, especially as clerical missionaries were not to be found, they agreed to seek for the artisans. Even these were hard enough to find. There were as yet no colleges for the training of young aspirants; outside the newly-formed societies there was little interest in the welfare of heathen people; the best that could be done was to seek for men who had the love of God and men in their hearts, and should seem to possess the qualities of patience, perseverance, and tact. Through the good offices of friendly clergy two young men were found. From distant Carlisle came the carpenter, William Hall; the Midlands supplied a shoemaker, John King. These were given further technical training--Hall in shipbuilding, King in rope-making. By the month of August, 1809, they were ready for their enterprise. Their earthly prospects were not tempting. They were to receive £20 each per annum until they should be able to grow corn enough for their own support. To meet this and all other expenses the Committee advanced Marsden the sum of £100. With this small sum and his two plain and poorly paid mechanics, this undaunted man started out from his native land to undertake the evangelisation of a country as large as England itself. But a mightier coadjutor was at hand. Many prayers were offered as the _Ann_ was about to sail, and it must surely have been in answer to these that, when the vessel with her freight of convicts had already reached Gravesend, there appeared a boat in which were a half-naked Maori together with a seafaring Englishman. These were Ruatara and his employer who had robbed him of his wages and had now no further use for him. "Will you take him back to Australia?" said the heartless master. "Not unless you find him some clothes," said the captain of the _Ann_. The clothes were procured, and the Maori was allowed to go below. There he lay sick in body and mind. He had tried to play the part of the Russian Peter, but he was bringing back nothing for the benefit of his country. What was left but to die? When the ship reached Portsmouth, Marsden came on board, and on August 25th she finally started on her six months' voyage. Not for some days did the chaplain know of the Maori's presence, but, as the ship entered warmer latitudes, Marsden observed on the forecastle among the sailors a man whose dark skin and forlorn condition appealed strongly to his sympathy. Ruatara was wrapped in an old great coat, racked with a violent cough, and was bleeding from the lungs. Though young, he seemed to have but a few days to live. Marsden at once went to him and found in the miserable stranger the nephew of his old acquaintance Te Pahi. Kindness and attention soon had their effect; the health of the invalid rapidly improved; the remembrance of past injuries melted away before the sunshine of Christian love; and, before the ship reached Australia, Ruatara was once again a man, and now almost a Christian. This meeting was momentous in its results. "Mr. Marsden and Ruatara," as Carleton says, "were each necessary to the other; each furnished means without which the labour of his associate must have been thrown away. But for the determined support which Ruatara as a high chief was able to afford, Marsden could never have gained a footing in the land; and without the sustained labour of the civilised European, the work of the Maori innovator, too much in advance of its time, would have withered like Jonah's gourd, and have come to an end with the premature decease of Ruatara." For a few days after the arrival of the _Ann_ at Port Jackson, it seemed as though Marsden's project were going to be helped by another unexpected agency. The Sydney merchants had resolved to form a trading settlement in New Zealand; the settlers were chosen, and the ship was ready to sail. But at the last moment news came from the land of their destination of an event already referred to--news which for many a long day checked every thought of adventure thither, and had the effect of throwing New Zealand back into its old position of isolation and aloofness. The ship _Boyd_, which had sailed from Sydney not many months previously, had been surprised by the Maoris in the harbour of Whangaroa, and with four exceptions all its white crew, to the number of about 70 persons, had been killed and cooked and eaten. The report of this awful tragedy--the most horrible that has ever been enacted on our shores, at least with white folk for the victims--threw the people of New South Wales into a fever heat of indignation. This condition was further intensified when the intelligence arrived that among the murderers had been seen the "worthy and respectable" Te Pahi, who had been an honoured guest at the Governor's table. No Maori dared now to be seen in the streets of Sydney, and it required all Marsden's influence to protect Ruatara, who was known to be Te Pahi's relative. His protector kept him for six months quietly working with a few other Maoris on his farm at Parramatta, and the expedition to New Zealand was for the time abandoned. This sudden interruption of his favourite project was a severe trial to Marsden's hopeful temperament. But he never lost heart. "We have not heard the natives' side of the case," he said. As for Te Pahi, he refused, and rightly refused, to believe in his guilt. When the passion for vengeance had somewhat calmed, he found opportunity to ship Ruatara and some other Maoris on board a whaling craft which was on her way to fish on the New Zealand shores, and he gave them seed wheat and agricultural tools. Even now Ruatara's adventures were not ended. In the following year he was again at Port Jackson with another tale of woe. He had never reached his home, though he had actually been within sight of it. Instead of being allowed to land there, he had been carried away by the unprincipled captain, robbed again of his wages, and then marooned on Norfolk Island. Again he found a friend in Marsden. Once more he was despatched to the Bay of Islands with wheat and hoes and spades. This time he arrived safely, and Marsden had the satisfaction of feeling that however long the time of waiting might still be, there was a quiet but effective influence at work in New Zealand on behalf of himself and of the message which he still hoped to proclaim. At any time, in fact, during those years of suspense, Marsden was willing to venture forth among the cannibals, but he was forbidden by Governor Macquarie. That all-powerful functionary was determined that such a valuable life should not be thrown away on what appeared to be a quixotic scheme. But the chaplain was not to be altogether balked. He received into his parsonage whatever Maoris of good standing he could find; showed them the varied activities of his model farm; and explained to them the principles of the laws which he was called to administer from the magisterial bench. In this way several young chiefs acquired a knowledge of the elements of civilisation, and were disposed to welcome Christianity. But it was not only upon his Maori visitors that Marsden's influence was at work. The two artisans whom he kept near himself must have learned during these years that absolute loyalty upon which so much was to depend thereafter. They laboured diligently at their trades, and each was soon earning as much as £400 a year; but the zeal and unselfishness of the chaplain kept them true to their original purpose, and prevented them from yielding to the fascinations of Mammon. Thus the years passed--not uselessly nor unhopefully. One bit of intelligence seemed like an augury of good for the future: Ruatara's wheat had been sown and was growing well! [Illustration: THE NORTH ISLAND OF NEW ZEALAND.] CHAPTER II. THE ENTERPRISE. (1813-1815). Was it not great? Did not he throw on God (He loves the burthen) God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? --_R. Browning._ The fourth year of waiting brought signs of approaching change. The Society at home, encouraged by Marsden's hopeful letters, sent out another catechist, Thomas Kendall. They were less sure of him than of King and Hall, but he pleaded earnestly to be sent, and, being a schoolmaster, he was a man of more education than the two others. During the last days of the year 1813, Marsden organised an influential meeting in Sydney, and succeeded in carrying fifteen resolutions in favour of a forward movement. Armed with these he again approached the Governor, who reluctantly consented to allow the missionaries to make a trial visit to New Zealand if a captain could be found sufficiently courageous to take them. The shipping problem was indeed a great difficulty, but Marsden at last overcame it by buying a vessel with money which he raised on the security of his farm. The _Active_ was a brig of 110 tons, and claims the honour of being the first missionary craft of modern times. Hall and Kendall were the men chosen for the preliminary visit. They were instructed to open up communication with Ruatara, and, if possible, to bring him back with them to Sydney. With good supply of articles for trade and for presents they set sail on the 4th of March, and arrived safely at the Bay of Islands. Here they were welcomed by the faithful Ruatara, to whom they presented a small hand-mill as a gift from his friend at Parramatta. This machine played its part in preparing the way for the mission. Ruatara's wheat had long been harvested, but his neighbours were still sceptical as to the possibility of converting it into bread. While this doubt remained, Ruatara's words carried little weight. In vain did the poor Maori try one expedient after another; in vain did he send appeals to Marsden. His own efforts always failed; his benefactor's gifts never reached him. But now the situation was changed. The mill was at once charged with New Zealand grown wheat; eager eyes watched the mealy stream issuing from beneath; a cake was quickly made and cooked; and all incredulity was at an end. Several chiefs volunteered to accompany Ruatara to Sydney, and the _Active_ reached that port on August 22nd, after a thoroughly successful voyage. The Governor could no longer withhold his consent to the enterprise, and Marsden was granted leave of absence for four months from his duties at Parramatta. Before starting for New Zealand he spent three busy months in preparation. The mission was to take the form of a "settlement," and the missionaries were to be "settlers" as well as catechists. The _Active_ was loaded with all that was necessary for this object, and in the words of Mr. Nicholas, who accompanied the expedition as a friend, it "bore a perfect resemblance to Noah's Ark." The resemblance was indeed a close one. The vessel carried horses and cattle, sheep and pigs, goats and poultry; Maori chiefs and convict servants; the three missionaries with their wives and children; while the place of the patriarch was filled by Samuel Marsden himself, who, like Noah, had been "warned of God of things not seen as yet," had laboured on amidst the incredulity of his neighbours, and now bore with him the seeds of a new world. Stormy weather delayed the progress of the brig and brought much misery to those on board. Three weeks passed before the New Zealand coast was sighted, but Saturday, December 17th, brought the travellers opposite to Tasman's "Three Kings," and on the following Tuesday they were off the harbour of Whangaroa, where the remains of the _Boyd_ still lay. The brig did not enter this dreaded haven, but, seeing an armed force on the coast to the south, Marsden resolved to land and to attempt to conciliate these hostile people. Ruatara and Hongi acted as intermediaries, and friendly relations were soon established between the missionaries and the cannibals. Marsden and his companion even spent the night with the savages, sleeping among them without fear under the starlit sky. Two days later the expedition reached its destination, and the _Active_ cast anchor off the Bay of Rangihoua. From her deck the mission families could now gaze upon the scene of their future home. The bracken and manuka with which the farther slopes were clad might remind them of the fern and heather of old England, but their gaze would be chiefly attracted to an isolated hill of no great height which rose steeply from the sea on the left side of the little bay. To this hill had come the remnant of Te Pahi's people after the slaughter on the island, and it was now crowned with a strongly fortified _pa_. Ruatara's residence was on the highest point; around it were crowded about fifty other dwellings; outside the mighty palisade neat plantations of potatoes and kumaras seemed to hang down the steep declivity; an outer rampart encircled the whole. At sight of the vessel the inhabitants rushed down to the beach with cries of welcome, and greeted Marsden, on his landing, with affectionate regard. He seemed to be no stranger among them, for his name and his fame were familiar to all. The horses and cows caused a temporary panic among people who had never seen animals so large before, but fear soon gave way to admiration and a general sense of excited expectancy. Ruatara's home-coming was not free from pain to himself. Misconduct had occurred in his household during his absence, and the next morning was occupied with a trial for adultery. The case was referred to Marsden, who advised the application of the lash to the male offender. Thirty strokes were given, and the honour of the chief was vindicated. Next morning (Saturday) he treated his guests to a scene of mimic warfare. Led by himself and Korokoro, four hundred warriors in all the pomp of paint and feathers rehearsed the details of a naval engagement. The brandished spears and blood-curdling yells brought forcibly to the imagination of the white men the perils which might be in store for them, but as the day wore on the arts of war were succeeded by preparations for the preaching of the Gospel of peace. Ruatara caused about half an acre of land by the Oihi beach to be fenced in; within this area he improvised some rough seats with planks and an upturned boat; in a convenient spot he erected a reading desk and pulpit which he draped with black native cloth, and with white duck which he had brought from Sydney; on the top of the hill he reared a flagstaff; and thus prepared his church for the coming festival. The account of that Christmas Day of 1814 must be given in Marsden's own words, which have already attained a classical celebrity: "On Sunday morning when I was upon deck, I saw the English flag flying, which was a pleasing sight in New Zealand. I considered it as the signal and the dawn of civilisation, liberty, and religion in a benighted land. I never viewed the British colours with more gratification, and flattered myself they would never be removed till the natives of that island enjoyed all the happiness of British subjects. "About ten o'clock we prepared to go ashore, to publish for the first time the glad tidings of the Gospel. I was under no apprehensions for the safety of the vessel, and therefore ordered all on board to go on shore to attend divine service, except the master and one man. When we landed we found Korokoro, Ruatara, and Hongi dressed in regimentals which Governor Macquarie had given them, with their men drawn up ready to be marched into the enclosure to attend divine service. They had swords by their sides, and switches in their hands. We entered the enclosure, and were placed on the seats on each side of the pulpit. Korokoro marched his men and placed them on my right hand, in the rear of the Europeans; and Ruatara placed his men on the left. The inhabitants of the town, with the women and children and a number of other chiefs, formed a circle round the whole. A very solemn silence prevailed: the sight was truly impressive. I rose up and began the service with singing the Old Hundredth Psalm, and felt my very soul melt within me when I viewed my congregation and considered the state they were in. After reading the service, during which the natives stood up and sat down at the signals given by Korokoro's switch, which was regulated by the movements of the Europeans, it being Christmas Day, I preached from the second chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, and tenth verse, 'Behold, I bring you glad tidings of great joy,' etc. The natives told Ruatara that they could not understand what I meant. He replied that they were not to mind that now, for they would understand by and by, and that he would explain my meaning as far as he could. When I had done preaching, he informed them what I had been talking about. Ruatara was very much pleased that he had been able to make all necessary preparations for the performance of divine worship in so short a time, and we felt much obliged to him for his attention. He was extremely anxious to convince us that he would do everything in his power, and that the good of his country was his principal consideration. In this manner the Gospel has been introduced into New Zealand, and I fervently pray that the glory of it may never depart from its inhabitants till time shall be no more." For the moment it seemed as though Marsden's congregation had not been very deeply impressed. Three or four hundred natives (says Nicholas) began a furious war-dance, apparently to express gratitude and appreciation. With conflicting feelings the missionaries at length withdrew to their ship, and there, in the evening, Marsden "administered the Holy Sacrament in remembrance of our Saviour's birth and what He had done and suffered for us." What would be the reflections of this far-sighted man as he lay in his berth that summer night? Fresh from the scene of the _Boyd_ tragedy, and in the very presence of Te Pahi's desolated citadel, he had ventured to take up the angels' song of peace on earth, goodwill to men. He might perhaps have drawn some hope from the peace which the world at large was then enjoying after years of desperate strife. Napoleon was a prisoner in Elba, and the dogs of war were chained. But a few more months would bring another outburst and the awful carnage of Waterloo. So would it be in New Zealand also, and its Napoleon was a small quiet man who stood listening thoughtfully on that Christmas Day to Marsden's message of peace. The planting of the settlement occupied the next fortnight. By the second Sunday in the new year a large building was sufficiently advanced to serve as a church. In a few days more this was divided into separate apartments for the residence of the mission families. Marsden was now at liberty to think of certain subordinate objects of his visit--exploration and trade. In obedience to the Governor's instructions, he took his brig on an exploring tour down the Hauraki Gulf. On his return he had the vessel loaded with timber and flax for conveyance to New South Wales. The expedition had, of course, been an expensive matter, and it must be remembered that he had strained his own private resources to provide means for its equipment. He had all along looked to recoup himself for some of his outlay by a trade in logs and spars. By the middle of February the vessel had received her cargo, the missionaries were settling down in their new home, and his leave of absence was nearing its expiration. But before he set sail two duties claimed his attention. A child had been born to Mr. and Mrs. King, and Marsden determined to make the first administration of Holy Baptism in this heathen land as impressive as possible. The infant was brought out into the open air. Many of the Maoris as well as the white folk stood around while the little one was solemnly admitted into the congregation of Christ's flock. The other duty was less pleasant, and called for all the missionary's skill and resource. Poor Ruatara had fallen ill in the hour of his triumph--a victim, it would seem, to his admiration for the white man's ways. At the service on Sunday, February 12th, he had been present in European clothes, which had set off to advantage his manly form and European-like features. The day was rainy, and probably he had gone home in his wet clothes and thus contracted pneumonia. On the next day he was suffering from a chill and fever which defied the kindly attentions of Nicholas, who visited him daily until the _tohunga_ forbad his admission. When Marsden returned from his trading enterprise he could only force an entrance by threatening to bombard the town with the ship's guns. The invalid seemed grateful for his visit and rallied for a little time, but as soon as Marsden sailed for Australia he grew rapidly worse. On the third day he was carried from his home and deposited on the top of a bare hill to await his end. Ruatara has been often compared with the Russian Peter, and like him he had purposed to build a new town in which he could carry out the ideas he had gained abroad. It was to the site of this projected metropolis that he was now borne, and it was there that, after death, his body was laid on a stage erected for the purpose. To complete the tragedy the same stage received the remains of his favourite wife, who hung herself out of grief at her loss. In spite of this noble Maori's enlightened efforts for the civilisation of his countrymen, his mind seems to have been not wholly without misgiving as to the possible consequences of his policy. He could not altogether throw off the suggestions of the reactionary party, that the coming of the white man would eventually lead to the slavery and dispossession of the Maori. Could he look down from his lofty eminence now that a century has passed, what would be his thoughts? He would see his countrymen still residing on their own lands, their children carefully taught, their houses fitted with mechanical appliances which would have surprised even Marsden himself. But, on the other hand, the crowded _pas_ and the vigorous life have passed away. Instead of the long canoe with its stalwart tatooed rowers, he would see perhaps a small motor-boat with one half-caste engineer. As for his "town of Rangihoo," he would see no trace of its existence. Maori dwellings, mission-station--all are gone. Nothing now remains to show that man has ever occupied the spot, save the rose-covered graves of one or two of the original "settlers," and the lofty stone cross which marks the place where Christ was first preached on New Zealand soil. CHAPTER III. THE RECEPTION. (1815-1822). He that soweth discord among brethren. --_Proverbs._ The position of the missionaries when left alone at Rangihoua was not an easy one. Ruatara was dead, and there was no one to fill his place. His successor at Rangihoua, though friendly and genial, seems to have had but little influence. Korokoro cared for nothing but war. The real ruler was Ruatara's uncle, Hongi, who lived some miles away; and Hongi's character had yet to disclose itself. His behaviour was quiet and gentlemanly; he assured the missionaries of his protection, and he kept his word. This protection, however, was subject to limitations. The settlers were naturally anxious to grow corn and vegetables, but the cold clay of Te Puna[1] was not a favourable soil. At the very beginning some of them had pleaded for a more fertile spot, but their sagacious leader had set his veto on the proposal. Not many months, however, after Marsden's departure, Kendall and Hall crossed the Bay to a sunny spot at the mouth of the Waitangi River. Here they bought 50 acres of fertile land, and thither Hall transferred his family. He soon saw around him a prolific growth of maize and vegetables, but just as he was congratulating himself on the wisdom of the move, a scene occurred which quickly altered his views. He was felled to the ground by a savage visitor who brandished an axe over his head, and he struggled to his feet only to behold his wife's countenance suffused with blood from a smashing blow dealt her by another ruffian. His furniture and tools were carried off, and the poor missionary was glad to return to his colleagues, and to share the protection of the _tapu_ which Ruatara had placed upon their settlement. Barren as Te Puna might be, it was a safe refuge, and so long as the missionaries stayed there they suffered nothing worse from the natives than a little pilfering and an occasional threat. [1] The missionaries generally used the terms Te Puna and Rangihoua indiscriminately. Their real troubles arose within their own circle. The settlement (including children) consisted of twenty-five people, and it was organised by Marsden on what may be called a communistic basis. His original plan had been for each settler to be allowed to trade with the Maoris on his own account, and for this purpose he had given them a stock of goods before leaving Sydney. This concession was intended to compensate those who, like King and Hall, had given up large incomes on leaving New South Wales. But a very short experience convinced Marsden that such traffic was open to grave objections. With characteristic promptitude he remodelled his scheme. Calling the settlers together, he told them that he could allow no private trade whatever. All traffic with the natives was to be carried on by the whole community, and the profits were to go towards defraying the expenses of the mission. Rations of food and other necessaries would be served out to the mission families, and each settler would receive a small percentage on whatever profit might accrue from the trading voyages of the brig. These terms were not accepted without protest, but such was the weight of Marsden's authority that they were at length adopted by all. The scheme is interesting as foreshadowing the communism of Selwyn, and as being the earliest example of socialism in white New Zealand. But all such experiments need the constant presence of the inspiring mind, and this is just what the Te Puna community lacked. Marsden did not return for more than four years, and in the meantime the settlers were left with no head whatever. Kendall was the cleverest of the group, and his ambitious spirit chafed at the restrictions imposed by his distant superior. He bore a commission of the Peace from the Governor of New South Wales, but his magisterial powers were mostly exercised on runaway sailors. In the mission his vote counted for no more than the vote of King or of Hall. For a time, indeed, the experiment promised well. Hall spoke in later years of the "zeal, warmth, and sanguinity" with which they began their work. Kendall was successful with the school, in which a son of the noble Te Pahi acted as an assistant. One or two new settlers arrived from Australia, and glowing reports reached the Committee in London. But evil was at work. As early as 1816, Kendall was sending to Marsden grave accusations against his colleagues. His letters were plausible and carried weight. Quarrels arose between him and Hall, who was so wearied with the "difficulties, discouragements, and insults" of his life that he wished to retire from his post. The rules of the community were not kept; the forbidden trade in firearms was not altogether avoided; the early fervour cooled, and little mission work was done. Marsden grieved over this sad declension, yet could not at once apply a remedy. But in the early months of 1819 he had staying at his parsonage a singularly devoted Methodist preacher whose health had broken down. The chaplain suggested to his guest that he should try the effect of a voyage to New Zealand, and should investigate the state of the Mission there. Like a mediæval bishop, Marsden called in the assistance of a preaching order to infuse new life into his failing "seculars." The boldness of the plan was justified by the result. Mr. Leigh tactfully mediated between the separated brethren; by prayer and exhortation he rekindled their flagging zeal; and, Methodist-like, he drew up a "plan" for their future operations. Soon after his departure King and Kendall went on a missionary tour to Hokianga on the western coast; Hall boated along the eastern coast, and preached as far as Whangaruru. On the reception of Leigh's report, Marsden wrote a hopeful letter to London. "The place," he said, "will now be changed, and I trust we shall be able to lay down such rules and keep those who are employed in the work to their proper duty, so as to prevent the existence of any great differences among them." But he himself must initiate the changes, and by August of that same year (1819) he was again at the Bay of Islands. The meeting between himself and his catechists was marked by satisfaction on both sides. Kendall and King could report hopefully of their recent reception on the Hokianga River, which they were the first white men to see; Hall could relate how he had found and forgiven the people who had assaulted him at Waitangi, and how prosperous had been his tour until he reached a _pa_ where the demand for iron was so great that the inhabitants stole the rudder-hangings of his boat, and left the poor missionary to find his way back as best he might in stormy weather to the shelter of Rangihoua. Marsden, on his part, could introduce a party of new helpers whom he had brought from Sydney--the Rev. John Butler and his wife, Francis Hall, a schoolmaster, and James Kemp, a smith. New plans were at once formed for an extension of the work. An offer from Hongi of a site opposite to his own _pa_ was accepted, and Marsden bought for four dozen axes a large piece of ground on the Kerikeri River, at the extreme north-west of the Bay. Here, in a sheltered vale and amid the sound of waterfalls, the new mission station was established. To it the fresh workers were assigned, Butler taking the chief place. Marsden himself pushed on across the island to the mouth of the Hokianga, and on his return was surprised to see much of the new ground broken up, maize growing upon it, and vines in leaf. Agriculture formed indeed an important feature in Marsden's plans for the mission. Seeing Hongi's blind wife working hard in a potato field, he was much affected by the miserable condition of many of the Maoris: "Their temporal situation must be improved by agriculture and the simple arts, in order to lay a permanent foundation for the introduction of Christianity." No spiritual results were as yet visible, but the chiefs attended Marsden's services and "behaved with great decorum." On the evening of September 5 he administered the Holy Communion to the settlers at Rangihoua. The service was held in a "shed," but "the solemnity of the occasion did not fail to excite in our breasts sensations and feelings corresponding with the peculiar situation in which we were. We had retrospect to the period when this holy ordinance was first instituted in Jerusalem in the presence of our Lord's disciples, and adverted to the peculiar circumstances under which it was now administered at the very ends of the earth." In spite of the more promising appearances, however, Marsden seems to have realised that the missionaries must never be left so long again unvisited. In little more than three months he was again in New Zealand. There had been no difficulty about leave of absence this time, for the Admiralty needed kauri timber, and was glad to avail itself of his influence with the Maoris, and his knowledge of their ways. Marsden made the most of this unlooked for opportunity, and stayed nine months in the country. Of all his visits this was the longest and the most full of arduous effort, but its results were almost nullified by subsequent events. For it happened that on his arrival at Te Puna he found another enterprise in contemplation--one which would leave its mark upon history, and make the year memorable with an evil memory in the annals of New Zealand. This was the journey of Kendall and Hongi to England. To understand the course of events and to appreciate its fell significance, it is necessary to keep in mind both what the Englishman was doing in New Zealand, and what the New Zealander was doing in England, during those same months of the year 1820. They will meet again next year in the parsonage of Parramatta, and then the results of their separate courses will begin to show themselves. Hongi, though less definitely favourable to the mission than had been his nephew Ruatara, had hitherto always stood its friend. On Marsden's last visit he had indeed disbanded a large army at his request, and had seemed ready to relinquish his design of obtaining _utu_ for the blood of several Ngapuhi chiefs who had been lately slain in battle. But the obtaining of _utu_ was almost the main object of the heathen Maori. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, blood for blood and death for death--this was his creed. If the blood of the murderer could not be had, then someone else's blood must be shed--someone, too, of equal rank and dignity. Hongi could not bring himself to accept the new message of peace, and his dissatisfaction was, it would seem, fanned by Kendall, who had ambitions of his own to serve. The other settlers, fearing to lose the protection of Hongi's restraining hand, did their utmost to dissuade him from taking the journey, but in vain. "I shall die," said the chief, "if I do not go." Four days accordingly after Marsden's arrival the two set sail, having with them Waikato, another chief of the same tribe. The story of their visit to England is to a large extent familiar. They were received with great interest at the Missionary House, but the authorities treated Hongi as a heathen soul to be saved, and this was not what he wanted. Together they went to Cambridge, and here Kendall found scope for his abilities in furnishing to Professor Lee the materials for a scientific orthography of the Maori language. He stayed on at Cambridge to prepare for Holy Orders, which the Society had agreed that he should receive. The chiefs meanwhile were entertained at the houses of nobles and prelates in different parts of the country, and at length were presented to King George IV. "How do you do, Mr. King George?" said the gentlemanly Hongi. "How do you do, Mr. King Hongi?" replied that easy monarch. This was the kind of reception that the Maori appreciated, and with the craft of his race he immediately seized his advantage. "You have ships and guns in plenty," said he to the King; "have you said that the New Zealanders are not to have any?" "Certainly not," replied His Majesty, and gave him a suit of armour from the Tower. Hongi's object was now attained. In spite of the missionaries he would have his guns, and he would be a king. This determination was not shaken by the Christianity which came under the notice of the chiefs. At Norwich Cathedral they were given a seat in the episcopal pew close to the altar, on the occasion of Kendall's ordination. Hongi was chiefly impressed by the bishop's wig, which he thought must be emblematic of wisdom. His conclusion was that the Church was a very venerable institution and a necessary part of the English State, but it did not seem to follow very consistently the doctrines which he had heard proclaimed by the missionaries. Its official representatives seemed to be on good terms with the world: why should he be better than they? Like the king and great people of England he would uphold the Church and--go his own way. Marsden meanwhile had been working hard in the opposite direction. On landing in February, 1820, he found that some of the missionaries had been using muskets and powder as articles of barter. It was very hard to avoid doing so, for the Maoris were no longer satisfied with hoes and axes. Guns were becoming necessary to self-defence in New Zealand, and guns they would have. Marsden took a firm stand and informed the chiefs that if there were any more trading for firearms the mission would be withdrawn. The Maoris were far too keenly alive to the advantages of European settlement not to be alarmed at this threat. They agreed to deal with the settlers by means of peaceful articles of commerce. Marsden now began a wonderful series of journeys. His obligation to the timber-cutters led him far up the Thames Valley, but he soon went on by himself and reached Tauranga, where he found memories of Captain Cook. Returning to his ship in the Thames estuary, he made more than one expedition to Kaipara and the more northern parts of the island, including places where no white man had hitherto been seen.[2] In these journeys the Mokoia _pa_, which stood on the site of the present village of Panmure, near Auckland, became a kind of pivot of his operations. Its chief, Hinaki, was particularly friendly, and in him Marsden hoped to find a second Ruatara, and in his village a basis for mission work further south. In fact, all the people of this district seemed more accessible to the appeal of religion than were those of the Bay of Islands. From June to November the devoted missionary passed up and down the waterways which encompass the present city of Auckland, as well as overland to Hokianga and Whangaroa, preaching in the numerous villages the simple truth of the one living and true GOD. After one of his journeys he writes: "I had now been twenty days from the ship, during which time I had slept in my clothes, generally in the open air or in a boat or canoe. A great part of the time the weather had been very wet and stormy. I had crossed many swamps, creeks, and rivers, from the Bay of Plenty[3] on the eastern side to Kaipara on the western coast; yet, through the kind providence of God, I met with no accident or unpleasant circumstances, but, on the contrary, had been highly gratified, and returned to the ship in perfect health." [2] Marsden's routes of travel during this time have been thoroughly traced and elucidated by Dr. Hocken. In a biography or in a work on the exploration of New Zealand a full account of these interesting journeys should be given. But, for reasons which will presently appear, they have hardly any importance for the history of the Church. One Rembrandtesque passage may be quoted in which Marsden narrates his visit to the _pa_ of Pataua, near Whangarei. This _pa_ was built high above the sea, upon rocks which had "the appearance of an old abbey in ruins.... I was conducted up the narrow pass [writes Marsden] which I could not ascend without assistance, the path was so steep and narrow. When I had reached the top, I found a number of men, women, and children sitting round their fires roasting snappers, crawfish, and fern root. It was now quite dark. The roaring of the sea at the foot of the _pa_, as the waves rolled into the deep caverns beneath the high precipice upon which we stood, whose top and sides were covered with huts, and the groups of natives conversing round their fires, all tended to excite new and strange ideas for reflection." [3] I have ventured to substitute this term for the "Mercury Bay" of the original. It is clear that Marsden thought himself much further north than he really was. Dr. Hocken proposes to read "Towranga," which, of course, means the same as my own emendation. [Illustration: VIEW OF PAIHIA.] Marsden's labours were indeed so great and so many-sided as to compel the most sincere admiration. At one time he seems wholly given up to trade, and on his first visit the Maoris were astonished to see him busy with the aristocratic Nicholas in salting barrels of fish for export to Sydney. At another time he is the adventurous explorer bearing cheerfully the extremes of hot and cold, of wet and dry. Yet again he is the sagacious counsellor and the resolute leader of men; and with it all he is the warm-hearted Christian who can stay in the midst of his labours to indite a letter to England, full of spiritual force and sweetness. Wherever he passes he finds his God a very present help; he lies down at night in the wet grass with feelings of adoring wonder at the mysteries of redemption, and before his closing eyes there rises the vision of the Cross of Jesus. At his departure in December, Marsden left behind him a peaceful community and an apparently prosperous mission. Butler had during the year put into the ground the first plough ever used in New Zealand. The Maoris were quiet, and the missionaries went to their beds at night without any sense of insecurity. Four of the newly visited chiefs from the Thames district followed Marsden at a short interval to Australia, and stayed with him in his parsonage at Parramatta. Among these was Hinaki of Mokoia, who wished to continue his journey to England. They were still in the house when, in the following May, Hongi and Kendall arrived on their return journey. It was the month of the death of the great Napoleon at St. Helena, and it would almost seem as though a portion of his spirit had passed into the Maori chief on his passage through the Atlantic. At any rate Hongi began now to disclose his purposes: "Do not go to England," he said to Hinaki at Marsden's table; "you will surely be ill there. Better go home and see to your defences. I shall come to visit you before long." All the presents which the great people in England had showered upon him (excepting, of course, the suit of armour) he now bartered for muskets and powder. A legend of his race told how when the Maoris came from Hawaiki they were followed by an invisible canoe in which sat the figure of Death. With more reason might that grim form have been supposed to lurk now in the hold of the ship in which Hongi and Hinaki sailed together to their native land. They arrived there in the July of 1821, and the missionaries of Kerikeri soon realised that they had a different Hongi to deal with. For a time he held aloof from them, and when he did speak he showed great reserve. Some allowance must of course be made for the inevitable disillusionment of such a return. After the palaces of the bishops by whom he had been entertained in England, the mission stations must have appeared even startlingly humble. But the real grievance was the cessation of the trade in firearms. The King had approved of this trade: why should the missionaries object? Kendall in his new clerical attire seemed quite willing to play the part of court-chaplain to the would-be king. "I would as soon," he said, "trade with a musket as with a dollar." The effects of the change were seen immediately. The Maoris grew insolent, broke down the settlers' fences, and stole whatever they could lay their hands on. This was, however, as nothing to that which followed. Hongi and Hinaki had become reconciled on the ship, but a new act of aggression soon called for reprisals, and at the head of an immense naval armament Hongi set out for the waters of the Waitemata. Clad in his helmet and coat of mail, he declaimed his wrongs before his enemy's stockade at Mokoia, and was only saved by his armour from sudden death by a treacherous bullet. Hinaki would grant no satisfaction; a general assault took place, and after a desperate contest the _pa_ was taken. Hongi swallowed his rival's eyes, and drank the blood that welled from his throat. The taste of blood seemed to rouse the tiger in his nature, and he proceeded to sweep the country with fire and sword. "Powerful tribes on both sides of the Thames were cut off, and for years the whole country was deserted." The districts which Marsden had visited so hopefully the year before were all reduced to desolation. The people whom he had found so receptive of divine truth were now no longer to be seen: they were either killed, carried into slavery, or driven to the mountains of the interior. The missionaries were not exposed to this awful carnage, but their position can only be described as terrible. The Mokoia expedition brought back (it was said) no less than 2,000 prisoners. Several of these were slaughtered in cold blood at the very doors of the station at Kerikeri. The Maoris were inflamed with the lust for blood; they gloated over the sufferings of their enemies. They surrounded the mission premises with poles, upon which were stuck the heads of the slain, while the remains of the cooked flesh lay rotting on the ground. The unhappy missionaries could do but little. They rescued a few children from among the prisoners, but for the rest they had to bear as best they might the intolerable humiliation of feeling that they owed their very safety to the protection of Hongi. The Kerikeri settlers were reduced to the further degradation of making cartridge boxes for the troops, while their forge was used for the manufacture of ammunition. How much is contained in these few lines from the schoolmaster's diary: "The natives have been casting balls all day in Mr. Kemp's shop. They come in when they please, and do what they please, and take away what they please, and it is vain to resist them." Marsden and the Home authorities were powerless to help. Of course Kendall was dismissed. So was another of the settlers. Others left of their own accord, and the Society at Home thought of abandoning the mission. The one bright spot was Rangihoua or Te Puna, where the two original catechists, King and Hall, kept quietly on, thus showing the value of Marsden's training during the years of waiting in Sydney. Their settlement was gradually improving, and at least they kept the flag flying. As for Marsden himself, there was even one more drop of bitterness to be added to his cup. Ever since the beginning of the mission he had kept up a seminary for New Zealanders at Parramatta. The chiefs were eager to send their sons to be educated under his care, and in the beginning of 1820 he had no less than twenty-five in residence. But in the following year a time of mortality set in; several of the young men died, and for a time the seminary was closed. Marsden had inaugurated the mission in 1814 with the message of peace and goodwill to men. Now, as he thought of the charred villages and whitening bones which marked the face of the country after seven years of Gospel preaching, he must surely have felt bound to take other words as the burden of his cry: "I came not to send peace, but a sword." CHAPTER IV. THE NEW BEGINNING. (1823-1830). And he spake to me, "O Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine! Remember the words of the Lord when he told us, 'Vengeance is mine.' His fathers have slain thy fathers in war or in single strife. Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life. Thy father had slain his father: how long shall the murder last? Go back to the island of Finn, and suffer the past to be past." --_Legend of Maeldune._ "When I reflect upon the evils which have crept in among the missionaries, I am astonished that the mission has not been completely annihilated. That it should continue to exist under such difficulties affords a proof, in my judgment, that God will still carry on the work." Such was Marsden's reflection in 1823--the year which saw a beginning of better things. Out of the midst of the failure and the shame this man of faith was able to gather hope for the future. The great need of the mission was a higher class of workers. This need was now to be supplied--in fact, the preparation for its supply had been quietly going on concurrently with the mission itself, though in a different quarter of the globe. One of the last actions of the great war which was coming to an end when Marsden proclaimed his message of peace in 1814 was the capture of an American frigate in the West Indies. The prize was being towed to a British port when a terrific gale sprang up, and in the midst of the confusion the prisoners attempted to retake the ship. The danger of the situation drove one of the officers to serious thoughts, and on the conclusion of peace he resigned his commission and resolved to enter the service of a higher monarch. For some years he lived quietly in England on his half-pay allowance, but his thoughts were drawn towards New Zealand, a part of the mission field which seemed to offer the greatest peril and the greatest need. The news that the C.M.S. were about to equip a ship for their station in that country seemed to him a call to a post where his nautical skill would be of service. He volunteered to take command of this vessel without pay. His offer could not be accepted, because the project of the ship had already been abandoned, but the Society accepted the lieutenant as one of their missionaries. All arrangements were made for his setting out, when news arrived from the Antipodes that the settlers would probably soon be driven out of the country. This was no time to be sending out fresh workers. But the candidate was not cast down. He studied surgery, and bided his time. The Society was now coming to the conclusion that lay catechists were undesirable, and it ordered the lieutenant to stay for two years longer in England, and to prepare for Holy Orders. He was now a married man, and could not go up to a university, but he studied at home under the direction of a clerical brother-in-law who had first turned his attention to foreign missions. In 1822 he was once more ready, and had received the orders both of deacon and priest when tidings came of Hongi's first raid. The Committee offered to send him to some quieter part of the world, but he earnestly pleaded to be allowed to adhere to his original purpose. Thus it was that Henry Williams reached New Zealand, at the age of thirty-one years, arriving just in time to save the mission and to give it a new beginning. The character of the man thus providentially trained and guided is a factor of the utmost moment in our history. He brought to the mission just those qualities of leadership and power in which it had hitherto been deficient, and he was joined somewhat later by a brother whose milder and more intellectual nature supplied what was wanting in his own. Drawn from the professional class, the brothers Williams of course stood for a higher culture and a wider knowledge than could be expected of the settlers who were hitherto in the field. These advantages were by no means unappreciated by the Maoris, but the quality which impressed them most immediately was the personal force and dauntless spirit of the elder man. "He is a _tangata riri_" (i.e., angry man), said a hostile Maori; "he shuts his tent door upon us, and does not sit by our sides and talk; he has the _Atua_ upon his lips, and we are afraid of his anger." He could hold at arm's length two powerful men who were struggling to fly at one another's throats. He soon won the name of "the man with the iron thumb," from the fact that on one occasion, while he held in his hand the key of his study door, he felled to the earth the leader of a gang of bullies who were bent on doing him bodily injury. On another occasion a number of angry natives crowded in upon himself and a companion as they were building a boat. After standing their interference for some time, the builders seized, one a broken oar and the other a stout stake, and after a sharp fray, in which the arm of the carpenter was broken in two places, the intruders were driven from the spot. Nor was it only the men who felt the power of his arm. A story is told of an encounter with some shameless women who had crossed from Kororareka to taunt his school-girls at Paihia. The missionaries were busy at a translation meeting, and at first sent some peaceful messengers to bid the "ship-girls" depart. The messengers came back discomfited, and the behaviour grew more wanton and defiant. At last, Henry Williams came forth, umbrella in hand and spectacles on nose. The whole school came out to watch the encounter. The leader of the band--a great lady of the place--came on with outstretched tongue and insulting cries, when "old four eyes," as she called him, gave her a sounding thwack with his umbrella. Startled by this indignity she turned and fled. "Duck them," cried the missionary; and before the saucy damsels could regain their canoe they were thoroughly soused in the water, and went back (as the narrator says) wetter, if not better, than they came. No wonder that "Te Wiremu" soon obtained an ascendancy over a people who idolised physical prowess. But it would be a great mistake to suppose that he brought to the mission nothing more than the authoritative tone of the quarter-deck. His piety was deep and self-sacrificing. It was in order that he might exercise his ministry on shipboard that he had chosen to come out in a female convict ship, where he had been untiring in his attempts to uplift the unhappy creatures with which it was crowded. During his stay at Parramatta he had thrown himself into Marsden's work among the convicts of the other sex. There was sweetness as well as strength in the straight glance of the well-opened eye, and in the fine lines of the compressed lips. In one respect Williams differed both from Marsden, who preceded, and from Selwyn, who followed him. He was not an idealist; he dreamed no dreams and he saw no visions. He fixed his attention upon the work immediately in front, and to it he gave his undivided energy. The old naval instinct of unquestioning obedience was strong in him to the last. Writing to the C.M.S. before his departure from England, he assured them that he should always regard their orders as rigidly as he ever did those of his senior officer in His Majesty's service. Like the centurion in the Gospels, he regarded himself as a man under authority, and he expected a like obedience from those who were under him. Marsden himself brought Henry Williams to New Zealand, and decided upon the place of his abode. The chiefs were all anxious for the presence of a missionary because of the commercial advantages which it brought. Marsden was loth to refuse the request of some disconsolate relatives of the slaughtered Hinaki, but he thought it wiser to bestow the favour upon one who had been with him at Parramatta, even though the chief himself was at the moment on the warpath with Hongi. Accordingly, the new missionary was placed at Paihia, a village whose open beach lay opposite to Kororareka, the great resort of European ships, from whose crews the Maoris were acquiring vices and diseases more hideous than their own. Its central situation gave to Paihia great advantages, and it soon became the real focus of the mission. That the work of the past eight years had not been altogether in vain was proved by the altered demeanour of the Maoris. When the bell rang on Sundays at Paihia, they came along the beach, dressed in European clothes and carrying their books with the utmost propriety. It was only a fashion, but it meant something. At the two older stations some of them could repeat prayers and sing hymns. At Marsden's departure his ship struck on the rocks while working out of the Bay, but the natives of the island of Moturoa treated the shipwrecked passengers with kindness, and forebore to plunder their goods. This was not much, but it carried hope for the future. The real hope, however, lay in the change of workers and the change of methods. At the time of the wreck, Marsden had with him several of the older settlers whose connection with the mission was now dissolved. In their places new names gradually appear. Fairburn came with Henry Williams in 1823; Clarke and Davis followed in the next year. Hamlin accompanied the Rev. W. Williams in 1826. In 1828 came two clergymen--Yate and Brown--besides a lay catechist, Baker. Chapman arrived in 1830, Preece in 1831, Matthews in 1832. Puckey and Shepherd had in the meantime come from Australia. King and Hall were left at Rangihoua, but the latter was compelled by an asthmatic affection to leave New Zealand in 1824, and for a time helped Marsden in his work among the Maori youths at Parramatta. It is evident from the above list that the "settlement" policy still held its ground. And indeed settlers of the right type were urgently needed. As Mr. Saunders points out, the mission had suffered greatly through the lack of a skilled agriculturist. The first catechists were town artisans, and so were most of those that followed. They had tried hard to grow wheat, and not altogether without success. But on the whole the settlements had failed to support themselves. After the establishment of Kerikeri, Marsden had refused to send more flour from Sydney. He himself had been so successful with his farm that he expected others to do the same. If they would not work, he said, neither should they eat. But he could command the labour of convicts to do the work: this the New Zealand missionaries could not do. For long they had only hoes and spades; the Maoris would not help them; the soil and the climate were unfavourable. Some improvement there was when in 1824 Richard Davis, a Dorsetshire farmer, joined the staff. But even he was beaten again and again in his attempts at wheat-growing. It was not until 1830, when a move was made from the mangrove-lined shores of the Bay to the higher and more English country twelve miles inland at Waimate, that farming operations really began to succeed: then they prospered in marvellous fashion. On the whole, the "settlement" scheme was a failure. It was too high for average human nature. The drastic regulations which Marsden left behind him in 1823--regulations which forbad even the slightest transaction between individual settlers and the trading ships--were tantamount to a confession of a breakdown of the system. As for Henry Williams, he determined on a change almost from the first. He would not try to raise produce at Paihia. Seek ye _first_ the kingdom of God, he said. For years he left himself without anything that could be called a house, but he must have a church at once, and not only a church, but an organ. The church was soon built, and a pipe organ, which delighted his Welsh ears, was sent out by some of his friends at home. For the first two years he devoted much of his time and money to the building of a vessel, which should bring flour and groceries from Sydney, gather children from other districts for his schools, and collect pork and potatoes wherewith to feed them. In this 60-ton schooner, which was launched under the name of the _Herald_ early in 1826, the missionary made several voyages to Australia, to Tauranga, and to Hokianga, but she was wrecked on entering the last-named harbour in 1828. The schools were indeed the pivot of the mission during the first ten years of the new order. Hitherto they had been small and intermittent, but at Paihia they soon developed into large and important institutions. Discipline was rigidly maintained. From early morning, when the bell rang out at 5 o'clock, the hours of the day were mapped out for different kinds of work. The girls' schools were well cared for by Mrs. Williams--a lady whose literary gift has rescued from oblivion much of the life of those far-off days. A part of each day was devoted by the missionaries to their own acquisition of the Maori language, and to the translation of the Bible and Prayer Book. At this work William Williams excelled. He was an Oxford graduate, who joined his brother in the March of 1826. The language seemed to have for him no terrors and hardly any difficulties. From time to time small volumes of translated portions with hymns and catechism were carried across to Sydney and brought back in printed form. These were eagerly bought and read by the Maoris. They were the first printed specimens of their own tongue, and the influence they exerted was incalculable. Learning, teaching, and translating occupied the brotherhood at Paihia, while Davis was farming at Kerikeri or Waimate, and the Wesleyans were founding a station further north at Whangaroa. Outside these quiet spots there was still turmoil and bloodshed. The year 1827 was a particularly stormy period. Hongi raided Whangaroa and there received a dangerous wound. The Wesleyans were panic-stricken and fled overland to Kerikeri. They were received there and at Paihia with brotherly welcome by men who felt that their own turn might soon come. "It is not easy," writes Bishop Williams, "to describe this breach which had been made upon the mission body." As soon as the news became known in Australia, Marsden flew to the scene in a warship, but he found the missionaries facing the prospect with quiet courage. "It gives me great pleasure," he wrote, "to find the missionaries so comfortable, living in unity and godly love, devoting themselves to the work." They were well aware, of course, that so far as their tenure depended upon human protection the outlook was not bright. Hongi sent to them a message advising them to stay as long as he should live, but to fly to their own country as soon as he should die. They determined to stay at their posts as long as possible, but they shipped some tons of goods to Sydney, in case of a _taua_ or stripping-party which might be expected to visit them as soon as their protector should have died. Such a proceeding would have been strictly in accordance with Maori law of _muru_, and would be understood as a complimentary testimonial to the dead man's dignity. But it would have meant to the white men the loss of all their possessions, and the being left naked and destitute in a savage country. Early in the year 1828 the long-expected death of the great warrior took place. He died as a heathen, his last words being, "Be courageous, be courageous!" But he had drawn closer to the missionaries during the last year of his life, and their estimates of him are nearly all favourable. "His conduct towards us," writes Clarke, "was kind, and his last moments were employed in requesting his survivors to treat us well." "He was ever the missionaries' friend," says Davis, "a shrewd, thoughtful man, very superior to any other native I have yet seen; the greatest man who has ever lived in these islands." Bishop Williams' estimate is less favourable, but the Committee of the C.M.S. (relying perhaps on Yate's unqualified encomium) considered that he had been specially raised up by God to be the protector and helper of the Gospel. However beneficial his life may have been, the historian cannot help a sigh of relief when he comes to his death. For it marks the time when the mission began to stand on its own feet. So far from being "stripped," the missionaries actually rose in the estimation of the Maoris. A quarrel arose out of Hongi's death, which led to hostilities between the men of the Bay of Islands and those of Hokianga. The army of the Bay was worsted, and both sides were not unwilling for peace if honour could be preserved. Henry Williams and three of his colleagues went to the field and visited the camps. Everywhere they were treated with respect, and on Sunday a strict rest was enjoined as a mark of deference to these ambassadors of peace. Williams preached to a congregation of 500 on the neutral ground between the contending hosts. The silent and respectful behaviour recalled Marsden's first congregation fourteen years before. Next morning peace was concluded. "These," said Williams, "are new days indeed!" The role of peacemaker thus taken up by the missionaries was one which they were often called upon to play. After a short interval of quiet, the flames of war were rekindled by the curses hurled by one young woman at another on the beach at Kororareka. A sharp battle was fought between the relatives and partisans of the two damsels, in which many lives were lost. At this juncture, Marsden arrived suddenly in the Bay. Together with Henry Williams he visited the hostile camps, and after some days of discussion peace was made. But the "Girls' War" did not end here. Two of the Ngapuhi chiefs, not being able to obtain vengeance for their slaughtered father among those who had slain him, went far away from their own territory and raided the islands in the Bay of Plenty. This involved the whole tribe in a war with the people of Tauranga, a war which dragged on for two whole years. Henry Williams and his brethren accompanied the fleets in their boat, and used their influence to stop the war. Partly through his exhortations, and partly through the absence of Hongi's determined generalship, the Ngapuhi fought half-heartedly and with little success. "The words of Wiremu," they confessed, "lay heavy on us, and our guns would not shoot." The stage had arrived which is depicted in the legend quoted at the head of this chapter. Like the Irish warrior, the New Zealanders were ready to say: O weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife, and the sin. The deadly feuds of the last thirteen years had greatly reduced the population, and the Maoris were bound to admit that the new religion offered a more excellent way. This consummation, though highly desirable in itself, was of course regarded by the missionaries only as a means to a further end--the thorough conversion of the people to the Christian faith. Such conversions were rare, but they were just frequent enough to give encouragement. At first it was only the old and the sick who were drawn by the announcement of a heaven where bloodshed and turmoil should cease. Of these the case of the old man, Rangi, is notable through his being the first of his race to be received into the Church of Christ by baptism (1825). A much more striking conversion was that of Taiwhanga, one of Hongi's chief warriors, in 1829. His struggles against the fascinations of the old life were severe and prolonged. Frequently he was solicited to go with a party on the warpath, and even his musket was coveted as a weapon endowed with more than ordinary power. At last he resolved that his children should be baptised, and the letter which he wrote to the missionaries on this occasion is of uncommon interest: "Here am I thinking of the day when my son shall be baptised. You are messengers from God, therefore I wish that he should be baptised according to your customs. I have left off my native rites and my native thoughts, and am now thinking how I may untie the cords of the devil, and so loosen them that they may fall off together with all sin. Christ is near, perhaps beholding my sinfulness; he looks into the hearts of men. It is well for me to grieve in the morning, in the evening, and at night, that my sins may be blotted out." The baptism of Taiwhanga's children (August 23) was naturally looked upon as a significant event. William Williams spent part of the previous day in translating the baptismal service, and he determined to baptise at the same time his own infant son, Leonard Williams, afterwards to become Bishop of Waiapu. Six months later, Taiwhanga himself came forward publicly for baptism, and received the appropriate name of David. He immediately became an active missionary among his own countrymen, and proved an invaluable help to his teachers. In spite of these and other gleams of success, the mission seemed to its friends to be doing little during these years, inasmuch as it made no extension beyond the limits of the Bay of Islands. The regret was shared by the leaders on the spot, and it has already been shown how Williams made more than one attempt by sea to effect an opening in the Bay of Plenty. It must be remembered, however, that the country to the southward of the northern isthmus had been desolated by Hongi's wars, and that the few remaining inhabitants were naturally hostile to anything that seemed to come from the Ngapuhi. Concentration was forced upon the mission by the circumstances of the time. When once the schools were established, they required the whole of the available staff of teachers to conduct them efficiently. To have weakened the schools would have been bad policy, even if openings had presented themselves elsewhere. [Illustration: HENRY WILLIAMS AT THE SIGNING OF THE TREATY AT WAITANGI.] But, as a matter of fact, the missionaries "builded better than they knew." The really important feature of their work was little guessed even by themselves. Among their classes at Paihia were many wistful faces of slaves who had been torn from their distant homes in Hongi's wars. These had been befriended by the missionaries, and were placed on an equal footing in the schools with the sons of chiefs and rangatiras. It was these who drank in most deeply the Christian teaching, and it was these who were destined to be the pioneers of the future. Outwardly the most striking achievements of these schools were the annual examinations which took place at the close of the years 1828 to 1830. Twice the scholars from Paihia and Rangihoua were taken by boat to Kerikeri, where the proceedings lasted for two or three days, and always finished with a generous feast. The gathering of 1830 took place at Paihia, and included 178 men and boys, besides 92 girls. It is not often that a school examination acquires a political significance, but it was so in this case. There were more than 1,000 Maori spectators present--men who had fought on opposite sides in the recent battle of Kororareka. The orderliness of the proceedings, and the delightful atmosphere of keenness and pleasure which pervaded the scene, drew all parties together and served to weld the bond of peace. Such exhibitions of the working of the new faith, together with the adhesion of a powerful convert like Taiwhanga, were bound to tell upon the people around. Evidences began to multiply of a serious attention to the teaching of the missionaries. Here and there in unexpected quarters signs appeared of coming change. To use the picturesque native simile, "the fire was spreading in the fern." CHAPTER V. THE FORWARD MOVE. (1831-1837). Speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward. --_Exod._ Unlike their brethren in Africa and some other parts of the world, the New Zealand missionaries did not attempt much in the way of exploration. Marsden discovered the Manukau Harbour in 1820; Kendall and King were the first white men to visit Hokianga; Henry Williams' little _Herald_ was the first European vessel since Captain Cook's _Endeavour_ to enter the Bay of Plenty. Greater expeditions were prevented by a variety of obstacles. The missionaries were "settlers," and a settler is tied to his home duties. The land route from the Bay of Islands southwards had been devastated by Hongi. The clerical missionaries were few in number, and the schools absorbed all their energies. Hence it was that even as late as 1833--eighteen years after Marsden's first landing--their knowledge of the country was but slight. The map which Yate put forth at this time shows very little advance on that of Captain Cook. The interior of the island is almost wholly blank. But the hour had now struck for a forward movement. New lay workers arrived from England--Wilson and Morgan in 1833, Colenso and others in the year following. The termination of the "Girls' War" had at last brought peace between the Ngapuhi and their neighbours; the inland tribes were beginning to creep out of their fastnesses and to re-occupy their ravaged lands. Very cautiously and tentatively was the advance begun. Instead of a move to the southward, the Committee decided in the first place to try the north. At the end of 1832, Mr. William Williams with a large party of catechists and Maoris made their way for 80 miles over wooded mountains from Waimate to Kaitaia. The people at this place were so eager for a missionary that the resolution was soon taken to plant a station among them. It was long, however, before an actual settlement was made. In the following year some ground was bought, and a more direct road explored across the mountains. Even then there was hesitation. A fourth expedition was sent "to ascertain the true state of the minds of the natives with regard to our settling among them." The answer was brief and satisfactory: "Make haste and take up your abode among us." Thus encouraged, Puckey and Matthews made a temporary stay, and at last, after some months, brought up their wives and their belongings. The site of the new station was a beautiful one. It lay amidst rivers and hills, and its position was such that the roar of the surf on both eastern and western coasts of the island could be distinctly heard. Shortly after his permanent settlement, Mr. Puckey made a journey to the extreme north of the island and reached Cape Reinga. Standing on the black cliffs against which the sea was dashing with terrific force, listening to the scream of the sea-fowl and the weird noise produced by the waves in a hollow cave, the white man could easily understand how this dread place came to be regarded by the Maoris as the gateway into the unseen world. The masses of kelp which swung to and fro in the waves were believed to be the door through which the spirits passed to Hawaiki, or to some idealised counterpart thereof, and a projecting tree-root halfway down the cliff was highly venerated as the ladder which assisted them in their descent. Very pathetic was the fear expressed by the older Maoris lest the white man should cut away this frail support of their hope of a future life: "Let the young men go with you to your heaven, but leave us our ladder to the Reinga." The missionary left them their ladder; but he told them on his return to Kaitaia that, whereas a death had occurred there during his absence, he had seen no bunches of grass on the road, such as they believed to be left by the spirits while passing up the coast. The old superstitions were clearly shaken, and the better faith soon took a powerful hold upon the people of the north. Though this first attempt at an extension of the work was encouraging, it meant but little for the rest of New Zealand. Until a real attack could be made upon the south, the work could hardly be said to have begun in earnest. The land and the people were for the most part unknown, but a venture of faith must be made. This venture was begun in the October of 1833 under the leadership of Henry Williams, and constitutes one of the turning points in the history of New Zealand. Besides the leader and the Rev. A. N. Brown, the expedition consisted of Messrs. Fairburn and Morgan with a party of Maoris. They left the Bay of Islands on October 22nd in open boats. The nights were spent on various islands, which they found to be all deserted, though everywhere they could see the remains of fortifications and villages. Where now the merchants of Auckland have their summer residences, there were no living beings to share the morning devotions of the missionaries, save the birds with their melodious songs. On the site of the Mokoia _pa_, where Marsden had so often received the hospitality of Hinaki, they could see nothing but fern and fuchsia bushes, with here and there an axe-cloven skull. Proceeding down the Hauraki Gulf, the same scenes presented themselves, until at last a little smoke was noticed on the Coromandel coast. A fortnight's travel brought them to Kopu at the head of the gulf--175 miles in a straight line from the Bay of Islands. Here they entered the Thames or Waihou River, and were carried up it by the tide. On their left was a wooded range of hills, and on the right a flat forest that extended as far as the eye could reach. Habitations now became increasingly frequent, but the villages were all new, and among them appeared the remains of old _pas_ which had been destroyed by Hongi. Strange stories, too, were told to the visitors of a miserable remnant of the old inhabitants, who still lingered on in the forest which lay to the right hand of the travellers. The whole of this country was submerged from time to time by the flooded rivers, and no one knew or could conjecture how these people lived. The smoke of their fires was occasionally seen, but they never held any communication with the people who had come to occupy the river banks. By the evening of the second day the travellers arrived at a settlement that seemed to be of some importance. Now at last they had reached the heathen country, and could begin their mission to the south. Some 200 natives crowded round to see the visitors, those in the rear holding torches to increase the illumination. The missionaries began their Evensong with one of the Maori hymns which they were accustomed to sing at Paihia. Hardly had they sung a line when, to their intense surprise, the whole of the audience joined heartily in the tune. Trembling with excitement the reader began the Evening Prayer, and when he uttered the words, "O Lord, open Thou our lips," there came from a hundred manly voices the significant response, "And our mouth shall show forth Thy praise." So it continued throughout. Canticle and creed, prayer and hymn, were all known to these presumably heathen people. At the conclusion of the service the secret was discovered. Three of their boys had been taught at Paihia. Here was the first fruit of the mission schools. For some days longer the journey up the river continued, the object being to gain an interview with the chief potentate of the region, the celebrated Waharoa. On leaving the river a dreary march began through woods and swamps. Henry Williams was carried on two poles by native bearers who often sank in mud up to their chests. At last they emerged into a beautiful park-like country, where stood Matamata, the _pa_ of Waharoa. The old man was very gracious. Though his career had been almost as bloodstained as was that of Hongi, he made a favourable impression upon the missionaries, and "asked many significant questions about religion." He was keenly desirous of a mission settlement in his _pa_. Williams discussed with him many plans for an extension of the work. "This conversation," says Carleton, "was the clue to all subsequent proceedings." Returning down the river, a site was chosen for a station at Puriri. The spot lay amongst flax swamps on a tributary of the Thames. It was somewhat damp and unhealthy, but it was centrally situated as regards the tribes of the neighbourhood. Before the end of the year it was occupied by Morgan, Preece, and Wilson, who found raupo houses already erected for them by the Maoris. The Thames expedition had proved beyond a doubt that the land lay open to mission enterprise. But the surprises which it offered were not always pleasant ones. Early in the year 1836 Brown and Hamlin, with some Maori converts, started overland to explore the Waikato. The Kaipara and Tamaki districts were waste and uninhabited, nor were any human beings seen, till they struck the great river itself. In the absence of canoes they essayed to cross it on _mokis_ or bundles of flax-stalks. These rafts were so satisfactory that they paddled down the stream for some distance, when they were met by a boat containing an Englishman and a younger brother of Te Wherowhero--afterwards well known as the Maori King, Potatau. The strangers were friendly, but their remarks were uncomfortably direct. "Why did you not come before?" they asked. "You have stayed so long in the Bay of Islands that surely your children are old enough to be missionaries. If you had come among us some time ago, the Taranakis would have been alive, but now we have cut them nearly all off." The opening thus indicated could no longer be neglected. A few months later a second expedition was directed towards the same quarter, though by a different route. It consisted of Messrs. W. Williams, Brown, and Morgan, and they had with them the speaker of the sharp rebuke above mentioned. Approaching from the side of the Thames Valley they reached Ngaruawahia, at the confluence of the Waikato and Waipa rivers. Boating up the Waipa until they could pull no longer, they landed at Mangapouri near Pirongia. So pleased were they with the place that they decided to fix a station there. The local chief at once offered land, and set men at work to clear it, though a few months necessarily elapsed before it could be actually occupied. Mr. Williams and his colleagues meanwhile journeyed back into the Thames Valley, and, after promising Waharoa to send him a teacher as soon as possible, passed on to the Bay of Plenty. At Tauranga a large gathering of the inhabitants was held. They had evidently not forgotten the efforts which had been made four years before by Henry Williams to save their settlement from the wrath of the Ngapuhi. They had come to realise that the missionaries actually cared for other tribes as well as for the favoured Ngapuhi; they felt that a mission station would help in the preservation of peace; and they undertook to build houses in readiness for the teachers who should come. The year 1835 saw the opening of the four new stations. Hamlin and Stack settled at Mangapouri; Brown and Morgan at Matamata; Wilson at Tauranga; and Chapman near Ohinemutu, amidst the hot springs and geysers of Rotorua. It will be noticed that these frontier posts were occupied mainly by the new men who had not acquired much knowledge of the language or of the customs of the Maori. Some misunderstandings were bound to arise from this cause, and Wilson nearly lost his life at Puriri, but soon a more peaceful state of things ensued. Everything seemed bright and hopeful when, on Christmas Day, a horrible murder occurred at Rotorua, which kindled a fresh war, and threw the work into confusion for several years. The details of the war lie, of course, outside our subject: it will suffice to notice those points at which it touched the missionary band. The Rotorua station was naturally the first to feel its effects. Mr. Chapman did his utmost to check the outbreak of hostilities, and having secured the head of the murdered man he had it conveyed to the relatives. But the victim was a chief of high rank and nearly related to Waharoa. It was incumbent therefore upon that redoubtable warrior to obtain _utu_ for the slaughter of his relative. He was still a heathen, and was deaf to the exhortations of the Christians. "How sweet," he said, "will taste the flesh of the Rotoruas along with their new kumeras!" It was not long before he was able to gratify this wolfish taste, and in the confusion which followed the assault upon the Ohinemutu _pa_ the missionary premises were looted. They were at the time in charge of two young assistants, Knight and Pilley--the former being a nephew of Marsden. Both were felled to the ground, wounded and stripped of their clothes. Chapman and his wife were fortunately absent. Mrs. Chapman after many dangers reached Matamata, but the tide of war rolled thither also, and the mission ladies were hurried through the swamps to the river bank. Here they were met unexpectedly by Fairburn and Wilson, who had been rowing up the Waihou for the last two days in the endeavour to bring help to their colleagues at Rotorua. Wilson in his journal thus describes the meeting: "River covered by a thick fog, everything dripping wet. After rowing a few miles in the early morning we came to a small sandy landing place. Here, under some canvas thrown over the shrubs, we found Mr. Morgan and three missionaries' wives--Mesdames Brown, Chapman, and Morgan--and with them two or three native girls (bearers of their luggage from Matamata). These poor ladies had all the appearance of fugitives, and such they really were. They had slept in their clothes on the wet ground, and their chief comfort was a little fire struggling for existence with wet green wood. On hearing the noise of our boat landing, I saw from under the canvas a weary pale face, nearly on a level with the wet earth, looking to see what it was. How glad they were to see us! What a change in their countenances from sorrow to gladness! Now--for a time at least--their troubles were over. In a few minutes we had them packed and arranged in our little boat, and sent them down the Waihou on their way to the Puriri." Though the ladies had escaped unharmed, their belongings had not. The Matamata station was no safe place for anything, on account of the marauding bands who infested the country. As soon as possible therefore the most valuable articles were packed and sent off towards the river. News soon arrived that the convoy had been plundered. Morgan and Knight set out in pursuit and encountered a band of armed men, whose grotesque appearance brought a laugh to the missionaries' faces in spite of the danger of the situation. Most of the party were dressed in white shirts, and "one man was marching before the rest, with the utmost consequence, his head and olive-coloured face being enveloped in a black silk bonnet belonging to Mrs. Chapman, while a strip of cotton print, tied round his neck, formed the remainder of his apparel--he having left his own clothes at home, in order to his being lighter for fighting or anything else he might have to do." The humour of the moment was not lessened when it was found that the strangely clad procession consisted not of the actual robbers, but of a friendly party who had robbed them in turn. The hero of the bonnet episode was, in fact, a son of Waharoa, who shortly afterwards embraced Christianity, and under the new name of Wiremu Tamihana (William Thomson) witnessed a good confession in the midst of his savage compatriots, and actually built a new _pa_, in which he allowed no one to live who did not join with him and his followers in worshipping God and in keeping the elementary rules of morality. Troubles continued to thicken, but the missionaries clung to their posts as long as they could. Wilson went to the help of Chapman at Rotorua, and together they retired across the lake to the island which has become famous through the legend of Hinemoa. The beauty of its traditions could hardly be appreciated by the fugitive missionaries: "The hut in which we live," they wrote, "is small and damp, has neither chimney nor window, and on rainy days, which confine us inside, we construct a lamp with lard and cotton to read by, as best we can." But Chapman, like his wife, never complained. Without a word of reproach or repining, he took his friend over the ruins of the old station, which he had made the most beautiful of all the mission properties. His one desire was to make peace among his people, and for this purpose he sent once and again to Henry Williams for his help. But even Wiremu, with all his efforts, could not soften the heart of Waharoa nor of the Rotorua leaders. The war accordingly went on, though now in desultory fashion. The Matamata station was finally stripped, and its occupants driven to the north. The Committee now withdrew Chapman to Tauranga, and finally with Wilson to the Bay of Islands. They arrived there at about the same time as did the refugees from the Thames. The forward movement appeared thus to issue in failure. But the abandonment was not for long, nor had the work already done been in vain. Waharoa died a heathen, but he complained before his death that his sons, under mission influence, were becoming too mild and forgiving. The case of one of these--Tamihana--has already been noticed. Still more remarkable is that of his warlike nephew, Ngakuku, whose name brings us to one of the most touching incidents in the history of Maori Christianity. Ngakuku was not an avowed Christian, but he had sent his little daughter, Tarore, to live with Mrs. Brown--one of the ladies whom we found sheltering by the river bank in their flight from Matamata. In the mission house the child Tarore had learned to read, and had been given a copy of the Gospel of St. Luke. In the middle of October her father took her and a younger brother on a journey to Tauranga. The party consisted of several Maoris, and an Englishman who was connected with the mission. At night they encamped at the foot of Wairere, where a magnificent cascade falls from the high forest land above. After their meal, Ngakuku offered prayers to the God whom he was just beginning to know, and when they laid down to rest, Tarore pillowed her head upon her precious Gospel. But their fire had been noticed by a party of Rotoruas far up the valley. These crept down during the night, and just before daylight made a sudden attack upon the camp. The Englishman's tent was the first to be entered, and while it was being stripped, Ngakuku had time to seize his little son and to escape into the bush. He tried to arouse Tarore also, but the child was heavy with sleep and had to be abandoned. When the enemy departed, the agonised father came down from his retreat and found lying in the hut the mangled corpse of his little girl. He carried it to Mr. Brown at Matamata, with the words, "My heart is sad, for I do not know whether my child has gone to heaven or to the Reinga." After evening prayers in the chapel, he rose and spoke to those present from the words so new to him, "In my Father's house are many mansions." Next day Tarore was buried amidst a scene of the deepest solemnity. The father spoke at the close with strong feeling: "There lies my child; she has been murdered as a payment for your bad conduct. But do not you rise up to obtain satisfaction for her. God will do that. Let this be the conclusion of the war with Rotorua. Let peace be now made. My heart is not sad for Tarore, but for you. You wished teachers to come to you: they came, but now you are driving them away." "God will obtain satisfaction," said Ngakuku. Bishop Williams remarks on the notable circumstance that, in an attack made upon Matamata some weeks afterwards, out of five Rotorua natives who were killed, four were concerned in this tragedy. Higher satisfaction still was made some years afterwards when Uita, the man who led the attack, having a desire to embrace Christianity, first sought reconciliation with Ngakuku. Nor did the effects of the little maiden's death stop even here. What had become of her Gospel? Who could tell? * * * * * The moment when the refugees arrived in the Bay of Islands was a particularly interesting one. Samuel Marsden was making his last visit to New Zealand. He had come, as he came ten years before, to bring cheer to his missionaries in a time of war and confusion. But the conditions in 1837 were very different from those of 1827. _Then_, there was darkness everywhere; _now_, in spite of the troubles in the south, there was gladness and a feeling of success. The older stations had indeed joyful tales to tell concerning the work of the last five years. Whatever might have been the fate of the forward movement, it had certainly coincided with a real religious awakening at the base in the north. At Waimate this was especially evident. Richard Davis could tell of days when he had over a hundred people coming to him with anxious enquiries about their souls. Numbers of converts had been admitted, after most stringent tests, not only to Baptism but to the Holy Communion. At Paihia the schools had undoubtedly suffered through the withdrawal of the teachers for the southern stations, but their work had been done. Large numbers of the people could now read, and those who had learned at the mission schools were teaching others in the villages far and wide. And, above all, a printing press had been received at Paihia in 1835. This event aroused extraordinary interest. The Maoris danced before the ponderous case as it was drawn up the beach, and acclaimed Colenso, the printer, as if he had been a victorious general. Distant chiefs came bringing bags of potatoes for the precious books. Two thousand copies of the Epistles to the Ephesians and the Philippians were the first books to be published in this country; then came the Gospel of St. Luke. This booklet was so eagerly sought for that the printers could not bind the copies fast enough. Into regions previously inaccessible the gracious words of divine wisdom penetrated. Tarore's copy was not the only one that found its way into the wild southern lands. Hence it was that Marsden's last visit bore the aspect of a triumphal progress. Landing at the Wesleyan station on the Hokianga River at the end of February, he was received with the utmost joy by the missionaries, who remembered his constant kindness to them, especially at the time of their flight from Whangaroa. From Hokianga he was carried on a litter by a procession of 70 men for 20 miles to Waimate, where he was met by Messrs. W. Williams, Davis, and Clarke. With pride they showed him the products of native workmanship in various departments--the church, the mill, the flourishing farm, the road to Kerikeri with its solid bridges. Marsden had always believed in the capacity of the Maori for industrial pursuits: now the evidences of this capacity were before him. But more grateful still to him was the sight of people everywhere reading the Scriptures and the Prayer Book. Wherever he went he was received with the utmost veneration. The heathen fired off muskets and executed war dances; the Christians showed their feelings in gentler ways. One chief sat upon the ground gazing upon him in silence, without moving a limb or uttering a single word, for several hours. "Let me alone," he said, when urged to move away; "let me take a last look; I shall never see him again." At Kaitaia, Marsden held a constant levee, sitting in an arm-chair, in an open field before the mission house. More than a thousand Maoris came to see him there, some of them having travelled for many miles. During this tour the old hero visited all the stations, except those which had been abandoned in the south. John King was the one link of connection between this farewell visit and the first. He had removed his dwelling in 1832 from its original position in the historic bay of Rangihoua to a more suitable spot at Te Puna, on the other side of the hill. His work had been greatly interrupted by a curious sabbatarian sect which had arisen among his little flock; nor had the faithful man any striking success to show; but he had held the fort amidst manifold discouragements, and he had gained the respect of the people around. At the departure of the patriarch from our shores, the feelings of his converts reached their climax. From Kerikeri and from Waimate they came in crowds to the Bay to bid him farewell, and the scene on the beach resembled that at Miletus when the people of Ephesus "fell on Paul's neck, and kissed him." A warship conveyed Marsden to Australia, and during the voyage he spoke much of his lately-deceased wife, and of the many friends who had preceded him to the eternal world. On a friend remarking that the separation would not be for long, "God grant it," he replied; and lifting his eyes to the bright moon, which laid a shining pathway across the heaving waters, he exclaimed with intense feeling: Prepare me, Lord, for Thy right hand, Then come the joyful day! That day indeed was not far distant, for he died some nine months later, on May 12th, 1838, and was buried in his family vault in the cemetery at Parramatta. Seldom, surely, has it been granted to anyone to see such a rich result of his labours before his death. The New Zealand mission, be it remembered, was only one of the fields of his activity: the Tahitian mission of the London Missionary Society was almost equally indebted to his care and generosity; while his own proper work among the convicts of New South Wales was enough to try the most ardent faith. Yet, in every field, he lived to see enormous difficulties overcome, and a plentiful harvest gathered in. Next to his heroic faith must be placed his almost boundless liberality. No one ever discovered the amount of money he provided from his own private funds for the New Zealand work, but it was known to be very great. As to his whole career we may quote the words of Saunders, who would not be likely to show any favour: "He was not a great preacher, nor a great writer, nor a great actor; but he was a good man and wrought righteousness. His patience and courage were unbounded; his unselfish purity was brilliant; his benevolence was universal. He obtained no title, he acquired no landed estate, no monument was erected to his memory, his bones rest not in New Zealand soil; but the blessing of those who were ready to perish has come upon him; and the proud and secure position which the Maori now holds in civilised society is mainly due to the stedfast faith and trust in his ultimate capability, which nothing could drive from the breast of Samuel Marsden." [Illustration: BISHOP SELWYN.] CHAPTER VI. "YEARS OF THE RIGHT HAND." (1838-1840). The right hand of the Lord bringeth mighty things to pass. --_Psalms._ We now approach the climax of the missionary period. The plant which had been rooted with so much difficulty, nursed with so much care, watered with so many tears of disappointment, was now to break into sudden and wonderful bloom. The check caused by the Rotorua-Thames (or "bonnet") war was but of short duration. Long before its close, Chapman was back at Rotorua, with Morgan as his colleague. They built a new station on the island in the lake (Mokoia), and here their families and their wardrobes were in peace. Before long every village round the lake had its raupo chapel; and Chapman himself pressed on southward to Lake Taupo, where the effects of his labours will meet us later on. In the same year (1838) Brown and Wilson re-occupied Tauranga, which soon became a particularly powerful centre. Not only were the catechetical classes large and enthusiastic, but the native teachers itinerated through the villages of the district, and a party of fifteen set off on a missionary tour to Taupo and Cook Strait. The history of this bold undertaking is hard to discover, but local traditions seem to show that these dimly-remembered pioneers must have descended the Wanganui River, and that at least one must have penetrated as far south as Otaki. From Tauranga also an occasional visit was paid to Matamata, which was not again to become the residence of a white missionary. But it had Tamihana Waharoa with his model _pa_, and its graveyard contained the grave of Tarore, "who, being dead, yet spake." Her father, Ngakuku, did not indulge in useless grief, but in 1839 accompanied Wilson from Tauranga along the Bay of Plenty to Opotiki near its eastern end, and there they founded a station amid a people more savage than any yet encountered. Yet even these accepted the new teaching with eagerness. A curious evidence of this was given by a deputation which came one day to Opotiki from a village 30 miles in the interior. The object of these strangers was not blankets or powder, but simply to ask the white man whether the words of the burial service might be read over the unbaptised! Outside the region of the "bonnet" war, changes also were in progress. The tribes were moving toward the coast, and their teachers found it wise to follow. The Puriri station was for this reason broken up, and two new ones established on the Hauraki Gulf--Fairburn settling at Maraetai, and Preece near the mouth of the Thames. Hamlin, too, abandoned his post at Mangapouri, and sailed down the Waikato to its mouth. Proceeding northwards to the Manukau Harbour, he found there the Rev. R. Maunsell already established. They worked together for three years; then Maunsell, leaving Hamlin at Manukau, opened a new station at Waikato Heads. Maunsell was a Dublin graduate of great eloquence and strong personality. He soon acquired a commanding influence over the people of his district, and an examination held by him in 1839 rivalled those of the Bay of Islands ten years before. Fifteen hundred people were present at this gathering. A class of 450 were examined in the Catechism in the open air, while 300 more advanced scholars inside the schoolhouse displayed their proficiency in varied subjects, some of them repeating correctly whole chapters out of the Epistles. At the close came a baptismal service, when 100 Maoris were received into the fold of Christ's Church; and afterwards a celebration of the Holy Communion, when more than that number participated. The service was followed by a feast, at which whole pigs were deftly carved and carefully apportioned, with their share of corn and kumeras, to each tribe: "In a few moments the whole vanished as if by magic. All was animation and cheerfulness, and even those who had come four and five days' distance seemed to forget their fatigue in the general excitement." While the mission was thus spreading through the island in cheering fashion, the older stations at the Bay were privileged to receive an episcopal visit. The able and devoted Dr. Broughton had lately (1836) been appointed Bishop of Australia, and had been requested by the C.M.S. to extend his pastoral care, as far as possible, to the islands of New Zealand. The mention of such a visit calls up imaginative pictures of its probable course. Would there not have been intense expectation and busy preparations beforehand? The Maoris would doubtless welcome their august visitor with characteristic heartiness, and would come forward in hundreds, if not in thousands, to receive the gift of Confirmation at his hands. His journeys from one station to another would be like a triumphal progress; there would have been feastings, gifts, and rejoicings everywhere. The actual facts were just the reverse. No one knew beforehand of his lordship's intention. He arrived unexpectedly on Dec. 21, 1838, and at a time when any sort of public welcome was well-nigh impossible. A violent epidemic of influenza had just spread through the settlements, and hardly a person was unaffected. Everyone was ill and weak. It was not without a certain appropriateness that the first distinctively episcopal acts performed upon our soil were those of the consecration of burial-grounds at Paihia and at Kororareka. The bishop went inland to Waimate, but the missionary in charge (R. Davis) could hardly, for weakness, show his visitor round the village. To judge by his journals, his thoughts were more taken up with his dying Maoris than with the living prelate. At the confirmation held when the bishop returned to Paihia (Jan. 5), only 44 Maoris were able to be presented, besides 20 white people--mostly missionaries' children. At the Hauraki station the bishop found a mere handful able to receive the laying-on of hands. Owing to the shortness of his visit and to the difficulty of communication, he was unable to visit more than these three stations; and he had left for Norfolk Island before many of the missionaries knew of his arrival. It must not be supposed, however, that this visit was in vain. The leaders of the mission had long felt their isolation from the rest of the world, and the new difficulties which the growth of a European population in the Bay was beginning to bring forth. They received much encouragement from the good bishop's counsel, and were placed in a better position for dealing with the white men. The sick were cheered by his sympathetic ministrations, and all classes united in expressing the farewell hope that he would not forget them but would soon visit them again. This hope was destined not to be realised; but the bishop left behind him a permanent addition to the mission staff in the person of a young Oxford undergraduate, who had been driven by delicate health to leave England and to undertake the long sea voyage to Australia. The bishop had admitted him to the diaconate in Sydney, and now at Paihia ordained him to the priesthood. Octavius Hadfield was still in a state of extreme delicacy, but he resolved to dedicate whatever might remain to him of life and strength to the service of Christ among the Maoris. Neither bishop nor priest, however, nor yet catechist nor settler, was to be the most signal agent in the extension of the work during these wonderful "years of the right hand of the Most Highest." Their labours were indeed richly blest, as the preceding pages have sufficiently shown. But the humbler instruments whose work has now to be recorded stand out in bolder relief, owing to the amazing contrast between the insignificance of the means and the magnitude of the results achieved. The east side of New Zealand was brought into contact with the mission through the prevailing winds which blow from that quarter. In the year 1833 there arrived in the Bay of Islands a ship which, while lying becalmed off the East Cape, had received on board a party of some dozen Maoris from the shore. Before they could be landed, the wind had sprung up, and thus they were carried into the territory of their enemies, who immediately proceeded to allot them as slaves. But the wind was not an altogether unkind one, for it had brought them within reach of Christian influences. The missionaries rescued the men and sent them eastwards again. Before they could land, however, they were again blown away by a sudden gale, and once more found themselves at the Bay. Here they were kept at Paihia for the winter, and in the summer of 1834 were at last successfully restored to their friends. They were accompanied on this occasion by Mr. William Williams, who found a warm welcome among the kinsfolk of the returned refugees. He even marked out a spot in the Waiapu valley for a future mission station. Nothing more, however, was done for some years; the incident, though deeply interesting, was well-nigh forgotten, and "it was hardly thought that any good results would follow." Neither might any good results have followed had the matter lain with the twelve men who had passed through the adventures just described. Of course, they spread a favourable report of their kind rescuers, and this was not to be despised. But there was not a sufficiently definite Christianity among them to qualify them to be teachers of their people. The nine days' wonder of their deliverance would soon have given place to the all-engrossing thoughts of war and vengeance. But they did not come back alone. With them came some slaves who had been carried to the Bay in earlier days by one of Hongi's raiding parties, and had now been set free by their Christian masters. One of these, Taumatakura, had attended school at Waimate, and though he had shown little interest in religion, he had at least learned to read. This man, on finding himself now among a people who were hungering for knowledge, began to teach and to preach. He wrote out verses and hymns on strips of paper, and these were cherished by his tribesmen with a superstitious veneration. His reputation increased to such a degree that when a military expedition was set on foot he was asked to accompany it. The armament was a great one, for it consisted of all the warriors for 100 miles down the coast, and it was strengthened by the alliance of the tribes of the Bay of Plenty. The object of the expedition was the capture of a strong _pa_ near Cape Runaway--the promontory which juts northwards into the ocean above East Cape. Taumatakura was by this time sufficiently confident to be able to make conditions. He stipulated that there must be no cannibalism nor any unnecessary destruction of canoes and food. His conditions were accepted, and the advance was begun. In the final assault upon the _pa_, what was the surprise of all the chiefs to see the one-time slave actually leading the attack! Fearlessly he rushed onward--gospel in one hand and musket in the other--amid a hail of bullets. Neither he nor his book was hit; and when the citadel was captured, Taumatakura was the hero of the day. Evidently his book was a charm of power: his words must be obeyed. Not only were his stipulations observed, but anything else he taught was now received with implicit deference. He did not know much, but at least he proclaimed the sanctity of the _Ra-tapu_ or weekly day of rest. Such was the news which reached William Williams at Waimate in the spring of 1837. "Why do you stay here," said the stranger, "while over there at Waiapu they are all ready to do what you tell them?" Early in the following year, accordingly, Messrs. W. Williams and Colenso went by sea to Hicks Bay, and walked under the cliffs along the coast for 100 miles. Wherever a valley opened they found a large and populous village; and everywhere the Sunday was observed, and there was an outcry for books and teachers. In one place, indeed, the people kept _two_ sabbaths each week. The field was ripe unto harvest. Later in the year, Henry Williams took six native teachers to occupy the field; and finally, in 1840, his brother removed thither with his family, and settled at Turanga in Poverty Bay. His labours were strikingly successful, and soon there was a church and an overflowing congregation in every _pa_. Thus wonderfully and unexpectedly began what was afterwards to become the diocese of Waiapu. More directly in the central line of advance, and certainly not less romantic in its beginnings, was the extension of the faith to the shores of Cook Strait. Reference has already been made to the evangelising expedition from Tauranga into this country. But before it could have reached its destination, a still more humble agent had been at work, whose position, like that of Taumatakura, was that of a liberated slave, and whose story, like his, begins at the Bay of Islands. It must have been in the year 1836, or somewhat earlier, that the little cemetery at Paihia became the receptacle of the headless body of a Maori who had been killed in a quarrel. With the body came a slave who was now left without an owner. The missionaries took him into house and school, and were pleased with his behaviour. Ripahau showed no signs, however, of becoming a Christian, and after a time asked leave to join a fighting party which was leaving the Bay for Rotorua. He seems to have become known there to Mr. Chapman, but he soon disappeared, and for two years nothing was heard of him. At last, Chapman received from him a letter asking for books. The letter came from Cook Strait, and explained that the people of that neighbourhood were eager to receive instruction. Shortly afterwards two young chiefs from the same quarter presented themselves at the Bay of Islands with a story which thrilled the hearers with wonder and gratitude. To understand its purport it is necessary to cast a backward glance over the years since the early days of the mission, when the Ngapuhi were procuring firearms from traders and missionaries. Hongi was not the only man in those days who foresaw the power which the musket would give. Rauparaha, the young chief of a small tribe living round the harbour of Kawhia on the West Coast, realised that his Waikato neighbours must from their geographical position acquire the precious weapons before his own tribe could do so. The outlook was desperate, and the remedy must be of an heroic nature. Rauparaha travelled down the coast to Kapiti, and there saw a European whaling-ship. Here then was another spot to which the white men resorted, and from which the coveted firearms could be obtained. The Maori at once made up his mind to remove his whole tribe thither, and thus place them in as good a situation as that of the Ngapuhi at the Bay of Islands. How the migration was effected--with what blending of statecraft, heroism, treachery, and cruelty--is a subject which does not come within the purview of a history of the Church. Suffice it to say that, at the date to which our narrative has now arrived, Rauparaha was securely settled in the island fastness of Kapiti, while his Ngatitoas had their habitations on the mainland opposite. They had ravaged the south of the island, as the Ngapuhi under Hongi had devastated the north; and Rauparaha was the most powerful and influential personage in New Zealand, except--Henry Williams. And now the two powers had met, for the young men who had arrived at Paihia were none other than the son and the nephew of Rauparaha, and the cause of their coming was due to the forgotten slave Ripahau himself. This seemingly insignificant person had reached Otaki in the new territory of the Ngatitoas some three years before. There he had met with Rauparaha's son, Tamihana, a young man who was sick at heart of his father's violent ways. Fascinated by the slave's story of the peaceful life of the missionaries at the Bay of Islands, he had compelled him to teach his friends and himself to read. Ripahau had but a Prayer Book with him, and it was hard to teach a class from one book. But he remembered that a few more books had been brought from Rotorua by the party with whom he travelled. These he procured, and among them there was a much-damaged copy of the Gospel of St. Luke. This bore the name of Ngakuku, and was in fact the very copy upon which little Tarore was sleeping when she was murdered in the night! In order to study in quiet, Tamihana and his cousin Te Whiwhi took Ripahau to the island and made him teach them there. The two cousins had Tarore's gospel for their lesson book. "We learnt," they said, "every day, every night. We sat at night in the hut, all round the fire in the middle. Whiwhi had part of the book, and I part. Sometimes we went to sleep upon the book, then woke up and read again. After we had been there six months, we could read a little, very slowly." But they had learned something even better than the art of reading. They had learned--and learned with the spirit--the subject-matter of the book. They now took Ripahau with them to some villages on the mainland to teach the people about the book: "These people believed, and they all wanted the book. I told them I could not give them any part of it, but I told Ripahau to write for them on paper, Our Father, &c. He wrote it for them all, and they learnt it. Before, Ripahau had not believed, but now his heart began to grow. We talked to him, and he believed." The result of this marvellous conversion was the visit of the two cousins to the Bay of Islands. They asked for a white teacher to come and live among them. The call was an urgent one, and Henry Williams volunteered to go himself. But his brethren and converts, fearing the removal of his great influence, voted against the proposal, and there was no other volunteer. The chiefs retired to their cabin in utter despair: "Oh! dark, very dark, our hearts were." A fortnight they stayed in their cabin, when a sailor announced that the missionary's boat was approaching. Henry Williams called out from it, "Friends, do not be angry with me any more; here is your missionary." It was the slight and consumptive Hadfield. This young recruit had not been able to understand the language of the visitors, but after they had gone he asked the purport of their errand. "I will go with them," he exclaimed; "as well die there as here." The older men were loth to let him make the venture, but he would not be kept back. It was at length resolved that Henry Williams should accompany him to the south, and help him to settle among the Ngatitoas. "We were all very happy that day," wrote Tamihana; "our hearts cried, we were very happy!" This southward journey of Williams and Hadfield, which began on October 21st, 1839, was like that to the Thames six years before, in that it inaugurated a great step forward in the work of the mission, and led the missionaries into regions which they had only dimly known before. Yet its fateful significance, both for New Zealand and for the individual travellers, could hardly be even guessed at the time by the two men themselves. To the one it was to bring life; to the other, troubles almost worse than death. After ten days' voyage down the eastern coast, the schooner which conveyed Henry Williams, Hadfield, and their Maori retinue rounded Cape Palliser; but, meeting there the full force of the west wind through the straits, was unable to make direct for Kapiti, and took shelter in a harbour which opened out on their starboard bow. "Very different from what is represented in the map of Captain Cook," remarked Williams, thus showing how little had hitherto been known about this magnificent inlet of Port Nicholson. But once inside its capacious recesses, he found that others had just discovered its value before him. Two Wesleyan missionaries had been there during the year, and had left a native teacher behind them; while a still more important visitor had arrived even more lately in the person of Colonel Wakefield, advance agent for the New Zealand Company, whose emigrant ships were every day expected. Much to Williams' displeasure he learned that Wakefield was claiming possession of the shores of the harbour--thus leaving to the Maori inhabitants no place of their own for the future. This information came from one of his old Paihia boys, Reihana, who had secured a passage with the Wesleyan expedition, and was now engaged in teaching his own fellow tribesmen. Reihana complained that he with others had opposed the sale of their lands, but that the Europeans would take no account of their rights, and insisted on having the whole. Henry Williams was not opposed to colonisation if rightly undertaken, but his blood began to boil at this story; nor did he feel happier when he found that a savage quarrel had arisen between two parties of Maoris over some of the land in question, and that during the last fortnight many men had been killed. No protest could be made at the moment, as Wakefield had left for the north; but, finding Reihana anxious to leave a place where his property was thus in jeopardy, Williams bought of him the land for a mission station. The Society at Home, however, decided not to form a station in the place, and the section (which comprised about 60 acres of what is now the heart of Wellington) remained in Williams' hands. The Maoris would never allow it to be pegged out by the Company's surveyors until Henry Williams himself, on his next visit, presented all but one acre to the Company in consideration of their undertaking to make reserves for the benefit of the natives. The one acre he afterwards sold, and devoted the proceeds to the endowment of a church at Pakaraka. This is the real history of a transaction which, by frequent misrepresentation, has brought undeserved obloquy upon a generous man. After distributing Prayer Books amongst the _pas_ around the harbour, the travellers made another attempt to continue their voyage. Again they were blown back to the Port, and eventually decided to walk to their destination overland, leaving the schooner to follow when the wind should change. Hadfield was extremely unwell, but pluckily resolved to follow his chief, and together they set off on the morning of Nov. 14 over the steep hills upon which the suburbs of Wellington now stand. Four days of hard walking brought them to Waikanae. At many places on the road the people came out to give them welcome, for the name of Wiremu was familiar to all. At every place, too, he was urged to tell them about religion, and at the _pa_ of Waikanae the people "kept me in conversation till I could talk no more." Next day a ceremonious visit was paid to Rauparaha in his island fortress: "The old man told me that now he had seen my eyes and heard my words, he would lay aside his evil ways and turn to the Book." How far this change was sincere may be doubted; it seems to have been partly caused by his fear of Col. Wakefield's ship, which was mistaken for a man-of-war. At any rate the old warrior gave a warm welcome to the young missionary, Hadfield, and insisted that he should live at Otaki under his protection. A meeting of a different character was that between Williams and his old scholar, Ripahau. This man had married a daughter of Rangitaake, or Wiremu Kingi, head chief of Waikanae, and had become a person of great influence in the tribe. "He has taught many to read," writes Williams, "and has instructed numbers, as far as he is able, in the truths of the Gospel; so that many tribes, for some distance around, call themselves Believers, keep the Lord's Day, assemble for worship, and use the Liturgy of the Church of England. The schools also are numerous." A fortnight later, just as he was about to leave the district, Williams baptised this remarkable young teacher by the appropriate name of Joseph, for of him too it might be said: But he had sent a man before them, Even Joseph, who was sold to be a bond-servant, That he might inform his princes after his will And teach his senators wisdom. Unfortunately the princes, or chiefs, had not all learned wisdom. There had been a war between Rauparaha's people and those of Waikanae over the distribution of the goods given by Wakefield for the land at Port Nicholson. When Williams arrived at Waikanae the traces of carnage lay all around. Again, therefore, he was called to be a peace-maker. He spent a week on a mission to Otaki, and returned to Waikanae with 300 armed and feathered warriors at his heels. But these men had put into his hands full power to treat with the enemy. After much debate, Ripahau was similarly commissioned by the other side; peace was soon concluded; a war-dance gave relief to the excited feelings of the tribesmen; a service occupied the evening; and the day was concluded with a quiet meeting, in which the few native teachers of the district were prepared to receive the Holy Communion, which was to be administered for the first time in those regions on the Sunday morning which was now approaching. Early on that day the Maoris came round the missionaries' tent and began their Matins worship. Ripahau had taught them hymns, and to these they had themselves fitted "very agreeable" tunes. At 8 o'clock a great service was held, with a congregation of 1,200 people. Then followed the Holy Eucharist. School and evening service and conversation with anxious enquirers at the tent door kept the missionary busy till late at night. Three days later Henry Williams bade farewell to Hadfield, and started off alone on a journey such as had never yet been attempted by a white man in New Zealand. His schooner had not yet arrived, and he had determined to travel overland to the Whanganui River, and thence through the heart of the island to the Bay of Plenty. But when he reached the Rangitikei he found more peace-making work to do, for he was met by a fighting party from Taranaki who were bent on attacking the settlements which he had just left. They carried gospels as well as fire-arms, but this seemed to make them insolent instead of reasonable. Their leader was an ignorant person who, on the strength of having once been at a Wesleyan mission station, posed as a prophet and had invented a new sacrament. Williams gave this man a severe rebuke, both for his demeanour and for his heresy. So potent was the influence of "Wiremu" that, after much debate, the northern army turned homewards, and the Otaki Christians were left in peace. On arrival at the Whanganui, great eagerness was everywhere displayed for books and teachers. In a native canoe Henry Williams ascended this noted stream, whose banks were then clothed in all their primeval beauty. Not bush-clad precipices, however, attracted his attention so much as the villages which nestled at their foot. In all of these he was astonished to find Christian worship maintained, though no white teacher had yet passed by that way. These _kaingas_ are all vanished now, and their very names are well-nigh forgotten; but Pukehika (a few miles below Pipiriki) afforded the traveller a memorable experience. At daybreak on Christmas Eve he records that "_three bells for morning prayers were heard from different hamlets in the neighbourhood._" On reading this astonishing statement, one's thoughts fly at once to Kinglake's well-known experience in the Arabian desert, when on a Sunday morning he heard distinctly the bells of his village church at Marlen. But there was no illusion here. The bells were chiefly musket barrels, and they hung in actual raupo chapels built by Maori hands! On leaving the river the expedition had before them a week's march to Taupo. For three days this meant climbing steep mountains and sliding down precipices, creeping along the trunks of fallen trees, or worming a way underneath them. On the fourth morning the travellers emerged into the open country at the foot of Mt. Ruapehu, and took their way across the pumice plateau. Their food was now nearly exhausted, and it was in a "tight-belted" condition that, on the last day but one of the old year, they saw the great lake glittering before them. Villages clustered round its shores, and in most of them there stood a chapel erected at the instance of Chapman and his Rotorua teachers. Williams enjoyed the feeling of being once more on the track of other missionaries; nor did he despise the evidences of their care which met him from time to time on his way--tea and sugar in one place and a horse in another--until he at last reached Rotorua in a somewhat exhausted condition, and was thankful to rest once more on the island, in Morgan's quiet abode. A still more pleasant surprise awaited the dauntless traveller on his further journey to Tauranga. While pushing his way through wet bush, he suddenly met Mr. William Williams, who in the midst of his migration to the east coast had been blown into Tauranga by contrary winds. On entering the village the brothers held a meeting, at which it was resolved to send a missionary to Whanganui without delay, both for the sake of the earnest enquirers in that district, and to afford some companionship to Hadfield in his lonely post at Otaki. The man chosen for this duty was the Rev. J. Mason, who had lately arrived in the country. Henry Williams arrived at his home on Jan. 18th, 1840, in time to negotiate the Treaty of Waitangi, which will fall to be considered in a different connection. Twenty-five years had elapsed since Marsden had brought the tidings of Christianity to New Zealand, and his settlers had begun in fear and trembling to lay the foundation stones of the Church in this new land. Now, there was hardly a district of the North Island into which the knowledge of the truth had not penetrated. We have watched its progress in north and east and south-west and centre. The Wesleyan missionaries were working down the west coast. Only the south-east had not been touched. Its population was small and had been greatly reduced by Rauparaha, but the readiness of the people was great, if we may judge from one of the most pathetic passages from the old Maori days. The events relate to a time a little later than that of those already described, but they must look back to the early days of Hadfield's residence at Kapiti. The speaker is an old chief who died in the Wairarapa district between Eketahuna and Pahiatua in 1850. The old man thus described to his sons his search for the new light of which he had heard: "You well know that I have from time to time brought you much riches. I used to bring you muskets, hatchets, and blankets, but I afterwards heard of the new riches called Faith. I sought it; I went to Manawatu, a long and dangerous journey, for we were surrounded by enemies. I saw some natives who had heard of it, but they could not satisfy me. I sought further, but in vain. I then heard of a white man, called Hadfield, at Kapiti, and that with him was the spring where I could fill my empty and dry calabash. I travelled to his place; but he was gone--gone away ill. I returned to you, my children, dark-minded. Many days passed by. The snows fell, they melted, they disappeared; the tree-buds expanded; the paths of the forest were again passable to the foot of the Maori. We heard of another white man who was going over mountains, through forests and swamps, giving drink from his calabash to the poor secluded natives, to the remnants of the tribes of the mighty, of the renowned of former days, now dwelling by twos and threes among the roots of the trees of ancient forests, and among the high reeds of the brooks in the valleys. Yes, my grandchildren; your ancestors once spread over the country, as did the quail and the kiwi, but now their descendants are as the descendants of those birds, scarce, gone, dead. Yes; we heard of that white man: we heard of his going over the snowy mountains to Patea, up the East Coast, all over the rocks to Turakirae. I sent four of my children to Mataikona to meet him. They saw his face; you talked with him. You brought me a drop of water from his calabash. You told me he would come to this far-off spot to see me. I rejoiced; I disbelieved his coming; but I said, 'He may.' I built the chapel; we waited, expecting. You slept at nights; I did not. He came; he came forth from the long forests; he stood upon Te Hawera ground. I saw him; I shook hands with him; we rubbed noses together. Yes; I saw a missionary's face; I sat in his cloth house; I tasted his new food; I heard him talk Maori. My heart bounded within me. I listened, I ate his words. You slept at nights; I did not. I listened, and he told me about God and His Son Jesus Christ, and of peace and reconciliation, and of a Father's house beyond the stars: and now I, too, drank from his calabash, and was refreshed. He gave me a book, too, as well as words. I laid hold of the new riches for me and for you; and we have it now. My children, I am old; my hair is white, the yellow leaf is falling from the _tawai_ tree. I am departing; the sun is sinking behind the great western hills; it will soon be night. But hear me: do you hold fast the new riches--the great riches--the true riches. We have had plenty of sin and pain and death; and we have been troubled by many--by our neighbours and relatives; but we have the true riches: hold fast the true riches that Karepa has sought for you!" [Illustration: RUINS OF ST. THOMAS'S CHURCH, TAMAKI.] How can we account for all this? Must we not say that these were indeed the "_Years of the right hand of the Most High_"? CHAPTER VII. RETROSPECT. (1814-1841). The native bent of the Maori mind caused the people, as they embraced Christianity, gradually to place themselves as a matter of course under the guidance of a sort of Christian theocracy. It was under the auspices of this mild missionary regime--which, if a government, was a very singular one, seeing that there were no laws, and an almost total absence of crime--that the first British Governor set foot on the shores of New Zealand. --_Judge Wilson._ Hardly had Henry Williams returned to Paihia from his great journey through the heart of the island, when a warship arrived in the Bay, bearing Captain William Hobson with a commission from Queen Victoria, authorising him to annex the country to the British Crown. A not very friendly historian (Saunders) has summed up the situation at this point by saying that, on his arrival, Hobson fell into the hands of the Reverend Henry Williams, and obligingly admits that he might have fallen into worse ones. As a matter of fact, the captain could have done but little had he not secured the co-operation of this influential missionary. Rusden speaks no more than the truth when he declares that "Henry Williams had but to raise his finger, and his _mana_ would have weighed more with the Maoris than the devices of Colonel Wakefield or the office of Hobson." The first act of the new official was to gather the northern chiefs on the lawn in front of the British Residency, on the other side of the river from Paihia, and to lay before them the famous document known as the Treaty of Waitangi. It is sometimes asserted that Henry Williams was really the author of this treaty. That would seem to be an error, but he may have been consulted in the drafting of the document; and there can be no question but that it was his influence which induced the chiefs to sign it. It was he who interpreted to the Maoris the provisions of the treaty, and the speech in which Hobson commended it to their acceptance; and it was he and the other missionaries who secured the signatures of the chiefs in other parts of the island. Whatever may be thought of the policy of this momentous document--securing as it did to the native race the full possession of their lands and properties under the British flag--it is a standing witness to the influence of the missionaries, and to the trust which the Maoris had come to place in their integrity and benevolence of purpose. The one place where the treaty was opposed was the new English settlement of Wellington, where the settlers stigmatised it as "a device to amuse the savages," and proceeded to set up a rival government of their own. Henry Williams went once more therefore to Port Nicholson, and succeeded in getting the treaty signed by the chiefs of that place. Thus supported, Hobson now felt himself strong enough to proclaim the Queen's sovereignty over the country, and himself became its first Governor. He had no military force to depend upon, and he ruled the country through the missionaries. His tenure of office was embittered by the constant opposition of the Company at Wellington, as well as by the difficulties natural to such a position; and he was harassed into his grave within two years of his arrival. But this period may be looked upon as the climax of missionary influence in New Zealand. After 1842, mission work went on extending, but the old workers no longer occupied the forefront of the stage. Before they retire into the background to make room for other figures, it will be well therefore to cast a glance over their work and its methods, their characters and their example. The position which they held was in many ways unique, and though their age lies not so far behind us in point of time, it really belongs to an order of things quite different from our own. The first point of contrast with our present somewhat overgoverned society is the absence of authority. The missionaries and settlers were sent out to a wild country to do the best they could. The bishops of the Church in England did not claim, nor believe that they possessed, any jurisdiction over them. The direction of the mission lay with the Committee of the C.M.S., but unless it sent out a sentence of dismissal, what could such a distant body do? If it sent out instructions to New Zealand, no answer could be expected for a whole year, during which time circumstances might have altogether changed. Short of actual dismissal, its power of discipline was but slight. Much of its power must of necessity be delegated to Marsden in Australia, but Marsden's authority was limited in the same way, though not quite to the same extent. He could not visit the mission often, nor could he secure that his instructions should be obeyed. As a matter of fact they were often not obeyed. "I know nothing I can say will have any influence upon their minds," he once wrote in despair; "they have followed their own way too long, and despise all the orders that have been given them by their superiors." This censure applied to certain individuals among the first settlers, and when one reads the letters and journals of these same men, one cannot help feeling some sympathy with them in their position. Possibly Marsden, with his exceptional powers, expected rather much of average human nature. But the point is that the position of an early missionary was an independent one. There was no civil government at all, and the instructions from ecclesiastical superiors were necessarily infrequent, often lacking in knowledge, never quite up to date, and backed by no compelling force except the threat of "disconnection" from the Society. Under such circumstances everything depended on the personalities of the men themselves. Those who came before 1823 were on the whole disappointing. Marsden frequently compared them to the twelve spies who all failed, excepting Caleb and Joshua. Unfortunately he never lets us know who his "Caleb" and his "Joshua" were. But one of them can hardly have been other than the young schoolmaster, Francis Hall, whose letters reveal a singularly earnest and beautiful spirit. Even he, however, admits the demoralising influence of the surrounding paganism--an influence which none wholly escaped, and before which some actually succumbed. "I feel in myself," quaintly writes another, "a great want of that spirituality of mind which New Zealand is so very unfavourable for; because of the continual scenes of evil that there is before our eyes, and for want of Christian society. So that you must excuse my barrenness of writing, and give me all the Christian advice you can." The most interesting personality among these first settlers was Kendall. Wayward and erring, passionate and ungovernable as he was, a close study of his letters shows a depth of sin and penitence, together with a breadth and boldness of philosophical speculation, which fascinates the reader. Alone among the missionaries he seems to have tried to approach the Maori from his own side, and to enter the inmost recesses of his thought: "I am now, after a long, anxious, and painful study, arriving at the very foundation and groundwork of the Cannibalism and Superstitions of these Islanders. All their notions are metaphysical, and I have been so poisoned with the apparent sublimity of their ideas, that I have been almost completely turned from a Christian to a heathen." Like the ancient Gnostics, Kendall tried to combine Christianity with a sublimated version of pagan superstitions; and if moral restrictions stood in the way, he cast them aside. "I was reduced," he says, "to a state so dreadful that I had given myself entirely up, and was utterly regardless of what would become both of body and soul." The details of his strange career cannot, of course, be given here. He has been represented as an utter hypocrite, and evidence is not wanting to give colour to the charge. But another and more favourable view is not only possible: it is forced upon anyone who studies his self-revelation through his letters. He seems to have hoped that his ordination would have given him moral strength and stability, but he had to admit that he had never been so strongly tempted to sin, so unable to resist it, or so ingloriously foiled, as since his return from England. Marsden's sharp exercise of discipline, though it elicited outbursts of passion, seems to have had a healing effect. "Blessed be God," he writes, "who has certainly undertaken for me. His sharp rebuke has laid me low; yet why should I repine, since He has inclined me to seek His face again?" Upon his expulsion from the mission, he retired to a house he had built at "Pater Noster Valley," and after a few months left the country. His great services in reducing the Maori language to written form have hardly been sufficiently recognised. Marsden, like the other settlers, could never adapt himself to the Italian vowel sounds, and at his request Kendall wrote out a new vocabulary on a different system; but he soon found it unsatisfactory, and returned to the principles which he had worked out with Professor Lee. For the rest of his life--in South America and in Australia--he still tried to perfect his Maori Grammar. But the tragedy of his life outweighs the value of his philological efforts. If ever a New Zealand Goethe should arise, he may find the materials for his Faust in the history of Thomas Kendall. From the date of the new beginning of the mission in 1823, its agents were, for the most part, men of a superior type. Yate, indeed, one of the ablest amongst them, was accused on a charge of which he never could, or perhaps _would_, clear himself. He was accordingly "disconnected" by the Society, but a certain doubt hangs over the issue; and his after life was spent in useful and honourable service as chaplain to the seamen at Dover. The rest of the new workers did excellent service for the mission, and most of them lived to an old age in the country. Remarkable for their linguistic capacity stand out William Williams, who translated the New Testament; and Robert Maunsell, who followed with the Old. This remarkable man took all possible pains to gather the correct idioms for his task--sometimes by engaging the Maoris in argument, sometimes by watching them at their sports. The passion for accuracy was strong in him to extreme old age, and even on his death-bed he interrupted the ministrations of his parish priest with the startling question, "Don't you know that that is a mistranslation?" Apart from translation work, the missionaries had little inclination or ability for literary pursuits. Some of them (e.g., W. Williams, Yate, and Colenso) took an interest in the plants and animals of their adopted country, but for the most part the missionary was a man of one book, and that book was the Bible. Life was too serious a thing to allow of attention to the literary graces. The place where his lot was cast was in a special sense the realm of Satan. The evidences of demonic activity lay all around. On the one hand were the sickening scenes of slaughter and cannibalism; on the other were the evil lives of sailors and traders of his own race. Now and then the great Enemy would draw nearer still, and one of his own comrades would fall a prey. His own religion was of a somewhat austere type. His calendar was unmarked by fast or festival; he had few opportunities of participating in a joyous Eucharist; there was no colour in his raupo chapel, nor variety in his manner of worship. The home life of the missionary doubtless often presented a picture of domestic happiness. But there were no luxuries. If he wished to vary the daily routine of pork and potatoes, he must try to obtain some fish or native game. Failing these, he had only his own garden and poultry-yard to look to. Soldiers' rations of coarse groceries were served out from the Society's stores, but everything else must be bought out of his slender income--£50 if a married man (unordained), or £30 if a bachelor. Often in the earlier days, while the Maoris were still unfriendly, even pork and potatoes were not to be had. More than once Henry Williams and his family were brought to the verge of starvation. [Illustration: OLD CHURCH AT RUSSELL (Built in 1838).] In spite of these and other privations, the health of the missionaries was good and their families were large. No death occurred among them until 1837, when Mrs. R. Davis was called to her rest. Dangers abounded on every hand, yet accidents were rare. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Davis were lost at sea; Marsden was wrecked on the Brampton reef, but escaped unhurt with all his party. Henry Williams passed through a terrible experience when returning from Tauranga in 1832. For two days his little vessel had been enveloped in driving rain and had been blown quite out of her course, when the missionary, who had been praying through the whole night, seeing at daybreak a rock immediately ahead, fell back upon his old nautical skill, seized the tiller in his own hands, and just succeeded in saving the craft from destruction. It was this imminent peril that raised in the mind of Henry Williams the question of how to make provision for his numerous family in case of his death. Like most of his colleagues, he had sons growing to manhood, and was anxious to do his duty by them. He could have sent them to England, but this would have meant a life-long separation between parents and children; to Sydney, but this would involve their exposure to the temptations of a convict settlement. He therefore decided to buy some land near to Paihia, and on this to settle his sons. The Maoris were pleased to sell him the land, and the Home Committee approved of the scheme. Several of the other missionaries did likewise. The plan seems a reasonable one, and it received the approbation of Bishop Broughton, on the condition that the lands so obtained should be strictly devoted to the use of the children, and not to that of their parents. But it has brought upon the missionary body, and upon Henry Williams in particular, the reproach of land-speculating--a reproach which is still reiterated by modern historians such as Saunders and Collier. Fortunately, an incident occurred at the close of our period which is enough to furnish a decisive test, at least in the case of Henry Williams. One of the first acts of Governor Hobson was to seek for a site for the capital of the new Colony. Wellington was vetoed by the Home Government, and the only other European town was Kororareka in the Bay of Islands. In this place or its neighbourhood the governor would doubtless have fixed his headquarters, had it not been for Henry Williams. This sagacious man had long noted the magnificent possibilities of the Waitemata Harbour, and on being asked his advice he took the governor to the spot. Hobson at once saw the value of the position, and selected the place where the city of Auckland was soon to rise. But before he could buy the land from its Maori possessors, he was disabled by a stroke of illness, and returned invalided to find nursing and medical attention at the mission station of Waimate. During the period of his convalescence he fixed his abode at Russell--a house just opposite to Paihia--and the Auckland scheme was left in abeyance. Speculators were busy about other suggested localities in the Bay of Islands, but the real site was known only to Henry Williams and to the governor himself. What a chance was here for a speculator! Never, perhaps, before or since, has such an opportunity occurred. Williams, with his unrivalled influence over the Maoris, might have bought up large tracts of land near the new site. If the charges against him are true, this is what he would have done. As a matter of fact, _he never acquired a single acre of land in that district_. He suffered the seat of government to be removed a hundred miles away from his own doors to a place where he did not possess, or try to possess, a single foot. This fact should surely set at rest for ever the question of the disinterestedness of Henry Williams. Land-buying was not the only fault of which the missionaries were accused. An English artist, Earle, visited New Zealand in 1827, and on his return published an account of his travels, in which he accused the church clergy of churlishness and inhospitality. Yet these same men were the ones who came to his assistance when his house was burned, and supplied all his wants to the full. This fact Mr. Earle does not mention, and has not a favourable word to say on behalf of those who had befriended him. A very different visitor arrived some eight years later in the research-vessel _Beagle_. This was Charles Darwin, whose name had not yet achieved renown, but who was already distinguished for that philosophical temperament and keen observation which make his judgment to be of exceptional value. He speaks of "the gentlemanlike, useful, and upright characters" of the missionaries; expresses his admiration of the civilised appearance of Waimate; and finds in the results thus achieved the best ground for hope for the future of the country. He had evidently been previously impressed by Earle's denunciations, and was even surprised to see one of the missionaries' sons playing cricket with the Maori scholars. The mention of this little incident was doubtless intended to soften the impression of extreme austerity, and is not without its value to this end. But it does not go very far to modify the picture of old-fashioned gravity and severity. In modern times the missionaries would have been playing in the game themselves. On the whole, the reports which reached the mother country were favourable, and caused great rejoicing among the friends of the mission staff. But there was one doubt which agitated the minds of a certain circle of English society, and that was as to the _churchmanship_ of the New Zealand mission. Its agents were good men, and had achieved astonishing success; but had they kept up the distinctive tone and system of the mother Church? Were they distinguishable from the Methodists by whose side they laboured? No treatment of the subject can be considered complete which omits this feature of the situation. Undoubtedly there was some justification for the fears entertained in the Home land. Marsden himself had been born and brought up in a Methodist family. From this, as a young man, he had passed without sense of break or violent change into a church school, and thence to Cambridge, where he was associated with the Evangelical leaders, who emphasised the individual rather than the corporate aspect of the Church's teaching. We have seen that in 1819 he sent over a Methodist preacher to report upon and to stimulate his nagging workers. He was not in favour of the Methodists sending a mission of their own to New Zealand, but when in 1822 his friend Mr. Leigh determined to settle in the country, Marsden put no obstacles in his way. Not only so, but in 1823 Marsden himself brought over Leigh's colleagues, Hobbs and Turner, who established their station at Whangaroa, after consultation with the settlers at the Bay of Islands. The stations were not far apart, and constant brotherly intercourse was maintained between the occupants. When the Wesleyans fled from their homes in the turmoil of 1827, it was to Kerikeri and Paihia that they betook themselves in the first place, and it was Marsden's parsonage at Parramatta that sheltered them afterwards. It was by Marsden's advice that they settled at Hokianga on their return, and they always looked forward to his visits as eagerly as did their brethren at the Bay of Islands. He himself rejoiced to receive them to the Holy Communion; their converts were admitted to the same holy ordinance at Waimate and Paihia; the missionaries preached without hesitation in one another's pulpits. So anxious were the leaders on both sides to spare the Maoris the spectacle of Christian disunion, and to emphasise the fact that they baptised not in their own name but in that of their common Master, that on the occasion of the reception into the fold of the great chief Waka Nene and his brother, Patuone, they arranged that Patuone, who belonged to the Methodists, should be baptised by the church clergy, while Waka, who was an adherent of the church mission, should receive the sacred ordinance at the hands of the Wesleyans. Highly irregular! some will exclaim. But there are important considerations which must be kept in mind. In the first place, the unhappy separation between the Methodist body and the historic Church had not then assumed the hard and fast character which it bears to-day. The followers of Wesley were still in fairly close touch with Wesley's mother Church; they still occupied, to a large extent, the position of a voluntary order within the established framework. They used the Book of Common Prayer at their services, and taught the Church Catechism to their children. And in New Zealand they looked up to Marsden as their apostle, and were guided in their operations by his disinterested advice. Nor should it be forgotten that the agents of the C.M.S. were mostly laymen. Setting aside Hadfield, Mason, and Burrows, who all appeared upon the scene near the close of our period, there were but four ordained clergy during the years of co-operation between the two societies, viz., Brown and Maunsell and the brothers Williams. Nor did the "historic episcopate" present any obstacle to intercommunion. No bishop was seen in the land until the end of 1838, and then his stay was but short. There was accordingly no question as to the necessity of confirmation as a qualification for communion. Confirmation simply could not be had. Candidates were admitted to the Eucharist after long and careful probation. Bishop Broughton, who was a High Churchman and a disciplinarian, found that his misgivings as to the churchmanship of the mission were unfounded. A few things were irregular, as of course they were likely to be in an isolated community which had been cut off from the rest of the world for a quarter of a century, but at the end of his visit the bishop could express his conviction that everything would be easily set right by a bishop residing on the spot. On the whole, the relations between the two bodies seem to have been marked by true wisdom as well as by Christian sympathy. But the harmony was not perfect. When the Wesleyan missionaries transferred their operations from Whangaroa on the east coast to Hokianga on the west, they seem to have taken it for granted that the whole of the west coast was to be reserved for them, while the east was to be the sphere of the Church. But the physical features of the island were opposed to such an arrangement. Nearly all the rivers from the interior run westwards, and the missionaries in following the movements of their people sometimes found themselves by the western sea. The first instance of this tendency was in the Waikato district, where, as we have seen, Hamlin and Maunsell were drawn to the Manukau Harbour and the Waikato Heads. The result was a confusion of operations. The Wesleyans had established stations further to the south on the Kawhia and Raglan harbours, and thus barred the operations of Maunsell in this direction. Much correspondence ensued with the Home authorities, and for a time the Wesleyans withdrew from their posts. Eventually, however, a treaty was signed at Mangungu in 1837 by Henry Williams on the one hand, and the Rev. N. Turner on the other. By this agreement the harbours of Raglan and Kawhia, with the hinterland as far eastwards as the Waikato and Waipa rivers, were definitively included within the Wesleyan sphere of influence. Nothing was said about the coast to the southward, and there was nothing whatever to prevent the settlement of Hadfield at Waikanae and Otaki in 1839, nor that of Mason at Wanganui in 1840. The idea, however, of "the West Coast for the Wesleyans" still survived in some minds, and there were those who resented the settlement of Hadfield and Mason on "their" coast as an unfriendly act. These two excellent missionaries were also violently attacked by one of the younger Wesleyans in Taranaki, apparently through ignorance of the Church's position. The ultimate settlement of the boundaries was reached by tacitly recognising all the west coast north of Wanganui (excepting of course Maunsell's district) as lying in the Methodist sphere, and all south of Wanganui as included in that of the Church. These differences in the south-west of the island hardly disturbed the comity which prevailed in the north. A more serious trouble, however, arose in this region when a Roman Catholic mission appeared there in 1838. In that year a French bishop and a band of priests landed at Hokianga, and afterwards moved to Kororareka, right in the centre of the Bay of Islands. As in other parts of the world, so here, the Romanists passed over the unoccupied territory and planted themselves in the midst of occupied ground, where they proceeded to upset the congregations of the older workers. For a time they drew away many of the converts to their side. But the Maoris were shrewd men, and several of them by this time knew their New Testament by heart. When the Roman teachers condemned the English missionaries for having wives and children, the Maoris were ready with an effective answer from the example of St. Peter, the married apostle. They held their own in argument, and eventually drew back most of their brethren to the Church of the earlier instructors who had borne the burden and heat of the day, and proved their faith by their sufferings and their works. What those works and sufferings were has already been partly described in the course of this narrative. But there is one passage in the literature of the period which is too graphic to omit. It relates to the adventures of two of the lesser characters among the missionaries, and it illustrates both the hardships which they sometimes underwent and also the nature of the Maori mind. It was in 1835 that Wilson and Fairburn heard of the dangerous position of a party of women and children belonging to the Waikato tribe. They were encamped on a stream called Maramarua, and a strong _taua_, or fighting party, was preparing to set off from the mouth of the river Thames, with the object of cutting off the retreat of these unsuspecting people. The two missionaries determined to baulk this scheme, and by rowing all night succeeded in getting ahead of the pursuers. Next day they had a toilsome walk of many hours. The _taua_ was on their track, the way was longer than they expected, and only by a few seconds did they at last succeed in giving warning to the Waikatos, and thus saving their lives. But now the baulked hunters had to be reckoned with. Respect for the white man kept them from actual violence, but as night came on the situation was a decidedly difficult one. Wilson's journal continues thus: "It was now nearly dark, the rain and wind increasing, and the only shelter was the long, narrow shed, partly finished--half of the roof still uncovered. This hovel was about 18 feet long, 9 wide, and 7 feet in height. The natives, to make up for the rain which came through in every direction, lit two fires with green wood, near each end of the house, which filled it with smoke. Into this the _taua_, about thirty men, entered, and began to take off their wet garments and crouch round the fires; and into this pleasant abode for the night we, too, with our four natives, had to creep: it was either this or remain outside in a winter easterly gale. After a time we attempted to dry some of our clothes by one of the fires, but the smoke was so intolerable, and the heat of the place so great, notwithstanding it was only half roofed, that we were obliged to lie down with our faces nearly touching the earth. We remained in silence a long time, perhaps two or three hours, not a word being addressed to us, either by the chief, or his followers; this by no means a good omen in native etiquette and custom. We had brought no provisions with us, supposing Maramarua to be nearer to the coast; and after long waiting to see the mind of the _taua_ and how things would be, we at last were about to lie down to try to sleep, to forget our hunger, lodging, and society. Now, it is an established custom in New Zealand never to begin or end the day without prayer, and though in this wretched predicament, Mr. Fairburn proposed that we should thus close the day. The armed men were sitting moodily by the fires, when we signified our wish to our people, who were all Christians. This night's service will never be forgotten by me; it was commenced by singing the sixth native hymn, the first words of which are: Homai e Ihu he ngakau, kia rongo atu ai, Ki tau tino aroha nui, i whakakitia mai. [Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, NELSON.] "The hymn--an invocation to Christ for the Holy Spirit's aid to regenerate the natural heart, and impress it with love to God--I had often heard and sung; but never before had it come home to me with such reality, or sounded with such sweetness and power, as in _this_ solemn appeal to the Most High.... We then prayed for this dark world, its sorrowing and erring children, that the God of mercy would be graciously pleased to bring them to a knowledge of himself; and after thanks for the mercies of the day, we commended ourselves to God. Our simple service over, we said no more. For a time all remained quiet; none seemed willing to interrupt the silence in this strange place and on this still stranger occasion; nothing was heard but the storm, which appeared to be tearing the remainder of the roof from the shed, and the rain rattling against the _raupo_. The _taua_ seemed as if struck by the fabled wand of some mighty magician! Their former reserve and low whispering ceased; and after a while they began to talk quietly to each other, and shortly afterwards they spoke to ourselves and to our natives. The gloom had passed away, their countenances became altered; and they now began to prepare some refreshments. Each of the _taua_ had carried at his back a small flax basket of potatoes, containing some three or four handfuls. Of this slender stock they passed along (for there was no moving for want of room) a liberal share for ourselves and our natives. After this the pig was cut up and roasted; but, faint and hungry as I was, it was nearly impossible to eat it. And now all restraint was thrown off, and the Maoris conversed freely and pleasantly. So the night wore on, better than it had begun. At last, cold and weary, overpowered by the smoke, I fell asleep on a bundle of bullrushes; and when I awoke, I found that I had been sleeping unconsciously on one of the men's heads." Incidents such as this did not, of course, happen every day; but this one is typical in that it shows the _religious_ character of the Maori. Here is a war-party who start out with the object of shooting down a number of unsuspecting people. They come back talking in quite friendly fashion with the men who had baulked them of their prey. What had worked the change? Simply the singing of a hymn. Where could we find stronger evidence of a disposition naturally religious, or a more striking instance of the divine guardianship? In trying to trace the causes of the wonderful spread of Christianity among this ferocious people, it is natural to think first of the _combination_ of benefits which the missionaries were able to bring. They stood for all the knowledge and civilisation of the outside world, as well as for the message of a world to come. They had no telephones, no motor cars, nor even matches; but they brought tools of iron and of steel, they had strange animals and plants, they used glass and china and wool and cotton, and above all they learned from books. Such marks of power could not fail to tell upon a shrewd people like the Maoris. The most intelligent of the chiefs, without at all understanding the truths of Christianity, were at once attracted by these signs of mechanical and intellectual superiority. We have seen how much the mission was indebted to the three great generals of New Zealand--Hongi in the north, Waharoa in the centre, and Rauparaha in the south--for the main steps of its advance. It might seem at first as though the explanation of Maori Christianity were a fairly simple matter. Yet such a conclusion would be very far removed from the truth. Undoubtedly the prestige of the white man's civilisation gave a valuable leverage at first, as in the notable case of Ruatara. Undoubtedly also, many of the common people were simply swept along by the current when once it grew strong enough to make itself felt. But the earliest real converts were old men, delicate girls, consumptive lads, and wretched slaves, whose hearts were caught not by axes and blankets, but by the message of a Father's love and of a home beyond the stars. The Maori was a religious being, and when his old faith failed him in the hour of need, he turned to the new gospel of certitude and hope. Nobler spirits among the race were drawn also by the social side of the new teaching; they saw in it a prospect of ridding the land of desolating wars; but in each case it was the true power of Christianity that operated, not the adventitious blessings which it brought in its train. Very interesting, as evidences of the heartfelt piety of the early converts, are the letters which many of them wrote to Yate on the eve of his journey to England. There is surely nothing of a merely conventional goodness about such language as this: "I have this day, and many days, kneeled down, and my mouth has whispered and has said loud prayers; but I wish to know, and am saying within me, if I have prayed with my heart. Say you, if I have prayed to God with my heart, should I say No, and not do His bidding, as the Bible says we must and tells us how? And should I flutter about here like a bird without wings, or like a beast without legs, or like a fish whose tail and fins a native man has cut off, if I had love in my heart towards God? Oh! I wish that I was not all lip and mouth in my prayers to God. I am thinking that I may be likened to stagnant water, that is not good, that nobody drinks, and that does not run down in brooks, upon the banks of which kumara and trees grow. My heart is all rock, all rock, and no good thing will grow upon it. The lizard and the snail run over the rocks, and all evil runs over my heart." The anxious and self-accusing spirit which appears in this passage deepens as the soul passes under the awe of the sacramental presence. "My Teacher," writes another, "I have been many moons thinking about the holy feast which Jesus Christ gave to His disciples, and told everybody to eat it in remembrance of Him. It is not a natives' feast; for in New Zealand everybody eats as much as he is able, and as fast as he is able; but this is a feast of belief. If my body were hungry, I should not be satisfied with a piece like a crumb, nor with a drop that will go in a cockle shell; but my soul is satisfied, my heart is satisfied, though it be a crumb and a drop. The thoughts within me yesterday were perhaps right, and perhaps wrong. I said to myself, I am going to eat and to drink at a table placed before us by the Great Chief of the world. I must be very good, and must make myself good within; or, when He sees me, He will show that He is angry. And then I thought, I will not think anything that is not right, nor do anything that is not straight to-day; and then, God will see that my heart is becoming good. But, Mr. Yate, perhaps you will, and perhaps you will not, believe it: I thought no good thoughts, and I did no good works all day; and yet I was still, and not angry with myself, no, not at all. Now, my Teacher, you say what I am to do, before the next day of the Lord's Supper. I think I must pray to God for a new heart, and for His Holy Spirit." This honest confession agrees with the observations of many outside observers of the change wrought in the Maoris by their new religion. Not all received the "new heart." Indeed, to judge from the accounts of men like Wakefield and Fox, the old heart was hardly touched by the new doctrines. The Christian Maoris were blamed for covetousness and insolence, for dishonesty and lying. "Give me the good old Maori who has never been under missionary influence," was the feeling of many of the colonists. It was the same complaint as is heard in every mission field. But calmer and more unprejudiced observers give a different verdict. The Bishop of Australia reported: "In speaking of the character of the converted natives, I express most unequivocally my persuasion that it has been improved, in comparison with the original disposition, by their acquaintance with the truths of the Gospel. Their haughty self-will, their rapacity, furiousness, and sanguinary inclination have been softened--I may even say, eradicated; and their superstitious opinions have given place, in many instances, to a correct apprehension of the spiritual tendencies of the Gospel. Their chief remaining vices appeared to me to be indolence, duplicity, and covetousness." In mentioning these three prevailing vices, the bishop lays his finger upon faults which the lover of the Maori has still to deplore. His tendency to indolence shows that Marsden's insistence on industrial training was sound in theory, though not easy to carry out in practice. Highly endowed as the Maori was in many respects, he found it hard to copy the white man in his regular and even life of toil. The Maori was in fact the Greek of the south. Intellectually he was brilliant, and his memory was nothing short of marvellous. Somewhat later than our period, an English surveyor on the west coast of the South Island was disturbed in his camp by a party of Maoris who had come from Ahaura in the valley of the upper Grey. They had never seen a white man before, but they had picked up some knowledge from other Maoris who had come overland from Port Cooper. During the night, "they commenced the recital of the morning service; before morning they had repeated the Litany four times, the whole version of the Psalms, three or four creeds, and a marriage service, and then the whole morning service again."[4] Men who could do this might surely be expected to be equal to anything. Altogether, the unfolding of the Maori nature at this time was such as to arouse the highest hopes for his future greatness. To the friends of the mission in England it seemed as though the angels' songs over a repentant nation could be almost heard. Their orators, like Hugh Stowell, indulged in rhapsodies over the isle "now lovely in grace as she is beauteous in nature"; and even a philosophic thinker like Julius Hare could give it as his deliberate opinion that, for many centuries to come, historians would look back to the establishment of a Christian empire in New Zealand as the greatest achievement of the first part of the nineteenth century. [4] This account is taken from the _Nelson Church Messenger_, of some years ago. Bishop Williams thinks the surveyor must have been misled to some extent. Second Period. CHAPTER VIII. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE NEW ORDER. (1839-1842). Replenish the earth, and subdue it. --_Genesis._ The missionaries had worked wonders in New Zealand, but the very success of their work proved to be its undoing. Now that the islands were safe and quiet, they attracted a rush of white settlers who were eager for land and gain. Instead of whalers and flax traders, whose settlements were only temporary, there appeared farmers and artisans who had fled from the misery of the mother country to found for themselves permanent homes in the "Britain of the South." Many of the immigrants came singly from Australia, but from the year 1839 the New Zealand Company sent thousands of settlers in more or less organised fashion to the country on either side of Cook Strait, to Wellington, Nelson, and New Plymouth. This company was founded by the celebrated Edward Gibbon Wakefield, a man who had read and thought much upon the subject of colonisation. His views reflected fairly the public sentiment of the day. The colonists should be grouped in communities for mutual help and safety; they should have churches and clergy and as much religion as sensible men required at home; the rights of the dark-skinned inhabitants of the soil should not be altogether ignored, but neither should they be allowed to stand in the way of progress and expansion. The world was made for the Englishman: if the Maori came between them, so much the worse for him. Such projects might well alarm the friends of the Maori, both in England and in New Zealand. They could not blind themselves to the fact that the coming of the white man had almost everywhere led to the disappearance of the coloured races from the earth. The influential friends of the Church Missionary Society accordingly opposed the New Zealand Company's plans in parliament, and prevented it from obtaining government recognition. Its emigrants went forth from their native land against the wishes of the authorities, and they naturally carried with them a prejudice against the cause of missions. On their arrival they were received by the missionaries with mixed feelings. Natural instinct led them to welcome the sight of men of their own race, but their minds misgave them when they thought of the effect which would be produced upon their converts. The Maoris were not yet grounded and settled in the faith: they looked up to their spiritual teachers for guidance in all the matters of life. Their faith was that of children, and for the time their safety lay in their child-like submissiveness to their teachers. How long would this happy state continue, if anything should dispel the veneration in which the missionary had hitherto been held? The coming of white men had so far brought little but trouble. Kororareka was the one European settlement before the founding of Wellington, and Kororareka was looked upon as a sink of iniquity. A church had been built there by the missionaries, but some of the townspeople had approached Bishop Broughton with a petition that he would appoint someone other than a missionary to officiate within it. At Port Nicholson we have seen how Henry Williams had been roused by the high-handed proceedings of Colonel Wakefield. Hadfield had indeed won the respect of the colonists by his high sense of honour, and his readiness to use his influence with the Maoris on their behalf; but it remains true, on the whole, that the opposite ends of the island were set against each other--missionaries and Government in the north over against colonists and Company in the south. Such was the condition of affairs on May 29th, 1842, when there arrived in Auckland the Right Reverend George Augustus Selwyn to take up the position of bishop of the divided flock. This remarkable man was then in the prime of early manhood, and he brought with him not only a lithe athletic frame well fitted to endure hardship; not only the culture of Cambridge and of Eton, where he had learned and taught, and the courtly atmosphere of Windsor, where he had exercised his ministry; but above all he brought with him _ideals_. These took the form of a strong centralised government in the Church. While yet a curate, he had attracted attention by his vigorous defence of the cathedral system, through which he proposed to govern the whole Church of England. But his thoughts had travelled far beyond the bounds of a merely national Church. Stirred by the spectacle (alluded to in our Introduction) of the dominance of Mohammedanism in the lands of the East, he had dreamed of himself as Bishop of Malta, or some other Mediterranean post, whence he might lead a new crusade into North Africa, and win back the home of St. Cyprian and St. Augustine to the faith of Christ. Curiously enough, some such scheme was actually on foot at the time of his consecration (Oct. 17, 1841), and one of his first episcopal acts was to join in laying hands on a bishop who was sent out to Jerusalem to endeavour to stir the languid religion of the mother city of Christendom. Being chosen to read the epistle on this occasion, Selwyn had selected the passage which tells of the Apostle Paul's last journey to the Holy City; and he had thrown such intensity of feeling into his reading of the words, "Behold, I go bound in the Spirit unto Jerusalem," that some of the other prelates were in tears. But he was not the man to grieve over what could not be altered. If it was not to be his lot to be sent to the ancient city of Zion as its bishop, he would bravely set forth to a very different field, and would endeavour to build a new Jerusalem at the uttermost ends of the earth. His coming was eagerly looked for by both sides. The Wellington settlers confidently expected that he would fix his residence among them, and give to their colony that seal of legality which it had hitherto lacked. The New Zealand Company had been largely instrumental in carrying the bishopric bill through the Imperial Parliament; it had made large promises of financial assistance: now it looked for the support of the bishop in its struggle with missionaries and officials.[5] But the new bishop was not minded to become a dignified ornament of the Wellington settlement. To build his new Jerusalem he needed "an entrenched camp," and for this he must have a spiritual atmosphere, and he must have living material and suitable buildings. Instead, therefore, of going to the colonial south, he turned first in the direction of the missionary north. In less than a month after his arrival in his diocese, he had reached the Bay of Islands; he had captivated Henry Williams (who wrote, "I am afraid to say how delighted I am"); and had resolved to make his entrenched camp at Waimate, the most eligible and beautiful of the missionary stations. Here were fertile land and a farming establishment; here was a school for missionaries' children, which he might easily convert into a college; here was a church whose spire rose gracefully above the surrounding trees; here was a religious atmosphere already in existence. [5] For the right understanding of the subsequent history, the following extract from a letter of Gibbon Wakefield to Mr. J. R. Godley (Dec. 21st, 1847) is of the utmost importance: "I really cannot tell you what the Bishop of New Zealand is. His see was _created_ by us in spite of many obstacles put in our way by the Church and the Government. Indeed, we forced the measure on the Melbourne Government; and in that measure originated all the new Colonial bishoprics. If our views had been taken up by the Church, great results would have been obtained both for the Church and colonisation. I will not say that Dr. Selwyn turned round upon us, and joined our foes, the anti-colonising 'Church Missionary Society'; but I am sure he is not a wise man." But the bishop had no intention of leaving the European settlements untended. Before forming his central establishment at Waimate, he undertook a thorough visitation of his diocese, or at least of every part of it in which church work was being carried on. In order to appreciate the magnitude of his task, it will be well to take a bird's-eye view of the whole scene. The North Island was by this time fairly well known. Though the Maori race had been terribly reduced in numbers since the coming of Marsden in 1814, still their _pas_ were to be found in every fertile bay round the coast, up every river valley, and round the lakes of the interior. Large areas of uninhabited country were to be found in the inland regions, but these were either too mountainous, too barren, or too heavily timbered for such an ease-loving race. The Maoris clustered in greatest numbers round the warm springs of Rotorua, on the coast to the east, and in the extreme north; but their most powerful warrior was Rauparaha, who had migrated (as before explained) to the island of Kapiti. The tribes were all Christian, or ready to become so, and Selwyn in all his travels seldom found a professing heathen. The South Island was still little known, except at the extreme north and the extreme south. At the north, the town of Nelson had just been founded, and farming had begun on the Waimea Plains. In the south, Maoris and whalers lived an isolated life on the harbours and islands of Foveaux Strait. A few whaling stations were dotted along the east coast of the island, but the maps of the time show the ignorance that prevailed. The sea is represented as covering the whole district in which the town of Christchurch now stands; mythical bays indent the coast; while the interior is marked simply by "high mountains supposed to be covered with perpetual snow," and "greenstone lakes" which occur in unexpected places. The one spot in this region which might have redeemed its otherwise inhospitable character was the harbour of Akaroa, where a French colony had lately made its home. But this bit of old France had nothing to do with the rest of the country. The settlers went their own way, planting their vines and their fig-trees, propagating the willow slips which they had gathered on their outward voyage at Napoleon's grave, and turning their eyes to the French warship which lay in their harbour, rather than to the Union Jack which floated on the shore. Of the two races which formed his flock, there could be no question as to which needed the bishop's attention first. The Maoris were well cared for by the missionaries, but for the white settlers very little had been done. The number of these was considerable. There were over 3,000 of them at Wellington and Petone, over 2,000 at Nelson, and 1,900 at Auckland; while the smaller towns of New Plymouth and Wanganui contained some hundreds of inhabitants. Not being "heathens," they did not come within the regular sphere of the Church Missionary Society, and the English bishops did not show themselves eager to co-operate with Wakefield and his Company. The old Church Society "for the Propagation of the Gospel," which was afterwards to give generous help to the New Zealand settlements, had sent out one chaplain (the Rev. J. F. Churton) with the first Wellington settlers; but he had received so little support that after nine months he had left the town, "an impoverished man." Making his way to Auckland, this clergyman had there met with a much better reception, and his congregation had at once commenced to build a large and substantial church. This church (St. Paul's) was in process of erection when the bishop reached Auckland. Meanwhile the Company's settlements were left without any regular clerical ministrations. The bishop had brought out with him from England a band of clergy, and these he resolved to plant in the various colonial towns. Leaving one of these, with a student, to proceed direct to Wellington, he himself sailed for Nelson on July 28th, 1842, with the Rev. C. L. Reay. Arriving on the following Sunday, he preached at once in the immigration barrack. For the next Sunday's services he availed himself of a large tent which an English friend had given him. This was fitted up with every requisite for divine service, and the bishop saw it filled with a good congregation. One of the colonists (the Rev. C. Saxton) was found to be a clergyman who had already provided occasional services. The bishop therefore, having chosen a site for a church on the beautiful elevation in the heart of the town, was able to leave this lovely spot with a good hope of its future progress. Very different were his feelings when he crossed the strait to Wellington. It seemed as though the cause of the Church were doomed to disappointment in this most populous of the New Zealand towns. The two men whom the bishop had sent in advance, he found at death's door from typhus fever, contracted amidst the insanitary conditions of a new settlement. The bishop devoted himself to nursing the invalids, and had the happiness of seeing one of them (the Rev. R. Cole) restored to health. But Willie Evans, the student whom he had hoped to have with him on his travels, died on October 3, leaning on the bishop's arm. Nor was this the only disappointment which Wellington afforded. "There appears to be neither school nor chapel connected with the church," wrote the bishop, "nor provision for either." He had hoped to place there a clergyman "of high character and standing" as archdeacon, and to have provided him with ample resources, but the New Zealand Company failed to provide its promised quota, and the scheme fell through. The residents of the town gave the bishop an address--and but little else. He could but leave his newly-ordained and just convalescent priest to occupy this arduous post, with no nearer human support than that of Hadfield at Waikanae. After the funeral of Evans, the journey overland to Taranaki was begun. On the way the bishop of course met Hadfield, who had struggled manfully along since he had been left there by Henry Williams three years before. He still looked like a man doomed to death, and lived on little but biscuit, but he had acquired a wonderful influence over his Maori flock. Passing on to the Wanganui, the bishop had what proved to be his last interview with Mason, whose zeal and activity elicited his admiration; he also received an address of congratulation from the small English community of the town. At New Plymouth also everything looked bright. This settlement was almost exclusively Anglican, and good sites were at once offered for churches and schools. Having thus visited all the English towns, the bishop took ship down the west coast and again reached Waikanae. Here he prepared for the more arduous part of his journey--the visitation of the mission stations throughout the island. This expedition may be compared with that of Henry Williams three years before, but Selwyn avoided the difficult mountain region of the centre by taking a more southern line and following up the valley of the Manawatu. The Maoris poled him up this river in their canoes, and, after carrying him in this way through the well-known gorge, deposited him on the eastern side of the ranges on November 11. A day's journey through the Forty-Mile Bush brought the party to the open plains of Hawke's Bay when again native habitations began to appear. Three days later he was met by Mr. William Williams, whose society he much enjoyed on the way to Ahuriri, where he found (about 6 miles from the site of the present town of Napier) a substantial chapel containing 400 persons, though this community had only once before been visited by a missionary. Proceeding northwards along the coast, he was struck with the results of Mr. Williams' labours in the orderliness and devotion of the converts. At Turanga (7 miles from Gisborne) he preached to "a noble congregation of at least 1,000 persons," who gave the responses in a deep sonorous manner, which was most striking. During the service the bishop installed William Williams as archdeacon of the eastern district. [Illustration: A VILLAGE CHURCH, STOKE (near Nelson).] Northwards still proceeded the tireless bishop on foot, until he reached Stack's mission station in the Waiapu valley; then turning across the rugged mountain ranges, he emerged into the Bay of Plenty. The grand sweep of its coast line was bordered with native cultivations, and relieved with the crimson blossoms of the pohutakawa trees, while on the blue horizon rose a cloud of sulphureous steam from White Island. Mission stations now appeared at frequent intervals, and the rest of the bishop's journey was a succession of pleasing experiences. The rose-clad cottage of Mr. and Mrs. Brown, at Tauranga; the comfortable abode of Chapman on Hinemoa's island in Lake Rotorua; the thermal springs which promptly healed the sprains and bruises of the arduous journey; the coloured pools in which healthy Maori children bathed and played; the wheat-fields and the English fruit of the central plateau; the mission stations of Morgan and Ashwell on the Waipa and Waikato; the easy canoe journey down these rivers until once more the western sea was reached: all this was delightful in itself, and prepared the traveller for a keen discussion on Bible translation with the expert Maunsell at the Waikato Heads. The last stage was again a painful one, for boots and clothes had well nigh given out, and it was with blistered feet that the bishop tramped along the sandy coast to Hamlin's cottage on the Manukau, whence a sail across the harbour brought him to Onehunga, with just one suit sufficiently decent to enable him to enter Auckland by daylight, though his broken boots compelled him to avoid its central street. This journey, which lasted exactly three months from the day when he left Wellington to that on which he arrived at Waimate (Oct. 10, 1842--Jan. 9, 1843), must be pronounced a great one. Even now, with all the aids of railways, roads, and steamers, it would be no easy feat. To cross the island not once but twice--first from west to east, and then from east to west--besides skirting the coast for some hundreds of miles, and to do all this on foot, except where rivers could be utilised with native canoes, was surely a remarkable achievement. The results of his investigation were thoroughly satisfactory to the bishop. Wherever he went he had preached to the Maoris in their native tongue, and had won golden opinions from them. The missionaries had everywhere given him a hearty welcome, and had generally come some miles to meet him when they had heard of his approach. Of them, as of their converts, he had formed a favourable opinion. Whatever might formerly have been his yearnings for the ancient Jerusalem, they were now quite overpowered. The words which kept rising to his lips were words of thankfulness: "The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground; yea, I have a goodly heritage." CHAPTER IX. ADJUSTMENT. (1843-1844). Unreconciled antitheses are prophecies and promises of a larger future. --_Westcott._ With Bishop Selwyn there appeared in New Zealand a type of churchmanship which was new to the Maoris, and even to their teachers. Much had happened in the mother country since Marsden and the brothers Williams had left it. The Oxford, or "Tractarian," movement had drawn men's minds to the thought of the visible Church; the old Missionary Society, which had been founded under Queen Anne "for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts," had recovered from its low condition, and was once more doing active work among British colonists; the study of Christian antiquity was being zealously pursued, and many young churchmen were enthusiastically bent on imitating the ascetic lives of the saints and hermits of the past. Selwyn himself did not belong to the Tractarians, but he admired them from afar, and he was influenced to a great extent by the same spirit. The key to much of the subsequent history of the New Zealand Church may be found in a spectacle which might be seen at Kerikeri in the year after the bishop's arrival. At this place was a large and solid stone building, which the missionaries used as a store: here, in an upstairs apartment, the bishop arranged his library. Passing among "bales of blankets, iron pots, rusty rat-traps and saws," he loved to enter his retreat, in which there was nothing "colonial," but where he could feast his eyes on "ancient folios of Commentators, Councils, and Annals of the Church,"--St. Augustine "standing up like a tower," and St. Irenaeus "with the largest margin that I ever saw." Not that Selwyn spent much of his time over these treasures--his life was too fully occupied for that--but he knew pretty well what they contained, and he shaped his policy accordingly. The missionaries had been men of one book: Selwyn was a man of many books. He knew his Bible, it is true, with the intimate "textual" knowledge of the most old-fashioned divine, and he had a marvellous skill in calling up the appropriate verse on all occasions. But he interpreted it in the light of Christian antiquity. Pearson on the Creed, with its patristic citations, was ever at his hand. This, with his Bible and his Prayer Book, constituted his working theological equipment. Every doctrine, every argument, every rule, was clearly conceived and arranged in his mind, ready for immediate use. Upon the shelves of the Kerikeri library reposed one volume of special interest. This was Marsden's copy of Hooker's "Ecclesiastical Polity," which had been publicly presented to the bishop on his arrival in Sydney. Selwyn already knew his Hooker almost by heart, but the gift stood as a token of the spiritual relationship which united these two great men. Yet their "polity" was not altogether the same. In his appreciation of the "catholic" aspect of the Church's heritage, the bishop failed to realise the value of the local catholicity which had been evolved by Marsden and his fellow workers. He could find no place for the Wesleyan mission in his scheme. Always courteous to its leaders, he yet could not continue the old communion with them. From this change of attitude the logical Maoris drew conclusions which soon brought sadness to the bishop himself. Up and down the country, but especially in Taranaki, where the spheres of influence met, the converts were violently perturbed. A savage burst of sectarian fury broke out. Each small community was divided against itself, and its Christianity, like that of the Corinthians, evaporated in bitter party feeling. In one _pa_ a high fence was built through the midst to divide the adherents of "Weteri" (Wesley) from those of "Hahi" (the Church). Controversy and division were not the only foes which hindered the building of the new Jerusalem. The angel of death hovered near and smote down the workers with relentless hand. At Wellington the bishop had buried the remains of his student, Evans; but he had ordained to the priesthood the Rev. J. Mason, the new missionary at Wanganui. Within a few weeks this excellent man was drowned in the Turakina River. Nor did the sad tale end here. On reaching home after his journey the bishop was confronted by the wasted face and hollow cough of one who was to have been the principal of the college he was founding at Waimate. This was the Rev. Thomas Whytehead, a man of beautiful and saintly character, whom the bishop had looked to for spiritual support and inspiration. He was indeed the St. Barnabas of the little community as long as his life lasted, but in a few weeks he passed away from earth, and his remains were buried in the Waimate churchyard. Like the Barnabas of old, he laid his money at the apostles' feet by bequeathing all his private fortune to the bishop for the purposes of the college, and he left as a legacy to the whole Church the touching hymn for Easter Eve: Resting from his work to-day. His monetary gift proved of great value, for with it was afterwards acquired the estate at Tamaki, upon which the present St. John's College stands; but still more precious to the Church is the "sweet fragrance of his memory." Whytehead's bequest was only one manifestation of the spirit which actuated the community throughout. The members lived with the bishop in one of the old houses at the Waimate mission station. He himself paid into the common fund the whole of his episcopal income of £1,200, and drew out as his proper share only £500. The farm was worked on communistic principles. Teachers and students must all take their share in manual labour. Lectures on Greek and Latin must be given in the intervals of ploughing, or printing, or teaching Maori children to read or hoe or spin. Each "associate" received a fixed salary; all profits went to the support of the institution. The reasons for this insistence on manual training were twofold. Like Bishop Broughton, Selwyn had observed that "throughout the whole mission the delusion has prevailed that the Gospel will give habits as well as principles." He began, in fact, as Marsden had begun, with a strong insistence on the industrial side of education, for the sake of developing in the Maori a well-ordered and diligent character which the white man would respect, and with which he might co-operate in the building up of a united nation. The fervour and the teachableness of the Maori were to help the religion of the Briton: the energy and industry of the Briton were to balance the dreamy nature of the Maori. But, secondly, the community thus organised on primitive and Christian lines was to be a spectacle and an example to the world. Selwyn did not read his Bible or his Fathers with the interest of a mere student. In the background of his thought lay the Socialist and Chartist movement, which was even then preparing for the explosion of 1848. The Church must show the true principle of brotherhood in active operation, and he hoped to attract to his community young men from the English universities, who were going over to Rome through discontent with the comfortable worldliness of the mother Church. "I have at command," he wrote, "a rill of water, a shady wood, a rocky cave, and roots of fern, for every one of these would-be anchorites." But the would-be anchorites found no attraction in the hard work which New Zealand offered, and the bishop's college was recruited chiefly from the grey-haired missionaries or their sons. From these he replenished the number of his clergy, which had been reduced by the drowning of Mason, and by the withdrawal of two other priests to England. His first ordination was that of Richard Davis, the farmer-catechist, in June, 1843; while in September three more students were admitted to the diaconate (Bolland, Spencer, and Butt), and thus at least for a time the ranks were filled. With the ordination of these students closed the first session of the college. The bishop had arranged to spend each winter with his students, and each summer in travelling about the diocese and planting out those whom he had ordained. During the first term he had often found time to hold large confirmations at or near the Bay of Islands, as well as to open the new church at Auckland; now with the spring he set out on a journey even more far-reaching than that of the previous year. His route lay at first through the interior of the island, and intersected his former line of march. His object was to visit the Taupo and Upper Wanganui missions, which he had not as yet seen, and afterwards to lift the veil which hid the farthest south. The first stages of his journey were marked by some memorable experiences. Near Lake Tarawera, "on turning a corner of the valley, we saw before us what appeared to be a large waterfall, apparently 50 feet in height and about the same in width. As we came nearer we were surprised to hear no noise of falling waters, but still the appearance was the same in the moonlight. In a few minutes we found ourselves walking upon what had appeared to be water." The bishop had in fact found the famous White Terraces, which were afterwards destroyed in the eruption of 1886. After leaving one of his deacons (Spencer) at Lake Taupo, the bishop and his party were weatherbound for a week in the mountains near the head waters of the Wanganui, and were reduced to very short rations. In order to get canoes, Selwyn inflated his air bed, and placing it on a frame of sticks he sent two of his Maoris sailing down the stream upon it, and was thus able to make known his plight to the settlements below. When a canoe at last arrived, the weather changed, and the descent of this beautiful stream was in every way a joy. From far above Pipiriki, Selwyn landed at every _pa_, and held service or catechised the natives. Sunday, November 19th, was a time of special interest. "A more lovely day in respect of weather," he wrote, "or one more full of interest in respect of its moral circumstances, or of pleasure from the beauty of the scenery through which I passed, I never remember to have spent. It was a day of intense delight from beginning to end: from the earliest song of the birds, who awakened me in the morning, to the Evening Hymn of the natives, which was just concluded when I reached the door of the native chapel at Ikurangi." The remaining weeks of the year 1843 were spent amongst the "Cook Strait settlements," in most of which good progress was evident. At Nelson a church and a neat brick parsonage had already been built, while at Wanganui the Maoris had resolved to pull down their brick church and to build a larger one in wood. Wellington was still the unsatisfactory spot. No English church had yet been begun, and the sense of grievance was still strong. However natural such feelings might once have been, they were surely inexcusable now. For since the bishop's last visit, Wellington had contracted such a debt to the missionaries as should have changed its grievance into gratitude. The New Zealand Company had made its great blunder in attempting to take possession of the Marlborough plain without buying it from its native owners. The result had been the Wairau tragedy, in which 19 white men had been killed by the Maoris under Rauparaha and Rangihaeta. The effect of this deed of blood was quickly felt in other parts. Up every river valley the news was passed that the Maori had at last turned on the pakeha, and had beaten him in open fight. The crafty Rauparaha, fearing a terrific act of vengeance on the part of the white men, resolved to forestall any such danger by driving them out of the country. He felt certain of his own Ngatitoas, but between them and Wellington lay Waikanae, where Hadfield's influence was strong, and where Wiremu Kingi, the father-in-law of Ripahau, was chief. To Waikanae accordingly he steered his boat. Still wet with the salt spray of the strait, and faint from long exertion, he pleaded with such power and pathos that he almost won over these tribesmen to his daring project. The situation was a critical one. Not a moment was to be lost. Hadfield ordered the bell to be rung for Evensong; the assembly thronged in to prayers; and for the time the excitement calmed down. But the danger was not over. All through the long winter night, Rauparaha was busy in trying to induce Wiremu Kingi to join him. He proposed to attack Wellington and destroy every man, woman, and child. "Let us destroy the reptile while we have the power to do so," he argued, "or it will destroy us. We have begun: let us make an end of them." Kingi was firm, and declared that it was his intention to live at peace with the pakeha. When daylight came, Rauparaha made one more effort: "At least remain neutral," he pleaded. "I will oppose you with my whole force," said Kingi, and the disappointed warrior steered his canoes northwards. Even now he did not give up his scheme. Forming his camp on an islet in the Otaki River, and taking up a bold attitude, he endeavoured to secure the assistance of the Ngatiraukawa tribesmen. But Hadfield had followed him along the coast, and now brought his great influence to bear on the natives as they were gathered on the river bank. Rauparaha's passionate eloquence failed of its effect, and he saw that the game was lost. With that rapid decision for which he was renowned, this Maori Napoleon now seized what seemed his one remaining chance of safety: he crept submissively to Hadfield, and applied to be received as a candidate for baptism. Somewhat to the amazement of his white friends, Hadfield accepted him as a catechumen, and the two men actually became fast friends. Thus was white New Zealand saved by Waikanae Christianity; and Waikanae Christianity was due, under GOD, to an invalided Oxford undergraduate, a Maori slave, and a little girl with her Gospel of St. Luke! But what of Rauparaha's son, Tamihana, the man without whom Hadfield would not have come to the district, nor Ripahau been converted, nor Tarore's gospel brought into use? This zealous man was engaged at the moment on an enterprise very different from that which his father had contemplated. Four years before, he and his cousin had gone to the extreme north to find a teacher for themselves; now they had gone to the extreme south in order to teach others. Travelling in an open boat for more than one thousand miles, these two intrepid men had coasted down the east of the South Island, and had visited all the _pas_ in what are now Canterbury and Otago. Their lives were in jeopardy, for the very name of Rauparaha was enough to arouse a thirst for vengeance among people whom that conqueror had harried and enslaved; but the earnestness of the young men was so transparent that they were received peacefully in every place, and their message was welcomed and accepted. Such were the tidings which the bishop heard when he reached Otaki. Rauparaha himself was an "enquirer" into the Christian verities; Rauparaha's son had evangelised along the line which he himself was about to travel, and, moreover, was willing to proceed thither again with the bishop as his guide and companion. With the same Tamihana, then, and nine other Maoris, the bishop left Wellington on January 6th, 1844, in a miserable coasting schooner. When opposite Banks Peninsula the little vessel was forced to put into the bay of Peraki for supplies, and as a strong contrary wind sprang up at this juncture, Selwyn determined to walk to Otago instead of going on by sea. Through this change in his plans, he seems to have been the first white man to discover that Lake Ellesmere was a freshwater lake, and not an extension of Pegasus Bay. It was at the point where the hills of the Peninsula slope steeply down to the end of the Ninety-Mile Beach that the traveller realised this fact, and it was from this point that he gained, at sunset, his first view of what were afterwards to be known as the Canterbury Plains. With his Maoris he spent his first night on shore at a small _pa_ which then stood at the outlet of Lake Forsyth. After a supper and breakfast of eels, the party proceeded next day along the shingle bank which separates Lake Ellesmere from the sea, and at Taumutu found about forty Maoris, some of whom could read, and "many were acquainted with the Lord's Prayer, the Belief, and portions of the Catechism." Here then was the first evidence of Tamihana's previous visit. The service which the bishop held at this place next morning (Jan. 11) may be looked upon as the beginning of Church of England worship in the province of Canterbury. At Arowhenua more than 100 Maoris were found, but these showed the effects not only of Tamihana's instruction, but also of Wesleyan teachers from the south. The melancholy result was the division of the _pa_ into two sections, who plied the bishop with questions on denominational distinctions. The same uncomfortable state of things was found in almost every village as far as Stewart Island, and detracted much from the pleasure of the tour. At Waikouaiti, 100 miles farther south, the bishop visited a Wesleyan missionary, Mr. Watkins. He was the only white teacher who had as yet visited this portion of the country, and he entertained his guest for two days in friendly fashion. He was inclined to resent the intrusion of Tamihana into his district, but admitted in conversation that, owing to weak health, he had never been able to visit many of the _pas_ himself, and that he had been so scantily supplied with literature by his Society that he could not circulate books. The bishop felt that the ground had certainly not been effectively occupied before Tamihana's visit, for all the Maoris attributed to him the beginnings of their knowledge of the truth. He therefore declined to recognise a Wesleyan sphere of influence in these regions, but the parting between himself and this lonely missionary was thoroughly friendly on both sides. At Moeraki, Selwyn had again taken to shipboard, and learned from some of his fellow passengers much of the romantic history of the southern whaling stations. He was able also to fill in his map with the names of capes and other coastal features as they came successively into sight: "In the company of these men I soon found the whole of the mystery which had hung over the southern islands passing away; every place being as well known by them as the northern island by us." The whaling stations of Stewart Island and of the opposite mainland supplied a curious field for missionary effort. Though Christian marriage was unknown, the whalers appeared to be faithful to their native partners, and uniformly anxious that their half-caste children should lead a more regular life than they themselves had known. In a considerable number of cases the bishop pronounced the Church's blessing over these irregular connections, and he distributed large numbers of simple books for the instruction of the children. A fortnight soon passed by amidst this interesting community, and, after reaching the farthest inhabited point at Jacob's River, the bishop was able to make a quick run by sea back to Akaroa, which he reached on Feb. 14th. Here he evidently felt himself to be on alien soil, for though he thoroughly appreciated the ceremonious politeness with which he was received on board the French corvette, he does not seem to have held any service on shore, nor performed any episcopal act. He was more at home with a godly Presbyterian family whom he found at Pigeon Bay, and complied with their request to conduct their evening prayer. By the end of the month he was back in Wellington, where at last there appeared some hopeful signs. A new governor (Captain Fitzroy) had just arrived, who helped him to secure a better site for a church; and a new judge, "who spoke very co-operatively on church matters." At Auckland he consecrated St. Paul's Church, and was pleased to find his projected church at Tamaki already taking shape. Such "a solid venerable-looking building" refreshed his spirit[6] amidst "the wilderness of weather-board;" and he had another "delicious day" in his library at Kerikeri before he finally arrived at Waimate. He was escorted home on March 21 by a procession of the members of the college and the schools, amounting in all to full 50 souls, and found everything in such good order that he requested his English friends to waste no more compassion upon him for the future. [6] Selwyn had an Englishman's love for a stone building, and always spoke of the wooden churches of the country as "chapels." Yet some of these despised buildings (e.g., those at Kaitaia and at Russell), which had been built before his arrival, are still in existence and in regular use; whereas his "solid" church, at Tamaki, which he looked upon with so much pride, very soon proved dangerous, and is now a picturesque ruin. Everything seemed to promise fair for the second term of the college, but troubles arose in an unexpected quarter. The Home Committee of the C.M.S. paid one half of the episcopal stipend, and of course recognised the spiritual side of the office. But they would not give up their jurisdiction over their agents, nor allow the bishop to place them where he would. As nearly all the clergy in the country belonged to this Society, such a restriction would have left the bishop with but little real power. Selwyn was the last man in the world to acquiesce in such an arrangement. The result was that the Society refused to grant him a renewal of his lease of the buildings at Waimate, and it became necessary for the bishop to look elsewhere for a site for his headquarters. This unhappy breach made no difference to the loyal support which the leaders of the mission on the spot had always given to their chief. Rather it drew them closer to him. "I am sorry, very sorry," wrote Henry Williams, "to learn the way in which the good bishop has been treated by expulsion from the Waimate. How could this have taken place? Who could have given consent for such a movement?" His brother and Hadfield were equally distressed. Selwyn, on his part, seemed to be determined to bind the missionaries to himself more closely than ever. Four of them he associated with himself on a translation syndicate, which sat regularly from May to September to revise the Maori Prayer Book. At the end of the college term there came what may be called a climax of fellowship. At a notable service in the Waimate church on Sunday, September 22nd, Henry Williams and Brown of Tauranga were installed as archdeacons; then followed an ordination, in which many of the lay catechists whose names have come before us in the first part of this work were admitted to the diaconate. Chapman, Hamlin, Matthews, Colenso, and C. P. Davies all received the laying-on-of-hands; the sermon was preached by Henry Williams, and the church was crammed with a devout and interested congregation. "It was grand," writes Lady Martin, "to hear the people repeat the responses all together in perfect time. It was like the roar of waves on the beach." On the next day the Maoris, hearing that the bishop was about to leave them, made a public protest with eloquent speeches and warlike gestures. Archdeacon W. Williams calmed their excitement by drawing a diagram on the gravel, and asking whether it was not fair that the bishop should live in the middle of the diocese instead of at either end. One more act of unity was consummated before the final leave-taking. On the Thursday of that week, the bishop held a synod, at which the three archdeacons, four other priests, and two deacons were present, its object being to frame rules "for the better management of the mission, and the general government of the Church." This little gathering attracted much notice in England, on account of its being the first synodical meeting which had been held in modern times; but in itself it was hardly more imposing than the old meetings of the missionary committee, which had often been held in the same place. The great point to be noticed is that it was marked by complete harmony and loyalty. As yet there was no breach between the leaders in New Zealand. The bishop and his party left the north on a hot October morning a few weeks later amidst general regret. Lady Martin tells how the little Maori children came swarming out into the lane to see the last of the departing household. The words of their hymn echoed the feelings of the elder folk: Oh that will be joyful, When we meet to part no more! O Bishop! O Missionaries! Pray, as you never prayed before, for the grace of the Holy Ghost to keep you united still. CHAPTER X. CONFLICT AND TROUBLE. (1845-1850). The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. --_Tennyson._ When Bishop Selwyn removed his headquarters from the Bay of Islands, he was in no doubt as to whither to betake himself. Auckland was the seat of government, and the most central position from which to reach the various mission stations; it was the strongest church centre of all the European settlements; and it was the home of Judge Martin, with whom the bishop had already formed a close friendship, and who was destined afterwards, as Sir William Martin, to play an important part in the building up of the New Zealand Church. Thither accordingly the bishop moved his family and his collegiate establishment in the spring of 1844. With part of the Whytehead bequest, he had bought several hundred acres of land at Tamaki, about six miles from the town, and not far from Mokoia, the scene of the great battle between Hongi and Hinaki. The first summer was spent in the erection of the buildings, for which the bishop's English friends had subscribed no less than £5,000. During this time the community lived in tents and other temporary habitations at Purewa, which served as the "port" of the new establishment. Before winter there were sufficient permanent structures at St. John's College itself to house the scholars, and soon the varied activities of the old Waimate period were resumed with even more than their old vigour. [Illustration: ST. MATTHEW'S CHURCH, AUCKLAND (showing the original wooden Church on the right).] Nothing, indeed, could exceed the simplicity or the theoretical comprehensiveness of the college ideal. The agricultural department was still a prominent feature, and the bishop loved to watch his little army of 70 spades going forth in the morning to its task of breaking up the rough fern land. The printing press had been brought from the north, and was kept busily at work; weaving, carpentry, and shoe-making also were carried on. One of the largest buildings was a hospital--the first in New Zealand--where patients were attended by "the Brethren and Sisters of the Hospital of St. John," whose vows bound them "to minister to the wants of the sick of all classes, without respect of persons or reservation of service, not for any material reward, but for the love of God." Schools for Maori and English children formed, as before, an essential part of the scheme, and the little chapel with its daily services shed a hallowing influence over the whole. The communistic character of the organisation was maintained, but one-third of the profits of the farm were divided among the lay associates to enable them to stock farms of their own when the time of their training should expire. Prominent among the students were two youths who had walked to Auckland from Poverty Bay. These were Leonard Williams, son of the Archdeacon of Waiapu; and Samuel, second son of Archdeacon Henry Williams. This young man, who was afterwards to become famous for his agricultural success, his wealth, and his generosity, was ordained in the college chapel on Sept. 20th, 1846, and married, at the same place, a few days later, to a member of his uncle's family. The double event drew a large concourse of both the Williams families, and thus served to emphasise the solidarity which existed in that hopeful spring-tide between the bishop and the missionary clergy. Such evidences became all the more precious in the light of outside events. The relations between the bishop and the Church Missionary Society, so far from improving, became worse. The Society had tried to make some atonement for its closure of Waimate by presenting the bishop with the printing-press, and also with a yacht (the _Flying Fish_), in which Hadfield had been wont to visit the _pas_ in the Nelson sounds. But it would not give way on the question of the placing of its agents; and on the bishop refusing to acquiesce in a divided authority, it declined to present any more of its catechists for ordination. The brothers Williams by no means approved of this policy, for to them it seemed that the bishop was more likely to know the wants of the whole diocese than could a committee in London, and they trusted his judgment entirely. Yet, a well-meant act of this very kind had already contributed to the series of events which was destined to mar the godly harmony with which the young Church of this land had hitherto been blessed. One of the concluding tasks of the Waimate period had been the revision of the Maori Prayer Book. Archdeacon W. Williams must of course be brought from the east coast for this work, and the bishop despatched the elder brother to take his place there for the time. The step was an unfortunate one, for never was the old peace-maker's influence more needed in the north than at this juncture. The Maoris were becoming restless under the regulations of the new government, and their discontent was fanned by Americans and other foreigners, who told them that the flagstaff upon the hill overlooking Kororareka (or Russell) was a symbol that the country had passed away from the native race, and that soon the Maoris would be reduced to slavery. These taunts made a deep impression upon the mind of Hone Heke, a clever man who had learned in the mission school at Paihia and in Henry Williams' own household to read and understand something of what was passing in the world. The American whalers had instilled into him an ardent admiration for George Washington, while the British Government had just become discredited in the eyes of all good men through the "Opium War" in China. To shake off its yoke became to Heke the part of true patriotism, and to fell the flagstaff was to strike at the symbol of Babylonish idolatry.[7] [7] In the negotiations which followed the war, Heke addressed the British commissioner as "King of Babylon," much to the embarrassment of Henry Williams, who was acting as interpreter! The one man who might have dissuaded Heke from his purpose was his old master, Te Wiremu, and it was just in the months of Te Wiremu's absence that the flagstaff was first cut down (Sept. 16, 1844). It was felled again in the following January, and in March came the real struggle. When Henry Williams returned to the Bay, shortly after the first outbreak, it was too late to change Heke's purpose. The die was cast. But he was still able to do much with those Maoris who had not yet declared themselves on Heke's side. By circulating and explaining the terms of the treaty of Waitangi, he won over the great chief, Tamati Waka Nene; and it was this man's force that eventually turned the scale on the British side. Williams and Waka Nene saved Auckland at this crisis, as certainly as Hadfield and Wiremu Kingi had saved Wellington the year before. But, though Henry Williams was unable to shake the determination of the "rebels," he could not withhold a certain admiration at their conduct. "It is astonishing," he wrote, "to see Heke: how close he keeps to his Testament and his Prayer Book. I am disposed to think he is conscious he is doing a good work, as, previous to his attack on the flagstaff, he asked a blessing on his proceedings; and, after he had completed the mischief, he returned thanks for having strength for his work." Right up to the eve of the final assault, Heke attended the church services devoutly, and in planning this assault he betook himself to his Bible. A strong force of military was now protecting the mast, but Heke took his tactics from those of Joshua at Ai. While his ally, Kawiti, engaged the British soldiers and marines at the opposite end of the beach, Heke himself and his party lay in ambush below the block-house. The stratagem was successful: the block-house was easily overpowered; the mast once more felled to the earth; and then the victors, having achieved their object, sat down on the hill-top to watch the scene below. A curious scene it is! A terrific explosion of all the English ammunition in the lower block-house brings the fighting to an end, but the harbour is alive with boats laden with fugitive settlers. Here, are Henry Williams and the bishop conveying dead and wounded soldiers to Paihia, or to the man-of-war which lies at anchor in the background; there, are Maoris cheerfully helping their late enemies to save their household goods. But what are these English doing? Their warship begins to fire at the town, and especially at the church behind which the wounded are lying! No one is hurt, it is true; but is not the meaning clear enough? Can there be any doubt now as to the unchristian character of the British rule? Must it not be the anti-Christ? If such were the thoughts of the Maori, which the sight of the bombardment of Russell awoke in his mind, how much stronger would they have been, could he have heard the gross and violent abuse which was showered on Henry Williams by the officers of the _Hazard_, as he sat in his boat alongside, waiting for the bishop? Through all his years of missionary work the old naval officer had never forgotten the service to which he had once belonged, and now the cries of "Traitor!" cut him to the quick. Sorrowfully he made his way across the Bay to his home. The "beginning of sorrows" had come. With his sons he was again at Russell, on the morrow, using his influence to keep some sort of order, until intoxication began among the victorious Maoris. Yet, even when they burnt the town, these "savages" were careful to save the churches and the parsonages; and a few days later Heke called on Williams at Paihia, and in the kindest tones begged him to move inland out of harm's way. In spite of all his disapprobation of their conduct, the missionary could not but feel that his converts were not altogether untrue to their profession. But the more their reverence for their teachers became conspicuous, the louder rose the cry of "traitor" from the English side. "You _must_ have given them encouragement," was the common charge; "for look how they single you out for their favour!" Before long, indeed, it seemed as though the innocence of the missionary was being vindicated by a Higher Power. The tide of war rolled inland, and Heke was defeated by Waka Nene, who now fought on the British side. Still more tragic was the death of the rash Lieutenant Philpott in the unsuccessful attack upon the stockade of Ohaeawai, July 1, 1845. This was the man who had ordered the bombardment of the church at Russell, and who had led the cry of "traitor" afterwards. He was a brave man, and the son of a bishop; but his excitable mind had been poisoned by the officials of the New Zealand Company, and now that death had interposed its extenuating plea, his offence could be forgiven. The archdeacon was permitted by the victorious Maoris to take the officer's eyeglass, and a lock of hair from his brow, for transmission to his English friends, and might well hope that the falsehoods he had uttered would be buried in his grave. But this was not to be. The final act in this disastrous war brought on the scene an antagonist who took up with craft the charge which Philpott had made in ignorance, and pressed it home for many years with all the astuteness and malignity of a superior intellect. The ill success of the British arms had caused the recall of the friendly Governor Fitzroy, and the appointment in his place of Captain (afterwards Sir George) Grey. This officer began his military operations with a much larger force, and advanced against the strongest position which the Maoris had yet fortified--that of Ruapekapeka, or the Bats' Nest. The name was only too appropriate at this period, for the place seemed to abound with creatures of darkness. Who does not know that the _pa_ was captured by the governor on a Sunday morning (Jan. 11, 1846), while the defenders were engaged in worship in the bush outside?[8] This was bad enough, for now the Maoris had been taught how little Christian England regarded either their sacred places or their sacred day. But out of the Bats' Nest came a second charge against Henry Williams. The governor averred that letters had been found in the captured _pa_ which amounted to a positive proof of the missionary's treason. As the troops marched back to the Bay of Islands, a common topic of their conversation was the arrest of the "traitor," whom they expected to see carried off in handcuffs to Auckland for his trial. The letter which had been found was really one that Williams had written to the Maori leader, urging him to submit himself to the government; but, by burning the letter, the governor was able to base upon it a charge which was dangerous from its very vagueness. Conscious of his innocence, the missionary remained at his post, and at last saw the police boat depart without him on a Sunday afternoon, and was able to go in peace to his evening service. [8] It is strange to find the good Lady Martin recording this action without a word of disapproval. Carleton's defence of it is extraordinary. If the Maoris had been given the Apocrypha (which they had not) they might have read of Jonathan the Maccabee fighting a defensive battle on the Sabbath. The amusing part is that Carleton himself could not at the moment lay his hand on a copy of the Apocrypha, and had to fall back on Josephus! A more consoling comment is given by Lieut.-Col. Mundy: "Who shall say that this neglect of man's ordinances and observance of God's in the time of their trouble, did not bring with them a providential and merciful result? It led, doubtless, to their almost instantaneous defeat; but it saved them and the English from the tenfold carnage which a more vigilant and disciplined resistance, from within their walls, would have infallibly caused." The prospect of a trial was indeed less welcome to the governor himself than to the archdeacon, for throughout the long conflict which followed, a public enquiry was the one thing which Henry Williams consistently claimed, and which the governor as consistently evaded. But the peace which followed the departure of the troops was occupied by the latter in forging weapons of a different character. Six months after the fall of the Bats' Nest, the governor indited to the Secretary of State for the Colonies a "confidential" despatch, which even his defenders admit to be full of falsehoods. This despatch came to be known as the "Blood and Treasure Despatch," and it forms the key to the whole after history of the quarrel. In this document Governor Grey completely abandoned the charge of stirring up the Maoris to rebel, and accused the missionaries of claiming more than their share of the land of the natives, and thereby making inevitable another war. "Her Majesty's Government," he wrote, "may rest satisfied that these individuals cannot be put in possession of these tracts of land without a large expenditure of British blood and money." By "these individuals" he meant (as specified in another part of the despatch) "several members of the Church Missionary Society," as well as other settlers, who had acquired land from the natives. The despatch was addressed to Mr. Gladstone; but shortly after its arrival a change of government took place, and the new colonial secretary, Lord Grey, made known its contents to the Church Missionary Society, by whom it was transmitted to New Zealand. Its publication had all the effect of a thunderbolt. What could the governor mean by such charges? So far from there being any need of a British army to put the missionaries--or rather, their sons--in possession of the land, the truth, of course, was that they were already in possession and had been quietly farming their grants for some years. All through the war the Maoris had respected their titles, and were on the best of terms with the young farmers. To Henry Williams, with his life-long devotion to the government he had once served, no charge could have been more painful. It touched his honour to the quick. He offered to give up every acre of the land, if the governor would either retract or substantiate his charges. Neither of these things would the governor attempt to do. He was determined to get the land, and he left no stone unturned in his efforts to accomplish his object. August and September, 1847, were the critical time of this distressing episode. On Aug. 13th, Henry Williams received from London the news of the "Blood and Treasure" despatch. It was accompanied by a letter from the C.M.S., instructing the missionaries to divest themselves of all land in excess of 1,260 acres for each grant. They might sell it, or make it over to their children, or put it in trust for the benefit of the aborigines, but they were not to retain it for "their own use and benefit." Nothing could have been more satisfactory to Henry Williams, who had never drawn a shilling from the land for his own use, but had always paid his sons for any of their produce he might require. He now sent to the Society an undertaking that he would at once transfer the land legally to his family, and thus he hoped to put an end to the dispute. But this did not satisfy the governor. In the same month he submitted proposals so worded as to imply, if accepted, that the land (or a portion of it) had been unjustly acquired. This at once brought up again the question of _honour_, and the proposals were of course rejected. It was at this juncture that the governor took a course which was fraught with evil consequences to the New Zealand Church. He applied for help to the bishop. Unless the question was settled, he said, he would be obliged to take steps which might deeply injure their common faith. Would the bishop communicate his letter to the missionaries, and use his influence to induce them to give up their land? What was the bishop to do? It is generally supposed that he allowed himself to be persuaded against his better judgment by the plausible arguments of the governor. But this is surely to wrong a man of Selwyn's character. He had stood shoulder to shoulder with Henry Williams in upholding the validity of the Treaty of Waitangi, against the action of the same governor and of the Home authorities. It was not likely that he would weakly give way to the blandishments of any individual, unless he had convinced himself that the cause was a just one. How then can we account for his action in this instance? The only explanation that seems to meet the case is that which is supplied by the idealistic nature of Selwyn's mind. One of his ideals was plain living, and he had something of the socialist's contempt for the "rights of property." Even before his consecration his mind had been exercised on the question of the land purchases of the New Zealand missionaries. When he arrived in the country, he told Henry Williams that he had determined to take no notice of the matter, but for all that he never abated his dislike of the system. These "waste and worthless acres" threatened to mar the success of his schemes. "Catechism and bread and butter" should be enough for missionaries' children; and when these grew to manhood, was not St. John's College open to them, with its farm and its technical training, besides its invitation to the offices of schoolmaster and deacon? If the missionaries' sons were endowed with land of their own, would they not be so much absorbed with its management as to be insensible to the charm of community life and the call of the ministries of the Church? Such thoughts seem to have been working in the mind of the bishop from the time of his arrival, and he had corresponded with the C.M.S. from time to time on the subject. He had hitherto said nothing, but when the governor appealed to him with the plausible reasoning which he--an idealist also--could so skilfully use, the bishop fell in with the proposal, and broke through the reserve which he had hitherto maintained. Such, at least, is the explanation which is suggested by a careful study of the facts. The conflict was one of principles: communism against individualism. Like many other reformers, Bishop Selwyn was strong when he exhibited the positive aspects of the communistic ideal; he failed and became unjust when he tried to force others into the same method of life. The attack was made with great suddenness. The bishop brought the archdeacon from the Bay of Islands to St. John's College, and there, on September 4, in the midst of his own disciplinarian surroundings, handed him a lengthy letter in which he revealed his long cherished opinions, defended the Blood and Treasure despatch, and called upon the missionary to accept the governor's terms. The startled archdeacon asked for proof of the episcopal charges, but of course no proof was forthcoming. It was a matter of prejudged guilt. The bishop was not skilful in the negotiations, and at last lost his temper and demanded point-blank the surrender of the deeds.[9] Henry Williams felt that he was unjustly accused, and, still holding out for "substantiation or retractation," left the scene of the conference in a fit of indignation, which was still further increased when he found that the unscrupulous governor had been trying to stir up the Maoris of the Bay of Islands to claim the restitution of their lands. Nothing but their strong affection and loyalty towards "Te Wiremu" could have enabled them to resist this appeal to their cupidity. But underhand dealing was the one thing that Williams could not bear, and he would hold no more communication with Governor Grey on the subject. His sons were of age: let them carry on the struggle. [9] Archdeacon Williams' son-in-law, Mr. Hugh Carleton, has left it on record that the archdeacon and his family would at any time have given up the lands, if only the bishop had shown them some sympathy and publicly disavowed his concurrence with the governor's charges. The year 1848 brought one ray of light to the unhappy "grantees." The governor brought against one of them an action in the Supreme Court of New Zealand. The two judges were friends of the bishop and of the governor, but their verdict confirmed the missionaries in possession of their land. The legal status thus acquired enabled Henry Williams to convey the whole of the land which stood in his name to his family, and thus to make quite clear to all the real state of the case. But the old question of honour was still unsettled, and Williams sought for a public enquiry both from the British Government and from the Missionary Society. Both bodies, however, were under the influence of his foes, and refused his request. Instead of enquiring into his wrongs, the C.M.S., misled by the constant accusations of the governor, resolved to end the trouble by terminating the connection with their old and well-tried servant. This was a stunning blow. It was the Eve of Trinity Sunday, 1850, that the letter came to Paihia, after a period so long that it had seemed as though the trouble were at rest. Mrs. Williams has left on record the feelings of herself and her husband on that Sunday: "The day was beautiful in which we saw our old and much-loved home, all untouched in Sabbath peace, for the last time. We told no one; all went on as usual; but it was a great conflict to keep down the thoughts of our expulsion, and all its attendant cruel injustice." On the following Thursday the move was made. Amidst heavy rain the family rode off to the inland farm at Pakaraka, where the sons were already settled. The cavalcade was escorted by Pene Taui, the general who had repulsed the British troops at Ohaeawai, and by Tamati Pukututu, who had guarded the stores of the English in the same campaign. They had fought on opposite sides in the war, but they were at one in their devotion to Wiremu. With the removal of Henry Williams, came to an end the Golden Age, or influential period, of the Bay of Islands. Governor and bishop had both left it, and the war had dealt its missions a blow from which they were never to recover. The visitor to Paihia to-day sees a few silent houses ranged along the quiet beach, and amongst them the ruins of the building in which the first printing-press in New Zealand was set up. A church of more modern date contains some remains of the early period, and at the other end of the beach stands the dismantled house in which Carleton lived and wrote. But the most enduring object is the fine granite cross which was erected long afterwards by the Maori Church to the memory of Henry Williams--"a Preacher of the Gospel of Peace, and a Father of the Tribes." NOTE.--With regard to the rest of those whom Mr. Collier calls the "peccant missionaries" there is not much to be said. One of them, Clarke, was certainly treated with strange injustice. The governor brought an action against him in the Supreme Court, as already related. He did not defend himself, but was dismissed by the C.M.S. on a charge of having gone to law with the governor! A full list of the landgrants may be seen in Thompson's "Story of New Zealand," Vol. II., p. 155. It is not pleasant reading; one could have wished that the missionaries had not been driven to acquire land as they did. Perhaps some of them were led on further than was wise or right. Taylor's claim for 50,000 acres was startling, but he bought the land at Henry Williams' request to save a war between two tribes who both claimed it. When the grants came to be legally made by Governor Fitzroy, Taylor received only 1,704 acres. Maunsell, Chapman, Hadfield, Morgan, Stack, and some others, never bought any land at all; and the amounts claimed by some of the others were very small. The total number of missionaries on the schedule is 36: the total number of acres granted is 66,713. It must be remembered that the families of the grantees were generally large, and that the quality of the land was usually very poor. CHAPTER XI. SACRIFICE AND HEALING. (1850-1856). We must suffer for the sin of others as for our own; and in this suffering we find a healing and purifying power and element. --_Shorthouse._ The land-grant controversy did not, of course, occupy the whole of Bishop Selwyn's time during the years of its painful and weary course. The journeys by land and sea were still carried on, and were even extended in their range. In 1848 the bishop sailed away eastward, out of sight of land, in a small schooner of 21 tons, and after ten days reached the Chathams; in 1849 he even ventured in the same vessel far to the northward among the coral islands of Melanesia. In 1847 he had held a second synod, and there were some cheering occurrences among the Maoris, especially in the south-west district. At Otaki, for instance, the bishop found 300 men, with Rauparaha at their head, engaged in raising the great pillars of a splendid church, around which a town (to be called "Hadfield") was being laid out. At Wanganui the Rev. R. Taylor held remarkable Christmas gatherings each year. From every _pa_ on the banks, a contingent, headed by its native teacher, would come down the river to Wanganui. The thousands who thus assembled were publicly examined for some days as to their Christian conduct, and some hundreds were admitted to the Holy Communion, which had to be celebrated in the open field. At one of these meetings two chiefs volunteered to carry the Gospel to a hostile tribe at Taupo. They went, and were both murdered. One of them, after being disabled, lingered from morning until sunset, and all through these hours of agony was praying for his murderers that they might receive the light. But, on the whole, a note of sadness makes itself heard throughout the period. Some of the missionaries, like Maunsell, can "watch the clouds pass overhead," and thank God that the storms of war and of false accusation leave them untouched. But none can feel altogether happy amidst the troubles of his brethren. Hadfield is stricken with a mortal illness, and lies helpless for four years in Wellington. Reay dies at Waiapu, and Bolland at Taranaki. This last-named excellent priest was a brother-in-law of the saintly Whytehead, and carried some of the elder man's inspiring influence into the building and furnishing of the stone church at New Plymouth. His death was greatly mourned by his people, as well as by Selwyn, who confessed a special regard for this beautiful portion of his diocese, and now felt that a holy memory had shed upon it a peculiar lustre. Nelson was hardly keeping up to its early rate of progress, and its central mound, instead of a church bore an ugly fort, into which the nervous townsfolk passed over a drawbridge for their Sunday worship. Wellington was still unsatisfactory, its one wooden church serving for a congregation which was "neither so regular nor so good" as might have been wished. Altogether the diocese appeared to the bishop as "an inert mass which I am utterly unable to heave." The fulcrum upon which the bishop depended in his efforts to heave the mass was St. John's College, and the college at this time was bringing troubles of its own. In 1847 it suffered a terrible visitation of typhoid fever. The bishop's own two little boys were stricken, and a son of Archdeacon W. Williams died. At one time no less than forty cases were calling for the attention of the staff. Through the care of the medical deacon, Dr. Purchas, the epidemic proved less deadly than had at one time seemed inevitable; but its appearance showed the unwisdom of combining a public hospital with an educational establishment. Even without this special plague, the daily routine was too rigorous to be maintained. English parents began to withdraw their sons from an institution in which Maoris so largely predominated; the Maoris could be kept at work only by constant supervision; the deacon schoolmasters, to whom the duty of superintendence was committed, were more eager to begin preaching than to perform thoroughly the humbler duties of the kitchen and the field. Those who were willing to do the humble work found that they had little time or energy left for intellectual pursuits. The ideal was not practical. More and more it became evident that the very continuance of the scheme depended upon the bishop himself. "Everything in the way of system," he wrote, "from the cleaning of a knife upwards, passes in some form or other through my mind." The result was "a turmoil of much serving, which had in it more of Martha than of Mary"; and he has to face the possibility of the failure of plans "conceived, it may be, in pride rather than in faith." But the communistic ideal still held the bishop's mind, and at one time (1848) there seemed a prospect of its realisation in an unexpected spot--the Chatham Islands. To this lonely field a Lutheran mission had come in 1846, and the bishop sailed thither with great hopes of bringing it into his system. He visited these German folk--five men and three women--and found them indeed "living in that simple and primitive way which is the true type of a missionary establishment. They seem to be as one family, and to have all things in common." At first, it looked as though their chief might consent to receive Holy Orders in the English Church; but the negotiation fell through, and the bishop left the house in sore vexation, being careful to wipe the dust of his feet on the doormat as he passed. However admirable may have been its constitution, this mission was never a success. Many churches were standing in the island at this time, but the native Christians were either Wesleyans, or they looked rather to far-distant Otaki than to the German community at their doors. [Illustration: ST. MATTHEW'S CHURCH, DUNEDIN.] Otaki itself was the other spot where a prospect offered. The Maoris there gave to the bishop 500 acres at Porirua for a college, which was to be similar to St. John's. The gift was thankfully received, and hopes were entertained of an establishment from which the deacons would go forth to serve the chapelries around Wellington, as those at St. John's ministered to the outlying suburbs of Auckland. But the attempt was never seriously made. No man could carry on two such undertakings. The bishop's words show the chastened feelings with which he approached the project: "I have selected a site at Porirua, on which I hope, in submission to Divine Providence, that Trinity College may be built; but I have learned this lesson by the losses with which we have been visited, not to presume upon anything that is not yet attained." Such was the aspect of affairs in the critical year, 1850. Never had the Church been less able to stand a shock, and the action of the C.M.S. might have led to a dangerous schism. For Henry Williams was not the only man who was affected. Two other agents, Clarke and Fairburn, were included in the sentence of dismissal. The mission families were large, and were so bound together by the ties of inter-marriage, that a separation on a large scale seemed possible. But, thanks be to God, no schism occurred. Some of the best of the missionaries, indeed, resolved to leave the country, unless the intolerable imputation of treason and bloodshed could be removed. William Williams ventured to England without leave in order to vindicate the character of the mission, and, especially, that of his own brother. The statement which he laid before the authorities in London (1851) was so full and conclusive that the committee at once passed a resolution absolving the mission from all guilt in connection with the war. The archdeacon therefore resolved to return to his post, although he could not induce the Committee to remove the sentence which still lay upon his brother. Henry Williams was thus marked out more distinctly than ever as the piacular victim or scapegoat of the mission. And, indeed, his deprivation seemed to have an expiatory effect. Once his dismissal had been made, an improvement began all round. In the first place, the bishop seems to have been genuinely sorry for the harsh action which he himself had done much to bring about. The Society had gone further than he intended, and now his pity was roused. He took no offence when his archdeacon began to hold services in a barn at Pakaraka, nor when (in 1851) he opened a church which his sons had built and endowed with one-tenth of their property. Patience had its right result, and by 1853 the ecclesiastical relations between the two were entirely cordial. Henry Williams was no longer an agent of the C.M.S., but he was still one of the diocesan clergy, and he was still an archdeacon. His own ministrations seemed to gain in power and effectiveness. Stubborn old pagan Maoris came to the services of his new church at Pakaraka. Kawiti, the main upholder of ancient superstitions in the north, was there baptised, and thither the remains of Hone Heke were brought to be deposited near his old master. On one occasion no less than 130 Maoris were baptised by Williams at one time. With the bishop and the church also, there was a new beginning in a more chastened spirit. Before the end of the same year (1850) the bishop had attended an episcopal meeting in Sydney, where he was able to secure the support of the Australian Church for his infant mission to Melanesia. A few months later he welcomed his old Eton friend, C. J. Abraham, to whose able charge he committed St. John's College. But greater than either of these events, if regard be had to the permanent progress of the Church, was the arrival in New Zealand, during the month of December, of the first instalment of the Canterbury Pilgrims. The colony which they had come to found was intended to be something different from anything yet seen in New Zealand or in any other part of the British Empire. It was to be a reproduction on a small scale of England itself, as England might be supposed to be if its poverty, its crime, and its sectarian divisions could be eliminated. It was not a missionary undertaking in the ordinary sense of that noble word, nor was it intended as an outlet for revolutionary spirits. It was rather an attempt to get away from revolution, and to return to something of the feudal organisation. The settlement was to have a bishop, but he was to have nothing in common with the occupant of an ordinary "vulgar" colonial see. He was to be a scholarly and well-endowed prelate, with a small and compact diocese in which there should be no dissenters, but where an aristocratic gentry and a loyal peasantry should be watched over by a numerous and well-paid clergy. To attract such a class there must be not only fertile land and easy means of communication, but also good churches and good schools. Churches and schools must therefore be provided, and that on a generous scale. The price of land must be fixed high enough to allow of a large sum being set aside for the endowment of religion and education. Such were the views of Edward Gibbon Wakefield, in whose fertile brain the scheme originated. But he alone could never have carried it out. The New Zealand Company, with which he was still co-operating, had become discredited, and Wakefield himself did not stand well with Selwyn, whom he had never forgiven for going over (as he expressed it) from the side of the colonists to that of the missionaries. He must therefore secure the help of someone who would be trusted by the class which he wished to attract. The person whom he called to his counsels was John Robert Godley, a man of acute intellect and wide knowledge, of aristocratic connection and of real religious conviction. He was something of a dreamer, but his dreams were always noble ones. By his enthusiasm he was able to enlist the sympathies of several influential men among his old Christ Church (Oxford) friends. The revolutionary year, 1848, helped the project, and in the year following, Godley himself went out to New Zealand to prepare for the emigrants. This was an opportunity for trying to bring about an understanding with Bishop Selwyn. Mr. Gladstone, who was then Colonial Secretary, wrote to Godley: "You are the man, if any, to put colonising operations from this country into harmony with the bishop. If he can be got to look at the New Zealand Company propitiously, I hope all may go well." One part, then, of Godley's mission was to "capture" the bishop. It was not long before the bishop captured Godley. The natures and ideals of the two men were, in fact, fundamentally akin. Simplicity of life, a self-denying clergy, the spiritual independence of the Church--these were no less dear to the Canterbury leader than they were to the bishop himself. There was all the greater necessity for insistence upon them from the actual circumstances of the colonists. In spite of its aristocratic patrons, the Association was not successful in selling much of its land. There was no money wherewith to build the promised churches and schools nor to pay the clergy. Instead of finding themselves in the receipt of assured stipends, these luckless men were often reduced to something like destitution. The trouble had been partly foreseen, and the Association had tried to find clergy possessed of private means. Some of the clerical immigrants were thus endowed, and they were able to render considerable service. But the system was repugnant to Godley. He found himself confronted with the same problem as had met Selwyn in the north. To the Association it appeared that such a body of clergy "with their possession of private estate, and its necessary occupation and management, would resemble the condition of a large portion of the English clergy as holders of glebe and tythes." To Godley, on the other hand, it appeared that such men would be "primarily settlers and landowners, and but secondarily priests." This was not the only point on which Godley found himself at variance with his friends in London. In their eagerness to secure clergy of position for their colony, these had actually taken upon themselves to appoint a dean and canons for what was still a part of Selwyn's diocese. This step excited the indignation of the bishop. He was further angered by what he considered an unworthy attempt to interfere with the spiritual functions of the episcopal office. In a letter to Godley he complains bitterly of the "Erastianism" of this action, and of the attempt to make him an accomplice in such proceedings. "It is not my business," he wrote, "to censure the Association, but I must decline all further correspondence with them." This letter was written on May 6, 1851, and it seems to have kindled into flame Godley's smouldering wrath. On the 10th of June he sent off a despatch in which he took up exactly the same ground as the bishop, and resigned his office as a protest against the policy of the Association. His action had the desired effect; the shadowy "dean and canons of Lyttelton" vanished into obscurity, and the Association itself shortly afterwards came to an end. It was composed of many noble and high-minded men; but, as one of them put it, they were an "association of amateurs," and they made mistakes more through ignorance than through design. Wakefield taunted his former ally with the "delirious inconsistency" of his behaviour, but Godley himself felt (like Browning's Rabbi) that This rage was right i' the main-- though he regretted the vehemence of his language: "That I protested abruptly, rudely, unfeelingly, and in such a way as justly to annoy those whom I ought to have cut my right hand off sooner than give pain to, I shall never cease to deplore; but of the protest itself I cannot repent. And if (as I believe) it had the effect of determining the Association to resign its functions immediately and entirely, I shall always hold that I have by _that_ step conferred a greater benefit on the colony than by any other step that I have ever taken in its concerns." Though helping thus to break up the government of the new colony, Bishop Selwyn fairly captured the affections of the colonists themselves. He arrived at Lyttelton within a few days of their landing, and held a meeting with the four clergy who had then arrived. He was with them again in February, and again in the following November, when he laid down directions for the management of their ecclesiastical concerns. In the bitter disappointment caused by the repeated failure to secure a bishop of their own, the clergy and laity of Canterbury were all the more ready to welcome the help and advice of one who, like Melchizedek, met them with the bread and wine of human kindness and of divine ministration. They were jealously sensitive of their independence, and of their reputation as being the Church Settlement _par excellence_, but Selwyn treated them with wise consideration. He removed one inefficient priest to the North Island; he urged the Christchurch clergy to interest themselves in the few Maori villages of Banks Peninsula; he gave his warm approval to the establishment of daily services at Lyttelton; but for the most part he left the direction of affairs (after the departure of Mr. Godley) in the hands of his commissary, Archdeacon Mathias. So charmed were the colonists with the bishop's personality that it became a constant saying among them that "the fractional part we are actually enjoying of Bishop Selwyn is better than a whole new bishop to ourselves." The limits of this book permit of little beyond a bare mention of the Melanesian Mission, which during the years 1850 to 1853 was being successfully prosecuted. This was Bishop Selwyn's own idea; the islands were virgin soil; and their teeming peoples afforded an abundant outlet for the bishop's missionary zeal, which was rather hampered in New Zealand itself by the presence of the older missionaries. Every voyage resulted in some dark-skinned youths being brought to St. John's College for Christian education with the Maori and English scholars. Vigorous and successful, however, as were the operations in the distant corners of the field, they were balanced by heavy trials nearer home. In 1851 the bishop lost by an early death his only daughter, and in 1853 a storm of evil swept through his college, and nearly broke the spirit of its founder. Two of his most trusted helpers flagrantly betrayed their trust; their evil influence spread to others, and for a time the whole establishment was dispersed. Indeed the Maori portion never reassembled. One student had stood out with conspicuous faithfulness amidst the general falling away, and this man (Rota Waitoa) the bishop now ordained to the diaconate--the first of his race to receive Holy Orders. On the last day of this "year of sorrow," the bishop and his family left the now partially dismantled college for a visit to England. They never lived in the old home after their return, and this moment may be considered as the end of the communistic experiment which had been so hopefully begun at Waimate in 1843. Like Marsden's seminary at Parramatta, this also had failed, and for the same reasons. When the bishop arrived in London on May 5th, 1855, he met with a warm reception, and forthwith proceeded to carry out his policy of conciliation. Together with Sir George Grey, he visited the Church Missionary House, and pleaded with the Society for the reinstatement of Archdeacon Henry Williams. The Society had by this time come to realise the error of its action, for many of its supporters throughout the country had been agitating for an enquiry. The Committee were therefore not unwilling to accede to the wishes of the two august visitors, and a letter was soon sent to New Zealand, asking the archdeacon to overlook the past, and to take once more his honoured place on the staff of the mission. Henry Williams accepted the overture--tardy as it was--and from his residence at Pakaraka continued to carry on his old work during the remainder of his life. But the bishop did more than render justice to one ill-used helper. He won over the Society itself to his side by proposing to establish three new bishoprics in New Zealand, each of which should have a missionary as its first head. The scheme was never fully carried out, as the course of our history will show; but its non-fulfilment was due to circumstances which could not at the moment be foreseen. In the larger world of English life, also, the bishop made his mark. A course of Advent sermons before the University of Cambridge had a wonderful effect in stimulating the interest of the Church in foreign missions. An appeal for funds for Melanesia resulted in £10,000 being raised within a few weeks, and also in the gift of a new ship for the island work; a letter to a young friend who remembered Selwyn's parting sermon in 1841 secured the noble and saintly Patteson for the same mission; an interview with another of his early friends--Henry Harper, vicar of the Berkshire village of Strathfield Mortimer--won from this humble parish priest the promise to come out to New Zealand for the bishopric of Christchurch, as soon as a duly authorised request should be forthcoming. Altogether, Selwyn was able to feel that his visit had been successful in its objects, and he returned to his diocese in 1855 with new heart for the work, and new means for its effective prosecution. As soon as possible after his arrival he proceeded to Canterbury, and once more convened a meeting of its principal churchmen. Ecclesiastical affairs had not prospered in this settlement as its promoters had anticipated. Godley had left in 1852, and the diocese had become wearied with the continual disappointment of its hopes of seeing a bishop of its own. The meeting at first urged Selwyn himself to take the position of Bishop of Christchurch, and on his refusing this offer, a unanimous resolution was carried in favour of his friend and nominee, the Rev. Henry John Chitty Harper. By Christmas, 1856, the new bishop had arrived, and was installed on Christmas Day in the little pro-Cathedral of St. Michael, Christchurch, amidst the eager expectation of the community. Selwyn was present at the arrival of his friend, and also at the installation service. At last he was able to hand over some part of his diocese to an episcopal colleague: that colleague, moreover, being a man whom he had known in his early days, and from whom he had received his own first impulse towards the work of the ministry. At peace with Henry Williams and the other missionaries; at peace with the Church Missionary Society; at peace with the Canterbury colonists, and secure in the loyal friendship of their bishop; he could now press forward with a project which had long occupied his thoughts, viz., the binding together of the varied elements of the Church into one united and organised whole. NOTE.--As throwing light upon the proposed bishoprics mentioned in this chapter, and also as showing the thoughts which were at this time passing through Bishop Selwyn's mind, it may be well to quote the following passage from a letter written by him in England to his friend the Rev. E. Coleridge (Aug. 14, 1854): "If the organisation of the New Zealand Church had been a little more advanced towards completion, I should gladly have availed myself of the consent already obtained to the appointment of the Venerable Archdeacon Abraham to succeed me in the See of Auckland; the archdeaconries of Wellington, Waiapu, and Tauranga being, as it is proposed, erected into bishoprics, and placed under the episcopal care of the present Archdeacons Hadfield, W. Williams, and Brown. Knowing the difficulties which are thought to stand in the way of the creation of missionary bishoprics, I should then have gladly undertaken the charge of Melanesia as my own diocese, retaining only such an interest in New Zealand as might connect me still with the councils of its Church, and give me a central home and resting-place among my own countrymen." The boldness and grandeur of this scheme have hardly been sufficiently realised. An ecclesiastical province divided into small dioceses, with missionaries at their head, and its primate spending his time in the foreign mission field: what an object lesson to the whole Church New Zealand would have presented! CHAPTER XII. ORGANISATION AND PROGRESS. (1850-1859). The inward life must not be separated in practice from the external unity of the body of Christ. The law of unity is the essence of its strength, its purity, and its holiness. --_Bishop Selwyn._ "The urgent necessity of mutual communion for preservation of our unity ... maketh it requisite that the Church of God here on earth have her _laws_." So wrote the judicious Hooker in that immortal work which came to Bishop Selwyn as a legacy from his great predecessor, Samuel Marsden. The bishop himself was well aware of this necessity. We have seen how he tried to bind the missionaries to himself by calling them together in synods in 1844 and in 1847. The canons which were passed by these gatherings were doubtless of some importance, but their chief value lay in the spirit of _unity_ which they were calculated to evoke. Legitimate and natural, however, as such gatherings must seem to us, they threw the Committee of the Church Missionary Society into "transports of alarm." In England the synodical action of the Church had been so long silenced, that any attempt to revive it was regarded as an act of priestly assumption, and an affront to the supremacy of the royal power. But Selwyn's action was only a little in advance of the time. In all the colonies, men were feeling after some form of church government by which laws could be made and unity preserved. The bishops were sent out from the mother Church with Royal Letters Patent, which seemed to confer upon their holders almost absolute power, but the colonies possessed no machinery by which this power could be enforced; and it was evident that some method must be devised by which the different members of the Church could be brought together, and enabled to make laws for its governance and well-being. The method followed by Bishop Selwyn was that which he derived from the primitive Church. The bishop and his clergy formed a "synod" which could enact "canons" for the regulation of the faithful. But something more was evidently needed; and this, too, seemed to spring into existence in the memorable year 1850, which marked in so many ways the turn of the tide in the New Zealand Church. The self-same month which witnessed the departure of Henry Williams from Paihia, beheld his great antagonist, Sir George Grey, laid upon a bed of sickness at New Plymouth. There is no absolute proof that the archdeacon's case was consciously before the governor's mind, though it is hard to think that it was not. But it is certain that his thoughts were drawn at this juncture to the question of the government and unity of the Church. As Bishop Selwyn put it long afterwards: "There was something more touching in the origin of that constitution than persons are generally aware of. The first draft of the present constitution was drawn by Sir George Grey on a sick bed at Taranaki; and it was the fruit of those feelings which come upon the mind in sickness, when a man sets aside thoughts of government and the cares of this world, and knows, as a Christian man, that he has something better to think of than the perishable things of this life. His Excellency has produced what has been of great spiritual benefit to the Church in this country." The chief point about the governor's scheme was the inclusion of the laity in the government of the Church. Of course this was not an altogether original feature. It had already been adopted by the American branch of the Anglican communion. During the years that followed the promulgation of Grey's scheme, American theological halls were echoing to such sentiments as this: "The power of self-government is advocated over all the Colonial Churches of the British Empire. Why is it that the Churches in New Zealand and New South Wales are demanding synodical action and lay representation? It is _our_ influence and _our_ example." The American origin of the Grey document is clearly shown by the term "Convention," which was used to describe the proposed legislative body. The bishops were to sit apart in one house; clerical and lay representatives were to sit together, but to vote separately, in another. The provisions of the document were simply but clearly drawn, and they foreshadow in most points the completed constitution of 1857. One matter of detail was allowed to creep into the fundamental provisions: church pews might be appropriated, but not charged for! When Selwyn received this draft, he at once expressed his willingness to adopt it if it should be supported by a considerable number of churchpeople. The governor therefore set himself to secure signatures to a letter urging its acceptance upon the bishop. In this he succeeded beyond his expectations. In Auckland the letter was signed by "the General, the Chief Justice, the principal military officers, by all the clergy in the neighbourhood, by all the principal merchants who are members of our Church, and by a large number of other persons." The total, in fact, reached 94; and the column is headed by the simple signatures, "G. Grey," and "Wm. Martin." A good body of signatures was appended from Taranaki, Wanganui, and Nelson; none from Wellington or the eastern district. The names of the brothers Williams, of course, do not appear, but some of the other missionaries were found willing to sign--Kissling, Maunsell, Morgan, Ashwell, and Taylor. With this document the bishop sailed for Sydney, to attend the meeting of bishops already referred to. The Australian prelates were entirely in favour of synodical action, but they were not prepared to follow the Grey scheme in its entirety. Their plan was for bishop and clergy to constitute a "synod" (as in ancient times), but that lay representatives should at the same time hold a "convention," which should have the right of veto on certain of the decisions of the "synod." As the name "G. A. New Zealand" appears among the list of signatories, it may be presumed that he concurred in this rather clumsy scheme; but in the following year he acted in the opposite direction by inviting Mr. Godley and another layman to sit in conference with the clergy of the diocese of Christchurch. The points of difference between the rival schemes do not appear in the next act. In 1852 the bishop put forth a pastoral letter, in which he called the attention of the churchmen of New Zealand to the absolute necessity for providing some church authority. The colony had just received its civil constitution: the Church must have one too. As to whether laymen should sit with the clergy or not, the bishop leaves the matter open. But he adopts a proviso upon which both Sir George Grey and the Australian bishops had insisted, viz., that whatever convention or synod might be set up, it should have no power to alter the doctrine and ritual of the Church of England, or the Authorised Version of the Bible. No point in the final constitution of the New Zealand Church has been more criticised than this. What was the precise object of its insertion? Of course, the natural conservatism of the churchly mind would account for much, but not for all. What national church ever before tied its own hands in this deliberate way? But was the Church of New Zealand to be a national church? That was exactly the point which had chief influence with the statesmen and lawyers to whom the constitution is mainly due. To them the Royal Supremacy stood first. Nothing must be done which could in any way infringe upon the prerogatives of the Crown. Only in the possible case of a separation of Church and State in England, or in the case of a political separation of New Zealand from the Mother Country, could there be any liberty in these all-important points. _Then_ the liberty might be absolute and complete. But there was one man in New Zealand who saw farther than the rest. Godley would have none of the Grey scheme, and he persuaded his fellow churchmen of Canterbury to put forth a protest against it. Any plan for the government of the Church should emanate (they argued) from the episcopate, and should be dutifully accepted by the faithful. They themselves would therefore refrain from any detailed suggestions, but they strongly maintained the right of even the infant Church of New Zealand to deal, if necessary, with questions of doctrine and ritual, and even of the translation of the Scriptures. Cordially as they were attached to their Prayer Book and to their Bible, they yet could foresee a time when occasion might arise for change. What Selwyn's own feeling on this matter might be, it is not easy to discover. But as, in their conversations at Lyttelton, he and Mr. Godley always found themselves in agreement, it seems not unlikely that on this point also the minds of the two men were in accord. But the bishop could not do as he would in this as in many other matters. The Committee of the C.M.S. had already taken alarm at a step which seemed likely to separate the colonial Church from that of the Mother Country, and they sent out instructions to their missionaries forbidding them to take part in the proposed convention.[10] This was one of the reasons which prompted the visit of the bishop to England in 1854. Before he set sail, however, he had called meetings in all the different centres of population; at these meetings he had laid his scheme before the Church, and he had carefully codified the criticisms which were offered. In most localities the draft was accepted as it stood. Auckland seems to have devised the idea of uniting bishop, clergy, and laity in one chamber. Christchurch had lost its man of insight through Godley's departure, and it now swung round into a merely conservative position. It joined with the rest of the settlements in insisting upon the principle of the Grey scheme, by which the Prayer Book and Authorised Version of the Bible were declared to be outside the powers of any New Zealand synod. [10] Even as late as the year 1866 the Secretary of the C.M.S. (the Rev. Henry Venn) could write out to New Zealand: "If all the colonial churches are to be made free, the Church of England would be ruined as a missionary church. The people of England would never send out missionaries to be under Free Bishops." The disappearance of Godley, with his visions of independence, made the task of the bishop more easy when he confronted the Committee of the Church Missionary Society. He was able to assure these cautious men as to the inoffensive character of his proposals. "The Committee now understood," writes their historian, Dr. Eugene Stock, "that no separation from the Church of England was intended; that the Queen's supremacy was recognised; that questions of doctrine and ritual would be excluded from the purview of the synods; and that the interests of the Maori Christians would be cared for." They accordingly withdrew their former instructions, and now signified their approval of the missionaries joining with the bishop in the proposed organisation of the Church. This concession formed the answer of the Committee to Selwyn's proposal to found the missionary bishoprics mentioned in the last chapter, and it removed one of the most formidable obstacles in the way of a constitution. Another obstacle, hardly less formidable, disappeared of itself during the year after the bishop's return. This was the difficulty of obtaining State sanction for the proposed authority. Many attempts had been made by Mr. Gladstone and others to procure such sanction from the Imperial Parliament; but in 1856 the English legal authorities discovered, what seems so obvious now, that no State authorisation would be needed if the system could be based simply on voluntary compact. If any colonial Church wished to make rules for its own government, it was quite at liberty to do so, provided that these rules were held to apply only to such persons as were willing to be bound by them. Thus then it happened that, as the moral and personal obstacles were removed by patience and Christian wisdom, the legal ones fell of themselves, and now there remained no hindrance to the calling of a conference for the final settlement of the matter. [Illustration: SOME CANTERBURY CHURCHES. St. Lukes, Christchurch. Holy Trinity, Lyttelton. St. Mary's, Timaru. St. Peter's, Riccarton. St. John's, Hororata. St. Stephens, Ashburton. Christchurch Cathedral. St. Paul's, Glenmark. Holy Trinity, Avonside.] The conference met on May 14, 1857, in the little stone chapel of St. Stephen, near the residence of Sir William Martin, at Auckland. The occasion was felt to be one of extreme importance. Never before had the different elements of which the Church was composed been brought face to face together. Christchurch sent its new bishop and the Rev. J. Wilson. Archdeacon Abraham stood for the Selwyn type of clergy. Sir William Martin's thoughtful face was absent, but his views would be voiced by his friend Mr. Swainson, the former Attorney-General. Now that the Church was to be separated from the State, and organised on a voluntary basis, it is somewhat surprising to find the government of the day so strongly represented. The Premier (Stafford), the Attorney-General (Whitaker), and Mr. H. J. Tancred, the Postmaster-General, are all there. To balance these new men, we see the missionaries Maunsell, Brown, and Kissling. But still something is needed. Where are the leaders of former days? A sense of satisfaction is experienced when at last the brothers Williams enter together and take their seats. "All were very kind," wrote Archdeacon Henry, "and we were much pleased with the benevolent countenance of the Bishop of Christchurch." The sittings of the conference lasted for five weeks. The long preliminary discussions had cleared up most of the points in advance: there was no question as to the desirableness of laymen taking an equal part with bishops and clergy in the proposed synods, nor was there any hesitation in pronouncing unalterable the provision which exempted the formularies of the Church and the Authorised Version of the Bible from synodical handling. But there were two points on which opinions differed widely. Canterbury insisted on diocesan independence, and the power of managing its own property. This claim was not thoroughly dealt with by the conference, and was destined to give trouble in the future. The real struggle lay between the group of Auckland laymen and the president, on the qualification to be required of those who should represent the laity in synods, and of those who should select them by their votes. Two views were held, then as now, on this important matter. One side would limit the Church to such as are in full communion with her, and are actively interested in her welfare. The other would embrace within her fold as many as possible, even if their churchmanship and their Christianity should be but nominal. Bishop Selwyn took the former view, and in this attitude he would doubtless be supported by the missionary representatives, who were accustomed to a strict discipline in the Maori Church. Canterbury also stood on the same side. Godley himself had been its ardent advocate, and on this point at least his principles were not abandoned after his departure. They had even been accentuated by the Canterbury declaration of 1853, in which it was urged that the ecclesiastical franchise should be confined to persons who should not only declare themselves communicants of the Church, but should also disavow membership in any other religious denomination. This stringent requirement probably arose from an experience which Archdeacon Mathias mentions in a letter to Lord Lyttelton. Many had come out at the Association's expense as "Church of England" members, who yet turned out to be "professed dissenters," and some of them "dissenting preachers." The religious unity of the settlement was thus rendered impossible, and one of the aims of its founders defeated at the outset. On this point therefore--a point of far more importance to the Church than the property question, which attracted the greater attention at the time--the bishop would be supported by the missionary clergy and by the Canterbury representatives. But he met with firm resistance from the Auckland laymen. These were men of "a fine conservative temperament," and they would agree to no proposal which should make the Church in New Zealand less comprehensive than the State-governed Church of the Mother Country. Their view is thus expressed by Carleton: The bishop "would have made the Church of England a close borough, to which formal admittance under rules prescribed would be required; the laymen, on the other hand, held that every baptised Englishman enjoyed church membership as a matter of course and right, until he should think fit to declare dissent." Both of these opposing views have much to say for themselves; for both of them great names may be quoted in support. At the Auckland Conference, as throughout the whole after-history of our Church, it was the lay (or Arnoldian) view that triumphed: "The bishop, seeing no eagerness on the part of the laity, but, on the contrary, much quiet and thoughtful criticism, gave way upon every main point of difference, gracefully enough. Failure of cherished schemes had changed him much. But he was bent upon carrying something, and by gentle management he did. A scheme of fair working promise, with little to take exception to, was the result." The document which was solemnly put forth on June 13th, 1857, as the "CONSTITUTION for associating together, as a Branch of the United Church of England and Ireland, the members of the said Church in the Colony of New Zealand," carried at its foot seventeen signatures, which are not the least interesting part of the whole. To those who follow the history of the Church, both before and after this promulgation of her authoritative act of government, what thoughts are suggested by the first four names of the list: "G. A. New Zealand," "H. J. C. Christchurch," "Henry Williams," "William Williams"! What controversies past and future, what agonies of mind, what silent heroism, what spiritual conquests, what believing prayer! A word must be said, however, on the legal aspect of this constitution. As the early Christian congregations in the Roman Empire sometimes found it advisable to register themselves as burial clubs, since only thus could they obtain any legal status, so, in order to obtain a recognised position in the eyes of the law, the Church in New Zealand found it necessary to appear simply as a holder of trust property. Bishop Selwyn had prepared for this move by procuring the passing of an Act by the Legislative Assembly in 1856, which enabled any body of trustees to be incorporated in proper form. In 1858 the Church of New Zealand was formally brought under this enactment. This fact accounts for the rather conspicuous place which the property element holds in the constitution document. It was the one legal basis which was possible in the circumstances of the case. The endowments of the Church are held on condition of the observance of the provisions of the constitution by those who enjoy any of the proceeds of that property. In the eye of the law, the Church of this Dominion stands on precisely the same footing as any other body for which any property is held in trust. Now that the Church had been set upon her feet (to use Mr. Gladstone's words to Godley), after the stilts of government support had been knocked away, it remained to be seen how she would walk. The first duty was to carry out the concordat which Selwyn had made with the C.M.S., and to found the missionary bishoprics. The scheme had been disallowed in 1854 by the Colonial Office, but now the way was open. The proposed diocese of Tauranga, indeed, was never pushed forward, but the others were soon set on foot. The new diocese of Wellington was offered to Archdeacon Hadfield, but his continued ill-health prevented his acceptance. The bishop therefore proposed the name of his talented and cultured friend, Archdeacon Abraham. The proposal was at once accepted by the Wellington churchmen, and the archdeacon proceeded to England for his consecration. Nelson also claimed a bishop of its own, and for this difficult post Selwyn recommended his friend Edmund Hobhouse, then Vicar of St. Peter-in-the-East at Oxford. This devoted man was also a fellow of Merton College in the University, and he had narrowly missed being appointed to the see of Christchurch two years before. With great physical strength, which enabled him to walk 30 or 40 miles a day, Hobhouse was yet a constant sufferer from headache, but his deep piety and his solid learning well qualified him for the episcopal office. The two bishops-elect were consecrated together (still under Letters Patent) on Michaelmas Day, 1858, and arrived in New Zealand during the first General Synod, which met under the new constitution in the city of Wellington in the month of March, 1859. The most interesting feature of this gathering was the inauguration of a fifth bishopric--that of Waiapu. In this case the bishop's original plan was carried out in its exactitude, for no one but the "episcopally-minded" William Williams could well be thought of for such a post. The Letters Patent were brought out from England by Bishop Abraham, and the consecration was held, during the course of the session, in the little St. Paul's Church, on Sunday, April 3.[11] A unique feature of the service arose from the fact that the four consecrating bishops were all younger than the veteran upon whom they laid their hands. The new bishop was "one whose age and experience," said Selwyn in his opening address, "has often made me feel ashamed that I should have been preferred before him, and to whom I have long wished to be allowed to make this reparation, by dividing with him the duties and responsibilities of my office." "It was a most delightful day," he afterwards wrote, "and one that I little expected to see when I first came to New Zealand. All seemed to be so thoroughly happy and satisfied with the appointment of the new bishops, as much as if each settlement had chosen its own bishop from personal knowledge.... I shall now go back to Auckland light in heart ... and I hope to be enabled by God's blessing to prosecute the mission work with more vigour in consequence of the cutting off of the southern portions of New Zealand." [11] It is a matter for regret that the scene of this first episcopal consecration in New Zealand can no longer be pointed out. The church stood, opposite the Museum, on government land which now forms part of the grounds surrounding the Parliament buildings. But portions of the structure were removed to the Bolton-street cemetery, and still form part of the mortuary chapel there. This day of happiness marks the end of a distinct epoch in our history. The decade which began in 1850 amidst confusion and disunion, had brought year by year some healing strengthening power, until it closed with a united Church, an increased clergy, and a multiplied episcopate. Not a day too soon was the constitutional fabric finished. Already the clouds were gathering which heralded the coming storm. CHAPTER XIII. TROUBLE AND ANGUISH. (1859-1862). Cheerful, with friends, we set forth: Then, on the height, comes the storm! --_M. Arnold._ The period which begins with the year 1860 presents an aspect so desolate that it is hard at first to find a single cheering feature. The prospect which seemed so bright in 1859 is quickly obscured by mist and storm. Guiding-posts are hard to find; the faces of friends seem hostile in the gloom; voices of appeal sound dim and confused amidst the moan of the tempest. How little did Selwyn think on that autumn day in 1859 when, from his presidential chair, he looked in gladness of heart upon his four new bishops, that at the same hour a bolt was being forged by the Government in Auckland which would shatter the most hopeful of his plans! How little could he expect that, of the bishops before him, one (Williams) would be driven from his home, and another (Hobhouse) harried from his diocese; or that he himself would be mobbed and insulted, turned back on roads which he had been accustomed to travel, fired at by men who had hitherto listened obediently to his words! How little could he foresee the ruined churches, the abandoned missions, the apostacy of the tribes, or the closing of large tracts of country against himself and his clergy! How incredible would have seemed the intelligence that amongst his flock a heresy would arise which should demand the life of a Christian minister as an acceptable sacrifice! Yet, though at first everything looks uniformly dark and hopeless, the eye comes in time to form a truer picture. Shapes of strange magnificence make themselves dimly visible; noble characters appear all the grander for the strain through which they pass; principles and ideals through stern conflict are tested and displayed. Half a century has well-nigh passed since the events took place; the chief actors have disappeared from the earthly scene; a calmer and more discriminating treatment ought now to be possible than could be secured amidst the passions of racial and political strife. [Illustration: MAP OF THE BAY OF ISLANDS DISTRICT.] At first it seemed as though the new constitution were destined to work smoothly. The organisation and first meeting of the General Synod was followed up by the calling together of the clergy and laity of the various dioceses in local synods--each under the presidency of its bishop. In 1861 Selwyn took advantage of the newly-acquired ecclesiastical freedom to consecrate John Coleridge Patteson to the missionary bishopric of Melanesia; and this saintly man went forth to the ten years of faithful work which were to be brought to a sudden close by his martyrdom in 1871. At the end of the same year (1861) Bishop Williams called together a synod of the diocese of Waiapu, at which nearly all the members belonged to the native race, and all the proceedings were conducted in the native tongue. An opportunity was thus afforded for that sagacity in counsel and that eloquence of speech for which the Maori race was famed. But the opportunity came too late. Maori Christianity had been left so long in an unorganised and immature condition that it had begun to develop itself on lines of its own. The march of events had brought about a situation which was only partially foreseen, and, even if foreseen, could hardly perhaps have been prevented. The subject is one of peculiar difficulty, but as it has a direct bearing on problems of to-day, an attempt must be made to elucidate its main features. The organisation of the New Zealand Church seemed to leave no place for the rule of the Church Missionary Society. Selwyn wished it to resign its lands and its agents immediately into the hands of the general synod. The Society was not quite ready to do this, but it began to withdraw in a gradual way. It sent out few, if any, fresh missionaries to take the places of those who had died or retired, and it began to curtail its monetary grants. It had spent (according to Mr. Swainson's estimate) some quarter of a million pounds on New Zealand: it might well ask, Had not the time arrived for its funds to be employed elsewhere? But if the white missionaries were to be allowed gradually to depart, their places must be taken by natives of the country. Year after year the Society was urgent in asking for the ordination of Maoris, not only to the diaconate but also to the priesthood, in order that the Maori Christians might have an opportunity of receiving the Holy Communion at least once a quarter. But this the bishop would not do. He was favourable to such a policy in the abstract, but he and the missionaries themselves were so much impressed with the educational and social deficiencies of even the best of the Maori converts, that they shrank from their admission to Holy Orders. Selwyn had hoped that St. John's College would have supplied him with men of higher education and more civilised habits, but his expectations had been dashed by the dispersion of 1853, and his confidence was slow to spring again. On his return from England, he had opened a theological college for Maoris at Parnell, where the married students might live in separate cottages, and where they might have the benefit of the freely-given instructions of Sir William Martin. But none of the candidates were considered fit for Holy Orders, and up to 1860 the Bishop had ordained but one deacon beside Rota Waitoa. If it had not been for another small college which was begun by the Rev. W. L. Williams at Waerenga-a-hika, and which enabled Bishop Williams, soon after his consecration, to ordain six Maoris to the diaconate, the number of native clergy at the opening of this period would have been small indeed. The necessity for more ordinations was the chief reason why the Church Missionary Society so earnestly advocated an increase of bishops. The establishment of the diocese of Waiapu certainly justified their hope to a large extent, for not only did Bishop Williams admit a number of Maoris to the ministry, but his example encouraged Selwyn himself to go forward more boldly. His reluctance was due partly to sad experience, partly to his own high ideals; and it would seem to afford another instance of the truth which his career so often exemplified, "The best is the enemy of the good." Some of the men who were to play leading parts in the coming time were among those whom his strictness rejected. Chief among these was that Tamihana Tarapipipi who appeared before us in an earlier chapter. From the light-hearted youthfulness of the "bonnet" episode, this young son of the great Waharoa had passed into a grave and thoughtful manhood. After his father's death, his ability had led to his being elected chief instead of his elder brother. Together with a strong desire for knowledge there was a certain _dourness_ in Tamihana's nature, and when he applied for admission to St. John's College, a question is said to have arisen about smoking. The rules of the institution prohibited this pleasant vice, and Tamihana would not give up his pipe. Strange to think of the tremendous consequences which flowed from that simple refusal! Thrown back upon himself, and seeing no teacher but Archdeacon Brown, who visited Matamata from time to time, the young thinker formed his ideals alone. Experience soon taught him the necessity of _law_. Loose-living and dishonest pakehas brought disease and trouble among his people, while the old authority of the chiefs was weakening day by day. The Old Testament offered laws which seemed framed for his own case, and, in studying his Bible, Tamihana was struck with the important part which was played by the _nationalism_ of the Chosen People. One verse in particular took his attention: "Thou shalt in any wise set him king over thee, whom the Lord thy God shall choose; one from among thy brethren shalt thou set king over thee: thou mayest not set a stranger over thee, which is not thy brother."--(Deut. xvii. 15.) Here, surely, was divine sanction for the principle of nationalism and of kingship: might not the cure for the woes of his race be found in a unified State under an elected king of their own blood? The ideas which were thus working in the young chief's mind were forced into active expression by the treatment he received from those in authority. Early in 1857 he visited Auckland, with the object of making an appeal to the governor for good government among the Maoris. Instead of a welcome, he received a snub from the high officials, who scornfully advised him to go home and help himself. This rebuff drove him to action. Sending messages far and wide, he convened a great assembly of the inland tribes at Rangiaohia in the Waikato. The concourse afterwards moved to Ihumatao on the shores of the Manukau, and within a few miles of Auckland, where the conference was at that very time drafting the church constitution. The one gathering consisted of highly educated clergy and lawyers, the other of unlettered or self-taught Maoris; but the object of both gatherings was the same, and so were the principles which both professed. A Christian law was the object of them both. Tamihana would not allow himself to be put forward as king: he proposed for that honour the aged Waikato chief, Te Wherowhero or Potatau; but he, as king-maker, was the life and soul of the movement. The kingship thus set up was a sorry enough thing in outward appearance, but its flag bore upon it the Cross of the Redeemer; its inauguration at Ngaruawahia (in 1858) was accompanied with prayers and hymns; its object was to bar out intoxicating liquors from the inland tribes, and to keep them from unwholesome contact with the white man and his ways. As Marsden had tried to found a Christian community at Rangihoua, Selwyn at St. John's, and Godley in Canterbury, so Tamihana attempted to set up a Christian State in the interior of the North Island. It is sad to think that he did not meet with more sympathy from the heads of Church and State. "The members of the Government in Auckland," wrote Sir John Gorst, "did not like Te Waharoa [Tamihana]. Few Europeans knew him personally, and it was the fashion to believe him insincere." At a preliminary meeting at Taupo, the Rev. T. Grace did indeed join in the proceedings, but the colonial government soon moved the governor to petition the C.M.S. for the missionary's removal. Bishop Selwyn left the Taurarua Conference to oppose the king movement at Ihumatao. The one man who saw it in a favourable light was Sir William Martin. To him it was "not an enemy to be crushed, but a god-send to be welcomed." The governor, Colonel Gore-Browne, was weak; but he felt that if he could have Sir William Martin and Bishop Selwyn on his council for native affairs, he might be able to walk uprightly. His proposal, however, was declared "inadmissible," and the well-meaning governor was soon hurried into a policy from which he at first had shrunk. The beginning of the year 1860 found the king movement still friendly to the British rule. Its influence did not extend much beyond the Waikato country, and it was discountenanced by the tribes who lived under the influence of Henry Williams in the north, William Williams in the east, and of Hadfield and Taylor in the south-west. Hadfield's staunch ally, Wiremu Kingi te Rangitaake, had, in 1848, carried his tribe back to Taranaki, where his ancestral possessions lay, and he too kept aloof from the movement. This chief, upon whom was to turn the future course of events, still stood forth as a champion of the white man; and to him New Plymouth was indebted in 1851, as Wellington had been in 1843 and 1846, for preservation from hostile attack. Yet this was the man whom the Government now drove into opposition and rebellion. What were his crimes that he should be so treated? In the first place he and his tribe owned the beautiful Waitara lands which lay close to New Plymouth, and a Naboth is always open to the old charge, "Thou didst blaspheme God and the king." Governor Gore-Browne, upon whom lay the direct responsibility in native matters, was an honourable man and the brother of a highly-respected English bishop; but, Ahab-like, he was brought to regard Te Rangitaake as a "rebel" and "an infamous character." And who was the Jezebel in this case? The Government of the day had much to do with the governor's decision, yet the Stafford ministry is looked upon as the ablest and not the least upright that has occupied the treasury benches in New Zealand. These ministers also (it is said) had been misled. By whom? The blame is laid upon the land commissioner, Mr. Parris, whose later reports were certainly very misleading. Yet Parris began with a desire to be fair to all parties. He also succumbed to outside pressure. If we enquire further, we come upon the ugly serpent of sectarian jealousy. Taranaki was in the Wesleyan sphere of influence: Te Rangitaake was a churchman. For the crime of belonging to the Church of England he incurred the violent enmity of a certain Wesleyan minister, who had never forgiven Bishop Selwyn for refusing to allow him to sign a church burial register. Yet this minister thought himself in the right, and could at least point to a murder which had been committed, not by Rangitaake himself, but by another Maori with whom this chief had formed an alliance. Who can judge in such a case, especially when the tangled skein is still further complicated by the action of an astute Maori whose affections had been wounded by a damsel who deserted him in order to become the daughter-in-law of Te Rangitaake? But it is no pleasant thought that the decision to seize the Waitara was made by the Government in Auckland during the very days when the first General Synod was sitting in Wellington, and that amongst the men who thus forced on an unjust and unholy war were at least two who had sat in the Taurarua Conference and had helped to shape the constitution of the Church. The war thus begun in injustice and ingratitude, was marked by what seemed a contemptuous defiance of religion. Wiremu Kingi was slow to take up arms, and when the surveyors appeared upon the disputed land he merely sent women to drive them off. The governor summoned Kingi to come to him at New Plymouth, offering him a safe-conduct for three days. The chief replied that he was afraid to trust himself among the soldiers, and proposed a meeting on safer ground. No answer was vouchsafed to him; the three days expired on Saturday night, March 3, 1860, and on Sunday the governor began the war. Two of Te Rangitaake's _pas_ were taken by the troops, and his place of worship burnt to the ground. The news of the aggression spread quickly through the island. Selwyn and Hadfield sent protests and petitions to the Government and to the Queen. The war had been hurried on with such secrecy that the bishop had "heard nothing of the matter till the order was given for the troops to embark." Up to the time when the soldiers were sent to Taranaki, he was "in the most friendly communication with the Governor and his ministers." But now, by these very men, his appeals for an enquiry were spurned, and he was peremptorily forbidden to interfere between the Government and the native race. Others beside bishop and missionaries were stirred with indignation. "The affair at Taranaki," wrote the bishop, "was announced by the government, and looked upon by the natives, as the beginning of a new policy for the whole of New Zealand." As such it was received by the king-maker in the north. Hitherto there had been little sympathy between himself and the Taranaki chief. Now they began to draw together. Patriotism and religion formed a continually strengthening bond. "It was this that disquieted the heart of Te Rangitaake," wrote Tamihana, "his church being burnt with fire." His own heart was disquieted also; and though he would not yet adopt Rangitaake's cause, he could not prevent some of the hot-heads of his tribe from going south to join in the Taranaki war. His own flag at Ngaruawahia became the rallying point for the disaffection which was now spreading through the land. Deputations from distant tribes were received in state by the Maori King; allegiance was tendered by many of those who had hitherto held aloof; lands were presented, and tribute pledged. Amid the growing excitement, Tamihana restrained the natural feelings of his heart. "Let us not take up an unrighteous cause," he urged; "let us search out the merits of the case, that if we die, we die in a righteous cause." The kingdom was not set up for war but for peace; and the aged Potatau, who died in June, repeated with almost his last breath its watchwords, "RELIGION, LOVE, AND LAW." The war in Taranaki lasted until June, 1861, when, through Tamihana's efforts, a kind of peace was arrived at. One missionary, at least, played an important part in the operations. The intrepid Wilson was stirred at the news that the Maoris, after one of their victories, had given no quarter to the prisoners. He therefore set out for Taranaki, and went amongst the Maori camps, urging the observance of the laws of civilised warfare. His life was often in extreme danger, but the white bands which he always wore usually secured the respect of friend and foe. After much discouragement, he succeeded in gaining the consent of the Waikatos to spare the wounded, to exchange prisoners, and to tend the sick. His old naval training gave him acceptance with the Imperial forces, and he did much to promote a better feeling on both sides. [Illustration: ST. JOHN'S CATHEDRAL., NAPIER.] Outside the war area, some of the tribes who were most amenable to missionary influence were brought together by the governor in July, 1860, and held a great meeting in the grounds of the Melanesian Mission headquarters at Kohimarama, near Auckland. After long discussion they expressed their determination not to join in the king movement, though they openly questioned the justice of the war. But the king-maker held to his scheme. With a profound philosophy which has hardly yet been mastered by European statesmen, he pointed to the actual existence of different and differing nations in the world. "The only bond," he said, "is Christ." Why should the Maori lose his nationality? Why should not he in his own way co-operate with the pakeha in upholding the law of the one Christ? "This upright stick," he said, "is the governor; this one is the king; this horizontal one which I lay across the other two is the law of God and of the queen; this circle which I draw round the whole is the authority of the queen which guards us all." Nor did his actions fall below his words. Justice was administered with strict impartiality, and Tamihana himself founded a boarding-school, which contained at one time upwards of a hundred children. In order to provide for the maintenance of these scholars, he and his sons carried on a farm at Peria. Wilson relates how, when he went on a peace-making mission to this place, and was forced to spend the cold night amongst Maoris who showed no readiness to receive his message, a hand was laid upon him in the dim dawn, and the voice of the king-maker said, "You will perish in this place. Arise, come down and stay with me." After breakfast, he found Tamihana at his plough: "The day was wet; he was soaked with rain and bedaubed with mud. The great man--for such he really is--was dressed in a blue serge shirt and corduroy trousers, without hat, and toiling like a peasant." The missionary was then taken to the school, where this Maori Tolstoi gave the children some practical problems in arithmetic, and a dictation lesson from his favourite Book of Deuteronomy. The latter part of 1861 saw a temporary improvement in the situation. War was for the time suspended. The Stafford ministry were driven from office by the vote of one of their friends, who felt the injustice of their war policy, and--most important of all--the weak governor was removed, and Sir George Grey sent back to take his place. Past suffering did not prevent Henry Williams and his friends from welcoming one who, with all his faults, was a real lover of the native race; and the governor soon showed that he had not forgotten the mistakes he had formerly made. One of his first acts was to go off by himself to Otaki, and there to spend a day or two with Hadfield--son-in-law to Henry Williams. "Of course," writes the latter, "they were agreed upon all points." Somewhat later he called upon the patriarch himself at Pakaraka, and consulted with him as to the best means of bringing peace to the land. With generous trustfulness Henry Williams wrote, "I have every confidence in Sir George, but he is in want of men to carry out his views." The period from October, 1861, to May, 1863, is thus interesting, as being the last occasion in our history when it can be said that the voice of the Church was really effective in guiding the policy of the country. The indignant protests of Selwyn, Hadfield, and Martin had taken effect; an enquiry into the Waitara case proved the illegality of the Government's action. The new governor tried to establish a system of local self-government among the Maoris, and to atone for the misdeeds of the past. Henry Williams described the situation with characteristic bluntness: "Of the feeling of the old ministry and their partisans, there was no mistake: 'Hang the missionaries and bishops for having caused the rebellion.' These persons are now so still and quiet you may hear a pin drop, even in the bush.... Nothing is now heard but 'the dear Maoris; who would hurt a hair of their heads?'" The brief period of peace in the north brought troubles of its own to Bishop Selwyn and the Church. The second General Synod was summoned to meet at Nelson in February, 1862. On the day appointed for the opening of the assembly there were not enough members to form a quorum. For several days this deficiency continued, and the synod could not be properly constituted. The members occupied themselves with passing resolutions which were validated at the end of the period, when at last a quorum was secured. The chief reason for the smallness of this gathering was the attitude of the diocese of Christchurch. This important part of the Church was in a state of rebellion against the constitution. None of its principal clergy had attended the synod of 1859; no representative but the bishop came to that of 1862. Its grievances were of various kinds: it found fault with the "property" element, and the "mutual compact" idea, and the unalterable fundamentals, and all the other features upon which the Auckland laity had insisted. It seemed as though the spirit of Godley had returned in all its trenchant and uncompromising churchmanship. But the most definite of all the Canterbury grievances arose from the claim of the General Synod to own and administer all the church property in the country. Bishop Selwyn had handed over to the first synod more than seventy trust properties, which had been hitherto vested in himself as corporation sole: he expected the diocese of Christchurch to do the same. But this the Canterbury churchmen would never do. Rather than do it, they resolved to secede from the Church of New Zealand, and to reconstitute themselves on a diocesan basis. They appealed to the primate to "throw over" the constitution altogether, and to start afresh on what they considered more churchlike principles. Such was the ecclesiastical situation for the next three years--1862 to 1865. The position was serious, and there was just the possibility of a schism. But it was hardly more than a possibility. Selwyn seems not to have disquieted himself very greatly about the matter. For there was one saving feature in the case. Christchurch could hardly set up for itself on a diocesan basis without its bishop; and Bishop Harper was Selwyn's friend, and he was loyal to the constitution. The whole synod of Christchurch might pass threatening resolutions--as it did in 1863 and 1864--but as long as Henry Harper occupied the bishop's seat they were bound to be blocked by the episcopal veto. And before the next General Synod the Church was to pass through such tragic occurrences that the question at issue could no longer command the same primary and absorbing interest. CHAPTER XIV. RUIN AND DESOLATION. (1862-1868). Our heart's consuming pain, At sight of ruined altars, prophets slain, And God's own ark with blood of souls defiled! --_Keble._ The armed truce which lasted from June, 1861, to May, 1863, was marked by strenuous efforts on both sides to bring about a lasting peace. To appreciate the gravity of the situation, it is necessary to remember that the European settlements were still but a fringe round the coast, while the whole of the interior of the island was occupied by the Maoris. But that race had so dwindled away during the last half-century, and the Europeans had poured in so fast during the last twenty years, that the relative numbers were now not very unequal. If the Maoris had been united, they might even yet have driven the immigrants from the land. That they were not united in any such hostile policy was due almost entirely to the influence of the missionaries. There would have been no hostility at all if just and considerate treatment had been the rule throughout. In justification of this statement we have only to follow the action of the king-maker, Tamihana, of the old "king," Potatau, and even of his successor, Tawhiao. As long as he lived, old Potatau said _Amen_ at the end of the prayer for the Queen. Even when many of the "king's" adherents had joined the Taranaki army, which was fighting for its life against the Imperial troops, the prayer was still offered up day by day without curtailment, though perhaps with some misgiving, that her majesty might be strengthened to "vanquish and overcome all her enemies." Sir George Grey established Mr. Gorst as magistrate and schoolmaster in the heart of the Waikato. The native authorities would allow no one to appear as a suitor in his court, but they took an interest in his school, and visited it from time to time. But Taranaki still seethed with discontent, and murders sometimes occurred. Tamihana's position became more and more difficult. He convened a great meeting on Oct. 23, 1862, at Peria, to discuss the Waitara and other grievances. It began with solemn evensong, and on the following Sunday morning Tamihana himself preached an eloquent sermon from the text, "Behold, how good and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity." In fervid language he urged the cessation of all inter-tribal quarrels, and the unification of the race under the king's flag. Bishop Selwyn was present, and in the afternoon preached from the same text on the need for a still larger unity, which should embrace both nations under the flag of the Queen. Tamihana was touched by this appeal, and made another attempt to induce Rangitaake to submit his claim to arbitration. The chief refused, and the king-maker was driven to the conviction that his power was beginning to decline. It was passing into the hands of the more violent Rewi, who longed for war with the pakeha as keenly as some of the Taranaki settlers longed for war with the Maori. To understand the positions of the king party and of the colonists, it is necessary to form a picture of the frontier line. From Ngaruawahia, the Maori king's capital, the River Waikato flows northward till it reaches a point not much more than 40 miles from Auckland. Here it takes a sudden turn to the westward. Its previous course may be compared to the upright stem of the letter T: from this point it forms the left arm of the cross. The right arm of the T is supplied by the smaller River Mangatawhiri, which here falls into the Waikato. The cross of the T extended from the western sea almost to the Hauraki Gulf, and divided the country of the "king" from that of the white man. It was quite near enough to the capital to fill the Aucklanders with anxiety, and on one occasion, when a few turbulent spirits broke through the boundary, the settlers on the Manukau left their homes in alarm. Sir George Grey was genuinely anxious to avoid war, but he tried to cow the Maoris by driving a military road from Auckland to a point just outside the frontier line, by depositing bridging material upon the bank of the Mangatawhiri, and by sending a war steamer up the Waikato. In the early part of 1863 he endeavoured to deal justly with the Waitara difficulty by holding an enquiry into Te Rangitaake's claims over the block. It was found that the chief's rights were valid, as Martin and Selwyn had all along maintained, and the governor at once resolved to give back the land unjustly seized. Unfortunately, his ministers were slow to give their consent, and the delay spoiled what would otherwise have been welcomed as an act of grace. Moreover, he himself made the error of first taking military possession of a block in South Taranaki, which the Maoris were holding as a pledge for the restitution of Waitara, and they were naturally led to distrust the governor's good faith. A party of British soldiers were ambushed and killed before the offer to give back the Waitara was proclaimed, and again the flames of war broke out. The governor ordered the Auckland army to cross the Mangatawhiri River, and the act was taken as a declaration of hostilities. "It is now a war of defence," said Tamihana; "nothing is left but to fight." The country upon which the governor thus launched his 10,000 English troops was one which was little known to Europeans, but it certainly was not savage. The Austrian geologist, Hochstetter, who explored it four years previously, found hardly any white men except the missionaries; but he was struck with the order, the reverence, and the prosperity which were seen in every part. Rangiaohia, where the "king" had his abode, is thus described: "Extensive wheat, maize, and potato plantings surround the place; broad carriage roads run in different directions; numerous herds of horses and cattle bear testimony to the wealthy condition of the natives; and the huts scattered over a large area are entirely concealed by fruit-trees. A separate race-course is laid out; here is a court-house, there a store; farther on a mill on a mill pond; and high above the luxuriant fruit-trees rise the tapering spires of the Catholic and Protestant churches.[12] I was surprised in entering the latter sanctuary at beholding a beautifully painted glass window reflecting its mellow tints in my wondering eyes." [12] The professor evidently means the Roman and Anglican churches. Such was the land which was now to bear the ravages of war. Mr. Gorst and the missionaries were commanded to depart. Archdeacon and Mrs. Maunsell lingered to the last, and only escaped by walking all night through the thick bush till they reached the boundary river. The military operations do not come within the scope of this work. Suffice it to say that the "king's" forces were soon defeated and his capital occupied. But, like "a fire in the fern," hostilities kept breaking out in unexpected places throughout the island for several years. The honours of the war were certainly not to the British army, though it showed no lack of bravery. But the ringing defiance of the "_ake, ake, ake_" of the hardly bestead and famishing garrison of Orakau will always remain one of the world's heroic memories; while the English soldiers, with their general, soon sickened of a war on behalf of greedy settlers against such magnificent opponents as the Maoris proved themselves to be. While recognising, however, the gallantry of the Maoris, the world has hitherto taken little account of the high moral character of the king-movement. A conspicuous example of this quality is afforded by the career of Henare Wiremu Taratoa. Baptised and taught by Henry Williams, after whom he was named, this man had been afterwards trained at St. John's College, and had actually taken a part in the founding of the Melanesian Mission. When at length he was pronounced unfit for the sacred ministry on account of his impetuous disposition, he became a teacher in the mission school at Otaki. Here he remained until 1861, when the governor's aggressive policy determined him to cast in his lot with his threatened countrymen. Settling in Tauranga, a place which became the scene of military operations in 1864, he joined in the fighting at the Gate Pa, where the Imperial troops sustained their most severe defeat. But he had never forgotten his Christian training. On arrival at Tauranga, he set up a "school of instruction in arithmetic and christening." He then organised a system of councils, which regulated both civil and religious matters. The result was that "the people feared to do wrong, and nothing but good order prevailed." When war broke out, his rules were strikingly humane. There must be no ill-treatment of women or non-combatants; no soldier once hit must be shot a second time; if an enemy were hungry he must be fed; fighting must never begin on a Sunday (as all the British campaigns had done), but rather on a Friday, "that being the day on which Christ was crucified." These rules were not vain ones with Taratoa and his men. Through the night after the conflict at the Gate Pa, Henare tended the English wounded, one of whom, in his dying agonies, thirsted for a drop of water. There was none in the _pa_, nor within three miles on the Maori side of it, but Taratoa threaded his way through the English sentries in the darkness, and returned with a calabash of water to slake his enemy's thirst. By the side of each wounded Englishman there was found in the morning some small water-vessel, placed there by the Maoris before they deserted the fort. In spite of their success at the Gate Pa, the Maoris were soon afterwards beaten at Te Ranga (June 21), and in this battle the humane Taratoa was killed. Upon his body was found a little book of prayers which he had compiled and used. It concluded with the apostolic precept which he had obeyed at the risk of his life, "If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink." Taratoa's laws of war were far from being observed by his "civilised" opponents. In sadness and shame we read of the devastation of the once smiling Rangiaohia, and of the utter destruction, there and throughout the country, of crops and houses.[13] Hostilities were followed up by wholesale confiscation of the Maoris' lands--a measure which was to some extent the real object of the war. Maddened by defeat, by the loss of lands and homes, by hunger, and by disease which followed hunger, the Maoris were at last ready to doubt the truth of the religion which the white man had brought them. [13] I have kept out of the text all mention of the burning of women and children in a whare at this place, because one clings to the belief that it was accidental. Englishmen don't do things like that intentionally. But there can be no doubt that it made a deep impression upon the Maori mind. The English general had told them (they said) to send their women and children to Rangiaohia for safety. They did so, and then the troops, instead of attacking their _men_, attacked and burnt their women. The Maoris seem to have had a peculiar horror of fire. In their most savage days they always killed their enemies before they cooked them. The match was soon laid to the train. An old man in Taranaki announced that he had received the revelation of a new religion, suited to the Maori people. Like the Arabian Mohammed, Te Ua was considered to be a person of weak intellect; like Mohammed, he claimed to have received his revelation from the Angel Gabriel; like the Arabian prophet again, he put forth a mixture of Judaism[14] and heathenism which sanctioned polygamy, and whose propagation was to be carried on by the sword. A trifling success over a small English troop gave the necessary impetus to the movement, and soon bands of ardent Hauhaus (as they were called) were traversing the island, and winning over crowds of restless and dissatisfied people. By making their listeners walk round a pole, chanting a strange jargon in which a few Latin words can be recognised, they mesmerised the susceptible Maoris, and gained complete control over their minds. [14] This is generally admitted; but Bishop Williams, who had exceptional opportunities for studying Hauhauism, thinks that the element of Judaism was very slight. The attention of the Hauhaus was turned first to the south; but, at Otaki, Hadfield's influence once more availed to save the settlement, and to block the road to Wellington. At Wanganui, Taylor's Maoris stood firm in their loyalty, and in a desperate battle on the island of Moutoa drove back the enemy at fearful loss to themselves (May 14, 1864). Some months later, however, a second attack was made on Wanganui, and the crisis brought out the magnificent heroism of another of Selwyn's old students, "John Williams" Hipango. There had been no rejection in his case, but he had studied so hard by dim candlelight that his eyesight was affected, and he was obliged with great sorrow to give up his hope of entering the ministry. At the time of the attack he occupied a responsible position among the Maoris, and now he took command of the defence. The enemy sent four men to lie in ambush and kill him, but Hipango caught them, fed them, and sent them away unhurt. The next night ten men were sent for the same purpose; they too were caught, and they too were released. "I will not," said Hipango, "be the first to shed blood." Next day, Feb. 23rd, 1865, the Hauhaus came forward in open attack. They were completely defeated, but in the hour of victory a ball struck John in the chest. He was buried at Wanganui with military honours, white men carrying their deliverer's body to the grave. In the same month a band of the fanatics reached Opotiki in the Bay of Plenty. The mission station at this place was now under the charge of Carl Sylvius Volkner, a fair-haired, blue-eyed German, who had been ordained by Bishop Williams in 1860. He had acquired great influence over the people, and had built a church and a school; but so threatening had the aspect of things become that he had taken his young wife for safety to Auckland, as Mr. Grace had done his family from Taupo. The two missionaries returned in a schooner on the first of March to Opotiki, bringing food and medicines for the sick and starving people. Their vessel was descried just at the time when the Hauhaus were indulging in one of their wild orgiastic dances. Their leader, Kereopa, announced that their god demanded a victim. On arrival in the river the schooner was seized by the excited crowd. After several hours of anxious suspense, the missionaries were ordered on shore, where, amidst taunts and revilings, they were conducted to a small house, there to await their fate. The hours of respite were not wanting in consolation. The cottage was not locked nor guarded; the prisoners were even able to recover their belongings; the sailors who shared the peril gave the best end of the little room to the two clergy, and joined them heartily in their evening prayers. But the Hauhaus were working themselves up in the Roman Catholic chapel to a devilish frenzy, and the noise of their shouting could be heard long after darkness had fallen. The missionaries passed a sleepless night, sustained only by the evening psalms and by one another's society. The morning of the second of March brought no relief to their anxiety. Efforts for a ransom failed, and the captives fell back upon their unfailing refuge--the psalms for the day. These were startlingly appropriate to their situation, though hardly calculated to raise their spirits very much. But his companion could not help being struck with the calmness of Volkner's manner, and the beautiful smile upon his face. Like a more illustrious sufferer, He nothing common did, or mean, Upon that memorable scene. At one o'clock the two friends prayed together for the last time. The psalms had now become terrible in their urgency: Eating up my people as if they would eat bread. Their feet are swift to shed blood. Swift indeed! Before an hour had passed, a number of armed men appeared and summoned Volkner to go with them. "Let me go too," said his companion; but he was forced back with the ominous words, "Your turn will come next." The young German was marched to a spot near his church, and stripped of his coat. A willow-tree was near at hand, and he was soon stationed beneath it. He asked for his Prayer Book, which had been left in his coat pocket. When it was brought, he knelt some time in prayer. On rising, he shook hands with his murderers, and quietly said, "I am ready." With strange inconsistency his executioners continued shaking hands with him until the moment when he was hoisted up. An outburst of demoniac savagery followed on the cutting down of the martyr's body. The head was severed from the trunk, and the blood was greedily drunk even by some of the friends of the victim. The Taranaki leader, Kereopa, forced out the eyes and swallowed them. Part of the flesh was taken far inland, where memories of its arrival have been found quite lately by Bishop Averill. But what of the other prisoner? He was now strictly guarded, and could learn nothing about his friend, except what he gathered from a whisper which he overheard among the sentries: "Hung on the willow tree." Together with the sailors and other Europeans, he was now marched to the spot to which Volkner had first been led. But there was no repetition of the tragedy. There was robbing of pockets, binding of hands, and an exhibition of bullying tyranny; but the lust for blood had abated. With the cryptic utterance, "A time to bind, and a time to loose; a time to kill, and a time to make alive," the bonds were loosed from all the party, and they were bidden to stay for the night in the house of a sick settler named Hooper. It was a night of horror. In the one small room--18ft. by 12ft.--there were crowded the sick man, four sailors, the missionary, and "six or eight natives--men, women, and children. The suffocation from so many people and from the fumes of tobacco was almost overpowering." Grace had just heard certain news of his friend's fate, and had "every reason to believe that it would be his own last night on earth." Again as he lay awake he could hear "the dancing and shouting going on in the Romish chapel, and also in the church." Again the sailors showed their humanity by sharing their coats and blankets. But there were no evening prayers now, for there was too much moving about. Even his Prayer Book had been carried off: "I could only in private commend myself and my companions to the watchful care of our Heavenly Father. Thus ended this terrible day, upon which the first blood was shed in New Zealand for the Gospel's sake." The morrow was "a dreadful day of bitter suspense." But it brought its own consolation. The sick man had a few books, and amongst them was a Prayer Book which had been given him by Volkner. Again therefore the psalms could be read, and those for the day "appeared written for the occasion." They had taken a brighter tone: Thou shalt show me the path of life! Two days later the Hauhau leader, Patara, arrived and held a trial in the church. The charges were all of a political character. Volkner was denounced as a spy, because he had travelled so often between Opotiki and Auckland. Nothing could be brought against Grace, except the old charge of taking away the Maori's land. "Neither Mr. Volkner nor I have any land," said the missionary. The Maoris seemed by this time somewhat ashamed of their barbarity, and Grace was allowed his liberty to go about the _pa_. He was soon able to secure proper and Christian burial for the mangled remains of his friend, in a grave dug at the east end of the church[15]; but beyond a daily visit to this spot he had no resource, and soon found the time hang heavily on his hands. [15] The grave is now "before the altar" of the new chancel, which extends further eastwards than the old one. When the news of the Opotiki tragedy reached Auckland, a thrill of horror passed through the city. The sad duty of breaking the news to Mrs. Volkner was undertaken by Bishop Selwyn and Bishop Patteson, who had lately arrived from Melanesia. Her answer was worthy of a matron of the primitive Church: "Then he has won the Crown!" On the following Sunday a memorial sermon was preached at St. Mary's Church by Patteson. Read in the light of subsequent events, its words are charged with a double significance. The tone of something like envy is indeed remarkable, and the description of the martyr of the past applies equally well to the martyr of the future: "We know," said the bishop, "and we thank God that we do know, how good he was, how simple-minded, how guileless; a man of prayer, full of faith and good works that he did--meekly following his Saviour in pureness of heart (for to him such grace was given), walking humbly with his God. We who can ill afford to spare him from among us, who dwell with loving affection upon the intercourse we so lately were permitted to have with him, thank God from our hearts that not one cloud rests upon the brightness of his example; that he has been taken from among us, we most surely trust, to dwell with Christ in paradise, and has left behind him the fragrance of a holy life. It is not for him we sorrow now. What better thing can we desire for ourselves or our friends, than that we and they shall be taken in the midst of the discharge of our duties from the many cares and sorrows of this world, if only by the grace of God we may be prepared for the life of that world which knows no cares, which feels no sorrows? Indeed, these are no conventional words. We must not seek to anticipate the season of rest. It is a blessed thing to work in the Lord's vineyard; it is cowardly and ungenerous to wish to shorten our time of service in the army of Christ. But, oh! the thought that a time will come, if our faith fail not, when we shall feel the burden of anxieties and trials and disappointments and bereavements taken away, and the continued warfare against sin all ended and for ever: the thought of this cannot surely be given us for naught! It must not make us less diligent now; it must not draw us from our appointed tasks; but it stands written as a word of consolation and encouragement for all, 'There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God.' 'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord; they rest from their labours.'" But there was a duty to the living as well as to the dead. What was to be done for Mr. Grace? The clergy gathered at Bishopscourt asked the question sadly and hopelessly. Even Selwyn was at a loss. At last, Wilson urged that application should be made for the help of the H.M.S. _Eclipse_, then in the harbour. The application was granted, and Captain Fremantle was soon taking the bishop on an errand of rescue. But where was the prisoner to be found? Report said that he had been carried off to Poverty Bay by the Hauhaus, who intended to attack Bishop Williams at Waerenga-a-hika. To Poverty Bay, accordingly, the warship was directed, and there too a critical situation was found. Patara and Kereopa, with their band of fanatics, had just arrived (though not with Mr. Grace) within a few miles of the bishop's residence. A small army of 400 Maoris was drawn up in battle array to defend the bishop, but their minds were divided, and their hearts were faint. Selwyn's exhortations had little effect, but he obtained the help of two loyal Maoris, who undertook to assist in Mr. Grace's rescue. [Illustration: ALL SAINTS' CHURCH, PALMERSTON NORTH.] The _Eclipse_ sailed back to the Bay of Plenty, and anchored outside the bar at Opotiki. It was the sixteenth day of Grace's captivity, and the Hauhaus had agreed to exchange him for a Maori prisoner who was being kept at Tauranga. His treatment lately had been not unkind, but now that the man-of-war appeared, such excitement arose in the _pa_ that his former fears revived. However, the landing of the two messengers from Poverty Bay diverted the attention of the Maoris from their prisoner, who succeeded in getting on board the schooner's boat, and then, by lying down underneath the thwarts, passed down the river unnoticed, and gained the warship outside. Meanwhile the position of the bishop of Waiapu and his family grew daily worse. By the beginning of April all the converts in his immediate neighbourhood had succumbed to the mesmerism of the Hauhaus, and to the effects of a great _tangi_ which they held over the desolation of their country. Accordingly, the bishop, with his family and other members of the mission, left the station on the third of the month and took their way northwards. They soon found a temporary home in the old Paihia buildings at the Bay of Islands, and there the bishop strove to carry on his school, while helping his brother, Archdeacon Henry, in his Sunday duties. The bishop's son, Archdeacon Leonard Williams, remained at Poverty Bay to combat the Hauhau influence, and to shepherd the remnant of faithful Maoris. At the end of the same month, April, 1865, the time arrived for the General Synod to decide whether the Church in New Zealand should remain united, or be divided into a northern and a southern organisation. The synod was held in Christchurch, where the centre of disaffection lay. Far removed as it was from the scene of the late troubles, the synod yet met under the shadow of Volkner's death. Bishop Williams, too, with the missionaries Clarke and Maunsell, had felt the heavy hand of war. It was no time to fight over non-essentials. Canterbury was strong in its peaceful prosperity: from the loft where the council sat the members might look down on a scene of busy labour on the foundations of a great cathedral, while another solid stone church (St. John Baptist) was rising in a neighbouring square. But its lofty pretensions to local independence could not be sustained. Archdeacon Wilson could find no seconder for his secession motion. Men of wisdom, like Bishop Patteson and Sir William Martin, made their influence felt on the side of peace. The primate maintained from the outset that Christchurch was at liberty to keep its endowments in its own hands, and its right to do so was now definitely affirmed by the synod. The constitution also was improved by some small changes in the direction desired by Canterbury churchmen. But, on the whole, there was little change. Canterbury came down from the "cloud-cuckoo-land" in which Selwyn twitted her with dwelling. Both sides gained a better understanding of one another, and agreed to stand together on the ground of the original constitution. Amongst the Maoris also the martyrdom of Volkner had its influence. Sickened by the brutality of men whom he had hitherto unwillingly tolerated, Tamihana came to the British general and swore allegiance to the Government. "Let the law of the queen," said he, "be the law of the king, to be a protection to us all for ever and for ever." But his patriotic heart was broken, and during the next year he fell into a rapid decline. Still holding himself somewhat aloof from the white clergy, he was upheld by the loving ministrations of his own people. As they bore him by easy stages to his place of death, they offered this prayer at every fresh removal: "Almighty God, we beseech Thee give strength to Wiremu Tamihana whilst we remove him from this place. If it please Thee, restore him again to perfect strength; if that is not Thy will, take him, we beseech Thee, to heaven." He died with his deeply studied Bible in his hand, his last words being a repetition of his old watchword--RELIGION, LOVE, and LAW. For two or three years longer the embers of war continued to blaze up here and there. In 1867 an inter-tribal quarrel arose in the hitherto peaceful north. A few lives were lost, and a day was fixed for a pitched battle near Pakaraka--the opposing forces numbering nearly 600 men. No such muster had been seen in that region since the time of Heke's war, twenty years before. But on the morning of the battle day a message went round both the camps, which stilled the passions of the combatants: "Te Wiremu" was dead (July 16, 1867). The outbreak of strife had indeed hastened the end. Instead of fighting out their quarrel, the leaders sorrowfully made their way to take part in the old peace-maker's funeral, and when they returned they made peace with one another. Thus appropriately died this greatest of New Zealand missionaries. As a chief said at the unveiling of the monument which the Maori Church erected to his memory at Paihia: "This island was a very hard stone, and it was Archdeacon Williams who broke it." Within a few days of Henry Williams' death, Bishop Selwyn sailed for England, to attend the first meeting of bishops at Lambeth. While in England he was offered by the prime minister the bishopric of Lichfield. Without any long delay, he sent his answer declining the proposal, and the see was offered to another. This decision reveals, as no other act could do, the magnificent heroism of the man. He had come to New Zealand twenty-five years before with youthful ambitions of building a new Jerusalem at the end of the earth. He had met with much success, but now his work seemed to be destroyed. All he could hope to do was "to sit amid the ruins of the spiritual temple which he had been allowed to build, and to trace out new foundations on which to build once more." He had begun his life with visions of restoring to the faith of Christ the regions which had been desolated by Islam: he had lived to see his own once loyal and Christian diocese swept by a propaganda compared to which even Islam is a noble creed. The task which remained to him in New Zealand was far harder than that which confronted him when he began his episcopate. Yet then, he had the buoyancy of youth, and he had offers of assistance from other youthful and sanguine spirits. Now, he was nearing the age of 60, and there were no eager volunteers to help. No Pattesons nor Whyteheads nor Abrahams had come out to him during the last decade: indeed he had found it hard to secure any new clergy at all. His own stipend had been cut down to less than half its original amount, and he could with difficulty raise any funds for his diocese. To refuse an English bishopric with its honours and emoluments, its seat in the House of Lords, its great opportunities for influencing the policy of the Church, and for playing a noble part in the eyes of the nation: surely this was a sacrifice of the rarest and highest kind. Yet, to his eternal honour, George Augustus Selwyn made this "great refusal." The matter, however, was not to end there. At least two other clergymen refused Lichfield, and then the offer came round again to Selwyn. This time it was conveyed through the Archbishop of Canterbury, and consequently it carried more weight. Still he hesitated. Friends drew attention to the miserable stipend he was now receiving. "If I have to live on _pipis_ and potatoes," said the bishop, "I would go back." Lastly, the Queen sent for him. Taking both his hands in hers, she said, "Dr. Selwyn, I want you to go to Lichfield." This was conclusive, and the Bishop of New Zealand was soon installed in the old palace in the Lichfield Cathedral close. He came back to New Zealand in the following year to hand over the finances of his diocese, and to preside at a last general synod, but it was as one whose work on the old ground was done. He left the country finally at the close of the synod (October 20, 1868), amidst the affectionate farewells of all classes, and so passed from the possession, though not from the memory, of the New Zealand Church. His departure marks the close of the formative period of our history. Henry Williams had just received his call; Sir George Grey, who came almost with the bishop, and with whom he co-operated in so many ways, was to leave the country a few months later. He was the last governor who governed, as Selwyn was the last (as well as the first) Bishop of New Zealand, and the only bishop who exercised personal authority before the organisation of constitution or synod. What manner of man he was may be gathered to some extent from the foregoing pages, though many of his good deeds have necessarily been left unrecorded. "He was no common man," writes Mr. Gisborne, "and his mind was cast in no common mould. His great characteristics were force of will, zeal, eloquence, courage, and moral heroism. His main defect was an impetuous temper, which occasionally made him dictatorial and indiscreet." To the same effect wrote Mr. Carleton, after a reference to his "lust of power": "Able, unselfish, enthusiastic, and devoted, we shall not readily meet with his like again." These testimonies are quoted as being those of politicians, and, in the case of Carleton, of a keen opponent. The church historian, whilst not ignoring the faults which the bishop, like other strong natures, possessed, may well go somewhat further than the man of the world. He is fain to recognise the nobleness of the bishop's ideals, the width of his learning, the soundness of his churchmanship, the statesmanlike grasp with which he confronted the difficulties and dangers of an unfamiliar situation. The old autocratic temper still remained, as the Church of New Zealand was yet to realise; but we may mark with reverent awe the growing humility, the increasing tolerance, the chastened piety which the stern discipline of life had wrought in this strong and impetuous character. Third Period. [Illustration: ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, INVERCARGILL.] CHAPTER XV. MAORI CHRISTIANITY AFTER THE WAR. Many false prophets shall arise, and shall lead many astray. --_S. Matt. xxiv. 11._ With the departure of Bishop Selwyn, the Church which he had governed entered upon a new phase. It was no longer _one_ in the sense in which it had been one. It still had a general synod, and it soon elected another primate. But no primate could be what Selwyn had been to the Church. He had watched the beginnings of every diocese, and had shepherded in person every settlement before it attained to diocesan status. The general synod was no real substitute for the influence of such a personality. It meets but once in three years; its numbers are small; its powers are limited. The real life of the Church has lain in the dioceses, and it is in diocesan histories that its own subsequent history must be found.[16] [16] It is to be hoped that such histories may soon be taken in hand. That of the diocese of Waiapu has already been compiled by J. B. Fielder, Esq., and I would wish to express my obligations to him for lending me the manuscript of his work. But the change went deeper still. Hitherto the Church had tried in various ways to exhibit the Christian life in some visible polity or order. But the spirit of competition and commercialism had been too strong for her. The "smash" of the war period left the Church too weak to attempt to mould the forms of the nation's life. All that she had strength to do was to proclaim the old message to the individual soul; to gather together the faithful for worship and instruction; and to act the part of an ambulance waggon in the rear of the industrial march. Her influence may have been really stronger than before: it probably has been so; but it has been indirect, and it has been unseen. Humanitarian legislation owes more to Christian teaching than its authors generally admit, and it is by the humanitarian legislation of the last twenty years that New Zealand has chiefly influenced the world. Selwyn's successor in the primacy was Bishop Harper, of Christchurch; his successor in the episcopal see of Auckland was Dr. W. G. Cowie; his successor in the work of nation-building and social organisation was--with whatever difference and at whatever interval--Richard John Seddon. But this lay in the future. The immediately succeeding phase of colonial life presents the same contrast with that of the Selwynian period as does the Hanoverian _regime_ with that of the Stuarts. It was the period of immigration and of public works. New men came to the front--men who did not know the indebtedness of the colony to the missionaries. New ideas flowed in by every mail, and, spreading rapidly from mind to mind, drew away many from their earlier faith. The reign of Darwin had begun. But, however it might be with the immigrant, the Maori remained a religious being. Strange, fanatical, repulsive, as might be the forms which his devotion took, he was still a believer in a world of spirit. Selwyn had hoped that this ingrained religiousness would have acted for good on the colonist. Of such influence there is little trace. The drawing together which might undoubtedly be seen before the war, had given place to a movement in the opposite direction. Here again Selwyn's departure was significant. There never came another who looked upon Maori and pakeha with the same equal and comprehensive love. An incident from the days before the war may serve to show what, under happier circumstances, the Maori might have done for his European brother: Sir George Grey, Bishop Selwyn, and an English visitor were travelling along the east coast, near Ahuriri. In the course of the day they had been talking to the natives about the duty of reserving certain of their lands as educational grants for the benefit of their children and of posterity. In the middle of the night they were woke up in their tent by a deputation of these natives calling to Sir George Grey, and asking him whether he himself acted upon the plan he recommended to them, and whether he gave tithes, or any portion of his worldly goods, to the Church of God. The governor was bound to admit that he had not done so in the past; but undertook to do better for the future. The result was that he bought and gave a piece of land in Wellington as a site for a church. Bishop Selwyn added an adjoining section, and the English visitor[17] still another; and thus the diocese acquired what it had long sought for in vain--a central site for its cathedral church, diocesan offices, and bishop's residence. [17] This was the Hon. A. G. Tollemache, who afterwards added another section of city land for an episcopal endowment. The diocese in which the two races are brought into closest and most equal relations is, of course, that of Waiapu. The reconstruction of this shattered portion of the Church was brought about indirectly by the same zeal on the part of Governor Grey for securing educational reserves for the Maoris. We have seen that Bishop Williams was driven from his home in 1865, and compelled to take refuge with his brother in the north. For seven years Waiapu was left without a synod, and, in one sense, it never received its bishop back at all. Some months after the bishop's departure, his house at Waerenga-a-hika (near Gisborne) was the scene of a fierce battle. The Hauhaus held the adjoining _pa_, and the bishop's house was used as the fortress of the British troops. After seven days' siege the _pa_ was captured, but the episcopal residence and the college were in ruins. The bishop remained for two years in exile, and his restoration was at last brought about in an unexpected way. In the same year (1853) as that in which he received the shock of the Maori's midnight question, Sir George Grey induced the Rev. Samuel Williams to leave the school which he was carrying on for Hadfield at Otaki, and to move across the island to Hawke's Bay. Here he gave him 4,000 acres at Te Aute for a Maori school, and the natives of the district gave a similar amount. The country was covered with bush and fern, the land yielded no rental, and there were no funds for the school. At last, Samuel Williams took the work into his own hands. In order to create a school he must begin by farming the land. After several years of experiment and of anxious labour, he succeeded not only in bringing the school estate to a condition of productiveness, but in giving a valuable object lesson to other settlers. Now he could begin the school; but who was to help him in the work of instruction? His thoughts turned to his uncle, the dispossessed bishop, who, on his part, was seeking some new base from which to begin his work over again. In response to his nephew, the bishop brought his family to Hawke's Bay in 1867, and was at once prevailed upon by the people of Napier to take charge of their vacant parish. Bishop Abraham, of Wellington, in whose diocese Hawke's Bay was situated, gladly availed himself of the episcopal visitor for work among the Maoris. The position was a strange one, for here was a bishop living outside his own diocese and working in an adjoining one. The general synod of 1868, however, set matters right by transferring Hawke's Bay to the diocese of Waiapu. Bishop Williams made Napier his new headquarters, and the diocese took the bilingual character which it bears to-day. Not so soon or so happily settled was another trouble which took its rise in the same siege of Waerenga-a-hika in 1865. The fight at this place was well-nigh the end of Hauhauism, for the British bullets laid low many a misguided enthusiast who relied on the prophet's promise of invulnerability. But amongst the Maoris who fought on the British side was one Te Kooti, who was accused--unjustly, as was afterwards proved--of traitorous communication with the enemy. For some days he was kept a prisoner in the guard-room in the bishop's house; he was then deported with the Hauhau prisoners to Chatham Island. They were promised a safe return in two years on condition of good behaviour, and, by the testimony of all witnesses, their behaviour was exemplary. But Te Kooti had no kindly feelings towards his captors. He fell ill on the island, and imagined himself the recipient of a new revelation. In fact, his mind was constantly dwelling upon the Old Testament, especially the imprecatory psalms and the prayers of the Jews during their exile in Babylon. His book of prayers contained two collects which show the grandeur and the fierceness which he drew from these Scriptures. Here is the prayer for the deliverance of the exiles: "O GOD, if our hearts arise from the land in which we now dwell as slaves, and repent, and pray to Thee, and confess our sins in Thy presence, then, O Jehovah, do Thou blot out the sins of Thy own people, who have sinned against Thee. Do not Thou, O GOD, cause us to be wholly destroyed. Wherefore it is that we glorify Thy Holy Name. Amen." A fiercer note is struck in the collect "For deliverance from foes": "O Jehovah, thou art the God who deliverest the people repenting: therefore do Thou listen hither this day to the prayer of Thy servant concerning our enemies. Let them be destroyed and turned to flight by Thee. Let their counsels be utterly confounded, and their faces be covered with sadness and confusion. And when Thou sendest forth Thy Angel to trample our enemies to the earth, through Thee also shall all their bones be broken to pieces. Glory to Thy Holy Name. Amen." Such being the intensity of Te Kooti's feelings, it is not wonderful that he quickly won over the 300 disillusioned Hauhaus who were imprisoned with him on the island; nor that, when the two years were over without any word of release, they should have become restless and discontented. The wonder is that when at last they overpowered their guards and took possession of the island, they should have acted with the moderation which they showed. They sailed back to New Zealand in a schooner which they had captured, and Te Kooti always averred that at that time he did not intend to interfere with anyone. It was during the months following, when he was pursued among the mountains, wounded and famished, that the savage reawoke in Te Kooti. In November, 1868, he and his men made a sudden onslaught upon the settlers of Poverty Bay, and massacred every man, woman, and child whom they met. Driven once more to the mountains, he was hunted from place to place by the loyal Maoris, but he was never captured; and for years his sudden murderous raids struck terror into the homes of the colonists. The "king" Tawhiao would have none of him, but at length the government of the day thought it wise to grant him a pardon, and the old outlaw ended his days in peace. His doctrines are still held by many of the Maoris in the Bay of Plenty and elsewhere. They are called "_Ringa-tu_," from the practice of holding up the hand at the conclusion of their prayers. They observe the seventh day as their Sabbath. Some have introduced the name of our Saviour into their worship, but "Jesus Christ is to them a name and nothing more, and their children grow up in heathen ignorance." The phenomena of Hauhauism and of the _Ringa-tu_ certainly suggest the question whether it was wise to translate the whole of the Old Testament into the Maori language. It can hardly be a mere coincidence that Maunsell's translation was finished and published in 1856, shortly before the troubles began. Tamihana, it is true, is said to have read his Bible in English, but his followers must have been for the most part dependent on the Maori version. Even the Hauhaus, though professing to abjure the white man's religion altogether, were dependent on the white man's book. "From the Bible," wrote Lady Martin, "which was their only literature, they got their phraseology. The men who excited and guided them were prophets; Jehovah was to fight for them; the arm of the Lord and the sword of the Lord were on their side, to drive the English into the sea." Through the providence of God, the people of Israel were led step by step from the rude violence of the days of Joshua and the Judges to the spiritual religion of the prophets and the revelation of love in Jesus Christ. With the Maori the process was reversed. The Old Testament was kept back to the last. Having begun in the spirit, they were sought to be made perfect in the flesh. What wonder if, when they took into account the whole course of the white man's dealings with them, they should have become convinced that the missionaries were sent before to tame their spirits so that the colonists might follow and take their land? The condition even of the loyal Maoris after the war was an unhappy one. Bishop Selwyn always spoke with thankfulness of the fact that not one of the native priests or deacons had faltered in his attachment to the Christian faith or to the British crown. But, with the exception of Heta Terawhiti, they were unable to penetrate into the King Country, or to do much in any way to rouse their countrymen to fresh exertion. Nor were the white missionaries more successful. They were now elderly men, and they seem not to have had the heart to make fresh efforts. Morgan had died in the year 1865; Ashwell returned to his station after some years; but Dr. Maunsell remained in Auckland as incumbent of Parnell. One or two efforts were made to effect an entrance into the King Country, but before proceeding far the missionary was always turned back. Those Maoris who had fought on the British side were seldom the better for their contact with the white man. Drunkenness became prevalent among them, and altogether the after-war period presents a sad picture of apathy and decline. Nor can it be said that up to the present time there has been any general revival. But cheering symptoms may be noted. The King Country, which long remained closed to the missionaries and to all Europeans, is now open in every part. The old "kingship" is still existent, but it is now perfectly orthodox. At the installation of the present holder of the title (in 1912), the Maori clergy were present in their surplices; hymns such as "Onward Christian Soldiers" were sung; and a descendant of Tamihana "anointed" the young chief by placing the open Bible upon his head. North of Auckland, and on the north-east coast, a steady pastoral work has been carried on continuously by native clergy and layreaders under the supervision of English archdeacons. On the Wanganui River, numbers of lapsed Maoris have returned to the Church; while in the Bay of Plenty and around Rotorua, a great improvement has been manifest during the last few years--an improvement largely due to the efforts of Goodyear, Bennett, and the native clergy. But, on the whole, the Maori of to-day is difficult to reach. He has seen too much to be easily moved to wonder. When Marsden rode his horse along the beach at Oihi, the natives were struck with admiration at the novel spectacle. To-day the missionary, mounted perhaps on a humble bicycle, may meet his Maori parishioner driving the most expensive kind of motor car. Kendall acquired great influence over the native mind by exhibiting a barrel organ which he had brought from England: if he had arrived to-day he might have been invited to listen to a selection of modern airs from a Maori-owned gramophone. [Illustration: ST. LUKE'S, OAMARU.] The chief hope lies in the education of the young. The government primary schools are doing much throughout the country, many of their teachers being trained in religious high schools and colleges. Of these the Church has a fair number. St. Stephen's School at Parnell, Auckland, still carries on the work begun by Selwyn at St. John's. It is a technical school with 60 boarders. A similar institution for girls is the Queen Victoria College in the same city. The Te Aute estate in Hawke's Bay, so successfully managed by Archdeacon Samuel Williams, supports a secondary boarding school and college, which exert a great influence among the high-born Maoris. From this institution has sprung the "Young Maori" party, which has done much to raise the standard of living in the _pas_. A kindred institution, supported by the same endowment, is the Hukarere School for girls at Napier. This is perhaps the most influential of all the agencies for the advancement of the Maori. The old Waerenga-a-hika College lay desolate for many years after the war, but is now revived as an industrial and technical school. Similar institutions have been established in the diocese of Wellington, at Otaki in the west, and at Clareville in the Wairarapa. In the South Island there is a boarding school for girls at Ohoka in the diocese of Christchurch. There is nothing in the nature of a university college for Maoris, but at Gisborne stands the theological college of Te Rau, where candidates are trained for the ministry of the Church. From its walls many promising young clergymen have come. Thirty-three are now at work--19 in the diocese of Waiapu, 10 in Auckland, and 4 in Wellington. These with 17 other Maori clergy make up a total of 50. The religious future of this fine race is shrouded in uncertainty. Mormonism is strong in some districts, and competes with the _tohunga_ (medicine man and priest) in drawing away many of the unstable from Christian influence. The bright hopes of Marsden and of Selwyn have not yet been realised, but many saintly souls have been gathered in, and a faithful remnant still survives to hand on the light. CHAPTER XVI. AFTER THE WAR. THE COLONISTS. (1868-1878). The heart less bounding at emotion new; And hope, once crushed, less quick to spring again. --_M. Arnold._ If the religious condition of the Maoris was such as to cause lasting grief to their teachers, there was not much in white New Zealand to relieve the picture. For the crash of the war period had been even greater than the foregoing pages have shown. Nothing has been said about the troubles at Nelson, where the earnest and faithful Bishop Hobhouse broke down under the factious opposition of his laity; nothing of the depression which stopped the building of Christchurch Cathedral, and led to the proposal for the sale of the site for government offices; nothing of the closing of St. John's College at Auckland, as well through lack of students as through lack of funds. But something must be said about one trouble which had begun before Selwyn's departure, but reached its acutest phase during the years that followed: The colony of Otago, though founded as a Presbyterian settlement, contained from the first a few English churchmen; and at the beginning of 1852 an Anglican clergyman, the Rev. J. Fenton, began work in Dunedin. He was greatly helped by the famous whaler "Johnny Jones," who afterwards gave 64 sections of land in his own township of Waikouaiti as an endowment for a church in that place. When Bishop Harper was appointed to the see of Christchurch in 1856, Otago and Southland formed part of his diocese, and his long journeys on horseback through these districts were among the most arduous and adventurous labours of his episcopate. He retained them until June 4th, 1871, when, as primate, he consecrated the Rev. S. T. Neville to the bishopric of Dunedin; and on the same day, as bishop, resigned these southern portions of his original diocese. But there was another claimant to the office--one, moreover, who was considered by the English episcopate to be its rightful occupant. How could such an extraordinary situation have arisen? The blame must lie (as Bishop W. L. Williams points out) somewhere between Bishop Selwyn and the Archbishop of Canterbury (Dr. Longley). Something that was written by the former in 1865 caused the latter to select, and eventually to consecrate, one of his clergy, the Rev. H. L. Jenner, for a diocese which was not yet formed, and for a people who always protested against his appointment. A mystery still hangs over the precise motives which actuated the archbishop. But perhaps they can be conjectured with a fair degree of probability. The letter upon which he acted arrived in England not long after the news of Volkner's murder. It was hard for those who had never left England to realise the difference between the Hauhau-ridden north and the law-abiding south of such a distant country as New Zealand. The archbishop might well think that his best course was to send out another bishop as soon as possible, without waiting for compliance with constitutional formalities. Accordingly he consecrated the Rev. H. L. Jenner "to be a bishop in New Zealand"--leaving the local authorities to determine the exact locality of his labours. But no such ignorance can be pleaded for Bishop Selwyn. When he wrote the letter to the Primate of All England he was fresh from the great synod of 1865, where the whole constitution had been revised, and the procedure in the election of a bishop made more clear and precise. How could he violate a law which he himself had just subscribed? The only answer is that he did not violate it. His letter can have contained no such request as the archbishop imagined. Selwyn himself was as much startled as anyone, when he found what his letter had led to. But obedience to authority was the ruling principle of his life, and, like another Strafford, he determined to take upon himself the whole responsibility for what was done. It was doubtless an act of heroism, but a simple insistence upon the plain truth would have prevented much misunderstanding, and saved the New Zealand Church some years of trouble. For the appointment of a bishop there must be the consent of the local synod, and also that of the General Synod of New Zealand. Dunedin had no synod, but its church people were represented by a small assembly called a Rural Deanery Board. Bishop Selwyn brought all his influence to bear upon this body, and in 1867 secured a small majority on a motion of acquiescence in the appointment of Mr. Jenner. But the tide soon turned again. Mr. Peter Carr Young, who had moved the resolution of acquiescence, was called to England, and found Bishop Jenner taking part in a service (at St. Matthias', Stoke Newington) whose extreme ritual was quite sufficient to bewilder an old-fashioned churchman. In his alarm he sent protests both to the Archbishop of Canterbury and to New Zealand. The archbishop expressed his deep regret, and soon afterwards died. The people of Otago were excited and indignant. The case was remitted to the General Synod (1868). In spite of Selwyn's vehement and farewell advocacy, that body refused to confirm Bishop Jenner's claim to the see of Dunedin, though recognising him of course as a bishop in the Christian Church. Dr. Jenner was still unsatisfied. In the following year he came in person to Dunedin, and won over several church people to his side. A regular synod had now been formed, and everything depended upon its action. The meeting was held in April. It was the most stormy synod of our history. From 4 p.m. on April 8 to 6 a.m. on April 9 it debated Dr. Jenner's claim. Of the seven clergy, four finally voted in his favour, but the laity, by 15 to 10, negatived the motion of acceptance. Bishop Harper occupied the chair all through the night, and was subjected to vehement attacks from the Jenner side. But he showed such admirable temper and Christian forbearance that the leading opponent, who, on the first day, refused to join in a simple motion of congratulation to the new primate, was conspicuous at the end of the session in supporting the vote of thanks to the president. Bishop Jenner left the country soon afterwards, but he never withdrew his claims. In this attitude he was supported by the Bishop of Lichfield and by the rest of the English episcopate. The synodical system of the New Zealand Church is justly looked upon as one of the greatest achievements of Selwyn's life. There is something tragic in the reflection that he ended by flouting its authority. The consecration of Bishop Neville on June 4, 1871, raised the episcopal bench to seven--its present number. But a sore trouble was impending. The New Zealand bishops were full of anxiety for the health of their young colleague in Melanesia, and before leaving Dunedin they wrote to him an affectionate letter, in which they urged him to leave his work for a time and to seek rest in England. They little thought how soon he was to find his rest, not in his earthly home, but in the heavenly Fatherland itself. Their anxiety for Bishop Patteson's health was amply justified. During the previous year he had come to Auckland to be treated for some internal inflammation. Here his patience and sweetness had won all hearts, and his friends saw him off to his distant diocese with sad misgivings. He accomplished a lengthy voyage amongst the islands, amidst most favourable conditions, but he did not feel well enough to attend the General Synod which met in Dunedin in Feb. 1871. "I regret very much," he wrote, "that I am unable to attend the meeting of the General Synod. I know full well how the very life of the mission is involved in its connection with the Province of New Zealand, and I earnestly wish to express in every way that I can my sense of the value of this connection, and my respect to the General Synod." The mission, he said, was flourishing, and was able to pay its way. But his heart was sore at the labour-traffic which was carrying off his islanders to the plantations of Queensland and Fiji. On this subject he sent to the synod a powerfully-worded memorandum, which, as we read it now amongst the synodical documents, seems to be written with his heart's blood. The synod passed a warm motion of sympathy with himself and his labours. The motion was forwarded to Norfolk Island by the primate, and reached the bishop on the day before that on which he began his last voyage. His reply deals with so many points of importance that it must be given at length: "My dear Primate,--Your kind letter of March 7th has just reached me. _The Southern Cross_ arrived to-day; and we sail (D.V.) to-morrow for a four or five months' voyage, as I hope. I am pretty well, always with 'sensations,' but not in pain; and I think that I shall be better in the warm climate of the Islands during the winter. "I did not at all suppose that the Synod would have taken any notice, and much less such very kind notice, of my absence. Many dear friends, I know full well, think of and pray for me and for us all. "The point in my memorandum that I ought to have pressed more clearly, perhaps, is this, viz., the mode adopted in many cases for procuring islanders for the plantations. I am concerned to show that in not a few cases deceit and violence are used in enticing men and lads on board, and in keeping them confined when on board. I don't profess to know much of the treatment of the Islanders _on the plantations_. "I am very thankful to hear that the Dunedin question is settled at length, and so satisfactorily. "The synod papers are not yet brought up in our things from the _Southern Cross_. And as I am off (D.V.) to-morrow, and am very busy now, I shall hope to read them quietly on board. "I must end. Melanesians and English folk are streaming in and out of my room.... "Yours very truly, "J. C. PATTESON." How the voyage ended is well known. The heavy mallet of one islander at Nukapu gave the brave and saintly bishop instantaneous release from his sufferings; the poisoned arrows of others caused the death, after lingering agony, of two of his companions, the missionary Joseph Atkin and a Melanesian teacher. The bishop's body, as it was found floating down the lagoon, bore five wounds, inflicted doubtless in vengeance for the violent capture of five islanders by the very traffic against which the bishop had sent his protest to the synod. For nearly six years the Melanesian Mission remained without a bishop, under the faithful leadership of Dr. Codrington. But Patteson's loss could not be replaced, nor could that of Atkin, who had managed the navigation department. Many years elapsed before the lost ground--especially in the Solomons--could be recovered. Much good work was done in many of the parishes of New Zealand during the decade of the 'seventies, and Patteson's martyrdom was not fruitless. But, outwardly, the Church continued weak. Wellington had lost Bishop Abraham in 1870, and, in his place, elected Archdeacon Hadfield in recognition of his magnificent services. But the new bishop's health was still precarious, and he failed to acquire amongst the settlers the influence which he had formerly wielded amongst the Maoris. Dunedin was still torn by the party spirit of the Jenner controversy; in Waiapu, Bishop Williams was drawing toward the end of his long and arduous life. The weakness of the Church was revealed in a sad and startling manner when the Provinces were abolished in 1876. The civil government became centralised, at a time when the ecclesiastical organisation had lost its central unity, and its power of bringing pressure to bear on national legislation. When, in 1877, an Education bill was introduced into parliament, the Church not only found herself outvoted, but was not even represented in any effective way. The only parts of the colony which could take up a strong and consistent position were Nelson and Westland. In these districts the English Church, under Bishop Suter and Archdeacon Harper, had co-operated with the Roman Catholics and other bodies under their respective leaders, and had carried on an effective and successful system of denominational schools. But nothing like this could be shown elsewhere. Canterbury had renounced church schools in 1873, and had reduced the religious instruction in its provincial schools to a minimum of "history sacred and profane"; Otago and Wellington had retained Bible-reading, but were greatly divided as to the necessity of its continuance; Auckland had compromised with the Roman difficulty by adopting secularism pure and simple. Three solutions of the "religious difficulty" were thus before the House of Representatives. No reference was made by any of the speakers to the blessings which the Christian religion had conferred upon the country. The torn and bleeding state of Maori Christianity prevented one side from pointing to it as an example; the other side--if mindful at all of its existence--was too generous to point at it as a warning. Fear of Rome seemed to be the dominating motive with most of the members, but a small secularist minority made itself conspicuous. The Nelson, or denominationalist, system had broken down in the larger settlements through want of good leadership and generous co-operation; the government scheme of elementary Bible-reading, though more widely favoured, was so feebly advocated that its opponents could with some justice pronounce it a "farce"; and finally the secular party won the day by a considerable majority. Nothing was left to the Churches of the land but the opportunity for their ministers to enter the schools, before or after school hours, and to give instruction to such children as might choose to attend. But the period through which we have been passing was not all gloom. In the diocese of Auckland, Bishop Cowie was able to re-open St. John's College, and to place it under the charge of Dr. Kinder. Immigrants were pouring into his diocese to settle upon the confiscated lands, and the bishop set himself to follow them up into the remotest settlements. In small schooners and rough cattle-boats he journeyed round the coast; on bullock-waggons and on horseback he traversed the almost impassable roads. Thus he made himself the friend of the settlers, and gradually provided them with the ministrations of religion. In the South Island, Bishop Suter, who was appointed to succeed Bishop Hobhouse in 1866, worked vigorously and successfully in the rough mining settlements of the west coast, as well as among the sheltered valleys around Nelson, and the sheep stations on the eastern coast. In Canterbury, Bishop Harper laboured on with much success, and saw a number of churches built during this decade. Early in the year 1877 the long interregnum in Melanesia came to its close. Bishop Patteson's death had stirred (among others) John Richardson Selwyn, the great bishop's New Zealand-born son, to offer himself for missionary work. He was too young at the time for the episcopal office, and even when he reached the canonical age his friends were doubtful if his health would bear the strain; but he threw himself with ardour into the work of the mission, and soon came to be regarded as its future head. He was consecrated at Nelson on Feb. 18th, 1877, and soon proved his fitness for the difficult work he had undertaken. In the previous year, Bishop Williams had just concluded a half-century of devoted and apostolic labour in New Zealand, when he was stricken with paralysis, and shortly afterwards (May 31, 1876) resigned his see. After a considerable interval, an Indian missionary, Edward Craig Stuart, was elected to succeed him, and was consecrated at Napier in December, 1877. The retiring bishop lived long enough to welcome his successor, but was not able to join in his consecration. In the following year, George Augustus Selwyn died at Lichfield. He had never ceased to take an interest in New Zealand: in his palace chapel he had put up a memorial window to the heroic Henare Taratoa; he had taken the retired bishops Hobhouse and Abraham as his coadjutors; and, in the hours of unconsciousness which preceded the last breath, he murmured two sayings which seemed to go back to the old days of toil among the Maoris and at St. John's College. One was, "They will come back." The other, "Who's seeing to that work?" CHAPTER XVII. THE CHURCH OF TO-DAY. (1878-1914). Thus onward still we press, Through evil and through good. --_H. Bonar._ The earliest stage of church-life in colonial New Zealand may be called the _Eucalyptus_ or Blue Gum period. These dark-foliaged trees mark from afar the lonely sheep-station, and are often the only guide thereto. It is in the station-house or in the adjoining woolshed that the service is held. Seldom is it conducted by an ordained minister, for the number of such is small, and each priest has a large territory to visit. His arrival on horseback is not always known beforehand, but in the evening the "squatter" assembles his family and dependants, the men of the station, and perhaps a few neighbours. Everyone is glad of the opportunity. The dining-room or woolshed is made to look as devotional as possible. The old prayer books brought out from England are produced. There may be no musical instrument available, but some well-known hymn is raised by the lady of the house. The priest, in his long surplice, preaches a practical sermon, for he understands his people and knows their lives. The service revives old memories in the worshippers, and carries them back in thought to ancient churches and devout congregations in the land from which they come. This early stage merges gradually into what may be called the Pine period. The large sheep run is broken up into farms, each marked by its sheltering plantations of _pinus insignis_. The typical place of worship is now the school. To it the worshippers drive on Sunday, in buggies or gigs. The services are carried on with some regularity: different Christian denominations generally use the building on successive Sundays of the month, and the same congregation gathers on each occasion. The arrangements are awkward, the seats are comfortless, but the singing is hearty and the feeling good. Memories of the old land are less vivid: the young men and maidens are mostly native-born. There is not the deep feeling of devotion, nor is there the old sense of the overwhelming importance of divine things. Fewer of the labouring men are present than were seen in the old woolshed services. Years pass by, and a village springs up amidst the farms. Small church-buildings rise almost side by side. The attendants of the schoolroom no longer worship together. It is the Cypress or _Macrocarpa_ period, when trim hedges divide the gardens--and often the people--from one another. But the little church, with its cross and other sacred emblems, grows dear to some. The choir learns to chant and to sing an anthem on a high festival. Perhaps now there is a vicarage beside the church. Classes and guilds are carried on. "Church work" begins. Such is the history of the Church in New Zealand during the latter period of our hundred years. The frame of the picture is that supplied by the originally treeless plains and valleys of the South Island. But the picture itself, in its essential points, would represent other regions as well--whether mining, maritime, or forest. As a picture, it is not as bright as we should like it to be; but its shadows as well as its brightness are but extensions of the phenomena of the religious world outside. The divisions of Christendom did not originate in New Zealand. With a background furnished by the process just described--a process constant in character, though moving faster or slower according to the variety of local conditions--we may now fill in the foreground of the scene with the few events of the last 34 years, which stand out above the general level of parochial or diocesan life. The decade of the 'eighties saw no change in the constitution of the episcopal bench. From 1877 to 1890 the bishops remained the same. Bishop Harper passed his 80th year, but continued actively at work; after him in order of seniority came Bishops Suter of Nelson, Hadfield of Wellington, Cowie of Auckland, Neville of Dunedin, Selwyn of Melanesia, and Stuart of Waiapu. All worked harmoniously together, the leading personality being perhaps the Bishop of Nelson. A sign of recovery from the exhaustion of the war-period may be found in the stately churches which now began to rise here and there. Christchurch Cathedral, after its years of forlorn desolation, rose slowly from its foundations during the later 'seventies, until in 1881 the nave and tower were completed and consecrated. St. Mary's, Timaru, was begun in 1880, and its nave completed six years later. St. John's Cathedral, Napier, was rapidly built and consecrated as a finished building in 1888. Nothing so artistic or so solid as these edifices had yet been seen in the country, and nothing equal to them was produced for many years. Not only were new churches built: they were filled. A great impetus to devotion was received in 1885 and 1886 from Canons Bodington and G. E. Mason, who were sent out from Selwyn's old diocese of Lichfield to hold missions in Auckland and Christchurch. These able men spent 10 months in the country, and gave of their best to every place they visited. In 1889, Bishop Harper gave notice of his intention to resign his primacy, and, in the following year, laid down his pastoral staff. He had reached the age of 86 before his resignation took effect, but his mind was still vigorous, and when relieved of the cares of office he took up the humbler work of giving divinity lessons in a girls' school. He was pre-eminently a man of peace, but beneath the placid exterior there lay an indomitable will. One who knew him well wrote of him thus: "He left upon me the deep impression that he never had an ideal of power or wealth or fame, but that to go about doing good, and to promote the welfare of his fellow-men with all his strength, were the objects he had in view in his whole life." This resignation was destined to bring about a constitutional difficulty which recalled the trying days of the Jenner incident. The question which divided the Church was nothing less than this, Who is the legitimate primate or chief pastor of New Zealand? Dunedin, curiously enough, was again the point from which the trouble emanated, and a Selwyn was again the person who unintentionally brought it about. Bishop Harper announced his intention to resign the primacy to a general synod at Dunedin in February, 1889. At the close of the session he called for an election of a bishop to take his place as primate in six months' time. The first and the second ballots were inconclusive. Had the third ballot yielded a similar result, the primacy would have gone, according to the canons, to the senior bishop. The Bishop of Nelson was the senior by consecration, though not by age, and he received a large majority of lay votes. But the clergy did not think him "safe," and gave their votes preponderantly to the veteran Hadfield. Before the final ballot, the Bishop of Melanesia broke the silence enjoined on such occasions, and urged the laity "not to let the election go by default." His advocacy was successful, and at the third ballot the Bishop of Wellington, having received a majority of all orders, was declared by the old primate to be duly elected to fill his place. But this decision did not remain long uncontested. From a strictly legal point of view, the proceedings were invalidated by the fact that the canons gave no authority for an election until the primatial seat was actually vacant. This technical objection was rendered more cogent by Bishop John Selwyn's impulsive act. His speech was undoubtedly a breach of the law, and undoubtedly also it turned the election. The situation was a difficult one, and it affected more especially the diocese of Christchurch. For Bishop Harper's retirement was leaving that diocese vacant, and its synod had elected Archdeacon Julius of Ballarat to fill Dr. Harper's place. But the election could not be completed without the sanction of the General Synod or of the Standing Committees of the various dioceses, and until the primacy question should be settled it was impossible to obtain such confirmation. Bishop Suter, acting on the verdict of the Standing Commission--which was to the effect that the election of Bishop Hadfield was null and void--proceeded to act as primate, and to invite the Standing Committees to confirm the action of the Christchurch Synod. Those of Nelson, Auckland, and Waiapu at once did so; but those of Wellington and Dunedin, holding that Bishop Hadfield was legally elected, took no notice of the communications of the senior bishop. The position was undoubtedly full of interest to lawyers, but it was painful and humiliating to devout members of the Church. Some weeks were occupied in fruitless negotiations, but at length, through the influence of the aged Bishop Harper, a way was discovered out of the thicket. Bishop Hadfield resigned his claims to the primacy, and Bishop Suter, whose position was now uncontested, summoned a special meeting of the General Synod. It met in Wellington on April 23rd, 1890. The Bishop of Wellington was elected primate, and the election of Archdeacon Julius to the see of Christchurch was validated, sanctioned, and confirmed. But larger issues soon occupied the public mind. A waterside strike paralysed for a time the commerce of the country, and introduced the era of "Labour." The predominance of Darwin, with his "struggle to live," gave way to the humanitarian conception of a struggle to let others live. In some respects the new movement was a return towards the principles of Christianity, which had seemed to be surrendered in the war period. As such it was hailed by many minds. The new bishop of Christchurch was welcomed with a general enthusiasm because he came as an avowed sympathiser with the aspirations of labour. But the events did not justify either the hopes of the one side or the fears of the other. Labour gained a large measure of political power under Mr. Ballance and Mr. Seddon. Many measures were passed to secure higher wages, shorter hours of work, more careful sanitation, and better technical training. Yet, as years passed by, the fundamental conditions did not seem to be greatly altered. Legislation could not go deep enough. It could not change human nature. That could only be effected by the diffusion of a spirit of justice and consideration throughout the community. The effort to diffuse such a spirit is the proper work of the Church; and as this truth became clearly seen, the Church felt less and less inclined to throw herself on the side of any political party. [Illustration: CHAPEL OF WANGANUI COLLEGIATE SCHOOL.] Her own efforts to alter economic laws had not been successful; Marsden, Selwyn, and Godley had found the spirit of individualism too strong for them: was it not clear that the Christian's duty was to concentrate his efforts upon the development of unselfish character in both capitalist and worker; to try to hold the classes together by upholding the sacred character of the State, and the solemn responsibility of each individual for the right use of whatever property or cleverness he might possess; to warn against the dangers of wealth and also against the greed for its possession; to point to Christ and His world-renouncing example? The Church, as a whole, therefore, went on in the old way, just teaching the "Duty to God" and the "Duty to one's Neighbour," and leaving the State to try to order the social life of the community so as to make those duties more possible of fulfilment. But if the policy continued the same, the leaders were gradually changed. Bishop Harper was soon followed into retirement by others of his old colleagues. Suter's health broke down in 1891, and on his resignation the diocese set its seal upon his episcopate by electing his old friend and archdeacon, the Ven. C. O. Mules, to fill his place. Before the end of the same year, Bishop John Selwyn was likewise compelled to lay down his office owing to severe illness. And men said, "_Bene meruit_"--or, rather, "He followed in the footsteps of his father." Not until St. Barnabas' Day in 1894 was his place filled by the consecration of the Rev. Cecil Wilson, who took up the work of the Melanesian Mission with great earnestness. Meanwhile, the veteran Bishop Hadfield had laid down both the bishopric of Wellington and the primacy in 1893. The delicate youth who had left Oxford in 1837, who had been the first in Australia to be ordained to the diaconate, and the first in New Zealand to receive the office of the priesthood, had rallied again and again from what had seemed the bed of death, and had outlived most of those with whom he began his work. His frequent periods of illness had been relieved by the reading of somewhat severe and philosophical books, and he was able to make good use of his learning in the address which he delivered to the one general synod over which he presided. On his retirement, he lived quietly for some years longer at Marton, and passed away in 1904. The primacy was now conferred, with general unanimity, on Bishop Cowie of Auckland. For the see of Wellington an English clergyman was selected at the request of the diocesan synod. This was the Rev. Frederic Wallis, who brought to New Zealand the learning of Cambridge and a most genial personality. His episcopate coincided with a rapid expansion of settlement in the more distant portions of the diocese, and he was able to man his parochial charges and missionary districts with able clergy from Cambridge. Under his administration the diocese made solid progress, and became, instead of the weakest, one of the strongest members of the New Zealand Church. Five days before the consecration of Bishop Wallis at Wellington (Jan. 1895), a like solemn service had been held in the Cathedral at Napier. Bishop Stuart had resigned the bishopric of Waiapu in the previous year in order to go to Persia as a simple missionary. Into the vacant place there was now installed one who had declined it at the previous vacancy, but who was still not too old to take up the burden. This was Archdeacon Leonard Williams, that son of the first bishop, who had in infancy been baptised with the children of David Taiwhanga on the first occasion when any of the Maori race were publicly admitted to the Church of Christ. His life had been spent in the service of the people among whom he had thus been dedicated to God's service, and, though older than any of the bishops who laid upon him their hands, he was able to administer the diocese for fourteen years before laying down the staff in 1909. No further changes are to be noted before the year 1900. But the twentieth century was not long on its way before the primate, Dr. Cowie, died at his post, after a short illness. The primacy passed to Bishop Neville of Dunedin, the only remaining survivor of the post-Selwynian group. The work of the diocese of Auckland proved too arduous for Bishops Neligan and Crossley, who each resigned the see after a short tenure of office. The last vacancy has been filled by the translation of Dr. Averill, who, coming from the diocese of Christchurch in 1909, took up the bishopric of Waiapu after Bishop Williams' resignation, and has done much to bring the lapsed Maoris back to the fold. His place at Napier was filled by another parish-priest from Christchurch, Canon Sedgwick, whose faith and zeal had been abundantly displayed in the building of the splendid church of St. Luke the Evangelist in that city. Wellington and Nelson also have had their changes. The health of Dr. Wallis gave way in 1911, and he retired to England. The synod elected one of its own members, the Rev. T. H. Sprott, to take his place; while in Nelson, Bishop Mules was succeeded by an Australian clergyman, Canon Sadlier of Melbourne. Dunedin still keeps its first bishop, who, after an episcopate of 43 years, ranks as the senior prelate of the British Empire. Christchurch has had but one change. All the other dioceses can reckon three or four. Of the prelates who have at one time occupied places on the New Zealand bench, some have retired to England, while others remain among us and are entitled to a seat, though not to a vote, in the General Synod. Each diocese (except Dunedin) can point to one bishop's grave in some local cemetery; while Melanesia treasures the memory of the martyred Patteson, whose body was committed to the deep within its waters. The mention of so many bishops calls up pictures of many and various diocesan activities. These should be recorded in separate histories, but can hardly find a place within the limits of this book. One notable effort in which all combined was the General Mission of Help in the year 1910. Fifteen missioners were sent out from England under commission from the Archbishops of Canterbury and York. They represented different schools of thought in the Church, and were headed by Canon Stuart of Canterbury, Canon Tupper-Carey of York, and "Father Fitzgerald," of Mirfield. Beginning in Auckland, where they were assisted by some specially selected clergy from the south, they held missions in all the larger parishes of the city and of the country towns. Waiapu and Wellington were next visited. After a pause, the original band, augmented by several North Island clergy, crossed to the South Island and went through Canterbury and Otago. Nelson was the last diocese to be worked, but special farewell visits were made by individual missioners to parishes in which they had laboured in the earlier part of the course. One missioner, at least, gave himself permanently to the New Zealand Church. It is not possible here to give a full account of the mission, but (to use the words of the official report), "it is safe to say it exceeded all anticipations in the fervour and earnestness shown, and the manifest proofs of the Holy Spirit's presence. Most of the missioners themselves stated that it was a unique experience in their life and work." Of its after-effects it is not so easy to speak. It did not lead to any departure from the existing methods of work, nor did it initiate much in the way of fresh effort. Its results are rather to be seen in a general quickening of activity in the different departments of the Church's life. A sketch of these various departments must form the conclusion of this book. CHAPTER XVIII. THE CHURCH AT WORK. Spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes. --_Is. liv. 2._ The chief part of the Church's work is to keep open the way to heaven. The English Church understands this duty in New Zealand no otherwise than it does elsewhere. That the Lord Jesus Christ, when He had overcome the sharpness of death, did open the kingdom of heaven to all believers--this its people sing and believe. There has been no heresy among the colonists, if by heresy be understood anything more than individual dissent from the common creed of Christendom. How the way thus opened is to be kept unclosed and clear, is doubtless a question upon which some difference exists. But even here our island Church has been less vexed by controversy than have most other portions of the Christian realm. No Cummins or Colenso has arisen among its bishops. Only once has the ponderous machinery of its canon on "discipline" been put in motion against a presbyter. That instance occurred in 1877, when the Rev. H. E. Carlyon of Kaiapoi, a very earnest and devoted man, was found guilty by the Bench of Bishops of erroneous teaching and unlawful practice in regard to auricular confession and the administration of the Holy Eucharist. The cases of Mr. Kirkham of Roslyn, and some others, though productive of angry controversy, never came within the purview of the courts. The opposition to Bishop Jenner, though really based on the fear of Romanising ritual, took the safer course of challenging the validity of his appointment. The conduct of public worship in New Zealand presents no special features in contrast with that of the mother Church. At one time it seemed as though the hymns at least might have borne a distinctive character. The second general synod decided to compile a special hymnal, and under its authority such a book was issued in 1864. It contained 222 hymns, many of which were beautiful. But neither in this collection nor in the enlarged edition put forth in 1870 were there any original compositions, nor anything (except perhaps the hymns for "time of war") to make it specially suitable to the needs of this country. The second edition, set to music by Dr. Purchas of Auckland, never attained to such widespread use as the first had enjoyed, and was soon driven from the field by _Hymns Ancient and Modern_. The changed seasons of the Southern Hemisphere still wait for an inspired poet. The summer Christmas and the autumn Easter have yet to be naturalised among us. Some attempts have been made, not altogether without success. The birth of the Heavenly Babe "in the fulness of time" is felt to be in keeping with the season when The feathered choir, in copse and glade, Their own enchanting carols sing; Flowers add their incense to the gifts Which nature offers to its King-- while at Easter time, instead of the old association of the Resurrection with the renewed vitality of Spring, we have a fitness drawn from the very contrast: Christ is risen! All around Autumn leaves are falling; Signs of death bestrew the ground, Winter time recalling. Fading leaf and withered flower Tell us we are mortal: Easter morn reveals a Power Lighting death's dark portal! These verses are surely on the way to some poetic interpretation of the changed seasons which shall fix the devotions of the future in classic form.[18] [18] From "The Christian Year Beneath the Southern Cross," by the Rev. F. R. Inwood. Turning from the liturgical to the personal element in our services, we find that the solitary Marsden of 1814 is now represented by 414 clergy, of whom 50 belong to the Maori race. The numbers vary greatly in the different dioceses. Auckland heads the list with 110 clergy (19 being Maoris), Wellington follows with 77, and Christchurch with 76; Waiapu has 68 (24 being Maoris); Dunedin 46, and Nelson 29. About ninety of these white clergy were born in the land, and many others, having arrived in childhood, have received their training at one or other of the colleges which have been established for the purpose. Chief among these theological colleges stands, of course, Selwyn's old foundation of St. John's. Its career has been a chequered one, but it was considerably enlarged during the episcopate of Bishop Neligan, and is now in a flourishing condition. Christchurch, in the Upper Department of Christ's College; Dunedin, in Selwyn College; and Wellington, in the Hadfield Hostel, possess institutions which supply to candidates for the ministry a home and a theological training while they attend the lectures at the University colleges. Bishopdale College, which was an institution of great importance under Dr. Suter, has now been revived by the present Bishop of Nelson. The studies in all these local centres are systematised and tested by a Board of Theological Studies, whose operations cover the whole province, and whose standard is equal to that of the mother Church. As to the work done by the clergy of New Zealand, it would be unbecoming of the author to say much. Each diocese is happy in the possession of some parish priests whose faithful service is beyond price and beyond praise. Many, too, of those whose working day is past, are recalled with grateful affection in the scenes of their former activity. Some have left their mark in our large cities through their long and faithful pastorates: Archdeacon Benjamin Dudley in Auckland, Archdeacon Stock and Richard Coffey in Wellington, Archdeacons Lingard and Cholmondeley in Christchurch, Henry Bromley Cocks in Sydenham. For length of service as well as for culture and ability stand out conspicuous the names of Archdeacon Govett of New Plymouth, and of Archdeacon Henry Harper of Westland and Timaru. In the gift of popular preaching and of winning business men, Dean Hovell of Napier and Archdeacon Maclean of Greymouth and Wanganui have had few rivals. Of a more scholarly type were H. B. Harvey of Wellington, C. S. Bowden of Mornington, Canon Joseph Bates of Davenport, and W. Marsden Du Rieu of Auckland--the last also being distinguished for his extraordinary charity and generosity. Ability and spirituality were likewise conspicuous in the short career of Charles Alabaster of Christchurch; self-sacrificing vigour in that of Archdeacon E. A. Scott. [Illustration: BAPTISTERY OF ST. MATTHEW'S, AUCKLAND.] Provincial towns have often kept the same pastor for a long term of years, the man and the place seeming to become identified in the eyes of the world. Such cases are those of Archdeacon Butt at Blenheim, James Leighton at Nelson, Archdeacon Stocker at Invercargill, Algernon Gifford at Oamaru, Archdeacon Dudley at Rangiora. The large and difficult country districts also have often had earnest and devoted priests, among whom may be mentioned Canon Frank Gould of Auckland, Amos Knell in the Wairarapa, James Preston at Geraldine, Samuel Poole at Motueka. Other holy and humble men of heart there have been whose names never came conspicuously before the world or even before the Church. Greatly as the number of the clergy has grown within recent years, the services of the Church could not be carried on without the help of a large body of layreaders. Some of these are licensed to preach and interpret, others read sermons by approved divines, but both classes render invaluable help. The number of these readers in the diocese of Auckland alone is almost equal to the number of clergy in the whole of New Zealand. Nor are the services of women altogether wanting. In Christchurch there exists a community of deaconesses, who, besides educational and charitable work, carry on a constant ministry of intercession and prayer. How much the devotional side of the religious life is assisted by music can hardly be over-emphasised. There is one paid choir in the country--that of Christchurch Cathedral--and there are many salaried organists of high culture; but throughout the length and breadth of the land there are voluntary musicians and singers whose devoted efforts do much to keep alive the inspiring practice of sacred song. The buildings in which worship is offered are gradually becoming more worthy of their high purpose. The last decade has seen many fine churches begun or finished. Christchurch Cathedral; St. Mary's, Timaru; St. Luke's, Oamaru; St. John's, Invercargill, have been brought to completion; the fine churches of St. Matthew, Auckland; St. Luke, Christchurch; All Saints', Palmerston North; St. Matthew's, Masterton; Holy Trinity, Gisborne, have been built. Smaller churches of great beauty mark the country side at Hororata, Glenmark, Little Akaloa, and elsewhere. Some of these buildings are due to the generosity of individual donors; others represent combined parochial effort. For _administrative_ purposes the Church in New Zealand is divided into six dioceses--three in each island. Since the days of Bishop Selwyn, no addition has been made to the number. The diocese of Auckland is now large and populous enough for subdivision, but the project for a Taranaki bishopric has not hitherto elicited much enthusiasm. The authority in each diocese is shared by the bishop with his synod. This body contains all the licensed clergy and an approximately equal number of lay representatives. Its powers are considerable, but the days when the synod was the arena of violent strife seem to be over. Good feeling and harmonious co-operation between bishop, clergy, and laity are now everywhere the rule. The relations between bishop and clergy were rendered clearer by the case of Dodwell v. the Bishop of Wellington in 1887. The old legal status of an English "parson" was shown not to exist in New Zealand: no clergyman has any position save such as is given him by the constitution of the Church. In the same way, no parishioner has any claim at law against his parish priest. This point was decided by the Avonside case in 1889, where the action of a parishioner against the Rev. Canon Pascoe, on the ground of a refusal of the Holy Communion, was disallowed by the judge. The Church is free to do its own work in its own way, and is bound only by such laws as it may think good to make for itself. The supreme authority for the making of such laws is the General Synod, of which the primate is president. This dignified body has hardly yet developed that power and continuity of action which are required for effective leadership. It suffers from smallness of numbers, from infrequency of meetings, and from changes of locality. Attempts have been made (notably in 1910) to strengthen the central authority by conferring upon the primate the title of archbishop, in the hope that the office might eventually be attached to one particular see, which would thus become the ecclesiastical centre of the Province. Such attempts have hitherto met with slight success. The country itself seems to render centralisation difficult. If called upon to choose one of the existing sees as the seat of the archbishopric, how would the synod decide between Auckland with its traditions, Wellington with its central position, and Christchurch with its cathedral and its endowments? To ask the question is to show the difficulty of its answer. By the fundamental provisions of its constitution the synod has no power to alter the Prayer-Book. At every session this point is debated afresh, with the only result of throwing up into clearer relief the powerlessness of the synod with regard to it. Another matter which comes up for regular treatment is the admission of women to a vote at parish meetings. The measure has hitherto always been defeated by the vote of the clerical order, but the tide seems now to have turned, as at least two diocesan synods (those of Christchurch and Nelson) have passed favouring resolutions by considerable majorities. Of all the problems which come before the ecclesiastical statesman, perhaps the most difficult of solution is that of "the appointment of pastors to parishes." The history of its treatment in New Zealand is somewhat singular. At their inception the synods showed extreme jealousy of episcopal control. A parochial system was devised which should give to the parishioners as large a voice as possible in the selection of their pastor, and to the priest so chosen as large a measure as possible of independence of his bishop. The only check upon the parochial nominators (who were elected by the vestry) was the presence upon the Board of an equal number of diocesan nominators elected by the synod. The one person who had no voice in the matter was the bishop. Proposals were occasionally made to give him a seat upon the Board of Nominators, but it was sufficient for a northern archdeacon (in 1880) to declaim against the "cauld blanket" which the bishop's presence would cast upon the erstwhile happy gathering of laymen, to secure the abandonment of the proposal for a whole generation. But the arrangement was unnatural; and, as the feelings of distrust abated, it was found that important churches would not infrequently refrain from claiming independent status in order that they might remain as mere "parochial districts" in the bishop's hands. At length, in 1913, the Bishop of Christchurch carried through the General Synod a bill which revolutionised the whole procedure. The appointment to parishes and parochial districts alike was placed in the hands of a small diocesan Board of Nomination. This consists of the bishop himself, with one priest elected by the clergy and one layman elected by the laity. The only advantage enjoyed by a fully-formed parish is that its vestry has the privilege of selecting between three names submitted to it by the Board of Nomination, after a consultation between this board and the parish vestry. Administration is intimately connected with _finance_, and on this head, too, something must be said. The Dominion of New Zealand contains slightly over 1,000,000 people, of whom 411,671 declared themselves in 1911 to be members of the Church of England. When it is noted that the membership of many of these is more nominal than real, and that many are not of age to possess any money of their own, it must surely be taken as a sign of vitality that in the year 1912 no less a sum than £72,590 was contributed through offertories and subscriptions alone for the stipends of the clergy and for other parochial needs. Doubtless the sum would be considerably higher if the rich gave always in proportion to their means, but even so the result is cheering. Noble gifts have indeed been sometimes made by those who have been entrusted with worldly wealth. These gifts have taken various forms. Sometimes the object has been the building of a church, as in the case of the Harrop bequest of £30,000 for the erection of a cathedral at Dunedin, or the gift by the Rhodes family of a tower and spire for the cathedral of Christchurch. Sometimes it has been the endowment of a parish. In this respect the diocese of Christchurch stands out conspicuous. Glenmark, endowed by Mrs. Townend; West Lyttelton by Archdeacon Dudley; Otaio and Waimate by Mr. Myers; Hororata (partially) by Sir John Hall: these can hardly be paralleled elsewhere, except perhaps in the diocese of Nelson, where the parishes of Brightwater and of Wakefield share an endowment of £11,000 bequeathed by Dr. Brewster. Nor must it be forgotten that among the greatest benefactors to the Church were Bishops Selwyn, Hobhouse, and Suter. The monetary gifts of themselves and their English friends have been estimated at no less than £30,000. Diocesan Funds, on the other hand, seem to have attracted the attention of wealthy donors chiefly in Dunedin and in Waiapu. The former diocese has received large gifts from Mr. George Gray Russell; the latter has been permanently supplied with the stipend of an archdeacon from an anonymous source. The bishopric endowment of Nelson received not long since the sum of £8,000 from Miss Marsden; the poorer clergy of the archdeaconry of Christchurch, £5,000 under the will of Mrs. Townend. The pension fund of the northern dioceses is enriched by the capital sum of £3,000 from Mr. James Cottrell; that of Christchurch by a similar sum received under the will of Mr. F. G. Stedman. In the department of charitable institutions Auckland stands distinguished. The Arrowsmith bequest for St. Mary's Homes at Otahuhu exceeded £11,000; the same homes and a children's home in the city of Auckland have received considerable sums from Sir J. Campbell and Mrs. Knox. In Christchurch the bishop administers the interest of £5,000 bequeathed by Mr. R. H. Rhodes for the spiritual benefit of the fallen and unfortunate. The daughters of the clergy throughout the Dominion found a wise friend in Miss Lohse, an honoured member of the teaching profession, who left the whole of her fortune for the furtherance of their higher education. Second only in importance to the administration of the Word and Sacraments, comes the _education_ of the young in the principles of the Christian faith. The New Zealand Church is happy in possessing two secondary boys' schools of first-rate importance--Christ's College Grammar School in the South Island, and the Wanganui Collegiate School in the North. Both were founded in the early 'fifties, and endowed with lands which now yield a substantial revenue. Both embody the best traditions of English public-school life. Wanganui has the larger number of boarders; Christ's College of day-boys. The old alumni of these institutions have become a power in the land, and, of late years, they have done much to provide their old schools with solid and handsome buildings. Diocesan high schools for girls are found at Auckland and at Marton in the North Island, while in the South the Kilburn Sisters carry on collegiate schools at Dunedin and at Christchurch. There are also many private schools, both for girls and boys, wherein religious instruction is given. It is in the primary department that the Church is weak. Except for three parochial schools in Christchurch, there is nothing in the country to correspond to the National School system in England. Almost every child in the Dominion attends some government day school, and in these, since 1877, religious teaching has formed no part of the curriculum. The clergy in many places have tried to supply the want by giving lessons out of school hours, but the difficulties are great, and the returns of attendance show strange fluctuations. The figures for the year 1912 give a total of 9,546 children who are thus taught, nearly two-thirds of the number being credited to the South Island. Agitation for an amendment of the Education Act has never altogether died down, and during the last two or three years it has acquired a strength and an organisation which it never had before. The success of the Bible-in-Schools movement in several of the Australian States has inspired the various religious bodies in New Zealand with hopeful determination to bring about a like reform. _Quod festinet Deus noster_. In the meanwhile the one resource is the Sunday school. According to the latest returns, the Church of this country claims over 39,000 Sunday scholars, and rather more than 3,000 teachers. Here the North Island far outstrips the South. There are those who decry the Sunday school with its limited hours and its often untrained teachers, but the devotion of these voluntary workers is one of the brightest features of the church life of to-day; while the results of their labours--could they be really measured--would probably astonish the gainsayer. That the ethical ideals of the community are what they are, and that the moral standard achieved is what it is, must surely be largely due to the simple elements of Christian faith and duty which are inculcated in the Sunday school. In comparison with the churches of older lands, the Church of New Zealand may seem to do little in the way of _charitable relief_. In a young and prosperous community there is not the same call for eleemosynary effort; and in New Zealand the whole community has taken up whatever burden of this kind there may be, and bears it as a part of its ordinary governmental task. That hospitals and asylums, homes for the aged, and even reformatories for the vicious, should be thus undertaken by the State is doubtless right and good, especially as every facility is given for ministers of religion to visit the inmates. The case stands differently with the care of the young and the rescue of the tempted and the fallen. Here the spiritual atmosphere is all-important. Our Church possesses orphanages in most of the large towns--Auckland (with three large institutions), Palmerston North, Nelson, Christchurch, and Dunedin; while in Napier and Wanganui it co-operates with other religious organisations to the same end. [Illustration: NEW ZEALAND BISHOPS IN 1914. Bishop Mules. Bishop of Nelson. Bishop of Melanesia. Bishop Williams. Bishop of Wellington. Bishop of Christchurch. The Primate. Bishop of Auckland. Bishop of Waiapu.] Of rescue work not so much can be said. Through the influence of Sister Frances Torlesse, many devoted ladies in Christchurch entered upon this Christ-like work in the 'eighties, though the home they established has now been made over to the orphans. In Wellington, Mrs. Wallis took up the task, and the city still keeps up the institutions which she founded. More pleasant is the thought of the agencies which aim at preventing vice, rather than at undoing its ravages. Mothers' Unions and Girls' Friendly Societies are spread widely throughout the land; while, owing to the visits of Mr. Woollcombe and Mr. Watts-Ditchfield, the Church of England Men's Society has taken firm root among us. Slowly but surely the supreme lesson of _service_ is being learnt: the old type of layman who supported the Church as an honourable part of the State fabric, and as a barrier against revolution, is passing away before the newer type of enthusiastic worker, who feels the call of Christ to share in labour and sacrifice for the brotherhood and for the world. * * * * * The beginning of our history found New Zealand waiting for the coming of a Christian missionary. Many parts of Maoriland are still needing such a messenger to recall them from apostacy and indifference. But, on the whole, New Zealand is now a country which sends out missionaries rather than one that expects them. For many years past it has received no financial help from any outside society. The heathen parts of Maoridom are being evangelised by agents sent by the Church of the land--the South Island for this purpose helping the more heavily-burdened North. But all parts combine in following up Selwyn's mission to Melanesia. Though unable, as yet, to bear the whole of the cost, the Church of this Dominion has always followed this romantic undertaking with its sympathies and with its prayers. The hopeful beginnings under Selwyn and Patteson; the check caused by the latter's death; the slow recovery under the younger Selwyn; the great expansion under Bishop Wilson; the hopeful prospect under Bishop Wood--all this has formed part of our outlook upon the great world. Some of our sons and daughters have given themselves to the service, and no one can be considered to be a true member of our Church who does not contribute annually to the mission funds. Still farther afield range the thoughts and the gaze of the young amongst us. Twenty-one years ago the old Church Missionary Society, which had done so much for New Zealand in the past, saw a daughter-society spring up in this distant country. The Church Missionary Association of New Zealand has been instrumental in greatly fostering the missionary spirit among young people, has sent out a goodly number to foreign countries, and raises a considerable sum for their support. Young New Zealanders are often more attracted by China and Japan than by the Maoris and Melanesians at their own doors. What does this show but that the English Church in New Zealand must widen its outlook and expand its sympathies, till it feels itself lifted up and inspired to attempt greater things than anything yet achieved? For long centuries Christianity could never reach these islands: instead of advancing, it was driven back by the Mohammedan invasion. At last, with new knowledge and new hope, there came new enterprise and new daring. The very difficulties of the task became means to its accomplishment; through the most unlikely channels the beginnings of the message came. Portuguese and Hollander and Briton; da Gama and Tasman and Cook; rough whalers, and condemned criminals: in all these we must recognise the instruments which were used by the All-wise in the laying of our foundations. But it is to those who set themselves with conscious courage and far-seeing wisdom to build upon the stone thus laid--to Marsden and Williams and Selwyn--that we owe the deepest debt. Undeterred by the difficulties of their task, undismayed by the dangers of their way, these heroic men gave themselves to the work of building up under southern skies another England and another home for England's Church. It is the same spirit that is needed now, but with such fresh applications as are demanded by the new age. In this book we have had to tell the hundred years' story of "the English Church in New Zealand." Perhaps the historian of a century hence may be able to trace its absorption into a Church which shall include all the broken fragments of the Body of Christ within its unity; all true schools of thought within its theology; all classes of men within its membership; every legitimate interest and pursuit within its gracious welcome! For the present juncture the old words approve themselves as the most fitting: "Keep, we beseech thee, O Lord, thy Church with thy perpetual mercy; and, because the frailty of man without Thee cannot but fall, keep us ever by thy help from all things hurtful, and lead us to all things profitable to our salvation, through Jesus Christ our Lord." APPENDIX I. A TABLE EXHIBITING THE EPISCOPAL SUCCESSION IN NEW ZEALAND. _Those to whose names an asterisk is prefixed were consecrated under Royal Letters Patent._ DIOCESE OF NEW ZEALAND. *GEORGE AUGUSTUS SELWYN: Consecrated October 17, 1841, at Lambeth, by W. Cantuar (Howley), C. J. London (Bloomfield), J. Lincoln (Kaye), W. H. Barbadoes (Coleridge). (Resigned May, 1869, after translation to Lichfield.) DIOCESE OF AUCKLAND. WILLIAM GARDEN COWIE: Consecrated June 29, 1869, at Westminster by A. C. Cantuar (Tait), J. London (Jackson), E. H. Ely (Browne), H. Worcester (Philpott), G. A. Lichfield (Selwyn), G. Columbia, F. T. McDougall, V. W. Ryan. (Died June 26th, 1902.) MOORE RICHARD NELIGAN: Consecrated May 21, 1903, at St. Mary's Cathedral, Parnell, by S. T. Dunedin, C. Christchurch, C. O. Nelson, W. L. Waiapu. (Res. July 15, 1910.) OWEN THOMAS LLOYD CROSSLEY: Consecrated April 25th, 1911, at St Mary's Cathedral, Parnell, by C. Christchurch, C. O. Mules, A. W. Waiapu, W. L. Williams. (Res. July 1, 1913.) ALFRED WALTER AVERILL: Translated from Waiapu, February 10, 1914. DIOCESE OF CHRISTCHURCH. *HENRY JOHN CHITTY HARPER: Consecrated August 10, 1856, at Lambeth, by J. B. Cantuar (Sumner), C. R. Winchester (Charles R. Sumner), A. T. Chichester (Gilbert), S. Oxford (Wilberforce). (Res. March 31, 1890.) CHURCHILL JULIUS: Consecrated May 1, 1890, in Christchurch Cathedral by O. Wellington, A. B. Nelson, S. T. Dunedin, E. C. Waiapu, H. J. C. Harper. DIOCESE OF NELSON *EDMUND HOBHOUSE: Consecrated September 29, 1858, in Lambeth Church, by J. B. Cantuar (Sumner), A. C. London (Tait), J. Lichfield (Lonsdale), S. Oxford (Wilberforce). (Res. Dec., 1865.) ANDREW BURN SUTER: Consecrated August 24, 1866, in Canterbury Cathedral, by C. T. Cantuar (Longley), A. C. London (Tait), C. J. Gloucester (Ellicott). (Res. Oct., 1891.) CHARLES OLIVER MULES: Consecrated February 24th, 1892, at St. Paul's, Wellington, by O. Wellington, W. G. Auckland, S. T. Dunedin, E. C. Waiapu, C. Christchurch. (Res. June 30, 1912.) WILLIAM CHARLES SADLIER: Consecrated July 21, 1912, at Nelson, by S. T. Dunedin, T. H. Wellington, Lloyd Auckland. DIOCESE OF WELLINGTON. *CHARLES JOHN ABRAHAM: Consecrated September 29, 1858, in Lambeth Church, by J. B. Cantuar, A. C. London, J. Lichfield, S. Oxford. (Res. June 1, 1870.) OCTAVIUS HADFIELD: Consecrated at Wellington, October 9, 1870, by H. J. C. Christchurch, W. Waiapu, A. B. Nelson, W. G. Auckland. (Res. October 9, 1893) FREDERIC WALLIS: Consecrated in St. Paul's, Wellington, January 25, 1895, by W. G. Auckland, C. Christchurch, J. Salisbury (Wordsworth), C. O. Nelson, C. Melanesia, S. T. Dunedin, W. L. Waiapu. (Res. April 23, 1911.) THOMAS HENRY SPROTT: Consecrated June 6, 1911, in St. Paul's Cathedral, Wellington, by C. Christchurch, A. W. Waiapu, O. T. L. Auckland, W. L. Williams. DIOCESE OF WAIAPU. *WILLIAM WILLIAMS: Consecrated April 3, 1859 at Wellington, by G. A. New Zealand, H. J. C. Christchurch, C. J. Wellington, E. Nelson. (Res. May 31, 1876.) EDWARD CRAIG STUART: Consecrated December 9, 1877, at Napier, by H. J. C. Christchurch, W. G. Auckland, O. Wellington. (Res. Jan. 31, 1894.) WILLIAM LEONARD WILLIAMS: Consecrated January 20, 1895, in Napier Cathedral, by W. G. Auckland, C. Christchurch, C. O. Nelson, C. Melanesia. (Res. June 30, 1909.) ALFRED WALTER AVERILL: Consecrated January 16, 1910, in Napier Cathedral, by S. T. Dunedin, C. Christchurch, C. O. Nelson, F. Wellington, M. R. Auckland, W. L. Williams. Tr. to Auckland, February, 1914. WILLIAM WALMSLEY SEDGWICK: Consecrated February 22, 1914, in Napier Cathedral, by S. T. Dunedin, C. Christchurch, A. W. Auckland, T. H. Wellington, W. C. Nelson, C. O. Mules, W. L. Williams. DIOCESE OF DUNEDIN. SAMUEL TARRATT NEVILLE: Consecrated June 4, 1871, at Dunedin, by H. J. C. Christchurch, A. B. Nelson, O. Wellington, W. Waiapu. DIOCESE OF MELANESIA. JOHN COLERIDGE PATTESON: Consecrated February 24, 1861, in St. Paul's, Auckland, by G. A. New Zealand, E. Nelson, C. J. Wellington. (Killed September 20, 1871.) JOHN RICHARDSON SELWYN: Consecrated at Nelson, February 18, 1877, by H. J. C. Christchurch, A. B. Nelson, W. G. Auckland, O. Wellington, S. T. Dunedin. (Res. 1891.) CECIL WILSON: Consecrated June 11, 1894, at Auckland, by W. G. Auckland, S. T. Dunedin, C. Christchurch, C. O. Nelson. (Res. July, 1911.) CECIL JOHN WOOD: Consecrated July 14th, 1912, at Dunedin, by S. T. Dunedin, T. H. Wellington, Lloyd Auckland. This table reveals the curious fact that Dr. Selwyn, while Bishop of New Zealand, consecrated only two bishops, viz., W. Williams and Patteson. Of these, Bishop Patteson never had the opportunity of laying hands on another bishop. Bishop Williams joined in the consecration of but one bishop, viz., Hadfield. The tactual succession from the great Bishop of New Zealand has therefore passed to the present episcopate only through two of the missionaries who were at work in the country before his arrival. Dr. Selwyn joined in the consecration of Bishop Cowie, but only as one of the English diocesans. APPENDIX II. AUTHORITIES FOR THE HISTORY OF THE CHURCH IN NEW ZEALAND. The student of New Zealand Church History needs to glean his information, bit by bit, from many quarters, but there are certain outstanding authorities to which he will go at the outset. These are not all of equal value, and they need to be used with discrimination. For the life and work of Samuel Marsden, the promised volume by the late Dr. Hocken should take the first place. Meanwhile, the "Memoirs" published by the Religious Tract Society in 1858 are of primary importance. The book has been reprinted in modified form by Messrs. Whitcombe and Tombs (1913). The editor, Mr. Drummond, has been able to correct a few mistakes, and has supplied some additional information. The original author, the Rev. J. B. Marsden, had no personal knowledge of his hero nor of the scenes of his labours. He consequently falls into error here and there, but his book gives a faithful and interesting picture of the religious side of the great missionary's life and work. Another side is presented in the "Narrative of a Voyage to New Zealand" (1817) by John Liddiard Nicholas, whose book has the high authority of an eye-witness. Much useful information on the work of Marsden and his helpers has been collected in Brett's "Early History of New Zealand" (Auckland, 1890). For the subsequent history of the mission, the chief available authority is "Christianity among the New Zealanders," by the first Bishop of Waiapu (London, 1867). Living on the spot, and being one of the principal actors in the events which he describes, the bishop is able to give a detailed account whose value is only marred by the mistakes made by the English printers in the spelling of Maori names. For the Selwynian period, the "Life and Episcopate" of the great bishop by Prebendary Tucker (two vols., London, 1879) is a primary authority. Its value is seriously diminished by the author's want of acquaintance with New Zealand geography, and still more by his studied disparagement of the Church Missionary Society, but his book remains indispensable for its collection of letters. A useful corrective to Tucker may be found in Dr. Eugene Stock's History of the C.M.S.--a book which, in spite of some startling inaccuracies, throws a welcome light on many obscure passages of our history. More reliable than either of these varying presentations of the bishop's policy and work is the small volume of "Annals of the Colonial Church. Diocese of New Zealand" (London, 1857), which contains the bishop's journals for the first years of his episcopate. Lady Martin's unpretending little book on "Our Maoris" is extremely valuable as coming from one who was a devoted member of the Selwyn circle. The unhappy controversy between Bishop Selwyn and Archdeacon Henry Williams had at least this good result, that it led to the compilation of a full and authoritative life of the latter by his son-in-law, Mr. Hugh Carleton (two vols., Auckland, 1874 and 1877). When allowance is made for the personal bias of the talented author who fights both governor and bishop "with the gloves off," the book remains an authority of the first rank. The Rev. J. King Davis' "History of St. John's College" (Auckland); Bishop Cowie's "Our Last Year in New Zealand" (London, 1888); and Canon Mason's "Round the Round World on a Church Mission" (London, 1892), may also be mentioned as supplying interesting details of church work, especially in the mother diocese of Auckland. On the whole, it must be said that in contrast with the Melanesian Mission, which possesses its biographies of Bishop Patteson and Bishop J. R. Selwyn, its detailed history by Mrs. Armstrong, and several other books of a descriptive and historical character, the New Zealand Church is meagrely provided. The early missionaries themselves published little. Yate's "Account of New Zealand" (1835), and Taylor's "Te Ika a Maui" (London, 1855), and his "Past and Present of New Zealand" (1868), stand almost alone. Some journals have been printed for private circulation; others are only available in MS.; others again have been destroyed. No biography exists of any of our bishops except those of Selwyn by Tucker and Curteis, and that of Bishop Harper by the present writer. Yet where could be found a better subject for a memoir than Bishop Hadfield? Bishop William Williams also should surely have his biography, but the materials for such a book seem to have been used as fuel by the British soldiers during the siege of Waerenga-a-hika in 1868. Archdeacons Brown and Maunsell also deserve that their life histories should be told. The founders of Canterbury should not be allowed to pass into oblivion. Altogether there remains much work to be done by the historical student of the future. INDEX. _The dates given in brackets are those of the birth and death of the person indexed; where only the date of death is known it is preceded by an asterisk._ Abraham, Bp. (1815-1903), arrives in N.Z., 146; suggested for bishopric of Auckland, 154; appointed bishop of Wellington, 165; consecration, 245; resigns, 216; coadjutor to Selwyn at Lichfield, 219. Ashwell, Rev. B. Y. (*1883), at Waikato, 113; returns after war, 207. Averill, Bp., becomes bishop of Waiapu, 227; of Auckland, 227. Bay of Islands, scenery and associations, 7; deserted, 140. Benefactions, 237_f_. Bodington, Canon, mission by, 222. _Boyd_, ship. Massacre of crew, 14; retaliation, 9; conciliation, 19. Broughton, Bp., visits Bay of Islands, 67; his opinion of the mission, 94, 101. Brown, Archdeacon A. F. (*1884). arrival in N.Z., 43; visits Thames, 53; settles at Matamata, 56; at Tauranga, 65; appointed archdeacon, 126; suggested for bishopric of Tauranga, 114. Butler, Rev. J., 28. Canterbury settlement. Its ideals, 147; relations with Bishop Selwyn, 148, 194. Carlyon case, 230. Chapman, Rev. Thomas (*1896). joins mission, 43; settles at Rotorua, 56; driven away, 57; Mrs. Chapman's bonnet, 58; returns to Rotorua, 65; labours at Taupo, 65, 79; ordination, 126. Churches at Auckland, 234; Christchurch, 222, 228, 234; Christchurch cathedral, 222, 234; Gisborne, 234; Invercargill, 234; Masterton, 234; Napier, 222; Oamaru, 234; Palmerston North, 234; Timaru, 222, 234. Church Missionary Society. Its foundation, 11; its authority in N.Z., 85; difference with Bp. Selwyn, 126, 130; objects to synods, 155, 159; withdraws objection, 160; urges native ministry, 170; present position, 242; _History of_, 247. Churton, Archdeacon J. F., ministry at Wellington, 110; at Auckland, ibid. Clergy of New Zealand, 232_f_. Clarke, G., joins mission, 42; disconnected, 145. Colenso, Rev. W., joins mission, 51; works first printing-press, 62; ordained, 126. Communism among missionaries, 26; failure of, 43; at St. John's College, 118, 129, 137, 144; at Chatham Islands, 144. Constitution of N.Z. Church. Chap. XII. _passim._ revised, 194; fundamental provisions of, 236. Cowie, Bp. W. G. (1831-1902), succeeds Selwyn at Auckland, 202; consecration, 244; re-opens St. John's College, 218; becomes primate, 226; dies, 227. Davis, Rev. Richard (1790-1863), arrival, 43; agricultural skill, ibid; ordained deacon, 126. Darwin, Charles. His visit to Waimate, 91. Education. Act of 1877, 217; proposed amendment of, 239_f_. Earle, Augustus; strictures on missionaries, 91. Fairburn (catechist), joins mission, 42; at Maramarua, 96; dismissed, 145. Fenton, Archdeacon J., 211. Finance, 237. Gate Pa, Battle of, 185. Girls' War, the, 47. Godley, John Robert (1814-1861), character of, 148; difference with Canterbury Association, 149; views on church government, 159. Grace, Rev. T. S. (*1879), favours king movement, 173; imprisoned at Opotiki, 188; escape, 192_f_. Grey, Sir George, accuses Henry Williams of treachery, 133_f_; declares war on king Maoris, 183; gives church site at Wellington, 203; reconciliation with H. Williams, 178. Hadfield, Bp. (1815-1904), joins mission, 68; volunteers to go to Kapiti, 74; settles at Otaki, 76; saves Wellington, 121; illness, 143; declines bishopric of Wellington, 165; becomes bishop of Wellington, 216; consecration, 245; elected primate, 223; primacy, resignation and death, 226. Hall, Francis, 28; his character, 86. Hall, William, 12, 36; retires from mission, 43. Hamlin, James (*1865), joins mission, 42; settles at Mangapouri, 56; at Manukau, 66. Harper, Bp. (1804-1893), appointed to Christchurch, 152; consecration, 244; keeps Christchurch synod from deserting constitution, 180; becomes primate, 202; attacked in Dunedin synod, 214; his work, 218; resignation, 222. Hauhauism, origin of, 187; collapse of, 205. Heke, Hone, 130; attacks Kororareka, 131; burial, 146. Hinaki, chief of Mokoia, 32; quarrel with Hongi, 34; killed by Hongi, 35. Hipango, J. W., resists Hauhaus, 187; Christian conduct of, ibid. Hobhouse, Bp. (1817-1904), appointed to bishopric of Nelson, 165; consecration, 244; breakdown, 211; at Lichfield, 219. Hobson, Captain W., arrives in Bay of Islands, 83; his relations with Henry Williams, 84; becomes first governor, ibid. Hocken, Dr., Pref. Hongi, 25; visit to England, 30_f_; return, 34; attacks Mokoia, 35; wounded, 45; death of, 46; estimates of his character, ibid. Hymns, 231. Jacobs, Dean, His history of the N.Z. Church, Pref. Jenner, Bp., 212-214. Julius, Bp., appointed to Christchurch, 224; consecrated, 244; carries nomination statute, 237. Kaitaia, mission station established, 52. Kemp, James, 28. Kendall, Thomas, joins mission, 17; visits Hokianga, 28; accompanies Hongi to England, 30; supports him against missionaries, 35; dismissed, 36; his gnosticism, 86_f_. Kerikeri, station established, 28; plight of in 1821, 36; episcopal library at, 115. King movement, 172, 176, 181; present position of, 208. King, John (1787-1854), 12, 23, 28, 36. Land claims of missionaries. Chapter X, _passim._ Leigh, Rev. Samuel, visits mission, 27; establishes Wesleyan mission, 92. Mangapouri, station established, 56. Marsden, Samuel (1764-1838), early training, 92; meets Te Pahi, 8; visit to England, 11; plants mission in New Zealand, Ch. I.; second visit to New Zealand, 28; third visit, 29; last visit, 61-63; death, 63; his character, 64; friendly attitude to Wesleyans, 92. Martin, Sir William, at Auckland, 128; signs letter asking for church constitution, 157; absent from Taurarua conference, 161; instructs Maori students, 170; favours king movement, 173; protests against seizure of Waitara, 183; mediates in Synod of 1865, 194. Martin, Lady, her writings, 248. Mason, Canon, holds mission, 222. Mason, Rev. J. (*1843), settles at Wanganui, 80; drowned, 117. Matahau (see Ripahau). Matthews, Rev. Joseph (*1892), joins mission, 43; settles at Kaitaia, 52. Maunsell, Archdeacon (*1894), at Waikato Heads, 66; translates Old Testament, 88; escapes from rebels, 184; at Parnell, 208. Melanesian Mission, 142, 151, 154, 241. "Missions," parochial and general. Bodington-Mason, 222; Mission of Help (1910), 228. Morgan, Rev. John (*1865), joins mission, 51; goes to Puriri, 55; settles at Matamata, 56; at Otawhao, 113; death, 207. Mules, Bp., 226; consecration, 245. Neligan, Bp., consecrated, 245; enlarges St. John's College, 232. Nelson, 109, 111, 120, 143; school system in, 217. Neville, Bp., consecrated bishop, 212, 246; primate, 227; senior prelate, 228; his recollections, Pref. New Plymouth. Bright promise, 112; loved by Selwyn, 143; saved by Te Rangitaake, 174. New Zealand Company, 105. Opotiki, station founded at, 66; tragedy at, 188. Orakau, defence of, 184. Otaki, station founded at, 76; church built, 142; school, 209. Orphanages, 240. Paihia, establishment of station, 42, 44; schools, 44; examination at, 49; present condition of, 140. Patteson, Bp. (1827-1871), joins Melanesian Mission, 152; consecrated, 169, 246; preaches on Volkner's martyrdom, 191; illness and death, 214-216. Porirua, projected college at, 145. Poverty Bay massacre, 206. Preece, James, 43, 55, 66. Puckey, William (*1878), joins mission, 43; settles at Kaitaia, 52. Puriri, station established, 55; abandoned, 66. Rangiaohia, its prosperity, 184; its devastation, 186. Rangihoua described, 19, 25; scene of first service, 20_ff_; Holy Communion at, 29; abandoned, 63; present condition of, 24. Rauparaha, migrates to Kapiti, 72; meets H. Williams, 76; attempts to destroy Wellington, 121; becomes a catechumen, 122; builds church at Otaki, 142. Reinga, Cape, 52. Ripahau (or Matahau), 71, 76. Ruapekapeka, capture of, 134. Ruatara, early adventures, 10; meets Marsden, 13; prepares the way for the mission, 15, 18; death of, 23_f_. Sadlier, Bp., 228, 245. St. John's College, begun at Waimate, 108, 117-119; removed to Tamaki, 128; difficulties and trials, 143; breakdown, 151; reconstitution of Maori department at Parnell, 170; second closing of, 211; reopened, 218; enlarged by Bp. Neligan, 232. Schools. Church schools, 239; Government schools, ibid; Sunday schools, 240. Sedgwick, Bp., 228, 245. Selwyn, G. A., Bishop of New Zealand (1809-1878), early training and ideals, 107; consecration, 244; settlement at Waimate, 108; first missionary journey, Chap. VIII. _pass._; his ecclesiastical position, 115_f_; second journey, Ch. IX., _pass._; sides with governor against missionaries, 137; visit to England, 151, 160; accepts bishopric of Lichfield, 196_f_; action in Jenner case, 212-214; death of, 219. Selwyn, Bp. J. R. (1845-1898), becomes bishop of Melanesia, 218; consecration, 246; turns lay vote in primatial election, 223; resignation, 226. Sprott, Bp., 228, 245. Stuart, Bp. (*1911), 219; resignation, 227. Suter, Bp. (1830-1894), becomes bishop of Nelson, 218, 245; as educationist, 217; his work, 218; personality, 222; rejected for primacy, 223; resigns, 226. Synods, of 1844, 127; of 1847, 142; their constitution, Ch. XII., _pass._; Maori synods at Waiapu, 169; synod of 1862, 179; of 1865, 194; stormy synod in Dunedin, 214; present working of, 235. Taiwhanga, David, conversion of, 48; baptism of, ibid. Tamaki. Church built by Selwyn, 125; St. John's College removed thither, 128. Tamihana Te Rauparaha, learns from Tarore's gospel, 73; evangelises South Island, 122. Tamihana Te Waharoa (Tarapipipi), conversion of, 58; his ideals, 171; inaugurates king movement, 172; joins with Te Rangitaake, 176; labours for peace, 182; death of, 195. Taratoa, Henare Wiremu, 185, 219. Tarore, killed, 60; her gospel, 73. Tasman discovers New Zealand, 2. Tauranga, station established, 56; suggested bishopric of, 154. Taurarua Conference, 161. Taumatakura, 70. Te Aute College, how established, 204; present work, 209. Te Kooti, 205. Te Pahi, visits Australia, 8; death of, 9. Te Puna (see Rangihoua). Te Rau College, 209. Taylor, Rev. R. (*1873), at Wanganui, 142; land claim, 141; his influence, 173, 187; writings, 248. Volkner, Rev. C. S., 188-192. Waerenga-a-hika, college begun at, 170; fight at, 203; college revived at, 209. Wakefield, E. G., founds New Zealand Company, 105; his opinion of Bishop Selwyn, 108_n_; founds Canterbury, 147. Waharoa, chief of Matamata, receives Henry Williams, 55; attacks Rotorua, 57. Waimate, station established at, 43; civilised appearance of, 62; becomes residence of bishop, 108; St. John's College at, 118; eviction from, 126_f_. Wallis, Bp., 227, 245. Wanganui (or Whanganui). Christianity along river, 78, 120; Christmas Communion at, 142; resistance to Hauhaus at, 187; collegiate school at, 239. Wellington, foundation of, 75; beginnings of church in, 110; still unsatisfactory, 120; saved by Hadfield and Wiremu Kingi, 121; improvement, 125; cathedral site in, how acquired, 203. Wesleyan Mission, 92-95; discord between converts, 117; station at Waikouaiti, 124. Whytehead, Rev. Thomas, 117. Williams, Archdeacon Henry (1792-1867), training and character, 38; settles at Paihia, 42; leads expedition to Thames, 53; expedition to Cook Strait, 74; journey across island, 78; buys land, 89; chooses site of Auckland, 90; saves Auckland, 131; accused of treachery, 132_f_; opposed by governor and bishop, 137; dismissed by C.M.S., 139; ministry at Pakaraka, 146; reinstated, 152; death of, 195. Williams, Archdeacon Samuel (1822-1907), at St. John's College, 129; removes to Te Aute, 204. Williams, Bp. W. L. (1829), baptism of, 48; at St. John's College, 129; opens seminary at Turanga, 170; remains at Turanga through Hauhau troubles, 194; becomes bishop of Waiapu, 227. Williams, Bp. W. W. (1800-1878), arrives in N.Z., 43; leads expedition to Kaitaia, 52; visits Waiapu, 69; settles at Turanga, 71; translates New Testament, 88; becomes archdeacon of Waiapu, 113; defends his brother in London, 145; consecrated bishop of Waiapu, 166, 245; driven from Waerenga-a-hika, 193; returns to Napier, 203_f_; resignation and death, 219. Wilson, Bp., 226, 246. Wilson, Rev. J. A. (1809-1887), joins mission, 51; settles at Puriri, 55; at Tauranga, 56; Opotiki, 66; his experience at Maramarua, 96; mediates in Taranaki war, 176. Wiremu Kingi Te Rangitaake, saves Wellington, 121; migrates to Taranaki, 173; driven to war, 175; his claims recognised, 183. Yate, Rev. William, joins mission, 43; dismissal, 87; letters from converts to, 99. +----------------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Note: | | | |The following corrections have been made to this text: | | | |Page vi, 'libarary' changed to 'library': | | (library is kept) | | | |Page vii, 'seems' changed to 'seem': | | (perhaps seem inadequate) | | | |Page x, Extraneous line of text removed, original read: | | her ministerial activities; but for vestries and church com- | | earth. Nor can I forget that loving and gentle yet firm and | | mittees the work is harder, demanding, as it does, so much | | | |Page xvi, 'Korarareka' changed to 'Kororareka': | | (Kororareka--Charge against) | | | |Page 8, 'Paramatta' changed to 'Parramatta': | | (into his house at Parramatta) | | | |Page 30, 'Kendal' changed to 'Kendall': | | (Kendall and Hongi to England) | | | |Page 34, 'Paramatta' changed to 'Parramatta': | | (in his parsonage at Parramatta) | | | |Page 72, 'Ruaparaha' changed to 'Rauparaha': | | (Rauparaha, the young chief) | | | |Page 83, 'Wiliams' changed to 'Williams': | | (Henry Williams had but to raise his finger) | | | |Page 112, 'Hawkes Bay' changed to 'Hawke's Bay': | | (open plains of Hawke's Bay) | | | |Page 158, 'deliberrate' changed to 'deliberate': | | (hands in this deliberate way) | | | |Page 159, 'Lyttleton' changed to 'Lyttelton': | | (at Lyttelton, he and Mr. Godley) | | | |Page 164, 'Wiliams' changed to 'Williams': | | ("Henry Williams,") | | | |Page 183, 'difficuly' changed to 'difficulty': | | (difficulty by holding an enquiry) | | | |Page 194, 'Wiliams' changed to 'Williams': | | (Archdeacon Leonard Williams, remained) | | | |Page 203, 'Waeranga' changed to 'Waerenga': | | (house at Waerenga-a-hika) | | | |Page 242, 'Da Gama' changed to 'da Gama': | | (da Gama and Tasman) | | | |Page 249, 'Marumarua' changed to 'Maramarua': | | (at Maramarua, 96) | | | |Page 249, Duplicate index entries for Timaru and Napier under | | heading 'Churches' deleted: | | (Churches at Auckland) | | | |Index, the original index uses a dagger symbol to indicate | | where the birth date of the person indexed is not known. This | | has been changed to an asterisk. | +----------------------------------------------------------------+ 
33619	----	[Illustration] MAORI and SETTLER A STORY OF THE NEW ZEALAND WAR BY G. A. HENTY Maori and Settler G.A. HENTY'S BOOKS Illustrated by Eminent Artists _Uniform with this Edition_ Beric the Briton: A Story of the Roman Invasion of Britain. Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. Both Sides the Border: A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower. By Conduct and Courage: A Story of the Days of Nelson. By England's Aid: The Freeing of the Netherlands. By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. Facing Death: A Tale of the Coal-mines. In the Heart of the Rockies: A Story of Adventure in Colorado. Maori and Settler: A Story of the New Zealand War. St. Bartholomew's Eve: A Tale of the Huguenot Wars. St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. The Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt. The Dragon and the Raven: The Days of King Alfred. The Treasure of the Incas: A Tale of Adventure in Peru. Under Wellington's Command: A Tale of the Peninsular War. With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War. With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Continent. Wulf the Saxon: A Story of the Norman Conquest. LONDON: BLACKIE AND SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILY, E.C. [Illustration: "DROP THAT OR I FIRE!" _Page 227_] Maori and Settler A STORY OF THE NEW ZEALAND WAR BY G.A. HENTY Author of "Redskin and Cowboy" "In Freedom's Cause" "Bonnie Prince Charlie" &c. _ILLUSTRATED_ BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY _Printed in Great Britain_ PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION In the following story I have made no attempt to give anything like a general history of the long struggle between the brave tribes of New Zealand and the forces of England and the colony. That struggle lasted over a period of some years, and to do justice to its numerous incidents in the course of a single volume would have left no space whatever available for the telling of a story. It was divided into two distinct epochs. In the first the natives of the north of the islands fought for their independence and their right to have a king, and be governed by their own laws. Nothing could exceed the courage with which they struggled for these ends, and it needed a very strong force of British troops to storm their pahs or fortified camps, and overcome their resistance. The second epoch embraces the struggle brought about by the conversion of a portion of the tribes to the fanatical belief called the Pai Marire (literally "good and peaceful"), whose votaries were generally known as the Hau-Haus. During the earlier war the natives behaved with great moderation, and there were but few cases of the murder of outlying settlers. The slaying of all whites was, however, the leading feature of the Hau-Hau religion, and many cold-blooded massacres occurred during the struggle. The British troops had been for the most part withdrawn before the commencement of the Hau-Hau troubles, and the war was carried on by bodies of constabulary raised by the colonists, and with the aid of tribes that remained friendly to us. The massacre of Poverty Bay, which forms the leading feature of my story, and the events that followed it, are all strictly in accordance with facts. G.A. HENTY CONTENTS. CHAP. Page I. A HOME BROKEN UP, 11 II. THE EMBARKATION, 30 III. THE VOYAGE, 49 IV. A ROW ON SHORE, 64 V. A BOAT EXPEDITION, 81 VI. PUTTING IN THE REFIT, 104 VII. A SAVAGE SURPRISE, 126 VIII. THE END OF THE VOYAGE, 144 IX. THE NEW ZEALAND WAR, 165 X. THE GLADE, 184 XI. THE HAU-HAUS, 205 XII. THE FIRST ALARM, 224 XIII. THE ATTACK ON THE GLADE, 244 XIV. FRESH TROUBLES, 263 XV. THE MASSACRE AT POVERTY BAY, 282 XVI. THE PURSUIT OF TE KOOTI, 302 XVII. BACK AT THE FARM, 321 XVIII. IN ENGLAND, 340 ILLUSTRATIONS Facing Page "DROP THAT OR I FIRE!" _Frontispiece_ A DOZEN SPEARS STRUCK THE WATER ROUND HER 104 WILFRID AND THE GRIMSTONES FIND IT HARD WORK 192 MR. ATHERTON KEEPS THE MOUTH OF THE DEFILE 296 "I AM AFRAID I AM HEAVY ON A HORSE STILL, WILFRID" 328 * * * * * Map of Hawke Bay, Poverty Bay, and surrounding Country 16 MAORI AND SETTLER. CHAPTER I. A HOME BROKEN UP. "Well, mother, one thing is certain--something has got to be done. It is no use crying over spilt milk, that I can see. It is a horribly bad business, but grieving over it won't make it any better. What one has got to do is to decide on some plan or other, and then set to work to carry it out." The speaker, Wilfrid Renshaw, was a boy between fifteen and sixteen years old. He was standing with his back to an empty fireplace, his feet well apart, his hands deep in his pockets. He was rather short for his age, but very squarely built. His hair was dark, cut rather short, and so ruffled over his head that there were no signs of a parting; his eyebrows were heavy, his eyes bright but rather deeply set; his chin was square and his jaw heavy; his nose was a little upturned, and this together with his eyes gave a merry expression to a face that would otherwise have been heavy and stern. At school Wilfrid Renshaw had been regarded as rather a queer fellow. He was full of quiet fun, and saw a humorous side in everything. He did not take a very leading part in the various school sports, though there was a general idea that if Renshaw only chose to exert himself he could excel in any of them. In point of actual strength, although there were several boys in the school older than himself, it was generally admitted that he was by far the strongest there. But he always went his own way and always knew his own mind, and when he had once given his decision every one knew that it was of no use attempting to alter it; indeed, his reputation for obstinacy was so great that when he had once said "I won't" or "I will," no one ever attempted to argue with him. He was given to long walks and to collecting insects or flowers. He could never be persuaded to make one of the cricket eleven; but in winter, when there was little scope for his favourite pursuit, he threw himself into football; and although he absolutely refused to accept the captaincy when unanimously elected to that honour, he was considered by far the most valuable member of the team. He was scarcely popular among the boys of his own age; for although his fun and general good temper were appreciated by them, his determination to go his own way, and his entire disregard for the opinion of others, caused him to be considered an unsociable sort of fellow, an impression increased by the fact that he had no particular chums. Among the smaller boys he was greatly liked. He would never allow any bullying when he was present; and although his interference was often resented by some of the elders, his reputation for strength and obstinacy was so great that he had never been called upon to take active measures to support his decisively expressed opinions. His father lived in a pretty house a quarter of a mile outside Reading; and as Wilfrid attended the grammar-school there, he was much more free to indulge his own tastes and go his own way than if he had been in a boarding-school. His chief companion in his rambles was his only sister Marion, who was a year his senior, although strangers would not have taken her to be so, either from her appearance or manner. She had an active lithe figure, and was able to keep up with him even during his longest excursions. They were in fact great chums and allies, and Marion would have indignantly scouted the idea had anyone suggested to her that her brother was either obstinate or unsociable. Mr. Renshaw had been intended for the bar, and had indeed been called to that profession; but shortly afterwards he came into a fortune at the death of his father, and at once abandoned all idea of practising. After travelling for a few years on the Continent and in the East, he married and settled down near Reading. His time was for the most part devoted to archæology. He had a rare collection of ancient British, Saxon, and Norman arms, ornaments, and remains of all sorts; had written several books on the antiquities of Berkshire and Oxfordshire; was an authority upon tumuli and stone weapons; and was regarded by his acquaintances as a man of much learning. The management of the house and children, and indeed of all affairs unconnected with his favourite hobby, he left to his wife, who was, fortunately for him, a clear-headed and sensible woman. Mr. Renshaw was, in fact, an eminently impractical man, weak and easy in disposition, averse to exertion of any kind, and without a shadow of the decision of character that distinguished his son. Except when away upon antiquarian excursions he passed his time entirely in his own study, engaged upon a work which, he anticipated, would gain for him a very high position among the antiquarians of the country, the subject being the exact spot at which Julius Cæsar landed in Britain. He made his appearance only at meal-times, and then paid but little attention to what was going on around him, although he was kind to his children in a gentle indifferent sort of way. For many years he had been engaged in making up his mind as to the school to which Wilfrid should be sent; and the boy had at first only been sent to the grammar-school at the suggestion of his mother as a temporary measure until the important decision should be arrived at. This had been six years before, and Mr. Renshaw had postponed his decision until it was too late for Wilfrid to enter at any of the great public schools. Knowing from long experience what would be the result were he consulted as to Marion's education, Mrs. Renshaw had, when the girl was nine years old, engaged a governess for her without any previous consultation with her husband, simply telling him of the arrangement after it was concluded, saying: "I know, Alfred, that you have not yet decided whether an education at home or at school is best for a girl, and I have consequently arranged with a young lady to come as governess until you can come to a conclusion upon the point." Wilfrid Renshaw was extremely fond of his mother. His father he regarded with a somewhat contemptuous kind of affection. He did not doubt that he was a very learned man, but he had small patience with his inability to make up his mind, his total want of energy, and his habit of leaving everything for his wife to decide upon and carry out. "It would do father an immense deal of good if something were to happen that would wake him up a bit and get him to take an interest in things," he had said over and over again to Marion. "I cannot understand a man having no opinion of his own about anything." "I do not think you ought to speak in that sort of way, Wil, about father." "Oh, that is all nonsense, Marion. One cannot be blind about a person even if he is one's own father. Of course he is very kind and very indulgent, but it would be very much pleasanter if he were so because he wished to give us pleasure, instead of because it is the easiest thing to do. I should be downright pleased if sometimes when I ask him for anything he would say positively I could not have it." Now the something that Wilfrid had hoped might occur to rouse his father had taken place, and had come in a form very unpleasantly violent and unexpected. The papers a week before had brought the news of the failure of the bank in which the greater portion of Mr. Renshaw's property was invested, and a letter had the following morning been received from a brother of Mrs. Renshaw, who was also a shareholder in the bank, saying that the liabilities were very large, and that the shareholders would undoubtedly be called upon to pay even their last penny to make up the deficiency. This news had been confirmed, and there could be no doubt absolute ruin had fallen upon them. Mr. Renshaw had been completely overwhelmed by the tidings, and had taken to his bed. Wilfrid's holidays had begun a few days before, and his mother at once acquainted him with the misfortune that had befallen them, and she now told him that the calls that would be made upon the shares would more than swallow up the rest of their fortune. "There will be absolutely nothing remaining, Wilfrid, except a thousand pounds that I had at my marriage, and which were fortunately settled upon me. This cannot be touched. Everything else will have to go." "Well, it's a bad business, mother. I will go for a walk and think it over. Marion, put on your hat and come out with me." They had been for their walk--a long one, and he was now expressing the result at which they had arrived. "One thing is certain--something has got to be done." "Yes," Mrs. Renshaw replied with a faint smile. "The question is, What is it?" "Well, mother, it is quite certain that we four cannot live on the interest of a thousand pounds unless we go into a hovel and live on bread and water." "I quite see that, Wilfrid; but I am sure I do not see how we are to earn money. It is far too late for your father to go back to the bar now, and it might be years before he got a brief. At any rate, we could not afford to live in London till he does so. I have been thinking I might open a little school somewhere." [Illustration: Sketch Map of WAIROA AND POVERTY BAY DISTRICTS NORTH ISLAND, NEW ZEALAND] The boy waved his hand. "No, mother, you are not going to take us all on to your shoulders. You have got to look after father; that will be a full share of the work, I am sure. Marion and I have been talking it over, and the only possible thing we can see is for us to emigrate." "To emigrate!" Mrs. Renshaw repeated in astonishment. "Why, my dear boy, what should we be fit for in the colonies more than here?" "A good deal, mother. A thousand pounds is nothing here, and it would be a good deal out there. It would be horrible to come down to live in a little cottage like working people here, after living like this; but it would be nothing out there. We could buy land for next to nothing in New Zealand, and could employ a couple of men to work with me to clear it and cultivate it; and get a few cows and sheep to start with, and still have a little money in hand. You and Marion could look after things indoors; I should look after things out of doors." "You don't seem to count your father at all," Mrs. Renshaw said a little reproachfully. "No, mother, I don't," Wilfrid said bluntly. "You know as well as I do that father would be of no use to speak of in a life like that. Still, I think he could make himself happy out there as well as here. He could take all his books with him, and could inquire into the manners and customs of the natives, who are every bit as good as the ancient Britons; better, I should say. But whatever we do, mother, whether it is here or anywhere else, we must settle upon it and do it. Of course we must consult him; but we must quite make up our minds before we do so. If you wait a few weeks for father to make up his mind what we had better do, we shall wait till this thousand pounds is spent and there is nothing to do but to go into the workhouse. "I am sure that my plan is the best for us. I am as strong as a great many men; and anyhow, out there, there ought to be no fear about our keeping ourselves. I have no doubt that when we get out there father will be able to help in many ways, though I do not know at present what they are. Anyhow, we shall have a house to live in, even if it is only a log hut, and I have no doubt have plenty to eat and drink; and that is more than we shall do if we stay here. I could not earn anything to speak of here: the most I could expect to get would be ten shillings a week as an office-boy. And as to your idea of a school, you might be years before you got pupils; and, besides, when there are two men in a family it would be shameful to depend upon a woman to keep them." "Why do you think of New Zealand more than Canada, Wil?" "Because, in the first place, the climate is a great deal pleasanter, and, in the second place, I believe that as the passage-money is higher the emigrants are of a better class, and we are likely to have more pleasant neighbours--people that you and father can associate with--than we should have if we went to a backwood clearing in Canada. Tom Fairfax has an uncle in New Zealand, and I have heard him say there are lots of officers in the army and people of that sort who have settled there. Of course I know it is going to be hard work, and that it will be very rough for you and father when we land at first, but I expect it will be better after a time; and anyhow, mother, I do not think we can starve there, and I feel sure that it will come to that if we stop here. At any rate, you had better think it over. "Of course if you hit on anything better I shall be ready to agree at once; but whatever it is we must quite make up our minds together and then tell father. But when we do tell him we shall have to say that we are quite convinced that the plan we have fixed on is the only one that offers a hope of success. Of course I do not expect that he will see it as we do, but if we put it that if he can suggest anything better to be done we will set about it at once, I think he's pretty certain to let things go on as we arrange. I do not mean to speak disrespectfully of father," he went on seeing that his mother's face was a little clouded "but you know, mother, that people who are learned, scientific, and all that sort of thing are very often bad hands at everyday matters. Sir Isaac Newton, and lots of other fellows I have read about, were like that; and though father is a splendid hand at anything to do with the Britons or Danes, and can tell you the story of every old ruin in the kingdom, he is no good about practical matters. So that we take all the trouble off his hands, I think he will be quite ready to agree to do whatever you think is the best. At any rate, mother, I think my plan is well worth thinking over, and the sooner we make up our minds the better; after all it is a great thing having something to look forward to and plan about." Three or four days later Mrs. Renshaw told Wilfrid that think as she would she could see no better plan for utilizing her little capital than for them to emigrate. "It is putting great responsibility on your shoulders, my boy," she said; "for I do not disguise from myself that it is upon you that we must principally depend. Still you will be sixteen by the time we can arrive there, and I think we should be able to manage. Besides, as you say, we can hire a man or two to help, and shall have some money to fall back upon until things begin to pay. There are plenty of women who manage even without the assistance of a son, and I do not know why I should not be able to get on with you and Marion to help me, especially as farming is a comparatively simple business, in a new country. At any rate, as you say, with two or three cows and plenty of ducks and hens, and what we can grow on the ground, there will be no fear of our starving." The next day Mr. Renshaw came downstairs for the first time since he had heard of the misfortune. He had received a letter that morning saying that a call was at once to be made on each shareholder for the amount still standing on each share, and this sum was in itself more than he could meet even after the sale of his house and its contents. He was in a state of profound depression. He had, while upstairs, been endeavouring to think of some means of supporting his family, but had been wholly unable to think of any plan whatever. He knew that at his age he should find it next to impossible to obtain employment, even as a clerk at the lowest salary; his knowledge of archæology would be absolutely useless to him, for the books he had already published had not even paid the expenses of printing. Few words were spoken at breakfast, but when the meal was finished Mrs. Renshaw began: "My dear Alfred, Wilfrid and I have been talking over what we had better do under the circumstances. I have told him that the failure of the bank involves the loss of all our property, that the house will have to be sold, and that, in fact, there remains nothing but the thousand pounds of my settlement. We have talked it over in every light, and have quite arrived at the conclusion as to what we think the best thing to be done if you see matters in the same light and will consent to our plan. I had at first thought of starting a little school." "I would never agree to that," Mr. Renshaw said; "never. I must do something, my dear, though I have not made up my mind in what direction. But whatever it is, it is for me to work, and not for you." "Well, we have already given up the idea," Mrs. Renshaw went on. "Wilfrid was sure that you would not like it, and, as he pointed out, the money might be spent before I could obtain sufficient pupils to pay. Besides, he is anxious to be of use; but the difficulty struck us of obtaining any kind of remunerative work here." "That is what I have been thinking," Mr. Renshaw said. "I shall be willing to work at anything in my power, but I don't see what possible work I can get." "Quite so, my dear. In this country it is of course terribly difficult for anyone to get employment unless he has been trained in some particular line, therefore Wil and I are agreed that the very best plan, indeed the only plan we can think of, is for us to go out to a new country. My little money will take us to New Zealand, buy a good-sized piece of land there, and suffice to enable us to clear it and stock it to some extent. The life will no doubt be rough for us all for a time; but none of us will care for that, and at any rate we are sure to be able to keep the wolf from the door." "To New Zealand!" Mr. Renshaw repeated aghast. "That is a terrible undertaking. Besides, I know nothing whatever about farming, and I fear that I am quite unfit for hard work." "I do not think it will be at all necessary for you to work yourself, Alfred. Of course we can hire men there just as we can in England. I believe the natives are willing to work at very low rates of pay, so we need have no difficulty on that score. Wilfrid is growing up now, and will soon be able to relieve you of all responsibility, and then you will be able to devote yourself to your favourite studies; and I should think that a book from your hand upon native manners and customs would be sure to be a great success. Accustomed as you are to tracing things up from small remains, and with your knowledge of primitive peoples, your work would be very different from those written by men without any previous acquaintance with such matters." "The idea certainly pleases me," Mr. Renshaw said; "but, of course, I shall want time to think over your startling proposal, Helen." "Of course, my dear. In the meantime we will go on packing up and preparing to move at once from here, as you say that there must be a sale of everything; then you can think the matter over, and if you decide upon any better scheme than ours we can carry that out. If not, we shall be ready to put ours into execution." The next month was a busy one. There was great sympathy evinced by all the Renshaw's neighbours and acquaintances when it was heard that their whole fortune was swept away by the failure of the bank. There were farewell visits to be paid, not only to these, but to their poorer neighbours. In answer to inquiries as to their plans, Mr. Renshaw always replied that at present nothing whatever was settled. Mrs. Renshaw hinted that, although their plans were not definitely fixed, she thought it probable that they would go abroad; while Wilfrid and Marion both informed their friends confidently that they were going to New Zealand. The work of packing went on. A few articles of furniture that were special favourites with them all were packed up and sent to be warehoused in London, in order that they might some day be forwarded to them when they had made themselves a home; but nothing else was taken beyond their clothes, a good selection of books for their general reading, a large box of those which Mr. Renshaw declared absolutely indispensable to himself, and a few nick-nacks specially prized. Everything else was handed over for sale for the benefit of the creditors of the bank. During these weeks Mr. Renshaw continued to speak as if he regarded the New Zealand project as wholly impracticable, and on each occasion when he did so his wife replied cheerfully: "Well, my dear, we are in no way wedded to it, and are quite ready to give it up and adopt any plan you may decide upon. The matter is entirely in your hands." But Mr. Renshaw could hit upon no other scheme; and, indeed, his wife's suggestion as to a book on the natives of New Zealand had much taken his fancy. Certainly he, a trained antiquarian, should be able to produce a book upon such a subject that would be of vastly greater value than those written by settlers and others having no training whatever that would qualify them for such work. It was probable that he should be able to throw some entirely new light upon the origin and history of the Maoris or natives of New Zealand, and that his book would greatly add to his reputation, and would sell well. Really the idea was not such a very bad one, and, for himself, he should certainly prefer a life in a new country to shabby lodgings in some out-of-the-way place, after having for so many years been a personage of importance in his own neighbourhood. "I see one great objection to your scheme, Helen, and that is that there is a war going on with the Maoris." "I know there is," Mrs. Renshaw, who had talked the matter over with Wilfrid, replied; "but it is confined to two or three of the tribes, and the settlers in other parts have been in no way disturbed. The troops have taken most of their strongholds, and the troubles are considered to be approaching an end; therefore I do not think there is any occasion to be uneasy on that score. Besides, in some respects the trouble will be advantageous, as we should probably be able to buy land cheaper than we otherwise should have done, and the land will rapidly rise in value again when the disturbances are over. But, of course, we should not go to the disturbed districts. These are round Auckland and New Plymouth, and the troubles are confined to the tribes there. Everything is perfectly peaceable along the other parts of the coast." It was not until two or three days before the move was to be made from the house that Mrs. Renshaw recurred to the subject. "You have not said yet, Alfred, what plans you have decided upon. As we shall leave here in three days it is quite time that we made up our minds about it, as, of course, our movements must depend on your decision. If you have fixed upon any place for us to settle down in, it would be cheaper for us to move there at once instead of wasting money by going up to London first. Another reason I have for asking is, that Robert and William Grimstone, the gardener's sons, who have got an idea from something Wilfrid said to them that we might be going abroad, have asked him to ask you if you would take them with you. They have been working in the garden under their father for the last two or three years, and are strong active young fellows of nineteen and twenty. As their father has worked here ever since we came, and we have known the young fellows since they were children, such an arrangement would have been a very pleasant one had you liked my plan of emigrating, as it would have been much more agreeable having two young fellows we knew with us instead of strangers. Of course I told Wilfrid to tell them that nothing whatever was settled, and that our plans were not in any way formed, and that they had better, therefore, look out for situations about here, and that I was sure you would give them good letters of recommendation." Mr. Renshaw was silent. "I really do not see that there is any occasion to come to a decision in a hurry," he said irritably. "Not in a hurry, Alfred," his wife said quietly. "You see, we have had a month to think it over, and I do not see that we shall be more likely to settle upon an advantageous scheme at the end of six months than we are now. From the day we leave here and hand over everything to the receiver of the bank we shall be drawing on our little capital, and every pound is of importance. I think, therefore, Alfred, that you and I should make up our minds before we leave here as to what course we are going to adopt. As I have said, I myself see no scheme by which we are likely to be able to maintain ourselves in England, even in a very humble way. A life in the colonies would, to me, be very much more pleasant than the struggle to make ends meet here. "It would afford an opening for Wilfrid, and be vastly more advantageous for him than anything we should hope to get for him here; and I think it will be far better for Marion too. Of course, if we decided to emigrate, we could, should you prefer it, go to Canada, Australia, or the United States in preference to New Zealand. I only incline to New Zealand because I have heard that there is a larger proportion of officers and gentlemen there than in other colonies, and because I believe that the climate is a particularly pleasant one. But, of course, this is merely a suggestion at present, and it is for you to decide." "If we are to emigrate at all," Mr. Renshaw replied, "I should certainly prefer New Zealand myself. The Maoris are a most interesting people. Their origin is a matter of doubt, their customs and religion are peculiar, and I have no doubt that I should, after studying them, be able to throw much new and valuable light upon the subject. Personally, I am sure that I am in no way fitted for the life of a settler. I know nothing of farming, and could neither drive a plough nor wield an axe; but if I could make the native subject my own, I might probably be able to do my share towards our expenses by my books, while Wilfrid could look after the men. The offer of these two young fellows to go with us has removed several of my objections to the plan, and I agree with you that it would be more advantageous for Wilfrid and Marion than to be living in wretched lodgings. Therefore, my dear, I have decided to fall in with your plan, and only hope that it will turn out as well as you seem to expect. It will be a great change and a great trial; but since you seem to have set your heart upon it, I am willing to adopt your plans instead of my own, and we will therefore consider it settled that we will go to New Zealand." Mrs. Renshaw was too wise a woman to point out that her husband had not, so far as she was aware, any plans whatever of his own, and she contented herself by saying quietly: "I am glad you have decided so, my dear. I do think it is the best thing for us all, and I am quite sure it is the best for Wilfrid and Marion. If it had not been for them I should have said let us take a tiny cottage near some town where I might add to our income by giving lessons in music or other things, and you might have the companionship of people of your own tastes; but, being as it is, I think it far better to give them a start in a new country, although I know that such a life as we shall lead there must entail, at any rate at first, some hardships, and the loss of much to which we have been accustomed." Wilfrid and Marion were delighted when they heard from their mother that the matter was settled. Both had had great hopes that Wilfrid's scheme would be finally accepted, as there did not seem any other plan that was possible. Still Wilfrid knew the difficulty that his father would have in making up his mind, and feared there might be a long delay before he could bring himself to accept the plan proposed to him. Mrs. Renshaw, who was a good business woman, lost no time in arranging with Robert and William Grimstone as to their accompanying them. Their passage-money was to be paid, and they were to bind themselves to remain for three years in Mr. Renshaw's service on wages similar to those they would have obtained at home; after that, they were to be paid whatever might be the colonial rate of wages. The excitement that the prospect of emigration caused to the young people lessened their pain at leaving the house where they had been born and brought up, with all its pleasant associations and material comforts. It was, however, very trying to them when they bade good-bye for the last time to their surroundings and shook hands with their old servants. "If ever we get rich in New Zealand, father," Wilfrid said, "we will come back and buy the house again." Mr. Renshaw shook his head. Just at present he was disposed to regard himself as a martyr, and considered that he had made an unprecedented sacrifice of his own wishes and comforts for the sake of his children, and that no good could be expected to arise from the plan to which he had consented. A good many friends had gathered at the station to say good-bye, and it was some time after the train had started on its way to London before any of the party felt themselves inclined to speak. On arriving in town they went at once to lodgings they had engaged in Eastbourne Terrace, facing the station. Once settled there, no time was lost in making preparations for their voyage. The files of the advertisements had already been searched and the names of the vessels sailing for New Zealand and the addresses of their owners noted, and after paying a visit to several shipping offices the choice of vessels remained at last between the _Flying Scud_ and the _Mayflower_. They were vessels of about the same size, both bore a good reputation as sailers, and they heard excellent accounts of the captains who commanded them. The _Mayflower_ was to sail direct to Wellington round the Cape. The _Flying Scud_ was taking in cargo for Rio and Buenos-Ayres, and would proceed thence via Cape Horn. Her rates of passage were somewhat lower than those of the _Mayflower_, as the route via the Cape of Good Hope was that more generally used, and the number of passengers who had secured berths by her were very much smaller than those who intended to travel by the _Mayflower_. It was this that principally decided them in choosing the western route; Mr. Renshaw was in a depressed and nervous state, and his wife considered that he would be far more comfortable with a comparatively small number of fellow-passengers than in a crowded ship. Marion quite agreed with her mother; and Wilfrid was also in favour of the _Flying Scud_, as he thought it would be pleasant to break the passage by putting into the great South American ports and getting a glimpse of their inhabitants. Mr. Renshaw himself was quite satisfied to accept his wife's decision, whatever it might be. The _Flying Scud_ was therefore selected, and passages for the party secured in her. CHAPTER II. THE EMBARKATION. The _Flying Scud_ was to sail in ten days; and this was ample time for their preparations, for Mrs. Renshaw wisely decided that it was better to buy all that was requisite for starting their new life, in New Zealand. "We have none of us the least idea what will be required," she said. "It will be far better to pay somewhat higher prices for what we really do want out there than to cumber ourselves with all sorts of things that may be useless to us. We have already a considerable amount of baggage. There are our clothes, linen, and books, your father's two double-barrelled guns, which, by the way, I do not think he has ever used since we have been married. The only thing we had better get, as far as I see, will be four rifles, which no doubt we can buy cheap second-hand, and four revolvers. "I do not for a moment suppose we shall ever want to use them, but as we may be often left in the house alone I think it would be pleasant to know that we are not altogether defenceless. We had better lay in a good stock of ammunition for all these weapons. Besides the clothes we have we had better get serge dresses and suits for the voyage, and a few strong servicable gowns and suits for rough work out there. Beyond this I do not think that we need spend a penny. We can certainly get everything we shall want for our new life at Wellington, which is a large place." On the morning of the day on which they were to embark the Grimstones came up from Reading. All the heavy luggage had been sent on board ship on the previous day, and at twelve o'clock two cabs drove up to the side of the _Flying Scud_ in St. Catherine's Docks. The one contained Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw, Marion, and a vast quantity of small packets inside. Wilfrid was on the box with the driver, and the roof was piled high with luggage. The other cab contained the two Grimstones and the rest of the luggage. The Renshaws were already acquainted with the ship in which they were to sail, having paid her a visit four days previously to see their cabins. The parents had a comfortable cabin to themselves. Marion was berthed in a cabin with two other ladies, who, she learned, were sisters, the elder about her own age, and Wilfrid found he would have but one fellow-passenger. The Grimstones were in the steerage forward. The vessel was in a state of bustle, and what to the travellers seemed confusion. Numbers of other passengers were arriving, and the deck was littered with, their luggage until it could be sorted and sent down to their cabins; late cargo was being swung on board and lowered into the hold. On the deck aft were gathered the cabin passengers, with relatives and friends who had come to see them off. An hour later the bell rang as a signal for all visitors to go ashore. There were sad partings both fore and aft as the bell clanged out its impatient signal. "I am very glad, mother, that we have no friends to say good-bye to us here, and that we got that all over at Reading." "So am I, Wil. I think it much better myself that these partings should be got through before people leave home. It is natural of course that relatives and friends should like to see the last of each other, but I think it is a cruel kindness, and am glad, as you say, that we had no dear friends in London. Those at home have already shown their thoughtfulness and friendship." For indeed during the last few days hampers of presents of all kinds had arrived in a steady flow at Eastbourne Terrace. There had been great feeling of commiseration among all their acquaintances at the misfortune that had befallen the Renshaws; and the manner in which they had at once surrendered everything for the benefit of the shareholders of the bank, and the calmness with which they had borne their reverses, had excited admiration, and scarce a friend or acquaintance but sent substantial tokens of their good-will or sympathy. As soon as it was publicly known that the Renshaws were about to sail for New Zealand, the boys and masters of the grammar-school between them subscribed and sent a handsome double-barrelled gun, a fishing-rod, and all appurtenances, to Wilfrid. Mr. Renshaw received two guns, several fishing-rods, two crates of crockery, and several cases of portable furniture of various kinds, besides many small articles. Mrs. Renshaw was presented with a stove of the best construction and a crate full of utensils of every kind, while Marion had work-boxes and desks sufficient to stock a school, two sets of garden tools, and innumerable nick-nacks likely to be more or less useful to her in her new life. Besides these there were several boxes of books of standard literature. "Every one is very kind," Mrs. Renshaw said as the crates and hampers arrived; "but if it goes on like this we shall have to charter a ship to ourselves, and how we are to move about there when we get out with all these things I have not the least idea." At last the good-byes were all finished, the visitors had left the ship, the hawsers were thrown off, and the vessel began to move slowly towards the dock gates. As soon as she had issued through these she was seized by a tug, and proceeded in tow down the crowded river. There was a last waving of handkerchiefs and hats to the group of people standing at the entrance to the docks, and then the passengers began to look round and examine each other and the ship. Sailors were hard at work--the last bales and boxes were being lowered into the hold, ropes were being coiled up, and tidiness restored to the deck. Parties of seamen were aloft loosening some of the sails, for the wind was favourable, and the captain had ordered some of the canvas to be set to assist the tug. "Now, Marion," Mrs. Renshaw said, "we had better go below and tidy up things a bit. Wil, you may as well come down and help me get the trunks stowed away under the berths, and put some hooks in for the brush-bags and other things we have brought; the hooks and gimlet are in my hand-bag." Wilfrid assisted to set his mother's cabin in order, and then went to his own. It was a good-sized cabin, and when the ship was full accommodated four passengers; but the two upper bunks had now been taken down, and there was, Wilfrid thought, ample room for two. On his own bunk were piled his two portmanteaus, a gun-case, a bundle of fishing-rods, and other odds and ends, and a somewhat similar collection of luggage was on that opposite. Wilfred read the name on the labels. "Atherton," he said; "I wonder what he is like. I do hope he will be a nice fellow." Scarcely had the thought passed through his mind when a figure appeared at the cabin door. It was that of a tall stout man, with immensely broad shoulders. His age Wilfrid guessed to be about thirty-five. He had a pleasant face, and there was a humorous twinkle in his eye as the lad looked round in astonishment at the figure completely blocking up the doorway. "So you are Renshaw?" the big man said. "I congratulate myself and you that your dimensions are not of the largest. My name is Atherton, as I daresay you have seen on my luggage. Suppose we shake hands, Renshaw? It is just as well to make friends at once, as we have got to put up with each other for the next five or six months. Of course you are a little appalled at my size," he went on, as he shook hands with the lad. "Most people are at first, but nobody is so much appalled as I am myself. Still it has its amusing side, you know. I don't often get into an omnibus, because I do not think it is fair; but if I am driven to do so, and there happen to be five people on each side, the expression of alarm on those ten faces when I appear at the door is a picture, because it is manifestly impossible that they can make room for me on either side." "What do you do, sir?" Wilfrid asked laughing. "I ask one of them to change sides. That leaves two places vacant, and as I make a point of paying for two, we get on comfortably enough. It is fortunate there are only two of us in this cabin. If I have the bad luck to travel in a full ship I always wait until the others are in bed before I turn in, and get up in the morning before they are astir; but I think you and I can manage pretty comfortably." "Then you have travelled a good deal, sir?" Wilfrid said. "I am always travelling," the other replied. "I am like the fidgetty Phil of the story-book, who could never keep still. Most men of my size are content to take life quietly, but that is not so with me. For the last twelve or thirteen years I have been always on the move, and I ought to be worn down to a thread paper; but unfortunately, as you see, that is not the effect of travel in my case. I suppose you are going out to settle?" "Yes, sir. I have my father, mother, and sister on board." "Lucky fellow!" Mr. Atherton said; "I have no relations worth speaking of." "Are you going to settle at last, sir?" Wilfrid asked. "No, I am going out to botanize. I have a mania for botany, and New Zealand, you know, is in that respect one of the most remarkable regions in the world, and it has not yet been explored with anything approaching accuracy. It is a grand field for discovery, and there are special points of interest connected with it, as it forms a sort of connecting link between the floras of Australia, Asia, and South America, and has a flora of its own entirely distinct from any of these. Now let me advise you as to the stowing away of your traps. There is a good deal of knack in these things. Have you got your portmanteaus packed so that one contains all the things you are likely to require for say the first month of your voyage, and the other as a reserve to be drawn on occasionally? because, if not, I should advise you to take all the things out and to arrange them in that way. It will take you a little time, perhaps, but will save an immense amount of trouble throughout the voyage." Wilfrid had packed his trunks with things as they came to hand, but he saw the advantage of following his fellow-passenger's advice, and accordingly opened his portmanteaus and piled the whole of their contents upon his berth. He then repacked them, Mr. Atherton sitting down on his berth and giving his advice as to the trunk in which each article should be placed. The work of rearrangement occupied half-an-hour, and Wilfrid often congratulated himself during the voyage upon the time so spent. When all was complete and the cabin arranged tidily, Wilfrid looked in at the next cabin. This was occupied by two young men of the name of Allen. They were friends of an acquaintance of Mr. Renshaw, who, hearing that they were journeying by the same ship to New Zealand, had brought them down to Eastbourne Terrace and introduced them to Mr. Renshaw and his family. The two were occupied in arranging their things in the cabin. "Well, Renshaw," James, the elder of them, said when he entered, "I am afraid I cannot congratulate you on your fellow-passenger. We saw him go into your cabin. He is a tremendous man. He would be magnificent if he were not so stout. Why, you will scarce find room to move!" "He is a capital fellow," Wilfrid said. "I think we shall get on splendidly together. He is full of fun, and makes all sorts of jokes about his own size. He has travelled a tremendous lot, and is up to everything. He is nothing like so old as you would think, if you have not seen his face. I do not think he is above thirty-five or so. Well, as I see you have just finished, I will go up and see how we are getting on." When Wilfrid reached the deck he found the vessel was off Erith, and was greeted by his sister. "You silly boy, you have been missing the sight of all the shipping, and of Greenwich Hospital. The idea of stopping below all this time. I should have come to call you up if I had known which was your room." "Cabin, you goose!" Wilfrid said; "the idea of talking of rooms on board a ship. I would have come up if I had thought of it; but I was so busy putting things to right and making the acquaintance of the gentleman in the cabin with me that I forgot altogether we were moving down the river." "Which is he, Wilfrid?" Wilfrid laughed and nodded in the direction of Mr. Atherton, who was standing with his back towards them a short distance away. Marion's eyes opened wide. "Oh, Wil, what a big man! He must quite fill up the cabin." "He seems an awfully good fellow, Marion." "I daresay he may be, Wil; but he will certainly take up more than his share of the cabin." "It is awkward, isn't it, young lady?" Mr. Atherton said, suddenly turning round on his heel, to Marion's horror, while Wilfrid flushed scarlet, for he had not the least idea that his words could be heard. "I have capital hearing, you see," Mr. Atherton went on with a laugh, "and a very useful sense it is sometimes, and has stood me in good service upon many occasions, though I own that it effectually prevents my cherishing any illusion as to my personal appearance. This is your sister, of course, Renshaw; in fact, anyone could see that at a glance. There is nothing like making acquaintances early on the voyage; the first day is in that respect the most important of all." "Why is that?" Marion asked. "Because as a rule the order in which people sit down to table on the first day of the voyage is that in which they sit the whole time. Now, if one happens to sit one's self down by people who turn out disagreeable it is a very great nuisance, and therefore it is very important to find out a little about one's fellow-passengers the first day, so as to take a seat next to someone whom you are not likely to quarrel with before you have been a week at sea." "Then they do not arrange places for you, Mr. Atherton?" "Oh no; the captain perhaps settles as to who are to sit up by him. If there is anyone of special importance, a governor or vice-governor or any other big-wig, he and his wife, if he has got one, will probably sit next to the captain on one side, if not, he will choose someone who has been specially introduced to him or who has sailed with him before, and the steward, before the party sit down, puts their names on their plates; everyone else shifts for themselves. Renshaw, I shall be glad if you will introduce me to your father and mother, and if we get on well I will go down below and arrange that we get places together. I have been chatting with the first officer, who is a very pleasant fellow; I have sailed with him before. The rule is he sits at the end of the table facing the captain, and my experience is that when the first officer happens to be a good fellow, which is not always the case, his end of the table is the most pleasant place. There is generally more fun and laughing at that end than there is at the other; for all the people who fancy that they are of importance make a point of getting seats as near as they can to the captain, and important people are not, as a rule, anything like as pleasant as the rest of us." Wilfrid walked across the deck with Mr. Atherton to the point where his father and mother were sitting. "Mother, this is Mr. Atherton, who is in my cabin." Mr. Atherton shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw. "I asked your son to introduce me at once, Mrs. Renshaw, because, as I have been telling him, a good deal of the comfort of the voyage depends upon making a snug little party to sit together at meals. There is nothing I dread more than being put down between two acidulated women, who make a point of showing by their manner every time one sits down that they consider one is taking up a great deal more than one's share of the seat." Mrs. Renshaw smiled. "I should think people were not often as rude as that." "I can assure you that it is the rule rather than the exception, Mrs. Renshaw. I am not a particularly sensitive man, I think; but I make a point of avoiding crowded railway-carriages, being unable to withstand the expression of blank dismay that comes over the faces of people when I present myself at the door. I have thought sometimes of hiring a little boy of about four years old to go about with me, as the two of us would then only take up a fair share of space. I have been looking to the cabin arrangements, and find that each seat holds three. Your son and daughter are neither of them bulky, so if they won't mind sitting a little close they will be conferring a genuine kindness upon me." "We shall not mind at all," Wilfrid and Marion exclaimed together, for there was something so pleasant about Mr. Atherton's manner they felt that he would be a delightful companion. "Very well, then; we will regard that as settled. Then we five will occupy the seats on one side of the chief officer." "We will get the two Allens opposite," Wilfrid put in. "I will look about for three others to make up what I may call our party. Who do you fancy, Mrs. Renshaw? Now look round and fix on somebody, and I will undertake the duty of engineering the business." "There are two girls, sisters, in my cabin," Marion said. "I think they seem nice. They are going out alone to join their father and mother in New Zealand." "In that case, Mrs. Renshaw, I had better leave the matter in your hands." "That will be very simple, Mr. Atherton, as I have already spoken to them," and she at once got up and moved across to two girls of about thirteen and seventeen respectively, who were standing together watching the passing ships, and entered into conversation with them. When she proposed that, as they were in the same cabin with Marion, they should sit near each other at table, they gladly agreed, saying, however, that they had been placed under the special care of the captain, and as he had said that he would keep them under his eye, they were afraid he might want them to sit near him. "I will speak to the captain myself," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I daresay he will be rather glad to have the responsibility taken off his hands, especially if I propose, which I will if you like, to take you under my general charge." "Oh, we should like that very much," the elder of the two girls said. "It seems so very strange to us being here among so many people without any lady with us. We should be so much obliged to you if you would take us under your wing." "I can quite understand your feelings, my dears, and will speak to the captain directly. I see that he is disengaged. If we were under sail there would not be much chance of getting a word with him; but as the tug has us in charge, I see that he has time to chat to the passengers." A few minutes later the captain left the gentleman with whom he was speaking and came along the deck. The Renshaws had made his acquaintance when they first came down to see their cabins. "How are you, Mrs. Renshaw?" he said as he came up to her. "We have fine weather for our start, have we not? It is a great thing starting fair, as it enables people to settle down and make themselves at home." "I have been chatting with the Miss Mitfords, captain; they are in the cabin with my daughter. They tell me that they are under your special charge." "Yes, they are among the number of my responsibilities," the captain said smiling. "They naturally feel rather lonely on board from having no lady with them, and have expressed their willingness to put themselves under my charge if you will sanction it. It will be pleasant both for them and my daughter, and they can sit down with us at meals, and make a party together to work or read on deck." "I shall be extremely glad, Mrs. Renshaw, if you will accept the responsibility. A captain's hands are full enough without having to look after women. There are four or five single ladies on board, on all of whom I have promised to keep a watchful eye, and I shall be delighted to be relieved of the responsibility of two of them." So the matter was arranged, and going down into the cabin a few minutes before the bell rang for dinner, the party succeeded in getting the places they desired. Mr. Atherton was next to the chief officer. Wilfrid sat next to him, Marion between her brother and Mrs. Renshaw, and Mr. Renshaw next. The two Allens faced Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid; the Miss Mitfords came next, facing Marion and her mother. A Captain Pearson and his wife were next to the Mitfords, while a civil engineer, Mr. Halbrook, occupied the vacant seat next to Mr. Renshaw. Once seated, the Renshaws speedily congratulated themselves on the arrangements that they had made as they saw the hesitating way in which the rest of the passengers took their places, and the looks of inquiry and doubt they cast at those who seated themselves next to them. For a time the meal was a silent one, friends talking together in low voices, but nothing like a general conversation being attempted. At the first officers' end of the table, however, the sound of conversation and laughter began at once. "Have you room, Miss Renshaw? or do you already begin to regret your bargain?" "I have plenty of room, thank you," Marion replied. "I hope that you have enough?" "Plenty," Mr. Atherton answered. "I have just been telling your brother that if he finds I am squeezing him he must run his elbow into my ribs. Let me see, Mr. Ryan; it must be three years since we sat together." "Just about that," the mate replied with a strong Irish accent. "You went with us from Japan to Singapore, did you not?" "That was it, and a rough bout we had of it in that cyclone in the China Seas. You remember that I saved the ship then?" "How was that, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked. The first officer laughed. "Mr. Atherton always took a deal more credit to himself than we gave him. When the cyclone struck the ship and knocked her right down on her beam-ends, he happened to be sitting up to windward, and he always declared that if it hadn't been for his weight the ship would never have righted itself." There was a general laugh at the mate's explanation. "I always plant myself to windward in a gale," Mr. Atherton said gravely. "Shifting ballast is a most useful thing, although they have abolished it in yacht-racing. I was once in a canoe, down by Borneo, when a heavy squall struck us. I was sitting in the bottom of the boat when we saw it coming, and had just time to get up and sit on the weather gunwale when it struck us. If it had not been for me nothing could have saved the boat from capsizing. As it was it stood up as stiff as a rock, though, I own, I nearly drowned them all when the blow was over, for it stopped as suddenly as it began, and the boat as nearly as possible capsized with my weight. Indeed it would have done so altogether if it hadn't heeled over so sharply that I was chucked backwards into the sea. Fortunately the helmsman made a grab at me as I went past, and I managed to scramble on board again. Not that I should have sunk for I can float like a cork; but there are a good many sharks cruising about in those waters, and it is safer inside a boat than it is out. You see, Miss Renshaw, there are advantages in being stout. I should not wonder if your brother got just my size one day. My figure was very much like his once." "Oh, I hope not!" Marion exclaimed. "That would be dreadful! No; I don't mean that," she went on hurriedly as Mr. Atherton's face assumed an expression of shocked surprise. "I mean that, although of course there may be many advantages in being stout, there are advantages in being thin too." "I admit that," Mr. Atherton agreed; "but look at the disadvantages. A stout man escapes being sent trotted about on messages. Nobody would think of asking him to climb a ladder. He is not expected to dance. The thin man is squeezed into any odd corner; and is not treated with half the consideration that is given to a fat man. He worries about trifles, and has none of the quiet contentment that characterizes stout people. A stout man's food always agrees with him, or else he would not be stout; while the thin man suffers indigestion, dyspepsia, and perhaps jaundice. You see, my dear young lady, that almost all the advantages are on our side. Of course you will say I could not climb a ladder, but then I do not want to climb a ladder. I could not make the ascent of Matterhorn; but it is much more pleasant to sit at the bottom and see fools do it. I could not very well ride a horse unless it were a dray-horse; but then I have no partiality for horse exercise. Altogether I think I have every reason to be content. I can travel wherever I like, see whatever I want to see, and enjoy most of the good things of life." "And hould your own in a scrimmage," Mr. Ryan put in laughing. "I can answer for that." "If I am pushed to it," Mr. Atherton said modestly, "of course I try to do my best." "Have you seen Mr. Atherton in a scrimmage?" Tom Allen asked the mate. "I have; and a sharp one it was while it lasted." "There is no occasion to say anything about it, Ryan," Mr. Atherton said hastily. "But no reason in life why I should not," the mate replied. "What do you say, ladies and gentleman?" There was a chorus of "Go on please, do let us hear about it," and he continued: "I don't give Mr. Atherton the credit of saving our ship in the squall, but it would have gone badly with us if he hadn't taken part in the row we had. You see, we had a mixed crew on board, for the most part Chinamen and a few Lascars; for we were three years in the China Seas, and English sailors cannot well stand the heat out there, and besides don't like remaining in ships stopping there trading. So when, after we arrived at Shanghai, we got orders to stop and trade out there, most of them took their discharge, and we filled up with natives. Coming down from Japan that voyage there was a row. I forget what their pretext was now, but I have no doubt it was an arranged thing, and that they intended to take the ship and run her ashore on some of the islands, take what they fancied out of her, and make off in boats, or perhaps take her into one of those nests of pirates that abound among the islands. "They felt so certain of overpowering us, for there were only the three officers, the boatswain, and two cabin passengers, that instead of rising by night, when they would no doubt have succeeded, they broke into mutiny at dinner-time--came aft in a body, clamouring that their food was unfit to eat. Then suddenly drawing weapons from beneath their clothes they rushed up the gangways on to the poop; and as none of us were armed, and had no idea of what was going to take place, they would have cut us down almost without resistance had it not been for our friend here. He was standing just at the top of the poop ladder when they came up, headed by their seraing. Mr. Atherton knocked the scoundrel down with a blow of his fist, and then, catching him by the ankles, whirled him round his head like a club and knocked the fellows down like ninepins as they swarmed up the gangway, armed with knives and creases. "The captain, who was down below, had slammed and fastened the door opening on to the waist on seeing the fellows coming aft, and handed up to us through the skylight some loaded muskets, and managed, by standing on the table and taking our hands, to get up himself. Then we opened fire upon them, and in a very few minutes drove them down. We shot six of them. The seraing of course was killed, four of the others had their skulls fairly broken in by the blows that they had received, and five were knocked senseless. We chucked them down the hatchway to the others, had up four or five of the men to work the ship, and kept the rest fastened below until we got to Singapore and handed them over to the authorities. They all got long terms of penal servitude. Anyhow, Mr. Atherton saved our lives and the ship, so I think you will agree with me that he can hold his own in a scrimmage." "It was very hot work," Mr. Atherton said with a laugh, "and I did not get cool again for two or three days afterwards. The idea of using a man as a club was not my own. Belzoni put down a riot among his Arab labourers, when he was excavating ruins somewhere out in Syria, I think it was, by knocking the ringleader down and using him as a club. I had been reading the book not long before, and it flashed across my mind as the seraing went down that he might be utilized. Fists are all very well, but when you have got fellows to deal with armed with knives and other cutting instruments it is better to keep them at a distance if you can." "That was splendid!" Wilfrid exclaimed. "How I should like to have seen it!" "It was good for the eyes," the mate said; "and bate Donnybrook entirely. Such a yelling and shouting as the yellow reptiles made you never heard." By this time the meal was finished, and the passengers repaired on deck to find that the ship was just passing Sheerness. "Who would have thought," Wilfrid said to his sister as he looked at Mr. Atherton, who had taken his seat in a great Indian reclining chair he had brought for his own use, and was placidly smoking a cigar, "that that easy, placid, pleasant-looking man could be capable of such a thing as that! Shouldn't I like to have been there!" "So should I," Marion agreed; "though it must have been terrible to look at. He doesn't look as if anything would put him out. I expect Samson was something like him, only not so stout. He seems to have been very good-tempered except when people wanted to capture him; and was always ready to forgive that horrid woman who tried to betray him to his enemies. Well, everything is very nice--much nicer than I expected--and I feel sure that we shall enjoy the voyage very much." CHAPTER III THE VOYAGE. In addition to those already named, the _Flying Scud_ carried some twenty other cabin passengers. She took no emigrants forward, as she was full of cargo, and was not, moreover, going direct to New Zealand. There were therefore only three or four young men in addition to the Grimstones forward. The fine weather that had favoured the start accompanied them down the channel and across the bay. Life went on quietly on board. It was early in May when they started; and the evenings were still too chilly to permit of any sojourn on deck after sunset. Each day, however, the weather grew warmer, and by the time the vessel was off the coast of Portugal the evenings were warm and balmy. "This is not at all what I expected," Marion Renshaw said, as she sat in a deck-chair, to Mr. Atherton, who was leaning against the bulwark smoking a cigar. "I thought we were going to have storms, and that every one was going to be sea-sick. That is what it is like in all the books I have read; and I am sure that I have not felt the least bit ill from the time we started." "You have had everything in your favour. There has been just enough breeze to take us along at a fair rate with all our light canvas set, and yet not enough to cause more than a ripple on the sea. The ship has been as steady as if in port; but you must not flatter yourself this is going to last all the time. I think we shall have a change before long. The glass has fallen a little, and the wind has shifted its quarter two or three times during the day. The sky, too, does not look so settled as it has done. I think we shall have a blow before long." "What! A storm, Mr. Atherton?" "No, I don't say that; but wind enough to get up a bit of sea, and to make landsmen feel very uncomfortable." "But I suppose we should not be ill now even if it were rough, after being a week at sea?" "I do not think you would be likely to be ill so long as you might have been had you encountered a gale directly we got out of the river, but I think that if it comes on rough all those addicted to sea-sickness are likely to suffer more or less. Some people are ill every time rough weather comes along, however long the voyage. I suppose you don't know yet whether you are a good sailor or not?" Marion shook her head. "We have been at the seaside almost every year, but we have never gone out in boats much there. Papa was always too busy to go, and I don't think he likes it. Mother gets a bad headache, even if she isn't ill. So I very seldom went out, and never when it was the least rough." Mr. Atherton's predictions turned out well founded. The wind got up during the night and was blowing freshly in the morning, and only two or three of the lady passengers made their appearance at breakfast; and several of the gentlemen were also absent. Wilfrid, to his great satisfaction, felt so far no symptoms whatever of impending illness. The two Allens were obliged to keep on deck during the meal, being unable to stand the motion below; but they were well enough to enjoy the cup of tea and plate of cold meat Wilfrid carried up to them. An hour or two later they went below. The wind was rising and the sea hourly getting up. Marion came up after breakfast, and for some time afterwards walked up and down on the deck with Wilfrid enjoying the brisk air, and considering it great fun to try to walk straight up and down the swaying deck. Presently, however, her laugh became subdued and her cheeks lost their colour. "I am afraid I am going to be ill, Wilfrid; but I shall stay on deck if I can. Both the Mitfords are ill, I am sure, for neither of them got up, though they declared that they felt nothing the matter with them. I have made up my mind to stay on deck as long as I possibly can." "That is the best way," Mr. Atherton said as he joined them in their walk, and caught the last sentence. "There is nothing like keeping up as long as possible; because if you do so it will sometimes pass off after a short time, whereas if you give up and take to your berth it is sure to run its course, which is longer or shorter according to circumstances--sometimes two days and sometimes five; but I should say that people who are what you may call fair sailors generally get over it in two days, unless the weather is very bad. So fight against it as long as you can, and when you cannot bear it any longer I will wrap you up in rugs, and you shall have my great chair to curl up in close by the lee bulwark. But determination goes a long way, and you may get over it yet. You take my arm, you won't throw me off my balance; while if the vessel gives a sharper roll than usual, you and your brother may both lose your feet together." As soon as they started on their walk Mr. Atherton began an amusing story of some adventure of his in the Western States of America, and Marion was so interested that she forgot all about her uncomfortable sensation, and was astonished when on hearing the lunch-bell ring she discovered she was getting perfectly well. "Where is Wilfrid?" she asked. "There he is, leaning over the lee bulwark; the fiend of sea-sickness has him in its grip." "Only think of Wilfrid being unwell and me being all right! You have quite driven it away, Mr. Atherton, for I was feeling very poorly when I began to walk with you." "I will go down and get you some luncheon and bring it up here to you. Curl yourself up in my chair until I return, and do not think more about the motion than you can help. You had better not go near your brother--people who are ill hate being pitied." An hour later Wilfrid went below. In the evening, however, the wind dropped considerably, and the next morning the sea was sparkling in the sunlight, and the _Flying Scud_ was making her way along with a scarcely perceptible motion. Thenceforth the weather was delightful throughout the voyage to Rio. The passengers found upon closer acquaintance that they all got on well together, and the days passed away pleasantly. In the evenings the piano was brought up from the cabin on to the deck, and for two or three hours there was singing, varied by an occasional dance among the young people. From the day of their leaving England Mr. Atherton had been the leading spirit on board the ship. If a misunderstanding arose he acted as mediator. He was ever ready to propose pastimes and amusements to lighten the monotony of the voyage, took the leading part in the concerts held on deck when the evenings were calm and clear, and was full of resource and invention. With the four or five children on board he was prime favourite, and Mr. Renshaw often wondered at the patience and good temper with which he submitted to all their whims, and was ready to give up whatever he was doing to submit himself to their orders. He had, before they had been ten days at sea, talked over with Mr. Renshaw the latter's plans, and advised him upon no account to be in a hurry to snap up the first land offered to him. "Half the people who come out to the colonies," he said, "get heavily bit at first by listening to the land-agents, and allowing themselves to be persuaded into buying property which, when they come to take possession of it, is in a majority of the cases almost worthless. I should advise you when you get there to hire a house in Wellington, where you can leave your wife and daughter while you examine the various districts and see which offer the greatest advantages. If you do not feel equal to it yourself, let your son go in your place. He is, I think, a sharp young fellow, and not likely to be easily taken in. At any rate, when he has made his report as to the places that seem most suitable, you can go and see their relative advantages before purchasing. "'There is no greater mistake than buying land in a locality of which you know nothing. You may find that the roads are impracticable and that you have no means of getting your produce to market, and after a while you will be glad to sell your place for a mere song and shift to another which you might at first have obtained at a price much lower than you gave for your worthless farm. I have knocked about in the States a good deal, and have known scores of men ruined by being too hasty in making a choice. You want to be in a colony six months at least before investing your money in land, so as to know something of the capabilities and advantages of each district. To a young man I should say--travel about in the colony, working your way, and making a stay of a month here and a month there. Of course in your case this is out of the question; but a personal examination of the places offered to you, which in nine cases out of ten men are ready to sell for less than they have cost them, will ensure you against absolute swindling." "What are you going to do yourself, Mr. Atherton?" "I have come out simply to study the botany of the island. I may stay in the colony for a month or for a year. At any rate, if you depute Wilfrid to travel about to examine the various districts where land can be bought, I shall be glad to accompany him, as I myself shall also be on the look-out." "You are not thinking of farming, Mr. Atherton?" "No. My own idea is to take a bit of land on one of the rivers, to get up a hut to serve as my head-quarters, and to spend much of my time in travelling about. I am very fortunately placed. I have ample funds to enable me to live in comfort, and I am free to indulge my fancy for wandering as I please. I consider that I have been spoiled by being my own master too young. I think it is bad for a young man to start in life with a competence; but when it comes to one in middle age, when one has learned to spend it rationally, it is undoubtedly a very great comfort and advantage. I suppose, however, that the time will come when I shall settle down. I am thirty-five, and I ought to 'range myself,' as the French say." Mr. Atherton had not been long upon the voyage when he discovered that the chances of success of the Renshaw party as settlers would be small indeed if they depended upon the exertions of the head of the family. He had not been more than a day or two on board before Mr. Renshaw began to discuss his favourite hobby with him, and confided to him that he intended thoroughly to investigate the history, customs, and religion of the Maoris, and to produce an exhaustive work on the subject. "An excellent idea, very," the stout man said encouragingly, "but one demanding great time and investigation; and perhaps," he added doubtfully, "one more suited to a single man, who can go and live among the natives and speak their language, than for a married man with a family to look after." Mr. Renshaw waved the remark aside lightly. "I shall, of course, set to work immediately I arrive to acquire a thorough knowledge of the language, and indeed have already begun with a small dictionary and a New Testament in the Maori language, brought out by the Missionary Society. As to my family, my exertions in the farming way will be of no use whatever to them. My wife and daughter will look after the house, and Wilfrid will undertake the management of the men out of doors. The whole scheme is theirs, and I should be of no assistance to them whatever. My bent lies entirely in the direction of archæology, and there can be little doubt that my thorough acquaintance with all relating to the habits, and, so far as is known, of the language of the ancient Britons, Saxons, Danes, and the natives of the northern part of the island, will be of inestimable advantage in enabling me to carry out the subject I have resolved to take up. There are analogies and similarities between the habits of all primitive peoples, and one accustomed to the study of the early races of Europe can form a general opinion of the habits and mode of living of a tribe merely from the inspection of an ancient weapon or two, a bracelet, and a potsherd." Mr. Atherton looked down upon his companion with half-closed eyes, and seemed to be summing him up mentally; after a short conversation he turned away, and as he filled his pipe muttered to himself: "It is well for the family that the mother seems a capable and sensible woman, and that the lad, unless I am mistaken, has a dogged resolution about him as well as spirit and courage. The girl, too, is a bright sensible lass, and they may get on in spite of this idiot of a father. However, the man shows that he possesses a certain amount of sense by the confidence with which he throws the burden of the whole business of providing a living for the family on their shoulders. "Of course they would be much better without him, for I can foresee he will give them an awful lot of trouble. He will go mooning away among the natives, and will be getting lost and not heard of for a tremendous time. Still, I don't know that he will come to much harm. The Maoris have fine traits of character, and though they have been fighting about what they call the king question, they have seldom been guilty of any acts of hostility to isolated settlers, and a single white man going among them has always been received hospitably; besides, they will probably think him mad, and savages have always a sort of respect for madmen. Still, he will be a terrible worry to his family. I have taken a fancy to the others, and if I can do them a good turn out there in any way I will." As the voyage went on Mr. Atherton's liking for Mrs. Renshaw, her son and daughter, increased greatly, while his contempt for Mr. Renshaw became modified as he came to know him better. He found that he was really a capable man in his own particular hobby, and that although weak and indecisive he was very kind and affectionate with his wife and children, and reposed an almost childlike confidence in his wife's good sense. Madeira had been sighted lying like a great cloud on the horizon, and indeed the young Renshaws had difficulty when they came up on deck in the morning in believing that it was really land they saw. No stay was made here, nor did they catch a glimpse of the Canary Islands, being too far to the west to see even the lofty peak of Teneriffe. The first time the ship dropped anchor was at St. Jago, one of the Cape de Verde Islands; here they took in a supply of fresh water, meat, and vegetables. The passengers all landed, but were much disappointed with the sandy and uninteresting island, and it was no consolation for them to learn from the captain that parts of the island were much more fertile, although the vegetables and fruit came for the most part from the other islands. "Now," he said, "if all goes well you will see no land again till you get to Rio. We shall keep to the east of St. Paul, and unless we get blown out of our course we shall not go near Ascension." As the wind continued favourable the ship kept her course, and at twelve o'clock one day the captain, after taking his observations, told them that he expected to be in Rio on the following evening. The next morning when they came up on deck land was in sight, and in the evening they dropped anchor in the harbour of Rio, one of the finest ports in the world. "Yes, it is a splendid harbour," Mr. Atherton agreed as he listened to the exclamations of delight of the Renshaws. "I do not know that it is the finest, but it is certainly equal to any I have ever seen. As a harbour New York is better, because even more landlocked. San Francisco is, both in that respect and in point of scenery, superb. Bombay is a grand harbour, but exposed to certain winds. Taken altogether, I think I should give the palm to San Francisco." A few minutes after the anchor had dropped a number of shore-boats came alongside filled with luscious fruit, and rowed for the most part by negroes, who chatted and shouted and gesticulated, making such a din that it was impossible to distinguish a single word amid the uproar. Wilfrid, the Allens, and others quickly ran down the ladders, and without troubling themselves to bargain returned with quantities of fruit. Several negresses soon followed them on to the deck, and going up to the ladies produced cards and letters testifying that they were good washerwomen and their terms reasonable. The captain had the evening before told them it would take him three or four days to discharge his cargo for Rio, and that they had better take advantage of the opportunity if they wanted any washing done. They had, therefore, got everything in readiness, and in a few minutes numerous canvas bags filled with linen were deposited in the boats. In addition to the fruit several great bouquets of gorgeous flowers had been purchased, and the cabin that evening presented quite a festive appearance. After it became dark and the lights of Rio sparkled out, all agreed that the scene was even more beautiful than by daylight. The air was deliciously balmy and soft, the sea as smooth as glass. The moon was nearly full, and the whole line of the shore could be distinctly seen. Boats flitted about between the vessels and the strand; fishing-boats, with their sails hanging motionless, slowly made their way in by the aid of oars. The sounds of distant music in the city came across the water. There was no singing or dancing on board the _Flying Scud_ that evening. All were content to sit quiet and enjoy the scene, and such conversation as there was was carried on in low tones, as if they were under a spell which they feared to break. The next morning all went ashore soon after breakfast; but upon their assembling at dinner it was found that the general impression was one of disappointment. It was a fine city, but not so fine as it looked from the water. Except the main thoroughfares the streets were narrow, and, as the ladies declared, dirty. The young people, however, were not so critical; they had been delighted with the stir and movement, the bright costumes, the variety of race and colour, and the novelty of everything they saw. "The negroes amuse me most," Marion said. "They seem to be always laughing. I never saw such merry people." "They are like children," her father said. "The slightest thing causes them amusement. It is one of the signs of a low type of intellect when people are given to laugh at trifles." "Then the natives ought to be very intelligent," Marion said, "for as a whole they appeared to me to be a serious race. Of course I saw many of them laughing and chattering, but most of them are very quiet in manner. The old people seem to be wrinkled in a wonderful way. I never saw English people so wrinkled." "All southern races show age in that way," Mr. Atherton said. "You see marvellous old men and women in Spain and Italy. People who, as far as looks go, might be a hundred and fifty--little dried-up specimens of humanity, with faces more like those of monkeys than men." "Are the negroes slaves, Mr. Atherton? They still have slavery in Brazil, do they not? They certainly are not at all according to my idea of slaves." "The estates are mostly worked by negro slaves," Mr. Atherton said, "and no doubt many of those you saw to-day are also slaves. Household slavery is seldom severe, and I believe the Brazilians are generally kind masters. But probably the greater portion of the negroes you saw are free. They may have purchased their freedom with their savings, or may have been freed by kind masters. It is no very unusual thing for a Brazilian at his death to leave a will giving freedom to all his slaves. Government is doing its best to bring about the entire extinction of slavery. I believe that all children born after a certain date have been declared free, and have no doubt that in time slavery will be abolished. Great changes like this take some time to carry out, and even for the sake of the slaves themselves it is better to proceed quietly and gradually. I suppose nobody inclines to go on shore again to-night?" There was a general negative. The day had been very warm, and having been walking about for hours no one felt any inclination to make a fresh start. The following morning the vessel began to unload her cargo. Some of the older passengers declared that they had had enough of shore, and should not land--at any rate until the afternoon. The rest went ashore; but the greater part of them returned at lunch-time, and the heat in the afternoon was so great that none cared to land again. In the evening the two Allens and Wilfrid agreed to go ashore to visit a theatre. Mr. Atherton said that as he had no inclination to melt away all at once he would not join them, but would land with them and stroll about for a time, and see the town in its evening aspect. Several other parties were made up among the male passengers, and one or two of the ladies accompanied their husbands. Wilfrid and the Allens did not stay out the performance. The heat was very great, and as they did not understand a word of the dialogue they soon agreed that it would be more pleasant to stroll about, or to sit down in the open air before a café and sip iced drinks. Accordingly after walking about for a while they sat down before a café in the Grand Square, and as they sipped iced lemonade looked on with much amusement at the throng walking up and down. "It is later than I thought," James Allen said, looking at his watch. "It is nearly twelve o'clock, and high time for us to be on board." They started to make what they thought would prove a short cut down to the landing-place; but as usual the short cut proved delusive, and they soon found themselves wandering in unknown streets. They asked several persons they met the way down to the water, but none of them understood English, and it was a considerable time before they emerged from the streets on to the line of quays. "We are ever so much too far to the right," James Allen said as they looked round. "I fancy that is the ship's light not far from the shore half a mile away on the left. I hope we shall find some boatmen to take us off; it would be rather awkward finding ourselves here for the night in a place where no one understands the language." "I think we should manage all right," Wilfrid said. "We know the way from the place where we landed up into the part where the hotels are, and are sure to find people there who understand English. Still I hope it will not come to that. They would be in a great fidget on board if we were not to turn up to-night." "I do not think they would be alarmed," James Allen replied. "Every one is in bed and asleep long ago, and we should be on board in the morning before the steward went to our cabin and found that we were missing. I consider we are quite safe in that respect, but Atherton might be doing something if he found we did not come back." "He might do something, perhaps," Wilfrid said; "but I am quite sure he would not alarm my father and mother about it. He is the last sort of fellow to do that." CHAPTER IV. A ROW ON SHORE. While Wilfrid and the Allens were talking they were walking briskly in the direction of their landing-place. They had arrived within a hundred yards of it, when a party of four men who were lying among a pile of timber got up and came across towards them. They were rough-looking fellows, and James Allen said, "I do not like the look of these chaps. I think they mean mischief. Look out!" As he spoke the men rushed at them. James Allen gave a loud shout for help and then struck a blow at a man who rushed at him. The fellow staggered backwards, and with a fierce exclamation in Portuguese drew a knife. A moment later Allen received a sharp stab on the shoulder, and was knocked to the ground. The other two after a short struggle had also been overpowered and borne down, but in their case the robbers had not used their knives. They were feeling in their pockets when the step of a man approaching at full speed was heard. One of the robbers was about to run off, when another exclaimed: "You coward! It is but one man, which means more booty. Out with your knives and give him a taste of them as he comes up!" A moment later the man ran up. The leader stepped forward to meet him, knife in hand; but as he struck his wrist was grasped, and a tremendous blow was delivered in his face, hurling him stunned and bleeding to the ground. With a bound the new-comer threw himself upon two of the other men. Grasping them by their throats he shook them as if they had been children, and then dashed their heads together with such tremendous force that when he loosened his grasp both fell insensible on the ground. The other robber took to his heels at the top of his speed. All this had passed so quickly that the struggle was over before Wilfrid and the Allens could get to their feet. "Not hurt, I hope?" their rescuer asked anxiously. "Why, Mr. Atherton, is it you?" Wilfrid exclaimed. "You arrived at a lucky moment indeed. No, I am not hurt that I know of, beyond a shake." "Nor I," Bob Allen said. "I have got a stab in my shoulder," James Allen answered. "I don't know that it is very deep, but I think it is bleeding a good deal, for I feel very shaky. That fellow has got my watch," and he pointed to the man who had been first knocked down. "Look in his hand, Wilfrid. He won't have had time to put it in his pocket. If you have lost anything else look in the other fellows' hands or on the ground close to them." He lifted James Allen, who was now scarcely able to stand, carried him to the wood pile, and seated him on a log with his back against another. Then he took off his coat and waistcoat, and tore open his shirt. "It is nothing serious," he said. "It is a nasty gash and is bleeding freely, but I daresay we can stop that; I have bandaged up plenty of worse wounds in my time." He drew the edge of the wound together, and tied his handkerchief and that of Wilfrid tightly round it. "That will do for the present," he said. "Now I will carry you down to the boat," and lifting the young fellow up as though he were a feather he started with him. "Shall we do anything with these fellows, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked. "No, leave them as they are; what they deserve is to be thrown into the sea. I daresay their friend will come back to look after them presently." In a couple of minutes they arrived at the landing-place, where two men were sitting in a boat. "But how did you come to be here, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked when they had taken their seats. "I came to look after you boys, Wilfrid. I got on board about eleven, and on going down to the cabin found you had not returned, so I thought I would smoke another cigar and wait up for you. At twelve o'clock the last party returned, and as I thought you might have some difficulty in getting on board after that, I got into the boat and rowed ashore, and engaged the men to wait as long as I wanted them. I thought perhaps you had missed your way, and did not feel uneasy about you, for there being three of you together it was scarcely likely you had got into any bad scrape. I was beginning at last to think you had perhaps gone to an hotel for the night, and that it was no use waiting any longer, when I heard your voices coming along the quays. The night is so quiet that I heard your laugh some distance away, and recognized it. I then strolled along to meet you, when I saw those four fellows come out into the moonlight from a shadow in the wood. I guessed that they were up to mischief, and started to run at once, and was within fifty yards of you when I saw the scuffle and caught the glint of the moon on the blade of a knife. Another five or six seconds I was up, and then there was an end of it. Now we are close to the ship. Go up as quietly as you can, and do not make a noise as you go into your cabins. It is no use alarming people. I will carry Jim down." "I can walk now, I think, Mr. Atherton." "You might do, but you won't, my lad; for if you did you would probably start your wound bleeding afresh. You two had best take your shoes off directly you get on deck." James Allen was carried down and laid on his berth. Mr. Atherton went and roused the ship's doctor, and then lighted the lamp in the cabin. "What is all this about?" the surgeon asked as he came in. "There has been a bit of a scrimmage on shore," Mr. Atherton replied; "and, as you see, Allen has got a deepish slash from the shoulder down to the elbow. It has been bleeding very freely, and he is faint from loss of blood; but I do not think it is serious at all." "No, it is a deep flesh wound," the doctor said, examining him; "but there is nothing to be in the slightest degree uneasy about. I will get a bandage from my cabin, and some lint, and set it all right in five minutes." When the arm was bandaged, Mr. Atherton said: "Now I must get you to do a little plastering for me doctor." "What! are you wounded, Mr. Atherton?" the others exclaimed in surprise. "Nothing to speak of, lads; but both those fellows made a slash at me as I closed with them. I had but just finished their leader and could do no more than strike wildly as I turned upon them." As he spoke he was taking off his waistcoat and shirt. "By Jove, you have had a narrow escape!" the doctor said; "and how you take it so coolly I cannot make out. Except as to the bleeding, they are both far more serious than Allen's." One of the wounds was in the left side, about three inches below the arm. The man had evidently struck at the heart, but the quickness with which Mr. Atherton had closed with him had disconcerted his aim; the knife had struck rather far back, and glancing behind the ribs had cut a deep gash under the shoulder-blade. The other wound had been given by a downright blow at the right side, and had laid open the flesh from below the breast down to the hip. "It is only a case for plaster," Mr. Atherton said. "It is useful to have a casing of fat sometimes. It is the same thing with a whale--you have got to drive a harpoon in very deep to get at the vitals. You see this wound in front has bled very little." "You have lost a good deal of blood from the other cut," the surgeon said. "I will draw the edges of the wounds together with a needle and thread, and will then put some bandages on. You will have to keep quiet for some days. Your wounds are much too serious to think of putting plaster on at present." "I have had a good deal more serious wounds than these," Mr. Atherton said cheerfully, "and have had to ride seventy or eighty miles on the following day. However I will promise you not to go ashore to-morrow; and as the captain says he expects to be off the next morning, I shall be able to submit myself to your orders without any great privation." "Why did you not say that you were wounded, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid said reproachfully as they went to their own cabin and prepared to turn in. "To tell you the truth, Wilfrid, I hardly thought the wounds were as deep as they are. My blood was up, you see, and when that is the case you are scarcely conscious of pain. I felt a sharp shooting sensation on both sides as I grasped those fellows by the throat, and afterwards I knew I was bleeding a bit at the back, for I felt the warmth of the blood down in my shoe; but there was nothing to prevent my carrying young Allen, and one person can carry a wounded man with much more ease to him than two can do, unless of course they have got a stretcher." The next morning there was quite a stir in the ship when it was known that two of the passengers were wounded, and Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were greatly alarmed when they heard of the risk Wilfrid had run. Neither of the wounded men appeared at breakfast, as the surgeon insisted that both should lie quiet for at least one day. Mr. Renshaw had paid a visit to Mr. Atherton directly he had heard from Wilfrid his story of the fray, and thanked him most warmly for his intervention on behalf of his son. "Wilfrid said he has very little doubt that they all three would have been stabbed if you had not come up." "I do not say they might not," Mr. Atherton said, "because their resistance had raised the men's anger; and in this country when a man is angry he generally uses his knife. Besides, dead men raise no alarm. Still they might have contented themselves with robbing them. However, I own that it was lucky I was on the spot." "But it was not a question of luck at all," Mr. Renshaw insisted. "You were there because you had specially gone ashore to look after these foolish young fellows, and your being there was the result of your own thoughtfulness for them, and not in any way of chance." "There is quite a crowd on the quay, Mr. Renshaw," the captain said when that gentleman went on deck, "I suppose they have found stains of blood in the road and conclude that a crime has been committed. Oh, here is our boat putting out from the landing-place. The steward has been on shore to get fresh fruit for breakfast; he will tell us what is going on." The steward had gone ashore before the news of the encounter had been spread by the surgeon. "What is the excitement about on shore?" the captain asked him as he stepped on deck. "Well, sir, as far as I could learn from a chap who spoke a little English, there have been bad doings on shore in the night. Two men were found this morning lying dead there. There is nothing uncommon about that; but they say there are no wounds on them, except that their skulls are stove in, as if they had both been struck by a beam of wood at the back of the head. But besides that there were two or three pools of blood in the road. It seems one man walked back into the town, for there are marks of his feet as if he stepped in the blood before starting in that direction. Then there is a line of blood spots down to the landing-place and down the steps, as if somebody had got into a boat. Nobody seems to make head nor tail of the business." "Well, we must keep this quiet if we can," the captain said, turning to Mr. Renshaw. "If it were known that any of our people were concerned in this affair they might keep us here for three weeks or a month while it is being investigated, or insist upon Mr. Atherton and your son and the Allens remaining behind as witnesses. Mr. Ryan," he called to the first-mate, "just come here a moment. This matter is more serious than we thought. It seems that Mr. Atherton, who, as we have heard, dashed the heads of two of these fellows together, killed them on the spot." "Sure and I thought as much when young Allen was telling me about it," the mate said. "I have seen Mr. Atherton at work before this, and I thought to myself that unless those fellows' skulls were made of iron, and thick at that, they must have gone in when he brought them together." "The worst of it is," the captain went on, "they have traced marks of blood down to the landing-stage, and of course have suspicion that someone concerned in the affair took a boat, and either came off to one of the ships or went away in one of the fishing craft. You know what these fellows are; if they find out that anyone on board is mixed up in the matter, they will keep the ship here for a month." "That is true enough, sir. It is mighty lucky we would be if we got away in a month." "The first thing is to see about the boatmen," the captain said. "Of course if they tell the authorities they brought a wounded man on board here late last night there is an end of it; but if they hold their tongues, and we all keep our own council, the thing may not leak out to-day, and we will have our anchor up and get out this evening if we can. You had better tell all the crew that not a word is to be said about the matter, and I will impress the same on the passengers. When they know that a careless word may lead to a month's detention, you may be sure there will be no talking. But before you speak to them I will go down and see Mr. Atherton, and hear what he says about the boatmen." He returned in two or three minutes. "I hope it will be all right," he said. "Atherton gave them a pound apiece, and told them to hold their tongues. He thinks it is probable they will do so, for they would know well enough that they would, as likely as not, be clapped into prison and kept there while the investigation was going on. So there is a strong hope that it may not leak out through them. You must stop all leave ashore, Mr. Ryan. Tell the men whose turn it is to go, they shall have their spree at Buenos Ayres. If they were to get drunk it would be as likely as not to slip out." "I will see to it, sir." Directly breakfast was over the captain took a boat and went ashore. He had duly impressed upon all the passengers the absolute necessity for silence, and several of these went ashore with him. He returned half an hour later, having been up to the British Consulate. "The affair is making quite a stir in the town. Not on account of two men being found dead, there is nothing uncommon in that, especially as they have been recognized as two notorious ruffians; but the whole circumstances of the affair puzzle them. "The doctors who have examined the bodies have arrived pretty well at the truth, and say that both men have been gripped by the throat, for the marks of the fingers are plainly visible, and their heads dashed together. But although this is, as we know, perfectly true, no one believes it; for the doctors themselves admit that it does not appear to them possible that any man would have had the strength requisite to completely batter in the skulls of two others, as has been done in this case. The police are searching the town for the man whose footsteps led in that direction, and as they know all the haunts of these ruffians and their associates it is likely enough that they will find him, especially as his face is sure to bear marks of Atherton's handiwork. Still, if they do find him, and he tells all he knows of the business, they will not be much nearer to tracing the actors in it to this ship. It is not probable that he recovered his senses until long after they were on board the boat, and can only say that while engaged in attempting to rob some passers-by he was suddenly knocked down. But even this they are not likely to get out of him first, for he will know that he used a knife, and is not likely to put himself in the way of punishment if he can help it. I came off at once, because I heard at the Consulate that the police are going to search every ship in the harbour to see if they can find some wounded man, or get some clue to the mystery, so I must ask the doctor if his two patients are fit to be dressed and go up on deck." The doctor on being consulted said that he should certainly have preferred that they should have remained quiet all day, but he did not know that it would do them any harm to get on deck for a bit. And accordingly in half an hour Mr. Atherton and James Allen came up. The doctor, who had assisted them to dress, accompanied them. "Now, Mr. Atherton, you had better seat yourself in that great deck-chair of yours with the leg-rest. If you sit there quietly reading when they come on board they are not likely to suspect you of being a desperate character, or to appreciate your inches and width of shoulder. Allen had better sit quiet till they get alongside, and then slip that sling into his pocket and walk up and down talking to one of the ladies, with his thumb in his waistcoat so as to support his arm. He looks pale and shaky; but they are not accustomed to much colour here, and he will pass well enough." As soon as Mr. Atherton had taken his seat Mrs. Renshaw and Marion came up to him. "How can we thank you enough, Mr. Atherton, for the risks you have run to succour Wilfrid, and for your kind consideration in going on shore to wait for him?" "It was nothing, Mrs. Renshaw. I own to enjoying a scrimmage when I can go into one with the feeling of being in the right. You know that I am a very lazy man, but it is just your lazy men who do enjoy exerting themselves occasionally." "It was grand!" Marion broke in; "and you ought not to talk as if it was nothing, Mr. Atherton. Wilfrid said that he thought it was all over with him till he saw a big man flying down the road." "A perfect colossus of Rhodes!" Mr. Atherton laughed. "It is not a thing to joke about," Marion went on earnestly. "It may seem very little to you, Mr. Atherton, but it is everything to us." "Don't you know that one always jokes when one is serious, Miss Renshaw? You know that in church any little thing that you would scarcely notice at any other time makes you inclined to laugh. Some day in the far distance, when you become a woman, you will know the truth of the saying, that smiles and tears are very close to each other." "I am getting to be a woman now," Marion said with some dignity; for Mr. Atherton always persisted in treating her as if she were a child, which, as she was nearly seventeen, was a standing grievance to her. "Age does not make a woman, Miss Renshaw. I saw you skipping three days ago with little Kate Mitford and your brother and young Allen, and you enjoyed it as much as any of them." "We were trying which could keep up the longest," Marion said; "Wilfrid and I against the other two. You were looking on, and I believe you would have liked to have skipped too." "I think I should," Mr. Atherton agreed. "You young people do not skip half as well as we used to when I was a boy; and I should have given you a lesson if I had not been afraid of shaking the ship's timbers to pieces." "How absurd you are, Mr. Atherton!" Marion said pettishly. "Of course you are not thin, but you always talk of yourself as if you were something monstrous." Mr. Atherton laughed. His diversion had had the desired effect, and had led them away from the subject of the fight on shore. "There is a galley putting off from shore with a lot of officials on board," the captain said, coming up at this moment. "They are rowing to the next ship, and I suppose they will visit us next." A quarter of an hour later the galley came alongside, and three officials mounted the gangway. The captain went forward to meet them. "Is there anything I can do for you, gentlemen?" "There has been a crime committed on shore," the leader of the party said, "and it is suspected that some of those concerned in the matter are on board one of the ships in the harbour. I have authority to make a strict search on board each." "You are perfectly welcome to do so, sir," the captain said. "One of our officers will show you over the ship." "I must trouble you to show me your list of passengers and crew, and to muster the men on deck. But first I must ask you, Did any of your boats return on board late?" "No," the captain replied. "Our last boat was hauled up to the davits at half-past nine. There was a heavy day's work before the men to-day, and I therefore refused leave on shore." The men were ordered to be mustered, and while they were collecting the second-mate went round the ship with the officials, and they saw that no one was below in his berth. The men's names were called over from the list, and the officials satisfied that all were present and in good health. "Now for the passengers," he said "I cannot ask them to muster," the captain observed, "but I will walk round with you and point out those on the list. There are some eight or ten on shore. They will doubtless be off to lunch; and if you leave an officer on board he will see that they are by no means the sort of people to take part in such an affair as that which has happened on shore." The officials went round the deck, but saw nothing whatever to excite their suspicion. Marion Renshaw was laughing and talking with Mr. Atherton, Miss Mitford walking up and down the poop in conversation with James Allen. After they had finished their investigations, the officials left one of their party to inspect the remaining passengers as they came on board, and to check them off the list. They then again took their seats in the galley and were rowed to the next ship. By dint of great exertions the cargo was got out by sunset, the sails were at once loosened and the anchor weighed, and before the short twilight had faded away the _Flying Scud_ was making her way with a gentle breeze towards the mouth of the harbour. "We are well out of that," Mr. Atherton said as he looked back at the lights of the city. "I think you are very well out of it indeed, in more senses than one," said the surgeon, who was standing next to him; "but you have had a wonderfully close shave of it, Mr. Atherton. Another inch and either of those blows might have been fatal. Besides, had you been detained for a month or six weeks, it is as likely as not that, what with the heat and what with the annoyance, your wound would have taken a bad turn. Now, you must let me exercise my authority and order you to your berth immediately. You ought not to have been out of it. Of the two evils, getting up and detention, I chose the least; but I should be glad now if you would go off at once. If you do not, I can assure you I may have you on my hands all the rest of the voyage." "I will obey orders, doctor. The more willingly because for the last hour or two my back has been smarting unmercifully. I do not feel the other wound much." "That is because you have been sitting still. You will find it hurt you when you come to walk. Please go down carefully; a sudden movement might start your wounds again." It was two or three days before Mr. Atherton again appeared on deck. His left arm was bandaged tightly to his body so as to prevent any movement of the shoulder-blade, and he walked stiffly to the deck-chair, which had been piled with cushions in readiness. "I am glad to be out again, Mrs. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said as she arranged the cushions to suit him. "Your husband, with Wilfrid and the two Allens, have kept me company, one or other of them, all the time, so I cannot say I have been dull. But it was much hotter below than it is here. However, I know the doctor was right in keeping me below, for the slightest movement gave me a great deal of pain. However, the wounds are going on nicely, and I hope by the time we get to Buenos Ayres I shall be fit for a trip on shore again." "I hardly think so, Mr. Atherton; for if the weather continues as it is now--it is a nice steady breeze, and we have been running ever since we left Rio--I think we shall be there long before you are fit to go ashore." "I do not particularly care about it," Mr. Atherton said. "Buenos Ayres is not like Rio, but is for the most part quite a modern town, and even in situation has little to recommend it. Besides, we shall be so far off that there will be no running backwards and forwards between the ship and the shore as there was at Rio. Of course it depends a good deal on the amount of the water coming down the river, but vessels sometimes have to anchor twelve miles above the town." "I am sure I have no desire to go ashore," Mrs. Renshaw said, "and after the narrow escape Wilfrid had at Rio I should be glad if he did not set foot there again until we arrive at the end of the voyage." "He is not likely to get into a scrape again," Mr. Atherton said. "Of course it would have been wiser not to have stopped so late as they did in a town of whose ways they knew nothing; but you may be sure he will be careful another time. Besides, I fancy from what I have heard things are better managed there, and the population are more peaceable and orderly than at Rio. But, indeed, such an adventure as that which befell them might very well have happened to any stranger wandering late at night in the slums of any of our English seaports." There was a general feeling of disappointment among the passengers when the _Flying Scud_ dropped anchor in the turbid waters of the La Plata. The shore was some five or six miles away, and was low and uninteresting. The towers and spires of the churches of Buenos Ayres were plainly visible, but of the town itself little could be seen. As soon as the anchor was dropped the captain's gig was lowered, and he started for shore to make arrangements for landing the cargo. The next morning a steam tug brought out several flats, and the work of unloading commenced. A few passengers went ashore in the tug, but none of the Renshaws left the ship. Two days sufficed for getting out the goods for Buenos Ayres. The passengers who had been staying at hotels on shore came off with the last tug to the ship. Their stay ashore had been a pleasant one, and they liked the town, which, in point of cleanliness and order, they considered to be in advance of Rio. CHAPTER V. A BOAT EXPEDITION. "Well I am not sorry we are off again," Marion Renshaw said as the men ran round with the capstan bars and the anchor came up from the shallow water. "What a contrast between this and Rio!" "It is, indeed," Mr. Atherton, who was standing beside her, replied. "I own I should have liked to spend six months in a snug little craft going up the La Plata and Parana, especially the latter. The La Plata runs through a comparatively flat and--I will not say unfertile country, because it is fertile enough, but--a country deficient in trees, and offering but small attraction to a botanist; but the Parana flows north. Paraguay is a country but little visited by Europeans, and ought to be well worth investigation; but, as you say, I am glad enough to be out of this shallow water. In a short time we shall be looking out our wraps again. We shall want our warmest things for doubling Cape Horn, or rather what is called doubling Cape Horn, because in point of fact we do not double it at all." "Do you mean we do not go round it?" Marion asked in surprise. "We may, and we may not, Miss Renshaw. It will depend upon the weather, I suppose; but most vessels now go through the Straits which separate Cape Horn itself from Tierra del Fuego." "Those are the Straits of Magellan, are they not?" "Oh, no!" Mr. Atherton replied. "The Straits of Magellan lie still further to the north, and separate Tierra del Fuego from the mainland. I wish that we were going through them, for I believe the scenery is magnificent." "But if they lie further north that must surely be our shortest way, so why should we not go through them?" "If we were in a steamer we might do so, Miss Renshaw; but the channels are so narrow and intricate, and the tides and currents run with such violence, that sailing-vessels hardly ever attempt the passage. The straits we shall go through lie between Tierra del Fuego and the group of islands of which the Horn is the most southerly." "Is the country inhabited?" "Yes, by races of the most debased savages, with whom, I can assure you, I have no desire whatever to make any personal acquaintance." "Not even to collect botanical specimens, Mr. Atherton?" the girl asked, smiling. "Not even for that purpose, Miss Renshaw. I will do a good deal in pursuance of my favourite hobby, but I draw the line at the savages of Tierra del Fuego. Very few white men have ever fallen into their hands and lived to tell the tale, and certainly I should have no chance whatever." "Why would you have less chance than other people, Mr. Atherton?" "My attractions would be irresistible," Mr. Atherton replied gravely. "I should furnish meat for a whole tribe." "How horrible!" Marion exclaimed. "What! are they cannibals?" "Very much so indeed; and one can hardly blame them, for it is the only chance they have of getting flesh. Their existence is one long struggle with famine and cold. They are not hunters, and are but poor fishermen. I firmly believe that if I were in their place I should be a cannibal myself." "How can you say such things?" Marion asked indignantly. "I never know whether you are in earnest, Mr. Atherton. I am sure you would never be a cannibal." "There is no saying what one might be if one were driven to it," he replied placidly. "Anyhow, I trust that I shall never be driven to it. In my various journeyings and adventures I am happy to say that I have never been forced to experience a prolonged fast, and it is one of the things I have no inclination to try. This weather is perfection, is it not?" he went on, changing the subject. "The _Flying Scud_ is making capital way. I only hope it may last. It is sad to think that we shall soon exchange these balmy breezes for a biting wind. We are just saying, Wilfrid," he went on as the lad strolled up to them, "that you will soon have to lay aside your white flannels and put on a greatcoat and muffler." "I shall not be sorry," Wilfrid replied. "After a month of hot weather one wants bracing up a bit, and I always enjoy cold." "Then you should have gone out and settled in Iceland instead of New Zealand." "I should not have minded that, Mr. Atherton. There is splendid fishing, I believe, and sealing, and all that sort of thing. But I do not suppose the others would have liked it. I am sure father would not. He cannot bear cold, and his study at home used always to be kept up at almost the temperature of an oven all the winter. I should think New Zealand would exactly suit him." Before the sun set they had the satisfaction of sailing out of the muddy water of the La Plata, and of being once more in the bright blue sea. For the next week the _Flying Scud_ sailed merrily southward without adventure. The air grew sensibly cooler each day, and the light garments of the tropics were already exchanged for warmer covering. "Do you always get this sort of weather down here, captain?" Mrs. Renshaw asked. "Not always, Mrs. Renshaw. The weather is generally fine, I admit, but occasionally short but very violent gales sweep down from off the land. They are known as pamperos; because, I suppose, they come from the pampas. They are very dangerous from the extreme suddenness with which they sweep down. If they are seen coming, and the vessel can be stripped of her canvas in time, there is little danger to be apprehended, for they are as short as they are violent." "We have been wonderfully fortunate altogether so far," Mrs. Renshaw said. "We have not had a single gale since we left England. I trust that our good luck will continue to the end." "I hope so too," the captain said. "I grant that a spell of such weather as we have been favoured with is apt to become a little monotonous, and I generally find my passengers have a tendency after a time to become snappish and quarrelsome from sheer want of anything to occupy their minds. Still I would very much rather put up with that than with the chances of a storm." "People must be very foolish to get out of temper because everything is going on well," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I am sure I find it perfectly delightful sailing on as we do." "Then you see, madam, you are an indefatigable worker. I never see your hands idle; but to people who do not work, a long voyage of unbroken weather must, I can very well understand, be monotonous. Of course with us who have duties to perform it is different. I have often heard passengers wish for what they call a good gale, but I have never heard a sailor who has once experienced one express such a wish. However staunch the ship, a great gale is a most anxious time for all concerned in the navigation of a vessel. It is, too, a time of unremitting hardship. There is but little sleep to be had; all hands are constantly on deck, and are continually wet to the skin. Great seas sweep over a ship, and each man has literally his life in his hand, for he may at any moment be torn from his hold and washed overboard, or have his limbs broken by some spar or hen-coop or other object swept along by the sea. It always makes me angry when I hear a passenger express a wish for a gale, in thoughtless ignorance of what he is desiring. If a storm comes we must face it like men; and in a good ship like the _Flying Scud_, well trimmed and not overladen, and with plenty of sea-room, we may feel pretty confident as to the result; but that is a very different thing from wishing to have one." By the time they were a fortnight out from Buenos Ayres, Mr. Atherton and James Allen were both off the sick-list; indeed the latter had been but a week in the doctor's hands. The adventure had bound the little party more closely together than before. The Allens had quite settled that when their friends once established themselves on a holding, they would, if possible, take one up in the neighbourhood; and they and the young Renshaws often regretted that Mr. Atherton was only a bird of passage, and had no intention of fixing himself permanently in the colony. The air had grown very much colder of late, and the light clothes they had worn in the tropics had already been discarded, and in the evening all were glad to put on warm wraps when they came on deck. "I think," the captain said as Mr. Renshaw came up for his customary walk before breakfast, "we are going to have a change. The glass has fallen a good deal, and I did not like the look of the sun when it rose this morning." "It looks to me very much as usual," Mr. Renshaw replied, shading his eyes and looking at the sun, "except perhaps that it is not quite so bright." "Not so bright by a good deal," the captain said. "There is a change in the colour of the sky--it is not so blue. The wind has fallen too, and I fancy by twelve o'clock there will be a calm. Of course we cannot be surprised if we do have a change. We have had a splendid spell of weather, and we are getting into stormy latitudes now." When the passengers went up after breakfast they found that the _Flying Scud_ was scarcely moving through the water. The sails hung idly against the masts, and the yards creaked as the vessel rose and fell slightly on an almost invisible swell. "This would be a good opportunity," the captain said cheerfully, "to get down our light spars; the snugger we are the better for rounding the Horn. Mr. Ryan, send all hands aloft, and send down all spars over the topmast." The crew swarmed up the rigging, and in two hours the _Flying Scud_ was stripped of the upper yards and lofty spars. "She looks very ugly," Marion Renshaw said. "Do you not think so, Mary?" "Hideous," Mary Mitford agreed. "She is in fighting trim now," Mr. Atherton said. "Yes, but who are we going to fight?" Marion asked. "We are going to have a skirmish with the weather, I fancy, Miss Renshaw. I don't say we are going to have a storm," he went on as the girls looked anxiously up at the sky, "but you can see for yourselves that there is a change since yesterday. The wind has dropped and the sky is dull and hazy, the sea looks sullen, the bright little waves we were accustomed to are all gone, and as you see by the motion of the vessel there is an underground swell, though we can scarcely notice it on the water." "Which way do you think the wind will come from, Mr. Atherton?" Mary Mitford asked. "I fancy it will come from the west, or perhaps north-west. Look at those light streaks of cloud high up in the air; they are travelling to the southeast." "Look how fast they are going," Mary Mitford said as she looked up, "and we have not a breath of wind here." "We shall have it soon," Mr. Atherton said. "You see that dark line on the water coming up from the west. I am glad to see it. It is very much better to have the wind freshen up gradually to a gale than to lie becalmed until it strikes you suddenly." The girls stood at the poop-rail watching the sailors engaged in putting lashings on to every movable object on deck. In ten minutes the dark line came up to them, and the _Flying Scud_ began to move through the water. The courses were brailed up and stowed. The wind rapidly increased in strength, and the captain presently requested the passengers to go below, or at any rate to give up their seats. "There is nothing like having the deck cleared," he said. "If it comes on to blow a bit and there is any movement, the chairs would be charging about from side to side, and will not only break themselves up, but perhaps break someone's leg." Four sailors folded up the chairs, piled them together, and passing cords over them lashed them to two ring-bolts. "Now, Mr. Ryan, we will get the topsails reefed at once. There is a heavy bank there to windward, and we had best get everything as snug as possible before that comes up to us." The dark bank of mist rose rapidly, and the sailors had but just reached the deck after closely reefing the topsails before it was close upon them. "Now, ladies, please go below," the captain said sharply. "There is rain as well as wind in the clouds; it will come down in bucketfuls when it does come." This had the desired effect of sending most of the male passengers down as well as the ladies. A few remained near the companion ready to make a dive below when the squall struck them. Suddenly the wind ceased and the topsails flapped against the masts. There was a confused roaring sound astern, and a broad white line came along at race-horse speed towards the vessel. "Get below, lads," Mr. Atherton said as he led the way, "or you will be drenched in a moment." They had but just reached the cabin when there was a deafening roar overhead, and almost at the same moment the vessel started as if struck by a heavy blow. "Rain and wind together!" Mr. Atherton shouted in reply to the chorus of questions from those below. "Now, all you have got to do is to make yourselves comfortable, for there will be no going up again for some time." For five minutes the tremendous downpour continued, and then ceased as suddenly as it commenced. The wind had dropped too; and the silence after the uproar was startling. It lasted but a few seconds; then the wind again struck the ship with even greater force than before, although, as she had not lost her way, the blow was less felt by those below. In five minutes the captain came below with his oil-skin coat and sou'-wester streaming with wet. "I have just looked down to tell you," he said cheerfully, "that everything is going on well. The first burst of these gales is always the critical point, and we can congratulate ourselves that we have got through it without losing a spar or sail--thanks to our having had sufficient warning to get all snug, and to the gale striking us gradually. I am afraid you won't have a very comfortable time of it for the next day or two; but there is nothing to be at all uneasy about. The gale is off the land, and we have sea-room enough for anything. Now we have got rid of half our cargo the ship is in her very best trim, and though we may get her decks washed a bit by and by, she will be none the worse for that." So saying he again went up on deck. For the next three days the gale blew with fury. There were no regular meals taken below, for the vessel rolled so tremendously that nothing would have remained on the plates and dishes; and the passengers were forced to content themselves with biscuit, with an occasional cup of coffee or basin of soup that the cook managed to warm up for them. The ladies for the most part kept their cabins, as did many of the male passengers, and the absence of regular meals was the less felt as the majority were suffering from sea-sickness. Wilfrid was occasionally ill, but managed to keep up, and from time to time went on deck for a few minutes, while Marion spent most of her time on a seat at the top of the companion, looking out on the sea. It was a magnificent sight. Tremendous waves were following the ship, each as it approached lifting her stern high in the air and driving her along at a speed that seemed terrific, then passing on and leaving her to sink down into the valley behind it. The air was thick with flying spray torn from the crest of the waves. At first it seemed as if each sea that came up behind the vessel would break over her stern and drive her head-foremost down; but as wave passed after wave without damage the sense of anxiety passed off, and Marion was able to enjoy the grandeur of the sea. Wilfrid, Mr. Atherton, and the Allens often came in to sit with her, and to take shelter for a time from the fury of the wind. But talking was almost impossible; the roar of the wind in the rigging, the noise of the waves as they struck the ship, and the confused sound of the battle of the elements being too great to allow a voice to be heard, except when raised almost to shouting point. But Marion had no inclination for talking. Snugly as Mr. Atherton had wedged her in with pillows and cushions, it was as much as she could do to retain her seat, as the vessel rolled till the lower yards almost touched the water, and she was too absorbed in the wild grandeur of the scene to want companionship. "The captain says the glass is beginning to rise," Mr. Atherton said as he met her the fourth morning of the gale; "and that he thinks the worst is over." "I shall be glad for the sake of the others," Marion replied, "for the sea to go down. Father and mother are both quite worn out; for it is almost impossible for them to sleep, as they might be thrown out of their berths if they did not hold on. For myself, I am in no hurry for the gale to be over, it is so magnificently grand. Don't you think so, Mr. Atherton?" "It is grand, lassie, no doubt," Mr. Atherton said; "but I have rather a weakness for dry clothes and comfortable meals--to say nothing of being able to walk or sit perpendicularly, and not being obliged constantly to hold on for bare life. This morning I feel that under happier circumstances I could enjoy a steak, an Irish stew, and a couple of eggs, but a biscuit and a cup of coffee are all I can hope for." "I believe you enjoy it as much as I do, Mr. Atherton," the girl said indignantly; "else why do you stay upon deck all the time in spite of the wind and spray?" "Well, you see, Miss Renshaw, you ladies have an objection to my smoking my pipe below; and besides, what with the groans and moans from the cabins, and the clatter of the swinging trays, and the noise of the waves, and one thing and another, there is little to tempt me to stay below. But really I shall be very glad when it is over. The ship has been doing splendidly; and as the wind has blown from the same quarter the whole time, the sea though very high is regular, and everything is going on well. Still a gale is a gale, and you can never answer for the vagaries of the wind. If it were to veer round to another quarter, for instance, you would in a few hours get a broken sea here that would astonish you, and would try all the qualities of the _Flying Scud_. Then again we have been running south with tremendous speed for the last three days, and if it were to go on for a few days longer we might find ourselves down among the ice. Therefore, I say, the sooner the gale is over the better I shall be pleased." Towards evening there was a sensible abatement in the force of the wind, and the following morning the gale had so far abated that the captain prepared to haul his course for the west. "We have been running south at the rate of fully three hundred miles a day," he said, "and are now very far down. The moment this warm wind drops and we get it from the south you will find that you will need every wrap you have to keep you warm. If the gale had lasted I had made up my mind to try to get her head to it, and to lie to. We are a great deal too close to the region of ice to be pleasant." The change in the course of the vessel was by no means appreciated by the passengers, for the motion was very much rougher and more unpleasant than that to which they had now become accustomed. However, by the following morning the wind had died away to a moderate breeze, and the sea had very sensibly abated. The topsails were shaken out of their reefs; and although the motion was still violent most of the passengers emerged from their cabins and came on deck to enjoy the sun, which was now streaming brightly through the broken clouds. The captain was in high glee; the ship had weathered the gale without the slightest damage. Not a rope had parted, not a sail been blown away, and the result fully justified the confidence he felt in his ship and her gear. "It is a comfort," he remarked, "to sail under liberal owners. Now, my people insist on having their ships as well found as possible, and if I condemn spars, sails, ropes, or stays, they are replaced without a question. And it is the cheapest policy in the long run. There is nothing so costly as stinginess on board a ship. The giving way of a stay may mean the loss of the mast and all its gear, and that may mean the loss of a ship. The blowing away of a sail at a critical moment may mean certain disaster; and yet there are many owners who grudge a fathom of new rope or a bolt of canvas, and who will risk the safety of their vessels for the petty economy of a few pounds." The next day the wind had dropped entirely. The topgallant masts were sent up with their yards and sails, and by dinner-time the _Flying Scud_ looked more like herself. As soon as the wind lulled all on board were conscious of a sudden fall of temperature. Bundles of wraps were undone and greatcoats and cloaks got out, and although the sun was still shining brightly the poop of the _Flying Scud_ soon presented a wintry appearance. There was no sitting about now. Even the ladies had abandoned their usual work, and by the sharp walking up and down on deck it was evident that even the warm wraps were insufficient in themselves, and that brisk exercise was necessary to keep up the circulation. "Well, what do you think of this, Mrs. Renshaw?" Mr. Atherton asked. "I like it," she said decidedly; "but it is certainly a wonderfully sudden change from summer to winter. My husband does not like it at all. We never agreed on the subject of temperature. He liked what I call a close study, while I enjoy a sharp walk well wrapped up on a winter's day." "I agree with you," Mr. Atherton said. "I can bear any amount of cold, but heat completely knocks me up. But then, you see, the cold never has a chance of penetrating to my bones." "Which course shall we take now, do you suppose? South of Cape Horn or through the Straits?" "It will depend upon the winds we meet with, I imagine," Mr. Atherton replied. "If the wind continues from the south, I should say the captain would keep well south of the Horn; but if it heads us from the west at all, we may have to go through the Straits, which, personally, I own that I should prefer. It has gone round nearly a point since I came on deck this morning. If it goes round a bit more we certainly shall not be able to lay our course round the Horn, for I do not think we are far to the south of it now." By evening the wind had hauled farther to the west, and the ship's head pointed more to the north than it had done in the morning. The passengers enjoyed the change, for the temperature had risen rapidly, and many of the warm wraps that had been got up were laid aside. At twelve o'clock the captain had taken observations, and found that the ship's position was nearly due south of the Falkland Isles. "We had a narrow squeak of it, Mr. Ryan," he said to the first-mate. "All the time we were running before that gale I had that group of islands on my mind." "So had I, sir," the mate replied. "I was praying all the time that the wind would keep a bit to the west of north, for I knew that when it began our position was, as near as may be, due north of them. I guessed what you were thinking of when you told the man at the wheel to edge away to the east as much as he dared, though that was mighty little." "By my reckoning," the captain said, "we could not have passed more than thirty miles to the east of them. We have made about eighty miles of westing since we got on our course, and we are now just on the longitude of the westermost point of the islands. They are about a hundred miles to the north of us." The wind continued from the same quarter, and on taking his observation on the following day the captain announced that if there were no change he reckoned upon just making the mouth of the Straits between Tierra del Fuego and the islands. On going on deck two mornings later land was seen on the port bow. "There is Cape Horn," the captain said; "that lofty peak covered with snow. The island nearest to us is Herschel Island. The large island not far from the Horn is Wollaston Island. As you see, there are several others. It is not the sort of place one would like to come down upon in a gale, and if I had had my choice I would rather have gone a hundred miles south of the Horn. But the wind would not allow us to lie that course, and after the gale we had the other day we have a right to reckon upon finer weather, and in light winds it might have taken us another two or three days beating round." "The wind is very light now," Mr. Renshaw remarked. "Yes, and I am afraid it will be lighter still presently," the captain said. The vessel made but slow way, and in the afternoon the wind dropped altogether. The _Flying Scud_ was now two or three miles from the coast of Tierra del Fuego, and the passengers examined the inhospitable-looking coast through their glasses. At one or two points light wreaths of smoke were seen curling up, telling of encampments of the natives. "I think, Mr. Ryan," the captain said, "I will take her in and anchor in one of the bays This breath of air might be enough to move her through the water if she were going free, but it is nearly dead ahead of us now. I do not like the idea of drifting all night along this coast. Besides, we may be able to get some fish from the natives, which will be a change for the passengers." The vessel's head was turned towards the shore, and now that the light air was well on the beam it sufficed to enable the vessel to steal through the water at the rate of about a knot an hour. At about four o'clock the anchor was dropped in a bay at a distance of half a mile from land, the sails were furled, and the passengers watched the shores in hopes that some native craft might make its appearance; but there was no sign of life. "Either the natives have no fish to sell, or rather exchange," the captain said, "for, of course, money is of no use to them, or they are afraid of us. Maybe they have been massacring some shipwrecked crew, and believe we are a ship-of-war come down to punish them. At any rate, they seem determined not to show." The next morning the sea was as smooth as glass, and there was not a breath of air. "Would you let us have a boat, captain?" Mr. Atherton asked. "It will make a pleasant change, and perhaps some of the natives might come off and sell us fish, as they would not be afraid of us as they might be of the ship." "Yes, if you like to make up a party, Mr. Atherton, you can have a boat; but you must not land. The natives are very treacherous, and it would not be safe to set foot on shore. Mr. Ryan, will you get the cutter into the water after breakfast? You had better take with you two or three muskets. I do not think there is any fear of an attack, and besides you could out-row the native craft, still it is always as well to be prepared." Mr. Atherton soon made up his party. Wilfrid and the two Allens were delighted at the offer, and Marion and the Miss Mitfords also petitioned to be allowed to go, although Mr. Atherton had not intended to take ladies with him. Two other young men named Hardy and Wilson were also invited to join, and this made up the complement that the cutter could carry in comfort. The crew consisted of six sailors at the oars, and Mr. Ryan himself took the helm. "You had better wrap up well," Mr. Atherton said to the girls, "for you will find it cold sitting in a boat. The thermometer must be down near freezing-point." Mr. Atherton was the last to take his seat, and he brought with him his rifle. "Why, what are you going to shoot, Mr. Atherton?" Marion asked. "I do not know that I am going to shoot anything," he replied; "but it is always well to be prepared. You see I have made preparations in other ways," he added as the steward handed him down a large basket, which he placed in the stern-sheets. "But we are only going for an hour or two, Mr. Atherton," Wilfrid remarked. "We cannot want anything to eat when we have only just finished breakfast." "I do not think it at all likely we shall want to open the hamper, Wilfrid; but you see it is always best to be prepared. The weather looks perfectly settled, but, like the natives of these parts, it is treacherous. As I proposed this expedition I feel a sort of responsibility, and have therefore, you see, taken precautions against every contingency." "I do not think there is any chance of a change," Mr. Ryan said. "It looks as if the calm might last for a week. Still, one can never be wrong in preparing for the worst. Besides, this cold weather gives one a wonderful appetite, and a drop of the cratur never comes amiss." By this time the boat was fairly away from the ship, and the sailors, who like the passengers regarded the expedition as a pleasant change, stretched out to their oars. The mate steered for the headland to the west, and after passing it kept the boat at a distance of a few hundred yards from the shore. "Is there any current here, Mr. Ryan?" Wilfrid asked as he watched the rocks and low stunted trees. "Very little," the mate replied. "Sometimes it runs very strongly here, but at present it is not much to speak of. I do not think it was running more than a quarter of a mile an hour past the ship, but no doubt there is a good deal more farther out." To the disappointment of those on board there were no signs of natives. "It will be very tiresome if they do not come out," Marion said. "I want to see a real cannibal." "I do not so much care about the cannibals, Miss Renshaw, but I want to see their fish. I have not tasted a really decent fish since I left England; but in these cold waters they ought to be as good as they are at home. I believe the natives catch them by spearing them by torch-light, and in that case they ought to be good-sized fellows." The men after the first start had dropped into a long, steady stroke, and as the boat glided along past bay and headland no one paid any attention to time, until the mate, looking at his watch, said: "Faith, we have been gone an hour and a half; I clean forgot all about time. I think we had better be turning. It will be dinner-time before we reach the ship as it is." The boat's head was turned. "I think," the mate went on, "we may as well steer from headland to headland, instead of keeping round the bays. It will save a good bit of distance, and the natives evidently do not mean to show themselves." "They are very provoking," Miss Mitford said. "I can see smoke among the trees over there, and I have no doubt that they are watching us although we cannot see them." "You ought to have waved your handkerchief as we came along, Miss Mitford," James Allen remarked; "or to have stood up and shown yourselves. They would no doubt have come off then and offered presents in token of admiration." The girls laughed. "I do not suppose they would appreciate our charms," Miss Mitford said. "They are not in their line, you see." "That they certainly are not, Miss Mitford," the mate laughed. "I saw some of them the last time I came through here, and hideous-looking creatures they are, and wear no clothes to speak of." So laughing and chatting with their eyes fixed on the shore the party never looked seaward, until a sudden exclamation from the mate called their attention to that direction. "Be Jabers!" he exclaimed, "here is a sea-fog rolling down on us from the south!" They looked and saw what seemed like a wall of white smoke rolling along the water towards them. At this moment the boat was about half-way between two headlands, which were a mile and a half apart, and the shore abreast of it was three-quarters of a mile distant. The sun was shining brightly upon the rolling mist, and the girls uttered an exclamation of admiration. "How fast it comes!" Marion said. "Why, it will be here directly!" The mate put the tiller a-starboard. "Row, men!" he said in a sharp voice; for they had for a moment ceased to pull. "Have you a compass?" Mr. Atherton asked in low tones. The mate shook his head. "I am no better than an idiot to have come without one," he said. "But who could have dreamt we should want it?" A minute later a light wreath of mist crossed the boat, and almost immediately the great fog-bank rolled over it. An exclamation broke from several of those on board. So sudden was the change of temperature that it seemed as if an icy hand had been laid upon them. "It is fortunate that we are not far from shore," Mr. Atherton said to the mate. "There is nothing for it but to coast along close in." "That is the only thing to do," Mr. Ryan replied. "But it will be an awkward business; for, as we noticed when we came along, the shore is in many places studded with rocks. However, we must risk that, and by going on slowly and carefully we may get off with slight damage even if we hit one. It is not as if the water was rough." The fog was so thick that they could scarcely see the ends of the oar-blades. "How are we to find the ship?" Marion asked. "There will be no difficulty about that, Miss Renshaw. They will be sure to be firing guns as signals for us. There!" he broke off as the boom of a cannon came across the water. "Besides, with the land on our right hand and this icy breeze from the south, we cannot go far out of our way." "Row easy, men," the mate commanded. "We cannot be far from shore now, and we must begin to look out sharp for rocks. Row light and aisy, and do not make more noise with your oars than you can help. The natives may be listening for us; and we do not want a shower of spears in the boat. Mr. Allen, will you go forward into the bows, and keep a sharp look-out for rocks?" James Allen went forward, and two or three minutes later cried, "Easy all! Hold her up!" Quickly as the order was obeyed the boat's stem grated on the shore before her way was lost. "Back her off, lads!" the mate cried. As the boat glided off into deep water again there was a yell from the shore, and a dozen spears struck the water round her. Fortunately none of them struck her, for she was invisible to the natives, who had been guided to the spot by the sound of the oars. "Not an encouraging reception," Mr. Atherton remarked quietly. "Well, ladies, you have not seen the cannibals as yet, but you have heard them. I think the best plan, Mr. Ryan, will be to tear up one of these rugs and muffle the oars." "I think we may as well do so," the mate replied "However, their sharp ears are sure to hear us if we are close inshore, and we dare not go far out or we might lose our bearings altogether." "I do not think we can do that. In the first place, you see, there is the breeze that brought down the fog to guide us, and in the second the guns of the ship. We cannot go far wrong with them; and I should say that when we once get out as far as we believe the headland to lie, the best thing will be to steer direct for the ship. The danger in that way would certainly be far less than it is from rocks and savages if we keep near the shore." "I think you are right. We will row straight out against the wind for a quarter of an hour, that will take us clear of the headland, and we will then shape our course direct for the guns." CHAPTER VI. PUTTING IN THE REFIT. The boat rowed steadily in the course that was believed would take them straight out to sea, the mate listening attentively for the sound of the distant guns. The reports came up every two or three minutes, their sound muffled by the fog. "Sure it's mighty difficult to tell where the sound comes from, but I think it is well over there on our beam. Do not you think so?" the mate asked Mr. Atherton. "I think so; yes, I feel sure that we are rowing nearly due south. Even without the sound of the guns I should feel sure that we cannot at present be far out of that course. I noticed that as we came along you hardly had to use any helm, and that the strength on both sides was very evenly balanced. So that starting out as we did from the shore, we must be travelling pretty straight. Of course in the long run we should be sure to sweep round one way or the other and lose our bearings altogether were it not for the guns. Wilfrid, we will appoint you time-keeper." "What am I to keep time of, Mr. Atherton?" "You are to keep time of the guns. I think they are firing about every three minutes, but you had better time the first two or three. If you find them three minutes apart, it will be your duty a quarter of a minute before the gun is due to say in a loud voice 'Stop,' then all conversation is to cease till we hear the report. Unless we are all silent and listening, it is very difficult to judge the exact direction from which the sound comes, and it is important to keep as straight a line as we can. There is the gun now, begin to count." [Illustration: A DOZEN SPEARS STRUCK THE WATER ROUND HER _Page 103_] "I think we can turn our head in that direction now," the mate said. "It is just twenty minutes since we left the shore, and we ought to be fully a mile out beyond the headland." "I quite agree with you. We have certainly a clear course now to the ship if we do not make any blunder in keeping it." The mate put the tiller a-starboard. "I wonder how long I am to keep it over?" he said. "It is a queer sensation steering without having an idea which way you are going." "The next gun will tell us whether we have gone too far round or not far enough," Mr. Atherton observed. "Well, we will try that," the mate said after a short pause. "I should think we ought to have made half a turn now." "Stop!" Wilfrid exclaimed a minute later. "Easy rowing, lads, and listen for the gun." The mate ordered silence in the boat. Half a minute later the report of the gun was again heard. There was a general exclamation of surprise, for instead of coming, as they expected, from a point somewhere ahead, it seemed to them all that the sound was almost astern of them. "Now, who would have thought that?" the mate said. "I had no idea she had gone round so far. Well, we must try again, and go to work more gently this time. Row on, men!" The tiller was put slightly a-port, and the boat continued her way. The talk that had gone on among the passengers was now hushed. Mr. Atherton had been chatting gaily with the girls from the time the fog came on, and except at the moment when they went ashore and were attacked by the natives, no uneasiness had been felt, for the sound of the guns had seemed to all an assurance that there could be no difficulty in rejoining the ship. The discovery that for a moment they had been actually going away from the ship had, for the first time since they rowed away from the shore, caused a feeling of real uneasiness, and when Wilfrid again gave notice that the report would soon be heard, all listened intently, and there was a general exclamation of satisfaction when the sound was heard nearly ahead. "We have got it now," the mate said. "Row on, lads; a long steady stroke and we shall be in before dinner is cold yet." The conversation now recommenced. "Is it any use my stopping here any longer?" Jim Allen cried from the bow; "because if not I will come aft to you. It is a good deal warmer sitting together than it is out here by myself." "Yes, you may as well come aft," the mate replied. "As long as we keep the guns ahead we know that we are clear of rocks. It certainly has come on bitterly cold." There was a general chorus of assent. "I should think it would be a good thing, Ryan, to get the sail aft and unlash it from the gaff and put it over our legs, it will make a lot of difference in the warmth." "I think that that is a very good idea," the mate assented. "Lay in your oar for a minute, Johnson, and get that sail aft." The sail was passed aft, unlashed from the yard, and spread out, adding considerably to the comfort of all those sitting astern; and now that the ship's guns were booming ahead, and they had become accustomed to the thick curtain of cloud hanging round them, the feeling of uneasiness that the girls had felt was entirely dissipated, and Mr. Atherton had no longer any occasion to use his best efforts to keep up their spirits. All laughed and chatted over their adventure, which, as they said, far exceeded in interest anything they had been promised when they started from the ship. The only drawback, as they all agreed, was the cold, which was indeed really severe. "We do not seem to come up to the guns as we ought to," Mr. Atherton said to the mate after the boat had been rowing for some time. "That is just what I was thinking," Mr. Ryan replied. "I fancy we must have got a strong current out here against us." "I expect we have. Ryan, I tell you what. The men have been rowing for some hours now since they left the ship, I think it would be a good thing if our youngsters were to relieve some of them for a spell. What do you say, lads?" Wilfrid, the Allens, Hardy, and Wilson all exclaimed that they should be delighted to take a turn, as it would warm their blood. "We shall be able to give them all a spell," Mr. Atherton said, "for there are just six of us." "I am certainly not going to let you pull, and you scarcely out of the doctor's hand," the mate said bluntly. "Why, you must be mad to think of such a thing! Here, do you take the tiller and I will row the stroke-oar. Easy all, lads; put on your jackets. Four of you come aft, and the other two go into the bows." "I wish we could row," Marion said regretfully, as the new crew bent to their oars. "I have done a lot of rowing at home, Mr. Atherton, and they say I row very fairly." "I am afraid you would not be of much assistance here, young lady," Mr. Atherton said. "It's one thing to work a light well-balanced oar such as you use in a gig up the river, but it is a very different one to tug away at one of these heavy oars in a sea-going boat like this with ten sitters in her. We shall want all our strength to get back, you may be sure. There must be a strong current against us, and there is little chance of our being back, as we hoped, by dinner-time." After the men had had half an hour's rest Mr. Ryan told them to take their seats and double bank the oars. "We shall travel all the faster," he said to Mr. Atherton, "and now that they have got their wind again it is far better that they should be rowing than sitting still. The guns are a good deal nearer now. I do not think that the ship can be more than a mile or a mile and a half away." "I do not suppose she is," Mr. Atherton replied. "I think I will fire off my rifle two or three times. They ought to be able to hear it now, and it will relieve their minds." He discharged his rifle four or five times, and they fancied that they heard shots in return. "Hullo!" Mr. Atherton exclaimed suddenly. "Easy all! Hold her up hard all!" Although the order was entirely unexpected it was given so sharply that it was instantly obeyed, and the boat was brought to a stand-still before she had advanced another length. Then the rowers looked round to see what had been the occasion of the sudden order. In front of them, scarce ten feet away, towered up a dark mass of rock. They could only see it ahead of the boat, and how high it was or how far it extended on either side they knew not. "Why, what is this?" the mate said in astonishment. "We did not notice any islands as we came along. It has been a narrow escape, for at the rate at which we were going through the water we should have stove in our bow had we run on it." "We have had a narrower escape than we deserve," Mr. Atherton said. "I cannot think how we can have been so foolish." "What do you mean?" the mate asked. "Why we have been steering straight for the guns, have we not?" "Of course we have." "Well, we ought not to have done so. If the ship had been lying well out from the land it would have been all right; but she is lying in a deep bay, and of course a straight course to her from the point we started from would take us just where we are, that is ashore, on the other side of the headland." "Of course it would. We ought to have kept well to seaward of the guns till they bore right on our beam, and then headed in to her. Well, fortunately no harm has been done, but we have had a mighty narrow escape. If the fog had been as thick as it was when it first came down upon us we should have gone right into it before we saw it." The boat was turned and rowed out to sea for some distance, then they again headed her in the direction in which they wished to go, but keeping the guns well in shore of them until they judged by the sound that they were nearly opposite to her, then they rowed straight towards her. The sound of their oars was heard, and a loud hail informed them of the exact position of the ship, and two or three minutes later a dark image loomed up in front of the boat. "All well, Mr. Ryan?" the captain shouted. "All well, sir." "You have given us a great fright," the captain went on. "We expected you back at least two hours ago, thinking of course you would have returned when the fog set in, even if you had not done so before." "We had turned, sir, before the fog rolled in; but what with losing our way, and the difficulty of keeping our course in the fog, and the fact that there is, we think, a strong current that was running against us further out, we have been a long time coming back. So, you see, we have double banked all the oars." By this time they were lying by the gangway. It was found that the girls in spite of their wraps were so stiff with the cold that they had to be assisted up the gangway to the deck. Exercise warmed the blood of the rest, and they were soon on deck. Mr. Atherton, who alone of the men had not been rowing, had some little difficulty in getting up, although, as he said, he had no more right to feel cold than a walrus, protected as he was by nature. There had been much anxiety on board until the shots fired by Mr. Atherton were heard. The captain had ordered plenty of hot soup to be got ready, and the girls soon felt in a comfortable glow. Mr. Atherton gave a comical account of their adventures, but he did not conceal the fact that at one time their position had been really a perilous one, and that if they had not been pretty vigilant they might have fallen into the hands of the natives. "Well, all is well that ends well," Mr. Renshaw said, "but I think we will have no more boat excursions as long as we are in the neighbourhood of cannibals. Of course no one could have foreseen the fog coming on so suddenly, but you have evidently all had a narrow escape." Those who had taken part in the adventure, however, were highly pleased with their share in it, and agreed that although perhaps at the time it was unpleasant it was very exciting, and was an incident that they should never forget all their lives. The fog continued for three days, at the end of which time an easterly wind set in and the air cleared, and the _Flying Scud_ weighed her anchor and proceeded on her voyage. Ten days later a gale set in from the south. The cold was intense, and the spray as it flew from her bows cased her fore-rigging and deck with ice. The wind increased hourly in fury, and the captain decided to run before it. "We have plenty of sea-room," he said, "and shall get out of this bitter cold as we get further north. It will not last long, I daresay." Day after day, however, the gale continued, seeming to increase rather than diminish in force. On the morning of the sixth day after it had begun the passengers heard a tremendous crash on deck. Wilfrid ran up the companion and looked out, and reported that the mainmast and the fore-top-mast had gone overboard. Fortunately the gust that had done this damage proved to be the climax of the gale; by nightfall its force had sensibly abated, and two days later it fell to a calm, and all hands set to work to repair damages. "I have no spar that will be of any use for a mainmast," the captain said. "We must content ourselves with getting up a fore-top-mast and then under what sail we can set upon that and the mizzen make for one of the islands and try to get a good-sized spar for the mainmast. I reckon that we are not more than two hundred and fifty miles from the Austral Group. We have been blown nearly twenty degrees north." Three days later land was seen ahead, and this the captain, after taking an observation, declared to be Malayta, one of the largest islands of the group. "I would rather have gone on under this reduced sail," he said to Mr. Atherton, in whom he had great confidence, "if we had been sure of fine weather; but that we cannot reckon upon at this time of year, and I should not like to be caught in another gale in this crippled state so near the islands. So of the two evils I consider it the least to go in and try and get a spar that will do for our purpose." "What is the evil of going in?" Mr. Atherton asked. "The natives," the captain replied shortly. "They are a treacherous lot in all these islands; but the Australs bear a particularly bad reputation, and we shall have to be very careful in our dealings with them." "Well, as we are forewarned they are not likely to take us by surprise, captain; and as with the crew and passengers we can muster a pretty strong force, we ought to be able to beat off any open attack." "Yes, I think we could do that," the captain agreed. "If I did not think so I would not put in, but would take the chance of our making our way, crippled as we are, to New Zealand. The thing we shall have to guard against is a sudden and treacherous onslaught; the crews of many ships have been massacred owing to carelessness and over-confidence. However, we will not be caught napping, and I therefore hope to get off unscathed." As they neared the land the passengers were delighted with the aspect of the shore. Groves of trees came down to the very edge of the water; in the interior the land was high, but was covered to the summit of the hills with foliage. As they approached, and the captain gave orders to prepare for anchoring, they could see a number of natives gathered on the narrow strip of sands close to the water. They were waving boughs of trees in token of friendship, and were, as far as could be seen by the aid of a telescope, unarmed. "They look friendly, mother," Marion said after watching them through the glass. "Won't it be nice to land and take a walk among those feathery-looking trees. There will be no fear of fogs or cold here, the temperature is quite perfect." "You will not land, I can assure you, young lady," the captain, who was passing by and overheard her, said. "Those fellows look friendly enough, I agree, but there are no more treacherous rascals among the islanders of the Pacific. I shall give them as wide a berth as I can, and get them if possible to cut a spar and tow it out to us, instead of sending a party on shore to fetch it. No one will leave this ship with my permission, unless it be a boat's party armed to the teeth to fetch water. These fellows are as treacherous as the natives of Tierra del Fuego, and vastly more warlike and dangerous." "Are they cannibals, captain?" Mrs. Renshaw asked. "That I cannot tell you for certain, Mrs. Renshaw. They are thieves and murderers, but whether they eat human flesh is more than I can tell. It does not concern me greatly whether if they kill me they eat me afterwards or not; but I do not mean to give them the chance of killing me or any of us, I can assure you." "After the character you have given me of them I have no longer the slightest inclination to land, captain." As soon as the vessel came to an anchor a number of canoes put out, laden with yams, cocoa-nuts, and other vegetables and fruit for exchange. Had they been allowed they would have come alongside and climbed up to the deck, but the captain would not permit them to come within thirty or forty yards. Although there was no one on board who could speak their language, his emphatic gestures were understood by the natives, and were sufficient to show them that he was not to be trifled with. Two boats only were allowed to approach at a time, and a guard of six sailors with muskets were placed on deck with orders to prevent anyone coming up, and to cover those who descended the gangway. The younger passengers thought that the captain was unnecessarily timid; but ready as he was to oblige them on ordinary occasions, they saw that this time it would be no use to try to change his determination that none should go on shore. Going down the gangway they bargained with the natives, giving little articles in exchange for fruit. Mr. Atherton was evidently of the captain's opinion as to the necessity for prudence, and had stationed himself with his rifle near the gangway. "They look quite peaceful and cheerful," Marion Renshaw said to him. "Do you think there is really any use in all these precautions, Mr. Atherton?" "I do indeed, Miss Renshaw. I do not think one can be too careful when dealing with people who are notoriously so treacherous." "Are you a good shot with a rifle, Mr. Atherton?" "Yes; although I say it myself, I am an exceptionally good shot. I have practised a great deal with the rifle, and have, I suppose, a natural aptitude for it; for when I fire I am morally certain of hitting my mark, though I am hardly conscious of taking aim." When the contents of a few boats had been taken on board the captain made signs that he required no more, and the natives, with looks of evident discontent, paddled back to the shore. "We shall have some chiefs off in the morning," the captain said. "To-day they have kept in the background, but seeing that we are wary and on our guard they will probably come off to-morrow to view matters for themselves. I shall let them perceive that I am well prepared, and it may be when they see this they will be inclined to do a little honest trading, and to bring off a strong spar with which we can at anyrate make a shift for our mainmast. We will keep watch and watch as if we were at sea. It is as likely as not some of their canoes may be coming out in the night to see if we are to be caught napping." "It is horrid," Kate Mitford said, as she with her sister, Marion, and several of the younger passengers stood together that evening on the poop looking towards the shore. The young moon was sinking in the west, the stars shone with great brilliancy, and the water was as smooth as glass. The outline of the palms could be made out against the sky, and in several places the light of fires could be perceived, and the stillness of the evening was broken by the hum of distant voices. "It is really a shame that we cannot go ashore. I am sure the savages looked civil and friendly, and it would be delightful to wander about in such a wood as that." Two or three voices were raised in assent. "Have you heard the little story of the spider and the fly, Miss Kate?" Mr. Atherton said, moving across from the other side of the deck, where he was smoking a cigar. "In that case, you know, it was the prettiest little bower that ever you did espy, and perhaps the fly admired it just as much as you admire that grove ashore. The result of a visit would be identical in both cases. Those on board other ships have been taken in by the peaceful appearance of the natives and the loveliness of the islands, and the result was fatal to them. Personally, I should feel much more comfortable if I saw those savages putting out in a body in their canoes to attack the ship than I do now while they are keeping up this pretence of friendliness. An open danger one can meet, but when you know that treachery is intended, but have no idea what form it will take or when the mask of friendship will be thrown off, it is trying to the nerves. Fortunately we know their character, and may hope to be ready when the danger comes. Still the waiting is trying." "And you really feel that, Mr. Atherton?" Marion Renshaw asked. "I do indeed, Miss Renshaw. We may get away without trouble; but if so, it will be solely because the natives see that we are prepared for them and are not to be taken by surprise. Seeing our crippled state, my own opinion is, that the natives will not let us go off without making at least one attempt to surprise us." Mr. Atherton spoke strongly, for he thought that it was possible that some of the youngsters might, unless thoroughly roused to a sense of danger, do something foolish and rash. His words had the effect desired. His share in the affair at Rio had caused him to be regarded with respect and admiration by the young men on board, and they felt that if in his opinion the danger was grave it was not for them to doubt its reality. A vigilant watch was kept all night, and loaded muskets were served out to the watch on deck. The guns had been loaded before they anchored, and the spare muskets were placed so as to be handy for the watch below should they be suddenly called up. After the moon went down a light mist rose on the surface of the sea. Several times during the night faint sounds were heard near the ship, but immediately the officer of the watch challenged, silence reigned for a considerable time. "How has the night passed, Ryan?" Mr. Atherton asked the first officer as soon as he came on deck, just as daylight was breaking. "There have been some of them near us all night," Mr. Ryan replied. "I do not think they were in force, but they wanted to see whether we kept a sharp watch; and I think we have satisfied them as to that, for everytime the slightest noise was heard we hailed at once. I should like to have sent a musket-ball in the direction of the sound, but as we must get a spar, if possible, and shall be all the better for a score or two casks of fresh water, it won't do to begin to quarrel with them. Once we get what we want on board the beggars may attack us as soon as they like. It would do them a world of good to get handsomely thrashed, and to be taught that vessels are not to be plundered with impunity." "As you say, it might do them good, but I hope there will be no trouble. I have no doubt whatever that we should beat them off, but we might lose some lives in doing it; besides, we have ladies on board." "I hope so too; and, prepared as we are, I should feel quite safe if it was not for that mast being gone. They know that we are comparative cripples, and no doubt looked upon us as lawful booty when they saw us making in; and I do not think they will let themselves be balked of their prey without an effort." "That is just my view of the matter, and I mean to keep a sharp look-out while we are here. You will all have your hands full, and I will get two or three of the young fellows to join with me in keeping a sharp watch over their doings." "That is a good plan," the mate agreed. "There will, as you say, be plenty for us to do, and it worries one to have to attend to work and to keep one's eyes at the back of one's head at the same time. Of course we shall always have a watch set whatever we are doing, still I have more faith in your look-out than in that of half a dozen fo'castle hands." When the two Allens and Wilfrid came on deck Mr. Atherton drew them aside. "Look here, lads," he began. "You heard what I said last night. I meant it, and I am sure I was not wrong, for there have been canoes hovering about us all night. Now, in a short time the officers and crew will be seeing about getting water on board, and if the natives bring out a spar that will do as a jury mainmast there will be the work of trimming it, getting it into its place, and rigging it. My own opinion is, that now the natives see we are suspicious and on the watch they will for some time make a show of being extremely friendly so as to throw us off our guard, and as the officers and sailors will be busy they may possibly relax their precautions a little. Now I propose that you and I shall constitute an amateur watch from sunrise to dark. After that the men's work will be done, and there will be no fear of their being taken by surprise. The real danger is, I think, in the daytime. Wilfrid and I will take the second-mate's watch, and do you two take the first-mate's--that is, if you agree to my proposal." The three young fellows at once expressed their willingness to do as he directed them. "During our respective watches," Mr. Atherton went on, "we must keep our attention directed solely to the natives. There must be no watching what is going on on board, no talking and laughing with the other passengers; we must consider ourselves as if on duty. One of us must take his place on the fo'castle, the other in the waist. The natives are sure to hang round the ship in their canoes watching what we are doing, and offering things for sale. It will be our duty to keep a vigilant eye upon them, to watch every movement, to give instant warning if their number is at any time larger than usual, and, in fact, to prevent the possibility of their closing suddenly in upon us and taking us by surprise. Remember, it is a case of absolute duty; I have volunteered to the first officer to undertake it, and he will, relying upon our vigilance, give his attention to his work." "Shall we be armed, Mr. Atherton?" James Allen asked. "Yes, James, I think that it will be as well to have our guns beside us while on duty. Of course there is no occasion to have them on our shoulders like sentries, but it will be well to have them always within reach of the hand in case of sudden danger. The report of a musket would give the alarm far quicker and more effectually than a shout would do, especially if men are at work on deck and making a noise. Well, as you agree, we will begin after breakfast." "How about meals, sir?" Tom Allen asked. "If they mean to make an attack I should think they would be likely to choose meal-time, when the passengers are all below and the deck will be comparatively deserted." "We must keep watch then also," Mr. Atherton said decidedly. "I will speak to Mr. Ryan and ask him to tell the steward that two of us will require something put on the table for them after the others have done. I do not think that he himself is likely to leave the deck when the captain is below, and the two of us who happen to be on duty can have our meals when he does. Of course whenever those on duty come down for this purpose the others will take their places until they return. We will change about each day. This is supposed to be your watch, Allen, from four to eight. Wilfrid and I will begin the work at that hour. You will relieve us at twelve, and we shall take the watch from four to eight. To-morrow we will take the early watch, and so on." "I will tell the Grimstones," Wilfrid, who had always gone for a daily chat with the men forward, said; "they will be glad to join us in the watch, and I should think the other men forward would do so too. I know they all find it very hard work to get through the day." The Grimstones at once agreed to keep watch, as did the other three men who occupied the fore cabin with them. Mr. Atherton got muskets and ammunition for them from Mr. Ryan, and the two Grimstones were appointed to his watch, the other men to that of the Allens. At seven bells most of the passengers came on deck to enjoy the fresh morning air for an hour before breakfast. "You are not going to enjoy the pleasure of Wilfrid's or my company at breakfast, Mrs. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said, smiling, to that lady as she stood with the three girls round her on the poop. "Why not, Mr. Atherton?" she asked in surprise. "He and the Allens and myself are going to do amateur sentry work as long as we lie here, Mrs Renshaw. The crew will be all busy refitting the ship, and so I have volunteered to undertake, with their assistance, the duty of keeping a sharp eye on those tricky gentlemen ashore." "Are you in earnest, Mr. Atherton?" "Quite in earnest that we are going to do so, Mrs. Renshaw. There may be no absolute occasion for it, but there is nothing like keeping on the safe side; and as we cannot go ashore, and one cannot talk continuously for fifteen or sixteen hours, we may just as well pass a portion of our time in playing at sentinels." "But when will you get breakfast?" Marion asked. "Shall I bring it up to you, Mr. Atherton?" "No, thank you, Miss Renshaw. We have arranged to have it with Mr. Ryan afterwards. I am much obliged to you for your offer just the same. It is a very kind one, especially since you will, for once, particularly enjoy your breakfast, as you will have room for your elbows." "You are laughing at me again, Mr. Atherton. One would really think that you take me to be about ten years old." "I think a little teasing does you good, Miss Renshaw. It is one of the privileges of us old fellows to try to do good to our young friends; and girls of your age lord it so over their brothers and their brothers' friends, that it is good for them to be teased a little by their elders." "Would not you think, mother," Marion appealed, "that Mr. Atherton by his talk was somewhere about eighty and that I was quite a child?" "I agree with him that it is rather a good thing for girls of your age, Marion, to be snubbed a little occasionally; especially on a voyage like this, when there are several young fellows on board who have nothing better to do than to wait upon you and humour your whims." There was a general laugh. Before a fresh subject was started the breakfast bell rang and the passengers went below. Mr. Atherton fetched his rifle from his cabin, and Wilfrid was going to unpack his double-barrelled gun when his friend said: "I should not bother about that now, Wilfrid; take one of the ship's muskets. It will make just as much noise if you have to fire it, and you will not be alarming the passengers by bringing your gun backwards and forwards from your cabin. I am going to hang up my rifle when I come off guard in Ryan's cabin on deck, where it will be handy. You take the fo'castle, your two men can be in the waist, one on each side, and I will take the poop. Just at present our duty will be a nominal one, as the canoes have not put out, but I expect they will be here before long." Before breakfast was over, indeed, a large canoe was brought down from the woods and placed in the water, and a number of natives appeared on the shore. The first officer at once summoned the captain on deck. "Tell all the men to have their arms handy, Mr. Ryan," the captain said as he looked at the gathering on shore. "I do not suppose they mean to attack us in this open way, still we may as well be upon our guard. Order the men not to show their arms, but to go about their work as usual. We do not wish to appear afraid of them, or to take up a position of hostility. I hope the chiefs are coming off for a friendly palaver." In a few minutes the canoes put off from the shore. First came the great canoe, which was paddled by thirty men. In the bow and stern were hideous images. Four natives, evidently of superior rank, were seated near the stern, and in the bow stood a man beating his hands in time to the stroke of the paddles and singing a song, which was responded to by a deep exclamation from the rowers at every stroke. Another man stood by the side of the singer waving a green bough. Behind this great canoe followed a score of smaller ones. "We will receive them in state, Mr. Ryan. Evidently they intend to keep up an appearance of friendliness at present. We will meet them in the same spirit. Fasten the signal flags on to the halyards and run them up to the masthead, let half a dozen men with cutlasses take their place at the gangway as a sort of guard of honour, let the rest go on with their work but keep their arms handy for action." When the great canoe approached the vessel the men stopped paddling, and one of the chiefs standing up made an address to the captain, who was standing at the top of the gangway. Not a word that he said was understood, but the address seemed to be of a friendly nature, and the chief held up some cocoa-nuts and yams as if to show his desire to trade. When he had finished the captain took off his hat and also spoke, and by gestures invited the chiefs to come on board. By this time all the passengers had come on deck, and were watching the proceedings with great interest. "Do you think it safe to let them on board?" the first officer asked Mr. Atherton, who was intently watching the natives in the smaller canoes. "Quite safe," he replied. "So long as only a few of their followers come with them there is no fear of their attempting anything. While the chiefs are in our hands they act, as it were, as hostages for the good conduct of their people. So far their intentions are clearly peaceful. Whether that will last will depend upon whether they think there is a chance of success or not. At present all we have to do is to take advantage of it, and to get what we want on board." By this time the canoe was approaching the side of the ship. The four chiefs ascended the ladder, followed by four or five of lower rank who had been seated near them. As they reached the deck the principal chief turned round and shouted an order in a loud voice. Its effect was immediate. The canoe in which they had arrived at once paddled away to a short distance, while the smaller craft, which had before been drifting slowly towards the vessel, also retired and lay huddled behind the large canoe. CHAPTER VII. A SAVAGE SURPRISE. The captain led the way on to the poop, the chiefs and the natives with them following, while the first officer with the six sailors with sabres kept in their rear. Once on the quarter-deck Mr. Ryan ranged three of the men by the bulwark on either side, telling them to sheath their cutlasses, but to be prepared for instant action in case of treachery. The chiefs preserved a stolid demeanour, scarce glancing at the passengers, who were gathered on the poop. At the captain's orders the steward brought up a number of cushions and placed them on the deck in a circle. The captain seated himself on one and motioned to the chiefs to follow his example, which they did without hesitation. Mr. Ryan now brought up a number of things as presents for the chiefs, and each was presented with a hand mirror, a roll of scarlet cloth, and some trinkets, as a small supply of these had been brought on board for trade with the natives in case of the necessity arising. The head chief was in addition presented with an axe, and rolls of coloured cotton strings of glass beads and some brass rings were given to the inferior chiefs. The natives appeared pleased with their presents. The captain then addressed them, and endeavoured to explain that he wanted a supply of water. An empty barrel was brought up and some water poured into this, and the captain then pointed to the shore, and by gestures intimated that he wished the barrels to be taken ashore and filled. The chiefs evidently understood the explanation, and nodded their assent. The captain then led them to the stump of the mainmast, pointed to the shore, and taking an axe imitated the action of chopping, and showed that he wanted them to fell a tree and bring it off to the vessel. The chief pointed to the boats hanging on the davits, placed the axe in the hands of one of the men, and clearly signified that the crew could go ashore and cut down a tree if they chose. The captain shook his head and placed the axe in the hands of one of the chiefs. Their leader, however, went up to the foremast, and by spreading out his arms signified that it was a great size, and then held out the small axe the captain had presented to him with an action of disdain. "The beggar means that with one axe they would never cut down a tree of that size," the first officer said. "That is all humbug, Ryan; they can bring down the biggest trees for the construction of their canoes. I believe they bring them down by fire. However, it is as well to humour them. Tell the carpenter to bring half a dozen axes." This was done, and the axes laid down on the deck. There was now a consultation between the natives. After a while they nodded, and then made signs that someone must go ashore with them to choose the tree. "What do you say, Ryan?" the captain asked. "It is of importance that we should get a stick that will suit us. The question is whether it will be safe to trust a man on shore with these scoundrels?" "I will go ashore if you like, captain," Mr. Ryan replied. "I do not like it, Ryan," the captain said. "You see, they would make mincemeat of an armed crew in no time." "I should not propose to take a crew, sir; they could afford no protection against a number of natives. I do not think the beggars would assault a single man. You see, there would be nothing to gain by it; and if they did it would put the ship on its guard, and their game at present is evidently to be friendly. I do not think there is any danger in the affair. If I did not go they might send off some stick that would be of no use at all to us, and as we came in on purpose to get a mast it is worth while risking something." "Well, Ryan," the captain said after a moment's deliberation, "I think perhaps you are right, and that one man would be safe with them. It is certainly of great importance for us to get the sort of stick we want, so as you are ready to volunteer I do not think myself justified in refusing your offer." The captain then put his hand on the chief officer's shoulder and intimated to the natives that he would accompany them on shore. The party then returned to the poop, and the steward brought up some tumblers and two or three bottles of rum. The chiefs' eyes glistened as the liquor was poured out, and each swallowed a half tumbler of the spirit with an air of the deepest satisfaction. "That is the present they like best," the captain said; "and I suppose I had better give them some for consumption on shore. At any rate it will keep them in a good temper until Ryan is back again." Accordingly two bottles of rum were presented to the leading chief, a bottle to the three next in rank, and two or three bottles among the others. The great canoe was hailed, the natives again took their places in it, accompanied by the first officer, and the boat then started for the shore. Some of the smaller craft now came alongside, and the process of barter was again commenced. Yams, bread-fruit, and other products of the island were obtained for the use of the ship in exchange for beads, empty bottles, and small mirrors, while the passengers succeeded in obtaining many curiously carved weapons, calabashes, woven cloths, and other mementoes of their visit. Only two or three of the canoes were allowed alongside at a time, and a vigilant look-out was maintained to see that the others did not approach the ship. The captain walked restlessly up and down the poop, constantly turning his glass upon the shore. An hour after the great canoe had reached it he exclaimed in a tone of intense satisfaction, "There is Ryan coming down to the beach. Thank heaven he is safe!" The first-mate was seen to take his place in a small canoe, which at once rowed off to the ship. The captain shook him heartily by the hand as he stepped on deck. "Thank heaven you have got back safely, Ryan! it has been a hazardous business, and I shall take care to let the owners know how you have risked your life by going ashore in their service. Well, how have you succeeded?" "I found a grand pine growing within thirty or forty yards of the water, about a quarter of a mile beyond that point to the left. As I expected, the natives had no idea of using the axes for such a purpose. When I left them a party were piling wood round the foot of the tree, and I have no doubt they will soon get it down in their own way. I suppose they will waste ten or twelve feet at the base, but that is of no consequence, for the tree is long enough and to spare to make us a fair-sized mainmast." "That is right; and as it is so close to the water we can send a boat to see how they are getting on. How about water?" "They showed me a spring about fifty yards from the beach, nearly facing us. There is plenty of water there, and it is perfectly fresh and sweet, for I tasted it. If they make any bother about bringing it off, a couple of boats with well-armed parties could fetch it without difficulty as the distance is so short." "That is capital, Ryan. I hope our difficulties are pretty well over, and that we shall get off without any trouble with these fellows." "I hope so, sir. They certainly seemed friendly enough with me on shore." In the evening Mr. Ryan, with a crew of six men, went in the captain's gig to see how the natives were getting on with the tree. The men had their muskets and cutlasses laid under the thwarts in readiness for action. The natives, however, appeared perfectly friendly. The crews of several of the canoes near which they passed shouted some sort of greeting, but paid no other attention to them. On rounding the point the first officer steered straight for the tree he had chosen. A light smoke was ascending from its foot, and half a dozen natives were gathered there. When close to the spot he ordered the men to turn the boat round and back her ashore. "I am going to land, lads," he said, "and see how they are getting on. I do not think that there is the least danger, but you had best keep in readiness to row off the instant I jump on board." Mr. Ryan then proceeded to the tree. He found that a circle of small fires had been built against it. These were fed with dry wood, and were slowly but steadily eating their way into the tree, and he saw that only two or three feet of the base would be injured by their action. He nodded approvingly to the natives, but muttered to himself: "It's a mighty slow way of bringing down a tree. It is not much above three feet and a half in diameter, even at the base, and a couple of men with axes would bring it down in an hour, while there is no saying how long they will be with these fires of theirs. However, I should say that they will get through it to-night or some time to-morrow. It is a fine stick, and runs up as straight as an arrow, and is thick enough for fifty feet for our purpose." He walked quietly back to the boat, took his seat, and was rowed back to the ship, where he reported that the natives were carrying out their promise, and that by the next day the tree would be down. On visiting the spot again on the following morning it was found that the tree had fallen. "The fellows know their business," Mr. Ryan said to the man who rowed the stroke-oar. "You see that they managed so that it should fall towards the water. Now, lads, you can take to the axes we have brought with us and chop it through at the point where we want it cut; it will save the trouble of getting off the upper branches, and render it much more handy for getting afloat." Leaving two of the men in the boat, Mr. Ryan and the other four leapt ashore, and were not long in cutting through the tree. Another half-hour sufficed to lop off all the branches below this point, and the trunk was then ready for launching. The natives stood round watching the work with exclamations of surprise at the speed with which the keen axes did their work. Mr. Ryan had brought with him from the ship a number of presents, and these he distributed among the party who had been engaged in felling the tree. "I do not know," he said to the captain when he returned, "whether they mean to get the stick in the water and bring it here, or whether they expect we shall do that part of the business ourselves." "I think we will wait until to-morrow morning, Mr. Ryan. If we hear nothing of them by then you had better take two boats--one with men to do the work, the other to lie just off and protect them while they do it." There was, however, no occasion for this, for early the next morning seven or eight canoes were seen coming round the point with much beating of tom-toms and sounding of conch horns. "Here comes the spar!" the captain exclaimed; "the worst of our difficulties is over, thank goodness!" "I would keep an eye open, Ryan, if I were you," Mr. Atherton said as the mate passed him to give orders for preparing to get the spar on deck. "There are a good many other canoes coming off from the shore, and they might take the opportunity for making a sudden attack." "Right you are," the mate said. "Let the starboard watch," he shouted, "keep their arms handy! Four men with muskets take their place at the top of the gangway, but do not show the arms unless you get orders to do so!" The trunk was towed alongside the ship. Mr. Atherton and the party who had placed themselves under his orders kept a vigilant watch on the canoes to see if the occupants were armed. There was a deal of talking and gesticulating going on among them, but no arms could be seen, and Mr. Atherton soon concluded that if treachery was intended the present was not the time at which it would be shown. The crew were all on deck, and the natives must have known their arms were close at hand, for each day a few of those who came to trade had been permitted to come on deck, partly to show confidence on the part of those on board, partly that the visitors might see the arms lying in readiness for use, and be able to report on shore that the ship was not to be taken by surprise. No sooner was the spar alongside than a couple of sailors lowered themselves down and passed ropes round it. These ropes were then passed through blocks and taken to the capstan. The bars were fitted and seized by a dozen men. The boatswain's whistle sounded, and starting their anchor song the men tramped round and round, the ropes tightened, and the heavy spar was parbuckled up on to the deck. No sooner was it got on board than the four chiefs who had before visited the ship came alongside. There was another talk, and they were presented with a considerable number of presents for themselves and followers as a reward for their service in sending off the spar. Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid did not approach the group of passengers round the chiefs, keeping their attention vigilantly upon the boats, from which the danger, if it existed, would come. The Allens, however, in accordance with Mr. Atherton's instructions, watched the natives closely, and noticed as they came on deck they cast quick and scrutinizing glances round them as if to see what were the chances of a surprise. Mr. Ryan, however, had, when he saw the great canoe approaching, placed ten men with muskets on guard, and the chiefs doubtless perceived that a surprise could not be effected. After a stay of about a quarter of an hour the chiefs departed with their presents, of which, by the care they took of it, it was evident that they considered a case of rum to be by far the most precious. No sooner was the trunk of the pine fairly on board than a gang of men provided with adzes began, under the direction of the carpenter, to prepare it. The bark was chipped off, the stumps of the branches shaved close, and they then began to chip it down to the required thickness from end to end. "It will make a fine spar," the captain said in a tone of great satisfaction, after he had examined it. "I think it will do for her permanent mast. If it will it will save us a lot of trouble when we get into Wellington." "I think it will be a little light, sir," Mr. Ryan said, "by the time we have got it perfectly smooth and even. Still, I have seen lighter spars in a ship of this size, and I certainly think we are most fortunate in getting such a stick. When do you think you will get it ready, Watson?" "I should say we shall have it nearly ready for getting into its place by to-morrow night, Mr. Ryan," the carpenter replied, "though we may not quite finish it until next day; for, you see, when it comes to getting it smoothed, I and my mate must do it by ourselves." "I should not be particular about smoothing it," the captain said, "but of course you must make it so that it will take the spare irons we have got for the topmast. We shall have plenty of time to put the finishing touches to it when we get to Wellington. I begin to think these natives are not so black as they are painted, Mr. Ryan." "Perhaps not, sir; but maybe if they had not seen that we were so ready for them there would be a different tale to tell." "That is so," the captain agreed. "There is no doubt that the best way of dealing with natives is never to give them a chance." The carpenter's gang continued steadily at their work, while the first officer got up the sheer-legs and hoisted the stump of the mainmast from its place. The butt of the new mainmast was cut to match this, and on the second day after it arrived alongside it was hoisted into its position. The whole of the stays and rigging of the mainmast had been cut away as soon as it went overboard; but there was plenty of spare rope on board, and before evening the new mast was firmly stayed in its place, and all was in readiness for hoisting the spar that was to serve as topmast. The natives had watched the proceedings with great interest. Quite a crowd of canoes gathered round the ship, and were greatly surprised at seeing the heavy spar raised by the sheers and dropped into its place; and they replied to the hearty cheers that rose from the crew and passengers when this was accomplished by wild yells and cries and the sounding of their horns. "I begin to think," the captain said to Mr. Atherton, "that the natives have got a worse name than they deserve. I do not mean, of course, that they have not perpetrated several atrocious massacres, but I expect these must have been the result of extreme carelessness on the part of those on ships, or perhaps of rough treatment, for some captains treat the natives of islands like these like dogs. As far as they could have told there was an excellent chance of attacking the ship to-day, though we know that we kept up a vigilant watch all the time, and yet nothing could have been more friendly than they were." "There is no doubt something in what you say, captain," Mr. Atherton agreed. "Many of the captains of the ships who trade among these islands are certainly rough fellows, who would think nothing of knocking a native down, and others again are so culpably careless as to offer almost an inducement to the natives to grasp what is to them untold wealth. Still, I think it is as well to be cautious." "Of course we shall be cautious," the captain replied; "but I really do not think that you and the others need bother yourselves to be always standing on sentry." "It is no trouble," Mr. Atherton said, "and I think we will keep it up until we are fairly under weigh." Mr. Atherton was not pleased at seeing that the captain the next day relaxed somewhat in the strictness of the rules he laid down, and the crew were allowed to trade freely with the natives. "We must be more vigilant than ever," he said to Wilfrid and the Allens. "The captain is so pleased at having got his mast on board that he is disposed to view the natives with friendly eyes, which, if they mean treachery, is just what they want. Finding that we were too much on the watch to be taken by surprise, they would naturally try to lull us with a sense of false security." In the afternoon the chief again came off and formally invited the captain to a feast on shore. He accepted the invitation, and went back with them, accompanied by three or four of the passengers who had scoffed at the idea of danger. After a stay of two or three hours they returned on board. "I think, Mr. Ryan," the captain said that evening, "you had better take a couple of boats in the morning and go ashore for water. We shall have everything ready for getting up our anchor after dinner. Of course your crew will be well armed and take every precaution, but I do not think that there is the slightest danger." "Very well, sir. You may be sure I will keep my weather-eye open." Mr. Atherton shook his head when in the morning he saw the boats being lowered, and heard from the first officer the orders he had received. "From what you say there is water enough to last us to Wellington if we are all put on somewhat shorter allowance, and that would be infinitely better than running the risk of your going ashore." "The water might last if all goes well," the mate said, "but if we were to get becalmed for some time, which is likely enough in these latitudes, we should be in an awkward fix. I shall keep a sharp look-out on shore, never fear. The distance to the spring is, as I told you, not above fifty yards, and I will keep half the men filling and the other half on guard. If they should mean mischief we will give it them hot." "How many men will you take?" "Sixteen--ten in the cutter and six in the gig." "That would only leave us ten on board," Mr. Atherton said. "If they attack you they will attack us too, that is a moral certainty. At any rate, I will hint to some of the passengers that they had better keep their arms in readiness while you are away." Mr. Atherton refused to go down to breakfast when the Allens came up to relieve him after finishing their meal. "We will have both watches on deck this morning," he said. "We shall be very short-handed while Ryan and his party are away. Unfortunately the captain is convinced there is not the slightest danger. He snubbed me this morning quite smartly when I said casually that I supposed that he would not let any of the natives on board while Ryan was away." As the rest of the passengers came up from breakfast, Mr. Atherton spoke to some of those with whom he had been most intimate on the voyage, and told them that he thought it would be just as well for them to bring their arms on deck and keep them close at hand until the watering party returned. "It is no great trouble," he said, "and it is just as well to be ready in case the natives mean mischief. I know that some of the youngsters consider me to be an alarmist, and I will give them free leave to laugh at me when we are once safely out at sea, but the stake is too heavy to admit of carelessness; there are not only our own lives but those of the ladies to be thought of." Three or four of the passengers followed this advice and brought their muskets or double-barrelled guns on deck. They were a good deal laughed at by the rest, who asked them if they had joined Atherton's army, as the little party who had kept watch were called. However, when the boats pushed off with the empty casks, and the passengers saw how large was the complement of the crew who had left them, three of the others strolled down to the cabin and got their guns. In half an hour the great canoe with the chiefs came off, and as it approached the ship Mr. Atherton told Wilfrid to go forward, and tell the five men there to come aft and be in readiness to mount to the poop the moment they saw any sign of trouble. "If there is a row," he said, "we have to hold the poop. There are only the two ladders to defend, and we can do that; but it would be useless to try to hold the whole of the ship." As the captain left the poop and went down into the waist to receive the chiefs, Mr. Atherton went up to where Mrs. Renshaw was sitting. "Will you take my advice, Mrs. Renshaw?" "Certainly I will," she said, smiling; "for I am sure it will be good, whatever it is." "Then, Mrs. Renshaw, I advise you at once to go below with your daughter and the Miss Mitfords. I do not say that we are going to have trouble, but if we are this is the time. Pray oblige me by doing as I ask." Mrs. Renshaw at once rose, called Marion and the other two girls, who were gaily chatting with a group of the passengers, and asked them to go below with her. Wilfrid and the two Allens were now on the poop, as Mr. Atherton had told them that they had better remain there instead of placing themselves at other points. The Grimstones and the three other passengers forward were gathered near the ladders. As usual the chiefs accompanied the captain on to the poop, followed by half a dozen of the minor chiefs; and Mr. Atherton noticed that several of the others, instead of sitting quietly in the canoe, slipped up after them on to the deck. The flotilla of small canoes, which had as usual put out in the train of the large one, was edging in towards the vessel. Mr. Atherton leant over the poop rail and spoke to the second officer, who was engaged in the waist with the men. "Mr. Rawlins, I do not quite like the look of things. I think that it would be as well if you were to gather as many of the hands as you can at the foot of the ladder here, without, of course, alarming the natives, as it may be only my fancy." The second-mate nodded, and at once told the men with him to knock off from their work. "Get hold of your cutlasses quietly," he said, "and gather near the foot of the starboard port ladder." Then going to the gangway he stopped a native who was just climbing up from the canoe, and motioned to them that no more were to come on board. The talk with the chiefs was a short one. The stewards brought up two cases of rum, and when these were handed over to them the natives rose as if to go. Suddenly the leader drew his axe from his girdle, and with a loud yell buried it deep in the captain's head. The yell was echoed from some hundred throats, the crew of the canoe leapt to their feet and began to clamber up the side of the vessel, while those in the smaller craft dashed their paddles into the water and urged their boats towards it. At the same moment the natives on board all drew concealed weapons. So quick had been the action of the chief that Mr. Atherton had not time to prevent it, but before the body of the captain touched the deck that of the chief was stretched beside it with a bullet through the brain. Wilfrid and the Allens seeing the natives rise to go had thought the danger over, and two passengers had been struck down before they brought their rifles to their shoulders. They were within a few feet of the chiefs, and each of their shots told. For a minute or two there was a scene of wild confusion. The natives in the waist fell furiously upon the sailors, but these, fortunately put upon their guard, received the attack with determination. The sound of the lads' rifles was followed almost instantly by the sharp cracks of a revolver Mr. Atherton produced from his pocket, and each shot told with fatal effect. When the revolver was empty not a native remained alive on the poop. The other passengers had been taken so completely by surprise that even those who had brought up their arms did not join in the fray until the poop was cleared. "Keep them back there!" Mr. Atherton shouted as the natives came swarming up the ladder on the port side. Several shots were fired, but the passengers were too startled for their aim to be true. "Give me your musket, Renshaw!" Mr. Atherton exclaimed, snatching the piece the latter had just discharged from his hands, "my rifle is too good for this work." He then clubbed the weapon, and whirling it round his head as if it had been a straw fell upon the natives, who were just pouring up on to the poop, shouting to the passengers, "Fire on the mass below! I will keep these fellows at bay!" Every blow that fell stretched a man lifeless on deck, until those who had gained the poop, unable to retreat owing to the pressure of those behind them, and terrified by the destruction wrought by this giant, sprang over the bulwark into the sea. Just as they did so the little party of sailors and steerage passengers, finding themselves unable to resist the pressure, made their way up to the poop by the starboard ladder, hotly pressed by the natives. By this time several of the male passengers who had rushed below for their weapons ran up, and Wilfred and the Allens having reloaded, such a discharge was poured into the natives on the port ladder that the survivors leapt down on to the deck below, and the attack for a moment ceased. The whole of the forward portion of the ship was by this time in the hands of the natives. Three sailors who were at work there had been at once murdered, only one of the party having time to make his escape up the fore rigging. Spears now began to fly fast over the poop. "We must fall back a bit, Mr. Rawlins, or we shall be riddled," Mr. Atherton said. "Your men had better run down and get muskets; we will keep these fellows at bay. I do not think they will make a rush again just at present. Will you see that the door leading out on to the waist is securely barricaded, and place two or three men there? Mr. Renshaw, will you and some of the other passengers carry down those ladies who have fainted, and assure them all that the danger is really over." Mr. Atherton had so naturally taken the command that the second mate at once obeyed his instructions. Most of the ladies had rushed below directly the fray began, but two or three had fainted, and these were soon carried below. The male passengers, eighteen in all, were now on deck. Several of them looked very pale and scared, but even the most timid felt that his life depended on his making a fight for it. A perfect shower of spears were now flying over the poop from the natives in the canoes alongside, and from the ship forward. "We had best lie down, gentlemen," Mr. Atherton said. "If the natives make a rush up the ladders we must be careful not to fire all at once or we should be at their mercy. Let those by the bulwarks fire first, and the others take it up gradually while the first reload. Of course if they make a really determined rush there will be nothing to do but to meet them and drive them back again." Unfortunately the four cannon of the _Flying Scud_ were all amidships, and were therefore not available for the defence. "If we could make a breastwork, Mr. Atherton, so that we could stand up behind it and fire down into the waist we might drive these fellows out," the second officer suggested. "A very good idea. Wilfrid, will you run down and ask the ladies to get up to the top of the companion all the mattrasses, trunks, and other things that would do to form a barricade? It will be a good thing for them to have something to do. Mr. Rawlins, will you send down the stewards to help? they might get some cases and barrels up. As fast as they bring them up we will push them along the deck and form a breastwork." CHAPTER VIII. THE END OF THE VOYAGE. When Wilfred went below to get materials for a barricade, he found the ladies kneeling or sitting calm and quiet, although very pale and white, round the table, while Mrs. Renshaw was praying aloud. She concluded her prayer just as he came down. There was a general chorus of questions. "Everything is going on well," Wilfrid said cheerfully; "but we want to make a breastwork, for the spears are flying about so, one cannot stand up to fire at them. I have come to ask you all to carry up mattrasses and pillows and cushions and portmanteaus, and anything else that will make a barricade. The steward will open the lazaret and send up barrels and things. Please set to work at once." Not a moment was lost; the ladies carried the things rapidly up the companion, two of the passengers passed them outside, and others lying in a line pushed them forward from one to another until they arrived at those lying, rifle in hand, twenty feet aft of the poop rails. There was soon a line of mattrasses four deep laid across the deck. "That will do to begin with," Mr. Atherton said. "Now, let us push these before us to the end of the poop, and we can then commence operations. The sailors, Wilfrid Renshaw, the Allens, and myself will first open fire. Will the rest of you please continue to pass things along to add to the height of our barricade? I wish we knew how they are getting on on shore." For almost immediately after the struggle had begun on board the sound of musketry had broken out from that quarter, and they knew that the watering party had been attacked directly the natives knew that their chiefs had commenced the massacre on board ship. Several times, in spite of the danger from the flying spears, Mr. Atherton had gone to the stern and looked towards the shore. The boats lay there seemingly deserted, and the fight was going on in the wood. A number of canoes had placed themselves so as to cut off the return of the boats should the sailors succeed in making their way to them. As soon as the line of mattrasses was pushed forward to the edge of the poop a steady fire was opened upon the natives, who had already taken off the hatches, and were engaged in bringing their plunder up on deck, deferring the dangerous operation of carrying the poop for the present. As soon, however, as the fire opened upon them they seized their spears and tomahawks, and, led by one of their chiefs, made a rush at the two poop ladders. Mr. Atherton gave a shout, and the whole of the passengers seizing their muskets sprang to their feet and ran forward to the barricade, and so heavy a fire was poured into the natives as they tried to ascend the ladders, that they fell back again and contented themselves with replying to the fire with volleys of spears. The passengers at once renewed their work of passing the materials for the barricade forward, and this was continued until it rose breast high. They then took their places closely together behind it, and joined its defenders in keeping up a heavy fire upon the natives. So deadly was its effect that the latter began to lose heart and to jump over into the canoes alongside. A cheer broke from the passengers as they saw the movement of retreat. It was no longer necessary for any to reserve their fire, and this was redoubled. The natives were discouraged by the want of leaders; their principal chiefs had all been killed on the poop, and any other who attempted to rally them and lead them again to an attack was instantly shot down by Mr. Atherton, who, as Wilfrid, who was standing next to him observed, never once failed to bring down the man he aimed at. "I think we might go at them, sir, now," the second officer said to Mr. Atherton; "the fight is all out of them." "I think so too, Rawlins. Now, gentlemen, give them one last volley and then pull down the barricade across the ends of the ladders and charge them." The volley was given, and then with a ringing cheer the barricade was thrust aside, and, led on one side by Mr. Atherton and on the other by the second officer, the defenders of the poop sprang down the ladders and rushed forward. The natives did not stop to await them, but sprung overboard with the greatest precipitation, and the _Flying Scud_ was once again in the hands of its lawful owners. "Now, Rawlins, do you and the sailors work the guns, we will pepper them with our rifles," Mr. Atherton said. "Mr. Renshaw, will you go aft and tell the ladies that all is over?" But this they had already learned. Marion, after the things had been passed up, had taken her place at the top of the companion, occasionally peering out to see what was going on, and running down with the news to them below, and as the loud cheer which preceded the charge had broken from those on deck, she had called out to the ladies below that the natives were beaten. The shower of spears from the boats had ceased as soon as the natives saw their friends leaping overboard, and as Mr. Renshaw ascended the poop to deliver the message the ladies were flocking out on deck, each anxious to ascertain whether those most dear to them had suffered in the fray. Marion run forward and threw herself into his arms. "Not hurt, father?" "No, my dear, thank God. Some of us have got spear wounds more or less awkward, but nobody has been killed except those who were struck down at the beginning." As he spoke the four cannon boomed out one after another, for they had been loaded some days before, and a hail of bullets and pieces of iron with which they had been crammed tore through the canoes, while terrible yells rose from the natives. Three of the canoes were instantly sunk, and half the paddlers in the large boat of the chief were killed or disabled. Almost the same instant a dropping fire of musketry was opened, the passengers firing as soon as they had reloaded their pieces. "Give another dose to that big fellow!" the second officer shouted to the men at the two guns at that side of the ship. "Shove a ball in, men, and a bagful of bullets--take steady aim, and remember the poor captain!" A minute later the guns were fired. A terrible cry was heard, and almost instantaneously the great canoe disappeared below the water. "Get the other two guns over to this side," Mr. Rawlins said; "we must lend a hand now to the party ashore. Load all the guns with grape, and aim at those canoes between us and them." These, following the example of those around the ship, were already moving towards the shore, and the discharge of the four guns sunk two of them and sent the others off in headlong flight. "What had we better do now, Mr. Atherton?" "I should load with round shot now, Rawlins, and open fire into the wood on both sides of the landing-place. The sound of the shot crashing among the trees will demoralize the scoundrels even if you do not hit anyone." Three or four rounds were fired, and then those on board gave a cheer as they saw the sailors issue out from among the trees and take their places in the boats. Half a minute later they were rowing towards the vessel, unmolested by the natives. Mr. Ryan stood up in the stern of his boat as soon as they were within hailing distance and shouted--"How has it gone with you?" "We have beaten them off, as you see," the second officer shouted back; "but the ship was pretty nearly in their hands for a time. The captain is killed, I am sorry to say; four of our men, and two of the passengers. How have you done?" "We have lost three men," Mr. Ryan replied, "and most of us are wounded." The boats were soon alongside, and Mr. Ryan, after hearing what had taken place on board, related his experience. "We had got about half the casks filled when we heard a rifle shot on board a ship, followed directly by the yells of the black divils. I ordered the men to drop the casks and take to their guns, but I had scarcely spoken when a volley of spears fell among us. Two men were killed at once. I had intended to take to the boats and come off to lend you a hand, but by the yelling and the shower of spears I saw that the spalpeens were so thick round us that if we had tried we should pretty well all be killed before we could get fairly out, so I told the men to take to the trees and keep up a steady fire whenever the natives tried to make a rush at us. I was, of course, terribly anxious about you all at first, and I knew that if the ship was taken they must have us all sooner or later. After the first few shots there was silence for a time, and I feared the worst." "The spears were flying so thick we could not stand up to fire," the second officer put in. "Ah! that was it. Well, I was afraid you had all been massacred, and you may imagine how relieved I was when I heard a dropping fire of musketry begin; I knew then that they had failed to take you by surprise. The fire at last got so heavy I was sure that most of you had escaped the first attack, and we then felt pretty hopeful, though I did not see how we were to get down to the boats and get off to you. When we heard the first cannon shot we gave a cheer that must have astonished the natives, for we knew you must have cleared the deck of the scoundrels. I had set a man at the edge of the trees by the water to let us know how you were going on, and he soon shouted that the canoes were drawing off! Then we heard the big canoe was sunk, and that you had driven off the craft that were lying between us and the ship. A minute later the round shot came crashing among the trees, and almost immediately the yelling round us ceased, and we felt sure they must be drawing off. We waited until you had fired a couple more rounds, and then as all seemed quiet we fell back to the boats, and, as you saw, got off without a single spear being thrown at us. I am awfully sorry for the poor captain. If he had but taken your advice, Mr. Atherton, all this would not have happened; but at last he got to trust these treacherous scoundrels, and this is the result." "Well, Mr. Ryan, you are in command now," Mr. Atherton said, "and we are all ready to carry out any orders that you will give us." "First of all then, Mr. Atherton, I must, in the name of the owners of this ship, of myself, the officers and crew, thank you for having saved it and us from the hands of these savages. From what Mr. Rawlins tells me, and from what I know myself, I am convinced that had it not been for your vigilance, and for the part you have taken in the defence of the ship, the natives would have succeeded in their treacherous design of massacring all on board almost without resistance." A cheer broke from the passengers and crew, and Mr. Renshaw said when it had subsided: "I, on the part of the passengers, endorse all that Mr. Ryan has said; we owe it to you, Atherton, that by God's mercy we and those dear to us have escaped from death at the hands of these savages. It was you who put some of us on our guard; it was your marvellous shooting with the revolver that first cleared the poop; and your extraordinary strength, that enabled you single-handed to check the onslaught of the natives and give us time to rally from our first surprise, and saved the ship and us." "Do not let us say anything more about it," Mr. Atherton said; "we have all done our duty to the best of our power, and have reason to be heartily thankful to God that we have got out of this scrape without heavier loss than has befallen us. Now, Mr. Ryan, please give your orders." "The first thing, undoubtedly, is to clear the deck of these bodies," Mr. Ryan said. "What about the wounded?" Mr. Renshaw asked, "no doubt some of the poor wretches are still alive." "They do not deserve any better fate than to be tossed overboard with the others; still, as that would go against the grain, we will see what we can do." He looked over the side. "There is a good-sized canoe floating there fifty yards away. I suppose the fellows thought it would be safer to jump overboard and swim ashore. Four of you men get out the gig and tow the canoe alongside. We will put any wounded we find into it and send it adrift; they will come out and pick it up after we are fairly off." The bodies of sixty natives who had been killed outright were thrown overboard, and eighteen who were found to be still alive were lowered into the canoe. "I do not think we are really doing them much kindness, though of course we are doing the best we can for them," Mr. Atherton said to Mr. Renshaw. "I doubt if one of them will live. You see, all who were able to drag themselves to the side jumped overboard, and were either drowned or hauled into the canoes." As soon as the operation was over the casks of water were got on board and the boats hoisted to the davits. The anchor was then hove up and some of the sails shaken out, and with a gentle breeze the vessel began to draw off the land. As soon as this was done all hands set to work washing down the decks; and in two or three hours, except for the bullet marks on the deck and bulwarks, there were no signs left of the desperate conflict that had raged on board the _Flying Scud_. At sunset all hands gathered on the poop, and the bodies of the captain and two passengers, and of the sailors who had fallen, were reverently delivered to the deep, Mr. Ryan reading the funeral service. The ladies had retired below after the boats had come alongside, and did not come up until all was ready for the funeral. Mrs. Renshaw and three or four of the others had been employed in dressing the wounds of those who had been injured. Four out of the six sailors who had survived the massacre on board had been more or less severely wounded before they won their way on the quarter-deck, and six of the watering party were also wounded. Eight of the passengers had been struck with the flying spears; but only two of these had received wounds likely to cause anxiety. After the funeral was over more sail was hoisted, the breeze freshened, and the _Flying Scud_ proceeded briskly on her way. The rest of the voyage was uneventful. Thankful as all were for their escape, a gloom hung over the ship. The death of the captain was much felt by all. He had been uniformly kind and obliging to the passengers, and had done everything in his power to make the voyage a pleasant one. One of the passengers who was killed was a young man with none on board to mourn him, but the other had left a widow and two children, whose presence in their midst was a constant reminder of their narrow escape from destruction. The voyage had produced a very marked change in Mr. Renshaw. It had brought him in far closer connection with his children than he had ever been before, with results advantageous to each. Hitherto they had scarcely ever seen him except at meals, and even at these times his thoughts were so wholly taken up with the writings on which he was engaged that he had taken but little part in the general conversation beyond giving a willing assent to any request they made, and evincing no interest whatever in their plans and amusements. Now, although for four or five hours a day he worked diligently at his study of the Maori language, he was at other times ready to join in what was going on. He often walked the deck by the hour with Wilfrid and Marion, and in that time learned far more of their past life, of their acquaintances and amusements at their old home, than he had ever known before. He was genial and chatty with all the other passengers, and the astonishment of his children was unbounded when he began to take a lively part in the various amusements by which the passengers whiled away the long hours, and played at deck quoits and bull. The latter game consists of a board divided into twelve squares, numbered one to ten, with two having bulls' heads upon them; leaden discs covered with canvas are thrown on to this board, counting according to the number on which they fall, ten being lost for each quoit lodged on a square marked by a bull's head. On the evening of the day before the shores of New Zealand came in sight Mr. Renshaw was sitting by his wife. "The voyage is just finished, Helen," he said. "It has been a pleasant time. I am sorry it is over." "A very pleasant time, Alfred," she replied, "one of the most pleasant I have ever spent." "I see now," he went on, "that I have made a mistake of my life, and instead of making an amusement of my hobby for archæology have thrown away everything for it. I have been worse than selfish. I have utterly neglected you and the children. Why, I seem only to have made an acquaintance with them since we came on board a ship. I see now, dear, that I have broken my marriage vows to you. I have always loved you and always honoured you, but I have altogether failed to cherish you." "You have always been good and kind, Alfred," she said softly. "A man may be good and kind to a dog, Helen; but that is not all that a wife has a right to expect. I see now that I have blundered miserably. I cannot change my nature altogether, dear; that is too late. I cannot develop a fund of energy by merely wishing for it; but I can make the happiness of my wife and children my first thought and object, and my own pursuits the second. I thought the loss of our money was a terrible misfortune. I do not think so now. I feel that I have got my wife again and have gained two children, and whatever comes of our venture here I shall feel that the failure of the bank has brought undeserved happiness to me." "And to me also," Mrs. Renshaw said softly as she pressed her husband's hand. "I feel sure that we shall all be happier than we have ever been before. Not that we have been unhappy, dear, very far from it; still you have not been our life and centre, and it has been so different since the voyage began." "He is not half a bad fellow, after all," Mr. Atherton said, as leaning against the bulwark smoking his cigar he had glanced across at the husband and wife seated next to each other talking in low tones, and evidently seeing nothing of what was passing around them. "He has brightened up wonderfully since we started. Of course he will never be a strong man, and is no more fit for a settler's life than he is for a habitation in the moon. Still, he is getting more like other people. His thoughts are no longer two or three thousand years back. He has become a sociable and pleasant fellow, and I am sure he is very fond of his wife and children. It is a pity he has not more backbone. Still, I think the general outlook is better than I expected. Taking it altogether it has been as pleasant a voyage as I have ever made. There is the satisfaction too that one may see something of one's fellow-passengers after we land. This northern island is not, after all, such a very big place. That is the worst of homeward voyages. People who get to know and like each other when they arrive in port scatter like a bomb-shell in every direction, and the chances are against your ever running up against any of them afterwards." Somewhat similar ideas occupied the mind of most of the passengers that evening. The voyage had been a pleasant one, and they were almost sorry that it was over; but there was a pleasurable excitement at the thought that they should next day see the land that was to be their home, and the knowledge that they should all be staying for a few days at Wellington seemed to postpone the break-up of their party for some little time. No sooner was the anchor dropped than a number of shore boats came off to the ship. Those who had friends on shore and were expecting to be met watched anxiously for a familiar face, and a cry of delight broke from the two Mitfords as they saw their father and mother in one of these boats. After the first joyful greeting was over the happy little party retired to the cabin, where they could chat together undisturbed, as all the passengers were on deck. Half an hour later they returned to the deck, and the girls led their father and mother up to Mrs. Renshaw. "I have to thank you most heartily, Mrs. Renshaw, for your great kindness to my girls. They tell me that you have throughout the voyage looked after them as if they had been your own daughters." "There was no looking after required, I can assure you," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I was very pleased, indeed, to have them in what I may call our little party, and it was a great advantage and pleasure to my own girl." "We are going ashore at once," Mr. Mitford said. "My girls tell me that you have no acquaintances here. My own place is hundreds of miles away, and we are staying with some friends while waiting the arrival of the ship, and therefore cannot, I am sorry to say, put you up; but in any other way in which we can be of assistance we shall be delighted to give any aid in our power. The girls say you are thinking of making this your head-quarters until you decide upon the district in which you mean to settle. In that case it will, of course, be much better for you to take a house, or part of a house, than to stop at an hotel; and if so it will be best to settle upon one at once, so as to go straight to it and avoid all the expenses of moving twice. It is probable that our friends, the Jacksons, may know of some suitable place, but if not I shall be glad to act as your guide in house-hunting." Mr. Renshaw here came up and was introduced to Mr. Mitford, who repeated his offer. "We shall be extremely glad," Mr. Renshaw replied; "though I really think that it is most unfair to take you even for a moment from your girls after an absence of five years." "Oh, never mind that," Mr. Mitford said; "we shall land at once, and shall have all the morning to talk with them. If you and Mrs. Renshaw will come ashore at four o'clock in the afternoon my wife and I will meet you at the landing-place. Or if, as I suppose you would prefer to do, you like to land this morning and have a look at Wellington for yourselves, this is our address, and if you will call at two o'clock, or any time later, we shall be at your service. I would suggest, though, that if you do land early, you should first come round to us, because Jackson may know some place to suit you; and if not, I am sure that he will be glad to accompany you and act as your guide." "I should not like to trouble--" Mr. Renshaw began. "My dear sir, you do not know the country. Everyone is glad to help a new chum--that is the name for fresh arrivals--to the utmost of his power if he knows anything whatever about him, and no one thinks anything of trouble." "In that case," Mr. Renshaw said smiling, "we will gladly avail ourselves of the offer. We should all have been contented if the voyage had lasted a month longer; but being here, we all, I suppose, want to get ashore as soon as possible. Therefore we shall probably call at your address in the course of an hour or so after you get there." Wilfrid and Marion were indeed in such a hurry to get ashore that a very few minutes after the Mitfords left the side of the ship, the Renshaws took a boat and started for the shore. Most of the other passengers also landed. "We shall go in alongside the quays in an hour's time," the captain said as they left; "so you must look for us there when you have done sight-seeing. We shall begin to get the baggage up at once for the benefit of those who are in a hurry to get away to the hotels; but I shall be glad for you all to make the ship your home until to-morrow." For an hour after landing the Renshaws wandered about Wellington, which they found to be a pretty and well-built town with wide streets. "Why, it is quite a large place!" Wilfrid exclaimed in surprise. "Different, of course, from towns at home, with more open spaces. I expected it would be much rougher than it is." "It is the second town of the island, you see," Mr. Renshaw said; "and is an important place. Well, I am glad we did not cumber ourselves by bringing everything out from England, for there will be no difficulty in providing ourselves with everything we require here." After wandering about for an hour they proceeded to the address Mr. Mitford had given them. It was a house of considerable size, standing in a pretty garden, a quarter of a mile from the business part of the town. They were warmly received by the Mitfords, and introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. "Mr. Mitford has been telling me that you want to get a house, or part of a house, for a few weeks till you look about you and decide where you will settle down," Mr. Jackson said. "I am a land and estate agent, besides doing a little in other ways. We most of us turn our hands to anything that presents itself here. I have taken a holiday for this morning and left my clerk in charge, so I am quite at your service. You will find it difficult and expensive if you take a whole house, so I should advise you strongly to take lodgings. If you were a large party it would be different, but you only want a sitting-room and three bed-rooms." "We could do with a sitting-room, a good-sized bed-room for my wife and myself, and a small one for my daughter," Mr. Renshaw said; "and take a bed-room out for a few nights for Wilfrid, as he will be starting with a friend to journey through the colony and look out for a piece of land to suit us." "Then there will be no difficulty at all. You will find lodgings rather more expensive than in England. I do not mean more expensive than a fashionable watering-place, but certainly more expensive than in a town of the same kind at home. House rent is high here; but then, on the other hand, your living will cost you less than at home." After an hour's search lodgings were found in a house at no great distance from that of Mr. Jackson. It was a small house, kept by the widow of the owner and captain of a small trading ship that had been lost a year previously. The ship had fortunately been insured, and the widow was able to keep on the house in which she lived, adding to her income by letting a portion of it to new arrivals who, like the Renshaws, intended to make a stay of some little time in Wellington before taking any steps to establish themselves as settlers. "I think," Mr. Jackson said when this was settled, "you are doing wisely by letting your son here take a run through the colony. There is no greater mistake than for new-comers to be in a hurry. Settle in haste and repent at leisure is the rule. Mr. Mitford was saying that he hoped that you might settle down somewhere in his locality; but at any rate it will be best to look round first. There is plenty of land at present to be obtained anywhere, and there are many things to be considered in choosing a location. Carriage is of course a vital consideration, and a settler on a river has a great advantage over one who has to send his produce a long distance to market by waggon. Then, again, some people prefer taking up virgin land and clearing it for themselves, while others are ready to pay a higher sum to take possession of a holding where much of the hard work has already been done, and a house stands ready for occupation. "At present no one, of course, with a wife and daughter would think of settling in the disturbed district, although farms can be bought there for next to nothing. The war is, I hope, nearly at an end, now that we have ten British regiments in the island. They have taken most of the enemy's pahs, though they have been a prodigious time about it, and we colonists are very discontented with the dilatory way in which the war has been carried on, and think that if things had been left to ourselves we could have stamped the rebellion out in half the time. The red-coats were much too slow; too heavily weighted and too cautious for this sort of work. The Maoris defend their pahs well, inflict a heavy loss upon their assailants, and when the latter at last make their attack and carry the works the Maoris manage to slip away, and the next heard of them is they have erected a fresh pah, and the whole thing has to be gone through again. However, we need not discuss that now. I take it that anyhow you would not think of settling down anywhere in the locality of the tribes that have been in revolt." "Certainly not," Mr. Renshaw said. "I am a peaceful man, and if I could get a house and land for nothing and an income thrown into the bargain, I should refuse it if I could not go to bed without the fear that the place might be in flames before the morning." "I am bound to say that the natives have as a whole behaved very well to the settlers; it would have been easy in a great number of cases for them to have cut them off had they chosen to do so. But they have fought fairly and well according to the rules of what we may call honourable warfare. The tribesmen are for the most part Christians, and have carried out Christian precepts. "In one case, hearing that the troops assembling to attack one of their pahs were short of provisions, they sent down boat-loads of potatoes and other vegetables to them, saying that the Bible said, 'If thine enemy hunger feed him.' Still, in spite of instances of this kind, I should certainly say do not go near the disturbed districts, for one cannot assert that if hostilities continue they will always be carried on in that spirit. However, things are at present perfectly peaceable throughout the provinces of Wellington and Hawke Bay, and it may be hoped it may continue so. I have maps and plans of all the various districts, and before your son starts will give him all the information I possess as to the advantages and disadvantages of each locality, the nature of the soil, the price at which land can be purchased, and the reputation of the natives in the neighbourhood." The next day the Renshaws landed after breakfast and took up their abode in the new lodgings. These were plainly but comfortably furnished, and after one of the trunks containing nick-nacks of all descriptions had been opened, and some of the contents distributed, the room assumed a comfortable home-like appearance. A lodging had been obtained close by for the two Grimstones. The young fellows were heartily glad to be on shore again, for life among the steerage passengers during a long voyage is dull and monotonous. Mr. Renshaw had looked after them during the voyage, and had supplied them from his own stores with many little comforts in the way of food, and with books to assist them to pass their time; still they were very glad the voyage was over. When he now told them it was probable that a month or even more might pass after their arrival in the colony before he could settle on a piece of land, and that during that time they would remain at Wellington, they at once asked him to get them work of some kind if he could. "We should be learning something about the place, sir; and should probably get our food for our work, and should be costing you nothing, and we would much rather do that than loiter about town doing nothing." Mr. Renshaw approved of their plan, and mentioned it to Mr. Jackson, who, on the very day after their landing, spoke to a settler who had come in from a farm some twenty miles in the interior. "They are active and willing young fellows and don't want pay, only to be put up and fed until the man who has brought them out here with him gets hold of a farm." "I shall be extremely glad to have them," the settler said. "This is a very busy time with us, and a couple of extra hands will be very useful. They will learn a good deal as to our ways here in the course of a month, and, as you say, it would be far better for them to be at work than to be loafing about the place doing nothing." Accordingly, the next morning the two Grimstones went up country and set to work. CHAPTER IX. THE NEW ZEALAND WAR. For a few days the greater part of the passengers who had arrived by the _Flying Scud_ remained in Wellington. Mr. Atherton and the two Allens had put up at the same hotel. The latter intended to go out as shepherds or in any other capacity on a farm, for a few months at any rate, before investing in land. They had two or three letters of introduction to residents in Wellington, and ten days after the arrival of the ship they called at the Renshaws' to say good-bye, as they had arranged to go for some months with a settler up the country. They promised to write regularly to Wilfrid and tell him all about the part to which they were going. "Mr. Atherton has promised to write to us," they said, "and tell us about the districts he visits with you, and if you and he discover anything particularly inviting we shall at any rate come and see you, if you will give us an invitation when you are settled, and look round there before buying land anywhere else. It would be very pleasant to be somewhere near you and him." "We shall be very glad, indeed, to see you," Mrs. Renshaw said; "still more glad if you take up a piece of ground near us. Having friends near is a very great point in such a life as this, and it would be most agreeable having a sort of little colony of our own." "We should have liked very much," James Allen said, "to say good-bye to the Miss Mitfords, but as we do not know their father and mother it might seem strange for us to call there." "I do not think they are at all people to stand on ceremony," Mrs. Renshaw said; "but I will put on my bonnet and go round with you at once if you like." This was accordingly done. Mr. Mitford had heard of the young men as forming part of the little group of passengers on board the _Flying Scud_, and gave them a hearty invitation to pay him a visit if they happened to be in his neighbourhood, and the next day they started for the farm on which they had engaged themselves. Two days later there was a general break up of the party, for Mr. and Mrs. Mitford started with their daughters in a steamer bound to Hawke Bay. "Will you tell me, Mr. Jackson, what all the trouble in the north has been about," Wilfrid asked that evening, "for I have not been able to find out from the papers?" "It is a complicated question, Wilfrid. When New Zealand was first colonized the natives were very friendly. The early settlers confidently pushed forward into the heart of native districts, bought tracts of land from the chiefs, and settled there. Government purchased large blocks of land, cut off by intervening native territory from the main settlements, and sold this land to settlers without a suspicion that they were thereby dooming them to ruin. The settlers were mostly small farmers, living in rough wooden houses scattered about the country, and surrounded by a few fields; the adjoining land is usually fern or forest held by the natives. They fenced their fields, and turned their cattle, horses, and sheep at large in the open country outside these fences, paying rent to the natives for the privilege of doing so. "This led to innumerable quarrels. The native plantations of wheat, potatoes, or maize are seldom fenced in, and the cattle of the settlers sometimes committed much devastation among them; for the Maori fields were often situated at long distances from their villages, and the cattle might, therefore, be days in their patches before they were found out. On the other hand, the gaunt long-legged Maori pigs, which wander over the country picking up their own living, were constantly getting through the settlers' fences, rooting up their potatoes, and doing all sorts of damage. "In these cases the settlers always had the worst of the quarrel. They either had no weapons, or, being isolated in the midst of the natives, dared not use them; while the Maoris, well armed and numerous, would come down waving their tomahawks and pointing their guns, and the settlers, however much in the right, were forced to give way. The natural result was that the colonists were continually smarting under a sense of wrong, while the Maoris grew insolent and contemptuous, and were filled with an overweening confidence in their own powers, the result of the patience and enforced submission of the settlers. The authority of the queen over the natives has always been a purely nominal one. There was indeed a treaty signed acknowledging her government, but as none of the chiefs put their name to this, and the men who signed were persons of inferior rank with no authority whatever to speak for the rest, the treaty was not worth the paper on which it was written. "The Maoris from the first exhibited a great desire for education. They established numerous schools in their own districts and villages; in most cases accepted nominally if not really the Christian religion, and studied history with a good deal of intelligence. Some of them read that the Romans conquered England by making roads everywhere through the island, and the natives therefore determined that no roads should be constructed through their lands, and every attempt on the part of government to carry roads beyond the lands it had bought from them was resisted so firmly and angrily that the attempt had to be abandoned. The natives were well enough aware that behind the despised settlers was the power of England, and that if necessary a numerous army could be sent over, but they relied absolutely upon their almost impassable swamps, their rivers, forests, and mountains. "Here they thought they could maintain themselves against any force that might be sent against them, and relying upon this they became more and more insolent and overbearing, and for some time before the outbreak in 1860 every one saw that sooner or later the storm would burst, and the matter have to be fought out until either we were driven from the island or the natives became thoroughly convinced of their inability to oppose us. "At first the natives had sold their land willingly, but as the number of the European settlers increased they became jealous of them, and every obstacle was thrown in the way of land sales by the chiefs. Disputes were constantly arising owing to the fact that the absolute ownership of land was very ill defined, and perhaps a dozen or more persons professed to have claims of some sort or other on each piece of land, and had to be individually settled with before the sale could be effected. When as it seemed all was satisfactorily concluded, fresh claimants would arise, and disputes were therefore of constant occurrence, for there were no authorities outside the principal settlements to enforce obedience to the law. "Even in Auckland itself the state of things was almost unbearable. Drunken Maoris would indulge in insolent and riotous behaviour in the street; for no native could be imprisoned without the risk of war, and with the colonists scattered about all over the country the risk was too great to be run. In addition to the want of any rule or authority to regulate the dealings of the natives with the English, there were constant troubles between the native tribes. "Then began what is called the king movement. One of the tribes invited others to join in establishing a central authority, who would at once put a stop to these tribal feuds and enforce something like law and order, and they thought that having a king of their own would improve their condition--would prevent land from being sold to the whites and be a protection to the people at large, and enable them to hold their own against the settlers. Several of the tribes joined in this movement. Meetings were held in various parts in imitation of the colonial assemblies. The fruit of much deliberation was that a chief named Potatau, who was held in the highest esteem, not only by the tribes of Waikato, but throughout the whole island, as one of the greatest of their warriors and wisest of their chiefs, was chosen as king. "The movement excited much apprehension in Auckland and the other settlements, for it was plain that if the Maoris were governed by one man and laid aside their mutual enmities they would become extremely formidable. At the great meeting that was held, the Bishop of New Zealand, the head of the Wesleyan body, and several other missionaries were present, and warned the Maoris of the dangers that would arise from the course they were taking. "The warning was in vain, and Potatau was chosen king. Mr. Fenton, a government official, went on a tour among the natives. He found that there was still what was called a queen's party, but the king's party was very much the strongest. For two years, however, things went on somewhat as before, and it was not until 1860, when a quarrel arose over some land in the province of Taranaki, that troubles fairly began. In this district a chief named Wiremu-Kingi had established a sort of land league, and given notice to the governor that he would not permit any more land to be sold in the district. A native named Teira, who owned some land at Waiteira, offered it for sale to the government. After examining his title, and finding that it was a valid one, the land was purchased. "In the spring of 1860 the governor tried to take possession. Wiremu-Kingi forcibly resisted, the troops were called out, and war began. Wiremu-Kingi had unquestionably certain rights on Teira's land, for he and his tribe were amicably settled upon it, had built houses, and were making plantations; but of these facts the government were ignorant when they bought the land. Wiremu-Kingi at once joined the king movement, from which he had previously stood aloof. A meeting was held at the Waikato. Chief Wiremu-Kingi and Mr. M'Lean, the native secretary, both addressed the meeting, and Potatau and many of the chiefs were of opinion that the English had acted fairly in the case. Many of the younger chiefs, however, took the part of the Taranaki natives, and marched away and joined them. "Unfortunately, in the first fight that took place, our troops were driven back in an attack upon a pah, and the news of this success so fired the minds of all the fighting men of the Waikato, and neighbouring tribes, that they flocked down to Taranaki and joined in plundering the deserted homes of the settlers, and in the attacks upon the troops. Potatau and his council did all they could to stop their men from going, but the desire to distinguish themselves and to take part in the victories over the Pakehas, which is what the natives call the whites, were too strong for them. In the midst of all this turmoil Potatau died, and his son Matu-Taera was made king. "In the fighting that went on in Taranaki discipline and training soon began to make themselves felt. The troops in the colony were largely reinforced, and pah after pah were captured. The war went on. But though English regiments with a strong force of artillery were engaged in it, it cannot be said that the natives have been conquered, and General Cameron, who came out and assumed the command, found the task before him a very difficult one. "There was for a time a pause in hostilities when Sir George Grey came out as governor in the place of Governor Brown, but the natives recommenced hostilities by a treacherous massacre near New Plymouth, and fighting began again at once. "The native pah near the Katikara river was attacked by a column of infantry with artillery, and shelled by the guns of a ship of war, and the Maoris were driven out of a position that they believed impregnable. The Waikatos now rose and murdered and plundered many of the settlers, and a force marched for the first time into their country, carried a formidable pah at Koheroa, and, although unprovided with artillery, defeated the Maoris in a fight in the thick bush. The very formidable position at Merimeri, which lay surrounded by swamps near the Waikato river, was next captured, although held by eleven hundred Maoris, led by their great chief Wiremu-Tamehana, called by the missionaries William Thompson. "The next attack was upon a strongly-fortified position at Rangiriri, lying between the Waikato river and Waikare lake. This was successful, and the nation were next thrashed at Rangiawhia, at Kaitake, on the 25th of last March. Thus, you see, in almost all of these fights we succeeded in capturing the enemy's pah or in defeating them if they fought in the open. Unfortunately, although these engagements showed the natives that in fair fighting they were no match for our troops, they have done little more. When their pahs were captured they almost invariably managed to make their way through the dense bush, and it can scarcely be said that we do more than hold the ground occupied by our soldiers. And so matters still go on. The fighting has been confined to the Taranaki and Auckland provinces, and we may hope that it will go no further." "Well, it is quite evident," Mr. Renshaw said, "that neither the Waikato country nor Taranaki are fit places for quiet people to settle at the present time, and I suppose the northern part of Wellington is not much better?" "No, I cannot say it is," Mr. Jackson said. "The Wanganui tribe on the river of that name are in alliance with the Taranaki people, and have joined them in fighting against us, and I believe that General Cameron will shortly undertake a campaign against them. I should strongly advise you to turn your attention to the eastern side of this province, or to the province of Hawke Bay, higher up, where they have had no trouble whatever, and where, as you know, our friends the Mitfords are settled." "What is this that I have heard about a new religion that has been started among the Maoris?" "There is but little known about it, and if it were not that should this religion spread it will add to our difficulties, no one would think anything about it one way or the other. There was a fellow named Te Ua, who had always been looked upon as a harmless lunatic. No doubt he is a lunatic still, though whether he will be harmless remains to be seen. However, he some little time ago gave out that the archangel Michael, the angel Gabriel, and hosts of minor spirits visited him and gave him permission to preach a new religion, and bestowed on him great power. "The religion was to be called Pai Marire, which interpreted literally means good and peaceful; and it is also called Hau-Hau, the meaning of which is obscure, but it is a special word of power that Te Ua professes to have specially received from the angel Gabriel. As far as we have been able to learn the Hau-Haus have no special belief or creed, except that their leader has a divine mission, and that all he says is to be implicitly obeyed. Certainly the religion has spread quickly among the tribes, and has latterly taken the form of hostility to us. Still, we may hope that it will soon die out. It is said that Te Ua has told his followers that they are invulnerable, but if they try conclusions with us they will very speedily find that he has deceived them, and are not likely to continue their belief in him." "Then the colonists themselves, Mr. Jackson, have taken but little share in the fighting so far?" "Oh, yes, they have. There have been several corps of Rangers which have done capital service. The corps led by Majors Atkinson, Von Tempsky, and M'Donnell have done great service, and are far more dreaded by the natives than are the slow-moving regular troops. They fight the natives in their own manner--make raids into their country and attack their positions at night, and so much are they dreaded that the natives in villages in their vicinity are in the habit of leaving their huts at night and sleeping in the bush lest they should be surprised by their active enemy. The general opinion among us colonists is that ten companies like Von Tempsky's would do a great deal more than ten British regiments towards bringing the matter to a conclusion. "In the first place, the officers and troops of the regular army cannot bring themselves to regard the natives with the respect they deserve as foes. Their movements are hampered by the necessity of a complicated system of transport. Their operations, accompanied as they are by artillery and a waggon train, are slow in the extreme, and do what they will the natives always slip through their hands. The irregular corps, on the other hand, thoroughly appreciate the activity and bravery of the Maoris. They have lived among them, and know their customs and ways. They have suffered from the arrogance and insolence of the natives before the outbreak of the war, and most of them have been ruined by the destruction of their farms and the loss of years of patient labour. Thus they fight with a personal feeling of enmity against their foes, and neither fatigue nor danger is considered by them if there is a chance of inflicting a blow upon their enemy. I am convinced that at last the imperial government will be so disgusted at the failure of the troops to bring the war to a conclusion, and at the great expense and loss of life entailed by the operations, that they will recall the regulars and leave the colonists to manage the affair themselves, in which case I have no fear whatever as to their bringing it to a prompt conclusion. Looking at the matter from a business point of view, there is no doubt, Mr. Renshaw, that those who, like yourself, come out at the present time will benefit considerably. You will get land at a quarter the price you would have had to pay for it had it not been for these troubles, and as soon as the war is over the tide of emigration will set in again more strongly than before, and land will go to prices far exceeding those that ruled before the outbreak began." Upon the following morning Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid embarked in the schooner. They had been furnished by Mr. Jackson with a number of letters of introduction to settlers in every district they were to visit. "These will really only be of use to you in the small towns," he said, "for in the country districts every house is open, and you have generally only to ride up to a door, put up your horses, and walk in, and you are almost sure to meet with a hearty welcome. Still, as you are new-comers, and have not rubbed off your old country ideas, it will be more pleasant for you to take letters. At the ports, such as they are, you may really find them useful, for you will not find any inns. You can strike out anywhere into the back country without the least fear of being inconvenienced by natives." The two friends spent a pleasant fortnight touching at the settlements, situated for the most part at the mouths of the rivers, and spending the time the vessel remained there in short excursions into the interior. They were most pleased with the Wairarapa Valley, running up from Palliser Bay; but this being near Wellington the land was all taken up, and there were many flourishing villages and small towns. "This is very nice," Wilfrid said, "but the price of land is far too high for us, and we might almost as well have taken to farming in England." The eastern coast of the province was dotted by little settlements, lying for the most part at the mouths of small rivers, and several of these offered favourable facilities for settlement. Passing on, they found that the coast was bolder along the province of Hawke Bay. They stopped at Clive, at the mouth of the bay, for a day or two, and went up the Tukataki river in a canoe to the town of Waipawa. But here they found the farms thick and land comparatively expensive. They left the schooner at Napier, the chief town of the province, and after making several excursions here went up in a coasting craft to the mouth of the river Mohaka, which runs into the sea a short distance to the south of the boundary line between Hawke Bay and the province of Auckland. A few miles up this river was the farm of Mr. Mitford. Hiring a boat they proceeded up the river, and landed in front of the comfortable-looking farmhouse of the settler. Mr. Mitford, seeing strangers approaching, at once came down to meet them, and received them with the greatest cordiality as soon as he saw who they were. "I am heartily glad to see you!" he exclaimed, "and the girls will be delighted. They have been wondering ever since we got here when you would arrive. You have not, I hope, fixed upon any land yet, for they have set their heart upon your settling down as our neighbours. This is as pretty a valley as there is in the island, and you will have no difficulty in getting land at the lowest government price. There being no settlement of any size at the mouth of the river has deterred emigrants from coming here to search for land. But we can talk about that afterwards. Come straight up to the house. I will send down one of my native boys to bring up your baggage." They spent a very pleasant evening at the farmhouse. Mr. Mitford owned a considerable extent of land, and was doing very well. He reared cattle and horses, which he sent down for sale to Wellington. The house was large and comfortable, and bore signs of the prosperity of its owner. The girls were delighted at the place. They had been left in care of relatives at home when their father and mother came out six years before to settle in New Zealand, and everything was as new to them as to Wilfrid. They had taken to riding as soon as they arrived, and had already made excursions far up the valley with their father. "We were at a place yesterday, Wilfrid," the eldest girl said, "that we agreed would suit your father admirably. It is about ten miles up the river. It was taken up only last year, father says, by a young Englishman, who was going to make a home for someone he was engaged to in England. A few days since he was killed by a tree he was cutting down falling upon him. He lived twenty-four hours after the accident, and father rode out to him when he heard of it. He directed him to sell the land for whatever it would fetch, and to send the money over to England. There are two hundred acres on the river and a comfortable log hut, which could of course be enlarged. He had about fifteen acres cleared and cultivated. The scenery is beautiful, much prettier than it is here, with lots of lovely tree-ferns; and there are many open patches, so that more land can be cleared for cultivation easily. Mabel and I agreed when we rode over there two days ago that it would be just the place for you." "It sounds first-rate," Wilfrid said; "just the sort of place that will suit us." "But how about me, Miss Mitford?" Mr. Atherton asked. "Have you had my interest at heart as well as those of Wilfrid and his people?" "You can take up the next bit of land above it," Mr. Mitford said. "Langston's was the last settlement on the river, so you can take up any piece of land beyond it at the government upset price, and do as much fishing and shooting as you like, for I hear from my daughters that you are not thinking of permanently settling here, but are only a bird of passage. Anyhow, it would not be a bad investment for you to buy a considerable acreage, for as soon as the troubles are over there is sure to be a rush of emigration; and there are very few places now where land is to be had on a navigable river, so that when you are tired of the life you will be able to sell out at considerable profit." "It sounds tempting, Mr. Mitford, and I will certainly have a look at the ground. How much would this piece of land be of Mr. Langston's?" "The poor fellow told me to take anything that I could get. He said he knew that at present it was very difficult to sell land, as no new settlers were coming out, and that he should be very glad if I get what he gave for it, which was ten shillings an acre, and to throw in the improvements he had made; so that a hundred pounds would buy it all. I really don't think that Mr. Renshaw could do better if he looked all through the island. With a cow or two, a pen of pigs, and a score or two of fowls, he would practically be able to live on his land from the hour he settled there." Wilfrid was greatly pleased at the idea. He knew that his father and mother had still eight hundred pounds untouched; two hundred pounds, together with the proceeds of his mother's trinkets and jewels, and the sale of the ponies and pony carriage, which had been her own property, having sufficed to pay for the passage of themselves and their two labourers, and for all expenses up to the time of their arrival at Wellington. "If we could get another piece of two hundred acres adjoining it at the same price, I think my father would like to take it," he said; "it would give more room for horses and cattle to graze. Of course we should not want it at first; but if as we got on we wanted more land, and had neighbours all round us and could not get it, it would be a nuisance." "I agree with you," Mr. Mitford said. "Two hundred acres is more than you want if you are going to put it under the plough; it is not enough if you are going to raise cattle and horses. I should certainly recommend you to take up another two hundred. The next land on this side is still vacant. Poor Langston chose the spot because it happened to be particularly pretty, with an open glade down to the river, but the land for fully two miles on this side is unoccupied. You can get it at ten shillings an acre at present. I will see about it for you if you make up your mind after seeing Langston's place, to take it." "Of course I cannot settle it by myself, sir, not absolutely. I can only recommend it to my father as the best place that I have seen. If it is as you describe it they will be delighted." "Well, we will ride over to-morrow and have a look at it. The only possible objection I have is loneliness; but that will improve in time; the natives here are perfectly peaceful, and we have never had the slightest trouble with them." "We are a good large party to begin with, you see," Wilfrid said. "Having the two men with us will take away the feeling of loneliness, especially if Mr. Atherton decides upon taking the piece of land next to us. Then there are the two Allens who came out with us. I promised to write and tell them if I found any nice place; and they said particularly that they wanted ground on a river if they could get it, as they are fond of boating and fishing, and fancied that if there were other farms round that they could, until their own place paid, help to keep themselves by taking their neighbours' crops down to market." "Yes, it might pay if they got a large flat-boat capable of carrying cargo; but as far as light goods, letters, and groceries from town are concerned, the Indians could do it cheaper in their canoes. However, at present there is no market for them to come down to. I keep what I call a grocery store for the benefit of the two or three score of settlers there are on the river. I do not make any profit out of the matter, but each season get a hogshead or two of sugar, a couple of tons of flour, some barrels of molasses, a few chests of tea, and an assortment of odds and ends, such as pickles, &c., with a certain amount of rum and whisky, and sell them at the price they stand me in at. I do not know what they would do without it here. I only open the store on the first Monday of each month, and they then lay in what stores they require, so it gives me very little trouble. I generally take produce in return. My bills run on until they get up to the value of something a customer wants to sell--a horse, or two or three dozen sheep. That suits me just as well as money, as I send a cargo off to Wellington every two or three months. "In time no doubt a settlement will spring up somewhere near the mouth of the river, and we shall have a trader or two establishing themselves there; but at present I am the purveyor of the district, and manage most of the business of the settlers in the way of buying and selling at Wellington. So, you see, if you establish yourself here you will have no choice but to appoint me your grocer." Wilfrid laughed. "It will be a great advantage to us to be able to get our things so close at hand. I was wondering how people did in the back settlements." "They generally send their drays every two or three months down to the nearest store, which may, of course, be fifty miles off, or even more. Here, fortunately, you will not be obliged at first to have a dray, but can send any produce you have to sell down by water, which is a far cheaper and more convenient mode of carriage. You will not have much to send for some time, so that will not trouble you at present." "Oh, no. We shall be quite content if we can live on the produce of our farm for the next year or two," Wilfrid laughed. "It is," Mr. Mitford said, "an immense advantage to settlers when they have sufficient funds to carry them on for the first two or three years, because in that case they gain the natural increase of their animals instead of having to sell them off to pay their way. It is wonderful how a flock of sheep or a herd of cattle will increase if there is no selling. You may take it that under favourable circumstances a herd of cattle will nearly double itself every two years, allowing, of course, a large proportion of the bull calves to be sold off as soon as they arrive at maturity. Sheep will increase even faster. If you can do without selling, you will be surprised, if you start with say fifty sheep or ten cows, in how short a time you will have as many animals as your land will carry." "But what are we to do then, sir?" "Well, you will then, providing the country has not in the meantime become too thickly settled, pay some small sum to the natives for the right of grazing your cattle on their unoccupied ground. They cultivate a mere fraction of the land. In this way you can keep vastly larger herds than your own ground could carry. However, it is time to be turning in for the night. To-morrow we will start the first thing after breakfast to inspect Langston's land." CHAPTER X. THE GLADE. When the party assembled at breakfast the next morning, Mr. Atherton's first question was: "Is there such a thing as a boat or a good-sized canoe to be had, Mr. Mitford? If you had an elephant here I might manage, but as I suppose you do not keep such an animal in your stud I own that I should greatly prefer going by water to running the risk of breaking a horse's back and my own neck. If such a thing cannot be obtained I will get you, if you will, to let me have a native as guide, and I will walk, taking with me some small stock of provisions. I can sleep at this hut of Langston's, for I say frankly that I should not care about doing the distance there and back in one day." "I have a boat," Mr. Mitford said smiling, "and you shall have a couple of natives to paddle you up. I will give orders for them to be ready directly after breakfast. You will scarcely be there as soon as we are, but you will be there long before we leave. Of course we shall spend some time in going over the ground, and we shall take a boy with us with a luncheon basket, so you will find refreshment awaiting you when you get there." "That will suit me admirably." Mr. Atherton said. "A boating excursion up an unknown river is just the thing I like--that is, when the boat is a reasonable size. I was once fool enough on the Amazon to allow myself to be persuaded that a canoe at most two feet wide would carry me, and the tortures I suffered during that expedition, wedged in the bottom of that canoe, and holding on to the sides, I shall never forget. The rascally Indians made matters worse by occasionally giving sly lurches to the boat, and being within an ace of capsizing her. I had two days of that work before I got to a village where I could obtain a craft of reasonable size, and I should think I must have lost two stone in weight during the time. You think that that was rather an advantage I can see, Miss Mitford," he broke off, seeing a smile upon the girl's face. "Well, yes, I could spare that and more, but I should prefer that it was abstracted by other means than that of agony of mind; besides, these improvements are not permanent." After a hearty breakfast the party prepared for their start. Mrs. Mitford had already said that she should not accompany them, the distance being longer than she cared to ride; and four horses were therefore brought round. Mr. Atherton was first seen fairly on his way in a good-sized boat, paddled by two powerful Maoris. Mr. Mitford, his daughters, and Wilfrid then mounted; the lad had already been asked if he was accustomed to riding. "Not lately," he replied, "but I used to have a pony and rode a good deal when I was a small boy, and I daresay I can stick on." Wilfrid was delighted with his ride through the forest. In his other trips ashore their way had led through an open country with low scrub bush, and this was his first experience of a New Zealand forest. Ferns were growing everywhere. The tree-ferns, coated with scales, rose from thirty to forty feet in the air. Hymenophylla and polypodia, in extraordinary variety, covered the trunks of the forest trees with luxuriant growth. Smaller ferns grew between the branches and twigs, and a thick growth of ferns of many species extended everywhere over the ground. The trees were for the most part pines of different varieties, but differing so widely in appearance from those Wilfrid had seen in England, that had not Mr. Mitford assured him that they were really pines he would never have guessed they belonged to that family. Mr. Mitford gave him the native names of many of them. The totara matai were among the largest and most beautiful. The rimu was distinguished by its hanging leaves and branches, the tanekaha by its parsley-shaped leaves. Among them towered up the poplar-shaped rewarewa and the hinau, whose fruit Mr. Mitford said was the favourite food of the parrots. Among the great forest trees were several belonging to the families of the myrtles and laurels, especially the rata, whose trunk often measured forty feet in circumference, and on whose crown were branches of scarlet blossoms. But it was to the ferns, the orchids, and the innumerable creepers, which covered the ground with a natural netting, coiled round every stem, and entwined themselves among the topmost branches, that the forest owed its peculiar features. Outside the narrow cleared track along which they were riding it would have been impossible for a man to make his way unless with the assistance of knife and hatchet, especially as some of the climbers were completely covered with thorns. And yet, although so very beautiful, the appearance of the forest was sombre and melancholy. A great proportion of the plants of New Zealand bear no flowers, and except high up among some of the tree-tops no gay blossoms or colour of any kind meet the eye to relieve the monotony of the verdure. A deep silence reigned. Wilfrid did not see a butterfly during his ride, or hear the song or even the chirp of a single bird. It was a wilderness of tangled green, unrelieved by life or colour. Mr. Mitford could give him the names of only a few of the principal trees; and seeing the infinite variety of the foliage around him, Wilfrid no longer wondered Mr. Atherton should have made so long a journey in order to study the botany of the island, which is unique, for although many of the trees and shrubs can be found elsewhere, great numbers are entirely peculiar to the island. "Are there any snakes?" Wilfrid asked. "No; you can wander about without fear. There is only one poisonous creature in New Zealand, and that is found north of the port of Tauranga, forty or fifty miles from here. They say it exists only there and round Potaki, near Cook's Strait. It is a small black spider, with a red stripe on its back. The natives all say that its bite is poisonous. It will not, they say, cause death to a healthy person, though it will make him very ill; but there are instances of sickly persons being killed by it. Anyhow, the natives dread it very much. However, as the beast is confined to two small localities, you need not trouble about it. The thorns are the only enemies you have to dread as you make your way through the forest." "That is a comfort, anyhow," Wilfrid said; "it would be a great nuisance to have to be always on the watch against snakes." The road they were traversing had been cleared of trees from one settler's holding to another, and they stopped for a few minutes at three or four of the farmhouses. Some of these showed signs of comfort and prosperity, while one or two were mere log cabins. "I suppose the people here have lately arrived?" Wilfrid remarked as they rode by one of these without stopping. "They have been here upwards of two years," Mr. Mitford replied; "but the place is not likely to improve were they to be here another ten. They are a thriftless lazy lot, content to raise just sufficient for their actual wants and to pay for whisky. These are the sort of people who bring discredit on the colony by writing home declaring that there is no getting on here, and that a settler's life is worse than a dog's. "People who come out with an idea that a colony is an easy place to get a living in are completely mistaken. For a man to succeed he must work harder and live harder here than he would do at home. He is up with the sun, and works until it is too dark to work longer. If he employs men he must himself set an example to them. Men will work here for a master who works himself, but one who thinks that he has only to pay his hands and can spend his time in riding about the country making visits, or in sitting quietly by his fire, will find that his hands will soon be as lazy as he is himself. Then the living here is rougher than it is at home for one in the same condition of life. The fare is necessarily monotonous. In hot weather meat will not keep more than a day or two, and a settler cannot afford to kill a sheep every day; therefore he has to depend either upon bacon or tinned meat, and I can tell you that a continuance of such fare palls upon the appetite, and one's meals cease to be a pleasure. But the curse of the country, as of all our colonies, is whisky. I do think the monotony of the food has something to do with it, and that if men could but get greater variety in their fare they would not have the same craving for drink. It is the ruin of thousands. A young fellow who lands here and determines to work hard and to abstain from liquors--I do not mean totally abstain, though if he has any inclination at all towards drink the only safety is total abstinence--is sure to get on and make his way, while the man who gives way to drink is equally certain to remain at the bottom of the tree. Now we are just passing the boundary of the holding you have come to see. You see that piece of bark slashed off the trunk of that tree? That is what we call a blaze, and marks the line of the boundary." After riding a few minutes further the trees opened, and they found themselves in a glade sloping down to the river. A few acres of land had been ploughed up and put under cultivation. Close by stood the hut, and beyond a grassy sward, broken by a few large trees, stretched down to the river. "That's the place," Mr. Mitford said, "and a very pretty one it is. Poor young Langston chose his farm specially for that bit of scenery." "It is pretty," Wilfrid agreed; "I am sure my father and mother will be delighted with it. As you said, it is just like a piece of park land at home." The hut was strongly built of logs. It was about thirty feet long by twenty wide, and was divided into two rooms; the one furnished as a kitchen and living-room, the other opening from it as a bed-room. "There is not much furniture in it," Mr. Mitford said; "but what there is is strong and serviceable, and is a good deal better than the generality of things you will find in a new settler's hut. He was getting the things in gradually as he could afford them, so as to have it really comfortably furnished by the time she came out to join him. Of course the place will not be large enough for your party, but you can easily add to it; and at any rate it is vastly better coming to a shanty like this than arriving upon virgin ground and having everything to do." "I think it is capital," Wilfrid said. "Now we will take a ride over the ground, and I will show you what that is like. Of course it will give you more trouble clearing away the forest than it would do if you settled upon land without trees upon it. But forest land is generally the best when it is cleared; and I think that to people like your father and mother land like this is much preferable, as in making the clearings, clumps and belts of trees can be left, giving a home-like appearance to the place. Of course upon bare land you can plant trees, but it is a long time before these grow to a sufficient size to give a character to a homestead. Besides, as I told you, there are already several other natural clearings upon the ground, enough to afford grass for quite as many animals as you will probably start with." After an hour's ride over the holding and the lands adjoining it, which Mr. Mitford advised should be also taken up, they returned to the hut. A shout greeted them as they arrived, and they saw Mr. Atherton walking up from the river towards the hut. "A charming site for a mansion," he said as they rode up. "Mr. Mitford, I think I shall make you a bid for this on my own account, and so cut out my young friend Wilfrid." "I am afraid you are too late," Mr. Mitford laughed. "I have already agreed to give him the option of it, keeping it open until we can receive a reply from his father." "I call that too bad," Mr. Atherton grumbled. "However, I suppose I must move on farther. But really this seems a charming place, and I am sure Mrs. Renshaw will be delighted with it. Why, there must be thirty acres of natural clearing here?" "About that," Mr. Mitford replied; "and there are two or three other patches which amount to about as much more. The other hundred and forty are bush and forest. The next lot has also some patches of open land, so that altogether out of the four hundred acres there must be about a hundred clear of bush." "And how about the next lot, Mr. Mitford?" "I fancy that there is about the same proportion of open land. I have only once been up the river higher than this, but if I remember right there is a sort of low bluff rising forty or fifty feet above the river which would form a capital site for a hut." "I will set about the work of exploration this afternoon," Mr. Atherton said, "and if the next lot is anything like this I shall be very well contented to settle down upon it for a bit. I have always had a fancy for a sort of Robinson Crusoe life, and I think I can get it here, tempered by the change of an occasional visit to our friends when I get tired of my own company." The men had by this time brought up the basket of provisions, and the two girls were spreading a cloth on the grass in the shade of a tree at a short distance from the hut, for all agreed that they would rather take their lunch there than in the abode so lately tenanted by young Langston. After the meal was over the party mounted their horses and rode back. One of the natives who had come up from the boat remained with Mr. Atherton, the others started back in the boat, as Mr. Atherton declared himself to be perfectly capable of making the journey on foot when he had finished his explorations. He returned two days later, and said he was quite satisfied with the proposed site for his hut and with the ground and forest. "I regard myself as only a temporary inhabitant," he said, "and shall be well content if, when I am ready for another move, I can get as much for the ground as I gave for it. In that way I shall have lived rent free and shall have had my enjoyment for nothing, and, I have no doubt, a pleasant time to look back upon." "Do you never mean to settle down, Mr. Atherton?" Mrs. Mitford asked. [Illustration: WILFRID AND THE GRIMSTONES FIND IT HARD WORK _Page 197_] "In the dim future I may do so," he replied. "I have been wandering ever since I left college, some fifteen years ago. I return to London periodically, spend a few weeks and occasionally a few months there, enjoy the comforts of good living and club-life for a bit; then the wandering fit seizes me and I am off again. Nature altogether made a mistake in my case. I ought to have been a thin wiry sort of man, and in that case I have no doubt I should have distinguished myself as an African explorer or something of that sort. Unfortunately she placed my restless spirit in an almost immovable frame of flesh, and the consequence is the circle of my wandering is to a certain extent limited." "You make yourself out to be much stouter than you are, Mr. Atherton. Of course you are stout, but not altogether out of proportion to your height and width of shoulders. I think you put it on a good deal as an excuse for laziness." Mr. Atherton laughed. "Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Mitford, though my weight is really a great drawback to my carrying out my views in regard to travel. You see, I am practically debarred from travelling in countries where the only means of locomotion is riding on horses. I could not find animals in any foreign country that would carry me for any distances. I might in England, I grant, find a weight-carrying cob capable of conveying twenty stone along a good road, but I might search all Asia in vain for such a horse, while as for Africa, it would take a dozen natives to carry me in a hammock. No, I suppose I shall go on wandering pretty nearly to the end of the chapter, and shall then settle down in quiet lodgings somewhere in the region of Pall Mall." Upon the day after his return from the inspection of the farm Wilfrid wrote home to his father describing the location, and saying that he thought it was the very thing to suit them. It would be a fortnight before an answer could be received, and during that time he set to work at Mr. Mitford's place to acquire as much knowledge as possible of the methods of farming in the colony. The answer arrived in due course, and with it came the two Grimstones. Wilfrid had suggested in his letter that if his father decided to take the farm the two men should be sent up at once to assist in adding to the hut and in preparing for their coming, and that they should follow a fortnight later. Mrs. Mitford also wrote, offering them a warm invitation to stay for a time with her until their own place should be ready for their occupation. Mr. Mitford had an inventory of the furniture of the hut, and this was also sent, in order that such further furniture as was needed might be purchased at Wellington. As soon as the letter was received, inclosing, as it did, a cheque for a hundred pounds, Wilfrid went over with the two Grimstones and took possession. Mr. Mitford, who was the magistrate and land commissioner for the district, drew up the papers of application for the plot of two hundred acres adjoining the farm, and sent it to Wellington for Mr. Renshaw's signature, and said that in the meantime Wilfrid could consider the land as belonging to them, as it would be theirs as soon as the necessary formalities were completed and the money paid. When Wilfrid started, two natives, whom Mr. Mitford had hired for him, accompanied him, and he also lent him the services of one of his own men, who was a handy carpenter. The Grimstones were delighted with the site of their new home. "Why, it is like a bit of England, Master Wilfrid! That might very well be the Thames there, and this some gentleman's place near Reading; only the trees are different. When we get up a nice house here, with a garden round it, it will be like home again." During the voyage the Renshaws had amused themselves by drawing a plan of their proposed house, and although this had to be somewhat modified by the existence of the hut, Wilfrid determined to adhere to it as much as possible. The present kitchen should be the kitchen of the new house, and the room leading from it should be allotted to the Grimstones. Adjoining the kitchen he marked out the plan of the house. It was to consist of a sitting-room twenty feet square; beyond this was Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw's bed-room; while behind it were two rooms, each ten feet square, for himself and Marion. The roof was to project four feet in front of the sitting-room, so as to form a verandah there. A boat-load of supplies was sent up from Mr. Mitford's stores. These consisted of flour, sugar, tea, molasses, and bacon, together with half a sheep. It was arranged that while the building was going on Wilfrid and the two Grimstones should occupy the bed-room, and that the natives should sleep in the kitchen. The Grimstones had brought with them the bedding and blankets with which they had provided themselves on board ship, while Wilfrid took possession of the bed formerly occupied by the young settler. Mr. Mitford himself came over next morning and gave general instructions as to the best way of setting about the building of the house. He had already advised that it should be of the class known as log-huts. "They are much cooler," he said, "in the heat of summer than frame-huts, and have the advantage that in the very improbable event of troubles with the natives they are much more defensible. If you like, afterwards, you can easily face them outside and in with match-board and make them as snug as you like; but, to begin with, I should certainly say build with logs. My boy will tell you which trees you had better cut down for the work. It will take you a week to fell, lop, and roughly square them, and this day week I will send over a team of bullocks with a native to drag them up to the spot." The work was begun at once. Half a dozen axes, some adzes, and other tools had been brought up with the supplies from the stores, and the work of felling commenced. Wilfrid would not have any trees touched near the hut. "There are just enough trees about here," he said, "and it would be an awful pity to cut them down merely to save a little labour in hauling. It will not make any great difference whether we have the team for a week or a fortnight." Wilfrid and the two young Englishmen found chopping very hard work at first, and were perfectly astounded at the rapidity with which the Maoris brought the trees down, each of them felling some eight or ten before the new hands had managed to bring one to the ground. "I would not have believed it if I had not seen it," Bob, the elder of the two brothers, exclaimed as he stood breathless with the perspiration streaming from his forehead, "that these black chaps could have beaten Englishmen like that! Half a dozen strokes and down topples the tree, while I goes chop, chop, chop, and don't seem to get any nearer to it." "It will come in time," Wilfrid said. "I suppose there is a knack in it, like everything else. It looks easy enough, but it is not easy if you don't know how to do it. It is like rowing; it looks the easiest thing in the world until you try, and then you find that it is not easy at all." When work was done for the day Wilfrid and the Grimstones could scarcely walk back to the hut. Their backs felt as if they were broken, their arms and shoulders ached intolerably, their hands smarted as if on fire; while the Maoris, who had each achieved ten times the result, were as brisk and fresh as they were at starting. One of them had left work an hour before the others, and by the time they reached the hut the flat cakes of flour and water known as dampers had been cooked, and a large piece of mutton was frizzling over the fire. Wilfrid and his companions were almost too tired to eat, but they enjoyed the tea, although they missed the milk to which they were accustomed. They were astonished at the Maoris' appetite, the three natives devouring an amount of meat which would have lasted the others for a week. "No wonder they work well when they can put away such a lot of food as that," Bob Grimstone said, after watching them for some time in silent astonishment. "Bill and me was always considered as being pretty good feeders, but one of these chaps would eat twice as much as the two of us. I should say, Mr. Wilfrid, that in future your best plan will be to let these chaps board themselves. Why, it would be dear to have them without pay if you had to feed them!" "Mutton is cheap out here," Wilfrid said. "You can get five or six pounds for the price which one would cost you at home; but still, I do not suppose they give them as much meat as they can eat every day. I must ask Mr. Mitford about it." He afterwards learned that the natives received rations of flour and molasses and tobacco, and that only occasionally salt pork or fresh meat were issued to them. But Mr. Mitford advised that Wilfrid should, as long as they were at this work, let them feed with the men. "You will get a good deal more out of them if they are well fed and in good humour. When your people arrive the natives will of course have a shanty of their own at some distance from your house, and then you will put things on regular footing and serve out their rations to them weekly. I will give you the scale usually adopted in the colony." The second day Wilfrid and the Grimstones were so stiff that they could at first scarcely raise their axes. This gradually wore off, and at the end of three or four days they found that they could get through a far greater amount than at first with much less fatigue to themselves; but even on the last day of the week they could do little more than a third of the amount performed by the natives. By this time an ample supply of trees had been felled. The trunks had been cut into suitable lengths and roughly squared. The bullocks arrived from Mr. Mitford's, and as soon as the first logs were brought up to the house the work of building was commenced. The Maori carpenter now took the lead, and under his instructions the walls of the house rose rapidly. The logs were mortised into each other at the corners; openings were left for the doors and windows. These were obtained from Mr. Mitford's store, as they were constantly required by settlers. At a distance of four feet in front of the house holes were dug and poles erected, and to these the framework of the roof was extended. This point was reached ten days after the commencement of the building, and the same evening a native arrived from Mr. Mitford's with a message that the party from Wellington had arrived there and would come over the next day. He also brought a letter to Wilfrid from the Allens, in answer to one he had written them soon after his arrival, saying that they were so pleased with his description of the district they should come down at once, and, if it turned out as he described it, take up a tract of land in his neighbourhood. While Wilfrid had been at work he had seen Mr. Atherton several times, as that gentleman had, upon the very day after his first trip up the river, filled up the necessary papers, hired half a dozen natives, and started up the river in a boat freighted with stores to his new location. Wilfrid had not had time to go over to see him there, but he had several times sauntered over from his place, which was half a mile distant, after the day's work was over. He had got up his hut before Wilfrid fairly got to work. It was, he said, a very modest shanty with but one room, which would serve for all purposes; his cooking being done by a native, for whom he had erected a small shelter twenty yards away from his own. "I have not quite shaken down yet," he said, "and do not press you to come over to see me until I have got everything into order. I am sure you feel thankful to me that I do not expect you to be tramping over to see me after your long day's work here. By the time your people arrive I shall have everything in order. I am expecting the things I have written for and my own heavy baggage in a few days from Wellington." Glad as he was to hear that his father and mother had arrived, Wilfrid would have preferred that their coming should have been delayed until the house was finished and ready for them, and after his first greeting at the water side he said: "You must not be disappointed, mother, at what you will see. Now everything is in confusion, and the ground is covered with logs and chips. It looked much prettier, I can assure you, when I first saw it, and it will do so again when we have finished and cleared up." "We will make all allowances, Wilfrid," his mother replied as he helped her from the boat; "but I do not see that any allowance is necessary. This is indeed a sweetly pretty spot, and looks as you said like a park at home. If the trees had been planted with a special view to effect they could not have been better placed." "You have done excellently, Wilfrid," his father said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Mitford here has been telling me how energetically you have been working, and I see that the house has made wonderful progress." Marion had, after the first greeting, leapt lightly from the boat and run up to the house, towards which the others proceeded at a more leisurely pace, stopping often and looking round at the pleasant prospect. Marion was full of questions to Wilfrid when they arrived. Why were the walls made so thick? How were they going to stop up the crevices between the logs? Where were the windows and doors coming from? What was the roof going to be made of? Was there going to be a floor, or was the ground inside going to be raised to the level of the door-sill? When did he expect to get it finished, and when would they be ready to come in? Couldn't they get some creepers to run up and hide these ugly logs? Was it to be painted or to remain as it was? Wilfrid answered all these questions as well as he was able. There was to be a floor over all the new portion of the building; Mr. Mitford was getting up the requisite number of planks from a saw-mill at the next settlement. The crevices were to be stopped with moss. It would be for their father to decide whether the logs should be covered with match-boarding inside or out, or whether they should be left as they were for the present. It would probably take another fortnight to finish the roof, and at least a week beyond that before the place would be fit for them to move in. "You see, Marion, I have built it very much on the plan we decided upon on board the ship, only I was obliged to make a change in the position of the kitchen and men's room. The two Grimstones are going to set to work to-morrow to dig up a portion of the ploughed land behind the house and sow vegetable seeds. Things grow very fast here, and we shall soon get a kitchen-garden. As to flowers, we shall leave that to be decided when you come here." "I wish I could come over and live here at once and help," Marion said. "There is nothing you can help in at present, Marion, and it will be much more useful for you to spend a month in learning things at Mr. Mitford's. You undertook to do the cooking; and I am sure that will be quite necessary, for father and mother could never eat the food our Maori cook turns out. And then you have got to learn to make butter and cheese and to cure bacon. That is a most important point, for we must certainly keep pigs and cure our own as Mr. Mitford does, for the stuff they have got at most of the places we touched at was almost uneatable. So, you see, there is plenty to occupy your time until you move in here, and our comfort will depend a vast deal upon the pains you take to learn to do things properly." "What are you going to roof it with, Wilfrid?" Mr. Renshaw asked. "We are going to use these poles, father. They will be split in two and nailed with the flat side down on the rafters, and the shingles are going to be nailed on them. That will give a good solid roof that will keep out a good deal of heat. Afterwards if we like we can put beams across the room from wall to wall and plank them, and turn the space above into a storeroom. Of course that will make the house cooler and the rooms more comfortable, but as it was not absolutely necessary I thought it might be left for a while." "I think, Wilfrid, I should like to have the rooms done with boards inside at once. The outside and the ceiling you speak of can very well wait, but it will be impossible to get the rooms to look at all neat and tidy with these rough logs for walls." "It certainly will be more comfortable," Wilfrid agreed. "Mr. Mitford will get the match-boards for you. I will measure up the walls this evening and let you know how much will be required. And now shall we take a walk round the place?" The whole party spent a couple of hours in going over the property, with which Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were greatly pleased. Luncheon had been brought up in the boat, and by the time they returned from their walk Mrs. Mitford and her daughters, who had not accompanied them, had lunch ready and spread out on the grass. The meal was a merry one. Mr. Renshaw was in high spirits at finding things so much more home-like and comfortable than he had expected. His wife was not only pleased for herself, but still more so at seeing that her husband evinced a willingness to look at matters in the best light, and to enter upon the life before him without regret over the past. "What are you going to call the place, Mr. Renshaw?" Mrs. Mitford asked. "That is always an important point." "I have not thought about it," Mr. Renshaw replied. "What do you think?" "Oh, there are lots of suitable names," she replied, looking round. "We might call it Riverside or The Park or The Glade." "I think The Glade would be very pretty," Marion said; "Riverside would suit so many places." "I like The Glade too," Mrs. Renshaw said. "Have you thought of anything, Wilfrid?" "No, mother, I have never given it a thought. I think The Glade will do nicely." And so it was settled, and success to The Glade was thereupon formally drunk in cups of tea. A month later the Renshaws took possession of their new abode. It looked very neat with its verandah in front of the central portion, and the creepers which Wilfrid had planted against the walls on the day after their visit, promised speedily to cover the logs of which the house was built. Inside the flooring had been planed, stained a deep brown and varnished, while the match-boarding which covered the walls was stained a light colour and also varnished. The furniture, which had arrived the day before from Hawke's Bay was somewhat scanty, but Wilfrid and Marion, who had come over for the purpose, had made the most of it. A square of carpet and some rugs gave a cosy appearance to the floor, white curtains hung before the windows and a few favourite pictures and engravings, which they had brought with them from home, broke the bareness of the walls. Altogether it was a very pretty and snug little abode of which Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw took possession. CHAPTER XI. THE HAU-HAUS. The next three months made a great change in the appearance of The Glade. Three or four plots of gay flowers cut in the grass between the house and the river gave a brightness to its appearance. The house was now covered as far as the roof with greenery, and might well have been mistaken for a rustic bungalow standing in pretty grounds on the banks of the Thames. Behind, a large kitchen-garden was in full bearing. It was surrounded by wire network to keep out the chickens, ducks, and geese, which wandered about and picked up a living as they chose, returning at night to the long low shed erected for them at some distance from the house, receiving a plentiful meal on their arrival to prevent them from lapsing into an altogether wild condition. Forty acres of land had been reploughed and sown, and the crops had already made considerable progress. In the more distant clearings a dozen horses, twenty or thirty cows, and a small flock of a hundred sheep grazed, while some distance up the glade in which the house stood was the pig-sty, whose occupants were fed with refuse from the garden, picking up, however, the larger portion of their living by rooting in the woods. Long before Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw moved into the house, Wilfrid, whose labours were now less severe, had paid his first visit to Mr. Atherton's hut. He was at once astonished and delighted with it. It contained indeed but the one room, sixteen feet square, but that room had been made one of the most comfortable dens possible. There was no flooring, but the ground had been beaten until it was as hard as baked clay, and was almost covered with rugs and sheep-skins; a sort of divan ran round three sides of it, and this was also cushioned with skins. The log walls were covered with cow-hides cured with the hair on, and from hooks and brackets hung rifles, fishing-rods, and other articles, while horns and other trophies of the chase were fixed to the walls. While the Renshaws had contented themselves with stoves, Mr. Atherton had gone to the expense and trouble of having a great open fireplace, with a brick chimney outside the wall. Here, even on the hottest day, two or three logs burnt upon old-fashioned iron dogs. On the wall above was a sort of trophy of oriental weapons. Two very large and comfortable easy chairs stood by the side of the hearth, and in the centre of the room stood an old oak table, richly carved and black with age. A book-case of similar age and make, with its shelves well filled with standard works, stood against the one wall unoccupied by the divan. Wilfrid stood still with astonishment as he looked in at the door, which Mr. Atherton had himself opened in response to his knock. "Come in, Wilfrid. As I told you yesterday evening I have just got things a little straight and comfortable." "I should think you had got them comfortable," Wilfrid said. "I should not have thought that a log cabin could have been made as pretty as this. Why, where did you get all the things? Surely you can never have brought them all with you?" "No, indeed," Mr. Atherton laughed; "the greatest portion of them are products of the country. There was no difficulty in purchasing the skins, the arms, and those sets of horns and trophies. Books and a few other things I brought with me. I have a theory that people very often make themselves uncomfortable merely to effect the saving of a pound or two. Now, I rather like making myself snug, and the carriage of all those things did not add above five pounds to my expenses." "But surely that table and book-case were never made in New Zealand?" "Certainly not, Wilfrid. At the time they were made the natives of this country hunted the Moa in happy ignorance of the existence of a white race. No, I regard my getting possession of those things as a special stroke of good luck. I was wandering in the streets of Wellington on the very day after my arrival, when I saw them in a shop. No doubt they had been brought out by some well-to-do emigrant, who clung to them in remembrance of his home in the old country. Probably at his death his place came into the hands of some Goths, who preferred a clean deal table to what he considered old-fashioned things. Anyhow, there they were in the shop, and I bought them at once; as also those arm-chairs, which are as comfortable as anything of the kind I have ever tried. By the way, are you a good shot with the rifle, Wilfrid?" "No, sir; I never fired a rifle in my life before I left England, nor a shot-gun either." "Then I think you would do well to practise, lad; and those two men of yours should practise too. You never can say what may come of these native disturbances; the rumours of the progress of this new religion among them are not encouraging. It is quite true that the natives on this side of the island have hitherto been perfectly peaceable, but if they get inoculated with this new religious frenzy there is no saying what may happen. I will speak to your father about it. Not in a way to alarm him; but I will point out that it is of no use your having brought out firearms if none of you know how to use them, and suggest that it will be a good thing if you and the men were to make a point of firing a dozen shots every morning at a mark. I shall add that he himself might just as well do so, and that even the ladies might find it an amusement, using, of course, a light rifle, or firing from a rest with an ordinary rifle with light charges, or that they might practice with revolvers. Anyhow, it is certainly desirable that you and your father and the men should learn to be good shots with these weapons. I will gladly come over at first and act as musketry instructor." Wilfrid embraced the idea eagerly, and Mr. Atherton on the occasion of his first visit to The Glade in a casual sort of way remarked to Mr. Renshaw that he thought every white man and woman in the outlying colonies ought to be able to use firearms, as, although they might never be called upon to use them in earnest, the knowledge that they could do so with effect would greatly add to their feeling of security and comfort. Mr. Renshaw at once took up the idea and accepted the other's offer to act as instructor. Accordingly, as soon as the Renshaws were established upon their farm, it became one of the standing rules of the place that Wilfrid and the two men should fire twelve shots at a mark every morning before starting for their regular work at the farm. The target was a figure roughly cut out of wood, representing the size and to some extent the outline of a man's figure. "It is much better to accustom yourself to fire at a mark of this kind than to practise always at a target," Mr. Atherton said. "A man may shoot wonderfully well at a black mark in the centre of a white square, and yet make very poor practice at a human figure with its dull shades of colour and irregular outline." "But we shall not be able to tell where our bullets hit," Wilfrid said; "especially after the dummy has been hit a good many times." "It is not very material where you hit a man, Wilfrid, so that you do hit him. If a man gets a heavy bullet, whether in an arm, a leg, or the body, there is no more fight in him. You can tell by the sound of the bullet if you hit the figure, and if you hit him you have done what you want to. You do not need to practise at distances over three hundred yards; that is quite the outside range at which you would ever want to do any shooting, indeed from fifty to two hundred I consider the useful distance to practise at. If you get to shoot so well that you can with certainty hit a man between those ranges, you may feel pretty comfortable in your mind that you can beat off any attack that might be made on a house you are defending. "When you have learnt to do this at the full-size figure you can put it in a bush so that only the head and shoulders are visible, as would be those of a native standing up to fire. All this white target-work is very well for shooting for prizes, but if troops were trained to fire at dummy figures at from fifty to two hundred yards distance, and allowed plenty of ammunition for practice and kept steadily at it, you would see that a single company would be more than a match for a whole regiment trained as our soldiers are." With steady practice every morning, Wilfrid and the two young men made very rapid progress, and at the end of three months it was very seldom that a bullet was thrown away. Sometimes Mr. Renshaw joined them in their practice, but he more often fired a few shots some time during the day with Marion, who became quite an enthusiast in the exercise. Mrs. Renshaw declined to practise, and said that she was content to remain a non-combatant, and would undertake the work of binding up wounds and loading muskets. On Saturday afternoons, when the men left off work somewhat earlier than usual, there was always shooting for small prizes. Twelve shots were fired by each at a figure placed in the bushes a hundred yards away, with only the head and shoulders visible. After each had fired, the shot-holes were counted and then filled up with mud, so that the next marks made were easily distinguishable. Mr. Renshaw was uniformly last. The Grimstones and Marion generally ran each other very close, each putting eight or nine of their bullets into the figure. Wilfrid was always handicapped two shots, but as he generally put the whole of his ten bullets into the mark, he was in the majority of cases the victor. The shooting party was sometimes swelled by the presence of Mr. Atherton and the two Allens, who had arrived a fortnight after the Renshaws, and had taken up the section of land next below them. Mr. Atherton was incomparably the best shot of the party. Wilfrid, indeed, seldom missed, but he took careful and steady aim at the object, while Mr. Atherton fired apparently without waiting to take aim at all. Sometimes he would not even lift his gun to his shoulder, but would fire from his side, or standing with his back to the mark would turn round and fire instantaneously. "That sort of thing is only attained by long practice," he would say in answer to Wilfrid's exclamations of astonishment. "You see, I have been shooting in different parts of the world and at different sorts of game for some fifteen years, and in many cases quick shooting is of just as much importance as straight shooting." But it was with the revolver that Mr. Atherton most surprised his friends. He could put six bullets into half a sheet of note-paper at a distance of fifty yards, firing with such rapidity that the weapon was emptied in two or three seconds. "I learned that," he said, "among the cow-boys in the West. Some of them are perfectly marvellous shots. It is their sole amusement, and they spend no inconsiderable portion of their pay on cartridges. It seems to become an instinct with them, however small the object at which they fire they are almost certain to hit it. It is a common thing with them for one man to throw an empty meat-tin into the air and for another to put six bullets in before it touches the ground. So certain are they of their own and each others' aim, that one will hold a halfpenny between his finger and thumb for another to fire at from a distance of twenty yards, and it is a common joke for one to knock another's pipe out of his mouth when he is quietly smoking. "As you see, though my shooting seems to you wonderful, I should be considered quite a poor shot among the cow-boys. Of course, with incessant practice such as they have I should shoot a good deal better than I do; but I could never approach their perfection, for the simple reason that I have not the strength of wrist. They pass their lives in riding half-broken horses, and incessant exercise and hard work harden them until their muscles are like steel, and they scarcely feel what to an ordinary man is a sharp wrench from the recoil of a heavily-loaded Colt." Life was in every way pleasant at The Glade. The work of breaking up the land went on steadily, but the labour, though hard, was not excessive. In the evening the Allens or Mr. Atherton frequently dropped in, and occasionally Mr. Mitford and his daughters rode over, or the party came up in the boat. The expense of living was small. They had an ample supply of potatoes and other vegetables from their garden, of eggs from their poultry, and of milk, butter, and cheese from their cows. While salt meat was the staple of their food, it was varied occasionally by chicken, ducks, or a goose, while a sheep now and then afforded a week's supply of fresh meat. Mr. Renshaw had not altogether abandoned his original idea. He had already learnt something of the Maori language from his studies on the voyage, and he rapidly acquired a facility of speaking it from his conversations with the two natives permanently employed on the farm. One of these was a man of some forty years old named Wetini, the other was a lad of sixteen, his son, whose name was Whakapanakai, but as this name was voted altogether too long for conversational purposes he was re-christened Jack. Wetini spoke but a few words of English, but Jack, who had been educated at one of the mission schools, spoke it fluently. They, with Wetini's wife, inhabited a small hut situated at the edge of the wood, at a distance of about two hundred yards from the house. It was Mr. Renshaw's custom to stroll over there of an evening, and seating himself by the fire, which however hot the weather the natives always kept burning, he would converse with Wetini upon the manners and customs, the religious beliefs and ceremonies, of his people. In these conversations Jack at first acted as interpreter, but it was not many weeks before Mr. Renshaw gained such proficiency in the tongue that such assistance was no longer needed. But the period of peace and tranquillity at The Glade was but a short one. Wilfrid learnt from Jack, who had attached himself specially to him, that there were reports among the natives that the prophet Te Ua was sending out missionaries all over the island. This statement was true. Te Ua had sent out four sub-prophets with orders to travel among the tribes and inform them that Te Ua had been appointed by an angel as a prophet, that he was to found a new religion to be called Pai Marire, and that legions of angels waited the time when, all the tribes having been converted, a general rising would take place, and the Pakeha be annihilated by the assistance of these angels, after which a knowledge of all languages and of all the arts and sciences would be bestowed upon the Pai Marire. Had Te Ua's instructions been carried out, and his agents travelled quietly among the tribes, carefully abstaining from all open hostility to the whites until the whole of the native population had been converted, the rising when it came would have been a terrible one, and might have ended in the whole of the white population being either destroyed or forced for a time to abandon the island. Fortunately the sub-prophets were men of ferocious character. Too impatient to await the appointed time, they attacked the settlers as soon as they collected sufficient converts to do so, and so they brought about the destruction of their leaders' plans. These attacks put the colonists on their guard, enabled the authorities to collect troops and stand on the defensive, and, what was still more important, caused many of the tribes which had not been converted to the Pai Marire faith to range themselves on the side of the English. Not because they loved the whites, but because from time immemorial the tribes had been divided against each other, and their traditional hostility weighed more with them than their jealousy with the white settlers. Still, although these rumours as to the spread of the Pai Marire or Hau-Hau faith reached the ears of the settlers, there were few in the western provinces who believed that there was any real danger. The Maoris had always been peaceful and friendly with them, and they could not believe that those with whom they had dwelt so long could suddenly and without any reason become bloodthirsty enemies. Wilfrid said nothing to his parents as to what he had heard from Jack, but he talked it over with Mr. Atherton and the Allens. The latter were disposed to make light of it, but Mr. Atherton took the matter seriously. "There is never any saying how things will go with the natives," he said. "All savages seem to be alike. Up to a certain point they are intelligent and sensible; but they are like children; they are easily excited, superstitious in the extreme, and can be deceived without the slightest difficulty by designing people. Of course to us this story of Te Ua's sounds absolutely absurd, but that is no reason why it should appear absurd to them. These people have embraced a sort of Christianity, and they have read of miracles of all sorts, and will have no more difficulty in believing that the angels could destroy all the Europeans in their island than that the Assyrian army was miraculously destroyed before Jerusalem. "Without taking too much account of the business, I think, Wilfrid, that it will be just as well if all of us in these outlying settlements take a certain amount of precautions. I shall write down at once to my agent at Hawke Bay asking him to buy me a couple of dogs and send them up by the next ship. I shall tell him that it does not matter what sort of dogs they are so that they are good watch-dogs, though, of course, I should prefer that they should be decent dogs of their sort, dogs one could make companions of. I should advise you to do the same. "I shall ask Mr. Mitford to get me up at once a heavy door and shutters for the window strong enough to stand an assault. Here again I should advise you to do the same. You can assign any reason you like to your father. With a couple of dogs to give the alarm, with a strong door and shutters, you need not be afraid of being taken by surprise, and it is only a surprise that you have in the first place to fear. Of course if there were to be anything like a general rising we should all have to gather at some central spot agreed upon, or else to quit the settlement altogether until matters settle down. Still, I trust that nothing of that sort will take place. At any rate, all we have to fear and prepare against at present is an attack by small parties of fanatics." Wilfrid had no difficulty in persuading his father to order a strong oak door and shutters for the windows, and to get a couple of dogs. He began the subject by saying: "Mr. Atherton is going to get some strong shutters to his window, father. I think it would be a good thing if we were to get the same for our windows." "What do we want shutters for, Wilfrid?" "For just the same reason that we have been learning to use our firearms, father. We do not suppose that the natives, who are all friendly with us, are going to turn treacherous. Still, as there is a bare possibility of such a thing, we have taken some pains in learning to shoot straight. In the same way it would be just as well to have strong shutters put up. We don't at all suppose we are going to be attacked, but if we are the shutters would be invaluable, and would effectually prevent anything like a night surprise. The expense wouldn't be great, and in the unlikely event of the natives being troublesome in this part of this island we should all sleep much more soundly and comfortably if we knew that there was no fear of our being taken by surprise. Mr. Atherton is sending for a couple of dogs too. I have always thought that it would be jolly to have a dog or two here, and if we do not want them as guards they would be pleasant as companions when one is going about the place." A few days after the arrival of two large watch-dogs and of the heavy shutters and door, Mr. Mitford rode in to The Glade. He chatted for a few minutes on ordinary subjects, and then Mrs. Renshaw said: "Is anything the matter, Mr. Mitford? you look more serious than usual." "I can hardly say that anything is exactly the matter, Mrs. Renshaw; but I had a batch of newspapers and letters from Wellington this morning, and they give rather stirring news. The Hau-Haus have come into collision with us again. You know that a fortnight since we had news that they had attacked a party of our men under Captain Lloyd and defeated them, and, contrary to all native traditions, had cut off the heads of the slain, among whom was Captain Lloyd himself. I was afraid that after this we should soon hear more of them, and my opinion has been completely justified. On the 1st of May two hundred of the Ngataiwa tribe, and three hundred other natives under Te Ua's prophet Hepanaia and Parengi-Kingi of Taranaki, attacked a strong fort on Sentry Hill, garrisoned by fifty men of the 52d Regiment under Major Short. "The Ngataiwa took no part in the action, but the Hau-Haus charged with great bravery. The garrison, fortunately being warned by their yells of what was coming, received them with such a heavy fire that their leading ranks were swept away, and they fell back in confusion. They made a second charge, which was equally unsuccessful, and then fell back with a loss of fifty-two killed, among whom were both the Hau-Hau prophet and Parengi-Kingi. "The other affair has taken place in the Wellington district. Matene, another of the Hau-Hau prophets, came down to Pipiriki, a tribe of the Wanganui. These people were bitterly hostile to us, as they had taken part in some of the former fighting, and their chief and thirty-six of his men were killed. The tribe at once accepted the new faith. Mr. Booth, the resident magistrate, who was greatly respected among them, went up to try to smooth matters down, but was seized, and would have been put to death if it had not been for the interference in his favour of a young chief named Hori Patene, who managed to get him and his wife and children safely down in a canoe to the town of Wanganui. The Hau-Haus prepared to move down the river to attack the town, and sent word to the Ngatihau branch of the tribe who lived down the river to join them. They and two other of the Wanganui tribes living on the lower part of the river refused to do so, and also refused to let them pass down the river, and sent a challenge for a regular battle to take place on the island of Moutoa in the river. "The challenge was accepted. At dawn on the following morning our natives, three hundred and fifty strong, proceeded to the appointed ground. A hundred picked men crossed on to the island, and the rest remained on the banks as spectators. Of the hundred, fifty, divided into three parties each under a chief, formed the advance guard, while the other fifty remained in reserve at the end of the island two hundred yards away, and too far to be of much use in the event of the advance guard being defeated. The enemy's party were a hundred and thirty strong, and it is difficult to understand why a larger body was not sent over to the island to oppose them, especially as the belief in the invulnerability of the Hau-Haus was generally believed in, even by the natives opposed to them. "It was a curious fight, quite in the manner of the traditional warfare between the various tribes before our arrival on the island. The lower tribesmen fought, not for the defence of the town, for they were not very friendly with the Europeans, having been strong supporters of the king party, but simply for the prestige of the tribe. No hostile war party had ever forced the river, and none ever should do so. The Hau-Haus came down the river in their canoes and landed without opposition. Then a party of the Wanganui advance guard fired. Although the Hau-Haus were but thirty yards distant none of them fell, and their return volley killed the chiefs of two out of the three sections of the advance guard and many others. "Disheartened by the loss of their chiefs, the two sections gave way, shouting that the Hau-Haus were invulnerable. The third section, well led by their chief, held their ground, but were driven slowly back by the overwhelming force of the enemy. The battle appeared to be lost, when Tamehana, the sub-chief of one of the flying sections, after vainly trying to rally his men, arrived on the ground, and, refusing to obey the order to take cover from the Hau-Haus' fire, dashed at the enemy and killed two of them with his double-barrelled gun. The last of the three leaders was at this moment shot dead. Nearly all his men were more or less severely wounded, but as the Hau-Haus rushed forward they fired a volley into them at close quarters, killing several. But they still came on, when Tamehana again rushed at them. Seizing the spear of a dead man he drove it into the heart of a Hau-Hau. Catching up the gun and tomahawk of the fallen man, he drove the latter so deeply into the head of another foe that in wrenching it out the handle was broken. Finding that the gun was unloaded, he dashed it in the face of his foes, and snatching up another he was about to fire, when a bullet struck him in the arm. Nevertheless he fired and killed his man, but the next moment was brought to the ground by a bullet that shattered his knee. "At this moment Hainoma, who commanded the reserve, came up with them, with the fugitives whom he had succeeded in rallying. They fired a volley, and then charged down upon the Hau-Haus with their tomahawks. After a desperate fight the enemy were driven in confusion to the upper end of the island, where they rushed into the water and attempted to swim to the right bank. The prophet was recognized among the swimmers. One of the Wanganui plunged in after him, overtook him just as he reached the opposite bank, and in spite of the prophet uttering the magic words that should have paralysed his assailant, killed him with his tomahawk and swam back with the body to Hainoma." "They seem to have been two serious affairs," Mr. Renshaw said; "but as the Hau-Haus were defeated in each we may hope that we have heard the last of them, for as both the prophets were killed the belief in the invulnerability of Te Ua's followers must be at an end." "I wish I could think so," Mr. Mitford said; "but it is terribly hard to kill a superstition. Te Ua will of course say that the two prophets disobeyed his positive instructions and thus brought their fate upon themselves, and the incident may therefore rather strengthen than decrease his influence. The best part of the business in my mind is that some of the tribes have thrown in their lot on our side, or if not actually on our side at any rate against the Hau-Haus. After this we need hardly fear any general action of the natives against us. There are all sorts of obscure alliances between the tribes arising from marriages, or from their having fought on the same side in some far-back struggle. The result is that the tribes who have these alliances with the Wanganui will henceforth range themselves on the same side, or will at any rate hold aloof from this Pai Marire movement. This will also force other tribes, who might have been willing to join in a general movement, to stand neutral, and I think now, that although we may have a great deal of trouble with Te Ua's followers, we may regard any absolute danger to the European population of the island as past. "There may, I fear, be isolated massacres, for the Hau-Haus, with their cutting off of heads and carrying them about, have introduced an entirely new and savage feature into Maori warfare. I was inclined to think the precautions you and Atherton are taking were rather superfluous, but after this I shall certainly adopt them myself. Everything is perfectly quiet here, but when we see how readily a whole tribe embrace the new religion as soon as a prophet arrives, and are ready at once to massacre a man who had long dwelt among them, and for whom they had always evinced the greatest respect and liking, it is impossible any longer to feel confident that the natives in this part of the country are to be relied upon as absolutely friendly and trustworthy. "I am sorry now that I have been to some extent the means of inducing you all to settle here. At the time I gave my advice things seemed settling down at the other end of the island, and this Hau-Hau movement reached us only as a vague rumour, and seemed so absurd in itself that one attached no importance to it." "Pray do not blame yourself, Mr. Mitford; whatever comes of it we are delighted with the choice we have made. We are vastly more comfortable than we had expected to be in so short a time, and things look promising far beyond our expectations. As you say, you could have had no reason to suppose that this absurd movement was going to lead to such serious consequences. Indeed you could have no ground for supposing that it was likely to cause trouble on this side of the island, far removed as we are from the scene of the troubles. Even now these are in fact confined to the district where fighting has been going on for the last three or four years--Taranaki and its neighbourhood; for the Wanganui River, although it flows into the sea in the north of the Wellington district, rises in that of Taranaki, and the tribes who became Hau-Haus and came down the river had already taken part in the fighting with our troops. I really see no reason, therefore, for fearing that it will spread in this direction." "There is no reason whatever," Mr. Mitford agreed; "only, unfortunately, the natives seldom behave as we expect them to do, and generally act precisely as we expect they will not act. At any rate I shall set to work at once to construct a strong stockade at the back of my house. I have long been talking of forming a large cattle-yard there, so that it will not in any case be labour thrown away, while if trouble should come it will serve as a rallying-place to which all the settlers of the district can drive in their horses and cattle for shelter, and where they can if attacked hold their own against all the natives of the districts." "I really think you are looking at it in almost too serious a light, Mr. Mitford; still, the fact that there is such a rallying-place in the neighbourhood will of course add to our comfort in case we should hear alarming rumours." "Quite so, Mr. Renshaw. My idea is there is nothing like being prepared, and though I agree with you that there is little chance of trouble in this remote settlement, it is just as well to take precautions against the worst." CHAPTER XII. THE FIRST ALARM. One morning Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw went down to spend a long day with the Mitfords. The latter had sent up the boat over-night, and they started the first thing in the morning. For the two or three days previous Jack, the young native, had more than once spoken to Wilfrid of the propriety of the hands keeping near the house, but Wilfrid had failed to obtain from him any specific reasons for the warning. "Bad men come down from Waikato," he said. "Much talkee talkee among natives." "But what do they talk about, Jack?" Jack shook his head. "Jack no hear talkee. Men come to hut and talk with father. Other Maoris on land steal in and talk too, but no talk before Jack; always turn him out or send him on errand. But Jack hear sometimes a word, and think that trouble come. Young master better not go far away by himself, and tell two white men to keep close to hut. Perhaps nothing come, but better to be on guard." "Very well, Jack; I am obliged to you for the warning. I will tell the Grimstones not to go out to the outlying clearings, but to occupy themselves with what they can find to do near home." Jack nodded. "That best, Master Wilfrid, but no talk too much with me. If my people thought I speak to you then trouble come to Jack." Wilfrid nodded, and without saying anything to his father and mother told the Grimstones to keep near the house. "After you have done shooting of a morning," he said, "instead of bringing your guns into the house as usual take them down with you to the place where you are at work, so that they will be handy in case of necessity. Most likely there is no danger whatever; but I have heard a rumour that some people from Waikato have come into this neighbourhood, and if so no doubt they are trying to get the tribes here to join the Hau-Haus. I do not think that there is much chance of their succeeding, for the natives have always been very friendly, and there has been no dispute about land or any other grievance; but when one knows how suddenly they have risen in other places, it is better to take precautions." After breakfast on the morning when his father and mother had started, Wilfrid strolled out on to the verandah, and stood for some little time hesitating what he should do. The Grimstones had just started to look up some cattle in one of the distant clearings, one of the native hands having reported the evening before two of the animals were missing. "I will go not far till they come back," he said to himself. "The garden wants hoeing. Weeds grow as fast here as they do at home. That will be just the job for me." He was about to turn to enter the house, when he saw four natives emerge from the trees and make towards him. "Marion," he said through the open door, "get the guns down from the rack, and see that they are capped and ready. There are four natives coming towards the house. I daresay they are friendly, and are probably only on the way down the river to look for work, still as we are alone you cannot be too careful." Hearing Marion reply "All right, Wilfrid!" the lad leant against the door in a careless attitude, and awaited the coming of the natives. As they approached he saw they were all strangers to him, although he knew most of the natives in the neighbourhood by sight, for these not infrequently came in to barter a pig or a sheep for tobacco, sugar, or other things necessary to them. The natives as they came up gave the usual salutation of good-day, to which Wilfrid replied. "We are hungry," a tall Maori, who by his dress appeared to be a chief, said. "I will get you something to eat," Wilfrid answered. The Maoris would have followed into the house, but he stopped and said sharply, "We do not allow strangers in the house. Those we know are free to enter and depart as they choose, but I have not seen any of you before. If you will sit down on that bench outside I will bring you food." He soon reappeared with a dish of maize and boiled pork, for a supply was generally kept in readiness in case any of the natives should come in. "Shuffle about and make a noise," he said to Marion as she got the dish from the cupboard. "They cannot know who are inside, and if they mean mischief--and honestly I do not like their looks--they will be more likely to try it on if they think that I am alone." The Maoris took the food in silence, and as they ate it Wilfrid was amused to hear Marion stamping heavily about inside, and occasionally speaking as if to her father. He could see that the men were listening, and they exchanged words in a low tone with each other. Presently the leader of the party said, "Drink!" Wilfrid went in and brought out a pitcher of water. "Gin!" the chief said shortly. "I have no gin to give you," Wilfrid replied; "we do not keep spirits." The natives rose to their feet. "We will come in and see," the leader said. "No you won't!" Wilfrid said firmly. "I have given you what food there is in the house, and you are welcome to it; but strangers don't come into the house unless they are invited." The native laid his hand on Wilfrid's shoulder to push him aside, but four months of chopping and digging had hardened every muscle in the lad's body. He did not move an inch, but jerked the Maori's hand off his shoulder. With an exclamation of anger the native drew a heavy knobbed stick from the girdle round his waist, but before he could raise it to strike another figure appeared at the door. Marion held a gun in her hand which she raised to her shoulder. "Drop that," she said in a clear ringing voice, "or I fire!" Taken by surprise, and seeing the rifle pointed full at his head, the chief instantly dropped his club. At the same instant Wilfrid sprang to the door, exclaiming "Go in, Marion!" and before the natives had recovered from their surprise the door was shut and barred. They had not been deceived by Marion's attempt to personate a man, and their sharp ears had told them while eating their meal that there was but one person in the house, and that it was a girl. They knew that there was no other about, having watched the house for some time, and had therefore anticipated that the work of murder and plunder would be accomplished without difficulty. The instant the door was closed they bounded away at the top of their speed to the shelter of the bush, expecting every moment to hear the report of a rifle behind them; but the Renshaws had not thought of firing. "Well done, Marion!" Wilfrid exclaimed as soon as the door was fastened. "I was on the point of springing upon him when I heard your voice behind me; I think that I could have tripped him backwards, but if I had done so the others would have been upon me with their clubs. Now, let us close and fasten the shutters, though I do not think we need have any fear of their coming back. In each case we have heard of they have always fallen on the settlers suddenly and killed them before they had time for resistance, and I do not think there is a chance of their trying to attack us now that they know we are ready for them. I expect that they were passing down to some of their people below, and seeing, as they thought, a defenceless hut, thought it would be an easy business to plunder it and knock on the head anyone they might find here. Now that they have failed they will probably go on their journey again." "I was horribly frightened, Wilfrid," Marion said when they joined each other in the sitting-room after making all the fastenings secure. "You did not look frightened a bit, Marion; and you certainly gave that fellow a tremendous scare. Didn't he drop his club sharp? And now, what do you think we had better do? The first thing is to get the Grimstones in. Those fellows may have been watching for some time and saw them go out." "But they have got their guns with them, Wilfrid. The natives would surely not think of attacking two men with guns when they have nothing but their clubs." "No, they certainly would not think of doing that, Marion. But the chances are that they have got guns, and that they left them in the bush when they sallied out, as they wanted to look peaceful and take us by surprise." "I did not think of that, Wilfrid. Yes, perhaps they have guns. Well, you know, it has always been agreed that in case of danger three shots should be fired as a warning to those who might be out. If we fire and they hear it they will hurry back." "Yes, but they might be shot as they make their way down to the house; that is what I am afraid of." Marion was silent for a minute. "Do you know where they have gone to, Wilfrid?" "They have gone in the first place to the clearing with those two big trees standing in the centre, but I cannot say where they may go to afterwards, for they had to look for four or five of the cattle that had strayed away." "I can slip out from the window in the men's room and get into the bush and work round to the clearing, Wilfrid, and fire three shots there; that would bring them to me at once. You see, the natives couldn't cross the clearing here without your having them under your gun." "No, Marion," Wilfrid said decidedly; "that is not to be thought of. If they saw you going they could work up through the bush on their side to the top of the clearing, and then follow you. No; I think I will fire the three shots. We have talked it over several times, you know, and the Grimstones have been told that if they heard the alarm they must make their way cautiously to the top of the clearing and see what is going on before they venture to make for the house. As soon as I see them I can shout to them to keep to the bush on their left till they get opposite the house. Everything is so still that one can hear a shout a long way, and I feel sure I could make them understand as far off as the end of the clearing. It isn't as if we were sure that these fellows were still hanging about ready to attack us; the probabilities are all the other way. They would have murdered us if they could have taken us by surprise, but that is a different thing altogether to making an attack now they know we are armed and ready." Taking three of the rifles, Wilfrid opened one of the shutters at the back of the house and fired them, with an interval of about five seconds between each shot, then he stood at the window and watched the upper end of the glade. "Dear me!" he exclaimed suddenly, "I am sorry we fired." "Why?" Marion asked in surprise. "Because Mr. Atherton is sure to hear it if he is at home, and will come hurrying over; and if these fellows are still there he may come right into the middle of them." "I do not think he would do that, Wilfrid," Marion said, after thinking for a moment or two. "Mr. Atherton is not like the Grimstones. He has been in all sorts of adventures, and though I am sure he will come to our help as soon as he can, I think he would take every precaution. He would know that the natives will be likely to come from above, and therefore be between him and us, and would come along carefully so as not to be surprised." "I hope so, I am sure," Wilfrid said; "for he is an awfully good fellow. Still, as you say, he is sure to keep his eyes opened, and unless they surprise him I should back him against the four of them." In a quarter of an hour they heard a shout from the edge of the clearing. "There are the Allens!" Wilfrid exclaimed as he leapt to the door. "I forgot about them, although of course they are nearer than Mr. Atherton. All right!" he shouted; "you can come on." The two Allens ran across the open space between the wood and the house. "What is it, Wilfrid?" they exclaimed as they came up. "You fired the alarm-signal, did you not?" Both were breathless with the speed at which they had run. They had been engaged in felling when they heard the shot, and had thrown down their axes, run into the hut for their guns, and made for The Glade at the top of their speed. In a few words Wilfrid explained what had happened, and that there was every reason to believe that four hostile neighbours were lurking in the bush on the opposite side of the glade. The Allens at once volunteered to go up to the head of the clearing to warn the Grimstones. Returning to the point where they had left the forest, they made their way among the trees until they reached the upper end of the clearing; then they sat down and listened. In a few minutes they heard the sound of breaking twigs. "Here come the men," the elder Allen said; "the Maoris would come along noiselessly." Two or three minutes later the Grimstones came up at a run, accompanied by their two dogs. "This way," James Allen said. "What is it, sir?" Bob Grimstone gasped. "We were a long way in the woods when we thought we heard three shots. We were not quite sure about it, but we started back as fast as we could come. There is nothing wrong, I hope?" "Fortunately nothing has happened," James Allen replied; "but four strange Maoris came up to the house, and would certainly have murdered Mr. Wilfrid and his sister if they had not been prepared for them. Whether they are in the bush now or not I do not know; but we have come up to warn you not to go up the clearing, as, if they are there, they might pick you off as you did so. We must come down under shelter of the trees till we are opposite the house." In ten minutes they reached the house. Just as they did so Mr. Atherton appeared at the edge of the wood which they had just left. "Thank God you are all safe!" he said as he strolled up to the house. "Your three shots gave me a fright; but as I heard no more I was relieved, for the signal told that you had not been taken by surprise, and as there was no more firing it was clear they had drawn off." "But how did you get to that side of the clearing, Mr. Atherton?" "I followed the wood till within a few hundred yards of the clearing, as I made sure if there were hostile natives about they would be at the edge of the bush. Then I got down into the river and waded along the edge. The bank in front here was not high enough to hide me, though I stooped as much as I could; but I reckoned that all eyes would be fixed on the house, and it was not likely I should be noticed. And now, what is it all about? I am sure you would not have fired the signal unless there had been good cause for the alarm." Wilfrid related what had taken place. "Well done, Miss Marion!" Mr. Atherton said when he had finished. "It was lucky for your brother that you did not go with your father and mother this morning. "It was lucky," Wilfrid agreed; "but at the same time, if I had been quite alone I should have closed the shutters and door as they came up, and kept indoors. I only ventured to meet them outside because I knew that Marion had a gun ready to hand to me the moment I wanted it." "Yes; but you see there was not time to hand you the gun, Wilfrid, as it turned out, and you would have been knocked on the head to a certainty if your sister had not come to your rescue." "That I certainly should; and I know that I owe Marion my life. What do you think we had better do now?" "I do not think we can do anything, Wilfrid, beyond trying to find out whether the fellows who came here were alone, or were part of a larger party. Where are your natives?" "The three men are chopping, and Jack went out with the Grimstones to look for the cattle." "Was he with you when you heard the shots fired, Bob?" "He was with us a minute or two before, and was following a track. After we heard the signal we did not think anything more about him, and whether he followed us or went on looking after the cattle I do not know." "If you go to the door, Wilfrid, and give a loud cooey it will bring him in if he is within hearing. You may be sure that he heard the signal, for his ears are keener than those of your men; but he would not rush straight back, but would come cautiously through the woods according to his nature." Wilfrid went to the door and gave a loud cooey. A minute later the Maori issued from the bush, nearly opposite the house, and ran in. "That's just where the natives took to the bush," Wilfrid said. "Perhaps he will be able to tell us something about them." "I expect he has been scouting," Mr. Atherton said, "and his coming boldly out from that point is a pretty sure proof that the natives have made off. Well, Jack, so you heard our signal?" Jack nodded. "And what have you been doing since?" Wilfrid asked. "Jack went through the bush fast till he got near house, then, as the guns were not going off, he knew there could be no attack; but thought black man might be lying in bush, so he crept and crawled. Presently he heard man talk, and then saw four Maori walking fast away from house. He only heard them say as he passed, 'No use now; too many Pakehas. Come another day and finish them all.' Jack was coming straight to house when he heard cooey." "You have seen nothing of your father and the other two men, Jack?" The Maori boy shook his head. "They chop wood; perhaps not heard signal." "More likely they heard, but thought it better to stay away," Wilfrid said. "No got guns; they not fighting-men," Jack said, as if in excuse. "There is something in that," Mr. Atherton said. "The Hau-Haus have always proved themselves even more merciless towards the friendly natives than towards the whites; and these men, being unarmed, might, even with the best disposition in the world, be afraid to come to the house. At any rate, I am glad those fellows have made off. You see, they were in a position to shoot any of us if they got the chance, while we were scarce in a position to return the compliment." "Why not?" James Allen asked. "Because, although we could have now no doubt whatever as to their intentions, they have committed no actual assault. They tried their best to push their way into the house, and when Wilfrid opposed them one of them drew his club; but they might say this was only done to frighten him, and that they had no thought of using it. If they had fired a shot, we should of course be justified in killing them; but were we to begin the shooting, the whole tribe they belong to would take it up, and there would be a cry for vengeance; and even if nothing were done at once, we should be marked down to be wiped out at the first opportunity. "We shall learn in a day or two whether the matter was serious or not," Mr. Atherton went on. "If there is anything like a general defection of the natives in these parts yours will not have been the only place threatened, and we shall hear of attacks on other settlers. If we do not hear of such attacks we can safely put it down that these four fellows were mere haphazard passers, like tramps at home, who were tempted by the fact that the house contained only two persons. In that case we need feel no further anxiety; for as you would be able to recognize them if you met them anywhere, they would not be likely to come near this part of the district again. At any rate I will set off with the boy here and one of the dogs, and will follow up their tracks and see if they have gone well away. I have no doubt they have done so; still, it will be more comfortable to make certain of it." "By the way, Bob," Wilfrid said, "don't you take those two dogs out again. I don't think they would be any good for hunting cattle, and would be much more likely to frighten and hunt them away than to help you to drive them in. At any rate they were bought as guards, and are to remain about the house. Shall I go with you, Mr. Atherton?" "No, thank you, Wilfrid; Jack will be enough to help me follow the tracks, for what he heard them say is almost proof that they have gone. I shall go round to my own place when I have followed them fairly off the land, but will come round here to-morrow morning, when we will hold a general council of war. It is no use my coming back again this evening, as your father and the others will not be here before that time. It is possible that they will bring us some news from the Mitfords. If there is any trouble anywhere along the river Mitford is sure to be the first to hear of it. I will send a message back by Jack when he has gone as far as necessary for our purpose." Two hours later Jack returned with the news that the Maoris had gone straight on without making a stop. Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were expected back at about ten o'clock. They were to breakfast early at the Mitfords and to come up with their light canoe. They arrived, however, soon after eight o'clock. "Is all well?" Mr. Renshaw shouted as he stepped from the boat. "All well, father," Marion replied, running down to meet them. "We had a little unpleasantness yesterday, but nothing of consequence. What brings you back so early? You must have started before daylight." "Bad news came in yesterday evening, and we should have come straight over if it had been possible, but Mr. Mitford would not let us leave till morning. We have been very anxious about you." "What is the news?" Wilfrid asked. "The natives murdered two settlers at a farm some four miles from Mr. Mitford's. Yesterday he received letters both from Poverty Bay and Napier saying that the natives were in a very disturbed state, that Hau-Hau prophets had been going about among them, and that in both districts there had been several murders. Corps of volunteers are being raised at Napier, and they have sent to Wellington for a company of the constabulary. The settlers at Poverty Bay are also making preparations for defence. Mr. Mitford was asked to get all the colonists on this river to arm and prepare for an attack. Of course this news was very alarming in itself, and when two or three hours later the news came in of the murders in our own settlement we were naturally most anxious about you. However, as we could not come over in the dark through the forest, and as Mitford pointed out that the house was well prepared for defence, and that you would certainly be on the alert and had the dogs, who would give you notice of any body of men coming, we consented to remain if he would send us home in the canoe at five o'clock in the morning. And now, what is it that happened here yesterday?" "It was nothing very alarming, father. Four natives came up and asked for food, which of course I gave them. Then they wanted gin, and seeing that I was alone tried to push their way into the house I tried to stop them. The fellow snatched at his club. As he did so Marion appeared at the door with a levelled rifle, and the fellows, who had no guns with them, took to their heels. We gave the alarm-signal, and the Allens and Mr. Atherton came over at once, and the Grimstones ran in from their work. However, the natives had made their way off, and I do not suppose we shall hear any more of them." "I don't know, Wilfrid," his father said. "If it had been only this affair I should not have thought much about it. The natives are often rude and insolent, and these men might not have meant to do more than help themselves to a bottle of spirits, but taken with these accounts from Napier and Poverty Bay, and with the murders yesterday, I think it is very serious." "Mr. Atherton and the Allens promised to come over at ten o'clock, father, to chat the matter over with you, and hear whether you had brought news of any troubles elsewhere. So we shall have quite a council. And now let us have breakfast. We were just going to sit down when we heard your call, and I am sure you must be as hungry as hunters after your three hours on the water." Breakfast was scarcely finished when Mr. Atherton and the Allens arrived, and were made acquainted with the news of the murder of the two settlers on the previous day. "It is clear," Mr. Atherton said, "that the affair here yesterday was not, as I hoped, a mere incident, such as might happen anywhere if a party of ruffianly fellows arrived at a lonely house which they thought they could rob with impunity. This sad business you tell us of shows that there is a general movement among the natives, the result, I suppose, of the arrival of some emissary from the Hau-Haus. It is an awkward business. What is Mr. Mitford's opinion on the subject?" "He thinks it will be well that all settlers on the river capable of bearing arms should be enrolled as a volunteer corps, and be in readiness to turn out at a moment's notice. He is of opinion that all those whose farms lie at a distance from the main body should drive in their animals and bring in such goods as they can carry to his station, as one of the most central. Huts could be got up there, and the animals all kept at night in his large stockaded yard. In case the natives seem inclined to make a regular attack the women and children could be sent down the river in boats or put on board a ship and sent to Napier. Fortunately, there is seldom a week without a craft of some sort putting into the river." "There is no doubt that this would be the safest plan," Mr. Atherton said, "but it would be a serious thing for the settlers to abandon their crops and houses to the natives unless it was certain that the danger was very great." "That is my opinion," Mr. Renshaw said. "I am certainly not disposed to have the results of our labour destroyed without a struggle." Wilfrid looked alike surprised and pleased. "I am glad to hear you say so, father. It would be an awful nuisance and loss to have all our crops destroyed and our house burnt down, and to have to begin the whole thing over again. I don't see what would have been the use of getting everything ready for defence if we are all to run away directly there is danger; but I think it would be a good thing to send the animals down to Mr. Mitford's, as he is good enough to offer to take them. We might send down the three natives to look after them, as of course they will have to go out to graze in the daytime, and keep Jack here. I do not know about the other men, and one doesn't seem able to trust the natives in the slightest; but I feel sure of Jack, and he would be useful to us in many ways in the house, besides being able to scout in the woods far better than we could do." "I think that you are right, Mr. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said. "I should propose as an addition that the Allens here and I make this our head-quarters while the scare lasts. We could run up a light shanty with a few hours' work just behind the house. The Allens could go over to their work during the day and return here at night, and I should wander about the woods with my gun as usual. I do not think we need fear any attack in the daytime. If it comes at all it will be at night or at early morning. The natives will know from the men who were here that you are well armed, and will try to catch you napping. We won't be any more trouble to you than we can help, and with the addition of our three guns I think we could defend ourselves against any number of natives. What do you think of my proposal, lads?" The Allens said at once that they thought it was an excellent one, if Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were willing to have the trouble of them. "It will be no trouble at all," Mrs. Renshaw said, "and will be a very great comfort. With seven men to protect us Marion and I shall feel perfectly safe, and it will be in all ways pleasant to have you here with us. I do not see that you need build a hut outside at all. There will be no difficulty in making up beds here and in the kitchen, and then we shall be all together." "But I do not propose that you should cook for us, Mrs. Renshaw. If we had a hut of our own our boys could do that for us. You see, we are coming up here for our own defence as well as yours." "I should not think of such a thing," Mrs. Renshaw said decidedly. "There is no more trouble in cooking for nine than there is for six; and, as I have said, it will be a real pleasure to us to have you stopping here." "Very well. Then in that case, Mrs. Renshaw, we will accept your invitation. I will bring over my belongings to-day and store them in your loft above, and the Allens had better bring over anything they do not want burnt by the natives. I still hope that these outrages are the work of a few ruffians, and that the natives in general will not allow themselves to be persuaded into hostilities against us; still, if the worst comes to the worst, I am convinced that we can hold this house against quite as strong a force as they are likely to bring to attack it. There is one precaution I should advise you to take at once, and that is to lay in a store of water. I daresay you have got some empty molasses and pork casks, that is if you do not burn them as soon as you empty them. If not we must set to work and make a strong wooden tank. In case we were really besieged, it would be fatal to us if we were caught without a supply of water." Fortunately there were three or four empty casks. These were taken down to the river and thoroughly washed, filled with water and rolled up to the house. While this was being done, Wilfrid, with the Grimstones and the natives, had gone out and driven in all the animals from the clearings, and as soon as they were brought in Wilfrid with the natives started to drive them to Mr. Mitford's. Mr. Atherton went over to his hut, and before night his two natives had brought over all his most valuable property, and the next day his hut was completely stripped. The Allens only brought over a few things. Their furniture was rough and heavy, and they contented themselves by carrying it out into the forest near and hiding it in the undergrowth. Wilfrid returned to The Glade in the evening. He said that many of the settlers had come in, and were erecting shelters of hides, canvas, and wood near Mr. Mitford's house. The men were all being enrolled. Officers had been appointed, and the natives were likely to meet with a stout resistance if they ventured on hostilities. Mrs. Mitford had sent an earnest invitation to Mrs. Renshaw and Marion to take up their abode with her. Mr. Mitford had approved of their intention of holding the house. He knew its capabilities of defence and thought that, unless taken by surprise, they would be able to hold it. "It will be a sort of outpost for the colony," he said, "and will add to our safety; for if any strong body of natives were approaching they would probably attack you before coming on here. The instant we hear that you are attacked we will come up to aid you. We shall be able to muster in all something like fifty mounted men--a strength sufficient to meet any number of natives likely to assemble in these parts." CHAPTER XIII. THE ATTACK ON THE GLADE. For three days things went on quietly at The Glade. The first thing in the morning Jack went out with two of the dogs and scouted in the bush. As soon as he returned with the news that he could find no signs of natives the household broke up. The Allens went through the bush to their clearing and continued their work of felling trees. Mr. Atherton sauntered off with his two dogs into the forest in search of plants. Wilfrid and the Grimstones pursued their work of digging and planting in the upper part of the glade. Jack and the two dogs were on watch round the house. Mr. Renshaw worked at his Maori vocabulary, and his wife and daughter carried on the business of the house. At night two of the dogs were chained up outside; the other two slept in the kitchen, while Jack was allowed to sleep up in the loft. At daybreak on the fourth day the party were awoke by a growl from one of the dogs outside. Each of the occupants of the house had been allotted his post, and in a minute all were standing, rifle in hand, at the windows they were to guard. Mr. Atherton opened the front door and went out, followed by Jack. It was just getting light enough to make out objects in the clearing. Everything seemed quiet. "What is it, Ponto?" he said to his dog, who was standing with his eyes fixed upon the bush to the right, his ears pricked and his hair bristling. "What do you hear, old fellow?" The dog uttered another deep growl. A moment later there was a loud yell. A number of dark figures leapt from the edge of the bush and ran towards the house. They had made out Mr. Atherton's figure, and knew that their hope of surprising the place was at an end. Mr. Atherton levelled his rifle and fired, and one of the natives fell dead. Then stooping he quietly unfastened the dog's chain from his collar, telling Jack to do the same to the other dog, "Come into the house, sir," he ordered; "it's no use your being here to be shot." His shot had been answered by a dozen rifles, but fired in haste as the men were running none of the bullets struck him. Four shots were fired almost simultaneously from the windows looking towards the bush, and three more natives fell. This proof of the accuracy of the defenders' shooting staggered the Maoris and they paused for a moment, then, moved by the exhortations of their chief, they again rushed forward. The whole of the defenders were now gathered at the windows facing them, and seven shots were fired in quick succession. Three natives fell dead. Four others were wounded, two so seriously that they had to be carried off by their comrades, who at once ran back to the bush, and from its edge opened a straggling fire against the house. The shutters that had been thrown open at the two windows were at once closed. "This is what I call beating them off handsomely," Mr. Atherton said. "Now you see the advantage, Wilfrid, of the pains you have taken to learn to shoot straight. There have been only eleven shots fired, and I fancy there are at least ten casualties among them. I call that a very pretty average for young hands." "What will they do next, do you think?" Mr. Renshaw asked. "They will not try another open attack, I fancy. We may expect them to try to work round us. Jack, do you go to the other side of the house and keep a sharp look-out on the bush there. Wilfrid, you take post at the windows we fired from, and peep out from time to time through the loopholes in the shutters. Between times keep yourself out of the line of fire. The betting is a thousand to one against a bullet coming through, still there is no use in running any risk if it can be avoided. Jim Allen, you and I will take up our place at the back of the house; they may try to work up among the crops. In fact, I expect that is the course they will take unless they have had enough of it already. Bob Grimstone, you keep watch at one of the front windows. I don't think there is much chance of attack from that side, but it is as well to keep a look-out. Some of them may attempt to cross to the opposite bush, keeping down by the river. The other three guns will be in reserve." "Don't you think they are likely to go away now that they have suffered so much loss?" Mrs. Renshaw asked. "No, I cannot say I think so, Mrs. Renshaw. The Maoris, from what I have heard, always try to get revenge for the death of a kinsman or fellow-tribesman. Of course it depends how many of them there are. I should judge that there were about thirty showed themselves. If that is all there are of them I should say they would not attack again at present. They must know by our firing that there are seven or eight of us here. But I should not rely altogether even upon that, for the natives regard themselves as fully a match, man for man, with the whites, and in their fights with our troops we were often greatly superior in numbers. Still, it is one thing to defend a strong pah and another to attack resolute men snugly sheltered behind bullet-proof logs. They may try again, but if there are any more of their people within reasonable distance I fancy they will be more likely to send for them and keep a sharp watch round us until they come up. Now I will go to my post." For a quarter of an hour the two watchers at the back of the house saw no signs of life. Then Mr. Atherton said: "There is a movement among that corn, Jim. Do you see, there--just in a line with that big tree at the other end of the clearing? It is moving in several places. Call your brother and young Grimstone to this side of the house, and do you all take steady aim at these moving patches. I will fire first. I think I can pretty well mark the spot where one of the fellows is making his way down. If I hit him the others are likely enough to start up. Then will be your time for taking a shot at them." As soon as the others were in position and ready Mr. Atherton fired. There was a yell. A dark figure sprang up, stood for an instant, and then fell back. Almost at the same instant half a dozen others leapt to their feet and dashed away. Three rifles were fired. Two of the natives fell, but one almost immediately rose again and followed the others. "You ought to have done better than that at a hundred yards," Mr. Atherton said. "You two lads ought to have practised a little more steadily than you have. It was Grimstone brought down that man. His rifle went off a second before yours, and the man was falling when you fired. The great thing in firing at natives is that every shot should tell. It is the certainty of the thing that scares them. If they hear bullets singing about with only occasionally a man dropping they gain confidence, but a slow, steady fire with every shot telling shakes their nerves, and makes them very careful of showing themselves." Half an hour later Jack reported he could see figures moving in the bush on his side, and soon afterwards a fire was opened on the hut from that direction. "They have worked round the end of the clearing," Mr. Atherton said. "Now it is our turn to begin to fire. We have let them have their own way long enough, and there is plenty of light now, and I think we shall soon be able to put a stop to this game. Now, Wilfrid, do you with one of the Grimstones take up your place at the loopholes at that end of the house, and I with the other will take up mine on the right. Keep a sharp look-out, and do not throw away a shot if you can help it. As we have not answered their fire they have probably got careless, and are sure to expose themselves as they stand up to fire. Now, Bob," he went on, as he took his place at the loophole, "I will take the first who shows himself. I do not think you would miss, but I am sure that I shall not, and it is important not to make a mistake the first time." Half a minute later a native showed his head and shoulders over a bush as he rose to fire. Before he could raise his gun to his shoulder he fell with a bullet through his head from Mr. Atherton's unerring rifle. That gentleman quietly reloaded. "You had better take the next again, sir," Bob Grimstone said quietly. "I do not suppose I should miss, but I might do. I do not reckon on hitting a small mark more than eight out of twelve times." It was nearly four minutes before another native showed himself. "I think, sir, there is one standing behind that big tree twenty yards in the bush. I thought I saw something move behind it just now." "I will watch it, Bob," Mr. Atherton said, raising his rifle to his shoulder and looking along it through the loophole. Two minutes passed, and then a head and shoulder appeared from behind the tree. Instantaneously Mr. Atherton's rifle cracked, and the native fell forward, his gun going off as he did so. "We need not stand here any longer," Mr. Atherton said quietly, "there will be no more shooting from that side for some time." Mr. Atherton went to the other end of the house. "How are you getting on, Wilfrid?" "We have had three shots. I fired twice and Bill once. I think I missed once altogether, the other time the native went down. Bill wounded his man--hit him in the shoulder, I think. They haven't fired since." "Then you can put down your guns for the present. Mrs. Renshaw has just told me that breakfast is ready." Mrs. Renshaw and Marion had indeed gone quietly about the work of preparing breakfast for their defenders. "So you are a non-combatant this morning, Miss Marion?" Mr. Atherton said as he took his place with the rest of the party, with the exception of the Grimstones, who were placed on the watch, at the table. "Yes," the girl replied; "if I thought there were any danger of the natives fighting their way into the house, of course I should do my best to help defend it; but I do not think that there is the least fear of such a thing, so I am quite content to leave it to you. It does not seem to me that a woman has any business to fight unless absolutely driven to do so in defence of her life. If the natives really do come on and get up close to the house, I think that I ought to help to keep them out; but it is a dreadful thing to have to shoot anyone--at least it seems so to me." "It is not a pleasant thing when considered in cold blood; but when men go out of their way to take one's life, I do not feel the slightest compunction myself in taking theirs. These natives have no cause of complaint whatever against us. They have assembled and attacked the settlement in a treacherous manner, and without the slightest warning of their intentions. Their intention is to slay man, woman, and child without mercy, and I therefore regard them as human tigers, and no more deserving of pity. At the same time I can quite enter into your feelings, and think you are perfectly right not to take any active part in the affair unless we are pressed by the savages. Then, of course, you would be not only justified, but it would, I think, be your absolute duty to do your best to defend the place." "Do you think that it is all over now, Mr. Atherton?" Mrs. Renshaw asked. "We regard you as our commanding officer, for you are the only one here who ever saw a shot fired in anger before our voyage out, and your experience is invaluable to us now. Indeed, both my husband and myself feel that it is to your suggestion that we should put up the strong shutters and doors that we owe the lives of our children; for had it not been for that, those men who came first might have taken the house when they found them alone in it." "I cannot accept your thanks for that, Mrs. Renshaw. It may be if this goes on that the shutters will be found of the greatest use, and indeed they have probably stopped a good many balls from coming in and so saved some of our lives, but on the first occasion Wilfrid and your daughter owed their lives to their being prepared and armed, while the natives relying upon surprising them had left their guns in the wood. The shutters were not closed until after they made off, and had they not been there those four natives could never have passed across the clearing and reached the house under the fire of two cool and steady marksmen. "As to your first question, whether it is all over, it depends entirely upon whether the party who attacked us are the main force of the natives. If so, I do not think they will renew the attack at present. They have suffered terribly, and know now that it is almost certain death for any of them to show themselves within range of our guns. They have lost fourteen or fifteen men, and I do not think they numbered above forty at first. But if they are only a detached party, and a main body of the tribe is making an attack elsewhere, perhaps upon the settlers at Mitford's, a messenger will by this time have been despatched to them, and we may all have a much more serious attack to encounter to-night or to-morrow morning. "I have no idea what tribe these fellows belong to; but there are few of the tribes that cannot put five hundred men on the field, while some can put five times that number. So, you see, we are entirely in the dark. Of course things will depend a good deal as to how the main body, if there is a main body, has fared. If they have been, as I feel sure they will be if they venture to attack Mitford's place, roughly handled, the whole body may return home. The natives have proved themselves through the war admirable in defence; but they have by no means distinguished themselves in the attack, and have not, so far as I remember, succeeded in a single instance in capturing a position stoutly held. "It is one thing to fight behind strong palisades, defended by interior works skilfully laid out, and quite another to advance across the open to assault a defended position; and my belief is that, if they are beaten at Mitford's as well as here, we shall hear no more of them at present. Mind, I do not say that after this I think that it would be safe to continue to live in an outlying station like this until matters have again settled down in this part of the island. No doubt, as soon as the news is known at Napier and Wellington a force will be sent here, or perhaps to Poverty Bay, which is only some twenty miles higher up the coast, and is, I think, from what I hear, better suited as the base of operations than this river would be. "This force will no doubt make an expedition inland to punish the tribes connected with this affair, for it is of course most important to let the natives on this side of the island see that they cannot attack our settlements with impunity. After that is done it will no doubt be safe to recommence operations here; but at present I fear you will find it necessary for a time to abandon the place, and either take up your abode at the Mitfords', or go down to Napier or Wellington. This will, of course, involve the loss of the crops you have planted, and possibly of your house; but as you have saved all your animals, the loss will be comparatively small and easily repaired." "Whether large or small," Mr. Renshaw said, "we cannot hesitate over it. It will, as you say, be out of the question to live here exposed at any instant to attack, and never knowing what the day or night may bring forth. The house has not cost above a hundred pounds, and we must put up with that loss. We are fortunately in a very much better position than most settlers in having a reserve to fall back upon, so there will be no hesitation on my part in taking this step. The furniture is worth more than the hut, but I suppose that must go too." "Not necessarily, Mr. Renshaw. We cannot get away now; for although we can defend ourselves well enough here, we could not make our way down through the woods to Mitford's without great risks. They are accustomed to bush fighting, and as they are still five to one against us, it would be a very serious matter to try to fight our way down. I think that we have no choice but to remain where we are until we are either relieved or are perfectly certain that they have made off. In either case we should then have ample time to make our preparations for retiring, and could strip the house and send everything down in boats or bullock-carts, and might even get up the potatoes, and cut such of the crops as are ripe, or nearly ripe, and send them down also. "The corps that has been got up among the settlers will be sure to join in the expedition for the punishment of these scoundrels, and indeed it is most probable that all able-bodied settlers will be called out. In any case I think I shall chip in, as the Americans say. I shall have an opportunity of going into little explored tracts in the interior and adding to my collections; and to tell you the truth, I feel anxious to take a part in revenging the massacres that these treacherous natives have committed. Unless they get a sharp lesson the lives of the settlers in all the outlying districts in the colony will be unsafe." Wilfrid glanced at Mr. Atherton and nodded, to intimate that he should be willing and ready to join in such an expedition; but he thought it better to say nothing at present. The two Allens, however, said at once that if obliged to quit their clearing they would join one of the irregular corps for the defence of the colony. "We shall get pay and rations," James Allen said, "and that will keep us going until things get settled; and I should certainly like to lend a hand in punishing these treacherous natives. It is horrible to think of their stealing upon defenceless people at night and murdering men, women, and children. It is as bad as the Sepoy mutiny. And now the troops have been almost all withdrawn, and the colony has been left to shift for itself, I think it is no more than the duty of all who have no special ties to aid in the defence against these fanatical Hau-Haus." "Very well, then, James; we will march side by side, and when you see me give out you shall carry me." "That would be worse than fighting the natives," James Allen replied with a laugh. "If I were you, Mr. Atherton, I should engage ten natives to accompany me with poles and a hammock." "That is not a bad idea," Mr. Atherton said calmly, "and possibly I may adopt it; but in that case I shall have to go as a free lance, for I fear it would scarcely be conducive to military discipline to see one of an armed band carried along in the ranks." None would have thought from the cheerful tone of the conversation that the party were beleaguered by a bloodthirsty enemy. But Mr. Atherton purposely gave a lively tone to the conversation to keep up their spirits. He felt, as he expressed himself, perfectly confident that they could beat off any attack in the daytime; but he knew that if their assailants were largely reinforced, and the place attacked by night, the position would be a very serious one. Even then he was convinced that the assailants would not be able to force their way in, but they would assuredly try to fire the house; and although the solid logs would be difficult to ignite, the match-board covering and the roof would both readily catch fire. However, his hope lay in preventing the natives from firing it, as it would be difficult in the extreme to bring up burning branches under the fire of the defenders. "It is a pity now, Wilfrid," he said to the lad after breakfast was over, and they had taken up their place together at one of the windows, "that we did not dissuade your father from putting that boarding to the logs. You did not intend to have it at first, and now it adds a good deal to our danger. The only thing I am afraid of is fire, though I own I do not think that there is much chance of any of them getting up with a lighted brand under the fire of our rifles. If the natives were not in the bush at the present moment, I should say that the best thing by far to do would be for all hands to set to work to tear off the match-boarding, and to get down the whole of the covering of the roof; they could not well hurt us then." "Shall we do it at once, Mr. Atherton?" "They would shoot us down at their leisure, Wilfrid. No, that is not to be thought of. We must run the risk of fire now; and I feel, as I said, pretty confident that we are too good shots to let men with fire get up to the walls. I wish we could send down word to Mitford's that we are besieged here. Of course, if he is attacked himself he could not help us, but if he is not I know he would come out at once with a strong party to our relief. I wonder whether that native boy of yours would try to carry a message. None of us would have a chance of getting through, but these fellows can crawl like snakes; and by working up through the crops to the upper end of the glade he might gain the bush unobserved." "I will ask him anyhow," Wilfrid said. Jack on being promised a new suit of clothes and a present in money if he would carry a note through to Mr. Mitford, at once undertook the mission. Mr. Renshaw, on being told what was arranged, wrote a note stating their position, and Jack, divesting himself of the greater portion of his clothes, crept out through the door at the back of the house, and lying down at once began to crawl through the potato patch towards the upper end of the clearing. From the loopholes of the windows the defenders watched his progress. Although aware of his approximate position they were soon unable to trace his progress. "He will do," Mr. Atherton said; "if we, knowing the line he is taking, can see nothing move you may be sure that those fellows in the bush will not be able to make him out. Well, we shall have assistance in four or five hours if Mitford's hands are free." A quarter of an hour passed and all was still quiet. "He is in the bush by this time," Mr. Atherton said; "now we can take matters easy." An occasional shot was fired from the bush, and shouts raised which Mr. Renshaw interpreted to be threats of death and extermination. "They say that all the white men are to be driven into the sea; not one left alive on the island." "Well, we shall see about that," Mr. Atherton said; "they are not getting on very fast at present." As time went on it was only the occasional crack of a gun, accompanied by the thud of a bullet against the logs, that told that the natives were still present. They now never raised themselves to fire, but kept well back in the bush, shifting their position after each shot. Time passed somewhat slowly inside, until about four o'clock in the afternoon the sharp crack of a rifle was heard. "There is Mitford!" Mr. Atherton exclaimed, "that is not a Maori gun. Man the loopholes again! we must prevent any of the fellows on the other side crossing to the assistance of their friends, and give it to the others hot if they are driven out of the shelter of the bush." The rifle shot was speedily followed by others, and then came the deeper report of the Maori muskets. English shouts were heard, mingled with the yells of the natives. The fight was evidently sharp, for Jack had led the relieving party down upon the rear of the natives engaged in attacking the house from the left. The latter began to fall back, and the defenders of the house presently caught sight of their figures as they flitted from tree to tree. "We must be careful," Mr. Atherton said, "for every bullet that misses might strike our friends. I think that you had all better reserve your fire till they make a break across the open. You can see by the direction they are firing, and the sound of the rifles, Mitford is closing in on both their flanks so as to drive them out of the bush. I can trust myself not to miss, and will pick them off when I see any of them sheltering on this side of the trees. There is a fellow there just going to fire." His rifle cracked, and the native fell among the bushes. This completed the scare of the natives, who had already been much disconcerted at the unexpected attack made upon them. The leader of the party shouted an order, and the whole of them made a sudden rush through the bush down towards the river. Three or four fell beneath the rifles of the whites on that side of them, but the rest burst through and continued their course down to the river, and, plunging in, swam to the other side without once giving the defenders of the house the chance of a shot at them. "Now we can sally out," Mr. Renshaw said. The door was opened, and they hurried out just as a party of whites issued from the wood and ran towards the house. "Thanks for your speedy aid, Mitford!" Mr. Renshaw exclaimed as he wrung the hand of the settler. "You are heartily welcome, my dear sir. A party was just setting off to see how you had fared when your native boy arrived with your note, and it was a great relief to us to know that you had repulsed their attack with such heavy loss to them; I am afraid that several others have not fared so well. Two or three native servants have come in this morning with news of massacres of whole families, they themselves having managed to make their escape in the confusion; and I am afraid that we shall hear of other similar cases. Your gallant defence of your station has been of most important service to us all. There is no doubt that it saved us from an attack at our place. There were a good many natives in the bush round us this morning yelling and shouting, but they did not venture on an attack; and I have no doubt they were waiting for the arrival of the party told off to attack your place on their way. Do you think that there are any of them still in the bush on the other side?" "I should hardly think so," Mr. Atherton replied. "There must have been fully half of them in the party you attacked, and the others are hardly likely to have waited after they saw you had defeated their friends; but I think that it would be as well for a party of us to ascertain, for if they are still lurking there some of us may be shot down as we move about outside the house. We are quite strong enough now to venture upon such a step." "I think so too," Mr. Mitford agreed. "There are ten men beside myself and your party. We had better leave four here, the rest of us will make a dash down to the edge of the bush and then skirmish through it." Mr. Renshaw, the two Grimstones, and one of the settlers were appointed to remain behind to guard the house, and the rest of the party then dashed at full speed across the glade to the edge of the bush. Not a shot was fired as they did so, and having once gained the shelter they advanced through the trees. After pushing forward for half a mile they came to the conclusion that the Maoris had retreated. Many signs were seen of their presence. There were marks of blood here and there, and the bushes were broken down where they had carried off those who had fallen killed or wounded in the bush; the bodies of those who had fallen in the open still remained there. Upon the return of the party Mr. Mitford was informed of the determination that had been arrived at. This met with his cordial approval. "I think, Mrs. Renshaw," he said, "that the best plan will be for you and your husband and daughter to return at once with me. I will leave a couple of my men here with your garrison, and in the morning will come out with a strong party and three or four bullock drays to fetch in all your portable property. They can make another trip for your potatoes and such of your crops as can be got in. After the sharp lesson the natives have had here they are not likely to venture in this neighbourhood again for some time; and, indeed, now that they find that the whole settlement is aroused and on its guard I doubt whether we shall hear anything more of them at present, and possibly you may, when matters settle down again, find your house just as it is left." Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw agreed to the plan proposed, and in a quarter of an hour the party started, leaving The Glade under the protection of the garrison of eight men. The night passed off quietly, and at daybreak all set to work to get up the potatoes and to cut down the crops that were sufficiently ripe. At nine o'clock the waggons arrived, and the furniture and stores were loaded up. By twelve o'clock next day the work in the fields was completed and the waggons again loaded. The house was then locked up and the whole party proceeded to the settlement. They found on their arrival that a strong stockade had been erected near Mr. Mitford's house, and that rough tents and huts had been got up there for the use of the settlers; the whole of the animals belonging to the various farmers on the river had been driven into the stockaded inclosure behind the house. Here it was decided that all the settlers should remain until help arrived from Wellington or Napier, but in the meantime five and twenty of the younger men were enrolled as a volunteer corps; a Mr. Purcell, who had served for some years as an officer in the army, being unanimously elected in command. There still remained enough men capable of bearing arms to defend the stockade in case of attack during the absence of the corps. Wilfrid and the two Allens were among those who enrolled themselves. Mr. Atherton said that he fully intended to accompany them if possible upon any expedition they might make, but that he should not become a member of the corps. "You may have long marches," he said, "through the bush, or may, when the reinforcements arrive, be called upon to make an expedition into the hill country to punish the natives. I could not possibly keep up with you during a heavy day's marching, so I shall, like Hal of the Wynd, fight for my own sword. I daresay I shall be there or there about when there is any work to be done, but I must get there in my own way and in my own time. I shall have my own commissariat train. I have had my share of living on next to nothing, and have become somewhat of an epicure, and I know that the sort of rations you are likely to get on a march through a rough country would not suit my constitution. But, as I said before, I hope if there is any fighting done to be somewhere in the neighbourhood." CHAPTER XIV. FRESH TROUBLES. Three days later a small steamer arrived from Napier, bringing a reply to the urgent request that had been sent for the despatch of a body of constabulary for the protection of the settlers. Sir Donald M'Lean, the superintendent of the province, sent word that this was impossible at present, as the alarming news had just been received that the notorious chief Te Kooti, who had been captured and imprisoned at Chatham Island, had effected his escape with the whole of the natives confined in the island, had captured a schooner, and had, it was reported, landed near Poverty Bay. "It is probable," Sir Donald wrote, "that it is the news of his landing which has excited one of the tribes of the neighbourhood to make an attack upon you. A strong expedition will be fitted out, and we shall doubtless have to supply a contingent. I can only advise you to organize yourselves into a militia, and to stand for the present on the defensive. As soon as operations begin from Poverty Bay you will be relieved from all further danger, as the attention of the hostile tribes will be fully occupied in that direction." Hitherto the province of Hawke Bay had been comparatively free from the troubles that had so long disturbed Auckland, Taranaki, and the northern portion of Wellington. Only one rising had taken place, and this had been so promptly crushed that the tribes had since remained perfectly quiet. In October 1866 a party of a hundred fighting men had suddenly appeared near the Meanee village. Their principal chief had hitherto borne a very high character, and had been employed by the government to improve the mail road between Napier and Taupo. Colonel Whitmore, who was in command of the colonial forces--for the regular troops had now been almost entirely withdrawn from the island--had just returned from punishing some natives who had committed massacres higher up on the coast, and was, fortunately, at Napier; he at once despatched a company of colonists under Major Fraser, with thirty or forty friendly natives, to hold the natives in check. Just as they had been sent off the news came that another and more numerous body of Hau-Haus were advancing by way of Petane to attack Napier. Major Fraser and his company were sent off to check these, while Colonel Whitmore, with one hundred and eighty of the colonial militia, marched against the smaller force, and M'Lean, with two hundred friendly natives, established himself in the rear of the village they occupied. An officer was sent in to summon them to surrender, and as no answer could be obtained from them the colonists advanced. The enemy fought with resolution, but the colonists opened a cross-fire upon them, and after fighting for some time the natives were driven out of their cover. Finding no mode of retreat open to them they laid down their arms, some who endeavoured to escape being cut off and also captured. The native loss was twenty-three killed and twenty-eight wounded--many of them mortally; forty-four taken prisoners. Only two or three of the whole party escaped. Upon the same day Major Fraser's little force attacked the other party of Hau-Haus, killed their chief with twelve of his followers, and put the rest to flight. From that time peace had been unbroken in Hawke Bay; but there had been several outbreaks at Poverty Bay, which lay just north of the province, and massacres at Opotaki and other places further to the north, and almost continuous fighting in the northern districts of Wellington. The news of Te Kooti's escape and of his landing at Poverty Bay naturally caused considerable alarm among the settlers, but hopes were entertained that the whites at Poverty Bay, aided by the friendly natives, would be able to recapture Te Kooti and his followers before they could do any harm. The next day a small vessel came down from Poverty Bay with a message from Major Biggs, who commanded at that settlement, to ask for assistance if it could be spared him. A consultation was held and it was agreed that the best plan of defending their own settlement was to aid in the recapture of Te Kooti, and that the little force of twenty men should at once go up to aid the settlers under Major Biggs. Accordingly they embarked without delay, Mr. Atherton making a separate bargain with the captain of the craft for his passage, and the next morning they arrived in Poverty Bay. Major Biggs had, as soon as the news reached him, raised a force of a hundred Europeans and natives. He found Te Kooti's party, a hundred and ninety strong, holding a very strong position near the sea, and sent a chief to them to say that if they would lay down their arms he would try and smooth matters over with government. A defiant answer was returned, and Major Biggs gave orders to commence the attack. But the natives, who formed the bulk of his force, refused to move, saying that the Hau-Haus were too numerous and too strongly posted. Under these circumstances an attack was impossible, for had the little body of whites been defeated the whole settlement would have been open to ravage and destruction. During the night Te Kooti and his men started for the interior, carrying with them all the stores and provisions they had taken from the schooner. When it was found they had escaped Major Biggs ordered Mr. Skipwith to follow with some friendly natives, pressing on their rear until he ascertained their line of retreat, when he was to cut across country and join the main body who were to march to Paparatu, a point which Te Kooti would in all probability pass in his retreat. The arrival of the coaster with the little band from the Mohaka River was hailed with joy by the Poverty Bay settlers. They arrived just in time to join Major Biggs, and raised his force to fifty white men, who, with thirty Maoris, started for Paparatu and arrived there on the following morning. The Europeans were commanded by Captains Westrupp and Wilson. In the afternoon Mr. Atherton arrived with a party of four natives whom he had hired to carry his store of provisions, ammunition, and baggage. "So I am in plenty of time," he said when he came up. "I could not bring myself to undertake a night march, but as those fellows have got to lug all the stores they have captured over the mountains I felt pretty sure that I should be in time." "I am glad you are in time, Mr. Atherton," Wilfrid said. "The assistance of your rifle is not to be despised. The sooner the natives come now the better, for we have only brought four days' provisions in our haversacks. I hear that a reserve force is to come up in two days with rations and ammunition; but one can never calculate upon these natives." The camp was pitched in a hollow to avoid the observation of the enemy, but it was proposed to fight at a point a mile distant, in a position commanding the spur of the hill, up which the natives must advance after crossing a ford on the Arai River. Four days passed and there was no news of the convoy with the provisions, and the supply in camp was almost exhausted. That evening Major Biggs started to bring up the supplies with all speed, as otherwise starvation would compel the force to retreat. The same day Mr. Skipwith had arrived with news that Te Kooti was undoubtedly marching on Paparatu, but was making slow progress owing to the heavy loads his men were carrying. The fifth day passed slowly. The men being altogether without food Mr. Atherton divided his small stock of provisions and wine among them, and then taking his rifle went out among the hills, accompanied by two of his natives. Late in the evening he returned, the natives bearing an old boar which he had shot. This was a great piece of luck, for the island contained no wild animals fit for eating, and the boar had probably escaped from some settler's farm or native clearing when young and taken to the woods. It was at once cut up and divided among the hungry men. The next day Mr. Skipwith, with two natives, went out to reconnoitre, and soon returned at full speed, saying that the natives were crossing the river. Captain Wilson, with twenty men, took possession of a hill on the right flank--an almost impregnable position, while Captain Westrupp, with the main body, marched to support the picket which had been placed on the position which it had been arranged they should occupy; but before they could arrive there Te Kooti, with overwhelming numbers, had driven the picket from the ground and occupied the hill. "This is going to be an awkward business, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said. "We have only thirty rounds of ammunition a man, and we have had nothing to eat for the last forty-eight hours but a mouthful of meat. We have suffered the natives to take the position we fixed on. We are outnumbered three to one, and there are not ten men in the force who have had any experience in fighting. If the worst comes to the worst, Wilfrid, do you and the Allens take to the bush. Mind, it is no use trying to run from the natives. If the men were all like our party the other day we could keep these fellows at bay for any time; but they are most of them young hands. They will blaze away their ammunition, and may be seized with a panic. I shall keep close to you, and if things do go badly we will keep together and sell our lives dearly." "We must retake that place if possible, lads," Captain Westrupp said at that moment. "Spread out in skirmishing order and take advantage of any cover you can find, but let there be no stopping or lagging behind. We must all get up there together and carry it with a rush." There was no time lost. The men spread out, and with a cheer started up the hill. They were received with a storm of bullets; but the natives from their eminence fired high, and without suffering loss they reached a small ridge near the summit, about twelve yards from the enemy, and separated from them by a narrow gully. Here they threw themselves down, and their fire at once caused the Hau-Haus to throw themselves down among the bushes on their side of the gully. The position of the colonists was a fairly strong one. On their right flank the ground was open, with a few scattered bushes here and there, but the left was covered by a steep ravine, which fell away sharply. The Hau-Haus kept up a heavy fire, to which the colonists replied but seldom, their officer continually impressing upon them the necessity for husbanding their ammunition. Mr. Atherton had arrived breathless in the rear of the party, and had thrown himself down by Wilfrid's side, the two Allens lying next in order. For some minutes Mr. Atherton did not speak, but lay panting heavily. "This is a nice preparation for shooting," he said presently. "However, I suppose my hand will steady itself after a bit. I have seen a fellow's head show under that bush there twice, and each time his bullet came just over our heads. I will have a talk with him as soon as I get my wind back again. This is not a bad position after all, providing they don't work round to our right." Ten minutes later Wilfrid, who had his eyes fixed on a bush from which four or five shots had been fired, waiting for another puff of smoke to indicate the exact position in which the man was lying, heard the sharp report of Mr. Atherton's rifle. "You have got him, I suppose?" "Of course, lad; there is one less of the yelling rascals to deal with. I wish we could see Biggs and his people coming along the road behind. If we could get a square meal all round and a good supply of ammunition I think we should be able to turn the tables on these fellows. The men are all fighting very steadily, and are husbanding their ammunition better than I expected to see them do." The fight went on for four hours. Then a number of the Hau-Haus leapt to their feet and made a rush towards the settlers, but the volley they received proved too much for them. Several fell, and the rest bolted back into shelter. Again and again this was tried, but each time without success. At three in the afternoon some men were seen coming along the road behind towards the deserted camp. Captain Westrupp at once wrote a note and sent it down by one of the men, but to the disappointment of the settlers he soon returned with the news that the new arrivals consisted of only nine Maoris carrying rations. They had opened the rum bottles on their way, and most of them were excessively drunk. Two of them who were sufficiently sober came up to help in the defence, but one was shot dead almost immediately, one of the settlers being killed and many wounded more or less severely. Just as evening was coming on the force was startled by hearing a Hau-Hau bugle in their rear, and presently made out a party of the enemy moving towards the camp through the broken ground on the left rear. It was now evident that either the enemy must be driven off the hill in front or the party must retire to a position on the hill behind the camp. Captain Westrupp determined to try the former alternative first. Calling upon the men to follow him, he dashed across the gully and up on to the crest held by the Maoris. The men followed him gallantly; but the fire from the Maoris hidden among the bushes was so heavy that they were forced to fall back again, seven more of their number being wounded. They now retired in good order down to the camp and up the hill behind it, and were here joined by Captain Wilson with his twenty men. It was now determined to throw up a sort of intrenchment and hold this position until help came; but the settlers, who had hitherto fought well, were dispirited by their want of success, and by the non-arrival of the reinforcement, and were weak with their long fast. As soon as it became dark they began to steal off and to make their way back towards their homes, and in an hour half the force had retreated. The officers held a council. It was evident the position could not long be held, and that want of food and ammunition would compel a retreat in the morning. It was therefore decided to fall back under cover of the darkness. The chief of the friendly natives, who had behaved admirably through the fight, offered to guide the party across the country. The officers were obliged to leave their horses, and the party of forty half-starved men, of whom a fourth were wounded--two so severely that it was necessary to carry them--set out. It was a terrible march for the exhausted men, up the bed of a mountain creek, often waist-deep in water, and over steep fern-covered hills, until, just as day was breaking, they reached an out-station. Here they managed to get two sheep, and just as they had cooked and eaten these Colonel Whitmore, the commander of the colonial forces, arrived with thirty volunteers from Napier, who had reached the bay on the previous day. He at once paraded the men, thanked them for their behaviour on the previous day, and warned them to be ready to start in pursuit of the enemy at once. One of the settlers, acting as spokesman for the rest, stepped forward, pointed out that they had been fighting without intermission for twenty-four hours, that they had been for the last forty-eight hours almost without food, and that it was impossible for them to set out on a fresh march until they had taken some rest. Colonel Whitmore was a hot-tempered man, and expressed himself so strongly that he caused deep offence among the settlers. They remained firm in their determination not to move until the following day, and the forward movement was therefore necessarily abandoned. On the day previous to the fight Lieutenant Gascoigne had been despatched by Major Biggs to Te Wairoa with despatches for Mr. Deighton, who commanded at that station, warning him to muster all the force at his disposal, and prepare to intercept Te Kooti at the Waihau Lakes in case he should fight his way through Captain Westrupp's force. Orders were sent to the friendly Mahia tribe to muster, and a hundred men at once assembled; but as they had only four rounds of ammunition apiece, nothing could be done until three casks of ammunition were obtained from some of the Wairoa chiefs. Two days were lost in consequence, and this gave time to Te Kooti; they then started--eighteen European volunteers and eighty natives; a larger body of natives preparing to follow as soon as possible. After being met by messengers with several contradictory orders, they arrived at Waihau, and just before dark Te Kooti was seen crossing the hills towards them with his whole force. Captain Richardson determined to fight them in the position he occupied, but the native chief, with sixty of his followers, at once bolted. Captain Richardson was therefore obliged with the remainder to fall back, and, unfortunately, in the retreat one of the natives fell; his gun went off and, bursting, injured his hand. This was considered by the natives a most unfortunate omen, and dissipated what little courage remained in the Wairoa tribe. At eleven o'clock next morning the enemy advanced and the action began; but the Wairoa chief, with fifty of his men, again bolted at the first shot. Captain Richardson with the remainder held the position until four in the afternoon, when the ammunition being almost exhausted, he retired quietly. The force fell back to Wairoa, where it was reorganized and increased to two hundred men. In the meantime Colonel Whitmore had been toiling on over a terrible country in Te Kooti's rear, having with him in all about two hundred men, as he had been joined by Major Fraser with fifty of the No. 1 Division Armed Constabulary. But when they arrived at the boundary of the Poverty Bay district the settlers belonging to it, who had not recovered from their indignation at Colonel Whitmore's unfortunate remarks, refused to go further, saying that the militia regulations only obliged them to defend their own district. Colonel Whitmore, therefore, with a hundred and thirty men, of whom but a handful were whites, marched on to attack two hundred and twenty Hau-Haus posted in a very strong position in the gorge of a river. Twelve of the little party from the Mohaka River still remained with the column, one had been killed, four wounded, while five had remained behind completely knocked up by the fatigues they had encountered. Mr. Atherton had not gone on with them after the arrival of Colonel Whitmore. "It is of no use, my dear lad," he said to Wilfrid. "I know Colonel Whitmore well by reputation, and the way in which he blew us up this morning because, exhausted as we were, we were physically unable to set out for a fresh march, confirms what I have heard of him. He is a most gallant officer, and is capable of undergoing the greatest fatigue and hardships, and is of opinion that everyone else is as tireless and energetic as he is. He will drive you along over mountain, through rivers, with food or without food, until you come up to Te Kooti, and then he will fight, regardless of odds or position, or anything else. It isn't the fighting I object to; but I never could keep up with the column on such a march. It would be a physical impossibility, and I am not going to attempt it. I shall take a week to recover from my fatigues of last night, and shall go down and stay quietly at the settlement. If Te Kooti takes it into his head to come down there, I shall have great pleasure in doing my best towards putting a stop to his rampaging over the country. If he does not come down I shall, as they say, await developments, and shall find plenty to do in the way of botanizing." Mr. Atherton had not exaggerated the fatigues and hardships that the force would be called upon to undergo, and they were worn out and exhausted when at last they came upon the track of the Hau-Haus. When they were resting for a short halt Captain Carr, late R.A., who was with the force as a volunteer, reconnoitred a short distance ahead and found the enemy's fire still burning. The news infused fresh life into the tired and hungry men, and they again went forward. The track led up the bed of a river which ran between low, steep cliffs impossible to climb, and the men had to advance in single file. After marching for some distance they reached a bend in the river, where a narrow track ran through a break in the cliff and up the spur of a hill. The advanced guard, consisting of six men, led by Captain Carr, were within fifty yards of this point, when a heavy fire was opened upon them. Just where they were the river bank was sufficiently low to enable them to climb it and take cover in the thick scrub above, whence they replied vigorously to the Hau-Haus, who were within a few yards of them. In the meantime the enemy had opened fire from the base of the hill at the river bend upon the main body, who, standing in single file in the river, were unable to reply or to scale the steep bank and take covering in the scrub. Colonel Whitmore and Captain Tuke tried to lead the men up to charge, but this could only be done in single file, and the fire of the enemy was so hot that those who attempted this were killed or wounded, Captain Tuke being severely hurt. The rest found what shelter they could among the boulders in the river bed, and remained here until the advanced guard fell back, hard pressed by the enemy, and reported the death of Captain Carr and Mr. Canning, another volunteer. The natives now pressed through the scrub above the cliffs to cut off the retreat. The friendly natives, who were well behind, were ordered to scale the cliff then, and hold the enemy in check. One of them was wounded, and the rest hastily retreated down the river; the constabulary and settlers, altogether about fifty strong, fell back to an island about half a mile to the rear, and here calmly awaited the attack of the enemy. These, however, drew off without disturbing them, disheartened by the fact that Te Kooti had received a wound in the foot, and the troops then retired. Only a few of the strongest men reached the camp that night; the rest, knocked up by want of food and fatigue, lay down in the pouring rain and did not get in until the following morning. The result of this fight was most unfortunate. Even Colonel Whitmore saw that, with the force at his disposal, nothing could be done against Te Kooti, who was daily becoming more powerful, and was being joined by the tribes in the vicinity. He believed that Te Kooti would carry out his expressed intention of marching north to Waikato, and after collecting there all the tribes of the island, march against Auckland. Thinking, therefore, that Poverty Bay was not likely to be disturbed, he left the settlement and went round by sea to Auckland to confer with government as to the steps to be taken to raise a force capable of coping with what appeared to be the greatest danger that had as yet threatened the island. Te Kooti did not, however, move north, but remained in his camp near the scene of the fight from the 8th of August to the 28th of October, sending messages all over the island with the news of the defeat he had inflicted upon the whites, and proclaiming himself the saviour of the Maori people. From the position he occupied, about equidistant from the settlements at Wairoa and Poverty Bay, he was able to attack either by a sudden march of two or three days, and yet there was no great uneasiness among the settlers. The force that had operated against Te Kooti had been disbanded, the Napier volunteers had returned, the constabulary withdrawn, and the party of settlers from the Mohaka river had returned home. Wilfrid Renshaw had not gone with them. He had been shot through the leg in the fight in the river, and had been carried down to the settlement. Here Mr. Atherton, who was lodging in one of the settler's houses, had taken charge of him and nursed him assiduously. Unfortunately the effect of the wound was aggravated by the exhaustion caused by fatigue and insufficient food, and for weeks the lad lay in a state of prostration, wasted by a low fever which at one time seemed as if it would carry him off. It was not until the middle of October that matters took a turn, and he began slowly to mend. For the last three weeks his mother had been by his bedside. For some time Mr. Atherton in his letters had made light of the wound, but when the lad's condition became very serious he had written to Mrs. Renshaw saying that he thought she had better come herself to help in the nursing, as Wilfrid was now suffering from a sharp attack of fever brought on by his hardships. Mrs. Renshaw, on her arrival, was dismayed at the state in which she found her son. She agreed, however, that it was best not to alarm them in her letters home. The events on the attack of the settlement had much shaken Mr. Renshaw, and he was, when she left him, in a nervous and excited state. She saw that Wilfrid would need every moment of her time, and that were her husband to come it would probably do him harm and seriously interfere with her own usefulness. He was, when she left, on the point of returning to the farm with Marion, as there had been no further renewal of troubles in the settlement. It had been arranged that the two Allens should take up their residence at The Glade, and that four men belonging to a small force that had been raised among the friendly natives should also be stationed there. This would, it was thought, render it quite safe against sudden attack. Mr. Renshaw was looking eagerly forward to being at home again, and his wife thought that the necessity of superintending the operations at the farm would soothe his nerves and restore him to health. She, therefore, in her letters made the best of things, although admitting that Wilfrid was prostrated by a sort of low fever, and needed care and nursing. At the end of another fortnight Wilfrid was enabled to sit up and take an interest in what was going on around him. The house was the property of a settler named Sampson, and had been erected by a predecessor of the farmer; it was a good deal larger than he required, though its capacity was now taxed to the utmost by the addition of three lodgers to his family. "How are things going on, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked one day when his mother was not present. "People here seem to think that they are going on very well, Wilfrid." "But you do not think so, Mr. Atherton?" the lad asked, struck by the dry tone in which the answer was given. "No, Wilfrid, I cannot say I do. It seems to me that the people here are living in a fool's paradise; and as for Major Biggs I regard him as an obstinate fool." "How is that?" Wilfrid asked, amused at his friend's vehemence. "Well, Wilfrid, as far as I can see there is nothing in the world to prevent Te Kooti coming down and cutting all our throats whenever he pleases." "You don't say so, Mr. Atherton!" "I do, indeed; it is known that he has sent messages down to the natives here to remain apparently loyal, get what arms they can from the whites, and prepare to join him. I will say for Biggs that he has repeatedly represented the unprotected position of the bay to government, and has obtained permission to place an officer and nine men on pay as scouts to watch the roads leading to the settlements. Gascoigne is in charge of them. There are two roads by which the natives can come; the one a short one, and this is being watched, the other a much longer and more difficult one, and this is entirely open to them if they choose to use it. "The fact is, Biggs relies on the fact that Colonel Lambert is at Wairoa, and is collecting a force of 600 men there to attack Te Kooti, and he believes that he shall get information from him and from some spies he has in the neighbourhood of Te Kooti's camp long before any movement is actually made. Of course he may do so, but I consider it is a very risky thing to trust the safety of the whole settlement to chance. He ought to station four mounted men on both tracks as near as he dare to Te Kooti's camp. In that case we should be sure to get news in plenty of time to put all the able-bodied men under arms before the enemy could reach the settlement." "Have they got a stockade built?" "No, it was proposed at a meeting of some of the settlers that this should be done, but Biggs assured them it was altogether unnecessary. I do not know how it is, Wilfrid, but take us all together we Englishmen have fully a fair share of common sense. I have observed over and over again that in the majority of cases when an Englishman reaches a certain rank in official life, he seems to become an obstinate blockhead. I have often wondered over it, but cannot account for it. Anyhow the state of affairs here is an excellent example of this. I suppose in the whole settlement there is not, with the exception of the man in authority, a single person who does not perceive that the situation is a dangerous one, and that no possible precaution should be omitted; and yet the man who is responsible for the safety of all throws cold water on every proposal, and snubs those who are willing to give up time and labour in order to ensure the safety of the place. "I suppose he considers that the tone he adopts shows him to be a man superior to those around him, possessing alike far greater knowledge of the situation, and a total freedom from the cowardly fears of his neighbours. Well, well, I hope that events will justify his course, but I own that I sleep with my rifle and revolvers loaded and ready to hand. Mind, I do not say that the chances may not be ten to one against Te Kooti's making a raid down here; but I say if they were a hundred to one it would be the height of folly not to take every possible precaution to ensure the safety of all here." "Don't you think, Mr. Atherton, that it would be better for mother to go home? I am getting all right now, and can get on very well without her." "I am sure your mother would not leave you at present, Wilfrid, and I don't think you will be fit to be moved for another fortnight yet. Te Kooti has done nothing for two months, and may not move for as much more. Your mother knows nothing of what I have told you, and I should not make her anxious or uncomfortable by giving her even a hint that I considered there is danger in the air." CHAPTER XV. THE MASSACRE AT POVERTY BAY. Another week passed and Wilfrid was able to walk about the house and garden. A ship was going down in three days, and Mr. Atherton had arranged with the captain to put into the Mohaka river and land them there. No change had taken place in the situation. There had been a meeting of the settlers and friendly natives. The latter had offered to erect the stockades for a small fort if the settlers would do the earthworks. This they had agreed to, but the project was abandoned, as Major Biggs again declared it to be wholly unnecessary. Some of the settlers, dissatisfied with the result, formed themselves into a vigilance committee to watch the ford of the Waipaoa River. This was done for several nights, but Major Biggs again interfered, and told them he considered the act to be absurd. The vigilance committee, therefore, ceased to act. A few nights later Te Kooti's people crossed at this very ford. Late in the evening of the 4th of November Mr. Atherton was about to go up to bed when he heard a growl from a dog chained up outside. He listened, and made out the voices of men talking in low tones. The lower windows had shutters, and these Mr. Atherton had with some difficulty persuaded Mr. Sampson, who was himself incredulous as to the possibility of attack, to have fastened up of a night. Mr. Atherton ran upstairs, knocked at the doors of Wilfrid's and the settler's rooms, and told them to get up instantly, as something was wrong. Then he threw up his window. "Who is there?" he asked. "Open the door," a native replied, "we have a message for you." "You can give me the message here. I shall not come down until I know who you are." "The message is that you are to open the door and come out. Te Kooti wants you." Mr. Atherton could just make out the figure of the speaker in the darkness. "That is my answer," he said as he fired. A fierce yell from twenty throats rose in the air, and there was a rush towards the door, while two or three shots were fired at the window. Mr. Atherton had, however, stepped back the instant he had discharged his rifle, and now, leaning out, discharged the chambers of his revolver in quick succession among the natives gathered round the door. Shrieks and yells arose from them, and they bounded away into the darkness, and again several musket-shots were fired at the window. By this time the settler and Wilfrid had both joined Mr. Atherton, having leapt from their beds, seized their arms, and ran out when the first shot was fired. "It is Te Kooti's men," Mr. Atherton said. "They have come at last. I expect there will be a few minutes before they attack again. You had better throw on some clothes at once and tell the ladies to dress instantly. We may have to leave the house and try to escape across country." Wilfrid and the settler gave the messages, and then returned. "How many of them do you think there are?" Wilfrid asked. "About twenty of them, I should say, and we could rely upon beating them off; but no doubt there are parties told off to the attack of all the outlying settlers, and when the others have done their work they may gather here." "Where are they now?" Wilfrid asked as he gazed into the darkness. "I fancy they are behind that shed over there. They are no doubt arranging their plan of attack. I expect they will try fire. There! do you see? That is the flash of a match." A minute later a light was seen to rise behind the shed, and there was the sound of breaking wood. The light grew brighter and brighter. "They will be coming soon," Mr. Atherton said. "Do not throw away a shot. The shingles on this roof are as dry as tinder, and if a burning brand falls on them the place will be in a blaze in five minutes. Now!" As he spoke a number of natives, each carrying a flaming brand, appeared from behind the wood shed. The three rifles cracked out, and as many natives fell. The farmer began to reload his rifle, while Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid handed theirs to Mrs. Renshaw, who at that moment joined them, and opened fire with their revolvers. Only two of Wilfrid's shots told, but Mr. Atherton's aim was as steady as when firing at a mark. Two of the natives fell, and four others, throwing down their brands, ran back wounded to the shelter of the wood shed. Their companions, after a moment's hesitation, followed their example. There were now but six unwounded men out of the twenty who attacked the house. "There is one of them off for assistance!" Wilfrid exclaimed as he caught sight of a figure running at full speed from the shed. In another moment he was lost in the darkness. "Now is the time for us to make our escape," Mr. Atherton said, turning from the window. "We have succeeded so far, but there may be three times as many next time, and we must be off. We will get out by a window at the back of the house and try and make our way across country to the Mahia tribe. We shall be safe there." "But Wilfrid cannot walk a hundred yards," Mrs. Renshaw said. "Then we must carry him," Mr. Atherton replied cheerfully. "He is no great weight, and we can make a litter when we get far enough away. Take a loaf of bread, Mrs. Sampson, a bottle or two of water, and a flask of spirits. You will find one full on my table. Please hurry up, for there is not a moment to lose. I will stay here to the last moment and fire an occasional shot at the shed to let them know that we are still here." As the course Mr. Atherton advised was evidently the best, the others followed his instructions without discussion, and three minutes later stepped out from the back window into the garden. Mr. Atherton had been told that they were ready, and after firing a last shot from the window and reloading his rifle joined them. Mrs. Sampson had a small basket on one arm, and her child, who was ten years old, grasping her hand. Mrs. Renshaw had taken charge of Wilfrid's rifle, and had offered him her arm, but the excitement had given him his strength for the moment, and he declared himself perfectly capable of walking without assistance. "Go on as quietly as you can," Mr. Atherton said. "I will keep a bit behind first. They may possibly have put somebody on the watch on this side of the house, although I do not expect they have. They have been taken too much by surprise themselves." The little party went on quietly and noiselessly about three hundred yards, and then Mr. Atherton joined them. Wilfrid was breathing heavily and leaning against a tree. "Now jump up upon my back, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said; "your weight will not make much difference to me one way or the other. That is right; lend him a hand, Sampson, and get him on to my shoulders. It will be easier for both of us, for I have got no hips for his knees to catch hold of. That is right. Now if you will take my gun we shall get along merrily." They walked fast for about two miles. Wilfrid several times offered to get down, saying that he could walk again for a bit, but Mr. Atherton would not hear of it. At the end of two miles they reached the spot where the country was covered with low scrub. "We are pretty safe now," Mr. Atherton said, "we can turn off from the track and take to the scrub for shelter, and there will be little chance of their finding us. Now, Wilfrid, I will set you down for a bit. This is fine exercise for me, and if I were to carry you a few miles every day I should fine down wonderfully. Ah! the others have come up;" he broke off as the sound of a native yell sounded on the still night air, and looking round they saw a bright light rising in the direction from which they had come. "They have set fire to the house," the settler said; "there goes the result of six years' work. However, I need not grumble over that, now that we have saved our lives." "We had best be moving on," Mr. Atherton said. "No doubt they opened a heavy fire before they set fire to the shingles with their brands, but the fact that we did not return their fire must have roused their suspicions, and by this time they must have woke up to the fact that we have escaped. They will hunt about for a bit, no doubt, round the house, and may send a few men some distance along the tracks, but they will know there is very little chance of catching us until daylight. Now, Sampson, let us join arms, your right and my left. Wilfrid can sit on them and put his arms round our necks. We carry our rifles on our other shoulders, and that will balance matters. That is right. Now on we go again." With occasional halts they went on for another four hours. By this time the ladies and the little girl were completely exhausted from stumbling over roots and low shrubs in the darkness and the two men also were thoroughly fatigued; for the night was extremely hot, and the work of carrying Wilfrid in addition to the weight of their ammunition, told upon them. They had long since lost the path, but knew by the stars that they were keeping in the right direction. "Now we will have a few hours' halt," Mr. Atherton said. "We may consider ourselves as perfectly safe from pursuit, though we shall have to be cautious, for there may be parties of these scoundrels wandering about the country. We may hope that a good many of the settlers heard the firing and made off in time, but I fear we shall hear some sad stories of this night's work." Lying down the whole party were in a few minutes fast asleep. Wilfrid had offered to keep watch, saying that he had done no walking and could very well keep awake, but Mr. Atherton said that nothing would be gained by it. "You could see nothing, and you would hear nothing until a party of natives were quite close, and unless they happened by sheer accident to stumble upon us they could not find us; besides, though you have done no absolute walking, the exertion of sitting up and holding on has been quite as much for you in your weak state as carrying you has been for us. No, we had best all take a rest so as to start fresh in the morning." Mr. Atherton woke as soon as daylight broke, and rousing himself, cautiously looked round. There was nothing in sight, and he decided to let the party sleep for a few hours longer. It was eight o'clock and the sun was high before the others opened their eyes. Mr. Atherton was standing up. "There is a horseman coming across the plain," he said; "no doubt he is following the track; by the line he is taking he will pass a little to our right. I will go out to hear the news. I think you had better remain where you are, he may be followed." Mr. Atherton walked through the bush until he reached the track just as the rider came along. "Ah! you have escaped, Mr. Atherton; I am glad of that. Have all your party got away?" "Yes, thank God!" Mr. Atherton said; "and now what is the news?" "I cannot tell all," the settler said, "but there has been a terrible massacre. I was pressing wool for Dodd and Peppard, whose station, you know, lies some distance from any other. I rode up there just as day was breaking and went to the wool shed. Nobody came, and I heard the dog barking angrily; so I went up to the house to see what was the matter. I found the back-door open and the two men lying dead inside, evidently killed by natives. I then galloped off to the Mission Station and warned them there, and then to the stations of Hawthorne and Strong. I found they had already been warned, and were just about to start; then I rode to Matawhero to warn the settlers there. Most of them had already made off. I passed Bigg's house on the way; there were a number of natives round it evidently in possession, and as I passed Mann's house I saw him and his wife and child lying outside dead. How many more have been murdered I do not know. It is an awful business. Where are your friends?" "They are in the scrub there. We are making our way to the Mahia." "Most of the settlers who have escaped have made for the old redoubt at Taranganui, and I fancy they will be able to beat off any attack made on them. I am riding for Wairoa. I cannot think what they can have been about there to let Te Kooti slip away without sending us a warning. He must have come by the long road and been six or seven days on the march." "Have you seen any natives since you started?" Mr. Atherton asked. "I saw a party of about twenty of them moving across the country about two miles back. They were scattered about in the bush, and were, I expect, in search of fugitives. They were moving across the line I was going, and were half a mile away; but when they come on this path they may follow it, knowing that those who made their escape and did not go to the redoubt would be likely to try to reach the Mahia country." "Thank you! then we will be moving on without delay," Mr. Atherton said; and the settler at once rode on with his message to the force at Wairoa. As soon as Mr. Atherton joined the party and told them what he had heard they again set out. After walking for four miles they reached the edge of the plain, and the path here ascended a sharp rise and entered a narrow defile. Wilfrid, who was sitting on Mr. Atherton's shoulders, looked back for the twentieth time as they ascended the rise. "They are following us!" he exclaimed. "There are a party of fifteen or twenty coming along the path at a run. They are not more than a mile behind at the outside." "Then I will put you down, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said quietly; "that will give me time to cool down a bit before they arrive. They could not have come up at a better place for us. It is no use our trying to hide, they would track us directly. We must make a stand at the mouth of this defile. It is a good place for defence, and if it were not for this rascally bush we should have no difficulty in keeping them off. Even as it is I think we can make a good fight of it. Now, Mrs. Renshaw, will you and Mrs. Sampson and the child go a little way in and sit down. I have no doubt we shall be able to beat these fellows back, and if we do that we can hope to make the rest of our journey without further molestation." "Could I be of any use in loading the rifles, Mr. Atherton?" "I think not, Mrs. Renshaw; it may be a long skirmish, and we shall have plenty of time to load; and your being here with us and running the risk of being hit would make us nervous. I think, if you do not mind, we would much rather know that you are in safety behind us." "Very well," Mrs. Renshaw said quietly; "I will do what you think best. We shall be praying for your success until it is over." Mr. Atherton looked round after the two ladies had gone on. "There is a bush with a wide ledge of flat ground behind it," he said, pointing to a little clump of underwood some ten feet above them on the side of the ravine. "I think, with my help, you can manage to clamber up there, Wilfrid. Lying down you will be able to fire under the bush and be in fair shelter. Mr. Sampson and I will hold the path here. If they make a rush you will be able to help us with your revolver. Up there you will have the advantage of being able to see movements among the bushes better than we shall, and can fire down at them; and if it comes to a hand-to-hand fight will be of more use there than down here." Wilfrid at once assented. "Stand on my hand and I will hoist you up." Mr. Atherton raised Wilfrid until he was able to get on to the ledge of rock behind the bushes. Wilfrid laid himself down there, and with his knife cut off a few of the lower twigs so that he was able to get a good view ahead. "Keep yourself well back, lad, and do not raise your head except to fire. Do you see anything of them?" "Yes, they are not more than a quarter of a mile away and are scattering among the bushes. No doubt they caught sight of us as we came up here, and think it possible we may intend to defend the defile." "I will let them know we are here;" and Mr. Atherton made two steps forward to the mouth of the defile. Almost at the same instant he levelled his rifle and fired, and one of the Maoris threw up his arms and fell back, the rest throwing themselves down instantaneously among the bushes, whence a moment later two or three shots were fired. But Mr. Atherton had stepped back, and he and the settler, lying down on the ground, worked themselves forward until by raising their heads they could command a view of the slope up to the mouth of the ravine. For a time all was silent. Presently Wilfrid's rifle spoke out, and a yell testified to the fact that the quick aim he had taken at a dark figure stealing among the bushes had been true. It was followed quickly by a general discharge of their pieces by the natives. The bullets rattled thickly against the rock, and cut leaves from the bushes behind which Wilfrid was lying, but he had drawn himself back a foot or two the moment he fired, and the balls passed harmlessly over him. Not so the missive despatched by Mr. Atherton in the direction of a puff of smoke from a bush some forty yards away, for the figure behind it remained still and immovable while the fray went on. For upwards of an hour the exchange of shots continued, and then the assailants were joined by fifteen other natives, who had been attracted to the spot by the sound of firing. "I expect they will pluck up their courage to make a rush now, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said. "If it had not been for these new arrivals I think they would have soon drawn off, for we must have diminished their numbers very considerably. Don't fire again for a bit; we had best keep our rifles loaded so as to be ready for them when they pluck up courage to charge. When they do, be sure you keep your revolver as a reserve for the critical moment." Five minutes later a tremendous yell rose in the air. The natives leaped to their feet from behind the bushes, fired their guns at their hidden foes, and then, tomahawk in hand, rushed forward. Three shots rang out almost simultaneously from the mouth of the defile and three of the natives dropped dead in their tracks. The rest rushed forward in a body. Mr. Atherton and the settler leapt to their feet, and the former opened fire with his Colt's revolver when the leading natives were within ten yards of him. His aim was as accurate as when directed against a mark stuck against a tree, and a man fell at each shot. But the natives' blood was thoroughly up now, and in spite of the slaughter they rushed forward. There was no room in the narrow defile for two men to swing their rifles, and Mr. Atherton and the settler stepped forward to meet the foe with their clubbed rifles in their hands. Two crashing blows were delivered with effect, but before the settler could again raise his weapon three Maoris were upon him. One tomahawk struck him in the shoulder and the rifle fell from his hands. Another raised his tomahawk to brain him, but fell with a bullet from Wilfrid's revolver through his chest; but the third native brought his weapon down with terrible force upon the settler's head, and he fell in a heap upon the ground. The tremendous strength of Mr. Atherton stood him in good stead now. The first blow he had dealt had smashed the stock of his rifle, but he whirled the iron barrel like a light twig round his head, dealing blows that broke down the defence of the natives as if their tomahawks had been straw, and beating them down as a flail would level a wheat stalk. Those in front of him recoiled from a strength which seemed to them superhuman, while whenever one tried to attack him in the rear Wilfrid's revolver came into play with fatal accuracy. At last, with a cry of terror, the surviving natives turned and retreated at the top of their speed. "Hot work, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said as he lowered his terrible weapon and wiped the streaming perspiration from his face; "but we have given the rascals such a lesson that we can journey on at our leisure. This is a bad business of poor Sampson's. I will help you down first and then we will see to him. Recharge your revolver, lad," he went on as Wilfrid stood beside him; "some of these fellows may not be dead, and may play us an ugly trick if we are not on the look-out." Wilfrid reloaded his pistol, and Mr. Atherton then stooped over the fallen man. "He is desperately hurt," he said, "but he breathes. Hand me that revolver, Wilfrid, and run back and tell Mrs. Sampson her husband is hurt." Wilfrid had gone but a yard or two when he met his mother and the settler's wife, who, hearing the cessation of the firing, were no longer able to restrain their anxiety as to what was going forward. Mrs. Renshaw gave a cry of joy at seeing Wilfrid walking towards her. "Is it all over, my boy, and are you unhurt?" "It is all over, mother, and they have bolted. I have not had a scratch, for I have been lying down all the time in shelter; but I am sorry to say, Mrs. Sampson, that your husband is badly hurt. "No; he is not dead," he continued in answer to the agonized expression of inquiry in her eyes. "He has been stunned by the blow of a tomahawk, and is, as I said, badly hurt; but he will, I trust, get over it." Mrs. Sampson ran forward and threw herself on her knees by her husband's side, uttering a suppressed cry as she saw the terrible wound on his head. "Wilfrid, there is a bottle of water untouched in the basket," Mr. Atherton said. "I will fetch it," Mrs. Renshaw broke in, hurrying away. "No, Milly," she said, as the child who had been ordered to stay with the basket came running to meet her. "You must stay here for a little while. The natives have all run away, but your father is hurt and for a time must be kept quite quiet. I will send Wilfrid to sit with you." Taking a bottle of water and a cloth which covered the basket, Mrs. Renshaw hurried back. "Wilfrid," she said, "do you go and sit with the little one. You can do no good here, and look completely worn out. You will be making yourself useful if you amuse Milly and keep her away from here for the present." Mr. Atherton poured a little of the water into the cover of his flask, added some brandy, and poured a little of it between the wounded man's lips. Then he saturated the cloth with water and handed it to Mrs. Sampson, who wiped the blood from her husband's head and face, then poured a little water from the bottle on to his forehead. Some more brandy and water was poured between his lips and he uttered a faint groan. "I will examine his wound now, Mrs. Sampson. I have had some experience that way in my journeyings about the world." Kneeling down he carefully examined the wound. [Illustration: MR. ATHERTON KEEPS THE MOUTH OF THE DEFILE _Page 294_] "It is better than I hoped, Mrs. Sampson," he said cheerfully. "I expect the thick hat turned the tomahawk a little and it fell obliquely on the side of the head. It has carried away a goodish slice of the hair and scalp, and has starred the bone, but it has not crushed it in, and I think that with care and nursing your husband will not be long before he gets over it. You had better fold up that cloth again, pour some fresh water over it, and then bandage it over the wound with a slip of stuff torn off from the bottom of your petticoat. You had better tear off two slips, for his arm will require bandaging too. I will look to that as soon as you have done his head. No," he went on, when he saw that Mrs. Sampson's trembling fingers were quite incapable of fixing the bandage properly, "I do not think that will do. If you will allow me I will do it for you." He took Mrs. Sampson's place, and while Mrs. Renshaw supported the settler's head he wound the bandage tightly and skilfully round it. "Now for his arm," he said, and drawing out his knife cut the sleeve up the shoulder. "It has narrowly missed the artery," he went on; "but though it is an ugly-looking gash it is not serious. I wish we had some more water, but as we haven't we must do without it, and I daresay we shall come across a stream soon." When the operation of bandaging was complete Mr. Atherton stood up. "What are we to do next?" Mrs. Renshaw asked him. "We must cut a couple of saplings and make a litter," he said. "If one of you ladies can spare a petticoat, please take it off while I cut the poles." He went away and returned in a few minutes with two poles ten or eleven feet long. "Here is the petticoat," Mrs. Renshaw said. The settler's wife was too absorbed by her grief and anxiety to hear Mr. Atherton's request. "What is to be done with it?" "In the first place it must be taken out of that band, or whatever you call it," Mr. Atherton replied, "and then split right down. Here is my knife." When the garment had been operated upon there remained a length of strong calico nearly three feet wide and three yards long. "That will do well," he said. "Now we have to fasten this to the poles. How would you do that? It is more in your way than mine." "I should roll it twice round the pole and then sew it, if I had a needle and thread. If I had not that I should make holes in every six inches and tie it with string; but unfortunately we have no string either." "I think we can manage that," Mr. Atherton said; and he walked rapidly away and returned in a few minutes with some long stalks that looked like coarse grass. "This is the very thing, Mrs. Renshaw," he said; "this is what is called New Zealand flax, and I have no doubt it will be strong enough for our purpose." In a quarter of an hour the litter was completed. Just as it was finished Mrs. Sampson uttered an exclamation of joy, and turning round, they saw that her husband had opened his eyes and was looking round in a dazed, bewildered way. "It is all right, Sampson," Mr. Atherton said cheerfully; "we have thrashed the natives handsomely; they have bolted, and there is no fear of their coming back again. You have had a clip on the head with a tomahawk, but I do not think that you will be much the worse for it at the end of a week or two. We have just been manufacturing a litter for you, and now we will lift you on to it. Now, ladies, I will take him by the shoulders; will you take him by the feet, Mrs. Renshaw; and do you, Mrs. Sampson, support his head? That is the way. Now, I will just roll up my coat and put it under his head, and then I think he will do; lay our rifles beside him. Now, I will take the two handles at his head; do you each take one at his feet. The weight will not be great, and you can change about when your arms get tired. Yes, I see what you are thinking about, Mrs. Renshaw. We must go along bit by bit. We will carry our patient here for half a mile, then I will come back and fetch Wilfrid up to that point, then we will go on again, and so on." "All the hard work falls on you, Mr. Atherton; it is too bad," Mrs. Renshaw said with grateful tears in her eyes. "It will do me a world of good, Mrs. Renshaw. I must have lost over a stone weight since yesterday. If this sort of thing were to go on for a few weeks I should get into fighting condition. Now, are you both ready? Lift." In a short time they came to the point where Wilfrid and the child were sitting down together. Wilfrid had been impressing upon her that her father was hurt, and that she must be very good and quiet, and walk along quietly by her mother's side. So when they came along she got up and approached them with a subdued and awe-struck air. She took the hand her mother held out to her. "Is father very bad, mother?" she asked in a low tone. "He is better than he was, dear, and we must hope and pray that he will soon be well again; but at present you must not speak to him. He must be kept very quiet and not allowed to talk." "You sit where you are, Wilfrid, I will come back for you in half an hour," Mr. Atherton said. "That you won't Mr. Atherton," Wilfrid said, getting up. "I have had a long rest, for, except for pulling my trigger and loading, I have done nothing since the first short walk when we started this morning. All this excitement has done me a lot of good, and I feel as if I could walk ever so far." "Well, put your rifle in the litter, then," Mr. Atherton said; "its weight will make no difference to us, and it will make a lot of difference to you; when you are tired say so." Wilfrid struggled on resolutely, refusing to stop until they reached a stream two miles from the starting-place. Here they rested for an hour. The settler's wounds were washed and rebandaged, the others partook of a meal of bread and water, and they then continued the journey. At the end of another half-mile Wilfrid was obliged to own that his strength could hold out no longer, but he refused positively to accept Mr. Atherton's proposal to come back for him. "I will not hear of it, Mr. Atherton," he said. "From what Mrs. Sampson says it is another eight or ten miles to the Mahia country. There is not the least fear of any of the Hau-Haus following on our track. The best way by far is this: I will go a hundred yards into the bush and lie down. You push on. It will be dark before you finish your journey as it is, you would not get there till to-morrow morning if you had to keep on coming back for me; besides, you would never get on with the litter after it is dark. Leave me a piece of bread, a bottle of water, my rifle and revolver, and I shall be as comfortable among the bushes there as if I were in bed. In the morning you can send out a party of Mahias to fetch me in. If you break down a small bough here by the side of the way, that will be quite sufficient to tell the natives where they are to turn off from the path to look for me." "Well, I really think that is the best plan, Wilfrid. There is, as you say, no real danger in your stopping here alone. It would be a long job coming back for you every time we halt, and it is of importance to get Mr. Sampson laid down and quiet as soon as possible." Mrs. Renshaw did not like leaving Wilfrid alone; but she saw that she could be of no real assistance to him, and her aid was absolutely required to carry the wounded man. She therefore offered no objections to the proposal. "Don't look downcast, mother," Wilfrid said as he kissed her. "The weather is fine, and there is no hardship whatever in a night in the bush, especially after what we went through when we were following Te Kooti." Wilfrid made his way a hundred yards back into the bush and then threw himself down under a tree-fern, and in a very few minutes he was sound asleep. The next time he awoke all was dark around him. "I must have slept a good many hours," he said. "I feel precious hungry." He ate a hunch of bread, took a drink of water from the bottle, and soon fell asleep again. The morning was breaking when he again woke. A quarter of an hour later he heard voices, and cocking his rifle and lying down full length on the grass, waited. In another minute to his joy he heard Mr. Atherton's voice shouting, "Where are you, Wilfrid? Where have you hidden yourself?" CHAPTER XVI. THE PURSUIT OF TE KOOTI. He leapt to his feet and ran forward. Mr. Atherton was approaching, accompanied by a party of six natives. "Why, Mr. Atherton, I was not expecting you for another three hours." "Well, you see, Wilfrid, your mother was anxious about you. She did not say anything, for she is a plucky woman, and not given to complaining or grumbling, still I could see she was anxious, so I arranged with these natives to be ready to start three hours before daybreak, so as to get here just as the sun was rising." "It is awfully kind of you, Atherton; but surely the natives would have been able to find me without your troubling yourself to come all this way again. I am sure you must have been dreadfully tired after all your work yesterday." "Well, Wilfrid, perhaps I was just a little bit anxious myself about you, and should have fussed and fidgeted until you got back, so you see the quickest way to satisfy myself was to come with the natives." "What time did you get in last night?" "About eight o'clock in the evening, I think. We were all pretty well knocked up, but the two ladies bore it bravely, so you see I had no excuse for grumbling." "I am sure you would not have grumbled anyhow," Wilfrid laughed; "but I know that when one is carrying anyone the weight at the head is more than double the weight at the feet, and that was divided between them, while you had the heavy end all to yourself. And how is Sampson?" "I think he will do, Wilfrid. The natives took him in hand as soon as he got there, and put leaf poultices to his wounds. They are very good at that sort of thing; and so they ought to be, considering they have been breaking each other's heads almost from the days of Adam. Well, let us be off. We have brought the stretcher with us, and shall get you back in no time." Wilfrid lay down upon the stretcher. Four of the natives lifted it and went off at a light swinging pace. From time to time changes were made, the other two natives taking their share. Had they been alone the natives could have made the ten miles' journey under the two hours, but Mr. Atherton reduced their speed directly after they had started. "I have not been killed by the Hau-Haus, Wilfrid, and I do not mean to let myself be killed by friendly natives. Three miles an hour is my pace, and except in a case of extreme emergency I never exceed it. I have no wish, when I get back to England, to be exhibited as a walking skeleton. "It is good to hear you laugh again, lad," he went on as Wilfrid burst into a shout of laughter, to the astonishment of his four bearers. "I was afraid six weeks back that we should never hear you laugh again." "Oh, Mr. Atherton!" Wilfrid exclaimed a few minutes later, "were there any other of the Poverty Bay people there last night; and have you heard what took place and whether many besides those we know of have lost their lives?" "Yes; I am sorry to say it has been a very bad business. As we heard from Butters, Dodd and Reppart were killed, and there is no doubt that their shepherd was also slaughtered. Major Biggs, poor fellow, has paid for his obstinacy and over-confidence with his life. His wife, baby, and servant were also killed. The news of this was brought by a boy employed in the house, who escaped by the back-door and hid in a flax bush. Captain Wilson, his wife, and children have all been murdered. M'Culloch was killed with his wife and baby; the little boy managed to escape, and got to the redoubt at Taranganui. Cadel was also killed. Fortunately Firmin heard the sound of musketry in the night. He started at dawn to see what was the matter. He met a native, who told him that the Hau-Haus were massacring the whites, and at once rode off and warned Wylie, Stevenson, Benson, Hawthorne, and Strong; and these all escaped with their families, and with Major Westrupp got safely to the Mahia people. "The boy who escaped from Major Biggs's house reached Bloomfields, and all the women and children there managed to escape. How they did it heaven only knows, for the Hau-Haus were all round. That is all we know at present, and we hope that the rest of the settlers of the outlying stations round Matawhero succeeded in getting into Taranganui. Whether the Hau-Haus will be satisfied with the slaughter they have effected, or will try to penetrate further into the settlement or attack Taranganui, remains to be seen. Of course the people who have escaped are, like ourselves, ignorant of everything that has taken place except what happened in their immediate neighbourhood. I should fancy, myself, that however widespread the massacre may have been, the Hau-Haus started last night on their way back. They would know that as soon as the news reached Wairoa the force there will be on the move to cut them off." "Do you think they will succeed?" Wilfrid asked eagerly. "I do not think so, Wilfrid. If Colonel Whitmore were there they would have routed out Te Kooti long ago, but Colonel Lambert seems a man of a different stamp altogether. Why, I heard last night that he marched six days ago to Whataroa, quite close to Te Kooti's place, and that a prisoner they took gave them positive information that the Hau-Haus there had all left to assist Te Kooti in a raid upon Poverty Bay. It seems they did not believe the news; at anyrate, although a mail left for Poverty Bay on the day after they returned to Wairoa, they sent no news whatever of the report they had heard. If they had done so there would have been plenty of time for the settlers to prepare for the attack. "It is one of the most scandalous cases of neglect that I ever heard of, and Lambert ought to be tried by court-martial, though that would not bring all these people to life again. However there is one thing certain, the news of this affair will create such a sensation throughout the island that even the incapable government at Auckland, who have disregarded all the urgent requests for aid against Te Kooti, will be forced to do something, and I sincerely hope they will despatch Whitmore with a strong force of constabulary to wipe out Te Kooti and his band. It is curious how things come about. Almost all these poor fellows who have been killed belonged to the Poverty Bay militia, who refused to press on with Whitmore in pursuit of Te Kooti. Had they done so, the addition of thirty white men to his force might have made all the difference in that fight you had with him, and in that case Te Kooti would have been driven far up the country, and this massacre would never have taken place." It was a great relief to Mrs. Renshaw when Wilfrid reached the village. She was not given to idle fears, and felt convinced that he was running no real danger; for she knew Mr. Atherton would not have left him by himself had he not been perfectly convinced there was no danger of pursuit. Still she felt a weight lifted off her mind when she saw the party entering the village. "Well, mother, you must have had a terrible journey of it yesterday," Wilfrid said, after he had assured her that he felt none the worse for what had passed, and was indeed stronger and better than he had been two days before. "It was a terrible journey, Wilfrid. Fourteen miles does not seem such a very long distance to walk, though I do not suppose I ever walked as far since I was a girl; but the weight of the stretcher made all the difference. It did not feel much when we started, but it soon got heavier as we went on; and though we changed sides every few minutes it seemed at last as if one's arms were being pulled out of their sockets. We could never have done it if it had not been for Mr. Atherton. He kept us cheery the whole time. It seems ridiculous to remember that he has always been representing himself as unequal to any exertion. He was carrying the greater part of the weight, and indeed five miles before we got to the end of our journey, seeing how exhausted we were becoming, he tied two sticks six feet long to our end of the poles, and in that way made the work a great deal lighter for us, and of course a great deal heavier for himself. He declared he hardly felt it, for by that time I had torn two wide strips from the bottom of my dress, tied them together, and put them over his shoulders and fastened them to the two poles; so that he got the weight on his shoulders instead of his hands. But in addition to Mr. Sampson's weight he carried Milly perched on his shoulder the last eight miles. He is a noble fellow." "He did not say anything about carrying Milly," Wilfrid said, "or of taking all the weight of the litter. He is a splendid fellow, mother." "He was terribly exhausted when he got in," Mrs. Renshaw said; "and was looking almost as pale as death when we went into the light in the hut where the other fugitives had assembled. As soon as the others relieved him of the weight of the litter, and lifted Milly down from his shoulder, he went out of the hut. As soon as I had seen Mr. Sampson well cared for, I went out to look for him, and found he had thrown himself down on the ground outside, and was lying there, I thought at first insensible, but he wasn't. I stooped over him and he said, 'I am all right, Mrs. Renshaw, but I was not up to answering questions. In half an hour I shall be myself again, but I own that I feel washed out at present.' I took him out a glass of brandy and water, he drank it and said, 'I feel ashamed at being waited on by you, Mrs. Renshaw, when you must be as tired as I am. Please do not bother any more about me, but if you will ask one of the others to get a native blanket to throw over me to keep off the dew I shall be all right in the morning; but I do not feel as if I could get on my feet again to-night if a fortune depended on it.' Of course I did as he asked me, and I was perfectly stupefied this morning when I heard that he had been up at two o'clock and had gone off with a party of natives to bring you in." "It was awfully good of him," Wilfrid said, "and he never said a word to me about it. Where is he?" and he looked round. But Mr. Atherton had disappeared. "Have you seen Mr. Atherton?" they asked Mr. Wylie, as he came out of a large hut that had been given up for the use of the fugitives. "He has just had a glass of spirits and water--unfortunately we had no tea to offer him--and a piece of bread, and has taken a blanket and has gone off to an empty hut; he said he intended to sleep until to-morrow morning," and indeed it was not until next day that Mr. Atherton again appeared. Several friendly natives arrived one after another at the village. They brought the news that the Hau-Haus had attacked only the colonists round Matawairo, and that all the rest of the settlers were gathered at Taranganui; but the Hau-Haus were plundering all the deserted houses, and were shooting down all the natives who refused to join them. It was afterwards found indeed that the natives had suffered even more severely than the whites, for while thirty-three of the latter were murdered thirty-seven of the natives were killed. Major Westrupp had left by ship for Napier to obtain assistance, Lieutenant Gascoyne had made his way safely through the Hau-Haus to Taranganui, and had sent a whale-boat out to a schooner that was seen passing down the coast. She at once came into the port, and the women and children were sent off to Napier. The garrison of the fort had been reinforced by the friendly natives under their chief Henare Potare, and were awaiting the expected attack by Te Kooti. A week later news came that Major Westrupp and Captain Tuke had arrived from Napier with three hundred natives, and that the Hau-Haus had retired with their plunder. The party at Te Mahia at once started for the coast accompanied by some thirty men of the Mahia tribe. A waggon had been procured for the transport of the women and children, and a march of twenty-four miles took them to Taranganui. They found that parties had been out the day before to bury the dead, and had brought in two persons who were supposed to have been murdered. As one of the parties were going along they saw a small poodle dog run into a bush, and recognized it as having belonged to Captain Wilson. They called and whistled to it in vain, and came to the conclusion that someone must be in hiding there. After half an hour's search they discovered little James Wilson with the dog tightly held in his arms; the boy was too frightened to distinguish friend from foe, and was greatly delighted when he recognized one of the party. He told them that his mother was alive, and was lying wounded in an out-house at their place. He had lost his way while trying to reach Taranganui to bring help to her. Captain Wilson had defended his house with a revolver until the natives brought fire to burn him out. As they offered to spare the lives of all within if they surrendered, Captain Wilson, thinking that there was a possibility of their keeping their word, while those within would certainly be burned if they resisted, surrendered. The prisoners were being led along by their captors, Captain Wilson carrying the little boy, when the natives fell upon them. Captain Wilson was shot through the back, his servant, Morau, tomahawked, and Mrs. Wilson and the other children bayoneted. Captain Wilson, when shot, fell into a bush, and the little boy in the confusion crawled away unnoticed into the scrub. He had wandered about sleeping in out-houses for several nights, often close to the enemy, and at last found his way back to what had been his home, and found the bodies of his father, brothers, and sisters, and on going into an out-house for shelter found his mother alive there. She had been bayoneted in several places and beaten on the head with the butt of a rifle until they thought her dead. Later in the day she had recovered consciousness and crawled back to the house, where she got some water and then took refuge in the out-house, where two or three days later she was found by her son. She had since been kept alive by eggs and other things the child found by foraging round; but he had at last started to try to get assistance for her. After hearing the child's story the party had galloped on to Captain Wilson's, and the poor lady had been found and carried to Taranganui. A few days later she was sent down to Napier by ship, but expired shortly after from the effects of her wounds. In the week that elapsed between the date of the massacre and their return to the settlement Wilfrid had regained his strength wonderfully, and the bracing air of the hills and the excitement of the events through which he passed had acted as a complete restorative. Mr. Atherton too had completely recovered from his fatigue, and, indeed, professed himself to have benefited greatly by them, as he maintained that in three days he had lost as many stone of flesh. The morning after their return to Taranganui they had a long talk about their plans. It was settled that Mrs. Renshaw should at once return home. She was most anxious that Wilfrid should accompany her; but this he would not consent to. "No, mother," he said; "it is my duty, and everyone's duty, to aid in hunting down these murderous scoundrels. They have massacred a number of people who were very kind to me when I first became ill, and I will do my best to punish them; besides, until Te Kooti's band is destroyed there will be no peace or safety for any of the outlying settlements, and they are just as likely to make an attack on our settlement as any other; indeed, we are the nearest to them, therefore in fighting here I am fighting for the protection of our home." Mr. Atherton also announced his intention of accompanying the column in pursuit of Te Kooti. "I dislike fatigue amazingly," he said; "but for several reasons I feel myself bound to see this affair through to the end. In the first place they have attacked me and caused me to undergo great fatigue; in the second, they have murdered a number of my acquaintances; in the third place I have to look after this boy and see that he gets into no mischief; and, lastly, it really seems to me that a month or two of this sort of thing will absolutely reduce me to ordinary dimensions, a thing which I have for years given up even hoping for." "Well, Wilfrid," Mrs. Renshaw said at last, "I suppose you must have your way. I do think that, as you say, it is the duty of everyone to do all that he can to punish the people who have committed these massacres upon defenceless people, and it is necessary for the safety of the settlement that Te Kooti's band shall be destroyed. It is very hard on us to know that our only son is fighting; but other men as well have to leave perhaps wives and children behind, and if only those without ties were to go the force would be a small one indeed. It is a comfort to me, Mr. Atherton, that you have made up your mind to go too. It sounds selfish of me to say so; but I suppose all mothers are selfish when their sons are concerned." "I understand your feeling, Mrs. Renshaw, and it is quite natural. I do think that everyone who can carry a musket ought to join in this expedition, and I flatter myself that Wilfrid's rifle and mine are allies not to be despised. Anyhow, Mrs. Renshaw, I promise you that we will not do what are called rash things. We won't try to capture Te Kooti single-handed, and I think that we can be much more useful covering an attack than leading an assault." Accordingly, two days later Mrs. Renshaw embarked on a coaster for the Mohaka River, and Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid announced to Lieutenant Gascoyne that they would accompany his force as volunteers. "I am heartily glad to hear it," that officer replied. "I have heard from Wylie of your defence of that pass against the Hau-Haus, and yesterday I had a talk with Sampson, who is getting round now, and he gave me the history of the affair, and from what he says you and Renshaw must have killed at least twenty Hau-Haus, for Sampson admits that he is not much of a shot and had a very small share in the total." "Yes; we can both shoot indifferently well," Mr. Atherton said carelessly, "and can both be trusted to hit a Maori if we see him within about four hundred yards of us. I fancy that we may be of service to you in keeping down the fire of the enemy if you are attacking a pah. There is nothing cows fellows so much as finding that it is certain death to raise their heads from behind shelter to take aim. Of course we shall be ready generally to obey orders, but that is the special work we join for. You see, Renshaw is but just recovering from illness, and my build unsuits me for violent exertion. So if you want to storm a steep hill you must not count on us being with you except so far as shooting goes." "Well, I will take you on your own terms," Lieutenant Gascoyne said smiling. "Mrs. Sampson told me yesterday how disinclined you were for violent exertion, and how she had to help you along on that journey to Te Mahia." Mr. Atherton laughed. "There are exceptions to all rules," he said. "I am a peaceful botanist, but I had to fight. I hate exertion, but on that occasion I was forced to make an effort, and terribly knocked up I was over it. If it becomes absolutely necessary I may have to make an effort again, but I consider it altogether outside my province." The expedition started on the following morning, the 20th of November. It consisted of nearly six hundred natives belonging to the Napier tribes, the Mahia and Marsuwai tribes. The next day they came upon the rear-guard of the Hau-Hau tribes of Patutahi and shot two of them. Great quantities of booty which the Hau-Haus were unable to carry away were found there, together with the bodies of several friendly natives. The next day another encampment was come upon, and here the carts taken from the plundered farms were found. At dusk on the 23d the column came up with the main body of the enemy, who were encamped on the Te Karetua Creek. A heavy fire was opened on both sides, and the natives then charged, but were driven back with a loss of five killed and twelve wounded. Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid, who were walking leisurely in the rear of the column when it came on the enemy, arrived too late to take any part in the fight. After the repulse the friendly natives took up a position on a ridge overlooking the Hau-Hau positions, and distant twelve hundred yards from it. Rifle-pits were dug, and for the next week firing was kept up by both sides, with occasional skirmishes as one party or the other tried to take the offensive, but neither cared to try a determined attack on the other. The Hau-Haus had lost twenty men during the first day's fighting and suffered more in the distant firing, especially whenever they gathered as if for an attack, than did the friendlies. This was owing in no small degree to the accuracy of Mr. Atherton's fire. He had got some of the natives to dig a rifle-pit three or four hundred yards down the hill in front of their position, and here he and Wilfrid ensconced themselves every morning before daybreak, taking down with them their provisions for the day, and from this point they galled the Hau-Haus greatly with their fire. Wilfrid knew that his shooting could not be depended upon at this distance; but Mr. Atherton had been accustomed to fire at long ranges, and although at eight hundred yards his rifle was not accurate he did considerable execution, and so alarmed the Hau-Haus that they scarcely dared to move by daylight from one part of their intrenchment to the other. The friends always left their shelter and retired to camp as soon as the sun set. The Hau-Haus were not, however, idle. A party of sixty men made a long circuit and came down in rear of the column, captured the depot at Patutahi with eight kegs of ammunition and a great quantity of provisions, and also seized a number of pack animals on the way up. On the 3d of December the force was strengthened by the arrival of the chiefs Rapata and Hotene, with three hundred and seventy men from Te Wairoa. These chiefly belonged to the Ngatiporou tribe, who were far better fighters than the Napier or Mahia men. As soon as the reinforcements had arrived it was decided at once to dislodge the enemy from a hill of which they had possession, and then to make a general attack on the intrenchments. Forty men of the Wairoa tribe under Mr. Preece made a dashing attack on the hill, and just as they carried it Rapata sent a message to him to say that his tribesmen were annoyed by the enemy's shot falling into their camp, and were therefore determined to attack at once. That tribe sallying out, carried two of the enemy's outworks with a rush, and drove the Hau-Haus back to their last line of rifle-pits near the river. Here they were attacked by the Wairoa men on the left, Rapata in the centre, and the tribesmen from Napier on the right. The assailants carried the intrenchment and drove the Hau-Haus across the river, these suffering heavy loss from the firing of the left column, who from their position commanded the course of the stream. Unfortunately this fire, though destructive to the enemy, was to a certain extent in their favour, for it prevented the close pursuit of Rapata's men. Thirty-four Hau-Haus, including three of their fighting chiefs, were found dead. Te Kooti himself had a narrow escape. He was still suffering from his wound in the ankle, and was carried up the bed of the creek on a woman's back. A great quantity of the loot taken from the settlers was recaptured, and many of the friendly natives held prisoners by the Hau-Haus escaped during the fight. Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid had joined Rapata's men in their charge, and after the fight was over the former said: "Well, Wilfrid, it is a satisfaction to have got some natives with us at last who will fight. It seemed at first as if all the plucky natives had joined the enemy; but Rapata's men are first-rate fellows, though I wish that they had rather an easier name, for Ngatiporou is a crack-jaw word to pronounce." Unfortunately a quarrel arose after the battle between Rapata's men and the Napier tribesmen, and three hundred of the latter went off. The next morning Rapata and his tribe, with the remaining Wairoa men, marched out to attack the position the enemy occupied on the top of a hill two miles away. Mr. Preece led the advanced party, and found the defences consisted of two lines of strong earthworks extending across a flat shoulder, either end resting on a cliff. Mr. Preece halted his men until Rapata came up with the main body. Wilfrid and Mr. Atherton had attached themselves to the Ngatiporou. Just as they joined Mr. Preece one of the men fired off a gun, and the enemy answered with a heavy volley. Instantly a panic set in, and the whole force, with the exception of some sixteen or eighteen men, bolted. One of the chiefs under Mr. Preece followed and managed to stop them, and persuaded them to wait until Rapata could return to them. This they agreed to do, but refused positively to return to the attack. Mr. Preece returned to Rapata, who was in a state of fury at the defection of his tribe. "We will go on and attack the place by ourselves," he said. "Perhaps the cowards will come up when they hear we are fighting." Mr. Preece at once agreed, and the party, consisting of the two leaders, Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid, and fourteen of Rapata's men, worked back through the low scrub until between twenty-five yards of the first line of earthworks, when they opened fire upon the enemy. "This is rather close work, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said. "We have the best of it in some respects, because they cannot make out our position among the bushes, and they are obliged to stand up and show their heads above the parapet when they fire. We ought never to miss them at this distance, and we will soon teach them that it is fatal to pause a moment to take aim, so at the worst they will only blaze away at random." For some time the fight continued, and then Rapata requested Mr. Preece to go down the hill and bring up some more men. Only nine men would follow Mr. Preece, and Rapata was so disgusted that he himself went down for some distance and managed to get thirty more. One of the men had brought a bill up with him, and with this shallow rifle-pits were dug among the bushes, affording a shelter to the men as they lay flat while loading. At three o'clock in the afternoon the chief called on his tribesmen to follow him, and, leaping up, they dashed at one of the outposts and carried it. A man took the news down the hill, and a chief and thirty more men came up and joined in the fight. At dusk Rapata requested Mr. Preece to return to camp and try to get the main body back with ammunition, as their own was almost exhausted. Mr. Preece could not induce the natives to start, but they said they would go in the morning. All night the fight went on, but before dawn Rapata, having expended his last round of ammunition, retired, having lost six men killed and four wounded. As he and his men came down they strode through the camp in single file, not deigning to take the slightest notice of the fugitives, and passing on, camped apart half a mile further on. The main body, ashamed of their cowardly conduct, were afraid to go near the chief. As it was necessary to ascertain what he meant to do, one of the white officers went to see him. For some time the chief would make no reply. At last he said, "My men have betrayed me, and I will have nothing further to do with them. I intend to return home and get other men, and when I get back I will attack the Napier tribe who deserted me." The same day he marched for the coast, followed at a distance by the abashed fugitives. On the way down they met Colonel Whitmore, who with three hundred constabulary had just arrived by ship from the scene of operations on the other side of the island. The colonel begged Rapata to return with him, but the chief said, "I never break my word. I have said I will go home, and I will; but I will return with other men and attack the Napier tribes." After much persuasion Colonel Whitmore got him to promise that he would not interfere with the Napier men; but nothing could persuade him to fight again with those men of his own tribe who had deserted him. Such being the case, a steamer was placed at his disposal in order that he might make the voyage and return as soon as possible. After Rapata had left Colonel Whitmore sent out a skirmishing party to ascertain whether the enemy retained their position. The scouts returned with the news that there were great fires on the crest of the hill, and they believed that the Hau-Haus were burning their huts preparatory to returning into the interior. Colonel Whitmore believed the report, and considering that the Hau-Haus would leave the neighbourhood of the settlement altogether, he ordered the constabulary to march down to the coast again as soon as possible and re-embark there, as their presence was urgently required in the north of the province of Wellington, which had been left open to the attack of the enemy there by their withdrawal. Fortunately before they re-embarked Te Kooti showed his hand. He had no idea of retreating from his position, and the fires were caused by the clearing off of the scrub which had afforded shelter to Rapata's force. No sooner did he hear that Colonel Whitmore had marched away than he sent a party down against one of the outlying settlements, where they murdered Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Wylie's son, and a friendly native. Colonel Whitmore, on receiving news of the raid, marched rapidly to cut off the retreat of the Hau-Haus; but they managed to evade him and to retire to their main body. On the 27th of December Colonel Whitmore's force occupied a high ridge a mile distant from Te Kooti's position. Here the colonel received news that Rapata had just landed with three hundred and seventy men, and messenger after messenger was sent down urging him to hurry up. The chief, who was seriously ill, was much annoyed by these messages, especially by the last, that if he did not come soon Whitmore would take the place without him. Rapata replied: "Very well, I have tried and failed; it is his turn now;" and immediately ordered his men to camp for the day. The next morning Colonel Whitmore came down himself, having been advised that the only way to succeed with Rapata was to treat him in a conciliatory way. The chief's first words were, "Have you taken the place?" "No," Colonel Whitmore replied. "I am waiting for you, Rapata." "Very good," Rapata said; "I will be with you to-morrow morning." The Ngatiporou performed a great war-dance, and as no one stumbled or fell, they considered the omen to be a good one, and marched on and joined Colonel Whitmore's force that night. CHAPTER XVII. BACK AT THE FARM. The position of the Hau-Haus was naturally a very strong one, being at the top of a high conical peak rising abruptly from low bush-covered hills to a height of two thousand feet. On the face, which had been before attacked, the ground sloped gradually up to the summit, but on the right and left the slope was very steep, and at one point there had been a landslip leaving a perpendicular face twenty feet high, and below that, for fifty feet, it was so steep that it was difficult to get a footing. The ground in rear of the position narrowed into a razor-backed ridge down which a track led, with rope-ladders to aid the descent of the rock terraces. The position in front, where alone it could be attacked, was defended by three lines of earthworks with high parapets, and with ditches in front abutting at either end on the steep slopes. The two lower works were seven feet high, the upper work was nearly fourteen feet high, with sandbag loopholes to enable the defenders to fire through. Each line was connected with the one above it by covered ways. Operations commenced by the advance of the Arawa division of the constabulary, and a portion of the Ngatiporou under Rapata. Advancing quietly and cautiously they came upon a party of the enemy engaged in carrying up water. They drove them up to the pah and took possession of the only water available. Rifle-pits were now dug and pushed forward gradually until within a hundred yards of the enemy's first lines of defence. Number seven division of the constabulary were now sent up, and these threw up a long line of trenches parallel to the enemy's works; and the artillerymen having with great exertion brought up a mortar, a vertical shell-fire was opened upon the enemy's position with great effect; although to get them to the spot these shells had to be carried on the men's backs for three miles over some terrific ravines. A hundred constabulary under Colonel Fraser and a hundred Ngatiporou were sent round to cut off the enemy's retreat in rear. Another division of constabulary under Major Roberts connected the two parties, and thus all escape of the enemy was cut off, with the exception of the small piece of cliff, seventy yards in length, which was believed impossible to descend, and was moreover exposed to a flanking fire from Rapata's force in front and that of Colonel Fraser in the rear. For some days heavy firing went on, and the hardships suffered by the force were great, for the rain fell without intermission. There were many casualties on both sides. Captain Brown of the constabulary was killed, and Captain Cabel of the same corps severely wounded. Colonel Fraser's men pushed up the ridge in the enemy's rear, and formed rifle-pits near the summit from which the Hau-Haus made desperate but vain attempts to repel them. On the 4th of January Rapata, after consultation with Colonel Whitmore, determined to storm the lower line of earthworks. He told off fifty picked men, and sent them round with instructions to scale the cliff at the point where the parapet ended. The work was a dangerous and difficult one, for the cliff was very steep and gravelly, and the Hau-Haus crowded to the end of the trench and fired down, wounding five of the stormers. But to do this they had to expose themselves, and suffered severely from the fire of the men told off to cover the attack. Finally the Ngatiporou succeeded in climbing up under the outer face of the parapet, which they cut through with their spades, and opening a raking fire upon the Hau-Haus drove them out and took possession of the first line of defence. All night a sap was carried upwards towards the second line, with the intention of blowing up the earthworks and storming the main works next morning, and two hundred picked men were assembled in the trenches ready to attack at daybreak. But at two o'clock in the morning a woman cried out from within the pah that the Hau-Haus had all left leaving only some wounded men and women and children. Her words were not at first believed, and they were considered to be only a ruse to induce the assailants to advance up the hill under the enemy's fire. But at daybreak it was found that the news was true, that the whole of the Hau-Haus had escaped, by means of ropes, down the face of the perpendicular cliff. Rapata with his men started in pursuit. He followed the Hau-Hau trail for some distance, and then scattered his men in small parties as he guessed that the enemy would scatter in search of food. A hundred and twenty of the Hau-Haus were overtaken and killed, and Rapata returned after an absence of two days. By this time the whites and constabulary had left, as the work had now been done and the constabulary were urgently needed elsewhere. Rapata marched back by a circuitous way, captured eighty more prisoners, men, women, and children, whom he brought alive down into the settlement. Te Kooti had lost altogether during the siege and pursuit a hundred and fifty of his men, but he was still believed in by the natives, three tribes joining him at once, more than making up for the loss he had suffered. Mr. Atherton and the other volunteers with Colonel Whitmore's force had taken but small share in the second attack upon Te Kooti's position, not being attached to any regular force. Rapata had been greatly struck with the coolness of Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid in his first attack, and astonished at the accuracy of their shooting, and had greeted them very heartily on his return, and invited them to act with his force. They had, therefore, during the siege taken up their position in some rifle-pits in the rear of his party, and from here had done great service to the Ngatiporou by covering them from the enemy's fire, for the Hau-Haus soon learned that it was almost certain death to stand up to take a steady aim above the parapet. After the defeat of the Hau-Haus many of the natives of Poverty Bay who had joined Te Kooti, and taken a prominent part in the massacres, deserted him, and calmly returned to the settlement as if nothing had taken place, and the authorities allowed them to remain unmolested. The settlers, justly indignant that men who had so lately murdered women and children should be allowed to come down among them with impunity, formed themselves into a vigilance committee, and some of them who had lost relatives in the massacre bound themselves by oath to shoot the next party of ruffians who made their appearance. An opportunity soon offered. A native who had assisted in murdering Mr. Wylie's son came in, and was shot by Mr. Benson. The following morning, to his astonishment, Benson was warned to attend as juryman at the inquest of his victim. In vain he assured the native constable that he was the man who had done the deed, and that he ought not therefore to sit. The constable refused to entertain the excuse, and so Benson not only sat on his own trial but gave evidence against himself, and the jury, among whom was Mr. Atherton, having heard his statement, brought in the following verdict: "We find that the deceased was shot by some person unknown, and served him right." The day after this verdict was returned Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid, who had been waiting ten days for a coasting craft, sailed for the Mohaka river, and, landing at Mr. Mitford's, borrowed two horses from him, and were soon at The Glade. "I am afraid I am heavy on a horse still, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said as they started, "but this animal may be thankful that I did not ride him the last time I was here. I calculate I must be at least four stone lighter than I was." "You certainly have lost a good deal of flesh, Mr. Atherton. I almost wonder that you did not continue with our friend Rapata. He declares that he will follow up Te Kooti till he catches him if it takes him a couple of years." "No, no, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton laughed, "it is possible to have too much of a good thing. I might jog along with a colonial force well enough and benefit by it, but Rapata and his men would kill me in a week. I do not think those fellows know what it is to be tired. No, I am very well contented, and I intend to do no end of work in the woods and keep myself down to my present weight. There is an immense deal to be done in the way of botanizing. I have already found twelve new sorts of ferns, and I have only just begun, and have not even looked at the orchids yet or the mosses." "I should have thought, Mr. Atherton, that it would have been well worth your while to go in for collecting and sending home rare and new plants, instead of merely drying specimens for your herbarium. I know new orchids fetch a tremendous price, because a gentleman near us at home had a large house full of them, and I know he used to pay what seemed to me prodigious prices for little scraps of plants not a bit more beautiful than the others, simply because they were rare." "The idea is a very good one, Wilfrid, and I will think it over. I have never gone in for collecting in that way, for my income has been amply sufficient for my wants, but there can be no doubt that in these days, when people are ready to give such large sums for rare plants, a botanist like myself might make a really good thing of it out here. The woods are literally crowded with rare plants, and it would add to the interest of my excursions. As it is now I simply look for new species, and even here these are hard to discover; but if I took to getting rare specimens for sending home, there would be an unlimited field of work for me. Of course the difficulty is getting them home alive, for in a country like this, where there is practically no winter, they are never in an entirely quiescent state, and would require the most careful packing in cases specially constructed for them, and would need attention on the voyage. Still all this might be managed, and a steward might be paid well to take them under his charge. "Well, I will think it over, Wilfrid. Your idea certainly seems a good one, and if it pays the great horticulturalists to send out skilled men to collect plants for them from all parts of the world, it should certainly pay me, who am living in the centre of one of the most varied groups of vegetation in the world, to send home consignments." Ten minutes later they rode into the clearing. A loud whoop of welcome was heard as they appeared, and Jack came tearing down from the house to meet them. A moment later Marion appeared at the door, and she too came flying towards them. Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw also appeared on the verandah. "I need not ask you how you are, my boy," Mr. Renshaw said as Wilfrid, who had leapt from his horse as Marion ran up, hastened forward with her to the house. "Your mother has told us so much about your illness that I hardly anticipated seeing you looking a picture of health. Mr. Atherton, I am delighted to see you. My wife has told me how much we all owe to you both for your care of Wilfrid and for having brought him and my wife safely out of the hands of the natives." "I am very glad that I was able to be of some little service, Mr. Renshaw. It is quite as pleasant, you know, to be able to aid as it is to be aided, so we will look upon the obligation as mutual. Wilfrid has invited me to take up my quarters here for a day or two until my shanty is put in order again." "It would be a pleasure to us if you would take up your abode here permanently," Mr. Renshaw said as Mr. Atherton dismounted from his horse and the two men rung each other's hands warmly. "Jack, take the two horses round to the shed. And now come in. Fortunately dinner is just ready, and I have no doubt you are ready too." Wilfrid was struck with the change that had come over his father since he had been away. He looked better and stronger than he had ever seen him before, and spoke with a firmness and decision quite new to him. Mr. Renshaw, finding the whole responsibility of the farm upon his shoulders, had been obliged to put aside his books and to throw himself into the business with vigour. At first the unusual exertion involved by being out all day looking after things had tried him a good deal, but he had gained strength as he went on, and had even come to like the work. The thought that his wife and Wilfrid would be pleased to find everything going on well had strengthened him in his determination to stick to it, and Marion had, as far as the house work allowed her, been his companion when about the farm, and had done her best to make the evenings cheerful and pleasant. They had had a terribly anxious time of it during the week between the arrival of the news of the massacre at Poverty Bay and Mrs. Renshaw's return; but after that their life had gone on quietly, although, until the news of the capture of Te Kooti's fortress had arrived, they had naturally been anxious about Wilfrid's safety. [Illustration: "I AM AFRAID I AM HEAVY ON A HORSE STILL, WILFRID" _Page 325_] "You are looking wonderfully well and sunburnt, father," the lad said as they sat at dinner. "Your father has been out from morning until night, Wilfrid, managing the farm," Mrs. Renshaw said with a glad smile, "and I do think the exercise has done him a great deal of good." "I am sure it has, mother," Wilfrid agreed. "I am afraid the book has not made much progress, father, since I have been away." "It has made no progress at all, Wilfrid, and I do not suppose it ever will. Science is all very well when a man can afford to make it his hobby, but I have come to the conclusion that a man has no right to ride a hobby while his family have to work to make a living." "But we were all glad to work, father," Wilfrid said. "And now I am back again there is no reason why you should not return to your work." "No, Wilfrid. I have been selfish a great deal too long, and indeed, now that I have broken myself into an active life out of doors, I have at present, at anyrate, no inclination to take to the pen again. I feel better than I have done for years, and am astonished myself at the work I can get through. As to my appetite, I eat twice as much as I used to, and really enjoy my food. Since the day we heard of the failure of the bank the burden has all been on your shoulders, Wilfrid, and your mother's. I am going to take my share of it in the future. As to the book, someone else must write it. I do not suppose it would ever have really paid. I almost wonder now how I could have thought that I out here could have derived any satisfaction from knowing that my work was praised by scientific men at home; besides, to do it properly a man must live among the natives, must travel all over the island and gather the traditions current in every tribe. That I could not do, and if I could have no inclination for it. I have been thinking that I shall ask Mr. Atherton to teach me a little botany, so that I can enjoy a little more intelligently than I can now do the wonders of our forest." "That I will gladly do, Mr. Renshaw. I am sure it would add greatly to the enjoyment of your life here to become acquainted with the secrets of the marvellous vegetation around. It is extraordinary to me that men should be content to remain in ignorance of the names of even the principal trees and shrubs that meet their eye at every turn. There is not one settler in a hundred can tell you the names of a score of trees in the island. While I have been away I have tried to get the native names of many of the trees that are mostly to be met with, and only in one or two cases could I get any information, although some of the settlers have been living for years among them." "And now, Mr. Atherton, about what I was saying just now, do not you think it would be more pleasant for you to erect a fresh hut close to ours instead of living by yourself away in the woods? It would be a great pleasure to all of us to have you with us. Your society would brighten our life here. We should have the assistance of your rifle in case the natives broke out again. You would, of course, live with us, but you would have your own hut to retire to when you liked to be alone. What do you say?" "I say that it is a very kind offer, Mr. Renshaw, and it would certainly be very much more pleasant for me than living out there by myself at the mercy of a native cook. On the condition that you will allow me to pay my share of the expenses of housekeeping I will gladly accept your offer." "The expenses of housekeeping are next to nothing, Mr. Atherton," Mrs. Renshaw laughed; "but if you make it a condition we must of course agree to your terms, and you shall be permitted to pay your quota to the expenses of the establishment; but I warn you that the amount will not be a heavy one." "Heavy or light, I shall be glad to pay it, Mrs. Renshaw. The arrangement would be a delightful one for me, for although as a traveller I have necessarily been much alone, I am a gregarious animal, and fond of the company of mankind." And so two days later a party of natives were set to work, and a hut was erected for Mr. Atherton twenty yards away from the house, and was soon fitted up as his other had been. Wilfrid had at once taken up his own work at the farm, but was now his father's right hand, instead of having, as before, everything on his shoulders. The natives in the neighbourhood had now settled down again. From time to time news came that showed that the Hau-Hau rebellion was almost crushed. Colonel Whitmore, having finally completely subdued the Hau-Hau tribes in the north of Wellington and Taranaki, had marched with a strong force divided into four columns and severely punished all the tribes that had joined Te Kooti in the north-eastern part of the island. Te Kooti himself, after perpetrating several other massacres of settlers, was a fugitive, hotly hunted by Rapata, who gave him no rest, surprising him several times, and exterminating the last remnants of the band who had escaped with him from the Chatham Islands. Te Kooti himself was now believed to be hiding somewhere in the Waikato country; but he was no longer dangerous, his schemes had utterly failed, his pretensions had even in the native eyes been altogether discredited, and all who had adhered to him had either been killed or punished by the destruction of their villages and clearings. There was not the slightest chance that he would ever again trouble the community. The settlement on the Mohaka river had grown, and in six months after Wilfrid's return the whole of the land lying between the Allens' farm and Mr. Mitford's was taken up, and two or three families had settled beyond Mr. Atherton's holding. At The Glade everything went on prosperously--the animals multiplied, the crops were excellent, and, owing to the many settlers arriving and requiring food until they could raise it for themselves, much better prices were obtained for the produce, and it was no longer necessary to ship it to Napier or Wellington. Although Mr. Atherton had not gone through any such fatigues as those that he had endured at Poverty Bay, he had continued steadily to decrease in weight. Feeling himself so much lighter and more active on the return from the expedition, he had continued to stick to long and regular exercise, and was out every day, with a native to carry his tin collecting-boxes, his presses, axe, and trowel, from breakfast-time until dark. As he steadily refused to take any food with him, and fasted from breakfast-time till supper, the prolonged exercise in the close heat of the woods did its work rapidly, and at the end of a year from the date of his taking up his abode at The Glade he could no longer be called a stout man, and new-comers looked with admiration at his broad shoulders and powerful figure. "When I first came to New Zealand," he said, "I thought it probable that I should only stay here a few weeks, or at most a few months, and I had a strong doubt whether it would repay my trouble in coming out here. Now I am sure that it was the very best step I ever took. I weighed the other day at Mitford's, and I did not turn eighteen stone, which is nothing out of the way for a man of my height and size. Last time I weighed I pulled down six-and-twenty. When I go back to England I shall stick to my two meals a day, and go in regularly for racquets and horse exercise." "And when is that going to be, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked. "I have not settled yet, Wilfrid. I have been longer stationary here than I have been in any place since I left college. Occasionally I get a fit of longing to be back in London again, but it seldom lasts long. However, I suppose I shall yield to it one of these days." "You are doing very well here, Mr. Atherton. You said only the other day that your consignment of plants had sold wonderfully, and that you expected to make nearly a thousand pounds this year." "That is true enough, Wilfrid; but you see, unfortunately or fortunately, whichever way you like to put it, the thousand pounds are of no importance to me one way or the other. I am really what is generally considered to be a rich man, and from the day I left England, now just two years ago, my income has been simply accumulating, for beyond the two or three pounds a month your mother lets me pay her I spend absolutely nothing." "It must be very dull for you here, Mr. Atherton, accustomed as you have been to be always either travelling or in London, to be cut off from the world with only just our society, and that of the Allens and Mitfords, and two or three neighbours." "I do not look dull, do I, Mrs. Renshaw?" Mr. Atherton laughed. "No; I have never seen you dull since I knew you, Mr. Atherton, not even when you were toiling along exhausted and worn out with that child on your shoulders and the weight of the helpless man on your arms. We shall miss you awfully when you do go; shall we not, Marion?" Marion was now nineteen, and had developed, as Wilfrid told her in some surprise--for brothers seldom think their sisters good-looking--into a very pretty girl. "It is not coming just yet," Mr. Atherton said; "but I have, I think, pretty well exhausted the forest for a distance of fifty miles round, and now that things are settling down I shall take more extensive trips to the mountains in the north-east and the Waikato country, and the strip of land lying north of Auckland. I have never been absent above two or three days at a time; but in future I may be away for weeks. But this will always be my head-quarters, Mrs. Renshaw. You see, your husband is becoming a formidable rival of mine here, so I must be off to pastures new." "You know he did not want to send things home, Mr. Atherton. It was only because you insisted that he did so." "I am very glad that I did insist, Mrs. Renshaw. As you know, I only went into the trade of plants to give me something to do on my rambles besides looking for new species; but I am sure it has been a capital thing for him. He has always been accustomed to use his brain, and although he now takes a lively interest in farm work, he would in time have found a certain void if he had not taken up this new hobby. As it is, it gives him plenty of out-door work, and is not only interesting, but pays well; and now that he is thoroughly acquainted with the botany of this part of the island, and knows which things are worth sending home, and the price he can depend upon getting for them, he will make a far larger income out of it than he could do from farming. Wilfrid will be quite capable of looking after the interests of the farm." Another year passed. The clearings at The Glade had been greatly enlarged; but clumps of bush had been judiciously left so as to preserve its sylvan appearance, the long operation of fencing in the whole property had been accomplished, and the number of horses, cattle, and sheep had so increased that the greater part were now sent to graze on Maori land, a small rate per head being paid to the natives. Mr. Atherton had come and gone many times, and had now almost completed his study of the botany of the island. Mr. Renshaw had altogether abandoned the management of the farm to Wilfrid, and devoted himself entirely to the collection of ferns, orchids, and other plants, receiving handsome cheques in return for the consignment sent to England by each vessel that sailed from Wellington or Napier. He had agents at each of these towns, who made arrangements with the stewards of the ships for taking care of the plants on their way home, their remuneration being dependent upon the state in which the consignment arrived in England. Settlers were now established on both sides of the river for miles above The Glade, and as among these were several who had been officers in the army, or professional men who had come out for the benefit of their families, there was now much cheerful society, and The Glade occupied the same leading position in that part of the settlement that Mr. Mitford's had done on the lower river when they first arrived. James Allen had now been a year married to the eldest of the Miss Mitfords. His brother had been decidedly refused by Marion when he proposed to her, much to the surprise of her father and mother, who had seen from the frequent visits of their neighbour during the past year how things were going with him, while Wilfrid had been quite indignant at her rejection of his friend. "Girls are extraordinary creatures," he said to his sister. "I had quite made up my mind for the last six months that you and Bob were going to make a match of it, and thought what a jolly thing it would be to have you settled next to us. I am sure I do not know what you want more. You have known him for three years. He is as steady as possible, and safe to get on well, and as nice a fellow as I know." "He is all that, Wilfrid, but you see I don't want to marry him. I like him very much in the same way you like him, but I don't like him well enough for that." "Oh, I suppose you want a wandering prince in disguise," Wilfrid grumbled. "That is the way with girls; they always want something that they cannot get." "My dear Wilfrid," Marion said with spirit, "when I take to lecturing you as to whom you are to marry it will be quite time for you to take to lecturing me; but until I do I cannot allow that you have any right in the matter." It was seldom indeed that brother and sister differed in opinion about anything, and seeing a tear in Marion's eye Wilfrid at once gave in and admitted himself to be wrong. "Of course it is no business of mine, Marion, and I beg your pardon. I am sure I should not wish for a moment that you should marry anyone but the man that you choose for yourself. I should certainly have liked you to have married Bob Allen, but, if you do not fancy him, of course there is an end of it." This was not the only offer that Marion had received during the year, for there were several young settlers who would have been glad to have installed her as the mistress of their homesteads; but they had each met with the same fate that had now befallen Bob Allen. The next time Mr. Atherton came back he said, "I have taken my last ramble and gathered my last plant." "What! are you going home?" Mrs. Renshaw exclaimed. "Yes, I am going home," he said more seriously than he usually spoke. "I have been away three years now, and have pretty thoroughly ransacked the island. I have discovered nearly eighty new species of plants and two or three entirely new families, so I have done enough for honour; besides, I am wanted at home. An old aunt has died and has left me a considerable sum of money, just because I had plenty of my own before, I suppose. It is another instance of female perversity. So I have had a letter from my solicitor saying that I am really wanted; but in any case I should have gone now or in another month or two. I begin to feel that I have had enough of wandering, and at thirty-eight it is time to settle down if you are ever going to do so." There was a silence round the table as he ceased speaking, for all felt that the loss would be a serious one, and although Mr. Atherton had tried to speak lightly they could see that he too felt the approaching end of their close friendship. "Are you going to start at once?" Mr. Renshaw asked. "No, I shall give myself a fortnight or three weeks before I sail. I have all the plants I gathered this time to dry and prepare properly; besides, I should like a quiet stay with you before I say good-bye. You see, I have not seen much of you during the last year." Nothing further was said on the subject, which none of them liked to touch on. For the next two days the house seemed strangely quiet. "By the way, what has become of young Allen?" Mr. Atherton said at dinner on the third day. "You told me every one was well, so I suppose he is away from home, as I have not seen him since I came, and he used to be a very regular visitor." There was a momentary silence and then Mrs. Renshaw said: "I do not think he is away from home, though he may be, for he was talking the other day of looking out for a fresh piece of land for himself. Now that his brother is married I suppose it is only natural that he should think of setting up for himself. The farm is of course their joint property, but I suppose they will make some arrangement for his brother to take over his share." "Naturally," Mr. Atherton agreed, "young Allen would not care about remaining now that his brother is married. When one of two partners marries it generally breaks up the partnership, and besides, he will of course be wanting to have a place of his own, and the holding is not large enough to divide." After dinner Wilfrid strolled out with Mr. Atherton. "I daresay you saw, Mr. Atherton, that your question about Bob Allen fell rather as a bomb-shell among us. There is no reason why you, who are a great friend, should not know the truth. The fact is, to my astonishment, Marion has thought proper to refuse Bob Allen. I was never more surprised in my life. I had always looked upon it as certain that she would accept him, especially as she has refused three or four good offers this year. One never can understand girls." Mr. Atherton was silent for a minute or two. Then he said: "I thought too, Wilfrid, that it would have come off. I have always thought so. Well, well." Then after a pause he went on: "I had intended to go over in the morning to see him. I like the lad, and had an idea of offering to advance him a sum of money to set up in a place of his own without loss of time. Then the young couple would have had a fair start in life without having to wait two or three years or to go through the rough work at the first start in a settler's life. The money would of course have been nothing to me, and it would have been satisfactory to have lent a helping hand towards seeing your sister married and happy. And so she has refused him. Well, I will take a turn by myself, Wilfrid." And to the young fellow's surprise Mr. Atherton turned off and started at a brisk pace up the glade. "He is evidently as vexed at Marion's throwing over Bob Allen as I am," Wilfrid said to himself as he looked after him. "I wish he would give her a good talking to, she would think more of his opinion than she does of mine." CHAPTER XVIII. IN ENGLAND. "I suppose you have not settled yet as to what ship you will return by, Atherton?" Mr. Renshaw asked as the party were gathered in the verandah in the evening. "No," Mr. Atherton replied, absently watching the smoke of his cigar as it curled up, "nothing is at all settled; my plans seem to be quite vague now." "What do you mean, Mr. Atherton?" Mrs. Renshaw asked in surprise, for Mr. Atherton's plans were generally mapped out very decidedly. "How is it that your plans are vague? I thought you said two days ago that you should go down to Wellington about the 20th." "I did not mean to say that they were vague, Mrs. Renshaw; did I really say so?" "Why, of course you did," Mrs. Renshaw said; "and it is not often that you are vague about anything." "That shows that you do not understand my character, Mrs. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said in his usual careless manner. "I am the vaguest of men--a child of chance, a leaf blown before the wind." Wilfrid laughed. "It would have taken a very strong wind when we first knew you." "I am speaking metaphorically, Wilfrid. I am at London, and the idea occurs to me to start for the Amazon and botanize there for a few months. I pack up and start the next morning. I get there and do not like the place, and say to myself it is too hot here, let me study the Arctic flora at Spitzbergen. If I act upon an idea promptly, well and good, but if I allow any time to elapse between the idea striking me and my carrying the thing into execution, there is never any saying whether I may not go off in an entirely different groove during the interval." "And is there any chance of your going off in any other groove now, Atherton?" Mr. Renshaw asked. "No, I think not; just a remote possibility perhaps, but not more than that. It is so indefinitely small, indeed, that you may--yes, I think you may safely calculate upon my starting on the day I said, or if I find a ship at Wellington going on a trading excursion among the islands, or up to the Straits, or to Japan, I may likely enough take a passage in her." "But I thought you said that your business required you to be at home, Mr. Atherton?" "Yes, I suppose that is so, Wilfrid; but I daresay my solicitor would manage it just as well if I did not turn up. Solicitors are people who, as far as I can see, consider it their duty to bother you, but if they find that you pay no attention to their letters they manage somehow or other to get on very well without you. I believe they go into a court and make affidavits, and get an order authorizing them to sign for you. I do not know how it generally is done, but that is my experience of them so far." Marion had said little that evening, and had indeed been very quiet for the last few days. She was somewhat indignant at Wilfrid's interference in what she considered her affairs, and felt that although her father and mother had said nothing, they too were somewhat disappointed, and would have been glad had she accepted Bob Allen. Besides she had reasons of her own for being out of spirits. After breakfast the next morning Mr. Atherton said: "Marion, when you have finished your domestic duties and can be spared, suppose you put on your hat and come for a ramble with me." There was nothing unusual in the request, for the girl often accompanied him in his rambles when he was not going far into the forest. "I shall be ready in half an hour, if your highness can wait so long." "I am in no hurry, child, and will smoke a pipe on the verandah until you are ready." Marion always enjoyed these walks with Mr. Atherton. He was at all times a pleasant companion, and when alone with her always exerted himself to amuse her, though he sometimes vexed her by talking to her as if she were a child. To-day he was much more silent than usual, and more than once she looked up in wonder at his face as he walked along puffing at his pipe, with his hands deep in his jacket pockets and his eyes bent on the ground. "A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Atherton," she said at last with a laugh. "It seems to me that you would have got on just as well without me." "Well, I was just thinking that I was a fool to ask you to come with me, child." Marion opened her eyes in surprise. "You see, my dear," he went on, "we all make fools of ourselves sometimes. I started in life by making a fool of myself. I fell in love with a woman whom I thought perfection. She was an arrant flirt, and was only amusing herself with me till she hooked a young lord for whom she was angling. That was what sent me roaming for the first time; and, as you know, having once started I have kept it up ever since, that is till I came out here. I had intended to stay six months; I have been here three years. Why have I stopped so long? Simply, child, because I have again made a fool of myself. I do not think I was conscious of it for the first two years, and it was only when I saw, as I thought, that young Allen would win you, that I recognized that I, a man of thirty-seven, was fool enough to love a child just eighteen years younger than myself. At the same time I was not fool enough to think that I had the smallest chance. I could not stop here and watch another winning you, and at the same time I was so weak that I could not go away altogether; and so you see I compromised matters by going away for weeks and sometimes months at a time, returning with the expectation each time of hearing that it was settled. Now I hear that you have refused him, and, just as a drowning man grasps at a straw, I resolved to have my fate absolutely settled before I sail. Don't be afraid of saying 'no,' dear. I have never for a moment looked for any other answer, but I think that I would rather have the 'no' than go away without it, for in after years I might be fool enough to come to think that possibly, just possibly, the answer, had I asked the question, might have been 'yes.'" He had stopped in his walk when he began to speak, and stood facing Marion, who had not raised her eyes while he was speaking. Then she looked frankly up in his face. "Do you think I did not know," she said softly, "and didn't you really know too? You are not so wise a man as I thought you. Why, ever since I have known you it seems to me that--that--" "That you have loved me, Marion; is it possible?" he said taking her hand. "Of course it is possible," she said almost pettishly "how could I help it, I should like to know?" Dinner had been waiting for some time before Mr. Atherton and his companion returned from their ramble. "Twenty minutes late!" Wilfrid shouted as they approached the house; "have you been losing yourselves in the bush?" "I think that it has been just the other way, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said as he came up to the group gathered in the verandah. "How do you mean?" Wilfrid asked. "I mean we have been finding each other." "Finding each other," Wilfrid repeated vaguely. "Why, were you both lost?" "I was, Wilfrid. Mrs. Renshaw, I have found your daughter, and am going, with your permission and that of her father, to keep her. I am a good bit older than she is, but as she says she does not mind that, I hope that you will not, and at least I can promise to do all in my power to make her happy." "I am surprised, Mr. Atherton; surprised and glad too," Mrs. Renshaw said, while Mr. Renshaw grasped Mr. Atherton's hand and shook it heartily. "My dear sir, there is no one in the world to whom I could intrust Marion's happiness so gladly and heartily. I own that it is a surprise to me, as well as to her mother, but we are both delighted at the choice she has made." By this time Marion and her mother had gone indoors together. Wilfrid had not yet spoken, his surprise was still too great for words. "Well, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said, turning to him, "I hope your disapproval of Marion's conduct on this occasion is not so great as it was when you were talking to me yesterday." "I hardly know what to say yet, you have taken me so by surprise; but I am awfully glad--you know that, don't you? There is no one in the world I should like Marion to marry so much, only somehow it never occurred to me." "That is natural enough, Wilfrid. However, now that it has occurred to you, and you approve of it, we must hope that Marion will be restored to your good graces again." "I have been making an ass of myself," Wilfrid said penitently; "but you believe that I am awfully glad, don't you? I was disappointed about Bob, but then, you see, I never thought about you. Why, you must know, Mr. Atherton, what I think of you and how I care for you, and how I look up to you. Somehow it never seemed possible to me that a man like you could fall in love." "And much more improbable still, Wilfrid, that your sister would fall in love with me. I understand you, lad. We have been very close friends for the last three years, haven't we? I have been something like a very big and very old brother to you, and now we are going to be brothers in earnest;" and their hands closed in a grip that spoke volumes for the sincerity and depth of their feelings. Then Wilfrid ran into the house and threw his arms round his sister. "I have been an awful fool, Marion," he said; "but you see, I never dreamt of this." "And you are really pleased, Wilfrid?" "Pleased! I am delighted. Why, you know, I think he is the finest fellow in the world; and has he not done everything for us, and stood by me and nursed me, and carried me for miles, and saved mother's life and mine? But it never entered my mind that you had fallen in love with each other." "I do not know why it shouldn't, Wilfrid. Why shouldn't I think as much of him as you do?" "I do not know, I am sure, Marion; but I confess I never did think of it. Did you, mother?" "Once or twice, Wilfrid. About a year ago it did cross my mind once or twice, but that was all. They say mothers are keen-sighted as far as their daughters are concerned; but either I am less keen-sighted than mothers in general, or Marion is deeper than other girls." "Well, mother, we shall have lots of time to talk this over," Wilfrid said. "Dinner has been waiting nearly an hour, and even this wonderful business cannot have taken away all our appetites. Everything is ready; shall I call them in?" Wilfrid had, however, still a few minutes to wait, for the two men were engaged in earnest conversation outside. When they came in at last Mr. Renshaw kissed his daughter fondly. "God bless you, my child!" he said. "You have made a wise choice indeed, and I am sure that you will be a very happy woman." It was a quiet meal, for all were too happy to talk much. After it was over the two men strolled out together and renewed their conversation, and Mr. Renshaw presently called to his wife to join them. Marion had gone to her room, and Wilfrid was about to start to the other end of the farm when Mr. Atherton called him. "Come and join our consultation, Wilfrid. You are as much concerned in it as any of us, and I rely upon your assistance to bring round these two very obstinate people to my side of the question. I should say our side, for of course Marion is one with me in the matter. You see, I am a rich man, Wilfrid--really a rich man, and I naturally wish that Marion should be made as happy as possible. I do not think she would be as happy as possible if she were in England with me, with a nice place in the country, and a town-house, and most things that money could bring her, if she knew that her father and mother were out here living a life which, although they have admirably adapted themselves to it, is yet very different to that to which they have been all their lives accustomed. "Now, owing to this absurd freak of my aunt in making me her heir when my income was already five times as much as I could spend, I have the nuisance of a large landed estate on my hands. There is a large house upon it which I suppose Marion and I will have to occupy occasionally; and there is another house, which is known as the dower house, and which is a very snug and comfortable abode. Now, it is quite clear that I am the last sort of man to look after an estate. It would worry me most out of my mind, and would be a perpetual annoyance. "What I propose is that your father and mother shall come home and take possession of the dower house, and that your father should act as my agent. Living on the spot, he would be able to keep an eye on the tenants, receive rents, and that sort of thing, and still be able to devote a considerable portion of his time to his favourite pursuits. I should have the advantage of having an agent I could absolutely rely upon, and Marion and I would have the comfort of having her father and mother close at hand. It would be a little lonely for you for a bit, Wilfrid; but you are nearly nineteen now, and will, unless I am mistaken, ere many years have passed be bringing a mistress to The Glade. I fancy you go over to Mitford's a good deal oftener than there is any absolute occasion for, and although Kate is only sixteen yet, I have a shrewd suspicion that you have both pretty well made up your minds about the future." Wilfrid coloured and laughed. "I don't know that we are as far advanced as that; but I do hope that some day it may be as you say. But about this other affair. What do my father and mother say? It seems to me it would be a splendid arrangement." "Of course it would, Wilfrid; a splendid arrangement, for Marion and me especially. That is what I am trying to persuade them; but your mother has developed quite a new line of obstinacy, and your father is just as bad." "Don't you see, Wilfrid," Mrs. Renshaw said with tears in her eyes, "it is only an excuse on Mr. Atherton's--" "Harry, my dear madam, Harry," Mr. Atherton interrupted. "We have arranged it is to be Harry in future." "On Harry's part," Mrs. Renshaw went on, "to provide an income for us." "But I have got to provide an income for someone," Mr. Atherton said. "There must be an agent to look after the property for me; necessarily that agent must have a salary; and why in the name of good sense should not your husband be that agent as well as anyone else?" "But you are offering a great deal too high a salary," Mr. Renshaw urged. "You could get an excellent agent for less than half the sum you are talking about." "Not at all," Mr. Atherton replied; "I must have a gentleman, both for my own sake and that of the tenants, and to get a gentleman of high character and perfectly trustworthy, I must necessarily pay him a good salary. I shall be a good deal in town, and my representative must therefore be able to occupy a good position in the county; besides, as I have told you, my income now, with this absurd addition, amounts to something like six thousand a year. Why, in the name of goodness, should I not be allowed, if I choose, to pay two or three hundred a year over market price to my agent when it will afford my wife the gratification of having her parents near her, and me the pleasure of having two dear friends as my next neighbours. Besides, The Glade will not be a bit too large for you when you marry, Wilfrid, and in that case either you will have to start in a fresh place and begin all your work over again, or your father would have to turn out to make room for you. I consider it preposterous. What do you say, Wilfrid?" "I do think it would be a splendid arrangement, mother," Wilfrid answered. "You know well enough that I shall be very sorry to lose you and father; but it would be awfully nice for Marion, and I do think that though, as Mr. Atherton says, you and father have fallen in splendidly with your life here, the other would be in every way better suited to you. I can understand your feelings in the matter; but the same time I think that after Mr. Atherton having saved your life and mine, his feelings and wishes should influence you very much." "If you hesitate any longer," Mr. Atherton said, "I shall go in and fetch Marion out. I have not told her about my plan yet, for in fact we had other things to talk about; but when I tell her, and she adds her voice to ours, I am sure you will not be able to refuse any longer." Mrs. Renshaw exchanged a look with her husband. "It is not necessary," she said in a broken voice. "We accept, Harry." "That is right," Mr. Atherton said as he wrung Mr. Renshaw's hand warmly, and then affectionately kissed Mrs. Renshaw. "Now we are going to be a very happy and united family. Now, go in and tell Marion." "Tell her yourself," Mrs. Renshaw smiled, wiping her eyes; and Mr. Atherton took his way to the house. Marion was indeed delighted with the news. The thought of leaving her mother and father behind had been the one drawback to her happiness. She had been her mother's right hand and her father's companion. She had thought how terribly they would miss her, and how, as years went on, they would, far more than now, feel the difference between their present life and that they had formerly led. The news that they would be always near her and settled in a comfortable home filled her with delight. A few minutes after Mr. Atherton entered the house she ran out to her father and mother and threw her arms fondly around them. "Is it not happiness, mother," she cried, "to think that we shall still be together?" "If you are not a happy woman, child, it will be your own fault," her father said. "I consider you a marvellously lucky girl." "As if I did not know that!" she replied, laughing through her tears. Mr. Atherton did not sail quite so soon as he had intended. A church had recently been erected at the central settlement, and a clergyman established there, and a month after matters were settled between him and Marion their wedding was celebrated, almost every settler on the Mohaka being present. The newly-married couple returned to The Glade for a week, Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw and Wilfrid remaining as the guests of Mr. Mitford. At the end of that time they returned, and with Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw sailed for Napier, where they took ship for England. "What would you have done if I had sailed away for England without ever mustering up courage to speak to you, Marion?" Mr. Atherton said as he stood by the bulwark with her that evening taking their last look at New Zealand. "I should not have let you go, sir," his wife said saucily; "didn't I know that you cared for me, and had I not refused all sorts of offers for your sake? I don't know what I should have done, or what I should have said, but I am quite sure I should not have let you go unless I found that I had been making a mistake all along. It would have been ridiculous indeed to have sacrificed the happiness of two lives merely because you had some absurd ideas about your age." "I never thought you cared for me, Marion, never." "That is because you never took the trouble to find out," his wife retorted. "Men are foolish creatures sometimes, even the wisest of them." Marion Atherton's life was one of almost perfect happiness. Mr. Atherton entirely gave up his wanderings abroad, and by dint of devotion to racquets and tennis in summer, and of hunting and shooting in winter, he kept down his tendency towards corpulence. He was an energetic magistrate, and one of the most popular men in the county. Mr. Renshaw resumed his former studies in archæology, but they were now the amusement instead of being the object of his life, and he made an excellent agent to his son-in-law. Standing in the relation he did to Mr. and Mrs. Atherton, he and Mrs. Renshaw shared in their popularity, and occupied a good position in the county. Three years after their return to England they received the news that Kate Mitford had changed her name, and was installed as mistress at The Glade. Every five years Wilfrid and his wife, and as time went on his family, paid a visit to England. He became one of the leading men of the colony. A few years after his marriage Mr. and Mrs. Mitford had returned to England for good, and James Allen and Wilfrid succeeded to his business as a trader, and carried it on with energy and success, Mr. Atherton advancing Wilfrid sufficient capital to enable them to extend their business largely. In time The Glade became Wilfrid's summer residence only, the head-quarters of the firm being established at Napier. It is now conducted by his sons, he himself having returned home with his wife and daughters with a fortune amply sufficient to enable them to live at ease. Marion was pleased when, two years after her arrival in England, she heard from Wilfrid that Bob Allen had married the daughter of an officer settled on the Mohaka. The Grimstones both did well, and became prosperous farmers. Jack remained in Wilfrid's service until he left the colony, and is now a trusted agent of his sons in their dealings with the natives. * * * * * PRINTED AND BOUND IN GREAT BRITAIN _By Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_ 
18932	----	1925. NEW ZEALAND. MENTAL DEFECTIVES AND SEXUAL OFFENDERS. REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF INQUIRY APPOINTED BY THE HON. SIR MAUI POMARE, K.B.E., C.M.G., MINISTER OF HEALTH. * * * * * _Laid on the Table of the House of Representatives by Leave._ * * * * * CONSTITUTION OF THE COMMITTEE. HON. W. H. TRIGGS, M.L.C., Chairman. SIR DONALD MCGAVIN, Kt., C.M.G., D.S.O., M.D. (Lond.), F.R.C.S. (Eng.), Director-General of Medical Services, Defence Department. SIR FREDERICK TRUBY KING, Kt., C.M.G., M.B., B.Sc. (Public Health) (Edin.), Director Division of Child Welfare, Department of Health. J. SANDS ELLIOTT, Esq., M.D., Bac. Surg. (Edin.), Chairman of the Council of the N.Z. Branch of the British Medical Association. MISS ADA G. PATERSON, M.B., Ch.B. (N.Z.), L.M. (Dublin), Director Division of School Hygiene, Department of Health. C. E. MATTHEWS, Esq., Under-Secretary for Justice and Controller-General of Prisons, &c. J. BECK, Esq., Officer in Charge Special Schools Branch, Education Department. Secretary: J. W. BUCHANAN, Esq. * * * * * CONTENTS. PART I.--INTRODUCTORY AND HISTORICAL. PAGE Section 1.--=Origin and Scope of Inquiry=: Mental Deficiency, Increase of; North Canterbury Hospital Board and others suggest Inquiry; Committee, Personnel; Nature of Inquiry; Places visited and inspected; Sittings, Date and Place of; Witnesses examined, and Work done; Appreciation of Services rendered; Value of Memoranda supplied by Sir George Newman, Secretary of State for the United States, Dr. E. S. Morris (Tasmania), Dr. Helen MacMurchy (Ottawa), and Dr. Eric Clarke (Toronto); Secretarial Services 2 Section 2.--=Two Distinct Questions=: Mental Defectives and Sexual Perverts, Comments on 5 PART II.--PROBLEM OF THE FEEBLE-MINDED. Section 1.--=A Menace to Modern Civilization=: Feeble-minded, Danger of Unrestricted Multiplication; Lothrop Stoddart's Views; American Army, Psychological Test of; Results and Deductions 5 Section 2.--=Heredity= _v._ =Environment=: Genetics and Heredity; Heredity and Environment, Aspects reviewed; Degenerate Families, Life-histories; Dr. Macgregor, Deductions from his Report; Degenerate Stocks imported, Effect of; Environmental Factor, Importance of; Pre-natal and Post-natal Care, Value of; Housing Problem; Relationship of Impaired Nutrition, Debility, and Disease to Impaired Control; Dietetics and Child Welfare; Picture-shows, Effect on Children, and Recommendations; Venereal Disease Committees' Report as to Effect of Syphilis, &c.; Director Division of School Hygiene, Attention drawn to Report; Excessive Competition, Effect on School-children 6 Section 3.--=Illustrative Cases of Hereditary Degeneracy=: Juke Family; Kallikak Family; New Zealand Cases cited; Sir Robert Stout's Comments 7 Section 4.--=Elements of the Problem=: Basic Phases, Registration, Educational Care and Training of Feeble-minded Children, Oversight and Supervision; Educational Curriculum for various Groups; Residential Schools; Farm and Industrial Colonies for Segregation 11 Section 5.--=Estimates as to Numbers of Mental Defectives=: Education Department Returns; Retardation, Problem of; Feeble-minded and Epileptic Cases, Return showing 12 Section 6.--=Study of Feeble-minded and Delinquent Children=: Methods employed in other Countries; United States of America; New Zealand; Need of Psychological Experts; Tredgold, Quotation from 14 Section 7.--=Method of dealing with Mental Defectives in New Zealand--Present Legal Provision for Notification and Education of Feeble-minded Children and for Care of Custodial Feeble-minded Adults and Children=: Education Act, 1914; Provision of; "Feeble-minded," Definition of; Mental Defectives Act, 1911; English Mental Deficiency Act; Public Schools, Special Classes; Epileptic Children, Education of; Otekaike and Richmond Special Schools; Nature of Institutions and Training, with Suggestions; Caversham Industrial School; Weraroa Boys' Training-farm; Committal, Nature of; Value of Home Life in Comparison with Institutional 14 Section 8.--=Children's Courts=: Committee's Recommendations; Clinics for Physical and Psychological Examination 17 Section 9.--=Policy for the Future=: Notification; English Commission, 1908, Basic Principles laid down; Register of Feeble-minded; Eugenics Board; Dr. Gray's Suggestions; Psychiatrists, Suggested Appointment; Eugenic Board, Proposed Duties and Powers; Departments to control Feeble-minded; Marriage and Carnal Knowledge with Feeble-minded; Parents' and Guardians' Responsibilities 17 Section 10.--=The Question of Sterilization=: Operations, Nature of; X-rays, Use of; American Laws; Dr. H. Laughlin, Chicago, Views; Central Association for Mental Welfare of Great Britain, Opinion on Sterilization; Evidence in support of Sterilization; Committee's Opinion and Recommendation; Eugenic Board's Powers 19 Section 11.--=Segregation= 21 Section 12.--=The Question of Expense=: Cost to State for Want of Supervision, Case cited; Humanitarian and National Aspects 21 Section 13.--=Immigration=: Introduction of Feeble-minded and Undesirables from Overseas; Medical Inspection of Intending Immigrants; System in Force; Committee's Suggestions; Ordinary Passengers from Overseas, Medical Supervision of; "Prohibited Immigrants," Definition of 22 Section 14.--=Summary of Findings and Recommendations= 23 PART III.--SEXUAL OFFENDERS. Section 1.--=Scope and Origin of the Inquiry=: Prisons Board, Resolution passed; Medical and Surgical Reports; Indeterminate Sentence; Segregation 24 Section 2.--=Seriousness of the Evil=: Sexual Offenders, Numbers serving Sentence; Government Statistician's Return of Persons sentenced 25 Section 3.--=Types of Offences=: Sexual Offences; Various Classes, with Comments on; Types found in Prisons; Inspector of Prisons' Opinion; Sexual Perverts, Cure of 25 Section 4.--=Suggested Remedies=: Corporal Punishment; Inspector-General of Mental Hospitals' Recommendations; =Sterilization and Desexualization=; Castration; Sterilization; British Medical Association, N.Z., Motion passed; Vasectomy and Castration; Committee's Recommendation 26 Section 5.--=Scientific Treatment and Segregation with Indeterminate Sentence=: Medical Examination; Indeterminate Sentence; Women and Children, Protection of; Mr. Hawkins's Evidence on Control of Sexual Perverts 27 Section 6.--=Summary of Recommendations=: Crimes Act; Prisons Board, Powers of; Psychiatrist, Appointment and Duties; Eugenic Board, Power to advise Prisons Board; Sterilization; =Concluding Remarks= 27 APPENDIX.--=Past Mistakes in Immigration=: Extract from Report on Hospitals and Charitable Institutions of the Colony, 1888, by the late Dr. Macgregor, Inspector-General. =The Health of School Children=: Extract from the Report of the Director of the Division of School Hygiene, 1924. =Return showing Sexual Offenders= serving Sentence in New Zealand Prisons, 1924. =Table showing the Number of Sexual Offenders sentenced under respective Headings in New Zealand Prisons. Some Illustrative Histories= 29 * * * * * The Hon. the Minister of Health, Wellington. SIR,-- The Committee of Inquiry into Mental Defectives and Sexual Offenders appointed by you to inquire into and report upon the necessity for special care and treatment of mental defectives and sexual offenders in New Zealand have the honour to submit herewith their report. PART I.--INTRODUCTORY AND HISTORICAL. SECTION 1.--ORIGIN AND SCOPE OF INQUIRY. For a considerable time there has been a growing feeling of anxiety among the public owing to the number of mental defectives becoming a charge upon the State, and also the alarming increase in their numbers through the uncontrolled fecundity of this class. Furthermore, owing to the frequency of sexual offences, many of a most revolting character, there was a strong demand that some action should be taken to prevent further acts of this nature; it being suggested that the law should be altered to make it possible for surgical operations to be performed upon these offenders. The North Canterbury Hospital Board considered the need for action in this matter so great that they set up a Committee to go into the question and take evidence, which was done, and various recommendations were made to the Government. A perusal of departmental files reveals that many persons and social bodies have urged upon the Government the desirability of setting up a Committee or Commission of Inquiry to go into this subject. The Minister of Health duly considered the representations made, and appointed the following Committee to inquire into the question:-- The Hon. W. H. Triggs, M.L.C. (Chairman). Sir Donald McGavin, Kt., C.M.G., D.S.O., M.D. (Lond.), F.R.C.S. (Eng.). Sir F. Truby King, Kt., C.M.G., M.B., B.Sc. (Public Health) (Edin.). J. Sands Elliott, Esq., M.D., Bac. Surg. (Edin.), Chairman of the Council of the British Medical Association (New Zealand Branch). Miss Ada G. Paterson, M.B., Ch.B. (N.Z.), L.M. (Dublin). C. E. Matthews, Esq., Under-Secretary for Justice and Controller-General of Prisons, &c. J. Beck, Esq., Officer in Charge, Special Schools Branch, Education Department. The function and duty laid upon the Committee was as follows:-- (1.) To inquire and report as to the necessity for special care and treatment of the feeble-minded and subnormal, and to propose the general means by which such care and treatment, if any, should be provided. (2.) To inquire and report as to the necessity for the treatment of mental degenerates and persons charged with sexual offences, and to recommend forms of treatment for the various types of cases. The Minister of Health expressed his desire that the Committee should hear such evidence and representations on the above-mentioned matters as might be necessary fully to inform the Committee on the questions referred to it, and further suggested to the Committee that the various organizations and persons likely to be interested should be notified that the Committee would, at a certain place and date, hear any evidence they might desire to tender. The following places were visited and inspected by the Committee: The Myers Special School, Auckland; the Waikeria Prison Reformatory; the Tokanui Mental Hospital, Waikeria; the New Plymouth Prison; the Boys' Training-farm, Weraroa; the Point Halswell Reformatory for Women, Wellington; the Special School for Girls, Richmond, Nelson; the Mental Hospital, Nelson; the Mental Hospital, Stoke, Nelson; the Te Oranga Home, Burwood, Christchurch; the Paparua Prison, Templeton; the Special School for Boys, Otekaike; the Caversham Industrial Home for Girls, Dunedin; the Borstal Institution, Invercargill. Sittings were held at various centres in New Zealand, and a large number of witnesses were examined, as shown in the following table:-- -------------------------+------------------------------------------ Places and Dates of | Sittings. | Witnesses examined or Work done. -------------------------+------------------------------------------ Wellington, 23rd May, |Preliminary meeting. 1924. (Forenoon only) | Wellington, 30th May, |Dr. Clark, School Medical Officer, Napier. 1924. (Forenoon only) |Mr. J. Caughley, M.A., Director of Education. |Professor J. Tennant, Professor of Education, | Victoria College. Wellington, 2nd June, |Mr. N. R. McKenzie, Inspector of Schools, 1924. (Forenoon only) | Education Department. |Miss N. Valentine, Education Department. |Miss Barlow, Education Department. |Dr. Elizabeth Gunn, School Medical Officer, | Wanganui. Wellington, 4th June, |Mrs. McHugh, Health Patrol, Wellington. 1924. (Afternoon only) |Father McGrath, representing His Grace the | Archbishop of the Roman Catholic Church. |Mr. T. P. Mills, Superintendent, Presbyterian | Orphanage and Probation Officer. |Dr. Jeffreys, Medical Superintendent, Porirua | Mental Hospital. Auckland, 11th June, |Dr. Hilda Northcroft } Representing the 1924. |Dr. Kenneth MacKenzie } British Medical |Dr. E. Roberton } Association, | } Auckland Branch. |Dr. Mildred Staley. |Dr. J. R. Macredy, School Medical Officer, | Auckland. |Canon F. W. Young, Council of Christian | Churches, Auckland. |Dr. Fitt, Professor of Education, Auckland | University. |Mrs. Nicoll. |Mrs. Watson. Auckland, 12th June, |Dr. Milsom, representing the British Medical 1924. | Association, Auckland Branch. |Professor Anderson, Professor of Moral and | Mental Philosophy, Auckland University. |Mr. J. Cupit, Juvenile Probation Officer. |Mr. W. E. A. Gibbs. |Professor Sperrin-Johnson, Professor of | Biology, Auckland University. |Mr. H. Binstead, Lecturer on Psychology, | Training School, Auckland. |Rev. Jasper Calder. |Mr. W. S. J. Dales. |Dr. Wilkie, School Medical Officer, Auckland. Auckland, 13th June, |Sister Hannah, representing the National 1924. | Council of Women. |Miss M. Girdler, St. Mary's Home, Otahuhu. |Mr. C. W. Carter. |Rev. T. K. Jeffreys, Presbyterian Social | Service Association. |Mr. J. W. Poynton, S.M. |Mr. N. Law, Headmaster, Normal School. |Dr. Beattie, Medical Superintendent, | Auckland Mental Hospital. |Dr. D. N. Murray, Prison Medical Officer. |Visit of Inspection to the Myers Special | School, Queen Street, Auckland. Hamilton, 14th June, |Dr. Douglas. 1924. |Dr. F. S. Pinfold. |Mr. Phillip Goodwin, Juvenile Probation | Officer. Waikeria Reformatory, |Dr. H. L. Gribben, Superintendent, Waikeria 15th June, 1924. | Reformatory, and Medical Superintendent of | the Tokanui Mental Hospital. |Dr. MacPherson, Tokanui Mental Hospital. |Visit of inspection paid to Waikeria | Reformatory and Tokanui Mental Hospital. New Plymouth, |Miss Tootell, Boarding-out Officer, Wanganui. 25th June, 1924. |Dr. R. C. Brewster, Gaol Surgeon, New | Plymouth. |Mr. E. T. Holden, Secretary, New Plymouth | Hospital Board. |Visit paid to New Plymouth Prison. Otekaike, 2nd July, |Miss Wylie, Head Teacher of Special School. 1924. |Mr. William Meikleham, Manager of Special | School. |Visit paid to Special School for Boys and | Farm at Otekaike. Dunedin, 3rd July, |Mrs. Joan Murray, representing Society for 1924. | Protection of Women and Children. |Dr. E. Irwin, School Medical Officer. |Mr. J. Lock, Juvenile Probation Officer. |Dr. A. M. McKillop, Superintendent, Mental | Hospital, Seacliff. |Dr. A. R. Falconer, Medical Superintendent, | Dunedin Hospital. |Mr. G. M. Galloway, representing the Society | for Protection of Women and Children. Invercargill, 4th July, |Mr. M. Hawkins, Inspector of the Prisons 1924. | Department and Superintendent of the | Borstal Institution. |Mr. McCarroll, Juvenile Probation Officer, | Education Department. |Mr. Pryde, Secretary of the Hospital Board. |Mr. McLean, Hon. Secretary of the Prisoners | Aid Society. |Visit of inspection paid to Borstal | Institution and Farm. Dunedin, 5th July, 1924. |Visit of inspection paid to Caversham | Industrial School for Girls. Dunedin, 7th July, 1924. |Dr. Marshall McDonald } Representing the |Dr. Kenneth Ross } British Medical | } Association, | } Dunedin Branch. |Miss Ralston, Inspector of Industrial and | Special Schools. |Dr. Stuart Moore. |Mr. A. M. Paterson. Christchurch, 9th July, |Dr. F. V. Bevan-Brown, representing the 1924. | British Medical Association, Christchurch | Branch. |Dr. C. L. Nedwill, Prison Medical Officer. |Miss Cardale, representing the National | Council of Women. |Dr. A. C. Thomson, representing the British | Medical Association. |Rev. P. Revell, Secretary, Prison Gate | Mission. |Mrs. Herbert. |Miss Hunt, Superintendent, Addington | Reformatory. |Mr. J. A. Blank, Attendance Officer, | Education Department. |Miss Baughan, Official Visitor to the | Addington Reformatory. Christchurch, 10th July, |Dr. Crosbie, Medical Superintendent, 1924. | Mental Hospital. |Dr. Levinge. |Mr. Gumming, Juvenile Probation Officer, | Timaru. |Mr. William Reece, member of the Prisons | Board. |Professor Chilton, Professor of Biology, | Canterbury College. |Mr. C. T. Aschman, Headmaster, Normal School. |Miss Howlett, representing the National | Council of Women and Women's Christian | Temperance Union. |Miss Edwards, Manager of the Receiving Home, | Christchurch. |The Hon. G. W. Russell. |Visit of inspection paid to Te Oranga Home, | Burwood. Christchurch, 11th July, |Dr. Phillipps, School Medical Officer. 1924. |Professor Shelley, Professor of Education, | Canterbury College. |Mr. A. Bissett, Juvenile Probation Officer, | Christchurch. |Visit of inspection paid to Paparua Prison, | Templeton. Wellington, 15th July, |Colonel Bray, Secretary, Men's Department, 1924. (Forenoon only) | Social Service Work, Salvation Army. |Canon T. Feilden Taylor, Social Service | Department of Church of England. |Professor Kirk, Professor of Biology, | Victoria College. |Mr. F. S. Shell, Juvenile Probation Officer. Wellington, 16th July, |Dr. E. Fenwick, representing the British 1924. (Forenoon only) | Medical Association, Wellington Branch. |Mrs. Brigadier Glover, Salvation Army Prison | Officer and Probation Officer. |Miss Jean Begg. |Mr. R. W. Bligh, White Cross League | representative. Wellington, 24th July, |Visit of inspection to Point Halswell 1924. | Reformatory, Wellington. Levin, 5th August, 1924. |Visit of inspection to Boys' Training Farm, | Weraroa. Nelson, 22nd August, |Dr. Gray, Superintendent, Mental Hospital, 1924. | Nelson. |Visit of inspection to Special School for | Girls, Richmond. |Visit of inspection to Mental Hospital, | Stoke. |Visit of inspection to Mental Hospital, | Nelson. Wellington, 9th |Consideration of report. September, 1924. | (Forenoon only) | 12th September, 1924. | " 15th September, 1924. | " (Afternoon only) | 16th September, 1924. | " (Afternoon only) | 22nd September, 1924. | " (Afternoon only) | 6th October, 1924. | " (Forenoon only) | 13th October, 1924. | " (Forenoon only) | 22nd October, 1924. | " (Forenoon only) | 24th October, 1924. | " 28th October, 1924. | " (Forenoon only) | 29th October, 1924. | " (Forenoon only) | 5th November, 1924. | " (Forenoon only) | It will thus be seen that, apart from time spent in travelling, the Committee have met on thirty-five days and have heard ninety-two witnesses in person. The Committee would like to express their thanks to the witnesses, many of whom went to considerable trouble to collect information and prepare evidence. They are especially grateful to the British Medical Association for its willing co-operation and assistance; to the large number of members of the medical profession throughout the Dominion who responded to the Committee's request for information; to the authorities overseas for their response to requests for information; and to many other persons who by means of correspondence and literature have placed at the Committee's disposal a large amount of information which has been of material assistance in the investigation; also to the various Hospital Boards throughout the Dominion who so willingly placed their Boardrooms at the disposal of the Committee. Sir George Newman, the Chief Medical Officer of the Board of Education and the Ministry of Health, England, very courteously supplied the Committee with a valuable memorandum on the care of mental defectives in England and Wales, while the Secretary of State for the United States, through the good offices of the American Consul-General, Mr. Edwin N. Gunsaulus, kindly forwarded information supplied by the United States Public Health Service regarding the legislation and regulations in force in various States where sterilization for eugenical purposes has been legalized. Information of great value and interest has also been received from Dr. E. S. Morris, Director of Health, Tasmania; from Dr. Helen MacMurchy, Department of Health, Ottawa; and from Dr. Eric Clarke, Toronto, Assistant Medical Director, Canadian National Conference for Mental Hygiene. The Committee further wish to make special mention of the services rendered by the Secretary, Mr. J. W. Buchanan, whose work has been very heavy owing to the number of witnesses examined and the extent of ground covered in a comparatively short time. This would not have been possible but for the complete arrangements made by Mr. Buchanan, and the ability and energy which he showed generally in the discharge of his duties left nothing to be desired. SECTION 2.--TWO DISTINCT QUESTIONS. Before proceeding to the subject-matter of the Committee's investigations and the conclusions arrived at it is necessary to point out as clearly and emphatically as possible that the questions submitted to the Committee were entirely separate and distinct from each other. It is true that a certain proportion of mental defectives show their lack of self-control in regard to sex instincts and functions as in other respects. This is particularly the case with mentally defective girls, and constitutes one of the chief difficulties in dealing with them satisfactorily. Some of this class find their way into prison on account of sexual offences, but it is very far from correct to suppose that all feeble-minded persons are sexual offenders, or that all sexual offenders are mentally defective. On the contrary, among sexual offenders of the worst type, those convicted of unnatural offences, are occasionally found to be persons possessing intellectual and artistic powers above the average. There is something wrong in their mental, moral, and emotional balance, as will be pointed out in the proper place, but, as a rule, it is not the "intelligence quotient" which is at fault. PART II.--PROBLEM OF THE FEEBLE-MINDED. SECTION 1.--A MENACE TO MODERN CIVILIZATION. The Committee are of opinion that the unrestricted multiplication of feeble-minded members of the community is a most serious menace to the future welfare and happiness of the Dominion, and it is of the utmost importance that some means of meeting the peril should be adopted without delay. The position is the more serious because, while the feeble-minded are extraordinarily prolific, there is a growing tendency among the more intellectual classes for the birth-rate to become restricted. An American writer, Lothrop Stoddart, in his striking book entitled "Revolt against Civilization," expresses the fear that the very foundations of civilization are being undermined. He finds reasons for great pessimism as regards the future in the results of the intelligence tests taken in the American Army during the war. The American War Department made psychological tests of 1,700,000 officers and men, who were graded as follows:-- Grade. Percentage. Mental Age. A 4½ 18-19 Very superior intelligence. B 9 16-17 Superior intelligence. C1 16½ 15 Average intelligence. (Rarely capable of finishing high-school course.) C-- 25 13-14 Low average intelligence. D 15 11 Inferior intelligence. D-- 10 10 Very inferior intelligence. Assuming that these 1,700,000 men are a fair sample of the entire population of 100,000,000 (and Stoddart says there is every reason to believe that it is a fair sample), this means that the average mental age of Americans is only about fourteen; that 45,000,000, or nearly one-half of the whole population, will never develop mental capacity beyond the stage represented by a normal twelve-year-old child; that only 13,500,000 will ever show superior intelligence; and that only 4,500,000 can be considered "talented." "Still more alarming," the author continues, "is the prospect of the future. The overwhelming weight of evidence indicates that the A and B elements in America are barely reproducing themselves, while the other elements are increasing at rates proportionate to their decreasing intellectual capacity; in other words, that intelligence is to-day being steadily bred out of the American population." The biologist Davenport calculated that at present rates of reproduction 1,000 Harvard graduates of to-day would have only fifty descendants two centuries hence, whereas 1,000 Roumanians to-day in Boston, at their present rate of breeding, would have 100,000 descendants in the same space of time. Mr. Lothrop Stoddart emphatically scouts the view which is occasionally put forward to the effect that genius is a form of insanity, and that therefore one ought to be careful about discouraging the marriage even of epileptics and mentally unbalanced persons for fear a possible Napoleon or Julius Cæsar or Beethoven should be lost to the world. "Careful scientific investigation," he says, "has clearly disproved this notion. For one thing, elaborate statistical studies of eminent persons have shown them to be less liable to insanity than the general population. Of course, a considerable number of eminent men can be listed who unquestionably suffered from various neuropathic traits. But it was not those traits that made them eminent; on the contrary, these were handicaps. Somewhere back in their ancestry a taint was introduced into a sound superior strain, and produced this disharmonic combination of qualities." SECTION 2.--HEREDITY _V._ ENVIRONMENT. The Committee feel bound to refer to the great strides made during the last half-century towards establishing laws and theories of genetics and heredity. Unfortunately, terms such as the "integrity of the germ plasm" and "the Mendelian law," while marking great advances in biological thought and science, have become too much associated in the public mind with a depressing and fatalistic notion that heredity determines everything and that environment can play but a very insignificant part in human evolution, development, and progress--physical, mental, or moral. Such, of course, is not the case. In ultimate origin all evolution and all heredity are the outcome, summation, and expression of the effects of environmental influences, acting on the whole organism under certain laws of transmission. The laws of heredity, though as yet only partially determined, are already sufficiently ascertained to prove for practical purposes that, in order to promote integration and further progress in human evolution--not disintegration and degeneration--two things are essential and complementary. On the one hand, we must do everything possible in the direction of improving the nutrition, health, conditions of life, and habits of the community; and, on the other hand, we must promote and encourage parenthood on the part of the best and stablest stocks, and do everything in our power to discourage, or in the extreme cases even to prevent, proliferation of unfit and degenerate strains. For the purpose of the present inquiry we need merely state as a practical preliminary regarding heredity that it has been proved beyond question that if two feeble-minded persons marry they will most probably produce abundant offspring, of whom all may be subnormal, and a large proportion will become a burden on the State; and that if one such person is mated with a healthy individual an undue proportion of their children are likely to prove degenerate or defective, and the unsoundness will continue to make its appearance in succeeding generations. While local evidence confirmatory of this came before the Committee, first place will be given to certain classic and exhaustive investigations and life-histories of degenerate families, going back many generations, such as no young country could possibly supply. However, the forcible and far-sighted report of the late Dr. Duncan Macgregor (originally Professor of Mental Science at Otago University, and subsequently Inspector-General of Asylums, Hospitals, and Charitable Aid), quoted in the Appendix, shows clearly that some very degenerate stocks imported into this country under the active immigration policy of the "seventies" and "eighties" were already threatening, thirty-five years ago, to become a serious tax on the country, as well as tending to lower the high physical, mental, and moral standard established by the original pioneers and settlers. We shall now revert for the moment to the environmental factor. The first most pressing and immediate practical duty of the Government and the community is to spare no pains to improve the status and environment of the family so as to promote the highest attainable standard of physical, mental, and moral health for the new generation--already in our midst or bound to arrive in the course of the next few years. It is becoming more and more widely recognized that by due attention to the pre-natal and post-natal care of mother and child an infinity of good can be done--indeed, a great deal is already under way in this direction throughout the Dominion. But the Committee are satisfied that much more ought to be done to ensure for children of the pre-school and school ages more generally favourable home conditions, and healthier environment and habits outside the home. In the meantime it is obvious that very little can be effected in the way of bettering the average heredity; but are we taking adequate measures in the direction of improving the environment of mother and child? The housing problem is still far from satisfactory; help in the home can scarcely be procured, and the rearing and care of children throughout the pre-school and school periods, in a large proportion of cases, is neither conducive to a high standard of nutrition, growth, and moral development, nor to the establishment of normal self-control, especially as regards sexual habits and manifestations. The Committee cannot ignore the fact that the leading medical and psychological authorities lay it down as an axiom that the power of self-control is at its highest when the individual is physically active, well-nourished, and in perfect bodily health, and that impaired control always accompanies impaired nutrition, debility, and disease. It has been said, with profound wisdom and insight, that ultimately and fundamentally reproduction should be regarded as essentially "an exuberant phase of nutrition"; and there is no escaping the wide implication of Schiller's aphorism that "Love and Hunger rule the World." In view of these considerations the Committee feel compelled to refer to such serious handicaps to all-round health, control, and efficiency as the prevalence of wrong feeding habits--_e.g._, giving children food between meals and the insufficient provision of fresh fruit and vegetables in the daily diet and the abuse of sweets. Other prominent and avoidable handicaps, seriously affecting many children throughout the Dominion, which ought to receive more serious attention are insufficiency of sunlight and fresh air in the home and at school, insufficient daily outing and exercise, lack of adequate provision in the way of playgrounds and swimming-baths, and last, but not least, the highly injurious practice of frequenting "picture-shows." As the Committee are called on to deal specially with the problem of increasing manifestations of sexual depravity they cannot pass by the fact that in the course of the last twenty years the younger members of the community have been spending a steadily increasing proportion of their time, during the most impressionable period of life, in what are liable to prove forcing-houses of sexual precocity and criminal tendencies. There is every reason for regarding the habit of "going to the pictures" without adequate restrictions as contributing seriously to precocious sexuality, and also to weakening the powers of inhibition and self-control in other directions--powers which are the distinctive attributes of the higher human being. Alongside these considerations, the bodily harm done to the young by frequently spending their afternoons and evenings in hot, stuffy, overcrowded halls shrinks into insignificance, though serious enough in itself. The Committee endorses the opinions expressed by Education authorities, and by practically every organization throughout the Dominion concerned with the welfare of children, upon the harmful effect of moving-picture shows as at present conducted. The Committee sympathizes with proposals for reform along the following lines:-- (1.) Stricter censorship, not only of films, but of picture posters, handbills, and advertisements. (2.) Regulations as to the age of admission for children when unaccompanied by a responsible adult, and to such pictures as are not pronounced by the Censor as suitable for children. (3.) Proper safeguards for the morals of children and young persons within picture-theatres, including adequate supervision of the premises. The Committee desire it to be clearly understood that in this report they have not particularly dealt with mental disabilities resulting from diseases such as syphilis, or toxic influences such as alcohol, drugs, &c. These questions have already been covered to some extent by the Report of the Venereal Diseases Committee, and in any case would involve too wide a field of investigation for the present inquiry. An authoritative summary taken from this year's report of the Director of the Division of School Hygiene is quoted in the Appendix as pointing out most of the faults and mistakes in environment and upbringing to which reference has been made, and because it draws special and much-needed attention to the injurious effects of overwork and excessive competition and the need for more sleep and rest. We would merely add to this very clear, practical statement that encouragement of excessive competition, inside or outside the school, for any purpose whatsoever, is costly and damaging to the whole being, and that, in the opinion of the Committee, nothing needs to be impressed more strongly on parents and school-teachers than Froebel's injunction, "Give space and time and rest." SECTION 3.--ILLUSTRATIVE CASES OF HEREDITARY DEGENERACY. _The Juke Family._ To show the close relationship existing between the criminal and the psychopath the record of the so-called Juke family in America was compiled by R. L. Dugdale. The descendants of one morbid couple were traced through five generations. Whilst a small proportion were honest workers, the great majority were paupers, criminals, and prostitutes. Of 540 Jukes practically one-fifth were born out of wedlock, 37 were known to be syphilitic, 53 had been in poorhouses, 76 had been sentenced to prison, and of 229 women of marriageable age 128 were prostitutes. The economic damage inflicted upon the State of New York by the Jukes in seventy-five years was estimated at more than $1,300,000, to say nothing of diseases and other evil influences which they helped to spread. A more recent investigation shows that 2,820 people have been studied; 2,094 were of Juke blood and 726 of "X" blood married into the Juke family; of these, 366 were paupers, while 171 were criminals, and 10 lives have been sacrificed by murder. In school-work 62 did well, 288 did fairly, while 458 were retarded two or more years. It is known that 166 never attended school; the school data for the rest of the family were unobtainable. There were 282 intemperate and 277 harlots. The total cost to the State has been estimated at $2,093,685. _The Kallikak Family._ The history of the Kallikak family has been traced and fully described in detail by Dr. Goddard, and his study shows the hereditary nature and sociological bearings of feeble-mindedness. Martin Kallikak was a youthful soldier in the Revolutionary War. At a tavern frequented by the militia he met a feeble-minded girl by whom he became the father of a feeble-minded son. In 1912 there were 480 known direct descendants of this temporary union. It is known that 36 of these were illegitimates; that 33 were sexually immoral; that 24 were confirmed alcoholics; and that 8 kept houses of ill-fame. The explanation of so much immorality will be obvious when it is stated that of the 480 descendants 143 were known to be feeble-minded, and that many of the others were of questionable mentality. A few years after returning from the war this same Martin Kallikak married a respectable girl of good family. From this union 496 individuals have been traced in direct descent, and in this branch of the family there were no illegitimate children, no immoral women, and only one man who was sexually loose. There were no criminals, no keepers of houses of ill-fame, and only two confirmed alcoholics. Again the explanation is clear when it is stated that this branch of the family did not contain a single feeble-minded individual. It was made up of doctors, lawyers, judges, educators, traders, and landholders. _New Zealand Cases._ But it is not necessary to go to the records of older countries to find examples of this kind. Unfortunately, this young Dominion, whose history as a European settlement is comprised within the lifetime of its oldest inhabitants, is already reproducing some of the saddest problems of civilization which perplex the people of the Old World. We started with every advantage in the shape of a favourable climate and rich natural resources. The original settlers were, for the most part, men and women of sturdy determination, enterprising spirit, and strong physique. In the "seventies" a vigorous public-works policy was inaugurated, and great efforts were made to introduce fresh population, the result being that undoubtedly a great impetus was given to settlement, and the country was fairly started on the road to prosperity. But, unfortunately, it is now only too apparent that insufficient care was taken in the selection of immigrants. The following extract from a statement made to the Committee by Sir Robert Stout, Chief Justice, and President of the Prisons Board, illustrates this point: "The Prisons Board has sometimes brought before it several persons of one family who have offended against our laws, and in the experience I had in 1884 and 1885, when looking after our Hospitals and Charitable Aid Department in the General Government, I found that people obtaining charitable aid had done so for three generations; that is, grandfather, father or mother, and children were all obtaining aid from the Government because they were unable to maintain themselves. Some of the cases were traced, and it was found that the grandfathers, or grandparents, had been originally in poorhouses in the Homeland, and although they came to New Zealand and had greater opportunities than they had in their Homeland, yet their inability to provide for themselves continued." How serious the problem has already become will be seen from the following illustrative cases selected from a large number given in the evidence:-- _Case No. 1._ +--------------------------------+ | Father: | Mother: | | Weak-minded. | Weak-minded. | | | | +----------+----------+----------+ |Female, | |born 1906.| +----------+ |Female, | |born 1907.| +----------+ |Female, | |born 1908.| +----------+ |Female, | |born 1909.| +----------+ |Female, | |born 1911.| +----------+ |Male, | |born 1912.| +----------+ |Male, | |born 1913.| +----------+ |Male, | |born 1915.| +----------+ |Female, | |born 1916.| +----------+ All these children except one are feeble-minded, and when committed to the care of the State were found living under deplorable conditions. Most of these children will require lifelong control in an institution. The total cost of maintaining this family will be approximately £9,500. These children are cousins of another family under State control. There are four children, two of whom are simple-minded. The mother is feeble-minded, and the father died in a mental hospital. In this case the mothers of the children are sisters. _Case No. 2._ +----------------------------------+ | Father: | Mother: | | Feeble-minded. | Feeble-minded | | | and drunkard. | | | | +---------+-------------+----------+ |Female, | |illegitimate,| |born 1902. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1904. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1906. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1907. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1910. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1912. | +-------------+ |Female, | |born 1914. | +-------------+ |Female, | |born 1916. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1918. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1920. | +-------------+ |Male, | |born 1923. | +-------------+ All these children are feeble-minded and have been brought under State control shortly after birth. Some are now in mental hospitals and some in special schools. All these children are lifelong custodial cases. The cost to the State for maintenance is approximately £16,000, towards which amount the father has contributed but £6. _Case No. 3._ +----------------------------------------------------+ | Father: | Mother: | | Old-age pensioner in | Apparently weak mentally | | Home for Aged People. | and morally--at present | | | in reformatory home. | | | | +------------------+-------------------------+---------------------+ |1. Female. | Female, Female, Male, | All these children | | Prostitute | born born born | are illegitimate. | | residing with | 1908. 1911. 1913. | Reputed father a | | drunkard. | | drunkard and man of | | | Male, | bad character. | | | born 1915. | | +------------------+-------------------------+---------------------+ |2. Female. | Male, Male, Female, | All these children | | Prostitute and | born born born | are illegitimate. | | addicted to | 1907. 1910. 1912. | In most cases the | | drink. | | father is unknown. | | | Male, Female, | | | | born 1914. born 1917. | | +------------------+-------------------------+---------------------+ |3. Female. | Male, Male, | Both illegitimate. | | Immoral and | born 1911. born 1912. | Reputed fathers | | generally bad | | well-known bad | | character. | | characters. | | Inmate of | | | | private | | | | reformatory. | | | +------------------+-------------------------+---------------------+ |4. Female. | Female, Female, | Mother married a | | Indifferent, | born born | widower with three | | married | 1908. 1912. | children. There are | | criminal, now | | three more the | | in prison. | Female, born 1916. | result of marriage | | | | maintained by the | | | | State. | +------------------+-------------------------+---------------------+ |5. Female. | Female, Female, | All delicate | | Drunkard and | born born | neurotic types and | | married a | 1898. 1900. | difficult to | | drunkard | | manage. | | although man | Female, Female, | | | of good | born 1902. born 1905. | | | education. | | | | | Female, born 1908. | | +------------------+-------------------------+---------------------+ |6. Female. | Male, born 1910. | | | Well-known | | | | prostitute, | | | | married member | | | | of notorious | | | | criminal | | | | family, and | | | | himself | | | | criminal. | | | +------------------+-------------------------+---------------------+ All these children, numbering twenty-one, were committed to the care of the State, in most cases shortly after birth. Twelve of the children are illegitimate. The husband of daughter No. 6 is also the father of one each of the offspring of daughters Nos. 2 and 3. Most of the children are delicate and poorly developed, and at least six of them are definitely tubercular. The remainder are either neurotic or erratic in their conduct and have given a great deal of trouble in their upbringing. The total cost to the State for the maintenance of these children may be quoted at £10,000, but of this amount £482 has been recovered from the various men liable. It is difficult to assess the State's total commitment. If some of the children have to be maintained until they reach the age of twenty-one the additional cost will be £3,000. There is the probability, too, that the offspring of these children will become charges upon the State. _Case No. 4._ +--------------------+---------------------+ | Father: | Mother: | | Addicted to drink | Drunkard and | | and degenerate. | morally deficient. | | | | +------------------------------------+----------------+ | | Female, | | | born 1908. | | +----------------+ | | Male, | | | born 1909. | |All these children are illegitimate |Admitted special| |and are feeble-minded, requiring | school, 1920. | |lifelong control. Three are now +----------------+ |inmates of mental hospitals, and | Female, | |in time the remainder of the | born 1910. | |family at present in special +----------------+ |schools will be sent on to mental | Male, | |hospitals. | born 1914. | | +----------------+ | | Male, | | | born 1916. | | +----------------+ | | Female, | | | born 1917. | +------------------------------------+----------------+ | | Male, | | | born 1918. | |All probably feeble-minded. +----------------+ |Not yet brought under | Male, | |State control. | born 1920. | | +----------------+ | | Male, | | | born 1923. | +------------------------------------+----------------+ An officer of the Education Department describes the home as "one of the dirtiest and most squalid homes I have seen." The cost (including past, present, and approximate future maintenance) to the State for the upkeep of this family is estimated at £10,000. Nothing has been paid by the parents towards the support of these children. In all probability, the remaining members of the family will be brought under State control at a probable cost of £4,500. _Case No. 5._ +--------------------------------------------------+ | Father: | Mother: | | Drunken waster; | Feeble-minded helpless | | subnormal; | invalid. Died shortly | | frequently in gaol. | after children committed | | | to care of State. | | | | +--------------------------------------------------+ |Male, born 1904. | |Tubercular. Partly | |self-supporting. | +------------------------+ |Female, born 1907. | |Tubercular. Suffers | |from epileptic seizures.| |Inmate mental hospital. | |Lifelong custody. | +------------------------+ |Male, born 1909. | |Subnormal. May in | |time become partly | |self-supporting | |under favourable | |conditions. | +------------------------+ |Male, born 1911. | |Mentally deficient. | |Case for lifelong | |control. | +------------------------+ |Male, born 1913. | |Mentally deficient. | |Lifelong custodial | |case. | +------------------------+ |Female, born 1914. | |Feeble-minded and | |badly nourished. Case | |for permanent | |segregation. | +------------------------+ |Male, born 1916. | |Very backward. May | |become partly | |self-supporting | |under favourable | |conditions. | +------------------------+ In 1916 the whole of this family was committed to the care of the State, and at least six of them will be lifelong cases. The cost to the State, computed up to twenty-one years in each case, is approximately £8,500, but the additional future cost may easily be estimated at £5,000, making in all the sum of £13,500. The father was ordered to pay at the rate of 15s. a week, but the amount recovered from him to date is only £156. _Case No. 6._ +---------------------+-----------------------+ | Father: | Mother: | | Subnormal. Was a | Has always been | | watersider, so | addicted to periodic | | dirty in habits | fits of insanity. | | that watersiders | Has been in mental | | complained. A | hospital on several | | sexual case. | occasions. | | | | +--------------------------------+----------------+ | | Female, | | | born 1904. | | | Subnormal. | | +----------------+ | | Female, | | | born 1909. | |These four children were | Subnormal; | |committed to the care of |also delinquent.| |the state in 1917. +----------------+ | | Female, | | | born 1915. | | | Subnormal. | | +----------------+ | | Female, | | | born 1916. | | | Subnormal. | |--------------------------------+----------------+ | | Unknown | |Not yet brought under +----------------+ |State control. | Unknown | | +----------------+ | | Unknown | +--------------------------------+----------------+ The approximate cost to the State of maintaining these four children will be £5,150, less what is recovered from the father. Up to the present the amount received from him is £176. Should the other three children be brought under State control, the additional cost may amount to approximately £5,000. This is a glaring case of persons being allowed to marry who are totally unfit to marry. A relative stated that the mother's mentality was in a shocking state at the time of marriage. The father has always been subnormal. The woman is too insane at times to attend to ordinary household duties or matters of ordinary personal cleanliness. At the time the children were committed the home was in a shockingly filthy condition, and at that time was one of the worst brought under the notice of the Department in the district. The second girl (age fifteen) has had her hair cut for the sake of cleanliness by some kindly disposed well-wisher. The mother allowed the dirt to accumulate to such an extent that the whole of the girl's head was covered with a scab of dirt. She had to enter the Hospital to have this removed. This was a most objectionable case. After the State took charge of these children the mother and father were still allowed to cohabit, with the result that three more children have been born. Without doubt, these children will also be supported by the State. The father is a sexual case, and foster-parents of the children have objected to the father visiting them on account of the way he handles them. SECTION 4.--ELEMENTS OF THE PROBLEM. Wallen, in his book "Problems of Subnormality," draws attention to three basic phases of the problem of the feeble-minded:-- "(1.) The obligation of society to identify and register as early as possible all feeble-minded children. All students of social problems will concede that feeble-mindedness is one of the fundamental causes of our numerous social ills. It is a prolific source of poverty, destitution, all kinds of crimes against property and person, social immorality, illegitimacy, and of prolific and degenerate progeny. "There are few problems in present-day constructive social economics which are more important than the development of a State-wide and a nation-wide policy for the compulsory official identification and registration of feeble-minded children, particularly all those who come from homes where the conditions are not such as to guarantee continuous supervision and support. "(2.) The proper educational care and training of feeble-minded children. The adequate discharge of this obligation involves segregating the feeble-minded in special classes as soon as they can be indubitably diagnosed and providing for them the type of training which will maximally develop those powers and aptitudes which they possess and which will maximally equip them for earning their livelihood. "(3.) Provision for continuous oversight and supervision over the feeble-minded." It is clear that if we wish to reduce the number of mentally defective and socially inadequate individuals we must not only consider measures for preventing as far as possible the transmission of hereditary defect, but must also provide for the youth of the country an environment and training calculated to encourage the development of its best powers. There is no doubt that unfavourable home conditions and unsuitable educational methods conspire to keep many children from realizing their full capabilities. This is especially true of the backward and feeble-minded. It is, moreover, wasteful and ineffective to force on children of poor mental receptivity and potentialities an educational curriculum devised for those of normal mentality, since the subnormal impede the general progress in an ordinary class, and in it they soon form a discouraged minority which learns to accept failure unquestioningly. Untrained to perform the simple work which is within their power and in the achievement of which they might earn self-respect and happiness, they feel themselves to be aliens, and may cease to regard the laws of society in which they have no sense of membership. In such cases the community which might have benefited from their work had their potentialities been properly developed is burdened by their maintenance, and, further, if they are not law-abiding, has also the expense of segregating them in reformatories and gaols. Hence it is clearly the duty of the State to adapt the educational curriculum to the requirements of various groups of children. The child who has been handicapped by illness and lack of opportunity, the child who is inherently dull and backward, must be distinguished from the child with nervous instability or definite mental defect. Wherever possible, the training suitable for various improvable types of children should be arranged in connection with the ordinary public schools. But the curriculum must be modified to suit the need of the individual and should be directed with the object of making him a useful member of society. By this means these pupils are not deprived of that association with their normal fellows which is of such value as a preparation for their after-life in the community. For children whose homes are unsuitable or too remote from centres, who require more continuous supervision, or who tend to become delinquent, special residential schools will be necessary. These schools would also be used for those whose capabilities cannot be assessed without extended expert observation for a considerable period. The special school is to be regarded as a training-centre for such feeble-minded children as are expected as a result of the training received there to be fitted to take a place in the community and to perform useful work under adequate supervision. There is a danger of filling the special schools with children whose poor mental endowment renders them incapable of receiving benefit at all commensurate with the energy and expense devoted to them. Such children are subjects for custodial institutions. Institutional care is necessary for mentally defective persons whose helplessness or anti-social traits would render them either the victims of the unscrupulous or a menace to society. Such individuals should be segregated in farm and industrial colonies, so that not only is the community freed from the responsibility of their presence, but they themselves are afforded opportunity of leading much happier and more useful lives, and of becoming, to some extent, self-supporting. All feeble-minded children within the community, whether in special classes, or on parole from an institution for the feeble-minded, or over school age, should be carefully supervised. It is clear that the problem of making provision for the feeble-minded and mentally abnormal in the community is first to be encountered in the schools, though there must be considered also a much smaller number of such low mental capacity that they have never sought admission there. In deciding the place of the feeble-minded in the community factors other than the degree of mental defect have to be considered. Many feeble-minded individuals are capable of performing useful work, and provided they have no anti-social traits and can receive adequate care outside their permanent inclusion in an institution is undesirable, not only from consideration of their own well-being, but also from a social and economic standpoint. Many feeble-minded individuals are so dependent upon routine that having once been trained in the regular performance of simple duties they find difficulty in breaking their methodical programme. In this way their lack of initiative is really protective, as it tends to keep them steadfastly at their labours. In the case of all feeble-minded persons living outside institutions, whether with relatives or otherwise, the State should, in the interest of both such feeble-minded individuals and of society, have the ultimate right of supervision. The magnitude of the task to be undertaken cannot be estimated unless we have some indication of how numerous are those for whom special measures must be adopted. The information given below must not be too literally interpreted, but will serve to throw some light upon existing conditions in New Zealand. SECTION 5.--ESTIMATES AS TO NUMBERS OF MENTAL DEFECTIVES. In the absence of a complete system of notification, which the Committee consider is urgently necessary, any estimate as to the number of feeble-minded to be dealt with must be largely a matter of conjecture. From the annual report of the Education Department, however, interesting information is available showing the ages of the pupils in the several classes of the primary schools. The following table is considered worthy of reprinting in this report, for from the figures it supplies some idea may be formed of the number of backward and feeble-minded children attending primary schools. Children of extremely low-grade mentality do not attend school as a rule, while feeble-minded children higher in the scale, discouraged by the unsuitable course of instruction and lack of sympathetic treatment, tend to leave school early. Hence the number of feeble-minded children in any community must be considerably larger than the school records indicate. The following table shows the ages of pupils in the several classes of the primary schools. The numbers between the heavy horizontal lines represent those that, beginning school under six years of age spend an average of two years in the preparatory classes and one year in each of the standards. The numbers above the upper heavy lines have progressed at a greater rate than that indicated, and those below the lower lines have either begun school later or have progressed more slowly. The most arresting feature in the table (p. 13) is the large number of children in classes lower than should be expected at their age. Thus the preparatory classes had 12,693 pupils over the age of eight years. This number is certainly a considerable reduction on the total for the previous year, but it still represents no less than 18 per cent. of the total roll of those classes. Particular attention is being directed to the problem of retardation, and in some of the larger centres special classes for retardates have been established. It will also be seen that the actual number of children retarded three years or more, including the preparatory classes and up to Standard III--beyond which the higher grades of the feeble-minded do not progress as a rule--is 4,917 out of a total of 212,709 children attending school, or a trifle over 2 per cent. In some countries three years' retardation is regarded as _primâ facie_ evidence of mental deficiency. Probably New Zealand has much the same proportion of mental defectives as other countries. This is stated by Goddard to be between 2 and 3 per cent. of the population. A recent survey made by the Education Department of the children attending the primary schools in a typical area disclosed the fact that out of a total school population of 16,499 no fewer than 950 pupils, constituting 5.7 per cent. of the total school enrolment, are retarded two years or more. Some of these may be classed as dull normal; some may be suffering from remediable physical defects; others may be merely the victims of unfavourable circumstances, while others again may be what Burt calls "late bloomers"--_i.e._, cases of slow development. Many of them, however, will ultimately prove to be mental defectives. Deficiency sometimes does not reveal itself definitely until the pre-adolescent period or early adolescence. Of the total number on the school registers 266, or 1.6 per cent., are retarded three years or more. It is interesting to note from information supplied by Mr. N. R. McKenzie, Inspector of Schools, that this is exactly the percentage of defectives discovered in the schools of a section of the city of Toronto as the result of a psychological survey. It also corresponds with the number in the Vancouver city schools, where nineteen special classes are operating with a school population of 19,000--_i.e._, one class per 1,000 pupils. For the purpose of this report a preliminary survey from information supplied by social workers, school-teachers, police, Hospital Boards, &c., has been made by the Education Department of what may be regarded as the obviously feeble-minded and epileptic cases known to exist outside institutions in the Dominion. The following figures show the number of such cases reported, but these figures are incomplete--the actual number must be greater:-- At 24th June, 1924. Feeble-minded. Epileptic. Age. Male. Female. Male. Female. Under sixteen years 524 285 41 43 Over sixteen years 305 203 35 31 ___ ___ __ __ 829 488 76 74 _Recapitulation._ Males 905 Females 562 _____ 1,467 _Table showing Ages of Pupils in the several Classes of the Primary Schools._ +---------------+---------------+---------------+---------------+ | | Class P. | Standard I. | Standard II. | | Ages. +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | Boys. | Girls.| Boys. | Girls.| Boys. | Girls.| +---------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ |5 and under 6 | 7,923 | 7,334 | .. | .. | .. | .. | | | | | | | | | |6 " 7 |10,776 |10,356 | 73 | 72 | 3 | 2 | | | | | | | | | |7 " 8 |10,324 | 9,291 | 2,021 | 2,047 | 111 | 141 | | |================================ | | |8 " 9 | 4,970 | 4,183 = 5,696 | 5,413 = 1,729 | 1,884 | | | | ================================| |9 " 10 | 1,400 | 1,118 | 4,443 | 3,732 = 5,011 | 5,152 | | | | | | ================| |10 " 11 | 393 | 277 | 1,657 | 1,162 | 4,210 | 3,624 | | | | | | | | | |11 " 12 | 112 | 107 | 487 | 383 | 1,814 | 1,461 | | | | | | | | | |12 " 13 | 54 | 30 | 146 | 91 | 628 | 425 | | | | | | | | | |13 " 14 | 18 | 13 | 51 | 24 | 201 | 125 | | | | | | | | | |14 " 15 | 7 | 5 | 10 | 9 | 58 | 42 | | | | | | | | | |15 " 16 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 6 | 12 | 6 | | | | | | | | | |16 " 17 | 1 | .. | 1 | 2 | .. | 2 | | | | | | | | | |Over 17 | .. | .. | .. | 1 | .. | .. | +---------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ |Totals (1923) |35,980 |32,715 |14,587 |12,942 |13,777 |12,864 | +---------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ +---------------+---------------+---------------+---------------+ | Standard III. | Standard IV. | Standard V. | Standard VI. | |-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | Boys. | Girls.| Boys. | Girls.| Boys. | Girls.| Boys. | Girls.| +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | | | | | | | | | | | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | | | | | | | | | | | 3 | 1 | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | | | | | | | | | | | 113 | 135 | 3 | 2 | .. | .. | .. | .. | | | | | | | | | | | 1,447 | 1,531 | 102 | 66 | .. | 4 | 1 | .. | |================ | | | | | | | 4,570 | 4,749 = 1,311 | 1,439 | 82 | 108 | 6 | 4 | |================================ | | | | | 4,202 | 3,827 = 4,166 | 4,214 = 1,123 | 1,202 | 93 | 95 | | | ================================= | | | 2,268 | 1,860 | 3,890 | 3,515 = 3,540 | 3,664 = 1,020 | 1,064 | | | | | ================================| | 935 | 669 | 2,129 | 1,764 | 3,766 | 3,271 = 3,255 | 3,277 | | | | | | | ================| | 235 | 139 | 790 | 500 | 1,848 | 1,499 | 3,101 | 2,883 | | | | | | | | | | | 36 | 26 | 148 | 81 | 532 | 349 | 1,454 | 1,010 | | | | | | | | | | | 8 | 6 | 11 | 13 | 61 | 30 | 194 | 114 | | | | | | | | | | | 1 | .. | .. | 3 | 8 | 8 | 25 | 13 | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ |13,818 |12,943 |12,550 |11,597 |10,960 |10,135 | 9,149 | 8,460 | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ +---------------+-----------------+ | Standard VII. | Totals. | |-------+-------+--------+--------+ | Boys. | Girls.| Boys. | Girls. | +-------+-------+--------+--------+ | .. | .. | 7,923 | 7,334 | | | | | | | .. | .. | 10,852 | 10,430 | | | | | | | .. | .. | 12,459 | 11,480 | | | | | | | .. | .. | 12,511 | 11,617 | | | | | | | .. | .. | 12,404 | 11,603 | | | | | | | .. | .. | 12,229 | 11,363 | | | | | | | .. | 1 | 11,997 | 11,290 | | | | | | | 3 | 3 | 11,549 | 10,652 | | | | | | | 20 | 42 | 10,375 | 9,185 | |===============| | | | 34 | 47 | 6,083 | 5,124 | | | | | | | 23 | 37 | 2,209 | 1,516 | | | | | | | 3 | 15 | 279 | 182 | | | | | | | 1 | 3 | 35 | 28 | +-------+-------+--------+--------+ | 84 | 148 |110,905 |101,804 | +-------+-------+--------+--------+ SECTION 6.--STUDY OF FEEBLE-MINDED AND DELINQUENT CHILDREN. _Methods employed in other Countries._ In many parts of America and in some European countries the problem of the mentally backward and feeble-minded child receives close attention. The juvenile delinquent is also carefully studied. For children who fail to make good in school, or who are guilty of frequent misdemeanours, a system of intelligence testing and psychological analysis is carried out. A study is also made of family history and environmental influences. Children who are "maladjusted to their environment" are kept under survey with a view to finding what is the difficulty and how it can be overcome. To quote from the "Mental Hygiene Bulletin," published by the National Committee for Mental Hygiene for the United States of America: "Children showing definite problems are selected for more intensive study and treatment. The grossly mentally handicapped child, who is likely to become a social problem if not properly dealt with in childhood; the psychopathic and mentally maladjusted child, who later in life may develop mental disease; the child manifesting conduct disorders which may be the beginning of a delinquent or criminal career; the retarded child; the epileptic; the child with speech-defect or with some physical disability; the child with gross personality difficulties; the exceptionally brilliant child--all present problems that demand attention during the child's school life. Such children are given a thorough physical examination, a careful psychiatric study, and an individual psychological examination, including a variety of psychological tests, not only to determine the child's intelligence rating, but, in so far as possible, his special abilities and disabilities. A social study is made of the child's home, school, and other environments to determine what factors may have unfavourably influenced the development of the child, and what forces may be utilized in securing the child's adjustments. The results of all these studies are given to the school authorities with recommendations relative to the needed adjustments." In New Zealand there is need of increased facilities for the study of the individual child, and the services of psychological experts should be available in order to group children according to their mental equipment and special requirements. Only those fully qualified to estimate accurately all the evidence available are fitted to decide the destiny of children. Herein lies the danger of relying exclusively upon the use of mental tests. _Mental tests_ are of definite value in enabling the observer to arrive at a conclusion regarding the general mental development of the subject, or to investigate some particular psychological function. A too exclusive dependence upon the result of the application of these tests, especially by a layman, would invariably lead to error. A comprehensive survey is necessary, taking into consideration such factors as family history, environment, physical condition, behaviour, temperament, &c. The observation, possibly for a considerable period of time, of an expert psychiatrist or psychologist may be necessary in order to arrive at an accurate estimate of the mental ability of the subject. In this regard we quote from Tredgold, "Mental Deficiency": "There are, however, very many exceptions, particularly when we are dealing with the milder grades of deficiency, so that if serial tests are depended upon for the diagnosis of these cases they may be, and often are, very fallacious. I may say here that although it would, of course, be extremely valuable if we could devise tests which would accurately measure mental capacity, particularly that capacity and those qualities which are needed for social adaptation and maintenance, we have not yet succeeded in doing so. The mental factors which may be involved in this capacity for social adaptation, and which render the individual in need of care, supervision, or control, are many and varied, and there is even some danger that too much reliance upon serial tests may distract from the adequate investigation of these qualities and defects and lead to totally erroneous conclusions." There is no doubt, however, that in the hands of competent observers properly applied tests afford information of great value in assessing mental and moral capacity, but the observer must be competent. SECTION 7.--METHOD OF DEALING WITH MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN NEW ZEALAND. _Present Legal Provision for Notification and Education of Feeble-minded Children, and for Care of Custodial Feeble-minded Adults and Children._ The Education Act, 1914, contains provision (see section 127) for the establishment of special schools for the education and training of afflicted children (deaf, blind, feeble-minded, and epileptic) between the ages of six and twenty-one years, with provision in the case of inmates of special schools for extension of the period of detention where it is considered necessary in the public interest. For the purposes of this Act,-- "'Feeble-minded child' means a child who, not being an idiot or imbecile or otherwise a proper person to be sent to an institution under the control of the Mental Hospitals Department, and not being merely backward, is by reason of mental or physical defect incapable of receiving proper benefit from instruction in an ordinary school, but is not incapable by reason of such defect of receiving benefit from instruction in a special school." "'Epileptic child' means an epileptic child who is unfit by reason of severe or frequent epilepsy to attend an ordinary school, but is not idiot or imbecile or otherwise a proper person to be sent to an institution under the control of the Mental Hospitals Department." Section 127: "(2.) It shall be the duty of the parent of any ... feeble-minded or epileptic child to provide efficient and suitable education for such child." "(3.) If the parent of such child fails to provide such education for such child, or is deemed by the Minister to be unable to provide such education, the Minister may direct that such child be sent to such special school or other institution for the education of feeble-minded or epileptic children as he thinks fit." Section 129: "Every parent, teacher of a school (either public or private), constable, or officer of a charitable or kindred institution who is aware of the place of residence (either temporary or permanent) of a blind, deaf, feeble-minded, or epileptic child, and the householder in whose house any such child resides, shall send notification of the fact to the Minister, giving name, age, and address of the child; and if any such person neglects or fails to comply with this provision, such person shall on conviction thereof be liable to a fine not exceeding one pound, or in the case of a second or subsequent offence, whether relating to the same or another child, not exceeding five pounds." Section 56: "Every public school shall be organized and conducted in accordance with regulations (a copy of which shall be conspicuously put up in the school): Provided that the Minister may, on the application of the Board, sanction the establishment of special classes for backward children--that is, children who, through physical infirmity, absence from school, or otherwise, are below the average standard of education reached by other children of the same age." The Mental Defectives Act, 1911, divides mentally defective persons into six classes, as under:-- "'Mentally defective person' means a person who, owing to his mental condition requires oversight, care, or control for his own good or in the public interest, and who, according to the nature of his mental defect, and to the degree of care, oversight, or control deemed to be necessary, is included in one of the following classes:-- "_Class I:_ Persons of unsound mind--that is, persons who, owing to disorder of the mind, are incapable of managing themselves or their affairs. "_Class II:_ Persons mentally infirm--that is, persons who, through mental infirmity arising from age or decay of their faculties, are incapable of managing themselves or their affairs. "_Class III:_ Idiots--that is, persons so deficient in mind from birth or from an early age that they are unable to guard themselves against common physical dangers, and therefore require oversight, care, or control required to be exercised in the case of young children. "_Class IV:_ Imbeciles--that is, persons who, though capable of guarding themselves against common physical dangers, are incapable, or if of school age will presumably, when older, be incapable, of earning their own living by reason of mental deficiency existing from birth or from an early age. "_Class V:_ Feeble-minded--that is, persons who may be capable of earning a living under favourable circumstances, but are incapable from mental deficiency existing from birth or from an early age of competing on equal terms with their normal fellows, or of managing themselves and their affairs with ordinary prudence. "_Class VI:_ Epileptics--that is, persons suffering from epilepsy." This is similar to the classification in the English Mental Deficiency Act, which also includes the following definition:-- "'Moral imbeciles'--that is, persons who from an early age display permanent mental defect, coupled with strong criminal or vicious propensities, on which punishment has little or no deterrent effect." In the opinion of the Committee it is very important that a similar definition should be included in any amendment of the New Zealand Act. A Magistrate may order the committal to an institution of any person coming within these definitions if he is satisfied that such person is mentally defective and two medical men give a certificate to that effect. Persons coming under the description in Classes I, II, III, or IV are committed to the mental hospitals, but there seems to be considerable reluctance both on the part of medical practitioners to certify and of Magistrates to commit to a mental hospital epileptics and those described as "feeble-minded." Evidence was given before the Committee to the effect that there would not be the same disinclination to send these classes of patients to a special institution such as a farm colony or an industrial colony. Apart from the residential special schools, special classes have been established in connection with public schools in each of the large centres of population throughout the Dominion with promising results. The Committee visited the special classes in one of the centres, and were impressed with the sympathetic attitude of the teachers towards their scholars and the happy appearance of the children, who seemed to be keenly interested and busy over their appointed tasks. There is as yet no special provision in New Zealand for the education of epileptic children. Fortunately, the number of these is apparently small, but, as in many cases it is undesirable for them to attend the ordinary classes of the elementary schools, the question of arranging for their tuition otherwise requires earnest consideration. Following on legislative authority contained in the Education Act already referred to, provision for feeble-minded children, within the meaning of the Act, was made by establishing the special school at Otekaike, near Oamaru, with accommodation for 195 boys, and some years later a similar institution was opened at Richmond, near Nelson, with provision for about eighty girls. These institutions contain two separate divisions, providing for--(1) The training of children of school age, and (2) the instruction of young persons over school age in handicraft and farm-work. Both institutions have modern and well-equipped day schools with trained women teachers, and at Otekaike the industrial division is provided with workshops and instructors in trades and handicrafts. The children are housed in modern and well-appointed cottage homes, each with accommodation for thirty-five, and are supervised by selected women attendants. The Committee visited and inspected both Otekaike and Richmond, and were very favourably impressed with the healthy environment and careful management of these institutions, and with the humane and sympathetic methods adopted for the purpose of making the best of imperfect human material. At both places physical exercises, musical drill, and organized games form an important part of the training, and the teachers deserve commendation for the efficiency of the pupils in these respects and their general appearance of physical fitness. Moral training and training in habits of personal cleanliness and prompt obedience form an important part of the curriculum, and the effects are noticeable in the quick movements and alert attitude of the inmates. The girls at Richmond receive training in domestic work, needlework, knitting, darning, &c., according to their ability. The children are taught various kinds of handiwork, and by grouping them according to mental capacity they are given a school course modified to suit the individual. In the industrial division at Otekaike, baskets, sea-grass furniture, and all kinds of wickerware and coir mats are well made, and are readily sold. Bootmaking and repairing for the institution are also carried out by certain of the inmates under a practical man. Attached to Otekaike there is an area of land where farming, gardening, and fruitgrowing absorb most of the labour of the older inmates. At Richmond the area of land available for cultivation is limited, but even so it occurred to the Committee that something more might possibly be done in the direction of providing congenial and profitable work for the older girls, as, for instance, the growing of flowers for sale in the Wellington markets. At Otekaike, after training, the best types of the older inmates are placed out, usually with farmers in the district, and for the most part are leading useful lives under the supervision of the local Juvenile Probation Officers of the Education Department. The matter of placing out girls from the school at Richmond is obviously one of much greater difficulty. At both Otekaike and Richmond there is a growing group of custodial cases, due to the fact that in many instances the parents or guardians are either unable to provide proper protective measures for the children if released, or are unsuitable in other ways to have the control of them. On the other hand, there is reluctance on the part of medical practitioners to certify such cases for a mental hospital. It is very desirable, of course, that the special schools should be used as trying-out places for children whose mental equipment is questionable, but where after a reasonable trial it is evident that merely custodial care is required there should be some simple method of passing them on to farm colonies or suitable custodial homes. As a matter of fact, the school at Richmond has its full complement of pupils, and as many cases have now to be refused admission it is urgently necessary that other provision should be made, especially for the older girls needing custodial care. Mention should also be made of a visit paid by the Committee to the industrial school at Caversham, which deals with girls and young women who have failed to make good when placed out under supervision in the community. There is a small clothing-factory attached to the institution, which provides useful employment for certain of the better-type girls. It is stated that, even under present conditions, which are not altogether satisfactory, the majority of the Caversham girls benefit from the training they receive to such an extent that they can be trusted to earn their living in the community under supervision. The Committee, however, are of opinion that the buildings and site are most unsuitable for such an institution. Little level space is available for recreation purposes, the property is overlooked at the back, and the location and general plan of the buildings are such that the utmost vigilance has to be exercised. For the inmates belonging to the reformatory section it is considered that such an institution should be situated in the country with sufficient suitable land to permit of gardening and farming on a small scale. This would afford healthful occupation for the inmates and contribute towards their support. Such an institution should be so situated as to be readily accessible from all parts of the Dominion. In the matter of the admission of young offenders over sixteen years of age to the Caversham Industrial School, and also to the Boys' Training-farm at Weraroa, the Committee found that in these cases the Courts have no authority to commit direct, but must first sentence the young person to imprisonment and then recommend transfer to an industrial school. Such a system is not only cumbersome, but is fundamentally wrong, and should be remedied as soon as possible. The Courts should have discretionary powers to commit any young offender under eighteen years of age direct to an industrial school. At Caversham there is a small proportion of the inmates who should be transferred to a Borstal institution. This refers to the so-called "over-sexed" girl, and the girl with strong anti-social proclivities, who should be confined to an institution where there is provision for segregation and treatment of refractory cases. In many instances these young women should be kept under control for a considerable period. Many are hopelessly immoral, and in the interests of society should not be allowed their liberty. That section of the Caversham institution comprising children committed to the care of the State on account of destitution or unsuitable conditions in their homes would be better provided for in a separate receiving home. This would be in accord with the practice obtaining in all the other centres. The Education Department deals with all children committed to the care of the State for causes varying from destitution to delinquency. The procedure is for the police to charge the children and for the Magistrate to commit them to the nearest receiving home, where they are kept under observation, trained in proper habits, and so forth, and as soon as possible, if they exhibit no anti-social traits, placed out in selected foster-homes. The Department holds the view, shared by leading authorities, that home life, however humble, provided the foster-parents are suitable people, is better than institution life for the majority of the children who are cast on the State for sustenance and protection. The supervision of these cases, and the selection of employment for them when they become old enough, are carried out by the nurses, Managers of receiving homes, and Juvenile Probation Officers of the Education Department. Several of these officers gave valuable evidence in the course of this inquiry. These officials not only look after the welfare of the children brought under State control, but also carry out a great deal of preventive work in the way of advising parents and supervising children, who by their timely and kindly intervention are saved from coming within the scope of the law. SECTION 8.--CHILDREN'S COURTS. Several witnesses before the Committee pointed out the need for the establishment of special Courts for children and juveniles. The Committee recommend that such provision be made, and also that clinics be established providing for the physical and psychological examination of all children coming under the jurisdiction of these Courts. The fuller knowledge thus acquired would be extremely valuable to the authorities dealing with the children. Many countries have recognized this need and have established properly constituted Courts for dealing with children and juveniles as apart and distinct from Police Courts. In this connection it is surprising to find that New Zealand is lagging behind in that in the laws relating to the punishment of crime hardly any distinction in procedure is made between the child and the adult. It is true, of course, that a practice has grown up whereby children are dealt with in the Police Courts at a time apart from the hearing of adult cases, but the procedure of the Criminal Court has been retained--_i.e._, the young delinquent is charged with an offence, is required to plead, and if found guilty is liable to conviction. In the majority of such cases the charges are for minor offences and are dealt with summarily, but a child charged with an indictable offence and remanded to the Supreme Court for trial or sentence may in the interim be detained in prison. By arrangement between the Departments concerned most of the cases of children and juveniles are investigated by the Juvenile Probation Officer of the Education Department prior to the hearing, but these officers have no legal standing in any Court, and are not even empowered to bring a destitute child before a Magistrate for committal to the care of the State. This function must be carried out by a police constable. The Children's Court, as it is constituted in other countries, is a Court of equity, and its principal function is to consider all children brought before it as cases requiring protection and care. It is the business of the Court, by means of careful investigation in each case of conduct, school history, family history, and mental condition, to ascertain, if possible, the reason for misconduct, and either to eliminate or modify the causes, or to remove the child from the environment that has contributed to its present condition. The presiding Magistrates are usually selected on account of their experience with children and knowledge of child psychology. In some of the Courts in America women are selected for these positions. It is common knowledge that lack of mental balance, retardation, and physical defect are responsible for much juvenile delinquency, and it is therefore essential that if the children appearing before the Courts are to be dealt with in a scientific manner there should be provision on the lines recommended above. SECTION 9.--POLICY FOR THE FUTURE. It seems to the Committee that the Dominion has now come to the parting of the ways in this matter, and unless the multiplication of the feeble-minded is to be allowed to go on in an ever-increasing ratio, with consequences dreadful to contemplate, the problem must be dealt with on broader lines, and in a more comprehensive fashion. In the first place, a comprehensive system of notification is essential so that a register as complete as possible may be made of the cases to be dealt with. The English Commission for Inquiring into the Care and Control of the Feeble-minded, whose report appeared as far back as 1908, laid down the basic principles of a sound policy in dealing with this question. Their first principle was that persons who cannot take a part in the struggle for life owing to mental defect should be afforded by the State such protection as may be suited to their needs. Their next principle was that the mental condition of these persons, and neither their poverty nor their crime, is the real ground of their claim for help from the State. Their third principle was that if the mentally defective are to be properly considered and protected as such it is necessary to ascertain who they are and where they are. This, of course, is the object of the system of registration to which we have referred. Lastly, the English Commission held that the protection of the mentally defective person, whatever form it takes, should be continued as long as it is necessary for his good. These principles appear to us to be quite sound, and we have no hesitation in adopting them. _Proposed Eugenic Board._ In regard to the method of compiling the register, some excellent suggestions were made by Dr. Theodore Grant Gray, Medical Superintendent of the Nelson Mental Hospital. He proposed, first, that a Government Department or sub-department should be created to deal with all feeble-minded and mentally defective persons living outside institutions. It would deal not only with the feeble-minded, but it would act the part of a Government "after-care association," in that it would keep in touch with all persons discharged from mental hospitals. One of its duties would be to keep a register of all feeble-minded, epileptic, and mentally defective persons living outside institutional care. Dr. Gray further suggests that the register should be compiled in the following manner:-- (1.) It would be a statutory duty of all School Medical Officers to report to the Department the names of all feeble-minded or epileptic children in their districts. (2.) It would be the duty of the District Education Board to report any child of school age who was not attending school because of feeble-mindedness or epilepsy. (3.) It would be the duty of the Superintendent, owner, or licensee of every hospital, private hospital, industrial school, or reformatory prison to notify the Department upon the admission of any person suffering from feeble-mindedness or epilepsy. (4.) It would be the duty of the Superintendent of every mental hospital to notify the name of every person discharged from a mental hospital. (5.) It would be the duty of every Judge or Magistrate in all cases brought before him in which there appears to be mental enfeeblement or epilepsy to call to his assistance an alienist, and, if the report is confirmatory, to order such person's name to be placed upon the register. N.B.--In the case of sections 1, 2, and 3 the Department would apply to a Magistrate for an order to register the person concerned. In section 4 the process would be automatic. * * * * * The Committee consider the machinery suggested for the purpose of compilation of the register very suitable, subject to such modifications as may be found necessary in practice, but have come to the conclusion that it would be preferable for many reasons to keep cases of this kind, as far as possible, free from Courts, a large part of whose work consists in trying persons charged with criminal offences, and to follow the plan which seems to be working very well in several American States--namely, to set up a Board of experts to deal with these cases. The Board, which might be called the Eugenic Board, should be a central Board associated with a special Department or sub-department, of which the head should be a man of sufficient personality, energy, and organizing-power to grapple effectively with this question--first, by taking the necessary steps to compile a reasonably exhaustive register, and afterwards, by co-ordination with cognate Departments or by independent departmental action, to build up the necessary machinery to provide for the care, segregation, supervision, or treatment of the class with which his Department is required to deal. The compilation of the register is a departmental matter, but legislative authority will be necessary, to provide for compulsory notification and to prescribe the means. A well qualified departmental officer should at once be detailed to take this matter in hand and formulate from the evidence given to the Committee and from other sources of information the method and means of obtaining complete registration. The first step towards the formation of the Board should be the early selection and appointment of a thoroughly trained and experienced psychiatrist. Irrespective of the necessity for the employment of such a man as the scientific member of the proposed Board, the Committee are of opinion that the Departments of Health, Mental Hospitals, Prisons, and the Special Schools Branch of the Education Department are at present suffering from the lack of expert advice in this direction, and that it is high time the Government had in its service at least one trained psychological expert, with recourse to the services of other men with similar training in the four centres. The Eugenic Board should be vested with power to examine all cases notified and, after due investigation, to place on the register-- (1.) Such persons as in its judgment come within the definition in the Mental Deficiency Act of feeble-minded; (2.) Persons afflicted with epilepsy associated with automatism or other conditions rendering them especially liable to dangerous, immoral, or otherwise anti-social manifestations, and in the case of juvenile epileptics the mere frequency of fits rendering them unsuitable for attendance at ordinary schools; (3.) Moral imbeciles as defined in the English Mental Deficiency Act; and (4.) Persons discharged from mental hospitals. It should be the function of the Board to order or recommend to the Minister the segregation, supervision, or treatment of the different classes. Cases receiving adequate care in their homes would not, of course, be interfered with. The Eugenic Board, of course, should have power to remove any name from the register if it is of opinion that there is no longer any need for registration. There should be the right of appeal to a Judge of the Supreme Court against the decision of the Board to place a person on the register, and there should also be power to apply to a Judge for the removal of the name from the register in cases where the Board declines to do so. These provisions should, it is considered, effectively safeguard the liberty of the subject. The machinery necessary to deal adequately with this vital question--vital in its influence on the purity of our race--must be somewhat extensive, but use should be made as far as possible of existing governmental and private agencies and organizations. The work requires organization, and the first essential is, therefore, the appointment of an organizing head. Unless such an appointment is soon made the matter will drift. The heads of the existing Departments of State under whom such an organization might be placed have already more business to handle than they can comfortably overtake. Some one must be selected to specialize on this work and this work alone. The question naturally arises as to the Department of State to which the proposed sub-department for the care of the feeble-minded might best be attached. In the judgment of the Committee the education of feeble-minded children should be continued by the Education Department, which has evolved a very successful system and is administering it well. After everything possible has been done in the matter of education a large proportion, as they grow up, will be quite unable to hold their own in the world, and for their own protection and safety, and in the interests of society, must be cared for in some institution, where they may be kept usefully occupied in gardening or farming, or in some handicraft which will serve to keep them in health and help to recoup the State some part of the cost of their maintenance. It is, of course, most essential that they should not be allowed to reproduce their kind, thus further enfeebling and deteriorating the national stock, adding to the burden of the community and to the sum of human misery and degradation. "To produce but not to reproduce" sums up the best scheme of life for these unfortunates. Looking at all the circumstances of the case, it appears to the Committee that it would be better if the compilation of the register, the provision of the farm and industrial colonies, and the after-care of adult feeble-minded patients coming under Classes V and VI and "moral imbeciles" were entrusted to a special branch of the Mental Hospitals Department. It is essential that the feeble-minded shall be kept separate from the insane, while the feeble-minded themselves, of course, require careful classification. It is very important that marriages with registered persons should be made illegal, and, as a corollary to this, that it should be made an indictable offence for any person knowingly to have carnal knowledge of a registered person. It should also be provided that any parent or guardian who facilitates or negligently allows any registered person to have carnal intercourse with another person shall be guilty of an indictable offence. SECTION 10.--THE QUESTION OF STERILIZATION. A question which has given the Committee much anxious thought is as to whether sterilization should be adopted as a method of preventing the propagation of the feeble-minded. That it would be an effective method as regards the persons operated on goes without saying. The operation of vasectomy in the case of males is a very simple one, which may be performed with the aid of a local anæsthetic, and may be said for all practical purposes to be unattended by any risk to the patient. In the case of women a similar operation on the Fallopian tubes, which is known as salpingectomy, is an abdominal operation and cannot be said to be entirely free from danger, although it is not regarded as very serious. Except for the prevention of fertility, the operation does not interfere with the sexual powers of the patient and has little or no effect on sexual desires. It has been stated that a process of sterilization by means of X-rays can be applied to either sex. The only evidence available, however, shows that this method is still in the experimental stage, and the Committee, for this reason, cannot recommend it, especially as there is a danger that it might damage the cells producing the internal secretions which influence the secondary sexual characteristics and so injuriously affect the general health and mentality. Several States in America have passed laws providing for the sterilization of persons in State institutions who are--(1) Insane, (2) feeble-minded, (3) criminalistic. In some of the States an appeal was made to the Supreme Court, and, the law being pronounced unconstitutional, no attempt was made to enforce it. In other States the law has been allowed to become a dead-letter. Up to the 1st January, 1921, the latest date dealt with by the most recently published work on the subject, there have been 124 State institutions legally authorized to perform operations for sterilization, of which thirty-one have made more or less use of their authority, while ninety-three have not. The total number of operations performed up to the date mentioned was 3,233, divided into classes as follows: Feeble-minded, 403; insane, 2,700; criminalistic, 130. Of this total of 3,233 operations the State of California contributed no less than 2,538, and in this State a single institution (the State Hospital for the Insane at Patton) is responsible for no fewer than 1,009 cases. A Bill introduced in 1924 into the Senate to legalize sterilization of mental defectives, &c., was rejected. Dr. H. H. Laughlin, of the Psychological Laboratory of the Municipal Court of Chicago, has devoted several years to the study of this question, and has recently published the result of his researches in a book entitled "Eugenical Sterilization in the United States." He publishes the texts of all the laws past and present, gives his idea of a model sterilization law, together with the necessary forms for putting it into effect. He also deals with the physiological and mental effects of sexual sterilization. A reviewer of his book, writing in the _Journal of Heredity_ of October, 1923, states forcibly the case for the opponents of sterilization. He expresses the opinion that "The release of sterilized individuals with feeble inhibitions or anti-social tendencies is the equivalent to the creation of so-many new and virulent foci of venereal diseases and promiscuity." Furthermore, the Central Association for Mental Welfare of Great Britain, which was formed in 1913 to act as a co-ordinating and representative body on all questions affecting mental defectives and their relations to the community, not long ago referred the question to their standing Medical Committee, who gave the considered opinion that "sterilization at the present time is not a practical proposition." The Committee of the Central Association being in complete agreement with this view, the Association decided not to advocate the policy of sterilization, because they consider that it would have only a limited influence in preventing the increase of mental deficiency, that it would be attended with certain harmful results in other directions, and because its adoption is impracticable. The Association's statement on this subject goes on to say: "It is very important to remember that although propagation by defectives is one of the causes of mental deficiency, nevertheless this is by no means the only social menace attaching to their presence in the community. If left unguided and unprotected, their lack of stability and control may lead them to commit serious crime, such as theft, arson, assault, and even murder. Their inability to maintain economic independence results in vagrancy and destitution. Their helplessness in the face of obstacles frequently brings about their complete collapse at the first rebuff which they have to meet. The interest of the community can only be adequately protected by the segregation of a considerable proportion of these persons in suitable institutions. A sterilized defective would not be any less liable to these happenings than would one who was unsterilized. A defective woman, from the fact of her being sterilized and incapable of bearing children, would be more prone to illicit intercourse, to adopt a life of prostitution, and to spread venereal disease. It follows that segregation would still be needed in the case of a very large proportion of defectives, but, if they are segregated, sterilization is unnecessary. On the other hand, there can be very little doubt that any general adoption of sterilization would, in actual practice, lead to the non-segregation of a large number of defectives who should be under care and thus to an increase of the foul evils mentioned." Having thus stated the arguments against sterilization the Committee must now present the other side of the question. In the first place, it is evident that, as far as the United States is concerned, the extension of sterilization of the mentally defective has received a grave set-back by reason of the declaration of the Supreme Court of the United States that the laws in certain States permitting sterilization are unconstitutional. This ruling, of course, does not apply to New Zealand. Further, opponents of sterilization ask to be shown its good results; but obviously the results cannot emerge in one generation or in a comparatively short space of time, but only in the ultimate lessening of the proportion of mental defectives in the community by diminishing the hereditary supply. There is no doubt also that much confusion exists in the minds of the public as to the meaning of sterilization and desexualization or castration. The process of sterilization, as has been shown, involves only a simple and safe operation and has the sole effect of preventing reproduction. Sterilization, therefore, should not be loaded with the objections which apply to the far-reaching effects of castration. The former, unlike the latter, is not prone to produce harmful effects upon the mind or morals of the sterilized individual. The assertion that "sterilization at the present time is not a practical proposition" is difficult to understand. It is certainly practicable, and is as likely to be favoured as opposed by public opinion, especially that section of the public that understands the difference between simple sterilization and desexualization. As regards the suggestion that sterilization may lead to new foci of venereal disease, it must be borne in mind that the unsterilized feeble-minded are already prone to sexual promiscuity, and there is no evidence that sterilization would increase this tendency. The opponents of sterilization offer as an alternative only permanent segregation to prevent the transmission of mental defect. It is evident, however, that the cost of the segregation of all mental defectives capable of reproducing other mental defectives would be exceedingly heavy. The Committee advocates powers of segregation and of sterilization, these powers to be placed in the hands of the Eugenic Board, under proper safeguards and the right of appeal. Sterilization in suitable cases is not a high price to pay for liberty. There are in our mental hospitals to-day men and women who suffer from recurrent insanity, who are admitted to the mental hospitals from time to time and discharged when they are better, and in the intervals between their admission cohabit with their wives or husbands, as the case may be, and bring more defective children into the world. If discretionary power were given to the Board as suggested it should, and no doubt would, be exercised cautiously and tentatively. Sterilization gives the patient liberty to do useful work in the community, is less drastic than segregation for life, and on the whole a much slighter interference with the rights of the individual, which are surely subordinate in such cases to the rights of the State. There are, of course, numbers of mental defectives who can never be allowed their liberty, and in the case of these the question of sterilization need not be considered. There are many cases of mentally defective girls, liberated from institutions in New Zealand for the purpose of engaging in domestic service or other work, returning afterwards the mothers of illegitimate children, probably also mentally defective. Unless such are to be maintained for years as wards of the State in institutions, should they ever again be allowed their liberty unless they undergo the operation of sterilization? This is the question: Can the propagation of mental defect by mental defectives and the debasing of the race thereby be greatly checked if not completely prevented? The answer is assuredly, Yes, by segregation and by sterilization. The Committee recommends that both methods be placed in the hands of the Eugenic Board, with powers to discriminate as to which method is the more suitable for each individual case. The two methods are complementary, not antagonistic, and suitable safeguards for the liberty of the subject are provided. The Committee recommends that the Eugenic Board should be given the power in suitable cases to make sterilization a condition of release from any of the institutions under the charge of the Department of Mental Hospitals or removal of their names from the register on probation, but that in no case should the operation be performed without the consent of parents or guardians of the persons concerned. The Committee consider that the persons so operated upon and liberated should be released on probation and kept under supervision for a reasonable period, and that they should be returned to institutional care if found to be leading an immoral life, or unable to support themselves, or for any other reason which the Eugenic Board may consider sufficient. If the recommendation as to sterilization being authorized under the conditions specified is adopted, the Committee think it would be advisable to introduce some provision as in the American Acts, making it unlawful to perform operations whose object is the prevention of reproduction in cases not authorized by the Board unless the same shall be a medical necessity. SECTION 11.--SEGREGATION. It will be neither possible nor desirable to segregate all mental defectives. Feeble-minded children who are receiving adequate care and training in their own homes will, of course, be left there. When they reach the age of adolescence the question of their disposal should be considered by the Board. In many cases the inmates of special schools, after they have received some training, would do well if returned to their homes or boarded out in selected foster-homes under supervision. The real difficulty arises, especially in the case of girls, when the age of adolescence is reached. In the opinion of the Committee it is of the utmost importance that mental defectives should be prevented from reproducing. No person who has been placed on the register should be allowed to marry until the Eugenic Board has given its consent by removing the name from the register. It is altogether wrong to suppose that there is any unkindness in taking the feeble-minded, who are unable to battle for themselves, under the care of the State and preventing them from bringing forth another generation of defectives. The real unkindness consists in allowing such unfortunates to be brought into the world. In school, and still more in the after-struggle for existence, the feeble-minded find themselves the butts of their fellows, and the "inferiority complex" thus developed tends to make them sink lower in the scale both in intellect and morals. "On the other hand, it is the general experience of those who have had many years' practical experience with defectives that the majority are far happier in suitable institutions engaged in congenial occupations, and having the companionship of their mental equals, than when they are exposed to the difficulties of an outside world to which they are incapable of adapting themselves. In many cases, indeed, such freedom amounts to the infliction of positive cruelty." This statement is taken from the memorandum of the Central Association for Mental Welfare of Great Britain, to which reference has already been made, and this Committee can, from their own observation, endorse the views thus expressed. It seems desirable, however, to point out the fallacy of a popular idea that the world could easily stamp out defectives and degenerates by merely adopting a vigorous policy of segregation and sterilization. Even if it were possible by these means to prevent all manifest mental defectives from reproducing, it cannot be expected that this class will be thereby eliminated from the population, since mental defectives may be the offspring of apparently normal stocks, or may be descended from stock in which only minor manifestations of impaired nervous vitality, such as instability, eccentricity, &c., have hitherto been evident, and in a large proportion of cases they are no doubt the progeny of persons belonging to the higher grade of distinctly degenerate stock--persons who have not themselves necessarily shown any marked traits of instability or degeneracy, and to whom therefore sterilization or segregation would be inapplicable. SECTION 12.--THE QUESTION OF EXPENSE. It will probably be objected that the plan for cutting off as far as possible further additions to the mental defectives of the Dominion will involve increased expenditure. This is, unfortunately, the case; but will it not be a much more costly process to allow the present unrestricted multiplication of these defectives to continue in an ever-increasing ratio? If they are allowed to multiply, their unfortunate offspring will have to be provided for in one way or another--some by means of charitable aid, some in our prisons, some in our mental hospitals. Take the case of the defective couple, case No. 4, page 9, themselves in receipt of charitable aid, who have already produced eleven children, all of whom are being provided for by the State, while, as the couple are still living together and the woman is still of child-bearing age, it is quite possible that the total may yet be increased. This family, it is estimated, will cost the State at least £16,000. Will any one seriously contend that it would not have been sound economy if this couple had been taken in the first instance, placed in separate farm colonies where they would have lived fairly useful lives, and been prevented from casting such an excessive burden on the State? We might take each of the cases quoted in an earlier part of this report, and many others which we have not quoted, and ask the same question in regard to each. There is no doubt whatever that from the purely financial point of view it is very much to the interest of the community that this problem should be taken boldly in hand at once while the evil is within fairly manageable proportions, instead of allowing it to grow into an intolerable burden. Consider the humanitarian aspect. Surely it is a kindly act to give the protective care of the State to those unfortunate persons who are unable to hold their own in the struggle for existence, and who, if left to their own devices, will fall miserably by the way and in many cases become a menace to society. Lastly, there is the national question to be considered. Surely it is important that our stock should be kept as sound and virile as possible, and that where a process of deterioration has been detected every attempt should be made to stop it as soon as possible and by every means in our power. SECTION 13.--IMMIGRATION. The Committee feel very strongly that any attempt to check the multiplication of mental defectives in the Dominion will to a large extent be labour thrown away if the greatest care is not at the same time taken to prevent the introduction of feeble-minded and other undesirable persons from overseas. The distance of New Zealand from Europe and the cost of the long passage have on the whole had a selective influence on the character of the immigrants and tended to keep up the standard of quality. As already mentioned, however, serious mistakes were made in the "seventies" of last century. Very striking testimony to this effect is contained in the report of the late Dr. Macgregor, Inspector-General of Hospitals and Charitable Institutions, presented in 1888, an extract from which appears in the Appendix of this report. In the brief space of fifteen years the dire consequences of the mistakes made in previous immigration without due regard to its quality had already become apparent, and in the most impressive terms Dr. Macgregor, who was an exceedingly able and far-sighted public servant, pointed out that the evil done by the introduction of an undesirable class of immigrant is never finished. "The impaired health, low morality, and insanity descend to the offspring, and are a continued drain upon this community." The benefit of a well-regulated stream of immigration into this country is not open to question. A substantial addition to our population is now more than ever needed if this country is to progress and its resources are to be developed sufficiently to enable it to bear with ease the heavy burden imposed on the community by the Great War. The point which it is desired to emphasize is that constant vigilance is necessary to keep up the standard of quality of the new-comers in view of the very natural desire to send off to a new land those who are physically or mentally unable to maintain themselves in the land of their birth. Such vigilance, it need hardly be pointed out, is especially necessary at the present time when the volume of immigration is greatly increased owing to the condition of affairs in the Mother-country. As a matter of fact, there seems no doubt that immediately after the conclusion of the war the system of control and medical inspection was not so strict as it should have been, especially in the case of the Imperial Government's overseas settlement scheme for ex-service men and women. The New Zealand Government, however, sent Home an officer from the Immigration Department to rectify matters and to provide for a more thorough examination of assisted immigrants. Under the system at present in force a special roster of medical referees has been compiled, and no person is accepted as an assisted immigrant without a certificate of physical and mental fitness from one of these doctors. The medical examiner, in the instructions, is particularly requested "To satisfy himself that the applicant is in every way a fit subject to pass a thorough medical examination, as applicants are liable to rejection both at the port of embarkation and at the port of arrival." Finally, the doctor is required to sign the following statement: "Having read and made myself conversant with the instructions contained in Form KA supplied me, I certify that I have this day examined the above-named, and am of the opinion that ---- is in ---- health and of sound constitution. ---- is not suffering from any mental or bodily defect which in my opinion would unfit ---- for earning ---- own living as a ----." The form provides for a very complete examination, but as regards certain conditions, especially previous mental diseases, the examiner is necessarily dependent on the statements of the applicant. The Committee were informed that New Zealand has now the reputation with the Imperial authorities of being the hardest and most exacting of all Dominions regarding the health and physical fitness of immigrants. The Committee think that, in addition to the precautions already taken, inquiry should be made, as far as may be possible, into the family and personal history of assisted immigrants, particularly as to whether they disclose any cases of insanity, epilepsy or feeble-mindedness, crime, or dependence on charitable aid. The Committee are further of opinion that the time has now arrived when closer supervision should be exercised over those persons who come as ordinary passengers with the intention of remaining in the Dominion. The Immigration Restriction Act, 1908, provides that "When any passenger arriving on board any ship is either lunatic, idiotic, deaf, dumb, blind, or infirm, and is likely to become a charge upon the public," the owner, master, or charterer of the ship shall be required to enter into a bond in the sum of £100 for every such passenger, the person entering into the bond and his sureties being bound to pay to the Minister all expenses incurred within the space of five years for the maintenance of such passenger. Under the Act the following are made "prohibited immigrants":-- "(_b._) Any idiot or insane person." "(_c._) Any person suffering from a contagious disease which is loathsome or dangerous." "(_d._) Any person the date of whose arrival in New Zealand is earlier than two years after the termination of any offence which, if committed in New Zealand, would be punishable by death, or imprisonment for two years or upwards, not being a mere political offence, and no pardon having been granted." By Order in Council tuberculosis is gazetted as a contagious disease which is dangerous within the meaning of the Act, and syphilis and leprosy are contagious and loathsome diseases within the meaning of the Act. To any one who has seen a medical inspection of passengers arriving in an overseas vessel it is obvious that any degree of feeble-mindedness short of manifest imbecility or dementia would be liable to be admitted, and a good many cases of tuberculosis escape detection. Other countries are now alive to the importance of greater care being taken to guard against the admission of these who are likely to lower the mental and physical standard of the race, and in the opinion of the Committee stricter precautions should be taken in New Zealand. The smallness of this country makes it all the more important that it should be occupied and developed by a selected population, while its attractiveness as a field of settlement and the limited amount of land available place it in a position of independence in which it is able to insist on the maintenance of a high standard of fitness on the part of those desiring to share in its advantages. SECTION 14.--SUMMARY OF FINDINGS AND RECOMMENDATIONS. The Committee find-- (1.) That the unchecked multiplication of the feeble-minded and epileptic is leading to a continually growing addition to the sum of human misery, an ever-increasing burden on the State, and the serious deterioration of the race. (2.) That it would be sound economy, as well as in the best interests of humanity, to deal with the problem at once, even though it involve a substantial expenditure. The Committee therefore recommend: (1.) That to the definitions in the New Zealand Mental Defectives Act, 1911, there should be added a further definition--namely, that of "moral imbecile" contained in the English Act. (2.) That a special branch of the Mental Hospitals Department be established to deal with all classes of mental defectives who are not inmates of mental hospitals, and to act as an "after-care" Department to look after patients discharged from mental hospitals. (3.) That a Eugenic Board be appointed, to include a skilled psychiatrist, another member of the medical profession, and to be presided over by a Magistrate as Chairman. (4.) That the duty of the Department shall be to keep a complete register of persons coming under the following definitions in cases where the Eugenic Board has decided that the patients in their own interests or in the interests of society should be placed on the register:-- (_a._) Mental defectives who are not inmates of mental hospitals who in the judgment of the Eugenic Board come within the definition of "feeble-minded" in section 2, Class V, of the Mental Defectives Act, 1911. (_b._) Persons afflicted with epilepsy associated with automatism or other conditions rendering them especially liable to dangerous, immoral, or otherwise anti-social manifestations, and in the case of juvenile epileptics the mere frequency of fits rendering them unsuitable for attendance at ordinary schools. (_c._) Moral imbeciles as defined in the English Mental Deficiency Act, 1913. (_d._) Persons discharged from mental hospitals. (5.) That the care of backward and feeble-minded children, so long as these remain in an educable stage, shall be the duty, as at present, of the Education Department. (6.) That the Education Department obtain the services of psychological experts with a view to creating a comprehensive system providing increased facilities for the study of the individual child in school, for the classification of children according to their mental capacities, and for the adaptation of the curriculum to the needs of special children. This may necessitate the establishment of an increased number of special classes, an extension of the residential special schools, and also provision for social readjustment of the children when required. (7.) That fuller provision be made in connection with our Universities and training colleges for the education of teachers in child psychology and its practical application, and for their training for service in special classes and special schools. (8.) That full use be made of residential special schools for those cases who fail to benefit by attendance at special classes, but who are considered capable of training in manual work or handicrafts. The lower grades of the feeble-minded who require merely custodial care should, as a general rule, be excluded from special schools, but where there is any doubt as to a child's degree of mentality or aptitude for manual training admission to a special school for a probationary period should be arranged. (9.) That the Education Department shall report to the Eugenic Board those inmates of special schools found incapable of receiving benefit from further residence in such schools, and the Eugenic Board shall be empowered to place on the register such as they consider should be so dealt with. (10.) In regard to those on the register, the Eugenic Board shall have the power to order the removal of feeble-minded persons and moral imbeciles to a farm or industrial colony to be provided for the care and training of such persons. (11.) That any person alleged to be feeble-minded, or the parents or guardians of such person, shall have the right of appeal to a Judge of the Supreme Court against the placing of his or her name upon the register, and the parents or guardians of any person on the register shall have the right to apply to a Judge of the Supreme Court for the removal of the name of such person from the register, or for his or her release from any institution established under the Act. (12.) The Committee recommend the establishment of farm or industrial colonies where feeble-minded or delinquent persons who are custodial cases may be usefully and, as far as possible, profitably employed, and where they may receive the care and protection required by their condition. (13.) In regard to sterilization, the Committee find that the operation of vasectomy in men can be carried out under local anæsthesia, and is free from risk. The analogous operation of salpingectomy in women is an abdominal operation, but the risk is not considered serious. These operations are effective in preventing procreation, but do not otherwise interfere with the sexual powers of the patient. In the case of persons suffering from recurrent insanity or idiopathic epilepsy, high-grade morons, and others who in the interests of themselves and of society ought not to be allowed to reproduce, but who do not for other reasons require custodial care, it is desirable that the operation of sterilization should be considered by the Eugenic Board. (14.) The Committee recommends that the Eugenic Board should be given the power in suitable cases to make sterilization a condition of release from any of the institutions under the charge of the Department of Mental Hospitals, or removal of their names from the register on probation, but that in no case should the operation be performed without the consent of parents or guardians of the persons concerned. (15.) The Committee consider that the persons so operated upon and liberated should be released on probation and kept under supervision for a reasonable period, and that they should be returned to institutional care if found to be leading an immoral life, or unable to support themselves, or for any other reason which the Eugenic Board may consider sufficient. (16.) The Committee consider that marriage with any registered person should be made illegal, and that it should be an indictable offence for any person to have carnal knowledge of any registered person. It should also be provided that any parent or guardian who facilitates or negligently allows any registered person to have carnal knowledge of another person shall be guilty of an indictable offence. (17.) In view of the fact that feeble-minded persons and others likely to become a burden on the community have in the past been introduced from overseas, the Committee recommend that, in addition to the precautions already taken in regard to assisted immigrants, inquiry should be made into the family history, especially as to whether it discloses any cases of insanity, epilepsy, or feeble-mindedness, and that applicants unable to produce satisfactory evidence on this point should be excluded. The Committee are further of the opinion that closer supervision should be exercised over persons who come as ordinary passengers with the intention of remaining in the Dominion. PART III.--SEXUAL OFFENDERS. SECTION 1.--SCOPE AND ORIGIN OF THE INQUIRY. The second section of the order of reference requires the Committee "To inquire and report as to the necessity for the care and treatment of mental degenerates and persons charged with sexual offences, and to recommend forms of treatment for the various types of cases." The Committee's finding and recommendation in regard to the "care and treatment of mental degenerates" who have not been charged with criminal offences are embodied in the first part of this report. The origin of the inquiry, in so far as it concerns the care and treatment of mental degenerates and sexual offenders who appear before the Courts, is to be found in the resolution of the Prisons Board first appearing in their annual report for the year 1920 and repeated in their reports for 1921 and 1922. The resolution is as follows:-- "Whereas an increasing number of sexual offences has been the subject of frequent and serious judicial comment, especially in cases where young children were the victims, or the very serious nature of the charge connoted a perversion dangerous to the moral well-being of society; and, as the experience of the Board in dealing with prisoners of this class accords, as far as it goes, with the now generally accepted opinion that, with certain exceptions, persons committing unnatural offences labour under physical disease or disability, or mental deficiency or disorder, or both, which accounts for the sexual perversion and the morbid character of the offence charged: It is resolved by the Prisons Board strongly to recommend to the Government an amendment of the Crimes Act under which such offenders could be dealt with scientifically-- "(1.) Before sentence is pronounced, by furnishing expert medical or surgical reports or evidence: "(2.) By sanctioning an indeterminate sentence: "(3.) By segregating persons so sentenced and subjecting them, under proper safeguards, to any medical or surgical treatment which may be deemed necessary or expedient either for their own good or in the public interest." The repeated occurrence of gross offences of the character described by the Prisons Board, both before and since the Committee commenced its sittings, has focussed public attention more strongly upon the necessity for immediate action in regard to the more adequate treatment of this class of degenerate than upon the much larger and relatively more important class of mental defective covered by the first section of the order of reference. The bulk of the evidence heard by the Committee and practically the whole of the information obtained from various sources bore more particularly upon the question of the care and prevention of the propagation of the mentally defective part of the population coming under the general designation of "feeble-minded." While, however, the evidence obtained regarding the prevalence of sex offences and the care and treatment of the offenders was not great in volume, it was eminently practical in character. Apart from this, the flagrant cases reported in the daily Press during the past few months in connection with the Supreme Court Sessions in the various centres offer sufficient proof of the necessity for some drastic amendment of the law on the lines suggested by the Prisons Board. SECTION 2.--SERIOUSNESS OF THE EVIL. That the order for an inquiry into this question was by no means premature was made apparent to the Committee by the presentation at its first sitting of a return furnished by the Prisons Department, which appears in the Appendix to this report, page 30, showing the number of sexual offenders of the various classes who were actually serving sentences on the 10th May, 1924. The total number of the sexual offenders in the prisons of the Dominion on that date was 185. This number represented 17.273 per cent. of all the prisoners then in custody. Unfortunately, this percentage has since been increased by recent commitments of cases of the most serious types. A return compiled by the Government Statistician (Mr. Malcolm Fraser) shows that during the five years, 1919-1923, there were 331 persons sentenced in the Supreme Court for sexual offences as follows: Rape, 5; attempted rape, 19; indecent assault on a female, 150; indecent assault on a male, 50; unlawful carnal knowledge, 49; attempted unlawful carnal knowledge, 18; incest, 17; unnatural offence, 23: total, 331. SECTION 3.--TYPES OF OFFENCES. It is obvious that included under the heading of sexual offences are cases which vary so greatly in their gravity and in their very nature as to have little in common. There is a great gulf between the lad convicted of unlawful carnal knowledge with a girl who is under the legal age of consent, but who in some instances may even be the actual instigator of the offence, and the miscreant who tampers with little girls of tender years, or sets himself deliberately to corrupt boys. It was this class which the Prisons Board had in mind when it passed the resolution quoted, and no doubt it is the class which the Committee's order of reference is intended to cover. This class of offence is held in so much detestation by normal persons possessing ordinary healthy natural instincts that they find it impossible to consider the question from a judicial and coldly scientific point of view. It is evident, however, that this must be done if we are to entertain any hope of finding and applying an effective remedy to this cancer in the social organism. The evidence given before the Committee leads them to the belief that the evil is much more prevalent than is generally supposed--that the cases which come before the Court constitute only a percentage of those which actually occur. The ignorance of the general public in regard to these matters occasionally leads to an unjust attitude of mind towards some of the offenders brought before the Courts. Take the case of an old man charged with "exhibitionism." To the normal mind this seems a particularly disgusting proceeding, and the offender's age is regarded as an aggravation. The explanation is that the higher nerve-cells of the old man are degenerating, that he may be thus unable effectively to control his morbid sexual impulses, particularly if stimulated by an enlarged prostate. Such a person is a subject for pity rather than punishment; he must be restrained from annoying others by his offensive behaviour, but it is really a case for medical treatment. Another class to be considered is the confirmed homosexualist. There are well-known examples of men eminent in the arts and literature given to this unnatural practice, and of the offenders who come before the Courts only a small proportion can be described as feeble-minded. The practice is not confined to the male sex, although for reasons which will be apparent it is only males who come before the Courts charged with this specific offence. Many parents are unaware that girls as well as boys may contract bad habits and fall into sexual abnormalities, but it is a fact which they ought to know in order that the danger may be guarded against. Mr. Hawkins, Inspector of Prisons, whose experience extending over forty years in charge of prisoners in New Zealand makes his opinion of great weight, says there are two types of sexual offenders to be found in our prisons: First, there are those who yielded to sudden temptation, assaulted women or young female children, sometimes under circumstances exhibiting extreme brutality. In the majority of these cases, he says, the offenders are curable under a proper system of treatment, and it is seldom that they again offend. He goes on to say: "The real sexual pervert, however, who is continually tampering with young children is different, as is also the case when young boys are the victims. The worst pervert of all is the one who flagrantly offers himself for the purposes of sodomy. Strange as it may seem, there are quite a number of such degenerates in our prisons to-day; middle-aged and elderly men being the chief offenders of this class. In my opinion segregation for life is the only course, and my years of experience among such a class have convinced me of this, their case being absolutely hopeless when this stage has been reached, and no cure is possible in such cases." This pessimistic view, unfortunately, is fully confirmed by the records of cases examined by the Committee. Long terms of imprisonment, though combined with the lash, have proved quite ineffective as a deterrent, even to the individual concerned. In some cases the offender within a short time after his release has been detected in the same practices and rearrested. Still less does such a punishment act as a deterrent to other addicts, if for no other reason than that each individual cherishes the conviction that he will not be found out. Records of a number of illustrative cases are set out in the Appendix, pages 31-33. SECTION 4.--SUGGESTED REMEDIES. As regards the infliction of corporal punishment which is often advocated, Dr. Murray, Medical Officer to the Mount Eden Prison at Auckland, who has had a good deal of experience with sexual offenders, said he had seen a good many flogged, and he did not think it had any effect as a deterrent. He added, "Nothing will deter men once they have taken on that line. I think you will find in some cases where a person has been addicted to those practices before marriage he will drift again into the same course after a certain number of years. It seems a perversion they have no control over, and after a certain number of years it masters them." The general opinion of those who have been in touch with this problem for many years is well expressed in the following extract from a very valuable report furnished to the Committee by Dr. F. S. Hay, Inspector-General of Mental Hospitals, on the different questions coming within the scope of the inquiry:-- "As a member of the Prisons Board I have had the matter of the sexual offender brought under my notice and have come to some very definite conclusions. "I think that he should be brought to trial in the ordinary way, with perhaps suppression of publication of names of the offender and victim. If found guilty, he should be given an indeterminate sentence, and be removed to a farm reformatory prison, where he would be brought under skilled medical and lay observation, and his case studied in respect to--_Mentality_, when if afterwards it is decided that he is mentally defective or deficient in terms of the Act he can be transferred to the proper institution; _physical condition_, when if there is any disorder it can be remedied. If the disorder is causative (_e.g._, prostatic in the elderly) and surgical or medical interference is necessary, it will be carried out and its results carefully watched and reported on. "At present the sentences vary from, say, a year to ten years or more, the seriousness of the case being one determining factor; but often similar cases have years of difference in their sentences, and at the end of the sentence they once more enter the world, and a fair proportion repeat the offence. The people in the reformatory prisons can, with experience of a case lasting over some years, foretell the failure fairly accurately. "The degree of sexual perversion being measured by the amount of interference with children, which accounts for the measure of the sentence, means no essential difference in the intent or in the likelihood of repetition, and therefore scientifically the sentences should be equal. I suggest that they should be made equal by being made indeterminate. "Those of whom the Medical Officer cannot report favourably would continue on. They could be given a right of revision. Those of whom he can report very favourably could be released on probation, and so on. The essential feature is that no hurried diagnosis is made before trial, but diagnosis and prognosis are arrived at after months and maybe years of close observation and by a staff gaining experience daily." _Sterilization and Desexualization._ The increase of sexual offences during recent years and the disgust felt by all normally disposed people when contemplating cases of sexual perversion and assault upon young children have created a strong public opinion in favour of dealing with these offences as radically as circumstances will permit. Demands are constantly made that the offenders should undergo "a surgical operation," which is intended to imply either castration or simple sterilization. The British Medical Association, at their annual Conference held in Auckland in April, 1924, resolved that the following motion be adopted by the Council: "That this Conference can make no recommendation for surgical desexualization in the treatment of the adult sex pervert. The only safeguard for young children in this matter is the permanent segregation of the offender, either in prisons or in farm colonies. The Conference emphasizes the importance of the sterilization of the chronic mentally or morally unfit that a future generation may benefit thereby." The Committee therefore considers it necessary to set out as clearly as may be possible the result of such operations and its deductions from the evidence taken and authorities consulted as to the probability of the achievement of the result desired. To consider in the first place the operation of simple sterilization (vasectomy or salpingectomy). It is quite clear that this operation, when properly carried out, prevents procreation by the individual operated upon. Although the knowledge of the loss of this power may modify the views of life held by the individual the operation _per se_ does not affect his physical or mental health. This would be anticipated, as the production of the internal secretion of the sexual glands in either sex (ovaries or testes) continues. Sexual desire and capacity for coitus are not usually appreciably impaired by this operation, and it clearly could not be expected to restrain the sexual offender from the pursuit of his perverted modes of gratification. As, however, it appears that in a proportion of cases of sexual perversion the tendency is an hereditary one, these operations would, as in the case of the feeble-minded, tend to restrict the number of individuals in the community afflicted in this manner. The Committee would therefore recommend that simple sterilization be considered by the Eugenic Board in relation to sexual perverts. _Castration (Desexualization)._ The operation of desexualization implies the removal of the sexual glands (ovaries or testes), and involves other considerations than the operation of simple sterilization. The loss of the internal secretion of these glands may produce physical and mental changes in the individual. These effects vary greatly in degree according to the age at which the operation is performed. The earlier it is done the more decided the result. If performed _before puberty_ the secondary sexual characteristics fail to develop. The voice does not change in the male; the development of hair is more sparse; the general physical development is less masculine; and mentally the individual is less aggressive. Most pertinent of all as bearing upon the question under review, sexual desire and capacity do not develop, either at all, or at any rate, not to the same degree as in a normal individual. This result, however, is not constant, and depends principally upon the age at which the operation is performed. _After puberty_ the operation is very much less effective. The secondary sexual characteristics have been already established and persist. It occasionally occurs that certain mental effects are produced. In women these resemble, generally speaking, those occurring at the climacteric. In both sexes, however, mental disturbances may occasionally arise. The immediate effect upon sexual desire and capacity is slight. It would appear, however, from the small amount of evidence available on this point that the tendency is to a gradual diminution of sexual desire, possibly even to disappearance after some years. As it is generally after puberty that sexual perversion becomes manifest, it is clear that much cannot be expected from this operation. The problematic result and the extent of the mutilation restrain the Committee from any suggestion that such an operation should be made compulsory. The Committee feel that the information at present available in regard to sterilization or desexualization of sexual offenders is quite inadequate to permit of a sound and final judgment as to the value of the procedure. They recommend, therefore, that the whole question be remitted for careful investigation to the Eugenic Board which it is proposed should be set up. SECTION 5.--SCIENTIFIC TREATMENT AND SEGREGATION WITH INDETERMINATE SENTENCE. After very careful consideration the Committee have come to the conclusion that it is most desirable, in continuation of the system of prison reform which has been inaugurated with so much success in this country, that every person charged with a serious sexual offence should be carefully examined by a medical man and skilled psychiatrist before his trial, and evidence given to the Court of any physical or mental defect having a bearing on the case. In the judgment of the Committee, the best way of dealing with persons guilty of sexual crimes is by means of the indeterminate sentence. Each case should be examined by a psychiatrist as well as by the Prison Medical Officer, and the length of the period of detention should be determined by the Prisons Board after looking into the nature of the offence and considering the report of the psychologist and evidence as to the conduct of the prisoner while under detention. In cases of the worst type the indeterminate sentence would doubtless resolve itself into detention for life. At all costs the women and children of the community must be protected against this class of offender. The evidence of Mr. Hawkins as to this class is emphatic and very much to the point:-- "Personally I have never yet seen a complete cure in the case of a real sexual pervert. Years of imprisonment, to my own personal knowledge, have failed to do any good whatever. Treat them kindly, give them useful work, and make their lives as pleasant as possible, but never let them loose on society again. Even if this were done, the trouble with such individuals is by no means ended, as if it is intended to prevent them following their beastly tendencies constant unremitting supervision will be necessary. The average citizen has not the slightest conception of the utter depths of depravity to which a confirmed male sexual pervert will descend. Instances of such depravity have occurred to my knowledge. Many of the men referred to are not fit to live, but it must be remembered that in many instances the evil tendencies have been inherited, while in others environment has played a prominent part." The information placed before the Committee, which is summarized in the foregoing paragraphs, leads to the conclusion that the requirements of the position are fairly well covered by the terms of the Prisons Board's resolution. SECTION 6.--SUMMARY OF RECOMMENDATIONS. The Committee recommend,-- (1.) That the Crimes Act be amended to provide for the passing of an indeterminate sentence upon persons convicted of sexual offences. The Courts to be given full discretion as to whether the sentence shall be definite or indeterminate. (2.) That the Prisons Board be vested with the same power of recommendation for the release on probation or final discharge of prisoners under an indeterminate sentence as they have now in regard to all other prisoners. (3.) That a psychiatrist be appointed to advise the Prisons Department as to the classification and treatment, and that he be available to the Courts for the examination, before sentence, of sexual offenders, or of offenders who are thought to be irresponsible on account of mental defect. (4.) That the Prisons Board be advised by the Eugenic Board in regard to the release on probation or final discharge of all sexual offenders or feeble-minded offenders coming under its jurisdiction. (5.) The Committee feel that the information at present available in regard to sterilization or desexualization of sexual offenders is quite inadequate to permit of a sound and final judgment as to the value of the procedure. They recommend, therefore, that the whole question be remitted for careful investigation to the Eugenic Board which it is proposed should be set up. CONCLUDING REMARKS. It goes without saying that the work of the Committee in pursuing their investigations has been of a very painful and depressing character. We need not refer to the depth of human degradation and the revolting pathological details which had to be explored in dealing with the second order of reference, beyond saying that the witnesses who faced the unpleasant task of giving evidence deserve the thanks of the public for discharging what they evidently felt to be a public duty. In the inquiry into the problem of the feeble-minded the most saddening experience of the Committee was the sight of so many children deprived of their full share of the light of reason, often maimed and stunted in body as well as in intellect. The sight was made sadder still by the reflection that unless prompt and effective action is taken the multiplication of these degenerates will increase and the race will steadily deteriorate. Professor William MacDougall, the noted psychologist of Harvard University, speaking at Toronto recently in reference to the disregard of eugenic methods in America in maintaining and improving the national stock, said: "As I watch the American people speeding daily with invincible optimism down the path that leads to destruction I seem to be watching one of the greatest tragedies of history." New Zealand is a young country already exhibiting some of the weaknesses of much older nations, but it is now at the stage where, if its people are wise, they may escape the worst evils of the Old World. It has rightly been decided that this should be not only a "white man's country," but as completely British as possible. We ought to make every effort to keep the stock sturdy and strong, as well as racially pure. The pioneers were for the most part an ideal stock for a new offshoot of the Mother-country. The Great War revealed that from their loins have sprung some of the finest men the world has ever seen, not only in physical strength, but in character and spirit. It also revealed that an inferior strain had crept in and that New Zealand was already getting its share of weaklings. Surely our aim should be to prevent, as far as possible, the multiplication of the latter type, and to increase the elements of the mental, moral, and physical strength of the nation. In these beautiful and richly dowered islands we have a noble heritage--to be in keeping and to ensure the full development of their resources and enjoyment of their blessings the inhabitants should be of the highest type obtainable by human effort. This is the lesson which has been impressed upon the minds of the Committee during their investigations, and they have been sustained in their saddening experience by the hope that this lesson will be taken to heart by both the Parliament and the people of the Dominion. W. H. TRIGGS, Chairman. D. MCGAVIN. F. TRUBY KING. J. S. ELLIOTT. ADA G. PATERSON. CHAS. E. MATTHEWS. J. BECK. J. W. BUCHANAN, Secretary. APPENDIX. PAST MISTAKES IN IMMIGRATION. EXTRACT FROM REPORT ON HOSPITALS AND CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS OF THE COLONY, 1888, BY THE LATE DR. MACGREGOR, INSPECTOR-GENERAL. Many causes have conspired in our history as a colony to intensify the good-nature of our people--at any rate, so far as extravagance in vicarious charity is concerned. Our sensitiveness to suffering has been greatly stimulated by the comparative absence from our towns of those sights of misery and squalor that deaden the feelings by familiarity; and the lavish life we have led since 1870 has made us free-handed to the poor and impatient of the trouble required to find out whether our charity was wisely or mischievously given. During our years of plenty, when borrowed money was being largely spent, and the prices of wool, &c., were high, I was in charge of the Dunedin Asylum, and remember with what forebodings I regarded the quality of the immigrants that were being poured into the country after the despatch of instructions in October, 1873, to the Agent-General "To grant free passages, and also, if necessary, advance expenses to port of embarkation and outfit." Twenty thousand immigrants were, if possible, to be sent out in six months. With wonderful rapidity the results became apparent. From all parts came reports of the evil quality of the immigrants. The Immigration Minister, writing to the Agent-General in June, 1874, says: "I have already called your attention to the fact that the shipment by the ... included a number of girls out of the Cork Workhouse, and I took the opportunity of remarking on the very undesirable character of such immigration. A perusal of the report of the Immigration Officer at Dunedin will, I think, convince you how very disastrous it is likely to prove to the cause of immigration if such modes of selection as those adopted by Mrs. ---- (who was paid per emigrant) are under any circumstances permitted. The result in the colony of the landing and distribution of such women as these complained of, and of such immigrants as the "young men" whom Mr. Allen states he has ascertained to be professed thieves, and one of them a ticket-of-leave man, is naturally a feeling of indignation and dismay." No doubt this was an extreme case, but, nevertheless, it is plain that, what with the great influx of a low class of navvies during the height of our public works, and the vicious and degenerate people, of whom so many were introduced at this time, the average of our population in point of quality was considerably deteriorated. My experience as Medical Officer of our largest asylum for so many years has convinced me that the ultimate cost of this degraded class of people to this country is enormous. For instance, here is an account of two families and their asylum history:-- +--------+-------------------------------+---------------+-------------+ | | | Cost per | | | | | Head. Rate, | | |Number. | Name. | £1 per Week | Total Cost. | +--------+-------------------------------+---------------+-------------+ | | | £ s. d.| £ s. d.| | | _Family of B._ | | | |I | A.B. (brothers) | 80 2 0 | | |II | C.B. | 274 4 0 | | |III | D.B. | 230 2 0 | | |IV | E.B. | 8 2 0 | | |V | F.B. | 8 2 0 | | | | |---------------+ 600 12 0 | | | _Family of C._ | | | |I | A.C., wife | 472 2 0 | | |II | B.C., husband of A.C. | 418 0 0 | | |III | D.C., daughter of A.C. | 834 2 0 | | | | and B.C. | | | |IV | E.C., " | 1,318 2 0 | | |V | F.C., illegitimate daughter | 169 8 0 | | | | of E.C. | | | |VI | G.C., husband of F.C., but no | 5 2 0 | | | | blood relation | | | | | |---------------+ 3,216 16 0 | | | | |-------------| | | | |£3,817 8 0 | +--------+-------------------------------+---------------+-------------+ Such people and their offspring are at this moment a fruitful source of those idle and useless persons who bring discredit on the cause of that portion of our people who cannot find employment. They fill our gaols, our hospitals, and our asylums, and, like a swarm of low parasitical organisms, they have, to an extent that is almost incredible, absorbed the outdoor relief that was meant for the self-supporting and struggling poor. I am sure that by far the largest proportion of the aid that has been so abundantly distributed by the various charitable agencies, especially in our large towns, has been spent in supporting a great many idle and vicious persons whose example has had the most pernicious effect in pauperizing the people. It should never be forgotten that the evil caused by the introduction of this class is never finished. The impaired health, low morality, and insanity descend to the offspring, and are a continual drain upon the community. THE HEALTH OF SCHOOL-CHILDREN. EXTRACT FROM THE REPORT OF THE DIRECTOR OF THE DIVISION OF SCHOOL HYGIENE, 1924. The fundamental necessities of healthy growth are simple, and it is doubtful if there is any country in the world to-day where they are more universally procurable. Fresh air, sunlight, food of the right type and amount, adequate sleep and rest, wholesome exercise, are available for all but that small section of the people already mentioned. Sir Frederick Mott, in an address recently published in the _British Medical Journal_, quotes Voltaire: "Regime in diet is better than medicine. Eat moderately what you know by experience you can digest, for that which you can digest only is good for the body. What is the medicine that makes you digest? Exercise. What will repair your energy? Sleep." To this text he adds the benefits of sunlight and pure air. Reports from School Medical Officers continue to record that tea, white bread, and meat play the chief part in the dietary of many homes. Fresh fruit and vegetables, even in rural areas, are not eaten sufficiently. Frequent eating between meals takes away appetite and retards digestion. Many children bring to school substantial "play-lunches" to be consumed at the mid-morning interval. Others consume large quantities of sweets. Healthy hunger they rarely know. A noteworthy fact is that in New Zealand the consumption of sugar per head per annum is 117 lb., as against rather more than half that quantity in Britain and much less in other countries. Apart from its directly deleterious influence on the teeth, the alteration of food values in the dietary necessitated by the inclusion of so much sugar results in digestive troubles and disturbed nutrition. In this country, with its many sources of supply, eggs, milk, cheese, butter, fresh fruit, and vegetables should be available in sufficient abundance and at low-enough prices to displace to a greater extent the meat that is such a prominent article of diet in many households. The value of rest, both physical and mental, for children is not adequately recognized. In the country many children work early and late at farm-work, as milking, &c., and in the city children earn money as newsboys, message-boys, &c. Where the family exchequer needs to be augmented in this way excuse must be made, but in many comfortable homes children do not rest sufficiently. Mr. Cyril Burt, psychologist for the London City Council, was recently reported as deploring the tendency in modern education to attach undue value to the dramatic and theatrical. Children who possess talent are made to drag it prematurely into the light of publicity. They are over-trained and over-stimulated. Nearly all children are taught to regard frequent amusement as essential to happiness. To leave them to develop their own resources and allow them to find interest in simple and natural things would be to extend widely their chance of future happiness. It is the wrongly fed, insufficiently rested child that most readily develops physical deformity. The fatigued nervous system is expressed in general bodily slackness. There is deficient muscular and ligamentous tone. The typical faulty posture is thus acquired, with drooping head, flat chest, wing shoulders, prominent abdomen. Vitality is depressed and the bodily mechanism out of gear. The grosser bony deformities so often found in older lands associated with rickets are rarely seen in New Zealand, but less evident manifestations of faulty diet and regime are frequent. It is fortunate that in this country we cannot altogether escape, however we seek our pleasures in stuffy rooms or dark, ill-ventilated places of entertainment, those powerful and beneficial agents for promoting healthy growth--sunlight and fresh air. For the prevention of defect it is essential that the classroom should offer hygienic conditions--_e.g._, good lighting and ventilation, suitable furniture, &c. Another contributory factor in poor physical development is the use of incorrect clothing and footwear. It is a common thing to find from six to eight layers of tight garments constricting the chest even in a child whose legs are scantily protected from cold. Shoes which are too tight or too short, or which have heels so high as to prevent correct body-balance, are very harmful. Clothing should offer adequate protection, but should not prevent the most absolute freedom of movement. SEXUAL OFFENDERS IN NEW ZEALAND. The Prisons Department has furnished the following return of sexual offenders serving sentences in New Zealand prisons in 1924: The total number of sexual offenders, 192; the total number of sexual offenders born in New Zealand, 126; the total number of sexual offenders born out of New Zealand, 66; the total number of persons in the prisons serving sentences exceeding three months, 980; the total number of New-Zealand-born prisoners, 673; proportion of sexual offenders--New-Zealand-born to total number of New-Zealand-born criminals, 18.722; total number of prisoners born outside New Zealand, 307; proportion of sexual offenders born outside New Zealand to prisoners born outside New Zealand, 21.498. TABLE SHOWING THE NUMBER OF SEXUAL OFFENDERS SENTENCED UNDER THE RESPECTIVE HEADINGS IN NEW ZEALAND PRISONS AS ON 31ST AUGUST, 1924. Carnal Knowledge and Attempted Carnal Knowledge. 30 Indecent Assault. 106 Indecent Act. 3 Indecent Exposure. 9 Incest and Attempted Incest. 18 Sodomy and Attempted Sodomy. 23 Rape and Attempted Rape. 19 Manslaughter. 1[A] TOTAL 209[B] [Footnote A: Victim an old lady, aged 71, who died as the result of a struggle, in which prisoner committed rape upon her.] [Footnote B: Number includes 17 prisoners who appear under more than one of the above headings, therefore the actual number of individual offenders total 192.] Number of sentenced prisoners (exceeding three months) in custody on the 31st August, 1924, was 980, therefore sexual offenders (192 individuals) represent 19.592 per cent. of the sentenced prison population serving periods exceeding three months. CARNAL KNOWLEDGE AND ATTEMPTED CARNAL KNOWLEDGE. ____________________________________________________________ | Age of |Age of | Age of | Age of | Age of |Age of | |Offender.|Victim.|Offender.| Victim. |Offender.|Victim.| +---------+-------+---------+--------------+---------+-------+ | 28 | 13 | 43 |Several young | 34 | 14 | | 18 | 7 | | children | 22 | 15 | | 18 | 7 | 52 | 14 | 30 | 9 | | 34 | 15-5/6| 23 | 14 | 35 | 15 | | 72 | 13-1/2| 25 | 9 | 27 | 12 | | 21 | 8 | 44 | 6 | 28 | 9 | | 29 |15-7/10| 37 | 15 | 37 | 14 | | 29 | 13 | 29 | 15 | 35 | 3 | | 40 | 14-1/2| 44 | 13 | 17 | 12 | | 27 | 8 | 31 | 15 | 43 | 15 | | 23 | 15 | | | | | +---------+-------+---------+--------------+---------+-------+ SOME ILLUSTRATIVE HISTORIES. CASE NO. 1. ____________________________________________________ |Number of |Age of | | |Successive |Offender | | |Convictions.|when | Offence. | | |offence | | | |committed.| | +------------+----------+----------------------------+ |A. 1 | 19 |Indecent assault on a male | | 2 | 23 |Idle and disorderly | | 3 | 26 |Indecent assault on a male | | | | | | | | | | 4 | 37 |Indecent assault on males | | | | (three charges) | +------------+----------+----------------------------+ __________________________________________________________________ | Sentence. | Sentenced|Released|Period at Large | | | (Date). | (Date).| before arrest | | | | |on Further Charge. | +-------------------------+----------+--------+--------------------+ |4 years' hard labour | 21/12/06 |21/12/09| 2-1/2 months. | |12 months' hard labour | 4/ 3/10 |29/12/10| 2 years 2 months. | |10 years' hard labour | 17/ 3/13 |16/12/21| 2-1/2 years. | |and 10 years' reformative| | | | |detention | | | | |10 years' hard labour | 25/ 6/24 |Still in| | | | | prison.| | +-------------------------+----------+--------+--------------------+ NOTE.--Offender was born at Auckland and is the third eldest of a family of eight. He was evidently dull at school, as he passed the Third Standard only at the age of 13. At the age of 16 he was charged with the offence of vagrancy, convicted and discharged. The victims in all his offences were children varying in age from 6 to 13 years. CASE NO. 2. ______________________________________________________ |Number of |Age of | | |Successive |Offender | Offence. | |Convictions.|When Offence| | | |committed. | | +------------+------------+----------------------------+ | B. 1 | 23 |Theft (four charges) | | 2 | 24 |Rogue and vagabond; vagrancy| | 3 | 37 |Rape | +------------+------------+----------------------------+ _______________________________________________________________ | | | | | | Sentence. |Sentenced | Released |Period at Large | | | (Date). | (Date). |before Arrest | | | | |on Further Charge. | +---------------------+----------+----------+-------------------+ |1 month | 29/10/00 | 28/10/00 | 1 year. | |3 months' hard labour| 5/11/01 | 4/ 2/02 | 1 year 9 months. | |Hard labour for life | 1/ 2/04 | 3/12/23 | | +---------------------+----------+----------+-------------------+ NOTE.--Offender is a native of New Zealand. The most serious of his offences (No. 3) was committed on a girl 8½ years of age. After serving six years of his term of life imprisonment the prisoner showed signs of being mentally unsound, and in March, 1910, he was transferred to a mental hospital. He remained a patient in a mental hospital until March, 1915, when he escaped. It was afterwards ascertained that he was aware of the fact that he was about to be returned to prison as being no longer an insane person--hence his escape. After his escape he married, and subsequently served two years with the Expeditionary Force. He was returned to New Zealand as medically unfit and was arrested at Auckland and returned to prison in August, 1917. Two members of his family--a sister and a brother--have been convicted of theft and "conducting a house of ill fame." This man was released on probation, on the certificate of an expert in mental diseases, after serving the full life term of twenty years, but soon after release gave clear indications of return to former criminal perversions, and his rearrest was ordered. CASE NO. 3. ______________________________________________________________________ |Number of |Age of | | | |Successive |Offender | Offence. | Sentence. | |Convictions.|When Offence| | | | |committed. | | | +------------+------------+------------------+-------------------------+ | C. 1 | 25 |Obscene exposure |3 months' hard labour | | 2 | 26 | " |6 months' hard labour | | 3 | 26 | " |12 months' hard labour | | 4 | 27 |Wilful damage |14 days' hard labour | | 5 | 27 |Obscene exposure |12 months' hard labour | | 6 | 30 |Assault |2 months' hard labour | | 7 | 31 |Obscene exposure |3 months' hard labour | | 8 | 31 |Rogue and vagabond|1 month's hard labour | | 9 | 31 | " |12 months' hard labour | | 10 | 32 |Obscene language |2 months' hard labour | | 11 | 33 |Indecent assault |6 years' hard labour and | | | | on a female | 4 years' reformative | | | | | detention | | 12 | 40 |Indecent assault |7 years' hard labour | | | | on a male | | +------------+------------+------------------+-------------------------+ ________________________________________ |Sentenced |Released |Period at Large | | (Date). | (Date). |before Arrest | | | |on Further Charge. | +----------+---------+-------------------+ | 19/ 6/06 | 18/9/06 | 8 months. | | 15/ 5/07 |22/10/07 | 1 day. | | 23/10/07 | 15/8/08 | 3 months. | |} 6/11/08 | 28/8/09 | 10 months. | |} | | | | 13/ 6/10 | 5/9/10 | 4 months. | | 6/ 1/11 | 5/4/11 | 6 days. | | 11/ 4/11 | 10/5/11 | 1 day. | | 11/ 5/11 | 2/3/12 | 1 month. | | 2/ 4/12 | 1/6/12 | 8 months. | | 5/ 2/13 | 23/9/19 | 2 years 1 month. | | | | | | | | | | 31/10/21 |Still in | | | |prison. | | +----------+---------+-------------------+ NOTE.--C. is a single man, aged 40 years, and a native of New Zealand. He is a cabinetmaker by trade and said to be an excellent tradesman. He appears to have been in trouble since he was 25 years of age, and has constantly been in prison, the majority of his offences being of a sexual nature. He is described as a highly dangerous criminal and a menace to society. CASE NO. 4. _____________________________________________________________________ |Number of |Age of | | | |Successive |Offender | Offence. | Sentence. | |Convictions.|When Offence| | | | |committed. | | | +------------+------------+-----------------+-------------------------+ | D. 1 | 15 |Theft |6 months' probation | | 2 | 26 |Carnal Knowledge |20 years' hard labour | | 3 | 38 | (1.) Indecent |(1.) 2 years' reformative| | | | assault on a | detention; declared | | | | male | habitual criminal | | | | (2.) Indecent |(2.) 3 years' reformative| | | | assault on a | detention | | | | female | | +------------+------------+-----------------+-------------------------+ +----------+---------+-------------------+ |Sentenced |Released |Period at Large | | (Date). | (Date). |before Arrest | | | |on Further Charge. | +----------+---------+-------------------+ | 30/7/01 | ---- | | | 1/2/12 | 20/2/22 | 2 years 6 months. | | | | | | 28/7/24 |Still in | | | | prison | | +----------+---------+-------------------+ NOTE.--D. is a native of New Zealand, aged 38 years and married. His second offence, a very serious one, was committed on a female child of 9 years, the child being subjected to great violence and raped. He was released from prison on license on 20th February, 1922, when he married a respectable woman who knew nothing of his past history. She states that he was a good husband. There is one child of the marriage, a female of 11 months. He is addicted to drink, and is said to have been under the influence of liquor when he committed his last offence. He is not a fit subject to be at liberty, as it was the merest accident that his last offence did not become as serious as that he committed in 1912. Offender has two brothers, both criminals. CASE NO. 5. __________________________________________________________ |Number of |Age of | | |Successive |Offender | Offence. | |Convictions.|when Offence| | | |committed. | | +------------+------------+--------------------------------+ | E. 1 | 14 |Breaking, entering, and theft | | 2 | 15 |Absconding | | 3 | 15 |Breaking, entering, and theft | | 4 | 19 |Drunk | | 5 | 19 | " | | 6 | 20 |Sodomy | | 7 | 38 |(1.) Indecent assault on a male | | | |(2.) Common assault | +------------+------------+--------------------------------+ ____________________________________________________________________ | | | | | | Sentence. |Sentenced |Released |Period at Large | | | (Date). | (Date). |before Arrest | | | | |on Further Charge.| +--------------------------+----------+----------+------------------+ |Committed to Burnham | 26/11/00 | ---- | | |Returned to Burnham | 24/ 2/01 | ---- | | |12 months' hard labour | 18/ 4/01 | 15/ 2/02 | 2 years 3 months.| |Fined 5s. and costs | 23/ 5/04 | ---- | | |Fined 5s. and costs | 3/11/04 | 3/11/04 | 3 months. | |Life | 15/ 2/05 | 21/ 6/21 | 2 years 4 months.| |(1.) 10 years' hard labour| 30/10/23 | Still in | | |(2.) 1 year's hard labour | " | prison.| | +--------------------------+----------+----------+------------------+ NOTE.--E. is a native of New Zealand, aged 39 years and married, with one child. He is reported to suffer from injuries to the head caused by a fall from a tree when eleven years of age, and to be subject to uncontrollable fits of temper and loss of mental balance since that age. Offender was educated in Auckland, and passed the Third Standard only at the age of 13. He was committed to Burnham at the age of 10 for two years, from which institution he absconded on several occasions. According to his own statement, during his term at Burnham the practice of sodomy was fairly common, and the boys often talked about it, but in his opinion did not regard it as a serious offence. He states they were flogged for it, but did not think much of that either, because they were flogged for many other things which he knew were not serious. He says he also met boys from another industrial school who were sent to Burnham, who also did and talked about the same practice. Altogether, therefore, he knew he was doing wrong, but he will not admit that he regarded it in any way as a serious offence. In 1903 he went to sea, and states that his chief companion was a member of the Salvation Army, also a seaman. He affirms that during all the time he was at sea he never heard the offence referred to. The men talked of women but never of sodomy. From 1903 to 1905 he apparently lived a reasonably good life. In 1905 he was convicted of sodomy and sentenced to life imprisonment. He was released on license on the 20th June, 1921, and followed the occupation of gardener around Auckland. He married in June, 1923, and is at present serving a long sentence. Offender alleges having made arrangements to be sterilized, but states doctor refused to perform operation. Drink appears to have had some effect upon his life. CASE NO. 6. ________________________________________________________ |Number of |Age of | | |Successive |Offender | Offence. | |Convictions.|when Offence| | | |committed. | | +------------+------------+------------------------------+ | F. 1 | 12 | Theft | | | | | | 2 | 12 | " | | 3 | 20 | " | | 4 | 20 | " | | | | | | 5 | 21 |Breaking, entering, and theft | | 6 | 22 |Vagrancy | | 7 | 24 |Indecent assault | | 8 | 25 |Escaping from custody | | | | | | 9 | 28 |Indecent assault | | 10 | 37 | " | | 11 | 43 |Indecent assault on a female | | | | (two charges) | | | | | | | | | +------------+------------+------------------------------+ ___________________________________________________________________ | | | | | | Sentence. |Sentenced | Released |Period at Large | | | (Date). | (Date).|before Arrest | | | | |on Further Charge. | +-------------------------+----------+----------+-------------------+ |To come up when called | 8/10/92 | ---- | | | upon | | | | |Sent to Burnham | 5/12/92 | ---- | | |7 days' hard labour | 28/ 4/00 | ---- | | |To come up when called | 24/10/00 | ---- | | | upon | | | | |12 months' hard labour | 26/ 2/01 | 21/12/01 | 3 months. | |3 months' hard labour | 13/ 3/02 | 21/ 6/02 | 1 year 8 months. | | 5 years' hard labour | 17/ 2/04 | 23/12/07 | 9 months. | | 4 months' hard labour, | 17/ 5/05 | " | | | cumulative with above | | | | |7 years' hard labour | 8/ 9/08 | 8/12/13 | 3 years 5 months. | |7 years' hard labour | 14/ 5/17 | 20/11/22 | 6 months. | |3 years' hard labour on | 8/ 5/23 | Still in | | | each charge, cumulative,| | prison.| | | and declared | | | | | habitual criminal | | | | +-------------------------+----------+----------+-------------------+ NOTE.--F. is a native of New Zealand, born in Napier, February, 1880, and is a labourer by occupation. He was convicted of theft at Napier when a boy and sent to the Burnham Industrial School, from which place he escaped on several occasions. He was discharged from the school on the 30th April, 1898, and since then has continued his criminal career, his further offences being of a sexual nature. He is given to tampering with little girls, and has on four occasions committed indecent assault of a more or less serious nature. He is undoubtedly a menace to society and not fit to be at large. Offender is a temperate man, and when out of gaol appears to have wandered about the country doing an odd day's work here and there. His parents are dead. _Approximate Cost of Paper._--Preparation, not given; printing (575 copies), £42 * * * * * By Authority: W. A. G. SKINNER, Government Printer, Wellington.--1925. _Price 1s._ 
41258	----	MEMOIRS OF _The Life and Labours_ OF THE REV. SAMUEL MARSDEN, OF PARAMATTA, SENIOR CHAPLAIN OF NEW SOUTH WALES; AND OF HIS EARLY CONNEXION WITH THE MISSIONS TO NEW ZEALAND AND TAHITI. EDITED BY THE REV. J. B. MARSDEN, M.A., AUTHOR OF "THE HISTORY OF THE EARLY AND LATER PURITANS," ETC. ETC. LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY; 56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD; AND 164, PICCADILLY: AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. The Editor would make his kind acknowledgments to the Church Missionary and London Missionary Societies for the free use of the hitherto unpublished correspondence of Mr. Samuel Marsden in their hands; and to J. S. Nicholas, Esq., who accompanied Mr. Marsden on his first visit to New Zealand, for the use of a valuable manuscript account of his residence in New South Wales, containing much information respecting Mr. Marsden. He has also had before him a manuscript life of Mr. Marsden by Lieut. Sadleir of Paramatta, from which several extracts are made. And lastly, he would acknowledge the courtesy of those surviving friends who have placed in his hands Mr. Marsden's autograph letters to themselves or deceased members of their families. From these several sources the work has been chiefly compiled. The Editor may be permitted to add, that the similarity of his name having led to the general conclusion (which however is incorrect) that he was related to Mr. Samuel Marsden, he has been repeatedly urged to publish his life. At length this request being renewed by the Religious Tract Society, into whose hands some valuable papers and documents had fallen, he was induced to comply with their wishes, under the conviction that the facts and incidents, as well as the moral grandeur, of Mr. Marsden's life, were too important to be suffered to lie any longer in comparative obscurity. There are ample materials for a much larger volume; but of course the Editor has been obliged to select what appeared to be most suitable for general usefulness. CONTENTS. PAGE Introductory Note iii CHAPTER I. Early life of Mr. Samuel Marsden--His appointment to New South Wales--Voyage, and arrival in the Colony 1 CHAPTER II. Discovery and early History of New South Wales--Becomes a Penal Settlement--Its state, moral and religions, on Mr. Marsden's arrival 11 CHAPTER III. Mr. Marsden appointed to the Magistracy--Objections to this considered--Cultivates Land--Charge of Secularity considered--His connexion with the London Missionary Society, and care of its Polynesian Mission--Revisits England in 1807 26 Distant view of Sydney (_Engraving_) 27 CHAPTER IV. Various measures devised for the benefit of New South Wales--The establishment of Missions in New Zealand--Friendship with Dr. Mason Good 47 CHAPTER V. Return to the Colony--Duaterra--His strange Adventures--Mr. Marsden's Labours in New South Wales--Aborigines--Their Habits--Plans for their Civilization 63 CHAPTER VI. Mr. Marsden's Correspondence with the London Missionary Society--Buys the brig Active--His First Voyage to New Zealand--Journal of Events 85 CHAPTER VII. Death of Duaterra--Trials of Mr. Marsden in the Colony--Libel of Philo-free--Letter to the Rev. George Burder--To Dr. Mason Good--Sympathy of his Friends in England--Congratulations of the 46th Regiment, and Mr. M's acknowledgment--Letters of Lord Gambier, Rev. C. Simeon, and Mrs. Fry 108 CHAPTER VIII. Tooi and Teterree--Mr. Marsden's Second Voyage to New Zealand--Progress of the Gospel there--Shunghie--His ferocity--Mr. Marsden returns to New South Wales--Third Voyage to New Zealand--Malicious charges brought against him in his absence--A Commission of Inquiry--Its result--Letters, etc.--Approbation of the Government 129 The Bay of Islands, New Zealand (_Engraving_) 133 CHAPTER IX. Fourth Visit to New Zealand--Trials and Successes of the various Missions--Shipwreck and Danger of Mr. Marsden and the Rev. S. Leigh--Returns home--Letter to Avison Terry, Esq. 167 CHAPTER X. Aborigines--South Sea Mission--Fresh Slanders on Mr. Marsden's character--His Pamphlet in self-defence--Letter of Messrs. Bennett and Tyerman--Libels and Action at Law--Verdict--Case of Ring--Pastoral Letters of Mr. Marsden: To a Lady; On the Divinity of Christ--Fifth Voyage to New Zealand--Letters, etc. 184 CHAPTER XI. Death of Dr. Mason Good--Malicious charges brought against Mr. Marsden and confuted--Sixth Voyage to New Zealand-- Frightful state of the Island--Battle of the Maories--Their Cannibalism--Progress of the Mission--Mr. Marsden's return--Death of Mrs. Marsden--Anticipation of his own decease 212 CHAPTER XII. State of New South Wales--The Aborigines--Cruelties practised upon them--Attempts to civilize and convert them--They fail--Mr. Marsden's Seventh Visit to New Zealand--His Daughter's Journal--Affection of the Natives--Progress of the Mission--Danger from European vices--Returns in H. M. S. Rattlesnake to Sydney 232 Paramatta Church (_Engraving_) 233 CHAPTER XIII. Mr. Marsden's ministerial pursuits and journeys--Love of the Country and of Patriarchal story--His Old Age--Its mental features--Anecdotes--Love of Children--Bishop Broughton--His reverence for Mr. Marsden's character--Mr. Marsden's views of Death, etc.--His Habits of Prayer--His Illness and Death 260 CHAPTER XIV. Character of Mr. Marsden--His Life and Labours 280 APPENDIX I. Progress of the Gospel and of Civilization in New Zealand, since Mr. Marsden's Decease 295 APPENDIX II. State and Prospects of the Protestant Mission at Tahiti, under the French Protectorate 311 LIFE OF THE REVEREND SAMUEL MARSDEN. CHAPTER I. Early Life of Mr. Samuel Marsden--His appointment to New South Wales--Voyage, and arrival in the Colony. Samuel Marsden, whose life is sketched in the following pages, was not ennobled by birth or rank, nor was he greatly distinguished by splendid talents. Yet he was, in the true sense, a great man; and he was an instance, one of the most striking of modern times, of the vast results which may be accomplished when an honest heart, a clear head, and a resolute mind and purpose, are directed, under the influence of the grace of God, to the attainment of a noble object. While he lived he shared the usual lot of those whose large philanthropy outruns the narrow policy of those around them. His motives were seldom understood, and in consequence he was thwarted and maligned. Nor was it till death had removed him from the scene that either the grandeur of his projects or the depth of his self-denying, unobtrusive piety was generally appreciated. At length, however, his character has begun to be revered. It is perceived that he was, at least, a far-sighted man; and that in his own labours he was laying the foundations for the successes of thousands; while in the church of Christ he is had in reverence as the Apostle of New Zealand--a title of high distinction, yet by no means misapplied to one who, in the simplicity of his faith as well as in zeal and self-denying labours, was truly an apostolic man. Of his early life the memorials are but scanty. His father was a tradesman at Horsforth, a village in the neighbourhood of Leeds; and both his parents are known in the traditions of his family as having been persons of integrity and piety, attached to the ministry of the Wesleyan Methodists. He was born on the 28th of July, 1764, and after receiving the elements of learning at a village school, was placed in the free grammar-school of Hull, of which the celebrated Dr. Joseph Milner, the ecclesiastical historian, and brother to the no less eminent Dr. Isaac Milner, dean of Carlisle, was then head master. Here he was on the same form with Dr. Dealtry, the late rector of Clapham and chancellor of Winchester. Of his early youth little more is known; for his modesty, rather than any sentiment of false shame, to which indeed his whole nature was opposed, seldom permitted him to speak of himself, or to dwell upon the adventures or incidents of his early life. He was removed from school to take his share in his father's business; but he now had higher thoughts, and longed to be a minister of Christ. That he was a young man of more than ordinary promise is at once evident from the fact, that he was adopted by the Elland Society and placed at St. John's college, Cambridge, to study for the ministry of the church of England. The Elland Society, so called from the parish in which its meetings are held, is an institution to which the cause of evangelical truth in the church of England has been much indebted for the last sixty or seventy years. It is simply an association of pious members of the church of England, who assist young men of enlightened zeal and suitable talents with the means of obtaining an education with a view to the Christian ministry. In its early days, the funds were supplied by Thornton, Simeon, Wilberforce, and others like minded with themselves; and the society was managed by a few devoted clergymen of Yorkshire and the neighbouring counties; amongst whom were Venn of Huddersfield and Joseph Milner. To this society Samuel Marsden was introduced by his friend the Reverend Mr. Whittaker, a neighbouring clergyman; and not without some apprehensions, it is said, on the part of the latter, lest his simple and unassuming manner should create a prejudice against him. Such anxieties were superfluous. The Milners themselves had fought their way to eminence from the weaver's loom, and well knew how to distinguish real worth, however unpretending. The piety, the manly sense, and the modest bearing of the candidate, at once won the confidence of the examiners; and he was sent to college at their expense. Of his college life we are not aware that any memorials have been preserved. He was, no doubt, a diligent student; and from the warm friendship which grew up between himself and Mr. Simeon in after life, we may infer that he profited from his ministry. He had not yet completed his studies or taken his degree, when, to his great surprise, an offer was made to him by the government, of a chaplaincy in what was then designated "His Majesty's territory of New South Wales." That a post of such importance should have been offered, unsolicited, to a student hitherto quite unknown, is supposed to have been owing to the influence of Mr. Wilberforce. He had already secured the appointment of more than one pious chaplain to the colony, and from its commencement had always been anxious to promote its moral and religious welfare. At first, Mr. Marsden declined the tempting offer; for such it undoubtedly was to a young man in his circumstances, although no human sagacity could then foresee its vast importance. He was naturally anxious to complete his studies, and he had a deep and unaffected sense of his own incompetence, while yet so young and inexperienced. The offer, however, was repeated and pressed upon him, when he modestly replied, that he was "sensible of the importance of the post--so sensible, indeed, that he hardly dared to accept it upon any terms, but if no more proper person could be found, he would consent to undertake it." The choice reflects, no doubt, great credit upon the sagacity and spiritual discernment of those who made it. "Young as he was," says one who knew him well in after life, Dr. Mason Good, "he was remarkable for a firmness of principle, an intrepidity of spirit, a suavity of manner, a strong judgment, and above all, a mind stored with knowledge and deeply impressed with religious truth, which promised the happiest results." He was accordingly appointed as second chaplain to the settlement in New South Wales, by a royal commission, bearing date 1st January, 1793. He was ordained shortly afterwards, and proceeded at once to Hull, from whence he was to take his passage in a convict transport, the only conveyance, at that period, for the far distant colony; a banishment of half a world. On the 21st of April, he was married to Miss Elizabeth Tristan, in whom, for upwards of thirty years, he found not only an affectionate and faithful wife, but a companion singularly qualified to share his labours and lighten his toils. Disinterested and generous as he was, even to a fault, it was to her admirable management that not only his domestic comfort, but even his means of assisting others so profusely, was owing in no small degree. While at Hull, an incident occurred which shows to what an extent, even thus early in life, he possessed the art of gaining the respect and warm affection of those who knew him however slightly. While waiting for the sailing of the ship, he was frequently asked to officiate in various churches. One Sunday morning, when he was just about to enter the pulpit, a signal-gun was heard; his ship was about to sail, and it was of course impossible for him to preach. Taking his bride under his arm, he immediately left the church and walked down to the beach; but he was attended by the whole congregation, who, as if by one movement, followed in a body. From the boat into which he stepped he gave his parting benedictions, which they returned with fervent prayers, and tender farewells. He now found himself in a new world. What contrast could indeed be greater, or more distressing? The calm, though vigorous pursuits of Cambridge, and the pious circle of warm Christian friends, were at once exchanged for the society of felons, and the doubly irksome confinement of a convict-ship. From his journal, which has been fortunately preserved, we make the following extracts, omitting much which our space does not permit us to insert. "_Sunday, 28th August, 1793._--This morning we weighed anchor, with a fair wind, and have sailed well all the day. How different this sabbath to what I have been accustomed to! Once I could meet the people of God, and assemble with them in the house of prayer; but now am deprived of this valuable privilege; and instead of living among those who love and serve the Lord Jesus, spending the sabbath in prayer and praise, I hear nothing but oaths and blasphemies. Lord, keep me in the midst of them, and grant that I may neither in word or deed countenance their wicked practices." It was not till the 30th of September that the fleet in which his ship sailed finally left Cork. The war with France was then raging, and her fleets were still formidable; so that our merchantmen only ventured to put to sea in considerable numbers, and under the convoy of a ship of war. "_Cork, 30th September._--This morning the signal was given by the commodore for all the ships under his convoy to weigh anchor and prepare for sea. About nine o'clock the whole fleet was under sail, which consisted of about forty ships. The wind was very fair, so that we were quickly in the main ocean. I was soon affected by the motion of the vessel; this rendered me quite unfit for any religious duties. Oh! how miserable must their state be who have all their religion to seek when sickness and death come upon them. Lord, grant that this may never be my case. "_Monday, 23rd October._--I have this day been reading a portion of Dr. Dodd's 'Prison Thoughts.' What an awful instance of human infirmity is here! What need of humility in every situation, but more especially in the ministerial office! How needful the apostle's caution, 'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.'" The two following entries will be read with pain. The mercantile marine of England is still capable of great improvement in matters of religion, but we hope the instances are few in which the commander of a first rate merchant vessel would follow the examples they record. "_Sunday, 29th September._--How different is this sabbath from those I have formerly known, when I could meet with the great congregation! I long for those means and privileges again. 'Oh, when shall I come and appear before God?' Yet it is a great consolation to me to believe that I am in the way of my duty. I requested the captain to-day to give me permission to perform divine service to the ship's company; he rather hesitated, _said he had never seen a religious sailor_, but at length promised to have service the following Sunday. "_Sunday, 6th October._--The last sabbath the captain promised me I should have liberty to perform divine service to-day, but to my great mortification, he now declines. How unwilling are the unconverted to hear anything of divine truth!" But Mr. Marsden was not one of those who are discouraged by a first repulse. The next Sunday relates his triumph, and, from this time, divine service, whenever the weather allowed, was statedly performed, though the captain was a grossly immoral man, and Mr. M. was constantly subject to annoyance. "_Sunday, 13th._--I arose this morning with a great desire to preach to the ship's company, yet did not know how I should be able to accomplish my wish. We were now four ships in company. Our captain had invited the captains belonging to the other three to dine with us to-day. As soon as they came on board I mentioned my design to one of them, who immediately complied with my wish, and said he would mention it to our captain, which he did, and preparations were made for me to preach. I read part of the church prayers, and afterwards preached from the 3rd chapter of St John, the 14th and 15th verses: 'As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness,' etc. The sailors stood on the main deck, I and the four captains upon the quarter-deck; they were attentive, and the good effects were apparent during the remainder of the day. "_Thursday, 12th December._--I have been reading of the success of Mr. Brainerd among the Indians. How the Lord owned and blessed his labours to the conversion of the heathen! Nothing is too hard for the Lord. This gives me encouragement under my present difficult undertaking. The same power can also effect a change upon those hardened ungodly sinners to whom I am about to carry the words of eternal life. "_January 1st, 1794._--A new year. I wish this day to renew my covenant with God, and to give myself up to his service more than ever I have done heretofore. May my little love be increased, my weak faith strengthened, and hope confirmed." In this humble yet trustful spirit, Mr. Marsden entered his new field of labour. On board the ship there were a number of convicts, whose daring wickedness--in which, indeed, they were countenanced by the whole conduct of the captain and his crew--grieved his righteous soul from day to day; while at the same time it prepared him, in some measure, for scenes amidst which his life was to be spent. "I am surrounded," he says, "with evil-disposed persons, thieves, adulterers, and blasphemers. May God keep me from evil, that I may not be tainted by the evil practices of those amongst whom I live." His last sermon was preached, "notwithstanding the unwillingness there was in all on board to hear the word of God," from the vision of dry bones (Ezekiel xxvxii.) "I found some liberty, and afterwards more comfort in my own soul. I wish to be found faithful at last, and to give up my account with joy to God." To add to his anxieties, Mrs. Marsden was confined on shipboard, in stormy weather, and under circumstances peculiarly distressing, "though both the mother and daughter did well." But the same day the scene brightened; the perils and privations of the voyage were drawing to a close, and they were in sight of their future home--that magnificent Australia--destined hereafter to assume, perhaps, a foremost place among the nations of the earth, though scarcely known to Europe when Mr. Marsden first stepped upon its shores; and valued only by the British government as a settlement for the refuse of our jails. He thus gives utterance to the feelings of a grateful heart:-- "_March 2nd._--I shall ever retain a grateful sense of the mercies received this day, and the deliverances wrought. The Lord is good, and a stronghold in the day of trouble, and knows them that fear him.... As soon as I had the opportunity to go upon deck, I had the happiness again to behold the land: it was a very pleasing sight, as we had not seen it since the 3rd of December. We came up with the Cape about noon." In a few days, Mr. Marsden had taken up his abode in the "barracks" of Paramatta, a few miles from Port Jackson, and entered upon his arduous and toilsome duties as chaplain to the colony. His first Sunday in Australia is thus described:--"Saw several persons at work as I went along, to whom I spoke, and warned them of the evil of sabbath-breaking. My mind was deeply affected with the wickedness I beheld going on. I spoke from the 6th chapter of Revelation.--'Behold the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?' As I was returning home, a young man followed me into the wood, and told me how he was distressed for the salvation of his soul. He seemed to manifest the strongest marks of contrition, and to be truly awakened to a sense of his danger. I hope the Lord will have many souls in this place." He had, for a short time, a single associate, in the Rev. Mr. Johnson, the senior chaplain, a good and useful minister, but unequal to the difficulties peculiar to his situation. This gentleman soon relinquished his appointment, and returned to England. And thus Mr. Marsden was left alone with a charge which might have appalled the stoutest heart, and under which even his would have given way, had he not learned to cast himself for help on One who comforted the apostle, under circumstances of the keenest suffering, with the assurance, "My grace is sufficient for thee." On that grace our missionary chaplain trusted; and he found it all-sufficient. CHAPTER II. Discovery and early History of New South Wales--Becomes a Penal Settlement--Its state, moral and religious, on Mr. Marsden's arrival. The colony in which Mr. Marsden was now entering on his labours, and on which he was to leave the impression both of his holy zeal, and his far-sighted practical wisdom, is one of whose history our readers may naturally wish to have some account. We shall therefore suspend our narrative for a few pages, and lay before them a brief sketch of the earlier days of the great Australian colony. Europeans are indebted for their first knowledge of the existence of the vast country which now bears the name of Australia, to the enterprise of Spain and Holland, when these nations were at the head of the world's commerce, two centuries and a half ago. In 1607, Luis de Torres, who was sent out by the Spanish government on a voyage of discovery, passed through the straits which still bear his name, and which separate New Guinea from the greater continent of Australia; but he was not aware of its vast extent, and merely concluded that the coasts along which he sailed were those of a group of islands. Just about the same time, the Dutch explored the eastern shores of what has since been termed the Gulf of Carpentaria; and their knowledge of Australia was extended by subsequent voyagers, of whom the chief was Abel Tasman. In 1642, he discovered Van Diemen's Land, which was long supposed to be a part of the great continent named by the Dutch New Holland--the Australia of modern times. Known as Tasmania, Van Diemen's Land now immortalizes the great sea-captain. But these discoveries led to no immediate results of importance; and for upwards of a century New Holland was laid down, in charts and maps, as a region whose coasts were not defined, and whose interior was utterly unknown. Early in the reign of George the Third a noble spirit of enterprise animated the British government. Voyages of discovery were undertaken in the Southern Seas, under Captains Wallace, Carteret, and others; and at length the celebrated Captain Cook may be said to have retrieved a new world from romance and fable, and to have made it over to England and to the best interests of mankind. On the evening of the 19th of April, 1770, unknown land was descried from the mast-head of the "Resolute," of which Cook was the commander. The rugged coast of a vast continent seemed to extend far beyond the sweep of the telescope; and as the sun went down, the vessel, after soundings, dropped her anchor within a spacious bay. The smoke of distant fires told that the land was not without inhabitants; and it was determined, if possible, to open a communication with them. In the morning, a boat was rowed on shore, and the first Englishman set his foot upon Australia. A forest extended to the beach, and dipped its branches into the sea; while an abundant variety of beautiful flowering shrubs delighted the eye; and from this circumstance "Botany Bay" received its European name. A dismal solitude prevailed; for the natives, one or two of whom had been observed crouching behind the rocks, fled in terror to the woods as the boat approached. After spending a few hours on shore in search of water and fresh vegetables, and in the vain attempt to communicate with the savages, the boat returned at night. The bay was found to abound with fish; and the sailors were glad to relieve the weary monotony of their many months at sea, as well as to provide an agreeable change from their diet of salt meat and mouldy biscuits, in fishing both with nets and lines. Fish too was a wholesome diet for the sick; and at this period, even in the navy, sickness, especially from the scurvy, almost invariably attended a long voyage. The natives, seeing the men thus employed, discovered in our sailors some tastes common to themselves, and at length ventured towards the fishermen in a couple of light canoes. After paddling about for some time in evident suspense, they ventured to approach the boat, then came still nearer and shouted, and having caught a few beads which were thrown out to them, immediately retired. Gaining courage from the peaceful conduct of our sailors, who were instructed to continue their fishing without any attempt to follow them, the natives soon returned with a canoe laden with fine fish, which they readily bartered for such trifles as the boat was provided with. They were invited, by signs, to come on board the ship lying in the offing, which they soon ventured to do in considerable numbers. At first, they seemed harmless, scarcely understanding the use of the various novelties on ship board, and not much surprised by them; and honest, until the sight of ten or twelve fine turtle crawling on the deck proved too great a temptation. First, by signs they begged for some of these, and then, not succeeding, made a childish attempt to carry them off by force. They set little value on the beads and baubles which generally have so great a charm for savages. Nothing tempted them to barter but turtle or iron tools and nails, neither of which could well be spared. On shore it was found almost impossible to approach them; such was the distrust and dismay with which they evidently regarded the intrusion of their strange visitors. On further acquaintance the savages were discovered to be a singularly helpless and timid race. Their country appeared to be very thinly peopled, and that chiefly along the coast, for fish were plentiful and wild animals were few. Of the latter, the largest was scarcely bigger than a greyhound, and the first sight of it caused great amazement to the sailors, one of whom rushed into the tent which had been pitched on the shore for the use of the sick, declaring, with horror depicted on his countenance, that he had seen an evil spirit. He described it as having assumed the colour of a mouse with two fore-paws, but that it sat upon its hind quarters "like a Christian." An animal answering this description was soon after shot, and the flesh, when roasted, proved excellent food; it was called by the natives the kangaroo, and had hitherto been quite unknown to Europeans. There were no beasts of prey; unless wild dogs deserved that title, but the long grass concealed vast numbers of snakes and scorpions. At night, the forests were disturbed by the hideous flight of huge bats; by day, they echoed to the whooping of cockatoos and the screaming of innumerable parrots. Crows and a few wild pigeons were occasionally seen, and the rocks abounded with wild fowl, while now and then an eagle might be seen soaring far above. Such were the first impressions which Englishmen received, from their great voyager, of that vast continent. On the return of Captain Cook, the accounts he brought home of New South Wales suggested to the government the idea of making it a vast prison-house for convicted felons, who had now become a sore burden, as well as a cause of grave uneasiness, to this country. Its distance and its solitude recommended it to their choice. It would effectually rid the mother country of a dangerous class--this was the argument of the selfish; and it would afford the lost the opportunity of starting afresh in life--this was the hope of the few benevolent and humane who cared for the welfare of convicted felons. No one thought of the future grandeur of Australia. None wrote or spoke at present of our duties to the aboriginal savages, or probably wasted a thought on the subject of their conversion. In 1778, Botany Bay was selected by Sir Joseph Banks, who had sailed with Captain Cook as a naturalist and scientific observer, as a most eligible site for a penal settlement. But the project was no sooner broached than it had to encounter the most determined opposition from the public, to most of whom it seemed no doubt utterly chimerical and absurd. The "Gentleman's Magazine," the great organ of literature and science at that time, led the van. At first the editors affected to treat the scheme as an extravagant hoax; afterwards they tell their readers "with what alarm they read in the public prints that so wild a project was actually to be carried into execution." However, "it could never be countenanced by any professional man after a moment's reflection. Not only the distance, but the utter impossibility of carrying a number of male and female felons across the line, without the ravages of putrid disorders sweeping them off by the score, must for ever render such a plan abortive. The rains, the heats, tempests, tornados, and mountainous seas to be encountered, were enough to deter the most reckless of human life from such a hazardous enterprise. If any such desperadoes could be found, they ventured to foretell that their fate would for ever be a warning to others not to repeat the attempt." The subject was not suffered to rest; a few months afterwards SYLVANUS URBAN--for under this name the editors of that able journal have for upwards of a century disguised themselves--returned to the charge. "The ostensible design of the projector," they say, "to prepare a settlement for the reception of felons on the most barren, least inhabited, and worst cultivated country in the southern hemisphere, was beyond belief." Moreover, "Botany Bay was beyond the reach of succour or assistance from any European settlement." Then again the lavish expense of such an establishment was another serious objection. "It was said that it was to consist of a post-captain, a governor, with a salary of 500_l._ a-year, a master, and commander. A lieutenant-governor, with 300_l._ a-year, four captains, twelve subalterns, twelve sergeants, and one hundred and sixty rank and file from the marines; a surgeon, chaplain, and quartermaster. The whole equipment, army, navy, and felons, were to be supplied with two years' provisions, and all sorts of implements for the culture of the earth, and hunting and fishing. Some slight buildings were to be run up until a proper fort and a town could be erected. If such a report could be true, the expense would equal that of an expedition to the South Seas against an enemy." If such extravagance were repeated with every freight of felons, "it would furthermore extinguish all hope of paying off the national debt." We leave the reader to smile while he muses on the short-sightedness even of wise men, and the strange fluctuations of human opinion. The government persevered in spite of these prophetic warnings; which probably represented the general state of feeling on the subject among educated men in England, with whom, in those days, _Sylvanus_ was no mean authority. Accordingly, in March 1787, eleven sail, consisting of the frigate Sirius, an armed tender, three store-ships, and six transports, assembled at Portsmouth, having on board five hundred and sixty-five male, and one hundred and ninety-two female convicts, under Captain Arthur Phillip, an experienced officer, who was appointed governor of the new colony. The fleet set sail from the Mother Bank, on the 13th of May, 1787, and after a tedious voyage of eight months, the whole convoy arrived safely in Botany Bay in the middle of January, 1788. But Captain Cook's description of the country surrounding the Bay was found far too flattering--the harbour being exposed to tempestuous gales, which often rolled a heavy sea upon the beach, while the land was deformed with swamps and barren sand banks. On pressing forward to a neighbouring creek, marked by Captain Cook as a mere boat harbour, Governor Phillip had the satisfaction to find one of the finest havens in the world, in which a thousand sail of the line might ride in safety. It was then called Port Jackson. The different coves of this harbour were examined with all possible expedition, and the preference was given to one which had the finest spring of water, and in which ships might anchor so close to the shore that, at a very small expense, quays could be constructed where the largest vessels might unload. This cove is about half a mile in length, and about a quarter of a mile across at the entrance. In honour of Lord Sydney, the governor distinguished it by the name of Sydney Cove. On the twenty-sixth of February, 1788, the British colours were displayed on these shores; the plan of an encampment, the first rude outline of the metropolitan city of SYDNEY, was formed. The spot chosen was at the head of the cove, near a stream of fresh water, which stole silently along by a thick wood now the site of crowded streets, the stillness of which for the first time since the creation was then broken by the rude sound of the labourer's axe, and the hum of busy men. The anniversary of this great event has for some years been a festival in New South Wales. Governor Phillip landed with a thousand and thirty souls; his live stock consisted of six head of horned cattle and seven horses. The town and district of Sydney has now a population of three hundred thousand souls; every year the increase is enormous; and the ratio of each year's increase exceeds the last. These figures, however, make but a feeble impression upon us at a distance. The colonists feel a warmth of enthusiasm such as only the sight of the marvellous contrast can create. We copy the following extract from the Sydney Herald on one of these anniversaries--"the nativity of the city of Sydney and of the colony of New South Wales." "When we compare the town and the country as they are now with what they were then, we may well be proud of British enterprise, and of the local resources which it has so rapidly and triumphantly developed. How forcibly are we reminded of the miraculous transformation foretold by the inspired son of Amoz--'The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.' Let the imagination attempt this day to realize the enchanting contrast. As we look upon the noble ships riding in our harbour, and the steamers, yachts, wherries, and boats innumerable, gliding to and fro amid the joyous excitements of the regatta, let us picture the three humble boats which, this day fifty-seven years,[A] were slowly creeping up the unknown waters of Port Jackson, in quest of a sure resting-place for our first predecessors. As we cast our eye over the elegant buildings which now skirt our shores on either side, and over the crowds of well-dressed men, women and children, who are keeping holiday on this our national festival, let us think of the dense woods which then frowned on Governor Phillip, of the profound silence that reigned around him, of the awful sense of solitude with which he and his little band must have been impressed, and of the exultation they would have felt could they have foreseen that, within so brief a term, the wilderness they were approaching would have become 'replenished' with a teeming population, and have been 'subdued' to the beauty and affluence of civilized life." [A] This was published in 1845. But the dark side of this romantic picture must not be withheld. The infant colony was chiefly composed of the worst class of felons; they were the days of barbarous justice even in England, and it would often be difficult to say why some convicts were sentenced to transportation, while others for lighter causes were punished with death. There was, at that time, a fearful indifference to human life in our penal code. Punishment was its sole object; amendment was seldom if ever contemplated. Amongst the convicts there was every shade of crime, but scarcely any corresponding gradation of punishment. The truth is, true religion was at its lowest ebb, and pure philanthropy, in consequence, all but unknown; a formal, heartless religion prevailed; and, as one of its fruits, a stern and iron code of law. The convict-ship, which has now become a reformatory school, was rivalled in its horrors only by the slave-ship; indeed if the physical suffering was greater in the latter, in moral torture and mental defilement the hold of the convict-ship had, beyond all doubt, the bad pre-eminence. The prisoners consisted of the most abandoned persons of all nations; British, Dutch, and Portuguese sailors, the polite swindler, and the audacious highwayman, with their female accomplices. They were shipped off in chains; during the passage outward a detachment of soldiers was constantly on guard; and the voyage was seldom accomplished without bloodshed. The secret plots, in which the prisoners were continually engaged, broke out into open mutiny whenever circumstances offered a chance of success; for this purpose a storm, a leak, or a feigned sickness, was readily taken advantage of. When signs of such disturbances showed themselves, the ringleaders were seized and tried in a summary way by court martial; but the sailors often refused to enforce the sentence, so that it became necessary to compel obedience with loaded muskets. The hold of a convict-ship presented a melancholy picture of human depravity. In the course of the voyage most of the felons survived the sense of shame: the sounds of ribaldry and boisterous mirth, mingled with catches from the popular songs of the day, issued unceasingly from the prisoners' deck; this uproar was ever and anon increased by more riotous disturbances, blows and bloodshed followed; and occasionally the monotony of the voyage was broken by mock trials among the prisoners, to show that even in the most profligate and abandoned the principle of justice was not altogether destroyed. When a prisoner committed an offence against his fellows, a judge was appointed, advocates were assigned to the prosecutor and the accused, a jury was sworn to try according to the evidence, witnesses were examined, and the prisoner, being found guilty, was sentenced to an immediate and brutal punishment. From such elements the society of New South Wales was formed. Most of the convicts, after a short servitude, obtained tickets-of-leave, and settled upon the parcels of land allotted to them by government; and by the improvement of such opportunities they easily drew a subsistence from the soil; others devoted themselves to the care of cattle; while many more, as the colony increased, betook themselves to trade, by which means large fortunes were frequently acquired. Many of the convicts in the course of a few years contrived to amass great wealth, which was expended in the extension, or improvement of their property. The results of such industry were to be seen in the cleared inclosures, the neat orchard, and the trim garden that here and there surrounded a well-built brick-house. Even here honest labour seems to have been crowned with success. Free settlers were at present few in number, and the convict on his plot of land had many advantages over them. From acquaintance with the climate and the modes of cultivation best suited to the soil, as well as the easiest method of carrying on agricultural operations, he had learned to avoid many fruitless experiments. He understood the habits and character of the servants who assisted him, for the labourers were all of them felons; and he himself had probably shared the same cell, and worked in the same gang. He understood their principles of action; and they were infected with his prejudices. They lived together, ate at the same board and slept under the same roof. Thus a good understanding was maintained between them by his connivance with their follies or their vices. The men themselves always preferred a master who had been a prisoner to a free settler of stricter virtue, and a disposition less akin to their own; and for such an one they would make extraordinary exertions, of great importance at seed time and harvest, which a better master could not obtain at any cost. A brotherhood and close fellowship, the fruit of old associations, sprang up among the convict population. Many considered themselves as martyrs to the vengeance rather than the justice of the law; others, transported for political offences, regarded themselves in the light of patriots. In short a unity of interest cemented them; and each newly arrived convict ship was heartily welcomed. When it anchored in the harbour boats swarmed around it, the decks were crowded, the new comers were loaded with presents of fresh bread and other luxuries. They were pressed with eager inquiries after absent friends, the comrades they had left in English jails. They were greeted with the heartiness of old companions, and without reluctance exchanged the close confinement of the convict ship for the fellowship of their old acquaintance on shore. The colony at this time abounded with Irish who had shared in the rebellion of 1798, and who generally brought with them a fair knowledge of agriculture without very industrious habits. They attached little turpitude to their offences, considering themselves rather as sacrificed to the cause of freedom. Indeed it is well ascertained that some of them had been banished without even the formality of a trial, some without any specific sentence as to the term of their transportation, victims to the angry spirit of the times. They are described as, for the most part, conducting themselves with great propriety in the hope of one day regaining their freedom, and being restored to their long absent friends. Such men as these proved excellent colonists, and successful settlers. The criminal history of the colony in its first years discloses a dreadful list of both crimes and punishments. Small bodies of the convicts occasionally broke loose, fled to the woods, and there, setting all restraints at defiance, became reckless and ferocious. The dread of punishment did not restrain them from robbery, murder, and the most appalling crimes. The risks were well calculated, for the chances of conviction were few, and punishment was uncertain. If they were detected, a convict, being dead in law, could not be summoned as a witness. The jury would probably be composed of men who had been sharers in crimes of equal magnitude, perhaps old associates. The prisoners would be defended by convict attorneys, a nefarious class with which the colonial courts were filled. Ineffectual attempts were made to exclude these men, but the influence they had been suffered already to attain, made this impracticable. Amongst the most notorious of them was one who obtained a large practice by dint of his ingenuity, and managed the most important business in the colony. He had been some years previously sentenced to transportation for life, for forging a will. He had resorted to the ingenious device of putting a _fly_ into the mouth of a dead man, and then guiding his hand to trace his signature to the writing; and, upon the trial, he swore, with audacious assurance, that he saw the testator sign the will while _life_ was in him. In passing sentence, the late Lord Ellenborough took the opportunity of congratulating the profession on getting rid of such a pest. The records of the court are scarcely less painful than the history of the criminals themselves. The punishments adjudged were frightfully severe. If they did not reclaim the prisoner, they must have hardened him beyond recovery, if indeed they did not in many instances torture him to death. The men thus punished were already convicts it is true, and more than usual severity may have been justified. But no penal code emanating from a people professing the name of Christ may inflict savage and barbarous penalties. They recoil with disgrace upon the legislation which exacts them, and a whole nation is degraded in the person of its own malefactors; while God's displeasure is evident both in the increase and audacity of criminals on the one hand, and in the loss of humane and virtuous sentiments throughout the community on the other. We have taken three cases as a specimen of the method in which justice was dealt out to criminals in the early days of the colony in New South Wales. "John Allen, stealing in dwelling-house to the value of forty shillings. Publicly whipped, hundred lashes, confined in solitary cell at Paramatta on bread and water for six months, and hard labour at Newcastle three years." "Michael Hoare and James Gilchrist, feloniously and burglariously breaking and entering Schoolhouse at Kissing Point, and stealing from there divers articles of property. Twelve months solitary confinement at Paramatta, two years hard labour in jail gang, then transported for life to Newcastle." "John Hale, Robert Holton, and Peter Allen, killing a bullock with intent to steal the carcase. Solitary confinement on bread and water for three years in Paramatta jail, afterwards two years labour in jail gang there, and afterwards transportation for life to Newcastle."[B] [B] See Wentworth's Colony of New South Wales, second edition, 1820. Such was the sphere of Mr. Marsden's labours, such the difficulties with which he had to contend, and the system, too, which, as a magistrate, he was even called upon to administer. A more hopeless task could scarcely have been undertaken; but he set himself vigorously to work, looking to the Strong One for strength, and the fruit was "seen after many days." CHAPTER III. Mr. Marsden appointed to the Magistracy--Objections to this considered--Cultivates Land--Charge of Secularity considered--His connexion with the London Missionary Society, and care of its Polynesian Mission--Revisits England in 1807. The retirement of the senior chaplain left Mr. Marsden in sole charge of the spiritual concerns of the infant colony. He had now to officiate at the three settlements of Sydney, Paramatta, and Hawkesbury without assistance. The nature of the population, consisting as it did of a mass of criminals, rendered his ministerial labours peculiarly distressing. The state of morals was utterly depraved; oaths and ribaldry, and audacious lying were universal; marriage, and the sacred ties of domestic life, were almost unknown, and those who, from their station, should have set an example to the convicts and settlers, encouraged sin in others by the effrontery of their own transgressions. Under discouragement such as would have subdued the spirit of most men, did he, for the long period of fourteen years, continue at his post; cheered it is true with occasional gleams of success, but upon the whole rather a witness against abounding vice, than, at present, a successful evangelist. Nor were domestic trials wanting to complete that process of salutary discipline by which "the great Shepherd of the sheep" was preparing his servant for other and wider scenes of labour, and for triumphs greater than the church in these later days had known. His firstborn son, a lovely and promising child scarcely two years old, was thrown from its mother's arms by a sudden jerk of the gig in which they were seated, and killed upon the spot. It would be impossible to describe the agonized feelings of the mother under such a bereavement, nor were the sorrows of the father less profound. He received the tidings, together with the body of his lifeless boy, we are told, with "calm, and even dignified submission," for "he was a man who said little though he felt much." A second stroke, still more painful, was to follow. Mrs. Marsden, determined not to hazard the safety of another child, left her babe at home in charge of a domestic while she drove out. But her very precaution was the occasion of his death: the little creature strayed into the kitchen unobserved, fell backwards into a pan of boiling water, and its death followed soon after. Thus early in his ministerial career the iron entered his own soul, and taught him that sympathy for the wounded spirit which marked his character through life. [Illustration: DISTANT VIEW OF SYDNEY.] But from these scenes of private suffering we must turn aside. The public life and ministerial labours of Mr. Marsden require our attention; and as we enter upon the review of them we must notice two circumstances which from the very outset of his career exposed him to frequent suspicion and obloquy, both in the colony and at home, and formed in fact the chief materials, so to speak, out of which his opponents wove the calumnies with which they harassed the greater portion of his life. He had scarcely arrived at his post when he was appointed a colonial magistrate. Under ordinary circumstances, we should condemn in the strongest manner the union of functions so obviously incompatible as those of the Christian minister and the civil judge. To use the words of a great living authority on judicial questions, a late lord chancellor,[C] "it is the union of two noble offices to the detriment of both." Yet it seems in the case before us, that the office was forced upon Mr. Marsden, not as a complimentary distinction, but as one of the stern duties of his position as a colonial chaplain, who was bound to maintain the authority of the law amidst a population of lawless and dangerous men. Port Jackson, or Botany Bay as it was generally called, was then and long afterwards merely a penal settlement. The governor was absolute, and the discipline he enforced was, perhaps of necessity, harsh and rigid. Resistance to the law and its administrators was of daily occurrence; life and property were always insecure, and even armed rebellion sometimes broke out. If the government thought it necessary, for the safety of this extraordinary community, to select a minister of the gospel to fill the office of a magistrate, he had no alternative but to submit, or else to resign his chaplaincy and return home. Mr. Marsden chose to remain; moved by the hope of being able to infuse something of the spirit of the gospel into the administration of justice, and to introduce far higher principles than those which he saw prevailing amongst the magistrates themselves. In both of these objects he succeeded to an eminent extent, though not till after the lapse of years, and a remonstrance carried by himself in person to the government at home. Justice was dealt even to the greatest criminals more fairly, and the bench of magistrates grew at length ashamed, in the presence of the chaplain of Paramatta, of its own hitherto unabashed licentiousness. But the cost was great. He was involved in secular business from day to day, and that often of the most painful kind. His equal-handed justice made him a host of personal enemies in those whose vices he punished; and, still more, in those whose corrupt and partial administration of the law was rebuked by the example of his integrity. In the share he was obliged to take in the civil affairs of the colony differences of opinion would naturally arise, and angry feelings would, as usual follow. Of course he was not free from human infirmity, his own temper was sometimes disturbed. Thus for years, especially during his early residence in New South Wales, he was in frequent collision with the magistrates, and occasionally even with the governor. Again and again he would have resigned his commission, but was not allowed to do so; meanwhile his mind was often distracted and his character maligned. To these trials we shall be obliged to refer as we trace his steps through life; but we mean to do so as seldom as we can, for the subject is painful, and, since few men can ever be placed in his circumstances, to most of us unprofitable. [C] Lord Brougham. Another point on which Mr. Marsden's conduct has been severely, and yet most unjustly blamed, is that he was engaged in the cultivation of a considerable tract of land. Avarice and secularity were roundly charged upon him in consequence; for it was his painful lot through life to be incessantly accused not only of failings of which he was quite guiltless, but of those which were the most opposite to his real character. A more purely disinterested and unselfish man perhaps never lived. One who under the constant disturbance of every kind of business and employment, still "walked" more "humbly with his God," is not often to be found. Yet the cry once raised against him was never hushed; until at length, having rung in his ears through life, as a warning to him, no doubt, even in his brightest moments of success, that he should "cease from man," it was suddenly put to shame at last and buried with him in his grave. The circumstances were these: When he arrived in the colony, in the beginning of 1794, it was yet but six years old. The cultivation of land had scarcely begun; it was therefore dependent on supplies of food from home, and was often reduced to the brink of famine. One cask of meat was all that the king's stores contained when Mr. Marsden first landed on those shores from which the produce of the most magnificent flocks and herds the world has ever pastured was afterwards to be shipped. Governor Phillip, as we have seen, had laid the foundation of the colony amid scenes of difficulty and trial which it is fearful to contemplate. In September, 1795, Captain Hunter arrived, and following in the steps of his predecessor, exerted himself in clearing land and bringing it under cultivation. To effect this he made a grant to every officer, civil and military, of one hundred acres, and allowed each thirteen convicts as servants to assist in bringing it into order. Mr. Marsden availed himself of the grant, and his farm soon exhibited those marks of superior management which might have been looked for by all who were acquainted with the energy of his character and his love of rural pursuits. Where land was to be had on such easy terms, it was not to be desired or expected that he should be limited to the original grant. He soon possessed an estate of several hundred acres--the model farm of New South Wales;--and, let it not be forgotten, the source from whence those supplies were drawn which fed the infant missions of the Southern Seas, while at the same time they helped their generous owner to support many a benevolent institution in his own parish and neighbourhood. Years afterwards he was induced to print a pamphlet in justification of his conduct in this as well as other particulars on which it was assailed; and as we copy an extract from it, our feeling is one of shame and sorrow that it should ever have been required. He says, "I did not consider myself in the same situation, in a temporal point of view, in this colony as a clergyman in England. My situation at that period would bear no such comparison. A clergyman in England lives in the very bosom of his friends; his comforts and conveniences are all within his reach, and he has nothing to do but to feed his flock. On the contrary, I entered a country which was in a state of nature, and was obliged to plant and sow or starve. It was not from inclination that my colleague and I took the axe, the spade, and the hoe: we could not, from our situation, help ourselves by any other means, and we thought it no disgrace to labour. St. Paul's own hands ministered to his necessities in a cultivated nation, and our hands ministered to our wants in an uncultivated one. If this be cast upon me as a shame and a reproach, I cheerfully bear it, for the remembrance never gives me any cause of reproach or remorse." Monsieur Perron, a commander sent out by the French government to search for the unfortunate La Perouse (who had recently perished in an exploratory voyage to the islands of the South Pacific), visited Mr. Marsden's farm in 1802, and records, with the generous admiration his countrymen have never withheld from English enterprise and industry, his astonishment and delight. "No longer," he exclaims, "than eight years ago, the whole of this spot was covered with immense and useless forests; what pains, what exertions must have been employed! These roads, these pastures, these fields, these harvests, these orchards, these flocks, the work of eight years!" And his admiration of the scene was not greater than his reverence for its owner, "who," he adds, "while he thus laboured in his various important avocations was not unmindful of the interests of others. He generously interfered in behalf of the poorer settlers in their distresses, established schools for their children, and often relieved their necessities; and to the unhappy culprits, whom the justice of their offended country had banished from their native soil, he administered alternately exhortation and comfort." Indeed, it would be no easy task to enumerate all the schemes of social, moral, and spiritual enterprise upon which Mr. Marsden was now employed, and into all of which he appears to have thrown a force and energy which is generally reserved, even by the zealous philanthropist, for some one favoured project. Thus the state of the female convicts, at a very early period, especially attracted his attention. Their forlorn condition, their frightful immoralities--the almost necessary consequence of the gross neglect which exposed them to temptation, or rather thrust them into sin--pressed heavily upon him, and formed the subject of many solemn remonstrances, first to the authorities abroad, and when these were unheeded, to the government at home. The wrongs of the aborigines, their heathenism, and their savage state, with all its attendant miseries and hopeless prospects in eternity, sank into his heart; and under his care a school arose at Paramatta for their children. The scheme, as we shall explain hereafter, was not successful; but at least it will be admitted "he did well that it was in" his "heart." He was often consulted by the successive governors on questions of difficulty and importance, and gave his advice with respect, but at the same time with honest courage. Amusing anecdotes are told of some of their interviews. A misunderstanding had occurred between Governor King and himself, which did not, however, prevent the governor from asking his advice. Mr. Marsden was allowed to make his own terms, which were that he should consider Governor King as a private individual, and as such address him. Much to his credit, the governor consented. Mr. Marsden then locked the door, and in plain and forcible terms explained to _Captain_ King the faults, as he conceived, of _Governor_ King's administration. They separated on the most friendly terms; and if we admire the courage of the chaplain, we must not overlook the self-command and forbearance of the governor. With a dash of eccentricity the affair was honourable to both parties. Another instance of Mr. Marsden's ready tact and self-possession may be mentioned. Governor King, who possessed, by virtue of his office, the most absolute power, was not only eccentric but somewhat choleric. On one occasion, when Mr. Marsden was present, a violent dispute arose between the governor and the commissary-general. Mr. Marsden not being at liberty to leave the room, retired to a window, determined not to be a witness of the coming storm. The governor, in his heat, pushed or collared the commissary, who in return, pushed or struck the governor. His excellency, indignant at the insult, called to the chaplain, "Do you see that, sir!" "Indeed, sir," replied Mr. M., "_I see_ nothing," --dwelling with jocular emphasis on the word see. Thus good humour was immediately restored, and the grave and even treasonable offence of striking the representative of the sovereign was forgotten. These trifling circumstances are worth relating, not only in illustration of Mr. Marsden's character, but of the history of the earlier days of the colony. But graver duties had already devolved upon him. Amongst the unpublished manuscripts of the London Missionary Society, there is one document of singular interest, in connexion with the name of Samuel Marsden. It is a memorandum of seventeen folio pages on the state and prospects of their missions to Tahiti and the islands in the South Seas, dated "Paramatta, 30th January, 1801," and "read before the committee" in London--such was the slow, uncertain communication fifty years ago with a colony now brought within sixty days' sail of England--"on the 19th of April, 1802." Foremost in the literature of another generation will stand those treasures which slumber, for the most part unvalued and undisturbed, on the shelves of our missionary houses. For men will surely one day inquire, with an interest similar to that with which we read of the conversion of Britain in the dim light of Ingulphus and the Saxon Chronicle, or the venerable Bede, how distant islands were first evangelized, and through what sorrows, errors, and reverses, the first missionary fought his way to victory in continents and islands of the southern hemisphere. And of these, the document which now lies before us will be esteemed as inferior to none in calm and practical wisdom, in piety, or in ardent zeal tempered with discretion. The circumstances which called it forth were these. The Tahitian mission, the first great effort of the London Missionary Society, and indeed the first Protestant mission, with perhaps one exception,[D] to savage tribes, had hitherto disappointed the sanguine expectations of its promoters. We trust we shall not be thought to make a display of that cheap wisdom which consists in blaming the failures of which the causes were not seen until the catastrophe had occurred, if we say that, great and truly magnificent as the project was, it carried within itself the elements of its own humiliation. The faith and zeal of its founders were beyond all human praise; but in the wisdom which results from experience, they were of course deficient. "To attempt great things, and to expect great things," was their motto; but they did not appreciate the difficulties of the enterprise; nor did they duly estimate the depth of the depravity of the savage heart and mind. Dr. Haweis, a London clergyman of great piety and note in those days, preached before the Society when the first missionary ship, the Duff, was about to sail. He described to his delighted audience the romantic beauty and grandeur of the islands which lie like emeralds upon the calm bosom of the Southern Ocean, and anticipated their immediate conversion as soon as they should hear the first glad tidings of the gospel. The ship sailed from the Tower wharf, with flags flying and banners streaming, as if returning from a triumph, amidst the cheers of the spectators. Amongst the crowd there stood a venerable minister of Christ, leaning upon the arm of one who still survives--himself a veteran in the service of his Lord. As they turned slowly away from the exciting scene, the aged minister mournfully exclaimed, "I am afraid it will not succeed: there is too much of man in it." His words were prophetic; for nearly twenty years no success followed, but one sweeping tide of disappointment and disaster;[E] till, at length, when, humbled and dejected, about the year 1814, the missionaries, as well as the Society at home, in despair had almost resolved to abandon the station, the work of God appeared in the conversion of the king of Tahiti; and with a rapidity to be compared only to the long, cheerless, period in which they had "laboured in vain, and spent their strength for nought," the missionaries beheld not only Tahiti, but the adjacent islands transformed into Christian lands. [D] That of the Moravians to Labrador. The Wesleyans had a mission in the West Indies, and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel had long had the care of the Danish missions at Malabar. But none of these were missions, in the strict sense, among savages. [E] This anecdote we relate on the authority of the younger minister, from whom we received it. The elder one was the Rev. Samuel Bradburn, the friend and associate of Wesley.--EDITOR. It was in the midst of these disasters that Mr. Marsden was consulted, and wrote the memorandum to which we have referred. If in some places he seems to lay too great stress upon what may appear to the reader prudential considerations of inferior importance, let us remind him that on these very points the missionaries had betrayed their weakness. Their own quarrels and even the gross misconduct of some few amongst them, were not less painful to the church at home than their want of success. We make a few extracts: "... The first and principal object for the consideration of the directors is to select men properly qualified for the mission; unless persons equal to the task are sent out nothing can be done. It may be asked, who are proper persons, and what are the requisite qualifications? To the question I would reply in general terms. A missionary should be a man of real sound piety, and well acquainted with the depravity of the human heart, as well as experimental religion; he should not be a novice; he should not only be a good man in the strictest sense of the word, but also well informed, not taken from the dregs of the common people, but possessed of some education, and liberal sentiments. He should rather be of a lively active turn of mind than gloomy and heavy. A gloomy ignorant clown will be disgusting even to savages, and excite their contempt. The more easy and affable a missionary is in his address, the more easily will he obtain the confidence and good opinion of the heathen. "In my opinion a man of a melancholy habit is altogether unqualified for a missionary; he will never be able to sustain the hardships attending his situation, nay, he will magnify his dangers and difficulties and make them greater than what in reality they may be. A missionary, were I to define his character, should be a pious good man, should be well acquainted with mankind, should possess some education, should be easy in address, and of an active turn. Some of the missionaries who have come to this colony, are the opposite character to the above. They are totally ignorant of mankind, they possess no education, they are clowns in their manners. If the directors are determined to establish a mission in these Islands there is another object to be attended to; they must send out a sufficient body and furnish them with the means of self-defence. Unless the missionaries are able to protect themselves from the violence of the natives, they will be in constant danger of being cut off by them. Their lives, if unprotected by their own strength, will hang sometimes perhaps upon the fate of a single battle between two contending chiefs. Can any idea be more distressing than for the lives of a few defenceless missionaries to depend upon the sudden whim or turn of an enraged savage, without the means of self-defence? See them driven, in order to escape the savage fury of the natives, into holes and caverns of the rocks, suffering every hardship that nature can bear from hunger, toil, and anxiety, without so much as the prospect of relief in time of danger from Europe, or accomplishing in the smallest degree the object of the mission. Yet this must and will be the case, unless the missionaries are furnished with the means of self-defence, and are able to convince the natives of their superiority in point of skill and protection." Many will condemn this counsel. Nor do we feel bound to justify it to the letter. A reasonable degree of caution in avoiding danger, and under great emergency in preparing measures for self-defence, may be allowed even to the missionary. Yet experience shows that his safety chiefly lies in cultivating and exhibiting the spirit of Him who "suffered the just for the unjust," and "when led as a lamb to the slaughter, yet opened not his mouth." Various prudential hints follow, on marriage and other delicate subjects. The reader will smile to learn that fifty years ago it was a question at missionary boards whether married men were not disqualified for missionary work. It was argued that their wives would be exposed to ill-usage from the natives, and that they themselves would be diverted by the anxieties or the comforts of home from their proper calling. Mr. Marsden combats both of these objections. "It appears to me that a married woman, coming along with her husband in the mission, would have no extraordinary dangers to apprehend from the natives, and would, if a prudent woman, prove the greatest comfort and protection to her husband, sweeten his toils and sustain his burdens." Beyond this even Mr. Marsden's views did not yet extend. The time had not yet come when experience should drive the friends of missions, in the failure of many a plausible theory, to fall back simply on the New Testament, not merely for their principles, for this they did, but for the best and safest precedents in missionary work. They forgot how large a share of the honours of the primitive church in its labours for Christ belong to the weaker sex. That a missionary's wife might be no less, nay in some instances far more, successful than her husband was a thought not yet entertained in missionary counsels. They did not foresee that the instruction of the native woman, and the Christian education of the heathen child, would soon become the special province of the missionary's wife. Mrs. Wilson had not yet arisen "a mother in Israel," nor Mrs. Judson, nor others whose fame is only less in missionary annals, because their work has been carried on in places less interesting, or at least less open to the world's gaze, than Calcutta and Burmah. Nor can we give more than a hesitating and partial consent to some of the following observations: "Civilization must pave the way for the conversion of the heathen. As the natives in these islands are totally unconnected with the commercial world, however friendly disposed they may be towards strangers, they are, nevertheless, in a state of gross ignorance and barbarity. They must, from their social situation, their great distance from the civilized part of the world, be less prepared to receive the gospel than the Esquimaux on the coast of Labrador or the negroes in the West Indian Islands, and other parts of the heathen world where the Moravians in general send their missionaries. The heathens in these islands are, in the strictest sense, in a state of nature. Hence it becomes the indispensable duty of the missionaries to use every means for their civilization, and not to imagine they are already prepared to receive the blessings of Divine revelation." True, they were not prepared. But here we are at variance alike with Dr. Haweis on the one hand, and Mr. Marsden on the other. "The preparation of the heart," the wise man tells us, "is from the Lord;" and this is a kind of preparation which civilization will not supply. It is easy, as we have said, to find fault with men who, whatever their mistakes, deserve the veneration of the church. Let it be borne in mind that of savage life, its horrors, its ferocity, its cannibalism, England then knew but little. Had they been favoured with the experience we now possess, they would have felt more deeply how impotent a weapon is civilization to hew down the strongholds of Satan in a heathen land; their failures perhaps would have been fewer, and their successes more speedy if not more complete. A true Christian missionary, amongst savages, must be of necessity a civilizer. His own pure and quiet homestead, adorned with the arts of life, his cultivated garden, his neatly fenced paddock, the corn-field which soon follows, and then the mill--all these, and, we may say, all the habits and circumstances of his life, directly tend to civilize; and thus the process of outward reformation goes on amongst the surrounding tribes, while the spiritual seed is being sown in the native heart. And it will sometimes happen that native tribes are civilized before they are converted, simply because the carnal mind rejects the spiritual lesson, while selfishness, or the mere love of imitation, (equally powerful in the breast of children and of savages) induces them readily to adopt European habits. But after all we question whether the native heathen thus outwardly changed is one whit more likely to embrace the gospel than before. There is, however, much truth in the following remarks; they show a thoughtful mind, and they prove too, if we are not mistaken, that the gospel of Jesus Christ has lost nothing of its pristine force after the lapse of eighteen centuries; for the Christian missions of our own day have triumphed amidst some difficulties against which even the apostles had not to contend. "The conduct of the apostles cannot exactly apply as a guide to the missionaries in these islands; St. Paul was sent to preach a crucified Jesus, not to savage, but to civilized heathens; to Greece and Rome, to nations noted for their politeness of manners and human learning, the inhabitants both of Greece and Rome had obtained the highest degree of civilization, they were"--intellectually, of course, Mr. Marsden must be understood to mean--"prepared for the reception of the gospel; their philosophers had for ages been making diligent inquiries after the true God; they had erected altars and the most magnificent temples for the worship of some superior being whom they knew not. This is not the case with the natives of these islands.... It is unnecessary for me to contrast the situations of the primitive apostles and the present missionaries, and to point out their vast difference. Sacred and profane history will furnish the missionaries with this information, provided they will study their records." Mr. Marsden continued to be through life the confidential adviser of the London Missionary Society, and the warm friend and, as they passed to and fro upon their voyages, the kind host of their missionaries. His character was now established. The colony was rapidly increasing in importance; and yet no change had been made in its government, which was still committed to the absolute direction of a single mind, that of the colonial governor. He too was a military officer, and not always one of high position and large capacity, or even of the purest morals; for by such men the governorship of his Majesty's territory in New South Wales would have then been disdained. Mr. Marsden had done much, but much more remained to be accomplished. There were mischiefs that lay far beyond his reach, and spurned control. On the first establishment of the colony all the military officers were forbidden to take their wives with them--the governor and chaplains were the only exceptions--and there is one instance of a lady whose love to her husband led her to steal across the ocean in the disguise of a sailor, who was actually sent home again by Governor Phillip without being permitted to land. Our readers may anticipate the consequences which followed in an almost universal licentiousness. The most abandoned females often appeared fearlessly before the magistrates, well knowing that they would have impunity even for the greatest crimes; and male offenders used their influence to obtain a judgment in their favour. Expostulation, remonstrance, and entreaty Mr. Marsden had tried in vain. "Of all existing spots in New South Wales the court of judicature at Sydney," it was publicly affirmed, "was the most iniquitous and abandoned;" and at length a rebellious spirit broke out, and the authority of the governor, even in his military capacity, was at an end. The efforts of the faithful chaplain were now thwarted at the fountain head, and his life was not unfrequently in danger. Mr. Marsden's sagacity fastened the conviction on his mind that a crisis was at hand, which could only be averted by the interference of the government at home. He therefore asked for, and obtained, permission to revisit England. His fears were just; he had already assisted in quelling one rebellion, and another of a more serious nature broke out soon after he embarked, which drove the governor from the colony, and ended in his recall, and the establishment of a new order of things. The spiritual fruit of Mr. Marsden's labours had not yet been great, but already the foundations had been laid for extensive usefulness. On the eve of his departure, he was presented with a gratifying address, bearing the signatures of three hundred and two persons, "the holders of landed estates, public offices, and other principal inhabitants of the large and extensive settlements of Hawkesbury, Nepean, and Portland-Head, and adjacent parts of New South Wales," conveying "their grateful thanks for his pious, humane, and exemplary conduct throughout this whole colony, in the various and arduous situations held by him as a minister of the gospel, superintendent magistrate, inspector of public, orphan, and charity schools, and in other offices." They thank him too for "his attention and cares in the improvement of stock, agriculture, and in all other beneficial and useful arts, for the general good of the colony, and for his unremitting exertions for its prosperity," and conclude thus:--"Your sanctity, philanthropy, and disinterestedness of character, will ever remain an example to future ministers; and that God, whom we serve, may pour down his blessings upon you and yours to the latest posterity, is the sincere prayer of those who sign this address." CHAPTER IV. Various measures devised for the benefit of New South Wales--The establishment of Missions in New Zealand--Friendship with Dr. Mason Good. Mr. Marsden returned home in His Majesty's ship Buffalo, after an absence of fourteen years. On the voyage he had one of those hair-breadth deliverances in which devout Christians recognise the hand of God. The Buffalo was leaky when she sailed, and a heavy gale threatening, it was proposed that the passengers should quit the ship and take refuge in a stauncher vessel which formed one of the fleet. Mr. Marsden objected, Mrs. Marsden being unwilling to leave Mrs. King, the wife of Governor King, who was returning in the same vessel, and who was at the time an invalid. In the night, the expected storm came on. In the morning, the eyes of all on board the crazy Buffalo were strained in vain to discover their companion. She was never heard of more, and no doubt had foundered in the hurricane. On his arrival in London he waited on the under secretary of state to report his return, and learned from him that his worst fears had been realized, and that the colony was already in a state of open insurrection, headed by the "New South Wales Corps," who were leagued with several of the wealthier traders. The insurrection was, however, suppressed, and Lieut.-colonel Macquarie was sent out with his regiment to assume the government. Lord Castlereagh, the colonial minister, was quick to perceive the value of such an adviser on the affairs of Australia as Mr. Marsden, and encouraged him to lay before the government a full statement of his views. Seldom has it happened to a private individual to be charged with weightier or more various affairs, never perhaps with schemes involving more magnificent results. As the obscure chaplain from Botany Bay paced the Strand, from the colonial office at Whitehall to the chambers in the city where a few pious men were laying plans for Christian missions in the southern hemisphere, he was in fact charged with projects upon which not only the civilization, but the eternal welfare, of future nations were suspended. Nor was he unconscious of the greatness of the task. With a total absence of romance or enthusiasm--for his mind was wanting in the imaginative faculty on which enthusiasm feeds--he was yet fully alive to the possible consequences of his visit to his native shores, and intensely interested in his work. He aimed at nothing less than to see Australia a great country; and, with a yet firmer faith, he expected the conversion of the cannibal tribes of New Zealand and the Society Islands; and this at a time when even statesmen had only learned to think of New South Wales as a national prison, and when the conversion of New Zealanders was regarded as a hopeless task, even by the majority of Christian men, and treated by the world with indifference or scorn. In fact, during this short visit he may be said to have planned, perhaps unconsciously, the labours of his whole life, and to have laid the foundation for all the good of which he was to be the instrument. Let us first turn to the efforts he made for the settlements in New South Wales. The improvement of the convict population was his primary object, and his more immediate duty. He had observed that by far the greater number of reformed criminals consisted of those who had intermarried, or whose wives had been able to purchase their passage over, and he suggested that those of the convicts' wives who chose to do so should be permitted to accompany their husbands even at the public expense. This was refused, and it was almost the only point upon which his representations failed; but, as a compromise, the wives of the officers and soldiers were permitted to accompany their husbands, and not less than three hundred immediately went with a single regiment. To encourage honesty and industry he recommended not only remission of the sentence to the well conducted convict, but a grant of land to a certain extent; with which the government complied. But he had no weak and foolish sympathy with crime, and long after the period at which we are now writing, he continued to incur the hatred of a certain class by protesting, as he never ceased to do, against the monstrous impropriety of placing men, however wealthy, who had themselves been convicts, on the magisterial bench. Amongst the convicts he had observed that the greater number were acquainted with some branch of mechanics or manufactures; at present, they were unemployed, or occupied in labour for which they were unfit, and which was therefore irksome to themselves and of no advantage to the colony. He therefore suggested that one or two practical mechanics with small salaries, and one or two general manufacturers, should be sent out to instruct the convicts. But here a serious obstacle presented itself; for this was the age of commercial prohibitions, and it was objected that the manufacturers of the mother country would be injured by such a step. Mr. Marsden met the objection at once. If the government would but accede to the proposal, "he would undertake that the enormous expense at which the country was for clothing the convicts should entirely cease within a certain period." The wool of the government flocks and the flesh of the wild cattle was already sufficient to provide both food and raiment for the convicts without any expense to the parent state, and all he prayed for was, the opportunity of turning those advantages to the best account. These requests were granted, and on the same night, and at his own cost, he set off by the mail for Warwickshire and Yorkshire in search of four artisans and manufacturers, who were soon upon their way to the scene of their future operations. The vast importance of Australia as the source on which the English manufacturer must at some future day depend for his supplies of wool, had already occupied his thoughts. He found that within three years his own stock without any care on his part, (for his farm was entirely managed in his absence by a trusty bailiff who had been a convict,) had upon an average been doubled in number and value. With the energy which was natural to him, he carried some of his own wool to Leeds, where he had it manufactured, and he had the satisfaction to learn that it was considered equal, if not superior, to that of Saxony or France. His private letters abound with intimations that ere long Australia must become the great wool-producing country to which the English manufacturer would look. He was introduced to king George the Third, and took the liberty, through Sir Joseph Banks, of praying for a couple of Merino sheep, His Majesty's property, to improve the breed; and his last letter from England, dated from the Cowes Roads, mentions their reception on board. We anticipate a little, but must quote the letter, were it only to let the reader see how possible it is to be at once diligent in business and fervent in spirit. "We are this moment getting under weigh, and soon expect to be upon the ocean. I have received a present of five Spanish sheep from the king's flock, which are all on board; if I am so fortunate as to get them out they will be a most valuable acquisition to the colony. I leave England with much satisfaction, having obtained so fully the object of my mission. It is the good hand of our God that hath done these things for us. I have the prospect of getting another pious minister. I am writing to him on the subject this morning, and I hope he will soon follow us.... On Sunday I stood on the long boat and preached from Ezekiel xviii. 27: 'When the wicked man turneth away,' etc. It was a solemn time, many of the convicts were affected. We sang the Hundredth Psalm in the midst of a large fleet. The number of souls on board is more than four hundred. God may be gracious to some of them; though exiled from their country and friends, they may cry unto him in a foreign land, when they come like the Jews of old to hang their harps upon the willows, and weep when they remember Zion, or rather when they remember England."[F] [F] To Avison Terry, Esq., Hull. The spiritual wants of the colony were not forgotten. He induced the government to send out three additional clergymen and three schoolmasters; and happily the selection was intrusted to his own judgment. A disciple in the school of Venn and Milner, he knew that the ordinances of the church, though administered by a moral and virtuous man, or by a zealous philanthropist, were not enough. He sought for men who were "renewed in the spirit of their minds;" who uttered no mere words of course when they said at their ordination that they "believed themselves moved thereto by the Holy Ghost." But here again his task was difficult; clergymen of such a stamp were but few; the spirit of missionary enterprise was almost unfelt; and, to say the truth, there was a missionary field at home, dark and barbarous, and far too wide for the few such labourers of this class whom the Lord had yet "sent forth into his harvest." Mr. Marsden, however, nothing daunted, went from parish to parish till he met with two admirable men, the Rev. Mr. Cowper and the Rev. Robert Cartwright, who, with their families, accompanied him on his return. His choice was eminently successful. In a short account of Mr. Marsden, published in Australia in 1844, they are spoken of as still living, pious and exemplary clergymen, the fathers of families occupying some of the most important posts in the colony, and, "notwithstanding their advancing years and increasing infirmities," it is added, "there are few young men in the colony so zealous in preaching the gospel, and in promoting the interests of the church of England." The schoolmasters too, we believe, did honour to his choice. He had already established two public free-schools for children of both sexes, and he was now able to impart the elements of a pious education, and to train them in habits of industry and virtue. Into all these plans the archbishop of Canterbury cordially entered, and wisely and liberally left it to the able founder to select his agents and associates. Mr. Marsden likewise urged upon the home administration the necessity of a female Penitentiary; and obtained a promise that a building should be provided. That he was deeply alive to the importance of an institution of this kind, is manifest in his own description of the state of the female prisoners in the earlier years of the colony, and the deplorable picture he draws of their immorality and wretchedness. "When I returned to England in 1807," he says, "there were upwards of fourteen hundred women in the colony; more than one thousand were unmarried, and nearly all convicts: many of them were exposed to the most dangerous temptations, privations and sufferings; and no suitable asylum had been provided for the female convicts since the establishment of the colony. On my arrival in London in 1808, I drew up two memorials on their behalf, stating how much they suffered from want of a proper barrack--a building for their reception. One of these memorials I presented to the under secretary of state, and the other to his grace the archbishop of Canterbury. They both expressed their readiness to promote the object." Years, however, passed before the consent of the colonial governor could be gained; and Mr. Marsden's benevolent exertions on behalf of these outcast women were for some time frustrated. The variety of his engagements at this time was equal to their importance. He had returned home charged with an almost infinite multiplicity of business. He was the agent of almost every poor person in the colony who had, or thought he had, important business at home. Penny-postages lay in the same dim future with electric telegraphs and steam-frigates, and he was often burdened with letters from Ireland and other remote parts (so wrote a friend, who published at the time a sketch of his proceedings in the "Eclectic Review,") the postage of which, for a single day, has amounted to a guinea; which he cheerfully paid, from the feeling that, although many of these letters were of no use whatever, they were written with a good intention, and under a belief that they were of real value. He had already been saluted, like the Roman generals of old, with the title of common father of his adopted country; and one of his last acts before he quitted England, was to procure, by public contributions and donations of books, "what he called a lending library" (so writes the reviewer,[G] and the expression seems to have amused him from its novelty), "consisting of books on religion, morals, mechanics, agriculture, and general history, to be lent out under his own control and that of his colleagues, to soldiers, free settlers, convicts, and others who had time to read." In this, too, he succeeded, and took over with him a library of the value of between three and four hundred pounds. [G] Eclectic Review, vol. v. pp. 988-995. It was during this two-years'-visit to his native land, that Mr. Marsden laid the foundation of the Church of England mission to New Zealand. In its consequences, civil and religious, this has already proved one of the most extraordinary and most successful of those achievements, which are the glory of the churches in these later times. This was the great enterprise of his life: he is known already, and will be remembered while the church on earth endures, as the apostle of New Zealand. Not that we claim for him the exclusive honour of being the only one although we believe he was, in point of time, the first who began, about this period, to project a mission to New Zealand. The Wesleyans were early in the same field. The Rev. Samuel Leigh, a man whose history and natural character bore a marked resemblance to those of Mr. Marsden, was the pioneer of Methodism, and proved himself a worthy herald of the cross amongst the New Zealanders. A warm friendship existed between the two. On his passage homewards he was a guest at Paramatta; and no tinge of jealousy ever appears to have shaded their intercourse, each rejoicing in the triumphs of the other. Still, Mr. Marsden's position afforded him peculiar facilities, and having once undertaken it, the superintendence of the New Zealand mission became, without design on his part, the great business of his life. He had formed a high, we do not think an exaggerated, estimate of the Maori or New Zealand tribes. "They are a noble race," he writes to his friend John Terry, Esq., of Hull, "vastly superior in understanding to anything you can imagine in a savage nation." This was before the mission was begun. But he did not speak merely from hearsay: several of their chieftains and enterprising warriors had visited Australia, and they ever found a welcome at the hospitable parsonage at Paramatta. Sometimes, it is true, they were but awkward guests, as the following anecdote will show; which we present to the reader, as it has been kindly furnished to us, in the words of one of Mr. Marsden's daughters. "My father had sometimes as many as thirty New Zealanders staying at the parsonage. He possessed extraordinary influence over them. On one occasion, a young lad, the nephew of a chief, died, and his uncle immediately made preparations to sacrifice a slave to attend his spirit into the other world. Mr. M. was from home at the moment, and his family were only able to preserve the life of the young New Zealander by hiding him in one of the rooms. Mr. M. no sooner returned and reasoned with the chief, than he consented to spare his life. No further attempt was made upon it, though the uncle frequently deplored that his nephew had no attendant in the next world, and seemed afraid to return to New Zealand, lest the father of the young man should reproach him for having given up this, to them, important point." The Church Missionary Society, which had now been established about seven years, seemed fully disposed to co-operate with him; and at their request he drew up a memorial on the subject of a New Zealand mission, not less important than that we have already mentioned, to the London Missionary Society, on the subject of their Polynesian missions. He still lays great stress upon the necessity of civilization going first as the pioneer of the gospel; "commerce and the arts having a natural tendency to inculcate industrious and moral habits, open a way for the introduction of the gospel, and lay the foundation for its continuance when once received" "... Nothing, in my opinion, can pave the way for the introduction of the gospel but civilization." ... "The missionaries," he thought, "might employ a certain portion of their time in manual labour, and that this neither would nor ought to prevent them from constantly endeavouring to instruct the natives in the great doctrines of the gospel." ... "The arts and religion should go together. I do not mean a native should learn to build a hut or make an axe before he should be told anything of man's fall and redemption, but that these grand subjects should be introduced at every favourable opportunity, while the natives are learning any of the simple arts." He adds that "four qualifications are absolutely necessary for a missionary--piety, industry, prudence, and patience. Without sound piety, nothing can be expected. A man must feel a lively interest in the eternal welfare of the heathen to spur him on to the discharge of his duty." On the three other qualifications, he enlarges with great wisdom and practical good sense; but the paper has been frequently printed, and we must not transfer it to these pages. It is no dishonour done to Mr. Marsden if we say that, in mature spiritual wisdom, the venerable men who had founded the Church Missionary Society, and still managed its affairs, were at this time his superiors. Strange indeed it would have been had the case been otherwise. They listened gratefully and with deep respect to the opinion of one so well entitled to advise; they determined on the mission, and they gave a high proof of their confidence, both in the practical wisdom and sterling piety of their friend, in consulting him in the choice of their first agents. But they did not adopt his views with regard to the importance of civilization as the necessary pioneer to the gospel. So long ago as the year 1815, they thought it necessary to publish a statement of the principles upon which their mission was established. "It has been stated," they say, "that the mission was originally established, and for a long time systematically conducted, on the principle of first civilizing and then christianizing the natives. This is wholly a mistake. The agents employed in establishing the mission were laymen, because clergymen could not be had; and the instructions given to them necessarily correspond with their lay character. The foremost object of the mission has, from the first, been to bring the natives, by the use of all suitable means, under the saving influences of the grace of the gospel, adding indeed the communication to them of such useful arts and knowledge as might improve their social condition." The committee's instructions to their first agents in the mission abundantly sustain these assertions. Mr. William Hall and Mr. John King were the two single-hearted laymen to whom, in the providence of God, the distinguished honour was committed of first making known the gospel in New Zealand. They bore with them these instructions, ere they embarked in the same vessel in which their friend and guide Mr. Marsden himself returned to Australia:--"Ever bear in mind that the only object of the Society, in sending you to New Zealand, is to introduce the knowledge of Christ among the natives, and in order to this, the arts of civilized life." Then after directing Messrs. Hall and King "to respect the sabbath day," to "establish family worship," at any favourable opportunity to "converse with the natives on the great subject of religion," and to "instruct their children in the knowledge of Christianity," the instructions add--"Thus in your religious conduct you must observe the sabbath and keep it holy, attend regularly to family worship, talk to the natives about religion when you walk by the way, when you labour in the field, and on all occasions when you can gain their attention, and lay yourselves out for the education of the young." Mr. Thomas Kendall followed; a third layman, for no ordained clergyman of the church of England could yet be found. The same instructions were repeated, and in December, 1815, when the Rev. John Butler, their first clerical missionary, entered on his labours in New Zealand, he and his companions were exhorted thus--"The committee would observe that they wish, in all the missions of the Society, that the missionaries should give their time as much as possible, and wholly if practicable, first to the acquisition of the native language, and then to the constant and faithful preaching to the natives." It is subsequently added--"Do not mistake civilization for conversion. Do not imagine when heathens are raised in intellect, in the knowledge of the arts and outward decencies, above their fellow-countrymen, that they are Christians, and therefore rest content as if your proper work were accomplished. Our great aim is far higher; it is to make them children of God and heirs of his glory. Let this be your desire, and prayer, and labour among them. And while you rejoice in communicating every other good, think little or nothing done till you see those who were dead in trespasses and sins, quickened together with Christ." These passages fully exhibit the views of the committee of this evangelical Society with regard, not only to the New Zealand, but to all their other missions. Nor do they stand alone; every missionary association, taught in many instances by bitter disappointment, has long since discovered that the arts and sciences do not prepare the way of the Lord amongst the heathen abroad; just as they leave unsanctified our civilized heathendom at home. But we must return from our digression, which its great importance must excuse. Before he left England, Mr. Marsden formed or renewed an acquaintance with many great and good men, Mr. Wilberforce, Sir George Grey, the Rev. Daniel Wilson, late Bishop of Calcutta, the Rev. Charles Simeon, the Rev. Josiah Pratt, Dr. Olinthus Gregory, and others whose names are dear to the church of Christ. But we must particularly notice the friendship which he formed with Dr. Mason Good as productive of the highest blessings to his friend, and of much advantage to himself. The life of this excellent and accomplished person was published by Dr. Olinthus Gregory, soon after his death, in 1828. He tells us that Dr. Mason Good, when he became acquainted with Mr. Marsden, had long professed Socinian principles, but of these had recently begun to doubt, while he had not yet embraced the gospel of Christ so as to derive either comfort or strength from it. He was anxious and inquiring; his father had been an orthodox dissenting minister, and he himself a constant student and indeed a critical expositor of the Bible. He had published a translation of the book of Job, with notes, and also a translation of Solomon's Song of Songs. He saw in the latter a sublime and mystic allegory, and in the former a poem, than which nothing can be purer in its morality, nothing sublimer in its philosophy, nothing more majestic in its creed. He had given beautiful translations of many of the Psalms; but with all this he had not yet perceived that Christ is the great theme of the Old Testament, nor did he understand the salvation of which "David in the Psalms, and all the prophets," as well as Job the patriarch "did speak." His introduction to Mr. Marsden, in such a state of mind, was surely providential. He saw, and wondered at, his self-denial; he admired the true sublimity of his humble, unassuming, but unquestionable and active piety. "The first time I saw Mr. Marsden," says his biographer, "was in January, 1808; he had just returned from Hull, and had travelled nearly the whole journey on the outside of a coach in a heavy fall of snow, being unable to secure an inside place. He seemed scarcely conscious of the inclemency of the season, and declared that he felt no inconvenience from the journey. He had accomplished his object, and that was enough. And what was that object, which could raise him above the exhaustion of fatigue and the sense of severe cold? He had engaged a rope-maker who was willing, at his (Mr. Marsden's) own expense, to go and teach his art to the New Zealanders." So writes Dr. Olinthus Gregory. As a philosopher who loved to trace phenomena to their causes, Dr. Mason Good endeavoured to ascertain the principles from which these unremitting exertions sprang; and, as he often assured his friend, Dr. Gregory, he could trace them only to the elevating influence of Divine grace. He could find no other clue; and he often repeated the wish that his own motives were as pure, and his own conduct as exemplary as those of Mr. Marsden. Thus light broke in, and at length he received the gospel "as a little child," and began to adorn it by his conduct. For several years he was an efficient member of the committee of the Bible Society, and of that of the Church Missionary Society. To the latter especially he devoted himself with the utmost activity and ardour, and at his death, which occurred in 1827, the committee transmitted to Mrs. Good a resolution expressive of the very high value they set on his services, and of the heavy loss they were conscious they sustained by that event. The resolution was accompanied by a letter of cordial sympathy from the pen of the Rev. Edward Bickersteth, the secretary. When dying he was, heard, without any suggestion or leading remark from those around him, to repeat with quivering lips the text, "All the promises of God in him (Christ Jesus) are Yea, and in him Amen." "What words," said he, "for a dying man to rest upon!"[H] [H] See Life of Dr. Mason Good, by Dr. Olinthus Gregory. CHAPTER V. Return to the Colony--Duaterra--His strange adventures--Mr. Marsden's Labours in New South Wales--Aborigines--Their Habits--Plans for their Civilization. Mr. Marsden took what proved to be his last leave of his native land in August 1809. Resolute as he was, and nerved for danger, a shade of depression passed across him. "The ship, I understand," he writes to Mrs. Mason Good, "is nearly ready. This land in which we live is polluted, and cannot, on account of sin, give rest to any of its inhabitants. Those who have (sought) and still do seek their happiness in anything it can give, will meet nothing but disappointment, vexation, and sorrow. If we have only a common share of human happiness, we cannot have or hope for more." A few weeks afterwards he addresses the same Christian lady thus:-- "Cambridge, August 1, 1809. "Yesterday I assisted my much esteemed friend, Mr. Simeon, but here I shall have no continuing city. The signal will soon be given, the anchor weighed, and the sails spread, and the ship compelled to enter the mighty ocean to seek for distant lands. I was determined to take another peep at Cambridge, though conscious I could but enjoy those beautiful scenes for a moment. In a few days we shall set off for Portsmouth. All this turning and wheeling about from place, to place, and from nation to nation, I trust is our right way to the heavenly Canaan. I am happy in the conclusion, to inform you that I have got all my business settled in London much to my satisfaction, both with government and in other respects. The object of my mission has been answered, far beyond my expectations. I believe that God has gracious designs towards New South Wales, and that his gospel will take root there, and spread amongst the heathen nations to the glory of his grace. "I have the honour to be, dear madam, "Yours, in every Christian bond, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." His prayers and devout aspirations for New Zealand had been heard on high, and "the way of the Lord" was "preparing" in a manner far beyond his expectations, ardent as they seem. The ship Ann, in which he sailed, by order of the government, for New South Wales, carried with her one whom Providence had raised up to act a part, only less important than his own, in the conversion of that benighted land. The ship had been some time at sea before Mr. Marsden observed on the forecastle, amongst the common sailors, a man whose darker skin and wretched appearance awakened his sympathy. He was wrapped in an old great coat, very sick and weak, had a violent cough, accompanied with profuse bleeding. He was much dejected, and appeared as though a few days would close his life. This was Duaterra, a New Zealand chieftain, whose story, as related by Mr. Marsden himself, is almost too strange for fiction. And as "this young chief became," as he tells us, "one of the principal instruments in preparing the way for the introduction of the arts of civilization and the knowledge of Christianity into his native country," a brief sketch of his marvellous adventures will not be out of place. When the existence of New Zealand was yet scarcely known to Europeans, it was occasionally visited by a South Sea whaler distressed for provisions, or in want of water. One of these, the Argo, put into the Bay of Islands in 1805, and Duaterra, fired with the spirit of adventure, embarked on board with two of his companions. The Argo remained on the New Zealand coast for above five months, and then sailed for Port Jackson, the modern Sydney of Australia, Duaterra sailing with her. She then went to fish on the coast of New Holland for six months, again returning to Port Jackson. Duaterra had been six months on board, working in general as a common sailor, and passionately fond of this roving life. He then experienced that unkindness and foul play of which the New Zealander has always had sad reason to complain. He was left on shore without a friend and without the slightest remuneration. He now shipped himself on board the Albion whaler, Captain Richardson, whose name deserves honourable mention; he behaved very kindly to Duaterra, repaid him for his services in various European articles, and after six months cruising on the fisheries, put him on shore in the Bay of Islands, where his tribe dwelt. Here he remained six months, when the Santa Anna anchored in the bay, on her way to Norfolk Island and other islets of the South Sea in quest of seal skins. The restless Duaterra again embarked; he was put on shore on Norfolk Island at the head of a party of fourteen sailors, provided with a very scanty supply of water, bread, and salt provisions, to kill seals, while the ship sailed, intending to be absent but a short time, to procure potatoes and pork in New Zealand. On her return she was blown off the coast in a storm, and did not make the land for a month. The sealing party were now in the greatest distress, and accustomed as he was to hardship, Duaterra often spoke of the extreme suffering which he and his party had endured, while, for upwards of three months, they existed on a desert island with no other food than seals and sea fowls, and no water except when a shower of rain happened to fall. Three of his companions, two Europeans and one Tahitian, died under these distresses. At length the Santa Anna returned, having procured a valuable cargo of seal skins, and prepared to take her departure homewards. Duaterra had now an opportunity of gratifying an ardent desire he had for some time entertained of visiting that remote country from which so many vast ships were sent, and to see with his own eyes the great chief of so wonderful a people. He willingly risked the voyage, as a common sailor, to visit England and see king George. The Santa Anna arrived in the river Thames about July 1809, and Duaterra now requested that the captain would make good his promise, and indulge him with at least a sight of the king. Again he had a sad proof of the perfidiousness of Europeans. Sometimes he was told that no one was allowed to see king George; sometimes that his house could not be found. This distressed him exceedingly; he saw little of London, was ill-used, and seldom permitted to go on shore. In about fifteen days, the vessel had discharged her cargo, when the captain told him that he should put him on board the Ann, which had been taken up by government to convey convicts to New South Wales. The Ann had already dropped down to Gravesend, and Duaterra asked the master of the Santa Anna for some wages and clothing. He refused to give him any, telling him that the owners at Port Jackson would pay him in two muskets for his services on his arrival there; but even these he never received. Mr. Marsden was at this time in London, quite ignorant of the fact that the son of a New Zealand chief, in circumstances so pitiable, lay on board a South Sea whaler near London bridge. Their first meeting was on board the Ann, as we have stated, when she had been some days at sea. His sympathies were at once roused, and his indignation too; for it was always ill for the oppressor when he fell within the power of his stern rebuke. "I inquired," he says, "of the master where he met with him, and also of Duaterra what had brought him to England, and how he came to be so wretched and miserable. He told me that the hardships and wrongs which he had endured on board the Santa Anna were exceedingly great, and that the English sailors had beaten him very much, which was the cause of his spitting blood, and that the master had defrauded him of all his wages, and prevented his seeing the king. I should have been very happy, if there had been time, to call the master of the Santa Anna to account for his conduct, but it was too late. I endeavoured to soothe his afflictions, and assured him that he should be protected from insults, and that his wants should be supplied." By the kindness of those on board, Duaterra recovered, and was ever after truly grateful for the attention shown him. On their arrival at Sydney, Mr. Marsden took him into his house for six months, during which time he applied himself to agriculture; he then wished to return home, and embarked for New Zealand; but further perils and adventures were in prospect, and we shall have occasion to advert to them hereafter. For the present we leave him on his voyage to his island home. The Ann touched on her passage out at Rio Janeiro, and Mr. Marsden spent a short time on shore, where his active mind, already, one would suppose, burthened with cares and projects, discovered a new field of labour. The ignorance and superstition of a popish city stirred his spirit, like that of Paul at Athens. He wrote home to entreat the Church Missionary Society, if possible, to send them teachers; but this lay not within their province. From a letter of Sir George Grey's, addressed to himself, it appears that he had interested some members of the English government upon the subject, and that while at Rio he had been active in distributing the Scriptures. But he was now to resume his labours in Australia, where he arrived in safety, fondly calculating upon a long season of peaceful toil in his heavenly Master's service. His mind was occupied with various projects, both for the good of the colony and of the heathen round about. His own letters, simply and hastily thrown off in all the confidence of friendship, will show how eagerly he plunged, and with what a total absence of selfish considerations, into the work before him: "To John Terry, Esq. "Paramatta, October 26, 1810. "DEAR SIR.--I received your kind and affectionate letter, also a bottle of wheat, with the Hull papers, from your brother; for all of which I feel much indebted. We had a very fine passage, and I found my affairs much better than I had any reason to expect. The revolution had caused much distress to many families, and the settlement has been thrown much back by this event. My wishes for the general welfare of the colony have been more successful than I expected they would be. The rising generation are now under education in almost all parts of the country. The Catholic priests have all left us, so that we have now the whole field to ourselves. I trust much good will be done; some amongst us are turning to the Lord. Our churches are well attended, which is promising and encouraging to us. My colleagues are men of piety and four of the schoolmasters. This will become a great country in time, it is much favoured in its soil and climate. I am very anxious for the instruction of the New Zealanders; they are a noble race, vastly superior in understanding to anything you can imagine a savage nation could attain. Mr. Hall, who was in Hull, and came out with us with an intention to proceed to New Zealand as a missionary, has not yet proceeded, in consequence of a melancholy difference between the natives of that island and the crew of a ship called the 'Boyd.' The ship was burnt, and all the crew murdered; our people, it appears, were the first aggressors, and dearly paid for their conduct towards the natives by the loss of their lives and ship. I do not think that this awful event will prevent the establishment of a mission at New Zealand. Time must be allowed for the difference to be made up, and for confidence to be restored. I wrote a letter to Mr. Hardcastle, and another to Rev. J. Pratt, Secretary to the Society for Missions to Africa and the East, and have pointed out to them the necessity of having a ship constantly employed in visiting the islands in the South Seas, for the convenience, safety, and protection of the missionaries, either at Otaheite and New Zealand, or at any other island upon which they may reside.... "Your's respectfully, "(Signed) SAMUEL MARSDEN." Great projects are not to be accomplished without many disappointments. The first attempt is seldom the successful one. In spiritual things, this may be regarded as the established rule, or law, in accordance to which the Head of the church controls while he purifies his servants' zeal. They are made to feel their weakness. Where they expect honour they meet with opposition, perhaps with scorn. Their favourite plans are those which bring, for a time, the least success and the greatest anxiety. Thus they are taught the great lesson of their own weakness, and the only less important one of the insignificance of others in whom they trusted. And thus, too, in the painful but salutary school of adversity, they learn that the highest wisdom is, after all, simply to accept the cross of Christ, and to cast themselves on the unerring guidance of the Holy Spirit; and, in a word, "to cease from man." The new governor, General Macquarie, had arrived out a few months before Mr. Marsden. He was an able commander, and had the good of the colony much at heart; and he had a task of no little difficulty to perform, in reducing what was still a penal colony, just recovering from a state of insurrection, into order and obedience. His powers were great; he considered them absolute. Mr. Marsden, too, was justly tenacious of public morality and virtue, and still more so of the spiritual independence of the ministerial character. It seems that the rights of the governor on the one side, and those of the ministers of religion on the other, had not been accurately defined by the government at home, and thus a collision between two minds so firm and so resolute as those of the governor and Mr. Marsden, was inevitable. Occasions of difference soon arose; the governor anxious, we doubt not, to raise their character and elevate their position, with a view to the future welfare of the colony, placed several of the convicts on the magisterial bench, treated them with respect, and even invited them to his table. With these men, Mr. Marsden refused, as a magistrate, to act, or to meet them in society on equal terms. Some of them were notoriously persons of a bad and vicious life; while none of them, he thought, could, without gross impropriety, punish others judicially for the infraction of that law which they themselves had broken. He would gladly have resigned his magisterial office, but the governor knew the worth of his services, and refused to accept his resignation, which was repeatedly tendered. The new magistrates were of course offended, and became his bitter foes; and some of them harassed him for twenty years with slanders and libellous insults, until at length an appeal to the laws of his country vindicated his reputation and silenced his opponents. Differences of opinion may exist as to the wisdom of Governor Macquarie's conduct in these civil affairs, and many will perhaps justify his proceedings; but every right-minded man will condemn without hesitation the attempts which he made to lord it over the consciences of the established clergy and other Christian ministers in the colony, in the discharge of their purely ministerial work. He wished to dictate even to the pulpit. Mr. Marsden relates that he once sent for him to the Government-house, and commanded him to produce the manuscript of a sermon which he had preached nearly a year before: he did so; when the governor severely commented upon it, and returned it with the remark that one sentence, which it is more than probable he did not understand, was "almost downright blasphemy." The junior clergy were of course still more exposed to the same despotic interference. The governor wished to prescribe the hymns they should sing, as well as the doctrines they should teach; and he repeatedly insisted on their giving out, during divine service, secular notices of so improper a character, that the military officers in attendance expressed their disgust. Happy it was for the colony of New South Wales that he met with an opponent firm and fearless, and at the same time sound in the faith, such as the senior chaplain. On him menaces and flattery were lost. The governor, at one time, even threatened him with a court-martial; nor was the threat altogether an empty one, for he actually brought one of the junior chaplains, Mr. Vale, before a court-martial, and had him dismissed the colony. These are painful facts, and such as, at this distance of time, we should gladly pass over in silence; but, in that case, what could the reader know of the trials through which Mr. Marsden passed? Yet amidst all these distractions his letters testify that he possessed his soul in peace, and that "no root of bitterness, troubled" him. He speaks with respect of the governor, gives him credit for good intentions, and acknowledges the many benefits he conferred upon the colony; and when at length he was on the eve of returning home, Governor Macquarie himself bore testimony to the piety, integrity, and invaluable services of the only man who had dared patiently yet firmly to contend with him during a long course of years. The records of ministerial life offer little variety, but to pious minds they are not without interest. Mr. Marsden rose early, generally at four o'clock during the summer; and the morning hours were spent in his study. To a Christian minister a few hours of retirement in the morning are indispensable, or the mind is distracted and the day is lost. Very early rising is a question of health and constitution as well as of conscience, and we lay no burden upon those who cannot practise it. To those who can, the habit is invaluable. Three friends of Mr. Marsden present us with different examples in this matter. Simeon's twenty volumes of Horæ Homilicæ, or outlines of sermons, were all written between five and eight o'clock in the morning. Thomas Scott, the commentator, seldom had more than three hours a-day in his study and those three were early ones. Wilberforce on the other hand laments that he could do nothing till he had had his "full dose of sleep." Those who cannot rise early may still make the day long by turning to account the fragments of time and vacant half-hours which are so recklessly permitted by most men, especially strong men, to run to waste. In the early days of the colony, Mr. Marsden used to officiate in the morning at St. Philip's, Sydney. Roads were bad and conveyances scarce, and he often walked a distance of fifteen miles to Paramatta, where he conducted another service and preached again. His preaching is described as very plain, full of good sense and manly thought, and treating chiefly of the great foundation truths of the gospel. Man a lost sinner and needing conversion, Christ an Almighty Saviour pardoning sin, the Holy Ghost an all-sufficient sanctifier, guide, and comforter, carrying on the work of grace within the soul. Those who came to hear a great preacher went away disappointed; those who came to pass a listless hour were sometimes grievously disturbed. The authenticity of the following anecdote has been assured to us by Mr. Marsden's surviving friends. He was one day walking by the banks of the river, when a convict as he passed plunged into the water. Mr. Marsden threw off his coat, and in an instant plunged in after him and endeavoured to bring the man to land. He contrived however to get Mr. Marsden's head under the water, and a desperate struggle for life ensued between them; till Mr. Marsden, being the stronger of the two, not only succeeded in getting safe to shore but in dragging the man with him. The poor fellow, struck with remorse, confessed his intention. He had resolved to have his revenge on the senior chaplain, whose offence was that he had preached a sermon which had stung him to the quick; and he believed, as a sinner exasperated by the reflection of his own vices does frequently believe, that the preacher had meant to hold him up to the scorn of the congregation. He knew too that the sight of a drowning fellow-creature would draw out the instant help of one who never knew what fear was in the discharge of duty; and he threw himself into the stream confident of drowning Mr. Marsden, and then of making good his own escape. He became very penitent, was a useful member of society, and greatly attached to his deliverer, who afterwards took him into his own service, where he remained for some years. We cannot give a more painful illustration of the malignity with which he was pursued, than to state that the current version of this story in the colony was, that the convict had been unjustly punished by Mr. Marsden as a magistrate, and took this method of revenge. He made the most, too, of his opportunities. At a time when there were very few churches or clergymen, and the settlers were widely scattered over large tracts, he frequently made an itinerating ministerial visit amongst them. He was everywhere received with the greatest cordiality and respect. On arriving at a farm, a man on horseback was immediately dispatched to all the neighbours within ten or twelve miles to collect them for public worship. The settlers gladly availed themselves of these opportunities, and assembled, in numbers varying from sixty to eighty, when Divine service was conducted in a vacant barn or under the shade of a verandah. The next day, he proceeded twenty or twenty-five miles further on in the wilds, and again collected a congregation. These tours would often extend over ten days or a fortnight, and were repeated as his more settled duties permitted. Thus his name became a household word, pronounced with love and gratitude far beyond the limits of his parish, or even of the colony; and probably he found some of his most willing hearers amongst those to whom he thus carried in their solitude the glad tidings of a salvation which when offered to them week by week at home they had neglected or despised. Yet his duties as principal chaplain were not neglected. From a general government order, dated September, 1810, it appears that amongst them were those of an overseer, or chief pastor of the church. "The assistant chaplains are directed to consider themselves at all times under the immediate control and superintendence of the principal chaplain, and are to make such occasional reports to him respecting their clerical duties as he may think proper to require or call for." A high tribute to his worth under the circumstances in which he was placed by his opposition to the governor. The chaplains frequently sought his protection against arbitrary power, and he willingly fought their battles and his own in defence of liberty of conscience and the right of conducting God's worship undisturbed. His connexion with his clerical brethren seems to have been uniformly happy, and the same remark is true of the missionaries of various denominations, not a few in number, who, during a period of twenty years, were virtually under his control. He had undoubtedly the rare power of governing others in a very high degree, and it was done noiselessly and with a gentle hand; for the men who govern well seldom obtrude their authority in an offensive manner, or worry those they should control with a petty interference. He had the same kind of influence, and probably from the same cause, over the very horses in his carriage. He used, in driving from Sydney to Paramatta, to throw the reins behind the dash-board, take up his book, and leave them to themselves, his maxim being "that the horse that could not keep itself up was not worth driving." One of the pair was almost unmanageable in other hands, but it was remarked that "Captain" always conducted himself well when his master drove, and never had an accident. Amongst his strictly pastoral cares, two schools for orphans had a foremost place. A female orphan school was first proposed, and Mr. Marsden undertook the direction of the work, and became treasurer to the institution. From its formation in 1800 to the year 1821, two hundred children were admitted. It may be a question whether the children of living parents, however ignorant or even dissolute they may be, should be totally withdrawn from parental sympathies. The presence of a child may restrain, and its artless remonstrances are often known to touch, a vicious father or mother whom no other influence can reach; and Dr. Guthrie's recent experiment in Edinburgh seems to show us that the best method of Christianizing both child and parent is to instruct the former well by day, and to send him home at night a little missionary to his parents, where other teaching would be scorned. But in the case of orphans no such questions occur, and we must look upon an orphan school with unmixed satisfaction. A male orphan school followed in due course, in which the boys were instructed in some trade and then apprenticed. In both schools the moral and religious training was the chief consideration; yet Mr. Marsden's connexion with them was attributed by his enemies to a sordid motive, and even those in power, who should have known him better, gave public currency to these injurious reports. The fact was that when the institutions were founded the treasurer was allowed a small per centage upon the receipts, as a clerical fee or stipend; this he allowed to accumulate until he resigned the office, when he presented the whole sum to the institution. The committee absolutely refusing to accept it, he purchased cattle from the government to the full amount, and made a present of them to the orphan schools. Soon after his return from England it became necessary to erect new schools. The work was long and tedious, and owing to the want of labour in the colony, and the idle and drunken habits of the labourers, nearly ten years elapsed before they were completed, and the work too was often at a stand for want of funds. These, however, Mr. Marsden--whom no pecuniary obstacles could daunt--supplied, in a great measure, out of his own purse, till his advances amounted to nearly 900_l._; and his disinterested conduct in the end occasioned him very considerable loss. To the latest period he never ceased to take the warmest interest in the prosperity of these institutions. "I am sure," says his daughter, "my father's parish was not neglected. He was well known to all his parishioners, as he was in the habit of constantly calling upon them. He was very attentive to the sick, whether at their own homes or at the government hospital. He also took great interest in the education of the young. It was through his instrumentality that many schools were established. His Sunday school, at the time of which I speak, was in a more efficient state than any I have since seen; but this my brother-in-law, the Rev. T. Hassell, had a great deal to do with, as he was then acting as my father's curate. The factory for the reception of female convicts was built entirely by his suggestion, and to their religious and moral improvement he devoted a good deal of his time. It was principally owing to his endeavours to get this and other institutions in good order that much of his discomfort with his fellow-magistrates and government officers arose." The aborigines of Australia were, even when the colony was first settled, comparatively few in number; and in painful conformity with universal experience, they have wasted away before the white man, and will probably disappear in time from the face of the earth. If the New Zealander stands highest in the scale of savage nature, the native Australian occupies perhaps the lowest place. So low, indeed, was their intellect rated, that when the phrenological system of Drs. Gall and Spurzheim began to occupy attention, some forty years ago, the skulls of several of them were sent over to England to be submitted to the manipulations of its professors, with a view of ascertaining whether the Creator had not thrust into existence a whole race of idiots--men who had neither reason to guide them on the one hand, nor well-developed instinct on the other. They are supposed to be a mixture of the Malay and negro races, but they have nothing of the muscular strength of the negro, nor of his mental pliancy, and both in body and mind are far below the pure Malay. In the infancy of the colony they rambled into the town of Port Jackson in a state of nudity, and when blankets were presented to them they were thrown aside as an incumbrance. They seemed to have no wants beyond those which the dart or spear--never out of their hands--could instantly supply. Their food was the opossum, but when this was not to be found they were by no means delicate; grubs, snakes, putrid whales, and even vermin were eagerly devoured, though fish and oysters were preferred. They are a nomad or wandering people, always moving from place to place in search of food, or from the mere love of change. During the winter, they erect a hut, resembling a beehive, of rude wicker-work besmeared with clay; but in general a mere hurdle, such as we use in England for penning sheep, placed to windward in the ground, is all their shelter; under this they lie with a fire kindled in the front of it. Our English stragglers have made themselves well acquainted with their habits, frequently living amongst them for weeks together in the bush. These all agree in admiration of the skill with which they throw the dart, which seldom misses, even from a child's hand, to strike its prey. They are peaceable and inoffensive to strangers, and kind to their "gins," or wives, and to their children, unless their savage natures are aroused, when they become horribly brutal and vindictive. Few savage tribes have been found whose ideas on religion are less distinct. They believe in a good spirit, _Royan_, and a bad one, _Potoyan_; but like all savages--like all men, we may say, either savage or civilized, who know not God--they dread the evil spirit far more than they love the good one. They offer no prayer, and have no worship or sacrifices. Civil government is unknown; authority in the tribe depends on personal strength or cunning. A wandering life with abundance of provisions, amongst their native woods, shores, and mountains, is the sum of all the little happiness they know or seek. Some efforts were made in the early period of the colony on their behalf. A district near Port Jackson was assigned them, and they were encouraged to reside in it; but it was very soon deserted. The roving habits of the aborigines made any settled residence irksome; and their wants were so few that they would neither engage in trade, nor submit to labour for the sake of wages. It retained the name of the Black Town for many years; but the black men have long since deserted it. Governor Macquarie, after consulting with Mr. Marsden, then attempted a farm, and, in connexion with it, a kind of reformatory school at Paramatta, where they were to be civilized and cured of their migratory habits, and instructed in the Christian religion. Mr. Marsden took a warm interest in the scheme, as he did in everything that concerned the welfare of the aborigines. Still it failed; for it was founded, as experience has shown, upon wrong principles. Mr. Marsden, however, is not to be blamed for this; since Governor Macquarie, having now conceived a violent prejudice against him, omitted his name from the committee of management, although the institution was placed in his own parish, introducing those of two junior chaplains; and it was not till the governor's retirement that he took an active part in its affairs. But the character of the institution was then fixed, and its approaching failure was evident. Two faults were interwoven with it, either of which must have proved fatal. In the first place, the attempt to confine a nomad, wandering tribe within the precincts of a farm, or to bring them to endure, except it had been by force, the discipline of lads in an English workhouse, was upon the very face of it absurd. These, we must remember, were the early days of English philanthropy amongst wild black men. She had yet to make her blunders and learn her first lessons. Why should a nomad race be settled upon the workhouse plan, or even confined to an English farm? Why should they not rather be encouraged to dwell in tents, carry civilization with them into their own woods and mountains, and, roam, free and fearless, over those vast regions which God had given them to possess, until at last they themselves shall wish to adopt the settled habits of European Christians? A roving life in the wilderness is not of necessity an idle or a barbarous one. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were highly civilized, and eminently devout. "Arabians" and "dwellers in Mesopotamia," wanderers of the desert, heard the word with gladness, and received the Holy Ghost upon the day of Pentecost. But we do not read that they were required to live in cities, and abandon the long-cherished wilderness, with all its solemn associations and grand delights. And we have not so mean an opinion of Christianity as to believe that it can thrive only in towns well paved and lighted, or in farms neatly fenced and artificially cultivated. The true missionary must track the wandering savage into the desert, and there make himself his guide and friend; and teach him that the gospel of Jesus Christ is indeed of God, inasmuch as it is fitted, as no human contrivance can be fitted, for man, whatever his outward circumstances or his mode of life; that it knows no difference between the dweller in the tent, and in "cities, tall and fenced up to heaven." "Barbarian, Scythian, bond or free," are all alike welcome to its blessings; and we can see no good reason why there should not be Christian tribes in the wilderness, as there were patriarchal churches in the plains of the Euphrates, long before the law was given on Mount Sinai. The other mistake was the same which has tainted other missions in their infancy, and to which we have made some allusion. It was thought necessary to prepare the savage mind for Christianity, by the preliminary discipline of a civilizing process. This is inverting the order in which God proceeds: "The entrance of thy word giveth light." When the voice of God speaks within, and not before, the demoniac quits "his dwelling amongst the tombs;" no longer "tears off his raiment" like a brute beast, unconscious of shame; ceases to be "exceeding fierce," and is now found "sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind." A few efforts upon this, the right evangelical principle as we conceive, have been made from time to time amongst these degraded aborigines; but the success has not been great. A wide field still remains, thinly peopled and spiritually uncultivated. If these lines should be read by our Christian friends in Australia, to them we would venture to commend the glorious enterprise. Let there be one colony at least in which the aborigines shall share the intruder's prosperity. Let the vast centre of the Australian continent one day rejoice in its thronging tribes of Christian aborigines. Mr. Marsden's view of the native character may be gathered from the following statement, which he published in self-defence when charged with indifference as to their conversion. "More than twenty years ago, a native lived with me at Paramatta, and for a while I thought I could make something of him; but at length he got tired, and no inducement could prevail upon him to continue in my house; he took to the bush again, where he has continued ever since. One of my colleagues, the Rev. R. Johnstone, took two native girls into his house, for the express purpose of educating them; they were fed and clothed like Europeans; but in a short time they went into the woods again. Another native, named Daniel, was taken when a boy into the family of Mrs. C.; he was taken to England; mixed there with the best society, and could speak English well; but on his return from England he reverted to his former wild pursuits." In reply to the inquiries made by Mr. Marsden, who once met Daniel after he returned to his savage state, he said; "The natives universally prefer a free and independent life, with all its privations, to the least restraint." Without multiplying instances quoted by Mr. Marsden, the trial he made with an infant shows that his heart was not unfriendly towards these people. "One of my boys, whom I attempted to civilize, was taken from its mother's breast, and brought up with my own children for twelve years; but he retained his instinctive taste for native food; and he wanted that attachment to me and my family that we had just reason to look for; and always seemed deficient in those feelings of affection which are the very bonds of social life." This boy ran away at Rio from Mr. Marsden, when returning from England in 1810, but was brought back to the colony by Captain Piper; and died in the Sydney hospital, exhibiting Christian faith and penitence. "I mentioned to the governor," he adds, "some of these circumstances, but not with any view to create difficulties; so far from it, that I informed him that I was authorized by the Church Missionary Society to assist any plan with pecuniary aid, that was likely to benefit the natives of the colony." A mission was in fact set on foot by this Society; but from various causes, it failed, and was abandoned. CHAPTER VI. Mr. Marsden's correspondence with the London Missionary Society--Buys the brig Active--His first Voyage to New Zealand--Journal of Events. Richard Baxter, after describing his ministerial labours at Kidderminster in preaching and visiting from house to house, has these remarkable words: "But all these, my labours, even preaching and preparing for it, were but my recreations, and, as it were, the work of my spare hours; for my writings were my chiefest daily labour." Mr. Marsden had his recreations, too. Amidst the anxieties of his colonial chaplaincy he found or made opportunities to conduct a work which of itself would have been sufficient to exhaust the energies and to immortalize the memory of any other man. We devote this chapter to a short, and, of necessity, imperfect sketch of these his _recreations_ in the missionary field. On his return from England in 1810, he found disastrous tidings of the Tahitian mission awaiting his arrival. Disheartened by their utter want of success, divided amongst themselves, distracted with fears of danger from the natives, several of the missionaries had fled from their posts, and taken refuge in New South Wales. The work appeared to be on the eve of ruin, and it was owing in no small measure to the firmness and wise conduct of Mr. Marsden that it was not, for a time at least, abandoned. "Sooner," he exclaims, in one of his letters to the Society at home, "than _that_ shall be the case, I will give up my chaplaincy, and go myself and live at Otaheite." Yet it was no easy task to inspire others with his own courage, or to impart his hopeful spirit to a desponding band of men. He felt the difficulty, and acted towards them in the most considerate manner. Instead of at once insisting on their return, he received them into his family, where it is scarcely necessary to say they were treated with that patriarchal hospitality for which the parsonage of Paramatta was famed. When a few months had passed, and their spirits were cheered and their health restored, the question of their return to Tahiti was introduced and quietly discussed. Their kind and pious host had never for an instant doubted of their ultimate success. We have perused numerous letters addressed by him to the London Missionary Society, and to various friends in England; but in not one of them is the shadow of a doubt expressed as to the triumph of the gospel in Tahiti and the Society Islands; and we may extend the remark to the New Zealand mission, as shown by his correspondence with the Church Missionary Society a few years later. About this period a reaction had taken place in England amongst religious people. The fond hopes they had unwisely entertained of seeing vast results wherever the gospel was introduced among the heathen and upon the first proclamation of it, had been grievously disturbed; and now the tide ran in the opposite direction. Nothing appears to have given Mr. Marsden more uneasiness than the general lukewarmness of the church of Christ at home, and their despondency as to the success of missions. He speaks of his "anxious days and sleepless nights." But his own courage never failed; and this high undoubting faith, it is beautiful to observe, rests always on the same foundation. It was not, much as he respected them, his confidence either in the Societies at home, or in their missionaries abroad, but simply in the promises of God, in the power of the gospel, and in the unchanging love of Christ for his "inheritance" among the heathen. Thus the missionaries were induced to return to their deserted posts; and not only so, but to resume their work in a higher spirit of faith and cheerfulness. It was not long before hopeful signs broke out, and within ten years Pomare the sovereign became a Christian king, and the island of Tahiti a Christian land. The distance of these missions from Australia, and the difficulty of communicating with them, suggested to Mr. Marsden the advantage of employing a vessel entirely on missionary service. When his mind was once made up he lost no time; the consent of the Societies in England could not all at once be gained; so he resolved, at his own cost, to purchase a missionary ship, the first probably that ever floated on the deep, and bought the Active, a brig of a hundred tons burden, for the service of the two great missions on which his heart was fixed. The following letter, addressed to the Rev. George Burder, though written two years later, is introduced here to complete our summary of the re-establishment of the Tahitian mission: "Paramatta, June 9, 1815. "REV. AND DEAR SIR,--I received a short letter from you by the late arrivals, and found you had not got any very interesting accounts from the brethren at Otaheite. The last account I had from them, they were going on exceedingly well, and the Lord was owning and blessing their labours. You will hear I lately visited New Zealand, and also my views of that island. Finding that the Societies in London could not make up their minds, neither as a body nor as individuals, to send out a vessel, I at last determined to purchase one for the purpose on my own account. The various expenses attending it have created me some little pecuniary difficulties; but they are only known to myself, and not such as will be attended with any serious consequence. I hope in a little time I shall be able to surmount them; whether I shall keep the vessel in my own hands or not, I am not certain as yet. I cannot do it without some assistance at the first; if I could, I certainly would not trouble any of my friends. The vessel has been twice at New Zealand, and is gone a third time. When she returns I intend her to visit the brethren at Otaheite. It is my intention that she should sail in August next to Otaheite. The brethren there have been labouring hard to build a vessel for themselves, which is almost completed. I have agreed to take a share with them in her. During the time the brethren have been building their vessel, the work of the Lord appears to have prospered very much, far beyond all expectation." He adds, "I estimate the expenses of the vessel at 1500_l._ per annum, and I think, if I am not mistaken in my views, that her returns will not be less than 1000_l._ per annum, and perhaps more. I may venture to say I should not call on the two Societies for more than the sum I have stated, namely, 500_l._ per annum from this time. I will not demand anything if the returns cover the expenses for the use of the vessel." These returns were to be obtained by "freighting the Active with the produce of the industry of the natives, and trading with them in return." This would "stimulate their exertions, correct their vagrant minds, and enrich them with the comforts and conveniences of civil life." The letter closes with suggesting yet another mission; for the large heart of the writer saw in the approaching triumph of the gospel in his favourite missions only a call to fresh exertions. Even as Paul, when he had "fully preached from Jerusalem round about unto Illyricum," sighed after fresh labours, and still remoter conquests for his Lord. "I wish to mention to you that it would be a great object if the Society would turn their thoughts a little to the Friendly Islands. New Zealand being on one side, and the Society Islands on the other, with labourers now upon them, the Friendly Islands ought not to be left destitute. These islands are very populous, and as the London Missionary Society first began the work there, I think they should renew their attempt. I cannot recommend any establishment upon any of the islands in the South Seas, unless commerce is more or less attended to, in order to call forth the industry of the natives. Provided the Society as a body will not consent to have anything to do with commerce, I see no reason why a few pious friends might not, who wish to aid the missionary cause. You cannot form a nation without commerce and the civil arts. A person of information who is well acquainted with the Friendly Islands informed me that the labour of a hundred thousand men might be brought into action upon these islands in producing sugar, cordage, cotton, etc.... A hundred thousand men will never form themselves into any regular society, and enjoy the productions of their country without commerce. Should the Society have any doubts upon the point, let them authorize an inquiry into the state of these islands, when there is an opportunity to examine them, and a report of their inhabitants and their productions laid out before them." Mr. Marsden then describes the openings at New Zealand, and concludes a long letter thus: "I have stated my sentiments with great haste. You will excuse the hasty scrawl. I can assure you my sincere wish and prayer to the great Head of the church is that all may prosper that love him. I am, dear sir, yours affectionately, S. MARSDEN." A postscript adds:-- "Since writing this letter, I have determined to keep the Active in my own hands." Let us now turn to the New Zealand mission, which occupied, from this time, so large a portion of Mr. Marsden's public life. We have mentioned the designation of two laymen, Messrs. Hall and King, for this mission by the Church Missionary Society in 1808. They sailed from England, with Mr. Marsden, in 1810, and were soon after followed by Mr. Kendall, and the three assembled at New South Wales, intending to sail thence without delay for the scene of their future work. But here fresh difficulties arose. Mr. Marsden's intention was to accompany them, and in person to meet the first dangers, and lay, as it were, the first stone. But this the new governor absolutely forbade. To him, and in fact to most men in his circumstances, the whole scheme seemed utterly preposterous. The idea of converting the savages of New Zealand was the chimera of a pious enthusiast--a good and useful man in his way, but one who was not to be allowed thus idly to squander the lives of others, to say nothing of his own. Nor in truth were the governor's objections altogether without foundation. The last news from New Zealand was that an English ship, the Boyd, had been seized and burned by the cannibals in the Bay of Islands, and every soul on board, seventy in all, killed and eaten. The report was true, save only that, out of the whole of the ship's company, two women and a boy had been spared to live in slavery with the savages. A New Zealand chief had sailed on board, as it afterwards appeared, and had been treated with brutal indignities similar to those which Duaterra suffered from the captain of the Santa Anna. He smothered his resentment, and, waiting the return of the Boyd to the Bay of Islands, summoned his tribe, who, on various pretences, crowded the deck of the ship, and at a given signal rushed upon the crew, dispatched them with their clubs and hatchets, and then gorged themselves and their followers on the horrible repast. All then that Mr. Marsden could obtain at present was permission to charter a vessel, if a captain could be found sufficiently courageous to risk his life and ship in such an enterprise, and to send out the three missionaries as pioneers; with a reluctant promise from the governor that if on the ship's return, all had turned out well, he should not be hindered from following. For some time no such adventurous captain could be found. At length, for the sum of 600_l._ for a single voyage, an offer was made, but Mr. Marsden looked upon the sum as far too much; and this, with other considerations, induced him to purchase his own missionary brig, the Active, in which Messrs. Hall and Kendall finally set sail for the Bay of Islands. They carried a message to Duaterra, entreating him to receive them kindly, and inviting him, too, to return with them to Paramatta, bringing along with him two or three friendly chiefs. Duaterra, after his visit to Mr. Marsden, on his way from England, had again suffered great hardships from the perfidy of the master of the Frederick, with whom he had embarked from New South Wales under an express engagement to be set on shore at the Bay of Islands, where his tribe dwelt. He was carried to Norfolk Island, and there left; and, to aggravate his wrongs and sorrows, the vessel passed within two miles of his own shores and in sight of his long lost home. He was defrauded too of his share of the oil he had procured with his companions, worth 100_l_. A whaler found him on Norfolk Island, almost naked and in the last stage of want, and brought him once more to Australia and to his friend and patron Mr. Marsden. A short stay sufficed; he sailed again from Sydney, and soon found himself, to his great joy, amongst his friends in New Zealand. On the arrival of the Active with its missionaries--the first messengers of Christ who landed on its shores--he was there to greet them, and to repay, a thousandfold, the kindness of his friend the minister of Paramatta, in the welcome he secured for these defenceless strangers. They carried with them too a present which, trifling as it may seem, was not without its share of influence in the great work; the story is suggestive, and may serve a higher purpose than merely to amuse the reader. Duaterra had been provided by Mr. Marsden with a supply of wheat for sowing on his return to New Zealand. No such thing as a field of grain of any kind had yet waved its golden ears on that fertile soil. To this accomplished savage the honour belongs of first introducing agriculture into an island destined, within forty years, to rival the best farms of England both in the value of its crops and the variety of its produce. The neighbouring chiefs and their tribes viewed with wonder first the green ears and then the growing corn. The wild potato, the fern, and a few other roots were the only produce of the earth they were yet acquainted with, and when Duaterra assured them that his field of wheat was to yield the flour out of which the bread and biscuits they had tasted on English ships were made, they tore up several plants, expecting to find something resembling their own potato at the root. That the ears themselves should furnish the materials for a loaf was not to be believed. Duaterra meant to impose upon them, or else he had been duped himself, but they were not to be cajoled with the tales of a traveller. The field was reaped and the corn threshed out, when Duaterra was mortified with the discovery that he was not provided with a mill. He made several attempts to grind his corn with the help of a coffee-mill borrowed from a trading-ship, but without success; and now, like the inventor of steam navigation, and other benefactors of their species nearer home, he was laughed at for his simplicity. It is strange that the ancient Roman _quern_, a hollow stone in which the grain was pounded, the rudest form in fact of the pestle and mortar, should not have occurred to him; but the total want of invention is an invariable characteristic of savage nature. At length the Active brought the important present of a hand-mill for grinding corn. Duaterra's friends assembled to watch the experiment, still incredulous of the promised result; but when the meal began to stream out beneath the machine their astonishment was unbounded; and when a cake was produced, hastily baked in a frying-pan, they shouted and danced for joy, Duaterra was now to be trusted when he told them that the missionaries were good men. And thus the first favourable impression was made upon the savage Maories, whose race was in the next generation to become a civilized and Christian people. Messrs Hall and Kendall, having introduced themselves and their mission in New Zealand, now, in obedience to their instructions, returned to Sydney accompanied by Duaterra and six other chiefs, amongst whom was Duaterra's uncle the famous Shunghie, or Hongi, the most powerful of New Zealand chieftains; such was the confidence which Mr. Marsden's name, together with the good conduct of the missionaries, had now inspired. The Active reached New South Wales on the 22nd of August, 1814. Nothing could exceed the joy which Mr. Marsden experienced on the successful termination of the voyage, and being filled with an earnest desire to promote the dissemination of the gospel amongst the New Zealanders, and having obtained the governor's permission, he determined to accompany the missionaries on their return to the Bay of Islands. To his friend, Avison Terry, Esq., he wrote just before he sailed, Oct. 7, 1814--"It is my intention to visit New Zealand and see what can be done to promote the eternal welfare of the inhabitants of that island. I have now several of the chiefs living with me at Paramatta. They are as noble a race of men as are to be met with in any part of the world. I trust I shall be able, in some measure, to put a stop to those dreadful murders which have been committed upon the island for some years past, both by the Europeans and the natives. They are a much injured people, notwithstanding all that has been advanced against them. The time is now come, in my opinion, for them to be favoured with the everlasting gospel; and I trust to hear the joyful sound in those dark and dreary regions of sin and spiritual bondage. I have long had the most ardent wish to visit these poor heathen, but have never till the present time obtained permission. I have submitted my views to the Church Missionary Society, and solicited their aid. The expense of establishing a mission here will at first be very considerable." ... [Here he mentions his purchase of the Active, etc.] "Should the Society approve of my views, no doubt they will give their support, but if they cannot enter into them in the manner I do, I cannot expect that assistance from them which may be required. My own means will enable me to set the mission on foot in the first instance, and I have little doubt but it will succeed." Zeal such as this, tempered with discretion and guided by the "wisdom which cometh from above," in answer to many believing prayers, could scarcely fail of its sure reward. On the 19th of November, 1814, he embarked on his great mission, with a motley crew, such as (except perhaps on some other missionary ship) has seldom sailed in one small vessel--savages and Christian teachers and enterprising mechanics, their wives and children, besides cattle and horses. Of this strangely assorted company he gives the following description: "The number of persons on board the Active, including women and children, was thirty-five; the master, his wife and son, Messrs. Kendall, Hall, and King, with their wives and children, eight New Zealanders, (including Duaterra and his uncle the great warrior Shunghie or Hongi) two Otaheitans, and four Europeans belonging to the vessel, besides Mr. John Lydiard Nicholas and myself; there were also two sawyers, one smith, and a runaway convict whom we afterwards found on board, a horse and two mares, one bull and two cows, with a few sheep and poultry. The bull and cows have been presented by Governor Macquarie from his Majesty's herd." On the 15th December, they were in sight of land; the next day, the chiefs were sent on shore, and a friendly communication was at once opened with the natives. But even before they had landed "a canoe came alongside the Active, with plenty of fish, and shortly afterwards a chief followed from the shore, who immediately came on board." Mr. Marsden's fame, as the friend of the New Zealanders, had arrived before him. "I told them my name, with which they were all well acquainted.... We were now quite free from all fear, as the natives seemed desirous to show us attention by every possible means in their power." The Active dropped her anchor a few days after at Wangaroa, near the Bay of Islands, the scene of the massacre of the Boyd's crew, and there amongst the very cannibals by whose hands their countrymen had fallen so recently the first Christian mission to New Zealand was opened. A fierce and unholy revenge had been taken, in the murder of Tippahee, a native chieftain, and all his family, by an English crew who had visited Wangaroa after the Boyd's destruction, and Tippahee, as Mr. Marsden always maintained, suffered unjustly, having had no share in the dreadful massacre. But thus it was; and amongst a people so exasperated did these servants of the most high God venture forth as the heralds of the gospel. Seldom since the words of the prophet were first uttered have they had, in reference to missionaries, a more significant, or a more correct appropriation than they now received. "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation." Mr. Marsden's journal of this his first visit to New Zealand is a document of singular interest, and when published at the time in England, it made a deep impression. It is written in plain and forcible language, and is characterized by that vein of good sense and practical wisdom which so distinguished him. There is no display of his own sufferings, trials and privations, no affectation of laboured and studied expression, no highly coloured and partial representation of the savage condition of the natives. All his aim is to lay the truth before the Society and the friends of missions, and in doing so he has written with a degree of accuracy and honest feeling, which while they inform the understanding at once reach the heart. From this unpretending record, a few selections will be laid before the reader. And here, too, we would, once for all, acknowledge our obligations to his "companion in travel," J. L. Nicholas, Esq., to whose manuscript journal of the visit to New Zealand, as well indeed as for other communications of great interest on the subject of Mr. Marsden's life and labours, we shall be much indebted through the future pages of our work. Duaterra and Shunghie had often told of the bloody war, arising out of the affair of the Boyd, that was raging, while they were at Paramatta, between the people of Wangaroa (the tribe of Tippahee) and the inhabitants of the Bay of Islands, who were their own friends and followers; the Wangaroans accusing the people of the Bay of Islands of having conspired with the English in the murder of Tippahee. When the Active arrived, several desperate battles had been fought, and the war was likely to continue. Mr. Marsden was determined to establish peace amongst these contending tribes. He was known already as the friend of Duaterra and Shunghie; he now felt that he must convince the other party of his good intentions. He did not come amongst them as an ally of either, but as the friend of both; he resolved therefore to pass some time with the Wangaroans; and with a degree of intrepidity truly astonishing even in him, not only ventured on shore, but actually passed the night, accompanied by his friend Mr. Nicholas alone, with the very savages who had killed and eaten his countrymen. After a supper of fish and potatoes in the camp of Shunghie, they walked over to the hostile camp distant about a mile. They received the two white strangers very cordially. "We sat down amongst them, and the chiefs surrounded us." Mr. Marsden then introduced the subject of his embassy, explained the object of the missionaries in coming to live amongst them, and showed how much peace would conduce in every way to the welfare of all parties. A chief, to whom the Europeans gave the name of George, acted as interpreter; he had sailed on board an English ship, and spoke English well. Mr. Marsden tells us how the first night was passed: "As the evening advanced the people began to retire to rest in different groups. About eleven o'clock Mr. Nicholas and I wrapped ourselves in our great coats, and prepared for rest. George directed me to lie by his side. His wife and child lay on the right hand, and Mr. Nicholas close by. The night was clear; the stars shone bright, and the sea in our front was smooth; around us were innumerable spears stuck upright in the ground, and groups of natives lying in all directions, like a flock of sheep upon the grass, as there were neither tents nor huts to cover them. I viewed our present situation with sensations and feelings that I cannot express, surrounded by cannibals who had massacred and devoured our countrymen. I wondered much at the mysteries of providence, and how these things could be. Never did I behold the blessed advantage of civilization in a more grateful light than now. I did not sleep much during the night. My mind was too seriously occupied by the present scene, and the new and strange ideas it naturally excited. About three in the morning I rose and walked about the camp, surveying the different groups of natives. When the morning light returned we beheld men, women, and children, asleep in all directions like the beasts of the field. I had ordered the boat to come on shore for us at daylight; and soon after Duaterra arrived in the camp." In the morning he gave an invitation to the chiefs to breakfast on board the Active, which they readily accepted. "At first I entertained doubts whether the chiefs would trust themselves with us or not, on account of the Boyd, lest we should detain them when we had them in our power; but they showed no signs of fear, and went on board with apparent confidence. The axes, billhooks, prints, etc., I intended to give them were all got ready after breakfast; the chiefs were seated in the cabin in great form to receive the presents, I sat on the one side, and they on the other side of the table; Duaterra stood and handed me each article separately that I was to give them. Messrs. Kendall, Hall, and King, with the master of the Active and his son, were all one after the other introduced to the chiefs. The chiefs were at the same time informed what duty each of the three persons were appointed to do. Mr. Kendall to instruct their children, Mr. Hall to build houses, boats, etc., Mr. King to make fishing lines, and Mr. Hanson to command the Active, which would be employed in bringing axes and such things as were wanted from Sydney, to enable them to cultivate their lands and improve their country. When these ceremonies were over, I expressed my hope that they would have no more wars, but from that time would be reconciled to each other. Duaterra, Shunghie, and Koro Koro shook hands with the chiefs of Wangaroa, and saluted each other as a token of reconciliation by joining their noses together. I was much gratified to see these men at amity once more." The chieftains now took their leave, much pleased with the attention of Mr. Marsden, and still more so with his presents; and they promised for the future to protect the missionaries and never to injure the European traders. Some of the presents excited no little wonder; no New Zealander, except the few who like Duaterra had been on foreign travel, had ever seen either cows or horses, for the largest quadruped yet naturalized in the island was the pig, and even that had been introduced but recently. Duaterra had often told his wondering countrymen of the horse and its rider, and in return was always laughed at; but when the horses were now landed and Mr. Marsden actually mounted one of them, they stood in crowds and gazed in mute astonishment. These traits of infant civilization are not without their use to those who may hereafter be cast among barbarous tribes, or may attempt their improvement. The first Sunday on which the one true God was worshipped in New Zealand since the creation, will be for ever memorable in her annals. It was also Christmas-day, the 25th of December, 1815, "a day much to be remembered." Mr. Marsden thus describes it: "Duaterra passed the remaining part of the previous day in preparing for the sabbath. He inclosed about half an acre of land with a fence, erected a pulpit and reading desk in the centre, and covered the whole either with black native cloth or some duck which he had brought with him from Port Jackson. He also procured some bottoms of old canoes, and fixed them up as seats on each side of the pulpit, for the Europeans to sit upon; intending to have divine service performed there the next day. These preparations he made of his own accord; and in the evening informed me that everything was ready for divine service. I was much pleased with this singular mark of his attention. The reading-desk was about three feet from the ground, and the pulpit about six feet. The black cloth covered the top of the pulpit, and hung over the sides; the bottom of the pulpit, as well as the reading-desk, was part of a canoe. The whole was becoming, and had a solemn appearance. He had also erected a flagstaff on the highest hill in the village, which had a very commanding view. "On Sunday morning, when I was upon deck, I saw the English flag flying, which was a pleasing sight in New Zealand. I considered it as the signal and the dawn of civilization, liberty and religion, in that dark and benighted land. I never viewed the British colours with more gratification; and flattered myself they would never be removed, till the natives of that island enjoyed all the happiness of British subjects. "About ten o'clock we prepared to go ashore, to publish for the first time the glad tidings of the gospel. I was under no apprehension for the safety of the vessel; and, therefore, ordered all on board to go on shore to attend divine service, except the master and one man. When we landed, we found Koro Koro, Duaterra, and Shunghie, dressed in regimentals, which Governor Macquarie had given them, with their men drawn up, ready to be marched into the inclosure to attend divine service. They had their swords by their sides, and switches in their hands. We entered the inclosure, and were placed on the seats on each side of the pulpit. Koro Koro marched his men, and placed them on my right hand, in the rear of the Europeans: and Duaterra placed his men on the left. The inhabitants of the town, with the women and children, and a number of other chiefs, formed a circle round the whole. A very solemn silence prevailed--the sight was truly impressive. I rose up and began the service with singing the Old Hundredth Psalm; and felt my very soul melt within me when I viewed my congregation, and considered the state they were in. After reading the service, during which the natives stood up and sat down at the signals given by Koro Koro's switch, which was regulated by the movements of the Europeans, it being Christmas day, I preached from the second chapter of St. Luke's gospel and tenth verse, 'Behold, I bring you glad tidings of great joy," etc. The natives told Duaterra that they could not understand what I meant. He replied, that they were not to mind that now, for they would understand by-and-by; and that he would explain my meaning as far as he could. When I had done preaching, he informed them what I had been talking about. Duaterra was very much pleased that he had been able to make all the necessary preparations for the performance of divine worship in so short a time, and we felt much obliged to him for his attention. He was extremely anxious to convince us that he would do everything in his power, and that the good of his country was his principal consideration. "In this manner, the gospel has been introduced into New Zealand; and I fervently pray that the glory of it may never depart from its inhabitants till time shall be no more." The confidence of the natives in Mr. Marsden was now unbounded, and scarcely less was the confidence he reposed in them; and he resolved upon a short coasting voyage, with the view of exploring their different harbours, and making arrangements for the future extension of the mission. Many of the chiefs and warriors, led by Duaterra, wished to sail with him, and without the slightest misgiving, twenty-eight savages, fully armed after the fashion of their country, were invited on board the Active, manned as she was by only seven Europeans. "I do not believe," Mr. Nicholas observes, "that a similar instance can be shown of such unlimited confidence placed in a race of savages known to be cannibals. We are wholly in their power, and what is there to hinder them from abusing it? Next to the overruling providence of God, there is nothing but the character of the ship, which seems to have something almost sacred in their eyes, and the influence of Mr. Marsden's name, which acts as a talisman amongst them. They feel convinced that he is sacrificing his own ease and comfort to promote their welfare." Their leave of absence having nearly expired, Mr. Marsden and his companions were now obliged to prepare for their voyage homeward. They had laid the foundations of a great work--how great, none of them could tell. But they were full of faith in God, while, as patriots, they exulted in the prospect of extending the renown of dear old England. Mr. Marsden, in his conversations with the natives, explained to them the nature of our government, and the form of trial by jury; he discoursed with them upon the evils of polygamy, and showed his marked abhorrence of their darling vices--theft and lying. A chisel being lost from the Active a boat was sent on shore, manned by Duaterra and other chieftains, to demand restitution; the culprit was not found, nor the implement restored; but a whole village was aroused from its slumbers at midnight, and the inhabitants literally trembled with fear of the consequences when they saw the angry chieftains, though no harm was permitted to ensue. An example of high integrity was always set. Mr. Marsden might, for instance, have obtained land, or timber, or, in short, whatever he required in exchange for ammunition and muskets; but he sternly interdicted the sale or barter of these articles upon any terms whatever, and to this resolution he always adhered. Again and again does he express his determination, as well in this its earliest stage as in later periods of the mission, rather to abandon the whole work, which was far dearer to him than life itself, than to suffer it to be tainted by what he considered so nefarious a barter. "I further told them," he says, "that the smith should make axes or hoes, or any other tools they wanted; but that he was on no account to repair any pistols or muskets, or make any warlike instruments, no not even for the greatest chiefs upon the island." And he "took an opportunity, upon all occasions, to impress upon their minds the horrors their cannibalism excited; how much their nation was disgraced by it, and dreaded on this account." One thing still remained to be done. The missionaries possessed no land, and were liable, after his departure, to be removed or driven out at the mere caprice of the tribes amongst whom they settled. He therefore determined, if possible, to purchase for them a small estate. It consisted of about two hundred acres; and the first plot of ground to which England can lay claim in New Zealand was formally made over in a deed, of which Mr. Nicholas has fortunately preserved a transcript. It was executed in the presence of a number of chiefs, who were assembled to take leave of the Active on the day before she sailed, and ran as follows:-- "Know all men to whom these presents shall come, that I, Anodee O Gunna, king of Rangheehoo, in the island of New Zealand, have, in consideration of twelve axes to me in hand now paid and delivered by the Reverend Samuel Marsden of Paramatta, in the territory of New South Wales, given, granted, bargained, and sold; and by this present instrument do give, grant, bargain, and sell unto the committee of the Church Missionary Society for Africa and the East, instituted in London, in the kingdom of Great Britain, and to their heirs and successors, all that piece and parcel of land situate in the district of Hoshee, in the island of New Zealand, bounded on the south side by the bay of Lippouna and the town of Rangheehoo, on the north side by a creek of fresh water, and on the west by a public road into the interior, together with all the rights, members, privileges, and appurtenances thereto belonging; to have and to hold to the aforesaid committee of the Church Missionary Society for Africa and the East, instituted in London, in the kingdom of Great Britain, their heirs, successors, and assigns, for ever, clear and freed from all taxes, charges, impositions, and contributions whatsoever, as and for their own absolute and proper estate for ever. "In testimony whereof I have to these presents, thus done and given, set my hand at Hoshee, in the island of New Zealand, this twenty-fourth day of February, in the year of Christ, one thousand eight hundred and fifteen. (Signatures to the grant.) "THOMAS KENDALL. "J. L. NICHOLAS." To this was affixed a complete drawing of the "amoco," or tattooing of Gunna's face, done by Shunghie, on one side of which he set his mark. We need scarcely remind the reader how closely this transaction resembles the famous contract of William Penn with the native Indians, by which he became possessed of Pennsylvania. Much and justly as Penn has been admired, Mr. Marsden's conduct is even more worthy of respect. Penn sought to found a colony, to place himself at its head, and to associate his own name with it through generations to come. The chaplain of Paramatta had not even these motives of honest and laudable ambition; he sought nothing for himself, nothing for his country, nothing even for the church of which he was a member, and which he warmly loved. His one aim was to evangelize New Zealand; to bring a nation of cannibals from darkness into the marvellous light of the gospel, and from the power of Satan unto God. His own name appears on the instrument only as the agent or representative of a missionary society in whom the property was vested; and yet at the time the purchase was made he was uncertain whether the bare expenses of his voyage, or even the cost and charges of his vessel, would ever be repaid to him. He sought neither wealth, nor honour, nor preferment, but acted with a simple aim to the glory of God. The memorial of such a name can never perish amongst men; and should it be forgotten, still his record is on high. Mr. Marsden returned from his first voyage to New Zealand accompanied by no less than ten chiefs, and landed at Sydney on the 23rd of March, 1815. He and Mr. Nicholas immediately presented themselves to the governor, who "congratulated them on their safe return," from what, in common with all the colony, he regarded as a most perilous and rash adventure. CHAPTER VII. Death of Duaterra--Trials of Mr. Marsden in the Colony--Libel of Philo-free--Letter to Rev. George Burder--To Dr. Mason Good--Sympathy of his Friends in England--Congratulations of the 46th Regiment, and Mr. Marsden's acknowledgment--Letters of Lord Gambier, Rev. C. Simeon, and Mrs. Fry. It was not to be expected that a career of unbroken success and easy triumph should crown the infant mission in New Zealand. Reverses and delays were to be looked for; they were in the nature of the work itself; and for such trials Mr. Marsden was prepared. But he had scarcely arrived at Paramatta before he was involved in sharper conflicts. No doubt they were a part of God's discipline of love: for if Paul required "a thorn in the flesh" lest he "should be exalted above measure," meaner disciples may surely expect to meet with stern rebuffs, in their career of usefulness and honour; and they will even learn to accept them with a thankful and a joyous heart. The first discouragement was the death of Duaterra. Mr. Marsden had left him sick; and four days after his departure he expired, surrounded by his heathen countrymen, from whose superstitions, even to the last, he was by no means free. "He appeared at this awful moment," Mr. Marsden writes, describing his last interview, "not to know what to do. He wished me to pray with him, which I did; but the superstitions of his country had evidently a strong hold upon his mind; the priest was always with him, night and day. Duaterra seemed at a loss where to repose his afflicted mind; his views of the gospel were not sufficiently clear to remove his superstitions; and at the same time he was happy to hear what I had to say to him. What horrors do these poor people suffer when they come to die!" His favourite wife, Dahoo, was inconsolable; and while Shunghie and his near relatives cut themselves with knives till the blood gushed out, she sought and found an opportunity to put a period to her own life by hanging herself, at a short distance from the body of her husband. None of the natives, not even her relatives, appeared shocked or surprised. "Her mother," Mr. Kendall wrote, "wept while she was composing the limbs of her daughter; but she applauded her resolution, and the sacrifice which she had made for the man she so tenderly loved. Her father observed her corpse without any apparent concern. I could not discover a tear at the time it was brought before him. Two of her brothers smiled on the occasion, and said, 'it was a good thing at New Zealand.' It is common for women to act thus when their husbands die; they think that they then go to them." Mr. Marsden, for a time, was almost overwhelmed. "I could not but view Duaterra, as he lay dying, with wonder and astonishment; and could scarcely bring myself to believe that the Divine Goodness would remove from the earth a man whose life appeared of such infinite importance to his country, which was just emerging from barbarism and superstition. No doubt but he had done his work and finished his appointed course, though I fondly imagined he had only just begun his race. He was in the prime and vigour of manhood: I judge his age to be about twenty-eight years. In reflecting on this awful and mysterious event, I am led to exclaim, with the apostle of the Gentiles, 'Oh the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!'" He was indeed a noble specimen of human nature in its savage state. His character was cast in the mould of heroes: at the very period of his death, after ten years of as much privation, danger, and hardship as nature could well bear, his courage was unsubdued, and his patriotism and enterprise unabated. He told Mr. Marsden with an air of triumph, "I have now introduced the cultivation of wheat into New Zealand; New Zealand will become a great country; in two years more I shall be able to export wheat to Port Jackson, in exchange for hoes, axes, spades, tea and sugar." He had made arrangements for farming on a large scale, and had formed his plan for building a new town, with regular streets, after the European mode, on a beautiful situation which commanded a view of the harbour and the adjacent country. "I accompanied him to the spot," says Mr. M.; "we examined the ground fixed on for the town, and the situation where the church was to stand." Had he lived he would have been the Ulysses of his Ithaca--perhaps its Alfred; and nothing in his whole life gives us a juster idea of Mr. Marsden's sagacity and keen perception than the fact of his singling out Duaterra, a sick and apparently dying common sailor on shipboard, and training him to be a powerful instrument, in God's hands, for the civilization of New Zealand. Other trials followed the death of Duaterra. Fresh wars broke out. One hostile tribe encamped in sight of the mission premises, and, no longer restrained by Mr. Marsden's presence, threatened, not indeed to expel the missionaries, but to kill and eat them. For months together the affrighted band kept watch night and day; their children were laid to sleep in their cots dressed, to be ready for instant flight, and the boat was always kept afloat, with its oars and sail in readiness. The storm blew over, and they remained stedfast at their posts. Soon afterwards, the Wesleyan Methodists established their important and successful mission in the island, and the missionaries gained strength from each other in society and mutual counsel. The first Wesleyan missionary, the Rev. Samuel Leigh, was well known at Paramatta, and Mr. Marsden viewed his labours with thankfulness and hope; but the reports which reached him from time to time of the difficulties to which the missions were exposed still added much to his anxieties. And now a series of persecutions began, which, while they never cowed his brave spirit, harassed and disturbed him more than those who were acquainted only with the outward features of his strong, dauntless character would have readily believed. It is greatly to his honour that all the sufferings to which he was exposed--newspaper libels, official misrepresentations, and personal abuse--arose immediately out of his endeavours to raise the morals of the colony, and to protect the unhappy women who came out as convicts, and were at that time exposed by most iniquitous neglect to still further degradation. Just before his departure for New Zealand, he had addressed an official letter to the governor, calling his attention to the present state of Paramatta and its neighbourhood, as far as it related to its public morals and police, and especially with regard to the female convicts, of whom upwards of one hundred and fifty, besides seventy children, were employed in a government factory there, and whose condition, as far as we can venture to describe it, may be gathered from the following passage. The scene is painful; it is the dark side of our colonial history; but those who will not listen to these recitals can know but little of the obligations which society is under to such men as Howard and Samuel Marsden, or to heroic women, such as Mrs. Fry. In his letter to the governor he says: "The number of women employed at the factory is one hundred and fifty; they have seventy children. There is not any room in the factory that can be called a bed-room for these women and children. There are only two rooms, and these are both occupied as workshops; they are over the jail, and are about eighty feet long and twenty wide. In these rooms there are forty-six women daily employed, twenty spinning wool upon the common wheel, and twenty-six carding. There are also in them the warping-machine, etc., belonging to the factory. These rooms are crowded all the day, and at night such women sleep in them as are confined for recent offences, amongst the wheels, wool, and cards, and a few others, who have no means whatever of procuring a better abode. The average number of women who sleep in the factory is about thirty in the whole. Many of these women have little, and some no bedding; they all sleep on the floor. There is not a candle or bedstead belonging to the factory. I do not deem it either safe or prudent that even thirty women should sleep in the factory, which has been crowded all day with working people; the air must be bad and contagious. Were the magistrate to compel even half the number of women, with their children, to sleep in the factory which belong to it, they could not exist. Not less than one hundred and twenty women are at large in the night to sleep where they can." He urges upon the governor the necessity of at least providing lodgings in barracks for these poor creatures. "When I am called upon," he adds, "in the hour of sickness and want to visit them in the general hospital, or in the wretched hovels where they lodge, my mind is often oppressed beyond measure at the sight of their sufferings.... And if their dreary prospect beyond the grave be viewed in a religious light it far exceeds in horror the utmost bounds of human imagination. As their minister I must answer ere long at the bar of Divine justice for my duty to these objects of vice and woe, and often feel inexpressible anguish of spirit, in the moment of their approaching dissolution, on my own and their account, and follow them to the grave with awful forebodings lest I should be found at last to have neglected any part of my public duty as their minister and magistrate, and by so doing contributed to their eternal ruin. So powerful are these reflections at times that I envy the situation of the most menial servant who is freed from this sacred and solemn responsibility, namely, the care of immortal souls.... I am of opinion that no clergyman was ever placed in so painful and trying a situation as far as relates to the moral and religious state of the people committed to his care. I see them devoted to vice, and infamy, and extreme wretchedness while living, and when they come to die suffering all the horror of mind and anguish of spirit that guilt can possibly inspire, without the means of applying any remedy in either case.... I humbly conceive it is incompatible with the character and wish of the British nation that her own exiles should be exposed to such privations and dangerous temptations, when she is daily feeding the hungry, and clothing the naked, and receiving into her friendly, I may add pious bosom, strangers whether savage or civilized of every nation under heaven." The governor courteously replied, acknowledging the receipt of his letter; but no further steps were taken; and after waiting eighteen months "without the most distant prospect of obtaining relief for the female convicts from the colonial government," he sent a copy of his own letter, with the governor's answer, to the British government at home. By them it was submitted to a select committee of the House of Commons, when, in 1819, the state of our jails came under the consideration of parliament, and was afterwards printed in their report; Lord Bathurst, the colonial secretary, having previously submitted it to Governor Macquarie, requesting his opinion on the several matters it contained. Great exasperation followed; it seemed for a time as if the whole colony, with scarcely an exception, had risen as one man to crush the principal chaplain, who alone had dared to expose its profligacy and to check its abuses. The storm indeed had begun to mutter around his head before Lord Bathurst's communication was received. The "Sydney Gazette," which was under the immediate control of the governor, was allowed to publish from week to week the most scandalous libels upon his character. At length, a letter appeared signed Philo-free, which Mr. Marsden suspected, and at length discovered, to have been written by the governor's secretary; it was aimed not merely against himself--this he could have borne in silence--but against the conduct and the moral character of the missionaries in the South Sea Islands, whose reputation he felt it his duty at every hazard to protect. He therefore appealed to the laws for shelter and redress, and two successive verdicts justified the course he took. There were at the time many, even of his warm friends, in England, who were almost disposed to blame him for a too sensitive and litigious spirit. But when the whole case lay before them, the wisest and the mildest men absolved him from the charge, and heartily approved his conduct. In the place of any comments of our own we will lay before the reader, in his own words, some of Mr. Marsden's views upon the subject. They will see the principles by which he was actuated, and they will learn with amazement how great the difficulties with which the friends of missions have had to contend from their own countrymen. The first letter is addressed to the Rev. George Burder, and was read, as appears from the endorsement it bears, in the committee of the London Missionary Society, July 10th, 1818, having been received on the 25th of June. "Paramatta, Dec. 9, 1817. "REV. SIR,--I wrote to you very fully by Mr. Hassall, and informed you what state I was in at that time. Since that period I have had many hard struggles to maintain my ground. A very shameful attack was made upon me and the missionaries in the South Sea Islands by the governor's secretary, in an anonymous letter which he published in the Sydney Gazette, and of which you are already informed. Since my last I have brought the secretary to the criminal bar for the libel. Every means were used to pervert judgment that the cunning and art of certain persons could exert. After three days' contest, I obtained a verdict against the secretary. This was a matter of much joy to all who loved the cause of religion, and also to the colony in general. The trouble, anxiety, and expense of the trial were very great, as I had only truth on my side. When I had got a verdict I hoped to enjoy a little quiet, but the next Gazette in the report made of the trial, being so false and scandalous, and casting such reflections on me and my friends, I was compelled to appeal to Cæsar once more; and last Tuesday the cause was heard before the supreme court, when I obtained a verdict again. The supreme judge, Justice Field, is a very upright man, and acted with great independence in the cause. A verdict was given in my favour to the amount of 200_l._, with costs. The expense to the secretary will not be much less than 500_l._ None can tell what I have suffered in my mind for the last five years, on account of the missions, from the opposition of those in power. "I must request the Society to use their interest with the British government to check those in authority here from exposing the missionaries, and those connected with them, to the contempt of the whole world by such scandalous anonymous publications as that of which I complain. I have been very anxious to leave the colony altogether, from the continual anxiety I have suffered, and the opposition thrown in the way of every measure I have wished to promote, for the advancement of the kingdom of Christ among the heathen." Yet he had, in truth, no ground for this despondency. St. Paul laid the foundations of flourishing churches amidst "a great fight of afflictions;" what wonder if one of the greatest of Protestant missions in a later age should share in trials from which "the churches in Macedonia and Achaia" were not exempt? The letter proceeds thus: "I am very happy to inform you that all goes on well at the Islands, notwithstanding the contests here. I have forwarded to you, by this conveyance, all the letters; from them you will learn the affairs of the missionaries: I hope all the brethren have joined them. Four thousand of the natives can now read. I send you one of Pomare's letters to me. Mr. John Eyre has translated it. You will see what the views of the king are. He is now writing a dictionary of his own language, and one of the chiefs is employed at the press. I am very sorry they did not meet the king's wishes with regard to the printing press, and set it up at Tahiti, where he lives; taking it away from him was unwise.... The main work is done now, as far as respects the planting of the gospel. Their native idols are burned in the fire, and many have 'tasted that the Lord is gracious' amongst the inhabitants. They sing, and read, and pray, and teach one another, so that there can be no fear that religion will be lost in the Islands again. The work has evidently been of God, and he will carry it on for his own glory. They will now also have their vessel, by which means they can visit the different islands and Port Jackson. I should wish much to see them turning their attention to agriculture, etc., so as to induce habits of industry among the natives, so that the natives of the Society Islands may rank with civilized nations." The letter closes, after a minute detail of the affairs of their missions, with an appeal, which, even at this distance of time, must be read with pain, and which nothing short of mental agony would have wrung from such a pen. "I rely with confidence on the Society for their support and protection. Unless his Majesty's ministers will interfere, I may expect similar attacks from the same quarter. If this should be the case, it cannot be expected I should remain in the colony to be ruined in my character, circumstances, and peace of mind. The last seven years have been very dreadful. A solitary individual cannot withstand the influence of those in power, armed with such a deadly weapon as the public papers, and every other means of annoyance at their command. I have written on the subject to Lord Bathurst.... "I remain, rev. Sir, yours affectionately, "SAMUEL MARSDEN. "To Rev. George Burder." In the same strain he writes to his friend Dr. Mason Good, inclosing the letter of Philo-free, and other documents. Amongst other threats, representations to the archbishop and the bishop of London had been muttered in the colony, with a view no doubt of inducing them to withdraw him from his post. "Should you learn," he says, "that any representations are made to the bishops, and you should deem it necessary, I will thank you to send them the documents I have transmitted, or any part of them, for their information. I should also wish Mr. Wilberforce to be acquainted with them, if you will at any time take the trouble to lay them before him." Then turning to brighter objects, he has the following remarkable passage: "With regard to New Zealand, I must refer you to the Rev. Josiah Pratt, (secretary to the Church Missionary Society). Great difficulties have opposed the establishment upon that island; but I hope they will all be overcome in time. We have sent two young men to England, as we think this will greatly tend to enlarge their ideas, and prepare them for greater usefulness in their own country. I have no doubt, but that New Zealand will soon become a civilized nation. If I were inclined to become a prophet I should say, that all the islands in the South Seas will afford an asylum for thousands of Europeans hereafter, and New South Wales will give laws to, and regulate, all their governments in the course of time. The gospel, humanly speaking, could not be planted in the South Sea Islands, unless our government had established a colony in New South Wales. The British government had no view of this kind when they first formed the colony. How mysterious are all the ways of Divine Providence! yet may the Divine footsteps be traced, if we mark attentively what is passing in the world. God, the Governor of this world, orders all things according to his infinite mind, and all things well." He soon had reason to adopt a happier strain. The trial was severe, the more so perhaps from the ardour of his own temperament, which, no doubt, required the chastisement, which became in the highest sense a blessing both to himself and others. Writing to the same friend, 3rd October, 1818, he says: "When I take a retrospect of all that has passed in this colony since my return, I see, with wonder and gratitude, the Divine goodness overruling the wills and affections of sinful men, and making all things unite in promoting his glory. 'Philo-free' will not be without its benefit to the great cause. Had this libel never appeared, the character, constitution and object of the Church, and London Missionary Societies would not have been known in this settlement for many years to come; nor would they have gained the friends which they will eventually do here." Letters of congratulation flowed in rapidly, both on account of his missionary exploits in New Zealand, and of his personal triumph in New South Wales. We can afford only to give a specimen of each; the one to show how the successes of the gospel thrilled English Christians with joy in the infancy of missions; and the other to exhibit the warm affection with which the great missionary leader of the southern seas was regarded by his friends at home. "From William Terry, Esq., "Hull, 7th May, 1817. ..."The account, you gave in your letter, as well as those sent to the Church Missionary Society, which appeared in the Missionary Register, were very gratifying to all who have at heart the prosperity of Zion. I have felt peculiarly interested in the journal of your voyage to New Zealand, and when at our (St. John's) church the Old Hundredth Psalm was sung, I felt much elevated in praise to our Almighty Saviour, that at the same period of the year, and exactly two years before, you had been enabled to proclaim the glad tidings of his salvation, and to commence with the same divine song upon the heathen shores of New Zealand. God grant that it may be the dawn of a brighter day: that the Lord of all may be adored by all the uncivilized world; that the Sun of righteousness may arise and go on to shine with increasing and transforming light and influence upon them, and upon all others who are yet sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death! May he bless all human attempts to promote so glorious a cause, and particularly your own zealous efforts; and may he, for the sake of the same, continue, if it please him, your valuable life for many years to come. I know, from the arduous post which you occupy, that your time must be entirely filled up, and that you can find very little leisure for a correspondent like me, who can render you little or no service.... Our esteemed friends, the Rev. Messrs. Dykes, Scott, Clarke, and Foster, are all very well, being in mercy continued yet to this highly favoured town. Mr. Scott has obtained the living of St. Margaret's since the death of Mr. Barker, and has engaged an excellent curate, a young man of high birth of the name of Sibthorpe, who seems very faithful, and will, I hope, be abundantly useful. May the Lord bless you and your young family with all temporal and spiritual blessings! And may he bless and direct all your zealous endeavours to promote his cause among the heathen, and to spread the knowledge and saving influence of his truth to all within your influence!" Dr. Mason Good, writing on the subject of the libel, under the date of April, 1818, says: "The triumph you have gained is indeed complete ... persevere, then, my dear friend, in the same good and great and magnanimous course. The eyes of the world are upon you, and what is more, the eye of Him who governs the world, and will never fail to give efficacy to his own instruments, and ultimate success to his designs. To this time, however, notwithstanding all the terrible threats that have been thrown out against you, not a single syllable of complaint has arrived from any one; do not therefore let your spirits fail. Depend upon esteem and support at home, for your perseverance and manly conduct have produced a very deep and popular sensation in every quarter in which you would wish to stand well." In addition to these gratifying testimonies from home, Mr. Marsden received a public mark of approbation from the officers of the 46th regiment, then stationed in the colony, who with a high and chivalrous sense of what was due to one who single handed had so long maintained the cause of truth and righteousness, stepped forward to offer their tribute of respect. He replied as follows:-- "To Col. Molle and the officers of the 46th regiment. "Paramatta, 16th Oct. 1818. "GENTLEMEN,--I had the honour to receive your public letter under date 14th May, 1818, and nothing could have given me more real gratification than the very handsome manner in which you have communicated your kind and friendly sentiments to me on the issue of the trials I instituted against the author of the libel, 'Philo-free.' I beg, gentlemen, to return you my most grateful acknowledgments for the honour you have done me, and to assure you that this mark of your good will to me, in bearing your testimony to my conduct, will ever be held in the highest estimation by me; and I trust I shall retain to the latest moment of my life a grateful sense of your favour to me as an individual, and at the same time never forget the public service you rendered to this colony from the time you landed to the day of your departure, by your firmness and gentlemanly conduct, as British officers, and by your good and prudent example as members of the community." After these expressions of gratitude he turns aside to remark upon the former condition of the colony, and the services which the 46th regiment had rendered in the cause of virtue. Proud as this regiment may justly be of honours won in far different scenes, it will not, we are assured, nor will its countrymen, regard with other feelings than those of high satisfaction, the following tribute to its moral worth and character. May every regiment in the British army deserve a similar eulogy from men who, like Job of old, and we may add, like the chaplain of New South Wales, 'know not to give flattering titles.' "When you first arrived in New South Wales every barrier against licentiousness was broken down, every fence swept away. There were a few, and but a few, who resolved to stand their ground, and preserve that line of conduct which the wisest and best men consider essential as marking the distinction between the good and the evil." And again: "Had you not arrived in New South Wales and acted the honourable part you did, the few who were marked for future conquest would not have been able to have stood out longer, but must have either yielded to superior force, or have withdrawn from the colony. Some would not have had strength of mind sufficient to have carried on a perpetual warfare against such an unequal force, and thus would not have been able to meet the expense of continued resistance. You just arrived in time to turn the wavering balance, and to inspire the desponding with hopes." A vote of thanks, in the most cordial terms, was also presented to him at the anniversary meeting of the Church Missionary Society, at the Freemasons' Tavern, in 1819. It would have been presented to the annual meeting of the previous year, but it was a mark of respect which had never yet been paid to any individual by the Society. "The circumstances, however, which have lately transpired," so writes his friend, Dr. Mason Good, who was a member of the committee, "the severe and important battle you have fought, and the triumph you have so gloriously achieved, have induced the Society to step out of their usual routine on this occasion, and to show, not only to yourself, but to the world at large, the full sense they entertain of the honourable and upright part you have taken, and their unanimous determination to give you all their support. I agree with you most fully that your contest has not been a personal one, but that the important objects of the Society have been at stake, and that the victory you have obtained is of more importance to the cause of virtue, honour, and true religion, and more especially to the cause of Christian missions in Australasia, than to yourself." We shall conclude our notice of these painful conflicts with two letters, the one from Lord Gambier, the other from the venerable Simeon. The former breathes the warm heart of a sailor and the mature wisdom of an experienced Christian. And thus while British soldiers were ready to acknowledge the integrity of Mr. Marsden, the navy, as represented by one of her great heroes, stood forward likewise in his behalf. "DEAR SIR,--I was happy to hear of your health and welfare by your letters to me of the 22nd January and the 5th March, 1817, which came to my hands in due time, though they were rather longer, I believe, in their passage than is usual. I deeply lament with you that your very zealous and arduous exertions to extend the kingdom of our gracious Lord, and to diffuse the knowledge of the glorious gospel of salvation among the inhabitants of the dark regions around you, should meet with the spirit of opposition from the persons in the colony whom you naturally would look to for support and assistance. And very grievous indeed it is that you should stand almost alone and single in a work of charity that exceeds the praises of human language to express its excellence and blessed effects upon the race of mankind. Mr. Pratt will have informed you that a special meeting of the committee of the Church Missionary Society was held last month for the sole purpose of deliberating upon the communication you have made to him of the state of the affairs of the Society, and the disgraceful letter that appeared in the 'Sydney Gazette,' signed 'Philo-free.' The result of the committee's consultation was, that your letters on this subject should be referred to the consideration of the vice-presidents of the Society, requesting them to take such measures as they deemed most advisable to relieve you from the distressing and painful situation in which you were placed. I had the satisfaction of being present at the meeting of the vice-presidents; the bishop of Gloucester and Mr. Wilberforce were of the number. Mr. Pratt was also present, and as he will communicate to you the judgment that we passed upon the occasion it is unnecessary for me to add anything thereto; but I cannot forbear to express to you the admiration I entertain of your conduct, your zeal, perseverance, and unremitted exertions in the blessed and glorious cause in which you are engaged. May our gracious Lord be your shield; may his powerful arm protect you against all your adversaries, and enable you to overcome them all with the weapons of a Christian warfare, meekness, patience, faith, and charity; and may he lay them all at your feet.! May his grace be sufficient for you, and give you strength to go on as you have done in his service, to the glory of his name and to the salvation of the heathen nations around! You have achieved great things in New Zealand. May the seed you have sown there be like the grain of mustard, and grow to a large tree; and may you finally receive the bright reward of your labours, and have that blessing pronounced upon you, 'Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' There is a fine field for missionary labours in New Zealand, and I anticipate the happiest consequences to the race of men in that country from the establishment you have made among them, and I think it very probable that they will make more rapid progress in the knowledge and practice of Christianity and civilization than any heathen nation to whom the gospel has been preached. May you live to see this verified! "With cordial and earnest wishes for your health and prosperity, I remain, dear Sir, with sincere regard, "Your faithful and humble friend and servant, "GAMBIER." Mr. Simeon, of Cambridge, wrote to him in the same strain of encouragement:-- "Dec. 15, 1819. "Last summer I was at Hull, and saw Mr. Scott and other of your friends and relatives. It was a joy to me to see how ardent was their love towards you. I commissioned Mrs. Scott to tell you, in general terms, that your character and cause were duly appreciated by the government and by the House of Commons. I take for granted that Mr. Wilberforce has given you particulars. It was from him that I was enabled to declare the general result. "I am overwhelmed almost with work. Eleven volumes will be out in the spring. The first six will make their appearance in less than a month; it is of the same nature as my former work, though distinct from it. It is on all the finest passages from Genesis to Revelation. It is entitled 'Horæ Homileticæ,' as being homilies for the assistance both of clergy and laity." In this age of "reformatories," when the treatment of our prisoners has become a popular question, it is impossible to read without deep interest such letters as the following. Mr. Marsden had taken up the cause of the degraded female prisoners in New South Wales. Mrs. Fry in England hears of his benevolent exertions, and hastens to express her joy; and thus she writes to the prison-philanthropist of the southern world:-- "Mildred's Court, second month, 11th, 1820. "RESPECTED FRIEND,--I have received thy letters, one sent by Deputy-commissary-general Allan, and the other written some time before, but only arrived within a day or two of each other. I am sorry that I happened to be out when Deputy-commissary-general Allan called, but I hope soon to see him, and to consult with him as to the steps best to be taken to improve the condition of the female convicts in New South Wales. Much influence has already been used here, and the subject has been brought before the House of Commons. I some time ago obtained a copy of thy letter to the governor of New South Wales, and the information contained in it has been much spread in this country, and it is quite my opinion that some beneficial alterations will in time take place; but the present parliament being so soon to be dissolved, owing to the death of the king, I fear will retard their progress; but much is doing in this country, and I trust that much is likely to be done. Many of us are deeply interested in the welfare of the poor convicts as to their situation here, and their voyage, and when they arrive in Botany Bay. And if life and ability be granted us, I trust that much will in time be accomplished; but all these things require patience and perseverance, which I hope we shall be endowed with, both here and on your side of the water. I am sorry thou hast had so many trials and discouragements in filling thy very important station, and I cannot help hoping and believing that thy labours will prove not to be in vain; and even if thou shouldst not fully see the fruit of thy labours, others, I trust, will reap the advantage of them, so that the words of Scripture may be verified, 'That both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together.' I consider myself greatly obliged by thy valuable communications, and I think it would be very desirable that thou shouldst let us know exactly what sort of place is wanted for the women, and what would be its probable expense, as it would enable us more clearly to state what we wish for. And I should think our government would give the necessary directions to have the work done. I remain, etc., thy friend, ELIZABETH FRY." Through such toils and conflicts our predecessors of the last generation passed, before they could lay effectually the foundations of those great principles of humanity and justice in the public mind, which are now yielding their abundant fruit. CHAPTER VIII. Tooi and Teterree--Mr. Marsden's Second Voyage to New Zealand--Progress of the Gospel there--Shunghie--His ferocity--Mr. Marsden returns to New South Wales--Third Voyage to New Zealand--Malicious charges brought against him in his absence--A Commission of Inquiry--Its result--Letters, etc.--Approbation of the Government. The New Zealand mission still continued to occupy Mr. Marsden's thoughts. He seems to have been always alert, turning every hint to account, seizing every occasion and employing every likely instrument to promote the grand design. The excellent quality of the New Zealand flax had not escaped him. He induced two young New Zealanders, whom he had brought with him to Paramatta, to visit England, which they did in H. M. ship Kangaroo, and were placed under the care of his friends in London. "I wish on no account," he writes to Mr. Pratt, "that they should be idle; if they cannot be useful in forming a vocabulary, (of the Maori language of which he was now anxious that a grammar should be prepared) let them be _put into a rope walk_, and be kept close to labour while they remain in England." They were both chieftains, Tooi and Teterree; still the reader must not suppose the rope walk was to them a degrading employment. Mr. Marsden had another object in view besides their improvement, and he wished to impart to his friends in London something of his own enthusiasm in behalf of the Maorie race. "The Society will see," he says in his letter to the secretary, Mr. Pratt, "from these two young men what the natives of New Zealand are. They are prepared to receive any instruction that we can give them; they are fine young men, and in temper and natural parts very like their countrymen in general." They seem to have deserved the character here given them. We insert a letter from each, written while they were in England. The first is addressed to Mr. Pratt while Tooi was on a visit amongst the manufactories of Staffordshire and Shropshire. "Madeley, Sept. 17, 1818. "DEAR SIR,--I am much obliged and thank you, Mr. Pratt, for the letter you sent me. I so pleased when Mr. Pratt finds a ship. I want a ship to go home. I have been to Coalport. I made four cups. Mr. Rose tell me, 'You soon learn.' 'Yes,' I say, 'very soon learn with fingers, but book very hard,' etc. "To Mr. Pratt. THOMAS TOOI." The other letter is in a graver strain from Teterree to Mr. Marsden. "Church Missionary House, October 12, 1818. "MY DEAR FRIEND,--I like Englishman much; he love New Zealand man. I very sick in missionary house, and very near die; nothing but bone. Kind friend missionary pray for me every night. "I kneel down in my bed-room every night, and pray to Jesus Christ our Saviour to learn me to read the book. "Very nice country England. I never see the king of England; he very poorly, and Queen Charlotte very poorly too. "I see the iron make, and bottle blow. Tooi blow a bottle, and I blow a bottle. I make four cups at China work, etc. Farewell, good friend. "TETEREE." Their English education being completed, the young chieftains returned to Paramatta, and Mr. Marsden embarked a second time for New Zealand, taking Tooi and Teterree with him, with several missionaries, three mechanics and their families. They landed at Rangheehoa, in the Bay of Islands, on the 12th August. The rival chiefs Shunghie and Koro-Koro now contended for the site of the new missionary settlement which Mr. Marsden contemplated, each being anxious that his own domain should be preferred, and offering a grant of land. The spot was selected at Kiddee Kiddee (or Keri-Keri) a district in the territory of Shunghie, at the head of a fine harbour; but such was the distress of the disappointed chieftain, whose part was taken by young Tooi, that Mr. Marsden almost relented: "He made strong appeals to our feelings, and urged his request by every argument that he could advance, so that we were obliged to promise to accompany him on the next day to Parroa, and that we would build him and Tooi a house if the situation pleased us, and send one or two Europeans to reside amongst them." The stores were now landed, and all the beach exhibited a scene of happiness and busy civilization; fourteen natives sawing timber, others cutting knees, etc.; "a sight more grateful to a benevolent mind could not possibly have been seen; our hearts overflowed with gratitude. We viewed the various operations with delight, and considered them the dawn of civil and religious liberty to this land of darkness, superstition, and cruelty." Such were the comments which the missionary leader noted down at the time, and in reading them we are made to feel how much Christian benevolence excels the mere selfishness of the most enterprising colonist. Simply for the good of others, without the hope or wish of reaping any other advantage than that of extending the kingdom of God amongst a savage race, the little missionary band, self exiled, and consecrated to a life of unknown toil and hardship, exult in laying the foundations of their settlement, as the Jews of old exulted when they began to build their temple to the living God. On the next sabbath day, the work was consecrated with prayer and praise. Mr. Marsden's simple language best describes the scene:-- "_August 22._--We assembled on the beach for public worship, as there was no place sufficiently spacious to hold the people. We were surrounded with natives and a number of chiefs from different districts. "It was gratifying to be able to perform worship to the true God in the open air, without fear or danger, when surrounded by cannibals with their spears stuck in the ground, and their pattoo-pattoos and daggers concealed under their mats. We could not doubt but that the time was at hand for gathering in this noble people into the fold of Christ. Their misery is extreme, the prince of darkness has full dominion over their souls and bodies; under the influence of ignorance and superstition many devote themselves to death, and the chiefs sacrifice their slaves as a satisfaction for the death of any of their friends. This is a tyranny from which nothing but the gospel can set them free." [Illustration: THE BAY OF ISLANDS, NEW ZEALAND.] During this three months' sojourn, besides the attention which Mr. Marsden gave to the missions in the Bay of Islands, he made a circuitous journey of seven hundred miles, exploring the country with a view to more extensive operations. His arrival over land and in health, at the Bay of Islands, on his return, relieved the minds of his anxious friends the missionaries, and "gave them additional cause," they say, "to bless and thank God for his protecting care, and that he had again heard and answered our supplications." "There is not one in ten thousand, I think," writes Mr. Hall, "who could or would have borne the privations, difficulties, and dangers, which he has undergone. I pray that he may reap the fruits of his labour by the New Zealanders turning from their degraded state to serve the only living and true God." Mr. Marsden's journal of this second visit will be valuable in time to come, as perhaps the best record in existence of the character and habits of a wonderful people, on whom civilization had not yet dawned, and whose spiritual darkness was profound. He landed, during a coasting voyage, with young Tooi, on the small island of Motooroa. "The first object that struck my eye was a man's head stuck on a pole near the hut where we were to sleep; the face appeared beautifully tattooed; it was the head of a chief who was killed by Shunghie's people. The sight," he says, "naturally excited feelings of horror in my breast." Most men would have felt something of alarm. But Mr. Marsden seems to have been a perfect stranger to fear; and if courage, whether physical or moral, makes a hero, he must be ranked high in the heroic class. He merely adds, "This caused me to value more and more the blessing of Divine revelation, and the blessing of civil government." In his journal on a tour to the River Shukeangha, he writes thus: "_September 28, 1819._--After we had passed the swamp, we came into a very open country, for many miles round covered with fern. The part through which we walked was gravelly, and not very good in general. "The wind increased toward evening, and blew strong from the rainy quarter, so that we had the prospect of a very wet night, without a single tree to shelter us from the storm for about eight miles from the swamp we had passed. At this distance was a wood, through which our road lay, which we were anxious to reach, if possible, in order to shelter ourselves from the wind and rain. With this hope we pushed forward, and arrived at the edge of the wood about nine o'clock. The rain now began to fall heavily. The natives cut branches of fern and boughs of trees, and made us a little shed under the trees, to afford us some shelter. The blackness of the heavens, the gloomy darkness of the wood, the roaring of the wind among the trees, the sound of the falling rain on the thick foliage, united with the idea that we were literally at the ends of the earth, with relation to our native land, surrounded with cannibals whom we knew to have fed on human flesh, and wholly in their power, and yet our minds free from fear of danger--all this excited in my breast such new, pleasing, and, at the same time, opposite sensations, as I cannot describe. "While I sat musing under the shelter of a lofty pine, my thoughts were lost in wonder and surprise, in taking a view of the wisdom and goodness of God's providential care, which had attended all my steps to that very hour. If busy imagination inquired what I did there, I had no answer to seek in wild conjecture: I felt with gratitude that I had not come by chance; but had been sent to labour in preparing the way of the Lord in this dreary wilderness, where the voice of joy and gladness had never been heard: and I could not but anticipate with joyful hope the period when the Day-star from on high would dawn and shine on this dark and heathen land, and cause the very earth on which we then reposed to bring forth its increase, when God himself would give the poor inhabitants his blessing. After reflecting on the different ideas which crowded themselves upon my mind, I wrapped myself up in my great coat, and lay down to sleep." He visited an island where he met with a singular spectacle. A number of natives were at work, breaking up the ground with a sort of spatula, or wooden spade, to plant their sweet potato. Amongst these was Koro-Koro's head wife, or queen. "Her Majesty was working hard with a wooden spade, digging the ground for potatoes, with several of the women and some men." The royal infant lay on the ground sprawling and kicking by her side; "the old queen earnestly requested that I would give her a hoe, showing me the difficulty she had in digging with a stick; a request with which I promised to comply." We leave the reader to admire at leisure the Homeric simplicity of the scene, or to indulge in those sentiments of contemptuous pity to which Englishmen are possibly more prone. In another place, he found the head wife of Shunghie, though perfectly blind, digging in the same manner, surrounded by her women, and apparently with as much ease as the rest. The offer of a hoe in exchange for her spatula was accepted with joy. The scene drew forth these reflections: "When we viewed the wife of one of the most military chiefs, possessing large territories, digging with a spatula for her subsistence, this sight kindled within us the best feelings of the human heart. If a woman of this character, and blind, can thus labour with her servants, what will not this people rise to, if they can procure the means of improving their country, and of bettering their condition? Their temporal state must be improved by agriculture and the simple arts, in connexion with the introduction of Christianity, in order to give permanence and full influence to the gospel among them. Our God and Saviour, who is loving to every man, and whose tender mercies are over all his works, is now, blessed be his name, moving the hearts of his servants to send relief to the poor heathen, even to the very ends of the earth." The journal affords us repeated evidences of a phenomenon, which recent occurrences in India have at this moment deeply impressed on the heart of England,--one with which both divines and legislators ought to have been acquainted (for it is not obscurely referred to in the word of God), but which a foolish and spurious benevolence has led many to deny--namely, that the most Satanic ferocity frequently lurks under gentle manners, and is even to be found in connexion with the warmest natural affection. Nothing, for instance, can be more affecting than the meeting of Tooi and his sister, after the absence of the former in England. Tooi himself anticipated _a scene_, and half ashamed, when he saw his sister at a distance, tried to avoid the interview in public, and requested Mr. Marsden to order off the canoe in which they were approaching. But her love could not be restrained; in an instant she sprang into the boat, fell on her knees, and clung to Tooi. He saluted her in return; when she gave vent to her feelings in tears and loud lamentations, which she continued for about an hour. "Tooi conducted himself with great propriety, suppressing all his wild feelings, and at the same time treating his sister with all the soft and tender feelings of nature. I could not but view his conduct with admiration." When Tooi was in England, he had been taught to read and write, and instructed in the doctrines of Christianity; and he and his companion Teterree were general favourites, from their gentle manners and quick intelligence. They were one day taken to St. Paul's by Mr. Nicholas, who naturally supposed they would be lost in astonishment at the grandeur of the building, but they expressed neither surprise nor pleasure; on which that gentleman makes this just remark; "It is only things of common occurrence, I suspect, that strike the mind of a savage. The faculties must be cultivated to fit them for the enjoyment of the beautiful or the sublime." One thing, however, did strike them, and caused no small excitement. In walking up Fleet-street, they suddenly stopped before a hair-dresser's shop, in the window of which were some female busts. They screamed out "Wyenee! Wyenee!" (Women! Women!) taking them for dried heads of the human subject. "I took some pains," adds their kind conductor, "to beat this notion out of them, lest they should tell their countrymen on their return that Europeans preserved human heads as well as New Zealanders." These bursts of feeling were, it seems, quite natural; intense sorrow or savage exultation, the extremes of tenderness and of brutality, were indulged by turns, without any suspicion on their part of insincerity in either. Immediately after, Mr. Marsden mentions that he passed a canoe in which he recognised an old acquaintance, Hooratookie, the first New Zealander introduced into civil society--Governor King having once entertained him with great kindness. Hooratookie was grateful; spoke of the governor's daughter, then a child, with unfeigned regard, calling her by her Christian name, Maria. But looking into his large war-canoe, capable of holding from sixty to eighty men, with provisions, Mr. Marsden observed on the stern the dried head of a chief. "The face was as natural as life, the hair was long, and every lock combed straight, and the whole brought up to the crown, tied in a knot, and ornamented with feathers, according to the custom of the chiefs when in full dress. It was placed there as an incentive to revenge. It is possible the death of this chief may be revenged by his children's children; hence the foundation is laid for new acts of cruelty and blood from generation to generation." Mr. Marsden's fame now preceded him, and wherever he went, he was received not with rude hospitality, but with courteous respect. One chieftain offered up an ovation and prayer on their arrival. "He invoked the heavens above and the earth beneath to render our visit advantageous to his people, and agreeable to us, and that no harm may happen to us, whom he esteemed as the gods of another country. We heard the profane adulations with silent grief, and could not but wish most ardently for the light of Divine truth to shine on such a dark and superstitious mind." Yet this man was a ferocious cannibal; and when Mr. Marsden expressed his anxiety for the safety of the missionaries after he should have left them, he was calmed by the assurance that, as we had done them no harm, they had no satisfaction to demand, "and that as for eating us, the flesh of a New Zealander was sweeter than that of an European, in consequence of the white people eating so much salt." From this the conversation turned to that of eating human flesh, which they defended with arguments which to them appeared, no doubt, perfectly conclusive. They alleged that fishes, animals, and birds, preyed upon each other; and that one god would devour another god, therefore there was in nature sufficient warrant for the practice. Shunghie explained how it was the gods preyed on each other, "and that when he was to the southward, and had killed a number of people and was afraid of their god, he caught their god, being a reptile, and ate part of it, and reserved the remainder for his friends." Shunghie, the greatest of New Zealand warriors, was at the same time a striking instance of that union of gentleness and ferocity which characterized this people. To the missionaries his kindness was always great, and his respect for Mr. Marsden knew no bounds. An instance of his good feeling may here be noticed. In the beginning of 1817, a naval expedition, under his command, sailed from the Bay of Islands. It consisted of thirty canoes, and about eight hundred men. Its object was to obtain peace with his enemies at the North Cape. The chief took an affectionate leave of the settlers, and told them that if he fell they must be kind to his children; and if he survived, he would take care of their families when they should die. The expedition returned, however, in about a fortnight, his people having quarrelled with those of Wangaroa, into which place they had put for refreshment; and being afraid, he said, that the Wangaroa people would attack the settlers in his absence, he, for the present, abandoned the expedition. Shunghie was again preparing for war when Mr. Marsden paid his second visit to New Zealand; his army, to the number of several thousand men, were already assembled; his war-canoes were ready, and all his preparations complete; yet in deference to the remonstrances of Mr. Marsden, he again abandoned his scheme of conquest or revenge, and dismissed his followers. Shunghie paid a visit to England about the year 1820. His majestic person, graceful manners, and gentle yet manly disposition were much admired. He was one of Nature's nobles; what might not be expected from such a man when he returned home again? George the Fourth invited him to Carlton Palace, and received him with marked attention, presenting him with some military accoutrements and costly fire-arms. Yet the heart of a savage never ceased to beat beneath this polished exterior, while his pride was fanned to madness by the consideration he received in England. "There is," he exclaimed, "but one king in England; there shall be only one king in New Zealand." Returning by way of Sydney he there happened to meet with Inacki, another chief, with whom he had an ancient feud. He told him that when they got back to New Zealand he would fight him. Inacki accepted the challenge, and Shunghie accordingly assembled, on his return to New Zealand, no fewer than two thousand men to attack Inacki. The latter was prepared to receive him, and for some time the event of the battle that ensued was doubtful. At length Shunghie, who had the greatest number of muskets, and who had arranged his men in the form called, in Roman tactics, the cuneus, or wedge, placing himself at the apex and directing those behind him to wheel round the enemy, from the right and left, or to fall back into their original position as opportunity offered, shot Inacki. The savage Shunghie immediately sprang forward, scooped out the eye of the dying man with his knife, and swallowed it; and then, holding his hands to his throat, into which he had plunged his knife, and from which the blood flowed copiously, drank as much of the horrid beverage as the two hands could hold. Amongst the horrible superstitions of the Maories, one was that the eye of a victim thus devoured became a star in the firmament, and thus the ferocious Shunghie sought for honour and immortality. With the sword which he had received as a present from King George in England, he immediately cut off the heads of sixteen of his captives in cold blood; this was done to appease the spirit of his son-in-law, who had fallen in battle. In this battle, Shunghie and his tribe were armed with muskets, his opponents only with the native weapons, the club and spear. His victory, therefore, was an easy one, but his revenge was cruel. A New Zealand traveller, who visited the spot in 1844, says: "The bones of two thousand men still lie whitening on the plain, and the ovens remain in which the flesh of the slaughtered was cooked for the horrible repasts of the victorious party, and yet so numerous were the slaves taken prisoners that the Nga-Puis (the tribe of which Shunghie was the head) killed many of them on their way to the Bay of Islands merely to get rid of them."[I] Such was the gentle Shunghie when his viler nature was let loose--a frightful specimen of human nature, varnished by education, but unvisited by the grace of God. We turn aside for a moment to describe a scene in bright contrast with these revolting details. Amongst the few who escaped the general slaughter was Koromona, a chief who became blind soon afterwards, but hearing archdeacon W. Williams preach at Matamata, was converted. "For the last four years," says the traveller above mentioned, "Koromona has been a native teacher, and may be seen every sabbath day with his class instructing them in the truths of the Scripture with an earnestness which is truly admirable; he is now about to start to preach Christianity to a tribe which has not yet received it. His memory is wonderful; he knows the whole of the church service by heart, and repeats hymns and many long chapters verbatim." Thus the gospel won its victorious way, and proved itself triumphant over hearts no less depraved and passions no less degraded than those of Shunghie himself. No earthly power could have effected such a change; it was wrought by that "gospel" which is truly "the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth." [I] Savage Life and Scenes in Australia and New Zealand. By George French Angas, London, 1847. Amidst such scenes the missionaries dwelt in peace. War, and its inseparable and more hideous companion, cannibalism, showed themselves at their gates, but were not allowed to hurt them. Under the good providence of God, their security was owing, in a great measure, to the prudence and courage with which Mr. Marsden planned and carried out his projects. Himself a stranger to fear, he infused courage into those around him, and both he and they felt secure under the shield and buckler of the Almighty. No doubt the fearlessness of Mr. Marsden won the admiration of these savages and contributed not a little to his safety. His journal abounds in instances such as that which follows. The scene is in a Maori village, and the writer is surrounded with cannibals. "After conversing on several subjects, we had supper, sung a hymn, and then committed ourselves to the Angel of the everlasting covenant, and so lay down to rest; a number of the natives lay around the hut and some within. I slept well until daybreak, being weary with walking." He appears to have arrived at home, after this second visit to New Zealand, towards the close of November, 1819. In February, 1820, he was once more on his way back to New Zealand. His letters bear ample testimony to a fact which all who were acquainted with him in private life observed, that his heart was full of affection, and that his home was the scene of his greatest happiness. He had not returned, it is true, to be greeted with public honours; on the contrary, he was still a marked man. The governor and many of the leading men in the colony were prejudiced against him. We believe it is to this period of his life that an anecdote which we give on the best possible authority belongs. The governor had consented to his recent visit to New Zealand with reluctance, and had limited the period of his absence with military precision, threatening at the same time to deprive him of his chaplaincy unless he returned within the given time. The last day arrived, and the expected vessel was not in sight. The governor repeated his determination to those around him, and Mr. Marsden's friends were filled with anxiety, and his wife and family at length gave up all hope. Towards evening the long-wished-for sail appeared in the offing, and at eight o'clock in the evening Mr. Marsden quietly walked into the governor's drawing-room with the laconic and yet respectful address, "Sir, I am here to report myself." But within the bosom of his family all was peace, and his presence shed light and joy on everything around him. His circumstances were prosperous--for his farm, which was almost entirely committed to Mrs. Marsden's care, was now a source of considerable income; his children were growing up to manhood under their parents' roof; his circle of friends and visitors was large, for there were no bounds to his simple hospitality; and the clergy of the colony, men like minded with himself, had now begun to regard him not only with affection, but with the reverence which belongs to years and wisdom and wide experience. Yet at the call of duty this veteran was ready, on the shortest notice, to resume a life of such toil and hardship as nothing could have rendered welcome, its novelty once over, but motives the most solemn and commanding. H.M.S. Dromedary, Captain Skinner, was directed by government to proceed from Sydney to the Bay of Islands to receive a cargo of New Zealand timber for trial in the dockyards of England; and Sir Byam Martin, controller of the navy, knowing something of the energy of Mr. Marsden's character, and his great acquaintance with New Zealand, requested that he would accompany the Dromedary, which was joined by the Coromandel, in order to facilitate the object of their visit. With this request he felt it his duty to comply. He arrived in New Zealand on the 20th of February, and embarked on board the Dromedary to return on the 25th of November. Thus nearly the whole year was given to the service of New Zealand. The time was not lost. On his arrival, a difficulty occurred which he only could have set at rest. The natives had come to the determination to exchange nothing, nor to do any kind of work, except for muskets and powder. His first business was to assemble the few European settlers, the advanced guard of that mighty band of European colonists which was soon to follow, and to persuade them not on any account to supply the natives with these weapons of war, in their hands so sure a source of mischief. With regard to the duty of the missionaries there could be no doubt; and this he explained to all the powerful chiefs. They had come among them to preach the gospel of peace, how then could they be expected to furnish the means and implements of destruction? In writing to the Missionary Society at home he says, and he must have written such a sentence with an aching heart, "I think it much more to the honour of religion and the good of New Zealand even to give up the mission for the present, than to trade with the natives in those articles." After a short time spent in the Bay of Islands, at the mission, he proceeded, sometimes in company with Europeans, but for the most part alone, upon a tour of many hundred miles through regions yet untrodden by the foot of civilized men, mingling with the native tribes, accompanying them in their wanderings from place to place, teaching the first lessons of civilization and gospel truth, and receiving everywhere from these savages the kindest attention and the most hospitable welcome in return. On their way to Tourangha, he writes, under the date of June 20: "The day was far spent when we reached the plain. We walked on till the sun was nearly set, when we stopped and prepared for the night. The servants, who had the provisions to carry, were very tired. There were no huts on the plain, nor any inhabitants, and we were therefore compelled to take up our lodging in the open air. I was very weary, having had no rest the preceding night; and having come a long day's journey, so that I felt that rest would be very acceptable, even on a heap of fern or anything else. "The peculiar scene that surrounded me, furnished the mind with new matter for contemplation on the works and ways of God. The mystery of his providence, and the still greater mystery of his grace, were all unsearchable to me. I had come from a distant country, and was then at the ends of the earth, a solitary individual, resting on an extensive wild, upon which no civilized foot had ever before trodden. My companions were poor savages, who nevertheless vied with each other in their attentions to me. I could not but feel attached to them. What would I have given to have had the book of life opened, which was yet a sealed book to them,--to have shown them that God who made them, and to have led them to Calvary's mount, that they may see the Redeemer who had shed his precious blood for the redemption of the world, and was there set up as an ensign for the nations. But it was not in my power to take the veil from their hearts, I could only pray for them, and entreat the Father of mercies to visit them with his salvation. I felt very grateful that a Divine revelation had been granted to me; that I knew the Son of God had come, and believed that he had made a full and sufficient sacrifice or atonement for the sins of a guilty world. With compassionate feelings for my companions, under a grateful sense of my own mercies, I lay down to rest, free from all fear of danger." It was during this tour that the following letter was addressed to the lady of his excellent friend Dr. Mason Good. It is long, but the reader will scarcely wish that it had been shorter. Let it stand on record as an evidence of the power of true religion in maintaining amidst the rudest scenes, and the rough warfare of an adventurous life, all the gentleness and affection of the most refined and polished society of a Christian land. "New Zealand, Sept. 22, 1820. "DEAR MADAM,--Your kind favour arrived in the Bay of Islands September 7, the evening I returned from a long journey. I had no sooner cast my eye over your letter, than busy imagination transported me from the solitary woods, dreary wastes, and savage society of New Zealand, into 'the polished corner' of Guilford-street, and surrounded me with every cordial that could refresh the weary traveller, revive the fainting spirits, and blow the languishing spark of Christian love with a heavenly flame. I had literally been living for weeks a savage life, as far as outward circumstances went. I ate, I slept in the thick wood, in a cave, or on the banks of a river, or sea, with my native companions, wherever the shadows of the evening, or gathering storm compelled us to seek for shelter. Every day as I advanced from tribe to tribe, I was introduced to new acquaintances; my object was to gain from observation and experience that knowledge of savage life which I could not learn from books, and to make myself well acquainted with the wants, wishes, and character of the native inhabitants, to enable me, if my life should be spared, to aid to the utmost of my power in their deliverance from their present temporal miseries, which are great upon them, and from their much sorer bondage to the prince of darkness. I am happy in having obtained this object to a certain extent, at the expense of a few temporal privations, and a little bodily evil. When I have lain down upon the ground after a weary day's journey, wrapped up in my great coat, surrounded only by cannibals, I often thought how many thousands are there in civil life, languishing upon beds of down, and saying, with Job, 'in the evening would God it were morning,' while I could sleep free from fear or pain, far remote from civil society under the guardian care of him who keepeth Israel. Though I everywhere met with the greatest kindness from the natives, as well as hospitality, for they always gave me the best fern-root, potato, or fish in their possession, yet I could never have duly estimated the sweets of civil life, and the still greater mental gratification of Christian communion, if I had not passed through these dark regions of Satan's dominions, on which the dayspring from on high hath never cast a single ray. You cannot conceive how great a feast your letter was, after so long a fast. I was instantly present with every person you mentioned, and lived over again some of those happy moments I once spent under your hospitable roof. A sacred warmth flowed round my soul, my heart was sweetly melted under the influence of that pure and undefiled religion which dropped from your pen, like the heavenly dew, as it ran through every line. What shall we call those pure sensations that thus warm and captivate the soul? Do they flow from the communion of saints, or at these delightful moments does some invisible seraph touch our lips with a live coal from God's altar? If you have ever experienced similar feelings, their recollection will explain more fully my meaning than my words can express. When these lines meet your eye, may they find your soul rapt up to the third heaven! But to where am I now wandering? the veil of the flesh is not now rent, we have not yet entered into the holy of holies. Though God has given you and your seed the land of Goshen, and you have light continually in your dwelling, yet you are still in Egypt, while I am constrained to dwell in Mesech, and to dwell in these remote and dark tents of Kedar. But, my dear madam, seas and continents will not long separate the people of God. I humbly hope the day is at no great distance, when we shall join the spirits of just men made perfect. At present you abound with blessings.... Jacob often thought of Bethel, and when in his afflictions he seemed to have forgotten that sacred spot, God said unto him, 'Arise and go to Bethel, and dwell there.' It will always be safest for us to dwell also at Bethel. I must now close, as my paper is nearly full, and your patience must also be tired when it comes to your turn to read what I have written. "Remember me to your sister, Mrs. Skinner. Tell Mr. Good I received his last letter, and will answer it at a more convenient season. I was on my passage to Port Jackson in a small schooner, but adverse winds drove me back almost dead with sea-sickness. I have been here since February last, and when I shall get home I am uncertain; I venture no more in the schooner. Mrs. M. wants me back, as she has much upon her hands. It gave me great satisfaction to hear my son had arrived safe. I knew your kindness would far exceed my wishes. I will endeavour, as far as able, to pay all my debts when I see Mr. Good and you face to face; till then you must give me credit, and if I do not pay you, you will be sure to receive both principal and interest in the resurrection of the just. "I remain, dear madam, "Yours, in the bonds of Christian love, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." The immediate object of his visit being accomplished, he returned to Sydney, where a strange reception awaited him. Governor Macquarie had sent to Lord Bathurst a despatch in answer to the statements of the senior chaplain, already noticed, in which he brought heavy charges against the latter, which deeply affected his character, not only as a magistrate, but as a Christian man and a minister. The office of a magistrate he had been compelled to undertake in common with the other clergy of the colony, who were all included in the commission of the peace. For this there was no justification except hard necessity. Mr. Marsden, however, had long been weary of the irksome task, and had once and again requested the governor to accept his resignation. This the governor had expressly declined to do, on the ground that "his services as a magistrate were too beneficial to the public;" but in fact, it would seem, only that he might have the opportunity of inflicting upon him the annoyance of a formal dismissal, which was shortly afterwards notified in the "Sydney Gazette." Lord Bathurst, in consequence of the governor's despatch, determined upon a step which gave great satisfaction to Mr. Marsden's friends at home, and sent out a commissioner to investigate upon the spot the truth of these and various other matters affecting the state of the colony, which had now obtained public notoriety, and had already engaged the attention of the British parliament; and Commissioner Bigge arrived during Mr. Marsden's absence to manage the inquiry. On his return we find him seeking a public and searching examination of his whole conduct. Addressing a letter to the commissioner, he says: "I am happy to meet every charge that can be brought against me. I have no wish to do more than set my character right in the opinion of his Majesty's government and in that of the Christian world; and I am unfeignedly thankful to you for the fair opportunity you afford me to justify my public and private conduct." Among the many charges brought before the commission of inquiry was that already preferred against Mr. Marsden by the governor in his despatch to Lord Bathurst, namely, that he had been guilty of extraordinary severity as a magistrate. Another, scarcely consistent with the first, was, that more profligacy and depravity were to be found amongst the convicts of Paramatta than in any other district, and that this was owing to the neglect of the senior chaplain. Perhaps it would have been impossible to have brought forward any two charges of a more painful nature. Happily the first was easily disproved, or rather it fell at once to the ground for want of proof. The second was the more cruel, because, while the facts bore out the statement, Mr. Marsden was the only public man in the colony who was not guilty, by his silence at least, to some extent of the iniquities which the governor affected to deplore. Paramatta was, in fact, the receptacle of the most hardened and depraved of the convict class; it received the sweepings of the jails in every district. There were nearly two hundred women and seven hundred male convicts there, while the factory was so small as not to be able to contain more than sixty women, and the remainder were obliged to find lodging for themselves or to sleep in the open fields. This was Mr. Marsden's answer to the commissioner; it was a repetition of the remonstrance which he alone had had the courage, two years before, to present to the governor, and then to remit home to England. Thus he found himself arraigned as the cause of those very evils--evils, too, lying at his own door--which he had obtained so much obloquy for attempting to remove. The reflection is a trite one, but it will bear to be repeated, that the Christian philanthropist must look for his recompense in heaven, and not from man. "If when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God, for even hereunto were ye called." A third charge was that he had squandered public money in building the female orphan house. He showed, however, on his defence, that the lieutenant-governor, judge-advocate, and others, who formed the committee, had examined the accounts and passed them every quarter, and that the governor had himself afterwards approved of them, and published them in the "Sydney Gazette" three years before the charge was made. It now appeared further that Mr. Marsden had advanced largely to the institution; to the amount indeed of more than eight hundred pounds, for the mere cost of the building; "and this," he says, "must have been known to the governor, as I was obliged to apply to him for repayment for some of these sums, and received an answer that he could not assist me." Such are some of the trials which they must learn to encounter who would be brave and fearless soldiers of the cross. They must expect to have their motives censured, their tempers blamed, their actions misconstrued, sometimes by men as good, or, at least, as honest as themselves. Governor Macquarie left the impression of his genius upon the youthful institutions of Australia, where his memory is still honoured as that of a great man; yet his conduct to Mr. Marsden was oppressive and unjust. It is consoling to know that there had been nothing in the personal conduct of the latter unworthy of his sacred calling. The commissioner, in the conclusion of the investigation, inserts, for Mr. Marsden's information, the governor's testimonial of his character, which, considering the charges brought against him, certainly does go far to prove that misapprehension and exasperated feelings had betrayed his excellency into a warmth and precipitancy of which, in moments of less irritation, he felt ashamed. "The governor admits that Mr. Marsden's manner to him has been constantly civil and accommodating, and that nothing in his manner could provoke the governor's warmth. The governor admits his qualifications, his activity, and his unremitting vigilance as a magistrate, and in society his cheerful disposition and readiness to please." While this inquiry was pending at Sydney, the governor addressed a letter to Lord Sidmouth, and published it in England. It was a defence of his own line of policy against various attacks which had been made against it in the House of Commons by the Hon. H. Grey Bennett and others. In the course of his defence, the governor not only ridiculed Mr. Marsden's letter on the necessity of a female factory, and his account of the melancholy condition of the convict women, but charges him with being himself accustomed to traffic in spirituous liquors, and in consequence of being displeased at having so many public-houses in his neighbourhood. Malicious, and absurd as the accusation was, carrying with it its own refutation, it found some who were weak or wicked enough to believe, or however to repeat it. It was revived in the colony, and republished in one of the Sydney newspapers after Mr. Marsden's death. Such is the tenacity of slander. "Only throw mud enough," says the eloquent Mr. Burke, "and some of it will be sure to stick." Mr. Marsden felt his character so seriously compromised that he wrote home to the minister in self-defence, and also addressed a statement of the case to the new governor, Sir Thomas Brisbane. After showing the absurdity, and indeed the impossibility, of the charge, since, in the first place, the governor himself had granted a monopoly to certain contractors to purchase and land all spirits brought to the colony, and that in the second he had no licence, he adds: "Such is the watchful eye that was kept upon my whole conduct by night and by day, if I had been guilty of that or any other impropriety, it would have been impossible for me to have escaped detection." So far as any pretence of truth could have been urged in support of this foul slander, namely that "he kept a public-house for the sale of ardent spirits, selling them in any quantity from a pint to a puncheon," it may be stated in his own words: "In the infancy of the colony, previously to my arrival, barter was established among all classes from the governor downwards. As there was neither beer nor milk, tea nor sugar, to be purchased at any price, wine and spirits became the medium of exchange. As the colony progressively advanced in agriculture, commerce, and wealth, barter gradually decreased, and money transactions became more general. I can affirm that for the last eighteen years I have not had in my possession as much spirits as would allow my servants half a pint a head per week. And at no period of my residence did I ever purchase spirits for sale."[J] [J] Rations of spirits, as in the navy, would seem at this time to have been regularly served out to the servants and labourers in the colony. These were not the only troubles through which he was called to pass. But enough has been said both to explain the difficulties in which Mr. Marsden was placed and to clear his character from the vile aspersions cast upon it. It is with pleasure that we turn from these false and disgraceful charges to follow him in those Christian and philanthropic pursuits which have given splendour to his name. On the arrival of Sir Thomas Brisbane, in 1821, to assume the government of New South Wales, Mr. Marsden immediately waited upon him, when he received the assurance of his countenance and support, not only as a colonial chaplain, but as the representative of the great missionary work going forward in New Zealand. Such encouragement was opportune; he thanked God and took courage; for the difficulties were great, and from time to time grievous disappointments and vexations had occurred. It was about this time that the seminary at Paramatta, for the education of New Zealanders, was abandoned. It had its origin with Mr. Marsden, and was conducted for some time in his own house. It was indeed one of his most favourite plans, and its failure was a severe disappointment. It was found, however, that the change of habits and of climate was injurious to the health of the New Zealanders, while the results were not always such as might have been desired. But nothing could damp his ardent zeal, or quench his spirit of enterprise. "I see," he says, writing to his friends at home, "the way preparing for the spread of the gospel. I feel the fullest conviction that the South Sea Islands will now receive the blessing of civilization and the gospel. The work is great, and many difficulties may oppose it. The foundation is now firmly laid, and no power on earth can overturn it. To impart these blessings to the New Zealanders is an object worthy of the British nation: a more noble undertaking could not be suggested to the Christian world." This at least was not the mere declamation of the platform, but the deliberate expression of the views of one who had toiled and suffered in the cause for twenty years, and had scarcely been cheered, at present, with the sight of a single New Zealand convert. "Here," at least, "is the patience of the saints." His home duties were not neglected; nor was his the easy philanthropy which overlooks the humble claims of the rustic flock or obscure parish, while it stalks abroad on some heroic enterprise which may feed the vanity, while it satisfies the conscience, of the actor. Through his exertions Paramatta had now its association in behalf of the Bible Society, which already collected funds for the Parent Society in England. An early report from this institution contains a remarkable account of his visits to the sick bed of a young woman, whose experience beautifully illustrates the text, that the Scripture "is able to make us wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus." It brings the writer also before us incidentally as a spiritual pastor and an enlightened minister of Christ. "Some time ago," says Mr. Marsden, "I was called on to visit a young woman, about twenty years of age, in one of our districts, who was extremely ill, and who wished very much to see me before she died. On my arrival at her father's house, I found her heavily afflicted, and death appeared to be at no great distance. I sat by her bedside with the Bible in my hand; expecting to find her, as I have but too often found others in similar circumstances, ignorant of the first principles of religion. "I read a portion of this sacred book to her, and was most agreeably surprised to find that she not only understood the letter but the spirit of the Scriptures. "I asked her father how she became so well acquainted with the Scriptures: he said he did not know--she was always reading her Bible at every opportunity, and sometimes sat up whole nights for that purpose. He observed, she was a very dutiful daughter: he had a large family, and she, being the eldest, and very industrious, was of great service to her mother and the younger branches of the family; the only indulgence which she desired was to be allowed to read the Bible when her work was done; but he could not account for her attachment to it; and it seemed very strange to him that she should attend to it so much. I asked him if she was in the habit of going to church, as I did not personally know her. He said she went sometimes, but was generally prevented, from the distance and the large family which she had to attend to. "This young woman may be said to have obtained her religion wholly from the Bible. None of the family knew anything of the Bible but herself. I visited her during the whole of her sickness, from the time she sent for me, until she fell asleep in Jesus. Her faith was simple, her views of the way of salvation clear. She gave me many proofs of this, in the various conversations which I had with her during her sickness. The Bible was more precious to her than gold; she had found it, under the influence of the Divine Spirit, her counsellor and her guide, and by it she had been brought to a knowledge of the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom he had sent; and hereby she was filled with a hope full of immortality. Previously to her last sickness, she had enjoyed good health: it was in the prime of youth and vigour that she had read her Bible, and loved it, so that she had not to seek God, for the first time, in this trying moment; but found him a present help in sickness and in the approach of death. The Bible had testified of Christ to her: she had found eternal life revealed therein; and the Divine promises were both great and precious to her soul." Such instances of faith, and of the happy effects of a simple reliance upon the atonement, were at that time of rare occurrence in the colony. Instances of conversion simply from the reading of the Scriptures are not perhaps so rare as we generally suppose. Lieutenant Sadleir, who himself resided at Paramatta, has remarked upon this occurrence: "It is gratifying to the reflecting mind to observe such glimmerings of light in the midst of so much darkness. Although found in obscurity and in the cottage of the peasant, it proved that there were some who had not bowed the knee to the Baal of universal licentiousness." Mr. Marsden's anxiety for the female convicts was not to be abated by ridicule or opposition. We find him, in August, 1822, addressing a letter to Dr. Douglas, the police magistrate of Paramatta, on their behalf. Some of the sentiments are beautifully touching. The substance of the plea on their behalf is "that these poor creatures, who are confined in the penitentiary, and who have committed no offence in these settlements, be allowed the privilege of attending at least once on the sabbath day on public worship." The request was surely reasonable, and in urging it he rises to a pathetic eloquence: "There is no nation under the heavens in whose bosom the wretched and unfortunate finds so warm a reception as in our own. The unhappy situation of the female convicts during their confinement in the different jails in the empire interests the best feelings of the human heart. They are instructed by the counsels of the wise, consoled by the prayers of the pious, softened by the tears of the compassionate, and relieved by the alms of the benevolent. The noble senator does not pass over their crimes and their punishments unnoticed; he is anxious for the prevention of the former, and the mitigation of the latter; nor does the wise politician consider them beneath his care." He then speaks with natural exultation of "the watchful eye with which the British government provides for their wants and conveniences during their voyage to New South Wales, even more liberally than for the brave soldiers and sailors who have fought the battles of their country, and never violated its laws;" and then follows a sentence which leaves us uncertain whether more to admire his patriotism or the gentleness of his nature and the warmth of his heart: "This apparently singular conduct may seem as if the British government wished to encourage crime and afterwards reward it; but upon a nearer view this principle of action will be found to spring spontaneously from virtue, from that inherent, laudable, Christian compassion and anxiety, which the father of the prodigal felt for his lost son, which kept alive the spark of hope that he might one day return to his father's house and be happy. This parable of our blessed Saviour's most beautifully exhibits the character of the British nation towards her prodigal sons and daughters, and is more honourable to her than all the victories she has achieved by sea and land." The welfare of the female convict population lay near to Mr. Marsden's heart; scarcely his beloved New Zealanders and their missions engaged more of his affection. His plans for the improvement of their temporal condition, and his incessant labours for their spiritual welfare, occupied no small portion of his time and thoughts; and there is good reason to believe that his labours amongst these outcasts were not "in vain in the Lord." Standing, as we should have thought, himself in need of encouragement, he stimulated the languid zeal of others. Mrs. Fry and other philanthropists were now engaged in their great work of amending our prison discipline at home. We have inserted a letter from that excellent lady to Mr. Marsden. His answer to it must have cheered her spirits amidst the many disheartening toils to which she was exposed. "The Wellington had just arrived when," he says, "I went on board, and was highly gratified with the order which appears to have been maintained in that vessel. I could not have conceived that any ship could have been fitted up to have afforded such accommodation to the unfortunate female exiles as the Wellington was. All the women looked clean, healthy, and well. They had not that low, vicious, squalid, dirty look which the women at former periods have had when they first arrived. I believe there has been very great attention paid by the master and surgeon to their morals and comfort, in every possible way. The very sight of the arrangements of the vessel showed that the humane and benevolent wishes of the Christian world had been carried into effect, and proved beyond all contradiction that order and morality can be maintained upon so long a voyage in a female convict ship.... The present inquiry into the state of this colony, before the committee of the House of Commons, will greatly benefit this country. I can speak from painful experience that for the last twenty-six years, it has been the most immoral, wretched society in all the Christian world. Those who are intimate with the miseries and vices of large jails alone can form any idea of the colony of New South Wales. I know what Newgate was when I was in London, in the years 1808 and 1809. I was then in the habit of seeing that miserable abode of vice and woe. What has since been done in Newgate may be done elsewhere, if suitable means are adopted by those in authority, seconded by individual exertions; much might be done in these colonies towards restoring the poor exiles to society, with the countenance and support of the government. Great evils are not removed without great difficulties. When I visited the Wellington, I saw much had been done in England, and more than I could have credited, had I not been an eye witness of the situation of the females." Sir Thomas Brisbane, the new governor, was not slow to perceive the worth of services such as those which Mr. Marsden had rendered to the colony, and pressed him to accept once more the office of a magistrate. In reference to this, "I wish," says Mr. Marsden, in a letter to Dr. Mason Good, "to avoid the office if I can; but I fear it will not be in my power, without giving offence. The judges as well as the public and the magistrates have urged me to take the bench at the present time." In the same letter, he adds: "I feel happy that I have stood firm against all calumnies and reproaches, and have been the instrument of bringing to light the abominations that have been committed here: and some of the evils are already remedied." The friends of religion and virtue in England could not fail to sympathize with him, being well assured that substantially he was fighting the cause of true piety and equal justice, against profligacy and oppression. Mr. Wilberforce wrote to him in the year 1823, with his usual warm affection:-- "Though I may be a somewhat doubtful and unfrequent correspondent, I am not an uncertain friend; and where good will, as in your instance, is grounded on early esteem, and cemented by the consciousness of having many mutual friends, I should be ashamed if that should suffer any decay from the impression not being often renewed. It was with no small concern that I heard that anything unpleasant had occurred. I had meant to endeavour to obtain a sight of any letters or papers to our common friends, and to have consulted with them whether any, and if any, what measures, could be taken for the benefit of your colony, or in your own support, which, without a compliment, I hold to be in a degree coincident.... And now, my dear sir, farewell: but I ought not to conclude without congratulating you on the progressive advancement, as I trust, of the religious and moral interests of your Australian world, and begging that you will always inform me unreservedly whenever you conceive I can be of use publicly, or to yourself personally. "I remain, with much esteem and regard, "My dear sir, "Your sincere friend, "W. WILBERFORCE." The report of Commissioner Bigge was made public soon afterwards; and with it the clouds which had gathered so long around the chaplain of Paramatta were at last dispersed. He was too prominent a mark not to be again assailed. Always in the front of the battle when the oppressed required protection, or evil doers in high positions his bold assaults, it was not in the nature of things that he should lead a very quiet life. His calling was peculiar; so were his talents; and the latter were admirably fitted for the former. But for the present his triumph was complete, and the government at home appreciated his faithful service. The document which follows requires no further comment. It was not received till some time had elapsed, but we insert it here as a fitting conclusion to the chapter:-- "Private Secretary's Office, Sydney, 9th April, 1825. "REVEREND SIR,--I have the honour to acquaint you, by command of his excellency the governor, that Earl Bathurst, having taken into consideration your long and useful services in the colony of New South Wales, has determined upon increasing your stipend to the sum of four hundred pounds sterling, per annum. "I have further the pleasing satisfaction of coupling with it his lordship's instructions to the governor, to acquaint you that it has been done in consideration of your long, laborious, and praiseworthy exertions in behalf of religion and morality. "I have the honour to be, reverend Sir, "Your obedient servant, "JOHN OVENS, _Private Secretary._ "To the Rev. Samuel Marsden, Principal Chaplain." CHAPTER IX. Fourth Visit to New Zealand--Trials and Successes of the various Missions--Shipwreck and Danger of Mr. Marsden and the Rev. S. Leigh--Returns home--Letter to Avison Terry, Esq. In July, 1823, we find Mr. Marsden again taking ship and embarking for New Zealand; his intention being to visit the stations of the Church Missionary Society, and to arrange its affairs. Since his last visit fresh causes for anxiety had appeared. In consequence of Shunghie's misconduct, the natives were now alienated from the missionaries; they had become indifferent to education and agricultural improvements; and the gospel, it was too evident, had made little progress hitherto. Shunghie declared that as to himself, "he wanted his children to learn to fight and not to read." The Maories about the settlement insisted upon being paid for their services in fire-arms and ammunition. "Since Shunghie's return," writes one of the missionaries, "the natives, one and all, have treated us with contempt. They are almost past bearing; coming into our houses when they please, demanding food, thieving whatever they can lay their hands on, breaking down our garden fences, stripping the ship's boats of everything they can. They seem, in fact, ripe for any mischief; had Mr. Marsden himself been amongst us, much as he deserves their esteem, I believe he would not escape without insult; but the Lord is a very present help in time of trouble." Amongst the missionaries themselves certain evils had appeared, the growth of a secular and commercial spirit, which had injured their cause, and threatened to frustrate the great end for which the mission was projected. Mr. Marsden heard of these untoward events, and hastened his departure, full of anxiety, but not abating one jot of his confidence in the final triumph of God's cause. What his feelings were his own journal testifies:-- "I am still confident that this land of darkness and superstition will be visited by the day-star from on high. The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken it. O Lord, let thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven. I have suffered so much annoyance and persecution for some time past, from unreasonable and wicked men, that I am happy in leaving the colony for a little time, in which I have experienced so much annoyance. In reflecting upon the state of New Zealand there are many things which give me both pleasure and pain. I am happy the Church Missionary Society has not relinquished the cause, but have sent out more strength to carry on the work. Many have been the discouragements from the misconduct of some of the servants of the Society; but I am confident that the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, will in time subdue the hearts of these poor people to the obedience of faith." He was accompanied on his voyage by the Reverend Henry Williams and his family, who now went out to strengthen the New Zealand mission, of which he soon became one of the most effective leaders. One of Bishop Selwyn's first steps when he was appointed bishop of New Zealand, was to make Mr. Henry Williams one of his archdeacons, and since then he has been designated to a New Zealand bishopric in a district inhabited exclusively by Christianized Maories. Could Mr. Marsden have foreseen the course which awaited his companion, how would his soul have been cheered! but it was for him to sow in tears, and for others to reap in joy. The field was not yet ripe for the harvest; other men laboured, who now sleep in the dust, and we of this generation have entered into their labours. Mr. Marsden was not mistaken in his estimate of his new companion. Indeed he appears to have been very seldom mistaken in the judgments he formed about other men. "I think," he notes, "that Mr. Williams and his family will prove a great blessing to the Society. I hope he will be able to correct and remedy, in time, many evils that have existed, and also to set an example to the rest what they as missionaries should do." This was his fourth visit to New Zealand, and though in some respects it was painful, yet in others there was ground for joy. The cloud which the prophet saw from Carmel, though no greater than a man's hand, foretold abundance of rain; and so now too, at length, after nine years' toil, a few hopeful symptoms appeared amongst the Maories. Their anxious visitor observed with much pleasure, he says, that since his last visit, the natives in general were much improved in their appearance and manners; and now for the first time he heard them, with strange delight, sing some hymns and repeat some prayers in their own language. This convinced him that, notwithstanding the misconduct of a few of the Europeans, the work was gradually going on, and the way preparing for the blessings of the gospel. "I have no doubt that the greatest difficulties are now over, and that God will either incline the hearts of those who are now in New Zealand, to devote themselves to their work, or he will find other instruments to do his work." Yet he had a painful duty to discharge. Firm as he was and lion-hearted when danger was to be met, his nature was very gentle, and his affections both deep and warm; and he had now to rebuke some of the missionaries whom he loved as his own soul, and even to dismiss one of them. Of those whom he had been obliged to censure, he writes thus:--"They expressed their regret for the past, and a determination to act in a different way for the future. Some, I have no doubt, will retrace their steps, and will be more cautious and circumspect, but I have not the same confidence in all. Some express sorrow, but I fear not that which worketh repentance." Again he remarks: "Missionary work is very hard work, unless the heart is fully engaged in it. No consideration can induce a man to do habitually what he has a habitual aversion to. The sooner such a one leaves the work, the better it will be for himself and the mission." But though compelled to blame, he did not forget to sympathize. "The present missionaries, though some of them have erred greatly from the right way, yet have all had their trials and troubles. Some allowance must be made for their peculiar situation, and their want of Christian society, and of the public ordinances of religion." Several chiefs, among whom was Tooi, warmly took up the cause of the missionary who had been dismissed. The conversation which followed is a beautiful illustration of the too much forgotten Scripture which tells us that "a soft answer turneth away wrath," while at the same time it presents an interesting view of the Maori mind and character at this critical period of their national history. "Tooi addressing me, said a missionary had informed him that day that he was going to leave New Zealand, and the chiefs wished to know whether this person had been dismissed for selling muskets and powder to the natives. To this I replied that Mr. ---- was directed by the gentlemen in England who had sent him out as a missionary, not to sell muskets and powder; that it was not the custom in England for clergymen to sell muskets and powder; and that no missionary could be allowed to sell them in New Zealand. As several of the chiefs present had been at Port Jackson, I observed that they knew that the clergymen there did not sell muskets and powder. They knew that I had not one musket in my house, and that they had never seen any when they were with me. They replied, they knew what I said was true. I further added we did not interfere with the government of New Zealand; they did what they pleased, and the missionaries should be allowed to do what they pleased. Tooi said that this was but just, and observed, 'We are at present in the same state as the Otaheitans were some time back. The Otaheitans wanted only muskets and powder, and would have nothing else, and now, as they knew better, they wanted none; and the New Zealanders would care nothing about muskets when they knew better, which they would in time.' All the chiefs acquiesced in the observations Tooi made. I was happy to find their minds were so enlarged, and that they had begun to take such proper views of the subject. I said, Tooi's remarks upon the conduct of the Otaheitans were very just, and told them that the Queen Charlotte brig, which had sailed from the bay the preceding day, belonged to the young king Pomare; that the Otaheitans had sent oil and various other articles to Port Jackson, and that they had received in return, tea, sugar, and flour, and clothing, as they wanted these articles, and that the New Zealanders might in time have a ship of their own to procure sperm oil, spars, etc., which they might sell at Port Jackson, and many of them were able to kill the whales, having been employed on board the whalers. When they got a vessel of their own, they would soon be equal to the Otaheitans, and give over their cruel wars. They expressed much pleasure at having a vessel of their own. After some further explanation the chiefs were satisfied that Mr. ---- had violated our laws and had brought all his distress upon himself." The conduct of the natives confirmed the impression which Mr. Marsden had previously formed, and which their subsequent history down to the present day entirely sustains, that they are a noble race of men, of considerable mental capacity, of great perseverance and enterprise, who never lose sight of an object upon which they have once set their minds; powerful reasoners upon any subject that has come within their knowledge; possessed of a quick perception and a natural sagacity, which enables them to form a just acquaintance with human nature as it presents itself before them. Who would not wish that they too may form a happy exception to the rule which seems in every land to condemn the native population to waste away before the advances of European enterprise? Who would not desire that the Maorie tribes may long be a great and powerful nation, protected, but not oppressed by English rule? Mr. Marsden now paid a visit at Wangaroa, to the Wesleyan missionary station there. Over the Wesleyan missions he had of course no control or oversight, such as that with which he was intrusted towards the missions of the London Missionary Society in the South Sea Islands. This, however, did not prevent his taking an affectionate interest in their affairs. He found Mr. Leigh, the founder of their mission, very ill, and invited him to return with him on a voyage of health and recreation to Port Jackson; and having taken leave of the Church Missionary brethren with solemn and affectionate counsels he embarked on the 6th of September, 1823, with feelings which he thus describes. "I now felt much pleasure in the prospect of a speedy return to my family and people, and being very weary with various toils and anxieties both of body and mind, I longed for a little rest, and retired to my cabin with much thankfulness and comfort. I had cause to be thankful for continual good health during the period I had been in New Zealand, as I had not lost one day. I felt great confidence in the Rev. Mr. Williams, and I doubt not that God will prosper the work, and raise up a seed in this benighted land to serve him; for many shall come from the south as well as the north, and shall sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of God." But his bright visions were overcast. Like the first and greatest of Christian missionaries, it was ordained that he, too, "should suffer shipwreck and be cast upon a desert island." His own journal gives us the story of his danger and deliverance. "_Sunday 7th._--This morning we weighed anchor. I spent some time this day reading the Scriptures with the Rev. S. Leigh, our subject for contemplation was the 1st chapter of St. Paul to the Romans. The weather was very threatening and stormy; the wind from the eastward and strong, blowing directly into the mouth of the harbour. We lay in Korororika Bay, on the south side of the harbour, and had to sail along a lee rocky shore. In working out with the wind dead on the land, the ship being light and high out of the water she would not answer her helm, and twice missed stays. The lead was kept continually sounding, and we soon found ourselves in little more than three fathoms water, with a rocky bottom and a shoal of rocks on our lee, and it was then high water. When the captain found the situation we were in, he immediately ordered to let go the anchor, which was done. When the tide turned the ship struck, the gale increased, and the sea with it; a shipwreck was now more than probable; there appeared no possible way to prevent it. The Rev. Mr. Leigh was very ill, and felt the disturbance much, Mrs. Leigh also being very ill. I requested the captain to lend me the boat to take Mr. and Mrs. Leigh to the nearest island, where we arrived very safely, the island being but two miles distant. The natives expressed much concern for us, made a fire, prepared the best hut they could, which was made of bulrushes, for our reception. I requested them to send a canoe to Rungheehe, to inform Mr. and Mrs. Hall of the loss of the ship, and to bring their boat to assist in bringing the people to land. At the same time, I desired they would tell the natives to bring a large war canoe. The natives for some time alleged that their canoe would be dashed to pieces by the waves, but at length I prevailed upon them. They had between five and six miles to go, through a very rough sea. About three o'clock, Messrs. Hall, King, and Hanson, arrived in Mr. Hall's boat, and a large war canoe with natives; they immediately proceeded to the ship, and we had the satisfaction to see them arrive safe, and waited until dark with the greatest anxiety for their return. The rain fell in torrents, the gale increased, and they had not returned; we lay down in our little hut full of fear for the safety of all on board. The night appeared very long, dark, and dreary. As we could not rest, we most anxiously wished for the morning light, to learn some account of them. "_September 8th._--When the day arrived we had the happiness to see the vessel still upright, but driven nearer the shore. No boat or canoe from her; the gale still increased; about mid-day we saw the mainmast go overboard. The natives on the island screamed aloud when the mast fell. I concluded they had cut away the mast to relieve the vessel. We spent the rest of this day in great suspense, as we could not conjecture why all the passengers should remain on board in the state the ship was in. At dark in the evening Mr. Hall returned, and informed us that the bottom of the vessel was beaten out, and that both her chain and best bower cable were parted; and that she beat with such violence upon the rocks when the tide was in that it was impossible to stand upon the deck; at the same time, he said, there was no danger of any lives being lost, as he did not think the vessel would go to pieces, as she stood firm upon the rock, when the tide was out. He said, the passengers on board had not determined what they would do, or where they would land as yet; they wished to wait till the gale was abated. Mr. Hall's information relieved us much; as it was now dark, the wind high, and the sea rough, we could not leave the island, and therefore took up our lodgings in our little hut. "The natives supplied us with a few potatoes and some fish. My pleasing prospect of returning to Port Jackson was at an end, for some time at least. I was exceedingly concerned for the loss of so fine a vessel on many accounts, as individuals who are interested in her must suffer as well as the passengers on board, and spent the night in reflections on the difficulties with which I was surrounded; while the raging of the storm continued without intermission. "_Tuesday 9th._--At the return of day we discovered the ship still upright, but she appeared to be higher on the reef. I now determined to return to Kiddee-Kiddee in Mr. Hall's boat with Mr. and Mrs. Leigh. We left the island for the missionary settlement, where we arrived about nine o'clock. Our friends had not heard of the loss of the ship until our arrival, as there had not been any communication between the different settlements in consequence of the severe weather. We were very kindly received by the brethren; I informed them in what situation we had left the ship, and requested that every assistance might be given to land the passengers and luggage. The wreck was about twelve or fourteen miles from the settlement. Four boats were immediately sent off; Mr. Hall's boat took the women and children to Rungheehe, and two of the boats returned with part of our luggage, and we went to the station of the Rev. Henry Williams. All the brethren rendered every aid in their power. The boats on their return brought the welcome news that all was well on board, and Mr. Leigh did not appear to have suffered much injury from the wet and cold he endured on the island, though in so weak a state. Divine wisdom has no doubt some wise ends to answer in all that has befallen us. The word of God expressly says all things shall work together for the good of them that love God, and the Scripture cannot be broken. "We cannot see through this dark and mysterious dispensation at the present time; the why and wherefore we must leave to him who ordereth all things according to the counsel of his own will. As the gale continued with unremitting violence, if we had gone out to sea we might have been cast on shore under more dangerous and distressing circumstances. Our shipwreck has been a most merciful one, as no lives have been lost, nor anything but the ship." The shipwreck of the Brampton--for that was the vessel's name--occurred on the 7th of September, and in consequence Mr. Marsden was detained in New Zealand until the 14th of November, when he returned home in the Dragon, and arrived at Sydney in the beginning of December, 1823. The interval was not lost; for he seems to have been one of those who gather up the fragments of time, and turn to the best account the idle hours and spare moments of life. He drew up some excellent rules for the guidance of the missionaries and Christian settlers in their intercourse with the shipping which now began to visit the Bay of Islands. He encouraged the erection of a school-house for the natives. "The foundation," he says, "must be laid in the education of the rising generation. The children possess strong minds, are well-behaved and teachable. They are capable of learning anything we wish to teach them." During his detention he also addressed a circular letter to the missionaries respecting a grammar in the Maori or New Zealand language, pointing out the necessity of adopting some more systematic method both for its arrangement and pronunciation. This led to a new vocabulary of the native language, and in a short time to a new method of spelling. We have, of course, retained Mr. Marsden's orthography of New Zealand names, but we may remark, by the way, it is very different from that which has been since introduced. Shunghie became E'Hongi; Kiddee Kiddee, Keri Keri; and so in other instances. But even Mr. Marsden, with all his sagacity, did not penetrate New Zealand's future, nor foresee in how short a time the well-known and familiar sounds of English towns and villages would be transferred to that still savage island, superseding even in Maori lips their native designations. It seems probable that the New Zealand language may, in the course of another generation, come to be known only by the grammar which the missionaries compiled and the Scriptures which they have since translated. But whatever be its fate, it is in a high degree sonorous and expressive, and had it but an antique literature, a Tallessin or an Ossian, it could never perish. Without a literature of its own no spoken language can long endure against the assaults of that which is evidently destined to be the universal speech of trade and commerce, the English tongue. On the other hand the literature of a language, or even of a dialect, embalms it after it has ceased to be a spoken tongue even to the end of time. And lastly, a political object occupied some of Mr. Marsden's time and thoughts. The incessant and desolating wars which the native tribes waged against each other were, he saw, the great obstacle to the progress of New Zealand. The missions were always insecure, for the country was always more or less disturbed. Civil war is, under all circumstances, the bane, and, if persisted in, the ruin of a country; add the ferocity of New Zealand warfare, its cannibalism and its undying spirit of revenge, and nothing more was wanted to degrade the finest country under heaven into a very pit of darkness. All this Mr. Marsden felt; he conceived that if he could succeed in establishing some one chief as supreme, a plan of government might be drawn up securing life and property throughout the island. He consulted Shunghie, Wyatto Riva, and other powerful chieftains. Shunghie's ambitious spirit would have embraced the proposal, the condition being, of course, that he should be the sovereign; but the jealousy of the rest prevented anything like unanimity. Riva justly remarked that to have any superior would degrade them; yet all the chiefs appeared tired of war and the unsettled state consequent upon it. So the project failed. At length he returned home, accompanied by six New Zealand youths, whose eagerness was such that they gladly promised to sleep upon the deck rather than miss the opportunity. Mr. Leigh, the Wesleyan missionary, was also his fellow voyager. Mr. Leigh's opinion of Mr. Marsden and his labours is highly gratifying, and not the less so as coming from one who belonged to another Society. "The shipwreck," he says, "which we have experienced will, I have no doubt, prove favourable to the reputation of the New Zealanders. For several days we were in their power, and they might have taken all that we had with the greatest ease; but instead of oppressing and robbing us, they actually sympathized with us in our trials and afflictions. Mr. Marsden, myself, and Mrs. Leigh, were at a native village for several days and nights, without any food but what the natives brought us; what they had they gave us willingly, and said--'Poor creatures! you have nothing to eat, and you are not accustomed to our kind of food.' I shall never forget the sympathy and kindness of these poor heathens. "I do hope that the Rev. S. Marsden will be successful in his endeavours to put an end to the frequent wars in New Zealand. I have heard many natives and chiefs say, 'It is no good to go to fight and eat men; we wish to cease from war, and retire to some peaceful place.' I pray God that this object may be soon effected among this people. The Christian world, and especially the Church Missionary Society, will never be able fully to appreciate the valuable labours of the Rev. Samuel Marsden. His fervent zeal, his abundant toil, and extensive charity in the cause of missions, are beyond estimation. May he live long as a burning and shining light in the missionary world!" Within a few days of his return home, Mr. Marsden, the impression of his visit still fresh upon his mind, wrote the following interesting letter:-- "Paramatta, December 20, 1823. "MY VERY DEAR SIR,--I now sit down to thank you for your very valuable presents, which you were so kind as to send me for the natives of New Zealand. They arrived a little before I sailed for that island. I was at Van Diemen's Land when the vessel which brought them arrived at Port Jackson. On my return from the southern settlements I prepared for New Zealand. Your spades, axes, etc., made the hearts of many rejoice; and they are now dispersed over the country, from the North Cape to the Thames. When I arrived at the Bay of Islands there were several chiefs there, who had fled for safety in the late wars, but returned when peace was restored, and took with them some of your presents. I have just returned from New Zealand, having been absent about twenty weeks; was shipwrecked, but no lives were lost. The natives have made considerable advances in civilization, and I have no doubt they will become a great nation in due time. Much has been done already to better their situation. I believe their agriculture has increased more than twenty-fold since they have got hoes, but it will be many years before every man in the island will be able to procure a hoe. The Church Missionary Society has done much for them, and their labour has not been in vain. All that is wanted now is faithful missionaries to labour amongst them; it will be very difficult to find such men. There are even very few pious men who are qualified to be missionaries; it requires much self-denial, much patience, and much perseverance, united with the wisdom of the serpent and the innocence of the dove. Men, also, of education and knowledge are wanted; ignorant men, though possessed of piety, will be found ill-qualified for a mission in New Zealand. The natives are a wise and understanding people, and will pry into the very secrets of every man who resides amongst them. Their study is human nature in all its bearings; they talk more of the heart of man than we do, and of the evil that is lodged there. They will soon find out a man's real character, whether he is ignorant or wise, prudent or foolish, and will estimate the benefits which they are likely to derive from his knowledge, his good temper, his charity, and will esteem him or despise him accordingly. A wise and prudent man will have great influence over them, while they would laugh at an ignorant man. A good farmer or mechanic would be much esteemed, because they would be benefited by him. I have gained considerable knowledge of their customs and manners in my last visit. Cannibalism is interwoven through the whole of their religious system. They offer up human sacrifices as sin offerings. Whenever the gospel shall be revealed to them they will very easily understand the doctrine of the atonement. They demand a sacrifice or an atonement for almost everything which they consider as an injury. Human sacrifices are offered for the death of their friends, whether they are slain in battle or die a natural death. Their eating human flesh has its origin in superstition. They pay great attention to all the ceremonies of their religion, and are very much afraid of offending their god. As for their wars, these will not be prevented until an object can be found that will employ their active minds. Agriculture and commerce are the only means that promise to remedy their civil wars; when these can be brought into operation they will have a beneficial effect. It is only the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, that can subdue their hearts to the obedience of faith. I am of opinion that civilization and Christianity will go hand in hand, if means are used at the same time to introduce both, and one will aid and assist the other. To bring this noble race of human beings to the knowledge of the only true God and Jesus Christ is an attempt worthy of the Christian world. I believe as God has stirred up the hearts of his people to pray for them, and to open both their hearts and their purses he will prosper the work, and raise up a people from amongst these savages to call him blessed. In time the voice of joy and gladness will be heard in the present abodes of cruelty, darkness, and superstition. I consider every axe, every hoe, every spade, in New Zealand as an instrument to prepare the way of the Lord. They are silent but sure missionaries in the hands of the natives of that country. I was very happy to learn that your dear mother was still alive, and all your family were well at present. Remember us kindly to your mother, if still alive, and to Mrs. Terry and our other friends. "I am, yours affectionately, "SAMUEL MARSDEN. "To Avison Terry, Esq." CHAPTER X. Aborigines--South Sea Mission--Fresh Slanders on Mr. Marsden's character--His Pamphlet in self-defence--Letter of Messrs. Bennett and Tyerman--Libels and Action at Law--Verdict--Case of Ring--Pastoral Letters of Mr. Marsden: To a Lady; On the Divinity of Christ--Fifth Voyage to New Zealand--Letters, etc. Scarcely had Mr. Marsden returned to Paramatta when we find him in correspondence with the new governor on the subject of the aborigines of Australia. They were already wasting away in the presence of the European colonists like snow before the sun. Their restless and wandering habits seemed to present insuperable difficulties, whether the object were to convert or merely to protect them. His memorandum to the governor, and subsequent correspondence with the Church Missionary Society, show his anxiety for their welfare and the largeness of his heart. Each new project, as it came before him, was welcomed with serious attention, while at the same time there was no fickleness, no relaxation of his efforts in his old engagements and pursuits. But he was not allowed to connect his name with the evangelization of these poor heathen. Various attempts have been made by different denominations to bring them into the fold of Christ, but hitherto with very small success. It seems, at length, as if Christians had acquiesced in the conclusion that their conversion is hopeless, that we can do nothing more than to throw over them the shield of the British government, and prevent their wholesale destruction by lawless "squatters" and "bush-rangers." We shall return, however, to the subject hereafter. His interest in the mission to the South Sea Islands continued unabated. The London Missionary Society had deputed the Rev. Daniel Tyerman and George Bennett, Esq., to visit these missions, and bring home in person a report of all they might see upon the spot. On their voyage, they stayed awhile at Sydney, and Mr. Marsden addressed a letter to them, which shows his own zeal in the cause, and the painful apathy or profane contempt of others. Such memorials, in this day of comparative fervour, ought not to be forgotten. When a Livingstone returns home to receive a shower of honours from a grateful country let us not forget the venerable pioneers in the same missionary work, and the different treatment they experienced. The contrast will call forth emotions both of gratitude and of shame. "Sydney, November 4, 1824. "GENTLEMEN,--I know of no circumstance that has given me more satisfaction than your mission to the South Sea Islands. The attempt to introduce the arts of civilization and the knowledge of Christianity amongst the inhabitants of those islands was confessedly great. An undertaking of such a new and important nature could not be accomplished without much labour, expense, anxiety, and risk, to all who were concerned in the work. The missionaries, for the first ten years, suffered every privation in the islands, from causes which I need not state. They called for every support and encouragement to induce them to remain in the islands, and to return to their stations, after they had been compelled to take refuge in New South Wales. During these ten years, I used every means in my power to assist the missionaries, and to serve the Society Islands. During the next ten years, the ruling powers in this colony manifested a very hostile spirit to the mission. As I felt it my pleasure as well as my duty to support the cause, I fell under the marked displeasure of those in authority, and had a painful warfare to maintain for so long a period, and many sacrifices I had to make. The ungodly world always treated the attempt to introduce the gospel among the natives of the Islands as wild and visionary, and the Christian world despaired of success. "In those periods of doubt and uncertainty in the public mind, I suffered much anxiety, as very great responsibility was placed on me. Sometimes, from one cause and another, my sleep departed from me; though I was persuaded God would bless the work. The work is now done; this your eyes have seen, and your ears heard; in this I do rejoice and will rejoice. I wish you, as representatives of the Society, to satisfy yourselves, from friends and foes, relative to my conduct towards the mission for the last twenty-five years. You must be aware that many calumnies have been heaped upon me, and many things laid to my charge which I know not. My connexion with the missionaries and the concerns of the mission has been purely of a religious nature, without any secular views or temporal interests; and my services, whether they be great or small, were gratuitous. The missionaries, as a body, are very valuable men, and as such I love them; but some of them, to whom I had been kind, have wounded me severely, both here and elsewhere. I have always found it difficult to manage religious men; what they state, though in a bad spirit, is generally believed by the Christian world. I need not enter into the circumstances which urged me to purchase the Queen Charlotte, as you are in full possession of them; you are also acquainted with the reason why her expenses became so heavy, the fall of colonial produce more than twenty per cent. in so short a period, which no one could have anticipated at that time, and the increased duty of one hundred per cent. upon tobacco. If these two circumstances had not occurred, there would have been no loss to any individuals or the mission. I inclose the statement of the accounts of the Queen Charlotte, and shall leave the matter in your hands, to act as you think proper. I shall also leave the Society to make their own account of the interest upon the 600l. I borrowed. I have no doubt but the Society will be satisfied that I had no motive but the good of the mission, and that, as Christian men who fear God, they will do what is just and right. I shall therefore leave the matter in your hands. "I have the honour to be, gentlemen, "Your most obedient, humble servant, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." While thus engaged, he was still a faithful minister of the gospel in its richest consolations, and a bold opponent of vice. His position as a magistrate not only obliged him to reprove but to punish sin. The task was difficult, when the real offender, in too many cases, was not the wretched culprit at the bar of justice, but some rich and insolent delinquent, beyond the reach of the limited powers of a colonial magistrate. In consequence of Mr. Marsden's fearless conduct in a case we shall not describe, he was at length formally dismissed from the magistracy. All that is necessary to be known, in order to vindicate his character, is contained in an extract of a letter written by himself to Mr. Nicholson, dated Paramatta, 12th August, 1824: "My very dear sir," he says, "I have still to strive against sin and immorality, which brings upon me the hatred of some men in power; this I must expect from those who live on in sin and wickedness.... You would hear of the whole bench of magistrates at Paramatta being dismissed at one stroke, five in number--Messrs. ... and your humble servant. We fell in the cause of truth and virtue. If certain individuals could have knocked me down, and spared my colleagues, I should have fallen alone; but there was no alternative but to sacrifice all at once. I glory in my disgrace. As long as I live I hope to raise a standard against vice and wickedness. We have some Herods here who would take off the head of the man who dared to tell them that adultery was a crime." He was still subject to the most annoying insults. Imputations, ludicrous from their absurdity and violence, were heaped upon him. In reading the libels which were published in the colony, and in England too, about this time, we should suppose that the man against whom they were aimed was some delinquent, notorious even in a penal settlement. He was openly accused of being "a man of the most vindictive spirit,"--"a turbulent and ambitious priest,"--a "cruel magistrate"--an "avaricious man." These charges, amongst many more, were contained in a work in two volumes octavo, professing to give an account of Australasia, which reached a third edition, and to which the author's name was attached. As if these were not sufficient to grind his reputation to the dust, further charges of hypocrisy and bigotry were thrown in. These last were easily repelled; to refute the others was more difficult, inasmuch as facts were involved which it was necessary to clear up and place in a just light before the public. It might have seemed magnanimous to despise such assailants, and meet them with silent pity. And yet we doubt whether such magnanimity would have been wise, for with a blemished reputation his usefulness would have been at an end; since his accusers were not anonymous hirelings, but magistrates and men of high position in the colony. He referred the matter to his friends at home, placing his character in their hands. He was willing to institute an action for libel, if this step were thought advisable; or else to lay a statement of his wrongs before the House of Commons; and he transmitted the manuscript of a pamphlet, in self-justification, to his friend Dr. Mason Good. It was accompanied with a letter, remarkable for the modest estimate of his own abilities, as well as for true Christian meekness: "I have requested our mutual friend, Baron Field, Esq., to show the documents to you, and to consult with you on the propriety of publishing them. I have much more confidence in your superior judgment than in my own.... Many hard contests," he says, "I have had in this colony. But God has hitherto overruled all for good, and he will continue to do so. As a Christian I rejoice in having all manner of evil spoken of me by wicked men. As a member of society, it is my duty to support, by every lawful means, an upright character. The good of society calls upon me to do this, from the public situation I hold, as well as that gospel which I believe; on this principle I think it right to notice Mr. W.'s work. I leave it," he adds, "to you and my other friends to publish what I have written or not, as you may think proper, and with what alterations and arrangements you may think necessary. I do not know how to make a book, any more than a watch, but you have learned the trade completely; I therefore beg your assistance, for which I shall feel very grateful." But even these anxieties could not engross his confidential correspondence. In the same letter we have pleasant mention of New Zealand and its missionaries:--"I have no doubt about New Zealand; we must pray much for them, and labour hard, and God will bless the labour of our hands." Nor is science quite forgotten:--"I have sent you a small box of fossils and minerals, by Captain Dixon, of the Phoenix, from Point Dalrymple principally; the whole of them came from Van Diemen's Land." Mr. Wilberforce and other friends of religion were consulted; and under their advice his pamphlet was published in London, though not till the year 1826. It is entitled, "An Answer to certain Calumnies, etc., by the Rev. Samuel Marsden, principal Chaplain to the colony of New South Wales." It contains a temperate, and at the same time a conclusive answer, to all the charges made against him. To some of these we have already had occasion to refer; others have lost their interest. The charge of hypocrisy was chiefly grounded on the fact that a windmill, on Mr. Marsden's property, had been seen at work on Sunday. But "the mill," he says, "was not in my possession at that time, nor was I in New South Wales. I never heard of the circumstance taking place but once; and the commissioner of inquiry was the person who told me of it after my return from New Zealand. I expressed my regret to the commissioner that anything should have taken place, in my absence, which had the appearance that I sanctioned the violation of the sabbath-day. As I was twelve hundred miles off at the time, it was out of my power to prevent what had happened; but I assured him it should not happen again, _for the mill should be taken down_, which was done." How few, it is to be feared, would make such a sacrifice, simply to avoid the possibility of a return of the appearance of evil! The charge of bigotry arose out of his interference with Mr. Crook, a person in the colony who had formerly been intended for the South Sea mission. It was at the request of the missionaries themselves, that Mr. Marsden, as agent of their Society, had been led to interfere; but he was represented, in consequence, as "a persecutor of dissenters." Messrs. Bennett and Tyerman were then in Australia; and in answer to Mr. Marsden's request that "they would do him the favour to communicate to him their impartial opinion, how far he had in any way merited such an accusation, either as it respects Mr. C. or any other missionary belonging to the London Missionary Society," he received a grateful acknowledgment of his services, which we are happy to insert:-- "Sydney, May 11, 1825. "REV. AND DEAR SIR,--We have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 5th inst., requesting our opinion, as the representatives of the London Missionary Society, on one of the malicious charges against you in the outrageous publication lately come to the colony. It is with the utmost satisfaction we state, as our decided opinion, that the charge of intolerance or persecution towards Mr. Crook, or any other missionary connected with the London Society, or, indeed, connected with any other missionary society, is utterly untrue. We believe it to have originated in malice or culpable ignorance, and to be a gross libel. "We rejoice, sir, to take the opportunity to say that the South Sea mission, and all its missionaries, have been, and continue, to be, exceedingly indebted to your singular kindness and persevering zeal in their behalf. No temporal reward, we are persuaded, would have been equivalent to the most valuable services which you have so long and so faithfully rendered to this mission and its missionaries. After all your upright and perfectly disinterested kindness towards the missionaries, when they have been residing on the Islands,--when they have been residing in the colony, on their way from England to the Islands,--when they have voluntarily returned from the Islands to the colony,--and when, from dire necessity and cruel persecution, compelled to flee from the scenes of their missionary labours, and take up their residence here; that you have met with so much calumny, and so few returns of grateful acknowledgment, for all you have done and borne on their behalf, is to us a matter of surprise and regret. "Allow us, dear sir, to conclude by expressing our hope, that the other envenomed shafts aimed at you in this infamous publication, will prove as impotent as that aimed at you through that Society, in whose name, and as whose representatives, we beg to renew its cordial thanks and unqualified acknowledgments. And desiring to present our own thanks in the amplest and most respectful manner, "We remain, rev. and dear sir, most faithfully, "Your obliged and obedient servants, "GEORGE BENNETT. "DANIEL TYERMAN." The case of James Ring, we cannot pass unnoticed. It shows the cruelty with which Mr. Marsden's reputation was assailed on the one hand, and his own firm and resolute bearing on the other. Ring was a convict, who for his general good conduct had been assigned as a domestic servant to Mr. Marsden. He was permitted by the latter, in accordance with the usual custom, to work occasionally at his own trade--that of a painter and glazier, on his own account, and as a reward for his good conduct. He was frequently employed in this way by the residents at Paramatta; amongst others by the chief magistrate himself. This man having been ill-treated and severely beaten by another servant, applied, with Mrs. Marsden's approbation, to the magistrates of Paramatta for redress; instead of receiving which, he was charged by them with being illegally at large, and committed to the common jail. Mr. Marsden was then absent on duty in the country: on appearing before the bench of magistrates upon his return home, he at once stated that he had given permission to Ring to work occasionally for himself, and that therefore if there was any blame it lay with him, and not the prisoner. The magistrates not only ordered Mr. Marsden to be fined two shillings and sixpence per day for each day his servant had been thus at large, under the assumed plea of his transgressing a general government order, but also ordered Ring to be remanded to jail and ironed; and he was subsequently worked in irons in a penal gang. "At this conviction there was no informer, nor evidence," (we are now quoting Mr. Marsden's words, from a statement which he made before a court of inquiry instituted by Lord Bathurst, the colonial minister at home, to investigate the subject at Mr. Marsden's request,) "but the bench convicted me on my own admission that I had granted indulgence to my servant to do jobs in the town. There were two convictions, the first was on the 17th of May, 1823. On the 23rd of the same month, without a hearing, or being present, without informer, evidence, or notice, on the same charge I was convicted in the penal sum of ten pounds. On the 7th of June, a convict constable entered my house with a warrant of execution, and levied the fine by distress and sale of my property." These convictions took place under an obsolete colonial regulation of 1802, made in the first instance by Governor King, to meet a temporary emergency; but virtually set aside by a general order of Governor Macquarie's, of a much later date, granting the indulgence under certain regulations, with which Mr. Marsden had complied. Mr. Marsden says, in his official defence, that he "was the only person in the colony who was ever fined under such circumstances, since the first establishment of the colony, to the present time." And he adds a statement which, had it not come down to us thus accredited under his own hand, would have seemed incredible, namely that "the two magistrates by whom the fines were inflicted, Dr. ---- and Lieut. ----, were doing, on that very day, the same thing for which they fined me and punished my servant, and I pointed that out to them at the time they were sitting on the bench, and which they could not deny." Denial indeed was out of the question, since, says Mr. Marsden, "one of Dr. ----'s convict servants, Henry Buckingham, by trade a tailor, was working for me, and had been so for months. Lieut. ---- at that very time also had two convict servants belonging to Dr. Harris, working for him at his own house." In vain did Mr. Marsden appeal to the governor; even he was afraid to breast the torrent, which for a time bore all before it. "He found no reason to interfere with the colonial law." Mr. Marsden prayed him at least to bring the matter before a full bench of magistrates, in whose hands he would leave his character; this, too, the governor declined, whereupon as a last step, he laid the affair before the supreme court for its decision; prosecuting the magistrates, and obtaining a verdict for the amount of the fine so unjustly levied. They now affected to triumph in the small amount of the damages in which they were cast, "wishing," he says, "to make the world believe that the injury I had sustained was proportionally small." And thus even his forbearance and his Christian spirit in rendering good for evil, were turned against him; for he had instructed his solicitor expressly, not to insert in the indictment the count or charge of malice, but merely to sue for the recovery of the amount of the fine. He states the case thus in simple and forcible language. "I may here observe, the only error it appears I committed originally was in not prosecuting the magistrates for vindictive damages before the supreme court. Had I alleged malice, I must have obtained a verdict accordingly; but I sought for no vindictive damages; I sought redress no further than to set my character right with the public. To have done more than this would not have become me, according to my judgment, as a minister of the gospel, and I instructed my solicitor, Mr. Norton, merely to sue for the amount of the award which had been levied on my property by warrant and distress of sale. The court gave me the amount I prosecuted for, with costs of suit, and with this I was perfectly satisfied." For two whole years this miserable affair lingered on. The unfortunate man Ring at length gave way to despondency, made his escape from the colony, and found his way to New Zealand, but was never heard of more. Mr. Marsden was much concerned for Ring's misfortunes, and deplored his rashness in making his escape when all his sufferings were unmerited. "I knew," he says, "if he should return to England and be apprehended as a returned felon, his life would be forfeited." Such even to a recent period was the severity of our penal code, an escaped felon was consigned to the gallows. With a view of preventing this additional calamity, he wrote to the Right Honourable Mr. Robert Peel, his Majesty's secretary of state for the home department, under date of July 1824; and having stated the case, he says: "I feel exceedingly for Ring; should he return to England and fall a sacrifice to the law, I should never forgive myself unless I used every means in my power to save him. The above statement of facts might have some influence with the executive in saving his life, if the circumstances of the case could reach the throne of mercy." The contents of this letter were transmitted by Mr. Peel to Lord Bathurst the colonial secretary, and his lordship ordered the governor of New South Wales to establish a formal inquiry into the case. A court was accordingly summoned at Sydney, consisting of the governor assisted by two assessors, the chief justice and the newly-appointed archdeacon Scott, before which Mr. Marsden was cited to appear. He did so, the whole affair was investigated, and the result was, as the reader will have anticipated, not only Mr. Marsden's entire acquittal of the charges which wantonness and malice had preferred, but the establishment of his reputation as a man of high courage and pure integrity, and a Christian minister of spotless character. The Christian reader will probably ask what were the effects of these various trials upon Mr. Marsden's mind and temper? Did he become selfish and morose? were his spiritual affections quickened? As a minister of Christ, did his light shine with a more resplendent ray, or was it disturbed and overcast with gloom? To suggest and answer such inquiries are the proper uses of biography, especially the biography of religious men. With regard, then, to his habitual temper and tone of mind nothing can be more cheering than a letter, which we now insert, written to a lady in solitude, when the storm of insult and misrepresentation was at its highest pitch. "Paramatta, December 26, 1824. "DEAR MRS. F.,--I received your kind letter by Mr. Franklane, and was happy to learn that you and your little boy were well. The circumstance to which you allude is not worthy to be had in recollection for a single moment, and I hope you will blot it out of your remembrance for ever; we are so weak and foolish, and I may add sinful, that we allow real or imaginary trifles to vex and tease our minds, while subjects of eternal moment make little impression upon us. It is a matter of no moment to our great adversary, if he can only divert our minds from attending to the best things. He wishes at all times 'a root of bitterness' should 'spring up' in our minds, as this will eat like a canker every pious feeling, every Christian disposition. 'Learn of me,' says our blessed Lord, 'for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.' 'The meek will he guide in judgment, and the meek will he teach his way.' It is for want of this meekness, this humility of mind, that we are soon angry. The apostle exhorts us 'to be kindly affectioned one towards another,' and live in unity and godly love, and 'bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.' Situated as you are, remote from all Christian society, and from the public ordinances of religion, you will want, in a very especial manner, the consolations which can only be derived from the Holy Scriptures. You are in a barren and thirsty land where no water is; you have none to give you to drink of the waters of Bethlehem, and you must not be surprised if you grow weary and faint in your mind. Though God is everywhere, and his presence fills heaven and earth, yet all places are not equally favourable for the growth of religion in our souls. We want Christian society; we want the public ordinances; we want social worship. All these are needful to keep up the life of God in our souls. Without communion and fellowship with God, without our souls are going forth after him, we cannot be easy, we cannot be happy; we are dissatisfied with ourselves, and with all around us. A little matter puts us out of humour, Satan easily gains an advantage over us, we become a prey to discontent, to murmuring, and are prone to overlook all the great things the Lord hath done for us. Under your peculiar circumstances you will require much prayer, and much watchfulness; religion is a very tender plant, it is soon injured, it requires much nourishing in the most favourable situations, but it calls for more attention, where it is more exposed to blights and storms. A plant removed from a rich cultivated soil, into a barren uncultivated spot soon droops and pines away. I hope this will not be the case with you, though you must expect to feel some change in your feelings of a religious nature. Without much care the sabbaths will be a weariness; instead of your soul being nourished and fed upon this day, it will sicken, languish, and pine. I most sincerely wish you had the gospel preached unto you; this would be the greatest blessing, but it cannot be at present. There is no man to care for your souls, you have no shepherd to watch over you, and must consider yourselves as sheep without a shepherd. You know how easily sheep are scattered, how they wander when left to themselves, how soon the wolves destroy them. It is impossible to calculate the loss you must suffer, for want of the public ordinances of religion. My people, says God, perish for lack of knowledge. You know it is true that there is a Saviour, you have your Bible to instruct you, and you have gained much knowledge of Divine things, but still you will want feeding on the bread of life, you will want Jesus to be set before your eyes continually as crucified. You will want eternal things to be impressed upon your minds from time to time. Though you know these things, yet you will require to have your minds stirred up, by being put in remembrance of these things. As you cannot enjoy the public ordinances, I would have you to have stated times for reading the Scriptures and private prayer; these means God may bless to your soul. Isaac lived in a retired situation, he had no public ordinances to attend, but we are told he planted a grove, and built an altar, and called upon the name of the Lord. This you have within your power to do. Imitate his example, labour to possess his precious faith, and then it will be a matter of little importance where you dwell. With the Saviour you will be happy, without him you never can be. When you once believe on him, when he becomes precious to your soul, then you will seek all your happiness in him. May the Father of mercies give you a right judgment in all things, lead you to build your hopes of a blessed immortality upon that chief corner stone, which he hath laid in Zion; then you will never be ashamed through the countless ages of eternity. "Mrs. M. and my family unite in kind regards to you, wishing you every blessing that the upper and nether springs can afford. "In great haste. I remain, dear Mrs. F----, "Yours very faithfully, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." Systematic theology, or indeed deep learning in any of its branches, sacred or profane, Mr. Marsden had never cultivated. His life had not been given to abstraction and close study, but to the most active pursuits. Activity, however, is not inconsistent with deep thoughtfulness, and it affords some aids to reflection and observation, which often lay the foundation for a breadth of mind and a solid wisdom to which the mere student or man of letters seldom attains. Mr. Marsden, too, was well acquainted with his Bible, and, above most men, with himself. Thus, without being in any sense a learned divine, he was an instructive minister, and often an original thinker. His early acquaintance with Dr. Mason Good had led him deeply to consider the question of the deity of Christ and the following letter upon this all-important doctrine proves how capable he was of standing forward in its defence, and how deeply alive he was to its importance. It was addressed to one who had begun to doubt upon the subject of our Lord's Divine nature. "Paramatta, June 13, 1825. "MY DEAR SIR,--I ought to have answered your letter long ago, but was prevented from one thing and another, which called away my attention when I was determined to write. I received the books you sent me. That respecting our Lord's Divinity I read with care and attention. I found nothing in it that would satisfy me; there was no food to the soul, no bread, no water of life. I found nothing that suited my ruined state. I know I have destroyed myself by my iniquities, that I am hopeless and helpless, and must be eternally undone unless I can find a Divine Saviour who is able and willing to answer all the demands of law and justice. If I were alone in the world, and no individual but myself believed that Jesus was God over all blessed for evermore, and that he had died for my sins, that the penalty due to them was laid upon him, I know and am persuaded unless I believed this I could not be saved. I find no difficulty in my mind in praying to him, because I believe he is able to save. The dying thief did this in the very face of death: 'Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.' Jesus promised that he should be with him that very day in paradise. Stephen, we are told, was a man full of faith and the Holy Ghost; he was mighty in the Scriptures, so that none of the Jewish priests were able to withstand his arguments which he advanced in support of the doctrine that Jesus was the Son of God. When he was brought to the place of execution his only hope of eternal life was in Jesus. 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,' was his dying prayer. He fled to him as the Almighty God at this most awful period. No other foundation can any man lay than that is laid, says St. Paul, which is Christ Jesus. It is to no purpose to quote Scripture on this important doctrine, I mean any particular passage, for Jesus is the sum and substance of them all. I am fully convinced that no man can have a well-grounded hope of salvation unless he believes in the Divinity of our Lord and only Saviour. I would ask you, why should you not have as firm a hope as any other man in the world of eternal life, if you do not believe in the Divinity of our Lord? Admitting that you have the same view as the author of the work you sent me to read, of God and religion, I may put the question to you, Can you depend on the foundation your hope stands upon? Does it now give you full satisfaction? Are you sure that you are right? I believe Jesus to be a Divine person, I believe him to be God over all; I have no doubt upon this point, and I believe that all will be saved by him who trust in him for salvation. This doctrine is as clear to me as the sun at noon-day, and while I believe this doctrine it administers comfort to my mind, and gives me hope of a better state. I envy none their views of religion. I am satisfied with my own, though I am not satisfied with the attainments I have made in it, because I have not made those advances in divine knowledge in all the fruits of the Spirit I might have done. This is matter of shame, and regret, and humiliation. Examine the Christian religion as it stands revealed, with prayer for Divine illumination, and that God who giveth wisdom to all who call upon him for it will impart it to you. I have never met with a Socinian who wished me to embrace his faith, which has surprised me. I feel very differently. I wish all to believe in our Lord, because I believe this is necessary to salvation, as far as I understand the Scriptures; and I would wish all men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth. I would not change my views of religion for ten thousand worlds. But I must drop this subject, and reply to your last note. * * * * * "Our affectionate regards to Mrs. F.; accept the same from, "Dear sir, yours very sincerely, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." He remembered with gratitude his early friends, and was now in a condition to repay their kindness, and in his turn to repeat the Christian liberality which had once been extended to himself. From a private letter to the Rev. J. Pratt, we venture to make the following interesting quotation: "I believe in the year 1786 I first turned my attention to the ministry, and from the year 1787 to 1793 I received pecuniary assistance, more or less, from the Elland Society, but to what amount I never knew. First I studied under the Rev. S. Stores, near Leeds. In 1788, I went to the late Rev. Joseph Milner, and remained two years with him. From Hull I went to Cambridge, and in 1793 I left Cambridge, was ordained, and came out to New South Wales. I shall be much obliged to you to learn, if you can, the amount of my expenses to the Elland Society. I have always considered _that_ a just debt, which I ought to pay. If you can send me the amount I shall be much obliged to you. I purpose to pay the amount from time to time, in sums not less than 50_l._ per annum. When I close the Society's accounts on the 31st of December next, I will give your Society credit for 50_l._, and will thank you to pay the same to the Elland Society on my account. When I know the whole amount, I will then inform you how I purpose to liquidate it. Should the Elland Society not be in existence, I have to request that the Church Missionary Society will assist some pious young man with a loan, per annum, of not less than 50_l._, to get into the church as a missionary. In the midst of all my difficulties God has always blessed my basket and my store, and prospered me in all that I have set my hand unto. The greatest part of my property is in the charge of common felons, more than a hundred miles from my house, in the woods, and much of it I never saw, yet it has been taken care of, and will be. A kind providence has watched over all that I have had, and I can truly say I feel no more concern about my sheep and cattle than if they were under my own eye. I have never once visited the place where many of them are, having no time to do this. We may trust God with all we have. I wish to be thankful to him who has poured out his benefits upon me and mine." The practical wisdom, the spirit of calm submission to the Divine will when danger appears, and the simple faith in Christ displayed in the following letter require no comment, nor will its affectionate and paternal tone pass unnoticed. It appears to have been written to a lady on the eve of a voyage to England. We could wish that a copy of it were placed in the hands of every lady who may be compelled to go to sea. "Paramatta, May 27, 1826. "MY DEAR MRS.----,--Should you sail to-morrow it will not be in my power to see you again. I feel much for your very trying situation; why and wherefore you are so severely exercised remains at present known to the only wise God. If time does not reveal the mystery, eternity will. Clouds and darkness are round about the paths of the Almighty, and his footsteps are not known. You must now cast yourself and your little ones upon the bosom of the great deep. Remember always that he who holdeth the waters in the hollow of his hand, will continually watch over you and yours; winds and seas are under his sovereign control. We are prone to imagine that we are in much more danger on the seas than on dry land, but this is not really the case; our times are all in his hands, and if we only reflected that the hairs of our heads are all numbered, we should often be relieved from unnecessary and anxious fears. As for myself, I am constrained to believe that I am as safe in a storm as in a calm from what I have seen and known. Should you meet with raging seas and stormy winds, let not these distress you; they can do no more to injure you than the breath of a fly, or the drop of a bucket, without Divine permission. The promise is, 'When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee.' This is sufficient for the Christian to rest upon. You must live near to God in prayer. Labour to get right views of the Redeemer, who gave his life as a ransom for you. Humble faith in the Saviour will enable you to overcome every trial and bear every burden. No doubt but that you will have many painful exercises before you see the shores of old England. Tribulations will meet us, and follow us, and attend us all our journey through, and it is through much tribulation we must enter the kingdom of God. Could you and I meet on your arrival in London, and could we put our trials in opposite sides, it is very probable that mine would overbalance yours during the period you were at sea. You are not to conclude when the storm blows hard, the waves roar, and seas run mountain high, that you are more tried and distressed than others. "I hope the captain will be kind to you and the children; if he should not you will have no remedy but patience. Should the servant woman behave ill, you must submit to this also, because you can do no good in complaining. Should the woman leave you ... this is no more than what has happened to my own family. I should recommend you to give the children their dinner in your own cabin; never bring them to table but at the particular request of the captain. This precaution may prevent unpleasant disputes. You will soon see what the feelings of the captain and his wife are, and regulate your conduct accordingly. When I returned to England, when I entered the ship I resolved that I would not have any difference with any one during my passage; whatever provocations I might meet with, I would not notice them; and that resolution I kept to the last. "If you take no offence at anything, but go on quietly your own way, those who would wish to annoy you, will cease to do so, finding their labour in vain. Never appear to see or hear anything that you have not the power to remedy. If you should even know that the persons intended to vex you, never notice their conduct. There will be no occasions for these precautions if your companions on board be such as they ought to be. "Let your passage be pleasant or not, take your Bible for your constant companion. The comfort to be derived from the Divine promises will always be sweet and seasonable. 'They that love thy law,' says the Psalmist, 'nothing shall offend them.' If Jesus be precious to your soul, you will be able to bear every trial with Divine submission. To believe that Jesus is your Saviour, and that he is God over all blessed for evermore, will make you happy in the midst of the sea, as well as on dry land. Wishing you a safe and pleasant passage, and a happy meeting of your friends in England, and praying that the God of all grace may preserve you and yours in his everlasting kingdom, I subscribe myself, "Yours respectfully, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." More than two years had now passed since Mr. Marsden's last visit to New Zealand. The close of the year 1826 found him preparing for another, his fifth voyage, of twelve hundred miles, to the scene of those missions he had so long regarded with all a parent's fondness. A great change had just taken place in the conduct of several chiefs towards the missionaries in consequence of their fierce intestine wars. At Wangaroa the whole of the Wesleyan missionary premises had been destroyed; the property of all the missionaries was frequently plundered, and their lives were exposed to the greatest danger. The worst consequences were apprehended, and the missionaries, warned of their danger by the friendly natives, were in daily expectation of being at least stripped of everything they possessed, according to the New Zealand custom. For a time the Wesleyan mission was suspended, and their pious and zealous missionary, Mr. Turner, took refuge at Sydney, and found a home at the parsonage of Paramatta. The clergy of the church mission deeply sympathized with him. Mr. Henry Williams writes: "The return of Mr. Turner will be a convincing proof of our feelings on this point. In the present unsettled state of things we consider ourselves merely as tenants for the time being, who may receive our discharge at any hour." His brother, the Rev. William Williams, in another communication says: "We are prepared to depart or stay according to the conduct of the natives; for it is, I believe, our united determination to remain until we are absolutely driven away. When the natives are in our houses, carrying away our property, it will then be time for us to take refuge in our boats." As soon as the painful intelligence reached New South Wales, Mr. Marsden determined to proceed to the Bay of Islands, and use his utmost exertions to prevent the abandonment of the mission. He was under no apprehension of suffering injury from the natives; and his long acquaintance with their character and habits led him to anticipate that the storm would soon pass away. Accordingly, he sailed for New Zealand in H.M.S. Rainbow, and arrived in the Bay of Islands on the 5th April, 1827. He had reached the period of life when even the most active crave for some repose, and feel themselves entitled to the luxury of rest; but his ardent zeal never seems to have wanted other refreshment than a change of duties and of scene. He found the state of things improved; peace had been restored; and the missionaries were once more out of danger. He conferred with them, and gave them spiritual counsel. As far as time would permit, he reasoned with the chiefs upon the baneful consequences of the late war, and, at the end of five days from his arrival, he was again upon the ocean, on his way back to Sydney. "He was not wanted in New Zealand;" in Australia, besides domestic cares, many circumstances combined to make his presence desirable. Thus he was instant in season, out of season; disinterested, nay indifferent and utterly regardless of the honours and preferments which even good men covet; and ever finding in the work itself, and in Him for the love of whom it was undertaken, an abundant recompense. Brief as the visit was, it confirmed his faith, and reassured his confidence in the speedy conversion of New Zealand. He found the missionaries living in unity and godly love, and devoting themselves to the work. "I trust," he says, "that the Great Head of the church will bless their labours." In consequence of his co-operation with the missionaries, the beneficial labours of the press now for the first time reached the Maori tribes. During a visit to Sydney, Mr. Davis had carried through the press a translation of the first three chapters of Genesis, the twentieth of Exodus, part of the fifth of Matthew, the first of John, and some hymns. These were small beginnings, but not to be despised; they prepared the way for the translation of the New Testament into Maori, which was printed a few years afterwards at the expense of the British and Foreign Bible Society. The importance of this work can scarcely be estimated, and it affords a striking example of the way in which that noble institution becomes the silent handmaid, preparing the rich repast which our various missionary societies are ever more distributing abroad, with bounteous hand, to feed the starving myriads of the heathen world. Nor was the Polynesian mission forgotten by its old friend. The London Missionary Society now conducted its affairs on so wide a basis, and to so great an extent, that Mr. Marsden's direct assistance was no longer wanted. But how much he loved the work, how much he revered the missionaries, those who shall read the extract with which this chapter concludes will be at no loss to judge. "Paramatta, February 4, 1826. "MY DEAR SIR,--It is not long since I wrote to you, but as a friend of mine is returning, the Rev. Mr. Nott, who has been twenty-seven years a missionary in the Society Islands, I could not deny myself the pleasure of introducing him to you. Mr. Nott was one of the first missionaries who was sent out to the Islands. Like Caleb, he always said the missionaries were able to take the land. He remained a long time in Tahiti alone, labouring by himself when all his colleagues were gone, and lived with and as the natives, under the full persuasion that the mission would succeed. He remained breaking up the ground, sowing the gospel seed, until he saw it spring up, and waiting until part of the harvest was gathered in, until many of the poor heathen crossed the river Jordan, with the heavenly Canaan full in view. Such have been the fruits of his patient perseverance and faith. Should his life be spared, I shall expect to see him again in fourteen months returning to his labours, to die amongst his people, and to be buried with them. "I venerate the man more than you can conceive: in my estimation, he is a great man: his piety, his simplicity, his meekness, his apostolic appearance, all unite to make him great in my view, and more honourable than any of the famed heroes of ancient or modern times. I think Mrs. Good will like to see such a character return from a savage nation, whom God has so honoured in his work. I shall leave Mr. Nott to tell his own story, while you listen to his report.... "I remain, my dear sir, "Your's affectionately, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." "To John Mason Good, M.D." CHAPTER XI. Death of Dr. Mason Good--Malicious Charges brought against Mr. Marsden and confuted--Sixth Voyage to New Zealand--Frightful state of the Island--Battle of the Maories--Their Cannibalism--Progress of the Mission--Mr. Marsden's return--Death of Mrs. Marsden--Anticipation of his own decease. The shadows of evening now began to fall on him whose life had hitherto been full of energy, and to whom sickness appears to have been a stranger. He had arrived at the period when early friendships are almost extinct, and the few who survive are dropping into the grave. The year 1827 witnessed the death of Dr. Mason Good. Nearly twenty years had elapsed since he and Mr. Marsden had taken leave of one another; but their friendship had not cooled during that long term of absence; it seems rather to have gained strength with distance and declining years. Dr. Mason Good felt, and gratefully acknowledged, that to the conversations, and yet more to the high example of Mr. Marsden, he owed it, under God, that he was led to seek, through faith in Jesus, that holiness and peace which he found at last, and which shed so bright a lustre on his closing years. He had seen in his friend a living instance of disinterestedness, zeal, and humility combined, all springing from the love of God, and directed for Christ's sake towards the welfare of man; such as he had never seen before--such as, he confessed, his own Socinian principles were incapable of producing. Far his superior as a scholar and a man of genius, he perceived and felt his inferiority in all that relates to the highest destinies of man; he sat, as a little child, a learner, in his presence; and God, who is rich in mercy, brought home the lessons to his soul. Nothing, on the other hand, could exceed the respect, almost amounting to reverence, mingled however with the warmest affection, with which Mr. Marsden viewed his absent friend. In every difficulty he had recourse to him for advice; more than once he intrusted the defence of his character and reputation entirely to his discretion. A correspondence of nearly twenty years, a few specimens of which are in the reader's hand, show the depth of his esteem. Upon his death a fuller tide of affection gushed out; while he wrote thus to the mourning widow:-- "Paramatta, November 9, 1827. "MY DEAR MRS. GOOD,--A few days ago we received two letters from your daughter M--, informing us of the death of your much revered husband. I had seen his death noticed in one of the London papers, but had not received any other information. I feel for all your loss. He was a blessing to the Christian world, and to mankind at large. No one I esteemed more, and his memory will always be dear to me. When I was with you, he and I had many serious conversations on the subject of religion. "His great talents, united with his child-like simplicity, interested me much. I always experienced the greatest pleasure in his company, as well as advantage; in knowledge I found myself an infant in his presence, but yet at perfect ease. His gentle manners, his mild address, often made me forget to whom I was speaking; and after retiring from his presence I, on reflecting, have been ashamed that I should presume to talk to him as I had done, as if he were my equal. I never could account for the ease and freedom I felt in his company, in giving my opinion upon the various subjects we were wont to converse upon. He was a very learned man, and knew a thousand times more of men and things than I did, excepting on the subject of religion; here I always felt myself at home; and he would attend to what I said with the sweetest simplicity and the greatest openness of mind. In our various conversations on the most important doctrines of the gospel, he manifested a humble desire to know the truth, though he proceeded with great caution. I experienced no difficulty in my own mind in urging the truths of religion upon him, by every argument in my power. I always saw, or thought I saw, the Day-star from on high dawning upon his mind; and my own soul was animated and refreshed whenever the subjects of the gospel engaged our conversation. Perhaps our mutual friend, Dr. Gregory, may remember the observations I made to him, on what passed between your dear husband and myself, respecting religion, and what were my views of the state of his mind at that time; the period to which I allude was when he joined the Church Missionary Society, or intended to join it. I had the firmest conviction in my mind that he would embrace the gospel, and cordially believe to the salvation of his soul. I could never account for that love which I have continued to have for Dr. Good, even here at the ends of the earth, but from the _communion of saints_. Though the affliction of yourself and your dear daughters must be severe, having lost such a husband and father, yet you cannot sorrow as those without hope; you must be satisfied that the Lord has taken him away from the evil to come; and as he cannot now return to you, comfort one another with the hope that you shall go to him. He finished his course with joy, and the work that had been given him to do; and came to the grave like a shock of corn that was fully ripe. This consideration should reconcile you to the Divine dispensation, and constrain you to say, 'Not my will, but Thine be done.' You and your dear husband had travelled long together; few in this miserable world were so happy and blessed as you were for so long a period. Remember all the way the Lord hath led you in this wilderness; recall to mind his mercies of old, and bless his name. I have long wished to see you face to face; but that wish will never be gratified. The day may come when, in another and a better world, we may recount all our travels here below. We are sure that we are fast approaching to the end of our journey, and shall soon arrive at the banks of Jordan. Let us labour, my dear madam, to keep the promised land in view. You have the consolation of your two amiable daughters' company. I have never thought of Mrs. N. but with feelings of sympathy, and regret for her loss in the death of her excellent husband. How mysterious are the ways of God! We cannot account for them now, but we shall know hereafter. As a father pitieth his own children, so is the Lord merciful unto them that fear him. Mrs. Neale may derive comfort from the Divine promises. There are many made to the widow and the fatherless, and God is never unmindful of his promises. When we arrive in Mount Zion, we shall then be satisfied with all the Divine dispensations, and see cause to bless God for the severest. Give my love to Miss Good; tell her how much I am obliged to her, for the communication she has made to me respecting her dear father.... "I am yours, very sincerely," He was still subject to the persecutions of "unreasonable and wicked men," and was again compelled to vindicate his conduct in a pamphlet, which issued from the press at Sydney, in 1828. Transmitting a copy to his friend, the Rev. Josiah Pratt, he says: "I consider myself a proscribed person these last few years. All the charges against me are contained in this pamphlet. My public offences, my illegal acts, the charges against me for inflicting torture to extort confession, for which I have been condemned unheard, and suffered as guilty. What an ungodly world may think or say of me, is of little moment; but I do not wish to lose the good opinion of my Christian friends, and fall in their estimation." He returns to the subject in his correspondence with other Christian friends; for the apprehension that in him the cause of religion might seem to have received a wound, lay heavy on his mind. "I should feel much," he says, writing to Mr. D. Coates, "if the cause of religion should suffer in my personal conduct; but I hope it will not. I hope I have said enough to satisfy the Christian world that I am clear in this matter. To justify my public conduct, was an act due to my family and to all my Christian friends, as well as the general interests of religion." Nor was it merely the breath of slander that assailed him: he mentions in a private letter to the Rev. Edward Bickersteth, an act of grievous wrong inflicted by the British government. "I and my family were all struck off the public victualling books in the latter part of Governor Macquarie's administration, without any compensation. The Rev. R. Cartwright and the Rev. William Cooper, with their families, were also struck off from the public stores at the same time. They have both had their claims settled since governor Darling arrived. One received 700_l._, and the other more than 800_l._; but I have received nothing. My claim is equally just, had I only served the same period as my colleagues, though I have served nearly twenty years longer than either of them. I can only attribute this act of injustice to some hostile feeling in the colonial office. Governor Darling has always shown me every attention I could wish." Yet he uttered no protest; he raised no clamour for redress. "I mention this circumstance to you," he adds, "_confidentially_: when the truth of my case is laid before the public, perhaps my superiors may think differently of my conduct, and do me common justice." Whether he obtained redress we are not informed. The occurrence shows the depth and bitterness of those hostile feelings, which we can trace to no other cause on his part than his boldness in rebuking vice, and his fidelity to the cause of his Lord and Master. The year 1830 found Mr. Marsden once more upon the ocean. For neither increasing years nor the vexations through which he had passed damped his ardour in the missionary cause. His mind was stedfastly fixed on the progress of the gospel in New Zealand, and there he was anxious once more in person to assist in carrying on the work. He felt that his time was growing short, and hastened, "before his decease," to "set in order the things which were wanting." He perceived, too, with mingled feelings, that New Zealand was about to undergo a great change. His efforts to induce the chiefs to unite under one head or sovereign elected by themselves, had totally failed. Shunghie had been slain in battle, and his ambitious projects of gaining a New Zealand throne by conquest were at an end. War was the natural condition of all the Maori tribes, and this, rendered more deadly, though possibly less ferocious, by the introduction of fire-arms, was fearfully thinning their numbers from year to year. They were subject, too, to periodical returns of a terrible scourge, a disease resembling the influenza, which cut off multitudes. On the whole, it was calculated, that not more than a hundred thousand Maories now survived; while twenty years before, when the island was first visited, the numbers were at least two hundred thousand. It was evident that they could not long maintain their independence as a nation. European ships began to crowd the Bay of Islands. English settlers were already making their way into their choice and fertile lands. To minds less sagacious than Mr. Marsden's, the result could be no longer doubtful--New Zealand must become an English colony. He foresaw the necessity, and, though at first with reluctance, cordially acquiesced in it, even for the sake of the Maories themselves. His concern now was to prepare them for a measure which must sooner or later take place. Everything was in a lawless state; the progress of the missions was greatly interrupted, and his presence was once more highly necessary. His own anxiety was great, first on behalf of the missions which had so long been the especial objects of his care; and then for New Zealand at large that the policy of Great Britain should respect the rights of the native tribes and pledge itself to their protection. On his arrival in New Zealand, in March, 1830, he was greeted before the ship had cast anchor by the Messrs. Williams and others of the missionary band, who hastened on board, and expressed their joy at his unexpected appearance among them. It was a critical moment, for they were in greater anxiety and difficulty than they had experienced at any former period of the mission. The natives were at open war, and but a day or two before a great battle had been fought on the opposite beach of the Bay of Islands, in which about fourteen hundred had been engaged. The alleged cause of the war was the misconduct of an English captain who had offered indignities to some native women on board his vessel. One tribe espoused his cause, while another came forward to avenge the insult. Six chiefs had fallen in the battle, and a hundred lives were lost; several whaling vessels were lying in the Bay, and their crews as well as the missionary stations, were in the utmost peril from the revenge of the victorious tribe, which now lay encamped at Keri-Keri. There was not an hour to be lost. Mr. Marsden crossed the bay with Mr. Henry Williams early the next morning, to visit the camp as a mediator. The chiefs, many of whom from different parts of the island, had formerly been acquainted with Mr. Marsden, all expressed their gratification at meeting him again. After conversing with them on different points connected with proposals of peace, the two friendly mediators crossed over to the camp of their opponents, and entered at once on the subject of their mission. They spoke to them of the evils of war, and more particularly of the civil war in which they were engaged. "They heard all we had to say with great attention, and several of them replied to the different arguments we had used. They contended that we were answerable for the lives of those who had fallen in the battle, as the war had been occasioned by the misconduct of the captain of a vessel one of our own countrymen; they wished to know what satisfaction we would give them for the loss of their friends who had been slain. We replied that we could give them no satisfaction, that we condemned his conduct, and were sorry that any of our countrymen had behaved so badly, and that we would write to England and prevent his return." This the savages requested that Mr. Marsden would not do; they longed for his return, that they might take their own revenge. Mr. Marsden then proceeded to inform them that he had had an interview with the chiefs on the other side, who were willing to come to terms of peace, and wished him to assist in settling their quarrel. This information was received in a friendly way by the greater part: one or two still wished to fight. The mediators now returned to the beach, which they found covered with war canoes and armed men. A war council was held, and the Rev. Henry Williams stated the business upon which they had come amongst them. The natives listened attentively. Many of the chiefs gave their opinion in turn, with much force and dignity of address. These orations continued from an early hour in the morning, till the shades of evening were closing. It was finally agreed that the mediating party should proceed the next morning to the opposite camp and repeat what had taken place. After a long discussion, it was concluded that two commissioners from each party should be appointed, along with Mr. Marsden and Mr. Williams, to conclude the terms of peace. Having now urged all that was in their power to bring about a reconciliation, they walked over the ground where the battle had been fought; a dreadful scene under any circumstances, unutterably loathsome, where cannibals were the contending parties. "The remains of some of the bodies that had been slain were lying unconsumed on the fires; the air was extremely offensive, and the scene most disgusting. We could not but bitterly lament these baneful effects of sin, and the influence of the prince of darkness over the minds of the poor heathen." The next day was Sunday, it was spent by Mr. Williams at the camp, for it was not considered safe at present to leave the savage warriors, whose angry passions smouldered. Mr. Marsden proceeded to the station, and preached to the infant church. Never was the gospel of Christ placed in finer contrast with the kingdom of darkness, and the appalling tyranny of the god of this world. Mr. Marsden's pen thus describes the scene as he sketched it upon the spot: "The contrast between the state of the east and west side of the bay was very striking. Though only two miles distant, the east shore was crowded with different tribes of fighting men in a wild savage state, many of them nearly naked, and when exercising entirely naked; nothing was to be heard but the firing of muskets, the noise, din, and commotion of a savage military camp; some mourning the death of their friends, others suffering from their wounds, and not one but whose mind was involved in heathen darkness without one ray of Divine knowledge. On the other side was the pleasant sound of the church going bell; the natives assembling together for divine worship, clean, orderly and decently dressed, most of them in European clothing; they were carrying the litany and the greatest part of the church service, written in their own language, in their hands with their hymns. The church service, as far as it has been translated, they can write and read. Their conduct and the general appearance of the whole settlement reminded me of a well-regulated English country parish. In the chapel, the natives behaved with the greatest propriety, and joined in the church service. Here might be viewed at one glance the blessings of the Christian religion, and the miseries of heathenism with respect to the present life; but when we extend one thought over the eternal world how infinite is the difference!" These were trying times undoubtedly. The missions had existed fifteen years, and yet the powers of darkness raged in all the horrors of cannibal warfare, close to the doors of the missionary premises. On the following Tuesday morning, Mr. Marsden was aroused from his bed by a chief calling at his window to tell him that the army was in motion, and that a battle seemed to be at hand. He arose immediately and was informed that thirty-six canoes had been counted passing between the main and the island. He immediately launched the missionary boat and proceeded to meet them. "When we came up to them we found they had left their women and children on the island, and that they were all fighting men, well armed and ready for action in a moment's notice. I counted more than forty men in one war canoe." Yet amongst these infuriated savages the missionaries felt no alarm. "We were under no apprehension of danger; both parties placed the utmost confidence in us, and we were fully persuaded the commissioners would be cordially received." If the event had turned out otherwise Mr. Marsden and his friends had notice given them by the native commissioners, of whom we have spoken, that they would be seen alive no more. "The three native commissioners accompanied us in a small canoe which they paddled themselves. They brought their canoe between our two boats, and in that position we approached the beach. They told us if they were killed, we must be given up to their friends as a sacrifice for the loss of their lives." The missionaries' confidence was not misplaced; "the whole day was spent in deliberation; at night, after a long oration, the great chief on one side clove a stick in two to signify that his anger was broken. The terms of peace were ratified, and both sides joined in a hideous war dance together; repeatedly firing their muskets. We then took our departure from these savage scenes with much satisfaction, as we had attained the object we were labouring for." Such scenes did not for an instant disturb the firm faith and confidence of the great missionary leader. Coming from the midst of them he could sit down in the missionary hut and write as follows: "The time will come when human sacrifices and cannibalism shall be annihilated in New Zealand, by the pure, mild and heavenly influence of the gospel of our blessed Lord and Saviour. The work is great, but Divine goodness will find both the means and the instruments to accomplish his own gracious purposes to fallen man. His word, which is the sword of the Spirit, is able to subdue these savage people to the obedience of faith. It is the duty of Christians to use the means, to sow the seed and patiently to wait for the heavenly dews to cause it to spring up, and afterwards to look up to God in faith and prayer to send the early and latter rain." Even now the "Day-spring from on high" had visited this savage race. In no part of the world was the sabbath day more sacredly observed than by the converts in the missionary settlements; their lives gave evidence that their hearts were changed. Spiritual religion, deep and earnest, began to show its fruit in some of them; others were at least much impressed with the importance of eternal things. Mr. Marsden was waited upon one evening by several native young men and women who wished to converse on religious subjects; when they came in their anxious countenances explained the inward working of their minds; their object was to know what they must do to be saved. He endeavoured to set before them the love of Jesus in coming from heaven to die for a ruined world, and mentioned many instances of his love and mercy which he showed to sinners while on earth. "When I had addressed them at some length," he adds, "a young native woman begun to pray." "I never heard any address offered up to heaven with such feelings of reverence, and piety, so much sweetness and freedom of expression, with such humility and heavenly mindedness. I could not doubt but that this young woman prayed with the Spirit, and with the understanding. She prayed fervently that God would pardon her sins and preserve her from evil; and for all the natives in the room, that they might all be preserved from falling into the temptations by which they were surrounded. Her very soul seemed to be swallowed up with the sense she had of the evil and danger of sin, and the love of Jesus, who came to save sinners. Her voice was low, soft and harmonious; her sentences were short and expressed in the true spirit of prayer. I never expected to have seen, in my day, any of the natives of this barbarous nation offering up their supplications for pardon and grace, to the only true God, with such godly sorrow and true contrition." Amongst the audience in the room were the aged widow and two daughters of the great Shunghie. When they rose from their knees the ex-queen exclaimed, "Astonishing, astonishing!" and then retired; "and I confess," adds Mrs. Marsden, "I was not less astonished than she was." The young woman he learned had for some time lived upon the mission premises, and conducted herself in all respects as a Christian, adorning the gospel she professed. A few days after we find Mr. Marsden "marrying an Englishman to a native Christian woman, who repeated the responses very correctly in English which she well understood; she conducted herself with the greatest propriety, and appeared neatly dressed in European clothing of her own making, for she was a good sempstress." Mr. Marsden considered, he says, this marriage to be of the first importance; and the New Zealanders appear to have been of the same mind, and to have done due honour to the occasion: for "the company came in a war canoe and brought their provisions with them, a pig and plenty of potatoes." Shortly afterwards, he united a young native man and woman in marriage, they were both Christians, domestic servants to Mr. Clarke, one of the missionaries, and seemed to have a great affection for each other. The young man was free and of a good family; the young woman was a slave, having become such by capture; for all their prisoners of war if not massacred were reduced to slavery. Mr. Clarke therefore redeemed her from her master, for five blankets, an axe, and an iron-pot. A chief seldom allowed any of his female slaves to marry, always reserving a number of them as wives for himself. We must therefore suppose that the price was a very liberal one. The effects of Christianity were now apparent in some favoured spots, and Mr. Marsden returned home again full of hope and consolation. He had witnessed already changes far greater than he had ever hoped to see, sanguine as he was of ultimate success. So confident was he in the good feeling of the natives towards himself, that he had taken one of his daughters with him, and she accompanied him in his visits to the chiefs, one of whom, known by the title of King George, demanded her in marriage for his son; "an honour," writes her father, "which I begged permission to decline." Fearful indeed had been the condition of females hitherto amongst these savages, as the following extract, with which we conclude our notice of Mr. Marsden's sixth visit to New Zealand, sufficiently attests. He is describing the great change which Christianity had effected among the New Zealanders. "On one of my former visits to New Zealand, sitting in the room I am at present in, the natives killed and ate a poor young woman just behind the house. But what a wonderful change the gospel has wrought! In this little spot, where so late hellish songs were sung and heathen rites performed, I now hear the songs of Zion, and the voice of prayer offered up to the God of heaven. So wonderful is the power of God's word." He returned home greatly cheered and well qualified "to comfort others with the comforts wherewith" he himself "was comforted of God." To Mrs. Good, the widow of his departed friend, he wrote as follows, soon afterwards: "Paramatta, August 27, 1833. "MY DEAR MRS. GOOD,--We received Miss Good's letter, which gave us much concern to learn that you had met with such severe trials.... How mysterious are the ways of God! We cannot comprehend them now, but we are assured, that what we know not at present we shall know hereafter. Our heavenly Father has promised that all things shall work together for good to them that love God, and the Scriptures cannot be broken. He willingly suffers none of his children to be afflicted. In the end we shall find that he hath done all things well. At present our trials may bear heavy upon us, but St. Paul tells us they are but for a moment, and eventually will work for us a far more exceeding weight of eternal glory. Job, when he had lost all his children and property exclaimed, 'Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return; the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.' We know Infinite Wisdom cannot err in any of his dispensations towards us, and he will never leave or forsake them that trust in him. I pray that the Father of mercies may support you under all your trials and afflictions. The very remembrance of the pleasure I experienced in the society of your ever-to-be-revered husband is very refreshing to my mind. We often speak of you all, and humbly pray that we may meet again in another and a better world. I am now almost seventy years old, and I cannot but be thankful, when I look back and consider how the Lord hath led me all my life long. I have gone through many dangers by land, by water, amongst the heathen and amongst my own countrymen, robbers and murderers, by night and by day; but though I have been robbed, no personal injury have I ever received, not so much as a bone broken. I have also had to contend with many wicked and unreasonable men in power, but the Lord in his providence ordered all for good. Most of them are now in the silent grave, and I have much peace and comfort in the discharge of my public duty, and I bless God for it. I have visited New Zealand six times. The mission prospers very much; the Lord has blessed the missionaries in their labours, and made their work to prosper. "I am happy to say my family are all pretty well.... Mrs. M. enjoys her health well at her age, so that we have everything to be thankful for. The colony increases very fast in population; 599 women arrived from Europe a few days ago. Provisions are very cheap and in great plenty. Our number increases some thousands every year, so that there is a prospect of this country becoming great and populous. Your daughter mentions the sheep; she will be astonished to hear that one million eight hundred thousand pounds of wool, were exported last year from New South Wales to England, and we may expect a very great annual increase from the fineness of the climate, and the extent of pasturage.... Wool will prove the natural wealth of these colonies and of vast importance to the mother country also. We are very much in want of pious ministers.... None but pious men will be of any service in such a society as ours.... I should wish to go to England again to select some ministers, if I were not so very old; but this I cannot do, and therefore I must pray to the great Head of the church, to provide for those sheep who are without a shepherd. "May I request you to remember us affectionately to Mrs. Neale and Dr. Gregory--I pray that you and yours may be supported under every trial, and that they may be all sanctified to your eternal good. I remain, dear Mrs. Good, "Yours affectionately. "SAMUEL MARSDEN." In 1835, Mrs. Marsden died. She had long been patiently looking forward to her great change, and her last end was full of peace. Years had not abated his love for his "dear partner;" so he always called her when, after her decease, he had occasion to speak of her. He showed her grave, in sight of his study window, with touching emotion to his friends, and felt himself almost released from earth and its attractions when she had left it. His own increasing infirmities had led him to anticipate that he should be first removed, and the parsonage house being his only by a life tenure, he had built a comfortable residence for his widow, which however, she did not live to occupy. By this bereavement he was himself led to view the last conflict as near at hand; henceforward it constantly occupied his mind, and formed at times the chief subject of his conversation. He sometimes spoke of it amongst his friends with a degree of calmness, and at the same time with such a deep sense of its nearness and reality, as to excite their apprehensions as well as their astonishment. He stood on the verge of eternity and gazed into it with a tranquil eye, and spoke of what he saw with the composure of one who was "now ready to be offered, and the time of whose departure was at hand;"--his last text before he had quitted New Zealand. Yet he was not at all times equally serene. Returning one day from a visit to a dying bed, he called at the residence of a brother minister, the Rev. R. Cartwright, in a state of some dejection. He entered on the subject of death with feeling, and expressed some fears with regard to his own salvation. Mr. Cartwright remarked upon the happiness of himself and his friend as being both so near to their eternal rest, to which Mr. Marsden seriously replied with emphasis, "But Mr. C----, _if_ I am there." "If, Mr. Marsden?" rejoined his friend, surprised at the doubt implied. The aged disciple then brought forward several passages of Scripture bearing upon the deep responsibility of the ministerial office coupled with his own unworthiness; "lest I myself should be a castaway;" "if we hold the beginning of our confidence stedfast unto the end;" remarking on his own sinfulness,--every thing he had done being tainted with sin,--on his utter uselessness,--and contrasting all this with the holiness and purity of God. At another time, coming from the factory after a visit to a dying woman, and deeply impressed with the awfulness of a dying hour in the case of one who was unprepared to die, he repeated in a very solemn manner some lines from Blair's once celebrated poem on the grave-- "In that dread moment how the frantic soul Raves round the walls of her clay tenement, Runs to each avenue and shrieks for help, But shrieks in vain. How wistfully she looks On all she is leaving; now no longer hers. A little longer, yet a little longer. Oh! might she stay To wash away her crimes, and fit her for her passage." He then spoke on the plan of salvation and the grace offered by the gospel with great feeling. The holiness and purity of God appeared at times to overwhelm his soul; contrasting it, as he did, with his own sinfulness, and viewing it in connexion with the fact that he must soon stand before his awful presence. Yet he speedily recovered his habitual peace, recalling the blessed truth that "there is now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus." He was still on the whole a most cheerful Christian, joying and rejoicing in the hope of a blessed immortality. And as he drew near his journey's end his prospects were still brighter and his peace increased. CHAPTER XII. State of New South Wales--The Aborigines--Cruelties practised upon them--Attempts to civilize and convert them--They fail--Mr. Marsden's Seventh Visit to New Zealand--His Daughter's Journal--Affection of the Natives--Progress of the Mission--Danger from European vices--Returns in H.M.S Rattlesnake to Sydney. History affords but few examples of a change such as New South Wales had undergone since Mr. Marsden landed from a convict ship in the penal settlement of Botany Bay in the year 1794. The gold fields had not yet disclosed their wealth, nor did he live to see the stupendous consequences which resulted from their discovery in 1851, the rush of European adventurers, and the sudden transformation of the dismal solitudes of Bendigo and Ballarat into the abode of thousands of restless, enterprising men, with all the attendant circumstances, both good and evil, of civilized life. But Australia was already a vast colony; in almost everything except the name, an empire, self-supporting, and with regard to its internal affairs, self governed, though still under the mild control, borne with loyalty and pride, of the English sovereign. The state of society was completely changed. For many years, the stream of emigration had carried to the fertile shores of Australia not the refuse of our jails, but some of the choicest of our population; the young, the intelligent, the enterprising, and the high principled, who sought for a wider field of action, or disdained to live at home, useless to society, and a burden to their relatives. Large towns such as Sydney, Victoria, Geelong and Melbourne, with their spacious harbours crowded with shipping, were already in existence, and English settlers had covered with their flocks those inland plains which long after Mr. Marsden's arrival still lay desolate and unexplored. The religious condition of Australia was no less changed. All denominations were now represented by a ministry, and accommodated in places of worship not at all inferior to those at home. The Church of England had erected Sydney into a bishopric, of which the pious and energetic archdeacon Broughton was the first incumbent, and the number of the colonial clergy had been greatly increased; under all these influences the tone of social morality was improved, and real spiritual religion won its triumphs in many hearts. Mr. Marsden was now released from those official cares and duties as senior chaplain which once so heavily pressed upon him. Beyond his own parish of Paramatta his ministerial labours did not necessarily extend, and in his parish duties he had the efficient aid of his son-in-law and other coadjutors. [Illustration: PARAMATTA CHURCH.] The one spot on which no cheering ray seemed to fall, the sterile field which after years of laborious cultivation yielded no return, was the native population, the aborigines of New South Wales. We have mentioned some of the many futile attempts made for their conversion; more might be added; for various missions were devised,--by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, aided by the colonial government; by the Wesleyan and the Church Missionary Societies; and by the London Missionary Society; but none of these met with much success, and we fear all have been in turn abandoned. The mission of Mr. Threlkeld, on the margin of lake Macquarie deserves especial notice. It was continued for upwards of fourteen years; during the first six years at the charges of the London Missionary Society, but owing to the heavy expense, and the slow progress of the mission, they withdrew from it after an outlay of about three thousand pounds. Mr. Threlkeld was reluctant to give up the mission, and pursued it for some time from his own resources and those of his friends, with a small grant of a hundred and fifty pounds a-year from the British government, who also made over ten thousand acres of land to be held on trust on behalf of the natives. Mr. Threlkeld seems to have been admirably fitted for his work; he had been the fellow labourer of the martyr John Williams, of Erromanga, and left the Tahitian mission in consequence of heavy domestic afflictions. He had spent much time in acquiring a knowledge of the language of the "blacks" or aborigines, of which he drew up a grammar, besides translating some portions of Scripture, Watts's hymns, and other suitable works. He had generally three or four tribes resident around him upon the land granted for their use. Occasionally he employed from twelve to sixty of them in burning off the timber and clearing the land, an employment which they liked best. At this they would continue for eight or ten days at a time, until some native custom, or the report of the hostile intention of some neighbouring tribe, called them off, perhaps never to return. Harmless as they seemed, their customs were ferocious; the tribes were constantly at war, and upon human life they set no value; they had no law against murder, and consequently no punishment for it. A man may murder his wife, or child, or any other relative with impunity; but if a person murder another who is no way connected with him, the nearest of kin to the murdered person will sometimes avenge his death; though this seldom happens unless the delinquent and the sufferer are of different tribes. It is only as they become acquainted with the customs of Europeans that human life is regarded. In their native wilds they sport with the sufferings both of man and beast. At different periods, Mr. Threlkeld erected huts, but in these they could not be induced to live, alleging the accumulation of vermin and the fear of other natives coming in the night and spearing them without a possibility of escape. On urging them to plant corn on a piece of ground he had prepared for them, they replied it would be useless, as the tribes from the neighbouring Sugar Loaf Mountain, although on friendly terms, would come down and take it away when ripe. Mr. Threlkeld attributed the failure of his mission partly to the want of funds, but still more to the influx of European settlers. He deeply deplored the want of legal protectors, both to prevent the ferocious attacks of the blacks upon each other, and to protect them from the white man's atrocities. "I am firmly of opinion," adds Mr. Threlkeld, in the annual report of his mission for the year 1836, "that a Protector of Aborigines will be fully employed in investigating cases of the cruelty of European settlers, which are both numerous and shocking to humanity, and in maintaining their civil rights." He had but too much reason to express himself thus. The cases of oppression which he himself describes, are most revolting. In one instance, a stockman, or herdsman, boasted to his master of having killed six or seven black men with his own hands, when in pursuit of them with his companions; for they were hunted down in mere wantonness and sport. He was merely dismissed from his employer's service. In another, a party of stockmen went out, some depredation having been committed by the blacks in spearing their cattle, took a black prisoner, tied his arms, and then fastened him to the stirrup of a stockman on horseback to drag him along. When the party arrived near their respective stations they separated, leaving the stockman to conduct the prisoner to his own hut. The black, when he found they were alone, was reluctant to proceed, and struggled to get free, when the stockman took his knife from his pocket, coolly stuck the black in the throat, and left him for dead. The poor fellow crawled to the house of a gentleman dwelling on the plains, told his tale, and died. These are but specimens of cruelties, too numerous and too horrible to relate. The blacks, of course, retaliated, and military parties were sent out against them. On the 31st October, 1828, the executive council of the colony declared in their minutes, "that the outrages of the aboriginal natives amount to a complete declaration of hostilities against the settlers generally," but they forgot to add that these hostilities had been provoked in every instance by the wanton aggression of the Europeans. Martial law was again proclaimed in October, 1830, against the natives, and the governor at length determined to call upon the inhabitants to take up arms, and join the troops in forming a military cordon, by means of which he proposed to drive the aborigines into Tasman's Peninsula. The inhabitants responded to the call, and an armed force of between two and three thousand men were in the field from the 4th October till the 26th November; but the attempt entirely failed. Mr. Marsden lived to see the beginnings of a better system, though from his advanced age he was now no longer able to take an active part in the formation of new institutions. Before his death, a society had been formed in the colony for the protection of the aborigines, and government had also appointed protectors to defend them against wanton outrage. This was a great advance in a colony where, Lieutenant Sadleir (who had the charge of the school at Paramatta for the aborigines) tells us, that on his first tour up the country he saw the skull of a celebrated native, in which was visible the hole where the ball had penetrated the forehead, placed over a gentleman's bookcase in his sitting-room; "a trophy," he says, "which he prized very much, of his success in one of those exterminating excursions then sometimes undertaken, when the natives were hunted down like beasts of prey to be destroyed." But it was not till the year 1839 that an act was passed by the legislative council giving extensive powers to certain "commissioners of lands," who were also magistrates of the territory, to put a stop to the atrocities so extensively committed beyond the boundaries, both by the aborigines and the European settlers. The governor drew attention to this act in a proclamation worthy of his high office. "As human beings," he remarks, "partaking of our common nature, as the aboriginal possessors of the soil from which the wealth of the country has been principally derived, and as subjects of the queen, whose authority extends over every part of New Holland, the natives of the colony have an equal right with the people of European origin to the protection and assistance of the law of England. "His excellency thinks it right further to inform the public that each succeeding despatch from the secretary of state marks in an increasing degree the importance which her Majesty's government, and no less the parliament and the people of Great Britain, attach to the just and humane treatment of the aborigines of this country, and to declare most earnestly and solemnly his deep conviction that there is no subject or matter whatsoever in which the interests as well as the honour of the colonists are more essentially concerned." His excellency was soon called upon to bring his professions of impartial justice to the test. A few weeks only after the date of the proclamation, seven monsters in human shape, convicts who had been assigned as stockmen to some of the settlers in the interior, influenced, it would seem, by no other motive than a fiendish determination to exterminate the unhappy natives, set out on horseback in pursuit of their victims. One Charles Kilmaister was their leader. They were traced in their progress, inquiring after blacks, and at last it appeared they arrived at a hut near the Orawaldo, commonly called the Big River, beyond Liverpool Plains. Here they discovered a little tribe of about thirty natives, men, women, and children, including babes at their mothers' breasts, assembled in the bush, unsuspicious of danger, and unconscious of offence. It was on Sunday. They immediately approached their victims, who, terrified at their manner, ran into Kilmaister's hut, crying for protection; but they appealed to hearts of stone. The bandits having caught them as it were in a trap, dismounted and followed them into the hut, and, despite of their entreaties, tied them together with a rope. When all were thus secured, one end of the rope was tied round the body of the foremost of the murderers, who, having mounted his horse, led the way, dragging the terrified group after him, while his infamous companions guarded them on all sides. Onward they were dragged till a fitting place in the bush was reached, when the work of slaughter commenced, and unresisting, these hapless wretches, one after the other, were brutally butchered. Fathers, and mothers, and children, fell before the previously sharpened swords of their executioners, till all lay together a lifeless mass, clinging to each other even in death, as with the throes of natural affection. But one shot was fired, so that it was presumed one only perished by fire-arms. The precise number thus immolated has not been accurately ascertained, but it is computed not less than thirty lay stretched on their own native soil. The demon butchers then placed the bodies in a heap, kindled an immense fire over them, and so endeavoured to destroy the evidence of their unheard-of brutality. The eye of providence, however, was not to be thus blinded; and although for a time the miscreants imagined they had effectually disguised their horrible work, circumstances led to their apprehension. Birds of prey were seen hovering about the spot where the unconsumed remains yet rotted on the ground. Stockmen in search of their strayed cattle were attracted to the place, supposing they should find their carcasses. In this way it was that the ribs, jaw-bones, half-burned skulls, and other portions of human skeletons were found, while symptoms of the conflagration in the vicinity were likewise discovered. This led to inquiry, and ultimately to the discovery of the horrible truth. The place was fifty miles from the nearest police station. The whole of the villains were apprehended, and their own admissions and conduct, both previous and subsequent to the atrocious deed, added to a chain of circumstantial evidence, left no doubt of their guilt. It chanced that the night previous to the murders a heavy rain had fallen, and traces were thus discovered of horses feet, as well as of the naked feet of the wretched natives, on the way to the field of death. The chief witness, a respectable man, scarce dared, however, to return to the district, so strong was the sympathy expressed towards these miscreants, even by persons of influence, some of whom were magistrates. All possible pains were taken to save them from condign punishment; subscriptions were made for their defence, and counsel retained, but in vain; their guilt was established beyond a doubt, and Sir George Gipps, the governor, suffered the law to take its righteous course. Yet the progress of humanity and righteousness was very slow, and Mr. Marsden did not live to see equal justice, not to speak of gospel truth or English liberty, carried to the aborigines. In the very year of his death, an effort was made by the attorney-general of the colony to pass a bill to enable the courts of justice to receive the evidence of the blacks, hitherto inadmissible. The chief justice of Australia gave his sanction to the measure. In laying this bill before the council, as the law officer of the crown, the attorney-general gave some painful instances of its necessity. There was then, he said, lying in his office a very remarkable case, in which there was no doubt a considerable number of blacks had been shot, but in consequence of not being able to take the evidence of the blacks who witnessed the transaction, it was impossible to prosecute, although there was proof that certain parties went into the bush in a certain direction with fire-arms, and that shots were heard. The dead bodies of blacks were afterwards found there, the skulls of some of them being marked with bullets. On the other hand five blacks were convicted of a larceny, and could be convicted of no higher offence, although those who heard the case must have been convinced that they had murdered two white men; but, because the blacks, who knew how the murder was committed, could not be heard as witnesses, it was impossible to prosecute them for the murder. The bill only went so far as to allow the blacks to be heard,--"to allow them to tell their own story; the jury might believe them or not as their evidence was corroborated circumstantially, or by other witnesses." Yet this simple instalment of justice was denied, and the bill was rejected by the legislative council. Such are some of the crimes through which even England, just and generous England, has ascended her dazzling throne of colonial empire. When we tear aside the veil of national pride, how gloomy are the recesses of our colonial history; how large the amends which Britain owes to every native population which God has intrusted to her care! Mr. Marsden was now seventy-two years of age. On every side the friends of his youth were falling, and he was bowed down with bodily infirmities, the natural consequence of a life of toil. He often pointed to an aged tree which grew in sight of his windows, as an emblem of himself. It had once stood in the middle of a thick wood, surrounded on all sides with fine timber; which the waste of years and the ruthless axe had levelled; now it stood alone, exposed to every blast, its branches broken off, its trunk decayed and its days numbered. Yet he resolved to pay another, his seventh, and, as it proved, his last visit to New Zealand. It was thought by his friends, that he would never live to return. His age and infirmities seemed to unfit him for any great exertion of either mind or body; but having formed the resolution, nothing could now deter him, or divert him from it. He sailed on the 9th February, 1837, in the Pyramus, accompanied by his youngest daughter, and he seemed to be cheered by the reflection that if he should die upon his voyage he should die in his harness and upon the battle field on which God had chosen him to be a leader. And yet his sturdy spirit scarcely bowed itself to such misgivings. As on former visits, he had no sooner landed than his whole soul was invigorated by scenes from which most others would have shrunk. He landed on the southern side of the island, at the river Hokianga, and remained amongst the Wesleyan missionaries for about a fortnight; after which he crossed over to the Bay of Islands, carried all the way in a litter by the natives. In this way he visited the whole of the missionary stations in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands, as well as Kaitaia, a station at the North Cape. On the arrival of H. M. S. Rattlesnake, he accompanied Captain Hobson (afterwards governor of New Zealand), to the river Thames, and the East Cape, returning at length to Sydney in that ship, where he arrived on the 27th of July after an absence of five months. When entering the heads of Port Jackson, one of the officers of the ship observed, "I think Mr. M. you may look upon this as your last visit to New Zealand;" upon which he replied, "No I don't, for I intend to be off again in about six weeks, the people in the colony are becoming too fine for me now. I am too old to preach before them, but I can talk to the New Zealanders." Of this, his last visit, we must give some account. Captain Livesay of the Pyramus, in a valuable letter to Mr. Nicholas, has given some interesting reminiscences of his passenger:-- "Devonport, November 29, 1837. "MY DEAR SIR,-- ... I looked forward to meeting you with inexpressible delight, to talk about our much esteemed friend Mr. Marsden, and compare notes about New Zealand; but we are born to disappointment, although I shall still look forward to have that pleasure on my return to England. "From the last account I had of Mr. Marsden, previous to my quitting New Zealand, I was informed that the trip had done him much good. When he left the ship, and indeed when I last saw him, which was a month afterwards, he used to walk with a great stoop; he was then able to walk upright, and take considerable exercise. The dear old man! it used to do my heart good to see his pious zeal in his Master's cause. Nothing ever seemed a trouble to him. He was always calm and cheerful, even under intense bodily suffering, which was the case sometimes from the gravel, which caused him great distress. His daughter Martha was a very great comfort to him; she was constantly with him, and very affectionate in her attentions. I did hope my next voyage would have been to New South Wales, that I might have the pleasure of seeing him once more, should God have spared him so long; but that thought must now be given up." ... The remainder of the letter has reference to the state and prospects of New Zealand. The sentiments are honourable to a British sailor. How happy it would have been for the Maori race, had all English captains who visited the Bay of Islands, been such men as Captain Livesay! He says, "It affords me great satisfaction to find that a committee are forming for the colonization of New Zealand, on the scale you intimate. It is very much to be desired indeed; as the poor natives are becoming a prey and a sacrifice to a set of dissolute wretches who do all in their power to sink the savage into the perfect brute, or by design and craft to cheat them out of all their possessions. Even those who call themselves respectable, are amongst this number, and one or two, to my certain knowledge, have purchased an immense extent of land for a mere song, depriving the rising generation of all their claims. The New Zealanders are upon the whole, a fine and intelligent race, capable of much if well directed. They are accused of low cunning, and covetousness in their dealings with the Europeans. Let the question be asked, who taught them to be so? Why, the Europeans themselves. They are said to be ferocious. I maintain that they are not half so much so as our own ancestors in the barbarous times of Britain; and where Christianity has been properly introduced, they are quite a different race of beings. Let but the ill weeds that have taken root there be torn up, and the wholesome plant of industry and sobriety, with the spirit of the gospel, sown in its place, and all the savage will soon cease to be." The "ill weeds" were springing up apace, and, as a consequence, the missionary cause was once more in peril. An English barque had lately been wrecked upon the coast, but fortunately Mr. Guard the captain, his wife, two children, and the crew, twenty-eight in all, escaped to land. At first, according to the statement of the captain, the natives treated them with kindness, which they soon exchanged, under what pretext, or in consequence of what provocations on either side, it would be useless to ask, for open hostilities. A quarrel was got up between two native tribes, and an engagement followed, in which twelve Europeans, and about forty Maories fell. Guard and his party were taken prisoners. It shows how great an improvement had taken place amongst the natives, that they were not massacred and devoured; but, on condition of returning with a cask of powder as a ransom for himself and the rest, Guard and five of his men were allowed to proceed, without further molestation, to Sydney; where he laid the matter before Sir Richard Bourke the governor. Relying on the accuracy of Guard's narrative, the governor, with the advice of the executive council, requested Captain Lambert to proceed with H.M.S. Alligator, which happened to be lying in Port Jackson, to obtain the restoration of the British subjects, then in the hands of the New Zealanders. He was instructed to abstain from any act of retaliation, and to obtain the restoration of the captives by amicable means; and Guard and his five men returned in the same ship. Soon after the arrival of the party at New Zealand, Guard recognised the chief who was now the proprietor of the shipwrecked woman and children; and the unsuspicious native rubbed noses with him in token of amity, at the same time expressing his readiness to give up his prisoners on receiving the "payment" guaranteed to him. This, however was not the way in which the affair was to be settled; Guard and his sailors seized him as a prisoner, and dragged him into the whale boat in which the party had gone ashore. The cruelty practised towards this unfortunate man, and the fearful havoc committed by the English, we gladly pass over. Such iniquitous transactions reflect but little credit on us as a Christian or a civilized people; and they were, moreover, in direct opposition to the benevolent instructions of Sir Richard Bourke. The British subjects were restored; as indeed they might have been without the loss of a single life, through the intervention of the missionaries, and of the British resident at the Bay of Islands, and the expedition having gained its object by force and stratagem, returned to Sydney with the troops and the liberated captives. This painful affair, as well as other acts of outrage, on the part of the natives, which were its natural consequence, made a deep impression at the time, and were a source of great uneasiness to Mr. Marsden. He saw at once the danger to which they exposed the missionaries and their cause, and felt, no doubt, a just reliance on himself. Unarmed and unprotected, had he been upon the spot, he would have accomplished more in his own person than all those warlike measures had effected, which anew embittered the Maori race against the Europeans. His record of his farewell visit was probably not kept with his former accuracy; but the chasm is well supplied by the interesting journal of his daughter, some extracts from which the reader will peruse with pleasure. We have the whole scene placed before us by her graceful pen, and we gain some glimpse into her father's character, which we should certainly not have gathered from his own modest, self-forgetting, memoranda. "_February 12, Sunday._--Had service on deck. The Rev. Mr. Wilkinson read prayers, and my father preached. The sailors were very attentive; the service was truly interesting from its novelty and the impressiveness of the scene; nothing around us but the wide waste of waters. "_13th._--At the suggestion of Captain L----, reading in the evenings was introduced. We began the History of Columbus, by Washington Irving, and the arrangement is that we are to read by turns." The weather proved boisterous, and it was not before the 21st they made the land. "_22nd._--Up early on deck to view the land, which presented a very bold and romantic appearance. "Not being able to obtain a pilot, the captain determined, lest he should lose the tide, Hokianga being a bar harbour, to take the vessel in himself. The dead lights were put in, and every arrangement made as we approached the bar. Not a voice was heard but that of the captain and the two men in the chains, heaving the lead. Every sailor was at his station, and the anchors in readiness to let go at a moment's warning. We sounded as shallow as 'a quarter less four,' when the ladies became alarmed, though we were obliged to keep our fears to ourselves, as the gentlemen very politely left us. The wind being light, the fear was the breakers would have overtaken the ship, thrown her upon her beam ends, and rendered her unmanageable; but providence guided and preserved us. "I seldom remember a more beautiful scene; the moon is near its full, and the banks of the river are very high, covered with the most luxuriant foliage. We were so delighted with the scenery that we would willingly have stayed up all night. As we proceeded up, the mountains appeared to lessen into hills. Several native hamlets, and two or three residences of Europeans, show that the busy hand of man has been engaged in the work of redeeming the wilderness from the wild dominion of nature. Anchored near the Wesleyan mission station, where we were kindly welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Turner. The mission here has been established nearly nine years; they have a neat chapel and one or two comfortable houses, and are about to form an additional station. The missionaries related several instances of the melancholy death of various New Zealanders who have opposed the progress of the mission. One chief became so incensed against the 'Atua,' for the death of his child, that he formed a circle of gunpowder, placed himself in the centre, and fired it. The explosion did not immediately destroy him; he lingered a few weeks in dreadful agony, and then died. "_Saturday._--The natives are coming in great numbers to attend divine worship. Mr. Turner preached, and afterwards my father addressed them. They listened with earnest attention, and were much pleased. Many of the old chiefs were delighted to see my father, and offered to build him a house, if he would remain. One said, 'Stay with us and learn our language, and then you will become our father and our friend, and we will build you a house.' 'No,' replied another, 'we cannot build a house good enough, but we will hire Europeans to do it for us.' "The whole congregation joined in the responses and singing, and though they have not the most pleasing voices, yet it was delightful to hear them sing one of the hymns commencing 'From Egypt lately come.'" The journey across from Hokianga to the Waimaté, as described by Miss Martha Marsden, shows, in the absence of railroads and steam carriages, an agreeable if not expeditious mode of conveyance. "Took leave of Mrs. Turner; and, mounted in a chair on the shoulders of two New Zealanders, I headed the procession. My father, Mr. Wilkinson, and the two children, were carried in 'kaw-shores,' or native biers, on which they carry their sick. We entered a forest of five miles, then stopped to dine. The natives soon cooked their potatoes, corn, etc., in their ovens, which they scoop in the sand, and after heating a number of stones, the potatoes are put in, covered with grass and leaves, and a quantity of water poured upon them; they were exquisitely steamed. As I approached one of the groups sitting at dinner, I was much affected by seeing one of them get up and ask a blessing over the basket of potatoes. "Five miles from Waimaté I left my chair, mounted on horseback, and reached Waimaté for breakfast. Old Nini accompanied us the whole way, and told my father if he attempted to ride he would leave him. The natives carried him the whole way with the greatest cheerfulness, and brought him through the most difficult places with the greatest ease. The distance they carried him was about twenty miles." The state of all the missions with regard to their spiritual work was now full of hope. Of the Wesleyan mission Mr. Marsden himself reports, "I found that many were inquiring after the Saviour, and that a large number attended public worship. The prospect of success to the Church of England Mission is very great. Since my arrival at the missionary station I have not heard one oath spoken by European or native; the schools and church are well attended, and the greatest order is observed among all classes. I met with many wherever I went, who were anxious after the knowledge of God. Wherever I went I found some who could read and write. They are all fond of reading, and there are many who never had an opportunity of attending the schools who, nevertheless, can read. They teach one another in all parts of the country, from the North to the East Cape." The native tribes were still at war with each other, and with the European settlers--the miserable effect of Captain Guard's rash conduct. From the missionary station at Pahia Mr. Marsden's daughter counted one morning twenty-one canoes passing up the bay. A battle followed, which she witnessed at a distance, and the Europeans all around fled to the missionary station. In the engagement three chiefs fell; a second fight occurred soon afterwards. "We have heard firing all day," she writes; "many have been killed; we saw the canoes pass down the river containing the bodies of the slain." Mr. Marsden himself was absent on a visit to the southward, or his presence might possibly have prevented these scenes of blood. Wherever the venerable man appeared, he was received by the converted natives with Christian salutations and tears of joy; the heathen population welcomed him with the firing of muskets and their rude war dances. Wherever he went, he was greeted with acclamations as the friend and father of the New Zealanders. One chieftain sat down upon the ground before him gazing upon him in silence, without moving a limb or uttering a single word for several hours. He was gently reproved by Mr. Williams for what seemed a rudeness. "Let me alone," said he, "let me take a last look; I shall never see him again." "One principal chief," writes Mr. Marsden, "who had embraced the gospel and been baptized, accompanied us all the way. We had to travel about forty miles, by land and water. He told me he was so unhappy at Hokianga that he could not get to converse with me from the crowds that attended, and that he had come to Waimaté to speak with me. I found him to be a very intelligent man, and anxious to know the way to heaven." While at Kaitai he held a constant levée, sitting in an arm-chair, in an open field, before the mission house; it was attended by upwards of a thousand Maories, who poured in from every quarter; many coming a distance of twenty or thirty miles, contented to sit down and gaze on his venerable features; and so they continued to come and go till his departure. With his characteristic kindness and good nature he presented each with a pipe and fig of tobacco; and when he was to embark at last, they carried him to the ship, a distance of six miles. Before leaving New Zealand, he wrote to the Church Missionary Society an account which glows with pious exultation, describing the success with which the Head of the church had at length been pleased to bless the labours of his faithful servants. Since his arrival, he says, he had visited many of the stations within the compass of a hundred miles. It was his intention to have visited all of them, from the North to the East Cape; but from the disturbed state of the country "it was not considered prudent for him to go to the south," where he still contemplated further efforts "when the country should be more settled in its political affairs." He had "observed a wonderful change: those portions of the sacred Scriptures which had been printed have had a most astonishing effect; they are read by the natives in every place where I have been; the natives teach one another, and find great pleasure in the word of God, and carry that sacred treasure with them wherever they go. Great numbers have been baptized, both chiefs and their people." He had met with some very pious chiefs, who had refused to share in the present war, and avowed their resolution to fight no more. One of them, at his own cost, had built a chapel, or place of public worship, which was visited by the missionaries; in this he himself taught a school, assisted by his son. "Waimaté, once the most warlike district in the island, is now," he says, "the most orderly and moral place I was ever in. My own mind has been exceedingly gratified by what I have seen and heard." Old age, it seems, is not always querulous; its retrospects are not always in favour of the past; the aged Christian walks with a more elastic step as he sees the fruit of his labour, and anticipates his own great reward. "Mine eyes," he concludes, "are dim with age like Isaac's; it is with some difficulty I can see to write." Nor had the weakness and credulity of advancing years led him to take for granted, as in second childhood old age is wont to do, the truth of first impressions, or the accuracy of every man's reports. He still gave to every subject connected with missions the closest attention, penetrated beneath the surface, and formed his own conclusions. While in New Zealand, for instance, he addresses the following queries to Mr. Matthews, one of the missionaries, on the subject of education:-- "April, 1837. "... I will thank you to return me what number of native young men there are employed from your station on the sabbath in visiting the natives, I mean the numbers who occasionally visit their countrymen and instruct them. What schools there are at the station, and who are the teachers? Have you an infant school, or a school for men and boys? a school for women? What do they learn? Do they learn to read and write? Do they understand figures? Have they renounced generally their former superstitions? At what period of the day do they attend school? Have they any meeting in the week-days for prayer and religious instruction? Do they appear to have any views of the Lord Jesus Christ as a Saviour? Any information you can give me, along with your brethren, will be very acceptable to the lovers of the gospel in New South Wales." "SAMUEL MARSDEN." On one point only he met with no success. He had not yet quite abandoned the pleasing dream of a Maori nation, united under one chief; a Christian people, governed by a code of native law. Tahiti naturally encouraged these bright visions, and seemed to show how easily they might be realized. There, for ten years past, under king Pomare, the wondrous spectacle had been presented to the world of a whole people, under the guidance of their king, rejecting idolatry, and with it all the base usages of savage life, and working out their own national regeneration; framing a Tahitian code of law on the sound principles of Christian jurisprudence, and cordially adopting it. Why should not a similar state of things be brought about in New Zealand? The instrumental agency in both islands was the same; namely, that of Christian missionaries, chiefly, if not entirely, English Christians, who carried with them, it might be supposed, to both islands the same reverence for order, and with it the same love of liberty. Were the Maories an inferior race, compared with the aborigines of the Tahitian group? On the contrary, the difference was rather in favour of the Maori; he was the more athletic, and consequently the more vigorous in his mental development; indeed, upon the whole, he stands unapproached by any other tribe of man uncivilized and in a state of nature; unless we go back to the heroic ages and find his equal amongst ancient Greeks at the dawning of their somewhat fabulous history. Yet the project failed; and Mr. Marsden was now obliged mournfully to admit that New Zealand's only hope lay in her annexation to the British crown. The two causes of the failure of these otherwise reasonable expectations are to be found, no doubt, first, in the circumstances of the Maori tribes, and secondly, in the pernicious effects produced by European traders and settlers. Tahiti was happy in possessing one sovereign. New Zealand was unfortunate in its multitude of petty chieftains. When the heart of king Pomare was gained, the confidence of a loyal and devoted people was at once won over. There was no rival to foment rebellion, or to seize the occasion of a religious festival, when he and his people were unarmed, to make inroads on his territory. With the assistance of his council, and under the advice of the faithful missonaries, a code of law was easily prepared, suited for all his subjects, and adapted to every part of his little kingdom. In New Zealand, on the contrary, the chiefs, each of whom claimed to be perfectly independent of the rest, were constantly at enmity with each other. The violent passions of civil war never slept--hatred, revenge, and jealousy. The missionaries, if cherished by Shunghie, were hated or feared by Shunghie's opponent. Their direct influence in the politics of the Maories was therefore, of necessity, slight. But the chief hindrance arose from the mutual animosities of the chiefs, and the want of confidence in each other which universally prevailed, both among chiefs and people. And it must be confessed with sorrow, that the evil example of the Europeans provoked the natives to fresh crimes, and indisposed them to all the restraints of civil government. The Polynesian Islands had, up to this period, known neither commerce nor colonization. Except a chance visit from a man-of-war, a European ship was scarcely ever seen; or the few which came and went were connected with the missions, and were manned by decent if not religious crews. The polluting influence of a debauched and drunken body of seamen, rolling in constant succession to its shores, had not yet tainted the moral atmosphere of Tahiti and its neighbouring group. And colonization had not even been attempted; the natives were left in full possession of their soil, no man making them afraid. In New Zealand all this was reversed. Wicked seamen infected even savages with new vices; and lawless settlers set an example of injustice, shocking even to New Zealanders. For these evils it was evident there was but one remedy, the strong hand of British rule. Take the following sketch from the pen of Mr. Marsden. After describing the happy state of the Christian settlement at Waimaté, he goes on to say: "On the opposite side of the harbour, a number of Europeans have settled along with the natives. Several keep public-houses, and encourage every kind of crime. Here drunkenness, adultery, murder, etc. are committed. There are no laws, judges, nor magistrates; so that Satan maintains his dominion without molestation. Some civilized government must take New Zealand under its protection, or the most dreadful evils will be committed by runaway convicts, sailors and publicans. There are no laws here to punish crimes. When I return to New South Wales, I purpose to lay the state of New Zealand before the colonial government, to see if anything can be done to remedy these public evils." "I hope in time," he says again, in a letter, dated May 16th, 1837, from Pahaia, to the Rev. James Matthews, "the chiefs will get a governor. I shall inform the Europeans in authority how much they are distressed in New Zealand for want of a governor with power to punish crime. The Bay of Islands is now in a dreadful state.... It is my intention to return to New South Wales by the first opportunity." That opportunity soon appeared, and the venerable founder of its missions, the advocate of its native population, the friend of all that concerned its present or spiritual welfare, took his last leave of the shores of New Zealand. Preparations were made for his reception on board H. M. S. Rattlesnake. The signal gun was fired, and all the friends from Waimaté and Keri-Keri arrived to accompany their revered father to the beach, "Where," says one of them who was present, "like Paul at Miletus, we parted with many benedictions: sorrowing most of all that we should see his face again no more. Many could not bid him adieu. The parting was with many tears." His happy temperament always diffused pleasure and conciliated friendship. On board the Rattlesnake he was welcomed with warm, affectionate, respect. Captain Hobson, who was afterwards for a time governor of New Zealand, knew his worth, and felt honoured by his company; and Mr. Marsden fully appreciated the high character and courtesy of the commander, whose widow retains a handsome piece of plate presented to her husband by his grateful passenger, as a memorial of the happiness he enjoyed on this his last voyage homewards. The chaplain of the Rattlesnake noted down an affecting conversation with the aged minister upon his voyage, which we are permitted to insert:-- "We enjoyed a most lovely evening. I had a long conversation with Mr. Marsden on deck. He spoke of almost all his old friends having preceded him to the eternal world; Romaine, Newton, the Milners, Scott, Atkinson, Robinson, Buchanan, Mason Good, Thomason, Rowland Hill, Legh Richmond, Simeon, and others. He then alluded in a very touching manner to his late wife; they had passed, he observed, more than forty years of their pilgrimage through this wilderness in company, and he felt their separation the more severely as the months rolled on. I remarked that their separation would be but for a short period longer. 'God grant it,' was his reply; then lifting his eyes towards the moon, which was peacefully shedding her beams on the sails of our gallant bark, he exclaimed with intense feeling. 'Prepare me, Lord, for thy right hand, Then come the joyful day.'" CHAPTER XIII. Mr. Marsden's ministerial pursuits and journeys--Love of the Country and of Patriarchal story--His Old Age--Its mental features--Anecdotes--Love of Children--Bishop Broughton--His reverence for Mr. Marsden's character--Mr. Marsden's views of Death, etc.--His Habits of Prayer--His Illness and Death. Mr. Marsden had now passed the allotted span of human life, though his days were not yet "labour and sorrow." Entering upon his seventy-second year with stooping gait and failing eyesight and a decaying memory, he had otherwise few of the mental infirmities of age. He was still a perfect stranger to fear, as well as to that nervous restlessness and susceptibility which wears the appearance of it, though often found, as may be daily observed, in connexion with the truest courage. After his return home from his last voyage he was attacked, when driving with his youngest daughter, upon one of his excursions in the bush, by two famous bush rangers Wormley and Webber, part of a gang who for a period of two years kept the whole country in a state of terror. One of the ruffians presented a loaded pistol at his breast and another at his daughter's, threatening with horrid imprecations to shoot them both, if they said a word, and bidding his daughter to empty her father's pockets into their hands. Perfectly undismayed, Mr. Marsden remonstrated with them on their wicked course of life, telling them at last that he should soon see them again, he had no doubt, on the gallows. At parting, though charged, with the usual threats, not to look behind him, he turned round, and continued, while they were in sight, to warn them in the same strain of the certain consequences of a life of crime. His admonition was soon verified; the wretched men were apprehended for other outrages and sentenced to death, and he himself attended them from the condemned cell to the place of execution. These excursions into the country around Paramatta, where he had gone about for a period of nearly forty years doing the work of an evangelist or home missionary, were continued to the last. To wind through devious paths in the bush in his one horse chaise, where his good horse _Major_ seemed as if trained to penetrate, gave him the highest pleasure. The way was often trackless, and he was obliged to ask his companion whether the trace of a cartwheel could be seen. Yet there was an instinctive feeling of safety in his company, and a refreshment in his conversation, which always made the vacant seat in the gig prized by those who knew and loved him. "As he drove along," says a Christian lady, the wife of Captain B---- who was his companion on some of his last journeys, "wherever he went there was always to be found some testimony to that goodness and mercy which had followed him all the days of his life. Some Ebenezer he could raise where helped perhaps in an encounter with a bushranger, having only the sword of the Spirit with which to defend himself and disarm his foe, or some Bethel, it might be, where like Jacob he had been enabled to wrestle and prevail. With such a companion no one could be a loser. On these excursions, no matter to what distance, he seemed to think preparations needless, he would travel miles and miles without any previous consideration for his own comfort or convenience. Even a carpet-bag was an encumbrance. He had been too long accustomed to make his toilet with the New Zealander, and take with him his meal of fern-root, to be particular, or to take thought, what he should eat, or wherewithal should he be clothed." His love of the country and of rural scenes gave a strong colouring, and great originality to his preaching as well as to his own religious character. He called his estate "The plains of Mamre." This property we may remind the reader had been presented to Mr. Marsden in the early days of the colony, when land uncleared was absolutely worthless, to eke out his insufficient stipend. It had now become valuable, and he was exposed both in the colony and in England to many unjust remarks, even from those who should have known him better, on the score of his reputed wealth. His own justification of himself is more than sufficient. Being told that he was charged with avarice, "Why," said he, "they might as well find fault with Abraham whose flocks and herds multiplied. Abraham never took any trouble about it, nor do I. I can't help their increasing;" and he added, a remark so true and of such pregnant import that it ought for ever to have put to silence this miserable carping; "It was not for myself, but for the benefit of this colony and New Zealand, that I ever tried to promote agriculture or the improvement in sheep or cattle." Had he done nothing else for Australia, his introduction of Merino sheep with a view to the growth of wool would have marked him down upon the roll of her greatest benefactors. Through life his choicest topics in the pulpit had been the patriarchs, their lives and characters but as he grew old, he seemed unconsciously to rank amongst their number; to fall into and become one of their own body; himself a Christian patriarch. It was the frequent remark of his friends that he spoke of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, just as if he had lived in their times, heard their conversations, and been well acquainted with them. It is much to be regretted that more full and accurate reports of his sermons and conversations should not have been kept. The truth and originality of his remarks would have made them invaluable. When seated in his chair upon the lawn before his house, surrounded by his family and friends, his conversations took the prevailing turn of his mind, and he used to dwell on the incidents of patriarchal life with a depth of feeling and a power of picturesque description of which one would be glad that the memorials should not have been allowed to perish. At an examination of the King's School at Sydney, the headmaster having requested him to ask the boys some questions upon Scripture history, forgetting the business in hand, he broke out into a long and interesting address on patriarchal life and manners. The end contemplated by the headmaster was of course frustrated, "but we dare say," says the colonial journalist who tells the story, "there are many young persons now growing up into manhood, who, to this day remember the pious and excellent observations of the venerable man." His old age exhibited some traits not always to be found, even in good men, after a long life passed among scenes of danger or amidst the hardening warfare of personal animosities. Though to the last bold in reproving sin his real character was that of gentleness and the warmest social affection. None but the bad were ever afraid of him; on the contrary, his presence diffused a genial light and warmth in every company. Cruel savages and little children loved him alike; the wisest men gathered instruction from his lips, while they found pleasure in his simple courtesy and manly open heartedness. He brought home with him in the Rattlesnake from New Zealand, several Maori youths; "they seemed to love and respect their _Matua_, as they called him, more than any one, or anything, besides. They used to run after his gig like joyous children, and to attempt to catch his eye as if to bask in the sunshine of his benevolent countenance." "They delighted;" says Mrs. B----, to whose manuscript of Mr. Marsden's last years of life we are again indebted, "to come to our barrack apartments with him, always making their way to the bookcase first, take out a book and point upwards, as if everybody who had anything to do with 'Matua' must have all their books leading to heaven. Pictures pleased them next; when they would direct each others' attention to what they considered worthy of notice, with extraordinary intelligence; but when the boiled rice and sweets made their appearance, digging their elbows into each others' sides, with gesticulations of all sorts, and knowing looks, putting their fingers to their mouths, and laughing with greedy joy, Mr. Marsden all the time watching their movements, and expressive faces, as a kind nurse would the gambols and frolics of her playful charge, saying with restrained, but grateful emotion, 'Yes, sir, nothing like bringing the gospel at once to the heathen. If "music charms the savage breast," sir, why should not the sweetest sounds that ever met man's ear do more? Why, sir, the gospel turns a worse than savage into a man, ay, and into a woman too.' He then related to us the anecdote of a New Zealand woman who, for the last remaining years of her life preached the gospel among her own sex, having acknowledged to him, that before he had brought the word of God to New Zealand, and the Spirit applied it to her heart, she had killed and eaten nineteen children." His last communication to the Church Missionary Society, dated December 10th, 1837, and received after his death, is full of hope for his beloved New Zealanders. "I am happy to say the mission goes on well amidst every difficulty. I visited many places in my last voyage from the North Cape to Cloudy Bay. The gospel has made a deep impression upon many of the natives, who now lead godly lives." The letter, which is written in a large and straggling hand, as though the pen were no longer under its usual firm control, concludes with these touching words: "I am now very feeble. My eyes are dim, and my memory fails me. I have done no duty on the sabbath for some weeks through weakness. When I review all the way the Lord has led me through this wilderness I am constrained to say, _Bless the Lord, O my soul, etc_, "Yours very affectionately, "SAMUEL MARSDEN." The innocent games of children pleased him to the last. When such meetings were more rare than they have now become, the children of the Paramatta school once a year assembled on his lawn, and then his happiness was almost equal to their own. In his own family, and amongst the children of his friends, he would even take his share in their youthful gambols, and join the merry party at blind man's buff. Though, as he said of himself, he "never sang a song in his life, for he learned to sing hymns when ten years old, and never sang anything else," yet he was charmed with the sweet and hearty voices of children joining in some innocent little song, and it pleased him better still if it finished off with a noisy chorus. Yet all this was consistent with his character as a grave, wise old man. Though mirthful, he was never frivolous; in a moment, if occasion called for it, he was ready to discuss the most serious subjects, or to give his opinion upon matters of importance; and he had the enviable talent of mingling even pious conversation with the sports of children. It was observed that though always unembarrassed in the presence of strangers whatever their rank or importance might be, he never seemed completely happy but in the company of persons of true piety. He does not appear to have spoken very freely in ordinary society on the subject of personal religion, still less on the subject of his own experience; but his emotions were deep, and out of the fulness of the heart his lips would speak, in the midst of such a circle, of the loving-kindness of the Lord. The sense of his own unworthiness seems to have been always present. Of all God's servants he might have been, as he verily thought himself to be, the most unprofitable; and when any circumstance occurred which led him to contrast the justice of God to others who were left to die impenitent, with the mercy shown to himself, he spoke with a humiliation deeply affecting. With scenes of vice and human depravity few living men were more conversant than he, yet to the last such was the delicacy of his conscience that the presence of vice shocked him as much as if the sight were new. "Riding down to the barracks one morning," says the lady whose narrative we have already quoted, "to invite Captain B---- and myself that day to dinner to meet the bishop, he had passed what, alas! used to be too frequent an object, a man lying insensible and intoxicated in the road. His usually cheerful countenance was saddened, and after telling us his errand, we could not but ask the cause of his distress. He gave us the unhappy cause, and turning his horse's head round to leave us, he uttered with deep emotion-- 'Why was I made to hear thy voice And enter while there's room?' Throughout the day the subject dwelt upon his mind; after dinner the conversation turned to it, and he was casually asked who was the author of the hymn he had quoted in the morning. He shook his head and said, 'I cannot tell, perhaps it was Watts, or Wesley,' and several hymn books were produced in which the bishop and others instituted a fruitless search, the bishop at length saying, 'I can't find the hymn, Mr. Marsden.' 'Can't you, sir,' was the reply, 'that is a pity, for it is a good hymn, sir--says what the Bible says, free sovereign grace for poor sinners. No self-righteous man can get into heaven, sir, he would rather starve than take the free gift.' In the course of the day the conversation turning upon New Zealand, the bishop expressed the opinion, once almost universal though now happily exploded, an opinion, too, which Mr. Marsden himself had regarded with some favour in his younger days, that civilization must precede the introduction of the gospel; and his lordship argued, as Mr. Marsden himself had argued thirty years before, in favour of expanding the mind of savages by the introduction of arts and sciences, being impressed with the idea that it was impossible to present the gospel with success to minds wholly unenlightened. Mr. Marsden's answer is thus recorded--'Civilization is not necessary before Christianity, sir; do both together if you will, but you will find civilization follow Christianity, easier than Christianity to follow civilization. Tell a poor heathen of his true God and Saviour, point him to the works he can see with his own eyes, for these heathen are no fools, sir--great mistake to send illiterate men to them--they don't want men learned after the fashion of this world, but men taught in the spirit and letter of the Scripture. I shan't live to see it, sir, but I may hear of it in heaven, that New Zealand with all its cannibalism and idolatry will yet set an example of Christianity to some of the nations now before her in civilization.'" It will not be out of place to offer a passing remark upon Mr. Marsden's conduct to Dr. Broughton, the first bishop of Sydney. As an Episcopalian, sincerely attached to the church of England, he had long desired the introduction of the episcopate into the colonial church, of which, as senior chaplain, he himself had been the acknowledged leader for so many years. When the appointment was made it was a matter of just surprise to his friends that he was passed over in silence, while an English clergyman was placed over him to govern the clergy, amongst whom he had so long presided, and whose entire respect and confidence he had gained. There is no doubt that his integrity and fearless honesty had rendered him somewhat unacceptable to men in power, and that to this his exclusion is, in a great measure, to be ascribed. But this slight brought out some of the finest features in his truly noble character. He had never sought either honours, wealth, or preferment for himself. If a disinterested man ever lived it was Samuel Marsden. The only remark which his family remember to have heard him make upon the subject was in answer to a friend, who had expressed surprise at the slight thus put upon him, in these words--"It is better as it is; I am an old man; my work is almost done." And when Dr. Broughton, the new bishop, arrived in the colony, he was received by Mr. Marsden not with cold and formal respect but with Christian cordiality. When the new bishop was installed he assisted at the solemn service; the eloquent author of the "Prisoners of Australia,"[K] who chanced to be present, thus describes the scene--"On a more touching sight mine eyes had never looked than when the aged man, tears streaming down his venerable cheek, poured forth, amidst a crowded and yet silent assemblage, the benediction upon him into whose hands he had thus, as it were, to use his own metaphor, 'yielded up the keys of a most precious charge;' a charge which had been his own devoted care throughout the storms and the tempests of a long and difficult pilotage. And now like another Simeon, his work well nigh accomplished, the gospel spreading far and wide over the colony and its dependencies, and the prayer of his adopted people answered, he could say without another wish, 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.'" Though differing from him, we may add, on some points, Mr. Marsden retained to the last sincere regard for bishop Broughton, who in return fully appreciated the high and lofty character of his senior chaplain. "Well!" said he one day when he heard of his last illness, breaking out after a thoughtful silence, "if there ever was a truly honest man, Mr. Marsden certainly is one;" and after his death he publicly expressed his "deep sense of the loss he had experienced, and the painful void he felt in the absence of his aged and faithful companion who had so often stood by his side, whose genuine piety and natural force of understanding," said he, "I held in the highest esteem while he lived, and still retain them in sincerely affectionate remembrance." [K] London: Hatchard, 1841. Conscious that in the course of nature his decease could not be far distant, death was now his frequent meditation. He viewed its approach without levity and without alarm. Familiar through life with death in every form, his feelings were not blunted; he still felt it was a solemn thing to die, but he had experienced the love of Him who had tasted death for every man, and was no longer "subject to bondage through fear of death." He continued his pastoral visits to the sick and dying to the last, and some of those who were raised from a bed of languishing, and who survived their pastor, speak of the affectionate kindness, the delicacy and tenderness, as well as the deep-toned spirituality of mind he showed in the sick chamber, as something which those who had not witnessed it would be backward to credit. One of the last letters which he penned filled three sides of folio paper, addressed to a friend who had met with a severe accident in being thrown from a carriage; it contained the most consoling and Scriptural aids and admonitions; it was unfortunately lost by its possessor on a voyage to India, or it would have proved, we are assured, an acquisition to our memoir, of real interest and importance. As he stepped out of his gig, his family easily perceived from his manner if he had been visiting the chamber of death, and never presumed to break a sacred silence that was sure to follow his deep-drawn sigh till he was pleased to do so himself. This he did in general by the solemn and subdued utterance of a text from Scripture, or some verse of a favourite hymn. The tears often fell down his aged cheeks while slowly articulating, in a suppressed voice, "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord;" or from one of Watts's hymns. "Oh could we die with those that die," etc. After this touching relief he seemed to feel more at liberty to speak on future events connected with his own decease, when he should be sitting down, as he frequently said, with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of God. Indeed his happy, social spirit led him to connect the joys of heaven with the society of saints and patriarchs and his own departed friends. Sitting at dinner with the bishop and others as his guests, his mind abstracted itself from the surrounding scene, and he addressed the Christian friend to whose notices of his last days we have already had recourse: "You know, madam, you and I are to take an alphabetical list some day of all the names of the good men I expect soon to meet in heaven; there will be (counting them up upon his fingers) John Wesley, Isaac Watts, the two Milners, Joseph and Isaac, John Newton and Thomas Scott, Mr. Howels of Long Acre, and Matthew Henry----" Here the conversation of the party broke off the solemn reverie. Yet all this tranquillity was consistent with that natural fear of death which for the wisest purposes God has implanted in man, and which Adam must have known in paradise, or else the Divine prohibition and the threatened penalty, "in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die," could have had no force and appealed to no motive. "In the month of September, after his last voyage, he called at the house of his friend, the Rev. Mr. Cartwright, with a young lady from New Zealand, to introduce her to Mrs. Cartwright. The door was opened by his aged and now deeply afflicted friend and brother in the ministry, for Mrs. Cartwright had expired in the night, after a few hours' illness. Mr. Marsden, with his usual cheerfulness of manner, said, 'Well! I have brought Miss W. to introduce her to Mrs. Cartwright.' 'Stop! stop, my friend,' responded the mourner, in a solemn manner, 'don't you know that Mrs. Cartwright is dead?' 'Dead? dead?' replied Mr. Marsden. 'Oh no; oh no. You must be in joke; it is too serious a matter to make a joke of, Mr. Cartwright.' 'Indeed,' responded Mr. Cartwright, 'it is too true. Come, and I will convince you,' and then led him to the room where the remains of his departed wife lay. Mr. Marsden approached the body, saying, 'Oh! she is not dead; no, no, she is not dead;' (the bright complexion remaining unchanged), 'she is not dead;' and then, passing his hand over the face, the cold chill of death dissipated the delusion. 'Yes, she is dead, she is dead,' and leaving the room, he hurried away to give vent to his feelings." As he contemplated his own near approach to the eternal state, a few chosen passages of Scripture fell often from his lips; and it was remarked they were almost the only repetitions he made use of; for his mind was richly stored with Scripture, which he seemed to bring forth with endless variety, and often in the happiest combination; but now he often repeated the words of Job, "He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not," chap. xiv. 2. And those of Zechariah, "Your fathers, where are they? and the prophets, do they live for ever?" chap. i. 5. Like Cornelius, he had been a devout man, a man of prayer through life. He believed in the promises of effectual aid from God the Holy Spirit, to carry on the work of grace in his own soul. Nerved with this faith, he waged a ceaseless war against corruptions within, and temptations from without. And while he viewed the promises of assistance from the Holy Spirit, as given not to supersede our own exertions, but to animate them, he simply trusted to Him to become the author of his complete sanctification. And all the blessed fruits of faith were found richly clustering round his character. It was his constant habit, after his return from a journey, to spend some time in his room alone, engaged, no doubt, in holy communing with God. When he prayed in the family, or before his sermon in the pulpit, where he seldom used a form, the rich and fervid unction, the variety and copiousness of his supplications and thanksgivings, seemed to intimate how closely he had been wont to commune in secret with his heavenly Father. The fifty-first Psalm now often supplied the words for many a humble confession of sin, and many an earnest aspiration for larger supplies of the Holy Spirit's sanctifying influences, both in the pulpit and elsewhere. He appears always to have held frequent communion with God in ejaculatory prayer throughout the day. To one whose engagements were so many, and whose interruptions were necessarily so frequent, the practice was no doubt most beneficial. Thus the lamp of God in his soul was always trimmed, and the light went not out as age and infirmities drew on. His friends now remarked his frequent abstraction from the scenes around, while his moving lip and solemn gesture significantly intimated the direction of his mind, and the occupation of his thoughts. His mind became daily more spiritual, and even when in the midst of visitors he seemed often to be absorbed in silent prayer. "An incident which seems to show that he had a presentiment of his approaching end occurred on the last Sunday on which the holy communion was administered before his death. Although in his usual health, he did not assist in the service, as he always had done for a long period of forty-five years in the same congregation; and when the officiating minister was ready to distribute the bread and wine, he remained in his pew, apparently overcome by his feelings. A pause ensued, when, as he still did not attempt to move, the Rev. Henry Bobart, his son-in-law, thought it advisable to take the elements to him. Many of his congregation were affected to tears, impressed with the belief that they might not again receive from his venerable hands those emblems of the Saviour's love. He had never yet been present at the church without assisting at the solemn rite. Such fears were but too truly and sadly realized. On the Sunday evening, at the parsonage, it was the custom, at family worship, to read one of a course of sermons. The Sunday before his death, when he was still apparently as well as usual, he requested that the one in course for that evening might be laid aside and Bradley's sermon the 'Morrow unknown,' from the text 'Boast not thyself of to-morrow,' substituted. Some slight objection was made; but on his again expressing his wish, it was of course complied with. The remarks made by him upon the subject during the evening excited the apprehensions of his family that the coming week might be one of trial, but they little thought that ere the next sabbath one so loved and revered would be removed from them." On Tuesday the 8th of May, 1838, a few of his friends visited him at his own house; he wore his usual cheerfulness, and they wished him, as they thought, a short farewell as he stepped into his gig on a journey of about five and-twenty-miles. In passing through the low lands contiguous to Windsor, the cold suddenly affected him, and he complained of illness on his arrival at the house of his friend, the Rev. Mr. Styles, the chaplain of the parish. Erysipelas in the head broke out, and a general stupor followed, so that he became insensible. His mind wandered amongst the scenes to which his life had been devoted, and he uttered a few incoherent expressions about the factory, the orphan school, and the New Zealand mission. "Though he spoke but little," says his friend, Mr. Styles, in his funeral sermon, "yet in his few conscious moments he said quite enough to show that the Saviour whom he served through life was with him in the time of trial. A single remark was made to him by a bystander on the value of a good hope in Christ in the hour of need. 'Yes,' said he, 'that hope is indeed precious to me now;' and on the following evening, his last on earth, he was heard repeating the words 'precious, precious,' as if still in the same strain of thought which that remark had suggested. Soon after, inflammation having reached the brain, his spirit was released. On Saturday morning, the 12th of May, he entered--who can doubt?--upon the enjoyment of his 'eternal and exceeding great reward.'" * * * * * He was buried in his own churchyard at Paramatta. Upwards of sixty carriages formed the mourning train, and a numerous assemblage of mourners, including most of the public functionaries in the colony, followed him to the grave. Of these, some who had in years long past thwarted and opposed him came at last to offer an unfeigned tribute of deep respect. A few had been his early associates in the ministry, and in every good word and work. The majority were a youthful generation, to whom he was only known as a wise and venerable minister of God. His parishioners had been most of them brought up under his instructions, and had been taught from their infancy to look up to him with respect and love. The solemn burial service was read by the Rev. Dr. Cowper, who first came out to the colony at Mr. Marsden's solicitation. He stood over the grave and addressed the mourners on the early devotedness of their departed friend and pastor to the great work of the ministry, told them how solemnly he had dedicated himself to God before he left England in his youth, and reminded them of the fidelity with which through evil and good report he had endured his Master's cross, despising the shame. Australia seemed at length fully to appreciate his worth. It was quite fitting, and indeed an additional tribute to his integrity, that some mutterings of calumny should be uttered by ungodly men, even as the grave closed over him, and that a priest of the apostate church of Rome should catch them up, and gladly give expression to them. With this exception the colony was unanimous, as were the friends of religion in England, and throughout the world, in mourning for him as for one who had been great as an evangelist in the church of Christ, and as a philanthropist second to none who have ever devoted their lives to the welfare of their fellow creatures. It was proposed to erect a monument to his memory by public subscription; the proposition was warmly approved on all sides, and subscriptions were offered to a considerable amount. Whole families became subscribers--parents, and children, and domestic servants, all ready thus to testify their reverence. On further consideration, it was thought better to erect a church to his memory on a piece of his own land, which he himself had devised for that purpose, to which the name of Marsfield should be given; and the design, we believe, has been carried into effect, at the cost of about six thousand pounds. The public press, not only in Australia but in England, published biographical sketches of his life and labours, with articles on his motives and character. The great missionary societies recorded his death with becoming feelings of reverential love. The notice of him in the minutes of the Church Missionary Society, the reader will not be displeased to find in these pages. It was read at their annual meeting at Exeter-hall, and published in their thirtieth report. "The Committee of the Church Missionary Society record the death of the late Rev. Samuel Marsden with feelings of deep respect for his personal character and gratitude to the Great Head of the church, who raised up, and who so long preserved, this distinguished man, for the good of his own, and of future generations. "In him the Committee recognise an individual whom Providence had endowed with a vigorous constitution, both of body and mind, suited to meet the circumstances which ever attend a course of new and arduous labours. Entering upon the duties of his chaplaincy forty-five years ago, at a time when the colonists of New South Wales were, for the most part, of abandoned character and suffering the penalty of the law, he, with admirable foresight, anticipated the probable future destinies of that singular and important colony, and never ceased to call the attention of both the local and home governments to the great duty of providing for the interests, both temporal and spiritual, of the rapidly increasing population by a proportionate increase in the number of colonial chaplains. "In the discharge of his diversified duties, the native energies of his mind were conspicuously exhibited in the undisturbed ardour, public spirit, and steady perseverance, with which his various plans of usefulness were prosecuted; while his high natural gifts were sanctified by those Christian principles, which from his youth up, he maintained and adorned, both by his teaching and by his life. "But it is to his exertions in behalf of Christian missions that the Committee are bound especially to call the attention of the Society. While he omitted no duty of his proper ministerial calling, his comprehensive mind quickly embraced the vast spiritual interests, till then well nigh entirely unheeded, of the innumerable islands of the Pacific Ocean, whose 'inhabitants were sitting in darkness, and in the shadow of death.' "Under the influence of these considerations, Mr. Marsden zealously promoted the labours of the different societies which have established missions in the South Seas. And it is to his visits to New Zealand, begun twenty-five years ago, and often since repeated, and to his earnest appeals on behalf of that people, that the commencement and consolidation of the Society's missions in the Northern Island are to be attributed. "In calling to mind the long series of eminent services rendered to the Society by Mr. Marsden, the committee notice with peculiar satisfaction the last visit made by him, in the year 1836, to the Society's missions in New Zealand--a visit justly termed by the Lord Bishop of Australia 'Apostolical.' With paternal authority and affection, and with the solemnity of one who felt himself to be standing on the verge of eternity, he then gave his parting benediction to the missionaries and the native converts." And thus was the man honoured in his death, whose life had been one long conflict with obloquy and slander. With few exceptions his enemies had died away, or been gradually led to abandon their prejudices, and many of them now loved and revered the man whom they had once hated or despised. This, however, is but the usual recompense of a life of consistent holiness. God often allows his servants to live and even to die under a cloud of prejudice; but sooner or later, even the world does homage to their virtues and confesses its admiration of the Christian character, while the church of Christ glorifies God in the grace which made their departed brother to shine as a light in the world. CHAPTER XIV. Character of Mr. Marsden--His Life and Labours. The reader may naturally expect in conclusion a summary of Mr. Marsden's character. In attempting this, we are by no means insensible to the difficulty of the undertaking. Indiscriminate eulogy, and the arrogance which affects to blame in order to establish its own claim to superior wisdom, are both alike impertinent and unbecoming. Yet it is not easy to speak of one whose motives were so high, whose labours so constant and self-denying, and whose triumphs so remarkable, without enthusiasm. While, on the other hand, those infirmities which may generally be detected even in the best men, and which truth requires to be impartially noted down, did not much affect his public life; and we have felt all along as we have written with the disadvantage of having known him only by the report of others. Still, however, something should be attempted. The character of Mr. Marsden is too instructive to be lost; perhaps few great men ever lived whose example was more calculated for general usefulness,--for the simple reason that he displayed no gigantic powers, no splendid genius; he had only a solid, well ordered, mind, with which to work,--no other endowments than those which thousands of his fellow men possess. It was in the _use of his materials_ that his greatness lay. Mr. Marsden was a man of a masculine understanding, of great decision of character, and an energy which nothing could subdue. He naturally possessed such directness and honesty of purpose, that his intentions could never be mistaken; and he seemed incapable of attempting to gain his purpose by those dexterous shifts and manoeuvres which often pass current, even amongst professing Christians, as the proper, if not laudable, resources of a good diplomatist, or a thorough man of business. When he had an object in view, it was always worthy of his strenuous pursuit, and nothing stopped him in his efforts to obtain it, except the impossibility of proceeding further. Had his mind been less capacious such firmness would often have degenerated into mere obstinacy; had it been less benevolent and less under the influence of religion, it would have led him, as he pressed rudely onwards, to trample upon the feelings, perhaps upon the rights, of other men. But he seems, whenever he was not boldly confronting vice, to have been of the gentlest nature. In opposing sin, especially when it showed itself with effrontery in the persons of magistrates and men in power, he gave no quarter and asked for none. There was a quaintness and originality about him, which enabled him to say and do things which were impossible to other men. There was a firmness and inflexibility, combined with earnest zeal, which in the days of the reformers would have placed him in their foremost rank. None could be long in his society without observing that he was a man of another mould than those around him. There was an air of unconscious independence in all he did which, mixed with his other qualities, clearly showed to those who could read his character, that he was a peculiar instrument in the hands of God to carry out his own purposes. These traits are illustrated by many remarkable events in his life. When he first arrived in New South Wales, while theft, blasphemy, and every other crime, prevailed to an alarming extent among the convicts, the higher classes of society, the civil and military officers, set a disgraceful example of social immorality. Such is the account given by a Sydney periodical a few weeks after Mr. Marsden's decease, which goes on to say: "Many an individual of a more plastic nature might have been moulded by the prevailing fashion of the age in which he lived, and instead of endeavouring to struggle against the tide of popular opinion, would have yielded in all probability to its seducing influence. Such was not the case with Mr. Marsden. When he was opposed on all hands, and even by the civil and military authorities of the day, he faithfully performed his duty, and careless of the powerful coalitions combined for his destruction, 'all the ends he aimed at were his country's, his God's, and truth's.' Educated in the school of the Milners, the Simeons, and the Fletchers, he was not disposed to flatter the vices of any man; but with plainness and sincerity of speech, he discoursed 'of righteousness, temperance and judgment to come.'" He has been known to rebuke sin at a dinner-table in such a manner as to electrify the whole company. Once, arriving late, he sat down in haste, and did not for a few minutes perceive the presence of one who should have been the wife of the host, but who stood in a very different relation to him. Mr. Marsden always turned a deaf ear to scandal, and in the excess of his charity was sometimes blind to facts which were evident enough to others. The truth now flashed upon him, and though such things were little thought of in the colony, he rose instantly from the table, calling to the servant in a decided tone to bring his hat, and without further ceremony, or another word, retired. That such a man should raise up a host of bitter enemies is not to be wondered at. To these qualities his great successes in life, under God, were due. The young chaplain who single handed confronted and at length bore down the profligacy of New South Wales, and the shameless partiality of its courts of justice (the immediate result and consequence of the licentious lives and connexions of the magistrates) planned, and was himself the first to adventure upon the mission to New Zealand. Against the rashness of this attempt the timid expostulations of his friends, the hesitation of the captains who declined so perilous an adventure, and even the remonstrances of Governor Macquarie himself weighed not a feather in the scale. He saw his way clearly; it was the path of duty, and along it he must go. And when, ten years afterwards, scarcely a nominal convert had been won from among the cannibals, when tens of thousands of good money had been spent, when the church at home was almost weary of the project, and half disposed to give it up, he was still true as ever to the cause. He neither bolstered up his courage with noisy protestations, nor attempted to cheer the languid zeal of others by the slightest exaggerations, but quietly went forward calmly resting upon the two great pillars, the _commands_ and the _promises_ of God. So again with respect to the Polynesian missions; at first he showed little of that enthusiasm in which some of its promoters were caught as in a whirlwind, and carried off their feet. But high principle endures when enthusiasm has long worn out. And it was to the firm and yet cheering remonstrances of Samuel Marsden, and to the weight which his representations had with the churches of Christ in England, that the directors were indebted for the ability to maintain their ground, and that this perhaps the most successful of Protestant missions, was not finally abandoned upon the very eve of its triumphs. While he embraced large and comprehensive projects, it was one of his striking peculiarities that he paid close attention to minute details. Some minds beginning with the vast and theoretical, work backwards into the necessary details; others setting out upon that which is minute and practical, from the necessities of the hour and the duties of the day before them seem to enlarge their circle and to build up new projects as they proceed. The former may be men of greater genius, but the latter are in general the more successful, and to these Mr. Marsden belonged. The cast of his mind was eminently practical. No crude visions of distant triumphs led him away from the duties which belonged to the scene and circumstances in which providence had placed him. Paramatta was for many years the model parish of New South Wales, although its pastor was the soul of the New Zealand mission, and of many a philanthropic enterprise besides. Commissioner Biggs, in his "Report of Inquiry," which was published by order of the House of Commons, observes that "Mr. Marsden, though much occupied by the business of the missions which he conducted, and by the superintendence of the orphan school which he had himself called into existence, was remarkably attentive to the duties of his ministry." "The congregation at Paramatta appeared to me to be more respectable than at the other places of worship, and the choral parts of the service were admirably performed by the singers, who have been taught under the direction of the Rev. S. Marsden." He was well known to all his parishioners, to whom he paid constant ministerial visits; his attention to the sick, whether at their own homes or the government hospital, was unremitting, and here his natural shrewdness, sharpened as it was by his spiritual penetration, showed itself in his insight into the true character of those he dealt with. Nothing disgusted him more than a want of reality. High professions from inconsistent lips were loathsome to him, and his rebukes were sometimes sharp. A gentleman, whose habits of life were not altogether consistent with Christian simplicity and deadness to the world, had been reading "Mammon," when that volume had just made its appearance, and with that partial eye with which we are too apt to view our own failings, had come to the flattering conclusion that by contrast with the monster depicted in "Mammon," the desires he felt to add field to field and house to house, were not covetousness, but that diligence in business which the Scriptures inculcate. In the happy excitement of the discovery, he exultingly exclaimed, "Well, thank God, I have no covetousness." Mr. Marsden, who had read no more about covetousness than he found in the Bible, had sat silent; rising from his chair, and taking his hat, he merely said, "Well, I think it is time for me to go: and so, sir, you thank God that you are not as other men are. You have no covetousness? havn't you? Why, sir, I suppose the next thing you'll tell us is that you've no pride;" and left the room. But when he spoke to a modest inquirer, these roughnesses, which lay only on the surface, disappeared. To the sick, his manner was gentle and affectionate, and in his later years, when he began, from failing memory and dimness of sight, to feel himself unequal to the pulpit, he spent much of his time in going from house to house and amongst the prison population, exhorting and expounding the Scriptures. Upon one of these occasions, a friend who accompanied him relates that he made a short journey to visit a dying young lady, whose parents on some account were strangely averse to his intrusion, pastoral though it was. But the kindness with which he addressed the sufferer, whom he found under deep spiritual anxieties, and the soothing manner in which he spoke and prayed with her, instantly changed the whole bias of their minds. "To think," they exclaimed when he left the house, "of the aged man, with his silver locks, coming such a distance as seventeen miles, and speaking so affectionately to our feeble child!" "At Paramatta, his Sunday-school," his daughter writes, "was in a more efficient state than any I have since seen;" and the same remark might probably be applied to his other parochial institutions, for whatever he did was done with all his heart; and he was one of those who easily find coadjutors. Their example seems to shed an immediate influence. And his curates and the pious members of his flock were scarcely less zealous and energetic than himself. He found time to promote missionary meetings, and to encourage the formation of tract and Bible societies, as well as other benevolent institutions, at Sydney and other places. On many occasions he delivered interesting speeches, and not long before his death he presided at a Bible Society meeting at Paramatta, when, in the course of an affectionate address, he alluded to his beloved New Zealand. New Zealand was near his heart, and he now seldom spoke of it without being sensibly affected. Relating an anecdote respecting Mowhee, a converted New Zealander, he was completely overcome, and burst into tears. His manner of preaching was simple, forcible, and persuasive, rather than powerful or eloquent. In his later years, when he was no longer able to read his sermons, he preached extempore. His memory, until the last year or two of his life, was remarkably tenacious: he used to repeat the whole of the burial service _memoriter_, and in the pulpit, whole chapters or a great variety of texts from all parts of Scripture, as they were required to prove or illustrate his subject. He was seldom controversial, nor did he attempt a critical exposition of the word of God. His ministry was pure and evangelical. "You can well remember him, my hearers," says the preacher, in his funeral sermon, "as having faithfully preached to you the word of God; clearly did he lay before you the whole counsel of God. Man was represented by him as in a condemned and helpless state, lying in all the pollution and filthiness of his sin, totally unable to justify himself wholly or in part, by any works of righteousness which he can do; God, as too pure to look upon iniquity without abhorrence, and yet too merciful to leave sinners to their sad estate without providing a refuge for them; Christ, as All in all to the sinner; as wisdom to enlighten him, as righteousness to justify him, sanctification to make him holy in heart and life, as complete redemption from the bondage of sin and death into the glorious inheritance of heaven; the Holy Spirit of God as the only author of aught that is good in the renewed soul; faith as the only means of applying the salvation of the gospel to the case of the individual sinner; justification by faith; the necessity of regeneration; holiness indispensable. All these were represented by your departed minister as the vital doctrines of the gospel, and the mutual bearing and connexion of each was clearly shown. And this he has been doing for nearly forty-five years." Dwelling on the outskirts of civilization and of the Christian world, he was too deeply impressed with the grand line of distinction between Christianity and hideous ungodliness, whether exhibited in the vices of a penal settlement or the cannibalism of New Zealand, to be likely to attach too much importance to those minor shades of difference which are to be met with in the great family of Jesus Christ. As his heart was large, so too was his spirit catholic. He was sincerely and affectionately attached to the church of England. He revered her liturgy, and in her articles and homilies he found his creed, and he laboured much to promote her extension. Yet his heart was filled with love to all those who name the name of Christ in sincerity. Wherever he met with the evidences of real piety and soundness of doctrine, his house and his purse flew open; and orthodox Christians of every denomination from time to time either shared his hospitalities or were assisted in their benevolent projects with pecuniary aid. With what delicacy this was done may be gathered from such statements as the following, which is copied from the "Colonist" newspaper, September 12th, 1838: "An attempt having been made to build a Scotch church in Sydney, the colonial government for a time opposed the scheme, and in consequence some of its friends fell away. Then it was that the late Samuel Marsden, unsolicited, very generously offered the loan of 750_l._ to the trustees of the Scotch church, on the security of the building and for its completion. This loan was accordingly made; but as it was found impracticable to give an available security on the building, Mr. Marsden agreed to take the personal guarantee of the minister for the debt." In the same spirit he presented the Wesleyan Methodists with a valuable piece of land on which to erect a chapel, at Windsor. This act of Christian charity was acknowledged by their missionaries in a grateful letter. Mr. Marsden's reply is full of warmth and feeling. "You express your acknowledgment for the ground at Windsor to build your chapel and house upon. I can only say I feel much pleasure in having it in my power to meet your wishes in this respect. To give you the right hand of fellowship is no more than my indispensable duty; and were I to throw the smallest difficulty in your way I should be highly criminal and unworthy the Christian name, more especially considering the present circumstances of these extensive settlements, 'where the harvest is so great and the labourers are so few.' ... The importation of convicts from Europe is very great every year; hundreds have just landed on our shores from various parts of the British empire, hundreds are now in the harbour ready to be disembarked, and hundreds more on the bosom of the great deep are hourly expected. These exiles come to us laden with the chains of their sins, and reduced to the lowest state of human wretchedness and depravity. We must not expect that magistrates and politicians can find a remedy for the dreadful moral diseases with which the convicts are infected. The plague of sin, when it has been permitted to operate on the human mind with all its violence and poison, can never be cured, and seldom restrained by the wisest human laws and regulations. Heaven itself has provided the only remedy for sin--the blessed balm in Gilead; to apply any other remedy is lost labour. In recommending this at all times and in all places, we shall prevail upon some to try its effect; and whoever do this we know they will be healed in the selfsame hour. I pray that the Divine blessing may attend all your labours for the good of immortal souls in these settlements." His private charities displayed the same catholic spirit. His disinterestedness was great, and his only desire seemed to be to assist the deserving or to retrieve the lost. He was not foolishly indifferent to the value of money, as those who had business transactions with him were well aware; but its chief value in his eyes consisted in the opportunities it gave him to promote the happiness of others. Hundreds of instances of his extraordinary liberality might be mentioned, and it is probable that many more are quite unknown. The following anecdotes, furnished by his personal friends, will show that his bounty was dealt out with no sparing hand. A gentleman, at whose house he was a visitor, happened to express a wish that he had three hundred pounds to pay off a debt. The next morning Mr. Marsden came down and presented him with the money, taking no acknowledgment. The circumstance would have remained unknown had not the obliged person, after Mr. Marsden's decease, honourably sent an acknowledgment to his executors. All he assisted were not equally grateful. Travelling with a friend in his carriage, a vehicle passed by. "Paddy," said he, calling to his servant, "who is that?" On being told, "Oh," said he, "he borrowed from me two hundred pounds, and he never paid me." This was his only remark. Yet he was not tenacious for repayment, nor indeed exact in requiring it at all where he thought the persons needy and deserving. The same friend was with him when a man called to pay up the interest on a considerable sum which Mr. Marsden had lent to him. He took a cheque for the amount, but when the person retired, tore it up and threw it into the fire, remarking, "He is an honest man. I am satisfied if he returns me the principal; that is all I want." On another occasion, a friend who had been requested to make an advance of fifty pounds to a needy person, but was unable to do so, mentioned the case to Mr. Marsden, with, "Sir, can you lend me fifty pounds?" "To be sure I can," was the answer, and the money was instantly produced. When he called, shortly afterwards, to repay the loan, Mr. Marsden had forgotten all about it. "Indeed I never looked to its being repaid." The Rev----, being pressed for a hundred pounds, walking with Mr. Marsden, mentioned his difficulties. Mr. Marsden at once gave him a hundred pounds, simply remarking, "I dare say that will do for you." A lady had come to the colony at the solicitation of her family, with the view of establishing a school of a superior class for the daughters of the colonists. At first she met with little success. Mr. Marsden saw the importance of her scheme, and at once invited her to Paramatta, offering her a suitable house and all the pecuniary aid she might require, and this under the feeling of a recent disappointment in an undertaking of the same nature. Of the large sums he expended on the New Zealand mission from his own private resources it is impossible even to conjecture the amount, to say nothing of a life in a great measure devoted to the service. He one day called upon a young man of enterprise and piety, whom he was anxious to induce to settle in New Zealand, and offered him fifty pounds per annum out of his own purse, as well as to raise a further sum for him from other sources. Nor should it be forgotten, in proof of this disinterestedness, that with all his opportunities and influence in New Zealand, he never possessed a single acre of land there, or sought the slightest advantage either for himself or for any member of his family. Another feature in his character was his unaffected humility. This was not in him the nervous weakness which disqualifies some men for vigorous action, rendering them either unconscious of their power, or incapable of maintaining and asserting their position, and consequently of discharging its obligations. This, though often called humility, is, in fact, disease, and ought to be resisted rather than indulged. Mr. Marsden's mind was vigorous and healthy; he took a just measure of his powers and opportunities, as the use he put them to proves abundantly. There was nothing in him of the shyness which disqualifies for public life; he was bold without effrontery, courageous without rashness, firm without obstinacy; but withal he was a humble man. His private correspondence will have shown the reader how anxious he was to submit his own judgment, even on questions affecting his personal character, to what he considered the better judgment of his friends at home. To vanity or ostentation he seems to have been a perfect stranger. There is not a passage in his correspondence, nor can we learn that a word ever fell from his lips, which would lead us to suppose that he ever thought himself in any way an extraordinary man. Flattery disgusted him, and even moderate praise was offensive to his feelings. When the life of his friend, Dr. Mason Good, appeared from the pen of Dr. Olinthus Gregory, it contained an appendix, giving an account of his own labours and triumphs at Paramatta and in New Zealand. This he cut out of the volume with his penknife, without any remark, before he permitted it to lie upon his table or to be read by his family. He was so far from thinking he had accomplished much, either in the colony or amongst the heathen, that he was rather disposed, in his later days, to lament that his life had been almost useless; and indeed he was heard more than once to express a doubt whether he had not mistaken his calling, and been no better than an intruder into the sacred ministry. Perhaps failing health and spirits were in part the cause of these misgivings, but his unfeigned humility had a deeper root. It originated in that evangelical piety upon which all his usefulness was built. He saw the holiness of God, he saw his Divine perfection reflected in his law, and though he had a clear, abiding sense of his adoption through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, this did not interfere with a clear conception too of his own unworthiness. When told one day, by a justly indignant friend, how basely he was misrepresented, "Sir," he exclaimed, and the solemnity of his manner showed the depth of his meaning, "these men don't know the worst. Why, sir, if I were to walk down the streets of Paramatta with my heart laid bare, the very boys would pelt me." Such was Samuel Marsden, a man whose memory is to be revered and his example imitated. "Not merely a good man," says the preacher of his funeral sermon, "who filled up the place allotted to him on earth, and then sank into his grave; not merely a faithful minister of Christ, who loved and served his Saviour and turned many to repentance, but more than either of these. Rightly to estimate his character we must view him as a peculiar man, raised up for an especial purpose." And he adds-- "As Luther in Germany, and John Knox in Scotland, and Cranmer in England, were sent by the Head of the church, and fitted with peculiar qualifications to make known his glorious gospel, hidden in Romish darkness, so too, no less truly, was SAMUEL MARSDEN raised up in this southern hemisphere, and admirably fitted for the work, and made the instrument of diffusing the light of that same gospel, and of bringing it to bear on the darkness of New Zealand and the Isles of the Sea, and upon the darkness, too, no less real, of the depravity of society in early Australia." APPENDIX I. Progress of the Gospel and of Civilization in New Zealand, since Mr. Marsden's Decease. The great work of Mr. Marsden's life was undoubtedly the New Zealand mission; but he was also, as we have seen, the early friend, the wise adviser, and not unfrequently the generous host of that devoted band of men who first essayed the introduction of the gospel to the Society Islands. Each of these missions has been attended with astonishing success; each has produced what may be called magnificent results,--results which already far exceed, in some respects, the most sanguine hopes, extravagant as at the time they seemed to be, of Mr. Marsden and his early coadjutors some fifty years ago. Yet in other respects their disappointment would have been great had they lived to witness the present state of things, whether in New Zealand or Tahiti. Instead of native tribes growing up into Christian brotherhood, and asserting a national independence, these beautiful islands have bowed to a foreign yoke. Instead of native churches they have rather assumed the form of offshoots and dependencies of British churches. A great work has been accomplished, and its fruits will never cease to ripen. But events have occurred which only prophets could have foreseen; changes have taken place which neither political sagacity nor the saintly wisdom of those good men who first projected our foreign missions amidst storms of insult, or, what was worse to bear, the withering influences of a contemptuous neglect, anticipated. It is often so in this world's history. Our successes, our trials, the events which happen to us, our national history, and that of the church of Christ, scoop out for themselves fresh channels, and flow still onwards, but in the direction perhaps least of all expected. Our readers are, we trust, so far interested in the details already given as to desire some further acquaintance with the later history of these great missions since Mr. Marsden's death. This we propose to give, briefly of course, for the subject would fill a volume; and such a volume, whenever it shall be written well and wisely, will be received with delight by every intelligent member of the whole catholic church of Christ. We shall direct our attention in the first place to NEW ZEALAND. Attempts to colonize upon a large scale, attended with constant aggressions upon the native tribes, had occurred before Mr. Marsden's death, and awakened his anxiety. A New Zealand Company was formed in 1839, with the avowed object of purchasing land from the Maories, and settling large tracts of the island with English emigrants. It made no provision for the spiritual welfare of the natives, nor indeed for that of the European settlers; and it was evident that, however well-intentioned, the project in the hands of a mercantile company would be effected, as such schemes always have been effected, only at the cost of injustice and oppression to the natives. Meanwhile danger was threatening from another quarter. Louis Philippe now sat upon the throne of France. Though not ambitious of military conquest, he was cunning and unprincipled, and anxious to extend the power of France by force or fraud. Her colonial possessions she had lost during her long war with England, and now scarcely one of them remained. He saw and coveted the islands of the Southern Ocean, and resolved to repair his colonial empire by the addition of these splendid and inviting prizes. It was said, and we believe with truth, that a frigate was already equipped and on the very point of sailing for New Zealand with secret orders to annex that island to the crown of France, when the English government, tardily and with sincere reluctance, resolved to anticipate the project and claim New Zealand for the queen of England. This was done, and the island was formally annexed to the English crown, and in January, 1842, became an English colony. For once the story of colonial annexation is neither darkened with crime nor saddened with war and bloodshed. The measure was essential both to the security of the natives and to the work of the Protestant missions. Lawlessness and anarchy were universal: the Maori tribes were slaughtering one another; the white man was slaughtering the Maori tribes. For the native laws were obsolete, and the laws of England no man yet had the power to enforce. There was, too, on the part of England, and it was strongly expressed in the British parliament, a determination to secure, as far as possible, not only the safety but the independence of the natives under their old chiefs, and to leave them in possession of their ancient usages and forms of government. In fact, the authority of queen Victoria was to be that of a mild protectorate rather than an absolute sovereignty. The chiefs were to acknowledge the supremacy of the crown as represented in the governor. To him, and not as heretofore to the field of battle, with its horrors and cannibalism, were their disputes to be referred; and in all doubtful questions English law, its maxims and analogies, were to be held supreme. Upon these easy terms the most fastidious will find little to blame in our annexation of New Zealand. The Maories did not exceed, it was computed, one hundred thousand souls. Suppose they had been twice that number, still they could scarcely be said to _occupy_ the whole of an island of the size of Ireland, and quite as fruitful. There was still room for a vast influx of Europeans, leaving to the natives wide tracts of land far beyond their wants, either for tillage or the chase, or for a nomad wandering life, had this been the habit of the Maories. And when the threatened seizure by France is thrown into the scale, few Protestants, of whatever nation they may be, will hesitate to admit that the conduct of England in this instance was both wise and just. The Maories in general accepted this new state of things with satisfaction. Those of them who resided on the coast and in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands saw that the aggression of the colonists was restrained, and that their own safety was secured. Further in the interior, where the want of an English protectorate was less felt, heart-burnings occurred, fomented, as usual, by designing men, and aggravated by the occasional outrage of individuals. Some of the tribes resisted, and a war broke out, though happily neither bloody nor of long duration, in which the Maories maintained the reputation of their native valour, even against English regiments. Nor was it till the year 1849 that the peace of the island and the supremacy of the English crown were perfectly restored and asserted. For a time the progress of the gospel was triumphant. For example, archdeacon William Williams could report that the number of communicants in the eastern district, beneath his care, had risen from twenty-nine in 1840, to two thousand eight hundred and ninety-three in 1850; and these were "members of the congregation who were supposed to walk in the narrow way. Here then," he exclaims, "is abundant encouragement; the little one is become a thousand. In the course of ten years, there has been time for the novelty of Christianity to wear away; but, while some are gone back again to the beggarly elements of the world, hitherto the Lord has blessed his vineyards with increase." In other districts the progress of the gospel was equally gratifying. At Tauranga, out of a population not exceeding two thousand four hundred, upwards of eight hundred partook of the Lord's supper; and yet there were many native Christians who, from various causes, had been kept away from this ordinance. Other denominations of Protestant Christians had likewise their trophies to exhibit to the "praise of his grace," who had crowned their labours with success. "The facilities," reports one missionary, upon the eastern coast, "the facilities for usefulness are great; the coast might become one of the most interesting missionary gardens in the world. Crowds can be got together at any time for catechizing; the dear children are all anxious for schooling; the native teachers and monitors put themselves quite under your hands; and they are, I think, a very improving and improvable class." Similar reports reached home from almost every station in New Zealand. At the intervention of a missionary of the church of England, a Wesleyan missionary, and an English lay gentleman, (the surveyor-general,) the Waikato and Wangaroa tribes, bent on mutual slaughter, laid down their arms at the instant the battle should have joined. They had had their war-dance; some random shots had even been fired; their mediators had begun to despair; when at length, towards evening, they agreed to leave the subject in dispute between them (the right to a piece of land), to Sir George Grey, the governor, and Te Werowero, a native chieftain, for arbitration. The question was put to the whole army, "Do you agree to this?" Four hundred armed natives answered with one voice, assenting. The question was put a second time, and they again gave their consent. "The surveyor-general giving the signal, we all," says the missionary, "gave three hearty cheers; after which the natives assembled for evening-prayers, and," he adds, "I trust I felt thankful." The accounts that reached England, filled men's hearts with astonishment; even upon the spot, men long enured to the spiritual warfare with idolatry, were amazed at the greatness of their triumph. They wrote home in strains such as the following. "Rotorua is endeared to us by every tie that should endear a place to a missionary's heart. We came hither, to a people utterly debased by everything that was savage. Now, there is not a village or place around us, where the morning and evening bell does not call to prayer and praise, and where the sabbath is not observed. I am sometimes astonished when I look back upon the past, and remember what we have passed through. If I think only of those scenes which occurred to us during the southern war, the remembrance seems appalling. Now peace reigns in every border; the native chapel stands conspicuous in almost every Pa; wars seem almost forgotten; and for New Zealand, the promise seems fulfilled, 'I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession.'" New Zealand was at length, outwardly at least, a Christian land. Bishop Selwyn had, in 1842, taken charge of the church of England and the oversight of her missions, and other denominations assumed a fixed and settled character. The missionary began to merge and disappear in the stated minister. The ancient warrior chieftain too, was fading fast from sight; and we cannot deny that, savage as he was, we part from him with some feelings of respect. Who that has a heart to feel, or any imagination capable of being warmed by strains of exquisite pathos, can read unmoved the last words of the dying Karepa? The scene is in the lonely village of Te Hawera, of which he was the chief. Mr. Colenzo, the missionary, arrived just as his people, with loud cries, sitting around his new-made tomb, bewailed his departure. At night they gathered around their spiritual father in his tent, and one of the natives thus related the last words of Karepa. "He summoned us all," said he, "to come close around him, and with much love exhorted us; talking energetically, as was his custom, a long while, he said:--'You well know that I have brought you, from time to time, much riches, muskets, powder, hatchets, knives, blankets. I afterwards heard of the new riches, called faith. I sought it. I went to Manawatu; in those days a long and perilous journey, for we were surrounded by enemies; no man travelled alone: I saw the few natives who, it was said, had heard of it; but they could not satisfy me. I sought further, but in vain. I heard afterwards of a white man at Otaki, and that with him was the spring where I could fill my empty and dry calabash. I travelled to his place, to Otaki, but in vain; he was gone--gone away ill. I returned to you, my children, dark minded. Many days passed by; the snows fell, they melted, they disappeared; the buds expanded, and the tangled paths of our low forests were again passable to the foot of the native man. At last we heard of another white man who was going about over mountains and through forests and swamps, giving drink from his calabash to the secluded native--to the remnants of the tribes of the mighty, of the renowned of former days, now dwelling by twos and threes among the roots of the big trees of the ancient forests, and among the long reeds by the rills in the valleys. Yes, my grandchildren, my and your ancestors, once spread over the country as the Koitarekè (_quail_) and Krivi (_apteryx_) once did; but now their descendants are even as the descendants of these birds, scarce, gone, dead, fast hastening to utter extinction. Yes, we heard of that white man; we heard of his going over the high snowy range to Patea, all over the rocks to Turakiráe. I sent four of my children to meet him. They saw his face; yes you, you talked with him. You brought me a drop of water from his calabash. You told me he had said he would come to this far-off isle to see me. I rejoiced, I disbelieved his coming; but I said he may. I built the chapel, we waited expecting. You slept at nights; I did not. He came, he emerged from the long forest, he stood upon Te Hawera ground. I saw him. I shook hands with him; we rubbed noses together. Yes, I saw a missionary's face; I sat in his cloth house (_tent_); I tasted his new food; I heard him talk Maori; my heart bounded within me; I listened; I ate his words. You slept at nights; I did not. Yes, I listened, and he told me about God, and his Son Jesus Christ, and of peace and reconciliation, and of a loving Father's home beyond the stars. And now I, too, drank from his calabash and was refreshed, he gave me a book, as well as words. I laid hold of the new riches for me, and for you, and we have it now. My children, I am old; my teeth are gone, my hair is white; the yellow leaf is falling from the Táwai (_beech tree_); I am departing; the sun is sinking behind the great western hills, it will soon be night. But, hear me; hold fast the new riches--the great riches--the true riches. We have had plenty of sin and pain and death; but now we have the true riches. Hold fast the true riches, which Karepa sought out for you.' "Here he became faint, and ceased talking. We all wept like little children around the bed of the dying old man--of our father. He suffered much pain, from which he had scarcely any cessation until death relieved him." But New Zealand was now passing through a dangerous crisis. The Maori ceased to exist in his savage state. Cannibalism was a mere tradition. Of the ancient superstitions scarcely a trace was left. European arts and manners were introduced in almost every part of the island, and New Zealand took her place amongst other civilized communities. Still, under new circumstances fresh dangers threatened her. The church of Rome saw from afar and coveted so glorious a possession; and in the course of a single year a Romish bishop and sixteen priests landed at Wellington, and a second bishop with his troop of priests and nuns at Auckland. For a while the childish simplicity of the Maori character, fond of show and a stranger to suspicion, gave them great advantage; and the missionaries of evangelical churches viewed their progress with serious apprehension. But as the novelty wore off the Maori Christian discovered that Popery was but a hollow pretence, without heart, or life, or abiding consolation, and whole tribes which had been led astray returned with their chiefs to purer churches in search of better pasturage. Lately the translation of the whole of the Bible has been completed, and in this we have the best antidote, under God, to the progress of this baneful superstition. New Zealand, too, besides its several Protestant bishops of the church of England, its zealous missionaries, and stated ministers of every evangelical denomination, has now at length a native ministry of her own Maories, few as yet in number, but holy men, men of competent learning and gifts of utterance, who have evidently been called of God. One of these, the Rev. Riwai Te Ahu, who was ordained by Bishop Selwyn, is not only highly esteemed by all the natives of whatever tribe they may be, but by the English too; and he is entirely supported by internal resources, by regular contributions from the natives, and a private grant from the governor himself. We can understand something of the joy with which an honoured missionary, one of the oldest labourers in the field, sat and listened in the house of prayer while he officiated, assisted by the Rev. Rota Waitoa, the only two Maori ministers of the church of England in New Zealand, and his own early converts, "the one reading prayers, and the other preaching an admirable sermon to his own native tribe." Other churches have similar triumphs. The Wesleyans have three native assistant ministers, and probably these are not all, for it may be presumed that a great work is going forward in so large an island, of which our missionary societies have no official reports, and by agents who are no longer responsible to them. Thus it is often found that in the interior some village or hamlet has become Christian where no European missionary was ever seen. Native converts have done their own work. Still the church in New Zealand is in an infant state, surrounded by many dangers. The influx of Europeans, the sudden increase of wealth and luxury, the introduction of a new and foreign literature from England, bearing as it were upon its wings all that is bad as well as all that is lovely and of good report in theology, politics, and morals, may well cause, as indeed it does create, the deepest concern to those who have at heart the purity of the Maori faith, and the continued progress of the gospel. It is not for those who know that the gospel is the power of God unto salvation, to doubt for a moment of its ultimate success; but the firmest faith may, at the same time, be apprehensive and anxious, if not alarmed, for the fiery trial that awaits her,--not of persecution, but of wealth and luxury, and the sad example of every European vice. Let the reader help them with his prayers. We cannot close our sketch of the progress of Christianity in New Zealand, without some allusion to the Canterbury Association, one of the most remarkable attempts of modern times to colonize on Christian principles, or rather perhaps we should say, to carry abroad the old institutions of England, and plant them as it were full blown in a new country. The design was not altogether original, for the New England puritans of the seventeenth century, had led the way, in their attempts to colonize at Boston and in New England, in the days of Charles I. They would have carried out the principles, and worship of the Brownites to the exclusion of other sects, though happily for the freedom of religion, their design was soon found to be impracticable, and was only partially accomplished. The Canterbury Association was formed on high church of England principles, "avowedly for the purpose of founding a settlement, to be composed in the first instance of members of that church, or at least of those who did not object to its principles." Its early friends now admit that their project was, in some of its parts, utopian and impracticable. The idea, if ever seriously entertained, of excluding by a test of church membership those whose profession differed from their own was abandoned by most of the colonists as soon as they had set foot on the shores of New Zealand. In 1848, Otakou or Otago, in the southern part of the Middle Island, was colonized by an association of members of the Free Church of Scotland; and in 1850, the first colonists were sent out to the church of England settlement, founded in the vicinity of Banks's Peninsula, by the Canterbury Association. The site made choice of possessed a harbour of its own, an immense extent of land, which it was supposed might easily be brought under cultivation, and removed from danger of disturbance from the natives, of whom there were but few, an extent of grazing country unequalled in New Zealand, and a territory "every way available for being formed into a province, with a separate legislature." The plan was to sell the land at an additional price, and appropriate one third of the cost to ecclesiastical purposes. The sums thus realized by sales of land, were to be placed at the disposal of an ecclesiastical committee, who were empowered to make such arrangements as they might think fit to organize an endowed church in the colony. A bishopric was to be at once endowed, a college, if not a cathedral, was to be connected with it, a grammar-school of the highest class, was to be opened as well as commercial schools; and all the luxuries of English country life, including good roads, snug villas, well cultivated farms; and good society, were to be found by the future settler, after a very few years of probationary toil. The scheme was warmly taken up at home, and within a single twelvemonth from the 16th December, 1850, when the first detachment arrived, nearly three thousand emigrants had seated themselves in the Canterbury Plains. The towns of Lyttelton and Christchurch were founded, and operations on a large scale were fairly begun. Of course bitter disappointment followed, as it too often does with the early colonists, whose expectations are unduly raised by the romantic stories told them in England. But we must quote a passage from "Archdeacon Paul's Letters from Canterbury," just published. It may be of use to other emigrants, into whatever region of the world they go. "Restless spirits, who had never yet been contented anywhere, expected to find tranquillity in this new Arcadia, where their chief occupation would be to recline under the shadow of some overhanging rock, soothing their fleecy charge with the shepherd's pipe, remote from fogs and taxation and all the thousand nameless evils which had made their lives a burthen to them at home. "Alas! the reality was soon found to be of a sterner type-- 'These are not scenes for pastoral dance at even, For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades: Soft slumbers in the open eye of heaven, And all the listless joys of summer shades.' Long wearisome rides and walks in search of truant sheep and cattle; bivouacs night after night, on the damp cold ground; mutton, damper, (a kind of coarse biscuit,) and tea (and that colonial tea) at breakfast, dinner, and supper, day after day, and week after week, and month after month; wanderings in trackless deserts, with a choice of passing the night on some bleak mountain side or wading through an unexplored swamp; and, after all this labour, finding perhaps that his flock are infected, and that no small amount of money as well as toil must be expended before he can hope for any profit at all;--these are the real experiences of a settler's early days in a young pastoral colony." Yet, upon the whole, the founders of the settlement consider that it has answered all reasonable expectations. None of the early settlers have been driven home by the failure of their prospects, and few have been so even from qualified disappointment. The plains of Canterbury have a thoroughly English look, dotted in every direction with comfortable farm-houses, well-cultivated inclosures, and rickyards filled with the produce of the harvest: and the great seaport of the colony, Lyttelton, is well filled with shipping. Christchurch boasts at length its college, incorporated and endowed. It became an episcopal see, too, in 1856, under the first bishop of Christchurch; it has its grammar school and Sunday schools. Here, too, as well as at Lyttelton, the Wesleyans have taken root, and, besides chapels, have their day and Sunday schools. From the first, the Scotch Church was represented by some enterprising settlers. The decorum of religion is everywhere perceptible; "I believe," writes a nobleman, whose name stands at the head of the Association, "that no English colony, certainly none of modern days, and I hardly except those of the seventeenth century has been better supplied with the substantial means of religious worship and education. No one doubts the great material prosperity and promise of the colony; and no one denies that it is the best and most English-like society in all our colonies.... Sometimes a very vain notion has been entertained that we meant or hoped to exclude dissenters from our settlement. Of course, nothing could be more preposterous. What we meant was to impress the colony in its origin with a strong church of England character. This was done by the simple but effectual expedient of appropriating one third of the original land fund to church purposes, but this was of course a voluntary system." Thus New Zealand stands at present. The lonely island of the Southern Ocean approached only fifty years ago with awe by the few adventurous whalers which dared its unknown coasts and harbours, now teems with English colonists. The dreaded New Zealander has forsaken his savage haunts and ferocious practices, and may be seen "clothed and in his right mind," and sitting to learn at the feet of some teacher of "the truth as it is in Jesus." The face of the country has undergone a corresponding change. And in many places, the scene is such as to force the tears from the eye of the self-exiled settler; the village spire and the church-going bell reminding him of home. What the future may be, we shall not even hazard a conjecture. Let it be enough to say that a mighty change has already been accomplished, and that its foundations were laid, and the work itself effected more than by any other man, by Samuel Marsden. APPENDIX II. State and Prospects of the Protestant Mission at Tahiti under the French Protectorate. At the period of Mr. Marsden's decease, the Tahitian mission, over which he had watched with parental solicitude from its infancy, presented an aspect even more cheering than that of New Zealand. Idolatry had fallen; its idols were utterly abolished; they had found their way to the most ignoble uses, or to the museums of the curious, or those of the various missionary societies in Great Britain. So complete was their destruction that natives of Tahiti have actually visited the museum of the London Missionary Society within the last few years, and there seen, for the first time in their lives, a Tahitian idol. But a dark cloud already skirted the horizon, and the infant church was soon to pass through the purifying furnace of a long, relentless, wearying, and even bitter persecution. The revolution of 1830 had placed Louis Philippe on the throne of France. During the earlier years of his reign, the church of Rome was deprived of much of that power and dignity which it had enjoyed under the elder Bourbons. As to any hold on the affections of the people of France, this it seldom boasted,--certainly not within the last hundred years. Yet the crafty king of the French was not unwilling to give to his restless priesthood the opportunities both of employment and renown in foreign parts; especially if in doing so he could extend his own power, and add a wreath to that national glory so dear to Frenchmen. The priests were therefore instructed to direct their attention to the South Sea Islands. Animated partly by hatred to England, they succeeded in effecting a settlement in the Society Islands. The first of them, who arrived there, called Columban (though his original name was Murphy), came in rather strange guise. "He was clad like a man before the mast, smoked a short pipe, and at first was mistaken for what he appeared to be. He had an old English passport, and among other pious tricks, endeavoured to make use of the lion and the unicorn, to prove to the natives that he was sent by the king of Great Britain."[L] Two others, Caret and Laval, arrived soon afterwards. The law of the island forbade foreigners to reside without obtaining the sanction of the queen. The priests, accordingly, when their arrival became known, were ordered to depart. They refused; comparing the Protestant missionaries to Simon Magus, and claiming for themselves the exclusive right to instruct the Tahitian people. After some delay, however, they left, and went to the Grambier Islands. Captain Lord E. Russell, then with his ship of war at the island, publicly declared, that "if the priests had remained in the country, anarchy and confusion, disastrous to the island, would have inevitably ensued." This was in December, 1836. [L] Wilkes's Tahiti, etc. In September, 1837, M. Montpellier, accompanied by Murphy-Columban, arrived at Tahiti. He was followed in 1838 by Captain Du Petit Thouars in the frigate Venus, who made no secret in avowing to our English officers that he was looking out for a suitable island on which to hoist the French flag for the purpose, he added, of forming a penal settlement. Returning to Paris, Thouars was raised to the rank of rear-admiral, and sent back to the Pacific with his flag in La Reine Blanche on a secret expedition. He seized on two of the Marquesas Islands, built a fort on each, and garrisoned them with four hundred men. He now wrote home, demanding thrice that number of troops and four ships of war for the maintenance of his conquest; but he had further objects in view. False representations had probably been made to the French government with regard to the removal of Caret and Laval; and Captain Du Petit Thouars was instructed to demand satisfaction at Tahiti for injuries done to French subjects. A desire of conquest no doubt inflamed Guizot the French minister--alas! that a Protestant should thus have tarnished his fame--as well as his royal master; but hatred of Protestantism had its full share in these nefarious proceedings. One M. Henicy, who accompanied the Antoine French frigate to Tahiti, in the summer of 1839, thus writes of the English missionaries: "Ferocious oppressors, shameless monopolizers, trafficking in the word of God, they have procured for themselves a concert of curses. Their ministers are found to be vile impostors." Caret, Murphy, and the other priests now returned to Tahiti. A French consul was appointed, a worthless, profligate man; he professed, however, to be a zealous friend of the true faith, anxious for missionary labourers to convert the deluded Tahitian Protestants. Very little progress, however, could be made in this spiritual work; the natives obstinately preferred sermons to masses, and possessed so little taste as to reject pictures and rosaries while they still read their Bibles. It was evident that efforts of a more strenuous kind, though, such as the church of Rome is never unwilling to resort to when persuasion fails, must be tried. And now it was announced that the island was placed under the protection of France; to this arrangement, it was pretended, the chiefs of Tahiti and the queen herself had consented; nay, that they had solicited the protection of France. This unblushing falsehood was immediately exposed, and we now know, from queen Pomare herself, that all the proceedings in this disgraceful affair had their origin in fraud and treachery. They were chiefly carried out by the French consul, who is accused of having, under false pretences, prevailed on certain chiefs of the island to affix their signatures, in the name of the queen, to a document, the object of which was to induce the king of the French to take Tahiti under his protection, the pretence being grounded on a false statement, which accused some native chiefs, and the representatives of other nations, of bad conduct and various crimes. When the queen was apprised of this document, she called a council of her chiefs, with an assembled multitude of natives and foreigners; and, in the presence of the British, French, and American consuls, denied all knowledge of it, as also did the chiefs themselves who signed it. They declared that the French consul brought it to them in the night, and that they put their names to it without knowing what it contained. The governor, being one of the persons imposed upon, wrote to the British consul, Mr. Cunningham, declaring that the parties subscribing did not know what were the contents of the letter which the French consul brought them to sign, and that they affixed their names to it, as it were, in the dark. The translator also affirmed that it must have been written by some person not a Tahitian; its idiom being foreign, its orthography bad, words misapplied, and the handwriting even foreign. But the most convincing evidence of the forgery was the declaration of two of the chiefs who signed the document, Tati and Ulami, to the following effect: "That all men may know, We, who have signed our names hereunto, clearly and solemnly make known and declare, as upon oath, that the French consul did wholly dictate and write the letter, said to be written by the queen Pomare and her governors, requesting protection of the king of the French. Through fear we signed it. It was in his own house, and in the night time, that the document was signed by us. And we signed it also because he said, If you will sign your names to this, I will give you one thousand dollars each when the French admiral's ship returns to Tahiti. (Signed) "TATI, "ULAMI." This disgraceful plot was carried on in the absence of the queen. She was no sooner made acquainted with it, than she addressed a short and dignified protest and remonstrance to the queen of Great Britain, the president of the United States, and the king of the French. Few diplomatic notes are more worthy of a place in history than that which was addressed to Louis Philippe. "Peace be to you. I make a communication to you, and this is its nature,-- "During my absence from my own country a few of my people, entirely without my knowledge or authority, wrote a letter to you, soliciting your assistance. I disavow any knowledge of that document. Health to you. (Signed) "POMARE." But the French consul proceeded to form a provisional government of three persons, placing himself at the head of it as consul-commissary of the king. The triumvirate behaved with the greatest insolence, not only to the poor queen, but even to the British flag. Captain Sir T. Thompson, with the Talbot, lay in the harbour. The queen arrived and hoisted the Tahitian flag, which the Talbot saluted. A letter from the consul-commissary and the two French officials with whom he was associated was addressed as a protest to the gallant captain, "holding him responsible to the king of the French, his government and nation, for the consequences of such disrespect, and for a measure so hostile towards France." Sir Thomas knew his duty too well to answer the affront, or in any way to notice it; but he could only look on with silent sorrow and disgust, he had no power to interfere. The queen also received an insolent letter from the consul; he even forced himself into her presence, and behaved in a rude and disrespectful manner. "He said to me," she writes, in a letter to the captain of the Talbot, "shaking his head at me, throwing about his arms, and staring fiercely at me, 'Order your men to hoist the new flags, and that the new government be respected.' I protested against this conduct, and told him I had nothing more to say to him." Bereft of other hope, the insulted and greatly injured Pomare wrote a most touching and pathetic letter to queen Victoria. It was published in the newspapers, and went to the heart of every man and woman in Britain who had a heart to feel for dignity and virtue in distress, "Have compassion on me in my present trouble, in my affliction and great helplessness. Do not cast me away; assist me quickly, my friend. I run to you for refuge, to be covered, under your great shadow, the same as afforded to my fathers by your fathers, who are now dead, and whose kingdoms have descended to us." She explains how her signature was obtained. "Taraipa (governor of Tahiti) said to me, 'Pomare, write your name under this document (the French deed of protection); if you don't sign your name you must pay a fine of 10,000 dollars, 5000 to-morrow and 5000 the following day; and should the first payment be delayed beyond two o'clock the first day, hostilities will be commenced, and your country taken from you. On account of this threat," says the queen, "against my will I signed my name. I was compelled to sign it, and because I was afraid; for the British and American subjects residing in my country in case of hostilities would have been indiscriminately massacred. No regard would have been paid to parties." There was no exaggeration in this pathetic statement; it is confirmed by a letter--one of the last he ever wrote--from John Williams, the martyr missionary, who called at Tahiti, March 1839, on his last fatal voyage to the New Hebrides. "You will doubtless see by the papers the cruel and oppressive conduct of the French. A sixty-gun frigate has been sent here to chastise the queen and people of Tahiti for not receiving the Roman Catholic priests; and the captain demanded 2000 dollars (10,000?) to be paid in twenty-four hours, or threatened to carry devastation and death to every island in the queen's dominion. Mr. Pritchard and some merchants here paid the money and saved the lives of the people. The French would only hear one side of the question, but demanded four things within twenty-four hours: 2000 dollars (10,000), a letter of apology to the French king, a salute of twenty-one guns, and the hoisting of the French flag." In short, the island became a French dependency, and the poor queen was left with the mere shadow of her former sovereignty. And so it remains to this day. A strong feeling of indignation was aroused in England. Missionary meetings, particularly a noble one at Leeds, were held, pledging themselves to do all in their power to induce our government to exert its legitimate influence with the government of France to restore to the queen of Tahiti her just independence, and to all classes of her subjects their civil rights and religious freedom. But the English government was either infatuated or afraid. Lord Aberdeen, secretary of state for colonial affairs, stated in the House of Lords that, "although he was not sufficiently informed of the precise grounds upon which the French government had acted, or of the complaints made against the authorities in those islands which had led to the convention; yet he had no apprehension as to the establishment of the French in those seas, nor that our commercial or political interests would be affected by it." He stated that "he had received the most unqualified assurance that every degree of protection and encouragement would be afforded to the British missionaries residing in those islands; that in granting the protectorship to the French king, it had been stipulated that all the places of worship at present existing would receive protection, and that the fullest liberty would be given to the missionaries to exercise their functions." And he concluded by saying, "that he reposed the fullest confidence, not only in the king of the French himself, but in the minister, who at this moment was the principal adviser of that monarch." But a righteous God looked on. This king was driven from his throne, and died an exile in England; while his minister, M. Guizot, who sacrificed his Protestantism to his ambition in this matter, after escaping with difficulty in 1848, from a mob who would have torn him to pieces, saw himself compelled to give up for ever all hope of recovering power in France. From that time to the present all political power and influence has centred in the French governors, who have been sent out from Europe, and their subordinate officers. Pomare still lives, revered by her people, but without being able to exercise any one independent act of sovereignty; and the native chiefs and governors who formerly took a prominent part in all public affairs, and in their respective districts possessed great influence, are without a vestige of authority, except in those instances in which they have been induced to accept office under the French governor. In 1842, a treaty, so called, was framed, which did indeed provide for "the freedom of religious worship, and especially that the English missionaries shall continue in their labours without molestation." "The same shall apply," says its fifth article, "to every other form of worship: no one shall be molested or constrained in his belief." But this treaty was probably intended only to cajole those whom it could not intimidate, and in practice it is a mere dead letter. The treaty itself is brief and informal, and evidently drawn up in haste, or perhaps with a view, from the absence of precision in its language, to provide for its more easy violation. Yet if the language in which it is couched conveys any meaning the treaty provides that the people of the island, and the English missionaries in the prosecution of their labours amongst them, shall continue to enjoy unrestricted religious liberty. Now it might be urged, and with some plausibility, by the French authorities in Tahiti, that the people are still allowed, as heretofore, to attend their public worship, and to retain their Bibles and Christian books. They might even maintain, that although a number of Romish priests, with a bishop at their head, have been thrust upon the island, no Protestant missionary has been expelled by the act of the authorities. The substantial truth of these statements cannot be denied, and yet there is abundant evidence that the clauses of the treaty guaranteeing the religious liberty of the islanders and the missionaries have, for every practical purpose, been palpably and grossly violated. The places of worship have not indeed been closed, but the English missionaries have, from time to time, been placed under such severe restrictions that four of their number, finding themselves entirely debarred from the free exercise of their ministry, left the island in 1852. There are at present but two missionaries remaining. One of these is solely engaged in the operations of the press, but without permission to preach to the people; and the other--far advanced in age--is merely permitted, by a kind of sufferance, to remain at his post, and to minister to his own flock, though prohibited from extending his labours to other districts. So far as the churches and congregations scattered over the island are still supplied with the means of religious instruction, it is by the agency of natives, many of whom were formerly trained to the work by the missionaries. But these native preachers are subject to the constant inspection and interference of the authorities, and they hold their offices solely by sufferance. It will thus be seen, that although the English missionaries have not been forcibly ejected from the island, the object aimed at by the French authorities has, through the artful policy they have adopted, been effectually attained. The missionaries have been silenced, disowned, and cast aside. In pursuance of the same cautious and subtle policy, the French rulers have not ventured to excite or irritate the people by sanctioning any hasty measures for enforcing conformity to the Roman Catholic faith; still they have encouraged the formation of elementary schools, in which the young people are taught by priests appointed by the government, and everything is done to give undue importance to these schools, so that the pupils taught in them may, at the periodical examinations, appear to more advantage than those under native masters. Notwithstanding the prevalence of a system so calculated to ensnare and mystify the minds of a simple unsuspicious people, it is a most remarkable and gratifying fact that instances of apostasy to Romanism have been exceedingly rare, and that the bulk of the people continue stedfast in their attachment to the pure Scriptural truths taught them by the missionaries. To account for this it should be borne in mind that the churches and congregations still assemble as heretofore for Divine worship under native pastors, some of whom are known to be pious, devoted, and well qualified men. Then again, through the active and efficient agency of the Rev. W. Howe, who, though prohibited from preaching, still remains in charge of the mission press at Papeete, the native pastors and people have been well supplied with religious books. And it is further to be noted that the natives generally are amply provided with copies of the sacred Scriptures in their own language, which will no doubt, in the good providence of God, prove an effectual safeguard against popish error and superstition. In the year 1847, five thousand copies of the entire Tahitian Bible, revised by the Rev. Messrs Howe and Joseph, and generously provided by the British and Foreign Bible Society, were sent out in the missionary ship John Williams for circulation in Tahiti and the other islands of the Society group; and again, in 1852, three thousand copies of the New Testament were despatched to Tahiti, chiefly for the use of schools. In proof that the social and political troubles of the island have not had the effect of diminishing the number of its Christian population, the following most satisfactory statement, furnished by Mr. Howe, dated 11th July, 1856, may be adduced. "I have been comparing the number of persons in church fellowship at the present time with the numbers respectively before the establishment of the French protectorate, and at the period when it had become fully established. In 1842, there were about one thousand six hundred and eighty church members in Tahiti and Eimeo. In 1851, when the island of Tahiti was supplied by three foreign missionaries, and the students in the seminary, the report of the Society stated the number of church members to be upwards of one thousand six hundred, which is probably equal to that of 1842. Almost ever since that period the districts have been entirely supplied by native pastors only, with the exception of Bunaauia; and there are at the present time upwards of one thousand six hundred members on the two islands, and many are now seeking admission. It must also be borne in mind that during the interval between 1851 and the present time, the population of the two islands has been reduced by epidemic disease and removals at least one thousand, a large proportion of whom were church members from middle to old age, so that the present number in fellowship is comprised of the strength and pride of the nation, and the proportion of communicants to the population is greater than it has ever been." Of the kind of annoyance to which the missionaries are exposed, and of the influences which are brought to bear against them, the reader will be able to judge after perusing the account of a prosecution lately instituted by the Romish bishop against the Rev. Mr. Howe. In the autumn of 1855, the Roman Catholic bishop having issued a catechism in which the doctrines and superstitions of Popery were dogmatically stated, and Protestantism as grossly misrepresented, Mr. Howe felt constrained, by a sense of Christian fidelity, to publish in reply a firm but temperate refutation. For this publication a criminal action was commenced against him by the bishop; but so vexatious and unfounded were the charges that the legal officer of the government, on whom it devolved to prosecute, though urged by the governor, declined to bring the case into court, for which he was suspended from his office; and when at length the case was carried before the proper tribunal, the charges against our missionary were dismissed. But the bishop, notwithstanding his signal discomfiture, was not to be diverted from his object; he determined to renew the contest, in the hope that by a change of tactics his ultimate object might be secured. The _criminal_ prosecution already described was brought to a termination in December. On the following 15th of March, Mr. Howe received notice that his inveterate opponent had entered a _civil_ action against him; and although the charges brought forward were essentially the same, they were put into such a shape, and contained statements so grossly exaggerated, that in order to meet them Mr. Howe was compelled to remodel his reply. After various delays, the trial at length commenced, in the court of First Instance, on the 28th April, 1856, and in proof of the malevolence by which the bishop was actuated, it may be stated that he demanded 30,000 francs damages, the suppression of the Tatara-taa,[M] and that Mr. Howe should pay all the expenses of the courts, and also for 2000 copies of the judgment for distribution. [M] The native name of the publication issued by Mr. Howe, in refutation of the bishop's catechism; which the latter charged to be libellous. The following is a summary of the proceedings, which excited the liveliest interest in the island, both among the natives and the foreign residents. "My pleadings," writes Mr. Howe, "were so successful that the court declared itself incompetent to judge the case, and fined his lordship 100 francs, and condemned him to all the expenses of that court and those of the preceding chambers. "The judgment was read on the 3rd of May. On the 10th I received notice that the bishop had appealed to the Imperial Tribunal, and demanded that the previous judgment should be rescinded. "This tribunal met on the 16th, when I objected to one of the judges, giving as my reasons that an intimacy existed between him and the bishop, which rendered his sitting as a judge in the case illegal. My objection was sustained by the court. "On the 17th, I objected to his lordship's advocate, as being under the sentence of banishment for political offences, and by which he had forfeited his civil rights. This was also sustained by the court. "On the 26th, the bishop himself appeared to plead his own cause, and he likewise objected to one of the judges, but his objection was overruled. Suffice it to say, that after having made several unsuccessful attempts to prove my defence unsound, the bishop beat a retreat, and said that if I would consent to submit my cause to arbitration he would withdraw the action. I demanded that his cause, to which this is an answer, should be submitted to the same test, and he consented. "The court then retired, and on its return announced its judgment to be, that the decisions of the previous courts were sustained, and that the bishop should pay all the expenses of this appeal, as well as the expenses of the previous courts. By this step his lordship cannot appeal again, either to the administration here, or to the Court of Cassation in France." It is gratifying to learn, that through this long and painful affair, our missionary not only had the countenance of the British and American consuls, and the fervent prayers of the native converts, both in public and private, but that even the French officers, greatly to their honour, openly expressed their sympathy. In order more fully to appreciate the result of this protracted contest, it should be borne in mind that the real point at issue was, whether the cause of Protestant Christianity, as represented by Mr. Howe, should be permitted to hold a footing in the island; that Mr. Howe stood alone, unsustained, excepting by a stedfast confidence in the justice of his cause, and the generous aid and sympathy of friends, French, English, and native, who rallied round him in the time of need; that his potent adversary could reasonably calculate on the countenance and encouragement of the authorities, who, as Frenchmen and Roman Catholics, would naturally be disposed to favour the interests of their own church, and to repress what they had been taught to regard as heresy. But in the providence of God, the presiding judges of the French tribunals before which the cause was heard magnanimously regardless of all prejudices on the score of nationality or religion, delivered a judgment which, while completely exculpating the accused, reflected the highest honour upon their own discernment, impartiality, and justice. While, therefore we devoutly recognise the hand of God so conspicuously manifest in overruling and directing this trial, or rather series of trials, to so merciful an issue, we would add the expression of our hope and belief that so long as the cause of Protestant Christianity is represented in Tahiti by men like-minded with Mr. Howe, and so long as the courts of justice on the island are presided over by men who, without fear or favour, dispense their judgments in accordance with the principles of truth and equity, the light of the gospel, which has for so many years made glad the hills and valleys of Tahiti, can never be extinguished. 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Page 330: "copions" changed to "copious" (a copious ANALYSIS, Notes, and Indexes.) 
39361	----	OLD NEW ZEALAND, A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES; and A HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE NORTH AGAINST THE CHIEF HEKE, IN THE YEAR 1845. TOLD BY AN OLD CHIEF OF THE NGAPUHI TRIBE. BY A PAKEHA MAORI. with an introduction BY THE EARL OF PEMBROKE. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1876. CHISWICK PRESS: C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. CONTENTS. Page Introduction ix Preface to the Original Edition xxiii CHAPTER I. Introductory -- First View of New Zealand -- First Sight of the Natives, and First Sensations experienced by a mere Pakeha -- A Maori Chief's notions of trading in the Old Times -- A dissertation on "Courage" -- A few words on Dress -- The Chief's Soliloquy -- The Maori Cry of Welcome 1 CHAPTER II. The Market Price of a Pakeha -- The value of a Pakeha "as such" -- Maori Hospitality in the Good Old Times -- A Respectable Friend -- Maori Mermaids -- My Notions of the value of Gold -- How I got on Shore 14 CHAPTER III. A Wrestling Match -- Beef against Melons -- The Victor gains a loss -- "Our Chief" -- His Speech -- His _status_ in the Tribe -- Death of "Melons" -- Rumours of Peace and War -- Getting the Pa in fighting order -- My Friend the "Relation Eater" -- Expectation and Preparation -- Arrival of Doubtful Friends -- Sham Fight -- The "Taki" -- The War Dance -- Another Example of Maori Hospitality -- Crocodile's Tears -- Loose Notions about Heads -- Tears of Blood -- Brotherly Love -- Capital Felony -- Peace 24 CHAPTER IV. A Little affair of "Flotsam and Jetsam" -- Rebellion Crushed in the Bud -- A Pakeha's House Sacked -- Maori Law -- A Maori Lawsuit -- Affairs thrown into Chancery 52 CHAPTER V. Every Englishman's House is his Castle -- My Estate and Castle -- How I purchased my Estate -- Native Titles to Land, of what Nature -- Value of Land in New Zealand -- Land Commissioners -- The Triumphs of Eloquence -- Magna Charta 60 CHAPTER VI. How I kept House -- Maori Freebooters -- An Ugly Customer -- The "Suaviter in Modo" -- A single Combat to amuse the Ladies -- The true Maori Gentleman -- Character of the Maori People 67 CHAPTER VII. Excitement caused by first Contact with Europeans -- The Two Great Institutions of Maori Land -- The Muru -- The Tapu -- Instances of Legal Robbery -- Descriptions and Examples of the Muru -- Profit and Loss -- Explanation of some of the Workings of the Law of Muru 81 CHAPTER VIII. The Muru falling into Disuse -- Why -- Examples of the Tapu -- The Personal Tapu -- Evading the Tapu -- The Undertaker's Tapu -- How I got Tabooed -- Frightful Difficulties -- How I got out of them -- The War Tapu -- Maori War Customs 92 CHAPTER IX. The Tapu Tohunga -- The Maori Oracle -- Responses of the Oracle -- Priestcraft 116 CHAPTER X. The Priest evokes a Spirit -- The Consequences -- A Maori Tragedy -- The "Tohunga" again 122 CHAPTER XI. The Local Tapu -- The Taniwha -- The Battle on Motiti -- Death of Tiki Whenua -- Reflections -- Brutus, Marcus Antonius, and Tiki Whenua -- Suicide 129 CHAPTER XII. The Tapa -- Instances of -- The Storming of Mokoia -- Pomare -- Hongi Ika -- Tareha -- Honour amongst Thieves 137 CHAPTER XIII. "My Rangatira" -- The respective Duties of the Pakeha and his Rangatira -- Public Opinion -- A "Pakeha Kino" -- Description of my Rangatira -- His Exploits and Misadventures -- His Moral Principles -- Decline in the numbers of the Natives -- Proofs of former Large Population -- Ancient Forts -- Causes of Decrease 140 CHAPTER XIV. Trading in the Old Times -- The Native Difficulty -- Virtue its own Reward -- Rule Britannia -- Death of my Chief -- His Dying Speech -- Rescue -- How the World goes Round 165 CHAPTER XV. Mana -- Young New Zealand -- The Law of England -- "Pop goes the weasel" -- Right if we have Might -- God save the Queen -- Good Advice 174 HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE NORTH OF NEW ZEALAND AGAINST THE CHIEF HEKE 181 INTRODUCTION. In the good old times of Conquest and Colonization (I like to be particular about my dates and places), the civilized nations of the day followed a simple policy in regard to the savage races with whom they came in contact, which may be roughly described as going their own way, and punishing the natives if they didn't conform to it, without troubling themselves much about what the aforesaid natives thought or felt on the subject. If they understood the meaning of it so much the better for them, if they did not it could not be helped. Holding themselves to be morally and intellectually far superior to the savages, they maintained that it was the savage's business to understand and conform to their notions, and not their business to regard the savage's. As for giving savages the rights of civilized men it was seldom thought of; savages were to be treated as such. I do not exactly know when this sort of native policy was first practised, but I know that it has lasted, with modifications, even to our day, and is to be seen in full working order in more than one part of the globe. And let me remark (pace the Philanthropists) that it is not always the unwisest or cruellest policy that can be followed, for this reason, that it is simple, consistent, and easily understood. The man or the nation that consistently follows its own path, turning aside for no consideration, soon becomes at least thoroughly known if not intelligently understood. And misconceptions and misunderstandings are the most fruitful of all causes of bloodshed between civilized and savage races. Let me confess, moreover, that there have been moments when I have felt certain carnal hankerings after that same old native policy. When, for instance, I had just left the French colony of New Caledonia, where amicable relations with the natives were preserved, and the country made as safe as Italy from end to end by the simple expedient of regularly and invariably executing a certain number of natives for every white man that they disposed of, without much inquiry into the motives of the murderers; and had returned to New Zealand to hear of a most lively massacre at Poverty Bay, perpetrated by three hundred Maori gentlemen, very well up in their Old Testaments and extremely practical in the use of the New,[1] who having satisfied the more pressing demands of their appetite upon the field of their exploit, had shown the sacred light of civilization that was burning within them by _potting the remainder of the corpses in tins_ and sending them as presents to their friends in the country, and had then departed to the mountains, filled with the comfortable conviction that nothing worse than imprisonment would follow the improbable event of their capture, that after a year or two of most enjoyable skirmishing the matter would be allowed to drop, and that they would most of them go to their graves well-honoured and unhung.[2] [Footnote 1: They made cartridges of them. These were the Hau Haus, a sect of Maories who, when the prestige of Christianity first began to wane in the native mind, abolished the New Testament, retained the Old, which was more to their taste, and by mixing with it a large quantity of their old heathenism, produced a religion entirely devoted theoretically and practically to plunder and blood.] [Footnote 2: I regret to say that the strict propriety (according to the received code of that day) with which the Poverty-Bay massacre, and the fighting which followed it, were prosecuted on both sides, was marred by the scandalous behaviour of a settler whose name I forget; this man's wife and child were mutilated, killed, &c., at the massacre; it was done in a most correct way, but somehow made him most unaccountably and unreasonably angry. He joined the expedition that was sent in pursuit of the murderers, and in one of the first engagements some dozen of them were made prisoners. At night he approached them, and, taking treacherous advantage of their guileless confidence, asked them if they had participated in the massacre, feast, &c.; and they, never dreaming that they had anything to fear from the admission, innocently answered in the affirmative, whereon this monster, knowing well that the poor fellows would escape capital, or even very serious, punishment, on the grounds that they were prisoners of war, or had brown skins, or excellent motives, or a deficient moral sense, or a defective education, deliberately shot the whole lot with his revolver. I need hardly mention that had this act been performed by a Maori upon white men by way of "utu" (revenge, payment) for some of his tribe that had been killed, it would have been quite "tiku" (correct, proper); but for a white man so to behave was scandalous. I forget what punishment was awarded him: let us hope he got what he deserved; and may this story be a warning to those who let their angry passions rise. The leader of the Hau Hau expedition was a ruffian called Te Kooti. The chief of the native contingent that joined in their pursuit was a Maori, of the old-fashioned sort, named Ropata. A friend of mine asked him one day what he thought would be done with Te Kooti if he were taken. "Oh, you'll make him a judge," answered Ropata, coolly. "What do you mean?" asked my friend. "Well," said Ropata, "the last two rebels you caught you made native assessors, and Te Kooti's a much greater man than either of them; so I don't see how you can do less than make him a judge. But you won't if _I_ catch him," he added, with a grin.] At moments like these I have had ideas on native policy that I dare not utter in the latitude of Exeter Hall, and the era of the nineteenth century. But when New Zealand was colonized the feeling of the English public was distinctly philanthropical towards native races (especially at a distance), and the old policy was thoroughly discarded, for one, in its general theory and intention at least, more enlightened and more humane. Speaking broadly, I think one can see all through the chequered course of our Maori policy an earnest desire to treat the native as a man and a brother; to give him the status of a civilized man whenever it was possible to do so; and when not possible to consider and make due allowance for the fact of his being uncivilized, and to guide and lead him towards civilization by just and generous treatment, and appeals to his moral and intellectual faculties. I do not wish to dwell upon the dangerous extravagances into which such a policy might and did occasionally run--such as letting off one native cut-throat by treating him as a civilized prisoner of war, and reprieving the next on the ground that he was a poor untutored savage who knew no better, to the utter destruction and confusion of all sense of power, justice, and security--great as was the amount of mischief that they did, but will confine myself to what I believe was the main cause of the almost total failure of this noble and, in the main, plausible policy. It is quite evident that to give it a chance of success it must have been founded on a thorough understanding of the native character. It is no use making signs to a man who cannot understand them, it is no use uttering the most lovely moral precepts in language that is sure to mislead him. It was in this first necessary step that I hold that we failed, with brilliant individual exceptions no doubt, who, however, only served to make the confusion worse with their gleams of light. Narrow-minded Enthusiasm, Ignorance, and Carelessness all contributed their quota to the mischief, and their favourite blunder consisted in jumping at conclusions concerning native character from certain analogies with our own. It did not occur to many of us that actions which marked the presence of certain qualities in the English character, might mark the presence of very different ones in the Maori, and _vice versâ_, or that qualities which marked the presence of certain other qualities in the Englishman might be very differently accompanied in the native; we did not realize the fact that the Maori reflected, argued, and acted in a way that was often as incomprehensible to us as our way was to him. When we observed a band of native converts singing a hymn before advancing to battle we were filled with admiration at their piety, without perceiving that those deeper religious feelings which alone could have produced such a manifestation amongst Englishmen were entirely absent.[3] When Christianity spread through the tribes with amazing rapidity, we rejoiced over their capability for accepting the doctrines of high and pure religion, never perceiving that they accepted it simply because they thought from our superiority in ships, arms, tools, and material prosperity in general, that the "Mana" (_i.e._, luck, power, prestige) of Christianity must be greater than that of their old superstition, and would be quite ready to leave it again when they found out this was a mistake, their minds being as void of the higher religious elements as those of many savages far below them in intellectual powers. When we heard of a native chief supplying his enemy with food or ammunition to enable him to carry on the war we were charmed with his generous chivalry, and immediately endowed him with all the virtues that usually accompany such behaviour in an Englishman, blind to the fact that the chief simply liked fighting as we might like eating or sleeping, and furnished his enemy with arms and ammunition just as we might furnish one's cook with money to buy meat with.[4] [Footnote 3: The Maori notion of prayer reaches no higher than the thing we call an incantation. One day I was talking to the old Pakeha Maori (_i.e._ a white man who lives amongst the Maories) on the subject of missionary labour. At last he said, "I'll tell you a story that will establish your name for ever at Exeter Hall, only you musn't tell it quite the same way that I do. I was here at the time when both the Protestant and Roman Catholic missionaries were first beginning to make their way in the country; and the Maories of my tribe used to come to me and ask me which had the greatest 'mana' (_i.e._ fortune, prestige, power, strength)--the Protestant God or the Romanist one. I was always a good Churchman, and used to tell them that the Protestant God could lick the other into fits. There was an old Irish sailor about five miles from me who used to back up the Roman Catholic God, but I had a long start of him, and moreover _was the best fighting man_ of the two, which went a long way. In a short time I had about two hundred of the most muscular, blood-thirsty, hard-fighting Protestants you could wish to see. "Well; it so happened that one day we had a little difference with some of our neighbours, and were drawn up on one side of a gully all ready to charge. I liked the fun of fighting in those days, and was rigged out in nothing but a cartridge-box and belt, with a plume of feathers in my hair, and a young woman to carry my ammunition for me; moreover, I had been put in command of the desperate young bloods of the tribe, and burned to distinguish myself, feeling the commander of the Old Guard at Waterloo quite an insignificant person in regard to myself in point of responsibility and honour. "Lying down in the fern, we waited impatiently for the signal to charge; had not we, on the last occasion worth speaking of, outrun our elders, and been nearly decimated in consequence? Shall it not be different now? See! there is the great war-chief, the commander of the 'Taua,' coming this way (he was a real 'toa' of the old stamp, too seldom found among the degenerate Maories of the present day). Little cared he for the new faith that had sprung up in the last generation; his skill with the spear, and the incantations of his 'Tohungas' (_i.e._ priests or magicians), had kept him safe through many a bitter tussle; his 'mana' was great. Straight to me he came and addressed me thus:--'Look here, young fellow! I've done the incantations and made it all square with my God; but you say that you've got a God stronger than mine, and a lot of our young fellows go with you; there's nothing like having two Gods on our side, so you fellows do the proper business with him, and then we'll fight.' Could anything have been more practical and business-like than this? But I was quite stuck up; for though I could have repeated a prayer from the liturgy myself, my worthy converts, who philosophically and rightly looked upon religion merely as a means to an end (_i.e._ killing the greatest possible quantity of enemies), were unable to produce a line of scripture amongst them. "There was an awkward pause; our commander was furious. Suddenly one discovers that he has a hymn-book in his pocket. General exultation! 'Now!' cries the old chief, foaming at the mouth with excitement, 'go down upon your knees (I know that's the custom with your God) and repeat the charm after him. Mind you don't make a mistake, now, for if one word is wrong, the whole thing will be turned topsy-turvy, and we shall be thrashed.' "And then, having repeated one hymn word for word on our knees, I and my converts charged, and walked into the Amorites no end; but whether it was the hymn or the fighting that did it is of course an open question to this day."] [Footnote 4: Of the Maori's passion for fighting for its own sake, with the chivalrous appearance that it somewhat misleadingly bore, I will give an instance. A certain chief had a missionary whom he desired to get rid of. Whether he was tired of his sermons, disliked his ritual, or what, I cannot say. However, he forwarded him on to another chief, with his compliments, as a present. Chief number two not being in need of a chaplain, having no living vacant, and having perhaps, too, a suspicion that the missionary was unsound in some respect from the careless way he was disposed of, declined him, and returned him untried. Chief number one was insulted, and declared that if chief number two had not known his superiority in arms and ammunition, he would not have dared to behave in such manner. When this came to the ears of number two, he divided his arms, &c., into two halves, and sent one to the enemy, with an invitation to war. A distinguished friend of mine in New Zealand once asked a Maori chief who had fought against us on the Waikato, why, when he had command of a certain road, he did not attack the ammunition and provision trains? "Why, you fool!" answered the Maori, much astonished, "If we had stolen their powder and food, how could they have fought?" Sometimes two villages would get up a little war, and the inhabitants, after potting at each other all day, would come out of their "pas" in the evening and talk over their day's sport in the most friendly manner. "I nearly bagged your brother to-day." "Ah, but you should have seen how I made your old father-in-law skip!" and so on. After one or two had been really killed, they would become more in earnest. I have heard old Archdeacon ----, of Tauranga, relate how in one of these petty wars he has known the defenders of a pa send out to their adversaries to say they were short of provisions, who immediately sent them a supply to go on with. Also how he has performed service on Sunday between two belligerent pas, the inhabitants of which came out to pray, and met with the most perfect amity, returning to their pas when service was over, to recommence hostilities on Monday morning. The fact is, that they were, as the Pakeha Maori says, a race so demoralized by perpetual war that they had got to look instinctively upon fighting as the chief object in life. How difficult it was for the average Englishman to see this at first, and how misleading traits such as I have mentioned might be to him, it is not hard to imagine.] By radical misconceptions, such as these, we succeeded in creating in our imaginations an ideal Maori about as true to the life as a Fenimore Cooper Indian. And then we proceeded to impress the real Maori with moral lessons that he could not understand, and with practical examples that he interpreted all wrong, to appeal to qualities and ideas that he did not possess, and ignore those that he did possess, till in spite of our patience and goodwill we became puzzled by and disgusted with him, and he contemptuous of and utterly bewildered by us. I have heard several comments upon us and our policy from intelligent natives, none of them very flattering to our sagacity or consistency, but I will only give one which struck me as being a most striking comment upon a policy that aimed at conciliation, forbearance, and patient improvement of the Maori. "You are a good people, but you have no fixed plan and no understanding either in matters of peace or war. No man can tell when you will fight or when you will give presents to buy peace, or at what sudden moment you will stop doing one and begin the other. No man can tell your reasons nor the meaning of what you do." This man had evidently caught some vague glimmerings of the meaning of our policy which only confused him the more. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. From the faithful pictures of Maori character, ideas, and feelings contained in these two little books, the observant reader will easily perceive how mistakes and misconceptions as to what they were, and might become, and as to how they should be treated, sprang up in the English mind. It is true that the Maori question, with all its hopes and fears, has practically come to an end. The bubble of Maori civilization has burst, the idea, that seemed at one time not unlikely to become an actual fact, of a native race becoming truly Christianized and civilized, and prospering side by side with their white brothers, has gone where many a noble and well-fought-for idea has gone before. The true level of the Maori, intellectually and morally, has become tolerably well known; moreover, his numbers are diminishing year by year. But the English nation is, and I hope always will be, in contact with many nations of different blood and various forms and degrees of civilization, and as long as this is the case it cannot be too much impressed upon that extremely powerful and somewhat hasty and headstrong body, the British public, that human nature is not the same all over the world, that one man's meat is another man's poison, that there is no code either of logic or of feeling or of morals universally accepted by humanity, that every difference in custom makes some difference in mind; so that (if that public wishes, as I believe it does, to manage the races with whom England comes in contact, not so much by force as by intelligent and beneficial moral influence) the first thing to be done is to gain an unwarped, accurate, and thorough knowledge of the customs, character, and opinions of the races in question. If these two little books should suggest to any careless Englishman that foreigners of dark complexion are not all like either those white men who seem to have got into brown or black skins by mistake, whom one reads about in anti-slavery books and some missionary reports, or those equally tiresome black dummies whom one reads about in another sort of book who have no marked characteristic or intelligible custom except shooting spears and arrows at people for no apparent reason, I shall be glad to have introduced them to an English public; and let me assure those who care more for amusement than instruction that they will be amply repaid by their perusal. I hope the Pakeha Maori will pardon my impertinence in giving a personal sketch of him to his English readers on the plea that his writing would not be complete without one. He was, I believe, sixty years old when I first saw him, but, in spite of his age, looked the finest man for strength, activity, and grace I had ever seen. Six feet three in height and big in proportion, with a symmetry of shape that almost disguised his immense size, I felt I could well understand the stories I had heard of his popularity and his feats amongst the Maories, especially when I watched the keen, bright expression of his humorous Irish face. In manner and conversation he was the very opposite of what one would expect of a man who had lived since his boyhood among savages. With a real love, and a considerable knowledge of literature, a keen appreciation of all intellectual excellence, and a most delightful humour, I think I never came across so charming a talker as the man whom I may not inaptly christen the "Lever" of New Zealand. PEMBROKE. PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION. To the English reader, and to most of those who have arrived in New Zealand within the last thirty years, it may be necessary to state that the descriptions of Maori life and manners of past times found in these sketches owe nothing to fiction. The different scenes and incidents are given exactly as they occurred, and all the persons described are real persons. Contact with the British settlers has of late years effected a marked and rapid change in the manners and mode of life of the natives, and the Maori of the present day are as unlike what they were when I first saw them as they are still unlike a civilised people or British subjects. The writer has therefore thought it might be worth while to place a few sketches of old Maori life on record before the remembrance of them has quite passed away; though in doing so he has by no means exhausted an interesting subject, and a more full and particular delineation of old Maori life, manners, and history has yet to be written. OLD NEW ZEALAND; A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. BY A PAKEHA MAORI. "Of Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow BETWEEN their shoulders." OLD NEW ZEALAND. Chapter I. Introductory. -- First view of New Zealand. -- First sight of the natives, and first sensations experienced by a mere Pakeha. -- A Maori chief's notions of trading in the old times. -- A dissertation on "courage." -- A few words on dress. -- The chief's soliloquy. -- The Maori cry of welcome. Ah! those good old times, when first I came to New Zealand, we shall never see their like again. Since then the world seems to have gone wrong somehow. A dull sort of world this now. The very sun does not seem to me to shine as bright as it used. Pigs and potatoes have degenerated; and everything seems "flat, stale, and unprofitable." But those were the times!--the "good old times"--before Governors were invented, and law, and justice, and all that. When every one did as he liked,--except when his neighbours would not let him, (the more shame for them,)--when there were no taxes, or duties, or public works, or public to require them. Who cared then whether he owned a coat?--or believed in shoes or stockings? The men were bigger and stouter in those days; and the women,--ah! Money was useless and might go a begging. A sovereign was of no use except to make a hole in and hang it in a child's ear. The few I brought went that way, and I have seen them swapped for shillings, which were thought more becoming. What cared I? A fish-hook was worth a dozen of them, and I had lots of fish-hooks. Little did I think in those days that I should ever see here towns and villages, banks and insurance offices, prime ministers and bishops; and hear sermons preached, and see men hung, and all the other plagues of civilization. I am a melancholy man. I feel somehow as if I had got older. I am no use in these dull times. I mope about in solitary places, exclaiming often, "Oh! where are those good old times?" and echo, or some young Maori whelp from the Three Kings, answers from behind a bush,--No HEA. I shall not state the year in which I first saw the mountains of New Zealand appear above the sea; there is a false suspicion getting about that I am growing old. This must be looked down, so I will at present avoid dates. I always held a theory that time was of no account in New Zealand, and I do believe I was right up to the time of the arrival of the first Governor. The natives hold this opinion still, especially those who are in debt: so I will just say it was in the good old times, long ago, that, from the deck of a small trading schooner in which I had taken my passage from somewhere, I first cast eyes on Maori land. It _was_ Maori land then; but alas! what is it now? Success to you, O King of Waikato. May your _mana_ never be less!--long may you hold at bay the demon of civilization, though fall at last I fear you must. Plutus with golden hoof is trampling on your landmarks. He mocks the war-song; but should _I_ see your fall, at least one Pakeha Maori shall raise the _tangi_; and with flint and shell as of old shall the women lament you. Let me, however, leave these melancholy thoughts for a time, forget the present, take courage, and talk about the past. I have not got on shore yet; a thing I must accomplish as a necessary preliminary to looking about me, and telling what I saw. I do not understand the pakeha way of beginning a story in the middle; so to start fair, I must fairly get on shore, which, I am surprised to find, was easier to _do_ than to describe. The little schooner neared the land, and as we came closer and closer, I began in a most unaccountable manner to remember all the tales I had ever heard of people being baked in ovens, with cabbage and potato "fixins." I had before this had some considerable experience of "savages," but as they had no regular system of domestic cookery of the nature I have hinted at, and being, as I was in those days, a mere pakeha (a character I have since learned to despise), I felt, to say the least, rather curious as to the then existing demand on shore for butchers' meat. The ship sailed on, and I went below and loaded my pistols; not that I expected at all to conquer the country with them, but somehow because I could not help it. We soon came to anchor in a fine harbour before the house of the very first settler who had ever entered it, and to this time he was the only one. He had, however, a few Europeans in his employ; and there was at some forty miles distance a sort of nest of English, Irish, Scotch, Dutch, French, and American runaways from South Sea whalers, with whom were also congregated certain other individuals of the pakeha race, whose manner of arrival in the country was not clearly accounted for, and to enquire into which was, as I found afterwards, considered extremely impolite, and a great breach of _bienséance_. They lived in a half savage state, or to speak correctly, in a savage and-a-half state, being greater savages by far than the natives themselves. I must, however, turn back a little, for I perceive I am not on shore yet. The anchoring of a vessel of any size, large or small, in a port of New Zealand, in those days, was an event of no small importance; and, accordingly, from the deck we could see the shore crowded by several hundreds of natives, all in a great state of excitement, shouting and running about, many with spears and clubs in their hands, and altogether looking to the inexperienced new-comer very much as if they were speculating on an immediate change of diet. I must say these at least were my impressions on seeing the mass of shouting, gesticulating, tattooed fellows, who were exhibiting before us, and who all seemed to be mad with excitement of some sort or other. Shortly after we came to anchor, a boat came off, in which was Mr. ----, the settler I have mentioned, and also the principal chief of the tribe of natives inhabiting this part of the country. Mr. ---- gave me a hearty welcome to New Zealand, and also an invitation to his house, telling me I was welcome to make it my home for any unlimited time, till I had one of my own. The chief also--having made some enquiries first of the captain of the schooner, such as whether I was a _rangatira_, if I had plenty of _taonga_ (goods) on board, and other particulars; and having been answered by the captain in the most satisfactory manner,--came up to me and gave me a most sincere welcome. (I love sincerity.) He would have welcomed me, however, had I been as poor as Job, for pakehas were, in those days, at an enormous premium. Even Job, at the worst (a _pakeha_ Job), might be supposed to have an old coat, or a spike nail, or a couple of iron hoops left on hand, and these were "good trade" in the times I speak of; and under a process well understood at the time by my friend the chief, were sure to change hands soon after his becoming aware of their whereabouts. His idea of trade was this:--He took them, and never paid for them till he took something else of greater value, which, whatever it might be, he never paid for till he made a third still heavier haul. He always paid just what he thought fit to give, and when he chose to withdraw his patronage from any pakeha who might be getting too knowing for him, and extend it to some newer arrival, he never paid for the last "lot of trade;" but, to give him his due, he allowed his pakeha friends to make the best bargain they could with the rest of the tribe, with the exception of a few of his nearest relations, over whose interests he would watch. So, after all, the pakeha would make a living; but I have never heard of one of the old traders who got rich by trading with the natives: there were too many drawbacks of the nature I have mentioned, as well as others unnecessary to mention just yet, which prevented it. I positively vow and protest to you, gentle and patient reader, that if ever I get safe on shore, I will do my best to give you satisfaction; let me get once on shore, and I am all right: but unless I get my feet on _terrâ firmâ_, how can I ever begin my tale of the good old times? As long as I am on board ship I am cramped and crippled, and a mere slave to Greenwich time, and can't get on. Some people, I am aware, would make a dash at it, and manage the thing without the aid of boat, canoe, or life preserver; but such people are, for the most part, dealers in fiction, which I am not: my story is a true story, not "founded on fact," but fact itself, and so I cannot manage to get on shore a moment sooner than circumstances will permit. It may be that I ought to have landed before this; but I must confess I don't know any more about the right way to tell a story, than a native minister knows how to "come" a war dance. I declare the mention of the war dance calls up a host of reminiscences, pleasurable and painful, exhilarating and depressing, in such a way as no one but a few, a very few, pakeha Maori, can understand. Thunder!--but no; let me get ashore; how can I dance on the water, or before I ever knew how? On shore I will get this time, I am determined, in spite of fate--so now for it. The boat of my friend Mr. ---- being about to return to the shore, leaving the chief and Mr. ---- on board, and I seeing the thing had to be done, plucked up courage, and having secretly felt the priming of my pistols under my coat, got into the boat. I must here correct myself. I have said, "plucked up courage," but that is not exactly my meaning. The fact is, kind reader, if you have followed me thus far, you are about to be rewarded for your perseverance. I am determined to make you as wise as I am myself on at least one important subject, and that is not saying a little, let me inform you, as I can hardly suppose you have made the discovery for yourself on so short an acquaintance. Falstaff, who was a very clever fellow, and whose word cannot be doubted, says--"The better part of valour is discretion." Now, that being the case, what in the name of Achilles, Hector, and Colonel Gold (_he_, I mean _Achilles_, was a rank coward, who went about knocking people on the head, being himself next thing to invulnerable, and who could not be hurt till he turned his back to the enemy. There is a deep moral in this same story about Achilles which perhaps, by and bye, I may explain to you)--what, I say again, in the name of everything valorous, can the worser part of valour be, if "discretion" be the better? The fact is, my dear sir, I don't believe in courage at all, nor ever did; but there is something far better, which has carried me through many serious scrapes with _éclât_ and safety; I mean the appearance of courage. If you have this you may drive the world before you. As for real courage, I do not believe there can be any such thing. A man who sees himself in danger of being killed by his enemy and is not in a precious fright, is simply not courageous but mad. The man who is not frightened because he cannot see the danger, is a person of weak mind--a fool--who ought to be locked up lest he walk into a well with eyes open; but the appearance of courage, or rather, as I deny the existence of the thing itself, that appearance which is thought to be courage, that is the thing will carry you through!--get you made K.C.B., Victoria Cross, and all that! Men by help of this quality do the most heroic actions, being all the time ready to die of mere fright, but keeping up a good countenance all the time. Here is the secret--pay attention, it is worth much money--if ever you get into any desperate battle or skirmish, and feel in such a state of mortal fear that you almost wish to be shot to get rid of it, just say to yourself--"If I am so preciously frightened, what must the other fellow be?" The thought will refresh you; your own self-esteem will answer that of course the enemy is more frightened than you are, consequently, the nearer you feel to running away the more reason you have to stand. Look at the last gazette of the last victory, where thousands of men at one shilling _per diem_, minus certain very serious deductions, "covered themselves with glory." The thing is clear: the other fellows ran first, and that is all about it! My secret is a very good secret; but one must of course do the thing properly; no matter of what kind the danger is, you must look it boldly in the face and keep your wits about you, and the more frightened you get the more determined you must be--to keep up appearances--and half the danger is gone at once. So now, having corrected myself, as well as given some valuable advice, I shall start again for the shore by saying that I plucked up a very good appearance of courage and got on board the boat. For the honour and glory of the British nation, of which I considered myself in some degree a representative on this momentous occasion, I had dressed myself in one of my best suits. My frock coat was, I fancy, "the thing;" my waistcoat was the result of much and deep thought, in cut, colour, and material--I may venture to affirm that the like had not been often seen in the southern hemisphere. My tailor has, as I hear, long since realized a fortune and retired, in consequence of the enlightenment he at different times received from me on the great principles of, not clothing, but embellishing the human subject. My hat looked down criticism, and my whole turn-out such as I calculated would "astonish the natives," and cause awe and respect for myself individually and the British nation in general, of whom I thought fit to consider myself no bad sample. Here I will take occasion to remark that some attention to ornament and elegance in the matter of dress is not only allowable but commendable. Man is the only beast to whom a discretionary power has been left in this respect: why then should he not take a hint from nature, and endeavour to beautify his person? Peacocks and birds of paradise could no doubt live and get fat though all their feathers were the colour of a Quaker's leggings, but see how they are ornamented! Nature has, one would say, exhausted herself in beautifying them. Look at the tiger and leopard! Could not they murder without their stripes and spots?--but see how their coats are painted! Look at the flowers--at the whole universe--and you will see everywhere the ornamental combined with the useful. Look, then, to the cut and colour of your coat, and do not laugh at the Maori of past times, who, not being "seized" of a coat because he has never been able to seize one, carves and tattoos legs, arms, and face. The boat is, however, darting towards the shore, rapidly propelled by four stout natives. My friend ---- and the chief are on board. The chief has got his eye on my double gun, which is hanging up in the cabin. He takes it down and examines it closely. He is a good judge of a gun. It is the best _tupara_ he has ever seen, and his speculations run something very like this:--"A good gun, a first-rate gun; I must have this; I must _tapu_ it before I leave the ship [here he pulls a piece of the fringe from his cloak and ties it round the stock of the gun, thereby rendering it impossible for me to sell, give away, or dispose of it in any way to anyone but himself]; I wonder what the pakeha will want for it! I will promise him as much flax or as many pigs as ever he likes for it. True, I have no flax just now, and am short of pigs, they were almost all killed at the last _hahunga_; but if he is in a hurry he can buy the flax or pigs from the people, which ought to satisfy him. Perhaps he would take a piece of land!--that would be famous. I would give him a piece quite close to the _kainga_, where I would always have him close to me; I hope he may take the land; then I should have two pakehas, him and ----. All the inland chiefs would envy me. This ---- is getting too knowing; he has taken to hiding his best goods of late, and selling them before I knew he had them. It's just the same as thieving, and I won't stand it. He sold three muskets the other day to the Ngatiwaki, and I did not know he had them, or I should have taken them. I could have paid for them some time or another. It was wrong, wrong, very wrong, to let that tribe have those muskets. He is not their pakeha; let them look for a pakeha for themselves. Those Ngatiwaki are getting too many muskets--those three make sixty-four they have got besides two _tupara_. Certainly we have a great many more, and the Ngatiwaki are our relations, but then there was Kohu, we killed, and Patu, we stole his wife. There is no saying what these Ngatiwaki may do if they should get plenty of muskets; they are game enough for anything. It was wrong to give them those muskets; wrong, wrong, wrong!" After-experience enabled me to tell just what the chief's soliloquy was, as above. But all this time the boat is darting to the shore, and as the distance is only a couple of hundred yards, I can hardly understand how it is that I have not yet landed. The crew are pulling like mad, being impatient to show the tribe the prize they have made,--a regular _pakeha rangatira_ as well as a _rangatira pakeha_ (two very different things), who has lots of tomahawks, and fish-hooks, and blankets, and a _tupara_, and is even suspected to be the owner of a great many "pots" of gunpowder! "He is going to stop with the tribe, he is going to trade, he is going to be a pakeha _for us_." These last conclusions were, however, jumped at, the "pakeha" not having then any notions of trade or commerce, and being only inclined to look about and amuse himself. The boat nears the shore, and now arises from a hundred voices the call of welcome,--"_Haere mai! haere mai! hoe mai! hoe mai! haere mai, e-te-pa-ke-ha, haere mai!_" mats, hands, and certain ragged petticoats put into requisition for that occasion, all at the same time waving in the air in sign of welcome. Then a pause. Then, as the boat came nearer, another burst of _haere mai!_ But unaccustomed as I was then to the Maori salute, I disliked the sound. There was a wailing melancholy cadence that did not strike me as being the appropriate tone of welcome; and, as I was quite ignorant up to this time of my own importance, wealth, and general value as a pakeha, I began, as the boat closed in with the shore, to ask myself whether possibly this same "_haere mai_" might not be the Maori for "dilly, dilly, come and be killed." There was, however, no help for it now; we were close to the shore, and so, putting on the most unconcerned countenance possible, I prepared to make my _entrée_ into Maori land in a proper and dignified manner. Chapter II. The market price of a Pakeha. -- The value of a Pakeha "as such." -- Maori hospitality in the good old times. -- A respectable friend. -- Maori mermaids. -- My notions of the value of gold. -- How I got on shore. Here I must remark that in those days the value of a pakeha to a tribe was enormous. For want of pakehas to trade with, and from whom to procure gunpowder and muskets, many tribes or sections of tribes were about this time exterminated or nearly so by their more fortunate neighbours who got pakehas before them, and who consequently became armed with muskets first. A pakeha trader was therefore of a value say about twenty times his own weight in muskets. This, according to my notes made at the time, I find to have represented a value in New Zealand something about what we mean in England when we talk of the sum total of the national debt. A book-keeper, or a second-rate pakeha, not a trader, might be valued at say his weight in tomahawks; an enormous sum also. The poorest labouring pakeha, though he might have no property, would earn something--his value to the chief and tribe with whom he lived might be estimated at say his weight in fish-hooks, or about a hundred thousand pounds or so; value estimated by eagerness to obtain the article. The value of a musket was not to be estimated to a native by just what he gave for it; he gave all he had, or could procure, and had he ten times as much to give he would have given it, if necessary, or if not, he would buy ten muskets instead of one. Muskets! muskets! muskets! nothing but muskets, was the first demand of the Maori; muskets and gunpowder at any cost. I do not, however, mean to affirm that pakehas were at this time valued "as such,"--like Mr. Pickwick's silk stockings, which were very good and valuable stockings, "as stockings"--not at all. A loose, straggling pakeha--a runaway from a ship for instance,--who had nothing, and was never likely to have anything, a vagrant straggler passing from place to place,--was not of much account even in those times. Two men of this description (runaway sailors) were hospitably entertained one night by a chief, a very particular friend of mine, who, to pay himself for his trouble and outlay, eat one of them next morning. Remember, my good reader, I don't deal in fiction; my friend eat the pakeha sure enough, and killed him before he eat him, which was civil, for it was not always done. But then, certainly, the pakeha was a _tutua_, a nobody, a fellow not worth a spike nail; no one knew him; he had no relations, no goods, no expectations, no anything: what could be made of him? Of what use on earth was he except to eat? And, indeed, not much good even for that--they say he was not good meat. But good well-to-do pakehas, traders, ship captains, labourers, or employers of labour, these were to be honoured, cherished, caressed, protected, and plucked. Plucked judiciously, (the Maori is a clever fellow in his way,) so that the feathers might grow again. But as for poor, mean, mere, _Pakeha tutua,--e aha te pai?_ Before going any farther I beg to state that I hope the English reader or the new-comer, who does not understand Maori morality--especially of the glorious old time--will not form a bad opinion of my friend's character, merely because he eat a good-for-nothing sort of pakeha, who really was good for nothing else. People from the old countries I have often observed to have a kind of over-delicacy about them, the result of a too effeminate course of life and over-civilization, which is the cause that, often starting from premises which are true enough, they will, being carried away by their over-sensitive constitution or sickly nervous system, jump at once, without any just process of reasoning, to the most erroneous conclusions. I know as well as can be that some of this description of my readers will at once, without reflection, set my friend down as a very rude, ill-mannered sort of person. Nothing of the kind, I assure you, Miss. You never made a greater mistake in your life. My friend was a highly respectable person in his way; he was a great friend and protector of rich, well-to-do pakehas; he was, moreover, a great warrior, and had killed the first man in several different battles. He always wore, hanging round his neck, a handsome carved flute, (this at least showed a soft and musical turn of mind,) which was made of the thigh-bone of one of his enemies; and when Heke, the Ngapuhi, made war against us, my friend came to the rescue, fought manfully for his pakeha friends, and was desperately wounded in so doing. Now can any one imagine a more respectable character?--a warrior, a musician, a friend in need, who would stand by you while he had a leg to stand on, and would not eat a _friend_ on any account whatever, except he should be very hungry. The boat darts on; she touches the edge of a steep rock; the "_haere mai_" has subsided; six or seven "personages"--the magnates of the tribe--come gravely to the front to meet me as I land. There is about six or seven yards of shallow water to be crossed between the boat and where they stand. A stout fellow rushes to the boat's nose, and "shows a back," as we used to say at leap-frog. He is a young fellow of respectable standing in the tribe, a far-off cousin of the chief's, a warrior, and as such has no back; that is to say, to carry loads of fuel or potatoes. He is too good a man to be spoiled in that way; the women must carry for him; the able-bodied men of the tribe must be saved for its protection; but he is ready to carry the pakeha on shore--the _rangatira pakeha_, who wears a real _koti roa_, (a long coat,) and beaver hat! Carry! He would lie down and make a bridge of his body, with pleasure, for him. Has he not half a shipful of _taonga_? Well, having stepped in as dignified a manner as I knew how, from thwart to thwart, till I came to the bow of the boat, and having tightened on my hat and buttoned up my coat, I fairly mounted on the broad shoulders of my aboriginal friend. I felt at the time that the thing was a sort of failure--a come down; the position was not graceful, or in any way likely to suggest ideas of respect or awe, with my legs projecting a yard or so from under each arm of my bearer, holding on to his shoulders in the most painful, cramped, and awkward manner. To be sacked on shore thus, and delivered like a bag of goods thus, into the hands of the assembled multitude, did not strike me as a good first appearance on this stage. But little, indeed, can we tell in this world what one second may produce. Gentle reader, fair reader, patient reader! The fates have decreed it; the fiat has gone forth; on that man's back I shall never land in New Zealand. Manifold are the doubts and fears which have yet to shake and agitate the hearts and minds of all my friends as to whether I shall ever land at all, or ever again feel _terrâ firmâ_ touch my longing foot. My bearer made one step; the rock is slippery; backwards he goes; back, back! The steep is near--is passed! down, down, we go! backwards and headlong to the depths below! The ebb tide is running like a sluice; in an instant we are forty yards off, and a fathom below the surface; ten more fathoms are beneath us. The heels of my boots, my polished boots, point to the upper air--ay, point; but when, oh, when again, shall I salute thee, gentle air; when again, unchoked by the saline flood, cry _Veni aura_? When, indeed! for now I am wrong end uppermost, drifting away with the tide, and ballasted with heavy pistols, boots, tight clothes, and all the straps and strings of civilization. Oh, heavens! and oh earth! and oh ye little thieves of fishes who manage to live in the waters under the earth (a miserable sort of life you must have of it!) oh Maori sea nymphs! who, with yellow hair--yellow? egad--that's odd enough, to say the least of it; however the Maori should come to give their sea nymphs or spirits yellow hair is curious. The Maori know nothing about yellow hair; their hair is black. About one in a hundred of them have a sort of dirty-brown hair; but even if there should be now and then a native with yellow hair, how is it that they have come to give this colour to the sea-sprites in particular?--who also "dance on the sands, and yet no footstep seen." Now I confess I am rather puzzled and struck by the coincidence. I don't believe Shakespeare ever was in New Zealand; Jason might, being a seafaring-man, and if he should have called in for wood and water, and happened to have the golden fleece by any accident on board, and by any chance put it on for a wig, why the thing would be accounted for at once. The world is mad now-a-days about gold, so no one cares a fig about what is called "golden hair;" nuggets and dust have the preference; but this is a grand mistake. Gold is no use, or very little, except in so far as this--that through the foolishness of human beings, one can purchase the necessaries and conveniences of life with it. Now, this being the case, if I have a chest full of gold (which I have not), I am no richer for it in fact until I have given it away in exchange for necessaries, comforts, and luxuries, which are, properly speaking, riches or wealth; but it follows from this, that he who has given me this same riches or wealth for my gold, has become poor, and his only chance to set himself up again is to get rid of the gold as fast as he can, in exchange for the same sort and quantity of things, if he can get them, which is always doubtful. But here lies the gist of the matter--how did I, in the first instance, become possessed of my gold? If I bought it, and gave real wealth for it, beef, mutton, silk, tea, sugar, tobacco, ostrich feathers, leather breeches, and crinoline,--why, then, all I have done in parting with my gold, is merely to get them back again, and I am, consequently, no richer by the transaction; but if I steal my gold, then I am a clear gainer of the whole lot of valuables above mentioned. So, upon the whole, I don't see much use in getting gold honestly, and one must not steal it: digging it certainly is almost as good as stealing, if it is not too deep, which fully accounts for so many employing themselves in this way; but then the same amount of labour would raise no end of wheat and potatoes, beef and mutton: and all farmers, mathematicians, and algebraists will agree with me in this--that after any country is fully cultivated, all the gold in the world won't force it to grow one extra turnip, and what more can any one desire? So now Adam Smith, McCulloch, and all the rest of them may go and be hanged. The whole upshot of this treatise on political economy and golden hair, (which I humbly lay at the feet of the Colonial Treasurer,) is this:--I would not give one of your golden locks, my dear, for all the gold, silver, pearls, diamonds, _mere ponamus_--stop, let me think,--a good _mere ponamu_ would be a temptation. I had once a _mere_, a present from a Maori friend, the most beautiful thing of the kind ever seen. It was nearly as transparent as glass; in it there were beautiful marks like fern leaves, trees, fishes, and--I would not give much for a person who could not see almost _anything_ in it. Never shall I cease to regret having parted with it. The Emperor of Brazil, I think, has it now; but he does not know the proper use of it. It went to the Minister many years ago. I did not sell it. I would have scorned to do that; but I did expect to be made knight of the golden pig knife, or elephant and watch box, or something of that nature: but here I am still, a mere pakeha Maori, and, as I recollect, in desperate danger of being drowned. Up we came at last, blowing and puffing like grampuses. With a glance I "recognised the situation:"--we had drifted a long way from the landing place. My hat was dashing away before the land breeze towards the sea and had already made a good "offing." Three of the boat's-crew had jumped over-board, had passed us a long distance, and were seemingly bound after the hat; the fourth man was pulling madly with one oar, and consequently making great progress in no very particular direction. The whole tribe of natives had followed our drift along the shore, shouting and gesticulating, and some were launching a large canoe, evidently bent on saving the _hat_, on which all eyes were turned. As for the pakeha, it appears they must have thought it an insult to his understanding to suppose he could be drowned anywhere in sight of land. "'Did he not come from the sea?' Was he not a fish? Was not the sea solid land to him? Did not his fire burn on the ocean? Had he not slept on the crests of the waves?" All this I heard afterwards; but at the time had I not been as much at home in the water as anything not amphibious could be, I should have been very little better than a gone pakeha. Here was a pretty wind up! I was going to "astonish the natives," was I?--with my black hat and my _koti roa_? But the villain is within a yard of me--the rascally cause of all my grief. The furies take possession of me! I dart upon him like a hungry shark! I have him! I have him under! Down, villain! down to the kraken and the whale, to the Taniwha cave!--down! down! down! As we sank I heard one grand roar of wild laughter from the shore--the word _utu_ I heard roared by many voices, but did not then know its import. The pakeha was drowning the Maori for _utu_ for himself, in _case_ he should be drowned. No matter, if the Maori can't hold his own, it's fair play; and then, if the pakeha really does drown the Maori, has he not lots of _taonga_ to be robbed of?--no, not exactly to be robbed of, either; let us not use unnecessarily bad language--we will say to be distrained upon. Crack! What do I hear? Down in the deep I felt a shock, and actually heard a sudden noise. Is it the "crack of doom?" No, it is my frock-coat gone at one split "from clue to earing"--split down the back. Oh if my pistols would go off, a fiery and watery death shouldst thou die, Caliban. Egad! they have gone off--they are both gone to the bottom! My boots are getting heavy! Humane Society, ahoy! where is your boat-hook?--where is your bellows? Humane Society, ahoy! We are now drifting fast by a sandy point, after which there will be no chance of landing--the tide will take us right out to sea. My friend is very hard to drown--must finish him some other time. We both swim for the point, and land; and this is how I got ashore on Maori land. Chapter III. A wrestling match. -- Beef against melons. -- The victor gains a loss. -- "Our chief." -- His speech. -- His _status_ in the tribe. -- Death of "Melons." -- Rumours of peace and war. -- Getting the Pa in fighting order. -- My friend the "relation eater." -- Expectation and preparation. -- Arrival of doubtful friends. -- Sham fight. -- The "taki." -- The war dance. -- Another example of Maori hospitality. -- Crocodile's tears. -- Loose notions about heads. -- Tears of blood. -- Brotherly love. -- Capital felony. -- Peace. Something between a cheer, a scream, and a roar, greet our arrival on the sand. An English voice salutes me with "Well, you served that fellow out." One half of my coat hangs from my right elbow, the other from my left; a small shred of the collar is still around my neck. My hat, alas! my hat is gone. I am surrounded by a dense mob of natives, laughing, shouting, and gesticulating in the most grotesque manner. Three Englishmen are also in the crowd--they seem greatly amused at something, and offer repeated welcomes. At this moment up comes my salt-water acquaintance, elbowing his way through the crowd; there is a strange serio-comic expression of anger in his face; he stoops, makes horrid grimaces, quivering at the same time his left hand and arm about in a most extraordinary manner, and striking the thick part of his left arm with the palm of his right hand. "_Hu!_" says he, "_hu! hu!_" "What _can_ he mean?" said I. "He is challenging you to wrestle," cried one of the Englishmen; "he wants _utu_." "What is _utu_?" said I. "Payment." "I won't pay him." "Oh, that's not it, he wants to take it out of you wrestling." "Oh, I see; here's at him; pull off my coat and boots; I'll wrestle him; his foot is in his own country, and his name is--what?" "Sir, his name in English means 'An eater of melons;' he is a good wrestler; you must mind." "_Water_-melons, I suppose; beef against melons for ever, hurrah! here's at him." Here the natives began to run between us to separate us, but seeing that I was in the humour to "have it out," and that neither self or friend were actually out of temper, and no doubt expecting to see the pakeha floored, they stood to one side and made a ring. A wrestler soon recognises another, and my friend soon gave me some hints that showed me I had some work before me. I was a youngster in those days, all bone and sinew, full of animal spirits, and as tough as leather. A couple of desperate main strength efforts soon convinced us both that science or endurance must decide the contest. My antagonist was a strapping fellow of about five-and-twenty, tremendously strong, and much heavier than me. I, however, in those days actually could not be fatigued; I did not know the sensation, and could run from morning till night. I therefore trusted to wearing him out, and avoiding his _ta_ and _wiri_. All this time the mob were shouting encouragement to one or other of us. Such a row never was seen. I soon perceived I had a "party." "Well done, pakeha!" "Now for it, Melons!" "At him again!" "Take care, the pakeha is a _taniwha_; the pakeha is a _tino tangata_!" "Hooray!" (from the British element). "The Pakeha is down!" "No he isn't!" (from English side). Here I saw my friend's knees beginning to tremble. I made a great effort, administered my favourite remedy, and there lay the "Eater of melons" prone upon the sand. I stood a victor; and like many other conquerors, a very great loser. There I stood, _minus_ hat, coat, and pistols, wet and mauled, and transformed very considerably for the worse since I left the ship. When my antagonist fell, the natives gave a great shout of triumph, and congratulated me in their own way with the greatest goodwill. I could see I had got their good opinion, though I scarcely could understand how. After sitting on the sand some time my friend arose, and with a very graceful movement, and a smile of good nature on his dusky countenance, he held out his hand and said in English, "How do you do?" I was much pleased at this; the natives had given me fair play, and my antagonist, though defeated both by sea and land, offered me his hand, and welcomed me to the shore with his whole stock of English--"How do you do?" But the row is not half over yet. Here comes the chief in the ship's boat. The other is miles off with its one man crew still pulling no one knows, or at all cares, where. Some one has been off in a canoe and told the chief that "Melons" and the "New Pakeha" were fighting like mad on the beach. Here he comes, flourishing his _mere ponamu_. He is a tall, stout fellow, in the prime of life, black with tattooing, and splendidly dressed, according to the splendour of those days. He has on a very good blue jacket, no shirt or waistcoat, a pair of duck trousers, and a red sash round his waist; no hat or shoes, these being as yet things beyond a chief's ambition. The jacket was the only one in the tribe; and amongst the surrounding company I saw only one other pair of trousers, and it had a large hole at each knee, but this was not considered to detract at all from its value. The chief jumps ashore; he begins his oration, or rather to "blow up" all and sundry the tribe in general, and poor "Melons" in particular. He is really vexed, and wishes to appear to me more vexed than he really is. He runs, gesticulating and flourishing his _mere_, about ten steps in one direction, in the course of which ten steps he delivers a sentence; he then turns and runs back the same distance, giving vent to his wrath in another sentence, and so back and forward, forward and back, till he has exhausted the subject and tired his legs. The Englishmen were beside me and gave a running translation of what he said. "Pretty work this," he began, "_good_ work; killing my pakeha; look at him! (Here a flourish in my direction with the _mere_.) I won't stand this; not at all! not at all! not at all! (The last sentence took three jumps, a step, and a turn-round, to keep correct time.) Who killed the pakeha? It was Melons. You are a nice man, are you not? (This with a sneer.) Killing my pakeha! (In a voice like thunder, and rushing savagely, _mere_ in hand, at poor Melons, but turning exactly at the end of the ten steps and coming back again.) It will be heard of all over the country; we shall be called the 'pakeha killers;' I shall be sick with shame; the pakeha will run away, and take all his _taonga_ along with him. What if you had killed him dead, or broken his bones? his relations would be coming across the sea for _utu_. (Great sensation, and I try to look as though I would say 'of course they would.') What did I build this pa close to the sea for?--was it not to trade with the pakehas?--and here you are killing the second that has come to stop with me. (Here poor Melons burst out crying like an infant.) Where is the hat?--where the _koti roa_?--where the shoes?--(Boots were shoes in those days.) The pakeha is robbed; he is murdered! (Here a howl from Melons, and I go over and sit down by him, clap him on the bare back, and shake his hand.) Look at that--the pakeha does not bear malice; I would kill you if he asked me; you are a bad people, killers of pakehas; be off with you, the whole of you, away!" This command was instantly obeyed by all the women, boys, and slaves. Melons also, being in disgrace, disappeared; but I observed that "the whole of you" did not seem to be understood as including the stout, able-bodied, tattooed part of the population, the strength of the tribe--the warriors, in fact, many of whom counted themselves to be very much about as good as the chief. They were his nearest relations, without whose support he could do nothing, and were entirely beyond his control. I found afterwards that it was only during actual war that this chief was perfectly absolute, which arose from the confidence the tribe had in him, both as a general and a fighting man, and the obvious necessity that in war implicit obedience be given to one head. I have, however, observed in other tribes, that in war they would elect a chief for the occasion, a war chief, and have been surprised to see the obedience they gave him, even when his conduct was very open to criticism. I say with surprise, for the natives are so self-possessed, opinionated, and republican, that the chiefs have at ordinary times but little control over them, except in very rare cases, where the chief happens to possess a singular vigour of character, or some other unusual advantage, to enable him to keep them under. I will mention here that my first antagonist, "The Eater of Melons," became a great friend of mine. He was my right-hand man and manager when I set up house on my own account, and did me many friendly services in the course of my acquaintance with him. He came to an unfortunate end some years later. The tribe were getting ready for a war expedition; poor Melons was filling cartridges from a fifty-pound barrel of gunpowder, pouring the gunpowder into the cartridges with his hand, and smoking his pipe at the time, as I have seen the natives doing fifty times since. A spark fell into the cask, and it is scarcely necessary to say that my poor friend was roasted alive in a second. I have known three other accidents of the same kind, from smoking whilst filling cartridges. In one of these accidents three lives were lost, and many injured; and I really do believe that the certainty of death will not prevent some of the natives from smoking for more than a given time. I have often seen infants refuse the mother's breast, and cry for the pipe till it was given them; and dying natives often ask for a pipe, and die smoking. I can clearly perceive that the young men of the present day are neither so tall, or stout, or strong as men of the same age were when I first came to the country; and I believe that this smoking from their infancy is one of the chief causes of this decrease in strength and stature. I am landed at last, certainly; but I am tattered and wet, and in a most deplorable plight: so to make my story short, for I see, if I am too particular, I shall never come to the end of it, I returned to the ship, put myself to rights, and came on shore next day with all my _taonga_, to the great delight of the chief and tribe. My hospitable entertainer, Mr. ----, found room for my possessions in his store, and a room for myself in his house; and so now I am fairly housed we shall see what will come of it. I have now all New Zealand before me to caper about in; so I shall do as I like, and please myself. I shall keep to neither rule, rhyme, or reason, but just write what comes uppermost to my recollection of the good old days. Many matters which seemed odd enough to me at first, have long appeared such mere matters of course, that I am likely to pass them over without notice. I shall, however, give some of the more striking features of those delectable days, now, alas! passed and gone. Some short time after this, news came that a grand war expedition, which had been absent nearly two years at the South, had returned. This party were about a thousand strong, being composed of two parties of about five hundred men each, from two different tribes, who had joined their force for the purpose of the expedition. The tribe with which Mr. ---- and myself were staying, had not sent any men on this war party; but, I suppose to keep their hands in, had attacked one of the two tribes who had, and who were, consequently, much weakened by the absence of so many of their best men. It, however, turned out that after a battle--the ferocity of which has seldom been equalled in any country but this--our friends were defeated with a dreadful loss, having inflicted almost as great on the enemy. Peace, however, had afterwards been formally made; but, nevertheless, the news of the return of this expedition was not heard without causing a sensation almost amounting to consternation. The war chief of the party who had been attacked by our friends during his absence, was now, with all his men, within an easy day's march. His road lay right through our village, and it was much to be doubted that he would keep the peace, being one of the most noted war chiefs of New Zealand, and he and his men returning from a successful expedition. All now was uproar and confusion; messengers were running like mad, in all directions, to call in stragglers; the women were carrying fuel and provisions into the pa or fortress of the tribe. This pa was a very well built and strong stockade, composed of three lines of strong fence and ditch, very ingeniously and artificially planned; and, indeed, as good a defence as well could be imagined against an enemy armed only with musketry. All the men were now working like furies, putting this fort to rights, getting it into fighting order, mending the fences, clearing out the ditches, knocking down houses inside the place, clearing away brushwood and fern all around the outside within musket shot. I was in the thick of it, and worked all day lashing the fence; the fence being of course not nailed, but lashed with _toro-toro_, a kind of tough creeping plant, like a small rope, which was very strong and well adapted for the purpose. This lashing was about ten or twelve feet from the ground, and a stage had to be erected for the men to stand on. To accomplish this lashing or fastening of the fence well and with expedition required two men, one inside the fence and another outside; all the men therefore worked in pairs, passing the end of the _toro-toro_ from one to the other through the fence of large upright stakes and round a cross piece which went all along the fence, by which means the whole was connected into one strong wall. I worked away like fury, just as if I had been born and bred a member of the community; and moreover, not being in those days very particularly famous for what is called prudence, I intended also, circumstances permitting, to fight like fury too, just for the fun of the thing. About a hundred men were employed in this part of the work new lashing the pa. My _vis-à-vis_ in the operation was a respectable old warrior of great experience and approved valour, whose name being turned into English meant "The eater of his own relations." (Be careful not to read _rations_.) This was quite a different sort of diet from "melons," and he did not bear his name for nothing, as I could tell you if I had time, but I am half mad with haste lashing the pa. I will only say that my comrade was a most bloodthirsty, ferocious, athletic savage, and his character was depicted in every line of his tattooed face. About twenty men had been sent out to watch the approach of the dreaded visitors. The repairing of the stockade went on all one day and all one night by torchlight and by the light of huge fires lit in the inside. No one thought of sleep. Dogs barking, men shouting, children crying, women screaming, pigs squealing, muskets firing (to see if they were fit for active service and would go off), and above all the doleful _tetere_ sounding. This was a huge wooden trumpet six feet long, which gave forth a groaning moaning sound, like the voice of a dying wild bull. Babel, with a dash of Pandemonium, will give a faint idea of the uproar. All preparations having been at last made, and no further tidings of the enemy, as I may call them, I took a complete survey of the fort, my friend the "Relation Eater" being my companion and explaining to me the design of the whole. I learned something that day; and I, though pretty well "up" in the noble science of fortification, ancient and modern, was obliged to confess to myself that a savage who could neither read or write--who had never heard of Cohorn or Vauban--and who was moreover avowedly a gobbler up of his own relations, could teach me certain practical "dodges" in the defensive art quite well worth knowing. A long shed of palm leaves had been also built at a safe and convenient distance from the fort. This was for the accommodation of the expected visitors, supposing they came in peaceful guise. A whole herd of pigs were also collected and tied to stakes driven into the ground in the rear of the fort. These were intended to feast the coming guests, according to their behaviour. Towards evening a messenger from a neighbouring friendly tribe arrived to say that next day, about noon, the strangers might be expected; and also that the peace which had been concluded with their tribe during their absence, had been ratified and accepted by them. This was satisfactory intelligence; but, nevertheless, no precaution must be neglected. To be thrown off guard would invite an attack, and ensure destruction; everything must be in order; gun cleaning, flint fixing, cartridge making, was going on in all directions; and the outpost at the edge of the forest was not called in. All was active preparation. The path by which these doubtful friends were coming led through a dense forest and came out on the clear plain about half-a-mile from the pa, which plain continued and extended in every direction around the fortress to about the same distance, so that none could approach unperceived. The outpost of twenty men were stationed at about a couple of hundred yards from the point where the path emerged from the wood; and as the ground sloped considerably from the forest to the fort, the whole intervening space was clearly visible. Another night of alarm and sleepless expectation, the melancholy moan of the _tetere_ still continuing to hint to any lurking enemy that we were all wide awake; or rather, I should say, to assure him most positively of it, for who could sleep with that diabolical din in his ears? Morning came and an early breakfast was cooked and devoured hurriedly. Then groups of the younger men might be seen here and there fully armed, and "getting up steam" by dancing the war dance, in anticipation of the grand dance of the whole warrior force of the tribe, which, as a matter of course, must be performed in honour of the visitors when they arrived. In honour, but quite as much in intimidation, or an endeavour at it, though no one said so. Noon arrived at last. Anxious glances are turning from all quarters towards the wood, from which a path is plainly seen winding down the sloping ground towards the pa. The outpost is on the alert. Straggling scouts are out in every direction. All is expectation. Now there is a movement at the outpost. They suddenly spread in an open line, ten yards between each man. One man comes at full speed running towards the pa, jumping and bounding over every impediment. Now something moves in the border of the forest,--it is a mass of black heads. Now the men are plainly visible. The whole _taua_ has emerged upon the plain. "Here they come! here they come!" is heard in all directions. The men of the outpost cross the line of march in pretended resistance; they present their guns, make horrid grimaces, dance about like mad baboons, and then fall back with headlong speed to the next advantageous position for making a stand. The _taua_, however, comes on steadily; they are formed in a solid oblong mass. The chief at the left of the column leads them on. The men are all equipped for immediate action, that is to say, quite naked except their arms and cartridge boxes, which are a warrior's clothes. No one can possibly tell what this peaceful meeting may end in, so all are ready for action at a second's notice. The _taua_ still comes steadily on. As I have said, the men are all stripped for action, but I also notice that the appearance of nakedness is completely taken away by the tattooing, the colour of the skin, and the arms and equipments. The men in fact look much better than when dressed in their Maori clothing. Every man, almost without exception, is covered with tattooing from the knees to the waist; the face is also covered with dark spiral lines. Each man has round his middle a belt, to which is fastened two cartridge boxes, one behind and one before; another belt goes over the right shoulder and under the left arm, and from it hangs, on the left side and rather behind, another cartridge box, and under the waist-belt is thrust, behind, at the small of the back, the short-handled tomahawk for close fight and to finish the wounded. Each cartridge box contains eighteen rounds, and every man has a musket. Altogether this _taua_ is better and more uniformly armed and equipped than ordinary; but they have been amongst the first who got pakehas to trade with them, and are indeed in consequence the terror of New Zealand. On they come, a set of tall, athletic, heavy-made men; they would, I am sure, in the aggregate weigh some tons heavier than the same number of men taken at random from the streets of one of our manufacturing towns. They are now half way across the plain; they keep their formation, a solid oblong, admirably as they advance, but they do not keep step; this causes a very singular appearance at a distance. Instead of the regular marching step of civilized soldiers, which may be observed at any distance, this mass seems to progress towards you with the creeping motion of some great reptile at a distance, and when coming down a sloping ground this effect is quite remarkable. The mimic opposition is now discontinued; the outpost rushes in at full speed, the men firing their guns in the air as they run. _Takini! takini!_ is the cry, and out spring three young men, the best runners of our tribe, to perform the ceremony of the _taki_. They hold in their hands some reeds to represent darts or _kokiri_. At this moment a tremendous fire of _ball_ cartridge opens from the fort; the balls whistle in every direction, over and around the advancing party, who steadily and gravely come on, not seeming to know that a gun has been fired, though they perfectly well understand that this salute is also a hint of full preparation for any unexpected turn things may take. Now, from the whole female population arises the shrill "_haere mai! haere mai!_" Mats are waving, guns firing, dogs barking; the chief roaring to "fall in," and form for the war dance. He appears half mad with excitement, anxiety, and something very like apprehension of a sudden onslaught from his friends. In the midst of this horrible uproar off dart three runners. They are not unexpected. Three young men of the _taua_ are seen to tighten their waist-belts, and hand their muskets to their comrades. On go the three young men from the fort. They approach the front of the advancing column; they dance and caper about like mad monkeys, twisting their faces about in the most extraordinary manner, showing the whites of their eyes, and lolling out their tongues. At last, after several feints, they boldly advance within twenty yards of the supposed enemy, and send the reed darts flying full in their faces: then they turn and fly as if for life. Instantly, from the stranger ranks, three young men dart forth in eager pursuit; and behind them comes the solid column, rushing on at full speed. Run now, O "Sounding Sea," (_Tai Haruru_) for the "Black Cloud," (_Kapua Mangu_) the swiftest of the Rarawa, is at your back; run now, for the honour of your tribe and your own name, run! run! It was an exciting scene. The two famous runners came on at a tremendous pace, the dark mass of armed men following close behind at full speed, keeping their formation admirably, the ground shaking under them as they rushed on. On come the two runners (the others are left behind and disregarded). The pursuer gains upon his man; but they are fast nearing the goal, where, according to Maori custom, the chase must end. Run, "Sounding Sea;" another effort! your tribe are near in full array, and armed for the war dance; their friendly ranks are your refuge; run! run! On came the headlong race. When within about thirty yards of the place where our tribe was now formed in a solid oblong, each man kneeling on one knee, with musket held in both hands, butt to ground, and somewhat sloped to the front, the pursuing native caught at the shoulder of our man, touched it, but could do no more. Here he must stop; to go farther would not be "correct." He will, however, boast everywhere that he has touched the shoulder of the famous "Sounding Sea." Our man has not, however, been caught, which would have been a bad omen. At this moment the charging column comes thundering up to where their man is standing; instantly they all kneel upon one knee, holding their guns sloped before their faces, in the manner already described. The _élite_ of the two tribes are now opposite to each other, all armed, all kneeling, and formed in two solid oblong masses, the narrow end of the oblong to the front. Only thirty yards divide them; the front ranks do not gaze on each other; both parties turn their eyes towards the ground, and with heads bent downwards, and a little to one side, appear to listen. All is silence; you might have heard a pin drop. The uproar has turned to a calm; the men are kneeling statues; the chiefs have disappeared; they are in the centre of their tribes. The pakeha is beginning to wonder what will be the end of all this; and also to speculate on the efficacy of the buck shot with which his gun is loaded, and wishes it was ball. Two minutes have elapsed in this solemn silence, the more remarkable as being the first quiet two minutes for the last two days and nights. Suddenly from the extreme rear of the strangers' column is heard a scream--a horrid yell. A savage, of herculean stature, comes, _mere_ in hand, and rushing madly to the front. He seems hunted by all the furies. Bedlam never produced so horrid a visage. Thrice, as he advances, he gives that horrid cry; and thrice the armed tribe give answer with a long-drawn gasping sigh. He is at the front; he jumps into the air, shaking his stone weapon; the whites only of his eyes are visible, giving a most hideous appearance to his face; he shouts the first words of the war song, and instantly his tribe spring from the ground. It would be hard to describe the scene which followed. The roaring chorus of the war song; the horrid grimaces; the eyes all white; the tongues hanging out; the furious yet measured and uniform gesticulation, jumping, and stamping. I felt the ground plainly trembling. At last the war dance ended; and then my tribe, (I find I am already beginning to get Maorified,) starting from the ground like a single man, endeavoured to outdo even their amiable friends' exhibition. They end; then the new-comers perform another demon dance; then my tribe give another. Silence again prevails, and all sit down. Immediately a man from the new arrivals comes to the front of his own party; he runs to and fro; he speaks for his tribe; these are his words:--"Peace is made! peace is made! peace is firm! peace is secure! peace! peace! peace!" This man is not a person of any particular consequence in his tribe, but his brother was killed by our people in the battle I have mentioned, and this gives him the right to be the first to proclaim peace. His speech is ended and he "falls in." Some three or four others "follow on the same side." Their speeches are short also, and nearly verbatim what the first was. Then who of all the world starts forth from "ours," to speak on the side of "law and order," but my diabolical old acquaintance the "Relation Eater." I had by this time picked up a little Maori, and could partly understand his speech. "Welcome! welcome! welcome! peace is made! not till now has there been true peace! I have seen you, and peace is made!" Here he broke out into a song, the chorus of which was taken up by hundreds of voices, and when it ended he made a sudden and very expressive gesture of scattering something with his hands, which was a signal to all present that the ceremonial was at an end for the time. Our tribe at once disappeared into the pa, and at the same instant the strangers broke into a scattered mob, and made for the long shed which had been prepared for their reception, which was quite large enough, and the floor covered thickly with clean rushes to sleep on. About fifty or sixty then started for the border of the forest to bring their clothes and baggage, which had been left there as incumbrances to the movements of the performers in the ceremonials I have described. Part, however, of the "_impedimenta_" had already arrived on the backs of about thirty boys, women, and old slaves; and I noticed amongst other things some casks of cartridges, which were, as I thought, rather ostentatiously exposed to view. I soon found the reason my friend of saturnine propensities had closed proceedings so abruptly was, that the tribe had many pressing duties of hospitality to fulfil, and that the heavy talking was to commence next day. I noticed also that to this time there had been no meeting of the chiefs, and, moreover, that the two parties had kept strictly separate--the nearest they had been to each other was thirty yards when the war dancing was going on, and they seemed quite glad, when the short speeches were over, to move off to a greater distance from each other. Soon after the dispersion of the two parties, a firing of muskets was heard in and at the rear of the fort, accompanied by the squeaking, squealing, and dying groans of a whole herd of pigs. Directly afterwards a mob of fellows were seen staggering under the weight of the dead pigs, and proceeding to the long shed already mentioned, in front of which they were flung down, _sans-ceremonie_, and without a word spoken. I counted sixty-nine large fat pigs flung in one heap, one on the top of the other, before that part of the shed where the principal chief was sitting; twelve were thrown before the interesting savage who had "started" the war dance; and several single porkers were thrown without any remark before certain others of the guests. The parties, however, to whom this compliment was paid sat quietly saying nothing, and hardly appearing to see what was done. Behind the pigs was placed, by the active exertion of two or three hundred people, a heap of potatoes and _kumera_, in quantity about ten tons, so there was no want of the raw material for a feast. The pigs and potatoes having been deposited, a train of women appeared--the whole, indeed, of the young and middle-aged women of the tribe. They advanced with a half-dancing half-hopping sort of step, to the time of a wild but not unmusical chant, each woman holding high in both hands a smoking dish of some kind or other of Maori delicacy, hot from the oven. The groundwork of this feast appeared to be sweet potatoes and _taro_, but on the top of each smoking mess was placed either dried shark, eels, mullet, or pork, all "piping hot." This treat was intended to stay our guests' stomachs till they could find time to cook for themselves. The women having placed the dishes, or to speak more correctly, baskets, on the ground before the shed, disappeared; and in a miraculously short time the feast disappeared also, as was proved by seeing the baskets flung in twos, threes, and tens, empty out of the shed. Next day, pretty early in the morning, I saw our chief (as I must call him for distinction) with a few of the principal men of the tribe, dressed in their best Maori costume, taking their way towards the shed of the visitors. When they got pretty near, a cry of _haere mai!_ hailed them. They went on gravely, and observing where the principal chief was seated, our chief advanced towards him, fell upon his neck embracing him in the most affectionate manner, commenced a _tangi_, or melancholy sort of ditty, which lasted a full half hour, and during which, both parties, as in duty bound and in compliance with custom, shed floods of tears. How they managed to do it is more than I can tell to this day, except that I suppose you may train a man to do anything. Right well do I know that either party would have almost given his life for a chance to exterminate the other with all his tribe; and twenty-seven years afterwards I saw the two tribes fighting in the very quarrel which was pretended to have been made up that day. Before this, however, both these chiefs were dead, and others reigned in their stead. While the _tangi_ was going on between the two principals, the companions of our chief each selected one of the visitors, and rushing into his arms, went through a similar scene. Old "Relation Eater" singled out the horrific savage who had began the war dance, and these two tender-hearted individuals did, for a full half hour, seated on the ground, hanging on each other's necks, give vent to such a chorus of skilfully modulated howling as would have given Momus the blue devils to listen to. After the _tangi_ was ended, the two tribes seated themselves in a large irregular circle on the plain, and into this circle strode an orator, who, having said his say, was followed by another, and so the greater part of the day was consumed. No arms were to be seen in the hands of either party, except the greenstone _mere_ of the principal chiefs; but I took notice that about thirty of our people never left the nearest gate of the pa, and that their loaded muskets, although out of sight, were close at hand, standing against the fence inside the gate, and I also perceived that under their cloaks or mats they wore their cartridge boxes and tomahawks. This caused me to observe the other party more closely. They also, I perceived, had some forty men sleeping in the shed; these fellows had not removed their cartridge boxes either, and all their companions' arms were carefully ranged behind them in a row, six or seven deep, against the back wall of the shed. The speeches of the orators were not very interesting, so I took a stroll to a little rising ground at about a hundred yards distance, where a company of natives, better dressed than common, were seated. They had the best sort of ornamented cloaks, and had feathers in their heads, which I already knew "commoners" could not afford to wear, as they were only to be procured some hundreds of miles to the south. I therefore concluded these were magnates or "personages" of some kind or other, and determined to introduce myself. As I approached, one of these splendid individuals nodded to me in a very familiar sort of manner, and I, not to appear rude, returned the salute. I stepped into the circle formed by my new friends, and had just commenced a _tena koutou_, when a breeze of wind came sighing along the hill-top. My friend nodded again,--his cloak blew to one side. What do I see?--or rather what do I not see? _The head has no body under it!_ The heads had all been stuck on slender rods, a cross stick tied on to represent the shoulders, and the cloaks thrown over all in such a natural manner as to deceive anyone at a short distance, but a green pakeha, who was not expecting any such matter, to a certainty. I fell back a yard or two, so as to take a full view of this silent circle. I began to feel as if at last I had fallen into strange company. I began to look more closely at my companions, and to try to fancy what their characters in life had been. One had undoubtedly been a warrior; there was something bold and defiant about the whole air of the head. Another was the head of a very old man, grey, shrivelled, and wrinkled. I was going on with my observations when I was saluted by a voice from behind with, "Looking at the eds, sir?" It was one of the pakehas formerly mentioned. "Yes," said I, turning round just the least possible thing quicker than ordinary. "Eds has been a getting scarce," says he. "I should think so," says I. "We an't ad a ed this long time," says he. "The devil!" says I. "One o' them eds has been hurt bad," says he. "I should think all were, rather so," says I, "Oh no, only one on 'em," says he, "the skull is split, and it won't fetch nothin," says he. "Oh, murder! I see, now," says I. "Eds was _werry_ scarce," says he, shaking his own "ed." "Ah!" said I. "They had to tattoo a slave a bit ago," says he, "and the villain ran away, tattooin' and all!" says he. "What?" said I. "Bolted afore he was fit to kill," says he. "Stole off with his own head?" says I. "That's just it," says he. "_Capital_ felony!" says I. "You may say that, sir," says he. "Good morning," said I. I walked away pretty smartly. "Loose notions about heads in this country," said I to myself; and involuntarily putting up my hand to my own, I thought somehow the bump of combativeness felt smaller, or indeed had vanished altogether. "It's all very funny," said I. I walked down into the plain. I saw in one place a crowd of women, boys, and others. There was a great noise of lamentation going on. I went up to the crowd, and there beheld, lying on a clean mat, which was spread on the ground, another head. A number of women were standing in a row before it, screaming, wailing, and quivering their hands about in a most extraordinary manner, and cutting themselves dreadfully with sharp flints and shells. One old woman, in the centre of the group, was one clot of blood from head to feet, and large clots of coagulated blood lay on the ground where she stood. The sight was absolutely horrible, I thought at the time. She was singing or howling a dirge-like wail. In her right hand she held a piece of _tuhua_, or volcanic glass, as sharp as a razor: this she placed deliberately to her left wrist, drawing it slowly upwards to her left shoulder, the spouting blood following as it went; then from the left shoulder downwards, across the breast to the short ribs on the right side; then the rude but keen knife was shifted from the right hand to the left, placed to the right wrist, drawn upwards to the right shoulder, and so down across the breast to the left side, thus making a bloody cross on the breast; and so the operation went on all the time I was there, the old creature all the time howling in time and measure, and keeping time also with the knife, which at every cut was shifted from one hand to the other, as I have described. She had scored her forehead and cheeks before I came; her face and body was a mere clot of blood, and a little stream was dropping from every finger--a more hideous object could scarcely be conceived. I took notice that the younger women, though they screamed as loud, did not cut near so deep as the old woman, especially about the face. This custom has been falling gradually out of use; and when practised now, in these degenerate times, the cutting and maiming is mere form, mere scratching to draw enough blood to swear by: but, in "the good old times," the thing used to be done properly. I often, of late years, have felt quite indignant to see some degenerate hussy making believe with a piece of flint in her hand, but who had no notion of cutting herself up properly as she ought to do. It shows a want of natural affection in the present generation, I think; they refuse to shed tears of blood for their friends as their mothers used to do. This head, I found on enquiry, was not the head of an enemy. A small party of our friends had been surprised; two brothers were flying for their lives down a hill-side; a shot broke the leg of one of them and he fell; the enemy were close at hand; already the exulting cry "_na! na! mate rawa!_" was heard; the wounded man cried to the brother, "Do not leave my head a plaything for the foe." There was no time for deliberation. The brother _did not_ deliberate; a few slashes with the tomahawk saved his brother's head, and he escaped with it in his hand, dried it, and brought it home; and the old woman was the mother,--the young ones were cousins. There was no sister, as I heard, when I enquired. All the heads on the hill were heads of enemies, and several of them are now in museums in Europe. With reference to the knowing remarks of the pakeha who accosted me on the hill on the state of the head market, I am bound to remark that my friend Mr. ---- never speculated in this "article;" but the skippers of many of the colonial trading schooners were always ready to deal with a man who had "a real good head," and used to commission such men as my companion of the morning to "pick up heads" for them. It is a positive fact that some time after this the head of a live man was sold and paid for beforehand, and afterwards honestly delivered "as per agreement." The scoundrel slave who had the conscience to run away with his own head after the trouble and expense had been gone to to tattoo it to make it more valuable, is no fiction either. Even in "the good old times" people would sometimes be found to behave in the most dishonest manner. But there are good and bad to be found in all times and places. Now if there is one thing I hate more than another it is the raw-head-and-bloody-bones style of writing, and in these random reminiscences I shall avoid all particular mention of battles, massacres, and onslaughts, except there be something particularly characteristic of my friend the Maori in them. As for mere hacking and hewing, there has been enough of that to be had in Europe, Asia, and America of late, and very well described too, by numerous "our correspondents." If I should have to fight a single combat or two, just to please the ladies, I shall do my best not to get killed, and hereby promise not to kill any one myself if I possibly can help it. I, however, hope to be excused for the last two or three pages, as it was necessary to point out that in the good old times, if one's own head was not sufficient, it was quite practicable to get another. I must, however, get rid of our visitors. Next day, at daylight, they disappeared: canoes from their own tribe had come to meet them (the old woman with the flint had arrived in these canoes), and they departed _sans-ceremonie_, taking with them all that was left of the pigs and potatoes which had been given them, and also the "fine lot of eds." Their departure was felt as a great relief, and though it was satisfactory to know peace was made, it was even more so to be well rid of the peacemakers. Hail, lovely peace, daughter of heaven! meek-eyed inventor of Armstrong guns and Enfield rifles; you of the liquid fire-shell, hail! Shooter at "bulls'-eyes," trainer of battalions, killer of wooden Frenchmen, hail! (A bit of fine writing does one good.) Nestling under thy wing, I will scrape sharp the point of my spear with a _pipi_ shell; I will carry fern-root into my pa; I will _cure_ those heads which I have killed in war, or they will spoil and "won't fetch nothin:" for these are thy arts, O peace! Chapter IV. A little affair of "flotsam and jetsam." -- Rebellion crushed in the bud. -- A Pakeha's house sacked. -- Maori law. -- A Maori lawsuit. -- Affair thrown into Chancery. Pakehas, though precious in the good old times, would sometimes get into awkward scrapes. Accidents, I have observed, will happen at the best of times. Some time after the matters I have been recounting happened, two of the pakehas who were "knocking about" Mr. ----'s premises, went fishing. One of them was a very respectable old man-of-war's man; the other was the connoisseur of heads, who, I may as well mention, was thought to be one of that class who never could remember to a nicety how they had come into the country, or where they came from. It so happened that on their return, the little boat, not being well fastened, went adrift in the night, and was cast on shore at about four miles distance, in the dominions of a petty chief who was a sort of vassal or retainer of ours. He did not belong to the tribe, and lived on the land by the permission of our chief as a sort of tenant at will. Of late an ill-feeling had grown up between him and the principal chief. The vassal had in fact begun to show some airs of independence, and had collected more men about him than our chief cared to see; but up to this time there had been no regular outbreak between them, possibly because the vassal had not yet sufficient force to declare independence formally. Our chief was however watching for an excuse to fall out with him before he should grow too strong. As soon as it was heard where the boat was, the two men went for it as a matter of course, little thinking that this encroaching vassal would have the insolence to claim the right of "flotsam and jetsam," which belonged to the principal chief, and which was always waived in favour of his pakehas. On arrival, however, at this rebellious chief's dominions, they were informed that it was his intention to stick to the boat until he was paid a "stocking of gunpowder"--meaning a quantity as much as a stocking would hold, which was the regular standard measure in those days in that locality. A stocking of gunpowder! who ever heard of such an awful imposition? The demand was enormous in value and rebellious in principle. The thing must be put an end to at once. The principal chief did not hesitate: rebellion must be crushed in the bud. He at once mustered his whole force (he did not approve of "little wars,") and sent them off under the command of the Relation Eater, who served an ejectment in regular Maori form, by first plundering the village and then burning it to ashes; also destroying the cultivation and provisions, and forcing the vassal to decamp with all his people on pain of instant massacre--a thing they did not lose a moment in doing, and I don't think they either eat or slept till they had got fifty miles off, where a tribe related to them received them and gave them a welcome. Well, about three months after this, about daylight in the morning, I was aroused by a great uproar of men shouting, doors smashing, and women screaming. Up I jumped, and pulled on a few clothes in less time, I am sure, than ever I had done before in my life; out I ran, and at once perceived that Mr. ----'s premises were being sacked by the rebellious vassal, who had returned with about fifty men, and was taking this means of revenging himself for the rough handling he had received from our chief. Men were rushing in mad haste through the smashed windows and doors, loaded with anything and everything they could lay hands on. The chief was stamping against the door of a room in which he was aware the most valuable goods were kept, and shouting for help to break it open. A large canoe was floating close to the house, and was being rapidly filled with plunder. I saw a fat old Maori woman, who was washerwoman to the establishment, being dragged along the ground by a huge fellow, who was trying to tear from her grasp one of my shirts, to which she clung with perfect desperation. I perceived at a glance that the faithful old creature would probably save a sleeve. A long line of similar articles, my property, which had graced the _taiepa_ fence the night before, had disappeared. The old man-of-war's man had placed his back exactly opposite to that part of the said fence where hung a certain striped cotton shirt and well scrubbed canvas trowsers, which _could_ belong to no one but himself. He was "hitting out" lustily right and left. Mr. ---- had been absent some days on a journey, and the head merchant, as we found after all was over, was hiding under a bed. When the old sailor saw me, he "sang out," in a voice clear as a bell, and calculated to be distinctly heard above the din:--"Hit out, sir, if you please; let's make a fight of it the best we can; our mob will be here in five minutes; Tahuna has run to fetch them." While he thus gave both advice and information, he also set a good example, having delivered just one thump per word or thereabouts. The odds were terrible, but the time was short that I was required to fight; so I at once floored a native who was rushing by me. He fell like a man shot, and I then perceived he was one of our own people who had been employed about the place; so, to balance things, I knocked down another, and then felt myself seized round the waist from behind, by a fellow who seemed to be about as strong as a horse. At this moment I cast an anxious glance around the field of battle. The old Maori woman had, as I expected, saved a good half of my shirt; she had got on the top of an outhouse, and was waving it in a "Sister Anne" sort of manner, and calling to an imaginary friendly host, which she pretended to see advancing to the rescue. The old sailor had fallen under, but not surrendered to, superior force. Three natives had got him down; but it took all they could do to _keep_ him down: he was evidently carrying out his original idea of making a fight of it, and gaining time;--the striped shirt and canvas trowsers still hung proudly on the fence. None of his assailants could spare a second to pull them down. I was kicking and flinging in the endeavour to extricate myself; or, at least to turn round, so as to carry out a "face to face" policy, which it would be a grand mistake to suppose was not understood long ago in the good old times. I had nearly succeeded, and was thinking what particular form of destruction I should shower on the foe, when a tremendous shout was heard. It was "our mob" coming to the rescue; and, like heroes of old, "sending their voice before them." In an instant both myself and the gallant old tar were released; the enemy dashed on board their canoe, and in another moment were off, darting away before a gale of wind and a fair tide at a rate that put half a mile at least between them and us before our protectors came up. "Load the gun!" cried the sailor--(there was a nine-pound carronade on the cliff before the house, overlooking the river). A cartridge was soon found, and a shot, and the gun loaded. "Slue her a little," cried my now commander; "fetch a fire stick." "Aye, aye, sir" (from self). "Wait a little; that will do--Fire!"--(in a voice as if ordering the discharge of the whole broadside of a three-decker). Bang! The elevation was perfectly correct. The shot struck the water at exactly the right distance, and only a few feet to one side. A very few feet more to the right and the shot would have entered the stern of the canoe, and, as she was end on to us, would have killed half the people in her. A miss, however, is as good as a mile off. The canoe disappeared behind a point, and there we were with an army of armed friends around us, who, by making great expedition, had managed to come exactly in time to be too late. This was a _taua muru_ (a robbing expedition) in revenge for the leader having been cleaned out by our chief, which gave them the right to rob any one connected with, related to, or under the protection of, our chief aforesaid, provided always that they were able. We, on the other hand, had the clear right to kill any of the robbers, which would then have given them the right to kill us; but until we killed some of them, it would not have been "correct" for them to have taken life, so they managed the thing neatly, so that they should have no occasion to do so. The whole proceeding was unobjectionable in every respect, and _tika_ (correct). Had we put in our nine-pound shot at the stern of their canoe, it would have been correct also, but as we were not able, we had no right whatever to complain. The above is good law, and here I may as well inform the New Zealand public that I am going to write the whole law of this land in a book, which I shall call "_Ko nga ture_;" and as I intend it for the good of both races, I shall mix the two languages up in such a way that neither can understand; but this does not matter, as I shall add a "glossary," in Coptic, to make things clear. Some time after this, a little incident happened at my friend Mr. ----'s place worth noting. Our chief had, for some time back, a sort of dispute with another magnate, who lived about ten miles off. I really cannot say who was in the right--the arguments on both sides were so nearly balanced, that I should not like to commit myself to a judgment in the case. The question was at last brought to a fair hearing at my friend's house. The arguments on both sides were very forcible, so much so that in the course of the arbitration our chief and thirty of his principal witnesses were shot dead in a heap before my friend's door, and sixty others badly wounded, and my friend's house and store blown up and burnt to ashes. My friend was all but, or indeed, quite ruined, but it would not have been "correct" for him to complain--_his_ loss in goods being far overbalanced by the loss of the tribe in men. He was, however, consoled by hundreds of friends who came in large parties to condole and _tangi_ with him, and who, as was quite correct in such cases, shot and eat all his stock, sheep, pigs, goats, ducks, geese, fowls, &c., all in high compliment to himself, at which he felt proud, as a well conducted and conditioned pakeha Maori (as he was) should do. He did not, however, survive these honours long, poor fellow. He died, and strange to say, no one knew exactly what was the matter with him--some said it was the climate, they thought. After this the land about which this little misunderstanding had arisen, was, so to speak, thrown into chancery, where it has now remained about forty years; but I hear that proceedings are to commence _de novo_ (no allusion to the "new system") next summer, or at farthest the summer after; and as I witnessed the first proceedings, when the case comes on again "may I be there to see." Chapter V. Every Englishman's house is his castle. -- My estate and castle. -- How I purchased my estate. -- Native titles to land, of what nature. -- Value of land in New Zealand. -- Land commissioners. -- The triumphs of eloquence. -- Magna Charta. "Every Englishman's house is his castle," "I scorn the foreign yoke," and glory in the name of Briton, and all that. The natural end, however, of all castles is to be burnt or blown up. In England it is true you can call the constable, and should any foreign power attack you with grinding organ and white mice, you may hope for succours from without, from which cause "castles" in England are more long lived. In New Zealand, however, it is different, as, to the present day, the old system prevails, and castles continue to be disposed of in the natural way, as has been seen lately at Taranaki. I now purchased a piece of land and built a "castle" for myself. I really can't tell to the present day who I purchased the land from, for there were about fifty different claimants, every one of whom assured me that the other forty-nine were "humbugs," and had no right whatever. The nature of the different titles of the different claimants was various. One man said his ancestors had killed off the first owners; another declared his ancestors had driven off the second party; another man, who seemed to be listened to with more respect than ordinary, declared that his ancestor had been the first possessor of all, and had never been ousted, and that this ancestor was a huge lizard that lived in a cave on the land many ages ago, and sure enough there was the cave to prove it. Besides the principal claims, there were an immense number of secondary ones--a sort of latent equities--which had lain dormant until it was known the pakeha had his eye on the land. Some of them seemed to me at the time odd enough. One man required payment because his ancestors, as he affirmed, had exercised the right of catching rats on it, but which he (the claimant) had never done, for the best of reasons, _i.e._, there were no rats to catch, except indeed pakeha rats, which were plenty enough, but this variety of rodent was not counted as game. Another claimed because his grandfather had been murdered on the land, and--as I am a veracious pakeha--another claimed payment because _his_ grandfather had committed the murder! Then half the country claimed payments of various value, from one fig of tobacco to a musket, on account of a certain _wahi tapu_, or ancient burying-ground, which was on the land, and in which every one almost had had relations or rather ancestors buried, as they could clearly make out, in old times, though no one had been deposited in it for about two hundred years, and the bones of the others had been (as they said) removed long ago to a _torere_ in the mountains. It seemed an awkward circumstance that there was some difference of opinion as to where this same _wahi tapu_ was situated, being, and lying, for in case of my buying the land it was stipulated that I should fence it round and make no use of it, although I had paid for it. (I, however, have put off fencing till the exact boundaries have been made out; and indeed I don't think I shall ever be called on to do so, the fencing proviso having been made, as I now believe, to give a stronger look of reality to the existence of the sacred spot, it having been observed that I had some doubts on the subject. No mention was ever made of it after the payments had been all made, and so I think I may venture to affirm that the existence of the said _wahi tapu_ is of very doubtful authenticity, though it certainly cost me a round "lot of trade.") There was one old man who obstinately persisted in declaring that he, and he alone, was the sole and rightful owner of the land; he seemed also to have a "fixed idea" about certain barrels of gunpowder; but as he did not prove his claim to my satisfaction, and as he had no one to back him, I of course gave him nothing; he nevertheless demanded the gunpowder about once a month for five-and-twenty years, till at last he died of old age, and I am now a landed proprietor, clear of all claims and demands, and have an undeniable right to hold my estate as long as ever I am able. It took about three months' negotiation before the purchase of the land could be made; and, indeed, I at one time gave up the idea, as I found it quite impossible to decide who to pay. If I paid one party, the others vowed I should never have possession, and to pay all seemed impossible; so at last I let all parties know that I had made up my mind not to have the land. This, however, turned out to be the first step I had made in the right direction; for, thereupon, all the different claimants agreed amongst themselves to demand a certain quantity of goods, and divide them amongst themselves afterwards. I was glad of this, for I wished to buy the land, as I thought, in case I should ever take a trip to the "colonies," it would look well to be able to talk of "my estate in New Zealand." The day being now come on which I was to make the payment, and all parties present, I then and there handed over to the assembled mob the price of the land, consisting of a great lot of blankets, muskets, tomahawks, tobacco, spades, axes, &c. &c.; and received in return a very dirty piece of paper with all their marks on it, I having written the terms of transfer on it in English to my own perfect satisfaction. The cost per acre to me was, as near as can be, about five and a half times what the same quantity of land would have cost me at the same time in Tasmania; but this was not of much importance, as the value of land in New Zealand then, and indeed now, being chiefly imaginary, one could just as easily suppose it to be of a very great value as a very small one; I therefore did not complain of the cost. While I am on the subject of land and land titles, I may as well here mention that many years after the purchase of my land I received notice to appear before certain persons called "Land Commissioners," who were part and parcel of the new inventions which had come up soon after the arrival of the first governor, and which are still a trouble to the land. I was informed that I must appear and prove my title to the land I have mentioned, on pain of forfeiture of the same. Now I could not see what right any one could have to plague me in this way, and if I had had no one but the commissioners and two or three hundred men of their tribe to deal with, I should have put my pa in fighting order, and told them to "come on;" for before this time I had had occasion to build a pa, (a little misunderstanding,) and being a regularly naturalized member of a strong tribe, could raise men to defend it at the shortest notice. But somehow these people had cunningly managed to mix up the name of Queen Victoria, God bless her! (no disparagement to King Potatau) in the matter; and I, though a pakeha Maori, am a loyal subject to her Majesty, and will stick up and fight for her as long as ever I can muster a good imitation of courage or a leg to stand upon. This being the case, I made a very unwilling appearance at the court, and explained and defended my title to the land in an oration of four hours and a half's duration; and which, though I was much out of practice, I flatter myself was a good specimen of English rhetoric, and which, for its own merits as well as for another reason which I was not aware of at the time, was listened to by the court with the greatest patience. When I had concluded, and having been asked "if I had any more to say?" I saw the commissioner beginning to count my words, which had been all written, I suppose, in shorthand; and having ascertained how many thousand I had spoken, he handed me a bill, in which I was charged by the word, for every word I had spoken, at the rate of one farthing and one twentieth per word. Oh, Cicero! Oh, Demosthenes! Oh, Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan! Oh, Daniel O'Connell! what would have become of you, if such a stopper had been clapt on your jawing tackle? Fame would never have cracked her trumpet, and "Dan" would never have raised the _rint_. For my part I have never recovered the shock. I have since that time become taciturn, and have adopted a Spartan brevity when forced to speak, and I fear I shall never again have the full swing of my mother tongue. Besides this, I was charged ten shillings each for a little army of witnesses who I had brought by way of being on the sure side--five shillings a head for calling them into court, and five more for "examining" them; said examination consisting of one question each, after which they were told to "be off." I do believe had I brought up a whole tribe, as I had thoughts of doing, the commissioners would not have minded examining them all. They were, I am bound to say, very civil and polite; one of them told me I was "a damned, infernal, clever fellow, and he should like to see a good many more like me." I hope I am not getting tedious, but this business made such an impression on me, that I can't help being too prolix, perhaps, when describing it. I have, however, often since that time had my doubts whether the Queen (God bless her!) got the money or knew half as much of the affair as they wanted to make out. I _don't_ believe it. Our noble Queen would be clean above such a proceeding; and I mean to say it's against Magna Charta, it is! "Justice shall _not be sold_," saith Magna Charta; and if it's not selling justice to make a loyal pakeha Maori pay for every word he speaks when defending his rights in a court of justice, I don't know what is. Well, to make matters up, they after some time gave me a title for my land (as if I had not one before); but then, after some years, they made me give it back again, on purpose, as they said, that they might give me a better! But since that time several more years have passed, and I have not got it; so, as these things are now all the fashion, "I wish I may get it." Chapter VI. How I kept house. -- Maori freebooters. -- An ugly customer. -- The "suaviter in modo." -- A single combat to amuse the ladies. -- The true Maori gentleman. -- Character of the Maori people. I never yet could get the proper knack of telling a story. Here I am now, a good forty years ahead of where I ought to be, talking of "title deeds" and "land commissioners," things belonging to the new and deplorable state of affairs which began when this country became "a British colony and possession," and also "one of the brightest jewels in the British crown." I must go back. Having purchased my "estate," I set up housekeeping. My house was a good commodious _raupo_ building; and as I had a princely income of a few hundred a year "in trade," I kept house in a very magnificent and hospitable style. I kept always eight stout paid Maori retainers, the pay being one fig of tobacco per week, and their potatoes, which was about as much more. Their duties were not heavy; being chiefly to amuse themselves fishing, wrestling, shooting pigeons, or pig-hunting, with an occasional pull in the boat when I went on a water excursion. Besides these paid retainers, there was always about a dozen hangers-on, who considered themselves a part of the establishment, and who, no doubt, managed to live at my expense; but as that expense was merely a few hundredweight of potatoes a week, and an odd pig now and then, it was not perceptible in the good old times. Indeed these hangers-on, as I call them, were necessary; for now and then, in those brave old times, little experiments would be made by certain Maori gentlemen of freebooting propensities, and who were in great want of "British manufactures," to see what could be got by bullying "the pakeha," and to whom a good display of physical force was the only argument worth notice. These gentry generally came from a long distance, made a sudden appearance, and, thanks to my faithful retainers, who, as a matter of course, were all bound to fight for me, though I should have found it hard to get much _work_ out of them, made as sudden a retreat, though on one or two occasions, when my standing army were accidentally absent, I had to do battle single-handed. I think I have promised somewhere that I would perform a single combat for the amusement of the ladies, and so I may as well do it now as at any other time. I shall, therefore, recount a little affair I had with one of these gentry, as it is indeed quite necessary I should, if I am to give any true idea of "the good old times." I must, however, protest against the misdeeds of a few ruffians--human wolves--being charged against the whole of their countrymen. At the time I am speaking of, the only restraint on such people was the fear of retaliation, and the consequence was, that often a dare-devil savage would run a long career of murder, robbery, and outrage before meeting with a check, simply from the terror he inspired, and the "luck" which often accompanies outrageous daring. At a time, however, and in a country like New Zealand, where every man was a fighting man or nothing, these desperadoes, sooner or later, came to grief, being at last invariably shot, or run through the body, by some sturdy freeholder, whose rights they had invaded. I had two friends staying with me, young men who had come to see me from the neighbouring colonies, and to take a summer tour in New Zealand; and it so happened that no less than three times during my absence from home, and when I had taken almost all my people along with me, my castle had been invaded by one of the most notorious ruffians who had ever been an impersonation of, or lived by, the law of force. This interesting specimen of the _genus homo_ had, on the last of these visits, demanded that my friends should hand over to him one pair of blankets; but as the prospectus he produced, with respect to payment, was not at all satisfactory, my friends declined to enter into the speculation, the more particularly as the blankets were mine. Our freebooting acquaintance then, to explain his views more clearly, knocked both my friends down; threatened to kill them both with his tomahawk; then rushed into the bed-room, dragged out all the bed-clothes, and burnt them on the kitchen fire. This last affair was rather displeasing to me. I held to the theory that every Englishman's house was his castle, and was moreover rather savage at my guests having been so roughly handled. I in fact began to feel that though I had up to this time managed to hold my own pretty well, I was at last in danger of falling under the imposition of "black mail," and losing my _status_ as an independent potentate--a _rangatira_ of the first water. I then and there declared loudly that it was well for the offender that I had not been at home, and that if ever he tried his tricks with _me_ he would find out his mistake. These declarations of war, I perceived, were heard by my men in a sort of incredulous silence, (silence in New Zealand gives _dis_-sent,) and though the fellows were stout chaps, who would not mind a row with any ordinary mortal, I verily believe they would have all ran at the first appearance of this redoubted ruffian. Indeed his antecedents had been such as might have almost been their excuse. He had killed several men in fair fight, and had also--as was well known--committed two most diabolical murders, one of which was on his own wife, a fine young woman, whose brains he blew out at half a second's notice for no further provocation than this:--He was sitting in the verandah of his house, and told her to bring him a light for his pipe. She, being occupied in domestic affairs, said, "Can't you fetch it yourself? I am going for water." She had the calibash in her hand and their infant child on her back. He snatched up his gun and instantly shot her dead on the spot; and I had heard him afterwards describing quite coolly the comical way in which her brains had been knocked out by the shot with which the gun was loaded. He also had, for some trifling provocation, lopped off the arm of his own brother or cousin, I forget which, and was, altogether, from his tremendous bodily strength and utter insensibility to danger, about as "ugly a customer" as one would care to meet. I am now describing a regular Maori ruffian of the good old times, the natural growth of a state of society wherein might was to a very great extent right, and where bodily strength and courage were almost the sole qualities for which a man was respected or valued. He was a bullet-headed, scowling, bow-legged, broad-shouldered, herculean savage, and all these qualifications combined made him unquestionably "a great _rangatira_," and, as he had never been defeated, his _mana_ was in full force. A few weeks after the affair of the blankets, as I was sitting all alone reading a Sydney newspaper, which, being only a year old, was highly interesting, my friends and all my natives having gone on an expedition to haul a large fishing net, who should I see enter the room and squat down on the floor, as if taking permanent possession, but the amiable and highly interesting individual I have taken so much trouble to describe. He said nothing, but his posture and countenance spoke whole volumes of defiance and murderous intent. He had heard of the threats I had made against him, and there he was, let me turn him out if I dare. That was his meaning--there was no mistaking it. I have all my life been an admirer of the _suaviter in modo_, though it is quite out of place in New Zealand. If you tell a man--a Maori I mean--in a gentle tone of voice and with a quiet manner, that if he continues a given line of conduct you will begin to commence to knock him down, he simply disbelieves you, and thereby forces you to do that which, if you could have persuaded yourself to have spoken very uncivilly at first, there would have been no occasion for. I have seen many proofs of this, and though I have done my best for many years to improve the understanding of my Maori friends in this particular, I find still there are but very few who can understand at all how it is possible that the _suaviter in modo_ can be combined with the _fortiter in re_. They in fact can't understand it for some reason perfectly inexplicable to me. It was, however, quite a matter of indifference, I could perceive, how I should open proceedings with my friend, as he evidently meant mischief. "Habit is second nature," so I instinctively took to the _suaviter_. "Friend," said I, in a very mild tone and with as amiable a smile as I could get up, in spite of a certain clenching of the teeth which somehow came on me at the moment, "my advice to you is to be off." He seemed to nestle himself firmer in his seat, and made no answer but a scowl of defiance. "I am thinking, friend, that this is my house," said I, and springing upon him I placed my foot to his shoulder, and gave a shove which would have sent most people heels over head. Not so, however, with my friend. It shook him, certainly, a little; but in an instant, as quick as lightning, and as it appeared with a single motion, he bounded from the ground, flung his mat away over his head, and struck a furious blow at my head with his tomahawk. I escaped instant death by a quickness equal to or greater than his own. My eye was quick, and so was my arm; life was at stake. I caught the tomahawk in full descent; the edge grazed my hand; but my arm, stiffened like a bar of iron, arrested the blow. He made one furious, but ineffectual, effort to tear the tomahawk from my grasp; and then we seized one another round the middle, and struggled like maniacs in the endeavour to dash each other against the boarded floor, I holding on for dear life to the tomahawk, and making desperate efforts to get it from him, but without a chance of success, as it was fastened to his wrist by a strong thong of leather. He was, as I soon found, somewhat stronger than me, and heavier; but I was as active as a cat, and as long-winded as an emu, and very far from weak. At last he got a _wiri_ round my leg; and had it not been for the table on which we both fell, and which, in smashing to pieces, broke our fall, I might have been disabled, and in that case instantly tomahawked. We now rolled over and over on the floor like two mad bulldogs; he trying to bite, and I trying to stun him by dashing his bullet head against the floor. Up again!--still both holding on to the tomahawk. Another furious struggle, in the course of which both our heads, and half our bodies, were dashed through the two glass windows in the room, and every single article of furniture was reduced to atoms. Down again, rolling like mad, and dancing about amongst the rubbish--the wreck of the house. By this time we were both covered with blood from various wounds, received I don't know how. I had been all this time fighting under a great disadvantage, for my friend was trying to kill me, and I was only trying to disarm and tie him up--a much harder thing than to kill. My reason for going to this trouble was, that as there were no witnesses to the row, if I killed him, I might have had serious difficulties with his tribe. Up again; another terrific tussle for the tomahawk; down again with a crash; and so this life or death battle went on, down and up, up and down, for a full hour. At last I perceived that my friend was getting weaker, and felt that victory was only now a question of time. I, so far from being fatigued, was even stronger. Another desperate wrestling match. I lifted my friend high in my arms, and dashed him, panting, furious, foaming at the mouth, but _beaten_, against the ground. There he lies; the worshipper of force. His god has deserted him. But no, not yet. He has one more chance, and a fatal one it nearly proved to me. I began to unfasten the tomahawk from his wrist. An odd expression came over his countenance. He spoke for the first time. "Enough, I am beaten; let me rise." Now I had often witnessed the manly and becoming manner in which some Maoris can take defeat, when they have been defeated in what they consider fair play. I had also ceased to fear my friend, and so incautiously let go his left arm. Like lightning he snatched at a large carving fork which, unperceived by me, was lying on the floor amongst the smashed furniture and _débris_ of my household effects; his fingers touched the handle, and it rolled away out of his reach, and my life was saved. He then struck me with all his remaining force on the side of the head, causing the blood to flow out of my mouth. One more short struggle, and he was conquered. But now I had at last got angry. The drunkenness, the exhilaration of fight, which comes on some constitutions, was fairly on me. I had also a consciousness that now I must kill my man, or, sooner or later, he would kill me. I thought of the place I would bury him; how I would stun him first with the back of the tomahawk, to prevent too much blood being seen; how I would then carry him off (I could carry two such men now, easy). I would _murder_ him and cover him up. I unwound the tomahawk from his wrist: he was passive and helpless now. I wished he was stronger, and told him to get up and "die standing," as his countrymen say. I clutched the tomahawk for the _coup-de-grâce_, (I can't help it, young ladies, the devil is in me,)--at this instant a thundering sound of feet is heard,--a whole tribe are coming! Now am I either lost or saved!--saved from doing that which I should afterwards repent, though constrained by necessity to do it. The rush of charging feet comes closer. In an instant comes dashing and smashing through doors and windows, in breathless haste and alarm, a whole tribe of friends. Small ceremony now with my antagonist. He was dragged by the heels, stamped on, kicked, and thrown half-dead, or nearly quite dead, into his canoe. All the time we had been fighting a little slave imp of a boy belonging to my antagonist had been loading the canoe with my goods and chattels, and had managed to make a very fair plunder of it. These were all now brought back by my friends, except one cloth jacket, which happened to be concealed under the _whariki_, and which I only mention because I remember that the attempt to recover it some time afterwards cost one of my friends his life. The savage scoundrel who had so nearly done for me, broke two of his ribs, and so otherwise injured him that he never recovered, and died after lingering about a year. My friends were going on a journey, and had called to see me as they passed. They saw the slave boy employed as I have stated, and knowing to whom he belonged had rushed at once to the rescue, little expecting to find me alive. I may as well now dispose of this friend of mine by giving his after history. He for a long time after our fight went continually armed with a double gun, and said he would shoot me wherever he met me; he however had had enough of attacking me in my "castle," and so did not call there any more. I also went continually armed, and took care also to have always some of my people at hand. After this, this fellow committed two more murders, and also killed in fair fight with his own hand the first man in a native battle, in which the numbers on each side were about three hundred, and which I witnessed. The man he killed was a remarkably fine young fellow, a great favourite of mine. At last, having attacked and attempted to murder another native, he was shot through the heart by the person he attempted to murder, and fell dead on the spot, and so there died "a great _rangatira_." His tribe quietly buried him and said no more about it, which showed their sense of right. Had he been killed in what they considered an unjust manner, they would have revenged his death at any cost; but I have no doubt they themselves were glad to get rid of him, for he was a terror to all about him. I have been in many a scrape both by sea and land, but I must confess that I never met a more able hand at an argument than this Maori _rangatira_. I have not mentioned my friend's name with whom I had this discussion on the rights of Englishmen, because he has left a son, who is a great _rangatira_, and who might feel displeased if I was too particular, and I am not quite so able now to carry out a "face-to-face" policy as I was a great many years ago; besides there is a sort of "honour amongst thieves" feeling between myself and my Maori friends on certain matters which we mutually understand are not for the ears of the "new people." Now, ladies, I call that a fairish good fight, considering no one is killed on either side. I promise to be good in future and to keep the peace, if people will let me; and indeed, I may as well mention, that from that day to this I have never had occasion to explain again to a Maori how it is that "every Englishman's house is his castle." "Fair play is a jewel;" and I will here, as bound in honour to do, declare that I have met amongst the natives with men who would be a credit to any nation; men on whom nature had plainly stamped the mark of "Noble," of the finest bodily form, quick and intelligent in mind, polite and brave, and capable of the most self-sacrificing acts for the good of others; patient, forbearing, and affectionate in their families; in a word, gentlemen. These men were the more remarkable, as they had grown up surrounded by a set of circumstances of the most unfavourable kind for the development of the qualities of which they were possessed; and I have often looked on with admiration, when I have seen them protesting against, and endeavouring to restrain some of, the dreadful barbarities of their countrymen. As for the Maori people in general, they are neither so good or so bad as their friends and enemies have painted them, and I suspect are pretty much like what almost any other people would have become, if subjected for ages to the same external circumstances. For ages they have struggled against necessity in all its shapes. This has given to them a remarkable greediness for gain in every visible and immediately tangible form. It has even left its mark on their language. Without the aid of iron the most trifling tool or utensil could only be purchased by an enormously disproportionate outlay of labour in its construction, and, in consequence, became precious to a degree scarcely conceivable by people of civilised and wealthy countries. This great value attached to personal property of all kinds, increased proportionately the temptation to plunder; and where no law existed, or could exist, of sufficient force to repress the inclination, every man, as a natural consequence, became a soldier, if it were only for the defence of his own property and that of those who were banded with him--his tribe, or family. From this state of things regular warfare arose, as a matter of course; the military art was studied as a science, and brought to great perfection as applied to the arms used; and a marked military character was given to the people. The necessity of labour, the necessity of warfare, and a temperate climate, gave them strength of body, accompanied by a perseverance and energy of mind perfectly astonishing. With rude and blunt stones they felled the giant kauri--toughest of pines; and from it, in process of time, at an expense of labour, perseverance, and ingenuity perfectly astounding to those who know what it really was--produced, carved, painted, and inlaid, a masterpiece of art, and an object of beauty--the war canoe, capable of carrying a hundred men on a distant expedition, through the boisterous seas surrounding their island. As a consequence of their warlike habits and character, they are self-possessed and confident in themselves and their own powers, and have much diplomatic finesse and casuistry at command. Their intelligence causes them theoretically to acknowledge the benefits of law, which they see established amongst us, but their hatred of restraint causes them practically to abhor and resist its full enforcement amongst themselves. Doubting our professions of friendship, fearing our ultimate designs, led astray by false friends, possessed of that "little learning" which is, in their case, most emphatically "a dangerous thing," divided amongst themselves,--such are the people with whom we are now in contact,--such the people to whom, for our own safety and their preservation, we must give new laws and institutions, new habits of life, new ideas, sentiments, and information,--whom we must either civilise or by our mere contact exterminate. How is this to be done?[5] Let me see. I think I shall answer this question when I am prime minister. [Footnote 5: PRINTER'S DEVIL:--How is _this_ to be done?--_which?_ _what?_--how?--_civilise_ or _exterminate_? PAKEHA MAORI:--_Eaha mau!_] Chapter VII. Excitement caused by first contact with Europeans. -- The two great institutions of Maori land. -- The Muru. -- The Tapu. -- Instances of legal robbery. -- Descriptions and Examples of the Muru. -- Profit and loss. -- Explanation of some of the workings of the law of Muru. The natives have been for fifty years or more in a continual state of excitement on one subject or another, which has had a markedly bad effect on their character and physical condition, as I shall by-and-by take occasion to point out. When the first straggling ships came here the smallest bit of iron was a prize so inestimable that I might be thought to exaggerate were I to tell the bare truth on the subject. The excitement and speculation caused by a ship being seen off the coast was immense. Where would she anchor? What _iron_ could be got from her? Would it be possible to seize her? The oracle was consulted, preparations were made to follow her along the coast, even through an enemy's country, at all risks; and when she disappeared she was not forgotten, and would continue long to be the subject of anxious expectation and speculation. After this, regular trading began. The great madness then was for muskets and gunpowder. A furious competition was kept up. Should any tribe fail to procure a stock of these articles as soon as its neighbours, extermination was its probable doom. We may then imagine the excitement, the over-labour, the hardship, the starvation (occasioned by crops neglected whilst labouring to produce flax or other commodity demanded in payment)--I say imagine, but I have seen at least part of it. After the demand for arms was supplied, came a perfect furore for iron tools, instruments of husbandry, clothing, and all kinds of pakeha manufactures. These things having been quite beyond their means while they were supplying themselves with arms, they were in the most extreme want of them, particularly iron tools. A few years ago the madness ran upon horses and cattle; and now young New Zealand believes in nothing but money, and they are continually tormenting themselves with plans to acquire it in large sums at once, without the trouble of slow and saving industry, which, as applied to the accumulation of money, they neither approve of nor understand; nor will they ever, as a people, take this mode till convinced that money, like everything else of value, can only be procured as a rule by giving full value for it, either in labour or the produce of labour. Here I am, I find, again before my story. Right down to the present time talking of "young New Zealand," and within a hair's-breadth of settling "the Maori difficulty" without having been paid for it, which would have been a great oversight, and contrary to the customs of New Zealand. I must go back. There were in the old times two great institutions, which reigned with iron rod in Maori land--the _Tapu_ and the _Muru_. Pakehas who knew no better, called the _muru_ simply "robbery," because the word _muru_, in its common signification, means to plunder. But I speak of the regular legalized and established system of plundering as penalty for offences, which in a rough way resembled our law by which a man is obliged to pay "damages." Great abuses had, however, crept into this system--so great, indeed, as to render the retention of any sort of moveable property almost an impossibility, and to, in a great measure, discourage the inclination to labour for its acquisition. These great inconveniences were, however, met, or in some degree softened, by an expedient of a peculiarly Maori nature, which I shall by-and-by explain. The offences for which people were plundered were sometimes of a nature which, to a _mere_ pakeha, would seem curious. A man's child fell in the fire and was almost burnt to death. The father was immediately plundered to an extent that almost left him without the means of subsistence: fishing nets, canoes, pigs, provisions--all went. His canoe upset, and he and all his family narrowly escaped drowning--some were, perhaps, drowned. He was immediately robbed, and well pummelled with a club into the bargain, if he was not good at the science of self-defence--the club part of the ceremony being always fairly administered one against one, and after fair warning given to defend himself. He might be clearing some land for potatoes, burning off the fern, and the fire spreads farther than he intended, and gets into a _wahi tapu_ or burial-ground. No matter whether any one has been buried in it or no for the last hundred years, he is tremendously robbed. In fact, for ten thousand different causes a man might be robbed; and I can really imagine a case in which a man for scratching his own head might be legally robbed. Now, as the enforcers of this law were also the parties who received the damages, as well as the judges of the amount, which in many cases (such as that of the burnt child) would be everything they could by any means lay hands on, it is easy to perceive that under such a system personal property was an evanescent sort of thing altogether. These executions or distraints were never resisted; indeed, in many cases, as I shall explain by-and-by, it would have been felt as a slight, and even an insult, _not_ to be robbed; the sacking of a man's establishment being often taken as a high compliment, especially if his head was broken into the bargain; and to resist the execution would not only have been looked upon as mean and disgraceful in the highest degree, _but it would have debarred the contemptible individual from the privilege of robbing his neighbours_, which was the compensating expedient I have alluded to. All this may seem a waste of words to my pakeha Maori readers, to whom these things have become such matters of course as to be no longer remarkable; but I have remembered that there are so many new people in the country who don't understand the beauty of being knocked down and robbed, that I shall say a few more words on the subject. The tract of country inhabited by a single tribe might be say from forty to a hundred miles square, and the different villages of the different sections of the tribe would be scattered over this area at different distances from each other. We will, by way of illustrating the working of the _muru_ system, take the case of the burnt child. Soon after the accident it would be heard of in the neighbouring villages; the family of the mother are probably the inhabitants of one of them; they have, according to the law of _muru_, the first and greatest right to clean out the afflicted father--a child being considered to belong to the family of the mother more than to that of the father--in fact it is their child, who the father has the rearing of. The child was moreover a promising lump of a boy, the makings of a future warrior, and consequently very valuable to the whole tribe in general, but to the mother's family in particular. "A pretty thing to let him get spoiled." Then he is a boy of good family, a _rangatira_ by birth, and it would never do to let the thing pass without making a noise about it. That would be an insult to the dignity of the families of both father and mother. Decidedly, besides being robbed, the father must be assaulted with the spear. True, he is a famous spearman, and for his own credit must "hurt" some one or another if attacked. But this is of no consequence; a flesh wound more or less deep is to be counted on; and then think of the plunder! It is against the law of _muru_ that any one should be killed, and first blood ends the duel. Then the natural affection of all the child's relations is great. They are all in a great state of excitement, and trying to remember how many canoes, and pigs, and other valuable articles, the father has got: for this must be a clean sweep. A strong party is now mustered, headed probably by the brother of the mother of the child. He is a stout chap, and carries a long tough spear. A messenger is sent to the father, to say that the _taua muru_ is coming, and may be expected to-morrow, or the next day. He asks, "Is it a great _taua_?" "Yes; it is a very great _taua_ indeed." The victim smiles, he feels highly complimented, he _is_ then a man of consequence. His child is also of great consideration; he is thought worthy of a large force being sent to rob him! Now he sets all in motion to prepare a huge feast for the friendly robbers his relations. He may as well be liberal, for his provisions are sure to go, whether or no. Pigs are killed and baked whole, potatoes are piled up in great heaps, all is made ready, he looks out his best spear, and keeps it always ready in his hand. At last the _taua_ appears on a hill half a mile off; then the whole fighting men of the section of the tribe of which he is an important member, collect at his back, all armed with spear and club, to show that they could resist if they would--a thing, however, not to be thought of under the circumstances. On comes the _taua_. The mother begins to cry in proper form; the tribe shout the call of welcome to the approaching robbers; and then with a grand rush, all armed, and looking as if they intended to exterminate all before them, the _kai muru_ appear on the scene. They dance the war dance, which the villagers answer with another. Then the chief's brother-in-law advances, spear in hand, with the most alarming gestures. "Stand up!--stand up! I will kill you this day," is his cry. The defendant is not slow to answer the challenge. A most exciting, and what to a new pakeha would appear a most desperately dangerous, fencing bout with spears instantly commences. The attack and defence are in the highest degree scientific; the spear shafts keep up a continuous rattle; the thrust, and parry, and stroke with the spear shaft follow each other with almost incredible rapidity, and are too rapid to be followed by an unpractised eye. At last the brother-in-law is slightly touched; blood also drops from our chief's thigh. The fight instantly ceases; leaning on their spears, probably a little badinage takes place between them, and then the brother-in-law roars out "_murua! murua! murua!_" Then the new arrivals commence a regular sack, and the two principals sit down quietly with a few others for a friendly chat, in which the child's name is never mentioned, or the inquiry as to whether he is dead or alive even made. The case I have just described would, however, be one of more than ordinary importance; slighter "accidents and offences" would be atoned for by a milder form of operation. But the general effect was to keep personal property circulating from hand to hand pretty briskly, or indeed to convert it into public property; for no man could say who would be the owner of his canoe or blanket in a month's time. Indeed, in that space of time, I once saw a nice coat, which a native had got from the captain of a trading schooner, and which was an article much coveted in those days, pass through the hands, and over the backs, of six different owners, and return, considerably the worse for wear, to the original purchaser; and all these transfers had been made by legal process of _muru_. I have been often myself paid the compliment of being robbed for little accidents occurring in my family, and have several times also, from a feeling of politeness, robbed my Maori friends, though I can't say I was a great gainer by these transactions. I think the greatest haul I ever made was about half a bag of shot, which I thought a famous joke, seeing that I had sold it the day before to the owner for full value. A month after this I was disturbed early in the morning by a voice shouting, "Get up!--get up! I will kill you this day. You have roasted my grandfather. Get up!--_stand_ up!" I, of course, guessed that I had committed some heinous though involuntary offence, and the "stand up" hinted the immediate probable consequences; so out I turned, spear in hand, and who should I see, armed with a bayonet on the end of a long pole, but my friend the umwhile owner of the bag of shot. He came at me with pretended fury, made some smart bangs and thrusts, which I parried, and then explained to me that I had "cooked his grandfather;" and that if I did not come down handsome in the way of damages, deeply as he might regret the necessity, his own credit, and the law of _muru_, compelled him either to sack my house or die in the attempt. I was glad enough to prevent either event, by paying him two whole bags of shot, two blankets, divers fish-hooks, and certain figs of tobacco, which he demanded. I found that I had really and truly committed a most horrid crime. I had on a journey made my fire at the foot of a tree, in the top of which the bones of my friend's grandfather had once been deposited, but from which they had been removed ten years before; the tree caught fire and had burnt down: and I, therefore, by a convenient sort of figure of speech, had "roasted his grandfather," and had to pay the penalty accordingly. It did not require much financial ability on my part, after a few experiences of this nature, to perceive that I had better avail myself of my privileges as a pakeha, and have nothing further to do with the law of _muru_--a determination I have kept to strictly. If ever I have unwittingly injured any of my neighbours, I have always made what I considered just compensation, and resisted the _muru_ altogether; and I will say this for my friends, that when any of them have done an accidental piece of mischief, they have, in most cases without being asked, offered to pay for it. The above slight sketch of the penal law of New Zealand I present and dedicate to the Law Lords of England, as it might, perhaps, afford some hints for a reform in our own. The only remark I shall have to add is, that if a man killed another, "malice prepense aforethought," the act, in nineteen cases out of twenty, would be either a very meritorious one, or of no consequence whatever; in either of which cases the penal code had, of course, nothing to do in the matter. If, however, a man killed another by _accident_, in the majority of cases the consequences would be most serious; and not only the involuntary homicide, but every one connected with him, would be plundered of everything they possessed worth taking. This, however, to an English lawyer, may require some explanation, which is as follows:--If a man thought fit to kill his own slave, it was nobody's affair but his own; the law had nothing to do with it. If he killed a man of another tribe, he had nothing to do but declare it was in revenge or retaliation for some aggression, either recent or traditional, by the other tribe, of which examples were never scarce. In this case the action became at once highly meritorious, and his whole tribe would support and defend him to the last extremity. If he, however, killed a man by accident, the slain man would be, as a matter of course, in most instances, one of his ordinary companions--_i.e._, one of his own tribe. The accidental discharge of a gun often caused death in this way. Then, indeed, the law of _muru_ had full swing, and the wholesale plunder of the criminal and family was the penalty. Murder, as the natives understood it--that is to say, the malicious destruction of a man of _the same tribe_--did not happen as frequently as might be expected; and when it did, went in most cases unpunished; the murderer in general managing to escape to some other section of the tribe where he had relations, who, as he fled to them for protection, were bound to give it, and always ready to do so; or otherwise he would stand his ground and defy all comers, by means of the strength of his own family or section, who all would defend him and protect him as a mere matter of course; and as the law of _utu_ or _lex talionis_ was the only one which applied in this case, and as, unlike the law of _muru_, nothing was to be got by enforcing it but hard blows, murder in most cases went unpunished. [And so, in this day, when a Maori, for some real or fancied injury, or as a means to elevate his name, kills some wretched white man, he nearly always goes unpunished. The Government ask for him to be given up, the tribe refuse, and there is an end of the matter.--Pembroke.] Chapter VIII. The Muru falling into disuse. -- Why? -- Examples of the Tapu. -- The personal Tapu. -- Evading the Tapu. -- The undertaker's Tapu. -- How I got tabooed. -- Frightful difficulties. -- How I got out of them. -- The war Tapu. -- Maori war customs. The law of _muru_ is now but little used, and only on a small scale. The degenerate men of the present day in general content themselves with asking "payment," and after some cavilling as to the amount, it is generally given; but if refused, the case is brought before a native magistrate, and the pleadings on both sides are often such as would astound our most famous barristers, and the decisions of a nature to throw those famous ones by Sancho Panza and Walter the Doubter for ever into the shade. I think the reason that the _muru_ is so much less practised than formerly is the fact that the natives are now far better supplied with the necessaries and comforts of life than they were many years ago, especially iron tools and utensils, and in consequence the temptation to plunder is proportionately decreased. Money would still be a temptation; but it is so easily concealed, and in general they have so little of it, that other means are adopted for its acquisition. When I first saw the natives, the chance of getting an axe or a spade by the shorthand process of _muru_, or--at a still more remote period--a few wooden implements, or a canoe, was so great that the lucky possessor was continually watched by many eager and observant eyes, in hopes to pick a hole in his coat, by which the _muru_ might be legally brought to bear upon him. I say legally, for the natives always tried to have a sufficient excuse; and I absolutely declare, odd as it may seem, that actual, unauthorized, and inexcusable robbery or theft was less frequent than in any country I ever have been in, though the temptation to steal was a thousandfold greater. The natives of the present day are, however, improving in this respect, and, amongst other arts of civilization, are beginning to have very pretty notions of housebreaking, and have even tried highway robbery, though in a bungling way. The fact is they are just now between two tides. The old institutions which, barbarous and rude as they were, were respected and in some degree useful, are wearing out, and have lost all beneficial effect, and at the same time the laws and usages of civilization have not acquired any sufficient force. This state of things is very unfavourable to the _morale_ of Young New Zealand; but it is likely to change for the better, for it is a maxim of mine that "laws, if not _made_, will _grow_." I must now take some little notice of the other great institution, the _tapu_. The limits of these flying sketches of the good old times will not allow of more than a partial notice of the all-pervading _tapu_. Earth, air, fire, water, goods and chattels, growing crops, men, women, and children,--everything absolutely was subject to its influence, and a more perplexing puzzle to new pakehas who were continually from ignorance infringing some of its rules, could not be well imagined. The natives, however, made considerable allowance for this ignorance, as well they might, seeing that they themselves, though from infancy to old age enveloped in a cloud of _tapu_, would sometimes fall into similar scrapes. The original object of the ordinary _tapu_ seems to have been the preservation of property. Of this nature in a great degree was the ordinary personal _tapu_. This form of the _tapu_ was permanent, and consisted in a certain sacred character which attached to the person of a chief and never left him. It was his birthright, a part in fact of himself, of which he could not be divested, and which was well understood and recognized at all times as a matter of course. The fighting men and petty chiefs, and every one indeed who could by any means claim the title of _rangatira_--which in the sense I now use it means gentleman--were all in some degree more or less possessed of this mysterious quality. It extended or was communicated to all their moveable property, especially to their clothes, weapons, ornaments, and tools, and to everything in fact which they touched. This prevented their chattels from being stolen or mislaid, or spoiled by children, or used or handled in any way by others. And as in the old times, as I have before stated, every kind of property of this kind was precious in consequence of the great labour and time necessarily, for want of iron tools, expended in the manufacture, this form of the _tapu_ was of great real service. An infringement of it subjected the offender to various dreadful imaginary punishments, of which deadly sickness was one, as well as to the operation of the law of _muru_ already mentioned. If the transgression was involuntary, the chief, or a priest, or _tohunga_, could, by a certain mystical ceremony, prevent or remit the doleful and mysterious part of the punishment if he chose, but the civil action, or the robbery by law of _muru_, would most likely have to take its course, though possibly in a mitigated form, according to the circumstances. I have stated that the worst part of the punishment of an offence against this form of the _tapu_ was imaginary, but in truth, though imaginary it was not the less a severe punishment. "Conscience makes cowards of us all," and there was scarcely a man in a thousand, _if_ one, who had sufficient resolution to dare the shadowy terrors of the _tapu_. I actually have seen an instance where the offender, though an involuntary one, was killed stone dead in six hours, by what I considered the effects of his own terrified imagination, but what all the natives at the time believed to be the work of the terrible avenger of the _tapu_. The case I may as well describe, as it was a strong one, and shows how, when falsehoods are once believed, they will meet with apparent proof from accidental circumstances. A chief of very high rank, standing, and _mana_ was on a war expedition; with him were about five hundred men. His own personal _tapu_ was increased twofold, as was that of all the warriors who were with him, by the _war tapu_. The _taua_ being on a very dangerous expedition, they were over and above the ordinary personal _tapu_ made sacred in the highest degree, and were obliged to observe strictly several mysterious and sacred customs, some of which I may have to explain by-and-by. They were, in fact, as irreverent pakehas used to say, "tabooed an inch thick," and as for the head chief, he was perfectly unapproachable. The expedition halted to dine. The portion of food set apart for the chief, in a neat _paro_ or shallow basket of green flax leaves, was, of course, enough for two or three men, and consequently the greater part remained unconsumed. The party having dined, moved on, and soon after a party of slaves and others, who had been some mile or two in the rear, came up carrying ammunition and baggage. One of the slaves, a stout, hungry fellow, seeing the chief's unfinished dinner, eat it up before asking any questions, and had hardly finished when he was informed by a horror-stricken individual--another slave who had remained behind when the _taua_ had moved on--of the fatal act he had committed. I knew the unfortunate delinquent well. He was remarkable for courage, and had signalized himself in the wars of the tribe. (The able-bodied slaves are always expected to fight in the quarrels of their masters, to do which they are nothing loth.) No sooner did he hear the fatal news than he was seized by the most extraordinary convulsions and cramps in the stomach, which never ceased till he died, about sundown the same day. He was a strong man, in the prime of life, and if any pakeha free-thinker should have said he was not killed by the _tapu_ of the chief, which had been communicated to the food by contact, he would have been listened to with feelings of contempt for his ignorance and inability to understand plain and direct evidence. It will be seen at once that this form of the _tapu_ was a great preserver of property. The most valuable articles might, in ordinary circumstances, be left to its protection, in the absence of the owners, for any length of time. It also prevented borrowing and lending in a very great degree; and though much laughed at and grumbled at by unthinking pakehas, who would be always trying to get the natives to give it up, without offering them anything equally effective in its place, or, indeed, knowing its real object or uses, it held its ground in full force for many years, and, in a certain but not so very observable a form, exists still. This form of the _tapu_, though latent in young folks of _rangatira_ rank, was not supposed to develope itself fully till they had arrived at mature age, and set up house on their own account. The lads and boys "knocked about" amongst the slaves and lower orders, carried fuel or provisions on their backs, and did all those duties which this personal _tapu_ prevented the elders from doing, and which restraint was sometimes very troublesome and inconvenient. A man of any standing could not carry provisions of any kind on his back, or if he did they were rendered _tapu_, and, in consequence, useless to any one but himself. If he went into the shed used as a kitchen (a thing, however, he would never think of doing except on some great emergency), all the pots, ovens, food, &c. would be at once rendered useless--none of the cooks or inferior people could make use of them, or partake of anything which had been cooked in them. He might certainly light a little fire in his own house, not for cooking, as that never by any chance could be done in his house, but for warmth; but that, or any other fire, if he should have blown upon it with his breath in lighting it, became at once _tapu_, and could be used for no common or culinary purpose. Even to light a pipe at it would subject any inferior person, or in many instances an equal, to a terrible attack of the _tapu morbus_, besides being a slight or affront to the dignity of the person himself. I have seen two or three young men fairly wearing themselves out on a wet day and with bad apparatus trying to make fire to cook with, by rubbing two sticks together, when on a journey, and at the same time there was a roaring fire close at hand at which several _rangatira_ and myself were warming ourselves, but it was _tapu_, sacred fire--one of the _rangatira_ had made it from his own tinder-box, and blown upon it in lighting it, and as there was not another tinder-box amongst us, fast we must, though hungry as sharks, till common culinary fire could be obtained. A native whose personal _tapu_ was perhaps of the strongest, might, when at the house of a pakeha, ask for a drink of water; the pakeha, being green, would hand him some water in a glass, or in those days, more probably in a tea-cup; the native would drink the water, and then gravely and quietly break the cup to pieces, or otherwise he would appropriate it by causing it to vanish under his mat. The new pakeha would immediately fly into a passion, to the great astonishment of the native, who considered, as a matter of course, that the cup or glass was, in the estimation of the pakeha, a very worthless article, or he would not have given it into his hand and allowed him to put it to his head, the part most strongly infected by the _tapu_. Both parties would be surprised and displeased; the native wondering what could have put the pakeha into such a taking, and the pakeha "wondering at the rascal's impudence, and what he meant by it?" The proper line of conduct for the pakeha in the above case made and provided, supposing him to be of a hospitable and obliging disposition, would be to lay hold of some vessel containing about two gallons of water (to allow for waste), hold it up before the native's face, the native would then stoop down and put his hand, bent into the shape of a funnel or conductor for the water, to his mouth; then, from the height of a foot or so, the pakeha would send a cataract of water into the said funnel, and continue the shower till the native gave a slight upward nod of the head, which meant "enough," by which time, from the awkwardness of the pakeha, the two gallons of water would be about expended, half, at least, on the top of the native's head, who would not, however, appear to notice the circumstance, and would appreciate the civility of his pakeha friend. I have often drank in this way in the old times; asking for a drink of water at a native village, a native would gravely approach with a calabash, and hold it up before me ready to pour forth its contents; I, of course, cocked my hand and lip in the most knowing manner. If I had laid hold of the calabash and drank in the ordinary way as practised by pakehas, I would have at once fallen in the estimation of all bystanders, and been set down as a _tutua_--a nobody, who had no _tapu_ or _mana_ about him; a mere scrub of a pakeha, whom any one might eat or drink after without the slightest danger of being poisoned. These things are all changed now, and though I have often in the good old times been tabooed in the most diabolical and dignified manner, there are only a few old men left now who, by little unmistakable signs, I perceive consider it would be very uncivil to act in any way which would suppose my _tapu_ to have disappeared before the influx of new-fangled pakeha notions. Indeed I feel myself sometimes as if I was somehow insensibly partially civilized. What it will all end in, I don't know. This same personal _tapu_ would even hold its own in some cases against the _muru_, though not in a sufficiently general manner to seriously affect the operation of that well-enforced law. Its inconveniences were, on the other hand, many, and the expedients resorted to to avoid them were sometimes comical enough. I was once going on an excursion with a number of natives; we had two canoes, and one of them started a little before the other. I was with the canoe which had been left behind, and just as we were setting off it was discovered that amongst twenty stout fellows, my companions, there was no one who had a back!--as they expressed it--and, consequently, no one to carry our provisions into the canoe: all the lads, women, and slaves had gone off in the other canoe--all those who had backs--and so there we were left, a very disconsolate lot of _rangatira_, who could not carry their own provisions into the canoe, and who at the same time could not go without them. The provisions consisted of several heavy baskets of potatoes, some dried sharks, and a large pig baked whole. What was to be done? We were all brought to a full stop, though in a great hurry to go on. We were beginning to think we must give up the expedition altogether, and were very much disappointed accordingly, when a clever fellow, who, had he been bred a lawyer, would have made nothing of driving a mail coach through an act of parliament, set us all to rights in a moment. "I'll tell you what we must do," said he, "we will not carry (_pikau_) the provisions, we will _hiki_ them." (_Hiki_ is the word in Maori which describes the act of carrying an infant in the arms.) This was a great discovery! A huge handsome fellow seized on the baked pig and dandled it, or _hiki'd_ it, in his arms like an infant; another laid hold of a shark, others took baskets of potatoes, and carrying them in this way deposited them in the canoe. And so, having thus evaded the law, we started on our expedition. I remember another amusing instance in which the inconvenience arising from the _tapu_ was evaded. I must, however, notice that these instances were only evasions of the _tapu_ of the ordinary kind, what I have called the personal _tapu_, not the more dangerous and dreadful kind connected with the mystic doings of the _tohunga_, or that other form of _tapu_ connected with the handling of the dead. Indeed, my companions in the instance I have mentioned, though all _rangatira_, were young men on whom the personal _tapu_ had not arrived at the fullest perfection; it seemed, indeed, sometimes to sit very lightly on them, and I doubt very much if the play upon the words _hiki_ and _pikau_ would have reconciled any of the elders of the tribe to carrying a roasted pig in their arms, or if they did do so, I feel quite certain that no amount of argument would have persuaded the younger men to eat it; as for slaves or women, to _look_ at it would almost be dangerous to them. The other instance of dodging the law was as follows:--I was the first pakeha who had ever arrived at a certain populous inland village. The whole of the inhabitants were in a great state of commotion and curiosity, for many of them had never seen a pakeha before. As I advanced, the whole juvenile population ran before me at a safe distance of about a hundred yards, eyeing me, as I perceived, with great terror and distrust. At last I suddenly made a charge at them, rolling my eyes and showing my teeth, and to see the small savages tumbling over one another, and running for their lives, was something curious, and though my "demonstration" did not continue more than twenty yards, I am sure some of the little villains ran a mile before looking behind to see whether the ferocious monster called a pakeha was gaining on them. They did run! I arrived at the centre of the village, and was conducted to a large house or shed, which had been constructed as a place of reception for visitors, and as a general lounging place for all the inhabitants. It was a _whare noa_, a house to which, from its general and temporary uses, the _tapu_ was not supposed to attach, I mean, of course, the ordinary personal _tapu_ or _tapu rangatira_. Any person, however, _infected_ with any of the more serious or extraordinary forms of the _tapu_ entering it, would at once render it uninhabitable. I took my seat. The house was full, and nearly the whole of the rest of the population were blocking up the open front of the large shed, all striving to see the pakeha, and passing to the rear from man to man every word he happened to speak. I could hear them say to the people behind, "The pakeha has stood up!" "Now he has sat down again!" "He has said, how do you all do?" "He has said, this is a nice place of yours!" etc., etc. Now there happened to be at a distance an old gentleman engaged in clearing the weeds from a _kumera_ or sweet potato field, and as the kumera in the old times was the crop on which the natives depended chiefly for support, like all valuable things it was _tapu_, and the parties who entered the field to remove the weeds were _tapu_, _pro tem._, also. Now one of the effects of this temporary extra _tapu_ was that the parties could not enter any regular dwelling-house, or indeed any house used by others. Now the breach of this rule would not be dangerous in a personal sense, but the effect would be that the crop of sweet potatoes would fail. The industrious individual I have alluded to, hearing the cry of "A pakeha! a pakeha!" from many voices, and having never had an opportunity to examine that variety of the species, or _genus homo_, flung down his wooden _kaheru_ or weed exterminator and rushed towards the town house before mentioned. What could he do? The _tapu_ forbade his entrance, and the front was so completely blocked up by his admiring neighbours that he could not get sight of the wonderful guest. In these desperate circumstances a bright thought struck him; he would, by a bold and ingenious device, give the _tapu_ the slip. He ran to the back of the house, made with some difficulty a hole in the padded _raupo_ wall, and squeezed his head through it. The elastic wall of _raupo_ closed again around his neck; the _tapu_ was fairly beaten! No one could say he was _in_ the house. He was certainly more out than in, and there, seemingly hanging from or stuck against the wall, remained for hours, with open mouth and wondering eyes, this brazen head, till at last the shades of night obstructing its vision, a rustling noise in the wall of flags and reeds announced the departure of my bodyless admirer. Some of the forms of the _tapu_ were not to be played with, and were of a most virulent kind. Of this kind was the _tapu_ of those who handled the dead, or conveyed the body to its last resting-place. This _tapu_ was, in fact, the uncleanness of the old Jewish law, and lasted about the same time, and was removed in almost the same way. It was a most serious affair. The person who came under this form of the _tapu_ was cut off from all contact, and almost all communication with the human race. He could not enter any house, or come in contact with any person or thing, without utterly bedeviling them. He could not even touch food with his hands, which had become so frightfully _tapu_ or unclean as to be quite useless. Food would be placed for him on the ground, and he would then sit or kneel down, and, with his hands carefully held behind his back, would gnaw it in the best way he could. In some cases he would be fed by another person, who, with outstretched arm, would manage to do it without touching the _tapu'd_ individual; but this feeder was subjected to many and severe restrictions, not much less onerous than those to which the other was subject. In almost every populous native village there was a person who, probably for the sake of immunity from labour, or from being good for nothing else, took up the undertaking business as a regular profession, and, in consequence, was never for a moment, for years together, clear of the horrid inconveniences of the _tapu_, as well as its dangers. One of these people might be easily recognized, after a little experience, even by a pakeha. Old, withered, haggard, clothed in the most miserable rags, daubed all over from head to foot with red paint (the native funereal colour), made of stinking shark oil and red ochre mixed, keeping always at a distance, silent and solitary, often half insane, he might be seen sitting motionless all day at a distance, forty or fifty yards from the common path or thoroughfare of the village. There, under the "lee" of a bush, or tuft of flax, gazing silently, and with "lack-lustre eye," on the busy doings of the Maori world, of which he was hardly to be called a member. Twice a day some food would be thrown on the ground before him, to gnaw as best he might, without the use of hands; and at night, tightening his greasy rags around him, he would crawl into some miserable lair of leaves and rubbish, there, cold, half-starved, miserable, and dirty, to pass, in fitful ghost-haunted slumbers, a wretched night, as prelude to another wretched day. It requires, they say, all sorts of people to make a world; and I have often thought, in observing one of these miserable objects, that his or her's was the very lowest ebb to which a human being's prospects in life could be brought by adverse fate. When I met, or rather saw, a female practitioner, I fairly ran for it; and so, believing my readers to be equally tender-hearted, I shall not venture on any more description, but merely say that the man undertaker, such as I have described him, would be taken for Apollo if seen in one of these hag's company. What will my kind reader say when I tell him that I myself once got _tapu'd_ with this same horrible, horrible, most horrible style of _tapu_? I hold it to be a fact that there is not one man in New Zealand but myself who has a clear understanding of what the word "excommunication" means, and I did not understand what it meant till I got _tapu'd_. I was returning with about sixty men from a journey along the west coast. I was a short distance in advance of the party, when I came to where the side of a hill had fallen down on to the beach, and exposed a number of human bones. There was a large skull rolling about in the water. I took up this skull without consideration, carried it to the side of the hill, scraped a hole, and covered it up. Just as I had finished covering it up, up came my friends, and I saw at once, by the astonishment and dismay depicted on their countenances, that I had committed some most unfortunate act. They soon let me know that the hill had been a burying-place of their tribe, and jumped at once to the conclusion that the skull was the skull of one of their most famous chiefs, whose name they told me, informing me also that I was no longer fit company for human beings, and begging me to fall to the rear and keep my distance. They told me all this from a very respectful distance, and if I made a step towards them, they all ran as if I had been infected by the plague. This was an awkward state of things, but as it could not be helped, I voted myself _tapu_, and kept clear of my friends till night. At night when they camped I was obliged to take my solitary abode at a distance, under shelter of a rock. When the evening meal was cooked, they brought me a fair allowance, and set it down at a respectful distance from where I sat, fully expecting, I suppose, that I should bob at it as Maori _kai tango atua_ or undertakers are wont to do. I had, however, no idea of any such proceeding; and pulling out my knife proceeded to operate in the usual manner. I was checked by an exclamation of horror and surprise from the whole band, "Oh, what are you about, you are not going to touch food with your _hands_?" "Indeed, but I am," said I, and stretched out my hand. Here another scream--"You must not do that, it's the worst of all things; one of us will feed you; it's wrong, wrong, very wrong!" "Oh, bother," said I, and fell to at once. I declare positively I had no sooner done so than I felt sorry. The expression of horror, contempt, and pity observable in their faces, convinced me that I had not only offended and hurt their feelings, but that I had lowered myself greatly in their estimation. Certainly I was a pakeha, and pakehas will do most unaccountable things, and may be, in ordinary cases, excused; but this, I saw at once, was an act which, to my friends, seemed the _ne plus ultra_ of abomination. I now can well understand that I must have, sitting there eating my potatoes, appeared to them a ghoul, a vampire--worse than even one of their own dreadful _atua_, who, at the command of a witch, or to avenge some breach of the _tapu_, enters into a man's body and slowly eats away his vitals. I can see it now, and understand what a frightful object I must have appeared. My friends broke up their camp at once, not feeling sure, after what I had done, but I might walk in amongst them in the night, when they were asleep, and bedevil them all. They marched all night, and in the morning came to my house, where they spread consternation and dismay amongst my household by telling them in what a condition I was coming home. The whole of my establishment at this time being natives, they ran at once; and when I got home next evening, hungry and vexed, there was not a soul to be seen. The house and kitchen were shut up, fires out, and, as I fancied, everything looked dreary and uncomfortable. If only a dog had come and wagged his tail in welcome, it would have been something; but even my dog was gone. Certainly there was an old tom cat, but I hate cats, there is no sincerity in them, and so I had kicked this old tom on principle whenever he came in my way, and now, when he saw me, he ran for his life into the bush. The instinct of a hungry man sent me into the kitchen; there was nothing eatable to be seen but a raw leg of pork, and the fire was out. I now began to suspect that this attempt of mine to look down the _tapu_ would fail, and that I should remain excommunicated for some frightfully indefinite period. I began to think of Robinson Crusoe, and to wonder if I could hold out as well as he did. Then I looked hard at the leg of pork. The idea that I must cook for myself brought home to me the fact more forcibly than anything else how I had "fallen from my high estate"--cooking being the very last thing a _rangatira_ can turn his hand to. But why should I have anything more to do with cooking? Was I not cast off and repudiated by the human race? (A horrible misanthropy was fast taking hold of me.) Why should I not tear my leg of pork raw, like a wolf? "I will run a muck!" suddenly said I. "I wonder how many I can kill before they 'bag' me? I will kill, kill, kill! but--I must have some supper." I soon made a fire, and after a little rummaging found the _matériel_ for a good meal. My cooking was not so bad either, I thought; but certainly hunger is not hard to please in this respect, and I had eaten nothing since the diabolical meal of the preceding evening, and had travelled more than twenty miles. I washed my hands six or seven times, scrubbing away and muttering with an intonation that would have been a fortune to a tragic actor. "Out, damned spot;" and so, after having washed and dried my hands, looked at them, returned, and washed again, again washed, and so on several times, I sat down and demolished two days' allowance. After which, reclining before the fire with my pipe and a blanket over my shoulders, a more kindly feeling towards my fellow men stole gradually upon me. "I wonder," said I to myself, "how long this devilish _tapu_ will last! I wonder if there is to be any end at all to it! I won't run a muck for a week, at all events, till I see what may turn up. Confounded plague though to have to cook!" Having resolved as above, not to take any one's life for a week, I felt more patient. Four days passed somehow or another, and on the morning of the fifth, to my extreme delight, I saw a small canoe, pulled by one man, landing on the beach before the house. He fastened his canoe and advanced towards the kitchen, which was detached from the house, and which, in the late deplorable state of affairs, had become my regular residence. I sat in the doorway, and soon perceived that my visitor was a famous _tohunga_, or priest, and who also had the reputation of being a witch of no ordinary dimensions. He was an old, grave, stolid-looking savage, with one eye, the other had been knocked out long ago in a fight before he turned parson. On he came, with a slow, measured step, slightly gesticulating with one hand, and holding in the other a very small basket, not more than nine or ten inches long. He came on, mumbling and grumbling a perfectly unintelligible _karakia_ or incantation. I guessed at once he was coming to disenchant me, and prepared my mind to submit to any conditions or ceremonial he should think fit to impose. My old friend came gravely up, and putting his hand into the little basket pulled out a baked _kumera_, saying, "_He kai mau_." I of course accepted the offered food, took a bite, and as I ate he mumbled his incantation over me. I remember I felt a curious sensation at the time, like what I fancied a man must feel who had just sold himself, body and bones, to the devil. For a moment I asked myself the question whether I was not actually being then and there handed over to the powers of darkness. The thought startled me. There was I, an unworthy but believing member of the Church of England as by Parliament established, "knuckling down" abjectly to the ministration of a ferocious old cannibal, wizard, sorcerer, high priest,--as it appeared very probable,--to Satan himself. "Blacken his remaining eye! knock him over and run the country!" whispered quite plainly in my ear my guardian angel, or else a little impulsive sprite who often made suggestions to me in those days. For a couple of seconds the sorcerer's eye was in desperate danger; but just in those moments the ceremony, or at least this most objectionable part of it, came to an end. He stood back and said, "Have you been in the house?" Fortunately I had presence of mind enough to _forget_ that I had, and said, "No." "Throw out all those pots and kettles." I saw it was no use to resist--so out they went. "Fling out those dishes" was the next command. "The dishes?--they will break." "I am going to break them all." Capital fun this--out go the dishes; "and may the ----." I fear I was about to say something bad. "Fling out those knives, and those things with sharp points"--(the old villain did not know what to call the forks!)--"and those shells with handles to them"--(spoons!)--"out with everything." The last sweeping order is obeyed and the kitchen is fairly empty. The worst is over now at last, thank goodness, said I to myself. "Strip off all your clothes." "What? strip naked! you desperate old thief--mind your eye." Human patience could bear no more. Out I jumped. I did "strip." Off came my jacket. "How would you prefer being killed, old ruffian? can you do anything in this way?" (Here a pugilistic demonstration.) "Strip! he doesn't mean to give me five dozen, does he?" said I, rather bewildered, and looking sharp to see if he had anything like an instrument of flagellation in his possession. "Come on! what are you waiting for?" said I. In those days, when labouring under what Dickens calls the "description of temporary insanity which arises from a sense of injury," I always involuntarily fell back upon my mother tongue, which in this case was perhaps fortunate, as my necromantic old friend did not understand the full force of my eloquence. He could not, however, mistake my warlike and rebellious attitude, and could see clearly I was going into one of those most unaccountable rages that pakehas were liable to fly into, without any imaginable cause. "Boy," said he, gravely and quietly, and without seeming to notice my very noticeable declaration of war and independence, "don't act foolishly; don't go mad. No one will ever come near you while you have those clothes. You will be miserable here by yourself. And what is the use of being angry? what will _anger_ do for you?" The perfect coolness of my old friend, the complete disregard he paid to my explosion of wrath, as well as his reasoning, began to make me feel a little disconcerted. He evidently had come with the purpose and intention to get me out of a very awkward scrape. I began also to feel that, looking at the affair from his point of view, I was just possibly not making a very respectable figure; and then, if I understood him rightly, there would be no _flogging_. "Well," said I, at last, "Fate compels; to fate, and not old Hurlothrumbo there, I yield--so here goes." Let me not dwell upon the humiliating concession to the powers of _tapu_. Suffice it to say, I disrobed, and received permission to enter my own house in search of other garments. When I came out again, my old friend was sitting down with a stone in his hand, battering the last pot to pieces, and looking as if he was performing a very meritorious action. He carried away all the smashed kitchen utensils and my clothes in baskets, and deposited them in a thicket at a considerable distance from the house. (I stole the knives, forks, and spoons back again some time after, as he had not broken them.) He then bid me good-bye, and the same evening all my household came flocking back; but years passed before any one but myself would go into the kitchen, and I had to build another. And for several years also I could observe, by the respectable distance kept by young natives and servants, and the nervous manner with which they avoided my pipe in particular, that they considered I had not been as completely purified from the _tapu tango atua_ as I might have been. I now am aware, that in consideration of my being a pakeha, and also perhaps, lest driven to desperation, I should run away entirely, which would have been looked upon as a great misfortune to the tribe, I was let off very easy, and might therefore be supposed to retain some tinge of the dreadful infection. Besides these descriptions of _tapu_, there were many others. There was the _war tapu_, which in itself included fifty different "sacred customs," one of which was this--that often when the fighting men left the pa or camp, they being themselves made _tapu_, or sacred, as in this particular case the word means, all those who remained behind, old men, women, slaves, and all non-combatants were obliged strictly to fast while the warriors were fighting; and, indeed, from the time they left the camp till their return, even to smoke a pipe would be a breach of this rule. These war customs, as well as other forms of the _tapu_, are evidently derived from a very ancient religion, and did not take their rise in this country. I shall probably, some of these days, treat of them at more length, and endeavour to trace them to their source. Sacrifices were often made to the war demon, and I know of one instance in which, when a tribe were surrounded by an overwhelming force of their enemies, and had nothing but extermination, immediate and unrelenting, before them, the war chief cut out the heart of his own son as an offering for victory, and then he and his tribe, with the fury of despair and the courage of fanatics, rushed upon the foe, defeated them with terrific slaughter, and the war demon had much praise, and many men were eaten. The warriors, when on a dangerous expedition, also observed strictly the custom to which allusion is made. 1 Samuel, xxi. 4-5. Chapter IX. The Tapu Tohunga. -- The Maori oracle. -- Responses of the oracle. -- Priestcraft. Then came the _tapu tohunga_, or priest's _tapu_, a quite different kind or form of _tapu_ from those which I have spoken of. These _tohunga_ presided over all those ceremonies and customs which had something approaching to a religious character. They also pretended to the power, by means of certain familiar spirits, to foretell future events, and even in some cases to control them. The belief in the power of these _tohunga_ to foretell events was very strong, and the incredulous pakeha who laughed at them was thought a person quite incapable of understanding plain evidence. I must allow that some of their predictions were of a most daring nature, and happening to turn out perfectly successful, there may be some excuse for an ignorant people believing in them. Most of these predictions were, however, given, like the oracles of old, in terms which would admit a double meaning, and secure the character of the soothsayer no matter how the event turned out. It is also remarkable that these _tohunga_ did not pretend to divine future events by any knowledge or power existing in themselves; they pretended to be for the time inspired by the familiar spirit, and passive in his hands. This spirit "entered into" them, and, on being questioned, gave a response in a sort of half-whistling, half-articulate voice, supposed to be the proper language of spirits; and I have known a _tohunga_ who, having made a false prediction, laid the blame on the "tricksey spirit," who he said had purposely spoken false for certain good and sufficient spiritual reasons, which he then explained. Amongst the fading customs and beliefs of the good old times the _tohunga_ still holds his ground, and the oracle is as often consulted, though not so openly, as it was a hundred years ago, and is as firmly believed in, and this by natives who are professed Christians; and the inquiries are often on subjects of the most vital importance to the welfare of the colony. A certain _tohunga_ has even quite lately, to my certain knowledge, been paid a large sum of money to do a miracle! I saw the money paid, and I saw the miracle. And the miracle was a good enough sort of miracle, as miracles go in these times. The natives know we laugh at their belief in these things. They would much rather we were angry, for then they would defy us; but as we simply laugh at their credulity, they do all they can to conceal it from us; but nevertheless the chiefs, on all matters of importance, continue to consult the Maori oracle. I shall give two instances of predictions which came under my own observation, and which will show how much the same priestcraft has been in all times. A man--a petty chief--had a serious quarrel with his relations, left his tribe, and went to a distant part of the country, saying that he cast them off, and would never return. After a time the relations became both uneasy at his absence and sorry for the disagreement. The presence of the head of the family was also of consequence to them. They therefore inquired of the oracle if he would return. At night the _tohunga_ invoked the familiar spirit, he became inspired, and in a sort of hollow whistle came the words of fate:--"He will return, but yet not return." This response was given several times, and then the spirit departed, leaving the priest or _tohunga_ to the guidance of his own unaided wits. No one could understand the meaning of the response. The priest himself said he could make nothing of it. The spirit of course knew his own meaning; but all agreed that, whatever that meaning was, it would turn out true. Now the conclusion of this story is rather extraordinary. Some time after this several of the chief's relations went to offer reconciliation and to endeavour to persuade him to return home. Six months afterwards they returned, bringing him along with them _a corpse_; they had found him dying, and carried his body home. Now all knew the meaning of the words of the oracle, "He will return, but yet not return." Another instance, which I witnessed myself, was as follows:--A captain of a large ship had run away with a Maori girl; or a Maori girl had run away with a ship captain; I should not like to swear which is the proper form of expression; and the relations, as in such cases happens in most countries, thought it incumbent on them to get into a great taking, and make as much noise as possible about the matter. Off they set to the _tohunga_; I happened to be at his place at the time, and saw and heard all I am about to recount. The relations of the girl did not merely confine themselves to asking questions, they demanded active assistance. The ship had gone to sea loaded for a long voyage. The fugitives had fairly escaped; and what the relations wanted was that the _atua_, or familiar spirit of the _tohunga_, should bring the ship back into port, so that they might have an opportunity to recover the lost ornament of the family. I heard the whole. The priest hummed and hawed. "He did not know, could not say. We should hear what the 'boy' would say. He would do as he liked. Could not compel him;" and so forth. At night all assembled in the house where the priest usually performed. All was expectation. I saw I was _de trop_ in the opinion of our soothsayer; in fact, I had got the name of an infidel (which I have since taken care to get rid of), and the spirit was unwilling to enter the company of unbelievers. My friend the priest hinted to me politely that a nice bed had been made for me in the next house. I thanked him in the most approved Maori fashion, but said I was "very comfortable where I was;" and, suiting the action to the word, rolled my cloak about me, and lay down on the rushes with which the floor was covered. About midnight I heard the spirit saluting the guests, and they saluting him; and I also noticed they hailed him as "relation," and then gravely preferred the request that he would "drive back the ship which had stolen his cousin." The response, after a short time, came in the hollow, mysterious, whistling voice,--"The ship's nose I will batter out on the great sea." This answer was repeated several times, and then the spirit departed and would not be recalled. The rest of the night was spent in conjecturing what could be the meaning of these words. All agreed that there must be more in them than met the ear; but no one could say it was a clear concession of the request made. As for the priest, he said he could not understand it, and that "the spirit was a great rogue"--a _koroke hangareka_. He, however, kept throwing out hints now and then that something more than common was meant, and talked generally in the "we shall see" style. Now here comes the end of the affair. About ten days after this in comes the ship. She had been "battered" with a vengeance. She had been met by a terrible gale when a couple of hundred miles off the land, and had sprung a leak in the bow. The bow in Maori is called the "nose" (_ihu_). The vessel had been in great danger, and had been actually forced to run for the nearest port, which happened to be the one she had left. Now, after such a coincidence as this, I can hardly blame the ignorant natives for believing in the oracle, for I actually caught myself quoting, "Can the devil speak truth?" Indeed I have in the good old times known several pakehas who "thought there was something in it," and two who formally and believingly consulted the oracle, and paid a high _douceur_ to the priest. I shall give one more instance of the response of the Maori oracle. A certain northern tribe, noted for their valour, but not very numerous, sent the whole of their best men on a war expedition to the south. This happened about forty years ago. Before the _taua_ started the oracle was consulted, and the answer to the question, "Shall this expedition be successful?" came. "A desolate country!--a desolate country!--a desolate country!" This the eager warriors accepted as a most favourable response. They said the enemy's country would be desolated. It, however, so turned out that they were all exterminated to a man, and the miserable remnant of their tribe, weakened and rendered helpless by their loss, became a prey to their more immediate neighbours, lost their lands, and have ceased from that day to be heard of as an independent tribe. So, in fact, it was the country of the eager inquirers which was laid "desolate." Every one praised the oracle, and its character was held higher than ever. Chapter X. The priest evokes a spirit. -- The consequences. -- A Maori tragedy. -- The "Tohunga" again. These priests or _tohunga_ would, and do to this hour, undertake to call up the spirit of any dead person, if paid for the same. I have seen many of these exhibitions, but one instance will suffice as an example. A young chief, who had been very popular and greatly respected in his tribe, had been killed in battle, and, at the request of several of his nearest friends, the _tohunga_ had promised on a certain night to call up his spirit to speak to them, and answer certain questions they wished to put. The priest was to come to the village of the relations, and the interview was to take place in a large house common to all the population. This young man had been a great friend of mine; and so, the day before the event, I was sent to by his relations, and told that an opportunity offered of conversing with my friend once more. I was not much inclined to bear a part in such outrageous mummery, but curiosity caused me to go. Now it is necessary to remark that this young chief was a man in advance of his times and people in many respects. He was the first of his tribe who could read and write; and, amongst other unusual things for a native to do, he kept a register of deaths and births, and a journal of any remarkable events which happened in the tribe. Now this book was lost. No one could find it, although his friends had searched unceasingly for it, as it contained many matters of interest, and also they wished to preserve it for his sake. I also wished to get it, and had often inquired if it had been found, but had always been answered in the negative. The appointed time came, and at night we all met the priest in the large house I have mentioned. Fires were lit, which gave an uncertain, flickering light. The priest retired to the darkest corner. All was expectation, and the silence was only broken by the sobbing of the sister and other female relations of the dead man. They seemed to be, and indeed were, in an agony of excitement, agitation, and grief. This state of things continued for a long time, and I began to feel in a way surprising to myself, as if there was something real in the matter. The heart-breaking sobs of the women, and the grave and solemn silence of the men, convinced me that, to them at least, this was a serious matter. I saw the brother of the dead man now and then wiping the tears in silence from his eyes. I wished I had not come, for I felt that any unintentional symptom of incredulity on my part would shock and hurt the feelings of my friends extremely; and yet, whilst feeling thus, I felt myself more and more near to believing in the deception about to be practised. The real grief, and also the general undoubting faith, in all around me, had this effect. We were all seated on the rush-strewn floor, about thirty persons. The door was shut; the fire had burnt down, leaving nothing but glowing charcoal. The room was oppressively hot. The light was little better than darkness, and the part of the room in which the _tohunga_ sat was now in perfect darkness. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, a voice came out of the darkness. "Salutation!--salutation to you all!--salutation!--salutation to you, my tribe!--family, I salute you!--friends, I salute you!--friend, my pakeha friend, I salute you!" The high-handed, daring imposture was successful; our feelings were taken by storm. A cry expressive of affection and despair, such as was not good to hear, came from the sister of the dead chief, a fine, stately, and really handsome woman of about five-and-twenty. She was rushing, with both arms extended, into the dark, in the direction from whence the voice came. She was instantly seized round the waist and restrained by her brother by main force, till moaning and fainting she lay still on the ground. At the same instant another female voice was heard from a young girl who was held by the wrists by two young men, her brothers. "Is it you?--is it you?--_truly_ is it you?--_aue! aue!_ they hold me, they restrain me; wonder not that I have not followed you; they restrain me, they watch me, but I go to you. The sun shall not rise, the sun shall not rise, _aue! aue!_" Here she fell insensible on the rush floor, and with the sister was carried out. The remaining women were all weeping and exclaiming, but were silenced by the men, who were themselves nearly as much excited, though not so clamorous. I, however, did notice two old men, who sat close to me, were not in the slightest degree moved in any way, though they did not seem at all incredulous, but quite the contrary. The spirit spoke again. "Speak to me, the tribe!--speak to me, the family!--speak to me, the pakeha!" The "pakeha," however, was not at the moment inclined for conversation. The deep distress of the two women, the evident belief of all around him of the presence of the spirit, the "darkness visible," the novelty of the scene, gave rise to a state of feeling not favourable to the conversational powers. Besides, I felt reluctant to give too much apparent credence to an imposture, which at the very same time, by some strange impulse, I felt half ready to give way to. At last the brother spoke. "How is it with you?--is it well with you in _that_ country?" The answer came--(the voice all through, it is to be remembered, was not the voice of the _tohunga_, but a strange melancholy sound, like the sound of the wind blowing into a hollow vessel),--"It is well with me; my place is a good place." The brother spoke again. "Have you seen ----, and ----, and ----?" (I forget the names mentioned.) "Yes, they are all with me." A woman's voice now from another part of the room anxiously cried out, "Have you seen my sister?" "Yes, I have seen her." "Tell her my love is great towards her and never will cease." "Yes, I will tell." Here the woman burst into tears, and the pakeha felt a strange swelling of the chest, which he could in no way account for. The spirit spoke again. "Give my large tame pig to the priest (the pakeha was disenchanted at once) and my double-gun." Here the brother interrupted, "Your gun is a _manatunga_, I shall keep it." He is also disenchanted, thought I, but I was mistaken. He believed, but wished to keep the gun his brother had carried so long. An idea now struck me that I could expose the imposture without showing palpable disbelief. "We cannot find your book," said I, "where have you concealed it?" The answer instantly came, "I concealed it between the _tahuhu_ of my house and the thatch, straight over you as you go in at the door." Here the brother rushed out; all was silence till his return. In five minutes he came back _with the book in his hand_. I was beaten, but made another effort. "What have you written in that book?" said I. "A great many things." "Tell me some of them." "Which of them?" "Any of them." "You are seeking for some information, what do you want to know? I will tell you." Then suddenly, "Farewell, O tribe! farewell, my family, I go!" Here a general and impressive cry of "farewell" arose from every one in the house. "Farewell," again cried the spirit, _from deep beneath the ground_! "Farewell," again from _high in air_! "Farewell," once more came moaning through the distant darkness of the night. "Farewell!" I was for a moment stunned. The deception was perfect. There was a dead silence--at last. "A ventriloquist," said I; "or--or--_perhaps_ the devil." I was fagged and confused. It was past midnight; the company broke up, and I went to a house where a bed had been prepared for me. I wished to be quiet and alone; but it was fated there should be little quiet that night. I was just falling asleep, after having thought for some time on the extraordinary scenes I had witnessed, when I heard the report of a musket at some little distance, followed by the shouting of men and the screams of women. Out I rushed. I had a presentiment of some horrible catastrophe. Men were running by, hastily armed. I could get no information, so went with the stream. There was a bright flame beginning to spring up at a short distance, and every one appeared going in that direction. I was soon there. A house had been set on fire to make a light. Before another house, close at hand, a dense circle of human beings was formed. I pushed my way through, and then saw, by the bright light of the flaming house, a scene which is still fresh before me: there, in the verandah of the house, was an old grey-bearded man; he knelt upon one knee, and on the other he supported the dead body of the young girl who had said she would follow the spirit to spirit land. The delicate-looking body from the waist upwards was bare and bloody; the old man's right arm was under the neck, the lower part of his long grey beard was dabbled with blood, his left hand was twisting his matted hair; he did not weep, he _howled_, and the sound was that of a heathen despair, knowing no hope. The young girl had secretly procured a loaded musket, tied a loop for her foot to the trigger, placed the muzzle to her tender breast, and blown herself to shatters. And the old man was her father, and a _tohunga_. A calm low voice now spoke close beside me, "She has followed her _rangatira_," it said. I looked round, and saw the famous _tohunga_ of the night. Now, young ladies, I have promised not to frighten your little wits out with raw-head-and-bloody-bones stories, a sort of thing I detest, but which has been too much the fashion with folks who write of matters Maori. I have vowed not to draw a drop of blood except in a characteristic manner. But this story is tragedy, or I don't know what tragedy is, and the more tragic because, in every particular, literally true, and so if you cannot find some pity for the poor Maori girl who "followed her lord to spirit land," I shall make it my business not to fall in love with any of you any more for I won't say how long. Chapter XI. The local Tapu. -- The Taniwha. -- The battle on Motiti. -- The death of Tiki Whenua. -- Reflections. -- Brutus, Marcus Antonius, and Tiki Whenua. -- Suicide. A story-teller, like a poet or a pugilist, must be _born_, and not _made_, and I begin to fancy I have not been born under a story-telling planet, for by no effort that I can make can I hold on to the thread of my story, and I am conscious the whole affair is fast becoming one great parenthesis. If I could only get clear of this _tapu_ I would "try back." I believe I ought to be just now completing the purchase of my estate. I am sure I have been keeping house a long time before it is built, which is I believe clear against the rules, so I must get rid of this talk about the _tapu_ the best way I can, after which I will start fair and try not to get before my story. Besides these different forms of the _tapu_ which I have mentioned, there were endless others, but the temporary local _tapus_ were the most tormenting to a pakeha, as well they might be, seeing that even a native could not steer clear of them always. A place not _tapu_ yesterday might be most horribly _tapu_ to-day, and the consequences of trespassing thereon proportionately troublesome. Thus, sailing along a coast or a river bank, the most inviting landing-place would be almost to a certainty the freehold property of the Taniwha, a terrific sea-monster, who would to a certainty, if his landed property was trespassed on, upset the canoe of the trespassers and devour them all the very next time they put to sea. The place was _tapu_, and let the weather be as bad as it might, it was better to keep to sea at all risks than to land there. Even pakeha, though in some cases invulnerable, could not escape the fangs of the terrible Taniwha. "Was not little Jackey-_poto_, the sailor, drowned by the Taniwha? He _would_ go on shore, in spite of every warning, to get some water to mix with his _waipiro_, and was not his canoe found next day floating about with his paddle and two empty case bottles in it?--a sure sign that the Taniwha had lifted him out bodily. And was not the body of the said Jackey found some days after with the Taniwha's mark on it,--one eye taken out?" These Taniwha would, however, sometimes attach themselves to a chief or warrior, and in the shape of a huge sea monster, a bird, or a fish, gambol round his canoe, and by their motions give presage of good or evil fortune. When the Ngati Kuri sailed on their last and fated expedition to the south, a huge Taniwha, attached to the famous warrior, Tiki Whenua, accompanied the expedition, playing about continually amongst the canoes, often coming close to the canoe of Tiki Whenua, so that the warrior could reach to pat him approvingly with his paddle, at which he seemed much pleased; and when they came in sight of the island of Tuhua, this Taniwha chief called up the legions of the deep! The sea was blackened by an army of monsters, who, with uncouth and awful floundering and wallowing, performed before the chief and his companions a hideous _tu ngarahu_, and then disappeared. The Ngati Kuri, elated, and accepting this as a presage of victory, landed on Tuhua, stormed the pa, and massacred its defenders. But they had mistaken the meaning of the monster review of the Taniwha. It was a leave-taking of his favourite warrior, for the Ngati Kuri were fated to die to a man on the next land they trod. A hundred and fifty men were they--the pick and prime of their tribe. All _rangatira_, all warriors of name, few in numbers, but desperately resolute, they thought it little to defeat the thousands of the south, and take the women and children as a prey! Having feasted and rejoiced at Tuhua, they sail for Motiti. This world was too small for them. They were impatient for battle. They thought to make the name of Kuri strike against the skies; but in the morning the sea is covered with war canoes. The thousands of the south are upon them! Ngati Awa, with many an allied band, mad for revenge, come on. Fight now, oh Ngati Kuri!--not for _victory_, no, nor for _life_. Think only now of _utu_!--for your time is come. That which you have dealt to many, you shall now receive. Fight!--fight! Your tribe shall be exterminated, but you must leave a name! Now came the tug of war on "bare Motiti." From early morning till the sun had well declined, that ruthless battle raged. Twice their own number had the Ngati Kuri slain; and then Tiki Whenua, still living, saw around him his dead and dying tribe. A handful of bleeding warriors still resisted--a last and momentary struggle. He thought of the _utu_; it was great. He thought of the ruined remnant of the tribe at home, and then he remembered--horrid thought!--that ere next day's setting sun, he and all the warriors of his tribe would be baked and eaten. (Tiki, my friend, thou art in trouble.) A cannon was close at hand--a nine-pound carronade. They had brought it in the canoes. Hurriedly he filled it half full of powder, seized a long firebrand, placed his breast to the cannon's mouth, fired with his own hand. Tiki Whenua, Good night! Now I wonder if Brutus had had such a thing as a nine-pounder about him at Phillippi, whether he would have thought of using it in this way. I really don't think he would. I have never looked upon Brutus as anything of an original genius, but Tiki Whenua most certainly was. I don't think there is another instance of a man blowing himself from a gun--of course there are many examples of people blowing others from cannon, but that is quite a different thing--any blockhead can do that. But the _exit_ of Tiki Whenua has a smack of originality about it which I like, and so I have mentioned it here. But all this is digression on digression; however, I suppose the reader is getting used to it, and I cannot help it; besides, I wanted to show them how poor Tiki "took arms against a sea of troubles," and for the want of a "bare bodkin" made shift with a carronade. I shall never cease to lament those nice lads who met with that little accident (poor fellows!) on Motiti. A fine, strapping, stalwart set of fellows, who believed in force. We don't see many such men now-a-days; the present generation of Maori are a stunted, tobacco-smoking, grog-drinking, psalm-singing, special-pleading, shilling-hunting set of wretches; not above one in a dozen of them would know how to cut up a man _secundem artem_. Pshaw! I am ashamed of them. I am getting tired of this _tapu_, so will give only one or two more instances of the local temporary _tapu_. In the autumn, when the great crop of _kumera_ was gathered, all the paths leading to the village and cultivated lands were made _tapu_, and any one coming along them would have notice of this by finding a rope stretched across the road about breast-high; when he saw this, his business must be very urgent indeed or he would go back, and it would have been taken as a very serious affront indeed, even in a near relation, supposing his ordinary residence was not in the village, to disregard the hint given by the rope,--that for the present there was "no thoroughfare." Now, the reason of this blockade of the roads was this. The report of an unusually fine crop of _kumera_ had often cost its cultivators and the whole tribe their lives. The news would spread about that Ngati so-and-so, living at so-and-so, had housed so many thousands of baskets of _kumera_. Exaggeration would multiply the truth by ten, the fertile land would be coveted, and very probably its owners, or rather its _holders_, would have to fight both for it and their lives before the year was out. For this reason strangers were not welcome at the Maori harvest home. The _kumera_ were dug hurriedly by the whole strength of the working hands, thrown in scattered heaps, and concealed from any casual observation by strangers by being covered over with the leaves of the plants, and when all were dug then all hands set to work, at night, to fill the baskets and carry off the crop to the storehouse or _rua_, and every effort was made to get all stored and out of sight before daylight, lest any one should be able to form any idea of the extent of the crop. When the digging of one field was completed another would be done in the same manner, and so on till the whole crop was housed in this stealthy manner. I have been at several of these midnight labours, and have admired the immense amount of work one family would do in a single night, working as it were for life and death. In consequence of this mode of proceeding, even the families inhabiting the same village did not know what sort of a crop their neighbours had, and if a question was asked (to do which was thought impertinent and very improper), the invariable answer was, "Nothing at all; barely got back the seed; hardly that; we shall be starved; we shall have to eat fern root this year," &c. The last time I observed this custom was about twenty-seven years ago, and even then it was nearly discontinued and no longer general. Talking of bygone habits and customs of the natives, I remember I have mentioned two cases of suicide. I shall, therefore, now take occasion to state that no more marked alteration in the habits of the natives has taken place than in the great decrease of cases of suicide. In the first years of my residence in the country, it was of almost daily occurrence. When a man died, it was almost a matter of course that his wife, or wives, hung themselves. When the wife died, the man very commonly shot himself. I have known young men, often on the most trifling affront or vexation, shoot themselves; and I was acquainted with a man who, having been for two days plagued with the toothache, cut his throat with a very blunt razor, without a handle, as a radical cure, which it certainly was. I do not believe that one case of suicide occurs now, for twenty when I first came into the country. Indeed, the last case I have heard of in a populous district, occurred several years ago. It was rather a remarkable one. A native owed another a few shillings; the creditor kept continually asking for it; but the debtor, somehow or other, never could raise the cash. At last, being out of patience, and not knowing anything of the Insolvent Court, he loaded his gun, went to the creditor's house, and called him out. Out came the creditor and his wife. The debtor then placed the gun to his own breast, and saying, "Here is your payment," pulled the trigger with his foot, and fell dead before them. I think the reason suicide has become so comparatively unfrequent is, that the minds of the natives are now filled and agitated by a flood of new ideas, new wants and ambitions, which they knew not formerly, and which prevents them, from one single loss or disappointment, feeling as if there was nothing more to live for. Chapter XII. The Tapa. -- Instances of. -- The storming of Mokoia. -- Pomare. -- Hongi Ika. -- Tareha. -- Honour amongst thieves. There was a kind of variation on the _tapu_, called _tapa_, of this nature. For instance, if a chief said, "That axe is my head," the axe became his to all intents and purposes, except, indeed, the owner of the axe was able to break his "head," in which case, I have reason to believe, the _tapa_ would fall to the ground. It was, however, in a certain degree necessary to have some legal reason, or excuse, for making the _tapa_; but to give some idea of what constituted the circumstances under which a man could fairly _tapa_ anything, I must needs quote a case in point. When the Ngapuhi attacked the tribe of Ngati Wakawe, at Rotorua, the Ngati Wakawe retired to the island of Mokoia in the lake of Rotorua, which they fortified, thinking that, as the Ngapuhi canoes could not come nearer than Kaituna on the east coast, about thirty miles distant, they in their island position would be safe. But in this they were fatally deceived, for the Ngapuhi dragged a whole fleet of war canoes over land. When, however, the advanced division of the Ngapuhi arrived at Rotorua, and encamped on the shore of the lake, Ngati Wakawe were not aware that the canoes of the enemy were coming, so every morning they manned their large canoes, and leaving the island fort, would come dashing along the shore, deriding the Ngapuhi, and crying, "_Ma wai koe e kawe mai ki Rangitiki?_"--"Who shall bring you, or how shall you arrive, at Rangitiki?" Rangitiki was the name of one of their hill forts. The canoes were fine large ornamented _totara_ canoes, very valuable, capable of carrying from fifty to seventy men each, and much coveted by the Ngapuhi. The Ngapuhi, of course, considered all these canoes as their own already, but the different chiefs and leaders, anxious to secure one or more of these fine canoes for themselves and people, and not knowing who might be the first to lay hands on them in the confusion of the storming of Mokoia, which would take place when their own canoes arrived, each _tapa'd_ one or more for himself, or, as the native expression is, _to_ himself. Up jumped Pomare, and standing on the lake shore, in front of the encampment of the division of which he was leader, he shouts, pointing at the same time to a particular canoe at the time carrying about sixty men, "That canoe is my back-bone." Then Tareha, in bulk like a sea-elephant, and sinking to the ankles in the shore of the lake, with a hoarse, croaking voice roars out, "That canoe! my skull shall be the baler to bale it out." This was a horribly strong _tapa_. Then the soft voice of the famous Hongi Ika, surnamed "The eater of men," of _Hongi kai tangata_, was heard, "Those two canoes are my two thighs." And so the whole flotilla was appropriated by the different chiefs. Now it followed from this that in the storming and plunder of Mokoia, when a warrior clapped his hand on a canoe and shouted, "This canoe is mine," the seizure would not stand good if it was one of the canoes which were _tapa-tapa_, for it would be a frightful insult to Pomare to claim to be the owner of his "back-bone," or to Tareha to go on board a canoe which had been made sacred by the bare supposition that his "skull" should be a vessel to bale it with. Of course the first man laying his hand on any other canoe, and claiming it, secured it for himself and tribe, always provided that the number of men there present representing his tribe or _hapu_ were sufficient to back his claim, and render it dangerous to dispossess him. I have seen men shamefully robbed, for want of sufficient support, of their honest lawful gains, after all the trouble and risk they had gone to in killing the owners of their plunder. But dishonest people are to be found almost everywhere, and I will say this, that my friends the Maoris seldom act against law, and always try to be able to say what they do is "correct" (_tika_). This _tapu_ is a bore, even to write about, and I fear the reader is beginning to think it a bore to read about. It began long before the time of Moses, and I think that steam navigation will be the death of it; but lest it should kill my reader, I will have done with it for the present, and "try back," for I have left my story behind completely. Chapter XIII. "My Rangatira." -- The respective duties of the Pakeha and his Rangatira. -- Public opinion. -- A "Pakeha Kino." -- Description of my Rangatira. -- His exploits and misadventures. -- His moral principles. -- Decline in the numbers of the natives. -- Proofs of former large population. -- Ancient forts. -- Causes of decrease. When I purchased my land the payment was made on the ground, and immediately divided and subdivided amongst the different sellers. Some of them, who, according to their own representations formerly made to me, were the sole and only owners of the land, received for their share about the value of one shilling, and moreover, as I also observed, did not appear at all disappointed. One old _rangatira_, before whom a considerable portion of the payment had been laid as his share of the spoil, gave it a slight shove with his foot, expressive of refusal, and said, "I will not accept any of the payment, I will have the pakeha." I saw some of the magnates present seemed greatly disappointed at this, for I dare say they had expected to have the pakeha as well as the payment. But the old gentleman had regularly checkmated them by refusing to accept any payment, and being also a person of great respectability, _i.e._, a good fighting man, with twenty more at his back, he was allowed to have his way, and thereby, in the opinion of all the natives present, making a far better thing of the land sale than any of them, though he had received no part of the payment. I consequently was therefore a part, and by no means an inconsiderable one, of the payment for my own land; but though now part and parcel of the property of the old _rangatira_ aforementioned, a good deal of liberty was allowed me. The fact of my having become his pakeha made our respective relations and duties to each other about as follows:-- Firstly.--At all times, places, and companies my owner had the right to call me "his pakeha." Secondly.--He had the general privilege of "pot-luck" whenever he chose to honour my establishment with a visit; said pot-luck to be tumbled out to him on the ground before the house, he being far too great a man to eat out of plates or dishes, or any degenerate invention of that nature; as, if he did, they would all become _tapu_, and of no use to any one but himself, nor indeed to himself either, as he did not see the use of them. Thirdly.--It was well understood that to avoid the unpleasant appearance of paying "black mail," and to keep up general kindly relations, my owner should from time to time make me small presents, and that in return I should make him presents of five or six times the value: all this to be done as if arising from mutual love and kindness, and not the slightest allusion to be ever made to the relative value of the gifts on either side (an important article). Fourthly.--It was to be a _sine quâ non_ that I must purchase everything the chief or his family had to sell, whether I wanted them or not, and give the highest market price, or rather more. (Another very important article.) Fifthly.--The chief's own particular pipe never to be allowed to become extinguished for want of the needful supply of tobacco. Sixthly.--All desirable jobs of work, and all advantages of all kinds, to be offered first to the family of my _rangatira_ before letting any one else have them; payment for same to be about 25 per cent. more than to any one else, exclusive of a _douceur_ to the chief himself because he did not work. In return for these duties and customs, well and truly performed on my part, the chief was understood to-- Firstly.--Stick up for me in a general way, and not let me be bullied or imposed upon by any one but himself, as far as he was able to prevent it. Secondly.--In case of my being plundered or maltreated by any powerful marauder, it was the duty of my chief to come in hot haste with all his family, armed to the teeth, to my rescue, after all was over, and when it was too late to be of any service. He was also bound on such occasions to make a great noise, dance the war dance, and fire muskets, (I finding the powder,) and to declare loudly what he would have done had he only been in time. I, of course, on such occasions, for my own dignity, and in consideration of the spirited conduct of my friends, was bound to order two or three fat pigs to be killed, and lots of potatoes to be served out to the "army," who were always expected to be starving, as a general rule. A distribution of tobacco, in the way of largess, was also a necessity of the case. Thirdly.--In case of my losing anything of consequence by theft--a thing which, as a veracious pakeha, I am bound to say, seldom happened; the natives in those days being, as I have already mentioned, a very law-observing people, (the law of muru,) had, indeed, little occasion to steal, the above-named law answering their purposes in a general way much better, and helping them pretty certainly to any little matter they coveted; yet, as there are exceptions to all rules, theft would sometimes be committed; and then, as I was saying, it became the bounden duty of my _rangatira_ to get the stolen article back if he was able, and keep it for himself for his trouble, unless I gave him something of more value in lieu thereof. Under the above regulations things went on pleasantly enough, the chief being restrained, by public opinion and the danger of the pakeha running away from pushing his prerogative to the utmost limit; and the pakeha, on the other hand, making the commonalty pay for the indirect taxation he was subjected to; so that in general, after ten or fifteen years' residence, he would not be much poorer than when he arrived, unless, indeed, some unlucky accident happened, such as pakehas were liable to sometimes in the good old times. Mentioning "public opinion" as a restraint on the chiefs' acquisitiveness, I must explain that a chief possessing a pakeha was much envied by his neighbours, who, in consequence, took every opportunity of scandalizing him, and blaming him for any rough plucking process he might submit the said pakeha to; and should he, by any awkward handling of this sort, cause the pakeha at last to run for it, the chief would never hear the end of it from his own family and connections, pakehas being, in those glorious old times, considered to be geese who laid golden eggs, and it would be held to be the very extreme of foolishness and bad policy either to kill them, or, by too rough handling, to cause them to fly away. On the other hand, should the pakeha fail in a culpable manner in the performance of his duties, though he would not, as a rule, be subjected to any stated punishment, he would soon begin to find a most unaccountable train of accidents and all sorts of unpleasant occurrences happening, enough, in the aggregate, to drive Job himself out of his wits; and, moreover, he would _get a bad name_, which, though he removed, would follow him from one end of the island to the other, and effectually prevent him having the slightest chance of doing any good,--that is, holding his own in the country, as the natives, wherever he went, would consider him a person out of whom the most was to be made at once, as he was not to be depended on as a source of permanent revenue. I have known several industrious, active, and sober pakeha who never could do any good, and whose life, for a long series of years, was a mere train of mishaps, till at last they were reduced to extreme poverty, merely from having, in their first dealings with the natives, got a bad name, in consequence of not having been able to understand clearly the beauty of the set of regulations I have just mentioned, and from an inability to make them work smoothly. The bad name I have mentioned was short and expressive; wherever they went, there would be sure to be some one who would introduce them to their new acquaintances as "a pakeha _pakeke_"--a hard pakeha; "a pakeha _taehae_"--a miser; or, to sum up all, "a pakeha _kino_." The chief who claimed me was a good specimen of the Maori _rangatira_. He was a very old man, and had fought the French when Marion, the French circumnavigator, was killed. He had killed a Frenchman himself, and carried his thighs and legs many miles as a _bonne bouche_ for his friends at home at the pa. This old gentleman was not head of his tribe. He was a man of good family, related to several high chiefs. He was head of a strong family, or _hapu_, which mustered a considerable number of fighting men, all his near relations. He had been himself a most celebrated fighting man, and a war chief; and was altogether a highly respectable person, and of great weight in the councils of the tribe. I may say I was fortunate in having been appropriated by this old patrician. He gave me very little trouble; did not press his rights and privileges too forcibly on my notice, and in fact behaved in all respects towards me in so liberal and friendly a manner, that before long I began to have a very sincere regard for him, and he to take a sort of paternal interest in me, which was both gratifying to observe, and also extremely comical sometimes, when he, out of real anxiety to see me a perfectly accomplished _rangatira_, would lecture on good manners, etiquette, and the use of the spear. He was, indeed, a model of a _rangatira_, and well worth being described. He was a little man, with a high massive head, and remarkably high square forehead, on which the tattooer had exhausted his art. Though, as I have said, of a great age, he was still nimble and active. He had evidently been one of those tough, active men, who, though small in stature, are a match for any one. There was in my old friend's eyes a sort of dull fiery appearance, which, when anything excited him, or when he recounted some of those numerous battles, onslaughts, massacres, or stormings in which all the active part of his life had been spent, actually seemed to blaze up and give forth real fire. His breast was covered with spear-wounds, and he also had two very severe spear-wounds on his head; but he boasted that no single man had ever been able to touch him with the point of a spear. It was in grand _mêlées_, where he would have sometimes six or eight antagonists, that he had received these wounds. He was a great general, and I have heard him criticize closely the order and conduct of every battle of consequence which had been fought for fifty years before my arrival in the country. On these occasions the old "martialist" would draw on the sand the plan of the battle he was criticizing and describing; and in the course of time I began to perceive that, before the introduction of the musket, the art of war had been brought to great perfection by the natives: and that, when large numbers were engaged in a pitched battle, the order of battle resembled, in a most striking manner, some of the most approved orders of battle of the ancients. Since the introduction of firearms the natives have entirely altered their tactics, and adopted a system better adapted to the new weapon and the nature of the country. My old friend had a great hatred for the musket. He said that in battles fought with the musket there were never so many men killed as when, in his young days, men fought hand to hand with the spear; when a good warrior would kill six, eight, ten, or even twenty men in a single fight; for when once the enemy broke and commenced to run, the combatants being so close together, a fast runner would knock a dozen on the head in a short time; and the great aim of these fast-running warriors, of whom my old friend had been one, was to chase straight on and never stop, only striking one blow at one man, so as to cripple him, so that those behind should be sure to overtake and finish him. It was not uncommon for one man, strong and swift of foot, when the enemy were fairly routed, to stab with a light spear ten or a dozen men in such a way as to ensure their being overtaken and killed. On one occasion of this kind my old tutor had the misfortune to stab a running man in the back. He did it, of course, scientifically, so as to stop his running, and as he passed him by he perceived it was his wife's brother. He was finished immediately by the men close behind. I should have said the man was a brother of one of my friend's four wives, which being the case, I dare say he had a sufficient number of brothers-in-law to afford to kill one now and then. A worse mishap, however, occurred to him on another occasion. He was returning from a successful expedition from the south (in the course of which, by-the-bye, he and his men killed and cooked several men of the enemy in Shortland Crescent, and forced three others to jump over a cliff, which is, I think, now called Soldier's Point), when off the Mahurangi a smoke was seen rising from amongst the trees near the beach. They at once concluded that it came from the fires of people belonging to that part of the country, and who they considered as game. They therefore waited till night, concealing their canoes behind some rocks, and when it became dark landed; they then divided into two parties, took the supposed enemy completely by surprise, attacked, rushing upon them from two opposite directions at once. My _rangatira_, dashing furiously among them, and, as I can well suppose, those eyes of his flashing fire, had the happiness of once again killing the first man, and being authorized to shout, "_Ki au te mataika!_" A few more blows, the parties recognize each other: they are friends!--men of the same tribe! Who is the last _mataika_ slain by this famous warrior? Quick, bring a flaming brand; here he lies dead! Ha! It is his father! Now an ancient knight of romance, under similar awkward circumstances, would probably have retired from public life, sought out some forest cave, where he would have hung up his armour, let his beard grow, flogged himself twice a day "regular," and lived on "pulse," which, I suppose, means pea-soup, for the rest of his life. But my old _rangatira_ and his companions had not a morsel of that sort of romance about them. The killing of my friend's father was looked upon as a very clever exploit in itself, though a very unlucky one. So after having scolded one another for some time, one party telling the other they were served right for not keeping a better look out, and the other answering that they should have been sure who they were going to attack before making the onset, they all held a _tangi_ or lamentation for the old warrior who had just received his _mittimus_; and then killing a prisoner, who they had brought in the canoes for fresh provisions, they had a good feast; after which they returned all together to their own country, taking the body of their lamented relative along with them. This happened many years before I came to the country, and when my _rangatira_ was one of the most famous fighting men in his tribe. This Maori _rangatira_, who I am describing, had passed his whole life, with but little intermission, in a scene of battle, murder, and bloodthirsty atrocities of the most terrific description, mixed with actions of the most heroic courage, self-sacrifice, and chivalric daring, as leaves one perfectly astounded to find them the deeds of one and the same people--one day doing acts which had they been performed in ancient Greece would have immortalized the actors, and the next committing barbarities too horrible for relation, and almost incredible. The effect of a life of this kind was observable, plainly enough, in my friend. He was utterly devoid of what weak mortals call "compassion." He seemed to have no more feeling for the pain, tortures, or death of others than a stone. Should one of his family be dying or wounded, he merely felt it as the loss of one fighting man. As for the death of a woman or any non-combatant, he did not feel it at all, though the person might have suffered horrid tortures; indeed I have seen him scolding severely a fine young man, his near relative, when actually expiring, for being such a fool as to blow himself up by accident, and deprive his family of a fighting man. The last words the dying man heard were these:--"It serves you right. There you are, looking very like a burnt stick! It serves you right--a burnt stick! Serves you right!" It really _was_ vexatious. A fine stout young fellow to be wasted in that way. As for fear, I saw one or two instances to prove he knew very little about it; and, indeed, to be killed in battle, seemed to him a natural death, and he was always grumbling that the young men thought of nothing but trading: and whenever he proposed to them to take him where he might have a final battle (_he riri wakamutunga_), where he might escape dying of old age, they always kept saying, "Wait till we get more muskets," or "more gunpowder," or more something or another, "as if men could not be killed without muskets!" He was not cruel either; he was only unfeeling. He had been guilty, it is true, in his time, of what we would call terrific atrocities to his prisoners, which he calmly and calculatingly perpetrated as _utu_ or retaliation for similar barbarities committed by them or their tribe. And here I must retract the word guilty, which I see I have written inadvertently, for according to the morals and principles of the people of whom he was one, and of the time to which he belonged, and the training he had received, so far from being guilty, he did a praiseworthy, glorious, and public-spirited action when he opened the jugular vein of a bound captive and sucked huge draughts of his blood. To say the truth he was a very nice old man, and I liked him very much. It would not, however, be advisable to put him in a passion; not much good would be likely to arise from it, as indeed I could show by one or two very striking instances which came under my notice, though to say the truth he was not easily put out of temper. He had one great moral rule,--it was indeed his rule of life,--he held that every man had a right to do everything and anything he chose, provided he was able and willing to stand the consequences, though he thought some men fools for trying to do things which they could not carry out pleasantly, and which ended in getting them baked. I once hinted to him that, should every one reduce these principles to practice, he himself might find it awkward, particularly as he had so many mortal enemies. To which he replied, with a look which seemed to pity my ignorance, that every one _did_ practise this rule to the best of their abilities, but that some were not so able as others; and that as for his enemies, he should take care they never surprised _him_; a surprise being, indeed, the only thing he seemed to have any fear at all of. In truth he had occasion to look out sharp; he never was known to sleep more than three or four nights in the same place, and often, when there were ill omens, he would not sleep in a house at all, or two nights following in one place, for a month together, and I never saw him without both spear and tomahawk, and ready to defend himself at a second's notice, a state of preparation perfectly necessary, for though in his own country and surrounded by his tribe, his death would have been such a triumph for hundreds, not of distant enemies, but of people within a day's journey, that none could tell at what moment some stout young fellow in search of _utu_ and a "_ingoa toa_" (a warlike reputation) might rush upon him, determined to have his head or leave his own. The old buck himself had, indeed, performed several exploits of this nature, the last of which occurred just at the time I came into the country, but before I had the advantage of his acquaintance. His tribe were at war with some people at the distance of about a day's journey. One of their villages was on the border of a dense forest. My _rangatira_, then a very old man, started off alone, and without saying a word to any one, took his way through the forest which extended the whole way between his village and the enemy, crept like a lizard into the enemy's village, and then, shouting his war cry, dashed amongst a number of people he saw sitting together on the ground, and who little expected such a salute. In a minute he had run three men and one woman through the body, received five dangerous spear-wounds himself, and escaped to the forest, and finally got safe home to his own country and people. Truly my old _rangatira_ was a man of a thousand,--a model _rangatira_. This exploit, if possible, added to his reputation, and every one said his _mana_ would never decline. The enemy had been panic-stricken, thinking a whole tribe were upon them, and fled like a flock of sheep, except the three men who were killed. They all attacked my old chief at once, and were all disposed of in less than a minute, after, as I have said, giving him five desperate wounds. The woman was just "stuck," as a matter of course, as she came in his way. The natives are unanimous in affirming that they were much more numerous in former times than they are now, and I am convinced that such was the case, for the following reasons. The old hill forts are many of them so large that an amount of labour must have been expended in trenching, terracing, and fencing them, and all without iron tools, which increased the difficulty a hundred-fold, which must have required a vastly greater population to accomplish than can be now found in the surrounding districts. These forts were also of such an extent that, taking into consideration the system of attack and defence used necessarily in those times, they would have been utterly untenable unless held by at least ten times the number of men the whole surrounding districts, for two or three days' journey, can produce; and yet, when we remember that in those times of constant war, being the two centuries preceding the arrival of the Europeans, the natives always, as a rule, slept in these hill forts with closed gates, bridges over trenches removed, and ladders of terraces drawn up, we must come to the conclusion that the inhabitants of the fort, though so numerous, were merely the population of the country in the close vicinity. Now from the top of one of these pointed, trenched, and terraced hills, I have counted twenty others, all of equally large dimensions, and all within a distance, in every direction, of fifteen to twenty miles; and native tradition affirms that each of these hills was the stronghold of a separate _hapu_ or clan, bearing its distinctive name. There is also the most unmistakeable evidence that vast tracts of country, which have lain wild time out of mind, were once fully cultivated. The ditches for draining the land are still traceable, and large pits are to be seen in hundreds, on the tops of the dry hills, all over the northern part of the North Island, in which the _kumera_ were once stored; and these pits are, in the greatest number, found in the centre of great open tracts of uncultivated country, where a rat in the present day would hardly find subsistence. The old drains, and the peculiar growth of the timber, mark clearly the extent of these ancient cultivations. It is also very observable that large tracts of very inferior land have been in cultivation, which would lead to the inference that either the population was pretty nearly proportioned to the extent of available land, or that the tracts of inferior land were cultivated merely because they were not too far removed from the fort; for the shape of the hill, and its capability of defence and facility of fortification, was of more consequence than the fertility of the surrounding country. These _kumera_ pits, being dug generally in the stiff clay on the hill tops, have, in most cases, retained their shape perfectly, and many seem as fresh and new as if they had been dug but a few years. They are oblong in shape, with the sides regularly sloped. Many collections of these provision stores have outlived Maori tradition, and the natives can only conjecture who they belonged to. Out of the centre of one of them which I have seen, there is now growing a kauri tree one hundred and twenty feet high, and out of another a large totara. The outline of these pits is as perfect as the day they were dug, and the sides have not fallen in in the slightest degree, from which perhaps they have been preserved by the absence of frost, as well as by a beautiful coating of moss, by which they are everywhere covered. The pit in which the kauri grew, had been partially filled up by the scaling off of the bark of the tree, which falling off in patches, as it is constantly doing, had raised a mound of decaying bark round the root of the tree. Another evidence of a very large number of people having once inhabited these hill forts is the number of houses they contained. Every native house, it appears, in former times as in the present, had a fire-place composed of four flat stones or flags sunk on their edges into the ground, so as to form an oblong case or trunk, in which at night a fire to heat the house was made. Now, in two of the largest hill forts I have examined, though for ages no vestige of a house had been seen, there remained the fire-places--the four stones projecting like an oblong box slightly over the ground--and from their position and number denoting clearly that, large as the circumference of the huge volcanic hill was which formed the fortress, the number of families inhabiting it necessitated the strictest economy of room. The houses had been arranged in streets, or double rows, with a path between them, except in places where there had been only room on a terrace for a single row. The distances between the fire-places proved that the houses in the rows must have been as close together as it was possible to build them, and every spot, from the foot to the hill top, not required and specially planned for defensive purposes, had been built on in this regular manner. Even the small flat top, sixty yards long by forty wide,--the citadel,--on which the greatest care and labour had been bestowed to render it difficult of access, had been as full of houses as it could hold, leaving a small space all round the precipitous bank for the defenders to stand on. These little fire-places, and the scarped and terraced conical hills, are the only marks the Maori of ancient times have left of their existence. And I have reasons for believing that this country has been inhabited from a more remote period by far than is generally supposed. These reasons I found upon the dialect of the Maori language spoken by the Maori of New Zealand, as well as on many other circumstances. We may easily imagine that a hill of this kind, covered from bottom to top with houses thatched and built of reeds, rushes, and raupo, would be a mere mass of combustible matter, and such indeed was the case. When an enemy attacked one of these places a common practice was to shower red-hot stones from slings into the place, which, sinking into the dry thatch of the houses, would cause a general conflagration. Should this once occur the place was sure to be taken, and this mode of attack was much feared; all hands not engaged at the outer defences, and all women and non-combatants, were employed guarding against this danger, and pouring water out of calabashes on every smoke that appeared. The natives also practised both mining and escalade in attacking a hill fort. The natives attribute their decrease in numbers, before the arrival of the Europeans, to war and sickness, disease possibly arising from the destruction of food and the forced neglect of cultivation caused by the constant and furious wars which devastated the country for a long period before the arrival of the Europeans, in such a manner that the natives at last believed that a constant state of warfare was the natural condition of life, and their sentiments, feelings, and maxims became gradually formed on this belief. Nothing was so valuable or respectable as strength and courage, and to acquire property by war and plunder was more honourable and also more desirable than by labour. Cannibalism was glorious. The island was a pandemonium. A rugged wight, the worst of brutes, was man; On his own wretched kind he ruthless prey'd. The strongest then the weakest overran, In every country mighty robbers sway'd, And guile and ruffian force was all their trade. Since the arrival of the Europeans the decrease of the natives has also been rapid. In that part of the country where I have had means of accurate observation, they have decreased in number since my arrival rather more than one-third. I have, however, observed that this decrease has for the last ten years been very considerably checked, though I do not believe this improvement is general through the country, or even permanent where I have observed it. The first grand cause of the decrease of the natives since the arrival of the Europeans is the musket. The nature of the ancient Maori weapons prompted them to seek out vantage ground, and to take up positions on precipitous hill tops, and make those high, dry, airy situations their regular fixed residences. Their ordinary course of life, when not engaged in warfare, was regular, and not necessarily unhealthy. Their labour, though constant in one shape or other, and compelled by necessity, was not too heavy. In the morning, but not early, they descended from the hill pa to the cultivations in the low ground; they went in a body, armed like men going to battle, the spear or club in one hand, and the agricultural instrument in the other. The women followed. Long before night (it was counted unlucky to work till dark) they returned to the hill with a reversed order, the women now, and slaves, and lads, bearing fuel and water for the night, in front; they also bore probably heavy loads of _kumera_ or other provisions. In the time of year when the crops did not call for their attention, when they were planted and growing, then the whole tribe would remove to some fortified hill, at the side of some river, or on the coast, where they would pass months fishing, making nets, clubs, spears, and implements of various descriptions; the women, in all spare time, making mats for clothing, or baskets to carry the crop of _kumera_ in, when fit to dig. There was very little idleness; and to be called "lazy" was a great reproach. It is to be observed that for several months the crops could be left thus unguarded with perfect safety, for the Maori, as a general rule, never destroyed growing crops or attacked their owners in a regular manner until the crops were nearly at full perfection, so that they might afford subsistence to the invaders, and consequently the end of the summer all over the country was a time of universal preparation for battle, either offensive or defensive, the crops then being near maturity. Now when the natives became generally armed with the musket they at once abandoned the hills, and, to save themselves the great labour and inconvenience occasioned by the necessity of continually carrying provisions, fuel, and water to these precipitous hill-castles--which would be also, as a matter of necessity, at some inconvenient distance from at least some part of the extensive cultivations--descended to the low lands, and there, in the centre of the cultivations, erected a new kind of fortification adapted to the capabilities of the new weapon. _This_ was their destruction. There in mere swamps they built their oven-like houses, where the water even in summer sprung with the pressure of the foot, and where in winter the houses were often completely flooded. There, lying on the spongy soil, on beds of rushes which rotted under them--in little, low dens of houses, or kennels, heated like ovens at night and dripping with damp in the day--full of noxious exhalations from the damp soil, and impossible to ventilate--they were cut off by disease in a manner absolutely frightful. No advice would they take; they could not _see_ the enemy which killed them, and therefore could not believe the Europeans who pointed out the cause of their destruction. This change of residence was universal and everywhere followed by the same consequences, more or less marked; the strongest men were cut off and but few children were reared. And even now, after the dreadful experience they have had, and all the continual remonstrances of their pakeha friends, they take but very little more precaution in choosing sites for their houses than at first; and when a native village or a native house happens to be in a dry, healthy situation, it is often more the effect of accident than design. Twenty years ago a _hapu_, in number just forty persons, removed their _kainga_ from a dry, healthy position, to the edge of a _raupo_ swamp. I happened to be at the place a short time after the removal, and with me there was a medical gentleman who was travelling through the country. In creeping into one of the houses (the chief's) through the low door, I was obliged to put both my hands to the ground; they both sunk into the swampy soil, making holes which immediately filled with water. The chief and his family were lying on the ground on rushes, and a fire was burning, which made the little den, not in the highest place more than five feet high, feel like an oven. I called the attention of my friend to the state of this place called a "house." He merely said, "_men_ cannot live here." Eight years from that day the whole _hapu_ were extinct; but, as I remember, two persons were shot for bewitching them and causing their deaths. Many other causes combined at the same time to work the destruction of the natives. Next to the change of residence from the high and healthy hill forts to the low grounds, was the hardship, over-labour, exposure, and half-starvation, to which they submitted themselves--firstly, to procure these very muskets which enabled them to make the fatal change of residence, and afterwards to procure the highly and justly valued iron implements of the Europeans. When we reflect that a ton of cleaned flax was the price paid for two muskets, and at an earlier date for one musket, we can see at once the dreadful exertion necessary to obtain it. But supposing a man to get a musket for half a ton of flax, another half ton would be required for ammunition; and in consequence, as every man in a native _hapu_, of say a hundred men, was absolutely forced on pain of death to procure a musket and ammunition at any cost, and at the earliest possible moment (for if they did not procure them extermination was their doom by the hands of those of their countrymen who had), the effect was that this small _hapu_, or clan, had to manufacture, spurred by the penalty of death, in the shortest possible time, one hundred tons of flax, scraped by hand with a shell, bit by bit, morsel by morsel, half-quarter of an ounce at a time. Now as the natives, when undisturbed and labouring regularly at their cultivations, were never far removed from necessity or scarcity of food, we may easily imagine the distress and hardship caused by this enormous imposition of extra labour. They were obliged to neglect their crops in a very serious degree, and for many months in the year were in a half-starving condition, working hard all the time in the flax swamps. The insufficient food, over-exertion, and unwholesome locality, killed them fast. As for the young children, they almost all died; and this state of things continued for many years: for it was long after being supplied with arms and ammunition before the natives could purchase, by similar exertion, the various agricultural implements, and other iron tools so necessary to them; and it must always be remembered, if we wish to understand the difficulties and over-labour the natives were subjected to, that while undergoing this immense extra toil, they were at the same time obliged to maintain themselves by cultivating the ground with sharpened sticks, not being able to afford to purchase iron implements in any useful quantity, till first the great, pressing, paramount want of muskets and gunpowder had been supplied. Thus continual excitement, over-work, and insufficient food, exposure, and unhealthy places of residence, together with a general breaking up of old habits of life, thinned their numbers. European diseases also assisted, but not to any very serious degree; till in the part of the country in which, as I have before stated, I have had means to observe with exactitude, the natives have decreased in numbers over one-third since I first saw them. That this rapid decrease has been checked in some districts, I am sure, and the cause is not a mystery. The influx of Europeans has caused a competition in trading, which enables them to get the highest value for the produce of their labour, and at the same time opened to them a hundred new lines of industry, and also afforded them other opportunities of becoming possessed of property. They have not at all improved these advantages as they might have done; but are, nevertheless, as it were in spite of themselves, on the whole, richer--_i.e._, better clothed, fed, and in some degree lodged, than in past years; and I see the plough now running where I once saw the rude pointed stick poking the ground. I do not, however, believe that this improvement exists in more than one or two districts in any remarkable degree, nor do I think it will be permanent where it does exist, insomuch as I have said that the improvement is not the result of providence, economy, or industry, but of a train of temporary circumstances favourable to the natives; but which, if unimproved, as they most probably will be, will end in no permanent good result. Chapter XIV. Trading in the old times. -- The native difficulty. -- Virtue its own reward. -- Rule Britannia. -- Death of my chief. -- His dying speech. -- Rescue. -- How the world goes round. From the years 1822 to 1826, the vessels trading for flax had, when at anchor, boarding nettings up to the tops. All the crew were armed, and, as a standing rule, not more than five natives, on any pretence, allowed on board at one time. Trading for flax in those days was to be undertaken by a man who had his wits about him; and an old flax trader of those days, with his 150 ton schooner "out of Sydney," cruising all round the coast of New Zealand, picking up his five tons at one port, ten at another, twenty at another, and so on, had questions, commercial, diplomatic, and military, to solve every day, that would drive all the "native department," with the minister at their head, clean out of their senses. Talk to me of the "native difficulty"--pooh! I think it was in 1822 that an old friend of mine bought, at Kawhia, a woman who was just going to be baked. He gave a cartridge-box full of cartridges for her, which was a great deal more than she was really worth; but humanity does not stick at trifles. He took her back to her friends at Taranaki, from whence she had been taken, and her friends there gave him at once two tons of flax and eighteen pigs, and asked him to remain a few days longer till they should collect a still larger present in return for his kindness; but, as he found out their intention was to take the schooner, and knock himself and crew on the head, he made off in the night. But he maintains to this day that "virtue is its own reward"--"at least 'tis so at Taranaki." Virtue, however, must have been on a visit to some other country, (she _does_ go out sometimes,) when I saw and heard a British subject, a slave to some natives on the West Coast, begging hard for somebody to buy him. The price asked was one musket, but the only person on board the vessel possessing those articles preferred to invest in a different commodity. The consequence was, that the above-mentioned unit of the great British nation lived, and ("Rule Britannia" to the contrary notwithstanding) died a slave; but whether he was buried, deponent sayeth not. My old _rangatira_ at last began to show signs that his time to leave this world of care was approaching. He had arrived at a great age, and a rapid and general breaking up of his strength became plainly observable. He often grumbled that men should grow old, and oftener that no great war broke out in which he might make a final display, and die with _éclât_. The last two years of his life were spent almost entirely at my house, which, however, he never entered. He would sit whole days on a fallen puriri near the house, with his spear sticking up beside him, and speaking to no one, but sometimes humming in a low droning tone some old ditty which no one knew the meaning of but himself, and at night he would disappear to some of the numerous nests or little sheds he had around the place. In summer he would roll himself in his blanket and sleep anywhere, but no one could tell exactly where. In the hot days of summer, when his blood I suppose got a little warm, he would sometimes become talkative, and recount the exploits of his youth. As he warmed to the subject he would seize his spear and go through all the incidents of some famous combat, repeating every thrust, blow, and parry as they actually occurred, and going through as much exertion as if he was really and truly fighting for his life. He used to go through these pantomimic labours as a duty whenever he had an assemblage of the young men of the tribe around him, to whom, as well as to myself, he was most anxious to communicate that which he considered the most valuable of all knowledge, a correct idea of the uses of the spear, a weapon he really used in a most graceful and scientific manner; but he would ignore the fact that "Young New Zealand" had laid down the weapon for ever, and already matured a new system of warfare adapted to their new weapons, and only listened to his lectures out of respect to himself and not for his science. At last this old lion was taken seriously ill and removed permanently to the village, and one evening a smart handsome lad, of about twelve years of age, came to tell me that his _tupuna_ was dying, and had said he would "go" to-morrow, and had sent for me to see him before he died. The boy also added that the tribe were _ka poto_, or assembled, to the last man around the dying chief. I must here mention that, though this old _rangatira_ was not the head of his tribe, he had been for about half a century the recognized war chief of almost all the sections or _hapu_ of a very numerous and warlike _iwi_ or tribe, who had now assembled from all their distant villages and pas to see him die. I could not, of course, neglect the invitation, so at daylight next morning I started on foot for the native village, which I, on my arrival about mid-day, found crowded by a great assemblage of natives. I was saluted by the usual _haere mai!_ and a volley of musketry, and I at once perceived that, out of respect to my old owner, the whole tribe from far and near, hundreds of whom I had never seen, considered it necessary to make much of me,--at least for that day,--and I found myself consequently at once in the position of a "personage." "Here comes the pakeha!--_his_ pakeha!--make way for the pakeha!--kill those dogs that are barking at the pakeha!" Bang! bang! Here a double barrel nearly blew my cap off by way of salute. I did for a moment think my head was off. I, however, being quite _au fait_ in Maori etiquette by this time, thanks to the instructions and example of my old friend, fixed my eyes with a vacant expression looking only straight before me, recognized nobody, and took notice of nothing, not even the muskets fired under my nose or close to my back at every step, and each, from having four or five charges of powder, making a report like a cannon. On I stalked, looking neither to the right or the left, with my spear walking-staff in my hand, to where I saw a great crowd, and where I of course knew the dying man was. I walked straight on, not even pretending to see the crowd, as was "correct" under the circumstances; I being supposed to be entranced by the one absorbing thought of seeing "mataora," or once more in life my _rangatira_. The crowd divided as I came up, and closed again behind me as I stood in the front rank before the old chief, motionless, and, as in duty bound, trying to look the image of mute despair, which I flatter myself I did to the satisfaction of all parties. The old man I saw at once was at his last hour. He had dwindled to a mere skeleton. No food of any kind had been prepared for or offered to him for three days; as he was dying it was of course considered unnecessary. At his right side lay his spear, tomahawk, and musket. (I never saw him with the musket in his hand all the time I knew him.) Over him was hanging his greenstone _mere_, and at his left side, close, and touching him, sat a stout, athletic savage, with a countenance disgustingly expressive of cunning and ferocity, and who, as he stealthily marked me from the corner of his eye, I recognized as one of those limbs of Satan, a Maori _tohunga_. The old man was propped up in a reclining position, his face towards the assembled tribe, who were all there waiting to catch his last words. I stood before him, and I thought I perceived he recognized me. Still all was silence, and for a full half hour we all stood there, waiting patiently for the closing scene. Once or twice the _tohunga_ said to him in a very loud voice, "The tribe are assembled, you won't die silent?" At last, after about half an hour, he became restless, his eyes rolled from side to side, and he tried to speak, but failed. The circle of men closed nearer, and there was evidence of anxiety and expectation amongst them, but a dead silence was maintained. At last, suddenly, without any apparent effort, and in a manner which startled me, the old man spoke clearly out, in the ringing metallic tone of voice for which he had been formerly so remarkable, particularly when excited. He spoke. "Hide my bones quickly where the enemy may not find them: hide them at once." He spoke again--"Oh my tribe, be brave! be brave that you may live. Listen to the words of my pakeha; he will unfold the designs of his tribe." This was in allusion to a very general belief amongst the natives at the time, that the Europeans designed sooner or later to exterminate them and take the country, a thing the old fellow had cross-questioned me about a thousand times; and the only way I could find to ease his mind was to tell him that if ever I heard any such proposal I would let him know, protesting at the same time that no such intention existed. This notion of the natives has since that time done much harm, and will do more, for it is not yet quite given up. He continued--"I give my _mere_ to my pakeha,"--"my two old wives will hang themselves,"--(here a howl of assent from the two old women in the rear rank)--"I am going; be brave, after I am gone." Here he began to rave; he fancied himself in some desperate battle, for he began to call to celebrated comrades who had been dead forty or fifty years. I remember every word--"Charge!" shouted he--"Charge! _Wata_, charge! _Tara_, charge! charge!" Then after a short pause--"Rescue! rescue! to my rescue! _ahau! ahau! rescue!_" The last cry for "rescue" was in such a piercing tone of anguish and utter desperation, that involuntarily I advanced a foot and hand, as if starting to his assistance; a movement, as I found afterwards, not unnoticed by the superstitious tribe. At the same instant that he gave the last despairing and most agonizing cry for "rescue," I saw his eyes actually blaze, his square jaw locked, he set his teeth, and rose nearly to a sitting position, and then fell back dying. He only murmured--"How sweet is man's flesh," and then the gasping breath and upturned eye announced the last moment. The _tohunga_ now bending close to the dying man's ear, roared out "_Kai kotahi ki te ao! Kia kotahi ki te ao! Kia kotahi ki te po!_" The poor savage was now, as I believe, past hearing, and gasping his last. "_Kai kotahi ki te ao!_"--shouted the devil priest again in his ear, and shaking his shoulder roughly with his hand--"_Kia kotahi ki te ao!--Kai kotahi ki te po!_" Then giving a significant look to the surrounding hundreds of natives, a roar of musketry burst forth. _Kai kotahi ki te ao!_ Thus in a din like pandemonium, guns firing, women screaming, and the accursed _tohunga_ shouting in his ear, died "Lizard Skin," as good a fighting man as ever worshipped force or trusted in the spear. His death on the whole was thought happy, for his last words were full of good omen:--"How sweet is man's flesh." Next morning the body had disappeared. This was contrary to ordinary custom, but in accordance with the request of the old warrior. No one, even of his own tribe, knows where his body is concealed, but the two men who carried it off in the night. All I know is that it lies in a cave, with the spear and tomahawk beside it. The two old wives were hanging by the neck from a scaffold at a short distance, which had been made to place potatoes on out of the reach of rats. The shrivelled old creatures were quite dead. I was for a moment forgetful of the "correct" thing, and called to an old chief, who was near, to cut them down. He said, in answer to my hurried call, "by-and-bye; it is too soon yet; _they might recover_." "Oh," said I, at once recalled to my sense of propriety, "I thought they had been hanging all night," and thus escaped the great risk of being thought a mere meddling pakeha. I now perceived the old chief was employed making a stretcher, or _kauhoa_, to carry the bodies on. At a short distance also were five old creatures of women, sitting in a row, crying, with their eyes fixed on the hanging objects, and everything was evidently going on _selon les règles_. I walked on. "_E tika ana_," said I, to myself. "It's all right, I dare say." The two young wives had also made a desperate attempt in the night to hang themselves, but had been prevented by two young men, who, by some unaccountable accident, had come upon them just as they were stringing themselves up, and who, seeing that they were not actually "ordered for execution," by great exertion, and with the assistance of several female relations, who they called to their assistance, prevented them from killing themselves out of respect for their old lord. Perhaps it was to revenge themselves for this meddling interference that these two young women married the two young men before the year was out, and in consequence of which, and as a matter of course, they were robbed by the tribe of everything they had in the world, (which was not much,) except their arms. They also had to fight some half dozen duels each with spears, in which, however, no one was killed, and no more blood drawn than could be well spared. All this they went through with commendable resignation; and so, due respect having been paid to the memory of the old chief, and the appropriators of his widows duly punished according to law, further proceedings were stayed, and everything went on comfortably. And so the world goes round. Chapter XV. Mana. -- Young New Zealand. -- The law of England. -- "Pop goes the weasel." -- Right if we have might. -- God save the Queen. -- Good advice. In the afternoon I went home musing on what I had heard and seen. "Surely," thought I, "if one half of the world does not know how the other half live, neither do they know how they die." Some days after this a deputation arrived to deliver up my old friend's _mere_. It was a weapon of great _mana_, and was delivered with some little ceremony. I perceive now I have written this word _mana_ several times, and think I may as well explain what it means. I think this the more necessary as the word has been bandied about a good deal of late years, and meanings often attached to it by Europeans which are incorrect, but which the natives sometimes accept because it suits their purpose. This same word _mana_ has several different meanings, and the difference between these diverse meanings is sometimes very great, and sometimes only a mere shade of meaning, though one very necessary to observe; and it is, therefore, quite impossible to find any one single word in English, or in any other language that I have any acquaintance with, which will give the meaning of _mana_. And, moreover, though I myself do know all the meanings and different shades of meaning properly belonging to the word, I find a great difficulty in explaining them; but as I have begun, the thing must be done. It will also be a tough word disposed of to my hand, when I come to write my Maori dictionary, in a hundred volumes, which, if I begin soon, I hope to have finished before the Maori is a dead language. Now then for _mana_. _Virtus_, _prestige_, authority, good fortune, influence, sanctity, luck, are all words which, under certain conditions, give something near the meaning of _mana_, though not one of them give it exactly; but before I am done, the reader shall have a reasonable notion (for a pakeha) of what it is. _Mana_ sometimes means a more than natural virtue or power attaching to some person or thing, different from and independent of the ordinary natural conditions of either, and capable of either increase or diminution, both from known and unknown causes. The _mana_ of a priest or _tohunga_ is proved by the truth of his predictions, as well as the success of his incantations, _which same incantations, performed by another person, of inferior mana, would have no effect_. Consequently, this description of _mana_ is a virtue, or more than natural or ordinary condition attaching to the priest himself, and which he may become possessed of and also lose without any volition of his own. When "Apollo from his shrine, No longer could divine, The hollow steep of Delphos sadly leaving,"-- _Then_ the oracle had lost its _mana_. Then there is the doctor's _mana_. The Maori doctors in the old times did not deal much in "simples," but they administered large doses of _mana_. Now when most of a doctor's patients recovered, his _mana_ was supposed to be in full feather; but if, as will happen sometimes to the best practitioners, a number of patients should slip through his fingers _seriatim_, then his _mana_ was suspected to be getting weak, and he would not be liable to be "knocked up" as frequently as formerly. _Mana_ in another sense is the accompaniment of power, but not the power itself; nor is it even in this sense exactly "authority," according to the strict meaning of that word, though it comes very near it. This is the chief's _mana_. Let him lose the power, and the _mana_ is gone; but mind you do not translate _mana_ as power; that won't do: they are two different things entirely. Of this nature also is the _mana_ of a tribe; but this is not considered to be the supernatural kind of _mana_. Then comes the _mana_ of a warrior. Uninterrupted success in war proves it. It has a _slight_ touch of the supernatural, but not much. Good fortune comes near the meaning, but is just a little too weak. The warrior's _mana_ is just a little something more than bare good fortune; a severe defeat would shake it terribly; two or three in succession would show that it was gone: but before leaving him, some supernaturally ominous occurrence might be expected to take place, such as are said to have happened before the deaths of Julius Cæsar, Marcus Antonius, or Brutus. Let not any one smile at my, even in the most distant way, comparing the old Maori warriors with these illustrious Romans, for if they do, I shall answer that some of the old Maori _Toa_, were thought as much of in _their_ world, as any Greek or Roman of old was in his; and, moreover, that it is my private opinion, that if the best of them could only have met my friend "Lizard Skin," in his best days, and would take off his armour and fight fair, that the aforesaid "Lizard Skin" would have tickled him to his heart's content with the point of his spear. A fortress often assailed but never taken has a _mana_, and one of a high description too. The name of the fortress becomes a _pepeha_, a war boast or motto, and a war cry of encouragement or defiance, like the _slogan_ of the ancient Highlanders in Scotland. A spear, a club, or a _mere_, may have a _mana_, which in most cases means that it is a lucky weapon which good fortune attends, if the bearer minds what he is about; but some weapons of the old times had a stronger _mana_ than this, like the _mana_ of the enchanted weapons we read of in old romances or fairy tales. Let any one who likes give an English word for this kind of _mana_. I have done with it. I had once a tame pig, which, before heavy rain, would always cut extraordinary capers and squeak like mad. Every pakeha said he was "weather-wise;" but all the Maori said it was a "_poaka whai mana_," a pig possessed of _mana_; _it had more than natural powers_ and could foretell rain. If ever this talk about the good old times be printed and published, and every one buy it, and read it, and quote it, and believe every word in it, as they ought, seeing that every word is true, then it will be a _puka puka whai mana_, a book of _mana_; and I shall have a high opinion of the good sense and good taste of the New Zealand public. When the law of England is the law of New Zealand, and the Queen's writ will run, then both the Queen and the law will have great _mana_; but I don't think either will ever happen, and so neither will have any _mana_ of consequence. If the reader has not some faint notion of _mana_ by this time, I can't help it; I can't do any better for him. I must confess I have not pleased myself. Any European language can be translated easily enough into any other; but to translate Maori into English is much harder to do than is supposed by those who do it every day with ease, but who do not know their own language or any other but Maori perfectly. I am always blowing up "Young New Zealand," and calling them "reading, riting, rethmatiking" vagabonds, who will never equal their fathers; but I mean it all for their own good--(poor things!)--like a father scolding his children. But one _does_ get vexed sometimes. Their grandfathers, if they had no backs, had at least good legs, but the grandsons can't walk a day's journey to save their lives; _they_ must _ride_. The other day I saw a young chap on a good horse; he had a black hat and polished Wellingtons; his hat was cocked knowingly to one side; he was jogging along, with one hand jingling the money in his pocket; and may I never see another war dance, if the hardened villain was not whistling "Pop goes the weasel!" What will all this end in? My only hope is in a handy way (to give them their due) which they have with a _tupara_; and this is why I don't think the law will have much _mana_ here in my time,--I mean the _pakeha_ law; for to say the worst of them, they are not yet so far demoralized as to stand any nonsense of that kind, which is a comfort to think of. I am a loyal subject to Queen Victoria, but I am also a member of a Maori tribe; and I hope I may never see this country so enslaved and tamed that a single rascally policeman, with nothing but a bit of paper in his hand, can come and take a _rangatira_ away from the middle of his _hapu_, and have him hanged for something of no consequence at all, except that it is against the law. What would old "Lizard Skin" say to it? His grandson certainly is now a magistrate, and if anything is stolen from a pakeha, he will get it back, _if he can_, and won't stick to it, because he gets a salary in lieu thereof; but he has told me certain matters in confidence, and which I therefore cannot disclose. I can only hint there was something said about the law, and driving the pakeha into the sea. I must not trust myself to write on these matters. I get so confused, I feel just as if I was two different persons at the same time. Sometimes I find myself thinking on the Maori side, and then just afterwards wondering if "we" can lick the Maori, and set the law upon its legs, which is the only way to do it. I therefore hope the reader will make allowance for any little apparent inconsistency in my ideas, as I really cannot help it. I belong to both parties, and I don't care a straw which wins; but I am sure we shall have fighting. Men _must_ fight; or else what are they made for? Twenty years ago, when I heard military men talking of "marching through New Zealand with fifty men," I was called a fool because I said they could not do it with five hundred. Now I am also thought foolish by civilians, because I say we can conquer New Zealand with our present available means, if we set the right way about it (which we won't). So hurrah again for the Maori! We shall drive the pakeha into the sea, and send the law after them! If we can do it, we are right; and if the pakeha beat us, _they_ will be right too. God save the Queen! So now, my Maori tribe, and also my pakeha countrymen, I shall conclude this book with good advice; and be sure you take notice; it is given to _both parties_. It is a sentence from the last speech of old "Lizard Skin." It is to you both. "Be brave, that you may _live_." VERBUM SAPIENTI. HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE NORTH OF NEW ZEALAND AGAINST THE CHIEF HEKE, IN THE YEAR 1845; TOLD BY AN OLD CHIEF OF THE NGAPUHI TRIBE. PREFACE. This little tale is an endeavour to call back some shadows from the past: a picture of things which have left no record but this imperfect sketch. The old settlers of New Zealand--my fellow pioneers--will, I hope, recognize the likeness. To those who have more recently sought these shores, I hope it may be interesting. To all it is respectfully presented. HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE NORTH OF NEW ZEALAND AGAINST THE CHIEF HEKE. Many years ago, Hongi Ika, the great warrior chief of New Zealand, was dying.[6] His relations, friends, and tribe were collected around him, and he then spoke to them in these words: "Children and friends, pay attention to my last words. After I am gone, be kind to the missionaries, be kind also to the other Europeans; welcome them to the shore, trade with them, protect them, and live with them as one people; but if ever there should land on this shore a people who wear red garments, who do no work, who neither buy nor sell, and who always have arms in their hands, then be aware that these are a people called soldiers, a dangerous people, whose only occupation is war. When you see them, make war against them. Then, O my children, be brave! then, O friends, be strong! Be brave that you may not be enslaved, and that your country may not become the possession of strangers." And having said these words, he died. [Footnote 6: Hongi was shot through the body at Mangamuka, in Hokianga, of which wound he died, after lingering some years. The speech here given was not spoken on the _day_ of his death, but some time before, when he saw he could not recover.] After this, years passed away, and the pakeha increased in numbers, and were spread over the whole country, and traded with the Maori, and lived with them, and the Maori were pleased with them, for they got from them plenty of gunpowder, and tomahawks, and blankets, and all the wealth of the pakeha became theirs, and there was no fighting between them, but all lived together as friends. More years passed away, and then came a chief of the pakeha who we heard was called a Governor. We were very glad of his arrival, because we heard he was a great chief, and we thought, he being a great chief, would have more blankets and tobacco and muskets than any of the other pakeha people, and that he would often give us plenty of these things for nothing. The reason we thought so was because all the other pakeha often made us presents of things of great value, besides what we got from them by trading. Who would not have thought as we did? The next thing we heard was, that the Governor was travelling all over the country with a large piece of paper, asking all the chiefs to write their names or make marks on it. We heard, also, that the Ngapuhi chiefs, who had made marks or written on that paper, had been given tobacco, and flour, and sugar, and many other things, for having done so. We all tried to find out the reason why the Governor was so anxious to get us to make these marks. Some of us thought the Governor wanted to bewitch all the chiefs,[7] but our pakeha friends laughed at this, and told us that the people of Europe did not know how to bewitch people. Some told us one thing, some another. Some said the Governor only wanted our consent to remain, to be a chief over the pakeha people; others said he wanted to be chief over both pakeha and Maori. We did not know what to think, but were all anxious he might come to us soon; for we were afraid that all his blankets, and tobacco, and other things would be gone before he came to our part of the country, and that he would have nothing left to pay us for making our marks on his paper. [Footnote 7: The Governor made some presents of no great value to some of the natives who signed the Treaty of Waitangi, and a report in consequence got about, as is related here, that he was paying a high price for signatures. Many suppositions and guesses were made by the ignorant natives of the part of the country alluded to in the story, as to what could be the reason he was so desirous to get these names written on his paper, and many suggested that he had some sinister design, probably that of _bewitching_ them.] Well, it was not long before the Governor came, and with him came other pakeha chiefs, and also people who could speak Maori; so we all gathered together, chiefs and slaves, women and children, and went to meet him; and when we met the Governor, the speaker of Maori told us that if we put our names, or even made any sort of a mark, on that paper, the Governor would then protect us, and prevent us from being robbed of our cultivated land, and our timber land, and everything else which belonged to us. Some of the people were very much alarmed when they heard this, for they thought that perhaps a great war expedition was coming against us from some distant country, to destroy us all; others said he was only trying to frighten us. The speaker of Maori then went on to tell us certain things, but the meaning of what he said was so closely concealed we never have found it out.[8] One thing we understood well, however; for he told us plainly that if we wrote on the Governor's paper, one of the consequences would be that great numbers of pakeha would come to this country to trade with us, that we should have abundance of valuable goods, and that before long there would be great towns, as large as Kororareka, in every harbour in the whole island. We were very glad to hear this; for we never could up to this time get half muskets or gunpowder enough, or blankets, or tobacco, or axes, or anything. We also believed what the speaker of Maori told us, because we saw that our old pakeha friends who came with us to see the Governor believed it. [Footnote 8: When a native says anything for which he thinks he may at some future time be called to account, he so wraps his ideas up in figurative and ambiguous terms as to leave him perfectly free, should he think fit, to give a directly contrary meaning to that which is most obvious at the time he speaks. Some natives are very clever at this, but it often happens that a fellow makes such a bungle of the business as to leave no meaning at all of any sort. This is what the narrator of the story means when he says, "the meaning of what the speaker of Maori said was closely concealed," which is a polite Maori way of saying that he was talking nonsense.] After the speaker of Maori had ceased, then Te Tao Nui and some other chiefs came forward and wrote on the Governor's paper; and Te Tao Nui went up to the Governor, and took the Governor's hand in his and licked it! We did not much like this; we all thought it so undignified. We were very much surprised that a chief such as Te Tao Nui should do so; but Te Tao Nui is a man who knows a great deal about the customs of the pakeha; he has been to Port Jackson in a ship, and he, seeing our surprise, told us that when the great pakeha chiefs go to see the King or Queen of England they do the same, so we saw then that it was a straight proceeding. But after Te Tao Nui and other chiefs had made marks and written on the Governor's paper, the Governor did not give them anything. We did not like this, so some other chiefs went forward, and said to the Governor, "Pay us first, and we will write afterwards." A chief from Omanaia said, "Put money in my left hand, and I will write my name with my right," and so he held out his hand to the Governor for the money; but the Governor shook his head and seemed displeased, and said he would not pay them for writing on the paper. Now, when all the people saw this they were very much vexed, and began to say one to another, "It is wasting our labour coming here to see this Governor," and the chiefs began to get up and make speeches. One said, "Come here, Governor; go back to England;" and another said, "I am Governor in my own country, there shall be no other;" and Paapahia said, "Remain here and be Governor of this island, and I will go to England and be King of England, and if the people of England accept me for their King it will be quite just; otherwise you do not remain here." Then many other chiefs began to speak, and there was a great noise and confusion, and the people began to go away, and the paper was lying there, but there was no one to write on it. The Governor looked vexed, and his face was very red. At this time some pakehas went amongst the crowd, and said to them, "You are foolish; the Governor intends to pay you when all the writing is done, but it is not proper that he should promise to do so; it would be said you only wrote your names for pay; this, according to our ideas, would be a very wrong thing." When we heard this we all began to write as fast as we could, for we were all very hungry with listening and talking so long, and we wanted to go to get something to eat, and we were also in a hurry to see what the Governor was going to give us; and all the slaves wanted to write their names, so that the Governor might think they were chiefs, and pay them; but the chiefs would not let them, for they wanted all the payment for themselves. I and all my family made our marks, and we then went to get something to eat; but we found our food not half done, for the women and slaves who should have looked after the cooking were all mad about the Governor, so when I saw that the food was not sufficiently done, I was aware that something bad would come of this business.[9] [Footnote 9: This is a common native superstition. The natives believe in omens of a thousand different kinds, and amongst others think it a very bad omen if, on an occasion when any business of importance is on hand, the food happens to be served underdone; or before a battle it is a particularly bad omen.] Next morning the things came with which the Governor intended to pay us for writing our names, but there was not much tobacco, and only few blankets;[10] and when they were divided some of the chiefs had nothing, others got only a few figs of tobacco, some one blanket, others two. I got for myself and all my sons, and my two brothers, and my three wives, only two blankets. I thought it was too little, and was going to return them, but my brother persuaded me to keep them; so we got into our canoe to go home, and on the way home we began to say, "Who shall have the blankets?" And so we began to quarrel about them. One of my brothers then said, "Let us cut them in pieces, and give every one a piece." I saw there was going to be a dispute about them, and said, "Let us send them back." So we went ashore at the house of a pakeha, and got a pen and some paper, and my son, who could write, wrote a letter for us all to the Governor, telling him to take back the blankets, and to cut our names out of the paper, and then my two brothers and my sons went back and found the Governor in a boat about to go away. He would not take back the blankets, but he took the letter. I do not know to this day whether he took our names out of the paper. It is, however, no matter; what is there in a few black marks? Who cares anything about them? [Footnote 10: These presents were given to the natives, and, in their matter-of-fact manner, understood to be payment for signing the treaty.] Well, after this, the Governor died; he was bewitched, as I have heard, by a _tohunga_ at the South, where he had gone to get names to his paper; for this was his chief delight, to get plenty of names and marks on his paper. He may not have been bewitched, as I have heard, but he certainly died, and the paper with all the names was either buried with him, or else his relations may have kept it to lament over, and as a remembrance of him. I don't know. You, who are a pakeha, know best what became of it; but if it is gone to England, it will not be right to let it be kept in any place where food is cooked, or where there are pots or kettles, because there are so many chiefs' names in it; it is a very sacred piece of paper; it is very good if it has been buried with the Governor.[11] [Footnote 11: The Treaty of Waitangi.] After the first Governor came the second Governor, but the towns and numerous pakeha traders we expected did not come. We heard of a town at Waitamata having been built,[12] and others farther South; but in our part of the country there was no new towns, and the pakeha did not increase in numbers, but, on the contrary, began to go away to the town at Waitamata, to be near their chief the Governor, who lived there, and many of us had no one left to sell anything to as formerly. Tobacco began to be scarce and dear; the ships began to leave off coming to Tokerau, Hokianga, and Mangonui. We inquired the reason of this, but the few pakeha traders left amongst us told us different stories. Some said that the reason tobacco was scarce and dear was, because the Governor would not let it be brought on shore until he was paid a large price for it, besides what was paid to the people of the ship, who were the right owners of it. This we at first did not believe, because you all said you were not slaves, not one of you, but all free men. Others said that the reason ships did not come as frequently as formerly, was because the Governor made them pay for coming to anchor in the ports. Some said all the evil was by reason of the flagstaff which the Governor had caused to be erected at Maiki, above Kororareka, as a _rahui_, and that as long as it remained there things would be no better; others again told us the flagstaff was put there to show the ships the way into the harbour; others, that it was intended to keep them out; and others said that it was put up as a sign that this island had been taken by the Queen of England, and that the nobility and independence of the Maori was no more. But this one thing at least was true, we had less tobacco and fewer blankets and other European goods than formerly, and we saw that the first Governor had not spoken the truth, for he told us we should have a great deal more. The hearts of the Maori were sad, and our old pakeha friends looked melancholy, because so few ships came to bring them goods to trade with. At last we began to think the flagstaff must have something to do with it, and so Heke went and cut it down. [Footnote 12: Auckland, the capital of New Zealand.] When the flagstaff was cut down, there was a great deal of talk about it, and we expected there would be fighting; but it all ended quietly. The Governor, however, left off taking money from the people,[13] and tobacco became cheap, and ships began to come as before, and all our old pakeha friends were glad, because they had plenty of goods to sell us, and so we all thought Heke was a man of great understanding. But the Governor put up the flagstaff again, and when Heke heard this he came and cut it down again; so this was twice that he cut it down. [Footnote 13: After the flagstaff had been cut down, the customs-duties were repealed, and, in consequence, tobacco and other articles on which duties had been levied became cheaper. This fully convinced the natives that there was some mysterious connection between the dearness of different goods and the existence of the flagstaff, which they now thought was the source of all evils, and which will account for their determined persistence in cutting it down so often, at all risks.] Now, when the Governor heard that Heke had cut down the flagstaff a second time, he became very angry, because he thought he could never get any more money from the people, or the ships,[14] so he sent to England, and to Port Jackson, and everywhere, for soldiers to come to guard the flagstaff, and to fight with Heke. [Footnote 14: This was really the belief of the natives at the time; I have heard it said not once but fifty times. To tell the contrary was perfectly useless; the flagstaff, and nothing but the flagstaff, was "the cause of all the evil"--and there were not wanting ill-disposed Europeans who encouraged this belief, as I think with the purpose to bring on a war.] It was not long before the soldiers came, and the flagstaff was put up again; it was made larger and stronger than before, and pieces of iron were fastened to it, to prevent its being cut down easily, and a house was built under it for the soldiers, and the Governor told those soldiers to remain there always to guard that flagstaff. There were other soldiers at Kororareka and other places. I don't know how many, but a great many. This was the first time that Heke began to think of the last words of Hongi Ika, his relative, when he died at Mawhe. Heke began to think much on these words, for Heke was now a chief amongst the Ngapuhi, and he thought to stand in the place of Hongi, as, indeed, he had a right to do. Now, these soldiers had red garments; they did not work, or buy and sell, like the other pakeha people; they practised every day with their weapons, and some of them were constantly watching as if they expected to be attacked every moment. They were a very suspicious people, and they had stiff, hard things round their necks to keep their heads up, lest they should forget, and look too much downwards, and not keep their eyes continually rolling about in search of an enemy. Great, indeed, was the fear of the Maori when they heard of these soldiers, for all the pakeha agreed in saying that they would attack any one their chief ordered them to attack, no matter whether there was any just cause or not; that they would fight furiously till the last man was killed, and that nothing could make them run away. Fear came like a cold fog on all the Ngapuhi, and no chief but Heke had any courage left. But Heke called together his people, and spoke to them saying, "I will fight these soldiers, I will cut down the flagstaff, I will fulfil the last words of Hongi Ika. Be not afraid of these soldiers, 'all men are _men_.'[15] The soldiers are not gods; lead will kill them; and if we are beaten at last, we shall be beaten by a brave and noble people, and need not be ashamed." [Footnote 15: This is a native saying or proverb, meaning that in fact one man is as good as another, or that the best or bravest man is _but_ a man, and therefore not to be too much feared. The speech is a literal verbatim translation.] So Heke sent runners to all the divisions of the Ngapuhi, saying, "Come, stand at my back; the red garment is on the shore. Let us fight for our country. Remember the last words of Hongi Ika--_Kei hea koutou kia toa_." But the chiefs of the Ngapuhi _hapu_ said amongst themselves, "How long will the fire of the Maori burn before it is extinguished?" So the Ngapuhi chiefs would not join Heke for fear of the soldiers, but said, "We will wait till a battle has been fought, and if he is successful, then we will join him." So Heke, therefore, went with his own family and people, and those of his elder relation Kawiti, and the Kapotae, and some others, altogether about 400 men. He went to fight with the soldiers at Kororareka, and to cut down his old enemy the flagstaff. Heke and Kawiti having arrived at Tokerau, and having fixed upon the day of attack, they agreed that Kawiti should attack the town of Kororareka, to draw off the attention of the soldiers who guarded the flagstaff on the hill of Maiki, so that Heke should have an opportunity to cut it down, for Heke had said that he would cut down the flagstaff, and he was resolved to make his word true. When they had formed this plan, and night was come, the priests of the war party threw darts to divine the event.[16] They threw one for Heke, and one for the soldiers, and one for the flagstaff: and the dart for Heke went straight, and fair, and fortunate; but the dart for the soldiers turned to one side, and fell with the wrong side up; so did that for the flagstaff. When this was told the people they were very glad, and had no longer any fear. Then Kawiti, who is himself a _tohunga_, threw a _rakau_ for his own path--he threw one for himself and people, and one for the soldiers, and one for the town. The dart for Kawiti went straight and fair, but it turned wrong side up, which is the omen of death; and so also did the dart for the soldiers go fair and straight, but also turned wrong side up. And when Kawiti saw this, he said, "It is good. Here have I two darts ominous of success, and bravery, and death--our enemy will prove very strong and brave, they will suffer much from us, and so will we from them. I am not displeased, for this is war and not play." Then Heke and Kawiti stood up in the night, and spoke long and with great spirit to their men, to give them courage; and when they had done speaking, Kawiti remained where he was near the sea, not far from the town; but Heke went inland, and before morning he lay with his men in a hollow close to the flagstaff. [Footnote 16: Before a war or any other important matter, the natives used to have recourse to divination, by means of little miniature darts made of rushes or reeds, or often of the leaf of the cooper's flag (raupo). This was very much believed in, but of course the chiefs and priests or _tohunga_ (such of them as did not deceive _themselves_) could make the result favourable or otherwise as they liked. There is an allusion to a custom of this kind (divining by darts) in the Bible.] Heke lay on the ground with his war party--close at hand were the sleeping soldiers. Amongst those soldiers there was not one _tohunga_, not a man at all experienced in omens, or they must have had some warning that great danger and defeat was near; but there they lay sleeping between the open jaws of war, and knew of no danger. This is the only foolishness I see about the pakeha--they are quite ignorant and inexperienced in omens, and, indeed, care nothing at all about them.[17] [Footnote 17: It astonished the natives greatly that the soldiers paid no attention to omens, and also to see them every five minutes doing something or another monstrously "unlucky."] In the morning, before it was light, Kawiti rushed upon Kororareka. The young men did not look for the light of this world; their only thought was who should kill the first man, and elevate his name. But the soldiers met them in the path, and the fight began. Pumuka then gained a name; he killed the first man of the battle, but had not long to rejoice, for he himself fell a _mataika_ for the pakeha.[18] Then the Maori charged to revenge Pumuka; the soldiers met them; the sailors charged sword in hand; a keen breeze of war was blowing then on Kororareka! The best men of both sides were in front; the sword met the tomahawk, and many fell; but of all the braves (_toa_) there, the chief of the sailors was the bravest; no man could stand up before his sword, and had he not been struck by a shot, the Maori would have been defeated--four men like him would have killed Kawiti and all his war party. This is what I have been told by Kawiti's people who were in the fight. I did not see it myself, but was at every other fight in the war. [Footnote 18: The first man killed in a battle is called the _mataika_. To kill the _mataika_ is thought a great distinction, and young men will risk themselves to the utmost to obtain it. Many quarrels arise sometimes after a fight, in consequence of different individuals claiming the honour of having killed the first man. The writer knows a man who in different battles has killed eleven _mataika_.] When Kawiti attacked Kororareka, the soldiers at the flagstaff on the top of Maiki heard the firing, and left the flagstaff, and went straggling about the hill-side, trying to see what was going on below. They did not think of Heke or his words when he said he would cut down the flagstaff, neither did they remember the orders of the Governor. They were very foolish; for while they were trying to see the fight between Kawiti and the soldiers and sailors, and thinking, perhaps, that the Maori did not know how to conduct an ambush, Heke started from the ground, and before they could turn round the flagstaff and their fort was taken. Some of them were killed, others ran away, and then the axes went to work, and the flagstaff was cut down. So this was the third time it fell, and there it lies now. During this time, the fighting was still going on at Kororareka; but at last the Maori drew back, and the pakeha remained in the town. The Maori were not beaten, neither were the soldiers. Pumuka had been killed, and many others of Kawiti's people were killed and wounded; several, also, of the pakeha had been killed, and their great _toa_, the chief of the sailors, was almost dead. So the words of Kawiti proved true: both he and his enemy had done bravely, and had equal success, and both had suffered much. In the afternoon the Maori began to perceive that the pakeha were leaving the town, and going on board the ships, so they returned to the town and began to plunder, and the people of the town plundered also, so both parties quietly plundered the town of Kororareka, and did not quarrel with one another. At last, all the town people and soldiers went on board the ships, and then the ship of war fired at the Maori people who were plundering in the town. The noise of the firing of the ship guns was very great, and some of Kawiti's people were near being hit by the lumps of iron. This was not right, for the fight was over, and the people were only quietly plundering the town which had been left for them, and which they had given fair payment for; but, I suppose, the sailors thought their chief was dying, and fired a volley (_waipu_) for his sake. So the sailors may have an argument in their favour; but the Maori did not at the time think of this, so in revenge they burnt Kororareka, and there was nothing left but ashes; and this was the beginning of the war. Well, you pakeha are a noble-minded people; it was very generous of you to give up Kororareka to be plundered and burnt for _utu_ for the Maori. If you had been beaten you could not have helped it; but as you were not beaten, I say it was very noble of you to give up the town. You are always giving us something, so you gave Kawiti and Heke a town full of blankets, and tobacco, and money, and all sorts of property, and rum! It was _very_ good of you. I wish I had been there. When Kororareka was burnt, and all the Europeans had sailed to the town at Waitamata, which we now began to hear was called Auckland, then Heke went to stop at Ahuahu, and the news of the battle was heard all over the country, and then many men came to join Heke, but no whole _hapu_ came, for most of the Ngapuhi chiefs said, "Now tens of thousands of soldiers will come to fight with Heke, and he will be utterly destroyed." But when all Heke's people were together they were about 700 men. Now, when Thomas Walker Nene heard that the war had actually begun, and that Kororareka had fallen, he called together his family and all his friends, and said he would fight against Heke, and seek revenge for his friends the pakeha people. Walker had been always a friend and protector to the Europeans; and also Hongi Ika, Heke's relation, had killed in former times Te Tihi, at Hokianga, and swallowed his eyes, and Te Tihi was a _matua_ (elder relation) to Walker. And Te Tao Nui came to join Walker, and brought with him all his family and relations, many fighting men; only one man of his family did not come--that man went to help Heke. Te Tao Nui had always, like Walker, been a good friend to the Europeans, and he was also an ancient enemy of Hongi Ika. And the tribe of Ngati Pou came to help Walker. Formerly they had been a great tribe, but Hongi Ika had driven them from their country and slain most of their warriors; but they in return wounded Hongi, and he died of that wound some years afterwards. They came to help Walker, in search of revenge against Hongi Ika, for Heke and Hongi are the same. This tribe of Ngati Pou brought forty men to help Walker, which was all left alive by Hongi, but they fought well, for their hatred to Hongi was great; they fought through the whole war, and never were absent from any fight. The first man killed in the war between Walker and Heke was killed by a Ngati Pou, and the first man who fell on our side was a Ngati Pou, and the last man who fell in the war was also a Ngati Pou; their chief, Hakaraia, was wounded, and several others of the forty men were killed. And all the young men of the Hikutu came to help Walker; they came to practise war, and elevate their names; but their handsome and brave young chief, Hauraki, fell at Waikare, for such is the appearance of war; and many young men came from different tribes (_hapu_) to join Walker, and to perfect themselves in the practice of war. And I, your friend, went also with my two younger brothers, my four sons, and my daughter's husband, and nine cousins (_teina keke_), and three slaves--twenty men of us, all _tino tangata_, who had seen war.[19] I went because when the ancestors of Heke fought against mine, the ancestors of Walker came to help my forefathers, because they were related to each other; so I and Walker are relations; but I don't know exactly what the relationship is, for eleven generations have passed since that ancient war; but Walker and I are aware that we are related, and always come to each other's help in war. [Footnote 19: This is a very good example of the manner in which a native chief raises men for a war party; they are all his _relations_ with their different connections, and it is this which causes the natives to be so careful to remember all who are, however remotely, related to them. In a word, to be "a man of many cousins" is to be a great chief.] When Walker had got all his men together, they were in number about 500, and he went with them to Okaihau and built a pa, and Heke was at Te Ahuahu with his men. Te Ahuahu is not far from Okaihau, and there was fighting between them every day. Several of Walker's relations were killed, and the brother of Te Tao Nui was also killed, and his son badly wounded; but in every fight Heke lost most men, and had the worst of the battle. So Heke sent a messenger to Walker, saying, "If you go on this way, when the soldiers return there will be no one to fight them. Who will there be to fight with you, and who to fight the red garment?" But Walker said, in answer, "I will fight on till I arrive at the end." Then the messenger answered Walker, saying, "Behold the soothsayers foretell your death." Then arose quickly Karere Horo, our priest, who answered in a loud voice, saying, "Your soothsayers speak falsely. What sin has Walker committed that he should die in this war? I myself who now address you shall die, and many others, but Walker shall live." Then Heke's messenger, having saluted the people, took his gun and departed. Up to this time, no news had been heard from the Governor at Auckland, and a pakeha came to the camp at Okaihau, and said to Walker's people, "This is a bad thing you are doing, coming here to fight with Heke. The Governor when he hears of it will be angry, and so will the Queen. You are only wasting your powder, and getting killed for nothing. The Governor will not give you any more gunpowder, and you will get no pay. Moreover, you are not fighting at all for the pakeha, or the Queen, you are fighting to revenge Te Tihi." Then another pakeha who was in the camp, an old friend of Walker, arose and spoke to the people, and said, "Pay no attention to what has been said by this man. Both the Governor and the Queen will be well pleased to hear of your opposing Heke, and so will all the pakeha people. You will be ever after this looked on as true friends, and the Governor will give you plenty of gunpowder to replace what you have expended. Neither is this a war for Te Tihi, but for Kororareka; but if you remember Te Tihi also, how can you help it?" When we heard this speech we were encouraged, for we had begun to doubt whether we were doing right when we heard the speech of the first pakeha. On this same night the moon was eaten into by a star (eclipsed), and the light of the moon was quite obscured, and we all thought this an omen of great disaster to one party or the other in the battle to take place next morning. The fight, however, in the morning was no great matter; of Heke's people there were three killed and twenty wounded; and eleven of our men were wounded, but none killed. Walker's old pakeha friends gave him gunpowder, and rifles, and other things, to enable him to fight Heke; and some of them came and stayed at the camp, and fought amongst his men, to show him that he was right in what he was doing, for Walker had not yet had any word from the Governor, and was only fighting on his own thought. Shortly after this, a letter came from the Governor, and with it the Governor sent gunpowder, and lead, and blankets, and flour, and sugar, and tobacco; so we saw then clearly that we were doing right. But there was only one letter for both Walker and Te Tao Nui; so Te Tao Nui was angry at this, for he thought there should have been a letter entirely for himself, and he said he would leave the camp with all his men. He had more men, at that time, than Walker; but, however, he remained, and helped Walker to the last. After this, news came frequently from Auckland, and before long we heard that the soldiers were coming. When Heke's people heard that the soldiers were coming, most of them left him, and there remained but 200 men. Then Heke left Te Ahuahu, and came and built a pa not far from Taumata Tutu, on the clear ground by the lake; for he said he would fight the soldiers on the spot where the last words of Hongi Ika had been spoken. The name of this pa of Heke's was Te Kahika. Now, when this new fort of Heke's was finished, the spirit of the Ngakahi entered into the _atua wera_, who is the greatest _tohunga_ in all the country of the Ngapuhi. So the Ngakahi spoke in the night to Heke and his people, by the mouth of the _atua wera_, "Be brave, and strong, and patient. Fear not the soldiers, they will not be able to take this fort--neither be you afraid of all those different kinds of big guns you have heard so much talk of. I will turn aside the shot, and they shall do you no harm; but this pa and its defenders must be made sacred (_tapu_). You must particularly observe all the sacred rites and customs of your ancestors; if you neglect this in the smallest particular, evil will befall you, and I also shall desert you. You who pray to the God of the missionaries, continue to do so, and in your praying see you make no mistakes. Fight and pray. Touch not the spoils of the slain, abstain from human flesh, lest the European God should be angry, and be careful not to offend the Maori gods. It is good to have more than one God to trust to. This war party must be strictly sacred. Be brave, be strong, be patient."[20] [Footnote 20: This is word for word a literal translation of the speech of the _atua wera_ to Heke's men. He was, however, supposed only to speak the words of the _Ngakahi_ by whom he was at the moment inspired.] So Heke waited there at his fort at Mawhe, near Taumata Tutu, for the coming of the soldiers; and before long they arrived at Walker's camp at Okaihau, which was but a short distance from where Heke was. When these soldiers arrived they were very much fatigued, and quite without provisions, and not at all fit to go to fight. They had been two nights on the road, one of which nights they lay out in the rain, and they had but a small quantity of ammunition. They had come by a long, bad road, up and down hill, though there was a good road open to them; and they were quite worn out, and not fit to fight at all. What could be the reason that the pakeha who knew the country did not tell the soldiers to come up the Keri Keri in boats, and then along the cart road to the turn-off to Okaihau? If they had done this, they could have brought big guns in the boats, and provisions, and put them in carts at the Keri Keri, and come along the cart road till they were not far from Walker's camp. If they had done this, the big guns would have knocked down the pa, for it was a very weak one, and it would have been taken, and the war would have ended; for it was because this very weak pa was not taken that the Maori kept on fighting, and caused so many men afterwards to be killed on both sides. Heke certainly had many friends amongst the Europeans, as why should he not? But the soldiers had with them a light gun, called a rocket, and this gun had a great name: it was said that it would go into the pa, and twist and turn about in pursuit of the people until it had killed them every one. When we heard this we were sorry for Heke and his people, and were in great fear for ourselves lest it should turn round upon us also. When the soldiers had rested one night at Okaihau, they prepared to attack Heke's pa; but early in the morning, when they were getting something to eat, we observed many of them eating standing up; this gave us a good deal of uneasiness, for it has an unlucky look to see warriors before going to battle eating their food standing. They should sit down and eat quietly, as if nothing was going to happen out of common; but, as I have said before, the soldiers are very inexperienced in these matters. When they had done eating, they formed to march to attack Heke. What a fine-looking people these soldiers are! Fine, tall, handsome people; they all look like chiefs; and their advance is like the advance of a flight of curlew in the air, so orderly and straight. And along with the soldiers came the sailors; they are of a different family, and not at all related to the soldiers,[21] but they are a brave people, and they came to seek revenge for the relations they had lost in the fight at Kororareka. They had different clothes from the soldiers, and short guns, and long heavy swords; they were a people who talked and laughed more than the soldiers, and they flourished their guns about as they advanced, and ate tobacco. [Footnote 21: That the sailors were quite a different _hapu_, though belonging to the _iwi_ of England, and in no way "related" to the soldiers, I have heard often stated by the natives, as well as by the narrator of this story. Neither will we wonder at their having jumped at this conclusion, after having compared "Jack," let loose for a run on shore, with the orderly soldiers. I will here take occasion to state that I shall not hold myself accountable for the many mistakes and misapprehensions of my old friend the Ngapuhi chief, when he speaks of us, our manners, customs, and motives of action; when he merely recounts the events and incidents of the war, he is to be fully depended on, being both correct and minutely particular in his relation, after the native manner of telling a story, to omit _nothing_. I have had, indeed, to leave out a whole volume of minute particulars, such as this for instance: where a _pakeha_ would simply say, "we started in the morning after breakfast," &c., the native would say, "in the morning the ovens were heated, and the food was put in and covered up; when it was cooked it was taken out, and we eat it, and finished eating, then we got up and started," &c. In the course of the narration I have translated, I have had to listen to the above _formula_ about fifty times; the lighting of a pipe and the smoking it, or the seeing a wild pig (describing size and colour, &c.), is never omitted, no matter if it is five seconds before commencing a battle. This is the true native way of telling a story, and it is even now a wonder to them to see how soon a European tells the story of a journey, or voyage, or any event whatever. If a native goes on a journey of three days' duration, during which nothing whatever of any consequence may have occurred, it will take him at least one whole day to tell _all_ about it, and he is greatly annoyed at the impatient pakeha who wants to get the upshot of the whole story by impertinently saying, "Did you get what you went for?" To tell _that_ too soon would be out of all rule; every foot of the way must be gone over with every incident, however trivial, before the end is arrived at. They are beginning now to find that in talking to Europeans they must leave out one half at least of a story to save time, but the old men _can't_ help making the most of a chance of talking. To cut a story short seems to them a _waste of words_ by _not_ speaking them, while we think it a decided waste of words _to_ speak them. In old times the natives had so few subjects for conversation that they _made the most_ of what they had, which accounts for their verbosity in trifling matters.] So the soldiers, sailors, and other Europeans advanced to the attack of Heke's pa, and with them came also Walker and his men; but before we had gone far, we observed the soldiers carrying on their shoulders certain things made of cloth and wood; these things were rolled up, and we did not know the use of them, so we asked what they were, and were told they were _kauhoa_ on which to carry the dead or wounded! This was the worst of all; there were those soldiers going to battle, and actually carrying on their shoulders things to put themselves on when they were dead! So we began to say one to another, "Those soldiers walking there are all dead men. It only wants a few guns to be fired, and they will be all killed." So some of the chiefs told some of the chiefs of the soldiers what a dreadfully unlucky thing they were doing, but they all laughed, and said that they came there to fight, and that whenever people fought some one was sure to be killed or wounded, and that it was right to have something to carry them on. But our people said it was time enough to think of carrying a man when he could not stand, and that by what they were doing they were _calling_ for death and destruction; and they tried hard to get the soldiers to throw away these things, but the soldiers would not listen to them. So we all said, "This is not a war party here marching on this plain, but a _mate_" (a funeral procession); so all the Maori left the soldiers, and went and sat on the top of the hill called Taumata Kakaramu, except about forty men, Walker's relations, who would not leave him. We felt sorry for the soldiers; but we said, "Let them fight their own battle to-day, and if they are successful we will help them in every other fight." But no one could believe they would be successful. At last the soldiers and sailors got before Heke's pa; the main body of the soldiers remained opposite to it, at the side next to Walker's camp--the rest, about one hundred men, sailors and soldiers, went round by the shore of the lake, which was on the right of the pa, and so got behind it; and on that side there was but one slight fence, and no _pekerangi_.[22] The soldiers had told us in the morning that they would rush on both sides of the pa at once, and that it would be taken in a moment, and that then they would come home to breakfast. [Footnote 22: Heke's pa at the lake, the first we ever attacked, was the weakest ever built by the natives in the war. Had it not been for Kawiti's appearance just at the moment the storming party were about to advance, and thus making a diversion, it would most certainly have been taken, and as certain all its defenders killed or taken prisoners; for if the soldiers had entered _then_, the friendly natives, who were outside in great numbers, would have prevented any escaping. As it turned out, however, the place was not taken, and this gave the natives courage to continue the war, in the course of which they acquired so much confidence, that now they think less of fighting Europeans, and are less afraid of them, than of their own countrymen.] So now the soldiers were in front of the pa, and also behind it; and on the right was the lake, and on the left was Walker with about forty men, and behind Walker there was a wood--he was between the wood and the pa. Then the soldiers who had the rocket gun went a little to the left front of the pa, and set the gun upon its legs, and pointed it straight at the pa. Then all the people on the top of Taumata Kakaramu fixed their eyes on this gun. We watched it closely, and held our breath, and had great fear for the people in the pa--for they were, although against us, all Ngapuhi, the same _iwi_ as ourselves, and many of them our near relations--and we never expected to see them more by reason of this gun, we had heard so much of it. At last, a great smoke was seen to issue from one end of the gun, and the rocket came out of the other. At first it did not go very fast, but it had not gone far before it began to flame, and roar, and dart straight towards the pa. It had a supernatural appearance, and rushed upon the pa like a falling star; but just as it was about to enter the pa it swerved from its course, touched the ground outside, and then rose and flew away over the pa, without doing any harm, and no one could tell where that first rocket went to, for it was the _Ngakahi_, the familiar spirit of the _atua wera_, who had blown upon it with his breath and turned it away, according to his word when he spoke by the mouth of the _tohunga_; for up to this time Heke and his people had kept strictly all the sacred customs, and infringed none of them. So the _Ngakahi_ remained guarding them from all danger. When we saw that the first rocket had gone by the pa and done no harm, we all gave a great sigh, and our minds were eased; a second rocket was fired, and a third, and so till they were all gone, but not one did any harm, for the _Ngakahi_ had turned them all away--not one entered the pa. Now, before the first rocket was fired, Heke came out of the front gate of the pa to watch the effect of the rocket, and he stood outside praying a Maori prayer, and holding with one hand to a post of the fence. Then the first rocket was fired; it came very near him, and passed away without doing any harm. Then another was fired, and missed also; so when Heke saw this, he cried out in a loud voice, "What prize can be won by such a gun?"[23] and this has become a saying amongst us from that day; for whenever we hear a man boasting of what he can do, we think of the rocket, and cry, "What prize can be won by such a gun?" [Footnote 23: "_E aha te kai e pahure i aia._" My translation is not very literal; a literal translation would not give the sense to the reader not acquainted with the Maori language; my free translation gives it exactly.] When the first rocket was fired it frightened all the dogs in the pa, and they ran barking away over the plain; and also one slave ran out of the pa. He was very much frightened, and he ran away by a path which went between the hundred soldiers and sailors who were behind the pa, and Walker's people, who were at the left side of it; and this slave never stopped running till he came to a place called Kai Namu, where Kawiti, who had marched all night to relieve Heke, had just arrived. And this slave ran up to Kawiti and his people, and began to cry out, "Oh, the soldiers have a frightful gun; it comes roaring and flaming." Here Kawiti stopped him, and said, "I know all about all sorts of guns; all guns will kill, and all guns will also miss; this is the nature (_ahua_) of guns; but if you say one word more, I will split your head with my tomahawk." So the slave became more afraid of Kawiti than he was of the rocket, and he ran away back to Heke, and told him that Kawiti with help was close at hand. When all the rockets had been fired, then the hundred men, soldiers and sailors, who were at the back of the pa, arose out of an old Maori _pare pare_, where they had been sheltered, and giving a great shout, turned to rush against the pa. Then Heke shouted to his men, "Now let every man defend the spot he stands on, and think of no other; and I, on my side, will look to the great fish which lies extended on our front."[24] And as Heke was saying this, the soldiers and sailors had begun to move towards the pa, when suddenly Kawiti with one hundred and forty men appeared close upon their right, and fired upon them. Then the soldiers turned quickly to the right and attacked Kawiti; they were close to each other, and some fought hand to hand. The soldiers, then, were pressed back, and forced to give way before the rush of Kawiti and his men; but soon they rallied to the call of their chiefs, and charged with the bayonet, and then a close fight ensued, in which twenty of Kawiti's men were slain, and many wounded. Several of them were chiefs, and among them was one of Kawiti's sons, being the second son he had lost in the war; the other fell at Kororareka. Kawiti's men then retreated, and the soldiers chased them as far as the path in the hollow, which leads to Ahuahu, and there the last Maori was killed by the foremost soldier. There is a stone placed there where that Maori fell, and close to that stone by the side of the path the soldier is also buried, for a shot from the pa struck him, and he fell there. He was a great _toa_, that soldier; in this fight whenever he pointed his gun a man fell, and he ran so fast in pursuit that there was no escape from him; but he fell there--for such is the appearance of war. The musket is a bad weapon, the worst of all weapons; for let a man be as brave as he may, he cannot stand up before it long. Great chiefs are killed from a distance by no one knows who, and the strength of a warrior is useless against it. [Footnote 24: The natives often call a line or column of men a fish, and this term is just as well understood as our "column," "company," "battalion," &c. I will here say that though the native language is, as might be supposed, extremely deficient in terms of art or science in general, yet it is quite copious in terms relating to the art of war. There is a Maori word for almost every infantry movement and formation. I have also been very much surprised to find that a native can, in terms well understood, and without any hesitation, give a description of a fortification of a very complicated and scientific kind, having set technical terms for every part of the whole--"curtain, bastion, trench, hollow way, traverse, outworks, citadel," &c. &c., being all well-known Maori words, which every boy knows the full meaning of.] As the soldiers chased Kawiti, the pa fired on them from the left, so that they had Kawiti in front and the pa on the left, both firing, and therefore lost many men; but having beaten Kawiti off, they returned and took shelter in the Maori breastwork, and began again to fire at the pa. So they fired, and the pa returned the fire, and the main body of the soldiers who were at the front of the pa fired. Lead whistled through the air in all directions, the whole country seemed on fire, and brave men worked their work. Then Tupori, a chief who was in the pa with Heke, saw that Kawiti had elevated his name, for he had fought the soldiers hand to hand twice--once at Kororareka, and once on this day; and seeing this, Tupori wished also to do something to make his name heard; he therefore cried out for only twenty men to follow him, and he would charge the soldiers. Then twenty men rushed out of the pa with Tupori; they ran straight up the hill to the breastwork, the soldiers firing on them all the time, but without hitting one man. So Tupori and his twenty men came quite up to the breastwork, and stood upon the top of the bank, and fired their double-barrel guns in the soldiers' faces, and drove them out of the breastwork. The soldiers retreated a short distance, and Tupori and his people began collecting the bundles of cartridges which the soldiers had left behind; and while they were doing this, the soldiers suddenly came rushing upon them. Their charge was very grand, and terrible to look at. They came rushing on in great anger, shouting and _cursing_ at the Maori. So Tupori and his men ran away to the pa, and as they ran the soldiers fired at their backs, and killed two men, and wounded Tupori in the leg. The rest got safe into the pa, and took Tupori and the two dead men along with them. Great is the courage of Tupori! he has made his name heard as that of a _toa_. But it was not right for the soldiers to curse the Maori, for up to this time nothing wrong had been done on either side, and so the Maori were much surprised to hear the soldiers cursing and swearing at them. After this the soldiers fired at the pa all day, but only killed three men, besides the two men killed in the charge of Tupori; these five men were all killed belonging to the pa that day. When it was near night, the soldiers went back to Walker's camp at Okaihau, taking with them their wounded, and also two or three dead; but about ten dead were left behind at Taumata Tutu, where they fell in the fight with Kawiti. So Heke remained in possession of the battle plain (_te papa_), and his pa was not taken, and he buried the dead of the soldiers. But one soldier who had been wounded, and left behind by the side of the lake, was found next morning by two slaves, and they pretended they were friends, and got his gun from him, and then they took him to the lake and held his head under water till he was dead. Next morning after the battle the soldiers returned to the Keri Keri, and Walker went with his people to help them to carry the wounded. And Hauraki, the young chief of the Hikutu, went also with thirteen of his people to assist in carrying the wounded soldiers; but the rest of his tribe, being one hundred men, remained behind at Okaihau, for it was not expected there would be any more fighting for some days. But when the soldiers and Walker's people came to the Keri Keri, the Maori chiefs of Walker's party talked of attacking the Kapotai at Waikare, in the Bay of Islands, because they were allies of Kawiti; so they went and told their minds to the chiefs of the soldiers, who agreed to do so, for they were angry at not having been able to take Heke's pa at Taumata Tutu. So when the soldiers and Walker's people came to the Bay of Islands, they each separated a party to attack the Kapotai. They went up the Waikare river in the night in canoes and boats, with great precaution, hoping to surprise the Kapotai, and so to revenge their dead who had fallen at Taumata Tutu; but before they got near to the pa, the wild ducks in the river started up and flew over the pa, which alarmed the Kapotai, and caused them to suspect that an enemy was coming up the river, so they took arms and watched for the approach of the war party. And soon the soldiers were near, but it was not yet daylight. Then the men of the Kapotai called out, "If you are Maori warriors who come in the night, come on, we will give you battle; but if you are soldiers, here is our pa, we give it you." They soon discovered the soldiers, and then they went out at the back of the pa, and left it for the soldiers to plunder, as payment for Kororareka, which was very right. So the soldiers and Walker's Maori plundered the pa of the Kapotai, and killed all the pigs. After the Kapotai pa had been plundered and burnt, Walker and his men went in pursuit of the Kapotai, who had retreated into the forest, but the soldiers remained behind on the clear ground near the pa. Walker, Mohi, and Repa went into the woods with three hundred men, followed the Kapotai, and overtook them. When the Kapotai perceived they were followed, their anger was very great, so they turned, and fought with great courage against Walker. Walker was not able to beat them, so they remained a long time fighting in the forest. But Hauraki, the young Hikutu chief, had, with his thirteen men, taken another path, and he met the young chief of the Kopatai, who had with him sixty men, and they were both young men and fighting for a name, so a desperate fight commenced. Hauraki and his thirteen men thought not of the light of the sun or the number of the enemy; their only thought was of war, and to elevate their names. It was a close fight, and whenever the rifle of Hauraki was heard a man fell, and soon he had killed or wounded several of the Kapotai, who began to fall back. Then Hauraki cried out to the retreating Kapotai, "Fly away on the wings of the wood-pigeon, and feed on the berries of the wood, for I have taken your land." Then a certain slave of the Kapotai said, "That is Hauraki, a very noble born man. He is a chief of Te Hikutu, and of Te Rarawa, and of Te Ngati Kuri." Now when Hari the young Kapotai chief heard this, he cried aloud to Hauraki, saying, "Swim you away on the backs of the fish of the sea,[25] there is no land for you here." Then these two young warriors drew nearer to each other. Hauraki had just loaded his rifle, but the caps which he had were too small, and he was a long time trying to put on the cap. While he was doing this, Hari fired at him, and the ball struck him on the breast and passed out at his back; but so great was his strength and courage that he did not fall, but took another cap and fixed it, and then fired at the Kapotai chief, and the ball struck him on the side under the arm-pit, and went out at the other arm-pit. So Hari staggered and fell dead. When Hauraki saw this, he said, "I die not unrevenged," and then sank gently to the ground. His people then seeing this, two of them led him away towards the rear. The Kapotai also carried away their chief, and then, enraged at his death, rushed upon the Hikutu, who were now only eight in number, the rest having been killed or wounded. These eight were _tino tangata_ (practised warriors), but were too few in number, and had lost their chief; so when the Kapotai rushed upon them, they lost heart and fled, and the Kapotai chased them, and soon the foremost of the flying Hikutu overtook Hauraki and the two men who were leading him off. Then Hauraki said, "Do not remain with me to die, but hide me in the fern and escape yourselves, and go to my relation Walker, and tell him to muster all his people, and come and carry me off." So they all pressed their noses to the nose of Hauraki, one after another. And tears fell fast, and the balls from the guns of the Kapotai whistled round their heads, so while some returned the fire of the enemy, others hid Hauraki in the long fern. When this was done, they all fled, and escaped with great difficulty; for while they were hiding Hauraki the Kapotai had surrounded them, and they would never have escaped at all but for the great courage of Kaipo and Te Pake, Hauraki's cousins, who broke through the Kapotai, and opened a way for the rest. [Footnote 25: In allusion to the fact of the war party having come by water.] Now, when Hauraki's eight men got on the clear ground, they found that the soldiers were getting into the boats to go away, and Walker, Mohi, and Repa had just come out of the forest from fighting with the Kapotai, and Hauraki's cousins ran to Walker, and said "Our friend[26] is left behind wounded in the forest, and likely to be taken by the Kapotai." Then Walker was very much dismayed when he heard this, and he and Mohi ran to the chiefs of the soldiers and desired them to remain for a short time till he should rescue Hauraki, but the soldiers could not understand what Walker meant, for the speaker of Maori (the interpreter to the force) had already gone away in one of the boats, and there was a great confusion, every one trying to get away, and Walker's men were also getting into their canoes and going away, and boats and canoes were running foul of each other, and the creek was choked with them. Then came the Kapotai in great force with their allies out of the forest, and commenced firing on the departing _taua_ from a distance of about two hundred fathoms, so the soldiers and Walker got away and returned to Kororareka, and left Hauraki lying alone in the forest, for their bellies were full of fighting. So he lay there till midnight, and the night was cold and wet, and he kept continually thinking what a disgrace it would be to his family if he should be taken alive.[27] And as he lay thus, he saw[28] the spirit of the greatest warrior of all his ancestors, who said to him, "Arise! Shall my descendant be taken alive?" Then Hauraki said, "I am a mere man, not like unto my ancestors, half god and half man."[29] Then the spirit said, "In the mind is the strength of the body. Arise!" So Hauraki arose, and travelled a long way in the night till he found a small canoe by the river side; then he pulled down the river towards the Bay of Islands till the canoe upset; then he swam on shore, and when he got to the shore he was almost dead; but near to where he landed was the house of a pakeha, and the mother of this pakeha was Hauraki's cousin, so that pakeha took him and concealed him in the house, and took care of him, and before the middle of the day a party of Walker's men arrived there in search of him. So they took him to the Bay of Islands, and the doctors of the soldiers did what they could to cure him, but without success. So his tribe, who had arrived at Okaihau, carried him home to his own place at Hokianga, where he died. [Footnote 26: The natives when speaking to each other seldom mention their chief except as "our friend," or, if he be an old man, as "our leader." Speaking to Europeans, however, they often say our _rangatira_, that having become the only word in use among the Europeans to signify the chief of a tribe, though it may also mean many other ranks, according as it is applied.] [Footnote 27: That weakness is crime with the natives is a fact, and in consequence the disgrace of being taken prisoner of war degrades a native as much as with us it would degrade a man to be convicted of felony. I have heard two natives quarrelling when one called the other "slave," because his great-grandfather had been once made prisoner of war. The other could not deny the traditional fact, and looked amazingly chop-fallen. He, however, tried to soften the blow by stating that even if his ancestor _had_ been made prisoner, it was by a section of _his own_ tribe, and consequently by his own _relations_ he was defeated. Thus endeavouring to make a "family affair" of it.] [Footnote 28: Poor Hauraki was no doubt delirious from the effects of his wound, and no doubt thought he saw the vision he recounted when his people found him.] [Footnote 29: One of the ancestors of Hauraki, according to a tradition of the Rarawa, hearing, even in the _Reinga_ (the Maori Hades), of the warlike renown of one of his sons, became jealous of his fame, and returned to this world. Emerging from amongst the waves at Ahipara, on the west coast, where his son lived, he challenged him to single combat. At the first onset the son had the worst. Then the father said, "Had you been equal to your ancestors I would have remained here as your companion in arms; but you are degenerate and a mere man. I return to the _Reinga_, to be with the heroes of the olden time." He then disappeared in the waves.] When Hauraki died, and his body lay at Wirinake to be seen for the last time by his relations, there was a great gathering of the Rarawa and Ngapuhi, to fulfil the last rights due to a chief. And when the _pihe_ had been sung,[30] then the chiefs arose one after another to speak in praise of the dead. This was the speech of Te Anu, he who is known as having been in his youth the best spearman of all the Ngapuhi tribes. Bounding to and fro before the corpse, with his famous spear in hand, he spoke as follows: "Farewell, Hauraki! go, taking with you your kindness and hospitality, your generosity and valour, and leave none behind who can fill your place. Your death was noble; you revenged yourself with your own hand; you saved yourself without the help of any man. Your life was short; but so it is with heroes. Farewell, O Hauraki, farewell." At this time it was night, and the sister and also the young wife of Hauraki went in the dark and sat beside the river. They sat weeping silently, and spinning a cord wherewith to strangle themselves. The flax was wet with their tears. And as they did this the moon arose. So when the sister of Hauraki saw the rising moon, she broke silence, and lamented aloud, and this was her lament--the part I remember of it:-- It is well with thee, O moon! You return from death, Spreading your light on the little waves. Men say, "Behold the moon re-appears;" But the dead of this world return no more. Grief and pain spring up in my heart as from a fountain. I hasten to death for relief. Oh, that I might eat those numerous soothsayers Who could not foretell his death. Oh, that I might eat the Governor, For his was the war! [Footnote 30: The _pihe_ is a funeral chant sung standing before the dead. It is a very curious composition, and of great antiquity, having been composed long before the natives came to this country. Part of the language is obsolete. It has allusions which point in a remarkable manner to the origin of the natives, and from whence they have come. They do not themselves understand these allusions, but they are clear enough to any person who has taken the trouble to trace the race from which they are derived through the Pacific Islands, far into north latitude, next into Asia, and to observe the gradual modifications of language and tradition occasioned by time and change of abode.] At this time men came who were in search of these women, and prevented the sister of Hauraki from killing herself at that time. They watched her for several days, but she died of grief. But the wife of Hauraki consented to live that she might rear her son, so that he might fight with the Kapotai on a future day. So she called his name Maiki, which is the name of the hill on which stood the flagstaff, the cutting down of which was the cause of the war. He was, therefore, called by this name, that he might always be reminded of his father's death. The lament of the sister of Hauraki was sung by all the divisions of all the Ngapuhi, from the west coast to Tokerau. And when Walker heard it he was displeased, and said, "It is wrong to sing about eating the Governor, for soon people who do not know the song well will make mistakes, and sing, 'Oh, that I might eat Heke,' which would be the worst of all. As for the priests or soothsayers, it is no matter; they are all a set of fools." So now when people sing that lament, they only say, "Oh, that I might eat the numerous priests" (_tini tohunga_). So Hauraki was taken to Te Ramaroa, a cave in the mountains, behind Wirinake, where his ancestors are buried, and then three hundred men of Te Hikutu, Natikuri, Te Rarawa, and Walker's people armed, and entered the country of the Kapotai, to fire powder in remembrance of Hauraki[31] (_paura mamae_.) They destroyed the cultivations, and got much plunder; but the Kapotai retired to the forest, and would not fight, for they knew this was a war party of the tribe of Hauraki, who came bearing the weapons of grief (_patu mamae_), and, therefore, they would not fight. So the _taua_ came to the spot where Hauraki had fallen, and there fired many volleys of musketry in honour of the dead, and then returned unmolested to their own country. The behaviour of the Kapotai in this matter was correct. We all know that it was not fear that prevented them from attacking us; they respected the grief of the people and relations of Hauraki, and made way before them, which was a noble thought (_whakaaro rangatira_). [Footnote 31: It is a native custom, when any chief of importance has been killed in fair fight, for his friends to form a party and enter even the enemy's country, should he have fallen there, and fire some volleys in his honour on the spot where he fell. This they call _paura mamae_--powder of pain or grief. They, of course, do it at the risk of being attacked, but the natives often allow the custom to be fulfilled without molesting the party, although a party of this kind always plunder and ravage all before them.] When Heke heard of the death of Hauraki, he said, "Now, if I am slain in this war, it matters not, for there is no greater Ngapuhi Chief than Hauraki." What Heke said was true; but he said it to please Te Hikutu, for Heke is a man of many thoughts. At this same time, Te Tao Nui, who was at Okaihau, heard that most of Heke's men had gone from Te Ahuahu to Ohaeawae to kill cattle for food; for by this time Heke had abandoned his pa, near Taumata Tutu, which the soldiers had attacked, and gone to another fort of his at Te Ahuahu, to be near the cultivations. So Te Tao Nui took sixty men, and went on a dark rainy night and took the pa at the Ahuahu by surprise, and the people in it only fired two shots and fled. So Te Tao Nui remained in possession of Heke's fort at the Ahuahu, and all Heke's provision fell into his hands, and also the road to Ohaeawae was opened, for this fort was on the path. Then Walker abandoned his camp at Okaihau and joined Te Tao Nui in Heke's pa, and as they found there plenty of provisions, they determined to remain there till the soldiers should return again from Auckland. But Heke was very much enraged to see his fort and provisions thus snatched from him, and he determined to retake it before the soldiers should return from Auckland to help Walker. So he sent messengers to all parts of the country where he had friends, and to the old chiefs who were still alive who had been companions of the great Hongi in the old wars. And they came, and with them came Te Kahakaha, he who had been Hongi's chosen friend. He had seen more battles than any man now alive, and was a very brave and experienced leader. He came to assist Heke, and to show him how his fathers had fought. When Heke's war party had assembled, they were, in number, about eight hundred men; and, after having rested a few days at Ohaeawae, they marched before daylight to attack Walker and Te Tao Nui at Te Ahuahu, and to retake Heke's pa. Walker, Tao Nui, Moses, and Wi Repa, with his two brothers, were the principal chiefs of Walker's party at this time, and they had with them only about three hundred men, for many of Walker's friends had returned to Hokianga, to fetch pork and other provisions, for they did not expect to be attacked so soon. Now in the morning before daylight, an old slave woman went out from the pa of Walker to pick up sticks for firewood. And there was a thick fog lying close to the ground; and before the old woman had gone far she saw a black line of something coming out of a cloud of fog, and as she was wondering what this might be, she suddenly perceived that it was a _taua_ of armed men, and they had got within fifty fathoms of the pa,[32] so she cried aloud the cry of alarm--_Te Whakaariki e! Te Whakaariki e!_--and instantly the people in the pa were alarmed, started from sleep, and with their arms in their hands rushed hurriedly to defend the gates. Then Walker called out to Te Tao Nui, "Remain you here and defend our pa, and I will go out and fight." Then Walker and his people rushed against the enemy. And when they were doing this, another party of the enemy appeared at the opposite side of the pa. Of this party the old chief Te Kahakaha was the leader. Then, when Te Tao Nui saw this division and their numbers, which were great, he said--"Now we have the enemy in full view; there are no more of them in concealment." So he opened the gates on his side of the pa, and rushed out with his people, and called out to charge. So Walker charged at one side of the pa, and Tao Nui and his people on the other. Walker being opposed to Heke, and Tao Nui to Te Kahakaha, the fight began, and this was the greatest battle in the war. The best men of both parties were there, and Heke was very desirous to destroy Walker in one great fight before the soldiers should return; and Walker, on his side, wished to show that he could fight Heke without the aid of the soldiers. So now Walker charged Heke, and Heke fired like thunder against Walker. I, your friend, was there! and as we rushed on, Karere Horo was killed (he was our mad priest); and Taketu was killed, and Te Turi, and Hangarau, and about nine others; and Takare had both his eyes shot out, and Wi Repa and his brother, and Hakaraia, the chief of the Ngati Pou, and a great many others, were wounded. By the time all these people were killed or wounded, we were close up to Heke's people, and began to fire. Heke's men being so near, and standing too close together, we did not miss them; we had revenge for our friends who had fallen. We pressed Heke hard. Not one of us remembered the light of this world, nor thought of life. Then the enemy began to fall back, and we followed them close till we came to a hill side, where they turned and charged us. But we fell back a little then, and got behind the stone wall of a kumera field, and fired at them from behind the low wall, and drove them back, having killed and wounded several. They then returned to the hill-side, and began firing at us from about fifty fathoms' distance; but we were sheltered by the low stone wall. Then we heard Heke shouting out to charge us again, and so down they came upon us again. They greatly outnumbered us, and the sound of their feet as they rushed on was like the noise of a waterfall. We fully expected this time they would finish us, but Walker cried out, "Stand firm! let them come close; waste no powder." So we stood firm, and took aim over the stone fence, and let them come so close that the smoke of our guns would pass by their foremost men. Then we fired, and some of our _toa_, jumped over the wall and ran at them with the tomahawk, upon which they fled away to the hill-side again, leaving their dead and wounded in our hands. Then some of our young men, being hot with the fight, cried out to eat them raw at once; but this was a foolish proposal, for although we were fighting against Heke, we were all Ngapuhi together, and more or less related to each other. Had we been fighting Waikato or Ngatiawa of the south, it would have been quite correct. So Walker and the other chiefs would not allow it. [Footnote 32: The natives estimate distances by fathoms and tens of fathoms. A _kume_ is ten fathoms.] While this was going on on Walker's side, Te Tao Nui and his family were fighting against the division of Te Kahakaha and the Wharepapa at the other side of the pa; but Te Kahakaha knew by the sound of the firing that Heke had lost ground and was falling back, so he fell back also slowly, intending to join the right of his division to Heke's left, so as to fill up the opening which had been made by Heke falling back, and then to renew the battle. But, in falling back, his men lost heart, and Te Tao Nui pressed him hard; so, to encourage his men, he advanced to the front, calling loudly, "_Whakahokai!_" and, as he ran forward, his men followed. He was quite naked, and only armed with a light spear. He came on lightly, like a young man, seeking a man for his spear; and he rushed upon one of the warriors of the Ngati Pou, but before he got close enough to strike, a shot struck him on the breast, and came out at his back, which turned him quite round. Then another shot struck him on the back, and went out at his breast. Then he sank to the ground, saying--"Fight bravely, O my family and friends! for this is my last battle." So he lay quiet there, but did not immediately die, for he lingered to see once more the young man Heke, who was the representative of Hongi, his old companion in many wars. When Te Kahakaha had fallen, the battle would have been quickly lost but for the Wharepapa, the old chief of the Ihutai. He was a brave old warrior, and had also fought in the wars of Hongi Ika. He came forward laughing, and calling on his tribe to stand firm, for he wanted to save the body of Te Kahakaha. So the Ihutai stood firm, and for a time the fight became stationary in that place. At this moment a boy came running to Heke, where he stood opposed to Walker on the extreme right of the battle. The boy ran up to Heke and cried, "The old man has fallen." Then Heke said, "What old man?" The boy answered, "Te Kahakaha." Then Heke said, "Is he quite dead?" and the boy answered again, and said, "He is quite dead, and the people are falling back, and his body will be taken by the enemy." When Heke heard this his heart rolled about in the hollow of his breast. He threw away his cloak and gun, and ran naked and unarmed all along the front of the battle until he came to the place where the old man was lying. And here he met many men who were running away, and he quickly drove them back to the fight, for they were terrified by his look--his appearance was hardly that of a man. Then he came to where the old man lay, and having knelt down, pressed his nose to the nose of the dying man, and said, "Father, are you slain?" And the old man said, "Son, I am slain; but in whose battle should I die if not in yours? It is good that I should die thus." Then Heke ran amongst the people and called out to charge; but many had fled. The tribe of Ihutai alone remained, and some few others. They, however, charged desperately, and drove back Te Tao Nui a short distance. Then Heke tore a cartridge-box from the body of a dead man, and cried out to the Ihutai to hold back the enemy a short time while he should get away the body of the old man. Then he ran away to where he had seen Te Atua Wera standing on the path trying to rally those who were flying, and to collect them on that spot to fight again. This Atua Wera, you already have heard, is the wisest priest and prophet of all the Ngapuhi, and he stood there in the path stopping the flying people with his club. But who can bind a flowing river? Tall men with long tattooed faces ran by like a stream, and were deaf to his call, but he had about twenty men who stood firm. Then Heke came running up and cried out, "Advance at once and carry off the old man while it can be done." Then Te Atua Wera said, "Give me a gun and some cartridges; I have only a club." Then Heke held out the cartridge-box, and said, "Take a gun from one of the people," and being mad with haste, and rage, and grief, he began to buckle the cartridge-box round the waist of the priest. But Te Atua Wera perceived that there was blood on the cartridge-box, so he started back and said, "Where did you get this?" Then Heke cried out, "Where should I get it? is not this war?" So then the priest saw that Heke himself, the chief of the war, had been the first himself to transgress the sacred rules, and had touched the bloody spoils of the slain. So he said to Heke, "The Maori Atua are arrayed against us, the spirits of the dead are now angry; we are lost; and you, Heke, are now no longer invulnerable.[33] Go not to the front, or you will meet with misfortune. Leave the old man where he is, it cannot now be helped;" and having said this, Te Atua Wera took the cartridge-box on the end of his club, and threw it away, club and all, into the high fern.[34] Then Heke roared out, "What care I for either men or spirits? I fear not. Let the fellow in heaven look to it. Have I not prayed to him for years? It is for him to look to me this day.[35] I will carry off the old man alone." And Heke's eyes rolled towards heaven, and he ground his teeth. Then he ran forward to carry off Te Kahakaha, but ten of the men who were with Te Atua Wera followed him, for they were ashamed to see the chief go alone and unarmed to carry off his ancient friend, but Te Atua Wera remained where he was. [Footnote 33: The priest had promised Heke that he should be himself personally invulnerable so long as the old superstitious war customs were observed, but which Heke had in this instance broken.] [Footnote 34: This whole scene between Heke and Te Atua Wera is described exactly as it occurred. I have heard it described by several eye-witnesses, one of whom was the Atua Wera himself, and they all gave the same account. The native priests proscribe many rules and observances to the people, and prophecy good fortune, _provided_ none of these rules be broken, well knowing that some of them will to a certainty be broken by the careless and incorrigible Maori. In case of the failure of any of their predictions, they have the excuse that some sacred rule had been broken. In this particular instance the Atua Wera, seeing the battle going against Heke, took advantage of his having handled the bloody cartridge-box; the people having been forbidden to touch anything having the blood of the enemy on it, until certain ceremonies of purification had been performed after the battle, to render plunder or spoil lawfully tangible.] [Footnote 35: Heke had been for years a Christian, according to the Maori notion of Christianity, which was then, if not now, a mere jumble of superstition and native barbarism. Here Heke says, that because he _prayed_ to the "fellow in heaven"--by which he means that at stated periods he had for some years made use of certain words which were supposed to gain the favour of "the European God"--that in consequence that God should favour him now if he was able. The word _karakia_ which Heke made use of does not mean prayer as we understand that word. _Karakia_ properly signifies a formula of words or _incantation_, which words are supposed to contain a _power_, and to have a positive effect on the spirit to whom they are addressed, totally irrespective of the conduct or actions, good or bad, of the person using them. The fact is that the Maori has, perhaps, the lowest religious character of any human being; his mental formation seems to have the _minimum_ of religious tendency. The idea of a supreme being has never occurred to him, and the word which the missionaries use for God (_Atua_) means indifferently, a dead body, a sickness, a ghost, or a malevolent spirit. Maui, the Atua, who they say fished up the island from the sea, is supposed to have _died_ long ago by some, and all agree that he no longer exists.] All this which I have told took but little time, for in battle when men's eyes shine there is no listlessness. But by this time Heke's men to the right were quite defeated by Walker, and running away; but Walker pursued them, slowly and with caution, for the ground was covered with brushwood, and rocks, and high fern, and the enemy though defeated were still more numerous than we were, and we followed slowly lest we might fall into an ambush. So Te Atua Wera sat on a stone beside the path waiting for the return of Heke, and soon he saw that the battle was lost, for people came running past in great numbers, and among them came the men who had gone with Heke, and they brought with them the body of the old man, Te Kahakaha, which Heke had gone with them to bring away. The fire of Te Tao Nui now began to come closer, and the bullets were cutting down the fern all round them, and the Atua cried out to the bearers of the body to inquire for Heke, and they said he was close behind them. So Te Atua waited some time longer, but Heke did not come, and the enemy were getting near, and his mind was disturbed, for he had a presentiment of evil. At this moment Hoao, a very noted Ngapuhi warrior, came jumping over the fern, and seeing the Atua Wera, he shouted, "Turn--face the enemy, for Heke has fallen, and unless quickly rescued will be taken." Te Atua said, "Where is he?" The man said, "Here in the hollow, where I have hid him in the high fern, but could not carry him off myself." Te Tao Nui had now got close, and some of his men had actually passed where Heke lay, but had not discovered him. So now Te Atua Wera saw it was his time to do his part, so he called out "Come, follow me to die for _Pokaia_.[36]" Three men started forward at this call; they ran to where Hekewas, and bore him off. In doing so they were more than once surrounded by the enemy, but the fern and brushwood were so thick that they got off unperceived. The fern and brushwood would not, however, have saved them had it not been for the Atua Wera, who, by his continual _karakia_ (incantations) rendered the bearers of Heke invisible to the enemy. The three men who carried off Heke were all from Hokianga; they were all elderly men, and practised warriors. Their names were _Ta Pura_, _Hoao_, and _Te Ngawe_. [Footnote 36: In the agitation caused by hearing that Heke had fallen, the Atua Wera called Heke by the name of _Pokaia_. This was the name of Heke's father, a celebrated cannibal warrior and desperate savage. His closing scene took place in the country of the Ngatiwhatua, where, having gone in a war expedition, he and his 300 men were killed and eaten, almost to a man, by the Ngatiwhatua, who in their turn were all but exterminated by Hongi Ika in revenge for Pokaia.] So Heke lost in this battle many of his best old war chiefs, he was himself badly wounded and defeated, and escaped with difficulty to the fort at Ohaeawae, to which place he was chased by Walker and Te Tao Nui. These misfortunes would not have happened had not Heke been so thoughtless as to handle the bloody spoils of the dead, before the proper ceremonies had rendered them common. But there is nothing in this world so deaf to reason or so disobedient as a warrior--when he is enraged he only listens to his own courage, and, being led away by it, dies. After this battle Heke remained some time at Ohaeawae, and Walker stayed at Te Ahuahu, the fort which Te Tao Nui had taken. Walker buried Heke's dead which had been left on the field, and there was a great lamentation at both forts, for the number of killed on both sides was great. Heke, and Kawiti, who had again joined him, now enlarged, and strengthened, and completely finished the pa at Ohaeawae, where they were stopping. It was originally but small, and belonged to Pene Taui, but they now completely finished it, and made it a perfect Maori fort in every respect. The inside fence was made of a very hard wood which does not splinter much; the posts of this fence were about one fathom in the ground, and the fence over ground was about four fathoms high. The posts were stout, and some of them would require thirty men with ropes to raise them. Inside this fence was the trench in which the men stood to fire; their faces only reached the level of the ground outside the fort. The loopholes, through which the men fired, were also only level with the ground outside, so that in firing the men were very slightly exposed. Outside of all was the _pekerangi_, which is a lighter sort of fence put up to deaden the force of shot before it strikes the inner one, and also intended to delay a storming party, so that while they would be pulling it down, the men behind the inner fence might have time to shoot them. This pekerangi was nearly as high as the inner fence, and stood little more than half a fathom outside of it; it was made of a strong framework, and was padded thickly with green flax to deaden the force of shot. It was also elevated about a foot from the ground, so that the men behind the inner fence, standing in the ditch, could shoot through the loopholes in the inner fence _under_ this outside fence; also at different distances along the _kaue_ (curtain) there were _koki_ (flanking) angles, capable of containing many men, so that a storming party would be exposed to a fire both in front and flank, and in these angles were put large ship guns. The men inside, in the inner trench, were also protected from a flanking fire by _pakeaka_ (traverses), which crossed the trench at intervals; also inside the place were many excavations under ground covered over with large logs of timber, and over the timber earth. In these pits the men could sleep safe from the shot of the big guns of the soldiers. There were also high platforms at the corners of the inner fence, from whence could be seen all that an enemy might be doing outside. When this fort was completely finished and provisioned, the priests (_tohunga_) took, according to ancient custom, the chips of the posts, and with them performed the usual ceremonies, and when they had done so they declared that this would be a fortunate fortress; so it was made sacred (_tapu_,) as were all the men who were to defend it. This fortress being now quite finished and ready for war, the soldiers came from Auckland to attack it, and also came the sailors and _Pakeha Maori_ (Militia). They landed at the Bay of Islands, came up the Keri Keri in boats, and from thence to the Waimate along the cart road. They brought with them two very small brass guns, and two very short iron ones (mortars). The short iron guns looked like potato pots, and we laughed at them, and thought of Heke's saying of "What prize can be won by such a gun?" We however, notwithstanding our laughing, thought they must have some use, or the soldiers would not have brought them. At last, after remaining several days at the Waimate, the _taua_ advanced against Ohaeawae. The soldiers, sailors, and other pakeha might be in number about eight hundred, and we Maori were four hundred. The enemy did not attempt to oppose our advance, which was very good; for the soldiers were so heavy loaded with cloths, and tied up with belts, and had such heavy cartridge-boxes and also little water casks, hanging to their sides, and packs on their backs, besides the musket and bayonet, that we all said that if we Maori were loaded in that way, we should neither be able to fight nor to run away. Great is the patience of the soldiers! At this time Heke was very ill, and expected to die from his wound which he had received at the great fight at Te Whatuteri. So his people took him away to his own place at Tautora, and Te Atua Wera and sixty men remained there with him. Many, also, of the men who had been at the fight with Walker at Te Whatuteri had returned home, so there remained at the pa at Ohaeawae only Kawiti, Pene Taui, and one hundred men. So the soldiers encamped before the pa at the distance of about two hundred fathoms. There was a little hill on their right, rather advanced towards the pa. Walker took possession of this hill, and encamped upon it with about sixty men. This hill overlooked both the pa and the camp of the soldiers, and from it everything could be seen that was going on. The rest of the Maori encamped at a short distance behind the soldiers; and on the left of the soldiers, and a little advanced, were placed the four little big guns, two of brass and two of iron. So now both parties being face to face and close to each other, they were very watchful. Some of the soldiers stood all night watching between the camp and the pa, and the people in the pa watched also, and the watch-cry resounded among the hills. This was the cry of the pa: "Come on, soldiers, for revenge; come on! Stiff your dead are lying on Taumata tutu. Come on! Come on!"[37] Then in answer was heard the watch-cry of Walker: "Come on, O Ngapuhi, for your revenge, come on! We have slain you in heaps on the battle-field. Come on! Come on!" So passed the first night before Ohaeawae. [Footnote 37: "Whai mai e te hoia, ki tetahi utu maua akato wharoro ana koe, kei Taumata tutu--whai mai! whai mai!"--The watch-cry.] Next morning the four little big guns began to fire at the pa, but they did no damage. Some of the shots stuck fast in the large posts, but did not go through; others went between the posts, making a mark on each side, but leaving the posts standing as strong as ever. As for the men in the pa, they were all in the trenches, and the shots which came through the fence went over their heads, and did them no harm. After the guns had fired a few times, the people in the pa began firing at them with muskets, and soon killed one sailor, and wounded some others. So the men left the guns for the rest of that day, but in the night they took them away, and placed two of them on the hill where Walker had encamped, and the other two on the level ground between that hill and the soldiers' camp. They also made banks of earth to shelter them, so that the men who fired them were safer than they had been the day before, when they had only a little green flax to cover them, which was of no use. Next day the guns began to fire again, and continued until night; and also a great number of soldiers, sailors, and Maori scattered themselves about the pa, and fired at it with muskets, but could do no harm; and this went on for several days, but the fences of the pa remained standing, and not much injured. I think, however, that although the guns were smaller than they should have been, if they had been continually fired at one place, an opening in the fence would have been made at last; but instead of doing this, when they had been fired for half a day at one part of the fence, then the soldiers would begin firing at some other part of the pa, and then the people would come out of the trenches and repair any damage which had been done at the place at which the guns had been fired at first. We Maori did not think the soldiers did wisely in this respect, but they may have had some reason for it which we could not understand, for we don't know much about big guns; as was also seen at Ohaeawae, for there were four big guns in the pa, larger than those of the soldiers, and they were fired at us very often, but they never hit any one. My idea is, that big guns are no use to knock down a pa, unless they are very big indeed. But the Maori say that in future wars they will build forts where it will be hard, and take a long time, to bring big guns; and when the soldiers after much pains get them there, they will leave the pa at once, and go somewhere else where it will take a long time to follow them, and so on till the soldiers are tired of dragging big guns about the country, after which both parties will be armed with muskets only, and the Maori can use these arms as well as the soldiers. This is what I have heard say, and I think it a very correct thought. So the firing of big guns and muskets went on day after day, but no opening was made in the face of the pa; but the chief of the soldiers[38] did not care much for this, for he wanted every day to send his men to rush up to the pa, to pull down the fence with their hands, or pull it down with ropes, and so get in. But Walker and the other chiefs always prevented this, as they knew that all the soldiers would be killed before they could get in in this way. Every one of the Maori were of this opinion, and also some of our old pakeha friends who were with us, and who knew the appearance of the Maori in war. Nevertheless, the chief of the soldiers wished every day to send his men to rush up to the pa; and so, at last, we heard so much of this that we began to be very melancholy, and Walker told me that he felt sick in the stomach when the chief of the soldiers spoke to him about it, it seemed so great a waste of men's lives. We all became, as I have said, very melancholy, for we all began to see that it would be done at last, and we grieved, therefore, for our friends the soldiers, who we knew would be all killed. But what vexed us most was, that so fine a war party as ours should be beaten by such a small number of people as were in the pa, only because the chief of the soldiers was a foolish, inexperienced person.[39] [Footnote 38: Colonel Despard.] [Footnote 39: The pa at Ohaeawae was attacked against the advice of the friendly native chiefs, who well knew its strength, and the certain repulse to be expected. They called Colonel Despard anything but a soldier, and the term "foolish and inexperienced" is the _mildest_ they applied to him.] At last the chief of the soldiers thought of sending for a very large gun from a ship of war at the Bay of Islands, which would be large enough to break down the fence. If he had done this at first an opening would soon have been made, and the fort taken without many men being killed; but as it was, this gun when it came was of no use, for the chief of the soldiers did not wait till it had broken down the fence, but attempted to take the pa without this having been done. This gun was placed at the foot of the hill where Walker had his camp, and it was not fired many times before it became apparent that should it keep on firing till next evening, a large opening would be made in the fence; so we began to think that the chief of the soldiers would have patience, and wait till this should be done. Now on this same day, when this big gun began to fire, thirty men came out of the pa unperceived, and coming through a wood in the rear of Walker's camp, at a time when Walker and most of his men were absent, they rushed in and plundered it, killing one soldier who was there, and also one Maori, and wounded also a pakeha, the son of a missionary. They pulled down Walker's flag and took it away, and having fired a volley at the camp of the soldiers, ran off to their pa, leaving one man killed, who was killed by Tara Patiki, and not by the soldiers, as I have heard say. I am sure of this, for I saw Tara Patiki shoot him. They were close upon us before we saw them, and we had great difficulty to escape, but we both jumped into the fern, and ran down the hill as hard as we could. I fired my gun right into the middle of them, but as only one man was killed, I suppose my shot missed. When the soldiers saw that Walker's pa was taken, they came out of their camp, and charged up the hill; but when they came to the top, they found that the enemy were gone, and had taken away everything valuable they could find; they found the soldier who had been killed. He had been sent there by the chief of the soldiers to take care of one of the little big guns which had been removed up to that place, so he was killed there; but I have heard that the chief of the soldiers when he wrote his letter to Auckland, to tell the Governor about this matter, said that this soldier was killed in charging up the hill; but this is not true, for I and many others got to the top of the hill before the soldiers, and when we got there the enemy were gone, and the dead soldier was lying there where he had been killed, close to the small big gun. This affair, however, made the chief of the soldiers quite mad, so that same evening he ordered all his men to rush upon the pa and pull it down with ropes, or climb over it with ladders, or any way they could; he also sent to Walker to tell him what he was about to do. Walker spoke against it, as he had done before, and advised to wait one day more, till the big gun had made an opening for the soldiers to rush through quickly; otherwise, he said they would be all killed, and not get in at all. But the chief of the soldiers would not wait. So when Walker saw the attack would be made he offered to attack also at another face of the pa, and also twenty young men, cousins of Hauraki, the young chief of Te Hikutu, who was killed at Waikare, came and asked leave to go with the soldiers; but the chief of the soldiers would not let them go; neither would he consent to Walker's making an attack, lest meeting the soldiers in the pa, his men might be mistaken for the enemy. When we saw that the attack was determined upon, and just going to take place, we were all in a great state of agitation, and knew not what to think. Most said all the soldiers would be killed; but then we thought, on the other hand, that perhaps these European warriors could do things above the understanding of us Maori, and so perhaps they might take the pa. But all thought the chief of the soldiers very wrong to attempt the thing before an opening had been made for the soldiers to enter by. Also, Toby (Lieutenant Philpots), who was chief of the sailors, and a very brave gentleman, had walked close up to the fence of the pa, and along it, and, after having examined it, he returned, and told the chief of the soldiers that the place could not be taken by storm, unless it was first breached. When Lieutenant Philpots went up to the pa, the people were firing at every one who showed himself, and at first they fired at him; but he walked straight on, not caring about the shots which were fired at him. So, when the people in the pa saw that it was Philpots who had done this, they ceased firing at him, and told him to go back, as they did not wish to hurt him. So having examined the fence closely, he returned, but the soldier chief did not mind what he said, and was angry, and spoke rudely to him for having given his opinion on the matter. So now the chief of the soldiers mustered his men and divided them into parties. One party he stationed on the hill which was Walker's camp, and with all the rest he went to the attack. And first came a small party with a young chief leading them; these were all _toa_ who had consented to die, so that those who followed might succeed. After them came a party of about eighty men, and after these came the main body of the soldiers; and with them also advanced the sailors, and the pakeha Maori, carrying ladders. The sailors advanced without their chief, for as yet he (Philpots) remained to fire some last shots from the big gun. But there was with them a young chief called Pena (Mr. Spain). So the whole attack moved on. We soon saw with great surprise that the soldiers were not going to attack that part of the pa which for so many days had been battered by the big guns, and where there might have been some small chance of their getting in, for in that direction the fence had been damaged in some degree, particularly by the large ship gun. The soldiers, however, advanced as they had been ordered against that part of the pa which had been built stronger than any other, and which had not been fired at at all by the big guns. The reason why this part of the pa was the strongest was, because it was the part which had been originally built by Pene Taui as a pa for himself. He had begun it at the beginning of the war, and built it at his leisure, and made it very strong. And also that part of the pa was the nearest to the forest; so all the largest and heaviest timber, which was difficult to move, was put there. But when Heke and Kawiti fell back to Ohaeawae, this original pa was found too small to hold their people; so they enlarged it very much; but, being in a great hurry, expecting the soldiers back from Auckland, they could not take time to make the new part so strong as that which had been first built by Taui; but, nevertheless, by working hard day and night, they made it very strong. So the soldiers marched on silently and in good order, in full view of the pa, till they came opposite to the part they were about to attack, and then they halted in a little hollow to prepare for the great rush. But all this was done quietly, and in an orderly manner. The chiefs did not make speeches, or jump, or stamp about as we Maori do to encourage the men, but all was quiet, and silent, and orderly, as if nothing uncommon was about to take place. I took great notice of this, and did not know what to think; for, when we Maori have determined to do a desperate thing like this, we are all like mad men, and make a great clamour, rushing towards the world of darkness (_te po_) with great noise and fury. While the soldiers were advancing, Walker and all the people went and took up a position behind the pa, so that in case the soldiers got in, the retreat of the enemy would be cut off, in case they attempted to escape in that direction. Now the defenders of the pa perceived that the time of battle was come, and all went to their stations, and the chiefs stood up and made speeches, each to his own family. This was the speech of Haupokeha--"Have great patience this day, O children and friends; we have said 'Let us fight the soldiers,' and behold the rage of the soldier is at hand; be brave and enduring this day; be victorious; the parent who maintains us is the land--die for the land!--die for the land!" Other chiefs spoke to the people, and some of the young men left the trenches, and called to the old men to lead them out to fight the soldiers in the open plain before the pa; but Haupokeha, in great anger, said, "No; this shall not be done: return to your stations, and you shall see the enemy walk alive into the oven: they are coming only to their own destruction." At this moment the bugle sounded, and the soldiers came charging on, shouting after the manner of European warriors, and those who were on Walker's hill shouted also; and we Maori behind the pa shouted also; and the whole valley resounded with the anger of the pakeha! Soon the soldiers were within twenty fathoms of the fort; and then the fire darted from under the pekerangi; the noise of guns was heard, and the foremost soldiers fell headlong to the ground. But the soldiers are very brave: they charged right on, and came up to the pekerangi, which is the outer fence, and began to tear it to pieces with their hands. Then Philpots, when he saw the sailors charge, left the big gun and ran across the plain, and joined them; and he, being a _toa_, shouted to his men to be resolute, and destroy the fence; and then, with one pull, the sailors brought down about five fathoms of the pekerangi; and then they were before the true fence, which being made of whole trees placed upright and fixed deeply in the ground, could not be pulled down at all. All this time the fire from inside through the loopholes continued unceasingly, at the distance of one arm's length from where the soldiers were standing, and also a heavy fire came from a flanking angle at a distance of ten fathoms; and in this angle there was a big gun; it was heavily loaded with powder, and for shot there was put into it a long bullock chain, and this was fired into the midst of the soldiers, doing great damage. So the soldiers fell there, one on the other, in great numbers; but not one thought of running away. And Philpots did all a man could do to break down the inside fence, but it could not be done at all; so he ran along this fence till he saw a small opening which had been made to fire a big gun through, and he tried to get through this opening, at the same time calling to his men to follow. Then the people in the pa saw him, and about ten men fired at him, but all missed, and he almost got into the midst of the place, still calling on his men to follow, when a young lad fired at him, and killed him dead at once. So he lay there dead with his sword in his hand, like a toa as he was; but the noise and smoke, shouting and confusion, were so great as to prevent his men from perceiving that he was killed, and bearing off his body, for such is the appearance of war. Also, a chief of the soldiers was killed (Captain Grant), and another died of his wounds, and there was a long line of dead and wounded men lying along the outside of the fence, and soon all would have been killed, but the chief of the soldiers, seeing this, sounded a call on the tetere (bugle) for them to retreat. And then, but not before, the soldiers began to run back, taking with them most of the wounded; but about forty dead were left behind, under the wall of the pa. This battle did not take up near so long a time as I am telling of it, and in it about one hundred and ten Europeans were killed or wounded. Great is the courage of the soldiers! They will walk quietly at the command of their chiefs to certain death; there is no people to be compared to them; but they were obliged to retreat. The number of men in the fort was about one hundred and seventy, and the part attacked was defended by the hapu of Pene Taui, in number just forty men. So the war runners ran through all the north, saying--"One wing of England is broken, and hangs dangling on the ground." Before saying any more of this fight, I must tell you of two slaves--one called Peter, who belonged to Kaetoke, and the other called Tarata, who belongs to Ti Kahuka. Many years ago Tarata went to England in a large ship, and having gone ashore to see what he could see, he lost his way in the great town called London. So, in the night, the police found him wandering about, and took him prisoner, and put him in the whareherehere (watch-house), for they thought he had stolen a bundle of clothes which he was carrying. In the morning they brought him before the chief and accused him, but Tarata had not been able to learn to speak English, so he could not defend himself, or say from whence he came; so he thought he was going to be killed, and began to cry. Just then a ship captain came into the house, and seeing Tarata he knew he was a Maori, and spoke to him in Maori, and told him not to be afraid, and then he turned to the chief of the police and made a speech to him, and to all the people who were assembled there to see Tarata killed, as he believed; but when the ship captain had done speaking, the chief of the police was no longer angry, and said, "Poor fellow, poor fellow;" and then all the people present gave each a small piece of money to Tarata. Some gave sixpence, some a shilling, and some a few coppers; the chief of the police gave Tarata five shillings. When all the money was together there was more than ever Tarata had seen before, so he was very glad indeed; and a policeman went with him and showed him the way to his ship, and took care of him, lest he should be robbed of his money. After this Tarata returned to New Zealand, and many years after he came with his chief to the war to help Walker. So at Ohaeawae, when he saw the soldiers going to the attack, he thought of the goodness of the people of England, and so he said, "I will go and die along with these soldiers." Then, when Peter, the slave of Kaetoke, heard this, he said, "I also am a pakeha; I have been reared since a child by the Europeans; they have made me a man, and all the flesh on my bones belongs to them." So these two slaves ran quickly and took their place with the _wakaka_ (forlorn-hope, or leading party) of the soldiers, but when the chief of that party saw them, he ordered them to return; but they persisted in going on, so the soldier ran at them and cut at them with his sword, and his soldiers were shouting and running on. So the two slaves stood to one side, but would not return, and when the soldiers had passed, they followed them up to the fence of the pa, and stood there firing into it till the soldiers fell back, and afterwards, when the soldiers retreated, they carried off one wounded soldier who had been left behind. After the fight, the chief of the soldiers sent some people with a white flag to the pa, to ask permission to take away the dead soldiers who lay beside the fence. They were told that they might come and take them next day. Soon after the flag had returned it was night, and then many near friends of Heke came from Kaikohe and entered the pa, for they had heard that the soldiers had been beaten off, and this gave them courage to come, which they had not before, and then late in the night they joining with the men of the pa danced the war dance which is appropriate to victory, and sang the song of triumph as they danced, and the song sounded among the hills in the night like thunder. This was the song-- E tama te uaua, E taima te maroro, Ina hoki ra te tohu! O te uaua. Kei taku ringa, e mauana. Te upoko. O te Kawau Tatakiha! O youth, of sinewy force, O men of martial strength, Behold the sign of power! In my hand I hold the scalp, Of the Kawau Tatakiha. And often in the night the watch-cry of the pa was heard, and this was the cry of the pa--"Come on! come on! soldiers, for revenge, come on! Stiff lie your dead by the fence of my pa--come on, come on!" And also a great shouting and screaming was heard, which the soldiers thought was the cry of one of their men being tortured; but the noise was the voice of a priest who was then possessed of a spirit. But, nevertheless, the body of one soldier was burned that night, for as the people were mending the fence by torchlight there was a dead soldier lying near, and they put a torch of kauri resin on the body to light their work, which burnt the body very much, and caused the report to be spread afterwards, when the body was found by the soldiers, that the man had been tortured; but this was not true, for the man was dead before the fire was thrown on the body. During the night a report arose amongst the Maori of Walker's camp--I don't know how or from what cause--that the soldiers were about to decamp under cover of darkness, and that the chief of the soldiers had proposed to shoot all his wounded men to prevent them falling alive into the hands of the enemy. When we heard this we got into a state of commotion and great alarm, and did not know what to do. I ran off to a hut where an old pakeha friend of mine slept, and having aroused him, I told him what I had heard, and asked him if such things ever had been done by his countrymen, and also what he thought would be best for us to do. My friend said nothing for some time, but lit his pipe and smoked a little, and at last he said, "Such a thing has never yet been done by English soldiers, and be assured will not be done to-night; but, nevertheless, go you to all your relations and those who will listen to your words, and make them watch with their arms in their hands till daylight. I will do the same with my friends, for, perhaps, the soldiers might go to-night to take away the wounded to the Waimate and then return: who knows? And in the morning, perhaps, the enemy may think they are gone away entirely, and may come out of the pa; so, in that case, you and I will elevate our names by fighting them ourselves, without the soldiers." So I and my pakeha friend watched all night with the people, until the sun rose. But the soldiers did not go away that night, so I suppose the report was false, but it alarmed us much at the time, and some of us were very near running away that night.[40] [Footnote 40: This report actually was really spread in the camp the night after the attack. It struck the natives with consternation, and there are those who still believe that there was _some_ foundation for it, and that a retreat had been talked of.] When the morning came, a party went to bring away the bodies of the dead. The people of the pa had drawn them to a distance from the fence, and left them to be taken away, so they were taken and buried near the camp; and when this was done, the soldiers began to fire on the pa, and the war began again. But the body of the soldier chief who had been killed was not given up, for much of the flesh had been cut off. This was done by the advice of the tohunga, so that the soldiers having been dried for food they might lose their _mana_ (_prestige_, good fortune), and be in consequence less feared. And the scalp had been taken from the head of Philpots to be used by the tohunga in divination to discover the event of the war. This was not done from revenge or ill-will to him, but because, as he was a _toa_ and a chief, his scalp was more desirable for this purpose than that of an ordinary person. So the foliage of the battle-field was taken to the Atua Wera that he might perform the usual ceremonies, and cause the people to be fortunate in the war.[41] [Footnote 41: Amongst other superstitious native customs, when a battle has been fought, the victorious party send to their priest, no matter how far he may be off, a collection of the herbage actually growing on the field of battle; he takes it and performs with it certain ceremonies, and sends back the messenger with his advice, &c., &c. This is called sending the _rahu rahu_ of the battle field. _Rahu rahu_ is the name of the _fern_ which is the most common plant in the North Island.] When the people in the pa saw that, although the soldiers had lost so many men, they were not dismayed, and seeing also that the inner fence was beginning to give way before the fire of the big gun, they made up their minds to leave the pa in the night, so that the soldiers should not have an opportunity to revenge themselves. So in the night they all left, and went to Kaikohe, without it having been perceived that they were gone. However, before they had been gone very long, Walker's people began to suspect what had taken place, for the dogs in the deserted pa were howling, and the watch-cry was no longer heard. So a man called Tamahue entered it cautiously, and found it deserted. He crept on softly, and in entering a house he put his hand on a woman who had been left behind asleep, so he kept quiet to see if the sleeping person would awake; and he began to believe that the people had not left the pa, and was about to kill the sleeping person for _utu_ for himself, for he did not expect to escape alive, there being so many pits and trenches which he could not see in the dark. He, however, thought it would be best first to examine the other houses. This he did, and perceived that the place was deserted, for all the other houses were empty. The only weapon Tamahue had was a tomahawk, for he had lost his left arm at a great battle at Hokianga some years before, and was therefore unable to use a gun. So he returned to the sleeping person, and jumped upon her, and raised his hand to strike, for he did not know it was a woman who was sleeping there, but thought it was a warrior. But though he had but one arm he did not call to his brother, who was close outside the pa, for he intended to strike the first blow in the inside of this fortress himself. You must know that we Maori think this a great thing, even though the blow be struck only against a post or a stone. But Tamahue being naked, as all good warriors should be when on a dangerous adventure, his bare knees pressed against the breast of the sleeping person, and then he perceived it was a woman, so he struck his tomahawk into the ground only, and having taken her prisoner, he called his brother, and they returned to the camp, and gave information that the pa was deserted. Then all at once there arose a great confusion. All the Maori and most of the soldiers ran off to the pa in the dark, and they tumbled by tens into the pits and trenches, which were in the inside of the place. The soldiers ran about searching for plunder, and quarrelling with the Maori for ducks and geese. There was a great noise, every one shouting at once, and as much uproar as if the place had been taken by storm; and so this was how Ohaeawae was taken. In the morning the soldiers dug up the dead of the enemy, nine in number, being in search of the body of the soldier chief who had been killed in the attack. They found the body and also that of the soldier which had been burned; and besides the nine bodies of the enemy's men which the soldiers dug up, there was also found the body of a woman lying in the pa, which made ten the people of the pa had lost. While the soldiers were doing this, all the Maori went in pursuit of the enemy as far as Kaikohe; and when they got there a certain pakeha met them, and spoke angrily to the chiefs for pursuing Heke's people, and told us that our souls would be roasted in the other world for making war on Sunday--for it was on Sunday this happened. So the chiefs thought that perhaps it might be unlucky to fight on the _ratapu_; they, therefore, only set fire to Heke's house at Kaikohe, and returned to the camp at Ohaeawae. But before the war was over, we all found that the soldiers did not mind Sunday at all when any harm could be done on it; but when there was nothing else to do they always went to prayers. After this the soldiers burned the pa, and went back to the Waimate, where they built a fort, and stayed some time, and there they buried Philpots; and we Maori still remember Philpots, for he was a generous, brave, and good-natured man. But now years have gone by, and his ship has sailed away--no one knows where--and he is left by his people; but sometimes a pakeha traveller may be seen standing by his grave. But the Europeans do not lament so loudly as we do; they have perhaps the same thought as some of us, who say that the best lamentation for a _toa_ is a blow struck against the enemy. While the soldiers were staying at Waimate, Kawiti left Kaikohe, and went to his own place at the Ruapekapeka, and fortified it, making it very strong; but Heke remained at Tautora, not yet cured of his wound. There was a pa near Waimate, belonging to Te Aratua, and the soldiers went to attack it; but when Te Aratua heard they were coming, he left it, and so the soldiers took it, and burned it, without any opposition. Some time after this the soldiers left Waimate, and went to the Bay of Islands, where others joined them. The sailors came also in the ships of war, and with them came also the pakeha Maori; and there was a great gathering, for the soldiers had heard that the fort of Kawiti at the Ruapekapeka was completely finished and ready for war, and therefore they prepared to attack it. Walker also, and the other chiefs with their people, joined the soldiers as before; and when we were all together we formed a grand war party--the greatest that had been seen during the war. The soldiers forgot nothing this time. They brought with them all their arms of every kind. They brought long and short big guns, and rockets, and guns the shot of which bursts with a great noise. Nothing was left behind. We were glad of this, for we wished to see the full strength of the soldiers put forth, that we might see what the utmost of their power was.[42] [Footnote 42: The friendly natives never lost sight of the possibility that they themselves might some day have to fight us. They therefore scrutinized closely all our military proceedings, and were anxious to see us do our very best, or rather, our _worst_, so that they might know what they would have to contend against.] So this great war party left the Bay of Islands, and went up the river to attack Kawiti at the Ruapekapeka. They went in boats and canoes, and having arrived at the pa of Tamati Pukututu, they landed the guns, and powder, and provisions, and began making a road to the Ruapekapeka. And after many days, the road being completed, the _taua_ advanced, and encamped before the Ruapekapeka. During the first two days there was not much done, but when all had been got ready, the soldiers began to fire in earnest--rockets, mortars, ship guns, long brass guns--all burst out firing at once. We were almost deaf with the noise, and the air was full of cannon balls. The fence of the pa began to disappear like a bank of fog before the morning breeze. So now we saw that the soldiers had at last found out how to knock down a pa. But before the fence was completely broken down, the chief of the soldiers ordered his men to rush up to the pa as they had done before at Ohaeawae. The soldiers were about to do so, for they are a very obedient people, when Moses, with much difficulty, persuaded the chief of the soldiers not to let them go, by telling him that he was only going to waste all his men's lives, and advising him to wait till the fence was entirely gone before he made the attack. We all disliked this soldier very much, and saw that he was a very foolish, inexperienced person, and also that he cared nothing for the lives of his soldiers; but we thought it a great pity to waste such fine well-grown men as the soldiers were, without any chance of revenge. So the guns fired away, and after a few days the fence was completely down in many places, for the shot came like a shower of hail; but not many were killed in the pa, for they had plenty of houses under ground which the shot could not reach; but they were out of all patience, by reason of the pot guns (mortars). These guns had shot which were hollow exactly like a calabash, and they were full of gunpowder, and they came tumbling into the pa, one after another, and they would hardly be on the ground before they would burst with a great noise; and no sooner would one burst than another would burst; and so they came one after another so fast that the people in the pa could get no rest, and were getting quite deaf. These guns, however, never killed any one. They are a very vexatious invention for making people deaf, and preventing them from getting any sleep. One good thing about them is, that, whenever one of the shots does not burst, a considerable number of charges of powder for a musket can be got out of it; and whenever one dropped close to any of the men in the pa, he would pull out the _wicki_ (fuse), and then get out the powder. A good deal of powder was procured in this way. The pot guns are to make people deaf, and keep them from sleeping; the rockets are to kill people and burn their houses. A rocket knocked off the head of a woman in the pa, but did not hurt a child she had on her back at the time. Another took off the head of a young man of the Kapotai; another took out the stomach of a slave called Hi; he belonged to the Wharepapa chief of the Ihutai. This slave lived till night, crying for some one to shoot him, and then died. One man was killed by a cannon ball which came through the fence and knocked his leg off as easily as if it had been a boiled potato. The man was a warrior of the Ngati Kahununu, from the south; when he saw his leg was off above the knee, he cried out, "Look here, the iron has run away with my leg; what playful creatures these cannon balls are!" When he said this, he fell back and died, smiling, as brave warriors do. There was not many killed in the pa, for the people kept under ground; neither did the soldiers lose many men, for they kept at a distance, and let the big guns and rockets do all the work. One evening a strong party rushed out of the pa and attacked Walker's men, and a pretty smart fight ensued. Now, this party were for the most part of the Kapotai tribe, who had killed Hauraki at Waikare, and among Walker's men were several young men, cousins of Hauraki, who had come to seek revenge; and these young men fought with great spirit, and one of them killed Ripiro, a Kapotai, and took his name.[43] Some others of the Kapotai were killed, and others wounded, but none of Walker's men were killed, and only a few wounded. Amongst the wounded, however, was that brave warrior Wi Repa, who had three fingers of his left hand shot off, being the second time he had been wounded during the war. [Footnote 43: It is a common practice when a native has killed a man of any note in battle, for the party who killed the other to commemorate the exploit by taking the name of the dead man.] By this time the fences of the pa were broken down very much, but the people waited patiently, in expectation that the soldiers would come on to the attack, for they thought that, though the soldiers would take the place, they would be able to kill many of them, and then escape into the forest behind the pa. But the guns and rockets kept firing on, and the people began to be quite tired of hearing the shells bursting all about them continually, when Heke, who had recovered from his wound, arrived with seventy men. As soon as Heke had observed the state of the pa, and how things were, he said, "You are foolish to remain in this pa to be pounded by cannon balls. Let us leave it. Let the soldiers have it, and we will retire into the forest and draw them after us, where they cannot bring the big guns. The soldiers cannot fight amongst the kareao; they will be as easily killed amongst the canes as if they were wood-pigeons." So all the people left the pa except Kawiti, who lingered behind with a few men, being unwilling to leave his fort without fighting at least one battle for it. The next day after Heke's arrival was Sunday. Most of the soldiers had gone to prayers; many of Heke's people were at prayers also, and no one was in the pa but Kawiti, and a few men who were in the trenches asleep, not expecting to be attacked that day. But William Walker Turau (Walker's brother) thought he perceived that the pa was not well manned, so he crept carefully up to the place and looked in, and saw no one; but Kawiti with eleven men were sleeping in the trenches. Turau then waved his hand to Walker, who was waiting for a signal, and then stepped noiselessly into the fort. Then Walker and Tao Nui with both their tribes came rushing on. The soldiers seeing this left prayers, and with the sailors came rushing into the pa in a great crowd--sailors, soldiers, and Maori all mixed up without any order whatever. When the pa was entered the soldiers set up a great shout, which awakening Kawiti, he started up with his eleven men, and saw his pa was taken. How could it be helped? So he and his men fired a volley, and then loaded again, and fired a second volley, which was as much as he could do. Then they ran away and joined Heke at the rear of the pa, where he called aloud to the Ngapuhi to fight, and not allow his pa to be taken without a battle.[44] [Footnote 44: Kawiti seeing that all the other forts had made so good a defence wished not to abandon his without standing an assault. Heke, however, who was the best general, saw the place would soon become quite untenable from the fire of the artillery, and advised an immediate retreat to the border of the forest; he, however, had great difficulty to get Kawiti, who had a good deal of the bulldog in him, to retreat. The old chief, however, _did_ fire a volley in the inside of the place when the soldiers entered, which he considered saved his honour, as it could not be said he left his fort without fighting.] Then the Ngapuhi returned to attack their own pa, which was full of soldiers, and creeping up behind rocks and trees they began to fire, and called out in English, "Never mind the soldiers! Never mind the soldiers!" They did this hoping to enrage the soldiers, and cause them to leave the pa, and follow them into the forest; but most of the soldiers remained in the pa firing through loopholes, for the back of the pa which was now attacked by the Ngapuhi was yet entire, not having been so much broken down by the big guns as the front side had been. A few sailors and soldiers, however, went out at a little gate at the back of the pa, but were no sooner out than they were shot by the people behind the trees. At last some forty or fifty soldiers got out, and a fight began outside. But Heke and the main body of his men remained at a distance beside the thick forest, in hopes that the party who were fighting the soldiers would soon fall back, and so lead the soldiers to follow them into the forest, where Heke had his ambush prepared for them. But these people did not retire as they should have done, for a report was heard that Kawiti had been killed or taken, and this enraged them so much that they would not retreat, and they remained there trying to retake the pa. But they lost many men, for hundreds were firing at them from loopholes in the pa, besides the soldiers who were close to them outside. Many soldiers were killed or wounded who might have escaped being hurt if they had got behind trees; but these men did not care about covering themselves when they might have done so. The Maori at one time charged, and there was among them a young half-caste; he had in his hand a broad, sharp tomahawk with a long handle, and he rushed upon a sailor, and using both hands he struck him on the neck, and the head fell over the man's shoulders nearly cut off. This was the only man killed by stroke of hand in this fight. At last Heke sent a man to tell the people to fall back; but they said they would not do so, but would all die there, for Kawiti had been taken. Then the messenger told them that Kawiti was safe and well with Heke, and that he had just seen him; so when they heard this they fell back at once, but the soldiers did not follow, being restrained by their different chiefs. So the fight ended, and the Ruapekapeka was taken, and this was the last fight of the war. There were killed in this fight of Heke's people twenty-three men, and Heke wrote their names in a book, and also the names of all others who had fallen in the war. How many men the soldiers had killed in the fight I do not know, but I don't think they lost quite so many as the Maori, for most of them were firing through the loopholes of the pa and out of the trenches, and so were well sheltered. One soldier, as I have heard say, was shot by another, because he was going to run away. I don't think it right to do this. When a man feels afraid who is ordinarily of good courage, it is a sign that he will be killed, and he ought to be allowed to go away. It is bad to disregard omens. When a man feels courageous let him fight, and he will be fortunate. Next day, Heke, Kawiti, and all the people began to consult as to what should be done; for the fort was taken, and they had no provisions, and there was none at any of their other places--all having been consumed or wasted during the war, and but little had been planted. And the people told the chiefs that they could not live on fern root and fight the soldiers at the same time. They began to say to the chiefs, "Can shadows carry muskets?" They were much perplexed, and some proposed to break up into small parties, and go and live with different tribes who had not taken part in the war, but amongst whom they had friends or distant relations. After talking over this plan for some time it was found it would not do, for already some chiefs of distant tribes had said they would give up any one who came to them to the Governor, rather than bring a war against themselves. At last it was proposed to write to the Governor to ask him to make peace. So the letter was written and sent, but no one expected the Governor would make peace so quickly. He, however, consented at once to make peace, and so peace was made, and Heke's people were very glad indeed. But the chiefs who had been on the side of the soldiers were very sorry, for had the war been continued a little longer, Heke's people would have been starved and scattered, and Walker's people could have taken their land in various places; and, also, after they had been obliged to scatter about the country to obtain subsistence, many would have been taken prisoners, and they never would have had courage to fight again. When Heke saw that peace was sure to be made, he went away to Tautoro, and said he did not want peace to be made, but that if the Governor came to him and asked for peace he would consent. Heke is a man of many thoughts. So Heke kept at a distance at his own place, and never made peace with the Governor or Walker, until Walker at last came to him, and then Heke said that as Walker had come to him there should be peace, but that until the Governor came also and asked for peace, he would not consider it fully made. Well, no one thought that the Governor would go to see Heke, for we think that whoever goes first to the other, is the party who asks for peace. But the Governor _did_ go to see Heke, and shook hands with him, but Heke has never gone to see the Governor; and now the war is over, and Heke is the greatest man in this Island, and will be KING by-and-by. All the Europeans are afraid of him, and give him anything he asks for, or if they refuse he takes it, and no one dare say anything to him. Great is the courage of the Maori people! You have now heard how they made war against the noble people of England, and were not quite exterminated, as many expected they would be. But Heke, their chief, is a very knowing man; he is learned even in European knowledge. I will tell you how he has become possessed of this knowledge, which enabled him to make war successfully against the soldiers. He has a European friend who has been a very great warrior--a very experienced warrior indeed. It was he who overcame the great soldier of France, Buonaparte, and afterwards in a great sea-fight he defeated and killed the great war-chief of England, Wellington. Besides, he gained many other battles by sea and land, and he wrote all his wars in two books. Now, he lent Heke the first of these books to show him how to fight with the soldiers, which is the reason he has been so successful, but if he had had the second book he would have taken Auckland, and been King of New Zealand long ago; but he will get it by-and-by. I never saw this book, and Heke never shows it to any one, for he wants to keep all the knowledge to himself. Now, what are you laughing at? It is no use to tell me that Wellington is alive yet. Heke's pakeha killed him long ago--before you were born, perhaps. You are only a young man; what do you know about it? The Wellington you mean is some other Wellington; but the great soldier Wellington, of England, was killed long ago by Heke's pakeha. The Governor is not near so great a man as this friend of Heke's, and is afraid of him.[45] [Footnote 45: Hundreds of natives believed firmly in this absurd story before and during the war. In the present day (1861), when these notes are written, "Young New Zealand" would only laugh at it. But formerly this and other equally ridiculous tales were not only believed but had very serious effects. Heke was not the author of the story, but he found it to his hand, added the "_books_" to it, and turned it to his account. His "pakeha friend" is still extant, as well as the other "pakeha" who endeavoured to prevent Walker's people from taking our part in the war, but they are not by any means such "great men" as in the days when it was believed that one of them was the conqueror of both Wellington and Buonaparte!] This has been a great talk. What payment are you going to give me? Give me that bottle of rum. I am _so_ thirsty with talking. Don't shake your head; I _must_ have it. Oh, how sweet rum is! There is nothing in the whole world so good. I know a pakeha, who says, if I will get him a big pot, and some old gun-barrels, he will show me how to make rum out of corn. Don't take that bottle away. Come, give it me. You are a chief. Give me the bottle. You are not afraid of the law. I am a great chief; _I_ am not afraid of the law. I will make plenty of rum, and sell it to the pakeha, and get all their money, and I will have a house, and tables, and chairs, and all those sort of things for people to look at; and when the Governor comes to see me, I will scatter money all about the floor, so that when the Governor sees how much more money I have than he has, he will be quite ashamed, and think himself not near so great a chief as I am. I will have fifty pakeha servants, and they shall all work for me one day, and I will make them drunk the next for payment, and the next day they shall work, and the next get drunk, and there shall not be a watch-house in the whole land.[46] [Footnote 46: This _convivial_ scene with my friend the chief is no fiction, but a faithful relation, like everything else in this book, of what actually was said and done. It certainly does not come into the "History of the War," but is inserted just to give some idea of the state of things in the country districts, and the terms on which the country settlers manage to exist with their native "friends." The chief's _speculation_ in the distilling line is faithfully given word for word, as he explained it to me. But it has never come to anything, for although he actually got the "pakeha" to come to his place for the purpose of making "rum" out of corn, when he got him there he _plucked_ him to such an extent, not leaving him even a blanket on his bed, that he ran for it, and the distillery in consequence came to naught.] The bottle is empty, get me another. Do now. You are my friend. Give me the key! I will get it myself. You won't! I will break open the door. I will tell the magistrate you have been giving me rum. You are a slave. You are _all_ slaves. Your grandfathers have all been put in the watch-house. You are afraid of the magistrate, the magistrate is afraid of the Governor, and the Governor is afraid of Heke. You want to rob us of our country, and to hang us up like dried sharks. You _can't_. You are not able. You are cowards. _You_ are a coward! Kapai Heke![47] (Here exit Ngapuhi chief head-foremost on to the grass-plat before the door, and so ends the history of the war with Heke.) [Footnote 47: Kapai Heke! tantamount to _Vive_ Heke! _In vino veritas_--in his cups this stout defender of the pakeha lets out that he in reality is an admirer of Heke, and in another war would probably join him, being, as all the natives are, without any exception, distrustful of the European, and suspecting we intend eventually to rob them of their country. I think their chief reason for this belief is that they themselves would treat us in that way were they able, they being all plunderers and marauders, both by nature and practice, and so "measure our corn in their own bushel."] CONCLUSION. Next morning my friend the chief got up, and shook himself into shape, and begged a shirt and a pound of tobacco, neither of which I dare refuse him, and he then took himself off quietly. I have not seen him since, but received a letter from him the other day, beginning with, "Great is my love to you," and ordering me to send him by bearer one red blanket, and one cloth cap with a _gold_ band, as he is going to Auckland to see the Governor, who he hopes to "talk" a horse and twenty pounds from, on the strength of his services during the war. Perhaps when he comes back he may tell me all about his journey, and what he said to the Governor, and what the Governor said to him, all of which I will write down in English, as I have this "great talk," which is all I am ever likely to get for my cap and blanket. It is to be hoped the story will be worth the cost.[48] [Footnote 48: I am happy to be able to announce to the whole world that my friend the Ngapuhi chief has been to Auckland and returned safe back, having been extremely well received by the Governor. I have also to inform my friends that the chief has told me the whole story of his journey, leaving out _nothing_; he has told me every word he said to the Governor, and every word the Governor said to him, all of which I have written in a book for the instruction and improvement of future ages, together with a plan of attack, whereby Auckland would, as he thinks, be taken, sacked, and burned, which this friend of mine made just to wile away the time when not engaged in paying his court to the Governor. I shall, however, reserve this last history till I see what fortune this my _wakaka_ may have.] * * * * * Since the above was written, I am sorry to say that my old friend has departed this life. He was, with his brother, shot dead some years ago in a scuffle about a piece of land. In justice to the memory of my old and respected friend I am bound to say, that, according to the very best native authorities, his title to the land was perfectly clear and good. A sense of impartiality, however, forces me also to declare that the title of my _other_ friend who shot him, is also as clear as the sun at noon; there can be no doubt of this. Both have clear undoubted pedigrees, which prove them directly descended from the "original proprietor." The only point of any consequence which made against my friend's title, was the circumstance of his having been shot dead. This has "made clear," as I am bound to confess, the title of the other party, which now remains without a flaw. The only thing I see against them is the fact that, during the last seven years, their numbers have been much decreased by sickness, while it so happens that the sons of my old friend, and also his brother's sons, have large families of stout, healthy-looking boys. Good native casuists, on whom I can place every reliance, tell me that possibly this may somehow or other affect the title of the others. I don't know clearly how, for though I have studied "native tenure" for thirty years, I find I have even yet made but small progress. Indeed, I have lately begun to suspect that the subject is altogether of too complicated a nature for a European understanding. The only safe maxim I can give on native tenure, after all my study, is as follows:--Every native who is in actual possession of land, must be held to have a good title till some one else shows a better, _by kicking him off the premises_. PAKEHA MAORI. GLOSSARY. PAGE 2. _No hea_--Literally, from whence? Often used as a negative answer to an inquiry, in which case the words mean that the thing inquired for is not, or in fact is nowhere. PAGE 3. _Mana_--As the meaning of this word is explained in the course of the narrative, it is only necessary to say that in the sense in which it is used here, it means dominion or authority. _Tangi_--A dirge, or song of lamentation for the dead. It was the custom for the mourners, when singing the _tangi_, to cut themselves severely on the face, breast, and arms, with sharp flints and shells, in token of their grief. This custom is still practised, though in a mitigated form. In past times, the mourners cut themselves dreadfully, and covered themselves with blood from head to feet. See a description of a _tangi_ further on. PAGE 3. _Pakeha_--An Englishman; a foreigner. PAGE 10. _Tupara_--A double gun; an article, in the old times, valued by the natives above all other earthly riches. PAGE 11. _Hahunga_--A _hahunga_ was a funeral ceremony, at which the natives usually assembled in great numbers, and during which "baked meats" were disposed of with far less economy than Hamlet gives us to suppose was observed "in Denmark." _Kainga_--A native town, or village: their principal head-quarters. PAGE 12. _Haere mai!_ _&c._--Sufficiently explained as the native call of welcome. It is literally an invitation to advance. PAGE 15. _Tutua_--A low, worthless, and, above all, a poor, fellow--a "nobody." PAGE 16. _A pakeha tutua_--A mean, _poor_ European. _E aha te pai?_--What is the good (or use) of him? Said in contempt. PAGE 17. _Rangatira_--A chief, a gentleman, a warrior. _Rangatira pakeha_--A foreigner who is a gentleman (not a _tutua_, or nobody, as described above), a _rich_ foreigner. PAGE 18. _Taonga_--Goods; property. PAGE 21. _Mere ponamu_--A native weapon made of a rare green stone, and much valued by the natives. PAGE 22. _Taniwha_--A sea monster; more fully described further on. _Utu_--Revenge, or satisfaction; also payment. PAGE 26. _Tino tangata_--A "good man," in the language of the prize-ring; a warrior; or literally, a very, or perfect man. PAGE 36. _Taua_--A war party; or war expedition. PAGE 46. _Tena koutou_; or, _Tenara ko koutou_--The Maori form of salutation, equivalent to our "How do you do?" PAGE 49. _Na! Na! mate rawa!_--This is the battle cry by which a warrior proclaims, exultingly and tauntingly, the death of one of the enemy. PAGE 62. _Torere._--An unfathomable cave, or pit, in the rocky mountains, where the bones of the dead, after remaining a certain time in the first burying place, are removed to and thrown in, and so finally disposed of. PAGE 80. _Eaha mau_--What's that to you? PAGE 130. _Jacky Poto._--Short Jack; or Stumpy Jack. PAGE 131. _Tu ngarahu._--This is a muster, or review, made to ascertain the numbers and condition of a native force; generally made before the starting of an expedition. It is, also, often held as a military spectacle, or exhibition, of the force of a tribe when they happen to be visited by strangers of importance: the war dance is gone through on these occasions, and speeches declaratory of war, or welcome, as the case may be, made to the visitors. The "review of the Taniwha," witnessed by the Ngati Kuri, was possibly a herd of sea lions, or sea elephants; animals scarcely ever seen on the coast of that part of New Zealand, and, therefore, from their strange and hideous appearance, at once set down as an army of Taniwha. One man only was, at the defeat of the Ngati Kuri, on Motiti, rescued to tell the tale. PAGE 132. _Bare Motiti_--The island of Motiti is often called "_Motiti wahie kore,"_ as descriptive of the want of timber, or bareness of the island. A more fiercely contested battle, perhaps, was never fought than that on Motiti, in which the Ngati Kuri were destroyed. PAGE 149. _Ki au te mataika_--I have the _mataika_. The first man killed in a battle was called the _mataika_. To kill the _mataika_, or first man, was counted a very high honour, and the most extraordinary exertions were made to obtain it. The writer once saw a young warrior, when rushing with his tribe against the enemy, rendered almost frantic by perceiving that another section of the tribe would, in spite of all his efforts, be engaged first, and gain the honour of killing the _mataika_. In this emergency he, as he rushed on, cut down with a furious blow of his tomahawk, a sapling which stood in his way, and gave the cry which claims the _mataika_. After the battle, the circumstances of this question in Maori chivalry having been fully considered by the elder warriors, it was decided that the sapling tree should, in this case, be held to be the true _mataika_, and that the young man who cut it down should always claim, without question, to have killed, or as the natives say "caught," the _mataika_ of that battle. PAGE 152. _Toa_--A warrior of preëminent courage; a hero. PAGE 171. _Kia Kotahi ki te ao! Kia kotahi ki te po!_--A close translation would not give the meaning to the English reader. By these words the dying person is conjured to cling to life, but as they are never spoken until the person to whom they are addressed is actually expiring, they seemed to me to contain a horrid mockery, though to the native they no doubt appear the promptings of an affectionate and anxious solicitude. They are also supposed to contain a certain mystical meaning. 
42228	----	_CAMP FIRE YARNS OF THE LOST LEGION_ [Illustration] [Illustration: T. F. KYNNERSLEY, ESQ., OF LEIGHTON, SALOP, D.L., J.P., AND LATE CAPTAIN AND S.O. LONSDALE'S HORSE.] CAMP FIRE YARNS OF THE LOST LEGION BY Colonel G. HAMILTON-BROWNE "MAORI BROWNE" Late Commandant in Colonial Forces Author of "With the Lost Legion in New Zealand" "A Lost Legionary in South Africa" LONDON T. WERNER LAURIE LTD. CLIFFORD'S INN THIS SKEIN OF YARNS IS DEDICATED TO MY OLD FRIEND AND COMRADE IN ARMS DURING 1877-78-79 THOMAS F. KYNNERSLEY OF LEIGHTON, CO. SALOP D.L., J.P. AND LATE CAPT. AND STAFF OFFICER IN LONSDALE'S HORSE WHOSE FONDNESS FOR A GOOD STORY IS AS KEEN NOW AS IT WAS IN THE DAYS OF YORE WHEN IN BIVOUAC OR CAMP WE USED TO SPIN THEM PREFACE In introducing these yarns let me state that now I am laid up on the shelf my thoughts go back to those days and nights of the veld and bush, and I frequently feel I would give all the rest of the map if I could again find myself on the open lands of the frontier with a good horse between my knees and a few score of the old boys behind me. Now I hold pen instead of carbine and revolver, but why should memories of the old days pass away? Let me fancy I sit by the camp fire again, telling yarns as we used to under the dark blue skies and blazing stars of South Africa. Let me spin you some yarns of the Lost Legion. CONTENTS PART I CHAPTER PAGE I. THE MAORI AS I KNEW HIM 1 II. HOW MATENE FAILED TO CONVERT THE LOWER WANGANUI 53 III. HOW A SCOUT WON THE NEW ZEALAND CROSS 73 IV. A HAU HAU MARTYR 84 V. A BRUSH WITH BUSHRANGERS 92 VI. THE SCOUT THAT FAILED 106 VII. SOME MIRACULOUS ESCAPES I HAVE KNOWN 125 VIII. A TOUGH SWIM IN BAD COMPANY 137 IX. HELD UP BY A BUSHRANGER 146 X. ON THE SCOUT IN NEW ZEALAND 150 XI. THE COLONEL'S FIERY TOT 161 XII. LOST IN THE NEW ZEALAND BUSH 164 XIII. THE TROOPER'S REGARD FOR HIS TRUST AND HORSE 177 XIV. A GRUESOME FLUTE 182 XV. THE DOCTOR AND THE SENTRY 187 XVI. HOW KIWI SAVED HIS CLOTHES AND THE GOVERNOR LOST HIS DINNER 192 XVII. A SOUTH SEA BUBBLE 202 PART II I. THE DÉBUT OF THE LOST LEGION IN NATAL 215 II. A QUEER CARD 232 III. A CONVERSION THAT FAILED 257 IV. JACK ASHORE IN 1871 265 V. THE CONVERSION OF MIKE O'LEARY 275 VI. BUSHED 283 VII. THE NON-COM.'S REVENGE 293 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS T. F. KYNNERSLEY OF LEIGHTON SALOP, CAPT. AND S.O. OF L.H., 1879 _Frontispiece_ REWI FIGHTING CHIEF OF THE WAIKATOS _to face page_ 20 GATEWAY TO MAORI KIANGA " 56 A MAORI GIRL " 80 YARN SPINNING IN SOUTH AFRICA " 214 TE TARATA, THE WHITE TERRACE, ROTOMAHANA " 192 THE CONVERSION OF MIKE O'LEARY " 280 THE NEGLECTED SOLDIER Fame is but a fleeting shadow, Glory but an empty name; Spite of all that I have gone through, 'Tis, I find, a losing game: Without interest, without money, Nothing can a soldier gain; Though he be the sole survivor Of a host of comrades slain: What avail these glitt'ring honours, Which a queen laid on my breast; Though I've sought them from my childhood, Would I'd fallen with the rest: Then my heart had not been broken Life had fled without a sigh; Hunger presses--I am fainting-- Ought a soldier thus to die? THE OLD SHEKARRY. CAMP-FIRE YARNS OF THE LOST LEGION PART I CHAPTER I THE MAORI AS I KNEW HIM Camped in a London flat, sick of the turmoil, rows and worries of the big city, with its pushing, hurrying and ill-mannered crowds, can it be wondered at that I let my thoughts often wander far away to the days of my early manhood, when I passed over ten years in the dense and silent, though beautiful, bush of New Zealand, or rode across the wild, open and breezy plains of its inland plateaus? During this time I had ample opportunities for observing and studying the natives, both in war and peace: in the former especially, as I not only fought against them, but I also fought side by side with the brothers, cousins and quondam friends of the very men we were engaged against. Queer, very queer, people they were, and, to describe them in a few words, I should pronounce them to be bundles of contradictions, whose faults made them hateful, but whose many good qualities rendered them one of the most charming race of people it has ever been my lot to meet. They have been described by numerous writers far more capable than myself, and whose pens are far more graphic than my own, but yet perhaps a few traits in their many-sided characters, that I have experienced myself, may interest you. To begin with, let me speak of their courage, which was displayed in such a marked degree during the long wars that lasted from 1860 to 1871, for the whole of which period the Maoris were hopelessly outnumbered and, as far as armament went, were equally outclassed. Yet these brave fellows fought on and on, and even when the end came, and the shattered remnants of the so-called rebels took refuge in the King Country, the New Zealand Government, fearing to risk further war with the powerful Waikato tribes, resorted to what was called the blanket-and-sugar policy, rather than follow Te Kooti or demand his extradition from King Tawhiao, who at that time was just as independent of English rule as France was. The first fighting took place in 1860, and soon General Sir Duncan Cameron had over 1000 Imperial troops under his command, as well as an equal number of Colonial Militia and Irregulars, and also a powerful Naval Brigade. He had also a strong force of Artillery, and was well supplied with ammunition and stores of all kinds. Yet perhaps you will scarcely credit me when I tell you that never at any single moment had he more than 2000 natives in arms against him, and that he was never opposed in any single action by even 1000 men. It must be borne in mind that Sir Duncan's force was one of the most powerful that England, up to that time, without the assistance of allies, had ever put into the field; that the men who composed it were all of them good, seasoned men, many of them being veterans of the Crimea and Mutiny; that the Militia were highly trained, most of them old soldiers, under the command of ex-Imperial officers; that the Irregulars proved themselves to be second to none in the field, and that the natives only possessed old muskets and fowling-pieces. Now these numbers are staggering, but absolutely correct, as it is also that the above force made but small headway against this handful of savages; for although Sir Duncan forced his way into the Waikato and held a chain of forts there, yet on the west coast, especially in the districts of Taranaki and Wanganui, the settlers had to abandon their homesteads, the women and children being sent for safety to the South Island, and no man's life was safe beyond rifle range of the forts. This was the state of New Zealand in 1866, after six years of incessant war, and it can only be accounted for in the following way:-- To commence, the General and his officers were hidebound with the old traditions and maxims of the British army. They simply would not or could not adapt themselves to the exigencies or tactics of irregular warfare, nor could they be made to understand or believe that a regiment that could march in line like a brick wall might easily be worsted by a mob of savages in a New Zealand bush. Then again when attacking pahs: the General considered that the correct way to do so was, after a sharp bombardment, to rush the place with the bayonet. Who could imagine for a moment that natives could hold their flimsy stockades against men who had stormed the Redan and taken Delhi at the point of the bayonet. Yet they did. Rangiriri was assaulted three times, and on each occasion, notwithstanding the splendid devotion and courage of our gallant Tommies, they were driven back with great loss. Yet on the following day the 180 defenders marched out and laid down their arms. Why? For three days they had been without one drop of water. The General knew they had no water, then why did he risk the lives of his splendid men by ordering futile assaults? Rangiriri took place in November 1863, and one would have thought that the General might have learned something, by its lesson, of the ways how best to deal with a Maori pah; but he had neglected to do so, for in April, the following year, he invested Orakau Pah, the defenders of which exhibited gallantry seldom equalled and never surpassed in all the annals of human warfare. Let me try and give you a brief account, as I heard it some years afterwards from the mouth of one of its defenders: "Listen, Te Parione, I will tell you how I first saw white men and fought against them. It was at Orakau, in the land of the Waikato tribes, and the fight happened in this manner: "We of the Taupo tribes must pay a visit of ceremony to the chiefs and people of the Waikatos, and at the same time the Uriwera people wished to do the same. Our intention was to discuss many things with the Waikatos, and to hold a big runanga (deliberation) concerning the war. We journeyed there, although we knew much war was going on, and we were most anxious to hear about and see something of this war, so that we could judge for ourselves the might and fighting customs of the white men. It was necessary for us to do this, as at that time we knew but little of the white man, or the war customs of the soldiers; and as we might have to fight them later on, it was well for us to know their manners in war. We travelled together, in two parties, as our love is not great for the Uriwera, and reached the land of the Waikatos. These could give us but a short tangi (reception ceremony), as the war was hot in the land and the people much engaged in fighting; but they gave us the Orakau Pah to dwell in, until such time as the runanga could be held. Some chiefs of the Waikatos also stayed with us in the pah, as hosts, and food was sent us daily, our women, some forty in number, having to fetch water from a distance, as there was none close to the pah. "We heard daily of the advance of the white men, and we hoped to see them, but did not go near them. It would not have been right to do so: we were on a visit of ceremony, we had no anger against them, and no cause to fight with them. "One day we heard they were quite near, and our hearts were glad, as perhaps we should get our desire and gaze on them. Next day they came in sight, long columns of them, each man in his place. And it was good to look at them. They were in great numbers. We had never seen so many men at one time, and our hearts grew dark within us at their might and order. Instead of passing on their way as we expected, some of them turned to the right and some moved to our left, until we were quite surrounded; and when they were all placed they stood still and remained quiet. We were surprised and in great wonder; nor could we understand the meaning of this, until there came to us, as herald, the mouth (interpreter) of their war chief, who told us, in the name of the Great White Queen, to give up the pah, lay down our arms, and render ourselves prisoners to the white men. Our head chief told him that we could not do this, that we were not there to fight against the white man, but that we were Taupo and Uriwera Maoris, that we were on a visit of ceremony to the Waikatos, and that we had no anger or cause against the soldiers. But the white chief was mad, and sent the mouth again, saying we must give up the pah to him or he would attack us. "Our hearts were very dark with fear at the might and number of the soldiers, and we discussed the situation. How could we give up the pah? Had not the Waikatos lent us their pah to live in? And were we not responsible for the honour of it? How could we give it up? No, we must guard the pah with our lives, or our disgrace would resound through the land and our shame live for ever. We had no wish to fight the soldiers, but we must. Now the white man is not ceremonious, for he gave us no time to dress for war, dance the war-dance, nor even to utter our war-cries; for as soon as the herald returned to his chief we saw a taua (war party) leave their army and come straight for the outer fence, and we had to hasten, so as to get into the trench and flanking angles. "Very great is the courage of the soldiers, but great is their folly; for this taua moved all in a body, close together, with a young chief walking in front of them with his sword in his hand. Soon they came near, and the young chief raised his sword and shouted. The taua at once rushed at us, all of them shouting loud. "Our hearts were dark with fear, for the anger of the white man was very great. Rewi (a great fighting chief of the Waikatos') had told us before to harden ourselves against the anger and shouts of the white men, and had given us orders not to fire until he gave the signal, then all to fire at one time. When the taua was within six fathoms of us he gave the signal, and our fire darted out from under the fence. Many of the white men fell, but the rest rushed on, some of them trying to pull down the fence with their hands, others firing through it with their guns, and some thrusting at us with their bayonets. None of them seemed to fear death, though they fell fast. We now fired our second barrels, reloading as fast as we could, the women helping us, the men in the flanking angles also firing, so that the smoke rose in clouds, and the sky resounded with the shouting of the white men and our war-cries. All fear had fallen away from us, and we now saw that the great white chief was ceremonious, as he had only sent such a number of men as we could cope with, all his other men remaining where they had first stopped and not interfering with us. But it was otherwise with the men with whom we were fighting, as they swore at us and called us many bad names. And this was wrong, and filled us with wonder, as we had done them no evil. But perhaps it is the custom of the soldiers to do so. "The fight had lasted but a short time. I had loaded my tupara (double-barrelled gun) twice when a bugle called out, and the soldiers, leaving us, went back. No, they did not run away, they went slowly, looking back at us as if sorry to leave the fight and taking their wounded men with them. "We were greatly elated that we had saved the pah, and thought that now the white men, having no cause of war against us, and having done all that was necessary for both their own honour and ours, would pass on their way, leaving us in peace. "It was also near the time for our evening meal. The Waikato women had not, according to their custom, brought us any provisions that day, this having been delayed, we thought, on account of the fight. But as that was now over, there could be no further cause for their not coming, and if our women were to fetch water, it would be ready for the food when it presently arrived. "Our women left the pah for this purpose, and had been gone but a short time when they returned and told us that the soldiers would not allow them to pass, and that, on their insisting on doing so, telling the interpreter that there was no water or food in the pah and that they must get some, the mouth had told them that the big chief had given orders that no food or water should be carried into the pah and that if they passed through the soldiers they would be prevented from coming back. So they had returned. "This news filled us with wonder. Surely the white chief must be mad. Enough fighting had been done for the honour of ourselves and the soldiers. Even should he require more, how could he expect our hearts to be strong and for us to be able to fight well if he was to stop us obtaining food and water? It was folly. No man can fight as he should do when he is weak and famished. He had very many men. There had not been 300 Maoris, including women, in the pah from the beginning, and some of us had been killed and wounded; so we felt bitter towards the white chief, for our thirst with fighting, shouting and the powder smoke, was great. "Next morning we saw many more soldiers had arrived, bringing with them several big guns, and the herald again approached us. This time he told us that if we would not render up the pah the big guns would fire on us. He also said we should have no food or water. To this Rewi made answer: 'We will not render up the pah and our honour. Enough, we will fight right on for ever.' And we all shouted, 'Aké, aké, aké' (For ever, for ever, for ever). "Then the white chief sent word: 'Save your women, let them come out, they shall pass in safety and honour through the soldiers.' "But the women refused, and Rewi answered: 'The women will fight with us.' "No sooner had the herald left us than the big guns began to shoot, also some short, fat guns (cohorns) that threw iron balls up into the air, so that they dropped inside the pah. And these balls, being filled with powder, burst, inside the pah, with great noise, and pieces of iron flew all around, while a great number of soldiers, drawing near, began to fire at the pah, so that soon the whole place was filled with dust and confusion, while the air was torn with the shrieking of the pieces of iron and the whistling of bullets. We were stricken with fear, and were glad to take refuge in the underground houses of the Waikatos. And now we understood their reason for building these, and our fear soon left us, when we discovered that all this noise and trouble did us no harm. After this had gone on some time, Rewi called to us that a taua was getting ready to attack us, and ordered us to make ready for it. And just then the fire from the big guns ceased, so as to enable us to do so. "This was quite right, for, if they had continued to fire, we could not have left the underground houses, and then should not have had time to get into the trenches to welcome the soldiers. This made us think better of the white chief, who, we now saw, was most ceremonious, as he again only sent as many men against us as we could contend with on equal terms. And in all things, except the matter of food and water, he proved himself to be a great and wise war chief. "The hapu (tribe) of soldiers sent against us this time was not the same tribe as that which had attacked us previously, as they wore another number on their head-dress. And this was as it should be, for the chief had many different tribes in his army, and each of these must be given a chance of honour. But he must have been blind in his great folly, as if he wished to send all his tribes, each in its turn, against us, at the same time refusing us food and water, how could he expect us to keep our hearts strong, so as to be able to resist in a befitting manner those whose turn came later on? Then again our powder would fail. But this he had provided against, as I will tell you shortly. "Now this new taua acted just the same as the other had done. They all moved in a body, and when the chief, who walked in front, raised his weapon they all ran forward to try and tear down the outer fence. Some of them had also brought with them large tomahawks with which to cut it down, and Rewi called to us to use our second shots on these men. Shouting loudly, the taua charged at us, and when they reached within six fathoms of us our fire rushed to meet them. Many of them fell, and those who reached the fence failed to break in, though they did all that brave men could do. The men with the tomahawks were soon shot down, and the fight waxed very hot, although our war-cries were small, our thirst being very great. "Soon the bugle again called, and the white men went back slowly and in great anger, some of them shaking their hands at us and swearing loudly. But this we did not heed greatly, as we had decided, among ourselves, that this was their custom and that they did so with no intent to insult us, who had done them no wrong. "Soon the big guns began to shoot again: this time at the pekaranga (outer fence), so as to try and break it down. But the fence was made of very many slender manuka poles, lashed firmly to many cross-pieces, these being made fast to stout posts set firmly in the ground, the lower part of the fence being just clear of the ground, so that we could fire under it from the trench that was just behind it. And behind this trench, in which we stood, were the earthworks and heavy palisading of the pah. "Now the outer fence being composed in this way, the shot from the big guns only broke one or at the most two sticks of the fence, and then buried themselves in the earth. This did but little harm to us, as the holes made in the fence could be easily repaired and were not nearly large enough for a soldier to pass through. The short, fat guns also began to throw their balls into the pah. But as long as we remained in the underground houses these did us no harm. And it was by them the white chief showed his wisdom, insomuch as he employed these balls to furnish us with powder, so as to enable us to continue fighting, as we quickly discovered that very many of these balls did not burst and from them we extracted very many charges of powder. All these big guns fired with great fury at us for some time, and then ceased, so as to give us the opportunity of getting into the trenches to receive another taua. "This came in the same manner as the previous ones, and went back as they did, not being able to break through the fence, and losing many men. "All the rest of that day the big guns continued to shoot at us and the soldiers to fire into the pah, while we suffered much from the want of food and water. "That evening the mouth came to us again with word from the chief to render the pah and ourselves to him. "This we again refused to do. True, we had fought enough to save the honour of the pah, and we should have left it before, had we been able to do so; but we were, on all sides, surrounded by soldiers, so could not escape. And if we rendered ourselves up as prisoners, we, who were, with but few exceptions, all well-born rangitera (gentlemen), would lose caste and become slaves. Therefore we must fight for ever, even if we should have to die from thirst. All that evening, and also at intervals during the night, the big guns fired at us; and we had to take the time between these to lick with our tongues the dew that fell from the sky, so as to try and cool our parched throats, as by now our thirst was very great. "We could get no rest that night, as the white men frequently fired these powder-filled balls into the pah. And we discovered another reason for their use: one being to bring us powder, the other to keep us awake, so as to be ready to resist an attack should the chief desire one to be made. We had thought, at first, they had been intended to kill and injure us, but as they had hurt no one, we now understood their proper use. And we again wondered at a chief who, being so wise in some matters, should be so foolish as to keep us without food and water, as he still had many more tribes to send to fight us. "Next morning we saw that the white men had dug, during the night, many rifle pits, and had begun to dig trenches, so as to be able to approach us closely, without our being able to fire at them. Escape we had deemed impossible before, but when the mouth came to call us to render ourselves prisoners, we again cried, as loud as our thirst allowed us: 'We fight on; aké, aké, aké.' "That day the big guns fired frequently, and tauas attacked us twice, always in the same manner as I have already told you; but the last taua were very full of anger, and the bugle had to call twice before they left us. "The soldiers also kept on digging their trenches, and kept on firing both from big guns and muskets. "During the night we again tried to quench our thirst with the dew, for we were getting weak and suffering greatly; and Rewi with the rest of us chiefs consulted as to what we should do, for we saw that by the next evening the soldiers would have dug their trenches up to the outer fence and that the pah must fall. These were the words of Rewi, and we all agreed with them: "'O ye chiefs of Taupo and Uriwera, we have done all that brave men can do. We have saved the honour of the pah, we must now look to ourselves. The soldiers will enter the pah to-morrow, and we, through the folly of the white chief, will be too weak from famine and thirst to resist them. It is unbecoming that we, who are gentlemen, should render ourselves prisoners; therefore only one thing remains for us to do. We must charge the enemy and try to escape by breaking through them. Perchance some of us will succeed, the remainder must die as it befits warriors to die.' "He then told us his plan. 'At midday the soldiers take their meal, leaving only guards in the trenches. We will leave the pah quietly in a body and rush those who are behind the bank--that is, in front of the gate--and we will break through them there. They will be eating. Perchance we may find them unprepared.' To this we all agreed, each man determining to escape or die. "Next morning we saw the trenches had approached us closely, and so near were they that the soldiers were able to throw great numbers of small balls filled with powder into our trench and the pah itself. These balls burst on reaching us, and were thrown by the hands of the soldiers themselves, not by the big guns, though these also kept firing all the time, and we saw before night came again the pah must fall. "No taua attacked us this morning, as they wished the big guns to break down our defences, as much as possible, before they again assailed us. The sun reached its height and the firing somewhat ceased. Rewi said the time was come, and we gathered together at the gate of the pah, all the women being with us. Yes, it was certainly the time for the soldiers' meal, and we, who had neither eaten nor drunk for more than three days, tried to laugh when we thought how we were shortly to disturb their eating it. "Now, Parion, so that you may understand fully how these matters took place, I must tell you that about 100 fathoms from the gate of the pah was a bank, behind which were one of the tribes of soldiers, who bore the number 40 on their head-coverings. This bank had not been dug by them but was natural. It was not a high bank, and it sloped towards us, but was steeper on the other side and afforded the soldiers good protection from such of us as possessed rifles. There had been no trenches dug on this side of the pah, as the ground was hard and rocky, so there was nothing between us and this bank. When we were all ready the gate of the pah was removed, and we all rushed out, but without noise, and ran as fast as we could for the bank; and we had crossed more than half the distance before the soldiers seemed to notice us, as the smoke and dust lay heavy on the pah and around the spots from which the big guns fired. Then we were seen, and immediately many bugles gave their calls. There was much shouting, and many soldiers in the trenches jumped out and fired at us, many others running to take their allotted places. There was much confusion. We, however, ran steadily on, turning neither to our right nor our left; nor did we return the fire. We soon came to the bank, and as we ran up the slope we could see the soldiers rising from the ground, on which they were eating, and who, when they saw us running towards them, ran to the bank, fixing their bayonets on their guns. Only a few had time to fire at us before we were on them, and with our rush we jumped from the top of the bank right over their heads. Some of them thrust bayonets at us, but as they were in confusion we broke through them, or jumped over them, without trouble, only very few of us falling here, and continued to run towards the hills that were not far off. We should have reached these, and most of us would have escaped, but all at once we were cut off and attacked by other men, not soldiers, some of them mounted (Colonial Irregulars). These men do not have the fine appearance of soldiers, but know more about war, and are greatly to be feared; for they did not wait to get each man into his right place, but attacked us each man as he could, and being, moreover, good fighting men, they killed many of us and delayed us so much that the soldiers, having had time to regulate themselves, reached the hill almost as soon as we did. They were in great numbers and fired heavily on us as we struggled up the hills, all of us so weak that we could scarcely surmount them. The big guns also fired at us, but the horses could not follow us, and so 120 of us escaped, Rewi and myself being among these, the remainder dying as it became them. Very many of us, however, were wounded; and I must not omit to tell you that thirty of the others who did not escape, through being wounded severely, were taken by the soldiers. These the soldiers treated with honour; nor did they make them slaves or kill them, but conveyed them carefully to big tents, where their wounds were made whole, and they were attended with much care. The women, of whom some were taken, were also treated with honour. But this was the custom of the soldiers once the fighting was finished. They bore no anger towards the Maori prisoners, but brought them much tobacco and waipero (rum) to show their good will and appreciation for the trouble the Maoris had taken to fight them five times. But on the medicine men learning of this good will on the part of the soldiers, they were angry, and drove them away; which I myself consider to be wrong. But perchance it is the custom of the medicine men. "And now, Te Parione, I desire your explanation on some matters; for my heart is darkened with indecision as to the reasons the great white chief had in carrying the war on against us in the manner he did. You, who are a fighting man, belonging to the tribes of soldiers, for I have been told your ancestors have all been chiefs among these tribes, may be able to clear my mind on these matters. I will place my ideas before you, then you can make my mind light. "First, why did the chief attack us? We were on a visit of ceremony, not of war. Yet he, having a big army, and the Waikatos at the time avoiding him, must find war for his men. In so much he was right, and that I understand. Again, he showed great knowledge of war, by only sending small bodies of men against us, he having so many that we should have been crushed at once had he sent them all at the same time. He also showed his great wisdom by sending us powder in the iron balls, which also kept us awake at night, so that we might be ready in case he attacked us. But as he did not attack us during the night, it was folly, as a fighting man needs rest. That he did not want to kill us we know, or he would not have made whole the wounded men. Again, he could not have wanted the pah itself, to dwell in, or he would not have tried to destroy it with his big guns. And he knew we had no food or water, so must all perish from thirst, in a few days, when he could gain the pah without losing any men at all. He could not want our arms, as his men do not use double-barrelled guns, and if he took them from us we should have been unable to fight him, in case he saw fit to come to Taupo from the Waikato, seeking war. No, he must have wanted to let each of his tribes enjoy the honour of fighting us in their proper turn. But then why, O Te Parione, did he forbid us food and water? How could he expect us to render full justice to his men when our great thirst even prevented us from crying our war-cries, or fighting in such a manner as would confer honour on his men whose turn came late. As it was, we could only manage to hold out long enough to fight five of his tribes: and he had many. "And now, Te Parione, the night grows old, and I have talked much. Thinking of Orakau excites my thirst and the rum bottle is empty. At daylight you go to shoot ducks, and it is needful to sleep. Think over what I have asked you, and to-morrow night, when we talk once again on war, you will be able to set my mind at rest on these matters. War is a great art, and we are never too old to acquire wisdom. Perchance that white chief had reasons that, if I understood, would exalt my name should I practise them when we fight again. Till then, my guest, rest in peace." The above yarn is greatly epitomised, as my old host not only described most of the blows struck during the fight, but also gave me the roll-call of the Maoris, and most of their pedigrees. A Maori considers it to be a waste of words not to describe minutely every circumstance of an event, and by doing so differs from our ideas of yarn-spinning, as we consider brevity to be the soul of wit. Nor did the brave old warrior lay claim to any special merit that his band of 250 men, armed with old fowling-pieces and muskets, should have resisted the attack of over 5000 British troops, should have repulsed five desperate assaults, and for three days have braved the fire of a powerful train of artillery, while at the same time undergoing the torture of thirst. Surely their heroic answer to the General's summons to surrender, "Ka whawhai tonu, aké, aké, aké" (We fight right on, for ever, for ever, for ever), is worthy of a place among the mottoes of the proudest regiments the world has ever contained. As for their desperate and somewhat successful attempt to escape: the fact that this handful of famished men and women, in broad daylight, should charge and break through the investing lines of their enemies and, but for the intervention of the Colonial Irregulars, would have nearly all got away, is a wonderful instance of unconquerable courage. Perhaps I may be excused for recounting one or two more instances of Maori chivalry. During the negotiations that took place at the end of the Waikato war, the General asked Wirimu Thomihana, through his interpreter, how it was that the Maoris had not attempted to cut off his convoys at a place called the Hog's Back?--the said place having such natural difficulties as to render its passage almost impossible, had it been obstructed by a hostile force. Thomihana's reply was: "What a foolish question for a great war chief to ask. If we had prevented you from obtaining food, how could you have continued to fight?" [Illustration: REWI.] On another occasion two companies of soldiers, while on the line of march, piled their arms, sat down to rest and eat their dinners. Not far away a body of Maoris were lying _perdus_. These crept up, through the long fern, to the unsuspecting Tommies. Then, jumping to their feet, rushed through them, seizing _en route_ all the rifles, belts and pouches, they disappeared with them again into the fern. The Maori chief presently informed the discomfited and helpless troops that he would not allow his men to injure them, as he considered that both themselves and their officers were far too ignorant of war to be treated as warriors, and that they might therefore return in peace to their camp, where he advised them to learn how to take care of themselves before they again came out to fight. The 65th Regiment had been stationed very many years in New Zealand, it being supposed that their existence had been forgotten by the War Office, who had most probably lost their postal address. Some of the officers and very many of the men had married Maori women, so that the regiment was on very friendly terms with the natives. War broke out, and, naturally, the white man and Maori were on opposite sides and fought bravely against one another. This did not, however, affect their mutual esteem, for when at sunset the firing ceased numbers of Maoris used to leave their rifle pits and stroll over to their opponents' shelter trenches to exchange compliments, while the Maori women brought over plentiful supplies of pork and potatoes with which to regale their husbands, who, during the day, had been trying their best to pot their fathers and brothers. These latter, with plenty of quiet chaff, would quietly discuss the prominent events of the past day's fighting, and the possible occurrences of the coming one, with no more animus than teams of cricketers discuss together, at dinner, the events of that day's play. At guard-mounting these friendly enemies would part, and at daylight next morning each would do his level best to put out of action his relative by marriage. This sporting relationship was kept up for some time, until, reinforcements pouring into the country, another regiment was sent to strengthen the Haki-Hakis (the 65th), when the Maoris, thinking that the new-comers might be enemies to the 65th, promptly left their rifle pits and, coming over to their opponents, proffered their assistance to drive away the supposed undesirable new-comers, and then continue their own fight. I have frequently talked to Maori warriors of their old-time wars, tribe against tribe, when they have related accounts of the awful raids of Hongi, Heki, Rauparaha and others. And these stories not only teem with incidents of splendid courage, but are also blackened by the recital of as many acts of brutality, treachery and cold-blooded slaughter sufficient to satisfy Moloch himself: and relate to men who would on one occasion perform feats of heroic chivalry worthy to stand beside those of Bayard or Sir Walter Manny, while on the next day they would commit acts that would have been considered bad form in Hades even by Tilly and Cromwell. Chivalry was to disappear entirely when the natives adopted the extraordinary and debased form of nonconformist Christianity called the Pai Marire or Hau Hau faith: at which time, retaining only their courage, they relinquished every other good quality they may ever have possessed. During the bitter and savage fighting of the later sixties, splendid actions were done by these men while attempting to carry off, from the field of battle, their wounded or dead comrades; and their determined resistance, offered up to the last, threw a halo of glory round them that even their cold-blooded murders and torturing atrocities could scarcely obliterate. Well I think I have said enough about their courage; let me turn to the next greatest virtue possessed by man--viz. hospitality. The hospitality of the Maori was unbounded. The best of everything he had was readily placed at the disposal of his guest, and even should he be so circumstanced as to have only a few potatoes between himself and starvation, these would be cheerfully surrendered for his visitor's consumption; nor was any payment expected, and if offered would have been indignantly refused; notwithstanding the fact that the recipient of the bounty might be a perfect stranger. In those good old days, when the inmates of a pah or kainga saw a white man, of any rank or position, approaching the place, all the women, girls and children would seize mats, or anything else that came handy, and, waving these, cry as loud as they could the greetings of welcome: "Hacre mai! Hacre mai!" (Come to us! Come to us!). And these cries would continue, and be joined in by all the inhabitants, until the stranger had entered the village. On doing so, the visitor, provided he were acquainted with strict Maori etiquette, would pay no attention to anyone, but, handing his horse over to the nearest boy, pass through the screaming, gesticulating crowd, and seat himself in front of the guest hut, usually the best whare in the village. Here he would be faced by all the principal men of the place, who would squat down, in a semicircle, in front of him, the women, boys, girls and men of low degree standing in rear of them, when with one accord the whole multitude would lift up their voices and weep--and when I say weep it was weeping, real weeping, and no make-believe about it. This weeping, known as a tangi, was to me always a matter of wonder, as I could never understand how a Maori should be able to turn on the water-tap of his emotions at any moment he might desire to do so. I have frequently seen scores of grand old kai tangatas (man-eaters) squat down and, at will, cry and sob, with big tears hopping down their tattooed cheeks, as bitterly as some tender-hearted little girls would do if their favourite cat had just murdered their pet canary; and these grim old warriors, in less than a minute, would be in more urgent need of a big bandana handkerchief than a small boy with a bad attack of influenza. Old men and women would crawl out of their huts, stragglers would hurry up to join the throng, until every man, woman and child belonging to the tribe would be rocking and wailing as if their very heart-strings had been wrung with woe by the most personal disaster. After these lamentations had lasted a few minutes, one of the principal chiefs would rise to his feet and make a short oration, somewhat in this fashion: "You have come to us, O stranger, welcome! welcome! welcome!" Then, turning to his people, he would say: "What is the use of this crying? Dry your tears. Our friend is with us, make him welcome. He is hungry, prepare food for him. He is fatigued, let him rest. Bring him water, let him drink. Our friend is with us, cease this foolish weeping. Our hearts grow light at seeing him." He would then advance to the visitor and offer his hand, in the case of a white man; but if the said stranger should be a native, of rank or family, he would squat down in front of him and rub noses. Then, placing their hands each on the other's shoulders, they would dissolve once more into tears, mussle their noses together, and for a minute or two mingle their weepings: this process having to be gone through by the stranger with every man in the village, whose rank entitled him to approach the guest. The salutations having been finished, the stranger was left in peace, everyone retiring, with the exception of a chief, or some particular friend, who would remain to see to his comfort. And here at once the innate good-breeding of the Maori came to the front: insomuch as, no matter how anxious the natives were to hear the news, or the purport of the visit, the guest was never pestered with questions, not even as from whence he came, or whither he was going, and it remained entirely to his own discretion as to whether he gave them any information or not. In the meantime, girls brought him water to drink and wash with, others had swept out the whare, brought in fresh fern and laid down new mats for his use. Presently the sound of singing would be heard, and a group of girls, carrying small open trays made from the broad, glazed leaves of the flax plant, would, with a dancing step and a little song, approach him and place them in front of him. These trays contained food, such as pork, eels, enunga (fresh-water whitebait), kora (the delicious fresh-water crayfish), potatoes, pigeons, and sweet potatoes, or any of them the village contained. Anyhow, the guest might be quite sure it was the very best his hosts had to offer. On their arrival the man who had been looking after him would take a morsel of food from one dish and eat it; then, rising to his feet, he would retire, at the same time wishing his guest a good appetite. Everyone else would depart with him, with the exception of one or, perhaps, two girls, who would remain on their knees beside him, to wait on him and tempt him to eat. The evening meal being over, the chiefs would gather round their guest, and, if he should happen to be a man of any importance, long and deep would be the conversation: the subjects ranging from the health and doings of the Great White Queen and her governor, to the most trivial topics of the day. Each man in his turn would state his ideas and reasons, and was listened to with attention; while the guest's words were carefully weighed, and even, if his hearers disagreed with him, the arguments adduced to refute his statements were always expressed in a manner so polite, and in words so carefully chosen, that it was impossible for him to feel personally hurt in regard to his _amour propre_. Of course if the visit had been premeditated the stranger would have come amply supplied with tobacco, which would be passed round, and accepted with a _bien aise_ that quite disguised, or rather hid, their intense longing for it, and would be enjoyed with many a hearty grunt of satisfaction and approbation. Then the girls would haka (dance with songs) in the moonlight, some of them having placed glow-worms and fireflies in their hair. And the sight of flashing eyes, gleaming white teeth, flowing locks and lovely, swaying figures was sufficient to have made old Saint Anthony himself sit up; although the words of the songs that accompanied the dances, and the gestures that in part composed them, were of a nature to shock a far less austere saint, and would perhaps have even extracted a blush from an habitué of the old-time Jardin Mabille. Late night would put an end to the festivities, and the stranger, all his comforts well seen to, might retire to his fern bed in peace. It was a point of honour among the Maoris to protect their guest, as it was a point of honour, on the part of the guest, to stand by his hosts. In the yarn I spun about Orakau, I pointed out how the Taupo and Uriwera tribes refused to render up the pah lent to them to dwell in by the Waikatos, and that sooner than do so they fought to the bitter end. Again, in 1811, when Te Kooti, flying from us, took refuge in the King Country, and demanded the protection of the Waikatos, this was readily granted him; and the Waikato tribes, although they had no personal esteem for him, much less love or even family ties, would have gone to war with us rather than have surrendered him, had the New Zealand Government demanded him from them. A Maori tribe considered it most unfortunate should even an accident befall a guest while dwelling in one of their villages; for if such an occurrence should happen, they ran the risk of being chaffed and held up to ridicule, by the surrounding tribes, for their inability to take care of a visitor. Much more so was this the case during war-time. Should a white officer be detailed for duty to a native contingent, he would be looked after and his safety guarded in ways almost ludicrous and by no means congenial to himself. This was done, because if that officer were killed or wounded, it would reflect the deepest disgrace on the tribe with whom he served; they would never hear the last of it, not only from their friends, but also from their enemies. And these would continually rate them, and charge them with the accusation that it was through their carelessness or cowardice that the misfortune had happened to the man who had been entrusted to them. The Maori was very superstitious. He firmly believed in dreams, visions, omens of all sorts and the gift of prophecy, while the number of unlucky acts he might involuntarily commit during one day was quite sufficient to account for a whole chapter of accidents on the morrow. He regarded the tohungas (magicians) with great respect, so long as their divinations and prophecies panned out; but there are plenty of well-authenticated cases where a warrior has wreaked his vengeance on a tohunga through whose false prognostications the tribe has got into a mess. Nor are incidents lacking to show that prophets, who had earned a reputation for themselves, would not rather commit suicide than allow themselves to be proved wrong in their divinations. Let me spin you a couple of yarns to illustrate what I have just written. It was in March 1865 that the Hau Hau apostle Kereopa, in the course of a few hours, converted the swagger flock of red-hot Christians, who, under the guidance of Bishop Williams, had earned a mighty reputation for sanctity, to the new faith of Pai Marire. The good bishop and his family, barely escaping with their lives from his own sheep, departed to Napier, leaving the Hau Haus in possession of his residence at Waerengahika, at which place they built a pah that was, in November of the same year, attacked by the Colonial forces. The Hau Haus were superior in numbers, but during the first few days the Colonials gained some trivial advantages, and on the fourth day began to sap up to the works, which they had surrounded. This day chanced to be a Saturday, and the working party were surprised by an attack, in their rear, from a body of the enemy's reinforcements seeking to enter the pah, which they succeeded in doing, the working party having to beat a retreat, with the loss of six men killed and five wounded. This trivial success greatly elated the natives and so bucked up one of the apostles that he at once started in and prophesied nineteen to the dozen. Now this Johnny possessed that small amount of knowledge that is so dangerous to its owner. He had been brought up at a mission station, and accustomed to going to church, with great regularity, every Sunday. He therefore thought that all Christians acted in the same way, and that the Colonial Irregulars would be just as methodical in their religious observance as the goody-goody hangers-on at the various mission stations he was acquainted with. Here of course he made a blooming error, for what member of the Lost Legion ever allowed preaching to interfere with fighting, or carried devotional books about with him when he had to hump his own swag. Now this josser, thinking he knew all about the customs of the white man, considered he was quite safe in turning on his prophetic tap. So on the evening after the small success already spoken about he started in and informed his hearers that he had received a revelation, directing the Hau Haus that on the following day, which was Sunday, they were to leave the pah an hour before noon and advance on the white men's shelter trenches, which they would find empty, and that the majority of the latter who had not been turned into stone by the angel Gabriel would be surprised at their devotions and fall a prey, without any resistance, to the tender mercies of the Hau Haus, who, he guaranteed, were to escape, scathless, from wounds or death. These promises seem absurd to white men, but they were implicitly believed by the Maoris, who next day acted on the strength of them. The main position of the Colonials was in the rear of three strong thorn hedges, two of which flanked the third, and these had all been well trenched and were, of course, held, day and night, by a strong guard; in fact the men lived and slept in them. Between the centre hedge and the pah, a distance of less that 500 yards, stretched a smooth meadow, without a particle of cover, and the astonishment of our men was intense when, at 11 o'clock A.M., they saw some hundreds of the Hau Haus quietly leave the pah and advance in two wedge-shaped columns against the centre of their position. At first they thought it was a general surrender, but the war flags the enemy carried rapidly dispersed that idea; and when the two columns were well between the three hedges, and not 100 yards from any of them, the bugle sounded and a tremendous volley was poured into the misguided Maoris, who fell in heaps of dead and wounded men. Notwithstanding the awful shock their nerves must have received from this quite unexpected slaughter, these gallant though fanatical warriors at once charged home and tried to force their way through the strong thorn fence, only to be swept away like flies. And soon the survivors had to beat a hasty retreat back to the pah, lashed the whole way by the heavy fire of the white men, who did not go to church. It was during the advance that the incident I originally alluded to took place. The first volley had smashed the Hau Haus' leading column, the advance of which the apostle led in person; for, to give these prophets only their just due, they never hung back from taking the post of the greatest danger in any of the crazy enterprises that they persuaded their disciples to undertake. Well, the first volley knocked over the prophet, who fell badly wounded, but succeeded in regaining his feet, whereupon one of the chiefs, disengaging himself from the mass of stricken and shaken men, deliberately walked up to him, drew his tomahawk and cleft his skull, then, springing forward, led his surviving followers to almost certain death. This might be called an instance of sharp and ready reckoning, but it was by no means a singular case of rough and rapid retribution; so that, taking into consideration the number of apostles who were knocked over, in a legitimate manner, fighting, and those who were tomahawked by furious and disappointed votaries, the trade could scarcely be called a healthy one, and it must have required a great amount of pluck on the man's part who took on himself the prophetic rôle. But, then, what will not some men risk for notoriety? Now, having finished with this Johnny, let me tell you about another of a somewhat similar kidney. The friendly tribes of the Wanganui sent a contingent to the east coast, to assist us during the Opotiki Expedition, and among them was a first-class, up-to-date prophet named Pitau. The Wanganui, at this time, were not strong in prophets, so that this man was made much of by his tribe, for although some of the young men had begun to deride prophecy, yet the old warriors still implicitly believed in the ancient cult, and regarded Pitau as a valuable adjunct to the field force. Now it was the usual custom of the various tribes, when they went to war, to hold deep consultations with their tribal prophets, who for a consideration would advise and foretell what was going to happen, and if the war was going to prove successful or otherwise. It was so in this case. Pitau was called on to lift the veil of futurity, and, having gone through the necessary incantations, the oracle spoke as follows:--"You will be successful in all things, O Wanganui: only one man will die, and that man will be Pitau." Now this was distinctly rough on Pitau, who must either die or be declared an impostor. Anyhow, the oracle had spoken, and the war party started. The Wanganui reached Opotiki, did their duty well, and on the completion of their service were to take ship for home. Up to this time nearly everything had panned out all right for the soothsayer, with regard to his prophecy: the Wanganui had been successful and had not lost a single man; but the oracle had distinctly stated Pitau was to die himself, yet here he was still alive. It certainly was not his fault, for at the fight at the Kiori-kino, and also in other skirmishes, he had done his best to get killed, but seemed to bear a charmed life; yet if he returned home alive, his name and reputation as a high-toned prophet would be gone for ever. The Fates, however, gave him one more chance, and he grasped it. Canoes, heavily ladened, were pushing off from the shore to the ship: he sprang into one of these, and by his extra weight swamped the canoe. The amphibious natives easily swam ashore, but so did not Pitau, for, raising his arms above his head, he allowed himself to sink down to his rest, among the eels and crabs, rather than allow his prophecy to be unfulfilled. Surely there are many names on the scroll of martyrs who have laid down their lives, to prove the truth of their convictions, less worthy of fame than that of Pitau. And now I think I may spin you a yarn about a personal experience I had of the superstitious fears of the Maoris, although by doing so I must confess to a _mauvaise plaisanterie_ I was guilty of perpetrating, and of which I am thoroughly ashamed, that created a greater emotion, among a party of highly respectable old cannibals, than any convulsion of nature would have caused. It happened in this way: I was well aware of the great superstitious dread the Maoris had of the green lizard. These, although they exist in New Zealand, are rare birds, and during the years I was there I saw but few of them. The Maoris, however, believe that at death one of these lizards enters a man's body, and consequently look on them with horror and abhorrence. At the period I am yarning about, I was located at Ohinimutu, in the hot lake district, and had made a short visit to the town of Napier. During my stay there, while wandering about the streets, I noticed that a speculative storekeeper had added some children's toys to his stock in trade, perhaps the very first that had ever been imported into the country, and as they attracted my attention I stopped to examine them. We are told that Old Nick is ever ready to prompt an idle man, and he must have been mighty adjacent to me that day, for on my spotting one of those old-fashioned, wooden crocodiles, painted a vivid green with bright-red spots on it, I immediately went into the shop and purchased it. The thing was constructed of small blocks of wood, sawn in such a way, and connected together with string, that when you held it in your hand it wriggled, and looked alive, while it also possessed a gaping red mouth and staring eyes. The confounded insect would not have raised a squall out of a nervous European babe of a year old; but, such as it was, I put it into my kit and, on my return up country, took it with me. In due course of time I reached Ohinimutu, where, after a swim in the hot water and a good dinner, I retired to my private abode, a large hut built Maori fashion, but with European door and window, as I knew I should have to give audience to some dozen chiefs of the Arawa tribe, who would call on me to welcome my return and hear the news. It did not take me long to prepare for their reception, and getting the toy out of my kit, I slipped it up my left sleeve, so that it was hidden. I then sat down in a low camp-chair and awaited my victims, who soon arrived, giving me their words of welcome as they entered, and squatting down in a semicircle in front of the fire, all of them as keen as mustard to hear the news. They were a fine-looking lot of old chaps, ten in number, and some of them almost gigantic in size. Old Hori Haupapa must have stood over seven foot high, when in his prime; and the rest were all big men. Anxious as they were to hear the news, still they were far too well-bred to ask any questions, and, as I pretended to be in very low spirits and sat speechless, heaving an occasional deep sigh, they squatted there, conversing in low whispers, with looks full of commiseration for my unhappy state. For a few minutes we sat quiet, then I made signs to the girl who attended on us to hand round the rum and tobacco: which she did. And after each man had been served, letting go a dismal groan, I said: "Friends, I thank you for your words of welcome. My heart is very dark. I have dreamed a dream." Here I paused to let the poison work; for a dream to a Maori audience is always a safe draw, and the muttered grunts and ejaculations, passed round with nudges, showed me they were quite ripe to believe anything. So I continued: "Yes, friends, last night I dreamed a dream, and the interpretation of that dream is hidden from me." Here I paused again, and slipped the toy into my left hand, which rested on my left knee, while I held their eyes with my own, so that, in the firelit whare, none of them noticed my sleight of hand. Then I continued: "I dreamed, O chiefs of the Arawa, that we all sat, as we are doing now, by this fire, when lo! out of my left hand crept a ngaraka" (green lizard). Here again I paused, but so did not my hearers, for old Taupua, glancing nervously at my left hand, at once spotted what he thought to be a dreaded lizard. The grim old warrior let go a howl of consternation and promptly turned a back somersault, thereby drawing the attention of all the others to the noxious reptile; and in one moment these dignified old savages, who would have faced without flinching the fire of a battery of artillery sooner than have committed a gaucherie, were trying to push and struggle through the door, with no more regard to manners or manhood than the ordinary well-dressed Englishman displays who pushes ladies on one side while boarding a tram. The first one to reach the door was an ancient, who did not understand the mechanism of a white man's lock, so failed to open it; and in a moment they were climbing over one another's backs, in their frantic endeavours to escape until the end of the whare gave way, and the big chiefs of the Arawa tribe precipitated themselves, door and all, into outer darkness, where they formed a confused heap of writhing, howling humanity. At last they struggled free, and each man made for his own hut, all fully convinced that something dreadful was going to happen and that the whole community was past praying for. Nor did the panic end here; for in a moment the tribe was roused up and, the awful news being promulgated, in two flirts of a cat's tail, every man, woman and child had cleared out of the kainga. Yes, those who had canoes took to them, and those who had none used their legs, and used them to some advantage, for in less time than it takes me to write it the whole of that congregation of peaceful natives had abandoned their happy homes and fled. Well, after my first burst of laughter was over, I began to count up the cost of my stupid joke, and at once saw I was likely to have to pay dearly for my fun. To commence with, my hut would have to be rebuilt; but that was a trifle. What I had to fear was the censure of the Government, as the Defence Minister was an old Scotsman, without a particle of fun in his whole corpus, so was not likely to view the scatterment of his most pampered tribe with equanimity, and visions of reasons in writing and prosecutions danced before my eyes. It was clear that the first thing to be done was to get the natives to come back to their kainga; but how? I knew full well they would not suffer me to approach within a mile of any of them, and although I had some sterling friends among the fighting chiefs, yet, if I could not get speech with them, so as to explain matters to them, their good will would be of no use to me. Fortunately, among the men dwelling at Ohinimutu was a Ngapuhi native, and I engaged him to act as messenger; but, although he was a red-hot Christian, nothing would persuade him to come near, much less touch, the wretched toy. I, however, induced this man to go over to Mokoia Island, see the principal tribal tohunga, and get him to come across and interview me. Fitting him out with a gallon of rum and plenty of tobacco, I despatched my Mercury and awaited his return in trepidation. On the morning of the second day he reported himself, and informed me that the tohunga awaited me, but that, as nothing would induce the limb of Satan to land, I must go down to the lake, and he would discourse with me from his canoe. So I had to go to the lake and collogue with the old sinner from the point of a jutting-out cape. After I had tried to make him understand the true state of affairs, I produced the toy; but nothing I could say would induce him to believe that it was composed of inanimate wood. No, he could see it move, swore it was alive, and sternly refused to touch it, or even come closer to me, so that he could examine it. At last, happy thought, I suggested I should burn it. To this he consented. So, putting the unfortunate crocodile on the top of a flat stone, I collected some dry sticks and, with him watching every movement, constructed a funeral pyre, and cremated the wretched toy to ashes. Then he consented to land and came up to my hut, where he went through many incantations and gesticulations, although he avoided touching or entering it. Presently he turned to me and said: "This and all it contains must be at once burned. Have you removed anything from it?" I had not; though, expecting something of this sort to happen, I had taken every care that my servant should do so, and that absolutely nothing of value remained within it; so, like a Radical Minister, I only told half the truth. "Set it on fire," quoth he, and this I did with equanimity, as it would only give the Maoris the trouble of building me a better one, so that in a few minutes not a vestige of my late mansion remained. As everything that had been contaminated by the penny toy was now supposed to be destroyed, the old tohunga consented to discuss terms of peace, which consisted as follows:--first, that I should hand over, privately, to the tohunga himself, one gallon of rum, three pounds of tobacco and twenty-five pounds of flour, the said tohunga guaranteeing to at once dream a dream directing the natives to rebuild my house, with great rapidity. Secondly, that at the general tangi, to be held next day, on the return of the natives, I was to provide ten gallons of rum, twenty pounds of tobacco and half-a-ton of flour, all of which was to be consumed thereat. And lastly, should I on any future occasion go to Napier, and discover any more instruments of white man's devilry, I was to bring them to him, when, with a little judicious management, we could work many miracles to our mutual advantage. All these terms having been agreed to, Satan's representative among the Arawa departed, and the next morning all his congregation, accompanied by many of their country friends, returned, when a big tangi with much feasting and dancing took place; but even my very best friends looked askance at me for a long time, while for some weeks the majority of the women, girls and children would fly from me as if I had the plague. You must not think for a moment that this avoidance was caused by ill will, or that the old chiefs bore me any malice for the shameful trick I had played them, or that I was fined the rum, flour, etc., for the evil I had done. Not a bit of it. I was mulct for my misfortune, not for my fault. In their eyes no fault had been committed. If Moses himself had returned to tell them I had played them a trick, they would not have believed him. No; had they not seen the beast come out of my hand at the very moment I was relating my dream? Trick indeed, not much. They looked on me as an awful example of misfortune, and therefore as a fit and proper personage to be politely robbed. Yes, robbed. Had I been a Maori, not only myself but all my family would have been robbed of every single article we possessed in the world, in payment for the affliction of bad luck that had fallen on me; but as I was a white man this could not be done, so I was fined. For is not this in accordance with the ancient custom or law of Muru, which authorises a man smitten by a sudden calamity to be plundered of all he possesses? And what greater calamity was possible to mortal man than to have an obscene lizard grow out of his hand? Therefore I was fined. As for trick, nonsense! What man dare make fun of, or render ridiculous, the dignity and majesty of the head chiefs of the Arawa tribe? I think I may say a few more words on this extraordinary law of muru--a law that Europeans regarded with laughter and contempt; yet it worked very well among the natives, and should any family have met with misfortune and the law not have been put in force against them, they would have considered themselves not only slighted, but insulted. It also, among others, contained one salient good quality, as it caused all personal portable property constantly to change hands, for the family that was plundered one day would, in the ordinary course of events, rob some other family a few days afterwards, so that a canoe, blanket or any household utensil might pass through many hands and, if not worn out during its transits, might at last return to its original possessor. Yet to a white man it did seem funny that a party of natives _en route_ to visit another family, and whose canoe should be capsized when landing, were not only robbed of their canoe, but that the unlucky ones would have considered themselves insulted had not their friends immediately annexed it. I remember well that once, while on a journey to visit a pah, accompanied by a chief of some importance, in fact he was a native assessor--_i.e._ a sort of Maori J.P. appointed by Government--a very queer illustration of the law of muru cropped up. We were to inquire into some trivial case, the defendant being the son of the chief of the place, and the utmost penalty not more than five shillings. Just as we reached the pah my companion, who was riding a fine, high-spirited horse, was bucked off, and while in the act of rising received a severe kick on the croup. He was picked up with much solicitude, all the natives condoling with him. The case was tried and settled, the defendant being mulct two shillings and sixpence, and next day, when about to depart, the horses being brought to the gate of the pah, my companion's horse was not forthcoming. At once I demanded the reasons why, and was informed it had been annexed as muru, for throwing and kicking my unfortunate friend, who at once acquiesced in the judgment and thanked the chief of the pah for his courtesy in paying him such an honour. Again I was on a visit to a pah situated close to the mouth of a river, on the other side of which was another pah. One day my hosts started out to shoot a huge seine net, and of course the whole population turned out to assist or give advice. The noise, as everyone yelled at the top of his or her gamut, was deafening. However, two large canoes eventually got away with the net on board, and after taking a bold sweep returned to shore and landed the sea end. Immediately all hands, redoubling their yells, tailed on to the hauling ropes and pulled and howled with all their might. Just as the bag of the net came in view, a huge shark, that had been encompassed in its toils, made a bold dash, broke the net and escaped, letting out, at the same time, many large fish. The excited and disappointed natives were just dragging the net and the still great remainder of the catch up on to the sand, when their neighbours, apprised by the yells that something unfortunate had occurred, dashed across the river in their canoes, and after a sham resistance of a few minutes swept up and carried off all the remaining fish. They might also have confiscated the net, but did not, an old chief confiding to me that the other side of the river was full of rocks, and not suitable for seine netting; moreover, the net was broken and would require repairing. Such was the law of muru. Of course to yarn about New Zealand without saying anything about the custom of Tapu would be on all fours with yarning about Rome and not mentioning the Pope. So here goes for a few remarks about the ancient but very confusing custom of tapu. Anything animate or inanimate could be rendered tapu by the will, or even touch, of a man who was tapu himself. Tapu might also render a thing so sacred, or might render it so unclean, that to touch that thing would constitute an act of unpardonable sacrilege, or cause the toucher to be looked upon as so defiled as to be ostracised by the whole community, although the act was done innocently and in ignorance. To break a tapu was looked upon, by the superstitious natives, as a direct challenge to the greatly dreaded spiritual powers, and was certain to bring swift and awful punishment. A big chief was tapu, and if he went to war the essence of tapu became doubly distilled, so much so that he could not feed himself, nor even touch food with his hands. Nor could he even touch a cup or utensil that did not actually belong to himself, for if he did so, the article he used at once became so tapu that no one else could use it; consequently it became either his personal property, or had to be destroyed. This in a country where there were neither shops nor manufactories was an impossibility, so that at meal-time a chief had to eat apart, and be fed by either a girl or slave. Truly the sublime approached the ridiculous, to see a grim, tattooed old warrior squatting down, with a small girl throwing morsels of food into his mouth, or with his head thrown back, and his jaws extended to their full width, receiving a stream of water, poured down his throat, from the spout of an ancient tea-kettle. Even an ordinary warrior, not being a slave, lost his back when on the warpath--_i.e._ his back became so tapu that he could carry nothing, much less provisions, on it; and this was also very inconvenient when having to march through a rough, bushed country, without waggons or pack-horses. Food could even become tapu, especially that which remained from the portion served out for the use of the chief, even though no part of his body had touched it; and there is a well-authenticated case, that on one occasion a slave, being on the warpath, found some food and ate it. No sooner had he done so than he was informed it was the remains of the dinner of the fighting chief. This news so horrified the poor superstitious wretch that he was at once taken ill with sharp internal pains, and died. The Maoris always made their plantations in the bush, frequently at a considerable distance from their kaingas, and these, after the potatoes had been planted, would only be occasionally visited by their owners, who, to protect them, would get the chief or tohunga to tapu the plantation; and this being done, the produce would be quite safe from the depredations of others. About the year 1870 some six brace of pheasants were turned loose in the Waikato district, and the principal chief put his tapu on them for seven years. These birds increased and throve in a manner truly wonderful. Not a Maori dare touch one, although long before the period of protection had expired the birds had not only spread all over the Waikato district, but also over all the adjoining ones. And they carried their protection with them, for notwithstanding the fact that they had become somewhat of a nuisance to the Arawa tribe, who were not in any way subordinate to the Waikato chief, yet they respected his tapu, and would have starved sooner than eaten them. It was by making use of this tapu that the wonderful head of game and fish at present in New Zealand has been reared and acclimatised. Should a chief die within his whare, that hut and everything it contained at once became tapu and was lost to use; for as soon as his body had been removed, the door was at once blocked up, and the hut with its contents allowed to moulder away, no one daring to touch, much less remove, one single article. Tapu, therefore, in a manner of speaking, was the antipoise of the law of muru, for if the enforcement of the latter rendered the portable property of an individual or tribe precarious, yet tapu made his title indissoluble; so the two laws or customs got on very well together, and may exist to the present day. I cannot leave my friends the Maoris without speaking about their awful cruelty in torturing and killing their prisoners, and in the foul massacres of helpless women and children. Yet even in this there may be something said in their favour, especially should you compare them, savages as they were, with the human monsters that every Christian European country has produced, when they would be found no more cruel or bloodthirsty. Now I don't want to draw parallels in history, but it rather disgusts me to hear Alva, Tilly, Nana Sahib, or even Te Kooti, run down, while such a cold-blooded villain as Cromwell is extolled. I was taught as a schoolboy to regard Tilly and Alva as the incarnations of Satan; I suppose because they made it sultry for Protestants; but it was not pointed out to me that at the very same time Alva and his Spanish troops were making it hot for Lutherans in the Netherlands, the English troops of Protestant Queen Bess were perpetrating infinitely worse brutalities on the helpless Irish, while the fiendish cruelties of Tilly's wild Croats and Pandours, at the sack of Magdeburg, were equalled, if not surpassed, at Drogheda, by Oliver Cromwell and his canting hypocritical Puritans. I am myself an Irishman, a Protestant, a Unionist and an Imperialist, just as ready to fight for our King and Flag as ever I was during the forty years I passed on the Colonial frontiers, but I can blame none of my countrymen for the hatred they feel towards England, provided they fight like men and eschew all cowardly, underhand, secret societies; and I am convinced it will require many centuries to roll past before the recollection of the Penal Laws and the foul, savage treachery of past English rule is obliterated, while the curse of Cromwell will remain for ever. Nana Sahib and Te Kooti did not, combined, kill as many helpless women and children as either Alva, Tilly or Cromwell; yet, as they killed all they could, they cannot be blamed for that, and I have no doubt that on their arrival in Hades they were assigned just as honourable entertainment and particular attentions as the aristocratic fiend, the priestly murderer or the Puritan cut-throat. It must also be remembered that the atrocities committed by Te Kooti and his fanatical followers might be blamed upon the fiendish faith they had adopted and had never been practised by the Maoris during the previous six years of the war, also that they were more or less fighting in defence of their country against invaders. Again, Te Kooti had been the victim of gross injustice, at the hands of the Colonial Government, insomuch as he had been transported without trial, and that the evidence against him was not only insufficient, but was also of such a nature that the law officers of the Crown could find no excuse even to bring him to a trial, so that many of his brutalities were prompted by a desire for utu, a custom universally practised by the Maoris. Please don't think I have written the above for the purpose of deifying England's enemy, or to slander my own countrymen like a Radical Little Englander, for I would have, at any time, blown the roof off Te Kooti's head, or that of one of his followers, with as little compunction as I have since shot a mangy jackal; but I have written it simply to show that, if savage New Zealand produced one fiend, in the shape of Te Kooti, Christian England produced a worse one in the shape of that sanctimonious hypocrite, Oliver Cromwell, and that therefore we should not endanger our own glass by throwing stones. I alluded just now to the custom of utu, which means payment or revenge, and is very similar to the law of the Jews, that laid down the maxim of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth--an axiom which the Maoris believe in thoroughly. It was the practice of this custom that led to many of the sanguinary combats and massacres that took place between the armed traders and the natives during the first half of the past century. These traders visited New Zealand and exchanged muskets, powder, ironware, etc., for flax, whale oil, curios and men's heads. They were a hard-fisted, lawless crowd, who, in their brigs or schooners, well armed with musket, pike and carronade, would anchor in one of the splendid natural harbours and begin their traffic with the haughty, warlike savages. Business carried on between such men as these often brought about a row, which a musket shot or a slash from cutlass or tomahawk would not improve, and the ship would then sail away, after most likely the killing or wounding of some natives. The remembrance of the blood spilt would be treasured by the Maoris, and the next trader who visited that place would have to pay for the evil deeds of the previous visitor. Now the Maori looked on all white men as belonging to the same tribe, and the custom of utu allowed any man injured by an individual to wreak his vengeance upon any member of the said individual's tribe, provided his particular enemy were absent. In this he was backed up by all the members of his own tribe, especially if blood had been drawn; for tribal blood must be paid for with blood, and no Sicilian clan ever carried out a vendetta more thoroughly than a Maori hapu. This being so, the Maoris eagerly looked for the next vessel, to take their blood payment for the blood spilt. Knowing full well that their canoes and spears were no match for the well-armed ship, they would bide their time and have recourse to treachery. The white men would be received with apparent good will, and, if foolish enough, might be lulled into a mistaken sense of security. This being done, the majority of the crew would be enticed ashore, where, taken off their guard, or separated, they would be attacked, killed and eaten, while the ship, weakened by the loss of so many men, was sometimes boarded and captured, the natives thereby obtaining utu for the original injury done them. Maoris were very punctilious about the honour of their tribes and ancestors, this being carried to an extent almost ludicrous. _Par exemple_, a year or two before I left New Zealand an old woman belonging to one tribe was planting potatoes, and as she shoved each tuber into the ground she called it by the name of one of the principal living chiefs or dead heroes of an adjoining tribe. This came to the ears of the said tribe, who immediately prepared for war, despatching an ultimatum that, unless the plantation and all the spuds it contained were at once destroyed, they would attack their insulting neighbours. The _casus belli_ must seem very absurd to a white man; but it was different to the offended tribe, as when, in the course of events, the murphies became ready for the pot, the scandalous old dame would be able to declare that she was not only devouring their living chiefs, but that, vampire-like, she was feeding upon their defunct ones. I mentioned that the Maoris performed many splendid acts of courage in getting away their wounded and even their dead. This was done not only for love or comradeship, but to prevent the enemy from using their flesh in lieu of butcher's meat, and also to save their bones being turned into useful and ornamental articles by their opponents. For instance, let us suppose that during some ancient war, the Waikato tribe fighting against the Taranaki, the former should have killed and captured the body of a great war chief whom we will call Te Rawa. The flesh of the dead man, in the first place, would be eaten--a great indignity--but that would not be the end of him, for the bones would be preserved, and turned into fish-hooks, flutes and ornaments, the teeth strung nicely on flax, making a necklace; and it was not pleasant for the victim's descendants to hear that their revered though unfortunate ancestor was still furnishing food and bijouterie for the offspring of his slayer. Now all the aforementioned useful articles were called by the name of the man they had, in the first place, belonged to--in this case Te Rawa. The owner of the fish-hook could boast that he was still eating Te Rawa, as he would call all the fish caught by that special hook Te Rawa. Then, pointing to the necklace, he might brag he was wearing Te Rawa, and when inclined for music he would tootle on his flute and proudly declare he was playing Te Rawa; so that the unfortunate descendants of the poor old defunct, whenever they heard of this, would have to blush under their tattooed skins at the very name of their much-deplored ancestor. It was therefore a most sacred duty to rescue a dead or wounded comrade from the enemy, even when fighting against the white men; for although the natives well knew that we did not use their defunct relatives for rations, nor turn them into musical instruments, yet it had become so strong a custom among themselves to guard against such a possible catastrophe, that they still practised it although unnecessarily. I must revert once more to the custom of utu so as to point out the fair-mindedness of the natives should this law be used against themselves. Let me give you just one instance. The circumstance took place after the capture of Ngatapa. Some 130 Hau Haus had been taken prisoners, these being shot out of hand and their bodies thrown over a precipice; but six or eight of them remained alive, in our hands, as it was not certain they had participated in the Poverty Bay massacre. They were confined in a hut awaiting trial and, as all the murdered people were dead, it was a moot point whether these fellows would not get off for want of evidence. One of the men, however, whose relations had been murdered, determined that they should not slip through the clumsy fingers of the law, as alas so many of the blood-stained villains had succeeded in doing. He volunteered to act as one of the guard round the hut and, borrowing another revolver from a mate, he took the first opportunity to enter the hut and deliberately blew out the brains of all the inmates. This act of summary justice was fully approved of by the Maoris, as it bore out the custom of utu; for if the defunct Hau Haus had not murdered the man's family themselves, yet their tribes had done so; and they considered it a square deal, as blood had been paid for by blood. I could yarn on about these queer people for hours and tell you of plenty of other quaint customs, such as their wakes, marriages, etc., also about their industry and other qualities, good and bad, for, faith! they have them mixed like all other people. But if you have followed and appreciated my first attempt it will encourage me to write more of my humble experiences on the frontiers of the Empire with the old Lost Legion I love so well. CHAPTER II HOW MATENE FAILED TO CONVERT THE LOWER WANGANUI It was in April 1864 that Te Ua, the crazy founder of the Pai Marire faith, despatched his apostle and prophet, Matene Rangitanira, to convert the tribes of the Wanganui River to the new religion. Now these tribes were divided into two sections, who, although closely connected by blood, lived under separate chiefs, and notwithstanding the fact that they were allied for mutual support against outsiders still, like many European families, harboured jealousies among themselves. There was also this difference between them: the Lower River tribes had from the first always been friendly disposed towards the settlers, or at all events had tolerated them, while the Upper River natives detested the white man, although the latter had in no way encroached on them, nor had they ever had much to do with them, as their country was at a considerable distance from the English settlements, the only means of communication being the river. The Upper River natives were also, at this time, greatly enraged against the white man and desirous of utu (revenge), on account of the death of one of their principal chiefs, who had been killed the previous year, together with thirty-six of his men, at the storming of Kotikara. Matene, who was a member of the Wanganui tribes, arrived in April 1864, accompanied by a party of Taranaki fanatics, at Pipiriki, an important native village situated on the upper waters of the Wanganui River, and began his mission. At this place Mr Booth, the resident magistrate for the district, dwelt, and although at the moment he was absent in the township of Wanganui his wife and family, together with his brother and his family, were there. Mr Booth was a most popular official with the Maoris, and it is quite possible that, had he been at his post, he might have been able to put a stop to the apostle's preaching before it became too late; but unfortunately he was absent on duty and was much delayed during his return journey by the paucity of water in the river, so that it was the end of the month before he reached Pipiriki, and the evil teaching had taken a firm hold on the natives. Matene made such good use of Mr Booth's absence that in a few days he had converted the great majority of the Upper River natives and had erected a Niu (Hau Hau worship pole), on which Captain Lloyd's head was suspended, and the tribe's men and women, mad with fanaticism, danced furiously round it. During Mr Booth's slow progress up the river the reports he received at every village he passed grew worse and worse, while at Hiruharama the chiefs begged him not to go on, as they warned him that the people farther up had joined the Hau Haus and were all stark raving mad. Mr Booth, however, was grit right through; his brother and their families were in direful danger and he considered it to be his duty, both as a relation and also as an official, to risk everything in trying to save them. He therefore pushed on, trusting to his great influence and friendship with the principal chiefs and tribes to pull him through, so as to enable him to save his brother and their respective families. On his reaching the landing-place at Pipiriki he immediately saw that whatever influence and friendship he may have, at one time, held over the people was a thing of the past, as, instead of the shouts and songs of welcome by the women, and the gladful rush of young warriors to haul his canoe up the bank so that he could land dryshod, all the population lined the high river bank, making hideous grimaces at him and howling like a lot of wild beasts. Giving up all hope and expecting immediate death, Mr Booth sat quietly in his canoe waiting to receive it with the calm courage of a British pioneer, when suddenly a young but important chief, Hori Patene by name, forced his way through the crowd of yelling savages and, jumping into the canoe, started to tangi (shed tears of welcome) and rubbed noses with him. When this ceremony was over Hori persuaded Mr Booth to go home, and although he fully expected to be cut to pieces every yard of the road, still accompanied and protected by the gallant Hori, he succeeded in reaching his house, where he found his wife and children more than half dead with horror and fear, expecting to be tortured and brutally murdered every minute. No sooner had Mr Booth reached his house than Hori started off and crossed the river, returning with Mr Booth's brother and his family, so that all the whites might be together, under his (Hori's) protection, or, if the worst came to the worst, they could all die in company. It was now sunset and the Hau Haus began their devotions, and, as the Niu had been erected in front of Mr Booth's house, the unfortunate inmates could not help seeing the awful cantrips nor hearing the foul incantations. Huge fires were lit, and by their light hundreds of men and women, in parties of about fifty at a time, danced round the pole on which hung poor Captain Lloyd's head. Starting slowly and with low-pitched but deep voices they began to chant the mystic words, Hau Hau Pai Marire, while circling round the ring; but gradually, as the spirit got hold of them, they put on the pace until, like a mob of drunken demoniacs, they leaped, stamped and cavorted round the Niu with foul, indecent gestures, grimaces and contortions of body, far beyond the conception of an ordinary human being, while the mystic words were howled out at the top of their gamuts, so that they resembled a hideous phantasmagoria such as might be seen by a lunatic suffering from a bad dose of d.t. [Illustration: GATEWAY TO MAORI PAH.] Hideous and disgusting as the contortions of the men were, those of the women were worse; for no sooner had the spirit entered into them than in their mad gyrations they leaped at the suspended head, trying, with their teeth, to bite and worry the smoke-dried flesh and hair of the unfortunate officer; and this they continued to do until at length, foaming at the mouth and worn out with their crazy frenzy, they either staggered from the ring or fell in convulsions on the ground, to be dragged away by the next batch of worshippers who were anxiously awaiting their turn. And this awful pandemonium went on all through the night. Just think, my home-staying countrymen and women, who sleep in peace under the guardianship of our splendid police, what must have been the feelings of those English ladies and men who, with their helpless children, had to witness such scenes, knowing and fully expecting, as they did, that at any moment they might be dragged out and, after they had all been subjected to prolonged torture, should then be brutally murdered, with every barbarity and indignity that fiends could invent or devils could inflict. During the night a council was held and Mr Booth could hear the Taranaki men who had accompanied Matene urging the Wanganui to torture and kill himself and family. Nor did the latter seem to want such urging, as of all his whilom friends only Hori and one other man spoke on his behalf, contesting right manfully that the honour of the Upper River tribes would be for ever disgraced should the white people not be allowed to depart in safety, as they were tribal guests. For two more days and another night the unfortunate whites were kept in suspense, Hori and a few other young chiefs, whom he had persuaded to join him, standing between the would-be murderers and their prey. And these noble young savages eventually saved them. It was near sunset on the last of these days, and after a very stormy meeting had been held, that Hori rushed into Mr Booth's house, saying: "At last they have consented to let you go. Come at once; leave all your property to me; for they may change their minds any moment." Immediately they jumped up and followed him down to the canoe landing-place. _En route_ they had to pass through a swarm of armed Hau Haus who had lined the high river bank, and while doing so Mr Booth heard some of them say: "Wait till they get into the canoe and then we will fire a volley so as to shoot them down in a heap." Hori overheard the same remarks and said to Mr Booth: "Take no notice of them. Go slowly until you are out of sight; I and my friends will keep in the line of fire between you and the Hau Haus." This the gallant young fellow did, and, as the murderous brutes dare not run the risk of killing a Wanganui chief, Mr Booth and his party paddled out of shot and reached the township of Wanganui safely the following night. The above yarn is a true though short narrative of one of the numerous attempts made by chivalrous Maoris to protect helpless white men from the blind, ferocious fanaticism of Te Ua's prophets. Alas! it was one of the very few successful ones, though many brave natives lost their lives and suffered torture rather than give information to the Hau Haus as to the whereabouts of white fugitives. Surely their names and actions should be remembered. Immediately after Mr Booth's escape Matene and the Taranaki Hau Haus persuaded the tribes of the Upper Wanganui to attack, with the intention of utterly destroying, the white settlers and thriving township of Wanganui, situated close to the mouth of the river, and at once all hands turned to, to prepare their war canoes for that purpose. Before, however, starting on this expedition, they sent ambassadors to their relations, the Lower River natives, so as to inform them of their purpose, and ask for their co-operation; announcing at the same time that, should their relations not care to join in and make a family party of the expedition, they (the Upper River natives) would still carry out their programme--viz. descend the river and wipe out every white man, woman and child in the district! These emissaries, arriving at Hiruharama, a village that may be called the frontier post of the river tribes, delivered their cheeky message, which to the recipients was intolerable, as the Lower River tribes claimed the right-of-way on the river to the westward of Hiruharama, and although it had been frequently attempted in times past, no war party had ever, up to date, succeeded in forcing a passage, and none ever should succeed, so long as a Lower River native warrior could handle musket or swing tomahawk. This being the well-known determination of the Lower River tribes, the chiefs at Hiruharama returned an evasive answer to the Hau Haus, at the same time despatching a fast canoe downstream, so as to warn all their friends of the threatened eruption and give the tip to the white men of their imminent danger. Then, not being in sufficient strength to withstand the brunt of the encounter, the village was immediately abandoned, all the inhabitants retiring downstream, collecting _en route_ the people belonging to the pahs Kanaeroa and Tawhitinui; but on reaching Ranana they halted, being joined at that place by the bulk of the warriors of the Lower River. Close to Ranana was the island of Moutoa, a classic battle-ground, every square yard of which had been drenched with blood, shed in old-time wars, and on this island they determined, should their relations attempt to carry out their threats and try to force their way down the river, to resist them to the last gasp. In the meantime the Hau Haus, uncertain as to what sort of reception they would receive, were cautiously descending the river, and as they found every village deserted they halted at and occupied Tawhitinui, which was situated some two miles above Ranana and on the other bank, and from this place opened negotiations with their relations. The last few days had been passed by the white population in consternation almost amounting to despair. The outlying farmers and settlers, abandoning homes, stock and everything they owned, rushed into town, where each man anxiously asked his friends: "Can we trust the Lower River natives?" "Will they become converted and join the Hau Haus?" "If so, what then?" True, they possessed one great factor in their favour, and that was the firm and undeviating friendship of old Hori Kingi Te Anaua (the paramount chief of the Lower Waikato), whose name should be remembered and treasured by every white man, woman and child on the west coast of New Zealand. For when the first settlers landed at Wanganui, Hori, then the most renowned warrior on the coast, had taken their leader by the hand, and declared himself to be the friend and protector of the white man, and this promise the pagan cannibal warrior carried out both in letter and spirit till the day of his death. But then, alas! Hori by this time was a very old man, and although the glamour of his great deeds enveloped the aged chief like a halo, and his people regarded him as a being something more than human; still, taking into consideration the astonishing way the crazy Pai Marire faith had been accepted by the Upper River natives as well as by many other tribes, it was very doubtful whether old Hori would be able to restrain them at such a crisis. Moreover, all the Lower Wanganui natives were strong supporters of the Maori King movement, and many of their important sub-chiefs, especially Mete Kingi Te Anaua, a chief only second to Hori in influence, hated the white men; so that the settlers may well be pardoned for their consternation; as, in case the Lower River natives saw fit to join their relations and become Hau Haus, even should they (the settlers) successfully repulse the combined native attack, and save their own lives, still the township and all the outlying farms must go up in smoke. They therefore made what preparations they could for defence and anxiously waited the termination of the native runanga (meeting). As I have previously stated, the Lower River tribes had massed at Ranana, the Hau Haus occupying the adjacent pah Tawhitinui, and on 13th May 1864 the prophet Matene, with a numerous deputation of his newly made converts, paddled over to Ranana to open negotiations. Now it is quite possible, nay, even probable, that had Matene opened the proceedings of the runanga with prayer and incantations, as does the British House of Parliament, he would have succeeded in converting the opposition party and so have gained his nefarious ends; but this he did not do, as no sooner had the deputation been announced than Matene issued this insolent ultimatum--viz. that they (the Hau Haus) were determined to descend the river, peacefully if allowed to do so, but otherwise would win through by force. Whoop, hullabaloo, that ultimatum, short as it was, upset the fat into the fire and brought Haimona, chief of the Ngatipa-Moana and a mighty fighting man before the Lord, on to his feet, who replied: "Och it's force the river ye'll be after, is it? Well, divil a drop of it ye'll mix wid yer whisky beyand the island of Moutoa; mind yez that, ye black-advised, audacious Hau Haus; but av it's a fight ye want, sure there's that same island Moutoa, that's moighty convanient, and maybe ye'll not want to go furder whin we've finished wid ye; so come on now, M'Matene, Esq., an trid on the tail of me mat, ye ruddy heretic, or get back to the ould Te Ua, an' may the cuss of Cromel rest on him and his Pai Marire monkey tricks." Now, as I am trying to be a truthful narrator, I am bound to confess that the above is not a verbatim report of the oration spoken by Haimona, although the sentiments expressed in it are exactly similar and both contained a direct challenge; which challenge was immediately accepted, and as there was nothing further to squabble about, both parties went into committee to amicably discuss the coming fight, settle the details and sign the articles, which were as follows:-- 1. That a fight should take place the following day on the island of Moutoa. 2. That the freedom of the right of road on the river should be the stake. 3. Seeing that the combatants were closely connected by blood relationship as well as by alliance, and that it would be bad policy to weaken the fighting strength of the combined Wanganui tribes by indiscriminate slaughter, it was therefore agreed that only 100 men a side should take part in the combat. 4. That as the Lower River natives were the owners of the island, they should land on the lower end before daylight. That the Hau Haus should land at the top end at daylight and that their disembarkation should be unopposed. 5. That both sides bound themselves to refrain from all ambuscades, tricks or trickery, but were to meet and fairly fight it out to the bitter end. Next morning at grey dawn 100 picked men, of the Lower River tribes, were ferried over to Moutoa, landed and arranged themselves in order of battle, divided into two companies of equal strength, and each company was told off into three subdivisions, these being led by renowned warriors. The leading company or van was commanded by Tamehana Te Aewa, who was also C.O. of the whole outfit, who had under him Hemi Napi as leader of the right subdivision, Riwai Tawhitorangi leader of the centre and Kereti of the left. The supporting company was commanded by Haimona, but, through an error in tactics, it had been located 200 yards in rear of the van, a distance far too great for men armed with double-barrelled guns to render effective aid; and this error nearly caused disaster. To the tick of time the Hau Haus disembarked at the top end of the island but, alas! their pristine chivalry had been already tainted by their infernal religion, as they landed 130 men instead of the stipulated number, which was not cricket. They had also a powerful moral factor in their favour--viz. they (the Hau Haus) believed themselves to be invulnerable, while most of their opponents more than half believed the same thing, so that, notwithstanding their splendid courage and determination, very many of the latter considered themselves to be hopelessly handicapped in having to fight against men who were aided by angels. This nervousness must have increased as Tamehana led the leading company on to the attack, for when within thirty yards of the Hau Haus the centre and left subdivisions fired a volley, of which every bullet flew wide, not one single Hau Hau being hurt; of course this vile shooting had the effect of confirming the fears of the Lower River natives and exhilarating their opponents. The latter made haste to return the volley, and just as they did so a Roman Catholic lay brother rushed in between the combatants, exhorting them to terminate this fratricidal strife. Poor devil, he met with the end that many men who interfere with family jars do meet with, as the volley finished him off before he could finish his first argument; and it has often been a matter of speculation to me as to whether he was a martyr or only an interfering busybody. This same volley also was a most disastrous one for the Lower River natives: Riwai and Kereti with many of their men fell dead, while the survivors of their own subdivisions, disheartened by the loss of their leaders, and now fully convinced of the invulnerability of the Hau Haus, broke their ranks and fell back in disorder. Hemi Nape and his men, however, refused to fly and in a few moments proved that at all events some of the Hau Haus were far from being immortal, much less invulnerable. Fine fighters Hemi Nape and his boys, were and well they bore themselves, but alas! how could they, less than twenty in number, withstand such overwhelming odds?--so that though they fought like fiends incarnate still they were driven back and must have been quickly wiped out. Help, however, was at hand, for suddenly old Tamehana Te Aewa, with the roar of a wild bull, threw himself into the vortex of the combat and, begorra! he made things lively. You see, when the centre and left subdivisions gave way he tried to rally them, but failing to do so he returned alone to the fight, so as to throw in his lot with the lads who scorned to fly. Just at the moment he arrived Hemi had ordered his men to take cover, but that did not suit Tamehana, who charged the Hau Haus like a whirlwind and killed two of them with a clean right and left; then, throwing away his empty gun, he picked up a spear dropped by one of the dead men and drove it through a third one's body, grabbing, as the dying man fell, his gun and tomahawk. The gun was unfortunately not loaded, but he made use of it by braining a fourth man with the butt and then sank the blade of the tomahawk so deep into a fifth man's skull that as he tried to wrench it out the tough handle went to splinters. Immediately he seized his last victim's gun and was about to use it when a bullet struck him in the arm, and he had just time to shoot the man who had wounded him when another smashed his right knee to pieces and put a termination to his day's sport. When he fell the Hau Haus made a rush to finish him off, which rush was met by a counter-charge of Hemi Nape's men, who, although they were all wounded, determined to die rather than allow old Tamehana to be killed or captured. Led by Marino, Hemi's son, for Hemi himself had been shot dead a moment before, they threw themselves on the Hau Haus and made such a determined stand that it gave time to Haimona with his supporting company to come into action. This grim old warrior had been originally posted too far in rear of the van and had lost some time in rallying the fugitives, whom he tongue-lashed out of their cowardly nervousness, his endeavours being helped by the scornful yells and entreaties of the men and women spectators, who, mad with excitement, watched the apparently lost battle from the bank of the river. Then promptly adding the whilom runaways to his own party, he rapidly advanced to make his effort. There was no fear now of the late fugitives turning tail again, for nigh crazy with shame and contrition, they would far sooner face a thousand deaths than be branded as cowards through the length and breadth of New Zealand. Deflecting his advance to the right, he cleared the expiring struggle in which the remnant of Hemi's men were still dying hard, and then by a quick change of front to the left he outflanked the Hau Haus and at close quarters poured in two death-dealing volleys that decimated the fanatics. Then without a moment's delay "out tomahawks" was the order and, led by Haimona himself, the new-comers rushed madly into the fray. Immediately the aspect of the combat changed. Up to this time the Hau Haus had had much the best of it, but now fickle Fortune turned her back upon them and old Tamehana's bearsark rush, together with the glorious stand made by Hemi Nape's men, were to reap their reward; as from the moment Haimona's party took a hand in the game the Upper River natives had to fight, not for conquest, but for their lives. The volleys they had received had killed several important chiefs and many men, while the furious charge of Haimona's party on their left flank all but routed them; still they were Maori warriors, as brave as any men on earth, and although broken and confused they turned to meet the attack with the greatest courage. Now began the last phase of a fight that Homer himself would have loved to sing about. Howling for blood, Haimona's men rushed into hand-to-hand combat. Both sides had discarded their guns, both sides ceased from yelling as they came chest to chest, but the tomahawks gave out a sharp click, as they clashed against one another in the air, that provided the alto part to the sickening scrunch of the inflicting wound, the guttural grunt of the wounder and the sobbing groan of the wounded. Faith! it was a fine fight. The impetuosity of the desperate charge bore the Hau Haus backwards, and in spite of their furious efforts they were forced to continue the retrograde movement, for the Lower River Maoris, fighting as they were with their tribesmen and women looking on, outdid their best, while the men who had previously fled, madly anxious to obliterate their shame, and who, careless of wounds and death, only strove to kill, fought like demons. The Hau Haus were therefore steadily driven back, and as the bloody tussle continued they at last reached the shore of the island, when, unable to make a stand, or retire farther, those that remained on their feet were forced to plunge into the rapid current and attempt to escape by swimming. Of these but few reached the opposite bank, and of those who were lucky enough to do so twenty were captured by Mete Kingi, who, with 350 Lower River warriors, had watched the fight. The end of the prophet Matene brought the whole show to a tragical finale. He had fought bravely through the fight; for, as it is only right to give the devil his due, I may here state that all of Te Ua's prophets were game to lead any cracked-brained exploit they might have persuaded their misguided disciples to undertake, and consequently vacancies frequently occurred in the apostolic ranks. Well, Matene was still alive when the remnant of his men were forced into the river, so he had to frog it with them, and was swimming away for all he was worth when the eagle eye of Haimona spotted him. The chief turned to his aide-de-camp, Te Moro, and handed him his bone mere (a short battle-axe made out of whalebone and greatly used by the natives before the introduction of steel-bladed tomahawks), at the same time pointing out the fugitive and remarking: "There is your fish." In plunged Te Moro, who, swimming rapidly, overtook his prey and grabbed him just as he reached the bank. In vain the prophet tried to save himself by his incantations: "Hau Hau, Pai Marire. Hau----" He gasped the remainder of his discourse, being interrupted by a smashing cut from the mere, and Te Moro swam back, towing the dead body, which he threw down at Haimona's feet. The fight being over, it was now necessary to count the cost. Out of the 130 Hau Haus who had landed 70 lay dead, 20 badly wounded and 20 were prisoners, all the balance, with the exception of one who was known to have made his escape, being probably more or less disabled, were drowned. The loss of the Lower River natives was 16 killed and 50 badly wounded; so that it may be called a very good fight indeed, second only to that remarkable combat between the two Kilkenny tom cats--but then they were Irish, you know. The result of this family fall-out effectually saved the white settlers, as, in the first place, it put a limit to the spread of the Pai Marire religion on the Wanganui River and prevented the Lower River natives from casting in their lot with the Hau Haus, which, probably, they would have done had Matene approached them in a conciliatory manner instead of rubbing them up the wrong way, by threatening to force the right-of-way on the river. The township was saved, as were also the outlying farms and much stock, and the settlers showed their appreciation of the Lower River natives' gallant conduct by attending _en masse_ the obsequies of the chiefs and warriors killed in the fight. This side show, as one may call it, to the general war that was then raging all over the country was kept up in a desultory sort of way and ended in so quaint a manner that I think I may be pardoned for relating the facts. After the gentle passage-at-arms on Moutoa, the discomfited, but still bigoted, Upper River natives retired to their own country, halting when they reached Ohotahi, a pah situated higher up the river but close to Hiruharama. Here they fortified themselves, being allowed ample time to do so by their chivalrous opponents, as it would have been bad form and quite foreign to Maori war etiquette for one enemy to attack another until the defenders had made everything ready for their assailants' reception. It was therefore not until February 1865 that a strong party of the Lower River Maoris, under the command of Honi Hipango, advanced up the river and commenced the siege. At the first Honi gained some advantages, and a few men were killed on either side, though much time was lost in ceremonious sparring; but at last they really got to work, and Honi was preparing to rush the place when he was mortally wounded. His death enraged his men, and the final charge was moving forward when a woman came out of the gate, waving a white flag; she was quickly recognised as being the wife of Pehi Turoa, who in reality was the great ancestral chief of both sections of the Wanganui tribe. The appearance of this aristocratic old dame at once caused an immediate cessation of hostilities, the firing ceased, and both sides, quitting their shelter trenches, met together, squatted down and commenced an elaborate tangi (ceremonious weeping), in which they mutually bewailed the killed on both sides; for the reader must remember that both factions were closely connected by blood. The Lower River natives were now on the horns of a dilemma; eighty Hau Haus were at their mercy, among them being Pehi Turoa himself, and these unfortunates should, by all the rules of the game, be at once immolated as utu for the death of Honi Hipango, Esq. But it was impossible for them to slaughter, in cold blood, their own relations; neither could they make their own kinsmen prisoners, especially old Pehi, for that would smother themselves with dishonour, as it would degrade their own great hereditary chief and a number of their own blood relations to the status of slavery, which would entail shameful ignominy on the whole of the Wanganui tribe. What then should be done with Pehi and his party? It was a very hard nut to crack, and all hands went into committee to solve the problem, which was at last done in this way, Pehi himself being the fount of wisdom from which the adopted suggestion emanated: The old chief propounded that whereas, for reasons stated above, it was inexpedient that himself and party should be knocked on the head, or degraded to slaves, the only other course open was to let them go; and that, as it was unseemly for warriors to promenade around the country unarmed, it would be necessary for them to take their weapons with them. And to this suggestion both parties gave a cordial assent. A treaty was therefore made in which both factions resolved that they would allow no religious rancour to disunite again the Wanganui tribe, and that although each party retained the right to fight on the side of either white man or Hau Hau, yet that said fighting must be enjoyed outside their own country: and this compact was honourably kept to the end of the war. Up till 1869 the Upper River natives as a whole sat tight, then joined us so as to exact utu on Te Kooti for the murder of one of Turoa's relations. The Lower River natives became our most staunch allies, for being men of discernment they quickly tumbled to the fact that it was far more humorous and better sport to fight their old-time enemies, the Taranaki Hau Haus, and draw pay and rations while enjoying their favourite "divarsion," than to stay at home, or, like their misguided relatives, dance round a pole and howl, "Hau Hau, Pai Marire." I think before I terminate this yarn I may tell you about a rather quaint incident that happened during the siege of Ohotaki, and as it portrays an idiosyncrasy or trait in Maori character you will pardon my doing so. Well, one night a party of Lower River natives attempted to surprise an outlying detached post they knew to be weakly held. They crawled up to the place, and were about to rush it when a woman's voice called out: "Take care what you do; Te Miere and Te Mokena are here"--these being the names of two aged men at that time quite past fighting, but who, in their prime, had been mighty warriors of great and bloody renown. At once the storming party retired, for to have captured a place the garrison of which contained two such notable veterans would have injured the prestige of both parties in the eyes of the fighting population throughout New Zealand. CHAPTER III HOW A SCOUT WON THE NEW ZEALAND CROSS Up to the year 1879 the Victoria Cross was not to be won by any officer or man of H.M. Colonial Forces, although one civilian (Cavanagh) had received it during the Indian Mutiny, yet in New Zealand the greatest honour to be won by a Britisher was denied to all but those actually serving in H.M. regular army or navy. This being so, the New Zealand Government obtained royal sanction to issue a similar cross, only manufactured out of gold and silver instead of bronze, to be won by the Colonial troops, and this decoration is designated the New Zealand Cross. The yarn I am now going to spin you is how Trooper George Hill won his while employed as a scout on the east coast. In March 1869 the great hardships, the bitter weather, the large number of wounded and, above all, the cowardice of our allies, the Arawa tribe, by far the most pampered by Government, and the only New Zealand tribe that can be called cowards, necessitated the Colonial Field Force falling back from the high plateau of Taupo to Fort Galatea to recuperate and refit. This gave Te Kooti leisure to look around for more devilments, and he determined to strike another blow at the settlements on the east coast. Calling a meeting of the Hau Hau tribes at Ruatahuna, he proposed to attack the friendly natives and the white settlers at Mohaka or Te Wairoa. The former place was chosen and Te Kooti, with 100 bloodthirsty fiends, started to carry out the raid. Crossing the Huiarau ranges they came to the Waikare Moana lake. Here one of those chance occurrences happened that enabled the astute Te Kooti to keep his hold over the superstitious natives. On reaching the lake he issued orders that no man was to cross over before he did so himself. This order was disobeyed, for a canoe full of warriors at once started. The lake, a very large one and, like all others, surrounded by high mountains, is subject to being swept by sudden and heavy squalls. One of these overtook the disobedient warriors, capsized their canoe and although all managed to get ashore, yet one died from exhaustion, the remainder losing all their arms, food, etc. Te Kooti took advantage of this disaster and made capital out of it. He informed his men that the order he had promulgated had been issued direct from God, and that the disobedient warriors had been punished for non-compliance with it. Then, seeing the weather was propitious, he entered a canoe and crossed in safety, his men following without further misadventure. Te Kooti by doing so gained much credit in the prophet line and stricter obedience from his superstitious followers. The lake being crossed, they pushed on without delay to the Upper Mohaka, surprised before daylight the Arakaihi village, and butchered every soul in it, man, woman and child, with the tomahawk, so as not to alarm some settlers on the other side of the river. When daylight came they crossed the river and murdered with the greatest brutality two white men with their wives and three little children, as also they did another white settler who was unfortunate enough to fall into their hands alive. Not satisfied with his morning's successful battue, Te Kooti and his gang, now increased to 200 men, hurried on to the Lower Mohaka, which consisted of two friendly pahs, with a sprinkling of white settlers, a public-house, store, etc. They arrived there early in the day and at once attacked the smallest pah, known as the Huke Pah. The Mohaka friendlies had received news of Te Kooti's rapid approach and had sent messengers to warn the troops stationed at Te Wairoa, only nineteen miles away, and the authorities at Napier fifty miles distant (of this more anon). Nearly all the Mohaka warriors were absent, and the garrison of the Huke Pah consisted of six men and a large number of women and children. One of the defenders, however, named Heta, was a grand specimen of a Maori warrior, and under his influence they kept the Hau Haus at bay all that day and night, and might have held out, had not Te Kooti resorted to stratagem and by a foul piece of treachery succeeded in entering the works early the following morning, when he caused every living being, regardless of sex and age, to be massacred in cold blood. He then turned his attention to the other pah, Hiruharama, which was garrisoned by only ten men, but also contained many women and children. Here he again tried treachery, but this time failed, as the defenders had seen what had happened at Huke and were determined to die fighting. He therefore had to commence to sap up to the palisades, which were old and rotten, but the nature of the ground, very hard limestone, delayed him. It was now that Trooper George Hill chipped in and took a hand. Te Kooti's lightning raid had been well conceived and brilliantly carried out, but luck was decidedly in his favour, as unfortunately it so chanced that the officers in charge of the safety of Hawke's Bay district were on the whole a very poor lot, as far as efficiency went. Many of the regular Colonial officers had been killed or rendered _hors de combat_ during the previous twelve months, the remainder were with the Field Forces at the front, so that the duty of guarding the settlements was left in the hands of the militia or volunteer officers, and these were quite unfit to cope with Te Kooti. They had plenty of good men, both friendly natives and volunteers, with a sufficiency of Armed Constabulary (the Colonial Regulars) to give them backbone, but the officers (unfortunately) considered discretion to be the better part of valour and mistook timidity for prudence, so much so that they missed their chance and covered themselves with something like disgrace. At Te Wairoa the O.C. had at his disposal 50 mounted men, 25 of whom were Armed Constabulary, splendidly trained and mounted, the other 25 armed settlers, all good men. He also had 200 friendly natives, and the whole of these men were simply spoiling for a fight. With one half of them he could have saved the Huke Pah, and cut up the Hau Haus, very many of whom had sacked the public-house and were lying about dead drunk; but he did nothing, for on receipt of the news, which was quickly confirmed, and although he was quite aware of the weakness of the pah's garrison, he asserted he still had doubts as to the truth of his information and only despatched Trooper George Hill, of the Armed Constabulary, to see if Te Kooti was really playing high jinks at the Mohaka. Trooper Hill left Te Wairoa, on horseback, and rode in the direction of the Mohaka. About half-way he met two mounted settlers, Lamplough and Burton, who, having heard of Te Kooti's advent, were doing a scout on their own; these men at once offered to accompany him, and did so. On reaching the vicinity of the Mohaka they dismounted, tied up their horses and crept up a ridge from which they could observe the place. From this point of vantage they could see the Huke Pah, with the flag still flying, and also the puffs of smoke from the rifle pits of the enemy, so that they were fairly able to judge the number of the attackers and locate the positions they occupied. As there could now be no longer any doubt that Te Kooti and his gang were on the warpath, Trooper Hill, leaving the two settlers, both of them good men, on the ridge to observe the enemy, mounted his horse and returned towards the camp as fast as he could get his horse to go. Unfortunately his horse knocked up, but just then he met three of his comrades, who had been sent out to look for him. Despatching one of them to Te Wairoa with his report, Hill and the other two men, Tew and Mitchell, returned to Mohaka. Here they tied up their horses and joined the settlers on the ridge, so as to keep the enemy under observation and be able to supply the O.C. of the relieving force with information. Of course the A.C. troopers never doubted that a relieving force would be sent at once, probably wondered why there was not one on the job already; but they were not accustomed to militia officers. Their own officers had no use for timidity, and regarded prudence and discretion as very good horses only to be trotted out at long intervals; anyhow, not one of the men on the ridge would have believed an angel, had he informed them that no relieving party would be sent at all. The five men remained on the ridge till after dark, and then descended to the flat where they had tied up their horses. They had, however, been guilty of an act of folly, insomuch that they had not left one of their number in charge of their mounts, for on reaching the place where they had left them tied up they found one of them had broken his tether rope and had levanted. As it was necessary to find the brute, Hill and Tew started away on foot to do so, each man taking his own line of search. The other men, instead of remaining quiet, waited a few minutes, then mounted their horses and rode over the flat to assist in the hunt. While doing so, in the pitch darkness, they stumbled over Tew and foolishly challenged him in Maori. He promptly answered with a carbine shot that killed Lamplough's horse. Burton, fancying Tew to be a Hau Hau, returned the fire, his horse at once bucking him off and galloping away. The third man, Trooper Mitchell, hearing the firing and the galloping of the horses, thought they were attacked by the enemy, so, shouting to Hill to run, he rode as hard as he could in the direction he fancied his comrade had taken, in order to assist him. He had not gone far when his horse turned turtle over a flax bush, fell with him, getting away and galloping off. All of the five men were now dismounted, each man thinking he was surrounded by Hau Haus, so they all bolted for an adjacent flax swamp and hid in the water all the remainder of the night--a just punishment for their carelessness and folly. Daylight revealed the fiasco, and as they were dismounted they took cover and waited for the relief party that did not come. Towards midday 100 Maoris turned up under the command of a grand old fighting chief, Ihaka Whanga, but less than 30 of them were to be relied on, the rest semi Hau Haus, as much to be feared as trusted. At once the ridge was lined and Hill saw that the Huke Pah had fallen, but that the Hiruharama Pah still held out though closely invested. The garrison, seeing friends on the ridge, shouted to them for assistance, as there were not enough men to hold the place should it be rushed. Among Ihaka Whanga's party were twenty-five Mohaka men, and these were the boys ready and willing to grasp at any plan, no matter how desperate, to relieve their relations and save the honour of their pah. George Hill was the man for the emergency. He explained the only plan was to cut their way through the besiegers. He was game to lead, were the twenty-five game to follow? Of course they were. So, without any thought of prudence, discretion, or even modesty, Hill whipped off his boots, tunic, and riding breeches, so as to be able to run the better, and the gallant twenty-six, shouting their war-cry, charged the Hau Hau rifle pits. Yes, they charged and charged home, for they broke their way, by sheer pluck and hard hitting, right through the ranks of the enemy (Hill killing his man _en route_) and reached the gate of the pah, which they entered, only two of them being wounded during the rush. The men left on the ridge opened fire on the Hau Hau rifle pits, until Te Kooti sent a party to take them in the rear, when the untrustworthy natives all bolted, the four white men retired, and only old Ihaka with two of his men were left. These three splendid warriors held the position to the last gasp, then Ihaka gave the word to scatter and try to get away. The two men were caught and killed, but the old veteran managed to elude his pursuers and reach Te Wairoa in safety, where he gave the O.C. his opinion of his conduct. On Hill entering the pah he found it to be manned by small boys and girls, standing on mounds of earth and stones to enable them to fire over the parapet, and that even with his twenty-five men he had not nearly enough hands to man the works. He at once went to the point of the greatest danger, a bastion, and could hear the Hau Haus sapping through the hard ground. He quickly noticed that the palisades were rotten, so much so that if the enemy could sap near enough to throw a pole, attached to a long rope, over the fence, a strong pull on the rope would cause such a breach that a storming party could at once enter, when numbers must gain the day. Fortunately there was in the pah a number of oxen chains; the ends of these he made fast to the big corner posts of the work, and passed the chains outside the weak palisades, so rendering that style of attack abortive. [Illustration: A MAORI GIRL.] In the bastion with him he had only two men, two small boys and three little girls, supplemented occasionally by the Maori clergyman, who, between long prayers for the safety of his flock, hurled all the vituperations and cuss words to be found in the sacred writings at the heads of Te Kooti and his followers. Hill, when he entered the pah, was famished for want of food; he naturally asked for some, and was furnished with a cup of tea, one biscuit and one apple. Surprised at such meagre fare, tendered by the most hospitable people on earth, he asked for more and then ascertained that the food he had just eaten was the very last particles of provisions the place contained. But the garrison swore that before they surrendered they would eat their own children rather than let them fall into the hands of Te Kooti. All the remainder of that day and the ensuing night heavy firing was kept up, the Hau Haus attempting to tear down the palisades; but they were, thanks to Hill's dodge with the oxen chains, unable to gain an entrance, although the defenders had frequently to rush from side to side of the works to oppose them. At daylight next morning it was discovered the enemy had constructed a line of rifle pits, close to the front face of the pah, on which were hoisted flags, and at sunrise, with much bugling, volley after volley was poured into the defenders' works. Hill mustered his scanty and tired garrison to repel the expected rush, and lay quiet, having directed his men to reserve their fire till the rush was made. After some considerable time had passed the flags were suddenly withdrawn, the bugling and volleys ceased, and a dead silence ensued. The defenders, on the qui vive for some fresh devilry, sat tight, until one of them, unable to stand the suspense any longer, crept out and crawled to the edge of the cliff to reconnoitre. He reached the edge, took one glance, and was on his feet in a second, letting out a wild whoop of triumph. Out tumbled man, woman and child; they lined the edge of the cliff, and with one accord broke into a wild war-dance (the parson leading), for still close, but in full retreat, they saw Te Kooti and his baffled gang of murderers. Oh, but it was a glorious triumph, and must be celebrated with befitting honours, that the great false prophet with his much-feared, blood-smeared warriors had to turn their backs on a nearly defenceless pah, whose garrison consisted chiefly of women and children. Trooper George Hill, however, had his duty to perform; he had no time for feasts nor triumphs, for although the Maoris begged him to remain, assuring him the roads would be ambuscaded, he caught one of Te Kooti's knocked-up horses and started along the Napier Road, so as to convey the intelligence that the Hau Haus had retreated. Twelve miles along the track he met with the advance guard of the relieving column, who had taken three days to do a journey that should have been completed in eight hours. The men, mad with the procrastination and incompetency of their officers, were nearly in a state of mutiny, but it was of no avail; for although Trooper Hill reported Te Kooti had retreated, and offered to guide the mounted men on his track, and at all events regain the plunder, nothing was done, and the Hau Haus were allowed to retire in peace. There is no need for me to say any more about the officers, plenty was said about them at the time they were incapable; let them rip. Trooper Hill, however, did not think he had yet finished his work, for as soon as he had snatched a bite of food he volunteered to go out and scout for some of the unfortunate white women and children who were known to be fugitives or hidden in the wild bush and fern ranges. This he did, and succeeded in finding, relieving and bringing into safety several of the wretched, starving creatures, who otherwise must have died from privations. Trooper George Hill received the New Zealand Cross, and I for one say he richly deserved it, not only for the courage he displayed in action, but also his gallant conduct saved the honour and repute of the white man amongst the friendly Maoris who were disgusted by the unfortunate behaviour of the officers. CHAPTER IV A HAU HAU MARTYR Let me spin you a yarn of how a Maori was so imbued with fanaticism that he faced in cold blood extinction for the same. Many of the Hau Haus, bloodthirsty, cruel fanatics as they were, whom the Colonial forces ruthlessly knocked on the head during the latter half of the New Zealand wars, are just as much entitled to be enrolled in the army of martyrs as are the early Christians or any other poor devils who have perished by fire or sword for believing and sticking to their faith. Again, there are many instances of Hau Haus who were so strong in their convictions that they of their own free will deliberately offered themselves up to undergo the fiery ordeal by leaving their harbours of safety and, unarmed, trusting alone to spiritual aid, faced certain death; and I have never read of any persecuted communities doing the same. When in 1865 the Pai Marire religion was promulgated by a demented Maori named Te Ua, the two principal promises held out to induce the Maoris to join the new religion were: first, that they should be rendered invulnerable in action; and, secondly, that they should be granted the gift of tongues. They were also promised the assistance of legions of angels, and that those white soldiers who were not turned into stone should with the rest of the settlers be driven into the sea, after which the natives should be given the knowledge of all the European arts and sciences. Please note he made no promise about a future state, nor, like Mahomet, did he invent any gorgeous paradise, thronged with pretty girls, where free drinks would be served out _ad libitum_. Now these were queer promises to captivate a Maori warrior, as after the first excitement there was but little in them to induce him to abandon Christianity and cling to Hau Hauism. Let us take them _seriatim_, remembering at the same time that the Maori is an astute reasoner. First of all the promise of invulnerability. Well, that would be all right so long as they only had to fight against the white man, but the pakeha was to be driven out, and what would follow then? War was the Maori's greatest pleasure, and each tribe hated his neighbour quite as much as he hated the white man. Yet his neighbour was to become just as invulnerable as he was to be himself. Where, therefore, would be the fun if he could not kill his enemy, eat him, nor turn his bones into useful and ornamental articles? Bah! the zest of war would be gone. Then again the second promise. What on earth use could the gift of tongues be to a man when there was not to be a single foreigner left in the country with whom to collogue? As for the other promises, they were not worth a row of pins, for if the warriors became invulnerable they wanted no further angelic aid; and as far as acquiring the arts and sciences went, so long as they could learn how to make rum and grow tobacco, all the rest could go swing, they being willing to live as their fathers had lived before them. Now I am sure that if the natives had only reasoned as I have just done they would not have thrown off their Christianity in such a hurry and become stark raving Hau Haus; but they seem on this occasion to have lost their wits altogether, for, carried away by the crazy incantations of Te Ua's apostles, they not only embraced the new faith, but believed in the truth of it, so much so that there are plenty of instances of their laying down their lives for it--and no man can do more. Another wonderful thing is that even after four years' continuous fighting, during which period the angel had not only failed to bear a hand, but had not even rendered one man invulnerable, as apostle, priest and warrior had been put out of mess by the white man's bullet, still they were strong in their faith, and there are plenty of instances of Hau Haus, believing in the promise of the angel, offering their bodies as a target so as to prove the truth of their religion. And now for the yarn. The scene is a Maori kainga on the east coast of New Zealand, date 1869, time of day about 9 A.M. The village, composed of some twenty huts, stands in a clearing surrounded by dense bush, and in the foreground stands the Niu, the sacred pole round which the fanatics perform their mad dances and mystic incantations. I said it was a Maori kainga; so it had been, though the only Maoris at present inside it are perhaps a score, and these lie about very dead indeed. The remainder of its whilom inhabitants have fled away into the depths of the bush and are safe from the pursuit of the strong party of Colonial Irregulars, who, having, after a long, wearying night's march, surprised and rushed the place at daybreak, are now in occupation of it. These men, having eaten their frugal meal, and worn out by their overnight's march, with the exception of the guard lie around booted and belted and with their carbines by their sides, trying to get what sleep they can, as at any moment they may again be called upon for active service. On the low fence surrounding the Niu ring, which is about thirty feet in diameter, the ground within the magic circle being trampled as hard and smooth as stone pavement by the feet of its former worshippers, lounge some half-dozen officers smoking and dozing. The day is a fine one, the sun shines hot, the white men rest, the Hau Haus, far away in the recesses of the bush, bind up their wounds and talk of utu (revenge). No, not all of them, for the undergrowth parts and out into the clearing strides a big, stark-naked Maori, who, without paying the slightest attention to any of the astonished and by now wideawake men, passes through them and, without apparently seeing the group of officers, enters the Niu ring, where, after saluting the pole, he prances slowly round it, chanting in a minor key the words: "Hau Hau, Pai Marire" (Wind, wind, good, peaceful), over and over again. Gradually he gets up steam and, paying no attention to the throng of armed enemies who now surround the mystic circle, he cavorts higher and faster, while his monotonous chant is raised to the full gamut of his deep, bass voice. Presently he foams at the mouth, his features become distorted, sweat pours through his skin like water, on his hands held rigid his fingers quiver, while with leaps and bounds his stamping feet beat time to the chant of "Hau Hau, Pai Marire." How long this exhibition would have continued the Lord only knows, for it was brought to a sudden termination by a big Scotch Presbyterian sergeant, who, being as bigoted as they make them, could not tolerate the ritual of a foreign denomination, so he stepped out of the crowd of men and, as the fanatic devotee pranced past him, he with a leg as brawny as that of a Highland stot let fly a kick, at the same time exclaiming: "Hae done, ye pagan, wi yer satanic cantrips." Out flew the No. 12 boot, which, catching the unfortunate bounder fair and square on the crupper bone, launched him through space till, the momentum being expended, he landed on his nose at the Colonel's feet. "Get up," quoth the O.C. in Maori, at the same time giving the officious non-com. a look that made the ower-guid mon wilt. "Now, what made you come here?" The Colonel spoke the language like a native, and what he did not know about Hau Haus was not worth learning, so he was not in the least bit surprised when the somewhat blown native staggered to his feet and answered him in perfect English: "I came here among you to turn you all into stone, and should have done so had not that man, whose head is fit to be boiled, interrupted me." "Ah," replied the O.C., "I know you; you assisted Nama to torture women and children at Poverty Bay." "I did," triumphantly exclaimed the fanatic. "Sweet is the blood of women and children." (Note this fellow had been mission bred and educated, in fact had acted as a lay Bible reader.) "Ah, is it," growled the Colonel. "Sergeant O'Halloran, detail four men, take this fellow to that tree and do your duty." The Sergeant saluted smartly, quickly told off four men, advanced to his prisoner, whose arm he grasped with a shoulder-of-mutton fist, at the same time exclaiming: "Come along wid me, ye bloody-minded Fanian." A few steps took them to the huge tortara-tree that had been pointed out, against the trunk of which the Sergeant, drawing his revolver, placed the Hau Hau. "And now," said he, "a Christian ye were wance, and a bloody pagan ye are now, bad luck to the likes of ye, but ave ye wist to recant and make yer sowl, sure it's foive minutes I'll give ye to make it.--Fall in, boys, tin yards forninst us." Now no good soldier man, be he regular or irregular, likes to make one of a firing party, told off to shoot a man in cold blood, law or no law, and it is usual in such cases to detail the worst characters in a regiment to perform that obnoxious duty; but when it comes to letting daylight into a fiend who brags of having tortured helpless women and children, then no frontiersman jibs at making one of a party to do so. Therefore, no matter how distasteful the job might be to any of the four men told off on this special occasion, they fell in with great alacrity and brought their carbines to the shoulder like one man. "Hurry up, ye spalpeen, and make yer sowl," quoth the Sergeant. "You can't shoot me," replied the fanatic, "the great Gabriel and all his angels protect me; you can't kill me." "Nabocklish" (maybe not), answered the imperturbable non-com., "but by the holy poker we'll have a darned good try. Will yez call on the blessed saints or not, ye contumacious blaggard?" "Hau Hau, Pai Marire," shouted the fanatic, raising his arms, stretching them to the full extent and turning the hands, palms outwards, towards the firing party. "Ah, thin ye won't," growled the now somewhat enraged non-com., "thin go to hell yer own way. Ready!" "Hau Hau, Pai Marire," yelled the fanatic. "Present!" ordered the Sergeant. "Hau Hau, Pai Marire," triumphantly shrieked the Maori. "Fire!" "Hau Hau" bang came all together, and the misguided fanatic, smote full in the chest by four sneider bullets, collapsed and fell on his face as dead as Julius Cæsar. Now was that Hau Hau, blood-stained brute as he undoubtedly was, a martyr or only a bally fool? Remember, he had only a few hours previously escaped from out of a sharp fight in which many of his co-religionists had been killed, and after winning through to safety himself he is so strong in his faith that he voluntarily returns alone and unarmed to justify the truth of his conviction, although he well knows he is facing certain death providing he be wrong in his belief. You may call him which or what you please, but I maintain that he is just as much to be enrolled in the army of martyrs as any of the poor devils who were stretched on red-hot gridirons, or were put to death in other unpleasant ways, for testifying to what they believed to be the truth. CHAPTER V A BRUSH WITH BUSHRANGERS (_Told by the Old Identity_) In Australia, during the early seventies, bushrangers were still to the fore, who with cattle-thieves and hostile blacks made the squatters on the back blocks keep their eyes skinned, and the banker in the bush townships cash a cheque with one hand, while he kept the other on his revolver. True the mounted police were very good, none better, but, like the British army, there were not enough of them, and the amount of work in covering, protecting and patrolling such enormous areas of country was far beyond what their limited number could properly do. Indeed, there are plenty of well-known cases where the bushrangers have overcome the police, handcuffed them in their own station, then stuck up the bank and, after raiding the town, started off on the best horses in the place and disappeared into the bush, not to be heard of again until they bailed up a coach, or stuck up some station, perhaps 150 miles away. Well, to get on with my yarn. Some six and thirty years ago I was on leave in Australia, and was putting in some of it as a guest on a large cattle run and sheep station owned by two old friends of mine who had already become wealthy men, and who owned an enormous number of cattle and sheep. The house, like most of its sort at that time in Australia, was built of split slabs of wood, with a shingle roof. It contained four good-sized rooms and a very wide hall running right through it, which was used as a dining-room and lounge. The kitchen and offices were close to, in rear of the house, and the men's quarters, stables, store and outhouses were near by. The whole block of buildings stood in the open, and was surrounded by wire-fenced paddocks, so that no one could approach within a long distance of the house on any side without being seen. My friends' home staff at that time consisted of six white men, all good and to be relied upon, also two China boy-cooks, and a few aborigines (black fellows) who were used as trackers and stock-riders. All of these men were well armed, so that with our three selves we made a garrison quite able to beat off any attack of bushrangers or blacks. I had come up from Brisbane with one of the partners to join in mustering semi-wild cattle, cutting them off from the bush by moonlight and driving them into a mob of tame cattle driven along for the purpose, and then forcing them into a run that led to the stockyards, where they would be drafted and disposed of. There is no more exciting work in the world for a good horseman who is well mounted, can use a stock whip, and who puts no excessive value on his neck or bones. The cutting-out was to begin next week, and some of the best of my friends' numerous and splendid stud of horses had been brought in from the paddocks and fed up on hard food, so as to get them into good fettle and wind for the work. At Brisbane and all the way up by Cob & Co.'s coach we had heard plenty of shaves about bushrangers, especially of one gang led by a scoundrel called Ginger, who, having been hunted over the border from New South Wales, was making things lively in Queensland; as if that colony had not sufficient blackguards of her own growth to look after. These shaves were confirmed at the small bush township, where we left the coach, by the solitary trooper in charge there, who informed my companion that the sergeant and other troopers were away on patrol after this bounder. There was no telegraphic communication in those days, and all the information we could get was that Ginger's gang consisted of four, or it might be eight, men. So our traps having been placed in a light cart that had been sent for them, we mounted two slashing horses and rode the forty miles to the station, my friend hearing the news from his head stock-rider, named Blake, who had brought over the horses. This man, a splendid stamp of a Sidney-side Colonial, was convinced we should hear more of Mr Ginger, but feared we should be disappointed in our muster, as our neighbours, having to look after their own homes, would not come in for it. Well, we reached the station, and I put in two days very contentedly indeed, picking and trying my horses, selecting a stock-whip and kit, and amusing myself generally, so much so that on the evening of the second day, after a good dinner, when we were sitting smoking under the verandah, I bothered my head not at all about Ginger. Presently one of my friends looked up and said: "Hallo, here's someone coming, and in no end of a hurry too." We looked and saw the township trooper riding as fast as he could get his horse to travel towards us. He reached us and dismounted, giving his pumped-out horse to one of the blacks who had come for it, and took and drank thankfully the proffered drink, then said: "Mr--Ginger is in the district, and I have been riding since yesterday morning giving the squatters notice to be on the qui vive. I left your station to the last, as the inspector knows you are well armed and your men are to be relied on." "Come and have something to eat first and tell your yarn afterwards," quoth my host, and we adjourned to the hall, where, after the trooper had eaten with the appetite of a half-starved dingo, he informed us that Ginger had reached the district, sticking up stations on his way, and that the inspector with fifteen men were on his track. He had evidently intended to stick up the township, but the arrival of the police had prevented this, so he disappeared, and the inspector thought he would make the attempt to break south again. He therefore requested my friend for the loan of as many men and horses as he could spare, so as to accompany the trooper and stop a gap called the divide, through which the scoundrels might try to break, and where he promised to meet them, during the next twenty-four hours, but at the same time warned them not to leave their station short-handed, as it was quite possible Ginger, close pressed, might try to stick them up so as to steal fresh horses and food. Blake was sent for, a short council of war was held and his proposal that himself, two of the white men and two black trackers should accompany the trooper was decided on. "And perhaps," said he, "the Captain here would like to come with us; fighting is in his line, and, my word! if we corner Ginger we shall have some." Now Ginger was no business of mine, unless he attacked me; but, being an Irishman, I could not let the chance of a fight pass, and although my friends tried to dissuade me, I determined to go. We were to start at midnight, so we who were to go lay down to get what rest we could, leaving the others to get the horses ready for us. At midnight we were roused up, and after swallowing a mug of tea and some food, a hurried glance over my horse and kit, to see that my water-bag was well filled and properly slung to the D's of my saddle, we started. We were all superbly mounted and well armed, each man carrying two revolvers; I would sooner have carried a carbine, but I was dissuaded, and we had cause to regret it. The fight might have finished much sooner had I done as I judged best; but I was in what was to me a foreign country and, having no official status, gave in to the others. So we started, the blacks leading; and they did lead us. No sooner were we clear of the paddock fences than we broke into a canter, and made for a dense line of bushes about five miles off, and just as we reached it the moon went down. I expected to see the blacks pull up and walk their horses, but not a bit of it. On they went at the same pace. The bush was some miles through, but no crow could have crossed it in a straighter line than they did. On reaching the open ground on the other side we halted and dismounted, for a short time, so as to give our steeds a blow. It was now pitch dark, with not even the glimmer of a star, yet no sooner had we mounted than we broke into a canter again, and rode through open park-like country and bush till the east began to lighten, when we pulled up at a small water-hole. This was the spot our guides had aimed for, and it was at least twenty miles from our starting-point, so it will give you some idea of the marvellous abilities of these creatures. To be able to ride twenty miles at a sharp pace, through trackless country, on a dark night, and exactly strike the spot they aimed for, was to me wonderful. It may not strike you so, but try it. We off-saddled, rubbed down, watered and fed our horses out of their nose-bags, then ate some cold mutton and damper, and dozed for a couple of hours, leaving the blacks to keep watch over us and our horses. Saddling up again we rode through clumps of bush and up gently rising ground towards a range of heavily bushed mountains, some ten miles off, through which ran the divide, or pass, we were to guard. We halted when we reached the foot of the range, and took cover in a small clump of bush, off-saddled and sent one black on foot to scout the pass and find by the spoor if anyone had crossed it during the last twenty-four hours. Of course, being an utter stranger in the land, I knew nothing of the lay of the country, nor even where the pass was; but a rather acrid discussion took place between the stockriders, who declared we were badly posted, and the trooper, who asserted we were not. Unable to give an opinion either way, I was lying down with my head on my saddle when we were roused by some shots. I jumped to my feet just in time to see our scout burst out of a clump of bush and run like a hare towards us, closely followed by four mounted men firing at him. They were about 500 yards off, and had I had my carbine I could easily have covered the black, and perhaps have ended the job there and then; but my carbine was like the Dutchman's anchor, left at home, so there was nothing to do but throw our saddles on and try to save him. Quick and smart as we were, we were too late to save poor Tarpot, who was ridden down and riddled. As each of us got into his saddle he charged, and the bushrangers, seeing us coming, turned and galloped back to the bush from which they had issued. I was the fourth to mount, and as I galloped out of the bush I saw the three men in front of me riding in file as hard as they could gallop, with as much as from twenty to thirty yards between them. This was rot; as, if the bushrangers made a stand on reaching their bush, as they were certain to do, they would simply shoot us down from behind cover, one after the other. I therefore shouted to the leading men to rein in and let us get into line; but their blood was up, and on they went. I pulled out to their left, and Blake and the remaining black pulled out to my left. We were therefore in extended line, some fifty yards to the left rear of the last man of the leading three who were in file. The distance was short, and as we were all riding like fiends we soon crossed the open ground between the two clumps of bush. The trooper, who was the leading man, was within thirty yards of entering it when I saw him throw up his hands and fall headlong from his horse. In a second No. 2 had done the same, and a moment later No. 3 went down, horse and man. Myself and the other two, riding wide of the line of fire, escaped and, although several shots were fired at us, gained the bush unhurt. Then, being on equal terms with the bushrangers, we wheeled our horses to the right and rode at them. Just at this moment I heard shouts and shots going on close to, at the other side of the bush, but had no time to inquire if it were friends or foes. I spotted a horse's head coming round a tree-trunk, and was ready for the rider. He appeared, and saw me; but I had him already covered, and had the pleasure of seeing him lurch out of his saddle and come a heavy crumpler. My mates were alongside of me, and we were just going after another bounder, whose horse's hindquarters were disappearing, when an officer and three troopers broke out on us, and called on us to bail up. In less than a minute we explained who we were, and I was just starting off after the fugitives when the officer called on me to halt, and in a rather haughty manner informed me that he was in command of the party, and that he intended to halt until he had collected his scattered men, some of whom were wounded. As he only stated the truth, I was not such a fool as to feel offended with him, so I went with Blake to see if anything could be done for our fallen mates. The trooper and the first stockman were both dead, the third man was unwounded, but his horse had been killed, and he had been knocked stiff and silly by the heavy fall. However, after some water and a stiff nip he was soon all right, and swearing he would make the blank-blank-blankety-blank bounders who had killed his pet stock horse and his mate sit up. We quickly caught the loose horses and were soon joined by the officer and his troopers, who were a very fine, smart-looking crowd, but, to my mind, far too big and too heavy for this sort of game. They had two of their number badly wounded, but had wounded and captured three bushrangers, so that, with the one I had put out of mess, Ginger could now have only three men with him. The officer, therefore, determined to follow their spoor with our party and four of his own men. Messengers were despatched to other patrols and to the nearest station to obtain a conveyance for the wounded men, and we started under the guidance of Jampot, our remaining black. "Do you think he will be able to track them?" I asked Blake. "My word," he replied, "Jampot has now a blood feud against Ginger, and will follow him to the death. Ginger may turn and twist how he likes, but unless he can grow wings, or kill Jampot, Jampot will kill him." I had seen plenty of tracking in my time--I even had the cheek to fancy myself a bit at it--and had seen good work done both by white men and Maoris. I had even seen a tame black fellow after stray cattle; but I was now to see a real warrior black, with a blood feud, at the game. I expected a great deal, and I was not disappointed--in fact I saw more than I had ever imagined to be possible. Well, we were ready to start. Jampot had made use of the time in transmogrifying himself into a fiend, and he certainly looked a hideous nightmare in his war paint. Jumping on his horse, he rode to the end of the bush, circled once or twice to take note of the different spoors, then broke into a canter and rode nearly due south. Mile after mile he kept on, over all sorts of ground, through bush and over hard land, never pausing for an instant. "Do you mean to tell me that that black fellow can see spoor going at this pace and over such ground as we are now on?" said I to Blake. He only nodded his head and muttered: "My word!" This is a great Australian expression, and will signify almost anything. We came to a creek, and Jampot was off his horse in a second and was examining the rocks round the water-holes. All at once he held up his hand; Blake and myself went carefully to him. Blake and he talked gibberish for a minute, then, turning to me, the former said: "Jampot tells me one of them is badly hit and can't go far." "How on earth does he know that?" "He has seen blood on the trail and can tell by the tracks on these rocks." "Tracks?" I said. "Where are they?" He spoke to Jampot, who immediately put his finger on several places on the rocks. I examined the spots closely, but could see nothing, not even when I used a prospecting-glass I had in my pocket. Yet this marvellous savage could distinguish spoor with his naked eye, and had spotted blood-marks on the trail while going at a smart canter in blazing sunshine, where I could only now and then just barely see hoof-marks. Jampot was now very keen to go on, so after we had given our horses a blow and a few go-downs of water it was a case of mount and canter. Away we went, Jampot leading; but now he went slower, and occasionally swerved from his line, bending down and regarding the ground intently. We had only gone a couple of miles or so when he turned in his saddle and, with a grin on his face a fiend would have envied, pointed at a small clump of bushes to his right front, and made directly for them. Drawing our revolvers, we followed, to find him dismounted, bending over the body of a dead man. He was a fine-looking, clean-built young fellow, and seemed far too good for the game he had been playing. But there was no time for moralising; so, preventing Jampot from mutilating the remains, we again mounted, broke into a canter, and went on. The weight they carried had now begun to tell on the troopers' horses, and they showed signs of having had enough of it: and presently we came to a dead horse. He had been wantonly shot, and it made my blood boil to see the poor brute lie there. We were now approaching a long bare line of hills, and suddenly Jampot let a yell out of him and pointed at them. I unslung my field-glasses, and could see three men, dismounted, leading their horses, nearly at the top of the range, and about three miles in front of us. We at once gave our horses the spur and went for them. They reached the summit, paused for a minute or two to give their horses a blow, mounted and disappeared over the sky-line. We reached the hill, jumped off, and hurried up it, leading our horses; but the gallop had finished the troopers' nags, and when we got to the top the officer found, with the exception of my party, he was alone. His horse was done, and even the hard-fed, splendid mounts of myself and mates had begun to show symptoms of distress. Quickly unscrewing the top of my flask, I emptied the spirits into my water-bag, and forced my horse to drink the contents. My comrades immediately followed my example and the noble beasts soon bucked up. In the meantime the sergeant had reached the top, and with the officer and Blake held a consultation as to where we were, Jampot being called on to assist. He spoke to Blake, who turned round and ejaculated: "My word, those hounds are making for Edwards' Station. It's only six miles off. The men are away; there are women and children there, and fresh horses." The officer at once said to me: "You and your party are the best mounted and the lightest weights. Jampot may be able to take you a short cut. Ride like fury. You may be just in time, and if it comes to fighting you know all about that; but on no account leave there till I come." He said something more about not letting the bushrangers get fresh horses; but his words of wisdom were left behind us, for we were off, and I had the wildest ride I ever had in my life. The slope of the hill was steep and rough, but we tore down it at full pace. Our horses, maddened with the spur, almost seemed to fly, clearing rocks and fallen timber as if they were simply straws, while we, rendered desperate by the thought of the danger of the women and children, urged them on with voice and spur, though we wisely gave them their heads and let their mouths alone. They were all bush-bred horses, knew their work and did it without a fault or fall, which would have been certain death to both man and beast. Well, we came to the foot of the hill and each man, taking his own line, although Jampot still led, galloped through the bush, every man riding all he knew. Soon we came to the open and saw the house; yes, and we saw something else, for in front of it stood three knocked-up horses with hanging heads. A paddock with a heavy post-and-rail fence lay between us, so, catching hold of our horses' heads, we sent them at it. Over we went, in line, and charged for the house, a woman's scream causing us, if possible, to put on pace. Just then we saw a man coming from the stable leading three horses, and he saw us at the same time. Our appearance, from an unexpected direction, must have rattled him a bit. The horses he led, excited by the sound of our galloping hoofs, became restive and started plunging, so he let them go as Blake rode for him. I heard the pistol shots, but could pay no attention, as out from the French windows rushed two men. They made for the horses, then, seeing they had no chance, turned and opened fire on us. The man nearest me had a big red beard, and I knew he must be Ginger, so I rode at him. Jampot rode at him too, firing as fast as he could; and this most likely upset Ginger's aim as, although I heard bullets whistle past me as I lay on my horse's neck, I was unwounded. When I was within twenty yards of him I fired twice and circled left, so as not to crash into the house. Both shots took effect. He fell, and was still trying to cover me when Jampot, jumping off his horse, rushed up to him and shot him through the head. Blake now joined us, slightly wounded, having accounted for his man, and we found our other mate on the ground badly hurt; he had succeeded in also dropping his man, who, preferring to be hung instead of shot, surrendered. I entered the house and found the ladies unhurt but badly frightened. They, however, with the self-control and handiness of colonial women, at once set to work to tend the wounded. Jampot was still amusing himself with the remains of Ginger, but, as it is against my principles to allow heathen ceremonies to be performed on a white man, no matter how big a blackguard he has been, I made him desist and help me to look after the horses, the real heroes of the play. The China boy-cook came out of his hiding-place and started to cook huge supplies of food for ourselves and the troopers, who turned up soon afterwards. A swim in a water-hole, a good dinner, a long sleep, and on the following morning myself, Blake and Jampot returned home. CHAPTER VI THE SCOUT THAT FAILED (_Told by the Kia Tangata_) Scouting, like every other sort of business, has its ups and downs, and a scout may often fail to obtain the information he has gone out to gain, through no fault of his own. He may even lose the number of his mess, be captured, or have to ride or run for his life, notwithstanding the fact that he has played the right game from the start, until something happens, and he fails, frequently through bad luck, or because the vigilance of the enemy renders it impossible to achieve success. It has been my lot, as it has been the lot of many a better man, to fail frequently while scouting, and on more than one occasion I have been spotted by the enemy and have had to ride or run hard to save my bacon, without completing the duty on which I had been despatched. A yarn about one of these occasions may amuse you, although there is but little information as regards scouting in it. It was in the year 1869 that we were after Te Kooti and the rebel Hau Haus in the Taupo district, and were building a chain of forts from Napier to Lake Taupo, so as to cut off the Uriwera and east-coast Hau Haus from the King Country and Taupo rebels. Lake Taupo is a huge expanse of water on the high plateau in the centre of the North Island of New Zealand, and is fed by many rivers, creeks and boiling springs; but there is only one outlet to drain off its superfluous water, and this is called the River Waikato, which debouches out of the north-east corner of the lake in a deep and very rapid stream, running east, then bends north and north-west, forming a big bow; then turning to the north it eventually makes a sharp turn to the west, and flows into the Pacific Ocean south of Manakau Harbour. This river, fed as it is from the big lake and also by innumerable tributaries, is, although not very broad, a most dangerous one to cross, especially while it is descending from the high plateau, as it either rushes through high banks or tumbles in foaming cataracts among large rocks until at last, as if tired with its exertions, it becomes a well-behaved, navigable river, and forms what was in early times one of the only roads into the interior of New Zealand; but during its whole course from the lake to the ocean it is a dangerous one to play with. On the precipitous south bank of this river, some 200 yards from the lake, we were, in 1869, building a redoubt called Tapuaeharuru (the Place of Sounding Footsteps), and it was from this fort that I was ordered to ride to Te-Niho-te-Kiori (the Rat's Tooth), an enormous pinnacle of rock that springs from the ground just where the river starts on its long flow to the north. I was therefore, as it were, to ride along the string of a bent bow and, if successful in reaching this rock, to try and open communications with another column supposed to be in its vicinity. It was not what some people might call a safe journey: road there was none, and the route I had to take was through country that, although it could not be called mountainous nor thickly bushed, was covered with manuka scrub and wire grass, with here and there a clump of heavy timber, while an occasional column of snowwhite steam, rising into the air, denoted a boiling spring. These columns were of different magnitude, and as I knew which side of the river the principal geysers were on, and their situation, as seen from the river and fort, they proved most useful landmarks to me later on in the day. At daybreak one lovely morning I plumped my saddle into a canoe and was ferried across the stream, my horse swimming astern, and on gaining the bank, after drying his back, I carefully saddled-up, lit my pipe and, with a cheery "So long" to the men who had paddled me over, mounted and rode away. As soon as I was out of rifle-range of the camp I was in No Man's Land, and every native I met would be an enemy. I had twenty-five miles to ride to get to the Rat's Tooth, and had to depend entirely on my own wit and the good qualities of my horse to save my hair, in case I fell across any parties of wandering Hau Haus. My orders also directed me to look out for any signs of the enemy, and in case I cut a spoor I was to prospect it and try to ascertain if it were the track of a Taua (war party) or not. The horse I rode was indeed a noble brute. Standing fifteen hands, he possessed every quality that a scout's horse should. Not only was he very well bred, fast and strong, but he combined the manners of a lady with the courage of the lion, could scramble like a cat and swim like a fish; and all these qualities he was destined to display before that day was over. As, if possible, I was to return the same day, I rode light, carrying nothing on my saddle except half-a-feed for my horse and a couple of biscuits for myself. I wore neither tunic nor sword, but carried a carbine, with the usual revolver and knife, while my dress consisted only of a smasher hat, shirt, breeches and boots, with very short-necked spurs. "There is nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream," sings the poet, but I'll gamble that a smart canter on a high-bred, free-going horse beats dreaming all to fits, and is much better for you. Anyhow I thoroughly enjoyed the first part of that ride through the sharp, clear air, notwithstanding that I had to keep every sense on deck, and my thoughts, concentrated by looking out for an enemy or for hostile spoor, were occupied with far sterner matters than love or dalliance. For the first six miles or so I made good progress, the ground being fairly open and the obstacles quite insignificant; but then I reached a part where a chain of heavily bushed hills ran on my left hand for some miles, the river being six miles to my right. The pumice-stone flat over which I was riding was here much cut up by gullies running from the hills to the river; some of them containing creeks, the remainder being dry, but all of them with nearly perpendicular sides, which, except in places, were not to be negotiated by horse or man. As the depth of them varied so did the direction, some of them running into one another, while the others ran direct to the river. These I had to cross, and it was very nasty, dangerous work, in more ways than one. First of all I had to look for a place where my horse could descend into the bed of the gully, at the same time looking out for a place on the other side up which we could scramble. This took time, as occasionally I had to ride a considerable distance up or down the edge before I could find a place suitable either to descend or to get out again; and it would have been an act of madness for me to have gone down into one of these ravines without having spotted a way of getting out again. Yet, at the same time, cross them I must. Again I had to make mental notes of every crossing, and take bearings, so that I should remember each gully and how to get back. I never forgot for a moment I was in an enemy's country and that perhaps my return journey might be expedited by a taua; besides, I had to keep my eyes open for an ambush, as it was quite possible I had already been spotted from the hills, among which many Hau Haus might be lurking, as the Maoris always make their plantations in the bush. I had crossed some ten of these gullies when I came to a very big one, about forty feet deep and perhaps fifty yards broad. With trouble I could get down into this, but could not see, although I rode a considerable distance along its edge, any way of getting out on the other side. There was, however, another gully running into it that apparently took a northerly direction--the way I wanted to go--and if I entered this one and followed it I might be able to regain the level of the plain farther on. It was a very grave risk to run, but it was a case of Hobson's choice, that or none; so, after a long look at the hills, to see if I could spot any signs of danger from them, I hardened my heart, descended with a nasty scramble and made for the entrance of the gully I had seen from the plain. I had no sooner reached the mouth of it than I reined up sharply, for there, clearly defined, and not twenty-four hours old, were the tracks of at least twenty, perhaps thirty, horses that, coming from the north, had turned to the right on reaching the big gully and proceeded towards the hills. As there was no spoor returning, it was evident that a number of the enemy must be located in their bushed recesses, and, in case they should have spotted me, they would most certainly do their best to cut me off. Yet, as their horses had used the gully, there must be a way out of it, and if I made a push for it I could take advantage of it to regain the level of the plain; anyhow it was no use staying where I was. I must go back, or go on. Naturally, I was keen to complete my duty; so as soon as I had taken a good look at my carbine and revolver I entered the gully and rode forward at a steady pace. For nearly a mile it ran with a few bends due north, the bottom of it being smooth and the sides perpendicular. Then the bed began to rise with a gentle slope, until it eventually rose to the level of the plain. Its width was in no place more than ten yards across, and it had been formed by some convulsion of nature that had caused the surface to sink, and it looked as if it had been gouged out of the earth. There are plenty of these freaks of nature on the Taupo and Kaingaroa plains, sometimes like the one I was in, accessible at the ends, and others with precipitous sides all round. Well, I had just got to where the gradual slope began when I heard a row behind me and, looking round, saw over twenty natives riding as hard as they could in pursuit. They were still some 300 yards away, and as soon as they saw I had spotted them they started yelling like over-tortured fiends. It was certainly time for me to hump myself, and I increased my pace so as to put a greater distance between us, while I rapidly thought out the best plan to shake off this undesirable company. Had I been on open ground I should have regarded the contretemps with placidity, and perhaps have enjoyed picking off a few of these howling sinners, but, mixed up as I was among the network of vile gullies, it was no joke, and the sun was on their side of the hedge. The only feasible plan I could think of, was to follow the enemy's own tracks, as where they had travelled with horses so could I, until I was clear of these confounded gullies. You must remember I was quite ignorant of this part of the country, never having crossed the river before, and only knowing that if I kept due north I should cut the river; and on its banks was the Rat's Tooth I had to find. The Hau Haus, on the other hand, would know the country, and all the spots where they could cross the gullies thoroughly, and would, of course, try to cut me off. With these fiends in pursuit I should have no time to look for crossing-places whenever I came across a ravine, and I was sure these existed as far as the range of hills, which still extended for some miles on my left, ran. Therefore I must follow the natives' spoor, so as to strike their crossing-places, and make use of them. Of course I might fall in with a fresh gang of Hau Haus, but I had to risk that; needs must when the devil drives; and although I had not Old Nick behind me in _propriâ personâ_, yet those who were, so remarkably resembled him as to quite make up by quantity any deficiency they lacked in quality. I had not the least fear, bar accidents, of their being able to catch me by riding me down, as my hard-fed, splendid-conditioned horse for pace and staying powers was far and away superior to their half-starved, grass-fed nags; and even if they had a good animal or two, looted from settlers, among them, yet these would have so deteriorated in their brutal hands as to be quite unfit to cope with my gallant mount; besides, in a long chase, like this might be, riding and handling would count a lot, and even if one or two did press me I could back my carbine against their guns, as a Maori is a vile shot. All these thoughts passed through my brain during the few minutes I was galloping along the gully and gradually ascending to the level of the plain. But Bobby Burns speaks the truth when he remarks that the schemes of both mice and men are liable to go crooked; for my hastily and maybe well-thought-out plan was all blown to blue blazes the moment I emerged from the gully, as it was all I could do to swing my horse to the right to prevent riding slap-bang into a big gang of Maoris, some of whom were mounted. This party were making for the entry I had just left, for as I shot out of it the nearest of them was within ten yards of me. They straggled in a diagonal line, about 100 yards long, across to what was evidently the outlet to another gully, as in the hurried glance I took of them I saw a horseman emerging as if from the ground. The presence of these bounders, although not exactly astonishing, was most undesirable, and I sent my horse along, so as to escape nearer acquaintance with them; nor did they seem to be quite pleased with me, as they all started yelling like fiends, and those who carried their fire-locks capped at once fired them off in my direction, while with one accord they all began to chase me. It was high time for me to get out of that, but my horse's pace soon carried me clear out of gun-shot danger, and I quickly edged away to my left to try and find, when I reached the gully, which I knew must be close in that direction, a crossing-place, so that I could get round the enemy's flank and still carry out my duty. One thing I was sure of, the Hau Haus would never give up the pursuit so long as there was the ghost of a chance of catching me. As I expected, I soon came to a ravine running east, towards the river, and at the first glance saw that it was a teaser. Over twenty feet in depth, its sides, composed of hard pumice-stone, were quite perpendicular and unnegotiable, even by a monkey. I therefore had to continue along the brink, while a loud, jeering yell made me understand that the natives well knew there was no possibility of my being able to cross it. I was annoyed, more than annoyed, and I determined to solace myself by picking off one of the hilarious bounders, but decided first of all to try the other flank. Letting my horse go, I again crossed, diagonally, the enemy's front, only to find myself, after a gallop of not more than 400 yards, brought up by a similar gully. Again the jeering yell broke out, and I knew I was cornered between these infernal ravines and the Waikato River. I halted and turned so as to take a good look at the pursuing Hau Haus, and determined to make it hot for the leading man, but was sold again, as I found they had extended in line between the two ravines. They were over a hundred in number, including at least forty mounted men, these latter being scattered among the footmen, with the exception of some eight or ten, who rode together about a hundred yards in rear of the line, with the evident intention of strengthening any part of it, should I charge and try to break through. This for a moment I thought of doing, but on looking towards the spots where the only two outlets I knew of were situated, I saw clumps of men stationed at them, so I was convinced it was no use charging, at least not at this period of the game. The deliberate way the Hau Haus were advancing showed me that they knew it was impossible for me to break away to either flank, and that they were systematically going to pen me up against the river and try to capture me alive. This I determined they should not do; somehow I was convinced that my day had not yet come, and I had such an inner conviction I was going to wriggle out of my scrape that I felt quite easy about myself and only anxious about my horse. The moment I halted the enemy began to poke fun at me. One shouted: "Get fins, like a fish, for yourself and horse, then swim the river." Another wag roared out: "Grow wings like a pigeon and fly back to your home." This was advice which, although not solicited, could scarcely be called rude. But another ribald ruffian was not only rude but grossly personal, for, running out in front of the line, he howled out, with the most insulting gestures: "Render yourself up to us; the women are making ready the ovens, and I hunger for your flesh." I shouted back, and my voice carried far in those days: "You whose head is fit to be boiled" (the most awful insult in the Maori tongue), "thou at least shalt not partake of the feast; go feed on the spirits of your fathers." The old sneider carbine, though laughed at nowadays, was true up to 300 yards, and the Maori was not more than 200 yards from me. He had just begun to make some nasty, uncalled-for remarks when I proved the correctness of my prophecy to him, by dropping him in his tracks, thereby cutting short what might have been a most eloquent oration. A wild yell with a wilder volley answered my shot, and the line made a kokiri (short charge) in my direction. I only lingered long enough to shout in Maori, "I have caught the first man" (a most important and lucky omen in Maori warfare), then turned and cantered away out of rifle-range, as it would never do to have my horse wounded. It was high time I should put on my considering cap and think out the situation and my future movements. It would have been far more to my advantage had they followed me in a straggling mob, as then I could have picked off the leaders, and it would have denoted anxiety, on their part, lest I should find some possible crossing by which I could escape; but the quiet, methodical way they were going about their business showed me that they considered my chance of getting away was nil, and that they had made up their minds to risk nothing, that the gullies could not be crossed, so that their intention was to drive me before them to the river's bank, and hive me there at their own convenience, the river being uncrossable. But halt! Was the river uncrossable? I knew it to be a very dangerous one, even for such swimmers as my horse and self, who together had crossed many a bad river before; but I was also aware that the natives' great dread of it was caused by superstitious nervousness, just as much as it was caused by its actual dangers. Of course there were very many parts of it quite impossible, but perhaps I might find a place where a determined attempt would have a chance of success. Anyhow I would go and have a look at it. The river was not more than three miles from me and I cantered steadily towards it, so as not to tire my horse, but still give me time to examine the banks and select the best places to enter, and get out of it, provided I should make up my mind to risk the crossing. It did not take me long to reach the bank, and I rode along it from one gully to the other. Both of these ran down to the water's edge, and the bank of the river near both of them was fully twenty feet high, and perpendicular; but half-way between them was a natural depression in the plain, that ran at a gentle slope down to the bank, where it was only four or five feet above the water, which was very deep right up to the bank. This depression slanted upstream, a point in my favour, and this was evidently the place I must take-off from. The river was indeed a noble one, quite 200 yards broad, and evidently of great depth. Its enormous volume of water, forcing itself along, confined by the high banks, reminded me of a big fat boy buttoned up tight in a suit of clothes far too small for him, wriggling and writhing about, trying to make them more comfortable. I next turned my attention to the other side, to see if I could spot a place up which we could scramble. The far bank, though lower than the one I was on, was still very steep, and I knew there must be a great depth of water under it; but some 200 yards downstream the land ran out to a point, and there was just the possibility of my horse finding footing there. The current also seemed to set from my side of the river towards this point, and if so it would help me enormously. I tested this by tearing off a branch from a bush and throwing it in, when I saw it rapidly swept towards the spot I hoped to make. The rate at which it was carried also gave me some idea of the tremendous rush of water, the surface of which seemed to writhe and winkle as if in mortal anguish, while the numerous whirlpools informed me what a furious undertow there must be. Great was the risk we should run in attempting to cross, yet under the circumstances I determined to run it. I felt certain I was not going under that day, and anyhow a clean death in the sweet, cool water of the river was far preferable to being turned into long pig by my brutal pursuers. Then again they might kill my horse and catch me with sufficient life remaining in me to make it worth their trouble to torture it out of me. No fear, I wanted none of that; the river was my dart, especially as my old nurse had always assured me of quite another kind of death than drowning, and, sure, she was known in my part of the world as a knowledgable woman. The few minutes I had sat and watched the stream at the taking-off place, I had talked to and explained matters to my glorious horse. What's that you say? a horse can't understand you? Rot! you taxi-cab, motor-busing new chum. A horse you have treated as a pal, and not as a slave, will understand any simple matter you explain to him, far better than the ordinary Englishman can understand the beauties of tariff reform. Bear that in mind, you mud-splashing, dust-creating greenhorn, if you ever want to become worth your salt on the frontier. Anyhow, my horse understood me, and I rode up to the plain again. The Hau Haus were not far off, and when they saw me regain the level they evidently thought I had funked the river and was going to try to escape on terra firma, for they saluted me with loud laughter and jeers. Unbuckling my wallet straps, for I had them on my saddle, although I had left the wallets themselves behind me, I carefully fastened my carbine across the pommel of the saddle and also crossed the stirrups. Then, as a farewell to my pursuers, I shouted: "O ye slaves and dogs, I go to bathe in the Waikato; come with me, if ye be not afraid." I turned my horse and, gripping my saddle, with thighs and legs like a vice, I started at a canter down the slope, increasing my pace and urging him on with my voice, until at last we charged the river at full gallop. The noble animal knew well what I expected from him, for as soon as I gave him his head he pointed his ears and, gathering himself together at every bound, without a swerve, the slightest balk, or the least hesitation, measured his take-off to a nicety, and leaped far out into the air. I was quite prepared for the plunge. I had twisted my hand well into his mane, and had taken a deep breath as we made the spring. I felt the rush through the air, and saw the shining water below us, that seemed to rise and meet us, but I felt no shock; for although we must have raised the deuce of a splash, and must have sunk somewhat, yet we seemed to come to the surface immediately, and the first sensation I noticed was the current tugging at me, as if trying to pull me out of my saddle. We had taken the water exactly as I hoped we should do--that is, with the horse's head turned well upstream--so that the tremendous force of the current, although it swept us rapidly downstream, yet carried us diagonally across it. My horse was swimming deep but magnificently, and was not a bit flurried or nervous, and although the current kept tugging at me I had small trouble in retaining my seat, while I eased him in every way I could, talking to him and encouraging him the whole passage. The crossing seemed to take but a very short time, and I saw we should reach the bank above the point. I was very glad of this, as the current ran round the point like a mill sluice, and I did not know how it set on the other side, or what sort of a bank there was round it. We neared the shore, and I turned the good nag's head towards it, for him to make his effort, but feared the water would be too deep, as although the bank sloped, yet from the water it looked very, very steep. Just as we reached it I felt the noble animal give a tremendous heave, with a mighty rearing plunge; his hind feet must have touched bottom, for he landed with both fore feet on the bank. Like a flash I was over his withers, taking the reins with me, and scrambled to my feet on the slope. It was with difficulty I could keep my footing, but I managed somehow, and, tugging at the reins, I shouted his name and encouraged him all I knew. Gathering himself together, he made another tremendous spring and, with me scrambling in front of him, in a few bounds he reached the top, where I lavished much praise and many endearments on him, these being cut short by the song of an Enfield bullet as it whistled over us; so I led him under cover, loosed his girths, unbuckled my carbine and returned at once to the bank. We had crossed, they might try, and as I had had more of their company than I desired, I intended my carbine to dissuade them; I examined its breech and found that, notwithstanding its bath, it was in good working order, so that was all right. My appearance was greeted with yells, a straggling volley and a frantic war-dance. I never lack in politeness, so, to return their compliments, I danced a step or two myself, shouting, "Come to me, come to me"; then, dropping to a prone position, I took careful aim at a Johnny who was executing a _pas seul_. My shot spoiled his performance, for he sat down suddenly and was quickly removed by his friends. I have heard that actors retire gracefully from the stage when the gods express their disapproval by heaving defunct cats and doubtful eggs at them, but I should think they would greatly expedite their movements if a man opened out with a carbine. Yes, they would quickly leave a clear stage; at least it was so in this case, as the company I disapproved of, cutting their dances short, dispersed in a moment, taking their wounded man with them, and hastened in their exits by two more bullets, both of which, I fancy, touched meat. The Hau Haus having retired, I returned to my horse, removed the saddle and gave him a good rub-down with a handful of fern; then we lunched together. His oats were none the worse for their ducking, while my biscuits, if pulpy, were palatable, and we enjoyed them. The sun quickly dried me and we made for home. There was no chance of reaching the Rat's Tooth from the side I was on; besides, I considered it my duty to inform my colonel of the presence of the Maoris. Another thing, what were they doing there? I suspected they had large plantations of potatoes in that bush, and that when they blundered up against me they were on their way to dig them up and had brought their horses to carry them away on. If my conjectures were right, I now knew where to find them. After a hard, scrambling journey over fern ridges we reached the fort, and I reported to the colonel, who babbled a bit at my failure to complete my duty, but was quite pacified when I told him my conjectures about the potatoes. He was not an Irishman, true, but he dearly loved a spud, and if my ideas about them turned out correct, the capture of these potatoes would be of enormous value to us, as the Government were at their wits' end how to keep us and our horses supplied with rations, while the loss of them, to the enemy, would be very severe. That night a strong force, on foot, under my guidance, crossed the river and made for the big gully where I had first seen the spoor. We made a smart night's march, hoping to surprise the enemy and catch them on the hop. In that we failed, their outposts being well on the alert; but in the ensuing skirmish we killed a few of them, captured all their horses and an immense quantity of potatoes, large numbers of these having been already dug up and packed ready for transport, so that my friends the Hau Haus had worked hard for nothing, except our benefit, and I felt very pleased. Was I spiteful? I wonder. But somehow, now I have spun the yarn out, something seems to have gone wrong with it; for when I come to look at the heading it distinctly states that the tale is to be a yarn about the Scout that Failed. And now I come to think it over, I was really not scouting at all, but only trying to open communications with another column, though to do that is certainly the work of a scout, and I moreover was a scout, but yet I was not scouting. Then as to Failure. Sure if I did fail to find the Rat's Tooth, faith! I found the spuds. Therefore the title is a misnomer or I've put the wrong yarn to the right title, or the wrong title to the right yarn, but anyhow, failure or not, you've the yarn, so digest it and make the best of it, as we did the potatoes; and I assure you there was no failure about them. And as now this finale has bothered me as much as those confounded gullies did, I must confess that after partaking of perhaps too many of those spuds, and very good they were, I broke out into poetry in honour of my glorious horse. I will only give you one verse, so don't run away: "A man may love a bow-wow, or a man may love a girl, He may prate on points of pedigree, or rave about a curl, But a trooper can love both of these, in a tiny way of course, For most of his affections are lavished on his horse. Oh, some men love a steamer yacht, and some love jaunting cars, And I hear that in a big balloon men soon will visit Mars; But here's a toast you all must drink, refuse it if you can, A health to the noble warhorse, God's greatest gift to man." Don't throw pannikins at me, but blame potatoes and ration rum taken on an empty stomach. Good-night. CHAPTER VII SOME MIRACULOUS ESCAPES I HAVE KNOWN "There's a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft And looks after the life of poor Jack." DIBDIN. By miraculous escapes I mean those escapes from death that have been entirely engineered by the Power above, who has preserved the life of human beings when they were utterly helpless, and who, for some inscrutable reason, saves one life and allows others to be destroyed. The yarns I am now going to spin will illustrate, I think, what I have written above. About midnight on 6th September 1868 a New Zealand Field Force, under the command of Colonel McDonnell, consisting of 200 white men and 70 friendly natives, left camp, crossed the deep, rapid and icy-cold River Waingongora, and started to attack Tetokowaru in his stronghold Te-ngutu-o-te-manu. I am not going to inflict on you the miserable yarn of the unfortunate fight, as I have written it elsewhere; suffice it to say that the great majority of the 200 white men were untrained new chums, and that over 40 of them bolted at the first volley. The remainder stood their ground, although they refused to extend; so we lost one-third of our number, killed and wounded, in less than a quarter of an hour, and had to retreat, leaving our dead and many wounded men behind us. So that you can understand the position of affairs, I may tell you that Colonel McDonnell, retaining the command of 100 of the white men, had sent the remaining 100 under Major Von Tempsky, to act on the right of his own party, and, as soon as he saw that nothing but a retreat could save the remainder of his force, he sent Captain McDonnell, his brother, to Von Tempsky with orders for the Major to retreat at once, and join up with his own party. This order was delivered, but a few seconds later the Major was shot dead. Captain McDonnell then gave the order to Captain Buck, who promised to carry it out. Captain McDonnell returned to his brother, and the retreat began. Instead of immediately obeying the order, Captain Buck endeavoured to recover the Major's body, and was at once shot dead, without having passed the order on to anyone else. The next senior officer, Captain Roberts, took command of the party; but, as he was ignorant of the order to retreat, he still continued to hold his ground, until he was informed by some of his men that the Colonel had retreated. Joined by a few friendly natives, he retired by another route, and led the remains of his shattered and worn-out party into camp next morning. Having given you a rough idea how things stood with our men on the afternoon of the 7th (please remember the date), I will now start the yarn. It was late in the afternoon when Captain Roberts began his retreat, pursued by a party of Hau Haus. His men, nearly all new chums, behaved badly; but with a few good men, and the friendly natives who had joined him, he kept the enemy at bay till nightfall, when they drew off. Now among his party he had a man named Dore, one of the Wellington Rangers, and a new chum. This poor fellow had his arm, just below the shoulder, smashed to pieces by a bullet, fell, fainted from loss of blood, and was abandoned. When he came to, he found himself stripped of everything, with the exception of his tattered and blood-stained shirt. He must have been discovered by the pursuing Hau Haus, who had evidently thought him dead, but who, although they stripped him, forbore to tomahawk him or mutilate his body. This in itself was a marvel, and shows that that sweet little cherub must have taken his case in hand, as, with one other exception, the Hau Haus were never known to omit tomahawking and mutilating a dead body. The poor chap hid in a hollow rata-tree, and when it was quite dark attempted to find his way back to camp. He, however, was a new chum, knew nothing of bush work, and consequently lost his way, wandering in a circle, and always returning to the vicinity of the blood-stained pah and ferocious Hau Haus. This he continued to do for three days; but on the evening of the 10th he managed to get out of the bush into the open country, and made for the camp. All this time he had been without a bite of food, with a severe raw wound, with only the fragment of a shirt to protect him against the icy-cold sleet and frost, and although all that time in the close vicinity of the Hau Hau pah, he miraculously escaped being spotted. As I said before, on the evening of the 10th he found himself in the open country, and struck out for the drift across the flooded Waingongora River. He remembered reaching it, then lost recollection. How he crossed that drift, a very bad one even for a strong and healthy man to tackle alone, is more than a miracle; but he always asserted he was fired on while doing so, and fainted on reaching the bank. Here he was only two miles from the camp; but his mind became a blank, for he wandered about till the evening of the 12th, when he was discovered by a patrol, coming out of a clump of bush, and he was brought into camp. Now, just consider for a moment what this man Dore went through, and what awful dangers he escaped. Badly wounded and found by the most savage fanatics on the earth, yet, against their custom, they neither tomahawk nor mutilate him. Then he wanders for over five days, through bitter frost and cold, with an open and untended wound; he escapes the notice of the enemy, crosses, while weak from the loss of blood, starvation and pain, a most dangerous river, and yet, when brought into camp, his wound heals long before those of men who are not nearly so badly hurt, and who have not been through his awful experiences. You may call it luck. I maintain it was the work of that sweet little cherub, who, for his own reasons, "bossed up the whole show!" In many of my yarns I have mentioned the massacre at Poverty Bay that was engineered by that arch-devil, Te Kooti, and his gang of fiends, called Hau Haus. On 10th July 1868 Te Kooti and some 200 Hau Haus landed at Whare-onga-onga, having escaped from the Chatham Islands. They had overpowered the guard there, seized the schooner _Rifleman_, forced the crew to sail them to Poverty Bay, and had landed some fifteen miles south of the white settlements. Owing to the criminal negligence of the Government, who, because they wished for peace, persuaded themselves they had got it, the defence force had been disbanded, and even the arms and ammunition removed from the adjacent districts, so that the settlers were almost helpless, while Te Kooti was soon joined by all the restless fanatics in the country. Major Biggs, who was in charge of the Poverty Bay district, made head against Te Kooti, with whatever men and arms he could scrape together, but with small success. He was also guilty of an unpardonable piece of folly, as he allowed the settlers to remain on their scattered homesteads, and delayed collecting them together for mutual support, although warned to do so by friendly natives, who offered to assist in building defensive works. For this delay he paid dearly, as he and the whole of his family were surprised and, with the exception of one boy, brutally murdered. It was on the night of 9th November that Te Kooti made his raid on Poverty Bay. On that night Captain Wilson, second in command, was sitting in his house writing, when a party of Hau Haus, under a fiend called Nama, knocked at the door and informed him they had a letter for him from Hirini-Te-Kani, the head chief of the district. The Captain, however, had his suspicions, and told them to pass the letter under the door, at the same time arming himself and calling his servant Moran to come to his assistance. Moran slept in an outhouse; but he succeeded in breaking through the enemy, and joined his master. The Hau Haus, seeing they could not deceive the Captain, tried to force the door open with the trunk of a tree. The Captain at once opened fire on them, and forced them to drop it; so they then set fire to the house. The white men fought on until the house was in full flare, when Captain Wilson accepted the Hau Hau offer of life for himself and family, provided he surrendered. It was a choice of that, or being all burned alive; and as there was a slight possibility of the Hau Haus keeping their promise, Captain Wilson surrendered. Carrying a little boy in his arms, and followed by his wife and Moran, with the other children, three in number, if I remember rightly, they were surrounded by the Hau Haus, who led them towards the river. _En route_ he asked one of the natives where they were being taken to, and was at once shot, from behind, through the back. Staggering to a bit of manuka scrub, the Captain threw the child into it, telling him to run, and in the confusion the youngster was not noticed and hid in the scrub. At the same moment Moran was tomahawked, and Mrs Wilson and the children were savagely treated, bayoneted and left for dead. The children were dead, but Mrs Wilson still lived. Te Kooti and his gang remained in the settlement till the morning of the 14th--mark the date--plundering and murdering all the women and children who had escaped the night of the 9th, and whom his men found in hiding. On the afternoon of the 16th a small patrol from Tauranganui visited the blood-stained settlement and found little James Wilson hidden with a dog in his arms. The boy told them how he was trying to get to Tauranganui to bring help for his mother, who was lying wounded in an outhouse at their late home, but he had lost his way. As well as he could, poor child, he also described his miraculous escape. He had hid in the scrub, but next day came back to the spot where his family had been murdered. Here he found the bodies of his father, his brothers, his sister and Moran, but not that of his mother. He had then wandered back to his old home, hiding whenever he saw anyone, and there, in an outhouse, had found his mother lying dreadfully wounded. The patrol went on to the house and found the poor lady in a dreadful state, but quite conscious. She told them that after the murder of her husband and children she had been most brutally ill-treated and then left for dead. When she came to herself she struggled back to what had been her home, and had taken refuge in an outhouse, where she had been found by her little son, who had kept her alive by scouting for hens' eggs or anything else he could find. Now I call the escape of that child miraculous. For a helpless youngster to get away in the first place is wonderful; but that he should have been successful in evading the Maori search, of five days, for stragglers, and after finding his mother, to have been able to feed himself and her for seven days, with the food he scouted for, is a bit more than miraculous, and I put it down entirely to that sweet little cherub who sits up aloft. Mrs Wilson and her son were removed to Tauranganui and afterwards to Napier. For nine days after she had been found it was hoped she might recover, but her injuries were too great, and she died shortly after she reached the latter place. The above short and very incomplete yarn may give you some idea of the reason why we, members of the Lost Legion, so cheerfully underwent the great hardships we did to revenge the Poverty Bay massacre of November 1868. FOLLY, PLUCK AND ENDURANCE It is wonderful what a great number of good scouts and men have jeopardised and even lost their lives and the valuable information they have obtained, by a small act of folly, or by refusing to endure hardships for a few hours longer, when by doing so they might have won through safely and have brought to their O.C. the information he so badly wanted. I have known men who, despite years of experience, have rushed out of their camp to tackle a lion with only the one cartridge that was in their rifle; and there are plenty of men who go prospecting or even big-game hunting and have their rifle and ammunition carried for them by a Kafir boy. Trouble comes, the boy bolts, and they are in a mess. Again, I have known men throw away ammunition and rations, rather than endure the fatigue of carrying them on the line of march, and how often has not a night's march or a premeditated attack on an enemy's position been spoilt by some man lighting his pipe or letting off his rifle that he has been told to carry unloaded? The yarn I am going to spin you now will perhaps bear out what I have just written, and though the man who committed the folly extricated himself by a deed of heroism never surpassed and seldom equalled, yet the act of folly he and his mate perpetrated might have led to the loss of three lives, their own included. It was in November 1865. The Hau Haus (fanatical and rebel Maoris) had received a severe defeat at the hands of the Colonial forces and friendly natives at Waerenga-a-Hika, which so broke them up that they were unable to face the music in that district (Poverty Bay) for a few years. Over 400 of them had surrendered. Of these some 200 had been transported to the Chatham Islands, the remainder settling down peacefully for a long time. There were, however, still a large number of the most fanatical and bloodthirsty of the savages who, although unable to make a stand, yet roved about the country in small bands, seeking opportunity to destroy any white man or friendly native whom they might come across. Now among the Defence Force, scattered at posts built for the protection of the settlers, was a big, raw-boned Irish sergeant named Walsh, who had heard very many extraordinary yarns about some petroleum springs at a place called Pakake-a-Whirikoka, situated some thirty miles from the post he was in charge of. I do not know what his reasons were; perhaps it was only curiosity, or perchance he had ideas of becoming an oil king. But as things looked quiet and peaceful, he determined to visit them, and persuaded an old settler and his son, named Espic, to guide him to the locality. Well, they started early in the morning, the time being summer and the weather very hot, and after a long ride of nearly thirty miles reached the steep hill leading to the springs. Here they dismounted, and, because they had seen no signs of the enemy, decided to leave their horses in charge of the boy, while they went up the hill, on foot, to examine the springs. This in itself was an act of folly; but they went one worse, for, the weather being hot, and meaning only to be absent a very short time, they left their carbines, coats and all their ammunition at the foot of the hill, rather than endure the slight trouble of carrying them, and started the ascent with only their revolvers. Now they had been spotted by one of these bands of Hau Haus, who, as soon as they saw the two white men go up the hill, crawled up to the horses and captured them, with the arms and ammunition. The boy, however, although fired at, escaped and got away. The Hau Haus, thinking they had their prey secure, tied up the horses to a tree, and went up the hill after the white men, who, having heard the shots, were returning. As soon as they met, the natives fired a volley, which broke Espic's arm and wounded Walsh on the forehead and hand. The white men returned the fire, and in the skirmish that followed Walsh was again wounded and, the white men's revolvers being now empty, the Hau Haus, nine in number, rushed them with the tomahawk, to finish them off. In the hand-to-hand scrap that ensued Walsh was again twice wounded; but he still fought on, and a Hau Hau, determining to finish him, put his cut-down gun to Walsh's chest and fired. Fortunately the bullet must have fallen out of the gun, as Walsh only sustained a bad burn on the chest. Springing in, he felled his assailant with a tremendous blow from the butt-end of his revolver. This was too much for Maori superstition. That a man whom they had badly wounded five times should be able to continue to put up a fight was bad enough; but that he should be able to floor their best man just after that best man had shot him through the chest was more than any decent Hau Hau could understand. Leaving the horses and the stricken man behind them, away they fled, only too anxious to put as great a distance as they could between themselves and the awful tohunga (magician), who refused to be killed. So much for folly and pluck. Now I will go on to endurance. No sooner had the astonished and affrighted Hau Haus bolted than Walsh and his mate kicked their prisoner into convalescence and proceeded down the hill, where they found their horses tied to a tree, but the carbines, ammunition, and even saddles, taken away. Both men were badly wounded, Walsh in five places; but he would neither kill his prisoner nor let him go. Passing a rope round his neck, they made shift to mount their horses, bare-backed, and, forcing him to accompany them, they led him that long, hot ride of thirty miles, back to Tauranganui, where they arrived that night. Yes, faint though they were with the loss of blood, racked with the pain of untended wounds, without a round of ammunition, and hampered by an evil brute of a Hau Hau, who did everything in his power to retard their progress. Yet they would neither kill him nor let him go. That I think is a yarn that illustrates folly, pluck and endurance. CHAPTER VIII A TOUGH SWIM IN BAD COMPANY If you look at the map of the middle island of New Zealand you will see the north coast of it, washed by Cook's Straits, is deeply indented by fiords running inland, and that Tory Channel and Queen Charlotte's Sound are two of the principal ones. These run in separately for some miles, and then join together and form one sound, which continues for a considerable distance, having on one side, some miles farther south, the important seaport of Picton. The island, surrounded by the water of the aforementioned fiords, is known as Alapawa or Arapawa Island, and in the year 1872 was divided into two sheep runs and occupied by two firms of squatters who had already acquired a large number of sheep. The scenery up these fiords is magnificent, the densely bushed mountains coming down to the water, which is deep to the very shore, so much so that the largest ship can sail close in and, if her skipper wants to, can make fast to the big trees growing down to the water's edge. The tide runs up and down these fiords at a tremendous rate, and this must be remembered when you read the yarn I am now going to spin you. Arapawa Island is a range of high mountains, and on the side facing Queen Charlotte's Sound I was staying at one of the sheep stations for the purpose of recuperating my health after a rather long spell in hospital. The year before I had foolishly got in the way of a small piece of lead that, being in a hurry, was travelling very fast. I had stopped it, and had been punished for my imprudence by having to lay up while doctors sunk shafts and drove drives in my corpus and generally prospected me for a lead mine. True, they had not struck the reef; but then they had not succeeded in killing me, and when I got out of their hands I called it a drawn game, and started to get well in my own way. The shafts and the drives had filled up, and I had finished the cure by staying two months in the glorious climate of the sounds, first knocking about in a sailing-boat in the management of which I was a dab, and then assisting my friends by running over the hills after sheep. This exercise, with plenty of good mutton and damper, turning-in just after dark, and turning-out just before sunrise, had perfected my cure, and I was as strong as ever, and in good training. At that time I neither used spirits nor tobacco; I was as hard as iron and as tough as whipcord, and had, moreover, practised swimming, boxing, fencing and other gymnastics from early childhood. The awful hardships of the past wars had done me no harm, but rather good, as they had squeezed the last soft drop out of me, and I was fit for anything. I should have rejoined my troop on the frontier of the North Island a fortnight before, but waited to help my friends through with their yearly mustering and sheep-shearing. Hands were scarce, and I had never before seen a muster or sheep-shearing, so, my traps having been sent on to Picton, I waited for it. Well, the shearing was over and the men temporarily taken on for it were paid off. In those days, on the last night before the extra hands were dismissed it was considered the right thing to do for everyone to go on a big burst, and men who had worked hard for weeks, and not touched a drop of spirits, would get blind drunk. So it was at this station, with the exception of myself, who did not touch grog; all hands, masters and men, had a tremendous burst, drinking up every drop of strong rum laid in for the occasion. The following morning at daylight I started for Picton in a boat, accompanied by one of the partners and four of the extra hands, all of whom were what is known as suffering a recovery, which means they were very ill from the effects of the previous night's debauch. I had roused them up, got the boat out, and we started on as lovely a morning as I ever saw in my life. My crew, very ill and sulky, lay down in the bottom of the boat, a roomy craft of about twenty-three feet in length, and tried to sleep. Well, we made our offing, the sun rose very hot and the wind died away. It was by this time slack water, and, as the men refused to pull an oar, we lay motionless. Suddenly I noticed the day darken and the mountains of Arapawa Island covered with a dense black cloud that was rolling rapidly down them, and knew in a moment we were in for a southerly buster. The air grew rapidly colder, and I shouted to the men to get up and shorten sail; but they would not move. I saw what resembled a dense cloud of dust raised off a very dry road in summer-time coming at us. In a moment it was on us; it was a spray torn from the sea by the force of the squall, and it stung and blinded me. As the squall struck us broadside on, it simply sunk us, turning us over at the same time. I stuck to the tiller until the boat turned turtle, when I was, of course, thrown out, and was swimming at her stern as the keel rose from the water. The boat had a very deep false keel, and I saw that everyone had got hold of it. Just as the squall was thinning the boat rolled over and righted herself, and in the lull I shouted to the men to leave go their hold on the gunwale and join me, so that we could try and swing the stern to the wind, when perhaps one man could get in and bail her out. But they would not listen. They all tried to scramble into her at once, and over she went again. This happened twice, and I could not get the men to obey me, or try to do anything to save themselves. They all seemed to be mad with fright; one even kicked savagely at me as I tried to get him to leave go his hold on the keel. I saw the only chance to save my own and their lives was to try to swim ashore, and get help and another boat from the station. I had at least two miles to swim; and that in the teeth of a southerly buster, which I could see was now coming on in full force. I was dressed only in a thin flannel shirt and trousers; the latter I easily tore off, but I determined to keep on my canvas shoes, as I would have a long run round the beach to get to the house--that is to say, if I ever got on shore. This was very problematical, as not only had I the gale to contend against, but I knew the bay and sound swarmed with sharks; and the evening before I had sat on a rock and shot at the brutes as they were tearing to pieces the bodies of a lot of old and worthless sheep that had been killed and thrown into the sea. Well, the sharks would have their chance at me now, and turn and turn about is only fair play. In tearing my trousers off I sank a bit, and on coming up I shouted to the men I would try to bring them help, and started. Just then down came the true gale. The wind rushing through the tops of the mountains struck the water as if forced through a funnel, and tore it into foam and spray, which not only blinded me, but simply drove me under the water, and I quickly saw I must dodge the fierce blasts by diving. I was a very powerful swimmer and had the lungs and wind of an ostrich, so that, whenever I saw a cloud of water dust coming at me, down I went and swam under water for all I was worth. Then, when I had to come up for air, if there was a lull in between the squalls, I would strike out with a good long side-stroke, and make all the way I could. This sort of thing went on for a long time, and I thought of and used every dodge I had ever learned or heard of to save my strength and use it to the very best advantage. My long experience in scouting and despatch-riding had trained me to think quickly and to act decisively. I was as cool as a cucumber and as hopeful as a boy setting out to rob an orchard. The water was warm. I was in splendid fettle, and I had a wild feeling of elation, as I dodged the squalls, that was simply grand, although my eyes ached and smarted with the spray. If it had not been for the danger of my helpless mates I should have simply revelled in my struggle against the elements. As I rose for air, during a lull, I took a good look at the land, and was surprised at the very rapid progress I was making. For a minute I could not understand it. I was certainly drawing more under the lee of the land, and the squalls were not so fierce as at the first start, but still I was quite a mile off, and they were bad enough; but all at once I understood what was befriending me; it was the tide. It had been slack water when the accident had happened, and the tide had turned and was simply helping me all it knew; now I felt certain of getting ashore, bar accidents. Yet, bar accidents, I was all right; but there were other things also, as I quickly discovered, for when I determined it was no longer necessary for me to dodge the squalls, and had settled down to a long, steady side-stroke, I glanced to my right, and there, not thirty feet from me, was a long, triangular fin sticking out of the water, which I knew belonged to a shark of the largest size. Instinctively I turned to the left. There was another one; and as I raised myself in the water and looked astern of me, there was a third. To say I was in a funk is not to tell the truth; funk does not fully describe my feelings. I knew what funk was; I had been in a funk before, plenty of times. I had been in many a tight and hot corner before. I had often looked at what might be certain death, but then I had weapons in my hand and the prospect of a good fight before I went under; but now I was helpless. There was to be no fight, there could be no fight. I had not even a knife, and had I possessed one I was outnumbered and outclassed. As I trod water for a few moments I knew what real fear was. I had never felt it before, and, thank heaven! I have never felt it since. I can't describe my feelings, and I would not if I could. Certainly it was not the fear of death that caused these sensations; but it seemed so hard that I, who had almost overcome my danger, should be turned into long pig for a beastly shark. But my cowardice did not last long. I was still at least three-quarters of a mile from shore; the good tide was still sweeping me in, and my wild Irish blood all at once boiled up in me. My duty to myself and mates required me to get on shore, and get on shore I would. If a shark took me, well and good, kismet. Stick to my work I would, shark or no shark; so I fell into my stroke, and swam as if there had not been a shark within a degree of latitude of me, escorted by a guard of honour I never want again. Yes, I got ashore, those d--d sharks keeping company all the way; and when my foot hit bottom and I stumbled through the shallow water and fell on the sand there they still were, cruising about, not a stone's-throw away, as if they were the most harmless beasts in the ocean. Why did they not go for me? I don't know; certainly my time had not yet come, kismet. As soon as I had taken a few breaths I looked for the boat, but could not see her for the dense spray which the gale, now at its worst, was kicking up; so I started to run the four miles round the bay to the station. The rough beach and rocks soon cut my soaked shoes to pieces and, as the soles became detached, I had to run with bare feet, and suffered awfully. Fain would I have halted and rested, but my mates' danger spurred me on, and I ran as if a Maori, with his tomahawk, were after me. I came to the head of the bay and suddenly remembered that between me and the house there was another very deep indent of the sea. At the mouth it was not more than 250 yards across, but it ran very far inland, and with my feet in the state they were it would take me hours to get round. No, I must swim it; and I was just plunging in, notwithstanding the squalls, which were tearing the surface of the water into dust, when I was struck with the horrid thought of sharks, and for a moment I paused like a coward on the brink. It was only for a moment. Curse the sharks! my mates were on the boat; and in I went and crossed after a hard swim. To get to the house, rouse up the other partner and the one remaining man, and to get out a small whale-boat did not take many minutes. We manned the boat, peaked the oars and ran before the gale. We came up to the derelict in mid-sound, rolling over and over, but not a sign of a man was on her, nor was a single body ever found. We ran across the sound, beached the boat, and, when the gale subsided, pulled back. This is, I think, the nearest call I have ever had, and if there is any moral in my yarn it is to leave drink alone, keep in training, do your duty by yourself and mates, and trust to your luck while doing so. Since then I have always hated sharks. The curse of Cromwell be on them. CHAPTER IX HELD UP BY A BUSHRANGER (_Told by the Old Identity_) It took place in the early seventies. I was in Australia, and was temporarily in command of a body of Mounted Police, doing duty as gold escort--a very necessary precaution in those days. On one occasion I was travelling up-country, accompanied by four troopers, when a big squatter, a friend of mine, asked leave to ride with my small party, as he was carrying a quantity of gold up-country with him to his station. Of course I was delighted to have his company, and we set out. All along the road there were plenty of shaves (rumours) of bushrangers, but for three days we never saw one. At noon on the fourth day we halted at a bush shanty to feed, water and rest our horses. The bush shanties, in those days, were as a rule vile poison shops, the owners and their employees being usually hand in glove with every scoundrel, cattle thief and bushranger in the country, giving them information as to the movements of the police, and in many cases sharing with them their plunder. However, with a party like ours there was nothing to fear, at least so I thought; so when we dismounted and handed over our horses to the troopers to lead to the stockyards, some little distance from the house, myself and my friend entered. It was a long, one-roomed building, with a bar running the whole length of it, and the only door at one end. There was no one inside but the bar-tender, as hang-dog-looking a ruffian as I have ever set eyes on. Foolishly, as it proved, as I entered I unbuckled my belt with sword and revolver attached and threw them on a bench by the door. Then we strolled together to the far end of the bar and, hot and thirsty with our long ride in the burning sun, called for drinks. Glasses in hand, we stood with our backs to the door, and were just about to sample our poison when we heard the ominous words: "Bail up!" Turning round, I saw a wicked-looking devil standing in the doorway. He had me covered with the heavy revolver he carried in his right hand, while its mate, ready for action, was gripped in his left by his side. He was a well-made, tough-looking chap, very muscular and strong, without carrying an ounce of superfluous flesh, and dressed in the ordinary up-country dress. His face, clean-shaven, was covered by a black mask, but I noticed a well-cut mouth, a determined chin, and his eyes gleamed through the holes of his visor with a glint there was no mistaking, while the hand that held the gun was as steady as a rock. Then I realised that he was between me and my weapons, which lay on the bench by the door. A man who has passed years in bush-fighting, scouting and despatch-riding thinks quickly and acts decisively. Had there been the slightest tremor in wrist or lips I should have slung my glass at him, and risked a rush; but there was not a sign of a tremble, and I knew that the slightest hostile movement on my part would not only lead to my certain death, but would be quite useless. My friend and the villainous bar-tender, the latter with a broad grin on his ugly mug, had at once bailed up, and as there was no chance of help from my troopers, who by that time must have off-saddled and be attending to the horses at the stock-yard, some way off, I knew we were cornered and beaten. "Captain," said the bounder, "I guess I've got you. Bail up." "I'll see you d----d first," I replied. "I've got you," he retorted, "and I'm on the shoot. Sling your money on the counter, and"--this to my friend--"sling that bag down too." The squatter was standing with his hands above his head, so evidently could not do so, and the bushranger said to me: "Captain, sling that bag over here." "Rot!" was my discourteous reply; so he turned to the blackguard behind the bar, who was probably in league with him, and said, "Joe, you do it." And the bag was promptly thrown to him. Then he said to me, and I noticed he changed his voice, dropping the Yankee slang and idiom he had previously used, and speaking with a well-modulated and refined accent: "Captain, I don't want anything from you." (This was just as well, as I had nothing.) "But," he continued, "how long start will you give me?" I said: "Five minutes." "Word of honour?" "Yes." "So long." And with that he backed out, and in a moment I heard the beat of a horse's hoofs starting at a gallop. My friend was raving mad, and wanted me at once to alarm my troopers, but I said: "No; you'd got your gun with you just now, why did you not use it?" When five minutes had passed I gave the order to saddle up; but of course the man had got clear away. I never knew who he was, but a man shot shortly afterwards by one of my troopers was believed to be he, and most probably was. CHAPTER X ON THE SCOUT IN NEW ZEALAND (_Told by the old Kai Tongata_) It was in June 1869 that Te Kooti, chief of the rebel Hau Haus, caught a party of mounted volunteers on the hop, at a place called Opepe, on the high plateau near Lake Taupo. The men, worn out by a long march, and soaked through by the cold winter rain and sleet, had taken shelter on some old whares (huts) and were trying to dry themselves when a few Maoris came up, and, declaring themselves to be friendlies, joined them at their fires. More and more of them gradually arrived, until the volunteers were outnumbered, and then, on a signal being given, the natives sprang on their unsuspecting victims, and the tomahawk did the rest. The victors did not stay long at the blood-stained spot. They knew that Colonel McDonnell, Colonel St John and, worse than anyone, Major Ropata Te Wahawaha, with his friendly Ngatiporou, were not far away, and that it behoved them to hump themselves and travel before the avengers could reach them. Some of the volunteers had escaped, and two of them joined up with Colonel St John's column, with which I was serving, the same evening as the massacre took place. It was at once boot and saddle, and before nightfall we had marched to Opepe. Colonel St John had reached the spot before us, in fact the men cut up belonged to his column, and he had only left them the morning of the massacre to rest themselves and horses, while he went on to visit a Maori chief about ten miles away. Next morning we were on the spoor, and followed it through rough pumice-stone gullies for some miles, in pouring rain and sleet, then lost all trace of them in a dense scrub of manuka bush, so we returned to Opepe for the night. The following day it was determined to send scouts out to find where the enemy had retreated to. We had followed Te Kooti since July 1868, when he had escaped with 160 fighting men from Chatham Islands, had landed at Whare-onga-onga, close to Poverty Bay, and had gathered all the disaffected Maoris in the country to him. He had sacked Poverty Bay, murdering about ninety helpless settlers. He had fought us twice at Makaretu and innumerable other places, had captured a convoy of ammunition, had fortified himself at Ngatapa, where he had repulsed, with heavy loss, two assaults and had only evacuated the pah when starved out for want of food and water. And although we had, in the pursuit, captured and killed 136 of his men, yet he himself escaped and reached the fastnesses of the Uriwera country. In April 1869 he had swooped down on the Mohaka settlement and had murdered in cold blood seventy whites and friendly natives, and then retreated to Taupo country with us at his heels. In fact he had kept us lively for a year, and was going to prevent us getting rusty for two more, until, having lost nearly all his men, he retired into the King country, where we could not follow him; and he lived there quietly for twenty years, and at last died in the odour of sanctity, highly respected by all who knew him. For nearly four years we were on his track: his escapes were numerous and miraculous, we destroyed band after band of the desperate savages who joined him, but although he was wounded twice we never got him. Bad luck to it, I'm off the spoor. To get back. It was determined to send out scouts to locate Te Kooti, and I was chosen with two men to do the job. It was a big contract to handle. One glance at the map will show you Lake Taupo. We were at the north-east corner, about ten miles from the semi-friendly pah at Tapuacharuru (Sounding Footsteps), our base was at Opotiki, eighty miles away, on the Bay of Plenty coast. There were at that time no roads, no bridle-tracks, no paths; no game existed in New Zealand, and there was no food to be procured for man, and but little for horses. No white man, with the exception, perhaps, of a stray missionary, had ever penetrated to that part of the country, which was composed of dense bush, mountains and broken ground covered with manuka scrub, or long fern, which grew from six to ten feet high, and it was in the depth of winter, bitterly cold and wet. The enemy had retreated in the direction of the great volcanoes Ruapehu and Tongeriro, at the south-east end of the lake, about thirty-five miles from where we were camped, and in an awful country, quite unknown and hostile to us. This country had to be searched, Te Kooti found and attacked before he established himself in another stronghold and recruited his murderous band of bloodthirsty savages. The columns could not advance and look for him; they had no food to feed man or horse during the time it would take to find him. No, they must fall back nearer the base, and the scouts must find him, and then the troops and horses, well fed, could make a rush for him and perhaps put an end to his career. My orders were that I was to find Te Kooti and return to Opepe, the Colonel promising he and the column would meet me there on the sixteenth day, when I was to guide him up to the quarry. How I was to find the bounder, and how we were to live while we were looking for him, was left to me. It was certain that Te Kooti would be looking out for anyone who might be impudent enough to look for him, and if he caught us our fate was certain, though, of course, we could only guess at the nature of the torture to which we should be subjected. Even if we were lucky enough to be able to blow our own brains out before we were captured, the Colonel would lose the information he required, and more men would have to be sent; so that it behoved us to keep ourselves and our tracks hidden, and to see without being seen. How we were to live I left to Providence; it was beyond me. We were all hardened bushfighters, and we must take our chance. My two companions were queer characters; both of them had been sailors: one of them, Pierre De Feugeron, a Frenchman, the other a Kantuarius Greek. They had been mates for years, were both splendid scouts, expert bushmen, good shots, and utterly fearless. Well, no sooner had I got my orders than we started. Our field kit consisted of smasher hats, dark blue serge jumpers that reached to the knee, but during the day were drawn up and fastened round the waist; we wore no trousers, but had shawls round us like kilts. I wore shooting boots and socks; the others went barefooted with sandals. Our arms consisted of carbines and revolvers, and we each wore in our belts a tomahawk and sheath knife. On our backs we carried a blanket rolled up, in which was some very bad bacon and worse biscuit, four pounds of each; and with this we were to penetrate thirty-five miles or more into an unknown country, as rough as any in the world, find a wily enemy and, above all, get back with our information. It may not seem much to the man who has never been out of Britain, but a Colonial will appreciate the job at its true value. We left the camp from the north side, and made a wide detour to the north-east, before we struck to the south-west, to touch the lake. The enemy had retreated almost due south, through a number of rough pumice-stone gullies, and it was more than likely that a sly old bird like Te Kooti would leave an ambush on his spoor to cut off any scouts that might be sent after him, or, in case a strong party followed him, to give him news of their movements. I did not want to fall into that ambush. I had been in a few before, and did not like them; and so went round to try and cut his spoor a good way south of where we had abandoned it on the previous day. All that day we tramped across deep gullies and through manuka scrub, very often having to head off our road to examine the ground on either side of us, and to take bearings to our rear as well as to our front. A good scout should always do this, as he may have to return a sight faster than he went; and he must remember which way he came; he has no time to think much when a war party is after him. Well, as night fell we came to a range of mountains covered with bush, and I reckoned that, with our detour, we had made quite ten miles to the south of Opepe, and were well on our way. It had rained all day, except when it sleeted, and of course we were wet through, yet we dare not light a fire. For all we knew we might have been spotted and followed; so we entered the bush, and as soon as it was quite dark moved carefully a mile away and, eating a small handful of biscuits, wrapped ourselves in our shawls and blankets and slept as well as we could. It froze hard that night and the cold was intense; in the morning we were up as soon as a glimmer of day came, and started to cross the range of mountains. The bush was a regular New Zealand one, composed of trees of gigantic size, and with a dense undergrowth that nothing but a pig or an elephant could get through. We therefore had to take to the bed of a creek and follow it up to the ridge. The water was icy cold, and the cold drip from the trees and bushes wet us through, although it did not rain. With nothing but a few bits of flint-like biscuit to chew, up we went, and came to the top of the range, and there we rested and got a view of the country. To our west was the lake, and to the south was the cone of Tongeriro and the three peaks of Ruapehu; between us and them was range after range of hills, below us lay a deep valley, and, tough as we were, I almost feared the job was too tough for us. To despond is one of the last things a scout should do; so after more biscuit off we went again, and, striking another creek, we descended the bed of it till we came to the river that ran through the valley and entered the lake at the foot of it. I determined to descend the bed of this river, as I thought I might cut Te Kooti's spoor on the beach of the lake, which I determined to examine next morning. I feared to do so that evening, as they might have ambushed the drift, and there was also the dread of the ambuscade he most likely had left behind to watch our camp. This party, after they had watched the column move away, would most likely, provided they had not seen us, be on the march to catch up Te Kooti. We therefore hid on a fern ridge with the drift in view of us, and fortunate it was for us we did so. We had not been there long when we saw coming from the north, along the beach, a party of twelve natives; and I felt much relieved, for I knew at once that they had not seen us, or they would have been after us, and that I had been quite right to make the detour I had done. They marched quite carelessly, evidently thinking no white man was nearer them than the retreating column, and when they had crossed the drift lit a big fire, cooked food and warmed themselves; then, leaving the fire burning, started at a rapid pace for the south. We watched them round a far cape of the lake, then down we went to their fire and warmed ourselves and cooked a bit of bacon. Thankful we were for the warmth and food; but we dare not stay long. I wanted to get the benefit of the open beach, and also to spot their camp fire that night; so, as soon as our frozen limbs were thawed and our food swallowed, we were off, hiding our spoor as well as we could. That night we saw their camp, and envied them as we lay hid in the fern shivering with cold; for again we had a hard frost, and our clothes were far from dry; but a scout must put up with cold, heat, hunger, thirst, and be ready to face, smiling, anything that falls to his lot. The earlier in life he hardens himself to do without rotten sweetstuff the better, and always remember that cigarettes are the invention of the evil one. Well, day after day this sort of life went on. If I were to try to describe our adventures day by day they would fill a book; let it suffice that for ten days we lurked through tangled and dripping bush, waded up the bed of mountain torrents, crossed snowclad ranges, and struggled through matted fern, soaked with rain and sleet during the day, and frozen stiff during the bitter nights. Our miserable rations were gone. Sometimes we found a rotten matti-tree, and from it extracted the white grubs, which we ate thankfully. Once we found some potatoes. At last we discovered Te Kooti, and where he was building his new pah. For one night I prowled round it, and long before morning we were on our way back. For the first two days the same care had to be taken to hide our spoor; it would never do to be caught or killed after all our troubles and sufferings. On the third day I moved down to the lake. We were starving: not just hungry, but absolutely starving. As the evening was coming on, in a small bay I saw the smoke of a fire; that meant Maoris camping. They had food of some sort, and we decided to have it. The bay was an inlet, into which a small creek emptied itself, between two low ridges of fern. A short detour led us to the bed of the creek, down which we descended as quietly as otters, while the noise of the stream drowned any slight noise we might make in wading down it. The creek ran into a small clump of tree ferns, and we crept on till we came to where the party was encamped at the mouth of the creek. There were four fine-looking big Maoris. Their canoe was drawn up on the bank of the creek with the paddles leaning against it. Had there been more than four paddles it would have meant that some of the party were absent; but now we knew we had only the four in front to tackle. We dare not use our fire-arms on account of the report. No, the job must be done with tomahawk and knife. We were within twenty feet of them. A glance at my companions and we laid down our carbines, slipped off our blankets and drew our tomahawks and knives. One more look. The four Maoris were sitting by their fire, unconscious of our presence. A nod to my mates and we sprang at them. Whiz, whiz went my men's knives--they were both past masters at the art of knife-throwing--and over went two Maoris with the knives buried up to the hafts in their bodies. I rushed my man, but, surprised as he was, he was a splendid, tough old warrior, and jumped at me, his tomahawk swinging loosely in the air above his head. I had practised hard with the tomahawk for the last two years, but I knew I was no match for the old man. I therefore determined to rush in on him, guard his first blow and use my left fist. (I was very strong in those days, and a good boxer.) Throwing up my tomahawk, I guarded a smashing cut at the left of my neck, and although I felt the keen edge of the blade cut my flesh on the left shoulder, the impetus of my charge carried me in, and lashing out with my left I struck him full on the throat. Down he went, astonished by this novel mode of attack, and in another moment the head of my tomahawk was buried up to the eye in his brains. When I looked round the fight was over, the only unwounded Maori falling an easy prey to the combined attack of my two desperadoes. Pierre, a splendid cook, was already looking into the pot that was on the fire, and, declaring the contents to be good pork, not long pig, we were soon enjoying it. To get rid of the bodies did not take long. The marks of the struggle were obliterated, and we were off. Two days more and we reached Opepe; and, true to his word, my colonel met us with a strong patrol. We were thin, footsore, our legs torn, our kit in rags; but what mattered that? We had done our duty and had got back with valuable information, and as we swallowed some hot tea we did not care for the past--it was past. My wound was nothing--Pierre had stitched it up--and as I once more donned my breeches and boots, a clean shirt, and threw my leg over my dear old horse, I was as happy as the day was wet. CHAPTER XI THE COLONEL'S FIERY TOT (_Told by the old Kai Tongata_) During the east coast war the division in which I was serving landed on the beach to seize a "pah," or native stronghold, two days' march inland. As usual we carried four days' rations, including rum. We were led by a fine old colonel, a distinguished Crimean officer, who was much liked by the men. He was one of the old "two-bottle men"--or, rather, he was contented with two bottles when he could not get three. At that time I had not acquired a liking for ration rum--raw, fiery stuff--but by the end of the second day's march the colonel had consumed his own allowance and mine too. At daylight on the third day, when we had fallen in beside a creek, and were preparing to attack, he said to me: "Give me a tot" (calling me by a nickname I acquired early and retained throughout my active career). "I haven't any rum, sir; you finished mine last night." He bubbled like a furious turkey-cock, and swore I'd drunk more than my share. As I had not tasted a drop, I thought this unfair, but wisely said nothing. It is bad policy to argue with a liverish colonel, when he is two days' march from the nearest drink. Then he said: "I must have a tot. I wonder whether the men have any left." I was just promising to inquire when he exclaimed excitedly: "Look there!" And lo and behold, a man stepped out of the ranks, then standing easy, and took from his haversack a bottle containing something that looked like rum. He poured some into a pannikin, poured in some water and drank it off. "By heavens," said the old colonel, "I've struck oil." Just then I called the men to "attention," and as we went down the ranks inspecting the colonel kept saying: "Deuced bad pain in my stomach." As we got opposite the man with the bottle--he was, by the way, the most temperate man in the corps--the colonel's groans became heart-rending. The man thereupon brought out the bottle from his haversack, and said to him: "Do you think this would do you any good, sir?" The colonel's face was wreathed in smiles. "Aha, my man, just what I wanted," he exclaimed. "Give me your pannikin." And he proceeded to pour out for himself a strong "tot." "Be careful, sir," said the man, "it's very strong." "Ah!" said the colonel, "when you're as old a soldier as I am you'll be able to take your 'tot' neat." And with that he tossed it down. The change that came over his face was marvellous! The smiles were replaced by a look of agonised surprise. He coughed and spluttered, and ejaculated: "Shoot the blackguard; he's poisoned me!" Then he rushed to the creek and drank more water in ten minutes than he had drunk in the ten previous years. "What have you given the colonel?" I asked the man. "Perry & Davis's Pain-killer," he replied. "Will you try some, sir?" I put my tongue to the mouth of the bottle and then said, "No, I'm blowed if I do." For the stuff was like liquid fire, and was hot enough to burn the entrails out of a brass monkey, and if applied externally would have blistered the halo from a plaster saint. It also claimed to cure everything. In that it lied, for it did not cure the colonel's propensity for ration rum, although I must admit it made him very careful for some time to sample his tot before he swallowed it. CHAPTER XII LOST IN THE NEW ZEALAND BUSH In spinning this yarn I wish to warn all new chums that, no matter how clever you may fancy yourself to be, you must, when you enter a bush, keep all your senses on deck, or you will run the chance of finding yourself bushed just as easily as the greenest tenderfoot ever exported. True, an old hand will, as a rule, pull through, while the greenhorn will go under; but yet the number of old bushmen who have been lost and who have died is very great, and no one, no matter how experienced he is, or what his training has been, has a right to enter the bush without taking every precaution. This was driven into me very early in my frontier education, and I have saved myself frequently if not from death, yet from many hardships, by always ascertaining I had sufficient of the indispensable articles about me, without which no man should enter the forest or wilderness. Perhaps, right here, I may enumerate them. In a dry country a man should always carry a water-bag or bottle, and see that it is in good order and full; he should never stir without plenty of matches, carried in a damp-proof box or well-corked bottle, a flint and steel, a burning-glass, or some means of making a fire. A tomahawk and sheath knife are indispensable; and of course, in Africa and countries where there are lions, etc., see that you have plenty of ammunition with you--remember you may want to signal with your rifle--and if possible shove a couple of ship biscuits into your haversack: you may want them, and they do not weigh much. Now for the yarn. In 1874 I was located at a place called Wai-Tangi (Murmuring Water), a native kainga, on Lake Tarawera, and one day determined to go pigeon and kaka (New Zealand parrot) shooting in the densely bushed ranges on the east side of the lake. The lake is a very beautiful one, of large size, surrounded by mountains, among which is the volcano Mount Tarawera, and at the south-west corner is the creek that leads up to Rotomahana and the wonderful terraces. At the date I write about Mount Tarawera was quiet, and everyone thought it had retired from the volcano business; but some years afterwards, 1886, it took a fit, broke out, blew the terraces galley west, destroyed a great deal of property and killed a good few people, among others my quondam hosts at Wai-Tangi. Now the New Zealand kaka and pigeon are, in the fall of the year, very toothsome birds indeed; they get very fat on the berries of the gigantic trees, and the Maoris have a very good way of preserving them. I mention these last facts, as, previous to my departure from the kainga, I had told my host, the chief of the place, that I was going to try to kill a great many birds, had requested him to order a woman to make a couple of large bark buckets to preserve them in, and had also intimated I might camp out or stay for a night or two at one or other village on the lake. This was unfortunate, as, subsequently, the Maoris took no notice of my prolonged absence and did not come to look for me, as they concluded I was staying somewhere else; and it was only on the day of my return the old chief, having become anxious, started a party of young warriors to paddle round the lake to find out if I were all right. Well, I started off in a canoe, taking with me my gun, fifty No. 4 shot cartridges, some tea and sugar, a couple of blankets and half-a-dozen ship biscuits. I should also have taken a young warrior, but as all the natives were engaged on their plantations, I went alone. It was a lovely day, the lake as calm as a millpond and the splendid scenery most entrancing. I paddled slowly out of the little bay at the head of which the kainga stood, and after a few minutes' contemplation of the glorious bushed mountains, whose beauties were reflected as in a mirror on the glass-like water, I struck out across the north-east corner of the lake and made for the east shore, where I meant to beach my canoe in some small bay at the mouth of one of the numerous creeks that ran into the lake, then ascend the bed of the creek, get on the top of the high ranges, where there is comparatively little undergrowth, and shoot my game. After a few miles steady paddling I reached the shore, where there was rather a deep inlet, grounded my canoe on the beach at the head of it, where a fair-sized creek entered the lake, and landed. Now I mentioned before that I had made the best use of my frontier education; so at once I dragged my canoe out of the water as far as I could and made fast the painter to a stout tree, then overhauled my belongings. I was dressed in proper bush outfit: a serge jumper, flannel shirt, smasher hat, good strong shooting boots and a shawl round my waist instead of trousers. In my belt I wore a tomahawk and sheath knife, and slung on to the back of it was a strong tin pannikin. I also carried on my belt a leather pouch containing a metal damp-proof box full of matches, a burning-glass, a plug of tobacco and my pipe. My cartridges I wore in a bandoleer over one shoulder, and over the other I wore one of the old-fashioned game bags. I was very strong in those days and did not mind a little extra weight; so after I had lunched on a biscuit and a lump of cold pork I put the remaining biscuits, a tin containing tea and sugar mixed, and a small one holding salt and pepper mixed, into my bag, hid my blankets and paddle, and after a glance to see that my canoe was all right, I entered the creek and started up the range. For some distance the brushwood and undergrowth were too thick for me to be able to see a bird on the tree-tops, but as I got higher up the range the bush thinned out, so that I could occasionally get a shot, and I found when I came to the summit I had bagged three brace of birds. These I hung up on a rata-tree and I out tomahawk and blazed it well, so as to let me know, on my return, it was the point at which I was to descend to the lake. The country I found myself in was very broken, and what had appeared from the lake to be a straight range of mountains running from north to south I found to be a regular jumble of broken ridges, cliffs and spurs that seemed to be mixed into several ranges that took no definite direction at all. This sort of country is very dangerous to explore and, knowing the fact, I ought to have taken precautions and exercised the greatest care. I did neither; for I wandered on after the birds and presently began thinking about some important letters I had lately received from home, and other matters, without even noting any of the salient landmarks, or the turnings and twistings of the broken ridges and spurs I was walking among. Nor did I turn round and spot landmarks to guide my return journey. This was an act of folly unpardonable for a scout who knew his work and who was quite aware of the danger he was running. Yet the very best and most experienced bushmen sometimes commit an act of folly, and, not being infallible, I had in my turn committed a very grave one. For when the approaching dusk warned me it was time to regain my canoe I turned round, and in a moment knew I was lost. You may ask how it was I knew at once I was lost. I will tell you. Every scout worth his salt should carry in his head a map of the road he has been traversing that day, and when he is about to return on the back track he should at once be able to see that road with his mind's eye, its salient points, its landmarks, its difficulties, and everything worthy of note along it. Well, when I turned I naturally cast my mind's eye on to my map and found a blank. I had noted nothing from the time I had hung up the birds and blazed the first tree; and I cussed myself for my folly. It was now I felt bush fear; for a desperate longing came over me _to run_ and try to find my way; but this I combated with all my will-power, and after a minute's struggle forced myself to sit down under a tree and think if I could not remember anything that might recall the road to mind; but in vain. The only thing to guide me was that I had shot a pigeon which had fallen into a fork of a tree and stuck there; that incident could be of but little use to me, yet I treasured it. Again the desire, stronger than ever, came over me to run and look for the tree I had blazed; and again I had to fight it away. Was I, fool as I had been, to lose my head and run mad through the bush like an untrained new chum? Not by a jugful. I would camp where I was, and next morning, with a clear head, would try to unravel the puzzle. Work was the thing for me, and I turned to. It did not take me long to collect plenty of firewood and make down a good fern bed. Water I could hear close by, and when I had filled my pannikin I lit my fire, for night falls quickly in the New Zealand bush, and overhauled my stores. I had my gun and over thirty cartridges left, and, besides what food I had brought with me, I had ten fat birds; so there was no fear of starvation for a long time. I had also no fear of thirst, as there is always plenty of water to be found in a New Zealand bush; so I was well off, though I could not disguise the danger. Anyhow I would have supper and think matters out, over a pipe, afterwards. In next door to no time I had two birds plucked, cleaned, and spitted on a splinter of wood, with a biscuit on a clean piece of bark under them. My pannikin, full of water, on some embers, soon boiled; to this was added some tea and sugar mixed, and I had a feast for the gods. True, I only had my sheath knife and fingers to eat with, but what of that? I was an old campaigner and could dispense with luxuries. Then, my meal over, I lit my pipe and thought out my position. I was in a hole, that I knew, and I should require all my bushcraft to get out of it. It was not as if I was in a forest on a plain, but I was in a regular jumble of broken ridges, valleys and spurs, all of them heavily bushed. The only thing I had to look for was a blazed tree with some birds hanging on to it, and I did not know if I were north, south or east of it; nor could I judge my distance from it; for although I knew I had walked about four hours and a half, and that I had turned south when I left the tree, yet, for all I knew, I might have worked round in a circle and at the present moment be due north of it, or have turned farther to the east. My pipe finished, I determined to sleep if I could, so as to be fresh in the morning, and also to try to get rid of the feeling of solitude that now attacked and surprised me. I had frequently had to pass the night alone, aye, many a time, without fire or food, not daring to light the one and having none of the other; yet I had never felt so lonely or deserted before; for although I well knew there was nothing in the New Zealand bush that could hurt me, still I kept on looking over my shoulder, or glancing to right and left into the darkness, and I could now realise the feelings that men who had been lost and found had tried to describe to me. They had been tenderfoots. Faugh! I was an old hand; I had never funked the Hau Haus when they had been on the warpath after me. Why now should I let these childish qualms assail me and funk shadows? Yet they were there; and I confess them to you so that you may know how absolutely necessary it is for you, in case you should ever be in the same fix, no matter how experienced you are, to keep a tight hold over yourself, and not let your nerves get away with you. Rolling myself up in my shawl, I lay down on my fern bed (a very comfortable bed it is too, if you know how to make it properly) and, thinking over my plans for the morrow, went to sleep. I awoke at daybreak refreshed and fit. A cold bath in the creek. A good breakfast. Then selecting a huge tree, I climbed it by shinning up one of the big pendent vines, and had a good look round. I had hoped to be able to see the lake, but could see nothing of it; nor could I recognise any of the loftier mountains; but I knew the lake must be to the westward of me, and as there seemed to be a higher range in that direction I determined to make for it, though I could see no spur running in a direct line towards it. I therefore descended and, carefully blazing the big tree under which I had camped, started, taking care to blaze all the trees on my line. My reason for doing so (and bear it in mind) was, I had reached the spot where I found myself lost, without going down into any of the deep valleys that surrounded me. Had I done so, I must have remembered the fact, as all the valleys were full of dense undergrowth, and I should have had to cut a road through it. I had not used my tomahawk on the previous day, except to blaze the first tree, therefore there must be some way of getting back without using it--if I could only find that way. I was making for the west. Suppose after a time I should be certain I was going wrong, I could return with ease along the blazed track back to my camp, and start a new line, which I should also blaze, using a new tomahawk cut on the trees, and if that line failed, return and try again, always using the tree under which I had camped as a starting-point. I might fail half-a-dozen times or more, yet, with patience, I had a good chance to come out right in the end. Again, although I did not reckon on it in my case, as I had no hopes of a search party coming to look for me, if you should ever be bushed, and you think it possible for a search to be sent to find you, it is a very good thing to carry out the above plan, and always return to your first camp, as most probably it will be the nearest spot to help; and if you pass your time in blazing lines (being careful to keep your lines distinct) the party looking for you will most likely strike one of your tracks and easily follow it to your assistance. Knowing all this, I started, taking a course due west. I had no compass, but as a trained bushman I wanted none, and with all my senses on deck I began blazing trees on my line, taking care to spot every noticeable thing _en route_, and frequently looking back to see my track ran straight. Sometimes I fancied I was going right and I felt the impulse to run; but this feeling I at once suppressed, and determined I would play the game to the end. Past midday I knew I was wrong, as I came to a steep cliff descending perpendicularly into a deep valley, so I knew I could not have crossed it before. I was disappointed but by no means disheartened; so after a good look around I turned in my tracks and easily regained my camp, where I cooked more birds, had a good supper and slept without any bogeys coming to trouble me. On the morning of the third day I started again and blazed a new line, in a north-west direction; but again I met with disappointment and returned to my base. You may ask how it was that, as a trained scout, I did not try to follow my own spoor back to my starting-point. I will tell you at once. I was far too old at the game to waste my time by doing so. Of course I was always on the look-out for any trace I had left; but there is very little soft ground on the top of New Zealand ranges, and although I was in a daydream on the first afternoon, yet I knew that, instinctively, I should have avoided any soft or damp ground, also the gloom in a bush is not a good light to track by. An Australian black fellow might have been able to follow my spoor, but no one else, so I did not try to. On the morning of the fourth day I started on what I thought to be a hopeless line nearly due north, as I expected to be shut off quickly by a deep valley I had noticed on the previous day; still it was the right game to play and I played it. Strange as it may appear, I was not shut off as I had expected, but continued on till I came to a couple of large trees growing so close together that they seemed to spring from the same root. These attracted my attention, and although they were out of my line I went to them. I seemed to remember them in a dim sort of way, and I examined the ground carefully, going on my hands and knees to do so. I also took a good steady look at the country I had just passed over, to see if any glimmer of remembrance would dawn on me; and it did, but so faint that I feared the wish was father to the thought. But yet, those trees! A certainty came to me that I had seen them before, and I crawled round to the other side of them, scanning every foot of ground, and found what might be the spoor of one of my boots. At once I began to feel elated, and again the mad impulse to run came on; but I crushed it back, marked the spoor and forced myself to sit down and smoke a pipe. When I was quite cool I again examined the spoor, determined to restart my line from there and use the trees as a base. I started a new line and had not gone very far when under a tree I saw a lot of pigeon feathers. I at once went on my hands and knees and after a few minutes' search found undoubted spoor; so I knew I was on the right track; and again the desire to run came on, but I squashed it and, blazing the tree well, had a good look round, but could get no certainty as to my route, so went on with my line and during the afternoon found myself blocked, and had to turn back. That evening I shot three birds, and camped at the tree where I had found the feathers. Next morning I was off, after a good breakfast, taking a new line west of north, thinking it would only be a short one; but yet I got on farther than I expected, and with my eyes glancing everywhere, all of a sudden I spotted something in the stunted fern, and going up to it found a dead pigeon. Looking up, I noticed a fork in the tree close by and recognised it, as the one in which my bird had lodged. I at once tore the feathers off the bird. Yes, there could be no doubt, it had been killed by No. 4 shot; and now I was certain I was more than half-way out of the fix. Again the crazy desire to run, this time crushed with more difficulty and requiring a pipe. Then more blazing, until I began to think I must again be wrong and found myself unduly hastening my steps, and had to use the curb of my will to rein in. I had reached a place where I was thinking seriously of turning back, as I was convinced I had gone wrong, and had in fact halted when I noticed something waving in the wind about 150 yards away to the south. I could only now and then catch a glimmer of it through the trees, but I went towards it. I lost sight of it in the bush, then saw it again, and in a few minutes was standing in front of a blazed rata-tree with six pigeons hanging on it. Here was my starting-point; but I was so convinced I had gone wrong that for a minute or two I could not believe my eyesight, and fancied I had gone mad, in fact was so surprised that I had to argue with myself that someone had not moved the tree and the birds. This folly did not last long, and I was quickly in the bed of the creek, descending to the lake. I had just reached the foot of the hill when my foot slipped on a boulder and I came an awful cropper. In a moment I realised I had sprained my left ankle badly and had hurt my left side and shoulder. Groaning and cursing with pain, I managed to crawl the remaining way to my canoe, untied the painter, crawled to the place where I had hidden my paddle and blankets, and with much agony got my right shoulder to the bow of the canoe and launched her. It made me shudder with pain to use the paddle--for a Maori paddle requires both hands--but it had to be done, and I slowly worked out of the inlet, when to my horror I found I had a strong head wind to contend against. I could never do it, and was painfully turning my canoe to get back to the beach when I heard a deep-chested Maori shout come pealing over the water, and looking in the direction from whence it came, I saw a large canoe with a dozen sturdy paddlers bearing down on me. In a few minutes I was in it, lying down on a heap of fern; and I must have fainted, but soon came to, to find the canoe tearing through the water, while fourteen stalwart warriors howled a canoe song to bring me back to life and give time to the paddles. We soon reached Wai-Tangi, and I was carried up to my hut, all the Maoris holding a big tangi (weeping match) over my accident and blaming themselves for the misadventure that had happened to their guest. "Te Parione" (my Maori name) quoth the chief, "your mana (luck) is very great. If you had fallen three days ago where would you have been now?" It was not a nice conundrum to puzzle over, so I went to sleep instead. CHAPTER XIII A TROOPER'S REGARD FOR HIS TRUST AND HORSE Years ago on the Taupo line (the road running from Napier to Lake Taupo) everything used by the men garrisoning the forts on the line had to be carried on pack-horses from the town of Napier up to the headquarters (Opepe), and this necessitated hard work and required hard language on the part of the troopers escorting the pack train, which consisted of some sixty horses and mules. Of course the men were held responsible for the goods or valuables entrusted to them, and they regarded this trust as a point of honour that must be guarded even with life. Now why a pack-mule or a transport ox won't go without the strongest language I don't know; but they won't; and in making this assertion I am only stating a well-known and proven fact. No matter how good a man may be with a stock-whip, or a waggon-whip, he will not get a journey or trek out of his beasts unless he beguiles them with the most powerful and sultry talk. I have never known a man to love a pack-mule, nor to caress one, and although you will find a trooper fond of and kind to most animals, yet somehow he draws the line at a mule. For his horse he will do anything--beg for it, lie for it, steal for it, halve his last bit of bread with it, and willingly risk his life for it--but not for a pack-mule. No, a pack-mule has few friends, and though men do their duty by them they don't give up their only blanket to them on a bitter cold night; and I have known many a trooper do that for his horse. However, I am getting off the right spoor, so must try back for the yarn. On the Taupo line, at the time I mention, about 1872---the exact date I forget, and is of no consequence---the forces were rationed by a firm of contractors who had the right to run a canteen at each of the forts. The rations were good, but the liquor was bad; and when an old campaigner calls liquor bad, it must be very bad indeed. There were plenty of rows about it, and changes were promised, but somehow it never improved. This being so, it was the usual thing, when the pack train went down-country, for two or three of us who could not face the filth supplied by the contractors to send down a private horse and get up a couple of cases of spirits fit to drink. I was quartered at the time at an outlying station that the pack train did not pass, and one day received a note telling me to come to Fort Tarawera and get my share of two cases of brandy that had reached there. This I did, and rode over next day, accompanied by a very smart trooper named Steve--at least that name will do for him, as he left the Lost Legion and has been for years a parson in the Church of England. Good luck to him! Now the road, or rather the bridle-track, was a sinful one, partly through bush and partly along the bank of the Waipunga River. At one place the path had been scraped out of a very steep hill of loose shale sloping down to the river, which ran about eighty to one hundred feet below it, and it was so narrow that, once on it, you could not turn your horse, nor even dismount. The length of this very bad bit was not more than two hundred yards, but there was a nasty turn half-way, so that it was necessary for you before you entered on it to give a loud shout in case anyone was approaching from the other end; and altogether it was not the sort of road to entice a nervous old gentleman to ride a restive horse along for a constitutional. We reached Fort Tarawera in safety, and I put in a very pleasant afternoon, hearing the news and yarning with my pals there. Towards evening we left with my share of the plunder, which consisted of four bottles of brandy, to ride back the fourteen miles to my station. These bottles we carried in our wallets in front of our saddles, and after a parting drink and cheery good-night we rode gaily away. It was quite dark when we reached the worst part of the road; but in those days neither of us cared for anything, so that after a loud coo-ee we filed on to the bad track, myself leading. Previous to our quitting the firm ground, I had said to my companion, in a joking manner: "Take care you don't tumble over, Steve; remember you are carrying precious brandy." He answered: "All right, I'll look after it." And we started the crossing. Just as we got to the very worst part of the road I heard a scuffle, an oath, a rattling crash, and knew in a moment that Steve with his horse had gone over the cliff, and rolled down the slope into the river. I was close to the end of the bad part; so, pressing my horse on to the firm ground, dismounted, and led him back to the place of the catastrophe. Peering over, I could see nothing, so shouted: "Steve, are you much hurt?" The answer came back and there was an exultant ring in the voice: "The brandy is quite safe." "D--- the brandy! Are you much hurt?" A mournful reply came back: "Poor Darkie [his horse] is dead." "But yourself?" "Oh, I've only broken my leg," was the answer, given in a tone of the most utter indifference; "I'm all right." "Is your head well above water, and can you hang on till I get help from the fort?" "Oh yes; I'm all right." So I told him to open one of the bottles and have a nip when he felt he required it, then led my horse to the firm ground, mounted and rode back to Tarawera at a gallop. On my return with a party of troopers, ropes and torches, it took us a long time to extricate the poor fellow from his dangerous position, and he must have suffered great agony in being hauled up the steep bank of shifting shale; but at last we managed it, and got him back to the fort, where he soon become convalescent, his only regret, which was very deep--viz. the loss of his horse--being tempered by the fact that he had saved the brandy which had been entrusted to him. As for his own severe and painful injury, he cared nothing: it was certainly a nuisance; but it came in the day's march, and, as there was no fighting going on at the time, was not to be grumbled at. Well, as I said before, good luck to him. If he is half as good in the pulpit as he was in the pigskin, the Church gained what the Legion lost, by his exchange of regiments. CHAPTER XIV A GRUESOME FLUTE (_Told by the old Kai Tongata_) There was nothing of a picnic about the wars in New Zealand. The cold-blooded massacres at Poverty Bay, Mohaka, and scores of other places, as well as the vile tortures practised on any of our men who were unfortunate enough to fall alive into their hands, made us treat the Hau Haus with very scant mercy; and this savagery was not diminished by the brutal hardships, hunger, cold and toil we underwent while in pursuit of Te Kooti and his bands of bloodthirsty and fanatical followers. Among these was a half-caste, the son of a very prominent white official. As a boy he had been sent to school by his father, and had been highly educated. He had then been entered for the law, but, committing a forgery, had fled to the bush and joined his mother's tribe, then in rebellion. To show and prove his Maori blood, on joining them he had murdered, with his own hand, in cold blood, a number of helpless white women and children who had been taken prisoners; and this horrible crime, together with his ferocious courage in action, and further murders, perpetrated whenever he had the chance, caused him to be held in high repute by the Hau Haus and in bitter detestation by us. To such an evil notoriety had this fiend attained that his father, then high in the Government, sent the unnecessary and quite superfluous order, that if his son were captured he was to receive no mercy. This order I carried myself to the officer commanding one of the flying columns that was then operating against rebels who by that time were getting considerably knocked about. It was most dangerous work, despatch-riding in New Zealand. You had to travel through a rough and hostile country to find a moving column, or perchance a place the position of which was not known, and even the direction to it most uncertain. The Hau Haus, always on the look-out to catch the unfortunates employed on this job, would lay ambuscades in the long fern, alongside the footpaths, in such places as it was impossible to avoid passing, or at a ford you were obliged to cross. Their dart was to kill your horse and take you alive, if possible, and then God help you if you were unable to blow your brains out--your death would be a very, very hard one. We lost numbers of men this way; and although no officer or man was ever known to shrink the duty, yet we hated it. On the arrival of this most unnecessary order to the column with which I was serving, being first for duty, it was my fate to have to carry it on to another column and then, provided I lived, to rejoin my colonel at the earliest possible moment. Now I was aware of the contents of the despatch, and it did not make me more pleased with the job, as I knew I was running the most desperate risks to carry an order absolutely superfluous. Long before the despatch had even been penned, had either of the three white columns been lucky enough to catch the bounder whose name was mentioned in it, he would have been shot on the spot; while if Rapata and his friendly natives had rounded him up his end would have been quite as certain, though probably more complicated; and any orders on the subject were quite superfluous. Well, I was warned to go, and went. I started at daylight, and after a long day's ride, during which I had a few squeaks for my bacon, I fortunately, just as evening was coming on, fell in with the column I was in search of, and delivered my despatches to the O.C. This column was composed of friendly natives, of course on foot, so I dismounted and joined the O.C., who was making for a camping-ground on which to pass the night. We had nearly reached the desired spot when a body of the enemy who, unaware of our presence, were making for the same place opened fire on us. The O.C. and myself were some short distance ahead of the majority of his men, who, after the usual way of native contingents, straggled a good deal when marching into camp. We, however, at once charged, and the enemy gave ground until we came to a long natural opening in the manuka scrub, through which we were moving, and which was about twenty yards across. Here we halted and took cover, as we heard the Hau Hau leader shout to his men to turn and come back quickly, as there were only two white men by themselves and they, the Hau Haus, could kill them before the others came up. We stood our ground, as we knew our men were close up, and we both carried carbines. All at once I saw a man on the other side of the opening aiming at my companion, and I at once fired and knocked him over; at the same moment my companion fired and hit a man I could not see, but who was aiming at me. Our men just then rushed up, and we continued the charge; but the enemy had bolted, and as night was falling fast we did not pursue them, but went up to the two men we had put out of mess. My man was quite dead, and was quickly recognised as a man of no great consequence, though of some reputation as a fighting man. The other one, however, was only wounded, but refused to tell us who he was, and to our questions replied by using the greatest insult in the Maori language--_i.e._ called us boiled heads. Having a suspicion as to his identity, the O.C. tore the breast of his shirt open, and there across his breast was tattooed the much-cursed name. Well, if he had lived like a beast, he met the death of a beast without flinching. Two years later, after the wars were over, I was again crossing that part of the country and rode a little out of my way to the scene of the fight, to see if there were any traces of the men we had killed. Sure enough the skeleton of the half-caste was at the very spot on which he had fallen. Dismounting, I picked up a leg-bone, slipped it under my wallet straps and rode away. Later, I had it made up into a Maori flute by an old native--they used to make all sorts of useful and ornamental instruments out of human bones--and hung it on the wall of my quarters among other trophies and curios. Some time after I was visited by the very official who had been father to this half-caste. He examined my collection of curiosities with some interest, and catching sight of the flute, said: "Oh, I used to tootle a bit on a Maori flute in my young days." Then taking it down he tootled a "wyetta" (a Maori song). Little did he think he was playing a tune on the leg-bone of his own son; and I was not such a bally fool as to tell him. Let sleeping dogs lie is an old and true aphorism, and I did not wish to stir up bitter family recollections by reminding him of a dead one; besides, he was a very big pot indeed, and the head of my department, so that a discreet silence as to who had been the original owner of that flute was sound policy. CHAPTER XV THE DOCTOR AND THE SENTRY Years ago in New Zealand there was a chain of forts stretching from the sea to the centre of the island. These forts were intended to keep open the road that had been constructed at great trouble and expense, on which a coach ran every week, conveying the mails and passengers to and from the wonderlands of Taupo and Rotomahana. The headquarters of the district was at a place called Opepe, and consisted of a strong stockaded fort on the top of a pumice-stone hill, or, rather, I should say on a flat piece of ground surrounded by steep-sided gullies, which made it into a hill, and contained sufficient area for the fort and a parade ground. Through the gully in front ran the road, and on the other side of the road were the troopers' stables and a hotel for coach passengers, which also held the troopers' canteen. The fort was approached by a zigzag path cut out of the hill, which was here perpendicular, and on the top of the path was posted a sentry. Now among the officers stationed at headquarters was a doctor who had medical charge of the district. As far as his profession went, he had scarcely anything to do. The men were all picked men, most of them young; and in that splendid climate, with plenty of good, healthy work to do, sickness was almost unknown. This was very fortunately the case, as the doctor, having, perhaps, too much spare time on his hands, and caring nothing for sport, devoted that time to the worship of Bacchus and, at the time I write about, had become scarcely fit to attend to a crocodile, much less a human being. Had he not given the regimental sergeant-major a dose for a cold that made that ancient warrior tie himself into complicated knots, then dance and squirm for a week, and even curse him for a year afterwards with a fervency that made the atmosphere tingle and the blue sky grow cloudy? Yes, it was fortunate the men were a healthy lot, and the doctor's medicine was not in demand. The medico's appearance was also decidedly against him. He wore his hair and whiskers, which were white, very long. His face was very red, and his nose, bulbous in shape, was purple in colour. He was, moreover, very slovenly in dress and dirty in his habits. It was strange he, being an Irishman by birth, should be morose and ill-tempered when sober (I beg his pardon. I don't think I ever saw him really sober), and far from amusing when drunk. So, taking him in the large, he was neither popular nor respected by his brother-officers nor by the men. He had never been on active service, was very nervous of being sent on it, and had a holy dread of fire-arms of all sorts. Well, this beauty made it his habit to go down to the hotel every night and booze there by himself. The men's canteen was closed at 9.30 P.M., and lights-out was blown at ten. The doctor would leave the hotel at 10.30 and proceed up the hill to his quarters; and as by this time he was quite full up, he would climb the steep zigzag path on his hands and knees, and refuse to answer the challenge of the sentry. This caused trouble; he was reported over and over again and the O.C. reprimanded him once or twice, till at last, determining to give him a fright, he ordered the sentry to be served out with some blank ammunition, and that if the doctor again refused to answer the challenge, he was to let rip at him with a blank charge. The following night the doctor began his crab-like ascent. "Halt, who goes there?" rang out the challenge. No answer. Twice again the challenge was repeated. Still no answer. Bang went the carbine. A loud yell from the medico, and he rolled over and over to the foot of the hill. Promptly the guard turned out. Down the hill they ran and found the doctor much shaken by his roll, and sobered by his fright. They brought him up, and next morning at office he complained to the O.C., and charged the sentry with trying to murder him, swore that he had heard the bullet whiz just past his ear, and that it was dangerous to trust a sentry with such a thing as a carbine. The O.C. listened to him and told him he could not punish the sentry for firing at him, as he was performing his duty by doing so, but he would severely reprimand him for making such a bad shot, and the next sentry who missed him would be severely punished. This put the fear of the Lord into the doctor; but the force of habit was too strong for him, and the following night he was down at his usual haunt, filled up, and started at 10.30, his usual time, to return in his usual manner; but he took unusual precautions. No sooner had he crept across the road than he started howling at the top of his voice: "Friend, friend, friend"; and so on up the hill, past the laughing sentry and guard, across the parade ground and crawled into his quarters, still yelping his protecting cry. This went on for a few nights, until one day he had to visit an out-station. He stayed there that day, got full up and started to return home that night. He must have fallen off his old pony and slept in the fern, for he did not turn up till 6 A.M. next morning. Then, having handed over his nag to the stable orderly, he immediately made for the hotel, and began to freshen his nip with more liquor. That day there was a commanding officer's parade, and at 10 o'clock all the officers and men fell in. By 10.30 the inspection was over and the men standing at ease, previous to the drill commencing, when the howl of "Friend, friend!" was heard coming nearer and nearer. It seems that the doctor, true to the clock, had filled up, and at his usual time, but, oblivious to the fact that it was 10.30 A.M., and not 10.30 P.M., was making the best of his way to his lair and, by way of protection against the possible murderous attack of the sentry, was singing his usual ditty of "Friend, friend!" Presently he appeared over the crest of the hill on his hands and knees, crawling across the parade ground towards the quarters, still uttering his doleful howl, when, glancing up, he saw the long line of men looking at him. He staggered to his feet and gazed at them for a full minute, with horror and consternation depicted on his face, then yelled out, "O blessed St Bridget, they mean to kill me this night. Sure, they've mounted one hundred bally sentries, and they can't all miss me." With that he reeled away, looking over his shoulder and, still yelling his shibboleth of "Friend, friend!" ran to earth in the welcome portal of his stronghold. This spectacle was too much for the risibility of the parade; officers and men went into a roar of laughter, which could not be checked for some time. Next morning the doctor was informed he must resign or stand a court-martial. He did the former, and we got rid of him, while he retired to some place where he could indulge in his favourite pastime without running into danger from a murderous sentry or of the unkind remarks of a censorious commanding officer. CHAPTER XVI HOW KIWI SAVED HIS CLOTHES New Zealand is, of course, famous for its natural beauties and wonders, among them the hot lakes and the terraces of pink and gleaming white stone. The latter, unfortunately, were destroyed by volcanic eruption in the eighties, but, I believe, are forming again. On one occasion when I was located in the hot lake district several prominent Colonial officials, with their wives, came up, and I had to show them round. On Lake Rotorua we had two large whale-boats, and it was arranged that the party should be taken along the lake in these, to the island Mokoia, the scene of the romantic story of O Hinemoa and Tutanekai (the Maori Hero and Leander). The Maori yarn differs from the Greek, as it was the young lady who did the swimming part of the business, and the hussy was not drowned. Mokoia has also been the scene of ruddy war, for it was on this island the Arawa tribe took refuge from a dreadful raid of the Ngapuhi tribe, under that bloodthirsty monster Hongi, who, from the year 1818-1838, raged through the North Island of New Zealand like a plague, and destroyed over one-fourth of its inhabitants. [Illustration: TE TARATA: THE FAMOUS WHITE TERRACES, ROTOMAHANA.] He was one of the first Maoris who visited England, having been brought there by Kendal to help Professor Lee with his Maori grammar and dictionary. While in England he was much lionised, and received many valuable gifts. He was presented to George IV., who made him presents of a suit of armour and other valuable articles. On his return to Sidney he sold all his presents, with the exception of the suit of armour, and bought 300 muskets with ammunition. While in Sidney a grim story is told of him. At Kendal's dinner-table he met another Maori chief belonging to a tribe hostile to the Ngapuhi. Quoth he to his fellow-guest: "Go home, make ready for war, and prepare to be killed and eaten." Landing in New Zealand, he swept the country bare, killing thousands and eating all he could. At last came the turn of the Arawa. Sweeping down the east coast, he landed at Maketu and twice defeated the Arawa, who retired inland and took refuge in their stronghold, the island of Mokoia. He followed them and camped on the edge of the lake. Every morning the Arawa, confident in their fancied security, used to paddle past his camp and cheek him. I do not know if they used to place their thumbs to their noses and stretch their fingers out at him, but they poked fun at him and asked him rude questions, such as: How did he expect to come to Makoia? Was he growing wings like a duck, or, perchance, fins like a fish? etc., etc. Naught would reply the grim old warrior, as he sat, surrounded by his cannibal chiefs, on the high bank of the lake, to his enemy's ribaldry; but he took the opportunity to tapu the splendid canoes as they dashed past him, the jeering crews showing them off to the best advantage. "My skull is the bailing pot of that canoe," said Hongi, pointing to the largest and best one. This was a most awful assertion, but it rendered that canoe sacred to Hongi, as who, at the division of spoil, could claim a canoe the bailing pot of which was Hongi's skull, the most tapu part of his body. This went on day after day, while Hongi was having his big war canoes transported from the sea, up creeks, across land, over a range of bushed hills, and through lakes to the scene of action. First of all up a creek, then he had a road cut through a forest, covering a range of hills, until he launched them on Lake Roto Ehu. Again, he cut a road through a forest, and launched them on Lake Roto Iti and then up a rapid creek till they emerged on Lake Roto Rua. Now, poor Arawa, you will find out to your cost how Hongi is coming to Mokoia! One morning, as the Arawa were preparing for their usual daily amusement, they saw, to their horror and consternation, the advancing fleet of their bloodthirsty enemies. The time for jeering and laughter had passed, some tried to escape and a few succeeded, the others stood and fought the hopeless fight of spears and stones versus muskets. The canoes drew near the island and Hongi opening fire on the hapless defenders, shot them down in heaps, then, landing, killed or enslaved all that remained of the Arawa tribe. The ovens, surrounded with the crumbling bones of the victims, remain still to mark the spot where scores of the unfortunate Arawa were cooked and eaten; and these, with Ohinemoa's natural hot bath, are the two show places on the beautiful green hill that sits like a gem on the bosom of the dark blue lake. After we had visited Mokoia we were to descend the rapid creek up which Hongi had brought his canoes and inspect Roto Iti. The boats were manned by young Maoris of splendid physique, whom I dressed for the occasion very prettily, in shirts and trousers of white cotton, with black silk neckerchiefs. They were very proud of themselves in these smart, unaccustomed clothes. When we came to the shallow water, at the head of the creek, it would be necessary for these fellows to jump out of the boat to lighten her, and drag her over into deep water; and I warned them that as English ladies did not like to see men without clothes on they must jump overboard in their smart suits. The three officials went into one of the boats by themselves, with a crew that knew no English, as they wanted to discuss important business, and I escorted the ladies in the other boat. We landed at Mokoia, and I showed them the bath and the gruesome ovens, and told them the tales of love and war, and then we re-embarked to visit Roto Iti. All went well till we reached the shallows at the head of the creek; here the boat grounded and I ordered the crew overboard to push her along. All obeyed and plunged in with their clothes on, as instructed, with one exception. This was the stroke oar, a fine young Maori named Kiwi, who spoke broken English and was the son of a principal chief. He was very proud of his smart new clothes, and when the other fellows sprang into the water he sat tight. His mates called to him for help, and seeing he did not move I ordered him overboard. But he meant to preserve that suit. With a deep sigh he took off the black silk neckerchief, next he stripped off that immaculate white shirt. He looked at the water, and then at his lovely white trousers. Then, with sudden inspiration, he touched the principal lady on the shoulder and said in a deep whisper of despair: "You no like to see me: you look that way." And in another moment he had whipped off his last thread of clothing and joined his comrades in the water. THE LOST DINNER Some time after the New Zealand wars ended Pierre de Feugeron settled down at a Maori village called Wairoa, situated at the head of Lake Tarawera, and there built himself a two-roomed shanty, which he called the Maison de Repos, and offered to entertain any tourists visiting the wonders of Rotomahana. Now Pierre was a miraculous cook. He could make a good dinner out of anything, and there is no doubt he would have done well but for his great failing, Drink--in his case spelt with a very, very big D. For no sooner had he been remunerated by one lot of tourists than he would at once make off to Ohinimutu, where there was a drink shanty, and blow the lot. He was indeed a queer character. In appearance, he was big enough, and looked ferocious enough, for a stage brigand, wearing his hair long and a huge beard. In reality he was as kind-hearted and simple as a child, and, notwithstanding his past life of bloodshed and adventure, he was just as harmless as one. Pierre was also great on politics, in more ways than one, for his special brand would depend on the number of tots he had absorbed. When sober he was a Legitimist, after he had had a drink or two an Imperialist, a few more made a Republican of him, and as he got full up he became a Communist, an Anarchist and a ruddy Red. At this stage he would become an awe-inspiring object indeed. Armed with a tomahawk in one hand and a huge knife in the other, he would dance a war-dance of the most blood-curdling description, and with rolling r's emit horrible wild yells, in French, broken English and Maori, sufficient, unless you had known him, to daunt the courage of Bayard himself. Yet when the non-com. on duty considered that Pierre had _ranged_ himself enough, he only had to send a Maori kid to him, with the intimation that the guardroom required him, and Pierre, dropping the Bombastes Furioso business, would immediately make a bee-line for that hospitable abode and fall asleep, sobbing over the sorrows of La Belle France. Well, it was my duty to escort round the hot lakes any big pot the Government chose to send up to me, and the Governor, once a year, used to come round, with a large party, and visit the wonders of the district, which, of course, included the marvellous terraces. A noble marquis was at this time proconsul in New Zealand, and when I received warning of his advent I also received the straight tip that his Excellency, a _bon-vivant_, dearly loved a good dinner, so I determined he should have nothing to complain of while under my care. Now it was customary for the Governor to camp a night at Wairoa _en route_ to the terraces, and also to stay another night there on the return journey, so I determined, albeit with grave doubts, to engage Pierre to take charge of the culinary department for the two nights we should be there. For the first night I had no anxieties, as I had kept Pierre closely confined to the guardroom for the preceding fortnight; but I was very nervous about the day that I should be at the terraces with the party, when Pierre, perchance getting hold of some of the liquor, might raise Cain and wreck the dinner. However, I put my trust in Providence, and also in the discretion and vigilance of the reliable old non-com. who would be left in charge of the camp during my absence, and to whom I gave instructions to keep a very sharp eye on Pierre and his movements; so, hoping for the best, I received his Excellency with equanimity. The first night all went well. Pierre served up such a _recherché_ dinner that the Governor sent for him to be congratulated, and in his enthusiasm offered the old chap a drink. Alas! I dare not interfere, though well I knew this meant trouble; for the first tot to Pierre was like the first taste of blood to a tiger. Pierre picked up a bottle of brandy, and pouring out a bosu'n's nip, drank it off to the health of ze Governor, ze Great Queen Victoria, and ze Great Napoleon, and then took himself off, but, _horrible dictu_, he also took the bottle with him. Unfortunately, just at that moment my whole attention was drawn from him by a lady questioning me about his adventures, so he escaped with his plunder without my observing the act. I left the table as soon as possible, and sought out Pierre, whom I found walking about on his tiptoes, looking scornfully at the troopers, while he informed them that he himself was Pierre de Feugeron, ze grand scout. He also demanded their attention, that he himself, and no other man, was Pierre de Feugeron, ze grand _cordon-bleu_, who had cooked dinners for the Emperor, and that the great Reine Victoria had sent for him to cook ze dinner for herself. Le Bon Dieu save ze Queen, ip ip---- He had just reached this stage when I reached for him, and ze grand _cordon-bleu_ retired at the double to his hut; but, alas! I knew nothing about that plundered bottle, which he had planted before my advent. The next morning, after an early breakfast, and after I had reiterated my cautions to the non-com., and my warnings and threats to Pierre, we started in canoes for Rotomahana, where the Governor and his party enjoyed themselves thoroughly, returning in the evening to Wairoa. Now I must confess that although I placed great faith in both Providence and the non-com., yet Black Care sat on my soul like a wet blanket; and this would have been considerably enhanced had I but known that a sudden stampede of the horses had forced away the non-com. and his men, leaving Pierre alone in camp to work his wicked will. All the way back in the canoes the conversation turned on gastronomy, and his Excellency, well pleased with the day and having a forty-dollar appetite, looked forward to his dinner, and hoped it would be as good as the one on the previous night. I hoped so too; but coming events cast their shadows before them, and I had my doubts. At last we landed and climbed the steep hill that led to the flat on which the camp was pitched. Alas! while still afar off I heard the wild war-whoops and blood-curdling yells I knew so well, and was assured that my very worst apprehensions were more than justified. I at once pushed on, the Governor accompanying me, and on our reaching the camp there was our _cordon-bleu_, armed as per usual, dancing a war-dance that would have excited the envious admiration of a crazy Hau Hau. The Governor paused for a moment, and stood aghast in astonishment at the horrible-looking object before us, then full of pluck, for of course he did not know how utterly harmless the old fellow was, rushed up to him and said soothingly: "Pierre, how goes the dinner?" Pierre briefly answered that the dinner had gone to a place where it must have been overcooked and spoilt long ago. But quoth his Excellency: "I am so hungry." "And a ruddy good job too," howled Pierre. "It is good for kings and governors to be hungry. I myself am Pierre de Feugeron, the great Communist. I myself am Pierre de Feugeron, the noble anarchist, and I scorn to cook the dinners of kings and governors." Then seeing the rest of the party, who by this time had arrived and were regarding him with awe and astonishment, he at once consigned the Governor and the rest of us to the same place as he had committed the dinner, and was proceeding with his _pas seul_ when some Maoris, acting on my instructions, took a hand in the game. Exit the noble anarchist, to be tied to a tree for the night, to regain his loyalty, while I had to bustle about to knock up an impromptu dinner for my sorrowing and shocked guests. Chapter XVII A South Sea Bubble "So we found no copper island, nor rapid fortunes made, But by strictly honest trading a dividend we paid. And Maori Browne converted, with an ancient flint-lock gun, A mob of ruddy pagans, beneath the southern sun." I was in Auckland with a lot of spare time on my hands. I had come down-country intending to go over to Australia, but, having been stuck up by a flooded river for two days, I had missed my boat, and consequently was planted there, as boats at that time were neither so numerous nor ran so often as they do now. On the morning after my arrival I was strolling down Queen's Street, wondering what I was to do with myself, when I was hailed from the other side of the road, and, looking in the direction from which the coo-ee came, I at once recognised the long red nose and brilliant scarlet hair of a man who had been our regimental surgeon during the past wars. His had been a hard case. Out and out the best medical man we had in our service, as far as professional knowledge and skill went, he was still a born fighting man, and was always more anxious, while under fire, to damage the enemy than to repair friends. This inclination was somewhat held in check and restrained by the Roman Catholic chaplain, a great pal of his who was always in the firing line doing the best he could for any wounded man, be he papist or heretic. Well, one day while on a patrol along the east coast, we had a scrap with a few Maoris, and the doctor, who happened to be with us, to his huge delight, killed one. Now I do not for a moment want to assert that this was the first man the doctor had ever killed. He had, doubtless, during the practice of his profession, killed very many, but it was the first Hau Hau who had ever fallen to his carbine; for, although a brilliant medico, he was a vile shot, and the dear doctor was greatly elated, so much so that he determined to have a trophy in commemoration of the event. Now the Maori was a fine big fellow of some rank, and had the skin on his thighs magnificently tattooed, so the doctor, wanting a _spolia opima, faute de mieux_ flayed off and preserved the tattooed portions of the bounder's epidermis, which he cured and subsequently had made into a tobacco pouch. He was very proud of this pouch, and was fond of exhibiting it and making people to whom he showed it guess from what material it was manufactured. He did so once too often; for one night after dining well, though not wisely, he exhibited it in the smoking-room of the club at Wellington. The same official was present whose son's leg-bone was afterwards annexed and turned into a flute. He was at that time posing as a goody-goody minister; and, pretending to be shocked, brought such pressure to bear that he forced the medico to resign; and so we lost the services of our best doctor, and the company of a thundering good fellow. All this had happened some time before, and I had not seen him for over a year. We had been great friends, and I was under great obligations to him, as he had on several occasions mended me after I had been broken, and had even saved me my left leg when two other sawbones wanted to amputate it. So you can easily understand I was delighted to meet him, and we at once adjourned to Perkins's saloon and proceeded to wet this auspicious meeting. Well, no sooner had we lowered our first cocktail than the doctor demanded what I was doing in Auckland, and on my telling him I had lost my boat he expressed unfeeling delight and thanked Providence for sending and detaining me, as I was the very man he wanted, and I must take charge of a party he had raised to search the South Seas for a copper island. Now I had not lost a copper island, and should not have known what to do with it if I found one, yet the very mention of the South Seas allured me like a honey-pot to a wasp. Then as he went on to open out his plans, and tell me the names of the men who had joined him in his scheme, most of whom I knew well, I saw at once, copper island or no copper island, there was every chance of a rollicking good time. So when the men dropped in by twos and threes, Perkins's saloon being their rendezvous, and all of them joining the doctor in persuading me, I quite gave way and consented to join with them and take command. A case of champagne was quickly ordered and consumed, drinking luck to the venture, and I found myself chief of forty as reckless, devil-may-care filibusters as ever banded themselves together. Do not think, dear reader, we were going to hoist Jolly Roger, or anything of that sort. No, we were going to search through some of the least-frequented groups of islands to find one of pure copper, and we were all to return fabulously rich. If we could not find the copper island, we might yet find something else of value, and even failing that we would trade with the islanders, gentle or otherwise, for bêche-de-mer, whales' teeth, or anything else we thought could be disposed of to our advantage. Trade, I say, not take; we signed articles as Gentlemen Adventurers with every liberty but no licence. We were, moreover, all of us highly respectable, very moral and well-brought-up young men. Every one of us had served and seen years of active service, so all knew the value of discipline. Most of us were public school boys, and although we might have found ourselves _de trop_ at an Exeter Hall spring meeting tea-party, yet we were quite fit to take our places and shine in the beau-monde that at that period graced the South Seas. Our party for the above purpose had chartered a very large and powerful American schooner, with a skipper, a Yankee who knew the South Seas well, and who turned out to be a rattling good fellow, two mates, a brace of cooks, a few China boys as flunkeys, and we worked her ourselves. Strict discipline was to be maintained. Every one of us had put a considerable sum of money into the venture; we all knew one another well, and two days after I had met the doctor we went to sea well armed, well found, and as good a crowd as ever set sail, without a single rotter amongst us. Well, one lovely morning we got our anchor and glided out of the splendid harbour before a fine, fair wind, made our offing, then, setting every inch of muslin, started on our quest. The schooner proved herself to be very fast, and also, a few days afterwards, in a bit of a blow, showed herself, although a trifle wet, yet on the whole to be a really good sea boat. The skipper and mates not only proved themselves good seamen, but good fellows; so we were all well contented and looked forward to great profit and more fun. Those were the days when a man yearning for excitement could have his fill in the South Seas. Everyone there did what he liked, unless a stronger man prevented him. Those were the days when Bully Hayes, in his lovely brigantine, _Leonora_, swept the seas and established a funk in everyone not too strong or too poor to fear him. Bully Bragg was still to the fore. The infamous brig, _Karl_, and the psalm-singing Scotch scoundrel who owned her had not yet been found out, and there were plenty more black bird-catchers, sandalwood traders and others always ready to grab and take anything, provided they were strong enough to do so. We had, however, nothing to fear from savage or picaroon: we were a strong party, with plenty of arms, and all of us well able to use them. We wished to interfere with no one, and whoever interfered with us must take the consequence. So we sailed on, enjoying the day and careless of the morrow. If I were to write half of what happened to us on that glorious trip it would fill books. We met Bully Hayes and hobnobbed with him, finding him the most obliging and courteous of men. But then we carried two twelve-pounders and fifty good rifles, so we deserved fair treatment, and received it. We landed on very many of the islands, and saw a good deal of the natives. Their conduct was mixed. So was ours. We paid well for everything we required in the way of wood, water and fresh provisions, when they were civil to us, and when they were the other thing we still took our requirements, and they took the other thing. So we sailed on, strong in the knowledge of our rectitude and integrity, and confident in our ability to take care of ourselves. Well, we had a rollicking good time of it. But we did not find that copper island, nor anything else we wanted of any great value. We therefore turned our attention to trading, in which peaceful pursuit we were very successful. Our strength in numbers, our discipline, and our skill with our weapons, overawing most of the savage islanders, enabled us to put in with impunity to places where smaller parties dared not have ventured, and also ensured us fair treatment, a good market and prompt payment. So we prospered as gentlemen adventurers of a highly moral tone deserve to. One day we put in to an island where half the people, under the guidance of an old American missionary, had turned into what they called Christians, the remaining half still retaining their ancient superstitions. The missionary was a dear, good old chap, as simple and confiding as a child, and it was very difficult to understand how such a cute nation as America could have produced such a man. I do not know to what brand of fancy religion he belonged, but he was not Church of England or Roman Catholic. Anyhow, he was a good man, and we respected him accordingly. Now in a bit of a blow we had had a few days before we had been somewhat damaged, and seeing that the lagoon in which we were anchored was a very safe one, and the natives fairly civil, our skipper determined to remain a few days to complete the necessary repairs. So we landed a lot of stores, and started trading for bêche-de-mer, which animal the natives caught in large quantities. During our trading I made the acquaintance of the head devil dodger of the pagan crowd, and found him to be not half a bad old fellow. He was, naturally, rather bitter at the desertion of the half of his parishioners, and gave me to understand that his tithes had so decreased that he could barely make a living, and that the island was not, in his opinion, large enough to support two rival churches. So, judging I was a knowledgeable man, he asked my advice on this point. He also requested my active assistance to aid him in his endeavours to regain his rightful emoluments and status. His first proposal was that he should kill his rival sky-pilot; but that I forbade, and impressed on him the fact that if he hurt the missionary a ship of war would quickly come and blow him and his island galley west. He next proposed that I, to show my friendship, should oblige him so far as to kill the missionary for him. This proposition was, of course, decidedly negatived. Then he suggested that I should at least shoot the boss convert, the next cause of my old friend's trouble. Again I had to refuse, and explained to him that the quarrel was not mine, and that the white man's God only allowed us to kill one another in pukka (war). Then he requested the loan of my rifle to do the deed with himself; but I opened the breech and let him look down the barrel, explaining to him that only a Christian could use that weapon, as a heathen, not possessing the spirit of the true faith, might receive damage from the breech. He shook his head and intimated that it was a weary, weary world and full of disappointments. But an old flint-lock musket among the trade goods catching his eye, he begged to examine it, and seeing it had no opening at the breech he at once said that it was the very weapon he had dreamed of with which to right his wrongs. Would I give it him? I am not a business man, but yet I suggested that I should like payment for it in bêche-de-mer or whales' teeth. Alas! he was a poor man, he had none; but would I not lend him the gun, just to shoot one Christian with? I pointed out the dangers he ran in attempting to do such a thing. The mana (spirit) of the Christian God was far stronger than the mana of his pagan ancestors, and most likely if I lent him the musket it would only bring trouble on himself, and he would be sorry for it. He, however, refused to grasp my reasoning, sound as it was; so knowing quite well what would happen, I lent him the old flint-lock. He was delighted, and promptly borrowed two handfuls of coarse black powder to feed it with. These he carefully poured down it, then rammed home various chunks of coral, pebbles, etc., topping up with a fid of rag. At my earnest request he moved a short distance from my camp, to a spot where he dug a shallow hole in the sand, in which he lay dogo, and waited with great patience for his Christian friend to come along. Towards evening come along he did. I knew the bounder by sight and I did not admire him. Christianity, as a rule, does not improve the manners of the gentle savage, and it certainly had not added to this Johnny's stock of humility, for he swaggered along with as much side as a new-made Lance Jack, bumptious cheek being written all over him, in fact he looked the very quintessence of insolence and cheap pride. Presently he arrived within a few yards of the spot where Nemesis awaited him, and where he was to receive a shock that was to fill him with the fear of the Lord for a considerable period of time. Yes, indeed he was just within a yard or two of the little heap of sand that masked the old devil dodger's ambush when that ancient worthy rose up and, holding the old gun out at the full stretch of both arms, shut his eyes, pulled the trigger and let go. For a moment the powder fizzled in the touch hole, then off it went with the report and recoil of a 32-pounder. Where the charge went the Lord only knows, but the report, flame and smoke were quite enough for the Christian. He turned and fled, and went round the bay, at a pace that would have won him any Marathon race record in the world; and the last thing I saw of him was a black dot on the white beach, disappearing round a far cape and still travelling as if the devil had kicked him edgeways. If the report had upset the equanimity of the convert, the recoil had been equally deadly to the equilibrium of the pagan. Struck full in the face by the heel-plate of the old gun, he turned at least three back somersaults; and when he came to the conviction that he was still on this planet he rose up, and after straightening out and arranging his scattered features, he went and looked at the old musket, and solemnly cursed it for at least ten minutes. Then seeing it was now in a state of quietude, he gingerly picked it up and, holding it at arm's-length, brought it to me and handed it back, remarking sadly, with a shake of his head: "This gun is no good." Here I joined issue with him, and declared it to be a very good gun indeed. Had it not knocked him over and over again, and that with the peaceful end of it? Had it not made him see more stars in a few minutes than he had ever before seen in his whole life? And if that was the case to himself, had not even the talk of it caused his enemy to run faster and farther than any mortal man had ever been known to run before? Well, then, how much more damage would it not have done, with its business end, had it only been directed by a man who possessed proper mana in proportion to the strength of the gun? No, the gun was a good gun, and the fault clearly lay with himself. Again I not pointed him out the dangers he ran in attacking a Christian? Had I not assured him that the mana of the white man's God was far stronger than the mana of his pagan deities? Had he believed me and taken my advice? No. Then who was to blame? Why, undoubtedly himself; and consequently he had suffered for it. This he was forced to allow, but then the same question cropped up again. What was to be done? Could I not give him some sound advice? Why, certainly. The best course he could pursue would be for himself and people to at once turn Christians, and then, if they obeyed the missionary implicitly, they would soon make up the leeway of mana that the others had acquired, and he would be on the same plane as the other josser. To this he agreed, and swore he and his people would be converted right away, and started off hot-toe to summon them. I had just finished telling my comrades about my first attempt at converting the heathen when who should appear but his Reverence himself, in a terrible state of fluster. Approaching me, he said sorrowfully: "Surely I am misinformed: surely you did not lend a musket to one of these heathens with which to kill one of my dear Christian converts." I pleaded guilty. "Is it not written," I said, "'He that lendeth to the poor giveth to the Lord'? This poor chap hadn't a musket of his own so I lent him one." The dear old fellow was very much shocked, but I convinced him that I was fully aware no harm would come from my perhaps injudicious kindness; and finally, on the appearance of my old friend, the knight of the rueful countenance, with his leading people, who one and all declared that they were convinced of the power of the Christian God, and that they were all both anxious and willing to join his flock, his sorrow turned to gladness, and he declared that Providence worked in wondrous ways, and that now he was convinced that our visit had been a great blessing to his community, although he had had at first grave doubts upon the subject. He also returned thanks for the sudden and wonderful conversion of the heathen, and declared that now the whole island would become the home of one happy family, living together in peace and harmony. I had my doubts; but he was such a good old fellow that we all turned to and built him a swagger church, and endowed it with a spare ship's bell we had on board. So that when we left the dear old innocent took a tearful farewell of us and gave us his blessing; and a really good man's blessing, like a tinker's cuss, does no one any harm. He also prophesied we should all meet again in heaven; but there again I have grave doubts, as I fancy most of our crew were making for a more tropical latitude. Well, I have never heard of that island since the day we left it, and I have even forgotten its name; but I have always felt uncertain about the happy-family part of the business, and fear his Reverence was premature in the thanks he gave concerning it. For on the day we left, on my presenting the exdevil dodger with an American axe, as a parting gift, he gravely informed me that he felt the mana of the Christians rising so strongly within him that as soon as he had acquired a few more hymns and prayers he should feel strong enough to have another go at his enemy, and he thought, this time, he would fetch him, especially as my beautiful present would provide him with a beau-ideal weapon that would do its work quietly and not kick back and destroy its innocent proprietor. I may therefore be forgiven for my doubts on the brotherhood, peace and harmony of that happy family. I have never tried to convert any heathens since, but I sincerely hope that my one attempt proved, in the long run, as profitable as our trip to the South Seas did for us. But may I again remark, I hae ma doots. [Illustration: YARNING AROUND THE CAMP FIRE] PART II CHAPTER I THE DÉBUT OF THE LOST LEGION IN NATAL "There were giants in the earth in those days." MOSES. Of course ninety-nine out of every hundred old war dogs who have the misfortune to retain their pristine longing for hard work and an active life, when they are rapidly approaching the allotted threescore years and ten of their existence, and maybe, like the writer, are incapacitated by rheumatism, sciatica, tic-doloreux, housemaid's knee, liver and the hump from ever participating again in such sports as their hearts yearn for but their age and infirmities render impracticable, sit down, and, instead of employing their remaining years in making their souls, grouse and grumble at their bad luck, blaming everyone except themselves (_bien entendu_) for their bad luck, and maybe poverty, entirely forgetting the glorious years they put in when they were able to lead a charge, rush a kopje, or back a bucking horse with the best. Yes, and they are prone to belittle, and perhaps to undervalue, the men who have shouldered them out and taken their places in the fighting line, and who are at present responsible for and are upholding the honour of our gracious King and glorious old flag on the frontiers of our splendid Empire. "Yes, by gad, sir," growls one old war dog to another, "these present men are not worth their salt, sir. They should have been with us, sir, fifty years ago, then they would have known what privations and hand-to-hand fighting meant. Nowadays they are fitted out with flat trajectory magazine rifles, Maxim guns, pom-poms, and the Lord only knows what else, while we had to fight with old muzzle-loading rifles, sneiders or Martini-Henry's that were always jamming, etc., etc., etc." Grouse, grumble, grouse: and so they go on _ad infinitum_. Yes, it is very true men who are approaching the age-limit of threescore years and ten had in their early manhood to fight with inferior rifles to those that our gallant troops are armed with at present, and, speaking from personal experience, deuced good weapons we thought them, and were always game and happy enough to use them when luck sent any fighting our way. Well, I have no doubt that in those days our seniors were making the same remarks and passing similar strictures on us, that we nowadays are passing on our successors, and as they in their turn will bestow on theirs. Still there is no doubt that, thanks to science and the enormous expenditure of cash, the lot of the present-day fighting-man is infinitely better than it was fifty years ago, while far more men and much better material were employed on a war of conquest during the sixties and the seventies of the last century than were deemed necessary fifty years previously; in fact you may say it has been so way back to the days of romance, when Samson used to play a lone hand against the Philistines, or even when Sir Galahad and his compeers used to start out holy-grailing, giant-killing, dragon-hunting or lovely-maiden-rescuing. True, there are nothing like the hardships in modern wars there were in those of the past, although I opine that the Turks have just had about as bad a time of it as ever men wanted to face; but then it has been sharp, quick and soon over, and entirely due to their rotten Government allowing them to be caught on the hop. (Please God the precious gang who at present misrule our country will not put us into a like hole.) Still I doubt very much at the present day if you could get troops of any nation to voluntarily face the hardships that Pizarro's men had to undergo during the conquest of Peru, or any of our young sybaritic loungers to don aluminium waistcoats (much less steel ones) and go for a jaunt crusading as their hardy ancestors did. But, mark time, the majority of the progenitors of our nowadays gilded youths were in those times trading in old clo's or doing a bit of stiff and not wearing metal vests and unmentionables at all at all. However, we will pass over the good ould toimes, when a rale fighting-man had no need to insure himself with Lloyd George against unemployment, and comedown to the nineteenth century--in fact the years 1838-1839, when there were but few English in Natal, and the black fiend, Dingaan, who had murdered his brother Tshaka, ruled the roost in Zululand with his army of 50,000 bloodthirsty warriors. I am not writing a book on the history of Natal, but, as 999 out of every 1000 Englishmen have probably never heard of Tshaka or Dingaan, and are just as ignorant of the struggles of the early Settlers in the garden colony of South Africa, I may state that, although Natal was not officially occupied by British troops till 1842, when Captain Smith of the 27th Regiment marched there with a portion of his corps and a detachment of artillery and built a fort near Kongella, in which he was speedily surrounded and besieged by the trek Boers under Pretorius: yet small parties of Englishmen (good Lost Legionaries every one of them) had years previously taken root in the vicinity of where Durban now stands, where they carried on the usual pioneer pursuits, such as hunting and trading with the natives. Yes; they had taken root, and meant to hold their own and stick to their foothold in the country, notwithstanding the jealousy and secret enmity of large parties of trek Boers, who were crowding into Natal for the purpose of forming a Dutch republic there. Well, the year 1838 had been a hot one for the Boer trekkers, as in the early part of it Pieter Retief, a chief, one of their most influential commandants, together with seventy picked Boers and from thirty to forty picked Hottentots, having visited Dingaan's kraal for the purpose of making a treaty, were inveigled, unarmed, into the cattle enclosure, overpowered and brutally murdered. This act of treachery the savage monster quickly followed up with a lightning raid into Natal, during which over 600 Boers, men, women and children, were butchered with fiendish barbarity. This raid he continued down to Port Natal, where the aforementioned few Englishmen were forced to take refuge on board two ships that, providentially, happened to be in the harbour. Later on in the year the Boer War punitive expedition, under the celebrated commandant Piet Uys, were ambushed and badly worsted, having to fall back, with the loss of their O.C. and many men, so that the year 1838 is still regarded by the Dutch inhabitants of South Africa as a very black year indeed. Now the Zulu raid to Port Natal had upset the equilibrium of the English settlers, who, being moreover very savage at the losses they had sustained, determined to pay back the Zulu potentate in his own coin. First of all they volunteered to join Piet Uys' commando, but as he entered Zululand from the north they were left behind, and so determined to form a punitive column of their own. And, now I have reeled off this prosy prelude, let me tell you how it was I first heard of the exploits of the first band of English Lost Legionaries, who, although fighting for their own hand, made the English pioneers in Natal respected and feared by both Boer and savage, while the story also convinced your humble servant that, no matter how good he fancied himself and his lambs to be, still, in the near past, there were better and more daring men tailing on to the halyards of the Old Rag than either he individually or all his flock collectively were. And now let me trek. It was during the latter end of December 1878, just previous to the Zulu War, and forty years after the aforementioned incidents had occurred in Natal history, that I was trekking through the Thorn Country from Grey Town to Rourke's Drift, together with the staff of the 3rd N.N.C., and we were camped for the day on the banks of the Tugela River, when there arrived, at the same outspan, an old interior trader, trekking out of Zululand. Now, as I was particularly anxious to gain all the information I could about that country, I entered into conversation with him, and eventually he accepted my invitation to come over to my waggon, have some lunch and a yarn. Tiffin having been discussed and pipes lit we were chatting on the probabilities of the coming war when he noticed my M.H. sporting carbine and heavy B.L. revolver that my servant had just cleaned, and at once requested permission to examine them. After he had done so, and I had explained to him the mechanism of the carbine and the flatness of its trajectory in comparison with the sneider with which he himself was armed, he heaved a sigh, and handing back the weapon said: "Ah, if the first English army that invaded Zululand had been provided with such guns, instead of old flint muskets, they might have won the day." Smelling a yarn I replied: "I thought no English army had ever invaded Zululand up to date." My guest smole the pitying smile that an old-timer usually employs when a new chum exhibits his ignorance or puts his foot into it and queried: "Did you ever hear of Cane?" "Oh yes," quoth I; "if you mean the cockatoo agriculturist who had the first row with the boss of the original sheep-raising industry, I have heard of him." "No," responded my companion; "the party I allude to was no relation of his--did not even spell his name the same way, though both of them were handy with their dukes, and prone to go for their neighbours when riled. By the way, what is the strength of your invading force?" "Oh," said I, "about 6000 white men and an equal number of natives." "And I suppose," queried he, "all your white men are armed with M.H. rifles, and that you will take three or four batteries of artillery, rockets, etc., and that a percentage of your natives will be armed with rifles?" I nodded assent. "Well," he continued, "the first English army which invaded Zululand, when Dingaan was at the zenith of his power, consisted of 18 Englishmen, perhaps half-a-dozen Dutchmen, 30 Hottentots and about 3000 Natal Kafirs, and they had only 400 old M.L. muskets to the whole outfit." "Oh, come," said I; "you're trying to pull my leg." "Devil a bit," said he. Then he spun me the following yarn, which anyone may verify by perusing the late Mr D. C. F. Moodie's book, "The History of the Battles and Adventures of the British, the Boers and the Zulus in South Africa," from which volume I have not only refreshed my memory, but have cribbed many paragraphs, which I shall quote during my narration, as I consider the whole story to be so incredible that it requires the evidence of an historian who, although not present himself at the battle, was yet alive at that time and who both knew and conversed with the survivors of the invasion. After the raid made by Dingaan on Port Natal, in 1838, two Englishmen, named John Cane and Robert Biggar, together with a few other British adventurers smarting under the losses they had sustained, determined to retrieve them and avenge their injured feeling by making a raid into Zululand, for which purpose they mustered 18 Britishers, 5 or 6 Dutchmen, 30 Hottentots who were first-class, up-to-date fighting men and less than 3000 Kafirs. The number of fire-arms this motley outfit possessed was 400 old-fashioned muskets, which number included a few rifles and sporting guns of that epoch, the great majority of the Kafirs carrying only their shields and assegais, and this expeditionary force they called the Grand Army of Natal. Thus equipped, these daring Lost Legionaries crossed the Tugela in February 1839, and entered a mountainous broken country, where one of the most bloodthirsty despots that Providence ever allowed to exist awaited them, with an army of over 50,000 highly trained warriors who had never before been beaten. Long odds, my gentle reader? Yes; too long odds even for a bellicose Irishman wid his back teeth awash wid the crater. Still, they did it, and now I am going to quote Moodie. Having crossed the Tugela River the advance guard encountered some Zulu spies, and fired upon them, thus opening the ball. Ascending the opposite hill they came upon the kraal of "Endonda Kusuka"--that is, tardy in starting--and surrounded it before daylight. A detachment of Dingaan's army was lying there, upon whom they opened fire with their guns; when the inmates of the huts, finding the firing directed low, took hold on the tops of the huts, holding by the sticks which formed the wattle-work. This plan was, however, quickly detected, on account of the huts sinking with the pressure, when the settlers directed their fire higher up, and the people fell, wounded or dead. The whole kraal was destroyed, the people being killed and the huts burnt. As the morning of this awful day dawned, many of those who were attacked lying dead and others being in the pangs of death, one of them said: "You may do with me as you please, and kill me; but you will soon see and feel the great Elephant"--meaning Dingaan's army. The Elephant soon appeared, and crushed them to death under his ponderous feet. The land was very hilly, the hills stretching out something like the fingers of a man's hand when extended, rising to ridges in the centre, and descending to deep ravines on each side; the kraal being near the top of one of these ridges and reaching down the slopes on each side. It was at a short distance from this kraal that the great Elephant presented himself and uttered his piercing cry and terrific scream, which, coming from thousands of infuriated savages, wrought to the highest pitch of frenzy, must have had an appalling effect, being enough to make the stoutest heart quail. Dingaan did not appear in person in this notable battle, nor were the old warriors allowed to fight, the young men being destined to win the highest honours, and take the weapons of their foes as trophies to perpetuate the memory of their conquest. The Zulu captains commanding were Umahlebe, Zulu and Nongalazi. These, with the old warriors, took their stand on the hill, from whence they could see all that passed, and issue their commands accordingly. Seven Zulu regiments were brought into the field of action. They were flushed with three successive victories--first, the cutting-off of Relief and his party at the great place; second, the slaughter of the Boers in the Weenen district; and third, the defeat of Uys and the dispersion of his people. Besides they were full of rage at the loss of their cattle, women and children at Utunjambeli, and the destruction of the kraal before their eyes, for which they were burning to be revenged. These circumstances led them to fight with a fury which could only be quenched in death. When they were shot down, if they could crawl, they would take an assegai and try to inflict a fatal stab on one of their bitter foes, rendering it needful to fire upon them again and again until dead. The Natal army had therefore to fight with the vigour of men whose lives were in a fearful balance, and who were made desperate by the greatness of the impending danger. They were drawn up near the kraal in question, the English and Hottentots with muskets in front, and the native aids with assegais in the rear. The first division of the Zulu army came on with a fearful rush, but were met by the steady fire and deadly shots of their foes, which cut them down like grass. They were checked, broken, driven back and defeated, many lying dead and dying at the feet of the settlers. Robert Joyce, or, as he was called, Bob Joyce, a deserter from the 72nd Regiment, had ten men under him with guns, besides Kafirs; and such fearful execution did they do that they cut a pathway through the Zulu regiment as they approached, until the Zulu commanders ordered a change in the mode of attack. The first division, however, only retreated to make way for the Zulu forces to come from different points favoured by the formation of the hill. Cane sent Ogle's Kafirs to attack the Zulus on the south-west, whilst he, with the main body of the Natal army, took the north-east. When Ogle's Kafirs had dispersed these, they were to come round and take the Zulus in the flank; instead of which, the hour of revenge being come for some affront which they received at Cane's hands, when they had dispersed the Zulus they fled to the drift, on which the Zulu chiefs exclaimed: "O ganti baka balegane"--_i.e._ "They can run, can they?" The sight of them running inspired fresh courage into the Zulus, who now closed in from all quarters upon the diminished Natal army, coming down as an overwhelming flood, the mighty masses of which it was impossible to resist. The strife was deadly in the extreme. The Zulus lost thousands of their people: they were cut down until they formed banks over which those who were advancing had to climb, as well as over the wounded, crawling and stabbing, tenacious of life, and selling it dearly. Cane fought hard and died of his wounds. A fine old Kafir who was present gave me a description of his death. He was questioned about other matters, but as soon as he came to this his eyes appeared to flash with excitement and his hands moved in all forms to express the firing of the guns and the stabbing with the assegais. He took a stick and held one point to his breast to show where the assegai entered Cane's chest. He then gave his companion another stick, to show how a second assegai was buried between Cane's shoulders, Cane's gun was lying on his left arm, his pipe in his mouth, his head nodding until he fell from his horse and died. His horse was killed close by. The last deed of this man was tragical. One of his own people who had thrown away his badge was coming to snatch the assegai from his back when Cane, supposing him to be a Zulu, shot him at once over his shoulder. Stubbs, another of the Englishmen, was stabbed by a boy, and when he felt it was his death wound exclaimed: "Am I to be killed by a boy like you?" Biggar fell close by. The Natal army being surrounded and cut up, heaps of slain lay dead upon the field, to be devoured by beasts of prey, their bones being left to bleach under many summer suns. The work of destruction was, however, not yet complete. No sooner had the leaders fallen than the Natal Kafirs threw away their badges and shields, and seized the shields of the Zulus in order to favour their escape, whilst the swiftness with which they could run was their best defence. But in making their escape the Zulus knew their ground, and that the river must be crossed, and they therefore so surrounded them as to compel them to take one only course. In flight then these wretched beings had no alternative but to take a path at the bottom of which there is a descent of 100 feet perpendicular to the river, having deep water at the bottom, and so numerous were the bodies heaped upon each other in this great grave that at length, instead of leaping, they walked over the bodies of those who filled the chasm. One of those who made the leap was Upepe, who was stabbed as he went under water by a Zulu, who cursed him and said: "I have finished you"; but the death wound was not given, for the man escaped. In order to complete the dire destruction of this day of blood and death, a division of Zulus were sent round to cut off those who might escape by the river. These men were to be seen up to the armpits in the stream, stabbing any who might be in danger of escaping; and very few gained the opposite bank and lived. It was here that another leader, Blankenburg, was killed. Of the few who escaped, some swam, some dived, and some floated along, feigning to be dead. One Goba crossed the river four times and was saved at last. Petrus Roetrzie, or "Piet Elias" as better known by many, entered the river lower than most of the others, and got into the long reeds of the opposite bank, where the Zulus searched for him in vain. In this terrible battle fell John Cane, Robert Biggar, John Stubbs, Thomas Carden, John Russell,--Blankenburg, Richard Wood, William Wood, Henry Batt, John Campbell,--Lovedale and Thomas Campbell, with two or three other white men, leaving not a dozen to return and tell the tale of woe. Of the Hottentots three or four returned; and of the Kafirs very few except Ogle's. The few who escaped arrived at home singly, many of them having been pursued nearly to the Bay of Durban, owing their deliverance to the shelter of the bush and the darkness of the night. Most of the particulars herein recorded I can vouch for as being correct, having conversed with several who were engaged in the transaction, and others who were residing in Natal at the time. Here endeth the extract that I have taken from Moodie's aforementioned history. Now, judging by the foregoing account of the battle of the Tugela--which it must be remembered has been extracted, word for word, from a history written by a knowledgeable gentleman of undoubted veracity, who not only knew the survivors of the action, but had heard the yarn from their own lips, and that the story told me by the old trader who also had been acquainted with the majority of the men composing the English army, he being a full-grown boy at the time, and resident in Port Natal, coincided and agreed with Mr Moodie's narrative in all the principal details--I think I am not far wrong when I assert that the battle of the Tugela was a scrumptious one, in which every man engaged must have enjoyed himself to the utmost of his ability, and no one could subsequently grumble at not getting his fair share of the fighting. Yet when you come to consider the numbers and equipment of that invading force, and compare them with the resources at Lord Chelmsford's disposal when he began to play the same game, just forty years afterwards, and which were then declared to be inadequate, you are forced to come to the conclusion that Cane and his Lost Legionaries were a bit over-venturesome. For looking back at my own experience in the Legion, I do not think I could ever have found twenty men daring enough to undertake the same contract, and I am quite certain that, even had the men been willing, I individually should never have possessed sufficient pluck to have bossed the show. The story of Cane and his daring companions, unheard of in England, is, I fear, being rapidly forgotten in South Africa, but should any patriotic Natalian with imperialistic convictions wish to perpetuate the memory of those gallant adventurers, who, in despite of Boers, savages, the devil, and the gasbags of Downing Street, formed the advance guard of the settlers in his lovely country, and see fit to raise a subscription to build a cairn in commemoration of the pluck, or call it foolhardiness--if you like--of the first army of Natal, I, poor old sinner as I am, will gladly plank down my mite. Yes, by gad! I will, even if I have to forgo my baccy for a month to raise the oof. For, by the great gun of Athlone! those men were men, and died like men, and may the British Empire never run short of Lost Legionaries of like kidney! And now, before the call of "lights out" is sounded, let me relate briefly another deed of daring, performed by one of the old-time Natal settlers, and as I am not writing a history of Natal, but only recounting a few well-authenticated facts of heroic bravery, carried through by a handful of Lost Legionaries, it will suffice to remind my reader that Port Natal was occupied for the first time by British regular troops in May 1842, when Captain Smith (27th Regiment), with 200 men and two field pieces, arrived there. He at once entrenched himself on the flat ground near where the city of Durban now stands, in which camp he was speedily surrounded, and cooped up by an overwhelming number of trek Boers. This rendered it absolutely necessary for the beleaguered O.C. to communicate with his superiors at the Cape, so as to warn them of his dangerous position, and to request immediate reinforcements. But how to communicate was the problem that required solving, and it was solved, thanks to the devotion and undauntable courage of one of the early settlers, who promptly volunteered to carry the despatch. Now despatch-carrying during war-time is by no means a salutary occupation, even when the distance is short, and the country over which it has to be carried is open, with decent roads. What then is the said duty to be called, when the bearer has to traverse a distance of 600 miles, through thick bush, dangerous swamps, rugged mountains, and across innumerable rivers, very many of which have to be negotiated by swimming. Also please bear in mind that this delectable country through which the orderly must travel swarmed with hostile tribes, and was infested with wild animals, such as lions, leopards, elephants, etc. Troth, I call such a contract a decidedly unhealthy one. Yet such was the nature of the road Richard King had to travel alone, and bedad! he did it so successfully, for after being ferried across the harbour with two horses, on the night of the 25th May 1842, he slipped past the Boer pickets, and overcoming all the difficulties, and passing through all the manifold dangers met with on the journey, he delivered his despatches ten days after his start. I regret exceedingly I am unable to recount the details of that wonderful feat of skill, pluck and endurance, although I was told them by one of King's relatives, nor am I aware that the yarn has ever been written; for I remember, having done a bit of despatch-riding myself, how much I was entranced by the narrative, and have always considered Richard King's exploit to be a record worthy to be treasured in the annals of the "Legion that never was listed," and I am sure that most of my readers will allow I am right when I again assert "there were giants on the earth in those days." CHAPTER II A QUEER CARD Yes, you are quite right in saying that there must have been many queer as well as hard cases in South Africa during the seventies and eighties of the last century. Some of these I met, and knew well, and if I had been asked, during that period, to assign the biscuit to anyone of them in particular, I should without hesitation have handed it to one whom I shall call Mad Conway: a sobriquet he had earned by his wild pranks and escapades. As I said, this was not his name, but anyone who resided either in Kimberley, Free State or Transvaal, during those years, will at once recognise who is hereby designated, or at all events will do so when they have read a few lines further. Now Mad Conway had also another nickname, as he was likewise called, especially by the Boers, Vrei Stadt Conway; the prefix having been earned by his numerous deeds of reckless gallantry, performed while fighting for the Free State against the Basutos, during the war of 1865-1868. Yes; Mad Conway was a caution, and in his own line of business stood out unique. Let me describe him, and recount a few incidents in his wild career. To begin with, he was a cadet of a fine old English county family, some of the members of which were celebrated in the world of English sport during the early part of the nineteenth century, and whose name, like that of Osbaldistone, is still treasured by all true votaries of Diana. Well, Conway in no way disgraced the family reputation as a horseman, he being one of the very best I have ever seen, and would, provided his lot had been cast in the shires, have gained a place in sporting song and story as well as his ancestors. After having been sent home from Eton for some mad escapade, he joined a crack cavalry corps, and had to send in his papers, owing to his having mistaken his colonel's pet charger for a horse belonging to a newly joined cornet. Now this charger was held as sacred in the corps as the mares of Mahomet were held by the Moslems, but Conway, after a heavy night in the mess, converted it, with considerable artistic taste and skill, and a couple of pots of paint, into a zebra. On leaving the service--as he was over head and ears in debt to the Jew sharks, who in those days battened on the follies of young officers--troth! they do it still, when not more lucratively employed in the art of bogus company promoting, and other congenial pursuits--his people thought a _tour du monde_ would be a salutary exercise for him, and that if he could pick out some salubrious spot about half-way round, and make a permanent camp there, why, so much the better for them. So Mad Conway landed in South Africa some time in the fifties. Now what he originally intended to do there I don't know, and I don't think he knew himself; but he certainly wandered all over the country, taking a hand wherever the chance occurred in any Kafir fighting that might be going on, and putting in his spare time big-game hunting and exploring. In both these congenial occupations he quickly gained the reputation of being a man utterly devoid of fear, while the wild and fantastic pranks he would play when he happened to be in a town made him an object of wonder and astonishment to both the phlegmatic Boers and the lazy Portuguese, some of them even causing his own more up-to-date and reckless countrymen to open their eyes. During this period of his existence he accompanied two successive expeditions that were organised for the purpose of searching the lower reaches and delta of the Zambesi for a gold-laden dhow that the Portuguese had sunk in the early part of the century, so as to prevent her capture by an English cruiser. On both these occasions Conway was the only European who survived the attacks of fever and wild beasts, and although, on the second trip, they actually located the dhow, still, before they could clear the drifted sand from off her his last surviving mate died. Conway always declared that, notwithstanding the awful hardships he had undergone, he would have stuck to the job, lone handed, and would have scooped the jack pot himself, but the dop (common Boer-made peach-brandy) cask gave out, and as that and quinine were his sole diet, he had to chuck the contract before he could touch the geldt. Darned bad luck, he called it, especially as the long war waged by the Zambesi natives against the Portuguese, at that time breaking out, prevented him from having another try for the plunder. Reaching Delagoa Bay, thanks to the kindness of the officers of one of H.M. cruisers, he wandered up to the Transvaal, and took a turn on the early goldfields. Doing no good, he drifted away to the Free State, where, as aforementioned, he earned the name of Vrei Stadt Conway by his feats of reckless daring. Let me recount one of them. During one of the numerous unsuccessful attacks made on the impregnable mountain Thaba Bosigo, the principal stronghold of the great Basuto chief Moshesh, a gallant Dutchman was wounded and captured by the natives. This poor chap, having been duly tortured, was crucified on the very summit of the mountain. Moshesh at once declared that the poor remains were to be regarded as his standard, and at the same time sent an insolent message to the Boers, stating the fact, and challenging them to come and pull it down. This brutal and contemptuous message deeply enraged the Boers, and was all the more galling as the poor fellow's remains hung in full view of the Dutch laagers. Something must be done at once; so the farmers' war council determined to recover the body, and called for volunteers to do so. These being forthcoming, the attempt was made, but the party, after fighting its way about half the distance up the mountain, having suffered heavy loss, halted. They caved in, declared the undertaking to be impossible, and point-blank refused to make any further effort. This sensible determination, or pusillanimity--call it which you like, but remember a Boer is no coward--did not coincide with Conway's temperament, he being one of the leaders. He had declared he would bring that crucified corpse down, or would bust in the attempt, and if his men refused to come any further, why, he and his Hottentot arter-rider would go on alone; and, faith! the two of them went. Troth, I forgot to tell you before that his mother was Irish, and when the best of English hunting blood is crossed with the best of Irish fighting blood it is deuced hard to stop the owner when on the warpath. Well, subjected to a _feu d'enfer_, these two beauties scaled the almost perpendicular cliffs, and reached the cross, which they pulled down, and removed from it the battered remains. They then turned to descend the mountain, only to find their one path down it blocked by a strong party of the enemy, who had allowed them to do so much, to make sure of capturing them alive, and then the following morning there would be three crosses on the mountain instead of one. This strategy on the part of the natives would have caused most men to despair, and even the bravest of the brave, if cornered in a like manner, could have only hoped to enjoy a last good fight, and sell his life as dearly as possible. Mad Conway, however, thought otherwise. He had declared he would bring the body down the mountain or bust, and as the Basutos had blocked the only path down which he could carry it, why naturally he could only keep his word by throwing it over the krantz, and then, by following it himself, he would at all events balk the enemy of their anticipated fun, and save himself from the horrors of the torture stick. He and his faithful Tottie boy, therefore, expended their remaining cartridges, and then, bundling the corpse over the edge of the precipice, jumped after it themselves. No one looking at Thaba Bosego would believe the possibility of a man going over the edge of its perpendicular krantzes ever reaching the bottom with a semblance of humanity left, much less that he could survive the awful fall without every bone in his body being broken and life crushed out of him. Yet Mad Conway and his Tottie boy did so, and miraculously reached the foot of the beetling precipice, not only alive, but comparatively unhurt. Then picking up the corpse they carried it, under a hail of bullets, back to the schanze, where the rest of the party awaited them. Now these men must have been blessed with charmed lives, for although their scanty clothing was nearly shot off their bodies they only received a few slight flesh wounds, until they were just reaching the safety zone, when Conway was knocked over with a bullet through his left leg. Well, now I have given you a glance at the heroic side of this queer card, let me turn the tables and spin you another yarn, so as to give you some idea of the mad pranks he was capable of playing. Here goes. At one time, during the long protracted struggle between the Free State farmers and the Basutos, Conway was commandant of a small Dutch dorp situated close to the border which, like all other Free State villages, during war-time was laagered. Now Conway's commando had in their possession an ancient six-pounder ship's cannon so honeycombed that, had they fired it off, the probability is they would have made a considerable hash of the gun's crew that served it. Still, it was a real cannon that, when polished up and mounted on a pair of waggon wheels, looked formidable. Well, mad Conway had this piece of antique ordnance in charge, and being in his usual state of impecuniosity, and the said cannon being the only available asset he could lay his hand on, he one fine day determined to raise the gentle breeze of affluence and also to remove a possible danger to himself and men by disposing of the ancient bombard to the enemy, whose paramount chief, Moshesh, was most anxious to obtain artillery at any price, be it ancient or modern. This nefarious idea having been conceived, he at once sent a message over the border to Moshesh offering to sell it for 100 head of prime cattle. Moshesh was delighted. All the preliminaries were arranged: the time and place for the transfer of old scrap iron for live stock was fixed upon, and the transaction was carried out, a small party of Basutos bringing 100 head of splendid oxen across the border, which they handed over, receiving the old carronade in return. Mad Conway, many years afterwards, declared to me that it was only when the cattle were safely in his hands that the shameful wickedness of his act struck him, and he realised that, no matter how worthless the cannon might be, still he was an officer in the service of the Free State, that he had sold their war material to their enemy, and that by doing so he had forfeited his last shred of honour as an English gentleman. In fact his conscience reminded him that he had placed himself on the same low level as Mr Judas Iscariot, so he at once turned-to, like the Hebrew traitor, to purge himself of his shame. Now, my gentle reader, don't, please, imagine that Conway handed back the cattle, or expended a shilling in buying a rope wherewith to hang himself. No, not by a jugful; for he differed in very many respects from the Hebrew gent and when his qualms of conscience became too poignant for him to bear he turned out his commando, made a tremendous forced march, overtook the gun escort, which he surprised and routed, on their own side of the border, and brought back the old thunderer in triumph. Now some people may say that Conway had been guilty of decided sharp practice over this gun deal, but he always asserted that if old Moshesh could not keep possession of a purchased article after it had been delivered to him, and he had taken it across the border into his own territory, then he (Moshesh) was the only one to blame, and that he had no cause to grumble. Anyhow, the recapture of the gun reinstated Conway in his own self-respect, and as the sale of the cattle brought him in some £500, I think you will agree with me that he fared much better than the late Judas Iscariot, Esq. Through the unjustifiable interference of the British Government, the long war between the Free State farmers and the Basutos was brought to an end in March 1868, so that Mad Conway must needs look out for something else to do. He had gained great kudos in the field, and the Free State Government not only passed a vote of thanks to him, but also determined to add a more substantial token of appreciation, by presenting to him a large farm, the title deeds of which were to be delivered into his hands on the occasion of the last parade of the Bloemfontein burghers, previous to their disbandment. Well, the function was held, President Brand made his speech, and at the end of it Commander Conway's name was called. The hero of the hour rode to the front, to be welcomed by the plaudits of the men, and the handkerchief-waving of the women. A fine figure of a man, and a superb horseman, Mad Conway looked well as he reined up beside the President, and one would have thought that the bestowal of such an honour would have made even the most reckless dare-devil in the world conduct himself with decorum. Moreover, Mr Brand was perhaps the one man in South Africa who was highly respected, both by Briton and Boer, and had frequently befriended Conway in many ways. But alas! the Fates willed otherwise, for the reckless child of impulse, prompted by Ate or Old Nick, as usual, fell away and behaved in a most shocking manner. I said prompted by either Ate or Old Nick. Well, maybe they were the original instigators, but they used deputies to carry out their designs, for you see Conway had that morning imbibed many klein soupjies, and President Brand was wearing a tall bell-topper hat. Of course you will understand in a moment that a multifarious number of tots might excite a hot-tempered, reckless fellow such as our friend, but it may puzzle you why the hat of a respectable old gentleman should arouse the somnolent devil in Mad Conway. Let me explain. A tall bell-topper hat was, at that time, and for many years afterwards, an aggression that up-countrymen, be they Boers or Britons, could not stomach, for even in the latter eighties only two men were allowed to wear them in Kimberley--one, as old hands will remember, being Chief Justice Buchanan, and the other Donald McKai, the De Toits Pan market master. No one else, no matter what his status might be, possessed the temerity to appear in public wearing one; for, had he done so, it would have suffered the same fate as the presidential Golgotha did, on the occasion of which I am writing. Yes, bedad! and it did suffer, for Mad Conway had no sooner been given the title deeds of the farm, and had uttered a few words of thanks for the complimentary speech, and the honorarium he had received, than he waved his right arm wildly over his head and brought his fist down flop on the presidential bell-topper, which after emitting a drum-like thud, collapsed over the ears of its portly wearer. Then there was the deuce to pay and no pitch hot. Had anybody else been in Conway's boots he would have been massacred at once by the infuriated burghers, but seeing it was Conway, and being accustomed to his crazy vagaries, they sat on their horses and stared open-mouthed at the extraordinary spectacle, while the President attempted to struggle out of the ruins of his battered _chapeau_. In a moment Conway was himself again, was off his horse and assisting the President in getting rid of his encumbrance, at the same time pouring out a volume of excuses, and censuring himself for his confounded clumsiness. These excuses the dear old man accepted, and, in fact, in a few moments was acting as comforter to the brazen scallywag, so that the latter emerged from what might have been a desperate fix with honour and emolument. Now let me tell you how I fell across this queer character. I think it must have been about the end of the year 1883 that I, who was at that time working as a digger in Bullfontein, received an invitation to dinner from an old brother officer residing at the New Rush, for the purpose of meeting Mad Conway, who had drifted down to the diamond fields from the Transvaal. Of course, like everyone else in South Africa at that time, I had heard heaps of yarns about him, but although we had both served in the same wars we had somehow or other never met; so I joyously accepted the invitation. On my arrival at my friend's house I was introduced to this noted madcap, who turned out to be a well-dressed, well-groomed, well-set-up man, who, although past middle age, looked as hard as iron and tough as whipcord. The dinner passed off well, myself and others being kept in a roar of laughter by the extraordinary yarns he related, together with the inimitable pantomime with which he illustrated them. Mad Conway had sojourned on the diamond-fields in the earlier days, and had literally been hunted from off them, his exodus being so thoroughly in keeping with the man's whole career that I think you will pardon me should I digress and recount it. You see, it was in this way. Conway was as usual over head and ears in debt, and one fine morning he heard that writs were out against him for civil imprisonment. This was an indignity that sent him hopping mad, so jumping on to his horse he galloped to the Court House. _En route_ he encountered the bum-bailiff, who, mounted on an old pony, was looking for him, and who was fool enough to try and stop him. Waving a sheaf of blue papers in his hand, he called on Conway to pull up, at the same time turning his nag athwart the road in an attempt to stop him. It was only an attempt, for the next moment the messenger of the Court and his gee-gee were heaped up in the sluit, while his scattered documents were being rapidly torn up by a mob of laughing, cheering diggers. After his successful charge, Conway cantered on to the Court House, through the sacred portals of which he rode his excited and plunging horse. Scattering the limbs of Satan and the grimy scum usually to be found in such establishments to the four winds of heaven. "----" shouted he to the horrified magistrate. "I heard you had been signing some d----d arrest papers against me, so I just dropped in to tell you, you can shove them where the monkey shoved the nuts. So long." "Stop him! Arrest him!" cried his outraged worship, as Conway swung his horse round, and two policemen made a half-hearted attempt to do so, but were ridden over and dispersed. "Whoop, gone away," yelled Conway, as he emerged into the Free State road and burst through a squad of mounted police. "If you want to catch me try to." They wanted to catch him very badly, and tried very hard to do so, but the veld was close handy and, Lord bless you! they might as well have tried to rope a sunbeam as to round up Mad Conway once he had gained the open plains; so that after he had played with them until, I presume, he got thirsty, he just turned his horse's head for the Free State and cantered across the frontier, leaving his baffled pursuers to ride their knocked-up horses back to the disgruntled beak. This escapade took place just before he joined the irregular forces who were carrying on a desultory sort of warfare with Sekukuni. It was while serving with this disorganised crowd that Conway mated with an ex-naval lieutenant as like himself in character as two peas are in appearance. Faith, they made a bonny half-section, for what one did not know in the way of devilment, the other could teach him. Well, it was just before the time when the aforesaid irregular forces were to be reorganised. Sir Garnet Wolseley was on his way up country, so were strong reinforcements, and the atmosphere was thick with shaves as to what was going to happen. Now, it was just at this moment this brace of beauties found themselves to be in a dilemma: they were both stonybroke. True, they were accustomed to be so, and as they had both been appointed to irregular corps about to be embodied, possessed smart uniforms and first-rate horses, they thought it would be a hard matter if they could not manage to raise a fortnight's board and lodging of the best, together with the necessary liquid, in liberal quantities, _bien entendu_, from somewhere or other. Now half-a-day's ride from where they were located was an up-country dorp, in which was a canteen of such pretensions that the owner, a leery old Scotsman, called it a hotel. He was, like many of his countrymen, exceedingly avaricious, and prided himself on his cuteness, making a brag that no one could impose upon him. For many years he had enjoyed the monopoly of such trade as passed through the little township, but latterly another individual had opened an opposition shop, which, as it was slightly more up-to-date, filled the old sinner with apprehension, and rage, especially as hard cash was very scarce in the Transvaal at that date. Well, it was this close-fisted old Boniface that our brace of worthies determined to victimise, although to anyone else an attempt to do so would have looked very hopeless indeed. Now mad Conway was so well known in the dorp, especially by the said Boniface, that it was utterly useless for him to try to obtain credit for a tot of dop, as the publican would sooner see the liquor on his shelves than trust anyone for a shilling. But at the same time he was well aware that Conway had held, and was likely again to hold, a fairly high position in military circles. The other partner, however, was a perfect stranger. So this was the way the two scamps worked the oracle. One fine morning Conway cantered up to the old Scotsman's hotel, into which he strode with a bustling, dutified air. "Swan," quoth he, "Colonel ---- (mentioning the well-known name of one of Sir Garnet's principal staff officers) will be here in a few minutes. He is riding in advance of the General, so as to make arrangements for the accommodation of Sir Garnet and his whole staff, who will be staying in this dorp for some considerable time. The Colonel was recommended to go to the new hotel, but I, who am acting as his guide, have persuaded him to try you first of all, to see if you can furnish the necessary requirements. Of course you will have to do your very best, furnish the best rooms, supply the very best food and liquor, and all that sort of thing, and the Colonel will require a private sitting-room, in which to carry on his correspondence, while he is awaiting the General's arrival." Old Swan nosed what he thought was going to turn out to be a most profitable bit of business. He had heard of the enormous sums of money squandered by the Imperial Government during the late Zulu war, and his fingers fairly itched at the chance of being thrust into the plunder pot. In a moment he was all smiles and attention, even going so far as to promise to turn out, at a moment's notice, all his usual guests and to reserve the whole of the house for the great man and his staff. Throwing open the door of his own cosy sitting-room, he inquired if Conway thought that would do until a better one could be provided, and also asked if he should be doing right to invite the Colonel to have a drink on his dismounting. "Well," said Conway, "I should hardly do that, as perhaps Colonel ---- may be one of those rabid teetotallers who do not like to drink in public, but you had better place a bottle of whisky, one of brandy, yes, and perhaps one of gin, together with some soda-water, and a box of your very best cigars on that buffet, and if he should help himself you will then know whether he drinks or not. Ah, by Jove! here he comes." A fine stalwart figure, clothed in undress uniform, rode slowly across the big market square and, reining up at the front door, leisurely dismounted. Handing his horse over to the grinning Tottie hostler, he coolly scanned the front of the premises and the surroundings. Out rushed the obsequious host, more leisurely followed by the debonair but still respectful Conway. "Ah, Conway," drawled the new-comer, "so we have arrived at last, and this is the hotel you recommended, is it? Well, perhaps it will do, though I must confess I like the appearance of the other one better. Still, I have no doubt our worthy host here will do his best to make us all comfortable, especially as our stay here may be rather a long one. Let us step inside and see what accommodation he has to offer, as you know how particular Sir Garnet is." Enter the bandits, who are shown over the house by the palpitating innkeeper, whose ears at the illusion about the more attractive appearance of the rival house are aching as if struck by an acute pang of tic doloreux and he forthwith promises at once to carry out the most frivolous suggestions, and there were many of them, of the somewhat haughty and exacting S.O. "And now you have shown me the house," quoth the latter, "perhaps you will be good enough to show me my private sitting-room, in which I think, Conway, as I am somewhat fatigued by my long ride, we might indulge in a biscuit, and on this occasion, although I hardly ever take anything stronger than tea, I think I will venture, Mr Swan, on a glass of your best sherry or pontac; and by the way, Mr Swan, at two o'clock you will be good enough to let us have the best and most substantial lunch you can furnish at such a short notice. Ah, this will do very nicely"--as the deluded innkeeper threw open the door of his own snuggery and ushered his stonybroke guests inside. The room looked like a cosy miniature bar, for the the small buffet was loaded with bottles, plates of delicately cut sandwiches, biscuits, and a big box of extra-special prime cigars, while the canvas water-cooler was full of bottled ale and soda water. Well, our two adventurers were in clover, and so well did they employ their opportunity that old Swan, who had been bragging to all his usual bar frequenters about having secured the General's custom, and chuckling to himself over the huge bill that, in the future, he would present, which would be duly paid in bright English gold instead of in worthless Transvaalian greenbacks, was fairly wild with greed and pride. There was, however, one small cloud on the horizon: the Colonel had stated that he rarely touched anything stronger than tea, and the tea-drinker is not nearly so profitable a customer to an up-country innkeeper as one who imbibes expensive drinks at short intervals during the day. This gloomy conjecture he confided to his circle of cronies, who condoned with him, but the cloud, however, was to be quickly blown away, for after he had summoned his guests to their lunch he rushed back into the bar and exclaimed: "Tea-drinker, does he call himself? Tea-drinker, ma certes! Why, they have finished the sherry; they've finished the pontac; they've finished the brandy and more than half finished the whisky, and the Colonel has ordered two big bottles of champagne for their tiffin. Yes, and I'm blest if they've turned a single hair. Tea-drinker indeed! My word, if the General and the remainder of the staff drink tea like the Colonel, and are half as drouthy, they will drink the dorp dry in less than a week." And the old fellow rubbed his hands as he booked the amount for the liquor consumed and chortled over the anticipated profits. Well, to cut a long story short, our two penniless heroes lived for over a week on the very fat of the land, their Gargantuan repasts and the amount of liquor they consumed causing wonder and astonishment in the quiet dorp. But the end of their bean-feast was at hand. Sir Garnet, they knew, was in the vicinity. Prudence warned them to absquatulate, and they determined to cut their lucky, before the inevitable _dénouement_. One evening, therefore, they informed old Swan that the expected great man would arrive the next day, that they were riding out in the morning to meet him, and they conjured him to have things ready for his reception. Next morning, with their wallets filled with the best cigars, and their flasks full of the best cognac, they rode gaily away on their quest, and, bedad! it was high time for them to do so, as they had not proceeded two miles out of the dorp before they met the real Simon Pure, with all his staff, escort and mule waggons _en route_ to the village they had just quitted. Well, they were all right: the paymaster had arrived, all arrears would be paid up, the war would start again, they had had a high old time of it, and they lapsed into roars of laughter when they thought of old Swan and the fury he would be in when he found out he had been hoaxed. Yes, old Swan's consternation and rage were beyond description when the General's cavalcade, instead of pulling up at his highly decorated house, proceeded to that of his hated rival, from whence, after a short interview between Sir Garnet and the landrost, it continued its way to parts unknown. Truly the old fellow's provocation was great. Not only had he been put to much expense by the alterations to his house, but the bill run up by the two marauders was a very big one, and then the chaff that he would have to submit to, because he, who fancied himself to be more than cute, had allowed himself to be taken in and done down by a well-known bad hat like Mad Conway. No; it was not to be tolerated, so he called for his horse and his two-shot scatter gun, for the purpose of going in pursuit, but on second thoughts that was far too risky a job, so he got drunk, and goaded at last to desperation by his wife's clacking tongue tried to beat her, but she, being a strong-armed suffragette, took the contract out of his hands and gave him the devil's own thumping. So the poor old fellow subsided and submitted to having his leg pulled with the best grace he could muster. There was, however, a little balm in store for him, as after the two freebooters had had some financial dealings with the paymaster they sent him a good round sum of money; for they were both men who did not object to paying their debts when they had the coin, and remembered to do so. This remittance, although it brought relief to his avarice, still did nothing to assuage his injured self-respect. He had been taken in and hoaxed. The yarn spread all over the country, and he was unmercifully chaffed to the day of his death about the way he had entertained Mad Conway and the counterfeit Colonel. It was, however, to be the last escapade of the latter, as the poor fellow was shortly afterwards killed while gallantly leading a desperate rush at Sekukuni's Mountains. I, however, had started telling you about my personal experiences with Mad Conway. Well, after I met him at dinner, I saw a good deal of him, and one day he asked me to come for a drive with two of his friends, who owned a very smart turn-out, to a well-known drift across the Vaal River, where there was an hotel. We were to start on a Saturday afternoon, stay there the night, and return the next day. He promised me a lively time, as two of the team of four horses were unbroken, and the other two, although splendid animals, possessed all the vices that gee-gees can be either born with or acquire. The distance was about twenty-five miles, the road was good, across a dead-level flat, which, like most of those in Grigualand West, was thickly sprinkled with ant-heaps, from about a foot to two and a half feet high. Well, perhaps the characters of the horses and that of the two other men who were to accompany us, both roaring blades, to say nothing about the well-known recklessness of our Jehu, might have made a nervous old gentleman give pause and refuse the invite; but then you see at that time I was not a nervous old party, and although I have no wish to claim an inordinate amount of pluck or recklessness still as I was blue mouldy for the want of a bit of divarsion, and knew Conway to be one of the best whips in Africa, I gladly accepted. The start was a trifle exciting, our two companions turning up just about half-seas over, while the horses promised to act up to their evil reputations. However, the trap was a brand-new Cape cart, and the harness of the very best, so that after some little circus play Conway managed to get the nags to move off, and we started. The drive through the diggings was accomplished, thanks to Conway's masterly management, in safety, for although we scattered like chaff many groups of niggers, we only upset two Parsee pedlars and one Chinaman, the balance of the damage done being the demolishment of a coolie's habitation, which was constructed out of material that at one time had been paraffin and sardine tins. This accident caused the pious Hindoo who owned the shattered tin-heap to swear horribly and spit just like an angry cat; but I don't think we killed anybody. When we reached the veld and were on the broad, open waggon road, the horses, thanks to the splendid handling of our charioteer, settled down to a swinging pace. There was but little chance of our meeting anyone, the scores of high-heaped produce and wood waggons trekking into Kimberley being, at that time of day, all drawn off the road and outspanned, as were also the empty waggons homeward bound, and I firmly believe we should have reached our destination in safety had it not been for the conduct of the other two passengers. The drive was most exhilarating as we rushed through the glorious air, and there was plenty of excitement in it too for a man who was not a glutton; for although the road was a first-class one, and quite flat, yet frequently, when we passed a group of outspanned waggons, the Dutchmen's dogs would rush out and bark at us, a proceeding that drove our unbroken and vicious horses nearly mad. Yet I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and no doubt should have done so to the end, as the change from the slogging hard work of the mine, with its dust and dirt, was delightful, while the slashing pace we were going and the wild, fresh, veld wind roused my animal spirits till I felt as exhilarated as a penniless small boy does when he is presented with an unexpected half-crown. But, alas! we had other spirits on board, and our two companions, who occupied the back seat in the cart, partook of them freely, nor did they partake of them in the orthodox manner, as the motion of the swinging cart made the use of a glass and a mixing of _aqua fortis_ with _aqua fontis_ a somewhat difficult matter; so they dispensed with the usual accessories and swigged the whisky neat out of the bottle. Now this was a very dangerous proceeding, especially as they had imbibed a fair skinful previous to starting, and what with the natural high spirits engendered by the drive, and the other spirits they loaded up in the aforementioned manner, they became very tight indeed, and decidedly uproarious. First of all they began to sing a song. That was a failure. Then they began to chaff old Conway, which was dangerous; and then they began to rattle and stamp their feet on the floor of the cart, so as to make the horses more restive, which was both unnecessary and foolish. Conway, the muscles of whose arms were swollen to nigh breaking-point, took no notice of their crazy antics, except to order them to stop monkeying, as it was all he could do to hold and guide the half-maddened animals, but they paid no heed to his admonitions. Then he cursed them with unction, but that succeeded no better, till at last, thoroughly angry, he shouted out: "Oh, you want a smash, do you? Well! by gad, you shall have one." And without another word he bundled up the reins, which he threw on to the leaders' backs, at the same time letting go a letter "S" cut with his whip which impartially stung up every horse in the team, and then sitting back he let go one of his well-known wild bursts of laughter. At the moment this happened we were about five miles from the drift. The road was perfect, but some two miles or more farther on there was a sharp bend in it, and the problem to me was, would the maddened horses keep to the road or take to the veld when they came to it. I had not to wait long for the solution. The horses, the moment they felt the whip, and found their heads loose, at once broke into a tearing gallop. Reaching the bend in next door to no time, they took to the veld and tore wildly across it, making straight for the long line of willows that marked the river's bank. Here we were bound to come a most unholy smash, provided we ever reached it, but I knew there were far too many ant-heaps on the way, and to run against any one of these, which we were sure to do, would be quite enough to upset our apple-cart. From the moment Conway threw away the ribbons I knew I must come an awful mucker, and had philosophically prepared myself for the inevitable smash. He simply leant back in his seat, giving vent to his peculiar bursts of laughter, while the other two, sobered up by the danger, howled curses, entreaties and pious ejaculations in a duet that would have been highly diverting under other circumstances. Now events that are inevitable usually happen--at least, that is my experience--and we had not travelled far across the veld when the off-side wheel of the cart struck an ant-heap, some two feet high, bang in the middle, when I immediately and involuntarily vacated my seat. Yes; I left it in the same manner as a war rocket should leave its trough, and I described the same sort of a flight as one of those infernal machines very often used to do, for when I had described a parabola through the air, and had reached the full height of the trajectory, I turned a complete somersault. Then my specific gravity bringing me back to mother earth, I landed on my feet, ran a few yards so as to ease off the momentum of my flight, and came to a halt, devil a cent the worse. This was luck, and I turned round to see what had become of my companions, one or more of whom I feared must be badly hurt. Conway was all right, that was evident, as he was sitting on an ant-heap taking a pull at a bottle of whisky that had somehow escaped the debacle. Looking round, I saw the horses still galloping, dragging the remains of the cart, smashed to flinders, behind them. They disappeared among the willows, and I could conjecture the awful mess there must be at the foot of the river's bank. I longed to go to their assistance, for I dearly love a horse, but I first turned to our two mates, for although they were, in my opinion, far the worse brutes, still they were human brutes, and fashion makes us serve them first. Going to them as they lay amidst a debris of lamps, cushions, karosses, etc., I saw one of them was not only knocked silly but had broken his left arm and, by the way he breathed and looked, I diagnosed concussion of the brain. The other had broken his left leg, had acquired a beautiful gravel rash all over his face and was swearing at old Conway with much volubility. I was rendering the poor devils first aid, and begging Conway to walk on to the hotel to get more help, when we were hailed from the road by a well-known Kimberley sawbones, who, having providentially viewed the smash-up from a cross-road, had borne down to our assistance. A mob of Dutchmen and waggon boys were also on their way from the hotel, so I was able to go and look after the horses, borrowing a Boer's rifle _en route_. On reaching the poor beasts I found them lying in a tangled heap at the bottom of a steep bank. The cart was smashed to matchwood, and I had to shoot two of the nags, while the others we extricated with great trouble, both of them being badly hurt. This was the finale of my first joy ride with Mad Conway, and though I enjoyed many subsequent ones, none of them were so exciting as the first. I could yarn to you all night about this extraordinary critter, and on some future date may give you further reminiscences about him; but I think you will allow, from what I have told you, that he was a very queer card indeed. CHAPTER III A CONVERSION THAT FAILED It has always been a source of wonder to me why so many people change their religion, for, although I have never had the time, opportunity, or perhaps the inclination, to study theology in any part of its ramifications, and have never even read the Thirty-Nine Articles which caused the fancy religionists not only to desert their Church, but has now enabled them, through their co-operation with rebels, atheists, socialists and a gang of men who, so long as they can hang on to power, are ready to play any dishonourable game, to gratify their rancorous spite in looting the said Church, my astonishment still remains. Yet very many people of all classes are frequently chucking up the faith of their fathers and joining another. No doubt some of these are actuated by sincere religious convictions, but I think the majority of them are prompted by the desire in some way to better themselves in this life. For instance, to remove an obstacle that prevents them from making an advantageous marriage, to succeed to property, to advance themselves in society or to make money. Still, there are plenty of people who swap their fire insurance policy for other motives, not even so respectable as the few I have enumerated, and one sinner told me that, having been a very bad hat during early manhood, he had joined the R.C. Church as he had been assured that by doing so he had cleaned his slate of the accumulation of his past sins and had thereby choused Old Nick. This may or may not have been the case, but anyhow he was very ready to contract fresh obligations with the Old Gentleman, as before we parted he managed to swindle me out of a fiver; so that after mature consideration I came to the conclusion that he was not a brand that was likely to be snatched from the burning, thanks to his change of religion, but was still a very bad hat indeed. Now anyone can understand, although he may not admire, a man who, prompted by greed, love or interest, changes his mode of worship. But the man who I am going to yarn to you about was not an individual of this class, and, moreover, although he was most charitably disposed, and always ready to plank down a cheque for any good purpose, yet as a rule he did not pan out on religious matters at all, and knew as much about dogma as a chimpanzee does about snowballing. But let me start the yarn from the beginning. During the latter eighties, when I was adjutant of the D.F.H., and was located at De Toits Pan, there lived on the same diamond diggings a man who carried on the trade of baker, and whom I shall designate by his Boer name of Davy. Now Davy had begun life as a ship's baker, and having followed the sea for many years had drifted up to the diamond fields in the early times, had started in at his trade and had prospered exceedingly, so that when I knew him he was a rich man, and justly very popular with the diggers. In person he was of medium height, thick-set, with great rounded shoulders, on which was stuck, for he had not much neck to boast of, a huge round head that, owing perhaps to the effects of early piety, was as devoid of hair as a Little Englander is of patriotism. As regards manners, he was rather brusque, and until he came to know you was a bit repellent, and was totally uneducated. But he was a white man right through, and many a score of women and children would have had to go hungry to roost, during hard times, had good old Davy cut off supplying bread, although the betting might be decidedly against his ever pouching a single ticky (threepenny piece) of their money. Now, this old worthy, who as a rule never attended any Gospel Mill, and was as devoid of theologic controversy as one of his loaves of bread, nevertheless, whenever he indulged in an occasional burst always developed the idiosyncrasy that he must change his religion, and would promptly set to work to do so. What faith he had been brought up in originally (if any) I know not, and I doubt if he knew himself, but he tried all there were on the diamond fields (and owing to the polyglot crowd located on the diggings there were many), with the exception of the Hebrew, from which ancient cult Davy shied, as he always affirmed there was an obstacle in the way, which required to be removed before he could become a proselyte in the Synagogue. Well, one fine day shortly after Davy had exhausted the last available religion, De Toits Pan was invaded by a commercial traveller in a brand-new fancy faith, the name of which I forget, but it was one freshly imported from America, and was guaranteed to be something quite new, slick and up-to-date. In fact, its votaries might reckon on a first-class ticket up to heaven, without any detention at the custom-house, while, provided they subscribed liberally, they might even expect to be transmitted there in a private fiery balloon. Now I never knew the ritual of the band of brothers, as they called themselves, but I knew it was necessary for a recruit, upon his initiation, to be soused over head and ears in water, which was meant to typify that all past sins would be washed away, although I guess it would have taken more than one ducking in cold water to have made an impression on the case-hardened iniquities of some of the converts who joined the movement. Yes, by gad! it would have required scalding water, soft soap, soda, and a wire scrubbing-brush to have shifted their moral delinquencies. Still, if the tubbing did not purify their immortal souls, it had a salutary effect on their hides, so we can pass that part of the performance as O.K. Now, this missionary, spiritual bagman, or call him what you like, was at the first go-off of his raid very successful, doing a great business and roping in very many proselytes, so many, in fact it made the sky-pilots in the older established firms buck up, and look askance. He laboured, however, under one very great disadvantage--viz. there was no building in De Toits Pan procurable, large enough to contain the necessary water tank, so that until one could be built the numerous recruits had to be taken on the Sunday to the Modder River, and be ducked therein. Well, just as the new movement was in the hey-day of its popularity, good old Davy went on one of his rare jamborees, and, _faute de mieux_, at once fell into line, signed on as a brother, and on the following day (Sunday) went to the Modder River with a number of other neophytes, male and female, to undergo their preliminary water cure. Now it chanced that, on the same Sunday evening, I happened to be chatting in the De Toits Pan club, when all of a sudden in dashed Davy in a great state of perturbation. Rushing up to the bar he demanded a double-headed whisky straight, which he swallowed like an oyster, then promptly held out his glass for another supply. "Hullo, Davy," quoth one of those present, "you seem to be gulping down the cratur with unction. I thought you would have been nursing your new religious doctrines at this time of night." Davy answered him not, but with a growl ordered the barman to refill his glass. "Why, Davy, what's the matter?" queried another. "What have they been doing to you to capsize you in this fashion, and why don't you take water with your pongello?" "Water, indeed," snarled Davy. "I sha'n't want no water for another month." And he made a motion to the barman to pass the bottle. "Here, ease up, Davy," said I. "You've had enough. Leave the whisky alone, and come over here. Sit down and tell us how you got on this afternoon at the washing fête." "Whoi," grumbled the old fellow, whom, it seemed, the third nobbler had somewhat pacified, as he took the offered chair and proceeded to light his pipe, "I didn't get on at all, and this new-fangled religion ain't worth a cuss. 'Tain't one as any man with any common-sense 'ud cotton to, and as for the sky-pilot, he's jist as hignorant as a howl." "Well, well, tell us all about it. Did you imbibe the faith?" "Faith, be d----d!" he growled. "I didn't imbibe nothing except a gallon or two of Modder River water." And he expectorated with disgust. However, after he had been smoothed down a bit, and had had another tot, he bucked up and related his tribulations as follows:-- "You see, boys," said he, "I went down to the Modder River this afternoon, with a large party of other converts. The shepherd, as 'e calls his blooming self, 'e comes along too, and brings two or three of the sharps as 'elps 'im. Well, when we got there we finds a couple of tents pitched: one for the ladies, and one for us men, to take off our duds in. Well, after a bit, one of the sharps, he comes to me, and sez he: 'Brother, we's going to commence along with you.' So 'e shows me into the tent, and sez he: 'Brother, remove your gaudy 'abiliments and put on this 'ere garb of simplicity.' And with that 'e 'ands me a sort of a nightgown which came to about me knees. As soon as I was togged out, feelin' a bit ashamed of meself rigged out like that, he leads me down to the river bank and there was the shepherd, as 'e calls hisself, long, thin, herring-gutted devil, standing up to his middle in the water. 'Enter, brother,' he sings out to me, 'and 'ave your manifold sins swabbed away.' I wades in and whin I reaches 'im the water took me up to the chin. He begins his palaver, and before I knowed where I was 'e puts his two hands on me shoulders and ducks me bloomin 'ead under. He fair took me by surprise 'e did, or I'd 'ave took an extra breath of air. As it was, I lost me footin', and 'ad to struggle to come up. Me old skull-cap comes off and I got me 'ead above water, but no sooner did 'e see me old bald pate appear than he shoved it down agin, and kep' on a-doing so until I was near drownded. Should 'ave bin, I believe, 'ad I not managed to giv' 'im a punch in the bread-basket which shut 'im hup like a pair of scissors, and then I scrambles out and runs to the tent nigh water-logged. Presently along 'e comes, and sez 'e to me, sez 'e: 'Brother, wherefore did you assault me while in the water?' And I sez to 'im: 'You ain't no brother of mine. What for did yer try to drown me?' 'Brother,' sez 'e, 'I knew not you was so bald, and when yer 'ead appeared above the surface of the river I laboured under the delusion it was another portion of yer hanatomy, and so as to prevent what might 'ave become an indecent hexhibition I pressed it hunder agin and continued to do so.' 'Well,' sez I, 'yer religion may be a darned foine one, and yer may be a darned foine shepherd, but whin yer don't know the difference between a conwert's bows and 'is starnpost 'tain't no religion for me, and I 'ud scorn to belong to it or own yer as a brother or shepherd, so ye and yer 'ole gang can go to h----.' And with that I left 'im and came 'ome as fast as I could git." Now although I think that on this one occasion old Davy's plea, like himself, was a good un, and that he, under the aforementioned circumstances, was fully justified in doubting the _bona fides_ of this fancy religion through the lack of acumen and also the gross ignorance on the part of the shepherd, still, as one swallow does not make a summer, this one legitimate case of perversion does not, in my eyes, justify the large number of people who chop or change their faith and are always thronging to hear some half-crazy tub-thumper, be he a long-haired, red-nosed revivalist, unctuous Mormon or any other hypocritical expounder of a new cult. CHAPTER IV JACK ASHORE IN 1871 Yes, I've had the honour and pleasure of serving in the same outfit as H.M. bluejackets, and I will maintain that the British sailor is second to none either as a fighting man or love-maker, the only man, in my unbiassed opinion, to equal him in the above pursuits being the Irish soldier. Now Jack and Pat both keenly appreciate a bit of fun and devilment, but I think, in pursuit of divarsion, Jack must be assigned the cake, as during his hours of relaxation, while at liberty, on shore, he frequently displays a bit of originality in his pranks that, in fairness I must confess, land him ahead of my dear, reckless, light-hearted countrymen. During the New Zealand wars the Maoris called the Naval Brigade Te Ngati Jacks, and they insisted that they belonged to a different people from the remainder of H.M. forces; for you never could convince the old-time Maori warrior that the loose-clad, rollicking, gallant sailor was of the same blood as the tight-buttoned-up, stiff and more stolid, though equally brave, soldier. This erroneous idea was, I think, also in a great measure due to the fantastic capers Jack cut while enjoying his well-earned liberty on shore, during which treasured moments he strove to cram into twenty-four hours all the fun, and also as many of the minor vices, as he could manage to indulge in, and I am only doing him justice when I state he usually succeeded in participating in as much devilment during those few hours as would satisfy an ordinary healthy Tommy for a year. Times, customs and manners have greatly altered since 1870, and although there can be no doubt that, changed as in many respects our fleet men are from the sailors of the past generation, still the same courage and devotion exists in our present-day, highly trained, splendid naval seamen as ever instigated the grand old hearts of oak, who boxed yards about, pulled on bits of string called halyards, braces, etc.; and, totally ignorant of electricity, cursed steam. Moreover, there has been a great change for the better in the conduct and sobriety of our ever-popular and much-loved bluejackets when ashore on short leave. Settlers, old identities, in colonial seaport towns, will, I am sure, endorse what I have written above, for although during the forty years I lived in the colonies I never heard of one of H.M. bluejackets committing a crime, still some of their sprees were rather alarming to nervous people, while they shocked the puritanical, hypocritical humbugs, of whom there is always a superfluity wherever the Union Jack flies. For these cattle, being able to indulge in their pet vices _sub rosa_, or else being too narrowminded to make allowance for the festive pranks of high-spirited men, let loose for a few short hours after being cooped up on board ship for months at a stretch, where they have been subjected to the most severe discipline in the world, hold up hands in horror at poor Jack's frolics, and call the brave fellow, whose mess tins they are not worthy to swab out, a drunken, profligate sailor-man, unfit to be at large in this world, and sure to be damned in the next. Yet many of Jack's sprees were most diverting to the looker-on, as he would frequently introduce into his frolics some originality that, simple in itself, and most probably quite unpremeditated, still compelled anyone with the smallest spark of humour in his composition to thoroughly appreciate. I am now going to spin you a yarn about one bluejacket's spree that, if it does not amuse you, at all events afforded myself and some of my comrades, just down from the frontier, a hearty laugh. The scene was Wellington, New Zealand, the date somewhere about the end of 1871, when, the long war having burnt itself out, and the sharp fighting having smouldered itself away to the ordinary frontier defence work, myself and a few of my comrades had, for the first time for nearly six years, the chance of returning for a period to civilisation and enjoying such comforts and luxuries as were at that time to be obtained in the capital of New Zealand. This we were doing with a relish only to be enjoyed by men who have for years been living, or rather enduring, a hard bush life, utterly debarred from the ordinary pleasures of society, and the refinement of ladies' companionship. We were doing ourselves well, and going very strong, when the fun was enhanced by the arrival of a squadron of H.M. ships, with whose officers we fraternised, notwithstanding the fact that they ran us very close, if they did not quite cut us out, in the favour of the fair New Zealand ladies, for both officers and men of H.M. Royal Navy are as hard to contend against in the rosy lists of love as they are to beat in the ruddy game of war. No matter if there may have been a trifle of jealousy between us in those days it did not matter a row of pins, and we all enjoyed rattling good times. But hold hard, I am off the trail of my yarn, and so must try back. Well, the squadron anchored, squared yards, and, after the ships had been put into apple-pie order, in due course of time, leave was given to the crews, and the starboard watches came ashore to enjoy themselves for twenty-four hours. This they did; and my word they made the town of Wellington lively, opening the eyes and elevating the hands of the unco guid in a way that, to such lost sinners as ourselves, was most exhilarating. In those days, I know not if such be the case now, every sailor had the fixed conviction that he was a perfect master of equitation, and no sooner did he get ashore than he yearned to ride a horse, or, failing to obtain one, a mule, a donkey, a cow or even a goat came not amiss. Some four-footed beast must be obtained by hook or by crook, or, if saddle animals were quite unobtainable, then he must drive or be driven. Well, the starbowlins came ashore and painted the town a vivid red, and the streets soon became full of bluejackets, mounted on every description of animal, some of the poor beasts having to carry double, while now and again you would see some cart-horse, very long in the back, ridden by three laughing, shouting sailors, the whole of the cavalcades galloping and sidling up and down the main roads cheered to the echo by their admiring messmates, while the riders, with their bell-bottomed slacks rucked up above the knees, their elbows square with their ears, and a rein, or as Jack termed it a yoke-line, in either hand, held on like grim death to a dead nigger. Yet numerous were the falls and collisions that took place, and it appeared to be fully understood that, should a rider be pipped, his loose horse and empty saddle should be the lawful prize of the lucky shipmate who first captured them, and sometimes you could see half-a-dozen or more Jacks trying to board the said prize from both sides and ends of the unfortunate quadruped at one and the same time. Many of the horses could and did buck a bit, but this did not seem to daunt Jack one iota; in fact, buck-jumping appeared to rather enhance the value of the mount, and I saw some wonderful and determined attempts to stick on viciously bucking animals, the rider hanging on manfully by gullet plate and cantle, yea, you might say with teeth and toe-nails, yelling, "Whoa, whoa, you----!" at the top of his gamut, while his admiring comrades howled their applause, every man-jack of them anxious to try his luck the moment the temporary horseman should be grassed. Of course it must be remembered that all of these men had been accustomed to jockey the yard-arm of a plunging ship, and as Jack is by nature and training utterly fearless, I should have bet my bottom dollar that any one of them would have unhesitatingly tried to have ridden Old Nick himself, had he chanced to have come along on four legs. Here I'm off the right spoor of my yarn again, so must circle and pick it up. It was on the afternoon of the said day, a number of us were gathered together in the billiard-room of the club, when a tremendous cheer from the crowded street caused us to make for the verandah, to see what had caused such an uproar. And this is what we spotted. But mark time, as I must digress again for a moment. Years before Cobb & Co. introduced into New Zealand their American coaches some speculative settler had imported one of the original London omnibuses, a vehicle of great length, on which the top passengers sat back to back, with their knees up to their chins on what was known as knife-boards, and gained these perches by crawling up perpendicular iron ladders fastened to either side of the door. A more unsuitable trap could not have been invented for New Zealand roads, so that shortly after its arrival it was stowed away and forgotten by the general public. Its owner, however, was a cute fellow, for hearing of the probable invasion of sailors, he had the old ramshackle caravan made roadworthy, horsed it, and, on the landing of Jack, promptly chartered it to a large party of them, so that it was the sudden appearance of this prehistoric tramcar, rumbling along the street, that had evoked the burst of applause which had attracted our attention. Truly Jack had rigged and fitted out the old shandrydan handsomely, as flags, streamers and wreaths decorated it wherever it was possible to make them fast. Nor was she indifferently manned, as even musicians had been provided, for, perched along the driver's footboard, two more than half drunk fiddlers and a half-section of equally intoxicated fifers sawed and blew for all they were worth. The coachman sat on the usual raised seat in the centre of the fore cross-bench, and on either side of him lolled two huge quartermasters who, cigar in mouth and arms crossed, tried to appear quite at their ease and preterhumanly sober. The roof of the vehicle was overcrowded with brawny bluejackets all rollicking drunk, who demonstrated their good will to the passers-by and the laughing spectators in the windows by holding out to them bottles of liquor, while at the same time they exchanged badinage of a saline nature with their messmates thronging the side-walks. The inside of the old omnibus was occupied by only two men, who ostentatiously sniffed at and frequently tasted huge bottles of make-believe medicine, while at intervals they exhibited to the onlookers grotesque imitations of surgical instruments, and, in case it required any further explanation as to what the interior of the vehicle was intended to represent, over the windows and doors were chalked such notices as--Sick-bay, Dead-house, Boozers-locker, etc. All this was funny enough, but although the appearance of the old rattle-trap somewhat surprised us, still there was nothing, after all, extraordinary in its existence, nor in its festive crew, and we should merely have laughed and forgotten the circumstance had we not spotted, the moment it came abreast of us, a wondrous appendage to the vehicle itself, for at the tail-end over the door protruded two stout poles, from which was suspended a large-sized stable wheelbarrow. Now what in the name of Comus could Jack want with a wheelbarrow? Its presence roused our curiosity, so that we at once made for the stables, where our horses were carefully locked up, mounted and followed the festive show that had taken the road towards the Hut (a small village a short distance along the sea coast from Wellington and a very pretty drive). Our journey in search of knowledge was not to take us far, for we had only just caught up to the slowly moving caravan when, as it turned a sharp corner, one of the crew, rather more drunk than the others, lost his balance, tumbled off the top and landed on the road, which fortunately for him was at this spot heavy sand, with a concussion that would have killed or seriously maimed any sober landlubber. In a moment a shout of "Man overboard" was raised and a stentorian voice howled out: "Hard down with your helm, back the main yard, heave to," and in almost the same breath: "Pipe away the jolly-boat." Out rang a shrill pipe: "Jolly-boats away," and in a second down was lowered the wheelbarrow, down slid two men, and before even a woman could get breath for a squeal, or any of the horrified spectators could gather round the unfortunate, who lay on the road striking out with his arms and legs as if swimming, they ran the wheelbarrow up to him, dumped him in, ran him back to the door of the sick-bay, into which he was promptly hauled and administered to by the attendants. "Hook on and hoist jolly-boat" was the next order, the crew of which, disdaining the use of ladders, scrambled up the side, and the wheelbarrow was run up and made fast. Then came the order, "Square away the main yard," the coachman whipped up his horses and away they went before the gaping populace could remember or make use of a single pious ejaculation. Now this was very funny, and we all enjoyed a hearty laugh, but Jack was far from the end of his farcical frolic, as there was, not far ahead, a house, half inn, half farm, owned by a fine, bluff old sea-dog who had himself served as bos'n in the Royal Navy, and as they were sure to halt--I beg pardon, heave to--there, thither, expecting more fun, we determined to follow them, and were not sorry we did so, as no sooner were they abreast of the house, which was situated a few feet from the roadway, than H.M.S. _Shandrydan_ was again skilfully hove to, the jolly-boat was lowered and manned, and the strident voice sang out: "Pipe all hands ashore to lay in wood and water." Then as a combined movement took place to vacate the roof: "Vast heaving, you thirsty swabs; see the sick-bay cleared first, the fiddlers and idlers, and then the rest of you take your blooming turn." The order was carried out to the letter, each man as he got into the barrow being run up to and shot out on to the verandah, every one of them on recovering his feet touching his cap to the host, who stood beside the open door, and saluting him with the words: "Come on board, sir." We had seen enough, so cantered gaily back to the club, myself thinking how extremely useful the jolly-boat would be later on, always provided the crew of it were teetotallers, in assisting their messmates to their quarters when H.M.S. _Shandrydan_ had finished her cruise and her gallant crew's back teeth were awash with their potations. Yes, the idea of carting along the wheelbarrow was not only humorous but it demonstrated profound forethought on the part of the Jacks, and I maintain that no soldier in the world, not even my beloved countrymen, would ever have the nous to devise such a whimsical, and at the same time provident, entertainment, so I therefore declare that her late Majesty's bluejackets were the first in devilment as they ran the Irish Tommy neck and neck in war. "Here's good luck to the crowd of them!" CHAPTER V THE CONVERSION OF MIKE O'LEARY "Whin a man's that cross and crabbed that his sowle's as black as paint, An' his contrary conversation wud petrify a saint, And he will ate mate on fast days, an scornes the praste as well, Ould Nick will soon be after him, to escort him straight to (the guard room)." QUIN. Years ago I was soldiering in South Africa, and at that time owned a few horses, my own private property and nothing to do with the Government. I used to race a bit in a small way, just for the sport, and it became necessary for me to employ a groom who must be my own private servant. Now grooms were hard to get, especially at the price I could afford to pay, and I did not want a man of the sundowner stamp. One evening my servant came to me and informed me that a man had come into camp who was looking out for a job and he thought he would do. On my asking him why he thought he would do (for Quin, though an Irishman, was, wonderful to relate, no horseman and had no knowledge of horses) replied: "The man is an Irishman, a small man, a knowledgeable man, and also a townie of my own." So I decided to see him, and Mike O'Leary was ushered in. Directly I saw him I seemed to know him, but for a time could not place him, till at last it flashed through my mind he must be Charles Lever's Corney Delaney come to life again, or at all events the creature in front of me must be a descendant of his. Not that the dress was similar, for my man wore breeches and boots, both of which wanted renewing, but the head, the face, the cross, crabbed expression and the general appearance were exactly like the immortal Corney as depicted by Phiz in "Jack Hinton." He was a tough, wiry little fellow, showing, as we say out in the colonies, the marks of the Whalaby. He stood rigidly to attention, after glancing at myself and belongings with a sneering grin that would have excited the envy of Satan himself. So I opened fire with the remark: "You are an old soldier." "I am," quoth he; "and served in the 57th, God bless them! They wor a rigimint you could be proud of, not a tearing lot of divils the likes of what you've got here. Bad scran to them! it's neither soldiers or peelers they be." "Well, well," I said, "leave the men alone. I want a groom. Are you one?" "It's a lot of grooms you do be wanting, judging by the look of your troop horses," he snarled. "Leave the troop horses alone. I want a man as my own private servant. Do you want work of that sort?" "I may take you on trial," he rejoined, "for did I not serve under your honourable father, Sir George Brown, in the Crimee." Now Sir George Brown was not my father, nor any relation to me, but Mike O'Leary would have it so, and Sir George was trotted out of his grave and thrown in my teeth as long as Mike lived. Well, he was not a promising lot, but I was so hard up for a man, and the horses wanted so much looking after, that I took him on. As a groom he was perfect; never have I seen a man his equal. The horses took to him, and he was devoted to them. But, by the Lord Harry! he was a blister to everyone else on the station. How he had ever been enlisted in the 57th the Lord only knows, and how he had ever existed in the regiment is a mystery to me to this day. His tongue was as sharp as a double-edged sword, and as bitter as gall, but the little fiend could fight like a gamecock, and was as hard as iron, so that when his remarks were resented he was always ready to back his words up with his hands, until at last most of the troopers were only too glad to leave Mike alone. As regards myself, he showed me neither deference nor respect, would never say Sir when addressing me, and would openly and audibly criticise my riding, my personal appearance, my drill, and my dress, and none of these to my credit. Poor Sir George was also brought to the fore every day, and the difference between us as to morals, manners, sport, or anything else that might be on the tapis, was pointed out and expatiated upon, and never in my favour. The little beast became quite obnoxious to me, but he did so well by the horses that I could not part with him, and came at last to look on him as a trial sent by Providence to humiliate me, and as a punishment for my sins; so I was bound to accept him as such, and put up with him. Well, things went on like this till one day, when I came in from a long patrol, I found Quin on the sick list and that Mike O'Leary had installed himself in his place as servant. Now if I had wanted him to come and look after me, nothing on earth would have made him come, but as he knew he was the last man on the station whose presence I desired in my rooms, of course there he was and there he evidently intended to stick. In vain I told him he would be overworked looking after both myself and the horses. "Sure, and don't I know that?" he snarled. "It's little thanks I'll get from the likes of you, who spends your money on debauchery and blaggardism, and pays your servants, who works their fingers to the bone, as little as ye can; but I knows my duty to your honourable father, God rest his sowle, and while that useless baste Quin is skulking, I'll be here to see you to bed when you come home drunk every night." What was to be done? I though matters over, and at last determined to attack Mike on his only weak spot. Mike I knew to be a rigid R.C., but he was also saturated with superstitions. He had all those of the usual Irish peasant, and a good many more of his own. He firmly believed in witches, ghosts and fairies, good and bad, and was convinced that the devil himself was frequently knocking around looking for someone to transport to tropical regions. As to his religion, Mike was very devout, with one exception--he would eat meat on Fridays. "Fast, is it?" he would say. "A soldier may ate his rations." "But you are not a soldier now, Mike." "Well, and whose fault is that now? Did not I put my pride in my pocket and offer to join your blackguards, and did not that T.S.M. tell me I was too small? Bad luck to the lout! Was I not fighting in the Crimee with your honourable father before he was breeched? It's little the likes of him is fit to be T.S.M., but what can you expect when the captain ought to be at skule learning manners! It's little of an officer you'll ever make." Exit Mike, with a well-directed boot after him. It was an uphill job, but I worked and worked away at him. I even persuaded the good Father de Rohan to go for him and preach abstinence to him, and even threaten him with pains and penalties if he did not put the muzzle on. But no good. Then I began to pretend that the rooms were haunted, and that rather fetched him, but yet, though he was uncomfortable, it did not quite hit the right spot. At last Fortune played into my hands. A lieutenant who had been away on long leave rejoined and was sent up to my station. He was a very tall, thin man, very dark, with straight features, large eyebrows and moustache, and Mike had never seen him before. The first night he joined we were talking over our pipes, after dinner, when he mentioned a very swell fancy-dress ball he had been to. At once I asked him in what character he had gone. Of course he replied: "Mephistopheles." Had he brought his dress out with him? Yes, he had it in his kit. Would he do me a very great favour? Why, certainly. Then I told him about my incubus, Mike, and I earnestly requested him to put his dress on the next night and play the devil for Mike's benefit. Of course he was only too delighted to assist, and the plot was duly laid. That night I went to my quarters. There was Mike, with his usual pleasant remarks and sneer. I stopped short and said sternly: "You have been smoking." "Begorra I've not," said he. "Then you have been lighting those beastly sulphur matches." "I've not," said he. I walked over to the dressing-table, looked in the glass, then started back, and let out at him. "Have done with your fooling tricks. How dare you grin over my shoulder like that?" "I did not," he replied. "If it was not you it must have been the devil then," I said sternly. "And I don't wonder at it, when such a cross-grained ugly beggar as you sits in my quarters alone at this time of night. Take care, Mike," I said impressively; "take care. Remember what Father de Rohan told you. If you will eat meat on Friday, and will quarrel and insult everyone, the devil will be after you in earnest. "What's that?" I cried, looking hard past him. "Get out of this, Mike; the company you keep here when I'm out is not safe for a Christian man." He turned very white, was evidently very uncomfortable, crossed himself over and over again, and bolted. Next morning he brought two sticks, when he came to my room, which he crossed on the fire hearth, and when he turned up at night-time he had evidently been to the canteen, for he was pot-valiant and I could see he had a bottle with him. "I suppose you will be afraid to stay in the rooms alone," I said, as I left for dinner. [Illustration: THE DIVIL, BEDAD!] "I will not," said he; but I saw the blue funk rising in him. It was a Friday. "Did you eat meat to-day?" I asked. "I did that," he replied, "and I will." "Well, God help you," I said. "It's great danger you are in this night." It was midnight when the lieutenant, fully got up in a most perfect fancy dress, and looking his part to perfection, appeared in the mess hut. In his hand he carried a few inches of time fuse, and also a huge fork, known in the service as the tormentor. The cook uses it to take the men's meat out of the boilers. We all crept up to my quarters, which consisted of a hut with two rooms in it, in the front one of which was the victim. To light the fuse and pass it under the door was the work of a moment, then to open the latter and step in took no longer. Mike, who had been absorbing courage from the bottle, had fallen asleep, but was waked up by a prod from the tormentor. He woke with a growl of rage, that changed into a yell of consternation, when he saw the terrific figure regarding him through the sulphury smoke of the fuse. "Mike O'Leary," said a deep voice, "I've come for you." Poor Mike, who had fallen back open-mouthed, with the sweat of fear trickling off him, whimpered: "Oh no, good Mr Devil; wait for the master." "No," thundered the voice; "it's you I want, not your good, kind master, who's been a friend to you, and who you sneer at, insult and deride, and who, Protestant as he is, tries to stop your greedy sin of eating meat on fast days. Come on!" And he made a pass at Mike with the tormentor, which Mike dodged by going over backwards, chair and all. "I'll never cheek him again, by this, and by that, I won't!" yelled Mike, as he got another prod in a fleshy part, "and I'll never touch meat again, I won't." But at that he fainted. He soon came round, and was on his knees telling his beads when we entered the room, as if we were going to have a parting smoke before turning in. "What the deuce have you been up to, Mike?" I said. "Who has been here? What is the cause of this awful smell, and what have you been making such a row about?" "O holy Mary! sor," whined Mike; "he's been here." "Who the devil has been here, you drunken blackguard?" I shouted. "Oh, dear sor, oh, kind sor, don't spake disrespectfully of the Ould Gentleman; shure he's been here, and has just left. Oh, sor; I'll repent, I will. For God's sake send for the holy father. What will I do? What will I do?" We got him to his quarters at last, and next morning Mike was a changed man. Although still by nature cross-grained, yet a more respectful servant or a better comrade could not be found on a month's trek, and he stayed with me till he died, two years afterwards, regretted by everyone who knew him. _R.I.P._ CHAPTER VI BUSHED In very many parts of the world, which on the map are painted red and collectively called the British Empire, there are huge tracts of country covered with forests of all sorts, which are known to the inhabitants of the different colonies by various names, and these have exacted a heavy toll of human life from the venturesome traveller, prospector, hunter, or others, who have entered their recesses on their own business or pleasure. If the scrub of Australia, the bush of New Zealand, the forests of Canada, and the wilds of Africa could only be examined with a microscope, the remains of thousands of men would be discovered who, having been bushed (_i.e._ lost in the forest), have died of hunger, thirst or exhaustion, and whose remains, unfound, have wasted away until only a few mouldering bones, some tattered rags, and a few fragments of rusty metal remain to tell the tale and act as a warning to others. I have on two occasions been the finder of the remains of men who have been lost. One on the Taupo plains, who disappeared and who, although he was missed and looked for, was not found until three years after his disappearance, when I, quite by chance, stumbled on the poor chap's bones, which were identified by a glass eye. The other case was the bones of a white man I found while shooting in South Africa. Who or what he had been never transpired. That he had been a white man was evident, but when or how he had been lost I never found out. I remember well that after I had searched the vicinity for anything that could have been used as a clue to his identity, I stood over the poor bones and moralised. This poor chap must have belonged to someone in the world who cared for him. Yet here he lay nameless, and unknown, his bones to be buried, as soon as my hunting boys with knife and tomahawk could scoop out a hole, by a man who was a perfect stranger to him, or, for all I knew to the contrary, we might have been comrades in two or three wars, or have hobnobbed together scores of times. However, there, under a tree, his bones lie, and I have no doubt that all marks of his grave, even the cross I cut out on the tree, to mark the spot, have long ago disappeared, and yet it is quite possible to this day there are people hoping and wondering if he will turn up. In the colonies men disappear very rapidly, and they are not readily missed. So they do in this great wilderness, London, whose hidden mysteries far and away outnumber all the frontier mysteries of the British Empire put together, but yet somehow the picture of a man lost in the bush, dying, alone, of starvation, thirst and exhaustion seems, if not so pathetic, at least more romantic than the scores of hungry, ragged and homeless creatures who wander about the Embankment, or the slums of the mighty city. Very many times during my life on the frontiers of the various colonies in which I have served I have been called on to assist in the search for a missing man; sometimes we have been successful, and have found our man alive, sometimes we have found him dead, and often we have searched in vain, the poor chap having disappeared, as if taken from earth in a chariot of fire. I could fill a book with yarns of cases of people being lost and found, and of being lost and not found, but the most wonderful case I know of is that of a young colonial, who was lost for forty days, yet was found alive, and who I believe to be still living. In 1891 I had taken command of the De Beer's Company Expedition to Mashonaland, consisting of sixty white men, forty colonial boys (natives), and eighteen waggons. The above I was to conduct from Kimberley to Salisbury, a trek of about 1300 miles. It was no joke. Very many of my men were quite raw hands, and just after we had left Kimberley the heaviest rains ever known in South Africa came on, so that the rivers became flooded, the swamps impassable, and the roads, such as they were, so rotten that the heavily laden waggons sank to their bed plates every few minutes. However, I at last passed Tuli, and proceeded some eighteen miles on the Umzinguani River, where I determined to halt for a fortnight, so as to rest and recuperate my worn-out oxen. In Tuli the O.C. of the B.S.A. Police had told me that some days before I reached that place a man had been lost from some waggons that had been outspanned at the Umzinguani River. Up to date he had not been heard of, so he requested me to make a careful search and try to discover any trace of the missing man. I promised to do so, and asked for all the particulars. The man was a Colonial of Dutch descent, who was acting as orderly to some Dominican Nursing Sisters _en route_ to Salisbury. They had outspanned across the river, in the early morning. After breakfast the man had taken his rifle, had entered the bush on the down-river side of the road, to try and shoot a buck for fresh meat, but had never returned. The waggons had waited three days for him, and then trekked on. I also ascertained that some twelve miles farther on the road was crossed by a big creek, that ran into the river some miles below the drift. This being the case, I failed to see how a colonial man, _provided he kept his head_, could be lost, as the area in which the occurrence happened was surrounded on all sides by good landmarks. It was in fact an irregular triangle, bounded on one side by the river, on another by the creek, and on the third by the road. Provided he struck the road, he had only to turn to his left to reach the outspan. If he struck the river he would only have to follow it up and find his waggons, and if he came across the creek he would only have to follow it to the road or river. This seems easy enough; but, as an old and experienced scout, I knew there were fifty sorts of trouble that might have happened to him, or he might have been guilty of a score of follies, all inexcusable but all committed frequently, even by old hands. He had gone away without his coat, that we knew; he might also have gone without matches--this was quite likely--and probably with only two or three rounds of ammunition. It was a very bad lion country: he might have tackled one and got the worst of the encounter; he might have been hurt by a wounded buck, sprained his ankle, broken his leg or otherwise hurt himself. It is folly, a man going shooting alone in a South African bush. Anything may happen in a moment, and then a man by himself is helpless and unable to send for assistance. We reached the Umzinguani River at daylight, crossed the drift and outspanned. After breakfast I collected the men, explained my plans to them and drew them a rough map of the area over which our search was to be made. I selected seventy men, black and white, for the job, and my plan was to extend these men some ten or twelve yards apart and, keeping our right on the river's bank, to move down in line till we came to the spot where the creek ran into the river. Then, if we found no trace or spoor of him, to swing round and return to the road, taking, of course, a new line parallel to, and touching, the first one; and to enable us to do this correctly I ordered the man on the left flank to blaze the trees on his line, so that we should know we were not going over the same ground twice, nor leave a gap between the lines of search. I had plenty of old hands among my men, both black and white, and on reaching the junction of the river and creek I was certain the work had been done thoroughly, although nothing had been found. At the junction I found a lot of Dutchmen, some twenty in number, who were outspanned there. They were trek riders, who, after delivering their loads in Salisbury, had hauled off the road and camped for the purpose of resting their oxen and shooting big game to make biltong. They had heard nothing of the lost man, but insisted on helping me to look for him. That afternoon we searched the new line of country back to the road, the right-hand man blazing the trees _en route_, but found nothing except game and lion spoor. The next day we started from where we had left off and took a new line, the left-hand man blazing the trees, while the right-flank man worked down the line of the previous afternoon. I did not rush the men, as I had no hopes of finding the poor fellow alive, but yet I hoped to find his rifle--a lion could not eat that--or some trace of him, so I told the men to search carefully and not hurry. I had two bugles with me, and the men shouting to one another, so as to keep in touch, made plenty of noise, that the poor chap must have heard if alive. The bush was an open one, with little undergrowth, so we had a good chance of finding anything out of the common. We kept up this search ten days, until I was convinced every bit of ground in the triangle had been prospected; but we found absolutely nothing. Then we said good-bye to the Dutchmen and continued our journey. Some weeks afterwards a post cart passed me going to Salisbury and the corporal in charge of it told me a wonderful tale. The Dutchmen had remained at their camp some time after my departure, and the day before they moved off one of them, while out shooting, had found a white man concealed in an ant-bear hole. He was stark naked, and in a dreadfully emaciated condition, the nails torn off his hands and his teeth actually worn down to his gums. He was quite mad, but the Dutchman carried him to his waggon, and trekked into Tuli; where he was taken into the hospital, and with careful nursing restored to reason and health. He afterwards came up to Salisbury, where I was staff officer. I knew him well, and held frequent conversations with him regarding his woeful experiences. His story is a very short one. He had left the waggons after breakfast for a stroll, with his rifle, three cartridges and no matches. All at once it dawned on him he was lost, so he started running (_a fatal mistake_), and remembers no more. Up to the time he was found, quite close to the Dutchman's camp, over forty days had elapsed. How he had lived he had no idea. The state of his hands and teeth showed he must have grubbed roots and gnawed them; but he must have obtained water from either the creek or river, and, mad as he was, one of them should have guided him to safety. Again, how did he escape my search and that of other parties who had looked for him? What became of his rifle, boots and clothes? And, above all, why did not a lion skoff him? To these and heaps of other queries I can only say that truth is stranger than fiction, that I have told the yarn as it happened, and can't answer conundrums. In the above yarn I have told you that the lost man began to run, and have noted it was a fatal mistake. Yes, it is a fatal mistake to begin to run when you discover you are lost, for I can assure you that it is not a difficult matter for even an old and experienced scout to lose himself, if he lets his mind and attention wander. But now I will spin you a yarn about one of my men who was lost on the same trek to Mashonaland. This man was a fine, strapping fellow about thirty years of age. He was a well-educated mechanic, a good athlete and football-player, but a new chum in the bush and at frontier work. We were at the time trekking along the Limpopo River, a very bad bit of country indeed, and I had given my men warning not to leave the waggons. I had also tried to teach the new chums some simple facts in bushcraft. The country here swarmed with feathered game: partridges, pheasants, and guinea-fowls. It was my custom to walk on before the train of waggons, on the trek, with my gun, and shoot plenty of these birds sunning themselves on the road. One evening when the men were inspanning, a very noisy job when you have eighteen waggons, I took my gun and strolled along as usual. The road was about thirty yards broad, and well-defined, the wide river running some one hundred yards on the right-hand side of it. I had progressed about two hundred yards from the outspan, but was still well within earshot and sight of it, when I saw the man I have mentioned come rushing through the trees and thorn bushes, down the slope on the left-hand side of the road. At first I thought he had gone mad, and so, for a time, he was. He had lost his hat, his khaki clothes were torn to rags, his face worked convulsively, with his eyes bulging out of his head, while the perspiration ran down him in streams. He reached the road within a yard or two of me; but he neither saw me, the road, nor the river in front of him. I jumped forward and seized him, saying: "What's the matter with you? What are you doing here?" He struggled for a moment, as if to try and break away; then some expression came into his face, and he gasped out: "Oh, thank God, major, you have found me. I knew you would look for me." [Illustration: BUSH TRACK.] [Illustration: PUNGA (TREE FERN).] "Look for you?" I said. "Why, what's gone wrong with you?" "Oh, sir," he cried--and, strong man as he was, he shook with fear--"I'm lost in the bush." "Lost in the bush?" I said. "What do you mean? Don't you see you are on the road? Don't you see the waggons? Don't you hear the row the boys are making inspanning, or see the river in front of you?" "I do now, sir; but I saw nothing, and heard nothing, when you caught hold of me. Oh, thank God you found me." As he was quite unnerved, I took him back to my waggon, and gave him a tot, at the same time making inquiries as to the time he had left the camp; and I found out he had not been absent more than an hour. So much for the rapidity with which bush fear unnerves a new chum, no matter how strong he is, unless he has the will-power to fight against it. On questioning this man, subsequently, he told me he had only strolled into the bush for a few minutes, then tried to find the waggons, had failed to do so, started running, and remembered no more. Fortunately he had run in a circle that crossed the road; had he circled in the other direction, nothing could have saved him, and another case of the bush having claimed a white man's life would have been registered. Now anyone would think that one experience of that sort would have been enough for that man, but it was not, for, some time afterwards, he again went off by himself, and again got lost. At this time we were trekking through very rough country, full of steep, high granite kopjes, and, notwithstanding my strict orders to the contrary, he left the waggons, and went into the bush alone. On his absence that night being reported to me, I took a party of colonial blacks with a couple of Mashonas and ascended a big kopje, at the foot of which we were outspanned, and from that height examined the country. It was not long before I spotted a fire, about two miles away, that was evidently a white man's fire; so I at once had an answering fire lit, and carefully took the bearings of the one I saw. At daybreak I sent a party of men, under an experienced old hand, to bring in the straggler. They reached the place and found the remains of the fire, but he had gone. Not content with his first folly, the stupid fellow had evidently tried to find his way back to us, and lost himself again. For two days we looked for him, and on the third the late Mr Alfred Beit, who was travelling up to Mashonaland, brought him into my camp, having come across him, in a dazed condition, quite by chance, some miles back on the road. You may depend that the reception he got from me was a very warm one, and that I took most effectual precautions to prevent him leaving the waggons again. CHAPTER VII THE NON-COM.'S REVENGE, OR THE CURATE AND THE SNAKE I was proceeding up-country in South Africa with a small party of troopers and led horses. The day before I was to start the bishop came to me and said: "One of my young men has to go up to headquarters. Do you mind taking him with you? He is quite new to the country and, as he is not well off, he can't afford the heavy coach fare. You are taking up led horses. He tells me he can ride a little, and you would be doing a very great kindness if you would take him." Now the bishop and myself were rather pals in our way; for although, as a rule, I did not trouble the Church much, yet I have always had the greatest respect for the cloth, and perhaps, as this youngster might be a varsity or public school man, he would be company for me on my 500-mile ride. So I said: "All right, bishop; trot him round to the lines to-morrow morning with his traps, an hour before sunrise, and he will find us ready to start. Remember, it is a hard ride, roads bad, rivers full, horses only half broken, and warn him to be punctual." Next morning the two light mule waggons that were to accompany us were inspanned and ready to load, the horses saddled, early coffee drank, but no curate. Now this was bad. Nothing ever goes quite right the first trek. Mules are new to their places in the span; men, with their last night's heads on them, are sulky; the officer a bit sharp, so as to knock them into shape; the half-broken horses restive; while the non-com. in charge of the waggons is anxious to pack them, and can't do so, to his satisfaction, until he has all the baggage to his hand. Consequently the curate, or, as the men profanely termed him, the bally sky-pilot, not having turned up to time, he was being growled at and cursed. At last he came, his kit consisting of paper bags, parcels and band-boxes. How he ever expected them to stand the rough usage of the road the Lord only knows. Then he paraded in a field kit composed of a long black coat, short black trousers, low shoes and white socks. Such a get-up to ride 500 miles in I had never seen, and my men eyed him with wonder and astonishment. He came up to me and introduced himself, though he evidently did not think it worth while to apologise for keeping us waiting, but trusted we were going to have fine weather, that he would have a quiet horse, that the men did not swear, that we should meet no wild animals, above all, snakes. In fact he was so full of trust that I had to cut him short, and when he suggested the advisability of saying a few prayers before we started on this very dangerous journey I told him sharply to get on his horse, as smart as he could, and then he could pray there as long as he liked. This was not perhaps quite polite; but no officer likes to be kept waiting when he is on the point of starting on a journey, and, as I said before, tempers are crisp for the first trek. I had selected for him a quiet old troop horse; and it was well I had done so, as when he started to mount he tumbled over on the other side, and when at last we got him into his saddle he gave endless trouble: first of all his stirrup leathers were too long, then too short, and he was such a noodle, unable to do anything for himself, that a man had to keep on dismounting every few minutes to render him assistance. Now there is no class of men in the world more respectful to clergy, of any denomination, than the up-country man, be he miner, farmer or trooper. A parson or priest is always made welcome at any camp he may choose to call at, and the best in that camp is placed at his disposal. The men, no matter how wild and godless, will listen to him with attention, so long as the time is fit and the homily straight; but the minister must have tact. It is by no means wise for a pastor to preach a sermon against bad language when the waggon is stuck in a drift, or when the cook's mate upsets the bucket of tea into the fire; no, it is better for him, under these circumstances, to bide his time, close his ears, retire a short distance and commune with himself. Now this Johnny had not the tact of an ostrich. He had already made a bad impression on us by being late, his wonderful get-up, and by his utter helplessness. This would have been looked over, and the men, thoroughly good-natured, would have done their best for him, and have taken all the care in the world of him, provided he would have left their souls alone, at least during the trek. Leading unbroken horses, for the first day or two, is no joke. They try to break away, and sometimes do so, when they at once head back for their old feed-grounds, have to be rounded-up and recaught; and it does not improve men's tempers when this occurs, and they drop a big D, to have a useless new chum, who, sitting like a monkey on his horse, with his trousers rucked up to his knees, raises his hands and says: "Oh, my dear, dear man, where do you expect to go if you use such horrid language? Oh, how can you say that? Please don't be so profane," etc., etc. Likewise at the first drift, a very bad one, with a rotten bottom, a very steep pull-out, mules jibbing and waggons sticking, it is not pleasant to have an ignorant josser interfering and making himself more objectionable every minute, by praying out loud that evil should not happen to him for being in the company of such godless men. This he did, and before we reached the first outspan he had made himself decidedly unpopular; and he did not improve matters there. I have always made it a rule, when I am trekking with a small party, to take my food in company and at the same camp fire with the men, who will never take a liberty with an officer doing this--it draws the feeling of comradeship tighter, and also only one man is required to do the cooking. Now the new chum objected to this, and that in an audible voice. He informed me he did not care to sit at the same fire as troopers, most of whom were low fellows. By the same token, most of them were gentlemen by birth, while some of them were varsity and public school men to boot, and all of them thorough good fellows. I lost my temper with the ass, and told him he could light a fire for himself, or, if he preferred it, could sit with the Kafirs, but if he required food he had better come and have it. This he did with a very bad grace, and noticing the old waggon non-com. (a strict Roman Catholic) cross himself before beginning his food, had the worse taste to attack the old fellow's religion and preach at him for his bad language at the drift. The grizzled old warrior said nothing, but I could see a grin come over his face that I knew predicted danger to the new chum; and presently he began to talk about snakes and lions. The curate opened his ears wide, taking in all that was said, and by the time we were ready to inspan for the evening trek he had become very nervous. That afternoon he rode with two or three of the troopers, who filled him up to the chin with wonderful and awful yarns about snake bites and lion stories; so that when we halted for the night he dare not move out of the light thrown by the camp fire. He did not object to sharing the evening meal with the men, but again made himself very offensive to the non-com., and, on the latter serving out the evening ration of rum, made most uncalled-for remarks, and preached us a sermon on temperance, and the evils of strong drink. Well, the ration was drunk, the last pipe smoked, the sentry posted and the blankets laid down. Again he started to fuss. Where was he to sleep? He had never slept out in the open before. He could not sleep without undressing. Was there not great danger from wild animals and snakes? And he had no blankets in his kit to begin with. The old non-com. looked after him like a mother, the men gave up blankets for his use, and at last all turned in; but as I fell off to sleep I saw the non-com. go to a thorn-tree and select, with much care, a branch. The new chum had undressed, said most voluminous prayers and, tired out by the journey, fallen asleep. Everything was quite quiet, when suddenly we were all roused by the most piercing yells. A frontier man is awake and on the alert in a moment, and I at once demanded what the row was about. The parson, nearly mad with terror, screamed out he had been bitten by a serpent and must die; he also held out to me his naked arm, on which I saw two small punctures with drops of blood oozing out of them. To tie a piece of rhimpie round his arm above the wound, and twist it tight with a cleaning rod, jab a penknife into the punctures, and suck them, at the same time ordering the patient to hold his bally row, and the non-com. to bring a pannikin of rum, did not take long, and I at once administered a tot that would have made an old bos'n cough and splutter. Then I had him walked about and in a few minutes gave him another quartermaster's nip, which got well home on him, and he became very drunk indeed. Of course as soon as I saw him drunk I knew he was safe, and told him to stop whimpering, get into his blankets and go to sleep. He did certainly stop whimpering, but he refused to go to bed, or go to sleep. No, he declared he would not go home till morning. His holiness sloughed off him like a serpent's skin, and in a few minutes, to the huge delight of my godless troopers, he began to tell very naughty stories and to sing very ribald songs. He likewise, in his nightgown (a garment never before seen in that part of the world), began to show us some can-can steps, and at last behaved in such a manner that I was forced to tell him I would have him pegged out and gagged if he did not hold his row. On this he consigned us all to the place it was his duty to guide us away from, got into bed, burst into tears, and sobbed himself to sleep. I saw by the chuckling of the men, and the unholy grin of the non-com., some joke had been perpetrated; but as I could see I was not to be informed of it I gave the order "Lights out," turned over and went to sleep. Next morning, an hour before daybreak, the rouse went, blankets were bundled up, horses were quickly rubbed over, saddled, and while they were eating their half-ration of mealies the waggons were packed and early coffee served out. But oh! the wretched new chum! He was stiff from the ride of the previous day, yet, sore as his body was from the unaccustomed saddle, his head was much worse. He groaned when he was roused up and told to turn out. Could he not be allowed to sleep longer? What had happened? Was there no soda water? Oh dear, oh dear. The non-com. proffered a pannikin of hot coffee and recommended a tot in it. The curate took the coffee but refused the tot, although the non-com. swore it was the best medicine in the world for anyone who had been on the bust the night before, and assured the poor wretch that he himself always doctored himself with one, after he had had a wet night. Anyhow he must get up, as the waggons had to be packed, and we should move off the moment the horses and mules had finished their feed. He could not or would not, so I was called, and went to him. I saw in a moment the miserable wretch was unable to ride, so ordered the non-com. to make a place for him on one of the waggons, which was done, and, making him dress, we put him on to it. At the midday halt he was better, and at the night outspan he was so well that he began to get aggressive again. The men stood it for a bit, and then one of them repeated one of his own stories, and another started to sing one of his songs. He rushed to me and complained; but I pointed out to him that the song and story were his own, which he had favoured us with the night before, and therefore he could not grumble. This sort of thing went on all night, and when the rum ration was served out, and he indignantly refused to share it, he was politely requested to favour the men with a discourse on the evils of drink, and bad company. Of course the men treated him with the greatest respect in my presence, but when they could get him alone he caught it, and even at the camp fire sly shots were fired at him, such as low fellows, get drunk, shocking language, filthy songs, etc., etc., until the poor wretch was nearly driven mad with shame and contrition, and hung on to me so much that he became a perfect nuisance. This went on for a couple of days, when at a wayside house where the mail coach stopped I had become so sick of him, and also, I must confess, sorry for him, that I paid his coach fare and persuaded him to continue his journey by it, an offer he thankfully accepted. And so I got rid of him, with equal pleasure. It was after he had left us I was let into the joke that had so amused the men on the night of the catastrophe. The old non-com., incensed by the new chum's tactless interference with his mules, his language and his religion, and knowing full well the course I should pursue in counteracting a case of snake bite, had taken advantage of the camp being asleep to jam into his victim's arm the thorns I had seen him go to the tree to get, and then on the alarm being given had declared he had seen a snake, so in this crafty way had gained his revenge. The new chum proved no good up-country, and in a few months was sent back to England, where it is to be hoped he has found a better sphere for his talents than in trying to convert members of the Lost Legion. And now this skein is ended it is the profound hope of an old Lost Legionary that the perusal of them has not bored you, and he only wishes he had been in better form to do justice to the kind support he has received from the Press and public. _Salue!_ THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH * * * * * EXTRACTS FROM REVIEWS OF A LOST LEGIONARY IN SOUTH AFRICA _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. Fully Illustrated_ _The Nation_, _17th August 1912_.--"The book is full of adventure and anecdote, and Colonel Brown's simple unaffected style is well suited to the story he tells." _Illustrated London News_, _31st August 1912_.--"From cover to cover the book is packed full of lively incidents, told in a quick, easy and vivid style, which holds the reader from the first page to the last.... It should find many readers all the Empire over." _Evening Standard_, _12th July 1912_.--"A more natural writer never published a book. For strong epithet allied to pungent diction he has not his superior outside Rabelais." _Yorkshire Weekly Post_, _17th August_ (or _10th August_) _1912_.--"The new book is as good reading as the one before, which is saying a great deal for it." _Glasgow Herald_, _11th July 1912_.--"The book is to be commended for its real interest and exciting narrative, combined with humour and plain-speaking." _Dublin Times_, _9th August 1912_.--"To those who wish to know something of the life of a soldier and the kind of fighting that was done in those early days for the aggrandisement of the Empire, we can give no better advice than to procure this book. It is full of candid criticism and genuine information." _The Graphic_, _27th July 1912_.--"'A Lost Legionary in South Africa,' by Colonel G. Hamilton-Browne, known as Maori Browne, contains some excellent stories." _Review of Reviews_, _July 1912_.--"A book with the right ring; mainly concerned with fighting. The author preaches with rough and ready eloquence an impromptu sermon which will amuse, arrest and convince." _Belfast News Letter_, _29th August 1912_.--"The book is written in the same attractive style as its predecessor, and there are many striking passages in it." BOOKS OF TRAVEL _Demy 8vo. Cloth bindings. All fully illustrated_ THROUGH INDIA AND BURMA WITH PEN AND BRUSH By A. HUGH FISHER. 15s. net ALONE IN WEST AFRICA By MARY GAUNT. 15s. net CHINA REVOLUTIONISED By J. S. THOMPSON. 12s. 6d. net NEW ZEALAND By Dr MAX HERZ. 12s. 6d. net THE DIARY OF A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE By STANLEY PORTAL HYATT. 12s. 6d. net OFF THE MAIN TRACK By STANLEY PORTAL HYATT. 12s. 6d. net WITH THE LOST LEGION IN NEW ZEALAND By Colonel G. HAMILTON-BROWNE ("Maori Browne"). 12s. 6d. net A LOST LEGIONARY IN SOUTH AFRICA By Colonel G. 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26912	----	I--15 1955 NEW ZEALAND REPORT OF JUVENILE DELINQUENCY COMMITTEE (Hon. R. M. Algie, Chairman) _Laid on the Table of the House of Representatives_ BY AUTHORITY: R. E. OWEN, GOVERNMENT PRINTER, WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND.--1955 REPORT By a resolution of the House dated the 28th day of September 1954 a Special Select Committee was appointed to consider and to report upon certain matters relating to moral delinquency. In particular, the Committee was instructed to study the recommendations contained in the report of the Mazengarb Committee and to make such observations thereon as it thought fit. This Special Select Committee was empowered to sit during recess and was directed to report its findings to the House within twenty-eight days after the commencement of the next ensuing session of Parliament. The Orders of Reference relating to the Committee were as follows: ORDERS OF REFERENCE _Extracts from the Journals of the House of Representatives_ TUESDAY, THE 28TH DAY OF SEPTEMBER 1954 _Ordered_, "That a Select Committee be appointed, consisting of ten Members, to consider the Report of the Special Committee on Moral Delinquency in Children and Adolescents (H-47, 1954); the Committee to make such recommendations or observations as it thinks fit to the House or the Government; the Committee to have power to sit during the recess and for twenty-eight days after the commencement of the next ensuing session; the Committee to consist of six Members to be nominated by the Prime Minister and four Members to be nominated by the Leader of the Opposition, such names to be submitted to the Clerk of the House on or before 31 December 1954. (Right Hon. Mr HOLLAND.)" The names submitted in accordance with the above Order of Reference were: Mr Aderman, the Hon. Mr Algie, Mr Barnes, the Hon. Mr Hanan, Mrs McMillan, the Hon. Mr Mason, Mr D. M. Rae, the Hon. Mrs Ross, Mr Skoglund, and the Hon. Mr Tirikatene. WEDNESDAY, THE 20TH DAY OF APRIL 1955 _Ordered_, "That the period set down by Order of the House dated 28 September 1954 within which the Juvenile Delinquency Committee was required to present its report be extended to 1 September 1955." (Hon. Mr ALGIE.) WEDNESDAY, THE 31ST DAY OF AUGUST 1955 _Ordered_, "That the period set down by Order of the House dated 20 April 1955 within which the Juvenile Delinquency Committee was required to present its report be extended to 1 October 1955." (Hon. Mr ALGIE.) The Committee met on two days during the recess and on a number of occasions during the 1955 session. For many reasons which need not be set out in this report, but which were communicated to Parliament, it was found impossible to present a report within the limits of time allowed, and by resolution of the House it was finally agreed that the report should be presented on or before the 1st day of October 1955. We have given careful attention to each and every one of the recommendations of the Mazengarb Committee. We have not felt it to be our duty to hear over again all or any of the evidence placed before that Committee, nor have we regarded it as our duty to deal broadly with the incidence and causes of moral delinquency, or with the discovery and presentation of remedies for this social malady. On the contrary, we felt that we were required: (1) To study the legislation relating to this subject and enacted by Parliament in 1954, to consider its efficacy, and, if possible, to make recommendations for its improvement, and (2) To consider the suggestions made by the Mazengarb Committee for action by particular Government Departments, to give an opinion as to how far such recommendations could be given practical effect, and to set out for the information of Parliament the extent to which those recommendations had been put into operation. Our views, suggestions, and recommendations are as follows: The Need for Continuous Expert Investigation In the course of our study of this problem it was frequently pointed out to us that there was a real need for a thorough and continuous study of this problem by those who from their training, experience, and occupation were best qualified to advise as to the scope and extent of the problem, as to its general causes, and as to the practical ways of dealing with it. From information in the possession of the police and of the Department of Justice it appeared that the extent of the evil was in fact not so alarming as one might be induced to believe by a perusal of the reports in the newspapers; there was, however, plenty of evidence to suggest that misconduct amongst adolescents was increasing and that this aspect of the matter was one for grave concern. There was support for these views in written memoranda submitted by two of our Magistrates, Mr Sinclair and Mr M. C. Astley. The Secretary for Justice and Controller-General of Prisons, Mr S. T. Barnett, wrote as follows: "My suggestion is that, as a first step, the Ministers in charge of social Departments, e.g., Education, Child Welfare, Justice, Police, should be requested to direct their Permanent Heads to concert together and get down to a group study of the problem and report to Government on the practical measures to meet it. "Within these Departments are experts who can get down to the facts and who ought to be able to propound some suggestions to ameliorate the present unsatisfactory state of affairs. They should, of course, be authorized, and indeed requested, to enlarge the departmental group and to take in representatives of principal welfare organizations." The suggestions made by Mr Barnett were adopted, and the work recommended by him is being carried on. The results have not yet been made available to us. We think that in matters of this kind fact finding carried out by experts in a thoroughly scientific manner is fundamental, and in a later portion of this report we have a specific recommendation to make on this subject. Specific Recommendations of Mazengarb Committee Relative to Child Welfare Administration In paragraph (4) of the report of the Mazengarb Committee--pages 57 to 60 inclusive--there are a number of comments and suggestions relating to the Child Welfare Act and its administration. We have examined these paragraphs very carefully, and we set out below some excerpts from the report furnished to us by the Director of Education. Our views are given immediately following the extract from the opinion expressed by Dr Beeby, which is as follows: "We have always felt that the spirit of the Child Welfare Act 1925 placed an obligation on us to do preventive work, and there are two Cabinet decisions, one going back to 1941, which certainly give the authority. However, we agree that it might be desirable to have the obligation expressed explicitly in the Act. Indeed, in the draft Child Welfare Bill prepared by the Division some eighteen months ago you will find this done in two ways: "(1) On page 43 of the draft Bill I sent you you will find Part I devoted to preventive work, and clause 1 begins, 'It shall be the _duty_ of the Superintendent to take positive action to prevent children, etc.'. "(2) On page 1 the definition of 'Child in need of care and protection' is so widened as to cover every possible type of preventive case, if read in conjunction with the amendments passed during last session and with the Cabinet authorities to spend public funds on such children. "We do not think it necessary to increase the powers of Child Welfare Officers for these purposes. To give them more actual powers over children who have not committed an offence would be to risk justifiable public objection to interference with the liberty of the subject and the rights of parents." _Page 58, paragraph (b)_ In its report the Mazengarb Committee said that the establishment a few years ago of a Ministry of Social Welfare, and the urgent need for more preventive work to be done, suggest the possibility of better administration if "child welfare" were given an independent status under the Ministry for Social Welfare. This suggestion was examined by the Director of Education and by the Superintendent of the Child Welfare Division of the Department of Education. They reported fully to us, and their views are set out below in summarized form. The strongest arguments that were placed before us in support of the view that child welfare should be a separate and independent Department were to the following effect: (1) The Superintendent would--as the head of his own Department--be the captain of his own ship subject only to the direction of his own Minister. (2) The Director of Education has a huge Department of his own to administer, and he cannot be expected to give to child welfare the full measure of attention it should have. (3) The Minister of Education must in the main find his principal and absorbing interest in the school system, and he could hardly devote to child welfare the same degree of attention that could be expected from the Minister of Social Welfare. (4) There would be times when the Superintendent must find it burdensome to have to work through a Department with far-reaching special interests of its own. (5) The public standing and prestige of the Superintendent of Child Welfare would be enhanced if he were recognized as the head of his own independent Department. The arguments on the other side may be summarized in the following way: (1) Child welfare by itself would make a relatively small Department and as such it might tend to become inbred and to stagnate. (2) A separate Department of Child Welfare would cost more than at present because it would not be able to rely upon some of the staffing and administrative facilities of the Department of Education. (3) Some of the institutions now conducted or controlled by child welfare are really schools and as such they would always need to be under the real control of the Department of Education. (4) In actual practice no one could define with precision where the functions of child welfare could be separated from those of education. (5) Over the years child welfare and education have worked out their own joint policy of administration. They have in fact worked along in harmony and with effective co-operation, and there appeared to be no sound reason for disturbing a set-up which was in fact efficient, economical, and harmonious. We were completely satisfied that the present arrangement has the full support of the Director of Education and the Superintendent of Child Welfare. This view has also the support of the Public Service Commission. After a study of the evidence that was placed before us we came to the unanimous conclusion that matters should be left as they are. If it was decided by Government that child welfare should remain linked with the Department of Education it would be advisable that some form of administrative procedure should be worked out to define the relations between the Director of Education and the Superintendent of Child Welfare in so far as their respective approaches to the Minister of Education and the Minister of Social Welfare are concerned. It was clear to us that the present set-up is both efficient and harmonious. A detailed plan for the due performance of the various duties was worked out and agreed to by all interested parties. As it is a purely administrative matter, we have not felt that it was necessary to embody it in this report. Suffice it to say that in our opinion child welfare should remain a part of the Department of Education, that its Superintendent should have a right of direct reference to the Minister of Social Welfare, that the Minister of Social Welfare should be directly responsible for the administration of the vote applicable to the Child Welfare Division, and that the administrative plan placed before us should be adopted and applied unless and until varied by agreement between the Ministers concerned. _Page 59, paragraph (c)_ Dr Beeby said: "It is true that no regulations have ever been gazetted prescribing the duties of Child Welfare Officers. The provisions for them under the Act are merely permissive, and we think it would be a retrograde step to gazette any. The duties of the Superintendent are adequately defined in the Act, and, as in other parts of the Public Service, he delegates such of those powers as he thinks fit to his subordinates. The Division's work has been done on this basis since the passing of the Act, and we can recall no incident where the absence of regulations has caused any difficulty. To define the powers might well be to restrict them and to interfere with the very preventive work we all desire. "There should, as the Committee suggests, be some mention of Honorary Child Welfare Officers in the Act, but their powers, again, are better given by delegation than by legislation. It is very desirable that the extent to which use is made of an Honorary Officer's services be allowed to vary with the requirements of the district and the ability of the officer." We agree with the views expressed above by Dr Beeby. _Page 59, paragraph (d)_ The Mazengarb Committee pointed out that the practice and procedure of the Children's Court may tend to vary from place to place throughout the Dominion because the Court was not presided over by its own specially appointed Magistrate. On this point the Director of Education said: "This comment is true. The position has arisen because of the practical difficulties of having the work carried out by specially appointed Magistrates. The volume of work involved could justify the appointment of only a few such Magistrates, and, because of the geographical spread of the work, they could not handle it expeditiously." On this point we have no recommendations to make. We feel that the best possible results are being secured by the Magistrates having regard to their numbers and to the conditions under which they work. _Page 59, paragraph (e)_ The Mazengarb Committee felt that it was a pity that proceedings in the Children's Court were not conducted in a separate and distinct building. It should at least be possible, said the report, to hear and determine the cases in a room other than the ordinary Court room of a Magistrate's Court. This was rather in the nature of a counsel of perfection. In less-densely populated districts it would not be easy or economic to provide separate accommodation of the kind envisaged. In larger and busier centres it was often necessary to study the convenience of the Magistrates themselves. The present Committee has no specific recommendation to make in this connection. The best that can be done is in fact being done. _Page 60, paragraph (f)_ On the subject of the publicity to be given to proceedings in the Children's Court the Mazengarb Committee said: "There may be reasons why a Children's Court should be open to the public ... The public has a right to know how child offenders have been dealt with. The Committee does not recommend any alteration in the provision prohibiting the publication of the name of any child, or of any name or particulars likely to lead to identification. Subject to this, it is desirable that reporters should be allowed to attend." With these views we find ourselves to be in complete agreement. _Page 60, paragraph (g)_ The Mazengarb Committee appeared to hold the view that when children have been placed under supervision there was no adequate "follow up" procedure. The following is Dr Beeby's comment upon this paragraph: "It is a little difficult to see just what the Committee are suggesting in this paragraph. If they are proposing that a Child Welfare Officer be required to report progress to a Magistrate for his personal information and to enable him to check on the correctness of his judgment, there can be no possible objection. When asked for, indeed, this is already done. If, on the other hand, it is proposed that the Magistrate have continuing authority over the child, then it would turn the Court into a social work agency and would run counter to the whole trend in the development of Children's Court and child welfare work from the beginning of this century. The Magistrate would be compelled to take on responsibilities for which he is not trained, and Child Welfare Officers would tend to become merely junior probation officers attached to the Court. One of the advantages of the present system is that the Superintendent, being the final authority, can ensure uniform standards of case work throughout New Zealand. If it were left to each individual Magistrate to decide exactly what should be done with children, it is certain that wide variations in principles and procedures would occur. Experience has shown, for example, that some Magistrates, with no first-hand knowledge of our institutions, would send to them children for whom they are not established to cater. "With regard to the Committee's suggestion that there 'should be some person or body apart from the departmental officers to whom a child could turn for help ...', we would agree that something like the Visiting Justice system of the Justice Department might apply to our institutions as a guarantee to the public and as a protection to both children and officers. However, to extend such a system to children boarded out in private homes would be to ask for endless trouble. People would be loath to accept State wards into their homes if it laid them open to official visits from laymen whose sole function was to hear complaints from the children. The visits of Child Welfare Officers and of Inspectors of the Division must, we feel, be accepted as the main guarantee to the public of fair treatment." Without expressing any decided opinion, the Committee felt that what the Director of Education has to say is worthy of consideration by Government. Certain Specific Changes Proposed by the Mazengarb Committee In clause (5) on pages 60 to 63, both inclusive, of the report the Mazengarb Committee recommended that certain specific changes be made as soon as possible in the legislation relating to proceedings in the Children's Court. It was our duty to examine and report upon each of these suggestions. Our comments are as follow: _Paragraph (a), page 61_ (creation of a new offence) and _paragraph (b), page 61_ (the compulsory attendance of parents at a Children's Court) Both of these recommendations have been given effect to, and they are provided for in the legislation enacted late in the session of 1954. _Paragraph (c). page 61_ (power of Court to make orders against the parents of offending or delinquent children) We agree with this recommendation, and we understand that the necessary provision has already been written into a new Child Welfare Bill which is in course of preparation. _Paragraph (d), page 62_ (notification of fact of expulsion of a child from school) This proposal has already been given effect to by administrative direction. We feel that legislation on this point will not be necessary. _Paragraph (e), page 63_ (notification to be given to principal of a school where child found to be delinquent) In normal practice the Child Welfare Officer does take a head teacher into his confidence when placing a child in his school district and actively seeks his co-operation. There are odd cases, however, where it may be thought that an individual head teacher should not be given, in the words of the report, all "the circumstances which led to the delinquency". This would be a very rare occurrence, but the statutory obligation to tell everything he knew on every occasion might prevent the Child Welfare Officer's taking steps he believed to be in the best interests of all concerned. The best results, we feel, will come from wise administrative action and from a general improvement in the mutual understanding between teachers and Child Welfare Officers. The Committee felt that when information of this nature was passed on to a Headmaster it should be treated as confidential. We feel strongly that any child should always have a full opportunity of repentance and of re-establishing his character, and where a child showed that definite improvement had been made by him his chances of rehabilitation should not be prejudiced by the fact of his earlier breach. _Paragraph (f), page 63_ (recommendation that Child Welfare Act be completely redrafted, etc.) A complete redraft of the Act is now in course of preparation. Further comments on paragraph (_f_) above were made by Dr Beeby. They are as follow: "We think that the right of appeal from the decisions of the Children's Courts might be usefully made explicit in the Child Welfare Act. We agree also that it might be well to provide for the right of appeal against the Superintendent in certain circumstances. If the system is to be workable and not brought to a standstill by a mass of frivolous appeals, it will be necessary to restrict the right of appeal. If an appeal were to lie every time the Superintendent shifted a ward of State, the proceedings would be endless. The only appeal, we think, should be one to have a child discharged from the care of the Superintendent. Serious complaints of ill treatment could be aired in this way. We are not able to suggest, off-hand, exactly what the restrictions should be, and very full discussions between Child Welfare authorities and legal authorities would be necessary as a preliminary to effective legislation on the point." Little, if anything, appeared in the Mazengarb Committee's report to justify us in thinking that a right of appeal of the kind suggested should be provided. The Committee express the hope that a step of this kind should not be taken unless sound reasons were advanced for taking it. Summary of Proposals for Administrative Action In its report at pages 67 and 68 the Mazengarb Committee set out a number of proposals which in its view could be met by appropriate action on the part of the Departments mentioned by the Committee. The suggestions made have been considered by the Departments, and we give below a statement of the extent to which the suggestions have been carried into effect. (_a_) Police Department It was suggested that the training of policewomen should be considered with a view to deciding the best method of dealing with girls involved in sexual offences. For the information of Parliament we set out below a few excerpts from a report prepared in the Police Department and sent to us by the Minister of Police. The excerpts are to the following effect: "A. _Selection and Training_ "The minimum educational qualities required are secondary school (Form 2). "Policewomen are not required for clerical or administrative duties, therefore importance is not attached to ability to perform office work, typing, or shorthand writing. "Recruits chosen with due regard to the foregoing are required to undergo a course extending over five weeks in the Police School at Lyttelton. They are coached in subjects relating to statutes, general police duties, powers and responsibilities of the police, methods of dealing with various contingencies with which they may be faced when on duty, relations with and bearing towards the general public, first-aid, and self-defence. In short, this course is similar in character to that undergone by male recruits to the Force. "Women recruits are instructed by a pathologist in matters pertaining to pregnancy, abortion, and the identification of abortion instruments and drugs. They receive instruction in maternity hospitals, with special reference to the unmarried mother. Children's homes, orphanages, and also homes for the aged are visited and studied with a view to creating a solid background for the policewomen's work. "With the co-operation of the Justice Department women trainees visit prisons and borstal institutions. They also attend and study procedure at Magistrates' and Supreme Courts. The workings of the probation service and Child Welfare Department are also the subject of visits and study. "The training course of five weeks is shorter than that for men, but women recruits appear to absorb instruction more quickly and less time is devoted to physical training. "B. _Suggestions Relative to Training_ "It is felt the present training syllabus coupled with the practical experience which rapidly follows is adequate and that each policewoman is capable of dealing with the problem of the girl who has been involved in sexual offences. "C. _Further Comments_ "The Police Department appreciates that if increased numerically and used more generally policewomen may be a great factor in the prevention of juvenile delinquency, provided that through their frequent association with children, both in the company of their parents and at all grades of school, they become accepted by these young persons from infancy. The help and guidance of women police could be sought on grounds similar to those of the school dental nurse who in her particular sphere is banishing the fear of dental treatment. It is felt a similar approach to the child's moral welfare is worthy of consideration." It is a fact that within recent weeks steps have been taken by the Government to establish and operate an improved system of training for recruits for the Police Force. We had no information before us as to the nature of the course or the length of the training period: nor do we know whether a specific course of training will be prescribed for women recruits. We feel, however, that it is a fair assumption that a sounder, more thorough, and more systematic system is about to be put into operation. We feel, too, that with the increased emphasis about to be laid upon training, it can safely be taken for granted that every effort has been, and will continue to be, made to give effect to the suggestions of the Mazengarb Committee. (_b_) Department of Internal Affairs It was a recommendation of the Mazengarb Committee that steps should be taken to gazette the outstanding regulations authorized under the relevant film censorship Acts of 1934 and 1953. A report received from the Department of Internal Affairs contains the information set out below: "It could be assumed from the terms of the recommendation that no regulations are at present in force governing the censorship of films and film posters. This, however, is not the case, as appropriate regulations have been in operation for many years. What is now contemplated is a revision of the existing regulations to take account of later legislation and to modernise them in the light of new developments and policies relating to this aspect of the film industry. "In particular, the Cinematograph Films Amendment Act 1953 made fairly extensive amendments to existing law relating to censorship, and this in turn has led to the necessity for a completely new approach to certain policy and machinery aspects of the existing regulations. For these reasons, and as the film industry is a licensed and controlled industry, the Committee will understand that it has not been possible, or even perhaps desirable, to progress as speedily as would be the case with other regulations of a more normal character. "For the information of your Committee the general position now is that the regulations are in a final stage of preparation and will be submitted for Government approval as soon as practicable." We have been advised that quite recently a final draft of the regulations was forwarded to the Film Industry Board for consideration. We were told, too, that conferences are being held between officers of the Department of Internal Affairs on the one hand and members of the Film Industry Board on the other. It is expected that at the conclusion of such conferences an agreed draft will be sent forward to the Government. (_c_) Broadcasting Service Two recommendations were before us for our consideration: (1) "That the Service ensure that the concept 'Crime must never pay' is more prominently featured in crime serials; and (2) "That a married woman be immediately appointed to the auditioning panel." In its report to us the Broadcasting Service says: "As regards (1), the Service has always attached great importance to this principle. We can let feature producers know that we attach greater importance to it than ever; but we cannot make it more explicit or more prominent in a feature than the producers have. (After all, no convention in the field of dramatic fiction, in any medium, is stronger or better understood than the convention which distinguishes hero and villain and makes the first triumph over the second.) "As regards (2), this extends a practice in accordance with which, since 1952, one or another of the senior women officers of the Service has been used as a referee, when auditioning officers have been in doubt about the proper classification and placement of features. "It may be said in summary, then, that the principles, methods, and practice of the Service are in general commended; that they are in no respect criticized severely and in no respect without express qualification; and that the Committee suggests or recommends no new purpose, no new method, but only the closer application of methods already well tried to a purpose which events have made weightier and more urgent. "Nevertheless, it has appeared to be desirable to consider what action could and should be taken in accordance with what appears to be the spirit of the Committee's comments and recommendations on Broadcasting rather than with their letter. This has been done, and in what follows I wish to offer some comments and explanations, to review action taken as soon as the report was available and later decisions now being carried out, and to ask for further direction." "_Action: Immediate and Continuing:_ "(i) After the report had been studied Station Managers and other responsible officers were asked to take interim action to ensure that the spirit of the Committee's conclusions in regard to a certain type of song was reflected in their programmes. They were also asked to let us know, with reasons, of any serial features running at their stations which they think should be considered for withdrawal or later time placement. "(ii) Two married women of senior status on our staff have been selected to sit in alternation on the Standard Recordings Purchasing Committee and the Features Purchasing Committee. They will not be able to hear with every auditioning officer all episodes of features or all single recordings of songs. To duplicate auditioning staff for this purpose would require the full-time service of five or six married women. Either one, however, will with the Committee study reports, agreeing to acceptance or rejection, and help to guide auditioning and purchasing policy. Doubtful cases brought up by auditioning officers will be heard by them as well as by other senior officers. "(iii) The time allotted to features classified as suitable for playing when large audiences of children may be expected to be listening has been from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m.; it is now to be from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. There may be differences of opinion from time to time on suitability of features for this classification as we have a considerable number of public judges of our decisions, but we shall do our best. All auditioning officers will be fully alert to their responsibility. "(iv) Opportunity was taken at a conference in Wellington at the end of last month of the senior programme organizers of all stations throughout the country to discuss fully their responsibilities towards the matters raised in the Committee's report. They also discussed the draft of a revised code of instructions to auditioning officers and others, and this code is now being circulated. "(v) An extension of present procedure on popular song records was decided upon for Head Office auditioning officers. Records will be wholly rejected, or passed for general use, or passed with the reservation that they are to be programmed with special care (i.e., as to time placement, frequency, etc.)." "The following further action is to be taken: "(i) The issue of the code referred to above will give effect to the Service's desire for the consistent wholesomeness of programmes, the need to aim constantly to maintain standards in programmes of all kinds at the highest appropriate level, and the need to exercise discretion in programming material which might be rendered objectionable by repetition, inappropriate time placement, or standard and style of performance. "(ii) Some of the dramatic features at present running will be reauditioned if it is thought that they may be out of tune with the present atmosphere or the revised time classification. Even with additional assistance this task may take about six months. There may be some financial loss if many episodes are to be discarded or if the withdrawal of episodes or alteration of time classification creates difficulties in providing replacement programmes at short notice for sponsors. It is relevant here to note the difference between ourselves and film or book censors. After censoring we must ourselves face the financial result of our actions and the administrative difficulty of finding substitute and less objectionable material. "(iii) Suppliers of transcribed programmes in Australia are to be advised of the implications of the report so far as it is likely to affect our future purchasing policy. "There has been a tendency amongst our critics (I do not refer here to the Committee) to make insufficient allowance for the considerable part played by broadcasting in serving the public good in the spheres of information, education, the arts, and community services. As Sir William Haley, formerly Director-General of the B.B.C. and now Editor of the _Times_ said in a recent lecture on _The Public Influence of Broadcasting and the Press_: 'It is, of course, possible to counter all this by raising one's eyebrows at some of the variety programmes. They are the other side of the medal. But one must look at the whole'." Our conclusions as a Committee are as follows: (1) The officers of the New Zealand Broadcasting Service have studied in a properly co-operative spirit the suggestions and recommendations of the Mazengarb Committee, and that (2) They are alive to the responsibilities that rest upon them as a Department of State charged with the task of operating a most important medium of public entertainment, information and instruction, and that (3) They have, over the years, worked out for themselves a code of procedure under which a high and commendable standard of broadcasting has been, and is being, maintained, and that (4) They are taking all reasonable and practicable steps to give effect to the suggestions put forward by the Mazengarb Committee, and that (5) We express the hope that the utmost vigilance should be exercised over the choice, content, and timing of programmes--especially over those designed for the extended hours set apart for juvenile listeners--and that every effort be made to maintain the high standard that the Service has set for itself. We recommend, too, that during the hours set apart for children there should be a complete absence of features that can fairly be regarded as being unsuitable for or injurious to young people. (_d_) Censoring Authorities On this point we cite a paragraph from a memorandum placed before us by the Secretary for the Department of Internal Affairs. It reads as follows: "A further recommendation contained in the report is to the following effect: "'Any Departments concerned with censorship should maintain a liaison to produce as far as possible a uniform interpretation of public opinion and taste.' "In the view of this Department the objective of the recommendation is good and should be followed up by appropriate action. There are several Departments concerned from different angles, and it would seem that the recommendation could best be implemented by whichever Department is charged with the general oversight of matters relating to moral delinquency. It would then be merely a matter of administrative action for that Department to call periodical meetings of the appropriate officers concerned with censorship." We, as a Committee, agree with the view expressed above, and recommend it to the Government for consideration. (_e_) Department of Education (i) _Relative Functions of Public Health Nurses and Visiting Teachers._--The duties of visiting teachers were laid down quite specifically in an official circular in 1953. Senior officers of the two Departments discussed the relative functions of public health nurses and visiting teachers very fully soon after the publication of the report. The two Departments and Education Boards have drawn the attention of all visiting teachers and public health nurses to methods of avoiding overlapping and of working in co-operation. In a number of districts Child Care Committees, sponsored by Senior Inspectors of Schools, have instituted central case registers. These have been a great help in ensuring that visiting teachers and public health nurses do not deal independently with the same child and family. A residential course at Frederic Wallis House, Lower Hutt, has been planned for visiting teachers and public health nurses in 1956. (ii) and (iii) _Additional Visiting Teachers and Type of Officer to Help in Post-Primary Schools_.--Approval has been given for four additional visiting teachers--two in Auckland, one in Wellington, and one in Christchurch. Discussions have been held with representative post-primary-school principals on the kind of help they need with problem children. Rather than have visiting teachers specially attached to the post-primary service, the great majority of principals were strongly in favour of extending the functions of the Education Boards' visiting teachers to cover post-primary pupils, so that one individual could follow the members of a family through their full school career. Approval has therefore been given for this. As a further assistance to both primary and post-primary schools, three additional school psychologists have been appointed. (iv) _Housing for Teachers._--The Department has been trying to deal with this problem in two ways: (_a_) By an extension of existing policy for the erection of teachers' houses. All Education Boards were consulted as to where the greatest need for additional houses lay, and, without exception, they gave highest priority to rural areas and small towns. The Government is giving consideration to an extension of policy based on this advice. In 1954, 61 houses were built for teachers; this year the number is expected to be 84. (_b_) By the use of the "pool" housing scheme administered by an Inter-departmental Pool Housing Committee. Under this scheme, a proportion of all new State houses erected is set aside for letting to State employees and teachers on transfer. The Department of Education is represented on the Committee that makes the allocations and represents the needs and interests of the teachers and the schools. Most of the areas concerned are in housing settlements. (v) _Facilities for Recreation._--The use of school grounds and buildings after school hours is entirely in the hands of boards and local committees. The Department has no direct authority in the matter, but does facilitate and encourage such use. Practice varies, but in many schools very great use is made of school facilities for community purposes. The work in this respect will be made more effective by the decision taken at the beginning of 1955 to build halls in all new post-primary and intermediate schools built to the new designs, to re-introduce the £2 for £1 subsidy up to £4,000 for halls in primary schools and to give a pound-for-pound subsidy up to £4,000 on gymnasia in post-primary schools. Approval has just been given, on an experimental basis, for a subsidy on a gymnasium and cafeteria in one intermediate school in Auckland, with the express condition that it be used "to provide recreational and cultural facilities for young people who have left school". The Committee recommends these opinions for the consideration of the Government. (_f_) Research Into Juvenile Delinquency The Mazengarb Committee was of opinion that there should be a long-term study of the problem of delinquency. As a matter of fact the present Committee heard evidence on this suggestion from several witnesses, and we were greatly impressed by what we heard. It goes without saying that if one would seek a remedy for a given problem a thorough diagnosis of the problem itself is a fundamental prerequisite. First let us find the facts; let us know what is the nature and extent of the evil; let us get as much data as to its causes and incidence. With that material in hand we should be in a better position to search for useful methods of treatment. This task of fact finding would be a long and arduous one; it would need to be entrusted to experts of wide knowledge and experience. A start has already been made by the setting up of the Inter-Departmental Committee referred to earlier in this report. We strongly recommend the Government to give very favourable consideration to this particular proposal, and we hope that ways and means will be found of giving effect to it. We think that this suggestion is of fundamental importance in any approach to the problem, and we consider it should be given consideration by the Government. _Instruction for Parents_: In the long run the responsibility for a child's general well-being rests upon the parents. Some can, and do, take every care to discharge that responsibility. Others either fail or neglect to do so. In some cases this failure comes from a lack of the necessary knowledge or from inability to impart it. In one memorandum addressed to the Committee there appear the following paragraphs: "I think it highly probable that much delinquency is due to the fact that parents simply do not know how to teach their children on a subject that many parents regard as secret between parents. I think it highly unlikely that a parent will consult an adviser (say, a doctor) as to how the child should be trained, and I am not so sure that a doctor would know what advice to tender even if he was consulted. "Instruction of parents seems to be the job of a specialist. The doctors have prepared several booklets on sex instruction. "I am wondering if good attendance could be secured for a series of lectures by specialists to parents, either to both sexes or to mothers alone. A mother would probably be more likely to attend a meeting as one of an audience rather than to suffer the embarrassment of a personal consultation with, say, a doctor to whom she has to admit that she does not know how to discharge her duty to her children. "It is generally agreed that much of the cause of child delinquency is due to unsatisfactory home influence and parental control and example, but the fact that many of the offenders come from good homes and fine parents is strong evidence, I feel, that there is some important deficiency even in those good homes, and it may well be that that deficiency lies in the fact that the parents do not really know how to give their children the knowledge that they should have in the way they should receive it. I am confident that we have people who could help in this important work. Perhaps women lecturers would be best." We are of opinion that the views expressed above do merit very serious consideration. We realize the tremendous difficulty we face in trying to reach those who stand most in need of the help that is here referred to. We recognize, however, that all our children must spend a big portion of their young lives in our primary and post-primary schools. It is here that positive and well-planned character training and instruction in moral values can be undertaken with a certainty that the instruction and the training will reach those whom we would wish to help. Do we take full advantage of this opportunity? Do we give enough attention to those inner disciplines that are so essential if a good life is to be enjoyed by our young people? We are satisfied that our teachers as a whole nobly discharge their obligations to our community in this regard. We think, however, that the matters touched upon in this paragraph are within the special province of the Department of Education and its Minister, and it is our recommendation that they should be referred to that Minister for examination and for such positive action as he may consider proper and desirable. We think also that much more could be done in the homes if the ranks of our visiting teachers, public health nurses, and school psychologists were strengthened considerably, and we strongly recommend that action along these lines should be taken by the Departments of Education and Health. We are also of opinion that in any effort to reach parents over the widest possible field a very useful agency lies ready to our hands in our Parent-Teacher and Home and School Associations, and it is our hope that this agency might be much more positively used to awaken and maintain a due sense of parental responsibility and a proper understanding of the moral and spiritual needs of children. With such thoughts in mind, we would recommend that the Director of Education be asked to confer with the appropriate experts to see how far, and under what conditions, suitable courses of lectures could be provided for parents and prospective parents. The Special Legislation of the 1954 Session Following upon the presentation of the Mazengarb report the Government immediately took steps to give effect to those recommendations which called for special legislation. Three Bills were introduced, the first dealing with "indecent publications", the second dealing with child welfare, and the third with police offences. In our order of reference we were directed to study these pieces of legislation and to report as to their efficacy and as to whether there were any specific amendments that were necessary or desirable. In the preparation of this part of our report we have had the advice and much valued assistance of the Department of Justice. We deal here with the question of "publications". Our comments as to the Child Welfare Act appear elsewhere in this report. No comment is needed regarding the amendment to the Police Offences Act. First as to _publications of a more or less objectionable character circulating in New Zealand_. We set out at some length some portions of the report submitted for our consideration by the Minister of Justice, the Hon. Mr Marshall. _Inter alia_, it is said: I. _Objectionable Publications in General_ "Our survey of the book trade disclosed that there were three types of publication to which particular attention should be given--comics, certain crime stories, and nudist and other suggestive magazines. (_a_) _Comics_: "These are the publications which have attracted most public attention, both here and overseas, and in particular the type of comic known as the 'crime' or 'horror' comic has come in for a great deal of severe criticism. It is true that reading of a mildly bloodthirsty nature directed at the juvenile market is no new thing. The comic books of today, however, are not those of a generation ago, nor are they at all similar to the comic strips now appearing in the newspapers. Many of them are full of matter which is brutal, horrifying, and sadistic, and although to a certain extent they are published for and read by adults of feeble mentality they are also available to children. "The origin of this type of comic is the United States, but other countries have not been slow to follow suit. Large numbers of comics are reprinted in England and Australia from American plates. The interim report of the Kefauver Committee strongly indicts crime and horror comics and gives some revolting illustrations of their contents. Reports indicate that comics almost as bad were circulating in England before the introduction of legislation there. The nature of crime comics circulating in Canada was responsible for an Act passed there in 1949 prohibiting such comics. "Even before the passing of last year's Act none of the comics on sale in New Zealand was as bad as the worst American or English examples. At the same time some of them were most objectionable. Since action has been taken here and in Australia the standard of comics distributed in New Zealand appears to have improved considerably. That is not to say that they are all free from objection, and there are a number of crime comics which we do not think should be allowed to go on circulating. Indeed, we think that this country can well do without the crime comic altogether. Recently objection was taken to some forty comics, and we are waiting advice from the distributors as to their attitude. Later in this report we shall refer to further proposals for dealing with comics. (_b_) _Crime Stories_: "The second class of publications referred to comprises publications usually known as 'thrillers'. These books are quite different from the ordinary detective novel and from the more traditional type of thriller. Many examples of this new type of gangster thriller have been flooding the New Zealand market in the form of paper-backs selling at 2s. 6d. or less. They are entirely devoid of literary or other merit and are devoted to the wanton depiction in gross detail of brutality, violence, and sex. "These publications and a number of so-called detective magazines which imitate them may perhaps be regarded as the adolescent equivalent of the crime comic, and we believe them to be equally harmful. Action against them will, we think, no more infringe the principle of freedom of speech than action against narcotics infringes the principle of free enterprise in the economic sphere. "Action against these publications was taken some time ago, and some of the results of this action have appeared from recent reports in the press. As an illustration of what has been done we advised the Associated Booksellers that you considered all the novels of Mickey Spillane to be indecent and that you were prepared to prosecute in respect of them. The booksellers agreed with this opinion and recommended their members not to stock these books. We think it significant that these books, which were agreed to be objectionable, were being sold by many reputable booksellers in New Zealand. This shows how easy it is to offend unwittingly against the Act. "There was a group of even more objectionable publications published in paper-back form by an English firm, Milestone Ltd. We advised the police some time ago that we intended to take proceedings against any one found selling these books. The Booksellers' Association agreed with this view. "There is an enormous output of books and paper-backs of the detection-thriller type, and it is by no means easy to know where to draw the line. It should be possible, however, to eliminate the really harmful and leave the rest. (_c_) _The Suggestive Magazine_: "The third class of publications is the suggestive magazine. Some public concern has been expressed that a number of suggestive magazines are continuing to circulate in this country. The truth is, however, that, although the names are the same, the contents are very different. We have carefully examined all these magazines, and, although they are not perhaps very edifying, we are satisfied that at present none of them clearly infringes the law. "Nudist magazines are another matter. Those we have seen appear unobjectionable if their circulation is restricted to nudists and persons interested in the nudist cult. They have, however, been appearing in some newsagents' and tobacconists' shops and openly displayed in windows, and we consider circulation in this form to be undesirable. Serious consideration is being given to the prosecution of any one who displays these magazines or sells them to the general public." II. _Suggested Amendments to the Law Relating to Indecent Publications._ The Justice Department has given much attention to the question as to the efficacy of the amending Act introduced in 1954. We had the advantage of reading the report presented by the Department to the Minister of Justice, and we set out below certain portions of the report which we as a Committee think worthy of notice. The report says, _inter alia_: "(1) We think that the substantive changes made in the special legislation in 1954 have been beneficial, and we strongly recommend that they be retained. The Indecent Publications Act 1910, as it previously stood, dealt with sex and with sex alone, and this is not sufficient. It is, for instance, doubtful if the Spillane novels or some of the books in the Milestone series could successfully be objected to merely on grounds of sex; but they are, nevertheless, of an immoral and mischievous tendency and should not be allowed to continue in circulation. They might be described as 'sadistic' in the true psychological sense in that they combine sex and violence. "There has been some suggestion that the Act leaves too vague just what is indecent and that the word 'indecent' should be defined with precision. In the nature of things there are, however, very great difficulties in attempting such a definition. It is significant that no precise definition of indecency exists either in the principal Act or so far as we are aware in the legislation of any other Commonwealth country. "The present state of affairs might be dangerous if prosecutions could be taken on the decision of police officials in any town in New Zealand. Whatever may be said in theory, however, the fact that prosecutions can be brought only with the leave of the Attorney-General is, we think, a sufficient guarantee that the law will be applied uniformly and reasonably. Moreover, there is a further safeguard in the right of appeal to the Supreme Court against all decisions of a Magistrate under the Act. "We believe that the bookselling trade is quite happy with the present substantive law as it is now being administered, and we firmly hold the opinion that the best course is to leave the substantive provisions of the 1954 Act largely as they are. "(2) The registration provisions are a rather complex way of achieving their object, which is to enable the Court to put a seller out of business if he is convicted of an offence against the Act and if the Court believes his conduct is such as to warrant this penalty. We think that this object could be achieved by giving the Court this power directly. It could be provided that on convicting any one under the Act the Court may make an order prohibiting him for a certain period from carrying on the business of selling books or periodicals. The provisions as to registration could then be repealed." Some members of the present Committee felt that this power should be exercised only in the case of a second or subsequent conviction. "(3) The marking requirements of the Act are not well adapted to their object, and, as we have mentioned, it has proved necessary to a large extent to dispense with compliance with them. We think it is anomalous that the law should continue to require marking while almost every publication is exempted. "In place of the present marking provisions we suggest that every New Zealand publisher should continue to be required to print his name and address on what he publishes, that the importer of overseas periodicals for sale or distribution be required to supply to the Department of Justice a list of the titles imported by him, and that every one other than a retail bookseller who carries on the business of importing books be required to supply to that Department a list of the publishers whose books he imports. "(4) There is one anomaly in section 5 (1) (_d_) of the principal Act as set out in the 1954 Act. This is the provision which requires the Magistrate to take account of the persons, classes, or age groups to whom a document is sold or is intended or likely to be sold _and the tendency of the document to deprave or corrupt such persons_. The words in italics are appropriate in the Victorian statute from which they were copied because the common-law test of depraving or corrupting applies in Victoria, but they are at best unnecessary in New Zealand where the Act lays down its own test--namely, that the act of the defendant must be of an 'immoral or mischievous tendency'. "(5) The 1954 Amendment contains some ambiguities and anomalies in matters of detail which should be remedied when any further legislation is brought down. These defects were discussed in an article by Professor I. D. Campbell in the 1955 _New Zealand Law Journal_, page 294. "_New Provisions Suggested_: (1) As we have said, we are not anxious that the ordinary law-abiding bookseller or distributor should have to undergo the stigma of a criminal prosecution, and this was the main reason for entering into arrangements with the Associated Booksellers and Gordon and Gotch. At present, however, criminal proceedings afford the only real way of testing the position even where there is an honest difference of opinion. We think a better procedure could be devised, and the Select Committee may be invited to deal with this matter. "(2) A number of comics which are not strictly indecent within the meaning of the Act are nevertheless objectionable from other points of view. In many the ethical standards of the characters are low. The quality of the print and illustrations varies from the indifferent to the very poor, and must have a serious effect on children's eyesight. In a number of comics the grammar and vocabulary are likewise bad. "It is said that children learn from what they see and hear around them. If this is so it would appear that the assiduous reading of comics tends to counteract the work of teachers which costs the country so much. "An Inter-departmental Committee in 1952 recommended the introduction of a system of registration. The Committee's original recommendations were: that publishers or importers of comics should apply for registration of every title and that only suitable titles should be registered. The sale of unregistered comics was to be an offence. This procedure may be preferable to the subsequently suggested system of automatic registration followed by de-registration upon complaint. "Registration of comics, of course, amounts to censorship. There is, however, no question of literary merit or the spread of knowledge, and the view that an adult should in general be free to read what he likes does not apply in the case of publications primarily intended for children. If it is accepted as proper to censor films there can be little objection to censoring comics. "We therefore suggest that the Select Committee might consider whether an authority might be set up to approve and register comics. There could be an Appeal Board similar to that in respect of films to consider complaints against any decision of the registering authority. "If this suggestion is unacceptable an alternative might be an amendment to the legislation to be introduced enabling the Court in the case of comics to take into account as one of the factors in considering whether they are objectionable matters of grammar, language and visual standards." The present Committee is of opinion that there is a good deal of force in the suggestions put forward in this part of the report of the Department of Justice, and our view is that these suggestions should be referred to the Minister of Education with a request that he consider them favourably and forward his conclusions to the Government. "(3) We have come across cases in which publications have been advertised to such persons and in such a way as to endeavour to sell them or attract the public on the basis of their emphasis or alleged emphasis on sex, horror or violence. "If a publication--for instance, a medical book--is displayed in a shop window open at a page of illustrations this would probably be an offence against the present law even though the book may itself be unobjectionable. There is however, another type of case which would not be caught by the law as it stands, but which we think equally deserves to be prohibited. An example of what we have in mind is an advertisement which is put out by a mail-order firm and is obviously designed to 'sell the book on its sex.' This open appeal to salacious instincts is most objectionable and we can see no justification for allowing it. Whether or not the publication itself is indecent, we think the type of advertisement we refer to should be prohibited by law. "_Amendments of Principal Act_: Prior to 1954 the Indecent Publications Act 1910 had stood without alteration for over forty years, and although its main principles are still sound revision is badly needed. Indeed, last year's amendment in certain respects increased rather than decreased the difficulties. In our opinion, the best solution is to reconsider the legislation as a whole and to deal with the topic of objectionable publications in a new and self-contained Act. This would, of course, take some time. We have notes of many points to raise with the draftsman, but we cite others of more general significance. "(1) We consider that parts of the present section 6 are obsolete and should be repealed. Section 6 enumerates certain classes of works which are _prima facie_ indecent. Among these are 'any document or matter which relates or refers, or may reasonably be supposed to relate or refer, to any disease affecting the generative organs of either sex, or to any complaint or infirmity arising from or relating to sexual intercourse, or to the prevention or removal of irregularities in menstruation'. "In so far as this part of the section would prevent the advertising of useless or harmful products, it is unnecessary in view of the Medical Advertisements Act 1942. In so far as it represents a general attitude it seems out of date now that the matters referred to are discussed with far less reticence than when the Act was passed. The reference to drugs or methods for procuring abortion or miscarriage in the later part of the section might be retained, but it belongs more properly in the Crimes Act or the Police Offences Act. "(2) At present section 157 of the Crimes Act overlaps the provisions of the Indecent Publications Act 1910, and the tests it lays down are expressed in very different language. This section is little used, but it seems undesirable that there should be two different tests for what is really the same offence. We recommend the repeal of section 157 in so far as its subject matter overlaps the Indecent Publications Act 1910. "(3) If the legislation is rewritten, we suggest that consideration be given to the incorporation in the Act of the 'dominant effect' test laid down in an American case, the Ulysses case. "The consolidation and rewriting of the existing legislation would be of real benefit. The nature of the topic, however, demands that any general consolidation should receive careful and even cautious consideration. We do not think that in this matter urgent or speedy action is called for." The Committee has examined all of these suggestions and recommends that they should receive the very favourable consideration of the Government. Summary of Principal Conclusions and Recommendations I. That the changes in the law which were regarded by the Mazengarb Committee as calling for immediate action were duly and promptly brought into being by the Government by and through its 1954 amendments to the Indecent Publications Act 1910, the Child Welfare Act 1925, and the Police Offences Act 1927. II. That the changes made last year in the Indecent Publications Act 1910 have been to some extent effective and helpful. We recommend, however, that consideration be given by Government to the redrafting of the Indecent Publications Act 1910 and to the inclusion in any new draft of the amendments suggested by the Department of Justice. III. That it is clear that the suggestions made by the Mazengarb Committee for administrative action by certain named Government Departments along the lines indicated by that Committee have been sympathetically studied by the several Departments and that satisfactory measures have been taken by such Departments to carry out the recommendations of that Committee. IV. That in the opinion of the present Committee the Child Welfare Division should not be reconstituted as a separate and independent Department of State, but that it should remain, as at present, a Branch or Division of the Department of Education. V. That Government should take effective steps to set up a broadly based committee composed of men and/or women of expert knowledge and possessed of specialized training and wide experience to act as a fact-finding body so that as far as possible a reliable diagnosis may be obtained of the extent, causes, and incidence of the problem of delinquency in this Dominion. We think that this must be done before any thorough-going solutions can be propounded for consideration by Government. VI. That the suggestions made by the Department of Justice with respect to "comics" in general and "crime comics" in particular and also with regard to "suggestive" magazines and periodicals appeal very strongly to the members of the present Committee, and we accordingly recommend that the Government should take action along the lines proposed by the Justice Department. VII. That every effort be made through the Parent-Teacher and Home and School Associations to reach the greatest possible number of parents and prospective parents in order that they might be given the type of assistance referred to in greater detail in the body of this report. VIII. That, for the better attainment of the object set out in the preceding paragraph, it is recommended that the Director of Education be asked to confer with appropriate experts with a view to the provision of suitable courses of lectures for parents and prospective parents. That with the same end in view steps should be taken to increase the numbers of our visiting teachers, school psychologists, and public health nurses. IX. That the Director of the National Broadcasting Service be supported in the course he proposes to follow to put into effect the suggestions made by him in this report. We also stress our view that during the hours set apart for listening by children there should be a complete absence of features that can fairly be regarded as being unsuitable for or injurious to young children. X. That on the question of contraceptives the Committee has but one recommendation to make--namely, that the Government should seriously consider whether it could be made a criminal offence for any one but a chemist acting in the ordinary course of his business to sell such articles to any member of the general public. R. M. ALGIE, Chairman. BY AUTHORITY: R. E. OWEN, GOVERNMENT PRINTER WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND.--1955 _Price 1s. 6d._ 
47663	----	[Illustration: _MR. OSEBA._] MR. OSEBA'S LAST DISCOVERY. By GEO. W. BELL (Col. BELL, Seven Years U.S. Consul, At Sydney, Australia). _The conspicuous happiness and prosperity of a people, are the best evidences of benign rule._ WELLINGTON, N.Z.: THE NEW ZEALAND TIMES CO., LTD., PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS. 1904. _To the People of New Zealand, the most advanced community among men, the Author dedicates these erratic pages...._ _ERRATA._ Page 87, line 27, read "manor," not "manner." Page 150, line 18, "£168,849,381," not "£120,981,599."--Later Year Book. An experienced and painstaking friend has called my attention to several typographical errors, and a few immaterial ones in grammar. These faults I deeply regret, but considering my own imperfections, I am glad they are so few and so immaterial. "Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see. That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me." A NOTE. Many regard the usual "preface" to a book as of questionable value, but custom may justify the continuance of its use. I had long been a student of Anglo-Saxon history, but until I went to Australia in 1893, I had seen little hope for a realisation of the higher aspirations of the race. Being an individualist, a democrat of democrats, I hold that the unit of society is its basic factor, and, while in those far-off lands, I saw a vague recognition of this truth, I also saw a mergence of democracy into socialism, that failed to satisfy my definitions. I came to New Zealand in early 1903, on a lecture tour. I was well received; and, as I could never remain in a place over night without inquiring "who started the town," and for what purpose, I began an inquiry into the situation. I had heard and read that this colony was "submerged with socialism," and "given over to the falsehood of extremes," so I studied the literature, I mingled with the people, I attended the parliamentary sittings, and--took notes. I found in the Press, a broad independence; in the people, a sturdy self-reliance; and in the statesmen, a feeling that they were the chosen servants of the public, by whom a ripened sentiment was to be clothed in the forms, and vitalised with the force, of law. I found that what the uninformed derisively-called "Socialism" consisted chiefly in a series of co-operative measures, that seemed to promise, not "nerveless socialism," but the most sturdy democracy civilization had ever produced. In my reveries, I reviewed the old books; I re-trod the path of human progress; I re-measured the struggles and the achievements of the Anglo-Saxon race, and, comparing the environing conditions with the social forces now at work, I wrote. Being a "stranger," I had no interest, save in seeing my long-cherished theories on the way to realisation; having no acquaintances, I had no friends to flatter or enemies to criticise; and, having no favors to ask, I found it easy, in a free off-hand way, to note my impressions with impartiality. I clothed my subject in a garb of fiction, that I might wrest from the reader the memories of the daily struggle with stubborn facts; I adopted a style, that I believed would be appreciated for its audacious novelty, and, though the eloquent flights of my chief character may seem picturesque, he but expresses the impressions, the feelings, and, further, the opinions of-- THE AUTHOR. INDEX. PAGE SCENE I 1-10 A Stormy Voyage.--Leo Bergin Appears.--He has Discovered the Great Discoverer.--Sudden Separation. SCENE II 11-17 Leo Bergin Turns Up.--Foolishly Dies.--Comfortably Buried.--The Strange Diary. SCENE III 18-61 A Strange Story.--Unravelling a Romantic Career.--Over the Oval to Cavatorus.--The Man from Symmes' Hole. SCENE IV 62-71 First Discoveries of Mr. Oseba.--The Splendor of the City of Eurania.--Reports on His Discoveries.--Discovered Ah, Sin, Lu and Other "Inferior" Races.--Somewhat Discovers Europe. SCENE V 72-86 The British Isles "Discovered".--Classic Land.--The Briton, the Salt of the Earth.--Britain, the Salt Mine.--Africa and South America Discovered.--Essay on Rights _v._ Color. SCENE VI 87-96 America Discovered.--Others a Little Ahead.--Britain's Noblest Contribution.--Wonderful Progress.--A Sad Story, but a Pleasing Digression. SCENE VII 98-108 Australia Discovered.--Mr. Oseba is Encouraged.--Lauds Australia's Achievements.--Room To Let.--Slowing Down Under a Heavier Load. SCENE VIII.--ACT I. 109-136 Mr. Oseba's Last Discovery.--New Zealand on the Map.--Zealandia, by the Poets.--Zelania, by the Shadowas.--Leo Bergin's Reveries.--Scenes so Grand that Words are Meaningless.--The Maoris Discovered.--Strange and Romantic. SCENE VIII.--ACT II. 137-160 Appropriating the World.--Some Comparisons.--Allegiance of Love.--Happy Conditions.--Produce Noble Ideas.--Some Interesting Comparisons.--Mr. Oseba in Good Form, Spicy Spice.--Leo Bergin Pimples Out into Poetry.--Dividing the Land.--Barons _v._ Settlers.--Sheep _v._ Children.--Sacred Rights. SCENE VIII.--ACT III. 161-175 Utilitarian.--Acres and Flocks.--Profitable Exercise.--Public Utilities, Have, &c.--King Demus.--Cannonaded and Canonised.--Business.--Graduated Tax, an Eloquent Persuader.--Nature's Pleasing Freaks. SCENE VIII.--ACT IV. 176-198 The Moral Side.--People Like to Live.--On the Make.--Inspiring.--Women Came, Result.--Mental Gymnastics.--Schools, Books, &c.--Other Tastes.--Social Progress.--Opinion's Sake.--Many Worships.--Toleration and Good Fellowship. SCENE VIII.--ACT V. 199-225 Worthy of His Hire.--The Toiler Allowed to Live.--So Decreed by Law.--May not all be worthy.--Justice Elevates.--Some Leaders, but Public Sentiment the Force.--No High, and No Low.--Advanced Notions.--Old Age Pensions, &c.--Pleasing Outings Amid Wild Sport and Romantic Scenes.--Raising the Ideals, with a Climax. INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS. Save that that of the Hon. R. J. Seddon is placed facing page 8, Sir Joseph Ward facing page 16, the New Zealand Cabinet facing page 24, and Mr. T. E. Donne facing page 32, all the illustrations are spaced evenly through the work, classed or grouped consecutively, but owing to evident impossibilities they do not conform strictly to the text. All the illustrations are typically New Zealand. _SCENE I._ INCONCLUSIVE ALLUSIONS. This, being a true story, with the slight deviations necessary to the preservation of a due sense of proportion, it is deemed proper to casually introduce the characters on whom we must chiefly rely for the truthfulness or otherwise, of a most romantic adventure. In such an introduction, the Editor, or compiler--the "I" in these pages--necessarily appears, but to the Chronicler himself, who has no "poetic license," we must rely for the correctness of the recital. Though without my aid this strange story might possibly have reached the world, the manner of its coming into my hands has made me a "curtain-shifter," as it were, in the scenes, and in this pleasing task, fidelity shall be my only guide. I was not "journeying towards Damascus," but being weary from many wanderings, and desirous of returning to dear old London as soon as possible, at Marseilles, I booked for Amsterdam on the fine passenger steamer _Irene_--the voyage, however, to be broken for a brief stay over at Lisbon. It was midnight when we swung from our moorings and steamed out of the harbor, and, the sea being rough and I a bad sailor, I did not venture on the upper deck until nearly lunch time the following day. I was not too well. The sea was not placid, the air was damp and chill, and--well--I was not happy. The decks were "sparsely populated," and as I was slowly zigzagging my way along, in a sense of utter loneliness, raising my eyes, my attention was aroused by the presence of what seemed a familiar figure. It was the graceful form of a tall, well-proportioned young man. His face was pale, his head was bent forward, he leaned heavily over the starboard railing of the vessel, and I imagined that he, too, was not well. I did not recognise him, but sympathy and curiosity, and, perhaps, custom, lead me half unconsciously to his side. I said to him soothingly, "It is rather rough to-day." He raised himself a little, leaned a little further over the ship's railing, and made a convulsive movement. He was "not well," but raising himself more erectly, he turned towards me slightly, and ironically said, "Thanks, so I have been informed." The "tone" of the expression was unkind, for my motives were good and my conduct was as wise as the occasion would suggest. His voice limped piteously, but it had something in it of old familiarity. "You?" said I. My voice also had in it to him something of old familiarity. I looked in his face. He returned my gaze. The recognition was mutual. "Leo Bergin!" said I. "Sir Marmaduke!" said he. "You have come to bring unholy memories," said I. "And you have come to reproach me," said he, in tones of agony I shall never forget. "No," said I, "Leo Bergin, I give my hand. 'Let the dead past bury its dead.' Look not sorrowfully over the past--it comes not again--but with resolute heart and strong hand brave the future, and thou shall find a crown or a grave. List--not another word of the past; but, Leo Bergin, what of the future?" "Thou art kind," said he, with bowed head, and in good Bible phrase, "but I ill deserve your generosity." "List," said I again, "Leo, what of the future?" "The future?" said he, with bowed head, downcast eye, and awfully solemn voice, "the future? Because I know the past I feign would die; because I know not the future, I am cowardly enough to live. You know, my friend, my benefactor, that I have talent, good looks, and industry, but the world," said he more sadly, "is against me." Yes, I had heard before that Leo Bergin had "talent, good looks, and industry." In fact, Leo Bergin, on a memorable occasion, had himself confessed to me as much. Ah! my brothers, what good opinions we have of ourselves. All of us, men and women, think ourselves possessed of talent, good looks and social merits; but here our self-satisfaction ends, for the dull world, whom we could so well serve, failing to appreciate us, we are left a prey to neglect, and often to despair. Ah! my brothers, we forget that we are not impartial judges; that the world is impartial and may be just in its conclusions. How kindly we think of ourselves! In the person who readily agrees with us, what noble qualities of soul and mind we discover. But 'tis well, for conceit, foolish as it may seem, often saves us from despair. Yes, Leo Bergin had talent, education, good looks, and industry; but Leo Bergin, I had concluded from the occasion referred to, was erratic, "a shingle short"--in fact, not "all there." "But, Leo," said I, "where are you bound?" "To h----," said he, in phrase quite jocular, in tones almost bitterly sad. "Ah!" said I, "pack your kit then and step off at old Cadiz, for that is on the border." But the bugle blew for lunch, and the association of ideas drove Leo Bergin to his cabin, and, with a sickly promise to "come later," I was left to ponder over the strange events of life--events that often lead to such meetings; the meetings, in turn, to lead to other events, even more strange and interesting. A FRIEND IN NEED. Well, my reader, while Leo Bergin is below, striving to compromise with his digestion, I will relate to you some of his peculiarities, that you may be prepared for his wonderful recital. It was January 10th, 1898, as he entered my room on Great Russell Street, just opposite the British Museum, London, that I first saw him. He knocked at my door, gently; he entered my room, quietly; he sat down familiarly, and he opened the interview, promptly. I will not say Leo Bergin, on this occasion, was not modest; I will say he did not hesitate. Had Leo Bergin remained silent I would have known that he was out of money, out of luck, out of friends, and almost out at the knees and elbows. But he evidently doubted my powers of perception, for, with superfluous frankness and eloquent volubility, he informed me that he only wanted a "loan" for a short time until he could "get on his feet." These stories were very common. They had been very "taking" with me, but desiring to avoid occupying a like position I had grown impatient and crusty, possibly a little hard-hearted, so I looked squarely into his fine eyes, and asked him "to get on his feet" at once. He arose, looked me in the face, not with defiance or humiliation, not with shame or impudence, but like a man. He said, "I am down." That was evident, but the soft saying of this had always cost me heavily, and, softening again, I asked who he was and what he could do. He said, "I am an American; I was born in Virginia, lived in California, have done newspaper work in New Zealand, and as a journalist I am in London--and down." I weakened. The man who had been born in Virginia, lived in California, and done newspaper work in New Zealand, could not be wholly depraved, for the very air of these three favored spots would preserve some semblance of virtue. "I surrender," said I; "express your most fervent wish and it shall be granted." He betrayed little emotion. His countenance remained placid, but he said, "I have talent, good looks, and industry, and I want employment,--I desire to earn my living. I asked for a loan, but it was in despair, and I desired to replace my lost revolver that I might 'quit this ghastly dream called life' before another week's board was due. But under the spell of your words, 'a change came o'er the spirit of my dream,' and now I must live." "Must!" said I, "you assert this 'must' with such emphasis, perhaps you would tell me why you _must_ live? For my part I see no actual necessity for it--not the least." A cloud was on his brow. He remained silent and immovable as a statue. "Cheer up, old fellow," said I, "for if you desire to earn your living, I will secure a position for you." I knew who wanted a man, "talented, good-looking and industrious." I gave Leo Bergin a suit of my clothes--just a little soiled, I confess, for, as a fact, I never could obey that divine injunction regarding the giving my brother a coat, until it was a little soiled. I gave him a strong letter to a friend on Trafalgar Square, and Leo Bergin stepped into a good position. I was called to the Continent for a few months on important duty. Time went on and within a few weeks I received a brief note. "Trafalgar Square, "London. "To my Benefactor, "Yours of ---- received. Glad,--you deserve it. I am well. I think my employer is satisfied, but I am a little restless. "LEO." "Talent, good looks, and ambition, but a fool," said I, "and he will never get on." A few more weeks passed, and another note came from "Trafalgar Square, London." This was less brief than the other. It read:-- "Trafalgar Square, "London. "Dear Sir, "Leo Bergin is not at his desk. He has appropriated enough of my money to enable him to take a vacation, and--he left no address. Talent, good looks, and ambition Leo Bergin has, to some degree, but he is evidently a d---- villain. What did you know about this fellow, anyway? "D. J. FOLDER." There seemed no vagueness in this note, but I pondered. What did I know about him? Only that he was once born in Virginia, had lived in California, and had done newspaper work in New Zealand. Musingly, I said, "Perchance the villain lied." This solved the problem for the time, for it seemed more likely that a man should even lie, than go wrong with such a record. For the time I lost all respect for Leo Bergin. To deliberately rob a confiding employer is reprehensible, and if Leo Bergin in this had not shown himself a thief, he had betrayed an entire lack of a sense of proportion. This was one side of Leo Bergin's character. But lapses, my brothers, do not establish total depravity, for it is reported "of old" that a gentleman, on a very serious occasion, prevaricated on a very potent fact, and when confronted, "he denied." When pressed, "he denied with an oath," and yet this gentleman has been kindly remembered and well spoken of. TEMPESTUOUS. The wind increased in violence. It was a wild night. The blue Mediterranean was angry, but the good ship plunged ahead like a defiant monster. For two days more, the decks were unoccupied save by the careless sailors. The tables looked "lonesome," for the storm still raged in fury. The hours and the days, that seemed like weeks and months, wore away. We rounded Cape Vincent, when immediately the wind ceased, the sea was calm, the ship rode smoothly, the air was balmy, and the passengers, like a section of the morning of resurrection, appeared plentifully upon the broad clean decks, and were happy. [Illustration: _The Right Hon. R. J. Seddon, P.C., LL.D., Prime Minister, Colonial Treasurer, Minister of Defence, Minister of Education and Minister of Labour. For over eleven years the sturdy Leader of the most progressive democracy of all the ages._] Leo Bergin also appeared on deck. His smile was feeble, his grasp was languid, but he spoke earnestly of beef-steak and coffee, and I felt that he was--"better." Old Cadiz had been passed, and he had evidently concluded to try some climate other than the one previously suggested. We sat--we chatted. I was to leave the ship at Lisbon, finishing my journey by the next steamer. He?--I did not know. Strange, when we do people a favour we at once feel an interest in them. Possibly we feel somewhat responsible for such an one's conduct. Possibly, too, and more likely, we desire their success, that we may take to ourselves a little credit for a "happy career." I had done Leo Bergin a favor, was interested in him, and asked as to his "future." His glance was friendly, his smile doubtful; he drew his chin lower on his bosom, drummed on a book with his gloved fingers, and said, "Well, I have made an acquaintance with a mysterious personage. I have talent, good looks, and ambition, but I am an outcast, and I am going on a new venture. You know the Folder episode, and, to be frank, after a serious review of the case, I question the propriety of my action, and now that the money is gone, I have many qualms of conscience." I was not a little surprised, but I was glad to discover that he believed himself to have a little conscience, for as "conscience does make cowards of us all," I hoped for his reform. We sat side by side, and planting his closed hand firmly on my knee by way of emphasis, he said, "Yes, I have made a new acquaintance, that of a mysterious personage, and I am now starting on the most reckless, the most risky, the most irrational, and the most romantic venture ever undertaken by mortal man, and if I succeed you shall hear from me; but if I fail, oblivion will claim Leo Bergin, and the claim will be promptly allowed. I made my new acquaintance and formed my new plans but yesterday, and I stand at the dawn of the most enchanting dream that ever lured a sensible man to ruin." I begged him to unfold his tale, but he answered, "You are a practical man, and you would regard my undertaking as so wild and visionary as to indicate insanity, for you do not regard me as an imbecile. If I fail, only another leaf, its stem nipped by the frost, flutters to the ground to fertilise the soil. If I fail, the world, save you, knows not of my folly. If I succeed, the facts that I shall reveal will be more strange than fiction, and the results of my adventure will redound to the glory of the land I love." "Ill as I was," he continued, "I began my notes yesterday, October 5th, 1898, off the coast of Spain, and I shall keep a true record of my doings and my observations. If I survive, which is hardly likely, I shall find you and place my notes at your disposal. If I perish--if possible you shall have them brought down to the last breath, and in every page you shall have evidence of my gratitude and my integrity." "But tell me," said I, with impatience. Here the whistle blew, we saw all confusion, and we were entering the port of Lisbon. Time for further explanation, there was none. We separated, I to follow out well-laid plans for business and pleasure, he--well, to me it was an unsolvable riddle; but I never lost faith that, some time and in some place, Leo Bergin would again turn up. _SCENE II._ LEO BERGIN "TURNS UP." Two years had passed, and with all my professions of interest and regard, for a full year of that time Leo Bergin had not entered my mind, and for the whole two years, he had occupied very little of my thoughts. As a fact, save on one occasion when D. J. Folder, in forgiving jest told me that he needed a man, and asked if I could recommend a young man with "talent, good looks and ambition," for the position, I do not remember having thought of Leo Bergin. Absence defaces memory. Ah! how quickly we are forgotten. We spend our brief time upon this showy stage, assuming that we are necessary to the world's success or pleasure, but when we drop to senseless dust, all save a few, go merrily on, and even they, in a day or a few days, dry their tears and join the happy throng again. Later, in the autumn of 1900, I was called to Copenhagen on business, and having made the acquaintance of a prominent physician there, I was invited to visit one of the leading hospitals. In going the rounds of the various wards, we were informed that several new patients had just entered, brought from a ship which had returned from a North Polar voyage. This would satisfy some curiosity, and soon we were among the new patients. There were a dozen in all, mostly Russians, Finns, and Danes, but at one side of the ward we noticed there were two pale-looking fellows, conversing in English. Instinctively I walked across to their presence, when to my astonishment, gazing earnestly at me, I recognised the sad, pitiful face, of emaciated, health-broken Leo Bergin. His eyes brightened slightly, he smiled faintly, and reached a feeble faltering hand to meet mine, in friendly greeting. There was time for smiles of waning joy, time for sighs and tears of pity, but for words, the time had well nigh sped, for Leo Bergin was close to the pearly gates. "Sit close," said he, "sit close, for I am sailing for another port, and while I don't know the nature of the climate, there can be nothing better, and nothing worse than I have had in this world, so let the storm howl, and the ship plunge, I am not whining." So saying, he slightly turned on his bed, and reaching a thin hand under his pillow, he drew forth a package wrapped in some soft skin, and tied about with twine. "Here," said he faintly, "this tells the whole story. It is all good 'stuff,' but I place it at your disposal. If you think it better, you may boil it down, and if you make anything out of it, well, pay Folder, for I had a good time with his money, and now I have plenty to last me through. I don't know how, but some way I knew I should find you, and this,--it is all true, but the dreams of fiction never unfolded anything half so strange." I longed for a few more minutes, but the form of Leo Bergin lay limp on the bed. His hands were lax, his brow wore a deathly pallor, and his lips moved slowly in inaudible whispers. I touched his hand, for I wanted one more word, and as he seemed to slightly revive, I said: "'Tell my soul, with sorrow laden,' where have you been?" He aroused a little, smiled, and pointing to the package, gaspingly said, "It is all there, all there, and I--well, I have been to 'Symmes' Hole,'"--and when I looked again upon that placid face, the soul of Leo Bergin had sailed for the other "Port." ADJUSTING THE CURTAINS. Leo Bergin, with neatness and despatch, was comfortably buried, myself being chief mourner, and "after life's fitful fever he sleeps well." I was impatient to know the contents of the package, but desiring to enjoy perfect leisure, while unravelling the mystery so intensified by Leo's earnestness, I reluctantly laid it away, to wait my arrival in London. Time passed. I was back at my old quarters in Great Russell Street, London. The weather was so chill, dark, and foggy, that, at four, I had lighted the gas. The fire burned lazily in the small grate. The room was not uncomfortable, but in harmony with the gloomy surroundings. I was touched by a feeling of depressing loneliness. I paced the not very expansive floor, peered through the blackness into the dimly lighted streets, paced again, lighted a cigar, sat and pondered. Thrown back in an easy chair, dreamingly watching the graceful whirling wreaths of my consoling Havana, my thoughts on random wing soared aimlessly away, to gather up the memories of vanished days. Then, like gladsome youths on holiday, came trooping along the casual incidents of an easy life, my last visit to Venice, my run to Marseilles with Monarco's party, the stormy voyage along the coast of Spain. Ah! here, in flesh and blood with spare but athletic form, pale scholarly face, pleasing but rather melancholy smile, gentle voice and cordial, arose Leo Bergin; a thought! The form vanished, but the "package" was more substantial, and I hurriedly unpacked my trunk, and drew it forth, just as he had given it me fully three months earlier. With a thrill of mingled pain and pleasure, I removed the rough twine, and unrolled the leather wrapping. My heart throbbed with emotion, my hand trembled, but my eager eyes beheld a large roll of manuscript neatly tied with familiar tape. While I had not even a glimpse of the nature of these notes, I did not even guess, or attempt to guess, their character. I knew that Leo Bergin, when quite alive, had talent and ambition--the good looks for this occasion I will omit--and I knew this was a most interesting, if not an important "find." In contemplating the situation, as I leisurely removed all surplus or superfluous covering, a small scrap of soiled and crumpled paper fell to the floor, and on picking it up, I was not a little surprised to see that it was an especial note. It was written in a feeble, but legible hand, and read as follows:-- "Nowhere, "November, 1900. "To whoever may find the within,-- "As I am breathing my last, and I am a little anxious to be off, I pray you to forward at once to Sir Marmaduke, Colonial Club, Whitehall, London. "LEO BERGIN. "Richmond Virginia, late of 'Symmes' Hole.'" This was another side of the character of Leo Bergin. Mentally, I was in what may, I think with some propriety, be termed a state of deeply interested confusion. I unrolled and exposed to view the whole package. It was voluminous. It was composed of some twenty writing tablets, each with a large number of thin sheets, foolscap size. These tablets were consecutively numbered, the pages were closely written on one side, the first few being in a round neat hand, the skill rather weakening as the work proceeded. I was too eager for a general inspection to deliberately peruse any particular portion or feature of the whole, but there was a sufficient mass of what seemed by the painstaking methods to make a large volume. But the mystery still deepened. Where, for what purpose, and under what circumstances, was the work done? There were here and there strange names of places, strange personages and strange events recorded. Was Leo Bergin mad? or was there, in fact, somewhere passing events that were indeed stranger to us than fiction? My cigar went out, the fire had "followed suit," I looked at my watch with some impatience, and it showed the "wee sma' hours" had come. I was perplexed, paced the floor, and looking out into the street, I saw how the gusts of wind drove the snow and sleet along with the fury of a demon. I shuddered as I paced the floor, but how could I unravel the mystery, the mystery that perplexed me? "Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning," I said again, "Where is the key?" for Leo Bergin had talent and ambition, and while he seemed erratic, he was no visionary dreamer. While Leo Bergin lacked a sense of proportion, even in his foibles he was practical, and had at least one eye on the main chance. "No," said I, "Leo Bergin was no dreamer," he had no fads, no superstitions, and little imagination, and he was a true Bohemian. He had a "nose for news," a genius for work, and a love for adventure that all the fiends in and out of Hades could not thwart. But how could I unravel the mystery? Where the de'il had he been for two long years? Who was Symmes? And if Symmes had a hole, where was it? [Illustration: _The Hon. Sir Joseph Ward, K.C.M.G., Colonial Secretary, Minister of Railways, Minister of Commerce and Industries, Postmaster-General, with Telegraphs, Minister in charge of Tourist and Health Resorts, and Minister of Public Health. Rather complex, but Sir Joseph's abilities are as versatile as his duties are varied._] Here I paused--an idea struck me. "I am a fool," said I--but I would rave should any one less informed regarding my weakness say so. Ah! I have it. Here it is, for he said, on our parting, as he handed it to me, "It is a record of every day's doings and events." Yes, and he said, on our parting at Lisbon, "I made my new acquaintance, and laid my plans for future action yesterday. I have begun my work, and I shall keep a truthful record of every day's doings and events, and on my return I will place it at your disposal." "Plain enough, it is all there, and to-morrow I shall begin," said I, "to unravel this mysterious story." _SCENE III._ A STRANGE STORY. "To-morrow" has come. The outside world seems glad to be alive. I--the Editor--accustomed to mental ease and physical comfort, am confronted with perplexing duties. My bills are paid, my health is good, and my mind is clear, but, confound the idea of work! I never liked work, and I fear even custom will not reconcile me to drudgery. But duty calls, and, so far, duty has never called upon me in vain. I--the Editor, remember--am ashamed that I forgot Leo Bergin for two long years; I am more ashamed that I so nearly forgot the package, the contents of which may bring pleasure to many a curious and careworn soul, for, as a fact, I feel rebuked even by the presence of this evidence of sturdy resolve, so wanting in myself. As a fact, I know, when I care to be serious, that Leo Bergin, with his restless ambition, his tireless industry, his dauntless courage, his reckless love of adventure, and his almost insane determination to turn on a little more light, with all his faults, was worth to his kind, more than a legion of happy idlers, who, like myself, were born in wealth, and indolently dallied in the soft lap of luxury, careless alike to the sorrows and the joys of common humanity. Well, as a compromise with my conscience--I think it must be conscience, for the sensation is new to me--I am determined to unravel the mystery of Leo Bergin's absence, and, if in the mass of labored matter, there is one thought or fact or idea worthy of his fine attainments and insane strife, the world shall find some compensation for his many errors. With comfortable surroundings, cheerful fire, easy chair, convenient desk and table, fine cigars, ample library, a new found sense of duty, an industry aroused by remorse, and with a sense of deep responsibility I begin my work, feeling that the suggestion from the dying author to "boil it down" has vastly augmented the difficulties that confront me. I am abundantly aware that the age is athirst for fiction, whereas I have for its patience but a plain unvarnished tale. I know the taste for graceful periods, while I can give but labored phrase, and I know the critics want only the "meat," while I must crave the indulgence of an occasional flourish. For the present, at least, I shall "boil down" the matter contained in Leo Bergin's copious notes. In this I may do him an injustice, but I shall save myself much toil and mental worry. Of Leo Bergin I shall speak well. He is dead--and by the world's philosophy, we should speak kindly of the dead. What a vile philosophy! Why not speak kindly of the living? Why do we taunt, and harpoon, and revile the erring soul, until it drops into senseless dust, and then, when our poisoned shafts no longer sting, feel constrained to "speak kindly of the dead!" Oh! my brothers, be good to me while I am alive; you may encourage me, aid me, save me, and when I am dead, you have a standing invitation to my funeral, and your tongues will not grieve me. But, goodbye, indolent reverie, goodbye dreamy speculation, goodbye ease and careless waste of precious hours, and welcome toil, for I am going to do penance, so welcome wearisome work, and welcome thou confused mass of spoiled and rumpled paper, for I long to release the winged words, held so sacredly in your perishable grasp. 'Tis a strange mystery, the power of words. Life is in them, and death. A word may send the crimson current hurrying to the cheek, hurrying with many meanings, or may turn it, cold and deadly, to the heart. And yet, a word is but a breath of passing air. This is pretty--I hope it is original, but I fear it is not--but here begins the diary, a full record of the doings and observations of Leo Bergin for two eventful years. Where is number one? Ah! here it is, a few little old crumpled sheets I had not seen. No. 1 plain enough. He began on these, and laid in his supply of paper later. I will quote _verbatim_ the first few pages, as they may furnish the key to the whole. Well, then, this is the starting of that career, I hope an interesting one. It begins:-- "At sea, on board steamer _Irene_, "Off coast Spain, "October 5th, 1898. "Terrible storm! The purser said we were in 'imminent danger.' Danger! how thrilling!--if a fellow were not so sick. Terrible storm! But, as compared with my tempestuous soul, the angry Mediterranean is still. "I regret having met Sir Marmaduke. He did me a kindness; I served Folder well; Lucile, and I--a poor adventurer--became friends. _The Times_ wanted me to go to Armenia; I borrowed the money from young Folder in his father's absence; young Folder, it seems, took the money from the firm's safe; he fell into disgrace with his father, accused me, and--well, Folder and Sir Marmaduke and dear Lucile, all think me a thief. Let the old Mediterranean howl, let her mountainous waves plough the ground, until all the bones of all she has slain are washed up and cast on the shores of bloody Spain, and until the Pillars of Hercules are torn from their base, and I will laugh at raving Nature's petulant moods, and go down smiling with the wreckage to death and eternal night. But confound young Folder! and, but for Lucile, I would teach him a sense of proportion. Sir Marmaduke shall sometime know that he was not mistaken in me--and Lucile--well, maybe she'd rather think me a villain, than to know her brother was one." Well, well! "Oh, my prophetic soul!" Leo Bergin, forgive! Then, Leo was not a thief, and I, like a common fool, now that the truth is out should have known that Leo Bergin, with his fine attainments, his superb vanity, and his indifference to wealth, could not stain his hands with dishonor. Surely it was a foolish proceeding at such a juncture for Leo Bergin to die. What fine material for a romance! But we never romance. He continues:-- "This morning I discovered that I had a strange cabin mate. Physically, he is the finest type of manly beauty I ever beheld; and, mentally, he seems above our common human nature. That he is no fool is certain, that he is not insane, I am fairly well persuaded, and that he is mistaken seems hardly credible, yet as measured by all the supposed knowledge of our generation, by the demonstrations of science and the calculations of thinkers, he talks the most arrant nonsense. His splendid personality, his easy graceful manners, and his general intelligence interests one; his 'sublime gift of eloquent gab,' his seeming logic, and his insinuating ideas are charming, but the seeming boldness, not to say audacity of his statements astonishes one. But to me, he is resistless; and for good or ill, success or failure, life or death, I have cast my lot with him. "Evening, later. Strange experience this--the storms have no terror for me. Strange! but this mysterious cabin mate has captivated me. I was so bewildered with his impossible statements and extravagant claims, and with all his absolute indifference as to our incredulity, that I sought refuge in the captain's room, and here, listening to an interesting recital, I spent four of the most thrilling hours of my life. "The captain is certainly a gentleman of superior parts. He has a fine knowledge of astronomy, he is a master of geography, and is deeply read in the broader and more general physical sciences, and yet, in the presence of this stranger, as he seems not of our world in any sense common to our understanding, he is dumb with astonishment. "This strange being, surely a man, for he eats and drinks and smokes, and worse, he snores, says he is Amoora Oseba, that he lives in a great city called Eurania, in a country called Cavitorus, and that his people are called Shadowas. Save that the mind wanders with an unconscious effort to locate this country, city, and people, this statement seems but commonplace. "But where is Cavitorus? Where is the City of Eurania? and who the de'il are the Shadowas? Save that he might be regarded as a superior sample, this Amoora Oseba--which sounds Arabian--might be taken easily for a Russian, a Dane, a Scot, or a Yankee. But whence came he? Let him tell us. "At the captain's suggestion, I invited him to the fore-cabin, where, seated around a table, our host, the chief engineer, a merchant from Boston, a parson, my cabin mate and myself, were met for interesting inquiry. "The instruments having been brought and the glasses filled, the captain looked in the face of Mr. Oseba, and said in manly business tones, 'We have become interested in you, Mr. Oseba, and while your statements seem most astounding to us, we have invited you to my cabin, that we might persuade you to give us some explanation of your strange theories; and as an introduction of the subject, I beg to inquire from what country you hail, and what is your destination?' "The question seemed rational, and to most men, how easily answered! But here was a new experience. All eyes were turned on the handsome, intelligent, earnest face of my new-made friend and fellow-passenger, and he said: 'Mystery lies just beyond the visible horizon of the knowable. Because I have explored the realms of your mental and visible horizon, either of you could easily answer me such a question, and to the satisfaction of all; but as my country lies beyond both your mental and visible horizon, I can only answer by an explanation, moving or advancing such lines.' "Here Amoora Oseba took a globe in his hand, and remarked that as educated men they regarded this as a 'counterfeit presentment' or model of the world they inhabited. He explained that for millions of years, our ancestors remained indifferent, and then disputed about the shape or form of the world they inhabited; that in comparatively recent times loving men cooked one another for believing the world to be round, and that in times really but yesterday, the most advanced people had nothing like a correct conception of the construction of the Universe. [Illustration: _PREMIER SEDDON AND HIS POLITICAL FAMILY. From left--The Honorables C. H. Mills, W. C. Walker, C.M.G., R. J. Seddon, P.C. LL.D., T. Duncan, J. Carroll, Sir J. G. Ward, K.C.M.G., W. Hall-Jones, J. McGowan._] "'In old, old times,' he said, 'our ancestors believed the world to be flat. That question for thousands of years was considered settled. For a comparatively brief time the world has been considered to be round, a solid sphere. This, for this short period, has been the "settled" notion.' "But he assured us that the propositions were equally fallacious. The whole party was inclined to laugh, but he continued. He reminded us that we all believed in the nebular theory, that our earth, with the other planets, had been thrown off by the sun's rapid rotary motion; that in rapid revolution these masses had assumed forms peculiar to their revolutionary velocity, that planets had in turn thrown off masses that had become satellites, and that form was a result of motion, mass, and volume. He reminded us of the natural tendency of matter to fly from the surface of a rapidly revolving wheel, cylinder, or globe. "This was the case with our earth. While yet a yielding or molten mass, it whirled very rapidly on its axis, the surface cooled and became rigid, and the molten matter contracted. During this process, the plastic interior moved towards the crust, the cooling mass requiring less and less space. Thus the centre parted, and our earth became, not a solid globe, as you were taught to believe, but an oval ring, a hollow ball, revolving rapidly as do the rings of Saturn, formed under the same law, but owing to the mass in her case being greater, the gravitation of the interior held the central mass together as a planet. 'As a fact,' he said, taking a large apple in his hand, 'if the core of this apple were removed with a care that would preserve the proper curvature, I will venture to say "ovality," it would present an exact model of our world. Then the world is hollow, not solid, and it is habitable and inhabited over the oval.' "The members of the party looked at each other with amused curiosity. 'Symmes!' said the captain; 'Hurra for old Kentuck!' said the Yankee; 'Logic!' said the engineer. "'You smile,' said Oseba, 'but a man may smile and smile, he may even sneer, and still be wrong.' "He looked so undisturbed, so dignified and earnest, that levity ceased, and he said 'As a rule, men accept their opinions ready made, and they only search for corroborating evidence. When Galileo proclaimed a new truth, he was silenced, by the frowns of authority. Who was right? When Bruno proclaimed a great truth, he was cooked, by authority. Who was right? All your schoolboys of to-day know.' "'But when Symmes advanced a new theory, because the world had grown more tolerant or less earnest, he was laughed out of court, while those who imprisoned Galileo, and cooked Bruno, and ridiculed Columbus and Magellan, having grown careless, amused themselves by writing of Symmes' northern regions as "Symmes' Hole."' "'Well, gentlemen,' said Mr. Oseba, 'I am from over the Oval, from "Symmes' Hole," and after five years of constant travel and hard study among the people of the outer world, whom we call Outeroos, I am returning to "Symmes' Hole," and this young man,' turning to me, 'is going with me to report.' "There was no mirth, the captain drumming on the table said, 'Ahem!' The Yankee said, as he looked quizzically at me, 'Well, I guess he'll have to muffle himself up pretty good, and I think our house could give him a proper outfit,' and the engineer said to me, 'raising the curtain is the most interesting part of the performance.' "'But this is so far outside of our experience and our observations,' said the good-natured skipper. "'Pardon,' said the calm Oseba, 'the observations of your men of experience have but confirmed our contentions, though the evidence so far, has not disturbed the hypotheses of your theorists. But what are the observations of your men of hard experience? This leads to another line of inquiry.' "Save by an occasional question, the silence of the listeners had been unbroken from the start. The subject had been profoundly discussed, and as the hour was growing late, it was agreed that the party meet at once after dinner on the following evening. All faces now looked serious. The captain thanked the stranger, and said, 'We met to scoff, we remained in rapt attention, we retire to meditate. To-morrow evening,' said he, 'we will question you, our worthy guest, with a different feeling. Good night.' "What a unique experience! How I would like to have had Sir Marmaduke with us. But Sir Marmaduke thinks I am a thief and unworthy of his presence. "Well, goodbye old day, I'll throw me down and sleep my cares away." By George! that is striking. The man from "Symmes' Hole." Ha! Ha! Well, I wish I had been there. But Leo Bergin does me an injustice, for I was too careless to think about his crime, or alleged crime, for, as a fact, I liked him when I met him, and in his absence, I never thought either of him or his folly. "What fools we mortals be!" We are eternally worrying about what others think of us, when, in fact, each of all the "others" is quite engaged with his or her own affairs. What "everybody says" is usually only what some idle meddler says, the busy world having no thought or care on the matter. But Leo Bergin thought of me, well-- "I'd give the lands of Deloraine, If Musgrove were alive again." But,--"Never, never more." Let us see what follows, for this is more interesting far, than a courtship. Let's see--the next day I left the ship at Lisbon, in response to mail from Hamburg. Let's see if I am forgotten as easily as he was, and what the man from Symmes' Hole had to say at the adjourned meeting. By my soul, this is rich! The notes read:-- "At sea, on board S.S. _Irene_, "Off coast of Portugal, "October 7th, 1898. "'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now is brooding o'er a still and pulseless world. "What an eventful day! In old Lisbon a few hours, made a few purchases--paper to hold stuff enough to startle the world--saw Sir Marmaduke on the steps of the Cathedral; he did not answer my salute. If I live, he shall know me better. If--oh, that terrible 'if'! that brief halt, that in all our hopes arises to console us, that brief halt that excuses impotency for failure, chills me. "Had a long chat with my chief, Oseba, _re_ our polar journey. Strange, I speak of this with candour, and make my plans as if it were actual, and yet my judgment scoffs at my foolish dreams, for, as a fact, it must be the delusion of a madman. So I thought at 4 p.m.-- "Later. "Promptly at eight, the party of last evening re-assembled in the captain's cabin. All seated at the table, Amoora Oseba handed round some fine cigars, the glasses were filled, and the skipper said, 'Now, Mr. Oseba, we would like to hear further from you, for if you are insane, there seems to be method in your madness. If you are a joker, you are a most charming entertainer, but if you are sane and candid, for the world's good you should remain quiet, only when necessary to refresh yourself for further effort.' "The captain had prepared a six-inch globe by removing the axial core, and paring down the outer openings so as to leave it oval with the outer curves for Mr. Oseba's convenience in making his illustrations--this was Oseba's 'apple,' the core removed. "On rising, Mr. Oseba thanked the captain for his courtesy, and raising the globe, he reminded the party that he was to review the observations of experienced men in support of what to him was more than a theory. He asked his friends to fix in their minds the new form of our globe, for that was important. "He first called attention to the fact that all the extreme North Polar regions were rich with the waste or remains of animal and vegetable life. This was 'settled.' 'All navigators agree,' he said, 'that hibernating animals, say above 80 or even 78°, go north to winter; and that driftwood comes from the north with flowers unknown to botanists. In high latitudes birds and swarms of insects come from the north in spring, and Tyson's men killed many of these migrating birds for food for his crew. In the craws of these birds there were found undigested grains of wheat, some of which were planted and grew in California. The kernel of this wheat was three times the common size, and California seasons were too short for its ripening. Now, whence came the birds, the wheat, and the insects? Plainly, from "Symmes' Hole." Greely found the ice but four feet thick at 82°, and less than two feet at 84°, so the ice would not bear the boats, and many navigators report an open polar sea, and greatly agitated waters at high latitudes. "'By the old theory, it must be known that, at the poles, the North Star would be--must be--directly overhead, or in the zenith. But, as a fact, all polar explorers know that the pole star is in the zenith at about 80°, and that, at 83-4°, it is seen far towards the stern of the ship. If the old theory were true, this phenomenon seen at 84° would only appear after a ship had sailed past the Pole some ten or twelve degrees. "'The fact is,' said he, 'sailing north at 84°, the verge is past, the curvature is sharper, and the ship is dipping into "Symmes' Hole." Further, at 82° north, the horizon very sensibly contracts to the north and south, and enormously lengthens east and west. This is on the verge, at the point of sharpest curvature.' "While these arguments were not entirely new to the captain, they struck him with a new force, and the party remained silent. Assuming that he had made out his case, the Sage assured us confidently that the earth was hollow, with openings at the Poles; that the equatorial sides are about 3000 miles thick; that the surface of the interior world, like that of the outside, has mountains and plains, rivers and lakes; that it has proportionately less habitable lands, an equatorial zone of some 2000 miles being quite uninhabitable; that on either side of this there is a habitable belt of variable width; that from the sun and its reflections, and electrical phenomena, there are ample light and heat; and that about 3000 miles north of the equator, just under and opposite the Greenwich meridian, stands the City of Eurania--the most beautiful and opulent on this planet--the capital of a great and wealthy country. "Silence reigned for a few moments, when the deeply interested Boston man, in the most inquisitive and earnest tones said, 'But, my dear Sir, as we are evidently of about the same class of goods, and were probably turned out of the same mill, how the de'il did you fellows get down there? and how the de'il did you get out?' "This discussion, so learned, so full, so logical, so eloquent, and so earnest, should be preserved, even to the tones and expression, but I am weary, and it is late, and if--there is that 'if' again--if I live, nothing of that scene shall perish; and if I don't--and, I won't--I will have spent time enough on it, for all will probably be lost, so I will 'boil it down.' "Well, in answer, Amoora Oseba said that it was now a well-settled theory that, probably owing to periodic oscillations of the earth, the course and character of which were not yet understood, there had been great changes in the temperature of the polar regions. The moving down and the receding of the polar ice limits, in no distant geological times in the past are abundantly evident. The temperature at the so-called Poles had materially varied, the ice-belt so oscillating that at times animal and higher vegetable life flourished at high latitudes, as is known by the abundant remains of undecayed animals still found in the ice fields. A PRETTY TALE. "Then he related a tradition among his people, reciting that in the far distant past--at a time probably when the polar regions were rather temperate, and most of the human race were yet in barbarism--a small tribe of peacefully disposed people inhabited a fertile region in an open world, where the horizon stretched away alike in all directions. [Illustration: _Mr. T. E. Donne, Superintendent of Tourist and Health Resorts; Secretary of Department of Industry and Commerce; Secretary for New Zealand Commercial Intelligence Department of the British Board of Trade; Representative St. Louis Exposition. By his industry, ability and modest candour, and the merits of his "enterprise," Mr. Donne is becoming one of the best known Tourist Agents on the globe, and he is one of the most competent and trusted of Sir Joseph Ward's carefully selected staff._] "The chief of these amiable people was an attractive and commanding personality named Olif. This Olif had a most beautiful daughter, whose mother, while gathering flowers for her child, had been strangled by the orders of an envious and childless queen. The name of the daughter was Eurania, which means "Sunbeam." But as she grew to womanhood she so strongly resembled her father, and was so constantly at his side, that the two beings seemed a double--but a single soul--and soon the people idolised the damsel under the name of Oliffa. Olif and Oliffa, the chief and his daughter, as guardian spirits, held supreme authority. "At a great festival, in which many kindred tribes and nations met to celebrate an historic event, a grim chieftain of a warlike tribe became enamoured of Oliffa. He demanded her as one of his wives. Oliffa declined--there was a rush to arms, and many of Olif's people were slain. "The great King Oonah took sides with his warlike chief. Oliffa was taken by force, she was led to an altar in sight of her people, her ankles were loaded with fetters, her whole tribe were condemned to extinction, and preparations were being made for the general massacre. When the King, beholding Oliffa that she was stately, beautiful, and wise withal, said: "'Let not Olif and his tribe be slain, but banished--banished; for 'tis not well that so goodly a people should perish from the earth. I have spoken.' "But Olif and his followers gathered themselves together, and the warriors, joining in one defiant voice, answered: "'While we may not hope to resist the force of your savage chieftains who would expel us, we will fight here until we all die, under the gaze of Oliffa; and,' said they in thunderous tones, 'we have spoken.' "Oliffa, heroic in her despair, raised herself to her full height, and, lifting her hands imploringly to the National Gods, in a clear and earnest voice that made the chieftain quail, said: "'No, my father and my people, die not, but live for Oliffa--save a remnant of the tribe of Olif. I am Oliffa--human virtue is greater than kings or death. Go to the north, dwell in the hollow of my hand, and, in the fulness of time, thou shalt return to embrace me.' She had finished. "With bowed head and in sorrow, Olif and his followers withdrew, and slowly wended their way towards the unknown regions of the north. But a party, with the angry chief Sawara, pursued, and coming to the verge of the land, Olif and his band took refuge on what seemed to be a small island. Here they repelled their pursuers, and soon they saw the channel that separated them from the mainland widen, and they thanked their deities for their deliverance. "But, alas! they soon discovered that they were on an ice-floe, and were moving north toward the open sea. Provisions soon gave out, they prayed to their gods, they floated and suffered, and as the weaker perished, cannibalism was resorted to--for madness possessed the despairing party. Days and weeks passed, an impenetrable fog enveloped them, and they gave themselves up to utter hopelessness. "However, soon the atmosphere became milder, the distant breakers were heard, the fog rose like a curtain, and behold! land was near. Nearer yet they floated. Night came, the full moon shone, but it moved not up from, but along the rim of the horizon. Morning came, bright and balmy. The floe had entered a strange harbor, and soon the shores were reached. It seemed a 'goodly land' with fertile soil and genial climate. "'But a remnant of the peaceful tribe of Olif,' he said, 'were saved--nine men, thirteen women and five children. They cut boughs and built an habitation, and they said: "This shall be our dwelling place. Our city shall be called Eurania, in honor of our lost one, and here we will tarry until we return to the goddess Oliffa."' "'This country,' said Oseba, 'was Cavitorus. These people were the ancestors of my people, the Shadowas, and on the banks of a charming harbour they built the City of Eurania, the most beautiful to-day on this planet.' "'Through all the ages, from barbarism to the present,' said Oseba, 'there has been a lingering tale, a faint tradition among the people as related, and a vague idea that they dwelt in a shadow, in the hollow of a hand, and that some time in after ages, or in after life, they would return to an upper world, called in nursery tales and by the superstitious, Oliffa, where the inhabitants are called Outeroos--because they dwell on the outer world.' Leo Bergin soliloquizes:-- "What astounding folly! and yet, I am on my way over the limitless fields of ice and snow and dead men's bones, to this phantom city, Eurania. Courage! who knows, for-- 'There are more things in heaven, and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" "'Well,' said Oseba, 'these few people were of an amiable race, and a common danger, and a common sorrow, had made them brethren. Then the animals of this country were many, strong, amiable, and easily tamed; the mountains were accessible, the climate genial, and the soil so fruitful that there was nothing to suggest savagery. All nature smiled, and man progressed peacefully.' "'The people,' he continued, 'increased, they were prosperous and happy. They had no foes--so war was unknown. The animals of the chase were tamed, and agriculture became an early occupation.' "Traditions had been broken; back of the people there were but dead walls. Interminable ice and snow, as well as time, separated them from the past. With prosperous industry the population increased. Colonies were planted along the interior sea shores, and commerce was developed. There were no despots to despoil, no superstition to blight, no wars to devastate, no idleness to waste, and wealth, such as the Outeroos never dreamed of, followed as a result. "The lands were held for the people, but the lands were limited, and as the centuries came and went, and went and came, the population became very dense. Civilisation and Science had come, but the population began to press upon the means of subsistence. Opulent nations arose, accumulated wealth was great, but room was becoming scarce. For a time, inventive genius helped to solve the problem, but the sorrows multiplied as the struggle was made more easy. Soon necessities suggested remedies for growing evils, which not to use meant universal destruction. "The population crowded and the weak and deformed were 'removed.' The remedy was but tentative, and gradually the pressure grew still stronger. As the centuries passed, all the weak, the worthless, and the unfit were sterilised. The pressure still increased. The State then provided for taking charge of all the children, and only the most fit were allowed to become parents. "Under this policy, and under wise management, the State became the 'universal mother.' Parents knew not their offspring, nor the offspring their parents, and the love of humanity and public duty became the inspiring motives of human action. Under this policy, too, have the leading nations of Cavitorus, with the Shadowas in the lead, developed their present civilisation. Under such a policy they have been able to adjust the population to the possibilities of the land, and thus while they have been building their opulent present, they have developed the finest type of people mentally, morally and physically, that ever inhabited this planet. "Oseba explained the quickness of the soil in Cavitorus, the length of the seasons and of the days, with their peculiar irregularities. He described the movements of the sun, its appearance at various seasons of the year, and why it was never entirely dark in those regions. "Then he recited a further tradition, relating that at the time the people reached Cavitorus, the bright star Oree was the 'Pole Star,' that it had moved gradually away, but that in about twenty thousand years it was to return to its old position. Further, that on the return of Oree--the tradition ran--the Shadowas would be released from their seeming isolation, and be reunited with their brethren of the outer world to the presence, or on the surface of, Oliffa. "'You see,' said Oseba, 'in the development of all people their myths and their heroes are strongly allied to, if they are not the actual forces of, Nature, and all have a seasoning of truth as a basis. "'The people had watched Oree; were waiting his return, and were alert for signs of the coming change, or, as they put it, for a "deliverer." They believed from this tradition, that they had been in Cavitorus twenty thousand years, and a confidence in their future deliverance was a deep-seated superstition, a real faith and hope. "'Well, Oree, as seen from the spot where the first "pilgrims landed," as indicated by a peak on a distant mountain, appeared some twenty-five years ago, and, as on the very night the observations were taken a portion of a wrecked vessel was cast upon our shores, no wonder the long-deferred hope found expression in a movement for inquiry and exploration. "'Later, a tame dog with a brass collar on his neck was taken from an ice-floe. Later still, by a few months, a small box and a snow-shoe drifted ashore. In your year 1890, the corpse of a white man, clothed in furs, was found on the beach, and the next morning two bodies of what are now known to have been Esquimaux, were found. As we lived on the ocean front, we knew whence these came. At this the State took up the work, made an appropriation, organised a party, and, well,' said he, 'they abundantly equipped an expedition, put me in charge, and I am here on my return to Cavitorus, after a five years' tour, covering the countries of all the outer globe.'" What masterly logic! What skill in the marshalling of details! "Well," adds Leo Bergin, soliloquizing, "if it is true, and it must be, for I am going there, how much stranger than fiction!" The notes continue:-- "The captain inquired about the harbors along the coast of Cavitorus; the Boston man inquired if there were any gold mines; the parson, how high the Shadowas built their church spires; and the engineer, what motive power was used in their transportation. "To these Mr. Oseba answered: 'I fear, if I should tell you one half the truth about these things we should be "discovered," to our sorrow.' "The hour was late, and as all seemed dazed by the recital, the party dispersed, to bed,-- 'To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub.'" BOILING IT DOWN. Well, that is rich! Leo had to cut it short, but he saved me a lot of trouble. Let's see. Here is a lot of interesting details--interesting if life were not so short--but I'll have to "boil it down," for "spice" is the word. The two adventurers left the _Irene_ at Amsterdam, ran to Hamburg, where they remained over winter, and being joined by Oseba's fellow-adventurers, they took a small steamer sent as a supply ship for a polar party "frozen up" in the seas north of Spitzbergen. Disembarking, they joined a party for the journey further north, intending to strike the open sea at a known point. As would be expected, "the cold was intense," but the party was splendidly equipped, and progress, for polar travel, was rapid. [Illustration: _Mitre Peak, Milford Sound_] "Oseba," say the notes, "had recourse to a magazine he had supplied for the purpose on his outward journey. Here were supplies of condensed food, articles of raiment that bid defiance to cold, instruments which by reflection converted light into warmth, and various scientific appliances, some that practically rendered the party immune from cold, and others that aided them in meeting many dangers." Leo Bergin had not a reputation for underestimating the trials of any adventure in which he embarked, but taking all in all, it seems from his report that, under the lead of this wizard from "Symmes' Hole," a visit to the jumping-off place at the north could be made with little inconvenience or risk to life or health. Only once in fifty pages of notes does Leo Bergin complain of hardship. Not once does he express any regrets, and he never once loses faith in his master. Only once does he say "the hardships are severe," and then he adds, "but the genius of Oseba has made us so immune from Nature's blasts, that, on the main point, we are almost comfortable." There were seven of the returning party, five of the nine friends, who, five years before, had crossed these frozen plains with Oseba, and the two "star" adventurers. Considering the tales written by North Pole hunters, the incidents of this journey, from 80° over the "oval" or verge, to 60° inside, are hardly worthy of extensive comment. So I'll throw the whole journey across these trackless fields of ice and snow into the waste-paper basket, or, better still, leave them here, consigned to more certain oblivion. Had Leo Bergin been a jester, a thousand richer tales than were ever written by those who, in search of fame, have joined the throngs that left their bones in the unknown regions of the North, could have been found in these candid notes, "But Truth is a jewel so rich and so rare, When found should be cherished with martyr-like care." So I shall metaphorically skip some fifty of Leo Bergin's pages, and take up the story where the party arrived in the small but picturesque harbor, on the shores of which stands the City of Eurania, the capital of Cavitorus--just over the "oval." Over five long years had passed, since the sage Oseba, the idol of Cavitorus, and his nine brave friends had been commissioned to explore the outer world, in search of truth, in search of laws or customs by which the Shadowas might be more wisely guided, or to find a country to which it might be possible, wise and well, to send a colony of their children. Four had perished, and these were to be fittingly mourned; but "the conquering heroes come," and they were to be fittingly welcomed, and as their approach had been heralded, thousands of richly-dressed people thronged the "water front," and the beautiful city was in gala-day attire. The description of the streets, and fountains, and parks, and statues of gold, and other eye-ravishing objects, are dwelt upon in lavish detail, but "want of space," and the love of ease, admonish me to "blue pencil" many pages of this fancy fabric. The superb personality and the gorgeous attire of the people, amazed the practical Leo Bergin. I will here venture a quotation, then again "boil it down." He says:-- "The appearance of the people, as they crowd without confusion along and away back the shore line, is most striking. They seem over-tall and very symmetrical in form, and they move as gracefully as trained actors. They have finely-chiselled features, deep, rather large and expressive eyes, slightly bronzed complexions, and in every curious look, gaze, or expression, there is an easy, modest dignity, such as I have never before seen, even among the rarest few. In every face there is a deep and real joy; but of enthusiasm, emotionalism, or sensationalism, there is really none. This passion of the animal has gone, and the pleasures of the intellect have re-moulded the countenance. The face has become the mirror of an exalted soul. On no countenance is there seen gravity, on none hilarity. "Seeing no sadness, I said, 'Where are the friends of the four who perished?' "Alas! under their system none can know father or mother, sister or brother, son or daughter. All are children of the State. In the success of any one, there can be but a common joy; in failure, but a common sorrow." What nonsense, to talk of such a society! People who forget their own children? But Herbert Spencer tells us of a people among whom the men had more affection for the children of their sisters than for those of their own wives! Mayhap, Herbert was wrong, for this seems unnatural. Mayhap, Herbert was right, for what we call "natural" is really but custom. However, "maybe" there were "reasons" in that case--experience. Leo continues:-- "The attire, too, of these people was 'gorgeous beyond description.' Array all the royalties, all the nobility, all the Popes and the Cardinals, with all the courtly favorites and all the Rajahs and robber chieftains of all the Indies, and all the flunkies, the fops and the fools of all the capitals, great and small, of the pretentious upper world, and marshal them for comparison in ranks facing these, and they of the upper world would seem but a pitiable show, or at best an amusing burlesque. "Silks and splendid fabrics, not loud and gay, but rich and rare; jewels resplendent with Nature's lustre, but worn as modestly as to seem but articles of common use, were present in enormous profusion. For jewels, for articles of personal adornment, for ornaments or trimmings of wearing apparel, gold was too common, cheap and vulgar. In carriages, in furniture, in statuary, in architectural adornments, it was in use by the ton--yes, by the cord. Ye gods, if the Americans knew this! "Here, as superstition has not blighted, monopoly has not diverted, despotism has not robbed, war has not wasted, vice has not withered, wealth has grown with the ages. "As our whole party were attired in very modest European dress, we must have appeared rather uncouth to the people, but the absence of apparent curiosity or inquisitiveness, was surprising." The notes continue:-- "These people must be adepts in electrical science, for the air was full of 'floaters,' or flying machines, each seating one or more persons. They were as thick as blackbirds in a Missouri cornfield." He noticed an entire absence of children from the throngs of people, but soon an open space was formed by the crowd falling back, when several thousand "youngsters" of both sexes, and all the tender ages, came marching down the wharf, in charge of a few modest-looking superintendents. As they came to a halt, the people raised their hats in salutation, when the children, seemingly all of one accord, bent a knee in acknowledgment. The notes, observations, and running comments of the observing Leo are worthy of full perusal, and indeed of preservation, but as I am hurrying on to a definite purpose, brevity seems to be a necessity. The reception of the party by the City Council and a joint committee from the great college, of which Leo learned that Amoora Oseba was the head, was most impressive, and when the master of ceremonies waved his hand as a signal, there was an unanimous shout of "Welcome home, Oseba! Welcome back to Eurania!" This was the only noisy demonstration. "Every face," says the chronicler, "looked respectful, grateful, gratified, and happy, but there were no fire-crackers or bad breath." Is not that marvellous? Think of such a people! Think of an occasion of like character in London, New York--ah, ye gods!--in Paris or Berlin! I wonder if this fellow was not spreading it on rather thick? But, listen:-- "We were escorted to our carriages, one hundred gorgeous electro-motors, literally made of gold and ivory, and adorned with what appeared to be precious stones, but what proved to be common, indeed. We were driven to the temple--and such a temple! The Palace of Westminster, the Vatican, or the Washington Capitol would be 'nowhere.'" But I must "boil it down." He tells us that the ceremony at the temple was "splendid, but brief"; that the reception of Amoora Oseba was sincere, and that the proceedings of the meeting of over five years previous, commissioning him for the perilous journey, were read. "Resolutions of regret" for the loss of members of the party were passed, and a meeting was appointed at which Amoora Oseba should make his report to a select committee, and through such committee to the people of Eurania and Cavitorus. Speaking in much praise of the almost depressing dignity of the ceremony, the notes record that at the close of the announcement, the chairman read the commission under which Oseba had acted, and on the performance of which authorised duty he was to report. It read as follows:-- "City of Eurania, Cavitorus, "Year 20993, P.C. "To the well-beloved Amoora Oseba, Chief, National Academy of Science. "We, the representatives of the State, on behalf of all the Shadowas, believing that the time is approaching when, according to our traditions, we are to be reunited with our brethren of the outer world, and recognising the necessity of discovering a broader field for the expansion of our race, hereby authorise you to proceed to the discovery of any country, to study the condition of any people on this or any other world, to learn lessons of wisdom whereby we may be better governed, or 'spy out' a land to which, if possible, we may desire to send a colony of our surplus population, and to report at your discretion. The time, the necessary means, the associates, and all other matters pertaining to this unique enterprise, will be granted by the State at your discretion, and may the gods favor your undertaking, and send you back to us with improved health, increased knowledge, and hopes that may guide the Shadowas in their future struggles for social progress. "Signed by a hundred of the National Committee." My word! pretty good billet had this Amoora Oseba. No wonder Leo Bergin was captivated by the fellow. But that journey over the "oval," as he calls it--excuse me--it makes me shiver. Well, according to the notes, it's a week before that meeting takes place, a week to be thrown away, to wait. Queer, it seems almost as though I was there. Let's see if there is anything in his notes to bridge the time. Yes, here he relates what a thrilling adventure he had in a "soar" over the fifty-story houses in an electric air motor; that the buildings are made of indestructible material; how their steel does not rust; how light their machinery; how beautiful the girls. Ah, yes! And then he says: "It might be nice not to have to 'ask papa,' for here no girl has a father, a big brother, or a pretty sister--which may be convenient." But from the luxury of a mother-in-law, the Shadowas are forever cut off. "The freedom of association between the sexes," he says, "is surprising, but the social dignity and decorum are even more surprising. The country, with every inch cultivated, is beautiful, and the aspect of Nature, especially in the night, with the moon sweeping along the opposite rim of the earth, the sweeping of the sun along the horizon, the reflection of light from unknown sources, the wonderful play of electric phenomena, are too awe-inspiring for description. "Gold is more plentiful than iron is with us, and platinum more plentiful than silver;" and he accounts for the great quantity of these heavy metals on scientific theories. "As for diamonds and other precious stones, it is only a matter of 'grinding;' but the 'brilliants' are more beautiful than with us, owing to the peculiarities of the light." [Illustration: _Mount Cook, Mueller Valley._] What fairy tales! And yet we don't "know." Nature tells some strange stories. Yes, and so do people. There is something amusing or interesting in the notes of every day, but let the week slide, for we want to hear the report--we want to hear what Amoora Oseba thinks of the people of the "upper crust." "Oh! wad some power the giftie gie us, To see oursels as ithers see us, It wad frae monie a blunder free us." Possibly. Here we come to that great meeting. Let's get down to date again, and Leo Bergin's notes. He says:-- "Eurania, Cavitorus, "October 5th. "'To-morrow,' yes. "'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death." "To-morrow! the great event opens. How like a dream it all seems. But, "Dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy. They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils. ... They speak, Like symbols of the future.' "Ah, this dreamy reverie! It brings back the vanished years, for ''Twas just one year ago to-day, That I remember well,' when I began this record, at sea, on board the S.S. _Irene_. I wonder if Sir Marmaduke ever thinks of me. If he does, he thinks me--well, it doesn't much matter now. He was a good sort, however, and I will never forget him." Kind of you, Leo Bergin. By golly! that fellow has a heart, and a head, too, for that matter, for he is rarely far wrong. He continues:-- "Yes, he was a generous old soul. Rich, good-natured and careless, but just. He read everything, but--well, perhaps if I had read as much as he, I would have thought and known as little." Leo Bergin, I swear I had rather you had forgotten me. That's a nice way to speak of an absent friend. There is evidently a coolness between us. Yes, a cool belt, so I will keep my temper. Proceed, Leo:-- "Had a note from Venesta to-day, and I don't know whether it gives me more pleasure or sadness. Think of courting a girl, who never had a father or a mother, a sister or a brother! Daughter of the State! Marry the daughter of the State! Ye gods, what a mother-in-law! "I have idled away the day, and how can I make amends, save by confession and the forming of new resolutions? Well, "'I resolve! yes, I resolve! And then I sit me down And watch that resolution die. But, "To-morrow"--' "Eurania, Cavitorus, "October 6th. "How balmy the air! How grandly the old sun sweeps along the rim of this great world! For one such scene New York would give a 'million,' and every eye would dim with watching the face of the flaming wheel, and every neck would ache, and every soul would shudder with awe. But, would not the Shadowas like to see Old Sol passing over their heads every twenty-four hours, and give them three-hundred and sixty-five days during the year, instead of having him whirl about their heads, hip high, giving one night seven months long, and but a hundred and sixty days of variable length? But it's all in being used to things. "Well, I must off to the meeting. I am invited to the platform, and I shall have plenty to record this evening, for to-day is nineteen hours long. Oh, how weird! "Later, evening. "What o'clock is it? I don't know. I know it was nineteen hours after the old sun first flitted around Mt. Lena, that it finally retired, and how can a 'new chum' keep track of his running on such erratic lines? To make it more confusing, this is the self same old sun that mine eyes have been looking upon for, lo! these thirty wasted years. Who would have thought that sedate old watchman could ever play such pranks? Then, too, on the same little old world! Am I waking? Am I sane, or is this but a hideous delirium? "I feel sure that all is unreal, that I am the sport of some jesting destiny--but I will play my part; then, if the vision be not a mockery, I will not have wasted too much time. "What an eventful day! Yet, as long as it has been, or even seems to have been, every hour has been crowded with bewildering incidents--only bewildering to me, however, for how unlike the hurry, the confusion, the bustle, the noise and hilarity seen on such occasions on the upper crust! How different from a horse-race in England, an election-day in France, or a Fourth of July in America! "What a happy, orderly, handsome, and amiable people, these. Even their Deities are amiable. Their temples of worship breathe, not only hope for the future, but appreciation for the blessings of to-day. With them, it is not a crown of glory afterwhile, but a living joy. Without the sorrow of Gautama, the gods of this under-world are as loving and as amiable. But why should not the Deities be amiable? "'God made man,' the preacher saith, 'From a handful of dust, by a whiff of breath.' 'No,' say the sages, 'man made God, From nothing at all, by creative nod; Organ for organ, and limb for limb, In the image of man, created he Him. "These people evidently made their Gods, for they admit it. I wonder if we made ours?" Careful Leo! "What a wonderful city is Eurania! What a wonderful country is Cavitorus! What a wonderful people are the Shadowas! "But that meeting! The calm dignity of those four hundred Councillors of State was amazing. What marvellous dispassionate interest is taken by the enormous throngs of people, who occupy the main body and galleries of the Temple. "Proud Oseba! Well may I call thee 'master.' Oh! how I wish the appreciative Sir Marmaduke were here." Yes, Leo, I would like to have been with you, but, maybe, that would have meant that I would be with you now, out of the cold, poor fellow! But here the fellow strings it out as though our days were also nineteen hours long, and our lives a thousand years. He keeps us on so high a key, that we begin to wonder what there is in it for him. I will "blue pencil." For the once impatient Leo Bergin has forgotten, I fear, the customs of this upper world, and that every ear is attuned to the popular rush. If you've something good to say, Get a move! If you'd have us go your way, Get a move! If it's goods, fling out your sample, If religion, show it's ample, But--Get a move. 'Pon my word! Leo's "borrowed lines" inspire me with a poetic vein. But Leo is becoming as tedious as an Australian drought, a West Coast "wet spell," or a debate on a "no-confidence motion," so I shall here draw my critical pencil through many lines. Leo Bergin is clearness itself, and from his language there flows, to the intelligent brain, a true conception of the situation; but for the sake of brevity--from vanity, maybe--I shall condense, in my own language. Well, at the appointed time and place the people assembled. The four-hundred members of the Council of State occupied favoured seats in front of the platform, while many thousands of the citizens filled the stalls and ample galleries. It was an impressive scene. The meeting once called to order, "Music, such as heard outside of Eurania or heaven was never, burst upon the ear." That's Leo's, but I shall be more prosy and more brief. When the last strains of music had died away, and the applause ceased, the chairman arose, and after giving a brief but comprehensive review of the national traditions, the discoveries and events that led to these unparalleled adventures, he re-read the commission under which Amoora Oseba acted, and impressed upon the audience the importance of the report from the lips of Eurania's most gifted son, and the world's most intrepid explorer. The chairman said, in opening the proceedings, that while little real attention had been given to the vague traditions that had floated down the centuries, there had always been a feeling among the Shadowas that they were in a most peculiar situation, and that science would some time solve the mystery that seemed to hang over them. He said, since the dawn of civilisation there was an "absolute knowledge" that they were on the inner surface of a hollow planet, and there was a vague belief that there were like beings on the outer surface. He explained that, through the enterprise of the Council of State, and the intrepidity of Amoora Oseba and his brave comrades, that question, the most momentous in the long history of Cavitorus, it was hoped, had been solved, and they had met to hear a report on that most interesting matter. He said, as the Committee had given the most careful attention to the books, maps, charts, and globes brought by the returned party, and having had the generous assistance of Oseba himself, and Leo Bergin, a native of the upper world, they had familiarized themselves somewhat with the geography, history, customs and manners of the various nations of the upper world, by the assistance of the views to be presented, a fair understanding would be easily reached. Then, too, as the press had been generous and enterprising, he thought the people were quite prepared for an intelligent appreciation of the gifted traveller's oration. "Mr. Oseba, the father of the new philosophy," said he, "will now speak to us, as to his children." However, as the people had requested that the poetess Vauline be permitted to ask for occasional explanations, this was provided for. Here the record tells us--I have boiled out twenty pages of delightful "toffy"--that the chairman introduced Amoora Oseba as: "The most intrepid explorer the world ever knew," at the same time inviting Leo Bergin and the other members of the returned party to the platform. Of this episode of the ceremony, the modest Leo Bergin says: "I was embarrassed." A fine canvas, some sixty feet square, had previously been raised at the end of the hall, and, with the assistance of attendants, a large instrument, from which could be thrown moveable views of the earth's surface, was properly adjusted. With an explanation all too brief, as Leo himself thinks, the first picture was thrown on the wall. It was our planet, represented by a globe forty feet in diameter, revolving slowly on its axis. It was a true model of our globe, on Symmes' theory, the angle to the axis being 23°, with the north opening plainly visible, and Cavitorus was easily located. This, we are told, was entirely novel, even to the Committee; but so skilful are the mechanics of Eurania, that from a small model or instrument taken across by the party, this wonderful piece of complicated mechanism was perfected. What a revelation this must have been, bursting so unexpectedly upon the astonished gaze of these strange people! But as in the magic hand of the "loved and lost" Leo Bergin there are both pen and brush, I here invoke his genius, for my pen falters. He says:-- "As the vast assembly gazed in almost breathless awe, the master said: 'This is Oliffa, our own planet, as it is hurled through space at 68,000 miles an hour, with this brief forty feet expanded to 8,000 miles.' [Illustration: _The Drop Scene, Wanganui River._] "I looked into the faces of the most intellectual, the least emotional, and most observing people I have ever seen, and yet no pen, no brush, no imagination could reproduce that scene. Considering the intelligence and the unemotional character of this vast audience, the evidence of surprise was really alarming. For once, these people acted almost like we fools of the 'upper crust.'" Humph! it makes me crawl. "The sitting was adjourned." I'm glad of it, for it makes me shiver. But it seems to me, considering the cool intellectuality of the Shadowas, that Leo Bergin is drawing that rather long. Let's see! These Shadowas are a very intellectual, a very thoughtful, a very cultivated and civilised people. But let us reason this out. They were utilitarian; amiable as their environment, and learned, in what was necessary for their happiness, or within their reach. Yes, but nine-tenths of the universe--of the outer world--was shut off from them. They, for 21,000 years, had been on one side--the inside--of a great tube. Practically back of them, the world lifted abruptly up; front of them, they could but see above the rim of the bowl of which they were well toward the bottom. The field of observation was narrow, the visible facts of Nature were few. At the near opening of the "tube" there was eternal ice and snow, an endless expanse of frozen mystery; while at the other, there could sometimes be seen many weird clusters of stars, but, usually, only clouds and storms, and desert and mountains, and dangerous whirlpools. They had no telescopes; their point of view was too narrow for the study of astronomy, and, as all thoughts, all ideas, all conceptions of all natural objects must be formed from observation--from sensuous impressions--how could they draw anything like correct conclusions regarding the outside worlds? Intellectuality does not always, if ever, mean universal, or even very great, knowledge. Well, then, maybe Leo was even drawing it mildly. Maybe, a vision so strange, a view of a known thing from so surprisingly unexpected a standpoint, at a time, too, when the public imagination was at a high tension, presenting so strange a phenomenon, would affect the fine but impressive mind more than it would the less thoughtful. Maybe, I say, Leo is right, but it seems a little lofty. But let's back to Leo's notes. He says:-- "After lunch"--that sounds familiar--"the meeting recommenced, and the people, having conversed fully and freely over the matter, seemed in their normal condition. "Oseba turned the globe slowly, explained the nature of the earth and of the sun, why the days were 'thusly'; then the 'outside' conditions, and why it was not all eternal frost, as they had imagined. He showed the map of land and water, how there were on the outside of our planet, or Oliffa, 1,400,000,000 of people--a few of them very decent fellows--and suggested the enormous importance of communicating with them. "Then he showed a globe, with continents, islands, seas, rivers, and the geographical divisions of the land as claimed by nations, empires, states, and communities, making suitable remarks, that his impressions might lack nothing in clearness. "He explained that the varied blocks and patches, distinguished by colored lines, marked the 'possessions' and claims of various races, nations, or political communities. He here described the enormous waste of water, and mountains, and uninhabitable land, and how little really desirable country there was on the outer surface of Oliffa. Yet, he told his audience that the Outeroos did not dwell in peace together, but divided the land according to might, and lived isolated in semi-hostile communities. 'These,' said he, 'are the lands, the countries, and the peoples I have "discovered."' "But, he said, while the nature and necessity, the hopes, the aspirations, and the desires of all men were much the same, there existed on the outer surface of Oliffa such a variety in customs and manners adopted for the accomplishment of desired ends, that only by a visit to, and a study of, all countries, could the object of his mission be fulfilled, so for five years he and his companions had wandered, observed, and taken notes, and now it was only by reviewing the situation with some detail that an intelligent understanding could be conveyed. "Here he pointed out on the maps the localities of the various countries, briefly describing the climate, soil, and style of government in general, and said he would now discuss a little more fully the merits of the various countries and peoples--with his conclusions from the inquiry--for his discoveries had been important and many. "He reminded his audience of the prime purpose. His mission was to gain from the outer world a knowledge that might aid them in the better management of their domestic affairs; to discover, if possible, a country to which they might send a colony of the surplus population, and to find a people with whom they could open communications, that they might become co-workers to the mutual happiness of the newer and the older inhabitants of the world. "Oseba," says the record, "re-arranged his instruments, saying that he would show us, as occasion required, the globe as a whole or a sectional map. He would begin his review with a country, probably the oldest settled, and certainly the most populous, on the outer surface of Oliffa--that of the Chinese Empire." Here, I may remark that I have carefully studied the notes of poor Leo Bergin. They are full, carefully revised, and show a masterly understanding of the situation, but they are too copious for even extensive quotation. From many closely and well-written pages, the notes report Oseba's orations, with hardly a break or comment. For the sake of brevity, I shall appropriate Oseba's story, and, save by a few pointed quotations, I shall use my own language in the review of the next scene. I realise that by this method the story will be marred, the language will be less picturesque and expressive, and probably less correct, but it will be economy of space, and, what is of importance to me, "economy" in the expenditure of intellectual force. That is worthy of consideration! The imaginative Leo seemed to be absorbed in the changing scenes of the unique situation. During a lull in the proceedings he notes:-- "How like a dream! Oh, my soul, how I do hope!" But, probably being again confronted by that "if," he seems to hang his head, halt, and ponder, for he writes:-- "Hopes, like joys and promising children, grow into regrets, or wither and die." _SCENE IV._ FIRST "DISCOVERY." SIZING UP AH SIN, AND LU. The sage Oseba, after locating China on the globe, threw a view of the map of the Empire on the wall. He explained that this country "embraced" 4,000,000 square miles of the surface of Oliffa, and contained about 400,000,000 "souls," or nearly one-third of all the Outeroos. But this includes the Mandarins, who are not supposed to have "souls." With amusing speech, he reviewed the history, the social, political, and industrial conditions of this "peculiar" people. It was in China that Oseba became first acquainted with the aggressiveness, the pretentiousness, and the real power of the European or Occidental Nations. As a race, these "foreign devils" were taller in stature, stronger of limb, and lighter in complexion, and they had better opinions of themselves than the Orientals. Conceit is a strong factor in all these mighty games. The clergymen, or missionaries, were among his first acquaintances from over the seas. A mischievous consular clerk, he says, who seemed to have a grievance, used to sing:-- "They came in shoals, To save the souls, Of Hop, Lee, Sing, and Wu. They gathered gear, Both far and near, As you or I would do." These "solemn men," as Oseba called them, apologising for the digression, came first of their countrymen, not for "filthy lucre," but to "save all the sons of Confucius and to take them to Heaven, where, together, they could sing and associate forever, and forever, and forever." "This," said Oseba, "seemed kind of them," but he soon learned that the nations who sent these agents to prepare the social situation for "the sweet by-and-bye," were "not at home," to Hop, Lee, Sing, or Wu, during their brief stay on the surface of Oliffa. "We love you," said the genteel agents of a hundred disputing creeds, "go with us to a land that is better than day." "Velly well," says Hop, Lee, Sing, and Wu, "we likely go 'Melica." "Nay, nay!" says the good shepherd, "afterwhile, in the sweet by-and-bye. 'Tis of a better world we speak--patience, meekness, and love." "Why," asked the poetess Vauline, "are the other Outeroos not 'at home' to the Chinese while they are quite alive?" With a smile, Oseba said, "The Chinese, my children, are very industrious and frugal." "Are they an inferior race?" asked the poetess Vauline. "They are 'different,'" said Oseba, "but every race, people, nation, tribe, or creed on Oliffa, thinks itself 'superior' to any and all others. Vanity is absent--with few of the Outeroos." At considerable length, he reviewed the political, social, and industrial situation of China, and said:-- "All the outer world might learn lessons of patient industry from China, but for us, there is nothing in China." After a brief review of the social and political situation of each, he dismissed all the countries of Continental Asia, but he said Hongkong and Singapore, two of the world's modern wonders, had done much to apprise the world of the hidden treasures in these Tartarean regions. He drew attention to his discovery of Japan, as it appeared on the map with Asia, and then removing this, he threw the globe on the canvas. He dwelt in almost raptures on the beauty of the country he was now to examine. Of the Japanese, of whose condition he would first inquire, he said they had an old history. They had been isolated for many centuries. They dreamed in their narrow world, played in their little backyards, worshipped their monarch, and had been happy; but recently, touched by the magic wand of modern civilisation, they aroused, and having for a brief spell cast about them, they "girded up their loins"--tightened their belts--and hurried to join the front ranks of the army of progress, with an enthusiasm, and even a wisdom, never before known on this little globe. [Illustration: _Cathedral Peaks, Lake Manapouri_] Once aroused by the exhilarating thrill of progress, they as readily adjusted themselves to the peculiar conditions of their natural environments as children to a new playground. The mountains suggest liberty, the seas adventure, and to the fearless adventurers of those inhabiting the indented shores of the water-front, are the Outeroos indebted for all the blessings of modern progress--for civilisation is the ripened fruit of ocean commerce. "But," said the sage Oseba, "the present 42,000,000 Japs have but 147,000 square miles of dirt, half of which is waste. Under the delirium of modern conditions the population is rapidly increasing, and thus are the inhabitants already beginning to crowd each other. The nation is becoming wealthy, while the people are becoming poor. The real estate on little Oliffa is already staked out, and conspicuously adorned with that strange device--'keep off the grass.' There is no vacant corner for the surplus population, my children, and the Japs are land animals." The sage Oseba told his audience that "Many nations among the Outeroos regarded the 'Japs' as an 'inferior race,' but if the achievements of man is the measure of the soul and the intellect, the Japs have no superiors on little Oliffa, for her recent progress pales the lustre of the world's authentic history; but, 'If the zenith of strife, sheds a mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before,'" said the sage, as he tortured the immortal Thomas, the brilliancy of Japanese story may soon wane, and as, owing to lack of room, her only path to glory is through unfashionable war, the prospects are not rosy. Though that nation may, for a long time, remain flamboyant, the people may soon writhe in a lower misery than 'pagan Japan' ever knew. However, should the little brown man clip the claws from the Russian bear, and send him back, lame and growling, to his northern lair, and then arouse China, and, by the skill of his wonderful capacity, organize it, Eastern Asia may remember a few thousands of the "insults" heaped upon her people during the last half-century, and conclude to test the question of "superiority" by other than industrial methods. Of the known Monarchies of Asia, he said, the people were ignorant and impoverished, the officials were insolent and corrupt, the rulers were vicious and despotic, and the governments rotten beyond cure. As to India, the sage Oseba spoke with sympathy. "Britain," he said, "is the only country capable of governing an 'inferior' race. She has done much to rescue the country from periodic, if not from almost constant war, and famine, and despair; but the 'people,' the offspring of thousands of years of misrule and oppression, have reached a condition of crystallized non-progressiveness, and they must finally die out, as they cannot adjust themselves to modern conditions. Its past is sad, its future is hopeless. It will long be a country in which a few cunning bees may load themselves with golden honey, that their far away hives may be filled; but slowly and sadly that strange brown people must pass away. They have reached their ultimate. In them the oak and the steel, necessary for the contests of the future, are wanting." EUROPE, SOMEWHAT "DISCOVERED." The globe was so adjusted as to give a perfect view of the Continent of Europe, and, in interesting speech, were the countries and their peoples described. Referring to the influence of environment, the orator explained how the comparative smallness of this continent, the fertility of the soil, the variety of plant and animal life, the mountains, and plains, and indented shore lines, with enormous stretch of water-front, together with its extensive river systems and healthful, but erratic climatic conditions, marked this as the garden and nursery for the most active, sturdy, intelligent, and emotional of all peoples on the globe. Continental Europe covers an area of 3,500,000 square miles, and supports, in various degrees of opulence and wretchedness, some 380,000,000 people--chiefly men, women, and clergymen--with 20,000,000 men in "uniform," who seem well seized with their own importance. These latter are very influential personages, as they are equipped with very persuasive arguments. The orator explained that the many-hued and irregular patches on the map represented the possessions and the rule, of as many nations, all of whom had good opinions of themselves, and stood ready to back their pretensions. These countries were ruled by persons who were fortunate in the selection of parents, or who, at least, were furnished with proper birth certificates. But with her many governments and nationalities, he said, there was constant confusion. There were fear and oppression, for all these imaginary lines had to be guarded. The armies had to be kept up; the 5,000,000 soldiers must be in constant readiness for slaughter, for only by this means could the people be sufficiently impressed with the validity of the birth certificate. Asked by the poetess Vauline, what these so-called soldiers did for a living, Mr. Oseba answered:-- "They kill folks, for, short as are the lives of the Outeroos among the superior nations, wholesale murder is the most honored of all pursuits." Oseba said: "All the civilised nations keep these armed men, whose duty it is to kill somebody--to whom they may never have been introduced--when their ruler has a grievance, and has no time to attend to the matter himself. "These armies, too, are potent in diplomatic controversies. When a monarch has a little misunderstanding with one of his class from a neighboring paddock, he says in deep tones:-- "'Sire, these are the facts, and if you don't believe it, Sire, look!'--and he points to his ready battalions. "To a people who never knew of war or poverty--among whom probably not one man would care to be killed, or could find a person to accommodate him if he should, these statements seemed most amazing." Mr. Oseba concluded, from the conspicuousness of military show, that every toiler in Europe carried a soldier on his back. And worse--he had to feed him, to clothe him, to pay him, and then to constantly submit to his insolence. From every home and fireside in Europe the most sturdy supporter, and the best loved one, was taken for target practice; and the burden imposed upon industry for showy barbarism, was crushing the whole of Europe and driving the people into revolution, anarchy and ruin. "Tell us," said the poetess Vauline, "are you speaking of the superior, the Christian or civilised peoples?" "Rather," said the Sage, "for only the Christian nations could enjoy, and only the superior nations could afford such heroic entertainments. As a fact, the size of the army and range of the gun are the true tests of a country's civilisation and 'superiority.' "Strange, my children, but the 'superior' peoples, those worshipping Him who said, 'Thou shalt not kill,' have the longest guns, and the strongest battalions, and they are most ready to kill on the least provocation." The audience, say the notes, was most impressed when told that these arguments--loaded--were aimed by the most civilised nations at each other. Oseba continues:--"The guns and the military show, help to amuse the people; they regulate home prices, and guard the dignity of the managers. They are practically the 'keep off the grass' notice; but, as a fact, my children, they are kept to-day more to overawe the people who pay the bills than to ward off any external danger. "But there is a marked difference between the Oriental and the Occidental. The Oriental is selfish--he wants peace, and is indifferent to the fate of others. The Oriental don't care what a man believes, or what god he worships, so long as he pays the liken, and moves on; while the superior races are deeply concerned about the soul, and they want to discover all other people, and get them to join them--afterwhile. "As social units, the Occidentals are more progressive and free, but less secure; they are more sympathetic, but less just; more interested in others, but less tolerant; and more inclined to action, and less to meditation than the Orientals. "While there is a vast difference in the degree of oppression in Continental Europe, between class assumption, military despotism, official insolence, and creed interference, save for those for whom custom would render hell salubrious, there is no room for a liberty-loving man--especially is it no place for a people with the lofty aspirations of the Shadowas. But, oh, the poverty, the misery, the humiliating sorrow! Oh, my children! If the faith of those pretentious mortals be not folly, if there be somewhere an all-powerful God of Love and Justice, if kneeling at His throne there be hosts of saints and angels, who behold the bloody conflicts, see the widow's tears and the agonizing gasp of want; who hear the sighs of the over-worked slave, the groans of poverty and the prayers that go up to heaven from the white lips of innocence, let the Shadowas implore the masters of Europe's millions to grant mercy, or the beseeching hearts of heaven will break, and the tears of the angels will drown the world." But, like Uphus swinging the doors to welcome the dawn of a new day, we turn to more pleasing scenes. _SCENE V._ THE BRITISH ISLES DISCOVERED. At this stage of the proceedings the Sage Oseba seemed to be in fine form and in most cheerful spirits. He remarked that he was now to give his people a brief view of the "Country of Countries," an island region, just off the humming hive of uniformed Europe. Here the globe revolved until the British Isles were conspicuously in view. "This," said Oseba, "of all the fertile dirt on the surface of Oliffa, is the most interesting. This, among the countries of the Outeroos, is the classic land of liberty, the sheet-anchor of Europe for more than three hundred years. These rock-bound Isles, with a fertile soil, a salubrious climate, indented shores--fortunately placed geographically--are by nature the best suited for the development of the ideal man of any spot on the surface of Oliffa, and having been peopled by sturdy tribes, all the suggestive hopes of Nature have been realised." He told his people that the British Isles embraced 124,000 square miles, and contained 40,000,000 inhabitants; and that, on these few acres, there were more muscle and brain, and intellectual force and stubbornness and haughty pretension, than on any other spot of like dimensions on the surface of Oliffa. [Illustration: _Mount Egmont._] "These sturdy Britons, my children, who have resistlessly held these historic Islands against all comers for many centuries, have done more to elevate, to educate, to emancipate, to civilise and to unite humanity; to free the brain from superstition, the limbs from fetters, and the world from bondage, than any other nation or race that ever inscribed its achievements on the pages of human history. "Britain, my children, has conquered many foes, but her chief glory has been her conquests in the arts of peace. She has conquered climate, and famine, and pestilence, and the idolatry that would crucify the new upon the mouldering cross of the old régime. "Britain has given Oliffa its industrial and commercial methods, the tone of its present civilisation, and she is rapidly giving to the whole race her erstwhile scorned language, and in this there seems a magic spell that infects all who imbibe its spirit with a burning desire for liberty. To lisp the English tongue, is to feel--a king. "Let me tell you a little story, my children, of the most interesting, the most wonderful--yes, even the most marvellous of all the doings of man on this most erratic little planet. "These British Isles are separated from the Continent of Europe by a damp streak, and they are inhabited by the mixed offspring of a dozen sturdy and virile tribes, all from the northern water-front. All these virile tribes, whether natives or invaders, were strongly imbued with the spirit of liberty--as they understood it. They loved peace--if they had to fight for it. They loved liberty--to squeeze the other fellow. But in the fibre of these people there was a sublime stubbornness that often made things awkward for the authorities. "Everybody wanted to boss, so nobody would wear the collar. Everybody wanted to be free, but the feeling was so unanimous that there was abundance of officers but no privates, so it took many centuries of disputes, and quarrels, and conflicts, and wars, before they had accumulated sufficient 'grey matter' to comprehend the fact that civilised government is a compromise; that where any can be oppressed, none can be secure; and that liberty, which must halt at the gate of the other fellow's paddock, is the inalienable right of man. "But the British can learn, and they have so well mastered this problem that the highest now yield the most ready obedience to the law, and the strongest most readily defend the rights of the weak. Though it took Britain, with her sturdy conceit, centuries to learn this, and though she, by her fibre and her position as a coloniser, was the legitimate successor of Phoenicia and Greece, she was rather backward about coming forward, for after the discovery of America, when all the other nations were madly participating in western exploits, she stood aloof for over a hundred years to complete her preparations. "Then she came with a lunch basket, she came with both feet, she came to stay, and her achievements find no parallel in the history of human progress. Before she opened her foreign real estate office, the new world had been parcelled out. Others had staked their claims--many over-lapping--and there were plentiful notices to 'keep off the grass,' but she was undaunted. "In 1607 she planted her first colony in America. Soon there were thirteen--an unlucky number--then she foolishly taxed them into revolt, and here she learned a valuable lesson. Since then, she has never oppressed a colony; since then, she has never taken one backward step; since then, she has gradually extended her beneficent hand over the earth, until over one-fifth of the land is painted red--her favorite hue--and over one-fourth of the human race bow a willing allegiance to her flag." "Oh," says Leo's notes, "would not that please dear old Sir Marmaduke!" "America, my children, of which I shall soon speak, was Britain's noblest contribution to human progress, for though the two nations have moved under different colours for more than a century, their mutual enterprise has revolutionised the industrial world, and brought humanity in touch. "Marvel of marvels! When other nations, now in business, boasted of world-conquest, the British were but a 'handful,' inhabiting these rock-bound islands, but as mountains suggest freedom and seas adventure, looking over the waters, her daring sons went forth--not to conquer, not to exploit or to devastate, but to develop the world, and to build homes, and colonies, and states, and empires. "If Britain took a gun in her outings--and she often did--it was to level a place for a home, a shop, or a factory. Where she plants her feet the soil becomes more fertile, and when she meets a savage, he stands more proudly erect--after the first few sermons. "She is the motherland of America, and, by mutual efforts, the two have become the paragons of civilised progress. She saved old India from the rajahs, robbers, and priests, from famine and pestilence, and made it a paradise--as compared with its former condition. She saved strange, beloved, dreamy, half-mythical old Egypt from rot and ruin, and made it a marvel of hope and progress. She is saving 'Darkest Africa' from slavery, superstition, and fratricidal war; and, with diamonds on its golden clasps, she is handing it over to civilisation. "She gave to civilisation Canada, with its splendid people, its fertile fields, and its stupendous 'ice-plant'; and she gave to civilisation the seven colonies of Australasia, with the most wealthy, the most commercial, the most progressive, the most advanced, educated, civilised, and free people on the whole outer surface of the planet. "Then, to show her small respect for dirt, save as a place to fasten down upon--and her marvellous ambition for industrial development--behold! the modern commercial wonders, Hongkong and Singapore! Many nations complain of 'Britain's land-greed,' and that John Bull--as these sturdy Britons are lovingly called--always carries a bucket and a brush, and is everywhere painting the world red; but wherever the carmine shines, liberty and progress are assured. Every inch of soil wrested from darkness by British valour is handed over to civilisation--free to all comers. "And, marvel of marvels, my children! In her more than a hundred wars--save by her mistake in striving to coerce her own children in America--she has never lost an inch of important dirt by force. And, more glorious still, every inch won from barbarism by her blood and valor, has been handed over to civilisation and human progress. "But, no! She won much in war, which, to the infinite loss of the world, she gave back in peace. "She took Cuba in war, restored order, and gave it back in peace. Better for the world had she kept it. "She took by war, and gave back in peace, the Philippines, Cape Colony, Java, Sumatra, Senegal, Pondicheri, and more than twenty other valuable possessions, all to the loss of the world--and yet she has been accused of territorial avarice--of 'land hunger.'" Right! Mr. Oseba, and had the politicians in Downing Street properly backed the sturdy British wanderers, most of Oliffa would have been painted red and done up in a shawl strap long ere this, and the Brito-Yankee race would have been in a position to guarantee peace among all nations. "But, my children," he continued, "there are often sombre linings to many resplendent clouds, and lest you may all conclude to rush out of Cavitorus to these wonderful islands, I must show you a few of the less attractive pictures. "Remember, that for modern civilisation among the Outeroos, the world is indebted to the colonial enterprise and success of Britain; but remember, too, that it is not always the 'colonising nations,' but the 'colonists' of the 'colonising nations,' that carry the standard of social progress to advanced grounds. "The basis of modern colonial success, was, of course, in the fibre of the British race; but for the resistlessness of British colonial enterprise much was due to flagrant faults in Britain's domestic policy. "We are land animals--we live on, and from the land, and Britain had but 124,000 square miles of dirt. 'Room' was scarce, so people had a 'far-away look.' But worse, a very few in the Motherland 'owned' most all this meagre surface, so people saw opportunity only in a change--for a deep love of liberty forced the evils of monopoly upon their attention. "Well these sturdy Britons, with the mixed blood of the rugged Danes, Jutes, Celts, Saxons, Angles and others did not feel at home as guests, serfs or tenants, so they began to roam around." The orator said he would present a few little "reasons" why the Shadowas would not care to "flock" to the British Isles, and also a review of conditions that might have had some influence in arousing the spirit of foreign adventure. "They discovered," said he, "that of the 76,000,000 acres of dirt on the whole British Isles, one man--great only in his possessions--owned 1,350,000 acres, while another owned 460,000 acres, the two being the born owners of over 2 per cent. of the whole, upon which 40,000,000 men were compelled to live. "They found that about two hundred families owned about half of all the land; that less than one per cent. of the people owned over 99 per cent. of the land, and that more than 90 per cent. of the people were absolutely landless. "It is amusing, my children, to hear these sturdy British boast about 'my country,' when a few families own so much of all the land on which all must live--if they remain at home. But observing the enormous power enjoyed by the holders of vast estates in the old world, too many sought by cornering the lands, to acquire like advantages in the new, and in the correction of this ancient error, the best statesmanship of the age is still required." Mr. Oseba proceeded to explain that as from many seemingly indefensible situations beneficent results often arise, it could hardly be doubted that the inherited curse of British landlordism has, in a most imposing "disguise," been a "blessing" to civilisation. It impressed the thoughtful "subject" with the incomparable importance of the land to life itself, especially when population began to crowd; and it forced upon the attention, even of the thoughtless, the enormous influence and real power wielded by the possessors of large estates. The class inequalities that arose through the inheritance by the few of the source from which all must live, drove hosts of the most intelligent, sturdy, and self-reliant of the people to distant countries, and determined them to provide in the new home against the evils that had expelled them from the old. From loathsome slime we clutch the glittering prize, And grand results from hard conditions rise. As these emigrants loved the Motherland, they desired to remain loyal; as they had learned the advantages of land holdings, each desired to secure his own home; but remembering the past, they sought to provide that the limits of each to live from another's toil should be narrowed. Not by violating the rights of property "owners," but by securing the rights of property "creators," were new ideas popularised. "But these inheriting world-owners," said the orator, "as a rule, have a pretty good time, though none of them have been permitted to remain long enough on their particular slice of Oliffa for it to get stale." Reluctant to leave Britain, but anxious to pick up some of her wandering children, he closes our mother's case with this fond caress:-- "While these people of Britain are the salt of the earth, it is the offspring, and not the land-owner, who is to lead in the future social contests. [Illustration: _Waterfall, Waikaremoana._] "Come to think of it, it is not 'Britain,' but the 'Briton,' that, like Atlas, carries the world on his shoulders; and 'tis the 'Briton' who is the 'salt of the earth,' while 'Britain' is the salt mine." "DARKEST AFRICA" FINALLY DISCOVERED. Oseba then turned his instruments on Africa. He told his audience that while along the fringe of this half-mythical land there were glimpses of a very ancient movement, the vast interior, until almost yesterday, was a veritable _terra incognito_, and to-day it is not easy to separate the grain of truth concerning its history from the cartload of fiction. But Britain was now rolling up the sombre curtain, and opening the doors of her fabulous treasure-house that the "grateful" (?) nations might enter and take rooms. Africa, the sage told his audience, covered one-fifth of the land surface of the outer globe, and had a population of 150,000,000 souls, or more than live in all the Americas and their islands. It has a doubtful history, thousands of years old. It was once so "civilised" that it housed three-hundred Christian Bishops, yet, to-day there is but a small portion--the Cape--that can claim more than a mere introduction to modern civilisation. The orator informed the people, as he threw a series of pictures on the canvas, that many of the European nations were striving to extend their borders in Africa, and to the sorrow of the natives, they were now being pretty generally "discovered." HUMAN RIGHTS. Oh! sacred rights of man, ordained of God, yet only won by blood, and tears, and toil. Here there was a digression, and an essay on "the rights of man," for the poetess Vauline inquired by what "right" the Europeans were "portioning out Africa," if that country had already 150,000,000 people? "This," said the sage Oseba, as he moved his eyes from his admiring critic to his audience, "this is a pertinent question; but remember, my children, most of the inhabitants of Africa are black--they are very black." "But is that an answer to my question?" said the poetess Vauline. "Well," said Oseba, "it would be so deemed among the Outeroos, for questions of right and wrong do not apply to people who are unbleached." This created great surprise, for the Shadowas had not gone entirely through the bleaching process. "But why, among so-called civilised people, have the blacks no rights?" said the poetess Vauline. "Plain enough," said Mr. Oseba, "for black people have no blunderbusses, and among the most civilised Outeroos 'rights' are measured by the carrying power of the guns and the skill of the men behind them. Among all the 'civilised nations' on Oliffa 'right' is measured, not by the pleadings of the master, not by the demands of humanity or justice, but in the first instance by color, for this indicates the capacity of the blunderbusses, and the nerve of the gunner. "Yellow have rather more rights than black people, for they sometimes have a few guns and some saltpetre. 'Thou shalt not kill' and 'Thou shalt not steal' apply only to white men; and even then, only to small neighborhoods or in police affairs, for 'nations' are above these honeyed ravings, and expediency, not right, becomes the patriotic guide. "But, my children, as John Bull is rapidly painting Africa red, we will preserve an open mind regarding that much-talked-of and little known country, though for the present it is no place for saints or Shadowas. "I may say, in referring to colour in the discussion of questions of right, that 'red' is considerably respected. Then, too, of recent years, with improved tastes among the nations, 'red, white and blue,' thusly arranged is quite respected, while 'yellow' is very unfashionable, and 'green' is mostly admired when in uniform. "That black Africa will, ere long, be about all red, about all British--at least in language, in sentiment, in human sympathy, in social, industrial and political methods and aspiration, if not in allegiance--can hardly be doubted; and as her ideals alone of all the races on the upper crust would satisfy us, our children may hope for further communication with these British-African colonies." SPANISH AMERICA "DISCOVERED." The orator here hesitated, then threw the map of what he termed "Spanish America" on the screen. "This, my children," said he, "is Spanish America, with an area--including Central America and Mexico--of over 8,000,000 square miles, and a population of about 50,000,000 souls. This is a 'new' country, called 'new' by the Outeroos because it had been little improved since the old occupiers were blessed and sent to heaven." The orator claimed that, in forest, in soil, in mineral wealth, and in all the resources of Nature necessary to the subsistence of a great population, South was probably superior to North America; yet, behold the mighty difference! The world had never presented so conspicuous an opportunity for weighing the merits of different races as colonisers and civilisers as are shown in the present conditions of South and North America, and all these marvellous disparities lie in the character of the invading or colonising races. North America sprang from the loins of Britain; South, from the loins of Spain. That tells the story. But a comparison in all the late colonial enterprises of the world, shows Britain to hold an equally favorable position, for of all the "foreign" dependencies of all the other nations of the globe, there is not one that enjoys a sufficient degree of liberty and social progress to render it self-supporting--possibly, save Java, held by the Dutch. The 50,000,000 Spanish-Americans, he observes, write less than one-half the number of letters written by 5,000,000 Canadians, and they have less commerce than 4,500,000 Australians, and less newspapers than 800,000 New Zealanders--and education and commerce means civilisation. A TEMPEST. Here the sage amusingly described a Spanish-American revolution. He said:-- "When the young men of any city become weary with the more common excitements, the theatre and the bullfight, they organise a 'revolution.' For this 'outing' they call together their friends, arm themselves, establish a camp on the outlying hills, and make ready for 'slaughter.' The 'loyalists'--salaried clerks usually, with a few hangers-on--rush out to meet the belligerents, and approach to within a reasonably safe distance, when both sides 'fall in,' fire simultaneously--each over the others' heads--when all break and run for the treasury. "If the 'loyalists' win the race they vote themselves extra pay, smoke a cigar, and enjoy a _siesta_; while if the others win, the treasury is looted, a new set of clerks installed, the taxes are raised to repair the damages, and the new 'push' enjoy the _siesta_. "The security of the public from too frequent changes rests in the fact that usually the camp of the 'loyalists' is taken up between that of the insurgents and the treasury, so the 'loyalists' have a shorter run to make in the home stretch. "Think, my children, what civilisation would have been to-day had the British been content to remain on their Island home, or had both the Americas been permanently held by the Spanish race--or, to judge by later history, by any other than the Anglo-Saxon. "Well, my friends, I have no interest in booming any country, but if I had owned all Spanish-America in 'fee simple,' and had a long lease on Hades, I would rent my freehold out, and reside on my other holding." (Leo remarks:--"Oh, for a laugh with Sir Marmaduke.") "No," said the sage, "there is nothing worthy of imitation in Spanish-America, and there is no room under the present rule in these countries for the staid virtues of the Shadowas." _SCENE VI._ AMERICA "DISCOVERED." Oseba said he was now to return to rather favourite pastures. He was now to review the situation of a country unanimously admitted, by all its millions of proud and patriotic people, to be the "greatest country," not only on this earth, but in the Universe--and this, of course, meant America. Leo Bergin, having been born in America, seemed to be "at home" to these graceful compliments. Oseba said that before he reached America, that country had been somewhat "discovered" by a Mr. Morgan, who had much of it done up in a shawl strap, but that it was still considerably in business. This American nation, he said, sprang from the loins of Britain, and its founders had inherited their fibre from that "classic land of liberty." Being strongly imbued with the British spirit, and being impressed by their novel surroundings, they broke the thread of tradition, and, having established a government based upon the consent of the governed, they demonstrated the possibility of a civilised state without a king or a bishop. Here the orator grew eloquent, "as if to the manner born," and I quote:-- "America--North America--is the noblest country ever given by God to his children--a country saved through all the progressive ages of the world for a new experiment in human government, and here some British adventurers opened a branch office. That they might 'worship God according to the dictates of their own conscience,' they hurled themselves in their frail barques, turned their prows--the ships' prows--to three thousand miles of boisterous waves, and landed on Plymouth's rock-bound shores. Here, defying titanic difficulties, they scaled the mountains, levelled the forests, tamed the soil, and, from the jaws of many defeats, they snatched a glorious victory. Here, they erected new altars, blazed out a new destiny, and, rocked in the cradle of Liberty by the untrammelled winds of heaven, they built a temple at whose shrines the unborn generations could freely worship." Here, the notes record that a young man in the audience smiled, while poetess Vauline seemed good-naturedly surprised; noticing which, Amoora Oseba faltered, and said:-- "Well, my children, those remarks would be very tame in America, and a man who could not soar higher on a 'fitting occasion' would certainly not be returned at the head of the poll." But in material prosperity, the orator said that during the first century of America's national life, she achieved not only unparalleled, but unapproached success, and during the last half of that period she accumulated more wealth than was ever possessed by any other nation. With nearly half of the railways of the globe, she furnished half the food and raiment products, and manufactured more goods than any other four nations--aside from Britain--and by the brightest inventive genius the world ever knew, she had furnished more of the cunning devices that ease the care and toil of man, than all the world besides. [Illustration: _Queenstown, The Remarkables in the distance._] In moral progress, she has been equally successful, for she had about two-fifths of all the newspapers of the world; 72,000 post offices, 180,000 churches, 450,000 school teachers, and more libraries and more readers than any other country; while more than half of the institutions of higher learning on the globe were hers, and counting only the real Americans, more enterprising, ingenious, intelligent and educated people, than any other nation. "Verily," said Oseba, "America was Britain's greatest contribution to the world's progress. These two kindred countries flourished through reciprocal interests; by their industrial methods they have lifted the world from medieval barbarism, and they are destined to give their language, their civilisation and their notions of liberty to the whole human race." Here the poetess Vauline inquired why America, with all her great wealth and opportunities, would not be a desirable country to which to send a colony of the Shadowas? "A cloud was on his brow." Oseba answered, "I love that great and wonderful country so deeply, and I so much admire its splendid audacity, that I would gladly speak kindly, even of its faults; but, my children, it is not all 'rosewater and glycerine' in Yankeedom. "In wealth, in enterprise, in education, in intelligence, and in opportunities for further progress, America may justly claim to be the foremost nation on the globe, and she has 'rights' no other would care to dispute. But,-- 'The people, Oh! the people, Those much lower than the steeple.' It is they, of whom we may profitably inquire. A nation may be rich, though the people may be poor; a nation may be strong, while the people are weak; a nation may be feared because the people can be relied upon to obey designing masters, but the true greatness of a nation must ever depend upon the quality of the individuals composing the nation. "In America, my children, they sing many choruses. Listening across the sea, the groans of despair are heard, mingled with the inspiring chants of robed priests, and, the public heart being touched with pity, the bandmaster mounts his pedestal, looks serenely benevolent, and, raising his baton with gracefully curving signals, the populace join in one voice:-- 'Come, ye, from lands oppressed, Come, ye, from east and west, Come, join our happy throng, Come, join in joyous song,-- For in this goodly land, nor want, nor poor, No kings oppress, no beggars seek the door. In Plenty's beauteous lap we wile the days away, Come, 'walk into our trap'--why need you long delay?' "These dulcet tones were always supposed to help fill the immigrant ships, the vacancies caused by the strike, and the land-boomer's pockets, but just as the last faint echoes die away, there arises from the narrow lane 'hard by'--just off Broadway--the plaintive wail:-- 'Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, E'er the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And _that_ cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing with the shadows, The young flowers are blowing toward the West,-- But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly! They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free.' "Of course, my children, these borrowed lamentations may come from the fellows who were left out in the cold at the last elections, for one 'can't most always sometimes tell,' in America, whence come the inspiring motives of the entertainment. "Let me tell you a little story, my children. "One November afternoon, while on a west-bound train, I had as a travelling companion a very intelligent, patriotic, and sorrowful man. His manner was subdued, his voice was plaintive, and he spoke earnestly of the condition of his country. "Skipping his most emphatic words, and toning down portions of his most lurid sentences, I will recite to you the substance of his fervid oration as we hurried over the plains to overtake the rapidly sinking sun. "Speaking of the greatness of America, my friend said, 'Some qualifying words may be necessary, or the ideas sought to be conveyed may be confusing. We Americans,' said he, 'boast of "equality before the law," yet in no other civilised country has favoritism been carried to more deplorable extremes. We boast of freedom, yet in no country does a smaller number of men control the conditions under which all must live, and we boast of our constitutionally guarded rights, yet the accidental head of a party may exercise a power unthinkable by any constitutional monarch of Europe.' "'But with so intelligent a people, may not these abuses be remedied?' "'Intelligent?' said he, with a sigh. 'The people in America are frequently informed that they are very intelligent and free, but would a very intelligent people shovel coal so furiously into the furnace of a locomotive that was rapidly running their train to the devil?' "'In theory, the Americans have erected the most symmetrical political temple, at whose altars the devout head of patriotism ever bowed a humble allegiance; but in practice,' said he with emotion, 'well, the upper rooms are occupied by schemers and the halls are crowded by a more rapacious set of money-changers than the Master whipped from the temple of Jerusalem.' "'Dollars, dollars,' said he bitterly, 'there is nothing in America more potent than a million dollars.' Then after a moment's silence he muttered, 'yes, five millions are more potent.' "'However, it would be mockingly absurd,' he sorrowfully continued, 'for any American to hoist a danger signal, for the pleasures of the occasion must not be marred; but,' said he, with a gleam of satisfaction, 'while Belshazzar is playing high jinks at the feast, Daniel is changing his slippers, making ready for a call. As a fact,' said my companion, 'America is being looted by her caretakers, and, while the Philistines are packing away the booty, the silly Samsons are sleeping in the lap of Delilah.' "My friend was eloquent and impressive--his language was lurid and expressive, his manner was quite American, and I sympathised with him, for 'tis sad to behold the patriot, sitting with bowed head and solemn visage, contemplating the waning glory of his own proud country, and he seemed very earnest. "Well," said Oseba, "we pulled up at a pretty city where there was confusion, and my friend disenrailed. As he stepped off, he met some friends. They, too, looked unhappy, and, feeling inquisitive, I alighted, and observing a pleasant looking fellow on the platform I approached him, and waving toward my late companion's party, I interrogatively said: 'Funeral?' "The man actually laughed, and observing my seriousness, and that I was not of his country, he laughed again, and glancing at my friend's group, he said:-- "'Funeral, stranger! We've had an election, and it was the d----st landslide ever seen in these parts, and he--ha! ha!--is out in the cold.'" Oseba, the notes say, remarked that the bell rang, he "waved" to his companion, re-entered his train, dropped into his seat and--thought. A DIGRESSION. The notes indicate that Mr. Oseba was deeply affected by the revelations of his "travelling companion." He need not despair. This race has been rather prominently before the footlights for some time, and it is of such a mixed and sturdy stock that it seems endowed with the spirit, if not of "perpetual," at least, of long-continued youth. The Anglo-Saxon has not yet filled his mission, and surely America should not, so early in its unparalleled career, betray evidence of decadence. While "grow quick, decay quick," seems to be a law of nations, as well as of Nature, while wealth is often an evidence of injustice, and while in numbers there are often germs of weakness, with America still in her vigorous youth, there must be virtue in her strength sufficient to meet these very apparent difficulties. It must be remembered, too, that America, though she had great opportunities, had a stupendous task before her at her birth as a nation. In vindication of an inherited British instinct, the "British colonies" revolted against a king, too Dutch to appreciate a British sentiment, and a parliament, too weak to resist him, and the "British American" colonies became the "American nation." But the responsibilities of the new nation were as tremendous as her opportunities were fabulous. Politically, she was adrift without pilot or compass, and she set about to erect a temple on whose altars her people might worship, and, without law or precedent, she built, better than she knew, a theory of government the astonishment, the pride, and the admiration of a hopeful world. Well might the heads of the people have been a little turned, but lured by the most tempting opportunities ever offered to man, they hurled an awakened energy against the doors of the treasure house of Nature, and soon marched among the leaders of industrial art--yes, away in the vanguard. In defence of her commerce, her little navy was the first to humble the Barbary pirates that for centuries had levied blackmail upon the whole Mediterranean trade. Her flag was soon seen in every port, and from the profits of trade in her products, Britain laid the foundation of a stupendous industrial system, that made her the commercial mistress of the world. Her pursuits were industrial, her ways were ways of peace. Soon she carried one-third of the ocean tonnage, and the struggles of the whole human race were being eased by her inventions. During these formative stages of development, real poverty was unknown, and great fortunes--such as are being heaped up to-day--had never been dreamed of. But what a period, and what a country for the development of character! In those peaceful but industrious and frugal days arose that splendid school of writers, poets, essayists, philosophers, publicists and reformers of New England, and the orators, statesmen, and patriots of the young days of the Republic. With such achievements, Mr. Oseba, liberty cannot perish from the earth. The grotesque anomalies in America are incidents of the changing times and will soon disappear. But to the notes:-- "Room for a colony? Quantity, my children, but no tempting quality for us. "No," said Oseba, "earnestly I love America and her splendid people, but the flag of social progress has been transferred to other lands, so America must hold the 'phone, while others of that splendid race--more strays from the Classic Isles--answer the calls of Justice and lead Humanity to a broader, higher and nobler liberty. "Well, I will ring off America, for while every phase of the recital is so charming that one is inclined to loiter, we catch a glimpse of coming scenes that hurry our hopes for a pleasing goal. "From great and grand America, I took a long ocean voyage, my children, and on the 'other side' I found the beginning of the end of my task, for here, all the dreams of all my weary wanderings, and all the hopes of all my fancied visions of better things, found realisation, and with a glad heart I turned my thoughts to the friends of Cavitorus." [Illustration: _The Lion Rock, 5000ft. high, Milford Sound_] SCENE VII. AUSTRALASIA DISCOVERED. And they sent ships to distant lands, and brought gold, and copper, and fine wool, and the merchants made much gains. At this juncture the loved and lost Leo Bergin notes a short intermission, for, as there is everywhere a limit to human endurance, Oseba had grown weary. During the recess, the notes inform us, there were many whisperings, many doubtful shakes of the head, and many real fears expressed as to results regarding the conclusions of the report. "We have gone over the globe," said a learned-looking matron, "and we have no encouragement." "Better know the truth," said another. "It is a matter of no small importance to Cavitorus," said a third. The people stood, or sat, in groups and conversed earnestly, some consulting a small globe which stood on the edge of the rostrum. At the expiration of an hour, the people resumed their seats, Amoora Oseba took the platform, and the audience was all attention. When he arose, he told the people that he understood their feelings, their hopes, their fears, and their anxieties. He had done his best, and his devoted comrades had been as solicitous as he for their beloved country and its cause. To err is human, but it were better to be over-cautious than over-anxious for a change. Not all changes mean progress, though this is not always understood, even by the world leaders. He told his audience they were not finished--Oliffa had not yet been wholly reported upon, for they had made other discoveries. There were yet two countries to inspect, and he bid them be of good cheer. He said the countries to which he was now to call attention were quite "new" in the sense that they had been known, even to the Outeroos themselves, but a comparatively short time. He then turned on the light, exposed the full globe, and proceeded:-- "The earth has practically been circumnavigated, and, when you have seen all, I hope you will be satisfied with my efforts. "We have visited all countries inhabited by man, and my discoveries have revealed many interesting facts, suggesting many conclusions. "Mankind," argued Mr. Oseba, "is akin. All sorts and conditions of men emerged from a common ancestry. The vast differences in form, color, language, custom and mentality have been caused by the varied environing conditions slowly working throughout many ages. From common passions, common wants and common efforts for their gratification, has man slowly pressed forward, the pace varying as Nature invited or forbade the movement. "But genius has annihilated time and space. The world is being brought in touch, and the race that improved the cunning of the hand, and aroused the inquiry of the brain, is destined to guide, unify, and dominate the world. "The Anglo-Saxon is a peculiar compound of many mixed and sturdy tribes, and in the genius of race, there is the magic potion that is giving tone, language and inspiration to humanity. "But the modern Briton is the finished product of Anglo-Saxon aims, and inherited aspiration. The Briton is a trinity composed of English, Irish and Scotch, a compound of the most stubborn vices and most sturdy virtues ever found in an organised society. "Janus was not a Briton; the Briton has but one face, and it is always looking to the front. The Briton is sturdy, so he presses forward; he is weary, and he never runs; he is tenacious, and he appropriates everything having one loose end. Having more wants than industry, he invents that he may be satisfied. He adjusts himself to new conditions, so he hoists his flag over his new cabin and annexes all in sight. Being dull as a linguist, the people of all climes have to learn his speech, or abstain from the banquet of the present, and--the future. "Yes, the British are of a sturdy race. They were developed in a fine climate. But people can't live on climate, and these people had appetites. No _thing_ can come from nothing. Thoughts and actions are 'products,' but the finished goods always reveal the character of the raw material. Strange," he argued, "but as a man eats, so is he. The Frenchman eats frog, and he dances; the Italian eats macaroni and he runs a hand organ; while the Briton as a regular diet takes beef-steak and lion, so he wanders about, and--paints the world red. "In less time than it took the old nations to build a city, the inhabitants of the small British Isles had pre-empted more than one-fifth of the surface of the planet, and were masters of the affections of a fourth of the human race. But the noblest works accomplished by this resistless people are now to be revealed, for the admiration of my countrymen." Here he turned on the great forty-foot sphere to an axial angle of twenty-three degrees, well exposing the Southern Hemisphere. After noticing the southern orifice--the back door of Symmes' Hole--and the difference in the distribution of land and water near the respective poles, he turned the globe so as to give a fair exposure of Australasia. In Oseba's more cheerful demeanor, his more ready speech, and his radiant countenance, there was a gleam of joy, and when once the full import of this new scene was appreciated, there was a generous burst of applause--Leo notes, "almost enthusiasm." "This," said the sage Oseba, "is the 'Austral climes,' the last dry dirt on the surface of Oliffa, wholly rescued from darkness and devoted to civilisation. "Its color indicates its social condition--it is civilised and free, for on Oliffa, my children, 'red' is the emblem of hope. 'Painting the world red,' means turning on the light, and John Bull always carries a bucket of carmine--and he often has a 'brush.'" Oseba said that in the whole inquiry he had endeavoured to follow an example set, many centuries ago, by a Personage whose advice is constantly quoted on Oliffa--and more constantly ignored--of keeping the best to the last. Australia was of old called an island, but as in area it about equalled the United States of America, and almost that of Europe--having near 3,000,000 square miles--it was now regarded as a "continent," though it had less than 4,000,000 people. "Room for a colony?" said the poetess Vauline, with something bordering emotion. "Yes," said Oseba. But let us proceed cautiously. I boil down. He said there was plenty of "room," and for sometime there would be "room to let," but as a fact, while a lovely land, inhabited by a splendid people, it was not quite all it seemed on the map. On the borders of the "Australian continent," and reaching back long hundreds of miles, there was much beautiful country, but there was a vast interior, which, though red on the map, was almost too thin even to hold the paint. As a fact, much of the surface of Australia was afflicted, like many of her people, with an insatiable thirst. To the uninformed, this "dry" and hot interior gave Australia a "bad name," as people are usually influenced by "sound," and they rarely stop to reflect how many grand empires might be carved out from these fertile borders and plains. He described how Cook "found" Australia in 1770, and how, by the directions of Sydney, Colonial Secretary, it was first "colonised" in 1779. He recorded its struggles and growth during the silent years; how colonial authority was exercised; how self rule, or so-called "responsible government" was established; and how, to reach more remote portions of the country from convenient seats of authority, several autonomous colonies were formed. Owing to the large expense of coming, immigrants were usually of the better class; and, owing to the distance from central authority, the colonist became self-reliant, and soon began to apply new ideas to new conditions. He dwelt with evident pleasure upon the development of the cities of the continental colonies as splendid centres of wealth and population, and praised the spirit that was ready to cast tradition to the winds, and boldly experiment upon various expedients, that seemed a solution for some pressing problem. In describing Australasian cities, he declared that Sydney was the most beautiful city on earth, having a society which, for culture and character, equalled that of any other country. He admired the competitive spirit as between the different or several political centres, and of the many departures from old notions. The courage of the people in the adoption of new political methods, and their re-arrangement of the relations between governments and industrial forces, seemed to please him greatly. He declared that "these self-governing autonomous colonies, aroused by inviting opportunities of a novel environment, inspired by a sphere of undefined liberty, with reckless readiness to resort to new expedients for the accomplishment of new purposes, had produced in Australasia, in all the essentials of true worth, the highest average type of man and womanhood on the surface of Oliffa--with the more isolated New Zealand probably leading." Oseba said the Australasians enjoyed a higher average plane of living than any other people; they were better educated, better clothed, better fed, and better housed, and, with comparisons made on the same or like basis, they were the greatest commercial people on the globe, with proportionately much greater banking power than any other people. In proportion to population, these 4,500,000 Australasians had four times the capital of the people of other leading countries, and their commerce was four times larger. He applauded the tendency towards holding the lands at nominal or low rents for the use of the people; the construction, ownership and management of the railways, telegraphs, telephones and other public utilities, by the government for the convenience and use of the governed, as the acme of political wisdom. He claimed that the Australasians had confirmed every lesson of history, for all experience taught that only through colonial enterprise were experiments in legislation safe, and advanced ideas crystallised into law. Small communities might safely experiment, and when the people bore sway, the dangers possible from rapid changes were preferable to the mildew of stagnation. In political and social progress, in material prosperity and moral worth, the people of Australasia were conspicuously at the head of the procession. Only through the influence of colonial enterprise, had real liberty ever gained a substantial victory, and only through expedients suggested by colonial necessities, had great economic changes hurriedly come. America, in her free and fearless youth, far excelled the motherland in liberal legislation and economic progress, but the millstone of aggregated wealth and "vested interests" weighed her down, and she retired from the leadership, while Australasia, with her novel surroundings and the experience of all the former ages to contemplate, proposed to sail a little further over the inviting seas of social progress, and her success had vindicated the wisdom of her determination. At a time when many other nations were almost madly pushing colonial experiments, she had written a new volume corroborating the evidence of the centuries, that Britain alone, of all modern nations, possessed the requisite qualities for successful colonisation. "Australasia deserves well of the world," said Oseba, "for under the separate standards of her many colonial chiefs, she has moved the people on to a most advanced position. [Illustration: _Looking down the Mueller Glacier from Ball Pass, Mount Cook._] "But in Australia proper there has recently come a change that must necessarily check the rapidity of Australian progress. Six of the Australasian colonies--New Zealand not joining--have left the skirmish-line, and formed into a less mobile mass. The light infantry have buckled on heavy knapsacks--the flying artillery have been re-cast into siege guns. The 'states' are now anchored to the past, and the 'Commonwealth' must be unwieldy. The members of this compact may chafe, but the chains are unyielding, and the ponderous hulk, in which all the luggage has been tossed, will be found cumbrously slow in its movements. "As social groups, the Australians, in their 'free colonies,' were in their vigorous youth--they were buoyant and ambitious. They looked abroad, beheld what others had done, and said, 'Let us take another step,' and being free and self-ruling, they were able to hurriedly adjust their political machine to their local requirements. "Inspired by novel environments, great opportunities and hard necessities, the Phoenicians and the Greeks, as colonisers, gave to Europe its commercial instincts; and, inspired by like opportunities and necessities, the British have not only made the dreams of the ancients a reality but they have created and firmly established modern civilisation. America is the Carthage of Phoenicia. Australasia is the _Magna Grecia_ of Greece. Australia has played well her part. "But a new king has come, my children, 'who knew not Joseph,' and no Moses can lead the people rapidly out from the shadow of the 'Commonwealth.' "Australia has a genial climate; she has broad, fertile acres enough to support a grand empire; she has a magnificent people, and she has advanced the standard of social progress many a league, but a 'tribal' exuberance has been hampered by allegiance to a central authority, so the leadership in social progress must be passed to less incumbered hands. "The world stands in mute admiration at Australia's social achievements; but, to gratify the ambition of a few men who desired a broader field for the display of a splendid talent, she has lost her 'innings,' and 'New Zealand' has the bat. "When the Commonwealth band struck up, it was whispered across 1,200 miles of sea to New Zealand, 'Will you walk into my parlor?' but the sturdy Seddon answered, 'No, thanks! we will go ahead, and turn on a little more light.' "Then, while I love the Australians and shall ever hope for their future prosperity, we will 'ring off,' and review the last, the loveliest, and the most free and inviting field ever explored by man, for already the colors are in worthy hands, and the leaders have proposed to take another step." Summing up for a conclusion, the sage Oseba said that China, even with "opportunities," presented no varieties; and while Japan had variety, she had no room. Europe was too strongly wedded to militarism for healthy mental growth; Britain has become a park for her nobles; Africa had the black plague; America was owned by the trusts, and was managed in their interests by the party bosses; and Australia, like a child crying for bracelets, had put on hand-cuffs. "So, none of these answer the requirements of our commission," said the orator, "and I now invite you, my children, to another series of pictures in our elaborate gallery--'tis of my last 'discovery.'" Here, pending the re-adjustment of the instruments, the audience indulged in a few moments of lively conversation, for the promises seemed to be more encouraging. But soon Mr. Oseba stepped to the front with a confident dignity, and in a pleasing voice said:-- "My learned colleagues, and you, my beloved countrymen and women, I have detained you long, and, that you might appreciate my conclusions, I have gone somewhat into details in my extensive review. I have shown you many of my discoveries, on the outer surface of our planet; I have explained the political systems of many peoples, and I have observed the play of your emotions as the conditions of men were portrayed; but I now promise you only pleasing revelations, for in beauty, in climate, in soil and social situation, I am going to show you the paradise of Oliffa, and this means a portion of Australasia that declined to join the federation of which I have spoken--it means New Zealand, on the map, 'Zealandia,' with the poets, but Zelania, as it would be called in our more musical speech, and by this euphonious title shall we speak of that charming land. This, my children, was my last discovery, and while many people on Oliffa don't care to be discovered at all, I hope the 'Zelanians' will never regret my having landed on their blissful shores." _SCENE VIII.--Act I._ ZELANIA--MR. OSEBA'S LAST DISCOVERY. Blue pencilling several eloquent pages, I am here constrained to use the discretion generously given me, by choosing for myself the methods of introducing the scenes of Mr. Oseba's last discovery. It has been previously mentioned that Leo Bergin had "done newspaper work in New Zealand," and here seems a proper place to re-refer to this pleasing fact. Leo notes that, pending a re-arrangement of the stage, there was a brief intermission, and later, that having become weary from strained attention, and drowsy from the soothing pleasures of the occasion, his thoughts flitted back over the silent years, and falling into a half-unconscious reverie, he seized the thread and wove from the thrilling scenes of the past the panorama of a pleasing dream. In his chant, we catch the echoes of a farewell to his native land, and, floating away into aimless realms, he follows the devious path of other days, where vaguely arise the fleeting phantoms of pleasures forever gone. [Illustration: _Hinemoa's Bath, of Legendary Fame_] We know not the mystery of a dream, but in Leo Bergin's brain the hoary mountains rise, the restless seas moan, and the scenes of ever-enchanting Zelania unroll like a magic scroll. In modest phrase he sings the memories of early wanderings, and that through his mental gleams we may reach a higher appreciation of the unfolding views, I quote his rippling rhymes:-- LEO BERGIN'S REVERIE. Sweet home, adieu! With vent'rous crew, I'm sailing o'er the ocean blue. As on we leap, the eye doth sweep The curving borders of the deep. The days glide by, I gaze and sigh, But nought appears, save sea and sky. * * * * * Behold! there rise, 'neath Southern skies, Green Isles that greet our glad surprise. Oh! lovely Isles, where Nature smiles, And beckons to the "afterwhiles." Here fancy drew, from old and new, To give the soul extended view. With air so mild, and scenery wild, The Fates persuaded, led and smiled. O! Craggy peak! O! Earthquakes freak, Had I but words of you to speak. Our course we take, through broom and brake, To view the fern-embroidered lake. Those lakes, so sweet, at mountain's feet, Where weary strangers, strangers meet. The waters blue, with swift canoe, We skim, for glimpses weird and new. We lift the eye to mountain high, To where the snow-peaks kiss the sky. O'er gorges deep, where shadows creep, dark clouds cluster, pause and weep. In dreamy mood, we pause and brood, 'Midst awe-inspiring solitude. We list--a roar, that cometh o'er, From danger scenes we would explore. For ah! the spell! the geyser's well, That hurls the sulphurous fumes from hell; That flings on high, with thund'rous sigh, Huge rocks, that smite the cloud-flecked sky. But list, ye bands from other lands, This monument of splendor stands, In South Seas hurled, with flag unfurled, "The scenic wonder of the world." * * * * * As here we scan old Nature's plan, We seek her last, best work--a man. Lo! he appears! nor hopes nor fears Have vexed his soul through all the years. With haughty pride--nor priest nor guide-- He ruled the land, as warrior tried. Here chieftain brave, here King and slave, Their lives to war and foray gave. Here, dusky maid was ne'er afraid To join the fray, in copse or glade. With waving hair, and beauty rare, Brave hearts these maidens did ensnare. When beauty wild a chief beguiled, He gazed in liquid eyes, and smiled. Love makes amends, and often blends, Wild warring factions into friends. But strong the will, with tribesmen's skill, The Maori was unconquered still. * * * * * Where Nature, kind, unfolds the mind, Man is to nobler thoughts inclined. Though brave, he's meek; he aids the weak, And high companionship doth seek. In social train, by hand and brain, He wins and holds a vast domain. He builds a State; 'tis weak or great, As based on love, or fosters hate. If Wisdom's eyes survey the skies, Before their magic touch arise Industrial arts, where loyal hearts May rear and fill commercial marts. If strong and just, and true to trust, The coin of Truth can never rust; And wise men see that none are free, Save where there's large equality-- Where Law commands, that sturdy hands, Shall freely cultivate the lands; No coward slave, but free and brave, Shall ever ready be to save. Thus honest worth, o'er all the earth, Conditions make, e'en more than birth. * * * * * 'Twas said by Fate, these Isles must wait, The builders of an ideal State. Then with the breeze, 'cross Southern seas, The Briton came, with high decrees. New scenes arose, old wounds they close, And friendship reigns 'mong ancient foes. For Maori hate, by skill and--"fate"-- Was merged into the British "State." United, free, they now agree To dwell in peace,--"So mote it be." * * * * * Then of this man, and if we can, We'll follow out his mystic plan. For wise it seems, e'en in our dreams, To build, with care, prophetic themes. Then let us gauge the Seer and Sage, As pass they o'er Life's mystic stage. First, of the dead, it may be said, While warm of heart and cool of head, They saw the new, and though but few, They laid foundations, strong and true, On which to rear, without a fear, This temple,--so imposing here. By words sublime, in prose and rhyme, They taught, for all-enduring time. * * * * * Then Seddon came, without whose name This temple were unfinished frame. But in his care, with graceful air, The structure rose, with finish fair. His sturdy stroke the times awoke, As from Tradition's rules he broke. Upon the land he scattered bands, With willing hearts and sturdy hands. To those once rent with discontent, He even-handed Justice sent. Now o'er the State, nor fear nor hate Could find companion, small or great. Look o'er the land, from peak to strand, There's happiness on every hand. * * * * * Here Cities rare, exceeding fair, Zealania boasts, with modest air. At eve or dawn, we gaze upon The busy, "blowy" Wellington. Here, products great for ships await, And here repose the powers of State. Here, founding laws, for mighty cause, The statesman long the session draws. Here modest worth and homely mirth Find more respect than rank or birth. * * * * * There's Auckland, too--'twixt me and you-- A beauty spot, excelled by few. Round this fair cove, old Nature strove To show the fickle feats of Jove. Volcanic smoke in fury broke, Until the heavens all awoke. When cleared the skies, there did arise A seat for earthly Paradise. At mountains' feet, where lavas meet, There Auckland sits, serene and sweet. With seas afore, just off her door, Where proud ships ride for evermore. * * * * * We note with care, with Christchurch, there Are few that safely may compare. For pride of race, for social grace, She holds a high and honored place. 'Mid fertile plain of waving grain, We search for lovelier spot, in vain. Here, soul and brain; here, maid and swain, A pure companionship maintain. * * * * * Dunedin stands, on favored lands, 'Twixt mountains high and ocean sands. On beauty's spot, the "Canny Scot" Has cast his ever happy lot. With taste and skill, from rock to rill, Dunedin reaches 'long the hill. With vision free--upon the lee-- Dunedin gazes o'er the sea. * * * * * Full many more, 'tween hill and shore, Are worthy of the poet's lore. Though hard I seek, the words are weak, Of nobler beauties now to speak. While cities were, with beauty rare, Contrived by man, with studied care, The vale, the glen, the lake, the fen, Were made by Him who maketh men. The fields of grain, where honest swain Earns honest bread, wave not in vain. For West and East, both man and beast Await to join Zealania's feast. And from all lands, by skilful hands, White sails are bent for Austral strands. Here, finest wheat, by many a fleet Is sent, the foreign marts to meet. And finest fleece--in war or peace-- They shear, that wealth they may increase. With choicest meat, both rare and sweet, In "Merry England," they compete. In farm or mine, with food or wine, To lead the leaders they incline. * * * * * By skill they coil the threads of toil Around the riches of the soil. And, for the sake of gain to make, Great enterprise they undertake. * * * * * Well, far and near, we've gathered here, And all in all it doth appear That higher goals and nobler souls Are here, than elsewhere 'tween the poles. * * * * * Now wake, my Muse, do not refuse To pay "my hostess" honest dues. For ladies fair, with beauty rare, Zealania boasts, beyond compare. And smiles more sweet we'll never meet Until we bow at Peter's feet. Awake again and listen, when Beholding strong Zealania's men. 'Tis writ by Fate, men only great Could constitute this noble State. Then sing for all, both great and small, Each in fit place, that none may fall. The dreams of seers, the hopes and fears, Have gathered 'long the silent years, And on these Isles, with radiant smiles, Were cast the hoarded "afterwhiles." * * * * * Zealania fair, thou art the heir Of all the cries of ancient prayer. Here sturdy bands, with gen'rous hands, Are guardians of these favored lands. Then hail thee thrice--let this suffice, Thou art Creation's Paradise. * * * * * Oh! float away--like mist in May, Or rainbow tints 'mid ocean spray. "I wake to sense--please, no offence,-- Forgive my drowsy indolence." Well, indeed that is pretty; but let us down from Leo's fancies to Mr. Oseba's facts, and while I shall strive to retain a seasoning of Mr. Oseba's richness, time and the love of ease whisper persuasively of the virtues of the blue pencil. With more animated eloquence, Mr. Oseba resumed his oration. "The audience," says Leo Bergin, "gave the most profound attention." "Knowledge," said Mr. Oseba, "is a priceless treasure, but," with a smile he continued, "many a good story has been spoiled by over-inquisitiveness. Poetic fancy suffers from flirtations with cause and conscience. Unless inquiry has been thorough, my children, it is wiser, in most cases, to note impressions than to assume to record facts, so I shall give you but a 'bird's-eye' view of these enchanting isles, with the characters as they appeared before the visual camera when I made my observations. "Had I gone fossicking among the weary ones of Zelania, I should doubtless have found many excellent people who, in some phase of the inquiry, would have questioned the correctness of my conclusions. I might have heard some sighs, amid the almost universal joy--some smiles with the general congratulations, and some discordant groans mingled with the generous applause--but where there is not sufficient diversity of interest to produce mental friction, there is more danger from decomposition than from revolution. "Yes, I incline to think had I stood on the corner and listened I would have met some well-to-do gentlemen who disliked the land tax; some business men who disliked the labor laws; some farmers, who wanted a free ride and no rent; some patriotic men who failed to admire many of 'Richard's' taking ways. I might also have found healthy gentlemen from 'Home' who, though their conditions were bettered by coming, have little love for 'the colonials,' and who, by virtue of their unwillingness to grasp the true situation, regard every statement of a fact as an extravagance, and every forward movement as a revolution. Then, I should have felt it necessary to inquire how much of such criticism was due to private interest, to defeated ambition, to party or factional prejudice, or to differences in opinion as to who would best grace the conspicuous chair. "For this I had neither time nor inclination. Man can equivocate, can even lie, 'tis said, but visible conditions never deceive an observing stranger, and when I considered the brief history of that country and compared its early social and political policy with the present free, happy and prosperous situation, I had little care to banquet with private grievance or public criticism. "I was concerned, not in the salaries of the public servants, but in the character of the public conscience; not in who, for the time being, guided the ship of state, but how the passengers and the crew were being brought to their destination. "On a lonely elevation, far removed from the murmuring crowd, I levelled my glass, and, without sampling the fluids from which the stage actors drew their inspiration, I noted my 'impressions.' They were favorable, and if I'm guilty of nothing worse than failing to note the faults of those chosen by themselves as ringmasters of the performance, I feel that the Zelanians will not regret my having 'discovered them.' "As the beauties of Zelania so far transcend the powers of the painter's brush and the poet's metaphor, I pay her homage of my admiration, in modest speech." IN SILENT WONDER. "In scenic wonders, these playful Isles present a peculiar series of thrilling charms, which seem to satisfy best the yearnings of those who have visited other lands. "In geography, Zelania is beautifully isolated, as every beach is washed by more than a thousand miles of sea. Its borders are so erratic, so indented by bays, harbors, and inlets, that its shore-lines are over 4,000 miles in extent, and, in altitude, it reaches from the sea-shore to the clouds. "Configuratively, it is milder than a dream, and topographically, it presents a most romantic and pleasing aspect. In scenic beauty, the Isles of Greece, the Lakes of Ireland, or the 'Vales of Cashmere' do not surpass it, and in the awe-inspiring wildness of its mountain grandeur, it rivals the noblest of Norway or Alaskan scenes. "In bold magnificence, the glacial glories of the Swiss Alps are tame comparisons, and its geysers, its boiling lakes, its roaring vents from subterranean fires, its hundreds of spouting caldrons, its grottos and waterfalls, could not be surpassed, if all the rest of Oliffa's wonders were brought together and placed on exhibition--such a congerie of curiosities has Nature thrown in young Zelania's lap. "When Nature made Oliffa, my children, she nourished a sly intent to show her skill when in the flower of training. With this in view, as she deftly moulded other lands and tempered them from her laboratory, she tossed aside the choice bits of material, and took notes on 'effect.' Then, after finishing the rest, and 'behold it was very good,' with a glance to the gallery gods, she said, 'Now look at me!' [Illustration: _Waimangu Geyser.--Semiquiescent._] "Then, like the sculptor who has many models for one figure--one from which to copy the most perfect arm, one the hand, another the knee, and still another for the foot--so, she, selecting from the most perfect of all her former works, improved on each, and in her happiest mood she fashioned Zelania, and anchored it in these southern seas. Then she smiled, and--took a _siesta_." [Illustration: _Waimangu Geyser playing to a height of 1500ft. The second wonder of the world._] "Geologically," said Oseba, "Zelania is an ancient pile of dirt, but here all the games that frisky Nature played in her boisterous youth, before 'Atlantus' sank from the Ocean bosom, before the Mediterranean burst through the Pillars of Hercules, before the sun and winds drank the waters from the Sahara, and possibly before great Chimborazo was, she still keeps on the stage for the edification or the terror of gods and men." "At Rotorua, that trysting place of fairies and fiends, man may play with Nature as did the deities of old with the daughters of men; while at Waimangu, the mightiest geyser on the globe, one may safely stand within a few yards' distance and behold a scene of thrilling awe that banishes all consciousness--save that of dread and power. "To stand near the verge and behold this acre of dark world as it is hurled a thousand feet into the air, is worth a trip round this little globe. Language gives but a faint gleam of human passion, and every effort to describe this scene brings but a pathetic consciousness of human frailty. Beholding this mighty convulsion, even the thoughtless stand motionless and mute, and as Milton is dead, Waimangu will never be described in words. "The countless mountain lakes, the wild fiords--from whose deep recesses one but rarely sees the sun--the shady solitudes, so painfully still that one shudders with a chilling sense of loneliness, and the easily-approached glaciers and waterfalls--many with a plunge of over a thousand feet, that amaze the Alpine traveller--thrill and fill the beholder with astonishment. "But for one who enjoys the gun and the rod, there are such tempting opportunities for the diversion of the attention, that the imagination finds ready relaxation, and thus the body and mind gain vigor as the scenes and the days pass by. "Then, Zelania's wonders may be visited with ease, comfort, and perfect safety. Her furies are on their good behaviour, and save on the borders of her terrors, her aspects are as serene as heaven's azure sky. Her mountains are rarely disturbed by the ravings of Pluto, her great geysers are forcible, but not dangerously erratic, and her boiling springs are so amiable that they may be studied and safely observed at short range. "Zelania, thou art by far the most beauteous land, E'er dreamed of fate, or reared by Nature's cunning hand. You've heaven-piercing peaks, crowned with eternal snow, A thousand boiling caldrons--heated from below. You've glaciers dwarfing Alpine scenes, and fiords more wild Than Norway boasts. When fashioned, God beheld and smiled. "That Nature rather recklessly managed this country in early geological times is abundantly evident, but save the activity of the geysers and boiling lakes--which play for the amusement of visitors--and the occasional listing when some great personage steps too close to the edge, _terra_ has been satisfactorily _firma_ ever since the present managers were commissioned in the early '90's. "In every natural feature, this is a country of boundless variety. In climate, it varies from Finland to Italy; and in production, by intelligent transplanting, most of the necessities of civilised life are here." Here the notes say the poetess Vauline inquired whether Mr. Oseba had not minutely described some of these marvellous scenes in his report. With reverential mien, the sage replied:-- "No, my children, to attempt this, were to profane the gift and the giver of speech. Only one who beholds these wonders can appreciate them. When confronted, the grandeur of the infinite may be felt by a sensitive soul, but through an interpreter all attempts fail. Beholding one scene, I uncovered and bowed my head in silence.[A] Words! they were meaningless." Yes, and I will help Mr. Oseba out, for I have observed these things, and I have read somewhere how some sort "rush in" where even the angels incline to hesitate. _The Painter came!_ Folding his arms, he raised his drooping head, and gazed in awful thought. He stood in rapturous dream; "Oh God, if I could grasp that scene, the noblest fame e'er bought By toil were mine!" With eager hand he clutched the brush. With anxious eye He gazed. Lo! the eye dimmed, the brain reeled, the hand fell, and with a sigh He dropped the brush. In deep despair he turned and said, "Alas, good-bye! 'Tis an unpainted picture. Ye gods of solitude, good-bye!" _The Poet came!_ With streaming hair, pale brow, and nervous tread he hither came to brood O'er Nature's vastest works, to wrench the beauties from this solitude, And weave in mystic rhyme these wond'rous scenes for common mortals' gaze. Entranced, he seized his pen. Anon he wrote--methinks he wrote in praise. Then pensively he stood, and mutt'ring said: "Words suit well the minstrel's lays, But, 'tis an unwritten poem, to tempt the soul through endless days." _The Fool came!_ He smiled. On good terms with himself he seemed, as one who owned the world. In jocund speech he cried, "'Tis ours!" and in mock haste his flag unfurled. On ancient log he rests. He laughs, he jokes, and chats. Behold him look! 'Tis for a match; he faggots brings, he lights a fire--a meal to cook. Says he: "Extr'ordinary! Ar'nt this grand? By gol! old fel, I'll write a book." Then words like snow-flakes fall--like snow-flakes in a brook. A DIGRESSION. "Now, my children," said Oseba, "permit me to make a few observations based upon my study among the Outeroos, which will apply to the country under review. "Remember, all terms expressing quality--such as good and evil, right and wrong, truth and error--are relative, and, as affecting men, the definition to each individual depends upon his environment. As a fact, the rules expressing these ideas are largely fictions established by society for its own purpose, but, in their general application, they must be allowed considerable latitude. "A country is good or bad, as it offers or withholds opportunity for earning a livelihood, and for the development of the mental faculties by the application of reasonable efforts; and a government is good or bad, as it withholds or encourages such opportunities and aspirations. 'When the wise rule, the people rejoice'--even in the barren districts. It is a matter--well, it is a matter--largely of 'grey matter.' As a rule, Nature has not been niggard in the distribution of her blessings. And, as a rule, the term good or bad, when applied to a country, applies less to the soil than to the society. It is college _versus_ cannon, or inquiry _versus_ credulity. Under a reign of benign justice, from a barren soil may arise an earthly paradise, while bigotry, war, and oppression will make a hell of the fairest valley. 'The gods wondered, and Viehnu said to Bel, "With seven wise men shalt thou enter hell, Or with five fools, pass into paradise." "Give me," said Bel, "hell with the wise, For that is heaven, where they do dwell, While fools would make of Heaven itself a hell."' "The subject, my children, always bears the image of the law, the expression of custom, and customs are established by cunning for the rule of credulity. By custom, one is born the owner of many broad acres; and by custom, ten thousand toil without enjoying, that one may enjoy without toil. But Nature usually lends herself freely to man's designs. In a vast monotonous country, despotism is a usual system of government, Nature suggesting no change; the leader becomes the chief, the chief becomes the monarch, the monarch becomes a despot, and the despot a god. "On the contrary, in a smaller country with diversified aspects, indented shore-lines and water-front, scaleable mountains and erratic climate, Nature suggests--change. A holy discontent appears, the despot becomes a constitutional monarch, a parliament serves the people, a cabinet advises the king; and then, as mountains suggest liberty and seas adventure, distant colonies, in which custom and precedent are ignored, are established on lines in harmony with environing conditions. "Human liberty, my children, rarely gains a victory in an old, wealthy, populous and well-established country or government. Society, under such conditions, becomes conservative; the rulers love power, the cunning want no change, the wealthy are satisfied, and the people, being adjusted to the changeless conditions, are 'loyal' and contented. "Further, every defeat of despotism, every entrenchment upon the 'divine' territory, every victory of human liberty, has been due to the restless inhabitants of the water-front; and remember, for all the progressive movements of all the ages, and for what the centuries call modern civilisation, the world is indebted to colonial enterprise, conspicuously led by Phoenicia, Greece, and modern Britain." BACK TO ZELANIA. "But let us, my children," Oseba continued, "return to Zelania, Nature's choicest, last, and most successful effort, and to where these principles apply. In her geographical situation, her configuration, her soil and climate, she offers man everything to toughen the fibre, to quicken the perception, and to strengthen the imagination. "She has the climate, the fertility, the production, the picturesqueness of Greece, and all in greater variety." Oseba here led his audience into a most interesting inquiry regarding climatic influence in the development of a people. He said man was a part of, and strongly allied to, Nature, and that he could not escape the influence of his environment. In interior tropical regions Nature puts a black skin and black hair on her people, and, as a joke, she usually flattens the nose. In vast interior and warm regions, the complexion are tawny, with black or tawny hair and oblique eyes, that shunt the direct rays of light. "Then, too," he says, "island or sea-shore people are lighter in color than those of the interior, and not only is the complexion of man, but his physical proportions, stature and temperament, modified by climatic conditions. In interior countries men gradually assume a type--they are lithe, and rather small of stature, and so alike that they seem cast in the same mould; while those living on islands along the water-front, or among the mountains, are more sturdy, they vary more in build, size and deftness, and they are mentally more inquisitive, venturesome, impetuous and brave." He said that by far the most sturdy, virile, impulsive and enterprising people on Oliffa inhabited the British Isles. Of course, the race had much to do with modern movements, but the earlier climatic conditions of the country produced the racial distinctions. "By the rule of Nature, then," he continued, "Zelania, with the proper stock to begin with, in complexion, form, feature, temperament, and mental endowments, should produce the finest type of man and womanhood on the planet." He compared the Maoris with the aboriginals of interior Australia, and said both were modified by their environment. Here Leo Bergin remarked that Mr. Oseba was certainly greatly taken and impressed by his "colonial" experience. However, it is not improbable that while travelling in New Zealand Mr. Oseba received sufficient courtesies to impress him deeply with the matchless hospitality of the people. [Illustration: _The Moa of Maoriland. The skeleton of this particular Moa stands about 12ft. high, and is a curious but substantial fact, but as the Moa, the dinornis--as the learned folks call it--permanently retired from New Zealand, possibly before the Maoris came, the plumage and plumpness are the works of the artistic naturalist._] "But, enough," says Leo Bergin, "my master is worthy of my whole attention," and the notes run:-- "But let me return, my children, and pick up the theme of Zelania, for in her--with my tours over her romantic islands--I found balm for all my earlier disappointments. "Zelania has certainly not worried her soul in life-producing efforts. In botany, she is not rich in species; in mammals she is more allied to South America, over six thousand miles distant, than to Australia, but twelve hundred miles, justifying my conviction that this paragon of beauty was an after-thought of the creative power. "In mammals she has but a little rat--a poor little weakling that has not yet been tamed or learned to board with the people--and two little half-developed bats. Of reptiles, there are a few lazy lizards, but whether some 'Patrick' or 'Denis' had banished them, I could not say; but snakes, there are none." He said there were some land birds, but as there were no animals to "make them afraid," the more indolent of them had lost their wings and their natural characteristics had changed. The moa was probably--some time ago--a pretty respectable bird, but there being no danger from which to "flee" and no long flights to procure food, it cast off its wings and strutted about until its bones became as heavy as those of a reindeer, and it stretched up its head until it stood twelve feet high. But having no cares nor anxieties, no fears nor ambition, it failed to develop "grey matter," so when the Maori came it "surrendered," and, having taken off its flesh as well as its wings, it is now resting in the museums. Without the rod or the bun, there seems to be no effort, and without effort there seems to be little progress with any created thing. THE MAORIS "DISCOVERED." "And the great god Morduch heaved the earth from its watery bed, and peopled its shores according to his will." As Oseba evidently meant to proceed upon his discourse in some predesigned order, he here gave some interesting attention to the Maoris, the natives--or, so-called, aboriginals--of New Zealand. The orator, in his inimitable manner, described the Maoris with amusing detail. He calls them a fine race of romantic savages, whose physique had undoubtedly been greatly improved by the winning smiles of Zelania's climate and general aspects; for 'tis said they have been loafing around there for 500 years. "A large, heavy, dark brown people are these Maoris, who, in their own picturesque costume, often looked gracefully noble. Brave and ferocious while untamed, they are usually amiable and indolent when subjected to civilising influences." Many of the young women were very pretty, and the children were quick in wit and movement. He did not think that tattooing the under lips of the women had really improved their beauty. Many of the half-castes were very intelligent, and not a few had made excellent reputations, in politics and other "professions." Many of them, too, had a sublime gift of "gab," and this trait is shared--even by the men. Intellectually the Maoris were, Oseba thought, superior to any other tamed savage; but, like other barbarians, when touched by civilisation, they learned and accepted the vices more readily than the virtues. This was noticeable in all civilising movements. Oseba remarked that it was often observed among the Outeroos when speaking of such people, that the "Christian vices" killed them. "This," he says, "was natural, for while it takes time to teach the 'brethren' the real advantages to be derived from the practices of Christian virtue, the 'Christian vices' yield 'immediate returns.' 'Thou shalt not steal' to a savage produces a peculiarly disagreeable confusion of ideas, and the advantages are not readily apparent, but two drinks of whisky rarely failed to impress. This is a custom peculiar to 'Christian culture' that is 'taking.' "To judge by the conspicuous exhibitions of artistic effort and the countless displays by the photo fiend in many of Zelania's towns, a stranger would conclude that the Maoris were the 'superior' and dominant race, though there are but a little over 43,000 in the whole country, mostly on the north or warmer island, and it is said they are about stationary in numbers and in morals." He told his audience that these Maoris, when originally discovered, were a stalwart, brave and rather superior race of savages; that war was the only argument that appealed to their perverted consciences, and he quoted an admiring New Zealand poet to prove the "amiable" heroism of the Maori "ladies." "E'en woman, formed for sweetness, for love, and tender art Here showed the tiger instinct, the hard and ruthless heart; Her's was the task in battle, the wounded braves to slay, And cook the reeking corpses for the feast that closed the fray." "Yes, the Maori women were brave, very brave, but, my children, in all Zelania there was not a mouse. "Of these Maoris, there are several tribes," he says, "who, when free from the meddlesome 'white man's yoke,' are usually engaged in slaying and stewing each other, and, besides carving with their greenstone cleavers their cooked brethren and their own faces, they practised much in wood-carving. In this, while the workmanship is fair, there is a manifest lack of a sense of proportion, that amuses the connoisseur as it delighted the amateur in art. "Like the more common, or at least more numerous and more pretentious white fellow-citizen, these Maoris go to church some, and to school, and to the drink-shop and to jail, but as the Maoris have a little creed of their own, they don't go to church very much. But if the Maori goes less to church, to school, and to Parliament, he also goes less to jail and to the hotel than his more pretentious white British fellow-citizen. "The Maoris are picturesque, especially at the more popular tourist resorts, where their presence lends a particularly charming romance to the occasion. The emotional tourist--especially if a young gentleman from 'Home'--who is safely piloted by the alert, polite, and loquacious 'Maggie' among the roaring and exploding geysers of that charming compromise between awe-inspiring beauty and terror, that unpreached sermon, that unsung song, that unwritten poem, that section of hell in an earthly paradise, Rotorua, in whose weird precincts are seen and heard and smelled, at close range, the seething fires of 'Pluto's dread abode,' he will cherish a generous respect for Maori hospitality forever. Under Maggie's watchful guidance, the most unsophisticated tourist could safely approach the yawning mouth of these boiling caldrons without endangering life or health or appetite; though, unless one heeds the cautious guide, the boot soles are in danger of shrinking, and in these sulphurous regions 'kuss words' flow from pious lips. "Nature," Oseba argued, "was a unity and is consistent. She ignores individuals, and strives, oblivious to time, for universals. No created thing ever escapes the influence of environment. But Nature carries out her works with the instruments at hand. Whence came these Maoris is a guess, but as in character, stature, proportion, personal bearing, and mental possibilities, no other savage on the globe compares with them, they must have been sufficiently long in Zelania to have become modified by, and made to conform to, the luring conditions of that wonderful country." But I must continue:-- As there were no indigenous grains or tameable animals, and as no people ever worked out a civilisation without the assistance of tameable animals, the Maori could only remain a savage, but the climate and general aspect of Nature, the peculiar environing conditions, gave him the noblest soul and most fertile intellect ever housed in the brain of a barbarian. The conduct of the Maoris in defence of their country, considering the relative conditions of the contending forces, found no parallel in history or romance. They had all the cunning and duplicity of the Greek, the stubborn courage of the ancient Briton, and the stoical disdain for death of the North American Indian. While in the whirligig of the great world's doings a contest between the most skilful of all warriors and a few small tribes of savages, in so remote a country, could excite no very great interest among the far-away nations, to the watchful student of events there were few pages of history more interesting than the Maori wars in Zelania. Socially, the Maori was of a peculiar mould. A communist in property, he was an aristocrat by nature, and in his soul there was a haughty exuberance of spirit that rendered tribal discipline difficult, and domestic peace precarious. In war, the Maori was brave; in diplomacy, shrewd; in council, a born orator. The Maori remained a savage in Zelania because there was nothing to tame him, but in his nature there was the diamond, and, by a little grinding, its brilliancy always burst forth. His native environment had given him everything of a superior mould but the final touch. I quote:-- "Already from the grim huts of these late savages have come forth the orator, the lawyer, the statesman, and the successful business man. 'From the cannibal feast to the Cabinet,' is almost true of the Maori. "The fate of the Maoris? "Well, my children, I don't know, but the grafting of civilisation on such a stock may work wonders, and to study these most picturesque of all the sons of Nature, is worth a journey around this little world. "It is most interesting," continued Oseba, "to study the aboriginals of any country, and it is pathetic to observe their gradual retirement from the earth's fair face; but the Maori--the handsome, haughty, aristocratic and eloquent Maori--is as different from all other uncivilised races as his enchanting island home is different from all other countries on the surface of Oliffa. "If bare-handed Nature in Zelania, with no animals for the chase, none for herds or for servants of industry, and practically no grain or fruit, could spank the savage, common to other lands into this shape, what may it not do for civilised man, who brings with him all the aids of all the ages?" Oseba explained that before he called on Zelania he had visited every other country on Oliffa, and had studied the "inferior" races carefully, but the Maoris stood solitary and alone. All others lacked physical fibre and mental stamina, and for them to remain in contact with the superior races meant many generations for doubtful growth, or a few generations for extinction. But the Maoris had now attained full manhood. They were "different" from the whites, and this was more proper than to say they were very much "inferior." They had enjoyed none of the advantages of outside communication, no aid from tameable animals, no experiences by the chase, no traditions of industrial art, during probably more than five hundred years. Yet the Maori seems to have attained to a surprising degree a fairly full mental and physical stature. He has eloquence, perception, inquisitiveness and acquisitiveness. He has everything but--civilisation. He has the soul, but it needs tuning; the material, but it needs shaking-up and seasoning. The magic touch of a newer, a higher inspiration is needed, and that is being injected into his awakening consciousness by a benign social sentiment. "To-day," said Oseba, "the Zelania Maori, as seen in his grotesque works of art, in his struggle for wild independence, in his weird religious ceremony, in his common avocations as toiler, professional man or politician, is the most picturesque human being on the planet, and his presence in Zelania gives a seasoning of romance to be studied and enjoyed in no other land." [Illustration: _Tattooed Maori Chief.--"Maori Carving."_] _SCENE VIII.--Act II._ APPROPRIATING A WORLD. All being in readiness, a number of very perfect maps were thrown on the canvas, showing the plains, valleys, mountains, lakes, and rivers of Zelania, with the nature of the production of each island; and a careful and detailed description as to location and resources was given by the orator. Then, calling the attention of his audience, Oseba notified the people that he was now reaching the closing chapter of his report, or in our refined phrase he was on "the home stretch." He said:-- "Now, my children, at this stage of our inquiry, I desire to remind you again how closely man is allied to Nature; how he is adjusted to all the environing conditions; how the fresh breezes of a temperate zone give him a fair skin; how a varied and pleasing aspect gives him a cheerful temperament; how the mountains suggest to him freedom, and the seas adventure; how climate depresses or exhilarates; how pastoral pursuits awaken the romantic in his nature; agriculture, patience and sturdy industry; and the search for precious metals, a careless independence and intelligence. "Then, for this last, let the Titans wrest from Nature all that conspired to make the Phoenician, the Greek, the Norse, and the Briton, and mould them artistically into the most pleasing form, and lo! Zelania would appear in her pristine glory to--fashion a man." Here he briefly described the workings of the government of Zelania, how it had adopted the parliamentary system of Britain, and that, while it acknowledged a proud allegiance to the British crown, it was probably the most unmitigated democracy the world had ever beheld. "As a member of a compact," Oseba said, "Zelania owes but a loose allegiance to the Motherland, for she is at liberty to part the cable at any time and float away with the parental blessings. But, as a fact, she is held by a sentiment stronger than bands of steel; and by the voluntary sacrifice of many of her noblest sons on distant fields, she has proven, not only her loyalty to the Crown, but her love for the Empire and her devotion to British aspiration. Theirs is not merely the loyalty of the subject--'tis the tender regard of children for the generous kindred of homeland. "Now, my children," continued the orator, "I am going to show you another series of views, some the works of man, and some the works of Nature, that have influenced my actions. Glance through the album I have given you, and you will see the style of men, who, on the lines so strongly suggested by the inviting environment, have fashioned the social creeds of the country. "It is a grand thing to behold men strong enough and brave enough to lead the people up, not to where they may 'see the promised land,' but to secure for them and their children a nobler heritage than Joshua ever saw or Moses ever dreamed of." The orator claimed that though the mightiest imagination could not reach a comprehension of these enchanting scenes, he felt that the views presented would justify his claim that of all lands Zelania was the most wonderful on the globe. And now he proceeded to call attention to the human side--how the denizens of this most favored country were using their peerless opportunities, and this was even more wonderful, for Nature followed rules and precedents, while these people broke them. "A man may famish," said Oseba, "surrounded by the most dazzling splendor; he may starve, amid the most wild, weird and stupendous beauty; but when erratic Nature has strewn in the same garden that which most elevates the soul and administers most to the nourishment of the body, man should tender the tribute of his admiration and gratitude, and--'go to work.'" In Zelania, as I interpret the orator's meaning, the gods have conspired to do all this, and to make the lot of man a happy one. But in a life so frail and so full of wants, the practical side deserves consideration, for while the Deity may furnish the paddock, he will not throw blood oranges on fern trees, or grow "A No. 1" cauliflower on ground not subdued by the spade or the plough. After having made so fine an exhibition of the choice spots of Zelania, Oseba commented upon the peculiar notions of the Outeroos regarding their visits to other lands. He said by the Outeroos' measure, he himself had been the world's greatest "discoverer," for he had found and charted the whole outer surface. He had "discovered" China, Japan, Russia, and other countries; he had discovered Africa, America, Australia, and finally the "Paradise of Oliffa"--Zelania. Many people on Oliffa did not care to be "discovered"--in fact, would rather not have been, and, among these, were not improbably, those fading Maoris of Zelania. The "discoverer" had been the bane of many a people--remember the color-line! Oseba told his people that "Zelania was once discovered by Tasman in 1642, and that it was not discovered again for more than a hundred years, when Cook found it in 1769. Later, to the temporary joy and final regret of the Maoris, the French also 'discovered' the country, and soon some gentlemen from Sydney called, and in 1814 the 'parsons' found it, since which time the collections have been regular. I," said he, "am Zelania's last 'discoverer,' and my report shall be a modest one. "In 1840 the Union Jack was permanently nailed up in queenly Auckland, Zelania being made a province of New South Wales, and the next year the country was erected into a colony, with a good billet for the favorite of a British Premier. "In 1865 the capital was removed to Wellington, a very breezy city, with fine 'sloping' hills at no great distance from the water-front. "As in other British colonies, government here meant liberty, and, as in all habitable countries liberty means progress, Zelania has had a full measure of prosperity, practically from the beginning. "If," proceeded Oseba, "the Outeroos ever evolve a generation of thinking men, the mystery of mysteries to them will be how a people as educated and business-like as the generation, who discovered and developed steam and electricity, and the modern commercial systems could be stupid enough to give away or sell to a few of the people the land upon--and from--which all the people must necessarily live. Further, it will be interesting to inquire by what course of reasoning the temporary custodians of the public domain arrived at a conclusion that they could rightfully alienate it, ignoring the will and the right of all who might come by the next train. "As broad, as almost limitless, as is the meaning of supreme authority among the Outeroos, by no compromise with expediency, by no stretch of the imagination, can any human power consign the future generation to a madhouse, or to homelessness, or to a condition of serfdom under the heirs of the more fortunate few; but to grant the lands to a small number of persons is to pawn the cage in which the animals are eternally locked. "Unfortunately, before the 'rulers' of Zelania had been broadened by the pure air of this wonderland, they had parcelled out much of the better lands to a comparatively few persons. But the grapes fed by the early rulers to the parents of the colonials, set the teeth of the children on edge. "The area of Zelania is 104,000 square miles, as against 124,000 for the United Kingdom; and the population is 800,000, as against 40,000,000 for the United Kingdom. "But, behold the growing wisdom of the generations! In the United Kingdom, by inheritance, by the crimes of authority, a few hundred families, or less than one out of every 2,000 of the population, 'own' nearly one-half of the whole country; while in this new world, the smaller follies of earlier rulers are already being corrected, and the lands are being rescued from baronial control and held for 'the people,' regardless of the time of the arrival of their train. "As the Outeroos are mostly land animals, my children, and as we have learned how important the land is to human happiness, I will give you briefly this phase of the social situation of Zelania as being developed by its present leaders." Then he reminded his audience that Zelania embraced 104,000 square miles or about 66,000,000 acres of land. Mr. Oseba claimed that the British Isles, with 79,000,000 acres, with a considerable area of waste, support nearly 40,000,000 people; Italy with about 70,000,000 acres, with much waste, supports 30,000,000 people; Prussia, with about 90,000,000 acres, large areas of waste, supports 31,000,000 people; France, with about 125,000,000 acres, with extensive mountain regions, supports nearly 40,000,000 people; and that Belgium and Holland, with about 18,000,000 acres, and much waste, support over 10,000,000 people. He argued that if the estimates were approximately correct, this most favored of all lands on the surface of Oliffa would support, on a like plane of living of the Italians, 22,000,000 of people; on a like plane of the French, 12,000,000 people; and on a like plane of the British Isles, at least 10,000,000 of people. But he explained that with a like population of these countries a like plane of living would be inevitable; so, for the happiness of Zelania, he thought, it was fortunate that many splendid obstacles stood in the way of a rapid increase in population. The cry for population was the most delusive mockery that ever lured a people to the verge of misery. Here I quote the intrepid discoverer:-- "B-i-g does not spell 'great.' China has what most of the new countries of Oliffa are screaming for--'population.' Yet China is not considered 'great.' India, even with British rule, as a people or a race is not 'great.' The true greatness of a nation consists in the greatness of the individual units composing the nation, and not in their numbers. America is great as a nation, but the real average 'greatness' of the individual American has been declining for many years. Better travel comfortably with a select party than rush to ruin in a crowded train. "There is no relation between size and value. Even the most ambitious Outeroo would hardly claim Lambert, who weighed forty stone, to have been 'greater' than little Pope, who looked like an interrogation point and weighed but eight. So, as there is no virtue in avoirdupois, there is no 'greatness' in mere numbers. Better flirt with one healthy girl, than take a dozen sour old maids to the pantomime." Mr. Oseba might have mentioned, had he known the facts, that Phoenicia, that gave to the world the ship and the alphabet, and anticipated modern commercial methods, occupied but a small strip of country--mostly sterile--from eight to twenty-five miles wide, and less than a hundred and eighty miles long; that Attica, at the feet of whose philosophers we still sit, from whose artists we still copy, and to whose orators we still listen, embraced but seven hundred square miles; and that the population of Sparta, while in her glory, probably never exceeded ten thousand souls. "No, my children," said Oseba, "b-i-g, does not spell 'great,' and any Zelanian who is caught howling for 'population' should be compelled to 'shout' for the whole crowd until he goes 'broke,' and has to hunt a billet to enable him to buy a beer and a bun. The desirable cannot be bribed--others should not be wanted." [Illustration: THE MAORI MAID OF ROTORUA. Did you ever see Maggie of Rotoru'? You would never imagine what she can do For the mouths of hell, With a magic spell, This little brown maid-- As I have said-- Will lead you over, and under and through. This little brown damsel of Rotoru' Will laugh at the fates, and smile at you. Like a fairy dream, Through the caldron's steam, In gleeful wit. She'll gaily flit-- Yet careful, stranger, how you pursue. With this little brown maid of Rotoru' You scramble and gaze and wonder, too. You stand appalled, Your soul's enthralled, For scenes so weird, Have here appeared-- You wonder if h---- isn't bursting through. * * * * * While much of this danger, my friends, is sham God tempers the winds to the little shorn lamb. But wild Nature raves In dark hidden caves, And 'tis romance, you know, To Roto' you go, So leave some "memory" in Maggie's palm.] Here, Leo Bergin, with a deep love for Zelania, "pimples out into poetry"--"on his own," as follows:-- ZELANIA'S GREETING. Zelania's stores are rich in wine, Zelania's air is sweet with flowers, Zelania's sons are rich in kine, Zelania's maidens wile the hours, 'Mid scenes of matchless beauty. Zelania's valleys waive with grain, Zelania's hills are white with sheep, Zelania's sons are skilled in gain, Zelania's maidens ever keep The path that leads to duty. Zelania's crown is rich and rare, Zelania's laws are wise and free, Zelania's sons and daughters care, Zelania's door to ever see Swung open wide, and then-- Zelania speaks across the seas, Zelania calls in welcome voice, Zelania sends by every breeze Zelania's greeting to the choice-- Of earth's deserving men. Well, that is as refreshing as it is novel. Mr. Oseba and Leo are both right, and I say, "Well done!" for a popular gentleman of old said: "He that provideth not for his own household has denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel," and if this was Paul, he was not far "beside" himself on this occasion. It is very pleasing mental recreation to talk about the "brotherhood of man" and the equal rights of "all the children of God" to play anywhere on the surface of His "footstool," but Nature suggests that "every living creature" shall hold down its claim or it will be crowded out, and this same cruel, relentless, unsympathising "Nature"--that always "barracks" for her longest-clawed children--helps to shovel the weak into the compost heap. With the achievements of modern times, with industrial progress, specialised effort and rapid transit, the many-hued people of the earth may enjoy the fruits of all lands without practising at the same bar or sitting at the same table. That "God made all men equal" is pretty--it is very pretty; but it lacks the merit of scientific truth, and while it may be desirable--profitable--to deal with the outside "barbarian," and to aid, educate, and elevate him, none but a fool or a fanatic would bring a hoard of park loafers into his dining-room and seat them at his table, to the exclusion of his own children--or his wife's relations. We may do justice by a "brother" man without boarding him or converting him into a brother-in-law. Mr. Oseba said:-- "Zelania's needed population will arrive in due season, for, besides her own resistless attractions, Oliffa must be more densely covered; but in 'filling up the country' from abroad, the heads should be weighed and not counted. Zelania may select her own coming population, for whether for health, for profit, for pleasure, for curiosity, or to study lessons of the highest social and political wisdom, she is curiosity's magnetic pole, and with prudent management on the part of her 'rulers' she will soon become the happy loitering place for the leisure-loving, wealthy, and well-to-do of all lands. Then, thousands of those who 'call' will be so charmed with her faultless climate, her romantic scenery, her hospitable people, and her splendid opportunities for domestic happiness and private gain, that they will cast their lots in this ever-enchanting land. "Nature points to Zelania and says to all her children:-- "'Come and see what I did when I had my hand in.' Then, my children, let me anticipate, for I desire that you may now have a glimpse of the goal to which I am leading you. "Well, I may tell you these British people to whom I have briefly referred, composed almost exclusively in this case of English, Irish and Scotch, being far removed from central authority, so strongly tempted by new opportunities, and so resistlessly influenced by new and pressing demands, have amazed the world by the boldness of their political conceptions and by their marvellous achievements in social experiments." From Mr. Oseba's oration one would conclude that never did a colony of loyal people more readily depart from traditional usages, never did a community enter into the possession of a new country who so readily adjusted themselves by their customs, their laws, and their rules of action to the requirements of a novel environment as did the settlers of this peerless land. He claimed that, in little more than half a century, before they were three-quarters of a million souls, by their achievements in social evolution the Zelanians had excited the interest and won the admiration of the civilised world. "Selfishness," he argued, "is the mainspring of human action, and the actuating motive of every human being is to secure the greatest possible happiness with the least possible expenditure of physical toil. "Though the social instincts of man help to tame him, all social and political systems in the world are based upon very human traits. The savage, for his own happiness, by force appropriates whatever he wants or can get. The half-civilised man cunningly appropriates the land, that its fruit may ripen in his granary, that himself and family may be happy, while the really civilised man would divide the opportunities among all, and his happiness is found in the general joy. The Zelanians are being civilised by evolution and parliamentary enactments. "And they allotted the land as each had need." Oseba reaffirmed his conclusions that no people ever took possession of a new country who shaped the land laws with a due regard to those who came later--with rights just as holy--save the Zelanians. In this they were more nearly complying with the rational demands of justice than any other people. "I will give you," said he, "a glimpse of the policy now in vogue, and how it seems to satisfy the hopes of its sponsors, for this will deeply interest you." The orator here began a review of the land system of Zelania, and, with a view to brevity, the notes will be "boiled down" to the lowest possible comprehensive space. As the country was originally divided into some nine provinces with as many governing bodies, each vested with authority to deal with and dispose of the public domain, there naturally arose a system that resulted in great inequality, as well as in great confusion. Then as all the provinces were in need of roads, bridges, schools, and other public improvements, they vied with each other in offering inducements for immigration or new population, and with a hand exceedingly lavish, the lands were alienated--often in large tracts. When the Colonial Parliament took over the public property--by an abolition of provincial authority--the land question at once assumed a new importance. This came about at the most intense stage of the modern transitionary period. "Industrial progress" had ushered in the most resistless spirit of commercial expansion in all countries. Then population became a "necessity" and railway construction became almost a mania everywhere. The contagion struck Zelania. Public improvements were an absolute necessity, and the lands were the chief assets and "capital." For a time the lands were recklessly sold, but the mania for internal improvements became so unconquerable that foreign capital was called, and by a resort to the seemingly most reckless borrowing policy ever indulged in by a sane people, the lands were partially saved for a better future. I quote:-- "Of the 66,000,000 acres there are said to be 35,500,000 'occupied,' and of this, 16,000,000 acres are 'freehold,' 11,000,000 are held under various crown leases, while the rest is leased from private owners, or from the natives--who own, as a people, several million acres. As the Maoris are usually tired, these lands are mostly leased to the 'superior race,' who do the work. "The number of holdings is 115,713, with an improved value of £120,981,599. This is good. It shows an unparalleled proportion of land-holders, but it is not enough, and the 'Government' is making strenuous efforts to increase proportionately the population of rural districts, and of 'land holders,' if not of land 'owners.' "Under an old system, the lands were so recklessly disposed of that even yet fully one-fourth of those 'occupied' are 'owned' by comparatively few people; but the Government has applied a strong 'persuader'--graduated land tax--and the great inequality will gradually disappear. The issue now is, 'custom _versus_ justice,' and with the face turned to the new, the old loses its potency. The burden should be more on the land and less on the laundry. "The laws and rules applied to the land of Zelania of late years, not only take into consideration the desires and requirements of would-be occupiers, but also the class of the land--the holdings for the better to be smaller in area than those for the poorer tracts. Of good or first-class land, under certain tenures, 640 acres only may be taken or held, and of second-class, 2,000 acres. "There are several tenures under which 'crown lands' in Zelania may be acquired--one by purchase for cash; one with lease and right to purchase, rent to be 5 per cent. on unimproved value; and one, an eternal lease (999 years) with a rent of 4 per cent. during this period on original capital value--unimproved. Compulsory residence of the holder is enjoined during the currency of the lease in leasehold tenures. "Under the _ægis_ of the law, if wise and just, people are encouraged and assisted by the Government in forming small agricultural communities of not less than twelve heads of families--for the Outeroos have families--and this group may have set apart for them a suitable block of land upon which to settle. This secures educational advantages, for in every community the Government not only establishes schools, but compels parents to send their children for instruction. "But when conscience was thoroughly aroused, it became evident to the most casual observer, that the great estates not only stood in the way of social progress, but that holding vast areas out of cultivation was a menace to the future liberties of the people. And further, that though there were considerable Crown lands suitable for occupation, the conditions for 'closer settlement' on them were not over favorable; and, further still, that every successful effort to settle these lands not only vastly increased the value of the great estates, but increased the temptation of the large owner to further extend his domain. "Under the earlier _régime_ the follies of the old rapidly spread over the new world, and by 1890 most of the better lands in Zelania were parcelled out in lordly estates and owned by a few persons. "Almost before the people were aware of the tendencies of the times, a gigantic land monopoly threatened to overshadow the country. But being 14,000 miles from central authority, the affections of the people for hoary customs had weakened, and vested rights in ancient wrongs soon began to find earnest protestation. "The rights of imminent domain were understood, the people had no notion of erecting a landed aristocracy, and a few bold souls, who, by the force of inherent genius had arisen from the industrial ranks, conceived the idea of writing another chapter in the history of human progress. [Illustration: _A Maori Beauty._] "No people," Mr. Oseba argued, "ever yet revolted against a despot who ruled with smiling diplomacy, but having learned in the old home the power of the world owners, and knowing that the liberties of none are secure where a few are vested with the instruments of oppression, people in this new and strange country felt the weight of the lordly hand possibly before it was ungloved for action. "The land barons, with their sheep, inhabited the fertile valleys, while the people with their children, roamed over the sterile hills. But with the squeezing of the people into the bush there was a rush of brains to the head, and the chosen guardians of the public weal said: 'Zaccheus, come down.' "Though New Zealand mutton was of good quality and wool bore a good price, some healthy gentlemen concluded that men and women and children were about as good as sheep, especially when the sheep belonged to the other fellow, and as the barons had no blunderbusses and the people had votes, the world-owners were called down to pay a little more of the taxes, and the people were called up to earn a square meal. "Then the show was opened--without a prayer or a corkscrew--and some very sensible men who stood on firm ground suggested that any man who had muscle and a mouth should have an opportunity to exercise the one for the satisfaction of the other, and when the world-owners declined to 'set a price,' the agents of this brave democracy came with a persuader, and the revolution was begun.[B] "The land barons were treated honorably. The values created by the coming of a progressive population, by the settlement on Crown lands, and by the construction of the highways, were generously allowed them; but when asked to move off the grass and make room for closer settlement, they learned to accept the situation, and the laws had a soothing influence. "The graduated land tax is a powerful persuader, and already there have been about seventy of the great estates resumed and divided into small allotments among an intelligent, industrious and progressive people. And still the work goes on with success, and even profit in nearly every case. "In Zelania has been demonstrated, not only the possibility but the wisdom of State landlordism. To-day the State is a landlord to the extent of over 15,000,000 acres, it has 16,000 tenants, and in all these resumptions, divisions, settlements, rent collections and management, there has been no loss, few grievances and fewer scandals. "Then, too, when the estates are cut up and divided among settlers, schools are established, post offices are opened, roads are made, and--when needed by the settlers--money is loaned to them by the State at a reasonably low interest; and, so far, these laws have been to the infinite advantage of the people, and a profit to the State--the 'profits' used to further the general scheme. "With this policy of graduated land tax and discretionary resumptions, exorbitant rents and land speculations are inconvenient, and with the 'loan to the settler policy' the money sharks can't squeeze the people, 'they can't.' "In Zelania, the State, or the people in their organised capacity, aids from the general store the people in their individual capacity--to help themselves. "The State gives nothing. There is humiliating charity nowhere, but elevating justice everywhere. The State puts a man on a farm, loans him money, helps him up hill, and then demands that he play the Hercules. It will loan him a spade--not to lean upon or to pawn, but to dig with--and he must keep it bright and pay for its use. "The idea in Zelania, my children, is to have no lords and no paupers--that all men shall be producers, and not vagrants; tax-payers, and not tax-eaters--and that every citizen shall become a sturdy democrat, who will honorably strive as a stock-holder in a paying concern. "Joint encouragement is given," said he, "and that may be called socialistic; but individual action is demanded, and that is democratic. "Many persons in Zelania think that the government train is rushing ahead too rapidly, but these should observe the tendencies of the times, and realise the advantages of the general prosperity. Many others think the train moves too slowly, but these should realise the conservatism of wealth, the dangers of exploring uncharted seas, and they should remember that to-day, in all the essentials of human progress, they are by far the most advanced of all peoples. "Of course, there are occasional failures in Zelania, enough to furnish healthy examples; for while any man who will hustle may thrive, the Almighty does not line up the jerseys for every lout that likes cream in his chocolate. Even in Zelania, the man who claims that this world owes him a living must make some effort to collect that little bill. "As a fact, in Zelania they furnish a fellow with about everything but brains. This, doubtless, they would willingly do, but as there are a few things in which Nature seems to practice economy, so far there has appeared no surplus of brains--no, not even in Zelania." Here I cluster some of Mr. Oseba's graphic conclusions into my own "chaste" language:-- Having become familiar with the serene security of the man of acres in other lands, it is curiously interesting to observe that people in Zelania--common and no account as they are in most countries--are held in considerable respect, regardless of their bank accounts, or the social position of their father-in-law. In most countries, on Oliffa, the people are "moved on" to make room for animals, and, in most countries on Oliffa, the larger the "estate," the more easily can it be made larger; but in Zelania, when too many people are "out in the cold," some fellow with a big paddock is requested to "set a price," and the stray "sheep" are soon comfortably quartered and employed. Under the old system such "estates" were always held "sacred," but in Zelania, among the most "sacred" of all recognised rights is the "sacred right" of "man to live"; and it has been discovered that to talk of the "sacred right" of a man to live, without an opportunity to earn something upon which to live, is an insult to God's noblest creatures; and the graduated land tax has so conciliated the lordly inheritors, that the "blessed" who "hunger and thirst" are not asked to wait for the platter of "charity," but they are "filled" from the products of their own strong hands. Here I quote:-- "The Christian Outeroos, my children, all think they are in the world by the special desire and fiat of God, and yet of all the civilised Outeroos, the Zelanians alone have had courage enough to demand standing room on a world where God had placed them. "They assume to think their deity made the world and then made them to people it, yet most of them have been persuaded that 'He made the world' for just a few of them, who are privileged to put up the notice 'Keep off the grass.' The Zelanians alone have removed the 'notice.' "While to us, my children, so far away, with so long a history behind us, even these measures seem but the cautious experiments of amateurs, they are the most advanced known to the Outeroos; and the Zelanians, in their numerical 'fewness,' their national youth, and their splendid isolation, are more courageously grappling with the difficulties that have baffled the noblest statesmanship of all the ages, than any other social group in the world's progressive history. "Zelania, my children, is the most unmitigated democracy ever known to the outer world of this planet, yet her people have just gained a glimpse, not a realisation, of human liberty. But the divine flame from the sacred torch is spreading, the public conscience is aroused, the public intellect is alert, and the social train is moving rapidly. "What the dreamers, the poets, and the academicians of other lands laud as social ideals, the tradesmen, the farmers, and the mechanics of Zelania discuss as every-day matters of practical politics. "'Touch not the Lord's anointed' hath saved the head of many a despot, and touching appeals for the observance of the 'sacred rights'--in hoary wrongs--hath larded the ribs of idleness for a very protracted season, but the Zelanians, in the exuberance of a novel situation, are indulging in mental gymnastics, and putting on grey matter--with results. "A shipwrecked mariner, tossed on a lone island, rich with food, and shelter, and material for raiment, may 'own' that little world--for a time. His rights are supreme. He has a 'vested interest.' He 'discovered' it. As a contribution to the world's wealth he had practically created that patch of dirt. It is his. But suppose the next morning another fellow from the same or some other ship is tossed on the island. Well, number one must 'divvy.' The social conditions have changed. 'Right' has a new definition--unless the first enslaves the other. "Definitions change. Right and wrong as expressing the various social theories, are fictions established by society for its own use, and if a rule established by society for the benefit of itself cannot be modified by society for the benefit of a larger social self, one man might own all the people who might be cast on the island--even if the island became a continent. "The Zelanians have discovered that despotism consists chiefly in a loyal observance of ancient customs, and they are giving new definitions to old terms--and then adjusting society upon the new definitions. In no country are human rights more respected, or vested interests more sacredly guarded, than in Zelania, but the outposts are extended, and no longer is the power of the few to legally wrong the many, sanctified as a sacred right. "In Zelania it has been decreed," said the sage Oseba, "that one man's rights must stop where another's begins--especially if there are several of the 'others.' In Zelania it has been decreed that the interests of 'all of us' are paramount to the interests of 'a few of us,' and, though the rights of no man must be infringed, the equal rights of the many must not be withheld. "Man is a social being, and how much of his rights--as defined by himself--he may be called upon to yield for the happiness of many--as defined by themselves--has nowhere been determined. "In Zelania, my children, the people have ideas, and the people rule. In Zelania the people may ask the lucky fellow who first struck the lonely island to 'set up a price.' They may ask that he who toils shall enjoy, that the size of a paddock be decreased, that the distance between drinks be increased, and, in Zelania, the statesmen with fidelity carry out the will of the people as expressed under the rules prescribed. "Now, my children, I have dwelt with some detail on the land system of Zelania, for of all nations on the surface of Oliffa, the Zelanians are gradually adjusting themselves most wisely to the permanent happiness of the people--and we may desire to send thither a 'colony.' "Zelania is a lovely land, my children, and, were there no principle involved, I would like to own it myself; but, alas! no 'principle' should be violated for so transient a pleasure." [Illustration: _Maori Woman and Child. Fashionably tattooed lip._] _SCENE VIII--Act III._ UTILITARIAN. Here the notes record that there had been a half-hour's recess, during which Leo Bergin mentions that he enjoyed a pleasant chat with the poetess Vauline, that she was very charmingly inquisitive, and that while he confessed his lack of eloquence as compared with that of Oseba, he thought Zelania had lost nothing through his modesty. Leo remarks that he showed the poetess many photos of the outer world, especially some fine ones of Zelania--among others, some of the leading statesmen and jurists--"all at the same sitting." But I will ring off Leo Bergin, and have Amoora Oseba continue his observations, as per Leo's notes boiled down--by the fire of genius. Mr. Oseba, on rising, is noted to have observed that men were human, to which I partially agree. Taking from the immortal Robert as a text, "Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn," he delivered a long and eloquent oration on man's relations to this world; how the earth is the storehouse of Nature; how all that we call wealth, and the things that contribute to our health, comfort, and well-being are the products of the toil of men; and he then observed how few of us get much exercise out of this useful occupation. As a fact, he conveyed the rather startling information that, as relating to actual production, fully nine-tenths of us were on vacation, or, to put a point on it, that every toiler was carrying about nine more easy-going souls on his back. These remarks applied to general productive industry. Mr. Oseba explains "how in sparsely settled countries, where there are animals, primitive man lives by the chase, where there are tameable animals he becomes partially tamed and lives by his flocks, and where there is good soil--as population increased--the people turn to agriculture, and with more culture and more people industry becomes specialised, and commerce arises to put on the finishing touches. "But," he argued, "as man clings to the muscles with which his ancestors flapped their ears, so he clings to all the habits practised by man in the past. He lives by the chase as long as there is room, he reduces nomadic industry to a science, and by co-operation all contribute to the advancement of the higher ideal. "In Zelania, save for sport, the chase has been abandoned, and the living and wealth come from herding on, delving into, or cultivating the soil." I gather from Leo's notes, that of some 66,000,000 acres of land in Zelania, there are but 6,000,000 subdued by the plough, 1,400,000 acres in crops, 4,600,000 acres in grass, and 7,000,000 unploughed--also in exotic grasses--and that chiefly from this source of wealth 800,000 of the best fed, best clothed, best housed, best educated and best satisfied, most progressive, healthy, happy and free people, that ever loafed about on the surface of this planet are quite alive, and satisfied to remain--_sine die_. In grain and root crops, etc, the soil yields more abundantly than that of any other country. In pasture it carries more stock, in fruit it is promising, and as for the dairy, Denmark must fight to retain her laurels. It will be seen that but a small portion of the land of Zelania is devoted to its "best use," so there is room for many millions of people, whose lot there should be blessed indeed, for in no country is the fortune of the land dweller so happy a one. His soil is fertile, his climate is genial, his seasons are reliable, his health is perfect, he has the best implements in use, his taxes are light, and his prices are always good. Happy Zelania's farmer! SOME THAT ADAM NAMED. "And God made the beasts of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and everything that creepeth upon the earth after his kind, and God saw that it was good." But only a few miserable little "creeping things" got to Zelania, until the British brought others. Oseba, in a review of the "animal business," remarked, that as all animals--save the long-wooled goat herded on the desert and mountain sides--had long retired from Cavitorus to make room for people, he would use the terms common among the Outeroos in his present statement, leaving the more minute explanation to be studied in his published report. He claimed again that man had never been able to work out a civilisation without the use of tameable animals, and many of the Outeroos had been most fortunate in these aids of Nature. Where man had the association, company and use of the camel, the horse, the ox, the sheep, and the dog, he had been able to keep up the march towards a higher goal. The animals became at once servants, beasts of burden, motive force, food and raiment. The people about the Mediterranean, for many thousands of years, had all these amiable and useful animals. These animals carried civilisation to the remotest parts of the world, and from servants they became more a source of commerce, food and raiment, than of motive force. Rearing these animals became the chief industry of Zelania early in her colonial days, for the fertility of the soil, the healthfulness of the country, the geniality of the climate, and the ever reliability of the seasons, made this--of all lands--the most suited for flocks and herds. "Ah, my children," said Oseba, with animation, "had the Maoris possessed the horse, the ox, and the sheep centuries ago, the dark republic of the South Seas might have sent the most eloquent diplomats to the opulent courts of the Old World--but the Maori was alone." But let us back to the animals--and "boil them down." These 800,000 Zelanians have 20,250,000 sheep, 1,360,000 cattle, 280,000 horses, and 224,000 swine; and--well, there are a few thousand, more or less, dogs. These 20,000,000 sheep are of a fine breed, reared with the dual idea of good wool and good mutton; they belong to about 19,000 persons, and they yield, from export, an annual income of about £5,000,000. There are 11,700 flocks of less than 500 per flock, and 138 of over 20,000. The Zelanians confess to having the best mutton in the world. I quote:-- "Zelania is a country of big things, only when taken on the average. She has no millionaires and no paupers. She has no sheep kings or sheep thieves. She has big geysers, and big Premiers, big yields, big people and big ideas, but few big fortunes. They have 'trusts' in Zelania, but they are in God and--the people." PROFITABLE EXERCISE. Among the most pleasant as well as most profitable industries anywhere, I conclude from the notes, are dairying and fruit-growing, and Mr. Oseba thinks that in no country or climate on the upper crust of our planet are these industries more promising or more profitable, especially the former. The absence of cold winters, the purity of the atmosphere, the nutritiousness of the grasses, and the frequency of rain, all "work together for good" to those who attend to business. I quote:-- "The relative area of land in Zelania specially suitable for this purpose is enormous, and as the fertility of the soil is improved instead of being impoverished by this industry, the possibilities of its development are incalculable. "For a person with moderate means this seems the most tempting industry in this charming land. Mining, too, with its variety of products, the generous laws, the healthful climate, the abundance of water, is a most interesting and remunerative industry. "The mining laws and regulations are as generous as the land laws, and in every undertaking of this nature the policy of the Government is, 'arm energy with the implements of industry that wealth may come in response to the kindly invitation.' "As the Zelanians were among the most commercial people of the globe, considering population, they entered into the spirit of railway building in early times with great enthusiasm. The railway mania began during the reign of provincialism, and each province commenced its little system without regard to the plans of the others." Here a map was thrown on the wall, showing different railway systems, with their different routes and purposes. Considering the nearness of the sea to every populous centre, and the accessibility of these points for steamers, the construction of costly railways evidenced a commendable spirit of enterprise. Doubtless, provincial pride and a willingness to bid high for population in former times, that rents on fine estates might be raised, had much to do in stimulating this enterprise. The railway lines were expensive, but they have proved a good investment. I conclude that at present Zelania has 2,325 miles of railway. The road-bed is good, the rolling-stock fair; travelling is about as comfortable as in other countries, and the average passenger fare is lower than in America. For the benefit of the joint owners--the people--all "profits" go to the general lowering of rates. The wisdom of the Australasian colonies in constructing, managing, and owning the transportation lines cannot be too much admired, Mr. Oseba thinks, especially as it was "contrary to the world's experience." The orator argued logically, and in detail, the wisdom of the public ownership of public utilities, claiming that, as transportation was of so vital an importance to all commercial people, unless the Government owned and operated the railways, the railways would, by some means, own and operate the Government. He proceeded:-- "The railways in Zelania are a valuable asset. Their construction has doubled the value of the public lands, and, as at cheap rates they are yielding a good per cent. on the total cost, they are worth to-day the full amount of the investment. "The railways are being extended and improved as rapidly as the demands require, and the finances justify; and with the post offices, telegraphs and telephones, they are under the watchful eye and control of a Cabinet Minister--at present Sir Joseph Ward--the early evidence of whose sagacity was shown in his having selected these antipodean regions as a country in which to endure life's fitful dream. "Sir Joseph is an ornament too, as well as a pillar in, the political and social structure of Zelania. He is affable, polished, ambitious and patriotic. He is brilliant in his business conceptions, and, possessing a pleasing personality and persuasive speech, he rarely fails in the execution of his well organised designs. While he has hardly passed the noon of life, he has long been the skilful lieutenant of the sturdy Seddon, and if the chief, at whose side he has so unfalteringly stood, should weary under the burden of public cares, it would seem most fitting that the mantle of leadership should fall upon the trained shoulders of this able and versatile statesman. "Then the construction of all the railways, with all their _et ceteras_--the highways, bridges, and other public works--is also directed by a Cabinet Minister. [Illustration: _"Hongi," Maori Salutation._] "Well, from all the 'millions' that have been spent under this tireless guardian in the promotion of these stupendous improvements, in a country, too, in which very many intelligent people would sit up 'all hours' to find something to criticise, there is probably not one person who could be persuaded that there was ever a sixpence coined in His Majesty's Mint sufficiently nimble to find its way into the wrong pocket. "This 'Minister of Works' works twice as many hours per day as any one of the thousands of men in his employ, and the thought of his being influenced by any consideration save that of the public good, could not be advanced to the debatable stage in any company in Zelania. These people trust their 'servants,' and rarely, indeed, is their trust betrayed. This is a Zelanian 'trust.' "Nearly all these great works are carried on under a co-operative policy, with a wage based on individual capacity to earn, the work being usually given to the 'unemployed' nearest the productive operations. It is claimed that this policy has been no more costly than the old contract system. It is of the people, for the people, by the people. 'Who will not sing "God Save the King" Shall hang as high's the steeple. But while we sing "God Save the King," We'll ne'er forget the people.'" Here, the notes record, the poetess Vauline suggested that the sage Oseba give the audience a little further information regarding Zelanian statesmen, their relation to the Motherland, and their hold upon the affections of the people. In interesting detail, Mr. Oseba explained that while Zelania claimed allegiance to the British Crown, and that in defence of Britain's honor she would pour out her blood and treasure with Spartan valor, she was so proudly free that should the same "loved mother" demand a penny per pound tax on her tea, the next rising sun would kiss a thousand emblems of a new-born republic. For the Motherland, Zelania would sacrifice all--save honor--but it must be as a partner, and not as a vassal. "I have no desire," said the orator, "to applaud the star performers of this great social drama, for such leaders are but the chosen instruments of the people, and as no other power had conspicuously succeeded in establishing justice among men, the people have the innings, and may--yea, must--be trusted. "But the chosen are not sure to enjoy the 'affections of all,' for as long as a man is alive and in business," Mr. Oseba concludes, "there will be marked differences of opinion regarding his mental and moral worth." Mr. Oseba "caught on" alright, for he soon discovered that among the Outeroos the real live man is always in somebody's way; that the fellow who reached the persimmons, or "got there"--at the top of the poll--was bad, and that if such a one ever did a proper thing it was through inadvertence, or from unholy motives. While a man "is quite alive" and wants something, we scoff at his ability, we laugh at his language, we question his motives, and we wound him with our poisoned shafts. But let him die once, and what a wondrous change! As long as he is in our way, as long as his quivering heart can feel, we cannonade him; then, when we have wrapped him in the habiliments of eternal silence, we feel subdued, we magnify his virtues, and--_canonise_ him. Among a free and educated people, on questions of domestic policy, there are always differences of opinion among men, and this is no imputation either on the intelligence or the patriotism of the disputants; but Mr. Oseba rather likes the man who gets there while the other fellow is holding his caucus. From these opposing opinions arise party prejudices and factional strife, and earnestness should be reckoned a virtue, even should the reasoning finally prove faulty. Democracy, then, instead of raising men above the human, not infrequently reminds us how far men fall short of the divine. But on this point Mr. Oseba closes thus:-- "While Zelania is a conspicuous jewel of the British Crown and very red on the map, and her government is of, for, and by the people, any praise of her statesmen is a compliment to the character and intelligence of the 'ultimate power'--the people." LET'S TO BUSINESS. Here, for the sake of brevity, I condense many eloquent pages, and for the sake of clearness I make Mr. Oseba's story my own, quoting when we pass the general argument. Commercially, I conclude, Zelania, on a population basis, is one of the leading countries on the upper crust, her annual exports and imports amounting to about £24,000,000. To furnish financial convenience for the great industrial and commercial enterprise of the country, there are provided excellent banking facilities. As a fact, the capital invested in banking, for so small a society, seems fabulous. The banking laws are explicit, and while the banks have provided for their own perfect safety, they cannot, if they should desire, oppress the people. But the fact that advances by these banks amount to about £20 per cap. of the whole people shows to what extent they are patronised. Referring to a review of the political side of this country, it appears that the Zelanians, all in all, have the most rational system of taxation of any people anywhere. With a desire to encourage "home industry," and also influenced by custom, the laws provide that the necessary revenue be raised by the usual methods, direct and indirect taxation, but it is of the former I shall chiefly speak. Of the total, say £3,113,000, about 74 per cent. is raised by indirect methods, or from taxes on imports and excises, while 26 per cent. is raised by a direct tax on land and income. On land and income the taxes are graduated, the rates increasing with the increase of the income, or the value of the estate--those on land being on the unimproved value. This system of graduated taxation is a new departure, a reversal of the history of the ages. It is based upon the idea of social defence of personal rights. It is plain that the more property a person possesses the greater are his claims upon society for protection, and the graduated tax is simply demanding extra rent for extra room, or extra charge for the extra expense for the extra security given. In fact, it is extra insurance for extra risks. The justice of the idea has been clear to thoughtful men--who had nothing to tax--for many years; but in Zelania--to discover a new truth means to occupy a new position. Zelania does not allow her intellectual jewels to rust in the brains of the academician. Under Zelania's novel policy the books show her to be carrying a public debt greater in proportion to population than any other country, but for every shilling of her debt she has more than two shillings in valuable assets, and for most of it she has a reproductive asset. So, as a fact, the burden helps to carry the people. Like other "heavily involved" Australasian States, if measured by the rule of other nations, she is among the least burdened of all people. "And these people were cunning in handicraft." Oseba tells his audience at some length about the manufacturing industries of Zelania, but a small space will suffice, as it is better to remember the haste of the age. The pith is, that considering the newness of the country, and the narrow limits of the markets, there has been a laudable advance in manufacturing enterprise. The chief industries, of course, have developed from the most common and profitable material resources of the country. "My children," said Oseba, "we are never done with Zelania's wonders. While she offers the most tempting rewards for effort, she gives nothing ready-made. In all Zelania there was, and is, nothing of the 'Arise, Peter, slay and eat' to be found, but everywhere there is seen: 'In my treasure-house there are many jewels, and he who cannot open my door and unlock my chest would be an unsafe custodian of my riches, an unworthy recipient of my favors.' Or, like the gay and mischievous maiden who says, 'Catch me, and you have a kiss,' she keeps all her promises. Relying on Nature without effort, any man in Zelania might genteelly starve; but relying on effort with Nature's aid, any man in Zelania may live like a prince. "Zelania had no indigenous animals, and really no indigenous grasses, and her fruits were meagre, but she had the magic force of fecundity, and she said:-- 'I am the nourisher. Like the wise virgins I have long waited a worthy wooer. By action, arose I from the mad seas' bosom. By action, arose my heaven-piercing mountains. By action, were my rivers dug, and plains fertilised. By action, created I and concealed my mineral wealth; And, loving "action," to him who gives an ounce of sweat, I pledge a pound of glittering gold.' "Yes, as Zelania's laws give pound for pound of private contribution to worthy causes, so Zelania's goddess of fortune gives to honest toil a reward of many fold. "Zelania offers nothing for sloth, everything for industry. Her treasures are all hidden, but a plough reveals them. Tickle a field with a harrow, and it laughs with a crop of a hundred bushels to the acre. Remove a fern, a sprig of clover comes. Bring a little rabbit to 'amuse the boys,' and, lo! Nature is so pleased that the 'boys' have to hustle to save the crops. "Well, as Zelania, by every feature of her nature, suggests action, her people are exploring every field of industrial enterprise. Though wages are high and the market for most of the manufactured goods very limited, there has been reasonable success in many branches of the arts productive. "Of course, the chief of these industries," he says, "relate to what might be called raw pastoral products: meat, wool, butter, and cheese. The list of manufactures include some twenty general classes, covering over one hundred sub-classes. "As a rule, the manufacturing plants are fairly well equipped--the machinery for the meat and dairy works being especially up to date. The wages of the 41,000 persons employed are, high. Nearly £8,000,000 are invested in plant, and the annual output amounts to £17,000,000. Certainly these facts speak strongly for the enterprise of so new a people. "But, Zelania, 'twas not thy 'riches' nor thy trade, 'Twas not thy fields, thy fruits, thy wool that made Thee loved of gods and men, nor gold; nor stately domes. 'Twas 'justice,' inscribed on the portals of thy homes. For thou first learned that men and women must be great, Else folly only boasts the grandeur of a State." _SCENE VIII.--Act IV._ THE MORAL SIDE. Relating to the moral side of Zelania's progress, the notes were very full, but the story will be briefly and chiefly told in the less chaste style of Marmaduke:-- As a rule, the people of Zelania, if the great discoverer is correct, enjoy excellent health--or should enjoy it--though we rarely "enjoy" anything that is very common. Of course, Zelania has not yet evolved a type, though she has begun her task, for while the Zelanians are of excellent stock, the "born Zelanian" is said to be superior, both in physical fibre and mental perception, to the average person of the Motherland. Nature, Mr. Oseba thinks, will preserve the "sorrel hair," the white skin, the florid complexion, the fine shoulders and the firm "understanding." The Zelanians are loyal to the Motherland. They speak of Britain as "Home," and, as a compliment to her, the color with which she paints her dependencies is conspicuously present in the cheeks of Zelanian ladies. Unless Zelania dilutes her blood by hurried accessions to her population, she will, in a few generations, furnish the finest type of mental and physical man and womanhood that ever kicked a football, or "did the block," on the surface of Oliffa. [Illustration: _Maori Wharepuni._] In the care of the unfortunate, the deaf, the dumb, the blind, and the lunatics, Zelania is already on the "fortunate" side, as Mr. Oseba abundantly testifies. Oseba says:-- "As an evidence of the satisfaction of the people of Zelania with their present condition, it is only necessary to remark the low death rate among the people. This for the last eleven years has averaged less than ten persons per thousand. For the same period, the rates in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, were about sixteen per thousand; in the United Kingdom, over eighteen per thousand; in Germany and France, about twenty-two per thousand; in Italy, about twenty-five; and in Austria, over twenty-seven per thousand. Then it appears that of all people the Zelanians are best satisfied with their present situation.--Mayhap, some tarry even a little too long. "While these people are all earnest, and want to go to heaven--afterwhile--they seem to be in no hurry about starting, and have little desire for risking climatic changes. "With other matchless wonders, had Nature been attending properly to business, she would have placed the 'Fountain of Youth' in some of these charming spots, for the 'untimely taking off' of a person in Zelania seems quite unjustifiable. A person willingly leaving any other country might be justified in making the change, but when anyone permanently retires from Zelania it means there has been coercion, an exercise of some extraneous power. "Strange, but the books show seventy-nine suicides to have been committed in one year in Zelania, though it seems incredible that any person in Zelania should voluntarily retire. Of course, they may have desired to get to heaven ahead of some of their neighbors, for in Zelania they like to be considered a little advanced. "To insure or secure the public health, there are wise sanitary laws, charitable institutions and hospitals; the practice of medicine is wisely guarded, and carried on by able physicians. In all these public affairs, the Government--which means the people in their organised capacity--is most generous in its assistance. "In local hospitals, or charitable enterprise, the Government usually gives pound for pound for all private contributions, and the many institutions of the kind in all Australasia furnish a pleasing surprise to observing travellers." "ON THE MAKE." Mr. Oseba was greatly interested in the "enterprise" of the Outeroos. I quote:-- "I have visited all the countries of the upper crust of Oliffa, and I have observed that the Outeroos are taking a lot of physical exercise. They are engaged in a mad scramble for dollars. Just why any man should want so many 'dollars' is not very clear, but it is very clear that they do want them. Men with very many dollars are, in most things, much like the men with very few dollars; they are alarmed at smallpox, the cold and the heat make them thirsty, and the shapely actress turns alike their shallow heads. Then, too, the grim chariot that carries waste from the 'City of Confusion' and deposits it in the 'City of the Silent,' calls about as promptly at the mansion of Lady Bountiful as at the hovel of the laundress. "When the man of dollars dies, he is about as dead as his footman--under like circumstances. He'll be dead about as long, and whatever his facilities for the transfer of wealth while in active business, he can take none of it with him. But, maybe, 'tis well, for if the old story be true, it would probably melt. "The world has been aroused by the magic force of modern genius, and is being unified by Anglo-Saxon commercial enterprise. The nations are growing wealthy; gold is the sole object of ambition, of toil, of production, of trade. For gold the industrious strive, the duke marries, the boss robs, the politician 'negotiates,' the lawyer deceives, the judge decrees, the noble cheats, and the 'parson'--takes up a collection. In this enormous confusion, a great many people get a lot of exercise--a few, 'clip the coupons,' and are happy. "But the superior Outeroos are only veneered pagans, my children, and gold is the universal god. When Moses smashed the 'golden calf' the fragments must have been many, and each tiny piece must have multiplied into many full-grown bullocks. "This deity, however, should never grow 'jealous.' His worshippers have at least one sturdy virtue, for among all the millions of them, there kneels not one hypocrite. While the other deities are occasionally scoffed and often neglected, the 'golden calf' is always in evidence. But he attends to business, and in all places he hath wonderful potency. "Genius has quickened the hand of toil," said Oseba, "but it has not removed the callous, and almost everywhere on the surface of Oliffa the opulence of the mansion tells the wretchedness of the hovel. The owner of the one schemes, the tenant of the other toils. The man who toils, toils for another; the man who 'schemes'--well, the other fellow goes to him for a cheque at the end of the week. Until the great democracies of the Antipodes were established, every government of the world, regardless of title, style or form, conspired with cunning to rob credulity, with the schemer to rob the toiler. "I have thus reasoned, my children, that you might realise by 'looking upon this picture and then upon this,' that Zelania has introduced to the world a social policy under which the people, in their organised capacity, have secured to the people, in their individual capacity, a fuller measure of the fruits of their mental and physical efforts than was ever enjoyed in any other country under the sun. "It is not even a policy of the 'greatest good to the greatest number,' for, as the purest happiness consists in a participation of the general joy, it is a policy of the greatest good to all. "Zelania's motto is: 'He who earns shall have, and he who strives shall enjoy.' In this, the people builded better than they knew, and soon Zelania will be the most conspicuously conspicuous spot on Oliffa, and thousands of people will visit her marvellous shores, not more to enjoy the museums of the gods than to study the customs and the character of the first nation of emancipated men. "Zelania, though she is now the foremost among the world's social pioneers, was practically wrested from Nature by the present generation of men. The Zelanian Isles were Nature's last best gift to the noblest race of her noblest creatures--the gods seeming to have waited for a proper tenantry for these more than Elysian fields. "Zelania, my children, is the John in the Wilderness--the prophesied of old, the prophet of the new. She is the beacon of the present, the divine torch of the future." Oh, that is inspiring! Let's take an amateur "soar." To the Goddess of Justice their prayers are read. To that Goddess Zelanians bow low the head; For she gave the Zelanians, nor seer nor priest, She gave them the custom of Galilee's feast. For rich though her gifts to the present and past, She saved for these Britons the "best for the last." Here built they a temple--'twas built on the plan That he is most noble that's most of a man; They laid as foundations the "love of their kind"; For strength of the structure, firm held they in mind That no fortune or creed, but justice alone, Should ever remain as the chief corner stone. They builded the temple--'twas builded by men Who were called from the shop, from the mountain and glen. 'Twas builded for men--not for some, as of yore-- 'Twas builded of men, from the spires to the floor. 'Twas builded too strong for the strong to transgress, But 'twas builded too weak, the most weak to oppress. Pardon; let's back to Leo's notes, for Mr. Oseba's modest candour better suits this prosy age. SHE CAME--FINALLY. "And the Lord God said, 'It is not well that man should be alone; I will make him a help-meet for him.'" Without irreverence, I would regard this as an excellent idea. Mr. Oseba, say the notes, gave a most pleasing review of the domestic relations of the Outeroos, with special reference to the position of women. The notes on this pleasing phase of the oration were full and spirited, but in boiling down some dozen pages I will array the orator's impressions in my own garb, as though I myself had learned something on this interesting theme. The stronger and more haughty among the Outeroos are called men, while the more frail, gentle and loquacious are called wo-man, which means that in some way these latter are to be "wooed and won" before reaching the final end of existence. In old times, man won these fair creatures in a race for life. They "wooed them" with a bludgeon, captured, and dragged them to a hut, and chained them to the door-post until they were "persuaded" to stew the oysters. But this woman, with a shrewdness she is said to have retained even to this day, cunningly devised a trap into which she knew her "lord and master"--an epithet that has survived the wreck of empires--would place his brogan. From the waste of the "kitchen" she fertilised the soil at the roots of a heavy grass, and it grew into a grain. She moistened a plant, and it opened into a fruit. She tamed the young animal--brought for the stew--and it became the faithful dog. By a cushion of moss she softened the log used by her lord as a pillow, and, on his return with terrapin and salmon berries, she looked into his swarthy face and smiled. He was impressed. He took her gently by the hand, pressed her to his palpitating bosom, and, looking into her deep liquid eyes, he said, "I love you." He broke the chains that bound her, and, the wrist fetters being stubborn, he polished them into bracelets--and these are still worn as a rudiment of the earlier times. What "Papa" might say came later. The twain became one flesh--which one, has always been debatable. Then it was arranged, with very considerable limitation, that they should be partners. She, the wooed-man, or woman, was to love, to serve, to obey, while he--furnished the superintendence. The old system dropped out of use many centuries ago, and the new was a change, largely in form, hardly in fact. The old fetters have rusted in the museums of the past. The club, that potent persuader of old, has been presented to the champion of the base-ball team, and the woman is at large. But as the priest now signs and sanctifies the bond, the change, in most countries, is still chiefly in the character of the fetters. All people have traditions that help to justify the stronger in acts of oppression, and to conciliate the weaker in their vassalage. But civilisation has grown--only with the emancipation of women. Just as the fetters have been removed from the brain, and soul, and conscience of woman, has the social ideal risen, has arbitrary force weakened, and have feeling and reason prevailed. The woman is the mother; from hereditary and prenatal influences come form and character. How can a mother, with the feeling of inferiority, a feeling of subdued dependence, with no courage nor conscious individuality, bring forth brave, independent, high-minded offspring? Only by emancipated mothers can full-statured men be reared, and thus has the race crawled slowly forward. For the snail-like pace of human progress, the world is more indebted to the past and political inequalities of the sexes than to all other retarding influences combined. With the progress of science, with the physical forces of Nature harnessed by mental exploits, the relative positions of human muscle and human sentiment are changing, and, with a cultured reason, deeper affections and higher ideals invariably appear. [Illustration: _Champagne Caldron at Wairakei, near Taupo._] Here I quote:-- "In Zelania, women are 'people,'" said Mr. Oseba, "and liberty and social rights are not limited to any particular cut of the garments. In Zelania, the mother, the wife, and the daughter stand proudly erect with the father, the husband, and the brother--and still the seasons come and go, the showers are as usual damp, the fruits ripen in due course of time, the fair 'fellow-elector' is as greatly surprised at the suddenness of the long-hoped-for question, papa is invoked as of yore, and the gay old world swings merrily on her uneventful voyage. "In Zelania, my children, the women vote, and claim equal political rights with those who buy the opera tickets and set up the ice cream. Of course, they don't go to Parliament, save at the sittings, to which they bring their loving smiles and their sewing but they are on their way, and they will get there all the same. "But with the coming of women few changes have been noted--so few of the hopes or fears of the ages have been realised. Woman does not wear spurs--she has not got out of her place--and she does not do the sights, as does her hubby, and swear she was detained at the 'ledger.' She has not become masculine, for she is still the gentle mother of the children, and she is still the same dear old mother, or wife, sister, or lover as of yore, when Zeus said, 'Behold! when the fair smile, victory is nigh.' "But neither have all the hopes, so confidently cherished, been fully realised. It has not been discovered--so 'tis said--that the 'political atmosphere' has materially changed; that legislators are greatly altered in personal character; that social ethics have been revolutionised; or, to the surprise of many, that the distance between drinks has been materially lengthened. But, whatever the means, great changes come slowly. "As a fact, the experience of Zelania, at three parliamentary elections, rather indicates that on social, political, economic, and moral questions, the men and women of the country are 'tarred' with about the same brush. "But in this reform there is a sense of justice and a conscious largeness of soul that is mentally exhilarating, and must result favorably to society everywhere. In the air of Zelania all fetters rust away, and the flag of a new victory, won over traditional custom and selfishness, having been unfurled in this noble land, people afar will first dream, then hesitate, then inquire, and then conclude to have a reshuffling of the cards in this doubtful game of life." INTELLECTUAL TASTES. "If Zelania is proud of her system of education, she may be forgiven," was Oseba's first reference to the intellectual ambition of her people. He was eloquent on this subject. As any thinker could "guess," the Zelanians were certainly not slow in efforts to elevate the mental tastes or in making provisions for the education of the future citizens. The foundation of the present excellent school system was laid by the old provincial authorities, and the best hopes of the pioneers, those who believed in "teaching the young ideas how to shoot," are being beautifully realised. The orator says:-- "At present 82 per cent. of the people of Zelania have the rudiments of education, which, considering the pioneer character of the country, 'speaks volumes' for the community. "There are over 2,000 schools in the colony, with an attendance of about 150,000 pupils. Of these schools some 1,600 are free, and all children from seven to fourteen years of age are required to attend them. The natives, also, are supplied with 96 of these free primary schools, at which 4,500 pupils attend. Rather new; but the railways carry the children free to and from the nearest school. "In the primary schools, besides the usual branches, such as reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, grammar, and history, the elementary sciences, and drawing, the girls are taught sewing and domestic economy, and the boys are drilled as 'military heroes.' "Besides these free primary schools there are many higher secondary schools, supported partly by the Government and partly by 'fees,' and many more private and denominational schools of a very good order. As a rule, one religious denomination--the Roman Catholics--decline to very generally patronise the public schools, and this church supports independently a large number of excellent educational institutions. There are eight technical or art schools, at which some 3,000 young persons attend, a majority of them finishing their school life at this stage. The branches taught at these schools, and the subjects of examination, cover a broad field, and the young person who becomes proficient in them may be regarded as fairly well equipped for most of the battles of this active age. At these schools a young person is armed with the 'practical,' with little danger of being over 'stuffed.' "As a fact, my children," said Mr. Oseba, "many countries on the upper crust are filled with educated dunces, who are mentally deformed by over-cramming, and who are inspired by the hopes of living on 'sheepskin'; but as Zelania has practically no rich or leisured class, the basic idea of school-day training is to fit the rising generation, not for ornamental, but for practical service. "Zelania, as a capstone of her educational edifice, has a university, which was instituted by Act of Parliament in 1874, not for the purpose of teaching, but for encouraging a liberal education. This university is an examining, scholarship-awarding, and degree-granting institution, and the responsibility for the success of university work rest mainly with the four affiliated teaching colleges, which have a curricula in science, arts, medicine, law, mining, engineering and agriculture. "Then there are industrial schools, schools for the blind, deaf, and dumb, which, taken all in all, constitute a splendid system, all being carried on at heavy expense to the State. But the general high character of the people, their usual bearing and manners, the average moral tone, and absence, in the main, of coarseness and vulgarity, tell strongly for the merits of the educational system of the country, as well as for the natural and social influences that mould society." OTHER "TASTES." With the next phase of Zelanian life, according to the notes of Leo Bergin, Oseba was deeply impressed and pleased, for he said:-- "As might be expected, my children, in a land so blessed by Nature, occupied by so noble a race, and ruled by such incomparably wise and generous laws, the word 'pauper' is not found in Zelanian statistics, and the 'criminals,' considering the newness of the country, are few indeed." Speaking of the character of crime, Oseba said:-- "Vice and virtue, my children, are largely questions of sensation. The actions of men that produce disagreeable sensations--immediate or remote--we call vices, while the opposite we call virtues. We are the product of experience. Vice is the guide board to virtue--the danger signal. Without vice there would be no definition for virtue. "But taste has much to do in guiding a people. The Zelanians have a taste for knowledge, but they have other tastes. The Christian Outeroos are thirsty, and the Zelanians are Outeroos. Strange, but in a single year there were over 7,000 of these noble Zelanians arrested for their earnest efforts to satisfy this peculiar infatuation. This seems incredible, for while there are several persons in Zelania who are never known to be thirsty, there are about 7,000,000 gallons of beer used annually in filling the 'alimentary canal' of the Zelanians. Just why, with so goodly a supply, with so short a distance, both in time and space, between drinks, this peculiar sensation should turn the heads of men, is not very clear. "Many very well-meaning people believe there would be less 'arrests' for these peculiar freaks should the distance between drinks be extended, but others, having considerable interest in the matter, hold that most of these confused persons are 'taken in' during their long search for somebody to do the 'shouting.' "However," Oseba said, "there is a pleasing side, for while 51 per cent. of the population over fifteen years of age were born in Zelania, this portion is said to have furnished but 17 per cent. of the Court's takings for this confusing recreation. "For other crimes, the 51 per cent. of native-born furnish but 28 per cent. of the law breakers. "It may be, my children, that the 49 per cent. of the foreign born, who are said to furnish the other per cent. of the 'takings,' are only celebrating their arrival in so glorious a country--a country in which a day's earnings, it is said, will pay for many beers. At any rate, the native-born Zelanian seems the better man, for he either 'calls' less frequently or 'carries his load' better than the 'new chum.'" But all are thirsty, Mr. Oseba, and the "practice at the bar," if not profitable, is exhilarating. They think they want a drink. When it's wet they want a drink. When it's dry they want a drink. When it's warm, and when it's cold; When they're young and when they're old-- They think, and when they think, They want a drink. When they're sick, and when they're well, Bound for heaven or for ----, Then they think--they want a drink. But do they think when e'er they drink? Or does the drink confuse the think? "But the fact," said Mr. Oseba, "that in one year there were twelve homicides is most surprising to the inquiring stranger. Surely no man well 'quartered' in Zelania should care to be killed, and the reckless head that would plan, or the ruthless hand that would execute a design to close a life in Zelania, should in some manner be restrained from so fell a purpose. Deducting the homicides of foreign birth, however, it leaves for the Zelanians the cleanest record in the 'Christian' world--as one would expect. "The Zelanians, my children, are usually glad they are alive, and, too, they are usually willing to allow others to remain and enjoy the entertainment." INTELLECTUAL GYMNASTICS. The notes relating to Zelanian art and literature were very full, and they were complimentary. 'Tis said that art develops only with age, and that while the aspect of Nature may appeal to the poetic or artistic imagination, art arises from dominant ideas, from deeply-seated sentiments, and as in new, active, progressive, and commercial countries the dominant ideas do not lend themselves to reverie, and could not be feelingly expressed on canvas, art in Zelania must be "imported" for a season. But literature has come, and literature is civilisation. The notes continue:-- "Literature, or, to broaden the theme and say the taste for knowledge and for general reading in Zelania, deserves many compliments. While there is not, as yet, a literature bearing a distinctive stamp of Zelanian genius, many volumes with real merit, both in prose and verse, have been written, and the topics show a versatile taste, knowledge, and imagination. "While from the very nature of things Zelania must be a land of romance, poesy, and song, of the stage, of the race, and the hall, yet from the sturdiness of the stock there must first come a sufficiency of works of a graver character as the present exuberance of society tones down toward restful meditation. To-day Zelania is 'waltzing,' to-morrow she will walk, and next week she will think. "Zelania has many well-managed libraries, and, considering the population, the Zelanians buy, pay for, and read, more books than any other people on earth. The kind of books? Well, just the kind that any student would expect--trash, the most of it, as trashy trash is the taste of the times, everywhere. [Illustration: _Silica Terraces, Orakei Korako, between Rotorua and Taupo._] "But it shows the desire for reading, and, as these children grow older, a more sober class of books will find its way from the shelves to the desk of the reader. Even now in Zelania the taste for blood and thunder literature is waning, while gay and chaste humour, with glimpses of the philosophy of life, is in growing favor. The heart of a nation may be seen through its laws, but the heart, and the soul, and the laws are the product of national literature. Literature is civilisation. "The Zelanians are a new community--the people have but recently come together--society is in a 'stew,' as the members have but little mutual 'acquaintance,' and as the new environment, the air, and the aspect of Nature suggest hilarity, all the sermonising in the world would not convert this Zelanian 'holiday' into a prayer-meeting. In the Zelanian character there appears the sparkling diamond, and in the Zelanian fibre there are also the oak and the steel that will tell in the morrows. "As an evidence of the mental appetite, or the reading habit, the 800,000 Zelanians have and support 200 newspapers, several of which rank with the great journals of the globe, and the average tone of no press in the world is higher than that of Zelania. "True to the racial defects," Oseba said, "the Zelanians, like the Australians and the Americans, are not linguists. These wonderful people seem neither desirous nor capable of speaking 'strange tongues.' With brief experience, I thought this unfortunate, but I gradually changed my mind, for not only is the world coming to the use of the English speech,[C] but as 'silence is golden,' and it is manifestly easier to keep quiet in one than in several languages, this weakness has a virtuous side. "I have often noticed while abroad how prone are the masters of many tongues, when striving to keep silent in one, to break out in some less euphoneous speech, and thus give themselves away, or at least arouse a contagious smile of good-natured disapproval. "But mental gymnastics in Zelania have produced a high order of visible results. "Though the country is very new in all phases of modern being, political, social, judicial, educational and religious, it possesses a wonderfully symmetrical form. For its present splendid condition the country is indebted to the efforts of men who were themselves the products of hard but happy and interesting colonial life. "New and distant as this country is, narrow as has been the political, industrial and social horizon, by the vigor of inherited pluck and the resistless persuasiveness of the romantic environment, in physical courage, in moral stamina and in intellectual force, Zelania's leading men will compare well with those trained in the great world's historic centres. "The present Premier, who has guided the ship of State during more than ten years of its most wonderful progress, graduated in the rugged school of industrial activity, and, casting off the implements of custom and delusion, he not only made Zelania a more conspicuously red patch on the world's map, but himself became a recognised force in the Councils of Empire. "But with others than her progressive statesmen, Zelania is rich in sturdy manhood and ability--grey matter. Her schools and colleges rank well with the educational institutions of older and richer countries; her instructors are profoundly learned; her judiciary, with its present head, would adorn the bench of the Motherland itself; and her professionals in law and medicine, if cast in a body in any other country, would not lower the average. "Of course, my children, as yet not all the milestones are statues; not all who loaf in the parks are poets, nor are all who stroll in the streets philosophers, but according to the prevailing notion in Zelania, this noble aspiration will soon be realised. "These, my children, though I drank not with the statesmen, I came not before the courts, I 'feed' no solicitor, and my health was perfect during my sojourn in Zelania, were my impressions on these themes." FOR OPINION'S SAKE. "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works." (Usually obeyed.--Ed.) Under this head the notes were full and clear, but as life grows shorter and space less, I will condense greatly. Amoora Oseba informs his audience that the Zelanians have considerable religion--in fact, there seems to be nearly enough to go round, for all save a very few are reported to have it in some of its various forms. "Of the 800,000 people, nearly all," he says, "belong to some religious society, and about all who claim God as a father, seem to think it necessary to regard the church as a mother--so few do business direct. "Of the various creeds, the Church of England claims about 40 per cent. of the whole; the Presbyterian 22; and the Roman Catholic, 14 per cent. There are nearly 1,000 clergymen in Zelania, said to be gentlemen of excellent attainments. "As would be expected from so free and civilised a people, there is among all classes and creeds in Zelania a commendable spirit of common brotherhood and toleration. As a fact, members of the various creeds drink at the same bar and attend the same football match, though, being so reared, they desire to go to heaven by different trains. All seem to strive together for the general good, dividing, by common consent, as to methods for the accomplishment of the one desired aim. The Roman Catholics, however, that their followers may be so instructed that they will be sure to 'select the proper train,' usually provide their own schools, while contributing, through general taxation, to the support of most of the others. Probably in no country so universally religious is there so little creed prejudice or intolerance. "But political and social emancipation everywhere gives a man a conscious dignity and worth that places him in closer harmony with the infinite, and tells for sympathy, love, and charity. The people are religious, but not bigoted. The are religious, but they do not superstitiously cringe, and, as they have been specially guided, they express no disfavor with the methods of the Deity. "As a fact, like all well regulated people, the Zelanians pray, but, instead of prostrating themselves, they stand bravely erect, and, considering themselves the crowning act of the creative power, they congratulate the Almighty on the excellence of His handiwork." Here the poetess Vauline inquired if all the people among the superior Outeroos worshipped the same deity. "Yes, my children," said the sage Oseba, with candor, "on Sundays. On Sundays the Christian Outeroos meet in comfortable places and worship the one true God. On the other days, many people give a lot of attention to another deity. This every-day deity--by persons who praise lavish generosity in other people--is spoken of very slightingly. "This deity is worshipped by many people under many names, but the Americans, among whom it is said--abroad--he hath great influence, spell it this way--$. It may be doubtful, however, if the Americans really care more for the smiles of this deity than others, but they get up earlier. From tradition the Christian Outeroos call him Mammon, and though he is denounced very much by pious lips, he is considerably in evidence in very holy places. "Of course, my children, these observations do not apply to the Zelanians. But the Outeroos are growing wiser, stronger, nobler, and better, and the people are inclining to the notion that he who serves man most, pleases God best." Right, Mr. Oseba! The world grows better, and more truly religious as it grows wiser. When our skies are filled with demons-- In famine or in feast-- We cower before the lightning, And we kneel before the priest; When we grovel in the caverns, The laying on of hands, Our service and our substance, Our faith and fear, commands. But we peer into the heavens-- Recking not the frown nor rod-- Till we gain a glimpse of Euclid, Then we're face to face with God. _SCENE VIII.--Act V._ "WORTHY OF HIS HIRE." And it was decreed that the lives of those who wrought should be spared. As Leo Bergin, before he retired, himself took a deep interest in all industrial affairs, he reported Oseba in profusive detail as the labor situation of Zelania was discussed. There had been an intermission and lunch, and the audience, feeling refreshed, showed deep interest in a problem, the solution of which had taxed the best energies of the ablest statesmen in many countries for many generations. As a text for his pleasing sermon, Oseba said:-- "To you, my children, to the Shadowas of Cavitorus, it will seem strange, but among the Christian Outeroos there is industrial confusion about everywhere, with little prospect of early harmony--for Zelania alone is a land without strikes, without class hatred, and, of those having parliaments, without a labor party in the legislature." I conclude from the notes:-- Zelania was settled by an excellent class of people, and though too much of the better lands, as before remarked, were at first allowed to fall into few hands, influenced by the isolation and distance from the scenes that created the old precedent, by the novelty of the environment, from the necessities of discovering new expedients to satisfy the new demands or conditions, and from the quickening influence of new competition in a new, free, and exhilarating climate, there was a rush of brains to the head in Zelania, and a new shuffle of the cards was called. Where none were rich, and all had to hustle, the "grafter" was respected. A community of interests arose, and he who wrote and he who wrought marched shoulder to shoulder, choosing from among themselves the instruments or servants through which the public conscience should find expression in law. In questions of colonial policy, none invoked the "shades of honored sires," none appealed to the "experience of the ages," none asked or cared what Britain or America was doing, but "how can we construct the most comfortable edifice from the material at hand?" was the problem they sought to solve. If all those who have prayed, struggled, fought, and died for liberty, from Otanes, the Persian, down to the swarthy sons of Cuba or the Philippines, could behold this scene, they might well say--not in the words of Mr. Oseba--"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation." In Zelania there were no class contests. There was no social revolution in the story, but the people "rose to the occasion," they looked around inquiringly, yielded to the logic of the situation, and--were. [Illustration: _Boiling Fountains, Lake Rotomahana._] Here the people saw clearly the fundamental theory, or basic essentials of production. Here they saw Nature's treasure-house filled with tempting rewards, and they soon realised that toil was the open sesame to which Nature responded promptly, and with a lavish hand. They saw that "labor and land," after a long divorce, must re-wed--for the children's sake--and that "wealth," instead of being a partial god that sprang from magic caves to aid the cunning in squeezing humanity, was really but the savings or net products of "yesterday's" toil, and capital but that part of wealth devoted to improving the implements with which toil may more easily coin more wealth from the stores of material, offered by Nature free to her inquiring children. Who "corners" the raw material, insults dame Nature, and assassinates liberty. There being some considerable unanimity of feeling on these questions in Zelania, it was deemed wise to arrange some equitable rules for the working of the various factors, cogs, wheels and pulleys of this complex machine. Of course, a few persons who felt strongly that they were entitled to complimentary passes to all the public entertainments objected; but these gentlemen were asked to stand by and "hold the 'phone" while the inquiry was being made. Mr. Oseba said: "So near is the Government of Zelania to the doors of the people that the laws are really but the recorded conclusions of the community." The people had learned--I conclude from the notes--that in all countries and in all ages, a monopolisation of the land with legal privileges had resulted in insolent class distinctions, poverty, misery, and oppression, and they proposed to take up a collection, and erect a new lighting-plant. For-- Not for booty came the Briton, but for a home; And he built a State, from foundation to dome. In honor of his sire he "grew." To the "old chimes" He listened, but he hewed and carved, to fit the "times." As oracles, he inquired of "Justice." "Glory" To him was naught, "but works," said he, "live in story." Mr. Oseba reminded his audience of the rules regulating land tenure and "settlement," which held in view the broadening of the base of the social pyramid, and he said the labor laws were but extending the same principles to other members of the productive or industrial machines. "The labor laws of Zelania," says he, "are unique; but they are only 'unique' in ignoring the 'experience of darker ages,' in their purpose to equitably distribute the burdens and profits of industry, and in the desire of the framers to secure permanent industrial peace and intelligent social co-operation. "The labor laws of Zelania may be said to be but rules provided for the better understanding between, and the better security of the employer and employee, as joint promoters of industrial enterprise, and nowhere is the holder of wealth given an undue advantage over the creator of wealth. "The labor legislation of Zelania comprises about thirty-five distinct Acts, and in tone they are usually almost more advisory than mandatory. There are no general laws regulating the hours of labor, or providing a minimum wage, but in the interest of open-handed justice, certain courts may exercise considerable power when called upon to settle questions of this character.[D] The labor legislation began in Zelania as early as 1865, in 'The Master and Apprentice Act,' and has at least kept pace with the rational demands of the community ever since. "The labor laws of Zelania, like her industries, have grown gradually with the country's requirements, as suggested by the industrial unfoldment of the country. As it is an industrial and commercial community, the laws are designed to cover every phase of business activity, to be specific in their directions, simple in their application, and speedy and inexpensive in their execution." Uttering a truth, but possibly misquoting, Mr. Oseba remarked:-- "As a despairing statesman once said, 'Rome realises no danger, nay, she heeds no warning, until the enemy is thundering at her gates, when she must act without deliberation,' so, in like manner, the industrial Acts of other countries are usually formulated and passed to meet pressing emergencies, while the sagacity of Zelania prepares, not for emergencies, but that emergencies may not arise. "While labor is the chief factor in the production of all wealth, from a time to which the 'memory' of man runneth not to the contrary, the select few, who cunningly possessed themselves of the wealth, have treated with scant courtesy those who created it. "In Zelania, this 'time-honored custom' has been changed, for it has been ordained that he who coins his sweat into the things that administer to human wants, shall not be forgotten by those who coin their cunning into magnets for drawing the price of those things to their commodious pockets. "In Zelania, my children, people who toil, who build houses, make corkscrews, and grow asparagus, are regarded as considerably human, even outside of Sunday-school and prayer meeting. "Here the power of one to toil and to produce is considered his capital. His family, in whom the community has an interest, is to be considered and supported from this source, and, if in the employ of another, such a person meets with--or is overtaken by--an accident--his capital impaired--he must be 'compensated.'[E] This, for a time, seemed a hardship on employers--all changes being hardships--but experience has proven otherwise, for the practice not only produced a nobler 'fellow-feeling,' but mutual interest between the employer and the employed. "Every change necessitates other changes, and every new light exposes some defects that call for improvement. "In this measure there was a glimpse of justice, but to obviate apparent hardships, the State undertook to insure the laborer, and then it was seen that private companies could find a lot of--financially--healthy exercise in the same line, and thus the industrial machine became more symmetrical.[F] "To the casual observer, or to him who regards the torch-bearer as an innovator luring away his fetish, and to the wise-looking owl that sits on the cemetery gate hooting at the passing train of progress, these novel experiments seem mischievous and revolutionary; but in the early future, the long-eared politicians of many lands will have to face the inquiry, 'What has made Zelania the industrial paradise of the world? Give us a smile from her canteen.' "She is changing the ideal, she is blessing the brick and the mortar of which the Temple of State is built. "If the State is made for woman and for man, You should make the man and woman--best you can. "The fact that for a dozen years, the industrial machine of Zelania has worked smoothly, and that, while in other lands there has been much confusion, she has enjoyed an era of unparalleled progress and prosperity, should be some answer to the fears of those who, because 'of old' they made much gains in furnishing Diana with her stage outfit, are now feeling weary. "However, should these laws fail to satisfy the aspirations of an educated people," Mr. Oseba argued, "the agents of the ultimate authority would be instructed to adjust them to the popular needs of society, and the new patents would be issued. "As a fact, of all people the Zelanians alone receive as much from, as they contribute to, their Government. "I am not sure my children, not very sure, that in all cases these liberal laws have quickened the employee's stroke. I am not sure that all employees are endowed with sufficient grey matter to appreciate the fact that every security or privilege conferred by law imposes reciprocal obligations. To emancipate a man, should ennoble him. "A free man should scorn to soil his palm with an unearned penny. The law that raised the eyes of labor did not intend to direct them to the face of the town clock, and the law that forbade an employer demanding twenty shillings worth of work for fourteen shillings in truck goods, never meant that labor should take from its employer a gold sovereign for fourteen shillings' worth of work. "Justice and security should elevate the soul, sharpen the sense of right, awaken the energies and quicken the pace of all who fall under these benign influences. "I am not sure, not very sure, that all the people of Zelania are worthy participators in these noble benefactions; I am only explaining the facts of the situation, the generous sentiment that so largely prevails among the people, and the purposes and intentions of the makers of the law. "Of course Zelanian statesmen may need to remind the people, that increased effort will be demanded for every opportunity given, and that for personal success, energy, self reliance and hustle must be wholly relied upon, or there may be some misunderstanding." Whoever leans heavily upon the Government--not the language of the chaste Oseba--usually gets tired easy, so while it is well to furnish every passenger with a life preserver, the fellow who is too lazy to kick deserves to die at sea, to save funeral expenses. "But, my children," says Mr. Oseba, with rather a human smile, "as it is much less wearisome to put on avoirdupois than to put on grey matter, the social millennium has not yet become firmly seated, even in Zelania." But, Mr. Oseba, they are steaming up and they will get there all the same, for now that the light has been turned on, the audience will encourage the players to grander performances. In all changes in life there are sorrows. We come into, and go out of life with pain. In every advance some are left behind, by every improvement some hand is left idle, until it is trained to a new duty. Every economic advance violates some custom under which hoary wrongs found an honored refuge. But I conclude, from many pages, that Zelania's labor laws are still imperfect, as the leaders themselves recognise, by further improving them. But she is safe in her situation, and these eternal principles of justice are destined to exercise a wide influence throughout the world, for improved light always gives the whole plant a more symmetrical growth. To the undeviating progress of the industrial situation of Zelania, the world is indebted, first, of course, to her unparalleled natural conditions, second to the intelligence of her people, then to her progressive statesmen, and especially to R. J. Seddon and the able men who have constituted his political family. These, without tradition, history or precedent, have raised the industrial plane of the country to a condition approaching the social ideal--as per mandate. Like Bolivar and Lincoln and many other of humanity's torch bearers, Mr. Seddon, by the force of his own genius, arose from the industrial walks of life. His was not a meteor flight bursting resplendently upon a startled world; but faithfully biding his time, he came prepared, and evidently he came to stay--for the time of his leave-taking has not yet been announced. [Illustration: _Kiwi._] "Mr. Seddon was born a true Briton. He was toughened by colonial experience, his hands were calloused with honest toil, his muscles were hardened with heroic struggles, his intellect was developed by a broad and intelligent observation of interesting events; and he belonged to, arose from, and came forward to serve the people. [Illustration: _Milford Sound._] "He knew but one rank, that of the free citizen; but one guide, the people's voice; but one master, that of duty--as he understood the command. "Well, an upper seat became vacant, and, having a ripe experience in parliamentary affairs, appreciative authority, with inviting tones, remarked, 'Richard, come up higher,' and he joined a strong Cabinet. He did his duty as he felt it, and was a part of Zelania's most progressive laws. He ripened with the ever-changing seasons. "Events hastened; the public appetite was whetted, and said, 'More!' Mr. Ballance, a beloved Premier, foolishly died, a still higher seat was vacant, and again appreciative authority said, 'Richard, come up higher.' He became Premier--the most responsible position in any country ruled under the British parliamentary system--in 1893, and for ten years, with the strength of a Hercules, the courage of an Ajax, and the industry of an Ixion, he has courageously worked in extending, amending, pruning and consolidating the industrial rules of Zelania, until the world that first looked on with amusement, and then with inquiring interest, now beholds with admiration the successful workings of an industrial theory that gives hope to humanity. "He was a product of the times. The opportunities came, and he harmonised the conditions with the interests and the aspirations of his countrymen, and, without the use of an elevator, he has reached the dome of the temple. "The labor laws, like the land laws, are based upon the enlightened selfishness of the people in their organised capacity, the idea being, not that everyone may, but that everyone must, earn his or her own living--must be a producer and not a pauper, a tax-payer and not a vagrant. This is democracy. "The people are not kept, but they are allowed opportunities to keep themselves; they are not aided as a charity, but they are enabled, as a right, to earn and to have, and to contribute to the general well-being of the country. "In Zelania the soil is a basis of wealth; capital and labor are the active factors, and society, for the good of each and all, proposes that these factors shall peacefully pursue the joint enterprise of production, according to the dictates of justice and humanity. "It is selfish, of course. Capital must be secure, and industry must necessarily move her tireless wheels. Then society, as a whole, having an interest in each of its members, and a stake in the proceeds, must be the arbiter in all industrial disputes, and the interested parties, being loyal members of the social compact, must yield obedience to the public will." Well, that is worth embalming! They numbered the people. If high or low, Was not worth asking; enough to know That each had wants; and, that all might live, Those receiving must willingly give. Then strove they in love, and not in hate, To build for aye this matchless State; For they knew that a temple could not endure That enriched the baron, and crushed the poor. "Society," continued the sage, "made up of the industrial cells, requires the security of every shilling, the service of every member, and the peaceful co-operation of all the factors in every industrial enterprise, and as it has not yet been determined how much of our imagined 'natural rights' we may be called upon to yield for the general good, the passionless decision of the public will, for the time being at least, must be the only guide. "Under the benign _ægis_ of a rule, bearing the lengthened legend, 'The Industrial Conciliation and Arbitration Act,' there serenely reposes the most perfect industrial security known in this discontented world. The Labour Laws of Zelania may be 'experimental,' but they sprang from the soul of the public conscience, they were moulded by a desire to secure impartial justice, and for many years they have given a degree of industrial peace, stability, and prosperity, that has won the favour of the general citizenship, and is now exciting the surprise and winning the admiration of the world. "Then, to cap the climax, my children," said Mr. Oseba, "of all the measures ever calculated to confirm the claims of the Master as to the 'brotherhood' of man, it has been ordained in Zelania that, under liberal provisions, all persons above the full age of sixty-five years, shall be entitled to a life pension." In harmony with other liberal legislation, support for these measures was asked, Oseba informs his people, not as a matter of charity, but of justice, for it seems to have been held that as members of an industrial community, all worthy persons were supposed to have entitled themselves to a living, and that those who found themselves indigent at that age, had either met with misfortune, or had failed to receive a just equivalent for his or her contribution to the public wealth. There, it seems to be recognised that the world owes, to all men, a living, and that these pensions are advances made to those who have failed to "collect" what was properly due to them. Rather new.[G] A public sentiment that, above the taint of charity, coins its "respect for worthy old age" into sovereigns, that may be "demanded as a right," by the deserving, stands as far above the pious cant of other countries--as philosophy stands above superstition. Indolence, poverty, sorrow and want are common to human society, and benevolence and charity have been lauded as saving virtues for many ages; but here, where new ideas seem to generate spontaneously, there has arisen a novel notion--that so closely is the world akin, that the very fact of a person having taken the pains to be born, to behave pretty well, to float to Zelania at the proper time and to exist for sixty-five years, justly entitles him or her to £18 worth of annual "respect." "This is novel indeed," says Mr. Oseba, "and this notion, in its conceptions of human relationship, social duty and moral responsibility, is nobler than all the sermons--save one--ever preached on this little globe. "R. J. Seddon is no saint; I am told, my children, he gets angry, he storms, and he may use cuss words, but no poet, priest or philanthropist ever uttered nobler thoughts than he, in his championship of this progressive measure. Only the dreamer can realise the far-reaching moral grandeur, not of the measure itself, but of the lofty sentiment upon which it is based--and the Premier claimed to speak 'for the people.' "Considering the general backwardness of the Outeroos in breaking old traditions and especially in the direction of a greater recognition of human brotherhood, or the rights of the individual as a unit of society, the Zelanians have another rule, even more surprising, as you will see, for it is not only the offspring of a sentiment or idea, as novel in its nobility of conception as that upon which grew the old age pension, but it is so radical a departure from old British customs, as to startle a student with its audacious demands. "In the older lands the desire, as well as the custom, is to erect commanding fortunes and to perpetuate wealthy and powerful families--though many of the kindred struggle through miserable lives in poverty; but in Zelania, should a person who contemplates permanent 'retirement,' endeavor by will or 'last testament,' to leave all his belongings to the 'white headed boy,' or otherwise fail to provide, according to his means, for the 'proper maintenance and support' of any of his dependents, the Courts 'may go back of the returns,' inquire into the matter, practically annul 'said will,' and make such provisions as 'shall seem fit,' according to the demands of open-handed justice. "Zelania recognises every person as an integral part of the social group, with reciprocal rights and duties. An individual may pray with and prey upon the community and acquire 'much riches,' and, as the legal custodian of this 'lucre,' he has considerable latitude; but, as a fact, he is only a trustee, and when he leaves his money in this world--lest it should melt--he is not allowed to deprive any of his dependents who may remain for a time as members of the community, of all 'consolation' for his departure.[H] "Contrary to the general notions of outside barbarians, the advanced legislation in Zelania is not the result of an erratic temperament, but of advanced thought, of a nobler conception of human duty, and a higher ideal of social progress. "Zelania as a social entity is not a commanding empire. She points to no glorious traditions, to no rivers of blood, to no ancient splendors with ruined aqueducts, fallen columns or ivy-grown temples; no chained captives and moss-grown universities, where hoots the hooded owl; but representing a new phase of intellectual aspiration, her sturdy statesmen have planted the banner of social progress beyond the dreams of other lands, and they have made her the most interesting, the most hopeful, and, socially, the most conspicuous spot on the broad surface of Oliffa." Eloquent in his recital, Mr. Oseba closed this topic:-- "The time is hurriedly coming, my children, when the statues of Zelanian statesmen who have pushed to their full realisation the noble principles, towards which humanity has been vainly struggling for countless ages, will adorn the most popular niches, galleries, and squares of the world's most civilised centres." SOME PLEASANT OUTINGS. Here Mr. Oseba runs off on a pleasing tangent, and he leads us to the conclusion that a tour of Zelania is a jaunt of unrivalled pleasure; so full of change, of variety and surprising incidents, that curiosity lashes one forward, and physical vigor so rapidly improves as to banish all thought of weariness. On these tours good health is actually "catching," and the appetite always arrives before meal time. He describes in interesting detail the ease, safety and comfort, as well as the jocund hilarity, of these kaleidoscopic gyrations, and how easily, with a word and a wire from Mr. T. E. Donne, the candid and competent tourist manager, one may find the path to the noblest scenes. "That time may not hang heavily on the spring bathers, millions of fish--better than Peter ever hauled from the Sea of Galilee--are waiting in many lakes for the tempting fly, and if one tires of glacier climbing in the South, the woods are full of red deer, and other nimble game, waiting to give him a wilder sport. "As for climate, I conclude that one may choose that as he chooses his drinks, for he may have sunshine or shower, chilling glacier or burning valley, frozen or boiling lakes, simply by switching on or off a new path. The weather is 'almost always' good, and as one may dodge a storm by going fishing, instead of going mountain climbing, or a hot wave by stalking deer instead of hunting geysers or Maori maidens, bad weather is not worth talking about." Then he turns the globe and shows that Zelania is in the Southern Hemisphere, and he expects that as soon as his discoveries are made known, many thousands of people--to avoid the severe cold winters of Europe and America--will spend a season of eternal spring among those romantic scenes. Here Mr. Oseba grows eloquent. I quote:-- "As bare-handed Nature, by her almost infinite allurements, spanked the rude savage of Zelania into an eloquent politician, so she improves upon every animal turned loose upon her palpitating bosom. Bring a little starved rabbit to Zelania--well, it does not become a tiger the same afternoon, but it soon begins business, and in a brief period it has the 'lord of creation' on the defensive--for it is eating him out. [Illustration: _A Stag's Head_] "The offspring of every animal, every bird, every lake, brook or river fish, brought to Zelania, in a very short time greatly improves in size and beauty. Well, so it is with people." ENCORE ZELANIA. Again thy face, Sapho, though thou hast won the crown, The moon hangs high, return, let's laugh till she goes down. The notes of Leo Bergin record no sign of weariness, either on the part of the audience or the orator. The sittings had been prolonged, but a cheerful and most intelligent interest seemed to have been preserved throughout, and the closing scenes in the review of Zelania had almost aroused enthusiasm. The curtain had been rolled down for a brief intermission, and as it was known that the last act was now to be staged, all the anxiety and freshness of a new sitting were manifest in the audience. The lantern appliances had been removed, and it was evident that the conclusions of these unique proceedings were very near. The notes say:-- "Oseba arose, and when he stepped to the footlights, and indicated his readiness to proceed, he was greeted with an applause well becoming a Boston audience on the appearance of a Webster." Here the poetess Vauline, apologising for the interruption at so late a stage in the proceedings, ventured to inquire by what course of reasoning the sage Oseba had reached his conclusions that the Anglo-Saxon was destined to a universal supremacy, and why the Zelanians should now be regarded as the torch-bearers of the future ages? With a smile of approval Mr. Oseba answered:-- "The question is timely and important. Following the laws of natural progress up to a certain point, survival depends largely on the thickness of the skin and the length of the claws, but, above that point, it is a question of grey matter, and the Anglo-Saxon has brains in his head. Well, the Zelanians are a picked squad on the skirmish line of the Anglo-Saxon legions." Here again I "boil down," and note my own conclusions from Mr. Oseba's argument:-- The Anglo-Saxon intellect is the product of more than 1,400 years of unparalleled vicissitudes, and by its inherent virtue it has resistless force. Progress is a question of intellectual development, of susceptibility, adaptability, and adjustability of a people, and in the constitution of this racial brain are found all these traits in full measure. Besides, in the Anglo-Saxon character there are found a solid sincerity and love of justice, that inspire a respect and confidence that are irresistible. It is a matter of brain--of ideal. The ideals of Assyria, Persia, and Babylonia were Empire--military conquest, and we see passing over the stage but kingly splendor, and, as a background, the gods that lashed the people--if there were any--into loyal obedience. The ideal of Egypt was durability--to eternise the works of kings--based upon a religious idea, and she erected the Pyramids, still the wonder of the world's wonders. The ideal of Phoenicia was commerce, and the ship was the type of her realised dream. Here the city was greater than the empire, and the merchant was greater than the king. The ideal of Greece was beauty--then personal beauty--in form and character. Under the reign of this ideal came her noblest achievements. But the Greek brain was erratic; the Greek heroes were soon deified. The artist came, and when the marble statue became the ideal and also the idol, the Greek philosopher became a sophist, and Greece fell a prey to a more practical race. The ideal of Rome was power, force and the glamour of Patrician splendor. That the lower orders might fight more bravely for the further aggrandisement of the holy city, they were fed on barley buns and flattered with an imaginary freedom, but the ideal of Rome was force. The ideals of Venice and Genoa were wealth, luxury and art, and their palaces and cathedrals--still the wonder and admiration of the world--became their realised dreams; but only these, and the folly of the Doge, remain to us. The ideal of Spain--in her greatness--was royal splendor, propped by the spiritual authority, with subject colonies to furnish places for favorites and revenues for the State. The ideals of Britain were trade, the factory, the shop, the ship, and the "old family"--to occupy the easy seats. But these British ideals developed individual enterprise, and soon it was discovered that in Britain there were people. Save for a few brief periods in Attica, from the fall of Israel to the rise of Britain the _people_ cut little figure in recorded history. The ideal of America, say up to the passing of Lincoln, was personal liberty, and under this sentiment she produced some of the noblest characters that ever stood erect and wore the image of God. But the gates were turned in, millions came from afar, the earlier sentiments were perverted, great wealth became the master motive, and dollars have become the national ideal. All these countries have succeeded, if Mr. Oseba's arguments are valid, in some measure in developing the "master motive," or in realising the national ideal. "Well, my children," said Oseba, "the force of Zelania as a social leader is also in her ideals, and as the conspicuous happiness and prosperity of a people are the best evidence of a benign rule, the appreciation of her ideals has proved their utilitarian virtues. "Well, by some exploit in mental gymnastics, the Zelanians have chosen the highest possible ideal, Justice--the enthronement of the individual--and with the inherited instincts of the race and a most favorable environment, it was to be expected that, with the ripening of the yearnings of man, humanity should find its highest type in these Romantic Isles. "In closing, allow me briefly to recall to your minds a few of the more important features of my argument on these most interesting themes. "I have reminded you, my children, that liberty never gained a victory in an old, well-established, and wealthy nation. "I have reminded you that with great wealth and population people become conservative, the rulers cling to inherited power, the wealthy fear change, and the mass, by custom becoming loyal, reform is impossible--or at best, progress is slow indeed. "I have reminded you that commerce is the basis of modern civilisation, but that only people inhabiting the water-front have ever become sufficiently commercial to materially influence any considerable portion of mankind; and I have reminded you that it was only through the colonial enterprise of commercial nations that the great progressive movements have been carried on. "Further, I have reminded you that only in the colonies, in new and isolated communities, far removed from central authority, where novel conditions required novel methods, is self-reliance nourished, liberty aroused, and social progress made possible. "And, I have also further reminded you, that of all the tribes, races, or nations that ever loafed about the earth's surface, those of Phoenicia, Greece, and Britain were alone capable of breaking away from inherited customs, and asserting freedom of action, or of so adjusting themselves to the requirements of a new environment as to develop a state of society differing materially from that of the old order of things. "Then, too, I have shown you the social outposts of all the nations, and how improbable it is that they should advance any further by their own inherent force. "I have reminded you also, that the total or aggregate of human rights is the same in all states, regardless of form or population, that, like elbow-room, individual rights decrease as the numbers participating increase, and that of all things a great population is least to be desired, and an over-population the most to be dreaded. "But Zelania occupies a unique position. She has no traditions, she has no overlord, no organised trusts, no vested rights in hoary wrongs; she has no withering precedents, no millionaire monopolies howling for victims, and having room for many millions she may bide her time, and if she cares for more people she may make her own selection. "With her numberless wonders to attract the tourist, her splendid opportunities for profitable industry, and her more wonderful social situation to attract the inquiring thousands from many lands, she will soon become, with sagacious management, the Mecca of the world's leisured wealthy, and from these will come the best of all 'invaders.' "My children, with all these splendid facts, I would not advise the empty-handed to rush to Zelania, hoping to secure an easy livelihood; but no person with an inquiring mind who loves Nature, who feels an interest in the social progress of his race, and who is possessed of moderate means, should allow himself to quit this fair and interesting life, without visiting this most charming of all lands, this paragon of social happiness, this paradise of Oliffa. "Many of you, my children, after having read my report, and having meditated more deeply upon the pleasures and profits of travel and observation, will make this pleasing visit, and should the hospitable people of Zelania meet any quiet, dignified, well-regulated stranger, who says little, but sees and hears everything, who inquires without criticising, admires without flattery, lends freely to all his friends, and pays his own bills, they may 'guess' that he is a 'gentleman' from 'Symmes' Hole.' "Measures, my children, the character of which would shock the tender sensibilities of those who assume to be the saviours of society, have vindicated the wisdom of Zelania's statesmen--by the demonstrated applicability of these measures to the necessities of modern progress. "Of all spots on the surface of Oliffa, this Zelania is most charming, and of all people on the surface of Oliffa, these Zelanians have made the greatest social advance, and occupy the most favored position for future usefulness. "Then, with all these masterful advantages, with an ideal country, capable of supporting many millions of people, she holds--with a small number of the choicest of the race--her own destinies in her own hands. "So, my children, there is hope for the world. Genius has annihilated time and space, commerce has brought humanity so in touch, that the light of inspiration may come from without, and seeing the beacon from afar, the oppressed of many nations will arouse and demand 'a little more light.'" Great idea, Mr. Oseba, worthy of the "Poet's Lore," for though the watchman on the tower may be slow in gaining a glimpse, his keen eye will finally behold its glowing effulgence. With faith he hath struggled for reason and right, Withdrew from the darkness in search of the light; With face to the morning, and gazing afar, O'er Southern horizons he spies a new star, And cries, "Hail, Zelania! though distant thou be, Welcome thy light shining over the sea; Welcome thy flag, to the heavens unfurled, The beacon, the guide, and the hope of the world." "Zelania is like unto another prophet, teaching from the mountain top. The blaze of her divine torch is not of a fitful glare, but the genial rays of its steady glow are so spreading over all the earth, that the people of all lands may soon behold and wonder, and inquire, and then emulate. [Illustration: _Stage Road, Buller Gorge._] "Well, my children, the tales of my strange adventures are well-nigh told. The curtain will soon fall, and while the lessons from these happy sittings will remain with us as but fading memories, the wonders of this enchanting land will thrill and fill the inquiring souls of men for all time--for the day of Zelania is just at the dawn. "Inspired by an inherited instinct, and guided by Anglo-Saxon genius, civilisation has won more victories since the crowning of Victoria than during all the generations from 'Saul of Tarsus' to Paul of Pretoria, and Zelania is away in the vanguard of the great progressive social force that is destined to enlighten the brain and unfetter the limbs of humanity. "It is manifest destiny that Anglo-Saxon aspiration, language, and civilisation should dominate the world. With the realisation of this hope, business interests will prevent war; despotism will be good-naturedly hissed from the stage; Europe will be commercially united; production and exchange will be so adjusted as to employ all willing hands; the arsenals will become factories; the great guns will be stood erect as pillars in historic museums; the muskets will be cast into gas pipes, and swords into sheep-shears, and the gods will look down and smile upon the first generation of truly civilised men! "Then, at the consummation of these noble purposes, when a monument shall have been erected in honor of those who led in the emancipation of humanity, on the highest tablet on the Temple of Eternal Fame, and in letters of imperishable splendor, shall be emblazoned,-- 'ZELANIA.'" FOOTNOTES [A] The Remarkable Mountains, on the easterly side of Lake Wakatipu, S. Island. [B] Lands for Settlement Act. [C] During the 19th century the common use of the English language increased over 500 per cent., as against 150 per cent. for the German, 102 for the Italian, and about 66 for the French and Spanish. It is practically the business, and is rapidly becoming the "polite" language of the "civilised" world. [D] The Industrial Conciliation and Arbitration Act, 1900, with amendments. [E] Employers Liability Act, 1882, practically superseded by The Workers Compensation for Accident, 1900, Act. [F] Government Accident Insurance Act, 1899. [G] Old Age Pension Act, 1898. [H] Testators' Family Maintenance Act. 
34484	----	Waihoura, the Maori Girl, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ WAIHOURA, THE MAORI GIRL, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. THE NEW COLONY. ARRIVAL OF THE FAMILIES OF MR PEMBERTON, FARMER GREENING AND OTHERS, IN NEW ZEALAND.--INSPECT LAND.--ENCAMP NEAR THE PORT TILL THEY CAN SETTLE ON THE LAND THEY HAVE SELECTED. A fine emigrant ship, her voyage happily terminated, had just entered her destined port in the northern island of New Zealand. Her anchor was dropped, the crew were aloft furling sails, and several boats were alongside ready to convey the passengers to the shore. All was bustle and excitement on board, each person anxious to secure his own property,--and people were running backwards and forwards into the cabins, to bring away any minor articles which might have been forgotten. The water was calm and bright, the sky intensely blue. On either hand were bold picturesque headlands running out into the sea, fringed by dark rocks, while beyond the sandy beach, which bordered the bay, on a partially cleared space, were seen numerous cottages, interspersed with tents and huts, many of the latter rudely constructed of boughs. Further off arose forests of tall trees, reaching to the base, and climbing the sides of a range of high mountains, here and there broken by deep ravines, with sparkling streams rushing down them, finding their way into a broad river which flowed into the bay. Beyond the first range appeared others--range beyond range, the summits of several towering to the sky, covered with mantles of snow shining with dazzling whiteness in the bright rays of the sun. In several places the forest gave way to wide open tracts, clothed with fern or tall waving grass. "Here we are safe at last," exclaimed Valentine Pemberton, a young gentleman about eighteen, as he stepped from one of the first boats on to the ledge of rocks which formed the chief landing-place of the settlement. "Father, let me help you," he added, extending his arm towards a middle-aged fine-looking man who followed him. "Now, Lucy, take my hand; the rocks are somewhat slippery. Harry, you can look out for yourself." He addressed his young sister, a fair sweet-looking girl of about fifteen, and his brother, a fine active boy, who sprang on to the rock after him. "Take care of Betsy, though," said Lucy, not forgetful of her faithful maid, whose attachment to her young mistress had induced to leave home for a strange land. "Paul Greening is helping her," answered Harry. Mr Pemberton, with his daughter and two sons, soon made their way to the more even beach, followed by Betsy and Paul Greening. Paul's father, farmer Greening, a sturdy English yeoman, with his wife and two younger sons, James and little Tobias, as the latter was called, though as big as his brothers, were the next to land. "My boys and I will look after your things, Mr Pemberton," shouted the farmer. "Do you go and find lodgings for Miss Lucy and Betsy." "Thank you, my friend," said Mr Pemberton, "but we have made up our mind to rough it, and purpose camping out under tents until we can get a roof of our own over our heads. Before we begin work, however, I wish to return thanks to Him who has guided and protected us during our voyage across the ocean. Will you and your family join us?" "Aye, gladly sir," answered farmer Greening. "We are ready enough to be angry with those who are thankless to us when we have done them a kindness, and I have often thought how ungrateful we are apt to be to Him who gives us everything we enjoy in this life." Mr Pemberton led the way to a sheltered spot, where they were concealed by some high rocks from the busy throng on the beach. He there, with his own children and the farmer's family, knelt down and offered a hearty thanksgiving to the merciful God who had heretofore been their friend and guide, and a fervent prayer for protection from future dangers. Then, with cheerful hearts and strong hands, they returned to the boat, to assist in landing their goods and chattels, while Valentine and Paul went back to the ship to bring off the remainder of the luggage. Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening, meantime, set off to get the surveying officer to point out a plot of ground on which they might encamp, the rest of the party remaining on the beach to look after their property. While they were thus employed, a bustling little man, in a green velveteen shooting coat, approached Lucy, who, with Betsy and Mrs Greening were removing the lighter articles of their baggage. Underneath a broad-brimmed hat, which he wore far back on his bullet-like head, covered with short cropped hair, appeared a pair of round eyes, and a funny turned up nose. "Oh, Miss Pemberton, I am shocked to see you so employed!" he exclaimed. "Let me assist you. My own things will not be brought on shore to-day, I am told, and I have no wish to go on board the ship again to look for them." "Thank you, Mr Nicholas Spears," said Lucy, who had already discovered that the little man was never happy unless attending other people's concerns, to the neglect of his own, and had no wish to encourage him in his bad habit. "My brother Harry and our friends here can do all that is necessary." "Oh, I beg ten thousand pardons, Miss Lucy, but I thought that I could be of use to you. It would be such a pleasure, believe me." Mr Nicholas Spears rolled his round eyes about, and twitched his mouth in such a curious manner when he spoke, that Lucy could scarcely refrain from laughing outright. "If you don't look after your own property, Mr Spears, I don't think anybody else will," observed Mrs Greening. "Just let me advise you to go back in the first boat, and see if any of your goods have been got out of the hold, or they may be sent on shore, and you will not know what have become of them." The little man seemed very unwilling to follow this wise counsel, but hearing his name called by some of the other emigrants, he hurried away to join them, and was seen running up and down the beach, carrying their boxes and parcels. Most of the other passengers had now come on shore, and were busily employed in looking after their property, and conveying it from the beach. Valentine and Paul had just returned with the remainder of their goods, and soon afterwards Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening returned, accompanied by four dark-skinned men, dressed in shirts and trousers, the few tattoo marks on their faces, and the shaggy state of their black hair, showing them to be of the lower order of natives. They brought also a small dray, drawn by bullocks, with which to transport the heavier articles of their luggage. "Wherever you go, Mr Pemberton, with your leave, I and mine will go too," said farmer Greening, as they walked along. "We have been neighbours in the old country, and you have ever been a kind friend to me, and if I can be of any use to you in choosing land, which I ought to know something about, why, you see, sir, it's just what I shall be glad to do." Mr Pemberton knew the value of the farmer's friendship and assistance too well to decline it, and thanked him heartily. He had himself gone through many trials. After enjoying a good fortune derived from West Indian property, and living the life of a country gentleman, he found himself, at the time he was about to send his eldest son to the university, and his second boy into the navy, deprived of nearly the whole of his income. Soon afterwards he lost his wife, a far greater blow to his happiness, and believing that he could best provide for his children by emigrating to one of the colonies, with the small remainder of his fortune, he had embarked with them for New Zealand. A cleared space on some rising ground overlooking the harbour had been selected for encamping. To this the property of the party was soon conveyed. Mr Pemberton had brought with him two tents, the largest of which served as a store-house for his goods, and there was also space in it for beds for himself and his sons, while a much smaller one was appropriated to the use of Lucy and Betsy, which Lucy had invited Mrs Greening to share with them. The farmer and his sons, with the assistance of the Maoris, as the New Zealanders are called, were putting up a hut in which they might find shelter till the land they had purchased had been fixed on. It was composed simply of stakes driven into the ground, interwoven with branches of trees, beams being secured to the top, while other branches were placed on them and thatched with long grass, an operation quickly performed by the Maoris. Before dark it was in a sufficiently forward state to afford shelter to the farmer and his sons,--some heaps of fern, brought in by their active assistants, serving them for beds. While the pakehas, the strangers, as the natives call the English, slept at one end, the four Maoris occupied the other. Before they lay down to rest Mr Pemberton invited them into his tent to join in family worship, a practice he had kept up during the voyage, and hoped in future to maintain under all circumstances. "It's a great blessing and advantage, Miss Lucy, to be associated with a gentleman like the Squire," said Mrs Greening, when they returned to their tent. "My boys especially might be inclined to run wild in this strange country, if they hadn't the good example he sets before them." "We, I am sure, shall be a mutual help to each other, Mrs Greening," answered Lucy. "Your husband's practical experience in farming will greatly assist my father and brothers, and I was truly thankful when I heard that you wished to settle near us." "We know what it is to have bad land, with a high rent to pay," observed Mrs Greening with a sigh, "and I hope, now that we are to have a farm of our own, with a kind soil, we shall get on better than we did in the old country. Few are ready to work harder than my good man and our boys, and I have never been used to be idle since I was big enough to milk a cow." The following day Mr Pemberton and the farmer, accompanied by Valentine and Paul, prepared to set off, with one of the Maoris as a guide, to inspect a block of land lately surveyed, about ten miles from the coast, with a fine stream flowing through it. Before starting they surveyed from the hill the road they were to take. At a short distance appeared the outskirts of the forests, composed of the lofty kauri, or yellow pine, kahikatea, or white pine, the rimu, with its delicate and gently weeping foliage, and several others, interspersed by the shade-loving tree-fern, the most graceful of all forest trees. From the boughs hung parasites and creepers of brilliant hues,--some, like loose ropes from the rigging of a ship, others, in festoons winding from stem to stem, uniting far-off trees with their luxuriant growth. "How shall you be able to pass through that thick forest?" asked Lucy, of her father. "We shall have to make good use of our axes, I suppose," said Valentine. "We shall find but little difficulty," observed Mr Pemberton. "Although the foliage is so dense overhead, there is no jungle or underwood to obstruct our passage, and in this hot weather we shall have the advantage of travelling thoroughly shaded from the rays of the sun. We shall find it far more fatiguing walking over the fern land, which, at a distance, looks so smooth and even." Mr Pemberton took his fowling-piece; but the only weapons carried by the rest of the party were their axes, to mark the trees round the land they hoped to select. They expected not to be absent more than three days. Lucy and Harry accompanied them a short distance. They found, on their return, Mrs Greening busily employed with her sons in arranging the hut,--indeed, the good woman was never idle, and set an example of industry which some of the other settlers would have done wisely to follow. Leaving her boys to go on with the work, she commenced making preparations for dinner. "You must let me act as your cook, Miss Lucy," she said. "You and Betsy will have enough to do, and it's what I am used to." The cooking, however, was of necessity somewhat after the gipsy fashion, a pot being hung from a triangle over a fire on the ground, and when the pot was removed the tea-kettle took its place. They had no difficulty in procuring provisions, as there were several bakers in the village, and the Maoris brought in pigs and wild-fowl, and various roots and vegetables to the market. CHAPTER TWO. WAIHOURA. NATIVES ARRIVE AT MR PEMBERTON'S CAMP.--THEY BRING WITH THEM ON A LITTER A YOUNG GIRL--WAIHOURA APPARENTLY VERY ILL.--A DOCTOR IS SENT FOR, AND A HUT IS BUILT FOR HER ACCOMMODATION. "Oh mother! mother! Miss Lucy! Betsy! do look at the strange savages who are coming this way," exclaimed little Tobias, as he rushed up to the door of the tent the following morning. "I never did see such wild creatures, except once at the fair, and they were white men painted up to make believe they had come from foreign parts. There's no doubt about these, though." Lucy and her companions being thus summoned, hurried from the tent and joined Harry and the two young Greenings, who were standing on the brow of the hill, watching a band of twenty or thirty Maoris, who, emerging from the forest, were coming towards where they stood. At their head stalked a tall savage-looking warrior. His face, as he drew near, was seen to be thickly covered with blue lines, some in spirals, others in circles and curls of various devices. His black hair was gathered in a knot at the top of his head, and secured with a polished bone, while several large rings hung from his ears. Over his shoulders was thrown a large mat cloak, which almost completely enveloped his form. In one hand he carried a musket, more on the present occasion to add to his dignity than for use, as swords were formerly worn by gentlemen in Europe. His companions had their faces tattooed, though in a much less degree than was that of their leader. Some wore merely long kilts round their waists, but many had cloaks of matting. The hair of most of them was cut short, looking like a black mop at the top of their heads. Savages though they looked, they walked with a dignity and freedom that showed they felt their own consequence and independence. They were followed by several women, also clothed in mats, though of a finer texture than those of the men. Their hair hung loosely over their shoulders, and several wore a wreath of flowers or shells, which assisted to keep it off their eyes. Their faces were but slightly tattooed, the chin, and lips only being marked, giving the latter a curious blue look, which Lucy thought detracted much from their otherwise comely appearance. They were walking on either side of a small litter, covered with boughs, and carried by four young men. The party of natives advanced as if about to ascend the hill; but when the chief saw that it was occupied by the tents, he ordered them to halt at its base, and they immediately began to make preparations for encamping, while the young men were sent off towards the woods to collect fuel for the fires and materials for building huts. The litter having been placed on the ground, the women gathered round it, as if much interested in whatever it contained. The chief himself then approached, and the boughs being partially removed, Lucy perceived that its occupant was a young girl. The chief seemed to be speaking to her with tender interest. At length, on seeing Lucy and her companions watching him, he advanced towards them. "Oh! Miss Lucy, let's run away--the savage is coming, and I don't know what he will do," cried Betsy, in great alarm. "I am sure he will not hurt us, from the gentle way he was speaking to the young girl," said Lucy, holding her ground, though she felt a little nervous. "He looks terribly fierce, though," observed Mrs Greening. "But it won't do to run away, as if we were afraid." The chief, whose eye had been fixed on Lucy, now approached her, and pointing to the litter, seemed to invite her to come down and speak to his daughter, for such she felt the girl must be. "Oh miss, don't go," cried Betsy. "You don't know what they will do;" but Lucy, struck by the appearance of the occupant of the litter, was eager to learn more about her, and overcoming any fears she might have felt, at once accompanied the chief. The women made way for her as she got close to the litter. On it reclined, propped up by matting, which served as a pillow, a girl apparently of about her own age. Her complexion was much fairer than that of any of her companions, scarcely darker, indeed, than a Spanish or Italian brunette. No tattoo marks disfigured her lips or chin; her features were regular and well-formed, and her eyes large and clear, though at present their expression betokened that she was suffering pain. She put out her hand towards Lucy, who instinctively gave her her's. "Maori girl ill, berry ill," she said. "Tell pakeha doctor come, or Waihoura die--pakeha doctor make Waihoura well." Although the words may not have been so clearly pronounced as they have been written, Lucy at once understood their meaning. "Oh yes, I will send for a doctor," she answered, hoping that Dr Fraser, the surgeon who came out with them in the ship, would be found on shore. She beckoned to Harry, and told him to run and bring Dr Fraser without delay. The chief comprehended her intentions, and seemed well pleased when Harry and Tobias, who also offered to go, set off towards the village. As no one addressed her, Lucy guessed rightly that the Maori girl was the only person of her party who could speak English, and curious to know how she had learned it, she asked the question. "Waihoura learn speak pakeha tongue of missionary," she answered, "but near forget now," and she put her hand to her brow, as if it ached. "The doctor will come soon, I hope, and give you medicine to make you better," said Lucy, taking the young girl's hand, which felt hot and feverish. Waihoura shook her head, and an expression of pain passed across her countenance. "We will pray to God, then, to make you well," said Lucy. "He can do everything, so be not cast down, but trust Him." The Maori girl fixed her large eyes on her as she was speaking, evidently trying to understand her meaning, though apparently she did not entirely comprehend it. Savage in appearance as were the people who surrounded her, Lucy did not feel afraid of them, while they evidently regarded her with much respect. Betsy having at length gained courage, came down the hill with Mrs Greening. "Poor dear," said the farmer's wife, when she saw the Maori girl. "What she wants is good food, a comfortable bed, and a little careful nursing. If we had our house up, I'll be bound we would bring her round in the course of a few weeks, so that that painted-faced gentleman, her father, would not know her again." "We would make room for her in our tent," said Lucy. "Or, perhaps, her friends would build a hut for her close to it; they probably would soon put one up, and it would be far better for her to remain with us than to return to her home." The chief had been watching them while they were speaking, and seemed to understand that they were discussing some plan for his daughter's benefit. He spoke a few words to her. "What say?" she asked, looking at Lucy, and then pointing to her father. "We wish you to stop here and let us nurse you," said Lucy, trying still further to explain her meaning by signs. The young girl's countenance brightened, showing that she understood what Lucy had said, and wished to accept her offer. Perhaps the remembrance of her stay with the Missionary's family brought some pleasing recollections to her mind. While they were still speaking, a person was seen hurrying along the somewhat dusty road which led from the village, and Lucy soon recognised Mr Nicholas Spears. "Has not he come yet?" he exclaimed, as he drew near. "Dr Fraser, I mean. I met Master Harry, and that big lout Tobias. I beg your pardon, Mrs Greening. I did not see you were there, and so I told them I would find him and send him on; so I did, for I understood from them that a princess, or some great person, wanted his services. If he has not come I must go back and hurry him. Is that the princess? She don't look much like one, however, she may be a princess for all that. Your servant, Miss, and that old gentleman, with the curious marks on his face, is her father, I suppose? Your servant, sir," he added, making the chief a bow with his broad-brimmed hat. The chief bent his head in acknowledgment, and seemed somewhat inclined to rub noses with the little man as a further sign of his good-will; but Mr Spears sprang back in alarm, evidently thinking it safer to keep at a distance from the savage-looking warrior; observing, however, the confidence shown by Lucy and her companions, he walked round them once or twice, gazing at them as if they had been wild beasts at a show. As he passed again near Lucy, she reminded him of his promise to look for Dr Fraser, and much to her satisfaction, off he set at full speed. In a short time the doctor was seen coming along the road, followed by Harry and Tobias. "Oh, Dr Fraser, I am so glad you are come," said Lucy. "Here is a sweet interesting Maori girl, and she is very ill, I fear. Can you do anything for her?" "I am afraid, Miss Lucy, unless she can speak English, or we have an efficient interpreter, there may be some difficulty in ascertaining her disease, but I will do my best." "Oh, she understands a little English," said Lucy, "and seems very intelligent." The doctor approached the litter, and stooping down, remained some time by the girl's side, asking her questions, and endeavouring to comprehend her answers. "Unless I can have her for some time as my patient, I fear, Miss Pemberton, that I cannot do much for her," he said at length. "My lodgings are very small, and I suspect that among the settlers there are none who would be willing to receive her." Lucy then told him of the plan she and Mrs Greening had proposed. "That would certainly afford the best prospect of her recovery," he answered. "If we can explain that to her friends, perhaps they would be willing to allow her to remain." Lucy was very glad to hear this, for she already felt a deep interest in the young Maori girl. "There is her father," said Lucy, pointing to the chief, "perhaps you can make him understand what we propose." "I will try," said Dr Fraser, "but, if not, I must get Mr Clifton, the surveyor, who speaks their language, to explain it to him." The chief, who had been looking on all the time with an expression of anxiety visible on his stern countenance, now drew near, and with the assistance of his daughter, was made to comprehend what their new friends proposed. He stopped some time, apparently considering the matter, and then having consulted with several of his companions, he returned, and taking Lucy's hand, placed it in that of Waihoura, as if confiding her to her care. "But we must make them understand that they must build her a comfortable house," said Lucy. This the doctor managed to do without much difficulty, and leading the chief up the hill, showed the position in which he wished it to be placed. The natives, who appeared to render implicit obedience to their chief, immediately went off to cut timber. The doctor, meantime, marked the dimensions of the building, and showed the height he desired to have it, which was nearly three times that of the ordinary native huts. "We must have a proper door and a couple of windows, too," he remarked. "The poor girl requires fresh air more than anything else, probably she has been shut up in the smoke and heat of a native hut, and unless we have one of a very different character, she will have little chance of recovery." Idle and averse to work, as Lucy heard that the Maoris were, she was pleased to see the rapid way in which they erected the hut. While some dug the holes for the posts, and others cut them down, a third party brought them up the hill. They were evidently surprised at the size of the building, and uttered numerous exclamations of astonishment when the doctor made them understand that it must be in no respect smaller than he proposed. Harry, with James and Tobias, got their spades and levelled the ground for the floor, rendering considerable assistance also in digging the holes. Among the articles Mr Pemberton had brought were several doors and window sashes, intended for his own cottage. Lucy suggested that these should be unpacked, and a door and two windows be used for the hut. "I am sure that my father will not object," she said, "and it will make the house much more comfortable." "I wish that all our countrymen had as much consideration for the natives as you show, Miss Lucy," observed the doctor, "and I feel sure Mr Pemberton will approve of what you propose doing." The door and two windows were accordingly fixed, the Maoris showing themselves very expert carpenters. The doctor having seen that the plan he proposed for the house was likely to be properly carried out, returned to the town to get some medicine, while Mrs Greening arranged a comfortable English bed, in which his patient might be placed. Before nightfall the hut was completely finished. Mrs Greening removed her own bedding to it, that, as she said, she could be at hand to attend to the young native girl; and Dr Fraser having given her some medicine, took his departure, promising to come back, early the next morning. The chief showed by his manner the perfect confidence he placed in his new friends, and leaving his daughter in their charge, he and his companions retired to the foot of the hill, where they spent the night round their camp fire. Lucy sat for some time by the side of Waihoura, who showed no inclination to go to sleep; she evidently was astonished at finding herself in an English bed, and watched over by a fair pakeha girl instead of her own dark-skinned people. She talked on for some time, till at length her words grew more and more indistinct, and closing her eyes, to Lucy's satisfaction, she fell asleep. "Now, do you go back to your tent," said Mrs Greening. "I'll look after the little girl, and if I hear any noise I'll be up in a moment and call you or Betsy; but don't be fancying you will be wanted, the little girl will do well enough, depend on that." Lucy very unwillingly retired to her tent, and was much surprised when she awoke to find that it was already daylight. CHAPTER THREE. IN CAMP. DR FRASER ARRIVES WITH MR MARLOW, A MISSIONARY, WHO RECOGNISES WAIHOURA.--HE PERSUADES HER FATHER TO ALLOW HER TO REMAIN.--RETURN OF MR PEMBERTON, WHO HAS SELECTED HIS LAND, AND BEGINS TO SETTLE ON IT.-- THE FARM DESCRIBED.--HE LEAVES THEM AGAIN FOR IT ACCOMPANIED BY MR SPEARS.--WAIHOURA RECOVERS AND LEARNS ENGLISH, WHILE LUCY LEARNS MAORI.--A VESSEL ARRIVES WITH SHEEP, SOME OF WHICH THE DOCTOR BUYS, AND ARE LOOKED AFTER BY TOBY.--LUCY TRIES TO EXPLAIN THE GOSPEL TO WAIHOURA. "I am not quite happy about her, Miss Lucy," said Mrs Greening, when Lucy, as soon as she was dressed, went into the hut. "If she was an English girl I should know what to do, but these natives have odd ways, which puzzle me." The young Maori girl lay as she had been placed on the bed, with her eyes open, but without moving or speaking. There was a strange wild look in her countenance, so Lucy thought, which perplexed her. "I wish the doctor were here," she said; "if he does not come soon, we will send Harry to look for him." "Little Tobias shall go at once, Miss," answered Mrs Greening. "The run will do him no harm, even if he misses the doctor." Tobias was called, and taking his stick in hand, the young giant set off at a round trot down the hill. Lucy sat watching the sick girl, while Mrs Greening and Betsy made preparations for breakfast. Every now and then she cast an anxious glance through the open doorway, in the hopes of seeing the doctor coming up the hill. "Oh! how sad it would be if she were to die in her present heathen state; when should she recover, she may have an opportunity of learning the blessed truths of the gospel," thought Lucy. "How thankful I should feel could I tell her of the love of Christ, and how He died for her sake, and for that of all who accept the gracious offers of salvation freely made to them. I must try, as soon as possible, to learn her language, to be able to speak to her." Such and similar thoughts occupied Lucy's mind for some time. At length, turning round and looking through the open doorway, she saw several natives coming up the hill. She recognised the first as Waihoura's father. The party approached the hut, and stopped before the entrance. "Dear me, here comes some of those savage-looking natives," exclaimed Mrs Greening. "What shall we say to them? I hope they are not come to take the poor little girl away." "I will try and make them understand that we have sent for the doctor, and that if they wish her to recover, they must let her remain under his charge," said Lucy, rising and going to the door. Though still feeling somewhat nervous in the presence of the Maoris, her anxiety to benefit Waihoura gave her courage, and she endeavoured, by signs, to make the chief understand what she wished. She then led him to the bedside of his daughter, who lay as unconscious as before. He stood for some time gazing down at her, the working of his countenance showing his anxiety. Lucy felt greatly relieved on hearing Toby's voice shouting out, "The doctor's a-coming mother, I ran on before to tell you, and there's a gentleman with him who knows how to talk to the savages." In a short time the doctor arrived, accompanied by an Englishman of middle age, with a remarkably intelligent and benignant expression of countenance. "Mr Marlow kindly agreed to come with me," said Dr Fraser. "He understands the Maori language, and I shall now be able to communicate with my patient, and to explain to her friends what is necessary to be done to afford her a prospect of recovery." "I am afraid she is very ill," said Lucy, as she led the doctor and Mr Marlow into the hut. The latter addressed the young girl in a low gentle voice. At first she paid no attention, but at length her eyes brightened and her lips moved. Mr Marlow continued speaking, a smile lighted up her countenance. She replied, and taking his hand, pressed it to her lips. "I thought so," he said, turning to Lucy, "we are old acquaintances. When still a child, she was for a short time at my missionary school, but her father resisted the truth, and took her away. Through God's providence she may once more have an opportunity of hearing the message of salvation. We must endeavour to persuade Ihaka, her father, to allow her to remain. He loves his daughter, and though unconscious of the value of her soul, for the sake of preserving her life, he may be induced to follow our advice." Dr Fraser, through Mr Marlow, put several questions to Waihoura, and then administered some medicine he had brought, leaving a further portion with Mrs Greening, to be given as he directed. Mr Marlow then addressed Ihaka the chief, who seemed to listen to him with great attention. He told him what the English doctor had said, and urged him, as he loved his daughter, to leave her under his care. Ihaka at first hesitated, unwilling to be separated from his child. Mr Marlow pressed the point with great earnestness, and at length the chief signified his readiness to comply with the doctor's advice. "Tell him if he restores my daughter, I and my people will be friends to him and the pakehas, for his sake, for ever," he said, pointing to Dr Fraser. "The life of your daughter, as well as that of all human beings, is in the hands of the great God who rules this world, and allows not a sparrow to fall to the ground without knowing it," answered Mr Marlow. "The doctor is but His instrument, and can only exert the knowledge which has been given him. To that loving God we will kneel in prayer, and petition that she may be restored to health." Saying this, Mr Marlow summoned the English lads; and Betsy, who had hitherto kept at a distance, and kneeling on the ground, offered up an earnest prayer to God, that if it was in accordance with His will, and for the benefit of the young Maori girl, He would spare her life. All present earnestly repeated the "Amen," with which he concluded his prayer. The savages, during the time, stood round in respectful silence; and, though not understanding the words uttered, were evidently fully aware of the purpose of what had been said. Ihaka once more entering the hut, Waihoura recognised him. Taking her hand, he beckoned Lucy and Mrs Greening to approach, and placed it in theirs, as if confiding her to their charge. "Please, sir," said Mrs Greening to Mr Marlow, "tell the chief we will do the best we can for his little girl. She is a sweet young creature, and I little expected to find such among the savages out here." "They have hearts and souls, my dear lady, as we have, and though their colour is different to ours, God cares for them as He does for us." The chief seemed content, and after again addressing the missionary, he and his people took their departure. "The savages are all going, mother," exclaimed little Tobias some time afterwards, as he came puffing and blowing up the hill. "I could not feel quite comfortable while they were near us, and I am glad that we are rid of them." "We should not judge from outside looks, Tobias," remarked Mrs Greening. "As the good missionary said just now, they have hearts and souls like ours, and I am sure that chief, fierce and savage as he looks, loves his daughter as much as any English father can do." Dr Fraser and Mr Marlow had before this returned to the town, promising to come back in the evening to see how their patient was getting on. The consumption of firewood in the camp was considerable, as Mrs Greening kept up a good fire in the open air for the cooking operations. Harry and Tobias had brought in a supply in the morning, and Harry's hands and clothes gave evidence how hard he had laboured. "We shall want some more wood before morning," observed Mrs Greening, turning to her sons. "I am ready to go again," said Harry, "if James will stay in the camp." "No; Master Harry, its my turn to go if you will stop behind," said James. "If you wish it I'll stay," replied Harry. "One of us ought to remain, or strangers coming up to the camp might be troublesome, and I would not permit that." While James and Tobias set off with axes in their hands, and pieces of rope to bind their faggots, Harry got his gun, and began to march up and down on guard. He evidently considered himself like a sentinel in the presence of an enemy. Now he looked on one side of the hill, now on the other. No person could have entered the camp without receiving his challenge. He had thus been passing up and down for some time, when he caught sight, in the distance, of some persons emerging from the forest. "Here they come," he shouted out, "Papa and Valentine, Mr Greening and Paul, and the two natives who went with them." He was examining them with his spy-glass. "Yes, it's them, and they will soon be here. Pray get supper ready, Mrs Greening; depend upon it they will be very hungry after their long march." Mrs Greening, aided by Betsy, at once got her pots and saucepans on the fire. Harry, though feeling much inclined to run down and meet the party, restrained his eagerness. "A sentry must not quit his post," he said to himself, "though no harm will happen, I'll keep to mine on principle." In a short time Mr Pemberton, with his companions, appeared at the foot of the hill. Lucy ran down to meet them, eager to welcome her father, and to tell him about Waihoura. "I am glad you can be of assistance to the young girl, and it is most desirable that we should be able to show our friendly disposition towards the natives," he observed. "Oh, I do so hope she will recover," said Lucy. "But I am afraid that some time must pass before she is well enough to be moved." "That would decide me in a plan I propose," said Mr Pemberton. "Greening and I have settled our ground, and I hope that we may be put in possession of it in a day or two; we will then leave you here with Harry and Tobias, while we go back and build our houses, and make preparations for your reception." Lucy had expected to set out as soon as the ground was chosen; but as she could not hope that Waihoura would be in a fit state to be moved for some time, she felt that the arrangement now proposed was the best. Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening were highly pleased with the ground they had selected. "We propose to place our houses on the slope of a hill, which rises within a quarter of a mile of the river," he observed. "Greening will take one side and I the other. Our grounds extend from the river to the hill, and a little way beyond it; when the high road is formed, which will, from the nature of the country, pass close to our farm, we shall have both land and water communication. Close also to the foot of the hill, a village probably will be built, so that we shall have the advantage of neighbours. Among other advantages, our land is but slightly timbered, though sufficiently so to afford us an ample supply of wood for building, and as much as we shall require for years to come for fencing and fuel. From the spot I have chosen for our house, we have a view over the country in this direction, so that, with our telescope, we can distinguish the vessels, as they come into the harbour, or pass along the coast." "We shall have plenty of fishing too, Harry," exclaimed Valentine. "And we may, if we go a little distance, fall in with wild boars and plenty of birds, though there are none which we should call game in England." "Oh! how I long to be there, and begin our settlers' life in earnest," said Harry. "I hope the little savage girl will soon get well enough to move." "I wish we could be with you also to help you in the work," said Lucy. "How can you manage to cook without us?" "Valentine and Paul have become excellent cooks, and though we shall miss your society, we shall not starve," observed Mr Pemberton. "Our camp life is a very pleasant one," remarked Valentine. "For my part I shall be rather sorry when it is over, and we have to live inside a house, and go to bed regularly at night." This conversation took place while they were seated at supper on the ground in front of the large tent. It was interrupted by the arrival of Mr Fraser, accompanied by Mr Marlow, to see Waihoura. "She is going on favourably," said the doctor, as he came out; "but she requires great care, and I feel sure that had you not taken charge of her, her life would have been lost. Now, however, I trust that she will recover. Mr Marlow will let her father understand how much he is indebted to you, as it is important that you should secure the friendship a chief of his power and influence." In two days Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening were ready to start for their intended location. Each had purchased a strong horse, and these were harnessed to a light dray, which Mr Pemberton had bought. It was now loaded with all the articles they required, and sufficient provisions and stores to last them till their cottages were put up, and they could return for the rest of the party. By that time it was hoped that the young Maori girl would be in a fit state to be moved. "I will not let her, if I can help it, go back to her own people," said Lucy. "She will become, I am sure, attached to us. I may be of use to her, and she will teach me her language, and it will be interesting to learn from her the habits and customs of the natives." "Yes, indeed, it would be a pity to let the poor little girl turn again into a savage," observed Mr Greening. "I can't fancy that their ways are good ways, or suited to a Christian girl, and that I hope, as Miss Lucy says, she will turn into before long." It had been arranged that Lucy and Betsy should take up their abode in the large tent, in which there was now sufficient room for their accommodation, the small one being packed up for Mr Pemberton's use. The dray being loaded, the farmer went to the horses' heads, and the young men, with the two Maoris, going on either side to keep back the wheels, it slowly descended the hill. "We shall not make a very rapid journey," observed Valentine. "But we shall be content if we come to the end of it in time without a break down." Harry felt very proud at being left in charge of the camp, and Tobias promised that there should be no lack of firewood or water, while he could cut the one, and draw the other from the sparkling stream which ran at the foot of the hill. "We shall do very well, never fear, sir," said Mrs Greening to Mr Pemberton, "and as soon as you and my good man come back, we shall be ready to start." Just as her father had wished Lucy good-bye, Mr Spears, with a pack on his back, and a stout stick in his hand, was observed coming up the hill. "Just in time, neighbour," he exclaimed, as he came up to Mr Pemberton. "I found out, at the surveyor's office, where you had selected your land, and I made up my mind at once to take a piece of ground close to it. As I am all alone, I have only bought a few acres, but that will be enough to build a house on, and to have a garden and paddock. With your leave I'll accompany you. There are several more of our fellow passengers who will select land on the same block when they hear that you and I have settled on it, and we shall soon have, I hope, a pleasant society about us. We shall all be able to help each other; that's the principle I go on." Mr Pemberton told Mr Spears that he was very willing to have him as a companion on the journey, and that he was glad to hear that a settlement was likely soon to be formed near him. He was well aware that the differences of social rank could not be maintained in a new colony, and he had made up his mind to be courteous and kind to all around him, feeling assured that all the respect he could require would thus be paid him by his neighbours. He at once gave a proof of his good intentions. "Your pack is heavy, Mr Spears, and we can easily find room on our waggon for it," he said, and taking off the pack, he secured it to the vehicle which they had just then overtaken. "Thank you, good sir, thank you," answered Mr Spears, as he walked forward, with a jaunty elastic step, highly pleased at being relieved of his somewhat heavy burden. "One good turn deserves another, and I hope that I may have many opportunities of repaying it." Mr Pemberton had promised Lucy to send over, from time to time, to let her know what progress was made, and to obtain intelligence in return from her. Notwithstanding this, she looked forward eagerly to the day when he would come back to take her and the rest of the party to their new abode. Though she did her best to find employment, the time would have hung somewhat heavily on her hands had she not had Waihoura to attend to. The Maori girl, in a short time, so far recovered as to be able to sit up and try to talk. She seemed as anxious to become acquainted with English as Lucy was to learn her language. They both got on very rapidly, for though Waihoura had some difficulty in pronouncing English words, she seldom forgot the name of a thing when she had once learned it. She would ask Lucy to say the word over and over again, then pronouncing it after her. At the end of a week she could speak a good many English sentences. Lucy made almost as rapid progress in Maori, she having the advantage of several books to assist her, and at length the two girls were in a limited degree able to exchange ideas. No one in the camp, however, was idle. Harry, who always kept guard, was busy from morning to night in manufacturing some article which he thought likely to prove useful. Betsy either went with Tobias to cut wood, or bring up water, or assist Mrs Greening, and frequently accompanied her into the town when she went marketing; and sometimes Tobias, when he was not wanted to cut wood, went with his mother. One day he came back with the information that a vessel, which had come to an anchor in the morning, had brought over from Australia several head of cattle, and a large flock of sheep. "I wish father were here, he would be down on the shore, and buying some of them pretty quickly," he exclaimed. "Could we not send to let him know," said Lucy. "Harry, I heard papa say, too, that he wished to purchase a small flock of sheep as soon as he could find any at a moderate price. I should so like to have charge of them. I have always thought the life of a shepherd or shepherdess the most delightful in the world." Harry laughed. "I suspect when it began to rain hard, and your sheep ran away and got lost in the mountains and woods, you would wish yourself sewing quietly by the fireside at home, and your sheep at Jericho," he exclaimed, continuing his laughter. "Still I should be very glad if we could get the sheep, though I am afraid they will all be sold before we can receive papa's answer." While the conversation was going on, Dr Fraser arrived to see Waihoura. Harry told him that he would very much like to send to his father to give notice of the arrival of the sheep. "Would you like to turn shepherd?" asked the doctor. "I should like nothing better, for I could take my books with me, or anything I had to make, and look after the sheep at the same time; it would suit me better than Lucy, who has a fancy to turn shepherdess, and have a crook, and wear a straw hat set on one side of her head, surrounded with a garland, just as we see in pictures." "I suspect Miss Lucy would find home duties more suited to her," said the doctor; "but if you, Harry, will undertake to look after a small flock of sheep, I think I may promise to put one under your charge, and to give you a portion of the increase as payment. I was thinking of buying a hundred sheep, but hesitated from not knowing any one I could trust to to keep them. From what I have seen of you, I am sure you will do your best; and as your father and farmer Greening will probably purchase some more, they will run together till they are sufficiently numerous to form separate flocks. If you will write a letter to your father I will send a messenger off at once," said the doctor. "Indeed, so certain am I that they would wish to purchase some, that I will, when I go back, make an offer for a couple of hundred in addition to mine." The next day the doctor told them that he had purchased the sheep as he had proposed, and he brought a letter from Mr Pemberton thanking him for doing so, and saying that they had made such good progress in their work, that they hoped, in another week, to come back for the rest of the party. "I am rather puzzled to know what to do with the sheep in the meantime," said the doctor. "I cannot entrust them to natives, and there is not a European in the place who has not his own affairs to look after. What do you say, Harry, can you and Tobias take care of them?" "I cannot quit my post," answered Harry, though he was longing to go and see the sheep. "If they were sent up here, I could watch them, but I am afraid they would not remain on the hill while there is better pasture below." "Tobias could take charge of them, sir," said Mrs Greening. "And if we had our old dog `Rough,' I'll warrant not one would go astray." "Rough," who had accompanied farmer Greening all the way from England, had mysteriously disappeared the morning of their arrival; he could not be found before they had quitted the ship, and they had since been unable to discover him. "That is curious," said the doctor; "for this morning, when I bought the sheep, a man offered me a shepherd's dog for sale. I told him that should he not in the meantime have found a purchaser, I would treat with him in the evening after I had seen the dog. Should he prove to be `Rough,' I will not fail to purchase him." Tobias, on hearing this, was very eager to accompany Dr Fraser. "The old dog will know me among a thousand, and the man will have a hard job to hold him in," he observed, grinning from ear to ear. The doctor, after he had seen Waihoura, told Lucy she need have no further anxiety about her friend, who only required good food and care completely to recover. "I must get Mr Marlow to see her father, and persuade him to allow her to remain with you, and he may assure him very truly that she will probably fall ill again if she goes back again to her own people," he said. Tobias accompanied the doctor into the town in the hopes of hearing about his favourite "Rough." He had not been long absent, when back he came with his shaggy friend at his heels. "Here he is mother, here he is Master Harry," he shouted. "I know'd how it would be, the moment he caught sight of me, he almost toppled the man who held him down on his nose, and so he would if the rope hadn't broken, and in another moment he was licking me all over. The doctor gave the man a guinea; but I said it was a shame for him to take it, and so did everybody, for they saw that the dog knew me among twenty or thirty standing round. The man sneaked off, and `Rough' came along with me. Now I must go back and bring the sheep round here to the foot of the hill. There's some ground the surveyor says that we may put them on till we can take them to our own run, but we must give `Rough' his dinner first, for I'll warrant the fellow has not fed him over well." "Rough" wagged his stump of a tail to signify he understood his young master's kind intentions, and Mrs Greening soon got a mess ready, which "Rough" swallowed up in a few moments, and looked up into Toby's face, as much as to say, "what do you want with me next?" "Come along `Rough,' I'll show you," said Toby, as he set off at a round trot down the hill. The party at the camp watched him with no little pleasure, when a short time afterwards, he, with the aid of "Rough," was seen driving a flock of sheep from the town past the hill to a meadow partly enclosed by a stream which made its way into the sea, a short distance off. "Rough" exhibited his wonderful intelligence, as he dashed now on one side, now on the other, keeping the sheep together, and not allowing a single one to stray away. It was a difficult task for Toby and him, for the sheep, long pent up on board ship, made numberless attempts to head off into the interior, where their instinct told them they would find an abundance of pasture. Without the assistance of "Rough," Toby would have found it impossible to guide them into the meadow, and even when there, he and his dog had to exert all their vigilance to keep them together. Harry was sorely tempted to go down to assist. "I must not quit my post though," he said. "As soon as I am relieved, then I'll try if I cannot shepherd as well as Toby. It seems to me that `Rough' does the chief part of the work." The doctor had engaged a couple of natives to assist Toby in looking after the sheep, but he was so afraid of losing any, that he would only come up to the camp for a few minutes at a time to take his meals, and to get "Rough's" food. The Maoris had built him a small hut, where he passed the night, with the flock lying down close to him, kept together by the vigilant dog. The Maoris were, however, very useful in bringing firewood and water to the camp. Waihoura was now well enough to walk about. Lucy had given her one of her own frocks and some other clothes, and she and Betsy took great pains to dress her in a becoming manner, they combed and braided her dark tresses, which they adorned with a few wild flowers that Betsy had picked, and when her costume was complete, Mrs Greening, looking at her with admiration, exclaimed, "Well, I never did think that a little savage girl could turn into a young lady so soon." Waihoura, who had seen herself in a looking-glass, was evidently very well satisfied with her appearance, and clapped her hands with delight, and then ran to Lucy and rubbed her nose against her's, and kissed her, to express her gratitude. "Now that you are like us outside, you must become like us inside," said Lucy, employing a homely way of speaking such as her Maori friend was most likely to understand. "We pray to God, you must learn to pray to Him. We learn about Him in the Book through which He has made Himself known to us as a God of love and mercy, as well as a God of justice, who desires all people to come to Him, and has shown us the only way by which we can come. You understand, all people have disobeyed God, and are rebels, and are treated as such by Him. The evil spirit, Satan, wishes to keep us rebels, and away from God. God in His love desires us to be reconciled to Him; but we all deserve punishment, and He cannot, as a God of justice, let us go unpunished. In His great mercy, however, He permitted another to be punished for us, and He allowed His well-beloved Son Jesus Christ, a part of Himself, to become the person to suffer punishment. Jesus came down on earth to be obedient in all things, because man had been disobedient. He lived a holy pure life, going about doing good, even allowing Himself to be cruelly treated, to be despised and put to shame by the very people among whom He had lived, and to whom He had done so much good. Then, because man justly deserves punishment, He willingly underwent one of the most painful punishments ever thought of, thus suffering instead of man. When nailed to the cross, His side was pierced with a spear, and the blood flowed forth, that the sacrifice might be complete and perfect. Then He rose again, to prove that He was truly God, and that all men will rise from the dead; and He ascended into heaven, there to plead with the Father for all who trust Him, and to claim our freedom from punishment, on the ground that He was punished in our stead." "Jesus sent also, as He had promised, the Holy Spirit to dwell on earth with His people, to be their Comforter, their Guide and Instructor, and to enable them to understand and accept His Father's loving plan of salvation, which He had so fully and completely carried out." "Do you understand my meaning," said Lucy, who felt that she had said more than Waihoura was likely to comprehend. She shook her head. "Lucy not bad woman;" pointing to Mrs Greening, "not bad; Maori girl bad, Maori people very bad," she answered slowly. "God no love Maori people." "But we are all bad when compared to Him--all unfit to go and live in His pure and holy presence," exclaimed Lucy. "And in spite of their wickedness, God loves the Maori people as much as He does us; their souls are of the same value in His sight as ours, and He desires that all should come to Him and be saved." "Why God not take them then, and make them good?" asked Waihoura. "Because He in His wisdom thought fit to create man a free agent, to give him the power of choosing between the good and the evil. Why He allows evil to exist, He has not revealed to us. All we know is that evil does exist, and that Satan is the prince of evil, and tries to spread it everywhere throughout the world. God, if He chose, could overcome evil, but then this world would no longer be a place of trial, as He has thought fit to make it. He has not left man, however, without a means of conquering evil. Jesus Christ came down on earth to present those means to man; they are very simple, and can very easily be made use of; so simple and so easy that man would never have thought of them. Man has nothing to do in order to get rid of his sins, to become pure and holy, and thus fit to live in the presence of a pure and holy God. He has only to put faith in Jesus Christ, who, though free from sin, as I have told you, took our sins upon Himself, and was punished in our stead, while we have only to turn from sin, and to desire not to sin again. We are, however, so prone to sin, that we could not do even this by ourselves; but Christ, knowing our weakness, has, as He promised, when He ascended into heaven, sent His Holy Spirit to be with us to help us to hate sin, and to resist sin." Lucy kept her eyes fixed on her friend to try and ascertain if she now more clearly understood her. Waihoura again shook her head. Lucy felt convinced that her knowledge of English was still too imperfect to enable her to comprehend the subject. "I must try more than ever to learn to speak Maori," she said, "and then perhaps I shall better be able to explain what I mean." "Maori girl want to know much, much, much," answered Waihoura, taking Lucy's hand. "Maori girl soon die perhaps, and then wish to go away where Lucy go." "Ah, yes, it is natural that we should wish to be with those we have loved on earth, but if we understand the surpassing love of Jesus, we should desire far more to go and dwell with Him. Try and remember, Waihoura, that we have a Friend in heaven who loves us more than any earthly friend can do, who knows how weak and foolish and helpless we are, and yet is ever ready to listen to us, and to receive us when we lift up our hearts to Him in prayer." "Maori girl not know how to pray," said Waihoura, sorrowfully. "I cannot teach you," said Lucy, "but if you desire to pray, Jesus can and will send the Holy Spirit I told you of. If you only wish to pray, I believe that you are praying, the mere words you utter are of little consequence, God sees into our hearts, and He knows better than even we ourselves do, whether the spirit of prayer is there." "I am afraid, Miss Lucy, that the little girl can't take in much of the beautiful things you have been saying," observed Mrs Greening, who had all the time been listening attentively. "But I have learned more than I knew before, and I only wish Tobias and the rest of them had been here to listen to you." "I am very sure my father will explain the subject to them more clearly than I can do," said Lucy, modestly. "I have only repeated what he said to me, and what I know to be true, because I have found it all so plainly set forth in God's Word. My father always tells us not to take anything we hear for granted till we find it there, and that it is our duty to search the Scriptures for ourselves. It is because people are often too idle, or too ignorant to do this, that there is so much false doctrine and error among nominal Christians. I hope Mr Marlow will pay us a visit when we are settled in our new home, and bring a Maori Bible with him, and he will be able to explain the truth to Waihoura far better than I can. You will like to learn to read, Waihoura, and we must get some books, and I will try and teach you, and you will teach me your language at the same time." Lucy often spoke on the same subject to her guest; but, as was to be expected, Waihoura very imperfectly understood her. With more experience she would have known that God often thinks fit to try the faith and patience even of the most earnest and zealous Christians who are striving to make known the truth of the gospel to others. The faithful missionary has often toiled on for years among the heathen before he has been allowed to see the fruit of his labours. CHAPTER FOUR. SETTLING DOWN. RETURN OF WAGGON TO THE CAMP FOR LUCY AND THE REST OF THE PARTY, WHO SET OFF FOR THE FARM.--SCENERY ON THE ROAD.--ARRIVAL AT FARM.--MR SPEARS AGAIN.--PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. "Here comes the waggon," shouted Harry, as he stood on the brow of the hill waving his hat. "There's farmer Greening and Val. Papa has sent for us at last." Harry was right, and Val announced that he had come for all the lighter articles, including Lucy and her companions, who were to set out at once with farmer Greening, while he, with a native, remained to take care of the heavier goods. The waggon was soon loaded, leaving places within it for Lucy and Waihoura, Mrs Greening and Betsy insisting on walking. "Now Val, I hand over my command to you, and see that you keep as good a watch as I have done," said Harry, as he shook hands with his brother. "I must go and take charge of the sheep." Valentine smiled at the air of importance Harry had assumed. "There's the right stuff in the little fellow," he said to himself, as he watched him and young Tobias driving the sheep in the direction the waggon had taken. Lucy was delighted with the appearance of the country, as they advanced, though she could not help wishing very frequently that the road had been smoother; indeed, the vehicle bumped and rolled about so much at times that she fully expected a break down. Waihoura, who had never been in a carriage before, naturally supposed that this was the usual way in which such vehicles moved along, and therefore appeared in no degree alarmed. She pointed out to Lucy the names of the different trees they passed, and of the birds which flew by. Lucy was struck with the beauty of the fern trees, their long graceful leaves springing twenty and thirty feet from the ground; some, indeed, in sheltered and damp situations, were twice that height, having the appearance of the palm trees of tropical climates. The most beautiful tree was the rimu, which rose without a branch to sixty or seventy feet, with graceful drooping foliage of a beautiful green, resembling clusters of feathers; then there was the kahikatea, or white pine, resembling the rimu in foliage, but with a light coloured bark. One or two were seen rising ninety feet high without a branch. There were numerous creepers, some bearing very handsome flowers, and various shrubs; one, the karaka, like a large laurel, with golden coloured berries in clusters, which contrasted finely with the glossy greenness of its foliage. Some of the fruits were like large plums, very tempting in appearance; but when Lucy tasted some, which the farmer picked for her, she was much disappointed in their flavour. The best was the poro poro, which had a taste between that of apple peel and a bad strawberry. Birds were flitting about from tree to tree; the most common was the tui, with a glossy black plumage, and two white feathers on the throat like bands, and somewhat larger than an English blackbird, which appeared always in motion, now darting up from some low bush to the topmost bough of a lofty tree, when it began making a number of strange noises, with a wonderful volume of tone. If one tui caught sight of another, they commenced fighting, more in sport, apparently, than in earnest, and ending with a wild shout; they would throw a summer-set or two, and then dart away into the bush to recommence their songs and shouts. There was a fine pigeon, its plumage richly shaded with green purple and gold, called the kukupa. Occasionally they caught sight of a large brown parrot, marked with red, flying about the tops of the tallest trees, and uttering a loud and peculiar cry; this was the kaka. Waihoura pointed out to Lucy another bird of the parrot tribe, of a green plumage, touched with gold about the head, and which she called the kakarica. As the waggon could only proceed at a snail's pace, they had made good but half the distance, when they had to stop for dinner by the side of a bright stream which ran through the forest. The horses, which were tethered, cropped the grass, and Mrs Greening unpacked her cooking utensils. While dinner was getting ready, Waihoura led Lucy along the bank of the stream to show her some more birds. They saw several, among them an elegant little fly-catcher, with a black and white plumage, and a delicate fan-tail, which flew rapidly about picking up sun-flies; this was the tirakana. And there was another pretty bird, the makomako, somewhat like a green linnet. Several were singing together, and their notes reminded Lucy of the soft tinkling of numerous little bells. They had seen nothing of Harry and Tobias with the sheep since starting, and farmer Greening began to regret that he had not sent one of his elder sons to drive them. "Never fear, father," observed Mrs Greening, "our little Tobias has got a head on his shoulders, and so has Master Harry, and with `Rough' to help them, they will get along well enough." Mrs Greening was right, and just as the horses were put too, "Rough's" bark was heard through the woods. In a short time the van of the flock appeared, with a native, who walked first to show the way. Though "Rough" had never been out in the country before, he seemed to understand its character, and the necessity of compelling the sheep to follow the footsteps of the dark-skinned native before them. "It's capital fun," cried Harry, as soon as he saw Lucy. "We have to keep our eyes about us though, when coming through the wood especially, but we have not let a single sheep stray away as yet." "Well, boys, our fire is still burning, and my missus has cooked food enough for you all," said farmer Greening. "So you may just take your dinner, and come on after us as fast as you can." "We will not be long," answered Harry. "Hope, mother, you have left some bones for `Rough' though," said Toby. "He deserves his dinner as much as any of us." "Here's a mess I put by for him to give when we got to the end of our journey," answered Mrs Greening, drawing out a pot which she had stowed away in the waggon. She called to "Rough," who quickly gobbled it up. The waggon then moved on, while Harry and his companions sat round the fire to discuss their dinner. "Rough," in the meantime, vigilantly keeping the sheep together. The remainder of the journey was found more difficult than the first part had been. Sometimes they had to climb over steep ranges, when the natives assisted at the wheels, while Mrs Greening and Betsy pushed behind; then they had to descend on the other side, when a drag was put on, and the wheels held back. Several wide circuits had to be made to avoid hills on their way, and even when over level ground, the fern in many places was so very thick that it was rather hard work for the horses to drag the waggon through it. "This is a rough country," observed Mrs Greening, as she trudged on by her husband's side. "I didn't expect to see the like of it." "Never fear, dame," answered the farmer. "In a year or two we shall have a good road between this and the port, and a coach-and-four may be running on it." At length the last range was passed, and they reached a broad open valley, with a fine extent of level ground. In the distance rose a hill, with a sparkling river flowing near it, and thickly wooded heights. Further on beyond, it appeared a bold range of mountains, their highest peaks capped with snow. "This is, indeed, a beautiful scene," exclaimed Lucy. "That's our home, Miss," said the farmer, pointing to the hill. "If your eyes could reach as far, you would just see the roof of your new house among the trees. We shall come well in sight of it before long." The waggon now moved on faster, as the fern had been cut away or trampled down, and the horses seemed to know that they were getting near home. Mr Pemberton and the farmer's sons came down to welcome them, and to conduct them up to the house. Lucy was surprised to find what progress had already been made. The whole of it was roofed over, and the room she was to occupy was completely finished. The building was not very large. It consisted of a central hall, with two bed-rooms on either side, and a broad verandah running entirely round it; behind it were some smaller detached buildings for the kitchen and out-houses. In front and on one side a space was marked off for a flower garden, beyond which, extending down the side of the hill to the level ground, was a large space which Mr Pemberton said he intended for the orchard and kitchen garden. On that side of the house were sheds for the waggons and horses, though now occupied by the native labourers. "They consider themselves magnificently lodged," said Mr Pemberton. "And they deserve it, for they worked most industriously, and enabled me to put up the house far more rapidly than I had expected. I believe, however, that they would have preferred the native wahre, with the heat and smoke they delight in, to the larger hut I have provided for them, and I have been sometimes afraid they would burn it down with the huge fire they made within." Farmer Greening's cottage, which was a little way round on the other side of the hill, was built on a similar plan to Mr Pemberton, but it was not so far advanced. "You must blame me, Mrs Greening, for this," said Mr Pemberton. "Your husband insisted on helping me with my house before he would begin yours, declaring that he should have the advantage of having mine as a model. I hope, therefore, that you will take up your abode with us till yours is finished, as Harry and I can occupy the tent in the meantime." Mrs Greening gladly accepted the invitation; she thought, indeed, that she should be of use to Lucy in getting the house in order. The sitting-room was not yet boarded, but a rough table had been put in it, and round this the party were soon seated at tea. "Beg pardon, I hope I don't intrude, just looked in to welcome you and my good friend Mrs Greening to `Riverside.' Glad to find that you have arrived safe. Well, to be sure, the place is making wonderful progress, we have three families already arrived in the village, and two more expected tomorrow, and I don't know how many will follow. I have been helping my new friends to put up their houses, and have been obliged to content myself with a shake-down of fern in the corner of a shed; but we settlers must make up our minds to rough it, Mr Pemberton, and I hope to get my own house up in the course of a week or two." These words were uttered by Mr Nicholas Spears, who stood poking his head into the room at the doorway, as if doubtful whether he might venture to enter. "I thank you for your kind inquiries, Mr Spears," said Mr Pemberton, who, though he could not feel much respect for the little man, treated him, as he did everybody else, with courtesy. "If you have not had your tea come in and take a seat at our board. We have but a three-legged stool to offer you." This was just what Mr Spears wished; and sitting down he began forthwith to give the party all the news of the settlement. From his account Lucy was glad to find that two families, one that of a naval, the other of a military officer, who had just arrived in the colony, had taken land close to theirs, and were about to settle on it. Although the midsummer day was drawing to a close, Harry and Toby, with the sheep, had not yet made their appearance. Paul and James went off to meet them, and take the flock where they were to remain for the night, so as to relieve the boys of their charge. There was a fine bright moon, so they would have no difficulty in finding their way. Not long afterwards Harry's voice was heard, echoed by Toby's, shouting to the sheep, and the two boys rushed up to the house. "Here we are, papa," cried Harry. "We have brought the sheep along all safe, and now Paul and James have got charge of them, we may eat our supper with good consciences." Mrs Greening quickly placed a plentiful meal before the two young shepherds, who did ample justice to it. "We must get some cows, farmer, if we can procure any at a moderate price, when you next go back to town," said Mr Pemberton. "That's just what I was thinking," answered the farmer. "And some pigs and poultry," added Mrs Greening. "I should not think myself at home without them, and Miss Lucy and Betsy will be wanting some to look after." "And a few goats, I suspect, would not be amiss," observed the farmer. "I saw several near the town, and I hear they do very well." Waihoura, who was listening attentively to all that was said, seemed to comprehend the remark about the goats, and made Lucy understand that she had several at her village, and she should like to send for some of them. Supper being over, Mr Pemberton, according to his usual custom, read a chapter in the Bible, and offered up evening prayer; and after Mr Spears had taken his departure, and the rest of the family had retired to their respective dormitories, heaps of fern serving as beds for most of them, Mr Pemberton and the farmer sat up arranging their plans for the future. The latter agreed to return to town the next day to bring up the remainder of the stores, and to make the proposed purchases. Although they all knew that at no great distance there were several villages inhabited by savages, till lately, notorious for their fierce and blood-thirsty character, they lay down to sleep with perfect confidence, knowing that the missionary of the gospel had been among them, and believing that a firm friendship had been established between them and the white occupants of their country. CHAPTER FIVE. IHAKA'S VISIT. LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.--WAIHOURA BEGINS TO LEARN THE TRUTH.--HER FATHER, ACCOMPANIED BY SEVERAL CHIEFS, COMES TO TAKE HER TO HIS PAH, AND SHE QUITS HER FRIENDS AT RIVERSIDE. The settlement made rapid progress. In the course of a few weeks Mr Pemberton's and farmer Greening's houses were finished, their gardens dug and planted; and they had now, in addition to the sheep, which Harry and Toby continued to tend, several cows and pigs and poultry. Lucy, assisted by Betsy, was fully occupied from morning till night; she, however, found time to give instruction to Waihoura, while Mr Pemberton or Valentine assisted Harry in his studies. He seldom went out without a book in his pocket, so that he might read while the vigilant "Rough" kept the sheep together. Several other families had bought land in the neighbourhood, and had got up their cottages. Some of them were very nice people, but they, as well as Lucy, were so constantly engaged, that they could see very little of each other. The Maoris employed by Mr Pemberton belonged to Ihaka's tribe, and through them he heard of his daughter. He had been so strongly urged by Mr Marlow to allow her to remain with her white friends, that he had hitherto abstained from visiting her, lest, as he sent word, he should be tempted to take her away. Lucy was very glad of this, as was Waihoura. The two girls were becoming more and more attached to each other, and they dreaded the time when they might be separated. "Maori girl wish always live with Lucy--never, never part," said Waihoura, as one evening the two friends sat together in the porch, bending over a picture-book of Scripture subjects, with the aid of which Lucy was endeavouring to instruct her companion. Lucy's arm was thrown round Waihoura's neck, while Betsy, who had finished her work, stood behind them, listening to the conversation, and wondering at the way her young mistress contrived to make herself understood. "God does not always allow even the dearest friends to remain together while they dwell on earth," replied Lucy to Waihoura's last remark. "I used to wish that I might never leave my dear mother; but God thought fit to take her to Himself. I could not have borne the parting did not I know that I should meet her in heaven." "What place heaven?" asked Waihoura. "Jesus has told us that it is the place where we shall be with Him, where all is love, and purity, and holiness, and where we shall meet all who have trusted to Him while on earth, and where there will be no more parting, and where sorrow and sickness, and pain, and all things evil, will be unknown." "Maori girl meet Lucy in heaven?" said Waihoura, in a tone which showed she was asking a question. "I am sure you will," said Lucy, "if you learn to love Jesus and do His will." Waihoura was silent for some minutes, a sad expression coming over her countenance. "Maori girl too bad, not love Jesus enough," she said. "No one is fitted for heaven from their own merits or good works, and we never can love Jesus as much as He deserves to be loved. But He knows how weak and wayward we are, and all He asks us is to try our best to love and serve Him, to believe that He was punished instead of us, and took our sins upon Himself, and He then, as it were, clothes us with His righteousness. He hides our sins, or puts them away, so that God looks upon us as if we were pure and holy, and free from sin, and so will let us come into a pure and holy heaven, where no unclean things--such as are human beings--of themselves can enter. Do you understand me?" Waihoura thought for some time, and then asked Lucy again to explain her meaning. At length her countenance brightened. "Just as if Maori girl put on Lucy's dress, and hat and shawl over face, and go into a pakeha house, people say here come pakeha girl." "Yes," said Lucy, inclined to smile at her friend's illustration of the truth. "But you must have a living faith in Christ's sacrifice; and though the work and the merit is all His, you must show, by your love and your life, what you think, and say, and do, that you value that work. If one of your father's poor slaves had been set free, and had received a house and lands, and a wife, and pigs, and many other things from him, ought not the slave to remain faithful to him, and to try and serve him, and work for him more willingly than when he was a slave? That is just what Jesus Christ requires of those who believe in Him. They were slaves to Satan and the world, and to many bad ways, and He set them free. He wants all such to labour for Him. Now He values the souls of people more than anything else, and He wishes His friends to make known to others the way by which their souls may be saved. He also wishes people to live happily together in the world; and He came on earth to show us the only way in which that can be done. He proved to us, by His example, that we can only be happy by being kind, and gentle, and courteous to others, helping those who are in distress, doing to others as we should wish they would do to us. If, therefore, we really love Jesus, and have a living active faith in Him, we shall try to follow His example in all things. If all men lived thus, the gospel on earth would be established, there would be really peace and good will among men." "Very different here," said Waihoura. "Maori people still quarrel, and fight, and kill. In pakeha country they good people love Jesus, and do good, and no bad." "I am sorry to say that though there are many who do love Jesus, there are far more who do not care to please Him, and that there is much sin, and sorrow, and suffering in consequence. Oh, if we could but find the country where all loved and tried to serve Him! If all the inhabitants of even one little island were real followers of Jesus, what a happy spot it would be." Waihoura sighed. "Long time before Maori country like that." "I am afraid that it will be a long time before any part of the world is like that," said Lucy. "But yet it is the duty of each separate follower of Jesus to try, by the way he or she lives, to make it so. Oh, how watchful we should be over ourselves and all our thoughts, words and acts, and remembering our own weakness and proneness to sin, never to be trusting to ourselves, but ever seeking the aid of the Holy Spirit to help us." Lucy said this rather to herself than to her companion. Indeed, though she did her best to explain the subject to Waihoura, and to draw from her in return the ideas she had received, she could not help acknowledging that what she had said was very imperfectly understood by the Maori girl. She was looking forward, however, with great interest, to a visit from Mr Marlow, and she hoped that he, from speaking the native language fluently, would be able to explain many points which she had found beyond her power to put clearly. The work of the day being over, the party were seated at their evening meal. A strange noise was heard coming from the direction of the wahre, which the native labourers had built for themselves, a short distance from the house. Harry, who had just then come in from his shepherding, said that several natives were collected round the wahre, and that they were rubbing noses, and howling together in chorus. "I am afraid they have brought some bad news, for the tears were rolling down their eyes, and altogether they looked very unhappy," he remarked. Waihoura, who partly understood what Harry had said, looked up and observed-- "No bad news, only meet after long time away." Still she appeared somewhat anxious, and continued giving uneasy glances at the door. Valentine was about to go out to make inquiries, when Ihaka, dressed in a cloak of flax, and accompanied by several other persons similarly habited, appeared at the door. Waihoura ran forward to meet him. He took her in his arms, rubbed his nose against hers, and burst into tears, which also streamed down her cheeks. After their greeting was over, Mr Pemberton invited the chief and his friends to be seated, fully expecting to hear that he had come to announce the death of some near relative. The chief accepted the invitation for himself and one of his companions, while the others retired to a distance, and sat down on the ground. Ihaka's companion was a young man, and the elaborate tattooing on his face and arms showed that he was a chief of some consideration. Both he and Ihaka behaved with much propriety, and their manners were those of gentlemen who felt themselves in their proper position; but as Lucy noticed the countenance of the younger chief, she did not at all like its expression. The tattoo marks always give a peculiarly fierce look to the features; but, besides this, as he cast his eyes round the party, and they at last rested on Waihoura, Lucy's bad opinion of him was confirmed. Ihaka could speak a few sentences of English, but the conversation was carried on chiefly through Waihoura, who interpreted for him. The younger chief seldom spoke; when he did, either Ihaka or his daughter tried to explain his meaning. Occasionally he addressed her in Maori, when she hung down her head, or turned her eyes away from him, and made no attempt to interpret what he had said. Mr Pemberton knew enough of the customs of the natives not to inquire the object of Ihaka's visit, and to wait till he thought fit to explain it. Lucy had feared, directly he made his appearance, that he had come to claim his daughter, and she trembled lest he should declare that such was his intention. Her anxiety increased when supper was over, and he began, in somewhat high-flown language, to express his gratitude to her and Mr Pemberton for the care they had taken of Waihoura. He then introduced his companion as Hemipo, a Rangatira, or chief of high rank, his greatly esteemed and honoured friend, who, although not related to him by the ties of blood, might yet, he hoped, become so. When he said this Waihoura cast her eyes to the ground, and looked greatly distressed, and Lucy, who had taken her hand, felt it tremble. Ihaka continued, observing that now, having been deprived of the company of his daughter for many months, though grateful to the friends who had so kindly sheltered her, and been the means of restoring her to health, he desired to have her return with him to his pah, where she might assist in keeping the other women in order, and comfort and console him in his wahre, which had remained empty and melancholy since the death of her mother. Waihoura, though compelled to interpret this speech, made no remark on it; but Lucy saw that the tears were trickling down her cheeks. Mr Pemberton, though very sorry to part with his young guest, felt that it would be useless to beg her father to allow her to remain after what he had said. Lucy, however, pleaded hard that she might be permitted to stay on with them sometime longer. All she could say, however, was useless; for when the chief appeared to be yielding, Hemipo said something which made him keep to his resolution, and he finally told Waihoura that she must prepare to accompany him the following morning. He and Hemipo then rose, and saying that they would sleep in the wahre, out of which it afterwards appeared they turned the usual inhabitants, they took their departure. Waihoura kept up her composure till they were gone, and then throwing herself on Lucy's neck, burst into tears. "Till I came here I did not know what it was to love God, and to try and be good, and to live as you do, so happy and peaceable, and now I must go back and be again the wild Maori girl I was before I came to you, and follow the habits of my people; and worse than all, Lucy, from what my father said, I know that he intends me to marry the Rangatira Hemipo, whom I can never love, for he is a bad man, and has killed several cookies or slaves, who have offended him. He is no friend of the pakehas, and has often said he would be ready to drive them out of the country. He would never listen either to the missionaries; and when the good Mr Marlow went to his pah, he treated him rudely, and has threatened to take his life if he has the opportunity. Fear only of what the pakehas might do has prevented him." Waihoura did not say this in as many words, but she contrived, partly in English and partly in her own language, to make her meaning understood. Lucy was deeply grieved at hearing it, and tried to think of some means for saving Waihoura from so hard a fate. They sat up for a long time talking on the subject, but no plan which Lucy could suggest afforded Waihoura any consolation. "I will consult my father as to what can be done," Lucy said at last; "or when Mr Marlow comes, perhaps he can help us." "Oh no, he can do nothing," answered Waihoura, bursting into tears. "We must pray, then, that God will help us," said Lucy. "He has promised that He will be a present help in time of trouble." "Oh yes, we will pray to God. He only can help us," replied the Maori girl, and ere they lay down on their beds they together offered up their petitions to their Father in heaven for guidance and protection; but though they knew that that would not be withheld, they could not see the way in which it would be granted. Next morning Waihoura had somewhat recovered her composure. Lucy and Mrs Greening insisted on her accepting numerous presents, which she evidently considered of great value. Several of the other settlers in the neighbourhood, who had become acquainted with the young Maori girl, and had heard that she was going away, brought up their gifts. Waihoura again gave way to tears when the moment arrived for her final parting with Lucy; and she was still weeping as her father led her off, surrounded by his attendants, to return to his pah. CHAPTER SIX. AMONG THE MAORIS. RIVERSIDE.--MR MARLOW THE MISSIONARY, VISITS THE PEMBERTONS.--LUCY AND HER FRIENDS VISIT IHAKA.--A NATIVE PAH DESCRIBED.--A FEAST--NATIVE AMUSEMENTS.--RETURN TO RIVERSIDE. The appearance of Riverside had greatly improved since Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening had settled there. They had each thirty or forty acres under cultivation, with kitchen gardens and orchards, and Lucy had a very pretty flower garden in front of the cottage, with a dairy and poultry yard, and several litters of pigs. Harry's flock of sheep had increased threefold, and might now be seen dotting the plain as they fed on the rich grasses which had sprung up where the fern had been burnt. There were several other farms in the neighbourhood, and at the foot of the hill a village, consisting of a dozen or more houses, had been built, the principal shop in which was kept by Mr Nicholas Spears. The high road to the port was still in a very imperfect state, and the long talked of coach had not yet begun to run. Communication was kept up by means of the settlers waggons, or by the gentlemen, who took a shorter route to it on horseback. Mr Marlow at length paid his long promised visit. Lucy eagerly inquired if he had seen Waihoura. "I spent a couple of days at Ihaka's pah on my way here," he replied, "and I am sorry to say that your young friend appears very unhappy. Her father seems resolved that she shall marry Hemipo, notwithstanding that he is a heathen, as he has passed his word to that effect. I pointed out to him the misery he would cause her; and though he loves his child, yet I could not shake him. He replied, that a chief's word must not be broken, and that perhaps Waihoura's marriage may be the means of converting her husband. I fear that she would have little influence over him, as even among his own people he is looked upon as a fierce and vindictive savage." "Poor Waihoura!" sighed Lucy. "Do you think her father would allow her to pay us another visit? I should be so glad to send and invite her." "I am afraid not," answered Mr Marlow. "Ihaka himself, though nominally a Christian, is very lukewarm; and though he was glad to have his daughter restored to health, he does not value the advantage she would derive from intercourse with civilised people. However, you can make the attempt, and I will write a letter, which you can send by one of his people who accompanied me here." The letter was written, and forthwith despatched. In return Ihaka sent an invitation to the pakeha maiden and her friends to visit him and his daughter at his pah. Mr Marlow advised Lucy to accept it. "The chief's pride possibly prevents him from allowing his daughter to visit you again, until, according to his notions, he has repaid you for the hospitality you have shown her," he observed. "You may feel perfectly secure in going there; and, at all events, you will find the visit interesting, as you will have an opportunity of seeing more of the native customs and way of living than you otherwise could." Mr Pemberton, after some hesitation, agreed to the proposal, and Valentine undertook to escort his sister. Harry said he should like to go; "but then about the sheep--I cannot leave them for so long," he said. James Greening offered to look after his flock during his absence. A lady, Miss Osburn, a very nice girl, who was calling on Lucy, expressed a strong wish to accompany her. "I think that I am bound to go with you, as I have advised the expedition, and feel myself answerable for your safe conduct," said Mr Marlow. "I may also prove useful as an interpreter, and should be glad of an opportunity of again speaking to Ihaka and his people." A message was accordingly sent to the chief, announcing the intention of Lucy and her friends to pay a visit to his pah. The road, though somewhat rough, was considered practicable for the waggon, which was accordingly got ready. They were to start at daybreak, and as the pah was about twelve miles off, it was not expected that they would reach it till late in the afternoon. Two natives had been sent by Ihaka to act as guides, and as they selected the most level route, the journey was performed without accident. About the time expected they came in sight of a rocky hill rising out of the plain, with a stream running at its base. On the summit appeared a line of palisades, surmounted by strange looking figures, mounted on poles, while in front was a gateway, above which was a larger figure, with a hideous countenance, curiously carved and painted. The natives pointed, with evident pride, at the abode of their chief. As the path to it was far too steep to allow of the waggon going up it, Lucy and her friend got out to ascend on foot. As they did so, the chief and a number of his people emerged from the gateway, and came down to meet them. The usual salutations were offered, and the chief, knowing the customs of his guests, did not offer to rub noses. Lucy inquired anxiously for Waihoura. She was, according to etiquette, remaining within to receive her visitors. After passing through a gateway, they found a second line of stockades, within which was a wide place occupied by numerous small wahres, while at the further end stood two of somewhat larger size, ornamented with numerous highly carved wooden figures. On one side was a building, raised on carved posts, with a high-pitched roof--it was still more highly ornamented than the others, in grotesque patterns, among which the human face predominated. This latter was the chief's store-house, and it was considerably larger and handsomer than his own abode. The dwelling-houses were of an oblong shape, about sixteen feet long and eight wide, with low walls, but high sloping roofs; the doors were so low that it was necessary to stoop when entering. The roofs were thatched with rampo, a plant which grows in the marshes; and the walls were of the same material, thickly matted together, so as to keep out both rain and wind. As the party advanced, Waihoura appeared from her wahre, and throwing her arms on Lucy's neck, began to weep as if her heart would break. She then conducted her friends into the interior, while the chief took charge of Mr Marlow, Valentine, and Harry. Waihoura's abode was clean and neat, the ground on each side covered thickly with fern, on the top of which mats were placed to serve as couches. Here the Maori girl begged her guests to be seated, and having recovered her composure, she thanked Lucy warmly for coming, and made inquiries about her friends at Riverside. She smiled and laughed, and became so animated, that she scarcely appeared like the same person she had been a few minutes before. She became very grave, however, when Lucy asked if her father still insisted on her marrying Hemipo. "He does," she answered, in a sad tone. "But I may yet escape, and I will, if I can, at all risks." She pressed her lips together, and looked so firm, that Lucy hoped that she would succeed in carrying out her resolution. Their conversation was interrupted by a summons to a feast, which the chief had prepared, to do honour to his guests. In the centre of the pah a scaffold was erected, with bars across it, on which were hung up various fish, pieces of pork, and wild-fowl, while on the top were baskets full of sweet and ordinary potatoes, and a variety of other vegetables; and a number of women were employed in cooking, in ovens formed in the ground. These ovens were mere holes filled with hot stones, on the top of which the provisions were placed, and then covered up with leaves and earth. In deference to the customs of their white friends, the natives had prepared seats for them, composed of fern and mats, in the shade of the chief's wahre, while they themselves sat round, at a respectful distance, on the ground, in the hot sun. When all were arranged, the chief, wrapped in his cloak, walked into the centre, and marching backwards and forwards, addressed the party, now turning to his guests, now to his countrymen, the rapidity of his movements increasing, till he appeared to have worked himself into a perfect fury. Waihoura, who sat by Lucy's side, begged her and her friend not to be alarmed, he was merely acting according to custom. Suddenly he stopped, and wrapping his cloak around him, sat down on the ground. Mr Marlow considered this a good opportunity of speaking to the people, and rising, he walked into their midst. His address, however, was very different to that of the chief's. He reminded them that God, who rules the world, had given them all the food he saw there collected; that He desires to do good to the bodies of men, and to enable them to live in happiness and plenty; but that He loves their souls still more, and that He who had provided them with the food was ready to bestow on them spiritual blessings, to feed their souls as well as their bodies: that their bodies must perish, but that their souls must live for ever--He had sent the missionaries to them with His message of love, and He grieved that they were often more ready to accept only the food for their bodies, and to reject that which He offers for their souls. Much more he spoke to the same effect, and explained all that God, their Father had done for them when they were banished for their sins, to enable them again to become His dear children. Earthly fathers, he continued, are too often ready to sacrifice their children for their own advantage, regardless of their happiness here and of their eternal welfare. Ihaka winced when he heard these remarks, and fixed his eyes on the speaker, but said nothing. Other chiefs, who had come as guests, also spoke. Lucy was glad to find that Hemipo was not among them. The feast then commenced, the provisions were handed round in neat clean baskets to each guest. Ihaka had provided plates and knives and forks for his English friends, who were surprised to find the perfect way in which the fish and meat, as well as the vegetables, were cooked. After the feast, the young people hurried out of the pah towards a post stuck in the ground, on one side of a bank, with ropes hanging from the top; each one seized a rope, and began running round and round, now up, now down the bank, till their feet were lifted off the ground, much in the way English boys amuse themselves in a gymnasium. In another place a target was set up, at which the elder boys and young men threw their spears, composed of fern stems, with great dexterity. Several kites, formed of the flat leaves of a kind of sedge, were also brought out and set flying, with songs and shouts, which increased as the kite ascended higher and higher. A number of the young men exhibited feats of dancing, which were not, however, especially graceful, nor interesting to their guests. When the sun set the party returned to the pah. Mr Marlow, accompanied by Val, went about among the people, addressing them individually, and affording instruction to those who had expressed an anxiety about their souls. Ihaka had provided a new wahre for his visitors, while Waihoura accommodated Lucy and Miss Osburn in her hut. Lucy had hoped to persuade Ihaka to allow his daughter to return with her, but he made various excuses, and Waihoura expressed her fears that she was not allowed to go on account of Hemipo, who objected to her associating with her English friends. Next morning the party set out on their return, leaving Waihoura evidently very miserable, and anxious about the future. They had got a short distance from the pah, when a chief with several attendants passed them, and Lucy felt sure, from the glimpse she got of his features, that he was Hemipo, especially as he did not stop, and only offered them a distant salutation. Mr Marlow again expressed his regret that he had been unable to move Ihaka. "Still, I believe, that he is pricked in his conscience, and he would be glad of an opportunity of being released from his promise," he remarked. "The chief considers himself, however, in honour bound to perform it, though he is well aware that it must lead to his daughter's unhappiness. I do not, however, suppose that he is biased by any fears of the consequences were he to break off the marriage, though probably if he did so Hemipo would attack the fort, and attempt to carry off his bride by force." When the party got back to Riverside, their friends were very eager to hear an account of their visit, and several regretted that they had not accompanied them. "Who would have thought, Miss Lucy, when we first came here, that you would ever have slept inside one of those savage's huts!" exclaimed Mrs Greening. "My notion was, that they would as likely as not eat anybody up who got into their clutches; but I really begin to think that they are a very decent, good sort of people, only I do wish the gentlemen would not make such ugly marks on their faces--it does not improve them, and I should like to tell them so." CHAPTER SEVEN. THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. PROSPEROUS CONDITION OF THE SETTLEMENT--MR PEMBERTON AND HIS SONS GO OUT SHOOTING.--WAIHOURA IS OBSERVED FLYING FROM HEMIPO, WHO FIRES AND WOUNDS HER.--RESCUED BY MR PEMBERTON AND TAKEN TO RIVERSIDE.--VAL GOES FOR DR FRASER.--ON THEIR RETURN, RAHANA, A NATIVE CHIEF, SAVES THEIR LIVES.--IHAKA ARRIVES WITH HIS FOLLOWERS TO DEFEND THE FARM, AS ALSO DO RAHANA'S, BUT NO ENEMY APPEARS, AND THEY, WITH WAIHOURA, RETURN TO IHAKA'S PAH. The little settlement went on prosperously, the flocks and herds increased, and more land was brought under cultivation; the orchards were producing fruit, and the kitchen gardens an abundance of vegetables. There had been outbreaks of the natives in the northern part of the island, but those in their immediate neighbourhood were supposed to be peaceably disposed, and friendly towards the English. Lucy had been for some time expecting to hear from Waihoura, and she feared, from the last account she had received from her, that the marriage the poor girl so much dreaded with Hemipo, might soon take place. "I am afraid it can't be helped," observed Mrs Greening, who was trying to console her. "After all, he is her own countryman, and maybe she will improve him when they marry." "Oh, but I mourn for her because he is a heathen, and a cruel bad man," said Lucy, "and I am sure she is worthy of a better fate." Mr Pemberton and Valentine had shortly after this gone out with their guns to shoot some wild-fowl which had visited the banks of the river. The young Pembertons and Greenings had built a boat, and as the birds appeared more numerous on the opposite side, Harry, who met them, offered to paddle them across. While Harry remained in the canoe, they proceeded up a small stream which ran into the main river. They were approaching the border of the forest. Although the foliage, entwined by creepers, was so dense towards the upper part of the trees that the rays of the sun were unable to penetrate through it, the lower part was open and free from underwood, thus enabling them to pass among the trees without difficulty, and to see for a considerable distance into its depths. "We shall find no birds there," observed Val. "Had we not better turn back and continue along the bank of the main stream?" They were just about to do as Val proposed, when they caught sight of a figure running at full speed through the forest towards them. "It is a woman, I believe," exclaimed Val. "Yes, and there is a man following her. She is endeavouring to escape from him. She is crying out, and making signs for us to come to her assistance. She is Waihoura!" As he spoke, the savage stopped, then levelled his rifle and fired. Waihoura shrieked out, and running a few paces further towards them, fell. "I must punish the villain," exclaimed Val, dashing forward. "Stay, my boy," said Mr Pemberton, "he deserves punishment, but not at our hands,--let us try and assist the poor girl." They hurried to where Waihoura lay. The bullet had wounded her in the shoulder. Meantime the savage had retreated, and when they looked round for him, he was nowhere to be seen. "We must take the poor girl to the house and endeavour to obtain surgical assistance for her," said Mr Pemberton. They lifted her up and bore her along towards the river. Valentine shouted for Harry, who quickly came up with the canoe. Waihoura was too much agitated to speak, or to tell them by whom she had been wounded. Still her countenance exhibited an expression rather of satisfaction than of alarm. Harry having secured the canoe, ran on before his father and brother to prepare Lucy for the arrival of her friend. Waihoura was carried into the house, and placed on the bed she had formerly occupied, while Harry ran on to get Mrs Greening to assist in taking care of her. Left with Lucy and Betsy, Waihoura soon recovered her composure. "I have escaped from him," she said, in her broken English. "I have done what I long intended. Hemipo came for me to my father's pah, and I was delivered in due form to him, and so my father's honour was satisfied. I went quietly for some distance, as if I was no longer unwilling to accompany him, and then, watching my opportunity, I ran off, hoping to make my escape without being discovered. He saw me, however, and followed, though I was already a long way off. I hoped to reach the river and swim across to you, when he was nearly overtaking me. Just then, as he caught sight of your father and brother, in his rage and disappointment he fired at me, and would have killed me had they not come up to prevent him." Such was the meaning of the account Waihoura gave Lucy, as she and Betsy were endeavouring to staunch the blood which continued to flow from the wound. As soon as Mrs Greening arrived, she advised Val to set off and obtain Dr Fraser's assistance. "We may be able to stop the blood, but the hurt is a bad one, and if the bullet is still in the wound, will need a surgeon to take it out," she observed. Valentine required no second bidding. Harry, indeed, had already got a horse ready. He galloped away, taking the shortest cut across the country to the fort. Valentine had to spend some time in searching for Dr Fraser, who had gone off to a distance, and when he returned he had a patient to whom it was absolutely necessary he should attend. "I'll not be a moment longer than I can help," exclaimed the doctor. "I felt great interest in that pretty little native girl. There's one comfort, that the natives seldom suffer from fever through injuries. You ride back and say I am coming." "I would rather wait for you," answered Valentine. Though he was sorely annoyed at the delay, it enabled him to give his horse a feed, and to rest the animal, so that there was not so much time lost as he supposed. At length the doctor was ready, and they set off to take the way by which Valentine had come. They had gone rather more than half the distance, and were approaching a defile between two high hills, covered thickly with trees, and wild rugged rocks on either side. They were just about to enter it when a Maori, who, by the way he was dressed, appeared to be a chief, was seen hurrying down the side of the hill towards them, and beckoning to them to stop. "He wishes to speak to us," said Valentine, "shall we wait for him?" "I hope that his intentions are friendly," observed the doctor. "These fellows have been playing some treacherous tricks to the settlers in the north, and it is as well to be prepared." "His manner does not appear to be hostile," observed Valentine. "I will ride forward to speak to him." Valentine had not gone many paces before he met the native, who hurriedly addressed him in broken English. "Go back and take another path," he exclaimed. "If you go forward you will be killed, there's a bad chief, with several men, lying in wait to shoot you. I have only just discovered their intentions, and hurried forward to give you warning." "Can you tell us who the chief is?" asked Valentine, not feeling very willing to believe the stranger's statement. "His name does not matter," answered the young stranger. "He supposes me to be his friend, and begged me to assist him, so that I do not wish further to betray him, but I could not allow you to suffer." "There may be some truth in what the young man says, and we should be unwise not to take his advice," observed the doctor. Valentine warmly thanked the stranger, who offered to lead them by a path he was acquainted with, which would enable them to escape the ambush and reach the river side with little loss of time. He accordingly led them back for some distance, and then striking off to the right over the hills, conducted them through another valley, which in time took them out on to the open plain. "You are safe now," he said. "Ride on as fast as you can, so that your enemy may not overtake you." "I should like to know who you are, that we may thank you properly for the benefit you have done us," said Valentine, "and I am sure Ihaka's daughter, on whose account Dr Fraser is going to our settlement, will desire to express her gratitude. She is sorely wounded, and I fear in much danger." "Wounded and in danger," exclaimed the young stranger. "How has she received an injury?" "She was basely shot at by a Maori," answered Val. "The chief told me that it was your sister who was ill, and that you having grossly insulted him, he was determined to revenge himself on you." He stopped for a few moments as if for consideration. "I will accompany you," he said. "If I go back I shall not be able to resist accusing him of his treachery, and bloodshed may be the consequence." "Come along then, my friend," said the doctor, "you are fleet of foot, and will keep up with our horses." The stranger, a fine young man, one of the handsomest natives Valentine had as yet seen--his face being, moreover, undisfigured by tattoo marks,--on this ran forward, and showed by the pace he moved at, that he was not likely to detain them. It was dark when they reached Riverside, but Lucy had heard the sound of their horses' feet, and came out to meet them. "I am so thankful you have come, doctor," she exclaimed. "Waihoura is, I fear, suffering much pain, and we have been able to do little to relieve her." The doctor hurried into the house. His report was more favourable than Lucy had expected. He quickly extracted the bullet, and promised, with the good constitution the young girl evidently possessed, that she would soon recover. Valentine invited the young stranger to remain, and he evidently showed no desire to take his departure. "I wish to stay for your sakes as well as my own," he said, "and I would advise you to keep a vigilant watch round the house during the night. The man who has committed so foul a deed as to shoot Ihaka's daughter, must from henceforth be Rahana's foe, and I now confess that it was Hemipo who intended to waylay and murder you. I am myself a Rangatira, chief of a numerous tribe. My father ever lived on friendly terms with the English, and seeing the folly of war, wished also to be at peace with his neighbours, and I have desired to follow his example. Among our nearest neighbours was Hemipo, who, though one I could never regard with esteem, has always appeared anxious to retain my friendship. Hitherto I have, therefore, frequently associated with him, but from henceforth he must be to me as a stranger. He is capable, I am convinced, of any treachery, and when he finds that you have escaped him on this occasion, will seek another opportunity of revenging himself." This was said partly in English and partly in Maori. Mr Pemberton, following the advice he received, sent to farmer Greening and several other neighbours, asking their assistance in guarding Waihoura, thinking it possible that Hemipo might attack the place and attempt to carry her off. Among others who came up was Mr Spears, with a cartouche-box hanging by a belt to his waist, and a musket in his hand. "Neighbours should help each other, Mr Pemberton," he said as he made his appearance, "and so I have locked up the shop, and shall be happy to stand sentry during the night at any post you may assign me. Place me inside the house or outside, or in a cow-shed, it's all the same to me. I'll shoot the first man I see coming up the hill." Valentine suggested that Mr Spears was as likely to shoot a friend as a foe, and therefore placed him, with a companion, in one of the sheds, strictly enjoining him not to fire unless he received an order to do so. From the precautions taken by Mr Pemberton, it was not likely that Hemipo would succeed even should he venture on an attack, especially as every one in the settlement was on the alert. The night passed off quietly, and in the morning Dr Fraser gave a favourable report of Waihoura. A messenger was then despatched to Ihaka, to inform him of what had occurred. He arrived before sunset with several of his followers, well-armed, and at once requested to have an interview with his daughter. On coming out of her room he met Mr Pemberton, and warmly thanked him for having again preserved her life. "From henceforth she is free to choose whom she will for a husband," he observed. "I gave her, as I was bound to do by my promise, to Hemipo; but she escaped from him, and as he has proved himself unworthy of her, though war between us be the result, I will not again deliver her to him." Lucy, who overheard this, was greatly relieved. Not knowing the customs of the Maoris, she was afraid that the chief might still consider himself bound to restore Waihoura to her intended husband. "I must go at once and tell her," she said. "I am sure that this will greatly assist her recovery." "She knows it. I have already promised her," said Ihaka. "And I will remain here and defend her and you, my friends, from Hemipo,--though boastful as he is, I do not believe that he will venture to attack a pakeha settlement." Rahana, who had hitherto remained at a distance, now came forward, and the two chiefs greeted each other according to their national custom, by rubbing their noses together for a minute or more. They then sat down, and the young chief gave Ihaka an account of the part he had taken in the affair. "We have ever been friends," answered Ihaka, "and this will cement our friendship closer than ever." They sat for some time talking over the matter, and Rahana agreed to send for a band of his people to assist in protecting their friends, and afterwards to escort Waihoura to her home. Till this time, the only natives who frequented the settlement were the labourers employed on the farm, but now a number of warriors might be seen, with rifles in their hands, some seated on the hillside, others stalking about among the cottages. They all, however, behaved with the greatest propriety, declining even to receive provisions from the inhabitants, both Ihaka's and Rahana's people having brought an abundant supply. Though scouts were sent out in every direction, nothing was heard of Hemipo, and it was supposed that he had returned to his own village--either being afraid of meeting those he had injured, or to hatch some plan of revenge. Dr Fraser, who had gone home when he considered Waihoura out of danger, returned, at the end of a fortnight, and pronounced her sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey home, to which Ihaka was anxious to convey her, as she would be there safer from any design Hemipo might entertain, than in the unprotected cottage at Riverside. Lucy, although she would gladly have had her remain longer, felt that this was the case. The Maori girl warmly embraced her before taking her seat on the covered litter constructed for her conveyance, and willingly gave a promise to return to Riverside as soon as her father considered it safe for her to do so. The young chief had constituted himself her chief attendant, and when they set out placed himself by her side, which he showed no intention of quitting. It appeared that they had hitherto been strangers to each other, but Lucy, having observed the admiration with which he had regarded Waihoura the first time they met, pleased with his manners, could not help hoping that he might become a Christian, and a successful suitor of her friend. She watched the party as they took their way along the road, till they were lost to sight among the trees; and from the judicious precautions they took of throwing out scouts, she trusted that they would, escape being surprised even should Hemipo be on the watch for them, and would reach their destination in safety. As soon as they were gone the settlement returned to its usual quiet state. After the character they had heard of Hemipo, Mr Pemberton considered it prudent to keep a watch at night, and to advise the Greenings, as well as his own sons, to carry arms in their hands, and never to go singly to a distance from the house. Day after day passed by, till at length they began to feel that such precautions were unnecessary, and by degrees they abandoned the habit, only occasionally taking their guns when they went out to shoot birds, or when the traces of a wild pig, which happened to stray from the mountains, were discovered in the neighbourhood. Few countries in the world are so destitute of game or animals of any description, or of noxious reptiles, as New Zealand; the only reptile, indeed, being a harmless lizard, while the only wild beasts are the descendants of pigs originally introduced by Europeans, which having escaped from their owners to the forests where they roam at large. Unhappily, although many of the natives lived on the most friendly terms with the English, and had made considerable advancement in civilisation, a large number still, at that period, retained much of their former savage character, and, instigated perhaps by evilly-disposed persons, from time to time rose in aims against the English, and though inferior in numbers to the settlers, were enabled, in their mountain fastnesses, to resist the attacks of well-trained troops sent against them. They sometimes descended on the unprepared settlements, murdered the inhabitants, and committed many fearful atrocities. Of late years, however, finding resistance vain, they have submitted to the English Government, and as they possess equal rights and privileges with the settlers, and are treated in every respect as British subjects, it may be hoped that they will become, ere long, thoroughly civilised and contented with their lot, so infinitely superior to that of their former savage state. At the time, however, that the occurrences which have been described took place, although cannibalism and their more barbarous customs were almost abandoned, still a number of the tribes were hostile to the English, and also carried on a fierce warfare among themselves. Our friends at Riverside were destined shortly to feel the ill effects of this state of things. CHAPTER EIGHT. CARRIED OFF. DISTURBANCE AMONG THE NATIVES.--VOLUNTEERS FROM THE SETTLEMENT.--MR PEMBERTON AND VAL CALLED AWAY.--THE SETTLERS, TO THEIR DISMAY, DISCOVER THAT THE YOUNG PEMBERTONS HAVE BEEN CARRIED OFF. Lucy had made tea, and her father and brother, who had come in from their work, had just taken their seats, when Mr Spears, announced by Betsy, popped his head in at the door. "Beg pardon, Mr Pemberton, for intruding, but I thought you would like to have this letter at once," he said, handing an official-looking envelope. "I have sent several others of similar appearance to a number of gentlemen in our neighbourhood, and I suspect they mean something." Lucy observed that her father's countenance assumed a grave expression as he read the document; after requesting the bearer to sit down and take a cup of tea. "More disturbances among the natives?" asked Mr Spears. "I hope, though, that they will keep quiet in these parts." "Yes, I am sorry to say that they have risen in much greater numbers than heretofore, and matters look very serious," answered Mr Pemberton. "The Governor has requested me to assist in organising a body of volunteers to co-operate with the loyal natives in this district, and to keep in check any of the Maoris who may be inclined to rebel, while the troops are engaged with the main body of the insurgents. I am afraid this will compel me to be absent from home for some time." "May I go with you?" exclaimed Harry. "I should so like to have some soldiering." "No, you must stay at home to take care of Lucy and the farm," answered Mr Pemberton. "Val, you are named, and though I would rather have left you in charge, we must obey the calls of public duty. Farmer Greening will assist Harry; Paul and James will probably accompany me." "Put my name down as a volunteer," exclaimed Mr Spears. "I'll have my musket and cartouche-box ready in a trice. I shall be proud to go out and fight my country's battles." "Take my advice, Mr Spears, and stay at home to look after your shop and the settlement--some must remain behind to guard it," said Mr Pemberton. "I am ready for the field, or for garrison duty," answered the little man, rising, and drawing himself up. "I must go back with the news to the village; the people are suspecting that there is something in the wind." Mr Pemberton and Valentine soon made the necessary preparations for their departure, and early the next morning, in company with several other settlers, set out on their expedition. As the natives in their immediate neighbourhood had always appeared very friendly, they had no anxiety about the safety of Riverside. Time passed on; news reached the settlement that the volunteers had on several occasions been engaged, and that the insurgents still made head against them. Lucy could not help feeling anxious at the prolonged absence of her father and brother; but as they wrote word that they were well, she kept up her spirits, hoping that the natives would soon be convinced of the uselessness and folly of their rebellion, and that peace would be established. She also received visits from Mary Osburn and other friends, and Mrs Greening never failed to look in on her two or three times in the day, while her husband kept his eye on the farm, and assisted Harry in managing affairs. Lucy had hoped that by this time it would be safe for Waihoura to pay her a visit, and she had sent a message inviting her to come to Riverside. In reply, Waihoura expressed her thanks for the invitation, but stated that as her father was absent with many of his people, taking a part in the war, she could not venture to quit home. She also mentioned that Hemipo was supposed to have joined the rebels, as he had not for some time been seen in the neighbourhood. A short time after this, as Harry was standing on the bank of the river, near which his sheep were feeding, he observed a small canoe gliding down the stream. A single native was in it, who, as soon as he saw him, paddled up to where he stood. The stranger leaped on shore, and asked Harry, in Maori, pointing to the hill, whether he did not belong to that place. As Harry understood very little Maori, he could but imperfectly comprehend what the man, who appeared to be delivering a message, was saying. The stranger, perceiving this, tried to help his meaning by dumb show, and Harry heard him repeat the name of Hemipo several times. The man placed himself on the ground, and shut his eyes, as if he was asleep, then he jumped up, and, moving away, ran up to the spot, and pretended to be lifting up a person whom he carried to the canoe. He did this several times then he flourished his arms as if engaged with a foe, leaping fiercely about from side to side, and then jumped into his canoe and began to shove it off, as if he was going to paddle up the stream. He returned, however, again coming up to Harry, and, with an inquiring look, seemed to ask whether he was understood? Harry asked him to repeat what he had said, and at length made out, as he thought, that the stranger wished to warn him that the settlement would be attacked at night, while the inhabitants were asleep, by Hemipo, whose object was to carry them off as prisoners, but when this was likely to take place he could not discover. The stranger, who was evidently in a great hurry to be off again, seemed satisfied that he was understood, and, getting into his canoe, paddled rapidly up the river. "I wish that I understood the Maori better," thought Harry, "I should not then be in doubt about the matter; however, it will be as well to be prepared. We will fortify our house, and keep a bright look out, and I'll tell the other people to be on the watch." He soon after met Toby, and telling him to look to the sheep, hurried homewards. Lucy listened calmly to his account. "There is, I fear, no doubt that some harm is intended us," she observed. "But we must pray that it may be averted, and do what we can to guard against it. I think our six native labourers are faithful, and we must place three of them in the house, and send the other three out as scouts to give us notice of the approach of an enemy. I propose also that we have a large pile of firewood made above the house, that, as soon as danger threatens it may be lighted as a signal to our friends in the neighbourhood. You must tell them of our intention, and ask them to come to our assistance as soon as they see the fire blazing up." "You ought to have been a man, and you would have made a first-rate soldier," exclaimed Harry, delighted at Lucy's idea. "It is the wisest thing that could be done; I'll tell everybody you thought of it, and I am sure they will be ready to help us." "But perhaps they will think that the whole place is to be attacked, and if so, the men will not be willing to leave their own homes and families," observed Lucy. "Oh, but I am sure the Maori intended to warn us especially, for he pointed to our hill while he was speaking," said Harry. "Then he mentioned Hemipo, who probably has a spite against us for rescuing Waihoura from him. However, there's no time to be lost. I'll tell the men to cut the wood for the bonfire, and go on to let Mr Osburn and our other friends know about the matter." Having charged Lucy and Betsy to close the doors and windows, and not to go out of the house, he went to tell the other people. The farmer was out, but he told Mrs Greening what he had heard. "Oh, it would be terrible if any harm was to happen to Miss Lucy, and the Squire and Master Val away," exclaimed the good woman; "I'd sooner our place were all burned down than that--I'll go round to her and persuade her to come here--then, if the savages go to your house they will not find her, and if they come here, the farmer and Tobias, I'll warrant, will fight for her as long as they have got a bullet or a charge of powder remaining." Harry warmly thanked Mrs Greening for her generous intentions, though he doubted very much whether Lucy would consent to leave the house. He then hurried on to the village. Mr Spears, at whose house he first called, was thrown into a great state of agitation on hearing of his apprehensions. "I'll go round and tell all the other people, and we will see what can be done," he exclaimed, getting down his musket. "We will fight bravely for our homes and hearths; but dear me, I wish all the people who are away would come back. These savages are terrible fellows, and if they were to come suddenly upon us at night, as you fancy they will, we may find ourselves in a very unpleasant predicament." While Mr Spears went off in one direction, Harry continued on to the house of their friend Mr Osburn, which was at no great distance. He, though expressing a hope that the stranger had been amusing himself at Harry's expense, undertook to collect the rest of the neighbours, and to make preparations to go to his assistance should the signal-fire give them notice that the house had been attacked. "I would offer at once to go up and assist in guarding you," he said. "But I am afraid that our other friends will not be willing to leave their own cottages undefended; indeed, I think we shall more effectually assist you by following the plan you propose. Still, I would advise you not to be over anxious about the matter, though you will do wisely to take the precautions you propose." Harry, feeling somewhat proud of himself, and tolerably well satisfied with the arrangements he had made, returned home. He found the farmer and Mr Greening at the house. They had in vain attempted to persuade Lucy to pass the night at their house--she would not leave Harry, who said that, as he had charge of the place, nothing would induce him to desert his post, and they hoped, with the precautions taken, they might escape the threatened danger. "Depend upon it, if the savages really come and find us prepared they will not venture to attack the house," said Harry. "Well, well, I like your spirit, Master Harry," said the farmer. "I'll be on the watch, and if I hear the sound of a musket I shall know what it means, and will be quickly round with my four natives." At length the farmer and Mrs Greening took their departure. Harry had spoken to the native servants, who seemed fully to understand what was expected of them, and promised to be vigilant. Betsy had undertaken to keep a lantern burning, and to run out at the back-door at the first signal of danger, and light the bonfire. Harry tried to persuade Lucy to go to bed. "Of course I shall sit up myself and keep watch for anything that happens," he said; "and if you fall asleep, Lucy, I'll awaken you if necessary." After commending themselves to the care of God, and reading together, as usual, a chapter in the Bible, the two young people sat down with their books before them to wait the issue of events, Harry, however, every now and then got up and ran to the door to listen, fancying he heard some sounds in the distance. Hour after hour passed by, and neither foe nor friend appeared. The night seemed very long, but at length the morning light streamed through the openings above the shutters. Harry opened the door, the air was pure and fresh, and the scene before him appeared so calm and peaceful, that he felt much inclined to laugh at his own fears. The native servants, who had been on the watch, came in also, and declared that they had seen no one, nor heard the slightest sound during the night to alarm them. In a short time farmer Greening arrived, and expressed his satisfaction at finding that they had had no cause for alarm. "Perhaps after all, Master Harry, the man was only passing a joke on you, though it was as well to be on the safe side, and to be prepared." Lucy had several visitors during the day, who appeared much inclined to consider they had been unnecessarily alarmed. "We may or may not have been," observed Harry, "but I intend to keep the same look out tonight as before." The second night passed over like the former, and Harry himself now owned that unless the stranger purposely intended to deceive him, he must have misunderstood his meaning. The evening came on, the cows had been milked, the pigs and poultry fed, and other duties attended to. They were in their sitting-room reading, when Betsy came in and announced Mr Spears. "I hope I don't intrude, Miss Lucy," he said, putting his head in at the doorway in his usual half-hesitating manner, "but I could not shut up my house for the night without coming to inquire how you are getting on. Well, Master Harry, the Maoris who were to attack us have turned out to be phantoms after all, pleasanter foes to fight with than real savages. However, you behaved very well, my young friend, and I hope you will get a quiet night's rest, and sleep free from alarm." "Thank you for your kind wishes," answered Lucy, "but still I hope that you and our other friends will be on the watch, for I cannot feel altogether secure till our father and brother return." "Never fear, Miss Lucy, we will be ready if your phantom foes come. Pardon me, Master Harry, for calling them phantom foes, but such they are, I suspect. Ah! ah! ah!" and Mr Spears laughed at his own conceit. As Lucy did not wish to encourage the little man, she did not invite him to sit down, and, somewhat to her relief, he soon went away. Mr Spears had reached home, and was shutting up his cottage, when, looking towards the hill, he saw the beacon fire blazing up. He rushed back for his musket, and began to load it in great haste; but in vain he pulled the trigger, it would not go off--no wonder, for he had forgotten to put on a cap. Not discovering this, having knocked at the doors of his immediate neighbours, and told them that the settlement was attacked, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him to Mr Osburn. Though that gentleman turned out immediately, it was sometime before he could collect the rest of the inhabitants, when some with firearms, and others with pitchforks, or any weapons they could lay hands on, rushed up the hill towards Mr Pemberton's farm. They were joined on the way by farmer Greening and Tobias. All round the house seemed quiet, and not a sign of a Maori could be discovered. "There's been some trick played," said farmer Greening, "for all my servants went off this evening, and I should not be surprised that Mr Pemberton's have done the same; but I hope Master Harry has kept the door shut, and not let the enemy inside." As may be supposed, on reaching the house, their consternation and grief was very great when they discovered that the inmates had gone; and from the overturned chairs, and the back and front doors being open, their alarm for the safety of their young friends was greatly increased. "The savages have undoubtedly come and carried them off, but we may yet be in time to overtake them, if we can ascertain in what direction they have gone," said Mr Osburn. "See, the orchard gate is open," said farmer Greening. "They must have gone this way, by the path which leads to the river." They went on a little farther, when Tobias picked up a handkerchief. "That must be Miss Lucy's," he exclaimed, "and probably dropped on purpose," observed Mr Osburn. On reaching the river, no signs, however, of the savages nor their captives were to be seen; and though they hurried along the bank for some distance, they were at length compelled to return, in a state of increased anxiety for their young friends, to the settlement. CHAPTER NINE. THE RESCUE. LUCY AND HARRY CARRIED OFF BY HEMIPO, WHO TAKES THEM TO HIS PAH.--LUCY EXPLAINS THE TRUTH TO A NATIVE GIRL WHO ATTENDS HER.--WAIHOURA APPEARS, AND ASSISTS THEM TO ESCAPE.--ENCOUNTER HEMIPO, WHO IS CONQUERED BY RAHANA.--HEMIPO ALLOWED TO GO FREE.--HAPPY RETURN TO RIVERSIDE WITH WAIHOURA AND HER PARTY.--GREAT REJOICINGS.--HEMIPO BECOMES A CHRISTIAN.--WAIHOURA MARRIES RAHANA, AND THE SETTLEMENT FLOURISHES. Lucy and Harry were spending their evening, as was their usual custom, Harry reading aloud while his sister sat by his side working. Mr Spears had not long gone away, when a slight knock was heard at the door. "I do believe it must be that Mr Spears come back again," observed Betsy, getting up to open it. As she did so, what was her horror to see the figure of a tall Maori warrior, his face painted red, with his merai or axe in his hand. "Run, Miss Lucy! run, Master Harry, and hide yourselves!" she exclaimed, attempting to push back the door. Her efforts were vain, the savage dashed it open and stalked in, followed by a dozen or more Maoris. "Light the bonfire!" exclaimed Lucy,--and Betsy, springing by her, made her escape at the back-door. Harry tried to drag off Lucy in the same direction, but they were both instantly seized by the Maoris, two of whom sprang after Betsy. Scarcely a word was spoken by any of the natives, and Lucy had been too much agitated and alarmed to shriek out. The leader, in whom, by his sinister features and fierce looks, Lucy recognised Hemipo, had raised his weapon as if to strike Harry, but he restrained himself on finding that there was no opposition. He and one of his companions now bound Harry's arms, making signs to him that if he made any noise his brains would be dashed out. Two others then lifted up Lucy, and taking a cloak which hung on the wall, threw it round her. Plunder did not appear to be their object; for, although numerous articles were lying about which would have been of value to them, none were taken. The savages now lifted up Lucy and Harry in their arms and carried them out of the house. Harry looked round, hoping to see some of the native servants. No one appeared. "I hope, at all events, that Betsy may have set light to the signal-fire, that if we are carried away our friends will come in pursuit of us," he said to himself. Great was his disappointment when directly afterwards he saw Betsy brought along in the arms of two of the savages. "I have done it though, Master Harry," she exclaimed, loud enough for him to hear. "I had just time to throw the candle in among the sticks and paper before they caught me,--I do not think they saw what I had been about, or they would have stopped and put it out." A savage growl, and the hand of one of her captors placed over her mouth, prevented Betsy from saying any more. The whole party now moved down the hill at a rapid rate towards the river. On reaching the bank the young captives were placed on board a canoe, several of which were collected at the spot. Harry felt a little relieved when his arms were unbound, and he was allowed to sit at his ease beside Lucy. The savages evidently supposed that he would not attempt to leap out and swim on shore. The flotilla shoved off. The night was very dark, but the Maoris, well acquainted with the river, navigated dexterously amid the rocks and occasional rapids in their course. Now and then the water could be seen bubbling up on either side, and sometimes leaping over the gunwale, and once or twice so much came in that Harry feared the canoe would be swamped. "If we are upset, stick to me, Lucy," he whispered. "I'll swim with you to the shore, and we will then run off and try and make our escape." Lucy felt confident of her young brother's courage, but feared that there was little prospect of his succeeding in the attempt. Poor Betsy shrieked out with alarm. A threatening sound from the man who steered the canoe warned her to keep silence. There had been for sometime a strong wind, it now increased, and blowing directly against them, greatly impeded the progress of the canoes. Still the Maoris persevered. At length a loud clap of thunder burst from the sky. It was succeeded by several terrific peals, while vivid flashes of forked lightning darting forth showed that they were passing between high rugged cliffs which rose on either side of the stream, overhung with trees, amid which the wind roared and whistled as they waved to and fro above their heads, threatening every instant, torn up by the roots, to fall over and crush them. The thunder rattled louder than ever, reverberating among the cliffs. Just then a flash, brighter than its predecessors, which came hissing along close to the canoe, showed Harry the savage features of Hemipo, who was sitting in the stern steering. Still the canoe went on, indeed, as far as Harry could see there was no place on either side where they could have landed, and he earnestly prayed that, should any accident happen, it might be further on, where there would be a hope of reaching the shore. Lucy sat with her hands clasped in his, and her calmness and self-possession gave him courage. "Oh, what a dear brave little sister mine is," he thought to himself. "I would willingly give up my life to save her's. I wonder what these savages will do with us. They surely cannot be so barbarous as to intend to kill her,--they may knock me on the head very likely, and I only wonder they did not do so at first, it would have been more like their usual custom." The rain was now falling in torrents. Harry drew the cloaks which had been thrown over Lucy and Betsy closer round them. He was himself quickly wet through, but for that he cared little. Though it was evident that the paddlers were straining every nerve to urge the canoe onwards, he could judge by the appearance of the cliffs that they were making but slow progress, sometimes, indeed, they were almost brought to a standstill, then again they would redouble their efforts, and the wind lulling for a short time, they would stem the rapid current and get into calmer water. It was difficult to judge, under the circumstances, how time went by, but it seemed to Harry that the whole night was thus spent. Still the darkness continued, and hour after hour passed. At length the banks came more clearly into view, and he could distinguish the other canoes in company. Suddenly the cliffs on either side ceased, and he found that they had entered a lake. Covered, however, as it was with foaming waves stirred up by the storm, it seemed scarcely possible for the canoes to make their way across it. After they had in vain attempted to do so, and several of them had been nearly swamped, Harry perceived that they were steering towards the shore. They made their way up a small inlet, where, sheltered from the gale, the canoes at length floated quietly, and their crews set to work to bail them out. This being done, Harry observed that they were examining their muskets, and fresh priming them, lest they should have become damp with the rain. He hoped from this that they had not yet reached Hemipo's district, and were still in that of some friendly tribe. Meantime a man was sent on shore, who ran to the summit of a neighbouring height, where Harry saw him looking round, as if to ascertain whether any one was approaching. On his return, after he had given his report, Hemipo landed, and with scant ceremony dragged his prisoners out of the canoe, and signed to them that they were to accompany him. Eight of the savages immediately landed and closed round them. Having issued orders to the remainder, he led the way towards the entrance of a valley which extended up from the water. Lucy and Betsy could with difficulty walk after having been so long cramped up in the canoe. Harry begged his sister to lean on him, that he might help her along, and poor Betsy did her best to keep up with them, for the savages showed no inclination to slacken their pace. Every now and then, indeed, one of them gave her a rough push to make her move faster. Harry felt very indignant, but knew that it would be useless to expostulate, and dreaded lest Lucy might be treated in the same way. The valley through which they were proceeding he found ran parallel with the lake, and concluded, as was the case, that it would at length conduct them to an upper part of the stream, which, had it not been for the storm, Hemipo intended to have reached in the canoes. The chief stalked on ahead, every now and then turning round to order his followers to move faster. The valley, as they proceeded, narrowed considerably; the sides, composed of wild rugged rocks with overhanging trees crowning their summits, rising precipitously on either hand. Harry observed that the chief, as they advanced, looked cautiously ahead, as if he thought it possible that an enemy might appear to intercept him. Suddenly he stopped altogether, and addressed a few words to his followers, while he pointed up the valley. What he said Harry could not understand, but several of the savages directly afterwards drew their merais from their belts, and cast fierce looks at their captives, which too clearly indicated their cruel designs. "Oh, our dear father, my poor brother," murmured Lucy, as her eye glanced at the savages' weapons, and she clung closer to Harry, thinking of those she loved more than of herself. "Yet they cannot be so cruel." "Are they going to kill us?" cried Betsy. "Dear, dear Miss Lucy," and she stretched out her arms as if to protect her young mistress. After waiting a short time Hemipo ordered two of his men to go ahead, apparently to ascertain if the road was clear. They seemed satisfied that such was the case, for at a sign from them he and the rest proceeded as before. Harry, as they advanced, could not help looking up frequently at the cliffs on either side, and more than once he fancied he saw some person moving among the rocks as if observing them, while at the same time endeavouring to remain concealed. If such was the case, the person managed to escape the keen eyes of the Maoris, for Hemipo went on, evidently not supposing that he was watched. At length they emerged from the defile, and proceeding over a more open, though still a hilly and picturesque country, till they again came in sight of the river. By this time Lucy and Betsy were nearly dropping with fatigue, and even Harry, though accustomed to exercise, felt very tired, but the savages still urged them on, regardless of their weary legs. Harry felt very indignant, but Lucy entreated him not to show his resentment. At last a hill, round the base of which the river made its way, rose directly before them, with a stockade on its summit, similar to that surrounding Ihaka's village. Hemipo led the way towards it, and ascended a narrow path, at the top of which appeared a gateway, with a huge hideous figure above it. As he approached a number of women and children and old men issued forth eyeing his captives with no pleasant looks. Scarcely a word, however, was exchanged between the inhabitants and him till they entered the pah, when the whole party seated themselves on the ground, each of them singling out one of the new comers, and began rubbing their noses together, howling and weeping, while the tears, in copious torrents, flowed down their brown cheeks. Under other circumstances, Harry, who with his sister and Betsy, were left standing alone, would have felt inclined to laugh heartily at the odd scene, but matters were too serious to allow him to do so now. After the savages had rubbed their noses, howled, and shed a sufficiency of tears to satisfy their feelings, they got up with dry eyes and unconcerned looks, as if nothing of the sort had occurred. They then came round their captives, who were allowed to stand unmolested, while Hemipo was apparently giving an account of his adventures. Lucy and Betsy trembled as they saw the fierce glances cast at them during the chief's address; their lives seemed to hang on a thread, for any moment his auditors, whom he appeared to be working into a fury, might rush forward and cut them down with the merais, which, ever and anon, they clutched as if eager to use them. At length he ceased, when another orator got up, and appeared to be endeavouring to calm the angry feelings of the assembly. Others spoke in the same strain, and at last the orator, who had opposed Hemipo, having gained his object, so it seemed, came up to the captives and signed to them to accompany him. Leading them to a large wahre on one side of the pah, he told them to enter. Lucy, overcome with fatigue, sank on a heap of fern, which covered part of the floor. "Cheer up," said Harry, "they do not intend to kill us, and I hope that chief, who looks more good-natured than Hemipo, will think of bringing us some food. I'll let him know that we want it." Harry went back to the door at which the chief was still standing, and made signs that they were very hungry. The chief evidently understood him, and in a short time a girl appeared with a basket of sweet potatoes, some baked fish, and a bowl of water. Lucy thanked her warmly in Maori, saying that she might some day have the opportunity of rewarding her, adding-- "Our people will be grateful for any kindness shown us, and though we have been most cruelly carried away from our home, yet they will not revenge themselves on the innocent." The girl, whom Lucy supposed from her appearance to be a slave, looked very much surprised. "Our religion teaches us that we should forgive our enemies, and do good to those who injure us, and therefore still more should we be grateful to all who do us good," she continued. "Do you understand that?" The girl shook her head, and made signs to Lucy and her companions to eat while the food was hot; they needed, indeed, no second bidding, the girl standing by while they discussed the meal. Lucy feeling the importance of gaining the good-will of any person in the village, again spoke to the girl, much to the same effect as before. The latter evidently understood her, and made a sign that if discovered in helping them to escape she would be killed. Lucy's words had, however, it seemed, made an impression on her mind, for when she stooped down to take up the basket and bowl, she whispered that she would do what she could to be of use to them. They were now left alone. Harry entreated his companions to go to sleep, declaring that he was able to sit up and keep watch; and in spite of their anxiety, they were so weary, that in a few minutes their eyes closed, and they happily forgot all that had occurred. Harry kept awake as well as he could, and every now and then he observed women and children, and sometimes men, peering at them through the open door of the hut. Discovering, however, a chick mat spread on a framework leaning against the side of the hut, he conjectured that it was intended to use as a door, and, accordingly, placing it across the entrance, shut out the intruders. Having now nothing to distract his attention, he very soon dropped off to sleep. It was dark when he awoke, and as there were no sounds in the village he concluded that it was night, and he hoped that they might therefore be allowed to rest in quiet. He went to the door of the hut and looked out. No one was stirring, the storm had ceased, and the stars were shining brightly overhead. He again carefully closed the entrance, securing it with some poles, so that it could not be opened from the outside, and throwing himself on the fern at Lucy's feet, was soon fast asleep. He was awakened by hearing some one attempting to open the door--the daylight was streaming in through the crevices--on pulling it aside the slave girl, who had brought their supper, appeared with a basket of food and a bowl of water, as before. The light awoke Lucy and Betsy, who seemed refreshed by their slumbers, though their faces were still pale and anxious. The girl pointed to the food and bade them eat, but seemed unwilling to stay. "Let us say our prayers, Harry, as we should do at home, before breakfast," said Lucy, "though we have not a Bible to read." They knelt down, and Lucy offered up a prayer of thanksgiving to God for having preserved them, and for further protection, while the Maori girl stood by wondering what they were about. She then hurried away, as they supposed, from having received orders not to remain with them. They were left alone all the morning, and at noon the girl brought them a further supply of food. "This looks as if the Maoris did not intend to do us any harm, perhaps they expect to get a ransom for us," observed Harry. "I trust so," said Lucy, "and I am sure our friends would pay it should our father and Val be still absent from home; but, perhaps, Hemipo has some other object in carrying us off." "What can that be?" asked Harry. "The idea came into my mind, and I fear it is too likely that he has done so, in order to get Waihoura into his power. If she believes that our lives are in danger, she will, I am sure, be ready to do anything to save them," answered Lucy. "How should she know that we have been carried away," asked Harry. "She will suspect something when our labourers suddenly return to her village, and will send to ascertain what has occurred," observed Lucy. "If it was not for your sake, Lucy, I would run every risk rather than let the poor girl fall into the power of the savage," exclaimed Harry. "I hope that our father and Val, and the volunteers, will find out where we have been carried to, and will come to attack the pah and rescue us." "That would cause great loss of life, and, perhaps, seal our fate," answered Lucy. "I have been praying, and He who does not allow a sparrow to fall to the ground without knowing it, will arrange matters for the best. The knowledge that He does take care of us should give us confidence and hope." "I am sure you are right," observed Harry, after a few minutes reflection. "Still we cannot help talking of what we wish." In the afternoon, Harry going to the door of the hut, heard voices as if in loud discussion at a distance, and observing no one about, he crept on among the huts till he came in sight of a number of people seated on the ground, apparently holding a debate, for one after the other got up and addressed the rest. Keeping himself concealed behind the hut, he watched them for some time, at length he saw Hemipo and a body of armed men issue out by the gate. He crept back to the hut with this information. As far as he could ascertain, only the old men, and women, and children, were left in the pah. Late in the evening the slave girl again visited them, and, as she appeared less anxious than before to hurry away, Lucy spoke to her. At last she answered-- "What Manima can do she will do for the pakehas, but they must wait-- perhaps something will happen." She said this in a very low voice, and taking up the basket and bowl, hurried away. Harry found that no one interfered with him as he walked about outside the hut; but he did not like to go far from Lucy and Betsy, and darkness coming on, he returned. After he had closed the door, they offered up their prayers as usual, and lying down, soon fell asleep. Lucy was awakened by feeling a hand pressed on her shoulder. She was inclined to cry out, when she heard a low voice saying in Maori-- "Don't be afraid, call your brother and Betsy." Lucy, to her astonishment, recognised the voice of Waihoura, and without waiting to ask questions, awakened Harry and Betsy. A few words served to explain what she had heard, and they at once got up and followed Waihoura out of the hut. She led the way among the wahres the inmates of which, they knew from the sounds which issued forth, were fast asleep. They soon reached the inner end of the pah, behind the public store-house, the largest building in the village, when Waihoura pointed to an opening in the stockade. It was so narrow that only slight people could have passed through it. Waihoura, taking Lucy's hand, led her through it, but Betsy almost stuck as she made the attempt. With some assistance from Harry, she however succeeded in getting on the other side, when he following, found that they were standing on the top of a cliff. Waihoura again taking Lucy's hand, showed them a narrow and zigzag path which led down it. They followed her, as she cautiously descended towards the river, which Harry saw flowing below them. On reaching the edge of the water Waihoura stepped into a canoe, which had hitherto been hidden by a rock. The rest of the party entering it, two men who were sitting with their paddles ready, immediately urged the canoe out into the stream, down which they impelled it with rapid strokes, while Waihoura, taking another paddle, guided its course. Not a word was spoken, for all seemed to know exactly what was to be done. They had entirely lost sight of the hills on which the pah stood, before Waihoura uttered a word. She then, in a whisper, addressed Lucy, who was sitting close to her, apparently considering, even then, that great caution was necessary. They were passing between high cliffs, amid which the slightest sound, Harry rightly guessed, might be carried, and heard by any one posted on them. The paddlers redoubled their efforts, till at length they got into a broader part of the river. Lucy then, in a low voice, told Harry that Waihoura had heard of their capture from the labourers, who had returned home, and had immediately formed a plan for their rescue. She had friends in Hemipo's pah, for all were not as bad as he was, and among them was Manima, who belonged to a friendly tribe, and had been carried off some time before by Hemipo, with others, as a slave. She had herself, with a party of her people, immediately set out, and knowing the route they would have to take, had remained in ambush with the intention of rescuing them; but fearing that Hemipo would put them to death should he find himself attacked, she resolved to employ stratagem to set them at liberty. She had at once sent a message to Manima, and on finding that Hemipo had set out on another expedition, she had herself that very night entered the pah in disguise, and arranged the plan which had thus far been carried out. "She tells us," added Lucy, "that her only fear arises from the possibility of meeting Hemipo, who has gone down the river in his war canoes, though for what object she could not ascertain. She advises us to keep very silent, as should he be anywhere near, he is certain to have scouts on the watch, though we may hope to escape them in the darkness of night." "As I said of you, Lucy, she would make a first-rate General," observed Harry, "and I hope for her sake, as well as ours, that she will prove herself a successful leader." Scarcely had Harry spoken when a loud voice hailed them from the shore, and a bullet whistled close to them. "Don't cry out," whispered Waihoura. "The man will take some time to load again, and we may get beyond his reach." Her hopes were, however, vain, for directly afterwards several canoes darted from behind some rocks, and surrounding them, their canoe was towed to the shore. "They are Hemipo's people," said Waihoura. "But keep silence, he is not among them, and they will merely keep us prisoners till he comes, and something may happen in the meantime." The country was tolerably level beyond the bank where the canoes lay. There was sufficient light from the stars to enable Harry to see for some distance inland, and he recognised the spot as the same place at which they had been taken on shore on their way up the river. After waiting a considerable time, he observed a party of men moving along from the direction of the valley, and coming towards the canoes. He was afraid that they were Hemipo and his band. "How will the savage treat us, and those who have been trying to aid our escape?" he thought. Just then he caught sight of another and very much larger party coming from nearly the opposite direction. The first stopped and seemed trying to hide themselves behind some rocks and bushes, but the others had seen them, and uttering loud cries, rushed forward, then came the flashes and rattle of musketry, with reiterated cries for a few minutes, when the smaller party giving way, attempted to fly, but were quickly surrounded. The people in the canoes, on seeing this, shoved off from the bank, and endeavoured to drag Waihoura's canoe with them. The crew resisted; a blow on his head, however, struck down one of the men, and it appeared too probable that their enemies would succeed in their object. They had got out into the middle of the stream, when several more canoes were seen rounding a point below them. Waihoura uttered a loud cry, and the canoes came rapidly paddling towards them. Their captors, on seeing this, allowed her to go free, and began making their way as fast as they could up the river. "Who are you?" asked Waihoura, as the strangers' canoes approached. "We are Rahana's people, and he ordered us to come here to stop Hemipo from descending the river, while he proceeded on by land," was the answer. "Then it is Rahana who has gained the victory," exclaimed Waihoura, and, escorted by her friends, she guided her canoe towards the shore, Harry taking the paddle of the poor man who had been struck down. They quickly landed, when a messenger despatched to Rahana brought him to where Waihoura and her English companions were seated on some rocks by the bank of the river. He spoke earnestly for a few minutes to Waihoura. Lucy, from what he said, learned that she had sent to ask his assistance, and that ascertaining the proceedings of Hemipo, he had set out with all his followers to meet him and compel him to restore the prisoners he had carried off. "He and many of his people are now in my hands, for before they could escape we surrounded them and captured them all," he said, addressing Lucy and Harry. "They deserve death,--do you wish that we should kill them, or give them into the hands of your countrymen?" "Oh no, no, spare their lives," exclaimed Lucy. "We should do good to our enemies, and we would far rather let them go free. We are thankful to have been rescued from their power, but more than that we do not desire." "That is a strange thing the pakeha girl says," remarked Rahana to Waihoura. "Is it according to the religion you desire to teach me?" "Oh yes, yes," exclaimed Waihoura. "I know that Lucy is right. She has told me that He who came to die and be punished that men might enjoy happiness hereafter, blessed His enemies, and did good to those who injured Him." "Then they shall live," said Rahana. "I will set Hemipo free, and tell him that it is by the wish of the pakehas, and that he must henceforth be their friend and ally, and abandoning the cruel customs of our people, learn the good religion, which has made them act thus towards him." Lucy and Harry knowing the alarm their disappearance must have caused to Mrs Greening and their other friends, were anxious to return home immediately. Waihoura offered to accompany them, and begged Rahana that he would allow one of his canoes to convey them down the river. "I will myself take charge of them, and I shall be proud to deliver them in safety to their friends," he answered. "I will, however, first obey their wish, and set Hemipo and his followers free, after I have deprived them of their arms, which belong to my warriors." While the canoes were getting ready for the voyage down the river, fires were lighted, and fish and other provisions were cooked, some of which were presented to Waihoura and her friends, greatly to Harry's satisfaction, who declared that he had seldom felt so hungry in his life; though Lucy and Betsy, still scarcely recovered from their agitation, partook of the repast but sparingly. Meantime Rahana had gone back to where he had left his warriors and their prisoners. He shortly returned, accompanied by another person. As they approached the spot where Waihoura and her friends sat, the light of the fire showed that Rahana's companion was Hemipo. He looked greatly crestfallen, but recovering himself, he addressed Waihoura. Neither Lucy nor Harry could clearly understand him; but they gathered from what he said that he desired to express his gratitude for having his life spared, and sorrow for his conduct towards her, as also for having carried off her friends, and that if they would send a missionary to him he would gladly listen to his instruction. It evidently cost him much to speak as he did. She was glad when the interview was over, and Rahana told him that he might now depart in peace. Waihoura and her friends were now conducted to the largest canoe, in which Rahana also took his seat. They had not proceeded far down the river when day broke, and the neighbouring woods burst forth with a chorus of joyful song, the sky overhead was blue and pure, the waters bright and clear, and the grass and shrubs, which grew on the banks, sparkled with bright dewdrops. "See, see," exclaimed Harry. "There's a whole fleet of boats coming up the river." Rahana, on observing them, went ahead of his flotilla with a flag waving at the bow of his canoe. "There is our father, there is Val," exclaimed Harry. The canoe was soon alongside one of the largest boats. A few words explained all that had occurred. Mr Pemberton and his companions had returned home the day after his children and servant had been carried off, when an expedition had immediately been organised to sail up the river and attack Hemipo's pah, it being at once suspected that he had committed the outrage. As there was now no necessity to proceed further, the boats' bows were turned down the stream, Harry, with his sister and Betsy, having gone on board Mr Pemberton's. Accompanied by the canoes, a strong current being in their favour, they soon reached "Riverside," where the safe return of the young people caused almost as much satisfaction as the news which had just before arrived of the termination of the war. Waihoura soon afterwards became the wife of Rahana, who built a house after the English model, on some land which he owned in the neighbourhood near the river, and receiving instruction from their friends, both became true and earnest Christians. They had the satisfaction also of hearing that Hemipo, who had gladly received Mr Marlow and other missionaries, had, with all his people, become Christians, and he showed by his changed life and peaceable conduct, that he was one in reality as well as in name. "Riverside" continued to increase and prosper, and protected by the friendly natives who surrounded it, escaped the disasters from which many other places in subsequent years suffered. Honest Mr Spears must not be forgotten. Though still showing a readiness to help everybody, having learned the necessity of attending to his own affairs, he became one of the leading tradesmen in the place. Both Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening had, in course of time, the satisfaction of seeing their children married, and settled happily around them. THE END. 
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38691	----	+-----------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original | | document has been adjusted. | | | | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For | | a complete list, please see the end of this file. | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ DOWN UNDER WITH THE PRINCE BY THE SAME AUTHOR SIGNS AND PORTENTS IN THE FAR EAST [Illustration: H.R.H. ON DECK: AN INTERRUPTION] DOWN UNDER WITH THE PRINCE BY EVERARD COTES WITH TWENTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS METHUEN & CO. LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET, W.C. LONDON _First Published in 1921_ This book attempts to be a gangway to the _Renown_ for the reader who would travel by battle-cruiser, by train, on horseback, by motor, and on foot, the forty-five thousand miles of his Australasian tour with H.R.H. the Prince of Wales. It is built by one who travelled, as a correspondent, with him all the way. CONTENTS PAGE I AT SEA 1 II BARBADOS 9 III PANAMA 15 IV SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA 22 V HONOLULU 27 VI NEPTUNE BOARDS THE _RENOWN_ 35 VII FIJI 41 VIII AUCKLAND 47 IX NORTH ISLAND 59 X SOUTH ISLAND 73 XI ENTERPRISE IN NEW ZEALAND 87 XII VICTORIA 100 XIII NEW SOUTH WALES 116 XIV SOME COMMONWEALTH AFFAIRS 130 XV WESTERN AUSTRALIA 140 XVI WHEAT, GOLD, AND LOGGING 148 XVII THE NULLARBOR PLAIN 158 XVIII SOUTH AUSTRALIA 163 XIX TASMANIA 170 XX QUEENSLAND 176 XXI THE JACKAROO AND OTHERS 192 XXII AMONGST THE SHEEP 200 XXIII EASTWARD HO 211 XXIV THE WEST INDIES 221 XXV THE BERMUDAS 236 XXVI THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TOUR 242 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS H.R.H. ON DECK: AN INTERRUPTION _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE PANAMA CANAL: A SHARP CORNER 16 SURF-BOARDING AT HONOLULU 16 EXCITEMENT GROWS IN AUCKLAND HARBOUR 18 NEW ZEALAND: THE PRIME MINISTER TAKES CHARGE 18 _From a Photograph by Guy, Dunedin_ WELLINGTON: A CANOE IN THE PETONE PAGEANT 64 _From a Photograph by Guy, Dunedin_ "THE MAORI PEOPLE WILL BE TRUE TILL DEATH" 64 WESTPORT CHILDREN: A TUMULT OF FLAGS AND FLOWERS 80 DUNEDIN'S WELCOME 80 _From Photographs by Guy, Dunedin_ WITH AUSTRALIA'S MOST DISTINGUISHED CITIZEN 112 _From a Photograph by the Central News Agency, Ltd._ JUTLAND DAY AT MELBOURNE 112 GOVERNMENT HOUSE GARDENS, NEW SOUTH WALES 128 PERTH, FROM THE KING'S PARK 128 CROSSING THE NULLARBOR PLAIN 160 ABORIGINAL DANCE 160 LEAVING PORT ADELAIDE 170 MOUNT WELLINGTON, HOBART 170 THE BACKBLOCKS: AN UNOFFICIAL FIXTURE 192 HIS FAVOURITE MOUNT 192 EMU ON A SHEEP-RUN 208 GOOD-BYE TO SYDNEY HARBOUR 208 SAMOA MAKES MERRY 224 TRINIDAD: IN THE DRAGON'S MOUTH 224 The thanks of the writer are due to those who have contributed photographs for the illustrations, and especially to Sir Godfrey Thomas, Bart. DOWN UNDER WITH THE PRINCE I AT SEA One March morning of last year, an ordinary train moved out of Waterloo Station for Portsmouth, and among the ordinary people it carried were at least two or three who were going further. They sat together and smoked, and exchanged experiences and speculations. As the train slowed down at Portsmouth Harbour they looked from the carriage windows and saw the fighting tops of a big battle-cruiser lifted grey against the sky above the houses of the foreshore, and one said to another "There she is." There she was, the _Renown_, in alongside, waiting to sail with His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales to Australasia. It was the day before and already the function was in the quickened air. Scraps of coloured bunting fluttered and flew on the wharf sheds. Dockyard officials gave orders with more responsibility than ever immediately under their caps. The travellers from Waterloo went up the gangway to the quarter-deck, successfully passed the officer of the watch, and found their quarters. They were the journalists of the tour, there on behalf of the people at home, that multitudinous "public" which, for lack of accommodation on the _Renown_, must see the Prince's tour in the convex mirror of the daily press. Next day the function flowered. The Royal train rolled in. The red carpet was spread and the Chief Passenger went up the gangway, with every sign and circumstance by which his country could mark the occasion of his going. Gently the grey turrets slid out from the crowded wharf into the leaden expanse of harbour. "Auld Lang Syne" rang into the chill wind that rocked the rowing-boats lining the fairway. Ant-like figures swarmed into the tall rigging of Nelson's flagship, which lay, bedecked all over, her old oak sides stiff in checkered squares of black and white, while her ancient muzzle-loaders banged off a smoky salvo--the senior ship of the British Navy wishing Godspeed to her fighting junior on Royal Service starting. The hundred and twenty thousand horse-power steam turbines of the battle-cruiser quickened their rhythmic throb. The still shouting crowds ashore faded to dark stains on the Southsea beach. The red and gold of the Royal standard fluttered down from the main, and the _Renown_ put out to sea, starting on this pleasant commission with the same certitude and the same cheeriness, the same discipline and the same lightness of heart, the same directness of purpose, and above all things the same absence of fuss, with which she had often gone upon errands perilous. The voyage, so much anticipated and chronicled, had begun, and the convincing thing was that it was going to be, from the _Renown's_ point of view, precisely like other voyages. That impression came with the first turn of the propeller and remained, it may be said at once, until the last. The circumstance and ceremonial of the departure, the pomp of Royalty and the glitter of an Imperial mission had all merged, before the sun set in the cloud-bank of that March afternoon, in the sense of function and routine, detached and disregarding, that controls life in His Majesty's ships at sea. The _Renown_ is the most recent, the fastest, and the best armed battle-cruiser in the world. She received at her christening the proud traditions, extending over three hundred years, of the battles of the British Navy, having had no less than seven fighting predecessors of the same name, beginning with the gallant little wooden frigate _Renommée_, captured in 1653 from the French and transferred to the British squadrons where she became the first of the famous _Renowns_. The present vessel was built as lately as 1916, when British need was great. She remains a record of what those strenuous times could do. For all her thirty-two thousand tons and gigantic armament of mammoth guns this great battle-cruiser slides through the water with the smoothness of the otter. She moved steadily at eighteen knots an hour from the time she left Portsmouth, a pace which, for this last word in fighting machines, is mere half-speed, though it is as fast as most suburban trains can travel. She is so big that surprisingly little motion is noticeable at sea, though waves wash freely over forecastle and quarter-deck, contracting the space available for the exercise and training of the large fighting crew she carries. This intimacy with the ocean is an impression acquired early and vividly by the civilian on board a fighting ship. A voyage on a big liner is a quite super-marine experience by comparison, with a picturesque and phosphorescent basis some distance below a sleepy deck-chair, and not necessarily observed at all. A battleship penetrates rather than sails the sea, and takes very little interest in keeping any part of herself dry. It is impossible to ignore the ocean on such a vessel. The _Renown_ was no less amphibian than others of her class. The accommodation contrived for the Prince was itself liable to ruthless visitation, and even the cabin on the superstructure, which held the chroniclers of his Odyssey, and was the highest inhabited spot beneath the bridge, occasionally took considerably more than enough water to dilute the ink. Naturally there was nothing in her mission to interfere with the _Renown's_ ordinary routine at sea. Training, gun-drill and inspections went on as usual and it was impossible not to be penetrated with the fact that these things were admirably done. For the passengers the day began with breakfast in the ward-room at eight. Soon after nine the whole ship's company assembled in divisions, in different parts of the vessel. Kits were inspected and the day's duty commenced. One realized, as one watched the proceedings, how completely the war has abolished the old navy methods of stiffness and pipeclay. The relations between officers and men are of the pleasantest and most human character. Nobody is asked to do anything not of definite importance to the welfare of the ship, or to the training and the making fit of the men. The navigation, the keeping of the watches, the working of the complicated machinery by which the vessel is driven, steered and lighted, the handling of the gigantic guns, and the running of such supplementary services as those of supply and wireless, proceed upon simple matter-of-fact business principles, under the direction of the Captain, who controls the organization as a whole. Immediately under the Captain are the Navigation Commander, the Administration Commander, the Engineer Commander, the Gunnery Lieutenant-Commander, the Torpedo Lieutenant-Commander, the Principal Medical Officer, and the Paymaster, each an expert in the particular branch he is responsible for. Unquestionably an expert too is the ship's parson who, himself belonging to the upper deck, is related, by his duties, so closely to the lower, as to afford a personal link between the two, which no less sympathetic or more official intermediary could supply. Each of the departments I have named is manned by its own staff of officers and men, who are all trained to carry out definite functions with cheerfulness, confidence and goodwill. On the _Renown_ the same healthy spirit was to be found in every one aboard, from the Flag-Lieutenant down to the humblest stoker. It is an early inoculation of Osborne and Exmouth and apparently expands in the system with promotion. At general divisions on Sundays, the entire ship's company assembled for inspection on the decks, each officer at the head of his respective contingent. A finer sight than these divisions it would be impossible to find, the men well-set-up, and bearing decorations won in every naval engagement during the war, from Zeebrugge to the Falkland Islands, and from the Dardanelles to Jutland, wearing too in many cases the red triple stripe upon the sleeve which tells of fifteen years of good service under the White Ensign. A battle-cruiser has many aspects. It is a fortress with parade grounds and cricket pitches, a monastery with divagations in port, a school of many things besides arithmetic, and a community that could teach social law to Mr. Hyndman. It is above all from this point of view the home, the castle and the club of the officers and men who inhabit it, and the centre of these significances is the ward-room. The _Renown's_ had an ante-room which enshrined the files, not greatly disturbed, of a few newspapers, and was a most comfortable smoking-room, but it was about the tables and chairs, the Mess President's mallet and the unwearied piano of the ward-room itself that the hoariest traditions of His Majesty's Navy most conspicuously flourished and the atmospheric essence of the Senior Service most happily clung. There is a variety of the game of Patience played with cards called "Knock." It was plainly invented, in a moment of drowsy leave, by a sub-lieutenant to whom had arrived the felicity of ordering, by a stroke upon the table, Commander X or Lieutenant-Commander Y to "pass the wine" in penalty for having read an urgent signal from the bridge and omitted to excuse himself to him, the said Sub-Lieutenant, and Mess President for the week, though youngest officer present. Various were the offences thus visited across the field of the repast, which had a goal at each end, kept, so to speak, by the Chaplain, with his grace before and after meat. In that consecrated interval no lady's name may be pronounced, and nothing of any sort may be perused. The Spell with which the ward-room guards its daily history at once paralyses the pen. There is really no way of learning much about these things except by entering the Navy or persuading a battle-cruiser to give you a berth in her, opportunities which occur but seldom to any of us. The relaxations of that genial and athletic place form a tempting theme, but it is better for the publishers that a modest number of these volumes should reach the libraries than that a whole edition should be sunk at sea. All this announced and admitted however, this was the voyage to Australasia of H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, and the _Renown_, at least in the public eye, must be subordinated to her duty. The Prince was to be met quite often, going about the ship, like anybody else, with always an unaffected word and pleasant smile for those he ran up against. He did a good deal of reading and other work in his state-room in the morning, but in the afternoon he often shared in the recreations of the officers, playing squash racquets in a small court that had been rigged up upon the superstructure, shooting at clay discs thrown out from the ship's side by means of a spring trap, or running and doing Swedish exercises on the poop. H.R.H. ordinarily messed with the Captain and the members of the Royal Staff, in the cuddy, which had been enlarged and pleasantly decorated in ivory and green for the purpose; but he was also an honorary member of the ward-room and gun-room messes and sometimes dined with one or other of them. On other nights he often had officers or passengers to dine with himself and his staff, in the simplest and most informal way, his guests coming away with the pleasantest impressions of unpretentious good fellowship and cheery company. On these occasions the Prince himself proposed the health of the King, and about this ceremony, simply and modestly as it was observed, hung an odd little Imperial thrill. Republics are worthy forms of Government, but they impose upon no man the duty of toasting his own father. It was a gesture that somehow placed the youthful host momentarily apart--one imagines his having to reconquer the effect of it as often as he makes it. The Prince is keen upon naval affairs and soon knew the ship from one end to the other. He often accompanied the Captain on inspections and took a hand in all sorts of duties, down to those of the oil furnaces. He sampled the men's food, tasted their grog and would often have a cheery chat with them. There was no attempt to sequester the Chief Passenger. He shared and contributed to the life of the ship. II BARBADOS Gloom was cast over the _Renown_, the day before reaching Barbados, by the falling overboard, in rough weather, of a fine young gunner of marines, who was sitting on the taffrail gaily talking to his mates when a roll came that sent him into the sea. The poor fellow had hardly stopped falling when patent life-buoys, which sent out white clouds of smoke, easily visible in the bright afternoon sunshine, were dropped. The big ship swung round. The man was swimming, when lost to view amongst white-topped waves. A boat was smartly lowered, and within fifteen minutes of the cry "Man overboard," the rowers had reached the buoys and were carefully searching the precise spot where the speck which had been one of our company had disappeared. The Prince was much concerned at the accident, and came upon deck the moment he heard of it. But our hearts grew heavy as the minutes went by and the search proved vain. It had eventually to be recognized that the unfortunate man had sunk before reaching the life-buoys, close as they had been dropped to him in the water. A funeral service was afterwards held on the forecastle, the entire ship's company and all the officers attending to pay respect to the memory of their shipmate. The Prince also sent a personal message by wireless to the relations of the deceased. It was one of those accidents that no amount of care can entirely prevent, upon the necessarily low, and but slightly fenced decks of a modern battle-cruiser in a heavy sea. The following evening the _Renown_ arrived off Barbados. The light-cruiser _Calcutta_, flagship of the West Indian squadron, met her at sea and escorted her in to the anchorage half a mile from shore. A dozen sailing barques, mostly American, also three or four steamers of various nationalities, were lying at anchor, all of them decked with bunting in honour of the Royal visit. The usual salutes were fired and formal exchange of calls between the Prince and Sir Charles O'Brien, Governor of the island, and Admiral Everett, commanding the West Indian station, took place. It was the first pause for the purpose of the tour, the first official touch. The feeling of function, of standing at attention, which was soon to clothe the enterprise as with a garment, fell upon all concerned. The silk hat for the first time bobbed in the visiting steam-launch, and the address came out of the breast pocket of the municipal morning coat. Bridgetown, the capital of Barbados, as seen from the _Renown_ through the soft warm muggy atmosphere of the end of March, was a tumbled mass of white and red buildings embowered in emerald foliage, and fringed by the masts of anchored sailing vessels, themselves reflected in the broken amethyst of the open roadstead. The narrow streets had been decorated by the wives and daughters of the residents, headed by Lady Carter, wife of a late governor of the island, who had expended an immense amount of labour upon the work. Gigantic sago-palm leaves had grown into royal emblems wherein the fronds took the place of feathers. The Broad Street of the city might have been a Cantonese bazaar, so thick was it with coloured banners. Nelson's statue, in the local Trafalgar Square, looked out of a mass of brilliant floral designs. An imposing triumphal arch of flowers had also been erected. Even the tiny wooden huts of the negroes, on the outskirts, carried paper decorations that must have cost much labour to make. A well-set-up company of volunteers furnished a guard-of-honour at the landing. The members of the Barbados House of Assembly, headed by the Governor in white political uniform, received the Prince. Bands and salutes added to the formality of the occasion. Complimentary addresses were presented in the old Assembly House, where the Prince shook hands with a remarkably long line of returned military and naval officers and men, for Barbados sent an extraordinary large proportion of her sons to the war. A fleet of motor-cars then turned up and the Prince was taken for a drive through the island. The procession was headed by that veteran planter and member of Assembly, Mr. Graham Yearwood, who seemed to have at his finger-ends every local romance of the past three hundred years, from the story of the "Rendezvous" on the coast, where loyalist planters repelled the onslaught of Cromwellian squadrons, to that of a certain cavernous gully which we also saw, where, for long months, was hidden the body of a swashbuckling moss-trooper slain in single combat by a Barbadian planter. The Prince was also conducted over the buzzing machinery of an immense, up-to-date sugar-factory, fitted with the latest appliances, and learnt something of the vicissitudes of the sugar industry, an enterprise which was doggedly operated through years of low prices, bad crops, and hurricanes, and only narrowly saved from complete bankruptcy by a grant obtained from the British Parliament by Mr. Joseph Chamberlain. At the time of the Royal visit, it was in a state of abounding prosperity with prices at twelve times their pre-war level. Even with the year's by no means favourable season the current crop was valued at eight times the average of five years previously, which meant ease and comfort to all connected with this premier industry of the island. The whole of the city portion of the route was lined--in places ten deep--with cheering, laughing, bowing coloured people and their women and piccaninnies; the folk of the cane fields and factories. In the country portion of the route, negroes rushed to the roadside from their work in the fields the moment the Royal car appeared in sight. "God bless you!" they cried to the Prince. "Come! Come! Lookee here, he too sweet boy!" "God bless my old eyes that have seen him," mingled with laughter and the clapping of hands, while old men bowed low, with dignified, wide-armed, slow gesticulation, and women and girls, sometimes smartly got-up with head-kerchiefs made of Union Jacks, and always with strong, free hip-gait, and the widest of white-toothed smiles, came running to drop a curtsy or bend in salute. It was real contagious joy and excitement, like the overflowing froth of a bottle of Guinness, and as for the noise only a Jazz Band could describe it. The road was sometimes crowded with four-wheeled mule-drawn carts, piled high with fresh-cut, yellow sugar-cane, on its way to the presses, each stem the thickness of a rolling-pin and the length of a cavalryman's lance, for the harvesting was in full swing. The negroes take the crop, which looks much like sorghum or Indian corn, with cutlasses, primitive work done by primitive people. The luscious growth needs a good deal of fertilizing and care the year round, and generations of these simple folk have thriven upon it since the middle of the seventeenth century. Seventy-four thousand acres of it there are and probably a hundred thousand negroes producing it, all, so far as we could observe, delighted to see the Prince of Wales. The road wound sometimes through pillared aisles of stately sago-palms, past dense groves of green mahogany and bread-fruit trees or brilliantly red flowering devil-trees, hibiscus, and silk-cotton. Sometimes one saw brown heaps of sweet potatoes, as large as turnips, just dug from the earth. The procession climbed through open fields of uncut sugar-cane and sorghum, getting a fine view of rolling cultivation, bordered with blue sea and white surf-swept beach. Ancient windmills swung black, droning sails on the hill-tops. Tall brick chimneys told of long-established crushing mills close to the cane fields. Cheerful villages of flimsy wooden shacks and solid stone houses followed one another in quick succession, each with its inhabitants lined up in holiday clothes to cheer. Again and again the Prince alighted to inspect boy-scouts, girl-guides, and war-workers, or to say a pleasant word to assemblies of school-children. One gathering proved a community of "Red-legs," descendants, now of mixed race, of Scotch and Irish prisoners of war and "unruly men" exiled and sold for seven years as white servants to the colony in 1653. It was easy to pick out in the white-clad crowd individuals with negro features and pale Celtic skins. Later in the day, the Prince attended a formal state dinner, and evoked a storm of applause by contradicting emphatically a rumour, which had been causing a good deal of anxiety in the island, to the effect that there was a possibility of some of the West Indies being disposed of to America. "I need hardly say," said His Royal Highness, downrightly, "that the King's subjects are not for sale to other governments. Their destiny, as free men, is in their own hands. Your future is for you yourselves to shape, and I am sure Barbados will never waver in its loyalty, three centuries old, to the British Crown." It would thus appear that Cromwell's experiment is not likely to be developed by the present government. The assurance was noteworthy as the first of the pleasant and telling things the Prince had to say during his progress, opportunities which he never missed and which, in the aggregate, enhanced so greatly the success of his mission. III PANAMA At dawn, in hot, soft, hazy weather, the _Renown_, followed by the _Calcutta_, left the blue, transparent waters of the Caribbean Sea and entered the green, muddy channel, fringed with dense, verdant forest, which is the beginning of the Panama Canal. Three aeroplanes, each bearing the stripes of the American Air Service, droned overhead in noisy welcome. Resonant concussions and white, fleecy puffs of smoke amidst low wharves and jetties where Colon lay in the forest, spread a Royal salute upon the vibrating air. Music arose upon the _Renown_, while staff-officers arrayed themselves in gold-lace and helmets, ready to receive the Prince's guests. Launches arrived at the ship bringing the British Minister to Panama, Mr. Percy Bennett, accompanied by Captain Blake and Major-General Bethell, respectively naval and military attachés at the British Embassy at Washington. An hour's quiet steaming, thereafter, brought us to the giant Gatun locks, which stand in three black tiers of steel, the gates rising, one above another, in a massive setting of grey, rounded concrete, a severing gash in the high, green hill which is the Gatun dam. Here, Señor Lefevre, President of the Panama Republic, Admiral Johnston and Colonel Kennedy, commanding the American naval and military forces in the Panama Zone, also Engineer Colonel Harding, Governor of the Canal, and Monsieur Simonin, French Chargé d'Affairs, came on board. The formality attending these official arrivals, so often to be repeated throughout the tour, was practically always the same. The visitor who came up the gangway from the dock or the launch, as the case might be, saluted the quarter-deck--a survival this from the days when it bore a crucifix--and was saluted in turn by the Officer of the Watch, who, with his telescope tucked under his arm, conveyed the stranger past the row of marines drawn up at attention to the Captain and the Equerry in waiting, who brought him up the starboard companion to the mezzanine deck. Here he would be received by the Prince attended by his Staff. The visit seldom exceeded twenty minutes. When H.R.H. left the ship for the shore the Captain awaited him on the quarter-deck and conducted him past the marines presenting arms to the gangway. On these occasions the junior members of the party were the first to step off, finishing with the Admiral and last of all the Prince, both Admiral and Prince being "piped over the side" to the shrill music of the bos'n's whistle. There was as little variation about the arrival on shore. Always the guard-of-honour, the band, the stunting aeroplanes, always six bars of "God Save the King" and the pause at attention, always the hand-shaking with the officer commanding the guard-of-honour, the inspection, and so to the business and pleasure of the visit. [Illustration: PANAMA CANAL: A SHARP CORNER] [Illustration: SURF-BOARDING AT HONOLULU] On this occasion the guard of American soldiers in white uniforms and the familiar wide-brimmed hats was drawn up upon the lawn beside the topmost lock. Thence, past some thousands of prosperous-looking employees of the Canal, and their families, who had turned out to see the reception, the Prince was taken to the Control House, whence the whole of the operations of the locks are regulated, from the manipulating of the little, black, towing mule-engines, which ran busily, like scarabaeid beetles, up and down rails set in concrete slopes on the top of the lock walls, to the opening and closing of the seventy-foot high gates, and the letting in and letting out of the green sluggish water. From the veranda of the Control House we got our first striking impression of the dramatic achievement of the Canal. We were on the level of the wide island dotted expanse of the Gatun lake. The enormous _Renown_ and the tiny _Calcutta_ lay, side by side, in thousand-feet-long pools, at our feet, in a turmoil of waves of rushing water, out of which, from time to time, some frightened fish would leap, a silver gleam that disappeared before one had made out its shape or kind. The great design was in action before our eyes. The locks opened and closed with extraordinary speed and almost noiseless efficiency, and by the time the Prince had returned from inspecting the monster spillway and power-house, to which he was carried in a tiny train that was in readiness alongside the locks when we arrived, the _Calcutta_ was already entering the lake, while the _Renown_ had surmounted the locks and was only waiting to take on the Royal party before following in her wake. The route thereafter lay at first through the green water of the lake, past islands covered with densest jungle. About the middle of the lake, we passed masses of bare tree-trunks, standing erect in the water, on either side of the broad track that is kept clear for the passage of ships. These trees are what remain of a forest that covered the bottom of the valley before the building of the dam which converted it into a lake. The trunks, though standing in some seven fathoms of water, still keep their branches and project many feet above the surface; and have to be avoided by passing ships. This dismal avenue has kept its place for ten years. It must have been green once. Like a forest after a great burning it stands in skeleton and carries no leaf now, a curious reminder that water can be as pitiless as fire. In the afternoon we entered the Culebra cut. Here man has been at grips with nature in her least amiable mood. The channel becomes a winding gorge through steep, rugged crags and rounded hills. The stupendous cutting shows treacherous alternating layers of red gravel, yellow sand, brown crumpled rock, and soft, slippery blue clay. A number of mammoth floating steam dredgers were here at work, a fresh slip having occurred a few days previously. Progress, therefore, had to be of the slowest. A climax was reached near the end of the cutting, where, at a sharp curve in the channel, a whole hillside, half a mile each way, had commenced to move, the débris extending right into the canal, which was also impeded by a small island, apparently squeezed up from the bottom by the terrific pressure of the slipping hill. The place looked almost impossible, the great length of the _Renown_ making the manoeuvring of her in what remained of the channel one of the trickiest pieces of navigation imaginable. Naval officers are not easily put off, however, and by the most delicate handling, the vessel ultimately crawled past the obstruction. The cheerful little red-roofed township of Pedro Miguel was reached soon afterwards. Here the entire population had turned out to see the Prince, the girls in brilliant costumes, amongst which one might sometimes see the black mantilla of Spain; the men in anything, from working overalls and slouch hats, to the leisured fashions of New York. At Pedro Miguel began the slow process of descending to the level of the Pacific. The first lock dropped us some thirty feet into the picturesque lake of Miraflores, surrounded by rounded grass-grown hills, emerald in the setting sun. Two more locks followed at the end of the lake, and we entered a stretch of water at ocean level, which took us to the docks at Balboa, upon the Pacific, close to the city of Panama. [Illustration: EXCITEMENT GROWS IN AUCKLAND HARBOUR] [Illustration: NEW ZEALAND: THE PRIME MINISTER TAKES CHARGE] At Panama the Prince had the most friendly and hospitable reception, banquets and balls succeeding one another on shore, while on the _Renown_ several ceremonies took place, including the receiving and replying to addresses from British, West Indian and East Indian residents. Some of the local cordiality was quaintly worded. "In frantic supplication we fling ourselves at the feet of Almighty God to shower His blessings upon Your Highness." More, it may be imagined, could not be done. "If we be allowed another paragraph may we then be permitted, in this final gasp, to express our desire that Your Royal Highness will greatly enjoy your short visit to this port." It is understood that the desire of the permitted paragraph and the final gasp was not denied. Another picturesque ceremony was when the Prince drove in procession to pay a formal visit to the President of Panama. The motor-cars first traversed the wide American zone of the Canal region, speeding over smooth, asphalt roads, past well-built verandahed houses, with white walls and dark-coloured jutting roofs, the windows and doors meshed with fine wire-gauze, an arrangement which gives them the appearance of prosperous meat-safes. These houses are part of the wonderful sanitary arrangements which have turned Panama, from being a yellow-fever camp, into one of the most healthy regions in the world. They are inhabited by the engineering, traffic and administrative staffs, and the police and military establishments of the Canal zone. They stand in spacious gardens with beautifully-kept lawns and flower-borders, and are supplied with up-to-date electric-light and fans, good drinking-water, and perfect installations of sewers. There are also carefully thought out clubs and institutes, which supply the Canal employees with entertainment for their spare hours, alcoholic liquor alone excepted, for the zone is strictly "dry." Smart American sentries saluted at the barbed wire boundary, whence the route wound past conical hills which may well have been the range that gave to Drake the first white man's view of the Pacific Ocean. Thereafter the procession plunged into the narrow streets of Panama city, which were lined with cheering, laughing crowds of gaily dressed negroes, Mexicans and Spaniards. Bunting fluttered from every window in the high tiered houses. An escort of picturesque mounted police, with rough peaked saddles and undocked horses, closed in on either side. Immense, decorated barouches, drawn by fine pairs of Mexican horses, were substituted for the Canal zone motor-cars, and the procession moved on in state, the Prince alighting, _en route_, to inspect a fine body of about a hundred returned soldiers of the West Indian Regiment who had assembled in his honour. The President and his entire council, in black frock-coats and shining top-hats, welcomed the party upon the steps of the Presidential House, a pleasant residence, with garden quadrangle, overlooking the sunny harbour. The Prince was conducted upstairs to a large reception-room, hung with yellowing paintings of previous Presidents, where compliments were exchanged and refreshments offered. Later in the day an official dinner was given, at which the President proposed the Royal health in flowing Spanish, mentioning the large number of residents, in the chief cities of Panama, who are British subjects from the West Indian islands, and emphasizing the gratitude felt by all Panamanians towards Great Britain for having taken up the cause of the smaller nations in the World War. The reference filled several eyes in the company with conscious rectitude, and they were not all British. IV SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In passing the Culebra Cut landslide, in the Panama Canal, one of the propellers of the _Renown_ touched a submerged rock which had escaped the notice of the surveyors. When Balboa harbour was reached the ship's divers went down to see what the damage amounted to; and as poking about the cruiser's bottom, thirty-three feet below the surface, in muddy water infested with sharks, is, to say the least, an unpleasant task, it was characteristic of the ship that one of the first to don diving-dress and go over the side was the Engineer-Commander himself. The result was to ascertain that one of the blades of one of the propellers had had a small piece broken off, but that the damage was so slight that it would not be necessary to dock the vessel for repair. A start was therefore made for San Diego, our next port of call. The course skirted the mountainous coast of Mexico, which showed mistily on the starboard horizon. The water was of the smoothest and clearest, and of tint so blue as to be almost azure. The temperature was tropical, and we found surprising abundance of sea-life. Yellow turtles, as big as footballs, with their little pointed heads stuck out to watch us, floated by in scores. Schools of glistening porpoises leapt in the sun besides a couple of big, slow-moving, log-like blackfish. You can travel from London to Bombay and see hardly a creature, but here the sea teemed. Birds too were plentiful--quantities of duck, white, wheeling gulls, and black, slender, frigate-birds that sailed past like kites. A few days later, in an amethyst sea, off the green slopes of Loma point, the _Renown_ cast anchor. The houses and towers of San Diego, seven miles off, across the Harbour of the Sun, glistened pearl-like in soft morning light, above the golden setting of the Coronada sand. Out at sea, at dawn that day, six grey, business-like American destroyers had met the _Renown_ and escorted her in, a score of United States flying-boats and aeroplanes hovering in well-kept formations overhead. At the mouth of the harbour was lying that fine battleship the _New Mexico_, flagship of the United States Pacific Squadron, which fired a welcoming salute. After the anchor was down, Admiral Williams, acting Naval Commander-in-Chief in the Pacific, who flew his flag on the _New Mexico_, visited the Prince. Mayor Wild, of San Diego, and other local residents also arrived from the shore to pay their respects. The morning was taken up with the receiving and returning of these visits. In the afternoon the Prince landed at the municipal pier in the heart of the city. Here he found Governor Stephens, of California, at the head of a large deputation, waiting to welcome him. Every avenue to the wharf was blocked with motor-cars. Well-dressed crowds pressed upon the ropes that fenced in a central space reserved for British veterans, to whom had been given the place of particular honour in the town's reception of its visitor. The veterans were some hundred and fifty strong, and gave the Prince the heartiest of cheers. They proved to be residents of California, about half of them being from San Diego itself. They had all served in the forces of the British Empire in the Great War. At their head was General Carruthers, lately Chief-of-the-Staff with the Australian Expeditionary Force in France. It was a wonderful spectacle of colour and cheerfulness, as the Prince went down the line, shaking hands with his old comrades in the field, while mites in pinafores pushed to the front to present him with bouquets, and pretty girls in Highland costume sang "God save the King." The crowd broke through the barriers, before the motor-cars, provided to convey the party to the Stadium, had been reached, but everybody was in the friendliest of humours, and did their utmost individually to make space for the procession to start. The first three or four cars, containing the Prince, the Governor, the Mayor, and a few of the Staff, eventually got through. The rest extricated themselves gradually from the press of people and vehicles, and made their way by more or less devious routes, the road marked out for the procession having by this time become so crowded as to be almost impassable. The procession reformed at the Stadium, a mile or so distant. On the way, prosperous suburbs of extraordinary attractiveness were passed, the houses often of Spanish-colonial type, with deep verandas set in spacious gardens and well-kept lawns, with masses of roses, geraniums, hibiscus, and purple salt-grass in full bloom. The ground here was high, and one looked down upon the city, with palm-trees in the foreground, and the harbour and its shipping in the middle distance, while on the horizon were piled the rugged mountains of southern California, pink in the evening light. The Stadium proved to be a massive open-air amphitheatre of cream-coloured stone, capable of seating fifty thousand spectators, of whom some ten thousand were present. Here complimentary addresses were presented and replied to, the gathering applauding, with equal energy, the heart-to-heart statement of Mayor Wild that the Prince was a "regular fellow," and the impressive periods of Governor Stephens, who dwelt upon the importance of the Royal visit as strengthening the connexion between the two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon race. Another feature of the occasion was the playing of a gigantic open-air organ, the largest of its kind in the world. The organist sat by the roadside and the pipes of his instrument pointed unprotected to the sky. An official dinner and a ball followed later in the day at the big hotel on Coronada Beach. Innumerable motor and other parties had meanwhile been organized by individual residents, every one of the thirteen hundred sailors and marines on the _Renown_ who could in any way be spared from duty, being given a delightful outing and the kindest and most hospitable of entertainment. In this way numbers of them were able to see something of the wonderful country around San Diego, with its incomparable mountains and valleys, and its hundreds of square miles of fertile peach-orchards, just then one gorgeous mass of coral blossom. San Diego, with its famous bathing beach, its clear air, dry balmy climate, and seventy thousand prosperous white inhabitants, thus took to its generous western heart not alone the Prince himself, but also every British soul aboard the ship by which he travelled. A year before, the _Renown_ had become acquainted, in New York, with American kindness and hospitality which seemed, at the time, to be impossible to equal. The ship now had experience, on the other side of the American continent, of a similar reception, in every way as warm and spontaneous, accorded too by people as representative of the western states of the Union as New York is of the eastern. This inclusion of the battle-cruiser's men was one of the pleasantest features at almost every port of call upon the voyage, but it was nowhere more general or more genial than in this American city of the Far South. V HONOLULU In warm, moist atmosphere, and the tropical light that glares beneath a cloudy sky, the _Renown_ dropped anchor in the open roadstead off the rocky coast of Honolulu. Around the ship were depths of clear, iridescent blue, with streaks of brilliant green where the water shallowed inshore. Further on, a line of low, white breakers bounded a green patchwork of undulating cultivation which sloped upwards, with occasional ploughed fields of red, volcanic soil, towards a cloud-topped horizon of mountains in the interior of the island. Immediately overhead, showing black against the clouds, half-a-dozen flying boats and aeroplanes rattled a cheery American welcome. The smoke of the light-cruiser and dozen destroyers which had met the _Renown_ at sea and escorted her to anchorage, drifted in the heavy air, blurring the cranes and derricks of the inner harbour. Salutes banged off. Flags dipped and rose. Words of command rang through the battle-cruiser. A guard-of-honour of marines, lined up in white uniforms on the quarter-deck, came with a clank to attention. The notes of the United States National Anthem floated out, as the American Governor and other local authorities came aboard to pay visits of ceremony to the Prince. It was our second glimpse of Imperial America. It is just twenty-two years since the United States, after some preliminary coquetting with Queen Liliuokalani, took up this white man's burden in the Pacific under the style of a Territory; and her guests, more familiar with the conception, looked with interest at the fringe of the experiment. It seemed immensely prosperous and contented. Its obvious aspects were those of a principal base of America's naval power and the bourn of an endless tide of tourists, for whom alone the place might exist with profit. These naturally exposed a social life almost exclusively American. Hotels, newspapers, warehouses, factories, and stores were managed by Americans. Only on the beach among the bobbing craft of the breakers were the island originals conspicuous, at home in an element they love. Elsewhere they seemed to form a brown undercurrent of the Hawaiian world, content, in their Polynesian way, with a little so it was easily come by. They are still, one gathers, much governed and influenced by the missionaries to whom they owe their Christian faith. Like the North American Indians they are fast dying out. Like the Burmese they are content to be supplanted in their own labour market by others--Japanese, Chinese, Portuguese, and Filipinos. Doubtless there are Hawaiian boys at American Universities, Hawaiian professional men, Hawaiian merchant princes, cultivated Hawaiians who read Bergson and Bernard Shaw and are the product of a generation of progress; but our opportunity was too brief to find them. It is hardly surprising that the Hawaiian was not greatly in evidence, when one was told that there are but 22,000 of pure race, against 110,000 Japanese for example, 31,000 Americans and British and 23,000 Chinese, with a considerable Filipino element, and more than a flavouring of Spanish. On a large open space upon the wharf, surrounded by the substantial stone buildings of a prosperous modern harbour, the Prince landed to receive his welcome to the island. On one side of the square was an up-to-date guard-of-honour of United States infantry at attention, every button gleaming, every uniform stitch identical, with that felicity of neatness so characteristic of American kit, as His Royal Highness shook hands with its commanding officer, and walked down the line. On the other side was a motley gathering of his own fellow-countrymen and women, residents of the island, who had served with the British Forces during the war, and had now gathered, in varying costumes much mingled with khaki bearing many a worn decoration, to do honour to their King's eldest son, whom they cheered lustily. On the third side of the square the indigenous element was represented by pleasant, brown-faced young men in blue uniforms of modern cut, over which they wore brilliant red and yellow tippets of priceless "Oo" and "Iiwi" feathers, handed down from days gone by, when they were insignia of Hawaiian royalty. Their function, on behalf of the remaining representatives of the ancient dynasty, was to garland the British Prince with "lais," ropes of close-strung pink carnations and scarlet ilima flowers, bringers of good-luck, and to present him with a polished brown calibash, the size of a foot-bath, adze-hewn, a hundred years ago, from hard-wood felled in the interior, and now filled with a luscious assortment of bananas, mangoes, loquats, paw-paws, water-lemons, pineapples, bread-fruit, and crimson mountain-apples, symbols which made him free of the good things of the island. Subsequently the Prince returned the official visits paid to him, and was introduced to various local institutions. His reception by the American Governor was in the spacious, many-windowed hall of the Iolani palace, where an elected assembly of Hawaiian representatives now prosaically meets in what were once such picturesque places of authority as the king's bed-chamber and the queen's boudoir. On the walls a number of mellowing oil-portraits, depicting stout, brown, benevolent monarchs, uncomfortable but doubtless impressive in the tight fashions of the Victorian age, mutely testified to the splendours of the past. They seemed to look down at the function with mingled sorrow and superiority, as those who could have given an entertainment committee points on such an occasion as this. Famous the world over is the surf-riding of Honolulu's wide Waikiki beach. To surf-ride with the joy of confidence it is necessary to have an acute sense of balance; it is even more necessary to be able to swim. The base of the exercise is a flat surf-board, the shape of a snow-shoe, with which the rider swims out to meet the approaching breaker. This, with bewildering agility, he then mounts and strides, and the breaker carries him poised and dramatic to the beach. The adventure was most graceful when it succeeded, but it often ended in a considerable tumble in which the swimmer was lucky to escape a bang upon the head from his own capsized means of support. The Prince was naturally enthusiastic for an initiation, and came off in the end passing well, to the delight of the heterogeneous crowd that had assembled in bathing costumes appropriate to the warmth of the occasion to see him undergo it. Cinematograph men, in swaying surf-boats, made a valiant effort for pictures alongside the swimmers, but, for once upon the tour, were handsomely discomfited, for the rollers of the Waikiki beach are no respecters of public purposes. In the evening, H.R.H. was taken to an official ball, given by the Governor, in the spacious town armoury, where the principal white residents, now costumed in the garments of civilization, were formally presented beneath a forest of national flags, amongst which predominated the Stars and Stripes of the United States and the combined Union Jack and tricolor of Honolulu. The ball was much as other balls, but it had an unusual pendant. Before midnight struck the Prince was spirited away ten miles across the island, through long shadowy aisles of pillared cabbage-palms, shining ghost-like in dim starlight, beneath dense foliage of bread-fruit, mango, and coco-nut trees, where sweet-scented aloes perfumed the warm, still night, and on through grey cuttings in volcanic rock, to the country-house of Mr. Robert Atkinson, to whom had occurred the excellent idea of affording him an opportunity of seeing a real "Hookupu" gathering, now a very rare event amongst the dwindling race of Hawaiians. Stout, white-robed, brown-faced ladies, bearing the coloured, feather-tipped sticks of royal state, and chanting the "aloa" of welcome, lined the path leading to the deep-foliaged "ouhani" tree of happiness which shaded the front of the bungalow, a self-sown visitant that every Hawaiian prizes, provided only that it has not been artificially planted, and that it is not at the back of the residence. Here, in a large and reckless hole in the well-kept lawn, the entire carcases of four pigs, quantities of chickens, fish, and sweet potatoes, wrapped closely in green "ti" leaves, were in process of being roasted by Hawaiian cooks, the heat being provided by boulders, previously made red-hot, with which the sides and bottom of the pit had been lined. Fruit was piled high in golden profusion, upon low, wooden platforms around which, upon mats on the ground, the Prince and other guests took their seats. Princess Kawananakoa, a lady of fine figure, in middle life, dressed in the conventional garments of Bond Street, representative of the Hawaiian Royal house, was given a place of honour next to the guest of the occasion. Hawaiian soldiers in yellow robes, with scarlet head-pieces that might have been patterned on the helmet of Achilles, and gold-tipped "tabu" staves, the size of broom-sticks, which represented life-and-death authority under the old régime, took up stations in the background. Immense flower-garlands were hung round the visitors' necks and they were served, upon plates of "ti" leaves, with savoury viands from the still smoking pit. Then from gourd-lutes of a weird band of musicians, tinkled out a soft refrain. Suddenly, from the dim shelter of an aerial-rooted banyan tree, human voices reinforced the chant, and four Hawaiian damsels, voluminously clad in flaming yellow feather-mantles, ending in deep ruffs over the ankles, leapt gracefully upon a mat in front, where they were joined by two similarly caparisoned and equally agile male partners with whom they proceeded to dance. The performance was like an Indian _nautch_ run mad. The heads and busts of the dancers remained almost stationary, thus forming a fulcrum around which the rest of their persons seemed to gyrate, with serpentine arms, india-rubber hips, and racing feet, the dancers, all the time, pouring out doleful melodies to which the gourd-lutes twanged in solemn harmony. One could almost see, as the weird notes rose and fell, Polynesian folk, in frail, palm-wood canoes, blown out to sea by fierce Eastern typhoons, from fisheries on the far coasts of the Malay, to perish mournfully and alone, in the vast empty spaces of the Pacific, only an occasional wanderer, through the centuries, finding refuge in some rare isle, and there building up a race of mingled blood, whose high cheek-bones, soft tongue, swaying dances and outrigged boats, speak of a Mongolian origin and an Eastern home. Another expedition, on which the Prince was taken before leaving Honolulu, was to a grass-grown hill, once the scene of human sacrifice, where a pageant was being held in honour of the centenary of the arrival in Honolulu of the Christian missionaries, who have played so important a part in the history of the island. Here he saw half-naked folk, with conch-shell trumpets, similar to those in use to-day at festivals at the mouth of the Ganges, also processions of queer idol images that would not have jarred the decorative scheme of a Durga-Puja celebration in Hindustan. Scenes were here enacted, in which shapely brown maidens, clad in ancient, indigenous paper garments, reminiscent of Japan, took part. European missionaries, some of them lineal descendants of those who landed in Honolulu from the brig _Thaddeus_ in 1820, also appeared in the garments of their predecessors of a hundred years ago. One of the incidents depicted was the historical breaking up and burning of the island idols in the days of Queen Kaahumanu, widow of King Kamshamcha, "the lonely one." There was a tense moment in the audience when the first image had to be flung upon the ground, for superstition dies hard even after a century's banning; but the image was flung and went into fifty pieces, at the feet of civilization. Christianity is now the only religion actively practised in the island, but the Hawaiian prefers to be on the safe side in case the old powers of darkness should not be altogether dead. He is not a whole-hearted iconoclast. VI NEPTUNE BOARDS THE _RENOWN_ The relations between the Royal Navy and H.M. King Neptune are known to partake of the spirit of compromise which so happily characterizes the British Empire elsewhere. Neptune permits the suzerainty but demands a certain ceremonial which acknowledges his ancient rights. The function has a date and a determination and is observed by all King George's vessels on crossing the Equatorial line. It is in the nature of an initiation and lends itself to gruesome and alarmist description. For days before the _Renown_ reached the specified spot our feelings were harrowed and our dreams disturbed by foretellings of the unescapable ordeal of all novices. There was no immunity in being a passenger, even in being the Chief Passenger. Neptune was not aware of passengers. The wardroom was horrid with boding. Mercifully we were preserved from the imagination of the snotties. The Royal Navy does nothing by half. Elaborate preparations were made long in advance. Active brains in Wardroom, Gunroom, Warrant Officers', Petty Officers', Engineers' and Stokers' messes and in the lower deck, found a morning and an evening occupation inventing rhymed patter, designing and making the weirdest of costumes, in which oakum, canvas, ship's-paint, and stove-soot all largely figured. An extensive stage was erected on the forecastle with a sail forty feet long, containing four feet of sea water, convenient for the "baptizing" of all those on the ship, of whom there must have been at least five hundred, who had not previously crossed the line. Wooden razors the size of cutlasses, barrels of lather made of coloured flour and water, whitewash brushes for applying the same to the countenance were provided, also a gauge-glass for a clinical thermometer, a cutlass for a lancet, and quantities of dough-pills, the size of marbles, well flavoured with bitter quinine, for physicking the victim before his ablution. The Prince himself was one of the most active of the conspirators. To an inquiry sent "up top" (i.e. to the Prince's quarters) a reply signed by Captain Dudley North, R.N., was received by the "Father of the ship" (i.e. the Commander), upon whose broad shoulders falls responsibility of every kind. It ran: "His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales has not yet crossed the Line. I am desired by H.R.H. to say that he is looking forward with interest to his meeting with His Majesty King Neptune and Amphitrite, his wife, and also to his initiation as a Freeman of His Majesty's domains. The following members of the staff have crossed the Line, and are entitled to wear the various classes of the Order of the Bath bestowed on them by His Majesty:-- Rear-Admiral Sir Lionel Halsey has crossed the Line on upwards of 200 occasions; in fact, for some time this officer is understood to have supported himself on it. It is understood that he has been strongly recommended for the order of the 'Old Sea Dog.' Captain Dudley North has crossed the Line nine times, and has been personally decorated by His Majesty. Lieut.-Colonel Grigg and Lord Claud Hamilton have already crossed the Line--the former twice, the latter four times. These officers have, however, stated that owing possibly to some special favour, or else to some serious preoccupation on the part of His Majesty, they were not privileged to undergo the full ceremony of initiation. They are all the more anxious, therefore, on this account, to pay every respect to His Majesty, and not to presume on his former graciousness. In expressing their humble duty to His Majesty they await, with great humility, the verdict of his most excellent Court as to whether they will be required to be initiated or not. The following members of H.R.H.'s staff have not yet crossed the Line or had the honour of an audience with His Majesty:-- Sir Godfrey Thomas, Bart. Captain the Hon. Piers Leigh. The Bears will, no doubt, attend to these gentlemen." Each novice upon the ship meanwhile received a notice summoning him to present himself at noon on the 10th April: "Before our Court, at the Equator, in order that we may confer upon you the Freedom of the Seas, and our permission to enter the other hemisphere." The proceedings began after dinner over-night when the Prince and his staff accompanied the Captain to the Bridge. The lights were turned off and in the darkness one could feel the presence of the entire ship's company crowded upon every vantage point. Out of the blackness from in front came the shout "Ship-ahoy!" with the Captain's deep "Aye, Aye," in reply, as searchlights swept the sea. _Neptune_: "What ship are you?" _Captain_: "His Britannic Majesty's Battle-Cruiser _Renown_." _Neptune_: "I wish to come on board." _Captain_ (to Officer of Watch): "Stop both." (To Neptune, shouting). "My engines are stopped. I am sending an officer to conduct Your Majesty to my Bridge." Rockets went up, and in a falling shower of sparks a procession of strange figures climbed into the ship from over the side. Neptune, Amphitrite, judge, barber, and doctor, with attendant imps, bears, and policemen were there in the most realistic of scales, fins, mermaids' hair and ursine fur. They carried brobdingnagian batons, razors, shaving brushes and trident. Their appearance was terrific. The party was escorted with much formality to the Bridge, where Neptune and Amphitrite were presented to the Prince and drinks were stood to Their Majesties and the Court party, neither were there any heel-taps. _Pourparlers_ were exchanged in ceremonial verse, Captain Taylor making the following frank explanation: "Our business is to take a Royal Prince To see a portion of our Empire's land. The Prince of Wales, he is our passenger Who hopes to meet your Bears and clasp your hand." It seemed impossible for the spirits of the deep to communicate in anything less metrical than this, and Neptune acknowledged his reception and announced his intention to hold an Investiture as well as a few other things, the following day, in the same fashion. Next morning the circumstance was even more elaborate. Proceedings began upon the quarter-deck, where the "Companionship of the Royal Order of the Equatorial Bath" was solemnly conferred upon the Prince, and a "Knight Commandership of the Ancient Order of the Old Sea Dog" upon Admiral Halsey. H.R.H. responded in lyrical strains which concluded:-- "I know I'm for it, King; so, boys, Don't let me keep the party waiting"-- a touch of _panache_ that was duly applauded. The Court-Martial of two selected prisoners came next to a roar from Neptune: "And if they drown I do not care a fig. Arrest Mountbatten and the Man called Grigg!" For the moment these unhappy persons were roped and bound, while the Investiture went forward. Captain Dudley North was made a Knight Commander of the Aged Cod in these terms: "Dudley dear, I'm pleased to meet you Once again. Now let me treat you To the old established Order of the Very Ancient Cod. Its privilege is this, That you may daily kiss The most beauteous of my mermaids if you catch her on the nod." A move was finally made to the forecastle where was duly performed the physicking, shaving and ducking of the novices, beginning with the Prince and members of his staff and going down to the youngest seamen on the lower deck. The novices were marched up and seated, one after another, in the barber's chair, where a pill was squeezed into each one's mouth, despite the most lively struggles; the lather was laid on, a rough scrape with the wooden razor followed, the chair was upset and the now seasoned novice was sent head over heels into the swimming bath, where the Bears ducked him handsomely to the cheerful rhyme: "Shave him and bash him, Duck him and splash him, Torture and smash him, And don't let him go!" The Prince underwent a full share of the horse-play; and that he took a "three-times-three ducking" with the best, was the opinion of every one of the thirteen hundred sailor-men who looked on, and would have been candour itself if the ritual had been in any way reduced or evaded. It was a spectacle impossible to imagine anywhere but in the British Navy, and helped hilariously to relieve the monotony of the voyage. The cost of the material employed was probably less than a hundred shillings. The labour and artistry voluntarily bestowed by the ship's Company to make it what it was, cost nothing at all; the preparations, from the elaborate embroidering of Amphitrite's scales and the careful scenting of her golden hair, to the fine turning and engraving of the Insignia of the Equatorial Order of the Royal Bath, were all the work of off-duty hours when the sailor ordinarily would have been asleep. We are but children of a larger growth and happy are the traditions that keep us so in His Majesty's Navy. VII FIJI Fiji was the next place of call. Warm rain drove blusterously into our faces, while dense grey mist enveloped the land and shut out the sun, as the _Renown_ felt her way between wreck-strewn barrier reefs, over which the surf was breaking heavily, and dropped anchor, to the tick of the appointed time, in the sheltered water of Suva Bay. As the ship cleared the harbour entrance, a fleet of sailing craft, including a number of decked, outrigged war-canoes, with pear-shaped mat-sails and half-naked crews, tore dipping through the waves to escort her in. These war-canoes tacked, in the stiff breeze, by a simple expedient. The sail was reversed. The rudder, a big movable oar, was then carried from one end of the canoe to the other, so that what had just been the prow became the stern, the floating log, that served as outrigger, remaining always to windward--apparently an attempt at realizing the historic account of the bow-sprit that "got mixed with the rudder sometimes." The little craft were identical with those that Tasman may have seen when his brig cast anchor off these islands three hundred and seventy years ago. But everything else has changed. Generations of Wesleyan missionaries have transformed snake-worship into universal Christianity. Sixty thousand coolies from India have rendered it possible for the sugar-cane to replace unproductive forest. The ninety thousand fuzzy-headed Fijians who have survived successive epidemics of measles and influenza have given up the savoury heresies of roast long pig and have taken on trousers, education, and wealth. The substantial maroon-coloured roofs of their dwellings upon the shore, which emerged from a tumbled background of cloud-topped mountain when the mist lifted, were indicative of the prosperity and civilization which have been steadily growing in the forty-six years since the British Government took over the administration from King Thakombau. Sir Cecil Rodwell, High Commissioner of the Western Pacific, and Mr. Scott, Mayor of Suva, representatives of the present system of rule, came out by launch to the _Renown_, to pay their respects as soon as the anchor was down. There was no official landing till the following morning, when in hot sunshine alternating with warm, driving rain the Prince went ashore at Suva. The entire population of the town, a place of some six thousand inhabitants, was there to welcome him. In front, the principal European residents, with a contingent of leading Fijian chiefs, and representatives of the large Indian community, all in western dress, were lined up to be presented. Behind stood a well-drilled guard-of-honour of Fijians, in khaki, with heads protected from the fierce rays of the sun by hair that might be the despair and envy of the boulevards, twelve inches _en brosse_, and of a ferocity! Further on were a number of European returned soldiers, with hospital nurses, and other war workers, also returned members of a Fijian labour corps which had done good service in France and Italy. The whole assemblage was surrounded by a polyglot crowd of Islanders and Indians in all the picturesqueness of Polynesian and Oriental garb. Municipal, Fijian, Indian, and missionary addresses were afterwards presented, and inspections, investitures, and receptions held, a state dinner and a ball being amongst the functions provided. Fijian national ceremonies took place in the afternoon, the principal being the solemn presentation by the chiefs and headmen of "tahua" (the whale's tooth) in token of fealty. This was celebrated, immediately after heavy rain, on a meadow crowded with aborigines. The actors were half a hundred well-fed, semi-naked Fijians, clad in nothing but sooty face-paint, white cloth bustles, and loin-robes of green, pink, and white fibre-ribbons. The general effect produced was that of an animated contingent of frilled ham-bones that waved, leapt, swayed and chanted, sometimes upright, sometimes squatting upon the sodden turf, a scene of almost disconcerting gaiety. The whale teeth were handed to the Prince by a white-robed hereditary courtier, and were the size and shape of yellow cucumbers, strung together with coloured thread. The acceptance produced a chorus of deep resonant grunts of "Daweha"--"It is taken." There followed the no less solemn ceremony of preparing and drinking the "Kava," the produce of the Yaqona root, to cement the bonds of friendship. The emptying of the last coco-nut cup of this sharp-flavoured, cloudy liquid was greeted with loud cries of "Mada"--"It is dry." The yaqona root, from a twig or two of which the kava drink was brewed, might have been an enormous ash-tree stool, with partly-grown ground-shoots, uprooted from an English copse. The stripping of the bark, the pounding it with stones, the macerating it with water in a big carved wooden bowl, and its presentation to the Prince and other guests in coco-nut shells, was performed with solemn chanting. The ceremony included the stretching of a coco-nut fibre string, strung at intervals of a few feet with cowrie-shells, in token of Royal authority, between the Prince's chair and the men preparing the kava. To cross this string, in days gone by, while the proceedings were in progress, would have involved nothing less than to be clubbed to death. Those were doubtless days when such functions were less chronicled and more respected. Timed clapping, which sounded like the thuds of successive buckets of water thrown from an upper window upon the pavement, completed the first part of the performance. A "meke"--dance--by three hundred gorgeously caparisoned Fijian warriors, wielding each an ancient battle-axe, which followed, was a marvel of well-timed movement. The muddy ground shook as the men stamped in unison, their bodies swaying in perfect rhythm as they acted the spirited paddling of canoes, the hauling at ropes, the pointing at the enemy, the leaping from the boat to the attack, and, after the fight was over, the sad breaking of the waves upon the shore. Their deep "Dua-ho," or grunt of welcome to the Prince, might have been the roll of many drums. The final stage in the performance came with the marching up of some hundreds of white-garbed bearers, each carrying a locally woven mat. These mats, some of them of a texture that challenged the fineness of a Panama straw hat, were deposited upon the ground in front of the Prince in a heap that grew to the dimensions of a small haystack before the last had been laid upon it, and this, although special steps had been taken to reduce the number of the offerings by restricting the issue of permissions to contribute. The size of the haystack indicated the prosperity, as well as the loyalty, of the Fijian chiefs, who still own much of the land in the islands. The rule of these hereditary potentates dates through centuries prior to the advent of the missionaries and the taking on of civilization. Their dislike of live intruders, combined with their appreciation of them dead and roasted, kept their own Papuan stock remarkably pure-blooded. The race to-day thus presents characteristics of its own not found in other Pacific island groups. The only other outside races, in addition to a few thousands of Europeans, now found in Fiji, are coolies, of mixed descent, from India. These coolies were originally imported under a system of indenture requiring them to work for a definite number of years for planter masters. They have been the means of developing sugar and copra industries which would not otherwise have been established upon anything like their present scale. Of late years the indenture system has been discontinued, and some trouble has arisen in connexion with the question of wage-rates, riots having occurred in which several lives were lost. The gradual appreciation of the possibilities of peaceful bargaining, however, combined with the enlightened efforts of the present administration to understand grievances and to remedy them, is reducing the unrest, which is, in some ways, a healthy one, since it connotes conditions of prosperity enabling the coolie to assert claims he was not previously strong enough to press. The rich soil of the islands, and the equitable climate, which is much like that of the rice-growing districts of the south of India, promise enhanced prosperity as the years go by, Fiji being a locality especially suitable for the Indian immigrant. It is a place that, during the war, sent a remarkably large proportion of its manhood to fight for the allies, those who remained at home also keeping up their end with spirit. The visitor is told a story, which has the virtue of being authentic, of an occasion when Suva was without any naval protection. Its wireless installation picked up signals sent out by the German raider _Scharnhorst_, showing that this vessel was on its way to attack the place. Sir Bickham Scott, at that time High Commissioner, rose to the situation and sent a message into the air for the _Scharnhorst_ to pick up. It was addressed to Admiral Patey, aboard H.M.S. _Australia_, the only allied warship which, as the commander of the _Scharnhorst_ knew, might conceivably have been within call. It ran: "Thanks for your message. Will expect you in the morning." The _Scharnhorst_ presumably read this and pondered, for Fiji was left alone. VIII AUCKLAND A still, sun-filled autumn morning, with crisp sharp air that made it a pleasure to be alive, on wide, sheltered mother-of-pearl waters, bounded by grassy hills, with frequent hummocks and white gleaming cliffs, greeted the _Renown_ as she neared New Zealand on the morning of the 24th of April, 1920. Dotted over the hills, like sheep at grazing, were numerous red-roofed country houses, which developed pleasant gardens with green fields between as the distance decreased. Out of shadowy bays and inlets crept motor-boats in ones and twos and threes, the numbers growing as township and village each contributed its quota, so that, by the time the _Renown_ was amongst them, there had assembled a fleet of very considerable dimensions decorated with flags and filled with cheerful men, women and children, soldiers in khaki, wounded in hospital blue, pretty girls in smart frocks, all clapping, cheering, and laughing in the most inspiring welcome imaginable. The Prince climbed to his look-out above the bridge, and waved back a cheery acknowledgment. Bands struck up in half a dozen of the boats. Flags leapt up like wind-swept flowers in a herbaceous harbour. The hubbub grew. Numbers of sailing yachts joined the assemblage. Rowing boats chipped in, and, by the time the first harbour buoy was reached, the _Renown_ was sliding along with some hundreds of small craft racing beside her, in imminent danger of collision alike with her and with one another. The last headland turned, Auckland itself came into view, a red-and-white city climbing up the sides of a beautiful, sheltered cove, with clear, deep water in front, and a green, conical extinct volcano behind. Coloured bunting fluttered from the rigging of all the vessels in port, and long vistas of greenery and flags led up the volcano from the water's edge. One caught glimpses of wide wharves, black with clustering crowds, and of dark masses of people on the slopes of Rangitoto, all on the look-out for the arrival of the Prince from Mother England. We had arrived at the first of the island continents which had drawn us all, battle-cruiser, Prince and passengers, half-way round the world. The ports of call behind us faded into instructive entertainments by the way. Here was another home of the race, another place in the sun where the breed throve and multiplied, and developed, under conditions fresh and far from the source, the man and womanhood we are proud to call British. Auckland was an appropriate starting point for the Royal tour. The city was the capital of the Dominion until 1865 and now has over a hundred thousand inhabitants. It was founded in 1840 by Captain Hobson, R.N., when he added New Zealand to the Empire, the British Government having characteristically disavowed the action of Captain Cook who set up the Union Jack in 1779. The place had its godfather in Lord Auckland, the most distinguished First Lord of the Admiralty in Hobson's time, and thus a suitable sponser for the second city of a Dominion which owes its being to the Empire's sea-power. Auckland now has a fine harbour and a shipping trade of 2-1/2 million tons per annum. It is a place to which the prosperous sheep farmer looks forward to retiring, as it has educational opportunities, social amenities, and one of the most genial climates in the whole Dominion. The _Renown_ was brought alongside one of the wharves, on which black top-hats and brilliant uniforms guided the eye to groups which proved to include the Prime Minister of the country, the Leader of the Opposition, the members of the Cabinet, the General Officer Commanding, the Mayor of Auckland, and the President of the Harbour Board. Thus New Zealand waited to greet the Prince. At the appointed moment the Governor-General drove up in a motor-car. The ship was dressed. Bands played, guards on the quarter-deck presented arms, His Excellency was duly conducted aboard, where the Prince as duly received him. Later on, with more saluting, a full brass band for the Governor, and bos'n's whistling for the Prince, the Royal party went ashore, and New Zealand welcomed her future King. It was a little bit of England that had gone on board to make a call of ceremony. It was the whole of New Zealand, heart and hand, that took charge of His Royal Highness ashore. Out of a multitude of motors the procession to Government House was formed. The cars proceeded through wide, well-built streets of stone business houses, smothered in wreaths and flags. Crowds of cheering people lined the pavement. Upstanding soldiers and cadets in smart khaki uniforms kept the roadway. The Prince, by now, was standing on the seat of his motor-car, waving greetings to the crowds, who responded vociferously. Two equerries, on the front seats, clung to his coat-tail to prevent his falling out of the vehicle. The Governor-General sat back with a smiling face alongside. The route led through the city, and out amongst solid residential houses, standing in gardens brilliant with variegated chrysanthemums, flaming red salvias, purple bougainvilleas, and the greenest of shaven lawns, with cedars and palms together spreading the shade of the north and the south. Old Government House, which still serves an Excellency from Wellington on tour, where the Dominion's address was read by the Hon. Mr. Massey, Prime Minister, with his Cabinet standing by, is a spacious, Georgian building surrounded by an old-world garden of lawns, shrubs and flowers. It has a homely charm and beautiful views; it made one think of Surrey, and must have been left with regret when New Zealand changed her capital. Thence the route led back through the city to the Town Hall, which was packed to its utmost capacity with well-dressed people who gave the Prince a rousing reception. Here more addresses were presented, and an informal levée was held, everybody present filing past. Large crowds, meanwhile, waited patiently outside for his reappearance. Later in the day the Prince was taken to the Domain cricket-ground, where he reviewed five thousand returned soldiers and cadets and again received an ovation. This cricket-ground is at the bottom of a shallow valley, grassy hills forming a natural amphitheatre. Looked at from the central stand while the review was in progress, the slopes of the amphitheatre were as if covered with a fine Persian carpet, so thick was the crowd upon the ground. It was a carpet that had frequent spasms of agitation, the cheering and hat-slinging, whenever the Prince came near to it, being exceedingly lively. H.R.H. first went down the lines of the troops and had a friendly word for every officer and a number of the men. Later on every man who had been wounded or disabled was presented to him individually, the Prince going round to search them out himself. When this had been completed he presented war decorations to those who had won them at the front. It was nearly dark by the time the last hand had been shaken and the last word said. The cheering, when it was over, was something to remember. The following day was Anzac Sunday, and was taken up with religious war-services, H.R.H. attending those at St. Mary's Cathedral in the morning, and at the Town Hall in the afternoon. The Town Hall service was especially impressive. The Prince, slender in the world-familiar khaki, stood in the crowded gathering, and as the Dead March was played, and the Last Post sounded in memory of sons who had fallen, the people knew him the Empire's symbol of their sacrifice. Perhaps there, where the women sobbed to see him, he touched the supreme height of his mission. The cricket-ground, on the following day, was again the scene of an enormous gathering. Eight thousand children were here assembled and went through pretty evolutions and drill. In the terminal figure some two thousand little girls, attired respectively in red, white and blue frocks, so grouped themselves as to form, first the word "Welcome," and afterwards the Union Jack, which waved and rustled as the children bent and swayed to time given by a mite mounted on an eight-foot stool in front. The crowd which surrounded the enclosure, on this occasion, was estimated at thirty thousand. From Auckland the Prince went south on a train, every part of which, from the engine to the brake-van, had been built in New Zealand workshops. The first thing one realizes starting for anywhere in New Zealand is the thing that has been a geography wonder since the age of nine, the queer inversion of the climate. The experience is curious, notwithstanding all one's submission to the fact since that time, so potent a governor of associations is a little word. We had arrived at the North Island, where the climate was warm and sunny like that of Italy. People coming with more permanent intentions had a way of settling in the South Island to be under home conditions of temperature, many of them gradually moving across the Strait to the North Island in pursuit of balmier airs. We saw the late autumn apples of April here and there ungathered on the trees about Auckland, and were grateful to escape the imaginative dislocation of a midsummer Christmas, with sunstroke as the punishment of over-indulgence. It would be interesting to know in what period of residence New Zealand undertakes to change one's dreams. A green, rolling land, homely turnip fields, orchards, pasture containing fine cattle and sheep, pleasant, red-roofed farm-houses, comfortable country residences, and thriving market towns at frequent intervals, sped past the train. At Ngaruawahia, two thousand brown-faced, high-cheekboned Maoris, in European dress, greeted the Prince from outside the railway fence, men, women and children, hand in hand, repeatedly bowing to the ground, to slow rhythmic soft-voiced singing, as the train steamed by. At the same time, a dozen pretty Maori girls, in flowing white frocks, bare feet, and raven masses of waving fillet-bound hair, swayed, undulated and step-danced upon a mat upon the side of the track. These folk were Maori, as often as not, by courtesy rather than by strict racial description. Few pure-bred Maoris indeed are now to be found in New Zealand, and it is said that the mixture of brown and white is here more successful than anywhere else in the world. At all events one received the impression of a people plastic to the print of a new civilization, and developing happily in it. At Hamilton, a town of ten thousand inhabitants, more formal ceremonies were gone through. The whole place was decorated. The people assembled in the streets, where they cheered most vigorously. Several hundred returned soldiers, and a very large number of children, stood in lines upon the racecourse where they were inspected by the Prince. Several addresses of welcome were read, that from the local municipality being presented by Mayor Watt, a prominent Hamilton solicitor and a man of much influence, also of dramatic instinct it appeared, since he discarded for this occasion the chains and ermine of his official garb, in favour of the private's uniform he had worn at the front. A few stations further on, five hundred children were upon the platform, singing "God Bless the Prince of Wales," as the train went past. They had come in from a neighbouring mining-camp to catch a glimpse of the Royal visitor, who waved to them from his carriage. The flourishing coal-mining centre of Huntley, where a valuable brown lignite, capable of being coked, is being raised in large quantities from shafts, some of which are only three hundred feet deep, was also passed, the inhabitants assembling along the railway line and cheering as the train went through. A large experimental farm, where the secret of converting barren land into fruitful by means of basic slag has been discovered; cold storage factories where incredible masses of New Zealand mutton are being preserved for export; and extensive works where pumice, here found in the scoria of long-extinct volcanoes, is turned into material for the insulating of boilers, passed in procession before the train. We saw also peat-swamps, in process of profitable reclamation by means of drainage, in the valley of the wide Waikato stream. Presently a second engine was attached to the train, which now crept slowly upwards, through a tangled wilderness of dense-forested gorge and mountain canyon, the scenery being of the wildest. The imported spruce, oak, willow, and ash of the more settled region gave place to feathery green _punga_ tree-ferns, and stiff brown _tawa_ of indigenous growth. Clearings were seen at intervals where cultivation struggled with the grey, bushy _manuka_ scrub; well-kept fields, in the hands of white settlers, alternating with unkempt jungle, where the easy-going communal _hapu_ tenure of Maori ownership is still in force. Suddenly, the scenery opened up, and we saw, in the soft rays of the setting sun, a wide panorama of blue lake, and olive-green headland, round the dark, conical Mokoia island, famous in Maori tradition as the trysting-place to which Princess Hinomaa and her lover Tutanekai swam across the lake. Here, almost in the shadow of the Tarawera volcano, which blew up with terrific results to the countryside thirty years ago, we found the pleasant little station of Rotorua, where an address was presented and the Prince shook hands with a long line of returned Maori soldiers. Visits to the wonderful spouting geysers of this famous neighbourhood, with Maori receptions and national dances, occupied the next two days, some of the party also taking advantage of the holiday to catch a number of very fine lake-trout, creatures which have thriven and multiplied amazingly since their importation from Great Britain a few years ago. The Maori dances are a thing by themselves. They are performed by warriors and maidens in phalanxes. The men, often stout and sometimes elderly, who in ordinary life may be lawyers, landlords, doctors, or retail dealers, put patches of black paint on their faces, array themselves in tassellated _pui-pui_ mat loin-clothes and arm themselves with slender feather-tufted spears. Then, bare-footed, bare-legged, bare-backed, and bare-headed, they line up in battalions, and leap and stamp, stick their tongues out, grimace, slap their knees, emit volleys of sharp barking shouts, and thrust and swing their spears, in wonderful time to the music of full string bands. The ladies, many of them good-looking, with melting brown eyes, well-developed figures, and graceful carriage, are more restrained in their performances. They are bare-headed, with long waving hair down their backs, kept in place by a coloured ribbon round the forehead. They may be dressed in voluminous brown cloaks of soft _kiwi_ feathers, or in loose, embroidered draperies of every colour, their feet and ankles, sometimes bare, sometimes encased in high-heeled American shoes and black lace stockings. They stand or sit in long lines, singing the softest of crooning songs, the while swaying, posturing, undulating, or step-dancing in perfect unison, to represent the movement of paddling, spinning, weaving, swimming, or setting sail. At the same time they swing white _poi_-balls, the size of oranges, attached to strings, which form in their swift gyrations gauzy circles of light around each hand, a charming performance worthy of Leicester Square. In the case of Rotorua ceremonies, performances took place, first on the lake shore, on ground which emitted clouds of steam in the very face of the dancers, and afterwards, on a much larger scale, on a wide grassy plain adjoining, where six thousand Maoris, brought from all parts of New Zealand, the South Island as well as the North, were encamped in military bell-tents, a legacy of the war. Here, battalion after battalion, first of men, then of girls, and finally of the two combined, performed in quick succession, at least a thousand dancers taking part, while ten thousand spectators, about half of whom may have been Maoris or half-castes, and the balance Europeans, looked on and applauded. Here I suppose if anywhere we saw the pure-blooded Maori, though it seems a distinction with little difference. Unlike most Orientals, the children of mixed ancestry continue the traditions of the pure-breeds, put on their clothes, speak their language and boast their ancestry. One of the most striking of the figures was where the warriors stole out between ranks of dancing maidens, to take an enemy unawares, who was supposed to have been beguiled into believing that he had only women to deal with. Sir James Carrol and the Hon. Mr. A. T. Ngata, both Maori members of the New Zealand Parliament, and both distinguished speakers, took a prominent part in the ceremonies. The address presented to the Prince by these loyal and attractive people was characteristically picturesque. It was read, first in English, and afterwards in Maori, by one of the chiefs, an elderly gentleman of reverend appearance in fine Kiwi robe, who spoke in a pleasant, resonant, well-rounded voice. "You bring with you," he said, "memories of our beloved dead. They live again who strove with you on the fields of TU in many lands beyond seas. Your presence there endeared you to the hearts of our warriors. Your brief sojourn here will soften the sorrows of those whose dear ones have followed the setting sun. Royal son of an illustrious line, king that is to be, we are proud that you should carry on the traditions of your race and house. For it is meet that those who sit on high should turn an equal face to humble as to mighty. Walk, therefore, among your own people sure of their hearts, fostering therein the love they bore Queen Victoria and those who came after her. Welcome and farewell. Return in peace without misgivings, bearing to His Majesty the King, and to Her Majesty the Queen, the renewal of the oath we swore to them on this ground a generation ago. The Maori people will be true till death, and so farewell." The history of the Maoris is one long record of chivalry and courage, and their promise is one they will perform. IX NORTH ISLAND Among the telegrams which met the Royal train on its way from Auckland to Rotorua was one of a character which differed from the rest. The message was addressed to Rt. Hon. William Massey, that embodiment of notable ability, kindly good sense and unquenchable spirit whom this Dominion is so fortunate as to have as Prime Minister, who was on the train. It announced a general railway strike unless certain demands of drivers and men, some time pending, were agreed to by the Government. It was in the form of an ultimatum which expired at midnight, an hour which found the tour at Rotorua. Against the extreme and humiliating public inconvenience of the moment thus selected must be placed the immediate offer of the strikers, to complete the schedule of the Royal train, to take the Prince in fact wherever he wished to go. While the offer was declined in the main it was accepted as far as a return journey to Auckland, where the Prince thus spent several unforeseen days while matters were being adjusted. The time had to be cut out of later dispositions. It was spent in private engagements, in the much qualified sense of the word as it applied to any of the Royal arrangements. The strike was ultimately settled through the efforts of Mr. Massey, who, being denied the service of the railroad, drove several hundred miles over sodden mountain roads, in the worst of weather, from Rotorua to Wellington to discuss the matter with the men's leaders there. The settlement did much credit to the forbearance of both sides. It did not go into the merits of the immediate question, which was as to the rate of compensation to be paid to the men in consideration of the increased cost of living, but provided a tribunal, on which the strikers and the railway management should be equally represented, with a co-opted neutral chairman, to report upon the merits of the demand, and suggest the best way of doing justice to all concerned. The acceptance of this sensible arrangement was largely aided by the New Zealand Amalgamated Society of Railway Servants, this important organization putting pressure upon the drivers and firemen to return to work while the tribunal was taking evidence. The incident afforded interesting proof, not only of the confidence inspired by Mr. Massey himself, but also of the reasonableness of the attitude of labour in this part of the world. Industrial discontent is a more manageable thing in a country where the great majority of the men own their homes and the half-acre that surrounds them. The struggle for better conditions is sweetened by the air of gardens, and every operative has the interest in the general prosperity that comes of a private stake in it. The Royal party left Auckland in three railway trains, a pilot, a main, and an emergency, the Prince and staff travelling in the middle one. The New Zealand Government was represented by Sir William Fraser, Minister of the Interior, a Highland Scotchman from the South Island. Official appointments to accompany the tour were happily made throughout, but never more than in this instance, where the extraordinary kindliness and charm of the Minister of the Interior enhanced the great volume of his experience, to the pleasure and profit of every member of the party. Another of those present was General Sir Edward Chaytor, commanding the forces in New Zealand, a soldier whose world reputation has not in any way interfered with the simplest manner and the most delighted directness of mind. It was his function to present to the Prince the military side of New Zealand life, a side which was represented at every centre visited, alike by surprisingly large numbers of returned soldiers from the forces which gave such splendid account of themselves in the great war, and by considerable bodies of smartly turned-out territorials and cadets. Accompanying General Chaytor was Colonel Sleeman, also a remarkable personality, to whose initiative is largely due the system of cadet-training now in force in New Zealand, a system which is doing wonders in the matter of infusing the best public-school spirit into previously unkempt national schoolboys and larrikins, teaching them to play the game, giving them a pride in themselves, and interesting them in physical culture, and in the duties of citizenship, so that their parents have become as keen as themselves that they should go through the courses. Another of the party was Mr. James Hislop, Permanent Under-Secretary of the Interior, one of the ablest members of that fine body, the New Zealand civil service, who organized the arrangements of the tour, and whose irrepressible humour, good fellowship, and infinity of resource, in disposing of what seemed to most of us an utterly overwhelming burden of work, were a continual wonder to everybody upon the train. No less important amongst those outstanding figures of the New Zealand party, was Mr. R. W. McVilly, General Manager of the railways of the country, a man who with his predecessor, Mr. E. H. Hiley, has succeeded in doing in New Zealand what proved impossible, in England and in the United States. Under their direction the railway system of the Dominion was carried on throughout the war without break in management and without making any loss. It did not take travellers long to discover the affection and respect in which the Director-General was held, not only by his colleagues, but by all who came in contact with him. The British pressmen with the tour were particularly happy in their New Zealand newspaper associates. Amongst these gentlemen were Professor Guy Scholefield, who holds the chair of English Literature at the University of Dunedin and who knows New Zealand inside and out, from the historic as well as the modern point of view; and Mr. F. H. Morgan, representing that business-like organization the New Zealand Press Association, a practical journalist, a helpful colleague, and one of the best of good fellows. Although the main train journey was only decided upon a few hours before a start was made from Auckland, all the arrangements worked with extraordinary smoothness, and the number of people assembled at even the smallest wayside stations to cheer the Prince was astonishing. At Frankton, the first stopping-place after leaving Auckland, the gathering around the station consisted largely of the very railway men who had just been on strike. Their reception of the Prince had the special cordiality that carries a hint of apology. One of their number indeed, acting as spokesman, explained in a speech which could not be considered inopportune, how much they all regretted having been the cause of delay to the Royal tour. At Tekuiti, another small station, a more formal reception took place, in which some five hundred children, collected from the schools in the neighbourhood, participated with characteristic fervour. Through the night the Royal train traversed the red-pine Waimarino forest, mounted two thousand feet up the Raurimu spiral, passed the still smoking summit of the Ngauruhoe volcano, and emerged at daylight upon the rolling plains of the rich Taranaki dairying country. Here pastoral land, though still dotted with the blackened stumps of bygone forest, is worth to-day anything up to one hundred and fifty pounds sterling per acre. Thence, passing beneath the snow-streaked cone of the extinct volcano Mount Egmont, the train rolled out upon the open western coast, and entered the gorse-encircled city of New Plymouth. Here the Prince was given a picturesque reception beneath spreading _Insignis_ pines, in a natural grass-covered amphitheatre, of beautiful Pukikura park. Conducted by General Melville, commanding the district, he inspected a large gathering of returned sailors, soldiers, nurses, and cadets. He also went through the ranks of masses of school-children, who waved long wands topped with white and red feathery _toi-toi_ grass, and sang patriotic songs. In the course of a reply, later on, to a civic address, read by Mr. F. Bellringer, General Manager of the Borough, the Prince referred to the splendid prospects of the north-west coast, also to its fine war record, adding: "When I look at the development of this wonderful dairying country, I am amazed at the enterprise and energy which have achieved so much in little more than two generations." It is indeed amazing. Taranaki does much with butter, sending to such a competitive country as Canada nearly 12,000 cwts. in 1918, and even more with cheese, producing a particularly delectable Stilton. There are fifty-seven butter factories and one hundred and eleven devoted to cheese. To carve these conditions out of virgin forest in two generations is a feat that well deserved its recognition. The route thereafter lay through a land of spacious, green sheep-downs, overlooking a blue, sun-lit sea, as idyllic as a pasture of the Eclogues. On the way, at Stratford, Hawera and Patea, the Prince received and replied to addresses and inspected gatherings of returned soldiers, sailors, nurses, and cadets, besides incredible numbers of fat, red-cheeked children, assembled with their teachers to do him honour. Speaking at Hawera, the scene of fighting in days gone by, between _Pakeha_--white strangers--and Maori natives, "Nothing," said His Royal Highness, "has impressed me more in New Zealand than the evidence I have found everywhere that Pakeha and Maori are now one people in devotion to the Dominion, the Empire and the King." [Illustration: WELLINGTON: A CANOE IN THE PETONE PAGEANT] [Illustration: "THE MAORI PEOPLE WILL BE TRUE TILL DEATH"] Proceeding afterwards to Wanganui, a more imposing welcome awaited him, ten thousand enthusiastic people being found assembled in a big grass-covered stadium. Here, some of the territorials he inspected insisted upon drawing his motor-car round the grounds. In the course of a reply to an address read by the Mayor, the Prince put into words what was so plain in his actions. "I value," he said, "more than anything the opportunity this journey gives me of making the acquaintance of the people of New Zealand, many of whose gallant sons I knew on active service in the great war." A visit followed to the Wanganui college, a fine institution where three hundred of the sons of the settlers of the Dominion are receiving up-to-date education upon British public-school lines. Later in the evening the Prince attended a concert, also a democratic supper-party of the heartiest description, held in enormous marquees, at which three thousand people were present. The Prince and his staff were served at a table on a raised platform in the middle of the biggest of the marquees, so that as many people as possible might see him, a distinction which apparently caused His Royal Highness no loss of appetite. From Wanganui the Prince motored twenty-five miles through undulating fields of grass, turnips and rape, alternating with patches of yellow gorse, the last introduced from the old country by sentimental but ill-advised settlers, and now a most troublesome field-pest, special legislation having had to be introduced requiring owners of land, under penalty, to prevent its spreading. Crossing the wooded valleys of the beautiful Wanganui and Turakina rivers, the Ruahine mountains shining through the morning mists upon the left, while spacious sheep-farms sloped seawards upon the right, the Prince reached the township of Marton, where the usual inspections and addresses took place. Thence the party started by train to cross the country to the east coast port of Napier. Receptions were held, _en route_, at the townships of Feilding and Palmerston-North. In the course of the day the Prince received a number of presents, including, from Maori chiefs, an ancient and possibly unique greenstone _mere_ or battle-axe, and a fine _Wharikiwoka_--a mat-cloak lined with feathers. At Palmerston-North there was handed into his keeping the shot-torn colours actually carried by the third British Foot Guards at the battle of Alexandria as along ago as 1801. These colours had been handed down, from generation to generation, by New Zealand descendants of Colonel Samuel Dalrymple, who commanded this distinguished regiment in that engagement. They were presented to the Prince by Mrs. J. H. Hankins, _née_ Dalrymple. The colours were said to be the only ones, belonging to a Guards regiment, hitherto preserved elsewhere than in the British islands. Leaving Palmerston-North, the Prince proceeded through the gorge of the rushing, turgid Manawatu river, alighting at the small wayside station of Woodville, where a number of the inhabitants had assembled and where he shook hands with a territorial officer, who, with the gay adventurous spirit of the Dominion, had taken considerable risks in keeping pace with the Royal train in a motor-car all the way from Marton, though part of the route was along an unfenced winding mountain road on the side of a cliff where the slightest obstruction or miscalculation might have hurled the car and its occupants into the torrent below. From Woodville the Prince went on, through wide grass-covered plains, dotted with pleasant homesteads, standing amidst thousands of browsing sheep, along the broad, shallow, shingly reaches of the Waipawa river, and past sunny apple-orchards, and coppices of oak, poplar and pine, at times skirting breezy uplands where he saw shepherds and their families, often from long distances in the interior waiting to cheer the train. The arrival at Napier, on the east coast of the island, was late in the afternoon, in threatening weather. Yet the entire town of twelve thousand inhabitants seemed to have assembled in the streets, and the turn-out of returned sailors, soldiers, nurses, and cadets, at the beautiful Nelson Park, on the seashore, where a reception was held and an address presented by the Mayor, Mr. Vigor Brown, was most impressive. In the course of his reply, in this centre, the Prince once more referred to the quick coming prosperity of the land he had been traversing. "It is amazing," he said, "to think that all the homely, happy country I have seen on my journey here has been cleared, cultivated and civilized in the life of two generations. The measure of that splendid achievement is well reflected in this flourishing port and town." The following morning the Prince was early afoot, yet the inhabitants made a fine showing in the streets, as the procession of motor-cars passed through to the station, where the Royal train was waiting to convey the party on the long run southwards to Wellington, the capital. The weather had cleared in the night and it was a lovely autumn morning as we skirted the waters of Hawkes Bay, which washed against the steep, white cliffs of Kidnappers' Island, still the home of thousands of strong-winged gannets the size of geese. Arrived at Hastings, a solid market town of ten thousand inhabitants, the Prince was conducted, through lanes of cheering people, to the racecourse. Here yet another large gathering of returned men, also territorials, cadets, nurses, and children, had assembled, and yet another civic address was presented and replied to. Similar experiences awaited the party at further stopping-places, including Waipukurau, Dannevirke, Woodville, and Pahiatua--the "place of God"--the number of the motor-cars, drawn up in the rear of the crowds, testifying to the prosperity of the farmer-folk, many of whom had been making fortunes out of the high prices of the mutton, wool and dairy-produce they raise. At Dannevirke--Dane Church--the Scandinavian origin of the township was reflected, not only in the name, but in the faces of whiskered vikings who were to be seen amongst those who came forward to shake hands with the Prince. They contrasted quite obviously with the conventional Anglo-Saxons around them, and recalled in their persons the fact that the settlement of Dannevirke was originally made by a ship-load of government-aided immigrants from Schleswig, Holstein. After leaving Dannevirke, the Prince took a turn on the foot-plate of the engine of the train, which he drove at something like fifty miles an hour to Woodville, where he had halted the day before. At Woodville the track turned southwards through wilder country, including a certain amount of still uncleared bush. Even here, however, the land is being opened up, and I heard of farms changing hands at as much as seventy pounds per acre. As the afternoon progressed halts were made at various stations, including Featherston, where the Prince was received by cheering crowds from a military training camp near by. At dusk the train skirted the wide Wairarapa--lake of shining water--where wild swans still breed in some numbers. Here we seemed to have reached the end of the track, as high hills closed in on either side, and there was no sign of a tunnel. The big single engine, however, was replaced by three smaller ones of special make for mountain climbing, one of them being attached at either end of the train and the third in the middle. A start was then made up a zigzag track consisting of three rails, the third so fixed in the middle, between the other two, that pulley wheels beneath the body of the engines can get a purchase below it, thus completely wedging the train and preventing its too sudden descent in case of accident. Slowly then the train crawled up the gradient, which, in places, is no less than one in fifteen. On the way we passed heavy timber-fences erected to break the force of the wind, which has been known so strong, at times on this part of the line, as to overturn a train. In the darkness we crossed the Rimutaka--ridge of fallen trees--and slid smoothly down to the other side into the rich Hutt valley in which Wellington stands. A fairy city of lights, outlining spires, roofs and street lines, lay by reflection in the black water of a broad still harbour, as the train skirted the low coast of Petone, landing-place of the first white settlers, eventually passing through extensive suburbs and coming to a standstill in the station of Wellington. Here the reception was a climax to the demonstrations along the journey from Auckland. Mayor Luke, supported by the city councillors, in ermine and gold chains, received the Prince, as he alighted from the train. Mr. Massey, and other members of the Dominion Government, were waiting at the entrance. Outside, one of the smartest captain's guards-of-honour imaginable was standing to attention, with band and colours. Beyond, restrained by a rope barrier, an enormous crowd cheered and cheered. The eye travelled over the heads of the nearer people, and then further away, and there was no thinning off. One then began to realize that one was looking up a broad street which climbed a hill, and that the entire hill was a palpitating mass of shouting humanity, dimly seen in the half-light of the illuminations. Eventually the Royal procession got off in motor-cars, which took an hour to traverse the two miles of decorated route to Government House, where the Prince was to stay, so dense was the crowd along the route, so anxious were the people to get near him. There was no bad crushing, however, and nothing could exceed the good temper of the shouting, flag-flapping, clapping, laughing men, women and children, who pressed upon the motor-cars, formed a solid mass to the walls of substantial business houses on either hand, and crowded every window, balcony and roof commanding a view from above. Similar scenes marked subsequent days of the Prince's visit to Wellington. Proceeding to Parliament buildings on the morning after he arrived, the pressure along the route was extraordinary. The town hall, where addresses were presented, on the way, was filled by all the most distinguished people of the country. The platform was occupied by the Members of the Legislature, headed by the Prime Minister, and including the Leader of the Opposition, the Mayors of the principal cities, and other representatives from all parts of New Zealand. Proposing the Prince's health, at the official luncheon later in the day, Mr. Massey, speaking in his capacity of Prime Minister, said everybody in New Zealand took personal happiness and satisfaction in the magnificent reception the Prince had had at all the centres in the North Island. "And I want to tell him," he continued, "that his experiences in the North Island will be repeated in the South." One of the expeditions made from Wellington was across the harbour to Petone, where a well-staged pageant was held representing the landing of Captain Cook and his fellow adventurers from the barque _Endeavour_ in 1779, also that of the Reverend Samuel Marsden and other missionaries from the merchant-ship _Tory_ thirty-five years later. Naked warriors in war-canoes escorted each of the boat processions to the beach, and painted Maori chiefs received the white strangers hospitably on the sandy shore. The occasion of the pageant was taken with happy appropriateness to present the Prince with samples of the finished product of the great industry with which the descendants of the early settlers have endowed New Zealand. The articles selected were rugs of beautiful softness and delightful warmth, made of wool grown in the interior, and carded, spun, dyed, and woven in mills close to the beach where the original missionaries landed. "A field which the Lord hath blessed" in every sense of the term. Petone is the parent of the capital city of Wellington where the Governor, Legislative Council and elected House of Representatives together make up the "General Assembly" which governs New Zealand. X SOUTH ISLAND The still, crisp, autumn morning of the 22nd of May brought the _Renown_ into the silver inland sea of Charlotte Sound, with sunny hills sloping to the water's edge on either side--a great grey bird she looked, reflected in a jade-framed mirror. Rounding a steep guarding islet, the big ship anchored in view of the inner harbour, the pleasant little red-roofed whaling station of Picton climbing up the slope at the further end, the houses gay with familiar flowers, and homely with pecking fowls, amenities which one does not associate with the wild work of the whaler. The industry as a matter of fact has declined from the status of its early days, though last year the blubber of forty-eight "humpbacks" was brought into port. The entire population--typical British folk of any country town in England--had assembled and gave the Prince a rousing welcome with the usual address. From Picton the route was by train through a rich pastoral plain, past Tuamarina, scene of a long-past tragedy in New Zealand history, where a misunderstanding resulted in whites being massacred by their Maori neighbours, one of those lamentable episodes which the now united Dominion is advisedly engaged in forgetting. At Blenheim, a prosperous township, eighteen miles from Picton, which was the next stopping-place, the train was exchanged for motors, and a visit was paid to the local racecourse, where the inhabitants of the town of Blenheim and most of the surrounding country had come together. Amongst them was a fine gathering of returned sailors, soldiers and cadets, also some fifty Maoris with painted faces, dressed in feather-covered mats, who gave one of their grave, shouting, stamping, grimacing national _hakas_ in honour of the Royal guest. From Blenheim the party started on a seventy-mile motor-drive to Nelson, an expedition enlivened by similar scenes, though the solemn gaieties of the Maoris did not occur again. The road, which was of macadam in excellent repair, ran first through the green, open valley of the Pelorus river, the fields dotted with sheep, with many a row of tall poplar trees, yellowing in the still autumn air. Wooded hills closed in, on either side, as the cars progressed, until we found ourselves speeding along a winding, unfenced shelf on the side of a precipice, primeval forest covering the sides of the gorge, to which the procession clung, like a string of flies to a window-pane, as it swung round corners, often with a wall of rock on one side and a sheer drop of hundreds of feet upon the other, a few inches of macadamized shelf all that interposed between the outer wheels and eternity. The driver of the Prince's car, a grey-headed Anglo-Saxon, was descended from men who had driven mail coaches along this road seventy years ago, when the route was anything but the tourist trip it has become to-day. The Prince was shown corner after corner where early settlers and their vehicles had gone over the edge, to be gathered together at the bottom in an advanced state of disunion. He heard also the oft-told tale of the Maungatapu highwaymen, white desperadoes, who once made these Rai and Wangamoa hills their home, until they were rounded up and hanged by indignant gold-miners and settlers for iniquities which included the murdering of a wayfarer, after stripping him of his purse, though all that it contained was a solitary shilling. No allowance seemed to have been made by his avengers for a certain natural disappointment. From the Rai and Wangamoa highlands the road led downwards, through a gradually flattening land of apple-trees, still laden with masses of enormous yellow and red fruit, past hundreds of acres of bare poles, where hops had recently been reaped, amongst fields of peach trees set in ordered ranks, through villages of red-roofed, verandahed wooden houses, where well-dressed women and extraordinarily chubby and sunburnt children strewed the chrysanthemums of autumn as the Prince went by. The white macadam of the country ultimately gave place to the dark asphalt of the town. Tram-lines appeared in the track, and the procession found itself amongst hurrahing crowds in Nelson city. Nelson is built round a central hill. Driving up the main street, the Prince was in a lane of people, a waving mass of union jacks extending up the business street on either side, while in front was a natural grand-stand surmounted by the Gothic windows of a pink, wooden structure which rose out of the top of a variegated pyramid and was the Cathedral. It looked as if balanced upon a hunched-up, gaily-coloured Paisley shawl. As we approached, the base resolved itself into school-children in white, soldiers and cadets in khaki, with a phalanx of returned men in their habit as they lived. A grey stone platform, with steps leading up to it, was occupied by Nelson's officials, one of whom read an address of welcome. The remainder of the variegated colour scheme seen from the bottom of the street was due to the costumes of ladies who stood so close to one another that no peep of the green background came through. Here the Prince performed the usual ceremonies that awaited him. He inspected guards-of-honour, clasped the hands of returned soldiers and pinned on their coats decorations won at the front. He also expressed to the Mayor and the crowd thanks for the reception and for the loyal sentiments of the address, which would be communicated to His Majesty the King, as well as hearty appreciation of the wonders of the country, and of the good service of its people in the war, with sympathy for those who had been disabled or had lost friends or relations. He demanded a whole holiday for the school-children, with the immense approval of the beneficiaries. The National Anthem was played and everybody went off to dinner. On the following and subsequent days very similar experiences were encountered. The route from Nelson, after leaving the level country where more receptions were held at wayside townships, was along the steep rocky upper gorge of the Buller river, a clear stream which flows in a series of cascades through a narrow winding cleft in the mountains. The slope on either side is covered with dense forest of tree ferns and birches, broken by areas where the undergrowth has been cut down and fired. Quantities of blackened tree-trunks and half-burnt logs, upon a carpet of newly sprouted grass, told of the conversion of the impenetrable primeval forest into productive dairying fields--grass-seed having only to be scattered broadcast over the ashes after a shower to bring a quick and copious emerald crop. The way grass develops in New Zealand is a continual wonder. The winters are so mild, and the rainfall so abundant, that growth goes on right through the year. Maturity comes so rapidly that it is said to be quite a common thing for the farmer to plough up pasture and re-sow it simply in order to get rid of weeds, a heavy hay-crop being reaped the very next season. Large areas of permanent, original pasture were also seen, especially in the Southern Island--tussock grass, which, as its name suggests, grows in knobby tufts, but is not on that account to be despised as fodder, enormous numbers of sheep and cattle growing fat enough to kill for the market without any other nourishment. Turnips are raised, to help out the grass in the winter months, but this is only on a comparatively small scale. The greater part of the stock is entirely grass-fed. Lambing, calving and milking take place in the open, and steers go straight to the packing establishments, without previously seeing the inside of a building of any kind. This accounts for the profits that are being made out of sheep-farming, stock-raising and dairying in New Zealand, in spite of the enormous prices paid for land which, in good districts, is now changing hands at figures ranging up to £170 per acre. The Prince learnt, also, in his long drives through the forest, of the nature of the timber; of the virtues of the tawny-foliaged _Rimu_, or red pine, used for the interiors of houses; of the light, easily worked _Kahikatea_, or white pine, for which such large demand has sprung up in New Zealand and Australia for making packing-cases for butter, that fears are felt lest forests, hitherto considered inexhaustible, should become worked out; also of the _Matai_, or silver pine, which seems to last for ever, even when exposed on such hard service as that of railway sleepers, without any creosoting or other artificial protection. About noon, the cars emerged upon an open valley, and the Prince was given a public reception at Murchison, a village of wooden houses, which were found in holiday array, the decorations including masses of holly in the fullest Christmas glory of ripe scarlet berries, a curious contemporary of the orchards, still loaded with unpicked apples, that we had seen in the Nelson valley only a few hours before. In the Murchison district alluvial gold-washing still goes on, but it is only a small survival of what once was a flourishing industry, the yellow metal that filled the west coast with diggers, fifty years ago, having almost entirely given out. Beyond Murchison, the gorges again contracted. The river became a white torrent, rushing through a dark, winding channel, hedged with big, grey rocks, above which rose sage-green, forested mountains. About six in the evening we emerged on the Inangahua--"mother of whitebait"--tributary. Here the valley widened out, and we saw a wonderful west-coast sunset. The mountains took on vivid aquamarine blue and imperial purple, shading into palest pink, as they faced towards the light or away from it. Against this background, yellow-frosted poplars and scarlet-leaved wild cherries stood out in sharpest contrast, the whole, with a pearly sky, producing an effect of exquisite fantasy. A soft brown owl, fluttering into our staring faces, recalled the fact that night had come, and that shelter was still far off. The Prince traversed the Inangahua marshes in the dark, reaching the west-coast township of Reefton late at night. The streets, nevertheless, were thronged with people. Illuminations and fireworks were in full swing, and His Royal Highness had a reception in no way inferior to his daylight greetings elsewhere. At Reefton he was in Westland of the warm heart, the Wales of New Zealand, a land of collieries, lumbering, gold-mining, and fishing, home of the late Richard Seddon, whose eloquence did so much, in the long years of his Prime Ministership, to bind New Zealand in that close alliance with Great Britain which bore such gallant fruit when the great call came. With Reefton I should class Inangahua, Greymouth, Westport, and last, but most important of them all, Hokitika, head-quarters of the province, which is represented in the New Zealand Government by Mr. Thomas Seddon, son of the late Prime Minister, and one of the first members of Parliament to volunteer for active service when the war began. In all of these centres the Prince was most warmly received, Hokitika particularly distinguishing itself by the size of its gatherings, and the good taste bestowed on the decorations of its streets. The Prince's journey from Reefton to Westport was by motor through the lower gorges of the Buller river, where the scenery was again magnificent. Much of the route was along a narrow winding shelf, a precipice dropping to the water beneath, while above the rocks overhung the road, sometimes, as at a spot appropriately named the Devil's Eye, to the extent of completely over-arching. The steep mountain-sides around were covered with dense vegetation, gaunt Rimu trees smothered in the embrace of flame-flowered Rata vines, and green lance-leaved _kiakia_ creepers, with a thick undergrowth of tree-ferns standing erect like pirouetting dancers in stiff green skirts and long black legs, amongst a lesser crowd of gorse and bracken. The silence of the gorge was broken only by the ripple of water and the sweet flute-notes of grey Tui birds, a delicate contrast with the clangour of the church bells, rung in honour of the Prince's visit, when the procession of motor-cars emerged upon the open coast, and reached the mining township of Westport. Here the reception was on the level, within sight of an inclined road down which is brought what claims to be the best admiralty coal in the world. This coal is mined high up in the hills above Westport, and was burnt upon H.M.S. _Calliope_ when she thrilled the world by beating out of the hurricane off Samoa in 1899. The Prince returned in the evening to Hokitika. In an open square in this city next morning, where the snows of Mount Cook shone out on the horizon, he was presented with a digger's leather bag containing nuggets of west-coast gold. [Illustration: WESTPORT CHILDREN: A TUMULT OF FLAGS AND FLOWERS] [Illustration: DUNEDIN'S WELCOME] From Hokitika the route was by train, via the labour-controlled township of Greymouth, and up the fine Brunner valley, passing a number of winding-shafts of mines producing good steam-coal, where miners were making £2 5_s_. daily, and more of them were urgently needed. In the afternoon Otira was reached, where New Zealand's longest railway tunnel, which when finished will complete the hitherto broken connexion across the island, was in active course of construction. Here the Prince left the railway and travelled partly by a four-horsed coach, and partly on foot, amidst heights and glaciers, over the magnificent Arthur's pass, which overlies the tunnel, itself two thousand feet above sea level. The tunnel is one of the big engineering achievements of the century. It is five and a quarter miles long, and has been so accurately laid out that when, a few months since, the excavations from the two ends met in the middle, they were out only by three-quarters of an inch in alignment and one and a half inches in level, a minuteness of error of which Mr. Holmes, Engineer-in-Chief, and his technical staff may rightly be proud. Cheers, every few minutes, from people it was too dark to see, broke in upon the rattle of the Royal train speeding to reach Christchurch by dinner-time. Jolts at intervals informed us that we were crossing sidings in the suburbs of a considerable city. Presently light shone into the windows from outside, and we came to a standstill in a railway station that might have been that of Oxford. Upon a red carpet, stretched from the entrance to where the Prince's saloon drew up, was standing Mayor Thacker, with ermine, chain and cocked hat, also members of the corporation, waiting to welcome the Royal guest. By the time one could get through the throng upon the platform from the front of the train, the Prince, who was in the rear where a lane had been kept, was inspecting a captain's guard of men and colours in the presence of the dense, cheering crowd that pressed on the rope-barriers. A procession followed, through two miles of decorated, illuminated, cheering, flag-waving streets, the route kept with difficulty by police and territorials. The cars soon separated from one another in the press. Those who were towards the tail of the procession lost sight of the Prince. Small boys waved paper flags in their faces, and had to be discouraged from climbing on the radiator. Larrikins decided that one correspondent was the Prince's doctor and christened him "Pills." Another, the substantial representative of the "Daily Telegraph," was found to resemble Mr. Massey, and was cheered as "Bill." Presently the procession came to a standstill altogether, the crowd being squeezed tight up all round, in front, as well as on the steps and mud-guards. Horn-tooting and endeavours to move forward an inch at a time, coupled with the vigorous assistance of the police, gradually got us on the move again, and amid a din of laughing and cheering we saw the Prince being got out of his car and carried into the club where he was to stay, to reappear a few moments later on the balcony and wave acknowledgments to the people, by this time squeezed solid once more. Similar scenes occurred on the following day, the same cheerful, friendly, British crowd assembling in the streets and blocking the wide Latimer Square, where the Prince received a number of formal addresses, inspected a fine body of boy-scouts, and was serenaded, first in Welsh, and afterwards in Gaelic, by groups of nice-looking girls in the quaintness of chimney-pot hats and kilts. Proceeding afterwards to Hagley park, the Prince reviewed some four thousand territorials, and shook hands with two thousand returned men. Later in the evening he held an informal levée at the civic hall, where he shook hands with another two thousand people. By this time, if there is a scientific way of accomplishing the gesture of friendship, His Royal Highness had probably learned it. Christchurch is the third biggest city of New Zealand. A larger proportion of the inhabitants is said to be of English extraction than in any other city of the world outside the British islands. Certainly it is one of the most home-like places we saw upon the tour with its well-paved, well-lighted streets, fine business quarter, and pleasant residential suburbs full of comfortable houses, each standing in its own grounds. In Christchurch clear water courses down the gutter on one side of many of the streets. This is from subterranean springs, tapped by artesian borings, by means of which the entire city is supplied. The water is supposed to be derived from the snows of the southern New Zealand Alps as they soak into the valley of the Waimakariri--"freezing water"--river which flows into the Canterbury plain. A fine harbour, with water so deep that even the _Renown_ was able to lie alongside the wharf, exists eight miles off, at Lyttleton. Until one goes over the ground it seems strange that a large city should have been built so far away as eight miles from the harbour connected with it. The lie of the hills explains this however. The harbour of Lyttleton is so hedged in by steep slopes that it has been considered impossible to build a city around it, and Christchurch occupies the nearest level ground across the range. Connexion is facilitated by a mile-long railway tunnel, one of the oldest undertakings of its kind in New Zealand. Although so close to the hills, Christchurch stands upon almost absolutely level ground, a corner indeed of the big Canterbury plain, _par excellence_ the farming country of the Dominion. The city contains cold-storage plant, a biscuit factory, and wool and hide establishments, all of which proved their Imperial value during the war. It also possesses one of the best high schools in the country, run on the lines of a British public school. Being also the distributing centre for a large and flourishing farming community, Christchurch is going ahead rapidly, and has an excellent future before it, its south-of-England climate making it a favourite place of residence. Farming is not in New Zealand an occupation penalized by the dread of hardship or burden as one is apt to find it elsewhere, largely because of the real love the New Zealander has for the land. The Mayor of one of the larger cities we visited in the Northern Island, himself a prosperous wholesale grocer, told me that neither of his two sons, when they returned to New Zealand from France, would look at his business, though he had kept it going longer than he would otherwise have done, with the express purpose of handing it on to them, there being no one else in his family to whom to leave it. They both insisted upon being set up as farmers. The reason they gave was that farming life was pleasanter and less exacting than any kind of business, and this although they had, with farming, to begin all over again, whereas in the wholesale grocery trade they had a long established and flourishing concern ready to step into. The fifteen-year-old son of a prominent official said to his mother, who passed on the irreverent observation to me, "Isn't father a loony to do office work when he might have a farm of his own?" The boy's mind was typical. I met refined women who said they wouldn't live anywhere in the world but on a farm, and never once did I come across anyone who was on the land and wanted to get off it. This attitude of mind has the qualification that it is sheep and cattle-farming that is referred to, and not dairy-farming, which is infinitely more exacting, though, at present prices, and especially since the discovery of the possibilities of the dried milk-trade, definitely more profitable. This is because the sheep and cattle-farmer is not continually tied, and, while he has to work hard at times, can also often get away, whereas the dairy-farmer must be on hand all the year round, to see that the milking is attended to, and that the milk is promptly disposed of at the creameries, of which numbers are springing up, mostly run, upon a co-operative basis, by groups of farmers themselves. This passion of the New Zealander for the land is a trait of the most far-reaching significance. It accounts for the largeness of the rural, as opposed to the urban, population in this Dominion. It has much to do, also, with the splendid physique of the average New Zealander, and the amazing healthfulness and longevity he appears to enjoy. This applies especially to the middle classes, amongst whom there is extraordinary immunity from such city diseases as consumption. The death-rate from tuberculosis of New Zealand is less than half that of England and Wales. It affects also the whole political outlook of the Dominion. The farmer everywhere tends to be conservative in his views, for he has a stake in the country. His farm may be small or large. The individual holding, on the average, is probably not more than from thirty to eighty acres, an area which even the most unskilled of labourers may hope, in the end, to own; and one which, under the favourable agricultural and climatic conditions prevailing, is sufficient to keep both the man himself and his family. The number of holdings is therefore rapidly increasing, and the effect which this has upon the whole political atmosphere is incalculable. Nominally, the Government of the day may be Conservative or it may be Liberal, but the voter's choice is one of men, rather than of policy. Labour itself, as has already been pointed out, has become conservative. It thus comes about that, in spite of the possession of both manhood suffrage and womanhood suffrage, there is probably no country in the world less open to subversive social theories than is New Zealand. XI ENTERPRISE IN NEW ZEALAND It is impossible to travel through New Zealand and to meet the men it sends into public life, without being impressed by the high character, moderation and conservativeness which characterize politics in this Dominion. There is no country where the spirit of live and let live is more fully operative, none where charges of political corruption are less common, and none where the spirit of co-operation for public ends is more general. The "ins" at present call themselves Reformers, he "outs" Liberals, but, so far as I have been able to make out, Mr. Massey's Government retains its majority far more on account of the popularity of himself and his colleagues than because the general policy for which they stand differs very materially from that which would be adopted if Sir Joseph Ward and his Liberal supporters were to return to power. In consequence, again, of practically all voters having a stake in the country, of one kind or another, whether in the form of house-property, land or money, the administration they elect is intensely individualistic, and probably there is no spot on earth where property is more respected, or personal rights more secure. The financial position of the Dominion is also relatively good, for although New Zealand's public debt bears a proportion to its population not far different from the corresponding proportion in England, there are two factors which make the situation of the Dominion definitely more favourable. One of these is the larger potential margin of taxability in New Zealand, owing to the greater individual prosperity of its inhabitants and the extent of its still undeveloped resources. The other is that so much of New Zealand's public debt has been invested in remunerative public works. Out of a total debt of £194,000,000 no less than £40,000,000 has been put into the acquisition or construction of the three thousand five hundred miles of railway existing in the country, an investment which itself pays the whole of the interest charges concerned. Indeed, at present rates for labour and materials, this happy country possesses a property worth probably more than twice what it has cost to obtain. The railway factor in New Zealand is thus a very important one. It is one also of special interest, as the New Zealand Government not only owns but manages the whole of the lines, an arrangement not found in other parts of the world to conduce to either efficiency or economy in working. It seemed so impossible to believe that a democracy could be keeping politics out of business that I fear I asked a great many very impertinent questions on the subject of political graft in connexion with railways. The map of New Zealand offered an invitation to inquisitiveness. It showed that the country possesses a remarkably large number of small unconnected railway lines running inland from the various ports. Even to-day there is no complete through line in the South Island, though progress is being made in linking up branches to obtain it. One was at first inclined to attribute this state of things to political pressure brought to bear upon the Government to supply individual political constituents with more than their share of transport facilities at the expense of the general traffic requirements of the country. On going over the ground, however, two perfectly innocent reasons leapt to defend the lines. The first is that in a country as well supplied as is New Zealand with harbours round the coasts, the natural main artery of traffic is by sea and not overland. The second is that the mountain backbone of New Zealand is so tremendous that the cost of through railways which, owing to the lie of the land, must necessarily cross this backbone is enormous. This is exemplified by the stupendous works, culminating in a five-mile tunnel, now under construction to link the west coast with the east in the South Island. The same applies to the North Island, it being impossible to traverse the central railway from Auckland to Wellington without being impressed by the difficulties that have had to be overcome, alike on the Raurimu spiral in the middle, and at the famous one-in-thirteen incline near the southern terminus. Mistakes have, no doubt, been made sometimes, and it is quite possible that in some cases local influence may have bettered public utility, both in the routes chosen for new lines, and in the order of their construction. Upon the whole, however, the Public Works Department of the New Zealand Government, which is responsible for the building of the railways, is to be most warmly congratulated upon the lay-out as well as upon the standard of excellence attained in the matter of the work. The three-feet-six-inch gauge adopted in New Zealand may possibly have to be changed eventually to the standard four-feet-eight-inch gauge in use in Europe and America. The decision to adopt the narrow gauge, however, was come to at a time when there was much to recommend the selection, since it enabled railway facilities to be afforded very much sooner than would have been possible had the more expensive standard gauge been chosen. The New Zealand Government has also pursued a sound policy in doing renovations, even where they have involved considerable structural improvements, out of revenue. I was informed that original cost has, all along, been replaced out of working expenses, where changes in the lines have been made on capital account, and that since about 1907 all relaying of lines and replacing of bridges and rolling-stock has been charged to working expenses. Again, a considerable length of line has been relaid each year, with heavy rails and new sleepers. The people of New Zealand in consequence now own the entire railway system of their country at a cost far below its present market value, and that too in a state of structural efficiency, which, especially after five years of a war to which the railways sent seven thousand of their trained men, is very remarkable. The Royal train could testify to that, running as it did over difficult country, from one end of New Zealand to the other, at a pace which was seldom less than forty, and sometimes went as high as sixty miles an hour, fast travelling on a narrow gauge anywhere. The railways are under a general manager responsible to a minister-in-charge, at present the Prime Minister, and independent of the Public Works Department, whose responsibilities end with construction. In order to minimize political interference with traffic charges, a rule is enforced that all rates must be published, thereby facilitating discussion of them. No special local tariff also can be sanctioned without public notice being first given. All rates are thus subject to criticism in Parliament. Again, at present, ninety per cent. of the traffic of the country, including both passengers and goods, is carried on a flat-rate basis applicable to all lines, and all places. Of the remaining ten per cent., all but a small proportion is carried on concession rates designed to help the development of backward areas, it being recognized that the railways are only adjuncts to the opening up of the country and its resources. The fractional proportion which remains is carried at special enhanced rates, but this does not affect the general position, as it applies only to a few isolated sections of not more than twenty miles apiece, where construction has been unusually expensive, and where high rates have been adopted to cover interest on the cost. A further safeguard is provided by the fact that a rate can only be changed on the recommendation of the general manager, who is a member of the public service, and therefore debarred from taking part in politics. Very much the same safeguards apply to the appointments. The personnel of the railways in New Zealand is permanent, no new Government having so far ventured to make any wholesale changes. The great majority of the men now in the service have begun at the bottom, either as unskilled apprentices or as cadets admitted after passing a qualifying examination. I was unable to hear of either promotions or fresh appointments for political reasons. That the above are real, and not merely theoretical conditions, is strikingly shown by the financial results obtained. The dominant fact is that, whereas in the United States and in England, Government control of railways has been accompanied by heavy loss during the war, in New Zealand the railways have remained on a paying basis throughout, though the war rise in New Zealand traffic-rates has only been twelve and a half per cent. in the case of passengers, and twenty-one per cent. in that of goods, as compared with from fifty to seventy per cent. in the case of the railways in Great Britain. At the same time the basic wage for the employees has been increased in New Zealand by thirty-three per cent., to which eight per cent. has recently been added, making a total wage rise on New Zealand railways of forty-one per cent. As regards the cost of the carriage of goods on New Zealand railways, as compared with British, the claim is made by the New Zealand railway authorities that their rates are the lower. I was unable to obtain any conclusive evidence upon this point, during the short time available, owing to the difficulty of extracting average figures capable of being fairly compared. As regards passenger rates, I understand that the present New Zealand flat-rate is twopence per mile for "upper class" passengers, and one and one-third pence per mile for "lower class," rates which certainly compare not unfavourably with those obtaining in England. The gross annual revenue of New Zealand railways is now about five and three-quarter million sterling per annum. Of this sum two million is allotted to payment of interest at four per cent. upon the forty million sterling of capital cost. The balance of three and three-quarter million goes to working expenses, which before the war averaged sixty-four per cent. of gross revenue, and are now sixty-six per cent. Government goods consignments are carried at full rates, and troops at a concession rate of one penny per mile return. There is no paper inflation, therefore, in the figures. I have given the above particulars at some length, as the management of so big a business organization as the entire railway system of the country is obviously a good criterion of the nature of the political administration as a whole. I may add two further instances of New Zealand methods. The first is that the Government has embarked upon a seven-million-sterling scheme for the development of hydro-electric power for industrial purposes, the country being remarkably provided with facilities for this class of enterprise. The installations, several of which are already well advanced, are situated in widely separated localities spread over both of the islands, so that a large proportion of the country will benefit. The total power which this scheme is expected ultimately to develop amounts to something like half a million horse-power. The work was to be proceeded with as fast as labour, which was very scarce at the time of the Prince's visit, became available. The second point concerns the resettlement of returned soldiers upon the land and their restarting in business. Upon this object the New Zealand Government had expended a million sterling, of which the bulk consisted of loans on easy terms. The feature that seems significant of the general situation of New Zealand, was that practically all the fifty thousand men demobilized had been found employment, and that the loans were being rapidly repaid, one-eighth (£117,000) having already been refunded, while less than six per cent. of the ten thousand men who had received advances were reported as irregular with their instalments. Travelling as the party did from end to end of New Zealand, such national enterprises as the working of the railways, the development of hydro-electric power and the restarting of the men returned from the war, were often discussed. The considerations which emerged are certainly encouraging, not only from the point of view of those already settled in the Dominion, but also to that wider community throughout the Empire that looks to Australasia as a future home. The Prince left Christchurch by train on the morning of the 17th May, on his journey to the southern end of the South Island and passed once more through the Canterbury plain, a well-watered land of pleasant homesteads and wide flat fields just then white with stubble from a recently reaped wheat crop. His first stopping-place was the thriving town of Ashburton, where an address of welcome was read by Major Galbraith, at one time one of the best football players in New Zealand. In the course of his reply His Royal Highness mentioned that he was a farmer in a small way himself, which made him specially interested in the splendid farming country through which he had been passing. The Prince's colonial farm is in Alberta; he added it to the trophies of his Canadian tour in 1919. He has already stocked and improved it and there is not a Canadian from Halifax to Vancouver who does not look confidently to this holding to bring him back there at an early date. Temuka, famed for its trout-fishing, and Timaru, a rising watering-place, came next upon his itinerary. Timaru is a port for the shipment of chilled meat, in connexion with which several substantial cold-storage works could be seen from the train. In this centre the Prince was given a picturesque reception on the wide sands of Charlotte Bay, a popular bathing-resort in the summer months. The cliffs here form an amphitheatre from which twenty thousand people, including two thousand children from the schools around, witnessed the usual reading of a civic address, and march past of returned soldiers, red cross nurses, and other war workers. In the afternoon the train traversed a fine bridge over the Waitaki river, which is here the dividing line between the Scotch settlers of Otago and the English of Canterbury. The Prince also stopped off at Oamaru, and inspected a collegiate school, one of the foremost in New Zealand, where an exceedingly smart cadet corps paraded before him, and he was conducted by the headmaster, Doctor F. Milner, over buildings and grounds comparable to those of a first-class public school in England. One of the features of the institution was unenclosed dormitories, in which the lads sleep out of doors, in all weathers, with wonderfully beneficial results to their health and endurance. Dusk fell when the train was some twenty miles from Dunedin, the Edinburgh of New Zealand, but the sky was lighted throughout the whole of this distance by enormous bonfires, every village and every homestead along the line competing as to which could make the biggest flare against the forest and hills behind. Around these bonfires the local inhabitants had assembled and cheered the Prince as the train ran through. The night was alive with enthusiasm. Little old weary England, at anchor far in her North sea, might have been glad to feel it. Port Chalmers, the Rosyth of Dunedin, was a wonderful sight. Coloured flares were simultaneously lighted in all parts of the town, as the train passed along the top of the cliffs. The harbour was thus shown up like an inland lake, in a setting of hills, against which houses, shipping and docks stood out in brilliant relief. At Dunedin the train climbed down into a fairyland of electric illuminations, beginning at the railway station, where Mayor Begg and the members of the civic council were assembled. A procession in cars, through Princes Street and Stuart Street, to the Dunedin Club, where quarters had been arranged for the Prince, showed him half a mile of decorated, illuminated route, kept in absolute order by boy-scouts, cadets and school-children, though every one of Dunedin's sixty thousand inhabitants appeared to be participating in an orgy of cheering, flag-waving and flower throwing behind this slender barrier. On the following day His Royal Highness attended an open-air reception, in the presence of an immense gathering in the city octagon, beneath the cathedral, the steps of which were occupied by a big chorus of girls from secondary schools. Here he received nine addresses of welcome. In replying, he told Dunedin that the part she played in the life of New Zealand was fully worthy of the noble traditions which her pioneers brought from the schools and colleges of the Old Country. Later on the Prince visited the hospital, whence he drove over the heights overlooking the shore, and down a steep winding track to Port Chalmers, where, amidst more decorations and cheering crowds, the Harbour Board and Local Borough Council presented addresses. On another day, in the presence of twenty thousand people, grouped amongst green olearia bushes on grassy sandhills by the bay, the Prince inspected seven thousand children representing two hundred and fifty schools. A pretty incident occurred in the march past when the wide ranks of the children opened, and a score of white-clad, black-stockinged maidens trooped up and curtsyed before the Prince to the strains of the March of Athol played by a drum and fife band in Gordon plaids. The biggest and the littlest girl in the deputation then stepped forward and presented the Royal visitor with a tiny greenstone memento, purchased for him by the school-children themselves. A further event of the visit of Dunedin was a march past by lamplight in the drill hall. Five thousand tickets to this ceremony were issued to returned men, each of whom came accompanied by relations or friends, so the numbers present must have been considerable. From Dunedin the Prince went by train to Invercargill, the fifth city of New Zealand. On the way he passed, in a snow-storm, the woollen mills of Mosgiel, also the Mount Wallace and Kaitangata coal-mines. Receptions were given in the towns of Balclutha, an active farming centre; Gore, the head-quarters of flourishing flour-mills, and Mataura, the location of hydro-electric works, paper-mills and cold-storage plant. Invercargill was reached in cold wind and rain, yet the whole population was found assembled in the streets. From the station the route led to the racecourse, where in the presence of an immense gathering, undismayed by the weather which had turned the whole place into a quagmire, addresses were presented from the city of Invercargill and from the Southland County. In the course of his reply the Prince referred to Invercargill as being the last stopping-place on his New Zealand tour, and added that fate would be unkind if it prevented his renewing his recent experiences at some future time. The return journey of four hundred miles by train to Lyttleton, where His Royal Highness re-embarked upon the _Renown_ for Australia, was done in record time. The Earl of Liverpool, Governor-General; Mr. Massey, Prime Minister, and Mr. MacDonald, Leader of the Opposition, travelled to Lyttleton to say good-bye. The Prince gave a farewell dinner on the _Renown_, at which he conferred Knight-Commanderships of the Victorian Order upon Sir William Fraser, and Sir Edward Chaytor, who had accompanied him throughout the New Zealand tour. Junior rank in the same Order was conferred upon Lt.-Colonel Sleeman, Director of Military Training; Mr. Gavin Hamilton, of the Governor-General's staff; Mr. James Hislop, Under-Secretary for Internal Affairs; Mr. R. W. McVilly, General Manager of Railways; Mr. O'Donovan, Chief of Police, and Mr. Tahu Rhodes, of the Governor-General's staff--all of whom had been actively connected with the tour. The Prince at the same time handed to Mr. Massey, for publication throughout New Zealand, a farewell message, in which he expressed his thanks to the Government and people of the Dominion for the splendid reception given to him. The message continued: "Two things particularly impressed me. New Zealand is a land not merely of opportunity for some but for all. I have never seen such well-being and happiness so uniformly evident throughout the population of country and town alike. This Dominion is also a living example of the fact that a European race may take over a new country without injustice to the original inhabitants, and that both may advance in mutual confidence and understanding along a common path. New Zealand is one of the greatest monuments to British civilization in the world, and I have felt, from end to end of the Dominion, that there is nowhere a British people more set in British traditions or more true to British ideals. I have found the strength of your loyalty to the Empire and its sovereign as keen and bracing as mountain air, and I know you will never weaken in your devotion to British unity and British ideals." In conclusion the Prince referred to the journeys still to be taken before he could say he had seen the British Empire as a whole, adding that he still hoped to pay New Zealand another visit some day, a hope cordially echoed by both press and people throughout the Dominion. XII VICTORIA The voyage from Lyttleton to Melbourne was rough but uneventful. The _Renown_ did the 1,651 miles in three days, and very uncomfortable days they were. She carried a new passenger in the fine bulldog presented to the ward-room mess by the Mayor of Gisborne, but it languished so grievously that it had to find a new home in the Commonwealth. It had joined the Navy too late in life. The Prince had his first view of Australia by moonlight. The sea had then gone down and mist hung in the narrow strait as the _Renown_ passed between the dark shadowy hills of Wilson's promontory and the grey rounded cone of Rodondo Island. The following morning, however, found the _Renown_ still outside the confined entrance to Port Phillip, enveloped in a clinging fog, that shut out everything from view. The tide was then high, so the ten-knot current, that rushes through the entrance when the water is low, had subsided, but this favourable condition could not be taken advantage of to bring in the _Renown_ as neither buoys nor lights could be seen. Impatiently the ship's company waited for the fog to clear, but hour after hour went by and it seemed to grow only denser. Tired navigating officers, in sopping overalls, descended gloomily from the bridge, and it was realized that there would be no crossing the bar that tide. The wireless meanwhile had crackled a message through to the Australian fleet, lying within Port Phillip, asking destroyers to come out and fetch the Prince, so that he might not disappoint the enormous crowds waiting in the streets of Melbourne to welcome him. The destroyers had forty miles of intricate navigation to negotiate, but were speedily in the neighbourhood. The _Renown_ meanwhile had been carried by the currents out of her original position, but the firing of guns and the tooting of syrens eventually discovered her. That fine boat H.M.A.S. _Anzac_, recently attached to the Australian Navy, came smartly alongside, and took off the entire party. Steaming at twenty-eight knots, with a following wave so high as nearly to conceal the accompanying destroyers from the _Anzac's_ quarter-deck, soon brought her through the Heads, in spite of the ten-knot tide then running full against her. The fog thinned off, and showed the _Anzac_ in still autumn sunshine, pushing through a misty expanse of grey landlocked bays. Yellow sandy hills, dotted with soft-toned buildings, receded on either side as she advanced and the bay widened out, to reappear later on as she approached Melbourne harbour, which first presented itself as a forest of gaunt black cranes, with a background of roofs and chimneys emerging mistily from a low foreshore. The destroyer was cheered again and again, as she approached amongst launches and steamers crammed with holiday-makers out to see the Prince. She made fast to a red-carpeted wharf, in front of goods sheds flaming with decorations, where waited a smartly turned out naval guard-of-honour, and all the port authorities in full dress. Greetings and salutes accomplished, the party transhipped to a shallow-draft steamer--the _Hygeia_--which carried the Prince to the St. Kilda pier, in front of the residential quarter, through a fleet of yachts and launches filled with cheering people. On the pier four figures stood out prominently--the Governor-General, the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth, the Lieutenant-Governor of Victoria, and the Premier of Victoria. Behind them were staffs in uniform, scores of dignitaries in top-hats and frock-coats, and a guard-of-honour in khaki. Long lines of marines and sailors kept a lane down the pier, and out into the crowd beyond. The Prince landed, and shook hands with the Governor-General and the Prime Minister, who afterwards presented to him the Premiers of New South Wales, Queensland, South Australia, Western Australia, and Tasmania, besides numerous members of their respective Governments, most of whom had travelled long distances to attend. The civic address gone through, a procession was formed, the Prince, the Governor-General, the Prime Minister, and other bigger officials in barouches, the rest of the party following in motors behind. The mounted escorts included a fine squadron of police on grey horses, each of which was a picture. The procession traversed eight miles of wide, well-kept streets, with swarms of well-dressed, well-nourished people, applauding, laughing and chaffing on either side. The crowds were enormous. The streets were crammed. Thousands were accommodated upon stands against the sides of the buildings. Every balcony, window, roof, and parapet, whence, in any way, a glimpse could be caught of the procession, was filled with people. Commonwealth troops, cadets in khaki, and police in black uniform, though stationed only sparsely along the line, maintained excellent order. The crowds were as full of good-humour as could be, despite having been kept waiting by the fog for more than an hour after the advertised time. A wave of clapping and cheering went down the street alongside the Prince, and tailed off into chaff and criticism, at the expense of Mr. Hughes and other members of the Government, at the end of the procession. The cheering grew stronger as the business quarter of Melbourne was reached, and the procession passed through its spacious thoroughfares. "Generous" seemed to be the adjective most appropriate alike to the broad outlines of the architecture, for Melbourne despises sky-scrapers, to the width and dignity of the well-paved streets, and to the profusion of costly motor-cars and horses seen on the way. Those who accompanied the party were soon to discover for themselves that it applies equally to the quick-witted, outspoken, hospitable, kindly people of Melbourne. The following day was a busy one for the Prince. It began with a levée at Government House, where he invested a number of returned officers and men with decorations won at the front. The reception of a score of addresses came next and the replying to the more important of them, including those from both Houses of the Commonwealth Legislature. The functions finished with a banquet at Parliament Buildings, at which the Right Honourable Mr. Hughes proposed the Prince's health. The toast was seconded, in the warmest terms, by Mr. Frank Tudor, Leader of the Opposition. The keynote of the occasion was sounded by Mr. Hughes when he said to his guest: "The people of Australia see in you the things in which they believe." There followed a bewildering week in which the Prince was carried from one public function to another, through extraordinary masses of people, composed largely of women and children, but also comprising a very considerable number of men, who waited in the streets for hours at a time, sometimes in chill wind, fog or rain, on the chance of catching a glimpse of the Royal visitor. Many of them, when he appeared, made such efforts to approach and shake him by the hand, that the police had difficulty in getting his car through. His progress was so delayed in many cases that it became almost impossible for him to fulfil engagements at the hour appointed, in spite of the most liberal allowance of time for delays upon the road. Eventually appeals were made through the press for some abatement of this personal demonstration. The police arranged for a wider lane to be kept for his car, and the difficulty gradually disappeared. The Melbourne newspapers, meanwhile, day after day, made the Prince's visit their almost exclusive business. The smallest details of his doings were chronicled with minuteness, and long poems and articles about him were published. Photographs, in every attitude and at every function, appeared prominently amongst the news of the day. The Prince was "featured" inexhaustibly. Scenes of enthusiasm also characterized the Naval Review, where every fighting ship belonging to the Commonwealth of Australia was paraded. A special agricultural show was held to which landholders from distant parts of Victoria sent breeding stock so valuable that no previous exhibition had been able to attract it. A public reception was given in the exhibition buildings, where people stood from eleven in the morning to four in the afternoon to secure front places. An entertainment was organized at the cricket-ground where ten thousand school-children went through marvellously trained evolutions, and fifty thousand spectators cheered when the Prince appeared. When one asked folk in the street what they thought of him, enthusiasm found various expressions, but it was always enthusiasm. I have heard a stout, middle-aged and presumably sane gentleman in the smoking-room of a Melbourne hotel declare in the most bellicose tone to all and sundry that he would like to fight for him. I never heard a word of criticism. Certainly Melbourne, and all the great interests it represents, took the Prince to a generous heart. From Melbourne His Royal Highness made a two-days' trip by train into the rich districts of Western Victoria, through the Werribee Plain, where land fetches up to £60 per acre. Stone-walled fields of oats just rising above ground, with pleasant farm-houses amidst sparse white gum-trees, spread on either side of the track. Low, blue hills bounded the view. Country folk waved greetings from many homesteads, as the train sped onward. The first stopping-place was Geelong, on the sheltered coast of Port Phillip, once a rival to Melbourne for the honour of being the capital of Victoria, now a marine base, and prosperous shire town. It is known throughout Australia as the home of the doctrine of the one man vote, and eight-hour day, first promulgated in the 'seventies, by Sir Graham Berry, who represented Geelong in the Commonwealth Legislature. Here the Prince found himself in the midst of an agricultural, manufacturing and shipping community. The guard-of-honour was composed of naval cadets. He was shown thousands of bales of finest merino wool from mills which not only clean and sort it, but also, upon a smaller scale, manufacture it into blankets and cloth. Pupils were presented to him from Geelong's famous grammar school, which draws its students from all parts of Australia, and had a larger proportion of casualties, in the great war, than any other educational institution outside the British islands. Here also he visited a big wool-shed, that of Messrs. Dennys Lascelles Ltd., with a ferro-concrete roof weighing two thousand tons, so large that the sales-room it shelters covers an acre of floor, yet there is not a single pillar in support, the necessary stiffness being given by means of reinforced girders, built upon cantilever principles, above the roof. The streets were crowded with people, and the Prince had a very fine reception alike at the reading of the municipal address, and at the functions of shaking hands with returned soldiers, and inspecting school-children. A large number of schools from townships in the interior were represented, each with one pupil elected by its fellows to shake hands with the Prince. The selected mites stood shyly out, in front of the lines of scholars, as the Prince went by to honour the promise given. From Geelong the Prince went on to Colac, shire centre of one of the richest districts in Victoria. Here he was shown what claims to be the second largest dairying factory in the Commonwealth. It is run on co-operative lines, and makes, in addition to such products as butter and cheese, large quantities of dried milk, a comparatively new preparation, for which increasing demand is springing up in all parts of the world. It is an enterprise to which all may wish good luck, as a long step toward solving the important problem of rendering milk easily transportable, without loss of essential properties. In entering, and again in leaving Colac, the train passed quite close to a number of low conical hills and circular lakes, remains of comparatively recent volcanic action, which has given the soil over a wide area properties that enable it to grow Spanish onions in extraordinary profusion. In a favourable season, fabulous profits are made out of this crop. One man, with twenty acres, in one year cleared £1,800, of which £1,200 was net profit, after paying all cost of cultivation and harvesting. The Prince also saw some of the outlying trees of the famous Otway forest, home of the blue gum and blackwood timber used not only in Australia but also in America and Europe for decorative work. In Colac, the streets had been elaborately decorated. Flags covered alike the stone and reinforced-concrete houses of business, and the brick and wooden residences. The accommodation of the place had been supplemented for the Royal visit, by encampments of tents, one large marquee flaunting the imposing title of the "Café de Kerbstone." Choirs, in Welsh and Scottish costumes, serenaded the procession. There was much cordial cheering, especially about the shire-hall, where the civic address was read. The next halting-place was Camperdown, another farming centre, where again a surprisingly large gathering of country folk had assembled to welcome the Prince. Motor-cars, often of the most expensive British makes, in which the owners had come from their holdings, stood about in the streets. The Royal party here transferred to motors, in which the Prince drove out to the residence of Mr. Stuart Black, one of Australia's great landholders, descendant of settlers from Tasmania, who opened up this part of the country some eighty years ago. These settlers bore many distinguished names, including those of the Gladstone family and the MacKinnons. The following day His Royal Highness went by train to Ballarat, past a fine stone memorial to members of the neighbourhood who had fallen in the great war, subscribed for by the residents of the district, and designed by Mr. Butler, of Sydney. The route lay through undulating agricultural country, past big heaps of white, pink, or yellow tailings, which mark the sites of now worked-out gold-mines. Some of the fields around were pitted with what looked very much like shell-holes, dug by early prospectors for the gold that made Ballarat famous. The Prince found the last-named place a prosperous market town, with substantial public buildings, and quantities of marble statues, dating from the days of easily made fortunes in the 'seventies. It contains also wool, and other factories, including that of Messrs. Lucas and Company, for the production of underclothing, with which the Prince became acquainted under circumstances worthy of the creditable history of this firm. During the war, some five hundred girls employed by Messrs. Lucas conceived the idea of planting an avenue, in which each tree should be connected with the name of one of Ballarat's large contingent of fighting men at the front. At the head of this avenue, which is now a dozen miles in length, a substantial masonry Arch of Victory has been set up. The Prince opened this arch in the presence of the entire establishment of the Lucas factory, which presented him with an embroidered set of underclothing--yellow silk pyjamas, to be exact--in the making of which every employee of the firm had taken part. Rain had been falling heavily, but the girls faced it cheerily at the head of their avenue, many a tree of which bore the flag that told that the soldier it commemorated had been killed. The presentation was made to the Prince by two ladies, one of whom was Mrs. Lucas, the founder of the firm, which she had started on a very small scale, at a time when the miners were beginning to desert the Ballarat goldfield, leaving, in many cases, families behind them. Mrs. Lucas gathered these families around her, and by a system of profit-sharing, attached them to her firm, which is now well known throughout Australia. This was not the only function at Ballarat. The Prince also received an address standing out in the rain, on a platform in the main street, in the midst of a crowd so large that those in the rear could neither hear nor see very clearly what was going on in front. As the result, both the reading and the reply to the address were much interrupted, a patriotic cornet on the outskirts playing "God Bless the Prince of Wales" part of the time while the Prince himself was speaking. The Prince got hold of his audience, after two false starts, however, and to such purpose that the latter part of his speech was listened to with an interest that the rain, which plastered his hair and flattened out his collar, appeared to enhance. The cheering at the end was most hearty. The crowd did not disperse when the speeches were over, but waited in the rain until after the completion of a further ceremony, which took place inside the town hall, where the Prince shook hands with numbers of returned men and nurses. He was again loudly cheered when he came out and got into his car _en route_ to the train to Melbourne. The rain that was so insistent during the visit to Ballarat was of dramatic importance to the country at large. It broke a long and serious drought, extending over an enormous area--a drought so severe that we passed, on the road to Ballarat, way-worn sheep that had been driven three hundred miles in search of fodder and water. They were browsing, on their homeward way, on one of the farmer's stock-routes which traverse Australia from end to end. These cattle-tracks are generously bordered by pastures fenced off from the surrounding country, so as to conserve food for flocks and herds in movement. Two days later, just three weeks from Australia's mid-winter, the Prince crossed, by train from Melbourne, the chill slopes of the Great Dividing Range, which separates the basin of the Murray river, flowing westward through central Australia, from that of the streams which pour their waters southwards to the coast. On the way, he received addresses at Kyneton and Castlemaine, once gold-mining camps, now not less prosperous dairying and woollen-working centres, the entire countryside turning out to receive him. Thence the train climbed down to a pleasant plateau on which stands Bendigo, city of flowers and dry, healthful breezes, and a centre of large and still exceedingly productive quartz gold-mining. Enormous heaps of grey "mullick" shale, and yellow and white tailings here stand amongst beautiful avenues of shady eucalyptus trees, and substantial buildings of stone and brick. One of the cheeriest civic luncheons of the tour was a feature of the day--the Mayor toasting the Royal guest as Duke of Cornwall, Prince of the "Cousin Jacks," to whom the development of the Bendigo gold industry is so largely due. A novelty also appeared on the triumphal arches in the streets, which, in place of wreaths and patriotic texts, carried whole bevies of the prettiest girls the city could find. These arches had been built in the form of bridges connecting the porticoes on one side of the street with those on the other. The girls occupied the middle and dropped flowers as the Prince passed in his car. Intensive small culture is so successful about Bendigo, that we were told as much as £300 has been made out of an acre of tomatoes in a single year. Bendigo may thus look forward to a future of agriculture when her reefs are exhausted. Gold-mining brought her population, but her fields and gardens will probably keep it. Later in the afternoon the Prince, accompanied by the Prime Minister, in overalls, descended the shaft of one of the gold-mines that amongst them keep the mints of the country busy turning out sovereigns that bear on the reverse the effigy of the kangaroo. The Prince thus made the acquaintance of the gold industry which has played so dramatic a part in the history of the Commonwealth. The output has been falling off gradually since 1903 when the value produced was over sixteen million sterling. It still averages over ten million sterling annually however, and is likely long to remain a very important source of wealth. It was on this expedition that newspaper men accompanying the tour had their first opportunity of becoming acquainted with a number of distinguished Australians with whom they were so fortunate thereafter as to travel extensively. I have already mentioned that the Rt. Hon. Mr. William Hughes, Prime Minister of the Commonwealth, was one of them, his outspoken frankness and caustic humour illuminating and diverting long stretches of the railway journeys. Another member of the Commonwealth Government, closely associated with the tour, was the Hon. Mr. Pearce, Minister of Defence, who was supported, whenever the Prince was in naval ports, by the Hon. Sir Joseph Cook, Minister for the Navy, and Rear-Admiral Grant, Senior Member of the Naval Board, authorities who were able to afford the Prince first-hand information about the training and equipment of the forces that have given an account of themselves at once so memorable and so recent. Major-General Sir Brudenell White, Commonwealth Organizer of the visit, Brigadier-General H. W. Lloyd, Brigadier-General Dodds, Commodore J. S. Dumaresq, were also outstanding figures of the party. The Commonwealth arrangements, extensive though they were, represented only a small portion of the organization connected with the Australian part of the tour. Every State had also its own organizer, besides numerous committees--committees for decoration and illuminations, reception committees, committees for dinners and dances, school committees, committees to guide and instruct the British Press. These last-named bodies, to whom the debt of the visiting newspapermen was considerable, consisted not of delegated correspondents but of the editors and proprietors of the leading journals themselves. These gentlemen also took upon themselves the duty of making known throughout each State the story of the Prince's doings, thus giving to the business of publicity the best and most influential brains available, and placing at the disposal of the Overseas pressmen a constant reference to experience and local knowledge of the utmost value. [Illustration: JUTLAND DAY AT MELBOURNE] [Illustration: WITH AUSTRALIA'S MOST DISTINGUISHED CITIZEN] With the Commonwealth Prime Minister an ex-Labour member, and with Labour Governments in power in several of the Australian state legislatures, no one can visit Melbourne, seat of the Commonwealth Government, without coming up against some of the industrial problems and prospects in this country. It has already been mentioned that, at the dinner given to the Prince by the Commonwealth Government, in Parliament Buildings, Mr. Frank Tudor, leader of the Labour Party in opposition to Mr. Hughes' Government, warmly seconded the toast of the Prince's health. I repeat this fact, as it seems to be indicative of the general attitude of Victorian labour towards the Royal visit. The British pressmen had the opportunity of meeting some of the Labour leaders, amongst them Mr. E. J. Holloway, Secretary of the Melbourne Trades Hall, and Mr. D. L. MacNamara, Labour Member of the Victoria Upper House. They are men of moderate views, while full of schemes for bettering the conditions of labour on this continent. Mr. MacNamara is the author of proposals, now forming part of the Australian Labour Party's platform, for revising the Commonwealth constitution, upon lines designed to make the will of the people supreme. He would abolish existing State governments, and divide the States into provinces administered by councils exercising only such functions as might, from time to time, be conferred upon them by the Commonwealth Government, the Upper Chamber in the latter to be done away with, thereby leaving the lower Federal House a free hand to put through legislation beneficial to the masses. This scheme, whatever may be its intrinsic merits, is rather of theoretic than practical interest, as there is not much probability of any proposals for increasing the powers of the Commonwealth Government being accepted by the States, which are after all in paramount authority for the time being. It is nevertheless important as showing the constructive nature of problems with which Labour men in this part of Australia concern themselves. Mr. Holloway's activities have been chiefly connected with organizing proposals for the immediate advantage of workers, reducing their hours of work, and increasing their pay. Australian labour is watching developments in England, and a tendency is growing to substitute friendly round-table conferences between workers and employers for the less elastic processes of strikes and lock-outs which have so often been resorted to in the past. There was no lack of evidence in Melbourne to show how closely the community, as a whole, is affected by the new distribution of political power. Smoke-room assertions that industry was being destroyed by the frequency of strikes need not be taken too seriously, since the manifest prosperity of the crowds and the well-ordered activities of the factories did not at the time confirm any such mournful supposition. It is apropos to mention, however, that in Melbourne places of business much capital is locked up in purely emergency apparatus for doing without such public utilities as water-supply, electricity and gas, these arrangements being designed to enable industry to continue during periods of municipal inactivity, a fact which is certainly significant of the frequency of strikes in the past. Another noticeable feature is the far-reaching nature of the activities of the unions. In the sub-editorial rooms of the leading newspapers may be seen labour forms, to be filled up even by men holding well-paid appointments upon the staff, giving detailed particulars of hours of duty, overtime and emoluments. Friendly personal interest, rather than anything deeper, was perhaps apparent in what some of the Labour men said about the Prince. Friendly personal interest was always there, however. Even those who were inclined to ascribe the wonderful reception in the streets to the Prince being "a good sport, and well advertised," readily admitted the desirability of the British connexion, and their own cordial wish to keep up old relationships in this new land. At the time of the Prince's visit correspondence appeared in the Melbourne Press on the subject of alleged Catholic lukewarmness in regard to Royalty, and it must be said that political trouble in Ireland has not been without its echo of difficulty in Victoria, though the extent of anything of the kind might be very easily exaggerated. The wonder is, however, not that isolated exceptions should be found, but that, with all the divergent political ideals, and conflicting social conditions, necessarily met with in a large city of such recent growth as Melbourne, so generous a measure of warm-hearted loyalty should have been manifested, loyalty in which all sections of the community, including Labour, showed themselves to be in warm accord. XIII NEW SOUTH WALES Towards the end of the visit to Melbourne it became plain that the tension of repeated functions and strenuous journeys had begun to tell upon the Prince. He held out manfully, but was clearly overtired. This was by no means surprising, at all events to any member of the tour party, for all had begun to feel a strain which fell in a degree vastly multiplied upon His Royal Highness. That well-informed journal, "The Melbourne Argus," referring to the matter, said: "When the programme was arranged, before the arrival in Melbourne, the opinion was expressed in these columns that it was proposed to place too great a strain upon the Prince, and since his arrival it has become every day more evident that human strength is unequal to the tasks which have been set. The Prince has not made any complaint, but has most generously and courageously met all engagements. Only those in close association with him know the expenditure of nervous force which this conscientious discharge of duty has entailed." Eventually the programme was altered so as to give H.R.H. an additional week in Melbourne, free from public engagements. The hope that he would rest, however, was not in any literal sense fulfilled, as he spent his holiday in riding and golf, hardly less tiring than the public functions which the doctor had forbidden him. His staff were lucky if, after a long day spent in the saddle, he could be persuaded not to dance into the small hours. This strenuousness is characteristic. In the _Renown_ he spent much of his spare time exercising on deck or playing squash racquets. A mile run was his not infrequent preparation for a long day of public engagements. It is an attractive habit, but in the case of one subjected as the Prince is, at short intervals, to emotional as well as physical strain it hardly carries the recuperative benefit that it might in ordinary circumstances. The rest in Melbourne, such as it was, enabled him to carry on throughout the remainder of the tour. He seemed occasionally to take every ounce out of himself, but he "carried on." Melbourne's send-off, when the Prince ultimately left to proceed to Sydney, was, if possible, even more demonstrative than its reception when he arrived. Nine aeroplanes, soaring round the Ionic columns of Parliament Buildings, as dusk was falling, created the first stir in the immense crowd which waited along the road he was to take. Presently distant cheering was heard gradually coming nearer, as his car made its way from the Moone Valley racecourse, where he had spent the afternoon, to the top of Collins Street, where the official portion of the route commenced. Slowly the procession extricated itself from the mass of people who rushed up to say farewell, and assailed his car with offerings of flowers and wax Kewpie dolls for luck. A real horse-shoe, tied up in ribbon, was thrown by an admirer unable to get near enough to present it. It was perhaps owing to the good luck it brought that it dropped harmlessly into the bottom of the Prince's car. Eventually, the procession was able to go forward along a barricaded lane kept by the police in the middle of the street. In this space children raced alongside, and a ripple of waving hats and handkerchiefs kept pace with the cars as they advanced, while the evening air rang with cries of "Good-bye, Digger": "Come Again!" interspersed with clapping and cheering. The Prince stood upon the seat of the car waving his hat through some miles of these demonstrations. On the wharf at Port Melbourne a farewell address was presented by the local authorities beneath a gigantic arch inscribed "Australia Is Proud of You." Here the State Premier and other notables attended, also a guard-of-honour of the Royal Australian Naval Brigade. The reverberation of boots upon the wharf, as the crowd rushed afterwards to catch a last view of the Prince as he went up the gangway of the _Renown_, drowned the sound of a fife and drum band, operated by ladies in MacKenzie tartans, which banged on cheerfully alongside. The _Renown_ sailed at daylight, escorted out of harbour by a flotilla of Australian destroyers. The voyage was along a hilly shore for the most part covered with forest. The first port of call was in the wide, sheltered harbour of Jervis Bay, the Dartmouth of Australia. Here Sir Joseph Cook and Rear-Admiral Grant, with Captain Walters, Dr. Wheatly and other senior members of the Naval College, received the Prince, who inspected a smart guard-of-honour of cadets, and was subsequently shown over the institution, which is well arranged and up to date. The buildings include airy dormitories, comfortable study rooms, convenient lecture halls, commodious laboratories, and spacious gymnasium and gun-room, and are built round a roomy grass "quarter-deck," on which the cadets in the course of the afternoon handsomely defeated the best Rugby football team that the _Renown_ could produce. Nothing could exceed the pleasantness and wholesomeness of the atmosphere of this fine naval training college. The life by the cadets is an open-air one, and a more healthy and promising body of youngsters it would be impossible to find anywhere. They are being given a sound education amongst surroundings calculated to impress upon them the beauty and attractiveness of the land whose service they are about to enter. The harbour, at the foot of the college playing-fields, is to be the port of entrance to the federal territory of Canberra. The site of the new capital itself is only some seventy miles inland, a distance which is thought nothing of in this country of magnificent spaces. A railway has been surveyed to connect the two places, and a corridor of federal territory had been marked out, so that the entire line, including the port, may be out of reach of any state influence. The Jervis Bay College is a step in the direction of making the fine fighting ships, which Australia already possesses, independent of the help of the Mother Country. Boys are growing up there who will hereafter command them, and perhaps build the big naval graving docks, that are so badly wanted in Australian waters, to enable the modern battleships of Great Britain to reinforce effectually those of Australia in any trouble that may arise in the Pacific. "What do you think of our harbour?" is as inevitable a question in Sydney as "What do you think of America?" is in New York. It was soon countered by the demand of the blue-jackets on the _Renown_, "And what do you think of our ship?" but its relevance was easy enough to understand, when, in the misty dawn, of what was mid-winter in Australia, but might have been a fine June day in England, we reached the high rocky headlands which guard the entrance to these wonderful inland waters. A flotilla of war-vessels, including two Australian cruisers and a number of destroyers, escorted the Prince's ship into an aquatic amphitheatre. On all sides were beautiful wooded promontories sloping down to the edge of still pearly water. The slopes were studded with home-like villas, each gay in its own garden. Bays and inlets made shaded alleyways in all directions from the central expanse. Slowly the battle-cruiser threaded her way through the deep water marked but by buoys into the inner harbour. Hundreds of decorated motor-boats and dozens of double-decked ferry-steamers crowded round, each one of them a cheerful bouquet of brilliant parasols and fine-weather millinery. Well-groomed men, opulently dressed women, and smartly turned out boys and girls, on one boat after another waved handkerchiefs and Union Jacks, clapped, cheered, laughed, and sang. Brass bands banged out the National Anthem, and the usual petition to the Almighty to bless the Prince of Wales. The Prince waved and smiled in return, from his eyrie above the bridge, while fresh boats raced alongside, and continually restarted the hubbub. As the _Renown_ advanced up the harbour droves of rowing-boats and flocks of sailing craft added themselves to the now slow procession. Gatherings of people became visible as dark patches on the white foreshore of every promontory. In the case of the rocky headland overlooking the middle harbour, the patch must have been many acres in extent. The _Renown_ dropped anchor half a mile from Farm Cove, a sheltered gap in the encircling hills. The Prince went ashore in his launch, through a decorated cheering sea-lane of tugs, ferry-steamers, rowing-boats and yachts. He landed on a shaded beach, the slope behind solidly crammed with people, while beside the water, in a grove of bunting and greenery, were assembled the most distinguished men to be found in this part of Australia. Those present included the Governor-General, the Prime Minister, the State Governor, the State Premier, Members of the Commonwealth Government resident in New South Wales, the whole of the State legislature, Ministers, Judges in robes and wigs, Admirals and Generals in the last inch of permitted gold-lace. Immediately behind was a decorated marquee in which were the civic officials, including the Lord Mayor of Sydney in municipal robes and ermine, who presented an address. A naval guard-of-honour was drawn up on one side of the marquee, and a military guard-of-honour on the other. Salutes were fired, bands played, the guards-of-honour were inspected, the principal people were presented. The address was replied to, and amidst much cheering the Prince was conducted up a decorated staircase to the top of the cliff where a number of four-in-hands with large mounted escorts of "diggers" were in waiting to convey him through the city. The proceedings differed from those on the occasion of the entry into Melbourne in that they took place in bright morning sunshine, instead of in the fading light of evening. The route, including as it did long straight stretches of undulating ground, enabled the brilliant pageant of flags, escorts and pennants to be seen as a whole as the procession jingled through five miles of densely packed people. The way was kept by returned soldiers and cadets. Triumphal arches, constructed throughout of such characteristic Australian products as wool-bales, corn-sheaves, or balks of timber, dotted it at intervals. Avenues of white colonnades supported flags and bunting which stretched continuously for miles. Sightseers festooned the parapets, crowded the balconies, tapestried the windows with eager faces, and formed a solid mass between the wooden barriers of the processional lane and the plate-glass show-fronts of the business houses. In substantial Macquarie Street the Prince stopped to greet a terribly large community of crippled soldiers, who sat patiently in motors and bath-chairs by the wayside, attended by nursing sisters. Further on a no less touching spectacle awaited him, in a great gathering of black-garbed mothers, widows and orphans of diggers killed at the front, a pathetic reminder that, of the four hundred thousand soldiers raised by voluntary enlistment in Australia during the war, only one in two escaped wounds or death. Here the pressure was dense; and spectators, we heard, paid a shilling a minute to stand on packing-cases to look over one another's heads. The route ended on the shady lawns of Admiralty House, where the Prince inspected a great company of war-workers, who stood in ranks of variegated colour, including the red and grey of sisters who served in hospitals overseas, and the white and black of those whose no less devoted labour kept public utilities active at home while the manhood of the nation was in the field. Before entering the building where he was to stay the Prince shook hands with no less than ten wearers of the Victoria Cross. The reception was over. Perhaps the feature in it which struck the visitor most, next to its magnificence and enthusiasm, was the light-heartedness of the crowds. After the Prince had passed, and had been everywhere cheered, Mr. Hughes, the Commonwealth Prime Minister, Mr. Storey, the State Premier, and other ministers who were further back in the procession were subjected to volleys of chaff and counter-chaff from supporters and opponents, in which they themselves joined with the utmost goodwill. Even the crashing into the harbour, close alongside the reception wharf, of one of the aeroplanes employed on escort duty, upset the equanimity of nobody. A motor-launch promptly picked up the soused aviators, who seemed to find the accident the greatest of larks. The country round was as much interested in the visit as the city itself. For days before the Prince's coming special trains, crowded to their utmost capacity, had followed one another in quick succession into Sydney from localities sometimes hundreds of miles away in the back blocks. One heard of a father who squeezed his family of tiny children into one of these special trains, and was then unable to get a foothold on it for himself. The mites went to Sydney unaccompanied, but lacked for nothing, either upon the way or when they arrived, for every soul upon the train was prepared to father and mother them. The ten days which followed were crowded with public functions in which what seemed to be the entire population of Sydney participated outside, if not inside, the place of occurrence. One of the principal was the state banquet in the enormous town-hall. Seven hundred and twenty diners here sat down. Three thousand of Sydney's maids and matrons watched the proceedings from the galleries on either side, and at a given signal after the dinner, when the Prince proposed "The Ladies," there was a sound like a vast flight of pigeons and three thousand Union Jacks fluttered into the air. The ladies had responded for themselves. Crowds blocked the wide streets for half a mile round the building, throughout the whole of the proceedings, and took up the cheering again and again. The toasts of the evening were honoured, not only in the banquet hall itself, but by some hundred of thousands outside as well. Mr. Storey, the Premier of the Labour Government in power in New South Wales, made a most cordial speech in proposing the Prince's health. He described the Royal guest as a democrat in whose presence he felt no embarrassment in speaking frankly. He welcomed him on behalf of New South Wales, and declared that the Royal family had always shown sympathy with the ideals for which Labour men everywhere stood. In the course of his reply, the Prince said: "I realize to the full the great part which New South Wales and Sydney have played, and must always play, in the history of Australia. This wonderful city is the cradle of the magnificent development which has made the Australian Commonwealth. The whole thing started here, and in later days you were foremost in the movement of ideas which led to federation. The greatest of all the statesmen who first worked for federation, Henry Parkes, was a Sydney man, and a Premier of New South Wales. The first Australian Prime Minister, Sir Edmund Barton, also came from New South Wales. It is amazing to think that New South Wales holds two-fifths of the population of the whole Commonwealth and that Sydney holds more than half of the population of New South Wales. That fact alone shows the vast importance, not only to the Commonwealth, but to the future of the whole Empire, of this state and its lovely capital. Sydney is indeed the London of the Southern Hemisphere." It is characteristic of Australia that the Commonwealth banquet in Sydney, at which the Prince subsequently made what was probably his principal speech during the tour, was an outwardly less imposing function than was the state dinner I have just described. The Commonwealth banquet was given in one of the upper stories of a fine building in Martin's Place erected under the direction of Sir Denison Miller, founder of that great national organization the Commonwealth Bank, which now handles the entire finances of the central Government, including the raising of loans and the issue of currency. At the Commonwealth dinner the Governor-General presided and Mr. Hughes made one of those felicitous speeches which have won him a European reputation, though they are themselves surpassed by his lightning humour and uncompromising common sense in the cut and thrust of debate. "Time," he said, "circumstances, and the age-long struggles for freedom by men who held liberty dearer than life, have fashioned the constitution under which we live. The monarchy is an integral part of it. If Britain decided to adopt a republican form of Government that would be the end of the Empire as we know it to-day. The Empire has grown. It is, if you like, the most illogical of institutions. It is composed of many free nations very jealous of their own rights, and brooking no interference with these. Yet, to the outside world, it is, in time of danger, one. And the institution which binds all these together is the Monarchy of England." The Prince in reply declared that there was no finer body of men than those which Australia sent to represent her in the various theatres of the war. He went on to sum up the aspirations of Australia in the words of Sir Edmund Barton, "a continent for a nation, and a nation for a continent," and evoked a storm of cheering when he declared, "I am quite sure of one thing, that as Australia stands by the Empire, so will the Empire stand by Australia for all time." The enthusiasm that characterized the Prince's entry into Sydney, and the State and Commonwealth banquets given there in his honour, became if possible more and not less accentuated as his visit wore on. Outstanding everywhere was the tumultuous cordiality with which he was greeted by enormous crowds. The same thing occurred at the races, at the gala performance at His Majesty's Theatre, at the parade of returned men, at a wonderful display by state school-children, also when he entered the chief military hospital beneath an arch of crutches, and when fifty thousand people passed before him in the town-hall. The whole was an experience which can never be forgotten by any of those who had the good fortune to be there. The popular reception in the town-hall was especially impressive. Here, standing on the dais in the centre of this fine building, the Lord Mayor of Sydney alongside, and a number of ministers, judges and soldiers, grouped about him, the Prince, in plain grey jacket suit and soft brown hat, received the salutes of a great multitude of men, women and children--the blind man led by friends, the old lady who must see the Prince before she died, the baby who would be able to say in years to come that it was present. The people were shepherded past by members of the local police, for whose patience and courtesy it is impossible to express too great admiration, in one long, smiling, curtsying, hat-doffing stream. Numerous barriers had been erected, but there was no crushing whatever. It was a demonstration of orderliness and public spirit of the very best. Another picturesque function was where, under the twinkling pendants of the big chandeliers in the ballroom of Sydney's Government House, beneath the portrait of his ancestor George III, and before a brilliant assemblage of naval and military officers, judges, ministers, civic authorities, and members of consular bodies, the Prince shook hands with several hundreds of representative men belonging to all sections and communities of the Australian continent. Interesting also was the day he spent amongst the young folk. It began with a visit to the Sydney Cricket-Ground where twelve thousand children of the local Government primary schools, headed by Mr. Mutch, Minister for Education, Mr. Board, Director of Education, and Colonel Strong, Chairman of the Executive Committee, organized and supervised a picturesque exhibition of physical drill. The children deployed upon the grass in the centre, where they went through evolutions and exercises, and arranged themselves so as to form patriotic emblems and messages of welcome. Fifty thousand parents and relations occupied gigantic stands around the ground and added a bass to the treble of the children's cheering. Later on the Prince proceeded to the University. On the way he passed through some of the less fashionable quarters of Sydney, where he was warmly received by crowds consisting largely of artisans, amongst whom his popularity seemed to grow each day he remained in Australia. At the University, a place with fine buildings, in pleasant country surroundings, on the outskirts of the city, he was cheered by some two thousand undergraduates, five hundred girl students, and a big gathering of graduates and members of their families. The great hall, with stained-glass mullioned windows, dark grained timber roof and grey stone walls, broken by a long array of mellowing oil portraits, where the Chancellor, Sir William Cullen, read an address, recalled the beautiful precincts of Christchurch, Oxford, upon which it appears to be designed. The feeling of home was heightened, alike by stained-glass portraits of Cardinal Wolsey and other famous founders of Oxford and Cambridge colleges, and by the presence in the assemblage of a number of red and black Oxford hoods amongst the grey ones worn by graduates of the Sydney University. The gathering included a fine body of students in uniform, many of them wearing war-decorations won overseas. The blue and gold flag of the University corps occupied a place of honour at one end. Replying to the address, the Prince referred to the profoundly important work the Sydney University was doing, and its splendid record in the war, and went on to say: "The generation which faced the war ennobled your traditions, fine as those already were, and left a great example of personal service to the King and Empire for the present generation to pursue." [Illustration: GOVERNMENT HOUSE GARDENS, NEW SOUTH WALES] [Illustration: PERTH, FROM THE KING'S PARK] Replying later to an undergraduate address read by Captain Allen, M.C., the Prince said: "You have referred to my comradeship with your own two thousand fellow students who went to the front in the great war, and I assure you there is no part of my experience which I value more than my long association with those gallant troops, both officers and men." Concluding he said: "Many of you are now completing or beginning a university course after service in the field. I hope that these will not find themselves handicapped by the time they spent overseas." It was a hope that perhaps the easier conditions and nearer prospects of young life in Australia may well fulfil. In any case its expression was one of the many graceful gestures of consideration that did so much to bring the Prince close to the hearts of the people of that country. XIV SOME COMMONWEALTH AFFAIRS "One heritage we share though seas divide" surmounted one of the decorated arches on the route traversed by the Prince on the day of the military review at the Centennial Park, Sydney--a phrase no doubt, but one that expressed the sentiment which pervaded this striking occasion. Major-General Sir Charles Rosenthal commanded the parade, which included a naval detachment under Lt.-Commander Patrick, a body of Light Horse under Major-General Ryrie, and portions of five Divisions respectively under Brigadiers Bennett, Martin, Jobson, Herring, and Christian. The command was made up entirely of demobilized men, who, despite cold grey weather on a full working day, had donned service uniform and assembled--many of them from long distances--to do honour to the heir to the Throne. The numbers present were not precisely ascertainable, as the men were not under discipline, but had turned up of their own accord. Estimates of how many attended therefore varied considerably, but any number up to twenty thousand may have been there. When the Prince reached the ground he found the units drawn up in formation about half a mile in length in front of him. Long lines of bath-chairs and motors were on his left, filled with disabled men who had been brought from sanatoria and hospitals in the districts around. Behind him some thirty thousand spectators joined in the cheering. The Prince went down the lines, shook hands with all the officers and spoke to a number of the men. He also shook hands with every disabled soldier present. The proceedings terminated with a general march past in column, so arranged that the disabled men could see their old regiments go by. A sequel to the military review was a visit a few days later to Duntroon College, the Sandhurst of Australia. Daylight on the shortest day in the Australian mid-winter found the Royal train, now on the standard four-feet-eight-inch gauge of New South Wales, speeding through dry, rolling country, dotted with occasional blue gums beneath whose tattered foliage sheep were picking a wholesome meal. Bright sunshine reminded one that it was Australia, though the cold wind, which drove clouds of dust and grit into our faces, might have been from a March east in England. At the township of Queanbeyan, where the Prince changed into a motor-car, the entire population had assembled and the usual ceremonies of welcome were gone through. The country beyond Queanbeyan was open, and barbed wire fences bounded the road on either side most of the way to Duntroon, which proved to be a pleasant garden township of white-walled houses, set upon a low hill amongst many trees. Senator Pearce, Commonwealth Minister for Defence, and General Legge, Commandant of the College, with a group of red-tabbed field officers, received the Prince on a sheltered lawn overlooking a wide grassy plain reserved for aeroplane manoeuvres. Those presented included a number of the professors whose rank between soldier and pedagogue was quaintly expressed by their black mortar-boards and college gowns which only partially concealed service uniforms and war-decorations. The Prince afterwards saw the cadets at exercise in the gymnasium, and took the salute of one hundred and twenty of them as they marched smartly past on the parade ground. Addressing them afterwards in the big mess-hall at the dinner-hour, he recalled the fine war history of the college, which had lost no less than forty-eight of its students in battle, and was cheered when he repeated the story of that gallant soldier General Bridges, who had found his way from the Kingston Military College, in Canada, to make a new Kingston in Duntroon, and to lead Duntroon's first contingent of trained officers to Gallipoli, where he himself was killed. It was dinner-time and "Carry on" was the word passed round to the cadets, when H.R.H. had finished his speech, and the cheering had momentarily died down. The soup was then served at all the tables, but it must have grown cold while cheer after cheer followed the Prince as he left the hall and re-entered his motor _en route_ for Canberra, a place only a few miles distant. The way from Duntroon climbed slowly through undulating, park-like country, dotted with blue gums, two thousand feet above sea level. Freshly made roads, with water-pipes and sewers laid on, presently indicated that the site of the much debated new capital of the Commonwealth had been reached. The scene continued to be rural, however. The pleasant stream, which meandered amongst willow trees and grassy solitudes at the foot of the hill--where the Prince subsequently added a foundation-stone to the already considerable number of these expressions of hope and faith--might have been a hundred miles from civilization of any kind. The little river gave to the scene that touch of verdure so grateful in the dry and dusty bush, and one day will doubtless be spanned by the arched bridges of the Commonwealth's capital. At present it must be confessed that the metropolis is hardly more than a sketch of itself, and a sketch that presents no very distinctive features. The importance of Canberra, however, is not to be judged from the present condition of the site. As the Prince pointed out in his speech at the ceremony, although the city still consists largely of foundation-stones, this is chiefly because the war has delayed progress with the scheme of construction. Mr. Groom, Commonwealth Minister for Public Works, who presided, summed up the position when he said, "Victory having been happily achieved, once more the mind of the nation is reverting to the provision of a national seat of Government where Australia will be mistress in her own house, and where there will be no room for the complaint of provincial influence in pursuit of national aims." The idea thus expressed that the Commonwealth administration should have a territory of its own, away from the influence of any individual state, holds the imagination of the majority of Australians. It is an idea that has worked out satisfactorily alike in Canada and the United States, where the circumstances, which justified the building of Ottawa and Washington in the past, are essentially similar to those of Australia to-day. The fact that India's endeavours at capital building at Delhi may not yet have met with corresponding success, does not affect the matter, since the conditions in a bureaucracy differ essentially from those obtaining in the democratic association of self-determining Dominions. Public opinion in Sydney supports the Canberra scheme on the practical ground that it will bring the Commonwealth capital nearer to itself. Melbourne is naturally lukewarm, since the present arrangement whereby the central legislature meets there, so long as Canberra does not materialize, is one that local pride desires to see continue as long as possible. The remainder of the States, while not very actively enthusiastic about a scheme which must necessarily divert a large sum of public money from railway and other useful local projects, recognizes that the atmosphere surrounding the Commonwealth Government would be none the worse for being removed from the wire-pullings of state politics. Scenic beauty, healthfulness, a good water-supply, and accessibility to the two principal Commonwealth centres of population and industry, combine to justify the choice of Canberra for the purpose concerned, and the fact that a sum of some two million sterling of public money has already been sunk in preparing the site, increases the probability that the scheme will eventually be brought to completion. One of the party accompanying the Prince on his visit to Canberra was a minister of state, who loved to tell how he had left his home in the Canberra district on a push-bike to seek his fortune twenty years before, now to return, in company with the Prince of Wales and as the responsible head of an important Government department. Like every one else who knows this part of the country, he overflowed with enthusiasm as to the healthful prospects of its future. It was from him, I believe, that the Prince first heard the ancient tale of the cemetery for which, after long and infructuous waiting upon local necessity, the inhabitants were driven to import a corpse from outside. That cemetery has served many a rising town. It must be closed by now except for purposes of historical research, but no doubt Canberra's claim to it will be justified when the time comes. Another expedition from Sydney was by train and launch, up the Hawkesbury river, and on to Newcastle. On this occasion the Prince was accompanied by the entire New South Wales Labour Cabinet, including Premier Storey. One of the features of the trip was a remarkable demonstration on the part of the men working in the Sydney railway sheds, who assembled in large numbers along the line, and shouted good wishes as the Prince's train went out. Every engine in the big station yard at the same time blew a shrill accord on its whistle, a choral accompaniment which was as convincing as it was deafening. Addresses were presented, on the way, at the towns of Parramatta and Windsor, while the residents, along fifty miles of the river traversed by the Royal launch, assembled at the water's edge and waved flags and cheered as the Prince went through what is probably one of the most beautiful water-ways in the world. At Hawkesbury River Landing, where the Prince rejoined the train and met a number of mothers and widows of men fallen in the war, the entire station had been decorated by the unpaid labour of those working upon the line. At Fassifern, which he went through after nightfall, the entire valley was lighted up by bonfires, and the station and wharf at the small township of Toronto, where the Prince spent a night at the house of Mr. Duncan McGeachie, was a fantasy of Chinese lanterns. The following morning the Prince received and replied to an address on the local pier which juts out into the beautiful Macquarie lake. Here, waving over his head, was a Canadian flag, presented to this Australian namesake by the capital city of Ontario. From Toronto the Prince was taken by train past a number of the pit-heads of one of the richest mining districts in Australia, at that time supplying coal at the very reasonable price of seventeen shillings per ton f.o.b. on the seaboard. Every heap of slack and every railway truck, as the Prince's train went by, had upon it a contingent of miners who cheered in a way to warm the coldest heart. Newcastle, the second city of New South Wales, was reached at noon. The Prince, on alighting, was received by the Mayor and Corporation, supported by a smart guard-of-honour of naval cadets and an immense crowd of spectators. He crossed the harbour by launch and landed on the low marshy foreshore of Walsh Island. Here he shook hands with a long line of returned men, employed in the shipbuilding yards, who gave him a most cordial reception. Similar scenes were repeated, at least half a dozen times in the course of the day, at the entrance to each set of works. At Walsh Island, over which he was conducted by Mr. Estell, State Minister of Works, and Mr. Cutler, General Manager, New South Wales Shipbuilding, he launched a fine six-thousand-ton freight steamer, built by state enterprise on behalf of the Commonwealth Government. The launching was to have taken place at flood tide, but, owing to postponement of the Prince's visit, had to be done at the ebb. A strong west wind on the ship's quarter added to the difficulty of the undertaking which was entirely overcome, the ship taking the water beautifully. These vessels are an interesting example of state enterprise in New South Wales. They are designed to carry produce away from Australia, and to bring British emigrants back. There was at the time plenty of demand for their services, as thousands of would-be settlers were awaiting passages in the old country, and wheat was rotting in Australian granaries that was badly wanted to reduce prices of bread in Europe. The claim was made for them that they were being built at rates materially lower than those offering for the construction of similar vessels in any dockyard in the world at the time the contracts were given out. The cost, I was told, ranged from £31 per ton until the last rise in wages took place, which brought the rate up to about £35. At the time of the Prince's visit no workman employed in the yard was receiving less than fourteen shillings and fourpence daily, the average being very much higher than this figure. The vessel launched was the fifth of six uniform steamers under state construction. The four previously completed had been rated "A1" at Lloyds. After leaving the Government dockyard, the Prince was taken over works of private enterprise of even larger significance, the steel-furnaces, rolling-mills and rod-mills of the Broken Hill Proprietary Company, which are also located in Newcastle. Here he was conducted by Mr. Delprat, general manager, and Mr. Baker, local manager, and saw the whole of the processes, from the emptying of three open-hearth blast furnaces, to the conversion of glowing molten steel into 72-lb. railway rails, of which these works claim to have manufactured, last year, some hundred and sixty thousand tons. The capacity of the works is very much larger even than this amount, two separate strikes having reduced out-turn in this period. The price paid for these rails by the various state railways in Australia, which now depend almost entirely upon this source of supply, was thirteen pounds per ton. I learnt also that the average pay of the labour employed in the works was about one pound sterling daily per man. The profit upon the £4,000,000 capital of the concern is such that its one-pound shares were quoted in the Sydney Stock Exchange the day the Prince went over the works at sixty-four shillings apiece. After seeing the steel-works, the Prince was conducted by Mr. MacDougall over a neighbouring wire and nail factory, which claims to be now filling the entire demand of Australia for plain-wire fencing. The firm was preparing to set up additional machinery upon a large scale to make barbed wire which Australia has hitherto bought in Europe. The significance of this development is considerable, since barbed wire forms the top, as smooth wire does the lower strands, of fences of which hundreds of thousands of miles are already in existence in Australia, and millions of miles more have still to be built. After leaving the wire-works, the Prince drove in procession, through decorated, crowded, cheering streets, to a sheltered park overlooking the Pacific, where thirty thousand people had assembled and Mayor Gibson read a civic address. In the course of his reply the Prince dwelt upon the remarkable industrial development of Newcastle. "Your harbour," he noted, "your shipping facilities and your manufactures have greatly enhanced the importance this district has possessed from the earliest date on account of its rich deposits of coal." Leaving Newcastle in the afternoon by train, the Prince returned to Sydney through a pleasant land of tidy orange plantations and ragged blue-gum bush. On the way he held a reception in the city of Gosford, and saw further reaches of the beautiful Hawkesbury river. A record crowd cheered him at Sydney railway station, and along the route to the harbour where he rejoined the _Renown_. XV WESTERN AUSTRALIA The Prince went from Sydney two thousand miles by sea to Western Australia, a state as large as the combined areas of England, France, Germany, Austria, Spain, and Holland, with a population of less than half a million people to develop this stupendous territory. On the way, in traversing the Australian Bight, that borders the southern coast of the continent, the _Renown_ encountered weather remarkably bad even for this region of frequent gales. Green seas swept over forecastle and quarter-deck alike. The engines were slowed down. The big ship strained, clanked, and groaned, but proved her seaworthiness magnificently. The waves were still high in King George's Sound outside Albany, where owing to shallow water the _Renown_ had to lie four miles from land in a wide and but partially sheltered bay. Where the shore could be seen it lay in rocky grass-grown hummocks, on which the surf beat heavily. A picket boat conveyed the Prince and his staff through a narrow entrance into the small landlocked harbour, where they landed on a desolate pier, wet decorations flapping dismally in cold wind and spray. The entire population had turned out, however, despite the weather. The Governor of Western Australia, Sir Francis Newdegate, the State Premier, Mr. Mitchell, and a number of other members of the Government awaited the Prince upon the pier. The Mayor of Albany read an address from a wind-swept platform in front of a town hall prominently situated on a low hill facing a wide street that led down to the harbour. The crowd here was a varied one. It included traders, merchants, commission-agents, and manufacturers belonging to Albany itself, also large numbers of fruit-growers and farmers from stations in the interior of this prosperous land of orchards and wheatfields. Gatherings of returned soldiers and school children, also nurses and other war-workers flanked the general assemblage. A night train journey followed through rolling country and bush, with arable fields, apple orchards and orange gardens which looked most attractive next morning in brilliant sunshine in the freshest of rain-washed air. The Prince was cheered by gatherings at many wayside stations, including Parkerville, where a number of children, in charge of gentle-faced sisters in black robes, sang patriotic songs in the chill morning air as the train went through. About noon he alighted at Perth, capital of Western Australia, an extraordinarily beautiful city, with wide streets and solid masonry houses, situated on the low banks of the picturesque Swan River--here so wide as to be almost a lagoon. The streets were decorated and lined with cheerful people. Those who received the Prince included the Governor, the State Premier, the Mayor, Mr. Lathlain, the Chief Justice, Sir R. MacMillan, the leader of the State Opposition, Mr. P. Collier, the Chairman of the Reception Committee, General Sir Talbot Hobbs, also most of the other members of the local houses of Parliament and of the Perth municipal corporation. The Prince went through the usual inspection of naval and military guards-of-honour, and then proceeded by motor-car through the city, which looked delightfully fresh in bright winter sunshine. The crowd was lined up behind wooden barriers on either side of a lane kept by blue-jackets from H.M.A.S. _Sydney_, also men of the Royal Australian Naval Reserve, and returned soldiers, cadets and scouts. The route taken was some two miles in length. It lay through the principal business and residential streets, the crowd extending the entire distance, clapping, cheering, laughing and flag-waving as the Prince went by. The procession disappeared inside the shady grounds of Government House, a place of green lawns and rose-bushes blossoming in the shade of banana-trees and Insignis pines. Later on H.R.H. visited the principal theatre, where he addressed several thousand returned sailors, soldiers and nurses. He congratulated them on their services, alike during the war and since their return home, where they had shown that they stood for the maintenance of law and order. From the theatre the Prince went on to a big civic luncheon in the Town Hall, where Mayor Lathlain told an appreciative audience of their guest's keen personal interest in the welfare of the people of the Dominions. He also mentioned the fact that the Prince had come as representing "the dear old Motherland, the heart of the Empire, the land upon whose Navy so largely depends Australia's ability to carry on her peaceful avocations." H.R.H. was loudly cheered when he rose to reply, and his pleasant little speech evoked the greatest enthusiasm. He felicitated Perth and Western Australia generally upon their wonderful progress, of which much had been achieved within the memory of the present generation. He said he knew Western Australia's record in the Great War, and desired also to congratulate its women--alike those who had gone abroad and those who had worked at home. An investiture at Government House and a State ball completed the day's work. The visit to Perth lasted about a week. It had several memorable features, among them a review, when, in a wide thoroughfare bordered by pleasant residences bearing such British names as Ilfracombe, Warwick House, and St. George's Terrace, the Prince stood, framed in a background of crowded grandstands, taking the salutes of a number of thousands of Australians, including a solid contingent of blue-jackets, a yet larger one of returned soldiers, some in khaki, some in mufti, cohorts of cadets and boy scouts, both naval and military, phalanxes of red cross nurses in smart white dresses, and girl guides in a dense column of blue, followed by what seemed an endless procession of children, every school within ten miles of Perth being represented. From the review the Prince went to Mayor Lathlain's "people's garden-party" in the National Park. Here upon a dais beneath a statue of his great grandmother, Queen Victoria, in the shelter of big timber-trees, commanding a magnificent view of the city and the river, he stood for an hour while the people of Perth streamed past in column. Babies were carried pick-a-back on their fathers' shoulders, men doffed hats, mothers and daughters waved hands, handkerchiefs or flags, as they passed. One old lady delayed the line to shake hands with him, but accepted the Admiral's clasp as a makeshift, the Prince being too busy taking off his hat and returning eight smiles at a time to have a hand to spare. Everybody was so engrossed gazing at the visitor, every head turning on its neck for a long backward glance after the dais had been passed, that hardly an eye was drawn off when a noisy aeroplane, which had been stunting unnoticed in the Prince's honour overhead, suddenly swooped out of intolerable oblivion to within a hundred feet of him. A further notable function was the State banquet at Perth Government House. Here were present all the leaders of thought and enterprise in Western Australia, politicians, administrators, squatters, settlers, traders, naval and military commanders, ministers, judges, ten V.C.'s, and everybody else who counted. Grace was said by that soldierly episcopal, Archbishop Riley, who, as a Chaplain-in-Chief of the Australian forces in the field, is known and loved from one end of Australia to the other. The Prince's health was proposed by Premier Mitchell. After it had been drunk with the usual cheering and waving of napkins, H.R.H. made a speech. "Your policy," he said, "is to draw settlers from the old country, at the same time ensuring that they shall not suffer from lack of experience when they are first put upon the land of their adopted country. I am delighted to hear that you are giving to Imperial ex-service men the same chance of starting life upon the land when they arrive in this state, as you give your own diggers. I can think of no more admirable way than this of continuing the splendid traditions of the war and maintaining our united British spirit." It was a note which has often been sounded since to appreciation and applause throughout the Empire. One of the expeditions made from the state capital was by launch down the wide placid reaches of the Swan River, still the haunt of the black swan, emblem of Western Australia, to hold a reception at the port of Fremantle, some ten miles distant, where the river joins the sea. No black swans graced the occasion, only an occasional porpoise leapt alongside the launch as it entered the estuary. The entire population of the countryside lined the banks as the vessel went past, every village, settlement, and factory _en route_ contributing its quota, which in the case of saw-mills, cold-storage plant and electricity works, consisted almost entirely of workmen. Arrived at Fremantle the entire city was found awaiting the Prince, crowding the pier and lined up along the streets. Naval and military guards-of-honour, with bands, saluted. The chairman and members of the Harbour Trust and the Mayor and members of the city council stood bare-headed as he made his landing. From the pier he was conducted in procession, first to a picturesque display by thousands of children, and afterwards to the big "Anzac" military hospital where convalescent patients were drawn up with doctors and nurses outside, and where the warmth of the cheers that came from the wards, where he went round the beds of those too ill to move, was more than touching. Speaking later at a civic luncheon, the Prince looked forward to Fremantle's eventually becoming one of the leading harbours in the Empire, the importance of its position as the first port of call on the western seaboard being emphasized by the completion of the trans-continental railway. Returning to Perth later in the afternoon by motor-car, he was taken through the magnificent National Park, a well-kept forest upland, full of fine timber, including a whole avenue, each individual tree dedicated to some West Australian soldier fallen in the war. Just before entering this park, the Prince passed some thousands of children drawn from schools in the Cottesloe, Claremont and Subiaco municipal areas, who stood hardily in the rain in the open to wave their flags and sing their patriotic songs. Still another rewarding expedition was by car to some of the fruit gardens near Perth. Orange groves in the dips and apple orchards on the rising slopes made odd neighbours. The apple-trees were bare, but oranges hung in the golden profusion of Malta or Seville. Fifty acres of this fruit in some cases meant a clear income of over a thousand pounds per annum to the fortunate owner after paying for all labour other than his own. The orchard zone was near the coast. Further inland is one of the wide wheat-belts which feed Australia and furnish a surplus for Great Britain. Beyond this again begin the cattle-stations of the Great North-West. Perth was buzzing with the Great North-West. A commission composed of parliamentarians and publicists had just returned, loaded with information and optimism, from a two-thousand mile expedition through it by motor. In addition the highways were blocked and the views were obscured by mountainous men, full of deep cocktails and deliberate conversation, who had descended from this region for the occasion of the Prince's visit. Some of these genial giants worked, as private pasture, areas ranging to over two million acres. They seemed in themselves a sufficient indication of what the country could produce, and an adequate reason for railway enterprise in their direction. In this state land nationalizes may note the character of the movement towards small holdings. It has recently been laid down that no peasant or other proprietor shall obtain a fresh grant of more than one million acres. Not a long step toward communistic property, but possibly a beginning. XVI WHEAT, GOLD, AND LOGGING The state saw-mills and logging-camps of Pemberton, about a hundred miles southward along the coast, made an important fixture from Perth. On this occasion the Prince was accompanied by the Premier and other members of the West Australian State Government and was conducted by Mr. Humphries, state saw-mills manager. He was taken over mills where the enduring Karri trees in trunks sixty feet long and seven feet through were being sliced by revolving saws into uniform railway sleepers for export. He also made his way, in heavy rain, partly by railway and partly on foot, up gorges of great natural beauty in the heart of a dripping forest, himself took a hand with sinewy axe-men and sturdy sawyers, in the felling of these giant trees, and saw their subsequent extraction from swampy thickets by teams each comprising, in some cases, twenty-four splendid locally bred Clydesdale horses, in others a score and a half of equally fine Australian bullocks. In the presence of a gathering of the entire logging force and their wives and children, who gave him the most cordial reception, the Prince afterwards presided at a local log-chopping contest in which champion woodmen from all parts of Western Australia competed. The excitement of the forest community of onlookers was intense, and considerable sums changed hands upon the result. The men were given trunks of as nearly as possible equal thickness and hardness to hew through. The less proficient received a certain number of seconds' start. Axes fell with marvellous rapidity and precision, slices rather than chips flew incredible distances in pre-ordained directions--it was a remarkable exhibition of muscle rivalling machinery. One of the long-handicap men eventually won from the scratch competitor, a magnificent young giant who was about a second behind. The logs cut through were about fifteen inches in diameter. Most of the axes used bore the names of American manufacturers, and had edges still razor-like after the contest was over. A fine exhibition of table-vegetables, grown in pockets in the neighbouring hills, was also shown to the Prince. Rich land close to the railway suitable for market-gardening and already cleared is to be had in this region, it seems, at £25 per acre. It is claimed to produce per acre from six to nine tons of potatoes, which were fetching on the spot £12 per ton. The principal prize-winner was a Scotch gardener, who told the Prince he had come but six years previously without any capital whatever, and that his holding was now clear of debt and valued at £1,300. On the way back to Perth the Prince had his first and only experience during the tour of a railway accident. Speaking of it in a reply to the toast of his health at a public dinner at Perth, a few days after it occurred, Premier Mitchell expressed thankfulness that the Prince had escaped unhurt. His Royal Highness in reply treated the matter from a humorous point of view. He did not regret, he said, to have been able to add a harmless railway accident to his Australian experiences. The mishap was very much nearer to being a disastrous one, however, than this would suggest. It occurred on a single-track, three-foot-six-inch line, in swampy Westralian forest, some ten miles from the township of Bridgetown. The Royal train was a heavy one, consisting of some nine corridor sleeping coaches. It had passed over the spot, which was on a curve, the same morning on the way to Pemberton. Heavy rain fell in the course of the day, and on the return journey at about three o'clock in the afternoon, the track had become so soft that the rails gave way. The train was, fortunately, only going at about fifteen miles an hour at the time, having had to slow down owing to cattle on the lines. The rear saloon, which was occupied by H.R.H. and Admiral Halsey, seems to have been the first to leave the line. The saloon immediately in front, which contained the remainder of the Royal staff and most of the state party, afterwards followed it. The derailed wheels then bumped along over the sleepers, which they cut up in the most complete manner, the line for two hundred and thirty yards being converted into a tangled mass of twisted rails and broken splinters. The engine-driver felt the jolting and applied the brakes. This happily took the way off the train, for a moment later the two derailed vehicles rolled over the soft embankment, here a couple of feet high, and lay on the ground below, all their wheels in the air. The train came to a standstill, the coupling between the wrecked and the unwrecked portions remaining intact. The Prince and his staff were still inside. Heads quickly appeared through windows now pointing to the sky, and the occupants of the front saloons, who had hastily jumped out, learnt to their relief that nobody had been seriously hurt. One after another the members of the Royal party, including the Premier and other state ministers, were extricated through the windows, now the only means of egress. While this was happening smoke began to issue from the first of the two overturned saloons. Investigation showed that this was from the cooks' galley, which, in falling, had set the saloon on fire. The flames were promptly extinguished with water brought from the portion of the train still upon the rails. Ten minutes later the Prince, who had declined to move till he had collected his overturned papers, cheerfully climbed out, being thus, sailor-like, the last to leave the wreck. He had been talking to Admiral Halsey when the derailment took place, and was pinned between overturned pieces of furniture when the coach rolled over, thus escaping falling through the plate-glass window, a thing which occurred to several members of the party, including the Premier. The only person at all materially hurt, however, was Surgeon-Commander Newport, the Prince's doctor, who cut his shin rather badly when he went through the window, an incredibly small casualty list for the nature of the accident. All the fittings that were movable flew through the air when the upset took place. A large mirror in the Prince's compartment was amongst the articles which crashed to the ground. The mix-up and disorder of broken furniture, crockery and luggage inside was most complete. The Prince himself, at the time as later, made nothing of the matter. He caught up a cocktail-mixer as he climbed through his overturned dining saloon, and waved it out of the window by which he extricated himself. He congratulated the Chief of the Staff, with mock seriousness, at having at last arranged something for him that was not on the official programme. He laughed away the anxious expressions of regret of the railway and other state officials responsible in the affair, and did his utmost to convey the impression that the overturning of the Royal train was an occurrence so trifling as to be hardly worth mentioning. The party were soon transferred to the front portion of the train which was still upon the rails. The wreckage was cut loose, and the journey was continued to Bridgetown, the next halting place on the programme. Here the Prince carried through, in the most undisturbed manner, the whole of the prearranged ceremonial of inspecting guards-of-honour, shaking hands with returned soldiers, greeting relations of the fallen, receiving war-workers, reviewing assemblies of children, and replying to a municipal address. He made no mention of the railway accident in his speech, but excused himself for having arrived late, as if this had been due to a fault of his own. It was not possible, however, to prevent the circulation of news of the occurrence, and it made a sensation throughout Australia. Telegrams of congratulation at his escape poured in from every state and principal town. Thanksgiving services were held in the leading churches, and everywhere it was recognized that what might have been a disaster had been very narrowly avoided, and that the Prince had shown much spirit in a situation of no little danger. His return to Perth was a triumphal procession. Every wayside station was crowded with cheering people as the train ran through. Perth received him with open arms. A bigger assemblage than ever welcomed him as he drove from the railway station to Government House, and the crowd plainly showed its impression that he had taken a bit of rough luck in the best Australian manner. Finally departing from Perth, a few days later, the Prince was sped on his way by large cheering crowds which not only lined the streets as he drove to the railway station, but every wayside platform as well. The route soon left the plain by the seashore and entered foothills clothed with shady _jarrah_ forest. Thence it mounted to the spacious uplands of the green rolling wheat-zone, where the young crop carpeted the expanse for a hundred miles along the way. West Australia raises some twelve million bushels of wheat annually, of which nine millions are exported. It is estimated that the out-turn could be increased to forty million bushels if more population were available, as thirty-four million acres have been reported suitable for wheat growing in this state, and eleven bushels per acre are looked upon as an average yield. A thousand acres, which can be secured on very easy terms, is an average holding. Such a farm worked by one man would ordinarily have three hundred acres under wheat, and would also support two hundred and fifty sheep. Many properties of this kind are in the hands of owners who began without either capital or education, yet have paid off all mortgages and are living in very substantial comfort. The children start under infinitely more favourable circumstances than their parents, for not only are savings usually available to establish them in business on their own account, but they have the advantage of an excellent system of state-aided education which provides a school wherever a minimum of ten children can be brought together. Public help is also given to pay for qualified resident teachers in localities too isolated to enable the minimum school to be assembled. A mileage allowance is paid by the State for children who have to travel any considerable distance to school. Education department correspondence courses are also conducted with surprisingly satisfactory results for the benefit of youngsters on farms out of reach of any of the other aids to learning. It is not only the children who benefit. Their parents often learn much themselves in endeavouring to help their families to assimilate the lessons that the correspondence teacher at a distance is sending by post to the schoolroom under the hayrick or by the evening fire. An hour after leaving Perth the track picked up the Kalgoorlie water main, which thereafter ran beside the rails, a half-buried steel conduit thirty inches thick, all the way to the goldfields. This water main is one of the most wonderful in the world. It daily delivers at the mines five million gallons of pure water, after conveying it 350 miles from the Mundaring Reservoir. This reservoir has a masonry weir a hundred feet high, which has been built right across a river-valley, thereby impounding the water and forming a lake seven miles long, holding four seasons' supply. The difficulty of building the works was much increased by the height up which the water has to be forced in the course of its journey. In all, the pipe-line climbs 1,290 feet between Mundaring Reservoir and Bulla Bulling, the highest point upon the circuit, a lift which requires some of the most powerful pumps in the world to negotiate. The installation is essential for the people of Kalgoorlie, whose city is in the midst of the desert, with no other source of supply fit for human consumption, as the water that accumulates in the mine workings is definitely brackish, though cattle will drink it in some cases. Fine rain shaded off into showers as the train proceeded eastward. Further on grey skies were replaced by brilliant sunshine. The country grew continually drier; wheatfields changed into scraggy forest. The forest thinned out and was succeeded by vast expanses of nondescript scrub and desolate bluish salt bush, through which the train sped throughout the night. When the Prince awoke the following morning he was in desert country. Coolgardie, his first stepping-off place, proved to be a dying city. Its original sixteen thousand inhabitants are now represented by only a few hundreds. The majority have moved to the still active mines of Kalgoorlie. Many lie in France, for no community enlisted more freely or fought more bravely than did the men of this far-off town. All that were left had turned out to meet the Prince. It was a curious assemblage, largely consisting of men past work and women and children, who still cling to wooden shanties fast falling into decay, amidst spoil heaps and ruins of fine public buildings, a great place once but a sad spectacle now. The big water main enters Coolgardie, and is sparingly tapped there, but its contents are too precious to be used for irrigation by the way, and without water for this purpose it was impossible for Coolgardie to follow the example of Ballarat in turning its miners into cultivators when the gold gave out. The shy buzzard of the desert now perches fearlessly where once was heavy traffic. The wild dingo has come in from the plains, and makes its home in what were once busy crushing mills and palatial business houses. Soon sand will cover what remains, and the salt bush will be supreme as aforetime. Kalgoorlie, where the Prince next alighted, proved to be a very different place. Here twenty-four thousand people were living in prosperity, and are likely to continue in this position so long as their reef goes on yielding its harvest of yellow ore. The visitor was welcomed by a big crowd, including a large body of returned soldiers, of whom two wore the Victoria Cross. He was given a cheerful luncheon by the Chamber of Mines, at which the large company present were waited on by daughters of the principal residents, who prepared, cooked and served a banquet which could not have been surpassed anywhere. In the course of his reply to a civic address later on, "I am looking forward," the Prince said, "to my stay in this wonderful goldbearing area. I have heard with admiration of the pioneering pluck and engineering skill which have enabled this great city to be built and provided with all the necessary services of a large population in country where water is so scarce. I particularly prize the opportunity of making acquaintance with the people who have placed this miracle of development to the credit of British industry and enterprise. I am also much interested in the terminus of the great Trans-Australian Railway which links you with the eastern States of the Commonwealth." Before leaving Kalgoorlie the Prince visited workings on the forty-foot thick reef of the "golden mile" which is being gradually nibbled away. This reef, since its discovery a quarter of a century ago, has produced seventy-four million sterling of gold. The profit of working it has not kept pace with the increased cost of labour and machinery, but continues to be appreciable, and large masses of paying quartz are still in sight. XVII THE NULLARBOR PLAIN At Kalgoorlie the Prince left the simply equipped three-feet-six-inch gauge of the West Australian State Railway, and continued his journey, at forty miles an hour, on a luxuriously fitted and smooth-running train on the standard gauge of the Trans-Australian line. In charge of the train was Mr. Norris Bell, the eminent engineer who controlled the construction of the line, and is now running it in such a way that, despite almost total absence of local traffic, it is nearly paying its working expenses, a remarkable achievement considering the desolate nature of the country through which it passes. The railway connects the populous States of Victoria, New South Wales and South Australia, with the vast and potentially rich, but presently undeveloped, western territories. It is one of those imaginative national enterprises undertaken by young countries, and is bound to be justified by the generous policy of land development which usually accompanies, though at present it draws its dividends from the future. The Nullarbor plain through which it passes is so devoid of rain that it not only possesses no streams, but its level expanse is unscarred by even a dry water-course. It is almost absolutely flat for several hundreds of miles, after which it undulates slightly, the folds being in some cases occupied by lakes or tanks, most of which are so salt that they are useless for either drinking or irrigation. Their banks form desolate patches of gleaming white on the horizon, owing to the crystallization of masses of salt upon them. In places where fresh water is obtainable, it has usually to be pumped up from some depth below ground. Wells are so far between that the train has to carry tanks large enough to water the engine for two hundred miles without replenishment. The portion of the plain in which the Prince found himself, the morning after leaving Kalgoorlie, was of red earth thickly sprinkled with white stones of irregular shape, shaded by bunchy grey salt-bushes the size of cabbages. These salt-bushes, dry and dusty as they appear, afford quite good fodder for sheep. The plain, therefore, almost entirely rainless as it is, only requires the provision of drinking-water to enable it to be put to profitable use. Sheep-stations already exist upon it, wherever it has been found possible to tap subsoil water sweet enough for the sheep to drink, and with growing knowledge of this remarkable region, and improved methods of purifying saline springs, it is hoped gradually to convert much of what is now unproductive into sheep-raising areas. As the train rushed onward through the day, the stones became smaller and eventually disappeared, and the salt-bushes grew gradually larger. One lost the impression of moving through an interminable cabbage patch, and felt as on a ship. The salt-bushes rippled over a calm expanse of ocean extending on all sides to a far horizon. In the afternoon a halt was made and the Prince alighted and paid a visit to a rude encampment of aborigines, who had travelled a hundred miles on foot to meet him. They performed a number of weird ceremonial dances before him, and gave an exhibition of their skill in the throwing of boomerangs and spears. The performers were almost completely naked men and boys, painted all over with red and other brilliant patches on a whitish ground, whose only garment was a scanty rag of dirty cotton cloth that could hardly be said even to encompass the waist. The dances were slow, the performers sometimes stealing in single file round a circle, sometimes springing as if to the attack, the while incantations were chanted by miserable bundles of savage humanity, feminine as well as masculine, who squatted upon the ground. The boomerang-throwing was a much more lively affair. The air hummed with sharp wooden blades the size and weight of reaping-hooks. About a dozen performers operated simultaneously and each threw quite a number of these blades in quick succession to immense heights, where they hovered like hawks, eventually to descend with uncanny speed in a series of crooked swirls and side-long rushes. The circles described were such that quite a wide area was swept by flying blades each of which travelled on a complicated orbit of its own, of extraordinary speed, the sharp edge continually leading. It was explained that these boomerangs were of the hunting type, and were used in practice chiefly against flights of duck, the birds taking them for hawks and keeping low and thus within range when they were in the air. The spear-throwing was also interesting. The spears consisted of straight wooden shafts, like slim but heavy bean-sticks, with a tapering charred point sharpened to acuteness, and tail winged with a thin wooden slip the size of a biggish paper-knife. These spears were thrown with marvellous force and precision, with an action like that of overhand bowling, a sack stuffed with salt-bush branches and crudely painted to represent a human face, being transfixed again and again, in the centre, at sixty yards. These wretched people appear to be rapidly dying out despite liberal grants from the Commonwealth and State Governments to educate and feed them. In the south they seem to be entirely incapable of learning even how to cook or wash or build themselves shelters. In the north they are less degraded and find employment on cattle-stations where some of them make excellent stock-drivers, learning to ride well and handle animals. [Illustration: CROSSING THE NULLARBOR PLAIN] [Illustration: ABORIGINAL DANCE] The camp visited by the Prince was typical of the lowest amongst them. It was being looked after by a cultivated Australian lady who was devoting herself to the services of these poor creatures, who seemed to be entirely dependent upon her, so incapable were they of fending for themselves in any practical manner beyond that of adding to the larder by the killing of a limited number of small animals. When left to themselves, we were told, they seldom had more than twenty-four hours' food supply within sight. Their intelligence does not even extend to the keeping of provisions when supplied with them in any quantity beyond what they can devour upon the spot. Another picturesque incident occurred about sunset, when the train stopped at an artesian boring to take in a fresh supply of water. Here some twenty well-conditioned camels were grazing upon the salt-bushes, in charge of two intelligent natives of Rawalpindi, India. These turbaned Punjabis, who spoke Hindustani with a distinct Australian accent, so long had they been in the country, were marching the camels overland to Western Australia, where they hoped to sell them at a good price for transport work in the bush. The men had evidently prospered. They said they had found Australia a good country, though they looked forward to retiring eventually to their own land. Several Eurasian children were with them. It was a reminder of those racial problems of which the people of Australia take constant thought when they determine to develop the natural resources of their wonderful land, as far as may be, by white labour alone. It is no disparagement of the Oriental to say that he is at his best when he is entirely of the East, just as the white man is at his best when he mates with those of his own country and race, a point upon which Australia, at all events, is thoroughly convinced. XVIII SOUTH AUSTRALIA The Prince alighted at sundown at the shipping centre Port Augusta, at the head of Spencer gulf, and was welcomed to South Australia by Mr. Barwell, State Premier, and other members of the Cabinet. A civic reception was held, and the party changed over from the standard gauge train of the Trans-Australian Railway, into a train on the narrow gauge of South Australia, which was standing in the station profusely decorated for the occasion. A start was then made on the two hundred and sixty miles that lay between that point and Adelaide, throughout the whole of which distance, we afterwards learnt, a guard had been placed on every bridge and culvert. The people of South Australia were in no mind that the Prince should run the risk of further accident. Civic receptions, at which numbers of returned men and other war workers were drawn up, and all the inhabitants turned out, were given at various places _en route_, including Quorn, Peterborough, Terowie, and Gawler. The first part of the way was over the picturesque Pichirichi pass, thirteen hundred feet above sea level. After descending on the other side the narrow gauge gave place to the broad five-feet-three-inch track, which connects Adelaide with Melbourne. Sir Archibald Weigall, Governor of South Australia, soon afterwards joined the train. The latter part of the route was through flat and extraordinarily fertile farming country. Adelaide was reached about noon. Here a large proportion of the inhabitants of the province had assembled to welcome the Prince. A procession was formed at the railway station, where guards-of-honour were drawn up. The Prince shared a motor with Sir Archibald Weigall. Mr. Barwell and other members of the South Australian Government occupied cars behind. A well-mounted escort of light horse, in khaki, jingled on either side. The entire route, some three miles in length through the principal streets, had been elaborately decorated, and was lined ten deep the whole way with cheerful crowds. Entering the spacious and solidly built King George's Street, where magnificent bodies of Flying Corps, Engineers, Naval Reserve, and other returned men kept the barricades, the Prince was greeted by numbers of lady war-workers, in fresh white uniforms, who had public-spiritedly reopened, for the benefit of the blue-jackets and marines on the various visiting war-vessels, the "Cheer-up club" which did such good service during the war. Cadets, red cross workers, and masses of medalled returned men lined the space opposite the town hall, where Mayor Moulder read a civic address, to which the Prince replied, describing his now nearly half-completed travels in the Commonwealth as a most memorable experience, a statement heartily endorsed by all who shared them. From the town hall the procession went on to the working-men's quarter, where the reception was as enthusiastic as anywhere. It was also noticeable that although only school-children, of whom there were incredible numbers, lined the route for at least half a mile in this part of the city, order was as well kept as in thoroughfares elsewhere, where regulars or volunteers were lined up. Outside the big market in Rendal Street, beneath a wide arch built on one side with vegetables, and on the other with apples and oranges, a pretty function occurred, a little girl, daughter of the oldest gardener doing business with the market, presenting the Prince with a bouquet, and a small boy, the son of the oldest packer, with a basket of fruit, offerings that symbolized pleasantly enough the very considerable business done in South Australia in garden produce. Further on, in North Terrace, a more touching spectacle was presented where hundreds of beds from the hospitals, each with a nurse in attendance, lined the route, and the Prince paused for a word of greeting with the patients. Medical students, apprentices, and yet more cadets, were lined up near the fine stone buildings of the Art Gallery, the University and the Exhibition, which are here grouped together. The procession ultimately entered and ended in the quiet gardens of Government House, where H.R.H. was to spend the week of his visit. Amongst functions which took place at Adelaide during the next few days, was a state dinner at the leading hotel, at which three hundred sat down, including everybody of importance in the South Australian Government. Mr. Barwell proposed, and Mr. Gunn, spokesman of the Labour Party, and Leader of the Opposition in the State Legislature, seconded the toast of the Prince's health. The Prince replied and the proceedings throughout were of the usual cordial nature. A climax was reached after the dinner was over, and it was time for the Royal guest to get home to bed. It was then discovered that the streets outside were so solidly packed with people that it was quite impossible either for the motor-cars to reach the door or for the party to walk to where they were posted. The Prince was brought back into the building, whence he addressed the crowd, at first from an upper window, and afterwards from a roof on which he climbed so as to be nearer the throng. In the end, a way out was found through a side street, by a door much affected by bridal couples. In the course of his speech at this dinner, the Prince referred sympathetically to the recent death of Premier Peake. He went on to express appreciation of the welcome given him by Adelaide, "the garden city of the Commonwealth," and dwelt upon the fine war-services of South Australia, and the magnificent opportunities which this State offers for development. He also mentioned the extent to which the future of Australia, as a whole, depends upon a broad far-seeing railway policy, a railway policy in fact "that is continental in scope." Continuing he expressed regret at having been compelled to omit his originally proposed overland journey from South Australia to Queensland, and announced that, to make this up, it had now been decided, in consultation with the Queensland Government, to substitute at least one week in the back-blocks or interior of Australia, for the proposed visit to the new mandated territory at Rabaul. "I am very sorry," the Prince added, "to have had to cut out Rabaul, but as I had to choose between the two I am delighted to think I shall now be able to spend some days in seeing bush and station life for myself in the real heart of Australia." This decision met with general approval. Rabaul stands for the mandated territory of tropical New Guinea, formerly in German possession, and now allocated to the Commonwealth. It is a territory bigger than England and Wales but only sparsely inhabited, partially developed, and with no specially outstanding features. No interest it offers could compare with that of Australia itself. The next few days were busy ones, public functions succeeding one another almost continuously, and acres of close-packed crowds assembling wherever it was announced that the Prince was to be present. On one occasion he unveiled a fine bronze statue of the late King Edward. On another he conversed with an assemblage of blinded soldiers. One of the most picturesque of his experiences was when four thousand women war-workers, including nurses, members of Cheer-up clubs, motor-ambulance drivers, comforts workers, and members of the Mothers' League marched past him in solid battalions, many of them bearing stripes indicative of five years' public service, and some the badge which stood for son or husband killed at the front. The scene of enthusiasm will long be remembered when he told them he hoped that they, like the diggers, would all look upon him as a comrade. It was a thing he said often but never too often. The Prince also made expeditions into the surrounding country, which has a climate like that of Italy, the vineyards climbing the terraced hills around Adelaide enhancing the resemblance. He here made the acquaintance of the Australian wine industry, which continues to prosper and expand, despite the new and devastating form of drought that threatens it throughout the world. The difficulties of the trade are considerable. The Australian is not himself a wine-bibber. His intoxicant is whisky and his stimulant is tea. Withal he is a very temperate person. No great home market, therefore, is at hand for the native wines, and in spite of an excellence in many brands which must in the long run establish them, the European importer still shows only a modified confidence in stocking them to the displacement of the better known labels of Southern Europe. Six million gallons annually, however, are being drunk somewhere. On the day of the Prince's departure from Adelaide, eight thousand state school-children and forty-five thousand spectators said good-bye to him in brilliant sunshine, on the Adelaide cricket-ground. From the cricket-ground he proceeded to the University, where the degree of D.C.L. was conferred upon him. Thence through large crowds, which had waited hours for his passing, and greeted him when he appeared with friendly shouts of "Good-bye, Digger," he went to the railway station, and proceeded by train to Port Adelaide. Here a local civic address was presented, and yet another large gathering of children, returned men and war-workers cheered him. The Royal train eventually went on, down the Port Adelaide main street, which was black with people, to the outer harbour wharves, where Sir Archibald Weigall, Mr. Barwell, Mr. Moulden, and other leading men of South Australia went on the _Renown_ and said good-bye, the Prince ultimately sailing for Tasmania. XIX TASMANIA The Prince's reception at Hobart, Tasmania, was a great popular occasion. Decorations had been kept up and renewed since the preceding month, when the visit was originally to have taken place, and were still imposing, while the crowds along the processional route, which was several miles in length, were enormous. The Governor, Sir William Allardice, paid a ceremonial visit to the Prince immediately the _Renown_ anchored off Ocean Pier. On landing the Prince was received by Sir Walter Lee, State Premier, Major-General Sir John Jellibrand, and members of the Tasmanian Government. On the pier he inspected guards-of-honour of seamen and cadets, and shook hands with five of Tasmania's eleven V.C.'s, including Sergeant McDougall, who had been an inmate of a pulmonary hospital when war broke out, yet managed to get to the front and came back with the most coveted distinction in the army. From the pier the Prince was taken to one of the big dockyard sheds, which he found filled with returned men, nurses and other war-workers, including the venerable Mrs. Roberts, a well-known local figure, who stood, a bent old lady in black, waving the Union Jack beside the commandant. Many were the Mrs. Robertses, under different names, that these ceremonial occasions produced. One learned to look for them, figures full of years and honour, spirits erect in failing bodies, dim eyes lit by the old torch, frail arms carrying on the old tradition. Homage to Mrs. Roberts, war-worker, be her style married or single. She is a symbol of the race. [Illustration: LEAVING PORT ADELAIDE] [Illustration: MOUNT WELLINGTON, HOBART] In this place the Prince was cheered in the lustiest manner, and was presented with an illuminated copy of the Tasmanian muster-roll, also with the gold badge of the twelfth battalion. Thereafter he was taken in procession through the streets, where the crowd was so dense and anxious to get near to him, that the pace had to be of the slowest. Nothing could exceed the good nature of those who were pressing in upon the route, however, which was well kept after the first quarter of a mile. A civic address was read outside the town hall, where the Prince, whose voice had given out, wisely abstained from straining it further by any attempt to make it heard beyond the platform occupied by the Mayor and Councillors. Later on he attended a big state luncheon. The speakers included the Premier, who dwelt upon Tasmania's loyalty and warm-hearted devotion to the Empire. He also referred to developments that will eventually revolutionize the industrial and commercial future of the island, no less than a quarter of a million horse-power being in course of being tapped by hydro-electric installations. Mr. Ogden, the Labour Party chairman and leader of the Opposition in the State Legislature, also spoke. He said the loyalty of Tasmania was not to be measured by the population of this beautiful island, but was a loyalty that extended to an Empire wherein the great gulf between rich and poor would eventually be narrowed. The Prince was by this time too hoarse to reply at any length. He managed to tell his enthusiastic audience, however, that the chief thing he would have liked to be able to say to them was how much he appreciated the reception given to him. The Prince's engagements during the two days he spent at Hobart included a civic ball and races, an investiture and a big outdoor popular reception, and witnessing the electric illumination of the city. The last was especially interesting, not only as exhibiting what is probably one of the most beautiful ports in the world, but also as an illustration of one of the uses to which Tasmania's new hydro-electric power can be put. The installation, which is connected with the overflow of an impounded lake in the centre of the island, is rapidly transforming this sleepy little State of the Commonwealth into a busy industrial centre. Copper mines on the west coast are doing all their smelting by this means. Hobart and Launceston drive their trams and light their street lamps with the new power. Before the war the whole of the zinc ore won from the Broken Hill mines in South Australia went to Germany as a matter of course to be converted. Tasmania now handles much and will presently handle all of it. Hitherto Australian downs have grown the wool and Yorkshire looms have woven it. Presently Tasmanian mills will perform the latter process, and so far as the Commonwealth is concerned her fleeces will no longer make the journey across two oceans and back, on their way to adorn and comfort the persons of her population. From the manufacturer's point of view there are advantages in isolation. Power, sugar and a liberal market have drawn the Cadbury firm to Hobart, and foundations are already laid which will ultimately prosper upon the sweet tooth of the Polynesian belle. The old Arcadian days of Tasmania are gone with its colonial status. Its climate will always draw seekers of ease in retirement, and its orchards will remunerate their leisure, but the future of the State, under the protection of the Commonwealth tariff, is industrial. The humorous inhabitants of its larger fellow States have a way of calling the island a "flyfleck," but its importance in the Commonwealth is out of all proportion to its size. The amenities it offers have from the beginning attracted the settler with some liberty of choice, with the result that Tasmania has contributed a large proportion of leading men to the Commonwealth. It is also remarkable for the number of retired members of the military and civil services of India amongst its settlers, men who in their prime have borne heavy responsibilities, and in their declining years are giving still commanding abilities to the development of the land they have chosen to be their home. The Prince crossed Tasmania by rail at night, arriving the following morning at Launceston, another seaport city of extraordinary scenic beauty. Here he added to his tour one more experience of the entire population turning out to welcome him in a city decorated from end to end in honour of his coming. He stayed the night at the "Brisbane" hotel, and attended a number of ceremonies. In the course of the afternoon he inspected masses of school-children. The physical impossibility of shaking hands with all the teachers in attendance suggested the idea of inviting those of them who were returned soldiers to do so, and it was surprising what a large proportion were able to claim the honour. Another function was his meeting disabled men at the principal hospital. These poor fellows gave him the wildest reception, and the whole assemblage laughed most heartily when, on the invitation of one of them, he flicked halfpennies in a "two up" game. Later on the Prince climbed the beautiful Cataract gorge afoot, at a pace with which the members of the Cabinet who were with him had all they could do to keep up. He finished a long day with a visit to the Launceston races, followed by a popular reception at the town hall, where ten thousand people passed in procession before him. The following day H.R.H. returned to Hobart, the State Premier and other members of the Government, including the Ministers of Lands and Railways, accompanying him on the train. The inhabitants assembled and cheered him at every passing station, while at the more important, including Tunbridge, Parallah and Brighton, he alighted and participated in civic receptions. The region traversed included a rich farming and orcharding district, on which numbers of returned soldiers, some of them belonging to the British Army, who are being given by the Government precisely the same treatment as their Australian comrades, are being started as farmers. The State not only supplies them with already cleared and fenced holdings and necessary buildings, but finances them on terms calculated to enable men without a penny of their own, beyond their war gratuity, to become independent freehold proprietors within ten years. One of the features of this admirable scheme is that the settlement has attached to it an expert instructor, who is in Government employ. Those settlers who have so far moved in have found a portion of the holdings allotted to them already under crop, and some one at hand to teach them how to apply their own labour to the best advantage. They are being inducted into agricultural prosperity, in one of the most perfect climates in the world, close to a railway, and in surroundings comparable to those of Devonshire. One of them brought to show to the Prince two prize sheep-dogs he had reared which he valued at a hundred and fifty pounds. The Royal party left this spot regretfully, so full of fair prospects for men who deserve all that can be done for them did it seem. The number so far settled is not very large, but the Minister for Lands, to whose initiative, resource and enthusiasm the success already achieved is largely due, is hopeful that it will be possible to extend it to all suitable returned men who present themselves. In this case Tasmania should receive a signal increase in population, for nowhere in the world have I seen a more cheerful outlook for the soldier who is of the right type to become a farmer. The Prince was booked to spend the evening of his return to Hobart at the Soldiers' Club, before going on board the _Renown_, which was to sail at midnight. It was characteristic of the Tasmanians that the men themselves remembered how trying this would be for him after his long and strenuous day. They proposed, therefore, of their own motion, that they should say good-bye to him on the wharf, and this was the course ultimately adopted. It was a graceful act which fittingly terminated one of the pleasantest visits of the tour. XX QUEENSLAND Accompanied by His Majesty's Australian Ship _Australia_, and two destroyers, the _Renown_ made a fine weather voyage to Sydney from Tasmania. After crossing the Bass Strait the course was close inshore along the beautifully wooded hills of New South Wales, and boats laden with people put out from the small whaling port of Eden to greet the Prince. Loyal messages were also flashed from homesteads further up the coast when the _Renown_ came in sight, transmitted by men, now back in their homes, who had learnt to signal in France or Gallipoli. Entering Sydney harbour, numbers of yachts and launches were found waiting in the fairway to welcome the flotilla, the scene being almost as gay as when the Prince first arrived at this wonderful port. The wharf also demonstrated the interest felt in the arrival. It was loaded with people whose cheers were undiminished as the Prince went his way to the station, where he proceeded at once to entrain for Queensland. The rail journey northwards produced some of the most remarkable experiences of the tour, experiences the more notable for occurring in States where public sentiment is perhaps more markedly democratic than anywhere else in Australia. The first stop of any consequence was at the coal-mining town of High Street. Here the Prince was taken by car in procession through decorated streets, lined with people twenty deep the whole way. The objective was the neighbouring railway station of West Maitland, where H.R.H. was to rejoin the train, and where he found an enormous crowd of miners and their wives and children, who gave him a rousing welcome. He shook hands with three hundred returned men, also with a pathetically long line of mothers, widows, and orphans of fallen soldiers, and he inspected a big gathering of school-children. A picturesque figure occupied a place in the crowd on the road between High Street and West Maitland, a native Australian woman in flowing robes, with a golden crown on her head, who was the head of a local tribe of blacks. Standing beside her was a full-blooded son, who had lost a leg in France, whither he had gone in company with white squatters, amongst whom, prior to this, he had presumably been a stockman. She added to her memories and her dignities a word with the Prince of Wales. Beyond West Maitland the route passed through fine park-like country, with wooded hills and cultivated valleys, plainly visible in the bright moonlight which had succeeded a typically balmy New South Wales winter's day. The train stopped and receptions were held at various minor centres, including Murrurundi, a place full of the romantic associations of a bygone generation, when this part of Australia was still a land of bush, broken only by very occasional squatters' cabins and mining camps. As the Prince stood on a gaily decorated platform outside the station with orderly lines of returned men and neatly dressed lady war-workers beside him, one's mind went back to wilder scenes, enacted many years ago. A grey-headed man told how, on almost exactly this spot, a bush-ranger had been shot, after long eluding capture with the help of his sister, who was a waitress at the local drinking saloon, whence she used to ride out to his hiding-place at night in the hills, upon a horse borrowed from race-stables near by. In this way information and supplies were communicated to him, the midnight journeyings upon the borrowed thoroughbred not being brought to light until the time came round for the annual race-gathering, when the mud and sweat of its condition attracted attention. What became of the girl, my informant did not know, but she was honoured in the story if not in the incident. Wallangarra, the border station between New South Wales and Queensland, was reached the following morning, when the Prince again had the modified excitement of changing gauges. Here he bade farewell to Mr. Hodgson, who had acted throughout the tour in charge of the railways of New South Wales. He was welcomed by a distinguished group of officials representing Queensland, who came on board the train. The Premier, the Hon. Mr. E. G. Theodore, was at that moment on public business in London on behalf of the Queensland Government; the Governor, Sir Hamilton Gould Adams, had recently retired. Their places were filled by Mr. Fihelly, acting Premier, and Mr. Lennon, acting Governor, pending the arrival of Sir Matthew Nathan from England. From the border the track climbed steadily to the top of a pleasant wooded plateau, three thousand feet above sea level, dotted with rich orchards and gardens, which are being opened up in increasing numbers and of late at rapidly advancing land prices. It is difficult to realize at first sight how the fruit-trees manage to take root. Some of the very richest and most sought after plots are a mass of tumbled rocks amongst which there seems room for nothing to grow, yet it is just amongst these rocks that the very finest peaches and apples are raised. A newly constructed branch line carried the party to the returned soldiers' settlement of Amiens. Here a cheerful crowd of some two hundred Australians and British had assembled, accompanied by wives and babies, the wives in a surprisingly large percentage of cases from England, and the babies some of the healthiest looking imaginable. The Prince would have liked to spend some time in this settlement, but an inexorable programme hurried him away. He had time, however, to hear a great deal about the felling, burning and clearing up of string-bark forest, the fencing and ploughing of the land, also the planting of it with fruit-trees of the finest stocks. He also saw a number of comfortable bungalows each with the amenity of a roomy veranda, in which the settlers live. Ten acres of good soil were considered a sufficiently large holding to keep one man employed, and each place is arranged to include this area, apart from rocky or water-logged portions. The average out-turn of such a holding, when planted with suitable trees of six years' growth, is estimated, with prevailing fruit prices, at £700 per annum. Returned men, accepted by the local agricultural authorities as likely to succeed on such properties, and irrespective of whether they are from Australian or British units, are able to obtain advances, as they may require them, up to a total of £625, against work done upon their places. These advances are repayable in easy instalments, spread over long series of years, at about five per cent. interest, which is less than the money at present costs to provide. Most of the holdings, when seen by the Prince, were only partially cleared and planted. The men were hopeful of pulling through, however, until the trees should come into bearing, their pensions and advances, eked out by the growing of tomatoes, potatoes and other vegetables, for which there appeared to be considerable local demand at remunerative prices, being considered sufficient to keep them. Once the trees come into bearing their owners can reasonably expect to do quite well. The authorities estimated that, in the ordinary course, a man should be able to pay off all indebtedness within ten years, after which he would find himself the absolute owner of an unencumbered property, capable of indefinite expansion by taking up more land, and even without any expansion, sufficient to support the settler and his wife and children in conditions of comparative comfort. The life on these holdings is in the open air, in a sunny climate, without any extremes of temperature, amongst beautiful natural surroundings, and in an atmosphere so bracing that these well-watered uplands have long been utilized as a health resort. The breaking in of the holdings is, no doubt, very hard work, and here the Government advances make it possible to pay for help in the case of men unequal to do the whole of it themselves. Once this has been done, the work that remains, of cultivating, manuring, pruning, and spraying the trees, and of picking and packing the fruit, is very much less strenuous; and for those prepared for a life in the open air where country pursuits replace the feverish interests of the city, the prospect seems almost ideal. Certainly those we saw entering upon it gave the very pleasantest impression. The man will, of course, do best who possesses those qualities which make him the lender, instead of the borrower, of the stump-puller, and the purveyor, instead of the buyer, of tinned luxuries at the co-operative shop and packing establishment. For all, however, there seems to be a living under conditions which must certainly be considered favourable. The sun was getting low when the Royal train pulled up at Warwick, a prosperous city in the breezy uplands of the Darling Downs two thousand feet above the sea level, home of sheep, mixed farming and white-stemmed forest trees. Here in the Central park, commanding a beautiful view of blue distant mountains, the entire population had assembled and the usual civic address was presented. I talked with two of the residents, both men from the Thames Valley, one a doctor, and the other a chauffeur. They agreed in not even considering the idea of going back to the old country. This part of Queensland, they said, was a place where it was easy to make a living, an its warmth and sunshine were delightful after the English winters of which so little can be safely predicted. They would not admit that the summer was too hot, or that the drought from which this part of Australia had only recently suffered had been more than a very temporary setback in the steady growth of continually increasing prosperity. The train halted for the night in open upland country, with delightful bracing air, one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen painting a clear evening sky. The following morning, in warm brilliant sunshine, the track crept down the wooded slopes that gird in the Darling Downs, and emerged in the rich cultivated Lockyer plain below. Here fine red cattle were feeding down magnificent crops, six inches up, of green luscious oats, the settlers considering that this somewhat remarkable procedure increases the ultimate harvest of grain, by causing the young plants to stool out. Beyond the Lockyer plain the route lay through the Liverpool hills whence it descended, by easy gradient, to Brisbane and the sea. Not a station, a village or a house upon the way, but was gay with decorations. The inhabitants were out upon all sides, on horseback, in buggies, in cars, or seated upon fence rails, every man of them hat in hand, every woman and girl a-smile, every child wide-eyed with excitement. Operatives cutting down trees, navvies shovelling ballast upon the railway track, farmers plowing their fields, husbandmen pruning their orchards, stopped work and saluted or shouted a welcome as the train went by. Boys raced beside the Royal saloon in youthful endeavour to keep up. Not a churlish glance, nor an indifferent face, was seen for a hundred miles. Brisbane first presented itself in the shape of pleasant garden suburbs full of wooden houses on stilts, each surrounded by a garden of flowers. It developed, as the train rushed on, into the solid masonry of a closely built city. The heartsome sound of cheering accompanied all the way. Arrived at the railway station, H.R.H. was welcomed with every formality. The State Premier, the whole of the Cabinet, the Mayor and the city Council, received him on the platform. Naval and military guards-of-honour were in attendance. The usual procession of motor-cars was ultimately in motion, and carried the visitor through several miles of streets, in which elaborately decorated arches, made of wool bales, fruit, vegetables, and corn-sheaves, gave homely, delightful, convincing character to their setting. Crowds lined the entire route and gave the Prince a welcome the warmth of which was equal to that of any he had previously received. The way was kept by returned men, and long lines of women war-workers, including nurses and helpers of every kind, formed a solid wall of white on either side of the route for at least a quarter of a mile. In the Albert Square Mayor Maxwell read an address of welcome. At the University pretty girl-students, in black caps and gowns, raced one another across the grounds to get a second view of the Prince after they had stood demurely at attention as he went past. On the grassy slopes of the wide Domain beside the river, backed by an assemblage of ten thousand delighted school-children, the Prince reviewed the men who had been keeping the route through the city. To render this possible every detachment had closed up and followed the procession after the cars had passed. In this way were gathered some two thousand men representing every arm of the service. The designations of the First, Second, Third, Fourth, and Fifth Australian Divisions were in evidence on the flags carried past the saluting point. Another interesting occasion during the visit to Brisbane was the local agricultural exhibition, which never, in the long history of this popular institution, had been so crowded, the principal stores and other business establishments having all been closed in honour of the occasion. The proceedings began with a procession through the wool, wheat, sugar-cane, fruit, butter, cheese, pig, and cattle exhibitions halls, the Prince and members of the committee making slow progress in the crowds of cheering spectators. The afternoon was devoted to a parade of prize-winning cattle and horses. This was held in a big amphitheatre--seventy years ago the crude "Bora," sacred initiation ground, of Queensland savages, now the beautifully turfed show-ring of the National Agricultural Association. Here, in the presence of some seventy thousand spectators, the Prince saw some very fine jumping, not devoid of minor mishaps. He himself ran to help to pick up a girl whose mount came down at one of the fences. By this time it will be noted that it was impossible to keep H.R.H. out of any kind of incident not strictly arranged for. He also assisted at an attempt, not the less interesting because it just failed of success, to lower the mile trotting-record of the track. Leaving the show in the afternoon, the Prince proceeded, in company with the acting Premier and the Lieutenant-Governor, to Farm Park, where he took tea upon the grass with the Mayor and Aldermen of Brisbane, in the midst of thousands of spectators. So closely was the civic tea-table surrounded that the red cross nurses, to whom fell the duty of waiting on the Royal party, scarcely had room to perform their functions. The number of cups and spoons and other articles that became heirlooms in 1920 for the benefit of Australasian posterity must be considerable. The Prince was eventually extracted from the crush, and embarked, amidst much cheering and hand-clapping, upon one of numerous decorated motor-boats which took him, attended by a flock of yachts, across the wide Brisbane river, in the yellow sunset, on a visit to invalid soldiers in the fine "Anzac" Hospital on the other side. Another notable function in Brisbane was the state dinner, at which representative men from every part of Queensland were present, some four hundred sitting down. The Prince was between the acting Premier and the Lieutenant-Governor. The Papal representative, Monsignor Cattaneo, occupied a seat on the other side of the Lieutenant-Governor. Others present included the Anglican Bishop, the members of the State Cabinet and the Legislative Council, and the Chief Justice. The streets outside were densely packed with people, who became so insistent in cheering after the Prince had got inside that he left the banquet to wave to them from the balcony. Mr. Fihelly, in proposing the toast of the evening, emphasized that their Royal guest had endeared himself to all with whom he had come in contact, and had been found to be "a man of parts, a man of ability, able to take his place amongst men, and one who would carry away with him the goodwill of all the people of Queensland." Mr. Vowles, Nationalist Leader of the Opposition, spoke in similarly loyal tone. The Prince rose to reply amidst cheers, and developed his points in a voice which his hearers noticed had now recovered its clearness and resonance. In the course of a long and enthusiastically received speech he dwelt upon the wonderful reception he had had, the pleasure his visit had given him, and especially on the large part taken in the receptions by returned sailors, soldiers and women war-workers. Referring to the soldier settlement he had visited on his way to Brisbane, he congratulated the Queensland Government on the foresight and energy with which they had tackled the repatriations problems. "You cannot do too much," he said, "for your diggers, who played such a big part in saving the Empire, and who should be looked upon as the backbone of the Commonwealth.... My tour in Australia, alas!" he continued, "is nearly over. It is particularly to the future of the Commonwealth that my thoughts turn. My visit to Australia has taught me that the spirit wherein your diggers volunteered, and fought and won, is not something unique or out of the way, which will never happen again, but the natural outcome of a national spirit which is going to make Australia one of the great progressive nations of the world. Their free and gallant services in the war have shown to yourselves, to the Empire and to the world what you are and what you can do. With such a spirit in its men and women Australia has a splendid future in its grasp. I came to Australia already feeling a strong bond of comradeship with your troops: I shall leave it feeling even a stronger bond of comradeship with the Australian people as a whole, and my heart will always be with them in their mighty task of building up the solid British fabric of freedom, justice and security with fair play for all upon this vast continent." Another of the Brisbane functions was a popular reception in the public gardens overlooking the river. Here some thousands of people passed before the Prince, who stood upon a dais, the acting Premier beside him. Girls presented bouquets of flowers. Men and women stopped to wish him good luck on his homeward voyage, or to photograph him at close quarters. Here and there an old-fashioned curtsy would be dropped, or cheering or hand-clapping started. The great majority of the people expressed themselves in a simple nod or smile, or waved hand or hat or handkerchief as they went by. One could not help recognizing, not only that they had taken the Prince to their hearts, but that while paying him the great compliment of ceasing to treat him with formality, there was no diminution in the deference that was shown. When he left the reception he went back to his quarters in Parliament Buildings, where, marching up and down, were armed cadets in full service kit, volunteers from districts it had not been possible for the Prince to visit, their expenses all paid by local subscriptions. There was no serious necessity for the services of these young warriors, but they represented the universal determination of North-Eastern Australia that "our Prince," as by this time he had begun to be called, should lose nothing of pomp or Royal circumstance while he remained the guest of their State. Before the Prince left, Monsignor Cattaneo, Apostolic Delegate, and the Very Reverend M. Duhig, Catholic Archbishop of Queensland, asked and obtained an interview at which they formally presented "the homage and devotion to the throne of the whole Catholic community of Australia." They dwelt upon the deep loyalty of this community and declared that the Prince had won all their hearts. In the course of his visit to Brisbane H.R.H. was shown State factories, State shops, State insurance offices, and State markets in full operation, a class of enterprise under experiment in natural conditions so favourable as to give it at least a sporting chance. He also heard much of the sugar-cane, coco-nut-palm and banana plantations, and the enormous cattle ranges of the northern territories where Queensland rolls away into the tropics and there is rich land and to spare for a population as large as that of France. Leaving Brisbane one day during his visit to that city, the Prince proceeded by train through a well-wooded country of rich black soil, just then a quagmire from heavy but welcome rain. He touched at a number of centres, including Ipswich, head-quarters of woollen mills and coal-mines, and Harrisville and Boonah, country towns where farming and pastoral communities predominate. Every stopping-place had been converted by unpaid local labour into a beflagged forest of greenery, in the midst of which the inhabitants of the entire neighbourhood, also many from far distant stations, had assembled. At Ipswich the streets were lined by operatives and miners, and the welcome of this important place included a car procession through decorated streets, a popular reception, a mayoral address, and a civic luncheon served to the strains of one of the largest and best trained choirs in the State. Vocal music as the accompaniment of food was an unaccustomed luxury to many of those present, but it did not appear to interfere with the general appetite. At Boonah the proceedings were simpler but not on that account less impressive, although they took place in a pelting rainstorm. The Prince waded through an ankle-deep stream of flood-water to an exposed platform, where, surrounded by a crowd of squatters, stockmen, farmers and their families, including large numbers of women and children, all standing in the downpour with streaming mackintoshes and umbrellas, he unveiled a fine marble war-memorial bearing three hundred names. He also shook hands with relatives of the fallen, and with numbers of returned men, nurses and other war-workers. On the way back to Brisbane further centres were visited. Amongst them were Maryborough, a manufacturing and coal-mining city, where the steel skeletons of two twelve-thousand-ton steamers, under construction for the Commonwealth Government, towered amidst the decorations. One of the arches was surmounted by a group of blacks in native costume, armed with bows, arrows and spears, which they wielded realistically. Another carried a dozen diggers in uniform. Other places visited were Tiaro, where the assemblage that greeted the Prince consisted chiefly of agriculturalists; Gympie, where the returned men, assembled in a war-memorial park, included gold-miners as well as farmers; Cooroy, where the Prince made the acquaintance of a large logging community; Landsborough, where sugar-cane planters, and banana and orange-growers preponderated, and Beerburrum, Queensland's biggest soldier settlement, where he shook hands with a large number of returned men engaged in growing pineapples. The Prince finally left Brisbane amidst unforgettable scenes of national enthusiasm and emotion. The entire population of the city seemed to be in the streets. The neighbourhood of the railway station was blocked by masses of cheering men, women and children. The railway station buildings were besieged, the more influential folk, including the members of the State Government, and their families, thronged the platform. The general public crowded windows, balconies, culverts, overbridges, and fences, wherever a glimpse of the train could be obtained. The start had to be three times postponed, so many were the Prince's personal farewells. After the train got into motion, motor-cars raced beside the track, school-children were found lined up at wayside crossings, stumps and telegraph poles were perching places for daring climbers. Everybody waved something, if it were not a handkerchief, a flag or a hat, it was the nearest thing to hand. I saw a vegetable hawker wildly flourishing his biggest cabbage, a housewife excitedly using a tablecloth as a signal of affection, a company of railway carriage-cleaners throwing their dusters upon the wind. Workmen in overalls, carters with teams of horses, stockmen riding to their duties stopped and doffed hats as the train went by. "Old Lang Syne" was taken up, again and again, by thousands of voices, to be itself drowned in a chorus of shouted "Goodbyes." All the Members of the Cabinet travelled upon the Royal train as far as the border of the State. The acting Premier had to stay behind for urgent public reasons, but was so determined not to be left out of the proceedings that he attempted to follow the train in an aeroplane, and was only stopped by crashing heavily. The demonstration was so remarkable that even the Queenslanders themselves were astonished at it. Enthusiasm had taken possession of this democratic people, and there seemed to be no length to which they were not prepared to go. Here was a country where the people are as sovereign as anywhere on earth. Yet wayside villages and towns on the southward journey, one after another, took up and repeated Brisbane's farewell demonstrations. The crowds at the railway stations, where addresses were presented, included in many instances definitely more people than the entire population of the immediate centre, this being due to farmers, squatters, and settlers bringing their families incredible distances by train, by motor, in buggies, or on horseback, so that they might not miss the occasion. In one case four well-mounted girls galloped astride nearly a mile, keeping abreast with the train, and arriving at the next station, where an address was to be read, just as the Prince alighted. Their spirited ride secured them a handshake and a compliment. The train halted for the night at Toowoomba, in the heart of a wonderful agricultural region, which was found smiling under splendid crops. Here the countryside had long been preparing for the Prince's coming, and the celebrations were of the liveliest, everything, including decorations, gathering of returned men, civic banquet, and ball, being planned to create a record. The following morning the Prince recrossed the border, over a carpet woven of yellow wattle flowers. It was a pretty thought and offered him much. XXI THE JACKAROO AND OTHERS When the Prince left Queensland he had practically completed his official tour of the Australian States. There remained for him the improvised series of visits to the back-blocks of New South Wales, which took the place of the abandoned journey to New Guinea. Here he stayed in the houses of squatters, some of them controlling sheep-runs hundreds of thousands of acres in extent, and mingled in the most informal manner in country life and country pastimes. In the wonderful air of this region he regained much of the spring and energy he had lost in the preceding months of strenuous official touring. The Government officers on the Royal train meanwhile returned to Sydney. The route taken by the Prince after leaving Wallangarra for the interior lay through beautiful scenery across the famous Blue Mountains. One looked out, as the train climbed upwards, across vast stretches of green-forested gorges and grey crags of fluted limestone, with purple and aquamarine ridges on the far horizon--a land filled only with the colour and the form of wild nature. The Prince started on the foot-plate of the engine, which he drove himself up a one-in-thirty-three grade slope. Although his journey was now entirely unofficial, numbers of people assembled and cheered him at the principal stations. At Lawson he alighted and shook hands with returned men, including Private Duncan Allan, the oldest soldier in the Australian forces. Later on, crossing the open Bathurst sheep-downs, a halt was made at the wayside station of Kelso, where horses were in waiting and he took, in the rain, a brisk ride across country, rejoining the train that evening at Bathurst. [Illustration: THE BACKBLOCKS: AN UNOFFICIAL FIXTURE] [Illustration: HIS FAVOURITE MOUNT] The following morning the train reached Coonamble, terminus of the railway, a township of wooden houses, situated on a vast grassy plain, in the heart of sheep-raising country, two hundred and sixty miles from Sydney. Here Mr. Oliver, President of the Shire, accompanied by the local mayor and members of his council, received the Prince upon the platform, and conducted him in a motor-car procession to a grassy park in the middle of the town, where he found awaiting him a large assemblage of people, including the usual contingents of returned men and school-children, also nurses and other war-workers. An address was presented, and thereafter the procession was continued to the racecourse, where horses had been collected. The Prince and his staff mounted and set off across recently flooded country for Wingadee, thirty miles distant, where the week-end was to be spent at one of the stations of the Australian and New Zealand Land Company. Lunch was served in the open at one of the artesian bore-holes that furnish this country with water, even the severe drought which preceded the recent floods not having affected the supply. The Prince here visited a typical bush saloon and in bush fashion called for drinks for all the settlers he found there. Later in the afternoon he reached Wingadee, where he was received by Mr. McEwan, General Manager of the Company. He spent the afternoon riding about this up-to-date station and going over the wool-sheds. The host of his visit was Mr. Fechan, the Superintendent. In the next few days the Prince rode a number of horses, inspecting the wool-sheds and flocks, chasing kangaroos and emus, and had the opportunity of forgetting the formalities of public receptions. On the day of departure from Wingadee he rode thirty miles back to the little country racecourse at Coonamble, where he remained throughout the afternoon watching the racing in the casual mud-splashes of his own ride. The enclosure was crowded with squatters from all parts of Northern New South Wales, who gave him the most cordial reception, and followed him afterwards to the railway station to cheer the train by which he left for Myowera, another small station sixty miles distant in the same great plain. Here the Prince stayed on the Canoubar run in the house of Mr. and Mrs. McLeod, Mr. Niall, managing director of the company, supervising the arrangements for his entertainment, which were on the most hospitable scale. At Canoubar he saw the working of a big sheep station in full operation, including shearing, sheep-drafting, wool-packing, and the driving of flocks by wonderfully trained dogs, also the handling and breaking-in of station horses. One of the merino rams shown to him had recently been bought for two thousand five hundred pounds sterling. As to the performances of the dogs, the confiding correspondents were told that they could drive a fowl into a jam tin, but I am not aware whether H.R.H. was asked to believe this. On the afternoon of his arrival he rode nine miles, much of it along natural avenues of gum-trees, to the country town of Nyngan. His host accompanied him, mounted on his fine steeple-chaser Bullawarra, once sent to England to run in the Grand National. At Nyngan the entire countryside was found assembled and the Prince met a large company of returned men, besides relatives of those who would not return, nurses and other war-workers. All the school-children of the neighbourhood were also there. The programme included the laying of a foundation-stone, after which he rode home escorted by a bodyguard of light-horsemen, who gave a display of bush-galloping a mile outside the station. Next day H.R.H. was made acquainted with the Jackaroo. The Jackaroo is neither a crow nor a parrot nor any kind of quadruped. He is a young gentleman of Australia who desires to become a squatter, and who gives his services on a sheep-run for the opportunity of picking up the business. He was living, where the Prince encountered him, with, half a dozen of his fellows, in a comfortable building with roomy sleeping quarters and an old soldier in charge of the mess. His food is plain but substantial and appetizing, a leading feature of it, the slab of "brownie" bread, full of currants, which tells its own tale of his age and digestion. The Jackaroo spends most of his day in the saddle, riding long distances to outlying parts of the run, on the hunt for bogged sheep, or in supervising lambing or moving flocks from one paddock to another. Often he will not see a living soul from the time he starts out in the morning until he returns at night, and he may even lose his way. He then makes a bee-line in the likeliest direction until he comes to the wire fence of the boundary, which he may follow for miles before he reaches a landmark he knows. The speedometer of one car which had been out on fence inspection the day before the Prince arrived, marked 120 miles, travelled in a single day, so it may be presumed that the Jackaroo's bump of locality develops early. The squatter is generally glad to take on likely boys, as he finds them, when the first fecklessness is worn off, on the whole more conscientious than paid labour, an important point for work that has to be so largely delegated. The life is healthy and interesting, and on up-to-date runs like the ones seen, looked exceedingly pleasant. The young fellows come as a rule from families of good class and generally have means of their own--a combination which should make the life history of the Jackaroo not unrewarding to the student of the fauna of these parts. His own point of view would have been worth obtaining, but being young he was modest and said little. He rode buck-jumpers for the Prince. He buck-jumped rather specially well, as might be expected of a Jackaroo. His name is a felicity that will outlive much topography. One wonders who invented it. The Prince on several occasions shared in the sport of kangaroo chasing, which leaves fox-hunting standing. On one occasion he rode all day guided by sons of his hosts through vast paddocks fenced with wire, over an even carpet of young green grass, which was then just springing up after floods following three years of drought, and took many a jump over fallen trunks of trees killed by systematic ringing to make way for fodder raising. On the way thirty or forty kangaroos were seen and five of them were chased over formidable obstacles which the "old men"--the male kangaroos--cleared with extraordinary ease in their long hopping stride, at a pace that took greyhounds all they could do to overtake. These kangaroos eat sometimes by no means an inconsiderable amount of pasture needed for the sheep, and some years ago were being so extensively shot down that they were in danger of being exterminated. A close season was introduced and now they are increasing to the extent, in some localities, of again becoming troublesome. They are much the colour of the tree trunks, and until startled are easily overlooked in the bush. They are off with most wonderful grace and agility the moment they are disturbed and can even clear the high barbed wire fences by which the runs are bounded provided they approach at a right angle. When running parallel to the fence they cannot get the necessary foothold for a big enough spring. This is sometimes taken advantage of by the rider, who, being of course unable to put his horse over so formidable an obstacle, endeavours to head off the kangaroo in such manner that it may reach the fence at a slanting angle. In this case the chase continues alongside instead of being finished by the kangaroo's escape over the fence. When overtaken by dogs, which are often used in the chase, the kangaroo makes a gallant fight for life, and many a hound has been ripped open and killed by a well-directed kick from its powerful hind feet, before it can be shot. The emu also lent itself to the excitement of the chase during the tour. The big brown wingless bird much the size and shape of the ostrich, is quite unable even to jump, but runs as fast as a horse can gallop, and when pursued will charge a barbed wire fence so hard as to break its way through, its feathers protecting it from being seriously torn. It is on this account not beloved by the squatter, but it is seldom shot. The Prince brought away with him two newly hatched emu chickens, creatures the size of ducks and prettily marked in shades of black and fawn. Their quarters on the _Renown_ were in a roomy cage on the superstructure, where they soon established a reputation as quiet, sober and well-behaved members of the ship's company. On several of his expeditions the Prince was given a meal in the bush camp fashion. One of these was on the shady banks of a stream twenty-five miles from a station, from which he had ridden out in the morning accompanied by sons of his hosts. Here quantities of dead gum-tree trunks were quietly burning, and were made use of for grilling chops and making billy tea. The latter is quite unlike and, to the hungry rider, infinitely preferable to the teapot variety. A tin-can is filled at the nearest water-hole and is carried to a burning tree trunk, on which it is gingerly balanced, usually with the aid of a stick, the tree trunk being as a rule too hot to reach without one. The water boils with extraordinary rapidity and the pot is quickly hooked off the fire. A generous handful of tea is thrown into the water before it ceases to boil and the resultant brew is drunk from any utensil that happens to be handy. Nobody inquires what becomes of the tea leaves. One of the sights on the Canoubar run was sixty thousand sheep recently returned from stations in well-watered districts, in one case five hundred miles distant by rail, whither they had been sent to stay over the years of drought. These sheep had all been carried by the state railways of New South Wales, at extraordinarily low rates, and with surprisingly few casualties. They offered a concrete example of what had been done on a very large scale throughout the State, where the railways were able to save for the squatters hundreds of thousands of valuable sheep, which must otherwise have perished when the fodder supply gave out. The Prince was so interested in what he saw that there was no getting him away before dark. By the time he was back in the station he had ridden over sixty miles without leaving the run. XXII AMONGST THE SHEEP Within the memory of men who have not yet reached middle age, sheep-rearing in Australia was a gamble. At one time large fortunes might be made, at another the fruits of long years of thrift and labour might be swept away by causes which appeared to be outside human control. Now the industry has become a science. The settler may make more or he may make less, according as the world price for wool is high or low. He has his welfare in his own hands, however, and has only to go the right way to work to make certain of a living. The removal of the rabbit-pest has been particularly complete. The Prince saw wire fencing, extending in some cases in unbroken stretches for thousands of miles, which is at once so high and so deeply embedded in the ground that rabbits can neither burrow beneath nor climb over it. Once a paddock, fenced in this way, has been cleared it remains permanently free. The principal measures for clearing are the systematic ploughing of every warren, which effectually stops the burrows, and thereafter the driving by dogs and horsemen of such rabbits as are above ground to the fences, where covered pits, led up to by long converging lines of wire netting, have been prepared in advance. The rabbits follow one another through drop entrances into these pits, thousands being sometimes captured in one night on a single run. The operation has only to be repeated, in one paddock after another, to free an estate completely. The value of the rabbits and their fur covers most of the cost involved. One may meet gigantic crates on wheels, each drawn by a dozen horses and sometimes containing twenty thousand rabbits, _en route_ to factories where the skins are cured and the flesh prepared for export. By these means many runs have been completely cleared, while others are in course of being similarly dealt with. As regards methods of fighting drought, in addition to the help given by the railways in moving sheep from drought-infected areas, to regions where the grass has not dried up, the storage of fodder in good years to make up for deficiency in bad ones, is a further measure adopted. Artesian borings, even where they are inadequate for irrigation purposes, will water millions of sheep where the surface supply is defective. It was at one time feared that the tapping of the subsoil water over tens of thousands of square miles in New South Wales, where the geological formations are such as to render this class of enterprise remunerative, would gradually exhaust the supply. Experience over a number of years, including prolonged periods of drought, however, has not confirmed this apprehension. The Prince was shown wells which had been running for twenty years without intermission. In some cases, it is true, fresh borings have had to be made, but it has been discovered that the failure of the old ones is almost always due, not to any deficiency in water-pressure below ground, but to the silting up or the corroding of the pipe itself. Fresh bores yield full supplies, close alongside those that have given out. Restrictions are rightly imposed by Government upon the sinking of more than what is considered a reasonable number of wells in any one area, and up to the present, in the entire sheep region visited by the Prince, this arrangement has allowed sufficient supplies to be forthcoming for the watering of all stock, even in such periods of prolonged drought as that from which this part of Australia had very recently emerged. Minor enemies of the squatter are the black carrion crows, creatures justly execrated by every back-block man. They are not unlike English rooks, but have the diabolical habit of attacking sick sheep and newly-born lambs, not infrequently pecking out their eyes. They are also charged with poisoning the wounds they make, so that a sheep may die which appears to have been only very slightly pecked. The harmless looking galahs, white parrots with pink breasts, make themselves only one degree less objectionable by eating the grain. Both of these pests, however, are being got under, with the growth in the number of sportsmen with scatter guns in each district. The Prince shot several galahs, and if his bag did not include any carrion crows this was chiefly because the good work of shooting them had already been so efficiently done. Another trouble of the squatter, the silting up of his fences with leaves and dust in the hot weather, until they disappear and sheep and cattle stray over them unimpeded, is also being successfully overcome. On one estate enormous machines like snow-ploughs were shown, which were periodically pulled by horses along the windward side of fences subject to this mishap. Floods come only occasionally, but the squatter has declined to allow himself to be defeated by them. The Prince saw the bones of many a stray sheep that had been drowned in the last visitation of this kind. It is indeed extraordinary that such a thing should occur upon a table-land two thousand feet above sea level, where rain is ordinarily so scanty that drought is continually feared. The very rarity of heavy rain, however, makes the conditions such that the water-courses may be inadequate to carry off any sudden downpour, with the result that the flooding, when it does occur, may easily be very extensive, as the country for hundreds of miles on end is almost absolutely level. Motor-cars have been used successfully to convey thousands of sheep, three or four at a time, from flooded areas to banks where they could exist until the water subsided. In other cases boats have been brought from incredibly distant rivers to carry stock to safety. Much has also been done upon men's backs, for the squatter does not allow his sheep to perish if anything within human strength can help them. In this part of Australia the grass is so thin that from two to five acres are required to support each sheep. This accounts for the immense size of the runs, which extend in some cases to hundreds of thousands of acres. One of the results of so much grazing space is that epidemics are almost unknown. On one of the runs the Prince took a hand, with power-driven clippers in sheds, where one man shears, on the average, more than a hundred sheep in a single day, the wool fetching up to twenty-two pence a pound. Fleeces so ticketed indicate the neighbourhood of the wool millionaire, and he was to be met in all stages of opulence. A run carrying fifty thousand sheep, each yielding a profit of ten shillings in the year for wool alone, is by no means uncommon in this part of Australia, men who had established themselves in pre-war days, in quite a modest way, upon land leased from the State, not infrequently finding their incomes multiplied a number of times over as the rates for wool increased. The greater part of these profits has remained in the country, and much of it has been put into the development of the runs, and the improvement of the breeds of sheep, horses and cattle on them. In one of the stations a five-thousand-pound bull had recently been bought, and cows were valued at a thousand pounds apiece. On another, three rams were shown to the Prince which were considered to be worth six thousand pounds, being an average of two thousand each. The methods of development adopted varied according to the financial position of the owners. A squatter with a long-established run who had paid off his mortgages, and had money in hand, would ordinarily keep more sheep upon a given area than his less prosperous neighbour, for the reason that he could afford to move them by rail in years of drought. The man more recently established, with whom money was not so plentiful, would keep his land more sparsely stocked. In one case only six thousand sheep were being raised, though the run would have supported twice that number in an ordinary season. Here the owner did the whole of the routine work of the place, with the assistance only of his two eldest sons, lads in their 'teens, and occasional hired hands for shearing and fencing. The run possessing the five-thousand-pound bull was worked upon more expensive principles. It employed highly paid managers, overseers and stockmen all the year round, and was regarded as so up to date in its methods as to be quoted as a state model of efficiency and a sort of competitive Elysium for jackaroos. Both methods of working seemed to be successful, and both estates were making money. The heavy drop in wool prices that is now taking place will no doubt reduce the amount of the profits presently to be made. There is no reason to apprehend, however, that the industry will not adjust itself successfully to the new state of things. Fortunes in the future may be harder to make than in the past, but the necessaries of life are assured to all engaged in an industry so self-supplying as is that of sheep-farming. The area suitable for it is still practically unlimited, and the open-air life it offers will continue to attract young fellows anxious to get away from the confinement of the town and the office. As regards the climate, all that I can say is that as far north as the Prince's travels extended, the winter conditions then prevailing were delightful. The nights were sharp, and the days full of sunshine, and of a temperature that induced to outdoor work of every kind. Never have I seen healthier looking people than those who make this part of the world their permanent home. The children that the Prince found assembled in surprising numbers at every stopping-place, were sturdy and well developed. That the summers on these breezy uplands are sometimes hot was testified to by occasional underground chambers constructed so as to afford shelter in the middle of the day. Every one agreed, however, that the nights were cool, and the health and longevity of the community phenomenal. The interesting claim was also made that the very warmth of the sun in summer was itself an important factor in keeping down disease alike in men and sheep. The lowlands along the coast of Northern Queensland, where such tropical staples as sugar-cane, plantains and coco-nuts are grown in quantity, were hardly reached, though Brisbane, the most northerly seaport visited by the Prince, was upon the outer fringe of this important region. In Brisbane the climate was distinctly hot, though the inhabitants looked strong and full of health. Further north, where the temperatures grow higher, we were told that numbers of Italians are settling in and doing well. They have found conditions not altogether dissimilar from those of their own country, and are developing labour able to deal to some extent with the difficult problem of sugar-growing. On leaving Myowera the Prince proceeded by train to Sydney. On the way civic receptions were held in his honour at a number of centres. He stopped off at Dubbo, where white-dressed V.A.D.'s, each with a wand of yellow-flowering wattle, made a bower over his head as he passed from the railway station on the usual inspection of returned men. At Wellington he found a crowd waiting to cheer him beneath flowering orchards shivering in wintry rain. Blayney, although situated upon the chill slopes of the Canobolas mountains and said to be the coldest place in New South Wales, produced amongst its guard-of-honour a cavalry officer from India in the turbaned uniform of the Fifteenth Lancers, who had returned to his home in Australia when peace was declared. Another place visited was Bathurst, where a procession through the town took place, and where the decorations and receptions were on a very extensive scale. In the course of his reply to a civic address, presented in this city, the Prince said his visit in the interior had given him a glimpse of real Australia. He had seen the richness of the country and had learnt the desolation that drought and floods could produce. "Many," he added, "have suffered losses, and while sympathizing with their hard fortune, I trust the next few years may be years of plenty and bring them all they desire." On arrival at Sydney the Prince went at once to the _Renown_. Later in the day, his official tour having ended, he drove unescorted to the races, which he enjoyed like any private individual. The courtesy of the large gathering of race-goers was such that, although everybody wanted to see him, and much cheering took place, the stewards had no difficulty in preventing any inconvenience. Before finally sailing, the Prince spent four days in Sydney, saying good-bye to his friends, and receiving them in the _Renown_, which he made his home. Amongst those he entertained were the Commonwealth Governor, the Prime Minister, the New South Wales Governor, the State Premier, and the principal Commonwealth and State Officials. His staff, meanwhile, was kept busy receiving and dispatching his replies to a mountain of warm-hearted farewell messages, of which the following, from M. Fihelly, acting Premier of Queensland, and head of the most advanced Labour Government in Australia, may be taken as a sample:-- "Your Royal Highness's visit will always be gratefully and affectionately remembered by the Government and people here, who found the greatest delight in your presence amongst them, and who will henceforward regard you as a new link uniting the British peoples. We hope your Royal Highness will have a safe and pleasant homeward voyage, and that long life and uninterrupted happiness and good health will be yours. You came to our land as His Majesty's most effective ambassador to us and we ask you to be our envoy to him, bearing renewed assurances that the lofty ideals which inspire our race are a living active force in Australia to-day." Amongst the individual replies dispatched by the Prince perhaps one of the happiest went to the Royal Australian Navy, which, after expressing thanks for escorts and other services, and wishing good luck to all, ended with the characteristic request that the main-brace might be spliced. In his general farewell message His Royal Highness said:-- "I am very sorry that my first visit to Australia is at an end, and I wish on leaving to express my deep appreciation and gratitude to the Government and people of the whole Commonwealth for the pleasure and happiness which they have given me during my all too short stay. I have been deeply touched by the open-hearted affection shown to me everywhere, and I hope that Australians have realized how much the warmth of their welcome has meant to me. It has made my first visit an experience which I can never forget and which will always bind me to Australia as a real southern home. "Throughout the Commonwealth I have been impressed by the fact that the Australian people as a whole have just the same free and gallant British spirit at home which the Diggers showed so splendidly during the war. Australia has appealed to me intensely as a land where British men and women may make a new nation as great as any nation of the past, and I shall be heart and soul with them in their aims and efforts all my life." [Illustration: EMU ON A SHEEP-RUN] [Illustration: GOOD-BYE TO SYDNEY HARBOUR] "I refuse to say good-bye. I have become so fond of Australia now that she can never be far from my thoughts, wherever I may be; and I look forward most keenly to the time when I shall be able to return." "My affectionate best wishes to her people, one and all." The last official function attended by the Prince in Australia was an investiture at Government House, Sydney, at which he conferred the following decorations on behalf of the King:-- On Major-General Sir C. B. White, Commonwealth Organizer of the visit, and Rear-Admiral Grant, Senior Officer of the Commonwealth Naval Board, the K.C.V.O.; on Brigadier-General F. H. W. Lloyd, Brigadier-General Dodds, Commonwealth Assistant Organizer, and Commodore Dumaresque, commanding the Australian Fleet, the C.V.O.; on Captain the Hon. B. Clifford, Military Secretary to the Governor-General, the M.V.O. The following officers, who were in attendance during the Royal tour, also received the M.V.O.: Colonel F. B. Heritage, Lieutenant-Colonel Lionel Robinson, Captain J. G. Duncan Hughes, and Captain R. James, and it was also conferred upon the following organizers of the Prince's visit in various States: Mr. Clifford Hay (New South Wales), Mr. Whitehead (Victoria), Mr. Blinman (South Australia), Mr. Steer (Queensland), Mr. Shapcott (West Australia), and Mr. Addison (Tasmania). Royal Victorian medals were also conferred upon seven motor-drivers who had been in attendance throughout the tour. Every newspaper throughout Australia meanwhile made the Prince's departure its leading theme, the illustrated journals teeming with pictures connected with his going. The Sydney "Daily Telegraph," on the day of his leaving, said: "At high water the _Renown_ will carry the Prince through the Heads, on the first stage of his homeward journey. The Prince himself goes away on another high tide--of popularity and goodwill." "If ever there was danger," the Sydney "Morning Herald" said, "of Australian opinion being misinterpreted through the utterances of a few noisy and churlish malcontents, it has been dissipated once and for all by the Prince's experiences." On the 19th August the _Renown_ weighed anchor in brilliant sunshine, to the sound of music, cheers, and salutes, every headland lined with people. Flotillas of crowded steamboats raced alongside her as she made her way to the Heads where the Prince's letters overtook him in a fast Australian destroyer, which had picked them up from aeroplanes dispatched especially from Adelaide. As a final courtesy it was a happy touch, and if the _Renown_ had been a sailing ship would have cheered her on with airs from home. The Prince's visit was over. The unanimity and cordiality of his welcome everywhere had been a revelation even to the people of the land, who in the clash of local political creeds had hardly realized before how deep and universal was their feeling of citizenship in the Empire, or how warmly this feeling would manifest itself towards one who came to them standing for that Empire and asking only to learn the glory of Australia's part in it. XXIII EASTWARD HO After leaving Sydney the _Renown_ made a record run, much of it at twenty knots an hour, to catch up time. The Prince thus arrived at Fiji punctually to his programme, in spite of having been delayed at Sydney waiting for the mail. He landed at Suva, where he was received as cordially and by as large and picturesque a gathering as had greeted his first arrival at this port. His visit was informal, but he attended a civic reception in the beautiful Botanical Gardens, followed by a ride across country which was not without excitement. The party at one point were on a narrow hill road, with a bank on one side and a steep drop on the other. The Prince was in front when they reached a tree-trunk which had fallen across the way, leaving no room to get past. H.R.H. dismounted and scrambled over with his horse in lead. The Secretary to the Governor, who was immediately behind, endeavoured to get across without leaving the saddle, but his animal slipped in landing and went over the edge. Its rider, although crippled by the loss of one leg, managed to throw himself off upon the brink, where he clung precariously while his horse went crashing through the bushes thirty feet beneath him, rolling over and over as it fell. The Prince was the first to get hold of his companion and help to pull him back unhurt into safety. Oddly enough, the horse was able to carry him home, when eventually it had scrambled back to the road. The Prince rode for some hours after this incident, dismounting on the way back, and doing the last eight miles on foot at a swinging pace. A dinner and dance at Government House finished up the day. The _Renown_ sailed from Fiji the following day. On reaching Samoa she lay in the open roadstead, facing misty hills, among which rose steep green cones of long-dead volcanoes. In the middle distance white-crested waves flicked their tails with a vicious curl in a leaden rain-flogged sea, which ended in a white line of breakers where the red roofs of the town of Apia met the beach. The Prince went off in a bounding launch, accompanied by Colonel R. W. Tate, the administrator. A mile of rough and tumble brought the friendly shelter of the reef. Here a number of long low Samoan canoes, with some forty semi-naked paddlers apiece, met the launch and escorted it with shouting and beating of wooden drums, as big as bath-tubs, past the rusty skeleton of the German _See Adler_, wrecked upon the bar in the hurricane of 1899, to a quiet wharf, where the Prince landed in a bower of greenery and bunting. He was received by the principal people of the island, including the Chief Judge and other officers of the New Zealand administration, also a number of missionaries. Addresses of welcome were presented and the Prince was conducted on foot over carpets of brown mulberry bark to the reception by the Islanders themselves. Lines of smiling Samoans, naked save for loin-cloths of mat and bark and necklaces of crimson pandanus pods the size of fingers, lined the route and brought deep cries of "Aue!"--"Welcome!"--from the bottom of their lungs. The procession was slow and imposing. It ended in a grassy space beneath green coco-nut palms and white-flowering leva trees. The Prince took the seat of honour in a decorated booth, surrounded by thousands of Samoans, many of whom had travelled long distances from their homes by canoe. The ceremonies began with the presentation of a series of Samoan chiefs, including the "High Intercessor," Malietoa Tanumafili, brother of the late King Malietoa Laupepa, and the venerable Tuimale Fana, friend of Robert Louis Stevenson. He is a sturdy, upstanding figure in the photograph in "Vailima Letters," broad-faced and well covered and content. That was a quarter of a century ago. Now the years have bent and dulled him. The years, and perhaps the loss that dulls the world, for Tusitala tells no more tales to any of us in this South Sea Island where he lived and where he knew so well he would die. One thought, if he had been living now, how glad a hand and how rich a memory would have been added to this journey, and how brimming a cup of Imperial romance the _Renown_ would have lifted to Stevenson's lips. But Tusitala could not come to the Prince; so the Prince went to Tusitala, where he lies on the hill-top that meets the winds from the sea, and stood there for a while beside him. This was later. The Samoan ceremony of welcome was long. The presentations extended to a bevy of island ladies garbed in frilled creations of bark, relieved with hibiscus blossoms, as scanty at both ends as a ball dress out of Bond Street. The High Chief Intercessor afterwards read an address of welcome in which he declared that God had been the Prince's helmsman in bringing him to Samoa. A move was afterwards made--there is no other way of describing the respectful suggestion, the start, the progress to an official fixture--a move was afterwards made to a thatched hut where the Prince tasted Samoan dainties spread out upon mats upon the floor. He also saw articles of Samoan manufacture, including delicately carved wooden Kava bowls, mats so fine that some of them were valued at a hundred pounds, and _tappas_, lengths of soft mulberry-bark cloth painted with many patterns, worn by the men, quite decorative in effect though not exactly pliable enough to suit a West End tailor. Returning later on to the booth further ceremonies were successfully encountered, including the preparing and drinking of King's Kava. Semi-naked warriors, in head-dresses like hay-trusses ornamented with variegated Berlin wool and pieces of looking-glass held in place by skewers, chopped and pounded white Kava root, macerated the resultant pulp in a beautifully carved hard-wood bowl the size of a foot-bath, with water brought up in solemn procession in a galvanized iron housemaid's bucket, strained the concoction in a Samoan mat, and carried it to the Prince in a carved cup of coco-nut. National dances, participated in by both men and women, followed and a one-legged chief from one of the neighbouring islands read a further address of welcome. Offerings were here presented, green coco-nuts, pigs roasted whole, masses of bark _tappas_ and mats. The sea had gone down when the Prince re-embarked, and except that the war-canoes accompanied the launch right out to the _Renown_, the ceremonies of departure were much like those of arrival. The visit occurred opportunely at a time when these rich islands of coco-nut and banana plantations were slowly settling down under New Zealand administration after a long period of uncertainty during the war, followed by a much-dreaded influenza epidemic, which had swept away a terribly large proportion of their attractive and easy-going inhabitants. European residents said the Prince's coming was having an excellent effect. It was already looked upon as fulfilling the Samoan prayer that Great Britain should "remember this small branch of the great tree of Empire." It was treated as an omen. "Healthy are the travellers," declared one of the addresses, "We now meet with success"--and in islands so swayed by emotion, picturesque expressions of this kind no doubt indicate some corresponding reality in feeling. After leaving Samoa the _Renown_ called at Honolulu, where the Prince spent three days quietly, surf-riding and golfing, his experiences being largely a repetition of those of his visit to the island on his outward voyage, except that there were no official ceremonies. He stayed at the Moana Hotel as an ordinary visitor, dividing his time between the beautiful Waikiki beach and the country club. Nothing could exceed the kindness, hospitality, and consideration extended not only to the Prince, but also to the entire ship's company of the _Renown_ by Governor McCarthy and other Hawaiian residents, who, while scrupulously respecting the Prince's desire that the visit should be without functions, did everything imaginable to render it as enjoyable as possible. The arrangements included drives around the island and other entertainments for every officer and man of the _Renown_. On leaving, the Prince issued a press note expressing his appreciation. "I was delighted with Honolulu on my outward voyage," he said, "and most grateful for the kind welcome and generous hospitality given me by the Governor, Mr. McCarthy, and every one. I always feel happy amongst Americans and in American territory, because American life appeals to me greatly, and I have many American friends--especially since my short visit to the United States last year, when I was deeply touched by the most friendly reception accorded me." The whole white population of Honolulu assembled on the wharf when the _Renown_ cast off. Before leaving the Prince had been presented with the usual farewell offering of ropes of flowers, which he duly flung overboard, in accordance with immemorial Hawaiian custom, as the ship left the shore, in token that his friendship remained with this pleasant island though he himself was compelled to depart. As the ship cleared the harbour searchlights were played upon the Waikiki beach where so many enjoyable hours had been spent. Crossing the northern Pacific the _Renown_ touched Mexico, where Acapulco harbour, a deep, sheltered pool amongst hills of ferruginous rock and verdant jungle, held the ship for a day. On one side were the square, flat-topped bastions of the fort, with ancient muzzle-loaders pointing black mouths out of stone embrasures, muzzle-loaders which were fired quite recently at the late President Carranza's gunboat, the _Gerriro_, when it was shelling revolutionaries ensconced in the red-tiled city that climbs up the steep slope behind the wharf. The fighting was described to us in broken English by Mexican traders doing business in dark verandahed houses opening out of the narrow streets. It had surged up and down the town in the form of desultory rifle-fire between the followers of Carranza, who were in occupation, and those of the insurgent rebel leader, Avaro Obregon, who eventually drove them into the interior. Carranza's gunboat simultaneously disappeared to sea. No great damage was done in the town. All that we heard of was the looting of shops, which did not appear to have been on any very considerable scale. After the firing had ceased, the civilians, who had mostly hidden themselves in the hills, returned and reopened their places of business. At the time of the Prince's visit the walls of Acapulco were plastered with rough zincograph prints of Avaro Obregon, a soldierly looking Mexican, whose election for President was voted upon the Sunday before the _Renown_ put in to that port. Nobody doubted that he would be declared elected (as has since been the case) for the excellent reason that no other candidate had been even heard of at Acapulco. In the disorder so long in the ascendant the entire port has fallen into decay. Dark-skinned loungers, in white cotton shirts and trousers, bare feet, and gigantic straw sombrero hats, smoked cigarettes upon benches beneath plantain trees in the central square. In the market-place were tethered mules with high-peaked saddles, also doing nothing and enjoying it. A couple of small bells rang out intermittently from a big Catholic church with corrugated iron roof, but the only worshipper inside this draughty place of worship was a guide, who seemed to be returning thanks for unaccustomed profits brought to him by the royal visit. The planks of the empty wharf were so rotten that one had to walk warily to avoid mischance. On the beach were a few light fishing boats, one of which was engaged in taking out three of the Governor's A.D.C.'s through the fine but deserted harbour to pay his respects to the Prince. The Governor, these gentlemen explained, was ill or would have been with them. The British and United States consuls came to the ship, where they were entertained to lunch. The Prince afterwards landed and went for a walk ashore, while the _Renown_ took in oil-fuel. Bumboats with scarlet sails, presided over by dusky ladies in black robes and tumbled hair, hawked bananas, melons, earthen pots, sombrero hats, Mexican swords, coloured blankets, and other locally manufactured articles, to the blue-jackets. An old missionary in the faded uniform of a captain of the Royal Navy, a rank he once had held, also visited the _Renown_. He had recently arrived by mule from Mexico City, some six hundred miles distant. The road is steep and rocky, but by no means unsafe. The railway, which is ultimately to connect Acapulco with Mexico City, though partly torn up, is still in working order for nearly half the way. It may some day shorten the mail route materially between Europe and Australia. The bags would be carried overland from some American port on the Atlantic and re-shipped at Acapulco for the trans-Pacific voyage. Business had not been altogether suspended in Mexico City, banks remaining open and motor-cars plying in the streets. Little was known in Acapulco of the personality of Avaro Obregon, except that he had been a successful revolutionary leader. It was hoped he would prove strong enough to hold his own and put down disorder, thereby enabling prosperity to return to this much-vexed country, but fighting in Mexico, as in Ireland, is a temperamental gift and hard to lose. The _Renown_ put out to sea in a sharp electric storm. Warm tropical rain came down with insistent hammer, and lightning from all sides at once threw up the coast in brilliant outline, and illuminated an enormous crucifix upon one of the headlands, by which Drake may have steered in his pursuit of Spanish galleons three hundred years ago. The passage from the Pacific to the Atlantic, on the return journey, was quickly accomplished. The _Renown_ arrived at Panama at daylight, after an uneventful voyage from Acapulco. She was received by the American authorities, who fired a salute of welcome. The Canal was entered without a stop, and was traversed smoothly and in record time for so big a vessel. Every lock was clear and every possible facility was afforded. Dredgers were still at work at the slip which had delayed the _Renown_ on her outward voyage, but an almost magical change had been effected in the interval by the removal of a million cubic yards of rock and earth. What had been a narrow, tortuous channel in June, had been converted by September into a spacious pool, where to the casual glance six _Renowns_ could lie side by side. The hillside above looked as unstable as ever, but no fresh land-slips were visible, and even if they occur hereafter, as is to be expected, the canal has space to accommodate considerable subsidence without interfering with vessels getting through. At the Gatun locks the Prince went off by launch, in company with Mr. Markham, the pisciculturist of the Canal, who succeeded in showing him some Tarpon fishing. He got back at a late hour, muddy but radiant, with quite a catch, and re-embarked upon the _Renown_, which was then moored alongside the Christobal wharf at Colon, taking in oil. H.M.S. _Calcutta_ was also there, and the two vessels put out to sea the following morning. XXIV THE WEST INDIES An epidemic in Jamaica abridged the West Indian part of the tour, but the _Renown_ visited several of the other islands, beginning with Trinidad, where the flotilla anchored three days after leaving Colon in the quiet roadstead off Port of Spain. Here Sir John Chancellor, Governor of the Island, came on board to pay his respects to the Prince, who shortly afterwards landed. The entire city of Port of Spain had been effectively decorated. Sugar-cane-stalks, cocoa-pods, and coco-nuts, were worked in cleverly upon arches, spanning its substantial streets, to represent the agriculture of the Colony. The other main Trinidad industries, asphalt and oil, were well in evidence in the smooth surface found upon the roads along which the Royal procession passed. The crowds lining the route were made up in fairly equal proportions of negroes, East Indians, and persons of mixed or "coloured" race. Few Europeans were seen until the Legislative Council building and the Town Hall were reached, where they were in considerable numbers. Those presented to the Prince included Messrs. De B. Best, Colonial Secretary, H. B. Walcott, Controller General, A. G. Bell, Director of Public Works, L. Elphinstone, Solicitor-General, Colonel Mui, Commandant of the Local Forces, Major Rust, acting President of the Civic Council, Rev. Dowling, Catholic Archbishop, Dr. Ansley, Anglican Bishop, Sir Alfred Smith, Chief Justice, also Justices Russell and Deane, and Father de Caignai, Head of the Tunapuna Monastery. The official address, read by the Governor, made special mention of how much the island owes to the British Navy, and the Prince in the course of his reply also dwelt upon this matter: "You have well referred," he said, "to the security enjoyed by Trinidad during the Great War, in which the people of this colony contributed in worthy measure to the victory of British arms. I am particularly glad to have this opportunity of congratulating the colony upon its fine services, and of meeting some of the gallant men whom it sent overseas. I am also much pleased to hear the colony appreciates how much it owes to the Royal Navy for its tranquil prosperity during those terrible years." Touching upon more local matters, the Prince said the colony had given a high measure of prosperity to those whose forbears had made it their home. It had also provided new opportunities for progress and well-being for a large immigrant population from His Majesty's Indian Empire. "I feel sure," he added, "that all its people, not only long established but recently arrived, will do all in their power to maintain its good traditions of law-abiding progress and loyalty to British ideals." The Prince spent several days in Trinidad, driving through its thickly wooded hills, past shady cocoa plantations, well-ordered coco-nut groves, and fields of sugar-cane. He also visited the old-time Spanish capital of St. Joseph, where an address was presented to him. He attended in Port of Spain a state dinner and various other official functions, besides inspecting a big gathering of children. In the course of his remarks, replying to the toast of his health at the state dinner, he said, "I saw a suggestion, before I left England, that the British Empire might be willing to part with one or more of the British West Indian Islands to a foreign power, and I should like to say here again what I said in Barbados in March, that British subjects are not for sale. I can assure you that the King and all of us in the old country have very much at heart the welfare of Trinidad and all the British West Indies, also of all other British possessions," a statement which cannot be too often repeated in sentiment or exemplified in fact. Visits were paid to some of the oil-wells, which are already a source of much wealth to Trinidad, and promise to become still more important in the future. The famous pitch lake was a sight along the coast, forty-five miles out. It is a semi-solidified deposit, lying in a shallow hollow, a quarter of a mile in diameter, close to the sea, where men have been digging out black slabs of asphalt for years without making a perceptible hole. The lake is so near the coast that ships sail practically up to it to carry away a product which is ultimately spread over the streets of the world. Fifty thousand tons have been taken out of it every year for a generation, and the level is estimated to have sunk only about nine inches. Oil underlies the pitch in the vicinity and a forest of derricks rises a quarter of a mile away. From Trinidad the Prince made a side trip to Demerara, British Guiana, in the _Calcutta_, the _Renown_ being too big to cross the bar into Georgetown harbour. All the sunny richness of this steamy sugar and rice-growing corner of South America was in evidence when he landed at Georgetown, immediately after the ceremonial visit of the Governor, Sir William Collet. A fine West Indian guard-of-honour saluted him upon the pier, and mixed crowds of Anglo-Saxons, negroes, East Indians and Portuguese cheered in the decorated streets as he proceeded to the Government buildings. Here more guards-of-honour were inspected, including armed constabulary and militia. The Prince also shook hands with a long line of returned men. Entering the building he found the leaders of the local community assembled, including the principal officials and their families. An address of welcome was read by Mr. Brown, a coloured West Indian, senior elected member of the Court of Policy. Archbishop Parry and General Rice were amongst those presented. In the course of his reply the Prince referred to the great potential wealth of British Guiana and to the determination of its inhabitants to develop their inheritance to the full. It was essential, he added, that all parts and sections of the community should pull together loyally, in order that their future might be assured, and particularly that the great inland wealth of the colony might be laid open for the benefit of all. He hoped their ex-service men would prove themselves as public-spirited and useful citizens in time of peace as they had on active service in the field. Two days passed in Demerara in the enjoyment of the hospitality of the Governor and other leading residents. Visits were paid to a largely-attended race meeting, to sugar and rice estates in the swampy flats around the city, and to some very beautiful botanical gardens, where the schools of the colony were assembled, and the Prince passed down dense lines of negro, East Indian, and European children. [Illustration: SAMOA MAKES MERRY] [Illustration: TRINIDAD: IN THE DRAGON'S MOUTH] As the _Calcutta_ put out to sea ten thousand musical West Indian voices on the Georgetown wharves joined with the light cruiser's band in the strains of "Auld Lang Syne." Probably never in the history of this important British outpost in South America has patriotic sentiment held more undivided sway or the fact been made more clear that the hearts of its flourishing inhabitants still turn faithfully to the old country. Its people are looking to England at the moment with some hope, as well, of that co-ordination of Imperial resources of which British Guiana stands so much in need. The labour question has never before been so acute. The recent abolition of the long-established Indian indentures system, and therewith the cessation of immigration from India, has synchronized with enormous increases in world prices and world demand for the sugar which Demerara is so pre-eminently qualified to provide, and for this more labour is wanted. The same question arises in connexion with new industrial developments, now on the eve of fruition, which must add enormously to the position that agricultural produce has already won for this colony. These will come with the exploitation of vast deposits of bauxite-alumina, that promise expansion of world-wide significance in connexion with steel manufacture, into which this comparatively new mineral is entering increasingly. The position, at the time of the Prince's visit, appeared to be that a million sterling had been spent by an American Company upon machinery and shipping and railway facilities for handling the ore, and that its effectual arrival upon the market was only a matter of time. That an American Company should be spending such a large sum in the development of natural resources in British territory, was not the least interesting feature of the situation. It is to Anglo-American co-operation that Demerara and also the British West Indies must look increasingly for brains, initiative, and capital for the development of natural resources which are as yet by no means fully utilized. The Prince returned to Trinidad through still steamy seas. Dawn on the day after leaving Demerara found the _Calcutta_ passing the rocky portals of the narrowest of the three channels which make up the famous "Dragon's Mouth" entrance to the roadstead of Port of Spain. The shore on the landward side of this entrance was dotted with pleasant verandahed villas and fresh-tilled fields, signs of the civilization which is pushing back the forest in all parts of the island. On reaching Port of Spain the Prince visited H.M.S. _Calliope_, a light cruiser just arrived from the north. He also paid a farewell visit to the Governor, and inspected the local fire brigade. In the evening he returned to the _Renown_, which shortly afterwards heaved up her anchors and left harbour for Grenada. At St. George's, the principal town of Grenada, the Prince landed on the sheltered cove of Carenage, upon a decorated wharf on which was drawn up a guard-of-honour of the West Indian regiment beneath the stone bastions of an old French fort. He was received with every formality by the principal officials, headed by Sir George Haddon-Smith, Governor of the Windward Islands, Mr. Joyce Thomas, acting administrator of St. Vincent, Mr. Herbert Fergusson, Colonial Secretary, Mr. E. Laborde, Colonial Treasurer, and Sir Thomas Haycroft, Chief Justice, also the heads of the local Anglican, Presbyterian, Methodist and Catholic Churches. Thereafter, up steep streets decorated with flowery arches, beneath the clanging bells of numerous churches, through smiling, bowing, cheering crowds of cheerful West Indians and their gaily dressed women and piccaninnies, he was taken by car to the colonial Court-House, where the leading residents were assembled. He entered through a shaded courtyard, where he shook hands with a number of returned men and officers. The address was read in a low-ceilinged legislative assembly room, with wide French windows commanding a wonderful view of city and harbour. In the course of his reply the Prince said the strength and spirit of the British Commonwealth could not be fully grasped by anyone without first-hand knowledge of the British Dominions and Colonies. "The more I see of the King's world-wide possessions," he added, "the more deeply I am impressed by the strength of the sentiment which binds them to the Empire and the throne"--the truth of which was testified to by every street he had passed through. The Prince was afterwards taken by motor into the interior, through some of the most luxuriant vegetation in the world, past cocoa and nutmeg plantations, up two thousand feet into the mountains, about the forest-shaded depths of the circular lake of Grand Etang, the crater of an extinct volcano. An official lunch and a garden-party at Government House filled up the day, which ended with a reception given by the Prince on the _Renown_ to the principal residents of the island. Leaving Grenada at daylight the _Renown_ threaded her way through the clustering Grenadine Islands and past the steep twin green cones of the inaccessible Piton peaks, and anchored near the Pigeon Rock--Admiral Rodney's eighteenth-century naval base. The Prince, accompanied by Sir George Haddon-Smith, who had come on with him from Grenada, landed at Castries at noon, where he was received by Colonel Davidson-Houston, Administrator of St. Lucia, supported by Mr. Anthony de Freitas, Chief Justice, and other members of the Executive Council. St. Lucia's special arch was of coal, token of the colony's importance as a West Indian coaling-station. From under it His Royal Highness proceeded through decorated streets, the entire population of which had assembled to welcome him. The first stopping-place was in Columbus Square. Here, in the warm shade of big coco-nut palms and mango trees, a thousand children were drawn up, each school flanked by teachers, many of whom wore the black cassock of the Catholic Church. The Prince afterwards climbed a hill overlooking the town, and wandered through the deserted barracks of historic fort Charlotte, where his great-great-grandfather, the Duke of Kent, father of Queen Victoria, hoisted the British flag in 1797, after the capture of the island by forces under Sir Charles Grey and Sir John Jervis. Here, standing amidst luxuriant tropical vegetation, he looked northward to the rocky Vigie promontory, on which he could descry lines occupied by Sir William Medow's thirteen hundred British, who in 1778 hurled back invading enemies twelve thousand strong. Westward he looked over the muddy Cul-de-sac Bay, where Sir Samuel Barrington, in the same year, fought a desperate engagement with the French fleet under Count Destaing. Eastward also the scene was full of historic interest, for here, beyond the red roofs of Castries city, was visible a distant palm-shaded beach, where Moore and Abercromby effected their landing in 1796. Descending the steep grassy Morne, the Prince afterwards attended a popular reception at Government House, and thence went back to the _Renown_. The still hot dawn of the following day found the ship passing the green hills of the island of Martinique, birthplace of the Empress Josephine, also the bare sea-girt Diamond Rock off its coast, where, a hundred years ago, for eighteen lurid months, gallant Lieutenant Maurice and a hundred and twenty men with five guns from H.M.S. _Centaur_ beat off attack and themselves threatened all approach to the important harbour of the enemy in Fort-de-France. Here also, towering into the clouds, were visible the dim slopes of Mount Pelee, the eruption of which, eighteen years before, had brought death in a few hours to forty thousand people. Thereafter, through summer seas, crossing the place of the decisive battle of the Saints, the _Renown_ pushed on, anchoring before noon off the pleasant town of Roseau, capital of Dominica Island, and head-quarters of the lime-juice industry of the world. As she neared the shore, the ship was met by the sound of cheerful bells, reflected out to sea from church towers backing upon green hills that rose into peaks, extending tier beyond tier in the interior, in such tumbled form that Columbus, describing it to his Queen, compared the island to a fistful of crumpled paper. Here the light cruisers _Calcutta_ and _Cambrian_ joined the _Renown_, the three vessels making a fine show as they lay together, decked with bunting, in the brilliant sunshine of the roadstead. The Prince landed at a decorated pier jutting out into the harbour. He was welcomed by Sir Edward Merewether, Governor of the Leeward Islands, Mr. Robert Walter, a descendant of the founder of "The Times," Administrator of Dominica, Dr. Nichols, Senior Member of the Senate, and other leading residents. A guard-of-honour of the local defence force was in attendance, and a crowd of gaily-dressed West Indians. A little group of yellow Malay-faced Caribs, representing the survivors of these now nearly extinct aborigines, stood on one side. Their chief, an old man in top-hat and black coat, was one of those with whom the Prince shook hands. The scene as the Prince proceeded inland from the wharf, with cheering West Indians racing alongside his car, was one of much quaint excitement and enthusiasm. He was taken in procession through decorated streets, masses of coloured Dominicans and their womenfolk clapping, shouting and laughing as he passed. "Than' God I not die las' week," was one pious cry, to the accompaniment of the widest grin. Some beautiful botanical gardens, containing big trees, all grown in the space of twenty-seven years, were inspected, and a visit paid to Government House, which stands in pleasant, shady grounds. The Prince re-embarked in the _Renown_ at sunset. Unlike most of the other West Indian islands, which did well out of sugar during the war, Dominica, when the Prince visited it, was recovering only slowly from war depression which had hit its previously flourishing lime industry hard. This very depression, however, had increased the available openings for newcomers, good land offering at very reasonable rates. As the result, we were told, increasing numbers of returned men were settling there, with bright hopes of making good amongst beautiful surroundings and in a climate which is one of perpetual summer. At Monserrat, a small island with open, cultivated fields contrasting with the dense tropical jungle of Dominica, the Prince was received by Mr. Condell, the Commissioner, and other leading inhabitants of the colony, which is prospering in the good prices at present offering for its sea-island cotton. Boiling sulphur springs, in a vast rocky cauldron of steam, upon a mountain-side covered with aromatic cinnamon gardens and flourishing fields of sea-cotton and potatoes, were things to see if not to smell. The Prince was cheered by crowds of coloured folk, who, in their broken English, still retain distinct traces of a brogue inherited from one side of an ancestry which dates back to 1664, when Irish immigrants were taken to the island by Sir Thomas Warner. It was a quaint mixture. The _Renown_ put out to sea in still murky weather, with a yellow ring round the moon, signs significant to all sailor eyes, and not rendered more cheerful by the knowledge that a wireless message had reached the ship, reporting one hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico and another off the coast of Texas. The _Renown_ slipped through a smooth sea, however, to Antigua, completely escaping bad weather. Antigua proved to be another open island, not unlike Monserrat. The ship anchored five miles at sea off St. John's, a small sheltered harbour in which, three centuries ago, Prince Rupert successfully attacked two of Cromwell's ships. Here a number of wooden fishing boats, of half a dozen different nationalities, formed a lane of many-coloured bunting through which the Prince's picket-boat was conducted to a decorated wharf. Sir Edward Merewether, Governor of the Leeward Islands, who had come on in the _Renown_, Mr. Johnston, Colonial Secretary, Mr. Griffith, Colonial Treasurer, Very Rev. Shepherd, Dean of Antigua, and members of the local Executive and Legislative Councils welcomed the Prince at the landing-stage. Thereafter, through decorated streets of dazzling white wooden houses, reflecting back the tropical sun, and alive with cheering coloured folk, the Prince went in procession to the old colonial Court-House. Here, in the presence of an assemblage of the leading citizens and their families, an address of welcome was read by Mr. Griffin, Chief Justice of Antigua. The Prince replying, referred to Nelson's having refitted his ships in this island before the Trafalgar campaign. He once again testified that his own travels had been a wonderful experience and that he hoped to have many opportunities of repeating and extending them in the future. A pretty function followed on the breezy cricket ground, where a surprisingly large gathering of white school-children, besides masses of coloured mites, cheered the Prince enthusiastically. A state luncheon was afterwards given by the Governor, followed by a popular reception in Government House Grounds. The _Renown_ then sailed for the Bermudas, and the Royal visit to the West Indies, during which the Prince's cheery presence had produced the happiest impression, was over. The pleasure of the Europeans at seeing him in their isolated corner of the globe was almost pathetic. For those of West Indian blood the occasion was also a memorable one. It certainly revived feelings of solidarity with Great Britain which have sometimes been strained by that preaching of race-prejudice from which no people situated as these are can ever be completely exempt, be the white administration never so tactful. Never, perhaps, has there been greater occasion for tact, as well as strength and sympathy, in the political guidance of the Islands than exists to-day. At the moment the West Indians are exceedingly prosperous on the whole, owing to the phenomenal war-prices their sugar, cotton and other produce have been fetching in the markets of the world. But the quarter of century or so of lean years that preceded the last half-dozen fat ones, have limited their outlook and retarded their development in all directions. They have become isolated. They lie between two worlds, with a tendency to take their ideas from their neighbour the United States rather than from the distant Mother Country or from Canada. The only public information of any interest reaching them by cable of happenings throughout the world is supplied through New York. American capital is displacing British for the development of their mineral and other resources. Their agricultural produce tends more and more to find its way to the United States. Their visitors from Great Britain and the Dominions are few compared with those arriving from America; yet that this state of things can be changed is proved by the partial revival in relations with the British Empire that has followed the conclusion of the recent admirable West-Indian-Canadian Agreement. This agreement, however, is only one step in the right direction, and requires to be followed by many more. Direct steamers and direct cable communication with Great Britain are specially needed. The growing demand of the West Indian population for progress towards self-government, within the Empire, is also a matter of which the importance cannot be too strongly emphasized, though self-government cannot be realized without local readiness to face additional taxation and expenditure. The splendid colonial Civil Service, sent out from London, has governed the British West Indies faithfully and well for many years, despite inadequate remuneration, and often discouraging deficiency in recognition from public opinion at home; but the day when rectitude in administration and efficiency in maintaining security and justice were sufficient by themselves to satisfy the imagination of a coloured people is passing away. The time is coming for new developments, in the interests alike of the West Indies and of the Empire as a whole. The direction these developments must take is indicated by the nature of the situation that stands so plainly in view. Its evolution upon practical lines, in relation to the all-important question of the raising of funds necessary to pay for direct steamers and cable services and the attraction of settlers and capital from the British Empire, is a matter that, though difficult, is no longer impossible as in the past, for the reason that the recent growth in material prosperity in the islands has removed the bar hitherto existing to proposals for new taxation. In all consideration of the matter, of course, the fact has to be envisaged that the post-war conditions, which are affecting the world as a whole, are potent also in the British West Indies, and that no policy which does not take them into account can remain at all permanently in force in these important islands. The position of the negro population in the United States necessarily reacts upon that of the corresponding people under British rule. Propaganda is undoubtedly passing from negro organs in the Republic to all the British islands. This propaganda takes into consideration the political conditions in Cuba and Puertorico, which differ constitutionally from those obtaining in the British West Indian colonies. It has also to be remembered that the constitutions of the various individual British islands differ amongst themselves, and that the formulation of a uniform policy for their development may reasonably be looked for in the near future. Such a policy must recognize the interests of the labouring classes as well as of the old planter families. It would seem, at present, that the Governments have some difficulty in reconciling these two points of view, towards which they have equal responsibilities. XXV THE BERMUDAS The picturesque islands of Bermuda, in the North Atlantic, the last halting-place upon the Prince's tour, put up a brave show in honour of the Royal visitor. The _Renown_ anchored at daylight on 1st October in the open sea off what is known as "Five Fathom Hole," where the cobalt of the deeper sea shaded into greenish patches above treacherous coral reefs. Through tortuous channels the _Calcutta_, to which the Prince had transhipped, felt her way, skirting on her left a prominent rock celebrated as the "Ducking Stool," testing-spot of seventeenth-century witches and place of punishment of scolds, where a battery of artillery fired a salute. A little inland of the Ducking Stool a green hummock rose, topped by Government House. Admiralty House also stood out pre-eminent amongst smaller villas. On the right, as the _Calcutta_ passed on, curved a long sickle-shaped arm of rock forming the other side of the harbour, and terminating in the white sheds and fortifications of the naval dockyard. In the middle were tiny rocky islets between which the _Calcutta_ steered with margin only of a few feet on either side. Upon the way the U.S.A. battleship _Kansas_, under Rear-Admiral Hughes, a vessel sent to Bermuda by the United States Government in honour of the Prince's visit, fired a welcoming salute. Coral-rock houses are a characteristic feature of Bermuda. They are built of squared blocks sawn out of the hillside, and have sloping roofs of similar stone rendered watertight with cement. One finds them everywhere. In the country their grey walls and roofs are surrounded by wildernesses of brilliant flowers, including purple bougainvilleas, the aptly named "flamboyants," and pink oleanders, with smooth lawns, terraced vineyards, and overgrown vegetable gardens sheltered by sombre conifers. In the city one finds sky-scraper hotels and substantial offices, workshops of Bermuda's principal industry, which is that of catering for the American tourist, who flies to this sunny spot to escape the New York winter, and dine where he may still drink. The Prince's visit took place in the off-season of hot weather when the principal hotels are closed. The entire city had nevertheless been decorated, and a large proportion of the twenty thousand inhabitants the islands boast, assembled along the Club Wharf in Hamilton City, where the landing took place. They consisted, for the most part, of cheerful negroes and coloured folk, with a considerable proportion of well-dressed whites, including many Americans. A guard-of-honour of the Royal Sussex Regiment, in familiar khaki, stood to attention on the landing-stage, rifle-barrels gleaming in the fierce sun. Here also waited Sir James Willcocks in white uniform ablaze with war medals, also Admirals Hughes and Everett and their staffs, and the principal civilian officials in the perspiring black morning dress of more temperate zones. The Prince and his staff landed unostentatiously in white naval kit from a brass-funnelled steam picket-boat. The usual procession of carriages was formed, after the reception formalities, each drawn by a fine pair of horses, and the Prince was taken through decorated streets to the House of Assembly, where he inspected a guard-of-honour composed of seamen from H.M.S. _Calcutta_. Within were assembled members of the Executive and Legislative Councils and other leading residents and their families, in the garb with which civilized ceremony defies temperatures the world over. The Governor read an address of welcome, in the course of which he reminded the Prince of their having met in France, where he, Sir James, was in command of the Indian Army Corps. The Prince, in the course of his reply, referred to the celebration of the tercentenary of the establishment of representative institutions in Bermuda, then taking place in the island, having been postponed for a month to coincide with his own visit. He also acknowledged the courtesy of the United States Government in sending the U.S.S. _Kansas_ to meet him. In conclusion he touched upon the impressions left upon himself by his tour and its lesson of the unity, strength and devotion which bind all parts of His Majesty's dominions to British ideals. Later on in the garden of the public buildings the Prince laid the foundation-stone of a war-memorial, the Bermuda Volunteer Rifle Corps and Militia artillery furnishing guards-of-honour, and relatives of fallen men being presented. On the following day the Prince inspected the Royal Navy dockyard, and placed a wreath upon the grave of the late Admiral Napier, until recently in command of the Royal West Indian squadron, who was one of the victims of an outbreak of typhoid in these islands. He also paid a farewell visit to H.M.S. _Calcutta_, Flagship of the Royal West Indian Squadron, which had been his escort throughout the tour in these waters, and said good-bye to its officers and men, at the same time conferring the Knight Commandership of the Victorian Order upon Admiral Everett, and the Companionship on Captain Noble, R.N. The final day of the Prince's visit to Bermuda found him at St. George, the quaint coral-built old capital, to which he drove himself from Government House, Hamilton, in a high-seated mail phaeton, with two horses, Sir James Willcocks beside him. The drive was twelve miles along the coast, through most beautiful country, a fresh sea-breeze mitigating the heat, which had previously been trying. Much of the way the road was shaded by feathery Lignum-vitæ trees, here known as cedars, which have deliciously scented wood and were once a rich asset for shipbuilding. Flowering groves of pink oleander, dense thickets of scarlet, pink and yellow hibiscus, purple masses of bougainvilleas bordered the way, which was past garden after garden of the wonderful rich red loam which has won for Bermuda potatoes, Bermuda onions and Bermuda bananas a reputation almost world-wide. _En route_ the Prince alighted to look into the shadowy depths of the Devil's Grotto, a deep rock-bound pool of clearest water connected with the sea, in which big fish of brilliant colours swim lazily. He also wandered hundreds of yards underground, through an extraordinary rift in the coral formation known as the Crystal cave, from hundreds of thousands of semi-transparent stalactites, many of them reaching from floor to ceiling, in some cases overhanging still pools of clear salt water, or forming grotesque figures, with which the electric lamps, that light the place, played the most fantastic tricks. The cave is one of a number in different parts of the islands, and claims to be of extraordinary antiquity, the stalactites growing at so slow a rate that a hundred thousand years are believed to be represented by a mere fraction of their length. The entire route from Hamilton to St. George had been decorated, the arches representing an immense amount of willing labour. One of them had been solidly constructed of square blocks of sawn coral rock by coloured volunteers, who had built it at night after their ordinary working hours were over. Another, which had been put up by members of the garrison, was a wonderfully worked-out reproduction of the sailing ship _Patience_ built near by, over three hundred years ago, by which the shipwrecked crew of Sir George Somer's ship _Sea Venture_ made their way to Virginia. This arch was entirely constructed of the local cedar, which was the wood used in building the _Patience_. At St. George the Prince was entertained by Mayor Boyle and members of the local town council, the Mayor's tiny but very self-possessed grand-daughter presenting a bouquet, the last local attention of the tour. He was given a great send-off when he finally embarked by launch to rejoin the _Renown_ waiting for him beyond the reefs with the end of her mission in sight and her blunt grey nose pointing toward home. Eight days later, on the 11th October, early in the morning, the heart of England turned for a moment to her old harbour of Portsmouth, where, through one of her own October fogs, her great battle-cruiser was drawing majestically into port, bringing home from his second journey to kinsfolk the eldest son of her Royal House. Perhaps the heart of England felt a certain pride.... XXVI THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TOUR This Chapter is, by kind permission, largely reproduced from an article by the writer published in the "Nineteenth Century" of December, 1920. "The tumult and the shouting dies," and what, now that it is over, remains to Britain of the enterprise? What treasure came back in the _Renown_ to make this Royal adventure worth while? The word may be disputed. The nation's heir, it may be said, does not adventure in travelling to the hearths of kinsfolk. There is no adventure in a voyage surrounded by every means of safety and comfort that modern science can devise, a voyage backed by the blessing and sped by the hope and pride of this sound old Mother Country. Yet in the fluid state of social and political emotion to-day it was an adventure, a challenge in the very teeth of those unbridled forces that are so blatant and busy in the disservice of the British Empire, and a challenge before which not one of them raised its head. The constantly recurring scene of the Prince making acquaintance with overseas audiences is long since familiar. It has been depicted in the columns of hundreds of newspapers and actually thrown before the eyes of thousands in cinemas. It is far more than a twice-told tale that His Royal Highness was everywhere received with enthusiasm which was altogether phenomenal, that he was everywhere able to draw the whole of the inhabitants of the places he visited away from their business, their occupation or their pleasure, to concentrate during the time he was amongst them, the whole of their attention and interest upon himself, and the idea of race, Empire and loyalty for which he stands. In so far as the hackneyed words of newspaper reports can produce that effect, their reiteration must by now have turned the remarkable scenes of his progress into a kind of Royal commonplace, and retired them into the back of the popular imagination as matters to be taken for granted. It is difficult to put into terms of flags and decorations, patriotic songs and calculated multitudes, however gay and hoarse and unexampled, anything of the fine essence discharged from men's hearts and minds that made the soul of these occasions. Only perhaps to those who actually saw them will they survive conventional description, as experiences of the rare sort that baffle it. It did not seem to matter who his audiences were. Keen, sharp American business men with square jaws and shrewd eyes, to whom a Prince would necessarily hover somewhere between a figure of mediaeval romance and a comic anachronism, proved no less susceptible to the something he has to offer than the crowds of our own family in New Zealand, Tasmania or New South Wales. Queensland, with its advanced Labour Government, its public ownership of utilities and enterprises, its schedules of progress in which at least no conspicuous place is allotted to Royal personages, proved just as enthusiastic as did conservative New Zealand. Centres of culture, learning and wealth like Sydney and Melbourne, showed exactly the same spirit as did rough mining and logging camps, and lonely sheep stations in the far interior. Cornish gold diggers of Bendigo and Ballarat rivalled the cordial welcome of the Welsh coal-miners of Westport and Greymouth. Catholic Irishmen newly arrived in cattle stations in Northern and Western Australia mustered as keenly in honour of the Prince as Presbyterian farmers in settled Tasmania. Fuzzy-headed Fijians, dignified Samoans, Polynesians of Honolulu, negroes of Demerara and Trinidad seethed and bubbled with like enthusiasm. There was more than the personal factor in an appeal so widely honoured, more than the touch of romance upon imaginations untravelled along Royal roads, yet recollection harks back irresistibly to the spectacle of the human equation as between the Prince and his audiences. There is no other way of explaining their quick pleasure at the sight of him and their instant and unerring formulas for his relation to themselves and to the world. Anything mechanical, anything perfunctory, would have worn out with the first gratification of curiosity; but a point which struck the onlooker was that enthusiasm grew instead of cooling off, as the Prince's visit to each place continued and as acquaintance with him ripened. "Yes, but only once," was a little Australian girl's wistful answer when asked if she had seen the Prince. Nor were children of a larger growth content with only once. Their eyes could not be too well filled with this young symbol of their race and Empire, whose person pleased them and whose negligence of the pomp and privileges their minds had given him upset their preconceptions with a thrill of delight. To be of the Imperial present, with its dignity and untarnished splendour, to come of the Royal past with its long discipline of duty and decoration of anointed names, and to let it all sink as the Prince lets it sink into the simplest background of his personality, is an achievement--or should it be called just a habit--which makes at once the happiest appeal to human nature, the world over. He does not even appear to be aware that these things should do anything for him. He is as diffident as, say, the naval officer who blocked Zeebrugge harbour or the flight-lieutenant who brought down the first Zeppelin over London. The touch is British and of the essence. It is an odd inconsistency of race consciousness which makes us recognize and take pride in it, but we do. Another characteristic almost as immediately perceived by an audience is the Prince's plain delight in giving pleasure, his obvious satisfaction in doing the thing that he has to do and doing it well. There are endless stories of his disregard of physical fatigue in the desire to take out of himself every ounce that could be given to the gratification of public gatherings. There is never a hint of boredom in his face or bearing. Thus the bond of sympathy is complete. The people are there and he is there for the same purpose, and nothing breaks the circuit of goodwill. There was something naïve and touching in the constantly possessive note that hailed him "ours" from the wharfs of Sydney to the string-bark avenues of Perth; and to this claim also something in the Prince responds with an unselfishness that might be the supreme lesson of kings. The Prince's personality is greatly deepened and broadened by his speeches, which in their simplicity and directness are perfectly the expression of himself. They never exaggerate, and they never fall short. They are pervaded by a sincerity that is perhaps more than anything the secret of their instant appeal. There is no forcing of the note, no effort at elaboration, no sacrifice to rhetorical points. Withal he says the things that people instinctively expect and want to hear, and he says them with a happy grace and a plain belief in the message that underlies them all, the assurance of the strength and solidarity of the Empire for which he speaks. The whole projection of this Royal personality upon the world is extraordinary. Look at the circumstances under which it is made. The passionate under-trend of society towards the dogmas of democracy, the tragic extinction, within the last five years, of more than one dynasty, the perpetual tendency of privilege, royal as well as any other, to liquesce into the common stream of human rights, are all against him. One would have supposed that roses strewn in the path of a Prince, at this point of the world's history, if strewn at all, would be none of nature's growing. Yet this Prince seems to prove that the King and the King's heir are far more a part of the people and bred from the nation, than any president. The Prince stands for the people. His character has been formed, his ideals fostered by healthy English training. It may possibly not be far-fetched to say that he is the product of intensive cultivation along national lines. Thus he appeals to the nation's pride of possession, and his place in their hearts is ready before he occupies it. It is no depreciation of the personal magnetism of the Heir to the Throne to say that he brought to light and stimulated Imperial enthusiasm already existing below the surface, and waiting only to be evoked, rather than that he created anything not already in being. Nevertheless, it must be remembered that the idea of the Empire as a union of sister nations co-operating and sharing ideals and hopes in a future they are bound together to bring about, is a young idea, as young as the Prince. It is not long since the Dominions and India had little beyond domestic affairs to exercise their powers of administration upon; their share in the Imperial idea was largely commercial, and chiefly concerned with the attraction of capital for the development of their natural resources. They had no voice in the world policy of the Anglo-Saxon race, and no apparent prospect of getting it. The Prince and his youth happily blend in the new partnership and the new prospect, making for all of us a very potential figure. Beside the charm, the buoyancy of youth, he has the romance of an epoch of world history full of possibilities for the peoples who live under the British flag. To this romance he contributes all that he is, and he contributes it in the most whole-hearted manner. The Prince was never tired of referring in his speeches to the bond created by common service in the great war. Wherever he went it was the returned soldier that he must see and greet, wounded or whole--how often has this chronicle had to dwell upon the long lines of them. "Returned sailors and soldiers, relations of the fallen, nurses and war-workers," backed by the shouting school-children--they have risen perhaps with some iteration before the eye of those who have followed the tale. But, looking back, the splendour fades out of the tropic sky and the opulence out of the great city, the whole panorama of sheep-run and factory, orchard and mine rolls up into a decoration; and the meaning of all we saw abides in those men and women and children working out their lot and their lives far from the home of the race, but standing, and ready to stand again, for its flag and its ideals. "One heritage we share though seas divide," declared the citizens of Sydney with the emphasis of a triumphal arch. The claim rang true. Distance cannot weaken this tie, nor oceans wash it out. No one undervalues the picturesqueness of the emotion the Prince has evoked amongst members of other races living under Anglo-Saxon tutelage and protection, but the real significance is in what it has drawn from peoples of our own stock. Supreme among the values that come out of it is the enduring quality of the British portion in the things of the mind and of character, in ideals, and standards. It is no vague sentiment that binds together the various branches of our people, but a unity that lives. The part of the Prince of Wales has been to waken a new consciousness throughout the Anglo-Saxon world. He stands for all that joins us and for all that we can do when we are together. INDEX Acapulco, 216 Adams (Sir Hamilton G.), 178 Addison (Organizer, Tasmania), 209 Adelaide, 164 Albany, 140 Allan (Pte. Duncan), 193 Allardice (Sir Wm.), 170 Allen (Captain M. C.), 129 American Kindness, 26, 215 American-West-Indian Relations, 233 Amiens, 179 Anglo-American Co-operation, 226 Ansley (Bishop, Trinidad), 222 Antigua, 231 _Anzac_ (H.M.A.S.), 101 Arthur's Pass, 81 Ashburton, 94 Atkinson (Mr. Robert), 31 Auckland, 47 _Australia_ (H.M.A.S.), 46, 176 Australian Bight, 140 Avaro Obregon, 217 Baker (Broken Hill Co.), 138 Balboa, 19, 23 Balclutha, 97 Ballarat, 109 Barbados, 9 Barton (Sir Edmund), 125 Barwell (Premier, S. Australia), 163, 164, 165 Bass Strait, 176 Bathurst, 193 Beerburrum, 189 Bell (Mr. Norris), 158 Bell (Mr. A. G.), 221 Bellringer (Mr. F.), 63 Bendigo, 110 Bennett (Brig.-General), 130 Bennett (Mr. Percy), 15 Bermuda, 236 Berry (Sir Graham), 105 Best (Mr. de B.), 221 Bethell (Major-General), 15 Black (Mr. Stuart), 108 Blake (Captain, R.N.), 15 Blayney, 206 Blenheim, 74 Blinman (Organizer, S. Australia), 209 Blue Mountains, 192 Board (Director Education, N.S.W.), 127 Boonah, 188 Boyle (Mayor, St. George), 240 Bridges (General), 132 Bridgetown, 10, 152 Brighton, 174 Brisbane, 182 Brisbane River, 183, 185 Broken Hills Proprietary Co., 137 Brown (Mayor, Napier), 67 Brown (Member, Court of Policy), 224 Brunner Valley, 80 Bulla Bulling, 155 Buller River, 76, 80 Butler (Architect), 108 _Calcutta_ (H.M.S.), 10, 223 _Calliope_ (H.M.S.), 80, 226 _Cambrian_ (H.M.S.), 230 Camperdown, 107 Canadian-West-Indian Agreement, 233 Canberra, 119, 132 Canobolas Mountains, 207 Canoubar, 194 Canterbury Plain, 94 Carroll (Sir James), 57 Carruthers (General), 24 Carter (Lady), 11 Casino, 187 Castlemaine, 110 Castries, 228 Cattaneo (Monsignor), 185, 187 Chancellor (Sir John), 221 Charlotte Sound, 73 Charlotte Bay, 95 Chaytor (General Sir E.), 61, 98 Christchurch, 81, 83 Christian (Brig.-General), 130 Claremount, 146 Clifford (Capt. Hon. B.), 209 Colac, 106 Collier (Mr. P.), 141 Colon, 220 Condell (Commissioner, Monserrat), 231 Cook (Sir Joseph), 112, 118 Coolgardie, 155 Coonamble, 193 Cooroy, 189 Coronado Beach, 25 Cottisloe, 146 Culebra Cut, 18 Cullen (Sir William), 128 Cutler (N.S.W., Shipbuilding), 136 Dalrymple (Colonel S.), 66 Dannevirke, 68 Davidson-Houston (Colonel), 228 Deane (Judge, Trinidad), 222 de Caignai (Father), 222 de Freitas (Mr. Anthony), 228 Delprat (Broken Hills Co.), 137 Demerara, 223 Dodds (Brig.-General), 112, 209 Dominica, 229 Dragon's Mouth, 226 Dubbo, 206 Dowling (Archbishop, Trinidad), 222 Duhig (Archbishop, Queensland), 187 Dumaresq (Commodore), 121, 209 Duncan-Hughes (Capt. J. G.), 209 Dunedin, 95 Duntroon, 131 Eden, 176 Elphinstone (Solicitor-General, Trinidad), 221 Estell (Minister of Works, Commonwealth), 136 Everett (Admiral), 237, 239 Farm Park, 184 Farm Cove, 121 Fassifern, 135 Father of the Ship, 36 Featherston, 69 Fechan (Australian New Zealand Co.), 194 Feilding, 66 Fergusson (Mr. Herbert), 227 Fihelly (Acting Premier, Queensland), 178, 185, 190, 208. Fiji, 41, 211 Frankton, 62 Fraser (Sir William), 61, 98 Fremantle, 145 Galbraith (Mayor, Ashburton), 94 Gatun Locks, 15 Gawler, 163 Geelong, 105 Georgetown, 223 Gibson (Mayor, Newcastle), 139 Gisborne, 100 Gore, 97 Gosford, 139 Grand Etang, 227 Grant (Rear-Admiral), 112, 118, 209 Great Dividing Range, 110 Great North West, 146 Grenada, 226 Greymouth, 79, 80 Griffin (Ch. Justice, Leeward Is.), 232 Griffith (Colonial Treasurer, Antigua), 232 Grigg (Lt.-Colonel Sir E.), 37 Groom (Minister Works, Commonwealth), 133 Gunn (S. Australian Labour Party), 165 Gympie, 189 Haddon-Smith (Sir George), 226, 228 Hagley Park, 82 Halsey (Admiral Sir Lionel), 36, 150 Hamilton, 53, 240 Hamilton (Mr. Gavin), 98 Hamilton (Lord Claud), 37 Hankins (Mrs. J. H.), 66 Hapa Tenure, 54 Harding (Engineer-Colonel, Panama Canal), 16 Harrisville, 188 Hastings, 68 Hawaii, 30 Hawera, 64 Hawkes Bay, 67 Hawkesbury River, 135 Hay (Mr. Clifford), 209 Haycroft (Sir Thomas), 227 Heritage (Colonel F. B.), 209 High Street, 177 Hinemoa (Princess), 55 Hislop (Mr. James), 61, 98 Hobart, 170 Hobbs (General Sir Talbot), 142 Hobson (Captain, R.N.), 48 Hodgson (N.S.W. Railways), 178 Hokitika, 79 Holmes (Otira Tunnel), 81 Holloway (Mr. E. J.), 113 Honolulu, 27, 215 Huntley, 54 Hughes (Rt. Hon. William), 103, 112 Hughes (Rear-Admiral), 236 Humphries (W. Australian Saw Mills), 148 Hutt Valley, 69 _Hygeia_ (S.S.), 102 Inangahua, 78, 79 Invercargill, 97 Ipswich, 188 Jackaroo (The), 195 James (Capt. R.), 209 Jellibrand (Major-Gen. Sir J.), 170 Jervis Bay, 118 Jobson (Brig.-Gen.), 130 Johnston (Admiral), 16 Johnston (Colonial Secretary, Leeward Is.), 232 Kaahumanu (Queen), 34 Kaitangata, 97 Kalgoorlie, 156 Kamshamcha (King), 34 _Kansas_ (U.S.S.), 236 Kawananakoa (Princess), 32 Kelso, 193 Kennedy (Colonel), 16 Kidnappers' Island, 67 King's Kava, 44, 214 Kyneton, 110 Laborde (Mr. E.), 227 Landsborough, 189 Lascelles (Messrs. & Co. etc.), 106 Lathlain (Mayor, Perth), 141, 142, 143 Launceston, 173 Lawson, 193 Lee (Sir Walter), 170 Lefevre (Señor), 15 Legge (General), 131 Leigh (Capt. Hon. Piers), 37 Lennon (Hon. Mr.), 178 Liliuokalani (Queen), 28 Liverpool (Earl of), 98 Liverpool Hills, 182 Lloyd (Brig.-General H. W.), 112, 209 Lockyer Plain, 182 Loma Point, 23 Lucas (Messrs. & Co.), 108 Luke (Mayor, Wellington), 69 Lyttleton, 83 McDougall (Sergeant, V.C.), 170 MacDougall (Wire factory), 138 McEwan (Australian and N.Z. Land Co.), 193 McCarthy (Governor, Hawaii), 30, 215, 216 MacDonald (Opposition, N.Z. Govt.), 98 McGeachie (Mr. Duncan), 136 McLeod (Canoubar Run), 194 MacMillan (Justice), 141 MacNamara, (Mr. D. L.), 113 Macquarie Lake, 136 McVilly (N.Z. Railways), 62, 98 Malietoa Laupepa, 213 Malietoa Tanumafili, 213 Manawatu River, 66 Markham (Panama Canal Officer), 220 Martin (Brig.-General), 130 Martinique, 229 Marton, 65 Maryborough, 189 Massey (Rt. Hon. William), 50, 59 Mataura, 97 Maungatapu, 75 Maxwell (Mayor, Brisbane), 183 Melbourne, 101 Mereweather (Sir Edward), 230, 232 Miller (Sir Dennison), 125 Milner (Dr. F.), 95 Miraflores, 19 Mitchell (Premier, W. Australia), 141, 144, 149 Moana Hotel, 215 Mokoia, 55 Monserrat, 231 Moonee Valley, 117 Morgan (Mr. F. H.), 62 Mosgiel, 97 Moulder (Mayor, Adelaide), 164, 169 Mountbatten (Lord Louis), 39 Mount Egmont, 63 Mount Wallace, 97 Mui (Colonel), 222 Mundaring Weir, 154 Murchison, 78 Murray River, 110 Mutch (Education Minister, N.S.W.), 127 Myowera, 194 Napier, 67 Napier (Admiral), 238 Nelson Park, 67 Nelson, 74, 75 Neptune on the _Renown_, 35 Newcastle, 135, 136 Newdegate (Sir Francis), 141 _New Mexico_ (U.S.S.), 23 New Plymouth, 63 Newport (Surgeon, Commander), 151 New South Wales, 116 New York Hospitality, 26 Ngata (Hon. Mr. A. T.), 57 Ngaruawahia, 53 Ngauruhoe, 63 Niall (Canoubar Estate), 194 Nichols (Senator, Dominica), 230 Noble (Captain, R.N.), 239 North (Captain, R.N.), 36 North Island, 59 Nullarbor Plain, 158 Nyngan, 195 Oamaru, 95 O'Brien (Sir Charles), 10 O'Donovan (N.Z. Police), 98 Ogden (Tasmanian Govt., Opposition), 171 Oliver (Shire President, Coonamble), 193 Otira, 81 Otway Forest, 107 Pahiatua, 68 Palmerston-North, 66 Panama, 15, 219 Parallah, 174 Parramatta, 135 Parkerville, 141 Parry (Archbishop, Demerara), 224 Patea, 64 Patrick (Lt.-Commander, R.N.), 130 Port Adelaide, 168 Port Augusta, 163 Port Chalmers, 96, 97 Port Melbourne, 118 Port of Spain, 221 Port Phillip, 100 Portsmouth, 1, 241 President of Panama, 20 Pukikura Park, 63 Queanbeyan, 131 Queensland, 176 Quorn, 163 Rai Hills, 75 Railways (N.Z.), 88 Rangitoto, 48 Red-legs, 13 _Renown_ (H.M.S.), 3 Reefton, 79 Rhodes (Mr. Tahu), 98 Rice (General), 224 Riley (Archbishop, Perth), 144 Rimutaka, 69 Roberts (Mrs.), 170 Robinson (Lt.-Colonel), 209 Rodondo Island, 100 Rodwell (Sir Cecil), 42 Rosenthal (Major-General Sir C.), 130 Rotorua, 57 Ruahine, 65 Russell (Judge, Trinidad), 222 Rust (Mayor, Port of Spain), 222 Ryrie (Major-General), 130 St. George's, 226 St. Joseph, 222 St. Hilda, 102 St. Lucia, 228 Sale of West Indies, 14 Saluting the Quarterdeck, 16 Samoa, 212 San Diego, 22 Scholefield (Professor Guy), 62 Scott (Mayor, Suva), 42 Scott (Sir Bickham), 46 Seddon (late Prime Minister, N.Z.), 79 Seddon (Mr. Thomas), 79 Shapcott (Organizer, W. Australia), 209 Simonin (Monsignor), 16 Sleeman (Lt.-Colonel), 61, 98 Smith (Sir Alfred), 222 South Australia, 163 Southern California, 22 South Island, 73 Spencer Gulf, 163 Stephens (Governor, California), 23 Storey (Premier, N.S.W.), 123, 124, 125 Stratford, 64 Steer (Organizer, Queensland), 209 Strong (Colonel), 127 Subiaco, 146 Suva, 211 Swan River, 141, 145 Sydney, 119, 176 _Sydney_ (H.M.A.S.), 142 Tahua Ceremony, 43 Taranaki, 63 Tarawera, 55 Tate (Colonel R. W.), 212 Taylor (Captain, R.N.), 38 Tekuiti, 63 Temuka, 95 Terowie, 163 Thacker (Mayor, Christchurch), 81 Thakombau (King), 42 Theodore (Premier, Queensland), 178 Thomas (Sir Godfrey), 37 Thomas (Mr. Joyce), 227 Tiaro, 189 Timaru, 95 Toowoomba, 191 Toronto, 136 Trinidad, 221 Tuamarina, 73 Tuimale Fana, 213 Tudor (Leader Opposition, Victoria), 104, 113 Tunbridge, 174 Turakina River, 65 Victoria, 100 Visiting the Ship, 16 Vowles (Leader Opposition, Queensland), 185 Waikiki Beach, 30, 215 Waimarino Forest, 63 Waipukurau, 68 Wairarapa, 69 Waitaki River, 95 Walcott (Mr. H. B.), 221 Wallangarra, 178, 192 Walsh Island, 136 Walter (Mr. Robert), 230 Walters (Captain, R.N.), 118 Wangamoa, 75 Wanganui, 64 Ward (Sir Joseph), 87 Ward-room Mess, 6 Warwick, 181 Watt (Mayor, Hamilton), 53 Weigall (Sir Archibald), 163, 164 Wellington, 69, 206 Werribee Plain, 105 Western Australia, 140 West Maitland, 177 Westport, 79 Wheatley (Dr.), 118 White (Major-Gen. 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A SOLDIER OF THE LEGION. THE SHOP GIRL. THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTRESS. SECRET HISTORY. THE LOVE PIRATE. _All_ 7_s_. 6_d_. _net_. CRUCIFIX CORNER. 6_s_. _net_. =Methuen's Two-Shilling Novels= Cheap Editions of many of the most Popular Novels of the day _Write for Complete List_ _Fcap. 8vo_. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Transcriber's notes: Fixed up various commas and full-stops. Hyphens are determined by the majority with or without-- Taken hyphen out in 'countryside'. Put hyphen in 'blue-jackets'. Taken hyphen out in 'foreshore'. Taken hyphen out in 'flagship'. Put hyphen in 'out-turn'. Taken hyphen out in 'pressmen'. Put hyphen in 'bare-headed'. Put hyphen in 'foot-plate'. Put hyphen in 'hard-wood'. Put hyphen in 'home-like'. Taken hyphen out in 'inshore'. Taken hyphen out in 'pineapples'. Put hyphen in 'Red-legs'. Taken hyphen out in 'roadside'. P.43, 44, 214 & index, 'Khava' should be 'Kava', changed. P.43. 'Yagona' should be 'Yaqona', changed. P.50. 'bougainvillias' should be 'bougainvilleas', changed. P.55. 'Hinomaa' should be 'Hinemoa', changed in text and index. P.56. 't seems' should be 'it', changed. P.75. 'Wanganoa' should be 'Wangamoa'. changed. P.87. 'Reformerst' should be 'Reformers', changed. P.135 & index. 'Paramatta' should be 'Parramatta', changed. P.198. 'billee' tea should be 'billy' tea, changed. P.202. 'gulahs' should be 'galahs', but also known as 'gallahs' changed. P.206 & index. 'Canoblas' should be 'Canobolas', and the index should be 'p.206.' changed. P.206. 'Dubho' should be 'Dubbo', changed. P.224. Taken out dash from 'sugar-'. P.237 & P.239. 'bougainvilliers' should be 'bougainvilleas', changed. P.244. 'Graymouth' should be 'Greymouth', changed. P.250, index. 'Dubho' in index should be 'Dubbo', changed. In TEXT version: Italics is displayed as _Second Editions_. Bold is displayed as =Williamson=. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
44551	----	Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). A carat character is used to denote superscription: a single character following the carat is superscripted (example: 27^9). The conventional male and female symbols are indicated by [M] and [F]. Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/newzealandmothsb00huds * * * * * NEW ZEALAND MOTHS AND BUTTERFLIES. "The rearing of larvæ, . . . when joined with the entomological collection, adds immense interest to Saturday afternoon rambles, and forms an admirable introduction to the study of physiology." "When simple curiosity passes into the love of knowledge as such, and the gratification of the æsthetic sense of the beauty of completeness and accuracy seems more desirable than the easy indolence of ignorance; when the finding out of the causes of things becomes a source of joy, and he is counted happy who is successful in the search; common knowledge of Nature passes into what our forefathers called Natural History, from whence there is but a step to that which used to be termed Natural Philosophy, and now passes by the name of Physical Science." "It is interesting to contemplate a tangled bank, clothed with many plants of many kinds, with birds singing on the bushes, with various insects flitting about, and with worms crawling through the damp earth, and to reflect that these elaborately constructed forms, so different from each other, and dependent upon each other in so complex a manner, have all been produced by laws acting around us. These laws, taken in the largest sense, being Growth with Reproduction; Inheritance which is almost implied by reproduction; Variability from the indirect and direct action of the conditions of life, and from use and disuse: a Ratio of Increase so high as to lead to a Struggle for Life, and as a consequence to Natural Selection, entailing Divergence of Character and the Extinction of less-improved forms. Thus, from the war of Nature, from famine and death, the most exalted object which we are capable of conceiving, namely, the production of the higher animals, directly follows. There is a grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed by the Creator into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being evolved." NEW ZEALAND MOTHS AND BUTTERFLIES (MACRO-LEPIDOPTERA). BY G. V. HUDSON, F.E.S., _Author of 'An Elementary Manual of New Zealand Entomology.'_ WITH 13 PLATES. LONDON: WEST, NEWMAN & Co., 54, HATTON GARDEN, E.C. 1898. [Illustration] PREFACE. The present work is intended as a guide to those who desire to collect or study our native _Lepidoptera_, and also as a book of reference to the general reader. In the Introduction I have first given an outline of the Transformations and Structure of the _Lepidoptera_. Then a brief sketch of the Darwinian theories respecting the origin of species and their special application to various phenomena exhibited by moths and butterflies, as well as a short outline of the general principles which have been followed in framing modern classifications of the order. Next follow five chapters on the various groups dealt with. With a few exceptions this work only treats of what are, for the sake of convenience, termed the _Macro-Lepidoptera_. A similar work on the numerous and interesting species of _Micro-Lepidoptera_ found in New Zealand may at some future time be undertaken. In conclusion, I have to discharge the pleasurable duty of thanking the numerous entomologists who have so liberally assisted me in the production of this work. First, and especially, my thanks are due to Mr. Meyrick, without whose masterly papers and 'Handbook' but little could have been accomplished. Next, to Mr. R. W. Fereday, who very kindly allowed me to figure many species of which he alone possesses specimens--in itself an invaluable assistance. I have also to express my thanks to Messrs. E. F. Hawthorne, H. P. Hanify, R. I. Kingsley, A. Norris, A. Philpott, and others for the loan of specimens, and for much valuable information regarding the localities and habits of rare or local species. Lastly, I have to acknowledge the aid so willingly given by my lamented friend, the late Mr. A. S. Olliff, of Sydney. KARORI, WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND, 1897. CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTION ix THE CARADRININA 1 THE NOTODONTINA 38 THE PAPILIONINA 101 THE PSYCHINA 122 THE MICROPTERYGINA (PART ONLY) 127 APPENDIX (DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF PLANTS) 137 GENERAL INDEX 141 SPECIAL INDEX 142 PLATES AND EXPLANATIONS 145 {ix}INTRODUCTION. The order _Lepidoptera_, which includes all those insects commonly known as Moths and Butterflies, is chiefly distinguished by its members possessing four wings clothed with numerous minute scales, the term _Lepidoptera_ being derived from the two Greek words, [Greek: lepis], a scale, and [Greek: pteron], a wing. The mouth of these insects is suctorial, the maxillæ forming a spiral proboscis which is coiled up between the large labial palpi when not in use (see Plate I., figs. 5 and 6). The other oral organs are rudimentary. To acquire this form these insects pass through three very distinct stages, viz., the Egg, the Larva, and the Pupa. I.--METAMORPHOSIS. THE EGG. The eggs of _Lepidoptera_ are generally somewhat globular, much flattened above and beneath. Some are very elaborately sculptured, whilst others are quite smooth. They are usually white or yellowish, but always change much in colour as the contained embryo develops. THE LARVA. The larvæ of moths and butterflies are popularly known as caterpillars. They always consist of thirteen segments, segment number one being the head. The head is furnished with several simple eyes (Plate I., fig. 2, AA), a pair of very short antennæ (BB), and a very powerful masticatory mouth. The mouth consists of the following organs: The labrum, or upper lip (1); a pair of mandibles, or upper jaws, working like scissor-blades (2,2); two maxillæ, or lower jaws (3,3), each carrying a jointed organ termed the maxillary palpus; and the labium, or lower lip (4); which bears another pair of minute jointed appendages--the labial palpi. Segments 2, 3, and 4, which answer to the thorax of the perfect insect, are each furnished with a pair of legs. They consist of the six following joints (fig. 2): (_a_) coxa, (_b_) trochanter, (_c_) femur, (_d_) tibia, (_e_) tarsus, and (_f_) claw. These legs correspond to those of the perfect insect. The remaining nine segments of the body constitute the abdomen. Usually segments 7 to 9 and 13, each have a pair of fleshy pads, which are termed prolegs and are furnished on their edges with a row of minute hooklets (see Plate I., fig. 14, proleg highly magnified). It is these hooklets which enable caterpillars to hold on by means of their prolegs with such great tenacity. The number of the prolegs varies considerably in different groups and families. The _spiracles_, or orifices of the air-tubes, are situated on each side of the larva just above the legs. They are usually present on segments 2 and 5 to 12, but vary {x}considerably in different groups and families. The larva is provided with a very complete digestive system, which consists of the following organs (see Plate I., fig. 9): A, the oesophagus; D, the ventriculus; F, the clavate intestine; E, the ilium; H, the colon; K, the biliary vessels; and O, the spinning vessels. These last open at a small orifice in the labium termed the spinneret (fig. 2, 5). They supply the silken threads which are employed by most larvæ in constructing their cocoons, and which also serve in cases of danger as a rapid means of retreat. Many larvæ, which live on shrubs and trees, suddenly lower themselves to the ground by means of one of these silken threads, and thus often escape being devoured by insectivorous animals. The entire growth of the insect is accomplished during the larval condition, the increase in size being frequently very rapid. Owing to this circumstance larvæ are often compelled to shed their skin, and in many species a very considerable alteration both in the shape and colour takes place at each moult, or ecdysis as it is sometimes termed. THE PUPA. The pupa of a Lepidopterous insect is completely encased in a chitinous envelope. With the exception of a slight twirling of the abdominal segments it is incapable of any motion. In the pupa of _Micropteryx_ the mandibles and labial palpi are said to be functionally active, but this is a very exceptional though extremely interesting case. In conjunction with other evidence it would appear to indicate that the _Lepidoptera_ originated from insects with active pupæ. The number of free or movable segments of pupæ varies considerably in different groups and genera, and by some modern authors it is regarded as a character of much importance in the framing of their classifications. The various organs of the perfect insect are distinctly marked out on the otherwise uniform integument of the pupa. In some groups, notably the _Micropterygina_, these organs are much more distinctly indicated than in others. II.--ANATOMY. THE PERFECT INSECT OR IMAGO. In common with all other members of the class, the body of a Lepidopterous insect consists of three main divisions: (1) the head, (2) the thorax, and (3) the abdomen. THE HEAD. The front of the head is termed the _face_, the top the _crown_, the sides are nearly entirely occupied by the compound eyes (Plate I., fig. 11, AA), and the lower surface by the organs of the mouth. The _Eyes_ consist of a very large number of simple lenses arranged in the form of two hemispheres, one on each side of the head. The _ocelli_, or simple eyes, are situated on the crown, and are usually almost entirely covered by scales. The _Antennæ_ are two jointed appendages attached to the top of the head above the eyes. They vary very much in structure. The following are the terms used in describing the different forms of antennæ in the _Lepidoptera_:-- 1. _Pectinated_, when the joints have long processes like the teeth of a comb. If these are on one side only, the antennæ are _unipectinated_; if on both sides, _bipectinated_. (Plate I., fig. 20, bipectinated antenna of _Nyctemera annulata_.) 2. _Dentate_, when the joints are armed with slight pointed spines. {xi}3. _Serrate_, when the joints have sharp projections like the teeth of a saw. (Fig. 18, antenna of _Melanchra composita_.) 4. _Filiform_, when the whole antenna is simple or thread-like. (Fig. 19, antenna of _Epirranthis alectoraria_.) The clothing of the antennæ also varies, and is distinguished as under:-- 1. _Ciliated_, when clothed with one or two series of short, fine hairs. 2. _Fasciculate-ciliated_, when the hairs are collected into tufts. (Fig. 17, antenna of _Chloroclystis plinthina_.) 3. _Pubescent_, when the antennæ are clothed with uniform short hairs. (Fig. 19.) The functions of the antennæ are still a matter of dispute amongst entomologists. The majority of the older naturalists regarded them as organs of hearing. The antennæ are almost always more fully developed in the male than in the female. From this circumstance many modern entomologists consider that one of their functions is to enable the former to find the latter. The organs of the mouth are thus distinguished:-- 1. The _Labrum_, or upper lip (Plate I., fig. 11, _l_), a minute rudimentary plate situated in front immediately above the proboscis. 2. The _Mandibles_, or upper jaws (m.m), two minute sickle-shaped organs situated just below the labrum, also rudimentary. 3. The _Proboscis_, or _Haustellum_[1] (c), a tubular extensible organ formed of the two maxillæ, or lower jaws, which have become greatly elongated, semi-tubular, and closely pressed together at the edges, but separable at the will of the insect--a structure which enables the organ to be easily cleansed when necessary, and is extremely interesting as indicating so clearly the true development of the proboscis from the maxillæ. The _Maxillary palpi_ (p.p) are two jointed organs attached to the base of the proboscis and very frequently rudimentary, but fully developed amongst certain of the _Micro-Lepidoptera_. The _Labium_, or lower lip, is situated below the proboscis and carries the _Labial palpi_ (figs. 5 and 6), two large jointed organs which are very conspicuous in nearly all the species and often quite conceal the maxillary palpi. They are usually regarded as organs of touch, but their true function does not seem to be properly understood. In the _Lepidoptera_ they appear to protect the proboscis, which, when out of use, is always coiled up in a spiral between them. The labrum and mandibles can only be seen by removing the large labial palpi. THE THORAX carries the organs of locomotion, which consist of two pairs of wings attached to its sides, and three pairs of legs attached beneath, a pair belonging to each of the three segments of which the thorax is composed. On the front of the thorax there are two flap-like organs covered with scales, termed the _patagia_. The _Wings_ vary greatly in shape, but usually they are triangular. The portion of the wing which joins on to the thorax is termed the _base_. The front margin is called the _costa_, the outer margin the _termen_, and the lower margin the _dorsum_, these being described as situated when the wing is extended in flight. The angle between the costa and termen {xii}is called the _apex_, and the angle between the termen and the dorsum the _tornus_ (see Plate I., fig. 1). The termen and dorsum are edged with a fringe of hair-like scales, termed the _cilia_. At the base of the hind-wings is generally situated a stiff bristle, or several stiff hairs, called the _frenulum_, the ends of which pass through a chitinous process on the under side of the fore-wing near the dorsum. This process is termed the _retinaculum_, and serves, in conjunction with the frenulum, to lock the wings together during flight. In the female both these organs are often very imperfectly developed, the frenulum consisting of several bristly hairs, and the retinaculum of a group of stiff scales. In many of the _Lepidoptera_ both frenulum and retinaculum are entirely wanting. "In the _Micropterygina_, a membranous or spine-like process called the _jugum_ rises from the dorsum of the fore-wing near the base and passes under the hind-wing, which is thus held between the process and the overlapping portion of the fore-wing."--(Meyrick.) The veins of the wings are thus described by Mr. Meyrick:-- "The wings are traversed by a system of _Veins_--tubular structures which serve at once as extensions of the tracheal system, and to form a stiff framework for the support of the wing. In the normal type of _Lepidoptera_ the fore-wings possess three free veins towards the dorsum, termed 1_a_, 1_b_, and 1_c_; a central cell, out of which rise ten veins, numbered 2 to 11, the sides of the cell being known as the upper median, lower median, and transverse veins respectively; and a free subcostal vein, numbered 12; whilst the hind-wings differ from the fore-wings in having only six veins rising from the central cell, numbered 2 to 7, so that the free subcostal vein is numbered 8 (see Plate I., figs. 3 and 4, assumed type of neuration of a Lepidopterous insect). In some forms a forked parting-vein traverses the middle of the cell longitudinally, and a second parting-vein traverses the upper portion, so as to form a secondary cell; but these are more frequently absent or represented only by folds in the membrane. In a few forms there is a tendency to the production of several false veins, termed _pseudoneuria_, appearing as short branches from the subcostal vein of the hind-wings to the costa; these are thickenings of the membrane, and are commonly very irregular and variable, often uneven in thickness or incomplete. Sometimes one of these near the base is better developed and more permanent in character; it is then termed the _præcostal spur_ (see Plate I., figs. 8^9 and 27^9). Modifications in the general arrangement of the veins may arise through any of the following processes, viz.: (1) _obsolescence_, when a vein loses its normal tubular structure, becoming attenuated and reduced in substance, until it appears a mere fold of the membrane (Plate II., fig. 60, vein 5 in hind-wings of _Selidosema_); (2) _stalking_, when the two veins are fused together for a portion of their length from their base, so as to appear to rise on a common stalk (Plate II., fig. 34, veins 6 and 7 in hind-wing of _Hydriomena_); (3) _coincidence_, when two veins are fused together for the whole of their length, so that one appears entirely absent, an extreme form of stalking; (4) _anastomosis_, when two veins rise separate, meet, and are fused together for a certain distance, and then separate again (Plate II., fig. 23, veins 7 and 8 in the hind-wings of the [F] of _Tatosoma_); (5) _concurrence_, when a vein rises separate, runs into another, and does not separate again, an extreme form of anastomosis; (6) _connection_, when two veins are connected by a short transverse bar passing from one to the other, a special form of anastomosis, evolved from the ordinary form under the influence of a tendency to lateral extension (Plate II., fig. 28, veins 7 and 8 in hind-wing of _Paradetis_). Vein 1_b_ in both wings is often furcate at the base. {xiii}"The type of veins in the _Micropterygina_ differs from that described above in two essential particulars, viz.: (1) there may be three additional veins in the fore-wings, rising out of vein 11 or 12; and (2) the veins of the hind-wings are practically identical in number and structure with those of the fore-wings, being thus much more numerous than in the ordinary type. There is also often a system of cross-bars between the veins near the base of the wing (Plate I., figs. 22 and 23, neuration of _Hepialus_). "The structure of the veins can be best observed on the under surface of the wing, where they are more prominent. The student should begin by completely denuding of scales a few wings of common species: the wing should be cut off and laid on a moistened piece of glass, to which it will adhere; the scales should then be removed, first from one surface and then from the other, with a fine, moist camel's-hair brush--an operation requiring a little patience and delicacy of touch; the veins will thus be rendered conspicuous.[2] When, however, the student has familiarised himself with the general subject, it will not be found necessary in practice to resort to this process; most details will be easily observed without denudation[3]; where this is not the case (as where the veins are closely crowded or otherwise obscured), the scales can be removed with the brush on the under surface in the locality of the difficulty only, without cutting off the wing or otherwise damaging the specimen, which remains in the collection available for all purposes as before; with proper practice, even the smallest species are amenable to this treatment, which does not require more skill than the actual setting of the specimen. Some workers prefer to put a drop of benzine on the spot, which renders it temporarily transparent; the effect is short-lived, as the benzine evaporates rapidly, and the cilia (if long) are liable to be damaged by this method." The _Legs_ consist of the following joints (see Plate I., fig. 21): (1) _coxa_, (2) _trochanter_, (3) _femur_, (4) _tibia_, (5) _tarsus_, (6) _claw_. The tarsus normally consists of five joints, but is more or less aborted when the leg is not employed for walking. The spines (SS) on the tibiæ of the several legs vary considerably in size and number. They are often useful to the systematist for purposes of classification. THE ABDOMEN consists of nine segments, some of which are often fused together. It contains the various internal organs, of which the most important are those of Digestion and Reproduction. The _Digestive System_ (Plate I., fig. 10) consists of the following organs: A, the _oesophagus_, or throat; C, the _sucking stomach_; D, the _ventriculus_ or stomach; E, the _small intestine_; G, the _cæcum_; H, the _colon_; K, the _biliary vessels_; N, the _salivary vessels_. The function of the _sucking stomach_ is to exhaust the air in the throat and proboscis, and thus to cause the ascent of the fluids into the stomach when the insect is feeding. III.--ORIGIN OF SPECIES. The theory of the origin of species as propounded by Darwin may be thus very briefly summarised:-- {xiv}VARIATION.--No two organisms are exactly alike; there is always some variation from the parent form, in some cases very slight, in others considerable. (For examples of variation see Plate VII., figs. 1 to 9, varieties of _Hydriomena deltoidata_; Plate VIII., figs. 42 to 47, varieties of _Epirranthis alectoraria_; Plate IX., figs. 6 to 14, varieties of _Selidosema productata_; Plate X., figs. 13 to 23, varieties of _Azelina gallaria_; Plate X., figs. 39 to 47, varieties of _Declana floccosa_.) INHERITANCE.--Many of these variations are inherited--a fact demonstrated by our domestic plants and animals, where man has selected and bred from varieties suitable for his purposes, and has thus produced races in which the variation is permanent. Many of the races of domestic animals differ as much from one another as do some distinct species of wild animals. STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE.--All animals and plants produce far more offspring than can possibly survive, thus giving rise to the struggle for existence. For example: The average number of eggs laid by a Lepidopterous insect is certainly over 100, and in many species this number is greatly exceeded. Assuming each female to lay 100 eggs, the progeny from a single pair would amount, after six generations, to over six million individuals. NATURAL SELECTION, or the SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST.--In the struggle for existence which necessarily results from such a great increase of individuals, those variations which favoured the possessors would be preserved, whilst those which did not, would be gradually exterminated. This principle of the preservation of the favourable varieties in the struggle for life is called Natural Selection, or the Survival of the Fittest. DIVERGENCE OF CHARACTER.--As there are so many different places and conditions in the economy of nature which can be occupied by organic beings differently constituted, individuals which diverged most from the original type would be brought into less severe competition, than those which diverged only in a slight degree. For instance, if we represent the original form as A, occupying one place in the economy of nature; a second form as B, occupying a somewhat similar place; a third form as C, occupying a very different place to A although somewhat similar place to B, it is obvious that B would enter into severe competition with both A and C, whilst A and C might not trend to any great extent on one another's place in the natural economy; hence B would be exterminated before either A or C. In other words, natural selection continually tends to increase the slight differences, which we call varieties, into the greater differences, which we call species. The following phenomena, which have long been observed by students of the _Lepidoptera_, will serve as excellent examples of the operation of natural selection:-- PROTECTIVE RESEMBLANCE.--This term is applied to those classes of form or colour which enable an animal to so closely resemble its surroundings as to escape the notice of its enemies. Numerous examples of protective resemblance exist in the New Zealand moths and butterflies; in fact, it may safely be asserted that nearly all the colouring we observe in these insects has been acquired for protective purposes. The following species, amongst many others which will be described hereafter, exhibit in a very marked degree the phenomenon of protective resemblance: _Epirranthis alectoraria_, _Selidosema dejectaria_, and _Drepanodes muriferata_ resemble dead leaves; _Chloroclystis {xv}bilineolata_, _Tatosoma agrionata_, and _Erana graminosa_ resemble, when at rest, patches of moss; _Selidosema productata_ and _S. lupinata_ resemble the bark of trees; _Chloroclystis lichenodes_, _Declana floccosa_, and _Elvia glaucata_ resemble variously coloured lichens. It is almost unnecessary to point out that all those variations, which tended to conceal the possessors from their enemies, would be preserved in the struggle for existence, and that these numerous and perfect instances of protective resemblance would inevitably result from the operation of natural selection. The dark colouration of Alpine and Arctic _Lepidoptera_, which enables them to rapidly absorb heat during the short and fitful gleams of sunshine experienced on mountains or in high latitudes, is also an instance of adaptation to conditions through the influence of natural selection. This was first pointed out by Lord Walsingham in 1885. The almost complete absence of white species in these localities is a good example of the extinction of forms unfitted to their surroundings. CONTRAST COLOURS.--In this class of colouring the fore-wings only are protectively coloured, the hind-wings being very conspicuous. Contrast colouring is well exemplified by several of the insects included in the genus _Notoreas_. The sudden exhibition of the hind-wings during flight dazzles the eye of the pursuer. When the insect immediately afterwards closes its wings and the fore-wings alone are visible, it is extremely difficult to see. This form of protective colouring was also first drawn attention to by Lord Walsingham. (See page 75.) WARNING COLOURS.--Insects, which are unfit for food or nauseous, are not protectively coloured, but on the contrary are rendered as conspicuous as possible. This class of colouring is well illustrated by one of our commonest moths, _Nyctemera annulata_ (Pl. IV., figs. 1 and 2). The principle of warning colours was first discovered by Mr. A. R. Wallace, and is graphically described in Professor Poulton's entertaining work, 'The Colours of Animals.' The possession of nauseous qualities would be of little value to an insect, unless it could be at once recognised by insectivorous animals and avoided as food. If a nauseous insect were not easily identified it would speedily be destroyed by what Professor Poulton ingeniously terms "experimental tasting"; hence, through the process of natural selection, all nauseous species have become very conspicuously coloured. It may be remarked that warning colours are extremely rare amongst the New Zealand species, and I am not aware of any other example than that already given. MIMICRY.--This term is applied to those remarkable cases where a harmless or edible species imitates in form and colouring a highly armed or nauseous species. No instances of this extremely interesting class of protection are yet known amongst the New Zealand _Lepidoptera_, but a very perfect example of mimicry exists between two common introduced species of _Hymenoptera_ and _Diptera_, the well-known honey-bee and the drone-fly. The superficial resemblance between these two insects is very close. The bee, as every one knows, is armed with a powerful sting, whilst the drone-fly is unarmed. In this case it can be seen that if a harmless insect varied in the direction of resembling a formidable or objectionable species it would be a decided advantage to it, and such varieties would tend to be continually preserved and improved, through the operation of natural selection. The subject of mimicry has been alluded to here as it is not impossible that some instances of it may yet be discovered in connection with our native _Lepidoptera_. {xvi}ORNAMENTAL COLOURING.--This class of colouring occurs in many species, especially amongst the butterflies, and is not apparently connected in any way with protection. Darwin supposes that it has arisen through the females of each species always selecting the most beautiful males as mates, hence these alone would leave progeny, and the females themselves would afterwards become beautiful through the effects of inheritance. This principle Darwin has termed Sexual Selection, and has discussed it in great detail in his work on the 'Descent of Man.' The fact, that amongst birds and butterflies the males are nearly always the most brilliantly coloured and the most beautiful, together with an immense mass of other evidence, tends, I think, to entirely support Darwin's theory, although it should be mentioned that several eminent naturalists, including Mr. Wallace, do not admit the principle of Sexual Selection. IV.--CLASSIFICATION. From a further consideration of the foregoing principles it will be seen that all existing species are held to be descended by true generation from pre-existing species, and that, consequently, all the relationships we observe between species are explained by community of origin. The most natural system of classification is, therefore, that which best reveals the scheme of descent, or, as it is termed, the phylogeny, of the group of organisms classified. To construct a perfect system of classification on these principles a knowledge of not only all the existing species of _Lepidoptera_ would be essential, but also of all the extinct species, and it is needless to say that such knowledge is quite unattainable. Nevertheless large numbers of species are now known from many parts of the world, and a very extensive collection has recently been employed by Mr. Meyrick in framing a classification of the _Lepidoptera_, which is, to the best of my belief, the first constructed on strictly Darwinian principles. Although adopting Mr. Meyrick's system in the present work I do not agree unreservedly with all his conclusions; but I have not attempted to alter his system in accordance with my own views, as I conceive that the conclusions of a naturalist, who has only had the opportunity of studying a restricted fauna, would necessarily be liable to considerable error. The general principles on which Mr. Meyrick has founded his system are practically those laid down by Darwin in his 'Origin of Species,' and may be thus summarised:-- A. Resemblances between all organisms are explained by community of origin, the amount of difference representing the amount of modification and expressible in the classification as varieties, species, genera, families, groups, orders, &c. The amount of difference does not _necessarily_ bear any direct relation to time, many forms remaining almost stationary whilst others are undergoing development. B. By a consideration of the following laws the age of a division can be approximately arrived at; that is to say, its position in the great genealogical tree of the _Lepidoptera_ can be, to some extent, determined:-- "(1) No new organ can be produced except as a modification of some previously existing structure. "(2) A lost organ cannot be regained. "(3) A rudimentary organ is rarely redeveloped."--(Meyrick.) {xvii}C. The greatest care is necessary to avoid being misled by adaptive characters, _i.e._, characters which are very important to the welfare of the species, and hence much modified through the agency of natural selection. A familiar instance of superficial resemblance, due to the presence of similar adaptive characters, may be observed in fishes and whales, where two groups of animals with but little real relationship have, through living under similar conditions, become extremely like each other in external appearance. Other examples might be given amongst exotic _Lepidoptera_. Thus, many noxious species are closely mimicked by harmless forms which are often far removed from them in real affinity. These cases of adaptive resemblances abound amongst all organisms, and have often deceived experienced naturalists. It is in consequence of the illusive nature of these external resemblances amongst different members of the _Lepidoptera_, that the structure of the neuration of the wings is now considered of such great importance as a character for purposes of classification. The numerous modifications in the position of the veins and their presence or absence in certain groups can, so far as we are able to see, have had very little effect on the well-being of those insects possessing such modifications. Hence it may fairly be assumed, that these structures have been free from the influence of natural selection for a very lengthened period. It is thus contended that the neuration of a Lepidopterous insect probably reveals more plainly than any other character its true relationship with other species. The descent of all the _Lepidoptera_ from some ancient member of the _Trichoptera_ (or caddis-flies) is thus proved, according to Mr. Meyrick:-- "From a consideration of the laws enunciated above, there can be no doubt that the _Micropterygina_ are the ancestral group of the _Lepidoptera_, from which all others have descended; this is sufficiently proved by the existence of the four or more additional veins in the hind-wings of that group, for these veins, if not originally present, could not have been afterwards produced. Of the two families of that group, the _Micropterygidæ_, which possess an additional vein (or veins) in the fore-wings, and fully developed six-jointed maxillary palpi, must be more primitive than the _Hepialidæ_. Now if the neuration of the whole of the _Lepidoptera_ is compared with that of all other insects, it will be found that in no instance is there any close resemblance, except in the case of the _Micropterygidæ_; but the neuration of these so closely approaches that of certain _Trichoptera_ (caddis-flies) as to be practically identical. The conclusion is clear, that the _Lepidoptera_ are descended from the _Trichoptera_, and that the _Micropterygidæ_ are the true connecting link. If the other marked structural characters of the _Micropterygidæ_ are taken into consideration, viz., the possession of the jugum, the large development of the maxillary palpi as compared with the labial, and the sometimes functionally active mandibles, they will be all found commonly in the _Trichoptera_, affording additional confirmation. It may be added that in one New Zealand species of _Micropterygidæ_ (_Palæomicra chalcophanes_) vein _1b_ is basally trifurcate, a character frequent in the _Trichoptera_, but not yet discovered in any other _Lepidopteron_. In most _Trichoptera_ the veins of the hindwings are much more numerous than those of the fore-wings, in the _Micropterygina_ they are usually equal in number, in other _Lepidoptera_ they are less numerous; in the course of descent there has therefore been a greater progressive diminution in the number of veins of the hind-wings as compared with those of the fore-wings, though these also have diminished. {xviii}"It is unnecessary to trace back the descent of the _Lepidoptera_ further; but it may be worth while to point out that we may assume as the primitive type of Trichopterous neuration, a system of numerous longitudinal veins gradually diverging from the base, mostly furcate terminally, and connected by a series of irregularly placed cross-bars near base, and another series beyond middle." The following is Mr. Meyrick's method of arrangement, which has been adopted in this book:-- "The natural order of arrangement, which is that of a much-branched tree, cannot be adequately expressed by a simple linear succession, such as is alone practicable in a book. It is, however, possible to devise a linear succession which shall be consistent with the natural genealogical order, if some additional explanation can be given. The method here adopted is as follows:-- [Illustration] "Suppose the accompanying diagram represents a portion of the genealogical tree; then the order will begin at M and descend to K, recommence at L and descend to K, and thence to G, recommence at H and descend to G, and thence to B, recommence at F and descend to D, recommence at E and descend to D and thence to B, recommence at C and descend to B and thence to A, and so on. Thus the order begins with the most recently developed forms and descends gradually to the earliest or most ancestral, which are the last in the book. To understand the order in practice, it may be assumed that each genus is descended from that which immediately follows it in the book, unless its actual descent is expressly stated otherwise; such statement will, of course, require to be made before every recommencement of a fresh branch. This system has been adhered to throughout, and after a little use will not be found unintelligible. If adopted in the arrangement of a collection in the cabinet, it would be a good plan to indicate the recommencement of a fresh branch by a special mark, such as a red bar drawn above the first (or highest) species." PHYLOGENY OF LEPIDOPTERA. (After Meyrick.) Notodontina Papilionina | | Caradrinina Lasiocampina Pyralidina | | | +--------------------+---------------------+ | Psychina Tortricina | | +-------+------+ | Tineina | Micropterygina {xix}V.--GEOGRAPHICAL DISTRIBUTION. The details of geographical distribution are given under the headings of the respective species, so far as I have been able to ascertain them; but our knowledge in this direction is necessarily limited, and I have found much difficulty in obtaining reliable information, on account of the obstacles which exist in regard to the correct identification of species in other countries. The distribution of the species within New Zealand is also very imperfectly known at present, owing to the paucity of collectors and observers, particularly in the extreme north of New Zealand, and on the west coast of the South Island. In the latter locality no doubt many interesting species remain to be discovered, especially amongst the mountain ranges. In employing the book for identifications, the reader is recommended to first refer to the Plates and see if he can find anything at all resembling the species he has, and then to refer to the description for verification. In dealing with variable forms, it is always well to remember that the _shape_ of markings is generally far more constant than their intensity, or even their colour. The purely descriptive portions of the work have been made as brief as possible, and characters, of special importance for the identification of species, are printed in italics. Those who desire to consult more detailed descriptions may readily do so by referring to Mr. Meyrick's papers, in the Transactions of the New Zealand Institute and elsewhere. References to such papers are invariably given under the synonomy of each species which has been described by Mr. Meyrick. It should be mentioned that the figures and descriptions in this work have been prepared from nature, quite separately, and no attempt has been made to reconcile the figure with the description. This course has been followed so that any character, which may have been accidentally omitted from the figure, will not necessarily be wanting in the description. The figures of neuration (Plates I. and II.) have all been made from fully denuded specimens examined under the microscope. They are in nearly every instance considerably enlarged. Each drawing has afterwards been compared with Mr. Meyrick's description, and if found to differ, a second examination of the wings has been made with a view to a reconciliation of results. Any important differences observed between Mr. Meyrick's descriptions and my final results are in every case specially mentioned. {1}NEW ZEALAND MACRO-LEPIDOPTERA. I.--THE CARADRININA. The _Caradrinina_ may be distinguished by the following characters:-- "The maxillary palpi are obsolete, the fore-wings have vein _1b_ simple or hardly furcate, _1c_ absent, and 5 approximated to 4 towards base. The hind-wings are furnished with a frenulum, vein _1c_ is absent, and 8 is connected or anastomosing with cell." (See Plate II., figs. 1 to 12 and 14 to 18.) "Imago with the fore-wings more or less elongate-triangular, termen not very oblique; hind-wings broad-ovate. "Larva sometimes very hairy, usually with 10 prolegs, those on segments 7 and 8 sometimes absent. (Plate III., figs. 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 15 and 16.) Pupa with segments 9 to 11 free; not protruded from cocoon in emergence."--(Meyrick.) So far as New Zealand is concerned, the _Caradrinina_ may be said to comprise that group of the Lepidoptera formerly known as the _Noctuina_, with the addition of the family _Arctiadæ_. Its members are chiefly nocturnal fliers; the body is usually stout, the forewings are narrow, and (except in the _Arctiadæ_) mostly dull-coloured, with three very characteristic spots. 1. The orbicular stigma, a round spot situated near the middle of the wing; 2. The claviform stigma usually somewhat club-shaped and situated immediately below the orbicular; and 3. The reniform stigma, a kidney-shaped marking situated beyond the orbicular. The claviform is very frequently absent, and the orbicular less frequently so, but the reniform is an almost constant character throughout the entire group, with the exception of the _Arctiadæ_. There are three families of the _Caradrinina_ represented in New Zealand, viz.:-- 1. ARCTIADÆ. 2. CARADRINIDÆ. 3. PLUSIADÆ. Family 1.--ARCTIADÆ. The _Arctiadæ_ may be characterised as follows:-- "Eyes smooth. Tongue developed. Posterior tibiæ with all spurs present. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 connate or stalked (rarely approximated or coincident), 8 anastomosing with cell nearly or quite from base to middle or beyond."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., figs. 1, 2, and 4, 5.) This interesting family, although generally distributed throughout the world, is very poorly represented in New Zealand. Unlike most of the _Caradrinina_, many of the included species are day fliers and gaily coloured. One of these, _Nyctemera annulata_, is probably one of the most familiar of New Zealand insects, whilst the four remaining representatives of the family are but seldom seen. To British entomologists the name of {2}"tiger moths" will probably at once recall several conspicuous and beautiful members of this family. Three genera of the _Arctiadæ_ are represented in New Zealand, viz.:-- 1. NYCTEMERA. 2. UTETHEISA. 3. METACRIAS. Genus 1.--NYCTEMERA, Hb. "Tongue well developed. Antennæ in [M] bipectinated throughout. Palpi moderately long, porrected or rather ascending, with appressed scales; terminal joint moderate, cylindrical. Forewings with vein 6 out of 9 or separate, 7 and 8 out of 9, 10 connected with 9 by a bar. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 stalked or separate, 8 anastomosing shortly with margin of cell near base." (Plate II., fig. 3 head, 4 neuration of fore-wing, 5 ditto of hind-wing.) "The single New Zealand species is endemic, but nearly allied to an Australian form."--(Meyrick.) NYCTEMERA ANNULATA, Boisd. (_Leptosoma annulata_, Boisd., Voy. Astr. v. 197, pl. v. 9; Dbld., Dieff, N. Z. ii. 284. _Nyctemera doubledayi_, Walk., Bomb. 392. _Nyctemera annulata_, Meyr., Proc. Linn. Soc., N.S.W., 1886, 700; ditto, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 218.) (Plate IV., fig. 1 [M], 2 [F]; Plate III., fig. 9, larva.) This species is perhaps one of the best known of the New Zealand Lepidoptera, occurring in great profusion in all parts of both North and South Islands. It is also common at Stewart Island, in the neighbourhood of cultivation. The expansion of the wings is about 1¾ inches. _All the wings are deep sooty black. The forewings have an irregular cream-coloured band running from beyond the middle of the costa towards the tornus._ This band is interrupted in the middle, and crossed by several black veins, which sometimes almost break it up into a chain of spots. The hind-wings have a single large cream-coloured spot near the middle. The body is black, with several orange markings on the thorax, and a series of broad orange rings on the abdomen. This species varies a good deal in the extent of the cream-coloured markings. The larva feeds on the New Zealand groundsel (_Senecio bellidioides_), but in cultivated districts it is more often observed on _Senecio scandens_, a plant having a superficial resemblance to ivy, which frequently grows in great profusion on fences and hedgerows in various parts of the country. Mr. W. W. Smith informs us[4] that it also feeds on the common groundsel (_S. vulgaris_) as well as on _Cineraria maritima_. I have often seen these caterpillars on mild days in the middle of winter, and full-grown specimens are very common towards the end of August, so that I think there is little doubt that the species passes the winter in the larval condition. At other seasons there is a continuous succession of broods. The length of the caterpillar when full grown is 1½ inches. It is covered with numerous tufts of long black hair, and is black in colour, with the dorsal and lateral lines dark-red. There are several large blue spots round the middle of each of the segments, and the membrane between each segment is bluish-grey. In younger larvæ the bluish-grey colouring extends over a considerable portion of the insect. This caterpillar may be readily found, as it feeds on the upper surface of the leaves fully exposed to view. Its hairy armour evidently renders it unpalatable to birds, and hence the secret habits we observe in most larvæ are absent in this species. When full-fed it selects a secluded spot, generally a crevice in the trunk of a tree, where it spins an oval cocoon of silk intermixed with its own hairs. Here it changes {3}into a shining black pupa, speckled and striped with yellow. The insect remains in this state about six weeks. The moth first appears in September, and continues abundant until about the end of March. It is extremely common, especially during the latter end of summer, when specimens may often be seen flying in all directions. Mr. Meyrick observes[5] that this species has the curious habit of soaring in the early morning sunshine, soon after sunrise, in calm, fine weather. He states that he has seen them in numbers, flying round the tops of trees, at a height of over 100 feet. I can fully corroborate the accuracy of this interesting observation, and have noticed the insect to be most active between the hours of five and eight on fine mornings in midsummer. The habit is certainly a very unusual one, as most insects are rarely seen at that time of the day. This moth is confined to New Zealand, but two closely allied species, belonging to the same genus, are found in Australia. Genus 2.--UTETHEISA, Hb. "Head smooth. Ocelli large. Antennæ in [M] ciliated, with longer setæ at joints. Palpi moderate, ascending, with loosely appressed scales. Thorax smooth beneath. Abdomen smooth-scaled. Tibiæ smooth-scaled, spurs very short. Fore-wings with veins 7 and 8 out of 9, 10 connected with 9. Hind-legs with veins 3, 4, 5 rather approximated, 6 or 7 connate or short-stalked, 8 from middle of cell." "A small genus inhabiting the warmer regions of the world. Larva with rather scanty hairs, some finely branched."--(Meyrick.) Represented in New Zealand by a single species of wide distribution. UTETHEISA PULCHELLA, L. (_Deiopeia pulchella_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 217.) (Plate IV., fig. 3.) This species was first observed in New Zealand in February, 1887, when I captured a single specimen in the Wainui-o-mata valley. Since that time Mr. A. Norris has seen two others near Petone, one of which is now in his collection. All the specimens at present noticed have consequently occurred in a very restricted portion of the Wellington District, though it is probable that the insect is far more generally distributed throughout the country than these records would seem to indicate. The expansion of the wings is about 1¼ inches. _The fore-wings are white, with five irregular transverse rows of oblong crimson spots, alternating with six irregular rows of small black dots._ The hind-wings are white, irregularly clouded with black on the termen; there are two small black spots near the middle. The body is white; the head and thorax are spotted with crimson, and the antennæ are black. The larva is thus described by Newman:--[6] "The ground colour is leaden with a covering of black hairs; there is a broad white stripe down the back, and on each segment down the side is a double scarlet spot. On the continent of Europe this caterpillar is said to feed on the forget-me-not (_Myosotis arvensis_)." In New Zealand the moth appears in February. Mr. Meyrick remarks[7]:--"It is probably only an occasional immigrant. Although a feeble-looking insect, it possesses extraordinary capabilities of flight, and is sometimes met with far out at sea. It occurs throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, and the Pacific Islands." It is well known to {4}English entomologists as a great rarity, and many discussions have taken place at various times as to the propriety of retaining it on the list of British Lepidoptera. Genus 3.--METACRIAS, Meyr. "Tongue obsolete. Antennæ in [M] moderately bipectinated throughout. Palpi rather short, hairy, concealed in rough hairs of head. Thorax and femora densely hairy beneath. Anterior tibiæ with developed spine beneath, and apical hook. Fore-wings with vein 2 from 2/3, 6 from point with or out of 9, 7 and 8 out of 9, 10 sometimes connected with 9 at a point above 7. Hind-wings with veins 3 and 4 almost from point, 6 and 7 from point or short-stalked, 8 from about 1/3. Wings in [F] rudimentary. (Plate II., fig. 1 neuration of fore-wing, fig. 2 ditto of hind-wing.) "An interesting and peculiar genus, apparently most allied to some Australian forms of _Spilosoma_, but quite distinct. Three species have been discovered, two of them quite recently, and it is not unreasonable to hope that additional forms may hereafter be found amongst the mountains, to which they seem especially attached."--(Meyrick). METACRIAS STRATEGICA, Hdsn. (_Arctia strategica_, Hdsn., Entom., 1889, 53. _Metacrias strategica_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 216.) (Plate IV., fig. 4.) This handsome species is at present only known by a single specimen, captured by Mr. W. W. Smith, near the summit of the Richardson Range, in South Canterbury, at an elevation of about 3,000 feet. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are black, with two broad, dull yellow, longitudinal streaks_; between the costa and the first streak is a very fine yellowish line, and between the two streaks there are three similar lines. _The hind-wings are bright yellow, with a broad black band, parallel to the termen, interrupted just before the tornus; the vicinity of this black band is tinged with crimson._ The body is black; the top of the head, collar, and sides of the thorax and abdomen are dull yellow. The female is probably apterous. This species may be readily distinguished from the two following by the yellow collar, absence of any large spot in the centre of both fore-wings and hind-wings, and the red colouring of the termen of the hind-wings. The moth was taken in February, frequenting a species of _Carmichælia_. It may be looked for in the mountainous regions of South Canterbury, but at present nothing further is known of its habits. METACRIAS ERICHRYSA, Meyr. (_Metacrias erichrysa_, Meyr., Proc. Linn. Soc. N. S. W., 1886, 749; ditto, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 216.) (Plate IV., fig. 5.) This species was discovered by Mr. Meyrick on Mount Arthur in the Nelson District in 1886. Since that time I have taken eleven specimens in the same locality, and have seen several others, but as yet I have not heard of its occurrence elsewhere. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are black, with orange-yellow markings._ These consist of a fine line near the costa, becoming very broad near the base, several elongate markings between the veins near the middle, a series of spots near the termen, and a broad streak parallel to the dorsum. The hind-wings are orange-yellow, with a curved black spot in the middle, and a broad black band on the termen, ending considerably before the tornus, and nearly broken a little before its termination. The female, according to Mr. Meyrick,[8] is "wholly whitish-ochreous; wings minute, aborted; legs short, stout, well developed." The life-history is thus described by Mr. Meyrick[9]: "The larva is wholly black, clothed with long black hairs, those covering segmental incisions brownish-ochreous. It feeds on _Senecio bellidioides_. The pupa is enclosed in a slight cocoon." {5}The perfect insect occurs in January, frequenting sunny, grassy slopes on the mountain-sides, at about 4,000 feet above the sea-level. It flies with great rapidity; hence it is generally very difficult to catch. METACRIAS HUTTONII, Butl. (_Phaos huttonii_, Butl., Cist. Ent. 487; _Metacrias huttonii_, Meyr., Proc. Linn. Soc. N. S. W., 1886, 750; Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 216.) (Plate IV., fig. 6.) This interesting species was discovered at Lake Wakatipu, by Professor Hutton. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1-1/8 inches. The fore-wings are black; _there is an oblique crimson line near the base_, two broad longitudinal cream-coloured lines above and below the middle, and a double transverse series of oblong cream-coloured spots near the termen. The hind-wings are pale ochreous, with a black crescent-shaped spot near the middle, and a broad black band almost touching the termen except a little before the tornus. The female is apterous. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. Family 2.--CARADRINIDÆ. The _Caradrinidæ_ are distinguished by the following characters:-- "Ocelli usually present. Tongue usually well developed. Labial palpi moderate, more or less ascending, second joint densely scaled, usually rough, terminal rather short, obtuse. Thorax usually densely hairy beneath. Posterior tibiæ with all spurs present. Fore-wings with veins 7 and 8 out of 9, 10 connected with 9. Hind-wings with veins 3 and 4 connate or short-stalked, 5 obsolete or imperfect, parallel to 4, 6 and 7 connate or short-stalked or seldom closely approximated only, 8 shortly anastomosing with cell near base, thence evenly diverging." (Plate II., figs. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11.) "A dominant family in temperate regions, especially in the northern hemisphere, the species being very numerous and often occurring in great plenty; within the tropics, however, their place is largely taken by the _Plusiadæ_. The structure is in most particulars remarkably uniform, the neuration and palpi being practically identical throughout the family. The markings are usually very similar, and the colouring dull and adapted to conceal insects which are accustomed to hide amongst dead leaves or refuse; hence this family is not one of the easiest or most attractive to study. The species are the most truly nocturnal of all the Lepidoptera; few are readily obtainable by day, but at night they are found in abundance at flowers or sugar. Imago with fore-wings usually elongate, body relatively stout, and densely scaled. It may be noted as an established conclusion that antennal pectinations, if not extending to the apex of the antennæ, are in this family seldom sufficient to mark generic distinction. "Ovum spherical, more or less distinctly ribbed, and reticulated. Larva usually with few hairs, often nocturnal, sometimes subterranean; often very polyphagous. Pupa usually subterranean."--(Meyrick.) The family is represented in New Zealand by the following twelve genera:-- { 1. MISELIA. Sub-family 1.--POLIADES { 2. ORTHOSIA. { 3. XANTHIA. { 4. PHYSETICA. { 5. LEUCANIA. Sub-family 2.--MELANCHRIDES { 6. ICHNEUTICA. { 7. MELANCHRA. { 8. ERANA. { 9. BITYLA. {6} Sub-family 3.--CARADRINIDES { 10. AGROTIS. { 11. HELIOTHIS. { 12. COSMODES. Sub-family 1.--_POLIADES_. "Eyes naked, ciliated (_i.e._, furnished with a marginal row of long cilia curving over them)."--(Meyrick.) Genus 1.--MISELIA, Steph. "Antennæ in male filiform, moderately ciliated. Thorax with anterior angles projecting, somewhat crested. Abdomen not crested."--(Meyrick.) We have at present but one New Zealand species. MISELIA PESSOTA, Meyr. (_Miselia pessota_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 29.) (Plate V., fig. 26.) This little species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Lake Coleridge and Rakaia in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. The fore-wings are dull purplish-brown; _there is an oblong black mark at the base of the dorsum containing a slender curved white line_; the orbicular is rather small, round, margined first with dull white and then with black; the reniform is large, oblong, dull white, margined with pale ochreous towards the base of the wing; _there is a conspicuous oblong black mark between the orbicular and reniform stigmata_. The hind-wings are dull grey, with the cilia paler. The perfect insect appears in January. One specimen was taken at sugar in the Wellington Botanical Gardens, and two specimens are recorded from Canterbury. It is evidently a scarce species. Genus 2.--ORTHOSIA, Ochs. "Head rough-scaled; eyes naked, ciliated. Antennæ in male ciliated. Thorax with or without anterior crest. Abdomen not crested. "A considerable genus of nearly universal distribution, though mainly found in temperate regions of both hemispheres. The imagos are almost all autumnal, and their yellow and ferruginous colouring is doubtless adapted to the autumn tints of falling leaves."--(Meyrick.) Represented in New Zealand by three species. ORTHOSIA MARGARITA, Hawth. (_Orthosia margarita_, Hawth., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxix. 283.) (Plate V., fig. 31.) This species was discovered at Wellington by Mr. E. F. Hawthorne. The expansion of the wings is about 1-1/3 inches. The fore-wings are dark brownish-black and rather glossy; there are several obscure dark marks near the base; the orbicular is oval, oblique, brownish-yellow, slightly darker in the middle; the claviform is almost obsolete; the reniform is rather large, bordered with dull white towards the base and termen; beyond the reniform there is a very distinct wavy transverse line; another line is situated near the termen emitting several black wedge-shaped markings from its inner edge. _The hind-wings are shining white and iridescent, with the veins black and the costa and termen narrowly shaded with black._ Described and figured from specimens in Mr. Hawthorne's collection. {7}ORTHOSIA COMMA, Walk. (_Mamestra comma_, Walk., Noct. 239; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. ix., 6. _Graphiphora implexa_, Walk., Noct. 405. _Hadena plusiata_, ib., Suppl. 742; _Nitocris bicomma_, Gn., Ent. Mon. Mag. v., 4. _Orthosia comma_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 30.) (Plate V., fig. 27 [M], 28 [F]; Plate III., fig. 11, larva.) This is apparently a common and generally distributed species. It has occurred plentifully at Wellington, Blenheim, Christchurch, and Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dark grey crossed by four wavy, black-margined, transverse lines; beyond the outermost of these lines there is a black band running parallel with the termen, and beyond this again a broader band of the ground colour; the orbicular spot is very minute and dull white; the reniform, which is surrounded by a black shading, is large, yellow towards the costa, and white towards the termen. The hind-wings are dark grey. The females are generally much darker than the males, some specimens having the fore-wings very dark brownish-black. Both sexes vary a good deal in the depth of colouring, but the markings appear to be quite constant. The larva is dark brown, tinged with pink; the subdorsal region is paler, there are a series of diagonal blackish stripes on each segment, and the anterior portions of the larva are much darker than the rest of the body. The specimens I reared were fed on lettuce, but I expect that the caterpillar feeds on low plants generally. It is full grown about January. The pupa state is spent in the earth. The moth appears in January, February, and March. It is very common at the flowers of the white rata, and may also be attracted by sugar and by light. ORTHOSIA IMMUNIS, Walk. (_Tæniocampa immunis_, Walk., Noct. 430. _Cerastis innocua_, ib. 1710 (locality probably erroneous). _Agrotis acetina_, Feld., Reis. Nov. pl. cix. 6. _Orthosia immunis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 30.) (Plate V., fig. 29.) This species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Blenheim in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings vary from bright orange-brown to dull reddish-brown_; there is an obscure black dot near the base, a faint transverse line at about one-fourth; the orbicular is oval, faintly outlined in brown; the claviform is very faint, its position indicated by a small brown dot; the reniform is large, oblong, much indented towards the termen, doubly outlined with dull yellow and containing a blackish spot towards its lower edge, its posterior margin is shaded with dark brown; there are several faint, wavy, transverse lines near the termen, and the termen itself is shaded with brownish-black; the cilia are reddish-brown. The hind-wings are dull grey; the cilia are pale reddish-ochreous tipped with white. _The head is covered with scattered white scales_, the thorax is reddish-brown, and the abdomen is grey tipped with reddish-brown; _the upper joints of the tarsi of the anterior legs are white_. The perfect insect appears in January, February, and March. It frequents the blossoms of the white rata, where it occasionally may be taken in the daytime, but more frequently at night. It is not, however, a common species. Genus 3.--XANTHIA, Tr. "Antennæ in male filiform, moderately ciliated. Thorax with sharp compressed anterior and small posterior crest. Abdomen not crested."--(Meyrick.) Only one New Zealand species is known at present. {8}XANTHIA PURPUREA, Butl. (_Graphiphora purpurea_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. _Xanthia ceramodes_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 31. _X. purpurea_, ib. xx. 46.) (Plate V., fig. 32.) This handsome species has been found at Wellington in the North Island, and at Dunedin in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are rich, glossy reddish-brown with several scattered whitish scales; there is a distinct yellow mark on the costa at about one-fourth, forming the beginning of a broken transverse line; the orbicular is small, round, and yellowish; the reniform is small, crescentic and yellowish, _the space between the orbicular and the reniform is very dark blackish-brown_; beyond the reniform there is a conspicuous white mark on the costa forming the beginning of a second broken transverse line; a third shaded line is situated near the termen. The hind-wings are pale brown with a dark spot in the middle, very conspicuous on the under surface. The perfect insect appears from September till April. It is usually taken at sugar or light, but is not a very common species. Sub-family 2.--_MELANCHRIDES_. Eyes hairy. Genus 4.--PHYSETICA, Meyr. "Palpi with terminal joint in male greatly swollen, as broad as second, rather short, rounded, with an orifice in outer side, in female normal. Antennæ in male filiform, simple. Thorax and abdomen smooth."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., fig. 8.) PHYSETICA CÆRULEA, Gn. (_Agrotis cærulea_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 38. _Physetica cærulea_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 5.) (Plate IV., fig. 7.) This fine species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Blenheim and Rakaia in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1-5/8 inches. _The fore-wings are slaty-blue_; there is an obscure, wavy, whitish transverse line near the base, two very wavy blackish lines at about one-third, a dark transverse shaded line across the middle, containing the orbicular spot, then a very wavy line followed by a darker space and a wavy, dull, whitish terminal line. Hind-wings dark grey, paler near the base, cilia shining white. The perfect insect appears in October, December, and January. Mr. Fereday states that it was formerly very common at blossoms. Genus 5.--LEUCANIA, Ochs. "Head rough-scaled; eyes hairy. Antennæ in male ciliated. Thorax with or without slight anterior crest. Abdomen not crested. "A very large cosmopolitan genus, equally common everywhere; it is a development of _Melanchra_, to which some of the New Zealand species give such a complete transition that a line of demarcation can hardly be drawn. The larvæ all feed on _Gramineæ_."--(Meyrick.) We have seventeen species. {9}LEUCANIA GRISEIPENNIS, Feld. (_Mamestra griseipennis_, Feld., pl. cix. 22. _Chera virescens_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 489. _Spælotis inconstans_, ib. 545; _Leucania moderata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 7 (nec Walk.). _Leucania griseipennis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 44.) (Plate IV., fig. 8.) This species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island. In the South Island it has been taken at Mount Arthur, Lake Coleridge, Rakaia, Akaroa, and Lake Guyon. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dull greenish-grey; there are two obscure blackish transverse lines near the base and several dull white dots; _a very conspicuous transverse curved black shade near the middle, followed by an extremely jagged dull white transverse line, another less jagged transverse line near the termen; the orbicular is oval, pale, edged with black_; the reniform and claviform are also pale but inconspicuous; the cilia are tinged with brown. The hind-wings are grey _with the cilia wholly white_. The following variety, taken on Mount Arthur, is thus described by Mr. Meyrick:-- "_Var. A._ Thorax and fore-wings without ochreous tinge, with numerous white scales tending to form suffused spots and margins to lines; cilia distinctly barred with darker; hind-wings grey, with dark grey, irregular terminal band."[10] The perfect insect appears from November till March, and is said to be very common in certain localities. It has been taken at considerable elevations in the Nelson province (4,700 feet above the sea-level on Mount Arthur, by Mr. Meyrick and myself). In Wellington it is certainly a scarce species. LEUCANIA MODERATA, Walk. (_Agrotis moderata_, Walk., Suppl. 705. _Eumichtis sistens_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 39. _Mamestra sistens_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 19. _Leucania moderata_, ib. xx. 45.) This species has occurred at Rakaia in the South Island. It very closely resembles the preceding species, from which it is said to be distinguished by the cilia of the hind-wings, which are "partially grey in _Leucania moderata_, wholly white in _L. griseipennis_."--(Meyrick.) The perfect insect appears in February. I am unacquainted with this species. LEUCANIA TEMPERATA, Walk. (_Bryophila temperata_, Walk., 1648 (nec Meyrick). _Xylina inceptura_, ib. 1736. _X. deceptura_, ib. 1737. _Leucania temperata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 45.) "Terminal joint of palpi moderate; form of wing as in _Leucania griseipennis_, first and second lines whitish, inconspicuous, margined with black dots, second line evenly curved, subterminal perceptible; cilia grey, indistinctly barred with white. Hind-wings grey."--(Meyrick.) Described by Mr. Meyrick from the British Museum specimens. I am unacquainted with this species. LEUCANIA NULLIFERA, Walk. (_Agrotis nullifera_, Walk., Noct. 742; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. ix. 5. _Alysia specifica_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 3. _Leucania nullifera_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 7.) (Plate IV., fig. 9; head, Plate II., fig. 11.) This large though sombre-looking insect has occurred in the North Island at Taupo and Wellington. In the South Island it has been taken commonly at Mount Arthur, Christchurch, and Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is from 2½ to 2¾ inches. _The fore-wings are uniform dull grey_, with a double row of very faint white spots parallel to the termen; _the hind-wings, head, thorax, and abdomen are pale grey_. {10}In some specimens the fore-wings are quite destitute of markings, whilst in others the ground colouring varies considerably, and is occasionally dull brown instead of grey. The larva is very stout, bright yellowish-brown, considerably paler on the under surface; the dorsal line is faintly indicated, the subdorsal and lateral lines are dull brown, with a chain of elongate white spots beneath each; the spiracles and dorsal surface of the posterior segments are black; there are also numerous white dots all over the larva. This caterpillar feeds on spear-grass (_Aciphylla squarrosa_), and only a single individual inhabits each clump. It devours the soft, central portions of the tussock, and its presence can generally be detected by a quantity of pale brown "frass," or discoloration, which is generally visible near the bases of the leaves. Owing to the formidable array of spines presented by the spear-grass, this larva can have but few enemies. The presence of these spines makes the insect a difficult one to obtain without special apparatus. A sharp pair of strong scissors, however, will enable the collector to cut off a sufficient number of the "spears" to allow of the insertion of a small trowel or hatchet under the root. The plant can then be lifted out of the ground, and the larva afterwards carefully extracted from its burrow in the stem. These larvæ are full grown about the end of May, which is consequently the best time to obtain them for rearing. The pupa is enclosed in an earthen cell amongst the roots of the spear-grass. The moth appears in November, December, January, February, and March. It is sometimes attracted by light. I have found it commonly on the Tableland of Mount Arthur at elevations of from 3,500 to 4,000 feet above the sea-level, where its food-plant also flourishes. LEUCANIA PURDII, Frdy. (_Leucania purdii_, Frdy., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xv. 195; Meyr., ib. xix. 8.) (Plate IV., fig. 11.) This fine species was discovered at Dunedin by Mr. Purdie. A single specimen has also been taken at Wellington. The expansion of the wings is from 2¼ to 2½ inches. _The fore-wings are brownish-crimson; there are two broad, shaded, yellow, longitudinal streaks above and below the middle_; the costa is margined with yellow near the base, and the dorsum is yellow throughout its entire length; the cilia are deep orange. The hind-wings are dark grey, and the cilia yellow. The perfect insect appears in December. Described and figured from specimens in the collections of Messrs. Fereday and Hawthorne. LEUCANIA ATRISTRIGA, Walk. (_Xylina atristriga_, Walk., Suppl. 756. _Mamestra antipoda_, Feld., Reis. Nov., pl. cix. 23. _Leucania atristriga_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 8.) (Plate IV., fig. 12.) This smart-looking species is very common in the North Island in the neighbourhood of Wellington. In the South Island it has occurred abundantly at Nelson, Christchurch, Lake Coleridge, and Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are rich reddish-brown; _there is a broad bluish-grey longitudinal streak on the costa, reaching nearly to the apex, and a very broad, pale brown, longitudinal shading on the dorsum; there is a conspicuous longitudinal black stripe in the middle of the wing from the base to one-third, the orbicular, reniform, and claviform spots are bluish-grey, edged with black_, the transverse lines are very indistinct; the cilia are reddish-brown. The hind-wings are dark grey with the cilia ochreous. {11}This species varies slightly in the intensity of its markings and in the extent of the pale dorsal area. The moth first appears about January and continues in great abundance until the middle or end of April, being one of the last of our _Leucanias_ to disappear in the autumn. It is extremely partial to the flowers of the white rata (_Metrosideros scandens_), where, on warm, still evenings, it may be often met with in the utmost profusion. It also comes freely to sugar, and is frequently attracted by light. LEUCANIA PROPRIA, Walk. (_Leucania propria_, Walk., Noct. iii.; Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 2; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. ix. 4; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 9.) (Plate IV., fig. 13.) This insect has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Blenheim, and Mount Hutt. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are pale ochreous; _there is a conspicuous longitudinal black streak in the middle of the wing, extending from the base to about one-third, and a broad, dark brown longitudinal shading, slightly above the middle, from one-fourth to the termen_; the reniform is rather small, dull grey, faintly edged with darker, the orbicular and claviform are very indistinct or absent; there is a transverse series of black dots on the veins a little before the termen, and another series on the termen; the cilia are ochreous banded with brown. The hind-wings are pale grey, with a terminal series of small black marks; the cilia are ochreous. The head and thorax are pale reddish-brown, and the abdomen is ochreous. This species varies slightly in the depth of its colouring. The perfect insect is met with from January till March. On the Mount Arthur Tableland it occurred very commonly at about 3,800 feet above the sea-level. In this locality it was freely attracted by light, and large numbers of specimens were captured by the aid of a single candle, exhibited at the tent door during mild evenings. LEUCANIA ACONTISTIS, Meyr. (_Leucania acontistis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 9.) (Plate IV., fig. 14.) A single specimen of this species was captured at Castle Hill by Mr. J. D. Enys, and is now in Mr. Fereday's collection. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are dull ochreous; the veins are slightly darker; there is a fine, black, doubly-curved, longitudinal streak from the base to about one-third._ The hind-wings are pale yellowish-grey. The cilia of all the wings are dull ochreous. Described and figured from the specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. LEUCANIA PHAULA, Meyr. (_Leucania phaula_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 10.) (Plate IV., fig. 15.) Two specimens of this insect, "bred from tussock grass," were found at Christchurch.[11] The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dull ochreous, with the veins obscurely indicated by black and white dots; there is a curved series of minute black dots near the termen. The hind-wings are pale ochreous, clouded with grey towards the termen. The cilia of all the wings are dull ochreous. This insect may be distinguished from _Leucania unica_ by its larger size, duller coloration, less oblique termen of fore-wings, and simple antennæ in the male. The perfect insect appears in November. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. {12}LEUCANIA ALOPA, Meyr. (_Leucania alopa_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 10.) (Plate IV., fig. 16.) This species has occurred at Lake Coleridge and at Lake Guyon. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are dull orange-brown_; there are three obscure black dots at about one-third; _the reniform is represented by a rather conspicuous cloudy spot_; there is a curved series of black dots near the termen. The hind-wings are grey, paler towards the base. The cilia of all the wings are dull orange-brown. The moth appears in March. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. LEUCANIA MICRASTRA, Meyr. (_Leucania micrastra_, Meyr., Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond. 1897, 383.) (Plate IV., fig. 10.) Three specimens of this insect have occurred in my garden at Karori. The expansion of the wings is 1-5/8 inches. The fore-wings are _bright orange-brown_; there are several white scales near the base, two black-edged white dots at about one-third, _a small black spot with a shining white dot on each side of it at the origin of veins 3 and 4_, and a series of black and white dots on all the veins near the termen; the cilia are orange-brown _tipped with white_. The hind-wings are pale ochreous-brown. The cilia are ochreous broadly _tipped with white_. This species somewhat resembles _Leucania alopa_ in general appearance, but the wings are narrower and the colour of the fore-wings is considerably brighter. The moth appears in December. LEUCANIA UNICA, Walk. (_Leucania unica_, Walk., Noct. 112; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. ix. 9. _Nonagria juncicolor_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 2. _Leucania unica_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 10.) (Plate IV., fig. 17.) This insect has been taken at Blenheim and at Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are dull ochreous with the veins darker; there are one or two obscure blackish dots at about one-third from the base, and several faint dots near the termen. Hind-wings paler with very pale cilia; _the antennæ in the male are moderately bipectinated_. The moth appears in November. Described and figured from Mr. Fereday's specimens. LEUCANIA AROTIS, Meyr. (_Leucania arotis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 11. _Leucania aulacias_,[12] Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 11.) (Plate IV., fig. 18.) This species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island. In the South Island it has been found at Blenheim, Christchurch, and Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are cream-colour with the veins finely marked in grey; there is a series of streaks of darker cream-colour between the veins_, and a row of minute black dots near the termen; the cilia are cream-colour. The hind-wings are dark grey with the cilia white. The perfect insect appears in November and December. It is rather a scarce species. {13}LEUCANIA SULCANA, Fereday. (_Leucania sulcana_, Frdy., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xii. 267, pl. ix.; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 11.) (Plate IV., fig. 19 [M], 20 [F].) This species has occurred at Akaroa and at Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is from 1½ to 1¾ inches. _The fore-wings are light ochreous with the veins white_; there is a shaded, brownish, longitudinal streak near the apex, another from the end of the cell to the termen, a stronger streak from the base of the wing to near the tornus, and another along the dorsum; there is a minute black dot near the base above the middle, a slightly larger dot at about one-third, a conspicuous dot between the origins of veins 3 and 4, and a very minute dot on vein 6. _Hind-wings dark blackish-grey, cilia paler._ The perfect insect appears in February, and has been taken at sugar. Described and figured from specimens in Mr. Fereday's collection. LEUCANIA SEMIVITTATA, Walk. (_Leucania semivittata_, Walk., Suppl. 628; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 12.) (Plate IV., fig. 21 [M], 22 [F].) This species has occurred commonly at Christchurch, Mount Torlesse, and Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is from 1-1/8 to 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are pale ochreous; there is a very obscure, shaded, brownish, longitudinal streak below the middle, _a conspicuous black dot at the base, a second at about one-sixth, a third at one-third_, a fourth between the origins of veins 3 and 4, a curved series of minute terminal dots. Hind-wings much paler with a darker blotch near the middle. In the female the wings are browner with the dots much smaller or absent. The moth appears in April and May, being found at night on the blossoms of the _scabious_. Described and figured from specimens in Mr. Fereday's collection. LEUCANIA BLENHEIMENSIS, Frdy. (_Leucania blenheimensis_, Frdy., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xv. 196; Meyr., ib. xix. 12.) (Plate IV., fig. 23 [F].) This rather striking insect has occurred at Napier and at Blenheim. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are cream-coloured with the veins darker_; there are three faint black dots at about one-third, a curved series of black dots near the termen, _the termen itself being strongly shaded with dark greyish-brown_; the cilia are dark greyish-brown. The hind-wings are grey, paler towards the base; the cilia are also grey. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. LEUCANIA UNIPUNCTA, Haw. (_Leucania unipuncta_, Haw., Lepidoptera Britannica, p. 174, No. 37. _Leucania extranea_, Gn., Noct. v. 77; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. ix. 2; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 12.) (Plate IV., fig. 24.) This species has occurred at Napier and at Wellington in the North Island. In the South Island it has been found at Nelson and at Christchurch. The expansion of the wings is 1¾ inches. The fore-wings vary from dull ochreous to bright reddish-ochreous; there are numerous indistinct blackish dots; _the orbicular and reniform are almost round and slightly paler than the rest of the wing; there is a minute white dot immediately below the reniform and an obscure, oblique blackish line from the apex of the wing_ ending in a series of minute black dots; _the termen is not indented_. The hind-wings are grey, darker near the termen; the cilia are white. Varies considerably in the ground colour and in the extent of the black speckling. "The larva is extremely variable. Its usual colour is pale brown with a white dorsal line and several dark lines on each side. {14}"Young larvæ closely resemble their food-plant in colour, and occasionally this is persistent throughout life; in fact the larva is very variable. Feeds on various grasses."[13] The perfect insect first appears about January, and continues in increasing numbers until the middle or end of April. It is often met with at sugar. This species is of almost universal distribution, having occurred in Australia, Java, India, Europe, and North and South America. In England it is regarded as a great rarity. Genus 6.--ICHNEUTICA, Meyr. "Antennæ in male strongly bipectinated throughout. Thorax and abdomen smooth."--(Meyrick.) This genus is very closely allied to _Leucania_. It appears to be exclusively limited to New Zealand, where it is represented by two conspicuous species. Probably when the extensive mountainous regions of the country have been more fully explored by entomologists other species will be discovered. ICHNEUTICA DIONE, n. sp. (Plate IV., fig. 27 [M].) A single specimen of this interesting species was captured by Mr. C. W. Palmer, on Mount Arthur at an elevation of about 4,400 feet. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dull blackish-brown, _darker near the middle; there is a rather oblique, white, longitudinal stripe below the middle from about one-eighth to one-third; above this there is a very conspicuous, large, elongate white mark; this mark has a semicircular indentation above, probably representing the orbicular; another indentation towards the termen, probably representing the reniform, and below this it emits two short teeth-like projections_; beyond these markings the ground colour becomes paler, and is traversed by an obscure, jagged, transverse line; the cilia are grey. The hind-wings are pale grey; the cilia are also grey. The body is dark brownish-black. The pectinations of the antennæ of this insect are slightly shorter than those in _Ichneutica ceraunias_. The type specimen is slightly damaged; but the species is so evidently distinct that I feel no hesitation in describing it. ICHNEUTICA CERAUNIAS, Meyr. (_Ichneutica ceraunias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 13.) (Plate IV., fig. 25 [M], 26 [F]). This handsome species has hitherto only occurred on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, where, however, it seems to be common. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¾ inches, of the female 2 inches. The fore-wings of the male are rich orange-brown, paler towards the base. There are two very broad, longitudinal, yellowish stripes, one on the costa and the other on the dorsum. The costal stripe divides into two branches before its termination, one of which is produced downwards; there is also a _conspicuous white mark a little beyond the middle of the wing emitting two tooth-like projections towards the termen_, and two narrow, dark brown streaks near the base of the wing. The hind-wings are dark brownish-grey. The head, thorax, and abdomen are yellowish-brown, and the antennæ are very strongly bipectinated. The female is much narrower in the wings, the ground colouring is dull brown, and the markings are all dull yellow. This species varies slightly in the intensity of the markings. The moth appears early in January. It is much attracted by light. In 1891 I took over twenty specimens by means of a single candle exhibited, during three evenings, {15}at the door of my tent. Prior to this date only one specimen had been taken by Mr. Meyrick during January, 1886. All these moths were met with over 3,500 feet above the sea-level, so that the insect is evidently confined to mountain regions. Genus 7.--MELANCHRA, Hb. "Head rough-scaled; eyes hairy. Antennæ in [M] ciliated, or sometimes bipectinated with apex simple. Thorax with more or less developed anterior and posterior crests. Abdomen more or less crested, in [F] obtuse. Anterior tibiæ rarely with apical hook." "A large genus of very general distribution, but much commoner in temperate regions of both hemispheres. Relatively much more numerous in New Zealand than elsewhere."--(Meyrick.) This genus includes no less than thirty-four species. Some of these are extremely difficult to distinguish owing to the obscurity of their markings, which offer unusual obstacles to clear description and delineation. I have, however, endeavoured to point out what, in my opinion, constitute the most reliable distinctions; but I fear that amongst those species, where only one or two specimens are known, cases of real difficulty will arise. Future investigation will no doubt result in a remodelling of some of the more obscure species in this genus. It may be well to point out that the genus _Melanchra_ was formerly known by the name of _Mamestra_. MELANCHRA DISJUNGENS, Walk. (_Heliophobus disjungens_, Walk., Noct. 1681; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. ix. 1. _Hadena nervata_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 40. _Mamestra disjungens_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 15.) (Plate V., fig. 43.) This species has occurred in the South Island at Ashburton and at Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are brownish-grey; _the veins are very conspicuously marked in white_, the orbicular and reniform are large, white, each with a dusky centre; there is a conspicuous, white, transverse line near the termen, emitting two white, tooth-like projections on veins 3 and 4, _and connected with a longitudinal line running to the base of the wing_. The hind-wings are grey with the cilia white. The perfect insect appears from November till January. It was formerly a common species near Rakaia, but is now much scarcer. MELANCHRA PARACAUSTA, Meyr. (_Mamestra paracausta_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 15.) (Plate IV., fig. 28 [M], 28A [F].) This species has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Castle Hill, and Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are dull white with an irregular, central, longitudinal, blackish-brown streak becoming very broad towards the termen; there is an oval reddish-brown blotch near the base, but no distinct transverse lines; two conspicuous elliptic, white marks are situated on the termen near the tornus._ The hind-wings are pale grey, with an obscure central shade and a series of brownish dots along the termen. The species appears somewhat variable. In some male specimens the white colouring is largely replaced by pale yellowish-brown. Described and figured from specimens in the collections of Messrs. Fereday, Hawthorne, and Philpott[14]. {16}MELANCHRA INSIGNIS, Walk. (_Euplexia insignis_, Walk., Suppl. 724. _Xylina turbida_, ib. 754. _Mamestra polychroa_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 16. _Mamestra insignis_, Meyr., ib. xx. 45.) (Plate IV., fig. 29 [M], 30 [F].) This pretty species has occurred at Palmerston and Wellington in the North Island, and at Blenheim, Christchurch, and West Plains near Invercargill in the South Island. It is probably common and generally distributed. The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are pinkish-brown_; there is a short black streak near the centre of the wing at the base, and an irregular, extensive black marking along the dorsum; _the orbicular, reniform, and claviform spots are large, margined first with green and then with black_; a fine white line is situated parallel with the termen, edged with green, and emitting two sharp tooth-like markings; beyond this line the ground colour of the wing is dark-brownish-black. The hind-wings are dull brown, darker towards termen; the cilia are white with a brown line. The antennæ of the male are slightly bipectinated. In the female the ground colour is considerably paler, the black markings much darker, and more suffused, and the posterior half of the reniform is usually creamy-white. Some specimens have the green and black markings slightly more pronounced, but otherwise there are no important variations. The eggs are deposited in October and November. When first laid they are pale greenish-white, but become dark brown in the centre as the enclosed embryo develops. The young larvæ emerge in about a fortnight. At this time the two anterior pairs of prolegs are very short, causing the caterpillar to loop up its back when walking. In colour the young larva is pale brown, with numerous black warts emitting several long, stiff bristles. It is very active, and busily devours the soft green portions of the dock leaves, leaving the harder membrane untouched. Twelve days later the larva becomes pale green in colour, and moults for the first time, after which traces of subdorsal and lateral lines present themselves. Growth then proceeds with great rapidity, and in another eleven days the larva again sheds its skin. The last moult occurs a fortnight later. At this time the larva is pale greenish-brown, inclining to yellow on the ventral surface. The lateral lines consist of a series of black markings near the posterior margin of each segment; the subdorsal lines are represented by four oblique black marks on each side of the four posterior segments of the larva. The region between these lines is much clouded with yellowish-green or pink, the larvæ having a tendency to diverge into pink and green varieties. The anal segment is dull yellow. The head is brown, with two black stripes and several black dots. Whilst rearing these larvæ I noticed that during the daytime they invariably hid themselves under the blotting paper at the bottom of the breeding cage. No doubt, under natural conditions, they retreat beneath the ground, only coming abroad at night to feed. This habit would account for the difficulty experienced in finding larvæ of this genus in a state of nature. The pupa state is spent in the earth, and occupies about a month. The moth appears towards the end of January. It evidently hibernates through the winter, as it is often seen very late in the autumn, and is always one of the first moths to come to sugar in the early spring. It is frequently observed at rest on fences and trees in the daytime. {17}MELANCHRA MAYA, n. sp. (Plate IV., fig. 31.) A single specimen of this species was taken on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, at an altitude of about 3,500 feet. The expansion of the wings is 1-5/8 inches. The fore-wings are bright yellowish-brown, paler towards the apex; there are two broad, shaded, black stripes at the base, one near the middle edged with yellow above, and one below the middle edged with yellow beneath; the orbicular is oval, oblique, edged with black except towards the costa; the claviform is rather irregular, dark purplish-brown; _the reniform is very large, dark purplish-brown edged with black; there is a large elongate patch of very dark brown at the tornus, partly edged first with yellow and then with black_; another smaller patch is situated on the termen near the middle, bisected by a fine yellow line. The hind-wings are grey; the cilia of all the wings are yellowish-brown. The head and thorax are purplish-brown, the abdomen dull brownish-grey. MELANCHRA PLENA, Walk. (_Erana plena_, Walk., Suppl. 744. _Mamestra sphagnea_, Feld., Reis. Nov., pl. cix. 17. _Dianthoecia viridis_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 547. _Mamestra plena_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 17.) (Plate IV., fig. 32.) Apparently common in the Canterbury district, where it has been taken at Christchurch and Mount Hutt. In the North Island it has occurred in the neighbourhood of Wellington. It resembles _Melanchra insignis_ in every respect except that the head, thorax, and fore-wings are entirely suffused with green; there is no central black streak at the base, and the orbicular, reniform, and claviform spots are smaller. It varies a little in the intensity of the green colouring. The eggs are deposited early in November. At first they are white in colour, but soon become dull brown, with two concentric circular markings. The young larva closely resembles that of the _Melanchra insignis_, but is much more sluggish. It feeds on grasses and other low plants. In about six weeks' time it is full grown, when it still resembles the caterpillar of _Melanchra insignis_, except that its colouring is considerably darker, and a number of rust-red spots are situated on the subdorsal line. This larva also appears to spend the daytime underground, only coming abroad in the evening to feed. The pupa is concealed in the earth. The perfect insect may be occasionally found at rest on tree-trunks in the forest, where it is very hard to discover, as it almost exactly resembles a little patch of moss or lichen. Specimens are sometimes noticed in the middle of winter, so there is little doubt that this species hibernates. It occurs in spring as late as November, and as the pupæ emerge during the latter end of January the insect is about for most of the year. MELANCHRA LITHIAS, Meyr. (_Mamestra lithias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 17.) (Plate IV., fig. 33.) Two specimens of this species were taken at Castle Hill by Mr. J. D. Enys, and are now in Mr. Fereday's collection. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. _The fore-wings are slaty-brown; there is a broken, black-edged, white, transverse line near the base, and another at about one-third; the orbicular is indicated by a conspicuous black-edged white crescent, the reniform is large, oblong, white, margined with {18}black, and crossed by two grey lines_; there is an interrupted white terminal transverse line and a series of black dots on the termen. The hind-wings are grey, paler towards the base; the cilia of all the wings are slaty-brown. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. MELANCHRA MUTANS, Walk. (_Hadena mutans_, Walk., Noct. 602. _H. lignifusca_, ib. 603. _Mamestra angusta_, Feld., Reis. Nov., pl. cix. 18. _M. acceptrix_, ib., pl. cix. 19. _Hadena debilis_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 385, pl. xlii. 6. _Mamestra mutans_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 17.) (Plate IV., fig. 34 [M], 35 [F], 36 [M], variety; Plate III., fig. 15, larva.) This is a very abundant species throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are pale reddish-brown in the male, grey in the female; the markings are black and somewhat indistinct; the orbicular spot is nearly round, the claviform semicircular, the reniform large and not margined with black towards the termen; a line runs parallel with the termen, and emits on its outer side a tooth-like mark; inside this line the ground colouring of the wing is usually lighter. The hind-wings are grey, darker in the male; the cilia are white with a cloudy line. The head, thorax, and abdomen are brown in the male, grey in the female. The antennæ are slightly bipectinate in the male. This species varies much in the ground colouring of the fore-wings, especially in the male, where it ranges from pale pinkish-brown to dark brown. The wings of the female are frequently much clouded with dark grey. The larva is rather stout, with the anterior segments wrinkled. It varies much in colour; the dorsal surface is usually reddish-brown; the lateral line is broad and black; a series of subdorsal stripes are also black; the ventral surface is green. Sometimes these markings are hardly visible, and the larva is entirely green, whilst occasionally the brown colouring predominates. It is a sluggish caterpillar, and feeds on low plants (_Plantago_, &c.) during the whole of the spring and summer. It often frequents the luxuriant growth surrounding logs and stones which have long been left undisturbed. The pupa state is spent in the earth or amongst moss on fallen trees. When this stage occurs in the summer it is of short duration, but in the case of larvæ becoming full grown in the autumn, the regular emergence does not take place until the following spring. The moth may be observed on mild evenings nearly all the year round, but is commoner during the summer. It is an extremely abundant species, and is very often seen resting on tree trunks during the daytime, in which position the colouring of both sexes will be seen to be very protective. MELANCHRA AGORASTIS, Meyr. (_Mamestra agorastis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 18.) (Plate V., fig. 30 [F].) This species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Akaroa and Lake Guyon in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are rich reddish-brown_, with dull yellowish-white markings; the claviform is small, grey, margined with dark reddish-brown; the orbicular is also rather small, grey, margined with dull white; the reniform is rather large, oblong, dark grey, margined rather broadly with yellowish-white. The hind-wings are dark brown. _The antennæ of the male are shortly pectinated._ This species very closely resembles a dark specimen of _Melanchra pelistis_ so far as the female is concerned, which is the only sex I have had an opportunity of examining. The perfect insect appears in February and March. It is a scarce species. {19}MELANCHRA PICTULA, White. (_Dianthoecia pictula_, White, Tayl. New Zeal., pl. i. 3. _Meterana pictula_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 386, pl. xlii. 1. _Mamestra pictula_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 18.) (Plate IV., fig. 37 [M].) Three specimens of this handsome species have occurred at Lake Coleridge in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1-5/8 inches. The fore-wings are grey, very faintly tinged with pink, the markings are yellowish-green margined with black, _the reniform is large, oval, clear white, with a minute white dot above and below it_, there is a series of conspicuous black-edged yellow spots near the termen; the cilia are grey with a series of minute black and white dots at their base. _The hind-wings are pale crimson shaded with dark grey near the termen_, there is an obscure grey spot near the middle; the cilia are grey. The sides of the abdomen are bright crimson. The moth appears in March. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. MELANCHRA RHODOPLEURA, Meyr. (_Mamestra rhodopleura_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 19.) (Plate IV., fig. 38.) This species has been taken in the North Island at Napier and Wellington. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are greenish-grey, with the markings yellow margined with black; _the hind-wings are dark grey_ with a terminal series of small yellow spots. The sides of the abdomen are bright crimson. This insect is very closely allied to _Melanchra pictula_, _but the absence of the white reniform spot and the grey hind-wings, will at once distinguish it from that species_. The perfect insect appears in May and June. It is decidedly rare. MELANCHRA MEROPE, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 2.) A single specimen of this handsome insect was taken in the Wellington Botanical Gardens in October, 1887. The expansion of the wings is nearly two inches. _The fore-wings are rich chocolate-brown, with yellow markings outlined in very deep brown_; there is a rather broad broken transverse line near the base; a yellow blotch containing a slender curved brown line, on the dorsum at about one-fourth, forming the end of another extremely broken transverse line; _the reniform is large, finely outlined with brown towards the base of the wing and half filled in with yellow towards the termen; between the reniform and the dorsum there is a jagged yellow transverse line_; there is a terminal series of dark brown streaks and yellow spots, and the termen itself is scalloped; the cilia are dark brown. The hind-wings are pale brown, pinkish tinged; there is an obscure terminal line; the cilia are brownish-pink. The head and thorax are dark brown, the abdomen pale brown, with the crests darker. MELANCHRA PELISTIS, Meyr. (_Mamestra pelistis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 20.) (Plate V., fig. 3 [M], 4 [F].) This species has occurred at Wellington and at Paikakariki, in the North Island. In the South Island it has been found at Akaroa and Lake Coleridge. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dull ochreous more or less shaded with dark reddish-brown, _especially in the vicinity of the transverse lines_; there are several obscure pale marks near the base; _the orbicular is grey, margined towards the dorsum with a conspicuous white or dull yellow crescentic line; the claviform is small, round, dull grey, edged with darker; the reniform is large, darker grey, paler towards the costa, margined with {20}white or dull yellow towards the base of the wing and termen_; there are two obscure transverse lines, the outer one often being slightly toothed towards the termen; sometimes there is a terminal series of minute black marks; the cilia are brown. The hind-wings are dark grey, with the cilia white. This species varies considerably in the ground colouring of the fore-wings. In some specimens the wing is almost entirely rich reddish-brown, whilst in others this colouring is confined to the vicinity of the stigmata and transverse lines. Numerous intermediate varieties exist which seem to connect these two forms. The perfect insect appears in January, February, and March. It is very common in the Wellington Botanical Gardens on the white rata blossoms. MELANCHRA PROTEASTIS, Meyr. (_Mamestra vitiosa_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 20 (nec Butl.). _Mamestra proteastis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 45.) (Plate IV., fig. 40 [M].) This insect is very common in the neighbourhood of Christchurch. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. The fore-wings are dark chocolate-brown; there are several very obscure marks near the base, the orbicular and claviform spots are almost invisible, the reniform is pale brown with a minute dot above and below it towards the termen, followed by a pale, darker-margined, transverse line. The hind-wings are dull brownish-grey, with the cilia paler. The female is rather darker in colour than the male. This is a very obscurely marked insect, closely allied to the next species, from which it can only be distinguished with difficulty. _Its somewhat smaller size and the two minute white dots on the reniform stigma appear to be the most definite characteristics._ The perfect insect appears in May and June. Described and figured from specimens in Mr. Fereday's collection. MELANCHRA VITIOSA, Butl. (_Apamea vitiosa_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 384, pl. xlii. 3. _Mamestra ochthistis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 20. _Mamestra vitiosa_, Meyr. Trans. N. Z. Inst., xx. 45.) (Plate IV., fig. 42; Plate III., fig. 16, larva.) This is a scarce species in the neighbourhood of Wellington. In Christchurch it is very common. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. In general colouration it closely resembles the preceding insect, but is considerably paler, with the markings much more distinct. There are no clear white dots above or below the reniform stigma, the orbicular is obliquely oval and rather conspicuous, and the claviform is strongly margined with black. The larva is rather robust, very pale green above with numerous white lines and dots; dark green beneath with yellow dots. In the light part there is a triangle of black spots on each segment. The young larva has a strong pink lateral line, but in mature specimens this line is confined to the anterior and posterior segments only. Length when full grown about 1¼ inches. This caterpillar feeds on _Melicope simplex_, and when amongst the foliage of its food-plant it is extremely hard to detect, owing to its protective colouring and sluggish habits. The larva is full grown about October. The pupa is enclosed in a light cocoon on the surface of the ground. The perfect insect appears from November till April. {21}MELANCHRA DIATMETA, Meyr.[15] (Plate V., fig. 5.) This species has occurred at Wellington. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are reddish-brown; there is a short longitudinal black streak near the base, an obscure yellow transverse line at about one-fourth, and several short oblique brown or yellow marks on the costa; the orbicular is oval oblique outlined very distinctly in yellow; the reniform is white, margined with yellow towards the base of the wing; _there is a black longitudinal streak at the base on the dorsum, which bends upwards at about one-fourth, and runs in a somewhat curved direction to a little above the tornus_. The veins are faintly marked in black, and there are several large yellow dots between the veins near the termen; the termen itself is slightly indented, the cilia are reddish-brown. The hind-wings are greyish-brown with the cilia reddish. There are two very conspicuous curved yellowish stripes on each side of the thorax. The perfect insect appears in September and October. It is a rare species. MELANCHRA TARTAREA, Butl. (_Graphiphora tartarea_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 384, pl. xlii. 2. _Mamestra tartarea_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 21.) (Plate V., fig. 6.) This species has occurred on the Murimutu Plains in the North Island. In the South Island it is a common species in the neighbourhood of Christchurch. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dark chocolate-brown; there is a short, dark-margined, pale transverse line near the base, and another at about one-third, the claviform spot is small, oval, dark brown, margined with black, the orbicular and reniform are very large, pale brown and very conspicuous; _there is a broad pale brown terminal band, and a narrow shading of pale brown along the dorsum_. The hind-wings are dark grey and the cilia dull white. This species can easily be recognised by the pale terminal band of the fore-wings. The perfect insect appears in March and April. MELANCHRA HOMOSCIA, Meyr. (_Mamestra homoscia_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 21.) (Plate V., fig. 7; Plate III., fig. 10, larva.)|. This dull-looking species has hitherto only occurred in the Wellington district, where it seems to be fairly common. The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are uniform dark grey; the veins are marked with a series of white dots, preceded and followed by black marks; the orbicular, reniform, and claviform spots are scarcely visible; an indistinct wavy line runs parallel with the termen. The hind-wings are grey; the cilia are white with a cloudy line. The head, thorax, and abdomen are grey. Sometimes the grey colouring is very much darker, and a faint wavy line is present between the orbicular spot and the base of the wing. In other respects the species does not vary. The larva is rather attenuated and black in colour; the dorsal line is narrow and bright yellow; the subdorsal is broader and white; and the lateral line is pale brown. The head, legs, prolegs, and under surface are pale brown, speckled with black; the spiracles are pink; a conspicuous white spot is situated above the spiracles. This caterpillar feeds on the Tauhinu (_Pomaderris ericifolia_) in December and January. It is very active in its habits, and immediately drops to the ground when disturbed. It is much infested by a dipterous parasite. The pupa state is spent in the earth and lasts about six weeks. The moth appears in February, March, and April. It is attracted by light, and in consequence often enters houses. {22}MELANCHRA OMICRON, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 42.) This species was discovered at Wellington by Mr. A. Norris. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are pale olive-green, mottled and striped with dull grey; there is a double transverse line near the base, another at about one-fourth, and another at about one-half, passing between the orbicular and the reniform; beyond this there are two indistinct shaded lines, and a terminal series of black marks; _the orbicular is large, almost circular, and sharply outlined in black_; the claviform is small and indistinct, and the reniform ill-defined, obscurely outlined in black towards the base. The hind-wings are brownish-grey, darker towards the termen. The perfect insect appears in November. MELANCHRA COMPOSITA, Gn. (_Cloantha composita_, Gn., Noct. vi. 114. _Auchmis composita_, Walk., Noct. 616; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. ix. 12. _Mamestra maori_, Feld., Reis. Nov., pl. cix. 24. _Leucania dentigera_, Butl. _Mamestra composita_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 22.) (Plate V., fig. 8 [M], 9 [F]; Plate III., fig. 7, larva.) One of the most abundant of our night-flying moths, occurring in great profusion throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are pale reddish-brown, darker towards the middle. There are two elongate, pointed, white markings touching the termen below the middle, and a central white streak, interrupted in the middle, by a small semicircular white mark, which represents the lower portion of the reniform spot; the orbicular and claviform spots are obsolete. The hind-wings are dark grey. The head and thorax are reddish-brown, and the abdomen is dark grey. The antennæ are serrate in the male but simple in the female. In some specimens the white markings are more extensive than usual, but otherwise there are no important variations. The larva is bright reddish-brown; the dorsal stripe is broad and black; the subdorsal narrower, edged with white; the lateral lines are dull red, white, and black; the ventral surface, head, legs, and prolegs are greenish-grey with black markings; the spiracles are black. This caterpillar varies considerably in the intensity of the light and dark markings. It feeds on grasses in January and September, and is very active. It often occurs in prodigious numbers, and at such times may frequently be seen travelling at a great rate over bare ground in search of food. Amongst the grass it is hard to detect, as the striped colouring is very protective in that situation. The pupa state is spent in the earth, or under moss on fallen trees. The moth appears from September till April. It is double-brooded. A few of the second brood emerge in the autumn and hibernate as moths, but the majority pass the winter in the pupa state. Hence we sometimes meet with specimens on mild evenings in the middle of winter. This insect is much attracted by light, and occasionally assembles in vast numbers round a brilliant lamp. I have had as many as one hundred specimens in my verandah at Karori, attracted during two or three hours. It is by far the commonest insect at the collectors' sugar, the numerous visitors of this species eagerly jostling each other in their haste to obtain a share of the sweets. _M. composita_ is likewise observed in the utmost profusion on attractive flowers of all kinds, crowding out the rarer and more aristocratic species. Mr. Hanify has drawn my attention to the remarkable habit this insect has of suddenly stopping {23}during its flight, and thus eluding pursuit. It also takes wing with unusual rapidity. Specimens of this moth may constantly be observed at rest in various situations during the daytime, when the protective character of the colouring will be at once apparent, especially when the insect is partially concealed amongst grass. Mr. Meyrick informs us that this species is common in Tasmania and South-Eastern Australia. MELANCHRA STEROPASTIS, Meyr. (_Mamestra steropastis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 22.) (Plate V., fig. 10 [M], 11 [F].) This insect has occurred in the North Island at Napier. In the South Island it has been taken at Blenheim and Christchurch, but does not seem to be a common species anywhere. The expansion of the wings is from 1¼ to 1½ inches. In general appearance it somewhat resembles the preceding species, from which it may chiefly be distinguished by the absence of the sharp white central line and conspicuous tooth-like markings near the termen. _There is also a minute white dot situated at the junction of veins 3 and 4 of the fore-wings._ The hind-wings are dark grey. The perfect insect appears from November till February. Described and figured from Mr. Fereday's specimens. MELANCHRA INFENSA, Walk. (_Orthosia infensa_, Walk. 748. _Mamestra arachnias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 23. _Mamestra infensa_, Meyr., ib. xx. 45.) (Plate V., fig. 12.) This species has occurred in the North Island at Napier, and in the South Island at Blenheim. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are reddish-brown, slightly speckled with dull white except on a suffused central streak from the base to about two-thirds; an obscure, moderately broad white costal streak extends from the base to two-thirds, sharply defined near the base only, and containing several very oblique ill-defined blackish marks; the orbicular is narrow oval, longitudinal, very finely margined with white and then with black; the claviform is obsolete; the reniform is only indicated by two white dots, representing its lower angles; the transverse lines are very acutely dentate but hardly traceable; the subterminal line is indicated only by three very acute slender whitish-ochreous dentations--one below apex, two touching the termen below the middle; the cilia are reddish-brown mixed with dull white. The hind-wings are dark grey; the cilia are dull white, with a faint grey line and tips white. The head, palpi, and thorax are reddish-brown speckled with white; the forehead with two black transverse lines; and the collar with a slender white line; thorax with strong anterior double tuft. Abdomen light reddish-grey. Description compiled from that of Mr. Meyrick. Figured by Mr. W. B. Hudson from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. MELANCHRA OMOPLACA, Meyr. (_Mamestra omoplaca_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 24.) (Plate V., fig. 13.) This species has occurred in the South Island at Lake Coleridge and Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dark reddish-brown, there is a short black median streak from the base, margined above with ochreous-white; the space between this and the costa is marked with suffused ochreous-whitish lines; in one specimen {24}a blackish suffusion extending from base of the dorsum obliquely to orbicular and reniform, the space between this and the subterminal line is suffused with pale whitish-ochreous; the orbicular and reniform are blackish-fuscous, black-margined, and connected by a blackish-fuscous spot; the orbicular is large, roundish; the reniform with its outer edge white; the claviform is small, suboval, blackish-fuscous; the transverse lines are indistinct; the subterminal is obscurely paler or hardly traceable, with two somewhat acute dentations below the middle; the terminal space is mixed with blackish-fuscous; the cilia are reddish-fuscous mixed with blackish. The hind-wings are fuscous-grey; the cilia grey-whitish, with a grey line. The perfect insect appears in December, February, and March. Description compiled from that of Mr. Meyrick. Figured by Mr. W. B. Hudson from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. MELANCHRA ALCYONE, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 14 [M].) During the autumn of 1894 several specimens of this interesting species were captured in the Wellington Botanical Gardens by Mr. A. Norris. The expansion of the wings of the [M] is 1-5/8 inches, of the [F] 1½ inches. The fore-wings of the male are _warm brown, darker towards the base_; there is a wavy, white-edged, black, transverse line at about one-fifth, followed by a round black spot; _the costa is yellowish, with four pairs of short oblique black marks_; the orbicular is large, oval, oblique, pale yellowish-brown slightly darker in the middle; the claviform is small, obscure, and brownish-black; the reniform is black, outlined with dull white; _there is a series of very acute, dull white, tooth-like terminal markings_, and the termen itself is slightly scalloped; the cilia are dark brown. The hind-wings are grey with a series of small dark marks on the termen; the cilia are reddish-ochreous. The head and anterior portion of the thorax are reddish-ochreous; the rest of the thorax is rich brown, and there is a conspicuous black transverse line between the pale and dark colouring; the abdomen is reddish-ochreous with the crests reddish-brown. The female is much darker and duller than the male, the markings are much less distinct, there are several additional jagged transverse lines, and the white markings of the male are indistinctly indicated in drab. The perfect insect appears in March. MELANCHRA DOTATA, Walk. (_Dasypolia dotata_, Walk., Noct. 522. _Mamestra dotata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 24.) (Plate V., fig. 16.) This species has occurred at Nelson. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings are very dark brownish-black; there are several obscure black marks near the base; _the orbicular is large, oblong, finely margined with black, the claviform is triangular, also finely margined with black, both orbicular and claviform are surrounded by a conspicuous black shading; the reniform is large ear-shaped, white towards the termen and dark brown towards the base of the wing_, the white portion is traversed by a curved brownish line; there is a curved transverse line near the termen, the space immediately inside this line being paler than the rest of the wing; there is a terminal series of obscure pale dots. The hind-wings are dark brown, paler towards the base; the cilia are also brown. A single specimen of this insect was reared from a pupa found at Wakapuaka, near Nelson. Mr. Fereday also has a specimen, but without note of locality. MELANCHRA ASTEROPE, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 15.) A single specimen of this insect was taken at light on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, in January 1891, at about 3,600 feet above the sea-level. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are dull brown _with a pale area on the dorsum near the base, and a very broad pale band just before the termen_; there is a broken {25}black-edged transverse line near the base, and a fainter transverse line at about one-third; the orbicular is oblong, the claviform crescentic, _and the reniform oblong, white, and very conspicuous_, all are strongly outlined in black; there is a shaded transverse line on each side of the broad pale terminal band; the termen is dark brown; the cilia are brown, and the veins are marked in black. The hind-wings are pale grey; there is a rather conspicuous dark crescent in the middle, and two shaded transverse lines; the cilia are grey. This species is evidently allied to _Melanchra dotata_. MELANCHRA STIPATA, Walk. (_Xylina stipata_, Walk., Suppl. 753. _Mamestra stipata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 25.) (Plate V., fig. 17 [F].) This fine species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and in the South Island at Christchurch, and West Plains, near Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is 1¾ inches. The fore-wings are brown; there is a shaded, pale yellowish-brown, longitudinal line on the costa, _and an extensive irregular patch of the same colour from about two-thirds to within a short distance of the termen; the orbicular is large, oval, oblique, pale yellowish-brown; the claviform is semicircular, broadly margined with black_; the reniform is dull grey, with one large and one small white mark towards the termen; the termen is broadly shaded with dark blackish-brown, except near the apex of the wing and a little below the middle. The hind-wings are dark brownish-grey, with the cilia reddish-brown. The female is rather paler with a slightly olive tinge. Both sexes vary a little in the depth of their colouring. The perfect insect appears from October till May. It is common at Christchurch, but rather scarce in Wellington. MELANCHRA OCTANS, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 1.) This distinctly marked little species was discovered by Mr. Philpott, at Mount Linton, near Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is 1¾ inches. The fore-wings are pale ochreous-brown; there are several wavy brown transverse lines near the base, two lines at about one-third, _then a large_ V-_shaped white mark extending almost from the costa and touching the dorsum_; the orbicular and reniform spots are situated in the middle of this mark, the orbicular is very finely outlined in brown, and contains a black dot towards the base of the wing; the reniform is large, dark brown, _surrounded by a large triangular dark brown shading_; there is an obscure subterminal line; the termen is slightly indented. The hind-wings are dark brown, paler towards the termen. This species may be immediately recognised by the large, white, V-shaped markings on the fore-wings. The perfect insect appears in March. MELANCHRA RUBESCENS, Butl. (_Xylophasia rubescens_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 489. _Mamestra rubescens_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 25.) (Plate V., fig. 18 [M].) This insect is apparently a mountain species. It has been taken at Mount Arthur, Castle Hill, and Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings is about 1-5/8 inches. The fore-wings are pale orange-brown, the orbicular and claviform spots are faintly margined with reddish-brown; the reniform is dark brown and very conspicuous; there are two large reddish-brown markings on the termen. The hind-wings are dark grey tinged with red. The cilia of all the wings are reddish-brown. This species varies slightly in the shape and extent of the markings on the termen {26}of the fore-wings, which occasionally cause the pale ground colour to form tooth-like projections. It also varies a little in the intensity of the other markings, and in the depth of the ground colour. The moth appears in January and February, and is attracted by light. I have taken it in some abundance on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, at an altitude of 3,500 feet above the sea-level. MELANCHRA LIGNANA, Walk. (_Hadena lignana_, Walk., Noct. 758. ? _Xylophasia morosa_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 543. _Mamestra lignana_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 26.) (Plate V., fig. 19 [M].) This pretty species is very common at Wellington in the North Island. In the South Island it has occurred at Mount Hutt. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are greyish-cream-colour_, slightly paler on the costa. There are two very distinct blackish transverse marks on the costa near the base, and two others at about one-third; _the stigmata are all sharply and finely outlined in black; the orbicular is oval, the claviform triangular, the reniform large and oblong, containing a smaller black-edged mark in its centre, and a blackish blotch towards its lower margin_; beyond the reniform there is a faint jagged transverse line; there are two dark patches on the termen, _the pale ground colour forming two sharp tooth-like markings slightly below the middle_; the termen itself is slightly indented, and the cilia are dark brown. The hind-wings are dark grey with the cilia white. Some specimens of this insect are slightly darker than others, but in other respects there are no important variations. The perfect insect appears from October till April. It comes freely to sugar and to light, and is often taken at rest on trees and fences in the daytime. MELANCHRA COELENO, n. sp. (Plate IV., fig. 39.) This interesting species has been taken at Wellington by Messrs. Hawthorne and Norris. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are very pale brownish-cream-colour; _there is a large irregular dark brown patch on the dorsum from about one-eighth to about two-thirds, another smaller patch at the tornus, and another still smaller on the termen a little above the middle_; there are two very obscure transverse lines; the orbicular is finely outlined in brown; the reniform contains two very dark brown dots, and is rather strongly outlined in brown towards the base. The hind-wings are dark grey. The cilia of all the wings are grey with a paler line. The perfect insect appears in November. MELANCHRA USTISTRIGA, Walk. (_Xylina ustistriga_, Walk., Noct. 630. _X. lignisecta_, ib., 631. _Mamestra ustistriga_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 26.) (Plate V., fig. 20 [M], 20A [F].) This beautiful insect has occurred commonly at Wellington in the North Island, and in the South Island, at Blenheim, Christchurch, and Lake Coleridge. The expansion of the wings is about 1¾ inches. _The fore-wings, head, and thorax are pinkish-grey in the male, pale grey in female; the orbicular spot is rather large, nearly round, finely outlined in black; the reniform is very large, margined with black towards the base of the wing, and usually touching the orbicular spot or connected with it by a short black line_; the claviform is triangular, also black margined; there is a cloudy oblique line below the reniform, and an irregular line between the reniform and the termen. The hind-wings and abdomen are pale pinkish-grey in male, dull grey in female; the cilia are white with a cloudy line. {27}This insect varies slightly in size, especially in the female. The larva is dull greyish-brown, with the subdorsal and lateral lines darker. It feeds on honeysuckle during the summer months. The pupa state is spent in the earth. The moth is very irregular in its appearance. I have captured specimens in January, February, March, April, July and September. It appears to pass the winter in both the pupa and imago states. It is very partial to light, and in consequence often enters houses. MELANCHRA PRIONISTIS, Meyr. (_Mamestra prionistis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 27.) (Plate V., fig. 21 [M].) This species is common at Wellington in the North Island. In the South Island it has been taken at Rakaia. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1-5/8 inches, of the female 1¾ inches. _The fore-wings are rather pale yellowish-brown, with numerous irregular longitudinal grey streaks_; there are several very obscure jagged transverse lines, and the stigmata are almost invisible; _a very broad blackish longitudinal band is situated on the dorsum_. The hind-wings are brownish-grey; the cilia are grey tipped with white. The head and thorax are grey tinged with yellowish-brown; there is a conspicuous blackish streak on each side of the thorax. In this species the dorsal band is often considerably paler, but otherwise there is no variation. The perfect insect appears from November till April. It comes freely to sugar, and occasionally to light. It is also sometimes met with at rest on trees in the daytime, where its colouring is protective. I have noticed that this moth is much commoner in some years than in others. MELANCHRA PHRICIAS, Meyr. (_Mamestra temperata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 27 (nee Walk.). _Mamestra phricias_, Meyr., ib., xx. 46.) (Plate V., fig. 22.) This species has occurred in the Manawatu district in the North Island. In the South Island it has been found at Christchurch and Lake Coleridge. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are pale silvery-grey_; there are several obscure blackish marks near the base, _two dark, shaded, transverse bands, one just before the orbicular, and one between the orbicular and the reniform_; the orbicular is round, nearly white, with a faint greyish ring in the middle; the reniform is large, oblong, margined first with white and then with black; there is a series of black crescentic marks near the termen, and another smaller series on the termen; the cilia are dark grey. The hind-wings are dull brownish-grey, the cilia are grey tipped with white. The terminal joint of the palpi is elongated. The perfect insect has been taken in December, February, March and June, and is attracted by light. It is rather a rare species. MELANCHRA CUCULLINA, Gn. (_Xylocampa cucullina_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 40. Agrotis mitis, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 383, pl. xlii. 5. _Mamestra cucullina_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 28.) (Plate V., fig. 23 [M].) This species has occurred at Mount Arthur, and at Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are bluish-grey, speckled and dappled with blackish-brown_; there is a pale transverse line near the base, partially edged with black; the orbicular is round, containing a blackish dot in the middle; the reniform is elongate-oval, including a {28}dark spot in its lower portion; the space surrounding the stigmata is clouded with dark blackish-brown; there is a terminal series of small blackish crescentic marks, and the cilia are dark grey. The hind-wings are brownish-grey; the cilia are also grey tipped with white. This species is evidently closely allied to _M. phricias, but may at present be distinguished by its darker and more bluish colouring_. The perfect insect appears in January and March. I have taken it at light on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, at 3,600 feet above the sea-level. Genus 8.--ERANA, Walk. "Eyes hairy. Antennæ in male filiform, simple, with scattered single cilia. Thorax with anterior and posterior crests. Abdomen with strong dorsal crests towards base. Fore-wings in male beneath with a very long dense tuft of scent-giving hairs from base; transverse vein absent, 7 and 8 out of 9, 10 free. Hind-wings with transverse vein absent, costa in male broadly dilated."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., fig. 9 fore-wing, 10 hind-wing.)[16] We have one species representing this interesting genus. ERANA GRAMINOSA, Walk. (_Erana graminosa_, Walk., Noct. 605. _E. vigens_, ib., Suppl. 743. _Erana graminosa_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 28.) (Plate V., fig. 24 [M], 25 [F]; Plate III., fig. 8, larva.) This beautiful species appears to be fairly common in many forests in the North Island. It has occurred at Wanganui, Masterton, Palmerston, and Wellington. In the South Island it has been taken by Mr. Philpott, at West Plains, near Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are bright green; there are three paler green transverse lines, edged with black; one near the base of the wing, one just beyond the reniform spot, and one close to the termen; this last is inwardly much clouded with dark olive-green; the reniform spot is pale green edged with black. The hind-wings are very broad, pinkish-brown, tinged with green on the termen. In the female the hind-wings are considerably narrower, and are not so strongly tinged with green as in the male. Some specimens appear to be rather darker than others, but beyond this I have not detected any variation. The eggs are rather large, globular, flattened above and beneath, and pale green in colour. The larva feeds on the mahoe (_Melicytus ramiflorus_). When first excluded from the egg it is about 1/8 inch long, and of a very pale green colour. After the first moult the caterpillar is bright green, darker towards the head, with white dorsal, subdorsal, and lateral lines; there are eight rows of shining black spots, each spot emitting a number of stout black bristles; the head is yellowish-brown with a few black dots. After the last moult the larva has a totally different appearance. It is pale green marbled with darker green; there is often a whitish lateral line, and an obscure series of diagonal green stripes on the sides of each segment. Sometimes the whole larva has a pinkish-brown tinge, and there are often two or three rows of pale spots. In fact the full-grown caterpillar is very variable in its colouring. These larvæ hibernate during the winter months, often secreting themselves in the burrows which have been made in the stems of the mahoe by various species of wood-boring insects. They come abroad about the end of August, and are full grown early in October. The pupa state is spent in the earth. The moth appears in December, January, February, March and April. It is often {29}found at rest on tree-trunks in the daytime, where its beautiful green colouring causes it to resemble, in the closest possible manner, a patch of moss. Mr. Hawthorne tells me that he has frequently found dead specimens in this situation. This insect is, I think, commoner at slight elevations above the sea-level, forest ranges of from 500 to 1,000 feet in height being apparently the most favourable localities for the species. The appearance of the moth over so long a period would seem to indicate that there are two generations in a year, but I have never found full-grown larvæ in the middle of summer. There is, however, no doubt that the insect passes the winter in the larval condition. This species is often met with very late in the season, frequenting the few remaining blossoms of the white rata until the first or second week in April. Mr. Meyrick thus alludes to the scented tuft of hairs in the male insect: "The large tuft of the fore-wings is the source of a very strong vanilla-like perfume, which scents the box in which the specimens are contained for more than a week after their death; the scent is excited more strongly, even in the dead specimen, by stirring the tuft with a pin."[17] I can fully testify to the accuracy of this interesting observation. Sub-family 3.--_CARADRINIDES_. "Eyes naked, not ciliated." Genus 9.--BITYLA, Walk. "Antennæ in male filiform, shortly ciliated. Thorax not crested, collar sub-erect. Abdomen not crested."--(Meyrick). Of this genus we have two species in New Zealand. BITYLA DEFIGURATA, Walk. (_Xylina defigurata_, Walk., Suppl. 756. _Bityla thoracica_, ib. 869. _Bityla defigurata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 31.) (Plate V., fig. 33.) This species has been taken at Palmerston in the North Island, and at Blenheim, Christchurch, Lake Coleridge, Dunedin, and West Plains near Invercargill, in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are uniform dull bronzy-brown and very glossy_; there are one or two faint indications of transverse lines. The hind-wings are dark grey, also glossy. The perfect insect appears in January, February, and March, and is attracted by light. The single specimen I possess in my collection was taken in July, evidently hibernating. It is a rare species. BITYLA SERICEA, Butl. (_Bityla sericea_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 387, pl. xlii. 12; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 31.) (Plate V., fig. 34.) This rather striking insect has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Christchurch and Lake Guyon in the South Island. {30}The expansion of the wings is about 1¾ inches. _The fore-wings are very dark greyish-black, darker near the termen, and very glossy_; there are several isolated white scales towards the base of the wing, and a very obscure transverse line at about three-fourths; the cilia are cream colour and very conspicuous. The hind-wings are dark grey and glossy; _the cilia are pale grey, very broadly tipped with cream colour_. The perfect insect appears in February and March, and is attracted by light. It is a rather scarce species. Genus 10.--AGROTIS, Ochs. Head rough-scaled; eyes naked. Antennæ in [M] ciliated, often acutely bidentate or bipectinated, with apex simple. Thorax usually with more or less developed anterior and posterior crests. Abdomen not crested. Tibiæ all spinose. "A very large genus occurring all over the world but much more plentifully in the northern hemisphere. The larvæ are very indiscriminate in their tastes, often feeding on almost any low plant; they are frequently subterranean in habit, but usually emerge by night to feed."--(Meyrick.) This genus is represented in New Zealand by five species, one of which is an insect of almost world-wide distribution. AGROTIS YPSILON, Rott. (_Noctua ypsilon_, Rott. Agrotis suffusa, Hb. _Agrotis ypsilon_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 32.) (Plate V., fig. 35 [M], 36 [F].) This handsome insect is probably very common throughout the country. It has occurred abundantly at Napier, Wellington, Nelson, Christchurch, Ashburton and Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is 2 inches. The fore-wings are pale brown, shaded with rich brown on the costa and termen; the reniform is large and black, with a conspicuous longitudinal streak pointing towards the termen; the orbicular is round, centred with black; the claviform is elongate; there is a dark shaded line below the reniform, followed by a double wavy transverse black line. The hind-wings are grey with pinkish reflections; they are shaded with darker grey towards the termen; the cilia are white, the head and thorax are dark brown, the abdomen grey. In the female the brown costal shading extends across the central portions of the fore-wings to the dorsum, and the general colouring is also darker. There are no noteworthy variations in either sex. The larva feeds on the roots of grasses. Its head is pale brown mottled with darker brown, and its body is lead-colour with darker dorsal and lateral lines. It remains underground during the daytime, coming abroad at night to feed. The pupa is red-brown with a very sharp, spine-like extremity. It is concealed in the earth.[18] The perfect insect appears in January, February and March. It is often very abundant at various blossoms in the evening, and comes readily to sugar. It is an insect of almost universal distribution, occurring in Australia, China, India, Africa, Europe, and North and South America.[19] {31}AGROTIS ADMIRATIONIS, Gn. (_Agrotis admirationis_, Gn. (nec Meyrick), Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 38.) (Plate V., fig. 37.) This species has been taken at Christchurch. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are dull grey; there are two minute black marks on the costa near the base, a slender interrupted transverse line at about one-third, _the orbicular, reniform, and claviform spots are very large and conspicuous, surrounded by a dark grey shading_; there is a series of black dots on the termen. The hind-wings are pale grey. The cilia of all the wings are also pale grey. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. I am assured by Mr. Fereday that the above-described insect is the true _Agrotis admirationis_ of Guenée, described from an identical specimen which he forwarded to Guenée. The following species, which is regarded by Mr. Meyrick as _Agrotis admirationis_, Gn. (see Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 33), is therefore renamed as below. AGROTIS INNOMINATA, n. sp. (_Agrotis admirationis_, Meyr. (nec Guenée), Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 33.) (Plate V., fig. 39 [M].) Two specimens of this species have been taken at Wellington. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are pale pinkish-yellow; there is a slender black longitudinal streak on the costa at the base, _a broad black longitudinal streak at the base near the middle, and another a little beyond the base above the middle, containing the orbicular and reniform stigmata, these are sharply outlined in pinkish-yellow_; there are several rather indistinct black streaks between the veins, and a series of terminal black dots; the cilia are dull pinkish-yellow. The hind-wings are dull white; there is a series of brownish terminal dots, and the veins are marked in brown; _the cilia are shining white_. The head and thorax are pinkish-brown; the latter has two transverse black lines near the head, and two longitudinal black streaks on each side. The abdomen is dull white tipped with pale brown. One specimen of this insect is considerably tinged with very pale olive-green instead of pink, but it is otherwise identical. As the available material is so extremely limited, I am unable to say which is the typical form. The perfect insect appears in December. I am indebted to Messrs. J. H. Lewis and W. R. Morris for my specimens. AGROTIS SERICEA, Butl. (_Chersotis sericea_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 490. _C. inconspicua_, ib. 545. _Agrotis sericea_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 33. _A. inconspicua_, ib. 34. _Agrotis sericea_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 46.) (Plate V., fig. 38 [F].) This species has occurred in the South Island at Christchurch, Rakaia, and Ashburton. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings vary from very pale grey to dark blackish-grey; there is an obscure transverse line near the base, and another at about one-fourth; _the orbicular is oval and dark centred, the claviform is elongate, often very obscure, the reniform is broad dark centred, usually joined to the orbicular by a dark patch_; all the stigmata are outlined in black; beyond the reniform there is a rather jagged transverse line, and _several faint wedge-shaped markings_; there is a series of minute elongate black marks on the termen; the cilia are grey with three dark lines. The hind-wings are grey with several fine black marks on the termen; the cilia are white. This species seems to be rather variable both in ground colour and in markings. The perfect insect appears in October, November, December and January. It is not a common species. {32}AGROTIS CEROPACHOIDES, Gn. (_Agrotis ceropachoides_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 39; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 34.) (Plate VI., fig. 1.) This species has occurred at Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are bluish-grey, dotted and streaked with darker grey; there are no distinct markings_, except an obscure transverse shading near the termen, and a series of dull terminal spots; _the costa is slightly concave_. The hind-wings are grey, paler towards the base, with a dark line on the termen; the cilia of all the wings are grey. The perfect insect appears in July, August and September. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. Genus 11.--HELIOTHIS, Ochs. "Head rough-scaled; eyes naked. Antennæ in [M] ciliated. Thorax without crest. Abdomen not crested. Tibiæ spinose, anterior tibiæ with horny apical hook. "A rather small genus, but very generally distributed, though commoner in subtropical regions; it is a development of _Caradrina_; some of the species have a very wide natural range. The larvæ feed especially on the blossoms of their food-plants."--(Meyrick.) This genus is represented in New Zealand by the world-wide _Heliothis armigera_. HELIOTHIS ARMIGERA, Hb. (_Heliothis armigera_, Hb. _H. conferta_, Walk., Noct. 690. _H. armigera_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 34.) (Plate V., fig. 40 [M], 41 [F].) This species has occurred plentifully at Waimarama (Hawkes Bay) and Wellington, in the North Island; and at Nelson, Blenheim, Christchurch, Rakaia, and Ashburton in the South Island. In Wellington it is certainly not so common as formerly, and Mr. Meyrick observes that its abundance is declining in some other localities also. The expansion of the wings is from 1½ to 1¾ inches. The fore-wings are pale yellowish-brown, sometimes tinged with red. There is an irregular band of dull grey or brown near the termen; _the reniform is small and black; the orbicular minute, also black; the claviform is obsolete_; there are several very indistinct traces of transverse lines towards the base of the wing. The hind-wings are dull yellow, _with a very broad, blackish, terminal band_. The head and thorax are yellowish-brown, and the abdomen is dull yellow. This insect varies a good deal in the ground colouring of the fore-wings, which ranges from dull yellow to brick-red, or even to dark yellowish-brown. The hind-wings are also much darker in some specimens than in others. The larva feeds on the seeds and flowers of various plants. It is extremely variable in its colouring. Some specimens are dull green, with a few obscure red spots on the sides of the anterior segments. Others are brownish-black, with many fine yellow stripes and dots, and the red spots confined to the three anterior segments. Others, again, have numerous olive-green, white, and pale green lines, with a reddish blotch on the side of nearly every segment. This caterpillar is often rather destructive in gardens. Amongst other things, it devours tomatoes and peas, the flowers and young fruit of pumpkins and vegetable marrows, the flowers and leaves of geraniums, veronicas, &c. It is full grown in the autumn. The pupa is concealed in the earth, the insect remaining in this condition until the following summer. {33}The moth appears in January and February. It often flies by day, and may then be seen disporting itself amongst the flowers of the Scotch thistle. Its larva may also be found feeding on these flowers. This insect is practically cosmopolitan; it has occurred in the following countries: Australia, Samoa, India, Ceylon, Madagascar, Africa, Europe, North and South America.[20] Genus 12.--COSMODES, Gn. "Eyes naked. Antennæ in male filiform, shortly ciliated. Thorax with strong transverse anterior and posterior crests. Abdomen strongly crested towards base. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 short-stalked."--(Meyrick.) We have only one species in New Zealand. COSMODES ELEGANS, Don. (_Phalæna elegans_, Don. Ins. N. H. _Cosmodes elegans_, Gn., Noct. vi. 290; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 35.) (Plate VI., fig. 2.) This beautiful species has occurred at Napier and Ohau in the North Island. In the South Island it has been taken at Christchurch and Governor's Bay. The expansion of the wings is 1-1/8 inches. The fore-wings are rich orange-brown, with _four large green spots margined with silver_; there is a curved silvery mark near the apex. The hind-wings are pale yellow, shaded with orange-brown towards the termen; the cilia are pale orange-brown mixed with white. The perfect insect appears in March and April. Mr. Meyrick states that it occurs commonly in Eastern Australia.[21] Family 3.--PLUSIADÆ. The _Plusiadæ_ are characterized as follows:-- "Ocelli usually distinct. Tongue well developed. Posterior tibiæ with all spurs present. Fore-wings with veins 7 and 8 usually out of 9, 10 usually connected with 9. Hind-wings with veins 3 and 4 connate or short-stalked, 5 well developed, 6 and 7 connate or short-stalked or seldom closely approximated only, 8 shortly anastomosing with cell near base, thence evenly diverging." (See Plate II., figs. 14 to 18.) "This family is by no means very prominent in temperate regions, but within the tropics it assumes immense proportions, and is there, probably, the most abundant family of the Lepidoptera. There is much greater diversity of size, colour, and form than in the _Caradrinidæ_, and also more variation in structure, though this remains more uniform than usual. Imago with fore-wings usually relatively broader and less elongate than in the _Caradrinidæ_, body often more slender. "Ovum spherical, more or less reticulated, often also ribbed. Larva with few hairs, sometimes with prolegs on segments 7 and 8 absent or rudimentary. Pupa usually in a cocoon above the ground."--(Meyrick.) The family is represented in New Zealand by the following four genera:-- Sub-family 1.--HYPENIDES 1. HYPENODES. {2. PLUSIA. Sub-family 2.--PLUSIADES {3. DASYPODIA. {4. RHAPSA. {34}Sub-family 1.--_HYPENIDES_. Vein 5 of hind-wings parallel to 4. Genus 1.--HYPENODES, Gn. Head loosely scaled, with small frontal tuft. Antennæ in [M] ciliated. Palpi very long, porrected, second joint thickened with rough projecting scales, terminal rather short, cylindrical. Thorax with appressed scales. Abdomen with small crest near base. Tibiæ smooth-scaled. Fore-wings with vein 7 separate, 9 and 10 out of 8. Hind-wings with vein 5 parallel to 4. "Although consisting of very few species, this genus is almost universally distributed. Imago with fore-wings unusually elongate. Larva without prolegs on segments 7 and 8."--(Meyrick.) We have one species in New Zealand. HYPENODES EXSULARIS, Meyr. (_Hypenodes exsularis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 46.) "_Male._--16 mm. (about ¾ inch). Head, antennæ, thorax, and abdomen whitish-ochreous, brownish-tinged; abdominal crest black. Palpi dark fuscous. Legs dark fuscous, posterior pair whitish-ochreous. Fore-wings elongate, posteriorly gradually dilated, costa slightly arched, termen obliquely rounded; ochreous-brown, closely irrorated with rather dark fuscous; a black mark beneath costa at base; a cloudy blackish longitudinal mark in disc beyond middle; second line obscurely indicated, paler, anteriorly partly blackish-edged, from posterior extremity of discal mark to dorsum beyond middle; an oblique wedge-shaped white spot from apex, touching second line; a sub-terminal series of white dots; a terminal row of black dots; cilia fuscous, with a basal series of whitish-ochreous dots. Hind-wings pale whitish-grey; a grey transverse discal spot; a dark grey interrupted terminal line; cilia grey-whitish. "Taranaki, in March; one specimen. "In the British Museum is an unnamed specimen from China, which appears to be certainly the same species; it, therefore, probably ranges through many of the South Pacific islands. From its small size and inconspicuous appearance it is doubtless often overlooked."--(Meyrick.) Sub-family 2.--_PLUSIADES_. Vein 5 of hind-wings more or less approximated to 4. Genus 2.--PLUSIA, Ochs. "Head rough-scaled. Antennæ in [M] very shortly ciliated. Palpi rather long, curved, ascending, second joint rough-scaled, terminal moderately long or short, more or less rough-scaled in front, somewhat pointed. Thorax with large central or posterior crest. Abdomen with one or more crests. Tibiæ rough-scaled. Hind-wings with vein 5 more or less approximated to 4." (Plate II., figs. 14 and 15.) "A considerable genus, occurring throughout the world. Most of the imagos are handsome insects, often with metallic markings; some of them fly actively in bright sunshine. Larva usually without prolegs on segments 7 and 8, segment 12 more or less prominent above. Pupa in a rather open cocoon."--(Meyrick.) This genus is represented in New Zealand by a single and very widely distributed species. {35}PLUSIA CHALCITES, Esp. (_Plusia criosoma_, Dbld., Dieff. N. Z. 285; Butl., Voy. Ereb., pl. x. 1, 2. _P. argentifera_, Gn., Noct. vi. 352. _P. eriosoma_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 36.) (Plate VI., fig. 3 [M].) This insect is probably generally distributed in the North Island, and in the northern portions of the South Island. It has occurred very commonly at Taranaki, Napier, and Nelson, but in Wellington it is rather a scarce species. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dark grey with bronzy reflections; there is a pale band on the termen, and several of the transverse lines are indicated by paler colouring, the two basal ones being often silvery; _the orbicular is partly outlined with golden-white, and the claviform is wholly filled in with the same colour_. The hind-wings are yellowish-grey, darker towards the termen. Mr. Meyrick mentions a variety in which the characteristic golden-white discal spots on the fore-wings are absent. I have not yet had the good fortune to see this form, and think it must be a rare one. The larva has twelve legs; it is much attenuated towards the head; its colour is pale green, darker on the back; there is a number of wavy white lines and dots on the larva, as well as a few isolated black dots and hairs. It feeds on geraniums, mint, bean, Scotch thistle, and many other garden plants and weeds. Its original food appears to have been the "potato plant" (_Solarium aviculare_); but now it only occurs on this shrub in uncultivated localities, where there is no European vegetation. The pupa is enclosed in a cocoon of white silk, generally situated between two dead leaves on or near the ground. The moth first appears about September, and continues abundant until the end of summer. In Nelson I have seen it in great profusion, hovering over various flowers in the evening, at which time it also occasionally endeavours to gain access to beehives. In the same locality I have met with the young larvæ in the middle of winter, so that there is probably a continuous succession of broods all the year through in favourable situations. This insect is found in Australia, Pacific Islands, Africa, South Asia, South Europe, and occasionally in the South of England.[22] Genus 3.--DASYPODIA, Gn. "Eyes naked. Palpi with terminal joint very slender. Antennæ in male filiform, hardly pubescent. Thorax and abdomen not crested. Tarsi in male very much thickened, with dense scales (_teste Guenée_)."--(Meyrick.) We have one species. DASYPODIA SELENOPHORA, Gn. (_Dasypodia selenophora_, Gn., Noct. vii. 175; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 38.) (Plate VI., fig. 4.) This large and very handsome insect has occurred at Auckland, Napier, and Wellington in the North Island, and at Nelson, Richmond, and Christchurch, in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 3 inches. _The fore-wings are very rich deep brown_; there are two faint jagged transverse lines near the base, a straight shaded line at about one-third; _the reniform is very large, crescentic, steely blue, finely margined first with black, then with orange, and {36}then again with black; the centre of the crescent is filled in with black; beyond this spot there are three fine black wavy transverse lines emitting three very sharp teeth between the reniform and the dorsum_; there is a faint shaded line near the termen. The hind-wings are rich brown, slightly paler than the fore-wings; there are three shaded, wavy, transverse lines. The termen of both wings is slightly scalloped with a minute bluish-white dot at each indentation; the cilia are dark brown. The life-history is thus described by Mr. Colenso:-- The larva when full grown is about 3¾ inches in length, elongate, slightly thicker in the middle, and with the skin smooth. It is ash-colour, speckled with minute points of black and red; two minute carmine spots are situated close together on its back; and, when in motion, two large triangular black splashes are also visible. The under side of the larva is dull white, with several dull olive spots corresponding to its ventral prolegs. Its head is small, and pale Indian yellow in colour; its anal and ventral prolegs are large; on being touched the caterpillar coils itself up very rapidly and closely. The specimen from which Mr. Colenso's description was taken, was found at rest on the trunk of a large acacia-tree, which is probably the food-plant of the larva. The pupa is enclosed in a cocoon formed of leaves fastened together with silk. The insect appears to remain in this condition for about two months. The pupa-case (after emergence) is nearly cylindrical, very obtuse at the head, and tapering regularly downwards from the end of the wing-cases, with the tail conical; the abdominal segments are very strongly marked. Its colour is dark red, with a bluish or violet bloom, but smooth and shining on its prominent parts.[23] The perfect insect appears in January, February, and March, but it is rather a scarce species. It is attracted by light, and thus occasionally enters houses, where specimens are generally captured. Mr. Meyrick states that this insect occurs commonly in Eastern Australia.[24] Genus 4.--RHAPSA. "Eyes naked. Palpi very long, obliquely ascending, loosely rough-scaled throughout, second joint with dense long projecting tuft above towards apex, terminal joint moderate, Antennæ in male moderately bipectinated, apex simple. Thorax and abdomen not crested. Fore-wings in male beneath with large broad costal fold on anterior half."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 16 and 17 neuration of [M] _Rhapsa scotosialis_; fig. 18 head of ditto.) We have two species. RHAPSA SCOTOSIALIS, Walk. (_Rhapsa scotosialis_, Walk., Suppl. 1150. _Herminia lilacina_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, pl. xlii. 11. _Rhapsa scotosialis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 38.) (Plate VI., fig. 5 [M], 6 [F].) This remarkable species is extremely abundant and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings have the costa considerably arched towards the apex, and the termen is bowed outwards in the middle_; the colour is pale brown in the male and dark brown in the female; there are several obscure black marks near the base; _the orbicular is very small, orange or pale grey outlined in black, the claviform is absent, the reniform is conspicuous, the outer edge is much indented, the inner edge is outlined with dull orange-red_, there is a black blotch between the orbicular and the reniform; beyond the reniform there is a curved transverse line enveloping a series of minute black dots, then a very conspicuous wavy transverse line shaded towards the base of the wing; _there is a pale triangular area at the apex_, and a series of small crescentic dark brown markings on the termen; the cilia are dark brown. The hind-wings are greyish-ochreous; there is a rather faint line across the middle, followed by a broad shade; a series of {37}small crescentic marks is situated on the termen; the cilia are dark greyish-ochreous. _The antennæ of the male are strongly bipectinated. The female is considerably darker, the markings are less distinct and numerous, and there is no black blotch between the orbicular and the reniform._ Some male specimens are much paler in colour than others, but with this exception there does not appear to be any important variation. The eggs are round, flattened above, bright green, becoming dull purplish about two days after being laid. The young larva when first emerged is about 1/8 inch in length; the head is brown; the body dull white, with a series of black tubercles round each segment, each tubercle emitting a tuft of bristles. The larva has sixteen legs, but the two anterior pairs of ventral claspers are not employed in walking, the caterpillar's mode of progression, consequently, resembling that of a larva with twelve legs only. The food-plant is _Piper excelsum_. The perfect insect appears from September till April, and is very common amongst undergrowth in the forest. It is seldom found in the daytime, but at night it is extremely abundant in densely wooded situations. It flies in a very stealthy manner, and may soon be recognised on the wing by this feature alone. When disturbed it always secretes itself amongst dead fern fronds or other vegetable refuse, where its sombre colour effectually conceals it. The costal fold on the under side of the fore-wing of the male contains a very large tuft of extremely long hairs. It probably emits a scent agreeable to the female. RHAPSA OCTIAS. Meyr. (_Hyperaucha octias_, Meyr., Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond., 1897, 383.) (Plate VI., fig. 7.) This interesting little species has recently occurred in some numbers in the neighbourhood of Wellington. I have no record at present of its capture in any other New Zealand locality. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The fore-wings have the costa straight, and the termen with a large projection slightly above the middle; the colour is pale brown; _there is a broad dark brown patch on the costa at the base_, a jagged transverse line at about one-fourth, _a very broad, oblique, blackish-brown, oblong patch on the costa at about one-third; beyond this patch is situated the reniform which is very large, indented towards the termen where it is outlined in dark brown_; there is a very fine jagged transverse line from beneath the reniform to the dorsum; _a large irregular patch of dark brownish-black just before the apex_, and an obscure transverse line; there is a series of minute, dark brown, crescentic marks on the termen. The hind-wings are dull whitish-grey; there is a faint blackish dot in the middle, a wavy line a little below the middle, and a terminal series of small dark marks. The antennæ are filiform in both sexes. The perfect insect appears in October, November and December. It frequents dense forest ravines, and is generally disturbed from amongst dead leaves or old fern fronds. It is usually a very scarce species, but appears to be much commoner in some years than in others. According to Mr. Meyrick, it is also found in Australia. This species is placed by Mr. Meyrick in the genus _Rhapsa_. The simple antennæ and absence of the broad costal fold in the males would appear, however, to remove it from that genus, as restricted by him in the 'Transactions' of the New Zealand Institute, xix. 38. In all other respects it appears to conform to the genus.[25] {38}II.--THE NOTODONTINA. The _Notodontina_ are characterized as follows:-- "The maxillary palpi are obsolete. Fore-wings with vein 1b usually furcate, but with lower fork often weak or tending to be obsolete, 5 rising not nearer to 4 than to 6, parallel, 7 and 8 out of 9. Hind-wings almost always with frenulum, 1c absent. (Plate II., figs. 19 to 64, and Plate I., figs. 12 and 13.) "Imago with fore-wings more or less broad-triangular; hind-wings broad-ovate."--(Meyrick.) Larva (in New Zealand) generally with 10 or 12 legs only (Plate III., figs. 12, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, and 24), rarely with 16 (_Sphinx_, Pl. III., figs. 13 and 14). "Pupa with segments 9 to 11 free; not protruded from cocoon in emergence."--(Meyrick.) This is a very extensive group of the Lepidoptera, and so far as it is represented in New Zealand is equivalent to that group formerly known as the _Geometrina_, with the addition of the family _Sphingidæ_. The insects here included comprise many of our most interesting, abundant, and beautiful species. Some of them are so extremely variable that it is often a matter of considerable difficulty to determine the most convenient points on which to base the specific distinctions; although fortunately great advances have been made in this direction of late years owing to the increase in the number of workers, and the consequent accumulation of available material. In connection with this portion of the subject, special mention should be made of Mr. Meyrick's paper on the group, which appeared in the 'Transactions' of the New Zealand Institute for 1883. This essay has been of the greatest value in dispelling the doubts which formerly existed respecting the limits of many of the most variable species. The _Notodontina_ are represented in New Zealand by the six following families:-- 1. HYDRIOMENIDÆ. 4. ORTHOSTIXIDÆ. 2. STERRHIDÆ. 5. SELIDOSEMIDÆ. 3. MONOCTENIADÆ. 6. SPHINGIDÆ. Family 1.--HYDRIOMENIDÆ. The _Hydriomenidae_ are thus characterized:-- "Tongue well developed. Fore-wings with vein 10 rising separate; anastomosing with 11 and 9 (forming double areole), or rising out of 11 and anastomosing with 9 (forming simple areole). Hind-wings with vein 5 fully developed, parallel to 4, 6, and 7 almost always stalked or connate, 8 anastomosing with upper margin of cell from near base to beyond middle, or sometimes approximated only and connected by a bar or shortly anastomosing beyond middle." (Plate II., figs. 19 to 43.) "A very large family distributed in equal plenty throughout all temperate regions, but becoming scarcer within the tropics. The structure is very uniform throughout, and the generic distinctions slight. Imago with body slender, fore-wings usually broad. "Ovum broad, oval, rather flattened with usually oval reticulations. Larva elongate, slender, with few hairs, without prolegs on segments 7 to 9; often imitating live or dead twigs and shoots. Pupa usually subterranean."--(Meyrick.) {39}This family is very extensively represented in New Zealand by the following fifteen genera:-- 1. TATOSOMA. 5. ELVIA. 9. VENUSIA. 13. DASYURIS. 2. PARADETIS. 6. HYDRIOMENA. 10. ASAPHODES. 14. NOTOREAS. 3. CHLOROCLYSTIS. 7. EUCHOECA. 11. XANTHORHOE. 15. SAMANA. 4. PHRIXOGONUS. 8. ASTHENA. 12. LYTHRIA. Genus 1.--TATOSOMA, Butl. "Face smooth. Palpi long, straight, porrected, shortly rough-scaled, terminal joint short. Antennæ in male simple, stout, gradually dilated from base to near apex, apex attenuated. Abdomen in male very excessively elongate. Hind-wings in male deeply excised near dorsum, dorsal lobe folded into a long pocket, fringed with hairs. Fore-wings with vein 6 rising out of 9, 7 from or above angle of areole, 10 anastomosing moderately with 9, 11 anastomosing moderately with 10, 12 free. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 separate, 8 free, united with 7 before transverse vein by an oblique bar. "This singular genus is a remnant of a widely diffused, but now fragmentary group, to which belong also _Lobophora_ (Europe), _Rhopalodes_ (South America), _Sauris_ (Ceylon), and _Remodes_ (Borneo.) In all, the hind-wings of the male are peculiarly modified, usually much diminished in size, and with the dorsum formed into a distinct lobe, the object of which is unknown. A similar structure is found only in one or two genera of _Tortricina_. _Rhopalodes_ is the nearest genus to this, but vein 5 is said to be obsolete, and the lobe does not form a pocket; in _Sauris_ the areole is simple, and the antennæ thickly scaled; in _Remodes_ the areole is also simple, the antennæ flattened and scaled, and the dorsum is furnished with three superposed lobular folds, so that it represents the extreme of development in this direction."--(Meyrick.) It will be seen on reference to Plate II., figs. 22 and 23, which represent the structure of the hind-wings of the male and female of _Tatosoma agrionata_ respectively, that in the male veins 1 and 2 are absent, having no doubt become absorbed during the formation of the characteristic sexual lobe; vein 8 is connected with the margin of the cell by an oblique bar, this being probably due to an extension of the wing in the costal region, compensating for the loss in the dorsal region due to the above-mentioned lobe. In the hind-wings of the female the normal neuration of the family is almost preserved, the only peculiar feature consisting in the origin of veins 6 and 7 from a point on the margin of the cell. Of this remarkable genus we have three species, and I think it quite possible that others may reward the industry of future collectors. TATOSOMA LESTEVATA, Walk. (_Cidaria lestevata_, Walk. 1416. _Sauris ranata_, Feld. cxxxi. 11., _Tatosoma lestevata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 67.) (Plate VI., fig. 25 [M].) This beautiful species has occurred at Wainuiomata, near Wellington, in the North Island, and at Nelson and Christchurch, in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are bright-green; there are four wavy, black, transverse lines; the first near the base, the second a little before the middle, the third considerably beyond the middle, and the fourth near the termen_; the terminal line is very faint towards the tornus, and it emits three or four very sharp, longitudinal, black, tooth-like marks; all the transverse lines are much stronger where they cross the principal veins. The hind-wings are very pale yellowish-green. The perfect insect appears in February. At present I believe the species is represented by four specimens only--two in Mr. Fereday's collection and two in my own. {40}TATOSOMA AGRIONATA, Walk. (_Cidaria agrionata_, Walk. 1417. _Cidaria tipulata_, ib. 1417. _Cidaria inclinataria_, ib. 1418. _Cidaria transitaria_, ib. 1419. _Sauris mistata_, Feld. cxxxi. 12. _Tatosoma transitaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 68. _Tatosoma agrionata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvii. 64.) (Plate VI., fig. 26 [M], 27 [F].) This fine species has occurred commonly at Wellington in the North Island. It is generally distributed in the South Island, and has also been found at Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are bright-green traversed by numerous black, wavy, transverse lines; these black lines are grouped into four more or less distinct bands, the outermost of which is interrupted at each of the veins_; there is a conspicuous black dot in the middle of the wing, a number of small triangular black marks near the termen, and a series of minute black dots on the termen. The hind-wings are ochreous, tinged with green towards the termen. In the female the abdomen is much shorter, and the hind-wings are larger than in the male. The perfect insect appears from December till April. It frequents dense forests, and is generally found at rest on the trunks of trees. In these situations the pattern of the fore-wings is extremely protective, the whole insect bearing the closest possible resemblance to a patch of moss. This species may also be taken at sugar, and sometimes at light, but I have found that it can be obtained most plentifully by a careful scrutiny of the tree-trunks in a favourable locality. As a rule I think that the males are considerably commoner than the females. I have noticed them in the proportion of about four to one. TATOSOMA TIMORA, Meyr. (_Tatosoma agrionata_, Meyr. (nec Walker), Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 68. _Tatosoma timora_, Meyr., ib. xvii. 64.) (Plate VI., fig. 28 [M], 29 [F].) This rather sombre, though interesting insect, has occurred at Palmerston and Wellington in the North Island, and at Christchurch and Akaroa in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _All the wings are sparsely covered with scales. The fore-wings of the male are dull reddish-brown, with numerous obscure transverse dusky stripes; there are two rather conspicuous blackish blotches on the costa_, a white dot in the middle of the wing, a wavy, pale, transverse line near the termen, and a series of black terminal dots; the veins are dotted in black. The hind-wings are very small, dull grey, with the lobe large and conspicuous. _The female is faintly tinged with green, the markings on the fore-wings are rather indistinct_; the hind-wings are small, though much larger than those of the male. The perfect insect appears from November till May. It frequents densely wooded districts, but is not a common species. Genus 2.--PARADETIS, Meyr. "Palpi short, arched, roughly-scaled beneath. Antennæ bipectinated. Fore-wings with vein 6 from below 9, 7 from below angle of areole, 10 very shortly anastomosing with 9, 11 out of 10 considerably before angle of areole, 12 free. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 stalked, 8 separate, united to 7 before transverse vein by an oblique bar. "This singular genus is of quite uncertain affinity, and stands at present alone. The simple areole, and connecting bar of 7 and 8, can only have arisen by modification of the normal type of this family, to which it must be referred. It is also the only New Zealand genus except _Declana_ in which the female has pectinated antennæ; but this character recurs in a few exotic genera not otherwise allied."--(Meyrick.) Plate II., figs. 27 and 28 represent the neuration of the male of _Paradetis porphyrias_, vein 2 of the hind-wings being absent in that sex. In the female, which is the sex from which Mr. Meyrick characterized the genus, the vein is present as usual. Only one species is known. {41}PARADETIS PORPHYRIAS, Meyr. (_Parysatis porphyrias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 58. _Paradetis porphyrias_, Meyr., ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VI., fig. 36 [M].) This interesting little insect has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Castle Hill, the Otira Gorge, and Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings is about ¾ inch. _The fore-wings of the male are deep purplish-brown_; there is a wavy, reddish, transverse line at about one-third and another at about two-thirds; between these two lines near the dorsum there are often four, more or less distinct, yellow dots; there is an obscure orange mark at the origin of the first line and a conspicuous mark at the origin of the second. _The hind-wings are deep purplish-brown._ The cilia of all the wings are white. _The fore-wing has the apex hooked and the termen deeply excavated above and below the middle._ The female is very much paler; the lines are more distinct and the veins are marked in brown. The perfect insect appears in January. It frequents rather open spots in the forest, and flies in a very busy manner close to the ground amongst the numerous ferns and other plants, which are always abundant in such situations. It is consequently very inconspicuous and sometimes difficult to capture. Thus, no doubt, it is often overlooked, and perhaps is much commoner than at present appears probable. Genus 3.--CHLOROCLYSTIS, Hb. "Face with short cone of scales. Palpi rough-scaled. Antennæ in male shortly ciliated. Abdomen crested. Fore-wings with areole simple, vein 11 running into or anastomosing with 12. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell from near base to beyond middle." (Plate II., figs. 19 and 20.) "This genus is especially characteristic of New Zealand, and is also found in South Asia, a few stragglers occurring in Europe and elsewhere."--(Meyrick.) We have twelve species, several of which are very beautiful. CHLOROCLYSTIS PLINTHINA, Meyr. (_Pasiphila plinthina_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 49.) (Plate VI., fig. 8.) This pretty species has occurred at Wellington. The expansion of the wings is about ½ inch. All the wings are traversed by numerous obscure, wavy, reddish-yellow lines; the fore-wings have a dark shading near the base, _a very large white blotch in the middle_, and a dark chocolate-brown patch near the apex. _The hind-wings have a large shaded white patch in the middle_, a blackish dot near the base, and a series of brownish crescentic marks on the termen; the cilia of all the wings are pale brown barred with brownish-black. The termen of the fore-wings is very oblique, of the hind-wings rather irregular. Many specimens of this insect are strongly tinged with green, and the shape and size of the white patches on the fore- and hind-wings are subject to slight variations. The perfect insect appears in November and December. It frequents brushwood, where it may be occasionally taken at rest on tree-trunks but more often dislodged from the foliage. It is not a very common species. CHLOROCLYSTIS BILINEOLATA, Walk. (_Eupithecia bilineolata_, Walk. 1246. _E. muscosata_, ib. 1246. _Scotosia humerata_, ib. 1362. _Eupithecia semialbata_, ib. 1708. _E. cidariaria_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 62. _Cidiaria aquosata_, Feld., pl. cxxxi. 33. _Helastia charybdis_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 503. _H. calida_, ib. 504. _Pasiphila muscosata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. 50. _P. bilineolata_, ib.) (Plate VI., fig. 9 type, fig. 10 variety.) This beautiful little species is common, and generally distributed throughout the country. {42}The expansion of the wings is ¾ inch. _The fore-wings are bright green with numerous wavy darker lines._ There is a jagged transverse black line near the base, two at about one-fourth, enclosing a rather paler space; beyond this there are several rather irregular, fine black marks, and an obscure white patch below the apex; the cilia are dull green. The hind-wings are grey slightly tinged with reddish; the dorsum and termen are shaded with green, and there is a number of curved black lines on the dorsum; the cilia are dull greenish-grey. The termen of the fore-wings is slightly bowed, and all the wings are finely scalloped and sharply outlined in black. A very distinct variety frequently occurs in which the entire ground colour is _orange-yellow_. This variety can be artificially produced by exposing a typical specimen to the fumes of bruised laurel leaves. Intermediate forms may also be found, but are much scarcer than either the typical form or the variety. The larva (according to Mr. Purdie[26]) is about ½ inch long; colour brownish, surface very rugged; body tapering somewhat towards the head. Two pairs of small dorsal tubercles about the middle, the posterior pair being larger; oblique lateral dark markings faintly seen on dark ground colour; below lighter. Food-plants: _Aristotelia_, _Leptospermum ericoides_, _Rubus_ (?), and _Muhlenbeckia_ (?). Found in December and January. The perfect insect appears from September till May, and is often very common. It rests on tree-trunks with outspread wings, in which position it so closely resembles a patch of moss that it is extremely difficult to detect, even when specially searched for. CHLOROCLYSTIS ANTARCTICA, n. sp. (Plate VI., fig. 20.) This species was discovered by Mr. Philpott at West Plains, near Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is 7/8 inch. The fore-wings are rather dull green; there is a reddish-brown patch near the base, followed by two, slightly oblique, reddish bands; the central band is very broad, green, traversed by numerous fine wavy lines; there is a broad reddish band on the termen. The hind-wings are slaty-grey, tinged with pink towards the termen and dorsum. The cilia of all the wings are pink barred with black. Two other specimens kindly given to me by Mr. Philpott have the bands on the fore-wings more or less brown in place of red, but are otherwise identical. This insect is evidently very closely allied to _C. bilineolata_, but its larger size, longer wings, and barred cilia will, I think, distinguish it from that species. The perfect insect appears in November. CHLOROCLYSTIS ARISTIAS, Meyr. (_Chloroclystis aristias_, Meyr., Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond. 1897, 385.) (Plate VI., fig. 21 [M], 22 [F].) This beautiful insect was discovered on the Mount Arthur Tableland in January, 1896, at an elevation of about 4,000 feet. The expansion of the wings is 1-1/8 inches. _All the wings are very pale greenish-grey._ The male has three distinct dark brownish bands near the base, an irregular broad suffused band near the middle, becoming obsolete before it reaches the dorsum, a dark patch at the apex, another patch on the termen below the apex and another near the tornus. The hind-wings are traversed by numerous, very fine, wavy blackish lines, becoming darker towards the dorsum. In the female there are three wavy reddish-brown bands on the costa of the fore-wings, becoming obsolete towards the dorsum, then a wavy yellowish line, followed by two rust-red patches. The hind-wings resemble those of the male. Both sexes have the veins dotted with black, and the cilia of all the wings are grey barred with black. {43}The perfect insect was found in a limestone valley at the foot of Mount Peel, where it was fairly common. CHLOROCLYSTIS NEREIS, Meyr. (_Pasiphila nereis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 51.) (Plate VI., fig. 11 [M].) This insect has occurred at Mount Arthur, Mount Hutt, and the Humboldt Range, Lake Wakatipu, at elevations from 2,500 to 4,000 feet. The expansion of the wings is nearly an inch. _All the wings are dusky grey with numerous black and dull white, wavy transverse lines_; there is often a somewhat paler area near the apex of the fore-wings, and the termen of the hind-wings is slightly scalloped; the cilia are dull white barred with dark greyish-black. The perfect insect appears in January and February. It generally frequents cliffs on mountain sides, resting with outspread wings on the dark rocky surfaces. In these situations it is extremely difficult to detect, and the protective value of its colouring is thus at once demonstrated. CHLOROCLYSTIS DRYAS, Meyr. (_Pasiphila dryas_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxiii. 97.) (Plate VI., fig. 12 [M].) This species has occurred at Wellington. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. _The fore-wings are dull rosy-brown, traversed by numerous obscure blackish transverse lines, somewhat concentrated towards the middle and forming an ill-defined central band_; the termen is slightly shaded with blackish, and the veins are marked with dotted lines. The hind-wings are grey, tinged with rosy-brown; there are numerous very faint blackish transverse lines and the veins are marked with blackish dots. The cilia of all the wings are dark grey. The termen of the hind-wings is rather irregular. The perfect insect appears in December and January, and is attracted by light. I once took a specimen in July, but this may have been due to an exceptionally mild winter. CHLOROCLYSTIS SPHRAGITIS, Meyr. (_Pasiphila sphragitis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 51.) (Plate VI., fig. 13 [M], 14 [F].) This extremely variable insect has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Christchurch in the South Island. The expansion of the wings of the male is 5/8 inch, of the female ¾ inch. _The fore-wings are pale ochreous; there is a narrow darker area at the base followed by a narrow oblique pale band_; then a broad central band, formed of numerous oblique, wavy, brown, transverse lines, next, a rather narrow curved pale band, followed by several small irregular patches on the termen, sometimes forming a dark brown terminal band; all the markings are much darker on the costa, and portions of the costa, termen, and dorsum are frequently tinged with green. The hind-wings are pale ochreous; there are numerous wavy, pale brown lines on the dorsum, becoming obsolete towards the costa. The termen of all the wings is edged with fine black crescents. The cilia are pale ochreous barred with dark brown. The perfect insect may be met with from September till February, but is most abundant in the early spring. It is extremely common in the Wellington Botanical Gardens, frequenting the forest gullies, where numerous specimens may be easily dislodged from amongst the dense undergrowth. This moth rests with expanded wings on the leaves and stems of shrubs, but is extremely difficult to find in such situations, the colouring of the insect causing it to closely resemble the droppings of birds. {44}CHLOROCLYSTIS LICHENODES, Purd. (_Pasiphila lichenodes_, Purdie, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 70.) (Plate VI., figs. 15 and 16, varieties.) This extremely interesting species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Dunedin in the South Island; it has also been found at Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is about ¾ inch. The fore-wings are dull green; _there is a large pale brown area near the base, divided by fine black lines into three distinct patches_; the central portion of the wing is mottled with black, pale brown, and dull green; _there is a very broad, irregular band of chocolate-brown near the termen, outlined with black towards the base and with white towards the termen, the white line almost dividing the band into four or five patches_. The hind-wings are dull greenish-brown; there are several irregular black and white transverse lines and small patches of chocolate-brown, the markings being more distinct towards the dorsum. The cilia of all the wings are pale brown barred with dark brown. I have observed that in many specimens of this species the ground colour is entirely pale brown instead of green; the markings, however, are not variable. The perfect insect appears from November till February. It frequents forests, resting with outspread wings on lichen-covered tree-trunks, where its wonderfully perfect protective colouring may be seen to great advantage. The remarkable brown patches on the wings have undoubtedly been acquired for this protective purpose, and Mr. Purdie's name is certainly a most appropriate one. It is not, I think, a common species. CHLOROCLYSTIS INDICATARIA. (_Eupithecia indicataria_, Walk. 1708. _Pasiphila indicataria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 52.) (Plate VI., fig. 17 [M], 17A [F].) This rather dull-looking species has occurred at Napier and Wellington in the North Island, and at Nelson in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 7/8 inch. _The fore-wings of the male are dull greenish-grey_; there is an oblique, black-edged, reddish, transverse band at about one-third, and another very irregular band near the termen; between and beyond these bands there are numerous irregular, broken, reddish and blackish transverse lines; there is a rust-red patch on the termen below the apex. The cilia are grey barred with brown. The hind-wings are dull grey with several faint, jagged, transverse lines; the termen is rather irregular. The female is much browner than the male, and the lines are more numerous and distinct, especially on the hind-wings. _The antennæ are simple in both sexes._ The perfect insect appears from October till March, and is fairly common in wooded localities. It is sometimes attracted by light. CHLOROCLYSTIS INDUCTATA, Walk. (_Coremia inductata_, Walk. 1322. _Scotosia subitata_, ib. 1362. _Pasiphila inductata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 53.) "This is a distinct species; but I have only seen the British Museum specimens, and am unable to say to which section it belongs, or to give a proper description. The termen of the fore-wings is more bent, and the hind-wings are narrower than in any other species; ground colour light reddish, with the margins of the median band formed by distinct black lines."--(Meyrick.) I am unacquainted with this insect. CHLOROCLYSTIS MACULATA, n. sp. (Plate VI., fig. 18.) This interesting species was discovered at Wellington by Mr. W. P. Cohen. The expansion of the wings is about 7/8 inch. _All the wings are creamy-white slightly tinged with green. The fore-wings have several irregular large black marks on the costa_ extending about {45}two-thirds towards the apex; there is a curved transverse series of black dots at about two-thirds, and several obscure brown marks on the termen near the middle and at the tornus. _The hind-wings have several irregular rows of conspicuous black spots._ The cilia are cream-coloured barred with black. The apex of the fore-wing is very much rounded. The perfect insect appears in December, and is attracted by light. Described and figured from a specimen kindly given to me by Mr. Cohen. CHLOROCLYSTIS RECTILINEATA, n. sp. (Plate VI., fig. 22.) This species was discovered at Wellington by Mr. W. P. Cohen. The expansion of the wings is ¾ inch. _The fore-wings are pale grey_; there are several irregular black, transverse lines near the base, very broad on the costa; a broad, pale, central area with no distinct markings; _then two very fine, almost straight, parallel, dark transverse lines alternating with two broader white lines, and followed by a very conspicuous black line, this being again immediately followed by a fainter black line_; beyond these lines the wing is darker, with a wavy transverse white line and a row of black terminal marks. The hind-wings are grey with several faint, wavy, transverse lines and a series of darker marks on the termen. The cilia of all the wings are grey. Described and figured from a specimen kindly given to me by Mr. Cohen. Genus 4.--PHRISSOGONUS, Butl. "Face with short cone of scales or smooth. Palpi moderate or short, porrected, more or less rough-scaled. Antennæ in male ciliated or naked. Posterior tibiæ with all spurs present. Fore-wings in male with swelling or tuft or rough scales on costa, vein 5 sometimes distorted or absent; areole simple, 11 running into 12. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell from near base to beyond middle."--(Meyrick.) We have one species in New Zealand. PHRISSOGONUS DENOTATUS, Walk. (_Scotosia denotata_, Walk. 1361. _Phibalapteryx parvulata_, ib. 1721. _Phrixogonus denotatus_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 53.) (Plate VI., fig. 19 [M].) This dull-looking insect is common and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is ¾ inch. _The fore-wings are very dark grey_, with numerous obscure black and pale brown transverse lines; there are several black dots on the veins, and a white mark on the termen near the apex. The hind-wings are pale grey with numerous wavy black lines, especially near the dorsum. _The antennæ are simple in both sexes._ The cilia are dull pink barred with black. The female is slightly tinged with reddish-brown. _The male has a peculiar dilation on the costa, beyond the middle, beneath which is a naked longitudinal mark occupying the space between veins 10 and 12, these veins being slightly distorted in consequence._ The larva, which feeds on the blossoms of the wharangi (_Brachyglottis repanda_), is pale green with a series of elongate triangular brown markings down the back and an obscure series of brown marks on each side. It may be found during the latter end of October and beginning of November, but is extremely inconspicuous amongst its food-plant. The pupa is concealed in a light cocoon constructed of the remains of the blossoms. The perfect insect appears from October till February. It frequents dense undergrowth in the forest, and is generally found resting with extended wings on the dark-coloured stems of the kawakawa (_Piper excelsum_), where it is practically invisible. In this situation its colouring is evidently specially adapted for protective purposes. {46}Genus 5.--ELVIA, Walk. "Face smooth. Palpi rather long, straight, porrected, densely rough-scaled above and beneath, terminal joint short. Antennæ in male stout, flattened, bipectinated (2½). Thorax somewhat crested. Fore-wings with vein 6 from a point with 9, 7 from angle of areole, 10 anastomosing moderately with 9, 11 out of 10, running shortly into 12. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 stalked, 8 anastomosing with 7 from near base to near transverse vein."--(Meyrick.) We have one species. ELVIA GLAUCATA, Walk. (_Elvia glaucata_, Walk. 1431; Feld. cxxxii. 25. _Elvia donovani_, Feld. cxxxii. 5. _Elvia glaucata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 65.) (Plate VI., fig. 23 and 24 varieties.) This very pretty insect is generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about an inch. _The fore-wings vary from pale green to dark steely blue_, rarely pale reddish-brown; _there is an almost straight, black transverse line near the base; a broad curved line before the middle, shaded towards the termen; then a straight line, breaking up into dots towards the dorsum, followed by a conspicuous cream-coloured blotch near the costa; this again is followed by a fine jagged cream-coloured line_; there is a terminal series of black dots. The hind-wings are cream-coloured, tinged with steely blue or green towards the termen; there are a few obscure transverse lines and a short series of dots from the dorsum. The apex of the fore-wing is very blunt, and the termen is slightly hollowed out towards the tornus; _the termen of the hind-wings is deeply scalloped_. This species is extremely variable. In addition to the variations above indicated, the markings of many specimens differ considerably in intensity, and there are frequently several large cream-coloured blotches towards the base or middle of the forewings. The perfect insect appears from September till March, but is not a common species. It frequents forest districts, and may sometimes be found at rest on tree-trunks, where the beautiful colouring of its fore-wings closely imitates that of certain lichens, and renders its detection in such situations extremely difficult. Unlike the insects included in the two preceding genera, this species closes its wings when at rest, the anterior pair alone being visible. These wings are not held flat, but are curiously folded longitudinally, and the end of the abdomen is also curled upwards. By slightly raising the insect above the level of the surrounding surface, this peculiar attitude considerably increases its resemblance to a lichen growing on the stem or branch of a tree. It will also be observed that in this species, which when at rest exposes only its fore-wings, these alone are protectively coloured; whilst in the genera _Chloroclystis_ and _Phrissogonus_, where both pairs of wings are displayed, both pairs are protectively coloured. Genus 6.--HYDRIOMENA, Hb. "Face with somewhat projecting or loose scales, or with conical tuft. Palpi rough-scaled. Antennæ in male ciliated, rarely dentate or naked. Abdomen not crested, or with crests on two basal segments only. Fore-wings with areole double. Hind-wings with 8 anastomosing with cell from near base to beyond middle. (See Plate II., fig. 32 head, figs. 33 and 34 neuration of _Hydriomena deltoidata_.) "A very large genus, principally characteristic of temperate regions in both hemispheres.--(Meyrick.) There are twelve New Zealand species. {47}HYDRIOMENA GOBIATA, Feld. (_Cidaria gobiata_, Feld. cxxxi. 2. _Phibalapteryx simulans_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 506. _Phibalapteryx undulifera_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 506. _Phibalapteryx anguligera_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 507. _Phibalapteryx rivularis_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 507. _Scotosia gobiata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 70. _Cephalissa gobiata_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VI., fig. 43 [M], 44 [F].) This insect has occurred plentifully at Wanganui and Wellington in the North Island, and is generally distributed throughout the South Island. The expansion of the wings is from 1 to 1¼ inches. _All the wings vary from pale ochreous to rather dull yellowish brown, sometimes very slightly tinged with green. There is usually a large number of fine, slightly waved, oblique lines arranged on both pairs of wings, very like the markings in Venusia verriculata_ (see page 53), both insects evidently having acquired this style of colouring for similar protective purposes. In many specimens the whole of the anterior portion of the fore-wings, a small area at the base of the hind-wings, and a band near the termen are much paler in colour than the rest. There is usually a very oblique elongate pale area near the apex, and an irregular dark spot considerably below the apex. The outline of all the wings is more or less distinctly scalloped. The larva (according to Mr. Purdie[27]) is about 1 inch in length, greyish-brown, with a rough prominent dorsal tubercle about the ninth segment. There are sometimes other smaller tubercles. It feeds on various species of _Coprosoma_ in January, March, and May. The perfect insect appears from October till March, and generally frequents rather open country where Manuka and Cabbage Tree Palms are abundant. HYDRIOMENA PRIONOTA, Meyr. (_Arsinoe prionata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 73. _Anachloris prionata_, Meyr., ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VI., fig. 47.) This species has been taken in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Castle Hill and Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is rather under 1½ inches. The fore-wings are dull yellowish-brown, with many obscure, wavy, transverse, brown lines, which tend to form two ill-defined bands, one rather narrow near the base and the other much broader near the middle of the wing. _The hind-wings are very pale yellowish-brown_; there are a few obscure dark lines near the dorsum. _The veins are distinctly dotted in black, and the outline of all the wings is deeply scalloped._ The perfect insect appears in January, but is not common. HYDRIOMENA DELTOIDATA, Walk. (_Coremia deltoidata_, Walk. 1321. _Cidaria inclarata_, Walk. 1411. _Cidaria perductata_, Walk. 1412. _Cidaria congressata_, Walk. 1412. _Cidaria conversata_, Walk. 1413. _Cidaria descriptata_, Walk. 1414. _Cidaria bisignata_, Walk. 1415. _Cidaria aggregata_, Walk. 1415. _Cidaria congregata_, Walk. 1415. _Cidaria plagifurcata_, Walk. 1416. _Coremia pastinaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 64. _Cidaria inopiata_, Feld. cxxxii. 3. _Cidaria monoliata_, Feld. cxxxii. 8. _Cidaria perversata_, Feld. cxxxii. 14, 24. _Scotosia deltoidata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 70. _Cephalissa deltoidata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xviii. 184.) (Plate VII., figs. 1 to 9 varieties.) This pretty insect is extremely abundant throughout the country. The expansion of the wings varies from 1-1/8 to 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings vary from brownish-black to dull orange-brown; there is a small darker area near the base, then two pale whitish wavy transverse lines, then a broad darker central band, often containing within it a still darker central band, bounded by two wavy black transverse lines; beyond the central band there are nearly always two or three pale brown or whitish, wavy, transverse lines, then an interrupted line just before the termen, and a short oblique whitish line below the apex; there is a black dot a little above the centre of the wing, and _a white dot on the termen near the middle_. The hind-wings are yellowish-brown, with several wavy, transverse lines near the dorsum; there is a series of fine crescentic black lines on the termen of both fore- and hind-wings. {48}This species is extremely variable, but may generally be recognised by a careful scrutiny of the above-named characters. One very striking variety occasionally met with has the central band of the fore-wing completely divided in the middle, which thus forms two dark patches, one on the costa, and one on the dorsum. (See Plate VII., figs. 7 and 8.) A further development of this variety, of which I have only seen one example, taken by Mr. Hawthorne at Springfield, Canterbury, and now in his collection, has only the costal patch present, the whole of the lower portions of the band being completely obliterated.[28] (See Plate VII., fig. 9.) The minor varieties are too numerous to specify. The larva feeds on grasses. When full-grown its length is about 1 inch. The colour is dark brown, with the skin very much wrinkled. It is sluggish in its habits, and lives through the winter, becoming full-grown about the end of September. During severe weather it generally seeks refuge from the elements amongst the stalks and roots of the rank herbage often surrounding stones or fallen logs. The pupa is concealed in the earth. The perfect insect appears early in January, and continues in the utmost profusion until the middle or end of March. It may often be seen resting with the wings folded backwards and forming together a triangle, whence the moth has probably derived its name of _deltoidata_. In the neighbourhood of Wellington I have observed that this insect has very much decreased in numbers during the last ten or fifteen years. HYDRIOMENA HEMIZONA, Meyr. (_Hydriomena hemizona_, Meyr., Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond. 1897, 385.) (Plate VII., fig. 10.) This insect has occurred at Terawhiti in the North Island, and at Mount Arthur in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are blackish-brown, darker towards the apex and termen; _there is an obscure rust-red wavy band near the base, and another at three-fourths, considerably bowed towards the termen at the middle_; there are also numerous wavy darker lines. The hind-wings are dull grey, and the termen is slightly scalloped. This species may be distinguished from any of the varieties of _H. deltoidata_ by its _narrower wings, and the absence of any distinct central band on the fore-wings_. The perfect insect appears in January. It is a scarce species. HYDRIOMENA SUBOCHRARIA, Dbld. (_Aspilates (?) subochraria_, Dbld., Dieff. N. Z. ii. 285. _Camptogramma subochraria_, Butl., Cat., pl. iii. 16. _Camptogramma strangulata_, Gn. x. 423. _Camptogramma fuscinata_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 92. _Arsinoe subochraria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 73. Anachloris subochraria, Meyr., ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VI., figs. 45 and 46 varieties.) This species is fairly common and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1¼ inches. _The fore-wings are bright ochreous-yellow_; there is a brown dot a little above the middle, _and a dark brown transverse band at about three-fourths; the termen is shaded with dark brown_. The hind-wings are ochreous, with an obscure central transverse line. A variety (_Hydriomena fuscinata_, Gn.) often occurs in which the whole of the wings are more or less tinged with purplish-brown (Plate VI., fig. 46). The perfect insect appears from November till April. It chiefly frequents tussock country and swampy situations. In the Wellington district it is extremely abundant in {49}the clearings at the foot of the Tararua Range. According to Mr. Meyrick the typical form is common in Tasmania and Victoria. HYDRIOMENA TRIPHRAGMA, Meyr. (_Cidaria triphragma_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 74.) "_Male._--26-27 mm. (about 1 inch). Fore-wings moderate, termen strongly sinuate; pale dull greyish-purple; a very small darker basal patch, outer edge strongly convex, margined by a dark fuscous fascia, posteriorly whitish-edged; a dark fuscous fascia before one-third, irregularly outwards-curved, posteriorly suffused, anteriorly sharply defined and whitish-edged; a minute blackish discal dot; a dark fuscous fascia beyond middle, forming a strong angle in middle, upper and lower halves both inwards-curved, anteriorly suffused, posteriorly sharply defined and whitish-edged. Hind-wings moderate, termen somewhat irregular, projecting in middle; whitish-ochreous mixed with pale purplish; an angulated darker band before middle. "A very distinct species, probably not variable. "Blenheim; two specimens received by Mr. Fereday from Mr. Skellon."--(Meyrick). I am unacquainted with this species, which Mr. Fereday stated he was unable to identify. I have therefore inserted Mr. Meyrick's description without alteration. HYDRIOMENA RIXATA, Feld. (_Cidaria rixata_, Feld. cxxxii. 1; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 75. _Coremia squalida_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 505.) (Plate VII., fig. 11.) This pretty insect is very common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The fore-wings have a dull green patch near the base, with numerous dull brown and dull white wavy transverse lines; _there is a very broad blackish-brown central band paler in the middle, but almost black at the edges; this band has a large rounded projection on its outer edge near the middle, and below this projection it is deeply indented_; the remainder of the wing is dull yellowish-green, with several brown and white transverse lines; one of the white lines is more conspicuous than the rest and very wavy; there is a shaded oblique black mark from the apex. The hind-wings are very pale yellowish-brown; there are a few obscure brownish transverse lines near the dorsum, and a faint series of crescentic marks near the termen. The perfect insect appears in December and January, and frequents the overhanging banks of streams in densely wooded ravines, where it often occurs in the utmost profusion. HYDRIOMENA PURPURIFERA, Fereday. (_Cidaria purpurifera_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 119; Meyr., ib. 75.) (Plate VII., fig. 12.) This extremely pretty insect has been taken in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Mount Hutt, Castle Hill, Dunedin, and Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The fore-wings are rather bright green; there is a darker area near the base, _a very broad purplish-brown central band, with a large square projection on the middle of its outer edge; above this projection there is a very conspicuous white mark, bordering the central band_; the remainder of the wing is green; there is a wavy white line near the termen, and an oblique bluish-black mark near the apex. The hind-wings are pale brownish-yellow. This species is closely allied to _Hydriomena rixata_, but easily distinguished by its brighter green colouring, purplish central band with square projection, and broad white marking beyond the central band. The perfect insect appears in December and January, and frequents forest at elevations of from 1,000 to 3,000 feet. It is found in drier situations than the {50}preceding species, and is not confined to forest streams. It is common in certain localities, but is not nearly so generally distributed as _Hydriomena rixata_. HYDRIOMENA SIMILATA, Walk. (_Cidaria similata_, Walk. 1413. _Cidaria timarata_, Feld. cxxxii. 19. _Cidaria similata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 76.) (Plate VII., fig. 14.) This beautiful species has occurred at Napier and Wellington in the North Island, and at Christchurch, Dunedin, Lake Wakatipu, and Invercargill in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. _The fore-wings are dark brown, with the veins and margins broadly shaded with bright green; there are numerous irregular wavy blackish streaks forming three ill-defined darker transverse bands_; the first at the base; the second from one-fourth to about two-thirds, partially divided into two from the costa downwards; and the third near the termen outwardly edged with white. The termen itself is bordered first with green, and then with a series of fine black marks; the cilia are dark brown. The hind-wings are very pale reddish-brown, darker towards the dorsum, with numerous pale brown wavy transverse lines. There is a series of black crescentic marks on the termen, and the cilia are pale reddish-brown. This species is rather variable. The spaces between the darker bands on the fore-wings are usually green, but in some specimens this is partially or wholly replaced by pale yellowish-brown. The dark bands also vary considerably in width and distinctness, and in many specimens the central band is entirely divided by a conspicuous pale brown or green transverse space. The larva, according to Mr. Purdie, is about 1 inch long, cylindrical. Back a dull deep green; lateral stripe reddish-white, edged below with a darker colour; ventral side lighter green, with four parallel white or yellow lines close together, extending from the forelegs to the prolegs. Outer side of prolegs white. There are traces of a median dorsal stripe of brownish-red on the anal segments. Beaten from _Coprosma_. Found in January. Mr. Purdie states that he is not quite certain as to the identification of the species, as the median belt of the fore-wings is much more distinctly defined, and the colour is a duller green than is usual in _H. similata_. The perfect insect appears from November till March. It is generally found resting on moss-covered tree-trunks, where its colouring affords it a most efficient protection from enemies. HYDRIOMENA CALLICHLORA, Butl. (_Cidaria callichlora_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 509; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 76.) (Plate VII., fig. 13.) This beautiful insect has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Christchurch and Invercargill in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. _The fore-wings are bright green, with three very distinct wavy black transverse lines_; the first near the base, the second a little before the middle, and the third considerably beyond the middle; between these there is a number of fainter fine wavy lines. The hind-wings are whitish with several very faint wavy transverse lines; the cilia of all the wings are dull yellowish-brown. The perfect insect appears in January, February, and March. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. HYDRIOMENA ARIDA, Butl. (_Melanthia arida_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 505. _Cidaria chaotica_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 76. _Cidaria arida_, Meyr., ib. xvii. 64.) (Plate VII., fig. 15.) This species has occurred in the South Island at Akaroa, Mount Hutt, Arthur's Pass, and Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. The fore-wings are dull grey; there is a fine yellowish {51}transverse line near the base, _and a very broad central band with a prominent projection somewhat below the middle, almost touching the termen_; there is a brown dot above the middle of the wing and numerous fine brown wavy lines in the central band; the veins are marked in white near the termen. The hind-wings are pale ochreous, with a few very faint transverse marks near the dorsum. The termen of the fore-wings is slightly bowed in the middle. The perfect insect appears in January and February, and frequents forest, sometimes being found as high as 2,600 feet above the sea-level. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. HYDRIOMENA SIRIA, Meyr. (_Cephalissa siria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 93.) (Plate VI., fig. 48.) This odd little species was discovered by Professor Hutton at Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is 5/8 inch. _The fore-wings are rich brown with two transverse bands of darker brown_; the first near the base, rather narrow; the second near the middle, considerably broader, especially on the costa. _The hind-wings are bright orange._ The termen of the fore-wings is slightly excavated below the apex, and considerably bowed a little below the middle. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. Genus 7.--EUCHOECA, Hb. "Face smooth, flat. Antennæ in [M] shortly ciliated. Palpi short, slender, loosely scaled. Fore-wings with areole simple. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell to beyond middle. "A small genus containing a few species distributed throughout the northern hemisphere and one Australian."--(Meyrick.) We have one species. EUCHOECA RUBROPUNCTARIA, Dbld. (_Ptychopoda rubropunctaria_, Dbld., Dieff. N. Z. li. 287. _Asthena visata_, Gn. ix. 438. _Asthena_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 42. _Asthena pulchraria_, Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 18. _Hippolyte rubropunctaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 60. _Epicyme rubropunctaria_, Meyr., ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VI., fig. 35.) This little species is common and generally distributed throughout both the North and South Islands, and has also occurred at Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is about 7/8 inch. _All the wings are pale ochreous, with numerous obscure reddish transverse lines._ On the fore-wings there are four transverse series of black dots; the first near the base, the second a little before the middle, the third a little beyond the middle, and the fourth on the termen; between the second and third series of dots there is very frequently _an elongate blackish patch, especially towards the dorsum_. The hind-wings have three series of black dots; the first near the base, the second near the middle, and the third on the termen. The termen of both fore- and hind-wings slightly projects near the middle. This species varies considerably in the extent of the blackish marking near the middle of the fore-wings, as well as in the colour and intensity of the reddish transverse lines. The larva is thus described by Mr. Fereday:[29] "The caterpillar has ten legs, is cylindrical, rather stout, with the segmental divisions incised; its colour is pale dull green, sometimes suffused with pink, brown, purple, or dark green; the dorsal line is purplish-brown, suffused, the central line whitish; the spiracular line is whitish, broadly margined with purplish-brown; the segmental divisions are pale yellowish-brown." The food is _Haloragis alata_, a common herbaceous plant growing in swampy situations. The pupa is enclosed in a slight earth-covered cocoon. {52}The perfect insect appears from September till March, and is sometimes common. It is generally found in wooded districts, but prefers rather open situations in the vicinity of streams, where its food-plant may often be seen. According to Mr. Meyrick,[30] this insect is common in New South Wales, Victoria, and Tasmania, and the Australian and New Zealand specimens are similar in appearance. Genus 8.--ASTHENA. "Face smooth, flat. Antennæ in [M] shortly ciliated. Palpi short, slender, loosely scaled. Fore-wings with areole double. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell to beyond middle. (Plate II., figs. 30 and 31.) "A genus of a few widely scattered species most numerous in the Australian Region."--(Meyrick.) We have two species. ASTHENA PULCHRARIA, Dbld. (_Acidalia pulchraria_, Dbld., Dieff. N. Z. ii. 286. _Chlorochroma plurilineata_, Walk. 563, 676. _Asthena ondinata_, Gn. ix. 438, pl. xix. 4; Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 20. _Cidaria ondinata_, Feld. cxxviii. 17. _Asthena pulchraria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 69.) (Plate VI., fig. 37 [M], 38 [F].) This beautiful little insect has occurred at many localities throughout both the North and South Islands. It is probably a common species in most wooded districts. The expansion of the wings is almost an inch. _All the wings are very pale greenish-white with numerous faint green, wavy, transverse lines._ The fore-wings have a more or less distinct brown band on the costal edge, and a conspicuous greenish central dot. The hind-wings often have a slight projection on the termen near the middle. The perfect insect appears from October till May, and frequents dense forest undergrowth. It is chiefly attached to the Kawakawa (_Piper excelsum_), and may often be found resting with outspread wings on the under-surfaces of the leaves of this plant, where it is very inconspicuous. There are probably two or more broods during the summer. On the 11th of May, 1892, I observed large numbers of this species flying over the Manuka bushes in the Wellington Botanical Gardens in brilliant moonlight. The night was very cold, but notwithstanding this the moths were most numerous and active. The appearance of this insect under such unusual conditions may have been quite accidental, as I have never seen a recurrence; but one is often somewhat unobservant in the winter, hence the record of this observation may be of use in directing the attention of others to the subject. According to Mr. Meyrick this species is also found in Tasmania, and South-east Australia. ASTHENA SCHISTARIA, Walk. (_Acidalia schistaria_, Walk. 782. _Asthena subpurpureata_, Walk. 1588. _Acidalia tuhuata_, Feld. cxxviii. 5. _Asthena schistaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 69.) (Plate VI., figs. 39, 40 [M], 41, 42 [F] varieties.) This pretty species is common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is nearly an inch. _All the wings vary from very pale brown to rather dull purplish-brown; there are numerous jagged, darker, transverse lines forming several more or less distinct bands._ The first of these bands extends from the base to about one-eighth; the second, composed of only two or three lines, is situated at about one-third; the third extends from {53}three-fourths to about five-eighths; there are in addition, numerous very fine, wavy lines near the termen. The spaces between these bands are paler, and in some specimens the bands are very conspicuous, whilst in others they are hardly perceptible. One specimen in my collection (Plate VI., fig. 39) has a very broad chocolate-brown band across the middle of both pairs of wings, the remaining portions being unusually pale in colour. There is always a dark brown dot in the centre of each wing, and a series of very fine dots on the termen. The larva, which feeds on Manuka (_Leptospermum_), is very ornamental. Its general colour is light green, with black dorsal and lateral stripes, and a series of diagonal markings bordered with crimson; the legs and prolegs are also crimson, and the segments are divided by brilliant yellow rings, a white line extending down each side of the larva. This caterpillar is difficult to find, as it remains closely concealed amongst the dense Manuka foliage, from which it can be dislodged only by vigorous and continued beating. The larvæ allow themselves to fall a short distance, hanging suspended by a silken thread, which they rapidly ascend when the danger is past. The pupa is enclosed in a slight cocoon about one inch below the surface of the earth. The perfect insect appears from October till April. It is very common in most situations where its food-plant is found and, owing to its pale colour, is readily seen when flying in the evening twilight. Specimens may also be taken in the daytime resting with outspread wings on the trunks of trees and on fences, where they are much more easily detected than many other species. Mr. Meyrick thinks that this insect will also be found in Australia. Genus 9.--VENUSIA, Curt. "Face smooth. Antennæ in [M] bi-pectinated, apex simple. Palpi loosely scaled. Fore-wings with areole simple. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell to beyond middle."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., fig. 13, head of _V. verriculata_; figs. 25 and 26, neuration of _V. undosata_.) We have three species represented in New Zealand. VENUSIA VERRICULATA, Feld. (_Cidaria verriculata_, Feld. cxxxi. 20. _Panopæa verriculata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 62. _Pancyma verriculata_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VI., fig. 30 [M], 31 [F].) This remarkable species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and in the South Island at Christchurch, Ashburton, Dunedin and West Plains. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _All the wings are pale yellowish-brown, with many straight oblique parallel dull brown lines; on the fore-wings there are three lines broader and more isolated than the rest, running from the apex to the dorsum_; on the hind-wings the lines near the middle are rather thicker than the others, and have a broad space on each side of them; _all the lines are clearly marked on the abdomen, so that each line appears to be continuous from one side of the moth to the other_. The perfect insect appears from October till May, and frequents the Cabbage Tree Palm (_Cordyline_), on which its larva probably feeds. According to Mr. Fereday the moth always rests on the dead leaves of the plant, keeping its wings in such a position that the lines are continuous with the parallel veins of the dead leaf, which they precisely resemble in appearance. We have, I think, in this species a most instructive instance of special adaptation to surrounding conditions; and the action of natural selection, in preserving favourable variations of colour and habit, appears to be here unmistakably indicated. Had our investigations been confined to the examination of cabinet specimens only, we might {54}have long remained in the dark as to the explanation of such an unusual type of wing-marking. VENUSIA XANTHASPIS, Meyr. (_Hermione xanthaspis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 61. _Aulopola xanthaspis_, Meyr., ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VI., fig. 32 [M].) This handsome insect has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur and at Lake Guyon. The expansion of the wings is a little over 1 inch. _The fore-wings are bright yellow; there is a broad pale reddish-brown band on the costa; a conspicuous oval dark brown spot above the middle_, often touching the costal band; a double series of minute brown dots near the termen. The hind-wings are pale yellow, with a double series of minute brown dots parallel to the termen. The perfect insect appears in January, February, and March. It is apparently a rare species. Mr. Fereday has six specimens taken at Lake Guyon, and I have two specimens captured on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, at an elevation of about 3,500 feet. These comprise, I believe, all the specimens at present taken. VENUSIA UNDOSATA, Feld. (_Cidaria undosata_, Feld. cxxviii. 2. _Epiphryne undosata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 60.) (Plate VI., fig. 33 [M], 34 [F].) This neatly marked little insect has occurred at Napier and Palmerston in the North Island; and at Nelson, Mount Hutt, Christchurch, Dunedin, and Lake Wakatipu in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is hardly an inch. _All the wings are pale yellow with a variable number of fine jagged reddish-brown transverse lines, which are usually most distinct towards the termen._ The fore-wings have a broad band of reddish-brown along the costal edge; a blackish dot above the middle just touching the costal band, and a small brown mark near the apex. The hind-wings have a minute black dot a little above the middle. This species is rather variable: in some specimens the transverse lines are much broader, forming bands of reddish-brown; in others the whole of the wings are dull reddish-brown, except a small yellow area near the base; whilst others are _entirely dull greyish-brown with the transverse lines very faint_, intermediate varieties between all these forms also occurring. The larva, according to Mr. Purdie,[31] is about ½ inch long, feeding on the Ribbonwood (_Plagianthus betulinus_). The ground colour is green, with the dorsal and lateral stripes white. The dorsal stripe is interlined with short black dashes, and there is a dark blotch about the ninth segment. The dorsal and lateral stripes may be margined with purplish-red. The under side is green. The larvæ were found in April. The perfect insect appears from November till February, and frequents forest. According to my experience it is rather a local species, although plentiful where found. Mr. Meyrick states that it is "very common in bush, from August to February, and in May."[32] Genus 10.--ASAPHODES, Meyr. "Face with a tuft or hardly projecting scales. Palpi moderate, porrected, rough-scaled. Antennæ in male bi-pectinated, apex simple. Thorax glabrous beneath. Posterior tibiæ with all spurs present. Fore-wings with areole simple. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell from near base to beyond middle."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., figs. 35 and 36, neuration of _Asaphodes megaspilata_.) We have five species of this genus in New Zealand. {55}ASAPHODES ABROGATA, Walk. (_Aspilates abrogata_, Walk. 1075. _Fidonia (?) servularia_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 43. _Thyone abrogata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 61. _Asaphodes abrogata_, Meyr., ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VII., fig. 21 [M].) This species has occurred at Murimutu in the North Island; and in the South Island at Kekerangu, Christchurch, Castle Hill, Dunedin, and Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. _All the wings are ochreous with pale brown markings._ The fore-wings have a conspicuous dot in the middle, _a wavy transverse line a little beyond the middle, another line just before the termen, and a brown shading on the termen broader near the apex of the wing_. The hind-wings have a brown central dot and two transverse lines. The cilia of all the wings are brownish. This species varies considerably in the distinctness of the brown markings, and there is occasionally a transverse line near the base of the fore-wings. The perfect insect appears in February and March, and frequents open country, often at elevations of from 2,000 to 4,000 feet above the sea-level. It is, I think, rather a local species, though abundant where found. I met with it in considerable numbers on the chalk range near Kekerangu in the Marlborough Province. ASAPHODES SIRIS, Hawth. (_Asaphodes siris_, Hawth., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxix. 283.) (Plate VII., fig. 16.) This interesting little species was discovered near Wellington by Mr. Hawthorne. The expansion of the wings is about 7/8 inch. The fore-wings are dull ochreous; there is a small curved brown patch near the base; then a pale band, followed by a very broad brown central band, paler in the middle; there is a very sharp projection on the outer edge of the central band, a conspicuous black dot in the centre of the wing, and a series of minute black dots on the termen. The hind-wings are pale ochreous, with a faint central transverse line. The perfect insect appears in March. Described and figured from the type specimen in Mr. Hawthorne's collection. ASAPHODES MEGASPILATA, Walk. (_Larentia megaspilata_, Walk. 1198. _Cidaria assata_, Feld. cxxxi. 4. _Cidaria nehata_, Feld. cxxxi. 6. _Harpalyce megaspilata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 63. _Probolæa megaspilata_, Meyr., ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VII., figs. 17, 18, and 19 [M]; figs. 19A and 20 [F], varieties.) This species is very common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The fore-wings are dull ochreous; there is a series of fine brown and reddish wavy transverse lines near the base, forming a rather broad basal band; then a pale central area containing a blackish dot above the middle; next, a very distinct band made up of several fine wavy grey lines, with a rounded projection near the middle; this is followed by numerous pale brown curved marks forming more or less broken transverse lines; _there is always an oblique slaty patch below the apex_, and a series of minute dots on the termen. The hind-wings are ochreous brown, slightly darker towards the base, with numerous indistinct wavy brown lines. _The apex of the fore-wing is very pointed and slightly hooked downwards; the termen is bowed near the middle._ The female is much duller and more uniform in colour than the male, and the antennæ are simple. This species is very variable. Some male specimens have several more or less distinct white markings on the middle of the fore-wings; the transverse bands also differ considerably in both size and intensity. The females are not so variable; but in some specimens the bands on the fore-wings are almost absent, whilst others have the fore-wings rich brown, with a very conspicuous dark central band. {56}The eggs when first deposited are pale yellow. They turn dark reddish-brown for some days before the young larva emerges. The young larva is rather stout, dark brownish-black with numerous fine parallel ochreous lines; the whole body is covered with rather long bristles. The perfect insect appears from October till April, and frequents forest, where it is generally very abundant. It is a difficult insect to identify on the wing, and in consequence is often captured under a misapprehension. This species probably hibernates in the imago state during the winter months, as we may often observe specimens abroad on mild evenings, at that season. ASAPHODES PARORA, Meyr. (_Harpalyce humeraria_, Meyr. (nec Walk.), Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 64. _Harpalyce parora_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvii. 63. _Probolæa parora_, ib. xviii. 184.) "_Male, female._--29-34 mm. (about 1¼ inches). Fore-wings moderate, apex acute, termen excavated on upper half, acutely projecting in middle; varying from light grey to light reddish-fuscous; about eighteen irregular dentate darker striæ, sometimes partially obsolete; first three, seventh and eighth, and eleventh to thirteenth usually more distinct and blackish; seventh and eighth closely approximated, forming a small blackish or reddish spot on dorsum, sometimes partially suffused with blackish; eleventh to thirteenth closely approximated, widely remote from eighth, parallel to termen; a blackish discal dot; sometimes a broad purplish-grey median band; sixteenth sometimes spotted with blackish towards costa; a terminal row of blackish dots. Hind-wings moderate, upper angle broadly projecting, termen shortly projecting in middle; varying from whitish-grey to very pale reddish-fuscous, faintly striated with darker. "Very variable in colour, but always distinguishable by the peculiar form of wing. "Wellington, Christchurch, Mount Hutt; common amongst bush, in January, February, April, and May; probably generally distributed; twenty specimens."--(Meyrick.) I am unacquainted with this insect, but it would appear to closely resemble _A. megaspilata_. ASAPHODES RUFESCENS, Butl. (_Larentia(?) rufescens_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 502. _Eurydice cymosema_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 63. _Eurydice rufescens_, ib. xvii. 63. _Homodotis rufescens_, ib. xviii. 184.) "_Male, female._--25-29 mm. (about 1¼ inches). Fore-wings moderate, termen rather strongly sinuate; brown-whitish, sometimes more or less suffused with brown; numerous fine dark fuscous sinuate subdentate lines; three before middle and four beyond middle more blackish, generally partially suffused with brown, leaving a clear median space on costal half, in which is a transverse blackish discal dot; termen suffusedly greyish; a suffused oblique dark fuscous sub-apical streak. Hind-wings moderate, termen irregularly crenulate, somewhat projecting in middle; grey whitish; several subdentate grey lines, only distinct towards dorsum; a dark grey discal dot. "Variable only in the degree of the brownish suffusion; in the markings of the fore-wings it agrees almost exactly with some forms of _A. megaspilata_, but, apart from structure, may be always known by the whitish hind-wings and rather larger size. "Dunedin; ten specimens sent to Mr. Fereday by Capt. Hutton."--(Meyrick.) I have only seen one specimen of this insect, in Mr. Fereday's collection, and it appeared to me to be identical with the somewhat variable female of _A. megaspilata_. Genus 11.--XANTHORHOE, Hb. "Face with somewhat projecting scales or conical tuft. Antennæ in male bi-pectinated, apex usually simple. Palpi rough-scaled. Fore-wings with areole double. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell to beyond middle."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., figs. 37 and 38.) {57}This interesting genus is relatively far more numerous in New Zealand than elsewhere, its place in other regions being largely taken by _Hydriomena_. We have no less than thirty-one known species, and many others will no doubt be ultimately discovered, especially in the mountainous districts of the west coast of the South Island. XANTHORHOE LIMONODES, Meyr. (_Epyaxa limonodes_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 54.) (Plate VII., fig. 46 [M].) This species has occurred at Wellington and at Cape Terawhiti in the North Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. _The fore-wings of the male are dull olive-green with numerous, rather obscure, wavy brownish transverse lines; these lines are all more distinct near the costa; there are two transverse rows of white dots near the base, a very broken line of white dots at about three-fourths, one of the dots forming a crescentic mark above the middle_; beyond this line the colour is often paler, especially towards the apex, but inside this line there is often a considerably darker patch; there is a very distinct blackish patch just below the apex. The apex of the wing slightly projects, and the termen is arched. The hind-wings are very pale greenish-ochreous; there is an obscure dusky transverse line in the middle. _The female has the fore-wings much browner; there are several additional rows of white dots and two conspicuous white spots above the middle._ The species is rather variable. In many specimens the dorsal half of the fore-wing is much paler than the costal half. The perfect insect appears from November till March, and frequents dense forest. It is not a common species. XANTHORHOE SUBDUCTATA, Walk. (_Larentia subductata_, Walk. 1198. _Epyaxa subductata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 55.) This species has occurred at Auckland. "The expansion of the wings of the female is 26 mm. (about 1 inch). Head, palpi, and thorax pale greyish-ochreous, somewhat mixed with yellow-greenish, and densely irrorated with fuscous. Antennæ whitish-ochreous annulated with fuscous. Abdomen grey-whitish, densely irrorated with fuscous. Legs dark fuscous, apex of joints ochreous-whitish, middle and posterior pair irrorated with grey-whitish. Fore-wings with costa gently arched, termen waved, slightly rounded, oblique; pale greyish-ochreous, mixed with yellow-greenish, and thinly sprinkled with fuscous, tending to form faint waved lines; three light fuscous fasciæ, each marked with three dark fuscous lines; first near base, outer edge sharply angulated above middle; second from two-fifths of costa to before middle of dorsum, slightly curved; third from two-thirds of costa to two-thirds of dorsum, outer edge somewhat prominent in middle, rather sinuate above it; a crescentic black obscurely whitish-margined discal spot; a short oblique cloudy fuscous streak from apex; cilia light fuscous, somewhat sprinkled with whitish. Hind-wings light grey; a grey discal dot before middle; a median band of three darker lines, outer rather prominent in middle; faint indications of other darker lines, most distinct posteriorly; cilia grey-whitish, with two cloudy grey lines."--(Meyrick.) The perfect insect appears in December. XANTHORHOE ROSEARIA, Dbld. (_Cidaria rosearia_, Dbld., Dieff. N. Z. ii. 285, Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 13. _Coremia ardularia_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 63. _Coremia inamænaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 63. _Epyaxa rosearia_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 71.) (Plate VII., fig. 22 [M], 23 [F].) This species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island; and in the South Island at Akaroa, Christchurch, and Dunedin. {58}The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings of the male vary _from pale pinkish-grey to pale greenish-grey_; there is an obscure darker basal area, a rather broad central band, _formed of numerous shaded, wavy, dark grey lines, which are generally absent towards the middle of the band_; there is a black dot above the middle; the termen is shaded with dark grey, and there is an oblique pale mark near the apex. The hind-wings are grey with a few very faint wavy lines. The cilia of all the wings are pinkish-grey. _The female is dull yellowish-grey, with the markings very indistinct._ Both sexes vary slightly in the ground colour, and in the intensity of the markings. Mr. Purdie has pointed out that the species is very liable to fade, and hence it appears to vary more than is actually the case.[33] The eggs are oval, pale yellow, changing first to orange, and then to dull grey before hatching. The young larva, when first emerged, is pale greyish-brown and very slender. Later on the caterpillar becomes dull olive-green speckled with black; there are two paler stripes just below the middle of the back, then a fine black line, followed by a very fine white one, then a broad pink stripe on the side; below this is a broad black line followed by a white line and two fine black ones. The larva is moderately stout, and the two prolegs are very close together. The larva, when full-grown, measures about ¾ inch in length. The general colour is dull reddish-brown, often greenish-tinged. The back and sides are marked with numerous slightly waved fine black lines; there is a double series of black dots down the back, a broad black lateral line, followed by a fine white line. The under side of the larva is pinkish-brown; the head greenish-brown speckled with black. The caterpillar is obscurely marked, and very variable. It is often clouded with greenish colouring. The food-plant is watercress. The pupa, which is enclosed in a slight cocoon constructed of earth and silk, is found on the surface of the ground. The perfect insect is most abundant in December, and is attracted by light. It seems to be about during the entire year, as Mr. Meyrick states that he has taken numerous specimens from May till September, and hence concludes that it is essentially a winter species.[34] I can to some extent confirm this observation, as I have also found the insect during the winter, although not commonly. It is probable that there are several broods in the course of a year, and that the species hibernates as an imago. Regarding the synonymy of this species Mr. Meyrick remarks that "_C. ardularia_, Gn., is the male and _C. inamænaria_, Gn., the female of this species. _C. subidaria_, Gn., quoted by Butler as a synonym, is an Australian species, and not identical."[35] XANTHORHOE OROPHYLA, Meyr. (_Epyaxa orophyla_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 71.) (Plate VII., fig. 24 [M], 25 [F].) This fine species has occurred in the South Island at Nelson, Castle Hill, Mount Hutt, Dunedin and Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¼ inches, of the female 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings of the male are pale brownish-grey_; there is an obscure bent blackish line near the base, _a moderately broad central band bounded by two very distinct shaded blackish lines, the basal one of which is not curved_; the termen is shaded with darker grey, and there is an oblique pale mark near the apex. The hind-wings are pale grey tinged with ochreous. The female is slightly darker than the male; and there are numerous wavy pale and dark grey lines filling up the entire wing on each side of the central band. The perfect insect appears in December, January, and February. It frequents open country on the mountain sides, at elevations of from 2,500 to 4,000 feet. {59}I observed it in great abundance on the Humboldt Range at the head of Lake Wakatipu, where it frequented the damp rocky precipices which were fringed with a luxuriant growth of Alpine plants. At Castle Hill it occurred much less commonly, so that it would appear to be most plentiful in the extreme south of New Zealand. The colouring is protective when the insect is resting on rock surfaces. XANTHORHOE SEMIFISSATA, Walk. (_Coremia semifissata_, Walk. 1320. _Coremia ypsilonaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 64. _Cidaria delicatulata_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 94. _Epyaxa semifissata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 72.) (Plate VII., fig. 26 [M], 27 [F].) This extremely pretty insect is very common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about an inch. The fore-wings of the male are _pale pink_; there are several wavy brown lines near the base, _a very distinct brown central band, narrowest near the middle, but much broader on the costa than on the dorsum_; the centre of this band is paler towards the costa; the termen is shaded with brown, except near the apex of the wing; _the veins are dotted in black. The hind-wings are bright ochreous with numerous wavy darker lines._ The female is darker in colour than the male, the central band is broader; _there are numerous brown and pink wavy lines on each side of the central band, and the principal veins are marked in pale ochreous_. The grey transverse lines on the hind-wings are much more distinct in the female than in the male. The perfect insect appears from September till April, and is very common in rather open forest districts, usually frequenting undergrowth on the edges of the denser forest. It is often one of the earliest of the _Notodontina_ to appear in spring, and its advent is then especially welcome to the collector after the long inaction of winter. It is evidently closely allied to _X. orophyla_, which appears to be the southern and Alpine representative of this interesting insect. _Coremia ypsilonaria_, Gn., is the male, and _Cidaria delicatulata_, Gn., is the female of this species. XANTHORHOE LOPHOGRAMMA, Meyr. (_Xanthorhoe lophogramma_, Meyr., Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond. 1897, 386.) (Plate VII., fig. 47 [M], 48 [F].) This species was discovered at Castle Hill in January, 1893. The expansion of the wings is about 1-1/8 inches. The insect differs from _X. semifissata_ in the following respects: In the male the general colour is slightly duller, _the outer edge of the central band on the fore-wings is more indented, and the veins are not dotted in black_. In the female the markings on the fore-wings are less distinct, the veins are not marked in pale ochreous, the outer edge of the central band is more deeply indented, and there is a darker shading near the termen than in _X. semifissata_. _The hind-wings of both sexes are dark ochreous, without any transverse markings._ XANTHORHOE CHLAMYDOTA, Meyr. (_Epyaxa chlamydota_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 72.) (Plate VII., fig. 28.) This very handsome species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Christchurch and Akaroa in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. The fore-wings are pale ochreous, _with two broad, dark, purplish-brown bands. The first, which is at the base, is slightly paler near the body, and strongly curved outwards towards the termen_; it is followed by several very fine pale brown transverse lines. _The second band is very broad, and is situated near the middle of the wing; its inner edge is curved inwards, and its outer edge has two rounded projections, one very large about the middle, and {60}another much smaller near the dorsum_; the middle portion of this central band is considerably paler than the edges; _the two projections of the central band are bordered with bright red_. The upper part of the termen is ochreous, with several faint brown marks; the lower part is dull grey. The hind-wings are dark ochreous, with a few obscure purplish-grey markings; the termen of the hind-wing projects slightly near the middle, and is rather jagged. The species varies a little in the depth of its colouring, but the markings appear to be constant. The perfect insect appears from November till April. It chiefly frequents forest, but is not a common species. At present, more specimens have been found in the Wellington Botanical Gardens than elsewhere. XANTHORHOE STINARIA, Gn. (_Camptogramma stinaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 92. _Larentia stinaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 78.) (Plate VII., fig. 29 [M].) This species has occurred in the South Island at Christchurch, Dunedin, and at the foot of Mount Hutt. The expansion of the wings is barely 1 inch. _All the wings are deep ochreous; the fore-wings have an oblique white line running from the dorsum near the base, towards the middle of the wing; this line is edged with blackish-brown towards the dorsum; there is a very conspicuous white transverse line at about three-fourths shaded with brown towards the body_; the apex of the fore-wing slightly projects. The hind-wings have no markings. The perfect insect appears in December and January. It seems to be fairly common, frequenting _Carex subdola_.[36] Described and figured from a specimen kindly given to me by Mr. Fereday. XANTHORHOE MNESICHOLA. (_Larentia mnesichola_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 56.) (Plate VII., fig. 39 [M].) This dull little species has occurred in the South Island on Mount Arthur, at elevations of from 4,000 to 4,800 feet. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. _The fore-wings are pale brownish-ochreous, and rather glossy; there is a series of minute black dots at the base, a second series at about one-third, then a cloudy curved band, slightly darker than the rest of the wing, followed by a third series of minute black dots; a fourth series is situated slightly before the termen._ The hind-wings are very pale brownish-ochreous. The perfect insect appears in January. Mr. Meyrick states that it is rather common. XANTHORHOE PRÆFECTATA, Walk. (_Acidalia præfectata_, Walk. 781. _Acidalia subtentaria_, Walk. 1610. _Acidalia absconditaria_, Walk. 1611; Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 21. _Larentia præfectata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 78.) (Plate VII., fig. 30.) This interesting species has occurred in the South Island at the Dun Mountain, Mount Arthur, Christchurch, and Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. _All the wings are pure white_; the fore-wings have a minute grey dot above the middle, _a series of extremely minute dots a little before the termen, and several rows of very faint grey marks close to the termen_. The hind-wings have a row of very obscure dots across the middle, and several rows of very faint grey marks close to the termen. The face and collar are brown, and there is sometimes an extremely faint brown tinge on the costal edge of the fore-wings. The body is pure white. The perfect insect appears in November, December, January, and February. I do not think it is a very common species, and at present I have only observed it on the Dun {61}Mountain near Nelson, at an elevation of about 2,700 feet above the sea-level. Here I took several specimens on the flowers of an Alpine veronica in the dusk of evening, and saw several others, which I was unable to capture. Mr. Meyrick has taken it on Mount Arthur at an elevation of 4,500 feet, and Mr. Fereday states that it frequents swampy places near Christchurch. XANTHORHOE NEPHELIAS, Meyr. (_Larentia nephelias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 78.) This species was discovered by Mr. Meyrick in the South Island at Arthur's Pass, West Coast Road, and he has since taken it on Mount Arthur. "_Male, female_.--The expansion of the wings is 32-34 mm. (about 1¼ inches). Fore-wings moderate, in female narrower and more elongate, termen rounded; pale whitish-grey, slightly ochreous-tinged; an indistinct suffusion of dark fuscous scales before middle; a small dark fuscous discal dot; a rather irregular cloudy dark fuscous line beyond middle, sinuate beneath costa, shortly angulated in middle; a very faint stria beyond this; a terminal band composed of two rows of cloudy partially confluent dark fuscous spots, separating on costa; cilia pale whitish-grey. Hind-wings moderate, in female narrower, termen rounded; ground colour as in fore-wings, with a few grey scales posteriorly. "A remarkable-looking species. "I took two fine specimens above Arthur's Pass (4,600 feet), in January."--(Meyrick). I am unacquainted with this species. It is evidently very conspicuous and distinct. XANTHORHOE CATAPHRACTA, Meyr. (_Larentia cataphracta_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 79.) (Plate VII., fig. 33 [M], 34 [F].) This large and conspicuous species has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Arthur's Pass, Lake Guyon, and Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1-5/8 inches, of the female 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are dull yellowish-brown, with numerous slightly waved oblique black and white transverse bands; one very broad white band is situated near the middle, and another at about three-fourths; there is a broad longitudinal reddish-brown line on the costal edge, in which the transverse lines almost disappear_; there is also a pale, somewhat triangular, area at the apex. The hind-wings are very pale greyish-ochreous. The cilia of all the wings are very pale ochreous. The female is duller and paler than the male. The perfect insect appears from December till March, and frequents grassy slopes on the mountain sides, at elevations of from 3,000 to 4,000 feet. I observed this insect in great abundance on the Humboldt Range at the head of Lake Wakatipu, but have not found it at any of the other Alpine localities I have visited, so I imagine that it is a rather local species. XANTHORHOE CLARATA, Walk. (_Larentia clarata_, Walk. 1197; Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 14. _Cideria pyramaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 93. _Larentia clarata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 79.) (Plate VII., fig. 31 [M], 32 [F].) This conspicuous species has occurred in the South Island at Lake Rotoiti, Mount Arthur, Castle Hill, Mount Hutt, Dunedin, and Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1½ inches, of the female 1-3/8 inches. The species differs from the preceding in the following respects: The ground colour of the fore-wings is brighter, the markings are less oblique and much more jagged; the large white central band is often broken up into several distinct oval patches; the costal edge is very slightly shaded with {62}brown, _and the transverse lines do not disappear before reaching the costa_. The hind-wings are bright ochreous. _The cilia of all the wings are white, strongly barred with yellowish-brown_. There is slight variation in the details of the markings, but the species can always be immediately recognised. The perfect insect appears in December, January, and February. It frequents open grassy places at elevations ranging from 2,000 to 4,500 feet, and is often extremely abundant in these situations. XANTHORHOE COSMODORA, Meyr. (_Larentia cosmodora_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 57.) This species was discovered by Mr. Meyrick in the South Island on Mount Arthur, at an elevation of 4,500 feet. _Female_.--27 mm. (slightly over 1 inch). Head, palpi, antennæ, thorax, abdomen, and legs whitish-ochreous, slightly brownish-tinged; abdomen with a double dorsal series of dark fuscous dots. Fore-wings with costa hardly perceptibly arched, termen slightly rounded, oblique; whitish-ochreous, slightly yellowish-tinged; a curved irregular black line rather near base, followed by a white line; median band rather darker, tinged with yellowish-fuscous towards edges, margined with dentate black lines and outside these with white, anterior from one-third of costa to two-fifths of dorsum, rather curved, posterior from two-thirds of costa to three-fourths of dorsum, somewhat prominent beneath costa, and with a more distinct double prominence in middle; two white dentate-edged spots within median band, first beneath costa, containing small black discal dot, second on dorsum; a waved white subterminal line; a fine dark fuscous terminal line interrupted into numerous dots; cilia whitish-ochreous, with dark fuscous bars hardly reaching base. Hind-wings whitish-ochreous, with faint darker greyish-tinged lines; a median band of four more distinct cloudy grey lines, first three straight, fourth well marked, rather dark fuscous, waved, somewhat prominent in middle, beneath confluent with third; a faint white subterminal line; cilia pale whitish-ochreous, with a faint greyish line tending to form spots. "Appears in January; one specimen. It is conceivable that this may be the other sex of the following species, but they are very dissimilar, and I do not at present think it probable."--(Meyrick.) XANTHORHOE BRYOPIS, Meyr. (_Larentia bryopis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 57.) Discovered by Mr. Meyrick in the South Island on Mount Arthur, 4,500 feet above the sea-level. "_Male_.--29-32 mm. (about 1¼ inches). Head, palpi, thorax, abdomen, and legs pale greyish-ochreous, slightly greenish-tinged, irrorated with blackish. Antennæ whitish, annulated with black. Fore-wings with costa gently arched, termen somewhat rounded, rather oblique; pale greyish-ochreous, tinged with olive-greenish, irrorated with blackish-grey, tending to form waved transverse lines on basal area; median band margined with dentate black lines and outside them with white; anterior from one-third of costa to one-third of dorsum, curved, posterior from beyond two-thirds of costa to three-fourths of dorsum, somewhat indented above middle, with a moderate double prominence in middle; three blackish-grey subdentate lines within median band, first near and parallel to anterior edge, other two near and parallel to posterior edge, first and second tending to be confluent below middle, space between these more or less suffused with white, enclosing a small black discal spot; an obscure dentate whitish subterminal line, anteriorly margined with dark fuscous, preceded and followed by waved fuscous lines; a terminal series of pairs of dark fuscous dots; cilia ochreish-grey, whitish, barred with fuscous, and with a fuscous basal line. Hind-wings ochreous-grey, with waved darker grey transverse lines, except towards base; a dark grey discal dot before middle; posterior edge of median band formed as in fore-wings, followed by an obscure whitish line and somewhat paler band; terminal dots and cilia as in fore-wings, but more obscure. "Appears in January; not uncommon. Nearest allied to _X. beata_."--(Meyrick.) {63}XANTHORHOE BEATA, Butl. (_Cidaria beata_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 397, pl. xliii. 6. _Larentia beata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 79.) (Plate VII., fig. 35 [M], 36 [F].) This very beautiful species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, is common and generally distributed throughout the South Island, and has also been found at Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. _The fore-wings are bright green; there is a darker area at the base edged with a jagged white line; then a paler band followed by a very broad darker green central band edged with very jagged white lines, and containing several white patches in the middle, one of which is situated close to the costa and encloses a black dot; beyond this central band there is a paler area, then an interrupted darker green band edged with white towards the termen_. There is an oblique pale mark from the apex of the wing. The hind-wings are very pale ochreous, sometimes slightly tinged with green; there are several obscure rows of dusky spots. The white markings included in the central band are rather variable. The egg is smooth, oval, and pale green in colour. The young larva is orange-brown, becoming greenish-brown soon after emergence. The full-grown larva is dark brown above and pale brown beneath, the two colours being sharply separated on the sides by a broken white line. A series of V-shaped markings is situated on the back, each mark enclosing a paler area. Several fine black wavy lines traverse the darker portions of the larva, and a dark mark, edged with black beneath, is situated on each segment just above the ventral surface. The food-plant is watercress. The pupa is enclosed in a frail cocoon on the surface of the ground. The perfect insect appears from October till March, and frequents forest. It is often dislodged from dense undergrowth during the daytime, and may be found in the evening on the blossoms of the white rata. It is very much commoner in some years than in others; but occasionally several seasons will pass without our noticing a single specimen of this attractive insect. The colouring is extremely protective when the moth is resting on moss-covered tree trunks. XANTHORHOE ADONIS, n. sp. (Plate VII., fig. 49 [M].) This extremely beautiful insect has occurred in the South Island at Castle Hill, and at Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. _The fore-wings are vivid green_; there is a broad, wavy, black transverse line near the base; a somewhat broken line at about one-third, much broader on the costa and edged with white towards the base; _a very conspicuous broad black line at two-thirds, shaded towards the base, and sharply edged with white towards the termen_; between this line and the termen there are several black marks, forming another extremely broken transverse line. _The hind-wings are pale orange-brown, with a faint grey central band_. The perfect insect appears in January. It frequents forests at elevations of from 1,000 to 2,000 feet above the sea-level, but it is not common. Mr. Meyrick regards this insect as identical with _Xanthorhoe beata_. XANTHORHOE CHLORIAS, Meyr. (_Larentia chlorias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 80.) This species was discovered in the South Island at Castle Hill, by Mr. Meyrick. "The expansion of the wings of the male is 30 mm. (about 1¼ inches). Fore-wings moderate, termen hardly rounded; bright yellow; base of costa dark fuscous-purple; a curved row of three very small dark purple-fuscous spots about one-fourth, and another of four spots before middle, costal spots larger; a {64}triangular purple blotch on costa before apex, reaching half across wing, anteriorly margined by a strongly sinuate bluish-black streak; a row of three dark purple-fuscous dots from apex of this to dorsum, and a subterminal row of six similar dots; cilia yellow. Hind-wings moderate, termen rounded; rather paler than fore-wings, with two curved posterior rows of cloudy purple-fuscous dots. "A very beautiful and conspicuous species. "I took one fine specimen in a wooded gully near Castle Hill, at 3,100 feet, in January."--(Meyrick.) XANTHORHOE ÆGROTA, Butl. (_Selidosema ægrota_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 499. _Larentia ægrota_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 80.) (Plate VII., fig. 37 [M].) This rather inconspicuous species has occurred at Palmerston and Kaitoke in the North Island; and at Christchurch, Dunedin, and Lake Wakatipu in the South Island. It has also been taken at Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1-1/8 inches. _The fore-wings are dull ochreous-brown; there are several indistinct wavy blackish lines near the base, a black dot above the middle, then three or four more lines, followed by a cloudy shading on the termen._ The hind-wings are pale ochreous-brown. _The cilia of all the wings are dull ochreous-brown barred with black._ The perfect insect appears from November till March and is sometimes very common. It usually frequents rather open situations in the neighbourhood of forest, and I have often observed it amongst the bushes of "Wild Irishman" (_Discaria toumatou._) It is extremely abundant on the banks of the River Dart, at the head of Lake Wakatipu. XANTHORHOE LUCIDATA, Walk. (_Larentia lucidata_, Walk. 1200. _Coremia plurimata_, ib. 1321. _Panagra venipunctata_, ib. 1666. _Larentia psamathodes_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 81. _Larentia lucidata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvii. 64.) (Plate VII., fig. 38 [M].) This rather dull-coloured species has occurred at Napier, Palmerston, and Wellington in the North Island, and at Dunedin in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. _The fore-wings are dull yellowish-brown; there are numerous fine, almost straight blackish lines parallel to the termen, forming four more or less distinct transverse bands_; the first at the base rather broad, the second a little before the middle, the third beyond the middle, and the fourth just before the termen; there is a black dot a little above the middle of the wing, and the veins are marked with white dots between the transverse bands. The hind-wings are pale brownish-ochreous; there are numerous, rather faint, wavy, blackish, transverse lines, which are much more distinct near the dorsum. There is a series of distinct black dots on the termen of both fore- and hind-wings. The perfect insect appears during the winter months from March till August. It is rather a scarce species, but on mild evenings it is sometimes taken at light. XANTHORHOE HELIAS, Meyr. (_Larentia helias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 81.) (Plate VII., fig. 40.) Two specimens of this species have been taken at Dunedin in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. All the wings are pale ochreous; the fore-wings have a slender brown transverse line at the base, then a large loop-like marking from the costa, almost meeting a smaller, similarly looped marking from the dorsum; next a broad irregular dark brown band a little beyond the middle, considerably indented towards the termen; this is followed by a rather narrow pale band, and then by a narrow brown band, also indented towards the termen; there is a small oblique brown mark below the apex, and a terminal series of black dots. The hind-wings have several faint dusky transverse lines near the base, a row of small spots near the {65}termen, and a terminal series of minute black dots. The cilia of all the wings are reddish-ochreous. The perfect insect appears in January. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. XANTHORHOE PRASINIAS, Meyr. (_Larentia prasinias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 81.) (Plate VII., fig. 41.) This bright-looking species has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Castle Hill, and Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are bright orange-yellow; there is a small brown area near the base, with the outer edge indented; then a pale band followed by a very broad brown central band, composed of wavy transverse lines, with irregular yellow spaces between them_, the largest of these spaces containing a small black dot; the outer edge of the central band is very wavy, and has several rather prominent projections near the middle; beyond this are several rather faint brownish lines; the cilia are yellow, barred with dark brown. The hind-wings are pale ochreous, shaded with grey near the base, and with yellow near the termen; the cilia are yellow, barred with brown. The perfect insect appears in January, and frequents forest. It is found at elevations of from 2,000 to 3,000 feet, but is not by any means a common species. XANTHORHOE CHIONOGRAMMA, Meyr. (_Larentia chionogramma_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 82.) (Plate VII., fig. 42 [M], 43 [F].) This rather dull-looking species has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur and Mount Hutt. The expansion of the wings is about 1-1/8 inches. _The fore-wings are rather dark greyish-brown; there are numerous indistinct wavy paler and darker transverse lines near the base; a rather broad transverse brown band towards the middle, shaded towards the base, and edged with an interrupted jagged white line towards the termen_; beyond this there are several broken darker and paler lines. The hind-wings are very pale greyish-ochreous, clouded with grey near the base, and with several rows of small cloudy grey spots near the termen. The female is paler than the male and the markings are less distinct. The perfect insect appears in December and January, and frequents wooded valleys on the lower slopes of the mountains, at elevations of from 2,000 to 3,000 feet. XANTHORHOE CAMELIAS, Meyr. (_Larentia camelias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 58.) This species was discovered by Mr. Meyrick in the North Island at Whangarei. "The expansion of the wings of the male is 23 mm. (rather less than 1 inch). Head, antennæ, and thorax whitish-ochreous, greyish-tinged, with a few dark fuscous scales. Palpi fuscous. Abdomen whitish-ochreous, with a double dorsal series of dark fuscous dots. Legs whitish-ochreous, irrorated with purple-reddish and dark fuscous. Fore-wings with costa rather sinuate in middle, on anterior half gently, on posterior half very strongly arched, termen moderately sinuate below apex, bowed in middle; light greyish-ochreous, with numerous cloudy, waved, brown-grey transverse lines, somewhat bent near costa; a black discal dot; margin of basal patch and anterior edge of median band indicated by series of very minute white dots, preceded and followed by black points; posterior edge of median band marked by a darker line, followed by a fine white line reduced on lower half to a series of points, subterminal line represented by four cloudy blackish dots on upper half and another above tornus; cilia greyish-ochreous (imperfect). Hind-wings fuscous-whitish; a median band of four cloudy greyish lines, bent near costa; a cloudy grey spot above tornus; cilia fuscous-whitish (imperfect.) "Appears in December. Immediately recognisable by the peculiar form of forewings."--(Meyrick.) {66}XANTHORHOE FALCATA, Butl. (_Larentia falcata_, Butl., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 58.) A single specimen of this species is in the British Museum collection of New Zealand Lepidoptera. Of this specimen Mr. Meyrick remarks as follows:-- "This appears to be a good species allied to _X. camelias_, but with the costa of fore-wings less arched posteriorly, and posterior edge of median band practically straight, not bent near costa; also much darker in general colouring. I have not yet seen any specimen except the original type." XANTHORHOE OBARATA, Feld. (_Cidaria obarata_, Feld. cxxxii. 33. _Larentia obarata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 82.) (Plate VII., fig. 45.) This little species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Christchurch and Mount Hutt in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is barely 1 inch. _The fore-wings are pale greyish-ochreous; there is an interrupted reddish-brown transverse band near the base; two faint, interrupted, shaded blackish lines, one at about one-third and the other at about two-thirds, enclosing between them a large central area, which contains a very distinct black dot above the middle, and several irregular shaded black marks; beyond this there is a wavy reddish-brown band; the apex of the wing is somewhat projecting, and the termen is considerably bowed._ The hind-wings are pale grey, with a paler central band, and numerous faint, wavy, darker grey lines. _The cilia of all the icings are white, banded with dark grey._ The perfect insect appears from November till January. Mr. Fereday states that it is a plain-frequenting species, especially attached to gorse hedges.[37] Described and figured from a specimen kindly given to me by Mr. Fereday. XANTHORHOE CHORICA, Meyr. (_Larentia chorica_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 58.) (Plate VII., fig. 44.) A single specimen of this beautiful insect was taken at Akaroa by Mr. Fereday. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. All the wings are pale ochreous. The fore-wings have a short transverse black mark from the costa near the base; a fine wavy white transverse line, followed by a wavy black band; _the middle of the wing is white, marbled with very pale blue; beyond this there is a broad black band wavy towards the termen, with a very prominent rounded projection near the middle_; there are two reddish-brown marks on the costa before the apex, a blackish patch on the termen below the apex, and a row of terminal black dots; the apex is slightly projecting, and the termen is strongly arched. The hind-wings have several fine blackish transverse lines near the base; a broad shaded band in the middle, and a terminal series of black dots. The perfect insect appears in January. Described and figured from the specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. XANTHORHOE SUBOBSCURATA, Walk. (_Scotosia subobscurata_, Walk. 1358. _Larentia petropola_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 82.) This species has occurred in the South Island at the Otira Gorge. "The expansion of the wings is 39 mm. (1½ inches). Fore-wings moderate, termen rounded dark grey, densely irrorated with bluish-whitish; costa broadly suffused with ochreous-whitish anteriorly; a very obscure curved ochreous-whitish line towards base, anteriorly dark-margined; two obscure curved subdentate adjacent whitish lines about one-third, followed by a dark line; a blackish {67}discal dot; a very irregular dentate curved dark grey line beyond middle, followed by two adjacent whitish lines; a sharply dentate obscure whitish subterminal line, anteriorly dark-margined. Hind-wings moderate, termen rounded; markings as in fore-wings, but more obscure, paler and more suffused towards base. "A fine species, with a peculiar bluish tinge. "I took two specimens at rest on rock-faces in the Otira Gorge, at 1,800 feet, in January, and saw others."--(Meyrick.) XANTHORHOE CINEREARIA, Dbld. (_Cidaria (?) cinerearia_, Dbld., Dieff. N. Z. ii. 286. _Larentia (?) invexata_, Walk. 1199; Butl., Cat., pl. iii. 11. _Larentia semisignata_, Walk. 1200. _Larentia inoperata_, Walk. 1201. _Larentia diffusaria_, Walk. 1201. _Larentia punctilineata_, Walk. 1202; Butl., Cat., pl. iii. 12. _Cidaria dissociata_, Walk. 1734. _Cidaria semilisata_, Walk. 1735. _Larentia corcularia_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 61. _Larentia infantaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 62. _Helastia eupitheciaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 95. ? _Cidaria sphæriata_, Feld. cxxxi. 14. _Larentia cinerearia_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 83.) (Plate VIII., figs. 2 and 2A, varieties.) This species is extremely abundant, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is from 5/8 inch to 1 inch. _The fore-wings vary from pale to dark grey; there are generally four more or less distinct blackish marks on the costa, forming the beginning of transverse bands_; the rest of the wing is marbled with dark-grey or black, the disposition of the markings varying exceedingly in different specimens. The hind-wings are pale grey, with a black dot above the middle. The variation existing in this species is very great, and is thus described by Mr. Meyrick:[38] "Three main forms occur: one large, greyer, and more uniform; a second of middle size whiter and generally strongly marked sometimes bluish-tinged, only found in the hills; and a third small greyish but ochreous-tinged, strongly marked; these are connected by scarcer intermediate forms, and are, I believe, due to the direct effect of food and situation. "The larva feeds on lichens." The perfect insect appears from October till March, and frequents a great variety of situations. The colouring of the fore-wings is beautifully adapted for protection on lichen-covered banks, rocks, or fences, where specimens may often be found resting with closed wings during the daytime. This species flies rather freely at evening dusk, and may then be taken plentifully at sugar, blossoms or light. It is, however, a difficult matter to procure specimens in really good condition for the cabinet, as the insect is so extremely restless when confined in a box that if it is not killed at once, it will speedily injure itself during its struggles to escape. This moth is found at elevations ranging from the sea-level to 3,500 feet. XANTHORHOE ANTHRACIAS, Meyr. (_Larentia anthracias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 84.) This species has occurred in the South Island at Mount Hutt and Lake Wakatipu. "The expansion of the wings of the male is from 24-25 mm. (about 1 inch). Fore-wings moderate, termen sinuate; dark fuscous, faintly striated, more or less sprinkled with whitish; a curved blackish line near base, posteriorly obscurely whitish-margined; a curved, obscure whitish fascia at one-third, blackish margined and bisected by a blackish line; a well-defined black discal dot; a white fascia, partially mixed with fuscous, beyond middle, anteriorly strongly blackish-margined, posteriorly more obscurely, and bisected by a blackish line, somewhat irregular, moderately angulated in middle; {68}an obscure dentate yellowish or whitish subterminal line; an interrupted black terminal line. Hind-wings moderate, termen rounded; dark fuscous; two nearly straight lines before middle, faintly darker; a faint paler or sometimes whitish sinuate fascia beyond middle, margined and bisected with darker. "Varies slightly in distinctness of pale markings. "Mount Hutt and Lake Wakatipu (5,400 feet), on the open mountain sides, in December and January; twelve specimens."--(Meyrick.) XANTHORHOE BULBULATA, Gn. (_Cidaria bulbulata_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 94. _Larentia bulbulata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 84.) (Plate VIII., fig. 1.) This species has occurred in the South Island at Kekerangu, Christchurch, Castle Hill, and Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is barely 1 inch. _The fore-wings are very pale brownish-ochreous; there is a brown area near the base; a moderately broad brown central band with a distinct projection near the middle; the termen is broadly shaded with brown, with a wavy paler line in the middle of the shading_; there are often several oval paler marks in the middle of the central band, and pale brown spots and lines between the darker brown markings. _The hind-wings are bright orange, with the cilia pale brown._ The perfect insect appears from September till March, and frequents open, grassy places, from the sea-level to elevations of from 2,000 to 3,000 feet. Genus 12.--LYTHRIA, Hb. "Face rough-haired or loosely scaled, antennæ in male bi-pectinated, apex sometimes simple. Palpi with long rough hairs. Thorax roughly hairy beneath. Fore-wings with areole simple. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell to beyond middle."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 39 and 40, neuration of _L. chrysopeda_.) We have two interesting little species in New Zealand. The genus also occurs in Europe, and probably elsewhere. LYTHRIA CHRYSOPEDA, Meyr. (_Arcteuthes chrysopeda_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 48.) (Plate VIII., fig. 33 [M], 34 [F].) This bright-looking little species has been taken in the South Island at Mount Arthur. The expansion of the wings is about ¾ inch. _The fore-wings are very dark, glossy brown; there is a pale yellowish transverse line near the base, a broader, rather wavy orange-yellow line a little before the middle, another still broader at about two-thirds, and an indistinct fine line near the termen. The hind-wings are rich orange-brown, with three broad, wavy, dark brown transverse bands; the termen is narrowly margined with dark orange-brown._ The female is generally rather paler than the male, very faintly marked specimens occasionally occurring. The perfect insect appears in January and February. It frequents the tussock openings in the forest on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, at elevations of from 3,000 to 4,000 feet. In these situations it appears to be fairly abundant, flying actively in the hottest sunshine. LYTHRIA EUCLIDIATA, Gn. (_Coremia euclidiata_, Gn. x. 420. _Coremia glyphicata_, ib. 420. _Fidonia catapyrrha_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 392, pl. xliii. 2. _Stratonice catapyrrha_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 64. _Stratonice euclidiata_, ib. xvii. 63. _Arctesthes euclidiata_, ib. xviii. 184. _Arcteuthes euclidiata_, ib. xx. 47.) (Plate VIII., fig. 35 [M].) This pretty little species has occurred in the South Island at Lake Rotoiti near Nelson, Lake Guyon, Otira Gorge, Dunedin, and Mount Linton near Invercargill. {69}The expansion of the wings is ¾ inch. The fore-wings are dark greyish-brown speckled with black and white; there is a curved black transverse line near the base, followed by a white line, then two black lines close together followed by another white line, then a broad black line followed by a pale central band containing a well-marked central dot, beyond this there are two angulated black lines, and a very conspicuous white line; there is a broad black shading on the termen, traversed by a rather obscure fine white line. The hind-wings are rather narrow, yellowish-orange speckled with black near the base, there is a strongly angulated black line near the middle, and an obscure blackish band near the termen. _On the under side the fore-wings are yellow, with two black transverse bands from the costa near the termen and a red mark near the apex; the hind-wings are streaked with white and yellow, and broadly bordered with red on the costa and termen; there are two very broad black transverse bands._ The female is paler than the male, with the dark markings rather narrower. The perfect insect appears in February and March, and frequents open, sunny places, at elevations of from 1,000 to 2,000 feet above the sea-level. Genus 13.--DASYURIS, Gn. "Face rough-haired or with projecting scales. Palpi moderate, porrected, with long dense rough hairs. Antennæ in male shortly ciliated. Thorax and coxæ densely hairy beneath. Posterior tibiæ with all spurs present. Fore-wings with areole double. Hind-wings with vein 8 anastomosing with cell from near base to beyond middle."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., fig. 42, neuration of fore-wing. Hind-wing as in _Xanthorhoe_.) Of this genus we have four species in New Zealand. DASYURIS ENYSII, Butl. (_Fidonia enysii_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 391, pl. xlii. 9. _Statira homomorpha_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 91. _Statira enysii_, ib. xvii. 65. _Stathmonyma enysii_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 28.) This species has occurred in the South Island on the Dun Mountain near Nelson, and at Mount Hutt. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The fore-wings are greyish-brown, with numerous wavy blackish transverse lines; there is usually a wavy yellowish transverse stripe near the base, and another broader and more conspicuous stripe near the termen; the termen itself is broadly shaded with dark brown. The hind-wings are orange-yellow; there is a small dusky brown area near the base, then a faint straight transverse line, followed by a slightly waved conspicuous dark brown line; there is a very wavy broad dark brown line near the termen, and the termen itself is narrowly edged with dark brown. The perfect insect appears in January and February, and frequents stony situations on the mountains, at elevations of from 2,500 to 4,000 feet. I have taken numerous specimens on the "Mineral Belt," Dun Mountain, but have not yet met with it elsewhere. This insect is probably often mistaken during flight for _Notoreas brephos_, from which it may easily be distinguished by its _larger size, paler colouring, and simple antennæ of the male_. DASYURIS ANCEPS, Butl. (_Fidonia anceps_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 392, pl. xliii. 3. _Statira anceps_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 91. _Stathmonyma anceps_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 29.) This species has been taken in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Castle Hill, and Arthur's Pass. The expansion of the wings is about 1-1/8 inches. _The fore-wings are bluish-grey; there are four wavy dark grey transverse lines_, the three lines nearest the base are double, and the line nearest the termen is shaded towards the base. _The hind-wings are pale yellow_; there is a small dusky area near the base, then a slightly curved grey line, followed by two curved dark grey lines {70}close together; there is a series of irregular blotches near the termen, and the termen itself is broadly edged with black near the apex of the wing, and narrowly near the tornus. The cilia of all the wings are bluish-grey, barred with dusky black. The perfect insect appears in January and February, and frequents bare rocky situations on the mountains, at elevations of from 4,000 to 5,000 feet. On one occasion I met with this species very plentifully, though in poor condition, on Mount Peel, near Mount Arthur; but subsequent visits have led me to think that, as a rule, it is rather a scarce species. The bluish-grey colouring of the fore-wings affords this moth a most efficient protection from enemies, whilst resting on the rocky ground which it always frequents. Apart from special characters, the fainter colouring of this insect will at once distinguish it from any of the numerous allied species. DASYURIS PARTHENIATA, Gn. (_Dasyuris partheniata_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 93; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 92.) (Plate VIII., fig. 30 [M], 31 [F].) This bright-looking species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Mount Arthur and Mount Hutt in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1-1/8 inches. _The fore-wings are bright orange-yellow; the base is speckled with black and dull green scales; there is a rather indistinct band at about one-third; a broad wavy dark brown band a little beyond the middle, with a projection towards the termen, followed by a clear space and another broad irregular dark transverse band_; the termen is broadly bordered with dark brown, which is often almost continuous with the last-named transverse band. _The hind-wings are bright orange; there is a large speckled area near the base edged with a curved black line, followed by a clear space, and an interrupted dark brown transverse line considerably beyond the middle_; the termen is rather narrowly edged with a dark brown line, wavy towards the base of the wing. The cilia of all the wings are yellow barred with black. The species varies considerably in the extent of the dark markings, especially on the fore-wings. The egg is oval and white, without sculpture. The young larva, which is very attenuated, has sixteen legs. Its colour is pale yellowish-brown above, and dull ochreous beneath. The food-plant is unknown. The perfect insect appears from October till March, and frequents open, grassy situations. At Wellington, during October and November, it is common on the cliffs close to the shores of Cook's Strait, flying very rapidly on hot, sunny days, which renders its capture very difficult in such steep situations. Mr. Fereday's specimens were obtained amongst the tussock grass at the foot of Mount Hutt. The insect was also found plentifully on the slopes of Mount Arthur, at an elevation of about 4,500 feet above the sea-level, and also on the Tararua Range in the North Island. DASYURIS HECTORI, Butl. (_Euclidia hectori_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 387, pl. xlii. 4. _Statira hectori_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 91. _Stathmonyma hectori_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 32.) This very striking species has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Mount Hutt, and Ben Lomond, Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. _All the wings are dark greyish-black, speckled with bluish-grey scales._ The fore-wings have five rather indistinct wavy darker transverse lines, and a very broad darker shading near the termen; there is a fine white mark near the apex, continued as an indistinct wavy line towards the tornus. The hind-wings have three or four {71}indistinct darker transverse lines, and a very broad terminal shading; there are two, more or less distinct, fine, wavy, white lines, the first a little below the middle, and the second near the termen; the cilia are dark grey barred with pale grey. _On the under side all the wings are dark blackish-grey, traversed by six broad, wavy whitish lines._ The perfect insect appears in December, January and February, and frequents rocky crags on mountains, at elevations of from 4,700 to 5,700 feet above the sea-level. It delights to rest on blackened rocks in the hottest sunshine, but dashes away with the greatest rapidity on the approach of the collector, so that it is generally rather difficult to capture. Genus 14.--NOTOREAS, Meyr. "Face roughly haired. Palpi moderate, second joint with long or very long spreading hairs beneath, terminal joint moderate or rather long, often concealed. Antennæ in male bi-pectinated. Thorax beneath more or less strongly clothed with long hairs. Fore-wings with vein 6 rising out of 9, 7 almost from angle of areole, 10 anastomosing moderately with 9, 11 anastomosing moderately or very shortly with 10, 12 free. Hind-wings normal."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., fig. 43, fore-wing of _Notoreas brephos_.) This interesting genus, of which we have no less than fifteen species, comprises a number of gaily coloured little insects, chiefly inhabiting mountain regions. All the species are day-fliers, and most of them only appear during the hottest sunshine. Mr. Meyrick regards the genus _Notoreas_ as most closely approaching to the ancestor of the family _Hydriomenidæ_. NOTOREAS INSIGNIS, Butl. (_Aspilates insignis_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 393, pl. xliii. 1. _Pasithea insignis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 85. _Notoreas insignis_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 3 [M].) This very striking species has been taken in the South Island at Castle Hill. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¼ inches, of the female 1 inch. _The fore-wings of the male are dull yellowish-brown; in the middle of the wing there is an almost straight long white streak from the base to about three-fourths; there is another straight white streak parallel to the termen and almost touching the apex. The hind-wings are bright ochreous speckled with brown near the base._ The female has the wings rather narrower than the male, and the ground colour is paler. The perfect insect appears in January. Mr. Fereday's specimens, which formed the basis for the above figure and description, were captured on a bare mountain side at an elevation of about 4,000 feet. Mr. Hawthorne has directed my attention to the remarkable similarity existing between the markings on the fore-wings of this species and those on _Xanthorhoe stinaria_. NOTOREAS ORPHNÆA, Meyr. (_Pasithea orphnæa_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 85. _Notoreas orphnæa_, ib. xviii. 184.) This species was discovered by Mr. Meyrick in the South Island at Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings of the female is from 28 to 30 mm. (about 1¼ inches). "Fore-wings moderate, termen rounded; dark fuscous, mixed with yellowish and whitish, which tend to form alternate fasciæ; a discal dot and numerous curved irregularly dentate blackish lines, varying in strength and intensity; cilia barred with blackish and whitish. Hind-wings moderate, termen rounded; dark fuscous; a blackish discal dot; a cloudy whitish irroration forming a double curved fascia beyond middle, and a dentate subterminal line; cilia as in fore-wings. "Imitative in colour of the dark lichen-grown rocks. {72}"I took three specimens almost on the summit of Ben Lomond, Lake Wakatipu, at 5,600 feet, in January."--(Meyrick.) NOTOREAS ISOLEUCA, Meyr. (_Notoreas isoleuca_, Meyr., Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond., 1897, 386.) (Plate VIII., fig. 27.) This little species has been taken in the South Island on the Craigieburn Range, near Castle Hill. The expansion of the wings is about ¾ inch. _All the wings are very dark blackish-brown; the fore-wings have five slender wavy white transverse lines. The hind-wings have three white transverse lines_, the first near the base, the second near the middle, and the third, which is very slender and considerably broken, near the termen. _The cilia of all the wings are white, barred with blackish-brown._ The perfect insect was captured in January, amongst a varied growth of stunted Alpine vegetation, at an elevation of about 5,600 feet. NOTOREAS MECHANITIS, Meyr. (_Pasithea mechanitis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 86. _Notoreas mechanitis_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., figs. 9, 10, 11, varieties.) This insect has occurred in the South Island at Mount Arthur, Arthur's Pass and Mount Hutt. The expansion of the wings is about 7/8 inch. _All the wings are dark brownish-black. The fore-wings have an almost straight transverse yellow or white stripe near the base, edged with black towards the body; a rather wavy stripe at about one-third, edged with black towards the termen; then several irregular yellowish or white spots or marks, followed by a very distinct white stripe, somewhat projecting towards the termen near the middle; there is a broken fine yellow line near the termen._ The hind-wings have a shaded white or yellow transverse line near the base, another near the middle, a third, considerably finer and often broken, near the termen. The cilia of all the wings are white shaded with grey near the base, _but with no distinct bars_. The perfect insect appears from January till March, and flies with great activity in the hottest sunshine. It frequents grassy mountain sides at elevations ranging from 3,000 to 4,500 feet above the sea-level, and in these situations it is often very abundant. NOTOREAS PARADELPHA, Meyr. (_Pasithea paradelpha_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 86. _Notoreas paradelpha_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., figs. 12, 13, 14, varieties.) In the South Island this insect has occurred on Mount Arthur, and on Ben Lomond, Lake Wakatipu, at elevations of from 3,600 to 5,000 feet. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The species is said to be distinguished from the preceding "by the barred cilia, the absence of any clear yellow colouring, the less prominent angulation of the post-median line and the more elongate wings."[39] (Meyrick.) The perfect insect appears in December, January and February. In habits it exactly resembles _Notoreas mechanitis_. NOTOREAS PERORNATA, Walk. (_Fidonia perornata_, Walk. 1672. _Pasithea perornata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 87. _Notoreas perornata_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., figs. 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8, varieties.) This very pretty insect has occurred at Palmerston and Wellington in the North Island, and at Kekerangu, Mount Arthur, Lake Coleridge, Mount Hutt and Lake Wakatipu, in the South Island. {73}The expansion of the wings is about ¾ inch. _The fore-wings are dark brownish-black, with five transverse white or orange-yellow lines, which vary considerably both in width and colour in different specimens_; the two basal lines are almost straight, the rest are wavy, the last but one has, near the middle, a strong projection towards the termen. _The hind-wings are bright orange, with three or four more or less broken black transverse lines._ The termen is narrowly bordered with black; the cilia of all the wings are white, more or less distinctly barred with blackish-brown. The perfect insect appears in February, March and April, flying very actively in the hot afternoon sunshine. It is extremely abundant on the coast hills in the neighbourhood of Wellington. It also occurs commonly at Kekerangu, and is occasionally found on mountains as high as from 3,000 to 4,000 feet above the sea-level. I have observed that all the Wellington specimens have the transverse lines on the fore-wings narrow and mostly white; those from Mount Arthur broad and white, those from Kekerangu and Lake Wakatipu broad and orange-yellow. The last-named forms approximate most closely to some of the very yellow varieties of _Notoreas paradelpha_.[40] NOTOREAS STRATEGICA, Meyr. (_Pasithea strategica_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 87. _Notoreas strategica_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 15.) A single specimen of this conspicuous species was taken in the South Island at Lake Guyon, by Mr. W. T. L. Travers. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are dull yellowish-brown, becoming blackish-brown near the base; there are two broad white transverse lines near the base, the outermost slightly curved, then a dull orange shading, followed by a very broad, outwardly bent, white transverse band, edged with black towards the base_; between this band and the termen there is a fine wavy white transverse line. _The hind-wings are dull yellowish-brown near the base, becoming blackish towards the termen; there is a small cream-coloured area near the base, then two rather broad, slightly irregular, cream-coloured bands, and a rather fine wavy white line near the termen._ The cilia of all the wings are white, barred with blackish-brown. The perfect insect appears in January. Described and figured from the type specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. NOTOREAS CALLICRENA, Meyr. (_Pasithea callicrena_ Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 87. _Notoreas callicrena_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 16.) A single specimen of this very handsome species was captured by Mr. Fereday in the South Island, high on the mountains at the head of Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are deep orange-brown, shaded with black near the base and in the vicinity of the three cream-coloured transverse bands; the first of these bands is situated near the base, the second at about one-third, and the third, which is rather wavy, at about two-thirds_; there is a fine wavy white line close to the termen. _The hind-wings are dark grey, with two broad cream-coloured bands, the first near the base and the second near the middle_; there is a slender wavy line near the termen. The cilia of all the wings are cream-coloured, barred with brownish-black. The perfect insect appears in January, and evidently frequents high mountains. Described and figured from the type-specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. {74}NOTOREAS NIPHOCRENA, Meyr. (_Pasithea niphocrena_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 88. _Notoreas niphocrena_, ib. xviii. 184.) This species was discovered by Mr. Meyrick in the South Island, at Arthur's Pass, West Coast Road. "The expansion of the wings of the female is from 24 to 25 mm. (1 inch). Fore-wings moderate, termen rounded; rather dark fuscous, mixed and obscurely striated with orange; a curved white subdentate line before one-fourth, anteriorly blackish-margined; a similar white line beyond one-fourth, posteriorly blackish-margined; space between these sometimes suffused with orange; a slender irregularly dentate white fascia beyond middle, rather strongly angulated in middle, anteriorly blackish-margined, posteriorly closely followed by a dentate orange line; a dentate orange line near termen, dilated on costa. Hind-wings moderate, termen rounded; orange, lighter anteriorly; basal half dark fuscous mixed with orange, its outer edge irregularly curved; a dentate subterminal fascia and narrow terminal fascia dark fuscous, sometimes obscure. "Possibly when the male is known this may prove to be a _Dasyuris_. "I took two specimens on the mountain-side above Arthur's Pass at 4,500 feet, in January."--(Meyrick.) NOTOREAS SIMPLEX, n. sp. (Plate VIII., fig. 26.) A single specimen of this species was captured on Mount Arthur in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1-1/8 inches. _The fore-wings are bright ochreous; there are four broad black transverse bands near the base, edged with white, and separated from one another by yellow spaces of almost equal width_; the outermost of these bands is situated a little more than half-way between the base and termen; the last two lines become obsolete before they reach the costa; there are no other markings, except a black shading on the termen near the tornus, which is traversed by an obscure jagged paler line; the cilia are white barred with black. The hind-wings are bright orange-yellow, without markings; the cilia are ochreous. The perfect insect appears in January. The type-specimen was taken on the mountain-side, at an elevation of about 4,000 feet. NOTOREAS FEROX, Butl. (_Fidonia ferox_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 392, pl. xlii. 8. _Pasithea ferox_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 88. _Notoreas ferox_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 17.) Two specimens of this species were captured by Mr. J. D. Enys, at Castle Hill in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The fore-wings are dull brown, with numerous fine, wavy, dusky lines and a faint dot above the middle. The hind-wings are orange-yellow, dotted with black near the base; _there is a rather broad_ STRAIGHT _transverse black band near the middle, followed by a much finer wavy line; there are three fine, wavy lines parallel with the termen, and the termen itself is finely bordered with black._ Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. NOTOREAS ZOPYRA, Meyr. (_Pasithea zopyra_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 89. _Notoreas zopyra_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., figs. 18 and 19, varieties.) This bright-looking little species has occurred at Mount Arthur and at Mount Hutt, in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about ¾ inch. The fore-wings are _dark bluish-grey_, with numerous slender, wavy, blackish transverse lines, and a distinct blackish dot above the middle. The hind-wings are _bright orange_, speckled with grey near the base and dorsum; there are from two to four very fine, wavy, broken, blackish, transverse lines, and the termen is narrowly bordered with black. {75}The perfect insect appears in January, frequenting shingle flats on the mountain sides, at about 4,000 feet above the sea-level. It flies rapidly in the hottest sunshine, and, when it alights on the stones, is extremely difficult to find. The brilliant hind-wings, which are very conspicuous when the moth is flying, quite disqualify the eye from detecting the extremely obscure object, which the insect instantly becomes when resting with its fore-wings alone exposed. This method of increasing the value of protective tints by means of bright colours temporarily displayed was very clearly described, I believe for the first time, by Lord Walsingham in his address to the Fellows of the Entomological Society of London, in January, 1891. It is certainly well exemplified by this and several other species of the genus _Notoreas_, and it will be at once noticed by the collector, how extremely difficult it is to follow these active little moths, as they fly with short and rapid flight over the grey rocks and stones, with which their fore-wings so completely harmonize; the momentary glimpse obtained of the brilliant hind-wings so completely deceives the eye, that there is much more difficulty in marking the spot where the insect alights, than would have been the case if the brilliant colour had never been displayed. NOTOREAS VULCANICA, Meyr. (_Pasithea vulcanica_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 89. _Notoreas vulcanica_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 24.) This species has been taken in the North Island at Makotuku, and the Kaweka Range, in the Hawkes Bay District. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. The fore-wings are _very dark blackish-grey_; there is a rather narrow black transverse line near the base, another at about one-third; then a small black dot, followed by a wavy, rather broad, black band, and two cloudy wavy black transverse lines near the termen. The hind-wings are _very dark orange; there is a large black basal patch, then a broad black band joining the basal patch near the dorsum; beyond this is a fine black line, then another broad black line followed by a very fine wavy line of the orange ground colour; the termen is very broadly margined with black_. The perfect insect appears from January to March. Mr. Meyrick states that he found it resting on the roads near Makotuku. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. NOTOREAS BREPHOS, Walk. (_Fidonia brephosata_, Walk. 1037; Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 14. _Larentia catocalaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 62. _Fidonia brephos_, Feld. cxxix. 5. _Pasithea brephos_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 89. _Notoreas brephos_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., figs. 20, 21, 22, and 23, varieties.) This very pretty species is common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1 inch. The fore-wings are dark grey; there is a wavy black line near the base, two similar lines enclosing a very broad central area, with a black dot a little above the middle; beyond this there is a more or less distinct wavy band of pale grey or brown; there are several obscure wavy blackish lines near the termen. The hind-wings are bright orange, dotted with grey near the base and dorsum, with from two to four more or less distinct wavy black transverse lines, generally rather narrow; the termen is moderately broadly bordered with black. This insect is extremely variable, and, so far as I can judge from an extensive series, several of the varieties appear to indicate that both _Notoreas zopyra_ and _N. vulcanica_ may ultimately have to be ranked as varieties of _N. brephos_, but the evidence on this point is not yet conclusive enough to render such a course at present desirable. {76}The perfect insect appears from December to March. It is very active, and is extremely fond of settling on roads or bare ground in the hot sunshine, instantly darting away on the approach of an enemy. It is also common on the mountains, and is often found at elevations of from 3,000 to 4,000 feet above the sea-level. NOTOREAS OMICHLIAS, Meyr. (_Pasithea omichlias_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 90. _Notoreas omichlias_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate VIII., fig. 25.) Two specimens of this dull-looking little species were captured at Castle Hill, by Mr. J. D. Enys. The expansion of the wings is 7/8 inch. _All the wings are dark grey_; the fore-wings have several obscure blackish marks near the base, _a dull black spot on the costa at about one-third with a yellowish centre; beyond this there are four similar spots forming a transverse band_, and several more or less conspicuous wavy blackish lines near the termen. The hind-wings have several obscure wavy blackish transverse lines near the base and dorsum; the cilia are pale grey, obscurely barred with darker grey. The perfect insect was taken "high up" on the mountains, probably at an elevation of about 5,000 feet. This species is probably often overlooked through being mistaken for _Xanthorhoe cinerearia_. Genus 15.--SAMANA, Walk. "Face loosely haired. Palpi long, straight, porrected, attenuated. Antennæ in male dentate, ciliated (1). Fore-wings with vein 6 rising below 9, 7 from below angle of areole, 10 anastomosing strongly with 9, 11 anastomosing strongly with 10, 12 free. Hind-wings normal."--(Meyrick.) Of this genus we have two species in New Zealand. SAMANA FALCATELLA, Walk. (_Samana falcatella_, Walk. xxvii. 197. _Panagra falcatella_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 93. _Samana falcatella_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvii. 65.) (Plate VIII., fig. 36.) This unusual-looking species has occurred in the South Island, at Nelson and at Dunedin. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. The fore-wings are very pale ochreous, speckled with grey; _there is a very fine longitudinal black streak from a little beyond the base to considerably before the middle, slightly clouded above; an elongate dot above the middle; a very oblique slightly curved black streak from near the apex to the middle of the dorsum, edged with white towards the base, and clouded with brown towards the termen_; the apex of the wing is very acute. The hind-wings are white, with a black dot above the middle. The perfect insect appears in February. It is apparently a rare species. SAMANA ACUTATA, Butl. (_Samana acutata_, Butl., P. Z. S. L. 1877, 401; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvii. 67.) The type-specimen of this species exists in the collection of the British Museum. According to Mr. Meyrick, who made a cursory examination of it, the species differs from _S. falcatella_ in the following respects:-- The first dark line runs from the dorsum near the base to below the costa before the middle; the lower extremity of the second line is connected with the tornus by an oblique streak. {77}Family 2.--STERRHIDÆ. "Face smooth. Tongue developed. Palpi shortly rough-scaled. Fore-wings with vein 10 rising out of 9, 11 anastomosing or connected with 9. Hind-wings with vein 5 fully developed, rising from middle of transverse vein, parallel to 4, 8 very shortly anastomosing with upper margin of cell near base, thence rapidly diverging."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., figs. 49 and 50.) Although less numerous than the preceding, the family is pretty evenly distributed throughout the world, but poorly represented in New Zealand. We have only one genus, viz., LEPTOMERIS. Genus 1.--LEPTOMERIS, Hb. "Antennæ in male ciliated with fascicles. Posterior tibia in male dilated without spurs, in female with all spurs present. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 sometimes stalked (variable in the same species)."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., figs. 49 and 50.) We have one species, which also occurs in Australia. LEPTOMERIS RUBRARIA, Dbld. (_Ptychopoda_ (?) _rubraria_, Dbld., Dieff. N. Z. ii. 286; Walk. 781. _Fidonia_ (?) _acidaliaria_, Walk. 1037. _Acidalia figlinaria_, Gn. ix. 454, pl. xii. 8. _Acidalia rubraria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 57.) (Plate VIII., fig. 37 [M], 38 [F].) This pretty little insect is very common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 7/8 inch. _The fore-wings are reddish-ochreous with three dull brown wavy transverse lines_, the first rather narrow at about one-fourth, the second slightly broader at about one-half, the third much broader, and sometimes partially divided near the costa; there is a black central dot, a series of rather large dull brown spots near the termen, and a chain of minute black dots on the termen. _The hind-wings are pinkish-ochreous; there is a dull brown wavy transverse band near the base, then two close together a little beyond one-half, a shading on the termen, and a very distinct series of minute black terminal dots._ The cilia of all the wings are dull brown, mixed with reddish-ochreous. There is often considerable variation in the intensity of the colouring of this insect, some specimens being much darker than others, but the markings are very constant, and the species is thus always easily recognizable. The eggs are yellowish-white, and very large for the size of the moth. The young larva is brownish-purple with a dull white line on each side. The food-plant is unknown. The perfect insect appears in January, February and March. In the late summer and autumn it frequents dried-up, weedy pastures, where it is often extremely abundant. Straggling specimens, which have probably hibernated during the winter, may also be taken in the early spring. Mr. Meyrick states that this species occurs very commonly in New South Wales, Victoria, and Tasmania, and that there is no difference between Australian and New Zealand specimens.[41] Family 3.--MONOCTENIADÆ. "Hind-wings with vein 5 fully developed, parallel to 4, rising from about or below middle of transverse vein, 8 free or anastomosing shortly near base or seldom from near base to beyond {78}middle (then without areole of fore-wings), approximated to upper margin of cell to middle or beyond." (See Plate II., figs. 44 and 45.) "Ovum subcylindrical, smooth. Larva more or less elongate, usually with few hairs, prolegs on segments 7, 8, and sometimes 9 rudimentary or absent. Pupa subterranean or in bark."--(Meyrick.) According to Mr. Meyrick this is to be regarded as a decaying family. In Australia it is still prominent, being represented there by nearly 100 known species. We have two genera represented in this country-- 1. DICHROMODES. 2. THEOXENA. Genus 1.--DICHROMODES, Gn. "Face smooth. Palpi long, straight, porrected, roughly scaled above and beneath. Antennæ in male pectinated on inner side only. Fore-wings with vein 6 from a point with 9, 7 from angle of areole, 10 anastomosing moderately with 9, 11 separate, approximated to 10 in middle, 12 free. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 separate, 8 free, closely approximated to 7 from base to near transverse vein."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., figs. 44 and 45, neuration of _D. petrina_.) There are three species belonging to this genus known in New Zealand. DICHROMODES NIGRA, Butl. (_Cacopsodos niger_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc., Lond. 1877, 395, pl. xliii. 4. _Dichromodes nigra_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 60.) (Plate VIII., fig. 40.) This little insect has been taken at Nelson. The expansion of the wings is 7/8 inch. _All the wings are dull black. The fore-wings have a darker central area, bordered by two jagged pale grey transverse lines_, the first at about one-third and the second at about two-thirds; there is also a faint line near the termen. The hind-wings have a very obscure dark central line. The perfect insect appears in February. It occurs quite commonly on the track to the Dun Mountain, near Nelson, frequenting openings in the birch forest, where it may be captured at rest on bare ground in the hot sunshine, at elevations of from 1,500 to 2,000 feet. DICHROMODES GYPSOTIS, Meyr. (_Cacopsodos niger_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 94 (nec Butl.). _Dichromodes gypsotis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 60.) This insect was discovered by Mr. Meyrick at Lake Wakatipu in the South Island. The expansion of the wings of the female is 13 mm. (½ inch). "Fore-wings rather narrow, costa sinuate, termen sinuate; white, slightly mixed with grey; dorsum narrowly grey; a slender black fascia almost at base; a slender black fascia at one-third, dentate inwards above middle, dilated on costa; a slender black fascia beyond middle, sharply angulated in middle, dilated on costa, connected below middle with preceding fascia by a suffused bar; close beyond this a rather broad parallel grey fascia; an indistinct grey subterminal line. Hind-wings moderate; termen rounded dark grey."--(Meyrick.) Taken in December, at an elevation of about 1,500 feet above the sea-level. DICHROMODES PETRINA, Meyr. (_Dichromodes petrina_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxiv. 216.) (Plate VIII., fig. 39.) This dull-looking little insect has occurred at Paikakariki and Wellington in the North Island, and at Kekerangu in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is ¾ inch. _The fore-wings are dull greenish-grey; there is a {79}black, wavy, somewhat broken transverse line at about one-third, and another at about two-thirds, enclosing a slightly darker central band, with a black dot above middle_; there is also a darker shading on the termen, and an obscure wavy paler line. _The hind-wings are grey_, with an obscure wavy central line. The perfect insect appears in January, February and March. It frequents dry, open, sunny situations, generally alighting on paths or roads. It is also attracted by light. Genus 2.--THEOXENA, Meyr. "Palpi moderate, triangularly scaled, porrected. Antennæ in male bi-ciliated with long tufts of cilia (5). Fore-wings with vein 6 from below 9, 7 from angle of areole, 10 out of 9 above 7, 11 anastomosing shortly with 9, 12 free, closely approximated to 11 on areole. Hind-wings with veins 6 and 7 from a point or short-stalked, 8 free, closely approximated to 7 from base to near transverse vein."--(Meyrick.) We have one species. THEOXENA SCISSARIA, Gn. (_Panagra scissaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 43. _Theoxena scissaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 56.) (Plate VIII., fig. 41.) This delicate-looking species has occurred at Christchurch. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. _All the wings are white. The fore-wings have a longitudinal, slightly curved black line, extending from a little beyond the base, almost as far as the termen below the apex_; above this line there is a black dot at about one-third; the apex of the fore-wing is slightly hooked, and there is a row of minute black dots on the termen of both fore- and hind-wings. The perfect insect appears in January. According to Mr. Fereday it frequents the plains near Christchurch, and towards the foot of Mount Hutt. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. Family 4.--ORTHOSTIXIDÆ. "Hind-wings with vein 5 fully developed, rising from about middle of transverse vein, 8 connected with upper margin of cell by an oblique bar towards base."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate II., figs. 46 and 47.) This small family is represented in New Zealand by a single genus only. The peculiar oblique bar connecting vein 8 with the cell towards base, combined with the development of vein 5, distinguish it from all other families. If there is any chance of confusion with those forms of _Hydriomenidæ_ in which vein 8 is also connected by a bar (though in them the bar is placed beyond and not before the middle of cell), the absence of the characteristic areole of the _Hydriomenidæ_ will be a further test. Genus 1.--EPIRRANTHIS, Hb. "Face with appressed scales. Tongue developed. Palpi very short or moderate, porrected or subascending, rough-scaled. Antennæ in male evenly ciliated. Thorax rather hairy beneath. Femora glabrous; posterior tibiæ with all spurs present. Fore-wings with vein 10 anastomosing with 9, 11 anastomosing with 12 and 10 before 9. Hind-wings with 6 and 7 separate."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 46 and 47, neuration of _Epirranthis alectoraria_; fig. 48, head of ditto.) Represented in New Zealand by two species. {80}EPIRRANTHIS ALECTORARIA, Walk. (_Lyrcea alectoraria_, Walk. 259; Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 95. _Aspilates_ (?) _primata_, Walk. 1076; Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 4. _Endropia mixtaria_, Walk. 1506; Butl., Cat. pl. iii. 5. _Amilapis_ (?) _acroiaria_, Feld. cxxiii. 6. _Lyrcea varians_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 496. _Ploseria alectoraria_, Hdsn., Manual N. Z. Ent. 86.) (Plate VIII., figs. 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, and 47, varieties; Plate III., fig. 24, larva.) This species has occurred in tolerable abundance at many localities in both the North and the South Islands. It is probably generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is from 1 inch to 1½ inches. The wings range in colour from pale yellow to dark orange-brown, dark reddish-brown, or even dull brown, with innumerable intermediate tints. There is often a central transverse line reaching from the costa of the fore-wing to the dorsum of the hind-wing. Many of the varieties are speckled with darker colour; others have irregular yellow patches, generally situated on the fore-wings just below the apex and on the dorsum near the base; there are often two white dots near the apex of the fore-wings. Most of the varieties closely resemble the varied hues of fading leaves. In many of the forms greyish speckled marks occur on various parts of the wings, no doubt imitating the irregular patches of mould which are often present on dead leaves. One very well-marked variety is bright yellow, with the costa rosy and two large white-centred rosy spots arranged transversely on each wing. (See Plate VIII., fig. 47.) All the specimens of this insect are so extremely variable that it is almost impossible to adequately describe the species. The apex of the fore-wing is always very acute; the termen is bowed just below the apex, and is furnished with slight indentations of variable depth. The termen of the hind-wing is also furnished with variable indentations. The egg is oval and much flattened above. When first laid it is pale green in colour, but becomes dull olive-green as the embryo develops. The young larva is _very pale green_, with the head brownish-yellow. At this early stage its colouring already completely harmonises with that of the under side of the leaves of its food-plants, _Pittosporum eugenioides_ and _P. tenuifolium_. The full-grown larva is very robust, and about 1 inch in length. Its colour is pale green, with numerous yellow dots and a series of diagonal yellow stripes on each segment; there is, in addition, a series of broad crimson blotches on the back and a small crimson flap projecting from the end of the terminal segment; the prolegs and spiracles are also crimson. The remarkable shape and colouring of this caterpillar, in conjunction with the peculiar attitude assumed when at rest, affords it complete protection, causing it to resemble, in the closest possible manner, one of the buds of its food-plant. These larvæ grow very slowly, and probably occupy three or four months in attaining their full size. They are very sluggish in their habits. The pupa is greenish-brown in colour. It is enclosed in a cocoon, constructed of two or three leaves of the food-plant, fastened together with silk. The insect remains in this condition for three weeks or a month. The moth first appears about the end of October, and is met with until the middle of March. It frequents forest, where it is occasionally dislodged from amongst the undergrowth. It is also found in the evening on the flowers of the white rata. It is, however, rather uncertain in its appearance, being much commoner in some years than in others. EPIRRANTHIS HEMIPTERARIA, Gn. (_Hemerophila hemipteraria_, Gn. ix. 220, pl. vi. 2. _Xyridacina hemipteraria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xx. 60. _Ploseria hemipteraria_, Hdsn., Manual N. Z. Ent. 85.) (Plate VIII., fig. 48 [M], 49 [F]; Plate III., fig. 19, larva.) This remarkable-looking species has occurred in the North Island, at Auckland and Wellington. At present it has not been observed in the South Island. {81}The expansion of the wings is from 1-3/8 to 1-5/8 inches. All the wings are pale ochreous-brown, with a variable number of minute black dots; there are four or five oblique, wavy brown transverse lines on both fore- and hind-wings, the central and terminal lines being often slightly darker than the others; there is always a black dot in the middle of the fore-wing, and a shaded spot near the termen below the apex. The apex of _the hind-wing is very pointed and projects downwards; the almost straight termen has a series of prominent projections_. This species varies much in the intensity of the markings, and in the number of the black dots on both the fore- and hind-wings. The peculiar outline of its hind-wings, however, distinguishes it from any other species with which I am acquainted. The larva feeds on veronicas in September and October. Its length when full grown is about 1 inch. Some larvæ are green, with a broad bluish dorsal line, and two fine yellow lateral lines. Others are brown, with a dull yellow dorsal line. During the daytime these caterpillars firmly clasp the stem of their food-plant with their prolegs, and hold the rest of their body rigidly out from the branch. In this position they are very inconspicuous, and may readily be mistaken for young leaves or twigs. At night they become much more active, and may then be seen walking about and feeding. The pupa is rather robust, with a sharp spine at its extremity. Its colour is pale olive-brown, with the wing-cases and sides of the abdomen pinkish. It is not enclosed in any cocoon, but is merely concealed amongst the dead leaves and rubbish around the stem of the veronica. The insect remains in this state for less than a month, so that the protection of a cocoon would appear to be unnecessary. The moth appears in December and January. It usually frequents gardens and other cultivated places, probably on account of the number of veronicas that are often growing in such situations. It is also attracted by blossoms and by light, but is not a common species. The colouring and wing-outline of this moth cause it to very closely resemble a dead leaf, especially when resting amongst foliage or on the ground. This insect may be occasionally noticed abroad on mild evenings in the middle of winter; the females probably hibernate and deposit their eggs early in the spring. Family 5.--SELIDOSEMIDÆ. "Hind-wings with vein 5 imperfect (not tubular) or obsolete, 6 and 7 usually separate, 8 usually obsoletely connected with upper margin of cell near base, approximated to near middle." (See Plate II., figs. 51 to 64.) "A very large family, equally common throughout all regions. It varies considerably in superficial appearance, and is also remarkable for the variability of structure of veins 10 and 11 of the fore-wings in many (not all) species. Imago with body slender to rather stout; fore-wings broad to rather elongate, triangular; posterior tibiæ of male often enlarged and enclosing an expansible tuft of hairs. The structure termed the fovea is a circular impression on the lower surface of the fore-wings above the dorsum near the base, usually placed about the origin of the basal fork of 1_b_; it is generally confined to the male, and is often sub-hyaline, sometimes surmounted by a small thickened gland; it may possibly be a scent-producing organ. It is strictly confined to that branch of which _Selidosema_ is the type, but is not invariably present there. "Ovum subcylindrical or elongate-ovate, more or less reticulated, sometimes ribbed. Larva elongate, more or less slender, with few hairs, without developed prolegs on segments 7, 8, and usually 9; often remarkably like a twig of its food-plant. Pupa subterranean, or in a slight cocoon above ground."--(Meyrick.) {82}Of this extensive family we have nine genera represented in New Zealand: 1. SELIDOSEMA. 2. HYBERNIA. 3. CHALASTRA. 4. SESTRA. 5. GONOPHYLLA. 6. DREPANODES. 7. AZELINA. 8. IPANA. 9. DECLANA. Genus 1.--SELIDOSEMA, Hb. "Face with appressed or shortly projecting scales. Tongue developed. Antennæ in male bipectinated, towards apex simple. Palpi rough-scaled. Thorax sometimes crested posteriorly, hairy beneath. Femora nearly glabrous; posterior tibiæ in male dilated. Fore-wings in male with fovea; vein 10 sometimes connected with 9, 11 sometimes out of 10 near base only, or if separate, sometimes anastomosing with 12."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 59 and 60, neuration of _Selidosema dejectaria_.) This genus is universally distributed and of considerable extent. We have nine species in New Zealand. SELIDOSEMA FENERATA, Feld. (_Rhyparia fenerata_, Feld. cxxxi. 7. _Zylobara fenerata_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 498. Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 97.) (Plate VIII., fig. 50 [M], 51 [F].) This species is common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings of the male are _very pale_ ochreous-brown; there is a double jagged transverse line near the base, a single jagged line a little before the middle, and a double one a little beyond the middle; an almost continuous jagged line near the termen. The hind-wings are very pale ochreous, almost white; _their outline is peculiar; the dorsum is very short, the termen very long, first oblique and then rounded with a small projection midway between the apex and the tornus_. The female has the fore-wings pale grey, and the hind-wings dull white; the markings resemble those of the male, but the outline of the hind-wing is of the usual form. This insect varies slightly in the depth of its colouring. It may be distinguished from the allied species by the peculiar outline of the hind-wings in the male, and by the pale grey colouring of the female. The perfect insect appears from October till March and is very common. It has a great liking for the faded fronds of tree-ferns, from which specimens may often be dislodged. Both sexes are very abundant at various blossoms during the evening, and are also attracted by light. The female is sometimes observed in the winter months, and probably hibernates. SELIDOSEMA RUDIATA, Walk. (_Cidaria rudiata_, Walk. 1420. _Boarmia astrapia_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 218. _Boarmia rudiata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxiii. 101.) (Plate IX., fig. 1 [M], 2 [F].) This species is fairly common in the neighbourhood of Wellington, and has occurred at Dunedin, and at Stewart Island. It is probably generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1½ inches, of the female 1-5/8 inches. The fore-wings are _very pale ochreous-brown_; there are two interrupted jagged transverse lines near the base; a single very indistinct line in the middle; a double, nearly continuous jagged transverse line beyond the middle; a double jagged line near the termen completely interrupted in the middle; there is generally a dark patch on the termen just below the apex of the wing. The hind-wings are very pale ochreous. There is a series of black dots on the termen of both fore-wings and hind-wings, and the termen of the hind-wing is slightly indented. This species varies a good deal in size; the specimens from Stewart Island are {83}considerably larger and have more distinct markings, than those found in the vicinity of Wellington. The larva is cylindrical, of even thickness throughout, and almost uniform dull greyish-brown in colour, occasionally with a series of small oblong black marks on segments 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9. It feeds on the young leaves and buds of the ake ake (_Olearia traversii_). It is extremely difficult to find as it almost exactly resembles a twig of its food-plant. It is full grown about April. The pupa is concealed in the earth. The perfect insect appears from October till March. It seems to prefer cultivated districts, and is generally observed at rest on garden fences or tree-trunks. It also frequents flowers in the evening. SELIDOSEMA SUAVIS, Butl. (_Pseudocoremia suavis_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 497. _Pachycnemia usitata_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 501. _Pseudocoremia lupinata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 98. _Boarmia suavis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxiii. 101.) (Plate IX., fig. 3 [M], 4 [F].) This species is very common and generally distributed throughout the country, and has occurred as far south as Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. The fore-wings of the male are _dull yellowish-brown, speckled with black_; there are two curved transverse lines near the base; a very obscure line near the middle, darker on the costa; two doubly curved lines beyond the middle, slightly darker on the dorsum; and two very faint jagged lines near the termen. The hind-wings are pale ochreous, tinged with brown near the termen. The female has narrower wings, shorter body, and is usually duller in colour than the male. This insect is rather variable, some specimens of both sexes being much darker than others; but all the forms may usually be recognised by their dull speckled colouring and absence of conspicuous markings. The larva feeds on the white rata (_M. scandens_) and the tawa (_Beilschmiedia tawa_). Its length when full grown is about 1-1/8 inches. The upper surface is dark reddish-brown with numerous blackish stripes and white markings, which give it a very variegated appearance; the under side is pale green; there are two small tubercles on the back of the eighth segment. The pupa is concealed amongst refuse on the ground, the larva constructing no cocoon before changing. The perfect insect appears from October till April, and may often be observed on mild days in the middle of winter. It is common in forest districts, where it is usually seen resting on the tree-trunks, in which situation its colouring must afford it efficient protection from many enemies. SELIDOSEMA HUMILLIMA, n. sp. (Plate IX., fig. 5.) This inconspicuous-looking insect has occurred at Wellington. The expansion of the wings of the male is about 1-1/8 inches. _The fore-wings are dull yellowish-brown; there are three short oblique dark brown stripes on the costa, inclined very much towards the termen_; the first of these stripes is distinctly double, and the second and third partially so; there is an indistinct brown mark just below the apex, several slender faint streaks on the veins near the middle of the wing, and a very distinct brown shading on the dorsum. The hind-wings are very pale ochreous. This species may be readily distinguished from the other species of the genus by its small size and by the obliquity of the costal stripes. In _S. humillima_ the costal markings slope very rapidly from the base towards the termen; in the {84}other allied species these markings are but slightly inclined, and in some cases slope in the reverse direction. The perfect insect appears from December till March. It frequents the immediate neighbourhood of Wellington, but is not a common species. At present I am only acquainted with the male insect. SELIDOSEMA PRODUCTATA, Walk. (_Larentia productata_, Walk. 1197 (?). _Selidosema pungata_, Feld. cxxxi. 23. _Selidosema_ (?) _fragosata_, Feld. cxxxi. 29. _Zylobara productata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 98.) (Plate IX., figs. 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 [M] varieties, 11, 12, 13, and 14 [F] ditto; Plate III., fig. 22, larva.) This species is very common, and generally distributed throughout both the North and South Islands. It has also occurred at Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1-3/8 inches, of the female 1-1/8 inches. The fore-wings vary from pale yellowish-brown to rich chocolate-brown; there are two curved transverse lines near the base, generally enclosing a paler stripe between them; next a broad dark central area; then a wavy paler transverse line, usually followed by a very much paler irregular band, generally formed by two partially disconnected patches, one on the costa and one on the dorsum; there is a jagged, whitish, transverse line near the termen, _always broken in the middle_, and often shaded with black towards the base of the wing. The hind-wings are ochreous, speckled with brown towards the dorsum; there is usually a brown central dot. This is an extremely variable insect. In some specimens there are very extensive white patches on the wings, whilst in others the colouring is almost uniform rich brown, and the characteristic markings can only be detected with difficulty. It may, however, be distinguished from the allied species by the _interrupted pale jagged transverse line near the termen and by the absence of greenish colouring_. The eggs are oval with the surface honeycombed; they are pale green in colour. The young larva, when first hatched, is much attenuated, light reddish-brown with a broad pale lateral stripe, and a few bristles. The full-grown larva measures about 1½ inches in length; it is rather slender and has a large hump on the sixth segment. Its colour is dark reddish-brown, mottled and striped with dull white and greenish. It feeds on the white rata (_Metrosideros scandens_). During the day it firmly grasps a stem of its food-plant with its prolegs, holding the rest of its body out from the branch in a perfectly straight and rigid position. When in this attitude it so exactly resembles a twig, that, even in the case of captive specimens, it is often a matter of the greatest difficulty to find a caterpillar amongst the branches. Several times I have even caught hold of a larva, thinking it to be a twig, so perfect is the resemblance. At night these larvæ become much more active, and by the aid of a lantern they may then be seen busily walking about and feeding. The pupa is enclosed in a slight cocoon about two inches below the surface of the earth. The larvæ of the autumnal brood remain in this condition during the winter, but in the case of the spring and summer broods the pupa state only occupies a few weeks. The moth appears from November till May. It is very common in forest regions, and may be observed resting on the trunks of the trees, its pale yellow hind-wings being completely concealed by the mottled brown fore-wings. In this position the insect is almost invisible, and the protection afforded by its colouring is at once apparent. In the autumn evenings it is often very abundant at the blossoms of the white rata. {85}SELIDOSEMA ARISTARCHA, Meyr. (_Selidosema aristarcha_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxiv. 216.) (Plate IX., fig. 17 [M], 18 [F]; Plate III., fig. 17, larva.) Of this fine species only about a dozen specimens have hitherto been captured, all of which have occurred in the immediate vicinity of Wellington. It is consequently at present a rarity, but future collectors will probably find the insect in many other parts of the country. The expansion of the wings varies from 1¼ to 1½ inches. The fore-wings are light ochreous-brown; there is a small white-edged brown spot near the base; two oblique curved brown transverse lines enclosing between them a white space towards the dorsum; a short stripe on the costa, near the middle, edged with white towards the base of the wing; a doubly curved transverse line beyond the middle, finely edged with white towards the base of the wing; there is also a short white-edged brown stripe extending from the apex of the wing to the last-named transverse line, the two lines enclosing between them a small pale triangular area; there are five short longitudinal brown lines running from the termen to the outermost of the transverse lines, two of them being tipped with white towards the base of the wing. The hind-wings are dull ochreous-brown, with two very faint brown transverse lines towards the dorsum, and several whitish spots and one brown spot near the tornus. The female is a little darker in colour than the male. This insect varies slightly in size. The larva feeds on _Cyathea dealbata_ (tree-fern) in September. Its colour is dull reddish-brown with an irregular brownish-black blotch on the side of each segment, and a dark brown dorsal line. It is very sluggish in its habits. The pupa is concealed amongst moss, &c., on the surface of the ground, the insect remaining in this state for about six weeks. The moth appears from September till March, and frequents dense forests. It has been dislodged from its food-plant in the daytime, and has also been taken on the flowers of the white rata in the evening. SELIDOSEMA MELINATA, Feld. (_Numeria melinata_, Feld. cxxix. 9. _Pseudocoremia indistincta_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 394, pl. xliii. 8. _Pseudocoremia melinata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 99.) (Plate IX., fig. 15 [M], 16 [F].) This species is very common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¼ inches, of the female 1½ inches. The fore-wings are _dull greenish-grey_, with black markings; there is a transverse line near the base; another near the middle, followed by two broken irregular lines, then a broader, paler area sometimes white, followed by a series of jagged pale markings shaded with black. The hind-wings are ochreous mottled with pale brown near the dorsum; there is a series of black dots on the termen of both fore- and hind-wings. This species is extremely variable, but may always be recognised by its greenish tinge, and the absence of indentations on the termen of both fore- and hind-wings. The larva, according to Mr. Purdie, is about ¾ inch long; dull green with darker longitudinal striations. It may be beaten from New Zealand broom (_Carmichælia_) in February. There must be some other commoner food-plant, as the moth is found in many localities where the New Zealand broom does not occur. The perfect insect appears from November till March, and is generally very abundant in all wooded districts. It is also common in birch forests on the mountain sides, where it may be taken at altitudes of from 3,000 to 4,000 feet above the sea-level. {86}In the lowlands I have observed as many as half a dozen specimens on a single tree-trunk. Whilst resting in this situation they are very inconspicuous, the colouring of the fore-wings harmonizing perfectly with the insect's surroundings, and the pale-coloured hind-wings being then entirely concealed by the upper pair. In connection with this fact it is very interesting to notice that in all those cases where the hind-wings are exposed to view during repose, they are protectively coloured in a similar manner to the fore-wings. It will be observed that the two following species of _Selidosema_ exhibit protective colouring on both pairs of wings, these being invariably exposed when the insects are at rest. SELIDOSEMA DEJECTARIA. (_Boarmia dejectaria_, Walk. 394. _Boarmia attracta_, Walk. 394. _Boarmia exprompta_, Walk. 395. _Tephrosia patularia_, Walk. 422; Butl., Cat., pl. iii. 8. _Tephrosia scriptaria_, Walk. 422. _Scotosia erebinata_, Walk. 1358. _Scotosia stigmaticata_, Walk. 1359. _Scotosia lignosata_, Walk. 1361. _Gnophos pannularia_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 42. _Scotopteryx maoriata_, Feld. cxxvi. 4. _Hemerophila_ (?) _sulpitiata_, Feld. cxxvi. 7. _Hemerophila caprimulgata_, Feld. cxxvi. 12. _Boarmia dejectaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 100.) (Plate IX., figs. 19, 20, 21 and 22 [M] varieties, 23 and 24 [F] ditto; Plate III., fig. 12, larva.) This large insect is very common, and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is from 1½ to 2 inches. The fore-wings vary from pale ochreous to very dark rich brown; there is an oblique transverse line near the base, often enclosing a darker basal area; a small dark brown spot in the middle of the wing surrounded by a ring; a very oblique, wavy, transverse line beyond the middle, often double towards the dorsum, and several irregular markings on the termen; there is often a white spot on the middle of the termen, and a pale blotch on the apex of the wing. The hind-wings resemble the fore-wings in colour; there are two obscure transverse lines near the base; generally forming a dark basal area; a wavy line near the middle, and a strongly shaded line near the termen. The termen of both the wings is indented, the depth of the indentations varying greatly in different specimens. This insect is very variable, but its large size and _oblique transverse lines_ suffice to distinguish it from any of the other allied species. The larva feeds on a great variety of plants, mahoe (_Melicytus ramiflorus_), white rata (_Metrosideros scandens_), _Solanum aviculare_, fuchsia (_Fuchsia excorticata_), and _Pennantia corymbosa_ being amongst the number. The caterpillar may often be recognised by a large hump, which is situated on each side of the third segment. Its colouring appears to be so entirely influenced by its surroundings that a description is impossible. For instance, larvæ taken from the pale green foliage of the mahoe resemble in colour the twigs of that plant; others captured feeding on the white rata are dark reddish-brown, those from _Solanum aviculare_ are purplish slate-colour, whilst those from the fuchsia are pale olive-green tinged with brown, like the sprouting twigs. The pupa is enclosed in a slight cocoon situated about two inches below the surface of the ground. Those larvæ which become full grown in the autumn remain as pupæ during the winter, but the summer broods only remain in the pupa state a few weeks. The perfect insect appears from November till March. It has a great partiality for resting with outspread wings on the walls of sheds and outhouses, where it is frequently noticed by the most casual observer. It is very common in most situations, and may be taken in large numbers at sugar, light, or blossoms, during the whole of the summer. Its extreme abundance and great variability, in both the larval and imago states, would render it a good subject for a series of experiments, resembling those conducted by Messrs. Poulton and Merrifield on several allied European species. {87}SELIDOSEMA PANAGRATA, Walk. (_Scotosia panagrata_, Walk. 1360. _Angerona menanaria_, Walk. 1500. _Epirrhanthis_ (?) _antipodaria_, Feld. cxxvi. 3. _Hyperythra desiccata_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 495. _Hyperythra arenacea_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 495. _Barsine panagrata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 100.) (Plate IX., figs. 25, 26, 27, and 28 [M] varieties, 29 and 30 [F] ditto.) This species is very common, and generally distributed throughout the country. It has occurred as far south as Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is from 1½ to 1¾ inches. The fore-wings of the male vary from pale yellowish-white to rich brown or dark brownish-black; there is a jagged transverse line near the base; a large black or white spot in the middle of the wing; a doubly curved transverse line beyond the middle, then a very jagged transverse line, followed by several paler markings, and an obscure line parallel with the termen. The hind-wings are paler in colour; there is a slightly curved transverse line near the base; a jagged line near the middle, and a very faint line beyond the middle. The termen of both fore- and hind-wings is slightly indented. The female varies from pale ochreous to dark slate-colour; the markings resemble those of the male, but the termen of the wings is more indented. This species is so extremely variable that a more detailed description would be useless; its numerous forms may, however, be at once recognised by the _unbroken jagged transverse lines of both fore- and hind-wings_. The larva is quite as variable as the perfect insect. When very young it is bright green, with a conspicuous white dorsal line; as age advances the caterpillar becomes dark olive-brown, sometimes striped with paler brown or green, whilst many specimens retain the green colouring throughout the whole of their lives. The favourite food-plant is the kawa-kawa (_Piper excelsum_), which the larvæ voraciously devour, thus causing the riddled appearance which the leaves of that plant almost invariably present. These larvæ often select a forked twig to rest in, where they lie curled round, with the head and tail close together. Other food-plants are _Aristotelia racemosa_ and _Myrtus bullata_. Those caterpillars found on the latter plant are strongly tinged with pink, and are consequently very inconspicuous amongst the young shoots, where they generally feed. The burrows of the larvæ of _Hepialus virescens_ are frequently utilised by the caterpillars, which feed on the _Aristotelia_, as convenient retreats during the winter. When full-grown these caterpillars descend to the ground and construct loose cocoons of silk and earth on the under sides of fallen leaves. The moth usually emerges in about a month's time, but the autumnal larvæ either hibernate or remain in the pupa state throughout the winter. The perfect insect appears from October till April. It frequents forest and is extremely common. It also occurs in great abundance on the white rata blossoms in the autumn, and specimens may be occasionally seen even in the depth of winter. Genus 2.--HYBERNIA, Latr. "Face with appressed scales or short rough scales. Tongue developed or weak. Antennæ in male bi-pectinated, pectinations sometimes short and terminating in fascicles of cilia, apex simple. Palpi shortly rough-scaled. Thorax with small triangular anterior crest, hairy beneath. Femora glabrous; posterior tibiæ in male not dilated. Fore-wings in male without fovea; vein 10 sometimes out of 9, sometimes anastomosing or connected with 9, 11 sometimes out of 10, usually anastomosing with or running into 12, rarely absent. Female semiapterous or apterous."--(Meyrick.) We have one species. {88}HYBERNIA INDOCILIS, Walk. (_Zermizinga indocilisaria_, Walk. 1530. _Hybernia boreophilaria_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 61. _Hybernia indocilis_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 97.) (Plate IX., fig. 31 [M], 32 [F].) This species has occurred plentifully in the neighbourhood of Christchurch. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¼ inches, of the female ½ inch. _All the wings are pale grey, speckled with darker grey. The fore-wings have four obscure wavy transverse lines_; the first near the base, the second and third near the middle, rather close together, and the fourth near the termen, much interrupted; there is a series of black dots on the termen. The hind-wings have two very faint transverse lines, and a series of black terminal dots; the termen of the hind-wings is slightly scalloped. The cilia of all the wings are grey. _The female has the wings extremely small and quite useless for flight_; in colour and markings they resemble those of the male, except that the transverse lines are black and sharply defined. The perfect insect appears from July to January. Mr. R. W. Fereday states that the male is found plentifully at rest on the bare ground, amongst _Leptospermum_, and the female on the stems. Described and figured from specimens kindly given to me by Mr. Fereday. Genus 3.--CHALASTRA, Walk. "Face with a slight cone of scales. Palpi rather long, porrected, roughly scaled. Antennæ in male bi-pectinated. Fore-wings with vein 6 from below 9, 7 from below angle of areole, 10 very shortly touching 9, 11 free, 12 very shortly touching 11. Hind-wings normal."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 51 and 52.) This genus is represented by one species only. I have made a very careful examination of several denuded specimens of _Chalastra pelurgata_, and I find that in the fore-wings veins 9, 10, and 11 rise almost from a point. Vein 10 afterwards approaches closely to 9, but does not actually touch it, and consequently does not form a true areole. Vein 12 also appears to me to be free. CHALASTRA PELURGATA, Walk. (_Chalastra pelurgata_, Walk. 1430. _Itama cinerascens_, Feld. cxxxi. 1. _Stratocleis streptophora_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 106.) (Plate IX., figs. 33 and 34 [M] varieties, 35 and 36 [F] ditto; Plate III., fig. 21, larva.) This species is very abundant in the neighbourhood of Wellington. It has also occurred at Palmerston North, and is probably common throughout the whole of the North Island. In the South Island it has been taken in the Otira Gorge, and at Dunedin, Otara and Invercargill. The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings of the male vary from pale orange-brown to dull yellowish-brown_; there is a doubly curved dark brown transverse line near the base; _a broad straight line a little before the middle; a very strongly curved line a little beyond the middle, and a less strongly curved line near the termen, often composed of a series of triangular white dots edged with dark brown_; all these lines are much stronger on the costa, and are sometimes almost obliterated elsewhere. The hind-wings are pale yellow, with several brown-edged white spots at the tornus, and an indistinct line parallel to the termen. The apex of the fore-wing is considerably produced, and there is a large rounded projection on the termen. The hind-wings have several small projections on the termen. In the female the fore-wings are pale yellow or orange, the transverse lines and white spots are usually more conspicuous, and the projections on the termen of the fore- and hind-wings larger. This is a very variable insect, especially in the male, some specimens of which sex are very much clouded and dappled with dark brown both on the fore- and hind-wings. {89}Many of these darker forms might readily be taken for distinct species, when compared with the pale orange-brown variety, but a good series of specimens presents numerous intermediate forms which completely connect these extreme varieties. The females also vary, but are never as dark as the males. The larva feeds on _Todea hymenophylloides_, a fern which grows in shady places in the depths of the forest. The length of the caterpillar when full grown is about 1¼ inches. It is very variable; some specimens are dull brown, with a row of green or pale brown lunate spots down each side, and a dark brown line down the back. Others are bright green, with a diagonal reddish-brown stripe on the side of each segment; the segmental divisions are reddish-brown, intersected by numerous very minute whitish lines. The pupa is enclosed in a loose cocoon on the surface of the ground. The perfect insect appears from November till March, and is very common in forest regions. It may often be dislodged from the dead fronds surrounding the stems of tree-ferns, and is also met with in great abundance towards the end of summer on the blossoms of the white rata. Genus 4.--SESTRA, Walk. "Face smooth. Palpi short, rough-haired beneath, porrected. Antennæ in male stout, serrate, shortly ciliated. Fore-wings with vein 6 from below 9, 7 from below angle of areole, 10 rising out of 9 above origin, anastomosing again shortly with 9, 11 anastomosing shortly with 10, 12 anastomosing shortly with 11. Hind-wings normal."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., fig. 53, neuration of fore-wing of _Sestra humeraria_.) We have two species in New Zealand. It will be seen that my figure of the neuration of _Sestra humeraria_ does not precisely agree with Mr. Meyrick's description. The differences in the results arrived at are probably due to the variability in structure of veins 10, 11 (and 12), mentioned when dealing with the characters of the entire family. Similar slight discrepancies also occur in connection with the three following genera. SESTRA HUMERARIA, Walk. (_Macaria humeraria_, Walk. 940. _Lozogramma obtusaria_, ib. 985. _Cidaria obtruncata_, ib. 1421. _Sestra fusiplagiata_, ib. 1751. _Amastris encausta_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 105. _Sestra humeraria_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate X., figs. 1 and 2 varieties; Plate III., fig. 20, larva.) This species is very common, and generally distributed throughout both the North and the South Islands; it also occurs plentifully at Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are pale plum-colour_; there is an indistinct, curved, brownish transverse line near the base; _a straight dark brown line across the middle, and a curved series of blackish dots beyond the middle_; the apex is pointed, and the termen has a strong projection a little above the middle. The hind-wings are ochreous, with a series of minute brownish dots across the middle. This is a variable species. The fore-wings are often much clouded with rich brown, and in some specimens scarcely a trace of the original purplish colour remains; the central straight transverse line is often absent, and the other lines are frequently very indistinct, except on the costa; the dots on the hind-wings are also often absent, and occasionally specimens are met with in which all the wings are almost white. The larva is rather elongate, dull yellowish-brown or greenish-brown; there is a very broad dark brown dorsal line, and several wavy lateral lines; the prolegs are black, the spiracles are also black; there is a slight hump on the posterior edge of each of the last six segments, the hump on the penultimate segment being considerably larger than the others. The length of the caterpillar when full grown is about 1 inch. {90}It feeds on _Pteris incisa_, a beautiful pale green fern, attaining a height of four feet or more, and growing in open situations in the forest. This fern is especially abundant on old decaying logs situated amongst light brushwood. When disturbed these larvæ immediately drop to the ground and coil themselves up. In this situation they are very inconspicuous, as their colouring so closely resembles that of the faded fronds or stems of the fern. The pupa is buried in the earth about two inches below the surface, the insect remaining in this state during the winter months. The moth first appears about September, and continues in great abundance until the end of March or beginning of April. It frequents forest, and is noticed most commonly in the neighbourhood of its food-plant. There are probably several broods in the course of a year. SESTRA FLEXATA, Walk. (_Cidaria flexata_, Walk. 1421.) (Plate IX., fig. 37.) This species has occasionally occurred in the neighbourhood of Wellington. I have no records of its capture elsewhere, but expect it will be found to be generally distributed. The expansion of the wings is about 1¼ inches. _The fore-wings are bright orange-red_; there is a very faint transverse line near the base, darker on the costa; a dark red oblong mark on the costa near the middle; and a faint transverse line beyond the middle, also darker on the costa. The hind-wings are bright ochreous-yellow, with the cilia orange. This insect varies considerably in the intensity of its colouring. It has long been considered as merely a variety of _Sestra humeraria_, but as I have not observed any intermediate forms, although the two insects frequently occur together, I think it may be regarded for the present as a distinct species. The perfect insect appears from October till December, and is found in the same localities as _S. humeraria_. Genus 5.--GONOPHYLLA, Meyr. "Face shortly rough-haired. Palpi moderate, arched, ascending, shortly rough-scaled, terminal joint short. Antennæ in male rather stout, pubescent. Coxæ and femora densely rough-haired beneath. Fore-wings with vein 6 from below 9, 7 from below angle of areole, 10 shortly touching 9, 11 separate, 12 free. Hind-wings normal."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 63 and 64, neuration of _Gonophylla nelsonaria_.) Of this genus we have but one species. GONOPHYLLA NELSONARIA, Feld. (_Gonodontis_ (?) _nelsonaria_, Feld. cxxiii. 3. _Gonodontis felix_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 389, pl. xlii. 10. _Phyllodoce nelsonaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 104. _Gonophylla nelsonaria_, ib. xviii. 184.) (Plate X., figs. 3 and 4 [M] varieties, 5 and 6 [F] ditto.) This handsome insect is common in the neighbourhood of Wellington. It has also occurred at Nelson and Dunedin, and is possibly generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings of the male are _rich reddish-brown, mottled with darker_; there are several small white marks on the costa; a black dot in the middle of the wing, and _an almost straight white transverse line beyond the middle_; outside this line the wing is speckled with greyish-white. The hind-wings are pale pinkish-brown; there is a black dot in the middle, and a curved blackish transverse line a little beyond the middle, being a continuation of the transverse line of the fore-wing; beyond this line, and on the dorsum, there are generally several small blackish markings. The female has the fore-wings {91}orange-red, speckled with darker; there is a doubly curved transverse line near the base, and an almost straight transverse line near the termen, both dark red; beyond the outer transverse line the wing is shaded with dark brown. The hind-wings are pale reddish-orange, with a curved blackish transverse line. In both sexes the apex of the fore-wing is projecting, and there is a strong angular projection on the termen a little before the middle; the termen of the hind-wing has several small projections. The variation of this insect is considerable, especially in the male. The ground colour of the fore-wings often inclines to dull brown, or even dull yellowish-brown; the light and dark mottling, and the greyish markings near the termen are sometimes hardly visible; there is often a yellowish blotch opposite the large angle in the termen of the fore-wing. The hind-wings also are very variable in their colouring. All these varieties exist in the female in a less pronounced degree. The perfect insect appears during the first week in February, and is generally over by the middle or end of March. The males are first noticed, the females not appearing until about a fortnight later. I have never taken this insect in the daytime, and in fact have never seen it except on the blossoms of the white rata, where, on fine evenings, it is often very abundant. As yet, however, Wellington is the only locality where I have met with it. Genus 6.--DREPANODES, Gn. "Face with cone of scales. Palpi moderate, triangularly scaled, porrected. Antennæ in male moderate, simple. Fore-wings with vein 6 from below 9, 7 from below angle of areole, 10 very shortly touching 9, 11 rising out of 10 before angle of areole, 12 free. Hind-wings normal. (Plate II., figs. 61 and 62 neuration of _Drepanodes muriferata_.) A characteristic South American genus. The single New Zealand species is very similar to some South American forms."--(Meyrick.) DREPANODES MURIFERATA, Walk. (_Gargaphia muriferata_, Walk. 1635. _Panagra ephyraria_, Walk. 1761. ? _Zanclognatha_ (?) _cookaria_, Feld. cxxiii. 26. _Zanclognatha_ (?) _haastiaria_, Feld. cxxiii. 32. _Drepanodes muriferata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 107.) (Plate X., figs. 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11 [M] varieties, 12 [F].) This species is very abundant in the neighbourhood of Wellington. It has also been taken at Taranaki, Christchurch, Dunedin, Invercargill and Stewart Island, and is probably common and generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. All the wings of the male are yellowish-brown; there is a faint transverse line near the base, and a conspicuous darker transverse line running from a little before the apex of the fore-wing to the middle of the dorsum of the hind-wing; there is also a dark spot in the centre of the fore-wing, often containing two white dots. In the female, all the wings are slate-coloured; the transverse lines are very faintly indicated, and the central dot of the fore-wing is reddish-brown. The apex of the fore-wing in each sex is conspicuously hooked, and the termen is bowed and sometimes has a very slight angle in the middle. Both sexes of this insect are very variable. In the male, the ground colour ranges from dingy-brown to bright orange-brown; the transverse lines differ much in intensity, and in some specimens the central area of the wings enclosed by them is much darker than either the basal or the marginal portions; occasionally there is a series of black markings between the outer transverse line and the termen of the fore-wings, whilst the transverse line itself is frequently edged with a band of paler {92}colouring. The female also varies in the ground colour and in the intensity of the transverse lines, which are sometimes marked by a few black dots. The larva, according to Mr. Purdie, is light grey, cylindrical, about 5/8 inch in length. It may be beaten in February from an undergrowth of _Carpodetus_ and _Aristotelia_. The perfect insect appears from November till March. It frequents dense forest and is often very abundant. The colouring of the upper and under surfaces of its wings, and the shape of the wings are both very protective, giving the moth an exact resemblance to a dead leaf. When disturbed, the insect adds to this deception by keeping its wings quite motionless and rigidly extended, and allowing itself to fall through the air like a leaf. The resemblance in this case to the inanimate object is very perfect, and has no doubt enabled the moth to escape from many enemies. It is, in fact, an extremely interesting example of the simultaneous development of structure and instinct in a useful direction, through the agency of natural selection. This species is much attracted both by light and by blossoms. Genus 7.--AZELINA, Gn. "Face with some projecting hairs. Palpi rather long, obliquely ascending, roughly scaled, attenuated. Antennæ in male thick, simple. Fore-wings with vein 6 from below 9, 7 from below angle of areole, 10 very shortly touching 9, 11 separate, 12 free. Hind-wings normal. A genus of some extent, specially characteristic of South America. Guenée made a separate genus (_Polygonia_) of the New Zealand species, but without any point of distinction."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 54 and 55, neuration of _Azelina gallaria_.) We have three species in New Zealand.[42] AZELINA GALLARIA, Walk. (_Selenia gallaria_, Walk. 185, Butl., Cat., pl. iii. 6, 7. _Euchlaena_ (?) _palthidata_, Feld. cxxxii. 21, 22. _Stratocleis gallaria_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 105; _Azelina gallaria_, xx. 62.) (Plate X., figs. 13 to 20 [M] varieties, 21 to 23 [F] ditto.) This species is very common in the neighbourhood of Wellington. It has also occurred at Palmerston North, Makotuku, Christchurch, Dunedin and Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. The fore-wings of the male vary from pale yellowish-brown to bright orange-brown, or reddish-brown; there is a wavy transverse line near the base, often obsolete except on the costa; another wavy transverse line beyond the middle, also frequently obsolete except on the costa; _followed by a very conspicuous straight line, often double, running obliquely from a little before the apex to the dorsum_; outside this line, near the tornus, there are, in most specimens, two black spots or one large rust-red spot; the termen has two projections near the apex, inside which there is usually a darker blotch. The hind-wings are as variable in colour as the fore-wings; there is one wavy line near the base, _followed by an almost straight line_, which is a continuation of the straight line of the fore-wing; beyond this line the ground colour is generally much darker; the termen itself has no projections. The female has broader wings and a shorter body than the male; the ground colour and markings are similar to those of the male, but are usually more sombre, and the termen of both fore- and hind-wings is furnished with a number of prominent projections. The under side of the wings in both sexes is beautifully marbled with yellow and reddish-brown, and several of the markings of the upper surface are faintly indicated. This species, as will be seen from the foregoing, is so extremely variable that a more detailed description would be useless, especially as the straight, oblique, transverse lines of both fore- and hind-wings will at once distinguish it from the two other members of the genus. {93}The perfect insect appears from November till March. It frequents dense forest, and is most abundant at the flowers of the white rata in the evening. Earlier in the year, before the rata blooms, it may sometimes be taken at sugar. AZELINA OPHIOPA, Meyr. (_Gonophylla ophiopa_, Meyr., Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond. 1897, 387.) (Plate X., fig. 26 [M], 27 [M] variety, 28 [F].) This species has occurred occasionally in the neighbourhood of Wellington, but has not yet been recorded from any other locality. The expansion of the wings is 1½ inches. The fore-wings of the male are pale orange-brown; there is a doubly toothed shaded transverse line near the base, the teeth being marked with two black spots; _a conspicuous wavy transverse line runs from the apex to the dorsum_, and is also marked with several black dots; the space between the two transverse lines is paler than the rest of the wing; there is a row of small black dots on the termen, and the termen itself has two small projections. The hind-wings are yellowish at the base, becoming orange beyond the middle; there is a faint brownish transverse line near the base, and a conspicuous wavy transverse line at the middle, marked by a series of black dots; this central transverse line divides the yellowish ground colour of the basal area, from the orange ground colour of the rest of the wing. The female is larger and duller than the male; the fore-wings are yellowish drab, with the outer transverse line dull red; there is a series of minute black dots on the termen; the hind-wings are dull yellow, with a wavy central transverse line. The only variety of this species which has come under my observation is a male. In this specimen all the wings are pale yellowish-brown, with very broad black transverse lines. (See Plate X., fig. 27.) This insect is evidently closely allied to _Azelina fortinata_. It may, however, be distinguished from that species by the smaller projections on the termen of the fore- and hind-wings, and the dotted transverse lines of the male. The perfect insect appears from January till April. It is met with much later in the season than either of the two other species of _Azelina_. It frequents forest, and may be found on the blossoms of the white rata, but is, I think, the rarest of the genus. AZELINA FORTINATA, Gn. (_Polygonia fortinata_, Gn., E. M. M. v. 41. _Caustoloma_ (?) _ziczac_, Feld. cxxxii. 4. _Azelina fortinata_, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 106.) (Plate X., fig. 24 [M], 25 [F].) This beautiful insect occurs occasionally in forests in both the North and the South Islands. It has been taken at Wellington, Nelson, Castle Hill, Akaroa, Mount Hutt, West Plains and Otara. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. The fore-wings of the male are pale orange-brown, with _a doubly toothed black transverse line near the base, and a less acutely toothed line beyond the middle_; between these there is a black mark on the costa; the termen has two large projections, and several smaller ones; between the outer transverse line and the termen there are several small black markings. The hind-wings are yellowish, clouded with orange-brown towards the termen, which also has several projections; there is a faint blackish line near the base, and a much stronger black line near the middle, starting from the dorsum and reaching about half-way across the wing. The female has the fore-wings dark brown, with the central area between the two transverse lines paler; the hind-wings are also considerably darker than those in the male. This species varies a little in the depth of the ground colour, but not otherwise. The perfect insect appears in December, January and February. It frequents dense forest, and is generally disturbed from amongst ferns and undergrowth. {94}Genus 8.--IPANA, Walk. "Face roughly haired. Antennæ in male simple, shortly ciliated. Palpi as in _Declana_. Thorax densely hairy above and beneath, with slight median crest. Abdomen in male elongate. Femora densely hairy; posterior tibiæ in male short and much swollen, furnished on inner side with very large dense tuft of hairs. Fore-wings in male without fovea; veins 10 and 11 separate."--(Meyrick). We have one species in New Zealand. IPANA LEPTOMERA, Walk. (_Ipana leptomera_, Walk., Noct. 1662.) (Plate X., figs. 29, 31, and 31A [M] varieties, 30 [F].) This species is common in the neighbourhood of Wellington, and I expect generally distributed throughout New Zealand; but as there appears to have been some confusion in Mr. Meyrick's papers between it and the female of _Declana junctilinea_, I am unable to assign the localities there mentioned to either of the species. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1½ inches, of the female 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings of the male are uniform pale brownish-ochreous, generally with two transverse series of minute darker brown dots parallel to the termen, and two or three similar dots near the middle of the wing. There is a series of very small parallel brown lines on the costa. The hind-wings are greyish-brown with two very deep indentations in the termen. The female has the fore-wings pale grey, and the hind-wings darker grey; the markings and outline resemble the male. In a few male specimens I have observed four large black spots on the fore-wings, two near the base, and two near the termen. All these spots are sometimes joined together by a very broad black band, which extends along the whole of the central portion of the fore-wings. I have also a male specimen in which the fore-wings are entirely marbled with dark grey. In the female two or three moderately large spots are occasionally present on the fore-wings, near the termen. All these varieties appear to be much scarcer than the typical form. The larva, which feeds on manuka (_Leptospermum_), has ten legs. It is rather slender, dark brown, mottled with grey and dull red. There are two large tubercles on the sides of the seventh and eighth segments. It is a sluggish caterpillar and is generally seen in a motionless condition, clasping the stem of its food-plant with its prolegs, and holding the rest of its body in a perfectly rigid position like a small branch. The pupa is enclosed in a cocoon of silk and refuse on the surface of the ground. The perfect insect appears in January, February and March. It is a forest-dwelling species, and may often be captured in some numbers, at dusk, on the flowers of the white rata (_M. scandens_). It is very sluggish and nearly always drops to the ground when disturbed and feigns death. Genus 9.--DECLANA, Walk. "Face roughly haired. Antennæ in male bi-pectinated to apex or simple. Palpi with second joint ascending, rough-haired, terminal joint rather long, slender, clavate, porrected. Thorax densely hairy above and beneath, with more or less developed median crest. Femora densely hairy. Fore-wings in male without fovea; vein 6 sometimes out of 9, 10 sometimes out of 9, connected or anastomosing with 9, 11 sometimes out of 10, sometimes connected or anastomosing with 10."--(Meyrick.) (Plate II., figs. 56 and 57, neuration of _Declana floccosa_, 58 head of ditto.) We have seven species. {95}DECLANA ATRONIVEA, Walk. (_Detunda atronivea_, Walk., Suppl. ii. 619. _Chlenias_ (?) _manxifera_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xii. (1879), 268, pl. ix. 1. _Detunda atronivea_, Meyr., ib. xvi. 101.) (Plate X., fig. 33 [M], 34 [F]; Plate III., fig. 18, larva.) This very handsome and conspicuous insect appears to be restricted to the North Island, where it is rather rare. It has occurred at Wellington, Otaki, and Napier. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1-5/8 inches, of the female nearly 2 inches. The fore-wings are _brilliant shining white, with numerous black markings_; these consist chiefly of three irregular branching transverse bands, and a series of wedge-shaped spots on the termen; the larger markings are brownish in the centre. The hind-wings are dark grey, becoming almost black on the termen, with a fine wavy transverse black line. This species varies considerably in the size and shape of the black markings on the fore-wings, which are often slightly different on the opposite sides, in the same specimen. The eggs of this moth are oval in shape, slightly roughened on the surface and light blue in colour. They are deposited towards the end of October. The young larva escapes by gnawing a hole out of the side. When first hatched it is dull brownish-black, with creamy-white lateral lines and prolegs; the head is reddish. It feeds on _Panax arborea_. After the first moult the lateral lines become much wider, especially towards the head. After the second moult the two dorsal tubercles are fully developed, the thoracic segments much swollen and flattened above, the latter bearing traces of the black markings of the full-grown larva. After the third moult the larva becomes a dark brownish colour inclining to chocolate on the dorsal surface. The characteristic markings on the penultimate and anal segments of the adult larva now appear, and the dorsal tubercles are yellowish in colour; the extra prolegs are very small, and are visible as wart-like appendages on the lower surface of the tenth segment. The full-grown caterpillar is a remarkable-looking animal. The head is very small; the first three segments of the body are enormously swollen and flattened above, the flattened portions being white, with several small black ring-shaped markings; there is a pair of large yellowish tubercles on the dorsal surface of the seventh segment, and two smaller ones on the tenth and eleventh segments; the larva is much stouter towards the posterior extremity, especially behind the ninth segment; the penultimate segment is furnished with a large creamy-white ridge, starting on the back and proceeding downwards and forwards; the extra pair of prolegs is small and only occasionally used in walking. The general colour of the larva is brownish- or blackish-green; the tenth and eleventh segments are generally darker, and there are many fine parallel lines of darker colouring on the central portions of the larva; the whole insect is also speckled with black; the spiracles are red. The larva varies a good deal in colour, but its peculiar structure will at once distinguish it from any other. These larvæ often coil themselves up when at rest, clinging firmly with their large prolegs to their food-plant. Whilst thus engaged they have a very remarkable appearance. I have not yet ascertained the precise object of the peculiar shape and coloration of this caterpillar. It appears to resemble very closely a lichen-covered twig, but I suspect in this case there is something more special aimed at. In connection with this subject, it is noteworthy that the flattened extremities of the elytra of the beetle, _Ectopsis ferrugalis_, closely resemble in both shape and colour the remarkable anterior segments of the larva of _D. atronivea_. As both insects feed on the same plant, and thus exist under very similar conditions, it is highly probable that the peculiarities have been independently acquired in each species for similar purposes. The pupa is enclosed in a light cocoon amongst dead leaves, &c, on the surface of the ground. {96}The perfect insect appears in February and March, and may sometimes be taken at blossoms in the evening. It is also attracted by light, and has been found occasionally, in the daytime, resting on tree-trunks. It hibernates during the winter, coming abroad again the following spring to lay its eggs. I have observed that a good many pupæ from the autumnal brood do not emerge until September or October, so that the insect evidently spends the winter both as a pupa and as an imago. DECLANA EGREGIA, Feld. (_Chlenias egregia_, Feld. cxxxi. 24; Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xii. 268, pl. ix. 2. _Detunda egregia_, Meyr., ib. xvi. 101.) (Plate X., fig. 35.) This very handsome insect has occurred in the South Island at Nelson, Christchurch, Akaroa and the Otira Gorge. The expansion of the wings is about 1¾ inches. _The fore-wings are creamy-white; there is a small dark brown mark at the base, a broad transverse wavy brown band before the middle, a very large four-cornered irregular brown mark beyond the middle, one of its corners touching the apex and the other the tornus_; the termen is shaded with pale grey, and there is a series of faint brown marks on the costa and dorsum. The hind-wings are dull white, darker towards the termen; there are two very faint transverse lines. The perfect insect appears from November till February. It is a very rare species. Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. DECLANA FLOCCOSA, Walk. (_Declana floccosa_, Walk. xv. 1649. _Argua scabra_, Walk, xxviii. 448. _Declana feredayi_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond. 1877, 398, pl. xliii. 5. _Declana nigrosparsa_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 500. _Declana floccosa_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 102.) (Plate X., figs. 39 to 43 [M] varieties, 44 to 47 [F] ditto.) This species has occurred very commonly at Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin. It is probably generally distributed throughout the country. The expansion of the wings is about 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings are pale greyish-white with numerous small brownish-black streaks, exhibiting a slight concentration near the apex. The hind-wings are dull white, clouded with greyish towards the termen. This insect is so extremely variable that I have given descriptions of a few of the principal varieties below; all these forms may, however, be connected by specimens exhibiting every intermediate gradation both in colour and in markings. 1. Fore-wings with several large brown spots near the middle. 2. Fore-wings covered with numerous black spots (formerly known as _Declana nigrosparsa_) (fig. 47). 3. Fore-wings with two more or less conspicuous curved black or brown lines from costa to dorsum (figs. 41, 42, and 44). 4. Fore-wings with these transverse lines joined by two others running parallel to dorsum and costa. 5. Fore-wings with transverse lines and black spots (fig. 43). 6. Fore-wings diffused with dark greyish-black, except two broad bands of the original light colour extending from costa to dorsum; hind-wings darker than usual (fig. 45). 7. Fore-wings with a dark brown central band; hind-wings clouded with dark brown towards termen, with a faint curved transverse line near the middle (figs. 39 and 40). All these varieties occasionally have tufts of orange-yellow scales on both the wings and on the body, and they also vary in other minor particulars (fig. 46). The egg of this insect when first laid is oval in shape and light green in colour, becoming bronzy a few days before the emergence of the larva. The young larva is very attenuated, with only ten legs. {97}Its colour is pale yellow striped with brownish-pink near the segmental divisions. It is very active, and does not devour the egg-shell after emergence. The full-grown larva has the body much flattened underneath. In colour it is pale brownish-pink, with numerous irregular darker markings, which in some specimens almost form two broad subdorsal lines. The under surface of the larva is pale green. There is a series of fleshy filaments of a pinkish-brown colour along each side of the insect, and an extra pair of prolegs on the ninth segment. This caterpillar is, however, very variable, its colouring appearing to depend largely on its surroundings. The favourite food-plants are _Leptospermum ericoides_ and _Aristotelia racemosa_. The larvæ found on the former plant are usually pale yellowish-brown, whilst those from the latter are much darker brown, often mottled with grey like the stems of the _Aristotelia_. A specimen I once found on a mountain beech (_Fagus cliffortioides_), the gnarled stem and branches of which were covered with grey lichens and mosses, was mottled with the most beautiful shades of greenish-grey. These larval varieties are very interesting, and in order to test the direct influence of food on the colouring of the larvæ, I once divided a batch of eggs deposited by a single female into two equal parts, and fed one half on _Aristotelia_, and the other half on _Leptospermum_. The differences in colouring between the two lots of larvæ thus treated were, however, of the most trivial description. This somewhat surprised me at first, as I had previously observed quite distinct varieties on each plant, when found in a state of nature. Hence I am now disposed to think that these differences have been brought about gradually, by natural selection acting on larvæ feeding on the same plant for a large number of generations. By this means a sufficient amount of variation might be accumulated, to cause the closest possible approximation in colouring to the stems of the several food-plants. It is also noteworthy that many of these food-plants grow in widely dissimilar localities, so that the free inter-breeding of insects dependent on them would not be likely to occur, and thus the peculiarities of colouring adapted to the stems of each food-plant would not be disturbed by the effects of inter-breeding. In connection with the foregoing experiment it is also interesting to observe, that the specimens fed on _Aristotelia_ matured much more rapidly than those on _Leptospermum_; the former plant evidently being the more nourishing food for the larvæ. Also that out of the batch fed on _Aristotelia_ 28 became moths, of which 12 were males and 16 females; whilst out of those fed on _Leptospermum_ only 24 became moths, of which 15 were males and 9 females. In all other respects, excepting food-plant, the two lots of larvæ were subjected to identical treatment. During the day this larva rests quietly attached to the stem of its food-plant, where it is very difficult to detect, as the filaments so closely embrace the twig or tree-trunk that the whole insect exactly resembles a swelling in the stem. The pupa of _D. floccosa_ is enclosed in a loose cocoon on the surface of the ground. The perfect insect appears about September, and continues in more or less abundance until the end of April. There are most likely several broods in a season, and, as we frequently meet with specimens of the moth on mild days in the middle of winter, it probably also hibernates. This insect is usually observed at rest on fences and tree-trunks, where its grey mottled colouring causes it to closely resemble a patch of lichen. {98}DECLANA JUNCTILINEA, Feld. (Plate X., fig. 37 [M], 38 [F].) This species has occurred occasionally in the Wellington Botanical Gardens. It is no doubt found elsewhere, but I cannot give any other localities with certainty. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¼ inches, of the female 1-3/8 inches. The fore-wings of the male are pale yellowish-brown, with two indistinct, irregular, transverse darker lines near the base, a conspicuous curved line a little beyond the middle, followed by a blackish patch; _there is a series of very fine parallel oblique brown stripes on the costa_, and several series of curved, blackish marks near the termen, and on the central portions of the wing. The fore-wings of the female are much greyer, with a conspicuous, irregular, white streak from the apex towards the dorsum, the central portions of the wing are white, and, with the exception of the fine, oblique costal stripes, the other markings of the male are usually absent. The hind-wings of both sexes are dull ochreous. The strongly pectinated antennæ of the male, and the oblique costal markings of both sexes, will at once distinguish this species from any of the varieties of _Declana floccosa_. This moth varies in the intensity of the markings, which in some specimens are very indistinct. The perfect insect appears from November till March. It is generally captured on blossoms in the evening. DECLANA HERMIONE, n. sp. (Plate X., fig. 36.) A single specimen of this very handsome insect was captured at Khandallah near Wellington. The expansion of the wings is 1¼ inches. _The fore-wings are bright purplish-brown, clouded with silvery-white towards the middle and on the termen_; there is a very fine oblique chocolate-brown mark at the base, a broad broken transverse band at about one-eighth; a fine curved transverse line at about three-fourths, shaded towards the termen; there are four wavy brown marks on the termen inclining obliquely upwards towards the costa; the termen itself is narrowly edged with chocolate-brown. The cilia are silvery mixed with brown; the termen is very strongly bowed. The hind-wings are grey, shaded with purplish-grey towards the termen; the cilia are grey. The type specimen was captured at sugar in November. DECLANA GRISEATA, n. sp. (Plate X., fig. 32 [F].) This species has occurred at Wellington in the North Island, and at Lake Wakatipu in the South Island. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1-1/8 inches, of the female 1-3/8 inches. _The fore-wings are dull slaty-grey, with a slightly paler central band_; there is a fine oblique wavy transverse line at about one-fourth, another at about one-half, and indications of a third at about three-fourths; _numerous minute black streaks are thickly scattered over the wing, especially near the base and the termen_; the outline of the termen is very slightly scalloped. The hind-wings are pale grey, darker near the termen. The body is very dark slaty-grey. _The antennæ of the male are not bi-pectinated._ The perfect insect appears in January, and is attracted by light. It is a scarce species. DECLANA NIVEATA, Butl. (_Declana niveata_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 500. _Atossa niveata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 104.) This species has occurred at Dunedin, in the South Island. "The expansion of the wings of the male is 30 mm. (about 1¼ inches). Fore-wings elongate-triangular, costa somewhat sinuate, termen rounded, dentate; dull white, faintly irrorated with grey; costa marked with short indistinct dark grey direct strigulæ; an irregular line towards base, and another twice angulated about two-thirds, obscurely indicated by dark grey scales; some scattered {99}dark grey strigulæ before termen. Hind-wings moderate, termen crenate, angularly projecting in middle; wholly white. "I took one fine specimen at rest on a tree-trunk near Dunedin, in February."--(Meyrick.) Family 6.--SPHINGIDÆ. "Head with dense appressed hairs. Ocelli absent. Eyes glabrous. Antennæ thickened towards middle or posteriorly, in male ciliated with partial whorls. Labial palpi moderate, ascending, with dense projecting scales. Thorax densely hairy beneath. Femora densely hairy. Fore-wings with vein 1_b_ furcate, 6 out of 8, 9 absent (rarely present in exceptional individuals). Hind-wings with veins 3 and 4 approximated at base, 5 from middle of transverse vein, parallel to 4, 6 and 7 connate or stalked, 8 connected by oblique bar with margin of cell before middle, more or less approximated to 7 near beyond cell." (Plate I., figs. 12 and 13, neuration of _Deilephila_ [after Meyrick].) "This family is generally distributed, but is most plentiful in the tropics. The imagos are usually large insects, with stout, heavy bodies, elongate-triangular fore-wings with very oblique termen, and relatively small hind-wings; the wing muscles are very strong, and the flight exceptionally powerful. Ovum spheroidal, smooth. Larva stout, usually with an oblique, projecting anal horn, anterior segments sometimes retractile or raised in repose. Pupa subterranean."--(Meyrick.) Only one genus is represented in New Zealand, viz., _Sphinx_. Genus 1.--SPHINX. "Tongue strongly developed. Antennæ less than one-half, gradually thickened to apex, then pointed, apex slender, hooked. Thorax with low double posterior tuft. Abdomen smooth, broad, conical, pointed. Tibiæ with appressed scales. "A moderately large genus, ranging over the whole world, but principally characteristic of America. Imago flying at dusk, feeding on the wing."--(Meyrick.) This genus is represented in New Zealand by one almost cosmopolitan species. SPHINX CONVOLVULI, L. (_Protoparce distans_, Butl. _Sphinx convolvuli_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 213.) (Plate XIII., fig. 1.; Plate III., figs. 13 and 14 varieties of larvæ.) This handsome insect often occurs in the northern portions of the North Island, but becomes very rare southward of Napier and New Plymouth. In the South Island it has been taken at Nelson, and recently a very mutilated specimen of what appears to be this species has been found by Mr. Philpott, near West Plains, Invercargill. With these exceptions I have not heard of its appearance in any other localities in the South Island. The expansion of the wings is about 3½ inches. The fore-wings are greyish-brown with several irregular, darker markings near the base; and a broad, dark, central band; beyond the central band there is a very irregular, pale grey, toothed line. The hind-wings are yellowish-grey, with four transverse, darker stripes, the outermost one strongly toothed. The head and thorax are dark grey, paler on the back, with two conspicuous tufts of pale grey hair on the shoulders. _The abdomen is grey, striped on the sides with rose-colour and black._ The larva feeds on _Convolvulus_. Like many of the caterpillars of the _Sphingidæ_, there are two very distinct varieties: one is bright green, with white spiracles, and a series of diagonal yellow lines above them; the other is dull yellowish-brown, with broad blackish-brown dorsal and ventral lines, and a series of triangular blackish spots above the spiracles, which in this variety are jet-black. In both these forms of {100}larvæ the anal horn is dark red tipped with black, and the skin is covered with numerous fine wrinkles. The length of the caterpillar when full grown is 3½ inches. About the middle or end of February these larvæ generally bury themselves in the ground, where they are transformed into pupæ. They remain in that condition until the following summer. The pupa is about 2 inches in length and is of a dark mahogany-brown colour. It is furnished with a large curved process, projecting from the lower side of the head, and containing the enormous proboscis of the future moth. The perfect insect appears in November and December. It flies with incredible velocity at evening dusk, and is often observed hovering over flowers, and whilst poised in the air above them, extracts the honey with its long proboscis. Mr. A. P. Buller has very kindly furnished me with the following interesting notes on the habits of this species, as observed by him in the Auckland district:-- "During the summer of 1879 I came across _S. convolvuli_ in great numbers, near Ohinemutu, in the Hot Lake district, frequenting at dusk a tall, delicately perfumed meadow flower (_Oenothera biennis_, commonly called the evening primrose). They were to be seen on the wing soon after sundown, and on warm, still evenings literally swarmed. It was an extremely pretty sight to watch their rapid movements as they darted from flower to flower, never alighting, and keeping up a constant vibration of their wings as they probed the yellow blossoms. They appeared to be extremely local, for I only met with them on a few of the grassy slopes round the shores of Lake Rotorua. I visited the same locality two years later, at the same season, and only occasionally saw one, although the evening primrose was in full bloom at the time. In 1882 I captured several at flowers of the trumpet-tree (_Brugmansia_) in a garden near Auckland. The same summer I found large numbers of the larvæ at Waiwera (near Auckland), on a species of convolvulus growing in profusion on the sandhills in the vicinity. Although the larvæ were so abundant I never came across the perfect insect. I obtained some twenty or thirty of the pupæ, but unfortunately was never successful in hatching out the imago. As far as my knowledge goes, this beautiful moth is confined to the Auckland and Waikato districts, although I have heard of a single specimen being taken in Hawkes Bay." I am also much indebted to Mr. Buller for the loan of a very perfect specimen of this moth, expressly lent to me for figuring and describing in the present work. Mr. Meyrick informs us that this insect occurs throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia and the islands of the South Pacific, wherever a suitable situation is found, and has been met with far out at sea.[43] In America it is represented by a form which seems to be regarded as specifically distinct, but which he thinks is probably identical. If this be the case the insect is practically cosmopolitan. {101}III.--THE LASIOCAMPINA. Not represented in New Zealand. IV.--THE PAPILIONINA. The _Papilionina_ are distinguished by the following characters:-- "Head rough-haired. Ocelli absent. Tongue developed. Antennæ slender, dilated apically, forming a gradual or abrupt club. Labial palpi moderately long, more or less rough-haired, terminal joint rather pointed. Maxillary palpi obsolete. Thorax more or less hairy. Fore-wings with 1_b_ simple, 1_c_ absent, 5 usually from or above middle of transverse vein. Hind-wings without frenulum, 1_c_ absent, 3 and 4 usually connate, 8 rising out of cell near base, rapidly diverging."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate I., figs. 7, 8, 15, 16, 25, 26, 27.) This is one of the most interesting groups of the Lepidoptera. The insects comprised in it are popularly known as butterflies, and from their bright colouring and conspicuous appearance are always favourites with beginners. The _Papilionina_ attain great development in the tropics, especially in South America, where, it is said, a single valley sometimes contains as many species as the whole of Europe. In New Zealand there are only fifteen species of butterflies, the group being extremely poorly represented both here and in the South Pacific Islands. Formerly the _Papilionina_ was known as the _Rhopalocera_, and was regarded as constituting a division of equivalent value to the remainder of the Lepidoptera, which was termed the _Heterocera_. For some time past entomologists have, however, practically abandoned this classification of the order, the _Heterocera_, or moths, being clearly composed of several groups each of equivalent value to the _Rhopalocera_, or butterflies. Mr. Meyrick states in his 'Handbook of British Lepidoptera' that the _Papilionina_ "stands rather conspicuously isolated at the present day, but there is little doubt that its origin must be traced to the _Thyrididæ_, a family of the _Pyralidina_." In this group the wings are generally held erect in repose, the under surface of the hind-wings and the apical portion of the under surface of the fore-wings being nearly always protectively coloured, these being portions of the wings exposed to view when the insect is at rest. There is an unusual amount of ornamental colouring on the upper surface. The flight is invariably diurnal. The larva has ten prolegs. The three following families of _Papilionina_ are represented in New Zealand:-- 1. NYMPHALIDÆ. 2. SATYRIDÆ. 3. LYCÆNIDÆ. {102}Family 1.--NYMPHALIDÆ. "Anterior legs in both sexes much reduced, useless for walking; posterior tibiæ without middle spurs. Fore-wings with veins 8 and 9 out of 7. Hind-wings with præcostal spur." (Plate I., figs. 7 and 8.) "An extremely large family, mainly tropical. The species are of large or moderate size, usually dark-coloured, with light or bright bands or rows of spots. "Ovum cylindrical or sub-conical, ribbed and often reticulated. Larva with pairs of tentacles or more usually series of bristly spines. Pupa exposed, suspended by the tail, often angular or with metallic spots."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate III., figs. 1, 2, and 3 larvæ, 27, 31 and 32 pupæ.) We have three genera represented in New Zealand:-- 1. ANOSIA. 2. VANESSA. 3. JUNONIA. Genus 1.--ANOSIA. "Eyes glabrous. Club of antennæ elongate, gradual. Fore-wings with vein 10 separate. Hind-wings with transverse vein present." (Plate I., figs. 7 and 8, neuration of _A. erippus_.) "A genus of moderate extent, generally distributed within the tropics, with two or three species ranging beyond them. Imago with termen of fore-wings sub-concave. Larva with pairs of long tentacles. Both larva and imago are protected by a strong nauseous scent, or taste, and are uneatable to birds."--(Meyrick.) We have two species in New Zealand. ANOSIA ERIPPUS, Cr. (_Papilio archippus_, Fabricius, Spec. Ins., p. 55, n. 243 (1781). _Danais archippus_, Butler, Butterflies of N. Z., Trans. N. Z. Inst. x. 265. _Anosia plexippus_, L.) (Plate XI., fig. 1, fig. 2 under side; Plate III., fig. 3 larva, fig. 27 pupa.) This handsome insect has occurred from time to time at various localities in both the North and the South Islands, but does not appear to be generally common. Particulars of the early captures of this butterfly are thus given by Mr. Enys[44]: "First recorded as a New Zealand insect by Mr. Fereday, in a paper read before the Canterbury Institute, January 2, 1874, and printed in vol. vi. of 'Transactions.' Mr. Fereday received the butterfly from F. H. Meinertzhagen, of Hawkes Bay. Dr. Hector also obtained it in Westland. It has also been caught near Auckland. In vol. xi. of 'Transactions' Mr. F. W. Sturm records that he first saw this insect, or a closely allied one, at the Reinga, up the Wairoa River, Hawkes Bay, December, 1840, or January, 1841. In 1848 he captured a number at the Waiau, a tributary to that river. Again in 1861 he captured three on the Rangitikei River near Mr. Birch's run. He also records other captures." From these records it will be seen that the insect was observed as early as 1840, and it thus seems scarcely probable that it was accidentally introduced by man, as Mr. Butler appears to suppose.[45] Recently _A. erippus_ has occurred many times in the neighbourhood of Cook's Straits. In 1879 several specimens were bred from larvæ found by Mr. C. W. Lee near Wangaehu. In 1881 I captured two specimens near Nelson and saw three others. In 1890 two specimens were taken by Mr. R. I. Kingsley, and in January of the following year I captured two more, all near Nelson. During the autumn of 1892 {103}one specimen was taken near Otaki by Mr. Rutherfurd, and several others were seen. The same year a specimen was also taken by Sir James Hector at Petone. In 1896, I understand from Mr. Kingsley, several specimens were again seen in the Nelson district. The expansion of the wings is from 3¾ to 4¼ inches. Above, all the wings are rich orange-brown bordered with black, the veins are also black. There are two rows of small white spots round the margins of all the wings, and several orange-brown spots near the apex of the fore-wings. Beneath, the markings are similar, except that the white spots are larger, and the hind-wings are very pale yellowish-brown. The male has a black chitinous spot on vein 2 of the hind-wings which is wanting in the female; the wing-veins in the male are also slightly narrower. The larva of this insect feeds on most of the different kinds of milkweed (_Asclepias_), and also upon dogbane (_Apocynum_). A single caterpillar, fully grown, which was found in a building in the centre of the town of Wellington, formed the subject from which the figures of the metamorphosis of this insect were taken, but this specimen did not afford sufficient material for an exhaustive investigation of the life-history. The following account, taken from Professor Riley's 'Third Annual Report of the Noxious, Beneficial, and other Insects of the State of Missouri,' is therefore inserted:-- "The egg is invariably deposited on the under side of a leaf, and is conical and delicately reticulate with longitudinal ribs, and fine transverse striæ. It is yellowish when first deposited, but becomes grey as the embryo within develops. "In about five days after laying the egg hatches, and the young larva as soon as hatched usually turns round and devours its egg-shell--a custom very prevalent with young caterpillars. At this stage it differs considerably from the mature larva; it is perfectly cylindrical, about 0·12 inch long, and of much the same thickness throughout. The head is jet black and polished; the colour of the body is pale greenish-white, with the anterior and posterior horns showing as mere black conical joints, and with two transverse-oval black warts, nearer together, on the first joint. It is covered with minute black bristles, arising from still more minute warts. "When the young larva is three or four days old a dusky band appears across the middle of each joint, and by the fifth or sixth day it spins a carpet of silk upon the leaf, and prepares for its first moult. After the first moult the anterior horns are as long as the thoracic legs, the posterior ones being somewhat shorter; the characteristic black stripes show quite distinctly, but the white and yellow stripes more faintly. After this it undergoes but slight change in appearance, except that the colours become brighter, and that at each successive moult the horns become relatively longer. There are but three moults, and the intervals between them are short, as the larvæ frequently acquire their full growth within three weeks from hatching. "As soon as the larva is full grown it spins a little tuft of silk to the under side of whatever object it may be resting upon, and after entangling the hooks of its hind legs in the silk it lets go the hold of its other legs and hangs down, with the head and anterior joints of the body curved. In this position it hangs for about twenty-four hours, during which the fluids of the body naturally gravitate towards the upturned joints, until the latter become so swollen that at last, by a little effort on the part of the larva, the skin bursts along the back behind the head. Through the rent thus made the anterior portion of the pupa is protruded, and by constant stretching and contracting the larval skin is slipped and crowded backwards until there is but a small shrivelled mass gathered around the tail. Now comes the critical period--the culminating point. "The soft and supple chrysalis, yet showing the elongate larval form with distinct traces of its prolegs, hangs heavily from the shrunken skin. From this skin {104}it is to be extricated and firmly attached to the silk outside. It has neither legs nor arms, and we should suppose that it would inevitably fall while endeavouring to accomplish this object. But the task is performed with the utmost surety, though appearing so perilous to us. The supple and contractile joints of the abdomen are made to subserve the purpose of legs, and by suddenly grasping the shrunken larval skin between the folds of two of these joints as with a pair of pincers, the chrysalis disengages the tip of its body and hangs for a moment suspended. Then with a few earnest, vigorous, jerking movements it succeeds in sticking the horny point of its tail into the silk, and firmly fastening it by means of a rasp of minute claws with which that point is furnished. Sometimes severe effort is needed before the point is properly fastened, and the chrysalis frequently has to climb by stretching the two joints above those by which it is suspended, and clinging hold of the shrivelled skin further up. The moment the point is fastened the chrysalis commences, by a series of violent jerkings and whirlings, to dislodge the larval skin, after which it rests from its efforts and gradually contracts and hardens. The really active work lasts but a few minutes, and the insect rarely fails to go through with it successfully. The chrysalis is a beautiful object, and as it hangs pendant from some old fence-board or from the under side of an _Asclepias_ leaf, it reminds one of some large eardrop; but, though the jeweller could successfully imitate the form, he might well despair of ever producing the clear pale-green and the ivory-black and golden marks which so characterize it. "The chrysalis state lasts but a short time, as is the case with all those which are known to suspend themselves nakedly by the tail. At the end of about the tenth day the dark colours of the future butterflies begin to show through the delicate and transparent skin, and suddenly this skin bursts open near the head, and the newborn butterfly gradually extricates itself, and stretching forth its legs and clambering on to some surrounding object, allows its moist, thickened, and contracted wings to hang listlessly from the body." The perfect insect appears in March and April, hibernated specimens being met with in the spring. It is a most striking species on the wing, and one which, when once seen, is not likely to be forgotten. ANOSIA BOLINA, L. (_Diadema nerina_, Butler, Butterflies of N. Z., p. 13. Female.--_Papilio nerina_, Fabr., Syst. Ent., p. 509, n. 277 (1775); Donovan, Ins. of New Holland, pl. 27, fig. 1 (1805). _Papilio iphigenia_, Pap. Exot., 1, pl. lxvii., figs. D, E, (1775). Var. _Papilio proserpina_, Cramer, Pap. Exot., 3, pl. ccxviii., figs. C, D, (1782). Male ? _Papilio auge_, Cramer, Pap. Exot., 2, pl. cxc., figs. A, B (1779).) (Plate XII., fig. 7 [M], 8 [F], 9 under side.) This fine species appears to be rare in New Zealand, but I think it has now occurred often enough to entitle it to a place amongst our native butterflies. The following is a list of the captures so far as I am able to ascertain them:-- From Mr. Eny's 'Catalogue of New Zealand Butterflies'[46] the first specimen taken appears to have been a male, which was captured by Dr. Sinclair, of Auckland, and sent to the British Museum before the year 1855. The Rev. Richard Taylor also caught one male specimen in his garden at Wanganui, and saw another, the only {105}two he observed in thirty-four years. Dr. Baker saw one in his garden at Christchurch on lilac flowers, also a male. Mr. R. W. Fereday[47] records the capture of the first female specimen by a son of Mr. Thomas Tanner, near Napier, in January, 1876. On the 18th of March, 1885, Mr. R. I. Kingsley[48] took a fine female specimen in Nelson, and on the 25th of March, 1886, I saw another female specimen in the same locality; I also understand that quite a number of specimens of both sexes have been recently captured in the neighbourhood of Auckland.[49] From the foregoing records, I think that there are very good reasons for regarding this as an indigenous species, as it is very improbable that such a large number of specimens would have been accidentally introduced to the various localities at so many different times. The expansion of the wings of the male is 3½ inches, of the female 4 inches. On the upper side all the wings of the male are rich brownish-black, with a large white blotch in the middle of each, surrounded by a patch of brilliant flashing blue; there is also a small white spot near the apex of the fore-wings and a series of white crescent-shaped markings on the termen of all the wings. The fore-wings of the female are brownish-black, with a patch of deep orange-brown near the tornus; there is a series of four very large oval white spots on the costa, beyond the middle, a smaller white spot near the apex, and three rows of small white marks parallel to the termen; the hind-wings are brownish-black, with a broad white band across the middle, several small white spots, and a double series of white markings parallel to the termen; all the wings of the female have brilliant bluish reflections near the white spots. On the under side the wings of both sexes are rich brown with white markings, and a double series of white crescents on the termen. The female appears to be very variable in almost every respect. The perfect insect appears in January, February and March. From its large size and brilliant colouring it is easily recognised. Although rare in New Zealand, it is very common in Australia. It also occurs in Java, New Guinea and the Loyalty Islands. A smaller representative is found in Samoa (_Anosia otaheitæ_, Feld.), which is probably only a variety of this species. The figures and descriptions of this insect are taken from Australian specimens, which were kindly forwarded to me by the late Mr. Olliff. Genus 2.--VANESSA. Eyes hairy. Club of antennæ abrupt. Fore-wings with vein 10 separate. Hind-wings with transverse vein present. "A moderate genus, principally characteristic of the Northern Hemisphere. Larva with six or seven rows of bristly spines. Pupa with angular prominences, often with golden metallic spots."--Meyrick. Of this very beautiful and interesting genus we have three species in New Zealand. VANESSA GONERILLA, Fabr. (_Papilio gonerilla_, Fabricius, Syst. Ent. p. 498, n. 237 (1775); Donovan, Ins. New Holland, pl. 25, fig. 2 (1805). _Vanessa gonerilla_, White in Taylor's New Zealand, pl. 2, fig. 1 (1855).) (Plate XII., fig. 5, 6 under side; Plate III., figs. 1 and 2 larvæ, 31 and 32 pupæ.) This handsome insect is the most familiar of New Zealand butterflies. It is very common and generally distributed throughout the country. {106}The expansion of the wings varies from 2-3/8 to 2¾ inches. Above, all the wings are black, becoming bronzy towards the body. _The fore-wings have a band of dark red nearly across the middle, and a series of three small blue spots, and three larger white spots near the apex. The hind-wings have a broad dark red band near the termen, containing two pairs of black spots with blue centres._ On the under side the fore-wings are dark brown, with a broad patch of red in the middle, and a very conspicuous eye-like mark on the costa, consisting of a black central spot surrounded by a blue ring, and encircled by a yellow crescent towards the termen. The hind-wings are brownish-grey, with many darker and paler markings; the four spots on the upper surface are faintly indicated on the under side by blackish rings and central dots; the colouring of the under side varies a good deal. It is considerably darker and duller in some specimens than in others. The egg, which is deposited on a nettle-leaf, is barrel-shaped, ornamented with a series of longitudinal ribs meeting in a central spot on the top. It is pale green, with the ribs white. The young larva, when first hatched, is dusky-yellow, with the spines black. In about a week it moults for the first time, and is then of an almost uniform brown, with the lateral lines faintly indicated. Ten days later it again sheds its skin, after which time the white lateral markings are considerably stronger. The full-grown larva varies from black to reddish-brown, with interrupted pale lateral and dorsal lines. On the third and fourth segments there are four spines, on the fifth to eleventh seven spines; the twelfth segment has six spines, and the thirteenth two spines. There are numerous white dots all over the larva. The spines vary from pale green to black. The caterpillar is considerably attenuated at each end, the central portions being somewhat swollen. Length about 1½ inches. This caterpillar constructs for itself a small tent by fastening together several of the leaves of its food-plant. In this dwelling it can feed, safely concealed from all enemies. There are two kinds of nettles constituting the food of this insect--one a small plant, which generally grows in little patches amongst ferns in the forest (_Urtica incisa_), the other a large shrub or tree often found in rather open situations near rivers (_Urtica ferox_). The shrub is easily recognised by the formidable array of long, white spines which project from the midrib of each leaf. The larvæ of _V. gonerilla_ are much more easily collected on the tree nettle than on the dwarf species; their leafy tents being easily detected by an examination of the foliage. When once discovered the larvæ are best obtained by cutting off, with a pair of strong scissors, the leaves which form their habitations. Like most larvæ of the genus _Vanessa_, these caterpillars are extremely voracious and soon eat themselves out of house and home. Those feeding on the tree nettle have an unlimited supply of leaves available both for food and shelter, but in the case of larvæ, which are dependent on the dwarf nettle for their supplies, no doubt individuals must occasionally die of starvation, as we sometimes observe large patches of the _Urtica incisa_ completely destroyed by the larvæ of this butterfly. In some seasons these larvæ may be found as early as the middle of September, and continue abundant until the middle or end of January. When full grown, this caterpillar suspends itself by the tail to a little patch of silk, which it has spun on the under side of a leaf, having also drawn two or three other leaves around it in the same way as the feeding larva. In this situation it hangs, with the head and three anterior segments slightly curved upwards, for nearly twenty-four hours before the transformation to the pupa state occurs. I have often watched these larvæ changing, and as their manoeuvres during the process exactly resemble those of _Anosia erippus_ a special description is unnecessary. The actual transformation may be easily observed in this species, as the larvæ are common and {107}can be obtained in large numbers. It is well worth watching, and if a good many specimens are kept at once, some of them are sure to change at a convenient time for observation. The pupa varies from pale yellowish-brown to dark purplish-brown, darker on the wing-cases and ventral surface. The spines on the back are golden. The whole insect is also speckled with brown or black dots. The pupa varies considerably in size as well as in colour. In this insect the pupa state is of very short duration, usually only lasting about a fortnight. I am informed by Mr. Helms that the pupa of _Vanessa gonerilla_ is often destroyed by the common hemipteron, _Cermatulus nasalis_, which penetrates its shell by means of its long rostrum, and speedily consumes the liquid internal portions. The perfect insect usually emerges early in the morning. It dries its wings for a few hours whilst resting on the old nettle-leaves which formed its home when a larva. The increasing warmth of the sunshine soon hardens the wings sufficiently to allow the new-born butterfly to fly away. This insect is very common in most situations from January till April. It lives through the winter, appearing again on fine days towards the end of August. During the spring and early summer these hibernated individuals occur in great profusion, a few specimens always remaining until the earliest of the new ones have emerged; so that about December we may occasionally observe both hibernated and recent specimens together. In the autumn these butterflies may be seen feeding on the flowers of the scabious and the white rata, thus preparing for their long winter sleep. In the spring, however, the insect is most abundant in the vicinity of the nettle-plants, where the females are busily engaged depositing their eggs. I have noticed that this insect possesses the power of emitting a distinct grating or hissing noise, evidently closely resembling the sound, which has been observed to be emitted by several European species of the genus.[50] This sound is only made when a specimen is roused from a semi-torpid condition; and it is thought that it may be useful to the insect for the purpose of intimidating intruders during its period of hibernation. This butterfly is a rapid flier and may often be seen pursuing a straight course high above the tree-tops, apparently migrating in search of fresh breeding-grounds. It appears to have a singular liking for hill-tops, and a specimen which has selected one of these places will keep on returning to the same spot, after being repeatedly frightened away. In such situations, if the weather be calm and sunny, we may frequently see two specimens engaged in aerial battle. They fly upwards, and coursing round each other with great velocity, almost disappear in the clear blue sky. A few seconds later the two insects, gently fanning their wings in the warm sunshine, are again seen in their respective places. VANESSA ITEA, Fabr. (_Papilio itea_, Fabr., Syst. Ent., p. 498, n. 238 (1775); Donovan Ins. New Holland, pl. 26, fig. 1 (1805). _Vanessa itea_, Godart, Enc. Meth. ix. p. 321, n. 57 (1819); White in Taylor's New Zealand, pl. 2, figs. 2, 2 (1855). _Bassaris itea_, Hubner, Samml. Esot. Schmett. (1816-24). _Pyrameis itea_, Doubleday, Gen. Diurn. Lepid., p. 202 (1849).) (Plate XII., fig. 3, fig. 4 under side.) This beautiful butterfly is, I believe, fairly abundant in the northern portions of the North Island, but becomes scarcer southwards of Napier and New Plymouth. In the {108}South Island I believe I once saw a specimen at Nelson, but beyond that I can find no record of its occurrence there. The expansion of the wings is about 2 inches. The fore-wings are black, becoming reddish-brown speckled with gold towards the base; _there is a very broad yellow band nearly across the middle, and one yellow and two white spots near the apex_. The hind-wings are rich reddish-brown, broadly bordered with black, especially towards the costa; there are four small black spots with blue centres near the termen, and a blue stripe bordered with black at the tornus. The under surface closely resembles that of _Vanessa gonerilla_, except that the red patch on the fore-wings is replaced by pale yellow, and the markings on the hind-wings are more sharply defined. The perfect insect appears from January till April, hibernated specimens occurring in the spring. It is very fond of selecting a perch on the top of a hill, and often engages in violent encounters with _Vanessa gonerilla_. During the contest both insects course round each other with great rapidity, and generally ascend to a considerable elevation. They almost invariably return to their former resting-places. This is a fortunate habit for the collector, as it frequently enables him to ultimately capture a specimen, which he has almost touched with the net on several previous occasions. I have noticed this propensity to return to a favourite perch in the European species of the genus _Vanessa_, so that it is most likely a congenital habit, probably of great antiquity. This insect has a fine appearance when flying; the large yellow spots on the forewings are then very conspicuous, and ensure its immediate and certain recognition. VANESSA CARDUI, L. (_Vanessa cardui_, L. _Cynthia kershawii_, McCoy, Ann. and Mag. Nat. Hist. iv., vol. i. p. 76 (1868). _Pyrameis cardui_, var. _P. kershawii_, Butler, Erebus and Terror Lep., p. 29 (1874).) (Plate XII., fig. 1, 2 under side.) This elegant butterfly occurs throughout both islands, but is very irregular in its appearance. In some years it is quite abundant, whilst in others scarcely a specimen will be seen. During the summer of 1889-1890 it was extremely plentiful in the Wellington district, being at that time much commoner than _Vanessa gonerilla_, but its appearance in such large numbers as this was, I think, very exceptional. The expansion of the wings varies from 2 to 2¼ inches. _Above, all the wings are orange-red, spotted and mottled with black._ The fore-wings are bronzy towards the base; _in the black apex there are five white spots_. Near the termen of the hind-wings three of the black spots have blue centres. On the under side of the fore-wings the markings are very similar to those on the upper side, except that there are several additional white blotches, and the orange-red ground colour has a rosy blush towards the base. The hind-wings are very beautifully mottled with an elaborate series of pale brown, purplish-grey, yellowish-brown, and white markings; three of the large spots near the termen have pale blue centres. I have not yet met with the larva of this insect, neither can I find any record of its having been observed in New Zealand. The following description by Mr. Stainton is taken from a European specimen:[51] "The spiny larva is brown with two dorsal and two lateral yellow lines; on the third, fourth, and twelfth segments there are four spines; on the fifth to eleventh segments seven spines, and on the thirteenth two spines; it feeds solitarily in rolled thistle-leaves." The perfect insect appears in January, February, March and April, hibernated specimens occurring from August until December. It is a much more wary butterfly than either _Vanessa gonerilla_ or _V. itea_, and can seldom be captured after it has once been {109}disturbed, although it will often return to the same spot several times in succession. In fact, owing to its extreme timidity, its capture is generally attended with some difficulty. This insect is found almost throughout the entire world. In specimens from the Northern Hemisphere the black spots on the hind-wings have no blue centres, and the butterflies are a little larger than those found in the Southern Hemisphere, otherwise the two insects are exactly alike. The southern form has been called _V. kershawii_ by several writers, but the differences do not appear to me to be sufficiently important to merit a distinct specific name, especially as both forms occur together in South Africa. This insect has frequently been observed at various places on the European Continent migrating in vast swarms; and it seems probable that its strong migratory instinct may have led to its enormously wide range at the present time. Genus 3.--JUNONIA. "Eyes glabrous. Club of antennæ abrupt. Fore-wings, with vein 10 separate. Hind-wings with transverse vein, absent between veins 4 and 5." (Meyrick.) We have one species in New Zealand. JUNONIA VELLEDA. (Plate XI., fig. 16, fig. 17 under side.) This butterfly was very common in the neighbourhood of Wellington during the summer of 1886-87. To the best of my knowledge the insect had not previously been observed in New Zealand, but I understand from Mr. R. Holloway that he has since met with it on the sea-coast near New Plymouth, in 1893, and at Motueka in 1898. The expansion of the wings is nearly 2 inches. On the upper side all the wings are dull blackish-brown, with greenish or bronzy reflections. The fore-wings have two broad orange-brown stripes on the costa, and _a very large patch of the same colour along the termen, containing a large black spot with a bluish-white centre_; there are three irregular whitish marks near the apex of the wing, and a minute blue-centred ocellus. The hind-wings have _two very large orange-brown spots almost touching each other near the termen; each of these contains a large blue-centred ocellus in the middle_; there are also two terminal rows of brown crescent-shaped markings. Underneath, the markings of the fore-wings resemble those of the upper side, but they are very much paler, and the ground colour is light brown. The hind-wings are pale brown, with a wavy black line across the middle, followed by a brown shading towards the termen; there are also four small round black spots and a series of irregular black dots near the termen. The perfect insect occurred very plentifully in December, January and February, and was fond of settling on barren, stony places in the hot sunshine. It was very timid and difficult to catch, darting off with great rapidity when approached. During the season I managed to secure about nine specimens, some of them in very good condition. I am unable to explain the sudden appearance of this butterfly in New Zealand during the above-mentioned year. The large numbers, which were observed over extended areas, almost seem to forbid its accidental importation from Australia, whilst the distance of New Zealand from that continent would render immigration a most unlikely circumstance. On the other hand, if the insect is a regular inhabitant of this country, it is strange that it had never before been observed. When on the wing, its superficial resemblance to _Vanessa cardui_ may have led to its having been overlooked, and hence it is very desirable that entomologists should use every effort to detect it in the future. According to Mr. Olliff, this butterfly has a very wide geographical range, being {110}found in Java, Sumatra, Tasmania and all parts of the Australian Continent. About the year 1830 it was described by Stephens, in his 'British Entomology,' under the name of _Cynthia hampstediensis_, on account of its having been taken at Hampstead, the well-known suburb of London. Subsequently it transpired that the specimen in question was no doubt of foreign origin, its "appearance" having been due to a practical joke perpetrated on the British Lepidopterists of the day. Family 2.--SATYRIDÆ. "Characters of _Nymphalidæ_, but fore-wings with vein 12 greatly dilated towards base." (Plate I., figs. 25, 26, and 27, neuration of _Erebia pluto_.) "A large group of very general distribution. The species are usually of moderate size, generally dark coloured with light bands or spots, and with several round, black, white-centred spots on lower surface. Some of them are more fond of shady places than is customary in this group. "Ovum spherical-ovate, surface reticulated and often ribbed. Larva more or less tapering towards extremities, with short hairs; segment 13 ending in two points; feeding on grass. Pupa suspended by the tail or unattached, sometimes subterranean."--(Meyrick.) (See Plate III., figs. 4 and 5 larvæ, 28 and 29 pupæ.) Of this family we have three genera represented in New Zealand:-- 1. ARGYROPHENGA. 2. DODONIDIA. 3. EREBIA. Genus 1.--ARGYROPHENGA. Eyes glabrous. Club of antennæ somewhat abrupt. Fore-wings with lower margin of cell greatly dilated towards base; veins 8, 9, 10, and 11 out of 7; vein 12 greatly dilated towards base. Of this genus there is one species in New Zealand. ARGYROPHENGA ANTIPODUM, Doubleday. (_Argyrophenga antipodum_, Doubleday, Ann. and Mag. Nat. Hist. xvi. p. 307 (1845); Gen. Diurn. Lepid. pl. 63, fig. 6 (1851); Butler, Erebus and Terror Lep., pl. 8, figs. 4, 7 (1874).) (Plate XI., fig. 4 [M], 5 [F], 3 variety, 6 under side of [M], 7 under side of variety; Plate III., fig. 4 larva, fig. 29 pupa.) This species occurs commonly on the tussock lands from Christchurch to Invercargill. In the provinces of Nelson and Marlborough it is, I believe, confined to situations having elevations of from 2,000 to 4,000 feet above the sea-level. It has never been captured in the North Island. The expansion of the wings varies from 1-3/8 to 1¾ inches. _Above, all the wings are dull brownish-black, paler near the body; the outer portion of each is covered with a large patch of bright orange-brown (northern form), or fawn colour (southern form); on the fore-wings this patch contains a large oval black spot, with two white dots in the middle; on the hind-wings there are two, three, or four black spots, with one white dot in the centre of each_; beneath, the markings on the fore-wings resemble those of the upper surface, except that there are often several short silvery stripes near the apex; the hind-wings are dull yellow, with silver streaks between the veins, and one broader streak in the centre of the wing. The female is much paler than the male, with the borders of the wings whitish. This insect is extremely variable. The colouring appears to be much influenced by local conditions. On the Dun Mountain, Nelson district, at an elevation of about 2,700 feet, a very small light form occurs in which the sexes are almost exactly alike. There are only two perfect spots on the upper surface of the hind-wings; the other spot is {111}rudimentary, and has no white central dot. On the under side there are no silver stripes near the apex of the fore-wings, and only five or six silver stripes on the marginal portions of the hind-wings (see Plate XI., figs. 3 and 7). At Kekerangu, on the "Chalk Range," at an elevation of from 3,000 to 4,000 feet, a similar but slightly larger form occurs. On the Tableland of Mount Arthur, Nelson district, 3,600 to 4,600 feet above the sea-level, the females are paler than in either of the preceding forms, and the males darker, so that the sexes are well marked; but there are no silvery stripes on the under side of the apex of the fore-wings, and usually only five stripes on the marginal portions of the hind-wings. Finally, in the Canterbury, Otago and Southland butterflies (southern form), we have the large, very dark reddish-brown coloured male insect with large ocelli, and the extremely pale yellow female with small ocelli, the two sexes here exhibiting the greatest differentiation. On the under side, the male has several small silver stripes near the apex of the fore-wings, and seven stripes on the marginal portions of the hind-wings. (See Plate XI., figs. 4, 5, and 6.) In elevated situations in Canterbury, however, I have taken a somewhat similar variety to that found on the Mount Arthur Tableland. I have also taken similar forms on Mount Robert near Lake Rotoiti, Nelson district, these having, in addition, numerous white hairs on the wings near the body. Besides these extreme variations, which appear to be largely dependent on local conditions, great variability exists with respect to the number and size of the ocelli or white-centred spots. In some specimens there are no ocelli on the hind-wings; in others, two, three, or four very minute ones, whilst others have all four very large. Occasionally specimens have a minute ocellus below the large one on the fore-wings. Were it not for the intermediate varieties, there would probably be little hesitation in separating the extreme forms of this insect into several distinct species; but as they are connected by a host of intermediate forms, it is quite impossible even to divide them into varieties. In a paper communicated to the 'Entomologist' in February, 1889,[52] by Mr. W. W. Smith, the author makes some interesting remarks on the variation of this butterfly, as observed by him in Canterbury and Otago. After pointing out the great diversity exhibited by different specimens in the depth of colouring, and in the number and size of the ocelli, he states that in his opinion the greatest variation occurs during the summers that succeed wet winters. In the year 1888 I had the opportunity of inspecting a most interesting series of this insect, presented by Mr. Smith to the Wellington Museum. They embraced specimens of very varied colouring, and included, amongst other remarkable forms, a male, which was entirely destitute of all ocelli, both on the fore- and on the hind-wings. Amongst these specimens, however, I did not see any resembling those I have described from Nelson and Marlborough. This collection has, I regret to say, since been disposed of by the Museum authorities, and cannot therefore be utilised by New Zealand students. The larva of this insect feeds on the tussock grass (_Poa australis_). Its length, when full grown, is about 1 inch. The top of the head is furnished with a very large process, which projects forwards. The body is much attenuated towards the tail, which is bifid. The general colour is dull green, with a crimson line on each side and numerous alternate lines of yellow and white. The legs and prolegs are very small. There are four wrinkles on the posterior edges of each segment. {112}When feeding, this caterpillar rests on a blade of the tussock, where it is very inconspicuous. It appears to prefer the dead or drier portions of the grass, and feeds and grows very slowly. It is strictly diurnal in its habits, relapsing into a death-like repose at night. The pupa is suspended by the tail to an upright blade of the tussock. In the specimen I reared, I was fortunate enough to witness the actual transformation, and during the process, observed it seizing hold of the larval skin with its posterior segments, its manoeuvres whilst thus engaged exactly resembling those of the pupa of _Anosia erippus_, described above by Professor Riley. The length of the pupa is about ½ inch. Its colour is bright green, with a reddish line along the edge of each wing-case, and several white lines on the sides and back. The perfect insect appears from December till the end of March. It is usually very abundant where found, the males being more numerous than the females in the proportion of about five to one. It flies amongst the tussock grass in a weak and aimless manner. When rapidly pursued it has a habit of plunging into a tussock and closing its wings, where it remains quite invisible until the danger is past. The silver stripes on the under side of the hind-wings are very protective to the insect when at rest on its food-plant, the striped coloration of the larva and pupa no doubt serving similar protective purposes. Genus 2.--DODONIDIA, Butl. Characters as in _Argyrophenga_, except that vein 11 of the fore-wings rises from upper margin of cell, shortly before transverse vein. We have one species in New Zealand. DODONIDIA HELMSI, Fereday. (_Dodonidia helmsi_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xv. 193.) (Plate XI., fig. 14, fig. 15 under side; Plate III., fig. 5 larva, fig. 28 pupa.) A single specimen of this interesting butterfly was discovered by Mr. R. Helms, in 1881, on the Paparoa Range, near Greymouth, at an elevation of about 1,500 feet above the sea-level. Until within the last three years only three other specimens had been captured, viz., one near Wainui-o-mata, in Mr. A. P. Buller's collection; one on the Dun Mountain, Nelson, at an elevation of about 2,500 feet, which is in my collection; and one on the Tableland of Mount Arthur, at about 3,300 feet, which was kindly given to me by Mr. C. W. Palmer. In the summer of 1894-95 several specimens were captured by Mr. P. Marshall near Wanganui,[53] and during the same season Messrs. Smithers and Hawthorne discovered the insect in considerable abundance at a locality near Silverstream, in the Wellington district. During the two following summers additional specimens were obtained near Silverstream, and I was fortunate enough to discover there a number of specimens of the larva, which furnished the material for the illustration and description of the preparatory stages of the insect given in this work. The expansion of the wings is about 2 inches. _On the upper side all the wings are dark brown. The fore-wings have two broad bands of yellowish-orange, the outer one containing a {113}small patch of dark brown near the costa, which touches a white-centred black ocellus. The hind-wings have one large patch of yellowish-orange containing two ocelli; a large ocellus, surrounded by a broad ring of reddish-orange, is situated on the tornus_; the tornus is produced into two very broad but short tails, which are bordered with white cilia. On the under side the fore-wings are light ochreous-yellow; there is a shaded brown patch at the base; the termen is broadly bordered with brown, the border containing a silver streak; two broad brown patches are situated on the costa, the outer one terminated by a small ocellus, and enclosing a silvery patch near the apex of the wing. _The hind-wings are silvery, narrowly bordered with deep reddish-brown, with five deep reddish-brown stripes running from the costa towards the tornus_; the fourth stripe from the base of the wing contains three ocelli surrounded by yellow rings; a conspicuous ocellus is situated at the tornus, surrounded by a broad orange-red ring. This insect appears to vary a little in the extent of the yellowish-orange colouring of the upper side. It also varies in size, specimens from the North Island being slightly larger than those from the South Island. The larva feeds on a species of sedge (_Galinia setifolia_), which always grows abundantly in the birch forests, where the butterflies are found. When full grown the length of this caterpillar is about 1¼ inches. Its body is much attenuated at each end and rather stout in the middle; the head and tail are bifid; there are numerous straight, shallow, transverse wrinkles on each segment, especially towards the head. The colour is green, with a number of fine, paler and darker green, dorsal and lateral lines; the head and thirteenth segment are yellowish. The legs are very minute, and the prolegs of moderate size. It is extremely susceptible to the attacks of a Dipterous parasite. In fact, out of thirty larvæ kept by Mr. Hawthorne and myself, no less than 75 per cent. were thus destroyed. This larva feeds on the leaves of the sedge, eating out long notches parallel to the veins of the leaf. These notches are the best guides to follow in searching for the larva, as the colouring of the caterpillar renders its discovery amongst the food-plant extremely difficult. The larvæ should be looked for during the end of December or the beginning of January. The pupa is rather stout, light green, with the edge of the wing-case and the prominences formed by the back and palpi, edged with crimson and white. It is suspended by the tail to any firm object in the neighbourhood of the sedge. The perfect insect appears in February. It frequents sunny glades in the birch forest, usually at considerable elevations above the sea-level. Mr. Helms informs me that he has seen specimens near Greymouth in October, and hence concludes that there are two broods in the year. The butterfly is very difficult to capture, as it has a most provoking habit of resting on the foliage of the birch-trees, just out of the collector's reach. I am unable to explain the object of the remarkable colouring of the under side of this insect, but it is probably protective, although in what way has yet to be discovered. Genus 3.--EREBIA, Dalm. "Eyes glabrous. Club of antennæ abrupt." (Plate I., figs. 25, 26, and 27 neuration of _Erebia pluto_.) "An extensive and essentially Alpine genus inhabiting the mountains of Europe, Asia, North America, and South Africa. Pupa unattached amongst stem bases of grass."--(Meyrick.) We have two species in New Zealand. {114}EREBIA PLUTO, Fereday. (_Erebia pluto_, Fereday. _Erebia merula_, Hewitson, Ent. Mo. Mag. xii. 10 (1874). _Oreina othello_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. viii. 302, 304, pl. ix. (1876). _Percnodaimon pluto_, Butl., Ent. Mo. Mag. xii. 153 (1876); Catalogue of N. Z. Butterflies, 10.) (Plate XI., fig. 8 [M], 9 [F], 10 under side.) This fine butterfly has occurred plentifully on many mountain-tops in the South Island, from Nelson to Lake Wakatipu. It has never been observed in the North Island. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¾ inches, of the female 2 inches. _On the upper side all the wings are a very rich bronzy-black. The fore-wings have a paler patch near the apex, containing two small, and three large black ocelli with white centres_; these ocelli are usually joined together. On the under side all the wings are considerably paler and greyer. The hind-wings have a series of pale spots near the termen, and a paler shade across the middle. The insect varies chiefly in the number of ocelli. On the upper side of the fore-wings there are sometimes only four, the minute ocellus on the costa being absent, whilst occasionally a small extra ocellus appears below the normal series. On the under side this last-mentioned ocellus is very frequently, but not invariably, present. In some female specimens an extremely minute ocellus may be detected on the upper surface of the hind-wings near the termen. On the under side of the hind-wings in both sexes the series of pale terminal spots are often absent, and the general depth of the colouring varies considerably. Mr. Fereday has described and figured a very interesting variation occurring in the structure of the costal veins of this species,[54] vein 11 of the fore-wings sometimes running into 12 (see Plate I., fig. 26), and sometimes being entirely absent (fig. 25). After reading Mr. Fereday's article I examined the specimens in my own collection, and found that all those taken on Mount Arthur and on Mount Peel, in the Nelson district, had veins 11 and 12 joined, whilst the two specimens I took on Mount Enys, Castle Hill, West Coast Road, had vein 11 absent. As, however, Mr. Fereday has specimens exhibiting both forms of neuration, from Castle Hill and from Mount Hutt, I do not think it likely that the peculiarity is confined to butterflies from any particular locality. Like Mr. Fereday, I have observed that the specimens having veins 11 and 12 joined, are smaller than those having vein 11 absent. The perfect insect appears in January, February and March. It frequents shingle slopes on mountains, at elevations ranging from 4,000 to 6,000 feet above the sea-level. Sometimes the butterflies occur in considerable numbers, flying in a lazy, aimless manner in the scorching sunshine, but instantly retreating into crevices between the stones when the sun is obscured. I have observed that this species is most abundant in the neighbourhood of the carpet grass, on which I fully anticipate its larva feeds. It seldom, however, settles on this grass, preferring to alight on the shingle, which, owing to the rarefied air existing at such high elevations, soon becomes intensely heated by the sun's rays. When disturbed this insect flies with considerable rapidity and thus often eludes the net, so that the capture of a good series of specimens on a rugged mountain-top is usually very exciting, if not actually dangerous work. As with many other {115}insects, mountain ranges are more prolific in this butterfly than isolated peaks. Mount Peel, situated to the west of Mount Arthur, is the best locality I know of for this and many other Alpine species. Its gentle slopes enable the collector to work with perfect ease and safety, whilst the patches of rich soil occurring nearly to the top of the mountain support an unusually varied Alpine flora of great interest. EREBIA BUTLERI, Fereday. (_Erebiola butleri_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xii. 264; Catalogue of N. Z. Butterflies, 19.) (Plate XI., fig. 11 [M], 12 [F], 13 under side.) This interesting butterfly was described from three dilapidated specimens captured by Mr. J. D. Enys at Whitcombe's Pass, Canterbury, on March 8, 1879, at about 4,000 feet above the sea-level. From that time I believe no other specimens had been found until January, 1894, when I took quite a large number on the Humboldt Range, at the head of Lake Wakatipu, at elevations ranging from 4,000 to 5,000 feet above the sea-level. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1-5/8 inches, of the female 1½ inches. _On the upper side all the wings of the male are smoky-brown; the fore-wings have a large black ocellus near the apex, enclosing two white dots, followed by a smaller ocellus towards the dorsum; the hind-wings have three black spots near the termen, sometimes enclosing white dots._ Occasionally these ocelli are surrounded by a patch of deep reddish-brown. The female is much paler, with large patches of yellowish-brown surrounding the ocelli. On the under side the fore-wings of the male are smoky-brown, with an irregular blotch of reddish-brown near the apex, surrounding a small white-centred black ocellus. _The hind-wings are dark reddish-brown, with several conspicuous black-edged silvery markings, and four yellowish-red spots near the termen._ The under side of the female is very much paler. This butterfly varies considerably on the upper side in the number and size of the ocelli, and in the extent of the reddish-brown markings which surround them; on the under side the silvery spots on the hind-wings are also variable. The perfect insect has been taken in January and March. It evidently frequents mountains in the South Island, at elevations of about 4,000 feet, but does not appear to be generally distributed in such localities. It seldom settles on the shingle, mostly resting on the snow grass, on which its larva probably feeds. It is a smaller insect than _E. pluto_, and flies much more feebly. These characteristics will at once enable the collector to distinguish it from _E. pluto_ when on the wing. Immediately a cloud obscures the sun these butterflies retreat into the tufts of the snow grass, remaining closely hidden there until the sun shines out again. This circumstance makes the capture of the insect, even in a favourable locality, a matter of considerable uncertainty, as bright sunshine is more often the exception than the rule on the summits of high mountains. Family 3.--LYCÆNIDÆ. "Anterior legs developed, but tarsi of [M] more or less abbreviated, or with one or both claws absent; posterior tibiæ without middle spurs. Fore-wings with vein 7 absent, 8 and 9 stalked or coincident. Hind-wings without præcostal spur." (Plate I., figs. 15, 16, neuration of _Chrysophanus salustius_.) "The family is large and very generally distributed. The species are of moderate size or more often rather small, usually blue, dark brown, or coppery-orange in colouring, often with series of small black pale-ringed spots on lower surface. {116}"Ovum flattened--spherical or subcylindrical, reticulated and sometimes ribbed, seldom smooth. Larva stout, with few hairs. Pupa attached by tail and a central belt of silk, or sometimes unattached or subterranean."--(Meyrick.) We have two genera represented in New Zealand, viz.:-- 1. CHRYSOPHANUS. 2. LYCÆNA. Genus 1.--CHRYSOPHANUS, Hb. "Eyes glabrous. Club of antennæ elongate. Fore-wings with vein 6 separate, 8 and 9 stalked." (Plate I., figs. 15 and 16 neuration of _C. salustius_). "An extensive and nearly cosmopolitan genus. Larva short, stout, attenuated at extremities, with short hairs. Pupa attached by the tail and central belt of silk, or sometimes unattached on the ground."--(Meyrick.) There are three New Zealand species. CHRYSOPHANUS SALUSTIUS, Fabr. (_Chrysophanus salustius_, Fabr., Butler, Butterflies of N. Z., Trans. N. Z. Inst. x. 263. _Chrysophanus rauparaha_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. ix. 460. _Chrysophanus maui_, ib. x. 252.) (Plate XII., fig. 18 [M], 19 [F], 20 and 21 under side; Plate XIII., figs. 2, 3, 4, and 5 varieties.) This pretty little butterfly appears to be very common in most parts of New Zealand. I have records of its occurrence in abundance at various localities, from Napier southwards to Invercargill. The expansion of the wings varies from 1 to 1½ inches. _On the upper side all the wings are brilliant shining copper, with black markings._ Fore-wings with three spots near the middle, then a row of black spots, often forming a band nearly parallel with the termen, another row on the termen, generally touching the narrow black border of the wing. Hind-wings resembling fore-wings, except that there is only one elongate spot in the centre, and the terminal series of spots is nearly always separated from the black border. In the female the black spots are united and form bands, those on the termen often having violet or blue centres. The veins in both sexes are indicated by black lines, which are often double in the male, when the vein itself is coppery. On the under side the fore-wings are orange-brown, bordered with yellow; the spots resemble those of the upper side, except that the terminal series are generally faint or obsolete towards the costa. The hind-wings vary from light yellow to dull brown; the spots are dull greyish, the posterior series often having white centres. From the foregoing it may be seen that the variation in this insect is considerable. After a careful examination of a large number of specimens taken at various localities in both North and South Islands, I am, however, unable to find characters of sufficient constancy to entitle any of the forms to specific rank. The most striking of these varieties appears to be that described by Mr. Bates as _Chrysophanus feredayi_.[55] (See Plate XIII., fig. 2, upper side; Plate XII., fig. 21, under side.) On the upper surface it has the central series of spots almost forming a band in the male, and the coppery ground colour is paler than in the typical form. On the under side the borders of the fore-wings, and the whole of the hind-wings are dull brown. This form closely resembles _C. rauparaha_, Fereday.[56] _C. maui_, Fereday, is evidently that variety of the male having the veins bordered with two fine black lines. Mr. Fereday states that he has never been able to find the female of his _C. maui_. This is readily accounted for by the fact, that the female of _C. maui_ is nothing more than the female of _C. salustius_. Recently two very remarkable aberrations of _C. salustius_ have come under my {117}notice; one captured by Mr. Hawthorne at Karori, in which the hind-wings are almost entirely suffused with blackish-brown, excepting a small patch of copper colour near the centre, and two patches on the termen. Another specimen, taken by Mr. Grapes near Paraparaumu, has the fore-wings also suffused with blackish-brown, except near the middle, where there are five coppery patches between the veins. On the under side there are six large oblong spots near the termen of the fore-wings, and a series of dusky oblong spots on the hind-wings. (See Plate XIII., fig. 3, fig. 4 under side.) Plate XIII., fig. 5, represents another variety discovered by Mr. Grapes on the coast near Paikakariki, in the Wellington district. It is remarkable for the bright blue terminal spots which are present in both sexes. The eggs of _C. salustius_, when first deposited, are pale green with yellow reticulations, the whole egg having a honeycombed appearance when magnified. They become uniform pale yellow before hatching. The young larva is shaped somewhat like a wood-louse. The head is quite hidden by the three anterior segments, which are much larger than the rest. After the first moult the larva becomes bright green, with a crimson line down the back; the head is then larger, and the three anterior segments considerably reduced. Unfortunately the life-history could not be investigated beyond this point, as the larvæ all died. The time of year when this occurred was late autumn, and it therefore seems probable that the larvæ hibernate and undergo their transformation early the following spring. The perfect insect first appears in November and continues abundant until the middle or end of February. Specimens of what I believe to be a second brood may be taken in March and April if the weather be fine, but in stormy seasons these are frequently not observed. I have also noticed that the autumnal specimens are usually smaller and paler in colour than those captured in the spring. This butterfly frequents open situations, and in fine, sunny weather it is often very common. CHRYSOPHANUS ENYSII, Butl. (_Chrysophanus enysii_, Butler, Ent. Mo. Mag. xiii. 153 (1876).) (Plate XII., fig. 22 [M], 23 [F], 24 under side.) This species is tolerably common in the Wellington district, and I expect it will be found to occur in most localities in the North Island. I have also taken the insect at Nelson, but have not heard of its capture elsewhere in the South Island. The expansion of the wings varies from 1 to 1¼ inches. On the upper surface both sexes resemble some of the females of _Chrysophanus salustius_, except that the dark markings are very much broader, and the coppery colour is paler and less lustrous. On the under side the fore-wings are pale yellowish-brown, bordered with darker brown, with three black spots near the middle, and a chain of black spots beyond the middle. _The hind-wings are yellow, with a very large irregular patch of purplish brown extending over the costal and terminal portions._ This insect varies chiefly in the extent of the dark markings on the upper side, which sometimes very much encroach on the golden ground colour. The spaces between veins 2, 3, and 4, near their origin are sometimes yellow and sometimes black, but, as every intermediate form exists, cannot be distinguished as species. Mr. Fereday regards the form with the black spaces as _C. feredayi_, Bates. As previously stated, however, I am inclined to think that _C. feredayi_, Bates, is the same form as _C. rauparaha_, Fereday. {118}This butterfly is essentially a forest-loving species, and may sometimes be taken quite plentifully in sunny openings on fine days, during December and January. It is not nearly so common as _C. salustius_, and I do not think that there is more than a single brood in a season. CHRYSOPHANUS BOLDENARUM, White. (_Lycæna boldenarum_, White, Proc. Ent. Soc., Ser. 3, 1, p. 26 (1862). _Chrysophanus boldenarum_, Butl., Zool. Erebus and Terror, Ins. Lep., p. 29, n. 8, pl. 8, figs. 8, 9 (1874).) (Plate XII., figs. 13, 14, [M] varieties, 15 under side of [M], 16 [F], 17 under side of [F].) This brilliant little butterfly is very common in most localities in the South Island. In the North Island it has occurred at Lakes Wairarapa and Taupo. The expansion of the wings is 7/8 inch. On the upper side the male has all the wings brown, _tinged with the most brilliant glistening purple_. The fore-wings have two or three black spots near the middle, a curved series beyond the middle, and on the termen. The hind-wings have two black spots near the middle, a series beyond the middle, and a terminal series, generally with blue centres. All the wings are narrowly bordered with black. The female is pale yellowish-brown, the spots resemble those of the male, except that all the marginal series have bright purple or blue centres. On the under side the fore-wings of both sexes are pale yellow, bordered with slaty-blue: the spots are the same as on the upper side. The hind-wings are brownish-grey in male, slaty-grey in female, with the basal portion darker, and the spots of the upper side always indicated. This insect is extremely variable, but I do not think it likely that any of the numerous forms will prove sufficiently constant to be regarded as distinct species. The male varies in the size and number of the black spots, many of which are often absent; in the extent of the purple sheen which is sometimes absent from the hind-wings, sometimes partially absent from the fore-wings, and sometimes extends over the whole of both pairs of wings; also in the colour of such sheen, which often inclines towards blue. Some specimens are much paler than others, and so far as my experience goes, these are chiefly found at considerable elevations; in such specimens, the ground colouring inclines towards yellow or orange, and the purple sheen is very brilliant, and extends over the whole of the wings. The female of this form is proportionately paler. Other specimens have the hind-wings almost black with no purple sheen, whilst in others the purple sheen remains. Another form has the usual markings, but the hind-wings are deep orange-brown, without purple sheen, which is also absent from the outer portions of the fore-wings. One female in my collection is dull brown, with yellow markings between the two rows of black spots. The under side is still more variable. One very striking form has only the basal portions of the fore-wings yellow, the rest of the ground colour is pale bluish-grey, and the spots black. On the hind-wings there are a number of black spots near the base; then an irregular band of black, and then a double row of marginal spots. An almost unlimited number of varieties appears to connect this form with one, in which all the markings on the hind-wings are nearly obsolete. The specimens of this insect taken in each district appear to exhibit differences from those taken elsewhere, but specimens also differ from the same district, so that at present we are unable to detect any well-marked local variation, or topomorphism, as it has been termed. It is consequently highly desirable that collectors should endeavour to obtain specimens from as many localities as possible, so that the nature of the variation of this butterfly may be better understood. Mr. Fereday states[57] that after carefully examining a patch of _Donatia {119}novæzealandiæ_, a plant he had noticed much frequented by this butterfly, he succeeded in finding a larva which there could be little doubt would have given rise to this insect, had it lived. The following is taken from his description: The caterpillar is shaped like a wood-louse, hairy, and pale green. There is a series of conical purplish spots down the back, edged first with white, and then with dull red. On the sides there is a series of pale pinkish oblique stripes, blended with dull red towards the spiracles. The perfect insect is very common in dry, stony places, generally near river-beds, during January, February and March. It flies only a short distance when disturbed, but is very quick on the wing, and hence difficult to catch until one becomes accustomed to it. In some places these little butterflies are so abundant that they take wing like a swarm of blow-flies. They seldom open their wings whilst at rest, so that when perched on the ground they are very inconspicuous. Genus 2.--LYCÆNA, F. "Eyes hairy. Club of antennæ elongate. Fore-wings with vein 6 separate, 8 and 9 stalked. "A large genus of nearly universal distribution. Imago usually with a horny apical hook on anterior tibiæ. Larva short, stout, attenuated at extremities, with short hairs. Pupa attached by tail and often a central belt of silk, or unattached or subterranean."--(Meyrick.) Represented in New Zealand by two species. LYCÆNA PHOEBE, Murray. (_Lycæna phoebe_, Murray, Ent. Mo. Mag., 1873, 107.) (Plate XII., fig. 10, 11 under side.) This little butterfly is extremely abundant in the neighbourhood of Nelson. I have also taken it in plenty in several localities in the Wellington district, and suspect it is common throughout the North Island. In other parts of the South Island its place appears to be taken by _L. oxleyi_. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1 inch, of the female 7/8 inch. On the upper side all the wings are pale blue, broadly bordered with dull brown. The cilia are white, faintly barred with brownish. _On the under side all the wings, are pale slaty-grey._ There is a faint blackish spot, edged with white, near the middle of the fore-wings, and two rows of similar spots near the termen. The hind-wings have several very faint white-edged spots near the base, a row near the middle, and another row almost entirely white near the termen. The perfect insect frequents waste grounds and sandhills, generally beside roads and river-beds, and when found is usually very common. It is on the wing from the beginning of October until the end of March. LYCÆNA OXLEYI, Feld. (_Lycæna oxleyi_, Felder, Reise de Novara Lep. ii., 280, pl. 35, fig. 6, 1865.) (Plate XII., fig. 12 under side.) According to Mr. Enys[58] this butterfly is common in both islands. I have taken specimens in the Canterbury and Nelson districts. On the upper side this species can only be distinguished from the preceding by its somewhat brighter colour, and by the cilia which are more sharply barred with brown. _On the under side the whole of the fore-wings, and the central portions of the hind-wings between the outer and inner series of spots, are much darker and browner than in L. phoebe_; the spots themselves are also considerably darker, and the central series of the hind-wings is almost black. A careful examination, however, shows that the markings are practically identical in both species, although of different degrees of {120}intensity. In view of the great variability, which many species of this genus are known to exhibit in other countries, I am inclined to think that this butterfly's claim to specific distinction is a very slender one. The perfect insect may be taken in similar situations to _Lycæna phoebe_. REPUTED NEW ZEALAND BUTTERFLIES. The following species are recorded by various observers as having occurred in New Zealand. In nearly every case they are only represented by single specimens. They cannot, in my opinion, be regarded as properly belonging to the fauna:-- 1. HAMADRYAS ZOILUS,[59] Fabr. The expansion of the wings is 1 inch. On the upper side all the wings are black, becoming brown towards the base; the fore-wings have three dull white spots near the apex; the hind-wings have the whole of the central portions white. Stated by Dieffenbach to occur in New Zealand, probably in error, as it has not since been observed. An Australian species. Mr. W. W. Smith, however, informs me, that his eldest son recently saw near Ashburton a specimen of what he believed to be this butterfly; but as he was unable to capture it he cannot speak with any degree of certainty. 2. EUPLOÆ ---- sp? The expansion of the wings is 2¾ inches. On the upper side all the wings are dull, brownish-black, with a series of large white terminal spots. Two or three specimens of this insect are stated by Mr. T. W. Kirk to have been taken near Flat Point on the east coast of the North Island, but no further details are forthcoming. The late Mr. Olliff, to whom I forwarded a sketch of the insect, informed me that it was not represented in the Sydney collections of Australian and South Sea Island butterflies, but he thought it might be a Malayan species of _Euploæ_. 3. VANESSA ATALANTA,[60] L. The expansion of the wings is from 2½ to 2¾ inches. "The fore-wings are black, with a broad deep red central band, and with one large and five small white spots near the apex. The hind-wings are black, with a broad deep red band at the termen, in which are four black spots; at the tornus is a large blue-and-black spot."[61] Mr. T. W. Kirk states[62] that he captured a specimen of this familiar English butterfly in the Wellington Botanical Gardens, in the summer of 1881. On a subsequent occasion he saw several others. No specimens have since been detected. 4. VANESSA URTICÆ, L. The expansion of the wings is from 2 to 2¼ inches. "The fore-wings are reddish-orange with three large black spots on the costa (the third followed by a white spot), two smaller black spots near the centre, and one large one on the dorsum; a dark border, containing cresentic blue spots, runs along the termen. The hind-wings are black at the base, then reddish-orange, with a blue-spotted dark border along the termen."[63] Mr. Kirk states[64] that he also obtained specimens of this very common English butterfly during the same season and in the same locality as _Vanessa atalanta_. None have been seen by other observers. {121}5. CATOPSILIA CATILLA,[65] Cramer. The expansion of the wings is nearly 3 inches. On the upper side all the wings of the male are pale sulphur-yellow, with a minute brown mark at the apex. The female is paler, with a brown spot in the centre of the fore-wings, and a chain of brown spots on the termen towards the apex. A single male specimen of this butterfly was captured in the grounds of St. John's College, Auckland, and is now in the Auckland Museum. The species is very common in Australia, and as this is the only specimen observed it was no doubt accidentally introduced from that country on board a steamer. {122}V.--THE PYRALIDINA. Not dealt with in this volume. VI.--THE PSYCHINA. The _Psychina_ are distinguished by the following characters:-- "Eyes glabrous. Maxillary palpi rudimentary or obsolete (yet sometimes well marked in pupa). Posterior tibiæ, with spurs very short, middle spurs often absent. Fore-wings with vein 1_b_ furcate, 1_c_ usually developed, 5 more or less approximated to 4. Hind-wings with frenulum, retinaculum often very broad, 1_c_ present, 8 connected or anastomosing with cell." (See Plate I., figs. 30, 31 neuration of _Oeceticus omnivorus_.) "This ancient group, which furnishes the origin of the five preceding, is not now very prominent, though much more numerous in warm regions. "Imago with fore-wings more or less elongate-triangular, hind-wings ovate, often rather small. "Larva with 10 prolegs, usually with few hairs. "Pupa with segments 8-11 free, usually 7 also (except in _Psychidæ_), in male 12 also; protruded from cocoon in emergence."--(Meyrick.) The _Psychina_ and _Micropterygina_ are included amongst the _Micros_ by most modern authors. I have, however, described and figured certain conspicuous and interesting species belonging to both these groups. The insects in question have, until so very recently, been regarded as _Macros_, that I think it would be a mistake to omit them in the present volume. There can, however, be no question that the modern view is the correct one, and that notwithstanding the large size of some of the species, they are really closely allied to those _Micro-Lepidoptera_, with which they are now associated. Of the _Psychina_ we have one family represented in New Zealand--the _Psychidæ_. Family 1.--PSYCHIDÆ. "Head densely rough-haired. Ocelli large. Tongue obsolete. Antennæ half the length of the fore-wings or less, in male strongly bi-pectinated to apex. Labial palpi very short, hairy. Thorax densely hairy above and beneath. Abdomen, femora, and tibiæ densely hairy, posterior tibiæ without middle spurs, end spurs extremely short. Fore-wings with vein 1_a_ anastomosing with 1_b_ before middle; 1_c_ (if present) coincident with 1_b_ beyond middle, 7 absent. Hind-wings, with vein 8, connected by bar with upper margin of cell. Female apterous, without legs or developed antennæ. {123}"A rather small family of universal distribution, but commoner in warm countries. Male imago with thinly scaled wings, without markings; flight strong and swift, sometimes in sunshine. The female is almost wholly helpless; the abdomen is at first greatly distended with eggs, and ultimately shrivels up. "Ovum oval, smooth. Larva inhabiting a strong portable silken case, covered with fragments of stick or refuse. Pupa within the larval case."--(Meyrick.) There are two genera in New Zealand closely allied to each other. 1. OECETICUS. 2. OROPHORA. Genus 1.--OECETICUS, Guild. "Ocelli present. Antennæ 1/3, in male strongly bi-pectinated, much more shortly on apical half. Labial palpi extremely short, rough-haired. Abdomen in male very elongate, roughly hairy. Legs hairy, tibiæ without spurs, posterior tarsi extremely short and stout. Fore-wings with veins 4 and 5 short-stalked, 7 sometimes out of 9, 8 and 9 stalked, forked parting-vein well defined. Hind-wings with veins 4 and 5 stalked, forked parting-vein well defined, 8 connected by bar with cell beyond middle. An additional vein (9) rising from 8 beyond bar, another (10) from 8 before bar, and another (11) from base of costa running into 8 before 10." (See Plate I., figs. 30, 31.) "This generic name was wrongly spelt _Oiketicus_ by its originator and others, for which there is no possible justification. I have corrected it."--(Meyrick.) Although I have made several examinations of fully denuded wings of _OE. omnivorus_, I have been unable to discover any trace of the additional veins mentioned by Mr. Meyrick. The hair-like scales which clothe the wings of this insect are very long and slender, and might easily be mistaken for a short vein, if placed in the requisite position. I am disposed to think that the examination of undenuded specimens has led to the discrepancy between the results. We have one species. OECETICUS OMNIVORUS, Fereday. (_Liothula omnivora_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. x., 260, pl. ix. _Oeceticus omnivorus_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 212.) (Plate XIII., fig. 6 [M]; Plate III., fig. 26, larva in its case; fig. 25 ditto withdrawn from case.) This interesting species is seldom seen as an imago in the natural state, although the cases constructed by its larva are of common occurrence. Specimens of these cases have been noticed at several localities between Palmerston, in the North Island, and Invercargill, in the South Island, so that apparently the insect is common, and generally distributed throughout New Zealand. The expansion of the wings of the male is from 1¼ to 1½ inches. _The fore-wings are very elongate and narrow. All the wings are blackish-brown, and sparsely covered with scales_, the hind pair being semi-transparent. The body is very hairy, and deep black. The antennæ are broadly bi-pectinate at the base, becoming almost filiform towards the apex. The female insect is apterous, having a close superficial resemblance to a large maggot. The head and thorax are very small, and the legs and antennæ rudimentary. The extremity of the body is furnished with a two-jointed ovipositor, and there are a few scattered yellowish scales on various parts of the insect. Its length is about 1 inch. The eggs of this species are deposited inside the old case, which the female insect never leaves during the whole of her life. The young larva when first hatched is about 1/8 inch in length. Its head and three anterior segments are corneous and much larger than the others, which are rather soft with the exception of the last one. These little {124}larvæ are extremely active, and immediately after hatching leave the old case, and roam in all directions over the tree, letting themselves down from branch to branch by silken threads. They carry the posterior portion of their body elevated in the air, walking whilst doing so by means of their strong thoracic legs. The food-plants of this species are numerous. The following are a few of them: Manuka (_Leptospermum scoparium_ and _ericoides_, _Cupressus macrocarpa_, _Pinus insignis_), and various species of willow, &c. These, it will be observed, include several introduced trees. In fact, the insect is a very general feeder. About three days after leaving the egg, the little caterpillar constructs a minute, conical-shaped, silken case, which it carries almost in an upright position on its posterior segments. Later on in life this case becomes too heavy to be held vertically, and is afterwards dragged along by the larva, and often allowed to hang downwards. The case has two apertures--a large one in front, through which the head of the larva is projected, and a smaller one at the posterior extremity, which allows the pellets of excrement to fall out of the case, as soon as they are evacuated. Owing to the apterous and completely helpless condition of the female imago, it is evident that the dispersal of this insect must take place in the larval state. Distribution is of course quite impossible without a female being transported in some way, and from observations made on a good many larvæ of various ages, I am disposed to think that the migration of this insect to new localities takes place at an early age, possibly soon after its emergence from the egg. On this account I think that the occurrence of the moth in both North and South Islands is of great interest, as it would seem to indicate the existence of some connection between the two islands, at a period not sufficiently remote to have allowed any appreciable modification to take place in the insect's structure and habits. At the same time, it should be borne in mind, that the protection afforded the larva by its case, and its ability to feed on so many different plants, may have rendered any modification unnecessary for the preservation of the species during recent times. The length of the full-grown caterpillar is about 1 inch. The head is dull yellow speckled with black. The first three segments are very hard, dark brown, with numerous white markings. The remaining segments are considerably thickened near the middle of the insect, rudimentary prolegs being present on the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth segments of the larva. The anal prolegs are very strong, and are furnished with numerous sharp hooklets, which retain the larva very firmly in its case. As the caterpillar grows, it increases the length of its domicile from the anterior, causing it gradually to assume a more tubular form, tapering towards the posterior aperture, which is enlarged from time to time. The outside is covered with numerous fragmentary leaves and twigs of various sizes, placed longitudinally on the case, and, frequently, near the anterior aperture the materials, owing to their recent selection, are fresh and green. The interior is lined with soft, smooth silk of a light brown colour, the thickness of the whole fabric being about the same as that of an ordinary kid glove, and so strong that it is impossible to tear it, or indeed to cut it, except with sharp instruments. The size of the case, when the caterpillar is mature, varies considerably, ranging from 2¼ to 3 inches or more in length, and about ¼ inch in diameter, the widest portion being a little behind the anterior aperture. During the day the larva closes the entrance, and spins a loop of very strong silk {125}over a twig, the ends being joined to the upper edges of the case on each side; in this way it hangs suspended, the caterpillar lying snugly within. I have often known a larva to remain thus for over three weeks without moving, and afterwards resume feeding as before; this probably occurs whilst the inmate is engaged in changing its skin. At night the larvæ may be seen busily engaged: they project the head and first four segments of the body beyond the case, and walk about with considerable rapidity, often lowering themselves by means of silken threads; the only locomotive organs are, of course, their strong thoracic legs, which appear to easily fulfil their double function of moving both larva and case. If disturbed, these insects at once retreat into their cases, closing the anterior aperture with a silken cord, which is kept in readiness for the purpose, and pulled from the inside by the retreating larva. This operation is most rapidly performed, as the upper edges of the case are flexible, and thus fold closely together, completely obstructing the entrance. When full grown, this caterpillar fastens its case to a branch with a loop of strong silk, which is drawn very tight, preventing the case from swinging when the plant is moved by the wind, and also rendering the insect's habitation more inconspicuous, by causing it to resemble a broken twig. The anterior aperture is completely closed, the loose edges being drawn together and fastened like a bag. The posterior end of the case is twisted up for some little distance above the extremity, thus completely closing the opening there situated. It is lined inside with a layer of very soft silk spun loosely over the sides, and partly filling up each end. In the centre of this the pupa lies with its head towards the lower portion of the case, the old larval skin being thrust backwards amongst the loose silk above the insect. The male and female pupæ may very easily be distinguished. The male pupa is rather attenuated, and has all the organs of the future moth plainly indicated on the integument, as is usual with lepidopterous pupæ. The female pupa, on the contrary, is merely a chain of segments, with a few faint indications of rudimentary organs on the anterior extremity. It is, moreover, much larger than the male pupa. The insect remains in this condition during the winter months. About September the male pupa works its way down to the lower end of the case, forces open the old aperture there situated, and projects the head and thorax, the pupa being secured from falling by the spines on its posterior segments, which retain a firm hold in the silk. Its anterior portion then breaks open, and the moth makes its escape, clinging to the outside of its old habitation, and drying its wings. The perfect insect must be about from September till December, but I have never then observed it. The only specimen I have seen was noticed flying very rapidly in the street in Wellington, in July. I was at first unable to tell what species it was, as it had a most unusual appearance on the wing, but its subsequent near approach enabled me to ascertain for certain that it was a specimen of this insect. In captivity I have also noticed the extreme activity of the male when first emerged. Indeed this moth is so vivacious, that it often happens, owing to the emergence usually taking place very early in the morning, that specimens are more or less injured by their efforts to escape, before they are discovered in the breeding cage. This restless energy of the male is no doubt essential to the insect's well-being, as the females, hidden away in their cases and incapable of any movement, must of necessity be very hard to discover. The power of locomotion lost in the one sex is thus doubled in the other. Considering the protection {126}afforded this insect by the case, which it inhabits during its preparatory stages, its enormous mortality from the attacks of a parasitic dipteron (_Eurigaster marginatus_) is very remarkable. In this connection the following analysis of 38 cases, gathered at random, may be of interest:-- 26 had parasites. 8 were dead. 2 contained eggs. 2 contained living pupæ, 1 male and 1 female respectively. Amongst some of these parasites I once obtained a specimen, which was in its turn infested by a secondary or hyper-parasite, belonging to the genus _Pteromalus_, in the order Hymenoptera. Eighteen of these minute insects emerged from a single pupa of _E. marginatus_. The method by which the _Pteromalus_ introduces its eggs into the dipterous larva, which is in its turn enclosed in a caterpillar, is not at present known to entomologists; but it seems probable that the eggs of the hyper-parasite are either deposited in the eggs of the dipterous insect, or else on the very young larvæ, before they penetrate the skin of the caterpillar.[66] Genus 2.--OROPHORA, Fereday. "Ocelli present. Antennæ 2/3, in male moderately bi-pectinated throughout. Labial palpi rudimentary, hairy. Abdomen densely hairy. Fore-wings with veins 4 and 5 short-stalked, 7 and 8 out of 9. Hind-wings with veins 4 and 5 stalked, parting-vein well defined, 8 connected by bar with cell beyond middle, and additional vein (9) rising out of 8 before bar." We have one species. OROPHORA UNICOLOR, Butl. (_Psyche unicolor_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc., London, 1877, 381. _Orophora toumatou_, Fereday, Trans. N. Z. Inst. x. 262, pl. ix. _Orophora unicolor_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 212.) (Plate XIII., fig. 7 [M].) This odd-looking little insect has been found by Mr. Fereday, at Rakaia. The expansion of the wings is hardly 1 inch. _All the wings are rather broad, rounded, and very sparsely covered with dusky brown hair-like scales_; the body is very hairy, and the antennæ are slightly bi-pectinated. The female is apterous. The life-history is thus described by Mr. Fereday: "I have never seen the larva. Its case measures in length about 16 lines (1-3/8 inches); the exterior is covered with pieces of stems of grass from a line to 5 lines in length, laid longitudinally and in the manner of thatch; the interior is thinly lined with fine silk. The cases are found fixed to the twigs of the Wild Irishman (_Discaria toumatou_), but it may be inferred from the covering of the case, that it probably does not feed on the shrub but upon the tussock grass, generally growing where the shrub is found. It is some years since I found the cases on _Discaria toumatou_, growing in the river-beds of the Rakaia and Waimakariri, on the Canterbury Plains, and I did not find any case in its earlier stage before the larva had fed up and changed into the pupa state."[67] All Mr. Fereday's specimens were bred from the cases, and to the best of my belief no one has ever observed the insect on the wing. It is evidently a very scarce species, and is probably restricted to a few river-beds in the South Island. {127}VII.--THE TORTRICINA. Not dealt with in this volume. VIII.--THE TINEINA. Not dealt with in this volume. IX.--THE MICROPTERYGINA. The following are the principal characters of the _Micropterygina_:-- "Fore-wings with an oblique membranous dorsal process (jugum) near base, forming with the dorsal margin a notch or sinus, which receives the costa of the hind-wings. Hind-wings without frenulum, 1_c_ present, with 11 or more veins, neuration essentially, almost or quite identical with that of fore-wings. Fore-wings and hind-wings more than usually remote at origin. "In the two families, which constitute this highly interesting group, is fortunately preserved a type of _Lepidoptera_ whose existence could never have been inferred from a study of other forms. Without a knowledge of these two families the true origin of the order could never have been more than a matter of more or less probable conjecture. The _Micropterygidæ_ are the primeval ancestors of all the Lepidoptera, indicating their origin from the _Trichoptera_ so nearly that one or two more discoveries might make it hard to draw any line of demarcation. The _Hepialidæ_ are an offshoot from the _Micropterygidæ_ (with considerable extinction of intermediate forms), constituting a separate line of development quite unconnected with any other _Lepidoptera_; if, as is possible, this separate stem may have ever given rise to other branches forming distinct families, all trace of their existence seems to have been lost. "Imago with fore-wings and hind-wings more or less semi-oval, termen and dorsum forming a nearly uniform curve. "Larva with few hairs, with 10 to 16 prolegs, or apodal, living concealed. "Pupa in _Hepialidæ_ with segments 7 to 11 and in male 12, in _Micropterygidæ_ with all segments free."--(Meyrick.) In this work the _Hepialidæ_ alone are dealt with, the _Micropterygidæ_ being reserved {128}for a future work. It may, however, again be mentioned that the last-named family contains amongst its New Zealand representatives _Palæomicra chalcophanes_, a species which more closely approximates in structure to a Neuropterous insect than does any other member of the _Lepidoptera_. This insect is consequently regarded by Mr. Meyrick as the most ancient species of the order yet known. The survival of _Palæomicra_ in New Zealand is quite in accord with the existence of such forms as _Apteryx_ and _Dinornis_ amongst the birds, the tuatara lizard (_Sphenodon_) amongst reptiles, and _Peripatus_ amongst _Myriapoda_, archaic forms which have been preserved in this country through its long isolation from continental areas, and the resulting absence of more recent competing forms. Family 1.--HEPIALIDÆ. "Head rough. Ocelli absent. Tongue obsolete. Maxillary palpi obsolete. Tibiæ without spurs. Fore-wings with all main veins and costa connected by bars near base, 1_b_ furcate, forked parting vein strong." (Plate I., figs. 22, 23, 24, 28, 29.) "By no means an extensive family, yet of universal distribution. It stands more conspicuously isolated than any other group of _Lepidoptera_, for although it is without doubt a terminal development from the _Micropterygidæ_ (that is one from which no existing family has originated), the gap between them is considerable; exotic genera, whilst differing in various details, are remarkably uniform in the more important peculiarities of structure, and do not at all tend to bridge the gap. The relatively large size of the _Hepialidæ_ (of which some species exceed six inches in expanse of wing) may be attributed to the larval habits, which render these insects independent of the seasons or fluctuations of food-supply, thus removing the check which ordinarily limits growth. The modified type of neuration may have resulted directly from the increase of size, involving a great strengthening of the main veins beneath the costa to support the weight. As a consequence of this strengthening, the flight of the larger species is very powerful, and to this, combined with a choice of larval food, which is often rather indiscriminate, may perhaps be ascribed the wide range of the group, rather than to its antiquity. It is probably of Indo-Malayan origin, and must have existed in that region long enough to acquire fixity of type before its dispersal, which, geologically speaking, may not have been exceedingly remote."--(Meyrick.) There are two genera represented in New Zealand. 1. HEPIALUS. 2. PORINA. Genus 1.--HEPIALUS, F. "Antennæ 1/8 to ¼, in male lamellate or simple. Palpi short, drooping, hairy. Posterior tibiæ usually densely rough-haired, in male sometimes with long projecting tuft above. Fore-wings with vein 7 from angle, 8 remote, 9 and 10 stalked. Hind-wings as fore-wings, 8 seldom connate or stalked with 7." (Plate I., figs. 22 and 23, neuration of _Hepialus virescens_, 24 head of ditto.) "A genus of universal distribution, but not very numerous in species. Ovum spheroidal, smooth. Larva elongate, active. Pupa with segmental whorls of spines, enabling it to move actively before emergence."--(Meyrick.) Represented by one species only--the largest moth we have in New Zealand. {129}HEPIALUS VIRESCENS, Dbld. (_Hepialus virescens_, Dbld., Dieff. New Zeal., ii. 284; White, Taylor New Zeal., pl. i. 6. _Hepialus rubroviridans_, White, l.c., pl. i. 1. _Charagia virescens_, Walk., Bomb., 1569; Scott, Trans. Ent. Soc. N. S. Wales, ii. 28. _C. fischeri_, Feld., pl. lxxx. 1. _C. hectori_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 380. _Hepialus virescens_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst., xxii., 211.) (Plate XIII., fig. 16 [M], 17 [F]; Plate III., fig. 23 larva, 30 pupa.) This large and conspicuous insect appears to be generally distributed throughout the North Island. The expansion of the wings of the male is 4 inches, of the female sometimes fully 5½ inches. The fore-wings of the male are _bright green, with a series of paler ring-shaped markings between the veins; an irregular row of white spots crosses the wing near the middle_, and a small white spot is situated on the costa at the base. The hind-wings are very pale yellowish-brown near the body, becoming pure white in the middle, and pale green on the termen. The head and thorax are green, the abdomen is white, tinged with green at the apex. The female has all the wings of a relatively more attenuated shape; _the fore-wings are green, mottled with black_; the hind-wings are pale reddish-brown, shaded with green near the termen; the abdomen is also reddish-brown, becoming green at the extremity. The species is rather variable in both sexes. In the male the white spots on the fore-wings vary considerably in size, and there are occasionally several additional spots near the body. In the female the black markings of the fore-wings are sometimes much more extensive than the green ground colour. This dark form of the female was described by Butler as a distinct species, under the name of _Charagia hectori_. In both sexes the green colouring is occasionally entirely absent, a dull orange-brown taking its place. I formerly attributed this peculiarity to the effects of fading, but Mr. Norris has shown me a very perfect specimen of this variety, which he bred from the pupa, he having noticed the orange-brown colouring immediately after the insect emerged. The transformations of this insect are very interesting. The female lays an enormous number of very small, round, yellowish eggs, which she seems to deposit quite indiscriminately. The young larvæ consequently have to find their way along the ground to the stems of their food-plant, a large percentage no doubt perishing before they succeed in doing so, and this circumstance probably accounts for the great number of eggs produced. The food-plants of this species are numerous; the following are a few of them: "wineberry" or "currant" (_Aristotelia racemosa_), apparently the favourite; "manuka" (_Leptospermum ericoides_); "ki-ki" (_Astelia solandri_); "black maire" (_Olea apetela_); titoki (_Alectryon excelsum_); and _Melicope_. The larva tunnels the stems of these trees, feeding entirely on the wood, which it bites off with its strong mandibles. For the most part it inhabits the main stem of the tree, its gallery always having an outlet, which is covered with a curtain of silk and refuse, and is spun exactly level with the surrounding bark, and very inconspicuous. These burrows usually run towards the ground, and are mostly two or three inches from the surface of the trunk. In some instances the larvæ inhabit branches, in which case, if they are small, the tunnels are made near the centre. Later on in its life, but probably some time before its transformation into the pupa, the caterpillar of this insect constructs a far more complicated burrow than the above. It consists of a spacious, irregular, but shallow cavity, just under the bark, having a very large opening to the air, which is entirely covered {130}with a thin silken curtain, almost exactly the same shape and size as the numerous marks occurring at intervals on the trunks of many of the trees. Three large tunnels open into this shallow cavity: one in the centre, which runs into the middle of the stem, and one on each side, which run right and left just under the bark. These lateral tunnels are usually very short, but sometimes they extend half-way round the tree, and occasionally even join one another on the opposite side. The central tunnel has a slightly upward direction for a short distance inwards, which effectually prevents it from becoming flooded in wet weather; afterwards it pursues an almost horizontal course until it reaches the centre of the tree, when it appears to suddenly terminate. This, however, is not the case, for, if the gallery floor be carefully examined a short distance before its apparent termination, a round trap-door will be found, compactly constructed of very hard, smooth silk, and corresponding with the surrounding portion of the tunnel so exactly that it almost escapes detection. When this lid is lifted a long, perpendicular shaft is disclosed, which runs down the middle of the tree to a depth of 14 or 16 inches, and is about ½ inch in diameter. The upper end of this shaft is lined with silk, which forms a framework on which the trap-door rests when closed. The lid itself is of a larger size than the orifice which it covers, and this makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to force it open from the exterior, especially as it always fits down very closely as long as the insect remains in its burrow. The object of this contrivance is, no doubt, to prevent the ingress of enemies, large numbers of spiders, slugs, wood-lice, and various orthoptera being frequently found in both central and lateral tunnels, but they are quite unable to pass the trap-door. The galleries of individual larvæ are all wonderfully alike, the only differences observable being in the length of the perpendicular shaft, and in the direction of the horizontal burrow, which is sometimes curved. These variations are usually caused by the presence of other tunnels in the tree, which the larva appears to carefully avoid; at least I have never known an instance where a larva has allowed its tunnel to communicate with another one, whether inhabited or otherwise. The caterpillar, when full grown, measures from 2½ to 3 inches in length. It is tolerably uniform in thickness, and of a dull yellow colour. The head is large, dark brown, very irregularly striated, and covered with a few short bristles. The first segment is hard and shining with the back and sides ruddy-brown. Its spiracle, which is very large, is situated near the posterior margin, and a little above it there is a dull black spot, filling a slight concavity about the same size as the spiracle itself. Each remaining segment has on its dorsal surface two horny plates, and two similar plates are situated on each side immediately below the spiracle. The body of the larva is thinly covered with yellow and black bristles. In many specimens the ventral surface and connecting membrane between the horny plates is pale purple. Younger specimens differ in being of an olive-green colour, which is much more pronounced, when they are small. The last act performed by the caterpillar, prior to undergoing its transformation, is the construction of the above-described trap-door at the top of its burrow. This done the insect retreats to the bottom, its posterior segment resting on the termination of the vertical gallery. In the course of a few days the skin is cast off and worked downwards to the bottom of the burrow, underneath the last segment of the pupa. This pupa varies from 2 to 2½ inches in length. It is attenuated in form and pale reddish-yellow in colour. The head and dorsal portion of the thorax are dark brown and harder than the rest of the body. The edges of the abdominal segments are furnished dorsally with a row of small {131}hooklets above and below all the divisions; on the ventral surface there is only a single row, which is situated in front of each articulation. As development progresses in the pupa it becomes darker in colour, especially on the wing-cases, where, in some female specimens, the future black markings of the moth are quite discernible as long as two months before emergence. Other specimens remain pale in colour until within a fortnight or three weeks of the appearance of the imago, when the green colouring of the wings suddenly becomes visible through their semi-transparent envelopes. When about to emerge the pupa works its way up the vertical tunnel by means of the above-mentioned hooklets, forces open the trap-door, and wriggles along the horizontal burrow until it reaches the air, only the last three or four segments remaining in the tree. Its anterior portions then break open and the moth crawls out and expands its wings in the ordinary way, resting on the trunk of the tree, until they are of sufficient strength and hardness for flight. The perfect insect appears in October and November. Although it must be common, it is rarely seen; specimens are consequently best obtained in the pupa state and reared in captivity. The easiest way to find the pupa is to pass a straw into the horizontal burrow, and move it about until it touches the trap-door. The collector is at once apprised of this circumstance by a distinct hollow sound, produced by the straw when it comes in contact with the lid, which acts like a miniature drum. If no such sound is heard after moving the straw into every possible position, it may be assumed either that the insect has left the burrow, or that it is inhabited by a larva only. When, however, a pupa is actually discovered, a section of the tree-trunk should be cut out, extending from about two inches above the horizontal burrow to about one foot below it, and the log, thus obtained, taken home. Should a number of pupæ be found in one tree the whole trunk may then be taken, if practicable, and kept in a well-lighted room or a conservatory, until the enclosed insects emerge. The specimens usually come out of the pupa at about five or six o'clock in the evening, and if intended for the cabinet should be killed before dark, as they very soon injure themselves when flying. The best time of year to obtain the pupa of this insect is during August and September, as most of the specimens are then in that condition. Apart from the indications above described, burrows containing larvæ may often be known by the fresh pellets of excrement which are present near the opening. The vacated burrows frequently have the remains of the old pupa shell at the entrance, and generally look gnarled and weather-worn. These indications are useful as guides to the collector before exploring the burrow with a straw in the manner above described. This insect is much attracted by light, and in consequence sometimes enters shop-windows and houses. In fact nearly all the _captured_ specimens are so taken, the moth being very rarely found in its native forests. This circumstance is no doubt due to its very perfect protective colouring which, notwithstanding its large size, causes it to be almost invisible, when resting on the branch of a tree. On one occasion I discovered a specimen in this situation; being obliged to leave it for a short time, I experienced the utmost difficulty in finding it again, although I had taken a special note of its position. This species appears to be much persecuted by insectivorous birds, as we may frequently see its large green wings lying on the ground, where they are very conspicuous. {132}Genus 2.--PORINA. "Antennæ ¼-2/5, in male bi-pectinated, or more or less shortly bi-dentate. Palpi moderate, porrected, basal joint rough-haired, second joint rough-haired or almost smooth, terminal joint smooth, sometimes subclavate. Posterior tibiæ densely rough-haired. Fore-wings with vein 7 from angle of cell, 8 and 9 out of 10, rising from upper margin much before angle. Hind-wings as in fore-wings."--(Meyrick.) (Plate I., figs. 28 and 29 neuration of _Porina signata_.) Of this genus we have eight species in New Zealand. PORINA DINODES, Meyr. (_Porina dinodes_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 206.) (Plate XIII., fig. 8.) This handsome species was discovered at Invercargill by Professor Hutton. The expansion of the wings is 2¾ inches. The fore-wings are dark brown. There is an irregular white mark with a brown centre at the base, several white dots and crescentic marks near the middle, an oblique series of double crescentic marks followed by a considerably fainter series near the termen. The hind-wings are yellowish-brown; the cilia of all the wings are white, barred with dark brown. _The antennæ of the male are strongly bi-pectinated._ Described and figured from a specimen in Mr. Fereday's collection. PORINA MAIRI, Buller. (_Porina mairi_, Buller, Trans. N. Z. Inst. v. 279, pl. xvii., Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 207.) A single specimen of this fine species was discovered by Sir Walter Buller on the Ruahine Ranges, in the Wellington district, during the summer of 1867. The expansion of the wings is about 5 inches. "Wings large, broad, front-wings produced, ovate-triangular, pale dirty testaceous; six black spots terminating veins on outer margin, and bounded by a lunated marginal white band; a submarginal series of arrow-headed black spots, and beyond these a series of rounded spots, the first four encircled with white, the rest with pale brown; two broken, black discal lines filled in with brown; a broad irregular band to below centre of wing, beyond cell, and formed of three black lines with brown interspaces; a triangular white spot below cell and a white patch terminating it and traversed by two black crosses; two diverging black bars surrounded with white in centre of cell and a third surrounded with dirty testaceous near base; a large irregular patch of whitish-brown below end of cell, bounded on internal area by three unequally formed patches which together almost form the sides of a large triangle; two small spots near base; hind-wings greyish, becoming browner towards outer margin and crossed by eight interrupted black bars."--(Buller). The type specimen of this species was unfortunately lost in the wreck of the barque 'Assaye' in 1890. I have copied the above from Sir Walter Buller's original paper, and it may be well to point out that his description proceeds from the termen to the base, being the _reverse_ order to that followed by me in all the other descriptions in this work. The so-called "vegetable caterpillar" (infested with the _Sphæria_ fungus [_Cordiceps robertsii_]) is, I think, very probably the larva of this insect. It was formerly supposed to be the larva of _Hepialus virescens_; but I have pointed out elsewhere[68] that this is certainly erroneous, the larva of _H. virescens_ living in the stems of trees, and never going beneath the ground, even to pupate, whilst the "vegetable" larva is subterranean. The real point to be discovered is the precise species of _Lepidoptera_ this caterpillar would develop into, if not attacked by the fungus; but at present no definite information has been obtained on the subject. {133}PORINA ENYSII, Butl. (_Porina enysii_, Butl., Proc. Zool. Soc. Lond., 1877, 381, pi. xlii. 7. _Porina enysii_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 207.) (Plate XIII., fig. 9 [M], fig. 10 [F].) This species appears to be confined to the North Island, where it is rather rare. The expansion of the wings of the male is 2½ inches, of the female 3½ inches. The fore-wings are dark orange-brown, more or less marbled with yellow and dark brown; there is a very variable number of small dull white spots margined with black and arranged irregularly on the wing. _The hind-wings are pinkish-brown, tinged with ochreous on the termen._ This species varies a good deal in the extent of the darker markings, and number and position of the dull white spots. When alive it is usually very strongly tinged with pink. The perfect insect appears in December and January, and frequents forests. It is especially fond of resting on the stems of tree-ferns in the daytime, where, however, it is extremely inconspicuous, and can only be discovered by very careful searching. It is also very partial to light, and specimens might perhaps be secured more plentifully, if a good attracting lamp were exhibited in a suitable locality. PORINA CHARACTERIFERA, Walk. (_Hepialus characterifer_, Walk., Suppl. 594. _Oxycanus impletus_, ib. 598. _Porina characterifera_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 208.) (Plate XIII., fig. 11 [M].) This fine species has been taken in the North Island at Auckland, Kaitoke, and Wellington. The expansion of the wings is about 3 inches. The fore-wings are rather dull yellow, finely marbled with black; _there are two conspicuous irregular black marks a little above the middle of the dorsum. The hind-wings are very dark purplish-brown with the cilia yellow, barred with brown._ The head and thorax are dull yellow, speckled with black, and the abdomen is dark purplish-brown, barred with dull white, with a yellow tuft at the apex. The perfect insect appears in October, November, and December. At present I am only aware of four specimens in collections, viz., two in the British Museum, taken at Auckland; one in Mr. Meyrick's collection, taken by Mr. H. B. Kirk on the Rimutaka Ranges, at an elevation of about 1,500 feet; and one kindly given to me by Mr. W. R. Morris, who took it at Wadestown, near Wellington.[69] It is evidently a scarce species, but may be looked for in the forest districts of the North Island. PORINA CERVINATA, Walk. (_Elhamma cervinata_, Walk., Suppl. 595. _Porina vexata_, ib. 597. _Pielus variolaris_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 1. _Porina fuliginea_, Butl., Cist. Ent. ii. 488. _Porina cervinata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 208.) (Plate XIII., fig. 12 [M], fig. 18 variety of [F].) This insect is fairly common, and generally distributed throughout the country. It is very abundant in the Manawatu district. The expansion of the wings is about 1½ inches. The fore-wings vary from brownish-black to dull yellow; there are several small white spots near the base margined with black, and an obscure cloudy central streak, sometimes containing one or two minute irregular white marks; near the termen a broad, pale, wavy line runs from the costa to the dorsum, and contains several elongate dull white spots, margined with black; another series of smaller spots is often situated between this line and the termen; there is a terminal row of small black spots. The {134}hind-wings vary from pale greyish-brown to dull yellow. The cilia of all the wings are barred with dark brown. This species is extremely variable. In many cases a large number of the spots is wanting. Mr. Meyrick states that the northern specimens are more yellow-ochreous, and more distinctly spotted than the southern ones. He adds that "the ochreous forms are easily distinguished from other species by the numerous spots and the absence of a continuous pale discal streak; the fuscous forms are sometimes very similar in colouring to _P. despecta_, but they are distinctly shorter-winged, and the compound discal spots appear to be a good character." I have taken several specimens of what appears to be a variety of this species on the Tableland of Mount Arthur. It is much paler than the typical form, the markings much less distinct, and the central portions of the fore-wings very pale yellow (see fig. 18). The moth appears in October. It is very much attracted by light. PORINA DESPECTA, Walk. (_Hepialus despectus_, Walk., Suppl. 594. _Porina despecta_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 209.) (Plate XIII., fig. 13 [F].) This species has occurred in the South Island, at Christchurch, the Otira River and Lake Wakatipu. The expansion of the wings is from 1½ to 1¾ inches. The fore-wings are dull brown with several irregular dull white markings near the centre of the wing. The hind-wings are also dull brown. In general appearance it closely resembles the last-mentioned species (_P. cervinata_), _but may always be recognised by its longer and narrower wings, smaller body and antennæ, and absence of distinct markings near the termen_. The perfect insect appears in January, and is usually taken at light. PORINA UMBRACULATA, Gn. (_Pielus umbraculatus_, Gn., Ent. Mo. Mag. v. 1. _Porina umbraculata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 209.) (Plate XIII., fig. 14 [M].) This species is probably common, and generally distributed throughout the country. It has been taken at Palmerston, North Wellington, Nelson, Christchurch, Invercargill and Stewart Island. The expansion of the wings of the male is 1¾ inches, of the female 2¼ inches. The fore-wings are dull yellowish-brown; _in the centre there is a broad longitudinal blackish streak, containing a conspicuous straight white stripe, occasionally broken into two or three very elongate spots_; there are often several black dots along the termen. The hind-wings are dull ochreous, strongly tinged with pink towards the base. This species varies considerably in the depth of the ground colour, and in the number of the black dots. A blackish shaded line, parallel to the termen, is also frequently present. The species may, however, be at once recognised by the straight, white, central stripe of the fore-wings. The perfect insect appears from October till January, and is generally captured at light. PORINA SIGNATA, Walk. (_Elhamma signata_, Walk., Bomb. 1563. _Porina novæ-zealandiæ_, ib. 1573. _Porina signata_, Meyr., Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 210.) (Plate XIII., fig. 15 [M]; Plate III., fig. 6 larva.) Apparently an abundant species in the North Island, having been taken {135}commonly at Napier, Palmerston and Wellington. I suspect it occurs in the South Island also, but I have no records of its capture there. The expansion of the wings is from 2 to 2¼ inches. The fore-wings are dark brownish-ochreous, becoming dull white near the middle and on the termen; _there is a shaded central, longitudinal, blackish band containing several white spots, forming an irregular stripe in the middle of the wing_; there are also many irregular markings with dull white centres, chiefly situated near the veins, and often arranged in two or three rows parallel to the termen. All the markings are very variable, but the insect may be at once known by the irregular central white stripe. When alive the entire colouring is always strongly tinged with pink. I have often found a large subterranean caterpillar, that I believe to be the larva of this insect; but as I have never succeeded in rearing a specimen, I cannot assign it to this species with absolute certainty. The length of this larva when full grown is nearly 3 inches. Its colour is dirty white, becoming darker on the back. The head is dark brown, very rough and horny; the three first segments are also horny on the dorsal surface. The rest of the body is very much softer, and is furnished with several horny tubercles, each of which emits a long bristle. This larva is very lively when disturbed. It usually disgorges a large quantity of black juice from the mouth, biting meantime, in order no doubt to frighten its enemies. It feeds on the roots of various grasses. The perfect insect appears in January, February and March, and is often extremely abundant at light. {137}APPENDIX. BY FLORENCE W. HUDSON. A BRIEF DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF THE PLANTS MENTIONED IN THIS WORK. The following list of trees, shrubs, &c, has been prepared to assist entomologists in recognising the various food-plants mentioned in connection with the insects described in the foregoing pages. In order to meet the requirements of beginners, all botanical terms have been omitted. Those desiring precise scientific information on these plants, will of course consult works specially dealing with botany. ACIPHYLLA SQUARROSA (Spear-grass). A plant often found on the sea-coast, or open hilly country, with long, very sharp spines instead of leaves. The flowers are very small, and are placed round a tall central shoot, which is also covered with spines. ASCLEPIAS (Milkweed). ASTELIA SOLANDRI. A plant found growing on the stems of large forest trees. It has very long, narrow, dark green leaves springing from the base of the plant, and lemon-coloured flowers arranged on a long stem. The berries are bright crimson. ALECTRYON EXCELSUM (Titoki). A moderate-sized tree with leaves rather long, toothed, and light green. The fruit has a very remarkable appearance; it consists of a shining black seed, partially surrounded by a bright red fleshy covering. APOCYNUM (the common Periwinkle). ARISTOTELIA RACEMOSA (Wine-berry, New Zealand Currant, Makomako). A well-known tree, often found in clearings in the forest, where it usually takes the place of the original trees; in fact this plant seems to seize on every vacant space. Its leaves are pale green, the flowers are much like those of the garden "flowering currant," and the berries are small and dark red. BEILSCHMIEDIA TAWA (Tawa tree). A handsome tree, with very long, narrow, light green leaves, and smooth bark. BRACHYGLOTTIS REPANDA (Wharangi). One of the early flowering shrubs, with large bunches of small, strong-scented, white flowers. The leaves are large and pale green, the under side being white. CARMICHÆLIA, or New Zealand Broom. A genus of shrubs closely resembling the common broom, but with very small flowers, more or less streaked with blue or lilac. {138}CARPODETUS SERRATUS. A pretty shrub or small tree with rather small, serrated, bright green leaves and numerous clusters of small whitish fragrant flowers, followed by nearly globular hard green fruits. CAREX SUBDOLA (Sedge). COPROSMA. A genus of shrubs with small, generally rather dull green leaves, insignificant flowers, and bright, variously coloured berries. One common species, _Coprosma foetidissima_, has a most objectionable odour when cut or bruised. CORDYLINE AUSTRALIS (Ti-tri, or Cabbage tree, as it is usually called). This is one of the most remarkable-looking trees in New Zealand. It much resembles a palm in general appearance. The leaves are long and narrow, with parallel veins; the flowers are whitish, very numerous, growing in drooping clusters at the top of the tree. CYATHEA DEALBATA (Silver tree fern). A large tree fern, growing from ten to forty feet high, with a slender black stem, and dark green fronds silvery underneath. DISCARIA TOUMATOU (Wild Irishman, Tumatakuru). A straggling shrub, or small tree, often common in dry, open places. It is furnished with numerous long sharp spines, with several very insignificant flowers and leaves at the base of each spine. DONATIA NOVÆZEALANDIÆ. A small Alpine plant, with very short stems, around each of which are placed numerous leaves. It has a superficial resemblance to a moss. FAGUS CLIFFORTIOIDES (Mountain Beech, but more often known as Birch or Black Birch). A very handsome forest tree, usually growing in somewhat elevated localities. It has small light green leaves, and black stems with very rough bark. FUCHSIA EXCORTICATA (our native Fuchsia). A very common tree or shrub growing in the forest. The bark is pale reddish-brown; the leaves rather elongate, dark green, with pale under-side. The flowers closely resemble those of the cultivated fuchsia, but are less brightly coloured. This plant partially sheds its leaves in winter. GALINIA SETIFOLIA. A large, grass-like plant growing in clumps, with very long, dark green leaves, which cut the fingers unless the plant is carefully handled. A number of small, brown flowers is situated near the top of a tall stem, in the centre of each clump. HALORAGIS ALATA. A herbaceous plant abundant on dry hills; the leaves are deeply indented, slightly rough, and arranged on opposite sides of the stem. The flowers are small and green; the fruit is a nut with small wings attached. LEPTOSPERMUM SCOPARIUM (Manuka, Tea tree). A small tree, growing usually in poor soil. The leaves are very small and dull green, and the numerous star-like flowers are white, tinged with pink. MELICOPE SIMPLEX. A somewhat straggling shrub with very small, roundish, light green leaves. MELICYTUS RAMIFLORUS (Mahoe or Hinahina). A shrub or tree. The leaves are moderately toothed, bright green, and very pretty. The flowers are in clusters, hanging from the bases of the leaves; the fruit is violet-coloured with black seeds. METROSIDEROS SCANDENS (White Rata). A common climbing shrub with small, roundish, glossy, dark green leaves and very numerous feathery white flowers. The seed has a powdery appearance, and is enclosed in a large capsule. {139}MUHLENBECKIA ADPRESSA. A common climbing plant, generally found near the edge of the forest. It has a very tangled growth. Leaves heart-shaped or broadly oblong; in young plants, three-lobed; spike, many-flowered. MYOSOTIS ARVENSIS (Forget-me-not). MYRTUS BULLATA (Ramarama). A remarkably pretty shrub with reddish-brown or green leaves, much crinkled. The flowers are white, tinged with pink, and very much resemble those of the English myrtle. Berries about the size of currants, red or purple. OENOTHERA BIENNIS (the Evening Primrose). This herb grows to the height of two or three feet. It has large, bright yellow flowers, opening towards evening. Found in sandy soil on the sea-coast. OLEA APETALA (Maire, New Zealand Olive). A shrub or small tree with broad leaves, and insignificant flowers growing on opposite sides of the flower-stalk. OLEARIA TRAVERSII (Ake-ake). A small tree or shrub with oval, very wavy, thick, pale green leaves, white underneath. The flowers are very small, yellowish-white and strongly scented. They do not appear till late in autumn. PANAX ARBOREA. A small tree with bright, glossy green, compound leaves. Each leaf consists of five separate leaflets on distinct footstalks, connected with branch by a long, stout stem. The large bunches of black berries are very conspicuous in the autumn. PENNANTIA CORYMBOSA. A small tree with oval, serrated, bright green leaves, and handsome clusters of sweet-scented white flowers. PIPER EXCELSUM (Kawa-kawa). A small tree generally growing in damp places. The leaves are broad, heart-shaped, bright green, and nearly always riddled with holes. PITTOSPORUM EUGENIOIDES (Tarata). A shrub or small tree, with rather elongate, pale green wavy leaves, and bundles of fragrant, small, yellow flowers. PITTOSPORUM TENUIFOLIUM, var. NIGRESCENS (Matipo). A very ornamental shrub with small, shining, bright green leaves, and black stems. The flowers are dark purple, and rather buried among the foliage. PLAGIANTHUS BETULINUS (South Island Ribbon Wood). A tree of moderate size. The leaves are rather light green, and doubly serrated. The flowers are small, white, with red anthers, and very numerous. POA AUSTRALIS (Tussock). One of the common native grasses of New Zealand. It grows in large clumps, often about two feet in height. It is especially common in open situations in the South Island. POMADERRIS ERICIFOLIA (Tauhinu, or Cotton Wood). A shrub usually growing in rather exposed places. The leaves are very small, pointed, dull green above and white underneath. They are placed very closely on the stems, which are also white. The flowers are dull yellowish-white, and grow in clusters. PTERIS INCISA. A soft, light green, straggling fern, growing in open places in the forest, and round decayed logs. SCABIOUS ("Pincushion"). An introduced garden plant. The flowers are of many different colours--the name "pincushion," gives the best description of appearance. It is very attractive to insects. {140}SENECIO BELLIDIOIDES. A common mountain herb, with rather dark green leaves, and a small tuft of bright yellow daisy-like flowers. SENECIO SCANDENS (called by settlers French Ivy). A common climbing plant having a superficial resemblance to ivy, but with much brighter green leaves, and yellow flowers. SENECIO VULGARIS (Groundsel). A common garden weed. SOLANUM AVICULARE (Poro-poro, or Potato Plant). A shrub, with very dark green, pointed leaves, purple underneath, and bright purple flowers resembling those of the potato. TODEA HYMENOPHYLLOIDES. One of the "crape" ferns, growing in very shady places in the forest. It has soft, graceful, light green fronds. URTICA FEROX ("Nettle Tree"). It has prickly, light green leaves, with very long thick spines; a row of these spines is situated along the midrib of each leaf. It grows in open situations. URTICA INCISA (Ground Nettle). A herbaceous plant found in shady places amongst ferns. The leaves are covered with spines, which give a very sharp sting when touched. VERONICA (Koromiko). A genus of shrubs, found commonly on the margins of forests, and on hill-tops. The leaves are rather long, smooth, and dark green, and the flowers are mostly purplish-white. INDEX TO GENERAL SUBJECTS. PAGE Abdomen, xiii Adaptive characters, xvi Air-tubes, ix Alpine Lepidoptera, colours of, xv Anastomosis, xii Antennæ of imago, x " of larva, ix Apex of wing, xii Arctic Lepidoptera, colours of, xv Base of wing, xi Biliary vessels of imago, xiii " " of larva, x Bi-pectinated, x Butterflies, 101 Cæcum, xiii Caterpillars, ix Classification, xvi Clavate intestine, x Coincidence of veins, xii Colon of imago, xiii " of larva, x Concurrence of veins, xii Connection of veins, xii Contrast colours, xv Costa, xi Coxa of imago, xiii " of larva, ix Crown, x Digestive system of imago, xiii " " of larva, x Divergence of character, xiv Dorsum, xi Ecdysis, x Egg, ix Eyes, compound, x " simple, x Face, x Fasciculate-ciliated, xi Femur of imago, xiii " of larva, ix Filiform, xi Frenulum, xii Geographical distribution, xix Haustellum, xi Head, x Ilium of imago, xiii " of larva, x Imago, x Inheritance, xiv Jugum, xii Labium of imago, xi " of larva, ix Labrum of imago, xi " of larva, ix Larva, ix Legs of imago, xiii " of larva, ix Lepidoptera, descent of, xvii " arrangement of, xviii Mandibles of imago, xi " of larva, ix Maxillæ of imago, xi " of larva, ix Mimicry, xv Natural selection, xiv Neuration, xii Obsolescence of veins, xii Ocelli, x Oesophagus of imago, xiii " of larva, x Ornamental colouring, xv Palpi, labial, of imago, xi " " of larva, ix " maxillary, of imago, xi " " of larva, ix Pectinated, x Præcostal spur, xii Proboscis, xi Prolegs, ix Protective resemblance, xiv Pseudoneuria, xii Pubescent, xi Pupa, x Retinaculum, xii Salivary vessels, xiii Serrate, xi Sexual selection, xvi Species, origin of, xiii Spinneret, x Spinning vessels, x Spiracles, ix Stalking of veins, xii Struggle for existence, xiv Sucking stomach, xiii "Survival of the Fittest", xiv Termen, xi Tibia of imago, xiii " of larva, ix Tongue, xi Tornus, xii Unipectinated, x Variation, xiii "Vegetable caterpillar", 132 Veins of wings, xii Ventriculus of imago, xiii " of larva, x Warning colours, xv Wings, xi SPECIAL INDEX. Names of Groups are printed in capitals (CARADRININA, &c.). " Families, in small capitals (ARCTIADÆ, &c.). " Sub-families, in sanserif italic (_Poliades_, &c.). " Genera, in roman beginning with a capital (Agrotis, &c.). " Species, in roman (annulata, &c.). " Synonyms, in ordinary italic (_doubledayi_, &c.). PAGE abrogata, 55 _absconditaria_, 60 _acceptrix_, 18 _acetina_, 7 _acidaliaria_, 77 acontistis, 11 _acroiaria_, 80 acutata, 76 admirationis, 31 adonis, 63 ægrota, 64 Agrotis, 30 agrionata, 40 agorastis, 18 alcyone, 24 alectoraria, 80 alopa, 12 anceps, 69 _anguligera_, 47 _angusta_, 18 annulata, 2 Anosia, 102 antarctica, 42 anthracias, 67 _antipoda_, 10 _antipodaria_, 87 antipodum, 110 _aquosata_, 41 _arachnias_, 23 _archippus_, 102 ARCTIADÆ, 1 _ardularia_, 57 _arenacea_, 87 _argentifera_, 35 Argyrophenga, 110 arida, 50 aristarcha, 85 aristias, 42 armigera, 32 arotis, 12 Asaphodes, 54 asterope, 24 Asthena, 52 _astrapia_, 82 _assata_, 55 atalanta, 120 atristriga, 10 atronivea, 95 _attracta_, 86 _auge_, 104 _aulacias_, 12 Azelina, 92 beata, 63 _bicomma_, 7 bilineolata, 41 _bisignata_, 47 Bityla, 29 blenheimensis, 13 boldenarum, 118 bolina, 104 _boreophilaria_, 88 brephos, 75 _brephosata_, 75 bryopis, 62 bulbulata, 68 butleri, 115 cærulea, 8 _calida_, 41 callicrena, 73 callichlora, 50 camelias, 65 CARADRINIDÆ, 5 _Caradrinides_, 29 CARADRININA, 1 _caprimulgata_, 86 cardui, 108 cataphracta, 61 _catapyrrha_, 68 catilla, 121 _catocalaria_, 75 Catopsilia, 121 _ceramodes_, 8 cerapachoides, 32 ceraunias, 14 cervinata, 133 Chalastra, 88 chalcites, 35 chalcophanes, 128 _chaotica_, 50 characterifera, 133 _charybdis_, 41 chionogramma, 65 chorica, 66 chlamydota, 59 chlorias, 63 Chloroclystis, 41 chrysopeda, 68 Chrysophanus, 116 _cidariaria_, 41 _cinerascens_, 88 cinerearia, 67 clarata, 61 coeleno, 26 comma, 7 composita, 22 _conferta_, 32 _congregata_, 47 _congressata_, 47 _conversata_, 47 convolvuli, 99 _cookaria_, 91 _corcularia_, 67 Cosmodes, 33 cosmodora, 62 cucullina, 27 _cymosema_, 56 Dasypodia, 35 Dasyuris, 69 _debilis_, 18 _deceptura_, 9 Declana, 94 defigurata, 29 dejectaria, 86 _delicatulata_, 59 deltoidata, 47 denotatus, 45 _dentigera_, 22 _descriptata_, 47 despecta, 134 _desiccata_, 87 Diadema, _see_, Anosia, 102 diatmeta, 21 Dichromodes, 78 _diffusaria_, 67 dinodes, 132 dione, 14 disjungens, 15 _dissociata_, 67 _distans_, 99 Dodonidia, 112 _donovani_, 46 dotata, 24 _doubledayi_, 2 Drepanodes, 91 dryas, 43 egregia, 96 elegans, 33 Elvia, 46 _encausta_, 89 enysii (Chrysophanus), 117 enysii (Dasyuris), 69 " (Porina), 133 _ephyraria_, 91 Epirranthis, 79 Erana, 28 Erebia, 113 _erebinata_, 86 erichrysa, 4 _eriosoma_, 35 erippus, 102 Euchoeca, 51 euclidiata, 68 _eupitheciaria_, 67 Euploæ, 120 _exprompta_, 86 exsularis, 34 _extranea_, 13 falcata, 66 falcatella, 76 _felix_, 90 fenerata, 82 _feredayi_ (Declana), 96 _feredayi_ (Chrysophanus), 116 ferox, 74 _figlinaria_, 77 _fischeri_, 129 flexata, 90 floccosa, 96 fortinata, 93 _fragosata_, 84 _fuliginea_, 133 _fuscinata_, 48 _fusiplagiata_, 89 gallaria, 92 GEOMETRINA, _see_ NOTODONTINA, 38 glaucata, 46 _glyphicata_, 68 gobiata, 47 gonerilla, 105 Gonophylla, 90 graminosa, 28 griseata, 98 griseipennis, 9 gypsotis, 78 _haastaria_, 91 Hamadryas, 120 hectori (Dasyuris), 70 _hectori_ (Hepialus), 129 helias, 64 Heliothis, 32 helmsi, 112 hemipteraria, 80 hemizona, 48 HEPIALIDÆ, 128 Hepialus, 128 hermione, 98 _homomorpha_, 69 homoscia, 21 humeraria, 89 _humerata_, 41 humillima, 83 huttonii, 5 Hybernia, 87 Hydriomena, 46 HYDRIOMENIDÆ, 38 _Hypenides_, 34 Hypenodes, 34 Ichneutica, 14 immunis, 7 _impletus_, 133 _implexa_, 7 _inamænaria_, 57 _inceptura_, 9 _inclarata_, 47 _inclinataria_, 40 _inconspicua_, 31 _inconstans_, 9 indicataria, 44 _indistincta_, 85 indocilis, 88 inductata, 44 _infantaria_, 67 infensa, 23 _innocua_, 7 innominata, 31 _inoperata_, 67 _inopiata_, 47 insignis (Melanchra), 16 insignis (Notoreas), 71 _invexata_, 67 Ipana, 94 _iphigenia_, 104 itea, 107 isoleuca, 72 _juncicolor_, 12 junctilinea, 98 Junonia, 109 _kershawii_, 108 LASIOCAMPINA, 101 leptomera, 94 Leptomeris, 77 lestevata, 39 Leucania, 8 lichenodes, 44 lignana, 26 _lignifusca_, 18 _lignisecta_, 26 _lignosata_, 86 _lilacina_, 36 limonodes, 57 lithias, 17 lophogramma, 59 lucidata, 64 _lupinata_, 83 Lycæna, 119 LYCÆNIDÆ, 115 Lythria, 68 maculata, 44 mairi, 132 Mamestra, _see_ Melanchra, 15 _manxifera_, 95 _maori_, 22 _maoriata_, 86 margarita, 6 _maui_, 116 maya, 17 mechanitis, 72 megaspilata, 55 Melanchra, 15 _Melanchrides_, 8 melinata, 85 _menanaria_, 87 merope, 19 _merula_, 114 Metacrias, 4 micrastra, 12 MICROPTERYGIDÆ, 127 MICROPTERYGINA, 127 _mitis_, 27 Miselia, 6 _mistata_, 40 _mixtaria_, 80 mnesichola, 60 moderata, 9 MONOCTENIADÆ, 77 _monoliata_, 47 _morosa_, 26 muriferata, 91 _muscosata_, 41 mutans, 18 _nehata_, 55 nelsonaria, 90 nephelias, 61 nereis, 43 _nerina_, 104 _nervata_, 15 _niger_, 78 nigra, 78 _nigrosparsa_, 96 niphocrena, 74 niveata, 98 NOCTUINA, _see_ CARADRININA, 1 NOTODONTINA, 38 Notoreas, 71 _novæ-zealandiæ_, 134 nullifera, 9 Nyctemera, 2 NYMPHALIDÆ, 102 obarata, 66 _obtruncata_, 89 _obtusaria_, 89 _ochthistis_, 20 octans, 25 octias, 37 Oeceticus, 123 Oiketicus, 123 omichlias, 76 omicron, 22 _omnivora_, 123 omnivorus, 123 omoplaca, 23 _ondinata_, 52 ophiopa, 93 Orophora, 126 orophyla, 58 orphnæa, 71 Orthosia, 6 ORTHOSTIXIDÆ, 79 _otaheitæ_, 105 _othello_, 114 oxleyi, 119 Palæomicra, 128 _palthidata_, 92 panagrata, 87 _pannularia_, 86 PAPILIONINA, 101 paracausta, 15 paradelpha, 72 Paradetis, 40 parora, 56 partheniata, 70 _parvulata_, 45 _pastinaria_, 47 _patularia_, 86 pelistis, 19 pelurgata, 88 _perductata_, 47 perornata, 72 _perversata_, 47 pessota, 6 petrina, 78 _petropola_, 66 phaula, 11 phoebe, 119 phricias, 27 Phrissogonus, 45 Physetica, 8 pictula, 19 _plagifurcata_, 47 plena, 17 _plexippus_, 102 plinthina, 41 _plurilineata_, 52 _plurimata_, 64 Plusia, 34 PLUSIADÆ, 33 _Plusiades_, 34 _plusiata_, 7 pluto, 114 _Poliades_, 6 _polychroa_, 16 Porina, 132 porphyrias, 41 præfectata, 60 prasinias, 65 _primata_, 80 prionistis, 27 prionota, 47 productata, 84 propria, 11 _proserpina_, 104 proteastis, 20 _psamathodes_, 64 PSYCHIDÆ, 122 PSYCHINA, 122 pulchella, 3 pulchraria, 52 _punctilineata_, 67 _pungata_, 84 purpurea, 8 purpurifera, 49 purdii, 10 PYRALIDINA, 122 _pyramaria_, 61 _ranata_, 39 _rauparaha_, 116 rectilineata, 45 Rhapsa, 36 rhodopleura, 19 RHOPALOCERA, _see_ PAPILIONINA, 101 _rivularis_, 47 rixata, 49 rosearia, 57 rubescens, 25 rubraria, 77 rubropunctaria, 51 _rubroviridans_, 129 rufescens, 56 rudiata, 82 _rudisata_, 82 salustius, 116 Samana, 76 SATYRIDÆ, 110 _scabra_, 96 schistaria, 52 _scriptaria_, 86 scissaria, 79 scotosialis, 36 selenophora, 35 Selidosema, 82 SELIDOSEMIDÆ, 81 _semialbata_, 41 semifissata, 59 _semilisata_, 67 _semisignata_, 67 semivittata, 13 sericea (Agrotis), 31 sericea (Bityla), 29 _servularia_, 55 Sestra, 89 signata, 134 similata, 50 simplex, 74 _simulans_, 47 siria, 51 siris, 55 _sistens_, 9 _squalida_, 49 _specifica_, 9 _sphæriata_, 67 _sphagnea_, 17 Sphinx, 99 SPHINGIDÆ, 99 sphragitis, 43 steropastis, 23 STERRHIDÆ, 77 _stigmaticata_, 86 stinaria, 60 stipata, 25 _strangulata_, 48 strategica (Metacrias), 4 " (Notoreas), 73 _streptophora_, 88 suavis, 83 subductata, 57 _subitata_, 44 _subobscurata_, 66 subochraria, 48 _subpurpureata_, 52 _subtentaria_, 60 _suffusa_, 30 sulcana, 13 _sulpitiata_, 86 tartarea, 21 Tatosoma, 39 temperata, 9 Theoxena, 79 _thoracica_, 29 _timarata_, 50 timora, 40 TINEINA, 127 _tipulata_, 40 TORTRICINA, 127 _toumatou_, 126 _transitaria_, 40 triphragma, 49 _tuhuata_, 52 _turbida_, 16 umbraculata, 134 undosata, 54 _undulifera_, 47 unica, 12 unicolor, 126 unipuncta, 13 urtica, 120 _usitata_, 83 ustistriga, 26 Utetheisa, 3 Vanessa, 105 _varians_, 80 _variolaris_, 133 velleda, 109 _venipunctata_, 64 Venusia, 53 verriculata, 53 _vexata_, 133 _vigens_, 28 _virescens_ (_Chera_), 9 virescens (Hepialus), 129 _viridis_, 17 _visata_, 51 vitiosa, 20 vulcanica, 75 xanthaspis, 54 Xanthia, 7 Xanthorhoe, 56 ypsilon, 30 _ypsilonaria_, 59 _ziczac_, 93 zoilus, 120 zopyra, 74 PLATES AND EXPLANATIONS. PLATE I. ANATOMICAL. 1. Outline of a Lepidopterous insect showing the terms employed in describing the various margins and angles of the fore- and hind-wings. 2. View of the under side of the head and first segment of the larva of a Lepidopterous insect. AA, eyes; BB, antennæ; 1, labrum; 22, mandibles; 33, maxillæ; 4, labium; 5, spinneret; _a_, coxa; _b_, trochanter; _c_, femur; _d_, tibia; _e_, tarsus; _f_, claw (highly magnified). 3. Assumed type of neuration of fore-wing of a Lepidopterous insect. (After Meyrick.) 4. Ditto of hind-wing. (After Meyrick.) 5. Side view of the head of _Vanessa gonerilla_ with proboscis extended. (Imago, Plate XII., fig. 5.) 6. Ditto with proboscis coiled up. (In both these figures only the basal portions of the antennæ are shown.) 7. Neuration of fore-wing of _Anosia erippus_. (Imago, Plate XI., fig. 1.) 8. Ditto of hind-wing. 9. Digestive system of a Lepidopterous larva. A, oesophagus; D, ventriculus; F, clavate intestine; E, ilium; H, colon; K, biliary vessels; O, spinning vessels. (After Suckow.) 10. Ditto of perfect insect. N, salivary vessels; C, sucking stomach; G, cæcum. The rest as before. (After Herold.) 11. Front view of the head of _Vanessa gonerilla_ with the labial palpi removed showing the organs of the mouth. AA, eyes; BB, antennæ (basal portion); _l_, labrum; _mm_, mandibles; _pp_, maxillary palpi; C, proboscis formed of elongated maxillæ (highly magnified). 12. Neuration of fore-wing of _Sphingidæ_. (_Deilephila_; after Meyrick.) 13. Ditto hind-wing. (After Meyrick.) 14. Proleg of caterpillar highly magnified. 15. Neuration of fore-wing of _Chrysophanus salustius_. (Imago, Plate XII., figs. 18-21.) 16. Ditto of hind-wing. 17. Fasciculate-ciliated antenna of _Chloroclystis plinthina_. (Imago, Plate VI., fig. 8.) 18. Serrate antenna of _Melanchra composita_. (Imago, Plate V., fig. 8.) 19. Pubescent antenna of _Epirranthis alectoraria_. (Imago, Plate VIII., figs. 42-47.) 20. Bi-pectinated antenna of _Nyctemera annulata_. (Imago, Plate IV., figs. 1, 2.) 21. Leg of _Agrotis ypsilon_. (Imago, Plate V., figs. 35, 36.) 1, coxa; 2, trochanter; 3, femur; 4, tibia; 5, tarsus; 6, claw; SS, spurs. (All these are highly magnified.) 22. Neuration of fore-wing of _Hepialus virescens_. (Imago, Plate XIII., figs. 16, 17.) 23. Ditto of hind-wing. 24. Head of ditto. 25. Neuration of fore-wing of _Erebia pluto_. (Imago, Plate XI., figs. 8-10.) Vein 11 absent. 26. Ditto, veins 11 and 12 concurrent. 27. Ditto of hind-wing. 28. Neuration of fore-wing of _Porina signata_. (Imago, Plate XIII., fig. 15.) 29. Ditto of hind-wing. 30. Neuration of fore-wing of _Oeceticus omnivorus_. (Imago, Plate XIII., fig. 6.) 31. Ditto of hind-wing. [Illustration: Plate I.] PLATE II. ANATOMICAL. 1. Neuration of fore-wing of _Metacrias erichrysa_. (Imago, Plate IV., fig. 5.) 2. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 3. Head of _Nyctemera annulata_. (Imago, Plate IV., figs. 1, 2.) 4. Neuration of fore-wing of ditto. 5. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 6. Neuration of fore-wing of _Mamestra mutans_. (Imago, Plate IV., figs. 34-36.) 7. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 8. Head of male of _Physetica cærulea_. (Imago, Plate IV., fig. 7.) 9. Neuration of fore-wing of _Erana graminosa_. (Imago, Plate V., figs. 24-25.) 10. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 11. Head of _Leucania nullifera_. (Imago, Plate IV., fig. 9.) 12. Head of _Dasypodia selenophora_. (Imago, Plate VI., fig. 4.) 13. Head of _Venusia verriculata_. (Imago, Plate VI., figs. 30-31.) 14. Neuration of fore-wing of _Plusia chalcites_. (Imago, Plate VI., fig. 3.) 15. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 16. Neuration of fore-wing of _Rhapsa scotosialis_. (Imago, Plate VI., figs. 5-6.) 17. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 18. Head of ditto. 19. Neuration of fore-wing of _Chloroclystis bilineolata_. (Imago, Plate VI., figs. 9-10.) 20. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 21. Neuration of fore-wing of _Tatosoma agrionata_. (Imago, Plate VI., figs. 26-27.) 22. Neuration of hind-wing of male. 23. Neuration of hind-wing of female. 24. Head of ditto. 25. Neuration of fore-wing of _Venusia undosata_. (Imago, Plate VI., figs. 33-34.) 26. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 27. Neuration of fore-wing of _Paradetis porphyrias_. (Imago, Plate VI., fig. 36.) 28. Neuration of hind-wing of male. 30. Neuration of fore-wing of _Asthena pulchraria_. (Imago, Plate VI., figs. 37-38.) 31. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 32. Head of _Hydriomena deltoidata_. (Imago, Plato VII., figs. 1-9.) 33. Neuration of fore-wing of ditto. 34. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 35. Neuration of fore-wing of _Asaphodes megaspilata_. (Imago, Plate VII., figs. 17-20.) 36. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 37. Neuration of fore-wing of _Xanthorhoe clarata_. (Imago, Plate VII., figs. 31-32.) 38. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 39. Neuration of fore-wing of _Lythria chrysopeda_. (Imago, Plate VIII., figs. 33-34.) 40. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 42. Neuration of fore-wing of _Dasyuris partheniata_ (hind-wings as in _Xanthorhoe_). (Imago, Plate VIII., figs. 30-31.) 43. Neuration of fore-wing of _Notoreas brephos_ (hind-wings also as in _Xanthorhoe_). (Imago, Plate VIII., figs. 20-23.) 44. Neuration of fore-wing of _Dichromodes petrina_. (Imago, Plate VIII., fig. 39.) 45. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 46. Neuration of fore-wing of _Epirranthis alectoraria_. (Imago, Plate VIII., figs. 42-47.) 47. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 48. Head of ditto. 49. Neuration of fore-wing of _Leptomeris rubraria_. (Imago, Plate VIII., fig. 37.) 50. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 51. Neuration of fore-wing of _Chalastra pelurgata_. (Imago, Plate IX., figs. 33-36.) 52. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 53. Neuration of fore-wing of _Sestra humeraria_ (hind-wing as in _Selidosema_). (Imago, Plate X., figs. 1-2). 54. Neuration of fore-wing of _Azelina gallaria_. (Imago, Plate X., figs. 13-23.) 55. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 56. Neuration of fore-wing of _Declana floccosa_. (Imago, Plate X., figs. 39-47.) 57. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 58. Head of ditto. 59. Neuration of fore-wing of _Selidosema dejectaria_. (Imago, Plate IX., figs. 19-24.) 60. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 61. Neuration of fore-wing of _Drepanodes muriferata_. (Imago, Plate X., figs. 7-12.) 62. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. 63. Neuration of fore-wing of _Gonophylla nelsonaria_. (Imago, Plate X., figs. 3-6.) 64. Neuration of hind-wing of ditto. [Illustration: Plate II.] PLATE III. PREPARATORY STAGES. FIG. PAGE 1, 2. Larvæ of _Vanessa gonerilla_. (Pupæ, figs. 31, 32; Imago, Plate XII., fig. 5.) 105 3. Larva of _Anosia erippus_. (Pupa, fig. 27; Imago, Plate XI., fig. 1.) 102 4. Larva of _Argyrophenga antipodum_. (Pupa, fig. 29; Imago, Plate XI., fig. 4.) 110 5. Larva of _Dodonidia helmsi_. (Pupa, fig. 28; Imago, Plate XI., fig. 14.) 112 6. Larva of _Porina signata_. (Imago, Plate XIII., fig. 15.) 134 7. Larva of _Melanchra composita_. (Imago, Plate V., fig. 8.) 22 8. Larva of _Erana graminosa_. (Imago, Plate V., fig. 24.) 28 9. Larva of _Nyctemera annulata_. (Imago, Plate IV., fig. 1.) 2 10. Larva of _Melanchra homoscia_. (Imago, Plate V., fig. 7.) 21 11. Larva of _Orthosia comma_. (Imago, Plate V., fig. 27.) 7 12. Larva of _Selidosema dejectaria_. (Imago, Plate IX., fig. 21.) 86 13, 14. Larvæ of _Sphinx convolvuli_. (Imago, Plate XIII., fig. 1.) 99 15. Larva of _Melanchra mutans_. (Imago, Plate IV., fig. 34.) 18 16. Larva of _Melanchra vitiosa_. (Imago, Plate IV., fig. 42.) 20 17. Larva of _Selidosema aristarcha_. (Imago, Plate IX., fig. 17.) 85 18. Larva of _Declana atronivea_. (Imago, Plate X., fig. 33.) 95 19. Larva of _Epirranthis hemipteraria_. (Imago, Plate VIII., fig. 48.) 80 20. Larva of _Sestra humeraria_. (Imago, Plate X., fig. 1.) 89 21. Larva of _Chalastra pelurgata_. (Imago, Plate IX., fig. 34.) 88 22. Larva of _Selidosema productata_. (Imago, Plate IX., fig. 6.) 84 23. Larva of _Hepialis virescens_. (Pupa, fig. 30; Imago, Plate XIII., fig. 16.) 129 24. Larva of _Epirranthis alectoraria_. (Imago, Plate VIII., fig. 42.) 80 25. Larva of _Oeceticus omnivorus_ withdrawn from case. (Imago, Plate XIII., fig. 6.) 123 26. Larva of ditto in its case. 27. Pupa of _Anosia erippus_. (Larva, fig. 3; Imago, Plate XI., fig. 1.) 102 28. Pupa of _Dodonidia helmsi_. (Larva, fig. 5; Imago, Plate XI., fig. 14.) 112 29. Pupa of _Argyrophenga antipodum_. (Larva, fig. 4; Imago, Plate XI., fig. 4.) 110 30. Pupa of _Hepialus virescens_. (Larva, fig. 23; Imago, Plate XIII., fig. 16.) 129 31, 32. Pupæ of _Vanessa gonerilla_. (Larva, figs. 1, 2; Imago, Plate XII., fig. 5) 105 [Illustration: Plate III.] PLATE IV. CARADRININA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Nyctemera annulata_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 9.) 2 2. " " [F] 3. _Utetheisa pulchella_ 3 4. _Metacrias strategica_ [M] 4 5. " _erichrysa_ [M] 4 6. " _huttonii_ [M] 5 7. _Physetica cærulea_ [M] 8 8. _Leucania griseipennis_ [F] 9 9. " _nullifera_ [F] 9 10. " _micrastra_ [M] 12 11. " _purdii_ [M] 10 12. " _atristriga_ [M] 10 13. " _propria_ [M] 11 14. " _acontistis_ [M] 11 15. " _phaula_ [M] 11 16. " _alopa_ [M] 12 17. " _unica_ [F] 12 18. " _arotis_ [F] 12 19. " _sulcana_ [M] 13 20. " " [F] 21. " _semivittata_ [M] 13 22. " " [F] 23. " _blenheimensis_ [F] 13 24. " _unipuncta_ [F] 13 25. _Ichneutica ceraunias_ [M] 14 26. " " [F] 27. " _dione_, n. sp. [M] 14 28. _Melanchra paracausta_ [M] 15 28A. " " [F] 29. " _insignis_ [M] 16 30. " " [F] 31. " _maya_, n. sp. [F] 17 32. " _plena_ [M] 17 33. " _lithias_ [M] 17 34. " _mutans_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 15.) 18 35. " " [F] 36. " " [M] variety 37. " _pictula_ [M] 19 38. " _rhodopleura_ [F] 19 39. " _coeleno_, n. sp. [M] 26 40. " _proteastis_ [M] 20 42. " _vitiosa_ [F] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 16.) 20 [Illustration: Plate IV.] PLATE V. CARADRININA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Melanchra octans_, n. sp. 25 2. " _merope_, n. sp. [M] 19 3. " _pelistis_ [M] 19 4. " " [F] 5. " _diatmeta_ [M] 21 6. " _tartarea_ [M] 21 7. " _homoscia_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 10.) 21 8. " _composita_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 7.) 22 9. " " [F] 10. " _steropastis_ [M] 23 11. " " [F] 12. " _infensa_ [F] 23 13. " _omoplaca_ [F] 23 14. " _alcyone_, n. sp. [M] 24 15. " _asterope_, n. sp. [F] 24 16. " _dotata_ [F] 24 17. " _stipata_ [F] 25 18. " _rubescens_ [M] 25 19. " _lignana_ [M] 26 20. " _ustistriga_ [M] 26 20A. " " [F] 21. " _prionistis_ [M] 27 22. " _phricias_ [M] 27 23. " _cucullina_ [M] 27 24. _Erana graminosa_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 8.) 28 25. " " [F] 26. _Miselia pessota_ [M] 6 27. _Orthosia comma_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 11.) 7 28. " " [F] 29. " _immunis_ [M] 7 30. _Melanchra agorastis_ [F] 18 31. _Orthosia margarita_ [F] 6 32. _Xanthia purpurea_ [M] 8 33. _Bityla defigurata_ [M] 29 34. " _sericea_ [M] 29 35. _Agrotis ypsilon_ [M] 30 36. " " [F] 37. " _admirationis_ [M] 31 38. " _sericea_ [F] 31 39. " _innominata_, n. sp. [M] 31 40. _Heliothis armigera_ [M] 32 41. " " [F] 42. _Melanchra omicron_, n. sp. [M] 22 43. " _disjungens_ [M] 15 [Illustration: Plate V.] PLATE VI. CARADRININA AND NOTODONTINA. CARADRININA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Agrotis carapachoides_ [M] 32 2. _Cosmodes elegans_ [F] 33 3. _Plusia chalcites_ [M] 35 4. _Dasypodia selenophora_ [M] 35 5. _Rhapsa scotosialis_ [M] 36 6. " " [F] 7. _Rhapsa octias_ [F] 37 NOTODONTINA. 8. _Chloroclystis plinthina_ [M] 41 9, 10. " _bilineolata_ varieties 41 11. " _nereis_ [F] 43 12. " _dryas_ [M] 43 13, 14. " _sphragitis_ varieties 43 15, 16. " _lichenodes_ varieties 44 17. " _indicataria_ [M] 44 17A. " " [F] 18. " _maculata_, n. sp. 44 19. _Phrissogonus denotatus_ [M] 45 20. _Chloroclystis antarctica_, n. sp. 42 21. " _aristias_ [M] 42 22. " " [F] 23, 24. _Elvia glaucata_ varieties 46 25. _Tatosoma lestevata_ [M] 39 26. " _agrionata_ [M] 40 27. " " [F] 28. " _timora_ [M] 40 29. " " [F] 30. _Venusia verriculata_ [M] 53 31. " " [F] 32. " _xanthaspis_ [M] 54 33. " _undosata_ [M] 54 34. " " [F] 35. _Euchoeca rubropunctaria_ [F] 51 36. _Paradetis porphyrias_ [M] 41 37. _Asthena pulchraria_ [M] 52 38. " " [F] 39-42. _Asthena schistaria_ varieties 52 43. _Hydriomena gobiata_ [M] 47 44. " " [F] 45, 46. " _subochraria_ varieties 48 47. " _prionota_ 47 48. " _siria_ 51 [Illustration: Plate VI.] PLATE VII. NOTODONTINA. FIG. PAGE 1-9. _Hydriomena deltoidata_ varieties 47 10. " _hemizona_ 48 11. " _rixata_ 49 12. " _purpurifera_ 49 13. " _callichlora_ 50 14. " _similata_ 50 15. " _arida_ 50 16. _Asaphodes siris_ [F] 55 17-19. " _megaspilata_ [M] varieties 55 19A, 20. " " [F] varieties 21. " _abrogata_ [M] 55 22. _Xanthorhoe rosearia_ [M] 57 23. " " [F] 24. " _orophylla_ [M] 58 25. " " [F] 26. " _semifissata_ [M] 59 27. " " [F] 28. " _chlamydota_ 59 29. " _stinaria_ [M] 60 30. " _præfectata_ [F] 60 31. " _clarata_ [M] 61 32. " " [F] 33. " _cataphracta_ [M] 61 34. " " [F] 35. " _beata_ [M] 63 36. " " [F] 37. " _ægrota_ [M] 64 38. " _lucidata_ [M] 64 39. " _mnesichola_ [M] 60 40. " _helias_ [F] 64 41. " _prasinias_ [F] 65 42. " _chionogramma_ [M] 65 43. " " [F] 44. " _chorica_ 66 45. " _obarata_ 66 46. " _limonodes_ [M] 57 47. " _lophogramma_ [M] 59 48. " " [F] 49. " _adonis_ [M] 63 [Illustration: Plate VII.] PLATE VIII. NOTODONTINA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Xanthorhoe bulbulata_ [M] 68 2, 2A. " _cineraria_ varieties 67 3. _Notoreas insignis_ [M] 71 4-8. " _perornata_ varieties 72 9-11. " _mechanitis_ varieties 72 12-14. " _paradelpha_ varieties 72 15. " _strategica_ [F] 73 16. " _callicrena_ [F] 73 17. " _ferox_ [M] 74 18, 19. " _zopyra_ [M] varieties 74 20-23. " _brephos_ varieties 75 24. " _vulcanica_ 75 25. " _omichlias_ [M] 76 26. " _simplex_, n. sp. [F] 74 27. " _isoleuca_ [F] 72 28. _Dasyuris enysii_ [F] 69 29. " _anceps_ [M] 69 30. " _partheniata_ [M] 70 31. " " [F] 32. " _hectori_ [M] 70 33. _Lythria chrysopeda_ [M] 68 34. " " [F] 35. " _euclidiata_ 68 36. _Samana falcatella_ [F] 76 37. _Leptomeris rubraria_ [M] 77 38. " " [F] 39. _Dichromodes petrina_ 78 40. " _nigra_ 78 41. _Theoxena scissaria_ 79 42-47. _Epirranthis alectoraria_ varieties. (Larva, Plate III., fig. 24.) 80 48. " _hemipteraria_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 19.) 80 49. " " [F] 50. _Selidosema fenerata_ [M] 82 51. " " [F] [Illustration: Plate VIII.] PLATE IX. NOTODONTINA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Selidosema rudiata_ [M] 82 2. " " [F] 3. " _suavis_ [M] 83 4. " " [F] 5. " _humillima_, n. sp. [M] 83 6-10. " _productata_ [M] varieties. (Larva, Plate III., fig. 22.) 84 11-14. " " [F] varieties 15. " _melinata_ [M] 85 16. " " [F] 17. " _aristarcha_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 17.) 85 18. " " [F] 19-22. " _dejectaria_ [M] varieties. (Larva, Plate III., fig. 12.) 86 23, 24. " " [F] varieties 25-28. " _panagrata_ [M] varieties 87 29, 30. " " [F] varieties 31. _Hybernia indocilis_ [M] 88 32. " " [F] 33, 34. _Chalastra pelurgata_ [M] varieties. (Larva, Plate III., fig. 21.) 88 35, 36. " " [F] varieties 37. _Sestra flexata_ [F] 90 [Illustration: Plate IX.] PLATE X. NOTODONTINA. FIG. PAGE 1, 2. _Sestra humeraria_ varieties. (Larva, Plate III., fig. 20.) 89 3, 4. _Gonophylla nelsonaria_ [M] varieties 90 5, 6. " " [F] varieties 7-10. _Drepanodes muriferata_ [M] varieties 91 11, 12. " " [F] varieties 13-20. _Azelina gallaria_ [M] varieties 92 21-23. " " [F] varieties 24. " _fortinata_ [M] 93 25. " " [F] 26. " _ophiopa_ [M] 93 27. " " [M] variety 28. " " [F] 29, 31, 31A. _Ipana leptomera_ [M] varieties 94 30. " " [F] 32. _Declana griseata_, n. sp. 98 33. " _atronivea_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 18.) 95 34. " " [F] 35. " _egregia_ [M] 96 36. " _hermione_, n. sp. [M] 98 37. " _junctilinea_ [M] 98 38. " " [F] 39-43. " _floccosa_ [M] varieties 96 44-47. " " [F] varieties [Illustration: Plate X.] PLATE XI. PAPILIONINA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Anosia erippus_ [F] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 3; Pupa, fig. 27.) 102 2. " " under side. 3, 4. _Argyrophenga antipodum_ [M] varieties. (Larva, Plate III., fig. 4; Pupa, fig. 29.) 110 5. " " [F] 6, 7. " " under sides. 8. _Erebia pluto_ [M] 114 9. " " [F] 10. " " under side. 11. _Erebia butleri_ [M] 115 12. " " [F] 13. " " under side. 14. _Dodonidia helmsi_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 5; Pupa, fig. 28.) 112 15. " " under side. 16. _Junonia velleda_ 109 17. " " under side. [Illustration: Plate XI.] PLATE XII. PAPILIONINA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Vanessa cardui_ 108 2. " " under side. 3. " _itea_ 107 4. " " under side. 5. " _gonerilla_. (Larva, Plate III., figs. 1 and 2; Pupa, figs. 31, 32.) 105 6. " " under side. 7. _Anosia bolina_ [M] 104 8. " " [F] 9. " " under side. 10. _Lycæna phoebe_ [M] 119 11. " " under side. 12. " _oxleyi_, under side. 119 13, 14. _Chrysophanus boldenarum_ [M] varieties 118 15. " " under side of [M] 16. " " [F] 17. " " under side of [F] 18. " _salustius_ [M] 116 19. " " [F] 20. " " under side 21. " " under side of variety (upper side, Plate XIII., fig. 2.) 22. " _enysii_ [M] 117 23. " " [F] 24. " " under side. [Illustration: Plate XII.] PLATE XIII. NOTODONTINA, PAPILIONINA, PSYCHINA, AND MICROPTERYGINA. NOTODONTINA. FIG. PAGE 1. _Sphinx convolvuli._ (Larva, Plate III, figs. 13 and 14.) 99 PAPILIONINA. 2-5. Varieties of _Chrysophanus salustius_ 116 PSYCHINA. 6. _Oeceticus omnivorus_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., figs. 25, 26.) 123 7. _Orophora unicolor_ [M] 126 MICROPTERYGINA. 8. _Porina dinodes_ [M] 132 9. " _enysii_ [M] 133 10. " " [F] 11. " _characterifera_ [M] 133 12. " _cervinata_ [M] 133 13. " _despecta_ [M] 134 14. " _umbraculata_ [M] 134 15. " _signata_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 6.) 134 16. _Hepialus virescens_ [M] (Larva, Plate III., fig. 23; Pupa, fig. 30.) 129 17. " " [F] 18. _Porina cervinata_ [F] variety 133 [Illustration: Plate XIII.] Notes. [1] This organ is termed the tongue by Mr. Meyrick. As many mandibulate insects possess a true tongue, and the proboscis of the _Lepidoptera_ is not homologous with the tongue, but with the maxillæ, I think the term is very misleading. [2] For the examination of the wings taken from _dried_ specimens, I have found that immersion in methylated spirits renders the veins visible after _partial_ denudation with the camel's-hair brush. With recent specimens, however, the scales can easily be _entirely_ removed. [3] I have found considerable difficulty and uncertainty in examining the neuration of undenuded specimens. [4] Entom. xxvi. 220. [5] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 218. [6] 'British Moths,' 31. [7] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 217. [8] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xxii. 216. [9] Ibid. [10] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 7. [11] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 10. [12] _Leucania aulacias_, Meyr., is distinguished by having grey cilia to the hind-wings. The species was described from a single specimen taken at Dunedin and now in Mr. Fereday's collection. I have carefully examined this specimen, and find that the cilia, although considerably injured, are distinctly grey. As, however, I think it undesirable to characterize species so closely resembling each other from such meagre material, I here regard it as a synonym of _Leucania arotis_. [13] Report of American Department of Agriculture, 1881, p. 93. [14] Mr. Philpott informs me that the larva of _M. paracausta_ closely resembles that of _M. vitiosa_. [15] This species has been recently named by Mr. Meyrick, but a description of it has not yet been published. [16] The accurate ascertainment of the positions of the veins near the costa in this species is a matter of considerable difficulty owing to the extremely dense tuft of hairs there situated. [17] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 29. [18] Newman's British Moths, 319. [19] Meyrick, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 33. [20] Meyrick, Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 35. [21] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xix. 35. [22] Meyrick, 'Handbook of British Lepidoptera,' 159. [23] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xi. 300. [24] Ib. xix. 38. [25] Since this was written I find that Mr. Meyrick has created a new genus, _Hyperaucha_, for the reception of this insect. See 'Transactions of the Entomological Society of London,' 1897, 383. [26] N. Z. 'Journal of Science,' July, 1884. [27] N. Z. 'Journal of Science,' July, 1884. [28] A second specimen of this variety has since occurred in the neighbourhood of Nelson. [29] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 60. [30] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 60. [31] N. Z. 'Journal of Science,' July, 1884. [32] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 60. [33] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xviii. 208. [34] Ib. xvi. 71. [35] Ib. [36] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 78. [37] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 82. [38] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 83. [39] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 86. [40] In connection with these three species of _Notoreas_ I should here mention that I have a number of specimens in my collection which appear to me to establish a complete transition between _N. mechanitis_, _N. paradelpha_, and _N. perornata_. From a careful study of these specimens I am led to believe that these three forms are really only varieties of one very variable species. Mr. Meyrick does not at present share this opinion, but I am disposed to think that this is chiefly due to the comparatively limited number of specimens he has had the opportunity of examining. In any case I do not regard the question of the specific or varietal values of these, or indeed of any other forms, as matters of great scientific importance, being, to a great extent, merely matters of individual opinion. [41] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 57. [42] Mr. Meyrick now includes these three species in the genus _Gonophylla_. (_See_ Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond. 1897, 387.) [43] 'Trans. N. Z. Inst.' xxii. 214. [44] 'Catalogue of N. Z. Butterflies,' p. 21. [45] 'Trans. N. Z. Inst.' x. 265. [46] 'Cat. N. Z. Butterflies,' p. 22. [47] 'Trans. N. Z. Institute,' x. 463. [48] Ibid. xviii. 205. [49] Since writing the above, I have been informed by Mr. Kingsley that one male specimen of _A. bolina_ was taken at Wakapuaka, in 1896, and two others reported as seen at Collingwood and Nelson in March, 1897. Mr. A. P. Buller has also kindly informed me of the capture of a male specimen in perfect condition, at Ohau, Manawatu district, in March, 1898. [50] See notes by Mr. Stainton in the Ent. Mo. Mag., xxv. pp. 225, 268. [51] 'British Butterflies and Moths,' p. 103. [52] 'Entomologist,' xxii. 37. [53] 'Trans. N. Z. Inst.' xxviii. 312. [54] 'Trans. N. Z. Inst.' xv. 197. [55] Ent. Mon. Mag. iv. p. 53. [56] 'Trans. N. Z. Inst.' ix. 460; x. 252. [57] 'Trans. N.Z. Inst.,' vol. x. 259. [58] 'Catalogue of N. Z. Butterflies,' 22. [59] 'Catalogue of New Zealand Butterflies,' 18, 23, Pl. II., fig. 1. [60] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 550. [61] Stainton's 'British Butterflies and Moths,' 103, Pl. II., fig. 1. [62] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 550. [63] Stainton's 'British Butterflies and Moths,' 106. [64] Trans. N. Z. Inst. xvi. 550. [65] 'Catalogue of N.Z. Butterflies,' 17, 23. Pl. IV., figs. 3, 4. [66] For further details on this subject see 'The Entomologist,' xiii. 245, and xviii. 159. [67] 'Trans. N. Z. Inst.' x. (1877), 262. [68] 'Entomologist,' xviii. 36. [69] Since writing the above I understand from Mr. Baunehr that he has met with several specimens of this species in forest on the Dun Mountain, Nelson, at an elevation of about 2,000 feet. 
5992	----	STATION AMUSEMENTS IN NEW ZEALAND By Lady Barker Preface. The interest shown by the public in the simple and true account of every-day life in New Zealand, published by the author three years ago, has encouraged her to enlarge upon the theme. This volume is but a continuation of "Station Life," with this difference: that whereas that little book dwelt somewhat upon practical matters, these pages are entirely devoted to reminiscences of the idler hours of a settler's life. Many readers have friends and relations out in those beautiful distant islands, and though her book should possess no wider interest, the author hopes that these at least will care to know exactly what sort of life their absent dear ones are leading. One thing is certain: that few books can ever have afforded so much pleasure to their authors, or can have appeared more completely to write themselves, than "Station Life," and this, its sequel. M. A. B. Chapter I: A Bush picnic. Since my return to England, two years ago, I have been frequently asked by my friends and acquaintances, "How did you amuse yourself up at the station?" I am generally tempted to reply, "We were all too busy to need amusement;" but when I come to think the matter over calmly and dispassionately, I find that a great many of our occupations may be classed under the head of play rather than work. But that would hardly give a fair idea of our lives there, either. It would be more correct to say perhaps, that most of our simple pleasures were composed of a solid layer of usefulness underneath the froth of fun and frolic. I purpose therefore in these sketches to describe some of the pursuits which afforded us a keen enjoyment at the time,--an enjoyment arising from perfect health, simple tastes, and an exquisite climate. It will be as well to begin with the description of one of the picnics, which were favourite amusements in our home, nestled in a valley of the Malvern Hills of Canterbury. These hills are of a very respectable height, and constitute in fact the lowest slopes of the great Southern Alps, which rise to snow-clad peaks behind them. Our little wooden homestead stood at the head of a sunny, sheltered valley, and around it we could see the hills gradually rolling into downs, which in their turn were smoothed out, some ten or twelve miles off, into the dead level of the plains. The only drawback to the picturesque beauty of these lower ranges is the absence of forest, or as it is called there, bush. Behind the Malvern Hills, where they begin to rise into steeper ascents, lies many and many a mile of bush-clad mountain, making deep blue shadows when the setting sun brings the grand Alpine range into sharp white outline against the background of dazzling Italian sky. But just here, where my beloved antipodean home stood, we had no trees whatever, except those which we had planted ourselves, and whose growth we watched with eager interest. I dwell a little upon this point, to try to convey to any one who may glance at these pages, how we all,--dwellers among tree-less hills as we were,--longed and pined for the sights and sounds of a "bush." Quite out of view from the house or garden, and about seven miles away, lay a mountain pass, or saddle, over a range, which was densely wooded, and from whose highest peak we could see a wide extent of timbered country. Often in our evening rides we have gone round by that saddle, in spite of a break-neck track and quicksands and bogs, just to satisfy our constant longing for green leaves, waving branches, and the twitter of birds. Whenever any wood was wanted for building a stockyard, or slabbing a well, or making a post-and-rail fence around a new paddock, we were obliged to take out a Government license to cut wood in this splendid bush. Armed with the necessary document the next step was to engage "bushmen," or woodcutters by profession, who felled and cut the timber into the proper lengths, and stacked it neatly in a clearing, where it could get dry and seasoned. These stacks were often placed in such inaccessible and rocky parts of the steep mountain side, that they had to be brought down to the flat in rude little sledges, drawn by a bullock, who required to be trained to the work, and to possess so steady and equable a disposition as to be indifferent to the annoyance of great logs of heavy wood dangling and bumping against his heels as the sledge pursued its uneven way down the bed of a mountain torrent, in default of a better road. Imagine, then, a beautiful day in our early New Zealand autumn. For a week past, a furious north-westerly gale had been blowing down the gorges of the Rakaia and the Selwyn, as if it had come out of a funnel, and sweeping across the great shelterless plains with irresistible force. We had been close prisoners to the house all those days, dreading to open a door to go out for wood or water, lest a terrific blast should rush in and whip the light shingle roof off. Not an animal could be seen out of doors; they had all taken shelter on the lee-side of the gorse hedges, which are always planted round a garden to give the vegetables a chance of coming up. On the sky-line of the hills could be perceived towards evening, mobs of sheep feeding with their heads _up_-wind, and travelling to the high camping-grounds which they always select in preference to a valley. The yellow tussocks were bending all one way, perfectly flat to the ground, and the shingle on the gravel walk outside rattled like hail against the low latticed windows. The uproar from the gale was indescribable, and the little fragile house swayed and shook as the furious gusts hurled themselves against it. Inside its shelter, the pictures were blowing out from the walls, until I expected them to be shaken off their hooks even in those rooms which had plank walls lined with papered canvas; whilst in the kitchen, store-room, etc., whose sides were made of cob, the dust blew in fine clouds from the pulverized walls, penetrating even to the dairy, and settling half an inch thick on my precious cream. At last, when our skin felt like tightly drawn parchment, and our ears and eyes had long been filled with powdered earth, the wind dropped at sunset as suddenly as it had risen five days before. We ventured out to breathe the dust-laden atmosphere, and to look if the swollen creeks (swollen because snow-fed) had done or threatened to do any mischief, and saw on the south-west horizon great fleecy masses of cloud driving rapidly up before a chill icy breeze. Hurrah, here comes a sou'-wester! The parched-up earth, the shrivelled leaves, the dusty grass, all needed the blessed damp air. In an hour it was upon us. We had barely time to house the cows and horses, to feed the fowls, and secure them in their own shed, and to light a roaring coal (or rather lignite, for it is not true coal) fire in the drawing-room, when, with a few warning splashes, the deluge of cold rain came steadily down, and we went to sleep to the welcome sound of its refreshing patter. All that I have been describing was the weather of the past week. Disagreeable as it might have been, it was needed in both its hot and cold, dry and wet extremes, to make a true New Zealand day. The furious nor'-wester had blown every fleck of cloud below the horizon, and dried the air until it was as light as ether. The "s'utherly buster," on the other hand, had cooled and refreshed everything in the most delicious way, and a perfect day had come at last. What words can describe the pleasure it is to inhale such an atmosphere? One feels as if old age or sickness or even sorrow, could hardly exist beneath such a spotless vault of blue as stretched out above our happy heads. I have often been told that this feeling of intense pleasure on a fine day, which is peculiar to New Zealand, is really a very low form of animal enjoyment. It may be so, but I only know that I never stood in the verandah early in the morning of such a day as I am trying to sketch in pen and ink now, without feeling the highest spiritual joy, the deepest thankfulness to the loving Father who had made His beautiful world so fair, and who would fain lead us through its paths of pleasantness to a still more glorious, home, which will be free from the shadows brooding from beneath sin's out-stretched wings over this one. As I stood in the porch I have often fancied I could seethe animals and even the poultry expressing in dumb brute fashion, their joy and gratitude to the God from whom all blessings flow. But to return to the verandah, although we have never left it. Presently F---- came out, and I said with a sigh, born of deep content and happiness, "What a day!" "Yes," answered F----: "a heavenly day indeed: well worth waiting for. I want to go and see how the men are getting on in the bush. Will you like to come too?" "Of course I will. What can be more enchanting than the prospect of spending such sunny hours in that glorious bush?" So after breakfast I give my few simple orders to the cook, and prepare, to pack a "Maori kit," or flat basket made of flax, which could be fastened to my side-saddle, with the preparations for our luncheon. First some mutton chops had to be trimmed and prepared, all ready to be cooked when we got there. These were neatly folded up in clean paper; and a little packet of tea, a few lumps of white sugar, a tiny wooden contrivance for holding salt and pepper, and a couple of knives and forks, were added to the parcel. So much for the contents of the basket. They needed to be carefully packed so as not to rattle in any way, or Helen, my pretty bay mare, would soon have got rid of the luncheon--and me. I wrapped up three or four large raw potatoes in separate bits of paper, and slipped them into F----'s pockets when he was looking another way, and then began the real difficulty of my picnic: how was the little tin tea-pot and an odd delf cup to be carried? F---- objected to put them also in his pocket, assuring me that I could make very good tea by putting my packet of the fragrant leaves into the bushmen's kettle, and drinking it afterwards out of one of their pannikins. He tried to bribe me to this latter piece of simplicity by promising to wash the tin pannikin out for me first. Now I was not dainty or over particular; I could not have enjoyed my New Zealand life so thoroughly if I had been either; but I did not like the idea of using the bushmen's tea equipage. In the first place, the tea never tastes the same when made in their way, and allowed to boil for a moment or two after the leaves have been thrown in, before the kettle is taken off the fire; and in the next place, it is very difficult to drink tea out of a pannikin; for it becomes so hot directly we put the scalding liquid into it, that long after the tea is cool enough to drink, the pannikin still continues too hot to touch. But I said so pathetically, "You know how wretched I am without my tea," that F----'s heart relented, and he managed to stow away the little teapot and the cup. That cup bore a charmed life. It accompanied me on all my excursions, escaping unbroken; and is, I believe, in existence now, spending its honoured old age in the recesses of a cupboard. After the luncheon, the next question to be decided is, which of the dogs are to join the expedition. Hector, of course; he is the master's colley, and would no more look at a sheep, except in the way of business, than he would fly. Rose, a little short-haired terrier, was the most fascinating of dog companions, and I pleaded hard for her, as she was an especial pet; though there were too many lambs belonging to a summer lambing (in New Zealand the winter is the usual lambing season) in the sheltered paddocks beneath the bush, to make it quite safe for her to be one of the party. She would not kill or hurt a lamb on any account, but she always appeared anxious to play with the little creatures; and as her own spotless coat was as white as theirs, she often managed to get quite close to a flock of sheep before they perceived that she belonged to the dreaded race of dogs. When the timid animals found out their mistake, a regular stampede used to ensue; and it was not supposed to be good for the health of the old or young sheep to hurry up the hill-sides in such wild fashion as that in which they rushed away from Rose's attempts to intrude on their society. Nettle may come, for he is but a tiny terrier, and so fond of his mistress that he never strays a yard away from her horse's heels. Brisk, my beautiful, stupid water-spaniel, is also allowed an outing. He is perfect to look at, but not having had any educational advantages in his youth, is an utter fool; amiable, indeed, but not the less a fool. Garibaldi, another colley, is suffering a long penal sentence of being tied up to his barrel, on account of divers unlawful chases after sheep which were not wanted; and dear old Jip, though she pretends to be very anxious to accompany us; is far too fat and too rheumatic to keep pace with our long stretching gallop up the valley. At last we were fairly off about eleven o'clock, and an hour's easy canter, intersected by many "flat-jumps," or rather "water-jumps," across the numerous creeks, brought unto the foot of the bush-clad mountain. After that our pace became a very sober one, as the track resembled a broken rocky staircase more than a bridle-path. But such as it was, our sure-footed horses carried us safely up and down its rugged steeps, without making a single false step. No mule can be more sure-footed than a New Zealand horse. He will carry his rider anywhere, if only that rider trusts entirely to him, nor attempts to guide him in any way. During the last half-hour of our slow and cat-like climb, we could hear the ring of the bushmen's axes, and the warning shouts preceding the crashing fall of a Black Birch. Fallen logs and deep ruts made by the sledges in their descent, added to the difficulties of the track; and I was so faint-hearted as to entreat piteously, on more than one occasion, when Helen paused and shook her head preparatory to climbing over a barricade, to be "taken off." But F---- had been used to these dreadful roads for too many years to regard them in the same light as I did, and would answer carelessly, "Nonsense: you're as safe as if you were sitting in an arm-chair." All I can say is, it might have been so, but I did not feel at all like it. However, the event proved him to have been right, and we reached the clearing in safety. Here we dismounted, and led the horses to a place where they could nibble some grass, and rest in the cool shade. The saddles and bridles were soon removed, and halters improvised out of the New Zealand flax, which can be turned to so many uses. Having provided for the comfort of our faithful animals, our next step was to look for the bushmen. The spot which we had reached was their temporary home in the heart of the forest, but their work was being carried on elsewhere. I could not have told from which side the regular ringing axe-strokes proceeded, so confusing were the echoes from the cliffs around us; but after a moment's silent pause F---- said, "If we follow that track (pointing to a slightly cleared passage among the trees) we shall come upon them." So I kilted up my linsey skirt, and hung up my little jacket, necessary for protection against the evening air, on a bough out of the wekas' reach, whilst I followed F---- through tangled creepers, "over brake, over brier," towards the place from whence the noise of falling trees proceeded. By the time we reached it, our scratched hands and faces bore traces of the thorny undergrowth which had barred our way; but all minor discomforts were forgotten in the picturesque beauty of the spot. Around us lay the forest-kings, majestic still in their overthrow, whilst substantial stacks of cut-up and split timber witnessed to the skill and industry of the stalwart figures before us, who reddened through their sunburn with surprise and shyness at seeing a lady. They need not have been afraid of me, for I had long ago made friends with them, and during the preceeding winter had established a sort of night-school in my dining-room, for all the hands employed on the station, and these two men had been amongst my most constant pupils. One of them, a big Yorkshire-man, was very backward in his "larning," and though he plodded on diligently, never got beyond the simplest words in the largest type. Small print puzzled him at once, and he had a habit of standing or sitting with his back to me whilst repeating his lessons. Nothing would induce him to face me. The moment it became his turn to go on with the chapter out of the Bible, with which we commenced our studies, that instant he turned his broad shoulders towards me, and I could only, hear the faintest murmurs issuing from the depths of a great beard. Remonstrance would have scared my shy pupil away, so I was fain to put up with his own method of instruction. But this is a digression, and I want to make you see with my eyes the beautiful glimpses of distant country lying around the bold wooded cliff on which we were standing. The ground fell away from our feet so completely in some places, that we could see over the tops of the high trees around us, whilst in others the landscape appeared framed in an arch of quivering foliage. A noisy little creek chattered and babbled as it hurried along to join its big brother down below, and kept a fringe of exquisite ferns, which grew along its banks, brightly green by its moisture. Each tree, if taken by itself, was more like an umbrella than anything else to English eyes, for in these primitive forests, where no kind pruning hand has ever touched them, they shoot up, straight and branchless, into the free air above, where they spread a leafy crown out to the sunbeams. Beneath the dense shade of these matted branches grew a luxuriant shrubbery, whose every leaf was a marvel of delicate beauty, and ferns found here a home such as they might seek elsewhere in vain. Flowers were very rare, and I did not observe many berries, but these conditions vary in different parts of the beautiful middle island. That was a fair and fertile land stretching out before us, intersected by the deep banks of the Rakaia, with here and there a tiny patch of emerald green and a white dot, representing the house and English grass paddock of a new settler. In the background the bush-covered mountains rose ever higher and higher in bolder outline, till they shook off their leafy clothing, and stood out in steep cliffs and scaurs from the snow-clad glacier region of the mountain range running from north to south, and forming the back bone of the island. I may perhaps make you see the yellow, river-furrowed plains, and the great confusion of rising ground behind them, but cannot make you see, still less feel, the atmosphere around, quivering in a summer haze in the valley beneath, and stirred to the faintest summer wind-sighs as it moved among the pines and birches overhead. Its lightness was its most striking peculiarity. You felt as if your lungs could never weary of inhaling deep breaths of such an air. Warm without oppression, cool without a chill. I can find nothing but paradoxes to describe it. As for fatigue, one's muscles might get tired, and need rest, but the usual depression and weariness attending over-exertion could not exist in such an atmosphere. One felt like a happy child; pleased at nothing, content to exist where existence was a pleasure. You could not find more favourable specimens of New Zealand colonists than the two men, Trew and Domville, who stood before us in their working dress of red flannel shirts and moleskin trousers, "Cookham" boots and digger's plush hats. Three years before this day they had landed at Port Lyttleton, with no other capital than their strong, willing arms, and their sober, sensible heads. Very different is their appearance to-day from what it was on their arrival; and the change in their position and circumstances is as great. Their bodily frames have filled out and developed under the influence of the healthy climate and abundance of mutton, until they look ten years younger and twice as strong, and each man owns a cottage and twenty acres of freehold land, at which he works in spare time, as well as having more pounds than he ever possessed pence in the old country, put safely away in the bank. There can be no doubt about the future of any working man or woman in our New Zealand colonies. It rests in their own hands, under God's blessing, and the history of the whole human race shows us that He always has blessed honest labour and rightly directed efforts to do our duty in this world. Sobriety and industry are the first essentials to success. Possessing these moral qualifications, and a pair of hands, a man may rear up his children in those beautiful distant lands in ignorance of what hunger; or thirst, or grinding poverty means. Hitherto the want of places of worship, and schools for the children, have been a sad drawback to the material advantages of colonization at the Antipodes; but these blessings are increasing every day, and the need of them creates the supply. The great mistake made in England, next to that of sending out worthless idle paupers, who have never done a hand's turn for themselves here, and are still less likely to do it elsewhere, is for parents and guardians to ship off to New Zealand young men who have received the up-bringing and education of gentlemen, without a shilling in their pockets, under the vague idea that something will turn up for them in a new place. There is nothing which can turn up, for the machinery of civilization is reduced to the most primitive scale in these countries; and I have known 500 pounds per annum regarded as a monstrous salary to be drawn by a hard-worked official of some twenty years standing and great experience in the colony. From this we may judge of the chances of remunerative employment for a raw unfledged youth, with a smattering of classical learning. At first they simply "loaf" (as it is called there) on their acquaintances and friends. At the end of six months their clothes are beginning to look shabby; they feel they _ought_ to do something, and they make day by day the terrible discovery that there is nothing for them to do in their own rank of life. Many a poor clergyman's son, sooner than return to the home which has been so pinched to furnish forth his passage money and outfit, takes a shepherd's billet, though he generally makes a very bad shepherd for the first year or two; or drives bullocks, or perhaps wanders vaguely over the country, looking for work, and getting food and lodging indeed, for inhospitality is unknown, but no pay. Sometimes they go to the diggings, only to find that money is as necessary there as anywhere, and that they are not fitted to dig in wet holes for eight or ten hours a day. Often these poor young men go home again, and it is the best thing they can do, for at least they have gained some knowledge of life, on its dark as well as its brighter side. But still oftener, alas, they go hopelessly to the bad, degenerating into billiard markers, piano players at dancing saloons, cattle drivers, and their friends probably lose sight of them. Once I was riding with my husband up a lovely gulley, when we heard the crack of a stockwhip, sounding strangely through the deep eternal silence of a New Zealand valley, and a turn of the track showed us a heavy, timber-laden bullock-waggon labouring slowly along. At the head of the long team sauntered the driver, in the usual rough-and-ready costume, with his soft plush hat pulled low over his face, and pulling vigorously at a clay pipe. In spite of all the outer surroundings, something in the man's walk and dejected attitude struck my imagination, and I made some remark to my companion. The sound of my voice reached the bullock-driver's ears; he looked up, and on seeing a lady, took his pipe out of his mouth, his hat off his head, and forcing his beasts a little aside, stood at their head to let us pass. I smiled and nodded, receiving in return a perfect and profound bow, and the most melancholy glance I have ever seen in human eyes. "Good gracious, F----," I cried, when we had passed, "who is that man?" "That is Sir So-and-So's third son," he replied: "they sent him out here without a shilling, five years ago, and that is what he has come to: a working man, living with working men. He looks heart-broken, poor fellow, doesn't he?" I, acting upon impulse, as any woman would have done, turning back and rode up to him, finding it very difficult to frame my pity and sympathy in coherent words. "No thank you, ma'am," was all the answer I could get, in the most refined, gentlemanly tone of voice: "I'm very well as I am. I should only have the struggle all over again if I made any change now. It is the truest kindness to leave me alone." He would not even shake hands with me; so I rode back; discomfited, to hear from F---- that he had made many attempts to befriend him, but without success. "In fact," concluded F----, with some embarrassment, "he drinks dreadfully, poor fellow. Of course that is the secret of all his wretchedness, but I believe despair drove him to it in the first instance." I have also known an ex-dragoon officer working as a clerk in an attorney's office at fifteen shillings a week, who lived like a mechanic, and yet spake and stepped like his old self; one listened involuntarily for the clink of the sabre and spur whenever he moved across the room. This has been a terrible digression, almost a social essay in fact; but I have it so much at heart to dissuade fathers and mothers from sending their sons so far away without any certainty of employment. Capitalists, even small ones, do well in New Zealand: the labouring classes still better; but there is no place yet for the educated gentleman without money, and with hands unused to and unfit for manual labour and the downward path is just as smooth and pleasant at first there, as anywhere else. Trew and Domville soon got over their momentary shyness, and answered my inquiries about their families. Then I had a short talk with them, but on the principle that it is "ill speaking to a fasting man," we agreed to adjourn to the clearing, where they had built a rough log hut for temporary shelter, and have our dinner. They had provided themselves with some bacon; but were very glad to accept of F----'s offer of mutton, to be had for the trouble of fetching it. When we reached the little shanty, Trew produced some capital bread, he had baked the evening before in a camp-oven; F----'s pockets were emptied of their load of potatoes, which were put to roast in the wood embers; rashers of bacon and mutton chops spluttered and fizzed side-by-side on a monster gridiron with tall feet, so as to allow it to stand by itself over the clear fire, and we turned our chops from time to time by means of a fork extemporized out of a pronged stick. Over another fire, a little way to leeward, hung the bushmen's kettle on an iron tripod, and, so soon as it boiled, my little teapot was filled before Domville threw in his great fist-full of tea. I had brought a tiny phial of cream in the pocket of my saddle, but the men thought it spoiled the flavour of the tea, which they always drink "_neat_," as they call it. The Temperance Society could draw many interesting statistics from the amount of hard work which is done in New Zealand on tea. Now, I am sorry to say, beer is creeping up to the stations, and is served out at shearing time and so on; but in the old days all the hard work used to be done on tea, and tea alone, the men always declaring they worked far better on it than on beer. "When we have as much good bread and mutton as we can eat," they would say, "we don't feel to miss the beer we used to drink in England;" and at the end of a year or two of tea and water-drinking, their bright eyes and splendid physical condition showed plainly enough which was the best kind of beverage to work, and work hard too, upon. So there we sat round the fire: F---- with the men, and I, a little way off, out of the smoke, with the dogs. Overhead, the sunlight streamed down on the grass which had sprung up, as it always does in a clearing; the rustle among the lofty tree tops made a delicious murmur high up in the air; a waft of cool breeze flitted past us laden with the scent of newly-cut wood (and who does not know that nice, _clean_ perfume?); innumerable paroquets almost brushed us with their emerald-green wings, whilst the tamer robin or the dingy but melodious bell-bird came near to watch the intruders. The sweet clear whistle of the tui or parson-bird--so called from his glossy black suit and white wattles curling exactly where a clergy-man's bands would be,--could be heard at a distance; whilst overhead the soft cooing of the wild pigeons, and the hoarse croak of the ka-ka or native parrot, made up the music of the birds' orchestra. Ah, how delicious it all was,--the Robinson Crusoe feel of the whole thing; the heavenly air, the fluttering leaves, the birds' chirrups and whistle, and the foreground of happy, healthy men! Rose and I had enough to do, even with Nettle's assistance, in acting as police to keep off those bold thieves, the wekas, who are as impudent as they are tame and fearless. In appearance they resemble exactly a stout hen pheasant, without its long tail; but they belong to the apterix family, and have no wings, only a tiny useless pinion at each shoulder, furnished with a claw like a small fish-hook: what is the use of this claw I was never able to discover. When startled or hunted, the weka glides, for it can scarcely be called running, with incredible swiftness and in perfect silence, to the nearest cover. A tussock, a clump of flax, a tuft of tall tohi grass, all serve as hiding-places; and, wingless as she is, the weka can hold her own very well against her enemies, the dogs. I really believe the great desire of Brisk's life was to catch a weka. He started many, but used to go sniffing and barking round the flax bush where it had taken refuge at first, long after the clever, cunning bird had glided from its shelter to another cover further off. After dinner was over and Domville had brought back the tin plates and pannikins from the creek where he had washed them up, pipes were lighted, and a few minutes smoking served to rest and refresh the men, who had been working since their six o'clock breakfast. The daylight hours were too precious however to be wasted in smoking. Trew and Domville would not have had that comfortable nest-egg standing in their name at the bank in Christchurch, if they had spent much time over their pipes; so after a very short "spell" they got up from the fallen log of wood which had served them for a bench, and suggested that F---- should accompany them back to where their work lay. "You don't mind being left?" asked F----. "Certainly not," replied I. "I have got the dogs for company, and a book in my pocket. I daresay I shall not read much, however, for it is so beautiful to sit here and watch the changing lights and shadows." And so it was, most beautiful and thoroughly delightful. I sat on the short sweet grass, which springs upon the rich loam of fallen leaves the moment sunlight is admitted into the heart of a bush. No one plants it; probably the birds carry the seeds; yet it grows freely after a clearing has been made. Nature lays down a green sward directly on the rich virgin mould, and sets to work besides to cover up the unsightly stems and holes of the fallen timber with luxuriant tufts of a species of hart's-tongue fern, which grows almost as freely as an orchid on decayed timber. I was so still and silent that innumerable forest birds came about me. A wood pigeon alighted on a branch close by, and sat preening her radiant plumage in a bath of golden sunlight. The profound stillness was stirred now and then by a soft sighing breeze which passed over the tree tops, and made the delicate foliage of the undergrowth around me quiver and rustle. I had purposely scattered the remains of our meal in a spot where the birds could see the crumbs, and it was not long before the clever little creatures availed themselves of the unexpected feast. So perfectly tame and friendly were they, that I felt as if I were the intruder, and bound by all the laws of aerial chivalry to keep the peace. But this was no easy matter where Rose and Nettle were concerned, for when an imprudent weka appeared on the sylvan scene, looking around-as if to say, "Who's afraid?" it was more than I could do to keep the little terriers from giving chase. Brisk, too, blundered after them, but I had no fear of his destroying the charm of the day by taking even a weka's life. Thus the delicious afternoon wore on, until it was time to boil the kettle once more, and make a cup of tea before setting out homewards. The lengthening shadows added fresh tenderness and beauty to the peaceful scene, and the sky began to paint itself in its exquisite sunset hues. It has been usual to praise the tints of tropic skies when the day is declining; but never, in any of my wanderings to East and West Indies, have I seen such gorgeous evening colours as those which glorify New Zealand skies. A loud coo-ee summoned F---- to tea, and directly afterwards the horses were re-saddled, the now empty flax basket filled with the obnoxious teapot and cup, wrapped in many layers of flax leaves, to prevent their rattling, and we bade good night to the tired bushmen. We left them at their tea, and I was much struck to observe that though they looked like men who had done a hard day's work, there was none of the exhaustion we often see in England depicted on the labouring man's face. Instead of a hot crowded room, these bushmen were going to sleep in their log hut, where the fresh pure air could circulate through every nook and cranny. They had each their pair of red blankets, one to spread over a heap of freshly cut tussocks, which formed a delicious elastic mattrass, and the other to serve as a coverlet. During the day these blankets were always hung outside on a tree, out of the reach of the most investigating weka. You may be sure I had not come empty-handed in the way of books and papers, and my last glance as I rode away rested on Trew opening a number of _Good Words_ [Note: _Evening Hours_ was not in existence at that time, or else its pages are just what those simple God-fearing men would have appreciated and enjoyed. _Good Words_ and the _Leisure Hour_ used to be their favourite periodicals, and the kindness of English friends kept me also well supplied with copies of Miss Marsh's little books, which were read with the deepest and most eager interest.] with the pleased-expression of a child examining a packet of toys. And so we rode slowly home through the delicious gloaming, with the evening air cooled to freshness so soon as the sun had sunk below the great mountains to the west, from behind which he shot up glorious rays of gold and crimson against the blue ethereal sky, causing the snowy peaks to look more exquisitely pure from the background of gorgeous colour. During the flood of sunlight all day, we had not perceived a single fleck of cloud; but now lovely pink wreaths, floating in mid-air, betrayed that here and there a "nursling of the sky" lingered behind the cloud-masses which we thought had all been blown away yesterday. The short twilight hour was over, and the stars were filtering their soft radiance on our heads by the time we heard the welcoming barks of the homestead, and saw the glimmer of the lighted lamp in our sitting-room, shining out of the distant gloom. And so ended, in supper and a night of deep dreamless sleep, one of the many happy picnic days of my New Zealand life. Chapter II: Eel-fishing. One of the greatest drawbacks in an English gentleman's eyes to living in New Zealand is the want of sport. There is absolutely none. There used to be a few quails, but they are almost extinct now; and during four years' residence in very sequestered regions I only saw one. Wild ducks abound on some of the rivers, but they are becoming fewer and shyer every year. The beautiful Paradise duck is gradually retreating to those inland lakes lying at the foot of the Southern Alps, amid glaciers and boulders which serve as a barrier to keep back his ruthless foe. Even the heron, once so plentiful on the lowland rivers, is now seldom seen. As I write these lines a remorseful recollection comes back upon me of overhanging cliffs, and of a bend in a swirling river, on whose rapid current a beautiful wounded heron--its right wing shattered--drifts helplessly round and round with the eddying water, each circle bringing it nearer in-shore to our feet. I can see now its bright fearless eye, full of suffering, but yet unconquered: its slender neck proudly arched, and bearing up the small graceful head with its coronal or top-knot raised in defiance, as if to protest to the last against the cruel shot which had just been fired. I was but a spectator, having merely wandered that far to look at my eel-lines, yet I felt as guilty as though my hand had pulled the trigger. Just as the noble bird drifted to our feet,--for I could not help going down to the river's edge, where Pepper (our head shepherd) stood, looking very contrite,--it reared itself half out of the water, with a hissing noise and threatening bill, resolved to sell its liberty as dearly as it could; but the effort only spread a brighter shade of crimson on the waters surface for a brief moment, and then, with glazing eye and drooping crest, the dying creature turned over on its side and was borne helpless to our feet. By the time Pepper extended his arm and drew it in, with the quaint apology, "I'm sorry I shot yer, old feller! I, am, indeed," the heron was dead; and that happened to be the only one I ever came across during my mountain life. Once I saw some beautiful red-shanks flying down the gorge of the Selwyn, and F---- nearly broke his neck in climbing the crag from whence one of them rose in alarm at the noise of our horses' feet on the shingle. There were three eggs in the inaccessible cliff-nest, and he brought me one, which I tried in vain to hatch under a sitting duck. Betty would not admit the intruder among her own eggs, but resolutely pushed it out of her nest twenty times a day, until at last I was obliged to blow it and send it home to figure in a little boy's collection far away in Kent. I have seen very good blue duck shooting on the Waimakiriri river, but 50 per cent. of the birds were lost for want of a retriever bold enough to face that formidable river. Wide as was the beautiful reach, on whose shore the sportsmen stood, and calmly as the deep stream seemed to glide beneath its high banks, the wounded birds, flying low on the water, had hardly dropped when they disappeared, sucked beneath by the strong current, and whirled past us in less time than it takes one to write a line. We had retrievers with us who would face the waves of an inland lake during a nor'-wester,--which is giving a dog very high praise indeed; but there was no canine Bayard at hand to brave those treacherous depths, and bring out our game, so the sport soon ceased; for what was the good of shooting the beautiful, harmless creatures when we could not make use of them as food? I often accompanied F---- on his eel-fishing expeditions, but more for the sake of companionship than from any amusement I found in the sport. I may here confess frankly that I cannot understand anyone being an inveterate eel-fisher, for of all monotonous pursuits, it is the most self-repeating in its forms. Even the first time I went out I found it delightful only in anticipation; and this is the one midnight excursion which I shall attempt to re-produce for you. It had been a broiling midsummer day, too hot to sit in the verandah, too hot to stroll about the garden, or go for a ride, or do anything in fact, except bask like a lizard in the warm air. New Zealand summer weather, however high the thermometer, is quite different from either tropical or English heat. It is intensely hot in the sun, but always cool in the shade. I never heard of an instance of sun-stroke from exposure to the mid-day sun, for there always was a light air--often scarcely perceptible until you were well out in the open,--to temper the fierce vertical rays. It sometimes happened that I found myself obliged, either for business or pleasure, to take a long ride in the middle of a summer's day, and my invariable reflection used to be, "It is not nearly so hot out of doors as one fancies it would be." Then there is none of the stuffiness so often an accompaniment to our brief summers, bringing lassitude and debility in its train. The only disadvantage of an unusually hot season with us was, that our already embrowned complexions took a deeper shade of bronze; but as we were all equally sun-burnt there was no one to throw critical stones. What surprised me most was the utter absence of damp or miasma. After a blazing day, instead of hurrying in out of reach of poisonous vapours as the tropic-dweller must needs do, we could linger bare-headed, lightly clad, out of doors, listening to the distant roar of a river, or watching the exquisite tints of the evening sky. I dwell on this to explain that in almost any other country there would have been risk in remaining out at night after such still, hot days. On this particular evening, during my first summer in the New Zealand Malvern Hills, after we had watered my pet flowers near the house, and speculated a good deal as to whether the mignonette seed had all been blown out of the ground by the last nor'-wester or not, F---- said, "I shall go eel-fishing to-night to the creek, down the flat. Why don't you come too? I am sure you would like it." Now, I am sorry to say that I am such a thorough gipsy in my tastes that any pursuit which serves as an excuse for spending hours in the open air, is full of attraction for me; consequently, I embraced the proposal with ardour, and set about gathering, under F----'s directions, what seemed to bid fair to rival the collection of an old rag-and-bottle merchant. First of all, there was a muster of every empty tin match-box in the little house; these were to hold the bait-bits of mutton and worms. Then I was desired to hunt up all the odds and ends of worsted which lurked in the scrap-basket. A forage next took place in search of string, but as no parcels were ever delivered in that sequestered valley, twine became a precious and rare treasure. In default of any large supply being obtainable, my lamp and candle-wick material was requisitioned by F---- (who, by the way, is a perfect Uhlan for getting what he wants, when bent on a sporting expedition); and lastly, one or two empty flour-sacks were called for. You will see the use of this heterogeneous collection presently. It was of no use starting until the twilight had darkened into a cloudy, moonless night; so, after our seven o'clock supper, we adjourned into the verandah to watch F---- make a large round ball, such as children play with, out of the scraps of worsted with which I had furnished him. Instead of cutting the wool into lengths, however, it was left in loops; and I learned that this is done to afford a firm hold for the sharp needle-like teeth of an inquisitive eel, who might be tempted to find out if this strange round thing, floating near his hole, would be good to eat. I was impatient as a child,--remember it was my first eel-fishing expedition,--and I thought nine o'clock would never come, for I had been told to go and dress at that hour; that is to say, I was to change my usual station-costume, a pretty print gown, for a short linsey skirt, strong boots and kangaroo-skin gaiters. F----, and our cadet, Mr. U----, soon appeared, clad in shooting coats instead of their alpaca costumes, and their trousers stuffed into enormous boots, the upper leathers of which came beyond their knees. "Are we going into the water?" I timidly inquired. "Oh, no,--not at all: it is on account of the Spaniards." No doubt this sounds very unintelligible to an English reader; but every colonist who may chance to see my pages will shiver at the recollection of those vegetable defenders of an unexplored region in New Zealand. Imagine a gigantic artichoke with slender instead of broad leaves, set round in dense compact order. They vary, of course, in size, but in our part of the world four or six feet in circumference and a couple of feet high was the usual growth to which they attained, though at the back of the run they were much larger. Spaniards grow in clusters, or patches, among the tussocks on the plains, and constitute a most unpleasant feature of the vegetation of the country. Their leaves are as firm as bayonets, and taper at the point to the fineness of a needle, but are not nearly so easily broken as a needle would be. No horse will face them, preferring a jump at the cost of any exertion, to the risk of a stab from the cruel points. The least touch of this green bayonet draws blood, and a fall _into_ a Spaniard is a thing to be remembered all one's life. Interspersed with the Spaniards are generally clumps of "wild Irishman," a straggling sturdy bramble, ready to receive and scratch you well if you attempt to avoid the Spaniard's weapons. Especially detrimental to riding habits are wild Irishmen; and there are fragments of mine, of all sorts of materials and colours, fluttering now on their thorny branches in out-of-the-way places on our run. It is not surprising, therefore, that we guarded our legs as well as we could against these foes to flesh and blood. "We are rather early," said the gentlemen, as I appeared, ready and eager to start; "but perhaps it is all the better to enable you to see the track." They each flung an empty sack over their shoulders, felt in their pockets to ascertain whether the matches, hooks, boxes of bait, etc., were all there, and then we set forth. At first it appeared as if we had stepped from the brightness of the drawing-room into utter and pitchy blackness; but after we had groped for a few steps down the familiar garden path, our eyes became accustomed to the subdued light of the soft summer night. Although heavy banks of cloud,--the general precursors of wind,--were moving slowly between us and the heavens, the stars shone down through their rifts, and on the western horizon a faint yellowish tinge told us that daylight was in no hurry to leave our quiet valley. The mountain streams or creeks, which water so well the grassy plains among the Malvern Hills, are not affected to any considerable extent by dry summer weather. They are snow-fed from the high ranges, and each nor'-wester restores many a glacier or avalanche to its original form, and sends it flowing down the steep sides of yonder distant beautiful mountains to join the creeks, which, like a tangled skein of silver threads, ensure a good water supply to the New Zealand sheep-farmer. In the holes, under steep overhanging banks, the eels love to lurk, hiding from the sun's rays in cool depths, and coming out at night to feed. There are no fish whatever in the rivers, and I fear that the labours of the Acclimatization Society will be thrown away until they can persuade the streams themselves to remain in their beds like more civilised waters. At present not a month passes that one does not hear of some eccentric proceeding on the part of either rivers or creeks. Unless the fish are prepared to shift their liquid quarters at a moment's notice they will find themselves often left high and dry on the deserted shingle-bed. But eels are proverbially accustomed to adapt themselves to circumstances, and a fisherman may always count on getting some if he be patient. About a mile down the flat, between very high banks, our principal creek ran, and to a quiet spot among the flax-bushes we directed our steps. By the fast-fading light the gentlemen set their lines in very primitive fashion. On the crumbling, rotten earth the New Zealand flax, the _Phormium tenax_, loves to grow, and to its long, ribbon-like leaves the eel-fishers fastened their lines securely, baiting each alternate hook with mutton and worms. I declared this was too cockney a method of fishing, and selected a tall slender flax-stick, the stalk of last year's spike of red honey-filled blossoms, and to this extempore rod I fastened my line and bait. When one considers that the old whalers were accustomed to use ropes made in the rudest fashion, from the fibre of this very plant, in their deep-sea fishing for very big prey, it is not surprising that we found it sufficiently strong for our purpose. I picked out, therefore, a comfortable spot,--that is to say, well in the centre of a young flax-bush, whose satiny leaves made the most elastic cushions around me; with my flax-stick held out over what was supposed to be a favourite haunt of the eels, and with Nettle asleep at my feet and a warm shawl close to my hand, prepared for my vigil. "Don't speak or move," were the gentlemen's last words: "the eels are all eyes and ears at this hour; they can almost hear you breathe." Each man then took up his position a few hundred yards away from me, so that I felt, to all intents and purposes, absolutely alone. I am "free to confess," as our American cousins say, that it was a very eerie sensation. It was now past ten o'clock; the darkness was intense, and the silence as deep as the darkness. Hot as the day had been, the night air felt chill, and a heavy dew began to fall, showing me the wisdom of substituting woollen for cotton garments. I could see the dim outlines of the high hills, which shut in our happy valley on all sides, and the smell of the freshly-turned earth of a paddock near the house, which was in process of being broken up for English grass, came stealing towards me on the silent air. The melancholy cry of a bittern, or the shrill wail of the weka, startled me from time to time, but there was no other sound to break the eternal silence. As I waited and watched, I thought, as every one must surely think, with strange paradoxical feelings, of one's own utter insignificance in creation, mingled with the delightful consciousness of our individual importance in the eyes of the Maker and Father of all. An atom among worlds, as one feels, sitting there at such an hour and in such a spot, still we remember with love and pride, that not a hair of our head falls to the ground unnoticed by an Infinite Love and an Eternal Providence. The soul tries to fly into the boundless regions of space and eternity, and to gaze upon other worlds, and other beings equally the object of the Great Creator's care; but her mortal wing soon droops and tires, and she is fain to nestle home again to her Saviour's arms, with the thought, "I am my Beloved's, and He is mine." That is the only safe beginning and end of all speculation. It was very solemn and beautiful, that long dark night,--a pause amid the bustle of every day cares and duties,--hours in which one takes counsel with one's own heart, and is still. Midnight had come and gone, when the sputter and snap of striking a match, which sounded almost like a pistol shot amid the profound silence, told me that one of the sportsmen had been successful. I got up as softly as possible, wrapped my damp shawl round my still damper shoulders, and, fastening the flax-stick securely in the ground, stole along the bank of the creek towards the place where a blazing tussock, serving as a torch, showed the successful eel-fisher struggling with his prize. Through the gloom I saw another weird-looking figure running silently in the same direction; for the fact was, we were all so cramped and cold, and, weary of sitting waiting for bites which never came, that we hailed with delight a break in the monotony of our watch. It did not matter now how much noise we made (within moderate limits), for the peace of that portion of the creek was destroyed for the night. Half-a-dozen eels must have banded themselves together, and made a sudden and furious dash at the worsted ball, which Mr. U---- had been dangling in front of their mud hall-door for the last two hours. Just as he had intended, their long sharp teeth became entangled in the worsted loops, and although he declared some had broken away and escaped, three or four good-sized ones remained, struggling frantically. It would have been almost impossible for one man to lift such a weight straight out of the water by a string; and as we came up and saw Mr. U----'s agitated face in the fantastic flickering light of the blazing tussock, which he had set on fire as a signal of distress, I involuntarily thought of the old Joe Miller about the Tartar: "Why don't you let him go?" "Because he has caught _me._" It looked just like that. The furious splashing in the water below, and Mr. U---- grasping his line with desperate valour, but being gradually drawn nearer to the edge of the steep bank each instant. "Keep up a good light, but not too much," cried F---- to me, in a regular stage-whisper, as he rushed to the rescue. So I pulled up one tussock after another by its roots,--an exertion which resulted in upsetting me each time,--and lighted one as fast as its predecessor burned out. They were all rather damp, so they did not flare away too quickly. By the blaze of my grassy torches I saw F----first seize Mr. U---- round the waist and drag him further from the bank; but the latter called out, "It's my hands,--they have no skin left: do catch hold, there's a good fellow." So the "good fellow" did catch hold, but he was too experienced an eel-fisher to try to lift a couple of dozen pounds weight of eels out of the water by a perpendicular string; so he tied it to a flax-bush near, and, stooping down in order to get some leverage over the bank, very soon drew the ball, with its slimy, wriggling captives, out of the water. Just as he jerked it far on shore, one or two of the creatures broke loose and escaped, leaving quite enough to afford a most disgusting and horrible sight as they were shuffled and poked into the empty flour-sack. The sportsmen were delighted however, and departed to a fresh bend of the creek, leaving me to find my way back to my original post. This would have been difficult indeed, had not Nettle remained behind to guard my gloves, which I had left in his custody. As I passed, not knowing I was so near the spot, the little dog gave a low whimper of greeting, sufficient to attract my attention and guide me to where he was keeping his faithful watch and ward. I felt for my flax-stick and moved it ever so gently. A sudden jerk and splash startled me horribly, and warned me that I had disturbed an eel who was in the act of supping off my bait. In the momentary surprise I suppose I let go, for certain it is that the next instant my flax-stick was rapidly towed down the stream. Instead of feeling provoked or mortified, it was the greatest relief to know that my eel-fishing was over for the night, and that now I had nothing to do except "wait till called for." So I took Nettle on my lap and tried to abide patiently, but I had not been long enough in New Zealand to have any confidence in the climate, and as I felt how damp my clothes were, and recollected with horror my West Indian experiences of the consequences of exposure to night air and heavy dew, my mind _would_ dwell gloomily on the prospect of a fever, at least. It seemed a long and weary while before I perceived a figure coming towards me; and I am afraid I was both cross and cold and sleepy by the time we set our faces homewards. "I have only caught three," said F----. "How many have you got?" "None, I am happy to say," I answered peevishly, "What could Nettle and I have done with the horrible things if we had caught any?" The walk, or rather the stumble home, proved to be the worst part of the expedition. Not a ray of starlight had we to guide us,--nothing but inky blackness around and over us. We tried to make Nettle go first, intending to follow his lead, and trusting to his keeping the track; but Nettle's place was at my heels, and neither coaxing nor scolding would induce him to forego it. A forlorn hope was nothing to the dangers of each footstep. First one and then the other volunteered to lead the way, declaring they could find the track. All this time we were trying to strike the indistinct road among the tussocks, made by occasional wheels to our house, but the marks, never very distinct in daylight, became perfect will-o'-the-wisps at night. If we crossed a sheep-track we joyfully announced that we had found the way, but only to be undeceived the next moment by discovering that we were returning to the creek. From time to time we fell into and over Spaniards, and what was left of our clothes and our flesh the wild Irishmen devoured. We must have got home somehow, or I should not be writing an account of it, at this moment, but really I hardly know how we reached the house. I recollect that the next day there was a great demand for gold-beater's skin, and court-plaster, and that whenever F---- and Mr. U---- had a spare moment during the ensuing week, they devoted themselves to performing surgical operations on each other with a needle; and that I felt very subdued and tired for a day or two. But there was no question of fever or cold, and I was stared at when I inquired whether it was not dangerous to be out all night in heavy dew after a broiling day. We had the eels made into a pie by our shepherd, who assured me that if I entrusted them to my cook she would send me up such an oily dish that I should never be able to endure an eel again. He declared that the Maoris, who seem to have rather a horror of grease, had taught him how to cook both eels and wekas in such a way as to eliminate every particle of fat from both. I had no experience of the latter dish, but he certainly kept his word about the eels, for they were excellent. Chapter III: Pig-stalking. It was much too hot in summer to go after wild pigs. That was our winter's amusement, and very good sport it afforded us, besides the pleasure of knowing that we were really doing good service to the pastoral interest, by ridding the hills around us of almost the only enemies which the sheep have. If the squatter goes to look after his mob of ewes and lambs in the sheltered slopes at the back of his run, he is pretty nearly certain to find them attended by an old sow with a dozen babies at her heels. She will follow the sheep patiently from one camping ground to another, watching for a new-born and weakly lamb to linger behind the rest, and then she will seize and devour it. Besides this danger, the presence of pigs on the run keeps the sheep in an excited state. They have an uneasy consciousness that their foes are looking after them, and they move restlessly up and down the hills, not stopping to feed sufficiently to get fat. If a sheep-farmer thinks his sheep are not in good condition, one of the first questions he asks his shepherd is, "Are there any pigs about?" Our run had a good many of these troublesome visitors on it, especially in the winter, when they would travel down from the back country to grub up acres on acres of splendid sheep pasture in search of roots. The only good they do is to dig up the Spaniards for the sake of their delicious white fibres, and the fact of their being able to do this will give a better idea of the toughness of a wild pig's snout than anything else I can say. It may be strange to English ears to hear a woman of tolerably peaceful disposition, and as the advertisements in the _Times_ so often state, "thoroughly domesticated," aver that she found great pleasure in going after wild pigs; but the circumstances of the ease must be taken into consideration before I am condemned. First of all, it seemed terribly lonely at home if F---- was out with his rifle all day. Next, there was the temptation to spend those delicious hours of a New Zealand winter's day, between ten and four, out of doors, wandering over hills and exploring new gullies. And lastly, I had a firm idea that I was taking care of F----. And so I was in a certain sense, for if his rifle had burst, or any accident had happened to him, and he had been unable to reach the homestead, we should never have known where to find him, and days would probably have passed before every nook and corner of a run extending over many thousand acres could have been thoroughly searched. I had heard terrible stories of shepherds slipping down and injuring themselves so that they could not move, and of their dead bodies being only found after weeks of careful seeking. F---- himself delighted to terrify me by descriptions of narrow escapes; and, as the pigs had to be killed, I resolved to follow in the hunter's train. The sport is conducted exactly like deer stalking, only it is much harder work, and a huge boar is not so picturesque an object as a stag of many tines, when you do catch sight of him. There is just the same accurate knowledge needed of the animal's habits and customs, and the same untiring patience. It is quite as necessary to be a good shot, for a grey pig standing under the lee of a boulder of exactly his own colour is a much more difficult object to hit from the opposite side of a ravine than a stag; and a wild boar is every whit as keen of scent and sharp of eye and ear as any antlered "Monarch of the Glen." Imagine then a beautiful winter's morning without wind or rain. There has been perhaps a sharp frost over-night, but after a couple of hours of sunshine the air is as warm and bright as midsummer. We used to be glad enough of a wood fire at breakfast; but after that meal had been eaten we went into the verandah, open to the north-east (our warm quarter), which made a delicious winter parlour, and basked in the blazing sunshine. I used often to bring out a chair and a table, and work and read there all the morning, without either hat or jacket. But it sometimes happened that once or twice a week, on just such a lovely morning, F---- would proclaim his intention of going out to look for pigs, and, sooner than be left behind, I nearly always begged to be allowed to come too. There was no fear of my getting tired or lagging behind; and as I was willing to make myself generally useful, by carrying the telescope, a revolver for close quarters, and eke a few sandwiches, the offer of my company used to be graciously accepted. We could seldom procure the loan of a good pig-dog, and after one excursion with a certain dog of the name of "Pincher," I preferred going out by ourselves. On that occasion F---- did not take his rifle, as there was no chance of getting a long shot at our game; for the dog would surely bring the pig to bay, and then the hunter must trust to a revolver or the colonial boar-spear, half a pair of shears (I suppose it should be called _a shear_) bound firmly on a flax stick by green flax-leaves. We had heard of pigs having been seen by our out-station shepherd at the back of the run, and as we were not encumbered by the heavy rifle, we mounted our horses and rode as far as we could towards the range where the pigs had been grubbing up the hill sides in unmolested security for some time past. Five miles from home the ground became so rough that our horses could go no further; we therefore jumped off, tied them to a flax-bush, taking off the saddles in case they broke loose, and proceeded on foot over the jungly, over-grown saddle. On the other side we came upon a beautiful gully, with a creek running through it, whose banks were so densely fringed with scrub that we could not get through to the stream, which we heard rippling amid the tangled shrubs. If we could only have reached the water our best plan would have been to get into it and follow its windings up the ravine; but even Pincher could hardly squeeze and burrow through the impenetrable fence of matapo and goi, which were woven together by fibres of a thorny creeper called "a lawyer" by the shepherds. It was very tantalising, for in less than five minutes we heard trusty Pincher "speaking" to a boar, and knew that he had baled it up against a tree, and was calling to us to come and help him. F----ran about like a lunatic, calling out; "Coming Pincher: round him up, good dog!" and so forth; but they were all vain promises, for he could not get in. I did my best in searching for an opening, and gave many false hopes of having found one. At last I said, "If I run up the mountain side, and look down on that mass of scrub, perhaps I may see some way into it from above." "No: do you stay here, and see, if the pig breaks cover, which way he goes." Up the steep hill, therefore, F---- rushed, as swiftly and lightly as one of his own mountain sheep; and in a minute or two I saw him standing, revolver in hand, on an overhanging rock, peering anxiously down on the leafy mass below. Pincher and the creek made such a noise between them that I could not hear what F---- said, and only guessed from his despairing gestures that there was no trap door visible in the green roof. I signalled as well as I could that he was to come down directly, for his-standing-place looked most insecure. Insecure indeed it proved. As I spoke the great fragment of rock loosely embedded in earth on the mountain side gave way with a crash, and came tumbling majestically down on the top of the scrub. As for F----, he described a series of somersaults in the air, which however agreeable in themselves, were very trying to the nerves of the spectatrix below. My first dread was least the rock should crush him, but to my great joy I saw at once that it was rolling slowly down the hill, whilst F----'s vigorous bound off it as it gave way, had carried him well into the middle of the leafy cushion beneath him, where he presently landed flat on his back! I expected every moment to hear the revolver go off, but mercifully it did not do so; and as his thorny bed was hardly to be endured, F---- soon kicked himself off it, and before I could realize that he was unhurt, had scrambled to his feet, and was rushing off, crying in school-boy glee, "That will fetch him out" That (the rock) certainly did fetch him (the pig) out in a moment, and Pincher availed himself of the general confusion to seize hold of his enemy's hind leg, which he never afterwards let go. The boar kept snapping and champing his great tusks; but Pincher, even with the leg in his mouth, was too active to be caught: so as the boar found that it was both futile and undignified to try to run away with a dog hanging on his hind-quarters, he tried another plan. Making for a clump of Ti-ti palms he went to bay, and contrived to take up a very good defensive position. Pincher would have never given up his mouthful of leg if F---- had not called him off, for it seemed impossible to fire the revolver whilst the dog held on. This change of tactics was much against Pincher's judgment, and he kept rushing furiously in between F---- and the boar. As for me, I prudently retired behind a big boulder, on which I could climb if the worst came to the worst, and called out from time to time, to both dog and man, "Oh, don't!" They did not even hear me, for the din of battle was loud. The pig dodged about so fast, that although F----'s bullets lodged in the palm tree at his back, not one struck a vulnerable part, and at last F----, casting his revolver behind him for me to pick up and reload, closed with his foe, armed only with the shear-spear. Pincher considered this too dangerous, and rushed in between them to distract the boar's attention. Just as F---- aimed a thrust at his chest,--for it was of no use trying to penetrate his hide,--the boar lowered his head, caught poor faithful Pincher's exposed flank, and tore it open with his razor-like tusk; but in the meantime the spear had gone well home into his brawny chest, exactly beneath the left shoulder, and his life-blood came gushing out. I was so infuriated at the sight of Pincher's frightful wound that I felt none of my usual pity for the victim; and rushing up to F---- with the revolver, of which only a couple of chambers were loaded, thrust it into his hand with an entreaty to "kill him quickly." This F---- was quite willing to do for his own sake, as a wounded boar is about the most dangerous beast on earth; and although the poor brute kept snapping at the broken flax-stick sticking in his heart, he fired a steady shot which brought the pig on his knees, only to roll over dead the next moment. I cannot help pausing to say that I sewed up Pincher's wound then and there, with some of the contents of my Cambusmore house-wife; which always accompanied me on my sporting expeditions, and we carried him between us down to where the horses were fastened. There I mounted; and F---- lifting the faithful creature on my lap, we rode slowly home, dipping our handkerchiefs in cold water at every creek we crossed, and laying them on his poor flank. He was as patient and brave as possible, and bore his sufferings and weakness for days afterwards in a way which was a lesson to one, so grateful and gentle was he. His brave and sensible behaviour met its due reward in a complete though slow recovery. I have only left myself space for one little sketch more; but it comes so vividly before me that I cannot shut it out. After a long day's walking, over the hills and vallies, so beautiful beneath our azure winter-sky, walking which was delightful as an expedition, but unsuccessful as to sport, we crossed the track of a large boar. We knew he was old by his being alone, and it was therefore very certain that he would show fight if we came up with him. Patiently we followed the track over a low saddle, through a clump of brushwood menuka, the broken twigs of which showed how large an animal had just passed by. Here and there a freshly grubbed-up Spaniard showed where he had paused for a snack; but at length we dropped down on the river bed, with its wide expanse of shingle, and there we lost all clue to our game. After a little hesitation, F---- decided on climbing a high cliff on the right bank of the river, and trying to catch a glimpse of him. The opposite hill-side was gaunt and bare; a southern aspect shut out the sun in winter, and for all its rich traces of copper ore, "Holkam's Head" found no favour in the eyes of either shepherds or master. Grass would not grow there except in summer, and its gray, shingly sides were an eye-sore to its owner. We sat down on the cliff, and looked around carefully. Presently F---- said, in a breathless whisper of intense delight, "I see him." In vain I looked and looked, but nothing could my stupid eyes discover. "Lie down," said F---- to me, just as if I had been a dog. I crouched as low as possible, whilst F----settled himself comfortably flat on his stomach, and prepared to take a careful aim at the opposite side of the hill. After what seemed a long time, he pulled his rifle's trigger, and the flash and crack was followed apparently by one of the gray boulders opposite leaping up, and then rolling heavily down the hill. F---- jumped up in triumph crying, "Come along, and don't forget the revolver." When we had crossed the river, reckless of getting wet to our waists in icy-cold water, F---- took the revolver from me and went first; but, after an instant's examination, he called out, "Dead as a door-nail! come and look at him." So I came, with great caution, and a more repulsive and disgusting sight cannot be imagined than the huge carcass of our victim already stiffening in death. The shot had been a fortunate one, for only an inch away from the hole the bullet had made his shoulders were regularly plated with thick horny scales, off which a revolver bullet would have glanced harmlessly, and he bore marks of having fought many and many a battle with younger rivals. His huge tusks were notched and broken, and he had evidently been driven out from among his fellows as a quarrelsome member of their society. Already the keen-eyed hawks were hovering above the great monster, and we left him to his fate in the solitary river gorge, where all was bleak and cold and gloomy,--a fitting death-place for the fierce old warrior. Chapter IV: Skating in the back country. I do not believe that even in Canada the skating can be better than that which was within our reach in the Malvern Hills. Among our sheltered valleys an sunny slopes the hardest frost only lasted a few hour after dawn; but twenty-five miles further back, on the border of the glacier region, the mountain tarns could boast of ice several feet thick all the winter. We heard rumours of far-inland lakes, across which heavily-laden bullock-teams could pass in perfect safety for three months of the year, and we grumbled at the light film over our own large ponds, which would not bear even my little terrier's weight after mid-day: and yet it was cold enough at night, during our short bright winters, to satisfy the most icy-minded person. I think I have mentioned before that the wooden houses in New Zealand, especially those roughly put together up-country, are by no means weather-tight. Disagreeable as this may be, it is doubtless the reason of the extraordinary immunity from colds and coughs which we hill-dwellers enjoyed. Living between walls formed by inch-boards over-lapping each other, and which can only be made to resemble English rooms by being canvassed and papered inside, the pure fresh air finds its way in on all sides. A hot room in winter is an impossibility, in spite of drawn curtains and blazing fires, therefore the risk of sudden changes of temperature is avoided. Some such theory as this is absolutely necessary to account for the wonderfully good health enjoyed by all, in the most capricious and trying climate I have ever come across. When a strong nor'-wester was howling down the glen, I have seen the pictures on my drawing-room walls blowing out to an angle of 45 degrees, although every door and window in the little low wooden structure had been carefully closed for hours. It has happened to me more than once, on getting up in the morning, to find my clothes, which had been laid on a chair beneath my bedroom window overnight, completely covered by powdered snow, drifting in through the ill-fitting casement. This same window was within a couple of feet of my bed, and between me and it was neither curtain nor shelter of any sort. Of a winter's evening I have often been obliged to wrap myself up in a big Scotch maud, as I sat, dressed in a high linsey gown, by a blazing fire, so hard was the frost outside; but by ten o'clock next morning I would be loitering about the verandah, basking in the sunshine, and watching the light flecks of cloud-wreaths and veils floating against an Italian-blue sky. Yet such is the inherent discontent of the human heart, that instead of rejoicing in this lovely mid-day sunshine, we actually mourned over the vanished ice which at daylight had been found, by a much-envied early riser, strong enough to slide on for half an hour. It seemed almost impossible to believe that any one had been sliding that morning within a few feet of where I sat working in a blaze of sunshine, with my pretty grey and pink Australian parrot pluming itself on the branch of a silver wattle close by, and "Joey," the tiny monkey from Panama, sitting on the skirt of my gown, with a piece of its folds arranged by himself shawl-wise over his glossy black shoulders. If either of these tropical pets had been left out after four o'clock that sunny day, they, would have been frozen to death before our supper time. It was just on such a day as this, and in just such a bright mid-day hour, that a distant neighbour of ours rode up to the garden gate, leading a pack horse. Outside the saddle-bags, with which this animal was somewhat heavily laden, could be plainly seen a beautiful new pair of Oxford skates, glinting in the sunshine; and it must have been the sight of these beloved implements which called forth the half-envious remark from one of the gentlemen, "I suppose you have lots of skating up at your place?" "Well, not exactly at my station, but there is a capital lake ten miles from my house where I am sure of a good day's skating any time between June and August," answered Mr. C. H----, our newly arrived guest. We all looked at each other. I believe I heaved a deep sigh, and dropped my thimble, which "Joey" instantly seized, and with a low chirrup of intense delight, commenced to poke down between the boards of the verandah. It was too bad of us to give such broad hints by looks if not by words. Poor Mr. C. H---- was a bachelor in those days: he had not been at his little out-of-the-way homestead for some weeks, and was ignorant of its resources in the way of firing (always an important matter at a station), or even of tea and mutton. He had no woman-servant, and was totally unprepared for an incursion of skaters; and yet,--New Zealand fashion,--no sooner did he perceive that we were all longing and pining for some skating, than he invited us all most cordially to go up to his back-country run the very next day, with him, and skate as long as we liked. This was indeed a delightful prospect, the more especially as it happened to be only Monday, which gave us plenty of time to be back again by Sunday, for our weekly service. We made it a rule never to be away from home on that day, lest any of our distant congregation should ride their twenty miles or so across country and find us absent. When the host is willing and the guests eager, it does not take long to arrange a plan, so the next morning found three of us, besides Mr. C. H---- mounted and ready to start directly after breakfast. I have often been asked how I managed in those days about toilette arrangements, when it was impossible to carry any luggage except a small "swag," closely packed in a waterproof case and fastened on the same side as the saddle-pocket. First of all I must assure my lady readers that I prided myself on turning out as neat and natty as possible at the end of the journey, and yet I rode not only in my every-day linsey gown, which could be made long or short at pleasure, but in my crinoline. This was artfully looped up on the right side and tied by a ribbon, in such a way that when I came out ready dressed to mount, no one in the world could have guessed that I had on any _cage_ beneath my short riding habit with a loose tweed jacket over the body of the dress. Within the "swag" was stowed a brush and comb, collar, cuffs and handkerchiefs, a little necessary linen, a pair of shoes, and perhaps a ribbon for my hair if I meant to be very smart. On this occasion we all found that our skates occupied a terribly large proportion both of weight and space in our modest kits, but still we were much too happy to grumble. Where could you find a gayer quartette than started at an easy canter up the valley that fresh bracing morning? From the very first our faces were turned to the south-west, and before us rose the magnificent chain of the Southern Alps, with their bold snowy peaks standing out in a glorious dazzle against the cobalt sky. A stranger, or colonially speaking, a "new chum," would have thought we must needs cross that barrier-range before we could penetrate any distance into the back country, but we knew of long winding vallies and gullies running up between the giant slopes, which would lead us, almost without our knowing how high we had climbed, up to the elevated but sheltered plateau among the back country ranges where Mr. C. H----'s homestead stood. There was only one steep saddle to be crossed, and that lay between us and Rockwood, six miles off. It was the worst part of the journey for the horses, so we had easy consciences in dismounting and waiting an hour when we reached that most charming and hospitable of houses. I had just time for one turn round the beautiful garden, where the flowers and shrubs of old England grew side by side with the wild and lovely blossoms of our new island home, when the expected coo-e rang out shrill and clear from the rose-covered porch. It was but little past mid-day when we made our second start, and set seriously to work over fifteen miles of fairly good galloping ground. This distance brought us well up to the foot of a high range, and the last six miles of the journey had to be accomplished in single file, and with great care and discretion, for the track led through bleak desolate vallies, round the shoulder of abutting spurs, through swamps, and up and down rocky staircases. Mr. C. H---- and his cob both knew the way well however, and my bay mare Helen had the cleverest legs and the wisest as well as prettiest head of her race. If left to herself she seldom made a mistake, and the few tumbles she and I ever had together, took place only when she found herself obliged to go my way instead of her own. We entered the gorges of the high mountains between us and the west, and soon lost the sun; even the brief winter twilight faded away more swiftly than usual amid those dark defiles; and it was pitch dark, though only five o'clock, when we heard a sudden and welcome clamour of dog voices. These deep-mouthed tones invariably constitute the first notes of a sheep-station's welcome; and a delightful sound it is to the belated and bewildered traveller, for besides guiding his horse to the right spot, the noise serves to bring out some one to see who the traveller may be. On this occasion we heard one man say to the other, "It's the boss:" so almost before we had time to dismount from our tired horses (remember they had each carried a heavy "swag" besides their riders), lights gleamed from the windows of the little house, and a wood fire sparkled and sputtered on the open hearth. Mr. C. H---- only just guided me to the door of the sitting-room, making an apology and injunction together,--"Its very rough I am afraid: but you can do what you like;"--before he hastened back to assist his guests in settling their horses comfortably for the night. Labour used to be so dear and wages so high, especially in the back country of New Zealand, that the couple of men,--one for indoor work, to saw wood, milk, cook, sweep, _wash_, etc., and the other to act as gardener, groom, ploughman, and do all the numerous odd jobs about a place a hundred miles and more from the nearest shop,--represented a wage-expenditure of at least 200 pounds a year. Every gentleman therefore as a matter of course sees to his own horse when he arrives unexpectedly at a station, and I knew I should have at least half an hour to myself. The first thing to do was to let down my crinoline, for I could only walk like a crab in it when it was fastened up for riding, kilt up my linsey gown, take off my hat and jacket, and set to work The curtains must be drawn close, and the chairs moved out from their symmetrical positions against the wall; then I made an expedition into the kitchen, and won the heart of the stalwart cook, who was already frying chops over the fire, by saying in my best German, "I have come to help you with the tea." Poor man! it was very unfair, for Mr. C. H---- had told me during our ride that his servitor was a German, and I had employed the last long hour of the journey in rubbing up my exceedingly rusty knowledge of that language, and arranging one or two effective sentences. Poor Karl's surprise and delight knew no bounds, and he burst forth into a long monologue, to which I could find no readier answers than smiles and nods, hiding my inability to follow up my brilliant beginning under the pretence of being very busy. By the time the gentlemen had stabled and fed the horses and were ready, Karl and I between us had arranged a bright cosy little apartment with a capital tea-dinner on the table. After this meal there were pipes and toddy, and as I could not retire, like Mrs. Micawber at David Copperfield's supper party, into the adjoining bedroom and sit by myself in the cold, I made the best of the somewhat dense clouds of smoke with which I was soon surrounded, and listened to the fragmentary plans for the next day. Then we all separated for the night, and in two minutes I was fast asleep in a little room no bigger than the cabin of a ship, with an opossum rug on a sofa for my bed and bedding. It was cold enough the next morning, I assure you: so cold that it was difficult to believe the statement that all the gentlemen had been down at daybreak to bathe in the great lake which spread like an inland sea before the bay-window of the little sitting room. This lake, the largest of the mountain chain, never freezes, on account partly of its great depth, and also because of its sunny aspect. Our destination lay far inland, and if we meant to have a good long day's skating we must start at once. Such a perfect day as it was! I felt half inclined to beg off the first day on the ice, and to spend my morning wandering along the rata-fringed shores of Lake Coleridge, with its glorious enclosing of hills which might fairly be called mountains; but I feared to seem capricious or lazy, when really my only difficulty was in selecting a pleasure. The sun had climbed well over the high barriers which lay eastwards, and was shining brightly down through the quivering blue ether overhead; the frost sparkled on every broad flax-blade or slender tussock-spine, as if the silver side of earth were turned outwards that winter morning. No sooner had we mounted (with no "swag" except our skates this time) than Mr. C. H---- set spurs to his horse, and bounded over the slip-rail of the paddock before Karl could get it down. We were too primitive for gates in those parts: they only belonged to the civilization nearer Christchurch; and I had much ado to prevent my pony from following his lead, especially as the other gentlemen were only too delighted to get rid of some of their high spirits by a jump. However Karl got the top rail down for me, and "Mouse" hopped over the lower one gaily, overtaking the leader of the expedition in a very few strides. We could not keep up our rapid pace long; for the ground became terribly broken and cut up by swamps, quicksands, blind creeks, and all sorts of snares and pit-falls. Every moment added to the desolate grandeur of the scene. Bleak hills rose up on either hand, with still bleaker and higher peaks appearing beyond them again. An awful silence, unbroken by the familiar cheerful sound of the sheep calling to each other,--for even the hardy merino cannot live in these ranges during the winter months,--brooded around us, and the dark mass of a splendid "bush," extending over many hundred acres, only added to the lonely grandeur of the scene. We rode almost the whole time in a deep cold shade, for between us and the warm sun-rays were such lofty mountains that it was only for a few brief noontide moments he could peep over their steep sides. After two hour's riding, at the best pace which we could keep up through these terrible gorges, a sharp turn of the track brought us full in view of our destination. I can never forget that first glimpse of Lake Ida. In the cleft of a huge, gaunt, bare hill, divided as if by a giant hand, lay a large _black_ sheet of ice. No ray of sunshine ever struck it from autumn until spring, and it seemed impossible to imagine our venturing to skate merrily in such a sombre looking spot. But New-Zealand sheep farmers are not sentimental I am afraid. Beyond a rapid thought of self-congratulation that such "cold country" was not on _their_ run, they did not feel affected by its eternal silence and gloom. The ice would bear, and what more could skater's heart desire? At the end of the dark tarn, nearest to the track by which we had approached it, stood a neat little hut; and judge of my amazement when, as we rode up to it, a young gentleman, looking as if he was just going out for a day's deer-stalking, opened the low door and came out to greet us. Yes, here was one of those strange anomalies peculiar to the colonies. A young man, fresh from his University, of refined tastes and cultivated intellect, was leading here the life of a boor, without companionship or appreciation of any sort. His "mate" seemed to be a rough West countryman, honest and well meaning enough, but utterly unsuited to Mr. K----. It was the old story, of wild unpractical ideas hastily carried out. Mr. K---- had arrived in New Zealand a couple of years before, with all his worldly wealth,--1,000 pounds. Finding this would not go very far in the purchase of a good sheep-run, and hearing some calculations about the profit to be derived from breeding cattle, based upon somebody's lucky speculation, he eagerly caught at one of the many offers showered upon unfortunate "new chums," and bought the worst and bleakest bit of one of the worst and bleakest runs in the province. The remainder of his money was laid out in purchasing stock; and now he had sat down patiently to await, in his little hut, until such time as his brilliant expectations would be realized. I may say here they became fainter and fainter year by year, and at last faded away altogether; leaving him at the end of three lonely, dreadful years with exactly half his capital, but double his experience. However this has nothing to do with my story, except that I can never think of our skating expedition to that lonely lake, far back among those terrible hills, without a thrill of compassion for the only living human being, who dwelt among them. It was too cold to dawdle about, however, that day. The frost lay white and hard upon the ground, and we felt that we were cruel in leaving our poor horses standing to get chilled whilst we amused ourselves. Although my beloved Helen was not there, having been exchanged for the day in favour of Master Mouse, a shaggy pony, whose paces were as rough as its coat, I begged a red blanket from Mr. K----, and covered up Helen's stable companion, whose sleek skin spoke of a milder temperature than that on Lake Ida's "gloomy shore." Our simple arrangements were soon made. Mr. K---- left directions to his mate to prepare a repast consisting of tea, bread, and mutton for us, and, each carrying our skates, we made the best of our way across the frozen tussocks to the lake. Mr. K---- proved an admirable guide over its surface, for he was in the habit during the winter of getting all his firewood out of the opposite "bush," and bringing it across the lake on sledges drawn by bullocks. We accused him of having cut up our ice dreadfully by these means; but he took us to a part of the vast expanse where an unbroken field of at least ten acres of ice stretched smoothly before us. Here were no boards marked "DANGEROUS," nor any intimation of the depth of water beneath. The most timid person could feel no apprehension on ice which seemed more solid than the earth; so accordingly in a few moments we had buckled and strapped on our skates, and were skimming and gliding--and I must add, falling--in all directions. We were very much out of practice at first, except Mr. K----, who skated every day, taking short cuts across the lake to track a stray heifer or explore a blind gully. I despair of making my readers see the scene as I saw it, or of conveying any adequate idea of the intense, the appalling loneliness of the spot. It really seemed to me as if our voices and laughter, so far from breaking the deep eternal silence, only brought it out into stronger relief. On either hand rose up, shear from the waters edge, a great, barren, shingly mountain; before us loomed a dark pine forest, whose black shadows crept up until they merged in the deep _crevasses_ and fissures of the Snowy Range. Behind us stretched the winding gullies by which we had climbed to this mountain tarn, and Mr. K----'s little hut and scrap of a garden and paddock gave the one touch of life, or possibility of life, to this desolate region. In spite of all scenic wet blankets we tried hard to be gay, and no one but myself would acknowledge that we found the lonely grandeur of our "rink" too much for us. We skated away perseveringly until we were both tired and hungry, when we returned to Mr. K----'s hut, took a hasty meal, and mounted our chilled steeds. Mr. C. H---- insisted on bringing poor Mr. K---- back with us, though he was somewhat reluctant to come, alleging that a few days spent in the society of his kind made the solitude of his weather-board hut all the more dreary. The next day and yet the next we returned to our gloomy skating ground, and when I turned round in my saddle as we rode away on Friday evening, for a last look at Lake Ida lying behind us in her winter black numbness, her aspect seemed more forbidding than ever, for only the bare steep hill-sides could be seen; the pine forest and white distant mountains were all blotted and blurred out of sight by a heavy pall of cloud creeping slowly up. "Let us ride fast," cried Mr. K----, "or we shall have a sou'-wester upon us;" so we galloped home as quickly as we could, over ground that I don't really believe I could summon courage to walk across, ever so slowly, to-day,--but then one's nerves and courage are in very different order out in New Zealand to the low standard which rules for ladies in England, who "live at home in ease!" Long before we reached home the storm was pelting us: my little jacket was like a white board when I took it off, for the sleet and snow had frozen as it fell. I was wet to the skin, and so numb with cold I could hardly stand when we reached home at last in the dark and down-pour. I could only get my things very imperfectly dried, and had to manage as best I could, but yet no one even thought of making the inquiry next morning when I came out to breakfast, "Have you caught cold?" It would have seemed a ridiculous question. Chapter V: Toboggon-ing. I cannot resist the temptation to touch upon one of the winter amusements which came to us two years later. Yet the word "amusement" seems out of place, no one in the Province having much heart to amuse themselves, for the great snow storm of August, 1867, had just taken place, and we were in the first days of bewilderment at the calamity which had befallen us all. A week's incessant snow-fall, accompanied by a fierce and freezing south-west wind, had not only covered the whole of the mountains from base to brow with shining white, through which not a single dark rock jutted, but had drifted on the plains for many feet deep. Gullies had been filled up by the soft, driving flakes, creeks were bridged over, and for three weeks and more all communication between the stations and the various townships was cut off. The full extent of our losses was unknown to us, and dreary as were our forebodings of misfortune, none of us guessed that snow to be the winding sheet of half a million of sheep. The magnificent semi-circle of the Southern Alps stood out, for a hundred miles from north to south, in appalling white distinctness, and no one in the whole Colony had ever seen the splendid range thus free from fleck or flaw. We had done all we could within working distance, but what was, the use of digging in drifts thirty feet deep? Amidst, and almost above, the terrible anxiety about our own individual safety,--for the snow was over the roof of many of the station-houses,--came the pressing question, "Where are the sheep?" A profound silence unbroken by bleat of lamb, or bark of dog, or any sound of life, had reigned for many days, when a merciful north-westerly gale sprung, up, and releasing the heavily-laden earth from its white bondage, freed the miserable remnant of our flocks and herds. At least, I should say, it freed those sheep which had travelled down to the vallies, driven before the first pitiless gusts, but we knew that many hundreds, if not thousands, of wethers must have been surprised and imprisoned far back among the hills. Such knowledge could not be acted upon, however, for no human being could hope to plunge through the drifts around us. Old shepherds who had lived on the run for fifteen years, confessed that they did not know their way fifty yards from the homestead. The vallies were filled up, so that one gully looked precisely like its fellow; rocks, scrub, Ti-ti palms, all our local land-marks had disappeared; not a fence or gate could be seen in all the country side. Here and there a long wave-like line in the smooth mass would lead us to suppose that a wire fence lay buried beneath its curves, but we had no means of knowing for certain. Near the house every shrub and out-building, every hay-stack or wood-heap, had all been covered up, and no man might even guess where they lay. This had been the terrible state of things, and although the blessed warm wind had removed our immediate and pressing fear of starvation, we could not hope to employ ourselves in searching for our missing sheep for many days to come. None of us had been able to take any exercise for more than a fortnight, and having done all that could possibly be done near at hand, F---- set to work to manufacture some sledges out of old packing-cases. Quite close to the house, a hill sloped smoothly for about 300 yards, at an angle of 40 degrees; along its side lay a perfectly level and deep drift, which did not show any signs of thawing for more than a month, and we resolved to use this as a natural _Montagne Russe_. The construction of a suitable sledge was the first difficulty to be surmounted, and many were the dismal failures and break-neck catastrophes which preceded what we considered a safe and successful vehicle. Not only was it immensely difficult to make, without either proper materials or tools, a sledge which could hold two people (for F---- declared it was no fun sleighing alone), but his "patent brakes" proved the most broken of reeds to lean upon when the sledge was dashing down the steep incline at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. We nearly broke our necks more than once, and I look back now with amazement to our fool-hardiness. How well I remember one expedition, when F----, who had been hammering away in a shed all the morning, came to find me sitting in the sun in the verandah, and to inform me that at last he had perfected a conveyance which would combine speed with safety. Undaunted by previous mishaps, I sallied forth, and in company with Mr. U---- and F----, climbed painfully up the high hill I have mentioned, by some steps which they had cut in the frozen snow. Without some such help we could not have kept our footing for a moment, and as long as I live I shall never forget the sensation of leaving my friendly Alpenstock planted in the snow, and of seating myself on that frail sledge. Perhaps I ought to describe it here. A board, about six feet long by one foot broad, with sheet-iron nailed beneath it, and curved upwards in front; on its upper surface a couple of battens were fixed, one quite at the foremost end, and one half-way. That was F----'s new patent sledge, warranted to go faster down an incline than any other conveyance on the surface of the earth. I was the wretched "passenger," as he called me, on more than one occasion, and I will briefly describe my experiences. "Why did you go?" is a very natural question to arise in my reader's mind; and sitting here at my writing-table, I feel as if I must have been a lunatic to venture. But in those delicious wild days, no enterprise seemed too rash or dangerous to engage in, from mounting a horse which had never seen or felt the fluttering of a habit, to embarking on the conveyance I have described above, and starting down a mountain-side at the risk of a broken neck. Well, to return to that terrible moment. I see the whole scene now. The frail, rude sledge, with its breaks made out of a couple of standards from a wire fence, connected by a strong iron chain; F----seated at the back of the precious contrivance, firmly grasping a standard in each hand; Mr. U---- clinging desperately to his Alpen-stock with one hand, whilst with the other he helps me on to the board; and Nettle, my dear little terrier, standing shivering on three legs, sniffing distrustfully at the sledge. It is extremely difficult even to take one's place on a board a dozen inches wide. My petticoats have to be firmly wrapped around me, and care taken that no fold projects beyond the sledge, or I should be soon dragged out of my frail seat. I fix my feet firmly against the batten, and F---- cries, "Are you ready?" "Oh, not yet!" I gasp, clinging to Mr. U----'s hand as if I never meant to let it go. "Hold tight!" he shouts. Now what a mockery this injunction was. I had nothing to hold on to except my own knees, and I clasped them convulsively. Mr. U---- says, "You're all right now," and before I can realize that he has let go my hand, before my courage is half-way up to the necessary height, we are off. The breaks are slightly depressed for the first few yards, in order to regulate our pace, and because there is a tremendously steep pitch just at first. Once we have safely passed that he tilts up the standards, and our sledge shoots like a meteor down the perfectly smooth incline. I cannot draw my breath, we are going at such a pace through the keen air; I give myself up for lost. We come to another steep pitch near the bottom of the hill; F---- is laughing to such a degree at me that he does not put down his breaks soon enough, and loses control of the sledge. We appear to leap down the dip, and then the sledge turns first one way and then the other, its zinc prow being sometimes up-hill and some-times down. It seems wonderful that we keep on the sledge, for we have no means of holding on except by pressing our feet against the battens; yet in the grand and final upset at the bottom of the hill, the sledge is there too, and we find we have never parted company from it. Will any one believe that after such a perilous journey, I could actually be persuaded to try again? But so it was. At first the fright (for I was really terrified) used to make me very cross, and I declared that I was severely hurt, if not "kilt entirely;" but after I had shaken the snow out of my linsey skirt, and discovered that beyond the damage to my nerves I was uninjured, F---- was quite sure to try to persuade me to make another attempt, and I was equally sure to yield to the temptation. As well as my memory serves me, we only made one really successful journey, and that was on an occasion when we kept the breaks down the whole way. But I never could insure similar precautions being taken again, and we consequently experienced every variety of mishaps possible to sledge travellers. I persevered however for some days until the north-westerly wind, which was blowing softly all the time, began to lay bare the sharpest points of the rocks, and then I gave in at once, and would not be a "passenger" any more. It was rather too much to strike one's head against a jagged fragment of rock, or to dislocate one's thumb against a concealed stump of a palm tree. Then the sharp points of the Spaniards began to stick up through the softening snow, and nothing would induce me to run the risk of touching their green bayonets. Besides which, the fast-thawing snow made it very difficult to climb up to the top of our hill, for the carefully-cut steps had disappeared long ago. So I gave up sledge journeys on my own account, and used only to look at F---- and Mr. U---- taking them. These two persevered so long as an inch of snow remained on the hill-side. Some of their adventures were very alarming, and certainly rather dangerous. One afternoon I had been watching them for more than an hour, and had seen them go through every variety of disaster, and capsize with no further effect than increasing their desire for "one more" trial. On the blind-side of the hill,--that is to say the side which gets scarcely any sun in winter,--a deep drift of snow still lingered, filling up a furrow made in former years by a shingle-slip. Thither the two adventurous climbers dragged their sledge, and down the steep incline they performed their perilous descent many a time. I became tired of watching the board shoot swiftly over the white streak; and I strolled round the shoulder of the hill, to see if there was any appearance of the snow-fall lessening in the back country. I must have been away about half an hour, and had made the circuit of the little knoll which projected from the mountain side, returning to where I expected to find sleigh and sleighers starting perhaps on just "one more" journey. But no one was there, and a dozen yards or so from the usual starting-point, the snow was a good deal ploughed up and stained in large patches by blood. Here was an alarming spectacle, though the only wonder was that a bad accident had not occurred before. I saw the sledge, deserted and broken, near the end of the drift: of the passengers there was neither sign nor token. I must say I was terribly frightened, but it is useless in New Zealand to scream or faint; the only thing to do in an emergency is to _coo-e_; and so, although my heart was thumping loudly in my ears, and at first I could not produce a sound, I managed at last, after many attempts, to muster up a loud clear _coo-e_. There was the usual pause, whilst the last sharp note rang back from the hill-sides, and vibrated through the clear silent air; and then, oh, welcome sound! I heard a vigorous answer from our own flat where the homestead stood. I set off down-hill as fast as I could, and had the joy, when I turned the slope which had hidden our little house from my view, to see F---- and Mr. U---- walking about; but even from that distance I could see that poor Mr. U----'s head was bandaged up, and as soon as I got near enough to hear, F----shouted "I have broken my neck!" adding, "I am very hungry: let us go in to supper." Under the circumstances these words were consolatory; and when I came to hear the story, this was the way the accident happened. As I mentioned before, even this drift had thawed till it was soft at the surface and worn away almost to the rocks. During a rapid descent the nose of the sledge dipped through the snow, and stopped dead against a rock. Mr. U---- was instantly buried in the snow, falling into a young but prickly Spaniard, which assaulted him grievously; but F---- shot over his head some ten yards, turned a somersault, and alit on his feet. This sounds a harmless performance enough, but it requires practice; and F---- declared that for weeks afterwards his neck felt twisted. The accident must have looked very ridiculous: the sledge one moment gliding smoothly along at the rate of forty miles an hour,--the next a dead stop, and F----flying through the air over his passenger's head, finishing feet first plump down in the soft snow. Looking back on that time, I can remember how curiously soon the external traces of the great snow-storm disappeared. For some weeks after the friendly nor-wester, the air of the whole neighbourhood was tainted by dead and decaying sheep and lambs; and the wire fences, stock-yard rails, and every "coign of vantage," had to be made useful but ghastly by a tapestry of sheep-skins. The only wonder was that a single sheep had survived a storm severe enough to kill wild pigs. Great boars, cased in hides an inch thick, had perished through sheer stress of weather; while thin-skinned animals, with only a few months growth of fine merino wool on their backs, had endured it all. It was well known that the actual destruction of sheep was mainly owing to the two days of heavy rain which succeeded the snow. Out of a flock of 13,000 of all ages, we lost, on the lowest calculation, 1,000 grown sheep and nearly 3,000 lambs; and yet our loss was small by comparison with that of our neighbours, whose runs were further back among the hill, and less sheltered than our own. Long before midsummer our cloud-shadowed hills were green once more; and I think I see again their beautiful outlines, their steep sides planted with semi-tropical palms and grasses, whilst the more distant peaks are veiled in a sultry haze. During that peculiarly bright and lovely summer we often ask each other, Could it have been true that no one knew one mountain from the other, and that hills had been apparently levelled and vallies filled up by the heaviest snow-fall ever known. But whilst the words were on our lips, we could see a group of palm-trees, ten feet high, with their topmost leaves gnawed to the stump by starving sheep, that must have been standing on at least seven feet of snow to reach them; and there was scarcely a creek on the run whose banks were not strewn, for many a long day, by bare and bleaching bones. Chapter VI: Buying a run. Like many other people in the world, I have occasionally built castles in the air, and equally of course they have invariably tumbled down in due time with a crash This particular castle however, not only attained to a great elevation in the visionary builder's eyes, but it covered so vast an area of land, that the story of its rise and fall deserves to be placed on record, as a warning to aerial architects and also as a beacon-light to young colonists. This was exactly the way it all happened. The new year of 186-found us living very quietly and happily on a small compact sheep-farm, at the foot of the Malvern Hills, in the province of Canterbury, New Zealand. As runs went, its dimensions were small indeed; for we only measured it at 12,000 acres, all told. The great tidal wave of prosperity, which sets once in a while towards the shores of all colonies, had that year swelled and risen to its full force; but this we did not know. Borne aloft upon its unsubstantial crest we could not, from that giddy height, discern any water-valleys of adversity or clouds of change and storm along the shining horizon of the new world around us. All our calculations were based on the assumption that the existing prices for sheep, wool, cattle, and all farm-produce, would rule for many a long day; and the delightful part of this royal road to wealth was, that its travellers need not exert themselves in any way: they had only to sit still with folded hands whilst their sheep increased, and it was well known that a flock doubled itself in three short years. The obvious deduction from this agreeable numerical fact was, that in an equally short period your agent's payments to your bank account would also be doubled. In the meantime the drays were busy carting the wool to the seaports as fast as they could be loaded, whilst speculative drovers rode all about the country buying up the fat cattle and wethers from every run. These were wanted to supply the West Coast Diggings which had just "broken out" (as the curious phrase goes there), and so was every description of grain and dairy produce. We squatters were not the only inhabitants of this fool's paradise. The local Government began planning extensive works: railways were laid out in every direction, bridges planned across rivers, which proved the despair of engineers; whilst a tunnel, the wonder of the Southern Hemisphere, was commenced through a range of hills lying between Port Lyttleton and Christchurch. All this work was undertaken on a scale of pay which made the poor immigrants who thronged to the place by every ship, rub their eyes and believe they must be dreaming, and that they would presently wake up and find themselves back again in the old country, at the old starvation rate of wages. Small capitalists, with perhaps only one or two hundred pounds in the world, bid against each other as purchasers of quarter-acre sections in the fast-springing townships, or of fifty-acre lots of arable land in the projected suburbs. Subscriptions were raised for building a Cathedral in Christchurch; but so dear was both labour and material, that 7,000 pounds barely sufficed to lay its foundations. The paramount anxiety in men's minds seemed to be to secure land. Sheep-runs in sheltered accessible parts of the country commanded enormous prices, and were bought in the most complicated way. The first comers had taken up vast tracts of land in all directions from the Government, at an almost nominal rental. This had happened quite in the dark and remote ages of the history of the colony, at least ten or twelve years before the date of which I write. As speculators with plenty of hard cash came down from Australia, these original tenants sold, as it were, the good-will and stock of their run at enormous prices; but what always seemed to me so hard was, that after you had paid any number of thousand pounds for your run, you might have to buy it all, or at any rate, some portion of it, over again. Land could only be purchased freehold from the Government, for 2 pounds an acre; and if a "cockatoo" (i.e., a small farmer), or a speculator in mines, fancied any part of your property, he had only to go to the land office, and challenge your pre-emptive rights. The officials gave you notice of the challenge, and six weeks' grace in which to raise the money, and buy it freehold yourself; but few sheep-farmers could afford to pay a good many hundred pounds unexpectedly to secure even their best "flats" or vallies. Hence it often happened that large runs in the most favourable situations were cut up by small investors, "free selectors" as they are called in Australia, and it used to be rather absurd the way one grew to distrust any stranger who was descried riding about the run. The poor man might be looking for a stray horse, or have lost his way, but we always fancied he must be "prospecting" for either gold or coals, or else be a "cockatoo" disguised as a traveller. Such was the state of things when my story opens. Shearing was just over, and we knew to a lamb how rapidly our flocks and herds were increasing. A succession of mild winters and early genial springs had got the flock into capital order. The wool had all been sent off to Christchurch by drays, the sheep were turned out on the beautiful green hills for ten months of perfect rest and peace; whilst the dogs, who had barked themselves quite hoarse, were enabled to desist from their labours in mustering and watching the yet unshorn mobs on the vallies. Although our run was as well grassed and watered as any in the province, still it could not possibly carry more than a certain number of sheep, and to that total our returns showed that we were rapidly approaching. The most careful calculations warned us that by next shearing we should hardly know what to do with our sheep. It is always better to be under than overstocked, for the merino gets out of condition immediately, and even the staple of the wool deteriorates if its wearer be at all crowded on his feeding-grounds. "You must take up more country directly," was the invariable formula of the advice we, comparatively "new chums," received on all sides. This was easier to say than to do. Turn which ever way we would, far back beyond our own lovely vallies and green hills, back up to the bleak region of glaciers, where miles of bush and hundreds of acres of steep hill-side, formed the _back-est_ of "back country," every inch of land was taken up. No fear had those distant Squatters of "cockatoos," or even of miners; for no one came their way who could possibly help it. Still we should have been comparatively glad to buy such a run fifty or sixty miles further back,--at the foot, in fact of the great Southern Alps,--just as a summer feeding-ground for the least valuable portion of our flock. But no one was inclined to part with a single acre, and we were forced to turn our eyes in a totally different direction. If my readers will refer to the accompanying map of New Zealand, and look at the Middle or South Island, they will notice a long seaboard on the eastern side of the island, stretching SS.W. for many hundred leagues. It extends beyond the Province of Canterbury to that of Otago, and embraces some of the most magnificent pastoral land in the settlement. Not only is the soil rich and productive, but the climate is rather less windy than with us in the northern portion of the island; and the capital of Otago (Dunedin) had risen into comparative position and importance before Christchurch,--was in short an elder sister of that pretty little town. Most of the settlers in Otago were Scotchmen, and as there are no better colonists anywhere, its prosperity had attained to a very flourishing height. Gold-digging had also broken out at the foot of the Dunstan range, so that Otago held her head quite as high, if not higher, than her neighbour Canterbury. Of course all the first-class pasture-land "down south," as it was called, had been taken up long before; but we heard rumours of splendid sheep country, yet unappropriated, far back towards the west coast of Otago, just where its boundary joined Canterbury. With our minds in this state of desire for what poor Mazzini used to denounce as "territorial aggrandisement," we paid our usual post-shearing visit to Christchurch. F---- had his agent's accounts to examine, a nice little surplus of wool-money to receive, and many other squatting interests to attend to; whilst I had to lay in chests of tea, barrels of sugar and rice, hundreds of yards of candle-wick, flower-seeds, reels of cotton, and many other miscellaneous articles. But through all our pleasant, happy little bustle ran the constant thought: "What shall we do for more country?" A day or two before the expiration of the week's leave of absence which we always gave ourselves, F---- came into my sitting-room at the hotel, flung down his hat on the table with an air of triumph, and cried, "I've heard of such a splendid run! One hundred thousand acres of beautiful sheep-country, and going for a mere song!" Now I had lived long enough in the world to discover that one sometimes danced on the wrong foot to the tune of these "mere songs," so I cautiously inquired, "Where is it?" F---- seemed a little dashed that the only question which he could not answer favourably should be the first I asked, and he replied vaguely, "Well, it is rather a long way off, but I am sure we can manage it." A little more sifting elicited the fact that this "desirable investment" stretched along the shores of Lake Wanaka, famous for its beautiful scenery, and was to be had for what certainly seemed a ridiculously small sum;--only a few hundred pounds. "Of course it has no sheep on it," added F----; "but that is all the better. I'll burn it this year, and then turn some cattle on it, and after next shearing we'll have a good mob of sheep to draft out and stock it." He further added, that he had invited his man of business and the individual who owned this magnificent property to dine with us that evening, and that then I should hear all about it And I may truly say that I _did_ hear about it, for my brain reeled with figures and calculations. By bedtime I was wondering if we could possibly spend the enormous fortune which would be quite certain to accrue to us in a few years if only we could make up our minds to invest the modest balance at our bankers in this tempting bargain. I remember well that I found myself wishing we were not going to be _quite_ so rich; half our promised income would have been ample, I thought. My anxieties on that score turned out to have been, to say the least, premature. Not to make my story too long, I may briefly say that after making due allowance for the natural exaggeration of the owner, the run on Lake Wanaka's shores seemed certainly to offer many attractions. Besides thousands of acres of beautiful sheltered sheep country, it was said to possess a magnificent bush, in which sawyers were already hard at work. Of course all this timber would become our own, and we were to make so much a year by selling it. "How about the carriage?" inquired F---- cautiously, having visions of costly bullock-drays, and teams and drivers at fabulous wages. "Oh, the lake is your highway," replied the would-be seller, airily; "you have nothing to do but lash your felled trees together, as they do in the mahogany-growing countries, and set them afloat on the lake, they will thus form a natural raft, and cost you little or nothing to get down to a good market. You know the Dunstan diggings are just at the foot of the lake, and they haven't a stick there; timber is very badly wanted in those parts, not only for fuel and building, but also for slabbing the shafts which the miners sink." By the time the coffee was served F---- had made up his mind to buy the Lake Wanaka run; his business agent urging him strongly not to hesitate for a moment in securing such a chance. The negotiations reached thus far without the least hitch, but at this point F----said, "Well, I'll tell you what I'll do: we will start in a day or two and go straight up to this run and look round it, and if I find it anything like so good as you both make it out, I'll buy it on the spot." Never did that sociable little word "we" sound so delightful to my ears! "Then I am to come too," I thought to myself, but I prudently concealed from the company that I had ever had any misgivings on that point. However, the company did not concern themselves with my doubts and fears, for our two guests seemed much taken aback at this very matter-of-fact proposal of F----'s. "That won't do at all, my dear fellow," said the owner of the run; "I am going to England by the next mail steamer, which you know sails next week, and the reason I am literally giving away my property is that I don't want any suspense or bother. Take it or leave it, just as you like. There's Wilkinson and Fairwright and a lot of others all clamouring for the refusal of it, and I've only waited to see if you really wanted it before closing with Fairwright. He is walking about with a cheque all ready filled up in his pocket, and only begging and praying me to let him have the run on my own terms. Why you might be weather-bound or kept there for a month, and what shall I do then? No, its all just as I've told you, and you can call it your own to-morrow, but I can't possibly wait for you to go and look at it." No words of mine can give any idea of the tone of scorn in which our guest pronounced these last three words; as if looking at an intended purchase was at once the meanest and most absurd thing in-the world. F---- seemed half ashamed of himself for his proposal, but still he urged that he never liked to take a leap in the dark, backing up his opinion by several world-revered adages. "That's all very fine," chimed in our precious business adviser," but this transaction can hardly be said to be in the dark; here are the plans and the Government lease and the transfer deeds, all regular and ready." With this he produced the plans, and then it was all up with us. Who does not know the peculiar _smell_ of tracing-paper, with its suggestions of ownership? When these fresh and crackling drawings were opened before us they resembled nothing so much as a veritable paradise. There shone the lake--a brilliant patch of cobalt blue, bordered by outlines of vivid green pasture and belts of timber. Here and there, on the outskirts, we read the words, "proposed township," "building lots," "probable gold fields," "saw mills." F---- laid his hand down over a large wash of light green paint and asked," Now what sort of country is this; really and truly, you know?" "First class sheep country, I give you my word," replied the owner eagerly, "only wants to be stocked for a year or two." Why need I go on? It was the old, old story of misplaced confidence. Neither F---- nor I could believe that our friends would wilfully over-reach us, so it was settled that the first thing next morning the money should be handed over and the Government lease transferred to us. We decided that as we were so far on the way to our new property, we would go and look at it before returning to the Malvern Hills, and the next few days were very busy ones, as we had to arrange our small domestic affairs, send up the dray, etc., etc. I felt rather anxious at the postponement of our return home, for I had left several "clutches" of eggs on the point of being hatched, and I had grave misgivings as to the care my expected ducklings and chickens would receive at the lands of my scatter-brained maid servants, to say nothing of the dangers besetting them from hawks and rats. However, small interests must give way to great ones, and F---- and I were already tasting the cares of proprietorship. Our friend, the former owner of our new property, sailed for England in the mail steamer, in high spirits, saying cordially as he shook F----'s hand at parting, "Well you _have_ got your fortune cut out for you, and no mistake; I feel half sorry already to think that I've parted with that run." About two days after his departure, F---- who had registered his name at the land office as the present tenant of 100,000 acres in the Lake Wanaka district, received a polite request from official quarters to pay up the annual rent, just due, amounting to 100 pounds or so. We had effected our brilliant negotiations about a week too soon it seemed, but that was our own fault, so we had nothing to do but pay the money with as good a grace as possible. I am "free to confess" that this second cheque ran our banker's account very fine indeed, but still in those palmy days of the past this was no subject of uneasiness to a squatter. His credit was almost unlimited, and he could always raise as much money as he liked on an hypothecation of next year's wool. But we had not come to that yet. The weather was delightful; the customary week of heavy rain just after our midsummer Christmas, had cooled the air and laid the dust, besides bringing out a fresh spring-like green tint over the willows and poplars, and causing even the leaves of the gums to lose their leather-like look for a few days. After much consultation we decided to go by coach as far as Timaru, and then trust to circumstances to decide our future means of transport. Not only were we obliged to pay a large sum for our places but our luggage was charged for by the pound, so we found it necessary to reduce our kit to the most modest dimensions, and only to take what was absolutely necessary. The journey was a long and weary one, the only variety being caused by a strong spice of danger at each river. At some streams we were transferred bodily to a large raft-like ferry boat, and so taken across. At others the passengers and luggage only were put into the boat, the lumbering coach with its leathern springs left behind, whilst the horses swam in our wake across the wide and rushing river, to be re-harnessed to another coach on the opposite shore. The Rakaia, Ashburton, and Rangitata had been crossed in this way, and we had reached the Otaio, a smaller river, when we found a new mode of transport awaiting us. A large dray with a couple of powerful horses was in readiness, and into this springless vehicle we were unceremoniously bundled. The empty coach and horses was driven over at another part of the stream. I shall never forget the jolting: the river must have been at least a quarter of a mile wide at that reach, and over its bed of boulders and rocks we bumped In the middle stretched a long strip of shingle, which seemed as smooth as turf by contrast with the first half of the river-bed. When we charged into the water again our driver removed his pipe from his mouth, looked over his shoulder and remarked, "River's come down since mornin'; best tuck up your feet, marms all." I can answer for this "marm" tucking up her feet with great agility, and not a moment too soon either, for as a light wind was blowing, a playful wave came rippling over and through the planked floor of the dray, floating all the smaller parcels about. But no one could speak, we were so jolted: it literally seemed as if our spines _must_ come through the crown of our heads, and I expected all my teeth to tumble out. In the midst of my fright and suffering, a laugh was jolted out of me by the absurd behaviour of one of our fellow-passengers. He was what is called a bush carpenter: i.e., a wandering carpenter, who travels from station to station, doing any little odd rough jobs wanted. This man had been working for us some time before, and had often amused me with his quaint ways. On this occasion he was on his oppressively good behaviour, and sat quite silent and solemn on the opposite ledge of the dray. But when for the second time the water came swirling through our rude conveyance with a force which threatened to upset it altogether, Dale fumbled in his pocket, as if he were seeking for a life-belt, produced an enormous pair of green goggle spectacles, which might have made part of Moses Primrose's purchases at the fair, and adjusting them on his nose as steadily as he could, said gravely, "This must be looked to!" He continued to stare at the wash of water during the remainder of our perilous and rough transit without vouchsafing any explanation of his meaning, but after we had safely landed he replaced his spectacles, first in their huge shagreen case, and next in his pocket, with an air which seemed to say, "The danger is now over: thanks to my precautions." Timaru was reached very late, and the best accommodation at the inn placed at our disposal. Still, in those distant days there was no such thing as a private sitting room, and we had all to eat our supper in the same rough-boarded little apartment. But in all my varied wanderings in different parts of the world, when the accidents of travel have thrown me for a time among the class whom we foolishly speak of as the lower orders, I have never yet had to complain of the slightest inconvenience or disagreeableness from my fellow-travellers. On the contrary, I have always received the most chivalrous politeness at their hands, and have noticed how ready they were to forego their usual tastes and habits lest they should cause me any annoyance. I wonder whether fine gentlemen in their splendid clubs would be quite so willing to spoil the pleasure of their evening if any accident were to throw an unwelcome lady amongst them? At all events, they could not be _more_ self-sacrificing than my friends in fustian jackets have always proved themselves, and on this particular evening the landlord of the inn was so amazed at the orders for tea and coffee instead of the usual "nips" of spirits, that he was constrained to inquire the reason. A stalwart drover who was sitting opposite to me at the rude table, murmured from the depths of his great beard, in an oracular whisper, "The smell of speerits might'nt be agreeble like to the lady." In vain I protested that I did not mind it in the least; tea and coffee was the order of the evening, and solemn silence and good behaviour. No smoking, no songs, no conviviality of any sort. I would fain have shown my appreciation of their courtesy by talking to them; but alas, I was one vast ache all over! Although the road had been a dead level, sixteen hours of jolting and bumping had reduced me to a limp, black-and-blue creature, with out a word or a smile. Of course I retired to what was literally a pallet, and a very hard pallet too, as early as possible, but even after I had vanished behind the thin wooden partition which formed my bedroom, the greatest silence and decorum continued to reign among my fellow-travellers. Chapter VII: "Buying a run."--continued. Early the next morning we all breakfasted together, and then separated with most polite adieux. We sallied forth to look for a couple of riding horses. There were none to be hired, so we had to buy two good-looking nags for 45 pounds a-piece. Now-a-days the same horses would not fetch more than 10 pounds and I have been told that in Australia you can buy a horse for a shilling, but ours in New Zealand have never sunk lower than a couple of pounds, if they had any legs at all. It seemed to the horse-dealer quite a superfluous question when I timidly inquired if my horse had ever carried a lady. "No: I can't just say as he has, mum, as you see there aint no ladies in these parts for him to carry. But," he added magnanimously, "I'll try him with a blanket fust, if you're at all oneasy about him." We did not start until the next day, as we had to hunt up side-saddles, and I had to sew a few yards of grey linsey into a riding-skirt; but by the following day we were all ready, and our "swags" packed and strapped to the saddles by nine o'clock. F----'s horse looked a very nice one in every respect; mine was evidently uneasy in his mind at the strange shape of his saddle, and I was recommended to mount outside the little enclosure, on a patch of open ground, where my steed would not be able to brush me off. The moment I mounted, the "Hermit" as he was called, made for a dry ditch and tried to lie down, but a sharp cut from a stock-whip brought him out of it, and then he laid his ears well back and started for a good gallop, to endeavour to get rid of his strange rider. However, his head was turned in the right direction; there were no obstacles in the way, and before he got tired of his pace we had left Timaru a good many miles behind us. F---- looked complacently at the "Hermit," and observed, "He'll carry you very nicely, I think." I could only breathe a sincere hope that he might. It was a beautiful day, warm but not oppressive, and delightfully calm. Our road lay at first along the sea-shore. Ever since we had left Christchurch the ground had been almost level, and the road consisted merely of a track cleared from tussocks. On our left extended the vast strip known as the Ninety-miles Beach, whilst far on our right, between us and the west coast, the Southern Alps, rose in all their might and beauty, sometimes lightly veiled by a summer haze, at others cutting our Italian-blue sky sharp and clear with their grand outlines. Our horses were a trifle too fat for good condition, and we feared to hurry them the first day, so we made an early halt at Mahiki, only a twenty miles stage; but the next day they took us on to Waitaki Ferry, past a splendid bush, and so into the heart of the hill country. Between the ranges, beautiful fertile valleys extended; when I say fertile, I mean that the soil was excellent, and the land well-grassed. But there was no cultivation. Not a sod had ever been turned there since the creation of the world, and the whole country wore the peculiar yellow tinge caught from the tall waving tussocks, which is the prevailing feature of New Zealand scenery _au naturel_. Every acre had been "taken up," but as yet the runs were rather understocked. Our fourth day's ride was the longest,--fifty-five miles in all, though we halted for a couple of hours at a miserable accommodation house. Our bivouac that night was close to Lake Wanaka, at the Molyneux Ferry-house, and there I was kept awake all night by the attentions of a cat. I never saw such a ridiculous animal. Prince, for that was his name, took the greatest fancy to me, or rather to my woollen skirt I suppose, and found a linsey lap much more comfortable than the corduroy knees on which he took his usual evening nap. At all events he followed me into my room, which only boasted of a mattress, stuffed with tussock-grass by the way, on the floor. Here I should have slept very well after my long journey, if Prince would have permitted it. In vain I put him out of the window, not always very gently; he returned in five minutes, bringing a palpitating, just-caught bird or mouse, which he softly dropped on my face, and purred loudly with delight at his own gallantry. Twenty times did I strike a match that night and try to restore the victims to life; only one recovered sufficiently to be released, and Prince brought it in again, quite dead, five minutes later. I shut the little casement window, but the room became so hot and stuffy, and suspicious fumes of stale beer and tobacco began to assert their presence, so that I found myself obliged to open it again. Sometimes the victim's bones were crunched close to my ear, and I found more than one feather in my hair in the morning. Never was any one so persecuted by a cat as I was by Prince that weary night. The next day we got to a station known as "Johnson's." It was just at the head of the lake, and as we arrived tolerably early in the forenoon we embarked, after the usual station dinner of mutton, tea, and damper, on Lake Wanaka. Alas for those treacherous blue waters! We had only a little pair-oared boat, in which I took my place as coxwain, and after pulling for a mile or two under a blazing sun, over short chopping waves, with a head-wind, we all became so deadly sea-sick that we had to turn back! As soon as we had rested and recovered, a council of war was held as to our movements, and we decided, in spite of our recent experiences, to turn our horses, who had done quite enough for the present, out on the run, and so make our way down the lake by boat. Already F---- was beginning to look anxious, for he perceived that, even after the head of the lake had been reached, the wool would cost an enormous sum to cart down to either Oamaru or Timaru, from whence alone it could be shipped. The mile or two of the run which lay along the shore of the lake showed us frightfully rough country. A dense jungle of tussocks and thorny bushes choked up the feed, and made it impossible to drive any animals through it, even supposing that good pasturage lay beyond. Still we hoped that we might be looking at the worst portion of our purchase, and deter mined to persevere in the attempt to penetrate to the furthest end of our new property. Accordingly we hired a safe old tub of a boat which, though too heavy to pull, was warranted to sail steadily, and with a couple of men, some cold mutton, bread, tea, and sugar, started valiantly on our cruise. But the "blue, unclouded weather," in which we had hitherto basked, was at an end for the present. We had already enjoyed a longer succession of calm days than usually falls to the lot of the travellers in that windy middle island, and it was now quite time for the imprisoned "nor'-wester" to have his turn over the surface of the domain. Accordingly the first day's sail was against a light, ominously warm head-wind, and we only made any way at all by keeping up a complicated system of tacking. The start had not been an early one, so darkness found us but little advanced on our voyage, and we passed the night in a rough shanty, on beds of fern-leaves, wrapped in our red blankets. Tired as we were, none of us could sleep much. The air was dry and parched; every now and then a sough of the rising hot gale swept through our crazy shelter without cooling us, and warned us to prepare for what was coming. Our only chance of getting on was to make an early start, for fortunately a true "nor'-wester" is somewhat of a sluggard. The skies wore their peculiar chrysoprase green tint, except towards the weather quarter, where heavy banks of lurid cloud showed that the enemy was collecting in force. Even the hour of dawn, usually so crisp and cool, brought no sense of refreshment to our languid limbs, and we embarked with the direst forebodings. A few miles further up the lake we reached an out-station hut, built by our host Mr. Johnson when he first "took up" his country and intended to push his boundary as far as this. He soon drew in his lines however on account of the rough nature of the ground. The hut was in a most picturesque spot, and although deserted, remained still in good repair. The little scrap of garden ground was a tangle of gooseberry and currant bushes among which potatoes flourished at their own sweet will. We had only time to beach the boat, that is to say F---- and the two men did so, whilst I ran backwards and forwards with the blankets and provisions, before the hurricane was upon us. Henceforth there was no stirring out of doors until the gale had blown itself out. We dragged in some driftwood, barricaded the door, and prepared to pass the time as well as we could. Oh, the fleas in the hut! The ground was literally alive with them, and their audacity and appetite was unparalleled. Our boatmen sat tranquilly by the tiny window and played cribbage incessantly with very dirty cards and a board made out of a small bar of soap. As for me, I turned an empty box up on its end, so as to get out of the way of the fleas, and perched myself on it, finding ample occupation in defending my position from the attacks of the active little wretches. Sometimes I felt as if I must rush out into the lake and drown myself and my tormentors together. It was very bad for everybody. The poor boatmen doubtless wished to smoke, but were too polite to do anything of the sort. F---- had nothing whatever to read, except a torn piece of an old _Times_, at least two years old, which we had brought to wrap up some of our provisions; whilst I was still more idle and wretched. Two weary interminable days dragged, or perhaps I should say, blew, themselves along in this miserable fashion, but at sundown on the evening of the third day the wind dropped suddenly, and we did not lose a moment in darting out of our prison and embarking once more. For the first time since we started we could perceive the grandeur of the surrounding country; but grand scenery is not necessary nor indeed desirable in a sheep run. Splendid mountains ran down in steep spurs to the very shore of the enormous lake. Behind them, piled in snowy steeps, rose the distant Alps of the Antipodes; great masses of native bush made dark purple shadows among the clefts of the hills, whilst the lake rippled in and out of many a graceful bay and quiet harbour. Not a fleck or film of cloud floated between us and the serene and darkening sky; a profound, delightful calm brooded over land and water. Although there was no moon, the stars served us as lights and compass until two o'clock in the morning, by which time we had reached the head of the lake (which is thirty-five miles in length), where we landed, extemporized a tent out of the boat sail, and turned in for a refreshing flea-less sleep. The next day was beautifully still, with a light air from the opposite point, just sufficient to cool the parched atmosphere; and we made our way along the head of the lake to a place were a couple of sawyers were at work. One of them had brought his wife with him, and her welcome to me was the most touching thing in the world. She took me entirely under her care, and would hardly let me out of her sight. I must say it was very nice to be waited on so faithfully, and I gave myself up to the unaccustomed luxury. All she required of me in exchange for her incessant toil on my behalf was "news." It did not matter of what kind, every scrap of intelligence was welcome to her, and she refused to tell me to what date her "latest advices" extended. During the three days of our stay in that clearing among the great pines of the Wanaka Bush, I gave my hostess a complete abridgment of the history of England--political, social, and moral, beginning from my earliest recollections. Then we ran over contemporary foreign affairs, dwelt minutely on every scrap of colonial news, and finally wound up with a full, true, and particular account of myself and all my relations and friends. When I paused for breath she would cease her washing and cooking on my behalf, and say entreatingly, "Go on now, do!" until I felt quite desperate. All this time whilst I was being "interviewed" nearly to death, F----employed himself in making excursions to different parts of the run. One of the sawyers lent him a miserable half-starved little pony; and he penetrated to another sawyer's hut, seven miles distant up the Matukituki river. But no matter whether he turned his steps to north or south, east or west, he met with the same disheartening report. There was the ground indeed, but it was perfectly useless. Not only was there was _no_ pasturage, but if there had been, the nature of the country would have rendered it valueless, on account of the way it was overgrown. It would be tedious to explain more minutely why this was the case. Sufficient must it be to say that whilst F---- was only too anxious to keep his eyes shut as to the ground he had alighted on after his leap in the dark, and the sawyers were equally anxious to induce settlers to come there, and so bring a market for their labour close to their hand nothing could make our purchase appear anything except a dead loss. As for the plans, they were purely imaginary. The blue lake was about the only part true to nature; and even that should have had a foot-note to state that it was generally lashed into high, unnavigable waves, by a chronic nor'-wester. No: there was nothing for it but to go home again to the little run which had seemed such a mere paddock in our eyes, whilst we indulged in castle-building over 100,000 acres of country. It was of no use lingering amid such disappointment and discomfort; besides which my listener, the sawyer's wife, had turned her husband and herself out of their hut, and were sleeping under a red blanket tent. Poor woman, she was most anxious to get away; and the lovely sylvan scene, with the tall trees standing like sentinels over their prostrate brethren, the wealth of beauteous greenery, springing through fronds of fern and ground creepers, the bright-winged flight of paroquets and other bush birds, even the vast expanse of the lake which stretched almost from their threshold for so many miles, all would have been gladly exchanged for a dusty high street in any country town-ship. Her last words were, "Can't you send me a paper or hany thing printed, mam?" I faithfully promised to do my best, and carried out my share of the bargain by despatching to her a large packet of miscellaneous periodicals and newspapers; but whether she ever received them is more than I can say. We were afraid of lingering too long, lest another nor'-wester should become due; and we therefore started as soon as F---- had decided that it was of no use exploring our wretched purchase any further. We had a stiff breeze from the north-west all the way down the lake; but as it was right a-stern it helped us along to such good purpose, that one day's sailing before it brought us back to Mr. Johnson's homestead and comparative civilization. The little parlour and the tiny bed-room beyond, into which I could only get access by climbing through a window (for the architect had forgotten to put a door), appeared like apartments in a spacious palace, so great was the contrast between their snug comfort and the desolate misery of our hut life. Of course nothing else was talked of except our disappointment at our new run; and although Mr. Johnson had indulged in forebodings, which were only too literally fulfilled, he had the good taste never to remind us of his prophecies. "Of all the forms of human woe, Defend me from that dread, 'I told you so.'" After a day's halt and rest we mounted our much refreshed horses, and set our faces straight across country for Dunedin. This is very easy to write, but it was not quite so easy to do. We could only ride for the first fifty-two miles, which we accomplished in two days. These stages brought us to the foot of the Dunstan Range, and near the gold-diggings of that name. I would fain have turned aside to see them, but we had not time. However, we felt the auriferous influence of the locality; for a perfect stranger came up to us, whilst we were baiting at another place, called the Kaiwarara diggings, and offered to buy our horses from us for 30 pounds each, and also to purchase our saddles and bridles at a fair price. This was exactly what we wanted, as we had intended to sell them at Dunedin; and I was no ways disinclined to part with the Hermit; who retained the sulky, misanthropical temper which had earned him his name. He was now pronounced "fit to carry a lady," and purchased to be sold again at the diggings. Whether there were any ladies there or not I cannot tell. Of course, before parting with our nags we ascertained that the ubiquitous "Cobb's coach" started from our resting place for Dunedin next day, and we made the rest of our journey in one of that well-known line. Its leathern springs, whilst not so liable to break by sudden jolts, impart a swinging rocking motion to the body of the vehicle, which is most disagreeable; but rough and rude as they are, they deserve to be looked upon with respect as the pioneers of civilization. All over America, Australia, and now New Zealand, the moment half-a-dozen passengers are forthcoming, that moment the enterprising firm starts a coach, and the vehicle runs until it is ousted by a railway. All previous tracks which I had journeyed over seemed smooth turnpike roads, compared to that terrible tussocky track which led to Dunedin. But that bright little town was reached at last, the hotel welcomed us, tired and bruised travellers that we were, and next evening we started in the _Geelong_ for Port Lyttleton. This little coasting steamer seemed to touch at every hamlet along the coast, and after each pause I had to begin afresh my agonies of sea-sickness. There was no such thing as getting one's sea-legs; for we were seldom more than a few hours outside, and had no chance of getting used to the horrible motion. Timaru was reached next day, but we had suffered so frightfully during the night from a chopping sea and an open roadstead, that we went on shore, and entrusted ourselves once more to the old coach. It seemed better to endure the miseries we knew of, than to make experiments in wretchedness. So we went through the old jolting and jumbling until we were dropped at an accommodation house, fifteen miles from Christchurch, where we slept that night, and at daylight despatched a messenger to the next station for our own horses. He had only thirty-five miles to ride, and about mid-day we started to meet him on hired horses, which we were very glad to exchange for better nags a stage further on. And so we rode quietly home in the gloaming, winding up the lovely, tranquil valley, at whose head stood our own snug little homestead. At first we were so glad to be safely at hone again that we scarcely gave a thought to our fruitless enterprise; but as our bruised bodies became rested and restored, our hearts began to ache when we thought of the money we had so rashly flung away in BUYING A RUN. Chapter VIII: Looking for a congregation. It is to be hoped and expected that such a good understanding has been established between my readers and myself by this time, that they will not find the general title of these papers unsuitable to the heading of this particular chapter. Indeed, I may truly say, that, looking back upon the many happy memories of my three years life in that lovely and beloved Middle Island, no pleasures stand out more vividly than my evening rides up winding gullies or across low hill-ranges in search of a shepherd's hut, or a _cockatoo's_ nest. A peculiar brightness seems to rest on those sun-lit peaks of memory's landscape; and it is but fitting that it should be so, for other excursions or expeditions used to be undertaken merely for business or pleasure, but these delicious wanderings were in search of scattered dwellings whose lonely inhabitants--far removed from Church privileges for many a long year past--might be bidden, nay, entreated, to come to us on Sunday afternoons, and attend the Service we held at home weekly. And here I feel constrained to say a word to those whose eyes may haply rest on my pages, and who may find themselves in the coming years in perhaps the same position as I did a short time ago. A new comer to a new country is sure to be discouraged if he or she (particularly _she_, I fancy) should attempt to revive or introduce any custom which has been neglected or overlooked. This is especially the case with religious observances. At every turn one is met by disheartening warnings. "Oh, the people here are very different to those in the old country; they would look upon it as impertinence if you suggested they should come to church." "You will find a few may come just at first, and then when the novelty wears off and they have seen all the pretty things in your drawing room, not a soul will ever come near the place." "If even the men don't say something very free and easy to you when you invite them to your house on Sunday afternoons, you may depend upon it that after two or three weeks you will not know how to keep them in order." Such, and many more, were the discouraging remarks made when I consulted my neighbours about my plan for collecting the shepherds from the surrounding runs, and holding a Church of England Service every Sunday afternoon at our own little homestead. To my mind, the distances seemed the greatest obstacle, as many of the men I wanted to reach lived twenty-five or even thirty miles away, with very rough country between. I had no fear of impertinence, for it is unknown to me, and seldom comes, I fancy, unprovoked; whilst with regard to the novelty wearing off and the men ceasing to attend, that must be left in God's hands. We could only endeavour to plant the good seed, and trust to Him to give the increase. It was a great comfort to me in those early days that F----, who had been many years in the colony, never joined in the disheartening prophecies I have alluded to. Although as naturally averse to reading aloud before strangers as a man who had lived a solitary life would be sure to be, he promised at once, with a good grace, to read the Evening Service and a sermon afterwards, and thus smoothed one difficulty over directly. His advice to me was precisely what I would fain repeat: "Try, by all means: if you fail you will at least feel you have made the attempt." May all who try succeed, as we did! I believe firmly they will, for it is an undertaking on which God's blessing is sure to rest, and there are no such fertilizing dews as those which fall from heaven. The mists arising from earth are only miasmic vapours after all! But I fear to linger too long on the end, instead of telling you about the means. It was May when we were fairly settled in our new home at the head of a hill-encircled valley. With us that month answers to your November, but fogs are unknown in that breezy Middle Island, and my first winter in Canterbury was a beautiful season, heralded in by an exquisite autumn. How crisp the mornings and evenings were, with ever so light a film of hoar frost, making a splendid sparkle on every blade of waving tussock-grass! Then in the middle of the day the delicious warmth of the sun tempted one to linger all day in the open air, and I never wearied of gazing at the strange purple shadows cast by a passing cloud; or up, beyond the floating vapourous wreath, to the heaven of brilliant blue which smiled upon us. And yet, when I come to think of it, I don't know that I had much time to spare for glancing at either hills or skies, for we were just settling ourselves in a new place, and no one knows what _that_ means unless they have tried it, fifty miles away from the nearest shop. The yeast alone was a perpetual anxiety to me,--it would not keep beyond a certain time, and had a tendency to explode its confining bottles in the middle of the night, so it became necessary to make it in smaller quantities every ten days or so. If by any chance I forgot to remind my scatter-brained damsels to replenish the yeast bottles, they used up the last drop, and then would come smilingly to me with the remark, "There aint not a drop o' yeast, about, anywhere, mum." This entailed flap-jacks, or scones, or soda bread, or some indigestible compound for at least three days, as it was of no use attempting to make proper bread until the yeast had worked. Then the well needed to be deepened, a kitchen garden had to be made, shelter to be provided for the fowls and pigs; a shed to be put up for coals; a thousand things which entailed thought and trouble, had to be done. It is true these rough jobs were not exactly in my line, but indoors I was just as busy trying to make big things fit into little spaces and _vice versa_. We could not afford to take things coolly and do a little every day, for at that time of year an hour's change in the wind might have brought a heavy fall of snow, or a sharp frost, or a; deluge of rain down upon the uncovered and defenceless heads of our live stock. The poor dear sheep, the source of our income, were after all the least well-cared for creatures on the Station. A well grassed and watered run, with sunny vallies for winter feeding, and green hills for summer pasturage, had been provided by antipodean Nature for them, and to these advantages we only added some twenty or twenty-five miles of wire fencing, and then they were left to themselves, with a couple of shepherds to look after fifteen thousand sheep all the year round. But yet, busy as we were, we found time to look up a congregation. The very first Sunday afternoon, whilst we were still in the midst of a chaos of chips and big boxes and straw and empty china-barrels, our own shepherds came over, by invitation, and the only very near neighbours we had--a Scotch head-shepherd and his charming young wife,--and we held a Service in the half-furnished drawing room. After it was ended we had a long talk with the men, and they confessed that they had enjoyed it very much, and would like to come regularly. When questioned as to the feasibility of inducing others to join, they said that it might be suggested to more than one distant, lonely hill-shepherd, but his uncontrollable shyness would probably prevent his attendance. "Jim Salter, and Joe Bennett, and a lot more on 'em, would be glad enow to come, if so be they could feel as how they was truly wellcombe," said our shepherd, Pepper, who prided himself on the elegance and correctness of his phraseology. He added, after a reflective pause, turning bashfully away, "If so be as the lady would just look round and give 'em a call, they'd be to be persuaded belike." So the scheme was Pepper's after all, you see. But this "looking round," to which he alluded so airily, meant scrambling rides, varying from ten to twenty-eight miles in length, over break-neck country, and this on the slender chance of finding the men in-doors. Now a New Zealand shepherd almost lives out on the hills, so the prospect of finding any of our congregation at home was slight indeed. However, as I said before, F---- stood by me, and although we neither of us could well spare the time, we agreed to devote two afternoons every week, so long as the fine open autumn weather, lasted, to making excursions in search of back-country huts. There are no roads or finger posts or guides of any sort in those distant places. When we inquired what was the name of "Mills" shepherd (the masters are always plain Smith or Jones, and the shepherds Mr.----, in the colonies) the answer was generally very vague. "Wiry Bill, we mostly calls 'im; but I think I've heerd say his rightful name was Mr. Pellet, mum. He's a little chap, as strong as the 'ouse," explained Pepper, who was an incorrigible cockney, "and he lives over there," pointing with his thumb to a mountain range behind us. "He's in one of them blind gullies. You go along the gorge of the river till you come to a saddle all over fern, and you drop down that, and follow the best o' three or four tracts till you come to a swamp." Here Pepper paused, in consideration of my face of horror; for if there was one thing I dreaded more than another in those early days, it was a swamp. Steep hill sides, wide creeks, honey-combed flats, all came in, the day's ride,--but a swamp! Ugh! the horrible treacherous thing, so green and innocent looking, with here and there a quicksand or a peaty morass, in which, without a moment's warning, your horse sank up to his withers! It was dreadful, and when we came to such a place Helen used to stop dead short, prick her pretty ears well forward, and, trembling with fear and excitement, put her nose close to the ground, smelling every inch, before she would place her fore foot down on it, jumping off it like a goat if it proved insecure. Generally she crossed a swamp, by a series of bounds in and out of flax bushes; and hopeless indeed would a morass be without those green cities of refuge! Horrible as a large swamp is however to a timid horsewoman, it is dear to the heart of a cockatoo. He gladly buys a freehold of fifty acres in the midst of one, burns it, makes a sod fence, sown with gorse seed a-top, all round his section, drains it in a rough and ready fashion, and then the splendid fertile soil which has been waiting for so many thousand years, "brings forth fruit abundantly." Such enormous fields of wheat and oats and barley as you come upon sometimes,--with, alas, never a market near enough to enable the plenteous crop to return sevenfold into its master's bosom! I shall not inflict upon you a description of all our rides in search of members for our congregation. Two, in widely differing directions, will serve as specimens of such excursions. In consideration of my new-chumishness, F---- selected a comparatively easy track for our first ride. And yet, "bad was the best," might surely be said of that breakneck path. What would an English horse, or an English lady say, to riding for miles over a slippery winding ledge on a rocky hill side, where a wall of solid mountain rose up perpendicularly on the right hand, and on the left a very respectable sized river hurried over its boulders far beneath the aerial path; yet this was comparatively a safe track, and presented but one serious obstacle, over which I was ruthlessly taken. It is perhaps needless to say we were riding in single file, and equally unnecessary to state that I was the last; for certainly we should never have made much progress otherwise. Helen, my bay mare, would follow her stable companion, on which F---- was mounted, so that was the way we got on at all. A sudden sharp turn showed me what appeared to be a low stone wall running own the spur of the mountain, right across our track, and I had already begun to disquiet myself about the possibility of turning back on such a narrow ledge, when I saw F----'s powerful black horse, with his ears well forward, and his reins, lying loose on his neck, make a sort of rush at the obstacle, climb up it as a cat would, stand for an instant, exactly like a performing goat, with all four legs drawn closely together under him, and then with a spring disappear on the other side. "This wall", I thought, "must be but loosely built, for _Leo_ has displaced some of the stones from its coping." Helen, pretty dear, hurried after her friend and leader; and before I had time to realize what she was going to do, she was balancing herself on the crumbling summit of this stone wall (which was only the freak of a landslip), and as it proved impossible to remain there, perched like a bird on a very insecure branch, nothing remained except to gather herself well together and jump off. But what a jump! the ground fell sheer away at the foot of the wall, and left a chasm many feet wide, which the horse could not see until it had climbed to the top of the wall, and as turning back was out of the question, the only alternative was to give a vigorous bound on to the narrow ledge beyond. Terrified as I felt, I luckily refrained from jerking Helen's head, or attempting to guide her in any way. The only chance of safety over New Zealand tracks, or New Zealand creeks, is to leave your horse _entirely_ to itself. I have seen men who were reckoned good riders in England, get the most ignominious tumbles from a disregard of this advice. An up-country horse knows perfectly well the only sound spots in a swamp; or the only sound part of a creek's banks. If his rider persists in taking him over the latter, where he himself thinks it narrowest and safest, he is pretty sure to find the earth rotten and crumbling, and to pay for his obstinacy by a wetting; whilst in the case of a swamp the consequences are even more serious, and the horse often gets badly strained in floundering out of a quagmire. But it was not all danger and difficulty, and the many varieties of scene in the course of a long ride constituted some of its chief charms. At first, perhaps, after we had left our own fair valley behind, the track would wind through the gorge of a river, with lofty mountains rising sheer up from the water side. All here was sad and grey, and very solemn in its eternal silence, only made more intense by the ceaseless monotonous roar of the ever-rushing water. Then we would emerge on acres and acres of softly rolling downs, higher than the hillocks we call by that name at home, but still marvellously beautiful in their swelling curves all folding so softly into each other, and dotted with mobs of sheep, making pastoral music to a flock-owner's ear. Over this sort of ground we could canter gaily along, with "Hector," F----'s pet colley, keeping close to the heels of his master's horse,--for it is the worst of bad manners in a colley to look at a neighbour's sheep. The etiquette in passing through a strange run is for the dog to go on the off side of his master's horse, so that the sheep shall not even see him; and this piece of courtly politeness Hector always practised of his own accord. A wire fence always proved a very tiresome obstacle, for horses have a great dread of them, and will not be induced to jump them on any account. If we could find out where the gate was, well and good; but as it might be half a dozen miles off, on one side or the other, we seldom lost time or patience in seeking it. When there was no help for it, and such a fence had to be crossed, the proceedings were, always the same. F----dismounted, and unfastened one of his stirrup leathers; with this he strapped the wires as firmly as possible together, but if the fence had been lately fresh-strained, it was sometimes a difficult task. Still he generally made one spot lower than the rest, and over this he proceeded to adjust his coat very carefully; he then vaulted lightly over himself, and calling upon me to aid by sundry flicks on Leo's flank, the horse would be induced to jump over it. This was always a work of time and trouble, for Leo hated doing it, and would rather have leaped the widest winter creek, than jumped the lowest coat-covered wire fence. Helen had to jump with me on her back, and without any friendly whip to urge her, but except once, when she caught her hind leg in the sleeve of the coat which was hanging over the fence, and tore it completely out, she got over very well. Upon that occasion F---- had to carry his sleeve in his pocket until we reached the neat little out-station hut, where Jim Salter lived, and where we were pretty sure to find a housewife, for shepherds are as handy as sailors with a needle and thread. I shall always believe that some bird of the air had "carried the matter" to Salter, because not only was he at home, and in his Sunday clothes, but he had made a cake the evening before, and that was a very suspicious circumstance. However we pretended not to imagine that we were expected, and Jim pretended with equal success to be much surprised at our visit, so both sides were satisfied. Nothing could be neater than the inside of the little hut; its cob walls papered with, old Illustrated London News,--not only pictures but letter-press,--its tiny window as clean as possible, a new sheep-skin rug laid down before the open fireplace, where a bright wood fire was sputtering and cracking cheerily, and the inevitable kettle suspended from a hook half-way up the low chimney. Outside, the dog-kennels had been newly thatched with tohi grass, the garden weeded and freshly dug, the chopping-block and camp-oven as clean as scrubbing could make them. It was too late in the year for fruit, but Salter's currant, raspberry, and gooseberry bushes gave us a good idea of how well he must have fared in the summer. The fowls were just devouring the last of the green-pea shoots, and the potatoes had been blackened by our first frosts. It was all very nice and trim and comfortable, except the loneliness; that must have been simply awful. It is difficult to realise how completely cut off from the society of his kind a New Zealand up-country shepherd is, especially at an out-station like this. Once in every three months he goes down to the homestead, borrows the pack horse, and leads it up to his hut, with a quarter's rations of flour, tea, sugar and salt; of course he provides himself with mutton and firewood, and his simple wants are thus supplied. After shearing, about January, his wages are paid, varying from 75 pounds to 100 pounds a year, according to the locality, and then he gets a week's leave to go down to the nearest town. If he be a prudent steady man, as our friend Salter was, he puts his money in the bank, or lends it out on a freehold mortgage at ten per cent., only deducting a few pounds from his capital for a suit of clothes, a couple of pair of Cookham boots for hill walking, and above all, some new books. Without any exception, the shepherds I came across in New Zealand were all passionately fond of reading; and they were also well-informed men, who often expressed themselves in excellent, through superfine, language. Their libraries chiefly consisted of yellow-covered novels, and out of my visits in search of a congregation grew a scheme for a book-club to supply something better in the way of literature, which was afterwards most successfully carried out. But of this I need not speak here, for we are still seated inside Salter's hut,--so small in its dimensions that it could hardly have held another guest. Womanlike, my eyes were everywhere, and I presently spied out an empty bottle, labelled "Worcestershire Sauce." "Dear me, Salter," I cried, "I had no idea you were so grand as to have sauces up here: why we hardly ever use them." "Well, mum," replied Salter, bashfully, and stroking his long black beard to gain time to select the grandest words he could think of, "it is hardly to be regarded in the light of happetite, that there bottle, it is more in the nature of remedies." Then, seeing that I still looked mystified, he added, "You see, mum, although we gets our 'elth uncommon well in these salubrious mountings, still a drop of physic is often handy-like, and in a general way I always purchase myself a box of Holloway's Pills (of which you do get such a lot for your money), and also a bottle of pain-killer; but last shearing they was out o' pain-killer, they said, so they put me up a bottle o' Cain pepper, and likewise that 'ere condiment, which was werry efficacious, 'specially towards the end o' the bottle!" "And do you really mean to say you drank it, Salter?" I inquired with horror. "Certainly I do, mum, whenever I felt out o' sorts. It always took my mind off the loneliness, and cheered me up wonderful, especial if I hadded a little red pepper to it," said Salter, getting up from his log of wood and making me a low bow. All this time F---- and I were seated amicably side by side on poor Salter's red blanket-covered "bunk," or wooden bedstead, made of empty flour-sacks nailed between rough poles, and other sacks filled with tussock grass for a mattress and pillow. The word loneliness gave me a good opening to broach the subject of our Sunday gatherings, and my suspicions of Jim's having been told of our visit were confirmed by the alacrity with which he said, "I have much pleasure in accepting your kind invitation, mum, if so be as I am not intruding." "No, indeed Salter," F---- said; "you'd be very welcome, and you could always turn Judy into the paddock whilst we were having service." Now if there was one thing dearer to Salter's heart than another, it was his little roan mare Judy: her excellent condition, and jaunty little hog-mane and tail, testified to her master's loving care. So it was all happily settled, and after paying a most unfashionably long visit to the lonely man, we rode away with many a farewell nod and smile. I may say here that Salter was one of the most regular of our congregation for more than two years, besides being a member of the book club. In time, its more sensible volumes utterly displaced the yellow paper rubbish in his but library, and I never can forget the poor man's emotion when he came to bid me good-bye. At my request he made the rough little pen and ink sketches which are here given, and as he held my offered hand (not knowing quite what else to do with it) when I took leave of him after our last home-service, when my face was set towards England, he could not say a word. The great burly creature's heart must have been nearly as big as his body, and he seemed hardly to know that large tears were rolling down his sunburnt face and losing themselves in his bushy beard. I tried to be cheerful myself, but he kept repeating, "It is only natural you should be glad to go, yet it is very rough upon us." In vain I assured him I was not at all glad to go,--very, very sorry, in fact: all he would say was, "To England, home and beauty, in course any one would be pleased to return." I can't tell you what he meant, and he had no voice to waste on explanations; I only give poor dear Jim's valedictory sentences as they fell from his white and trembling lips. Very different was Ned Palmer, the most diminutive and wiry of hill shepherds, with a tongue which seemed never tired, and a good humoured smile for every one. Ned used to try my gravity sorely by stepping up to me half a dozen times during the service, to find his place for him in his Prayer-book, and always saying aloud, "Thank you kindly, m'm." Chapter IX: Another shepherd's hut. To get to Ned's hut--which was not nearly so trim or comfortable as Salter's, and stood out in the midst of a vast plain covered with waving yellow tussocks,--we had to cross a low range of hills, and pick our way through nearly a mile of swampy ground on the other side. The sure-footed horses zig-zagged their way up the steep hill-side with astonishing ease, availing themselves here and there of a sheep track, for sheep are the best engineers in the world, and always hit off the safest and easiest line of country. I did not feel nervous going _up_ the hill, although we must have appeared, had there been any one to look at us, more like flies on a wall than a couple of people on horse back, but when we came to the ridge and looked down on the descent beneath us, my heart fairly gave way. Not a blade of grass, or a leaf of a shrub, was to be seen on all the steep slope, or rather precipice, for there was very little slope about it; nothing but grey loose shingle, which the first hoof-fall of the leading horse invariably sent slipping and sliding, in a perfect avalanche of rubble, down into the soft bright green morass beneath. Of all the bad "tracks" I encountered in my primitive rides, I really believe I suffered more real terror and anguish on that particular hill-side than on any other. My companion's conduct too, used to be heartless in the extreme. He let the reins fall loosely on his horse's neck, merely holding their extreme ends, settled himself comfortably in his saddle, leaning well back, and turning round laughingly to me, observed, "Aren't you coming?" "Oh, not there," I cried in true melo-dramatic tones of horror; but it was all in vain, F---- merely remarked "You have nothing to do but fancy you are sitting in an arm-chair at home, you are quite as safe." "What nonsense," I gasped. "I only wish I _was_ at home: never, never will I come out riding again." All this time the leading horse was slowly and carefully edging himself down hill a few steps to the right, then a few to the left, just as he thought best, displacing tons of loose stone and even small rocks at every movement. Helen, nothing daunted, was eager to follow, and although she quivered with excitement at the noise, echoed back from the opposite hills, lost no time in preparing to descend. Her first movement sent such showers of rubble down upon F---- and his horse, that I really thought the latter would have been knocked off his legs. "If you _could_ keep a little more to the right, so as to send the stones clear of me, I should be very grateful," shouted F----, who was actually near the bottom of the hill already, so sharp had been the angles of his horse's descent. I felt afraid of attempting to guide Helen, lest the least check should send us both head over heels into the quagmire below, and yet it seemed dreadful to cause the death of one's husband by rolling down cart loads of stones upon him. It could not have been more than five minutes before Helen and I stood side by side with Leo, on the only bit of firm ground at the edge of the morass. I believe I was as white as my pocket handkerchief; and if fright could turn a person's hair grey, I had been sufficiently alarmed to make myself eligible for any quantity of walnut pomade. Fortunately the summer had proved rather a dry one, and the swamp was not so wet as it would have been after a heavy rain-fall. The horses stepped carefully from flax bushes to "nigger heads" (as the very old blackened grass stumps are called), resting hardly a moment anywhere, and avoiding all the most seductive looking spots. I thought my companion must have gone suddenly mad, when, a hawk rising up almost from beneath our horses' feet, he flung himself off his saddle and cried out, "A late hawk's nest, I declare!" And so it proved, for a little searching in a sheltered and tolerably dry spot revealed a couple of eggs, precisely like hens' eggs, until broken, when their delicate pale green inner membrane betrayed their dangerous origin. It is chiefly owing to this practice of laying in swamps that the various kinds of hawk increase and thrive as they do, for if it were possible to get at them, the shepherds would soon exterminate the sworn foe of their chickens and pigeons. They are also the great drawback to the introduction of pheasants and partridges, for the young birds have not a chance in the open against even a sparrow-hawk. Although it is a digression, I must tell you here how, one beautiful early winter's day, I was standing in the verandah at my own home, when one of our pigeons, chased by a hawk, flew right into my face and its pursuer was so close and so heated by the chase, that it flung itself also with great violence against my head, with a scream of rage and triumph, hurting me a good deal as it dug its cruel, armed heel into my cheek. The pigeon had fluttered, stunned and exhausted to the ground, and, quick as lightning I stooped to pick it up; so great had been the impetus of the hawk's final charge that he had never perceived his victim had escaped him. The cunning of these birds must be seen to be believed. I have often watched a wary old hawk perched most impudently on the stock-yard rails, waiting until a rash chicken or duckling should, in spite of its mother's warning clucks of terror, insist on coming out from under her sheltering wings. If I took an umbrella, or a croquet mallet, or a walking stick, and went out, the bird would remain quite unmoved, even if I held my weapon pointed gun-wise towards him. But let anyone take a real gun and hold it ever so well hidden behind their back, and emerge ever so cautiously from the shelter of the shrubs, my fine gentleman was off directly, mounting out of sight with a few strokes of his powerful wings, and uttering a shriek of derision as he departed. Nothing is so rare as a successful shot at a hawk. We consoled ourselves however on this occasion, by reflecting that we had annihilated two young hawks before they had commenced their lives of rapine and robbery, and rode on our way rejoicing, to find Ned Palmer sitting outside his but door on a log of drift wood, making, candles. In the more primitive days of the settlement, the early settlers must have been as badly off for light, during the long dark winter evenings, as are even now the poorer inhabitants of Greenland or of Iceland, for their sole substitute for candles consisted of a pannikin half filled with melted tallow, in which a piece of cork and an apology for a wick floated. But by my time all this had long been past and over, and even a back-country shepherd had a nice tin mould in which he could make a dozen candles of the purest tallow at a time. Ned was just running a slender piece of wood through the loops of his twisted cotton wicks, so as to keep them above the rim of the mould, and the strong odour of melted mutton fat was tainting the lovely fresh air. But New Zealand run-holders have often to put up with queer smells as well as sights and sounds, therefore we only complimented Ned on being provident enough to make a good stock of candles before-hand, for home consumption, during the coming dark days. After we had dismounted and hobbled our horses with the stirrup leathers, so that they could move about and nibble the sweet blue grass growing under each sheltering tussock, I sat down on a large stone near, and began to tell Ned how often I had watched the negroes in Jamaica making candles after a similar fashion, only they use the wax from the wild bee nests instead of tallow, which was a rare and scarce thing in that part of the world. I described to him the thick orange-coloured wax candles which used to be the delight of my childhood, giving out a peculiar perfuming odour after they had been burning for an hour or two,--an odour made up of honey and the scent of heavy tropic flowers. Ned listened to my little story with much politeness, and then, feeling it incumbent on him to contribute to the conversation, remarked, "I never makes candles ma'am without I thinks of frost-bites." "How is that, Palmer?" I asked, laughingly. "What in the world have they to do with each other?" "Well, ma'am, you see it was just in this way. It was afore I come here, which is quite a lively, sociable place compared to Dodson's back country out-station, at the foot o' those there ranges beyond. I give you my word, ma'am, it used always to make me feel as if I was dead, and living in a lonely eternity. Them clear, bright-blue _glassers_ (glaciers, he meant, I presume) was awful lonesome, and as for a human being they never come a-nigh the place. Well as I was saying, ma'am, one day I finds I had run out o' candles, and as the long dark evenings (for it was the height o' winter) was bad enough, even with a dip burning, to show me old Spot's face for company, I set to work, hot haste, to make some more. It was bitter, biting cold, you bet, ma'am; and I was hard at work--just after I had had my bit o' breakfast, before I went out for to look round my boundary--melting and making my dips, so that they might be fine and hard for night. I ought praps to mention that Spot used to get so close to the fire-place, that as often as not, I dropped a mossel of the hot grease on the dog; and if it touched a thin place in his coat, he would jump up howling. Well, ma'am, I was pouring a pannikin full o' biling tallow into the mould, when poor old Spot he gives a sudden howl and yell, and runs to the door. I paid no attention to him at the time, for I was so busy; but he went on leaping up and howling as if he had gone mad. As soon as I could put down the pannikin out o' my hand, I went to the door meaning to open it and,--sorry am I to say it,--kick the poor beast out for making such a row about a drop o' hot grease. But the dog turned his face round on me, and gave me a look as much as to say, 'Make haste, do; there's a good chap: I ought to be outside there.' And what with the sense shinin' in his eyes, and a curious kind o' sound outside, I takes down the bar (for the door wouldn't stay shut otherwise), and looks out. Never until my dyin' day, and not even then, I expect, shall I forget what the dog and I saw lying on the ground, which was all white and hard with frost, the sun not having got over the East range yet. The dog he had more sense and a deal more pluck than I had, for he knows there aint a moment to be lost; and he runs up to the flat, tumbled-down heap o' clothes, gets on its back (for no face could I see), so as to be doing something, and not losing time, and begins licking. Not very far off there was a lean horse standing, but he didn't seem to like to come through the slip-rail o' the paddock fence. "In coorse I couldn't stand gaping there all day, so I went and stooped down to the man, who was lying flat on his face, with his arms straight out. He wasn't sensibleless (Palmer's favourite word for senseless), for he opened his eyes, and said, "For God's sake, mate, take me in." "So I will, mate," I makes reply "and welcome you are. Can you get on your legs, think you?" With that he groans awful, and says, "My legs is friz." Well, I looks at his legs, and sees he was dressed in what had been good moleskins, and high jack riding-boots, coming up to his knees; but sure enough they was as hard as a board, and actially, if you'll believe me, ma'am, there was a rim o' solid hice round the tops of his boots. As for standing, he couldn't do it: his legs was no more use to him than they was to me, and he was a tall, high fellow besides. Cold as it was, I felt hot enough by the time I had lugged that poor man inside my place, and got him up on my bunk. He could speak, though his voice was weak as weak could be, and he helped me as well as he could by catching hold with his arms, but his legs was stone dead. I had to get the tommy (_anglice_-tomahawk), and _chop_ his boots off, and that's the gospel truth, ma'am. I broke my knife, first try, and the axe was too big. He told me, poor fellow, that two days before, as he was returning from prospecting up towards the back ranges, his horse got away, and he _couldn't_ catch him. No: he tried with all his might and main, for in his swag, which was strapped to the D's of his saddle, was not only his blanket, but his baccy, and tea, and damper, and a glass o' grog. The curious thing, too, was that the horse didn't bolt right away, as they generally do: he jest walked a-head, knowing his master was bound to follow wherever he led, for in coorse he had hopes to catch him every moment. That ere brute, he never laid down nor rested,--jest kep slowly moving on, as if he was a Lunnon street-boy, with a bobby at his heels. Through creeks and rivers and swamps he led that poor fellow. His boots got chuck full o' cold water, and when the sun went down it friz into solid hice; and that misfortnit man he felt his legs--which was his life, you see, ma'am--gradially dyin' under him. Yet he was a well-plucked one, if ever there was such a party on this airth. He told me he had took _five_ mortial hours to come the last mile, the horse walkin' slowly afore him, and guiding him like. And how do you think he did it, with two pillars of hice for legs? Why he lifted up just one leg and then the other with both his hands, and put them afore him, and took his steps that way." Here honest Ned, his eyes glistening, and his ugly little face glowing with emotion through its coating of sunburn, paused, as if he did not like to go on. I was more touched and interested than I could avoid showing, and cried, "Oh, _do_ tell me, Palmer, what became of the poor fellow! Did he die?" Ned cleared his throat, and moved so as to get between me and the light from the door, as he said huskily, "He came very nigh to it, ma'am. I never did set eyes on such a decent patient chap as that man was. I did the very wust thing I could a' done, the town doctors told me, for I brought him into the hut, instead o' keeping him outdoors and rubbing his poor black legs with snow. 'Stead o' that, I wrapped him up warm in my own blankets, after I had chipped his boots and the hice off of 'em, and I made up a roarin' fire. Good Lord, how the poor fellow groaned when he begun to get warm! I gave him a pannikin full o' hot tea, with a drop o' grog in it, and that seemed to make him awful bad. At last he said, with the sweat from sheer agony pouring down his face, "Look here, matey: couldn't you hump me out in the snow again? for it aint nigh so bad to bear it cold as it is to bear it hot." Not a bad word did he say, ma'am, and he tried not to give in more nor he could help; but he was clean druv wild with the hanguish in his legs. "Presently I remembers, quite sudden like, that a bush doctor, name of Tomkins, was likely to be round by Simmons, cos' o' his missus. So I got on my 'oss in a minnit, and I rides off and fetches him, for sure enough he was there; and though Simmons' missis wasn't to say over her troubles, she spoke up from behind the curtain of red blanket she had put up in her tidy little hut, and bade old Tomkins go with me. May God bless her and hers for that same, say I! Well, ma'am, when Tomkins come back with me and saw the poor fellow (he was fair shoutin' with the pain in his legs by then), he said nothin' could be done. "They'll mortify by morrow mornin'," says he, "and then he'll die easy." So with that he goes back with the first light next day, to Simmons. Sure enough, the poor fellow did get a bit easier next day, and I felt clear mad to think he was goin' to die before my very eyes. "Not if I can help it!" I cries, quite savage like. But he only smiled a patient smile, and said, "God's will be done, mate. He knows best, and I aint in any pain to speak of, now." "By and bye I hears a rumbling and a creaking, and cracking of whips; and when I looks out, what do I see but the bullock-dray from Simmons' coming up the flat. It was the only thing on wheels within forty mile, and Simmons had brought it his own self to see if we couldn't manage to get the poor fellow down to the nighest town. I won't make my yarn no longer than I can help, ma'am, so I'll only mention that we made a lot o' the strongest mutton broth you ever tasted; we slung a hammock of red blankets in the dray, and we got the poor fellow down by evening to a gentleman's station. There they made us kindly welcome, did all they could for him, and transhipped the hammock into a pair-horse dray, which went quicker and was easier. We got on as fast as we could every step of the way, and by midnight that poor fellow was tucked into a clean bed in the hospital at Christchurch, with both his legs neatly cut off just above the knee, for there wasn't a minute to lose." I was almost afraid to inquire how the sufferer fared, for Ned's eyes were fairly swimming with unshed tears; but he smiled brightly, and said, "The ladies and gentlemen in the town, they set up a _subscribetion_, and bought the poor chap a first-rate pair o' wooden legs, and he could even manage to ride about after a bit; and instead o' wandering about looking for country, or gold, or what not, he settled down as a carrier, and throve and did well. And I was thinking, ma'am, as how I'd like to return thanks for that poor fellow's wonderful recovery, for I've never had a chance of going to Church since, and its nigh upon two years ago that it happened." "So you shall, Ned: so you shall!" we said with one voice. And so at our first Church gathering at our dear little antipodean home, F----, who acted as our minister, paused in the beautiful Thanksgiving Service, after he had read solemnly and slowly the simple words, "Especially for Thy late mercies vouchsafed to ----," and Ned Palmer chimed in with an "Amen,"--misplaced, indeed, but none the less hearty, and delightful to hear. Chapter X: Swaggers. Dr. Johnson did not know the somewhat vulgar word which heads this paper. At least he did not know it as a noun, but gives "swagger: v.n., to bluster, bully, brag;" but the Slang Dictionary admits it as a word, springing indeed from the thieves' vocabulary: "one who carries a swag." Neither of these books however give the least idea of the true meaning of the expression, which is as fully recognised as an honest word in both Australia and New Zealand as any other combination of letters in the English language. A swagger is the very antithesis then of a swaggerer, for, whereas, the one is full of pretension and abounds in unjust claims on our notice, the swagger is humility and civility itself. He knows, poor weary tramp, that on the favourable impression he makes upon the "boss," depends his night's lodging and food, as well as a job of work in the future. We will leave then the ideal swaggerer to some other biographer who may draw glowing word-pictures of him in all his jay's splendour, and we will confine ourselves to describing the real swagger, clad in flannel shirt, moleskin trowsers, and what were once thick boots, but might now be used as sieves. Nothing astonished me so much in my New Zealand Station Life as these visitors. Even Sir Roger de Coverley himself would have looked with distrust upon most of our swagger-guests, and yet I never heard of an instance in our part of the country where the unhesitating, ungrudging hospitality extended by the rich squatters to their poorer compatriots was ever abused. I say "in our part," because unfortunately, wherever gold is discovered, either in quartz or riverbed, the good old primitive customs and ways die out of themselves in a few weeks, and each mammon-seeker looks with distrust on a stranger. Only fifty or sixty miles from us, as the crow might fly across the snowy range, where an immense Bush clothes the banks of the Hokitika river right down to its sand-filled mouth on the West Coast, the great gold diggings broke out seven or eight years ago, and changed the face of society in that district in a few days. _There_ a swagger meant a man who might rob or murder you in your sleep after you had fed and lodged him; or--under the most favourable circumstances supposing him to be a "milder mannered man,"--a "fossicker," who would not hesitate to "jump your claim," or hang about when you are prospecting, to watch how much of the colour you found, and then go off stealthily to return next day at the head of a "rush" of a thousand diggers. Even before the famous Maungatapu murders in 1866, swaggers were looked upon with distrust on the West Coast, and after that date hardly any one travelled in those parts without carrying a small revolver in his breast-pocket. Nothing is more tantalising than an allusion to a circumstance which is not well-known; and as I feel certain that very few of my readers have ever heard of what may be called the first great crime committed in the Middle Island, a brief account of that terrible tragedy may not be out of place. Gold of course was at the bottom of it, but the canvas-bags full of the glittering flakes were red with blood by the time they reached the bank at Nelson. The diggings on the West Coast were only two years old at that date, and although it was not uncommon for prospecting parties cutting their way, axe in hand, through the thick bush, to come upon skeletons of men in lonely places, still it might be taken for granted that these were the remains of early explorers or travellers who had got lost and starved to death within the green tangled walls of this impenetrable forest. The scenery of that part of the Middle Island is far more beautiful than in the agricultural or pastoral districts. Giant Alps clothed half up their steep sides with evergreen pines,--whose dark forms end abruptly where snow and ice begin,--stand out against a pure sky of more than Italian blue, and only when a cleared saddle is reached can the traveller look down over the wooded hills and vallies rolling away inland before him, or turn his eyes sea-ward to the bold coast with its many rivers, whose wide mouths foam right out to where the great Pacific waves are heaving under the bright winter sun. Such, and yet still more fair must have been the prospect on which Burgess, Kelly, Levy, and Sullivan's eyes rested one June morning in the mid-winter of 1866. They were, one and all, originally London thieves, and had been transported years before to the early penal settlements of Australia. From thence they had managed, by fair means and foul, to work their way to other places, and had latterly been living in the Middle Island, earning what they could by horse-breaking and divers odd jobs. But your true convict hates work with a curiously deadly hatred, and these four men agreed to go and look round them at the new West Coast diggings. They found, however, that there, as elsewhere, it would be necessary to work hard, so in disgust at seeing the nuggets and dust which rewarded the toil of more industrious men, they left Hokitika and reached Nelson on their way to Picton, the chief town of the adjoining province of Marlborough. Most of the gold found its way under a strongly armed escort to the banks in both these towns, but it was well-known that fortunate diggers occasionally travelled together, unarmed, and laden with "dust." So safe had been the roads hitherto, that the commonest precautions were not taken, nor the least secrecy observed about travellers' movements. It was therefore no mystery that four unarmed diggers, carrying a considerable number of ounces of gold-dust with them, were going to start from the Canvas-town diggings for Nelson on a certain day, and the men I have mentioned set out to meet them. One part of their long journey led them over the Maungatapu range by a saddle, which in its lowest part is 2,700 feet above the sea-level. The night before the murder, the victims and their assassins camped out with only ten miles between them. So lonely and deserted was the rough mountain track, that the appearance of a poor old man named Battle alarmed Burgess and his gang dreadfully, and they immediately murdered him, in order that he should not report having passed them on the road. Between the commission of this act of precaution and the arrival of the little band of travellers, no one else was seen. Burgess appears to have shown some of the qualities of a good general; for he selected a spot where the only path wound along a steep side-cutting, less than six feet wide, with an unbroken forest on the upper, and a mass of tangled bush on the lower side. As the doomed men approached the murderers sprang out, and each thrusting a revolver close to their faces, called on them "to hold up their hands." This is an old bushranger challenge, and is meant to ensure perfect quiescence on the part of the victim. The travellers mechanically complied, and in this way were instantly separated, led to different spots, and ruthlessly shot dead. It was all over in a moment: Burgess and his men flung the bodies down among the tangled bush, and returned to Nelson rejoicing exceedingly over the simple and easy means by which they had possessed themselves of several hundred pounds. Of course they calculated on the usual supine indifference to other people's affairs, which prevails in busy gold-seeking communities; but in this instance the public seemed to be suddenly seized by a violent and inconvenient curiosity to find out what had become of the four men who were known to have started from Canvas-town two or three days before. No one ever dreamed of a murder having been committed, not even when another "swagger" reached Nelson and stated that he had followed the diggers on the road, only a mile or so behind, had suddenly lost sight of them at the spot I have mentioned, and had never been able to overtake them. Instead of leaving the now excited little town, or keeping quiet, Burgess, Kelly, Levy, and Sullivan, may truly be said to have become "swaggerers;" for they loitered about the place, ostentatiously displaying their bags of gold dust. Unsuspicious as the Nelson people were, they acted upon a sort of instinct,--that instinct within us which answers so mysteriously to the cry of blood from the earth,--and arrested these four men. Still, the matter might have ended there for lack of a clue, if one of the party, Sullivan, had not suddenly turned informer, and led the horrified town's-people to the jungle which concealed the bodies. Here my dreadful story may end; for we need not follow the course of the trial, which resulted in the complete conviction of the three other men. I have only dwelt on so horrible a theme in order to make my readers understand how natural it was that I should feel nervous, when it became apparent to my understanding that the custom of the country demanded that you should ask no questions, but simply tell any travellers who claimed your hospitality where they were to sleep, and send them in large supplies of mutton, flour, and tea. On one occasion it chanced that F----, our stalwart cadet Mr. A----, and the man who did odd jobs about the place, were all on the point of setting out upon some expedition, when a party of four swaggers made their appearance just at sundown. No true swagger ever appears earlier, lest he might be politely requested to "move on" to the next station; whereas if he times his arrival exactly when "the shades of night are falling fast," no boss could be hard-hearted enough to point to mist-covered hills and valleys, which are a net-work of deep creeks and swamps, and desire the wayfarer to go on further. Once, and only once, did I know of such a thing being done; but I will not say more about that unfortunate at this moment, for I want to claim the pity of all my lady readers for the very unprotected position I am trying to depict. F---- could not understand my nervousness, and did not reassure me by saying, as he mounted his horse, "I've told them to sleep in the stable. I am pretty sure they are run-away sailors, they seem so footsore. Good-bye! don't expect me until you see me!" Now I was a very new chum in those days, and had just heard of the Maungatapu murders. These guests of mine looked most disreputable, and were all powerful young men. I do not believe there was a single lock or bolt or bar on any door in the whole of the little wooden house: the large plate-chest stood outside in the verandah, and my dressing-case could have been carried off through the ever-open bedroom window by an enterprising thief of ten years old. As for my two maids,--the only human beings within reach,--they were as perfectly useless on any emergency as if they had been wax dolls. One of them had the habit of fainting if anything happened, and the other used to tend her until she revived, when they both sat still and shrieked. Their nerves had once been tested by a carpenter, who was employed about the house, and cut his hand badly; on another occasion by the kitchen chimney which took fire; and that was the way they behaved each time. So it was useless to look upon their presence as any safeguard; indeed one of them speedily detected a fancied likeness to Burgess in one of the poor swaggers, and shrieked every time she saw him. We were indeed three "lone, 'lorn women," all through that weary night. I could not close my eyes; but laid awake listening to the weka's shrill call, or the melancholy cry of the bitterns down in the swamp. With the morning light came hope and courage; and I must say I felt ashamed of my suspicions when my cook came to announce that the "swaggers was just agoin' off, and wishful to say good-bye. They've been and washed up the tin plates and pannikins and spoons as clean as clean can be; and the one I thought favoured Burgess so much, mum, he's been and draw'd water from the well, all that we shall want to-day; and they're very civil, well-spoken chaps, if you please, mum!" F---- was right in his surmise, I fancy; for there were plenty of tattooed pictures of anchors and ships on the brawny bare arms of my departing guests. They seemed much disappointed to find there was no work to be had on our station; but departed, with many thanks and blessings, "over the hills and far away." Latterly, with increasing civilization and corresponding social economy, there have been many attempts made by new-fangled managers of runs, more than by the run-holders themselves, to induce these swaggers to work for their tucker,--to use pure colonial phraseology. Several devices have been tried, such as taking away their swags (_i.e._, their red blankets rolled tightly into a sort of pack, which they carry on their backs, and derive their name from), and locking them up until they had chopped a small quantity of wood, or performed some other trifling domestic duty. But the swagger will be led, though not driven, and what he often did of his own accord for the sake of a nod or a smile of thanks from my pretty maid-servants, he would not do for the hardest words which ever came out of a boss's mouth. There are also strict rules of honesty observed among these men, and if one swagger were to purloin the smallest article from a station which had fed and sheltered him, every other swagger in all the country side would immediately become an amateur detective to make the thief give up his spoil. A pair of old boots was once missing from a neighbouring station, and suspicion fell upon a swagger. Justice was perhaps somewhat tardy in this instance, as it rested entirely in the hands of every tramp who passed that way; but at the end of some months the boots were found at home, and the innocence of the swaggers, individually and collectively, triumphantly established. The only instance of harshness to a swagger which came under my notice during three years residence in New Zealand, is the one I have alluded to above, and contains so much dramatic interest in its details, that it may not be out of place here. Although I have naturally dwelt in these papers more upon our bright sunny weather, our clear, bracing winter days, and our balmy spring and autumn evenings, let no intending traveller think that he will not meet with bad weather at the Antipodes! I can only repeat what I have said with pen and voice a hundred times before. New Zealand possesses a very capricious and disagreeable climate: disagreeable from its constant high winds: but it is perhaps the most singularly and remarkably healthy place in the world. This must surely arise from the very gales which I found so trying to my temper, for damp is a word without meaning; as for mildew or miasma, the generation who are growing up there will not know the meaning of the words; and in spite of a warm, bright day often turning at five minutes warning into a snowy or wet afternoon, colds and coughs are almost unknown. People who go out there with delicate lungs recover in the most surprising manner; surprising, because one expects the sudden changes of temperature, the unavoidable exposure to rain and even snow, to kill instead of curing invalids. But the practice is very unlike the theory in this case, and people thrive where they ought to die. During my first winter in Canterbury we had only one week of _really_ bad weather, but I felt at that time as if I had never realized before what bad weather meant. A true "sou'-wester" was blowing from the first to the second Monday in that July, without one moment's lull. The bitter, furious blast swept down the mountain gorges, driving sheets of blinding rain in a dense wall before it. Now and then the rain turned into large snow-flakes, or the wind rose into such a hurricane that the falling water appeared to be flashing over the drenched earth without actually touching it. Indoors we could hardly hear ourselves speak for the noise of the wind and rain against the shingle roof. It became a service of danger, almost resembling a forlorn hope, to go out and drag in logs of wet wood, or draw water from the well,--for, alas, there were no convenient taps or snug coal-holes in our newly-erected little wooden house. We husbanded every scrap of mutton, in very different fashion to our usual reckless consumption, the consumption of a household which has no butcher's bill to pay; for we knew not when the shepherd might be able to fight his way through the storm, with half a sheep packed before him, on sturdy little "Judy's" back. The creeks rose and poured over their banks in angry yellow floods. Every morning casualties in the poultry yard had to be reported, and that week cost me almost as many fowls and ducks as my great christening party did. The first thing every morning when I opened my eyes I used to jump up and look out of the different windows with eager curiosity, to see if there were any signs of a break in the weather, for I was quite unaccustomed to be pent up like a besieged prisoner for so many succeeding days. We did not boast of shutters in those regions, and even blinds were a luxury which were not wasted in the little hall. Consequently, when my unsatisfactory wanderings about the silent house--for no one else was up--led me that dreadful stormy morning into the narrow passage called the back-hall, I easily saw through its glass-door what seemed to me one of the most pathetic sights my eyes had ever rested upon. Just outside the verandah, which is the invariable addition to New Zealand houses, stood, bareheaded, a tall, gaunt figure, whose rain-sodden garments clung closely to its tottering limbs. A more dismal morning could not well be imagined: the early dawn struggling to make itself apparent through a downpour of sleet and rain, the howling wind (which one could almost see as it drove the vapour wall before it), and the profound solitude and silence of all except the raging storm. At first I thought I must be dreaming, so silent and hopeless stood that weird figure. My next impulse, without staying to consider my dishevelled hair and loose wrapper, was to open the door and beckon the poor man within the shelter of the verandah. When once I had got him there I did not exactly know what to do with my guest, for neither fire nor food could be procured quite so early. He crouched like a stray dog down on the dripping mat outside the door, and murmured some unintelligible words. In this dilemma I hastened to wake up poor F----, who found it difficult to understand why I wanted him to get up at daylight during a "sou'-wester." But I entreated him to go to the hall door, whilst I flew off to get my lazy maids out of their warm beds. With all their faults, they did not need much rousing on that occasion. I suppose I used very forcible words to convey the misery of the object standing outside, for I know that Mary was in floods of tears, and had fastened her gown on over her night-gear, whilst I was still speaking; and the cook had tumbled out of bed, and was kneeling before the kitchen fire with her eyes shut, kindling a blaze, apparently, in her sleep. As soon as things were in this forward state, I returned to the verandah, and found our swagger guest drawing a very long breath after a good nip of pure whisky which F---- had promptly administered to him. "I'm fair clemmed wi' cold and wet," the swagger said, still bundled up in his comparatively sheltered corner. "I've been out on the hills the whole night, and I am deadbeat. Might I stop here for a bit?" He asked this very doubtfully, for it is quite against swagger etiquette to demand shelter in the morning. For all answer he was taken by the shoulder, and helped up. I never shall forget the poor tramp's deprecating face, as he looked back at me, whilst he was being led through the pretty little dining-room, with its bright carpet, on which his clay-clogged boots and dripping garments left a muddy, as well as a watery track. "All right," I said, with colonial brevity; and so we escorted our strange guest through the house into the kitchen, where the ever-ready kettle and gridiron were busy preparing tea and chops over a blazing fire. Of course the maids screamed when they saw us, and I do not wonder at their doing so, for neither F---- nor I looked very respectable, with huddled on dressing-gowns and towzled hair; whilst our foot-sore, drenched guest subsided into a chair by the door, covered his wretched pinched face with two bony hands, and burst into tears. I certainly never expected to see a swagger cry, and F---- declared the sight was quite as new to him as to me. However, the poor man's tears and helplessness gave fresh energy to my maids' treacherous nerves, and they even suggested dry clothes. Our good-natured cadet, who at this moment appeared on the scene, was only too happy to find some outlet for _his_ superfluous benevolence, and hastened off, to return in a moment or two with an old flannel shirt, dry and whole, in spite of its faded stripes, a pair of moleskin trousers, and a huge pair of canvas cricketing shoes. It was no time for ceremony, so we women retreated for a few minutes into the store-room, whilst F---- and Mr. A---- made the swagger's toilette, getting so interested in their task as even to part his dripping hair out of his eyes. He had no swag, poor fellow, having lost his roll of red blankets in one of the treacherous bog-holes across the range. That man was exactly like a lost, starving dog. He ate an enormous breakfast, curled himself upon some empty flour-sacks in a dry corner of the kitchen, and slept till dinner time; then another sleep until the supper hour, and so on, the round of he clock. All this time he never spoke, though we were dying to hear how he had come into such a plight. The "sou'-wester" still raged furiously out of doors without a moment's cessation, and we were obliged to have recourse to the tins of meat kept in the store-room for such an emergency. The shepherd told us afterwards he had ventured out to look for some wethers, his own supply being exhausted, but the whole mob had hidden themselves so cleverly that neither man nor dog could discover their place of shelter. On the Monday night, exactly a week after the outbreak of bad weather; the skies showed signs of having exhausted themselves, and nature began to wear a sulky air, as if her temper were but slowly recovering herself. The learned in such matters, however, took a cheerful view of affairs, and declared the worst to be over,--"for this bout,"--as they cautiously added. Whether it was the three days of rest, warmth, and good food which unlocked the swagger's heart, or not, I do not pretend to decide; but that evening, over a pipe in the kitchen, he confided to Mr. A----that he had been working his way down to the sea-coast from a station where he had been employed, very far back in the hill ranges. The "sou'-wester" had overtaken him about twenty miles from us, but only five from another station, where he had applied towards the evening for shelter, being even then drenched with rain, and worn out by struggling through such a tremendous storm. There, for some reason which I confess did not seem very clear, he had been refused the unvarying hospitality extended in New Zealand to all travellers, rich or poor, squatter or swagger, and had been directed to take a short cut across the hills to our station, which he was assured could easily be reached in an hour or two more. The track, a difficult one enough to strike in summer weather, became, indeed, impossible to discover amid rushing torrents and driving wind and rain; besides which, as the poor fellow repeated more than once during his story, "I was fair done up when I set out, for I'd been travelling all day." Mr. A---- told us what the man had been saying, before we all went to bed, adding, "He seems an odd, surly kind of creature, for although he declares he is going away the first thing to-morrow, if the rain be over, I noticed he never said a word approaching to thanks." The rain was indeed over next morning, and a flood of brilliant sunshine awoke me "bright and early," as the country people say. It seemed impossible to stop in bed, so I jumped up, thrust my feet into slippers, and my arms into a warm dressing-gown, and sallied forth, opening window after window, so as to let the sunshine into rooms which not even a week's steady down-pour could render damp. What a morning it was, and for mid-winter too! No haze, or fog, or vapour on all the green hills, whose well-washed sides were glistening in a bright glow of sunlight. For the first time, too, since the bad weather had set in, was to be heard the incessant bleat which is music to the ears of a New Zealand sheep-farmer. White, moving, calling patches on the hillsides told that the sheep were returning to their favourite pastures, and a mob of horses could be descried quietly feeding on the sunny flat. But I had no eyes for beauties of mountain or sky. I could do nothing but gaze on the strange figure of the silent swagger, who knelt yes, positively knelt, on the still wet and shining shingle which formed an apology for a gravel path up to the back-door of the little wooden homestead. His appearance was very different to what it had been three days before. Now his clothes were dry and clean and mended,--my Irish maids doing; bless their warm hearts! He had cobbled up his boots himself, and his felt hat, which had quite recovered from its drenching, lay at his side. The perfect rest and warmth and good food had filled up his hollow cheeks, but still his countenance was a curious one; and never, until my dying day, can I forget the rapture of entreaty on that man's upturned face. It brings the tears into my own eyes now to recollect its beseeching expression. I do not think I ever _saw_ prayer before or since. He did not perceive me, for I had hidden behind a sheltering curtain, to listen to his strange, earnest petitions; so he could not know that anybody in the house was stirring, for he knelt at the back, and all my fussings had taken place in the front, and he could not, therefore, have been doing anything for effect. There, exactly where he had crouched a wretched, way-worn tramp in pouring rain, he knelt now with the flood of sunshine streaming down on his uplifted face, whilst he prayed for the welfare and happiness, individually and collectively, of every living creature within the house. Then he stood up and lifted his hat from the ground; but before he replaced it on his head, he turned, with a gesture which would have made the fortune of any orator,--a gesture of mingled love and farewell, and solemnly blessed the roof-tree which had sheltered him in his hour of need. I could not help being struck by the extraordinarily good language in which he expressed his fervent desires, and his whole bearing seemed quite different to that of the silent, half-starved man we had kept in the kitchen these last three days. I watched him turn and go, noiselessly closing the garden gate after him, and--shall I confess it?--my heart has always felt light whenever I think of that swagger's blessing. When we all met at breakfast I had to take his part, and tell of the scene I had witnessed; for everybody was inclined to blame him for having stolen away, scarcely without saying good-bye, or expressing a word of thanks for the kindness he had received. But I knew better. From the sublime to the ridiculous we all know the step is but short, especially in the human mind; and to my tender mood succeeds the recollection of an absurd panic we once suffered from, about swaggers. Exaggerated stories had reached us, brought by timid fat men on horseback, with bulky pocket-books, who came to buy our wethers for the Hokitika market, of "sticking up" having broken out on the west land. I fear my expressions are often unintelligible to an English reader, but in this instance I will explain. "Sticking up" is merely a concise colonial rendering of "Your money or your life," and was originally employed by Australian bushrangers, those terrible freebooters whose ranks used to be always recruited from escaped convicts. Fortunately we had no community of that class, only a few prisoners kept in a little ricketty wooden house in Christchurch, from which an enterprising baby might easily have escaped. I dare say as we get more civilized out there, we shall build ourselves handsome prisons and penitentiaries; but in those early days a story was current of a certain jailor who let all his captives out on some festal occasion, using the tremendous threat, that whoever had not returned by eight o'clock should be "_locked out!_" But to return to that particular winter evening. We had been telling each other stories which we had heard or read of bushranging exploits, until we were all as nervous as possible. Ghosts, or even burglar stories, are nothing to the horror of a true bushranger story, and F---- had made himself particularly ghastly and disagreeable by giving a minute account of an adventure which had been told to him by one of the survivors. We listened, with the wind howling outside, to F----'s horrid second-hand story, of how one fine day up country, eight or ten men,--station hands,--were "stuck up" by one solitary bushranger, armed to the teeth. He tied them up one by one, and seated them all on a bench in the sun, and deliberately fired at and wounded the youngest of the party; then, seized with compunction, he unbound one of the captives, and stood over him, revolver in hand, whilst he saddled and mounted a horse, to go for a doctor to set the poor boy's broken leg. Before the messenger had gone "a league, a league, but barely twa',"--the freebooter recollected that he might bring somebody else back with him besides the doctor, and flinging himself across his horse, rode after the affrighted man, and coolly shot him dead. I really don't know how the story ended: I believe everybody perished; but at this juncture I declared it to be impossible to sit up any longer to listen to such tragedies, and went to bed. Exactly at midnight,--the proper hour for ghosts; burglars, and bushrangers, and such "small deer" to be about, everybody was awakened simultaneously by a loud irregular knocking, which sounded with hollow reverberations all through the wooden house. "Bushrangers!" we all thought, every one of us; for although burglars may not usually knock at hall-doors in England, it is by no means uncommon for their bolder brethren to do so at the other end of the world. It is such a comfort to me now, looking back on that scene to remember that our stalwart cadet was as frightened as anybody. _He_ stood six feet one in his stockings, and was a match for any two in the country side, and yet, I am happy to think, he was as bad as any one. As for me, to say that my heart became like water and my knees like soft wax, is to express in mild words my state of abject terror. There was no need to inquire what the maids thought, for smothered shrieks, louder and louder as each peal of knocks vibrated through the little house, proclaimed sufficiently their sentiments on the subject. Dear me, how ridiculous it all must have been! In one corner of the ceiling of our bedroom was a little trap-door which opened into an attic adjoining that where the big cadet slept. Now whilst F---- was hurriedly taking down his double-barrelled gun from its bracket just below this aperture, and I held the candlestick with so shaky a hand that the extinguisher clattered like a castanet, this door was slowly lifted up, and a large white face, with dishevelled stubbly hair and wide-open blue eyes, looked down through the cobwebs, saying in a husky whisper, "Could you let me have a rifle, or any thing?" This was our gallant cadet, who had no idea of presenting himself at a disadvantage before the foe. I had desperately seized a revolver, but F---- declared that if I persisted in carrying it I certainly should go first, as he did not wish to be shot in the back. We held a hurried council of war,--Mr. A---- assisting through the trap door, and the maids breathing suggestions through the partition-planks,--but the difficulty consisted in determining at which door the knocking was going on. Some said one, and some another (for there were many modes of egress from the tiny dwelling); but at last F---- cried decidedly, "We must try them all in succession," and shouldering his gun, with the revolver sticking in the girdle of his dressing-gown, sallied valiantly forth. I don't know what became of Mr. A----: I believe he took up a position with the rifle pointing downwards; the maids retreated beneath their blankets, and I (too frightened to stay behind) followed closely, armed with an Indian boar-spear. F---- flung the hall door wide open, and called out, "Who's there?" but no one answered. The silence was intense, and so was the cold; therefore we returned speedily indoors to consult. "It must be at the back door," I urged; adding, "that is the short cut down the valley, where bushrangers would be most likely to come." "Bushrangers, you silly child!" laughed F----. "It's most likely a belated swagger, or else somebody who is playing us a trick." However as he spoke a succession of fierce and loud knocks resounded through the whole house. "It must be at the kitchen door," F---- said. "Come along, and stand well behind me when I open the door." But we never opened the door; for on our way through the kitchen, with its high-pitched and unceiled roof,--a very cavern for echoes,--we discovered the source of the noise, and of our fright. Within a large wooden packing-case lay a poor little lamb, and its dying throes had wakened us all up, as it kicked expiring kicks violently against the side of the box. It was my doing bringing it indoors, for I never _could_ find it in my heart to leave a lamb out on the hills if we came across a dead ewe with her baby bleating desolately and running round her body. F---- always said, "You cannot rear a merino lamb indoors; the poor little thing will only die all the same in a day or two;" and then I am sorry to say he added in an unfeeling manner, "They are not worth much now," as if that could make any difference! I had brought this, as I had brought scores of others, home in my arms from a long distance off; fed it out of a baby's bottle, rubbed it dry, and put it to sleep in a warm bed of hay at the bottom of this very box. They had all died quietly, after a day or two, in spite of my devotion and nursing, but this little foundling kicked herself out of the world with as much noise as would have sufficed to summon a garrison to surrender. It is all very well to laugh at it now, but we were, five valiant souls in all, as thoroughly frightened at the time as we could well be. The only real harm a swagger did me was to carry off one of my best maidservants as his wife, but as he had 300 pounds in the bank at Christchurch, and was only travelling about looking for work, and they have lived in great peace and prosperity ever since, I suppose I ought not to complain. This swagger was employed in deepening our well, and Mary was always going to see how he was getting on, so he used to make love to her, looking up from the bottom of a deep shaft, and shouting compliments to her from a depth of sixty feet. What really won her Irish heart, though, was his calmly putting a rival, a shepherd, into a water-butt. She could not resist that, so they were married, and are doing well. Let no one despise swaggers. They are merely travelling workmen, and would pay for their lodging if it was the custom to do so. I am told that even now they are fast becoming things of the past; for one could not "swagger" by railroad, and most of our beautiful happy vallies will soon have a line of rails laid down throughout its green and peaceful length. Chapter X: Changing servants. To the eyes of an English housewife the title of this chapter must appear a very bad joke indeed, and the amusement what the immortal Mrs. Poyser would call "a poor tale." Far be it from me to make light of the misery of a tolerably good servant coming to you after three months' service, just as you were beginning to feel settled and comfortable, and announcing with a smile that she was going to be married; or, with a flood of tears, that she found it "lonesome." Either of these two contingencies was pretty sure to arise at least four times a year on a station. At first I determined to do all I could to make their new home so attractive to my two handmaidens that they would not wish to leave it directly. In one of Wilkie Collins' books an upholsterer is represented as saying that if you want to domesticate a woman, you should surround her with bird's-eye maple and chintz. That must have been exactly my idea, for the two rooms which I prepared for my maidservants were small, indeed, yet exquisitely pretty. Of course I should not have been so foolish as to buy any of the unnecessary and dainty fittings with which they were decorated, but as all the furniture and belongings of an English house, a good deal larger than our station home, had been taken out to it, there were sundry toilet tables, etc., whose destination would have been a loft over the stable, if I had not used them for my maids. I had seen and chosen two very respectable young women in Christchurch, one as a cook, and the other as a housemaid. The cook, Euphemia by name, was a tall, fat, flabby woman, with a pasty complexion, but a nice expression of face, and better manners than usual. She turned out to be very good natured, perfectly ignorant though willing to learn, and was much admired by the neighbouring _cockatoos_, or small farmers. Lois the housemaid, was the smallest and skimpiest and most angular girl I ever beheld. At first I regarded her with deep compassion, imagining that she was about fifteen years of age, and had been cruelly ill-treated and starved. How she divined what was passing in my mind I cannot tell, but during our first interview she suddenly fired up, and informed me that she was twenty-two years old, that she was the seventh child of a seventh child, and therefore absolutely certain to achieve some wonderful piece of good luck; and furthermore, that she had been much admired in her own part of the country, and was universally allowed to be "the flower of the province." This statement, delivered with great volubility and defiant jerkiness of manner, rather took my breath away; but it was a case of "Hobson's choice" just then about servants, and as I was assured she was a respectable girl, I closed with her terms (25 pounds a year and all found) on the spot. The fat pale cook was to get 35 pounds. Now-a-days I hear that wages are somewhat lower, but the sums I have named were the average figures of six or seven years ago, especially "up-country." Here I feel impelled to repeat the substance of what I have stated elsewhere,--that these rough, queer servants were, as a general rule, perfectly honest, and of irreproachable morals, besides working, in their own curious fashion, desperately hard. Our family was an exceptionally small one, and the "place" was considered "light, you bet," but even then it seemed to me as if both my domestics worked very hard. In the first place there was the washing; two days severe work, under difficulties which they thought nothing of. All the clothes had to be taken to a boiler fixed in the side of a hill, for the convenience of the creek, and washed and rinsed under a blazing sun (for of course it never was attempted on a wet day) and amid clouds of sand-flies. Not until evening was this really hard day's work over, and the various garments fluttering in the breeze up a valley behind the house. The chances were strongly in favour of a tremendous nor'-wester coming down this said valley during the night, and in that case there would not be a sign next morning of any of the clothes. Heavy things, such as sheets or table cloths, might be safely looked for under lee of the nearest gorse hedge, but it would be impossible even to guess where the lighter and more diaphanous articles had been whisked to. A week afterwards the shepherds used to bring in stray cuffs and collars, and upon one occasion "Judy," the calf, was discovered in a paddock hard by, breakfasting off my best pocket handkerchiefs with an excellent appetite. Of course everything was dirty, and needed to be washed over again. We had a mangle, which greatly simplified matters on the second day, but it used not to be uncommon on back-country stations to get up the fine things with a flat stone, heated in the wood ashes, for an iron. After the washing operations had been brought to a more or less successful ending, there came the yeast making and the baking, followed by the brewing of sugar beer, preserves had to be made, bacon cured, all sorts of things to be done, besides the daily duties of scrubbing and cleaning, and cooking at all hours for stray visitors or "swaggers." But I am overcome with contrition at perceiving into what a digression I have wandered; having strayed from my maids' rooms to their duties. They arrived as usual on a dray late in the evening, tired and wearied enough, poor souls. In those early days I had not yet plucked up courage to try my hand in the kitchen, and our meals had been left to the charge of F----, who, whatever he may be in other relations of life, is a vile cook; and our good-natured cadet Mr. U----, who was exceedingly willing, but profoundly ignorant of the elements of cookery. For fear of being tempted into another digression, I will briefly state that during that week I lived in a chronic state of hunger and heartburn, and sought forgetfulness from repeated attacks of indigestion, by decorating my servants' rooms. They opened into each other, and it would have been hard to find two prettier little nests. Each had its shining brass bedstead with chintz hangings, its muslin-draped toilette table, and its daintily curtained window, besides a pretty carpet. I can remember now the sort of dazed look with which Euphemia regarded a room such as she had never seen; whilst Lois considered it to be an instalment of her good luck, and proceeded to contemplate her sharp and elfish countenance in her looking-glass, pronouncing it as her opinion that she wanted more colour. That she certainly did, and she might have added, more flesh and youthfulness, while she was about it. However, they were greatly delighted, and Euphemia who was of a grateful and affectionate disposition, actually thanked me, for having with my own hands arranged such pretty rooms for them. This was a very good beginning. They were both hard-working, civil girls, and got on very well together, leaving me plenty of leisure to attend to the quantities of necessary arrangements which have to be made when you are settling yourself for good, fifty miles from a shop, and on a spot where no other human being has ever lived before. F---- congratulated myself in private on my exceptional good luck, and attributed it partly to my having followed the Upholsterer's advice in that book of Mr. Wilkie Collins. But as it turned out, F---- was dwelling in a fool's paradise. In vain had it been pointed out to me that a certain stalwart north countryman, whose shyness could only be equalled by his appetite, had been a most regular attendant for some weeks past at our Sunday evening services, accepting the offer of tea in the kitchen, afterwards, with great alacrity. I scouted these insinuations, appealing to the general sense of the public as to whether Moffatt had _ever_ been known to refuse a meal anywhere, or under any circumstances, and declaring that, if he was "courting," it was being done in solemn silence, for never a sound filtered through the thin wooden planks between the kitchen and the dining room, except the clatter of a vigorously plied knife and fork, for Moffatt's teas always included a shoulder of mutton. But I was wrong and others were right. Early in October, our second spring month, I chanced to get up betimes one delicious, calm morning, a morning when it seemed a new and exquisite pleasure to open each window in succession, and fill one's lungs with a deep, deep breath of that heavenly atmosphere, at once so fresh and so pure. Quiet as the little homestead lay, nestled among the hills, there were too many morning noises stirring among the animals for any one to feel lonely or dull, I should have thought. From a distance came a regular, monotonous, lowing sound. That was "Hetty," the pretty little yellow Alderney, announcing from the swamps that she and her two female friends were quite ready to be milked. Their calves answered them dutifully from the English grass paddock, and between the two I could see Mr. U----'s tall figure stalking down the flat with his cattle dog at his heels, and hear his merry whistle shrilling through the silent air. Then all the ducks and fowls about the place were inquiring, in noisy cackle, how long it would be before breakfast was ready, whilst "Helen's" whinneying made me turn my head to see her, with a mob of horses at her heels, coming over the nearest ridge on the chance of a stray carrot or two going begging. All the chained-up dogs were pulling at the staples of their fastenings, and entreating by short, joyous barks, to be allowed just one good frisk and roll in the sparkling dewy grass around. But even I, universal spoiler of animals that I am, was obliged to harden my heart against their noisy appeals; for quite close to the stable, on the nearest hill-side, an immense mob of sheep and young lambs were feeding. That steep incline had been burnt six weeks before, and was now as green as the clover field at its base, affording a delicious pasturage to these nursing mothers and their frisky infants. I think I see and hear it all now. The moving white patches on the hill-side, the incessant calling and answering, the racing and chasing among the curly little merino lambs, and above all the fair earth the clear vault of an almost cloudless sky bent itself in a deep blue dome. Just over the eastern hills the first long lances of the sun lay in bright shafts of silver sheen on the dew-laden tussocks, and that peculiar morning fragrance rose up from the moist ground, which is as much the reward of the early riser as the early worm is of the bird. Was it a morning for low spirits or sobs and sighs? Surely not; and yet as I turned the handle of the kitchen door those melancholy sounds struck my ear. I had intended to make my entrance with a propitiatory smile, suitable to such a glorious morning, proceed to pay my damsels a graceful compliment on their somewhat unusual early rising, and wind up with a request for a cup of tea. But all these friendly purposes went out of my head when I beheld Euphemia seated on the rude wooden settle, with its chopped tussock mattrass, which had been covered with a bright cotton damask, and was now called respectfully, "the kitchen sofa." Her arm was round Lois's waist, and she had drawn that young lady's shock head of red curls down on her capacious bosom. Both were crying as if their hearts would break, and startled as I felt to see these floods of tears, it struck me how incongruous their attitude looked against the background of the large window through which all nature looked so smiling and sparkling. The kettle was singing on the fire, everything seemed bright and snug and comfortable indoors. "What in the world has happened?" I gasped, really frightened. "Nothing, mem: its only them sheep," sobbed Euphemia, "calling like. They always makes me cry. Your tea 'll be ready directly, mem" (this last with a deep sigh.) "Is it possible you are crying about that?" I inquired. "Yes, mem, yes," said Euphemia, in heart-broken accents, clasping Lois, who was positively howling, closer to her sympathetic heart. "Its terrible to hear 'em. They keeps calling and answering each other, and that makes us think of our home and friends." Now both these women had starved as factory "hands" all their lives, and I used to feel much more inclined to cry when they told me, all unconscious of the pathos, stories of their baby work and hardships. Certainly they had never seen a sheep until they came to New Zealand, and as they had particularly mentioned the silence which used to reign supreme at the manufactory during work hours, I could not trace the connection between a dingy, smoky, factory, and a bright spring morning in this delightful valley. "What nonsense!" I cried, half laughing and half angry. "You can't be in earnest. Why you must both be ill: let me give you each a good dose of medicine." I said this encouragingly, for there was nothing in the world Euphemia liked so much as good substantial physic, and the only thing I ever needed to keep locked up from her was the medicine drawer. Euphemia seemed touched and grateful, and her face brightened up directly, but Lois looked up with her frightful little face more ugly than usual, as she said, spitefully, "Physic won't make them nasty sheep hold their tongues. I'm sure _this_ isn't the place for me to find my luck, so I'd rather go, if you please, mem. I've prospected-up every one o' them gullies and never seen the colour yet, so it ain't any good my stopping." This was quite a fresh light thrown upon the purpose of Lois's long lonely rambles. She used to be off and away, over the hills whenever she had finished her daily work, and I encouraged her rambles, thinking the fresh air and exercise must do her a world of good. Never had I guessed that the sordid little puss was turning over every stone in the creek in her search for the shining flakes. "Why did you think you should find gold here?" I asked. "Because they do say it lies in all these mountain streams," she answered sullenly; "and I'm always dreaming of nuggets. Not that a girl with my face and figure wants 'dust' to set her off, however. But if its all the same to you, mem, I'd rather leave when Euphemia does." "Are _you_ going, then?" I inquired, turning reproachfully to my pale-faced cook, who actually coloured a little as she answered, "Well, mem, you see Moffatt says he's got his window frames in now, and he'll glass them the very first chance, and I think it'll be more company for me on Saddler's Flat. So if you'll please to send me down in the dray, I should be obliged." Here was a pretty upset, and I went about my poultry-feeding with a heavy heart. How was I to get fresh servants, and above all, what was I to do for cooking during the week they were away? These questions fortunately settled themselves in rather an unexpected manner. I heard of a very nice willing girl who was particularly anxious to come up as housemaid, to my part of the world, on condition that I should also engage as cook her sister, who was leaving a place on the opposite side of a range of high hills to the south. I shall only briefly say that all inquiries about these damsels proved satisfactory, and I could see Euphemia and Lois depart, with tolerable equanimity. The former wept, and begged for a box of Cockles' pills; but Lois tossed her elfish head, and gave me to understand that she had never been properly admired or appreciated whilst in my service. Chapter XII: Culinary troubles. I want to lodge a formal complaint against all cookery books. They are not the least use in the world, until you know how to cook! and then you can do without them. Somebody ought to write a cookery book which would tell an unhappy beginner whether the water in which she proposes to put her potatoes is to be hot or cold; how long such water is to boil; how she is to know whether the potatoes are done enough; how to dry them after they have boiled, and similar things, which make all the difference in the world. To speak like Mr. Brooke for a moment. "Rice now: I have dabbled in that a good deal myself, and found it wouldn't do at all." Of course in time, and after many failures, I did learn to boil a potato which would not disgrace me, and to bake bread, besides in time attaining to puddings and cakes, of which I don't mind confessing I was modestly proud. It used to be a study, I am told, to watch my face when a cake had turned out as it ought. Gratified vanity at the lavish encomiums bestowed on it, and horrified dismay at the rapidity with which a good sized cake disappeared down the throats of the company, warred together in the most artless fashion. The reflection would arise that it was almost a pity it should be eaten up so very fast; yet was it not a fine thing to be able to make such a cake! and oh, would the next be equally good? One lesson I leaned in my New Zealand kitchen,--and that was not to be too hard on the point of breakages; for no one knows, unless from personal experience, how true was the Irish cook's apology for breaking a dish, when she said that it let go of her hand. I declare that I used, at last, to regard my plates and dishes, cups and saucers, yea, even the pudding basons, not as so much china and delf, but as troublesome imps, possessed with an insane desire to dash themselves madly on the kitchen floor upon the least provocation. Every woman knows what a slippery thing to hold is a baby in its tub. I am in a position to pronounce that wet plates and dishes are far more difficult to keep hold of. They have a way of leaping out of your fingers, which must be felt to be believed. After my first week in my kitchen I used to wonder, not at the breakages, but at anything remaining unbroken. My maids had a very ingenious method of disposing of the fragments of their pottery misfortunes. At the back of the house an open patch of ground, thickly covered with an under-growth of native grass, and the usual large proportion of sheltering tussocks stretched away to the foot of the nearest hill. This was burned every second year or so, and when the fire had passed away the sight it revealed was certainly very curious. Beneath each tussock had lain concealed a small heap of broken china, which must have been placed there in the dead of the night. The delinquents had evidently been at the pains to perfect their work of destruction by reducing the china articles in question, to the smallest imaginable fragments, for fear of a protruding corner betraying the clever _cache_; and the contrast afforded to the blackened ground on which they lay, by the gay patches of tiny fragments huddled together, was droll indeed. That was the moment for recognising the remains of a favourite jug or plate, or even a beloved tea-cup. There they were all laid in neat little heaps, and the best of it was that the existing cook always declared loudly her astonishment at the base ingenuity of such conduct, although I could not fail to recognise many a plate or dish which had disappeared from the land of the living during her reign. All housekeepers will sympathise with my feelings at seeing an amateur scullion, who had distinguished himself greatly in the Balaklava charge, but who appeared to have no idea that boiling water would scald his fingers,--drop the top plate of a pile which he had placed in a tub before him. In spite of my entreaties to be allowed to "wash-up" myself, he gallantly declared that he could do it beautifully, and that the great thing was to have the water very hot. In pursuance of this theory he poured the contents of a kettle of boiling water over his plates, plunged his hand in, and dropped the top plate, with a shriek of dismay, on those beneath it. Out of consideration for that well-meaning emigrant's feelings, I abstain from publishing the list of the killed and wounded, briefly stating that he might almost as well have fired a shot among my poor plates. A perfect fountain of water and chips and bits of china flew up into the air, and I really believe that hardly one plate remained uncracked. So much for one's friends. I must candidly state that although the servants broke a good deal, we destroyed twice as much amongst us during the week which must needs elapse between their departure and, the arrival of the new ones. Shall I ever forget the guilty pallor which overspread the bronzed and bearded countenance of one of my guests, who particularly wished to dust the drawing-room ornaments, when on hearing a slight crash I came into the room and found him picking up the remains of a china shepherdess? Considering everything, I kept my temper remarkably well, merely observing that he had better go into the verandah and sit down with a book and his pipe, and send Joey in to help me. Joey was a little black monkey from Panama, who had to be provided with broken bits of delf or china in order that he might amuse himself by breaking them ingeniously into smaller fragments. But the real object of this chapter was to relate some of my own private misfortunes in the cooking line. Once, when Alice S---- was staying with me and we had no servants, she and I undertook to bake a very infantine and unweaned pig. It was all properly arranged for us, and, making up a good fire, we proceeded to cook the little monster. Hours passed by; all the rest of the dinner got itself properly cooked at the right time, but the pig presented exactly the same appearance at dewy eve as it had done in the early morn. We looked rather crest-fallen at its pale condition when one o'clock struck, but I said cheerfully, "Oh, I daresay it will be ready by supper!" But it was not: not a bit of it. Of course we searched in those delusive cookery books, but they only told us what sauces to serve with a roasted pig, or how to garnish it, entering minutely into a disquisition upon whether a lemon or an orange had better be stuck into its mouth. We wanted to know how to cook it, and why it would not get itself baked. About an hour before supper-time I grew desperate at the anticipation of the "chaff" Alice and I would certainly have to undergo if this detestable animal could not be produced in a sufficiently cooked state by evening. We took it out of the oven and contemplated it with silence and dismay. Fair as ever did that pig appear, and as if it had no present intention of being cooked at all. A sudden idea came into our heads at the same moment, but it was Alice who first whispered, "Let us cut off its head." "Yes," I cried; "I am sure that prevents its roasting or baking, or whatever it is." So we got out the big carving knife and cut off the piggy's head. Far be it from me to offer any solution of the theory why the head should have interfered with the baking process, but all I know is, that, like the old woman in the nursery song, everything began to go right, and we got our supper that night. Has anybody ever reflected on how difficult it must be to get a chimney swept without ever a sweep or even a brush? Luckily our chimneys were short and wide, and we used a good deal of wood; so in three years the kitchen chimney only needed to be cleansed twice. The first time it was cleared of soot by the simple process of being set on fire, but as a light nor'-wester was blowing, the risk to the wooden roof became very great and could only be met by spreading wet blankets over the shingles. We had a very narrow escape of losing our little wooden house, and it was fortunate it happened just at the men's dinner hour when there was plenty of help close at hand. However great my satisfaction at feeling that at last my chimney had been thoroughly swept, there was evidently too much risk about the performance to admit of its being repeated, so about a year afterwards I asked an "old chum" what I was to do with my chimney. "Sweep it with a furze-bush, to be sure," she replied. I mentioned this primitive receipt at home, and the idea was carried out a day or two later by one man mounting on the roof of the house whilst another remained in the kitchen; the individual on the roof threw down a rope to the one below, who fastened a large furze-bush in the middle, they each held an end of this rope, and so pulled it up and down the chimney until the man below was as black as any veritable sweep, and had to betake himself, clothes and all, to a neighbouring creek. As for the kitchen, its state cannot be better described than in my Irish cook's words, who cried, "Did mortial man ever see sich a ridiklous mess? Arrah, why couldn't ye let it be thin?" But for all that she set bravely to work and got everything clean and nice once more, merely stipulating that the next time we were going to sweep chimney we should let her know beforehand, that she might go somewhere "right away." I feel, however, that in all these reminiscences I am straying widely from the point which was before my mind when I began this chapter, and that is the delusiveness of a cookery book. No book which I have ever seen tells you, for instance, how to boil rice properly. They all insist that the grains must be white and dry and separate, but they omit to describe the process by which these results can be attained. They tell you what you are to do with your rice after it is boiled, but not how to boil it. The fact is, I suppose, that the people who write such books began so early to be cooks themselves, that they forget there ever was a time when such simple things were unknown to them. Even when I had, after many failures, mastered the art of boiling rice, and also of making an excellent curry,--for which accomplishment I was indebted to the practical teaching of a neighbour,--there used still to be misfortunes in store for me. One of these caused me such a bitter disappointment that I have never quite forgotten it. This was the manner of it. We were without servants. My readers must not suppose that such was our chronic condition, but when you come to change your servants three or four times a year, and have to "do" for yourself each time during the week which must elapse before the arrival of new ones, there is an ample margin for every possible domestic misadventure. If any doubt me, let them try for themselves. On this special occasion, which proved to be nearly the last, my mind was easy, for the simple reason that I was now independent of cookery books. I had puzzled out all the elementary parts of the science for myself, and had no misgivings on the subject of potatoes or even peas. So confident was I, and vain, that I volunteered to make a curry for breakfast. Such a savoury curry as it was, and it turned out to be all that the heart of a hungry man could desire; so did the rice: I really felt proud of that rice; each grain kept itself duly apart from its fellow, and was as soft and white and plump as possible. Everything went well, and I had plenty of assistants to carry in the substantial breakfast as fast as it was ready: the coffee, toast, all the other things had gone in; even the curry had been borne off amid many compliments, and now it only remained for me to dish up the rice. Imagine the scene. The bright pretty kitchen, with its large window through which you could see the green hills around dotted with sheep; the creek chattering along just outside, whilst close to the back door loitered a crowd of fowls and ducks on the chance of fate sending them something extra to eat. Beneath the large window, and just in front of it, stood a large deal table, and it used to be my custom to transfer the contents of the saucepans to the dishes at that convenient place. Well, I emptied the rice into its dish, and gazed fondly at it for a moment: any cook might have been proud of that beautiful heap of snow-white grains. I had boiled a great quantity, more than necessary it seemed, for although the dish was piled up almost as high as it would hold, some rice yet remained in the saucepan. Oh, that I had been content to leave it there! But no: with a certain spasmodic frugality which has often been my bane, I shook the saucepan vehemently, in order to dislodge some more of its contents into my already full dish. As I did so, my treacherous wrist, strained by the weight of the saucepan, gave way, and with the rapidity of a conjurer's trick I found the great black saucepan seated,--yes, that is the only word for it,--seated in the midst of my heap of rice, which was now covered by fine black powder from its sooty outside. All the rice was utterly and completely spoiled. I don't believe that five clean grains were left in the dish There was nothing for it but to leave it to get cold and then throw it all out for the fowls, who don't mind _riz au noir_ it seems. Although I feel more than half ashamed to confess it, I am by no means sure I did not retire into the store-room and shed a tear over the fate of that rice. Everybody else laughed, but I was dreadfully mortified and vexed. Chapter XIII: Amateur Servants. I flattered myself on a certain occasion that I had made some very artful arrangements to provide the family with something to eat during the servants' absence. I had been lamenting the week of experiments in food which would be sure to ensue so soon as the dray should leave, in the hearing of a gallant young ex-dragoon, who had come out to New Zealand to try and see if one could gratify tastes, requiring, say a thousand a year to provide for, on an income of 120 pounds. He was just finding out that it was quite as difficult to manage this in the Southern as in the Northern Hemisphere, but his hearty cheery manner, and enormous stock of hope, kept him up for some time. "I'll come and cook for you," he cried. "I can cook like a bird. But I can't wash up. No, no: it burns too much. If you can get somebody to wash up, I'll cook. And just look here: it would be very nice if we could have some music after dinner. You've got a piano, haven't you? That's right. Well, now, don't you ask that pretty Miss A----, who has just come out from England, to come and stop with you, and then we could have some music?" "Where did you learn to cook?" I inquired, suspiciously; for F----had also assured me _he_ could cook, and this had upset my confidence. "On the west coast; to be sure! Ask Vere, and Williams and Taylor, and everybody, if they _ever_ tasted such pies as I used to make them." My countenance must have still looked rather doubtful, because I well remember sundry verbal testimonials of capability being produced; and as I was still very ignorant of the rudiments of the science of cookery, I shrank from assuming the whole responsibility of the family meals. So the household was arranged in this way:--Captain George, head cook; Mr. U----, scullery-maid; Miss A----, housemaid; myself, lady-superintendent; Mr. Forsyth (a young naval officer), butler. On the principle of giving honour to whom honour is due, this gallant lieutenant deserves special mention for the way he cleaned glass. He did not pay much attention to his silver, but his glass would have passed muster at a club. The only drawback was the immense time he took over each glass, and the way he followed either Miss A---- or me all about the house, holding a tumbler in one hand, and a long, clean glass-cloth in the other, calling upon us to admire the polish of the crystal. To clean two tumblers would be a good day's work for him. From Monday to Saturday (when the dray returned), this state of things went on. Of course I had taken the precaution of having a good supply of bread made beforehand, besides cakes and biscuits, tarts and pies; everything to save trouble. But it was not of much use, for, alleging that they were working so hard, the young men, F---- at their head, though I was always telling him he was married and ought to know better, set to work and ate up everything immediately, as completely as if they had been locusts. And then, they were all so dreadfully wild and unmanageable! Mine was by far the hardest task of all, the keeping them in any sort of order. For instance, Captain George declared one day, that if there was one thing he did better than another, it was to make jam. Consequently a fatigue party was ordered out to gather strawberries, and, after more than half had been eaten on the way to the house, a stewpan was filled. I had to do most of the skimming, as Captain George wanted to practice a duet with Miss A----. I may as well mention here that we never had any opportunity of seeing how the jam kept, because the smell pervaded the whole house to such an extent, that, declaring they felt like schoolboys again, the gentlemen fell on my half dozen pots of preserves in a body, carried them off, and ate them all up then and there, announcing afterwards, there had just been a pot a-piece. It was really a dreadful time, although we got well cooked _plats_, for Captain George wasted quite as much as he used. The pigs fed sumptuously that week on his failures, in sauces, minces; puddings, and what not. He had insisted on our making him a paper cap and a linen apron, or rather a dozen linen aprons, for he was perpetually blackening his apron and casting it aside. Then, he used suddenly to cease to take any interest in his occupation, and, seating himself sideways on the kitchen dresser, begin to whistle through a whole opera, or repeat pages of poetry. I tried the experiment of banishing Miss A---- from the kitchen during cooking hours, but a few bars played on the piano were quite enough to distract my cook from his work. My only quiet time was the afternoon, when about four o'clock, my amateur servants all went out for a ride, and left me in peace for a couple of hours. I had enough to do during that short time to tidy up; to collect the scattered books and music, and prepare the tea-supper, for which they came back in tearing spirits, and frantically hungry, between seven and eight o'clock. After this meal had been cleared away, and Mr. U---- and I had washed up (the others declaring they were too tired to stir), we all used to adjourn to the verandah. It happened to be an exceptionally _still_ week, no dry, hot nor'-westers, nor cold, wet sou'-westers, and it was perfectly delicious to sit out in the verandah and rest, after the labours of the day, in our cane easy-chairs. The balmy air was so soft and fresh, and the intense silence all around so profound. Unfortunately there was a full moon. I say "unfortunately," because the flood of pale light suggested to these dreadful young men the feasibility of having what they called a "servant's ball." In vain I declared that the housekeeper was never expected to dance. "Oh, yes!" laughed Captain George. "I've often danced with a housekeeper, and very jolly it was too. Come along! F----, _make_ her dance." And I was forced to gallopade up and down that verandah till I felt half dead with fatigue. The boards had a tremendous spring, and the verandah (built by F----, by the way), was very wide and roomy, so it made an excellent ball-room. As for the trifling difficulty about music, that was supplied by Captain George and Mr. U---- whistling in turn, time being kept by clapping the top and bottom of my silver butter dish together, cymbal-wise. Oh, dear! It takes my breath away now even to think of those evenings! I see Alice A---- flitting about in her white dress and fern-leaf wreath, dancing like the slender sylph she really was, but never can I forget the odd effect of the gentlemen's feet! No one had their dress boots up at the station, and as Alice and I firmly declined to dance with anybody who wore "Cookham" boots (great heavy things with nails in the soles), they had no other course open to them except to wear their smart slippers. There were slippers of purple velvet, embroidered with gold; others of blue kid, delicately traced in crimson lines; foxes heads stared at us in startling perspective from a scarlet ground; or black jim-crow figures disported themselves on orange tent-stitch. Then these slippers were all more or less of an easy fit, and had a way of flying out on the lawn suddenly, startling my dear dog Nettle out of his first sleep. Ah, well! that may be an absurd bit of one's life to look back upon, but its days were bright and innocent enough. Health was so perfect that the mere sensation of being alive became happiness, and all the noise of the eager, bustling, pushing world, seemed shut away by those steep hills which folded our quiet valley in their green arms. People have often said to me since, "Surely you would not like to have lived there for ever?" Perhaps not. I can only say that three years of that calm, idyllic life, held no weary hour for me, and I am quite sure that quiet time was a great blessing to me in many ways. First of all, in health, for a person must be in a very bad way indeed for New Zealand air not to do them a world of good; next, in teaching me, amid a great deal of fun and laughter, sundry useful accomplishments, not easily learned in our luxurious civilization; and, lastly, those few years of seclusion from the turmoil of life brought leisure to think out one's own thoughts, and to sift them from other peoples' ideas. Under such circumstances, it is hard if "the unregarded river of our life," as Matthew Arnold so finely call it be not perceived, for one then "---- Becomes aware of his life's flow And bears its winding murmur, and he sees The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze; And there arrives a lull in the hot race, Wherein he doth for ever chase That flying and elusive shadow, rest." One good effect of my sufferings with a house full of unruly volunteers, was that during the brief stay (only two months), of my next cook, I set to work assiduously to learn as many kitchen mysteries as she could teach me, and so became independent of Captain George or F----, or any other amateur, good, bad, or indifferent. Nothing could be more extraordinary than the way in which the two affectionate sisters, mentioned [earlier] and who succeeded Euphemia and Lois, quarrelled. They were very unlike each other in appearance, and one fruitful source of bickering arose from their respective styles of beauty. Not only did they wrangle and rave at each other all the day long, during every moment of their spare time, but after they had gone to bed, we could hear them quite plainly calling out to each other from their different rooms. If I begged them to be quiet, there might be silence for a moment, but it would shortly be broken by Maria, calling out, "I say, Dinah, don't you go for to wear green, my girl. I only tell you friendly, but you're a deal too yellow for that. It suits _me_, 'cause I'm so fresh and rosy, but you never _will_ have my 'plexion, not if you live to be eighty. Good night. I thought I'd just mention it while I remembered." This used to aggravate Dinah dreadfully, and she would retaliate by repeating some complimentary speech of Old Ben's, or Long Tom's, the stockman, and then there would be no peace for an hour. Their successors were Clarissa and Eunice. Eunice wept sore for a whole month, over her sweeping and cleaning. To this day I have not the dimmest idea _why_. She gave me warning, amid floods of tears, directly she arrived, though I could not make out any other tangible complaint than that "the dray had jolted as never was;" and to Clarissa, I gave warning the first day I came into the kitchen. She received me seated on the kitchen table, swinging her legs, which did not nearly touch the floor. She had carefully arranged her position so as to turn her back towards me, and she went on picking her teeth with a hair-pin. I stood aghast at this specimen of colonial manners, which was the more astonishing as I knew the girl had lived in the service of a gentleman's family in the North of England for some time before she sailed. "Dear me, Clarissa," I cried, "is that the way you behaved at Colonel St. John's?" Clarissa looked at me very coolly over her shoulder (I must mention she was a very pretty girl, blue-eyed and rosy-cheeked, but with _such_ a temper!) and, giving her plump shoulders a little shrug, said, "No, in course not: _they_ was gentlefolks, they was." I confess I felt rather nettled at this, and yet it was difficult to be angry with a girl who looked like a grown up and very pretty baby. I restrained my feelings and said, "Well, I should like you to behave here as you did there. Suppose you get off the table and come and look what we can find in the store room." "I _have_ looked round," she declared: "there 'aint much to be seen." My patience began to run short, and I said very firmly, "You must get off the table directly, Clarissa, and stand and speak properly; or I shall send you down to Christchurch again." I suppose that was exactly what the damsel wished, for she made no movement; whereat I said in great wrath, "Very well, then you shall leave at the end of a month." And so she did, having bullied everybody out of their lives during that time. Whilst we are on the subject of manners, it may not be out of place to relate a little episode of my early days "up country." I think I have alluded [in "Station Life in New Zealand"] to our book club; but I don't know that it has been explained that I used to change the books on Sunday afternoon, after our little evening service. It would have been impossible to induce the men to come from an immense distance twice a week, and it was therefore necessary that they should be able to get a fresh book after service. Nothing could have been better than the behaviour of my little congregation: they made it a point of giving no trouble whatever with their horses or dogs, and they were so afraid of being supposed to come for what they could get, that I had some difficulty in inducing those who travelled from a distance to have a cup of tea in the kitchen before they mounted, to set off on their long solitary ride homewards. They were also exceedingly quiet and well-behaved; for if even a dozen men or more were standing outside in fine weather, or waiting within the kitchen if it were wet or windy, not a sound could be heard. If they spoke to each other, it was in the lowest whisper, and they would no more have thought of lighting their pipes anywhere near the house than they would of flying. This innate tact and true gentlemanly feeling which struck me so much in the labouring man as he appears in New Zealand, made the lapse of good manners, to which I am coming, all the more remarkable. Of course they never touched their hats to me: they would make me a bow or take their hats _off_, but they never touched them. I have often seen a hand raised involuntarily to the soft felt hat, which every one wears there, but the mechanical action would be arrested by the recollection of the first article of the old colonial creed, "Jack is as good as his master." I never minded this in the least, and got so completely out of the habit of expecting any salutations, that it seemed quite odd to me to receive them again on my return. No, what I objected to was, that when I used to go into my kitchen, about ten minutes or so after the service had been concluded, with the list of club books in my hand, not a single man rose from his seat. They seemed to make it a point to sit down somewhere; on a table or window seat if all the chairs were occupied, but at all events not to be found standing. They would bend their heads and blush, and glance shyly at each other for encouragement as I came in, but no one got up, or took his hat off. This went on for a few weeks, until I felt sure that this curious behaviour did not spring from forgetfulness, or inattention. When I mentioned my grievance in the drawing-room to the gentlemen, I only got laughed at for my pains, and I was asked what else I expected? To this question used to be added sundry anecdotes of earlier colonial life, intended to reconcile me to the manners of these later days. I remember particularly a legend of a man cook, who was said to have walked into the sitting-room of the station where the master was practising tunes on an accordion, and exclaimed, "Now, look here, boss, if you don't leave off that there noise, which perwents me gettin' a wink o' sleep, I'll clear out o' this, sharp, to-morrow mornin'. So now yer know," and with that remark he returned to his bunk. At last I was goaded to declare I felt sure that the men only behaved in that way from crass ignorance, and that if they knew how much my feelings were hurt, they would alter their manners directly. This opinion was received with such incredulity that I felt roused to declare I should try the experiment next Sunday afternoon. The only warning which at all daunted me was the assurance that I should affront my congregation and scare them away. It was the dread of this which made my heart beat so fast, and my hands turn so cold as I opened the kitchen-door the next Sunday afternoon. There were exactly the same attitudes, every body perfectly civil and respectful, but every body seated. Luckily my courage rose at the right moment, and I came forward as usual with a smile, and said, "Look here, my men, there is one little thing I want to ask you. Do you know that it is not the custom anywhere, in any civilized country, for gentlemen to remain seated and covered when a lady comes into the room? If I were to go into a room in England, where the Prince of Wales, or any of the finest gentlemen of the land were sitting, just as you are now, they would all get up, the Prince first, most likely, and they would certainly take off their hats! Now why can't you all do the same, here?" The effect of my little speech was magical. Pepper glanced at McQuhair, Moffatt crimsoned and nudged McKenzie, Wiry Ben slipped off the window-seat and shyed his hat across the kitchen, whilst Long Tom, the bullock-driver, "thanked me kindly for mentioning of it;" and every body got up directly and took their hats off. I felt immensely proud of my success, and hastened the moment of my return to the drawing room, where I announced my triumph. I repeated my little speech as concisely as possible; but, alas, it was not nearly so well received as it had been in the kitchen! "Have you ever gone to see a London club?" one person inquired. "Ah: I thought not! I don't know about the Prince, because he always _does_ do the prettiest things at the right moment, but I doubt very much about all the others. I fear you have made a very wild assertion to get your own way." I need hardly say I sulked at that incredulous individual for many days but he always stuck firmly to his own opinion. However, my men never required another hint. They came just as regularly as usual to church, and we all lived happily ever after. I feel that my chapter should end here; but any record of my New Zealand servants would be incomplete without mention of my "bearded cook." Every body thinks, when I say this, that I am going to tell them about a man, but it is nothing of the sort. Isabella Lyon, in spite of her pronounced beard, was a very fine woman; exceedingly good-humoured looking and fresh-coloured, with most amiable prepossessing manners. She had not long arrived, and had been at once snapped up for an hotel, but she applied for my place, saying she wished for quiet and a country life. Could any thing be more propitious? I thought, like Lois, that my luck, so long in turning, was improving, and that at last I was to have a cook who knew her business. And so she did, thoroughly and delightfully. For one brief fortnight we lived on dainties. Never could I have believed that such a variety of dishes could have been produced out of mutton. In fact we seemed to have everything at table except the staple dish. Unlike the cook who actually sent me in a roast shoulder of mutton for breakfast one morning, Isabella prided herself on eliminating the monotonous animal from her bills of fare. Certainly she was rather heavy on the sauces, etc., and I was trying to pluck up courage to remonstrate, as it would not be easy or cheap to replace them before a certain time of year. And then she was so clean, so smiling, and so good-tempered. She seemed to treat us all as if we were a parcel of children for whom she was never weary of preparing surprises. As for me, I felt miserable if any shepherd or well-to-do handsome young bachelor cockatoo came near the place, dreading lest the wretch should have designs on my cook's heart and hand. I rejoiced in her beard, and would not have had her without it for worlds, as I selfishly hoped it might stand in her matrimonial path. This Arcadian state of kitchen affairs went on for exactly a fortnight. One evening, at the end of that time, we had been out riding, and returned as usual very hungry. "What are we going to have for supper?" inquired F----. I told him what had been ordered; but when that meal made its appearance, lo, there was not a single dish which I had named! The things were not exactly nasty, but they were queer. For instance, pears are not usually stewed in gravy; but they were by no means bad, and we took it for granted it was something quite new. The housemaid, Sarah, looked very nervous and scared, and glanced at me from time to time with a very wistful look; but I was so delightfully tired and sleepy--one never seemed to get beyond the pleasant stage of those sensations--that I did not ask any questions. Next morning, when we came out to breakfast, imagine my astonishment at seeing a tureen of half cold soup on the table, and nothing else! I could hardly believe my eyes, and hastened to the kitchen to explain that this was rather too much of a novelty in the gastronomic line. If I live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget the sight--at once terrible and absurd--which met my eyes. Before the kitchen fire stood Isabella, having evidently slept in her clothes all night. She looked wretched and bloated, and quite curiously dirty, as black as if she had been up the chimney; and even I could see that, early as was the hour, she was hopelessly drunk. Between both of her nerveless, black hands, she held a poker, with which she struck, from time to time, a feeble blow on a piled-up heap of plates, which she persisted in considering a lump of coal. The fire was nearly out, but she hastened to assure me that if she could only break this lump of coal it would soon burn up. Need I say that I rescued my plates at once, and marched the bearded one off to her own apartment. Oh, how dimmed its dainty freshness had become since even yesterday! Sarah was summoned, and confessed that she had known last night that "Hisabella" had gone on the "burst," having bought, for some fabulous sum, a bottle of rum from a passing swagger. It was all very dreadful, and worst of all was the scene of tears and penitence I had to endure when the rum was finished. The dray, however, relieved me of the incubus of her presence; and that was the only instance of drunkenness I came across among my domestic changes and chances. Chapter XIV: Our pets. One of the first things which struck me when I came to know a little more about the feelings and ways of my neighbours in the Malvern Hills, was the good understanding which existed between man and beast. I am afraid I must except the poor sheep, for I never heard them spoken of with affection, nor do I consider that they were the objects of any special humanity even on their owners' parts. This must surely arise from their enormous numbers. "How can you be fond of thousands of anything?" said a shepherd once to me, in answer to some sentimental inquiry of mine respecting his feelings towards his flock. That is the fact. There were too many sheep in our "happy Arcadia" for any body to value or pet them. On a large scale they were looked after carefully. Water, and sheltered feed, and undisturbed camping grounds, all these good things were provided for them, and in return they were expected to yield a large percentage of lambs and a good "clip." Even the touching patience of the poor animals beneath the shears, or amid the dust and noise of the yards, was generally despised as stupidity. Far different is the feeling of the New Zealander, whether he be squatter or cockatoo, towards his horse and his dog. They are the faithful friends, and often the only companions of the lonely man. Of course there will soon be no "lonely men" anywhere, but a few years ago there were plenty of unwilling Robinson Crusoes in the Middle Island; and whenever I came upon one of these pastoral hermits, I was sure to find a dog or a horse, a cat, or even a hen, established as "mate" to some poor solitary, from whom all human companionship was shut out by mountain, rock, or river. "Are you not _very_ lonely here?" was often my first instinctive question, as I have dismounted at the door of a shepherd's hut in the back country, and listened to the eternal roar of the river which formed his boundary, or the still more oppressive silence which seemed to have reigned ever since the creation. "Well, mum, it aint very lively; but I've got Topsy (producing a black kitten from his pocket), and there's the dogs, and I shall have some fowls next year, p'raps." But my object in beginning this chapter was not to enter into a disquisition on other people's pets, with which after all one can have but a distant acquaintance, but to introduce some of my own especial favourites to those kind and sympathetic readers who take pleasure in hearing of my own somewhat solitary existence in that distant land. I am quite ready to acknowledge that I never thoroughly comprehended the individuality of animals, even of fowls and ducks, until I lived up at the Station. Perhaps, like their masters, they really get to possess more independence of character under those free and easy skies; for where would you meet with such a worldly and selfish cat as "Sandy," or so fastidious and intelligent a smooth terrier as "Rose"? Sandy was an old bachelor of a sleek appearance, red in colour, but with a good deal of white shirt-front and wristbands, as to the get-up of which he was most particular. It was easy to imagine Sandy sitting in a club window; and I am _sure_ he had a slight tendency to gout and reading French novels. Sandy's selfishness was quite open and above-board. He liked you very much until somebody else came whom he liked better, and then he would desert his oldest friend without hesitation. I don't suppose the wildest young colley-pup ever dreamed of chasing or worrying Sandy, who would not have stirred from his warm corner by the fire for Snarleyow himself. Every now and then Sandy must have felt alarmed about his health or his figure, for he ate less, and walked gravely and sulkily up and down the verandah for hours, but as soon as he considered himself out of danger, he relapsed into all his self-indulgent ways. No one ventured to offer Sandy anything but the choicest meats, and he was wont to sit up and beg like a dog for a savoury tit-bit. But he would revenge himself on you afterwards for the humiliation, you might be sure. What always appeared to me so odd, was that in spite of his known and unblushing selfishness, Sandy used to be a great favourite, and we all vied with each other for the honour of his notice. Now why was this? If boundless time and space were at our disposal, we might go deeply into the question and work it out, but as the dimensions of this volume are not elastic, the impending social essay shall be postponed, and we will confine ourselves to a brief description of Sandy's outer cat. He was of a pure breed, far removed from the long-legged, lanky race of ordinary station-cats, who from time to time disappeared into the bush and contracted alliances with the still more degraded specimens of their class who had long been wild among the scrub. No: Sandy came of "pur sang," and held his small square head erect, with a haughty carriage as beseemed his ancestry. His fur was really beautiful, a sort of tortoiseshell red, the lighter stripes repeating exactly the different golden tints of a fashionable chignon. In early youth, though it is difficult to imagine Sandy ever a playful kitten, his tail had been curtailed to the length of three inches, and this short, flexible stump gave an air of great decision to Sandy's movements. But his chief peculiarity, and I must add, attraction, in my opinion, was the perfume of his sleek coat. When Sandy condescended to take his evening doze on my linsey lap, I never smelt anything so strange and so agreeable as the odour of his fur, specially that on the top of his head. It was like the most delicate musk, but without any of the sickly smell common to that scent. I believe Sandy knew of this personal peculiarity, and felt proud of it. A far more unselfish and agreeable personage was Rose, the white terrier, whose name often finds a loving place in these pages. She and Sandy dwelt together in peace and amity, although the little doggie never could have felt any affection for her selfish companion. Rose's nerves were of a delicate and high-strung order, and there was nothing she hated so much as uproarious noise. Every now and then it chanced that during a few days of wet or windy weather, our little house had been filled by passing guests: gentlemen who had called in to ask for supper and a bed, intending to go on next day. In a country where inns or accommodation-houses are fifty miles apart, this is a common incident, and it sometimes happens that the resources of station hospitality are taxed to the utmost in this way. I have known our own little wooden box to be so closely packed, that besides a guest on each sofa in the drawing-room, there would be another on a sort of portable couch in the dining-room. This was after the spare room had been filled to the utmost. A delicate "new chum," who required to be pampered, had retired to rest on the hard kitchen sofa described elsewhere; whilst a couple of sturdy travellers were sleeping soundly in the saddle room. After that, there could be nothing for the last comer except a shake-down in red blankets. It _always_ happened I observed that everybody arrived together. For weeks we would be alone. I lived once for eight months without seeing a lady; and then, some fine evening, half a dozen acquaintances would "turn up,"--there really is no other word for it. Well, on these occasions, when, instead of departing next morning, our impromptu guests have sometimes been forced to wait until such time as the rain or the wind should cease; their pent-up animal spirits became often too much for them, and they would feel an irresistible impulse to get rid of some of their superfluous health and strength by violent exercise. I set my face at once against "athletic sports" or "feats of strength" being performed in my little drawing-room, although they were always very anxious to secure me for the solitary spectator; and I forget who hit upon the happy thought of turning the empty wool-shed into a temporary gymnasium. There these wild boys--for, in spite of stalwart frames and bushy beards, the Southern Colonist's heart keeps very fresh and young--used to adjourn, and hop and leap, wrestle and box, fence and spar, to their active young limbs' content. They seemed very happy, and loud were the joyous shouts and peals of laughter over the failures; but after seeing the performance once or twice, I generally became tired and bored, and used to slip away to the house and my quiet corner by the fire. Rose considered it her duty to remain at her master's heels as long as possible, but after a time she too would creep back to silence and warmth, though she never deserted her post until the noise grew altogether too much for her nerves; and then, with a despairing whimper, sometimes swelling to a howl, poor little Rose would tuck her tail between her legs, and dash out, through the storm, to seek shelter and quiet with me. Whenever Rose appeared thus suddenly in my quiet retreat, I felt sure some greater uproar than usual was going on down at the wool-shed, and, more than once, on inquiry, I found Rose's nerves must have been tried to the utmost before she turned and fled. As for the intelligence of sheep-dogs, a volume could be written on the facts concerning them, and a still more entertaining book on the fictions, for a New Zealand shepherd will always consider it a point of honour to cap his neighbour's anecdote of _his_ dog's sagacity, by a yet stronger proof of canine intelligence. I shall only, briefly allude to one dog, whose history will probably be placed in the colonial archives,--a colley, who knows his master's brand; and who will, when the sheep get boxed, that is mixed together, pick out; with unfailing accuracy, all the bleating members of his own flock from amid the confused, terrified mass. As for the patience of a good dog in crossing sheep over a river, I have witnessed that myself, and been forced to draw conclusions very much in favour of the dog over the human beings who were directing the operation. Some dogs again, who are perfectly helpless with sheep, are unrivalled with cattle, and I have stood on the edge of a swamp more than once, and seen a dog go after a couple of milch cows, and fetch them out of a herd of bullocks, returning for the second "milky mother" after the first had been brought right up within reach of the stockman's lash. Then among my horse friends was a certain Suffolk "Punch," who had been christened the "Artful Dodger," from his trick of counterfeiting lameness the moment he was put in the shafts of a dray. That is to say if the dray was loaded; so long as it was empty, or the load was light, the "Dodger" stepped out gaily, but if he found the dray at all heavy, he affected to fall dead lame. The old strain of staunch blood was too strong in his veins to allow him to refuse or jib, or stand still. Oh, no! The "Dodger" arranged a compromise with his conscience, and though he pulled manfully, he resorted to this lazy subterfuge. More than once with a "new chum" it had succeeded to perfection, and the "Dodger" found himself back again in his stable with a rack of hay before him, whilst his deluded owner or driver was running all over the place to find a substitute in the shafts. If I had not seen it myself, I could not have believed it. In order to induce the "Dodger" to act his part thoroughly, a drayman was appointed whom the horse had never seen, and therefore imagined could be easily imposed upon. The moment the signal was given to start, the "Dodger," after a glance round, which plainly said, "I wonder if I may try it upon you," took a step forward and almost fell down, so desperate was his lameness. The driver, who was well instructed in his part, ran round, and lifted up one sturdy bay leg after the other, with every appearance of the deepest concern. This encouraged the "Dodger," who uttered a groan, but still seemed determined to do his best, and limped and stumbled a yard or two further on. I confess it seemed impossible to believe the horse to be quite sound, and if it had depended on me, the "Dodger" would instantly have been unharnessed and put back in his stable. But the moment had come to unmask him. His master stepped forward, and pulling first one cunning ear, on the alert for every word, and then the other; cried, "It wont do, sir! step out directly, and don't let us have any nonsense." The "Dodger" groaned again, this time from his heart probably, shook himself, and, leaning well forward in his big collar, stepped out without a murmur. The lameness had disappeared by magic, nor was there even the slightest return of it until he saw a new driver, and considered it safe to try his oft-successful "dodge" once more. Very different was "Star," poor, wilful, beauty, whose name and fate will long be remembered among the green hills, where her short life was passed. Born and bred on the station, she was the pride and joy of her owner's heart. Slender without being weedy, compact without clumsiness, her small head well set on her graceful neck, and her fine legs, with their sinews like steel, she attracted the envy of all the neighbouring squatters. "What will you take for that little grey filly when she is broken?" was a constant question. "She's not for sale," her owner used to answer. "I'll break her myself, and make her as gentle as a dog, and she'll do for my wife when I get one." But this proved a castle in the air, so far as Star was concerned. The wife was not so mythical. In due time _she_ appeared in that sheltered valley, and, standing at the head of a mound marked by a stake whereon a star was rudely carved, heard the story of the poor creature's fate. From the first week of her life, Star (so-called from a black, five-pointed mark on her forehead), showed signs of possessing a strange wild nature. Unlike her sire or dam, she evidently had a violent temper,--and not to put too fine a point on it,--was as vicious a grey mare as ever flung up her heels in a New Zealand valley. When her second birthday was passed, Star's education commenced. The process called "gentling," was a complete misnomer for the series of buck jumps, of bites and kicks, with which the young lady received the slightest attempt to touch her. She had a horrible habit also of shrieking, really almost like a human being in a frantic rage; she would rush at you with a wild scream of fury, and after striking at you with her front hoofs, would wheel round like lightning, and dash her hind legs in your face. The stoutest stockman declined to have anything whatever to do with Star; the most experienced breaker "declined her, with thanks;" generally adding a long bill for repairs of rack and manger, and breaking tackle, and not unfrequently a hospital report of maimed and wounded stablemen. Amateur horsemen of celebrity arrived at the station to look at the beautiful fiend, and departed, saying they would rather not have anything to say to her. At last, she was given over in despair, to lead her own free life, never having endured the indignity of bit or bridle for more than two minutes. Months passed away, and Star and her tantrums had been nearly forgotten, when one mild winter evening the stockman came in to report that,--wonder of wonders,--Star was standing meekly outside, whinnying, and as "quiet as a dog." Her master went out to find the man's report exact: Star walked straight up to him, and rubbed her soft nose confidingly against his sleeve. The mystery explained itself at a glance: she was on the point of having her first foal, and, with some strange and pathetic instinct, she bethought herself of the kind hands whose caresses she had so often rejected, and came straight to them for help and succour. Her shy and touching advances were warmly responded to, and in a few minutes the poor beast was safely housed in the warm shed which then represented the present row of neat stables long since on that very spot. A warm mash was eagerly swallowed, and the good-hearted stockman volunteered to remain up until all should be happily over; but his courage failed him at the sight of her horrible sufferings, and in the early dawn he came to rouse up his master, and beg him to come and see if anything more could be done. There lay Star, all her fierce spirit quenched, with an appealing look in her large black eyes, which seemed positively human in their capacity for expressing suffering. It was many hours before a dead foal was born, and there is no doubt that if she had been out on the bleak hills, the poor exhausted young mother must have perished from weakness. She appeared to understand thoroughly the motive of all that was being done for her, and submitted with patience to all the remedies. Gradually, but slowly, her strength returned; and, alas, her evil nature, tamed by anguish, returned also! Day by day she became shyer of even the hand which had fed and succoured her; and, as this is a true chronicle, it must be stated that the very first use Mrs. Star made of her convalescence was, to kick her nurse on the leg, break her halter into fragments, and gallop off to the hills with a loud neigh of defiance. Whenever the topic of feminine ingratitude came on the carpet at that station, this, which Star had done, used always to be told as an instance in point. Two years later, exactly the same thing happened again. The dreaded hour of suffering found the wayward beauty once more under the roof which had sheltered her in her former time of trial, and once more she rested her head in penitence and appeal against her owner's shoulder. Who could bear malice in the presence of such dreadful pain? Not Star's owner, certainly. Besides the home resources, a man on horseback was sent off to fetch a famous veterinary who chanced to be staying at a neighbouring station, and they both returned before Star's worst sufferings began. All that skill and experience could do was done that night; but the morning light found the poor little grey mare dying from exhaustion, with another dead foal lying by her side. She only lived a few hours later, in spite of stimulants and the utmost care, and died gently and peacefully, with those human hands whose lightest touch she had so flouted, ministering tenderly to her great needs. The stockman had become so fond of the wayward beauty, in spite of her ingratitude, that the only solace he could find for his regret at her early death, lay in digging a deep grave for her, and carving the emblem of her pretty name on the rude stake which still marks the spot. No account of station pets would be complete without a brief allusion to my numerous and unsuccessful attempts to rear merino lambs in the house. It never was of any use advising me to leave the poor little creatures out on the bleak hill-side, if, in the course of my rambles after ferns or creepers, I came upon a dead ewe with her half-starved baby running round and round her. How could I turn my back on the little orphan, who, instead of bounding off up the steep hill, used to run confidingly up to me, and poke its black muzzle into my hand, as if it would say, "Here is a friend at last"? And then merino lambs are so much prettier than any I have seen in England. Their snow-white wool is as tightly screwed up in small curls as any Astracan fleece, and from being of so much more active a race, they are smaller and more compact than English lambs, and not so awkward and leggy. A merino lamb of a couple of hours old is far better fitted to take care of itself up a mountain than a civilized and helpless lamb of a month old, besides these latter being so weak about the knees always. I only mention this, not out of any desire to "blow" about our sheep, but because I want to account for my tender-heartedness on the subject of desolate orphans. The ewes scarcely ever died of disease, unless by a rare chance it happened to be a very old lady whose constitution gave way at last before a severe winter. We oftenest found that the dead mother was a fine fat young ewe; who had slipped up on a hill-side and could not recover herself, but had died of exhaustion and fatigue from her violent efforts to kick herself up again. If we chanced to be in time to rescue her by the simple process of setting her on her legs again, it would be all right, but sometimes the poor creature had been cold and stiff for hours before we found her, and her lamb had bleated itself hoarse and hungry, and was as tame as a pet dog. Now _who_ could turn away from a little helpless thing like that, who positively leaped into your arms and cuddled itself up in delight, sucking vigorously away at your glove, or anything handy? Not I, for one,--though I might as well have left it alone, so far as its ultimate fate was concerned; but I always hoped for better luck next time, and carried it off in my arms. The first thing to be do be on arrival at home, was to give the starving little creature a good meal out of a tea-pot, and the next, to put it to sleep in a box of hay in a warm corner of the kitchen. What always seemed to me so extraordinary, was that the lambs, one and all, preserved the most cheerful demeanour, ate and drank and slept well,--and yet died within a month. Some lingered until quite four weeks had passed, others succumbed to my treatment in a week. I varied their food, mixing oatmeal with the milk; some I fed often, others seldom; to some I gave sugar in the milk, others had new milk. There was abundance of grass just outside the house for them to eat, if they could. Some did mumble feebly at it, I remember, but the mortality continued uninterrupted. It must have been very ridiculous to a visitor, to see my dear little snowy pets going down on their front knees before me, and wagging their long tails furiously the moment the tea-pot was brought out. They were far too sensible to do this if my hands were empty. Gentle, affectionate little creatures, they used to be wonderfully well-behaved, though now and then they would wander through the verandah, and so into my bedroom, where the drapery of my dressing-table afforded them endless amusement and occupation. They gnawed and sucked all my "daisy" fringe, until the first thing that had to be done when a lamb arrived at the house, was to take off muslins and fringes from that, the only trimmed table in the house. Often and often, of a cold night (for we must remember that New Zealand lambing used always to come off in winter), we would all become suddenly aware of a strong smell of burning pervading the whole house; which, on being traced to its source, was often found to proceed from the rosette of wool on the forehead of a chilly lamb. The creature drew nearer and nearer to the genial warmth of the kitchen fire, until at last it used to lean its brow pensively against the red hot bars. Hence arose the powerful odour gradually filling the whole of the little wooden house. Of course I used to rush to the rescue, and draw my bewildered pet away from the fatal warmth, but not until it had usually singed the wool off down to the bone, and there was often a bad burn on its forehead as well. But still, in spite of stupidity and an insatiable appetite, I always grieved very sincerely for each of my orphan lambs as it in turn sank into its early grave. I used to be well laughed at for attaching any sentiment to an animal which had sunk so disgracefully low in the money-market as a New Zealand lamb, but the abundant supply of my little pets never made it easier for me to lose the particular one which I had set my heart on rearing. It certainly did afford me some comfort to hear that merino lambs had always been difficult, if not impossible to bring up, like so many "pups," by hand; and among all the statistics I carefully collected, I could only find one well-authenticated instance of a foundling having been reared indoors. My informant tried to comfort me by tales of the tyranny that stout and tame sheep exercised over the household which had sheltered it, but I fear that the stories of its delightful impudence only made me more anxious to succeed in my own baby-farming experiments among the lambs. Chapter XV: A feathered pet. No record of those dear, distant days would be complete without a short memoir of "Kitty." She was only a grey Dorking hen, but no heroine in fact or fiction, no Lady Rachel Russell or _Fleurange,_ ever exceeded Kitty in unswerving devotion to a beloved object, or rather objects. To see Kitty was to admire her, at least as I saw her one beautiful spring evening in a grassy paddock on the banks of the Horarata. We had ridden over there to visit our kind and friendly neighbours, the C----'s; we had enjoyed a delicious cup of tea in the passion-flower-covered verandah, which looked on the whole range, from East to West, of the glorious Southern Alps, their shining white summits sharply cut against our own peculiarly beautiful sky; we had strolled round the charming, unformal garden, on either sloping side of a wide creek, and had admired, with just a tinge of envy, the fruits and flowers, the standard apple and rose trees, the tangle of fern and creepers, the wealth of the old and new worlds heaped together in floral profusion; we had done all this, I say, and very pleasant we had found it. Now we were trying to say goodbye: not so easy a task, let me tell you, when there are so many temptations to linger, and when you are greatly pressed to stay. The last device of our hospitable hostess to keep us consisted in offering to show me her poultry-yard. Now I was a young beginner in that line myself, and tormented my ducks and fowls to death by my incessant care: at least that is the conclusion I have arrived at since; but at that time, I considered it as necessary to look after them as if they had been so many children. The consequence was,--as I pathetically complained to Mrs. C----, that my hens sat furiously for a week, and then took to lingering outside, where perpetual feeding was going on, until their eggs grew cold; that my ducks neglected their offspring and allowed the rats to decimate them, and that every variety of epidemic and misfortune assailed in turns my unhappy poultry yard. Kind Mrs. C---- listened as gravely as she could, hinting _very_ gently, that perhaps I took too much trouble about them; then, fearing least she might have wounded my feelings, she hastened to suggest that I should try the introduction of a different breed. As a preliminary step to this reformation, she offered to bestow upon me one of her best Dorking hens. It was too tempting an offer to be refused, and I forthwith bestowed my affections on a beautiful grey pullet, whose dignified carriage and speckled exterior bespoke her high lineage. "That's Kitty," said Mrs. C----. "I am so glad you fancy her; she is one of my nicest young hens. We'll catch her for you in a moment." I must pause to mention here, that it struck me as being very odd in New Zealand the way in which _every_ creature has a name, excepting always the poor sheep. If one sees a cock strutting proudly outside a shepherd's door; you are sure to hear it is either Nelson or Wellington; every hen has a pet name, and answers to it; so have the ducks and geese,--at least, up-country; of course, dogs, horses, cows and bullocks, each rejoice in the most inflated appellations, but I don't remember ever hearing ducks and fowls answer to their names in any other country. But this is only by the way. I gratefully and gladly accepted the transfer of the fair Kitty, and only wondered how I was to convey her to her new home, fifteen miles away. Kitty was soon caught, and carried off into the house to be packed up for her first ride. Accustomed as I am to ridiculous things happening to me, still I never felt in so absurd a position as when, having mounted "Helen," who seemed in a particularly playful mood after a good feed of oats, Kitty was handed to me neatly tied up in a pillow-case with her tufted head protruding from a hole in the seam at the side. Although very anxious to carry her home immediately, my heart died within me at the prospect of a long gallop on a skittish mare with a plump Dorking hen tied up in a bag on my lap. There was no help for it, however, and I tried to put my bravest face on the matter. The difficulties commenced at the very point of departure, for it is not easy to say farewell cordially with your hands full of reins, whip, and poultry. But it proved comparatively easy going whilst we only cantered over the plains. It was not until the first creek had been reached, that I really perceived what lay before me. Helen distrusted the contents of the bag, and kept trying to look round and see what it contained; and her fears of something uncanny might well have been confirmed when she took off at her first flat jump. Kitty screamed, or shrieked, or whatever name best expresses her discordant and piercing yells. I more than suspect I shrieked too, partly at the difficulty of keeping both Kitty and Helen in any sort of order, and partly at my own insecurity. No sooner had Helen landed on the other side, than she fled homewards as if a tin kettle were tied to her tail. The speed at which we dashed through the fragrant summer air completely took away Kitty's breath, and the poor creature appeared more dead than alive by the time I dismounted, trembling myself in every limb for her safety as well as my own, at the garden gate. However, next morning brought a renewed delight in existence to both Kitty and me, and our night's sleep had made us forget our agitation and peril. After breakfast I introduced her to the poultry yard, and she adapted herself to her new home with a tact and good humour most edifying to behold. Months passed away. Kitty had made herself a nest in a place, the selection of which did equal honour to her head and heart, and she gladdened my eyes one fine morning by appearing with a lovely brood of chicks around her. Who so proud as the young mother? She exhibited them to me, and after I had duly admired them, used to carry them off to a nursery of her own, which she had established among the tussocks just outside the stable door. Mrs. C---- had impressed upon me that Kitty could be safely trusted to manage her own affairs. No fear of her dragging her fluffy babies out among the wet grass too early in the morning, or losing them among the flax bushes on the hill-side. No: Kitty came of a race who were model mothers, and was to be left to take care of herself and her chickens. About a week after Kitty had first shown me her large, small family, a friend of ours arrived unexpectedly to stop the night. Next morning, when he was going away, he apologised for asking leave to mount at the stables, saying his led horse was so vicious, and the one he was riding so gay, that it was quite possible their legs might find themselves within the verandah, or do some mischief to the young shrubs which were the pride and joy of my heart. This gentleman rode beautifully, and I used to like to see the courage and patience with which he always conquered the most unruly horse. "We will come up to the stable and see you mount," I cried, seizing my hat. Of course every one followed my lead, and it was to the sound of mingled jeers and compliments that poor Mr. T---- mounted his fiery steed, and seized hold of the leading rein of his pack-horse. But this animal had no intention of taking his departure with propriety or tranquillity: he pranced and shied, flinging out his heels as he wildly danced round to every point of the compass, in a circle. Gradually he drew Mr. T---- and his chestnut a dozen yards away from the stable, and it was just then that I perceived poor Kitty sitting close under a tussock. It chanced to be the hour for the chickens' siesta, and they were all folded away beneath her ample brooding wings. Perhaps the danger had come too near to be avoided before I perceived it, but at all events my loud shriek of warning was too late to save the pretty crouching head from the flourish of the pack-horse's glancing heels. Swift indeed was the blow; for scarcely ten seconds could have passed between my first glimpse of poor Kitty's bright black eye looking out, with such mortal terror in its expression, from beneath the yellow tuft of grass, and my seeing the horse's heel lay her head right open. The brave little mother never dreamed of saving herself at the cost of her nestlings. She crouched as low as possible, and when the horse had jumped over her I flew to see if she had escaped. No. There lay my pretty pet, with her wings still outspread and her chickens unhurt. But she seemed dead: her head had been actually cut clean open, and I never expected that she would have lived a moment. Yet she did. I took her at once to the well hard by, and bound up her split head with my pocket handkerchief, keeping it well wetted with cold water. Later on I put forth all the surgical art I possessed, and dressed the wound in the most scientific manner, nursing poor Kitty tenderly in the kitchen, and feeding her with my own hands every two hours. She was for a long time incapable of feeding herself and; even when all danger was over, required most careful nursing. However, the end of the story is that, she recovered entirely her bodily health, but her poor little brain remained clouded for ever. She never took any more notice of her chickens, who had to be brought up by hand, and she never mixed again with the society of the poultry-yard. At night she roosted apart in the coalshed, and she never seemed to hear my voice or distinguish me from others, though she was perfectly tame to everybody. Kitty's end was very tragical. She grew exceedingly fat, and at last, one time when we were all snowed up and could not afford to be sentimental, my cook laid hold of poor Kitty, who was moping in her usual corner, and converted her into a savoury stew without telling me, until I had actually dined off her. I was very angry; but Eliza only repeated by way of consolation, "She had no wits, only flesh, consequently she was better in my stew-pot nor anywhere else, mum, if you'll only look at it calm like." But it was very hard to be made to eat one's patient, especially when I was so proud of the way her poor head had healed. If anybody wanted to teaze me, they suggested that I had omitted to replace my dear Kitty's brains before closing that cruel wound in her skull. Chapter XVI: Doctoring without a diploma. So many reminiscences come crowding into my mind,--some grave and others gay,--as I sit down to write these final chapters, that I hardly know where to begin. The most clamorous of the fast-thronging memories, the one which pushes its way most vividly to the front, is of a little amateur doctoring of mine; and as my patient luckily did not die of my remedies, I need not fear that I shall be asked for my diploma. Shearing was just over; over only that very evening in fact. We had been leading a sort of uncomfortable picnic life at the home station for more than ten days, and had returned to our own pretty little home up the valley, late on Saturday night, in time for the supper-dinner I have so often described. It was my doing, that fortnight's picnic at the home station, and I may as well candidly confess it was a mistake; although, made, like most mistakes in life, with good intentions. Our partner had gone to England, our manager had just left us to set up sheep-farming on his own account, and all the responsibility of shearing a good many thousand sheep devolved on F----. And not only the shearing; the flock had to be carefully draughted, the ewes, wethers, and hoggets, to be branded, ear-marked, and turned out on their several ranges; the wethers for home consumption, which consisted of a good-sized flock of many hundred sheep, turned into the home-paddock,--an enclosure of some five or six hundred acres,--and various other minute details to be seen to; the wool to be sent down to Christchurch, and the stores brought up by the return drays. My motives for the plan I formed for us to go over, bag and baggage, to the home station, the evening before the shearing began, and live there till it was over, were varied. We will put the most unselfish first, for the sake of appearances. I knew it would be very hard work for poor F---- all that time, and I thought it would add to his fatigue if he had to go backwards and forwards to his own house every day, getting up at five in the morning and returning late at night, besides having no comfortable meals. The next motive was that I wanted very much to see the whole process of shearing, and all the rest of it, myself; and as it turned out, though I little dreamed of it at the time, this proved to be my only chance. Every body tried to dissuade me from carrying out the scheme, by urging that I should be very uncomfortable; but I did not care in the least for that, and insisted on being allowed at all events to see how I liked it. Accordingly one evening we set forth: such a ridiculous cavalcade. I would not hear of riding, for it was only a short two miles walk; and as we did not start until after our last meal, the sun had dipped behind Flag-pole's tall peak, and nearly the whole of our happy valley lay in deep, cool shadow. Besides which, it looked more like the real thing to walk, and that was half the battle with me. The "real thing" in this case, though I did not stop to explain it to myself, must have meant emigrants, Mormons, soldiers on the march, what you will; any thing which expresses all one's belongings being packed into a little cart, with a huge tin bath secured on the top of all. Such a miscellaneous assortment of dry goods as that cart held! A couple of mattresses (for my courage failed me at the idea of sleeping on chopped tussocks for a fortnight), a couple of folding-up arm-chairs, though, as it turned out, one would have been enough, for poor F---- never sat down from the time he got up until he went to bed again; a large hamper of provisions, some books, our clothes, and various little matters which were indispensable if one had to live in an empty house for a fortnight. I had sent my two maids over one morning a few days before, with pails and mops and brushes, and they had given the couple of rooms which we were to inhabit, a thorough good cleaning and scouring, so my mind was easy on that point. It would not have answered, for many reasons, to have encumbered ourselves with these damsels during our stay at the home station. In the first place, there was really no accommodation for them; in the next, it would have entailed more luggage than the little cart could hold; and, finally, we should have been obliged to leave them behind at the last moment: for only the evening before we started, a couple of friends arrived, in true New Zealand fashion, from Christchurch, to pay us a month's visit. It was too late to alter our plans then, so we told them to, make themselves thoroughly at home, and took our departure next day in the way I have alluded to. We had plenty of escort as far as the first swamp. When that treacherous and well-known spot had been reached, everybody suddenly remembered that they had forgotten something or the other which obliged them to return directly, so our farewells had to be exchanged from the centre of a flax bush. The cart meanwhile was nearly out of sight, so wide a _detour_ had its driver been forced to make in order to find a place sound enough to bear its weight. But we caught it up again after we had happily crossed the quagmire which used always to be my bug-bear, and in due time we made our appearance, in the gloaming, at the tiny house belonging to the home station. Early as was the hour, not later than half-past eight, the place lay silent and still under the balmy summer haze. All the shearers were fast asleep in the men's hut, whilst every available nook and corner was filled with the spare hands; the musterers, branders, yard-keepers, and many others, whose duties were less-defined. Far down the flat we could dimly discern a white patch,--the fleecy outlines of the large mob destined to fill the skillions at day-break to-morrow morning; and, although we could not see them distinctly, close by, watchful and vigilant all through that and many subsequent summer nights, Pepper and his two beautiful colleys kept watch and ward over the sheep. Writing in the heavy atmosphere of this vast London world, I look back upon that, and such evenings as that, with a desperate craving to breathe once more he delicious air unsoiled by human lungs, and stirred into fresh fragrance by every summer sigh of those distant New Zealand valleys. No wonder people were always well in such a pure, clear, light atmosphere. I try to feel again in fancy the exquisite enjoyment of merely drawing a deep breath, the thrilling sensation of health and strength it sent tingling down to your finger ends. No fleck or film of vapour or miasma could be seen or smelt, though the day had been burning hot, and, as I have said, there were plenty of creeks and swamps hard by. Damp is unknown in those valleys, and we might have lingered bareheaded even after the heavy dew began to fall, without risk of cold, or fever, or any other ailment. But we could not afford to linger a moment out of doors that lovely tempting evening. F---- and the driver of the cart, who had some important part to take in the morrow's proceedings (I forget exactly what), soon tossed out my little stores, which looked very insignificant as they lay in a heap in the verandah, and departed to see that all was in train for next day's work. I had no time to enjoy the evening's soft beauty: the beds had to be made; clothes to be unpacked and hung up; stores must be arranged on the shelves in the sitting-room,--for the house only consisted of two small rooms in front, with a wide verandah, and a sort of lean-to at the back, which was divided into a small kitchen and store-room. This last was empty. I confess I thought rather regretfully of my pretty, comfortable, English-looking bed-room at the other house, with its curtains and carpet, its wardrobes and looking-glasses, when I found myself surveying the scene of my completed labours. Two station _bunks_,--i.e., wooden bed-frames of the simplest and rudest construction, with a sacking bottom,--a couple of empty boxes, one for a dressing-table and the other for a wash-stand, a tin basin and a bucket of water, being the paraphernalia of the latter, whilst some nails behind the door served to hang our clothes on, such was my station bedroom and all my own doing too! Certainly it looked uncomfortable enough to satisfy any one, but I would not have complained of it for the world, lest I might have been ordered home directly. Hard as was my bed that night, I slept soundly, and it appeared only five minutes before I heard a tremendous noise outside the verandah. The bleating of hundreds of sheep announced that the mob were slowly advancing, before a perfect army of men and dogs, up to the sheep yards. What a din they all made! F---- was wide awake, and up in a moment. I, anxious to show _why_ I had insisted on coming over, got up too, and made my way into the little kitchen, where I found a charming surprise awaiting me in the shape of some faggots of neatly-stacked wood, cut into exactly, the right lengths for the American stove; and also a heap of dry Menuka bushes, which make the best touchwood for lighting fires in the whole world. The tiny kitchen and stove were both scrupulously clean, and so were my three saucepans and kettle. This had been, of course, my maids' doing, but the fuel was a delicate little attention on Pepper's part. How he blushed and grinned with delight when I thanked him before all his mates! This was indeed station-life made easy! It did not take two minutes to light my fire, and in five more I had a delicious cup of tea and some bread-and-butter all ready for F----. It was nearly cold, however, by the time I could catch him and make him drink it. Of course, being a man, instead of saying, "Thank you," or anything of that sort, he merely remarked, "What nonsense!" but equally of course, he was very glad to get it, and ate and drank it all up, returning instantly to his shed. After this little episode, I set to work to unpack a little, and make the sitting-room look the least bit more home-like; then I laid the cloth for breakfast, put out the pie and potted meat, etc. (no words can say how heartily tired of pies we both were before the week was over), and arranged everything for breakfast. Then I waylaid one of the numerous stray "hands" which hang about a station at shearing time, and got him to fetch me a couple of buckets of water as far as the verandah. These I conveyed myself into the little sleeping-room, and finished my toilette at my leisure: tidying it all up afterwards. I wonder if any one has any idea what hot work it is making a bed? So hot, in fact, that I resolved in future to be wise enough to finish all these domestic occupations before I had my bath. The worst of getting up so early proved to be that by nine o'clock I was very tired, and had nothing else to do for the remainder of the long, noisy day. As for the meals, they were wretchedly unsociable; for F---- only came in to snatch a mouthful or two, standing, and it was of little use trying to make things comfortable for him. I must confess here, what I would not acknowledge at the time, that I found it a very long and dull visit. My husband never had time to speak to me, and when he did, it was only about sheep. I grew weary of living on cold meat, for it was really too hot to cook; and my servants used to send me over, every second day, cold fowls or pies; besides, one seemed to live in a whirl and confusion of dust, and bleating, and barking. After the day's work was fairly over, F---- used to rush in, seize a big bath-towel, cry "I am off for a bathe in the creek," and only return in time for supper and bed. The weather was all that a sheep-farmer could desire. Bright, sunny, and clear, one lovely summer day followed another; hot, almost to tropical warmth, without any risk or fear of sun-stroke or head-ache, and a delicious lightness in the atmosphere all the time, which merged into a cool bracing air the moment the sun had slowly travelled behind the high hills to the westward. But all these details, though necessary to make you understand what I had been doing, are not the story itself, so to that we will hurry on. The shearing was over; Saturday evening had come, as welcome to poor imprisoned me as to any one, and the great work of the New Zealand year had been most successfully accomplished. F---- was in such good humour that he even deigned to admit that his own comfort had been somewhat increased by my living at the home station, so I felt quite rewarded for my many dreary hours. The shearers had been paid, and were even then picking their way over the hills in little groups of two and three; some, I grieve to say, bound for the nearest accommodation-house or wayside inn, and others for the next station, across the river, where the skillions were full, and waiting for them to begin on Monday morning. Only half-a-dozen people, instead of thirty, were left at our place, and there would not even have been so many if it had not been thought well to keep a few there until the bale-loft was empty. Generally it was arranged for the wool-drays to follow each other every two days with a load down to Christchurch; for the greatest risk a sheep-farmer runs is from his shed taking fire whilst it is full of bales of wool. This had happened often enough in the colony, and even in our neighbourhood, to make us more and more careful every year; and, as I have said, amongst our precautions, was that of keeping as little wool as possible in the shed. Most flock-owners waited until the shearing should be quite over before they carted the wool away; but in that case, a spark from a pipe, a match carelessly dropped in a tussock outside, when a nor'-wester was blowing,--and the slight wooden building would be blazing like a torch, and your year's income vanishing in the smoke! Even at the last moment, when the cart had already started homewards, with the tin bath balanced once more on the top of the mattresses and boxes; when the house was empty, and I was waiting, my hat and jacket on, and flax-stick in hand, eager to set out, a doubt arose about the expediency of our return home. Some accidental delay had prevented the dray from arriving in time to start for Christchurch with the last load, and between two and three hundred pounds worth of wool still remained in the shed,--packed and labelled indeed, but neither insured nor protected from the risk of fire in any way. F---- was very loath to leave them there; but, yielding to my entreaties, he called Pepper, the head shepherd, and solemnly gave the wool-shed and its contents over into his charge, with many and many a caution about fire. Pepper was as trustworthy and steady a shepherd as any in the colony, and promised to "keep his weather-eye open," as he phrased it, in nautical slang picked up from some run-away sailor. All the way home F---- said from time to time, anxiously, "I wish the shed was empty;" but I cheered him up, and told him he was over-tired and unreasonably nervous, and so forth, but with a great longing myself for Monday morning to come, and for the dray to take its load and start. I need not dwell on how delicious it was to return home, where everything seemed so comfortable and nice, and the bed felt especially soft and welcome to tired limbs. Early were our hours, you may be sure, and we slept the sleep of the hard-worked until between two and three o'clock the next morning. Then we were roused up by some one knocking loudly against our wide-open latticed window. I was the first to hear the noise, and cried, "Who's there? what is it?" all in a breath. "The wool-shed on fire," murmured F----, in a tone of agonized conviction. "It's you that's wanted, please mum, this moment, over at the home station!" I heard Pepper say, in impatient tones. "It's the wool-shed," repeated F----, more than half asleep, and with only room for that one idea in his dreamy mind. "Nonsense!" I cried, jumping out of bed. "I should not be wanted if the wool-shed were on fire. Don't you hear Pepper say he wants me?" "All right, then," said F----, actually turning over and proposing to go to sleep again. But there was no more sleep for either of us that night. Whilst I hastily put on my riding-habit, Pepper told me, through the window; an incoherent tale of some one being at the point of death, and wanting me to cure him, and the master to bring over pen and ink, to make a will, and dying speeches and cold shivers, all mixed up together in a tangle of words. F---- took some minutes to understand that it was Fenwick, a gigantic Yorkshireman, who had been seized with what Pepper would call the "choleraics," and who, in spite of having swallowed all the mustard and rum and "pain-killer" left on the premises, grew worse and worse every moment. "He's dying, safe enough," concluded Pepper, "but he's main anxious to see you, mum, and the master; and he wants a Bible brought to swear him, and he's powerful uneasy to make his will." I knew quite as little of medicine as my husband did of law, but of course we decided instantly that we ought both to go and see what could be done in any way to relieve either the body or mind of the sufferer. We said to each other while we were hastily dressing, "How shall we ever catch the horses? They have all been turned out, of course, as no one thought they would be wanted until Monday; and who knows where they have gone to?--miles away, perhaps; and it's pitch dark." Judge, then, of our delighted surprise, when, on going out into the verandah, preparatory to starting off to look for our steeds, we found them standing at the gate, ready saddled and bridled. It seemed like magic, but the good fairies in this case had been the two guests to whom I have alluded as having arrived just as we were starting for our picnic life. They were both "old chums," and understood the situation instantly. Whilst we were questioning Pepper (you can hear every word all over a New Zealand house), they had jumped up, huddled on their clothes, and gone over the brow of the hill to look for the horses. By great good fortune the whole mob was found quietly camping in the sheltered valley full of sweet grass, on its further side. To walk up to my pretty bay mare Helen, and lay hold of her mane, and then, vaulting on her back, ride the rest of the mob back into the stockyard, was, even in the deep darkness of a midsummer night, no difficult task for eyes so practised to catching horses under all circumstances. So here was one obstacle suddenly smoothed, and as I hastily collected my few simple remedies, consisting chiefly of flannel, chlorodyne, and brandy, I could only trust and pray that poor Fenwick's case might not be so desperate as Pepper represented it. To our impatience, the difficult track, with its swamps and holes, its creeks to be jumped, and morasses to be avoided, seemed long indeed; but to judge from the continued profound darkness,--that inky blackness of the sky which is the immediate forerunner of daylight,--the dawn could not be far off. How well I remember the whole scene! F---- tied his white handkerchief on his arm, that Helen and I might have a faint speck of light by which to guide ourselves. Pepper rode close to me, pouring into my ears dismal predictions of Fenwick's end; whilst I, amid all my anxiety, could only think of the dangers of the track, and whether, in the pitchy darkness, we should ever get to the home station. The dew fell so heavily that more than once I thought it must be raining, but those were only wind-clouds brooding in the great dark vault above us. More welcome than ever sounded the bark of the dogs, which told us we had reached the end of our stumbling ride; and the moment their tongues woke up the silence, a lantern showed a ray of light to guide us to the hut door. I jumped off my horse instantly, and went in. At first I thought my patient was dead, for he lay, rigid and grey, in his bunk. At a glance I perceived that nothing could really be done to help him whilst he was lying on a high shelf, almost out of my reach, in a small hut filled with bewildered men, who kept offering him from time to time a "pull" at a particularly good pipe, having previously poured all the grog they could muster down his throat, or rather over his pillow (his saddle performed that duty by night), for he had been unable to swallow for some hours. I remembered that there were the bedsteads we had used at the house, and also some firewood still left in the kitchen. Explaining to Pepper how he was to wrap poor Fenwick in every available blanket in the place, and carry him across the open space into the parlour, I hastily ran on before, got some one to help me to drag one of the light frames into the sitting-room, laced it before the fireplace, and then made up a good blazing fire on the open hearth. By the time the dry wood was crackling and sparkling out its cheery welcome, my patient arrived, and was laid down, blankets and all, on the rude little bedstead, before the blaze. By its fitful and uncertain light I proceeded to examine the enormous frame stretched so helplessly before me, feeling half afraid to touch him at all. F---- was very trying as an assistant, for he looked on without making any suggestions, and only said from time to time, "Take care: the man is dead." To my inexperienced eyes he indeed seemed past all human help. His skin was icy cold, and as wet as if he had been lying out in the dew. No flutter of pulse, nor sign of breath, could my trembling efforts discover; but I fancied there was the least little sign of pulsation about his heart. Of course I had not the vaguest notion of what was the matter with the man, for all Pepper could tell me was that "Fenwick's been powerful bad, you bet." This does not sound a minute diagnosis to go on, and the only remedies which presented themselves to my mind were those I had studied as being useful for the recovery of drowned persons. So to work I set, as if the poor fellow had just been fished out of the creek; and whenever any one wanted to teaze me afterwards they would declare I had insisted on Fenwick's being held up by his heels. But of course that was all nonsense. What I did really do was this, and a doctor in Christchurch, whom I afterwards consulted as to my treatment, assured me, laughingly, that it was "capital." I made Pepper and another man both rub the cold clammy body, as hard as they could with mustard and hot flannel. I got some bottles filled with hot water (for it did not take five minutes to boil the kettle) and placed to his icy-cold feet and under his arms, then I mixed a little very strong and hot brandy and water, to which I added a few drops of chlorodyne, and gave him a teaspoonful every five minutes. For the first half-hour there was no sign of life to be detected, and the same horrible bluish pallor made poor Fenwick's really handsome face look ghastly in the flickering light. My two assistants were getting exhausted, and Pepper had more than once murmured, with the recollection of the past fortnight's work strong upon him, "Spell, oh!" or else "Shears!" [Note: the shearer's demand for a few minutes rest] whilst his companion inquired pathetically, "What was the use of flaying a dead man?" To these hints I paid no attention, though my damp riding habit was steaming from the heat of the fire and I felt dreadfully tired; for certainly there seemed to my eyes a healthier tinge stealing over the rigid features, and it could not be my fancy which detected a stronger effort to swallow the last spoonful of brandy. I need not go into the details of my jumbled-up remedies; probably I should bring upon myself serious remonstrances from the Royal Humane Society, if my treatment of that unhappy man were made public. It is enough to say that I "exhibited" mustard by the pound and brandy by the quart, that I roasted him first on one side and then on the other, that his true skin was rubbed off, that I chlorodyned him until he slept for nearly a week, and that when he finally recovered he declared he felt "as if he'd been dead:" "And no wonder," as Pepper always remarked. The only clue I could get to the cause of his illness was a shy confession, about a week afterwards, that he had eaten a few mushrooms. Fenwick's idea of a few of anything was generally a liberal notion. I questioned him narrowly as to what he had had for supper the night he was taken ill, and this was his bill of fare:-- "Well, you see, mum, I wasn't rightly hungry: it must have been them gripses coming on. So I only had a shoulder (of mutton, _bien entendu_; when Fenwick had really a good appetite he regarded anything less than a whole leg of a sheep as an insult) that night, half-a-dozen slap jacks, and a trifle of mushrooms." "How big were the mushrooms?" I asked. "Oh, they was rather fine ones, mum, I won't deny: they might have been the bigness of a plate." Now even supposing them to have been perfectly wholesome, a few dozen mushrooms of that size, eaten half raw with a whole shoulder of mutton, are quite enough to my ignorant mind to account for so severe a fit of the "choleraics." Chapter XVII: Odds and ends. My nerves had hardly recovered the shock of having the care of such a huge patient thrust on me; for, seriously speaking, Fenwick took a good deal of nursing and attention before he got well again, when we had another night alarm. Our beautiful summer weather was breaking up; high nor'-westers had blown down the gorges for days, and now a cold wet gale was coming up in heavy banks of fleecy clouds from the sou'-west. Everything looked cold and wretched out of doors, but the sheep-farmers were thankful and pleased. Their "mobs" could find excellent shelter for themselves, for it takes _very_ bad weather to hurt a Merino sheep, and the creeks had been running rather low. "We shall have a splendid autumn after this is over," said all the squatters gleefully, "with lots of feed: there's Tyler's creek coming down beautifully." So I was fain to be content, though my fowls looked draggled and wretched, and my pet patch of mignonette became a miniature desert, its fragrance being all blown and rain-beaten away. Good fires of lignite and wood made the house cheery, and we went to bed, hoping for fine weather next day. In the middle of the night everyone was awakened by a tremendous, echoing noise outside, whilst the frail wooden house vibrated perceptibly. It could not be caused by the wind: for, although the rain kept pouring steadily down, the furious sou'-west gusts had long ago been beaten into a sullen silence by the descending torrents. For a moment, and half-awake, an old tropical reminiscence floated through my sleepy, startled mind: "Can it be an earthquake?" I dreamily wondered. But, no earthquake of my acquaintance was ever yet so resounding and noisy, for all its crumbling horror: yet, the house was certainly shaking. "What is it? What are you doing?" rang in shouts through the little dwelling, as its dwellers came thronging, one after another, to our door. Frightened as I was, I can perfectly remember how indignant I felt, when it became clear to my mind that they all thought _we_ were making such an uproar. How could we do it, if even we had wished to get out of our warm beds, and create a disturbance on such a wild night. "Good gracious! the house is coming down," I cried, as a fresh shudder ran through the slight framework of, our little wooden home. "Pray go out, and see what is the matter." Thus urged, F---- opened a casement on the sheltered side,--if any side could be said to be sheltered in such weather,--and cautiously put his head out. I peered over his shoulder, and never can I forget the ridiculous sight which met our eyes. There, dripping and forlorn, huddled together under the wide roof of our summer parlour, as the verandah used to be often called, the whole mob of horses had gathered themselves. The garden gate chanced to have been left open, and, evidently under old Jack's' guidance, they had all walked into the verandah, wandered disconsolately up and down its boarded floor, and after partaking of a slight refreshment in the shape of my best creepers, had proceeded to make themselves at home by rubbing their wet sides against the pillars and the wooden sides of the house itself. No wonder the noise had aroused us all. Ironshod hoofs clattering up and down a boarded verandah is riot a silent performance; and Jack was so cool and impudent about it, positively refusing to stir from the sheltered corner by the silver-pheasants' aviary, which he had chosen for himself. The other horses evidently felt they were intruders, and were glad enough, on the flapping of a handkerchief, to hurry out of their impromptu stables, making the best of their way through the narrow garden gate, and so out upon the bleak hills again. But Jack's conduct was very trying; he found himself perfectly comfortable, and evidently intended to remain so; neither for wishing nor coaxing, for fair words nor foul, would he stir. It seemed so horrid to have to dress and go out in such a downpour of rain, that we weakly deliberated on the expediency of letting the cunning old stock-horse remain; but fortunately, at that moment he began to scratch his ear with his hind foot, waking up a thousand echoes against the side of the house as he did so, and making the pictures dance again on the canvas and paper walls. "This will never do," cried we all, desperately: "he sure must be taken to the stable or he'll come back again." That was exactly what Jack meant and wanted: so to the stable he went, under poor shivering Mr. U----'s guidance, and the old rogue spent a dry, warm night under its roof. It was the more absurd Jack pretending to be afraid of a wet night, when he had walked many and many a weary mile over the rough mountain passes towards the West-Coast, with a heavy pack on his back and in all sorts of weather. A tradition existed in our neighbourhood that Jack had once been met crossing the Amuri Downs with a small barrel-organ, an American cooking stove, and a sow with a litter of young ones, all packed on his back, "and stepping out bravely under them all," as my informant added. But I cannot vouch for the truth of the items of this load. Jack's fame as a stock-horse, as well as a pack-horse, stood high in the Malvern Hills, but his conduct in the shafts was eccentric, to say the least of it. He could not bear to be guided by his driver, and was always squinting over his blinkers in the most ridiculous manner. If he perceived a mob of cattle or horses on a distant flat, he would set off to have a look at them and determine whether they were strangers or friends, dragging the gig after him "over bank, bush, and scaur." Once when we were in great despair for a cart-horse, Jack was elected to the post, but long before we had come to the journey's end we regretted our choice. It was during the first summer of my life in the Malvern Hills, and whilst the nor'-westers were still steadily setting their breezy faces against such a new fangled idea as a lawn. I had wearied of sowing grass seed at, a guinea a bag, long before those extremely rude zephyrs got tired of blowing it all out of the ground. There was my beautiful set of croquet, fresh from Jacques, lying idle in its box in the verandah, and there was my charming friend, Alice S----, longing for a game of croquet. When pretty young ladies wish for anything very much, and the house is full of gentlemen, it goes hard, but that they get the desire of their innocent hearts. So it was in this case. One fine afternoon Alice wandered into the verandah and peeped for the hundredth time into the box. "What beautiful things," she sighed, "and how hard it is we can't have a game." "I know a patch of self-sown grass," sang one of the party, "whereon we might play a game." "Where: oh, where?" we asked, in eager chorus. "About two miles from this, near a deserted shepherd's hut; it is as thick and soft as green velvet, and the sheep keep it quite short." "Is the ground level?" we inquired. "As flat as this table," was the satisfactory answer. Of course we wanted to start immediately, but how were we to get the croquet things there, to say nothing of the delightful excuse for tea out of doors which immediately presented itself to my ever-thirsty mind. A dray was suggested (carriages we had none; there being no roads for them if we had possessed such vehicles); but alas, and alas! the proper dray and driver and horse were all away, on an expedition up a distant gulley getting out some brush-wood for fires. "There's Jack," some one said, doubtfully. He had never even drawn a dray in his life, so far as we knew, but at the same time we felt sure that when once Jack understood what was required of him, he would do his best to help us to get to our croquet ground. So we flew off to our different duties. Alice to see that the balls, hoops, and mallets were all right in numbers and colours, &c.; I to pack a large open basket with the materials for my favourite form of dissipation--an out-door tea; and the gentlemen to catch Jack and harness him into the cart. Peals of laughter announced the setting forth of the expedition; and no wonder! Inside the dray, which was a very light and crazy old affair, was seated Alice on an empty flour-sack; by her side I crouched on an old sugar bag, one of my arms keeping tight hold of my beloved tea-basket with its jingling contents, whilst the other was desperately clutching at the side of the dray. On a board across the front three gentlemen were perched, each wanting to drive, exactly like so many small children in a goat carriage, and like them, one holding the reins, the other the whip, and the third giving good advice. In the shafts stood poor shaggy old Jack, looking over his blinkers as much as to say, "What do you want me to do now?" Our good humoured and stalwart cadet Mr. U----, walked backwards, holding out a carrot and calling Jack to come and eat it. In this extraordinary fashion we proceeded down the flat for two or three hundred yards, one carrot succeeding the other in Jack's jaws rapidly. Mr. U---- was just beginning to say "Look here: don't you think we ought to take turns at this?" when Jack caught sight of a creek right before him. He only knew of one way of crossing such obstacles, and that was to jump them. No one calculated on the sudden rush and high bound into the air with which he triumphantly cleared the water; knocking Mr. U---- over, and scattering his three drivers like summer leaves on the track. As for Alice and me, the inside passengers, we found the sensation of jumping a creek in a dray most unpleasant. All the croquet balls leapt wildly up into the air to fall like a wooden hailstorm around us. The mallets and hoops bruised us from our head to our feet; and the contents of my basket were utterly ruined. Not only had my tea-cups and saucers come together in one grand smash, but the kettle broke the bottle of cream, which in its turn absorbed all the sugar. Jack looked coolly round at us with an air of mild satisfaction, as if he thought he had done something very clever, whilst our shrieks were rending the air. What a merry, light-hearted time of one's life was that! We all had to work hard, and our amusements were so simple and Arcadian that I often wonder if they really did amuse us so much as we thought they did at the moment. Let all New Zealanders who doubt this, look into those perhaps closed chapters of their lives, and as memory turns over the leaves one by one, and pictures like the sketches I try to reproduce in pen and ink, grow into distinctness out of the dim past, it will indeed "surprise me very much," if they do not say, as I do,--my pleasant task ended,--"Ah, those were happy days indeed!" 
54474	----	Romance of Empire Series EDITED BY JOHN LANG NEW ZEALAND TO MY WIFE [Illustration: Heke fells the flagstaff at Kororareka (Page 169)] ROMANCE OF EMPIRE NEW ZEALAND BY REGINALD HORSLEY AUTHOR OF 'IN THE GRIP OF THE HAWK,' 'STONEWALL'S SCOUT,' 'THE YELLOW GOD,' 'THE BLUE BALLOON,' 'HUNTED THROUGH FIJI,' ETC. WITH TWELVE REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR FROM DRAWINGS BY A.D. M'CORMICK, R.I. [Illustration] LONDON THE CAXTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, CLUN HOUSE, SURREY ST. W.C. INTRODUCTION This book does not contain a history of New Zealand, but something of the story of many full and stirring days. Almost like the ghost the Maori thought him, Tasman came swiftly out of the rosy West, struck a blow which harmed his country more than it hurt those upon whom it fell, and yet more swiftly sailed away. Notable enough were his coming and going, but only as the prologue to the drama which began after an interval of one hundred and twenty-seven years. Then there steps upon the stage of Maoriland that well-graced actor, Captain Cook; and so the play goes on until the fall of the curtain upon the peace which closed the long struggle of the brave tribesmen with settlers, soldiers and colonists. Another interval, not so long, and then, fitting epilogue, the Dominion. The years since 1870 have no doubt held romance enough of their own. Books have been written and may still be written of the romance of peaceful settlement, of sport, of mountaineering in New Zealand, or of soldiering by New Zealanders in other lands; but, save for a few episodes, one may say that the romance of the history of New Zealand ended for the present with the vanishing of Te Kooti. Then, at least, ended the era of turbulence, and began the fat years of progress and prosperity, and it is as difficult for a State as for an individual to be romantic when "with good capon lined." Yet so crowded with incident is the brief period named that I have practically confined the story to the most prominent of the facts indexed in the _New Zealand Official Year Book_ for 1906. Even with this limitation there is not space enough in which to tell the whole romantic story. At most, an impression of the vivid happenings of the past can be presented, and this is what I have tried to do. I gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to those who, being dead, yet speak--Thomson, Gudgeon, "A Pakeha Maori," and others,--whose vanished hands picturesquely chronicled some of the events with which this story is concerned. From Sir George Grey, the gentle "Knight of the Kawan," I had the legend of the Loves of Heaven and Earth and the defiance of their rebellious sons. To the Honourable William Pember Reeves, High Commissioner for New Zealand in London, I am greatly obliged for books of reference and the loan of valuable photographs. If I am not one of them, I yet claim the consideration of the Children of the Dominion, since I am connected with them by ties of kin and happy memories of childhood and youth lived under the Southern Cross, here and there among the islands on both sides of the Tasman Sea. Also the Dominion has already given me some of the facts of her colonial days as a basis for fiction. So it is permissible to hope that the shortcomings of this book will be forgiven, and that those of the Dominion who may read will recognise throughout its pages a whole-hearted admiration for their country and all that belongs to it. If I please some, I shall be rewarded. For the rest, since "'tis not in mortals to command success," then, _est quadam prodire tenus, si non datur ultra_. REGINALD HORSLEY. [Illustration: NEW ZEALAND] CONTENTS PART I THE MAORI PAGE CHAPTER I THE COMING OF THE RACE 3 CHAPTER II THE MEN WHO CAME 10 CHAPTER III THE LAND TO WHICH THEY CAME 20 CHAPTER IV THE GROWTH OF THE RACE 35 CHAPTER V THE LIFE OF EVERY DAY 48 CHAPTER VI GRIM-VISAGED WAR 55 PART II THE COMING OF THE PAKEHA CHAPTER VII THE DUTCHMAN'S LOSS 69 CHAPTER VIII THE BRITON'S GAIN 79 CHAPTER IX CLOUDS AT DAWN 89 CHAPTER X RONGO PAI! 101 CHAPTER XI THE WARS OF HONGI IKA 108 CHAPTER XII VARIOUS RULERS 119 PART III PAKEHA AND MAORI CHAPTER XIII GREAT BRITAIN WINS 133 CHAPTER XIV INDEPENDENCE AND ARGUMENT 143 CHAPTER XV TE RAUPARAHA AND HONI HEKE 158 CHAPTER XVI THE FALL OF KORORAREKA 172 CHAPTER XVII HEKE AND KAWITI ON THE WARPATH 177 CHAPTER XVIII THE FALL OF THE BAT'S NEST 192 CHAPTER XIX THE WAR IN THE SOUTH 201 CHAPTER XX BUILDING AND UPSETTING 215 CHAPTER XXI O'ERCLOUDED SKIES 225 CHAPTER XXII THE QUEEN MOVES 239 CHAPTER XXIII THE BLACK KNIGHT GIVES CHECK 244 CHAPTER XXIV PAI MARIRE, OR THE HAUHAU SECT 254 CHAPTER XXV MURDER MOST FOUL 262 CHAPTER XXVI ALARMS! EXCURSIONS! 272 CHAPTER XXVII POVERTY BAY 280 CHAPTER XXVIII THE LAST RALLY 288 CHAPTER XXIX THE SUN OF PEACE 307 CHAPTER XXX THE DOMINION OF NEW ZEALAND 318 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Heke fells the Flagstaff at Kororareka _Frontispiece_ Farewell to Hawaiki 8 Victors in the Fight 66 The Fight in Massacre Bay 75 Hongi's last "Word" to his People 115 A Dreadful Recognition 122 Signing the Treaty of Waitangi 141 Phillpotts at Oheawai 190 A Boy's Heroism. "Awake! Awake!" 208 Major Witchell's Charge at Nukumaru 234 The Frenzy of the Hauhau. The Incantation 256 Butters gives the Alarm--Poverty Bay 284 MAP New Zealand viii PART I THE MAORI CHAPTER I THE COMING OF THE RACE The voice of lamentation and the noise of weeping were heard in Hawaiki;[1] for men's hands were lifted up to slay their own kin: so that father slew son, and son smote father, and brother strove against brother, until nowhere in all that pleasant land was there peace. Wherefore, little children hid themselves for fear; and women, having cut their cheeks with sharks' teeth, and gashed their bosoms with sharp shells and pieces of _tuhua_[2], raised the _tangi_[3] for the warriors who every day passed through the portals which give upon the Waters of Reinga.[4] But Ngahue, being a great chief, might not weep; so he sat apart in his _whare_,[5] neither eating nor drinking, while he prayed to the gods and to his ancestors that they would make a way of escape from the threatening doom. For Ngahue was sore stricken, having been worsted in the fight, and well he knew that for the conquered was no mercy. Wherefore, he sat with bowed head and covered face, and prayed for light. And light came; for the gods had pity upon Ngahue, who was ever their faithful servant. So Ngahue arose in the black darkness, bidding his wife be of good cheer and patiently await his return, and with noiseless tread stole forth from his _whare_. Softly called Ngahue unto him his best-beloved friend, Te Turi, the Stubborn One, and Te Turi's friends, Te Weri, the Centipede, and Te Waerau, the Crab,[6] together with certain warriors, proved in many a fight. He compelled also to his side a sufficiency of _tutua_[7] and, being come to the beach, launched a great canoe. Then, having commended themselves to the gods, they sailed whithersoever Atua[8] chose to lead them. Many days sailed they over the placid bosom of _moana_,[9] passing fair islands whereon they were fain to rest, but for fear of club and cooking-pot dared not land. So they kept on the course which Atua had set, praying ever that they might come to the land which Ngahue had seen in a vision what time the gods gave him light. But all things have an end. Neither Ngahue, nor his friends, nor his followers, nor the _tutua_ complained or murmured at the hardships they underwent, or reviled the gods; wherefore the Six Great Brethren had compassion upon them. So the Great Six sat in council--Tumatauenga, god and father of men and war; Haumiatikitiki, god of the food which springs of itself from the earth; Rongomatane, god of the food which men prepare for themselves; Tangaroa, god of fish and reptiles; Tawhiri-Ma-Tea, god of winds and storms; Tane-Mahuta, god of forests and of the birds therein--all were there. Then spake Tumatauenga, saying, "Behold! I will send ahead of Ngahue my youngest son, Mauitikitiki o Taranga; and I will give him the jawbone of one of his ancestors, whereof he shall fashion a great hook, wherewith he shall fish up a land out of _moana_ for Ngahue; and the name thereof shall be Te Ika a Maui.[10] Behold! I have spoken." Then spake in turn the rest of the Great Brethren, sons all of Rangi and Papa,[11] promising good gifts to Ngahue and them with him. But Maui, obedient to his father's word, went forth and fished diligently in the sea until, lo! he drew up a land, which, by the might of the Six Brethren, was covered in an instant with forests and plains and mountains and valleys. And birds flew high and low and sang among the trees, and rivers rushed through deep woods, and silver streams flashed by quiet lawns, and the bays and straits abounded in fish, and the earth with good things to eat. All was of the best for Ngahue and his friends when they should arrive. So Maui gave to Ngahue the new land, which was a land beautiful, a land rich and abounding in all things good and needful; and he and his friends, beholding this fair and gracious land and knowing it their own, gave thanks to the Six Great Brethren and were filled with joy. Then Ngahue, calling upon the gods, drave the great canoe into a beautiful bay, and made fast to a tree which hung low over the water and flung its red blossoms on the tide; whereafter the wanderers stepped ashore and stood upon the land which Maui had fished up from the sea, and which the Six Great Brethren had given them for their own. Then, all most reverently standing still, Ngahue gathered a little soil and scattered it to the four quarters of the earth and, having cast his most cherished ornament into the sea in propitiation, he chanted this prayer to the Spirit of the Land:-- We arrive where an unknown earth is under our feet; We arrive where a new sky is above us. We arrive at this land, A resting-place for us. O Spirit of the Earth! We strangers now humbly Offer our hearts as food for thee.[12] And Ngahue loved the new land, for the forest trees were tall and splendid, and the flowers beautiful and radiant as _kahukura_[13] in the sky. Great eels swarmed in the rivers, fish in plenty swam in the sea, and sharks, whose teeth are for ornament and for women when they raise the _tangi_. Whales, also, played in the near seas, and seals basked upon the rocks. Birds of song and birds for food flew in the air or ran along the ground or swam upon the lakes and rivers. But one giant bird with feeble wings stalked with long legs over the hills; and, though this bird was twice the height of an ordinary man, and of a strength prodigious, yet did Ngahue slay one such in his wanderings about the new land.[14] Earth, too, gave of her treasures a most beautiful stone, green of hue and clear as light at dawn or dense as a storm-cloud, and so hard withal that a club which Ngahue fashioned from it cracked the skull of one of his foes, yet itself brake not in pieces. So, looked Ngahue north or south or east or west; looked he inland where the tall mountains hid their snowy peaks in the bosoms of the rosy clouds, or looked he upon the "many dimpled smile of ocean," behold, the land was very good. Then Ngahue, having gathered many things which would not perish by the way, called his friends and said, "See now; let us return to Hawaiki, taking these our treasures, which, when our kinsmen see, they will eagerly follow us hither. So shall they gain a peaceful home, and so shall the land the gods have given us be filled with stout hearts, and our seed increase and multiply. What say ye, O my brothers?" And Te Weri and Te Waerau joyously cried, "_Kapai!_"[15] and the warriors shouted their war-cry; but the _tutua_ raised their voices and wept for happiness that they should be free of war's alarms. So they came again after many days to Hawaiki, whence all their kinsmen were willing to go with them to the new and beautiful land which had been given to Ngahue. Moreover, strife still raged; wherefore, they of the weaker side came privately to Ngahue and begged that they might go with him; to which the chief willingly consented, knowing that the more the folk the better for the new land. But one of the gods--no man knoweth which--angry because Ngahue persuaded so many to leave the land of their birth, set fire to Hawaiki to destroy all therein. But Rangi sent a storm of rain upon the land, so that the fire was utterly killed, save for certain few sparks which hid among the trees where the rain could not reach them, and there abode for ever. Wherefore it is that, if a man rub together two pieces of wood, fire will issue therefrom. And now, a fleet having been built--some say at one place, some at another, but most at Rarotonga--a great company assembled and filled the double canoes, whereof the names were Arawa, Matatua, Tainui, Takitumu, Kurahaupo, Tokomaru, Matawhaorua, Aotea, and more whose names are forgotten. [Illustration: Farewell to Hawaiki] Family by family they embarked, taking great store of seeds of _kumara_,[16] _karaka_[17] berries and gourds, together with _pukeko_,[18] dogs, and rats. Thus they set sail in company from the land of their birth. But an evil spirit let loose a tempest upon them, so that the fleet was scattered, and each canoe must sail upon its own course, its captain having no pilot, but only the knowledge which Ngahue had imparted to the high chiefs. Yet by the grace of Atua they all came safe to the land which Maui had fished up from the sea. Aotea, Arawa, Tainui, and the rest, all were beached at last, and the exiles bade one another farewell and wandered here and there over the land, each family making choice where they would dwell. Nor was the choice too easy, since every place was so beautiful and inviting. But at last they came to rest, and thus from the beginning was Te Ika a Maui peopled by the friends and followers of Ngahue; and their seed, multiplying as the spores upon the fern, founded and established the nations which compose the Maori Race. NOTE.--According to another tradition, the first Maori explorer was Rakahaitu, a chief, who landed in the South Island about one thousand years ago. Other traditions, again, give the credit of discovery to Kupe. In August of this year, an interesting find was made on the south coast of the North Island, in the shape of an ancient stone anchor. This is held by experts to have been used by Kupe, whose canoes, buried under huge mounds of earth, still rest upon the heights to which the adventurers dragged them after landing. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: The island--true site unknown--whence the ancestors of the Maori emigrated, according to tradition, to New Zealand.] [Footnote 2: Obsidian, or volcanic glass.] [Footnote 3: The Lament for the Dead.] [Footnote 4: The Abode of the Shades.] [Footnote 5: House. In Maori there are no silent vowels. Thus whare "wharry," not "whar"; kupe "ku-pe," not "koop."] [Footnote 6: Maori names were frequently bestowed on account of mental or physical peculiarities, or of real or fancied resemblance to natural objects.] [Footnote 7: Poor, low-born men to do menial work.] [Footnote 8: The gods collectively. Fate.] [Footnote 9: The ocean.] [Footnote 10: Literally, "The Fish of Maui."] [Footnote 11: Heaven and Earth. Short for Papa-tu-a-nuku.] [Footnote 12: This prayer, preserved by tradition, was actually uttered by a chief upon the landing of the exiles from Hawaiki, after Ngahue's second, and final, voyage from his old home.] [Footnote 13: The rainbow.] [Footnote 14: The reference is to the gigantic, wingless bird, now extinct, the Moa--_Dinornis moa_.] [Footnote 15: Good! Hurrah!] [Footnote 16: Sweet potato--_Ipomoea batatas_.] [Footnote 17: _Corynocarpus laevigata._] [Footnote 18: Water-hen--_Porphyrio melanotus_.] CHAPTER II THE MEN WHO CAME The foregoing is more or less traditional among the Maori as to their migration from some other place and settlement in New Zealand. Some facts have been handed down for generations, but the traditions are confused. When the first Pakeha[19] arrived, every Maori believed that certain events had happened in the far past; but there was little agreement as to the manner or sequence in which those events had occurred. Many investigators--notably Sir George Grey--have inquired in the truest spirit of antiquarian research into the traditions of the Maori; and what between the discoveries of such trained observers, the dabblings of the amateur, and the luck of the "rolling-stones," who have picked up a tale here and a legend there, we have a fairly clear account of the coming of the Maori to New Zealand, as far as it is uncertainly known and hazily remembered among themselves. One fact, at least, is established. The Maori pertain to the Polynesian section of the great southern archipelago, not to the Melanesian. Most eminent ethnologists agree that the pure Polynesians are descended through the Malays from a very remote Asiatic stock. No bolder navigators, no more merciless pirates than the Malays ever sailed the sea, and, as they skimmed over the blue in their queer _proas_, their fierce eyes searching the horizon for the sail of some helpless trader, they not infrequently made some hitherto unknown island. Adventurers all, they occupied the place if it were their whim, and mixed with or exterminated the original inhabitants. Thus their stock spread in the course of centuries over all Polynesia, giving populations to Tonga, to the Samoan, Sandwich, Society and other islands, and, more important to our theme, to New Zealand. It is reasonably certain that, apart from haphazard adventure, there was once an emigration on a large scale, and it would seem that the pioneers of Polynesian colonisation left their home in Sumatra for the islands of their choice some nine or ten hundred years ago. Centuries go on their appointed course and become the Past; the immigrants, long acclimatised, have only vague memories and fanciful traditions of their origin. They are no longer Malays; they are Polynesians. Climate, associations, food have worked an alteration in them; their skin is browner, their eyes less sleepy, their figures taller and more symmetrical, their features handsomer than in the forgotten days in Sumatra, cradle of their race. Their language, too, has undergone a marked change, and only traces of the parent stock are discoverable in their customs. One practice, occasional amongst their ancestors, they have unhappily not forgotten; for the Polynesians have established the flesh of their enemies--when they can get it--as the prime article in their dietary. They are not so abandoned in this respect as their neighbours of Melanesia; but they are smirched with the same pitch, and an unpleasant defilement it is. More centuries roll on; in Europe the night of the Middle Ages is at its darkest, but in far-off Polynesia the dawn is at hand. On an unnamed island within that vast area there is unrest and tribulation, out of which a nation is presently to be born. Where this island of Hawaiki was situated not even the Maori tradition can certainly determine. Some will have it that Rarotonga in the Cook Islands was once Hawaiki; but all that can be said with accuracy is that, some five or six hundred years ago, a company of Polynesians, perhaps a thousand strong, left the island on which they had been born and sailed the sea in search of a new home. In time they made the North Island of New Zealand, which, delighted with its beauty and fertility, they decided to occupy. They landed at various points and wandered ever farther south, increasing and multiplying in numbers, until at last some of the most adventurous crossed Cook Strait and began to people the Middle Island. And these Polynesian immigrants were the ancestors of the race of men whom we now know as Maori. Some recent investigators hold that the North Island was then possessed by peaceable folk calling themselves Moriori, who were speedily subdued by the warriors from Hawaiki. A remnant of the Moriori escaped, it is said, to the Chatham Islands, hoping to dwell in peace; but their evil fate pursued them, for the Ngati-Awa tribe migrated in 1835 to the same place, and the unfortunate Moriori were again conquered and enslaved. Wherever the birthplace of the Maori, it lay within the tropics. The nearer the equator, the shorter the interval between day and night, and thus it was that the Maori, struck by the beauty of a phenomenon wholly unfamiliar, styled their new home in affectionate admiration, _Ao-tea-roa_, "The Land of the Long Lingering Day," or "The Land of Twilight." Always poetical, others called it _Aotea_, or "The Land of the Dawn." These charming subtitles did not displace the original name, _Te Ika A Maui_, or, as some have it, _Eaheinomawe_,[20] but they serve to show the poetic mind of the Maori. Later on, the Middle Island received its native appellation, _Te Wai Pounamou_, or "The Waters of Greenstone," while _Ra Ki Ura_, "In the Glow of the Sun," denoted Stewart Island, the small triangle which forms the southern extremity of New Zealand. So they came to their own, these handsome, stalwart men, and "black, but comely" women. You may see a group of them there upon the western beach, led by Te Turi, one of the pioneer chiefs who received this new jewel among countries from the hands of the gods. Perhaps they landed at dawn, for Te Turi called the place of disembarkation _Aotea_, which is literally "The White Day"; but he may have named the harbour out of compliment to the canoe which had carried them so far in safety, for it, too, was _Aotea_. The white day swiftly turns to blue and gold, and all fatigue is forgotten for pure joy of being. The glory of summer is everywhere, and over all is that exquisite charm which belongs to _Ao-tea-roa_ more than to any of the isles of the iridescent Southern Sea. Westward, the great ocean heaves and sparkles in the morning sun--not a cloud that way from zenith to horizon. Southward, far away, Ruapehu lifts his time-worn, snowy head three thousand feet above grim Tongariro's sullen, smoking cones, gazing ever where his ancient comrade, hoary Taranaki,[21] dwells in solitude by the thundering sea. Long ago, these mighty ones stood shoulder to shoulder; but Taranaki, forgetting friendship, seized Pihinga, Tongariro's love, and strove to bear her away. Then Tongariro arose in his wrath, belching forth smoke and flames and red-hot stones, and smote Taranaki such a buffet that the giant reeled away, nor stopped until he reached the sea. Never did Taranaki return to his comrades. Alone he broods, rearing his great body eight thousand feet above the tide, his stricken head hidden under a veil of perennial snow. Inland, the forest. But what a forest! Not the light emerald of waving palms of their almost unregretted Hawaiki, but a forest grand, obscure, a very twilight of verdure. Yet not all gloom; for the _rata_[22] are abloom, and splash the dark-green front with vivid crimson, and the white cornucopias of the "morning-glory," and the gorgeous, scarlet "beaks" of the _kowhai_[23] bejewel the undergrowth. Up from the ground the little "wild rose" twines the great stems to their topmost boughs, falling back to earth, a cascade of blossom; while, festooning and garlanding tall trunks and leafy tops, are flung the long tendrils of the _puawananga_,[24] its myriad white stars shining in the green night. As they gaze, entranced, flocks of parakeets, screaming a harsh welcome, dash from the shimmering sky athwart the sombre front, like a rainbow shivered into fragments. There is a burst of appreciation, a hundred poetic expressions of delight, and Te Turi's company crowd about him, invoking blessings upon his head for his share in the discovery of this earthly paradise. They are worth looking at, these jubilant Maori: the men strong and well built about the chest and shoulders, and carrying themselves as men should. Their hair is slightly wavy or curls freely, and matches well the steady, piercing eyes, stern lips, pronounced noses and haughty carriage of the head we are accustomed to style "Roman." The Malay type is fully evident, while others recall the Jew, and a very few approach the colour of the negro, but miss his characteristic features and woolly hair. They are grave, dignified and impressed by the solemnity of the occasion; and the Light is shining in the darkness of their minds, for they stand in reverential attitudes while their great chief chants a thanksgiving to the gods and a short prayer of propitiation to the Spirit of the Land. Most of the women and girls are weeping, for tears come easily to the Maori _wahine_ (woman) even in moments of joy. But bright smiles presently flash out everywhere, showing dazzling teeth, while, though all are talking at once, their voices are so melodious that the babel is rather pleasant than otherwise. Considering them more closely, we know that we are looking at a people exceptional, if not unique among savages. Their intelligence is obvious; the voyage demonstrates their enterprise, and they will later prove their courage upon many a stricken field. Prudent they are, for they have brought the seeds of food-plants, while for companionship and, to some extent, for food, they gave their dogs a place in the canoes. Perhaps the rat, always a bit of an adventurer, stole aboard as a stowaway. They are emotional, but not less brave because tears stood in their eyes as they listened to Te Turi's prayer. Their great chiefs solemn chant and the exclamations which greeted the forest in its summer dress show their poetic mind and their capacity for felicitous speech. Moreover, they are fond of fun and have a trenchant wit, if not a very lightsome humour. They are quick at repartee, and eloquent in discourse. When their villages are built, you shall note how kind and hospitable they are to strangers of whatever race. Also, you shall be convinced that among the gentlemen of their tribes a lie is a thing abominable and abhorred, and the word of a chief, once passed, most rarely broken. Are they then faultless, these newcomers to the land which Maui fished up from the sea? No; for they are men, and men yet stumbling in the night of paganism. There is no need to catalogue their faults; they are those common to savages, and too many of them will show clearly as this narrative progresses. Till then let us pass them over. Take one more look at the faces of these old-time Maori. They differ from those of their descendants, for they are unmarked by tattoo. The Maori of the immediate past were noted for the extraordinarily elaborate tattooing or, rather, carving, which embellished their faces and, sometimes, their hips. When the Pakeha arrived a Maori with beard, whiskers or moustache was as rare as the _moa_; for tattooing necessitated a smooth face, and each warrior was careful to pull out every offending hair from cheek, lips and chin.[25] Thus, neither the process nor the result was interfered with, and this was important, for every line, curve or mark of any kind had its significance. Tattooing was by no means universal among the Polynesians, and the Maori tradition is firm that the faces of the immigrants from Hawaiki were innocent of tattoo, or _moko_, as the Maori method is styled, while beards were worn or not, according to individual taste. It has always been a principle with savages to frighten their enemies by noise, facial contortions, masks, weird head-dresses and so on. When the Maori began to quarrel and fight, it occurred to one genius that a tremendous moral effect would be produced upon the enemy if he--the genius--were to blacken his face before going into battle. One would hardly suppose that a shade only two or three degrees deeper than the original would bring about any startling result; but our genius evidently succeeded, for the next time his tribe took the field the faces of all were black as the back of _Tui_, the Parson-bird. Then it occurred to a wise old chief, named Rauru, that, if something permanent could be devised, much time and trouble would be saved. Remembering a visit he had paid to an island where tattooing was in force, he called a council and vigorously advocated the adoption of the practice. The suggestion was accepted and, as the process of _moko_ is decidedly painful, there must have been many wry faces while it was being carried into effect. No doubt, when their faces had been rendered sufficiently terrifying, this particular tribe had things all their own way for a time. But there is a sincere form of flattery known as imitation and, once the secret leaked out, matters took a turn. Before Te Ika A Maui was many moons older, every able-bodied man on the Island had tricked out his face in the new style, and was ready to meet the inventors upon equal terms. NOTE.--Tattoo is a Polynesian word, not in use among the Maori. A skilful professor of the art of _moko_ and _whakairo_ (face and body decoration) was held in rare esteem. Instances are on record of slaves having vastly improved their status by the artistic use of the lancet and mallet employed in tattooing. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 19: White man. Literally, "stranger," as opposed to Maori, "native."] [Footnote 20: Really, _He mea hi no Maui_, "A thing fished up by Maui."] [Footnote 21: Mount Egmont.] [Footnote 22: _Metrosideros robusta._ It belongs to the myrtle order, and is one of the most ornamental trees in the New Zealand bush.] [Footnote 23: _Clianthus puniceus._ New Zealand pea.] [Footnote 24: A variety of clematis. In the flowering season the effect of the white stars amid the dark green of the overhead foliage is most beautiful.] [Footnote 25: This was done with a pair of cockle-shells, which in Maoriland represented the _volsellae_ of the Romans, and our modern tweezers.] CHAPTER III THE LAND TO WHICH THEY CAME Where Nature is constantly in a tempestuous mood, where volcanoes spout and earthquakes convulse, and where, on the other hand, "Man comes in with his strife" against Nature herself, comparatively few years may suffice to bring about great changes and to alter the face of a country almost beyond recognition. Thus, the New Zealand on whose shores the Maori landed differed materially from the New Zealand of to-day. Not only has Nature cruelly destroyed some of the most beautiful of the vestiges of creation, but the white man has cleared off scrubs, eradicated forests, said with effect to the sea, "thus far and no farther," and, by radically altering the original features of the country, has actually influenced the climate. New Zealand is a land in every way desirable. Save for a trick Nature has of tumbling into convulsions now and then, it is hard to see how any land could have been created more beautiful, more comfortable, more blessed. Not large; indeed, a kind of "Pocket Venus" among countries; for, though there have been smaller, there have been none more beguiling to the senses, more charming to the eye, more responsive to the attentions of its lords. Surely, from such a soil must spring a worthy race. Before colonisation, and for some time after, New Zealand included only the North Island, the Middle Island,[26] and Stewart Island, and was in area about one-seventh less than that of the United Kingdom. No; not a large country; but packed to overflowing with good and desirable things, and lacking much that is undesirable. Early in the present century the Cook, or Hervey, Islands were included in the colony; an interesting addition, because Rarotonga, the largest of the group, is said to be the island where the emigrating Maori built some of their canoes for the voyage to Te Ika A Maui, and where they rested when Hawaiki lay far behind them. The new boundaries of the Dominion of New Zealand embrace several other island groups. Hawaiki lay within the tropics, while the northern extremity of New Zealand is a clear eleven degrees south of Capricorn. As the country tails southward, it falls more within the temperate zone, until, as Stewart Island is reached, the latitude corresponds almost exactly with that of Cornwall in England. Coming thus from a hot climate to one warm indeed, but cooler than that to which they had been accustomed, it behoved the Maori without delay to make some alteration in their dress. At first they used coverings made from the skins of their dogs; but this was expensive, so they presently began to look elsewhere for what they wanted. Like most peoples unvexed by over-education, they were keen observers, and it was not long before they found the very thing they required. One day, a certain Te Matanga,[27] The Knowing One, took matters in hand. Winter was coming, and girdles of cocoa-nut fibre would scarcely suffice to keep out the cold. For some time he discovered nothing likely to be useful, and it was in a disconsolate mood that he stood at the edge of an extensive swamp and wondered what was to become of his friends and himself. The swamp was covered with plants whose like Te Matanga had never seen. Each grew in the fashion of a thick bush; but the leaves--there were no branches--were flat and tapering, yet stiff and irrefragable, while they towered, upstanding, half as high again as the height of a man. Moreover, the leaves were so tough, that Te Matanga had some ado to cut through one with his flint knife. Flowers upon long stalks were in the bushes, and the plant with a red blossom was larger than that which bore a yellow blossom, though both were stately. And, perceiving that there were two varieties of the plant, Te Matanga named the finer _Tihore_ and the larger _Harakeke_.[28] When he had prodded here and sliced there, and observed the leaves to be full of strong fibre, Te Matanga immediately perceived that he had found that which he had set out to seek and, his anxiety upon the score of clothing relieved, he began to feel hungry and thirsty. The swamp water did not look inviting and, while he deliberated, he aimlessly plucked a flower and regarded it. What was this? At the bottom of the floral cup was a considerable quantity of fluid, resembling limpid water. Not without a qualm, the Knowing One tasted the liquid and found it delicious, resembling water sweetened with honey, or the _eau sucrée_ beloved of Frenchmen. He hesitated no longer, drank off the delightful draught, smacked his lips and drained another flower-cup of its nectar. Having found so much, Te Matanga told himself that more should be got from so accommodating a plant and, sure enough, he discovered an edible gum in the roots and leaves. What wonder that, with a winter outfit in view, his thirst quenched and his hunger stayed, clever Te Matanga should assume a few excusable airs when telling his joyous news. Thus, that Providence which they had not yet learned to know, gave to the Maori food, drink and clothing, all within the compass of one specimen of God's marvellous handiwork. The plant which Te Matanga found is not related to the true flax, though it serves every purpose to which the other is put. The Pakeha speedily recognised its virtues; in 1906 twenty-eight thousand tons of the fibre were exported from New Zealand. Great ingenuity was displayed by the Maori in the manipulation of the fibre and its manufacture into many useful articles, from the little baskets in which food was served, and which were never used twice, to the magnificent robe, or "mat," known as the _kaitaka_, which occupied nearly a year in the making. This was peculiarly the costume of people of consideration, and the gift of one was regarded as a mark of high favour. Among the many varieties of flax mats, the _pureki_ had an interest all its own, for the makers managed to render it rain-proof, so that it was in a sense the prototype of our mackintosh. One might also say that it was the Maori substitute for _khaki_; for a native, wrapped in his _pureki_ and squatting upon a barren hillside, was scarcely distinguishable from the boulders surrounding him. Te Matanga went to work again and experimented with the berries of the _tutu_ or _Coronaria_, extracting thence a beverage as grateful as that which he had quaffed from the chalice of the flax-flowers. Yet the berries, eaten whole, are poisonous. The beverages which Te Matanga gave to his countrymen were neither noxious nor degrading. It was the civilised Christian who introduced to the pagan savage that "enemy which steals away men's brains." Left to themselves, the Maori showed no inclination towards intoxicating liquors. Even in later days they proved remarkably temperate, their barter with the Pakeha rarely including a supply of what they characteristically designated "stink-water." They did not even brew the highly stimulating _yaqona_, so popular with the South Sea Islanders; which is remarkable, since the plant (_Piper methysticum_) grows wild in New Zealand. Our wise man also taught his compatriots the value of the edible fern, _Pteris esculenta_, whose bright-green fronds waved ten feet or more above the ground. The underground stem was cut into plugs and matured, and, this done, was eaten plain, or cakes were baked of the flour beaten out of it. It was not ordained that the Maori should subsist entirely upon a vegetable diet. Te Matanga searched for something more stimulating and readily found it. He showed his people fat eels in creek and river, while from the sea they drew _Mango_, the shark, _Tawatawa_, the mackerel, _Hapuku_, the cod (not that of northern waters) and a hundred other varieties of fish, which they cooked or dried or smoked. It was sometimes their good fortune to slay great _Ikamoana_, the whale, and _Kekeno_, the seal, both of which they ate with relish; while for sauce, _Tio_, the oyster, sat upon the rocks and gaped while they scooped him from his shell. The dwellers inland had eels and the delicious little green, whitebait-like _Inanga_ of the lakes to eat with their fern-root and _kumara_. And well for them it was so; for, with the exception of _Pekapeka_, the bat, who swept by them in eerie flight when the long-lingering day grew pale about them, not a mammal roamed the plains or haunted the deep woods. _Kuri_, the dog, and _Maungarua_, the rat, they also ate; for _Maungarua_[29] multiplied exceedingly, while _Kuri_ took to the bush and ran wild. _Ngara_,[30] the lizard, frisked in the sunshine; but no son of Maui looked upon him if it could be avoided; for _Ngara_ were dread beasts, in whose bodies the spirits of the dead found an abiding-place. Even such stalwarts as Ngahue and Te Turi would blanch at sight of any of that terrible race. Moreover, _Taniwha_,[31] the great, the horrible, whom to mention was unsafe, and to set eyes upon was to perish, was not he, too, a lizard? Nay; close the eyes and mutter a _karakia_[32] should _Ngara_ cross your path. How blessed the Maori were in the absence of other reptiles they did not learn till much later. Australia abounds in snakes, from the huge carpet-snake, cousin to the boa, to the "deaf-adder," whose bite is almost certainly fatal; but in New Zealand, as in Ireland, not even a toad is to be found wherewith to point the sweetness of the "uses of adversity." The clever men now sought food among the birds, and found on land pigeons, plovers, rails, ducks, quails and parrots innumerable. Of these last, one, the _kakapo_, was almost as big as a fowl, like which it ran about the ground, feeding; for its wings were short and feeble, and it rarely used them except to fly from a bough to the earth and up again. Conscious of its weakness, it chose the late twilight or the night for its rambles, hiding away during the day. Like so many of the interesting birds of New Zealand, it is now nearly extinct. Among sea-birds, many of which were eaten, particular choice was made of _Titi_,[33] the Mutton-bird. These birds flew inland at night, and the Maori, anticipating their coming, would choose a likely spot upon the verge of a cliff and build a row of fires. Behind these they lurked, armed with sticks and, as the birds, attracted by the light, flew past, they were knocked over in immense numbers. As the flesh was oily, they were preserved in their own fat, packed in baskets of seaweed and stored until winter, when they formed a staple and highly flavoured dish. The inland tribes made annual pilgrimages to the coast for the purpose of procuring a supply of mutton-birds. Of all the birds which the Maori found on their arrival the most singular were those which are either extinct or fast becoming so. These were the _Struthidae_, or wingless birds,--such as the ostrich, the rhea, and the emu,--which were represented in New Zealand by the gigantic _moa_[34] and the _kiwi_.[35] The _moa_ was long ago exterminated by the Maori, who saw in its huge bulk magnificent prospect of a feast of meat. All that is left of it to-day are bones in various museums, one or two complete skeletons, and a few immense eggs. There were several species of this bird, the largest of them from twelve to fourteen feet in height; but, huge as they were, they appear to have possessed little power of self-defence, though a kick from one of their enormous legs and long-clawed feet would have killed a man. But, like all wingless birds, they were shy and timid, never coming to a knowledge of their strength; so they fell before a weaker animal, but one of infinitely greater ingenuity. The bones of birds are filled with air, for the sake of warmth and lightness; but the leg bones of the _moa_, like those of a beast, and unlike those of any known bird, were filled with marrow. Diminutive in size, and in appearance even more extraordinary than its cousin, the _moa_, is the _kiwi_, as the Maori named the apteryx from its peculiar cry. Several species were plentiful in the Islands, but some of them have become extinct, and the rest are fast disappearing. The Maori attract the bird by imitating its call and, as it is rather stupid, it is easily caught and killed. The _kiwi_ was served up at table, as were most things in New Zealand which walked or swam or flew; but what gave it surpassing value in Maori eyes was its plumage of short, silky feathers, whose beauty they were quick to recognise, and which they employed in fashioning one of the rarest and most ornamental of their mats (_kahu-kiwi_). There was little difficulty about the erection of houses and forts, the building of canoes, the shaping of spears and clubs. Given the ability to construct, there was material in plenty. Throughout the land spread magnificent forests, whose plumed tops waved above trunks uprearing one hundred feet, or more, some of them of an age well-nigh incredible. Few and short appeared the years of man beside the life of the giant _kauri_[36] which for close upon four thousand years had towered there, stately emperors in a company of kings.[37] How brief the age of their forest court compared with their own--the _totara_[38] with its eight hundred years of life, the _rimu_[39] with its six hundred, the _matai_[40] with its four hundred. What are they beside the dominant _kauri_? Mortals, looking up to an immortal. Crowded in those forests primeval were trees bearing wood with capacity for every class of work to which man could put his hand. Trees with wood of iron hardness; trees with wood so soft that it fell away in silky flakes at the touch of the knife; trees with wood of medium consistence, durable as stone; trees whose wood under the hands of the artist-polisher took on a beauty indescribable; trees whose bark was rich in all that the tanner needs; trees which yielded invaluable resin and turpentine; trees which gave up no less valuable tar and pitch; trees which could be reduced to wood-pulp for the making of paper when the time for that should come: all these there were, and more. So the Maori set to work, building houses and forts, and hewing out canoes. For the last, those who dwelt in the north chose the great trunks of the _kauri_, often forty feet in circumference, and of such diameter that a tall man with outspread arms could not stretch from rim to rim of the cross section. In the south they used the _totara_, likewise a pine, and great, but a pigmy beside the imperial _kauri_. While the builders built, explorers traced the swiftly flowing rivers from source to sea, or gazed with awe at the snow-capped peaks and glimmering glaciers. Others moved northwards towards those giant mountains from whose cones poured tall pillars of smoke, threatening shadows of dire events to come, or stood upon the shore of a lake, marvelling to find the water hot instead of cold. Imagine one, agape with curiosity, holding in his hand a dead _kuri_, designed for dinner. Suddenly, with hiss and roar, a column of water shoots hundreds of feet into the air, almost at his elbow. With a cry of terror he starts back, losing his grip of the dog, which drops into an adjacent pool. Too much afraid to run, our Maori stands trembling, and the spouting column presently falls back into the bowels of the earth. Marvelling, he gropes in the pool for his dinner, and with another yell withdraws his hand and arm, badly scalded. But he has got his dog and, to his amazement, it is cooked to perfection. Small wonder if the Maori muttered a _karakia_, deeming the miracle the work of the demon of the lake. But their fear departed as time went on, and the hot springs and lakes became health-resorts, where they bathed and strove to be rid of the pains and aches their flesh was heir to. Those who dwelt within reach of this marvellous region soon became familiar with its phenomena, and made full use of the natural sanatorium and kitchen. Other immigrants gathered for ornament the precious greenstone from the Middle Island, with blocks of jade and serpentine; the snow-white breast of the albatross; the wings of birds; the tail plumes of the infrequent _huia_;[41] the cruel teeth of the shark. They found another use for the greenstone, fashioning it with infinite toil into war-clubs, or _mere_, too valuable to be used in the shock of battle without safeguard against possible loss. So a hole was drilled through the handle, and a loop of flax passed through, by which the club was secured to the wrist. How in the world could they pierce that defiant mineral--they, who had neither iron nor diamonds with which to drill a hole? Their method was as ingenious as it was simple. They took a sharp-pointed stick of hard wood and half-way up secured two stones, which acted after the manner of a flywheel. Above the stones two pieces of string were attached, and these, alternately pulled, imparted a rotatory movement to the stick, whose sharpened point at length pierced the sullen stone. Their travels over, the pioneers returned, to be welcomed with tears of joy, while prayers were chanted and cherished ornaments offered to the gods in thanksgiving for their safe home-coming. They neither embraced nor kissed; nor did they shake hands after the European fashion. They saluted one another in a manner all their own. Bending forward, they _pressed_ their noses together, sniffing strongly the while; and this act of friendly greeting they called the _hongi_--the verb _hongi_ signifying "to smell." One drawback to residence in these fortunate islands was the scarcity of animal food--of red meat there was none, save when a dog was slain for the pot. Still, there was food enough--vegetables and fruit, birds and fish, so that starvation was not a common fate, except a man were lost in the dense bush, where never sight or sound of life was seen or heard. A real evil was the tendency of the earth to tremble, shake and gape, sometimes overthrowing the evidence of years of toil on the part of man, and occasionally slapping Nature herself in the face. In other words, a large part of New Zealand being within the "earthquake zone," the country is convulsed from time to time by shocks of greater or less severity. Since the arrival of the Pakeha there have been severe disturbances, and one or two heavy shocks have occurred, greatly disfiguring the beautiful face of the land. In the North Island are many dormant craters, which have on occasion sprung into fierce activity, resulting in widespread devastation and some loss of life. The early Maori were fortunate in escaping eruptions of any magnitude, but the North Island, long before their arrival, must have been in a state of intense unrest. The hot springs and lakes, the geysers of Rotomahana and Rotorua, the more than boiling mud among the smouldering hills, the fiercely smoking cones of giant Tongariro, are so many evidences of that terrible time of earth-pang and convulsion, of belching out of smoke and flame and rended rocks, with vomitings of broad rivers of molten lava, which flowed over the land, effacing everything in their course. This was the land to which the Maori came; a land of "mountain, lake, and stream," which, could it have remained as the Children of Maui found it, must have endured "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever." But the blind forces of Nature and the needs of the white population have done much to alter the face of the country, and have shorn it of some of that loveliness which once was almost universal, but of which much--very much still remains. If New Zealand is now so surpassingly beautiful, what must it not have been before thousands of acres of noble forest fell before axe and flame; before the mountain, clad from base to summit in primeval growth, stood bare and grey and grim, pierced with a thousand unsightly wounds, deep in which man bends his back and delves for mineral wealth; before the valleys, radiant with the beauty of fern and flower, were trodden into mud by the marching feet of the "army of occupation"; before the rivers, racing towards the shining sea, tumbling merrily among rapids, glissading recklessly over the falls, were chained to the log of commerce, their banks shorn of the fringing green to make way for the houses of the moderns, their pure and limpid waters polluted by the refuse of factories and the filth of towns? If those who have seen it now and love its loveliness could but have seen Maoriland as it was then! There is no help for it. It is inevitable that, when Man steps in, Nature must in large measure lose her sceptre and resign her sway. Such was the land to which the Maori came--a land with no extremes of heat or cold, though it sometimes showed a little ill-humour and shook down a house or two; a land which gave them most that they could desire and all they really needed, if it denied them overmuch strong animal food; a land in which, but for their turbulent passions and their lust for war, they might have lived out their lives in peace and comfort and almost unqualified happiness; a land of unsurpassed magnificence, of radiant beauty, of unbounded fertility. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 26: Designated South Island in New Zealand Official Year-Book for 1907.] [Footnote 27: Te Matanga never had existence outside these pages. He typifies those energetic men, found in every nation, who devote themselves to the service of their fellows. The discoveries attributed to Te Matanga were the outcome of the application of many minds to various problems, as the Maori spread over the country and became acquainted with its capacity and products.] [Footnote 28: _Phormium tenax_, the so-called New Zealand flax, flourishes in swampy ground. In appearance it is a collection of broad, stiff, upstanding leaves, tough enough to stop a bullet, dense enough to conceal a man. Many a fugitive has escaped by dodging from the heart of one bush into that of another. Both of the varieties come to highest perfection in the north.] [Footnote 29: The grey rat, which accompanied the Pakeha, exterminated the native rat, and was never eaten by the Maori. Curiously enough, during the wars, the Maori were accustomed to speak of the "Pakeha Rat" just as in the days of the first George, Englishmen spoke of the "Hanoverian Rat," and with the same significance.] [Footnote 30: Not any particular species of lizard, but a generic term for the whole family.] [Footnote 31: A mythical monster, presumed to have had the shape of a saurian, inhabited the sea and, according to some, the depths of vast forests. The powers of this demon for ill were boundless, and it was regarded with the deepest awe by every Maori.] [Footnote 32: A charm.] [Footnote 33: _Oestrelata neglecta_ (Schlegel's Petrel).] [Footnote 34: _Dinornis moa._] [Footnote 35: _Apteryx._] [Footnote 36: _Dammara australis_, the kauri pine.] [Footnote 37: This is no exaggeration.] [Footnote 38: A pine.] [Footnote 39: Red pine.] [Footnote 40: Black pine.] [Footnote 41: _Heteralocha acutirostris._] CHAPTER IV THE GROWTH OF THE RACE The various Maori tribes were not bound by any common tie save that of race, nor did they own allegiance to a chief chosen by all to rule over the whole nation. Their laws and customs were for the most part similar; but cohesion between them gradually dissolved as each tribe realised its ability to stand alone. The tribes (_iwi_) took origin in the family,[42] and were subdivided into sub-tribes (_hapu_), and, if the latter were large, into family groups, also termed _hapu_. Every division had its acknowledged chief, and the _ariki_, or chief of the highest class, who by right of birth stood at the head of the whole, was styled the Paramount Chief. Powerful though such a man was, his actions did not go unchecked; for that ancient principle, _noblesse oblige_, was strongly implanted in Maori of rank. For a chief to be convicted of lying, of cowardice, of tyranny was black disgrace, and were these vices proved against a lord paramount or the head of a sub-tribe or _hapu_, action was at once taken. The offender was not deposed, but another man of rank quietly took his place for all practical purposes, save one. A second check upon the chiefs was that mighty power which has been styled "the voice of God," namely, the voice of the people. General assemblies were from time to time convened, at which every man, and woman too, had the right to express opinions.[43] So, if only to escape the shame of exposure, the chiefs strove to conform to the established code of honour; but it is fair to say that they seem to have been animated by higher motives than concern for public opinion. Each tribe was thus practically a republic, governed by a perpetual President, whose dignity and office were hereditary, but who was obeyed by the people only so long as he continued to deserve their allegiance. The _ariki_ was hereditary chief priest as well as chief citizen, and was a man apart. His back was not bent, nor his hands gnarled with toil, his person was inviolable, his sanctity great, and he was all in all to his people. He helped and consoled them in time of trouble, read their fate in the stars, their future in a host of natural objects, and interpreted their dreams. On one day he saw visions and prophesied; on the next he was busy with the work of a Lord Lyon or Garter King-of-Arms, instructing the Master of the _Moko_ on behalf of some lusty warrior desirous of commemorating his own doughty deeds;[44] while he selected on a third a name for an infant, or presided at the obsequies of some notable chief or _rangatira_. In Maori mythology _Rangi_, Heaven, and _Papa_, Earth, long ago dwelt in happiness with their six children, but the brothers, with the exception of the god of winds and storms, rebelled against their parents, and cruelly dragged them apart. Yet their love remains unshaken, and Earth's sighs of longing, draped in clinging mist, every day ascend to Heaven; while Heaven's tears, a rain of refreshing dew, fall all night long upon Earth's sorrowful breast. Rangi and Papa were in part avenged. Their dutiful son, Tawhiri-ma-tea, rushed against the rebels, thunder rolling, lightning flashing, hailstones rattling and hurricanes raging in his van. Scared by this stupendous manifestation of wrathful force, Tangaroa hurled himself into the sea, Rongomatane and Haumiatikitiki buried themselves under the earth they had insulted, and Tane Mahuta called upon his forests to cover him. Only Tumatauenga, father of men and god of war, stood firm, scowling defiance at his brother of the storm. So has it been ever since, and Tawhiri-ma-tea, unable to overthrow his brother, continues to take a bitter vengeance upon the war-god's children. Men, whom he pursues on sea and land with tempest and tornado, ever seeking to slay and make an end. Under the collective name of _Atua_, the above were the principal gods of the Maori. Every tribe possessed an honoured _tohunga-whakairo_, or woodcarver; but the quaint finial figures upon the gables of their houses were not adored as gods, the Children of Maui never having been idolaters. The Maori looked forward to a future existence wherein their state and condition would remain very much as they had been in this world. A slave in life continued a slave after death, and, when a great chief died, several of his slaves were slain, that he might not go unattended among his fellow shades. The abodes of the departed were Rangi, occupied on different planes by gods and men of heroic type, and Reinga, under the sea at the extreme north of the North Island, where dwelt only the spirits of men. There was no question of reward or punishment. The dead simply continued to exist in spirit form, occasionally revisiting the scenes of their former life. These visitors preferably occupied the bodies of lizards, which explains the abhorrence in which these reptiles were held by the Maori, who, though they revered and prayed to their ancestors, were terribly afraid of meeting their pale ghosts, or transmigrated souls. The _tohunga_, or sorcerers, exercised unbounded influence over the minds of the Maori. Their duties on occasion coincided with those of the _ariki_, and their position, too, was hereditary; but, while men revered, and often loved their chief, their respect for the _tohunga_ was tinctured with fear and, not seldom, with hate. The chief could lay _tapu_ upon a man, which was bad enough; but the _tohunga_ could bewitch him outright, condemning the poor wretch to loss of worldly gear, aches and pains, and even to death itself. The _ariki_ thought it no shame to go in dread of the _tohunga_, while, let the _tutua_, or common fellow, be once convinced that the malign eye of the wizard had bewitched him, and he not infrequently laid him down and died. There did not exist among the Maori a middle class as we understand the term. Every Maori whose birth placed him in a position between the aristocracy and the _tutua_ class was a warrior by choice. Among such were men of property, poets, philosophers, literary men who did not write, but told their stories to eager audiences--in a word, gentlemen of leisure until the need for fighting arose. In the infrequent intervals of peace these, if you will, represented the middle class; but, once "let slip the dogs of war," and they cried "havoc" with the best of them. The Maori warrior, or _toa_, unlike the Japanese Samurai, did not live for war alone, but was ever ready when it came. When speaking of the conduct and character of the high chiefs, it was mentioned that they were rarely deposed. The reason why, may be expressed in one word--_land_. Bad or good, the chief had a fuller knowledge with regard to land than any other person concerned. It is necessary clearly to comprehend what follows; for the misunderstandings which arose between the Maori and the colonists over the tenure of land had much to do with the origin of the long strife between them. When the canoes from Hawaiki had discharged their passengers at the various spots selected by the chiefs in command, each one of the latter took possession of a district which became his property, and the property of all his followers, every free male and female among them being part proprietor. In other words, the land was common to the tribe. In consequence of this community of ownership every additional person born claimed ownership by right of descent. As time went on only the few could have told exactly what their rights were; but every Maori was assured that the land belonged to him and that it could not be disposed of without his sanction. The chiefs share was the largest, because of his direct descent from the chief who originally took possession of the district; but even in this distinguished instance the voice of the people made itself heard, and the chief himself could not part absolutely with the land unless by common consent. The land might be leased to strangers, but the only way in which the owners could be dispossessed was by conquest. As with chiefs, so with humbler folk. The land held by a family was not theirs to dispose of without the consent of the tribe. A family of one tribe might lease to a family of another tribe; or an entire tribe might transfer its holding; but the land was not given away for ever, and could be reclaimed at a future date. The colonists could never understand this principle; nor could the Maori comprehend that land, once exchanged for money or goods, had for ever passed away from them. Endless difficulties arose with the Pakeha, because every descendant of the original possessor of land claimed a share of the property and of the price. It is indubitable that this conflict of the laws of one race with the law of another caused much of the bitter strife which arose later. The position of the chief thus rendered him the person of most importance with regard to land. In his family were kept records, such as they were; in his memory were stored facts concerning the district, which he had received from his father, who, in his day, had received them from his father. Who, then, so well fitted to decide an argument, adjust disputes, settle the right and wrong of any questions concerning land? The deposition of such a man might have been followed by his withdrawal from the _hapu_, perhaps from the tribe itself, an irreparable loss to those who relied upon him for correct information respecting their landed property. The origin of _tapu_, that tremendous engine of power, that law above the law, is lost in obscurity, so very ancient is the custom, and all that we know about its curious working is derived from observations made in the South Sea Islands, where alone it is now found in anything like its old power. The law of _tapu_ served as a fairly efficient, if vexatious, promoter of law and order. Broadly stated, _tapu_ stood for two principles--protection and punishment, and the person or thing affected by it was a person or thing apart, not even to be touched under pains and penalties the most severe. Chiefs were permanently _tapu_, as it was necessary that their exalted state should be clearly recognisable; so they were placed upon a pinnacle of isolation which extended to their property as well as to themselves. Food of many kinds was permanently _tapu_; for animal food was always scarce, and choice vegetables could be cultivated only after a tough struggle with the land. Therefore, since one tribe frequently infringed the rights of another it became necessary to render the common stock of provisions secure against depredators from within. Ordinary food which happened to come in contact with anything _tapu_, was instantly thrown away, lest by touching or eating it some innocent person should himself become _tapu_. Swift retribution fell on him who with greed in his heart stole, or even touched with itching fingers, the succulent _kumara_, if the mark of _tapu_ were upon them. Such a fellow was stripped of his possessions, cast out, perhaps, of the tribe, or, for the worst offence of all, had his brains deftly scattered by order of his chief. The plight of the poor wretch who touched the dead, accidentally or in the way of business, was dismal in the extreme. For the dead were _tapu_ in an extraordinary degree, and who touched a corpse became as a leper, shunned by all, lest they, too, should be tainted. Among other disabilities, such an one must not touch food with his hands. Did he so, the food became _tapu_, and was thrown away from the very jaws of the hungry one, who was consequently obliged to put his mouth to the platter and eat like a dog, or else submit to be fed with a very long spoon by some friend more sympathetic, or less timid than the majority. This principle of _noli me tangere_ was also applied temporarily. Trees from which canoes could be made were _tapu_, while stretches of coast abounding in shell-fish, the haunts of sea-birds and rich fishing-grounds were preserved for the common good. Many customs, related to _tapu_, were followed in time of war by the warriors, while non-combatants by prayer, fasting, and the practice of severe austerities, proved how closely the idea of _tapu_ was allied with that of religion. _Tapu_ was simply imposed, but its removal was a serious business. Prayers were chanted, water freely sprinkled over the person or thing to be released, and the ovens were busy cooking food during the whole time of the proceedings. Here it seems possible to trace a connection between _tapu_ and parts of the Jewish ceremonial law. As sacrifices and burnt-offerings were required before an unclean Jew could be pronounced clean, so among the Maori it was impossible to lift _tapu_ without the simultaneous cooking of food. How, if ever, the Jews influenced the Malays, Polynesians, and Maori, antiquaries may be able some day to determine. When the Pakeha first came to New Zealand, they often ignorantly violated _tapu_, and how much they suffered in consequence depended upon the character and temper of the community. The Maori were not ungenerous, and in cases of inadvertence frequently made allowances and spared accordingly. On the other hand, two great navigators, Captain Cook and Marion du Fresne, were slain because of their trespass on ground which was _tapu_, and sacred in the eyes of the South Sea Islanders. _Tapa_--to command--was in effect the law of might against right, that Good old rule, the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can. In practice it consisted in commanding, or, as we might say, "commandeering" anything one fancied to one's own use. Indicating the desired object, the claimant would observe, "That club"--or tree, or canoe, or whatever it happened to be, "is _tapa_ to me. It is my skull," or "my eye," or "my backbone. I command it to myself." The article thus denominated was held to belong to the claimant, since no one could justly urge that a man's skull, eye or backbone was not his own. Yet, if the practice were abused, an appeal could be made, and a chief had power to undo the _tapa_ and order restitution of the property claimed. After a battle, disputes frequently arose between those who claimed priority in having applied the _tapa_ to articles in possession of a foe whom they had then still to vanquish. This was the law of _muru_, which the Maori accepted philosophically enough, because, though vexatious, it fell with equal severity upon all. If a man committed an offence against the community, he was punished by the community, his fellow-tribesmen adjusting the fine and collecting it with a generous appreciation of their individual requirements. For example, if one accidentally killed another, he was punished for depriving the community of a useful member. If a man carelessly damaged public property, he was punished by the loss of his own. Even if the damage done merely affected another private person, compensation was assessed by means of _muru_, and, as no money circulated in those days, the fine was exacted in goods. The victim of his own indiscretion, sighing at the crookedness of fate, always made provision against the day of reckoning and, having politely inquired on what day _muru_ was to be enforced, issued instructions to the ladies of his family to prepare the best feast possible in the time at their command. On the appointed day the avengers arrived, yelling "_Murua! Murua!_" An idea of the justice of what followed may be gathered when it is stated that _muru_ means "plunder." Each member of the party is armed, and so is the rueful sinner who awaits developments with sensations much resembling those of the Jew in presence of King John and his rough-and-ready dentists. A lull occurs in the yelling, and the dolorous knight inquires ingenuously, "What is this, O my friends? Why do you brandish spear and club as though to point the road to Reinga?" "You killed my brother!" a tall fellow shouts in return. "Now I am going to kill you. Step forward at once to be killed!" With horrid grimaces the bereaved gentleman capers before the doomed one, who divests himself of his mat, flourishes his spear, and replies with great fervour, "Since you so greatly desire to be made mince-meat of, you shall not be disappointed. I am for you!" With that the two fall upon one another with frightful ferocity--or so it seems. Blows are dealt and thrusts exchanged amid the continuous howling of the champion's bodyguard, who, singularly enough, make no offer to rush his antagonist. Why not? Because it is point of honour that no great harm is to be done. A gentleman is to receive punishment at the hands of his peers, but life must be left him, though almost everything which makes it worth the living is to be snatched from him. So, after a few bruises and scratches have been given and taken, the mimic combat ceases. There is a short pause while the champion recovers his breath. Then he shouts at the top of his voice, "_Murua! Murua!_" which, freely translated, means "Loot! Loot!"--advice which is promptly followed. As the sack proceeds the principals chat cheerfully, the plundered taking no notice whatever of the plunderers; for to betray the disgust he feels would be the height of ill-breeding. At last, when every article which their unwilling host has thought it injudicious to conceal has been secured, the "collectors" reappear, laughing and eagerly expectant of an invitation to dinner. It comes. The stricken gentleman courteously expresses his delight at this "unexpected" visit. Had he but known earlier he would have made adequate preparation. As it is--he waves his hand in the direction of the feast--there it is; and he bids his "dear friends" fall to. Gorged and happy, the myrmidons of this queer law depart by and by, having carried out the _muru_, and left behind them a sorrowful gentleman, stripped of worldly gear. However, the unfortunate has the consoling knowledge that he has comported himself under trying circumstances as a man of breeding should, and also that, when opportunity shall arise, he will be entitled to go and do unto others as they have just done unto him. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 42: Shown by the frequency of the prefix _Ngati_, "children of." Thus, Ngati-Porou, Ngati-Awa, etc.] [Footnote 43: New Zealand was one of the first countries--if not the first--to admit women to the franchise and to represent their fellow-citizens in municipal affairs. The first instance of a woman having been elected "mayor" occurred in New Zealand, where, perhaps, the spirit of some old-time Maori is awake and influencing his Pakeha successors.] [Footnote 44: The Maori, not content with ordinary tattooing, cut and carved intricate designs upon brow and cheek and chin (sometimes also on the hips), thus making it easy for all to read their personal history and the record of their deeds of derring-do. The absence of such scars indicated extreme youth, or a lack of courage exceedingly rare among the men of the race. Each line had its own significance; and a celebrated chief who visited England early in the nineteenth century, directed the artist who painted his portrait to "be sure to copy accurately every single mark" upon his face.] CHAPTER V THE LIFE OF EVERY DAY The Maori of old had two habitations--the _kainga_, or village, wherein they dwelt in "piping time of peace," and the _pa_, or fortress, in which they shut themselves up when harassed by war's alarms. Fire-eaters though they were, they had their moons of peace, during which they accomplished some astonishing results, considering their ignorance of iron, and that their tools were fashioned out of hard wood and yet harder stone. With incredible patience they ground and rubbed and sand-polished, until from lumps of greenstone, jasper, or granite they produced bevelled edge and rounded back. The head was drilled and fitted to a hardwood handle, and there was axe or adze. Imagine the labour of it, you who put down a piece of money and receive the perfected tool of iron! Axe and adze were blunt enough; yet with them the Maori hewed through the mighty bole of the _kauri_-pine; and it was with tools of stone that they chopped and gouged and scooped, until there lay before them the shell of a canoe, eighty feet in length, and capable of holding close upon a hundred men. To work again with knife and awl and chisel, each of stone, and presently the stern-post, ornately carved, rises in an elegant curve to a height of fifteen feet. The prow, too, rises in a curve, but not so high, and is adorned by a huge, grinning head, correctly tattooed, with goggle eyes and defiantly protruded tongue. Paddles are shaped from the tough wood of the _ti_-tree, one for each of the rowers, who kneel in equal numbers on each side, facing the prow, while the steersman wields an oar nine feet in length. The canoe is finished--begun, wrought at and completed with never an iron tool, with not one iron bolt to stay or strengthen. Yet it is beautiful and strong and serviceable, and will skim the stormiest sea as safely as would a gull. The _whare_ was often rendered attractive on the outside by elaborate carving, and quaint by the grotesque figures surmounting the gables. It was within only a wide, low room, with roof of _raupo_-thatch[45] and eaves within three feet of the ground. A stone-lined hole served as a fireplace, the floor was strewn with fern upon which were thrown the sleeping-mats, and a sliding panel formed a door, which was blocked when privacy or warmth was desired. Furniture there was none; but this mattered little, since the house was rarely used save as a dormitory, or a shelter during cold or wet weather. Within the village a piece of ground was set apart for the _marae_, or public square, whither folk repaired for gossip or recreation when the work of the day was done. Without the enclosure were home fields of _kumara_ and _taro_, where the women laboured as many women labour in the potato and turnip-fields in Scotland. The heavy tasks as a rule fell to the men, and were undertaken cheerfully enough, though the Maori became less careful in this respect after years of intercourse with the Pakeha. To the men also belonged the duty of supplying the commissariat and, while some hunted or fished, others cleared the forest trails, upon which the undergrowth reproduced itself with extraordinary rapidity. The question of animal food was always a vital one in the days before the _poaka_, or pig, rioted through the bush, and there were many days on which the Maori were forced to content themselves with fern-root and _kanini_ berries for the two meals in which they daily indulged. Though they had neither books nor writings upon parchment, stone or papyrus, the Maori were not without a literature of their own. Great deeds of heroic ancestors, notable events of the past were immortalised in song and story, and handed down from generation to generation. On summer nights an eager audience thronged the _marae_, listening, rapt, to some "divine-voiced singer," or to some other, who told with every trick and charm of the finished orator the story of "the brave days of old," when Ngahue fought in far Hawaiki, or sailed the sea with Te Turi to find the land of Maui. Always decorous, the listeners applauded discreetly, and chewed incessantly the hardened juice of the sow-thistle, the precious gum of the _kauri_, or the _mimiha_, bitumen from the under-sea springs of the west. None of these was harmful like the opium of the Chinaman or the _kava_ of the Polynesian. The Maori chewed his gum much as the fair American chews hers, or as the youthful Scot surreptitiously sucks his peppermint during the Sunday sermon in the kirk. As night fell quiet reigned for a time, for night is the council-time of the Maori. Encircled by pineknot torches, chiefs and _rangatira_ sat together, gravely discussing the common weal, or planning great schemes of attack or defence. One after another, each stern-visaged councillor arose, and with dignified gesture and speech rich in metaphor expressed his views, his fellows hearkening with respectful attention, expecting, and receiving, the same when their own turn came to speak. So the discussion went on until the council broke up and the senators dispersed, stalking through the double row of armed guards who, themselves out of earshot, had stood like bronze statues throughout the deliberations. When the need for quiet had passed, the warriors gathered together and fought their battles o'er again, while those more peacefully inclined applauded the efforts of a flautist and a trumpeter, whose instruments were limited to five and two notes respectively. Careless youth sat here and there, asking and guessing riddles or playing that most ancient game, familiar alike to the English child and the aboriginal of Australia, "cat's cradle." Youngsters stalked upon stilts, played at "knuckle-bones," or gambled at "odd or even," and, in strong contrast, a group of philosophers discussed abstruse questions with a keenness and cleverness which amply proved the capacity of the Maori brain. Some, too, there were who wandered off, as young folks will, youth and maid together, to whisper of matters unconcerned with logic or philosophy. The fires burnt low, the torches sputtered towards extinction, the various groups dissolved and, as a last good-night, the warriors raised their voices in a swelling chant, and from a thousand throats the chorus of triumph or defiance rose and rolled from hill to distant hill. A few short moments later the village was hushed and still, only the vigilant sentries giving evidence of the life which slumbered within its crowded _whare_. So the Maori rose and toiled and played and fought, until at last came the time, inevitable for all, when must "the silver cord be loosed and the golden bowl be broken," and potent chief, in common with meanest slave, yield up his life to God who gave it. No _tangi_ was raised for the slave; but how different when the chief set his face to the north and walked with slow and solemn step towards the gates of Reinga. Even as their muffled clang resounded and the breath went out of the chieftain's body, the crowd of mourners who had till then been repeating with fervour the "last words" of the dying man, burst into noisy lamentations, many of the women gashing their arms and breasts. In some instances slaves were immediately slain, so that the dead man might not plunge alone into the waters of Reinga, or go unattended in the next world. The dead body was exorcised by the priests, dressed in its best, and allowed to sit in state. The dried heads and skulls of ancestors grinned from their pedestals at the latest addition to their ranks, who, with face painted, head befeathered, his costly ornaments upon him, his clubs and spears set ready to his hand, stared back at them with unseeing eyes, a lifelike figure enough among those musty relics of the long-ago dead. The _pihe_, or dirge, was sung, the choir standing before the body, and days went by, during which the long procession of relatives, friends, subjects and delegates from other tribes paid their respects to the mighty dead, grasping his cold hand, talking to him as though he were alive, speaking panegyrics and chanting laments, often of singular beauty, in his honour. Then followed the last act but one in the drama of death. "No useless coffin enclosed the breast" of the dead man, whose body, wrapped in flax mats, was either buried beneath the floor of his house, or hoisted to a high stage in the vicinity of the village and allowed to remain there for a twelvemonth. The year of mourning over, the dead man's effects, his valuable greenstone clubs, other weapons and ornaments were distributed amongst his heirs.[46] A great feast was also arranged and, while the attention of all was occupied with eating and drinking, the priests stole away, bearing the remains with them, to hide them for ever in some solitary sepulchre within the scarred bosom of the hills, or deep in the green twilight of the silent forests.[47] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 45: _Typha angustifolia._] [Footnote 46: Some remained undistributed, _tapu_ for ever.] [Footnote 47: In the case of chiefs of great fame, the remains were twice or thrice exposed to the veneration of the tribe before the final sepulture, which might then be delayed longer than is stated above.] CHAPTER VI GRIM-VISAGED WAR Animated, for all one knows, by mere lust of strife, the men of Waikato on the west soon after their arrival in New Zealand marched across the North Island to Maketu on the Bay of Plenty, and burned the Arawa canoe. From this outrage arose a war, the end of which was not until generations later, and from which, as a forest conflagration from a spark, arose other wars between tribe and tribe, until from end to end of Te Ika A Maui men were in arms against one another. Peace there was, but more often war; and by the time Captain Cook visited the Islands the village was deserted and the _pa_ predominant. Later, peace again prevailed; then wars again; and, as the quarrel with the Pakeha developed, strife filled the land till matters were adjusted at the end of the long struggle between Maori and colonist. The conditions under which the Maori lived furnished them with plenty of excuses to appeal to arms. There was always that burning question of animal food, and no more flagrant outrage could be perpetrated by one tribe than to poach upon the hunting or fishing-grounds of another. A man might insult one of another tribe by rude word or inconsiderate deed, and the aggrieved party might wipe out the injury by means of _utu_--payment or revenge--which was more or less the _lex talionis_ of the Romans. But the individual usually carried his wrongs to his chief, when the matter became a tribal affair and, unless compensation were quickly forthcoming, war resulted between the disputants. Thus, what originated in a petty difference between two hot-headed fellows, might, and often did, result in a quarrel which brought hundreds--perhaps thousands--into the field. The Maori were a military race in which every able-bodied man became a warrior because he possessed an arm strong enough to strike. To lack courage to deliver the blow was to expose himself to the pointing finger of scorn. The man who shirked his military duties could not escape exposure. His face betrayed him. If that were bare of designs, he had small chance to establish his claim to be a man of valour, and smaller still to live in honour among his fellows. Few were courageous enough to be cowards in a race so uniformly brave. Few, however much they might prefer peace, ventured to skulk at home when the war-gong clattered and the huge trumpet brayed its summons. The man who remained deaf to the call to arms incurred the contempt of his fellow-men, and knew that the meanest slave would not change places with him. A solitary life, an unlamented death, his lonely passage to Reinga "unwept, unhonoured, and unsung"--such was the lot of the Maori who dared to be a coward. The Maori fought with frightful ferocity when once the battle was joined, but went to work leisurely enough over the preliminaries, occupying the time with councils, dances, orations and embassies from one set of contestants to the other. The council was presided over by the principal chief, or by the paramount chief when a tribe's interests were involved. If age or physical infirmity prevented him from leading in the day of battle, his place would be filled by one of the "fighting chiefs," men of little use in the Maori "War Office," but terrible in the field. The council over, the _tohunga_ was sought and requested to ascertain whether success would attend the arms of the inquirers. As this was a very important function, the rules of Maori etiquette were rigidly observed in dress and demeanour. The high chief was splendidly arrayed. His fine, Roman face, scarred with records of his daring, was set and stern; his dark hair, combed and oiled, supported a coronet of _huia_ plumes, and from the lobe of each ear dangled a gleaming tooth of the tiger-shark. Around his loins he wore the customary _katika_, or kilt, while a vest of closely woven flax covered as with mail the upper part of his body. A collar of sharks' teeth, or of the teeth of slain foes, encircled the massive column of his neck, and from the former was suspended his household _heitiki_,[48] which lay like a locket upon his broad chest. In his hand he held a long spear, elaborately carved, like the rest of his wooden weapons, and from his right wrist dangled his favourite _mere_, or war-club, of purest greenstone. Upon his shoulders, fastened so as to leave the right arm free, he wore the _kaitaka_, the valuable robe of flax already referred to. But no matter how sumptuously garbed before the fight began, every particle of clothing was usually discarded at the moment of onset, and the Maori rushed into the fray naked and unashamed. The war-dance usually followed a favourable augury, and was heralded by a terrific commotion, which drew every inhabitant of the village to the _marae_, in the midst of which a cleared space was occupied by a hundred or more lusty warriors. Stripped to the skin, their brown, muscular bodies gleaming, their scarred faces aglow with excitement, the warriors stand in two long lines awaiting the signal. Suddenly the long-drawn wail of a _tetere_[49] sounds, and a hush falls upon the crowd. A moment, and with a wild yell a magnificent savage rushes from the rear of the column to the front, brandishing his spear and hideously contorting his face. For a short minute he leaps and capers at the head of the column; then, abruptly coming to rest, sings in a rich bass the first words of the war-song. Another short pause and the warriors behind him leap from the ground with a pealing shout, flourish their weapons and set off at the double round the court, while from their open throats comes the roaring chorus of the chant. Twice they circle the _marae_; then, forming once more in column, with, or without, the soloist for fugleman, they dance in perfect time, but with furious energy, gesticulating, rolling their eyes and protruding their tongues, while the ground trembles under the heavy tread of so many strong men. At last, with a shout so horrible and menacing that the hearts of the watchers beat faster as they hear it, the dance comes to an end as abruptly as it began, and on all sides are heard prophecies of success, since no one among the dancers has fallen under the exhausting strain. For some time after the opposing forces had come within striking distance of one another, jeers and insults were freely exchanged. The chiefs on either side would harangue their men; but rarely were the initial speeches so inflammatory, the early gibes so stinging as to precipitate the conflict. It was almost a point of etiquette to measure the stabbing power of that unruly member, the tongue, before proceeding to test the keenness of spear-point, the smashing capacity of club. But the tongue was put to another use; for, while eyes were rolled and faces contorted in hideous grimaces, _Arero_, The Little, was poked farther and farther out of the mouth with telescopic power of elongation, till it rested almost upon the broad, scarred chest below its proper frontier, the lips. The visage of a Maori at such a moment was indescribably hideous, and would probably have scared away the enemy, had it not been that _their_ faces were equally appalling. _Arero_, the tongue, having played its part in facial distortion, was now drawn back into its proper territory and again put to its legitimate use, abuse of the enemy. Once more the wordy war raged, till some taunt too savage, some sneer too biting, some gesture too insulting, brought the long preliminaries to a sudden, dreadful close, and the men of war with startling swiftness broke ranks, and with howls of fury clashed together in mortal combat. For a few moments all other sounds were drowned by the rattle of spear-shafts and the crash and crack of stone axes and clubs, mingled with a ferocious roaring; but a yell of triumph soon rang high above the din, "_Ki au te Mataika! Mataika! Mataika!_"[50] The combatants for a single instant held back, while hundreds of envious eyes glared towards the spot whence came the cry. The next, as a huge warrior, seizing his opponent's hair with his left hand, dragged back the head and with one shrewd blow clubbed out the brains, the roar of battle swelled again, and the fight raged with redoubled fury. "_Vae victis!_" growled the old Roman, and these brown men with the stern, Roman faces made good the sinister words. A defeat meant not a rout, but a slaughter of those who fled and were overtaken, a massacre of those who lay wounded, awaiting the death-stroke with a composure not less superb than that of the stricken gladiators in Rome's arena. The lives of the wounded were too often taken to the accompaniment of shocking barbarities and, when the breath was out of their bodies, their heads were hacked off and borne away in triumph, to grin from spiked palisades at the foe who refused to respect them even in death. The victors were careful to decapitate their own dead, whose heads were carried home with every mark of respect and handed over to the nearest relatives of the deceased. It was no disgrace to be slain in battle; but if your head were not returned to the bosom of your family, then your own, and with it the family _mana_, or honour, was gone. Were a man forced to flee, it was considered an act of the greatest friendship if he delayed to decapitate a dead or wounded comrade, so that, though the latter's body might be rent in pieces, and very likely swallowed, his head might suffer no dishonour, and the family _mana_ be saved. The heads thus rescued were subjected to prolonged exposure to air and steam and smoke, after which they underwent treatment at the hands of experts. The final result was that the head retained a wonderfully lifelike appearance, the _moko_ marks remaining plainly visible. The heads were set up in places of honour, with that ceremony which these paladins of the South Seas invariably observed, to be handed down from generation to generation along with stirring tales of the valorous warriors upon whose shoulders they had once sat. We are learning that our brown hero was by no means faultless. He was not above insulting his vanquished foe, and saw no reason why he should not do a brave and helpless man to death with revolting tortures. The extinction of life did not satisfy him; he must mutilate the bodies of the slain and spurn the dishonoured corpse. Surely his appetite for revenge must now be glutted; his ingenuity can suggest nothing more in the way of _utu_; his passion-inflamed mind devise no further stroke of insolent hate. Alas! The violent climax is yet to be reached; the abysmal depth of degradation to be plumbed; the savage nature to be laid bare in all its hideousness. The pity of it! This man, so strong, so brave, so keen of intelligence; this man with brain so clever and hand so deft that he can fashion that wonderful thing, a war-canoe, with nought but tools wrenched from the unwilling earth; this man who is a loving husband, a fond father; who in future years is destined to take his place beside the white invader of his dominion; this man can sink to the level of the beast, which, having slain, must fall to and eat. Lower, indeed, he descends; for the brute kills that it may satisfy its hunger, but the Maori that he may inflict the crowning dishonour upon his dead foe and upon the children of the slain. Cannibalism, if not a respectable, is a very ancient practice, for Homer and Herodotus mention the _anthropophagi_; but it is impossible to say when it originated, and the why and wherefore of the horrid custom can be still less easily come at. Some have argued that it began in a craving for animal food; but these seem to have lost sight of the fact that there are in Africa cannibals who live in regions teeming with game, just as in the South Sea Islands there are cannibals who till modern times were forced to content themselves with an almost purely vegetable diet. If the same motive animated both of these in their adoption of the practice, that motive can obviously not have been a hankering after animal food. Neither does the name throw any light upon the origin of the custom; for the word "cannibal" is presumed to be a corruption of "Caribal," that is, "pertaining to the Caribs," a West Indian tribe of man-eaters, discovered by Columbus in 1493. The Malays, or some of them, were cannibals, and the Maori offshoots of that race indulged in the habit in those far-off days before they adventured to New Zealand. Their traditions shew that they had abandoned the practice before, and that they did not resume it for several generations after their emigration. Even then they were cannibals side by side with the fact that they were warriors and, in the beginning at least, consumed their species less from appetite than from a desire to humiliate the kindred of the vanquished. The Zulus, who used to eat but little meat, were accustomed when in view of war to gorge themselves with the flesh of beeves. Then, intoxicated, as it were, with the unaccustomed nitrogenous food, they swung into battle, careless of disaster or death. The Maori, on the other hand, after days of preparation, during which their rule of life was ascetic, urged on the battle fever by rhetoric and oratory of a very high order. They showed so far only their intellectual side; when once the fight was over, cramming themselves with loathsome food, they sank below the level of the ravening brute. It must be granted, then, that the Maori did not wholly abstain from human flesh. Against this--save for some notable exceptions--they were not habitually cannibals when at peace. After the shock of war they swallowed portions of their dead foes, as much to incorporate the others' courage with their own as from any radical hankering after the ghastly dish. Let it go at that. There is at length a lull in the strife. The stronger are weary of dealing blows, the weaker faint with taking them. The time is come when both may rest awhile, if only to husband their strength, so that some day they may fight again. After all, one cannot be for ever upon the war-path. The fern-root is maturing, the _kumara_ are ripening in the fields, the eels fattening in the creeks. Home-voices are calling, and fierce men of war grow sick with longing for sight of wife and child. Yes; there has been enough of war. Let peace prevail; if not for ever, at least until rage, cool now, has had time to blaze up once more; until arms, stiff and sore with hammering skulls and splitting hearts, again renew their strength. Yes, peace is good. Let us have peace. So a herald went forth, bearing a leafy bough, a sign that his mission was _Hohou i te rongo_--to make peace. _Takawaenga_, or "go-betweens," had been busily engaged over the matter for some days past, and the herald's very presence proved that the result of his visit was a foregone conclusion. Still, the Maori must always be dramatic, so the herald was met with great respect and ceremony, and his argument seriously considered with much show of dissent. Then, when the orator had listened with becoming patience to numerous speakers on the other side, and exhausted every trick of voice and gesture on his own, all opposition suddenly collapsed, and peace was concluded amid general rejoicing. Not many captives were taken in war as a general rule; but, if a man's life were spared, he became a slave. Save that such a man lost all social status, and was set to tasks to which he had been unaccustomed, his lot was not necessarily very hard. He might, perhaps, be exchanged for some captive taken by his own tribe; but, having once become a slave, he usually preferred to remain one; for he was treated with rough kindness and consideration. Curiously enough, if he returned to his own tribe, he was invariably slighted because of the experience it had been his misfortune to undergo. Peace ratified, preparations were made for returning home and, as they had left their village with ceremony, so the victors marched into it again with all the pomp and circumstance of war. Some few paces in front of the column a single Maori banged lustily with a heavy stick upon a very small drum, while immediately in his rear another evoked a succession of jerky notes from a flute formed from a human thigh-bone. Next in order marched a grim company, who bore aloft upon rough-hewn pikes the severed heads of foemen. Close behind this grisly vanguard stalked, with heads erect and dignified bearing, the "Fighting Chiefs," their stern, Roman faces heavily scored with records of their valour, and after them strode the Captain-general, "pride in his port, defiance in his eye," a very "lord of human-kind" as he "passed by." Behind the great leader swaggered the warriors, marching not in step, but with a firm tread and swinging gait, impressive enough. Last of all, laden with spoil, or carrying the arms of their masters, the _tutua_ and slaves brought up the rear. As the army came within sight of the village, the men broke into a roaring chorus anent the land of their birth, that dearly loved land which they fondly prophesied would be theirs till the end of time. The battle-scarred veteran who has led them in so many victorious campaigns turns at the sound, and with a single proud gesture indicates the village. It is enough. The buglers blow discordant blasts, the garrison yell shrilly, and with a thunderous roar of triumph the impatient warriors surge forward, breast the slope and charge furiously into the _marae_. They have returned victorious; they are once more at peace--and at home. NOTE.--The Maori science of defensive warfare in their _pa_ is dealt with in Part III. [Illustration: Victors in the fight] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 48: An ornament in the form of an image. Regarded as a most valuable heirloom and, probably, as a talisman.] [Footnote 49: A wooden trumpet, six feet in length.] [Footnote 50: The first man to be killed in a fight was called the _mataika_. "I have the _mataika_!" was the cry of the successful slayer, and duels often arose after a battle, owing to disputes among the claimants to the honour.] PART II THE COMING OF THE PAKEHA CHAPTER VII THE DUTCHMAN'S LOSS I It wanted a couple of hours to sunset. All the way from the rim of the world the blue Pacific waves heaved slumberously towards the shore, thundered against the iron rocks, and rolled lazily eastwards into the gathering night. The long cloud-shadows chased one another across the fern, the silver-winged gulls circled the blue bay, ready to chorus a harsh "good-night," and the sinking sun, flinging a challenge to the coming darkness, set the sky ablaze. Night, swift, inexorable, was not far away; there would be no moon, and the _Patupaiarehe_, imps of evil, wander in the dark in search of mischief. Luckless the Maori who walks through forest glade or over fern-clad hill when they flit on their wicked way. So, lest they should be caught by the tricksy sprites, the Maori, who were chatting in the _marae_, rose to disperse. Suddenly, one who had been looking carelessly about him, uttered a loud yell. "_He! He!_" he cried. "_Titira! Titira!_" (Look! Look!). The clamour which followed brought the chief--a splendid figure in his _kaitaka_ and coronet of _huia_ plumes. Hurried question and excited answer gave him the reason of the commotion, and he, too, looked out to sea. A cry escaped him. Amazement, incredulity, fear were in the tone. "A whale with white wings![51] What can it mean? It is magic or----" He broke off, staring at his men. His lips were trembling, his eyes round. Great chief though he was, fear wrapped him as a garment. None answered. Some looked under their lids at the oncoming Thing; some fastened their gaze upon the chief, and every man there muttered a _karakia_, if so he might avert impending doom. On came the marvel, growing ever more distinct, and upon the polished decks the astounded Maori could see beings who looked like men, though their outward seeming was strangely different from any men whom the Sons of Maui had ever encountered. Then a voice was heard, calling something in a strange, harsh tongue. A whistle shrilled; a score or so of the odd forms raced from end to end of what the bewildered Maori now decided must be a canoe of some sort, and with magical swiftness the "white wings" collapsed and lay folded upon the long spars. Another call, a loud, rattling noise, something fell with a mighty splash into the sea, and the mysterious vessel came to rest. One minute of tense silence. Then a scream went up from the watching Maori. The strangely garbed forms were human. But their faces! _Their faces were white!_ In the extremity of their terror the Maori fled into their _whare_ and covered their heads. It was now only too plain that the _Patupaiarehe_ were abroad upon that awful night of nights. Yet worse was to come upon the morrow. II On the 14th of August, 1642, the distinguished circumnavigator, Abel Janssen Tasman, left Batavia in his yacht _Heemskirk_ with a fly-boat, _Zeehaen_ (Sea-hen), dancing in his wake, to investigate the polar continent which Schouten and Le Maire, his countrymen, claimed to have found, and which they had named Staaten Land. It was on the 13th of December in the same year that, after discovering Tasmania, the commodore came one radiant evening within long sight of what he calls a "high, mountainous country." This was the west coast of the Middle Island, then for the first time seen by the eyes of white men, or so it is reasonable to believe; for the claims made by France and Spain to priority of discovery are based upon wholly insufficient grounds. A few days later Tasman cast anchor in the bay to the west of that bay which bears his name, and at whose south-eastern extremity the town of Nelson now flourishes. Tasman himself gave a name to the bay in which he anchored, but not until he was about to leave it. A glance at the map will make it clear that both of these bays wash the northern shore of the Middle Island, _Te Wai Pounamou_, "The Waters of Greenstone." III The sun had not yet set when Tasman's anchors splashed into the bay and the sight of the strange white faces sent the Maori scurrying into their _whare_. An hour must elapse before the long-lingering day faded into night, and an hour is time and to spare for brave men to recover their confidence, however badly their nerves have been shaken. So it came about that, before nightfall, the chief and his warriors issued from their _whare_, and low voices muttered questions which no one could answer. One thing, however, had become clear in that time of fear and hesitancy. So at length: "They are men like ourselves," the chief said reassuringly. "There is no doubt about it, for I have been watching them from my _matapihi_.[52] Their faces are white and their canoes differ from ours, but they have no desire to quarrel. On the other hand, they continually signal, inviting us to visit them. I believe them to be friendly. My children, let us take a nearer look at these Pakeha. Fear nought. Atua fights for the Maori. Come!" Accustomed to obey the word of their chief, the Maori manned a couple of canoes and paddled out towards the ships. But the chief was aware that, for all their calm exterior, fear--that worst fear of all, fear of the unknown--tugged at his children's hearts, and he had no intention of trying them too far. So at his word the huge _tetere_ brayed, "in sound," says Tasman, "like a Moorish trumpet," the Maori shouted, splashing the water with their paddles, but giving no hostile challenge, and the sailors crowded their bulwarks, making signs of amity and displaying attractive articles to the brown men. But twilight was fading now, and the chief hastened ashore to see his _hapu_ safely housed, and to set a guard, lest these queer white fellows should land during the night. The _tetere_ brayed again an unmusical "Lights out!" and with a great clamour of tongues the Maori withdrew behind their stockade to discuss the most surprising event of their lives. Then the day died and the curtain of night came heavily down, to rise upon the tragedy of the morning. IV The day was not far advanced when a single, small canoe rapidly approached the ships, where officers and men ran eagerly to the rail to observe the oncoming Maori. But Abel Tasman knew nothing of the addiction of the Sons of Maui to forms and ceremonies, nor did the latter allow for their visitor's ignorance. Consequently, there arose at the very outset a misunderstanding, which was to bring about fatal consequences. One of the thirteen occupants of the canoe must have been the herald,[53] come to announce that his chief would immediately visit the strangers. The rowers lay on their oars within easy distance of the _Heemskirk_, while the envoy delivered his message. Making no attempt to discover the Maori's meaning, the Dutchmen rather stupidly "kept up a great shouting throughout his oration," while they displayed food, drink and trinkets to the admiring eyes of the rowers, who were sorely tempted to take risks and clamber aboard. But loyalty to their chief restrained them, and with dignified gestures and in musical speech they signified their regret at being obliged to decline the Pakeha's invitation. Then, conceiving their message understood, they paddled back to the shore, much to the disappointment of the Dutchmen. No sooner did the solitary canoe swing away from the ship than seven others put off from the shore. As they drew near, six of them slackened speed, while one came on confidently to the _Heemskirk_. After a momentary hesitation, half-a-dozen Maori clambered up the side with, according to Tasman, "fear writ upon their faces." This is probable; for here was a clear case of _omne ignotum pro magnifico_; but that these were brave men is proved by the fact that, "with fear writ upon their faces," they showed a bold front to the cause of that fear, and boarded the _Heemskirk_. Scarcely had the feet of the brown men touched the deck than Tasman seems to have taken fright and, as far as one may judge, lost his head and committed a deplorable error. [Illustration: The fight in Massacre Bay] He was, he says, aboard the _Sea-hen_ when the Maori boarded the _Heemskirk_ and, without awaiting developments, he manned a boat with seven men, whom he sent off to the yacht with a warning to guard against treachery. Fatal mistake! The kettle of misunderstanding was full to the spout, and it now boiled over. Tasman feared that the six attendant canoes meant to attack; the Maori, observing the hurrying boat, instantly imagined that their comrades were to be detained on board the yacht as hostages. Stirred to action by the cries of their alarmed friends, who had also observed Tasman's action with apprehension, those in the canoes dashed to intercept the boat. Whether by accident or design, the boat crashed into one of the canoes, and the Maori, their worst fears confirmed, struck to kill, and did kill outright three Dutchmen, mortally wounding a fourth. One poor corpse they carried off, and the Maori on the ship leapt without delay into their own canoe and raced for the shore. "We shall get neither wood nor water from this accursed spot," said Tasman, "for the savages be too adventurous and bloody-minded." So he pricked off the place upon his chart, naming it "Murderers' Bay,"[54] weighed anchor, and made off in disgust. While he was yet in the bay, a fleet of two-and-twenty canoes, crowded with men, put out after him, with what intention is not known. Tasman does not appear to have feared an attack, for he tells us that a man in the leading canoe carried a flag of truce. The Maori really held in his hand a spear with a pennon of bleached flax; but, if Tasman believed this to be a flag of truce, his action was the more reprehensible. For he stopped the pursuit, if pursuit it were, by delivering a broadside which probably equalised the loss he had sustained. At all events, the man with the flag went down, and the Maori, terrified by the noise of the discharge and its deadly effect, turned and sped to the shore. So began and ended in bloodshed the first authentic meeting of Maori and Pakeha. Had Tasman not been so quick to take alarm, had he allowed his visitors time to realise his friendly intentions, it is highly probable that New Zealand would to-day have been a Dutch colony instead of a Dominion of the Empire. Away went the Dutchman, nursing his wrath and jotting down in his journal all sorts of uncomplimentary remarks about the "bloodthirsty aborigines," and in due course rounded the north of the North Island, naming one of its prominent headlands "Cape Maria Van Diemen," in compliment to the daughter of his patron, Anthony Van Diemen, governor of the Dutch East Indies. A little farther north he made the islands which he charted under the name of "The Three Kings," since he discovered them upon the Epiphany, and he again endeavoured to obtain "rest and refreshment." But he was disappointed once more, for the same cautiousness which had led him so precipitately to launch the boat on that unhappy day in Massacre Bay, now caused him to sheer off from The Three Kings. Small wonder, though, that he did not stop there to investigate. "For we did see," he records in his journal, "thirty-five natives of immense size, who advanced with prodigious long strides, bearing great clubs in their hands." "Valentine," "Jack," or any other historic destroyer of the race of giants might well have been excused for showing a clean pair of heels in face of such odds. Thirty-five of them! It was too much for Tasman, who, without more ado, bore away for Cocos, where he obtained the "rest and refreshment" of which he stood so much in need. So Abel Tasman never set foot in New Zealand. Having mistaken the southern extremity of Tasmania for that of Australia, he now fell into the error of believing the land at which he had touched to be part of the polar continent, or Staaten Land. Months later, the mistake was corrected, and Tasman's newest discovery received the name by which it has ever since been known--New Zealand. In this manner came the first Pakeha to the country of the Maori, and fled in fear, learning nought of the land or of its people. The Children of Maui watched for the return of the men with the strange white faces; but they came not, neither Tasman nor any other. So the visit of the Pakeha became a memory ever growing fainter, until at last it died, not even tradition keeping it alive. Then, one hundred and twenty-seven years after Abel Tasman had found and seen and gone away, there came a greater than he, one not so easily turned back--the captain of the _Endeavour_, James Cook of undying memory. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 51: Captain Cook's ship was thus characterised by the Maori who first caught sight of it.] [Footnote 52: Window.] [Footnote 53: This, at least, is the writer's view.] [Footnote 54: Now Massacre Bay.] CHAPTER VIII THE BRITON'S GAIN In the year 1741 a lad was apprenticed to a haberdasher in a small town near Whitby in Yorkshire. His name was James Cook, and he was from the first an example of the square peg in the round hole. So loose was the fit that the peg presently fell out and rolled away. In other words, young Cook, not being cut out for a haberdasher, got himself apprenticed aboard a collier. His ability to hand, reef and steer was so much greater than his aptitude for wielding a yardstick that, as soon as his time was out, he was raised to the position of mate. In 1755, before he was twenty-seven, this remarkable youth joined the King's navy as an ordinary seaman. Observe what he accomplished before ten years were out by his own industry. Strictly attentive to duty, he rose rapidly, and thrice in succession was master on a sloop of war, the last occasion being when Quebec was wrested from the French. That done, he surveyed and charted the St. Lawrence from Quebec to the sea, although "up to that time" he had "scarcely ever used a pencil, and had no knowledge of drawing." But he had "read Euclid" ever since he joined the navy, and for recreation enjoyed "the study of astronomy and kindred sciences." Think of it--the haberdasher's boy, the collier's mate! The ten years are not yet past. Our hero helped in 1762 to recapture Newfoundland from the French, and before 1763 was out he was back in those cold seas, surveying the coasts. Another twelvemonth saw him appointed Marine Surveyor of Newfoundland and Labrador, under the orders of his old captain, Sir Hugh Palliser. Mr. Cook's astronomical studies now began to bear fruit, and he received in 1768 his commission as lieutenant and the command of an expedition to the South Seas to observe the transit of Venus. With this and other ends in view, Cook, now forty-one, left England in the _Endeavour_, accompanied by the great botanist, Joseph Banks, and other men of science. The narrative of the voyages of this famous circumnavigator is so easily accessible to all who care to follow "our rough island story," that there is no need to epitomise it here. It is sufficient to say that Cook disproved all which had been previously held proved with regard to the "polar continent," and in so doing came into direct and notable relation with the country whose history we are tracing. It was the 6th of October, 1769, when the lookout on the _Endeavour_ sighted the bluff of Kuri--North Island--now known as "Young Nick's Head." Supposing the land to be part of that "Terra Australis Incognita" which he had come to investigate, Cook cast anchor two days later in the Bay of Turanga, or, as he saw fit to designate it owing to the inhospitality of the natives, "Poverty Bay." At Otaheite, where he had observed the transit of Venus, Cook had shipped a chief named Tupia, who on many occasions proved of the greatest use. He had already voyaged hundreds of miles in the great canoes of the Tahitians, and his father had been an even more intrepid sailor. It was Tupia who pointed the way to this island and that, and who, owing to the limitations of his own knowledge, related his father's experiences to Cook, assuring him that land lay still farther to the south. It was Tupia, too, who landed with his leader on the shore at Turanga, and addressed the natives in Tahitian, a language which proved sufficiently like their own to enable them to understand most of what was said. But though Cook offered presents, and though Tupia charmed never so wisely with his Tahitian tongue, the Maori would have none of the Pakeha. They no doubt feared these white visitors. Te Tanewha, a chief who was a boy when Cook paid his first visit, described many years later the astonishment of the Maori at the approach of what they took to be "a whale with wings." Then, as the _Endeavour's_ boats were pulled ashore, the bewilderment of the natives deepened; for it appeared to them that the Pakeha had eyes in the back of their heads. This, of course, was due to the position of the rowers, which was exactly the reverse of that assumed by the Maori in propelling their canoes. The appearance of the natives became threatening, and some of them tried to make off with one of the calves of the "whale with wings," that is, with the ship's pinnace. Tupia warned them that they ran the risk of being severely dealt with, but the words of a man of their own colour moved them not at all. Their hostile demonstrations continued, and Cook--who was determined to pursue his researches--very reluctantly drove them back with violence. Cook was so kindly, so humane, so unused to oppress another merely because his skin was coloured, that his action caused comment even in his own day. That the great navigator himself regretted the impulse which had led him to depart from his usual magnanimous methods, is evident from the excuses he afterwards put forward in explanation of his conduct. During the next six months Cook circumnavigated the islands, discovering the strait which bears his name between the North and the Middle Island. Stewart Island he presumed to be the southern extremity of the Middle Island and, as regards the country, this was one of the very few errors he made. Fully alive to the warlike disposition of the Maori, Captain Cook yet recognised their generosity, their agreeable behaviour to strangers who did not presume too far, and the unusual gentleness of their attitude towards their women. "The Englishman who marries a Maori," he tells us, "must first obtain the consent of her parents and, this done, ... is obliged to treat her with at least as much delicacy as in England." In many passages Cook shows how clearly he perceived the superiority of these "Indians" over ordinary savages. Moreover, despite certain pronounced faults, and the prevalence of one odious custom, he readily admits their chivalrous nature. Yet he occasionally fell into the common error of crediting the race with the disposition of the individual, so that, if one lied or thieved, the natives in that particular part are set down as "lying and thievish." But, though they opposed his efforts to explore the interior of the country, and so disappointed him, Captain Cook's experience among the Maori left him little to complain of; while the failings they displayed might well have been recognised as, first, the faults of their age and race, and second, the faults common to all men, white, brown, yellow, or black. Still, for all his criticisms, Captain Cook was never personally harsh in his dealings with the Maori, and it would have been well had his subordinates imitated more exactly his fine magnanimity. The following account of an Englishman's hasty temper, and the cool judgment, not to say generosity, of the Maori chiefs, is very instructive. On one occasion, when a party of Maori visitors were leaving the ship, Lieutenant Gore missed a piece of calico, which he was possibly endeavouring to exchange for native articles. Confident that a certain Maori had stolen the stuff, Gore deliberately fired at the man as he sat in the canoe, and killed him. The lieutenant was right in his belief, for, when the canoe reached the shore, the blood-stained calico was found beneath the dead man; but his action was that of a savage--worse, since he, no doubt, claimed a higher order of mind. The only excuse that can be offered for Gore is that he lived at a time when even children were hanged for stealing trifles, and he may have believed himself entitled to mete out this rough-and-ready justice. What followed? The Maori--admittedly savages--did not at once return and clamour for revenge; though an eye for an eye and blood for blood was one of the strongest articles in their creed. No; the chiefs took the matter in hand, calmly and dispassionately judged the dead man and found him guilty of theft. Therefore, they determined that _utu_ should not be exacted on account of the killing of their tribesman. That they were perfectly sincere, and did not seek to disguise sentiments of hatred and desire for revenge under a mask of forgiveness, is entirely proved by the fact that Captain Cook landed after this unhappy occurrence and went about among them just as if nothing had happened. It is right to say that Captain Cook was no party to his subordinate's impetuous action, for violence was foreign to his methods. Says one of his biographers--"It was impossible for any one to excel Captain Cook in kindness of disposition, as is evident from the whole tenor of his behaviour, both to his own men and to the many savage tribes with whom he had occasion to interfere." So convinced was Captain Cook of the advantage this beautiful country must some day prove to Britain, that he took nominal possession of the islands in the name of King George the Third. Yet it was not until 1787, eight years after the death of Cook, that New Zealand was included by royal commission within the British dominions, while another quarter of a century elapsed before Europe, at the Peace of 1814, recognised Great Britain's claim. How good a use Captain Cook made of the six months he spent in New Zealand before he sailed to gather fresh laurels in Australia, any one may read for himself in the story of his voyages. On each occasion he introduced useful plants and animals into the islands, and it was due to him that the animal food which the Maori had always lacked, became so readily procurable in the shape of pigs, which soon after their introduction ran wild and multiplied. The sweet potato was there already; but it is to Cook that New Zealand owes the ordinary potato, the turnip, cabbage, and other vegetables and fruit. Te Tanewha described Captain Cook as a reserved man who "constantly walked apart, swinging his right arm from side to side." This has been held to mean that, whenever Captain Cook landed, he scattered the seeds of useful plants, in the hope that they would grow and fructify. There were further misunderstandings when Cook revisited the Islands in 1779, the worst of them being wholly due to the wicked action of an English sailor who first robbed and then shot a Maori. With the slaughter of the natives which followed Cook had nothing to do; more, the great navigator, who was as true and generous a gentleman as ever stepped, completely absolved the Maori from blame. This was happily the last difficulty; for Cook arrived at a better understanding with the Maori and a clearer conception of the fine character which underlay their faults. The natives, too, showed an ever-increasing confidence in their famous visitor, whom they affectionately styled "Cookie." Notwithstanding their regard, they never allowed him to penetrate far inland. Had Cook not been the just and temperate man he was, he might have pierced the interior with an armed force, composed of his own men and aborigines, and depopulated the land. During the period of Captain Cook's visits the Maori were constantly at war, and the unwillingness of the coast tribes to allow him to proceed inland was probably due to their fear that he would aid the chiefs there, return, and exterminate them. So they first obstructed the progress of the explorer, and then made certain grim, but exceedingly practical, proposals to him. These in effect were that Captain Cook should join forces with this tribe or that, proceed inland, and duly exterminate--everybody. This excellent scheme, properly carried through, would have left certain of the coast tribes supreme until civil strife began again to divide them. But what if Cook had turned upon them in their turn? Fortunately this was not Captain Cook's way; but that he recognised what was at the bottom of all these requests for help is clear from his own words:-- "Had I acted as some members of almost every tribe with whom we had dealings would have had me act, I might have extirpated the entire New Zealand race." Could any words more distinctly show the good disposition of Captain Cook, and at the same time prove how plagued the Maori were with internecine wars? The day came at length when this great and good man, who did so much for Britain, must say a last farewell to the country towards which he seemed so singularly drawn. For it was written that he should never again see the Waters of Greenstone or the land of his birth, but should fall a victim to his own humanity at the hands of savages whom he was endeavouring to protect. Such was the admiration which this great navigator and good man inspired that, when war was declared between England and France in 1779, the French Minister of Marine issued orders to the navy that, if encountered at sea, the ship of Captain Cook was to be treated with courtesy. "For," said he, "honour, reason, and even interest, dictate this act of respect for humanity; nor should we treat as an enemy the common benefactor of every European nation." The Americans, then at the height of their struggle for freedom, had already anticipated this generous action by the mouth of their famous citizen, Benjamin Franklin. Captain Cook was dead before knowledge of this splendid tribute to his services and to his virtues could reach him; but, being dead, he was not forgotten, for the whole world mourned his loss and honoured his memory, as it has done ever since. When Captain Cook died Britain was just awaking to a realisation of the evils of slavery, and beginning to recognise and endeavour to obviate the fact that, when and wherever the white man appeared among the coloured races, the latter invariably suffered. How intensely Captain Cook realised this, how earnestly he set himself to afford a good example to those who should come after him, and how his countrymen appreciated his aims and his success, these lines from Hannah More's poem on "Slavery" show:-- Had those advent'rous spirits who explore, Thro' ocean's trackless wastes, the far-sought shore, Whether of wealth insatiate, or of power, Conquerors who waste, or ruffians who devour; Had these possessed, O Cook, thy gentle mind, Thy love of arts, thy love of human-kind; Had these pursu'd thy mild and gentle plan, DISCOVERERS had not been a curse to man! CHAPTER IX CLOUDS AT DAWN As Captain Cook sailed from Doubtless Bay in the North Island to pursue his survey of the coast, Admiral de Surville, of the French navy, cast anchor therein. Unlike his great rival, De Surville remained only long enough to quarrel with the natives and to kidnap the chief who had hospitably entertained him. Three years later, in 1772, Captain Marion du Fresne, with Captain Crozet as his second in command, anchored in the Bay of Islands. Du Fresne, or Marion, as he is usually styled, was received with great friendliness, and for a month Maori and Pakeha excelled one another in politeness and generosity. Then, quite unexpectedly occurred a shocking tragedy. Marion landed one morning with sixteen officers and men, intent upon pleasure, and with no foreboding of evil. Night fell, morning broke again, and found them still absent. Yet Crozet felt no suspicion, for there had been no quarrel. But there had been a clear sign that something was gravely wrong; only neither Marion nor Crozet was familiar enough with the Maori mind to perceive it. The light brightened and, ere the day was many hours old, twelve men went ashore for wood and water. There was no appearance of unrest; everything seemed at peace. So the day wore on. Suddenly all was violently changed. The restful quiet vanished in a whirl of wild commotion. What had happened? Who was the terrified creature who, dripping wet, with torn clothes and blood-streaked face, wearily dragged himself over the rail and dropped exhausted upon the deck? He was the sole survivor of the twelve who had gone so confidently ashore; and he told a dreadful tale. The natives on the beach, he said, received the boat's crew with their usual kindliness, chatting and laughing till the sailormen dispersed and got to work. Then the blow fell. The wretched Frenchmen had scarce time to become aware of their murderers ere club and spear had done their work, and all but one lay dead. This one hid himself, but could not hide from his sight the horrid sequel; and he told with shaking voice how the Maori had dismembered his unhappy comrades, taken each his load of human flesh and hurried from the scene. Incredible all this sounded in face of that pleasant month of dalliance; yet the proof was there in that terrified wretch, and incredulity gave way to wrath and sentiments of vengeance. The prolonged absence of the commander now took on a sinister aspect, and Crozet, too, with sixty men, was gone inland to procure a _kauri_-pine. With such a force he could defy attack; but he must be advised of what had happened. A boat crowded with armed men was pulled ashore, and the march began to the spot where Crozet was making a road for the hauling of the giant pine. One can imagine his feelings when his comrades arrived with their intelligence--the ghastly certainty, the terrible hypothesis. Sorrowful, but grim, the company marched back to the boats, unmolested by the mob of natives who shouted the dreadful news that Marion du Fresne and his escort of sixteen had all been killed and eaten. Not a word said Crozet until he reached the beach. Then, as the dusky crowd surged forward, he drew a line upon the sand with the butt of a musket. "Cross that and die!" he cried. No Maori dared to brave the dreaded "fire-tubes," and the Frenchmen embarked and pulled out from the beach. Then began Crozet's revenge. Safe now from attack, he poured volley after volley into the mob of Islanders, until the last of them had fled, shrieking, beyond range. This was not enough. Day followed day and Maori were shot and villages burned, until Crozet, his vengeance only partially satisfied, turned in wrath and disgust from the land he had begun to love. It all sounds very dreadful. It seems an act of atrocious treachery on the part of the Maori to have masked their hideous design under an appearance of friendship; and this was Crozet's view. But was it the correct view? The sign which he and his unfortunate commander had failed to read was this: the Maori, after a month of uninterrupted intercourse, _suddenly ceased to visit the ships_. It was equivalent to the withdrawal of an ambassador before the declaration of war. Captain Cook, if he had not understood, would at least have noticed the sign and been on his guard. Crozet professed to know of no cause of quarrel, yet the Maori had found one, though not until many years later did the truth come out. The French, both officers and men, had carelessly--in some cases wantonly--intruded upon sacred places, destroyed sacred objects, treated with disrespect certain sacred persons. In other words, they had violated _tapu_, and the Maori of that day viewed such behaviour as unpardonable and only to be atoned for by death. Bad as the horrid business was at the best, it is well to remember the old advice, "Hear the other side." Crozet's utterances against the Maori were charged with such bitter execration, that for decades no French ship ventured near the island homes of those fierce and terrible cannibals. More, the lurid story spread across the Channel, effectually checking any desire on the part of the British for closer acquaintance with the wild men of the south. The reputation of the Maori still had power nearly ten years later to scare off all but the boldest intruders. Even the worst of criminals were held undeserving of so outrageous a fate as exposure to the chance of being devoured by cannibals; and a motion to establish convict settlements in New Zealand was strongly denounced in the House of Commons and defeated. So New Zealand, fortunately for herself, never knew the convict stain, and rogues were packed off to Australia with leave to reform if they could. Some, perhaps, did. Others, pestilential ruffians who could not be tamed even by five hundred lashes on the bare back, were weeded out and sent to Norfolk Island, another of Captain Cook's discoveries, lying some three days' sail to the north of New Zealand. This charming island ought also to have escaped the convict infamy, for it was already occupied by honest settlers. Oddly enough, it was this very occupation, associated with the needs of commerce, which helped to overcome the shyness with which men regarded New Zealand, and eventually induced them to people her beautiful bays and fertile valleys. The new product, the now famous _Phormium tenax_ or New Zealand flax, samples of which had aroused the greatest enthusiasm in England, set manufacturers longing for a substance which would lend itself to so many useful purposes. The manufacturers had to go longing for many years; for the prospect of forming the _pièce de résistance_ at the dinner-table of a Maori chief failed to attract traders, who left New Zealand severely alone. Then came the settlement of Norfolk Island, and men of commerce were immensely cheered; for the much-desired _Phormium tenax_ was found growing there, wild and in profusion. But the Norfolk Island people failed utterly to manipulate the fibre as cleverly as the brown men to the south of them, and there was little use in exporting the fibre in the rough. Besides, their failure rendered them uncertain whether they had the right plant. Twenty years after the death of Marion the effect of his tragic story had not worn off; but instruction being absolutely necessary, and as only Maori could give it, a couple of them were coolly kidnapped and carried off to Norfolk Island. But the biters were bit. One Maori is very like another in the eyes of the Pakeha, and the kidnapper ignorantly carried off an _ariki_ and a _rangatira_, men utterly unused to manual work. During the six months they spent among their abductors not a word had these two to say upon the all-important subject of cleansing flax-fibre. "It is women's work," they declared with lofty contempt. "What should _we_ know of it?" Governor King had some compunction at the manner in which things had been managed, and at last redressed the wrong. He had treated the chief and the gentleman with scrupulous courtesy and unvarying kindness during their enforced stay, and now, after heaping presents upon them--not the least of which were a bag of seed corn and a drove of pigs--he took them back with honour to the Bay of Islands. Generous themselves, the Maori responded heartily to Captain King's advances, and their behaviour, together with his own perception of their unusual intellectuality, induced the Governor to write home glowing accounts of the New Zealanders, and warmly recommend the establishment of friendly relations with them. For this good man was far-seeing, and recognised the capacity for civilisation which lay beneath the crust of savagery. Therefore, in agreement with Benjamin Franklin's previously expressed opinion, he strongly advised that shiploads of useful iron articles be sent to induce the Maori to barter, and not beads and such gewgaws, which they most surely despised. So "out of evil came forth good" and, as the news of the better disposition of Maori towards Pakeha spread, it was not long before it began to take effect. And here also Commerce had her say. Ever since the days of Cook a few bold fellows had ventured upon an occasional visit to the Dangerous Land in search of whales; for the regular fishery had not come so far south. Others now began to follow these adventurers, feeling their way to the good graces of the coast tribes. There were no more massacres, whales were found in plenty, and word went forth presently that seals, too, abounded on the coast of this new and wondrous land. The news brought more hardy fellows in pursuit of fortune, until, whereas in 1790 scarce a white man dared show his face off the coast, the earliest years of the nineteenth century saw a regular trade established between the whalers and the Maori. The whalers brought the delighted Islanders iron nails, fish-hooks, knives, axes, bracelets of metal and many other articles which pleased them well. The Maori in return brought pigs, fresh vegetables, flax and tall, straight trees for masts and spars. Always brave and bold, delighting to ride the waves in their canoes, and in some cases taking a positive delight in danger, the coast Maori showed the keenest interest in whaling, regarding it as splendid sport, to enjoy which they readily shipped as harpooners. There is no doubt about their aptitude; none about their enjoyment in the pursuit of the monstrous sea mammal. More than one tale is current of impatient Maori, fearing to miss the whale even at close quarters, hurling themselves astride the creature and driving the harpoon deep into the yielding blubber as the animal dived in a frenzy of terror. Then from the reddened foam that crested the tumbling waves the brown men would emerge, clamber aboard the boat and sit dripping, but happy, while the line ran out like lightning as the stricken whale raced to its death. So there were bold fellows on either side, each compelling the other's respect and admiration by acts of high courage. In this way confidence grew and friendship followed; so that some of the whites took to themselves Maori women, and dwelt with the tribes to which their wives belonged. Coarse though this particular variety often was, there is no doubt that these adventurous Pakeha-Maori (or Strangers turned into Maori) sowed the earliest seeds of civilisation among the Maori, though it was long before the plant became acclimatised and brought forth good fruit. It is often the fate of a new country to receive at first the very worst elements, and this was the experience of New Zealand. As soon as it became known that a man might enter her gates without thereby qualifying for the cooking-pot, an eager crowd of depraved humanity rushed jostling through. The sealers and whalers were rough, but not a few were honest fellows, while, as a class, they were refined gentlemen beside the mob of escaped murderers, thieves, and panderers to moral filth, which overflowed from the convict-swamped shores of New South Wales. Had not the Maori, despite their grave faults, been capable of much better things, they could never have shaken free from the garments of impurity in which some of the earliest settlers endeavoured to clothe them. But there was good stuff in the Maori, and, though they fell often, they continually rose again. One innate virtue they possessed--that of sobriety. It was rarely that the Pakeha could induce them to indulge in the "fire-water"--"stink-water" was their name for it--which has been the ruin of more than one coloured race. But many years were yet to elapse before the Maori threw off the worst of their own bad manners, much less improved upon those of their white instructors, and scenes of violence and bloodshed were to be enacted before the sons of Maui should dwell together in peace among themselves, or bend their stubborn necks beneath the yoke of the Pakeha. From time to time there were terrible outbreaks, and one of the worst of these was that which is evilly remembered as "The Massacre of the _Boyd_." As early as 1805 an English gentleman had induced an adventurous Maori to accompany him to London, and not a few chiefs had since then paid visits to Sydney, while others of lower rank had embarked under the masters of vessels which touched at the Islands. These last were, of course, subject to the same discipline as the sailors; but, free and independent as they had always been, this seems to have been a hard lesson for them to learn. Hence arose misunderstandings, and from one such was developed the tragedy of the _Boyd_. On her voyage from Sydney to London in 1809 the ship was to call at Whangaroa, near the Bay of Islands, to load wood for masts and spars. Consequently, several Maori who were stranded in Sydney embraced the opportunity to work their passage back to their own country. Among these was Tarra, a chief's son, and he, too proud or, as he averred, too ill to work, refused to do his duty. Starvation was tried as a means of cure; but this failing, young Tarra was twice tied up and soundly flogged. Boadicea, bleeding from the rods of the Romans, had not more indignation than had Tarra when he showed his scars and called upon his tribe to avenge him upon those who had inflicted them. Ready enough was the response, for the law of the Maori required them to take revenge for every injury. The lure was spread, the master of the _Boyd_ went ashore at Whangaroa with part of his crew, and every man of them was slain and eaten. Even then Tarra's vengeance was not glutted. With his tribe at his back he boarded the _Boyd_ and killed every person on the ship with the exception of four. A woman and two children hid themselves, and Tarra spared the cabin-boy because of some kindness the youngster had once done him. Singular contrast! The savage, who could go to the most appalling extremes to satisfy his hate, was, even at the very height of his murderous wrath, capable of gratitude. This awful massacre set back for years the clock which had seemed about to strike the hour for beginning Maori civilisation, while the resentment of the whites led to a slaughter as wholesale as that which it was intended to revenge. On hearing of the massacre of the _Boyd_ a chief named Te Pahi, whose daughter was wedded to an English sailor, hurried to Whangaroa, and was instrumental in saving the lives of the woman and two children. His good deed done, Te Pahi returned to the Bay of Islands, where he lived. Terrible danger menaced him. In some unexplained way he had got the credit of having engineered the _Boyd_ affair, and the crews of five whaling ships, accepting the rumour for truth, condemned the unfortunate chief unheard, and took bitter vengeance upon him. Their task was easy, for the village was unfortified and the Maori wholly unsuspicious. Fully armed, the whalers fell upon the innocent people, sorely wounded the chief, and slew some two-score persons without regard to age or sex. Te Pahi himself escaped in the confusion, only to be killed not long afterwards by some of his own race because of the help he had given to the survivors of the _Boyd_. Doubly unfortunate was poor Te Pahi. Thus bad began and worse remained behind. During the next decade numbers of tribesmen fell beneath the weapons of casual white visitors, while the Maori, on their side, smote with club and spear, and gathered as deadly a toll. The country seemed drifting back into that state of savagery whence it had promised a short time before to emerge. It might have done so, but that at this juncture occurred an event which laid the true foundations of civilisation, and heralded that peace which, though long in coming, came at last. CHAPTER X RONGO PAI![55] In spite of the tragedy of the _Boyd_, in spite of the war of individuals which vexed the coast--though murder was added to murder, revenge piled upon revenge,--more Pakeha filtered into New Zealand, content to brave death for the chance of obtaining a home and wealth. On their part, more Maori deserted their _hapu_ for the great world outside their little islands and, needless to say, were gazed at with shuddering curiosity. Such as these, taught by experience that there existed a race superior to their own, convinced their countrymen of the advantages to be gained by permanent friendship with the British Pakeha. So these played their part in watering the tree of civilisation, whose roots now began to take firm hold of the soil; while the white men, ever improving in type and conduct, helped along the great work. As yet there was no attempt at systematic colonisation. Scattered over the Islands and wholly dependent upon the good will of their hosts, the Pakeha kept as friendly with the natives as circumstances would allow, while they saw to it that musket or rifle stood ever handy to their grip. The taste which the Maori had acquired for wandering outside their own country at length brought about a remarkable conjunction, destined to bear most importantly upon the future of New Zealand. It was nothing else than the formation of a friendship between a Christian Englishman of singular nobility of character and a Maori of sanguinary disposition, a warrior notable among a race of warriors and, withal, a cannibal of cannibals. In the first decade of the years when George the Third was king there was born in Yorkshire a boy who was brought up as a blacksmith. For some time he followed his trade; but, having a strong inclination towards a missionary life, he was ordained a clergyman of the Church of England, and in due course found himself senior chaplain of the colony of New South Wales. This man, whose name must be ever honoured in the history of New Zealand, was Samuel Marsden, who was the first to desire to bring, and who did actually bring the tidings of the Gospel to the land of the Maori. There were missionaries at work in Tahiti, in the Marquesas and in Tonga; but New Zealand, the land of the ferocious warrior and savage cannibal, had been esteemed an impossible country, or, at all events, as not yet prepared for the sowing. So it was left to itself. Then came a day when Samuel Marsden, walking through the narrow streets of Sydney, stopped to gaze at a novel sight. Not far from him stalked proudly three splendid-looking men, types of a race with which he was unfamiliar. They were not Australian aboriginals. That was instantly evident. Their faces were strangely scarred, their heads, held high, were plumed with rare feathers, and the outer garment they wore, of some soft, buff material, suggested the Roman toga. There was, indeed, something Roman about their appearance, with their fine features, strong noses, and sternly compressed lips. Mr. Marsden was from the first strongly attracted to these men and, being informed that they were New Zealand chiefs, come on a visit to Sydney, the good man grew sad. That such noble-looking men should be heathen and cannibals inexpressibly shocked him, and he determined then and there that what one of God's servants might do for the salvation of that proud, intellectual race, that, by the grace of God, he would do. A man so deeply religious as Samuel Marsden was not likely to waste time over a matter in his judgment so supremely important. The chiefs readily admitted the anarchy induced by the constant friction between brown men and white, though it was not to be expected that they should realise at once their own spiritual darkness. Mr. Marsden was not discouraged, and set in train a scheme whereby a number of missionaries were to be sent out immediately by the Church Missionary Society, to attempt the conversion of the Maori to Christianity. Twenty-five of these reached Sydney, where men's ears were tingling with the awful details of the massacre of the _Boyd_, and judged the risk too great. So they stayed where they were, and the conversion of New Zealand was delayed for a season. The residence of meek and peaceable men among such intractable savages was deemed to be outside the bounds of possibility; but Marsden firmly believed that the way would be opened in God's good time, and waited and watched and prayed, possessing his soul in patience. The opportunity which he so confidently expected arrived in 1814. Some ten years after the birth of Samuel Marsden another boy was born on the other side of the world. Hongi[56] Ika was his name, a chief and a chief's son of the great tribe of the Nga-Puhi in the north. Marsden had swung his hammer over the glowing iron and beaten out horse-shoes and ploughshares. Hongi, too, swung his hammer; but it was the Hammer of Thor. And every time that Hongi's hammer fell, it beat out brains and broke men's bones, until none could be found to stand against him. Yet Hongi had a hard knock or two now and then and, being as yet untravelled, gladly assented when his friend Ruatara--who had seen King George of England--suggested a visit to Sydney. Hongi found plenty to interest him, and also took a philosopher's delight in arguing the great questions of religion with Mr. Marsden, in whose house he and Ruatara abode. Marsden knew the man for what he was, a warrior and a cannibal; but so tactful and persuasive was he that, before his visit ended, Hongi agreed to allow the establishment of a missionary settlement at the Bay of Islands, and promised it his protection. So the first great step was taken, and Marsden planted his vineyard. He was a wise man and, knowing by report the shortcomings of the land he desired to Christianise, took with him a good supply of animal food, and provision for future needs as well, in the shape of sheep and oxen. With a view to the requirements of his lieutenants, he also introduced a horse or two. What impression the sight of a man on horseback made upon the Maori may be gathered from the experience of Mr. Edward Wakefield twenty-seven years later at Whanganui. In this district, which is on the opposite side of the Island to that on which Mr. Marsden landed, and considerably farther south, the natives had never seen a horse. Result--"They fled," writes Mr. Wakefield, "in all directions, and, as I galloped past those who were running, they fairly lay down on their faces and gave themselves up for lost. I dismounted, and they plucked up courage to come and take a look at the _kuri nui_, or 'large dog.' 'Can he talk?' said one. 'Does he like boiled potatoes?' said another. And a third, 'Mustn't he have a blanket to lie down on at night?' This unbounded respect and adoration lasted all the time that I remained. A dozen hands were always offering him Indian corn (maize) and grass, and sowthistles, when they had learned what he really did eat; and a wooden bowl of water was kept constantly replenished close to him; and little knots of curious observers sat round the circle of his tether rope, remarking and conjecturing and disputing about the meaning and intention of every whisk of his tail or shake of his ears." It was for long all endeavour and little result. But other missionaries arrived, new stations were erected in various parts of the north, and the Wesleyans, seven years later, imitated the example of the Church Missionary Society and sent their contingent to the front. To the fighting line these went indeed; for they settled at Whangaroa, where the sunken hull of the _Boyd_ recalled the horror of twelve years before. Tarra himself was still there, the memory of his stripes as green as though he had but yesterday endured the poignant suffering. He rendered vain for five long years the efforts of the missionaries, and from his very deathbed cursed them, urging his tribe to drive them out; so that they fled, thankful to escape with their lives--for they saved nought else. The missionaries of the Church Missionary Society nine years later endured a similar hard experience, and were forced to flee from their stations at Tauranga and Rotorua. A bishop and a company of priests, sent by Pope Gregory XVI., arrived at Hokianga in the year 1838, and these, too, presently learned what it was to suffer for their faith. But in spite of hardships--whether stripped of their possessions, whether driven from their homes, whether death met them at every turn, the missionaries, no matter what their creed, persevered. They looked not back to the evil days which lay behind; but faint, yet pursuing, pushed onward, until the North Island was sprinkled with the white houses of their missions, over which floated the flag of the Prince of Peace, emblazoned with His message, "_Rongo Pai!_" Then came the crossing of Cook Strait, and the spiritual conquest of the Middle Island. New missionaries constantly arrived, fresh recruits ever enrolled under the banner of the Cross; until, a bare two-and-twenty years from that Christmas Day when Samuel Marsden preached his first sermon in a land where Christianity was not even a name, four thousand Maori converts knelt in the House of God. This was not accomplished without strenuous effort. The difficulties and dangers which confronted the earliest _mihonari_ would have driven back all but the most earnest and faithful men. The record of their sufferings and struggles would of itself fill a volume. Indeed, only the least suggestion has been made here of what they bore for Christ's sake. But their works do follow them, gone to their rest as all of them are; and what prouder epitaph can be theirs than this: They came; they saw; and they conquered at last! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 55: Good Tidings!] [Footnote 56: By his own tribe pronounced "Shongi."] CHAPTER XI THE WARS OF HONGI IKA It was necessary to steal a march on time in order to give a connected, though imperfect account of the foundation of Christianity in New Zealand. Return we to Hongi Ika and his doings. If Mr. Marsden hoped to turn the philosopher-warrior-cannibal from the error of his ways, the good man must have been grievously disappointed. Hongi remained a pagan; but he never broke his promise to the missionary. He was a terrible fellow, but he was not a liar. His word was sacred, and he regretted on his deathbed that the men of Whangaroa had been too strong for him when they drove the Wesleyan missionaries from their station. Leaving Mr. Marsden and his colleagues at Rangihoua, Hongi returned to his trade of war, and for five years or so enjoyed himself in his own way. Then, tiring again of strife, his thoughts turned once more upon foreign travel. This time his ambition soared high, and with a fellow chief he sailed for London under the wing of a missionary. He was exceedingly well received, for the horror and fright with which the New Zealanders had been regarded was greatly diminished in 1820, and Britons were again looking longingly towards a country so rich in commercial possibilities. So Hongi found himself a "lion," and with the adaptability of his race so comported himself, that it occurred to few to identify the bright-eyed little fellow with the ample forehead and keen brain with the lusty warrior and ferocious cannibal of whom startling tales had been told. Even His Majesty, George the Fourth, did not disdain to receive the "Napoleon of New Zealand," and being, perhaps, in a prophetic mood, presented the great little man with a suit of armour. Hongi would have preferred a present of the offensive kind in the shape of guns and ammunition; for the Nga-Puhi had early gauged the value of such weapons in settling tribal disputes, and had managed to acquire a few, though not nearly enough to meet the views of Hongi Ika. The king had set the fashion, and his subjects followed suit so lavishly, that, if Hongi had chosen to lay aside his dignity and open a curio shop, he could have done so. The little man was overjoyed. He was rich now, and he gloated over his presents as a means to an end. What a war he could wage, if he could only find a pretext. Pretexts did not, as a rule, trouble Hongi; but the eyes of the great were upon him, and it would be just as well to consider appearances. As he recrossed the ocean his active brain was at work planning, planning. Ah, if he could but find a pretext! Hongi had been absent for two years, and with right good will the tribes of the north-east wished that he might never return. However, with the dominant personality of the little man lacking to the all-conquering Nga-Puhi, there was no knowing what might happen; so the tribes around about the Thames river, whose frith is that thing of beauty, the Hauraki Gulf, took heart of grace, marched to the fight, and slew, among other folk, no less a person than Hongi's son-in-law. Here was indeed a pretext. Hongi clung to it as a dog to his bone. In Sydney he had melted down, so to speak, his great pile of presents into three hundred stand of arms, which included a goodly share of the coveted _tupara_, or double-barrelled guns. Ammunition was added, and thus, with a very arsenal at his command, Hongi Ika came again to his native land. He came armed _cap-à-pie_; for he wore the armour which the king had given him--and the good _mihonari_ stood aghast at sight of him. "Even now the tribes are fighting," they groaned. "When is this bitter strife to cease?" Pretext, indeed! To avenge his son-in-law was all very well. _Utu_ should be exacted to the full. But here was a pretext beyond all others, and the wily Hongi instantly seized upon it. "Fighting! Are they?" He grinned as only a Maori can grin. "I will stop these dogs in their worrying. They shall have their fill of fighting." He grinned again. "That will be the surest way, my _mihonari_ friends. I will keep them fighting until they have no more stomach for it, and so shall there be an end." He muttered under his breath, "because their tribes shall be even as the _moa_."[57] As the _moa_ was extinct, the significance of the addition should be sufficiently clear. Hongi kept his word--he always did that--and sailed for the front in the proudest of his fleet of war-canoes, with a thousand warriors behind him, armed with _mere_ and _patu_ and spear, while in his van went a _garde de corps_ of three hundred picked men, fondling--so pleased were they--the three hundred muskets and _tupara_ for which their chief's presents had been exchanged. Southward, through the Hauraki Gulf, he sails into the estuary of the Thames, into the Thames itself. One halt and the Totara _pa_ is demolished, and with five hundred of its defenders dead in his rear Hongi sweeps on, southward still, to Matakitaki. Four to one against him! What care Hongi Ika and his three hundred musketeers? It is the same story--fierce attack and sudden victory, ruthless slaughter of twice a thousand foes, and Hongi, grinning in triumph, ever keeps his face to the south and drives his enemies before him as far as the Lake of Rotorua. At Kawhia, on the west, there lived, when Hongi scourged the land, the hereditary chief, Te Rauparaha, a notable fighter, but a better diplomate. On Te Rauparaha men's eyes were now turned. He will know how to deal with the proud Nga-Puhi. Hongi's triumphal progress is nearing its end. No. Hongi, at Mauinaina, is too close. Besides, he is a demon. He carries a charm which renders him invulnerable. That shining headpiece, that sparkling plate upon his chest--what are they, if not charms to keep him whole and sound? At Totara did not some strong arm deal him a buffet which would have scattered the brains of any mere man? Yet he did but stagger, while all around heard the sullen clang which was the howl of the evil spirit protecting his head. At Matakitaki was not a spear driven against his breast which should have split his heart and let out his villainous blood? Yet the point was blunted against the chest charm, and the spearman, poor wretch, slain. These things being so, who can stand against Hongi? Not Te Rauparaha. The bold raider's nerves give way, and with black rage and hatred in his heart he gathers his followers together and flees southward to Otaki, giving as he goes the measure he has received, and leaving a trail of blood and fire behind him. Hongi "has made a solitude and calls it--peace"; he is satisfied for the time being with what he has done and won, and must go home with his slaves and his heads and his loot, to enter his village in triumph like a general of old Rome. Te Rauparaha, fleeing south, takes vengeance for the wrongs done him by Hongi upon all who come in his way. To be sure, it is not their affair; but Te Rauparaha cares nothing for that. Vengeance he wants; so hews a bloody path from north to south, till stayed by the rippling streak at the end of the land. Beyond that lies Te Wai Pounamou, The Waters of Greenstone, the Middle Island, washed by the Tasman Sea. Te Rauparaha's smouldering rage blazes up again. What! Shall that strip of water stop him? Not while he has an arm to strike, and there is a canoe to be had for the striking. So again the fearful drama--murder and rapine. The canoes are seized, the owners left stark upon the beach. Then across the strait, where a wondering crowd await his coming, not without apprehension. They have reason. "Who is it that comes?" "It is Te Rauparaha!" In a moment the chief is among them. Blood flows again. Te Rauparaha is once more the victor. Will it never end? Not yet. Hongi Ika comes not here to stop fighting by fighting, and Te Rauparaha has learned the lesson of the _tupara_, for he now has guns. Once more tearing a leaf from Hongi's book, he springs at the cowering population upon the great plain. Some he slaughters, some he enslaves; some, frantic with terror, braving the heaving Pacific, speed eastwards to Wari Kauri (Chatham Islands) six hundred miles away. Again we have been obliged to fly ahead of time in order to give full impression--not a complete picture--of these sinister happenings; for the wars of Hongi in the north, and Te Rauparaha's sanguinary progress to the south were not over and done with in a month or a year. It was in 1821 that Hongi started upon his self-imposed mission to cure like with like, and for the next twenty years--long after the death of Hongi--quarrel was piled upon quarrel, war led to war, till the whole of the north was involved. We left Hongi marching home in triumph, unconcerned that his hammering of the north had turned loose in the south a devil in the shape of Te Rauparaha. He had sustained no serious losses, and for some time continued pre-eminent. But his many and powerful foes had by now appreciated the reason of his success, and provided themselves with firearms. From that time Hongi, though victorious, paid more dearly for his victories. Hongi, when in battle, as a rule shone resplendent in the armour which George the Fourth had given him, and which was supposed to render him invulnerable. The belief received justification from the issue of Hongi's last fight at Hokianga in 1827. For some reason the great chief wore only his helmet upon that fatal day. Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, When on the field his targe he threw. Ill fared it with Hongi when he rushed into the fight without his shining breastplate; for hardly was the battle joined when a bullet passed through his body, and the day of the great Hongi, the Lion of the North, was done. [Illustration: Hongi's last "word" to his people] Fifteen months later, as he lay upon his death mats at Whangaroa, feasting his glazing eyes upon the array of clubs, battleaxes, muskets, and _tupara_ set around the bed, he called to him his relatives, his dearest friends, and his fighting-chiefs, and spoke to them this word:-- "Children, and you who have carried my arms to victory, this is my word to you. I promised long ago to be kind to the _mihonari_, and I have kept my promise. It is not my fault if they have not been well treated by others. Do as I have done. Let them dwell in peace; for they do no harm, and some good. "Hear ye this word also. The ends of the world draw together, and men of a strong race come ever over the sea to this our land. Let these likewise dwell in peace. Trade with them. Give them your daughters in marriage. Good shall come of it. "But, if there come over the sea men in red coats, who neither sow nor reap, but ever carry arms in their hands, beware of them. Their trade is war and they are paid to kill. Make you war upon them and drive them out. Otherwise evil will come of it. "Children, and you, my old comrades, be brave and strong in your country's cause. Let not the land of your ancestors pass into the hands of the Pakeha. Behold! I have spoken." With that the mighty chief Hongi drew the corner of his mat across his face and passed through the gates to the waters of Reinga. So died Hongi Ika, aged fifty-five, or thereabouts, who had made his influence felt from his youth until his death, and whose words and acts deeply swayed the fortunes of his country. Paradoxical as it may sound, these combined with the spread of Christianity to render colonisation possible, while they helped to foment the discontent with which Hongi's successors viewed the coming of armed forces, and the gradual absorption of their land by the Pakeha. In the first place, Hongi protected the missionaries. In the second place, during his wars and the wars they induced, more than twenty thousand Maori fell in the score of years occupied in civil strife. Concerned with their own wars, and with numbers thinned, the Maori left the white settlers time and opportunity to increase, whereby they grew daily better able to resist the power of the brown men when this was at last sternly directed against them. In the third place, Hongi's dying advice was without the shadow of a doubt the part cause of Honi Heke's outbreak at Kororareka fifteen years later, and of the strife which immediately followed it. After the death of Hongi the leading spirits among the warriors in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands were the chiefs Pomare and Kawiti--the latter a thorn in the colonials' flesh for many a long year; while the Waikato tribe boasted a leader of no ordinary parts in Te Wherowhero, whose descendant, the Honourable Mahuta Tawhiao Potatau te Wherowhero, sits to-day in the Legislative Council of the Dominion of New Zealand. Te Wherowhero had himself captained the Waikato on that day when Hongi decimated them and cooked two thousand of their slain to celebrate his victory, and a memory so red would not, one would have said, be likely soon to pale. Yet Te Wherowhero led his men not against his old enemies, but against the men of Taranaki. Both Waikato and Taranaki owed Nga-Puhi a grudge, and reasonable men would have combined against a common foe. But the Maori were ever unreasonable where war was concerned, holding tribal grudges more important than unification of the nation; so, instead of combining against Nga-Puhi, Waikato and Taranaki warred the one against the other. This disunion among the tribes materially assisted the colonists in their own long struggle for supremacy; for the "friendly" Maori often helped their cause not so much from love of them, as from hate of some tribe in opposition to British rule. Even a particular tribe sometimes divided against itself. A civil strife of this nature broke out in 1827 among the Bay of Islands folk. It was a small affair, and is mentioned only to illustrate the chivalry with which the Maori could behave on occasion. A European settlement had been established at a charming spot, known as Kororareka. There were decent people there, and a missionary station stood hard by; but for the most part drunkenness and profligacy prevailed, while Pomare, whose village lay close at hand, pandered to the vices of the whites in return for the coveted _tupara_. Bad as many of the settlers were, they were white men; so when news of the war reached Sydney, Captain Hobson's ship was ordered to Kororareka to afford the residents what protection they might require. But when H.M.S. _Rattlesnake_ entered the Bay, her decks cleared for action, guns frowning through their ports, bare-armed, bare-footed tars at quarters, lo! all was peace. Captain Hobson at once went ashore to make inquiries, and was amazed at the information he received. Not one white settler had been inconvenienced, much less injured. The contending parties, fearing lest one side or the other might be forced back upon the settlement, and so bring disaster upon its inhabitants, had by mutual agreement transferred the theatre of war to a spot too remote to allow of such a contingency. After this, who shall say that the Maori were deficient in generosity, destitute of chivalry? NOTE.--Mr. Augustus Earle, Draughtsman to H.M. Surveying Ship _Beagle_, in 1827, relates that the pagan Maori in the Bay of Islands used to rise at daybreak on Sunday to finish their canoe-building and other work before the whites were astir, thus showing their respect for the reverence in which the Pakeha held the Day. Mr. Earle adds: "It was more respect than we Europeans pay to any religious ceremony we do not understand. Even their tabooed grounds would not be so respected by us, if we were not quite certain they possessed the power instantly to revenge any affront offered to their sacred places." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 57: Maori proverb.] CHAPTER XII VARIOUS RULERS These wars and rumours of wars had small effect in stopping immigration. Most of the settlers were British; for, though no systematic colonisation had as yet been attempted, the right of Great Britain's sovereignty over New Zealand had been recognised at the Peace of 1814. New South Wales being the nearest approach to a centre of civilisation, the Government in Sydney watched the interests of the settlers on the eastern edge of the Tasman Sea; but, because of the distance between the two countries, the New Zealand settlers had really to protect themselves from annoyance as best they could. The Maori, predominant in power, found little difficulty in safeguarding their own interests. Apart from the efforts of the missionaries, what did most to keep the peace was the desire of commercial adventurers to tap the resources of the country. On their side, the Maori were anxious to bargain with the Pakeha for guns, and very soon learned that any serious breach with the white men was followed by interruption of profitable intercourse. The Pakeha at first took shameful advantage of the natives, purchasing a shipload of flax for a few old muskets, while a fig of tobacco was esteemed by the latter worth almost as much as a gun. But the Maori were never fools, whatever else their failings, and they quickly grew instructed in the commercial value of the articles they had for disposal, for which they were prompt to demand a more adequate return. The one point in which they seemed hopelessly to fail was in estimating the value of land. This was because they and the white men approached the subject from absolutely different standpoints, and what the Pakeha concluded they had bought, the Maori imagined they had leased. For the most sacred article in the creed of the Maori was, perhaps, that precluding them from parting in perpetuity with the land which had descended to them from their ancestors. An abominable traffic in which the baser sort of white men engaged was that in human heads. The marvellous preservation of the heads of dead Maori had excited great interest among scientists, and European museums clamoured for specimens. But the loss of the head of one of its male members brought a peculiar grief and shame to a Maori family, for it meant also the loss of _mana_, or reputation. Consequently, the demand for heads greatly exceeded the supply. But if there were base men among the Pakeha, so were there among the Maori, and such fellows made nothing of filching the heads of other persons' ancestors or defunct relatives, and selling them to the sailors frequenting the coast. This was bad enough; but, since theft could not accomplish enough, murder stalked upon its heels, and many a wretched slave was slain in order that his head might grin from the shelf of a museum, or "grace" the library of some curio-hunter. Efforts were made to stop the disgusting traffic with its lurid accompaniments; but the offenders were not easily reached and, had New Zealand remained uncolonised, the Maori race might by this time have become extirpated by a gradual process of decapitation. Fortunately, as the white population grew more respectable and responsible, their own sense of what was due to themselves choked off the practice. Such a shocking story reached the ears of Governor Darling in Sydney, that he issued a proclamation, threatening those engaged in the trade with heavy fines and exposure in the public prints. Theft and murder accounted for a certain number of heads; but the conquerors in battle presently began to offer them in exchange for--as always--guns and ammunition. In the year 1830 a tribe living on the shores of the Bay of Plenty defeated certain Nga-Puhi, and sold such heads as were in proper condition to the master of the next vessel which touched at Tauranga. The brig proceeded to the Bay of Islands--whence had come the original owners of the heads--and was boarded by some of the natives there. The skipper, who seems to have been drunk, appeared on deck, carrying a large sack, and the Maori shrank back, growling and muttering, as the besotted Pakeha tumbled out of the bag a dozen human heads. Worse was to come. Some of the Maori present were related to those who had gone out to fight and had never returned, and a cry of bitter lamentation arose as these recognised the faces of their dead--one a father, another a brother, a third a son. Others, too, knew their friends, and amid a scene of the utmost horror, the outraged Maori, wailing, weeping, howling, rushed over the side of the ship and paddled swiftly towards their bewildered comrades who lined the shore, marvelling at the commotion. Drunk or sober, the brutal shipmaster knew that he had gone too far, for he slipped his cable and fled for his life. When His Excellency heard this atrocious story, he insisted that all who had bought heads from this savage trader should give them up to him, in order that they might be returned to the tribes at the Bay of Islands. How far he succeeded in his endeavour to soothe the grief-stricken and offended Maori is uncertain. About the time of Hongi's visit to Europe a rage for land speculation arose, and people of all sorts and conditions hastened to offer axes, guns, and such merchandise as the Maori valued in exchange for broad acres. How far this traffic went is shown by the official statement that one million acres of land were "purchased" between 1825 and 1830 from the natives by Sydney speculators. Further, twenty-seven thousand square miles in the most fertile part of the north were acquired between 1830 and 1835 by missionaries. [Illustration: A dreadful recognition] News of these transactions excited in England a more active interest in New Zealand, and in 1825 a Company was formed in London with the object of colonising the latter country. Sixty people did actually emigrate, and on arrival settled around the Hauraki Gulf; but no more followed; the settlement melted away, and with it the aspirations of the Company. "He who aims at the sun will shoot higher than he who aims at a bush, though he hit never his mark," quaintly says Bacon, and Baron Charles Hyppolyte de Thierry perhaps had this apophthegm in mind when he proclaimed himself "Sovereign Chief of New Zealand and King of Nukahiva"--one of the Marquesas Islands. Baron de Thierry--a naturalised Englishman--met the Rev. Mr. Kendall and Hongi when the pair were in England, and entrusted the former with merchandise to the value of one thousand pounds, wherewith to purchase for him one of the most valuable areas in New Zealand--the Hokianga district, in which flourishes the invaluable _kauri_-pine. The would-be sovereign was greatly disappointed to learn that his agent had acquired only forty thousand acres of this superb country, while he was at the same time cheered to know that the immense tract had been "purchased" at the not excessive price of thirty-six axes! Is it any wonder that the Maori could not later realise that they had parted for ever with their lands for such ridiculous--to use no harsher word--equivalents? The land was in their own opinion leased, not sold, and the leasing of land was a common enough practice among themselves, each party to the transaction thoroughly understanding its nature. Baron de Thierry neglected his purchase until 1835, when he drifted as far as Tahiti. Thence he forwarded to Mr. Busby, the Resident, a copy of his "proclamation," along with the intimation that his "ship of war" would presently convey him to his kingdom. The Bay of Islands dovecote was considerably fluttered. But Monsieur the "Sovereign Chief" did not arrive for three years, and then he suddenly appeared in Hokianga with nearly a hundred followers. Settlers and Maori beheld with apprehension this select company; but when the invader claimed royal honours and nominated the master of the vessel in which he had arrived his "Lord High Admiral," everybody laughed--except the "Sovereign Chief and King." The baron soon had reason to weep; for of a sudden came information that Mr. Kendall's thirty-six axes, paid for the forty thousand acres, had been merely a deposit. One is relieved to learn this, but it must have been very depressing news for the would-be proprietor. For the Royal Exchequer was very low, and as the great officers of state could get no pay for the arduous duties they performed, they promptly resigned. So, too, did the "Sovereign Chief," and vanished, to reappear later, without the "purple," in the guise of an ordinary and very excellent citizen. The settlement at Kororareka has already been referred to as a place in which the orgies of white and brown justified the epithet "scandalous." It was not the only spot in this Eden over which lay the trail of the serpent; so, for the sake of morality, as well as for political reasons, the Governor of New South Wales, Sir Richard Bourke, appealed to the British Government to appoint a Resident at the Bay of Islands. Many years had elapsed between the murder of Captain Marion du Fresne and the visit of the next French ship. At rare intervals a vessel dropped anchor in one of the bays; but there was little sustained intercourse. Even as late as 1834, so bitter were their memories of the "_Wi-Wi_" (_Oui-Oui_) that the Nga-Puhi chiefs took alarm at the persistent rumour of a French occupation of New Zealand, and induced the missionaries to draw up a petition to the "Gracious Chief of England," William the Fourth, to protect them from "the tribe of Marion." The Maori had also begun to recognise that the British Pakeha were not over clean-handed in their dealings with them; for, in addition to the above, they prayed the "Gracious Chief" to prevent his own people from depriving them of their lands. The result of this unrest was the appointment of Mr. Busby as British Resident. He arrived at the Bay of Islands in 1833, and led off in great style by proposing that all New Zealand should be ruled by a Parliament of Chiefs, and that the country should adopt a national flag to signify its independence. The idea caught the fancy of some; the flag arrived from Sydney in H.M.S. _Alligator_, and was inaugurated with a salute of twenty-one guns. The Parliament of Chiefs took shape a little later, when thirty-five hereditary chiefs declared their independence, and received the designation of the "United Tribes of New Zealand." Barely a year after Mr. Busby's appointment, a "regrettable incident" occurred, which compelled him to assume the character of "Vindex," in which neither he, nor those associated with him, showed to advantage. The affair gave rise to the employment of British troops for the first time in New Zealand, and arose out of the shipwreck of the _Harriet_ at Cape Egmont, Taranaki. The sailormen lodged for a fortnight in a Maori village, and then a quarrel arose. A fight followed, and twelve sailors and twice as many Maori were killed. Since the Maori loss was double that of the ship's company, the account could only be balanced by _utu_; so the surviving whites were held to ransom, and Guard, the shipmaster, was sent to procure the same. Five months later, the Government of New South Wales despatched H.M.S. _Alligator_ with a company of soldiers on board to bring away the prisoners. On her arrival off the scene of the disaster, Guard went ashore, accompanied by the military, when the Maori at once gave up the sailors. All was going well--for Guard was assured of the safety and well-being of his wife and two little ones--when an officer, perhaps deceived by gestures incomprehensible to him, hurled an unfortunate chief into the boat and bayoneted him. This wrong-headed act was not immediately followed by hostilities, though it interrupted the progress of negotiations. Matters were at last smoothed over, the wounded chief was sent ashore, and Mrs. Guard and one of her children brought down to the boat. Then, as the ransom was still unpaid, the second child was carried to the shore upon the shoulder of the chief who had cared for it. This chief not unreasonably requested permission to carry the child aboard, and himself receive the stipulated payment; but, when curtly informed that no ransom would be paid, he turned away, still carrying the child. It is dreadful to be obliged to relate that the Maori was shot in the back at close quarters, and fell dying to the ground with the little child in his arms. As if this were not enough, his corpse was insulted. Following upon this tragedy, a shot was fired, by whom or from whence no one could or would say. The _Alligator_ immediately began to shell the Waimate _Pa_, and the troops played their part. When sufficient punishment had been inflicted, the dogs of war were called off and the ship sailed away. Unpleasant as is the task, it is right that these dark pictures of mistakes and injustice should now and then be shown, if only to induce those whose duty brings them in contact with primitive races to remember that the rights of man belong to the coloured as well as to the white. It is not denied that the Maori treated their prisoners with consideration, and it is pitiful to learn that Mrs. Guard identified the chief who was the first to be slain as one who had behaved with unvarying kindness to her and to her children. Nor is there any doubt that the British disregarded every claim of justice and humanity. Not even common honesty was exhibited; for, although the prisoners were given up, the ransom agreed upon was refused. The one bright spot in the whole affair was the decision of a committee of the House of Commons, condemning the incident, and pointing out that, while the Maori had fulfilled their contract, the British had broken theirs. The committee might with propriety have said a good deal more in the opinion of those whose view was not that of the chief witness, Guard--shipmaster and ex-convict--that "a musket ball for every Maori was the best method of civilising the country." These various happenings, good and bad alike, showed that the wind blew towards Britain and British sovereignty. This was bound to come; and come it did at last through the agency of Kororareka of all places in the world! Things had been going from bad to worse in the "Cyprus of the South Sea," and its orgies, brawls and revellings had become the scandal of a community not easily scandalised. Law-breakers laughed at the law, and Kororareka at last became too bad even for the Kororarekans. The inhabitants of the better sort then drew up a set of rules and banded themselves together under the title of the "Kororarekan Association." The Association approached the Resident, as in duty bound; but when Mr. Busby would have none of them they resolved to act independently of him. The Association went trenchantly to work in quite an American spirit--tarring and feathering, riding obnoxious individuals out of the town on rails, and purging the place of its worst elements. The scared Resident portrayed it in such vivid colours that the Home Government took alarm, and came to the somewhat belated conclusion that it was time for Britain to assert the rights she had possessed by discovery since 1769, and by the recognition of Europe since the Peace of 1814. Another factor had meanwhile arisen which still further demonstrated the necessity for expedition on the part of the British Government. The New Zealand Association had been formed in 1836, but had received little support; for it was suspected that their motives were not so pure as they declared them to be. The missionaries hailed invective upon them, the Duke of Wellington asserted in his "iron" way that "Britain had enough colonies already," and so violent was the general opposition that the Association was dissolved. Another Company was formed with very little delay under the title of the New Zealand Land Company, whose Directors determined to act independently of the Crown, and to establish settlements wheresoever they chose in the country which Britain seemed unable or disinclined to appreciate at its proper worth. Their ship had actually sailed before the astonished Government were informed by the London Directors of the intentions of the Company. There were some big names controlling this venture. At the head of the list stood that of the Earl of Durham, Governor of the Company and, until just before its formation, Governor-General of Canada. Colonel Wakefield, one of an indefatigable family, was the Company's agent; and the long list of Directors included the names of Petre, Baring, Boulcott, Hutt, Molesworth, and others destined to influence the future of New Zealand. The Government were at last roused to action. They informed the Directors that it was for the Crown to make colonies, not for private individuals, and without more ado sent Captain Hobson of the Royal Navy to New Zealand as "Consul." He was instructed to consider himself subordinate to the Governor of New South Wales; and he carried with him his commission as Lieutenant-Governor. Thus, after many vicissitudes, New Zealand found herself, in the year of grace 1839, within measurable distance of becoming a British Colony. But she had still to run the gauntlet of one more danger, which, had she not escaped it, must have changed the whole course of her history. PART III PAKEHA AND MAORI CHAPTER XIII GREAT BRITAIN WINS We are arrived at a pass when the good ship _Tory_ is hurrying southwards, bearing to the goal of all their hopes the preliminary expedition of the New Zealand Land Company. On the track of the _Tory_ follows in dignified pursuit Her Majesty's ship _Druid_, proud of her distinguished burden, the first Lieutenant-Governor of the Colony that is soon to be. The air is filled with rumours of the impending formation of a colony by France; and, indeed, a French ship presently flies in the wake of the _Tory_ and the _Druid_, bound, they say, for Akaroa in the Middle Island, where many thousands of goodly acres are already in one Frenchman's hands. New Zealand herself, precious object of the desire of so many, sits upon her sea-girt throne and lifts anxious eyes to the scales of Fate, watching the quivering balance. One arm must soon descend, weighted with her destiny. Which? Fortunately for New Zealand, Britain had a fair start of France in the race for possession. Unfortunately for many colonists, then and to be, the New Zealand Company ran well ahead of the British Government in the race for the acquisition of land. Most fortunately for all concerned, Her Majesty's representatives were men not afraid to undo the tangle caused by the early dealings in land. They were men determined to adjust upon an equitable basis all land transactions between the white population and the brown. They were men who insisted that the Maori, ignorant at first of the value of that with which they parted so lightly, should not be driven from their ancestral possessions for the price of a few old muskets, a handful of red sealing-wax, or even an orchestra of Jew's-harps and tin bugles. It would be improper to refer otherwise than delicately to a past so recent. Something must be said, but not without consideration for the feelings of others. Moreover, the subject of the proceedings of the New Zealand Land Company is so difficult and involved, that, save in the briefest manner, it does not fall to be dealt with in a history of this nature. While the _Tory_ was ploughing through girdling oceans north and south, the Directors of the New Zealand Company were doing all they could to attract a good class of emigrants. They described in glowing terms the situation, scenery, and climate of the country, eulogised their system of colonisation, and offered, by lottery, land at popular prices, which included the passage out of the emigrant and his household. Fifty thousand acres in the North Island were at first offered by the Company for purchase, and over eleven hundred emigrants--purchasers, labourers, and their families--sailed within six months for New Zealand, full of hope in the future. The startling feature of the story is that the Company had no title to land in New Zealand, nor any right to sell it. The significant lines did not occur to them, "The man that once did sell the lion's skin while the beast lived, was killed with hunting him." After a voyage of four months, the _Tory_ dropped anchor in Port Nicholson on the 20th of September, 1839. The shores of Cook Strait had been for many a year the scene of fighting among the Maori and, as first one and then another tribe came uppermost in the struggle, the question of the actual ownership of the land became decidedly matter for argument. It will be remembered that, by Maori law, conquest of land constituted ownership. True; but if the conquerors of to-day were likely to be turned out to-morrow by the recently vanquished, or by another set of combatants, it does not need much demonstration to show that intending purchasers would require to be very careful as to the soundness of their own right and title, or entirely careless of any law but that of possession. The Company's agent stayed not to inquire as to Maori disputes regarding land. He ascertained through an interpreter the names of this cape, that river, those islands, and yonder mountain, and asked the chiefs Epuni and Wharepori of the Ngati-Awa, who had come aboard, whether they would sell the entire landscape. "Yes," answered the chiefs, who had little better title to the land than had the Company who had sold it before buying it. And so, for a collection of articles which included blankets, guns of various sorts, axes, spades, and fish-hooks--not to speak of Jew's-harps, soap, trousers, pencils, sealing-wax and cartridge-paper, the Company acquired (justly, perhaps, in their opinion) a territory about the size of Ireland, embracing both the east and west coasts of New Zealand. This astonishing bargain, begun on the deck of the _Tory_, took some months to complete, and by that time the agent had taken formal possession of the fine bay known as Port Nicholson--Poneki in the Maori tongue--and planned out the settlement of Britannia at the entrance to the charming valley of the Eritonga, better known now--if not so musically named--as the Hutt river. Fast in the wake of the _Tory_ followed the _Aurora_ with the first instalment of immigrants, whose feelings may be imagined, when they realised that nobody could give or sell to them the right and title to the lands they desired to call their own. They learned this much in March 1840 from the Maori themselves, when, owing to its faulty position, the settlement on the Hutt was abandoned, and the town of Wellington founded upon the flats of Thorndon and Te Aro, which lay in a more sheltered bay of the great basin of Port Nicholson. Other emigrants from England and elsewhere soon arrived; the first steamer puffed and churned its way into the harbour; and the astounded Maori demanded anxiously whether "all the tribes had left England and come to settle among them?" They were not disinclined to welcome the settlers; but Puakawa and other chiefs strongly objected to part with their lands, which they averred had been sold by people who had no right to dispose of them. This was sad hearing; but, if a Company choose to "buy" twenty million acres from some fifty people whose right to sell them is hotly disputed, it is to be expected that the ten thousand or so who claim ownership of those acres will have something to say on the subject. Mercifully for the settlers, the Maori near Wellington had no objection to their lands being occupied, but merely wished to make it clear that they had not been sold outright. So the settlers became aware before long that the Company's purchases were not good, and that, if they, the immigrants, bought land of the Company, their own title to it would be equally not good, and would in the natural course of events become liable to investigation. But why this concern about right and title? On the one hand are white men desirous of acquiring land, and, on the other, coloured men who have felt the touch of civilisation without having been greatly influenced thereby, and who, while undeniably owning the land, use but little of it. Why bother about their rights? Why not oppose to the protests of the brown man the impudence of the white man, whose argument has too often been, "What I desire I take, and what I have I hold"? Because--and it is with keen pleasure that one can write this truth--the story of colonisation in New Zealand is honourably distinguished from that in some other portions of the globe, by the righteous attitude of most of the early settlers towards the native population in possession, and by the fact that the rights of the original owners of the soil were clearly recognised, and forcibly insisted upon by those in power. And the same principle is at work to-day. True, there were many who shamelessly swindled the Maori out of their land; but with a number of these the Crown eventually dealt very effectually. True, also, there were not wanting those who--as ever in a new country--advocated lead and steel as the best means of combating objections to land transfer, and, incidentally, of "civilising" the Maori. But of such there were too few thoroughly to leaven the lump, and the general attitude of the white men was one of honest desire to deal justly with the brown. Serious differences arose, but the guiding principle was there and, despite wars and contentions, there was never abroad that spirit of hatred which has marked some contests between the white and the coloured races. Pakeha and Maori as a rule fought out their quarrel fairly, with the result that they now live at peace, the white men respecting and caring for the needs of the brown, the brown men content to recognise the superiority of the white, and taking an intelligent share with them in the ruling of their ancient heritage. The Maori have been represented for many years in the Parliament of New Zealand by men of their own race; men, too, directly descended from powerful chiefs who strenuously opposed the Pakeha's rule. The newspapers announced a few months ago[58] that a full-blooded Red Indian had for the first time in the history of the United States taken his seat in Congress. Comment is needless. Whatever their title, the Company's settlers remained where they were for the present, and for the better ordering of matters in which all were concerned, quickly formed a "Provisional Government," with the energetic and sunny-tempered Colonel Wakefield as its first president. So, leaving the Company's settlers in Wellington to argue questions of title with their keen-witted opponents, let us follow the fortunes of Lieutenant-Governor Hobson from the time of his arrival in Sydney. Having paid his respects to his chief, Sir George Gipps, Governor of New South Wales, Captain Hobson sailed for the Bay of Islands, where he arrived on the 29th of January, 1840. He immediately exhibited three documents, which gave the settlers plenty to think about. The first was his commission as Lieutenant-Governor over _whatever parts of New Zealand might be thereafter added to Queen Victoria's dominions_; the second asserted Her Majesty's authority over all her subjects then resident in New Zealand; the third--note it well--proclaimed that the Queen would acknowledge no titles to land other than those derived from Crown grants, that to purchase land from the natives would after that date be illegal, and that a Commission would investigate all land purchases already made. While Lieutenant-Governor Hobson was familiarising the Kororarekans with this last intimation, the agent of the New Zealand Company at Wellington continued to acquire land from the Maori, irrespective of native right and title; while immigrants as eagerly besieged genial Colonel Wakefield for town lots and country lands, careless of _his_ right and title and, apparently, of their own insecure tenure. So, with Captain Hobson proclaiming himself Governor over territory yet to be acquired; with the Company selling, and the immigrants buying, land to which neither had a proper title, the materials for the production of a very difficult and unpleasant situation were apparent even to inexperienced eyes. They were so apparent to Captain Hobson, that he took with creditable promptitude two decided steps. First, he convened at Waitangi--the lovely "Weeping Water" in the Bay of Islands--a meeting of powerful hereditary chiefs, to whom he proposed an agreement, historically known as the Treaty of Waitangi. The chiefs of the United Tribes of New Zealand by this treaty ceded to Queen Victoria the sovereignty of their territories, and agreed to sell lands to no other purchaser than the Crown. Queen Victoria, in consideration of this cession of sovereignty, agreed to extend her royal protection to the Maori, and to confer upon them all the privileges of British subjects. [Illustration: Signing the Treaty of Waitangi] This important treaty was not carried through off-hand. Shrewd chiefs opposed it, though the greater number present argued in its favour, among them Hongi's veteran lieutenant, Tomati Waka Nene (Thomas Walker), afterwards our strong ally. No conclusion was come to until next day, when forty-six prominent chiefs signed the treaty in presence of a great following. Forty-six being a small proportion of the number of chiefs of rank in the North Island, Governor Hobson circulated the treaty by the hands of trusted agents. The first signatures were appended early in February, 1840, and over five hundred chiefs had signed before the end of June, very few of them accepting the presents offered by the agents, lest it should be considered that they had been bribed into taking so important a step. Thus encouraged, the Governor executed the great measure which caution had bidden him postpone, and on the 21st of May, 1840, proclaimed Queen Victoria's sovereignty over the Islands of New Zealand. To make matters sure, sovereignty over the Middle Island was separately proclaimed on the 17th of June. Governor Hobson now took his second step. The proclamation of the sole right of the Crown to purchase land from the natives plainly gave him control of the acquisitions of the New Zealand Company; the proclamation of the Queen's sovereignty over the Islands justified him in repudiating the Provisional Government formed at Wellington. Of the latter he made short work, sending Mr. Shortland, R.N., the Colonial Secretary, and a company of soldiers to haul down the Company's flag and replace it by the standard of Britain. The act was natural and inevitable; but it made the Company and their representative very bitter against Captain Hobson. The declaration of sovereignty over the Middle Island came none too soon; for the French emigrant ship _Comte de Paris_, convoyed by the frigate _L'Aube_, arrived less than two months later at Akaroa, and fifty-seven immigrants disembarked. The British flag had been hoisted forty-eight hours earlier by Captain Stanley, R.N., and when, in face of this, the French frigate landed six field-pieces, the captain of H.M.S. _Britomart_ thought it time to protest. He protested so effectually, that the French commander acknowledged his immigrants to be settlers in a British Colony, reshipped his twenty-four pounders, and the incident closed. Thus New Zealand, after long delays, became a British Colony, with her status established not only before her own motherland, but in the eyes of Europe as well. It remained for her to shake off the partial allegiance she owed to New South Wales, and then, with all the confidence of youth and sturdy independence, go proudly down the path of the future to the high destiny which awaited her. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 58: Autumn, 1907.] CHAPTER XIV INDEPENDENCE AND ARGUMENT Most people agree that the method adopted by the New Zealand Company in their anxiety to acquire land might have been improved upon, but few will deny them the credit which is theirs in the matter of actual colonisation. They were the first to colonise systematically; they were careful in the selection of their colonists, striving after the finer types of manhood; and they planted settlements with extraordinary rapidity, considering the difficulties of transit and transport. It was the destiny of the Islands of the South to be colonised by the people of Great Britain and, since this was so, it was best that the infant colonies should be cared for by those capable of the task. Australia--in part--and Tasmania suffered from the obnoxious policy which used them as pits into which was swept the refuse of the British people. From this fate, its terrible results, and the long purification it necessitated, New Zealand happily escaped. That she did so was in no small measure due to the efforts of the Company, whose powerful Directors strenuously opposed the project in their day, just as the humane impulse of the British had opposed it in cannibal days. The Company were very active in the first year of their existence. A twelvemonth after the founding of Wellington they had three new settlements to their credit and, before two years were out, they had added a fourth. There might have been a fifth, but, owing to the inability of the Company to furnish titles, only one shipload of immigrants disembarked at Manukau, and the idea of forming a settlement there was abandoned. Manukau is six miles west of, and almost opposite to, Auckland, to which it forms a second harbour, the land portage between the two inlets being barely a mile across. Afraid to purchase land without a title, yet receiving from the Company the offer of no other in that locality, a couple of hundred immigrants removed themselves to Whanganui, on the west coast, one hundred and twenty miles north of Wellington. If the Company owned the land which the settlers took up there, the latter were hardly allowed to possess it in peace; for Whanganui was for years after its settlement in a state of unrest, and the pages of its history contain the record of at least one dreadful tragedy. The beautiful river--the Rhine of New Zealand--enters the sea close by the town, forming a waterway by which the Maori of the interior could easily approach and as easily withdraw; a condition of things of which they took full advantage in turbulent times. The Company's settlers called the town they founded "Petre," but the picturesque Maori name has survived. The Company presently turned their attention to the Middle Island, and there decided upon two hundred thousand acres of land bordering Tasman Bay and its neighbourhood. The lots were eagerly bought in England; Captain Arthur Wakefield, R.N., a brother of the tactful Colonel, was appointed commander of the expedition and resident agent, and two shiploads of emigrants sailed for the new settlement, which was to be named Nelson. While these preliminaries were being arranged, more immigrants arrived at Taranaki, or New Plymouth, the "Garden of New Zealand," where the Company claimed ownership of sixty miles of coast by a stretch of twenty miles inland. We saw this place when we stood with Te Turi and his followers and gazed from afar at the snowpeak of Mount Egmont. Hither, too, came Hongi and his conquering Nga-Puhi and, after him, Waikato's champion, Te Wherowhero of the red robe, who between them made an end of the men of Taranaki, enslaving those they left alive. Even while the new arrivals were parcelling out the land and grumbling at the lack of a good harbour, back came the manumitted slaves, ancient owners of Taranaki, and stood aghast to see what changes time had wrought. Their feeble protest availed them nothing. Whether the Company had purchased the land or not, Governor Hobson now owned it under the Crown's right of preemption, and the poor men of Taranaki were forced to hide their twice diminished heads. The ships bound for the Middle Island had by this time arrived at Wellington, whence, after some delay, the immigrants were carried across the strait to Tasman Bay. The native chiefs courteously received them; but, when Captain Wakefield promised gifts as soon as the land bought by the Colonel should be occupied, the Maori stood silent. Had they said aught, it would probably have been a Maori version of _Timemus exules, et dona ferentes_. However, they professed to welcome the white men; whereupon the agent smiled, the anxious would-be settlers cheered, surveyors were landed, and the town of Nelson was founded on the 1st of February, 1842. Do you who read remember how, when Hongi pressed him hard, Te Rauparaha of the Ngati-Toa fled headlong with his tribe along a path of blood to the south, and how he crossed the strait, and burned and slew and ate? He is still a force to be reckoned with, this Te Rauparaha. He is getting on in years, and lives with his tribe in the neighbourhood of Otaki on the west, north of Wellington. But he can look thence across the strait towards the lands he conquered not so long ago, and dissentingly shakes his head as the Nelson-bound ships pass on their way, while he openly expresses his disgust at the coming of so many more Pakeha. As Captain Wakefield parted from the little warrior-diplomatist with the twinkling eyes and broad forehead, no prophetic vision came to him of the fearful scene to be enacted a year later in the valley of the Wairau, when the price of the land was to be exacted in blood--his own. As at Wellington, as at Whanganui, as at Taranaki, so at Nelson disputes soon began between Maori and colonist, the theme being ever the ownership of the land. Words led to blows, blows to sullen mutterings of _utu_ and, so far as the Company's settlers were concerned, it seemed as if harmonious intercourse and continued agreement with the natives were outside the range of possible things. While this bickering was going on, Governor Hobson had founded a town at his end of the North Island. Auckland he named the city in embryo; _Akarana_ the Maori called it; and from first to last the Company had nothing to do with it. They were, in fact, extremely jealous of its progress. The site of a capital had not been selected till then. The seat of government was where the Governor happened to reside; but a spot was chosen at the head of the beautiful Hauraki Gulf, where the British flag was hoisted on the 18th of September, 1840, and the Governor's residence established at what has grown to be the splendid city of Auckland. A finer or more charming situation could hardly have been found than this on the right of the Waitemata, or "Glittering Water," with the superb Hauraki Gulf to the east, the harbour of Manukau to the west, and waterways in all directions to the south. How wise was this choice of a site is proved to-day by the great and prosperous city, in touch with all the world, which now gives a home to eighty thousand of Britain's sons. There was clamour over the Governor's selection. Wellington urged its elder birth, its central position, its magnificent harbour; but Captain Hobson abode by his choice. Russell, hard by Kororareka, made bitter plaint; for the glory of becoming the chief city of the State had been dangled before it, and visions of political prominence had intoxicated it. Now that its chance was irretrievably gone, the fickle crowd deserted it and pitched their tents in Auckland. So Russell wilted away. Once again it was to blaze into brief, and rather ghastly, notoriety, and then to sink into oblivion. While these rival cities were in the making, Captain Hobson rigorously enforced the right of the Crown to be the sole purchaser of land from the natives, and set going the examination into purchases already made. As usual, the innocent suffered with the guilty, and many who had bought land in perfect good faith found their purchases diminished by half, or altogether invalid. These were consequently ruined; but their sufferings did not affect the forward movement. Systematic colonisation had begun, and in the capable hands of the Anglo-Saxon was bound to go on. A check here, a dispute there, a few hundred ruined in the process, never yet stopped the expansion of the British Empire, and, unless the character of her sons changes greatly, never will. Queen Victoria's sovereignty over the islands was formally proclaimed in 1840 and, before the end of 1842, eleven thousand settlers had cast their fortunes in the colony, distributing themselves among the eight settlements of Wellington, Auckland, Nelson, Taranaki (New Plymouth), Russell (or Kororareka), Hokianga, Whanganui, and Akaroa, which was largely French. The long civil war originated by Hongi was now over, the Maori were looking favourably upon the white men, and were growing inclined to adopt their ways and imitate their methods. Yet, though Christianity and its milder influences were spreading, the brown men had still to tread a long path before they reached the goal of civilisation. The Pakeha appreciated this, and noted with apprehension that the Maori seldom visited the settlements unless armed with the guns which the folly or greed of commercial adventurers had placed within their reach. Yet "ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew," and, as ship followed ship, bringing new settlers, every day saw the Pakeha grow stronger, though the natives were still predominant. A new country is usually "go-ahead," but New Zealand was remarkably so, nor has she in this respect ever fallen short of her beginning. Within a year of her "declaration of independence," though things were very much in the rough, there was promise of that colonial splendour which has since--in the short space of sixty-eight years--been amply fulfilled. The difficulties were grave indeed. The land question was a source of constant friction, and of ready money there was little or none. Notwithstanding fairly substantial help from the mother country, in spite of the newly imposed customs dues and the sale of Crown lands, the new country's imports surpassed the exports nearly ten times over. No wonder money was scarce and, owing to the paucity of meat other than pork, food very dear. But these drawbacks could not stifle enthusiasm, and in each of the towns--now rapidly casting behind them the character of mere settlements--growth was steady, and the energy of the inhabitants astonishing. The mineral wealth of the colony was attracting attention--iron, copper, manganese, coal and lime were known to exist; the great variety of magnificent timber trees promised to become an important source of revenue, and New Zealand flax had already established a reputation which it has never lost. The character of the land in parts was such as led some even then to prophesy that New Zealand would become one of the grazing grounds of the world; though it is doubtful if the prophets foresaw the immense revenue which was to be derived later from the exportation of meat for consumption by the hungry folk in the northern hemisphere. With the future so rose-tinted, it is no wonder that the shadows of the present had little power to depress the sanguine colonists. The Legislative Council had lost no time in passing beneficial Acts, the citizens were inclined to be law-abiding, and trade, of a sort, flourished. The architecture in the towns was not exactly classic; but all looked confidently forward to the time when the weather-board house with from two to six rooms should be replaced by the mansion, and the tiny general store make way for the splendid palace of the merchant prince. Compare pictures of a street in Auckland or Wellington in 1842 with photographs of the same street to-day, and admit that the expectation has been fulfilled. The children who had accompanied their parents to the new land were not allowed to run wild, and education was not entirely neglected. The power of the Press, too, had already made itself felt by the issue of nine newspapers. These had neither the dignity nor the imposing size of the mighty dailies of to-day, being for the most part smaller than a single page of any of them, while one, at least, was printed in a mangle! Yet there they were and, if most of them died, they have left descendants to be proud of. Keeping in view that these forward steps of the infant colony were made within one year of her assumption of independence, that the colonists had to struggle against real financial troubles, that, in many cases, their claim to the land they had bought was disputed, and--most sinister obstacle of all--that they were face to face with a proud, intellectual, warlike race, not altogether friendly, and outnumbering them by five to one,--keeping all this in view, is it not admirable that those strenuous men of yesterday and their worthy descendants of to-day should, in little more than half a century, have raised New Zealand from a tiny colony of eight scattered settlements to a dominion of the Empire? We have seen how Governor Hobson opposed what he held to be the illegal acts of a Company engineered by men not likely to take blows "lying down." The Directors in England represented their case as just, and claimed some twenty million acres as fairly purchased. The British Government accepted their statement, allowed the claim, and on the 12th of February, 1841, gave the Company a Royal Charter of Incorporation. The Company were jubilant. It now mattered not if grumbling Maori should declare that their lands had been unfairly acquired, and aver, as they did aver, that the purchases of the Company were "thievish bargains"; the power of Britain was behind the Company, who could henceforth defy opponents of whatever colour. Not quite. There was Governor Hobson to be reckoned with, and his counterblast was terribly effective. He refused--under the proclamation of the previous year--to give the Company Crown grants for any of their purchases. The long wrangle began again, and the upshot of it all was that, after interminable argument, the British Government peremptorily extinguished the Company's title to all land acquired from the Maori, and a commissioner was appointed to examine all claims of purchasers of land from the Company. There could be only one result to action of this sort. The Company fought hard for existence, but in 1850 surrendered to the Imperial Government their charter and all their interests in the Colony of New Zealand, and died hard after a turbulent life. We have anticipated somewhat, for we are still at the point where the Company received a Charter of Incorporation. But the exultation of the Company was as nothing beside that of the young colony on the 3rd of May, 1841, when New Zealand, till then but an extension of New South Wales, was declared by the Imperial Government independent of the older colony, and given permission to steer her own course through the difficult shallows of organisation to the distant ocean of completion and greatness. In the first flush of joy at escaping from control, very little heed was taken of difficulties. It seemed as if the infant State had only waited for its independence in order to make a forward bound; for all that pertained to the old order of things was, as far as possible, swept away. The three islands were renamed New Ulster, New Munster, and New Leinster. The Governor became Commander-in-Chief of the one hundred and fifty men of the 80th Regiment who formed the "standing army." Two Councils were nominated--an Executive and a Legislative, with His Excellency at the head of each; a Chief Justice was appointed and the great offices of the Law filled; while the then predominance of the Church of England was recognised by the creation of a bishop, whose see was the colony. The first bishop, Dr. Selwyn, was a remarkable man, and it is probable that among all the English clergy no one could have been found so well suited for the pioneer work and rough experiences inseparable from the lot of the first Bishop of New Zealand. He was in very truth a missionary bishop, and his athletic youth and manhood had served to prepare him for the duties he was now called upon to perform, which were by no means confined to the wearing of lawn sleeves, gaiters, and apron. Dr. Selwyn's Eton training stood him in good stead in the wilds, and very soon after his arrival in May, 1842, he convinced men that he was a man as well as a divine. Who worked with Selwyn must work with all their might; nor did he shirk his own share. He worked with his coat off, literally as well as metaphorically, though no man living possessed a finer dignity of appearance and manner. Hardy settlers, Maori inured to effort and fatigue, confessed that, when they accompanied the stalwart _pikopo_ (bishop) on his expeditions by mountain, bush, or river, it was their legs, not his, which first gave out, their muscular frames which clamoured for rest, while his was as yet untired. As an example of his energy, it is only necessary to point out that, within five years of his arrival, he founded, built, and got into first-rate working order at Auckland the College of St. John, for the education of youth of both races, and had already instituted those pilgrimages among the islands which later made his name so famous and beloved. The rejoicings over New Zealand's improved status were barely over before there were ominous signs that contact with his white brother had not yet completely softened the Maori. Moreover, a dispute between two Maori tribes, occurring, as it did, under the very shadow of the new Executive, showed that the chiefs were not yet wholly prepared to acknowledge the sovereignty of Britain, nor to tolerate the interference of the Pakeha in their own quarrels. Taraia, a chief of a tribe in the neighbourhood of the Thames river, having successfully assaulted the _pa_ of a Tauranga tribe, cooked and ate the bodies of two of the slain chiefs, after the old manner of the Maori at the conclusion of a successful battle. The Tauranga folk were Christians, while Taraia and his party were not. Returning home, drunk with success--the Maori were not often drunk with the products of grape or corn--Taraia and his people desecrated the small church in their neighbourhood. The Christian congregation were gathered together for evening prayer when, to the horror of all, two hideous objects rolled into their midst, came to rest and grinned up at them. They were the heads of the chiefs who had been slain at Tauranga. Bloodthirsty as he must appear to those long since emerged from savagery, Taraia's behaviour at the _pa_ of Erongo was neither savage nor illegal from his point of view. He merely claimed _utu_, as his race had done from time immemorial, his contention being that, whatever the law of the white man, the Maori had their own law and meant to abide by it. He actually put his views before the Governor, who was about to despatch a punitive expedition, and demanded by what right His Excellency proposed to interfere in a purely native quarrel. "Your wisest plan will be to let the matter drop," advised Taraia, "considering how very few Maori chiefs in the interior have signed the Treaty of Waitangi and admitted the sovereignty of Queen Wikitoria." This was a palpable hit; the Governor altered his mind, and sent missionaries instead of soldiers. Taraia readily expressed his willingness to compensate the Tauranga people for the slaughter of their relatives; "but first," said he, "let them compensate me. Did they not eat my mother?" The argument was incontrovertible, and the dreadful incident closed. Taraia's defiance took on a new significance when it was realised how many chiefs were opposed to the dominion of the Pakeha. Besides, numbers of Maori in the north remembered the words of the dying Hongi, and viewed with sullen disapproval the transference of so much land to the white men. Captain Hobson had neither the will nor the power to operate upon a large scale and so enforce submission, and his disappointment at the failure of his hopes was keen indeed. The Governor's pacific demeanour pleased nobody; and even in Auckland, where his attitude towards the Company had at first won him general esteem, men now turned upon him and blamed his policy for almost every disagreeable thing which happened. "He will neither allow the Company to buy from the natives, nor will he himself buy," they snarled; and petitions, representations to the Home Government, and even threats of personal violence, made the Governor's life miserable. He was not long so tried, for he died on the 10th of September, 1842, and after his death some, at least, had the grace to be ashamed of their behaviour towards a man who had honestly striven to do his best in a most difficult situation. The Maori, with clearer vision than the self-swayed Pakeha, saw the good that was in Captain Hobson. It is significant that, when petitioning Her Majesty for a new Governor, the friendly chiefs wrote, "Give us a good man, like him who is dead." CHAPTER XV TE RAUPARAHA AND HONI HEKE Captain Hobson was succeeded as Acting-Governor by Lieutenant Shortland, R.N., the Colonial Secretary, whose administration was marked by one awful tragedy, which stained blood-red the short chapter of New Zealand's history with which he was concerned. At Nelson, as over the whole of the Company's domain, disputes constantly arose between Maori and Pakeha. The Company's settlers appealed to the law, which had little choice but to decide against them; the natives went about their operations in a manner peculiar to themselves. Finding it impossible to prevent the newcomers from occupying land which they insisted had been bought, the Maori took to destroying the habitations of the invaders, though they rarely used violence towards individuals, and scrupulously abstained from theft. It was unlikely that this system of incessant pin-pricking by either side would result in anything but poisoned wounds, and the fears of those who had anticipated this result presently received fearful justification. The turbulent Te Rauparaha was, by right of conquest, one of the great landowners on the southern side of the strait, and with him was his son-in-law, Rangihaeata, a chief of fierce, untamed passions, obsessed by an intense, almost insane, hatred of the Pakeha, and the last man to submit tamely to their aggression. Rangihaeata had, too, a bitter grievance against the whites, since a woman related to him had been killed by a settler, whom the Supreme Court acquitted of wilful murder. With two such men in opposition to the business-like unsentimental Company, a peaceful solution of the difficult land question was not likely to be found. Some sixty miles east of Nelson is the fertile valley of the Wairau, abutting on the shores of Cloudy Bay. Having distributed the town sections at Nelson, the Company decided upon this valley as suitable for country lots, and sent their surveyors to fix boundaries and prepare the land for delivery to colonists. Though instantly warned off by the natives occupying the land, the Company's officials proceeded with their work. What makes the singular persistence of the Company in this case so difficult to understand is the fact that Te Rauparaha and his ally, Rangihaeata, were at that very time attending the Court of the Commissioner of Land Claims at Wellington, and they had agreed to meet this high functionary a few days later at Cloudy Bay, in order that the dispute about this particular valley might be adjusted. Naturally, on hearing of the presence of surveyors on the land they regarded as their own, the two chiefs hastened across the strait and gave the officials the choice between suspending operations, pending the Commissioner's decision, or being turned off. As no attention was paid to them, Rauparaha and Rangihaeata burned down the hut of the chief surveyor; but, in order to show that they had no desire to deal unjustly with men who were, after all, only carrying out their employers' orders, the two Maori collected the property of the operators and rendered it to the owners. A warrant against the chiefs for robbery and arson was immediately issued, and Mr. Thompson, the police magistrate, determined to execute the same in person. A day or two later Mr. Thompson started for the Wairau with fifty persons, including the Company's agent, Captain Wakefield, R.N.; Captain England, J.P.; Mr. Richardson, Crown Prosecutor; Mr. Howard, the Company's store-keeper; Mr. Cotterell, assistant surveyor; an interpreter, four constables, twelve special constables, and some armed labourers. The aspect of the expedition was aggressive, and from the Maori point of view constituted a _taua_, or war-party. As the boats conveying the force up the Wairau river came within hostile country, all through the long day Maori scouts watched their course, and runners continually sped to the headquarters of the chiefs, carrying the news of the approach of Pakeha with guns. On the following day, Friday, the 16th of June, 1843, the Maori camp was reached and, as usual, was found to have been chosen with consummate skill; for its front was protected by a fairly deep, if narrow stream, while the flanks and rear were covered by dense scrub. The white men--whose boats had been left some six miles in their rear--halted upon the left bank, opposite to the watchful Maori. Puaha, a Christian native, who had all along attempted to dissuade Mr. Thompson from bearding Te Rauparaha in his den, made a last effort to induce the magistrate to turn back, but was impatiently waved aside. The escort were then formed in two divisions under Captain England and Mr. Howard, their instructions being that no one was to fire without orders. Athwart the stream lay a large canoe and, being permitted to use this as a bridge, Mr. Thompson, Captain Wakefield and others crossed over. The magistrate then produced his warrant and called upon Te Rauparaha to surrender and yield to his authority. "Why so?" demanded the chief. "For burning the surveyor's hut," was the answer. "I will not," replied Te Rauparaha. "The huts were my property, and whatever within them belonged to the surveyors I was careful to restore. I do not wish to fight, as you must know, since I have already referred my claim to the Commissioner for adjustment." "Then I shall compel you to come with me," Mr. Thompson cried excitedly. "I have the means, you see," and he pointed to the escort across the stream. Te Rauparaha growled. "Nevertheless, I will not go," he began, when Rangihaeata, his passion in strong contrast to Te Rauparaha's coolness, burst into view and dared Mr. Thompson to do his worst. "Advance with your men, Captain England," shouted Mr. Thompson, "and teach these----" Before he could say more every Maori there leaped to his feet, and with defiant shouts vanished into the bush. Then followed one of those fatal errors by which great catastrophes have often been precipitated. As Mr. Thompson's party hurried towards the canoe-bridge, the escort rushing down to meet them, some one--probably highly excited and unconscious of what he was about--fired a shot. Not a Maori was to be seen; but from the dark scrub came a rattling volley, which was instantly responded to by the whites. The action at once became general, and men fell on both sides of the stream. According to the natives' version, one of the first to be slain--by a chance shot--was one of Rangihaeata's wives, and this misfortune inflamed to madness the already incensed chief. The escort was mostly composed of civilians who had never seen a shot fired in anger, so that it is less remarkable that they should have yielded to panic fear and fled, leaving their comrades to shift for themselves. Had they even for a few minutes shown a bold front, the affair would probably have ended disastrously, but not so tragically. But the chance was gone; and when Rauparaha and Rangihaeata--the battle fever on them now--rushed pell-mell over the canoe and made for the deserted leaders, these had no choice but to throw down their arms and yield to a superior force. Te Rauparaha, who was somewhat in advance, checked his rush as he noted this, and Mr. Thompson, extending empty hands, called out, "Let there be peace!" Diplomatist that he was, Te Rauparaha, even in the flush of successful fight, probably realised the danger to the Maori cause which further violence must entail; for he came to a halt with a growl, "It is peace!" But Rangihaeata dashed by him, yelling, "This is the second time the Pakeha have wounded me by slaying my relatives. Rauparaha, remember my wife, your daughter!" flung himself at Captain England and slew him with one stroke of his tomahawk. Then the rage of the Maori broke forth in all its dreadful force. Rangihaeata, an enormously powerful man, went mad with battle fury and with his own hand killed Captain Wakefield, Mr. Thompson, Mr. Richardson, Mr. Cotterell, John Brooks, and others, while his men rushed right and left among the defenceless crowd and smote to slay. Twenty-two of Mr. Thompson's expedition were slain in this terrible affair, seventeen of them in the massacre which followed the fight. A few days later a Wesleyan clergyman, escorted by two boats' crews of whalers, arrived at the scene of the tragedy, and buried the dead who had fallen in the fight where they lay on the banks of the Tau Marina. For the others, who had gone down before the murderous rage of Rangihaeata, another resting-place was chosen on a gentle rise, whence can be seen the valley of the Wairau, cause of all the trouble and its melancholy end. There could be only one issue to an affair of this sort. The prestige of the white men was lost for the time being, and the Maori mind became inflamed with hope that the Pakeha would realise the futility of further contention, and leave the land to those who had originally owned it. The colonists were divided in opinion as to the apportionment of the blame. In and about Nelson there was, of course, only one view; but the local authorities were elsewhere censured for their too precipitate action. The Acting-Governor, reporting the affair to the British Government, distinctly stated that Mr. Thompson had acted not only without his sanction, but in direct opposition to his instructions; that the measures taken were in the highest degree unjustifiable, inasmuch as the question of ownership of the Wairau land was unsettled, and actually on the point of being considered by the Commissioner. All this is true; but no one will feel disposed to blame the rash Englishmen, considering the price they paid for their indiscretion, while, all other sentiments apart, nothing bad enough can be said of Rangihaeata for his savage slaughter of a band of helpless men--men who had flung down their arms and begged for peace. When the news of the Wairau fight and massacre reached England, a condition of mind was produced something similar to that which followed the arrival of Crozet in France after the murder of Marion. Emigration was for a time suspended; for Te Rauparaha's threat, that if reprisals were attempted, they would be countered by the massacre of every settler in the colony, did not encourage those who had thought of making New Zealand their home. To all this confusion of circumstance was added the distress of something very like a financial crisis. The colony had no money, and lenders were nowhere forthcoming. There were many brave hearts who faced these and other difficulties staunchly enough; but even these admitted that New Zealand, as a settler's country, was in a parlous state, and that very little capital except Hope remained upon which to come and go. It was hardly to be expected that those who had acquired land under the Company should see eye to eye with those who argued that, even after an affair so shocking as that of the Wairau, the Maori had still a claim to receive justice at the hands of the Pakeha. So, when the new Governor, Captain Robert Fitzroy, R.N., personally inquired into the incident, seven months after its occurrence, it was not wonderful that the address which the colonists presented to him at Wellington should have been charged with the gall of bitterness. Nor was it surprising that the natives, on their part, should have accused their white neighbours of studied hostility towards them. Lastly, when it was understood that the Governor laid the weight of the blame upon the Company and their settlers, and almost exonerated Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata, the indignation of the former knew no bounds, and was expressed in language both foolish and unjust. Captain Fitzroy undoubtedly decided according to his conscience, and with a view to safeguard the interests of the colonists, whom he correctly judged to be too weak to risk a conflict with well-armed natives, thoroughly versed in their own methods of warfare. Unfortunately, the Governor's choice of words when conveying his decision, while it irritated the whites, conveyed to the Maori an impression that fear, not policy, had dictated clemency, and their bearing in consequence became arrogant. The Maori were now alive to the value of their land, and of money as a purchasing agent. Skilled mind-readers, they played upon the Governor's fears, and compelled him to allow the colonists to buy land direct from them instead of through the Crown. Captain Fitzroy yielded; but, as he endeavoured to compromise by extracting a tax on every acre purchased, the Maori did not make as much as they had hoped to make, and the unfortunate Viceroy again managed to please nobody. What between the Maori, who used him for their own ends, and the colonists, who called him mad, the Governor's lot was anything but happy. For all their shrewdness and intelligence, the Maori were not yet sufficiently educated in the ways of the Pakeha to appreciate the niceties of civil government, which, it seemed to them, drove away the flourishing trade which had been theirs while yet their ports were all in their own hands, and when every port was free. These sentiments, skilfully fostered by unscrupulous traders, paved the way for an outbreak. And as Kororareka had furnished excuse for the establishment of British sovereignty, so it now provided an occasion of war, and witnessed the first determined act of opposition to the power of the British rule. It was a bitter blow to traders, who had been accustomed to traffic without let or hindrance in the Bay of Islands, to find Kororareka flaunting the British flag and demanding customs dues. Nor were the Maori any more contented; for they had now to pay a higher price for tobacco, blankets, and other luxuries which they had once acquired so cheaply. Therefore, since political economy was still beyond them, they looked elsewhere for the explanation of the change, and found it--in the flagstaff on the hill outside Kororareka. The flag which floated there was indeed the symbol of British authority, and on that account sufficiently hated by the more intelligent of the patriotic Maori, who desired to preserve their independence; but among the ignorant natives there were not a few who were convinced that the flagstaff itself was the very cause of the customs dues and the irritating restrictions placed upon trade. Therefore, when Honi (John) Heke, who had married the beautiful daughter of the famous Hongi Ika, announced his intention of cutting down the hated staff, he did not lack volunteers to help him in what he, at least, intended as a deliberate defiance of Britain. For Honi Heke was far too astute to look upon the flagstaff as anything but what it was--a wooden pole. Under the old Maori law a woman who married beneath her raised her husband to her level; wherefore Honi Heke, though not himself a chief, became elevated to the ranks of the aristocracy upon his marriage with the "daughter of a hundred earls." The upstart was not received with open arms by the true nobility, though they tolerated him for his father-in-law's sake. Had he been one of themselves, and thus able to command their allegiance, Heke, skilled as he was in war, might have brought the hated Pakeha face to face with fearful odds and, perhaps, changed the course of history in New Zealand. Heke, like his predecessor Hongi, was a born soldier. In his boyhood he fell into Mr. Marsden's hands, who took him to Sydney and endeavoured to teach him a trade. But trade was not for Heke, who was often found in the barrack-square feasting his eyes upon the soldiers, and keenly watching their drill. Association with Mr. Marsden and the tuition he received from the missionary enabled Heke to read and write, and developed a mind already dangerously rich in qualities which make for leadership. Returning to his native land, Heke joined himself to Hongi, who, finding him an apt pupil, gladly instructed him in a sterner science than any which good Mr. Marsden had taught him. So pleased was Hongi with his protégé that he gave him his daughter in marriage, and it was upon Heke that the great chief's dying eyes were turned when he faltered out his last advice to his followers and bade them beware of the Pakeha in red. Deep into Heke's heart sank that advice, and it was with Hongi's "word" upon his lips that he struck his first blow against the might of Britain. But he had a yet more sinister word of his own for the ears of the Pakeha, hardly recovered from the shock of the Wairau massacre. "Is Te Rauparaha to have all the honour of killing the Pakeha?" he exclaimed as he marched his men to the flagstaff hill. "We shall see!" This insulting speech was, perhaps, uttered deliberately, in order to sting the Kororarekans into resistance, and thus provide Heke with excuse and opportunity to rival the southern leader. If that were so, he was disappointed; for, at the earnest insistence of the Police Magistrate, the residents looked on from afar while Heke and his two hundred malcontents hewed down the obnoxious staff and carried off the signal balls, used to communicate with shipping outside the bay. Wroth at this reception of his policy of conciliation, Captain Fitzroy sent an urgent appeal for help to the Governor of New South Wales. The answer came at once and, less than five weeks after the fall of the flagstaff, one hundred and fifty men of the 99th Regiment, with two field guns, landed at Kororareka and encamped there. H.M.S. _Hazard_ presently lent all the sailors who could be spared, and the little army prepared to invade Heke's country. And now the little influence which Hongi's son-in-law possessed over the great chiefs was speedily and fortunately demonstrated. Instead of flocking to his aid, the high chiefs besought the Governor not to engage in war, and offered to keep Heke in order for the future. They probably overestimated their power in this direction; but the Governor was satisfied, and Thomas Walker Nene and twenty-three other chiefs of note made orations at a great _korero_,[59] and declared their loyalty to Queen Wikitoria. The flagstaff was then re-erected, the borrowed troops returned to Sydney, Kororareka was again made a free port and, as the year 1844 drew to a close, the country reeled to the very edge of the pit of bankruptcy. Extraordinary efforts were made to avert this calamity. Auckland, like Kororareka, was declared a free port, thousands of pounds' worth of debentures were issued and declared a legal tender and, as a last resource, the Governor abolished the customs dues all over the colony. It seemed as if no one, either on the spot or in England, quite knew what to do for or with New Zealand and, to crown all the trouble, the sempiternal land question once more poked up its ugly head. The natives grew suspicious and resentful; settlers were ejected and their homes destroyed, on the ground that they occupied debatable land, or land actually claimed by the Maori, and everywhere was unrest and apprehension. Heke, who knew very much better, pointed to the flagstaff at Kororareka as the cause of all this worry and, barely six months after his first exploit, back he came with his merry men, and for the second time levelled the detested pole. Though he was not expected--as he had been on the first occasion,--the signal station was guarded by friendly natives. These, however, belonged to the tribe of the turbulent Heke; so they merely made a show of resistance, and retired to protest that it would have been a sin and a shame to shed any man's blood for the sake of a bit of wood. So Honi Heke triumphed for the second time. The belligerent operations at Kororareka had so far been in themselves, apart from their consequences, somewhat farcical; but the "curtain-raisers" were over, and tragic drama was to be presented after an interval of little more than a month. NOTE.--The private soldiers, who found a nickname for everybody, styled Honi Heke "Johnny Hicky." From this arose an absurd story that Heke was an Irishman, who had taken service with the Maori in order to avenge his country's wrongs! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 59: "Palaver."] CHAPTER XVI THE FALL OF KORORAREKA Governor Fitzroy once again appealed to New South Wales for aid and, on the very day on which the soldiers sailed from Sydney, Heke opened his campaign and scored his first success at Kororareka. A serious attack does not seem to have been anticipated; but a stockade had been erected for the benefit of the women and children, some light guns had been mounted, and the place garrisoned by half a company of regulars and a number of settlers. In addition, H.M.S. _Hazard_ was in the bay, her guns trained upon the approaches to the town. Heke first gave evidence of his presence by capturing Lieutenant G. Phillpotts of the _Hazard_, though he almost immediately released the gallant officer, in proof, he said, of his pacific intentions. Then, in spite of the watch kept upon his movements, the Maori warrior out-generalled the watchers, and sprung a surprise upon the town. Late on the night of the 10th of March, 1845, two columns of Maori under Heke and old Kawiti--Hongi's fighting chief--landed at Onoroa and Matavia, close by Kororareka. Heke ambushed his men amid the deep fern in rear of Signal Hill, almost within touch of the blockhouse, while Kawiti disposed his party about the Matavia Pass, on the opposite side of the town. So quietly were these manoeuvres executed, that neither the soldiers in the upper blockhouse, nor the sailors under Captain Robertson of the _Hazard_ on the Matavia side, nor the civilians in the stockade and lower blockhouse had any idea that they were ringed round by a cordon of fighting men under two of the most experienced warriors of their day. Not by the slightest sound did the Maori indicate their presence; not even for the sake of capturing one of the officers who walked through their lines, wholly unsuspicious of their proximity. It was Heke's intention to surprise his foes, and he succeeded perfectly. As day broke, cloudy and raw, on the 11th, the lieutenant of the regulars went to the barracks to turn out his men. His second in command, a young ensign, who was in charge of the upper blockhouse, by the flagstaff, thereupon left his post under guard of a corporal and fifteen men, and proceeded with a few soldiers to complete an earthwork overlooking Onoroa Bay. Captain Robertson occupied a similar position on an opposite hill overlooking Matavia Bay. No sooner was the ensign out of sight than a sham attack was begun on the Matavia side, and the young soldier very properly fell back towards the blockhouse. At the same moment the corporal, believing his officer trapped, left three or four men in the blockhouse, and raced with the rest to the ensign's support. He soon realised that the firing was from the Matavia side of the town, wheeled his men and hurried back towards Signal Hill. But a cloud of Maori sprang without the least warning from the fern and, yelling discordantly, began to harass the little company. Others rushed the blockhouse and slew the few defenders, while their heavy fire convinced the corporal that to regain the place was impossible, and that his wisest move would be to join forces with the ensign. He effected this; but when the officer endeavoured to retake the blockhouse, he was not only held off by the captors of the post, but had much ado to break through the Maori who were stealing round to cut him off from the lower blockhouse. The action had by this time become general, and the British, though fighting bravely, were getting the worst of it, owing to inferiority of numbers and lack of ammunition. The British fought sturdily and with dogged persistence, after their usual fashion, and the Maori, brave themselves, never hesitated to give credit to their valorous foes. For years after this historic engagement they told the story of Captain Robertson's fight, how he felled with his own hand five stalwart Maori, one of them a chief of note. Then the gallant sailor dropped to the ground, sorely wounded, while Lieutenant Barclay very reluctantly fell back just in time upon the town, and thence reached the lower blockhouse. For the Maori had seized the barracks and, surging round the blockhouse, threatened to make an end. But the "Tommies" and the "handy men" were not yet done with, and these, sweeping out without orders, cleared their front of the triumphant foe. "So all day long the noise of battle rolled"; but nightfall saw the town evacuated, and the women and children safe on board the _Hazard_ and other ships in harbour, whose crews had looked on wonderingly at the success of primitive warriors against disciplined soldiers. Numbers must always count for something; but the "way of the Britisher," which is ever to underrate a foe, particularly if he be of dark complexion, accounts for the success of the Maori that day. Victory was no sooner assured than the Maori swept down upon the town, looted and burnt it to ashes. Yet so generous--or so stupid, from the soldiers' point of view--were they that they allowed many of the townspeople, with whom they considered they had no quarrel, to take what goods they could and go unhindered. It was as if they had said, "Our dispute is with the authorities. Go you in peace, and learn that the savage Maori can be as chivalrous as the civilised Briton." Were there present at the sack of the town any of the grosser sort of Maori, who might have been inclined to defy their chiefs and commit those excesses too often associated with the victory of the savage, there were yet two men there to hold their passions in check. For, in and out of the flaming houses, and here and there among the wounded, unmoved by the riot and confusion around them, went all day long Bishop Selwyn of the English and Bishop Pompallier of the Catholic Church, their differences forgot as they united in acts of Christian charity and corporal works of mercy. So fell Kororareka, with the loss of a dozen killed and a score or so wounded on the side of the defenders, while the Maori lost--so they said--ten or twelve more. But, in addition, the town was destroyed, and along with it fifty thousand pounds' worth of property. It was a signal triumph for Heke and Kawiti, and, worse than all, it taught the Maori to disbelieve in the invincibility of the Pakeha. So fell Kororareka, one of the oldest settlements--if not the oldest--in New Zealand; nor were there wanting those who averred that the place had brought its fate upon itself and, like a latter-day "city of the plain," thoroughly deserved its downfall. CHAPTER XVII HEKE AND KAWITI ON THE WARPATH Kororareka was done with; but not so Honi Heke, outlawed now with his comrade old Kawiti, and the whites around Auckland went in terror of the victorious pair. For Heke had threatened to assault the capital at the next full moon. Some watched for his coming as apprehensively as did ever Roman for the approach of Lars Porsena and his Etruscans, while to others the mention of the Black Douglas was not more prophetic of disaster than was that of Honi Heke. Many of these last migrated to more peaceful shores, despairing of rest anywhere in the land where the Maori were predominant. After all, Heke never came. The Maori leader had his hands full; for Tomati Waka Nene, throwing in his lot with the British, marched into Heke's country, and kept the victor busy while the Pakeha drew breath. The Governor, worried almost out of his senses by the bitter attacks made upon him, hurriedly collected all the soldiers who could be spared and despatched them under the command of Colonel Hulme of the 99th Regiment to the support of Waka Nene. The expedition reached the Bay of Islands on the 28th of April, 1845, a guard of honour disembarked, and the British flag was once more hoisted over what remained of Kororareka. Then came Waka Nene, advising immediate advance upon Heke, to which Colonel Hulme agreed; but he made before starting one of those errors which have more than once lowered our character for absolutely fair dealing in the eyes of native races. The chief, Pomare, was taken prisoner under a flag of truce and packed off to Auckland, while his _pa_ was burnt. It is useless to reproach savages with treachery if we ourselves are guilty of it. When the story came to his ears, the much-abused Governor released Pomare with an apology, and soothed his injured feelings by the gift of a sailing-boat, always a delightful present to a Maori. Heke had established himself at Te Ahuahu, not far from Okaihau, in a _pa_ belonging to Kawiti; and here he waited till early in May for Colonel Hulme, whose force of white men, swollen by the addition of seamen and marines from the _Hazard_, had increased to four hundred. Heke was said to have twelve hundred fighting men; but Waka Nene's eight hundred "friendlies" equalised matters as far as numbers went. As soon as Heke had ascertained that Colonel Hulme had left Auckland, he withdrew from Te Ahuahu and built a new _pa_ near Taumata Tutu, significantly enough, on the spot where the famous Hongi had spoken his last "word" to his people. This _pa_ he named Te Kahika, or the "White Pine _Pa_." There was a good deal of the pagan left in Heke, or, at least, he still preserved a considerable respect for the old religion. It is, therefore, not wonderful that Te Atua Wera, the famous _tohunga_ of the Nga-Puhi, should have been with him in camp, or that the commander should have prayed the magician to put heart into his men. This Te Atua Wera proceeded to do very diplomatically, advising the pagans to stick to paganism, the Christians to Christianity, and impressing upon each the absolute necessity for making no mistakes. "Do nothing," he cautioned, "to make the European God angry, and be careful not to offend the Maori gods. It is good to have more than one god to trust to." On these conditions he promised success and guaranteed to turn aside the shot from the big guns. There were no big guns, as it happened; for when Colonel Hulme's column arrived at Okaihau on the 7th of May, they had only a few rockets. It was resolved to use these for the moral effect it was hoped they would produce. Waka Nene's Maori had mounted a white headband to distinguish them from the foe; but, as a matter of fact, they took little part in the conflict, their superstitious fears having been aroused by the carelessness of the soldiers and sailors regarding omens. "They are eating their breakfast standing up!" one Maori exclaimed in horror. "Don't they know how unlucky it is to eat standing just before a battle?" "They have no _tohunga_ with them," another remarked, shaking his head. "I threw a _rakau_ (divining dart) for them this morning," a third said gloomily, "and it turned wrong side up as it fell. Many will die to-day." "True," assented a fourth. "Look at them now. They are carrying litters, as if they were already dead. They ought to be told how unlucky that is." And Nene's fighting chiefs did actually warn the British officers that they were behaving very foolishly and, being laughed at for their pains, begged the soldiers to throw away the litters, by carrying which they were really asking for death. But the soldiers, too, laughed and marched on, as the Maori fully believed, to their death. This was too much for the friendlies. "We are not going to take part in a funeral procession," they declared and, with the exception of a score or two of Nene's relations, withdrew to the top of Taumata Kakaramu, a neighbouring hill, to watch the fight. "If the soldiers win to-day," they declared, "we will always help them. But how can they possibly win?" The reasons given by the friendlies for their abstention were genuine; but underlying them was another, unconfessed. Like those with Heke, they were Nga-Puhi, and in times of stress the claims of kinship have a way of making themselves heard. Heke had taken the precaution to cover the roofs within the _pa_ with flax to protect them from the sparks of the rockets, and the first of these presently came roaring and hissing at its mark. All held their breath; for the friendlies, watching from the hill-top, knew as well as those within the _pa_ that the _tohunga_ had promised immunity from this very danger. Heke came out just at this moment to observe the effect of the missiles. Determined to be on the safe side, he had put up a Christian supplication, and now stood repeating with great unction a Maori prayer. On came the rocket; but Heke never moved. Many thought that he must be hit; but the missile struck the ground and ricochetted over the fort--greatly, no doubt, to the relief of the venturesome leader, who, when a second shot behaved in like manner, yelled defiance and stalked under cover. Kawiti had meanwhile laid a clever ambush. When the rockets had been fired, a rush was made on the rear of the _pa_, and Heke, leaving sufficient to defend the walls, sallied from the front and had nearly succeeded in effecting a junction with Kawiti, when a friendly saw him stealing through the bush and yelled an alarm. In consequence, Kawiti's flank attack was repulsed, his son being among the slain. The old warrior attempted a second flank attack, but was driven back by the British, who, as they chased the Maori, swore at them after the immemorial fashion of Thomas Atkins. This annoyed the Maori more than any drubbing; for they complained that they had done nothing wrong, and to be treated to such vulgar abuse was an outrage. Such behaviour was indeed utterly opposed to the Maori idea of courtesy, and a deputation once approached the Governor, protesting against the Pakeha's habit of swearing at them, and praying His Excellency to discourage the offensive practice! Colonel Hulme concluded as night fell that he could not take the _pa_ with the force at his command. He believed that he had punished the enemy in the open; but his own loss was fourteen killed and thirty-two wounded. Having neither ammunition nor food remaining, the colonel marched away, leaving Heke in possession of the field. The Maori chief some days later received a visit from Archdeacon Williams, who urged him to yield and go into exile for a year, after which his offences might possibly be pardoned. Heke declined the missionary's kind offices, and wrote the Governor a letter which was very far from being that of a fool. "Friend, the Governor," said Heke, "where is the good will of England? In her great guns? In her Congreve rockets?... Is it shown in Englishmen calling us slaves? Or in their regard for our sacred places?... The Europeans taunt us. They say, 'Port Jackson, China, the Islands are but a precedent for this country. That flag of England which takes your country is the commencement.' The French and, after them, the Americans, told us the same thing.... We said, 'We will die for the country which God has given us.' ... If you demand our land, where are we to go?... Waka Nene's fighting for you is nothing. He is coaxing you for land, that you may say he is faithful.... Were anything to happen to me, the natives would kill in all directions. I alone restrain them. If you say fight, I am agreeable; if you say make peace, I am equally agreeable.... I say to you, leave Waka and me to fight. We are both Maori. You fight your own colour. Peace must be determined by you, the Governor.--From me, John William Pokai[60] (Heke)." Public confidence in the security of life and property was by no means increased by the retreat of the British from Okaihau, while the Maori not unnaturally assumed airs which intensely irritated the colonists, though they wisely ignored them. The Governor, standing at bay between the scornful Maori and the indignant colonists, who gave him a large share of the blame for the misfortunes which had befallen the colony, made vigorous efforts to organise another expedition which must crush Heke and Kawiti. While this was preparing, Heke kept his hand in by attacking Waka Nene's _pa_, where he received a bullet in the thigh. The British, not to be outdone, went in boats up the Waikari river, to find the fort they designed to attack deserted by the nimble foe. All was ready by the 16th of June, and Colonel Despard of the 99th Regiment began the second campaign against Heke, who had withdrawn to a _pa_ of immense strength at Oheawai, sixteen miles inland from the Bay of Islands. The colonel, an experienced soldier, commanded a force of six hundred and forty regulars from the 58th, 96th, and 99th Regiments; sailors from the _Hazard_; a company of one hundred volunteers, and two hundred and fifty friendly Maori. Four guns were with infinite pains hauled along the difficult track, through mud of a depth rarely seen in Britain, and over creeks and rivers with steep, defiant banks, between which the water often rushed in flood. June is midwinter in New Zealand, and no worse time could have been chosen for the expedition. Yet, in the judgment of those most deeply concerned with the colony's fortunes, it had to be undertaken. The force encamped near the mission-station on the Waimate or River of Tears, and on the 23rd of June marched to Oheawai, where a small garrison under Kawiti and Pene awaited their attack. Heke was still incapacitated. The night was spent in preparing batteries for the "potato pots," as the Maori styled the mortars with which it was intended on the morrow to breach the palisades of the _pa_,--four barricades of massive logs,[61] twenty feet in height, with a broad ditch between the first and the second. Some heavy hammering would be necessary before a path could be smashed through those tremendous defences. Yet it was confidently expected that the mortars would accomplish their part of the programme of attack. When they had turned in, the experience of the rest of the night must have been weird to the unseasoned British. Throughout the long, dark watches the comforting "All's well!" of the sentinels was drowned by the oft-repeated challenge, thundered by the guards in the _pa_, "Come on, O _hoia_![62] Come on and revenge your dead of Okaihau! Come on! Come on!" And the deep-toned, defiant watch-cry of Waka Nene's men from their hill, "Come on, O Nga-Puhi! Come on for your revenge! We have slain you in heaps ere now! Come on! Come on!" The bombardment began on the morning of the 24th, and for six days thereafter was continued. The round shot bowled through palisades one, two, three and four, or stuck fast in the giant posts; but never a trunk was shaken down, never one so hopelessly smashed as to open the door of that much-desired way. The enemy, safe in their cunningly contrived rifle-pits, meantime kept up a galling fire, which more than once caused a shifting of the positions of the batteries. This ineffectual bombardment went on day after day, till Colonel Despard lost patience and suggested an assault, breach or no breach. But to this talk the Maori would not listen, and Waka Nene, wise in war, implored the colonel not to dream of an attempt which must result in the slaughter of almost every one concerned in it. The officers, brave though they proved themselves to be, supported Waka. Then Colonel Despard, angry, ashamed--for it was known how small a force held the _pa_,--and well-nigh disheartened, was cheered by a gleam of hope. Why not send to the _Hazard_ for a thirty-two-pounder gun, which would certainly breach those defiant palisades? And send he did. We know what bluejackets can do; but it is difficult for any one unfamiliar with the country to realise the enormous pains and labour expended in dragging that thirty-two-pounder the fifteen miles which lay between the ship and the camp. It was done, though, and the great gun crowned the hill and frowned down upon the _pa_, threatening terrible probabilities for the morrow. At ten o'clock next morning the new gun roared its first message. It was posted only a hundred yards from the fort; yet, astonishing to relate, those massive trunks groaned and quivered under the shock of impact, but as sullenly as ever refused to fall, declined to be smashed. But the defenders must have been apprehensive for the fate of their stockade; for, while the great gun went on booming, Kawiti and a chosen band of thirty stole out of the _pa_, and made their way unperceived to a thick wood close to, and in rear of the battery. No one was prepared for this, even the friendlies' sharp ears and keen eyes being occupied with the banging of the guns, the thumping of the heavy shot against the palisades, and the splinters flying in all directions from the stubborn trunks. Wild, indeed, was the surprise of those on the hill, when old Kawiti and his band burst from the wood and charged down upon them. Back reeled Waka's irregulars; down the hill in headlong flight raced gallant Colonel Despard and his officers, forced to "run away" in order that they might "live to fight another day," and upon that thundering monster and his small six-pounder orderly swooped Kawiti and his men. A few minutes more and the guns would have gone off in a fashion unusual with them; but a number of the brave 58th came charging up the hill, flung themselves upon the assailants, and drove them back with nothing but a small union-jack for their pains. Yet the sight of that little flag, hoisted below the Maori colours in the _pa_, stung Colonel Despard to madness, or, rather, into issuing a mad order which cost the lives of many brave men. Twenty-six shot had been fired from the big gun which Commander Johnston had brought, and, though an impression had been made upon the palisades, the Maori maintained that much remained to be done before it would be safe to assault the _pa_. Waka Nene threw his influence into the scale against the proposition, but, finding the colonel determined, very generously offered to lead a simultaneous attack upon another face of the _pa_--which was built in parallelogram. Twenty bold spirits among his men asked leave to accompany the soldiers; but the colonel refused all help from his friendlies on the ground that, when they got inside the _pa_, the soldiers might mistake them for hostiles. Thus, the men who had had most experience in assaulting a _pa_, and who were willing for once "to walk in a funeral procession," were forced to remain spectators of an assault which they knew could have but one issue. One made his last charge that fatal afternoon whom the hostile Maori would fain have spared if they could. He was Lieutenant Phillpotts of the _Hazard_, or "Toby," as the Maori affectionately styled him. Here, at Oheawai, he showed his usual cool courage, walking up to the stockade and along it, examining as he went, and all the time under fire of the sharpshooters in the pits. When these recognised the bold intruder, they ceased firing, calling out, "_Kapai_, Toby! Hurrah for Toby! Go back, Toby! We don't want to hurt you." But the lieutenant finished his examination, returned and reported to Colonel Despard that without further breaching assault was impossible. But the colonel was adamant. The assault by escalade was fixed for three in the afternoon of the 1st of July, and one hundred and sixty gallant fellows under Majors Macpherson and Bridge, along with forty eager tars under brave Phillpotts, paraded at eighty yards from the _pa_, and stood staring at death. For a few minutes the silence is intense. Even the Maori in the _pa_ cease firing, unable to believe their eyes as they note the axes and ropes in the hands of the men. Then the hush is broken by a pealing bugle-call--"Advance!" A roaring chorus of cheers bursts from the devoted band--"_Ave, Desparde! Morituri te salutant!_" it should have sounded to the colonel,--and they race to cover those eighty yards and reach what is indeed the "imminent, deadly breach." Where is the brave fellow who a moment ago gave his bluejackets a last cheering word? Where is Phillpotts? There he is--back behind the big gun, thumping in a few more shots at the palisade, if so he may give his men a chance for their lives. He recoils suddenly from the gun, staring. Is he dreaming? The storming party is not making for that part of the palisade at which the monster has been hurling its iron wrath, but for the strongest section of the _pa_, at which never a shot has been fired, whence never a spicule of wood has been torn. What can it mean? "Are they all gone mad?" he groans; and a wrathful growl answers him, "Colonel's orders, sir."[63] Phillpotts scarcely hears. If his men are to be sent to death in that fashion, he is not going to lag behind. On he runs. His men have covered half of the distance; but he is close upon them, and catches back his breath for an encouraging shout, when a line of light sparkles along the ground in front, and from under the _pekerangi_, or outer fence, a hundred balls of lead, invisible, but whining viciously, speed towards their billets. The foremost soldiers are down. Some of the sailors go down, too. But Phillpotts is up with them now; no--ahead of them, where he wished to be, and his cheery voice comes to them through the din, "Keep at it, men! Down with those palisades!" And with one long, strong pull the tars bring down full fifty feet of the _pekerangi_. Alas! that does but little good; for they are face to face with those mighty tree-trunks, whose fellows not even the great gun has been able to demolish. This fence is set so deeply in the soil that human strength avails not to pull it down. It is loopholed, too, and every aperture spits death at the brave fellows who fall and fall and fall; but will not run. Ah! What is that? A roar, as of a wild beast springing upon its prey, and a big gun, unsuspected before, belches from an embrasure round shot and chain and scrap iron almost in the faces of the bewildered men. The space between the two fences is a shambles now; but they will not run, and Phillpotts is on his feet still. They might go now. They have done enough for honour. Why does not the bugler blow the "Retire"? If he does, those stern fighters do not hear it; or, if they hear, they do not heed; for Phillpotts is running along that impassable fence, seeking for a way through. By Heaven! He has found one! But what a way! The embrasure through which but now a heavy gun poked its ugly muzzle. Hardly large enough for a child to climb through, much less a man. But with a shout to his tars Phillpotts is up and wriggling through, and his cheering men are under him, each striving to be the first up and after his leader. Phillpotts is almost through, and a dozen muskets are emptied in his face. But such is the perturbation of the Maori at sight of that solitary, well-known figure, threatening now to leap into their midst, and shouting "Follow, lads! Follow!" that every man there misses him. And still he struggles in that narrow way, shouting "Follow!" A single shot rings out, clearly heard in a momentary cessation of the hideous din. It is fired by a mere boy; but it does its work, and Phillpotts without a cry falls dead, still grasping his sword. [Illustration: Phillpotts at Oheawai] He lies somewhat apart; but Captain Grant of the 58th is not far away, a ball in his heart, and Beattie, subaltern of the 99th, is dying. Two sergeants have fought their last fight, and thirty of rank and file--the brave unnamed--will never charge again. Macpherson, leader of this forlornest of forlorn hopes, is grievously wounded; so are Ensign O'Reilly and Interpreter Clarke. Three sergeants and seventy-five of the rank and file are down. Not ten minutes at it, and three-fourths of the one hundred and sixty who started have fallen, dead or wounded; and of them all not one has passed that cruel fence. Will that bugle never blow? Ah! At last--"Retire!" The man watching from the hill, the man who commands, realises now that he has demanded the impossible, has set his men to take an impregnable fortress. And again, as if imploring them to obey, the bugle wails--"Retire!" The assault by escalade upon Oheawai is over, and the Maori has once again repulsed the Briton. But whose is the fault? FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 60: His father's name.] [Footnote 61: Some of which required thirty men to raise them by means of ropes.] [Footnote 62: Soldiers.] [Footnote 63: Statement of one who fought on that day.] CHAPTER XVIII THE FALL OF THE BAT'S NEST When Colonel Despard about a fortnight later turned his back upon Oheawai, he left the _pa_ in flames behind him. At no time had much been seen of the enemy, except during Kawiti's dash and that fatal ten minutes of assault; so the quiet aspect of the _pa_ attracted no particular attention. Then Waka's men noticed one night that their challenging watch-cries were not answered, though the howling of dogs suggested that the place was still occupied. Cautious investigation before dawn revealed the state of matters. Several dogs were tied up to posts, so that their howling might deceive the besiegers; but the enemy had stolen away, leaving an immense amount of material behind them, probably with the intention of tempting Waka's men and so checking immediate pursuit. Without more ado the _pa_ was burnt and the return to Waimate begun. The storm of popular indignation now broke out anew, not only on account of Colonel Despard's failure--for it was failure, the Maori counting as nothing the evacuation of a _pa_ in time of war,--but because the Governor listened to the advice of Mr. George Clarke, Chief Protector of Aborigines, and refused to prosecute the war until it should be seen whether Heke and Kawiti would sue for peace. They did nothing of the sort and, when it became known that Kawiti was building a _pa_ which he boasted would defy any number of big guns, the Governor was popularly called upon to resign. Captain Fitzroy refused to resign, and it was not long before petitions reached England, praying the Colonial Office to deal with him and to relieve the depressed state of the colony. No one in England had any very clear idea of what to do for New Zealand; but Lord Stanley shook his head when the New Zealand Company suggested the establishment of a proprietary government on the model of the early colonies in North America. Captain Fitzroy was, however, relieved of his office and, when the colonists learned that Captain George Grey, Governor of South Australia, was to take his place, there was general jubilation; "for now," people said, "they have at last sent us a man!" For George Grey was not untried in the art of governing men of different races, living in the same land; nor was he without experience of troubles such as were then oppressing New Zealand. He had dealt in South Australia with precisely such problems, and had in five years brought order out of chaos. Nor would he come unprepared to argue matters with the New Zealand Company; for the South Australian Colonisation Association oddly enough derived its existence, and in a measure took its methods, from Mr. Edward Gibbon Wakefield, the right-hand man of the New Zealand Land Company. When Captain Grey became Governor of South Australia in 1839, the country was almost bankrupt from much the same causes (the native question excepted) as had brought New Zealand to the verge of ruin. Before the Governor left, South Australia was in a flourishing condition; by the aid and liberality of their chief the colonists had overcome their difficulties, and the prosperity of the colony seemed established. Is it any wonder, then, that the New Zealanders joyfully anticipated Captain Grey's arrival, and looked to him to do for them what he had done for their cousins on the other side of the Tasman Sea? Moreover, Captain George Grey was believed to know more than any man living about native races, and how to induce them to adopt the manners and customs of civilised man. If there were some who shook their heads and declared that George Grey was "too much inclined to see that niggers got their rights," their growls were lost in the shriller chorus of satisfaction. Captain Grey arrived on the 14th of November, 1845, at Auckland. Without loss of time he quieted the financial panic, smoothed away for the moment the land difficulty, and assured all loyal natives of the Queen's favour and protection. Then, having ascertained that Heke and Kawiti were still in arms, he sent them a message that, unless they sued for peace before a fixed date, he would again set the war dogs at their throats. As a gentle hint to all concerned, he immediately passed a bill to prevent Maori from purchasing munitions of war. While Heke and Kawiti, unused to such swift decision, debated the question, the time limit expired, and their spies raced to them with the news that the _Kawana_ (Governor) was sending against them the greatest "war-party" which the "Pakeha Chiefs" had ever put together. Heke was still forced by his wound to abstain from active participation; but old Kawiti had finished his strong _pa_, Ruapekapeka--"The Bat's Nest,"--and retired thither, convinced that it would be impossible for the British to dislodge him. Kawiti felt both complacent and apprehensive. The _pa_ he had built was immensely strong and provided with every means of scientific defence, and five hundred good fighting men lay behind its massive fences. Colonel Despard, on the other hand, commanded close upon twelve hundred men, with eleven guns, two of them being thirty-two-pounders. For the odds Kawiti cared not at all; but the prospect of so many guns pounding at him all at once did not please him. There was no help for it. The war-party was at his gates, which he did not mean to open without a struggle. Colonel Despard, getting his first glimpse of "The Bat's Nest," made up his mind that he would reduce it by means of regular sap work, if it cost him a year. He had not to wait nearly so long; but neither he nor Kawiti had the least presentiment how swift was to be the fall of a fortress which at first sight looked impregnable. It was now summer, and the dreadful mud and angry rivers were no longer to be feared; yet there were difficulties in getting into position, for old Kawiti had chosen his site with consummate skill. The troops left Kororareka on the 8th of December, and four days later reached the _pa_ of a friendly chief, Tamati Pukutetu, whence Ruapekapeka could be seen, nine miles away. Only nine miles; yet it cost those twelve hundred men nine days to cross the intervening strip of country between Pukutetu's _pa_ and their camp before Ruapekapeka, and another nine days elapsed before the whole of the guns and ammunition could be got up. Kawiti made no attempt to harass the troops. The country fought for him and, besides, he was in no hurry to begin. No Maori ever was. The British camp lay distant eight hundred yards from Ruapekapeka, which stood on the side of a hill, surrounded by dense forest. A quarter of a mile of space had been cleared all around of bush, leaving a formidable glacis, which must be crossed before the massive palisades could be reached. Not that the colonel intended to cross it until he had sent ahead of him a good many iron notes of interrogation. For the _pa_ itself, with its one hundred and seventy yards of frontage and seventy yards of depth, all broken into flanks, if a purely technical description were to be given of its figure--the stockaded divisions of the enceinte, the curtains with their huge piquets, the trenches and covered ways, the loopholes on the ground-level for musket fire, the traverses, the subtle division of the interior into compartments so that the loss of one should not necessitate the loss of the rest, the subterranean cells, the bomb-proof shelters,--were these to be detailed, even a soldier would stare and, while still his wonder grew, ask not only how old Kawiti's head could carry all it knew of the science of defensive warfare, but also, to adapt a famous query, "Where the deuce got he that knowledge?" The bombardment began long before all the guns were up. Moses Tawhai, one of the allied chiefs, just before daylight on the 29th of December stole through the thick bush with his men to a position six hundred yards from the _pa_. Ere the enemy detected their daring approach, they had "rushed up" a temporary stockade, and into this two hundred soldiers and a couple of guns were promptly conveyed. Two days later, even as the enemy, as if inviting a beginning, hoisted their standard, every British gun in position--big guns, brass guns, little guns, mortars, rockets--roared, banged, cracked and fizzed an instant response. When the very first shot--fired from the gun served by the contingent from H.M.S. _Racehorse_, under Lieutenant Bland--cut the flagstaff in two and brought down the flag, "even the ranks of Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer." Which is to say, the chivalrous gentlemen defending the _pa_ were as ungrudging in their admiration of the successful marksman as were the besiegers. Next day, the 1st of January, 1846, the guns again roared out in chorus, this time in salute to the New Year; and old Kawiti, on the 2nd, tried one of his famous flank rushes. But the British were ready for him and drove him back with loss, so that he kept behind his defences for the remainder of the siege. So the days wore on until the 10th, by which time every gun, heavy and light, was in position. All day long they thundered and crashed, and shot and shell thumped and smacked against the wooden walls with much more visible effect than at Oheawai, so that two very obvious breaches had been made by nightfall. Heke arrived that night with a reinforcement, having dodged a column of friendlies who were blocking him in his home at Okerangi. When he saw the condition of things, he gave the very sound advice that the _pa_ should be evacuated before further mischief was done. "There is no sense in remaining here to be killed," he urged. "Let them have the _pa_ and, if they follow us into the bush, we shall have _them_; for they cannot bring their big guns there." People who have for nearly a fortnight endured a bombardment do not require much persuasion to change their quarters, and the majority then and there followed Heke out into the dense bush in rear of the _pa_. But it was different with old Kawiti. Ruapekapeka was his very own, the offspring of his own science and skill. He would not leave the _pa_ while hope remained of saving it. So he threw his oratory into the scale against Heke's arguments, and prevailed upon a few devoted adherents to share his fortune for good or ill. So the 10th of January closed without the British being aware that Heke and the bulk of the garrison had slipped away to safety. The end came on the next day, and from one point of view rather pathetically. It was Sunday, and if there was one principle more than another which the _mihonari_ had impressed upon their converts, it was that no work of any kind must be done upon God's Day of Rest. Most of those who were left in Ruapekapeka were Christians, and these, believing that the British would be similarly employed, assembled for divine service under cover of some rising ground outside, and in rear of the _pa_. Kawiti and the few who remained inside were asleep in the trenches; for they, too, had assumed that no attack would be delivered on that Day of days. Heke might have warned them; for he had read the lives of Wellington and Napoleon, and knew that Sunday never yet stopped a fight. But Heke and his people were also busy at their devotions in the shelter of the forest. Had the British been alone nothing might have happened; but the friendlies made a shrewd guess at the cause of the unusual quietude within the _pa_, and Wiremu Waka Turau (William Walker), Waka Nene's brother, stole up to the breaches and cautiously peeped through. As he had expected, he could see no one; so signalled his brother. Nene communicated the news, and Captain Denny and men of the 58th instantly hurried up with the _hapu_ of Nene and Tao Nui at their heels. As they burst into the silent fortress, old Kawiti awoke and with a handful of followers made a brief defence. But the assailants poured in, the odds were too great, and the old warrior, knowing that the game was up, turned and fled out at the rear of the _pa_ and joined Heke in the bush, calling upon him to return with his Nga-Puhi and retake Ruapekapeka. The face of the situation was thus entirely changed. The fort was occupied by the British and their allies, and the Nga-Puhi were hopelessly attempting to re-enter it at the rear. Their attack was really a feint, intended to lure the soldiers to Heke's ambush; but when the Nga-Puhi skirmishers at last fell back towards the bush, strict orders were given against pursuit. Here, again, it was the advice of the friendly chiefs which prevented the conversion of an unexpected success into a disaster. "Ah! The soldiers care nothing for Sunday when there's any fighting to be done," observed a rueful Nga-Puhi prisoner after the fight. "It's only when there's nothing else to do that they go and say their prayers!" So, on the 11th of January, 1846, fell Ruapekapeka _pa_, "The Bat's Nest," at a cost to the British of twelve killed and thirty-one wounded--how different from those ten awful minutes at Oheawai!--and with it fell the hopes of Heke and Kawiti, who presently tendered their submission and swore allegiance to Britain. And so ended the first sustained war between Maori and Pakeha. CHAPTER XIX THE WAR IN THE SOUTH "Luck!" said the stupid. "Foresight!" declared the wise. "George Grey all over!" chuckled the knowing ones. But the fact remained that Captain Grey had in less than two months partially disentangled the economic knot, had done something towards smoothing the political situation, and had brought about the end of a war which for a year and a half had vexed the peace of New Zealand. There were not wanting malcontents who prophesied all sorts of evil because Captain Grey had accepted the submission of Kawiti and Heke, pardoned them unconditionally, relieved the north of martial law, and left only a nominal garrison at the Bay of Islands. But the Governor already knew the Maori well enough to feel sure that a generous confidence in their honour would strongly appeal to them. And, besides, when George Grey had resolved upon a course, he held to his resolution, unstimulated by the smiles of flatterers, unvexed by the sneers of the envious, undeterred by the expressed opinion, good, bad, or indifferent, of any living being. Kawiti was seventy-two when he rushed the British with his favourite flank attacks. A week after the destruction of his famous fortress, Ruapekapeka, he wrote to the Governor, proposing peace in a letter very characteristic of himself, and particularly impressing one fact upon His Excellency. "Let us have peace between you and me," he wrote, "_for I am filled with your riches_" (he meant, "I have had enough of your cannon-balls"). "Therefore, I say, let you and I make peace. Will you not? Yes!" Honi Heke professed not to wish to make peace, and so long as he actually refused submission, so long was there danger that, if opportunity served, he would break out again. Once he had submitted, that possibility would cease to exist; for he had never been known to break his pledged word. Waka Nene paid him a visit one day and attempted to talk him over. Heke admitted that he had every desire for peace, but that, as he was a great chief (which he was not, save by marriage, as Waka knew very well), and as he had only fought in defence of his land and his liberty, which no one should convince him was wrong, he would only submit if the _Kawana_ came and asked him to do so. Perhaps no one was more surprised than Heke when the Governor came and frankly offered him his hand. In the Maori code, the chief who goes first to the other, or who first sends a "go-between," is held to be the one who sues for peace. So Heke shook hands with the Governor and tried to be condescending. But he knew in his heart that he was dealing with a shrewder man than himself, and one who would never hesitate to make a small and not dishonourable concession for the sake of a great public good. Heke knew that he had received the shadow, and looked content; Governor Grey was fully aware that he had gained the substance, and _was_ content. The conclusion of the whole matter came in May, when old Kawiti boarded H.M.S. _Diver_, then in the Bay of Islands, and formally tendered his submission to the Governor, expressing his regret for the trouble he had given, and his gratitude for the consideration with which he had been treated. The scene was watched by Waka Nene and other chiefs who had helped to lay the axe to the root of this venerable tree; but, true to his course, Governor Grey's reception of him was so cordial and kind, that the old warrior soon forgot his humiliation, and remembered only that he stood in the presence of a friend. _O si sic semper!_ "Jack" Maori did not allow the Governor much breathing time. The south was seething with discontent. Some of the colonists had never forgiven the Executive for treating the Massacre of the Wairau as a political rather than as a personal incident and, since Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata were living in the neighbourhood of Wellington, people there were apprehensive of similar happenings. The Maori, too--and particularly the restless pair just mentioned--continually grumbled, and the burden of their lament was, as ever, "Land! Land! Land!" Moreover, men of their type were not likely to be heedless of the doings farther north. Colonists knew this, and conceived their fears well grounded. They were indeed. Neither Te Rauparaha nor his friend, Rangihaeata, were men to be trusted should power, linked with opportunity, come their way. They had already scored heavily off the Pakeha, and their attitude was closely watched and imitated by their countrymen. A few miles outside Wellington settlers were treated with an insolence which enraged them, but which they dared not resent as they would have done had their numbers been greater and their dwellings less scattered. Their indignation at the behaviour of the Maori was the greater, because they now felt it to be justified; for the land most in dispute--the valley of the Hutt--had been bought by Governor Fitzroy, and the money paid over to Te Rauparaha. Whether he had or had not made a fair division with Rangihaeata was not the settlers' affair. But the "Tiger of the Wairau," as Rangihaeata had come to be styled, chose to think otherwise and, having secured a partner to his liking in his friend Mamaku, demonstrated his views in his own objectionable way. Te Rauparaha, the diplomatist, kept himself in the background, though it is certain that his advice counted for much; and even Rangihaeata did not at first make himself conspicuous, allowing his brigadier, Mamaku, to harass the settlers in the valley of the Hutt and its neighbourhood. Perhaps too close a watch was kept upon Rangihaeata, and Mamaku reckoned at less than his proper value. At all events, after a few months of desultory fighting, it was Mamaku with a hundred men who attacked a force of British regulars with a dash and spirit seldom seen in the wars between Maori and Pakeha. Boulcott's Farm was the advanced post of the British stockade of Fort Richmond, on the Hutt, and was held in May, 1846, by Lieutenant Page of the 58th Regiment and fifty men. The post consisted of a wooden cottage, several huts and a barn adjoining, which last had been rendered bullet-proof, and was the only fortified portion of the cluster of buildings. The ground had been cleared for some little distance all around, and beyond, on every side, spread the noble forest for which this region was then famous. The River Hutt was not far away, and somewhere in the thick scrub beyond the opposite bank lurked the enemy. So Boulcott's Farm kept wide awake. The night of the 15th of May passed quietly. The careful officer made his rounds, and to every challenge had for answer, "All's well!" For none could know that from the fringing scrub on the other side of the river dark faces peered, and fierce eyes watched the glimmering lantern as the rounds swung back to quarters, thankful for the prospect of a quiet night's rest. But so it was. Mamaku and his stalwarts were there, watching and waiting their opportunity to cross the stream and spring upon an easy prey. The night wore on; a new day was born, but still the darkness lingered. The song of a bird, the ring of a settler's axe, the crash of some giant tree falling from the ranks of its comrades, these were the few and infrequent sounds which broke the silence of the Hutt at that date; but, as the stars began to pale before the dawn of the 16th, the stillness seemed intensified. The men of the inlying picket felt the influence of the deep silence of the bush as they had never felt it before. The sentry, suspicious of he knew not what, peered at the forms of his comrades, indistinct in the gloom, and his nerves thrilled as he caught sight of a standing figure in their rear. The challenge was on his lips when the figure slowly, but not stealthily, advanced a pace or two, and the sentry recognised Allen, the bugler, a boy of fifteen. With a sigh of relief the sentry turned and peered again into the darkness of the clearing to his front. Paler grew the stars, some flickered out low down upon the horizon; but still the darkness and the silence held and---- What was that? That deep silence was broken at last, but by a sound so faint that only tensely strained nerves could have caught it. A rustle, nothing more, as if the first light breath of the morning wind stirred the tiniest fronds of the fern. Yet the sentry heard it and, with his musket at the ready, stared into the gloom and prayed for light. Again! This time he was sure it was no wind, and his eyeballs ached with the effort to discover the cause of that gentle and, it might be, ominous rustling. But absolute silence had fallen again. He glanced at Allen. The lad's figure was more distinct, and the sentry saw that he was leaning slightly forward, his hand to his ear. So he, too, had heard that soft stir, and was still unsatisfied. Then, as the sentry watched his young comrade, the thick darkness yielded to the touch of the invisible day, and the black curtain was changed to sullen grey. Again a sigh of relief passed the sentry's lips as he swung round to his front. Light was coming at last and---- Ah! Look! No sound this time. Something crept stealthily, slowly--how slowly!--towards him. Something crouched close to the cleared ground and moved with infinite patience through the fern. "My God! They're on us!" With the exclamation--perhaps it was also a prayer--the sentry threw forward his musket and fired--hurriedly, blindly, hitting no one; and the report was almost drowned in the wild uproar which instantly followed. The sentry shrieked a warning; the men of the picket discharged their muskets and swung them up by the barrel, as half a hundred naked Maori, upspringing from the fern, yelled and howled with fury, realising that they had been seen just a moment too soon. But one sound topped all others. Clear and shrill on the air of that pallid morning rang the notes of the "alarm," as young Allen blew with all the power of his lungs--not so much to summon, as to save, his sleeping comrades. Down went the sentry with a bullet in his brain. The men of the picket reeled to the ground shot, or stabbed, or tomahawked, and still young Allen blew--"Awake! Awake!" A huge Maori rushed at him and snatched at the bugle. Still holding the mouthpiece to his lips, Allen dodged him and--ran? No; stood still and blew, clear and sharp, "Awake! Awake!" With a grunt of wrath the savage raised his tomahawk and smote strongly downwards. The keen steel almost shore the lad's arm from his shoulder, and the bugle dropped from his nerveless fingers. But, ere it fell, the brave boy caught it in his left hand, set it again to his lips, and for the last time blew the quavering notes--"Awake! Awake!" Then the Maori struck once more, and Allen died. Many a brave man wears the proud cross "For Valour." Was it ever better deserved than by the boy who sleeps forgotten in a far-off land, and who simply did his duty? While this tragedy was being enacted, a fierce attack was made upon the defenceless quarter of the farm, whence Lieutenant Page, aroused by poor Allen's last bugle call, rushed with two of his startled men. They were immediately driven back; but presently, while the sergeant with a handful kept the Maori at bay, Page and six men, carrying three wounded under a hot fire, managed to reach the stockaded barn and join forces with the bulk of the command. The end of the affair soon came after that. The British poured out of the barn, led by their officer, and Mamaku and his Maori, having no liking for cold steel, scampered across the river, having killed six and wounded four of the small company of soldiers. Lieutenant Page was subsequently promoted for his gallantry in beating off a force twice as great as his own. [Illustration: A boy's heroism. "Awake! Awake!"] Whether "Ould Rapparee," as the soldiers called Te Rauparaha, was really Rangihaeata's chief adviser in all this mischief, the "Fighting Governor"[64] suspected him of being so, and determined to put him where he could do no more harm for a time. "Ould Rap" was living not far from Porirua, near Wellington on the west, without the faintest suspicion that the _Kawana's_ keen eye was upon him, and a most indignant man was he when he awoke in the grey of a winter dawn to find himself in the grasp of a number of sturdy tars. The little old fellow wriggled like an eel, fought, kicked, and bit, shouting lustily the while, "Ngati-Toa! Ngati-Toa to the rescue!" But the Ngati-Toa, seeing what was toward, judged it wiser to remain a little longer on their sleeping mats, and the warrior was carried off into what he chose to consider durance vile. Since he was treated as a State prisoner, and merely detained on board a ship of war for a year, he had only the fact of his captivity to complain of; and for this he had himself to thank. Governor Grey now turned his attention to Rangihaeata, who had withdrawn to the Horokiwi valley, a most impracticable region, densely wooded, midway between Porirua and Pahatanui. Here he had retired behind a stockade of immense strength, upon which, by Captain Grey's advice, no assault was made. New tactics of blockade were tried, a method of warfare which the Tiger of the Wairau relished as little as he had expected it: for there had been no time to lay in supplies. Consequently, he and his men were soon starved out and dispersed; nor did Rangihaeata ever again appear in arms against the Government. Trouble arose early in 1847 at Whanganui. Disputes regarding land tenure had been frequent and acute; but it would not be fair to ascribe to that ever-burning question the shocking massacre and the outbreak which followed it. It was a boyish prank which this time fired the train of events and once more set Maori and Pakeha face to face in armed opposition. On the 18th of April a youthful midshipman of the _Calliope_ was "fooling" with a pistol, which exploded and wounded a Putiki chief in the face. The wound was attended to by the English surgeon, and the chief made light of the matter; but certain "irreconcilables" proclaimed the middy's act an attempt at deliberate murder, and swore to take _utu_. That these men were actuated by sheer hate of the Pakeha is clear from the fact that, not being related to the Putiki chief, they had no right to exact vengeance on his behalf. Yet revenge him they did, and in atrocious fashion. A settler named Gilfinnan, his wife and eight children, lived at Matarana, a lonely spot five miles from Whanganui. Six natives descended upon this solitary homestead two days after the midshipman's unlucky prank, and barbarously murdered Mrs. Gilfinnan, two young boys and a girl of fourteen. The eldest daughter was severely injured and Gilfinnan, bleeding from a tomahawk gash in the neck, staggered into the town with the dismal information. Then Honi Wiremu (John Williams), a Christian chief, called upon six other young men to follow him, and without an hour's delay sped up the river in pursuit of those who had dishonoured the Maori name. The murderers had made fifty miles when the canoe of the avengers dashed into sight and swiftly came abreast of their own. Before the assassins could lift a hand, Patapo, a young chief, gripping his tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into their canoe, instantly upsetting it, and in a few minutes the ruffians were dragged from the water, handcuffed and carried prisoners to Whanganui. The district being at that time under martial law, Captain Laye of the 58th Regiment made short work of the murderers, four of whom he hanged out of hand, after general court-martial, while the fifth, a mere boy, was transported for life. The torch was alight now: but it was three weeks later before the settlers saw the surrounding hills dark with hostile Maori, who opened fire on the town, the stockade and, impudently enough, on the gunboat in the river. The defence was too weak to allow of operations by daylight; but, after nightfall, when the natives thought that they might safely loot outlying houses, the soldiers, undismayed by superior numbers, chased them from the town, routing them utterly and slaying, with many more, their old chief, Maketu, a man of note. Early in June reinforcements were dispatched to the Whanganui post, and the "Fighting Governor" himself arrived. How useful Captain Grey could be in a crisis such as this, and how intimate was his knowledge of human nature, is evidenced by what occurred shortly after his arrival, when a deputation waited on him with the request that he would remove the inhabitants from Whanganui and transfer them to Wellington. Captain Grey studied the faces of the men for a few moments, and then replied, "How many of you really wish to effect this change? Let all who desire _to run away from the natives_ cross to the other side of the room." Not a man stirred from his place and, though some did eventually leave Whanganui, the settlement was not deserted. To-day Whanganui is the centre of one of the finest pastoral districts in New Zealand. Throughout June, Colonel McCleverty tried without success to lure the Maori from their strong entrenchments; but towards the end of the month he made a demonstration in their front and, after some skirmishing, played the old trick of seeming to retreat in disorder. The enemy were outside their works in a twinkling, yelling triumphantly; but the soldiers turned at bay and drove them back over their breastworks at the point of the bayonet. This was the last of it. Winter had set in and the Maori, having had enough of fighting combined with semi-starvation, came in under a flag of truce and proposed peace on the ground that they considered they had killed sufficient soldiers! Knowing the Maori mind, the Governor appeared to resent this remark and replied that, though he would discontinue fighting, he would blockade the river until peace was sued for in more seemly phrase. Spring was well advanced before the haughty chiefs crushed down their pride, and not a craft of any sort had been allowed up stream since the _Kawana's_ fiat went forth. So, being unable to obtain tobacco, tea, sugar, and other luxuries, they swallowed humble pie, and wrote begging His Excellency to proclaim peace. Numbers of Maori could by this time read and write their own language, and many had become proficient in English. A news-sheet in their own language gave them information regarding current events; the Bible and some other books had been rendered into Maori, and in spite of wars and rumours of wars, civilisation advanced apace. With the conflicts round Whanganui terminated the first period of the long struggle between Maori and Pakeha. It had lasted over two years, it had made its influence felt from Auckland in the north to Wellington in the south, and it had demonstrated to the Pakeha that there were more ways of fighting than were to be found between the covers of the Red Book. Would the Pakeha remember that lesson when they next met the Maori in the field? The meeting was to come; but not until eleven years of fruitful peace had passed, bringing with them all the beneficial changes which make for the future greatness of a young country. And for those quiet years with all their opportunities, he would be ungenerous indeed who would not give the credit and the thanks in large--perhaps in largest--measure to the Governor, Captain George Grey. He had not yet been two years in the colony which he had found in such a parlous state; yet, as once before, in South Australia, he had brought order out of disorder, and by his firmness and consummate tact effected a by no means sham reconciliation between his own proud race and the equally proud, and far more turbulent, Maori folk. So far his greatest honours had been won in time of war. Let us see how he comported himself during the next six years which remained to him of that peace which he had done so much to bring about. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 64: Captain Grey was styled the "Fighting Governor" by the Maori because of his frequent presence at the military operations against them, where, it was said of him, "he carried the spirit of peace into the councils of war."] CHAPTER XX BUILDING AND UPSETTING In August, 1846, the Imperial Parliament passed "The New Zealand Government Act," dividing the colony into two provinces and granting representative institutions. It was on New Year's Day, 1848, that the Queen's will was made known to her people in her youngest colony, and Captain Grey was sworn in anew--this time as Governor-in-Chief of the Islands of New Zealand, and also as Governor of the Province of New Ulster and New Munster, the new division of New Zealand proper. In the same month Major-General Pitt and Mr. E.J. Eyre were appointed Lieutenant-Governors of New Ulster and New Munster respectively. The exultation of the colonists over their improved status was suddenly checked when they learned that Sir George Grey--now a Knight Commander of the Bath--had determined to withhold the franchise from them for a reason which seemed to him to justify this serious step. The new Act conferred the franchise upon all who could read and write English, which, of course, excluded the great majority of Maori. Sir George Grey feared that, when the natives appreciated the great power which the exercise of the franchise would confer upon the white population, still greatly in the minority, and realised the disadvantages to themselves, discontent would be excited amongst them, and trouble break out afresh. For this reason he suspended that part of the charter dealing with the franchise until he should receive an answer from the Colonial Office to the communication he had made on the subject. Strong man as he was, Sir George Grey was forced to bow before the storm of popular indignation which his action aroused. He held out until November; but he was one, and his opponents were very many, so in that month he wrote again to the Colonial Secretary, withdrawing from the position he had taken up. Meantime, he gave the public a portion of what was demanded in the shape of a provincial representative ordinance. This came to nothing, for the Imperial Parliament was preparing a fresh charter for New Zealand. But, owing to the time which must elapse on each occasion before those so far divided could learn one another's views, it was not until the 30th of June, 1852, that the Constitution Act for New Zealand was passed. As in those days the voyage to New Zealand was a much longer affair than it is now, the new Constitution was not promulgated in the colony until January, 1853, in March of which year Sir George Grey assumed his new duties. The Constitution Act gave representative institutions to the colony, which was divided anew into the six Provinces of Auckland, Wellington and Taranaki in the North Island, and Nelson, Otago and Canterbury in the Middle Island. The Chief Executive was to be the Governor of the colony, and the office of Lieutenant-Governor was done away with. Each Province was to be administered by a Superintendent, whose election the Governor had power to veto. Each Province was to make its own laws (save those which affected the colony as a whole) by means of an elected council. The whole colony was to be ruled by a Governor; a Legislative Council of ten, appointed for life by the Crown; and a House of Representatives of from twenty-four to forty members, to be elected every five years by the people. The Governor possessed the right to veto laws made by the Provincial Councils, while the Crown might exercise the same right with regard to the Colonial Parliament. The franchise included all British subjects--irrespective of colour--twenty-one years of age and having certain very easy property qualifications. There were many more clauses, and, of course, the Constitution did not suit everybody. Still, it was on the whole a large and liberal measure, and time would show its working and where the need for alteration lay. While all this was under discussion, matters were not standing still in other directions. Emigration revived upon the establishment of peace, and New Zealand became once more the Mecca of many a poor man's hopes. So firm, indeed, was faith in the future of the colony that within three years of the cessation of trouble in Whanganui, two new settlements had been planted in the Middle Island. The earlier of these, Otago, was founded in March, 1848, under the auspices of the Free Church of Scotland, itself a new institution, formed by secession from the Established Church. The Company had a hand in the matter; but it was now a chastened Company, and the scheme which was drafted in view of founding Otago was not marked by such imperfections as had marred the success of earlier operations. The agent, in this instance, was a man whose memory is yet green in Otago--Captain William Cargill of the 74th Regiment, retired, who had served with distinction in the Peninsular wars, and was reputed a descendant of David Cargill, the Covenanter. Otago never knew the desolation which had been the lot of her northern sisters and, in no very long time, the chief city had been founded under the reminiscent name of Dunedin, while the Port was called "Chalmers," after the great leader of the Disruption. The principle of imitation possibly influenced the Church of England to follow the example of the Scotch seceders. Canterbury was founded in December, 1850, under the auspices of the Establishment, and it was Mr. Edward Gibbon Wakefield who obtained for the Canterbury Association a ten years' charter of incorporation from Her Majesty's Government. Moreover, land was purchased from the not yet defunct Company, and the emigrants, who were styled in England "Canterbury Pilgrims," arrived in due course. As a whole, they were as fine a set of people as ever young colony could desire. Their ideas were at first a little high-flown; but they soon got rid of initial absurdities, and Canterbury is to-day not the least in the Dominion of New Zealand. Everything was going very well indeed, and men began to tell one another that, now that the native trouble was over, there was nothing more to be feared, nothing to prevent active colonisation, nothing to interfere with the rapid growth of the towns already founded. One might almost assert that New Zealand was a land without drawbacks. So they talked and hoped and planned, forgetting all the while that they lived--or some of them--within that sinister belt which straggles round the globe under the name of the "earthquake zone." They were sharply reminded of it on the 16th of October, 1848. It was about two in the morning when people were suddenly awakened by--they knew not what. Simply, they were awakened. Some lay still, wondering why sleep had so abruptly departed; others, suspicious of trouble, rose and began to dress; only the few were aware of the true cause of that untimely awakening, and these rushed out of their dwellings and shouted an alarm. As the cries were in their mouths, there came a dull, far-away rumbling, a shudder shook the earth, and every house in Wellington rocked to and fro. Then people knew what was happening, and for a time all was confusion. The earth-pang was upon them, and folk ran hither and thither, crying aloud in their terror, seeking aid of those who sought it as eagerly, bewailing their ruined homes while shock after shock convulsed the earth, shaking down walls, splitting gaps in houses and cleaving fissures in the solid ground. From Banks Peninsula on the east of the Middle Island to the Peninsula of Taranaki on the west and White Island on the east of the North Island, the two "isles shivered and shook like a man in a mortal affright." The plains gaped, the mountains reverberated to the crash of great masses of rock thundering down into their valleys, and for nearly a month from the time of the first tremor this whole area was full of diminishing unrest. Most of the houses in the Wellington district were built of wood, though not a few were of brick, and it was discovered that those of wood which were built upon a brick foundation resisted the shocks better than those where only one of these materials had been used. Wellington suffered most, losing some sixteen thousand pounds' worth of property, while the fall of the ordnance store there buried in its ruins Sergeant Lovell and his two children.[65] This was bad enough; but, as many of us know, it takes more than an earthquake to drive people from the land in which they have made their home. So most folk stayed where they were, and a shock of a more pleasurable kind presently confirmed them in their judgment. This was nothing less than the discovery of gold. Men rejoiced, because they knew that, with such a magnet, it would not be long ere the colony attracted to her shores the increased population which she required for her better development. There was reason to rejoice over the finding of gold at home, the more because, when news arrived of the Californian discoveries in 1849, no fewer than a thousand colonists had emigrated thither from New Zealand, whence so many able-bodied men could ill be spared. Two years later came the story of the marvellous finds in the river-beds of New South Wales and the gullies of Victoria, and the young colony suffered a further drain of her stalwarts. Many intending immigrants, too, had shifted their helm and, instead of keeping a course for Maoriland, steered for one or other of the gold-bearing colonies. So people were heartily glad from every point of view when Mr. Charles Ring in 1852 found unmistakable traces of gold at Coromandel, forty miles north of Auckland. The Coromandel territory belonged to old Te Tanewha, or "Hooknose," the contemporary of Captain Cook; and Lieutenant-Colonel Wynyard, Acting Governor, would allow no invasion of his land without his permission. Old Hookinoë, as he pronounced his nickname, proved most gracious in the matter of cheap licences; but his land was soon exhausted, and his neighbour, Taraia, positively refused to allow either digging or prospecting. Five years later gold was discovered in paying quantities at Collingwood, in the Nelson Province, and four years after that there was a further find at Gabriel's Gully, Otago; but it was not until June, 1862, that Coromandel, where the metal had been originally unearthed, was declared available as a goldfield. Though Sir George Grey had now a House of Representatives and a Legislative Council, he did not summon the General Assembly. He had already applied to the British Government to remove him from a position in which he had spent thirteen years of strenuous life--five in South Australia, eight in New Zealand--battling with, and for the most part overcoming, formidable difficulties; setting one colony upon the high road to success, relieving another of many of her burdens, bringing to her much-needed peace, and providing her with a Constitution and Representative Government. After such a long period of arduous toil he felt that he had a right to crave leave to rest awhile. He left New Zealand on the 31st of December, 1853, carrying with him the best wishes of the best of the colonial population, and the whole-hearted devotion of the Maori race. It was not only as Governor that Sir George had gained the respect of the Maori; his qualities as a man--not the least of them his manliness--had won their regard, and they admitted yet another debt. He had learned their language, and had set down in that wonderful thing, a printed book, some of their most cherished traditions and legends, which must otherwise have been lost to them and to the world. Sir George Grey being gone--having no presentiment that, as "Fighting Governor," he was to return to his ancient battlefields,--the honour of opening the first session of the General Assembly fell to Lieutenant-Colonel Wynyard, who had assumed the administration of the Government. Auckland was, of course, the place of meeting; and there New Zealand's first Parliament assembled for the first time on the 27th of May, 1854, just fifty-four years ago. The second Parliament met in April, 1856, after the new Governor, Colonel Thomas Gore Browne, C.B., had assumed office. The early months of Colonel Wynyard's administration were marked by a sad calamity. Measles broke out at the Bay of Islands and, finding virgin soil, spread, like a rank weed, from end to end of the land. Four thousand Maori died before the epidemic was stamped out, among them old Kawiti, at the age of eighty-four. He had fought more than one good fight against the British leaders; but this time there came a captain he could not defeat, so he drew his mat across his face and slept with his fathers. As this is not a political history, it is unnecessary to deal with the struggles of the first Parliament to shape itself and to bring about responsible government. But it is well to remember that New Zealand was now subdivided into six Provinces, each empowered to manage its internal affairs; and also that there were men who from the first saw danger in this splitting up of interests, and did not hesitate to declare that there must be one Central Government, and one only. Otherwise, they insisted, there must be inevitably developed a number of small republics, each jealous of its own privileges, yet envious of its neighbours' success; each desiring the advantage of itself, all careless of the general good. It was union, not separation, which all true men desired--a union which, while it left a man free to indulge in honest pride that his fate had made him a Wellingtonian, an Aucklander, a Cantuarian, or what not, should compel him to the larger boast, "I am a New Zealander!" FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 65: Another very severe earthquake, which caused great damage to life and property and was felt on both sides of Cook Strait, occurred in January, 1855, on the fifteenth anniversary of the founding of Wellington. The sentry on guard over the ruins of Government House there, stood to attention during the height of a convulsion and cried, "All's well!"] CHAPTER XXI O'ERCLOUDED SKIES There was no session of Parliament between April, 1858, and the end of July, 1860, and the colonists were consequently justified in believing that the machinery of Government was moving smoothly throughout the Islands, and that the chief engineers required no help from their subordinates. Had they been told that they stood upon the dividing line between peace and war; had they been told that it required but one forward step in order to plunge them into a strife which should endure almost without intermission for just so many years as the peace they had enjoyed, they would have laughed in their informant's face. From the earliest days certain tribes had maintained an attitude of reserve towards the Pakeha. If the white intruders chose to found a settlement or two on the coast and remain there, well and good; the Maori might find their presence useful commercially and for purposes of war. It was another matter when the strangers absorbed the land, divided the country into provinces, and founded not only capital cities, but numbers of smaller towns and villages as well. If this sort of thing were to go on, the Maori might as well evacuate the island at once; for, as Heke had said to the Governor, "If you take our land, where are we to go?" This was the view taken by the Waikato, one of the most famous and most warlike of the Maori _iwi_, who about the year 1848 formed a Land League, which they strove to induce the other tribes to join. The leading principle of the League was obstinate refusal to sell land under any conditions to the Pakeha. Confined to the Waikato alone, this movement would have been serious enough, threatening, as it did, to preserve in the midst of the Pakeha settlements numerous fierce and resolute men, opposed to the domination of Britain. When other tribes associated themselves with the founders of the League, it should have been evident that some day, and before long, white and brown must stand foot to foot to decide which was to be for ever supreme. It mattered not to the Leaguers that the Government desired them to participate in the beneficent legislation designed on behalf of their countrymen. If they were to be governed at all, they preferred to choose the means and the way. To this end they devised a grotesque scheme, blending British institutions with the monarchical system of the ancient Jews. This done, they elected a king, called a "parliament," hoisted the flag which William the Fourth had granted to the "United Tribes of New Zealand," and inscribed it "Potatau, King of New Zealand." Ridicule might have killed the movement, had it stopped there; but danger loomed very near when the irreconcilable chief of the "Boiling Water" tribes, Iwikau Te Heu Heu, demanded total separation between the two races, pointing to his great ancestor, the slumbering volcano, Tongariro, as the centre of a district through which no road should be made, where no white man should settle, and wherein Queen Wikitoria should not be prayed for. Governor Browne held, notwithstanding, that "Kingism" should be allowed to die a natural death, and most unwisely repealed the Act which Sir George Grey had brought in, which prevented the sale of arms to natives. It was not until six months after this unaccountable step, by which time the Maori had acquired several thousand stand of arms, that the Governor listened to the anxious settlers and made the purchase of guns and ammunition somewhat more difficult by increasing the duty upon them. The whirlwind of the wind thus sown was to be reaped later; but the immediate result was a series of small civil strifes between different tribes during the years 1857 and 1858. Peace was still unbroken when 1859 came in, nor did the colonists even then pay much attention to the mutterings of the Land Leaguers or the growls of the King party. Yet they were really sitting over a powder magazine, and a very small spark must at any moment cause a terrible explosion. Before the explosion comes, let one last word be said regarding the attitude of the contending parties towards one another. Every one knows the shocking story of the retreat of the red men before the advance of civilisation, during which deeds were done, not once, not twice, but over and over again, upon both sides which cannot be named for the horror of them. We have not always been too careful of the black man's rights in Africa, and when he has turned upon us in his despair, have smitten him hip and thigh, decimating his tribe, burning his kraal and laying waste his fields. The Maori experienced little, indeed, of this in comparison with those others. Misunderstanding there was, and some, perhaps, were too quick to judge. Misunderstanding added to hasty judgment led to strife; but that strife, keen as it was, and bitter too, sometimes, was never a combat _à outrance_. Pakeha and Maori met and fought, slew and were slain, won or lost. Feeling now and again ran very high, the Maori smarting under a sense of loss and injustice, the Pakeha furious at some treacherous murder. Then there were reprisals. Such lamentable happenings there were; but at no time, not in the very depth of the war, existed generally that intense bitterness of spirit, that fierce racial jealousy, that consuming hatred, which distinguished the conflict between Paleface and Redskin. As the limits of the Pakeha's territory were extended, at no time did there arise such a band of bloody murderers as the "Indian Runners" of the western frontier of the United States. With these men it was an abiding principle to shoot an Indian on sight, innocent though he might be of any deed of blood. The strongest article in the creed of the Runner was, "There is only one good Injun, and that's a dead Injun." Nothing like this wicked spirit ever animated the white community in New Zealand. One might almost say that they waged war in generous mood, and there were certainly instances of extreme generosity and high-mindedness on the Maori side. Where in the world in a campaign against "savages" has one heard of the savage calling a warning to his white foe? Yet this is what the Maori did. "Go back, Toby!" they cried to Lieutenant Phillpotts at Oheawai. "Lie down, icky-fif; we're goin' to shoot!" they frequently shouted to the soldiers of the 65th Regiment, who had somehow gained their regard. Where in the world will you hear of converted "savages," having been taught the sanctity of the Sabbath, respecting the same when at war with their instructors? Yet this is what the Maori did. Remember the _pa_ of Ruapekapeka! Great and simple souls! What must have been their feelings when a volley from those who had taught them the holy lesson laid many of them low? There is no implication intended that the Maori were uniformly chivalrous and the Pakeha uniformly the opposite--the records of the war would never justify such,--but it ought not to be difficult for the civilised white man to be generous and chivalrous, whereas such instances as those just quoted are probably unique in the annals of war between the white and the coloured races. The wars in New Zealand had for the most part their origin in agrarian questions, and were concluded by diplomatic negotiations. They were not--nor was it ever contemplated that they should be--wars of extermination. The Pakeha strove by means more or less legal, if not legitimate, to push the Maori from the soil on which their feet had been firmly planted for six hundred years. The old owners resented the attempt and, in some instances, the manner in which the attempt was made. When argument was exhausted, then, and then only, came the final appeal to arms, and a war resulted which has brought about lasting peace. When the war began there were 170,000 whites in New Zealand, while the Maori population was reckoned at 32,000, of whom about 20,000 were available as fighting men. Remember, the Maori of 1859 were very different from even their immediate forebears. Cannibalism was as extinct as the _moa_. The intelligent natives had recognised the value of the Pakeha methods and studied them with advantage. Many possessed their own holdings, farmed their own ground, and progressed in the education which was freely offered them. There were Maori assessors in the Courts of the Superintendents, and a Maori chief was attached to the Governor's staff as adviser on purely native questions. The two races were distinctly drawn to one another about this period, and the white portion at any rate hardly looked for trouble. What gave the colonists an added sense of security was their knowledge that the great leaders of the past were all dead, or nearing their end. Heke had died of consumption in 1850. Te Rauparaha preceded him to Reinga in 1849, being buried by his son, Thompson Rauparaha, who had been educated in England and was a lay-reader. Rangihaeata helped to bury his old friend, and followed him seven years later to the shades, having never during the whole of his seventy years abated his hatred of the Pakeha. Rangihaeata was a man of great strength and splendid presence, and it is told that, when on one occasion he met Sir George Grey at a _korero_, or palaver, his costume was entirely and markedly Maori, in contrast to that of many of his countrymen, who wore blankets instead of mats, or were clothed in ordinary European dress. In reply to the Governor, Rangihaeata assumed his proudest, sternest expression, and spoke defiantly. "I want nothing of the white men," he concluded, and, with a sneer at his compatriots, "_I_ wear nothing of their work." Sir George smilingly indicated a peacock's feather which surmounted the chief's carefully dressed hair. "Ah! True; that is European," said Rangihaeata with vehement scorn, plucking the feather from his hair and casting it on the ground. Of the rest of the stern warriors who had been in grips with the Pakeha, Pomare was dead, Te Tanewha was gone to join the long line of his ancestors, and Waka Nene, their reliable friend, was growing old. In the opinion of many the great past had died with the dead heroes, and was dead for ever. It was in November, 1859, that Governor Gore Browne arrived at Taranaki and announced that, if any native had land to sell, along with a good title, he was there to buy for the Crown. A Maori named Teira--the nearest approach he could make to "Taylor"--offered to part with six hundred acres at Waitara, and this block the Governor agreed to buy, if Teira's title were proved good. The Commissioner was satisfied as to the title; surveyors were sent to mark boundaries, and were promptly ordered off by Wiremu Kingi Te Rangitake (William King), the chief of Teira's tribe, who had already declared that he would not allow the land to be sold. Governor Browne was a soldier, and diplomacy was not for him. He at once sent a force to compel Wiremu Kingi to withdraw his opposition, and these found the Maori strongly entrenched, and quite willing to take up the gage of battle. The Taranaki settlers retired with the soldiers to New Plymouth, and the Maori ravaged the settlement, which extended twenty miles north and south, and eight or ten inland. The fighting which followed during the ensuing months was chiefly remarkable for the first appearance of the colonial force in the field, where they then and afterwards did such good work. For most obvious reasons--were they known--the writer would be the last to disparage the regular forces; but they were hampered by method, and the bush fighting of the Maori was a style of warfare to which they were quite unused. Not a few, without intending disrespect to the regular forces, strongly hold that, had the conduct of military operations been left to McDonnell, Von Tempsky, Whitmore, Atkinson, and a few others, they, with their militia and volunteers, would have brought the war to a successful close in half the time, at half the cost, and with infinitely less loss to their own side. For these fought the Maori in the Maori style, and the natives feared these men, who knew them and the bush, with a fear they never felt for the redcoats, whom, in their queer way, they often expressed themselves sorry to be obliged to shoot. One example will show the difference in method. General Cameron, a man of great experience--elsewhere--and proved courage, one day in 1865 marched from Whanganui with drums beating, colours flying, and bands playing, at the head of as gallant a company of regulars and volunteers as ever went out to war. After a march of fifteen miles they came to the lake of Nukumaru, five miles from the rebel _pa_ of Wereroa, and here the General gave orders to encamp. At this, Major Witchell, who was in command of the military train, most of his men being mounted colonials, rode up and said, with a salute, "General, don't you think that we are rather too near the bush?" General Cameron glanced towards the bush, distant half a mile, the interval being covered with high _toë-toë_, a grass something like that called "pampas," and replied, "Do you imagine, Major, that any number of natives would dare to attack two thousand of Her Majesty's troops?" The Major thought it very likely; but he could say no more. He was confident that there were Maori in the bush, and the high grass offered excellent cover to such skilled guerilla. He probably realised also how much depended upon his own initiative, for, though he ordered his men to dismount, he bade them not offsaddle. Suddenly the roar of musketry broke out, and the _toë-toë_ was violently agitated as the Maori, still unseen, dodged hither and thither. That one discharge accounted for sixteen men, among them Adjutant-General Johnston, a capable officer; but, thanks to Major Witchell, that was the sum of the disaster. "Mount!" he shouted, and his men, riding as they knew how to ride, chased the Maori back into the bush, save thirty-six who lay dead among the grass to balance the account of the sixteen. How narrow was the General's own escape is shown by the fact that a Maori was shot hard by his tent, in the centre of the camp. It was not until he had allowed himself to be surprised again next day and lost five more men that General Cameron concluded that the bush was too close, and that the Maori would actually attack two thousand of Her Majesty's troops. This incident belonged to a later stage of the war. We are still with the troops in Taranaki, in the autumn of 1860, when General Pratt, who had arrived to take command, was about to besiege one of the Maori strongholds in the orthodox manner. Before this could be done, a truce was negotiated by the Christian Waikato chief, Wiremu Tamihana Te Whaharoa (William Thompson), who represented the King faction. Waikato had sent a contingent to the aid of Taranaki--in the old days it would have been very different--although they had no personal interest in the dispute; but these had been repulsed with loss, and it was then that Tamihana suggested a truce. This was in May, 1861, fourteen months after the Governor's soldiers had marched against Wiremu Kingi. [Illustration: Major Witchell's charge at Nukumaru] Men were everywhere satisfied that nothing more would come of this year of skirmishing, and few, if any, regarded it as preliminary to a long and dreadful war. Things fell again into their places; three new provinces--Hawke's Bay or Napier, Marlborough and Southland--were added to the rest, the Bank of New Zealand was incorporated, and only those within the innermost circle knew that underneath the seeming calm was deep-rooted unrest. But so it was. Governor Browne demanded, very much in the imperative mood, the submission of all concerned in the late rising, and a general oath of allegiance to the Crown. The Maori said neither yea nor nay; they simply did nothing. Whereon the Governor, wroth at their contumacy, declared his intention to invade Waikato and bring the insolent rebels to their knees. It is hard to see how one who has never taken an oath of allegiance can be a rebel; but that may pass. The colonists who heard the Governor's fulmination could not believe their ears, called his attention to the state of unpreparedness throughout the colony, and urged that to invade Waikato would be to invite an alliance of the sympathisers with that powerful tribe against the British. But the Governor had the power, believed that he had the means, and reiterated his determination. At this critical juncture Britain intervened to give her youngest child breathing time. Sir George Grey, Governor of Cape Colony, was instructed to proceed to New Zealand, and there resume the reins of government; and, when Governor Browne understood this, he held his hand, much to the relief of the colonists. For the next two years Governor Sir George Grey tried by every means short of war to bring about a peaceful solution of the difficulty which had arisen out of the Waitara block of land. He had the powerful aid of Bishop Selwyn; but all was useless, for the Waikato declined to submit the question to arbitration. And then the face of the situation was suddenly changed, and the natives placed entirely in the wrong. The district of Tataraimaka, fifteen miles south of New Plymouth, had been for fifteen years in undisputed possession of European settlers, even the Maori admitting their title to be good. The natives had ravaged this block during the trouble of 1860-1861 and, as they now refused to withdraw from it, Sir George Grey cut the knot of the difficulty by declaring his intention to abandon all claim to the Waitara block and to drive the Taranaki tribes out of Tataraimaka. Sir George never allowed "I dare not" to "wait upon I would," and the military were soon on their way. Confident of the support of the Waikato, the men of Taranaki sent to the king's headquarters for instructions. The answer came back at once, sternly laconic: "Begin your shooting!" An escort party were ambushed on the 4th of May, 1863, and the Taranaki began their shooting by murdering--for war was not declared--Lieutenant Tragett, Dr. Hope, and five soldiers of the 57th Regiment. Apart from this, the Waikato showed their determination to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Taranaki tribes and force a contest. Only a month earlier Mr. (afterwards Sir John) Gorst, resident magistrate in the heart of the Waikato country, had been expelled by the leaders, and the printing-press whence he had issued literature opposed to Kingism seized. The Waikato had a press of their own, which had been presented to them by the Emperor of Austria, and they issued a news-sheet which they called _Hokioi_, after a fabulous bird of great power. Mr. Gorst, on his side, published the _Pihohoi_, which is the name of a tiny lark; and, as the principles of "The Lark" were dead against Kingism, the king's men suppressed the paper with an alacrity worthy of Russian censors. The King party immediately after this came into direct conflict with Sir George Grey himself. Marching in force to a spot on the lower Waikato upon which Sir George proposed to build a court-house and police barracks, the malcontents hurled all the ready-fitted timbers into the river, declaring the district outside British jurisdiction. After this exhibition of power and determination, the Waikato despatched war-runners in all directions to rouse the Maori and inspire them to "drive the Pakeha Rat into the sea." The runners carried a circular letter exhorting the natives to "sweep out their yard" and to remember the national _whakatauki_, or motto, "_Me mate te tangata me mate mo te whenua_" (the death of the warrior is to die for the land). "We will sweep out our yard," went on the letter, and concluded with a line from a stirring war-song, well known throughout the North Island: "Grasp firm your weapons! Strike! Fire!" Though skirmishing was going on, neither side actually admitted being at war; but Auckland itself being threatened, General Cameron was hurriedly called north with every available man of his command. A glance at the map will show that the Waikato river makes a bend where the Maungatawhiri creek falls into it, and then pursues a course almost due west to the sea. At this junction, some forty miles south of Auckland, and east of the river's mouth, was the frontier line of the defiant Waikato. The King tribes had long ago said that the crossing of this line would be regarded by them as a belligerent act, and when General Cameron, on the 13th of July, 1863, led his troops across it, the Waikato war began without any more formal notice. CHAPTER XXII THE QUEEN MOVES First blood was to the Maori on the 17th of July at Koheroa, near that rectangular bend just referred to which the Waikato river makes towards the sea. The tribesmen had cleverly divided into two columns, one of which swung round through the dense forest on the Wairoa ranges and attacked the British rear, where they forced an escort of the Royal Irish under Captain Ring to retire with the loss of one killed and four wounded. A sharper fight, later in the day, left the advantage once more with the British. Colonel Austin was in command of the advance post at Koheroa, General Cameron occupying a redoubt on the ranges overlooking the river. The colonel, observing large masses of natives gathering on the ranges to his front, immediately advanced in skirmishing order. The enemy retired towards the Maramarua creek in their rear, but, when two miles had been covered in a running fight, suddenly made a stand in a very difficult position, which they had already fortified with breastworks and rifle-pits, and which, from the nature of the ground, it was impossible to turn. So terrific a volley was poured upon a detachment of the 14th, which had never till then been under fire, that for all their pluck the lads wavered. General Cameron had just arrived to take command and, seeing the unsteadiness of the leading files, ran to the front, twenty paces in advance of all, and stood there, a mark for every bullet, cheering on his men. British soldiers never yet failed to answer a call like that. The slight hesitation disappeared in a moment, and the men rushed forward and drove the enemy out of their pits at the point of the bayonet. The pursuit was maintained for five miles, the Maori making defiant stands at one prepared position after another--much as the Boers used to do at a later period,--but they were finally driven into headlong flight, with a loss of between sixty and eighty. The colonists were greatly disappointed when, instead of following up his victory, General Cameron sat down at Wangamirino creek and watched the rebels while they strongly fortified Meri-Meri, three miles distant, making no attempt to dislodge them. Alleging that his transport service must be thoroughly organised, General Cameron remained where he was until the end of October, and all through the long weeks over a thousand horses panted and strained, dragging the heavy commissariat waggons along the forty-mile metalled road between Auckland and the Waikato. The transport service ran grave risk of traps and ambuscades, but, as no vessels suitable for river navigation were available, the military stores could be sent by no other way. The General at last considered himself ready to advance; but first very properly reconnoitred Meri-Meri in one of the iron-screened steamers which the Governor had sent him. Then, on the 31st of October, he moved forward over six hundred men, left them in position, and returned for another detachment with which to attack the Maori fortification both front and rear. But when he arrived with detachment number two, there were no Maori there to fight. They had abandoned Meri-Meri under the very eyes of detachment number one, instead of remaining, as they clearly ought to have done, to be surrounded. It was as well; for Meri-Meri was very strongly entrenched, and great loss of life must have attended an assault. The Maori rarely fought as they were expected to fight, and, as in the case of the Boers, their _personnel_ was constantly changing, some of them going home, and others, who had so far done no fighting, taking their places. After the evacuation of Meri-Meri, a considerable number withdrew temporarily from the field, while the rest, reinforced by a fresh contingent, set to work to fortify Rangiriri, twelve miles higher up the Waikato. Against this General Cameron advanced on the 20th of November with a land force of eight hundred men, five hundred more on board two river steamers, two Armstrong guns and two gunboats, whose duty it would be to pitch shell into the _pa_ from their position on the river. The fort, trenched and pitted, had a formidable look; but the Maori had for once omitted to leave open a way of escape in their rear, and, besides, they were numerically too weak to defend the long line of fortification. From three o'clock until five that afternoon the gunners poured shot and shell into the entrenchments at a range of six hundred yards, and then the troops, led by the gallant 65th, drove the enemy from the trenches into a central redoubt, which defied all efforts to take it. The men of the red and white roses swung raging back to make way for a contingent of the Royal Artillery and, when these, too, were beaten off, Commander Mayne of H.M.S. _Eclipse_ twice in succession led his jolly tars against the impregnable redoubt. Not even they could succeed, and night closed in on the combatants, putting an end to the slaughter, and leaving the Maori still in possession. All night long the sappers laboured at a trench, and all night long the Maori within the redoubt kept up a terrific howling, flinging challenges, and occasionally something more practical, at the besiegers; but, when morning dawned, there stood on the fatal parapet a chief of note, and asked for an interpreter. In a few moments one hundred and eighty-three warriors and one hundred and seventy-five stand of arms were surrendered to General Cameron. The mistakes of Oheawai were repeated at Rangiriri, and the wonder is that the troops got off as cheaply as they did; a fact only to be accounted for by the numerical weakness of the Maori. These knew well the courage of the men arrayed against them; but the desperate valour with which they defended their works helped to convince the British General that they, too, were foemen not to be despised. The battle of Rangiriri had this great advantage, that it opened the gorge of Taupiri, where disaster might well have overtaken the troops, had the Maori been in a position to defend it. As it was, General Cameron was able to push forward, and on the 6th of December to occupy Ngaruawahia, where King Matutaere had established his headquarters, and where his father, old Potatau, was buried. Matutaere had not waited for General Cameron and, unduly fearful of desecration, had carried away with him the mouldering remains of the old king. One thing he had left behind, as being too heavy for a flying column, and that was a flagstaff of most exalted height, from the peak of which his royal standard had lately floated. The standard was gone, but the flagstaff had not been cut down, and the Union Jack soon proclaimed to any watching Waikato that the first game of the rubber had been won by the British. CHAPTER XXIII THE BLACK KNIGHT GIVES CHECK Shortly before the occupation of Ngaruawahia the New Zealand Settlements Act was passed, giving the Governor power to confiscate the lands of insurgent Maori, the Imperial Government having relinquished control of native affairs. These were now entirely in the hands of the colonists, and it was hoped that their knowledge of the requirements of the Maori, together with the success which had attended General Cameron's arms, would combine to bring about lasting peace. There was, indeed, talk of peace between Sir George Grey and Wiremu Tamihana; but it came to nothing, and the Maori meanwhile threw up fortifications at Pikopiko and Paterangi, on the Waipa, a branch of the Waikato. Dislodged thence, and severely handled in a skirmish on the Mangapiko river, in which Captain Heaphy of the New Zealand forces gained the Victoria Cross, the Maori, commanded by their great fighting chief, Rewi, were again defeated at Rangiaohia. This was late in February, 1864, and the Waikato, undismayed at their numerous disasters, entrenched themselves at Orakau, in the heavily-wooded Taranaki country. Orakau was unusually strong, and General Carey, with great judgment, completely surrounded it before opening his attack. Even so, he fell at dawn on the 30th of March into the old mistake of attempting to storm the impregnable. After three unsuccessful assaults by regulars and colonials, the General determined to approach the defences by the less costly, if slower method of sap and trench. All was ready by the 2nd of April, and the Armstrong guns soon silenced the enemy's fire, while the soldiers managed to burn no less than 48,000 rounds of ammunition. General Cameron at this stage very humanely ordered a parley, as there were many women and children within the _pa_; but to his summons to surrender the Waikato sent back the defiant answer, "This is the word of the Maori: We will fight for ever and ever and ever!" (_Ka whawhai tonu; Ake, Ake, Ake!_) "Send out the women and children," urged General Cameron. "No; the women also will fight for their country," was the heroic response, and the General had no choice but to order the troops to assault. The first men up, some twenty in number, led by Captain Hertford of the Colonial Force, were received with a volley which put the captain and ten of his men _hors de combat_, while on the other side of the _pa_ the 65th had no better success. But the Maori were worn out with the three days' struggle; they had lost heavily, and Rewi now gave the order to evacuate the _pa_, which was, it will be remembered, completely invested. How the Maori managed to escape has never been satisfactorily explained. In the words of an eye-witness, "a solid column of Maori, the women, children and great chiefs in the centre, marched out as cool and steady as if they had been going to church." A double line of the 40th Regiment lay on the side the defenders chose for their escape, the first under a bank sheltering them from the fire from the _pa_. It is almost incredible that, before any one had gathered the significance of what was going on, the Maori jumped over the heads of the first line, and walked through the second line. The war correspondent of the Auckland _Southern Cross_ wrote of this extraordinary happening: "The cry was heard that the rebels were escaping, and a scene baffling description ensued. General Cameron, Brigadier-General Carey, aides and gallant colonels of the staff were rushing about to warn and gather men from the sap.... This occupied minutes, and all this time not a man of the 40th appears to have seen the Maori, who must have jumped over the heads of the soldiers lining the road cut out of the steep embankment, and so passed into the swamp and _Ti_-tree scrub, wounding two or three of the 40th as a remembrance of their passing." The Maori must have escaped unharmed, had it not been for a small corps of colonial cavalry, who, led by Captains Jackson and Von Tempsky, worked round the scrub and inflicted great loss upon the natives as they emerged. Owing to the blunder, Rewi escaped along with numbers of his countrymen. The scene was now suddenly shifted to the Tauranga district on the east, in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Plenty. The Maori here had nothing to do with the quarrel, but emissaries from the Waikato had constantly approached them, and many of the tribes were deeply disaffected. No great distance separated the two districts; Wiremu Tamihana owned considerable land in the Tauranga country, and, it was well known, the Tauranga men had materially helped their western neighbours. Fortunately, the Arawa tribes, which had an immemorial feud with the Waikato,[66] took our side and, led by Captain McDonnell of the Colonial Forces, defeated the tribes of the Rawhiti at Maketu. A week later this initial success was forgotten in view of the disaster which overtook the British at Tauranga. General Cameron had towards the end of April transferred his headquarters to Tauranga, and established himself with two thousand men before a strong fortification of the enemy, which is remembered as the "Gate _Pa_." This fort was built upon a neck of land which fell away on each side to a swamp. On the summit of the neck the chief redoubt had been constructed and, flanking it, were lines of rifle-pits and shelters, covered with wattle or earth, rendering the place almost impregnable. The position had been completely invested, and the bombardment opened on the morning of the 28th of April, 1864. The Maori lay grimly silent behind their defences while our great guns banged and boomed, belching their storm of shot and shell at--emptiness! The cunning foe had planted their standard one hundred yards in rear of their _pa_, while the besiegers fondly imagined it to be placed in the centre. For two hours the waste of ammunition went on before the mistake was discovered; but, even when the great guns roared furiously at the redoubt, as if wroth at the saturnine jest played upon them, the Maori made no sign; so that none could tell whether they were lying close, like scared rabbits in their burrows, or whether--though this was not likely--they had already stolen away and escaped. The afternoon was advanced when, with their reserves well up, the troops poured through a wide breach in an angle of the redoubt. They met with little opposition, and those on the plain actually believed the _pa_ to be taken. Not so. In the very moment of victory occurred one of those inexplicable panics which, rarely enough, seize the most seasoned troops; the positions were reversed in an instant, and the Maori masters of the situation. As the troops dashed cheering through the breach, the Maori attempted to slip out at the rear of the _pa_; but, seeing the men of the 65th, the whole mass of them surged back and came face to face with the foremost of those who had entered from the front. These, startled at sight of so many savage foes rushing furiously upon them, pressed upon their comrades, who in turn faltered, and the troops in another moment turned and ran, shouting, "They are there in thousands!" Undaunted by this terrible sight, the reserves dashed up to encourage their dismayed comrades, but to no purpose. The Maori, momentarily inactive from sheer astonishment, recovered and poured a disastrous fire upon the mob of struggling men, twenty-seven of whom were killed and sixty-six wounded. It is useless to try to explain away this unhappy incident. It is enough to say that the men of the 43rd Regiment two months later atoned for their behaviour, and wiped out their defeat by utterly routing the Maori at Te Ranga, where the position was not at all unlike that at the Gate _Pa_. Despite the fact that there were now arrayed against them some ten thousand British regulars, and five thousand colonial troops, the Maori made no overtures of surrender--save for a few at Tauranga. Instead, they withdrew from the Waikato plain, as well as from those parts occupied by the soldiers, and joined forces with the Whanganui rebels in the fastnesses of the latter's country, where they were able to indulge in their favourite bush-fighting and guerilla warfare. Here, too, their resistance was strengthened by the growth of a shocking superstition, which bred in them a fanatical hate, and lent to their methods a brutality never previously exhibited in their conflicts with the Pakeha. Another development which strongly influenced the remainder of the war occurred about the time when the operations at Tauranga were brought to a close. Until the early part of 1864 the Colonial Forces had played a subordinate part in the war--not from choice--though their conduct had been invariably deserving of the highest praise. The time was now at hand when they were to become principals instead of supernumeraries, and by their own strenuous efforts bring about the end of a struggle which General Cameron had more than once frankly despaired of finishing. "The nature of the country forbids the idea of a decisive blow being struck in the Whanganui district," he once wrote to Sir George Grey, "and if Her Majesty's troops are to be detained in the colony until one is struck, I confess I see no prospect of their leaving New Zealand." No doubt General Cameron was right in considering the country indicated as probably the most difficult in New Zealand in which to engage in military operations; but, even in the more accessible Waikato plains, he had not conducted the war with that dash which the colonists knew to be necessary for the speedy subjugation of the natives. Even the Maori considered him slow and, notwithstanding his personal courage, contemptuously styled him "the sea-gull with the broken wing," because of his tendency to avoid the bush and encamp upon or near the shore. Lastly, his Fabian policy had cost the colony an enormous sum, and the British Government, irritated by the expense of its generous response to the colony's appeal for aid, now demanded £40 per head per annum for all soldiers kept in New Zealand at the request of the Colonial Government, after the 1st of January, 1865. The answer of the colony to this was to beg the Home Government to remove the Imperial troops to the last man, declaring the colony ready and able to undertake its own defence. This "self-relying" policy of the Weld Ministry relieved the colonists of a great burden; for the poll-tax was to be paid only for soldiers remaining at the request of the New Zealand Government. Furthermore, the relations between Sir George Grey and General Cameron had for long been none too cordial, and one thing added to another brought about the departure of some of the British regiments. To put the matter in a nutshell, the Governor asked the soldier to dare and do more than the latter believed he could accomplish with the troops at his disposal; so he refused point blank. The Governor thereupon dared and did on his own initiative, and proved the soldier wrong. Here is an outstanding example. After General Cameron had been surprised at Nukumaru,[67] he passed on up the coast, leaving unreduced the strong Wereroa _pa_, which was occupied in force by the Maori. His reason, given to the Governor, was that he had only fifteen hundred troops with him, and to attack the fort with less than two thousand would be to court disaster. When five hundred friendly Whanganui natives offered to take the _pa_, the General sneered at their offer as "mere bounce" and, further, insisted that the Governor knew it to be "mere bounce." The Governor's reply was to collect a mixed force of five hundred men, including three hundred of the "bouncing" friendlies, and borrow two hundred regulars from General Waddy for moral support. With these he marched upon the _pa_ about which such a pother had been raised. The Queen's troops, who were not allowed to fight--though the enemy did not know that--acted as a camp guard, while the colonials and friendlies worked by a circuitous and very difficult route to the rear of the _pa_. Here they took a strong redoubt, which commanded the fort, and captured fifty Maori on their way to join the garrison. All this was effected without the loss of a man, and the enemy, seeing themselves, as they supposed, surrounded, evacuated the _pa_ by the front. Had the regulars been allowed to fight, the hostile force must have been annihilated; but, much to their astonishment, they were allowed to walk off unopposed. The numerically insignificant contingent of colonials and friendlies entered the _pa_ next day, having accomplished in two days, under the Governor's eye, that which the commander-in-chief had for six months declared to be impossible of accomplishment with less than two thousand regulars. Perhaps, however, he was right. As one result of this constant friction and of General Cameron's representations to the British Government, there remained in the colony in 1865 only five regiments, and these were employed in guarding the districts which had been reduced. After March, 1865, the Colonial Forces for the most part conducted the war in their own way; but it would be absurd to deny that, but for the regulars who remained, the conquered tribes would have reassembled and obliged the war to be fought over again, or necessitated an increase in the strength of the colonials proportional to that of the Imperial troops withdrawn. As it was, while the regulars stood on guard, the colonials fought their fight unhampered by reviving sedition--fought and, as we shall see, conquered. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 66: See p. 55.] [Footnote 67: See p. 233.] CHAPTER XXIV PAI MARIRE,[68] OR THE HAUHAU SECT The early months of the year 1864 saw the first appearance of the fanatical sect of the _Pai Marire_, or Hauhau. Various opinions exist as to its cause of origin, but no member of it has put his own views on record for the benefit of posterity. Some believe that the sect was founded as a deliberate attempt to strengthen the weakening attachment of the natives to the national cause, by giving them the powerful bond of a common religion--so to call it. Others maintain that the inception of the movement was in a madman's brain, and that it was used for political purposes only when it was perceived how readily the more ignorant and superstitious of the Maori accepted it. Lastly, not a few insist that such a religious development was the natural outcome of instilling half-a-dozen views of Christianity into the receptive brain of an intelligent race, able and accustomed to think for themselves. These last argue that, when the Maori had listened to (in order of sequence) the Anglican, Wesleyan, Baptist, and Catholic versions of the "faith once delivered," the various contentions became so jumbled up in some minds that their owners began to study the Bible for themselves. The result of the research of some of the less enlightened was the formation of a "religion" which was a grotesque blend of Judaism, Paganism, and elementary Christianity (very little of this last) which was used as a means to an end by those who utterly scorned it--the end being the destruction of British supremacy. The author of the creed, one Te Ua, does indeed seem to have been a mild-mannered lunatic. He broke out rather violently about the time of a shipwreck on the Taranaki coast, and, while tied and bound for the good of the community, indulged in a madman's dream which he subsequently proclaimed as a "revelation." Having managed to free himself, Te Ua declared that the archangels Michael and Gabriel, together with many spirits, had landed from the wreck and given him power to burst his bonds. His companions, finding this story hard to believe, again secured Te Ua, and this time with a chain. No use. With an effort of that strength which sometimes appears in the insane, Te Ua snapped the chain and leaped at a bound into the position of a seer. Te Ua's muddled brain recalling something of the story of Abraham and Isaac, he went out and began to break his son's legs in obedience to a divine command to kill the youth. He was presently stopped by Gabriel, who restored the boy whole and sound to his father, and gave the latter orders to assemble all believers round a _niu_, or sacred pole. Grouped there in a circle, they must dance, apostrophise the Trinity, sing hymns and what not, in return for which, those found worthy--note the saving clause--should receive the gift of tongues and be invulnerable in battle. While praying, dancing or fighting, the sectaries were constantly to ejaculate the syllables "Hauhau," forming a word supposed to mean the wind (_hau_), by which the angels were wafted from the wreck when first they communicated with the great Te Ua. Te Ua was not long in making converts to his strange faith; and on the 4th of April, 1864, a body of them fell upon a detachment of the 57th and military settlers, who were destroying crops in the Kaitaka ranges. Captain Lloyd, who was in command, fought most bravely when cut off from his men, and died fighting. His body and the bodies of seven other white men were discovered a few days later, all minus the heads, which had been carried away. No one knew what to make of this innovation; but it was afterwards ascertained that Captain Lloyd's head had been preserved after the Maori fashion, and was being carried throughout the North Island, and exhibited to tribe after tribe as the medium through which God would occasionally speak to his people. [Illustration: The frenzy of the Hauhau The Incantation] The tribes were also informed that legions of angels would some day appear and assist the Hauhau to annihilate the Pakeha. Once that degenerate lot had been got rid of, the angels would escort from heaven an entirely new brand of men, who should teach the Maori all the Europeans knew, and more. Unconsciously prophetic, the final promise in this farrago of nonsense was that all Maori who fulfilled certain conditions should be instantly endowed with power to understand and speak the English language. The new men were evidently to resemble the Briton! Notwithstanding its blasphemous absurdities, the _Pai Marire_ sect gained so many converts, and spread so far and fast, that it seemed at one time as if all the Maori in the North Island would rebel. It is well, however, to keep in mind that many of those who followed the prophet's drum did so for their own purposes, and privately mocked at his uninspired ravings. The wonder is that the new faith did not immediately wither away; for the Hauhau lost at the very outset so many killed and wounded at Sentry Hill, near Taranaki, that all conceit as to their invulnerability should have been driven out of them. Among the dead was a prominent sub-prophet, Hepanaia, and the story was circulated and believed that the reverse was wholly due to this man's faulty behaviour--a very convenient way of accounting for the non-fulfilment of the archangel's promises. Wishful to counterbalance the effect of this defeat, the Hauhau determined to attack Whanganui. The prophet Matene (Martin) sent a conciliatory message to the Whanganui tribe of Ngati-Hau, and with a number of disaffected Waikato swept down the river in war-canoes, intent to wipe out the settlement and the town. But the Ngati-Hau, being friendly to the Pakeha, made alliance with the Ngati-Apa, and paddled up-stream to meet the advancing Hauhau. They were three hundred, and the prophet checked his advance at sight of them. A parley ensued, one side demanding, the other refusing, permission to pass down the river. Matene threatening violence, the Ngati-Hau challenged him to make good his bold words, and it was presently arranged that the two companies should meet next morning on the island of Moutoa--scene of many a fight--and decide the question by ordeal of battle. It was agreed that neither party should ambush or surprise the other, and the Hauhau landed at dawn on Moutoa to find the Ngati-Hau awaiting them. The Whanganui, with mistaken generosity, opposed only a hundred of their number to one hundred and thirty Hauhau. They were divided into an advanced guard of fifty men, and an equal number in support, while the remainder stood upon the river bank as spectators. The vanguard, under Tamihana Te Aewa, was subdivided into three parties, each headed by a fighting chief, Riwai Tawhitorangi, Hemi Nape, and Kereti, while the chief, Haimona, led the supports. Matene and his Hauhau, uttering their harsh, barking howl, were allowed to land and form up unopposed, when they immediately began their incantations, howling fragments of Scripture and making passes after the manner of a hypnotist. The Whanganui, convinced of the invulnerability of their foe, waited until the latter, still incanting, had advanced within thirty paces, and then fired. Not one Hauhau fell. At this moment a Christian Maori rushed in between the two parties and beseeched them not to fight. As he stood there, the Hauhau returned a volley; the mediator fell dead and, worse still, so did Riwai, Kereti, and several others. The vanguard began to retreat, shouting, "It is absurd to fire at those who cannot be wounded," and only Hemi Nape stood firm, giving back shot for shot, and bringing down more than one of the "invulnerables." To him rushed Tamihana Te Aewa, forcing forward a few whom he had been able to rally; but, even as they reached his side, Hemi Nape fell dead. Then Tamihana roared his battle-cry, and with his _tupara_ shot two grinning Hauhau, whose spirits plunged so suddenly into the waters of Reinga that their bodies knew not of their departure, but ran on for several paces ere they realised their condition and fell. A third half halted, amazed at the extraordinary sight, and him Tamihana brained with the stock of his empty gun, sending him with a splash into the dark waters after his comrades. A fourth came at him, howling like a wild dog; but Tamihana seized a spear and drove it so deep into the man's heart, that even his great strength could not withdraw it. And while he tugged and wrenched, lo! a bullet shattered his arm, and a fifth Hauhau rushed upon him to slay him. But Tamihana, stooping swiftly, caught up Hemi Nape's gun and, swinging it round his head with one hand, smote his enemy such a blow that the man's skull cracked like an egg-shell, and his brains gushed out. Truly, the guardian of the portals of Reinga had no time that day to close them while Tamihana was at work. Yet more might Tamihana have slain; but, even as he slew, single-handed, his fifth man, he fell to the ground with a broken knee. By this time, those who ran had come to the tail of the island, whence, looking back, they saw their chief upon the ground, and the Hauhau rushing up to finish him. Then was Haimona Hiroti shame-smitten and, driving his spear into the earth, he cried aloud, "I go no farther! Back with me, all who would not live with shame upon their faces!" And twenty brave men followed Haimona, and all together they charged home, some calling upon Atua for aid, and some invoking the Christians' God. But the Hauhau, having only one god to cry to, became struck with fear, and in their turn broke and fled to their canoes. Few there were who reached them, so mightily did Haimona Hiroti and his score smite, and so many did they slay; but some ran very fast, and these escaped, taking no thought of those behind. Then Matene, their prophet, finding himself abandoned, cast himself into the river and swam for the bank opposite to that whereon the men of Ngati-Hau and others were gathered, watching the fight and shouting lustily. Up to the very head of the island charged Haimona Hiroti, seeking still to slay. But not one was left. Then, when he saw the swimmer and knew him for Matene, Haimona cried aloud to Te Moro, "See! there swims your fish!" and thrust his bone _mere_ into his hand. And Te Moro plunged into the stream and, swimming very fast, overtook the "fish" before he reached the bank and seized him by the hair, which he wore long, after the manner of the Hauhau. Then Matene turned in the water and, making passes in the air with his hands, barked at Te Moro, "Hauhau! Hauhau! Hau! Hau! Hau!" as is the way with these people. But Te Moro, swimming round him, drew back his head and smote him with the bone _mere_ only one blow; but it was enough. Then Te Moro swam back and, having laid Matene at Haimona's feet, offered him his bone _mere_. But Haimona said, "Keep it"; and Te Moro very gladly kept it, for there were two notches in it where it had suffered owing to the thickness of Matene's skull. And, when Te Moro's children's children shall show the _mere_ to their children and tell the tale of it, should any doubt, there will the notches be to prove that their ancestor slew Matene, and with that very weapon. NOTE.--It is pleasant to record that this signal service on the part of the Whanganui did not go unrecognised at the time, nor has posterity been allowed to forget it. The bodies of the dead chiefs were brought into Whanganui on the day following the battle, and accorded a military funeral, which was attended by Colonel Logan and the officers and men of the garrison, the Government officials, and many residents, while all the shops were closed. A monument has since been raised at Whanganui in memory of the friendly Maori who fell at Moutoa. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 68: _Pai Marire_ means "Good and Peaceful."] CHAPTER XXV MURDER MOST FOUL The year 1865 was full of incident. Fifteen years had gone by since Russell had bewailed the choice of Auckland as the capital, since Wellington had stormily asserted her right of elder birth, since men here and there with nothing better to suggest had demanded petulantly, "Why should it be Auckland, any way?" It was now Auckland's turn to lament; for, in the opinion of those qualified to judge, the central position of Wellington justified the transference thither of the seat of Government. There is no way yet discovered of pleasing everybody; but, in order that the choice might be strictly impartial, the Governors of New South Wales, Victoria, and Tasmania were requested to decide upon the best site for the capital, while they were given to understand that the spot selected must be somewhere on the shores of Cook Strait, that being the geographical centre of the colony. The Governors inspected the region without prejudice in favour of existing towns, and unanimously decided that "Wellington, in Port Nicholson, was the site upon the shores of Cook Strait which presented the greatest advantages for the administration of the government of the colony." No method of selection could have been more just, and in February, 1865, the seat of Government was removed from Auckland to Wellington. The second notable event--the third in order of sequence--was the surrender of the celebrated Waikato chief, Wiremu Tamihana Te Waharoa (William Thompson), whose persistent energy had put so much heart into the insurgents. With his submission the Waikato war proper ended, and this although many Waikato joined the Hauhau movement. The conflict was not over; but the Waikato as a tribe withdrew from it. Some of their land had been confiscated, they had got the worst of the fight, and, though they still clung to their principles regarding the sale of land and the establishment of a Maori dynasty, they now acknowledged the might of the Government to be something beyond their power to overthrow. The submission of Wiremu Tamihana influenced not the wild fanatics who were being recruited from almost every tribe of note in the North Island, and whose expressed determination it was to drive the Pakeha Rat into the sea. They would fight and die for Maoriland, if need be; but they would never give in. Not all of them believed the horrible creed which Te Ua had invented; but even these were content to be classed as Hauhau, if so they might help to free their country from the domination of the Pakeha. "Good wine needs no bush," and if ever a cause was spoiled by the character and behaviour of its adherents, it was this; if ever a body of men in arms in the sacred name of patriotism earned, and rightly earned, the detestation and vengeance of their foes, the Hauhau did so at the beginning, in the middle and at the end of their war. The very Maori loathed their name and character, and these, concerned for the honour of their race, fought as strenuously against their degraded countrymen as did the whites with whom they were allied. Between February, when Wellington became the capital, and June the 17th, when Wiremu Tamihana surrendered, an innocent missionary was murdered by his own flock under circumstances which served to show that, even at that late day, there were Maori who required but little persuasion to induce them to slip back into the pit of savagery out of which they had, it was hoped, climbed for all time. The Church of England Mission Station at Opotiki (Bay of Plenty) had been for some years presided over by the Rev. C.S. Voelkner, an energetic and successful missionary. His station was among some of the wildest, least civilised tribes of the Maori; but his devotion had gained him the respect, and even the goodwill, of the fierce, untamed fellows in whose midst he dwelt. When the war rolled almost to his door, Mr. Voelkner judged it wise to take his wife to Auckland; but he himself came backwards and forwards to the disturbed district. In February, during the missionary's absence, Opotiki was visited by two prophets, Patara of the Taranaki, and Kereopa of the Ngati-Porou, with a number of Taranaki Hauhau at their heels. The Whakatohea were ripe for any mischief as it was, and readily embraced the new creed, their conversion being accompanied by much revolting ritual. Feeling already ran high against the absent missionary, the Whakatohea having allowed themselves to be persuaded that he was hostile to the Maori cause, and desirous of breaking up the tribes. Patara, who cannot have been all bad, wrote warning Mr. Voelkner not to return to Opotiki; but the missionary unfortunately arrived on the very next day, in a schooner, accompanied by a colleague, the Rev. Mr. Grace. Mr. Voelkner was at once informed that he was to be killed, but refused to believe that the people among whom he had laboured would prove false to his teaching. A few hearts were softened towards him; but Kereopa would brook neither denial nor delay, and on the following day took out Mr. Voelkner and hanged him upon a willow-tree, shooting him through the body before life was extinct. The fierce Hauhau then swallowed the eyes and drank the blood of his victim. Mr. Grace was in great danger; for the fanatics, having literally tasted blood, clamoured for more. For fourteen days the unfortunate man endured agonies of suspense, and his relief must have been intense when H.M.S. _Eclipse_ appeared outside the bar. Owing to Patara's influence, the missionary was free to wander within the boundaries of the Opotiki plain, and this circumstance, along with the absence of most of the Hauhau at a feast, helped to effect his escape. As he was watching the crew of the schooner shifting cargo, one of the sailors murmured, "Go down to the point, and we will get you off." Mr. Grace obeyed with assumed carelessness, and a moment later was in the schooner's boat, speeding towards the _Eclipse_. Two of the boats from the man-of-war dashed up the river immediately afterwards and towed the schooner over the bar, when no time was lost in leaving Opotiki of tragic memory. Three months later the ruffians at Opotiki again drenched themselves with blood, murdering the crew of a cutter and Mr. Fulloon, a Government agent, who was on board as a passenger. Mr. Fulloon was a Maori of distinguished lineage on his mother's side; but, nevertheless, at the order of Horomona, the Hauhau, one Kirimangu shot the poor man while asleep with his own revolver. Kirimangu was captured and hanged; but Kereopa managed to evade his doom for seven years, when justice, long disappointed, made sure of him. Kereopa and his Hauhau were not allowed to pursue their wicked way unchecked. As soon as they could be spared from Whanganui, five hundred men of the Military Settlers, the Bush Rangers, the Native Contingent, and the Whanganui Yeomen Cavalry were ordered to Opotiki, under Majors Brassey and McDonnell, the latter of whom could effect things with the Native Contingent which few other officers could bring about. Not only was McDonnell familiar with the Maori, but he knew their language and their country, so that he met them on their own ground in their own manner. He was brave to rashness, but this was hardly a fault in Maori eyes. The column accomplished some good, and captured Moko Moko and Hakaraia, who were immediately informed that they could not be treated as prisoners of war, but would be tried for the murder of Mr. Voelkner, in which they had been concerned. After a good deal of successful skirmishing, the force returned to Whanganui, their chief casualty occurring on the way. The mate of the transport loaded a small cannon for the amusement of some friendlies, but the gun would not "go off," whereupon the searchers after entertainment peeped inquiringly down the muzzle. The humoursome cannon chose that particular moment to indulge in a belated explosion, which fortunately did no more than wound the mate and two of the Maori. The outcome of the accident was the refusal of the Native Contingent to proceed after so evil an omen. The superstitious fellows actually surrounded the capstan and prevented the weighing of the anchor, until one of themselves, Lieutenant Wirihana, an exceptionally strong man and one of the best officers in the contingent, swung the ringleader up in his arms and made to heave him overboard. A round dozen of the offender's relatives rushed the officer, and even then with difficulty prevented disaster to their cousin. Kereopa, tired of dodging about the region round Opotiki, struck across country for Poverty Bay, preaching his perverted gospel as he went. Behind him followed Patara, intent to prevent his fellow-prophet from too free an indulgence in his lust for blood. Patara more than suspected his colleague of an intention to murder Bishop Williams, and this he was determined not to allow. Kereopa had good ground in which to sow his evil seed, yet many of the leading chiefs among the Ngati-Porou not only refused to join him, but requested the Government to supply them with firearms, so that they might adequately deal with the monster. The request was sensibly granted, and Ropata and his chiefs kept the Hauhau busy until the arrival of Captain Fraser and his colonials. Ropata showed the manner of man he was in the fights which followed. A dozen of his own sub-tribe (Aowera, of the _iwi_ of Ngati-Porou) had been taken, fighting among the Hauhau. Ropata set them before him in a row and said, more in sorrow than in anger, "This is my word to you, O foolish children. You are about to die. I do not kill you because you fought against me, but because you disobeyed my orders and joined the Hauhau." He then shot every man of the twelve with his own hand. Like master, like man. On one occasion a couple of fleeing Hauhau encountered one of Ropata's dispatch-bearers and, delighted to make a capture, haled him in the direction of Patara's camp. But they had caught a Tartar, though they were left little time to realise it. Ropata's man, with every sense alert, noticed that the _tupara_ carried by one of his captors was capped and cocked. Assuming the gun to be loaded, the prisoner suddenly snatched it, wheeled like lightning and shot the other guard. Number one could, of course, make no resistance, and was almost immediately shot dead with the second barrel of his own gun. The cleverness of the prisoner in first shooting the armed guard illustrates very well the quick-wittedness of the average Maori. In September, Sir George Grey formally proclaimed that the war which had begun at the time of the murders at Oakura was at an end, and that, the rebels having been punished enough by their disasters in the field and the confiscation of part of their lands, he pardoned all who had taken up arms, save those responsible for certain murders. The Governor further announced that he would confiscate no more lands on account of the war, and that he would release all prisoners as soon as the rebels should return in peace to their homes. The proclamation gave great offence to numbers of colonists, who jeered at the idea of peace while so many Maori were in arms; but Sir George Grey's statement that "the war was at an end" had no reference to the Hauhau, neither were they included in his pardon--unless, indeed, they chose promptly to submit, which they did not. The Hauhau on the west coast made clear their decision in a most atrocious fashion. The Governor dispatched the proclamation to Patea, near Whanganui, by a Maori, who was shot, but lived long enough to warn the Government interpreter, Mr. Broughton, who was coming up behind him, to put no trust in the Hauhau. Mr. Broughton was doubly deceived. He believed in his own influence over the Maori, and he was quite unaware that the Hauhau were predetermined to kill any messengers bringing overtures of peace. Their treachery went further; for, in order to be sure of a victim, they had begged that an interpreter might be sent to explain to them certain passages in the Governor's message which they professed not to understand. After such a beginning, the end was inevitable, should Mr. Broughton persist in delivering himself into the power of the Hauhau. And this, deaf to advice and persuasion, he did. Three Hauhau came out from the _pa_ to meet him when he arrived on the 30th of September, and even then he was offered a last chance of escape; for one of the three had formerly been in his service, and now implored his old master not to trust himself within the _pa_. Mr. Broughton persisted, and was received in sullen silence. Striving to seem unconcerned, he took no notice of the incivility, and moved towards a fire which was burning in the _marae_. As he reached it, a Hauhau shot him in the back, and the poor man fell dying into the blaze, where he lay until some of his murderers pulled him out and flung him, still alive, over the cliff into the Patea. The hatred of the Hauhau for the Pakeha was intense, and their attitude to the whites differed completely from that of the Maori in previous wars. They seemed to be obsessed with evil spirits, whose mission was to promote in their victims a lust for blood and a disposition for cruelty of the most appalling kind. They were as men who had swallowed a drug having power to kill goodness and purity and generosity, and to fill the soul in their stead with malice, hatred and vices too degrading to be named. It was fortunate for New Zealand that the evil seed which Te Ua sowed fell only here and there on soil whence it sprang rank and poisonous as the deadly upas tree; for, had it taken root universally, there is no saying at what bitter cost the colonists must have weeded it out. But, though almost every tribe in the north sent its recruits to the fanatics, there yet remained in most of them a remnant who refused "to bow the knee to Baal," and who, if they did not fight for the Pakeha, at least gave no aid to the Hauhau. CHAPTER XXVI ALARMS! EXCURSIONS! Though the war occupied her supreme attention, it must not be supposed that New Zealand stood still. The plucky little daughter of Great Britain kept her eyes open and, though her hands were reasonably full of swords and guns, found other work for them to do. June, 1866, saw the commencement of a mail service to Panama, which vastly accelerated communication with the northern hemisphere; and, before August was out, the Government had laid a submarine cable across Cook Strait, bringing the extreme north of the North Island and the extreme south of the Middle Island within a few minutes of one another. In October, 1867, the Board of Revenue rejoiced at the passing of an Act imposing stamp duties; the scholarly and aesthetic were gladdened by another Act which provided for an institute for the promotion of Science and Art in the colony; and, lastly, the Maori were rendered happy by an Act which, while it showed great wisdom, proved conclusively the desire of the British Pakeha to deal in most generous spirit with their native fellow-subjects. This Act provided for the division of the colony into four Maori electorates, and the admission of four Maori members to the House of Representatives. When it is remembered that a large number of the native population were at the very moment in arms against the State, the lavish generosity of this measure must excite profound admiration. The intellectual and high-minded Maori were quick to learn, and as quick to put in practice the knowledge they acquired. From the first, although they quarrelled with them, they admired the Pakeha and recognised their superiority. Indeed, but for their ruling passion, they would probably have much earlier amalgamated with the whites. This, as we have seen, was their attachment to their land, which they regarded as sacrosanct and inalienable; and from this Naboth-like devotion sprang much of the trouble between them and the Pakeha. The theatre of war having shifted again to the west coast, General Chute took command on the retirement of General Cameron. There was nothing of Fabius in General Chute, who was accustomed to follow up as speedily as possible whatever advantage he might gain. _Quot homines, tot sententiae_; so many men, so many ways of doing things; and it is just as well. Had General Chute commanded from the first, the war might have been sooner over; but there would never have arisen the need for the colonists to take their own part, and they must have been much longer in learning their good qualities of strength and self-reliance. Throughout January, 1866, General Chute with his regulars, colonials and the Maori contingent punished the Hauhau, who had learned by painful experience that they were not invulnerable. He beat them at Okotuku, and chased them out of Putahi, where Major McDonnell was so severely wounded in the foot as to be rendered unfit for active work during the remainder of the campaign. Yet, so indispensable was the Major because of his immense influence with the Maori, that, despite his suffering, he remained with the force lest, finding him absent, his men should march off home until their leader was able to rejoin them. Notwithstanding the experiences of others in the not very remote past, General Chute determined to assault the well-garrisoned _pa_ of Otapawa, and on the 12th of January the Armstrong gun roared a challenge to the Hauhau. Grimly silent, the defenders kept so strictly to cover, that General Chute, half-inclined to believe that they had escaped, thought it unnecessary to wait until the Native Contingent and volunteers (_kupapa_) had worked completely round to the rear. So he ordered Colonel Butler and his "Die Hards" (57th), supported by the 14th, to storm the stockade. He had barely finished speaking when he received a practical hint that the _pa_ was not empty; for a bullet carried away one of the buttons of his tunic. "Aha! The beggars seem to have found me out," General Chute coolly observed. "Go on, Colonel Butler." Colonel Butler went on, Lieutenant-Colonel Hassard beside him, and the "Die Hards" close behind them. The Hauhau had removed every vestige of cover from the front of the _pa_--which fact alone should have warned the General that the place was occupied, and by a skilful foe--and, as the 57th came on, they were greeted with a volley from the covered rifle-pits which staggered them, veterans of Sebastopol though they were. "Come on, Die Hards!" shouted Colonel Butler, and the gallant fellows charged over the glacis, dropping fast and losing Colonel Hassard on the way. Enraged, the men tore down the palisades with their bare hands and drove the enemy helter-skelter out at the rear of the _pa_ into the clutch of Von Tempsky and his Forest Rangers. Thirty-two of the Hauhau fell, while General Chute lost a colonel and eleven men, not to speak of twenty wounded. A little patience, siege instead of assault, and the stronghold might have been reduced without loss. As it is, the action is memorable as being the only occasion during these wars upon which a well-defended _pa_ was ever taken by assault. Whereas General Cameron would never go near the bush, General Chute now determined to march through it a distance of sixty miles to Taranaki, and sweep the enemy out of his path. But General Cameron despised the native levies, while General Chute realised their value, particularly when led by such a man as Major McDonnell, and it cannot be gainsaid that their presence greatly contributed to the success of the bush march. But for McDonnell and another, General Chute must either have chosen another route, or have marched without the Native Contingent, for the Maori, men of the Whanganui district, decided not to go to Taranaki, alleging that "it was too far from home!" Nor would they have yielded either to advice or persuasion, but for the timely arrival in camp of Major McDonnell and Dr. Featherston, the Superintendent of the Wellington Province, who, like the major, exercised unbounded influence over the Maori, and particularly over the men of Whanganui. These two, upon whom the fortunes of the Colony more than once depended, summoned to their tent the aged paramount chief, Hori Kingi Te Anaua, and bluntly asked him whether the friendship which had for years existed between him and Dr. Featherston was to be broken. The old man looked for a long time in silence at his questioners, and then left the tent without a word. His voice presently reached them as he addressed the crowd of Maori thronging there to learn the result of the interview:-- "Listen, you who have refused to march with the Pakeha. This is my word to you. I will go with them, though I go alone. But hearken! If you desert me and them, never more will I dwell with you in Whanganui. I have spoken!" There was a moment of silence, and then the words of the old lion-heart prevailed and yells of "_Kapai! Kapai!_" were blent with shouts of "We will go! We will go!" The situation was saved; General Chute marched through the bush in nine days (January 17th to 25th) skirmishing as he went, reached Taranaki, and the campaign came to an end. With it practically ended the employment of the regular forces in New Zealand, as far as active service went. How valuable was the aid which the friendly Maori gave is illustrated by the following incident, related by Lieutenant Gudgeon in his reminiscences. At the close of General Chute's operations a detachment of the Native Contingent stationed at Pipiriki, a most picturesque spot on the upper Whanganui, made themselves so agreeable to the rebels, that the Hauhau chief, Pehi Turoa, invited the friendlies to meet him at Mangaio and discuss the situation. Some four hundred accepted the invitation and, led by their chief, Mete Kingi, went up-stream in their beautiful canoes to the conference. As they neared the rebel _pa_, Mete Kingi said characteristically, "Once these men were Whanganui like ourselves, and then they were good; but no faith can now be placed in them. For who would trust the word of a Hauhau? You know, my children, it is Maori etiquette to show confidence in your hosts; therefore, fire off your guns, that they may see our faith in them; but load them as quickly and quietly as you can, in case they mean us harm." So said, so done. The Whanganui discharged their guns with deafening clatter and, before they landed, unobtrusively reloaded them. There was fortunately no breach of faith, and the upshot of the conference was that the contracting parties swore to maintain an eternal peace on the Whanganui river, but reserved the right to fight in any other part of New Zealand. Thus, entirely in their own manner, did the friendly Whanganui bring peace to an important district, long convulsed with war. McDonnell, now colonel, continued operations on the west coast, particularly against the Nga-Ruahini, one of whose chiefs, Titokowaru, then and afterwards gave much trouble. The colonel was very successful, and the Hauhau learned that his methods were not those of the military, for he employed their own tricks against them. One of their captured chiefs grumblingly said to him, "We thought that we were fighting a man; but we find that he is a rat, who moves only by night." "Nay, O Toi, you thought that you were fighting soldiers," returned McDonnell, probably with unintentional sarcasm, "whereas you find that we are Pakeha Maori." The war swung round to the east, and the Province of Hawke's Bay, hitherto almost immune from "alarms and excursions," found itself in the thick of it. The Ngati-Hineuru and other tribes had joined the new sect; but, when they broke out, the Superintendent, Sir Donald McLean, was ready for them. With the help of Colonel Whitmore, Major Fraser and Captain Gordon with his volunteer cavalry, he stamped out the spreading flame, and Hawke's Bay once more grew calm after its brief flurry. The year 1867 was for some reason styled by the Hauhau "the Year of the Lamb," that is, of peace, and, save for a skirmish or two, and some fell murders here and there in true Hauhau style, they remained quiet They were terrible folk, and their behaviour differed unpleasantly from that of the ordinary Maori in time of war; but some of them had not altogether lost that simplicity which, despite their intelligence, is characteristic of the race. For instance, having declared the year to be one of peace, they failed to understand why their confiscated lands should not be restored to them. Some, too, observing that the friendly Maori were rewarded with pensions and land, complained that they were omitted, when they also had fought (against the Pakeha!) much as a child grumbles because he does not receive a prize for his misdirected efforts. One Hauhau gentleman did actually apply to the Commissioner for a pension, and was mortally offended when the great man dismissed him in terms more forcible than polite. The hopes raised by all this talk of peace were falsified, not only by the activity of Titokowaru and his Nga-Ruahini, but by the sudden and quite unexpected appearance of a man who was destined to set the country ablaze, and to incur the bitter execration of thousands in the war-worn North Island. CHAPTER XXVII POVERTY BAY During 1866 the New Zealand Government had deported a batch of political prisoners to the Chatham Islands. Amongst them was one Te Kooti, whose offence was said to be that, while ostensibly in alliance with the Pakeha, he had acted as a spy for the Hauhau. Te Kooti then and ever afterwards denied this charge, averring that he was at the time mentioned one hundred miles away from either belligerent. This denial has never been accepted, and most people frankly regret that Te Kooti was not hanged out of hand. This would certainly have prevented many hideous outrages; but to punish in anticipation of proof, however satisfactory, is not yet the Briton's way. So Te Kooti was deported to Chatham Island, there to eat out his heart in longing for the day when he should be able to repay the Pakeha an hundredfold for the insults and injustice (according to him) which had been inflicted upon him. Te Kooti was a clever man, and his wits had been sharpened by much intercourse with the whites, so it was natural that he should scheme and plan ways of escape from a hateful bondage, and means to deal a return blow to the detested Pakeha. He found and seized his opportunity when the schooner _Rifleman_ visited the island with stores; for he engineered a mutiny, out-generalled Captain Thomas, R.N., the Governor, seized the schooner and sailed on the 4th of July, 1868, for New Zealand. To obviate pursuit he set adrift a ketch, the only vessel the authorities owned, and with consummate cleverness spared the lives of the crew of the schooner on condition that they navigated her to Poverty Bay. The voyage passed without incident, save that Te Kooti strove, during a spell of contrary weather, to propitiate the wind-god by the sacrifice of his aged uncle, whom he callously cast overboard. On the 10th of July the _Rifleman_ arrived at Whareongaonga, a point some fifteen miles south of Poverty Bay, and here the prisoners disembarked and, after looting the vessel of her cargo, arms and ammunition, set free the crew. The successful plotter then struck inland, marching, so he said, upon Waikato, there to dethrone the king, with whose conduct he professed himself dissatisfied. News of his arrival had spread, and a mixed company of whites and friendlies under Captain Westrupp set off in chase of him, encountering him on the 20th at Paparatu. After a fight lasting all day, Te Kooti surrounded his opponents and forced them to retire with the loss of their horses, baggage and ammunition, while their casualties were two killed and ten wounded. Colonel Whitmore at once organised the pursuit, but it was the 8th of August before he came up with Te Kooti, to whose standard more Hauhau had flocked, and who had chosen a strong position in the gorge of the Ruake Ture river, about twenty miles due west of Poverty Bay. Colonel Whitmore had only one hundred and thirty tired and not too contented men with whom to do battle against over two hundred well-armed warriors; but his courage took no more heed of this than it had taken of the difficulties of the pursuit, which had been through country the nature of which it is hard for the untravelled Briton to imagine. When the column struck Te Kooti's last camp, where the fires were still burning, the track led thence along the bed of the river between high cliffs, which were fortunately not occupied by the foe. Heartened by the knowledge that they were at last to come to grips with the wily fellows they had held in dreary chase for nearly three weeks, the column went cheerfully forward, and in time came where the track left the river and climbed through a gap in the cliffs into the hills. There the advance was suddenly checked by a volley which had no worse effect than to send the men scurrying to cover, whence they replied to the concealed enemy, who were nearer than they supposed. Each side fired as the chance came. Some one fell back dead and the nearest man to him shouted down the line, "Captain Carr's gone," and himself fell dead. Mr. Canning, a volunteer, had dodged behind the trunk of a fallen tree and, anxious for opportunity, peeped cautiously over the great bole, seeking a target. He was instantly shot dead by some Hauhau who were lurking, quite unsuspected, on the other side of the tree. Two other men fell, and then the advanced guard retired on the main body, who had meantime been deserted by a number of lukewarm Maori volunteers, while some of the Pakeha were themselves in retreat. To make matters worse it poured with rain, and it was but a remnant of the column which that night reached the bivouac at Reinga, some miles down the river. It was well for them that Te Kooti, wounded in the foot, could not pursue. The victorious Hauhau encamped at Puketapu, hard by the scene of the fight, and thence sent his runners all over the island, calling on the tribes to join him, and announcing himself the chosen of God to sweep the Pakeha into the sea. The worst of it was, the road to Poverty Bay was now practically open to the Hauhau chief, who was already breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the people there, some of whom had been chiefly instrumental in procuring his deportation to Chatham Island. It was no _brutum fulmen_ that Te Kooti launched against the settlement, though, strange to say, both Major Biggs, in charge there, and other leading men, imperfectly realised the imminence of their danger. Biggs even dissuaded the settlers from building a strong blockhouse for a rendezvous, assuring them that there was no reason for alarm, since his scouts would surely give him twenty-four hours' notice of any projected attack. He actually laughed at them for their vigilance in watching the various fords of the Waipoa river and, as the Anglo-Saxon is extremely sensitive to ridicule, this very sensible precaution was dropped. The ford to which they had given particular attention was that at Patutahi, and there it was where Te Kooti presently crossed the stream. Te Kooti, who maintained an iron discipline in camp and field, had by this time received numbers of recruits from the fierce Uriwera and other tribes in the locality, as well as promises of support from some at a distance. Leaving his main body in camp, he now swept down upon the plains with a chosen band of ruffians, and before the 10th of November had well begun, scattered his rascals in various directions over the settlement of Turanga, or Poverty Bay. Mr. Butters, a wool-presser, rode up at dawn to the station of Messrs. Dodd and Peppard, where he was engaged to work, and to his horror found the two men dead upon their own threshold, while the shepherd had disappeared--he, too, had been killed. "The raid is come. Te Kooti is upon us!" thought Mr. Butters and, instead of hurrying out of the district into safety, he went at racing speed to the mission at Waerenga-a-hika, warned the inmates, and then galloped from station to station, bearing his terrible news. He was riding all the time through the very midst of the scattered Hauhau, carrying his life in his hand and, had he worn a uniform, must have gained the cross "For Valour." As it was, he had for reward the consciousness of a good deed well done, and the knowledge that he had saved some lives by risking his own. [Illustration: Butters gives the alarm--Poverty Bay] Some few he found alert and forearmed; others he advised in time, and some he was too late to help, as when, on riding up to one homestead, he saw outside the door the bodies of the proprietor, his wife and their baby. Knowing that here he could do no good, Butters thundered past the desolated hearth with averted face. The Hauhau had already occupied Major Biggs's place as Butters drew near, and were dancing and yelling like fiends incarnate. The would-be saviour galloped on, sadly thinking, no doubt, that, if the poor major had consented to be wise in time, all this trouble might have been averted. Biggs had indeed paid the heaviest price for his rashness, and his last moments must have been embittered by the knowledge of the fate of those whom he had actually dissuaded from timely action in their own defence. He met his end like a man. The natives' account of his death--the only one available--says that when the Hauhau knocked at his door he was still up, writing. Recognising that the danger he had held so lightly had come upon them, he called out to his wife to escape by the back, which she refused to do. In a few seconds more, husband, wife, child and servant lay dead, the only survivor being a hired boy, James, who escaped and joined his mother, who, with her eight children, narrowly managed to make her way to safety. While all this horror was in progress in one direction the settlers in another, near the Patutahi ford, were warned by one of their number, who had lain awake from dawn listening to the distant firing, the meaning of which he did not apprehend until himself warned by a friendly Maori. It was here that the Hauhau had crossed the river, but refrained from doing mischief, as their leader wished to keep the murder of Mr. Wylie, one of the settlers there, as a sweet morsel for the finish. For Wylie was the man principally concerned in Te Kooti's deportation, and the fierce Hauhau had vowed that he would cut the Pakeha to pieces inch by inch, Chinese fashion. Their neighbour's warning saved Wylie and the rest, and they had gained safety before Te Kooti could overtake them. Benson, a settler who also did good service that day in warning others, had himself the narrowest escape. As he rode home through the night, before the murders had begun, he suddenly found himself in the very midst of the Hauhau who had just crossed the ford. Supposing them to be friendlies, he spoke a word of greeting and passed through them on his way. Many a gun was pointed at him, and the savage fanatics ground their teeth with rage at losing a victim; for they dared not spoil their chance of a general massacre by the premature murder of a solitary settler. Captain Wilson, besieged within a burning house, surrendered to the Hauhau on their promise that he and his should be spared. No sooner were the unfortunates outside, than Captain Wilson was shot, his man tomahawked and his wife and children bayoneted, save one little boy, who crawled from his dying father's arms and escaped into the scrub. The poor little fellow wandered about for days and at last found himself at the ruins of his home, where he discovered his mother, sorely wounded, but alive, in an outhouse. A week later, when the Hauhau had departed and burial parties were searching for the dead, the two were found, the dying woman having been kept in life by the efforts of her baby son, who had stolen out nightly and foraged for food. Poor Mrs. Wilson was carried to Napier, where she died, leaving the doubly-orphaned little boy the sole survivor of the family. Thus did Te Kooti revenge himself upon those whom he deemed the cause of his banishment. But he had gone too far; for above the cry of horror which went up all over the island when the dismal news of the massacre[69] spread, was heard the stern oath of strong men, who vowed they would not rest until they had cleared the earth of this blood-soaked savage and his gang of murderers. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 69: Thirty-two Europeans were killed, men, women, and children.] CHAPTER XXVIII THE LAST RALLY The quality of massacre was absent in the west--less, perhaps, from choice than for lack of opportunity--but matters were not going as well as could be desired. There had been a change of governors, Sir George Grey having given place after more than seven years of anxious rule to Sir George Bowen, G.C.M.G. Bishop Selwyn, too, had left the country he had served so long and well; but to the troubled, wearied colonists, it seemed that governors might come and governors might go, and even bishops, but the war would go on for ever. For, while Te Kooti was snarling and ravening in the east, McDonnell's star, so long in the ascendant, was declining in the west, and the Pakeha generally were being rather hardly used. The "Year of the Lamb" had come to an end, and the Hauhau gave evidence of it by a triple murder,--three wholly inoffensive men, engaged in sawing wood in the bush, being slain and mutilated by them. Colonel McDonnell, foreseeing trouble, regarrisoned an old redoubt of the 14th Regiment at Turuturu Mokai with twenty-five men under Sub-Inspector Ross of the Constabulary. At dawn, on the 12th of July, four times as many Hauhau attacked the place, and in the stern fight which ensued killed Ross and seven others. Titokowaru would have made a clean sweep of the luckless twenty-five but for the timely arrival of Von Tempsky and his men from Waihi, less than three miles away, whence the flashes of the guns had been seen, though their reports could not be heard. McDonnell, tired of incessant skirmishing, determined to make a raid which should yield a decisive result one way or the other, and fixed the night of the 6th of September for his attempt. The friendly Whanganui strongly objected to move at that particular time, owing to an unfavourable augury by their _tohunga_ and, as it happened, their hesitation received curious justification. But McDonnell was not one to be turned aside from his purpose by augurs or omens, and the expedition left Waihi at midnight and plunged into the bush. Nobody seems to have had any clear idea of the whereabouts of Titokowaru, so the old method was adopted of moving through the bush until a beaten track was struck, and then following it whithersoever it led. This system had been tried upon former occasions with good results; but it was destined this time to fail. At daybreak on the 7th the column was somewhere on the western slope of Mount Egmont where, after the forenoon had been spent in wandering about, a beaten trail was struck and followed during the afternoon in the direction of the sea. Evening was approaching when a scout who had climbed a tall tree discovered the Hauhau _pa_ not more than half a mile away. Major Kepa (Kemp), one of the best officers among the allies, strongly urged delay and an attack in force on the morrow; but McDonnell, fearful of losing his prey, determined to go on and take them and their fort by surprise. This plan was spoiled by a woman who, perceiving the advance, ran shrieking an alarm, and McDonnell was then informed by the friendlies that the place ahead of them was the strongly-fortified, well-garrisoned Ngutu-o-te-Manu. The colonel at once ordered Kepa and Von Tempsky to move in opposite directions, so as to surround the _pa_; but this they were not allowed to attempt with impunity. The Hauhau, taught by many bitter experiences, had learned that it was no longer safe to wait behind their defences, however formidable, and greatly amazed the allied leaders by leaving the _pa_ and fighting in the bush. Dr. Best, Lieutenant Rowan and a number of Von Tempsky's command fell almost at once, while McDonnell on the opposite side of the clearing had no better fortune, losing Captain Page, Lieutenants Hunter and Hastings and so many of his rank and file, that he judged it wise to retire with his wounded while he could. He therefore sent his brother, Captain McDonnell, to bring off Kepa and Von Tempsky; but the latter strongly objected to retire, and talked of an assault on the _pa_. Captain McDonnell urged the unusual strength of the place; but Von Tempsky, still incredulous, stepped into the clearing to get a better view of the position, and was instantly shot dead. Captain Buck (late of the 14th Regiment), Von Tempsky's second in command, anxious that the body of so good an officer should not suffer insult and mutilation, exposed himself in the effort to lift the dead man, and was himself instantly killed. The men, bewildered by the loss of their leaders, fell back and joined Captain Roberts, who had not heard of the order to retire, and remained where he was until sunset, when he also moved off towards the sea. On the way Sergeant Russell dropped to the ground with a smashed thigh and, dreadful as it was to do, his comrades, having no means of carrying him off, placed a revolver in his hand and left him to his fate. In anguish of mind and body the poor fellow lay there for some time, till the Hauhau, realising that they had beaten off the attack, came hurrying along the track in pursuit. At sight of Russell helpless there, one of them ran gleefully forward with upraised tomahawk, only to receive a bullet in his brain from the brave sergeant's revolver. After that the rest circumspectly shot the lonely cripple from a safe distance and rushed on the trail of his comrades. McDonnell was under fire the whole way through the bush until darkness fell, and when at last he reached Waihi with his broken and dispirited column, it was to find that nothing had been heard of Captain Roberts and his contingent, nor did these reach camp until the 8th had dawned. One-fifth of the men engaged had fallen, the total casualties of the disastrous affair being one major, two captains, two lieutenants, a sergeant and eighteen men killed, and twenty-six wounded. The final result was a blaze of anger against McDonnell, during which those who should have known better forgot his eminent services and used so bitter and unjust words that the colonel resigned the chief command into the hands of Colonel Whitmore. Thus were the Nga-Ruanui under Titokowaru successful to an extent which caused the gravest apprehension among the colonists, while the friendly Whanganui retired to their homes. For they knew of Te Kooti's success on the east, and now, when the colonial troops evacuated all the advanced posts and fell back upon Patea before Titokowaru's formidable force, it seemed to them that the long-impending doom of the Pakeha was about to fall at last. Whitmore had at first no better success; for, when storming the defences of Motorua on the 7th of November, he was repulsed with the heavy loss of nineteen killed and twenty wounded, Major Hunter being among the dead. The gallant colonel then fell back upon Nukumaru and, on the news of the massacre at Poverty Bay reaching Wellington, was ordered back to the east with every available man of his command. The remainder of the year was filled by skirmishes between the friendly Maori and Te Kooti, who had more than one narrow escape, and who, unable to run because of the wound in his ankle, was on one occasion carried into safety upon a woman's back. But in January, 1869, he received a serious set-back when the _pa_ of Ngatapa, in the Poverty Bay district, was taken after a siege of six days by Colonel Whitmore and Ropata with his men of the Ngati-Porou. Te Kooti again managed to escape; but he lost many of his fighting chiefs, nearly one hundred and fifty of his men and, more than all, his band was dispersed and pursued in all directions. Back to the west went the energetic Colonel Whitmore, taking measures to deal with Titokowaru as he had dealt with Te Kooti, and found that the Rev. Mr. Whitely, Lieutenant and Mrs. Gascoigne and their three children had been murdered by Wetere and his Ngati-Maniapoto at White Cliffs, north of Taranaki. This was an entirely purposeless crime, and the Hauhau declared that it had been committed at the instigation of the king, Tawhaio. After several skirmishes it was believed that the district close to Whanganui had been swept clear of the Hauhau; but tragic proof to the contrary was given on the 18th of February, in the neighbourhood of the Karaka camp, by the Waitotara river. For many years past troops had marched and countermarched in the Whanganui district, and the soldiers, moving up or down the rivers, often amused themselves by throwing at objects on the shore the stones of the numberless peaches they ate. The banks of more than one stream were in consequence lined with peach trees, wild, perhaps, but producing fruit not to be rejected by campaigners. How little thought the soldiers in their careless play, that they were sowing the seed not only of peach-trees, but of a tragedy which was to come to full fruit ten years later. Yet so it was. On the afternoon of the 18th of February several field officers, visiting the camp, expressed a desire for some of the peaches which were growing in profusion on the opposite side of the Waitotara, and Sergeant Menzies, overhearing their talk, volunteered to go and get some of the fruit. Colonel McDonnell made no objection, and Menzies, taking with him nine men as a matter of precaution, crossed the river and set to work to fill a number of baskets with the ripe peaches. Suddenly they were fired upon. The volley was so very heavy, so near and so totally unexpected, that the men were startled into bolting for their canoe instead of taking cover, and thus offered a fair mark to seventy Hauhau, who stood upon the bank and shot them down with ease, all save three, who succeeded in escaping. Their comrades, hearing the firing so close at hand, came up at the double, but too late to do more than receive the few survivors and discover some of the dead. So the Hauhau scored once more; but a month later the scales dropped again, and Titokowaru, who was really a formidable leader, was beaten at Otauto and forced to ignominious flight. Another blow or two completely smashed this powerful chief and bold warrior, and then the pendulum of war swung sullenly back to the east, where Te Kooti had again shown his teeth and, wolf-like, worried his own kind as well as those of another colour. It was pleasant for the colonists in all this turmoil of war to learn that their industrial progress and rise into a position of political and social importance had not gone unmarked, and that their Queen was now to recognise their standing by sending her son to visit them. Great was the enthusiasm and fervid the welcome which the Flying Squadron received on the 12th of April as the _Galatea_ with Commodore H.R.H. Prince Alfred of Edinburgh on board swept into Port Nicholson and boomed an answer to the thundering salute from the shore. Wherever the Duke appeared throughout the Australasian colonies he was well received; but nowhere with greater heartiness than in New Zealand. For the colonists there knew that they owed a debt of gratitude to the mother country--which to many of them was still "home"--and Britain's Queen was as loyally regarded as in her own sea-girt islands in the North. As if the visit of Queen Victoria's son brought good augury of peace, Titokowaru was no more heard of, and Te Kooti gradually declined in power, until, harried on every side, he fled at last into the country of the Uriwera, the wildest and most savage tribe in New Zealand. Their country--in the mountainous peninsula between the Bay of Plenty and Poverty Bay--was as wild and savage as themselves, and afforded an almost inaccessible retreat to the Hauhau fugitives. But men like Whitmore and McDonnell, not to speak of Kepa Te Rangihiwinui and Ropata Wahawaha, were not to be dismayed by savagery, animate or inanimate, and Te Kooti was chased from point to point until even his bold spirit began to quail, and he realised at last how terrible was the just anger of the Pakeha, slow to kindle, but inextinguishable by aught but the full satisfaction of righteous vengeance. Te Kooti's day was not quite done. He was not rash, but by no means a coward, never hesitating to expose his person when necessary; yet he was seldom wounded, while his hairbreadth escapes from capture and from death itself seemed to justify the growl of his pursuers that "the devil took good care of his own." On one occasion when his _pa_ had been stormed and he was within an ace of being taken, he apparently fell over a cliff, and the men who were chasing him hurried themselves no further. But, when they reached the edge of the precipice and peered over, instead of a mangled body, they saw a rope of flax, down which the wily Hauhau had slid into safety. On another occasion, under pretence of freeing a number of prisoners, he ordered them all to be disarmed, an order which every one recognised as preliminary to a general massacre--as it was. One bold fellow, standing almost within touch of the Hauhau leader, cried out, "This is to be done so that we may be the more easily killed. If I am to die, so shall you," and fired point-blank at his captor. As the hammer fell, a Hauhau struck up the muzzle of the gun; but if the Maori--whose fate was sealed in any case--had not drawn attention to his action by making a speech, he would have had Te Kooti's company on the road to Reinga, and the world would have been the sooner rid of a murderous ruffian. Strong in his luck, Te Kooti skirmished and fought his way out of the Uriwera country and marched across to Taupo, where he compelled the allegiance of Te Heu Heu, chief of the "Boiling Water" tribes. His great ambition was to capture to his side the powerful chiefs of Whanganui and Waikato, but his arrogance and overweening belief in his own superiority offended each in turn. Moreover, he alienated Topia Turoa, the great Whanganui chief by the causeless murder of a blood relation of the latter, which so angered Topia that he not only took the field against Te Kooti, but did him an even worse turn by using his influence with the Waikato against him. The Waikato also had personal reasons for allowing Te Kooti to go to ruin unaccompanied by them. They had expressed themselves willing to receive a visit from him, but when he arrived with three hundred picked men, he gave himself such insufferable airs that many were disgusted, and the Waikato leaders made no haste to pay their respects until urged to do so by the great fighter, Rewi of the Ngati-Maniapoto. They came at last, five hundred strong, bearing presents, to the place where Te Kooti and his three hundred champions awaited them. Then, either to show that he was prepared for treachery, or wishful to test their courage, or merely in an antic spirit, the Hauhau ordered his following to fire a volley with ball cartridge low over the heads of the Waikato. The whistling of three hundred bullets past one's ears is a welcome easily improved upon, and the visitors, prepared for something very different, were startled into some undignified capers. Te Kooti had committed the stupidest error in lowering a proud folk in their own eyes, and their wrath blazed against him. Even friends might have been excused for taking exception to such a greeting, and these were men whose friendship was yet to be won. In vain Rewi pleaded; Te Heu Heu argued to the wind; the Waikato would have none of Te Kooti and, when he was soundly thrashed a little later by McDonnell at Te Pononga, even Rewi turned his back upon him. "The fellow is a humbug!" he declared to the delighted Waikato, who gleefully rejoined, "We told you so!" McDonnell had with him men from the tribes of Whanganui, Taupo, Arawa and Ngati-Kahu-Ngunu (Hawke's Bay tribes). He had formed a plan for enticing Te Kooti into the open from his _pa_ at Pourere; but this was spoiled by the chief of the Napier contingent, whose fears had been raised by his _tohunga_, who declared the omens to be of the worst. McDonnell, as has been said, had few equals in dealing with the Maori and, though naturally annoyed at the failure of his plan, soon made himself master of the situation. Having quietly instructed his European officers and Kepa, he began by informing the Whanganui under Colonel Herrick that the Arawa had already started for the _pa_, and would, no doubt, be in it before them, whereupon the Whanganui sprang up and rushed forward, determined to be the first over the walls. Captain St. George had meantime told his Arawa a similar story, and they, seeing and hearing the truth of the statement, raced after the Whanganui, equally determined not to be second. McDonnell then went to the camp of Renata, the cause of all the bother, and enquired: "Do you intend to refrain from fighting to-day on account of what the _tohunga_ said?" "I certainly do," admitted Renata, who was a most conceited fellow. "Why do you ask?" "Oh, it's nothing," answered McDonnell; "only Arawa and Whanganui are racing for the _pa_, and I am going after them." He turned as he spoke and hurried away. "Hi! Stop! Colonel, stop!" shouted Renata; but McDonnell ran on. The chief's shout was changed in a moment to "_Tatua! Tatua!_" (To arms! To arms!), and he and his three hundred bounded towards the _pa_, intent upon outdoing, or, at least, not being outdone by either Arawa or Whanganui. With such a hearty concentration of energy the result was certain and, after a sharp contest, in which Captain St. George fell, shot through the head, the friendlies surged over the defences and once more drove the Hauhau into headlong flight. Te Kooti escaped as usual, but was forced to run from the Taupo district, and again take refuge among the wild Uriwera. A further result was the defection of "Old Boiling Water" (Te Heu Heu) who came in and surrendered, complaining that Te Kooti had forced him to fight, as he forced all his prisoners. Three months later, in January, 1870, Kepa Te Rangihiwinui with the Whanganui, and Ropata Wahawaha with his Ngati-Porou, started to hunt down Te Kooti. The colonials had now played their part and won their spurs, while some had gained the proud distinction of the New Zealand Cross, and one, at least, the Victoria Cross. It was felt that matters had reached a pass when the two skilful chiefs might well be trusted to finish up the long and troublesome affair of Te Kooti; for armed resistance had ceased everywhere, and the hostile Maori, if they showed no desire as yet to grasp the friendly hands held out to them by the Government, were at least convinced of the futility of further prolonging the war. With Te Kooti the case was different. He was not a belligerent, but an outlaw and, had he been caught, would undoubtedly have been hanged, if only for his behaviour at Poverty Bay. Kepa, starting in January, 1870, from the Bay of Plenty, moved south along the gorges of the Waimana to meet Ropata, who from Poverty Bay marched north upon Maunga Pohatu, about midway between the points of departure. Ropata fought and slew; Kepa, more diplomatic, made peace; but each in his fashion won the Uriwera tribes from Te Kooti, whom they kept continually upon the move, driving him from his last stronghold at Maraetahi, whence he escaped with only twenty men. The last chase of all started from Poverty Bay in June, 1871, four flying columns taking the route under Ropata, Captain Porter, Henare Potae, and Ruku Te Arutupu. The courage and endurance of the men were tried to the uttermost, for winter in the Uriwera Mountains, that beautiful, but terribly rough and savage country, was no light thing, and for a time the hunters had nothing but their trouble for their pains. But the luck at last fell to Captain Porter, who was trailing along the northern end of Lake Waikare Moana (Sea of the Rippling Waters) in the dreadful heart of the Uriwera country, and there he came up with his man. The excitement was tremendous, for they could look down from the range where they stood into the valley where they knew Te Kooti to be. A false step now, and all the toil and suffering would be wasted. Porter spent most of the raw winter night in stealing as close as he dared to the clearing, in the midst of which, in an old _whare_, Te Kooti slept, unconscious of his danger. With the dawn, Henare Potae lay on the right of the clearing, Ruku Te Arutupu on the left, and Porter covered the centre. At a given time Ruku was to enter the clearing, call to the sleeping folk that they were surrounded, and summon them to surrender. If they refused, they were to be shot at once, while a particularly sharp lookout was to be kept for Te Kooti, who was to be allowed no chance whatever. Quivering with excitement, the men breathlessly awaited the appearance of Ruku. All was quiet as death which loomed so near; but Ruku came not. Only an old woman issued from a _whare_ and began to pick up sticks for her morning fire. Still Ruku did not show himself, and Porter grew impatient, stirring in his place. Then he held still as a mouse; for from another _whare_ came a dog, stretching himself and yawning, who suddenly elevated a sensitive, inquisitive nose, snuffed the morning air and began to bark furiously, knowing, though his masters did not, that something was amiss. To him came out another woman, hushing him and staring about her; and those who knew whispered, "It is Olivia, Te Kooti's wife! He is there!" Porter heard and trembled. He knew the excitability of his men, and dreaded lest the premature explosion of a rifle--as had so often happened--should warn the Hauhau of their proximity. So little would spoil so much. If his men should lose their heads--Oh, _absit omen_! The dog whined and capered, Olivia stood, undecided, and in the hush Te Kooti's voice reached the watchers, "What ails the dog?" Olivia, after one more swift glance round, answered, "Nothing!" More men now appeared, and they, too, cried "All is well!" Then came women, who set about preparing breakfast, one of them actually cutting chips from an enormous log, behind which six of Henare's men lay snug. Then that which Porter had feared and prayed against happened. Two of the Maori loosed off their guns in their excitement, and the quiet scene in an instant gave place to a wild turmoil--shouting men and screaming women all running this way and that as guns cracked and bullets wheeped and whined past their affrighted ears. But Te Kooti was not there. He was not fool enough to come out and face the fusillade he knew would be directed against him. Not he. At the first sound of alarm he burst through the back of his hut, yelling "_Sauve qui peut!_" or its Maori equivalent, "_Ko Ngati-Porou tenei kia whai morehu!_" ("Ngati-Porou are here! Let survivors follow me!") Then, acting upon his own advice, he bolted like a deer, leaving Olivia alone to make her bow to the victors. And that was the last of Te Kooti. For several months more Ropata hunted him without success, finding some consolation in the capture of Kereopa, Mr. Voelkner's murderer, who was hanged without undue waste of time. But of Te Kooti he got no glimpse; so, at last convinced that he had done all that mortal could do, and that Te Kooti as a fighting force was as good as dead, Ropata, the war-worn, went home with his Ngati-Porou, his honours thick upon him. What became of Te Kooti no one seems to know. He simply disappeared, even as the yet more infamous Nana Sahib disappeared, leaving no trace. Some say that he steered his way across the Taupo district and hid himself in the King country; others aver that he was slain there by the Waikato whom he had insulted, others that he killed himself in despair, while some will have it that he got out of a country which, except for the purpose of hanging him, was not particularly anxious to hold him. As a matter of fact, no one, whether Maori or Pakeha, has ever given a satisfactory answer to the question, "Where is Te Kooti?" With the disappearance of the Hauhau leader vanished the last sign of active resistance against the might and rule of the Pakeha. Smiling faces were not yet everywhere; there were too many tears to be dried on both sides for that, and the passions of strong men do not cool in a day, even when strife has ceased. The conquerors, too, must learn to temper their exultation with sympathy, the conquered must accustom their necks to the yoke, and all these things take time. But the very fact, insisted upon above, that--the Hauhau movement apart--the war had been waged in generous spirit, hastened the period of cooling off, and on February the 2nd, 1872, Wiremu Kingi Te Rangitake, the chief of Waitara, visited New Plymouth (Taranaki) when tomahawk and _mere_, _patu_, and _tupara_ were buried, never again to be dug up. Three years later, on the 3rd of January, Tawhiao, the Maori King, shook the hand which Sir Donald McLean extended to him on behalf of the Government, and the last wintry clouds of discontent melted in the rays of the glorious sun of peace. Never since then have the hands of the Maori been lifted against the Pakeha; ever since then have the Pakeha striven to make smooth the path of the Maori. Once only appeared a little cloud, when a man who throughout his life had advocated peace, was accused of fomenting war. Te Whiti was a Christian and a mystic, with more than his share of the keen Maori intelligence, a fine specimen of the Maori gentleman, and a man of immense influence in his tribe. He had taken no part in the great struggle, but, like Falkland, cried ever "Peace! Peace!" And when Titokowaru would have had him unite in smiting the Pakeha, he refused, nor would he allow his young men to join. Yet this man came at last (in 1877) into collision with the Government over that old bone of contention, land. There was a dispute over the parcelling out of the Waimate Plains, and Te Whiti pulled up the pegs of the surveyors and ordered the workers off, as Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata had done thirty-four years earlier. But there was no massacre, and when Te Whiti's men were sent to prison, the chief retaliated by ploughing up the grass lands of the white men. "Put your hands to the plough!" Te Whiti cried. "Be not afraid if any come with swords and, if they smite, smite ye not again. Neither touch their goods nor steal their flocks and herds. My eye sees all of you, and I will punish the offender. Let the soldiers seize me, if they will. They may come, and I will gladly let them crucify me." A fanatic? Yes; but of very different temper from his predecessors. As it happened, Te Whiti was in the right; but the soldiers, seventeen hundred of them, did come on the 5th of November, 1881, and invested Te Whiti's _pa_ at Parihaka. Two hundred little children came out to them and danced a dance of welcome, and behind the children followed the mothers with five hundred loaves of bread for the soldiers. When matters had gone thus far, the Commissioner read the Riot Act and Te Whiti and his councillor Tohu were led away, unresisting, with handcuffs upon their wrists. And, as they went, they cried to their people, "Do not resist, even if the bayonet is at your breast." Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata stood up and defied Governor and Council after Wairau, threatening massacre. Te Whiti and Tohu, preaching peace, were chained and cast into prison for sixteen months. Then right and justice prevailed, and they were liberated in February, 1883, and given reserves of land. Te Whiti lived until November, 1907, in prosperity with his people at Parihaka, enjoying that peace which he had always done his best to promote. CHAPTER XXIX THE SUN OF PEACE The colonists had won, and men asked one another how they would use their power. But we who have followed their story know that they had not waited for victory to force them to a generous attitude. We remember how in the very teeth of strife they held out their hands and lifted four of their Maori brethren to places by their side in the Colonial Parliament; so it is not surprising to learn that, almost before the blasts of war had done blowing in their ears, they made room in the Upper House for two chiefs of high rank, who were thenceforth to bear the title of "Honourable," and be for life members of the Legislative Council. If that were not enough to show the cordial mind of the white men to their brown brothers, the Maori prisoners taken in war were treated for the most part as political offenders and, after a very short period of restraint, allowed to return to their tribes without the exaction of further penalty. Exceptions were naturally made in cases where individuals were proved guilty of actual crime; but, otherwise, everything was done to show the desire of the colony to soften as far as possible all painful memories, to erase all bitterness from the record of events, and to begin the new chapter of their history upon a page inscribed with the great words of a great man, "Liberty and Union, now and for ever, one and inseparable." As the colonists had never allowed war to hinder them from forging ahead, so, now that peace was assured, they gave rein to their energy and saw to it that their country marched with equal step abreast of the world's progress. As time went on not even that sufficed, and ever and again the old world would stop, agape, while New Zealand confidently adopted political, social or domestic reforms, at which her grown-up relatives were still looking askance as "new-fangled ideas," "dangerous radicalism," and so forth. New Zealand has never been afraid to experiment, and most of her experiments have proved successful, and in their issue "come to stay," if the phrase may be allowed. One of the earliest products of peace was a large addition to the population, thanks to a policy by which fifty thousand immigrants were introduced into the colony in the two years 1874 and 1875. This policy did not stop there; for the Government, as far as possible, found work for the men whom they introduced, just as they are doing at this day. Take for instance that large area in New Zealand known as "The King Country," where, as we have seen, the "Land League" so long had sway. This, which includes more than a million of acres of forest-covered land, and that high plateau surrounding old Te Heu Heu's "ancestor," the smoking cones of Tongariro, is only now being reduced to conditions which shall render cultivation possible. To this wilderness the Government sends hundreds of newly arrived immigrants, who are set to work upon the railway which is being carried through it. The beauty of this region is almost indescribable; and there, too, a man may taste of the experiences of the pioneers and yet miss their greatest hardships. For, if a settler, he works with the certainty of return for his labour; if otherwise, he is paid good wages and is in any case assured of food, for carts carrying bread and meat continually traverse the bush tracks. He is free from the haunting fear that he will awake at some grey dawn to hear the wild yells of blood-lusting savages, or return to his lonely hut to find his wife and children dead upon his hearth. He has no dread of beasts of prey, unlike his brother immigrant in Africa; and he can push his way through breast-high fern or clinging tangle of undergrowth, undismayed lest his heel be bruised by fang of poisonous snake, the terror of his Australian cousin. The year 1875 saw the abolition of the Provinces Act, in which many had from the first scented danger to the cultivation of a national spirit, and a beginning was made in the following year of the present system of local government, the colony being subdivided into counties and municipal boroughs. The old provincial spirit was not easily quenched, for many were not unnaturally inclined to esteem themselves and their own more excellent than their neighbour and his own. Still, there are very few in New Zealand who will venture to deny that to-day is better than yesterday, although there is at least one "fine old New Zealand gentleman, one of the olden time," who annually brings forward a motion for retrogression to the ancient order of things. Such conservatism is rare in liberal New Zealand, and has few hopes and fewer followers. A most interesting event occurred in 1877; for Sir George Grey returned to power, not as Governor, but as Premier. He had made for himself a home on an island in the beautiful Hauraki Gulf, and perhaps nothing could have been more fortunate than his presence in the Colony at a time when the new union between Pakeha and Maori required the cement of perfect comprehension to render it irrefragable. Among the colonists there might be disagreement as to Sir George Grey and his policy; among the Maori there was none. To them he was ever the _Kawana nui_ (the great Governor), the man who understood them and who cared to understand them. For his island home the "Knight of the Kawan" did everything which it was possible for a man so liberal and refined to do. He loved it and adorned its beauty with every fresh charm he could procure. He brought thither the English rose and the Australian eucalyptus, and when Australia shall lament the wholesale destruction of her unique fauna, the sole survivors of the quaint marsupial order shall, perhaps, be found in the isle of the Kawana. This charming spot is to-day a favourite resort of holiday-makers, and Sir George Grey's mansion, bereft, alas! of its hospitable founder, still offers visitors shelter and entertainment. The eightieth birthday of this remarkable man (whom Queen Victoria honoured with her personal friendship) was celebrated in New Zealand with the utmost enthusiasm, and at his death in 1898 there were not many who grudged him the designation of "The Great Proconsul," or cavilled when St. Paul's Cathedral received the honoured dust of one who was not only an Imperialist but a Nation-maker. In 1886, Nature arose in violent mood and swept into ruin one of the most romantically beautiful spots in the world, and the most powerful and splendid of New Zealand's many scenic attractions--her justly-named "Wonderland." This was the hot lake of Rotomahana, with its far-famed Pink and White Terraces. In the volcanic region between the Bay of Plenty on the north and Lake Taupo, with its giant sentinels Ruapehu and Tongariro on the south, is Lake Tarawera, overhung by the volcano of Tarawera, which had never in the memory of the Maori given any sign of eruption. A river of the same name connected the lake with the much smaller basin of Rotomahana, in which the water was hot owing to the numerous thermal springs in its immediate vicinity. Rotomahana was really a crater of explosion, and the principal boiling spring, Te Tarata, descending from terrace to terrace down to the lake, was the greatest marvel in this marvellous region. Upon the Mount of Tarawera were the graves of many generations of Arawa heroes and chiefs of might; nor dared profane feet disturb their rest for fear of the fiery dragon which, though never yet seen by Maori eyes, kept watch and ward. At the mountain's foot lay the sister lake, into whose waters--green as the stone in far Te Wai Pounamou--flowed the river, charged with a fervent message from hot-hearted Rotomahana with his terraced fringe of white and pink, laced with the blue of pools which in perfect stillness lie, And give an undistorted image of the sky. Eighty feet above the warmed water of Rotomahana was the basin of Te Tarata, with wall of clay, thirty feet in height. Its length was eighty feet, its breadth sixty, and it was filled full of exquisitely clear, boiling water, as blue as the sky above the swirl of azure vapour which constantly overhung the wondrous pool. In the depths, far below the placid surface, sounded ever the rumble and grumble of immense quantities of water on the boil, and the overflow had formed a crystal stairway, white as Parian marble, to the lake beneath. From step to step was the height of a tall man, the breadth of each platform five or six times that measure, and every shining step was an arc of the great circle of which the red-walled crater of Rotomahana was the centre. Each ledge was overhung with stalactites, pure as alabaster, and every platform held its pools of limpid, azure water of all degrees of warmth, in baths whose elegance would have charmed a Roman eye. On the opposite side of the lake was the spring of Otaka Puarangi, its tranquil blue water confined in a basin little more than half the size of Te Tarata. Its silicious deposits used to "descend from its orifice down to the lake," and were scaled "by a marble staircase, so sharp in its outline, so regular in its construction, and so adorned with graceful borders of evergreen shrubs that it seemed as if Nature had designed it in very mockery of the skill and industry of man." But on this side the silica was flushed to a delicate rose, and from every step pink wreaths were hung, and garlands of tinted stone, and on every platform flashed the opalescent stalactites, festooning the ledges, midway down, or dropping from azure pool to azure pool until they reached the golden _solfatara_[70] and the rainbowed mud. One hour after midnight on the 10th of June, men who dwelt or sojourned in this beautiful, dangerous region were awakened by the trembling of the earth and, knowing what that portended, rushed from their houses into the open to see the Mount of Tarawera rent asunder from top to bottom, while from the gaping wound shot up a column of roaring flame, whose capital of smoke and cloud reared itself four and twenty thousand feet above the blazing crater--a beacon of misfortune four miles high. Red lightning played in fork and spiral about the flaming crags or sheeted the gloomy base, and many miles away from the convulsed mountain streams of fire poured upon the stricken earth. Fire-balls fell, a blazing hail, consuming whatsoever they touched, and burying beneath their increasing weight the remains of lonely hut and crowded native village. When the pallid light of the winter dawn struggled through the dense veil of falling debris, Tarawera's mount was seen to be shivered as though smitten by the hammer of Thor; Tarawera's lake had risen forty feet, the trees beside its margin buried to their tops in volcanic mud; Tarawera's river and Rotomahana's lovely terraces were gone for ever, submerged beneath an enormous mass of ashes, mud, and stone. For eighteen hours dust and mud fell continuously, burying fifty feet deep the entire _hapu_ of the Matatu Maori, all save nine, and raining desolation as far as Tauranga on the Bay. Pasture land, grass and fern were burnt bare, and the same volcanic hail which slew the birds in their flight blotted out the food-supply and starved the very rats in the undergrowth. One hundred and one persons perished in this eruption, which was not only the fiercest and most destructive which New Zealand had known since the coming of the Maori, but was one of the most violent recorded in the story of the world. From year to year New Zealand strode on, giving her women the franchise as she went, and calling upon them to help her in the conduct of municipal affairs. She seldom marked time, and ever held her head high and preserved a proud distinction of her own among the three and forty colonies or dependencies of the Empire. If she once got a little out of breath through the sheer rush of her onward march, the firm hand of a strong man steadied her, sending her on again, _integris viribus_, with greater speed. In Richard Seddon, a man of immense energy and remarkable gifts, who for thirteen years stood at the head of the State and guided her towards the high status she has now obtained, New Zealand found her man of the hour. Fortunate, too, it was for her that, on the great Premier's untimely death in 1906, so strong a man as Sir Joseph Ward was at hand to take his place. As the nineteenth century waned to a close, the important question fell to be answered by New Zealand--Should she, or should she not, allow herself to be enrolled among the States of the Australian Commonwealth? Federation had been in the air for a long time, and since 1891 it had been recognised that it must come, and come soon,--as far as Australia was concerned. But would New Zealand take her place among the States? There were arguments in favour of her doing so from the point of view of commercial and administrative expediency; but there were very many who did not like the idea. These pointed to the thousand miles of ocean which separated their country from the continent of Australia as an argument against inclusion with her great neighbour, and to her remarkable progress as proof that she had learned, and could be trusted to stand alone. In 1899 the question required an answer; but Mr. Seddon still declared himself uncertain of the popular will, and in 1900 craved the Imperial Parliament to insert an "open door" clause in the Constitution, in order that New Zealand might enter at her own time on equal terms with the other States. A Royal Commission was then appointed, with the result that, after an exhaustive discussion of the arguments for and against the proposal, and the hearing of voluminous evidence on both sides of the Tasman Sea, the Commission declared emphatically against the submersion of New Zealand's identity in that of the Commonwealth of Australia. Australia was dubious, and Mr. Reid, Premier of New South Wales, asked, "How long will New Zealand be able to preserve an independent orbit in the presence of a powerful gravitation and attraction, such as a federated Australia must possess?" No one could answer that; but New Zealand was firm, and a reply was to some extent contained in Sir Joseph Ward's later declaration, "I consider this country (New Zealand) is certainly the natural centre for the government of the South Pacific." So New Zealand elected to stand alone; and, this done, the question immediately arose--Was she, with all her natural advantages, with her remarkable progress, to remain a mere undistinguished unit among the crowd of dependencies, simply one colony among a number of other colonies? The answer came as immediately--No! The New Zealanders determined to find a suitable designation by which their country should be honourably distinguished. What was to be that designation? It remained for Sir Joseph Ward to answer that In May, 1907, being in London after the Conference of Colonial Premiers, he wrote to Lord Elgin, the Secretary of State for the Colonies, and repeated what he had urged at that historic gathering; that, "having regard to the position and importance of New Zealand, it had well outgrown the 'colonial' stage, and was as much entitled to a separate designation as the Commonwealth of Australia or the Dominion of Canada." He further declared that "the people of New Zealand would be much gratified" if the designation chosen were "The Dominion of New Zealand." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 70: A pool of smoking sulphur.] CHAPTER XXX THE DOMINION OF NEW ZEALAND I THE PRAYER _Resolution by the Parliament of the Colony of New Zealand_ "That this House respectfully requests that His Majesty the King may be graciously pleased to take such steps as he may consider necessary in order that the designation of New Zealand be changed from "Colony of New Zealand" to the "Dominion of New Zealand"; and that a respectful address be presented to His Excellency the Governor, requesting him to transmit this resolution for submission to His Majesty." II THE ANSWER _The text of His Majesty the King's Proclamation, conferring the title of Dominion upon the Colony of New Zealand. Read by His Excellency the Governor (Lord Plunket) from the steps of Parliament House, Wellington, New Zealand, at eleven o'clock in the morning of Thursday 26th of September, 1907._ "Whereas We have, on the petition of the members of the Legislative Council and the House of Representatives of Our Colony of New Zealand, determined that the title of the Dominion of New Zealand shall be substituted for that of the Colony of New Zealand as the designation of the said Colony. We have, therefore, by and with the advice of Our Privy Council, thought fit to issue this, Our Royal Proclamation, and We do ordain, declare, and command, that on and after the 26th day of September 1907, the said Colony of New Zealand and the territory belonging thereto shall be called and known by the title of the Dominion of New Zealand, and We hereby give Our command to all public departments accordingly. "EDWARD REX." III DOMINION DAY "_Ab actu ad posse valet illatio_" So New Zealand, having resisted the blandishments of her big neighbour, and refused to allow her identity to be submerged in the Commonwealth of Australia, craved a gift from the King, who gave her what she craved,--a designation which should convince the world that she had climbed from the ruck of the colonies into a position of distinction. Few would in any case have denied this; but the change of designation made, as was intended, New Zealand's improved status apparent to all. The gift of this new designation was a public recognition of New Zealand's right to take her place on equal terms among the great self-governing colonies, and in asking for such recognition New Zealand did wisely. Great names were in the air in the South Sea, and for New Zealand not to have chosen one, now that she had elected to stand alone, would have been deliberately to hide her light under the bushel of self-effacement, and quite unnecessarily to seek a lower place than that which Australia had assumed. So, King Edward having granted her petition, His Excellency the Governor, Lord Plunket, at eleven o'clock on Thursday morning the 26th of September, 1907, read in public His Majesty's Proclamation, and New Zealand ceased to be a Colony and became a Dominion. * * * * * And what of New Zealand's future? The only possible answer to that at present is in the words quoted at the head of this section. God in His wisdom hides the future from our eyes, but it is allowable to construe the future from the past; it is permissible to infer what will be from what has been, and it is only reasonable to admit that none who know New Zealand's past ought to have any well-grounded fears for her future. What she has done she will do again yet more perfectly: what she has not done, but has a mind to do, she will accomplish. Less than seventy years ago New Zealand, like her own peculiar birds, the _moa_ and the _kiwi_, was unable to fly; but, like them, she could and did run very fast. Then, as in the course of years--and few enough of them--her wings grew, she did not hesitate, but accomplished flight after flight, each more daring than the last, until her pinions, like those of the albatross of her own seas, now bear her untired whithersoever she will. "_Ab actu ad posse valet illatio!_" What New Zealand has done she will do. Even if she never attain to the position which Sir Joseph Ward seems to consider should be hers, and become the actual as well as the natural centre for the government of the South Pacific, she can still soar as high in her proud independence, and perhaps higher, if she ever strive to attain to Sir Joseph Ward's ideal, "a true Dominion in the head and heart of her own people." What New Zealand has done she will do. It is not yet seventy years since Captain Hobson, in presence of a few white folk, read his commission as Lieutenant-Governor of islands which were declared to be a mere extension of the boundaries of New South Wales. Wellington was not yet founded; Auckland was yet to be born; the Crown and the Company were for a time to divide the house against itself; the good will of the Maori was still to win and, since British sovereignty had not been declared, other claimants for possession had to be baffled. Yet with all these drawbacks and difficulties New Zealand was able not to struggle on, but to leap boldly from childhood into a youth which was fortunately vigorous, since in this phase she had not only to adjust a quarrel here and there, but to fight for her very existence. When the doors of the temple of Janus were at last shut after nearly thirty years of intermittent war, New Zealand set her feet firmly upon the high road of industrial progress and strode forward; nor has she since looked back. Is it likely that with the knowledge and experience she has gained she will do less than she was able to do when she had everything to learn? The idea is inconceivable. No. New Zealand accomplished much in her weakness, and in her strength she will accomplish more. If she has made good laws, she will make yet better and continue to legislate, as she has always done, not for the benefit of one class or section of the community, but for the common good. If she was able to hold her own against the strong, brave race she dispossessed and reinstated under better conditions, that "baptism of fire" shall avail to teach her how to arm against the jealousy of nations, older, it may be, than herself, and envious of her vineyard. Has she not already fought nobly for the Motherland, and shall she not know how to defend her own? More than once, indeed, she has been styled the "Britain of the South." What if Sir Joseph Ward's haughty assumption of her right to rule the South Pacific by virtue of geographical position be some day so fully recognised as truth that she shall acquire the right by the might of added moral superiority? If that day come, will New Zealand be happier? That waits to be seen. Yet she should in any case be happy, even though she mount not one step higher than that to which she has attained. Climate, soil, position and natural beauty, laws, social and commercial success, all unite to feed her hunger for happiness, and to satisfy. Save that Man must ever sigh for something which he has not, what more can she crave than that which God has already given her? Even now she may most fitly sing in a full-throated burst of rejoicing: Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart-- On us, on us, th' unswerving season smiles, Who wonder, 'mid our fern, why men depart To seek the Happy Isles! _A ekore ana tatau e tutakina i te ao. A e kawea te kororia me te honore o nga Tauiwi ki reira._ Wakakitenga xxi. 25-26 (Revelation). TRANSLATION.--_And the gates thereof shall in no wise be shut by day: and they shall bring the glory and the honour of the nations into it._ INDEX Aewa, Tamihana Te, 258, 259, 260 Ahuahu, Te, 178 Akarana, 147 Akaroa, 133, 142, 149 Alfred, H.R.H. Prince, 295 Allen, Bugler, 206, 207, 208 Anaua, Te (chief), 276 Ao-tea-roa, 13, 14 Aotea, 14 Aowera (tribe), 268 Arawa (tribe), 55, 247, 298, 299, 311 Aro, Te, 136 Artillery, Royal, 242 Arutupu, Ruku Te, 301, 302 Atkinson, Major, 232 Atua, 4, 9, 38, 72, 260 Auckland, 144, 147, 149, 156, 170, 194, 213, 223, 240, 262, 263, 321 Austin, Colonel, 239 Australia, 77, 85, 93, 143 Australia, Commonwealth of, 315, 316, 317 Australia, South, 193, 194 Austria, Emperor of, 237 Banks Peninsula, 220 Banks, Sir J., 80 Barclay, Lieut., 174 Baring, Hon. F., 130 Bat's Nest, the, 195, 200 Bay of Islands, 98, 99, 116, 117, 121, 122, 140 Bay of Plenty, 55, 121, 295, 300, 311 Beattie, Lieut., 190 Benson, Mr., 286 Best, Dr., 290 Biggs, Major, 283, 285 Bland, R.N., Lieut., 197 Boadicea, 98 Boers, the, 240, 241 "Boiling Water" tribes, 227, 297, 299 Boulcott, Mr. J.E., 130 Boulcott's Farm, 205 Bourke, Sir R., 125 Bowen, Sir G., 288 _Boyd_, massacre of the, 97, 98, 101, 104 Brassey, Major, 266 Bridge, Major, 188 Britannia, 136 British Government, 125, 129, 130, 152, 153, 244, 250, 252, 315 Brooks, John, 163 Broughton, Mr., 270 Browne, Colonel T. Gore, 223, 227, 231, 232, 235, 236 Buck, Captain, 291 Busby, Mr., 124, 125, 126, 129 Butler, Colonel, 274, 275 Butters, Mr., 284, 285 _Calliope_, H.M.S., 210 Cameron, General, 233, 234, 238, 239, 240, 241, 245, 246, 247, 250, 251, 252, 273, 275 Canada, Dominion of, 317 Cannibalism, 62 Canning, Mr., 282 Canoes, names of, 8 Canterbury, 217, 218, 219 Canterbury Association, 218 Canterbury Pilgrims, 218 Carey, Brig.-Gen., 245, 246 Cargill, Captain W., 218 Caribs, the, 63 Carr, Captain, 282 Catholic missionaries, 106 Chalmers, Port, 218 Chalmers, Rev. Dr., 218 Chatham Islands, 13, 113, 280, 283 Church Missionary Society, 103, 106 Chute, General, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277 Clarke, Interpreter, 191 Clarke, Mr. G., 193 Cloudy Bay, 159 Collingwood, 221 Colonial Conference, 316 Colonial Office, 193, 216 Columbus, Christopher, 63 Constitution Act, 216 Cook, Captain, 44, 55, 78, 79, 88, 89 Cook Islands, 21 Cook Strait, 12, 107, 135, 220, 262, 272 Coromandel, 221, 222 Cotterell, Mr., 160, 163 Crozet, Captain, 89, 91, 92, 165 "Cyprus of South Sea," 128 Darling, Governor, 121 Denny, Captain, 199 Despard, Colonel, 183, 185, 186, 187, 188, 192, 195 "Die-Hards," the, 274 Diemen, Anthony van, 76 _Diver_, H.M.S., 203 Dodd, Mr., 284 Dominion Day, 319, 320 Dominion of New Zealand, 219, 317, 318, 319, 320 Doubtless Bay, 89 Dunedin, 218 Durham, Earl of, 130 _Eclipse_, H.M.S., 242, 265, 266 Edward VII., 318, 319, 320 Egmont, Mount, 14, 145, 289 Elgin, Lord, 316 England, Captain, 160, 161, 162, 163 England, Church of, 218 Epuni, Te (chief), 135 Eritonga, river, 136 Erongo (_pa_), 155 Eyre, Mr. E.J., 215 Featherston, Dr., 276 Fifty-eighth Regiment, 183, 190, 199, 205, 211 Fifty-seventh Regiment, 237, 274 Flax, New Zealand, 22, 93, 150 Forest Rangers, 275 Fortieth Regiment, 246 Forty-third Regiment, 249 Franklin, Benjamin, 87, 95 Fraser, Major, 268, 278 Free Church of Scotland, 218 Fresne, Captain Marion du, 44, 89, 90, 91, 94, 125, 165 Fulloon, Mr., 266 Gabriel's Gully, 222 _Galatea_, H.M.S., 295 "Garden of New Zealand," 145 Gascoigne, Lieut. and Mrs., 293 Gate Pa, the, 247, 249 George III., 85, 102 George IV., 109, 114 Gilfinnan Massacre, 210, 211 Gipps, Sir George, 139 Gods, the six, 5, 37, 38 Gordon, Captain, 278 Gore, Lieut., 83, 84 Gorst, Sir John, 237 "Governor, the Fighting," 209, 212, 222 Grace, Rev. Mr., 265, 266 Grant, Captain, 190 Gregory XVI., Pope, 106 Grey, Sir George, 10, 193, 194, 201, 203, 210, 212, 214, 215, 216, 222, 227, 231, 236, 237, 244, 250, 251, 269, 288, 310, 311 Guard, Mr. and Mrs., 126, 127, 128 Gudgeon, Lieut., 277 Hakaraia (chief), 267 _Harriet_, the brig, 126 Hassard, Lieut.-Colonel, 274, 275 Hastings, Lieut., 290 Hauhau, the, 254, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 263, 264, 265, 266, 268, 269, 270, 274, 275, 278, 280, 282, 283, 285, 286, 288, 289, 290, 291, 293, 294, 295, 299, 302, 304 Hauraki Gulf, the, 111, 123, 147, 310 Hawaiki, 3, 7, 8, 12, 13, 15, 21 Hawke's Bay, 235, 278 _Hazard_, H.M.S., 169, 172, 178, 183, 185, 187 Heaphy, Captain, 244 Heke, Honi, 116, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 193, 194, 195, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 230 Hepanaia (chief), 257 Herrick, Colonel, 298 Hertford, Captain, 245 Heu Heu, Te (chief), 227, 297, 298, 299, 308 Hiroti, Haimona (chief), 258, 260, 261 Hobson, R.N., Captain, 117, 118, 130, 139, 140, 141, 145, 147, 148, 152, 156, 158, 321 Hokianga, 106, 114, 123, 149 Hokioi, the, 237 Hongi Ika (chief), 104, 105, 108, 114, 115, 116, 122, 123, 145, 149, 156, 167, 168, 169, 172, 178 Hope, Dr., 237 Horokiwi, 209 Horomona (chief), 266 Howard, Mr., 160, 161 Hulme, Colonel, 177, 178, 179, 182 Hunter, Lieut., 290 Hunter, Major, 292 Hutt, Mr. W., 130 Hutt, river, 136, 205 Hutt, valley of the, 204, 205, 206 Indian runners, 228 Irish, Royal, Regiment, 239 Jackson, Captain, 246 James, Mrs., 285 Johnston, Adjutant-General, 234 Johnston, R.N., Commander, 187 Kahika, Te (_pa_), 179 Kaitaka Ranges, 256 Karaka (camp), 293 Kawhia, 111 Kawiti (chief), 116, 172, 176, 178, 181, 183, 184, 186, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 223 Kendall, Rev. Mr., 123, 124 Kepa, Major (chief), 290, 295, 298, 300 Kereopa (prophet), 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 303 Kereti (chief), 258, 259 King, Captain, 94 King Country, the, 303, 308 Kingi, Mete (chief), 277 Kingi, Wiremu (chief), 232, 235, 304 Kirimangu (Maori), 266 Koheroa, 239 Kooti, Te (chief), 280, 287, 288, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304 Kororareka, 116, 117, 124, 128, 148, 149, 167, 169, 170, 171, 172, 176, 177, 178 Kororarekan Association, 128, 129 Kuri, Cape, 80 Labrador, 80 Laye, Captain, 211 Leinster, New, 153 Le Maire, 71 Lloyd, Captain, 256 Logan, Colonel, 261 London, 108 Lovell, Sergeant, 220 McCleverty, Colonel, 212 McDonnell, Captain, 290 McDonnell, Colonel, 232, 247, 266, 274, 275, 276, 278, 288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 294, 295, 298, 299 McLean, Sir D., 278, 304 Macpherson, Major, 188, 191 Maketu, 55, 247 Maketu (chief), 212 Mamaku (chief), 204, 205, 208 Mangaio, 277 Mangapiko, river, 244 Manukau, 144, 147 Maori, the, 10, 12, 15, 17 Maraetahi, 300 Maramarua, creek, 239 Maria van Diemen, Cape, 76 Marlborough, 235 Marquesas Islands, 102 Marsden, Rev. Samuel, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 168 Massacre Bay, 75, 77 Massacre of the _Boyd_, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 104 Matakitaki, 111, 112 Matanga, Te (chief), 22 Matarana, 210 Matatu (tribe), 314 Matavia, 172, 173, 174 Matene (chief), 257, 258, 260, 261 Matutaere, King, 243 Maui (a god), 5, 6, 17 Maui, Te Ika A, 5, 9, 13, 55 Mauinaina, 111 Maunga Pohatu, 300 Maungatawhiri, creek, 238 Mayne, R.N., Commander, 242 Menzies, Sergeant, 294 Meri-Meri, 240, 241 Middle Island, the, 12, 31, 71, 72, 82, 107, 113, 141, 142, 145, 217, 220 Military Settlers, 266 Minister of Marine, French, 87 Missionaries, Anglican, 105, 106 Missionaries, Catholic, 106 Missionaries, Wesleyan, 106, 108 Moko-Moko (chief), 267 Molesworth, Sir W., 130 More, Hannah, 88 Moriori, the, 13 Moro, Te (Maori), 260, 261 Motorua, 292 Moutoa, island, 258, 261 Munster, New, 153, 215 Murderers' Bay, 75 Nape, Hemi (chief), 258, 259 Napier, 235 Napoleon Bonaparte, 199 "Napoleon of N.Z., the," 109 Native Contingent, the, 266, 267, 273, 275 Nelson, 71, 145, 146, 147, 149, 158, 159, 164, 217, 221 Nene, Waka (chief), 141, 170, 177, 178, 179, 180, 183, 185, 186, 187, 192, 199, 202, 231 Newfoundland, 80 New Plymouth, 145, 149, 232, 304 New South Wales, 97, 102, 119, 142, 153, 169, 172, 221 New Zealand, 21, 33, 71, 77, 80 New Zealand Association, 129 New Zealand Land Company, 129, 133, 134, 152, 193, 194, 321 New Zealand Settlements Act, 244 Ngahue (chief), 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Nga-Puhi (tribe), 104, 109, 110, 111, 116, 121, 125, 145, 179, 185, 200 Nga-Ruahini (tribe), 278 Nga-Ruanui (tribe), 292 Ngaruawahia, 243, 244 Ngatapa (_pa_), 293 Ngati-Awa (tribe), 13 Ngati-Hau (tribe), 257, 258, 260 Ngati-Hineuru (tribe), 278 Ngati-Kahu-Ngunu (tribe), 298 Ngati-Maniapoto (tribe), 293, 297 Ngati-Porou (tribe), 265, 268, 293, 300, 303 Ngati-Toa (tribe), 146, 209 Ngutu-o-te-Manu, 290 Ninety-ninth Regiment, 169, 177, 183, 190 Ninety-sixth Regiment, 183 Niu, the, 255 Norfolk Island, 93 North Island, the, 12, 21, 32, 76, 82, 107, 134, 141, 217 Nui, Tao (chief), 199 Nukumaru, 233, 251, 292 Oheawai, 183, 184, 187, 191, 192, 198, 200, 229 Okaihau, 178, 179, 183, 184 Okerangi, 198 Okotuku, 274 Olivia (chief's wife), 302, 303 Onoroa, 172, 173 Opotiki, 264, 265, 266, 268 Orakau, 245 O'Reilly, Ensign, 191 Otago, 217, 218 Otaheite, 81 Otaka Puarangi, 312 Otaki, 112, 146 Otapawa (_pa_), 274 Otauto, 294 Pacific, the South, 321, 323 Page, Captain, 290 Page, Lieut., 205, 208, 209 Pahatanui, 209 Pahi, Te (chief), 99, 100 Pai Marire Sect, the, 254, 257 Pakeha-Maori, 96 "Pakeha Rat," the, 26 (_note_), 237, 263 Pakeha, the, 10 Palliser, Sir Hugh, 80 Panama, 272 Papa (a god), 37 Paparatu, 281 Parihaka, 305, 306 Parliament of Chiefs, 125, 126 Patapo (chief), 211 Patara (prophet), 264, 265, 268 Patea, 269, 292 Patea, river, 270 Paterangi, 244 Patutahi, 284 Pene (chief), 184 Peppard, Mr., 284 Petre, Lord, 130 Petre (town), 144 Phillpotts, R.N., Lieut., 172, 187, 188, 189, 190, 229 Pihohoi, the, 237 Pikopiko, 244 Pipiriki, 277 Pitt, Major-General, 215 Plunket, Lord, 319, 320 Polynesians, the, 11, 12 Pomare (chief), 116, 178, 231 Pompallier, Bishop, 175 Poneki, 136 Pononga, Te, 298 Porirua, 209 Porter, Captain, 301, 302 Port Nicholson, 136, 262, 295 Potae Henare, 301, 302 Potatau, King, 226, 243 Pounamou, Te Wai, 13, 72, 112, 312 Pourere, 298 Poverty Bay, 81, 268, 281, 283, 284, 292, 295, 300 Pratt, Major-General, 234 Prayer, a traditional, 6 Proconsul, the Great, 311 Puaha (Maori), 161 Puketapu, 283 Pukutetu, Tamati (chief), 196 Putahi, 274 Putiki (tribe), 210 _Racehorse_, H.M.S., 197 Rakaihaitu (chief), 19 Ra Ki Ura, 13 Ranga Te, 249 Rangi (a god), 8, 37 Rangi, 38 Rangiaohia, 244 Rangihaeata (chief), 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 166, 203, 204, 231, 305, 306 Rangihoua, 108 Rangiriri, 241, 242, 243 "Rapparee, Ould," 209 Rarotonga, 8, 12, 21 Rauparaha, Te (chief), 111, 112, 114, 146, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 203, 204, 209, 230, 305, 306 Rauparaha, Thompson, 231 Rauru (chief), 18 Rawhiti (tribes), 247 Reid, G.H., Hon., 316 Reinga, 283 Reinga, Te, 3, 38, 52, 57, 115, 259, 296 Renata (chief), 299 Rewi (chief), 244, 245, 247, 297, 298 Rhine of New Zealand, 144 Richardson, Mr., 160, 163 Richmond, Fort, 205 _Rifleman_, schooner, 281 Ring, Captain, 239 Ring, Mr. Charles, 221 Roberts, Captain, 291 Robertson, R.N., Captain, 173, 174 Ropata, Major (chief), 268, 293, 295, 300, 301-3 Ross, Sub-Inspector, 289 Rotomahana, Lake, 33, 311, 312, 314 Rotorua, Lake, 33, 111 Rowan, Lieut., 290 Ruake Ture, river, 282 Ruapehu, Mount, 14, 311 Ruapekapeka (_pa_), 195, 196, 198, 199, 200, 202, 229 Ruatara (chief), 104, 105 Russell, 148, 149, 262 Russell, Sergeant, 291 St. George, Captain, 299 St. John's College, 154 St. Lawrence, river, 79 Schouten, 71 Seddon, the Hon. R., 314, 315 Selwyn, Bishop, 153, 154, 175, 288 Sentry Hill, 257 Shortland, R.N., Lieut., 141, 158 Signal Hill, 173, 174 Sixty-fifth Regiment, 229, 242 "Southern Cross," the Auckland, 246 Southland, 235 Staaten Land, 71, 77 Stanley, Lord, 193 Stanley, R.N., Captain, 142 Stewart Island, 13, 21, 82 Sumatra, 11 Surville, Admiral de, 89 Sydney, 98, 103, 104, 110, 119 Tahiti, 81, 102 Tamihana, Wiremu, 234, 235, 244, 247, 263, 264 Tanewha, Te (chief), 81, 85, 221, 231 Taraia (chief), 155, 156, 221 Taranaki, 217, 220 Taranaki, Mount, 14 Taranaki, town, 145, 147, 149, 231, 275, 276 Taranaki (tribe), 116, 145, 234, 236, 237 Tarata, Te, 311, 312 Tarawera, Lake, 311, 314 Tarawera, Mount, 311, 313, 314 Tarawera, river, 311, 314 Tarra (chief), 98, 99 Tasman, Abel, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78 Tasman Bay, 145, 146 Tasman Sea, 113, 119, 194, 316 Tasmania, 71, 77, 143 Tataraimaka, 236 Tau Marina, river, 163 Taumata Tutu, 178 Taupo, 299, 303 Taupo, Lake, 297, 311 Taupo (tribe), 298 Tauranga, 106, 121, 155, 247, 249, 250, 314 Tawhai, Moses (chief), 197 Tawhaio, King, 293 Tawhitorangi, Riwai, 258, 259 Teira, Te (Maori), 232 Tempsky, Major von, 232, 246, 275, 289, 290, 291 Thames, river, 110, 111, 155 Thierry, Baron de, 123, 124 Thomas, R.N., Captain, 281 Thompson, Mr., 160, 161, 162, 163, 164 Thorndon, 136 Three Kings Islands, 76 Tiger of the Wairau, the, 204, 210 Titles (Maori) of New Zealand, 13 Titokowaru (chief), 278, 279, 289, 292, 293, 294, 295, 305 Tohu (chief), 306 Toi (chief), 278 Tonga, 102 Tongariro, Mount, 14, 227, 309, 311 _Tory_, arrival of the, 135 Totara (_pa_), 111, 112 Tragett, Lieut., 237 Tupia (chief), 81 Turanga Bay, 81 Turau, Waka (chief), 199 Turi, Te (chief), 4, 13, 145 Turoa, Pehi (chief), 277 Turoa, Topia (chief), 297 Turuturu Mokai, 288 Ua, Te (prophet), 255, 256, 263 Ulster, New, 153, 215 United Tribes of New Zealand, 126, 140, 226 Uriwera Mountains, 301 Uriwera (tribe), 284, 295, 300 Waddy, General, 252 Waerenga-a-hika, 284 Waihi, 289, 291 Waikare Moana, Lake, 301 Waikari, river, 183 Waikato, plains, 249, 250 Waikato, river, 237, 238, 239, 240, 244 Waikato (tribe), 55, 116, 145, 226, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 243, 244, 245, 257, 297, 298, 303 Waikato, war, 238, 263 Waimana, 300 Waimate (_pa_), 127 Waimate, plains, 305 Waimate, river, 184 Waimate, station, 184, 192 Waipa, river, 244 Waipoa, river, 284 Wairau massacre, 163, 164, 203 Wairau, river, 160 Wairau, valley of the, 147, 159 Wairoa Mountains, 239 Waitangi, Treaty of, 140, 156 Waitara, 232, 236, 304 Waitemata, the, 147 Waitotara, river, 293-294 Wakefield family, the, 130 Wakefield, R.N., Captain A., 145, 146, 160, 163 Wakefield, Colonel, 130, 139 Wakefield, Mr. E., 105 Wakefield, Mr. Ed. Gibbon, 194, 218 Wangamirino, creek, 240 Ward, Sir J., 315, 316, 321, 323 Wari-Kauri, 113 Weld, Mr. F.A., 251 Wellington, 136, 137, 139, 141, 144, 146, 147, 148, 149, 203, 204, 212, 219, 262, 263, 264, 321 Wellington, Duke of, 129, 199 Wereroa (_pa_), 233, 251 Westrupp, Captain, 281 Wetere (chief), 293 Whakatohea (tribe), 265 Whalers, the, 95 Whanganui, 144, 147, 149, 210, 212, 213, 233, 250, 257, 261, 293 Whanganui, river, 277 Whanganui (tribe), 257, 258, 261, 276, 277, 289, 292, 298, 299, 300 Whangaroa, 98, 106, 108, 114 Whareongaonga, 281 Wharepori (chief), 135 Wherowhero, Te (chief), 116, 145 Wherowhero, the Hon. Mahuta, Tawhiao Potatau Te, 116 White Cliffs, 293 White Island, 220 White Pine _Pa_, the, 179 Whitely, Rev. Mr., 293 Whiti, Te (chief), 304, 305-6 Whitmore, Colonel, 232, 278, 281, 282, 292, 293, 295 William IV., 125, 226 Williams, Archdeacon, 182, 268 Wilson, Captain and Mrs., 286, 287 Wiremu, Honi (chief), 211 Wirihana, Lieut. (chief), 267 Witchell, Major, 233, 234 Wylie, Mr., 286 Wynyard, Lieut.-Colonel, 221, 223 Year of the Lamb, the, 278, 288 Yeomen Cavalry, 266 Young Nick's Head, cape, 80 Zulu, the, 63 THE END _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. ROMANCE OF EMPIRE Edited by JOHN LANG Each Volume contains 12 Illustrations in Colour. NEW ZEALAND. By REGINALD HORSLEY. Artist, A. D. M'CORMICK, R.I. INDIA. By VICTOR SURRIDGE. Artist, A.D. M'CORMICK, R.I. CANADA. By BECKLES WILLSON. Artist, HENRY SANDHAM. "Mr. Beckles Willson knows his Canada well. He has made a fascinating book out of the adventures of Champlain, de la Tour, and Tracy. Our author writes with sympathy and enthusiasm."--_The Spectator._ AUSTRALIA. By Dr. W.H. LANG. Artist, G.W. LAMBERT. "Mr. Lang's work is vivid, graphic, and compelling in its interest, and it conveys understanding of the broad outlines of Australia's history; the deeply interesting history of a fascinating country."--_The Standard._ OUTPOSTS OF EMPIRE. By JOHN LANG. Artist, JOHN R. SKELTON. "His pages are crowded with incident, and we find ourselves occasionally catching our breath at the relation of some dare-devil enterprise which went to the building up of Empire and sea-power."--_The Saturday Review._ 6s. _net per Volume_. _In Preparation._ SOUTH AFRICA. By IAN D. COLVIN. AFRICA, NORTH, EAST AND WEST. By JOHN LANG. ROMANCE OF HISTORY _A Uniform Series._ THE NETHERLANDS. By MARY MACGREGOR. Artist, A.D. M'CORMICK, R.I. "We have seldom seen a History more attractive than this handsome volume. Each chapter is stirring and interesting beyond measure. The admirable Illustrations are unsurpassed in power and colour."--_The British Weekly._ 
44726	----	Transcriber's Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_, "oe" ligatures have been removed, and small capitals have been converted to full capitals. Discrepancies between the detail of the list of illustrations, and the text accompanying the illustrations themselves, have been retained. The list also omits the table of Te Rauparaha's wives and children, that has been inserted at the end of the book before the map of his and Te Puoho's raids. It has been transcribed in this version. Apparent typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. AN OLD NEW ZEALANDER [Illustration: TE RAUPARAHA. After a drawing in the Hocken Collection, Dunedin. Frontispiece.] AN OLD NEW ZEALANDER OR, TE RAUPARAHA, THE NAPOLEON OF THE SOUTH BY T. LINDSAY BUICK AUTHOR OF "OLD MARLBOROUGH," "OLD MANAWATU" [Illustration] WHITCOMBE & TOMBS, LIMITED LONDON MELBOURNE CHRISTCHURCH, WELLINGTON AND DUNEDIN, N.Z. 1911 To S. PERCY SMITH, ESQ., F.R.G.S. "A WELL-DESERVING PILLAR" IN THE TEMPLE OF POLYNESIAN LEARNING, I GRATEFULLY DEDICATE THIS BOOK PREFACE I have been constrained to write the story of "An Old New Zealander" largely to gratify the frequently expressed desire for a more comprehensive sketch of Te Rauparaha's career on the part of many readers of my former books, in which fitful glimpses of the old chief were given. These references have apparently awakened some considerable interest in the life and times of the great Ngatitoan, and although this period of New Zealand's history is by no means barren of literature, I am hopeful that there is still room for a volume in which much heterogeneous matter has been grouped and consolidated. There may be some amongst the reading public who will question the need, or the wisdom, of recording the savage and sanguinary past of the Maori; but history is always history, and if this contribution serves no other useful purpose, it may at least help to emphasise the marvellous transformation which has been worked in the natives of New Zealand since Te Rauparaha's time--a transformation which can be accounted one of the world's greatest triumphs for missionary enterprise. It may be, too, that some critics will not subscribe to my estimate of the chief's character, because it has been the conventional view that he who refused to part with his own and his people's heritage was destitute of a redeeming feature. Owing to the misrepresentation of the early settlers and traders he has been greatly misunderstood by their successors; and they have further added to the injustice by sometimes seeking to measure one who was steeped in heathen darkness by the holy standard which was raised by the Founder of Christianity. As in the careers of most conquerors, there is much in the life of Te Rauparaha that will not bear condonation; but in every British community there is a wholesome admiration for resourcefulness, indomitable will, and splendid courage; and, if the succeeding pages serve to balance these high qualities of the chief against his failings, they may assist in setting up a more equitable standard whereby future generations will be able to judge him. In compiling this work I have necessarily had to draw upon many of the existing publications on New Zealand, and I now desire gratefully to acknowledge my obligations to their authors. I have also to thank Mr. S. Percy Smith, F.R.G.S., for the kindly interest he has displayed in the progress of my work, and in no less degree must I pay my respectful acknowledgments to Mr. H. M. Stowell and to Mr. J. R. Russell for their judicious criticisms and suggestions, whereby I have been assisted in arriving at a correct historical perspective. To Mr. T. W. Downes, of Whanganui, who has enthusiastically co-operated with me in procuring some of the illustrations, and to Mr. J. W. Joynt, M.A., for his careful revision of the proofs, I am equally indebted, and now beg to tender to these gentlemen my sincere thanks for their assistance. Humbly acknowledging the force of Carlyle's dictum that "Histories are as perfect as the historian is wise and is gifted with an eye and a soul," I now present the result of my last year's labour to the reader. THE AUTHOR. VICTORIA AVENUE, DANNEVIRKE, N.Z., _May 23,_ 1911. CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I WHENCE AND WHITHER? 1 CHAPTER II ARAWA AND TAINUI 16 CHAPTER III A WARRIOR IN THE MAKING 29 CHAPTER IV THE LAND OF PROMISE 62 CHAPTER V THE SOUTHERN RAIDS 121 CHAPTER VI THE SMOKING FLAX 189 CHAPTER VII WAKEFIELD AND THE WAIRAU 235 CHAPTER VIII THE CAPTIVE CHIEF 293 CHAPTER IX WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 331 ILLUSTRATIONS PORTRAIT OF TE RAUPARAHA _Frontispiece_ _After a drawing in the Hocken Collection, Dunedin_ FACING PAGE DEPARTURE OF "THE FLEET" FOR NEW ZEALAND 16 _From a painting by K. Watkins, Auckland. By kind permission of the Artist_ POMOHAKA PASSAGE, KAWHIA 32 _From a photo by Jonston_ BURNING OF THE "BOYD" 48 _From a painting by W. Wright, Auckland. By kind permission of the Artist_ TE ARAWI PA, KAWHIA 64 _The Point from which the Ngati-Toa migration commenced_ THE MEMORIAL TIKI, KAIAPOI 128 _Erected on the site of the pa destroyed by Te Rauparaha_ GILLETT'S WHALING STATION, KAPITI, 1842 144 _By kind permission of Miss Gilfillan. From a sketch by her Father_ MONUMENT ON MASSACRE HILL, WAIRAU 256 _Erected by public subscription, 1869. Photo by Macey_ TAUPO PA, PORIRUA 288 _After a drawing by G. F. Angas_ TE RANGIHAEATA 304 _After a drawing by C. D. Barraud, Esq._ MAP DELINEATING JOURNEYS OF TE RAUPARAHA AND TE PUOHO _At end_ LAMENT ON THE CAPTURE OF TE RAUPARAHA _Composed by Hinewhe, and supposed to be sung by Te Rangihaeata._ I Alas! my heart is wild with grief: There rises still The frowning hill Of Kapiti, in vain amid the waters lone! But he, the chief, The key of all the land, is gone! II Calm in the lofty ship, O ancient comrade, sleep, And gaze upon the stillness of the deep! Till now, till now, A calm was but a signal unto thee To rise in pride, and to the fray Despatch some martial band in stern array! But go thy way, And with a favouring tide Upon the billows ride, Till Albion's cliffs thou climb, so far beyond the sea. III Thou stood'st alone, a kingliest forest tree, Our pride, our boast, Our shelter and defence to be. But helplessly--ah, helplessly wast thou Plucked sword-like from the heart of all thy host, Thy thronging "Children of the Brave," With none to save! Not amid glaring eyes; Not amid battle cries, When the desperate foes Their dense ranks close: Not from the lips of the terrible guns Thy well-known cry resounding o'er the heath: "Now, now, my sons! Now fearless with me to the realms of Death!" Not thus--not thus, amid the whirl of war, Wert thou caught up and borne away afar! IV Who will arise to save? Who to the rescue comes? Waikato's lord--Tauranga's chief, Thy grandsons, rushing from their distant homes, They shall avenge their sire--they shall assuage our grief. While you, the "Children of the Brave," Still sleep a sleep as of the grave, Dull as the slumbering fish that basks upon the summer wave. V Depart then, hoary chief! Thy fall-- The pledge forsooth of peace to all-- Of Heaven's peace, so grateful to their God above, And to thy kinsmen twain, by whom Was brought us from the portals of the "land of gloom," This novel law of love-- This law of good: Say, rather, murderous law of blood, That charges its own crimes upon its foes-- While I alone am held the source whence these disasters rose! An Old New Zealander CHAPTER I WHENCE AND WHITHER? Probably no portion of the globe is so pregnant with the romance of unsolved problem as the Pacific Ocean. For thousands of years before Vasco de Balboa, the friend of Columbus, stood upon the heights of Panama and enriched mankind by his glorious geographical discovery, this great ocean and the islands which its blue waters encircle had remained a world in themselves, undisturbed by the rise and fall of continental kingdoms, unknown even to the semi-civilised peoples who dwelt on the neighbouring continental shores. But although thus shut out from human ken and wrapt in impenetrable mystery, we are entitled to presume that during all this period of time Nature, both animate and inanimate, had been there fulfilling its allotted part in the Creator's plan, though no pen has fully told, or ever can tell, of the many stupendous changes which were wrought in those far-away centuries either by the will of God or by the hand of man. That vast and far-reaching displacements had been effected before the Spanish adventurer's discovery of 1513 broke this prehistoric silence, there is little room to doubt, for the position and configuration of the island groups are as surely the results of geological revolutions as their occupation by a strangely simple and unlettered people is evidence of some great social upheaval in the older societies of the world. Precisely what those geological changes have been, or what the cause of that social upheaval, it would be imprudent to affirm, but there is always room for speculation, even in the realm of science and history, and there is no unreasonable scepticism in refusing to subscribe to the belief that the Pacific Ocean always has been, geographically speaking, what it is to-day, nor rash credulity in accepting the ruined buildings and monolithic remains which lie scattered from Easter Island to Ponape, as evidences of a people whose empire--if such it can be called--had vanished long before the appearance of the Spaniards in these waters. But even if the opinion still awaits scientific verification that the islands and atolls which sustain the present population of the Pacific are but the surviving heights of a submerged continent, there is less room to doubt that the dark-skinned inhabitants of those islands can look back upon a long course of racial vicissitude antecedent to the arrival of the Spaniards. What the first and subsequent voyagers found was a people of stalwart frame, strong and lithe of limb, with head and features, and especially the fairness of the skin, suggestive of Caucasian origin.[1] Although of bright and buoyant spirits, they were without letters, and their arts were of the most rudimentary kind. Of pottery they knew nothing, and of all metals they were equally ignorant. For their domestic utensils they were dependent upon the gourd and other vegetable products, and for weapons of war and tools of husbandry upon the flints and jades of the mountains. Their textiles, too, were woven without the aid of the spindle, and in much the same primitive fashion as had been employed by the cave-dwellers of England thousands of years before. In the production of fire they were not a whit less primitive than the semi-savage of ancient Britain. They thus presented the pathetic spectacle of a people lingering away back in the Palæolithic period of the world's history, while the world around them had marched on through the long centuries involved in the Bronze and Iron Ages. But though devoid of these mechanical arts, the higher development of which counts for much in national progress, these people were no sluggards. They were expert canoe-builders, and their skill in naval architecture was only equalled by the daring with which they traversed the ocean waste around them. They were bold and adventurous navigators, who studied the flow of the tides and the sweep of the ocean currents. They knew enough of astronomy to steer by the stars, and were able to navigate their rude craft with a wonderful degree of mathematical certainty. Whether their wanderings were in all cases due to design or sometimes to accident, cannot now be definitely affirmed; but there is abundant proof that their voyages had extended from Hawaii in the north to Antarctica in the south, and there was scarcely an island that was not known and named in all their complex archipelagos. Of literature they, of course, had none, but they revelled in oral traditions and in a mythology rich in imagination and poetry, which accounted for all things, even for the beginning of the world and for the ultimate destiny of the soul. Being deeply religious and as deeply superstitious, they interpreted natural phenomena in a mystic sense, and Pope's lines on the poor Indian would have been equally applicable to the ancient Maori in Polynesia-- "Lo! the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind: His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the Solar Walk or Milky Way. Yet simple Nature to his hope has given Behind the cloud-capt hill an humbler heaven; Some safer world in depths of woods embraced, Some happier island in the watery waste, Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold."[2] The cradle of the Polynesian race was undoubtedly Asia; and to arrive at a clear understanding as to how it became transported from a continental home into this island world it will be necessary to carry the mind back probably more than 200,000 years. At that time the dominating section of the human family was the Caucasian--fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and revelling in the glory of long, wavy hair. Their civilisation, however, like their weapons of chipped stone, was of the most primitive character; but they had advanced sufficiently in the ascending scale of human progress to show that they valued life by paying pious respect to their dead. They preserved the memory of the departed by erecting over their burial-places huge blocks of stone, many of which monuments stand to-day to mark the course of their migrations. And, except possibly a flint axe-head or a rude ornament found deep in some ancient gravel-bed, these megalithic monuments are amongst the most convincing evidence we have of the wide diffusion of the human race in prehistoric times. From the most westerly point in Ireland, across the European and Asiatic continents, they stretch by the shores of the Atlantic and the Mediterranean in the former, and the plains of Siberia in the latter, until they reach the waters of the Pacific. Even this wide expanse of ocean proved no insuperable barrier to the onward march of wandering man; for it is by the presence of his stone-building habit in so many of the Pacific Islands that we are able to construct a probable hypothesis of the process by which Polynesia first became inhabited. In the light of modern knowledge, the theory which finds most ready acceptance is that in Palæolithic times the Caucasian race, being more or less a maritime people, had obtained possession of the coastal districts of Europe. As they multiplied and spread, they followed the ocean's edge to the northward, and, as the Arctic regions were then enjoying a temperate climate, there was a plenteous and pleasant home for them even in the most northerly part of Siberia. But later a drastic climatic change began to take place. The great ice-sheet, which is known to have twice covered northern Europe and Asia, began to creep down upon the land, driving man and beast before it. Impelled by this relentless force, there began a momentous migration of Palæolithic man, who swept in hordes southward and eastward in search of a more hospitable home. In course of time a section of these fugitives, travelling across the Siberian plains, reached the Pacific coast, and here their old maritime spirit reasserted itself. With the pressure of climate behind them, and in their breasts the love of adventure, the sea soon became as much their domain as the land. At first their canoes were of the frailest character; but experience and unlimited opportunity soon taught them the art of constructing safe sea-going craft, which could carry considerable numbers on a course of discovery. The tales of new lands found, and their warm and genial climate, no doubt stimulated the spirit of exploration, so that gradually, and almost imperceptibly, the tide of migration which was flowing from the centre of the continent was drawn across the sea to the region of eternal summer. From somewhere in the vicinity of the Japanese archipelago, fleets of canoes set off at various times carrying with them a freight of humanity destined to found a new people in a new land. But, in order to account for the transportation of large numbers of women and children on vessels which, at the best, must have been mainly constructed of reeds, we must assume smaller intervals of ocean than exist now. There are evidences of other kinds that startling geological changes have occurred in this portion of the globe; and this assumption would help to explain feats of travel otherwise apparently impracticable to a rude and poorly equipped people. For how many centuries this stream of venturesome humanity flowed southward no one can tell; but it is safe to assume that great numbers must have taken the plunge into the unknown, some resting by the way, others pushing on to a point beyond the furthest preceding colony, until the main groups of islands were occupied, and outpost after outpost was firmly established. With them these people carried their simple mode of life, their primitive arts and customs, not the least of which was their stone-building habit, which, as already shown, had originated in their desire to perpetuate the memory and preserve the bones of their dead. Hence arose in their new home those strange structures of uncemented stone which astonished the early discoverers, and which stand to-day, broken and decrepit relics, like ghostly wraiths from a long-forgotten past. But, whatever its duration may have been, two causes operated to bring this period of migration to a close. The first of these influences was the dispersion of the Mongolian race from Central Asia; the second, the subsidence of the land along the Asiatic coast. Either of these events would have been in itself sufficient to cut off the supply of emigrants to the islands. The descent of the more warlike Mongols from their high plateau would effectually close the inland route across the north of Asia to the gentle Caucasians; while the sinking of the land-bridge, along which they had been wont to pick their way, would so increase the hazard of the journey that none would care to risk a voyage across the greater stretch of sea. Thus the first stratum of the Polynesian race was laid by an invasion of European people embarking from Asia; and these light-skinned, fair-haired Vikings, who were driven out of their ancient home by the descent of the giant glaciers, plunged into the abyss of uncertainty, little dreaming that from their stock would arise a people whose life-story would be, as it still is to some extent, one of the world's unsolved problems. Amongst the many features which have seemed to intensify the shroud of mystery enveloping these people is the combination of a dark skin with tall and stalwart frames and a head-form usually belonging to fair races. Also the strange stratification of their customs discloses a social condition so contradictory as to amount almost to a paradox. Why a dark-skinned race should possess features which find their counterpart in the whites of to-day, or why the most primitive method of obtaining fire--by friction--should be found side by side with highly scientific methods of warfare, especially displayed in the art of fortification, seemed difficult of explanation, until the idea of a second invasion, comprised of dark-blooded people, had been conceived and had taken root.[3] The theory of a grafting of a dark race on to the Caucasian stem which had already been planted in Polynesia explains much. It would account for the olive-coloured skin of the present-day natives, and it would provide the reasonable supposition that, being later comers, they would import with them newer ideas and more modern customs, some of which would be adopted in their entirety, others in a modified form. With the advantage of many centuries of contact with neighbouring peoples, they had necessarily learned much of the art of war, which had been quite unknown to the islanders in their isolation. These dark invaders were therefore able to come in the spirit of conquerors; and consequently the masculine arts, such as the making of weapons and the building of forts and canoes, received an impulse which placed them considerably in advance of anything of which the original people had ever dreamed. But the domestic arts would be but little changed, for the reason that the invasion, being one of warlike intent, would be comprised largely of males, the women who were taken to wife after their lords had been vanquished being allowed to retain their old modes of life. Hence the methods of twisting threads of fibre, of weaving mats, and of making fire, would remain the same as had been practised by them from time immemorial, while there would be a distinct advance in those arts which came more exclusively within the domain of the males. In two respects, however, these newcomers did not better the condition or raise the standard of art amongst the people with whom they were about to mingle their blood. They introduced neither pottery nor the use of metals. It is therefore clear that the section of the human family to which they belonged had not advanced beyond the Stone Age when their invasion took place; and this fact helps us to some extent in our inferences as to the period when this second migration commenced and when it terminated. For the direction whence these dark-skinned invaders came we have to rely on a careful comparison of the traditions and genealogies of the present-day people, who have preserved in a remarkable way certain leading facts, which serve as landmarks by which their journeys can still be traced. By the aid of these, the thread of their history has been followed back to a time at least several centuries before the birth of Christ, when a dark-skinned people dwelt upon the banks of the river Ganges. Here, by contact with other races, probably the Egyptian and Semitic, they acquired that smattering of mythology which, as preserved by the ancient Maori, resembled so closely the beliefs still prevalent in many parts of the Old World. But although versed in the mysterious philosophy, if such it can be styled, of their time, they were entirely ignorant of the principles of the Buddhist religion; and from this circumstance it is fair to deduce that they had left India before Gautama, who died in 477 B.C., had commenced his teaching of "Nirvana and the Law." But when we come to inquire into the causes which operated to inspire this migration, we get little information beyond the explanation commonly given as the root of all Polynesian movements, that "great wars prevailed." If this be the true reason why a whole nation should move _en masse_, then it is not unreasonable to suppose that the future Polynesians were the defeated people, and were forced by irresistible waves of invasion to abandon their home in India. Slowly they were pushed southward and eastward by the more warlike tribes who came down from the north; and as they made their way along the coasts of the Malayan Peninsula, circumstances, climate, and assimilation with other peoples continued the process of racial modification which had commenced before they abandoned the valley of the Ganges. For three hundred years or more they drifted from point to point. We know little more, for there occurs a comparative blank in the story of their journeyings as they moved along the coast of Sumatra and down the Straits of Malacca. In the year 65 B.C., however, we again get a glimpse of them on the island of Java. From this point, although their movements are often vague and shadowy, they are never entirely lost to sight. Tradition, at this period, speaks of a renowned personage named Te Kura-a-moo, who "went to the east, to the rising sun, and remained there." To precisely what spot in the east he journeyed is uncertain, but his objective is generally supposed to have been the island of Java, which was then known as Avaiki-te-Varinga. This is the first suggestion of migration which we have in Polynesian tradition; and as it corresponds in date with other large ethnic movements which are known to have occurred in the Malayan archipelago, it is more than probable that pressure from other invaders compelled the occupation of Java, which thus became the parent Hawaiki, towards which the Maori stands in much the same relationship as does his brother _pakeha_ to the Garden of Eden. But the same cause which drove these wandering Asiatics into Java, at a latter period led to its evacuation. And still the movement was in an eastward direction, towards the islands of Indonesia, the people as they moved becoming more and more expert in the art of navigation and sea-craft. In view of the scattered nature of the archipelago in which they now found themselves, their voyages became gradually longer, requiring larger canoes and more daring seamanship. They were beginning to leave the beaten path which hitherto had been the common course of the human race--the mountain, the river, and the plain. With them the sea was gradually becoming the broad highway which had to be traversed in order to find fresh resting-places, or to maintain communication with established outposts in more advanced situations. The spirit of the sea-gipsy, which led them to do and dare, was rapidly developing within them, and the knowledge thus born of courage and experience was shortly to prove invaluable to them in carrying to a successful issue their own great policy of conquest. Wars and rumours of wars are again heard of, and are given as the underlying cause of the next movement southward from Indonesia, the date of which is so uncertain that it cannot safely be defined more strictly than as between the first and fourth centuries. It is unfortunate that we are driven to this loose estimate of time for so important a national event, because it was this final migration which led to the actual entry into Polynesia of these dark-blooded wanderers, and if our first hypothesis be correct, to their ultimate fusion with the fair-skinned, stone-building people who had preceded them by many centuries. They had obviously come into contact with strange people and strange animals, for the existence of the former has been preserved in their traditions and the memory of the latter in their fantastic carvings. Not the least interesting of their stories is the finding of a fair-complexioned people, whom their fancy has elevated into the realm of fairies, and from whom they claim to have learned the art of net-making. Whether these mysterious people, who are said to have laboured only at night and to have vanished when the sun rose, were the original Caucasians who, we have supposed, set out from the eastern coast of Asia, and who were about to be absorbed by the more virile emigrants from India, or whether they were, as some suggest, a few wandering Greeks or Phoenicians on the coast of Sumatra, we cannot pretend to decide. But, in all its vagueness and fanciful setting, the tradition is interesting, as indicating the existence on their route of a people fairer than themselves, and the fact that they must have come into close personal contact with them. A careful reflection upon the probable circumstances attending the story of how Kahu-kura captured one of the fairy's nets inclines us to the opinion that it is the first evidence we have of the contact of the Indian branch of the Polynesian race with their whiter predecessors. These they would meet in island after island as they moved down the Pacific towards Fiji, which group they are believed to have occupied about A.D. 450. Like all other dates connected with Polynesian migrations, this one can only be approximate, for the people were without any mode of reckoning time, except by reference to ancestral lines. But there is traditional authority for supposing that their descent upon Fiji was made in considerable numbers, and that for a time these islands constituted one of their principal colonising centres. Whether Tonga and Samoa were settled from this point seems doubtful; but it is certain from the marvellous stories which find credence in the traditions of this period that an era of extensive voyaging had set in, and that the newcomers began to spread themselves with considerable rapidity from atoll to island and from island to archipelago. These excursions into new realms naturally gave promise of an attractive home amongst the palm-covered islands; and, simultaneously with their policy of conquest and colonisation, they began the absorption and assimilation of the resident people. As the defending warriors were driven out or annihilated, the women of the vanquished were taken possession of by the victors, and their domestic arts were taken with them. This blending necessarily, in the course of many centuries, worked appreciable modifications in the physique and customs of both races, and gave to the world the Polynesian people as we know them to-day. A race of stalwarts, long-headed, straight-haired, and brown-skinned, warriors from birth, full of courage, and ardent for adventure, they were not altogether devoid of those higher ideals which make for the elevation of man. They were deeply imbued with a love of poetry, which enabled them to appreciate in a rude way the beautiful in life and to preserve in quaint song and fantastic tradition the story of their wanderings and the prowess of their heroes. They were even enterprising enough to attempt the solution of the marvellous natural phenomena everywhere presented to them, which, to their simple minds, could have no origin except in the intervention of the gods. With a continuous stream of fresh immigrants flowing in from the north to reinforce the southern outposts, the conquest and colonisation of the islands was now only a matter of time. Before we come to the period directly connected with our story, some seven hundred years had elapsed, during which every trace and even the memory of the original people had been effaced, and but for their stone monuments, which have withstood alike the shock of invasion and the ravages of time, their very existence would have remained as one of the problems of a forgotten past. But long before this period had been reached, some great ethnic or geographical event had occurred to terminate the further inflow of these invaders from the north. Either the movements of the nations upon the Asiatic continent supervened to make continued migration unnecessary, or geographical changes in the distribution of land and sea operated to make it more difficult, if not impossible. Certain it is that the supply of warriors was effectually cut off, and that at a time before the parent people had learned the use of metals. From this period, down through the ages until the day of their discovery by the Spaniards, the gulf which separated them from the rest of the human family remained unbridged, and the Polynesians were suffered to evolve their own racial peculiarities and develop their own national spirit, untrammelled by exterior influences. Isolated from the rest of the world, they lived in total ignorance of the progress with which other peoples were advancing towards a higher type of human development and loftier ideals of national life. They knew nothing of the growth of science or of art, and they derived no benefit from the stimulating effect of competition, or from the bracing conditions of a strenuous life. Nature was bountiful to them in the ease and abundance with which their simple wants were supplied, for it required neither labour nor ingenuity to provide for their daily needs. Hence there was little incentive to depart from traditional customs, or to seek more advanced methods than their fathers had learned and applied in that far-off time when they lived on the banks of the Ganges. Had it been otherwise, the Polynesians would not have been found still clinging to their stone clubs and flint axes, while the continental peoples surrounding them had acquired a written language, the use of metals, and the arts of husbandry, pottery, and weaving. The complete absence of these primary evidences of civilisation amongst the islanders gives us the right to assume that they came into the South Seas before man had acquired any knowledge of the metallic arts, and that their migration ceased before pottery and the weaving spindle were known. Polynesia must, therefore, have been occupied during the Palæolithic and Neolithic periods of the world's history. From that time down to the Spanish era all communication with the surrounding nations was completely cut off, and the Polynesians were allowed to sleep the sleep of centuries and to work out their own destiny in the midst of their tragic isolation. As the evolution of the race progressed, there was gradually developed a rude system of tribal government, administered by acknowledged chieftains, who claimed and obtained unquestioned obedience. So, too, victory or defeat became gradually the chief factor in determining the home of each tribe. These tribal boundaries were, however, by no means arbitrary lines of exclusion, and, in fact, there were frequent visits of friendship between the different sections of the race. These voyages necessarily led to a wide knowledge of the Southern seas and their archipelagos, and often contributed surprising results. While the sea-captains navigated their canoes with wonderful accuracy, unaided as they were by chart or compass, their vessels were not always under absolute control, and in stress of sudden storm, or influenced by some unexpected current, they were frequently carried far out of their intended course. It is probable that in some such way the first canoes reached New Zealand, for it is known that individual vessels had visited these shores long before the historic migration known as "the fleet" left Rarotonga in or about the year 1350 A.D. The stories brought back by these pioneering mariners excited the cupidity and fired the imagination of the islanders, and when a fleet of several great canoes arrived at Rarotonga, and found that group already fully occupied, they decided to set out in search of the strange land which had been dragged from the depths of the sea by the miracle-working Maui, and discovered by the great sea-captain Kupe.[4] Here they hoped to capture the giant bird, the flesh of which Ngahue had preserved and brought back with him, but more than all they were eager to enrich themselves by the possession of the _toka-matie_, or much prized greenstone, the beauty of which they had heard so much extolled. The story of this migration is recorded amongst the classic traditions of the New Zealanders: how the Arawa canoe came perilously near being lost in a tempest, and descended into the mysterious depths of the whirlpool, Te Parata; how the crew of the Taki-tumu suffered the pangs of starvation; how the Kura-haupo suffered wreck; and how, on landing, the crew of the Arawa practised the deceit upon the sleeping Tainui of placing the cable of their canoe under that of the latter, in order that they might, with some hope of success, set up a claim to first arrival. One by one the canoes reached these shores, the major part of them making land in the vicinity of East Cape, thence sailing to the north or to the south, as the whim of the captain or the divination of the _tohunga_ decided their course. In this way they spread to almost every part of the North Island, which they found already peopled with the remnants of prior migrations, who were living in peaceable possession. With these the warlike Vikings from the Pacific fought and contended until they gained undoubted supremacy, thus giving a starting-point to New Zealand history by establishing ancestral lines from which all Maoris love to trace their descent. These tribes soon became the dominant power in the land. The weaker _tangata whenua_[5] were subdued and absorbed. Their traditions, arts, and customs disappeared, except in so far as they may have unconsciously influenced those of their conquerors. The latter grew in strength and numbers, extending their influence far and wide, as they marched towards the development of their national existence and their final consolidation into the Maori race. Unto these people was born, about the year 1768, a little brown babe who was destined to become the great Te Rauparaha, chief of the Ngati-Toa tribe. [1] "The distinguishing characteristic of the Marquesan Islanders, and that which at once strikes you, is the European cast of their features--a peculiarity seldom observable among other uncivilised peoples. Many of their faces present a profile classically beautiful, and I saw several who were in every respect models of beauty" (_Melville_). [2] "I found that the Natives had not formed the slightest idea of there being a state of future punishment. They refuse to believe that the Good Spirit intends to make them miserable after their decease. They imagine all the actions of this life are punished here, and that every one when dead, good or bad, bondsman or free, is assembled on an island situated near the North Cape, where both the necessaries and comforts of life will be found in the greatest abundance, and all will enjoy a state of uninterrupted happiness" (_Earle_). [3] "It is most certain that the whites are the aborigines. Their colour is, generally speaking, like that of the people of Southern Europe, and I saw several who had red hair. There were some who were as white as our sailors, and we often saw on our ships a tall young man, 5 feet 11 inches in height, who, by his colour and features, might easily have passed for a European" (_Crozet's Description of the Maoris at the Bay of Islands_). [4] The knowledge which the Polynesians possessed of the Southern sea, and their skill as navigators, was such that when "the fleet" set out from Rarotonga, they did not go to discover New Zealand, but they went with the absolute certainty of finding it. [5] "Man of the land, native, aboriginal." Probably these people were a mixture of the Melanesian and Polynesian types. CHAPTER II ARAWA AND TAINUI If the genealogies of the Maori race can be relied upon, it may be accepted as a fact that the immediate ancestors of Te Rauparaha came to New Zealand in the canoe Tainui, which is said to have been the first vessel of the fleet after the Arawa, prepared for sea. By an unfortunate circumstance there sprang up between the crews of these two canoes a fatal rivalry, which repeated acts of aggression and retaliation were continually fanning into open ruptures, even after they had landed and were widely separated on the shores of New Zealand. This ill-humour, according to the tradition, was first engendered by Tama-te-kapua, the chief of the Arawa, depriving the Tainui of her high priest, Ngatoro-i-rangi, by inviting that renowned _tohunga_ on board his vessel for the purpose of performing some of the all-important ceremonies which the complex ritual of the Maori demanded on such occasions, and then slipping his cable and putting to sea before the priest had time to realise that he had been deliberately led into a trap. But this act of treachery on the part of the bold and unscrupulous captain cost him dear, and bitterly must he have repented before the voyage was over his trifling with the dignity of so consummate a master of magic as Ngatoro-i-rangi. But that story belongs to the voyage of the Arawa. Of the voyage of the Tainui, under Hoturoa, we know little; but presumably she had a comparatively uneventful passage until she touched land at a point near the north-east end of the Bay of Plenty, which her people named Whanga-poraoa, for the reason that there they found a newly stranded sperm-whale. But scarcely had they disembarked than a dispute arose between them and the Arawas, who had beached their canoe at a spot close by, as to the ownership of the carcase. The result of the debate was an agreement, arrived at on the suggestion of a Tainui chief,[6] that the crew which had first touched land should be the acknowledged owners of the fish, and to establish the date of arrival it was further agreed that they should examine the sacred places which each had erected on the shore, and on which they returned thanks to the gods for guiding them safely across the ocean. Here the ingenuity of the Arawa people enabled them to outwit the Tainuis. While the latter had built their shrine of green wood, the followers of Tama-te-kapua had taken the precaution to dry the poles of their altar over the fire before sinking them into the sand. Precisely the same process had been applied to their hawsers, so that when the examination was made for the purpose of determining priority of arrival the Arawa temple carried with it the appearance of greater age, and the Tainuis, without detecting the trick, conceded the point and yielded the prize to their rivals. [Illustration: DEPARTURE OF "THE FLEET" FOR NEW ZEALAND. From a painting by K. Watkins, Auckland, by kind permission of the artist.] Hoturoa then decided to make further explorations to the north, and moved off in that direction with his canoe, to be followed a few days later by the Arawa. The Tainui skirted the coast, noted and named many of its prominent features as far as the North Cape, and then, as the land terminated at this point, the canoe was put about and retraced her course as far south as Takapuna.[7] Here a halt was called, and exploring parties were sent out to ascertain if all the district promised was likely to be realised. Upon ascending one of the many hills[8] which mark the landscape in this particular locality, the voyagers were surprised to observe flocks of sea-birds, some flying over from the westward, others wheeling with noisy flight in mid-air. To the experienced eye of the native, who had been bred on the borders of the sea, this circumstance bespoke a new expanse of water to the west. The canoe was once more launched, and on their crossing the Wai-te-mata[9] harbour a critical examination of the eastern shore revealed to the astonished visitors the fact that a narrow portage existed at the head of the Tamaki River, over the ridge of which lay another arm of the sea, apparently as wide and as deep as that which they had just entered. In the meantime they had been joined by the Tokomaru canoe, and the joint crews decided upon the bold scheme of hauling their vessels over the narrow portage at Otahuhu.[10] The Tokomaru was the first to be taken across, and under the guidance of the chiefs she glided with perfect ease and grace over the carefully laid skids into the deep, smooth water. But when the drag-ropes were applied to the Tainui, pull as they would, she remained fast and immovable. Tradition says that Marama-kiko-hura, one of Hoturoa's wives, being unwilling that the weary crews should proceed at once upon this new expedition, which the chiefs were evidently projecting, had by her power as an enchantress so rooted the canoe to the ground that no human strength could move it. Against this supernatural agency the stalwart boatmen struggled unavailingly, for, although there was a straining of brawny arms, a bending of broad backs, and much vocal emulation, inspired by the lusty commands of those in authority, the charm of the enchantress could not be broken. In this distressful emergency the womanly sympathy of a second wife of the chief was stirred within her, and she, being even more gifted in the art of magic than her sister, chanted an incantation so great in virtue that instantly the spell was loosed and the wicked work of a disappointed woman undone.[11] The song which was chanted on this memorable occasion has long since been embalmed amongst the classics of the Maori, and has become the basis of many another chant which is used while canoes are being drawn down to the sea. "Drag Tainui till she reaches the sea: But who shall drag her hence? What sound comes from the horizon? The Earth is lighting up, The Heavens arise, In company with the feeble ones Welcome hither! Come, O joyous Tane! Thou leader and provider. Here are the skids laid to the sea, And drops the moisture now from Marama, Caused by the gentle breeze Which blows down from Wai-hi; But still Tainui stays, And will not move. Red, red is the sun, Hot, hot are its rays, And still impatient stands the host: Take ye and hold the rope, And drag with flashing eyes And drag in concert all. Rise now the power To urge. She moves and starts, Moves now the prow, Urge, urge her still." Under the exhilarating influence of the singer's musical voice, together with a profound faith in her skill as a mistress of magic, the weary crews once more bent themselves to their task. Their renewed efforts were rewarded with success; for with one vigorous pull the canoe was seen to move, and was soon slipping and sliding on her way to the bosom of the bay below.[12] Once fairly launched, the Tainui was soon speeding her way to the open sea; and, having successfully crossed the Manukau bar, she passed out into the Western Ocean to battle with adverse winds and tides. Evidently, the physical features of this coast were not greatly to the liking of the explorers. Unlike the eastern side of the island, there were fewer shelving beaches and favourable landing-places; the predominating aspect was high and abrupt cliffs, fringed with jagged and evil-looking rocks, against which the surf beat with deafening roar. The sea, too, was much more turbulent; so that, after travelling only some eighty miles, the canoe was headed for the sheltered harbour of Kawhia,[13] and there Hoturoa and the tribes who accompanied him determined to bring their wanderings to an end. The canoe which had brought them safely over so many miles of open ocean was hauled to a secure spot on the beach, there to await the ravages of decay, the spot where she rested and finally rotted away under the _manuka_ and _akeake_ trees being still marked by two stone pillars,[14] which the natives have named Puna and Hani. The next thing was to erect an altar to the gods for having thus far prospered their journey. The spot chosen was that afterwards called Ahurei, in memory of their old home in Tahiti;[15] and, doubtless for the same sentimental and patriotic reason, the spot on which the wives of Hoturoa first planted the _kumara_[16] was called Hawaiki. With these preliminaries settled, the pilgrims from the east were now faced with the most serious duty of all, to arrive at an equitable division of the new land which was about to become their permanent home. What method of adjudication was employed in the apportionment we cannot now say; but two main divisions mark the final arbitrament. The Waikatos occupied the country from Manukau in the north to the Marokopa River in the south, while the tribe afterwards known as Mania-poto occupied a domain which extended from that point to one about two miles south of the Mokau River. Within these comprehensive boundaries was embraced the acknowledged territory of the numerous sub-tribes; but to only two of these need we refer at this stage, namely, to the Ngati-toa, who lived on the shores of Kawhia Bay, and to the Ngati-Raukawa, who had settled further inland, in the country of which Maungatautari is now the centre. When the Tainui people landed on the shores of Kawhia and began to spread their settlements throughout the valleys of the district, they did not find, as they might have expected, an empty land. At some time, and by some means, man had already established himself in New Zealand, and before the organised migration, of which the Tainui was a part, had set sail from Rarotonga, the country was already extensively peopled. Whether these _tangata whenua_, as the Maoris called them, were Polynesians like themselves, and the fruits of some of the prior migrations which are known to have taken place, or whether they were a lower order of mankind struggling through the process of evolution to a higher plane of civilisation, is a point which cannot well be debated here. But whatever manner of men they were who lived in the balmy climate of Kawhia, they were already well established there in their villages and gardens, and for many generations--perhaps for many centuries--they had been burying their dead in the secret caves which honeycombed the limestone cliffs that rise in beetling precipices sheer from the harbour's edge. Although they are generally credited with being a less combative and virile race than the fierce and hardy tribes who came with the fleet, they were not disposed to surrender or divide their estate without a struggle, and Hoturoa found that, if he was to become master of Kawhia, it could only be as the outcome of a successful war. But Kawhia was a country worth fighting for. Early travellers through New Zealand, who saw it before the devastating hand of man had marred its beauties, speak with eloquent enthusiasm of its extremely picturesque and romantic landscape.[17] At full tide the harbour shines in the sunlight like an unbroken sheet of silver, in which the green and gold reflections of the surrounding bush are mirrored and magnified. For many miles in length and breadth the sea runs inland from the bay's bar-bound mouth, stretching its liquid arms right to the base of the mountains which encircle the harbour like a massive frame. Rugged and picturesque are these mountains, with their cloak of deep verdure, through which huge masses of limestone rock protrude their white faces, suggesting the bastions of some old Norman tower covered with gigantic ivy. So marked, in fact, is this resemblance, that the character of the peaks has been preserved in their name--the Castle Hills.[18] Down the sides of these slopes run innumerable streams, the largest being the Awaroa River, which enters the harbour at the north-east end, where the scenery attains its most impressive grandeur. A little to the north-east of Kawhia, and over the ranges, lies the broadly-terraced valley of the Waipa, and between this district and the harbour stands "an ancient and dilapidated volcano," called Pirongia, upon which the evening sun directs its blood-red darts, lighting up its many peaks and towers until they resemble a giant altar raised by some mighty priest. The climate, too, is mild and soft, like that of Southern Spain, and there the orange and the lemon might bud and blossom with all the luxuriance found in the valleys of Granada. Such was the home in which the people of the Tainui canoe sought to gain a footing, when they abandoned their vessel; but these exiles from far Hawaiki were yet to pass through the bitter waters of tribulation before their arms were blessed with success and their claims ceased to be contested. In the quaint language of an old _tohunga_ we are told: "In the days of the ancient times the descendants of those who came in the Tainui made war on the people who had occupied the interior of Waikato. These people were called Te Upoko-tioa, and were the people who had occupied the land long before the Tainui arrived at Kawhia. These people were attacked by those who came over in the Tainui. The men they killed, but the women were saved and taken as wives by the Tainui. Those who attacked these people were of one family, and were descended from one ancestor, who, after they had killed the inhabitants of Waikato, turned and made war each on the other--uncle killed nephew, and nephew killed uncle: elder killed the younger, and the younger killed the elder." Of the various battles which the Tainui people fought during the conquest of their new home we have scarcely any account, beyond vague and general statements of the most fugitive character. These, unfortunately, do not afford us any wealth of detail, the possession of which would enable us to picture in vivid colours the doughty deeds by which the invaders overcame the strenuous resistance of the _tangata whenua_, who maintained the struggle with the desperation of men who were fighting for their very existence. The story of the conquest of Kawhia may be regarded as lost in the misty distances of the past, but it is not surprising to discover by shadowy suggestion, such as quoted above, that, after the original inhabitants had been effectually subdued, the turbulent nature of the Maori should lead to devastating and sanguinary internecine wars. One of the traditions of the Tainui tribes is that they left the South Pacific because of a great battle called "Ra-to-rua," which originated in a quarrel between Heta and Ue-nuku; and it would be quite unreasonable to expect that they should suddenly forsake their warlike passions on reaching New Zealand, a country in which there was so much to fight for. With the Maori war had now become more than a passion: it had become part of his nature; for, through all the long centuries of migration, the story of the race had been one of incessant struggle with other races and with circumstances. They fought their way into the Pacific, and were in turn submerged under the tide of a second invasion, which gave to the world a people inured to the hardships inseparable from strife, who had tasted the bitterness of defeat as well as the joys of victory--a proud and haughty race, sensitive to the slightest insult, and so jealous of their honour that they were ever ready to vindicate their fair name before the only tribunal to which they could appeal--that of war. Steeped as they had been from birth in this atmosphere of strife, they had grown to expect the clash of arms at every turn, and, as they grew to expect it, they grew to love it. It is small wonder, then, that, when they found their enemies at Kawhia and its neighbourhood vanquished, they occasionally turned their hands upon each other, in the attempt to efface some real or imagined wrong. But, fatal to national progress as these inter-tribal wars must have been, they, nevertheless, played an important and valuable part in spreading the Maori over New Zealand. A tribe defeated in battle was forced to fly before the pursuing enemy, with no alternative but either to appropriate some district still unoccupied or to displace some weaker people, upon whom the burden was cast of again establishing themselves where and as best they could. Thus the tide of fortune and misfortune rolled and recoiled from Te Reinga to Te Ra-whiti, until an asylum was sought by the last of the refugees even across the waters of Cook Strait. Although we have no accurate information on the point, it is probable that these blood-feuds contributed in no small measure to the ultimate distribution of the Tainui people; for their subsequent history is eloquent of the fact that, while they claimed common descent from the ancestral line of Hoturoa, this family bond did not prevent hatred and hostility springing up, and at times bathing their country in blood. The first migration, however, of which we have any record did not apparently ensue upon the result of a battle, although a quarrel was its underlying cause. Hotu-nui, who was one of the principal chiefs of the canoe, is said to have taken as his wife a daughter of one of the _tangata whenua_, and was apparently living in the same village and on terms of perfect friendship with her people. Having been wrongfully accused of an act of petty thieving, he determined to rid the _pa_ of his presence; and so, with one hundred of his immediate followers, he, it is said, moved off towards the Hauraki Gulf. As the years rolled on, and the systematic exploration of the country began to be undertaken, many similar expeditions, no doubt, went out from the parent home at Kawhia, one at least of which was fraught with fateful consequences. A chief named Raumati,[19] whose story has been embalmed in tradition, had taken a band of followers with him and travelled across the island, past Rotorua, until he finally came to the shores of the Bay of Plenty, where his mother's people lived. Here he was in the Arawa country, and it was not long before he heard that their canoe was lying at Maketu, some distance further to the southward. It will be remembered that there had never been good feeling between the Tainui and Arawa peoples, and Raumati determined upon an act which would demonstrate beyond all doubt that he, at least, was not disposed to hold out the olive-branch to Arawa. His scheme was to effect the destruction of the great canoe which had brought the hated rivals of his tribe to New Zealand. Once decided upon, his plan was put into execution with a promptness worthy of a better cause. Travelling along the coast from Tauranga to Maketu, he and his followers arrived at the latter place when all its inhabitants were absent in quest of food. But his trouble was that the Arawa had been berthed on the opposite side of the Kaituna River, where she had been housed under a covering of reeds and grass to protect her from the ravages of the weather. Nothing daunted, however, Raumati soon proved that his ingenuity was equal to the desperate circumstances in which he found himself placed. Taking a dart, and attaching to the point of it a live ember, he hurled the smoking stick across the water with unerring aim, and, to his intense satisfaction, he saw the firebrand fall in the midst of the combustible material which formed the covering of the canoe. The fire was soon in full blast: the glare of the flames lit up the surrounding country and was reflected in the red glow of the evening sky. The first impression of the people out in the forest was that the Maketu _pa_ had been destroyed; but in the morning they were undeceived, for then they saw that it was their beloved canoe which had been burned, and all that remained of her was a heap of glowing ashes.[20] The unanimous conclusion was that this had been the work of an enemy, and messengers were sent far and wide to acquaint the tribesmen of the fate of the canoe and call them to council upon the subject. At the meetings the debates were long and serious, for the tribe was torn between its desire to live in peace with all men and its natural impulse to revenge the burning of the Arawa, which "they loved and venerated almost as a parent." They remembered the injunction which had been given to them by Hou when on the point of leaving Hawaiki: "O my children, O Mako, O Tia, O Hei, hearken to these my words: There was but one great chief in Hawaiki, and that was Whakatauihu. Now do you, my children, depart in peace, and, when you reach the place you are going to, do not follow after the deeds of Tu, the God of War: if you do, you will perish, as if swept off by the winds; but rather follow quiet and useful occupations, then you will die tranquilly a natural death. Depart, and dwell in peace with all; leave war and strife behind you here. Depart and dwell in peace. It is war and its evils which are driving you hence: dwell in peace where you are going; conduct yourselves like men; let there be no quarrelling amongst you, but build up a great people." These were, no doubt, excellent words of advice, and they expressed a very noble sentiment; but the practical question which they had to determine was whether they could afford to adopt an attitude of passivity while these acts of aggression went on around them: whether they should declare war on account of the destruction of their canoe, or permit the act to pass without notice. This was the problem over which they pondered; and, as they discussed and debated it, "impatient feelings kept ever rising up in their hearts." But at last an end was made of deliberation, the decision of the tribe being in favour of battle as the one and only sufficient means by which they could be compensated for the burning of their canoe. In the words of the old tradition, "then commenced the great war which was waged between those who arrived in the Arawa and those who came in the Tainui."[21] [6] On this occasion Hotu-nui is credited with having addressed his people in the following terms: "Friends, hearken! Ours was the first canoe to land in New Zealand before any of you had arrived here. But let this be the proof as to which of our canoes landed first. Let us look at the ropes which the various canoes tied to the whale now before us, and also let us look at the branches of the trees which each have put up in building an altar, then the owners of the rope which is the driest and most withered, and of the altar the leaves of which are the most faded, were the first to land on the coast of the country where we now reside." [7] After the canoe left Whanga-poraoa the first stopping-place was at Whare-nga, where the crew amused themselves with various games on the beach. To mark the spot, one legend has it, they placed one large stone on top of another, while a second story has it that this monument, which is still existent and is called _Pohatu Whakairi_, represents one of the crew who was turned into stone. The next point of interest was Moe-hau, now known as Cape Colville. They then landed at Te Ana-Puta, where, it is said, the canoe was moored to a natural arch of rock jutting into the sea. For some reason the anchor was left at a spot between Wai-hou and Piako, and under the name of _Te pungapunga_ (the pumice stone) is still to be seen on the coast by those who are curious enough to look for it. The course was then deflected slightly to the west, and the canoe crossed to Whaka-ti-wai and coasted along the mainland past Whare-Kawa, where, it is said, Marama, one of the wives of Hoturoa, desired to be put ashore with one of her male slaves. Here they were left, and, according to one version of the tradition, it was her misconduct with this slave which prevented the crew dragging the Tainui over the portage at Otahuhu. The canoe then went on, some accounts say, as far as the North Cape, and others seem to imply that she was shortly afterwards put about and, returning into the Hauraki Gulf, sailed past the islands of Waiheke and Motu-Korea, until land was once more made at Takapuna. [8] Now called Mount Victoria or "Flagstaff Hill." [9] Waitemata may be interpreted as "the waters of volcanic obsidian," no doubt a reference to the eruptive disposition of Mount Rangitoto. [10] Otahuhu signifies "ridge-pole." This portage is only 3,900 feet long and 66 feet high. [11] There are different versions of this tradition, some attributing the transfixing of the canoe to Marama, others crediting her with releasing it. The version given in the late Sir George Grey's _Polynesian Mythology_ has been here adopted. [12] Some authorities are of opinion that the Tainui was not taken across the portage at Otahuhu (ridge-pole), and they base this contention upon the fact that no traditional marks have been left inside the Manukau harbour. All the points of interest which have been handed down, and are remembered, are on the sea coast; and from this circumstance it is argued that the canoe was never in Manukau harbour at all. Others say that some of the skids of Tainui were left at South Manukau Heads. [13] As they were passing the mouth of the Waikato, the priest of the canoe, noticing that the river was in flood, named it by calling out "_Waikato, Waikato, kau_." Further on, noticing that there were no landing-places, he threw his paddle at the face of the cliff and exclaimed, "_Ko te akau kau_" (all sea coast). The paddle is said to be still embedded in the face of the rock, and is one of the traditional marks by which the course of the Tainui can be traced. At the entrance of Kawhia Harbour they ran into a shoal of fish, and the priest gave this haven its present name by exclaiming "_Kawhia kau_." Another account is that the name comes from Ka-awhi, to recite the usual _karakia_ on landing on a new shore, to placate the local gods. [14] The distance between these stones is 86 feet, indicating the probable length of the Tainui canoe. [15] Now called Te Fana-i-Ahurei (or, in Maori, Te Whanga-i-Ahurei, the district of Ahurei). [16] The Tainui brought the species of kumaras known as _Anu-rangi_ (cold of heaven) and the _hue_ or calabash. Those planted by Marama did not come up true to type, but those planted by Whakaoti-rangi, another of the chief's wives, did. [17] "I reckon this country among the most charming and fertile districts I have seen in New Zealand" (_Hochstetter_). [18] The natives call them Whenuapo. [19] His full name was Raumati-nui-o-taua. His father was Tama-ahua, who is reputed to have returned to Hawaiki from New Zealand, and his mother was Tauranga, a Bay of Plenty woman. [20] The date of this incident has been approximately fixed at A.D. 1390, or forty years after the arrival of "the fleet." [21] "It is to be presumed that Raumati's relatives and friends at Tauranga made his cause their own, for they met the Arawa people somewhere near Maketu, where a great battle was fought. Raumati's party, though successful at first, were defeated, and their leader killed by the power of _makutu_, or witch-craft, for Hatu-patu, the Arawa chief, caused a cliff to fall on him as he retreated from the battle, and thus killed him" (_Polynesian Journal_). CHAPTER III A WARRIOR IN THE MAKING In one of the many sanguinary battles of those intertribal wars which raged in Old New Zealand from this period down to the introduction of Christianity, Werawera, the father of Te Rauparaha, was captured, killed, and eaten. The subject of our sketch was at that time a mere child, and the grim old warrior who had made a meal of Werawera was heard to remark that, if ever the youngster fell into his hands, he would certainly meet a similar fate, as he would make a delicious relish for so great a warrior's _rau-paraha_. The _rau-paraha_ here referred to was a juicy plant of the convolvulus family, which grew luxuriantly upon the sand-dunes of the seashore, and was largely used by the Maori of those days as an article of food. Such a tragic association of the child with the plant was never forgotten by his tribe, and it was from this circumstance that he derived that name which has stood paramount amongst Maori _toas_[22] of all time--Te Rauparaha--the convolvulus leaf. The branch of the Tainui people to which Te Rauparaha belonged was the Ngati-Toa tribe, who have already been described as occupying the country immediately surrounding the shores of Kawhia harbour. Like all the other Tainui tribes, these people claimed direct descent from Hoturoa, the admiral of the canoe; but the ancestor from whom they derived their name was Toa-rangatira, and from him Te Rauparaha was descended in a direct line on his father's side. Werawera, however, had married a Ngati-Raukawa lady, named Pare-kowhatu, and this fact, placing a bar sinister across Te Rauparaha's escutcheon, destroyed in a measure the purity of his pedigree from the Ngati-Toa point of view, although, as compensation, it gave him an influence with the Ngati-Raukawa tribe, which in after years carried with it fateful results. The Ngati-Raukawa people were closely allied to Ngati-Toa by ties of blood and friendship; for Raukawa, the ancestor who gave them name and individuality as a tribe, was related to Toa-rangatira, both chiefs being descendants of Raka, and through him of Hoturoa. This common ancestry gave these two tribes a common interest and sympathy, which were steadily increased by frequent inter-marriages; and to these bonds they appear to have been faithful through all the varying fortunes of their history. Conflicts between the Ngati-Toa and Ngati-Raukawa tribes were less frequent than was the case with the majority of the tribal families; and when the time came to mould their affinities into a closer union, Te Rauparaha used this long-standing friendship as the central argument, by which he eloquently sought to convince Ngati-Raukawa that there was but one destiny for them and for Ngati-Toa. Te Rauparaha had two brothers and two sisters, all older than himself; but none of them ever achieved a great position or reputation in the tribe, except perhaps Waitohi[23], who might claim the reflected glory of being the mother of that fiery and volcanic soul, Te Rangihaeata. This chief, whose life enters largely into early New Zealand history, rose to be the fighting lieutenant and trusted adviser of his more famous uncle, and, in these questionable capacities, he was probably the most turbulent spirit who crossed the path of Wellington's pioneer colonists. Towards them he ever manifested an uncompromising hatred, the one redeeming feature of his hostility being the absolute frankness with which he proclaimed it. Unfortunately but little is known of Te Rauparaha's boyhood. Presumably he was brought up by his mother, after his father's death, between the settlements at Maungatautari[24], where he was born about the year 1768, and Kawhia, where his father's relatives lived. As he grew in years, the greater part of his time was spent at Kawhia with the Ngati-Toa tribe, by whom he was regarded as a hereditary chief and as one of their future leaders. His influence with Ngati-Raukawa did not commence until he had attained to early manhood; and the visits which he paid to his kindred at Maungatautari during this period had no military importance, and could only be regarded as interchanges of friendship. His sojourns at Maungatautari were always welcome, for as a boy he is said to have had a particularly sunny disposition, and to have entered eagerly into all the amusements dear to the heart of Maori children of that day. These enterprises frequently led him into mischief, and into those moral pitfalls which beset the path of high-spirited lads. But, for all his boisterous spirits, the boy never failed to pay respect to his elders, and one of the marked characteristics of his nature at this time was his willing obedience to those who were entitled to give him commands. He was even known to have performed services at the request of a slave, whom he might very well have ordered to do his own work, since his birth and breeding placed him far above the behests of a menial. As Te Rauparaha grew to youth and early manhood he began to display qualities of mind which soon attracted the attention of the leading Ngati-Toa chiefs; but, strange to say, his mother was the last to discern these exceptional talents in her son, and always maintained that Nohorua, his elder brother, was the clever boy of the family. These maternal expectations, however, were not destined to be realised. Before the introduction of Christianity amongst the Maori, it was the custom to assign to a young chief some girl from his own or a neighbouring friendly tribe as his wife. Neither of the parties most directly interested in the alliance was consulted, and their feelings or wishes were not considered to have any important bearing upon the question. Such a system frequently led to unhappiness and heart-burning, but in the case of Te Rauparaha, the choice made for him proved to be a happy one, and Marore[25], a girl of tender grace, made him an admirable wife. Of her he became extremely fond, and out of this affection arose the first military enterprise which gave him fame and reputation as a leader of men. [Illustration: _Photo by Jackson._ POMOHAKI PASSAGE, KAWHIA.] As not infrequently happened in Maori life, his own people had prepared a great feast for some visiting tribesmen; but when the food which had been collected for their entertainment was distributed to the various families, Te Rauparaha observed with considerable displeasure that the portion given to Marore was of the very plainest, and contained no dainty morsel which she was likely to enjoy. The want of consideration thus shown towards his child-wife preyed upon the young chief's mind, and he speedily determined that, come what might, he would find with his own hand the relish which his friends had failed to provide. Accordingly he petitioned those in authority at Kawhia to permit him to organise a war party for the purpose of invading the Waikato country, where he hoped to take captive in battle some warrior who would make a banquet for his bride. At first his proposals were received with opposition, for the reason that he was himself at this time in delicate health, and it was deemed prudent that he should await recovery before embarking upon so desperate a venture. Moreover, the tribe being then at peace with Waikato, the chiefs were naturally reluctant to sanction any act which would inevitably embroil them in a quarrel with their neighbours. But the fiery enthusiasm which Te Rauparaha displayed for his own scheme, and the persistency with which he urged its claims, overcame the resistance of the tribal fathers, who thus acknowledged, for the first time, the strength of the personality with whom they had to deal. Armed with this authority, he at once set about marshalling his forces, and his call to arms was eagerly responded to by a band of young bloods equally keen for adventure with himself. The _taua_[26] made its way safely to the nearest Waikato _pa_, where the profound peace prevailing at the time had thrown the defenders off their guard. In the belief that the visitors were on a friendly journey, they invited their advance guard within the walls of the village. Soon, however, the error was discovered; and the inhabitants, realising the position, flew to arms with an alacrity which sent the invaders flying through the gate of the _pa_. The impetuous energy of the Waikatos, led by Te Haunga, induced them to push the pursuit a considerable distance beyond the walls of their stronghold; and it was the strategic use which Te Rauparaha made of this fact that gave him the victory and established his claim to leadership in future wars. Owing to the difficulty which he experienced in walking, he had not been able to march with the leaders, but was following with a second division of his men, when he saw, to his dismay, his warriors being chased out of the _pa_. His own force was as yet concealed behind an intervening hill, and, quickly taking in the situation, he ordered his men to lie down amongst the _manuka_ scrub, which grew to the height of several feet beside the narrow track which they had been traversing. He saw that the fugitives would follow this line, in order to rejoin him as speedily as possible, and in this anticipation his judgment proved correct. At full run they swept past, closely followed by the angry Waikatos, who, having escaped from one trap, little dreamed how simply they were falling into another. Close in his concealment, Te Rauparaha lay until the last of the pursuing body had rushed by; then, bursting from his hiding-place, he attacked them in flank and rear with such vehemence that they were at once thrown into disorder. The tumult of his assault checked the flight of the Ngati-Toas, and the Waikatos, now wedged in between two superior forces, sustained heavy losses. Te Rauparaha is credited with having slain four of his opponents with his own hand, and the total killed is said to have numbered one hundred and forty. Amongst these was Te Haunga, the principal chief of the _pa_, who formed a specially valuable trophy in view of the purpose for which the raid had been organised. His body was carried home to Kawhia to provide the relish which Te Rauparaha so much desired for Marore. Although this attack upon Waikato was only one of the many sporadic raids so common amongst the Maori tribes, and could not be regarded as a military movement of national importance, Te Rauparaha had conducted it with so much skill and enterprise that his achievement became the chief topic of discussion throughout the neighbouring _pas_, and, in the words of an old narrator, "he was heard of as a warrior by all the tribes." The fame which he had thus suddenly achieved, and the desire to live up to his reputation, inspired him with a new sense of responsibility, and he became a keen student of all that pertained to the art of war as practised in his day. He was shrewd enough to see the advantages attending military skill amongst a people with whom might was right, and, even at that age, he was ambitious enough to dream dreams which power alone would enable him to realise. He aimed at making the acquaintance of all the great chiefs of the surrounding tribes; and, when it was safe to visit them, he travelled long distances to sit at the feet of these old Maori warriors, and learn from them the subtle methods by which fields were won. These journeys gave him a familiarity with the country and the people which was very useful in the disturbed and precarious relations between Ngati-Toa and the neighbouring tribes. In these warlike excursions, which were as often of an aggressive as of a defensive nature, Ngati-Toa was not invariably successful. But, even in their defeats, the reputation of Rauparaha increased with his years, for he was ever turning to account some new device of tactics or giving some fresh proof of his personal courage. Nor did he neglect to cultivate the good opinion of his tribe by generosity in the discharge of his social duties. His bounty was never closed against the stranger; and when he invited his friends to a feast, his entertainment was always of the most lavish kind. Even to his workmen he was strikingly considerate. He abolished the practice indulged in by the field labourers of giving a portion of the food provided for them to strangers who happened to arrive at the settlement, by insisting that the kumara-planters should retain their full ration and the strangers be fed with food specially prepared for them. This unconventional liberality speedily created the desired impression,[27] and became the subject of general remark amongst those who were on visiting terms with the Kawhia chief. It even became proverbial, for it was sometimes said of a benevolent Maori, "You are like Te Rauparaha, who first feeds his workmen and then provides for his visitors." Reference has already been made to the fact that Te Rauparaha had been in the habit of making frequent visits to parts of the country distant from Kawhia, for the dual purpose of completing his education in the art of warfare and of strengthening his personal relations with influential chiefs, who might be useful to him in future diplomacy. During one of these excursions he had proceeded as far as what is now known as the Valley of the Thames, in the Hauraki Gulf, to pay his respects to the chiefs of the Ngati-Maru[28] tribe, who were then both numerous and influential in that part of the island. How much he was esteemed by the leaders of this people may be judged by the fact that, when he was about to return, they, amongst other gifts, presented him with a firearm and a few cartridges, his first acquisition of the kind. To us the gift of an old flintlock might seem a trivial circumstance; but to a Maori, who was lingering on the fringe of the Stone Age, such a weapon was a priceless treasure. So dearly were they prized by the natives at this time that only the consideration of warmest friendship could have induced the Ngati-Maru to part with even one. There was in these rusty and erratic "fire-spears" that which would before long revolutionise the whole system of native warfare; and the shrewdest of the natives saw that the tribe which acquired the largest number of guns in the least time would have an enormous advantage in the field of battle. For some years a few vagrant and adventurous voyagers, together with the more honest whalers, had been making the Bay of Islands one of their principal rendezvous; and in the desultory trade which had been carried on between the crews and the natives, guns had first fallen into the possession of the Nga-Puhi tribe. The deadly use which these warriors had made of this new instrument of destruction, in their skirmishes with their neighbours, had so impressed the native mind that forces hitherto well-disciplined were seized with panic when marched against guns, until it was felt by the inland tribes that such weapons were absolutely indispensable to safety or victory.[29] Many of the natives, whose curiosity had been aroused by the novel sights which they had seen on the visiting whalers, had shipped as seamen before the mast in the hope of seeing more of the great world from which the _pakeha_ came. In this way they had been carried to Port Jackson, where they had witnessed on a more extensive scale the destructive power of the European weapons. Owing to the misjudged generosity of the Sydney public, some had been able to bring a few muskets back with them, while others had secured hatchets and bayonets, which, fastened on the end of long handles, were soon recognised as weapons vastly superior to the spears and _taiahas_ of their fathers. These discoveries accentuated the desire to replace their obsolete arms with others of a more modern type; and as a result of the excessive demand thus created, the commercial value of a musket rose in the market, until the traders asked, and the Maoris willingly gave, as much as a cargo of flax for a single weapon. The effect of this musket-hunger was to change completely the existing relations between the _pakeha_ and Maori, going far to remove the estrangement and distrust which had been generated between the two races. Up to this time but little respect had been shown to the dark-skinned natives of these far-away islands by the rude sailors who had visited them; and in their contempt for the "niggers" they had been guilty of many outrages which would have staggered humanity, had humanity been able to grasp the full measure of their ferocity.[30] Retaliation, culminating in the murder of Marion du Fresne and the burning of the _Boyd_, followed upon outrage, and hatred, fed by misunderstanding, was daily driving the two peoples further and further asunder.[31] But the need and the hope of acquiring muskets suddenly changed all this, for the natives now saw that it was necessary to their very existence that they should cultivate the European, in order that they might trade their flax and pigs for guns; while the white man, seeing that he could procure these valuable products at so insignificant a cost, was nothing loath to forget the many injuries which had been inflicted upon his own race. Thus the spirit of crime and revenge, which for years had darkened the page of New Zealand's history, suddenly disappeared in the eagerness for trade, and in its stead came the spirit of industry, which sent countless natives toiling in the swamps and on the hill-sides, preparing in feverish haste the fibre wherewith they might purchase this new weapon of destruction. This mad rush for muskets did not escape the keen observation of Te Rauparaha, who saw with unerring precision what its ultimate effect must be. Had he been a resident of the east coast there is little doubt that he too would have plunged with enthusiasm into the fatal scramble, trusting to his natural shrewdness and business acumen to secure for him a fair share of the market's prizes. But he was at the outset placed at this disadvantage. His country was on the west coast of the island, where the whalers and traders seldom came; and the Ngati-Toa, unlike the Nga-Puhi, had few or no opportunities of holding intercourse with the _pakeha_, from whom alone the coveted muskets could be procured. It was therefore with a heavy heart and sorely perplexed mind that Te Rauparaha returned to Kawhia, for he knew with absolute certainty that so soon as the Waikatos succeeded in arming themselves with firelocks it was only a question of time when they would decide to attack him and his people, in satisfaction for many an old grudge. Then the day would go hard with Ngati-Toa, who could only encounter this new invasion with stone clubs and wooden spears. As the result of many years of intertribal wars the country surrounding Aotea harbour, to the north of Kawhia, had become almost denuded of population. A few inconsiderable _pas_ still remained, but their defenders were so inefficient as to constitute a living invitation to some stronger people to come down and exterminate them. Thus it was not surprising that a section of the Ngati-Mahanga tribe, whose home was at Raglan, should, after a successful raid in this quarter, decide to permanently occupy so inviting a district. They immediately attacked and drove out the feeble occupants, and then sat down to enjoy the fruits of their conquest. This act of aggression was hotly resented by Te Rauparaha, who could not suffer his allies to be buffeted in so unceremonious a manner, and within an incredibly short period of time he had his fleet of canoes on the water carrying a _taua_ to Whanga-roa, where he met and decisively defeated Ngati-Mahanga. The report of this Ngati-Toa victory soon spread throughout the enemies' domain, and in due course reached the ears of those branches of the tribe living at the mouth of the Waikato River, who at once resolved to espouse the cause of their defeated friends. Manning seven large canoes, they came down the coast with a well-disciplined force under the renowned leader Kare-waho, and landing at Otiki, they first demolished the _pa_ there and then passed on to Ohaua, whither the fugitives had fled, and delivered their attack upon that stronghold. No decisive result was achieved, as the rupture appears to have been healed before victory crowned the arms of either side, and the invaders were as eager to return as the besieged were glad to see them go. But the peace thus hastily made was as speedily broken, and a series of events was soon to ensue which was fated to have far-reaching results. Shortly after the return of the northern raiders a noted Waikato warrior, named Te Uira, came into the disputed Aotea territory, and while there varied his sport as a fisherman by killing a stray Ngati-Toa tribesman. On hearing of this tragedy Te Rauparaha and a war party promptly went over and retaliated by slaying Te Uira. Though to all appearances strictly within the code of morality which sanctions the taking of a life for a life, the Waikato people chose to regard this act as one of treachery, and the magnitude of the crime was measured by the value of the life taken. Te Uira was a man who had ranked high in their esteem. As a warrior and a leader of men he was a _toa_, indeed, and his death was to them a disaster. They therefore determined that the annihilation of Ngati-Toa was the only adequate solace for their injured feelings, and on this end they now concentrated their energies. War party after war party was sent over to Kawhia, and many desperate battles were fought, out of which Ngati-Toa seemed to emerge generally with success. But the gloom of impending disaster was gathering round Te Rauparaha, for the powerful Ngati-Mania-poto tribe became leagued with Waikato against him; and, although he had no difficulty in defeating them singly when they met, their coalition with his old enemy was a more serious matter. Stung by a recent repulse at Ta-whitiwhiti, they hurried messengers to all their distant friends, and in answer to their call a combined force of 1,600 men under Te Rau-Angaanga, father of the more famous Te Wherowhero, was soon marching against Kawhia's diminishing band of defenders. Crossing the ranges, they soon fell upon the Hiku-parea _pa_, which they invested at the close of the day. During the night half their force lay concealed in ambush, and when the garrison emerged in the morning to give battle to an apparently small body of besiegers they were mortified to find themselves so hopelessly outnumbered and outgeneralled that there was nothing left for them to do but die as bravely as they might. The invaders then marched to attack the great Te Totara _pa_, where Te Rauparaha was personally in command, and here again the defenders were driven in before the swift onslaught of the allies. But where his arms had failed him Te Rauparaha's diplomacy stood him in good stead. He managed to soothe Te Rau-Angaanga into agreeing to a truce, and a temporary peace was patched up, only to be broken by the turbulent temper of the Ngati-Toa, who saw no impropriety in committing fresh aggressions so soon as their militant neighbours had returned home. The position was thus becoming grave for Te Rauparaha, and in an effort to stem the threatening disaster he sought to turn to some practical purpose the influence and prestige which he had now gained with the neighbouring chiefs. He suggested to his more trusted friends amongst the Maori leaders the need and wisdom of a confederation of all their tribes against the oppression of the Waikato people. But, though conducted with consummate tact and skill, these negotiations were destined to be futile. While all were friendly enough with Te Rauparaha, mutual jealousies existed amongst the other tribes, which destroyed any prospect of that unanimity and cohesion so essential to the success of such a scheme. Nga-Puhi remembered how Ngati-Maru had invaded their territory in days of old, and now that they were possessed of muskets they saw a prospect of repaying the debt--a chance much too promising to be lightly thrown away. Te Heuheu, the great chief at Taupo, would not coalesce with Ngati-Maru, and the Arawa still nursed their grudge against Tainui. These ancient grievances, which never seemed to die, kept the tribes outside Waikato apart, while the fact that Te Wherowhero had been able to form an offensive and defensive alliance with the Blücher of Maoridom, Te Waharoa, so strengthened his position that, after months wasted in fruitless appeal, Te Rauparaha returned to Kawhia more than ever convinced that if his tribe was to be spared the humiliation of defeat, and perhaps annihilation, self-reliance must be the keynote of his future policy. During the next two years (1816-1818) Te Rauparaha devoted himself to occasional excursions against Waikato, in which he was moderately successful; but his more important operations at this period were directed against the tribes of Taranaki. The peculiar ethics of Maori warfare were largely responsible for the first of these southern descents upon a people with whom he was now beginning to enjoy considerable intercourse. A marriage had been celebrated between Nohorua, his elder brother, and a Taranaki lady,[32] and by way of commemorating the solemnity, a feast on a sumptuous scale had been given to the bridegroom's friends. Te Rauparaha, with the generosity for which he was at this time remarkable, was not slow to return the compliment, and in the course of a few months he journeyed southward to Te Taniwha _pa_, where Huri-whenua, the brother of Nohorua's young wife, lived, bringing gifts of dried fish and other seasonable foods. These social amenities led to still more intimate relations, and at the end of the following kumara and taro harvest the chief of Te Taniwha proceeded northward in his fleet of canoes on a promised visit to Kawhia. A fair wind beating into their triangular sails carried the canoes to within ten miles of their destination, and at the close of day the fleet headed for the shore at Harihari. Next morning they were met at their camp by Te Rauparaha and Rauhihi, who assured them of a cordial welcome at Kawhia and then proceeded overland to prepare their reception. In the meantime a rolling surf had set into the bay where the canoes were beached, and in the operation of launching them several were overturned and their crews nearly drowned. This misfortune, which involved the loss of all the food intended for the feast, angered Huri-whenua exceedingly, and he adopted a strange but characteristically Maori-like method of seeking balm for his injured feelings. Gathering a party of his people together, he set off in pursuit of Te Rauparaha and his friend, and, attacking them, succeeded in killing Rauhihi, but not Te Rauparaha, who reached Kawhia after an exciting chase. His assailants, knowing full well that this unprovoked attack upon their chief would excite the indignation of Ngati-Toa, retired in haste to their home, which they immediately began to place in a condition of defence against the day when Te Rauparaha would return to seek satisfaction for the contemptuous disregard of his hospitality and the menace offered to his life. Nor were their precautions taken a moment too soon. Scarcely had the walls been strengthened and the Waihi stream dammed up so as to form a wide lake on one side of the _pa_ than Te Rauparaha appeared, accompanied by Tuwhare,[33] one of the most celebrated Nga-Puhi chiefs of his day. This was Tuwhare's first visit to the south. He had gladly accepted the invitation to join the expedition, for his purpose in coming to Kawhia had been to lead an invasion into Taranaki territory, in order to secure some of the valuable mats, for making which the people of that part were widely famed. Tuwhare's contingent consisted of not more than two hundred men, but they brought with them something which, at this period, was more to be dreaded than men--the deadly musket. A few of these arms were carried by the invaders, while the defenders had not as yet even heard of or seen them.[34] The precautions of the garrison had robbed the northerners of all hope of successfully capturing the _pa_ by assault, and so they sat down to besiege it in the most leisurely fashion. For several weeks besiegers and besieged watched each other across the wide lagoon which had been formed by the waters of the Waihi. At last Te Rauparaha and his people, growing weary of the enforced inactivity, sent proposals of peace to Huri-whenua. These were accepted, and subsequently ratified, but not before the pride of Ngati-Toa had been salved by their insistence upon a quaint condition. Te Rauparaha, recognising that the damming of the Waihi stream had been the means of frustrating his plans, demanded that, before the siege was raised, the dam should be removed. The point was conceded and the barrier broken down; and, as the waters rushed back into their bed, the northerners ostentatiously discharged their muskets in token of victory, and "then," says a Maori chronicler, "this ignorant people of these parts heard for the first time the noise of that weapon, the gun." The war party remained for some time on amicable terms at Te Taniwha, and before they had resolved to return home they were importuned to engage in further aggressions by Te Puoho, of whom we shall hear more anon. This warrior was a man of influence amongst the Ngati-Tama tribe, who held what has been called "the gate of Taranaki"; and it was due to the numerous connections by marriage between the northerners and Ngati-Tama that the former had been permitted to pass unmolested to the attack upon Te Taniwha. Te Puoho now sought recompense for his friendship by enlisting the sympathies of the northern leaders in the redress of his own grievances. He solicited their aid in an attack upon Tatara-i-maka _pa_, the home of those who had been responsible for the death of his sister not long before. Obedient to Te Puoho's summons, and eager to secure mats and heads and slaves, the war party marched upon the _pa_, which stood with its terraced ramparts upon the sea-coast eleven miles south-west of New Plymouth. Seeing the invaders approach, the defenders went out to meet them, and gave them battle on the open space in front of the _pa_; but the sound of the guns, and the sight of men falling as by the hand of some invisible enemy, so terrorised the defenders that their lines were soon broken, and they fled, a demoralised host, back to their stronghold, which was immediately stormed and taken with great slaughter. This incident inspired the following lament, which was composed by one of the Taranaki people, in memory of those who fell at Tatara-i-maka:-- "Sweet is the Spring, the September month, When brilliant Canopus stands aloft, As I lay within my solitary house, Dazed with sad thoughts for my people Departed in death like a flash. To the cave of Rangi-totohu-- Emblem of sad disaster-- They are gone by the leadership Of Uru, of the fearsome name. 'Twas there at the hill of Tatara-i-maka The foe advanced in wedge-like form, Whilst our gathered people bid defiance At the entrance of the _pa_, Where Muru-paenga[35] forced his way-- The army-raiser, the leader-- His was the fatal blow delivered, At the ascent of Tuhi-mata: Hence I am dried up here in sorrow." From Tatara-i-maka the _taua_ moved southwards, attacking Mounu-kahawai as they went. This _pa_ was taken under cover of the smoke caused by firing the dry _raupo_ which grew in the neighbouring swamps, and then Tapui-nikau was invested. Here the defenders, though fighting only with their _rakau maori_, or native weapons, made so gallant a resistance that not even the guns of the invaders could penetrate it. They had filled the fighting towers of the _pa_ with huge boulders and smaller stones, and the branches of the trees which overhung the trenches were lined with men, who handed the missiles to those best able to drop them upon the enemy as they swarmed round the walls.[36] Changing their tactics, the invaders drew off to a position which closed all communication with the _pa_, and at the same time gave them complete control of the surrounding country, so as to prevent the possibility of succour reaching the beleaguered _pa_. It was during the respite from active hostilities thus secured that there occurred one of those strange incidents which, though common enough in Maori warfare, appear so anomalous in the light of European custom. Te Ratutonu, one of the defending chiefs, had been so conspicuous in repelling attacks that his gallantry and skill in arms became the subject of universal admiration throughout the northern camp. But not alone upon the men had his bravery made its impression. Rangi Topeora, Te Rangihaeata's sister, had witnessed his prowess, and, charmed by his handsome figure and manly strength, had been seized with a desire to have the hero for her husband. When the clash of arms had ceased, she persuaded her uncle, Te Rauparaha, to have Ratutonu "called," a ceremony which was performed by some one approaching the beleaguered _pa_, and under a guarantee of safety, inviting the warrior into the camp. Ratutonu obeyed the summons, and came down from the _pa_ to meet Topeora; and to her he was married after the orators had delivered themselves of speeches rich in eulogy of their new-found kinsman, and full of admiration for the virtues of his bride.[37] This unexpected union had raised a hope in the breast of the defenders that the rigour of the siege would now be relaxed, and that peace would be made as a fitting sequel to the romantic nuptials. In this they were, however, doomed to disappointment, for the Nga-Puhi, knowing that the food of the _pa_ must be failing, would listen to no suggestion of compromise. But, moved by a more generous impulse, Ngati-Awa, the Taranaki section of the allies, entered into secret communication with the garrison, and finally arranged that the defenders should be allowed to pass through their lines by night and escape to the neighbouring hills. Next morning, great was the excitement in the camp when it was discovered that there was neither smoke ascending from the fires nor sound from the ramparts of the _pa_. The enemy had slipped from under their very hand; had flown from under their very eyes; and, as Ngati-Awa kept their own counsel, there was not a trace to show or suggest how the trick had been accomplished. Nothing, therefore, remained for the outwitted besiegers to do but avail themselves of what plunder had fallen into their hands, and make the best of their way back to their homes. Upon the return of the _taua_ to Kawhia, its composite forces separated and departed to their respective districts, but not before the plans of a still more extensive campaign had been discussed. These operations, however, did not commence for a year, and, in the meantime, the seriousness of his position in relation to the Waikato people was more than ever apparent to Te Rauparaha, whose inability to come into contact with the whalers, and the consequent difficulty he experienced in becoming possessed of muskets, brought him much "darkness of heart." But, as he meditated, his anxiety of mind was to some extent relieved by the arrival at Kawhia of the northern portion of the war party, the raising of which had previously been agreed upon. In accordance with this arrangement, Tuwhare, accompanied by Patuone, and his brother, that picturesque figure in Maori history, Tamati Waka Nene[38]--whose influence and eloquence were subsequently to be so powerfully used to secure the acceptance by the natives of the Treaty of Waitangi--left Hokianga in November, 1819, and proceeding by a circuitous route which embraced the country of the Waitemata, reached the home of Te Rauparaha, and found there a force of four hundred men waiting to welcome them. [Illustration: BURNING OF THE "BOYD." From a painting by W. Wright, Auckland, by kind permission of the artist.] Accredited estimates give the strength of the combined contingents at fully one thousand men, and they were armed with a greater number of muskets than had ever previously been carried into the field by any Maori organisation. A further distinction was the presence of many leaders whose deeds were to be deeply imprinted upon the records of Maori history. Each tribal section was under chiefs who are acknowledged to have been amongst the classic warriors of their time; so that, in the matter of skilful direction and heroic example, the _taua_ might consider itself more than usually fortunate. The primary purpose of the expedition appears to have been no more than a love of adventure and a desire to kill and eat a few of their enemies; but embraced within this scheme was a secondary motive, which involved the redress of a grievance which Te Puoho had acquired against the Whanganui people, whom he considered accountable for a slight put upon his daughter. The friendly relations which prevailed between Ngati-Toa and Ngati-Tama ensured the war party an uncontested passage through "the gate of Taranaki"; and, although Ngati-Awa assembled to oppose them, they were satisfied to desist, upon Te Rauparaha consenting to pay the tribute of ownership by requesting permission to pass through their territory. The first important halt was made at Manu-korihi, on the north bank of the Waitara River, where a stay of some length was made for the purpose of finally determining the order of their plans. The Manu-korihi people became deeply interested in the muskets which the visitors had brought with them; and curious to observe their effect--at the expense of some one else--they persuaded Te Rauparaha and his friends to commence hostilities against the famous Puke-rangiora _pa_, whose inhabitants had been guilty of some cause of offence. The invitation to attack the great stronghold was accepted with alacrity; but when the war party presented themselves before the walls, they found it so strongly fortified and so keenly defended that discretion dictated a less valiant course, and so they passed Puke-rangiora, and went over the mountain track to Te Kerikeringa in search of a meaner enemy. This _pa_ was a central point in the system of defence set up by Ngati-Maru, who had established populous settlements and made great clearings in the forest east of the present town of Stratford. Their great fighting chief was Tutahanga, who in former days had subdued the pride of both the Waikato and the Nga-Puhi. Now he was old, but his martial bearing was still such that, when the invaders inquired of their guides how they might distinguish him from those of inferior rank, they were told, "He is a star." Graced by the red plumes of the tropic bird, the northerners moved up to the attack, but were met with so stout a resistance by the defenders, who had donned the white feathers of the sacred crane, that, in spite of their muskets, their combination broke, and they retired in disorder to the western slopes, where they were compelled to resort to the tactics of a regular siege. From these heights, which dominated the _pa_, they were occasionally able to shoot down an unwary defender who exposed himself to their fire; but they did not rely entirely upon this method of fighting to effect their conquest. Frequent assaults were made upon the gateway, in one of which they succeeded in shooting Tutahanga, and in another Patu-wairua, his successor in command. Before his death, Patu-wairua, persuaded that the _pa_ could not hold out much longer, desired to make peace if possible; but his conciliatory views were overruled by the less diplomatic leaders of the tribe. Patu-wairua then sat down and sang a lament for his people, whose impending fate he deplored with all the affection of a father. In the next sally he was killed in the fore-front of the fighting line, bravely sustaining the unequal contest, in which the _mere_ was matched against the musket. With their two great leaders gone and many of their tribesmen dead, a feeling of depression settled down upon the garrison, whose position was daily growing less secure. But while they were sinking under the weariness begotten of incessant vigilance, a Maori-like episode occurred, in which the arts of the women were employed to do that in which the stalwart arms of the men had failed. As a last device, the Ngati-Maru generals hit upon the idea of sending all the young women of the _pa_ into the camp of the invaders, to beguile the warriors with their charms, and so induce them temporarily to relax the severity of the siege. History does not record the fate of these maidens of Te Kerikeringa; but they deserve at least a certain immortality. For during the diversion thus caused the _pa_ was silently evacuated, the survivors of the siege making their escape across the Waitara River along the Tara-mouku Valley, and through the dense forest which stretched for many miles into the heart of the island. The tidings that Kerikeringa had fallen spread with such rapidity that, before the rejoicings of the victors had concluded, the tribes to the southward had succeeded in concealing themselves within their mountain fastnesses. Consequently we hear of no conflicts with Ngati-Ruanui or Nga-Rauru, as the victorious _taua_ passed over the old forest track which leads out into the open country near the town of Normanby. This peaceful passage was not interrupted until they reached the Whanganui River, where they found the resident tribes drawn up in battle array to oppose them at the Turua _pa_. This _pa_ was situated on the eastern bank of the river, a little above the present town of Whanganui; but, in reaching it, the northerners were faced with a serious initial difficulty, inasmuch as they had no canoes of their own, and Te Anaua, of Whanganui, had taken the precaution to remove his flotilla to the opposite shore. But the ingenuity of Tuwhare and Te Rauparaha was equal to an emergency of that kind. Ordering their men into the neighbouring swamps, they employed a month in cutting dry _raupo_ leaves, out of which they constructed a _mokihi_ fleet, and on these vegetable rafts the whole force was eventually transported across the wide and deep river. The capture of the _pa_ was a work of no great difficulty; for here, as elsewhere, the muskets exercised their terrifying influence upon natives coming into contact with them for the first time. Southward the march was once more directed, and skirmishes followed with Ngati-Apa in the Whangaehu and Rangitikei districts. No protracted fighting was possible where the panic-stricken inhabitants fled before the all-destroying guns. Across the Rangitikei the _taua_ passed into the fertile district of the Manawatu, which since the traditional days of Whatonga had been the home of the Rangitane people. Of this hostile descent upon the coast the Rangitane people declare that they, secure in their mountain fortresses, heard nothing until the arrival of the war party at Otaki. Thither some of the children of Toki-poto, the chief at Hotuiti, near Awahou (Foxton), had gone on a visit to their friends; and there they met Te Rauparaha, who inquired of them the whereabouts of their people and the number and strength of their _pas_. The patronising and fatherly demeanour which this warrior could assume[39] when his ends were better served by the concealment of his true purpose completely won the confidence of the lads, and, in their innocence of the man, to whom they were confiding the secrets of the tribe, they readily told him all that he wished to know. When the desired information had been obtained some of Te Rauparaha's followers proposed, as a precautionary measure, that the children should be killed; but Te Rauparaha, more far-seeing than they, interposed, for he had not yet exhausted their usefulness. In the depths of his cunning he had conceived the idea of making the children of Toki-poto the instruments by which that chief should be delivered into Ngati-Toa's hands. Accordingly, he resisted the demand for their blood, saying, "No, let them alone, they are only children. Rather let us go and take Toki-poto out of the stern of the canoe." This was his expressive and figurative method of conveying to his warriors that he sought a more valuable trophy than the life of a child, and that he had resolved upon no less a scheme than the assault of the Hotuiti _pa_. To Mahuri, the eldest son of Toki-poto, he then turned, and in dulcet tones he said, "Go to your father, I will see him." Accompanied by the Ngati-Toa warriors and their leader, the lad led the way to a small lake _pa_ at Hotuiti, whither Toki-poto had gone with the major portion of his people from their main settlement on the banks of the Manawatu River. The _pa_ itself was built on one of the many miniature islets which dot the face of the lake; and, while Te Rauparaha and his followers lurked in the bush which fringed the margin, he sent the unsuspecting Mahuri to tell his father that Te Rauparaha wished to talk with him. The first thought to arise in the mind of the Rangitane chief was one of suspicion, and he at once exclaimed, "No, I will not go. I shall be slain." But the boy, into whose good graces Te Rauparaha had completely ingratiated himself, ridiculed these fears, and urged his father to go. To these entreaties, and possibly to fears of retaliation if he did not comply, Toki-poto at last yielded, and, taking a few of his people with him, went in his canoe, unarmed, to welcome his visitor. Scarcely had they reached the edge of the wood when they were set upon by the secreted warriors, and in the massacre which followed the chief and a number of his followers were killed, the remainder, with the exception of two, being taken prisoners. The two who escaped were Mahuri, the innocent cause of the disaster, and Te Aweawe, the father of the well-known family who still reside upon the Rangitane lands in the Manawatu. Side by side with Toki-poto, there fell that day another chief named Te Waraki, whose greenstone _mere_, a weapon famous in the annals of the tribe, was buried on the site of the massacre by the mourning people, and there it remained hidden for full sixty years, until it was discovered in 1882. Strange to say, Te Rauparaha did not press the advantage gained by the removal of Hotuiti's chief by attacking the _pa_, but contented himself with carrying off his prisoners to Otaki, where he rejoined Waka Nene. Here the two chiefs rested for a time, pursuing vigilant inquiries into the number and disposition of the resident tribes. They visited for the first time the island stronghold of Kapiti, and found it in the possession of a section of the Ngati-Apa people, under the chieftainship of two men named Potau and Kotuku. The visit was made with a simulation of friendship, for the time was not ripe for an attack; and the northerners were satisfied for the moment with examining the strategical features of the island, and extorting from Potau and Kotuku a considerable quantity of the greenstone which they had accumulated during the course of their traffic with the Ngai-Tahu of the South Island. Refreshed by their sojourn at Otaki, and considerably enlightened as to its military possibilities, the northern war party then pushed on southwards, fighting as they went, first at Wai-mapihi, a fortified _pa_, the remains of which are still to be seen not far from the Puke-rua railway station. The _pa_ was captured, it is said, by treachery suggested by Te Rauparaha, and the Muaupoko, whose valour had defied the most desperate efforts of their assailants, were hunted in and through the bush by their fierce pursuers. Here, and at Porirua, a number of canoes fell into the hands of the invaders, some of whom now decided to vary the monotony of the land journey by the exhilaration of the sea route. This determination ended disastrously. Ignorant of the silent currents and treacherous tides of Cook Strait, the Nga-Puhi men of two canoes were swamped while taking the outer passage in rounding Sinclair Head, and fully one hundred of them were drowned. The remainder of the canoes, steering a course inside the reefs, escaped the danger of shipwreck, and reached Whanganui-a-Tara[40] almost simultaneously with the party who had journeyed by land. The country surrounding this great basin was then held by the Ngati-Ira, a sub-branch of the Ngati-Kahungunu tribe, whose possessions practically extended from Gisborne to Cape Palliser, on the eastern side of the North Island. They were a brave and numerous people, and when their _pa_ at Pa-ranga-hau was attacked, they fought with a desperation which extorted admiration even from their enemies. Though considerable numbers of Ngati-Ira were killed in this conflict, Nga-Puhi did not escape scatheless; for one native account says: "Ngati-Ira charged them in the face of the flames of their muskets, and with their native weapons killed many Nga-Puhi." Hunger was now beginning to assert its inconvenience; and the war party were at this time compelled to live exclusively on the flesh of their slaves, of whom large numbers were killed, each chief undertaking successively to provide the necessary supply. Disease also attacked their camps, of which there were two; and some mysterious pestilence was responsible for the death of many warriors and several chiefs, whose heads were preserved and their bodies burned, to prevent them falling into the hands of the enemy. Scarcely had the stricken host recovered from the prevailing sickness than the Ngati-Ira swept down upon the bivouac at Te Aro in the dead of night, and, in the first shock of the surprise, inflicted sore loss upon the sleeping warriors. Thanks to their guns, the northerners were ultimately successful in beating off the attack, and immediately afterwards the pas which skirted the harbour were deserted by their inhabitants, who, reluctant to accept the responsibility of battle under such unequal conditions, beat a stealthy retreat into the Hutt Valley, whither the northern chiefs followed them, though their force was now only a remnant of what it had formerly been. They travelled by canoe up the river which waters the valley, and, as they went, the resident people, confident in their numbers, collected along the banks to jeer at them, and contemptuously invited them on shore to be eaten. The details of this campaign are but a repetition of successive slaughters; for the panic created by the strange sound and deadly power of the gun left the unhappy defenders no spirit to resist the onslaughts of their assailants. For several weeks they remained in the valley, guided from _pa_ to _pa_ by their slaves, who, to save their own lives, were forced to sacrifice those of their tribesmen. Every nook of the dark forest was penetrated, and even the steeps of the Rimutaka Range were climbed in vengeful pursuit of the fugitives. In connection with these manoeuvres the reputation of Te Rauparaha has again been besmirched by suggestions of treachery--and treachery of the blackest type; for nothing could be more hurtful to the honour of a high chief than that he should prove faithless while feigning hospitality. It has been recorded by the Nga-Puhi chroniclers that, as they pushed on through the forest, they came upon a strongly built and populous _pa_, which left some room for doubt as to what the issue of an attack would be. To tempt the warriors into the open was the policy advocated by Te Rauparaha, and to achieve this end he sent messengers to the Ngati-Ira chiefs with offers of peace. To render the bait more seductive, a feast was prepared, to which the warriors of the Hutt were invited; and, on assembling, a northern man sat down beside each one, prepared at a sign from their chief to spring upon the unsuspecting guests. Into the _marae_ the women brought the food, and, as the unsuspecting Ngati-Ira were revelling in the delights of the banquet, the fatal signal was given by Te Rauparaha, and a massacre commenced, which ended only with the capture of the _pa_ and the rout of its inhabitants.[41] Whether the name of Te Rauparaha will ever be cleared of this odious imputation which the Nga-Puhi record has branded upon it is uncertain. But, as a counterpoise, it must be remembered that those who have made the accusations were at least willing participators in the schemes which they ascribe to him, and that, if the plans were his, the execution of them was undoubtedly theirs. Having exhausted the field of conquest open to them in the valley of the Hutt, the war party returned to the harbour where their canoes were beached, and, undeterred by the fact that their numbers had now dwindled to less than three hundred, they set off by sea for Palliser Bay, by which route they had determined to enter the Wairarapa. A successful reprisal by the Ngati-Kahungunu tribe, who had cut off and annihilated a small party of the northerners, was the immediate justification for this new development in the plans of Tuwhare and Te Rauparaha. The opposing forces met at the Tauhere Nikau _pa_, near Featherston, which was strongly fortified and bravely defended; but the muskets which these rude imitators of Cortés carried with them were here, as elsewhere, sufficient to spread consternation through the opposing ranks, and the _pa_ soon fell before the Ngati-Toa assault. Numbers of the besieged escaped to the hills, where they suffered the biting pangs of hunger, and the bitterness of soul inseparable from the aftermath of war.[42] Others, keeping to the open country, were pursued as far as Porangahau, in Hawke's Bay; and then the war party, weary of their bloody work, made their way back to Tauhere Nikau, where they spent some days demonstrating their contempt for the enemy by eating the bodies of the slain. When hunger and tribal hatred had been sated, the victorious warriors, observing ominous signs of a gathering storm, returned to the west coast, and remained for a few days' rest at Omere.[43] While here, the eagle eye of Waka Nene descried a vessel[44] in full sail beating through Cook Strait. To the quick intellect of the chief, the sight of the ship opened up in an instant fresh possibilities; for he knew what intercourse with the _pakeha_ had done for the Nga-Puhi, and he saw no reason why the same advantages should not be shared by his friend and ally, Te Rauparaha. Doubtless that chief had confided his fears to Waka Nene, and they had probably consulted long and anxiously as to the growing weakness of the position at Kawhia. When, therefore, Tamati beheld the passing ship, he saw at a glance that, if this part of the coast was frequented by vessels of the white man, it offered the same facilities for obtaining arms and ammunition which Hongi enjoyed at the Bay of Islands. With unrestrained excitement he called out to his comrade: "Oh, Raha,[45] do you see that people sailing on the sea? They are a very good people; and if you conquer this land and hold intercourse with them, you will obtain guns and powder and become very great." This optimistic little speech was apparently all that was required to confirm Te Rauparaha in his growing desire to take the decisive step of migrating with the whole of his people from the storm-threatened Kawhia; and when the chief turned his face towards home, it was with the full resolve to come back at the first convenient season and make the country his own. The homeward journey was characterised by the same ruthless behaviour towards the resident people which had been practised on the way down, those who were captured being killed and eaten without any unnecessary ceremony.[46] What occurred within the confines of the Manawatu district we do not know, because the present-day representatives of the Rangitane people declare that they saw and heard nothing of the invaders. As they proceeded further north, however, we hear more of them; for while they were in the Rangitikei district an incident occurred which it suited the Ngati-Apa people not to forget. In one of the many excursions made into the interior in search of prisoners, a young chieftainess, named Pikinga, was captured by a party of Te Rangihaeata's men. Pikinga was the sister of Arapata Hiria, the Ngati-Apa chief against whom Waka Nene and Te Rauparaha were operating at the moment; and, if the gossip of the day is to be believed, she was possessed of no mean personal charms. She, at least, was attractive enough to captivate the most ruthless of the party, for it was not long before Te Rangihaeata fell a victim to her charms and made her his wife. Whether this was merely a passing whim on the part of an amorous young warrior or a move in a much deeper game of diplomacy, it would be difficult to say at this distance of time, particularly as each tribe now imputes to the action of the chief a different motive. The Ngati-Apa claim, with some insistence, that the marriage was the expression of a bond of perpetual peace between them and Te Rauparaha: while the Ngati-Raukawa, to whose lot it fell some fifty years later to contest the point, contend that no such wide construction could be put upon Rangihaeata's action, and that, even if it involved the tribes in a treaty of friendship at the time, the compact was subsequently denounced by Te Rauparaha on account of the treachery of Ngati-Apa. It is quite within the region of possibility that Te Rauparaha, having regard to the political aspect of the situation, would, so soon as he had measured their strength, lead the Ngati-Apa to believe that he desired to cultivate their goodwill; because immediately he had determined to seize the country opposite Kapiti, he would perceive the wisdom of having some friendly tribe stationed between him and his northern enemies, upon whom he could rely to withstand the first shock of battle in the event of a Waikato invasion. Such tactics would not be foreign to the Ngati-Toa leader, for that part of his life which was not spent in battle was occupied in the development of schemes whereby the efforts of one tribe were neutralised by the efforts of another; and if he could make pawns of the Ngati-Apa, he would chuckle to himself and say, "Why not?" But Te Rauparaha was not the man to seriously contemplate anything in the way of a permanent peace with Ngati-Apa, or with any one else whom he felt strong enough to destroy. And even assuming that he encouraged them in the belief that Rangihaeata's devotion to Pikinga was a common bond between them, he would not dream of maintaining such an understanding a moment longer than it suited his purpose. It seems, therefore, more likely that, when he satisfied himself that the people of the Rangitikei were no match for his own warriors, and that he could subdue them at his leisure, he was at some pains to impress them with a sense of his magnanimity, but only because he desired to use them as a buffer between himself and the Waikatos. Years afterwards, when he felt secure against invasion, he repudiated all friendship with Ngati-Apa, and ordered his people to wage eternal war against them. The claim which the Ngati-Apa subsequently made to the land in the Rangitikei-Manawatu districts, on the ground that they were never conquered by the Ngati-Toa, because this marriage protected them from conquest, was therefore not well founded, the ordinary occurrence of a chief taking a captive woman to be his slave-wife being invested with a significance which it did not possess. Upon the consummation of this happy event, the war party, laden with spoil and prisoners, made their way back to the north. When they reached Kawhia, after an absence of eleven months, Tuwhare being dead,[47] Waka Nene, who had now assumed command of the northern contingent, took his leave of Te Rauparaha, and Te Rauparaha prepared to take leave of the land of his fathers. [22] Braves. [23] Waitohi had other children, one of whom, Topeora, afterwards became the mother of Matene Te Whiwhi, one of the most influential and friendly chiefs on the west coast of the North Island. Topeora is perhaps more famed than any other Maori lady, for the number of her poetical effusions, which generally take the form of _kaioraora_, or cursing songs, in which she expresses the utmost hatred of her enemies. Her songs are full of historical allusions, and are therefore greatly valued. She also bore the reputation of being something of a beauty in her day. [24] There appears to be some doubt as to the exact locality of Te Rauparaha's birth, some authorities giving it as Maungatautari and others as Kawhia. [25] Marore was killed by a member of the Waikato tribe--it is said, at the instigation of Te Wherowhero--while she was attending a _tangi_ in their district, about the year 1820. [26] War party. [27] The traditional accounts of the Maoris have it that at this period Te Rauparaha was "famous in matters relative to warfare, cultivating generosity, welcoming of strangers and war parties." [28] This tribe was afterwards partially exterminated during the raids of Hongi and Te Waharoa. [29] "When Paora, a northern chief, invaded the district of Whanga-roa, in 1819, the terrified people described him as having twelve muskets, while the name of Te Korokoro, then a great chief of the Bay of Islands, who was known to possess fifty stand of arms, was heard with terror for upwards of two hundred miles beyond his own district" (_Travers_). [30] "If we take the whole catalogue of dreadful massacres they (the New Zealanders) have been charged with, and (setting aside partiality for our own countrymen) allow them to be carefully examined, it will be found that we have invariably been the aggressors: and when we have given serious cause of offence, can we be so irrational as to express astonishment that a savage should seek revenge?" (_Earle_). [31] Marsden, writing of this time, says that such was the dread of the Maoris that he was compelled to wait for more than three years before he could induce a captain to bring the missionaries to New Zealand, as "no master of a vessel would venture for fear of his ship and crew falling a sacrifice to the natives." As an extra precaution, all vessels which did visit the country were supplied with boarding nets. [32] Whare-mawhai, sister of Huri-whenua, chief of the Ngati-Rahiri, who lived at Waihi, four or five miles north of Waitara. [33] Tuwhare belonged to the Roroa branch of the Nga-Puhi tribe. [34] When the musket was first introduced into Taranaki, a slave was very anxious to know how it was used. A Nga-Puhi warrior explained to him the method of loading and priming, then told him to look down the muzzle. The slave did so, whereupon the Nga-Puhi pulled the trigger, and the top of the unfortunate slave's head was blown off, much to the amusement of the surrounding crowd. [35] Associated with Tuwhare and Te Rauparaha in this raid was another and equally famous chief, named Muru-paenga. That he was a great warrior is proved by the fact that his enemies speak of him in the lament already quoted as "the army-raiser, the leader," while his friend Te Taoho, in a _tangi_ composed after his fall, refers to his "warlike eloquence," and compares him to "a richly-laden vessel, with all knowledge and great courage." But Muru-paenga is not merely famed in song, for his achievements have in a measure passed into proverb. In the taking of _pas_, one of his favourite stratagems was to stealthily approach the enemy's fort at nightfall, and pounce upon it with the first light of dawn. This involved the sleeping of his men amongst the tender ferns growing on the outer edge of the bush, which in the morning necessarily bore a trodden-down appearance, a fact which did not escape the keen observation of those who had oft been the victims of his tactics. Consequently, when Muru-paenga was killed by Nga-Puhi in 1826, the joyful news went through the country which he had previously devastated, and the saying was composed, in significant suggestion that the ferns and the people would no longer be crushed, "Rejoice, O ye little ferns of the woods, Muru-paenga is dead." [36] "During the siege, Tawhai (afterwards Mohi Tawhai), father of the late Hone Mohi Tawhai, M.H.R., who was with the northern contingent of the taua in the attack, was close under one of the towers of the _pa_ when one of the defenders hurled a big stone at him which split open his head. But by careful doctoring he recovered--careful doctoring according to Maori ideas meant that they poured hot oil into the wound and then sewed it up" (_Polynesian Journal_). [37] Topeora did not secure her husband without a struggle, for another lady, Neke-papa, had also taken a fancy to the handsome warrior, and as Te Ratutonu was leaving the _pa_, a dispute arose as to which should have him. But Topeora, being fleet of foot, ran to meet the advancing warrior, and cast her _topuni_, or dog-skin mat, over him, "and this being in accordance with Maori custom, Te Ratutonu became the husband of Topeora." [38] His home was on the banks of the Hokianga River, on the western side of the country, opposite to the Bay of Islands. He afterwards became a convert to the Wesleyan Mission, and received at his baptism the prefix "Thomas Walker" to his old Maori name of Nene, hence the name by which he is known in history--Tamati Waka Nene. [39] The late Hon. J. W. Barnicoat, who knew Te Rauparaha well, has assured the writer that when it suited him the wily old chief could "lend a most angelic expression to his countenance." [40] Now known as Wellington. [41] "All these works of treachery, ambushes, murders, and all these wrongs done by the _taua_ of Nga-Puhi, were taught them by Te Rauparaha" (_Nga-Puhi account_). [42] The female prisoners were secured by plaiting flax ropes into their long hair, and the men were imprisoned in enclosures made for the purpose. [43] Omere is a high bluff just to the south of Ohariu Bay. This bluff was the place which Maoris always visited to see if the Straits were calm enough to cross: hence the reference in the old song-- Where Omere projects outside, The look-out Mount for calms. [44] It has been suggested that this vessel was either the _Wostok_ or the _Mirny_ of the Russian scientific expedition sent out by Czar Alexander I. in 1819, and which visited Queen Charlotte Sound. If this is so, the date of this event was either late in May or early in June, 1820. [45] A contraction for Rauparaha. [46] On one occasion, when Te Rauparaha was conversing with Mr. George Clarke, then Protector of the Aborigines, the latter asked him how he made his way from north to south. With a wicked twinkle in his eye, Te Rauparaha replied, "Why, of course, I ate my way through." [47] On reaching Whanganui, a division in the councils of the leaders took place, Ngati-Toa and Nga-Puhi remaining on the coast, while Tuwhare made an intrepid dash up the Whanganui River with his own immediate followers. They fought their way up into the "cliff country," in the upper reaches of the river, and here, in an engagement at the Kai-whakauka _pa_, Tuwhare received a wound on the head from which he shortly afterwards died. On receiving the fatal blow, he contemptuously remarked to his assailant: "If thine had been the arm of a warrior I should have been killed, but it is the arm of a cultivator." CHAPTER IV THE LAND OF PROMISE When the period of feasting and enjoyment, which invariably followed upon the return of a successful Maori war party, had terminated at Kawhia, Te Rauparaha immediately became involved in a fresh struggle with Waikato. The cause of the hostility was remote; but, as Waikato had vowed to drive him out, no pretext was too slight upon which to base a quarrel. Thus the killing of one of their chiefs by a Taranaki warrior, to whom Te Rauparaha was related, was sufficient to justify the marching of a large war party against him. Their force advanced in two sections: the one came down the inland track, and the other, which was to actively engage Te Rauparaha, entered Kawhia from the sea. Two _pas_, Tau-mata-Kauae and Te Kawau, speedily fell before the invaders, and again Ngati-Toa were defeated at the battle of Te Karaka, on the borders of Lake Taharoa, after an heroic struggle, in which it is said that three hundred Ngati-Toa fought more than a thousand Waikatos. These disasters were indeed darkening the outlook for Ngati-Toa, and the position has been graphically described by one native historian, who states that "the losses of the tribe of Te Rauparaha were very great; by day and by night they were killed by Ngati-Pou." Success had also attended the arms of the section of Waikato who, under Te Wherowhero, had swept through the Waipa Valley and across the forest plateau until they reached the Wai-Kawau _pa_ on the sea-coast, just north of the Mokau River. This they stormed and sacked by force of overpowering numbers, and, surfeited with victory, they united with their comrades at Te Karaka, and then triumphantly marched home. With so many of his _pas_ obliterated and his warriors slain, Te Rauparaha retired upon Te Arawi, a coastal stronghold built upon the summit of a forbidding-looking rock, which at full tide is completely surrounded by a breaking sea. Here he had leisure to reflect upon the lessening radius of his freedom and to formulate his plans for extricating his people from a position of increasing peril; and we may fairly assume that it was now that his final decision to migrate from Kawhia to Kapiti was taken. Once resolved on this course, he applied himself systematically to the task of persuading his people to enter into the spirit of the scheme, over which he himself had become so enthusiastic, and which he now deemed necessary to their safety. The task was by no means a simple one, for the impending danger was not so apparent to all the tribe as it was to their chief; and, moreover, there centred in the spot which he was asking them to leave the traditions and associations of all the centuries which had passed since their forefathers had first landed there from the pilgrim canoe. They knew each nook and corner, from the caves to the hill-tops, every point of which spoke to them of the beloved past. Here a rock which had been a trysting-place in some tragic love affair, there a haunt of spirits, yonder a burying-ground made sacred by the bones of their ancestors, and there again a battlefield hallowed by the memory of the fallen. Each of these was a tie dear to the Maori; and they were loath to leave all that linked them to the past and face a future full of doubt and uncertainty. But the confidence which Te Rauparaha had inspired, and the prospect of guns and ammunition in abundance, gradually overcame these sentimental objections; and before long the Ngati-Toa people agreed to follow their chief whithersoever he might lead. Te Rauparaha was, however, prudent enough to recognise that his own section of the tribe, though brave at heart, were few in numbers for so serious an undertaking as the conquest of a new territory. As soon, therefore, as he had secured the consent of his own tribe, he paid a visit to Maungatautari, for the purpose of obtaining the co-operation of Ngati-Raukawa. With them he was no more successful at first than he had been with his own people. He pointed out their liability to attack, the difficulty in obtaining guns, shut out as they were from communication with the whalers, and the prospect of an easy victory over the weakened tribes of the coast. But they were reluctant to give up all that they possessed for a visionary and problematical success, and it was not till quite a year later that he was able even partially to break down their resistance. In pressing his claims upon the Ngati-Raukawa, he was materially aided by a somewhat romantic incident which occurred during his stay at Maungatautari. Although his mother was a Ngati-Raukawa woman, and by virtue of that fact he could claim chieftainship amongst them, Te Rauparaha was not regarded as a particularly brilliant star in their peerage; but what he lacked in pedigree was more than compensated for by his mental initiative and personal courage. Conscious of his own power, he never lost an opportunity of impressing it upon others; and it is therefore not a matter for surprise that he made the death of the Ngati-Raukawa chief the occasion of advancing his own claims to leadership. [Illustration: _Photo by Jackson._ TE ARAWI PA, KAWHIA. From which the Ngati-Toa migration commenced.] Thus it was a fortunate circumstance for him that, while he was advocating the conquest of Kapiti, Hape Taurangi, the great chief of Maungatautari, was seized with a fatal illness, and, while the whole tribe sat silently waiting for the end, the question of succession seemed to trouble him, as he probably realised the absence of a master-mind amongst his own sons. To them he put the question: "Can you tread in my steps and lead my people to victory? Can you uphold the honour of the tribe?" To these interrogations not one of his sons replied, and the silent suspense remained unbroken, until Te Rauparaha, springing from the ring of warriors, exclaimed, "I am able to tread in your steps, and even do that which you could not do." The apparent presumption of this speech was lost in the general satisfaction, and, when Hape passed into the Great Beyond, Te Rauparaha took over his wives and his leadership, the latter of which he retained to his dying day.[48] But the measure of authority which had passed to him on the death of Hape did not include the sole direction of Ngati-Raukawa's affairs. The tribe still looked to their natural leaders for guidance in domestic matters, and the new influence gained by Te Rauparaha in their councils, though considerable, was not sufficient to overcome the obduracy of the tribe towards what they chose to regard as his chimerical proposal. Nothing daunted, however, by the refusal of his kinsmen to participate in his bold enterprise, Te Rauparaha proceeded with patient deliberation to make his own arrangements. These involved the most careful planning and delicate negotiation, for failure in any one direction might wreck the whole scheme. The first consideration was to secure safe conduct for his people through the territory of the Taranaki tribes, and the establishment of resting-places where the very old and very young could recover their strength, and where sufficient food could be grown to carry them on to the next point of vantage. To this end negotiations were entered into with the Ngati-Awa and Ngati-Tama chiefs, who were more or less connected with Ngati-Toa by inter-marriage. It would, however, be a mistake to elevate this racial relationship into a bond of sincere friendship between these tribes, for neither would have hesitated long about a proposal to destroy the other, had a favourable opportunity presented itself. Their attitude towards each other was distinctly one of armed neutrality, which at any moment might have broken out into open rupture. But even this negative attitude of the tribes proved useful to Te Rauparaha, as it enabled him to approach Ngati-Awa and Ngati-Tama with at least the semblance of friendship, while it deprived them of open hostility as a reason for refusing his requests. The concessions which the Ngati-Toa leader asked for were therefore granted, though grudgingly; but he could no more persuade Ngati-Awa to go with him than he could impress the Ngati-Raukawa; and when he reminded them of the change which was coming over the system of Maori warfare, and the weakness in which they would be left by his departure, they laughed at his misgivings, boasted of their ancient _mana_, and told him that his fears were altogether unworthy of a chief of his standing. How dearly they paid for their lack of foresight is told in the fall of Puke-rangiora _pa_ a few years later, when the Waikatos swept down upon them and drove them flying into the arms of the man whose counsel they had so carelessly despised. Having thus diplomatically arranged an open road for the passage of his people to the south, he found it equally essential to secure an unmolested departure from the north. He therefore appreciated the necessity of making terms with his old enemy, Te Wherowhero, of Waikato, and in this important negotiation he availed himself of the services of two Ngati-Mania-poto chiefs, who occupied the country close to Kawhia and were on friendly terms with Te Wherowhero. These chiefs paved the way for a conference, at which Te Rauparaha appears to have been unusually candid with his old antagonist. He frankly unfolded to him the details of his proposed migration, and, in consideration of Te Wherowhero's guaranteeing him immunity from attack, he, on his part, agreed to cede the whole of the Ngati-Toa lands to the Waikato tribes after his people had vacated them. Such easy acquisition of a valuable piece of country was not without its influence upon Te Wherowhero. But he was even more impressed by its strategic than by its inherent value. The migration of Ngati-Toa would rid him of a troublesome enemy on the west, and enable him to concentrate all his forces on his eastern frontier, where he would be the better able to resist the aggressions of that other remarkable figure in Maori history, Te Waharoa, should it ever occur to that warrior to attack him. On the understanding, then, that Kawhia was to be formally ceded to him, Te Wherowhero undertook not to molest the migrating tribe, either during their preparations or on the actual march. The question of immunity from attack having been thus satisfactorily disposed of, the next matter which Te Rauparaha had to consider was the securing of an adequate supply of provisions for his people during their pilgrimage. As it was impossible to complete the journey in a single season, it was necessary not only that large quantities of food should be carried with them, but that planting-places should be established at various points along the route of march, where these supplies could be renewed from time to time. None of these details were overlooked, but all were worked out with mathematical exactitude by the consummate organiser in whose brain the migration had been planned; and the smoothness and precision with which these precautions dovetailed together furnish a remarkable example of high organising capacity. As a final preparation, it was necessary that the disposition of his fighting men should receive some attention, because he could not hope to conceal his real purpose from the people whose country he was about to invade. It is true he did not anticipate any serious opposition, because the defeats inflicted upon them by the recent expedition under Tuwhare, Waka Nene, Patuone, and himself had so reduced their strength as to render serious opposition impossible; but, in view of the limited force at his command, and the unlikelihood of increasing it, unnecessary waste had to be guarded against. He therefore divided his warriors into suitable sections, and, appointing a sub-chief to lead each company, he retained the supreme command of affairs in his own hands. The carrying out of these varied preparations had now occupied several months, and when all was ripe for departure he paid a last visit to the surrounding tribes and chiefs--to Kukutai, of Lower Waikato, to Pehi-Tukorehu, of Ngati-Mania-poto, to Te Kanawa, of Waikato, bidding them good-bye, and, as an example in good faith, he kept his word to Te Wherowhero, saying to that chief: "Farewell! remain on our land at Kawhia; I am going to take Kapiti for myself: do not follow me." At Mungatautari a final effort was made to induce the Ngati-Raukawa to join him; but, although there were evidences of weakening resistance, he had still to wait several months before their objections were so far overcome as to permit him any measure of hope that they would yet yield and follow him. The tour of leave-taking at an end, Te Rauparaha returned to his _pa_ at Te Arawi, and there summoned his people to prepare for the fateful march. When all was ready, the blazing flaxstick was put to the walls of the great carved house which had adorned the _pa_, and as the smoke of its destruction arose, the whole tribe of fifteen hundred souls passed through the gate which they were never again to enter. In the case of unlettered peoples there is necessarily some difficulty in determining the precise periods at which important incidents in their history have occurred; and in this instance we have nothing to guide us except the arrangement and comparison of subsequent events. By this mode of reasoning we are led to the conclusion that the migration from Kawhia must have occurred during the latter months of the year 1821. But, whatever obscurity rests upon this point, tradition is clear[49] that the circumstances under which the exodus commenced were singularly auspicious. The day broke with a cloudless sky, and, as the sun rose into the blue dome, the landscape for miles was lit by the rosy tints of morn, rendering every peak and valley more beautiful. On the route of march lay the hill of Moeatoa, and to its summit the pilgrims climbed, in order to take a last fond look at their ancient home. As they turned and gazed upon old Kawhia the memories of the past came crowding back upon them, and it is easy to understand their deep manifestations of sorrow at leaving their ancestral domain. The softer sentiments associated with home and country are not the exclusive prerogative of civilised beings. These people, savage and ruthless though they were, thrilled with the same patriotic feeling which prompted the Prophet of Israel to exclaim: "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem! may my right hand forget her cunning." And although their form of expressing it was neither so beautiful nor so poetical, they were, nevertheless, quite as sincere when they cried upon the mountain-side: "Kawhia, remain here! The people of Kawhia are going to Kapiti, to Waipounamu." "The love of a New Zealander for his land is not the love of a child for his toys," says a well-known writer.[50] "His title is connected with many and powerful associations in his mind, his affection for the homes of his fathers being connected with their deeds of bravery, with the feats of their boyhood, and the long rest of his ancestors for generations." And there is no reason to suppose that these feelings were less active in the Ngati-Toa at such a moment than they were in other Maori tribes. The closing scene in the life of the Ngati-Toa at Kawhia has been beautifully described by Thomas Bracken, whose word-picture of the scene on Moeatoa Hill is amongst the finest that came from his poetic pen:-- "Beneath the purple canopy of morn, That hung above Kawhia's placid sheet Of waters crystalline, arose on high The golden shield of God, on azure field, With crimson tassels dipping in the sea! And from its burnished face a shower of rays Shot up the hills and gilt their spires and peaks In lambent sheen, until the turrets seemed Like precious ornaments of purest gold On mighty altars raised by giant priests In olden times, to offer sacred fire As sacrifice unto the Fount of Light, From whence the planets and the myriad stars Drink their effulgence! In the wild ravines And gorges deep, the limpid babbling creeks Sang matins as they left their mother hills To mingle in united waters, where They lost their little selves, and merged in one Pellucid flood that gathered stronger life From day to day! as God's great human church, Now building on the earth shall gather all The little sects and creeds and small beliefs That split mankind into a thousand parts, And merge them in one universal flood Of boundless charity. The dazzling points Of morning's lances pierced the bursting hearts Of all the flow'rets on the fertile slopes, And waked red Kawhai's drops from sleep And shook the dew buds from the Rata's lids, Until its blossoms opened up their breasts And gave their fragrance to the early breeze That played amongst the Koromiko's leaves, And stole the rich Tawhiri's sweet perfume, And strung the flax-leaves into merry tune To woo the Bell-bird from his nest, to ring The Tui up to sing his morning hymns. The scene was made for man, not savage man, The cunningest of brutes, the crafty king Of beasts! but Man the Spiritualised, With all the light of knowledge in his brain, With all the light of love within his heart! And yet they were but savages who stood On Moeatoa's hill, above the scene, Mere savages, a step beyond the brute! But still there were bright sparks of God-lit fire Within their breasts! they loved their native vales With heart and soul! for they had hearts and souls Far nobler than some milk-faced races who Have basked 'neath Calv'ry's sun for ages long, And yet lie grov'lling in the nations' rear, With hearts encased in earth too coarse and hard For Calv'ry's glorious light to penetrate. Poor savages! that Orient had not yet Shed its benignant rays upon their souls, To melt the dross that dragged them down to earth In carnal bonds! they knew not yet the road To reach the standard of their better selves. Yet they were men in all save this! brave men With patriots' hearts, for as they stood and gazed O'er fair Kawhia's hills and vales That stretched into the sea, o'er which their sires In ages past sailed from Hawaiki's shores, The tears ran down their tattooed cheeks, and sobs Welled from their bosoms, for they loved the land With all the love intense a Maori feels For childhood's home! The hist'ry of their tribe Was written there on every rock and hill That sentinelled the scene, for these had known Their deeds of prowess, and their fathers' deeds Of valour! And the caverns held the bones Of those from whom they'd sprung! Their legends wild, And weird traditions, chained them to the place, And ere they burst those links of love they gave A long sad look on each familiar spot And wailed above Kawhia's lovely vale: Oh! Kawhia, remain, Cavern, gorge, and bay, Valley, and hill, and plain-- We are going away. Oh! Kawhia, remain, Take our tears and our sighs; Spirits of heroes slain, Rise up from Reinga, rise. Oh! Kawhia, remain, With thee, Tawhaki, stay; Long may he o'er thee reign-- We are going away." The first stage of the journey ended with the close of the fourth day, when the _pa_ of Puohoki was reached; and here Te Rauparaha decided to leave his wife Akau[51] and a number of the women and children under a suitable guard, while he and the bulk of the people pushed on as far as Waitara. Here they were received by the Ngati-Tama and Ngati-Awa tribes, in whose _pas_ they were quartered for the season; and, except that a spirit of parsimony seemed to pervade their welcome, they had every reason to feel rejoiced at the success which up to this moment had attended their venture.[52] After the lapse of a brief period spent in perfecting his arrangements, Te Rauparaha decided to return for his wife and her companions, and on reaching the _pa_ where they were staying he learned to his great joy that Akau had borne him a son. This infant lived to be the well-known missionary chief, Tamihana te Rauparaha. Against the advice of his tribe, Rauparaha had only taken a band of twenty warriors with him, and on the journey back to Waitara his strategic abilities were tested to the full to escape annihilation. Three days after his arrival he left on his return journey, carrying his infant son in a basket on his back. Knowing that he had left Kawhia, a party of the restless Ngati-Mania-poto had crept down the coast in the hope of finding some stragglers of his party whom they might conveniently kill. But instead of meeting, as they had expected, a few irregulars, they came suddenly upon Te Rauparaha himself near the mouth of the Awakino River. To some extent the surprise was mutual, but the stress of the position was all against Te Rauparaha. Supported only by a limited force and hampered by the women and children, he was in serious difficulties, as the enemy might cut off his retreat and then attack him in force. Suddenly a brilliant idea struck him. Before the enemy approached within striking distance he ordered twenty of the most active women to disrobe and don the mats and headgear of fighting men. Then arming each of them with a stone club, he placed them under the charge of Akau, who was a woman of magnificent physique, with instructions to march in the van brandishing their weapons after the manner of veteran warriors. The more helpless women and children were placed in the centre, while he and his fighting men covered the retreat. Misled by the stratagem, the Ngati-Mania-poto were tricked into the belief that the Ngati-Toa force was much stronger than it really was, and instead of attacking they began to retire. Observing this, Te Rauparaha immediately accelerated their panic by charging down upon them, and in the skirmish which followed Tutakara, their chief, was killed by Te Rangi-hounga-riri, Te Rauparaha's eldest son by his child-wife Marore, who was rapidly making a name for himself as an intrepid warrior. But, although the position was somewhat relieved, Te Rauparaha felt that the danger was not yet at an end. He was experienced enough in native tactics to know that the Ngati-Mania-poto would be tempted to return at nightfall and renew the attack in the hope of avenging the death of their chief. He therefore could not consider himself safe until the Mokau River was crossed, and, unfortunately, when he reached its banks the tide was full and the river was in flood. Nothing remained to be done except to wait, but in order still to maintain the deception twelve large fires were kindled, at each of which three women and one warrior were stationed, while the chief and the rest of his followers lay prepared for emergencies. It was also an injunction to the sentinels at the fires to address each other occasionally in the heroic language of the time. "Be strong, O people, to fight on the morrow if the enemy return. Take no thought of life. Consider the valour of your tribe." These stimulating exhortations, which were intended for the enemy's ears as much as for their own, were supplemented by fervid speeches from the women, whose shrill voices were carried out into the night air as a warning to the enemy that they would not lag behind their lords in the coming battle. Meantime, Te Rauparaha lay waiting for the enemy, who never came. Either having no stomach for another encounter with so redoubtable a warrior, or still not understanding the true position, they wisely declined to provoke a battle, about the result of which they could be by no means sanguine. At midnight the tide turned, and the river fell sufficiently to be fordable.[53] Leaving their fires burning, the Ngati-Toa crept silently down to the bank, and, wading across, made their way to the _pas_ of their friends, which they reached amidst general rejoicing. Early next morning the scene of the previous day's battle was revisited and the bodies of the slain enemy recovered to make a feast, at which the sweet revenge harboured against Ngati-Mania-poto was surfeited. While the Ngati-Toa plans were developing in Taranaki, another misfortune was falling upon the people of the southern districts from the opposite direction. Towards the middle of 1820 a band of six hundred warriors, under Apihai Te Kawau, of Ngati-Whatua, Te Kanawa, and Tu-korehu, of Waikato and Ngati-Mania-poto, and other prominent chiefs, longing for some new excitement, had journeyed down the east coast through Hawke's Bay and the Wairarapa, for no particular purpose except to kill, eat, or make slaves of whoever might fall into their hands. In the course of this pilgrimage of blood they crossed over to the west, and there attacked in succession the Muaupoko, Rangitane, and Ngati-Apa tribes, upon whom they inflicted sore and mortal wounds; and when they retired back to the north they left the conquest of Kapiti a matter of comparative simplicity to Te Rauparaha. But they were soon themselves to feel the sting of defeat. Passing into the Taranaki country on their homeward march, they were set upon by the Ngati-Awa people, who strenuously opposed their further progress at Waitara. This was a strange reversal of all previous policy on the part of Ngati-Awa, who had always been friendly to, and had frequently co-operated with, the Ngati-Mania-poto and Waikato peoples on similar raids. By some authorities this new antagonism has been attributed to the sinister influence of Te Rauparaha, who was still at Ure-nui waiting to harvest his crops. He had not forgotten the anxious moments to which he had been subjected on the banks of the Waitara River, and it would have been more than human on his part had he not sought to balance accounts now that the opportunity offered. "By means of plotting and deceit," says one writer, "he succeeded in rousing Ngati-Awa--or the greater part of them--to take up his quarrel." Whatever the cause of Ngati-Awa's hostility, the effect was a series of determined and well-organised attacks upon the northern _taua_, which ultimately drove them to seek refuge with a friendly section of the Ngati-Awa in the famous Puke-rangiora _pa_. Here they were besieged for seven months, fighting repeatedly, and, towards the end of that period, suffering intense privations. Frequent attempts were made to send intelligence of their straits through the enemy's ranks to their friends; but so close and vigilant was the investment that their messengers were invariably captured, and their heads fixed upon poles and exhibited to the besieged in a spirit of exultant derision. One, Rahiora, a young man of the Ngati-Mahanga tribe, did at length succeed in evading detection, and travelling into the Waikato by Kete-marae and Whanganui, thence by Taupo and Waipa, was able to communicate to the great Te Wherowhero the critical plight of his tribesmen. Te Wherowhero immediately made his call to arms, and soon a numerous relief party was on its way to join the force already in the field, which had vainly endeavoured to cut off Te Rauparaha at the Mokau. The junction of these forces was successfully accomplished, and the pride of Waikato's military strength, under two of the greatest chiefs of that time, Te Wherowhero and Te Waharoa, marched southward for the dual purpose of raising the siege of Puke-rangiora and of attacking Te Rauparaha. Though they failed to reach within striking distance of the beleaguered _pa_, their movement indirectly achieved its object, for the advent of so large a force lightened the pressure of the siege by drawing off a considerable number of the besiegers. Of these Te Rauparaha took command, and to his strategical genius was due the victory which he ultimately achieved on the plain of Motu-nui. This plain stretches along the sea-coast between the Ure-nui and Mimi Rivers. At this point the shore is bounded by perpendicular cliffs, fully one hundred and fifty feet high, along which are dotted several small _pas_, used as fishing-places in olden times. Away to the eastward of the plain run the wooded hills, on the steep sides of which rise the numerous streams which rush across the plain to the sea. On the southern end of one of the spurs descending from the range was built the strongly fortified Okoki _pa_, which was made the point of assembly by the Ngati-Awa and Ngati-Toa warriors. The Waikato _taua_ came on as far as a place called Waitoetoe on the southern bank of the Mimi River, and there commenced to make a camp preparatory to throwing down the gage of battle. To the watchers in the Okoki _pa_ their fires had been visible for several miles; and when it was seen that they had determined to pitch camp, there was a general request that their position should be at once attacked. Personally, Te Rauparaha preferred to take no risks until the portion of his force which was still holding Tu-korehu in check at Puke-rangiora should have come up. He, however, yielded to the importunities of some of his chiefs, and consented to send out a _hunuhunu_, or reconnoitring party, to test the mettle of the enemy. To meet the possibility of the skirmish developing into a more serious encounter, he took the precaution of concealing a strong reserve force, composed of the older men, in the bed of one of the wooded streams which ran close beneath the _pa_. Having instructed Rangiwahia, of Ngati-Mutunga, in whose charge he left these supports, he took eighty of the younger men with him, and advanced across the plain by stealthy marches. So secretly was the movement effected, that they were within a stone's-throw of the Waikato camp, and had actually commenced the attack upon some of the Waikato warriors, before their presence was discerned. In the first onset Te Rauparaha's followers were roughly handled, and, in accordance with their preconcerted plan, they began rapidly to fall back, sustaining severe losses the while from the guns of the enemy. Their retirement soon developed into a general retreat, which might have been much more disastrous but for a fatal division of opinion which sprang up amongst the Waikato leaders, as to whether or not the fugitives should be pursued. Te Wherowhero was content to have repulsed them, and advised resuming the interrupted work of building their shelters; but others, not so cautious, urged immediate pursuit, and, these counsels prevailing, the whole Waikato force was soon in full cry after the retreating scouts. The chase was fierce and stern, and many a good Taranaki warrior dropped upon the plain as he sped towards the _pa_, for the pursuers kept up as hot a fire as their rapid movements rendered possible. Seeing the men falling round him, a chief who was running close to Te Rauparaha repeatedly urged him to turn and attack the pursuers; but the crafty general, knowing that the time was not yet, declined to forestall his prearranged strategy. He held on his way, only urging his men to faster flight, while Te Wherowhero incited his marksmen to single out the Ngati-Awa chiefs for death. Some two miles of the plain had been covered, and the southern warriors were nearing their supports. As the foremost reached the wooded gully, they waited there to recover their breath, and allowed the pursuers to close in upon them. Weary and blown with their long and exciting run, the Waikatos came straggling up, innocent of the trap into which they had fallen. At the psychological moment Te Rauparaha gave the signal, and out dashed his veterans, fresh and eager for the fray, charging down upon the exhausted and astonished Waikatos. Their chiefs who were in the forefront of the chase were the first to go down, and their numbers were perceptibly diminished as they were beaten back by repeated charges across the blood-stained field. Te Wherowhero fought through the reverse with supreme courage, engaging and vanquishing in single combat no less than five of Taranaki's greatest warriors; and to his fine defence and heroic example is attributed the fact that his tribe was not completely annihilated on the field of Motu-nui. On the other hand, it has been whispered that his companion in arms, Te Waharoa, did not bear himself in this fight with his wonted gallantry. Waikato paid a heavy toll that day. They left one hundred and fifty men dead on the field, and the slaughter of chiefs was a conspicuous tribute to their bravery--Te Wherowhero and Te Waharoa being the only leaders of eminence to escape. For some inexplicable reason, Te Rauparaha did not pursue his victory to the bitter end, as was his wont.[54] This forbearance on his part is especially surprising in view of the fact that Te Wherowhero had specifically promised to remain neutral during the progress of the migration. Possibly the consciousness that he would have done the same thing himself induced him to take a lenient view of his old antagonist's want of good faith; for there can be no doubt that the bloody wars which were at this time ravaging the country had completely sapped the old Maori sense of honour. "At the period in question, more perhaps than at any other in the history of the race, moral considerations had but little weight in determining the conduct of either the individual or the tribe. Even the nearest relatives did not hesitate to destroy and devour each other." There was thus nothing unusual about Te Wherowhero's conduct; but his experience of Te Rauparaha on this occasion was such that from that day onward he left him severely alone. The effect of these successive victories was to enhance enormously the prestige and power of Te Rauparaha. He began to be regarded with reverence by Ngati-Awa and with something akin to worship by Ngati-Toa. As a tangible proof of the gratitude which his hosts felt for the services which he had rendered them, food, which had been grudgingly supplied up to this time, was now given in abundance to his people, and, what was of even greater moment to Te Rauparaha, adherents began freely to flock to his cause. But, although he had beaten off both the Ngati-Mania-poto and Waikato tribes, the position was still unsatisfactory to him from the point of view of numbers, and so he resolved to make one more effort to persuade Ngati-Raukawa to join him. Accordingly he journeyed back to Opepe, a village on the shores of Lake Taupo, where he met young Te Whatanui, a chief destined to become famous in after years as the protector of the Muaupoko people whom Te Rauparaha wished to destroy. Upon the assembled tribe, and upon Te Whatanui in particular, he again impressed the merits of his scheme, pointing out the altered position occupied by the tribes who had managed to become possessed of fire-arms, as compared with those who had only wooden spears and stone _meres_. He dwelt upon the fact that ships were beginning to frequent Kapiti, and that there they could obtain guns, as Nga-Puhi had done at the Bay of Islands. He also reiterated all that he had formerly told them about the fertility of the soil and the ease with which the country might be conquered: but in vain. Te Whatanui volunteered no sign of approval. He gave many presents to Te Rauparaha, as marks of respect from one warrior to another. He also made him a long oration, skilfully avoiding the all-important topic upon which Te Rauparaha had travelled so far to consult him; nor did the majority of his people conceal their objection to coming under Te Rauparaha's immediate command, to the exclusion of their own chiefs. Angered at this perversity, Te Rauparaha shook the dust of Opepe from off his feet and proceeded to Rotorua, and as far as Tauranga, where he sought the aid of the great Te Waru. But he met with no success, for Te Waru had schemes of his own which claimed his personal attention. While resting with the Tu-hou-rangi branch of the Arawa tribe on his return to Rotorua from Tauranga, Te Rauparaha (according to accounts) perpetrated an outrage upon Nga-Puhi which was destined to inspire one of the most disastrous wars and one of the most daring assaults known in Maori history. His motive for "sowing the seeds of evil counsel" is not clear. By some it is alleged a jealous envy of Nga-Puhi's success in procuring arms, while others find it in the consuming desire for revenge for the death of a young relative killed a few weeks before at the fall of the Te Totara _pa_ at the Thames. Whatever the motive, before leaving he took occasion to recite a _karakia_, or song, informing the Tu-hou-rangi that there was a small band of Nga-Puhi travelling about in their vicinity, and broadly insinuating that "death and darkness were very good things." This hint, however enigmatical, was taken and acted upon. When Te Pae-o-te-rangi, Hongi's nephew, and a company of his Nga-Puhi followers arrived at the Motu-tawa _pa_, from which Te Rauparaha had just departed, they were treacherously set upon and killed by the Tu-hou-rangi people. It was to avenge the death of Te Pae-o-te-rangi that Hongi performed the Herculean task of dragging his canoes from Waihi, near Maketu, to Lake Rotorua, and on the island of Mokoia slaughtered the unfortunate Ngati-Whakaue (Arawas), who had been entirely innocent of the original crime. Before quitting Rotorua, however, Te Rauparaha had the good fortune to fall in with the Nga-Puhi chief Pomare,[55] who handed over to him a few of the men who had accompanied him to the Lake district on a mission of bloodshed. With this small reinforcement Te Rauparaha returned to Taranaki and prepared to resume his journey southward, having in the meantime enlisted the services of some four hundred Ngati-Awas under one of the most famous men of his time, Rere-ta-whangawhanga, father of Wi Kingi Rangitake.[56] The force at Te Rauparaha's command now numbered about eight hundred fighting men and their families. With these he resumed his march in the autumn of 1822, when the kumara had been gathered in, and advanced without interruption or mishap until he reached Patea. Here a slight skirmish took place, and six of the invaders were killed, their deaths being immediately avenged by the slaughter of some Waitotara people. From them a large canoe was captured, and was employed in the transportation of some of the women and children by sea, thus saving them the labour and fatigue involved in the land journey. Te Rauparaha himself also travelled by water with the women, but, with the exception of those required to propel the canoes, the men continued on foot along the coast, capturing and killing an occasional straggler who had lingered too long in the vicinity of the warpath. At the mouth of the Rangitikei River the canoe was drawn up on the beach, and the whole party halted for several days. Hearing of their arrival, the friends of Pikinga came down to the camp to welcome her, but the remainder of the Ngati-Apa tribe fled to the hills and concealed themselves amongst the mountain fastnesses. It would therefore appear that the friendship which they afterwards alleged to have existed between Te Rauparaha and themselves was not of a very substantial character.[57] Nor did the marriage of their chieftainess with Te Rangihaeata avail them much; for while the bulk of his people rested by the river, odd bands of their fighting men were continually scouring the country in search of some plump Ngati-Apa who was needed to keep the ovens fully employed. While the weather continued fine, Te Rauparaha was anxious to lose no more time than was absolutely necessary. So soon, therefore, as his people had been refreshed by the rest, he pushed on again, making his next stage the mouth of the Manawatu River, where he harassed the Rangitane people by the inroads of armed parties on their settlements. But comparatively few captures were made, as the _pas_ were deserted immediately the inhabitants scented the danger. The migration which Te Rauparaha was thus conducting had for its objective a sweet and fertile spot on the banks of the Ohau stream; and when the remaining portion of the coast had been traversed without opposition, and the tribe had reached its journey's end in safety, preparations were at once made to establish them permanently on the land. A _pa_ was built large enough to accommodate the whole party, and ground was cleared for cultivations, in which the potato was planted for the first time on this coast. Their nearest neighbours were the Ngati-Apa, who held possession of the island of Kapiti, and the Muaupoko tribe, who were settled round the shores of Lakes Horowhenua and Papaitonga. In what light the former regarded the aggression upon their borders it is difficult to say; but the latter were evidently very ill at ease, for they had a heavy presentiment of what the ultimate result would be. But how to avert the danger was no simple problem, as they had learned enough in the stern school of experience to recognise that victory in open battle was not to be hoped for. Strategy was therefore determined upon. Learning from two Whanganui chiefs, who were then on a visit to Horowhenua, that Te Rauparaha's vulnerable point at this period was his desire to obtain canoes, they resolved to tempt him with the bait to which he was most likely to fall a victim. The ease with which the chief fell into the trap was due to his excessive ambition and the further large schemes towards which his aspirations soared. He had heard strange stories of a treasure-trove of greenstone which the Ngai-Tahu people had stored in their _pas_ over on the Middle Island; and as he stood on the beach at Ohau and looked across the Strait towards the hills of Waipounamu, he dreamed of this wealth and how he could possess himself of it. Without a fleet of canoes to convey his warriors over the intervening sea, the project of invasion was visionary; but even with the frailest vessels he might make it a reality, and at one bold stroke add to his dominions, gratify his avarice, and satiate his hate by waging war upon the southern tribes. Of canoes the Muaupoko had many. Residing as they did upon the shores of two lakes, these vessels were almost as essential to them as gondolas to the Venetians; and when they learned of Te Rauparaha's eagerness to obtain what they possessed, a device was cautiously planned by which they might rid themselves of a neighbour whose coming they felt boded them no good. Into this conspiracy of murder the Rangitane people of Manawatu were admitted; and for thus allowing themselves to be made the cat's-paw of others they paid a bitter penalty, for they succeeded in nothing except in arousing the eternal hatred of the great chief, who seemed invulnerable alike to their cunning and their force. The authors of the scheme were Turoa and Paetahi, both of the Ngati-Apa tribe; and the willing instrument in their hands was Toheriri, a leader of the Muaupoko, whose part was, shortly after the arrival of the Ngati-Toa at Ohau, to send an invitation to Te Rauparaha and a number of his followers to pay a friendly visit to his _pa_ at Papaitonga. As already indicated, the inducement held out to Ngati-Toa was the promise of a gift of canoes, and, under the circumstances, a more artful pretence could not have been conceived. "Canoes were at this time his great desire, for by them only could he cross over to the island of Waipounamu," is the explanation of the position given by Tamihana Te Rauparaha; and, if the Muaupoko could gratify that desire, Te Rauparaha was not the man to refrain from making a convenience of his enemies, as well as of his friends. Accordingly he accepted the invitation, notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances of his nephew and lieutenant, Te Rangihaeata, who declared his irresistible conviction that murder, rather than hospitality, was the secret of the Muaupoko invitation. Rauparaha was in no mood to speculate about omens, good or evil. Canoes he wanted, and canoes he would have, even if the gods or the devils were against him. His unusual recklessness even carried him so far that he selected only a few warriors to accompany him, and with these he arrived, just at the fall of evening, at Papaitonga. The party was, of course, received with the most profuse expressions of friendship. Toheriri and his fellow-chief Waraki conducted their visitors in state to view the canoes which were to be handed over in the morning; but, on returning to the _pa_, they were careful to conduct Te Rauparaha to a house at one end of the settlement, while his followers were provided for at the opposite end. This fact appears to have aroused no suspicion in the Ngati-Toa mind; for at night all slept soundly, until the shouts of the combined Rangitane and Muaupoko war parties were heard in the early morning as they rushed upon the slumbering _pa_. The assailants appear to have been too precipitate in their onset. Instead of first surrounding the _whare_ in which Te Rauparaha lay, they commenced the massacre of his followers at the other end; and Toheriri, who was lightly sleeping in the same compartment as Te Rauparaha, was compelled to go out and direct them to the particular hut in which their common foe was lying. This delay was fatal to their design, but fortunate for Te Rauparaha. In the absence of his host, he stayed not to take his leave, but bursting through the _raupo_ wall which formed the end of the _whare_, he slipped away between the houses; and when the tardy Rangitane rushed up to the hut, their prey had flown, and nothing remained but to wreak their vengeance upon the less distinguished victims, whom they slaughtered without mercy. Included amongst these victims of treacherous onslaught were several of Te Rauparaha's wives and children. Of the latter, however, two were spared, Te Uira and Hononga, the former of whom was a daughter of his child-wife Marore. The reason for this partial clemency is not clear; apparently vengeance was satisfied by sending them prisoners to the Wairarapa, where they afterwards became wives of men of renown in the district.[58] Amidst the chaos of treachery which surrounds this incident, it is pleasant to record an act of chivalry of an heroic type. Amongst those who accompanied Te Rauparaha on this eventful visit was his son, Rangi-hounga-riri, who, it will be remembered, had distinguished himself by slaying Tutakara, the chief of the Ngati-Mania-poto, when that tribe attacked Ngati-Toa at the Awakino River. He, being strong of body and lithe of limb, had managed to break through the attacking cordon, and, had he chosen, might have made his escape. But, as he hurried away, his ear caught the sound of a girl's piteous crying for help. He recognised the voice as that of his sister, Uira. Heedless of consequences he rushed back to the _pa_, and, forcing his way to the side of the girl, placed his protecting arm around her, and fought her assailants until overpowered by superior numbers. By his death, Te Rauparaha lost one of his most intrepid lieutenants, and the Ngati-Toa tribe one of its most promising leaders. As chivalrous as he was brave, he was the type of chief whose nobility lifted the ancient Maori above the level of the mere savage, and illustrated the manly qualities which so impressed those early colonists who took the trouble to understand the people amongst whom they had come. The qualities are still there, and justify the hope that, by sound laws, and sanitary and educational reforms, such as are now being effected, it may yet be possible to stay the process of degeneration which set in as the result of the first contact of the Maori with the European. Te Rauparaha, having slipped from the snare of his enemies, plunged into the long grass which surrounded the _pa_, and, in the semi-darkness, succeeded in eluding his pursuers, eventually reaching his settlement at Ohau, weary, angry, and almost naked. Bitterly disappointed at the result of his mission, and deeply enraged at the treatment he had received, he in his wrath cursed the Rangitane and Muaupoko peoples, and, calling his tribe around him, he charged his followers to make it the one special mission of their lives "to kill them from the dawn of day till the evening." This doctrine of extermination was not preached to unwilling ears; and from that day the fixed policy of the Ngati-Toa tribe was to sweep the Muaupoko and Rangitane from their ancestral lands. In the reprisals which followed as the result of Rauparaha's vow of eternal vengeance, the former tribe seems to have suffered most; and there is little room for doubt that they would have been ultimately uprooted and effaced from amongst the tribes of New Zealand, but for the kindly offices of that dark-skinned humanitarian, Te Whatanui, who, years afterwards, took them under his protecting mantle, and declared, in the now historic phrase, that "nothing would reach them but the rain from heaven." The Rangitane people were more fortunately situated, having the impassable forests of the Manawatu and its inaccessible mountain fastnesses to protect them. But they by no means escaped the bitterness of persecution, as bands of Ngati-Toa were constantly roaming their country in search of some one to kill and devour. The constant absence of these parties convinced Rauparaha that the small band of men whom he had with him was by no means sufficient for the magnitude of the task which his ambitious mind had conceived, and so he determined upon doing two things. The first was to strengthen his position by conquering the island of Kapiti, which was still in the possession of a section of the Ngati-Apa people; the second, once again to despatch ambassadors to the north, to persuade some of his former allies to join him in mastering a district which promised a rich supply of guns and ammunition. As a preliminary to the former scheme, he extended his frontier as far as Otaki, from which point he could the better watch the movements of the islanders and sweep down upon them at a favourable moment. But the intervals in which there was lack of vigilance were few and far between, and consequently the first series of attacks failed signally. The defenders were strongly posted and incessantly watchful; so Rauparaha, seeing that the frontal attack, however well delivered, would not avail, decided upon a stratagem which, judged by its success, must have been admirably planned. His device was to lull the defenders of the island into a false sense of security by apparently withdrawing all his forces from Otaki for the purpose of some larger movement in the north, at the same time leaving a small band of well-tried men, whose duty it was to make a dash for the island and seize it before its inhabitants had recovered from their surprise. He accordingly marshalled his forces one morning, and, with an amount of ostentatious display which was calculated to attract the attention of the Ngati-Apa spies, he marched away to the Manawatu at the head of his warriors. The Ngati-Apa saw this movement, but did not understand it. Believing that the absence of Te Rauparaha meant a period of respite, they withdrew their sentries and gave themselves up to rejoicing. This was precisely what the Ngati-Toa chief had hoped for and calculated upon. He also had the satisfaction of knowing that the most critical part of his scheme was in safe hands. His uncle, Te Pehi Kupe, who was left in charge of the attacking party, was a tried and grim veteran, and, true to the trust imposed upon him, he came out of his concealment just before dawn on the morning after Te Rauparaha had left. Silently the intrepid little band launched their canoes, and as silently they paddled across the intervening water, reaching the island at the break of day. They found the inhabitants still sleeping, and unconscious of any danger until the shouts of their assailants and the cries of the wounded warned them that some desperate work was on hand. Not many of them stayed to fight, and those who were not killed in the first onslaught scrambled into their canoes and made for the mainland, thus ingloriously leaving the last independent stronghold of the Ngati-Apa in the hands of the invaders. It has been charged to the discredit of Te Rauparaha, that, in planning this attack upon Kapiti, he cherished a guilty hope that Te Pehi might fall in the assault, and by his death rid him of a powerful rival in the councils of the tribe. But, while his critics have never been slow to attribute to him the grossest treachery towards his enemies and infidelity to his friends, there is absolutely no evidence that on this occasion he meditated a crime, such as sacred history imputes to the King of Israel when he placed Uriah the Hittite in the forefront of the battle. Te Pehi was a great chief. He was Te Rauparaha's senior in years and his superior in birth. His prowess in battle was known far and wide, and the circumstances under which he afterwards emulated the example of Hongi by visiting England, and like him, subsequently procuring for his tribe, guns and ammunition at Sydney, stamp him as a man of strong initiative and individuality. But he did not possess the political genius with which his nephew was endowed; he lacked the organising power, the tact, and the gift of inspiring others with his own enthusiasm. While Te Pehi might lead a charge with brilliancy, Te Rauparaha could often gain more by diplomacy than he by force of arms; and these statesmanlike qualities gave the younger chief an influence with the tribe which Te Pehi did not and never could possess. Indeed, the tragedy associated with his death at Kaiapoi, in 1828, is sufficient to convince us that he was strangely lacking in conciliation and tact. So far as can be learned, there is nothing to lead us to suppose that Te Pehi ever questioned his nephew's superiority in the diplomatic department of his tribal office; on the contrary, he seems to have cheerfully accepted a secondary position, and loyally aided Te Rauparaha in all his projects. Under these circumstances, it is somewhat difficult to imagine what Te Rauparaha was to gain by sacrificing so brave an ally. Moreover, the intense grief which he manifested when Te Pehi was killed at Kaiapoi, and the signal vengeance which he took upon the Ngai-Tahu tribe for their act of treachery, render the suspicion of foul play on his part utterly improbable. In view of these considerations he may fairly be exonerated from any criminal intent towards Te Pehi. It is clear that the seizure of Kapiti was but an essential move in his policy of conquest, and that the manner of its seizure was but a cleverly designed piece of strategy, certainly not unattended by risk, but affording very reasonable chances of success. The capture of this natural fortress did not result in its immediate occupation, for Te Rauparaha still had abundance of work to do on the mainland before he could regard the power of the enemy as broken and the conquest of his new home complete. In pursuance of his policy of extermination, he had been interspersing his larger movements with repeated raids upon Rangitane and Muaupoko, in which he invariably made them feel the sting of his revenge. Finding that these attacks were becoming more frequent and more vigorous, the chiefs of the latter tribe conceived a plan by which they hoped to elude the persistency of their implacable pursuers. Hitherto their _pas_ had been built on the shores of the picturesque lakes, around which they had lived since their advent into the district, centuries before. But they now decided to abandon these strongholds, which were exposed to every raid of the enemy, and build their dwellings in the centre of Lakes Horowhenua and Papaitonga. At the cost of an amazing amount of industry and toil, they constructed artificial islands upon the beds of these lakes at their deepest parts, and upon these mounds they built a miniature Maori Venice. The construction of these islands was most ingenious, and desperate indeed must have been the straits to which Muaupoko were driven before they imposed upon themselves so laborious a task. Proceeding to the bush, their first operation was to cut down a number of saplings, which were pointed and then driven into the soft mud, closely enclosing in rectangular form sufficient space on which to place the foundations of the houses. Smaller stakes were then driven into the centre of the enclosure, upon which were spitted those compact masses of vegetation known as "Maori-heads." A layer of these gave the builders a solid basis upon which to work, and huge stones, earth, and gravel were brought in the canoes from the shore, and poured into the enclosures until the pile of _débris_ rose some height above the level of the water. Six such islands were formed on Lake Horowhenua and two on Papaitonga, and on these _whares_ were erected, which were gradually extended by the addition of platforms reaching a considerable distance beyond the islands. Round each of these platforms ran a stout palisade, which served the dual purpose of preventing the very young children from falling into the water and offering a formidable barrier to the assaults of the enemy. As the only means of communication with these islands was by canoe, and as it was well known to the Muaupoko people that Te Rauparaha had few such vessels, they felt comparatively secure from attack so soon as they had transferred themselves to their new retreat. But they little reckoned on the kind of man with whom they had to deal, when they imagined that a placid sheet of water could interpose between Te Rauparaha and his enemies. Canoes he had not, but strong swimmers he had; and it is a fine tribute to their daring that, on a dark and gloomy night, a small band of these undertook to swim off to one of the Horowhenua _pas_ and attack its sleeping inhabitants. With their weapons lashed to their wrists, they silently entered the water, and by swift side strokes reached the walls of Waipata, the _pa_ which they had chosen for their attempt, and were swarming over the palisades before a note of warning could be sounded. Taken at such a disadvantage, it was not to be expected that the Muaupoko resistance would be effective, for they were both stunned by surprise and paralysed by fear at the awful suddenness of the attack. Flight was their first thought, and such as were not slain in their sleep or caught in their attempt to escape, plunged into the lake and made for the nearest shelter. In this endeavour to escape death all were not successful, and it is estimated that, between the killed and drowned, the attack upon Waipata cost the Muaupoko several hundred lives, besides adding to their misfortune by shattering utterly their belief in the inaccessibility of their island _pas_. The adjoining _pas_ upon the lake, warned of the impending danger by the tumult at Waipata, at once prepared for a stubborn defence; but the attacking party, feeling themselves unequal to the task of a second assault, discreetly withdrew to the mainland before it was yet daylight, and at once made preparations for another attack upon a more extensive scale. But both prudence and necessity dictated the wisdom of delay; it was wiser to wait until Muaupoko had relapsed into their former state of confidence, and, moreover, the plan upon which it was proposed to make the attack required time for its development. Recognising the strength of the Waikiekie _pa_, against which the energies of his tribe were next to be directed, Te Rauparaha saw that success was not to be expected unless he could attack it in force. This involved the transportation of a large body of men over the waters of the lake, which could only be effected by means of canoes. These he did not possess in numbers, and, even if he had, he must still devise means of conveying them to the lake, which was several miles from the coast. His ingenious mind, however, soon discovered an escape from these perplexities, and he at once decided upon a plan, which was not without precedent in European warfare or imitation in subsequent Maori history. His scheme involved the haulage of his canoes over the belt of land which separated the lake from the sea, and the enterprise seems to have been as cleverly executed as it was daringly designed. Out of the lake runs an insignificant stream, which slowly meanders over shallows and between narrow banks down to the ocean; and to the mouth of this creek were brought such canoes as had fallen into Te Rauparaha's hands at the taking of Kapiti, and a larger one which had been procured from his friends at Whanganui-a-Tara.[59] Where the water was deep enough, or the reaches straight enough, the canoes were floated up the bed of the stream; but as this was possible only at rare intervals, the greater part of the distance was covered by dragging the vessels over the grassy flats and ferny undulations. Such a task would be laborious enough under any circumstances; but on this occasion it was rendered even more wearisome by the necessity for conducting it in absolute silence. As the success of the expedition depended mainly upon the completeness of the surprise, it was essential that no note of warning should be given, and therefore it was impossible to encourage the workers to greater exertions by song or speech; but so heartily did they bend themselves to their monotonous task, that the three miles of toilsome road were traversed before the break of day. The outflow of the lake was hidden by a clump of trees which grew close to the water's edge, and behind this natural screen the canoes were concealed, and the men lay down to rest until the moment came to strike. At the first appearance of dawn, the canoes were shot into the lake, and before the inhabitants of Waikiekie had shaken slumber from their eyes, the shaft was on its way that would send many of them to their last long sleep. The _pa_ was attacked on every side, and with a vigour which left little chance of escape. Such resistance as was possible in such a situation was offered by the drowsy defenders. But the mortal fear with which they had come to regard the Ngati-Toa, together with the fury of the onslaught and the completeness of the surprise, spread panic amongst them, and the resistance was soon left to a desperate few. Their valiant efforts brought them nothing but the glory which attends the death of the brave. They were quickly borne down before the onrush of the assailants, whose shouts of triumph, joined with the terrified cries of the fugitives, filled the morning air. Large numbers, who looked to discretion rather than valour, plunged into the lake, and by swimming, diving, and dodging, a few managed to elude both capture and death. But many were slain as they swam, and, while their bodies sank to the bottom, their blood mingled with the waters of the lake, until it lay crimson beneath the rising sun. Warriors and women, old men and children, to the number of two hundred, we are told, perished on that fateful morning, which saw the Muaupoko tribe driven from Horowhenua, and the epoch of their greatness brought to a close. A mere remnant of the tribe escaped, and made their way through the forests and mountain fastnesses towards the south, where, within the space of another year, they were again pursued, hunted, and slaughtered, with all the old relentless hatred of their destroyer. Having inflicted this crushing blow upon Muaupoko, and feeling convinced that they could never again be a serious menace to Ngati-Toa, the section of the Ngati-Awa tribe who, under Rere-ta-whangawhanga and other chiefs, had accompanied Te Rauparaha from Taranaki, now determined to return to their own country at Waitara;[60] and it was this decision which made it imperative that the Ngati-Toa leader should seek efficient aid from some other quarter. He accordingly, without delay, despatched messengers to the north, once again to invite his kinsmen of the Ngati-Raukawa tribe to come and join him. These emissaries, having arrived at Taupo, learned that an attempt to reach Kapiti by way of the east coast had already been made by Te Whatanui, but without success, as he had been defeated by a Hawke's Bay tribe and driven back. This experience had somewhat cooled his ardour; but when Te Rauparaha's messengers came with the news that Kapiti had been taken, and told of his marvellous success at Waipata and Waikiekie, interest in the project at once revived. Especially was a young chief, named Te Ahu-karamu, fired with its romantic prospects, and he immediately organised a force of one hundred and twenty men and set off for the land of promise. Almost simultaneously with the arrival of these reinforcements, additional strength was gained by the accession of another band of Ngati-Awa from Taranaki; and, with these additions to his ranks, Te Rauparaha felt himself strong enough to resume once more active operations in the field. He accordingly moved upon a skilfully built _pa_ situated at Paekakariki, some miles to the southward of Kapiti, whither the escaping Muaupoko had fled and taken refuge. In this adventure a larger force than usual was employed; for not only were the new arrivals keen for a brush with the enemy, but the natural strength of the _pa_ was such that Rauparaha knew it would be useless to approach it without a force of adequate proportions. In these anticipations his judgment was correct, as usual, for the struggle proved to be an exceedingly obstinate one and the death-roll on both sides considerable. After some days of incessant attack, in which the few muskets possessed by Ngati-Toa played their fatal part, the Muaupoko defence was pierced, and the victory was sealed with all the atrocities associated with the savage warfare of the ancient Maori. The capture of this _pa_ proved to be a rich prize for Rauparaha. Not only did it uproot the last stronghold of the Muaupoko people, but it brought a substantial addition to his supplies. Large quantities of provisions were discovered within the stockade, evidently collected in anticipation of a lengthy siege. So provident, in fact, had the inhabitants of the Paekakariki fort been in this respect, that the large attacking force spent the succeeding two months feasting upon the captured stores, interspersed with an occasional cannibal repast. This period of rest the visitors were prepared to enjoy to the full; for after a battle nothing was more congenial to Maori warriors than to lie idly about the sunny places in the _pa_, and discuss in every detail the stirring incidents of the fight. It was while thus basking in fancied security that the tables were suddenly turned upon them, and from a most unexpected quarter. Hearing from some of the fugitives of the capture of the Paekakariki _pa_, and burning to avenge the raid which Ngati-Toa had previously made into the Wairarapa, the members of the Ngati-Kahungunu tribe residing at Wairarapa and near Wellington believed that this was their golden opportunity. Secretly collecting a fighting force of considerable strength, they made their way through the bush to Paekakariki, and there fell upon the unwary and self-indulgent invaders. To them it was something of a novel experience to be thus repaid in their own tactics; but the swiftness and audacity with which the blow was delivered completely demoralised them, and the erstwhile assailants suffered the humiliation of being beaten back upon Waikanae with inglorious precipitancy. The whole procedure necessarily involved considerable loss on the part of Ngati-Toa and their allies, and the bitterness of the reverse was especially galling because it was the first occasion on which they had been worsted in arms since their occupation of the country had commenced. The closeness of the pursuit did not slacken until the fugitives had reached Waikanae; but beyond this point Ngati-Kahungunu did not press their advantage. They were now rushing into touch with Rauparaha's permanent settlements, from which the echoes of the strife might draw reinforcements at any moment. Unwilling to overrun their victory, the men from Whanganui-a-Tara withdrew to the south, well pleased with their achievement, which was not without its lesson for Te Rauparaha. The chief saw that the time had not yet arrived when he could relax his life-long vigilance. Heavy as had been the defeats which he had inflicted upon the resident people, he saw that their spirit had not yet been completely crushed. Brave as his own followers were, he saw that they were not proof against the panic which often springs from a surprise attack. The thing, however, which caused him most concern was the hostile attitude which was now being adopted towards him by the Ngati-Kahungunu people. Hitherto this powerful tribe, whose domain was a wide and populous one on the eastern coast, had remained comparatively neutral in the contest for supremacy in the west. But now this attitude was abandoned, and under the encouragement afforded by this prospect of protection, the displaced tribes were gradually venturing back to their deserted settlements. Should an effective alliance be formed between his enemies on the two coasts, the position would at once become so charged with danger that his comparatively small force would find itself in a most critical situation. It was, then, the threatening attitude of his neighbours which caused the Ngati-Toa chief to decide finally upon the abandonment of the mainland and the transference of the whole of his people to Kapiti, there to await the result of his mission to his friends at Maungatautari. In the meantime three strongly fortified _pas_ were built upon the island, and every preparation made against possible attack. These _pas_, situated one at either end, and the third in the centre of the island, were designed with as keen an eye for trade as for the purposes of defence. Te Rauparaha had not lost sight of the main purpose of his conquest, which was to bring himself into close association with the whalers, from whom he hoped to obtain, by purchase, barter, or bullying, additions to his store of guns and ammunition. For this purpose Kapiti was easily the key to the position. Favoured by deep water and safe anchorage, it afforded the securest of shelter to vessels seeking to escape from the dirty weather which comes whistling through the Strait. Boats lying snugly at anchor under the lee of the land would have opportunities for trade from which all others would be cut off; and there is little doubt that this commercial advantage was coolly calculated upon when the _pas_ on the mainland were evacuated and those on the island were occupied. This much at least is certain, that, whether part of a premeditated scheme or otherwise, the move proved to be a masterstroke, for it gave to Te Rauparaha a virtual monopoly of the white man's patronage, a privilege which for years he guarded with jealous exclusiveness. When it became known that Te Rauparaha had retired to Kapiti, and there seemed less danger of immediate molestation, the Rangitane people again began to collect in force near their old home at Hotuiti. They built a strong _pa_ near the present town of Foxton, and here they were joined by a number of Ngati-Apa chiefs and people from Rangitikei. This proceeding Te Rauparaha regarded as a danger and a menace to his safety; for he had no reason to believe that he enjoyed their friendship, and no means of ascertaining when they might think fit to wreak their vengeance upon him. He therefore decided to take the initiative and attack them. Accordingly, with Rangihaeata and his Ngati-Apa wife Pikinga, he marched his war party up the coast and at once invested the place. The method by which he sought to reduce the _pa_ to submission was a clever stratagem--perfectly honourable, perhaps, according to the Maori code of warfare--but utterly repulsive to civilised ideas; and, to those who judge him by the latter standard, it lowers Te Rauparaha from the high plane of a classic warrior to the level of a cunning and unscrupulous savage. His first act of generalship aimed at separating the two tribes, a step which has been attributed by some to a desire to spare the Ngati-Apa, because of their relationship with Pikinga. Others, however, can see in it nothing but a clever ruse to divide the defending force, so that he might the more easily attack and defeat them singly. He therefore sent Pikinga to the Ngati-Apa chiefs with a request that they would withdraw to their own territory beyond the Rangitikei River. Probably he promised them safe-conduct on their journey; but, if he did, it was of no avail, for they firmly refused to evacuate the Hotuiti _pa_, and doggedly remained where they were. Feigning, then, to abandon his campaign, Te Rauparaha sent to the Rangitane chiefs, inviting them to come to him and negotiate terms of peace. In view of their past experiences it might have been expected that such a request would be scornfully declined; but after long and anxious debate it was decided--mainly, it is said, on the advice of the Ngati-Apa chiefs--that the leading Rangitane warriors should meet the Ngati-Toa leader and make the best terms possible with him. The result was, of course, the old story: the ruthless slaughter of the confiding ambassadors, who found that Te Rauparaha had come, not with peace, but unrelenting war. Treachery was no more suspected inside the _pa_ than out of it; and while the people were deluded into the belief that the war-clouds had passed away, they were being secretly and silently surrounded. At a given signal the walls were stormed and a bloody massacre followed, from which the Ngati-Toa warriors emerged sated with gruesome triumph. The slain were eaten on the spot, and the prisoners were taken to Waikanae, there to await the returning appetite of their captors. So dastardly an attack upon their friends and so gross an insult to their tribal pride could not be ignored; and although time might elapse before the Ngati-Apa peoples would be able to strike an avenging blow, it was quite certain that so soon as the favourable moment arrived the Ngati-Toa would have to pay the penalty of their treachery. But Te Rauparaha never dreamed that they would have the temerity to attack him upon his own land, and while he was lying in fancied security at Waikanae, the storm suddenly burst upon him. The Ngati-Apa, under Te Hakeke, had hurriedly collected their war party, and obtaining reinforcements from the fugitives who had escaped from the massacre at Hotuiti, came by stealthy marches down the coast and fell upon the unsuspecting Ngati-Toa in the dead of night. Next morning the camp was in ruins, Te Rauparaha's force was in flight, and sixty of his followers, including four of Te Pehi's daughters, were lying dead amongst the _débris_. The balance of battle honours having been thus somewhat adjusted, the aggressors retired, well satisfied with the result. They were allowed to depart without a resumption of hostilities, for the supports who had come over from Kapiti were either not strong enough, or not keen enough, to pursue them.[61] Whatever may have been Te Rauparaha's previous disposition towards Ngati-Apa, whether he was genuinely disposed to befriend them or whether he was merely playing on their credulity, is of no further importance, for from that day he took on an attitude of undisguised hostility towards them, revoking all promises of peace, stated or implied, and becoming, in the characteristic language of Matene-te-Whiwhi, "dark in his heart in regard to Ngati-Apa." The shield of friendship having been removed, this unfortunate tribe was now exposed to all the fury of the most ruthless man in New Zealand; and in the raids which his warriors made against them, neither man nor woman was spared who was unfortunate enough to fall into his hands. These misfortunes created a bond of sympathy between Ngati-Apa and their neighbours, the Rangitane and Muaupoko, and paved the way for an alliance against the common enemy. Although banished from Horowhenua and wandering about the solitary places of the coast, a broken and shattered people, there was still sufficient energy and hatred remaining in one of the Muaupoko chiefs to make a final effort to recover their departed _mana_. Te Raki, who had suffered captivity at the hands of Te Pehi, aspiring, after his escape, to be the regenerator of his tribe, became the active apostle of a federation which was to embrace the tribes who had felt the weight of the Ngati-Toa hand. From Waitotara in the north to Arapawa and Massacre Bay in the south, and Wairarapa in the east, he organised an alliance which could hurl two thousand fighting men against their redoubtable adversary. Canoes from far and near brought this host to the appointed rendezvous, the northerners assembling at Otaki and the southerners at Waikanae. From these two points this army converged upon Kapiti, their canoes "darkening the sea" as they went. The magnitude of the armada, however, was greater than its discipline, and before it had proceeded far its movements were discovered. The noise of the paddles, as the canoes approached the island in the early morning, caught the keen ear of Nopera, and when the right wing landed at Rangatira Point, they were opposed by the people whom they had expected to surprise. The attack was fierce and desperate, and when Pokaitara, the Ngati-Toa commander, found himself being driven back towards Waiorua, he astutely proposed a truce. It would give him a welcome respite while it lasted, and perhaps some advantage in the first moment of its violation. Ignorant of the fact that a message had been sent to Te Rauparaha, who happened to be at the centre of the island, and hoping for the speedy arrival of his own laggard reinforcements, who were still at sea, Rangi-maire-hau, the Ngati-Apa chief from Turakina, in a weak moment, agreed to a suspension of hostilities. Scarcely had this been arranged, when Te Rauparaha, with the major part of his people, arrived upon the scene, and repudiating the agreement to which his lieutenant had committed himself, he recommenced the sanguinary work, and fought to such purpose that the issue was soon placed beyond doubt. With one hundred and seventy of their tribesmen slain, the Ngati-Apa attack began to slacken. Presently their ranks were seen to waver, and an impetuous charge at this decisive moment drove into rout what had hitherto been an impenetrable front. The slaughter of pursuit was scarcely less than that of resistance. Dead and dying lay on every side, and many found a watery grave in their vain effort to swim to the canoes, which had not yet reached the shore. News that disaster had overtaken the advance guard quickly spread to the other sections of the allied forces; and, without attempting to retrieve the fortunes of the day, they turned and precipitately fled in whichever direction safety seemed to lie. When he realised that his host had been worsted in the battle, Rangi-maire-hau disdained to fly, but threw himself upon the mercy of Te Rangihaeata, who had borne himself with conspicuous bravery throughout the attack. That haughty chief, however, saw no reason why he should spread his protecting mantle over his would-be exterminator, even though the appeal was founded on the bond of relationship with his Ngati-Apa wife; and, steeling his heart against every entreaty, he ordered Rangi-maire-hau's immediate death. With this exception, it is recorded to the credit of Ngati-Toa that they used their victory with unusual moderation. Thus, the largest force which had ever been marshalled during the Maori wars along this coast was defeated by one of the smallest; the organisation of two years was dissipated in as many hours; and the invaders were only the more firmly established in the land by this futile attempt to uproot them. This great victory, which settled for ever the question of supremacy, was duly celebrated by feasting and dancing, during which Te Rauparaha chanted a song of triumph, which was especially offensive to his enemies, taunting them, as it did, with a lack of courage, and foretelling even greater misfortunes that were yet to befall them:-- "When will your anger dare? When will your power arise? Salute your child with your nose. But how salute him now? You will see the rejoicing tide Of the warrior's coming glee, And the departure of Rongo-ma-whiti." While Te Rauparaha was enjoying the fruits of his victory, his forces received welcome reinforcements from two quarters. The news of battles fought and laurels won had reached Taranaki, where the Ngati-Tama chief, Te Puoho, and some of his followers, whose curiosity had been aroused by the tales told by their returned tribesmen, came down to learn the truth of the matter for themselves. Close upon their heels came the long-hoped-for band of Ngati-Raukawa, who signalised their advent by at once attacking the settlements in the Rangitikei and Manawatu districts. While one party skirted the coast,[62] the other struck inland, and under their chiefs, Te Whatu and Te Whetu, surrounded and captured a Ngati-Apa _pa_ at Rangiure, and then proceeded to Pikitane, where they killed a number of the resident people and made the rest prisoners. These two settlements had been taken completely by surprise, their people little dreaming that a war party was marching through the land. No better prepared were the Ngati-Apa then living at Awahuri, who were next attacked, and their chief, named Te Aonui, was added to the train of captives. The invaders then pushed their victorious march down the course of the Oroua River, as far as its junction with the Manawatu. Here they crossed the larger stream, and immediately attacked the _pa_ at Te Whakatipua. This assault was stoutly resisted by the chiefs, Kaihinu and Piropiro, who paid the penalty with their lives, but the remainder of the people who were not shot by the invaders were spared on proffering a humble submission. This was practically the only discreet course open to them. Not only were they placed at a serious disadvantage, away from their fighting _pas_, but many of the Ngati-Raukawa were armed with guns, while the Rangitane people had not as yet been able to discard the wooden spears and stone clubs of their forefathers. The rapid movements of the Ngati-Raukawa, and the completeness of their captures, had prevented the news of their presence being despatched to the adjoining settlements; and, as a consequence, when they ascended the Manawatu and came upon the little _pa_ at Rotoatane, situated not far from Tiakitahuna,[63] they were able to attack and capture it almost before the people could be summoned from the fields. Not that it was a bloodless victory. A Rangitane chief, named Tina, fought with desperation, and, before he was overpowered by superior numbers, three of the assailants were stretched dead at his feet. Once more the advance was sounded, the objective this time being the _pa_ at Tiakitahuna itself. This settlement was under the chieftainship of Toringa and Tamati Panau, the latter being the father of the chief Kerei te Panau,[64] who until recently lived at Awapuni. These men were evidently more alert than their neighbours, for no sooner did the _taua_ come in sight than they took to their canoes and paddled across to the opposite bank of the river. While the two tribes were thus ranged on opposite sides of the stream, the Rangitane had time to consider the position. Tamati Panau was the first to seek an explanation, by calling out to Te Whatu, "Where is the war party from?" Clear and quick came the answer back, "From the north." That was sufficient for Toringa, who had already tested the mettle of the northerners, and he at once sent a curse across the water, hurled at the heads of the invaders with all the venom that tribal hatred and a sense of injured vanity could instil. Whether it was the dread of Toringa's denunciation, or whether the Ngati-Raukawa were satisfied with their unbroken course of victory, is not clear to the present-day historian; but the Rangitane traditions relate that, after firing a single shot from one of their muskets, the invaders retired from the district, taking their prisoners with them, and made their way south to join Te Rauparaha, who was anxiously awaiting their coming. The prospect opened up to these new-comers was far beyond anything that they had dreamed. In fact, so fascinated was Te Ahu-karamu with the new and beautiful country which his great kinsman had conquered that, after a reasonable rest, he returned to Taupo for the purpose of bringing the whole of his people away from a position which was daily becoming more exposed to the aggression of the Waikato tribes. But his designs in this direction were nearly thwarted by the persistency with which the tribe clung to their northern home, even in defiance of his threat to invoke the wrath of his _atua_[65] if they dared to question the command of their chief. Finding that the terrors of his god had no influence upon them, Karamu adopted an instrument of the devil, and, taking a torch in his hand, brought his obdurate tribesmen to their senses by burning every house in the _pa_ to the ground. Rendered thus houseless and homeless, there was nothing for the dejected people to do but to follow their imperious leader. In his journey back to Kapiti he was joined by two of the most famous chiefs of that day--Te Whatanui and Te Heuheu, the former of whom was destined to become the patriarch of Horowhenua and the protector of its persecuted people. Collecting a strong retinue of followers, the three chiefs set off in 1825 by the same route which Karamu had previously travelled down the valley of the Rangitikei, varying the monotony of the journey[66] through the Ngati-Apa country by occasionally chasing frightened fugitives, in order to gratify their pride and glut their appetite. Upon their arrival at Kapiti long and anxious consultations followed between the chiefs, the result of which was that Te Whatanui at last consented to migrate[67] and throw in his fortunes with Te Rauparaha. This was eventually accomplished in 1828-29, the consolidation of the Ngati-Toa and Ngati-Raukawa tribes making their future absolutely secure and bringing Te Rauparaha's wildest dreams of conquest within measurable distance of accomplishment. His broadened aspirations had long before this extended across the Strait; and, next to the conquest of the coast on which he was now operating, it had become his greatest ambition to measure his strength against the natives of the Middle Island. Their reputed wealth in greenstone had aroused his avarice, while the prospect of acquiring additional territory appealed strongly to his love of power. But before he was able to perfect his plans for carrying into effect this new stroke of aggression, an event occurred which was destined to have important results. It will be remembered that the crowning circumstance which had induced Te Rauparaha to leave Kawhia was the sight of a vessel beating through Cook Strait. He had there and then settled in his mind that this part of the coast was soon to become an important rendezvous for whalers, &c., and already his anticipations were being realised with an amazing rapidity. The whalers were now frequent visitors to Kapiti, and many were the marvels which they brought in their train. But most of all were the natives absorbed in the prospect of securing from these rough seafarers guns and ammunition, steel tomahawks, and other weapons, which would give them an advantage over their enemies in the only business then worth consideration--the business of war. Many of these ships, however, had not come prepared for this traffic,[68] and the lack of guns, rather than any hesitation to part with them, made the process of arming a tribe a slow one. It had at least proved much too slow for some of the more restless spirits of the race; and impatience, added to a natural love of adventure, had led some of them to ship to Sydney, and even to England, in the hope of bringing back with them the means of accelerating their enemies' destruction. Of these latter Hongi had been a conspicuous example, and the success which had attended his mission to England roused a spirit of emulation in the breasts of other chiefs, who were only waiting the opportunity of following his example. Of these, Te Pehi Kupe, the conqueror of Kapiti, was one of the few who were signally successful. Knowing no language but his own, having only the vaguest notions of what a voyage to England meant, and a very precarious prospect of ever being brought back, this man had thrown himself on board an English whaler, and, resolute against all dissuasions, and even against physical force, had insisted upon being carried to a country of which he had but two ideas--King George, of whom he had heard, and guns, which he had seen and hoped to possess. Thus it came about that, while the ship _Urania_ was lying becalmed in Cook Strait, about five or six miles from the land, on February 26, 1824, Captain Reynolds perceived three large canoes, fully manned, approaching the vessel. Doubtful what such a demonstration might portend, Captain Reynolds put his ship in a condition to resist an attack if necessary; and when the canoes were within hail, he, by word and sign, endeavoured to warn them off. Had he chosen, he might easily have sent the frail-looking barques to the bottom by a single shot from the ship's guns; but, unlike many another skipper of those days, Captain Reynolds was a man actuated by considerations which went beyond himself, and the thought of the retaliation which might fall upon other mariners coming to the shores of New Zealand restrained him from committing any such act of brutality. Fortunately there was no need for drastic action, and the behaviour of the natives was such as to leave no doubt in the mind of the captain that their intentions were of a peaceable character. Te Pehi boldly directed his crew to paddle alongside the ship, and, divesting himself of all his clothing except a mat which was slung across his shoulders, he, with the swiftness of an athlete, climbed on board. When he reached the deck, he endeavoured by signs and gestures to convey to Captain Reynolds that what he wanted was arms and ammunition, and, on being informed that the ship had none to spare, he coolly indicated that, such being the case, he had decided to remain on board and proceed to Europe[69] to see King George. These words he had evidently learned from some of Captain Reynolds' predecessors, for he was able to pronounce them with sufficient distinctness to be clearly understood. The audacity of this proposal completely staggered the master of the _Urania_, and he at once tried to nip such ambitious hopes in the bud by peremptorily ordering the chief back to his canoe. Te Pehi, however, met this direction by calling to his men to move the canoe away from the ship, and the captain next sought to give his command practical force by throwing the chief overboard, in the hope and belief that the canoes would pick him up out of the sea. But in this he was again checkmated. The chief threw himself down on the deck and seized hold of two ring-bolts, with so powerful a grip that it was impossible to tear him away without such violence as the humanity of Captain Reynolds would not permit. At this critical juncture a light breeze sprang up, and Te Pehi improved the favourable circumstance by ordering his men to paddle to the shore, as he was going to see King George, and that he would soon return. This command was at once obeyed, and the breeze carrying the _Urania_ off the land, Captain Reynolds was reluctantly compelled to keep the chief on board that night. But, far from satisfied with his self-constituted passenger, he next day made another effort to force Te Pehi on shore, and nearly lost his ship in the attempt. This narrow escape, and the favourable conditions for getting away from New Zealand, to some extent reconciled the captain to an acceptance of the situation; but his chagrin was as great as was the delight of the chief, when it was found that there was no option but to keep him on board for the remainder of the voyage. With more intimate acquaintance, the relations between the captain and chief grew to be of the most friendly nature, and they lived together, both on shipboard and on shore, the captain taking a kindly interest in explaining to his protégé the mysteries of the great world upon which he was entering, while the native clung to his new-found friend with a confiding affection.[70] The _Urania_ ultimately reached Liverpool, where Te Pehi was the subject of much public attention. He was shown over the principal manufactories in Manchester and London, his great anxiety to see King George was gratified, and, although he was subject to a good deal of sickness, yet, thanks to the care of Captain Reynolds, he made an excellent recovery. After about a year's residence in England, he was placed on board H.M. ship _The Thames_, and in October, 1825, he sailed for his native land, loaded with presents of clothing and agricultural implements, which were given him by benevolently minded people in the hope that, combined with the knowledge of their use and blessing, which he had acquired in England, they would exercise an elevating influence upon his countrymen when he should return amongst them. Vain hope; for on his arrival at Sydney, Te Pehi reversed the beautiful biblical allegory, and turned his pruning hooks into spears and his ploughshares into guns and ammunition, to aid in the work of waging eternal warfare against the enemies of his tribe.[71] Early in the year 1824, and immediately after Te Pehi's departure for England, Te Rauparaha found that, in consequence of the many recent additions to his forces, the number of natives who had placed themselves under his command was then sufficient to enable him to begin the main purpose of his conquest, namely, the systematic occupation of the land.[72] He and his own immediate tribe having decided to occupy the island of Kapiti, where they could be in closer touch with the whalers, he now proceeded to partition the country along the coast amongst the new arrivals. The first division led to civil war and domestic feuds between a section of Ngati-Raukawa and the Ngati-Tama from Taranaki, under Te Puoho, which at one time threatened to destroy all that he had already accomplished; and it was not until a new allotment was agreed upon, by which Ngati-Awa, to whom Ngati-Tama were closely related, were given exclusive possession of the country south of the Kukutauaki stream, and the Ngati-Raukawa sole dominion over the district northward of that boundary as far as the Wangaehu River, that his power to resist his enemies was restored by the restoration of harmony amongst his friends. Not that there was any immediate danger of attack; for his incessant raids upon the Ngati-Apa and Muaupoko tribes had reduced them to the condition of a shattered and fugitive remnant, incapable alike of organised attack or organised defence. It was probably one of the proudest days of Te Rauparaha's life when, standing on Kapiti, he formally transferred the whole of the coast to his followers by right of conquest, than which no Maori could hope for a better title, and proclaimed to the assembled people the precise districts which were to be their future homes, where they were to cultivate, to catch eels, to snare and spear birds. These dispositions, however, did not imply that he was prepared to surrender his supreme authority over the lands, and the fact that he desired to, and intended to, retain his right of suzerainty was made abundantly clear. "The lands I now give you are in our joint rule, but I shall be greater in power than you individually"; such were the terms in which the transfer was made, and the people acquiesced in a unanimous "It is right, O Raha! it is as you say." But Ngati-Toa, Ngati-Raukawa and Ngati-Awa were commissioned to do something more than merely occupy the land. In imperious tones the great chief commanded them: "Clear the weeds from off my field." In other and less figurative words, they were to kill and persecute the conquered peoples without pity and without mercy; and perhaps it would have been well for Ngati-Raukawa had they more faithfully obeyed his instructions, instead of extending a sheltering arm to Ngati-Apa and Muaupoko, both of whom subsequently proved themselves so unworthy of this clemency.[73] Under the arrangement thus determined upon at Kapiti the country round the beautiful lake at Horowhenua was taken possession of by that grand old member of a magnificent race, Te Whatanui, and those people who had come from the north with him. The district now known as Lower Manawatu was occupied by another section of the Ngati-Raukawa people, under Te Whetu, and, still higher up, Rangitikei came under the dominion of Nepia Taratoa, a chief who seems to have been as generous to Ngati-Apa as Whatanui was to Muaupoko. Southward of Horowhenua, as far as the present harbour of Wellington, the country was subsequently given over to Ngati-Awa, who were in settled possession when the first European colonists arrived. Here in 1825-26 Pomare, their chief, led the Ngati-Mutunga _hapu_ of the Ngati-Awa people, who forcibly occupied the shores of the great bay, where they hoped to cultivate the friendship of the whalers,[74] whose commerce was so profitable to them. Their tenure, however, was not an undisputed one. They were subjected to frequent raids and incessant harassment from the Wairarapa tribe, whom they had displaced, and who deeply resented being thus deprived of their one avenue of communication with the _pakeha_. This tribe, though powerless to retrieve the aggression of Ngati-Awa, missed no opportunity of irritating them, and Pomare was not reluctant to hand over his trust to some other chief, so soon as he could be honourably relieved of it. This opportunity came when, after the fall of the Puke-rangiora _pa_ in 1831, the survivors of that (for Ngati-Awa) disastrous day, together with the flower of their tribe from their other settlements, abandoned Taranaki, and came down, a fugitive host, to shelter under the protecting wing of Te Rauparaha. With Te Puni, Wi Tako, and Wharepouri, an arrangement was entered into in 1834, whereby the land round the harbour and the right to contest the ownership of the territory with the unexterminated portion of the Ngati-Kahungunu were to be ceded to them for the consideration of a greenstone _mere_. Pomare was perhaps the more ready to relinquish possession of what is now amongst the most valuable land in the Dominion, because he had become possessed of information which seemed to open up a much more agreeable prospect than resisting the inconvenient incursions of his Wairarapa enemies. One of the young men of his tribe, Paka-whara, who had shipped on board a whaler, had just returned from a southern cruise, with the intelligence that the Chatham Islands were populated by a sleek and inoffensive people, who might be expected to fall an easy prey to such hardened veterans in war as Ngati-Awa could now furnish. Pomare at once acted upon the inspiration; and chartering, partly by payment and partly by intimidation, the British brig _Rodney_, he sailed with his followers in November, 1835, for the Chathams, where, by a fearful destruction of human life, the well-conditioned, unwarlike Morioris were reduced within the short space of two years to a remnant of two hundred souls. Whether the allocation of these districts to these particular chiefs was due to their own choice or to the will of Te Rauparaha is not known; but in the case of Te Whetu the former appears to have been the fact. During the raid which he made upon Manawatu while migrating to Kapiti, he had secured amongst his captives a handsome young Rangitane woman named Hinetiti, whose charms so pleased him that when he reached Kapiti he made her his wife. Hine's gentleness moved her lord and master in a way that sterner methods would not, and she soon obtained such an influence over him that her will became his desire. Doubtless the memory of her old home was ever present with her, even amongst the beauties of Kapiti; and, when the partition of the country was being spoken of in the _kaingas_, she urged Te Whetu to take her back to the banks of the Manawatu, where she might be once more with her friends and relatives. In deference to this wish, Te Whetu brought her to a little settlement named Te Iwi te Kari, near Foxton. With them came the Ngati-Wehiwehi _hapu_, bringing the prisoners whom they had taken eighteen months before, and together they occupied the district around Matai-Kona. The Manawatu was still well stocked with Rangitane, for many of their larger settlements in the upper portion of the district had not been so completely depopulated as some of the more southern _pas_ by the captures and slaughters of the marauding northerners. The presence of the Ngati-Raukawa in the midst of their country put no check upon their freedom, and, according to their ancient custom, they moved about from one _kainga_ to another at their pleasure. Indeed, the relations between the Rangitane and Ngati-Raukawa appear to have been of the most friendly nature after the return of the captives from Kapiti, a fact which the former attribute to the marriage of Te Whetu with their chieftainess, but which in reality was due to the generosity of the Ngati-Raukawa, who, had they chosen, might have left nothing but smoking ruins and bleaching bones to tell of the Rangitane's former existence. The feeling, however, was not so cordial between the Rangitane and the natives immediately under the leadership of Te Rauparaha, who allowed no circumstance to mitigate his extreme desire for revenge; and, although no pitched battles took place, there were occasional skirmishes and massacres which served to keep alive the fires of hate. In like manner he constantly harried the Muaupoko and such members of the Ngati-Apa tribe as he now and then fell in with, until these people, feeling life to be unbearable if they were to be hunted like beasts of prey, decided to place themselves beyond the reach of so relentless a tormentor. They accordingly, to the number of three hundred souls, including women and children, determined upon flight into the Wairarapa; and there they threw themselves upon the mercy of the Ngati-Kahungunu, who might be expected to display some sympathy for other victims of the suffering from which they themselves had not escaped. But here again the hapless people were doomed to a bitter experience. Instead of being received with the open arms of welcome, they were cruelly set upon and driven back over the Tararua Ranges, because of some old and unavenged act of violence which their friends had committed, but of which they had probably never heard. Spurned from the only asylum which appeared to be open to them, Ngati-Apa returned to Rangitikei and sought the protection of Rangihaeata and Nepia Taratoa, to both of whom they paid tribute for the right to live. Muaupoko placed themselves under the protecting arm of a Ngati-Raukawa chief named Tuahine, whose heart was touched by their destitute and defenceless condition. But his intervention was of little avail. However willing he might have been--and there is no reason to doubt his sincerity--he proved quite unable to shield them against the never-dying wrath of Te Rauparaha. Hearing from some of the Ngati-Raukawa people that the remnant of the Muaupoko tribe was once more beginning to gather round the Horowhenua and Papaitonga lakes, he organised a force of Ngati-Toa, Ngati-Huia and Ngati-Tama warriors, and marched upon Papaitonga in defiance of the vehement protests of Tuahine and many other Ngati-Raukawa chiefs, who wished to have done with this incessant slaughter. This lake, which covers an area of about one hundred and twenty-five acres, lies a few miles to the southward of Horowhenua. From time immemorial it had been the home of the Muaupoko tribe, by whom it was originally called Waiwiri, but in more recent days the name of the larger of the two gem-like islands encircled by its waters has been applied to the whole lake. Papaitonga, which signifies, "the islet of the South," is a name which reveals in bright relief the poetic fancy of the Maori; for, even now, when its scenic charms have to some extent succumbed to the demands of settlement, the lake and its surroundings still present one of the most charming beauty spots in the whole Dominion. A deep fringe of tree-ferns and underwood, backed by a dense forest of native bush, skirts its north and northeast shores. Southward, through occasional breaches in the woods, can be seen the open undulating ground, gradually rising until it reaches the foot of the Tararuas, whose snow-capped peaks seem to touch the azure sky. Westward, stretching away to the sea, are the low flats over which meanders the slow-winding Waiwiri stream, which forms the outlet of the lake. Here the visitor is indeed on classic ground, for there is scarcely a feature of the landscape which has not, for the Maori, some historic association, some tragic story, some deepening memory of the hoary past. To this day the island of Papaitonga, so restful with its luxuriant crown of soft foliage, but which in the days of old was a sanguinary battle-ground, remains "a perfect necropolis of human bones," lying concealed beneath a living shroud of vegetation, which has silently risen to obscure from human sight the gruesome evidence of human savagery. It was to this spot that Te Rauparaha now, in 1827-28, led his warriors, arriving there late in the afternoon. His first care was effectually to surround the lake. This he did by posting strong detachments of men at various points, the reason for this disposition being a doubt as to which direction the fugitives would take in their flight, which rendered it expedient to intercept them at every possible avenue of escape. Ten men were then left in concealment near the canoe-landing, the smallness of the number being designed to deceive the inhabitants of the island, who at this time numbered several hundred. It was arranged that these men should, in the early morning, call to the people on the island to bring them a canoe, the intention being to create the impression in the minds of the islanders that they were a party of friends. Accordingly, when those in the _pa_ began to be astir, Te Riu called out to Kahurangi:-- "_E Kahu, e! Hoea mai te waka ki au. Ko tou tangata tenei._" (O Kahu, bring over a canoe for me, I am your man.) Either the call was not heard, or a lurking suspicion forbade a ready compliance with the request, for no movement was made by the islanders in the direction desired until Te Riu had called again:-- "_Hoea mai te waka, kia maua ko to tangata. Ko Te Ruru tenei._" (Send a canoe for me and your friend. Te Ruru is here.) This last appeal was not without avail. A chief named Takare ordered two men to paddle a canoe across and bring Te Ruru to the island, at the same time impressing upon them the need of keeping a sharp lookout on shore to prevent unpleasant surprises. No sooner had the canoe put off than two of the Ngati-Toa divested themselves of their clothing, and waded out amongst the _raupo_ flags which grew near the landing, keeping only their heads above the water. One was armed with a tomahawk, and the other with a stone club known as an onewa, and their mission was to prevent the return of the canoe, should the men who brought it refuse to take the party on board. On came the canoe; but when passing the bulrushes, the rowers, who were peering cautiously about, detected the heads of the two men amongst the _raupo_, and in an instant the conviction of treachery flashed upon them. The man in the stern of the canoe excitedly called to his companion to shove off; but Whakatupu, the Ngati-Toa, was too quick for him. Springing from his concealment, he laid hold of the bow of the canoe and began to haul it towards the landing. The Muaupoko nearest to him made a lunge at his head with the paddle, but Whakatupu skilfully parried the thrust with his short-handled axe, and then, turning upon his assailant, with an unerring blow cleft his skull, and sent the lifeless body reeling back into the water. When the man in the stern of the canoe saw the fate of his companion, he immediately leaped overboard, and dived, coming to the surface again well out of the reach of the enemy. By diving and swimming, he at length succeeded in reaching the shore, where he concealed himself amongst some low brushwood, only to find that he had been tracked, and that it was his fate to be shot by Aperahama. The report of the gun, echoing through the silent bush and across the face of the placid lake, was the signal to the concealed warriors that the day's work had commenced, and to the unhappy islanders the announcement that the dogs of war had again been let loose upon them. They instantly prepared for flight, for to men without guns resistance was hopeless, even had it been possible. While they were swarming into their canoes, their panic was considerably accelerated by the sight of a Ngati-Huia warrior swimming towards the island discharging his musket as he swam. He had tied his cartouche box round his neck, and with his hands he loaded and re-loaded his gun, while he propelled himself through the water by his legs. When he reached the island, the inhabitants had already left, and were making for the shore. Here they were met by a deadly fusilade from one of Te Rauparaha's detachments, who were quietly waiting for them. They then turned their canoes, and made an effort to land at another point, only to be driven back by a second attack as disastrous as the first. Attempt after attempt was made to land, and here and there a strong swimmer or a swift runner succeeded in escaping; but the harvest of death was heavy, the bulk of the people, including all the chiefs, being shot. "As for the few who escaped," says a native account, "some took refuge at Horowhenua, and others fled to the mountains. After the fall of Papaitonga, the war party went on to Horowhenua, where there was more killing. Driven from there, the Muaupoko fugitives crossed over to Weraroa and fled to the hills. Then the war party returned to Papaitonga. What followed was according to Maori custom, but who would care to tell of it? I have a horror of that part of the story. If you want to know, ask the old men of the Ngati-Toa--Ngahuku, Tungia, and the others. That is all." Amongst those who were slain in this fight was Toheriri,[75] a Muaupoko chief, whose wife was inspired by the occasion to compose a lament in which she mourned the death of her husband, and implied that Tuahine had broken his pledge by exposing her people to the raid. But, in justice to that chief, it has to be admitted that he was entirely powerless to interpose on their behalf; while, on the other hand, the whole incident serves to show how ruthlessly Te Rauparaha cherished his desire for revenge, and how inadequate he considered the lapse of time and the slaughter of hundreds to satisfy the _manes_ of his children murdered by Muaupoko at Papaitonga. So Muaupoko died--or what was left of them lived, and were suffered to retain some of their lands around Horowhenua Lake. Pathetic laments for their lost lands and their departed _mana_ have been composed, and are still sung amongst them. One chanted by Taitoko in a lamentation over the dead of his tribe is universally known and sung by the Maoris of the coast:-- "The sun is setting, Drawn to his ocean cave-- Sinking o'er the peak of Pukehinau. Here wild with grief am I, Lonely as the bird in the Great waste of waters. Wait, wait awhile, O Sun, And we'll go down together." [48] "It is not unusual for the natural _ariki_, or chief of a _hapu_, to be, in some respects, supplanted by an inferior chief, unless the hereditary power of the former happens to be accompanied by intellect and bravery" (_Travers_). [49] I have here followed the narrative of Travers; but, in his _History and Traditions of the Taranaki Coast_ Mr. Percy Smith makes it appear that at the moment of migration Te Ariwi was being besieged; that the exodus was not premeditated, but was suggested to Te Rauparaha by a Waikato chief as the only means of escape, and that the evacuation of the _pa_ was carried out at night. As affording an interesting sidelight upon the diversity of opinion which prevails as to the cause of Te Rauparaha's migration, I here append the following note which I have received from Mr. H. M. Stowell, a descendant of the great Hongi. "There is one striking Rauparaha fact which has not yet been properly given: Rauparaha had become a pest among his own people, and they warned him to beware--this at his Kawhia home. Consequently, when the _taua_, or war party, of my people, under Waka Nene and his brother Patuone, arrived at Kawhia on their way south, and invited Te Rauparaha to join them, he was only too willing. He was in personal danger at home, and he could only lose his life, at the worst, by coming south. He therefore came. When the war parties returned to Kawhia, Rauparaha at once gave out to his people that he intended to move south permanently. This being so, his people did not take any steps to molest him, and in due course he came south. These facts are important, as showing that his coming south was not a mere whim or accident; on the contrary, it was imperative, because he had made himself obnoxious to his own people." [50] John White, _Ancient History of the Maori_. [51] This woman was one of the wives whom Te Rauparaha had taken over after the death of Hape Taurangi at Maungatautari. [52] On the way down one disaster overtook the party. In the passage of the Mokau a canoe capsized and the only child of Te Rangihaeata was drowned. It was due to this circumstance that Rangihaeata in after years sometimes adopted the name of Mokau. [53] During the night a peculiar incident, illustrative of Maori life at this period, occurred. One of the women, the wife of a chief, had a child with her, which, in its restlessness, began to cry. Te Rauparaha, fearing that his stratagem would be betrayed by the wailing of the child, told its mother to choke it, saying, "I am that child." The parents at once obeyed the command, and strangled the child. [54] As illustrating the peculiar methods of Maori warfare, it is said that during the night following this battle Te Wherowhero came close to the Ngati-Toa camp and called out: "Oh Raha, how am I and my people to be saved?" To which Te Rauparaha replied: "You must go away this very night. Do not remain. Go; make haste." Following this advice, the Waikatos left the field, leaving their fires burning, and when the Ngati-Awa reinforcements arrived in the morning, no enemy was to be seen. [55] This is according to Travers's account. Some authorities say that Pomare could not have been there at that time. [56] Afterwards a thorn in Te Rauparaha's side: the saviour of Wellington in 1843, and the honourable opponent of the British forces in the Waitara war in 1860. [57] Between the years 1863-69 a violent dispute raged between the Ngati-Raukawa and Ngati-Apa tribes as to their respective rights to sell a valuable block of land known as Rangitikei-Manawatu to the Provincial Government. Ngati-Raukawa claimed the land on the ground of conquest, while Ngati-Apa urged that the marriage of Pikinga, their chieftainess, with Rangihaeata was a bond between them and Te Rauparaha, which induced him to protect rather than to destroy them. Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata were furious when they heard of these pretensions, and severely upbraided Ngati-Raukawa for not having permitted them to exterminate Ngati-Apa, whom they described as "the remnant of their meal." [58] Te Uira was at this time the wife of Te Poa, who was killed at this massacre. Hononga was Te Rauparaha's daughter by his second wife, Kahui-rangi. [59] Now Wellington. [60] This decision, it is said, was taken partly because they took umbrage at Te Rauparaha's overbearing manner, and partly because they had heard that another Waikato raid upon Taranaki was imminent. This was in the year 1823. [61] This would be about the year 1824. [62] This force, to the number of 120, was led by Te Ahu-karamu, a chief who afterwards became a prominent and progressive leader of the Maori people on the west coast. [63] Called by the early European settlers "Jackeytown." [64] Kerei te Panau was at this time a lad of about ten years of age, and probably owes the fact that he lived to be about ninety-four years of age to this flight across the river in the canoes. [65] _Atua_--a god. [66] This migration is known to the Ngati-Raukawa tribe as the _Heke Whirinui_, owing to the fact that the _whiri_, or plaited collars of their mats, were made very large for the journey. [67] For this purpose, he and Te Heuheu returned to Taupo, some of the party passing across the Manawatu block, so as to strike the Rangitikei River inland, whilst the others travelled along the beach to the mouth of that river, intending to join the inland party some distance up. The inland party rested at Rangataua, where a female relative of Te Heuheu, famed for her extreme beauty, died of wounds inflicted upon her during the journey by a stray band of Ngati-Apa. A great _tangi_ was held over her remains, and Te Heuheu caused her head to be preserved, he himself calcining her brains and strewing the ashes over the ground, which he declared to be for ever _tapu_. His people were joined by the party from the beach road at the junction of the Waituna with the Rangitikei, where the chief was presented with three Ngati-Apa prisoners. These were immediately sacrificed, and then the whole party resumed the journey to Taupo. Amongst the special events which occurred on the march was the capture of a Ngati-Apa woman and two children on the south side of the Rangitikei River. The unfortunate children were sacrificed during the performance of some solemn religious rite, and the woman, though in the first instance saved by Te Heuheu, who wished to keep her as a slave, was killed and eaten by Tangaru, one of the Ngati-Raukawa leaders. Shortly after this, Te Whiro, one of the greatest of the Ngati-Apa chiefs, with two women, were taken prisoners, and the former was put to death with great ceremony and cruelty, as _utu_ for the loss of some of Te Heuheu's people who had been killed by Ngati-Apa long before, but the women were saved (_Travers_). [68] The native trade consisted of dressed flax and various kinds of fresh provisions, including potatoes, which, prior to the advent of the Ngati-Toa tribe, had not been planted on the west coast of the North Island. [69] The words which Te Pehi is reported to have used were "Go Europe, see King Georgi." Dr. John Savage in his _Account of New Zealand_, refers to the apparent preference which the natives had for the word Europe over that of England. He says of a native whom he took to London with him, from the Bay of Islands: "I never could make Mayhanger pronounce the word England, therefore I was content to allow him to make use of Europe instead, which he pronounced without difficulty." Possibly Te Pehi experienced the same difficulty of pronunciation. [70] The Maori became popular in the _Urania_, and at Monte Video plunged into the sea and rescued the drowning captain, who had fallen overboard (_Rusden_). [71] Captain Reynolds was allowed a sum of £200 by the British Government as compensation for the trouble and expense to which he had been put by his enforced alliance with Te Pehi (see _N.Z. Historical Records_). The account of the chief's visit to England will be found in the volume of The _Library of Entertaining Knowledge_ for 1830. [72] One of the migrations which took place about this time consisted of 140 Ngati-Raukawa men under the leadership of Nepia Taratoa. It is known in history as the _Heke Kariritahi_, from the fact that those warriors who were armed with muskets had hit upon the shrewd plan of enlarging the touch-holes of their guns, in order to save the time which otherwise would be occupied in priming. They were thus able to keep up a much more rapid fire upon the enemy. Te Whatanui came down with this _heke_, to consult further with Te Rauparaha, but finding him absent from Kapiti, he returned to Taupo to prepare for the migration of his own people. [73] During the hearing by the Native Land Court in 1869 of the dispute which arose between the Ngati-Raukawa and Ngati-Apa tribes as to the right to sell the Rangitikei-Manawatu block of land to the Provincial Government of Wellington, Chief Judge Fenton remarked to Mr. Travers, who was appearing for Ngati-Raukawa, "The fact is, Mr. Travers, it appears to me that the flaw in your clients' title is that they did not kill and eat all these people." [74] At times there were many whalers there--as many as a hundred--of various nations. Here they stayed while whales came near the coast: but when these ceased to come near the coast, the whalers went out on the ocean, and the ships which were full of oil went each to its own land, and Rauparaha went back to his people and home at Kapiti (_Ngati-Toa account_). [75] Toheriri was prominent in the conspiracy of 1822 in connection with the gift of canoes. After that event, he, with his particular _hapu_, went to the Wairarapa for two years, and then returned to Papaitonga, where he was killed on this occasion, it is said, with great barbarity. CHAPTER V THE SOUTHERN RAIDS The events just narrated have brought us in point of time to early in the year 1828, by which period Te Rauparaha was unquestionably master of the whole coast from Whanganui to Wellington. Not only was his supremacy indisputable in that he had completely silenced his enemies, but success had brought its natural result in the shape of numerous reinforcements, which had come from the shores of Taupo to share in his adventurous cause. Thus he was both free and able to give his undivided attention to the realisation of a dream which he had long cherished, and which he one day hoped to realise. This was no less ambitious a scheme than the invasion and conquest of the Middle Island, the forest-clad hills and snow-capped mountains of which were plainly discernible as he gazed wistfully across the broken waters of Raukawa (Cook's Strait). But it was not the scenic beauties of the island which attracted the keen eye of Te Rauparaha, for these alone would have no charm for him. His mind was cast in the material rather than in the æsthetic mould; his thoughts ran to practical rather than to artistic ends, and the real magnet which attracted him southward was the hope of possessing himself of the large store of greenstone which, according to report, the Ngai-Tahu people had collected at Kaikoura as the result of their periodical excursions to the west coast, where alone this valuable jade could be obtained.[76] Avarice and love of conquest were driving forces in his plans, but there was yet another motive operating to impel him onward. If the reader will recall the circumstances attending the battle of Waiorua, it will be remembered that the host which on that occasion invaded Kapiti had been collected from far and near. Some among them had even come from the tribe of Ngai-Tahu, which was then the most powerful branch of the Maori race occupying the Middle Island, of which they had dispossessed the Ngati-Mamoe some two hundred years before. One of the principal _pas_ of these people in the northern end of the island was situated on a high cliff overlooking the bay of Kaikoura, which at this time was estimated to contain between three and four thousand souls, living under the direction of a chief named Rerewaka. When the fugitives from Kapiti reached their settlements on the Middle Island, and carried with them marvellous tales of Te Rauparaha's prowess in battle, these stories only tended to intensify the feelings of hatred and envy already cherished by the southern chiefs. Their impotent rage found expression in a vain and unfortunate boast made by Rerewaka, which supplied Te Rauparaha with the strongest of all incentives to a Maori raid--the desire for revenge. Rerewaka had not himself been present at the battle of Waiorua, otherwise he might have been more modest in his language towards the invincible Te Rauparaha. But he had had friends with the allies, and the chagrin felt at their annihilation, and the taunting song of triumph chanted by the victorious Ngati-Toa, in which the subjection of the Ngai-Tahu was hinted at, provoked him to declare in an unguarded moment that "if ever Te Rauparaha dared to set foot on his land, he would rip his belly open with a _niho mango_."[77] This oral indiscretion was overheard by a slave standing by, who shortly afterwards, making his escape, reported Rerewaka's boast to Rauparaha. The chief of the Ngati-Toa heard with placid countenance of his threatened fate, and in answer merely remarked, "So he has said," the apparent unconcern of his reply justifying the native proverb concerning him: "_Ko te uri o kapu manawa whiti_" (No one knew his thoughts, whether they were good or evil). He was really glad at heart of this further pretext for attacking and conquering the tribes of the Middle Island.[78] But while he had his mind bent upon revenge and his eyes fixed upon the treasure of greenstone, he was in no haste to put his design into execution. Leisurely action would enable him to mobilise his own forces, and serve to wrap his enemies in imagined security; and so for two years he waited patiently, keeping his warriors in fighting trim by repeated skirmishes with the shattered remnants of the Muaupoko and other northern tribes. But now his plans had fully matured, and by this time he had succeeded in gathering a large quantity of arms and ammunition from the Europeans, who, having learnt its advantages, were making Kapiti a frequent port of call and a place of some importance in the whaling industry. With these weapons he equipped his chosen men, who, when fighting with their native _meres_, were superior even to the best of the Ngai-Tahu or Rangitane, but, when armed with the more modern implements of the _pakeha_, became simply invincible. His fleet of canoes[79] also had been strengthened by the captures he had made after the battle of Waiorua, so that he had ample accommodation for the three hundred and forty men who comprised his expeditionary force. With this force, the most perfectly equipped that he had yet commanded, Rauparaha crossed the Strait, making Rangitoto (D'Urville Island) his first place of call. Here he found a section of the Rangitane tribe, the descendants of the people whom Captain Cook had first met at Ship Cove, who had now become powerful in the sense of being numerous. But where the odds of skill and arms were against them, numbers only supplied more victims for the cannibal feast which followed the battle. Everywhere the islanders were defeated and put to rout, many of them being eaten on the spot, and as many more carried back to Kapiti, there to await the dictates of their captors' appetites. Or, if they were fortunate enough to have their lives spared, the reprieve only enhanced their misfortune by carrying slavery and degradation with it. Rauparaha on this occasion swept like a withering blast over the whole of the northern portion of the Marlborough Province, neither the seclusion of the Pelorus Sound nor the inaccessibility of the Wairau and Awatere Valleys protecting the inhabitants from the rapacity of his warriors. Deflecting their course from D'Urville Island, they next proceeded to the point known in Maori legend as "Kupe's spear," but more recently styled Jackson's Head. Here a temporary division of their forces took place, the Ngati-Awa allies proceeding up Queen Charlotte Sound as far as Waitohi, the Pelorus Sound being the objective of Te Rauparaha. The tribe who occupied the shores of this great waterway was the Ngati-Kuia, an offshoot of Ngati-Apa, who were famed for their skill as fishermen, but who did little cultivation. Their principal _pa_, a semi-fortified village called Hikapu, stood at the junction of the Pelorus and Kenepuru reaches; and, when the fleet of northern canoes was seen sweeping up the Sound, the cry was raised "_Te Iwi hou e!_" (The newcomers! the new people!) That their coming boded them no good, Ngati-Kuia knew, and those who could, disappeared into the forest, while those who could not stayed to fight for the _mana_ of their tribe and the honour of their ancestral home. For them the battle was one against fearful odds; for, this being their first acquaintance with firearms, they were seized with panic, and the fight soon degenerated into a massacre. "What are those lights and the smoke we see at the village?" inquired a boy as he was being hurried through the bush by his fugitive father. "That," replied the sobbing parent--"that is Ngati-Toa burning your ancestors' and our houses."[80] Whatever hesitation Te Rauparaha may have had about raiding the Wairau during this campaign, was dispelled on its being reported to him that the Rangitane chief of the valley, Te Rua-Oneone, whose _pa_, called Kowhai, was situated near the mouth of the Wairau River, had heaped a curse upon his head, an insult which called for prompt and vigorous action. As yet the Wairau natives had had no experience of Rauparaha's qualities as a fighting chief. But they had heard rumours, and had listened to tales of his doings on the other island, which, although painted in glowing colours, had nevertheless been regarded with contempt by many of the leading chiefs. Amongst these incredulous persons was Te Rua-Oneone, who treated the matter so lightly as to remark that "Te Rauparaha's head would one day be beaten with a fern-root pounder." According to the Maori code, there was but one way of dealing with a scoffer who could speak so contemptuously of a chief; and therefore, when the natives of Pelorus, D'Urville Island, and Totaranui had been hopelessly beaten, the canoes were ordered to the Wairau, where the boastful Te Rua-Oneone had direct experience of what manner of man Te Rauparaha was. The fight, which took place on the land now enclosed within Bank Farm, was soon over, and could only have one result. The Rangitane were brave men, but their stone and wooden weapons were useless against the muskets of the Ngati-Toa. Te Rua-Oneone was captured and carried as a slave to Kapiti, where he had time and opportunity to reflect upon his defeat, which Rauparaha, with appropriate sarcasm, called _tuki tuki patu aruhe_, which signifies "beaten with a fern-root pounder." Nor was this merely a raid of bloodshed. Rauparaha sought territorial aggrandisement, and adopted the Roman principle of securing the fruits of his conquest by planting a colony of his tribe at every centre along the route of his victorious march. In each case the newcomers made slaves of the strong amongst the men and the beautiful amongst the women of the people whom they vanquished.[81] No sooner had this shattering blow been delivered against the fortunes of Ngai-Tahu than Te Rauparaha gave his attention to a matter which from force of circumstances had been neglected for many months. At the earnest solicitation of Ngati-Raukawa, he now agreed to march against the Whanganui people, who, it will be remembered, were responsible for the destruction of one of the several Ngati-Raukawa migrations prior to the first visit to the South Island. A force which, it is said, numbered nearly a thousand fighting men, led by the most distinguished chiefs of the allied tribes, with Te Rauparaha in supreme command, proceeded up the coast and attacked the Putikiwharanui _pa_, which was defended by a garrison almost twice as numerous as the assailants. Though not protracted, the struggle was fierce. The defenders made many desperate sorties, fighting with great determination and affording a fine example of courage, during the two months over which the investment extended. The damage, however, which they were able to inflict had no effect in causing the forces of Te Rauparaha to relinquish their grip. After a spirited defence of eight weeks, the assailants succeeded in carrying the place by storm, and the inhabitants suffered so severely that they were never afterwards able to seek the satisfaction of retaliation.[82] While the Ngati-Toa were engaged in these minor operations, an event occurred which increased the _mana_ of their chief amongst his own people and added considerably to his reputation abroad. This was the opportune arrival of his uncle and former comrade, Te Pehi Kupe, who, laden with the store of weapons which he had procured in Sydney, was brought back to New Zealand at this critical juncture in the history of the tribe.[83] The jubilation at such an event was necessarily great; not so much, perhaps, because of the wanderer's return, as because of what he had brought with him. There is at least no denying the fact that Te Pehi soon forgot what little of civilisation he had learned, except in so far as it enabled him to become a more destructive savage. He at once coalesced with his former leader; and with this valuable addition to his staff of councillors, and the enhancement of his munitions of war, Te Rauparaha felt more than equal to the task of carrying the battle to the gates of Kaikoura. Out of this extreme confidence grew a further development of the Ngati-Toa scheme of conquest. Their forces were now divided into two sections, the one proceeding to the great bays on the Nelson Coast, where they intended forcibly establishing themselves, while the remainder, under their old leader, aided by Te Pehi and a staff of other warriors, prepared to test the merits of Rerewaka's boast. It was a fateful day in the summer of 1829 when the canoes with three hundred men left D'Urville Island and turned their prows to the south. Although few in numbers compared with the enemy they were going to meet, they knew that the advantage of arms was with them, almost every man being provided with a musket. Moreover, they were full of the animation which is born of complete confidence in one's leader, and which, in this case, almost amounted to a superstition. No war party with Rauparaha at its head ever took failure into account, some of the warriors even going so far as to declare that "it was only necessary to strike the enemy with the handles of their paddles in order to secure a victory." [Illustration: THE TIKI, KAIAPOI. Erected on the site of the old Kaiapoi Pa.] Thus, well-armed and confident, the Ngati-Toa proceeded down the coast, resting the first day at Cloudy Bay, and subsequently at various other points, and arriving off Kaikoura before dawn on the fourth day. Not knowing what the exact disposition of the enemy's forces might be, and not being disposed for risks, Rauparaha anchored his canoes under the shadow of the peninsula, and then waited for the light. In this decision his characteristic good fortune did not desert him. It so happened that the Kaikoura natives were at that very time expecting a visit from some of their tribesmen in the south; and, when the first glimmering of dawn revealed a fleet of canoes on the bay below, there being nothing to indicate the direction from which they had come, the unsuspecting Ngai-Tahu assumed that their anticipated visitors had arrived. The early risers in the _pa_ set up the song of welcome--_Haere-mai, Haere-mai_--and soon the whole settlement throbbed with life and activity, indicative of the jubilant expectation of a reunion of friends. Whilst the elders busied themselves with preparations for the hospitable entertainment of the strangers, the younger people rushed, shouting gaily, down to the beach, to escort the guests back to the _pa_. The quick eye of Te Rauparaha at once saw the trap into which his enemy had fallen; and, elated at his amazing good fortune, he ordered the advance of the canoes, which, with a few sweeping strokes of the paddles, were driven swiftly across the intervening water. Before the unwary victims had recognised their mistake or recovered from their surprise, the Ngati-Toa warriors were amongst them, dealing death-blows on every hand. As might have been expected, the Ngai-Tahu, being totally unarmed and unprepared for the attack, were slaughtered without remorse or resistance, and, as their only safety lay in flight, they beat a breathless retreat towards the _pa_, where for a time the semblance of a stand was made. But the muskets of their assailants were now doing their work of death, while their ruthless charges increased the havoc. Before long Rerewaka was a prisoner, over a thousand of his people were slain, and his stronghold was in the hands of his most detested enemies. This decisive achievement was fully celebrated during the next ten days, with all the atrocities peculiar to cannibal feasts; and after the savage appetites of the victors had been surfeited with the flesh of their victims, and the nephritic treasures of the _pa_ had been collected, the war party returned to Kapiti, carrying Rerewaka and four hundred additional prisoners with them, to be killed and eaten at the leisure of their conquerors. The majority of them in due course met this fate, Rerewaka himself being killed with especial marks of cruelty and indignity, because of the insulting nature of his language towards the Ngati-Toa chief.[84] In consideration of the circumstances which led to this attack upon Kaikoura, the victory has ever since been known as _Niho Mango_, or "the battle of the shark's tooth." After the humiliation of Rerewaka and his people at Kaikoura, Rauparaha's greatest ambition was to pit himself in battle against that section of the Ngai-Tahu tribe who, under Tamaiharanui, Rongotara, and other powerful chiefs, held the strongly fortified _pa_ at Kaiapohia. But before he had a reasonable excuse for picking a quarrel with the people of Kaiapoi, and so attacking them in a manner that would be strictly _tika_, or proper, he had another opportunity of returning to Kaikoura, to retrieve the dignity of himself and his friends. The cause of this second invasion, like the previous one, was somewhat remote; but, unlike it, it arose out of a superabundance of love rather than of hate. The offence complained of was not committed against Te Rauparaha, but against his nephew, Rangihaeata. Rangihaeata was at this time rapidly rising into fame as a daring and successful warrior, and his place in the tribe naturally demanded that much of his time should be given up to the business of war, with the result that his functions as the head of his household were much neglected. During one of these prolonged periods of absence, his _pa_ at Porirua was visited by a chief of the Ngati-Ira (a branch of the Ngati-Kahungunu) tribe, named Kekerengu. According to tradition, this Kekerengu was a man of remarkable beauty of figure and grace of deportment. Tall and stalwart of frame, easy of carriage, and engaging in manner, his personal charm was still further enhanced in Maori estimation by a particularly artistic _moko_, or tattoo decoration. The introduction of this social lion into Rangihaeata's family circle was the cause of all the trouble. Kekerengu had so insinuated himself into the affections of the warrior's wives, that when Rangihaeata returned from the wars, the breath of scandal was busy with the proceedings of his family circle during his absence. The anger of the chief, on learning what had occurred, knew no bounds. Forthwith he sent the fiery cross from _pa_ to _pa_, and in a short space of time a force sufficient for his purpose was enrolled. Te Rauparaha, to whom the scent of battle was sweet, at once espoused the cause of his injured relative, and together they set out in search of the destroyer of Te Rangihaeata's domestic happiness. Kekerengu knew that, as the result of his indiscreet conduct, retribution would in some form follow him; but, in order to delay the evil day, he judiciously took to his canoe, and with a few of his followers crossed the Strait and sought refuge amongst the Ngai-Tahu of Kaikoura.[85] Thither Te Rauparaha tracked him; but the inhabitants of the _pa_ were not to be taken by surprise a second time. Knowing that they were no match for the force they saw approaching, they at once abandoned their settlement and flew down the coast, through the Amuri, towards Kaiapoi. But this escapade was not to stand between the Ngati-Toa and their revenge. When they arrived and found the _pa_ empty, they at once decided to go in pursuit. The march was swift and forced, and the invaders soon fell in with the fugitives, as they were camped at the Omihi stream. Here the unhappy wretches were attacked and routed with great slaughter, the few who escaped death or capture flying in precipitate haste into the bush, through which they made their way to the minor settlements further south. Kekerengu's guilt[86] was now expiated in his own blood and that of his hosts, and therefore Ngati-Toa might have returned to their homes fully satisfied with the results of their expedition. But the opportunity was so favourable for carrying out the long-cherished design of attacking Kaiapoi, that Te Pehi strenuously counselled going on. Te Rauparaha, it is said, was seized by some dark foreboding that Fate was trifling with him, and endeavoured to argue his lieutenant out of his warlike enthusiasm, but without avail. Te Pehi was bent upon storming Kaiapoi, and for once Te Rauparaha allowed himself to be overruled by his less cautious comrade. To facilitate the movements of the war party, which numbered about one hundred men, all encumbrances in the shape of prisoners were left in charge of a detachment at Omihi, and the canoes, which had been brought round from Kaikoura, were manned and taken as far down the coast as the Waipara River. There the force disembarked, and hauling the canoes beyond the reach of the tide, pushed on across the plains towards the southern stronghold. Kaiapoi was one of the oldest of the Ngai-Tahu _pas_, as it was admittedly one of their strongest fortresses. It had been built by Tu Rakautahi in 1700 A.D., at the close of the thirty years' war, which had resulted in the expulsion and the almost total annihilation of the Ngati-Mamoe people. Its position had been selected with some strategic skill, for it stood on a narrow tongue of land about five acres in extent, which ran out into the Tairutu lagoon, and was surrounded on three sides by the dark waters of that extensive swamp, which stretched for several miles to the north and the south. On the landward side it was protected by a wide and deep ditch, which in peaceful times was bridged over, while its double row of palisades, erected upon massive earthworks and surmounted by curiously carved figures representing gods and ancestors, rendered it so impregnable in the popular estimation that it was sometimes compared to "the inaccessible cliff of God," which none had dared to scale. The internal arrangements were in keeping with the importance of the _pa_ as the social and military centre of the tribe. Its population was numerous, wealthy, and distinctly aristocratic, and therefore the domains of the _rangatiras_ and the commonalty were well defined. The dwellings of the chiefs were large and commodious structures, "ornamented inside and out with carving and scroll work." There were storehouses for the man physical, shrines for the man spiritual, playing grounds for old and young, and a burial-place for both when their earthly sojourn was over. The commerce of the _pa_ was conducted through three gates, two of which, Kaitangata and Hiaka-rere, faced the deep moat, and the third, Huirapa, the lagoon on the western side, being connected with the opposite shore by a light wooden footway. But with all its vaunted strength, the _pa_ had, according to critics, a fatal weakness, in that, if subjected to a close investment, it was liable to have its food supply cut off owing to its semi-insularity. Its builder had been twitted with this supposed defect when he determined upon the site of his stronghold, and he silenced his critics more by his ready wit than by the soundness of his military judgment. For he said "_Kai_" must be "_poi_," or food must be swung to the spot. "Potted birds from the forests of Kaikoura, fish and mutton birds from the south, _kiore_ and _weka_ from the plains and the mountain ranges"; and so down through the century or more which had passed since then it had been an essential part of the policy of those in authority at the _pa_ to see that its commissariat was not neglected, and that its _whatas_ were always full against the day when its gates might have to be barred to a troublesome enemy.[87] Such was the place which, in the opening months of 1829, the northern force marched to assault; but they had sadly misjudged the position if they imagined that they could take it by surprise. Ngai-Tahu had warning enough to enable them to gather their people within the palisades, to cut away their bridges, and to stand upon the alert at all the most vulnerable points. When, therefore, Te Rauparaha arrived under the walls of the _pa_, he adopted the most diplomatic course open to him, and made a virtue of necessity by feigning that he had come only with the most peaceful intent. His first care was to select a suitable site for his camp; he fixed it upon the south-western side of the lagoon, and there calmly sat down to await developments. Nor had he long to wait. Tamaiharanui, the high priest and leading chief of the Ngai-Tahu tribe, accompanied by a native named Hakitara, proceeded under commission from the people in the _pa_ to inquire the purpose of so unexpected a visit. Hakitara was a Nga-Puhi native, having come originally from the northern portion of the Auckland Province. When Te Rauparaha had exchanged salutations with him and the venerable Tamaiharanui, he proceeded to furnish the explanation which they had come to seek. In the course of his oration he recited a _tau_, or war song, the idiom of which was more apparent to the Nga-Puhi than to his companion, who was less learned in northern lore. This battle chant conveyed a message to Hakitara which was sinister and disturbing. The protestations of Te Rauparaha were most ardent in the direction of peace, and his declarations full of the promise of friendship; but the words of his song had been so suspiciously indicative of evil intent, that Hakitara felt it incumbent upon him to advise the immediate return of Tamaiharanui to the _pa_, while he himself remained in the Ngati-Toa camp to pick up what scraps of useful information might drop from the lips of incautious retainers. By dint of sedulous inquiry, particularly amongst the slaves, he gleaned enough to stimulate his suspicions, which were more than confirmed when he heard that the northerners had desecrated a newly made grave which they had passed on the march to the _pa_. Such an outrage to the dead of Ngai-Tahu was not the act of friends; and now the living witnesses of Te Rauparaha's hostility began to pour into Kaiapoi, viz., the fugitives who had escaped from the slaughter at Omihi. For days they had wandered in the bush and in the by-paths of the open lands, hoping to evade the clutch of their pursuers; and when they arrived with their tale of terror, something more than fair words were needed to convince the inhabitants of the semi-beleaguered _pa_ that Ngati-Toa had come so far south on a mission of peaceful commerce, and not of resentful war. Te Rauparaha, with his usual clarity of vision, saw the predicament in which the inopportune arrival of the fugitives had placed him, and promptly determined upon a desperate expedient, which, he hoped, would allay the dark suspicion which he hourly saw growing up around him, and which, if unchecked, would assuredly frustrate his enterprise. Not only did he feel it necessary to reiterate his assurances that nothing but a desire to trade for greenstone had brought him to Kaiapoi, but he did more. With a recklessness which only a critical situation could justify, he permitted his principal lieutenants--a liberty hitherto denied them--to freely enter the enemy's _pa_, and carry on, with well-simulated earnestness, negotiations for the exchange of greenstone for their own ancient fire-arms and doubtful powder. Amongst the first of the Ngati-Toa chiefs to avail himself of this permission was Te Pehi,[88] who, it will be remembered, had, with fatal enthusiasm, inspired the raid, and urged it upon an unwilling leader. Together with Pokaitara, Te Aratangata, Te Kohua, Te Hua Piko, and several other chiefs equally renowned in Ngati-Toa warfare, Te Pehi continued to visit and revisit the _pa_ for several days, carrying on a brisk trade, and incidentally noting the interior arrangements of the fortress, its people, and the chances of its speedy capture. Meanwhile, the Ngai-Tahu agent in Te Rauparaha's camp was not idle, and not the least of Hakitara's successes was the fact that he had been able to ingratiate himself into the good opinion of Te Rauparaha. That astute personage, usually so keen a judge of character, was completely deceived by the clever Nga-Puhi, whom he had hopes of weaning from the Ngai-Tahu cause. To this end he presented him with one of the most attractive of his slaves, a lady named Te Aka, whose charms it was hoped would prove sufficiently strong to draw the Nga-Puhi warrior back to the north. But Te Rauparaha's cold calculations were soon set at naught by the warmth of a human heart. Te Aka was not a free woman. She was a slave, whose _pa_ and whose people had been overrun and destroyed by the ruthless invader, and within her breast there burned the undying desire and hope for revenge. Therefore, when she and Hakitara came to understand each other, there was soon a joint wit at work to worst the man who fondly believed that the human passions were being harnessed to his political schemes. So confident was he that he would win Hakitara over, that he neglected even ordinary prudence in discussing his plans within his hearing. To such excess was this overconfidence carried, that one night he called his chiefs together to a council of war, which was held under the eaves of the _whare_ which Hakitara occupied, where every word could be heard by the occupants. Here the whole scheme of the capture of Kaiapoi was discussed and decided upon; and so hopeful was Te Rauparaha of success, that he boastingly remarked to Te Rangihaeata, "Soon we shall have our _pa_." "Beware of the Nga-Puhi man," was Rangihaeata's whispered advice; but Rauparaha dismissed the warning by an impatient gesture and a petulant remark that nothing was to be feared from that quarter. Hakitara had, however, been greedily listening to all that had passed, and when the council broke up he was in possession of every detail of the tactics by which the _pa_ was to be assaulted on the morrow. As might be surmised, sleep came but fitfully to the faithful Hakitara that night, and just as the first silver ray of dawn was breaking in the east, he rose, and, wrapping himself in a large dog-skin mat, crept out of the hut into the grey morning, determined to warn his friends in the _pa_, if fortune did not desert him. The Maori system of warfare, though quaint in many respects, was practical enough to include the posting of sentries round the camps; and, even if they were not invariably vigilant, there was always the risk that one might happen to be watchful at an awkward moment. This fear haunted Hakitara as, with beating heart, he wormed his way between the huts and through the tufts of waving tussock grass. Tradition records that he was successful in eluding a direct challenge; and when he was well beyond the circuit of the sentries, he rose to his feet and ran with all his speed to the nearest gate of the _pa_. The gate was instantly opened to him, and in a hurried whisper he bade the keeper summon the chiefs to a conference in a neighbouring house. When the warriors were assembled, he disclosed to them in hot, hurried words all that he knew of Ngati-Toa's intentions, which, in remembrance of a treaty negotiated only the previous day, could be regarded in no other light than as a shameless breach of faith. The council decided that they would not wait for the blow to fall upon them from outside, but would forestall the northerners in their own methods. They knew that some of the Ngati-Toa chiefs would, in keeping with the custom of the past few days, visit them again for the purpose of trade; and they were hopeful that, by a special effort, they might be able to induce the great Te Rauparaha himself to come within the gates. It was agreed that the chiefs, once within the walls, should be attacked and killed, and that then a sortie should be made upon the unsuspecting camp outside. Scarcely had this decision been arrived at, when Te Pehi and several of his fellow-chiefs entered the _pa_ and began to mix with the populace, who were now busy preparing for the business of the day, and were in total ignorance of the decision of their leaders or the circumstances which had dictated it. There was thus no change in the demeanour of the people to excite uneasiness in the minds of Te Pehi and his friends. They, on the other hand, knowing that their plans were nearing fruition, and believing that the _pa_ was virtually in the hollow of their hands, adopted a more insolent air, and were at no pains to conceal the contempt with which they regarded the rights of Ngai-Tahu property. Thus, Te Pehi boldly entered one of the houses, and seizing a large block of greenstone, attached to it a rope of flax, and proceeded to drag it towards the Hiaka-rere gate, evidently intending to carry it into the northern camp. The _pa_ was now alive with men and women, for the day was well on, and the audacious cupidity of Te Pehi aroused both astonishment and anger. As he strode towards the gate, he had to pass a group of excited onlookers sitting in the _marae_, or open space which served the purpose of a sports ground. One of these, Moimoi, rose and challenged Te Pehi's right to purloin his greenstone in that unceremonious fashion. With scorn unspeakable, Te Pehi turned upon his interrogator, and in tones of bitter contempt inquired by what right he, a menial, dared to call in question the actions of a chief. "You of the crooked tattoo, what use would your ugly head be to me if I were to carry it back with me to Kapiti? It would be worth nothing towards the purchase of a musket. But," said he, turning to a stalwart native standing near by, "here is a man whose head would be worth the taking, but you with the worthless head, how dare you cavil at the actions of the great Te Pehi?" The slighting reference to the inartistic facial decoration of Moimoi was intended to be particularly insulting, for every native was wont to pride himself upon the completeness of his _moko_, and Te Pehi had good reason to regard himself as something of an authority upon this branch of Maori art, for his own tattoo was more than usually elaborate. But the most alarming portion of his taunt was his thinly-veiled reference to the sale of Moimoi's head. Every one knew that at this period a considerable traffic had sprung up in native heads,[89] which were preserved by a crude process and traded away to Europeans in exchange for muskets. Te Pehi's reference to the matter could, then, only be taken as an indication that during his visits to the _pa_ he had lent his eye to business, and, in this connection, business meant the assault and sacking of the fortress. The full force of this indiscreet admission had flashed upon the astonished listeners; but, before they could reply, their attention was diverted from the arrogance of Te Pehi by another incident which had occurred at the Hiaka-rere gate. Pokaitara, one of Te Rauparaha's most intrepid lieutenants, had approached this entrance, and was seeking admission to the _pa_, which was being denied him. Observing who the visitor was, Rongotara, the superior resident chief of Kaiapoi, ordered the keeper of the gate to admit him, exclaiming as he did so, "Welcome my younger brother's lord," a reference to the fact that Rongotara's brother had been made a prisoner at Omihi by Pokaitara, and was at that moment in his keeping. The gate was immediately thrown open; but the Ngati-Toa had no sooner bent his head beneath the portal than Rongotara dealt him a crushing blow with his _miti_, or stone club, which he was carrying in his hand, and the lifeless body fell with a heavy thud to the ground. It was this opening episode in the Ngai-Tahu policy of checkmate which had suddenly diverted attention from Te Pehi. But the incident had been as visible to him as to those around him, and the moment he saw it, the critical nature of his own position dawned upon him, and, taking no further thought of the greenstone, he sprang with the agility of a tiger towards the south-western angle of the palisading, and commenced to scramble up the wall by clutching the vines which bound the upright posts together. His plunge for safety would probably have proved successful--for several shots which were fired at him flew wide of the mark--had not Tangatahara, a Ngai-Tahu warrior of great strength and personal courage, closed with him, and, pulling him to the ground, despatched him with a blow from his tomahawk.[90] The other northern chiefs who were in the _pa_ were apprised of the mêlée which was proceeding by the sound of the fire-arms discharged against Te Pehi, and were not slow to grasp the situation. Realising that they had been trapped, they knew that it would be of little use attempting to escape by the regular gateways, which were all securely guarded; and, with one exception, those who were free to do so flew to the walls, hoping to scale them, and so get safely to their camp. But they were for the most part either overpowered by numbers and tomahawked on the spot, or were shot while scrambling up the _aka_ vines. The exception referred to was Te Aratangata, who happened to be at the northern end of the _pa_, and was at this juncture bargaining to secure a famous greenstone _mere_ called by the Ngai-Tahu people "Te Rau-hikihiki." The moment he saw what was happening, he dashed toward the gate Huirapa, hoping to force his way past the guard, who, he supposed, could offer but feeble resistance to his own exceptional strength, courage, and skill. There is every reason to believe that Rongotara rather precipitated matters by killing Pokaitara at the gate, as it had been decided that an attempt should first be made to induce the great Te Rauparaha himself to enter the _pa_, in the hope of including him in the holocaust. Still, the plans of the Kaiapoi chiefs were sufficiently mature to meet the emergency when it suddenly arose; and so Te Aratangata discovered to his alarm that, although he was at the further end of the _pa_ from that at which Te Pehi had been attacked, he was just as closely surrounded by enemies. When he started for the gate, he had virtually to fight every inch of the way. He had little difficulty in disposing of the first few who intercepted his path; but, as he drew nearer to the gate, his assailants increased, and before he had struggled on many yards he was attacked by over twenty persons armed with all manner of weapons. Against those who ventured at close quarters he valiantly defended himself with his _mere_, all the time pressing on towards the gate. A gun-shot wound temporarily checked his onward course, and he was soon further handicapped by several spear-thrusts, which left the spears dangling in the fleshy parts of his body, and from which he found it impossible to disengage himself, pressed as he was on every side. These difficulties perceptibly weakened his defence, but he was still able to fight on, keeping his opponents at bay by swift and desperate blows with his _mere_, which, up to this moment, had accounted for all who had ventured within his reach. The brave Ngati-Toa had now reached within a few paces of the gate, and may have even yet had dreams of escape, when the crowning disaster came in the breaking of his _mere_. A shot, which had been intended for his body, struck the greenstone blade, and shattered the faithful weapon into a hundred fragments, leaving only the butt in Aratangata's hand. Now utterly defenceless, weakened by his wounds, and hampered by the dragging spears, the undaunted chief turned upon his assailants, and, with his last strength, grappled with those who came within his reach. The unequal struggle could not, however, be long maintained. Emboldened by his helpless condition, his pursuers pressed in upon him with angry tumult, and he was borne to the ground by Te Koreke, who finished the deadly work with a succession of blows with his tomahawk upon the prostrate warrior's head and neck. So fell Te Aratangata, and so fell the flower of the Ngati-Toa tribe that day. In all, eight great chiefs[91] were killed, who, by their heroism on the field and their sagacity in council, had materially aided Te Rauparaha in all his great achievements. They had added brilliancy to his battles, lustre to his victories, and had lent a wisdom to his administration, whereby the fruits of his enterprise had not been wasted by internecine strife. So dire a tragedy as the death of the princes of his tribe was a great blow to Te Rauparaha. But it is doubtful whether the sacrifice of so much mental and physical fibre was more keenly felt by the Ngati-Toa chief than the loss of prestige and damage to his reputation, which he might reasonably apprehend from his being outwitted at his own game, and that, too, by a people whom he had hitherto despised as opponents. That they would turn upon him in what he chose to regard as an unprovoked attack was something which was not reckoned upon in his philosophy, for he had trusted to his blandishments to soothe away their suspicions, or to his great name and reputation to awe them into submission. And when the blow fell, and he saw his patiently laid plans tumbling about his ears, he received the result with mingled feelings of surprise, indignation, and something akin to dismay. In this frame of mind he deemed it expedient to anticipate any further unexpected eventualities by withdrawing his force and making good his retreat with as little delay as possible. Consequently his camp was at once broken up, and the little army made its dejected way across the plain to Double Corner, where the canoes had been left, and next day Te Rauparaha set sail for Omihi and Kapiti, having, as the result of his first raid upon Kaiapoi,[92] added neither greenstone to his treasure nor glory to his reputation as a warrior. For the better part of two years Te Rauparaha nursed his wrath against Ngai-Tahu, and spent the intervening time in devising schemes whereby he might secure a vengeance commensurate with the disgrace of his repulse and the death of his well-loved friends. One thing on which he had fully determined was that Ngai-Tahu should pay for their temerity with the purest of their blood, for he would take no plebeian in payment for so royal a soul as Te Pehi. His schemes were therefore directed against the life of Tamaiharanui,[93] who has already been described as the embodiment of spiritual and temporal power in the southern tribe. He was the hereditary representative of all that stood for nobility amongst the sons of Tahu. His person was regarded as so sacred that the common people scarcely dared to look upon his face. He could only be addressed by his fellow-chiefs with the greatest deference and in the most reverential language; and if, while passing through the congested streets of a village, his shadow should fall upon a _whata_ or a _rua_, the storehouse and its contents would be immediately destroyed, to prevent the sacrilege of a tribesman consuming food upon which even the shade of so sacred a personage had lighted. Indeed, so sanctified and ceremonious an individual was he, that his presence was sometimes oppressive to those who were not accustomed to live in an atmosphere of ritual; for the slightest disregard of what was due to one so endowed with the spirit of the gods might involve them at any moment in the loss of possessions, and even of life. [Illustration: GILLET's WHALING STATION, KAPITI, 1842. From a sketch by Gilfillan, by kind permission of Miss Gilfillan.] To secure so eminent a scion of Ngai-Tahu aristocracy would be a trophy indeed; but Te Rauparaha knew that it was no ordinary task that he was contemplating. An attack upon regular lines might easily defeat its own purpose, for a chief so sacred to the tribe as Tamaiharanui would scarcely be permitted to sacrifice himself upon the field of battle, even if his own inclinations impelled him to lead his people, a point of personal courage by no means too well established.[94] Strategy must therefore be employed, and it must be strategy of the most delicate kind, for, in the naïve language of the younger Te Rauparaha, "the chief must be enticed, even as the _kaka_ is enticed." For the scheme which was finally adopted it has been claimed that Te Rauparaha was not originally responsible, but that the idea was first conceived by a relative of his, named Hohepa Tama-i-hengia, who had been working on board a whaler in the southern latitudes, and heard the story of Te Pehi's death on the ship calling in at a bay on the coast of Otago. Hohepa, who, in his contact with the European, had lost none of that eternal thirst for revenge which marked the ancient Maori, at once besought the captain to employ his vessel in the capture of Tamaiharanui, promising a large reward from Te Rauparaha on his handing over the prisoner at Kapiti. The captain, however, was discouraged in the idea by the rest of the ship's company, who were eager to reach Queen Charlotte Sound, there to resume their whaling operations; and thus the execution of the brilliant suggestion had perforce to be suspended until the ingenious author of it himself reached Kapiti. There the daring plan was laid before the fighting chiefs of the tribe, who were readily convinced of its practicability. Their first overtures were made to Captain Briggs, whose ship, the _Dragon_, was then lying at Kapiti. This seaman has, with a frankness amounting to brutality, explained that he ultimately declined their proposals, not because the enterprise was repugnant to him, but because Te Rauparaha insisted upon taking more men with him than he deemed it prudent to carry in his ship. The manner in which the captain of the _Dragon_ was approached was diplomatic in the extreme. The chiefs explained to him that Te Pehi had been to England, and that, as a mark of gratitude for his generous treatment there, he had always been the friend of the English. Tamaiharanui, on the other hand, had killed more white men than any other chief in New Zealand, from which fact they adroitly argued that they and Captain Briggs had a mutual interest in compassing his death. Briggs seems to have been convinced that Tamaiharanui was a "monster," whose death would be a distinct benefit to society, and he unhesitatingly offered to take Te Rauparaha and two of his best men to Akaroa to effect the capture. Te Rauparaha and Te Hiko, however, stipulated for twenty men; but, as the cautious Briggs considered that "this would have given the chiefs more power in the vessel than he cared to part with," he declined further discussion. This rebuff delayed, but did not extinguish, the purpose of the chiefs. They still hoped that other captains would be more amenable to persuasion or more susceptible to reward. There was thus considerable excitement at Kapiti on a certain day towards the close of the year 1830, when a vessel was seen rounding the Taheke Point, and the cry of "A ship, a ship!" was raised from every corner of the settlement. Rauparaha immediately ordered out his canoe, and, putting off with Te Hiko and a full crew, boarded the stranger, which proved to be the British brig _Elizabeth_ of 236 tons, commanded by Captain Stewart.[95] The chiefs were fortunate in the type of man with whom they had come to negotiate. Stewart was one of the semi-buccaneer breed, who, at this period, were all too common in these waters, and whose depredations have contributed so many of the ugly pages of our country's history. Nor was this case to be an exception. Before committing himself, however, Stewart took the precaution of consulting Captain Briggs, who advised him not to undertake to carry more natives on board than he could safely control. But this counsel[96] was not followed, and a bargain was eventually struck, whereby it was agreed that the captain was to carry the chiefs and their party to Whanga-roa (now Akaroa) Harbour in Banks's Peninsula, in consideration for which he was to receive fifty tons of dressed flax--valued roughly at £1,200--immediately upon his return to Kapiti. The conclusion of this contract gave intense satisfaction to the chiefs, and according to his son, "the heart of Te Rauparaha lived in joy." Some of the apologists for Captain Stewart have endeavoured to show that he was not made fully aware of the real intentions of the chiefs, and that, when the savage purpose of the voyage was borne in upon him, he was then powerless to avert the tragic scenes which were afterwards enacted. It has been further urged in extenuation of his crime that, when he arrived on the coast of New Zealand, he discovered to his dismay that his cargo was totally unsuitable to excite trade with the natives, and that he was, therefore, constrained, in the interests of his employers, to accept a charter against which there was no law, and which promised a rich and speedy remuneration. What measure of truth there may be in the former defence it is now difficult to determine. It is possible that events developed in a manner and to an extent that had not been contemplated by Stewart; but it must be remembered that he had discussed with due deliberation the whole project with his friend Captain Briggs, and that, if he afterwards found himself powerless to control the passions of his charterers, the blame was entirely his own for disdaining the advice of his fellow captain regarding a limitation of numbers. As to the unmarketable nature of his cargo, that specious plea is flatly disproved by the ship's manifest. So far from the goods carried being unsuitable for trade, there was scarcely anything brought in the _Elizabeth_ for which the natives were not eagerly craving. Indeed, there is no room to doubt that, had Captain Stewart chosen to confine himself to legitimate commerce, he could have easily bartered his guns and his powder, his flints and his tobacco, for a cargo which would have given his employers an adequate return, without requiring his zeal in their behalf to outrage the feelings of humanity. Similarly, it is scarcely to be supposed that Stewart's knowledge of the law was so wide that he was aware there was no statutory decree prohibiting his entering into this unholy compact. He was clearly just as indifferent to its moral aspect as he was unaware of its legal bearing. Otherwise he would have known that, viewed from this standpoint, there was no distinction between a crime committed against a savage and that perpetrated upon a civilised being. The absence of any law regulating the conduct of individuals placed in such circumstances is no palliation for the outrage which he committed; and, so far from his being unwittingly led into an error of judgment, his treatment of Tamaiharanui after his capture dispels any supposition that he had repented of his bargain, or that he was in the least degree revolted by the excesses of the natives. Having regard to these facts, the impression conveyed by a study of the general character of the man, as revealed by his actions, is, that the purpose of the voyage would not have caused him much scruple, so long as the reward was ample and easily obtained. Howbeit, a few days after the bargain was struck, he received on board his vessel Te Rauparaha and one hundred and seventy of his followers, accompanied by five of his remaining lieutenants--Te Rangihaeata, Te Hiko, Tungia, and Tama-i-hengia, and on October 29th set sail for Banks's Peninsula. The voyage appears to have been propitious enough, for, in due course, the vessel arrived at Whanga-roa Harbour, on the shores of which then stood the Takapuneke _pa_, and now nestles the sequestered town of Akaroa.[97] The coming of a ship was an event much more rare at Akaroa than it was at Kapiti, and, consequently, the natives of the _pa_ were stirred to the highest pitch of excitement, and desired to enter into immediate trade with the vessel, which they misjudged to be an honest whaler.[98] Meanwhile Te Rauparaha had carefully concealed all his men beneath the hatches, and enjoined upon them the strictest seclusion; for the success of his scheme altogether depended upon the concealment of the fact that a force of natives was on board. Acting under instructions from the chief, Captain Stewart, through his interpreter, forbade any of the resident natives to board the _Elizabeth_ until Tamaiharanui had returned; for it so happened that, at the time of the brig's arrival at Akaroa, that chief was absent from his _pa_, superintending the preparation of a cargo of flax which he had sold to an English captain. A message was accordingly despatched to Wairewa, urging him to come and see a _pakeha_ who was eager to trade. It was not, however, till the eighth day that Tama arrived, and, during all that time, the Ngati-Toa warriors had been cooped up under the hatches, being permitted only a few minutes on deck under the cover of darkness. These precautions prevented any suspicion reaching the shore; and yet some doubt seems to have lurked in the minds of the resident people, for they eagerly inquired of Cowell, the interpreter, whether there were any natives on board, and were put off with the laughing assurance that such was impossible, as the vessel had just come down from Sydney. This statement was seemingly fair enough; but, if Sydney was the last port of call, how came those _hutiwai_ burrs clinging to the clothes of some of the crew, which a keen-eyed native had just espied? _Hutiwai_ burrs do not grow in Sydney, nor upon the broad ocean. Then the lie that came handiest was that on the way down they had called at the Bay of Islands, and the sailors had probably picked up the burrs while carousing on shore. The evasion, however palpable, was at least successful in silencing the doubts which were just growing to dangerous proportions in the minds of Tamaiharanui's people, and the incident had no influence in cooling their ardour for trade, for further messengers were shortly afterwards despatched to hasten their chief's coming. When Tamaiharanui came, he brought with him his wife, Te Whe, his sister, and his little daughter Ngaroimata,[99] a name full of pathetic suggestion. He was cordially welcomed by the captain, who invited him to his cabin below with every show of courtesy and hospitality. But no sooner was the chief seated than the door opened, and, to his intense amazement, his mortal enemies, Te Rauparaha and Te Hiko, stood before him. To overpower and bind him was the work of but a few moments, and then the Ngati-Toa let loose upon him the full flood of their invective, taunting him in bitter scorn with his infantile simplicity in falling so easily into their trap. Te Hiko added insult to injury by advancing and drawing back the captive's upper lip, sneeringly remarking, "So these are the teeth which ate my father." In all innocence of what was passing within the cabin, the followers of Tamaiharanui swarmed round the ship's side in their canoes, clamouring for admission, so that they might trade for the needful guns and casks of powder. This permission was granted to a few at a time, who, immediately they reached the deck, were conducted by the crew to the open hatchway and promptly shoved headlong into the hold, where they were secured by Te Rauparaha's men and made prisoners as easily and as simply as their chief had been. The failure of these people to return to the shore evidently did not excite any uneasiness. It was no uncommon thing for natives visiting a ship in the offing to remain for several days, or even longer, if their presence could be tolerated. Events were thus playing into the hands of Te Rauparaha more effectually even than he might have reasonably expected; and so, on the evening of the second day after the capture of Tamaiharanui, having secured all the visitors to the ship, he was now in a position to deal with those who had remained on land. Boats were accordingly got out some hours after nightfall, and a strong and well-armed party was sent ashore to attack the Takapuneke _pa_. Ngai-Tahu accounts of this fight would have us believe that an heroic resistance was offered to a cyclonic assault; but the circumstances render such an account most improbable. The place was not a fighting _pa_, and for the purposes of war was practically defenceless. The people, too, were awakened from their sleep by the tumult of the attack, and, shorn as they were of their leaders and their warriors, there was little hope of any organised defence being made. The attack therefore became a rout, and the rout a massacre; and before morning broke the people of Akaroa were either helpless captives, bound in the evil-smelling hold of a ship, fugitives flying for dear life, or lying dead amongst the smoking ruins of their ancestral home. Having achieved a complete success, Te Rauparaha collected a quantity of human flesh for consumption on the voyage, and set sail for Kapiti, where the final scene in the tragedy was to be enacted. Tamaiharanui and his family were housed in one of the fore cabins, and apparently some degree of liberty was permitted him, for on the first night out from Akaroa,[100] he, after consultation with his wife, seized a favourable opportunity to strangle his little daughter as she lay asleep, and afterwards cast the lifeless body into the sea. This extreme course he justified to his conscience as averting the eternal disgrace of her ever becoming the wife of one of his enemies. His unnatural action, however, had the effect of rousing the fury of his captors.[101] Fearing that his next step would be to take his own life, and so deprive them of the legitimate fruits of their mission, they took immediate and adequate precautions by pinioning him fast in a position which caused him exquisite torture, and his sufferings they watched with intense delight. On the voyage northward high revels were kept by the natives, who, if the interpreter's testimony is to be credited, were even permitted to cook the flesh of their victims in the ship's coppers, without protest from the captain or any of his equally degenerate crew. Upon the arrival of the _Elizabeth_ at Kapiti, on the 11th of November, the _pas_ were almost deserted, the majority of the people being absent in the swamps and on the hill-sides, preparing the flax which was to be Captain Stewart's payment. The news, however, soon spread that the great Ngai-Tahu chief was a captive on board, and crowds came flocking from the mainland to verify the reported triumph of their leader. The major part of the prisoners were landed on the 12th of November, and the natives now expected that Tamaiharanui would also be handed over to them at once, to be disposed of in their own fashion. But on this point Captain Stewart was obdurate, for he probably saw but little prospect of securing his flax if once the prisoner passed beyond his keeping. He therefore resisted the tribe's demands for this species of _habeas corpus_, and detained the chief, heaping upon him the additional pain and ignominy of keeping him in irons until he could be redeemed by the fulfilment of Te Rauparaha's promise. Either this was no simple matter, or, more likely still, his followers, having to some extent satisfied their craving for excitement and revenge, relaxed their efforts in the fields, preferring to discuss in the _kaingas_ the strange adventures of their comrades at Akaroa. From whatever cause, there was a distinct failure on their part to complete the contract. Day after day went past, and still a residue of the flax was wanting. At the end of six weeks, Captain Stewart was persuaded that it was hopeless to wait longer, and, probably wishing himself well out of the whole business, he handed Tamaiharanui over to Te Rauparaha, and made his course with all speed to Sydney, arriving on January 14, 1831.[102] The prisoner was taken on shore in Rauparaha's canoe, and, at a great feast held in honour of the occasion, was surrendered to the wives of Te Pehi to do with him as they pleased. A final appeal for life was made to his captor by Tama; but Te Rauparaha took high ground, and replied that if it was a matter that rested with himself, he would most certainly spare him, but the death of Te Pehi was a calamity which affected the whole tribe of Ngati-Toa, and hence the final decision must rest with them. About the precise time and mode[103] of the unfortunate chief's death there is much doubt, for scarcely any two accounts agree, except in the central fact that Tamaiharanui subsequently met his fate at the hands of Tiaia, Te Pehi's principal widow. The most favourable view of this lady's conduct in revenging the death of her lamented husband is given us by her own tribe, who have averred that "on landing, the chief was given up to the widow of Te Pehi, who took him and his wife to her own house, giving up half to their use. They talked like friends to each other, and the widow behaved so kindly to him, that a stranger would have taken them for man and wife, rather than a doomed captive and his implacable enemy. She used even to clothe him in her finest garments and deck his head with choice feathers. This continued for about two weeks, until she had assembled her friends, or thought her victim sufficiently fat to kill.[104] She then suddenly caused him to be seized and bound, with his arms stretched to a tree, and whilst he was in this position she took a long iron spear, with which she stabbed him in the jugular artery, and drank his warm blood as it gushed forth." Harrowing as this spectacle must have been, and awful as it is to contemplate, it must be remembered that the manner of Tamaiharanui's death was not more savage than that of many another leader of men, perpetrated in Christian countries and in the name of a higher cause. By the Maori code the death of the Akaroa chief was not only justified, but necessary to appease the spirit of the departed Te Pehi, and the more humiliating his death, the more adequate the compensation to the dead. A student[105] of Maori life and character, than whom perhaps none have had better opportunities of mastering Ngai-Tahu history, and who, from his calling, could scarcely be accused of callousness towards Tamaiharanui's sufferings, has given it as his mature opinion that, "base as the means adopted for his capture were, and cruel as his fate was, it is impossible to feel much pity for Tamaiharanui. His punishment was hardly more than he deserved. The treatment he received at the hands of Ngati-Toa was little more than a repetition of the cruelties which he had himself inflicted upon members of his own tribe." Possibly the knowledge that he would not have acted differently himself assisted the unhappy captive to resign himself to his fate. For, although he has been described as both cruel and cowardly, by one whose verdict it is not easy to challenge, this much must be laid to his credit: that neither the mental nor the physical torture invented for him by his barbarous enemies was sufficient to break down his rugged fortitude or to tame his defiant spirit. When the _Elizabeth_ reached Sydney, the circumstances attending the death of the Akaroa chief were reported to Governor Darling by Mr. Gordon Browne, and the Governor, with commendable promptitude, ordered the arrest of Stewart and proceeded to put him on his trial. The depositions were referred to the Crown Solicitor on February 17, but that official expressed doubts as to the statutory power of the colony to bring the offender to justice, it not being clear whether offences committed in New Zealand against New Zealanders were punishable under the laws of New South Wales.[106] Darling was in no way disconcerted by this legal difficulty, but urged with some vehemence that the point should be tested, holding that it was "a case in which the character of the nation was implicated, and that every possible exertion should be used to bring the offenders to justice." Stewart retained Dr. Wardell, a lawyer eminent in his day, for his defence, and while the officers of the Crown were seeking to make good their ground, the delay was utilised to spirit away the witnesses whose testimony might be fatal to Stewart. Meanwhile, the _Elizabeth_ was allowed to put to sea under another captain, and Stewart was held on bail, notwithstanding the strenuous protests of his counsel. With the witnesses out of the way, Dr. Wardell became more confident, and boldly demanded the release of his client. But the Governor could not but be influenced by the prayer of the more honourably disposed white residents of New Zealand, who expressed the fear that their "lives would be made answerable for the proceedings of their countrymen," or by the touching appeal of the natives, who came personally to plead that speedy steps might be taken by England to put a curb upon the unbridled behaviour of her degenerate sons. The curb which Darling proposed to apply was to appoint a resident representative of the colony in New Zealand, and he suggested to the Secretary of State for the Colonies that Captain Sturt[107] should be employed in this capacity. The carrying out of this scheme was delayed by the recall of the Governor, and the appointment of Sir Richard Bourke as his successor, to whom Darling deemed it prudent to leave the initiation of a system which it would be his lot to administer. All this time justice was tardily picking her way amongst the complicated meshes of the law, and it was not until the 21st of May that Stewart was called upon to face his trial. Even then the Crown Solicitor was not prepared to proceed upon the main indictment, but sought to get a conviction upon a minor offence, to which course Dr. Wardell took the strongest exception, and warmly demanded the discharge of Stewart's recognisances. The Crown justified its action on the ground that its witnesses were not forthcoming, for great remissness had been shown in letting them depart; and, notwithstanding Dr. Wardell's protest that it was unfair "to hold Stewart to bail in a sum of £2,000 for an indefinite period," the Chief Justice decided to adjourn the matter, and allow it to come up for consideration on a future day. When that day arrived, the Crown Solicitor was still unready, and applied for leave to abandon the charge of misdemeanour, and proceed upon the main information so soon as his witnesses were available. But his witnesses were the same intangible quantity that they had been ever since they had first vanished, and there was not the remotest prospect of their appearing. Dr. Wardell knew this, and bantered his learned friend upon his unfortunate predicament, in which he was compelled to "skip from a charge of murder to a misdemeanour, and then to murder back again." He earnestly pleaded the hardship imposed upon Stewart by these delays, for which he was in no way responsible, and claimed either instant dismissal or immediate trial for his client, who, he believed, or affected to believe, was the unhappy victim of circumstances.[108] To all this the Crown might have justly retorted that the disability placed upon Stewart was gentleness itself compared with his own conduct towards his fettered captive. Possibly this view was influencing the Court, for it still refused to take the responsibility at that stage of discharging the prisoner, but appointed the 20th June as the day on which Dr. Wardell might make application for the discharge of Stewart's recognisances. But when, after further adjournments, that application was argued on June 30th, the Crown was unable to convince the Court that the accused man should be indefinitely detained, and the Bench, reluctantly, no doubt, announced that he must be "discharged on his own recognisances in the sum of £1,000." So ended Governor Darling's sincere endeavour to make national reparation for one of the blackest crimes which have ever dishonoured the relations of the white man with the Maori, a deed which must be counted dark even at a time when the spirit of humanity seemed to slumber. Whatever palliation the apologist may find for the rough sea captain, whose occupation and environment were not conducive to the gentler qualities, it is not to the credit of a civilised community that its public opinion was apathetic in the presence of such an atrocity as that in which Captain Stewart had steeped his hands. It is to be feared that the Governor failed to receive the support from his officers, or from the community, which a jealousy for the national honour might have demanded;[109] while it is equally true that active sympathy with Stewart was largely responsible for the ease with which the witnesses were got out of the way. It was, perhaps, due to the fact that he was never brought to trial, rather than to any other cause, that no jury of Sydneyites acquitted Stewart. The tidings of Te Rauparaha's successes in the south were rapidly filtering to the ears of his friends in the north, by the agency of the devoted messengers who were repeatedly travelling backwards to their old home. With each fresh tale of victory told by ardent tongues to wondering ears, some new hope or ambition was awakened in the breast of the Ngati-Raukawa who still lingered in their settlements round Lake Taupo. Apart from the larger migrations which from time to time came down to join Te Rauparaha, less important bands were continually being attracted by the glory of Ngati-Toa's splendid achievements. Many of these soldiers of fortune reached Otaki and Kapiti with little adventure; for there was no inclination on the part of the subdued remnant of the Ngati-Apa to risk a conflict with these fiery spirits as they pushed across the ferny hills of Rangitikei. But one small company, travelling further to the northward than was customary, came into conflict with, and met disaster at the hands of, the Whanganui people, who secured the momentary advantage of a victory. From out of this defeat, two young men, Te Puke and his brother, Te Ao, succeeded in making their way to Kapiti, where the story of their misfortune made a deep impression upon chiefs and people alike. But matters more urgent and nearer home were pressing in upon the chief, and because of lack of opportunity, rather than of desire, the day of reckoning with Whanganui must be indefinitely postponed. The business which thus preoccupied the mind of Te Rauparaha was the need of adjusting the differences and unravelling the complications, which were daily accumulating, as the result of accretions to his forces. With the arrival of every new contingent of warriors, provision had to be made for their immediate entertainment, and for their ultimate settlement on the land, in order to leave them comfortable and contented. This their mutual jealousies made somewhat difficult, and no small measure of diplomacy was needed to avert civil ruptures, such as afterwards threatened to destroy all that unity and unquestioning devotion to his authority had accomplished. Though there was this simmering of discontent between the men of Ngati-Raukawa and Ngati-Awa, fortunately for Te Rauparaha no crisis occurred, and any ill-feeling that might lead to such an event was soon forgotten in the thrilling announcement that another attempt was about to be made to capture the great _pa_ at Kaiapoi. This decision was, we are led to understand, arrived at somewhat hurriedly, and was largely accelerated because of a vision seen by a hoary seer of the tribe, who had interpreted the manifestation as a mandate to go forward to the attack. His _mata_, or prophecy, has been preserved amongst the oral treasures of Ngati-Toa, and has been freely translated as follows:-- "What is the wind? It is north-east, it is south. It is east in the offing, oh! Come then, O Raha! That you may see the fire On the crimson flat of Kaiapohia. By the prow of the canoe, By the handle of the paddle, The hold of the canoe of Maui May be overturned to cover it. Then pound, pound the sea! And stir it with your paddles. Behold my flock of curlews Hovering over the backwater Of that Waipara there. The fight will be on the other side; Embrace it, get closer and closer. Fierce will rage the fight." It might be supposed that, with the capture and death of Tamaiharanui, and all the carnage that had followed upon the Akaroa raid, Te Rauparaha would have felt that he had taken sufficient vengeance upon Ngai-Tahu for the slaying of Te Pehi and his comrades in arms. We are, however, assured by an authority deeply versed in the intricacies of Maori etiquette that no such limit was placed upon his actions, and that, so far from his proposal to again attack Kaiapoi being anything but strictly "correct," no alternative course would have adequately met the exigencies of the case. No sooner, therefore, was the chief's decision to obey the _tohunga's_ call to arms publicly proclaimed, than preparatory measures on an exceptional scale were commenced with alacrity and enthusiasm. There was to be no trifling with the occasion, which, it was generally understood, would be pregnant with the fate of tribes; for Te Rauparaha had determined that as the result of this priest-ordained raid either Ngati-Toa or Ngai-Tahu would be for ever humbled in the dust. The force to be raised was to consist of seven hundred and fifty warriors, and only the pick of the men were to be taken--the Ngati-Toa, the Ngati-Raukawa and Ngati-Awa tribes contributing their quota in nearly equal proportions. The traffic in arms and ammunition had now become so lucrative at Kapiti that there was no difficulty in arming every man with a musket more or less serviceable. Food was also abundant, for so rich had been the harvest of captives that at this time, it is said, Te Rauparaha had upwards of two thousand slaves constantly employed in planting or reaping the crops, which grew abundantly on the alluvial flats along the mainland coast. The question of transport presented greater difficulty. The conveyance of so large a force across the rough waters of Cook Strait was a serious problem, as there was no adequate supply of canoes for the purpose. This perplexity was, however, solved by the decision to transport the force in sections. The first division was to be landed at the Wairau, with instructions to march over the inland track, which led through the wild and picturesque Wairau Gorge, and over the Hanmer Plains, to a rendezvous appointed for them at the mouth of the Waipara River. While this detour was being made purely in the interests of adventure, the remainder of the warriors were to embark at Kapiti, and make their way by slow stages down the coast, until they should unite with the inland party at the Waipara. Here the canoes were to be beached, and the whole force was then to march rapidly upon the doomed _pa_, in the hope of surprising the inhabitants and carrying the fortress by one swift and resolute stroke. So soon as the summer of 1831 was sufficiently advanced,[110] these plans were put into execution, and, as far as is known, were carried out with admirable precision. The two sections of the allied forces met at the appointed place, and, with as little delay as was permissible, set off in good order across the plain. But their movements had not been so secretly conducted as could have been wished; for the fleet of canoes had been espied coming down the coast, and a breathless messenger had carried the startling intelligence to the people in the _pa_. The first impulse of the latter was to gather all the people in from the fields and out-stations, and then to consult the patron deity of the tribe, and endeavour to ascertain by a process of revelation what the issue of the invasion was to be. The Rev. Canon Stack has left on record a description of the elaborate but idolatrous ceremonial by which the movements of a wooden image, dangled in the hands of a shrieking priest, were to reveal the future. The consultation of the _atua_ was most piously performed at a spot outside the _pa_, consecrated for the purpose of this and similar religious rites. There the prescribed questions were put to the nodding image, in the presence of a trembling people, and the answer, as read by the priests, was that there was to be one defeat. This prophecy they immediately interpreted as foretelling the ultimate repulse and humiliation of the approaching enemy. So satisfactory a termination to the toro was received with much congratulation, and served instantly to revive the drooping spirits of the people, who returned in jubilant procession to the _pa_. But the gates were scarcely closed before the muskets of Te Rauparaha's men were heard snapping in the distance, as they kept up a running fire upon some belated stragglers. That the _pa_ was surprised is now a matter of history, but fortunately for its slender garrison, Te Rauparaha did not realise how hopelessly unprepared they were. During the year or more which had elapsed since his raid upon Akaroa, the people of Kaiapoi had been deeply immersed in the endeavour to cultivate a trade with the itinerant whalers who paid their fitful visits to Whangaraupo[111] and other parts of Banks's Peninsula. In their anxiety to make the utmost of these infrequent opportunities, they had lost sight of the probability of another attack upon their settlement, and this unwary attitude had been encouraged by the fond belief that the difficulties of transporting from Kapiti a force large enough to assault the _pa_ with any prospect of success were so formidable that even Te Rauparaha would never seriously contemplate such an undertaking. How illusory these dreams of safety were, and how little they understood the dogged spirit of the man against whom they were called upon to contend, they now realised to their cost. At the moment of Te Rauparaha's arrival the _pa_ was deserted, except for a guard of old people and a number of women and children. The greater part of the population had only a few days before gone off to Whangaraupo, in company with the influential Otago chief Taiaroa, who had been paying a friendly visit to Kaiapoi. Some had gone merely to bid their great kinsman farewell; and so remote was the need of strong arms and stout hearts at home considered that many of the younger men were purposing to travel southward with him to Otakou.[112] Kaiapoi was thus practically denuded of its fighting men, and it says much for the courage and ingenuity of those who were left that, in this sudden emergency, they were able to make so brave a show along its ramparts as to utterly deceive the northern leader. Had the _pa_ been attacked promptly and vigorously, there is no room to doubt that it would have fallen, for its thin veneer of resistance must soon have been pierced; but this was one of the few occasions on which the Ngati-Toa chief's clearness of perception and promptness of decision failed him, and the price of his vacillation was a long weary siege, and the loss, to him, of many valuable lives. As a preliminary step in the defence of the _pa_, the Kaiapoi people had hurriedly removed the few temporary houses and fences which had been erected immediately in front of the landward approach, and which would have afforded some degree of shelter to the approaching enemy. Their destruction left not only an unbroken view of the movements of the enemy, but deprived them of every vestige of cover, so that, in rushing to the assault, they had to pass over ground exposed to the pitiless fire of the defenders. For this reason, the first attack was repulsed with considerable loss, as was also a second, which was delivered with some additional energy. The defenders had entrenched themselves behind the first line of palisades, and, with their bodies protected by the deep ditch which ran the whole width of the narrow isthmus between the converging swamps, they were able to concentrate their fire upon the advancing warriors with so deadly an effect that Te Rauparaha was led to believe the defence to be much more formidable than it really was. Surprised that his coming had been so evidently anticipated and so amply provided against, and irritated to find himself baffled in his hope of snatching a victory from a napping victim, he retired beyond the range of the Ngai-Tahu guns to deliberate on his next move. As the result of a consultation with Rangihaeata, Te Hiko, and his other lieutenants, it was agreed that all hope of carrying the fortress by a _coup de main_ must now be abandoned, and it was decided to adopt the more prosaic course of investing the _pa_ and subjecting it to the annoyance and humiliation of a regular siege. A camp was formed immediately in front of the _pa_, and so placed as to intercept the path which led to its main entrance. A wing of this camp stretched round amongst the sand-hills to the westward, so as to command the approach to the Huirapa gate. In these quarters Ngati-Toa and their allies sat down in patience, to tempt the enemy to a sortie, but ever ready to profit by any momentary looseness or indiscretion on the part of the defenders. Meantime a few of the residents of Kaiapoi who had been shut out when its gates were closed, but had succeeded in evading capture by their superior knowledge of the surrounding maze of swamps, had fled southward to carry the news of the invasion to their friends who had gone to Whangaraupo with Taiaroa. These messengers were fortunate in intercepting their tribesmen before they had departed for the south, and, at the earnest solicitation of his Kaiapoi relations, Taiaroa agreed to return and lead the defence of their fortress. All possible reinforcements were speedily gathered from the Peninsula _pas_, and the combined forces set off along the coast to endeavour to raise the siege. Their march to the Waimakariri River was rapidly executed; but here some delay was occasioned, owing to the difficulty in getting the people across the broad and rapid stream. At the cost of much labour, a _mokihi_ flotilla was constructed, on which they crossed to the northern bank; and then, fearing that their movements might be discovered if they approached nearer to the _pa_ before darkness set in, they lay down to await the fall of evening. Under the cover of darkness they resumed their march, which was still conducted with the utmost caution, more especially as they approached the vicinity of the besieged _pa_. By the glowing watch-fires which they saw in the distance they knew that the enemy was sleeplessly alert, and that any impetuosity on their part might easily prove fatal to themselves, and equally disastrous to their friends watching and waiting their coming. It had been decided that the attempt to enter the _pa_ should be made on the western side, where the swamp which fringed the fortress was narrowest, and where they could be admitted by the Huirapa gate. It is probable that when Taiaroa came to this determination he was not aware that he must pass near to a section of the enemy's camp. But here fortune favoured him, for the high wind which was blowing at the time drove those of the besiegers who were keeping watch to crouch closely over their fires, and, by agitating the surrounding foliage, aided materially in concealing the movements of the warriors as they crept cautiously through the long and waving grass. By adroitly advancing when the breeze blew with greatest violence, and throwing themselves flat upon the ground when it lulled, they drew so near to the Ngati-Toa lines that they could plainly hear the sentries conversing amongst themselves. Their position at this juncture was most critical, and in the intensity of their excitement they scarcely dared to breathe. Nothing, however, occurred to betray their presence,[113] and, at a preconcerted signal, every man rose from his concealment, and shouting, "Taiaroa to the rescue! Taiaroa to the rescue!" plunged into the dark waters of the swamp and swam towards the _pa_. It is doubtful whether the surprise of the Ngati-Toa sentries or of the defenders was the greater, as they were suddenly aroused by the tumult of the struggling horde which had swept in upon the scene. The first thought of the defenders was that a clever ruse to gain admission to the _pa_ was being practised by Te Rauparaha, and they at once lined the walls, and began a brisk fusilade upon the splashing forms in the water below. Darkness, uncertainty, and excitement, however, made their aim extremely erratic, and no damage of any consequence was done before the voices of the leaders were recognised, and what had seemed a daring and ingenious assault was discovered to be the eagerly-looked-for succour. The firing instantly ceased, and the Huirapa gate was thrown open to the dripping warriors, who, as they emerged from the water, were received in the warm embraces of their grateful friends. With the arrival of Taiaroa and of the Kaiapoi chiefs whom he had brought with him, a new spirit animated the population of the _pa_, and its defence was organised upon a more systematic plan than before. To Whakauira was entrusted the defence of the Kaitangata gate, and Weka was given a similar responsibility over Hiaka-rere. Other vulnerable points were similarly entrusted to the personal care of the best and bravest of the chiefs, who were not only to defend their particular positions against attack, but were to lead all sorties made by their own companies. In guarding against surprises, the garrison were greatly aided by a watch-tower, which stood close to the Kaitangata gate. This tower was no pillar of masonry, such as a Norman of old would have attached to his castle, but was merely the tall trunk of a totara tree, firmly set in the ground, on the top of which was perched a little wooden hutch, after the form of a native _whata_.[114] The sides of this cabin were constructed of thick wooden slabs which had been carefully tested, and demonstrated to be proof against any bullet fired from the nearest point to which an enemy could safely come. Before daylight every morning a faithful watcher crept into this elevated cabin, and, peering through slits cut in the sides, was able to command a view of all that was passing within the enemy's camp, and communicate the results of his observation to those within. In this way the defenders were able to anticipate and successfully counteract the tactics of Te Rauparaha, who, much to his chagrin, found all his movements checked. But the rôle of attack was not confined to the Ngati-Toa; for, in the early stages of the siege, frequent sorties were made by the defenders, though, it must be admitted, with but doubtful success. Their fighting was of a more emotional order than that of the northern men, who were desperate fellows, and just as willing to submit to punishment as they were to administer it. Their tenacity of purpose, combined with the fact that they were led by the most skilful native tactician of his day, gave them an undoubted superiority in these hand-to-hand contests; and the Ngai-Tahu defenders derived but little comfort from their spasmodic efforts to disperse the enemy's camp. One excursion of this kind, however, was more than usually heroic. Intelligence having been brought that Te Rauparaha had moved his canoes down the coast from Double Corner, where they had been left when he first landed, to the mouth of the Ashley River, Taiaroa, on a dark and stormy night, took a few men with him, and, swimming and wading through the swamps, succeeded in reaching the spot where the fleet was lying securely beached. The purpose of the sortie was to destroy the canoes. But here was furnished an example of that want of forethought which is to be so frequently noted in Ngai-Tahu warfare, and which stood in such marked contrast to the methods of Te Rauparaha. The expedition had armed itself with only light hatchets, which proved to be quite incapable of making any material impression upon the heavy hulls of the canoes. Consequently, Taiaroa and his men had to content themselves with merely slashing at the lighter timbers and severing the cordage which lashed the thwarts and side boards, which would, at least, render the vessels unseaworthy until repaired. Finding it impossible to achieve their object with the axe, an attempt was made to burn the canoes; but the blinding rain-storm which was raging at the time rendered futile every effort in this direction, and the bold little band was compelled to return to the _pa_, having succeeded in nothing beyond risking their own lives and imposing a passing inconvenience upon the besiegers. Three anxious months had now passed since the siege began, without anything decisive having been accomplished on either side. Te Rauparaha had hoped that hunger and the losses they had suffered would have sapped the strength of the defence; but in this he was mistaken, for events were proving that the old idea, that the _pa_ could be starved into submission, was a delusion. As a matter of fact, the defenders were well supplied with food, their storehouses having been filled with the fruits of the early crops, while the surrounding swamps provided them with an abundant supply of eels. On the other hand, Te Rauparaha was frequently hard pressed for supplies; while, on the score of losses, he had fared rather worse than the defenders. Finding that he was making no progress along the orthodox lines of attack, he now decided to revolutionise his methods. He recalled to mind the words in the song of the seer Kukurarangi, "Embrace it, get closer and closer"; and, acting upon this prophetic injunction, he conceived the idea of sapping[115] up to the walls of the _pa_ and demolishing the palisades by fire. He accordingly ordered three trenches to be dug, one by the Ngati-Toa, one by the Ngati-Raukawa, and the third by Ngati-Awa, no doubt relying upon a spirit of friendly rivalry between the tribes to accelerate the work. At first they suffered considerably, for the men working in the open trenches offered a conspicuous mark to the riflemen concealed behind the outworks of the _pa_. The casualties were, however, sensibly reduced when Te Rauparaha ingeniously deflected the line of the sap and carried the trenches forward in a zigzag direction. The spademen were thus protected by the angle at which they worked, and additional security was given them by the placing of slabs of wood across the top of the open sap. These precautions almost entirely neutralised the efforts of the sharpshooters, and the sap proceeded rapidly, and with a regularity and precision which excited the admiration of those early colonists who saw the trenches before their symmetry had been destroyed. These proceedings were naturally viewed with considerable alarm by the garrison, and frequent sorties were resorted to for the purpose of putting a check upon the progress of the work. These excursions, whether unskilfully conducted or badly executed, may have hindered the operations of the sappers, but they certainly failed to compel the abandonment of the sap. As an answer, the besiegers occasionally delivered a surprise attack, and it was in repulsing one of these that Te Ata-o-tu fought with such heroic courage that by his signal bravery he has helped to redeem the general ineptitude of the defence. The story of how "Old Jacob" (for as such he was known to the early Canterbury colonists) slew Pehi Tahau has been worthily told in the warrior's own words:-- "Towards the close of the siege, after standing sentry at the foot of the watch-tower all one stormy night, during which heavy showers of rain had fallen, and being very wet and very sleepy, I was dozing with my head resting upon my hands, which were supported by the barrel of my gun, when I was roused by a hand on my shoulder and a voice whispering in my ear, 'Are you asleep?' I confessed I was, and asked if anything was the matter. My questioner, who was one of our bravest leaders, said: 'Yes; the enemy have planned an attack, and I wish a sortie to be made at once to repel it: will you take command?' I readily consented on condition that I should choose my own men. He agreed; and I picked out six of the bravest men I knew, and got them to the gate without arousing the rest of our people. I told my men to wait while I and another reconnoitred. We entered the sap and approached the shed where the attacking party, numbering about two hundred, were sleeping, awaiting the dawn. They were lying all close together like herrings in a shoal. I motioned to my men to come on. Just at that moment one of them who had gone down another trench called out: 'Let us go back; I have taken spoil--a club, a belt, and a cartouche box.' The result of this injudicious outcry was very different from what might have been anticipated. Startled by the sound of his voice, our sleeping foes sprang to their feet and immediately bolted panic-struck in the direction of their main camp. The coast was now quite clear for me, and, emerging from the trench, I proceeded cautiously in the direction taken by the runaways. I had not gone far before I noticed the figure of a man a short distance in front of me. He had nothing on but a small waist-mat, and was armed with a fowling-piece; and walking beside him was a woman, who, from the way he kept pushing her forward, seemed unwilling to accompany him. Happening to look round, he caught sight of me, and immediately cried out to his fleeing companions: 'Come back! come back and catch this man; he is all alone!' But as no one did come back in answer to his appeal, and as I heard no answering call made, I felt confident that I had nothing to fear at the moment from his comrades, who were not likely to come to his aid till it was quite light; and that if I could only close with him, I might overcome him, and have the satisfaction of carrying his dead body back with me into the _pa_. I determined therefore to try and force an encounter at close quarters, my only fear being that he might shoot me before I could grapple with him. "I had only a tomahawk on a long handle, having left my own gun behind because the charge in it was wet from the previous night's rain. The ground we were passing over was covered with large tufts of tussock grass, and I leapt from one to another to deaden the sound of my footsteps, squatting down whenever I saw the man turning round to look at me. I kept following him in this way for several hundred yards; fortunately he did not keep moving towards Rauparaha's camp, but in a different direction. By dint of great agility and caution, I got within a few feet of him, when he turned suddenly round and pushed the woman between us, and instantly fired. It seemed to me at that moment as if I were looking down the barrel of his gun. I squatted as quickly as I could on the ground: fortunately there was a slight depression of the surface where I stood, and that saved my life. The flame of the charge set fire to my hair, and the ball grazed my scalp: for a moment I felt stunned, and thought I was mortally wounded. My opponent kept shouting for assistance, which never came: for his panic-stricken companions, I afterwards learnt, were at the very time up to their necks in water in an adjoining swamp, clinging in their terror to the nigger-heads for support, their fears having magnified my little party of followers into an army. The shouts of my opponent recalled me to my senses, and, recovering from the shock I had received, I made a second attempt to grapple with him, but without success: as before, he slipped behind the woman again, and aimed his gun at me; I stooped and the bullet flew over my shoulder. We were now on equal terms, and I had no longer to exercise such excessive caution in attacking him. I struck at him with my hatchet; he tried to parry the blow with the butt-end of his gun, but failed, and I buried my weapon in his neck near the collar-bone. He fell forward at once, and I seized him by the legs and lifted him on to my shoulder, intending to carry him out of the reach of rescue by his own people. It was now quite light enough to see what was going on, and I could not expect to escape much longer the notice of the sentries guarding Rauparaha's camp. Just then one of my companions, who had mustered sufficient courage to follow me, came up to where I was, and, seeing signs of life in the body I was carrying, ran it through with his spear; and at the same time drew my attention to the movements of a party of the enemy, who were evidently trying to intercept our return to the _pa_. Hampered by the weight of my prize, I could not get over the ground as quickly as our pursuers, but I was loath to lose the opportunity of presenting to my superior officers such unmistakable evidence of my prowess as a warrior, and I struggled on with my burden till I saw it was hopeless to think of reaching the _pa_ with it, when I threw it on the ground, contenting myself with the waist-belt, gun, and ear ornaments of my conquered foe, and made the best of my way into the fortress, where I was received with shouts of welcome from the people, and very complimentary acknowledgments of my courage from my commanders. I owed my life at the fall of Kaiapoi to that morning's encounter. For, when I was lying bound hand and foot along with a crowd of other prisoners after the capture of the _pa_, Rauparaha strolled amongst us inquiring whether the man who killed the chief Pehi Tahau was amongst our number. On my being pointed out to him as the person he was in search of, instead of handing me over, as I fully expected he was going to do, to the relatives of my late foe, to be tortured and put to death by them, he addressed me in most complimentary terms, saying I was too brave a man to be put to death in the general massacre which was taking place, that I had fought fairly and won the victory, and that he meant to spare my life, and hoped that I would, in time to come, render him as a return for his clemency some good service on the battlefields of the North Island." At the end of the fourth month the trenches had, by dint of incessant labour, and in the face of repeated attacks, been brought to within a few feet of the wall, and then Te Rauparaha was in a position to develop the second phase of his scheme--the burning of the hitherto impregnable palisades. For many weeks his people were employed in cutting down and binding into bundles the _manuka_ scrub which grew in abundance on the flats in the immediate vicinity of his camp, and when these bundles had been dried in the sun, they were carried into the trenches and passed along to the further end, where a stalwart warrior seized and threw them with all his power in the direction of the doomed _pa_. This was a work which cost Ngati-Toa dearly, for there was an interval of time, in the act of hurling the sheaf of _manuka_ forward, during which the body of the thrower was exposed to the galling fire of the defenders; and they placed their best marksmen in a position from which they were able to take unerring aim at the unprotected figure in the trench. Many a brave fellow who had passed safely through the stress of siege and sortie met his fate in that twinkling of an eye. But, notwithstanding the peril of the post, there was no lack of volunteers to accept its awful responsibility, and as soon as one martyr to duty went down with a bullet in his brain, another sprang forward to fill his place. So the work of piling up the combustible material went on with scarcely an interruption. At first, the defenders made bold to emerge from the gates of the _pa_ at night, and hurriedly scattered the piles of brushwood which had been accumulated during the day. But this was only a temporary respite, and no permanent obstruction to the policy of Te Rauparaha. Day by day the process went on of hurling the bundles of _manuka_ from the trenches, until at last the quantity to be moved became so great that the defenders, in their brief rushes, were unable to disperse it. Then it began to mount higher against the palisades, and every night saw the position becoming more and more critical, with scarcely any resistance on the part of the besieged.[116] Indeed, the semblance of a panic was now beginning to make its appearance within the _pa_, and the opinion was rapidly taking root that their relentless enemy was slowly gathering them within his toils. A feeling of deepest depression fell upon the populace, and proposals were even secretly discussed by some of the younger men to abandon the _pa_ before the inevitable catastrophe plunged them in disaster. Taiaroa actually adopted this course. Taking his Otago contingent with him, he left the _pa_ under cover of night, and made good his escape through the gloomy swamps. To some this might appear an act of base desertion; but it is the duty of the historian to rescue the name of so brave a chief from so dark an imputation. The secret motive which impelled him to leave Kaiapoi at this juncture was his settled conviction that some diversion must be created, during which the inhabitants would have a reasonable prospect of clearing the walls of the dangerous pile of _manuka_. His intention was, therefore, to proceed southward to his own dominion, where he hoped to raise a large force, and return to meet Te Rauparaha in a decisive battle on the open field. Events, however, moved too rapidly for him. Before he was able to give effect to his plan, Kaiapoi had fallen, and nothing remained to him but to shelter its unhappy fugitives. With the departure of Taiaroa for the south, the people seemed to feel themselves deprived of the moving spirit of the defence, and, instead of redoubling their energies, they sullenly yielded to the pessimistic impulses of their mercurial nature, and abandoned themselves to brooding and despair.[117] Te Rauparaha, now finding his tactics less seriously opposed, made strenuous efforts to ensure the perfection of his plans; and, having done all that remained to be done, he resigned himself to wait with such patience as he could command for a favourable wind to carry the fire from his flaming bundles against the walls of the _pa_. And now a curious contest arose between the _tohungas_ of the opposing tribes; for, while the priests of Ngati-Toa were daily repeating incantations for the purpose of inducing a southerly wind, the priests of Ngai-Tahu were as piously imploring the gods for a wind from the north. The impartiality of the deities in these circumstances was remarkable, and distinctly embarrassing; but it is nevertheless a fact well remembered in connection with the fall of Kaiapoi, that while the conflicting prayers filled the air, an atmospheric calm set in, and for several weeks no breeze of any violence blew from either direction. But it was not to be supposed that this condition of aerial negation would continue for ever. At length, on a day some six months after the siege had been commenced, the dawn came in with a nor'-west wind blowing strongly across the plains. To the besiegers, this appeared to be all in favour of the besieged. But those within the _pa_ knew from long observation that the nor'-wester was an exceedingly treacherous wind; that sudden changes were apt to be experienced when the wind was in that quarter; and that, regarded in the light of experience, their situation was by no means as rosy as it looked. That their fate was hanging by the most slender thread was a fact perfectly apparent to the chiefs in command, who, after consultation, came to the conclusion that their only hope of safety lay in the bare chance that, if the menacing brushwood, which lay piled against the wall, was fired from the inside, the wind might hold out long enough to carry the flames away from the _pa_ until the source of danger was removed. This view was strongly held by Pureko, who was now entrusted with the defence of the threatened portion of the _pa_; and he decided to take upon himself the responsibility of proving the accuracy of his theory. Accordingly, he seized a firebrand, and thrust it into a pile of _manuka_, which instantly became a seething mass of flame. When Te Rauparaha saw that his enemy was likely to circumvent him, he at once ordered his men to belt up, take their weapons with them, and carry the burning brushwood against the palisades, so that the fuel which had been collected at such infinite pains might not be consumed in vain. Without staying to question the wisdom of this order, a rush was immediately made by the younger warriors to obey the command; but they were met by a fusilade from the defenders who lined the walls, which worked havoc amongst their ranks. Had the contending parties been left to fight the issue out untrammelled by the intervention of external agencies, it is more than probable that Te Rauparaha would have been worsted in this attempt to fire the _pa_, and would have been compelled either to abandon the siege till the ensuing summer or to repeat during the impending winter the toilsome process of laying his fire train to the gates of the fortress. But at this juncture, as in so many others of his eventful life, his characteristic good fortune did not desert him. While his men were being mown down under the galling musketry of the enemy, the wind suddenly swung round to the south, and the whole aspect of the combat was instantly changed. The flames were carried high against the walls, licking the palisades with fiery tongues, while dense clouds of smoke rolled backwards, driving the garrison from the trenches and from every station of defence. By this marvellous reversal of fortune Te Rauparaha was not slow to profit; and no sooner had the firing of the defenders slackened than his men crept up to the walls, and, as an essential precaution, filled up the loopholes through which the Ngai-Tahu marksmen had taken aim. This must have seriously hampered the defenders, had they been disposed to stand to their posts. But they were no longer animated so much by the desire to save the _pa_ as to save themselves. Panic had now taken the place of heroism, and despair had completely extinguished all idea of defence. The _sauve qui peut_ of Napoleon became equally the policy of Ngai-Tahu, and from this point there was nothing heroic in the defence of Kaiapoi. In a marvellously short space of time, the flames had completely enveloped the outer works; and, while they were eating their way through the wooden walls, many of the besiegers were indulging in the wild joy of the war dance, which, according to one native chronicler, was so vigorously conducted that "the noise they made was like thunder, and the earth trembled." As soon as a breach had been made, the attacking force rushed between the burning palisades, and the massacre--for it can be described by no other word--commenced. "Through the fire, and through the smoke, Swiftly Ngati-Toa broke With a scream and a yell; And the glare and the flare Of the fire-tongues in the air Flung a demoniac light On the horrors of the fight: And the children in affright, And the women in despair, Shrieked for mercy, but in vain. And the blazing timbers threw A ghastly lurid hue On the wounded and the slain. And, as the fierce light gleamed On the warriors, they seemed Like fiends unloosed from hell. A struggle, fierce and short, And the keepers of the fort Were slaughtered for the feast: And the red sun in the west Went down as Kaiapoi fell." No semblance of resistance was offered except by a desperate few, and those who still lingered were either struck down by their infuriated pursuers, or were captured and bound, to be spared or killed, as future circumstances might dictate. When the stampede commenced, the Huirapa gate was made the first avenue of escape, as it led directly into the surrounding swamp. But Te Rauparaha had provided against this by posting a strong body of men on the opposite bank; and, as fast as the fugitives landed, they fell into a snare as fatal as that from which they had just escaped. Numbers of the more active, impatient at the delay caused by the total inadequacy of this single outlet, scaled the walls, and dropped down into the swamp below, swimming or wading in the direction of the plains to the westward. Those who selected this mode of retreat were almost all successful in making good their escape, for they were able to secure the friendly shelter of those dense clusters of vegetation[118] which freely studded the face of the swamp; while the black smoke-clouds, which were carried on the wind, hung low upon the water, and effectually screened them from the searching eyes of their pursuers. It is estimated that some two hundred of the fleeing garrison reached safety by concealing themselves in the slimy waters and rank vegetation of the Tairutu lagoon, until the vigilance of the northerners had relaxed sufficiently to enable them to creep out and slip away to the southward, or to Banks's Peninsula, where they could rely upon finding shelter in some of the tribal _pas_.[119] But by far the greater part of the inhabitants, who could not have numbered less than a thousand souls, met death in various ways. Many, especially the women and children, who essayed to cross the swamps, were either drowned in the attempt or shot down as they swam. Others, who, owing to age and infirmity, were slow in eluding the attack, were never able to leave the _pa_ at all. The aged and the very young were killed without ceremony; but the more comely were for the most part overcome and bound, destined either for the feast or for a life of slavery, adorning the household of a chief or working as menials in the fields. Pureko, who had put the brand to the burning, was one of the first to fall, being disembowelled by a gun-shot; and within a few moments there was also witnessed the pathetic death of the patriarchal Te Auta,[120] the venerated priest of the tribe, who was slain as he knelt at the shrine of his patron deity, vainly imploring the assistance of Kahukura[121] in this their hour of greatest need. The air was rent by the shrieks of the dying, the shouts of the victors, and the crash of falling timbers, mingled in one hideous din, which typified all that is blackest and most brutal in human passion.[122] When an end was made of this gruesome work, and the smoking walls were ruined beyond repair, the captives were removed to Te Rauparaha's camp, situated on the spot now known as Massacre Hill; and there the full rites of the cannibal feast were celebrated at an awful cost of human life,[123] every detail being observed which, in the light of national custom, would ensure the eternal humiliation of the defeated tribe. Kaiapoi having now fallen, and the dispersal of its people being complete, Te Rauparaha might have reasonably retired from the scene, satisfied with the laurels which his conquest had brought him. But it would seem that lust of victory and greed of revenge were in him insatiable. He knew that there were still some well-populated _pas_ on Banks's Peninsula, and he was determined not to return to Kapiti until he had reduced them also. The canoes which had been damaged by Taiaroa were, therefore, repaired with all possible speed, and, after provision had been made for the prisoners who were to be taken to Kapiti, the remaining canoes were directed to proceed to Banks's Peninsula. A small _pa_ on Ri-papa Island, in Lyttelton Harbour, was first attacked and reduced, and then the canoes were steered for Akaroa, from which point the war party was to move to the assault of Onawe. This _pa_ had been but recently constructed, and owed its existence to the widespread dread which the name of Te Rauparaha had now inspired. When it was known on the peninsula that he had laid siege to Kaiapoi, a feeling of insecurity crept over the natives there, who were seized with a grave presentiment that their turn might come soon. And how inadequate were their small and isolated _pas_ to withstand the shock of assault or the stress of siege! They accordingly hastened to concentrate their forces in one central _pa_, and the spirit-haunted hill of Onawe[124] was the point selected for a united stand. The _pa_, which was built upon the pear-shaped promontory which juts out into the Akaroa Harbour, dividing its upper portion into two bays, was both extensive and strong, and into its construction several new features were imported, to meet the altered conditions of warfare caused by the introduction of fire-arms. With the fall of Kaiapoi, the alarms and panics to which the people of the peninsula had been subjected through Te Rauparaha's foraging parties were brought to an end, and they then knew that their worst fears were about to be realised. On the day after the sack of the _pa_, a few of the fugitives had arrived at Onawe with the doleful intelligence that the fortress had fallen, and that, so far as they could gather, the northern canoes were at that very moment being made sea-worthy, for the purpose of conveying the victors to Akaroa. Hurried messengers were then sent to all the outlying _pas_, calling the people in to Onawe, and preparations were at once made to resist the impending attack. Tangatahara, who, it will be remembered, had been the immediate cause of Te Pehi's death, was placed in chief command, with Puka and Potahi as his subordinate chiefs. The garrison, which consisted of about four hundred warriors, was reasonably well equipped for the struggle, for they had been moderately successful in securing fire-arms from the whalers, and those who did not carry muskets were at least able to flourish steel hatchets. In these circumstances, Te Rauparaha found them a much more formidable foe than had been the Muaupoko of Horowhenua, or the Ngati-Apa of Rangitikei. There he had all the advantage of arms; here he was being opposed on almost even terms; but there still remained in his favour a balance of spirit, courage, and tenacity of purpose. In the matter of provisions the _pa_ was well provided against a protracted siege, while one of the features of the new fortification was a covered way, which led to a never-failing spring on the southern side of the promontory. Scarcely were the people gathered within the _pa_, and all the preparations for its defence completed, than the sentinels posted on the lookout descried, in the early morning, the northern fleet sweeping up the harbour. The alarm was at once given, and every man sprang to his post to await the oncoming. The canoes paddled to the shore below the _pa_, and there Te Rauparaha committed an error in tactics, the like of which can seldom be laid to his charge. He had hoped that, by his early arrival, he would have been able to take the garrison by surprise and effect an easy victory; but in this the vigilance of the defenders had frustrated him, and he therefore decided to delay the attack. In the meantime, he permitted his men to land, but unwisely allowed them to become separated. The Ngati-Toa and Ngati-Raukawa went to what is now known as Barry's Bay, and Ngati-Awa occupied the beach at the head of the harbour. In these positions respectively the sections of the invaders immediately began to establish their camps, and numerous fires, eloquent of the morning meal, were soon smoking on the shore. Tangatahara saw with some satisfaction the disposition of the enemy, and shrewdly determined to profit by the advantage which their want of cohesion gave him. He resolved upon the manoeuvre of first attacking Ngati-Awa, in the hope that he might defeat them before Te Rauparaha could come to their assistance, and then he would be able to turn upon the unsupported Ngati-Toa and drive them back to the sea. But either Tangatahara was much mistaken in his calculations or his directions were only indifferently executed, for his manoeuvre failed ignominiously. As his men sallied out of the _pa_, their movements were noticed by the sentries of Te Rauparaha, who lost no time in communicating the fact to their leader. Instantly, the Ngati-Toa camp was in a state of intense excitement; every warrior dropped his immediate employment and rushed to secure his belt and arms. When equipped, they went off in hot haste, floundering through slime and soft mud, to reinforce the threatened Ngati-Awa. Tangatahara, seeing that his movement was observed and understood, hesitated and was lost. A halt was called, and, while his men stood in indecision upon the hill-side, the advancing Ngati-Toa opened fire upon them with fatal effect. Tahatiti was the first to fall, and several were wounded as the result of the opening volley. The Ngai-Tahu then began to fall back, firing the while; but their musketry failed to check the onrush of Te Rauparaha's veterans, who were now thoroughly seasoned to the rattle of bullets and the smell of powder. The retreat to the _pa_ was safely conducted; but, for some reason, the defenders did not immediately pass through the gates and shut them against the invaders. They continued to linger outside, possibly to watch with greater ease the approach of the enemy. As they were thus engaged, a number of the captives taken by Te Rauparaha at Kaiapoi suddenly came over the brow of the hill and entered into conversation with those of their own kin who were still outside the gates. During this friendly parley, Te Rauparaha came boldly up to the walls with his own followers and demanded the surrender of the _pa_. Those within the walls were now placed in the dilemma that they could not fire upon the enemy without imperilling the lives of their own friends; and it was equally unsafe to open the gates to admit them, as the besiegers might rush in with an impetuosity that could not be resisted. In these circumstances the parley was continued, Te Rauparaha pointing to the presence of so many Kaiapoi notables as a living evidence of his clemency, while the captive Ngai-Tahu joined with him in advising the policy of surrender, chiefly, no doubt, through a jealous apprehension that the inhabitants of Onawe might escape the misfortune and disgrace which had befallen themselves. Thus the battle, which had opened with visions of courage, degenerated into a war of words, of which the best that can be said is that the insincerity of the invaders was only equalled by the indecision of the defenders. Only one man in the _pa_ appeared to have a clear idea of what his duty was. This was Puaka, who, recognising Te Rauparaha amongst the crowd, pushed his gun through a loophole, took aim, and fired almost point-blank at the chief, whose miraculous escape was due to the fact that one of the Kaiapoi captives, who was standing close to Puaka, pushed the muzzle of the musket aside just in time to deflect the shot. As might be supposed, the incident served only to intensify the confusion and disorder. Some of the invaders seized a moment's want of vigilance on the part of the sentries at the gate to force an entrance into the _pa_, where they commenced killing every one around them. All the brave vows which had brought the Onawe _pa_ into existence were then forgotten, and the high hopes which its fancied strength had inspired were shattered in this moment of supreme trial, which revealed in all its nakedness the inherent weakness of the Ngai-Tahu character. Panic seized the people, and for some time the _pa_ was the scene of the wildest confusion. Here and there a brave show of resistance was offered; but for the most part the defenders were too dazed at the swiftness of the Ngati-Toa rush even to stand to their arms, which, in their distraction, numbers of them even threw away. Of those outside the _pa_, not a few dashed for the bush as soon as the fighting commenced, and made good their escape. But those within the walls were caught like rats in a trap; and, during the conflict, the shrieks and imprecations of the miserable fugitives were mingled with the hoarse shouts of the victors, as they rushed bleeding and half naked from one place of fancied security to another. The conquest of Onawe, though swift, was none the less sanguinary. After the last vestige of resistance had been stamped out, the prisoners were collected and taken down to a flax-covered flat. There the old and the young, the weak and the strong, were picked out from their trembling ranks; and, at the command of the chief, those who from excessive youth or extreme age were regarded as valueless were at once sacrificed to the _manes_ of the dead, while the more robust were preserved as trophies of the victory. For a few days following the fall of Onawe, the surrounding hills and forests were scoured by the restless victors, in search of such unhappy fugitives as might be found lurking in the secret places of the bush. Few, however, were captured, and in some instances successful retaliation reversed the fortune of the chase, and the pursuers became the pursued. When the prospect of further captures was exhausted, the northern warriors asked for and obtained leave to return to their homes, and the canoes, with the exception of that of Te Hiko, immediately put to sea, a rendezvous being appointed for them at Cloudy Bay. Te Hiko was detained by the fact that his canoe stood in need of repair, and, during the operation, an incident occurred which justified the high estimate of his character which was subsequently formed by many of the earliest colonists.[125] He was the son of Te Pehi, whose death two years before was the immediate and avowed cause of this southern raid. If, then, the fires of hate and fury against Ngai-Tahu had burned more fiercely within him than in others of his tribe, there might have been some justification for it. But Te Hiko proved to be more chivalrous than many who had received less provocation. Amongst the prisoners who had fallen into his hands at the taking of Onawe was Tangatahara, the commander of the fortress, who, it will be remembered, had been the most active agent in causing the death of Te Hiko's father. What ultimate fate was intended for Tangatahara is uncertain, but he was fortunate enough to be spared an immediate death. He was, however, closely guarded; and, as he was sitting on the beach surrounded by Ngati-Raukawa warriors, two of the women who had accompanied Te Rauparaha's forces espied him, and immediately put in a claim to Te Hiko for his death, in compensation for the injury which the captive chief had caused them. The claim, though clamorously made, was firmly resisted by Te Hiko who endeavoured first to persuade and then to bribe them, by a gift of rich food, into a more reasonable frame of mind. Neither his blandishments nor his bribes were successful in appeasing their desire for the captive's life; and it was not until Te Hiko gave them plainly to understand that he was determined not to give his prisoner over as a sacrifice to them, and that he regarded his authority as outraged by their persistency, that they sullenly consented to compromise their claim. What they now asked was the right to debase the chief by using his head as a relish for their _kauru_, a vegetable substance which a Maori chewed, much as an American chews gum or tobacco. To this modified proposal Te Hiko reluctantly consented, and the women, approaching the captive, struck his head twice with their _kauru_, which they proceeded to masticate with enhanced enjoyment because of the flavour which it was thought to derive from his degradation. Though he had thus far humoured the women, the want of consideration shown by them for his position as a chief so incensed Te Hiko that he there and then determined to release his prisoner, and so prevent his authority in regard to him being flouted by irresponsible personages. That night he roused Tangatahara from his sleep, and, taking him to the edge of the bush, bade him escape, a command which he was not slow to obey, nor found it difficult to fulfil.[126] [76] To the ancient Maori greenstone was invaluable as a material out of which to manufacture weapons and ornaments; but after the introduction of fire-arms the _mere_ was superseded by the musket, and it is doubtful if, when the trinkets of the European were available, the native would take the trouble to laboriously work out an ornament from so hard a substance. [77] A shark's tooth fixed upon a stick and used as a knife. [78] This could scarcely have been otherwise, for Rerewaka's insolent speech amounted to a _kanga_, or curse, which, according to the Maori code, could only be atoned for by the shedding of blood. [79] The canoe used by Te Rauparaha on many of these southern raids was called Ahu-a-Turanga, and for this reason it is supposed that it came from the Manawatu, that being the name of an ancient track over the Ruahine Ranges near the Manawatu gorge. It is said that this canoe is now lying rotting at Porirua Harbour. Another famous canoe of this period was called Te-Ra-makiri, a vessel captured from the Ngati-Kahu-ngunu at Castle Point by Ngati-Tama, and presented by them to Te Rauparaha. This canoe was held to be exceedingly sacred, and now lies at Mana Island. [80] "Having reached at sunset to within a mile of the spot where the _Pelorus_ anchored, we again encamped on a shingly beach in a bay on the east side of the Sound. At this spot there were some ten or fifteen acres of level ground, on which we were shown the remains of a large _pa_, once the headquarters of the tribe conquered and almost exterminated by Te Rauparaha" (_Wakefield_). [81] It was to this policy of settlement, following upon conquest, that Marlborough owes the presence of the little cluster of northern natives who are settled on the banks of the Wairau River--the most southern outpost that now remains to mark the aggression of Te Rauparaha. [82] Hori Kingi Te Anaua, a chief well-known in after years as the firm friend of the Whanganui settlers, escaped from this defeat, as one quaint native account puts it, "by dint of his power to run." [83] Some difficulty has been experienced in closely tracing the movements of Te Pehi. He left England on board H.M.S. _Thames_ in October, 1825, and the _Thames_ reached Sydney on April 11, 1826. Whether she came on to New Zealand bringing the chief with her, I have not ascertained. The probabilities are that she did, for the late Judge Mackay, who is an excellent authority, says Te Pehi returned direct to New Zealand, but afterwards made the voyage back to Sydney to procure arms, from which place he returned in 1829, at the juncture referred to in the text. [84] Here we meet with one of the many discrepancies in the published histories of the time. The Rev. Canon Stack makes it appear in his _Kaiapohia_ that Rerewaka was killed during the battle, but Mr. Travers (_Life and Times of Te Rauparaha_) states that he was taken prisoner; and this version is sustained by Tamihana te Rauparaha in his published account of his father's life, wherein he says Rerewaka was taken to Kapiti to be "tamed." [85] Canon Stack would seem to imply that Kaikoura and Omihi were one and the same place; but from a petition presented to the House of Representatives in 1869 by the Ngai-Tahu tribe, it seems clear that they were separate places, and that their destruction took place at different times. Omihi is about 15 miles south of Kaikoura, near the Conway River, but the battle took place on the hills near the valley which leads down to the Waipara. [86] Some accounts make it appear that Kekerengu was killed by a wandering band of Ngai-Tahu after he landed on the Middle Island, and that, although he had greatly offended Te Rangihaeata by his impropriety, it was really to avenge his death and not to punish him that this raid was made upon Kaikoura and Omihi. But these are variations in tradition that we can scarcely hope to reconcile at this date. [87] Kaiapoi is a popular abbreviation of the old name--Kaiapohia, which signifies "food gathered up in handfuls" or "a food depôt," but Kaiapohia was seldom used except in formal speeches or in poetical compositions. The name originated in the incident related in the text, and the place became in reality a food depôt, because, owing to its peculiar situation, large quantities of food, particularly kumaras, were raised every year, not only for local consumption, but for the purposes of exchange with other branches of the tribe which possessed abundance of particular kinds of provisions which could not be procured at Kaiapoi. [88] Tamihana te Rauparaha would lead us to suppose that his father was averse to this course, and was again overpersuaded by Te Pehi's impetuosity. He makes him say to Te Pehi, "Be cautious in going into the _pa_, lest you be killed. I have had an evil omen: mine was an evil dream last night," But what, says Tamihana, was the good of such advice to a man whose spirit had gone to death? [89] At first only the heads of chiefs were sold, as they were the most perfectly tattooed, but when chiefs' heads became scarce, the native mind conceived the idea of tattooing the heads of the slaves and selling them--the slave being killed as soon as his head was ready for the market. Sometimes the slave was audacious enough to run away just as he was attaining a commercial value, and the indignation of one merchant who had just sustained such a loss is humorously described in Manning's _Old New Zealand_. [90] In an account of this incident given by a Captain Briggs to the newspaper _Tasmanian_, in 1831, he states that a European named Smith, who had been left at Kaiapoi by a Captain Wiseman, for the purpose of trade, attempted to save Te Pehi's life, and was himself killed for his interference. If this was so, the Ngai-Tahu accounts are discreetly silent on the point; but Briggs infers that Te Rauparaha and Te Hiko made it one of the arguments by which they sought to convince him that he ought to assist them to capture Tamaiharanui, and so revenge the death of his countryman. [91] The names of the chiefs who were killed on this fatal day were Te Pehi, Te Pokaitara, Te Rangikatuta, Te Ruatahi, Te Hua-piko, Te Kohi, Te Aratangata, and Te Rohua. Tamihana te Rauparaha states that in all some twenty of his father's people were killed, but that a number were successful in escaping by clambering over the palisades. [92] The Rev. Canon Stack considers that this event occurred either late in 1828 or early in 1829. [93] It is doubtful whether Tamaiharanui took any part in the killing of Te Pehi and his comrades, but that would not relieve him of his liability to be killed in return, as the whole tribe was responsible for the acts of every member of it. [94] There was little in Tamaiharanui's personal appearance to mark his aristocratic lineage. His figure was short and thick-set, his complexion dark, and his features rather forbidding. Unlike most Maori chiefs of exalted rank, he was cowardly, cruel, and capricious--an object of dread to friends and foes alike, and however much his people may have mourned the manner of his death, they could not fail to experience a sense of relief when he was gone (_Stack_). [95] The _Elizabeth_ arrived in Sydney in July, 1830, and in the following month left for New Zealand. A contemporary Australian newspaper described her cargo as consisting of four cases and eighteen muskets, two kegs of flints and bullets, two bales of slops, two kegs of gunpowder, one bundle of hardware, and five baskets of tobacco and stores. [96] A more or less exaggerated account of this raid appeared in the newspaper _Tasmanian_ on January 28, 1831, and in a subsequent issue, Captain Briggs, in passing some comments upon it, said the penalty which Captain Stewart had to pay for disregarding his advice was that "the natives wanted to do as they pleased with him and his ship." He further said that he endeavoured to persuade Stewart not to deliver Tamaiharanui over to Te Rauparaha after their return to Kapiti, but that worthy declined to carry the chief to Sydney, on the ground that "The Marinewie," as he called him, "had been too long on board already." [97] Properly spelt Akau-roa--"the long coast line"; doubtless referring to the deep inlet which forms the harbour of Akaroa. [98] According to a Parliamentary Paper published in 1831, the _Elizabeth_ carried eight guns, two swivels, and a full supply of small arms. This fact, it is said, deluded some of the natives into the belief that the ship was a British man-o'-war. [99] Signifying "tear-drops." [100] Some accounts say that this occurred before the vessel left the harbour. [101] It is said that the action of Tamaiharanui also so roused the righteous anger of Captain Stewart that he deemed it his duty to have the chief triced up to the mast and flogged. This met with the most marked disapproval from Te Rauparaha, who maintained that as his prisoner was a chief he should not be punished like a slave. [102] The _Australian_ newspaper records the arrival of the _Elizabeth_, Captain Stewart, in Sydney, on the above date, with a cargo of thirty tons of flax, and carrying Mr. J. B. Montefiore and Mr. A. Kemiss as passengers. [103] When the _Elizabeth_ returned to Kapiti, her company was increased by a Mr. Montefiore, who was then cruising round New Zealand in his own vessel, in search of commercial speculations. Hearing of what had occurred at Akaroa, he became apprehensive of his own safety, and fearing that all the white people in the country would be killed, he joined the _Elizabeth_ in the hope of being carried away from New Zealand at the earliest possible moment. In giving evidence before a Select Committee of the House of Lords, in 1838, he related what he knew of the capture and death of Tamaiharanui. He claimed credit for having protested to Captain Stewart against the chief being held in irons, and succeeded in getting the fetters struck off, as the prisoner's legs had commenced to mortify. He also stated that his appeal to Captain Stewart to take the chief to Sydney, and not to hand him over to his enemies, was futile. According to Mr. Montefiore, who said he went ashore and "saw the whole process of his intended sacrifice," Tamaiharanui was killed almost immediately after being given up, but other accounts supplied by the natives place it some weeks later. The wife of Tamaiharanui, unable to bear the sight of her husband's agony, ran away from the scene of the tragedy, but was recaptured and subsequently killed. Tamaiharanui's sister became the wife of one of her captors, and lived at Wellington. It is generally admitted that Te Rauparaha did not witness, or take any part in, Tamaiharanui's death. Heaven knows, he had done enough. [104] If this is an accurate statement of what occurred--and there is every reason to believe that it is--the treatment of Tamaiharanui presents an interesting parallel to the manner in which the Aztec Indians of Mexico regaled their prisoners, destined to be sacrificed at the annual feast to their god Tezcatlipoca. [105] Rev. Canon Stack. [106] The Sydney _Gazette_, in referring to the case, remarked that its peculiarity lay in the fact that it involved "the question of the liability of British subjects for offences committed against the natives of New Zealand." The point was never tested, but it is doubtful whether the Imperial Statute constituting the Supreme Court of the Colony of New South Wales (9 Geo. IV., cap. 83) gave express power to deal with such offences as that of Stewart. An amendment of the law in the following year (June 7, 1832) made the position more explicit. [107] Captain Sturt afterwards did valuable work as an explorer in Australia, but received no suitable recognition from the Imperial Government. Sir George Grey vainly endeavoured to procure for him the honour of knighthood. [108] There is not much doubt that, had the case gone to trial, counsel for the defence would have endeavoured to prove that Stewart was compelled by the natives to do what he did; for the _Australian_, a paper controlled by Dr. Wardell, argued that it "could not divine the justice of denouncing Stewart as amenable to laws which, however strict and necessary under certain circumstances, were not applicable to savage broils and unintentional acts of homicide, to which he must have been an unwilling party, and over which he could not possibly exercise the slightest control." [109] It will be charitable, and perhaps just, to suppose that this feeling arose more from personal antipathy to the Governor than from any inherent sympathy with crime. Governor Darling had succeeded in making himself exceedingly unpopular with a large section of the Sydney community, which resulted in his recall in 1831. [110] The expedition probably started about the end of January or beginning of February. [111] Now Lyttelton Harbour. [112] His _pa_ was in the vicinity of what is now the city of Dunedin. [113] The Rev. Canon Stack relates how one of the Ngai-Tahu men, Te Ata-o-tu, was carrying his infant son on his back during this march. When they approached the _pa_, some of his companions, seeing how closely it was invested, whispered to him to strangle the child, lest it might cry at a critical moment and betray them. The father, however, could not find it in his heart to take this extreme step, but he wrapped the boy tightly in a thick mat, and, strapping him across his broad shoulders, carried him safely through the dangers of that terrible night. The child, however, was only spared to be drowned in the waters of the swamp as his mother vainly endeavoured to escape a few months later, when the _pa_ fell. [114] A storehouse erected upon a high central pole, to protect the food from the depredations of rats. [115] So far as is known, this was the first occasion on which the principle of the sap was applied in Maori warfare. [116] An interesting parallel to these proceedings is to be found in Gibbon's description of the siege of Constantinople: "To fill the ditch was the toil of the besiegers; to clear away the rubbish was the safety of the besieged; and, after a long and bloody conflict, the web which had been woven in the day was still unravelled in the night." [117] It is a popular belief in some quarters that the reason why the defenders so lost heart was that they were oppressed by the guilty knowledge that they had acted treacherously in killing Te Pehi and his companions. [118] Popularly known as "Maori-heads" or "Nigger-heads." Flax and _raupo_ also grew freely in the swamps. [119] This was rendered more difficult owing to the fact that for many days Te Rauparaha's followers were scouring the country, far and wide, in search of fugitives. The Rev. Canon Stack mentions the pathetic instance of two young children who were in hiding with their father. He left them to go in search of food, promising to return; but he never did so, having in all probability been captured and killed. The children, who afterwards lived to be well-known Canterbury residents, sustained themselves by eating _raupo_ roots for several months, until they were found by an eeling party in the bed of the Selwyn River. [120] Te Auta is described as a man of grave and venerable appearance, who was a strict disciplinarian in all matters pertaining to the religious ceremonies of the _pa_, his authority in these respects being considerably enhanced by his long white hair and flowing beard. He was one of the last of the Ngai-Tahu _tohungas_, who were deeply versed in all the peculiar rites of Maori heathendom. [121] Kahukura was the patron divinity of the Ngai-Tahu tribe. His cultus was introduced by the crew of the Takitimu canoe, who were the ancestors of the Kaiapohians (_Stack_). [122] Amongst the prisoners taken was a boy named Pura, who excited the interest of Te Rauparaha. The chief took him under his personal protection, and on the night that Kaiapoi fell, he led him into his own _whare_. In order to prevent any possibility of escape, Rauparaha tied a rope round the boy's body and attached the other end to his own wrist. During the early hours of the night the chief was exceedingly restless, but after he fell asleep Pura quietly disengaged himself from the rope, and tied the end of it to a peg which he found driven into the floor of the _whare_. He then crept stealthily to the door, but in passing out he had the misfortune to overturn a pile of _manuka_ which was piled up outside. Luckily, the brushwood fell on top of him, completely covering him, but the noise aroused Te Rauparaha, who, as soon as he perceived that his captive had flown, raised the alarm, and in an incredibly short time the whole camp was in a state of uproar and panic. The warriors, suddenly aroused from their sleep, were in a condition of extreme nervous tension after the excitement and exertion of the day. Some imagined that the prisoners had risen in revolt, while others believed that the fugitives had returned in force to attack the camp, and it was some time before order could be restored and the true position explained. Meanwhile, Pura lay panting with fear and trembling lest he should be found, for recapture meant certain death. His hiding, however, was not discovered, and when the camp had once more settled down to sleep, he quietly pushed the brushwood aside, and, threading his way out into the swamp, made good his escape to the south, where he afterwards joined the main body of the fugitives. Pura subsequently became a well-known resident of Lyttelton, under the name of Pitama. [123] "Some conception may be formed of the numbers slain and eaten when I mention that some time after the settlement of Canterbury the Rev. Mr. Raven, incumbent of Woodend, near the site of the _pa_ in question, collected many cartloads of their bones, and buried them in a mound on the side of the main road from the present town of Kaiapoi to the north. Ghastly relics of these feasts still strew the ground, from which I myself have gathered many" (_Travers_). [124] "The summit of Onawe was called Te-pa-nui-o-Hau. There, amongst the huge boulders and rocks that crown the hill and cover its steep sloping sides, dwelt the Spirit of the Wind, and tradition tells how jealously it guarded its sacred haunts from careless intrusion" (_Tales of Banks's Peninsula_). [125] "Te Hiko struck us forcibly by his commanding stature, by his noble, intelligent physiognomy, and by his truly chieftain-like demeanour. His descent by both parents pointed him out as a great leader in Cook Strait, should he inherit his father's great qualities. He was sparing of his words and mild in speech. He had carefully treasured up his father's instructions and the relics of his voyage to England.... He was said to pay his slaves for their work, and to treat them with unusual kindness, and the white men spoke of him as mild and inoffensive in his intercourse with them" (_Wakefield_). [126] "Before the northern fleet got clear of Banks's Peninsula, a number of the prisoners escaped, the chief person amongst them being Te Hori, known in after years as the highly respected native Magistrate of Kaiapoi, the only man of acknowledged learning left amongst the Ngai-Tahu after Te Rauparaha's last raid" (_Stack_). CHAPTER VI THE SMOKING FLAX The conquest of the southern districts being now completed, and the winter months approaching, the whole of the northern fleet took its departure for Cloudy Bay, where, according to the records of the whalers who were there at the time, scenes of the wildest excitement prevailed for many days, and the unhappy condition of the captives was observed with much compassion by persons who were powerless to intervene. From Cloudy Bay the main body of the conquerors passed over to Kapiti, and there the scenes of unbridled ferocity were resumed, until sufficient slaves had been killed and eaten to fittingly honour the returning warriors. These rejoicings at an end, Te Rauparaha set himself to seriously administer the affairs of his own people, which were always in danger of violent disturbance, due to the mutual jealousies of the tribes when not preoccupied by the excitement of war. This work of domestic management almost wholly absorbed his attention during the next few years; and it was fortunate for the Kaiapoi captives that he had so much on hand, as the pressure of circumstances and the stress of inter-tribal complications more than once compelled him to treat them with greater consideration than might otherwise have been their lot. While these events were proceeding in the North Island, the Maoris in the south were slowly reorganising their forces. The majority of the fugitives from Kaiapoi and Onawe had travelled southward until they reached Taiaroa's settlement at Otago, where, under his guidance, they began to formulate their plans for avenging their many humiliations. Amongst these fugitives was Tu-te-hounuku, the son of the treacherously captured Tamaiharanui, who, recognising that his own people were not equal to the task of accomplishing vengeance, sought the aid of the great Otago warrior, and chief of Ruapuke, Tu-Hawaiki. This chief had received from the whalers the startling appellation of "Bloody Jack,"[127] not so much because of his sanguinary disposition as from the lurid nature of his language. He was a warrior of the progressive type, who at once saw the advantage of intimate intercourse with the white man; and to this end he made common cause with all the whalers stationed along the coast. He assisted them in their quarrels, and they in return supplied him with the implements of war necessary to overcome his tribal enemies. In this way he managed to acquire the mastery over a large area of country, and to amass a considerable amount of wealth. He owned a small vessel, which was commanded by one of his whaler friends, in which he frequently made trips to Sydney. There he formed an acquaintance with Governor Gipps, who presented him with a number of old military uniforms; and on his return to New Zealand he enrolled a squad of his own tribe, clothed them in the soldiers' garb, drilled them, and on state occasions paraded them as his personal bodyguard, "all the same the _Kawana_."[128] To this enterprising barbarian the prospect of a brush with Rauparaha--or with any one else for that matter--was a most agreeable one, and so the alliance with Tu-te-hounuku was entered upon after the most trifling negotiation. Although Taiaroa appears to have taken some part in organising the expedition, he did not accompany it. The leadership was therefore entrusted to Tu-Hawaiki, who came and secreted himself in the vicinity of Cape Campbell, being thus favourably situated for an attack upon the Ngati-Toa, who now had entire control of the northern portion of the Middle Island, where a section of their people were continuously settled. Moreover, it had become one of their practices to visit Lake Grasmere for the purpose of snaring the paradise duck, which then, as now, made this sheet of water one of their favourite breeding grounds; and it was while upon one of these bird-catching expeditions that Te Rauparaha nearly lost his life. Being intent upon the manipulation of his snares, he was unconscious of the approach from behind the Cape of Tu-Hawaiki and his horde, until, with a savage yell, they pounced upon the unwary Ngati-Toa. For the latter the situation was indeed critical, and all its difficulties were taken in by Rauparaha at a glance. He saw that in point of numbers the odds were terribly against him, and that to stand his ground and fight it out with such a formidable foe could only result in certain death. On the other hand, the chances of escape had been almost completely cut off; for when the party landed at the lake, the canoes, with one exception, were drawn up on the beach, and were now high and dry. The delay in launching these meant the difference between life and death, so closely were they pressed. But fortunately for him, one still remained in the water some distance from the shore; and on observing this solitary gleam of hope, Te Rauparaha swiftly made up his mind that discretion was the better part of valour. He raced for the sea, and, plunging into the surf, swam to the canoe with rapid and powerful strokes, followed by at least forty of his own people. At the canoe a general scramble ensued, in which only the fittest survived, the remainder being left struggling in the water to escape as best they could, or be despatched by their enemies as opportunity offered. In the meantime, those of the Ngati-Toa who had not been able to plunge into the sea were unceremoniously killed on the spot, and those of the attacking party who were not actively engaged in this sanguinary work at once launched the canoes lying on the Boulder Bank, which divides the lake from the sea, and set off in hot pursuit of the retreating Rauparaha. As might be expected, the chase was a desperate one, each party straining every nerve to defeat the object of the other. Rauparaha, standing in the stern of his canoe, by word and gesture urged the men at the paddles to renewed exertions; not that they required much exhortation, for they knew that their lives depended entirely upon themselves. But, notwithstanding their utmost endeavours, it soon became painfully evident that their pursuers were gaining upon them, owing to the overloaded condition of the canoe. Rauparaha then determined upon a course which can scarcely recommend him to our admiration, although Nature's first law, self-preservation, might be urged in extenuation of his crime. Without further ceremony he ordered half the people in the canoe, many of whom were women and children, to jump overboard, and those who demurred were forcibly compelled to obey.[129] Thus relieved of some of its burden, the canoe gradually forged ahead, and the diversion of the pursuers' attention to the jettisoned passengers, who were struggling in the water, enabled Rauparaha to make good his escape to Cloudy Bay. The Ngai-Tahu people are especially proud of this encounter, which they regard as a brilliant victory, and have called it _Rua Moa iti_, or "The battle of the little Moa's feather." It could not, of course, be supposed that a man of action, such as Te Rauparaha was, would long remain idle while so black a stain upon his reputation as a warrior remained unavenged. He therefore lost no time in sending his messengers to a branch of the Ngati-Awa tribe, who then resided at the Wairau, soliciting their aid in a mission of retaliation. The request was readily granted, and, with this reinforcement, a war party of considerable strength set sail in their canoes for the _karaka_ groves which grew luxuriantly at O-Rua-Moa Bay, immediately to the south of Cape Campbell, where it was fully expected that the enemy would be resting. In these anticipations they were disappointed. The prey had flown; and if the purpose of the expedition was not to fail utterly, there was nothing for it but to push on until the object of their search was found. They were soon rewarded, for close to the shore, at the mouth of the Flaxbourne River, Tu-Hawaiki and his braves were encamped, and here the gage of battle was thrown down. That the encounter was a desperate one may be judged by the fact that both sides claimed the victory, and they seem to have withdrawn from the combat mutually agreeing that they had each had enough. According to the Ngai-Tahu account, Te Rauparaha's stratagem of sending one hundred and forty men of Ngati-Awa down the steep face of a cliff to cut off Tu-Hawaiki's retreat was successfully circumvented, the flanking party being caught in their own trap and every one of them destroyed. The Ngati-Toa are equally positive that the palm of victory rested with them; but in that event the advantage gained was not sufficiently great to justify them in following it up, for Tu-Hawaiki was allowed to depart next morning unmolested to Kaikoura. On the journey down an incident occurred which betrayed the savage side of this man's nature, and showed how much he deserved, in another sense, the title of the old whalers, when they styled him "Bloody Jack." During the voyage the canoe commanded by Tu-te-hounuku was capsized in a southerly gale, and the young chief was drowned, although every other man was saved. The selfishness of the men in seeking their own safety and letting their leader perish so enraged the fiery Tu-Hawaiki, that as soon as he heard of the accident he ordered the canoes ashore, and with his own hand slew every one of the surviving crew.[130] Immediately after this skirmish Te Rauparaha returned to the North Island, where there was urgent need of his presence. With the coming of the Ngati-Awa, Ngati-Ruanui, and other Taranaki tribes, the domestic disagreements, of which he stood in daily dread, began to ferment, and were already breaking out into open rupture. The Ngati-Awa had cast envious eyes upon a piece of country under tillage by Ngati-Raukawa, in the vicinity of Otaki, and were openly boasting of their intention to make it their own. Their cause was espoused by their Taranaki relatives, and even a section of Te Rauparaha's own people threw in their lot with them against their old allies, the Ngati-Raukawa. This defection, which was especially distressing to Te Rauparaha, arose from some act of favouritism--real or fancied--displayed towards Te Whatanui, the great Ngati-Raukawa chief, for whom Te Rauparaha ever felt and showed the highest regard. These strained relations, however, did not break out into actual civil strife until the Ngati-Raukawa people discovered the Ngati-Ruanui malcontents looting their potato-pits at Waikawa. Up to this point the Ngati-Raukawa had borne the pin-pricks of the Taranaki braggarts with some degree of patience; but this act of plunder satisfied them that, unless they were prepared to defend their property, they would soon have no property to defend. They therefore stood no longer upon ceremony, but straightway attacked the Ngati-Ruanui settlement, and thus let slip the dogs of civil war.[131] In the conflict which ensued Tauake, a Ngati-Ruanui chief, was killed, an incident which only served to fan the flame of internecine strife, and hostilities of a more or less virulent nature involved all the settlements along the coast from Waikanae to Manawatu. Both sides were equally well armed, for guns and ammunition were now plentiful, the traders having learned the Maori's weakness, and being prepared to pander to it for the sake of cheap cargoes of flax and potatoes. The consequence was that in each skirmish numbers of the belligerents were killed, and Te Rauparaha saw with increasing dismay the havoc wrought amongst his fighting men, and the useless waste of tribal strength which must ensue from these insane proceedings. Only too clearly he realised that, watched as he was by enemies both on the north and to the east, this state of division might at any moment be seized on as an opportunity for attack. His own efforts to reconcile the disputants were unavailing; and when he saw the spirit of insurrection growing and spreading beyond his power of control, he determined upon making an appeal for outside aid. He accordingly dispatched a mission to Taupo, requesting Te Heuheu to bring down a large force wherewith to crush out the seeds of rebellion, by inflicting a telling defeat upon the most turbulent insurgents. Te Heuheu's reply to this appeal was of a practical kind. Within a few months he marched out from Taupo with an effective fighting force of eight hundred men, officered by some of the most famous of his own and the Maungatautari chiefs of that time. Almost immediately upon their arrival on the coast, they, in conjunction with Ngati-Raukawa, proceeded to attack the Ngati-Awa at a pa close to the Otaki River, and for several months the conflict was maintained with fluctuating success. Notwithstanding the numbers brought against them, the Ngati-Awa and Ngati-Ruanui proved themselves stubborn fighters, maintaining their ground with heroic desperation. In several of the battles the slaughter was exceedingly heavy, amongst the slain being counted many important chiefs attached to both sides; but still the issue hung in doubt, and so it remained until the great battle of Pakakutu had been fought. On this occasion a supreme effort was made by Te Heuheu, and the struggle culminated in the decisive defeat of Ngati-Awa. Their _pa_ was taken, and their chief Takerangi was slain. With his death was removed one of the principal factors in the quarrel, and the way was paved for a settlement honourable in its terms to all the parties. A conference of considerable importance was immediately held at Kapiti, at which the disquieting issues were discussed, and in the debates upon these contentious points both Te Heuheu and Te Whatanui raised their voices with force and eloquence in the cause of peace. As a result of these negotiations, the differences which had so nearly wrecked Te Rauparaha's consolidating work of fourteen years were amicably settled.[132] The general result was that Ngati-Raukawa were reinstated in their possessions at Ohau and Horowhenua and as far north as Rangitikei, while Ngati-Awa retired southward of Waikanae, and extended their settlements as far in that direction as Wellington, where they replaced Pomare, and where, under Te Puni and Wharepouri, they were found by Colonel Wakefield and his fellow-pioneers of the New Zealand Company when they came to the spot in 1839. But, though the civil war had thus ended in a manner satisfactory to himself and to his friends, Te Rauparaha was stung to the quick by the knowledge that his authority had been so completely set at defiance by Ngati-Awa. And this feeling of irritation was further intensified by the fact that some of his own tribe had shown him so little regard as to aid and abet them in their rebellion. Their disloyal conduct so preyed upon his mind that, as the result of much serious reflection, he determined to absolve himself from all further responsibility on their behalf, by abandoning the business of conquest and returning with Te Heuheu to Maungatautari, where he proposed to live for the remainder of his days the quiet and restful life, to which waning years look forward as their heritage. To this end he collected a number of his most trusty followers, and, shaking the dust of Kapiti from his feet, had travelled as far as Ohau in the execution of his petulant decision, when he was overtaken by representatives of all the tribes, who begged him to return and once more become a father to them. In these entreaties the suppliants were joined by Te Heuheu, whose advocacy broke down the chief's resolution. He at length agreed, amidst general rejoicing, to retrace his steps, and none rejoiced more sincerely than the repentant Ngati-Awa. Between the date of the battle of Pakakutu and the arrival of the ship _Tory_, Te Rauparaha does not appear to have been engaged in any conflict of great importance in the North Island, the years being spent in visiting the various settlements which had been established under his guiding genius. These journeys frequently led him across Cook Strait to the Middle Island, where, at Cloudy Bay, there was now a considerable colony of his own and the Ngati-Awa people, who were actively cultivating the friendship of the whalers.[133] These visits also more than once led him into sharp conflict with his old enemies, the Ngai-Tahu, who were ever vigilantly watching for the favourable moment to repay their defeat at Kaiapoi. Once they met him on the fringe of Port Underwood, at a spot still called Fighting Bay, where they claim to have defeated him with considerable slaughter. From this engagement, in which his small force was neatly ambushed, the great chief only escaped by diving into the sea and hiding amongst the floating kelp, until he was picked up by one of his canoes, and, availing himself of a heavy mist which suddenly enveloped the scene of strife, fled, leaving his allies, the Ngati-Awa, to continue the unequal struggle. After the fight, the bones of the slain were left to bleach on the beach, where they were repeatedly seen by the first settlers at the port.[134] This success did not induce the Ngai-Tahu to pursue the retreating enemy across the Strait; but, elated in spirit, they returned to the south for the purpose of fitting out an expedition on a much more extensive scale, with which they hoped to inflict a crushing blow on their hated enemy. These operations were superintended by Taiaroa, who in a few months had gathered together a flotilla of canoes and boats sufficient to transport some four hundred men. These he commanded in person, and with them proceeded by slow stages to the neighbourhood of Cloudy Bay. Hearing that Te Rauparaha was at Queen Charlotte Sound, the southern warriors steered their fleet for Tory Channel,[135] but failed to encounter the enemy until they had reached Waitohi, near the head of the Sound. Here they met, and immediately attacked a large party of Te Rauparaha's followers, who were under the personal direction of their chief. The ground upon which the battle took place was broken and wooded, and it was difficult to bring the whole of the respective forces advantageously into action at once; and therefore the combat resolved itself into a series of skirmishes, rather than a pitched and decisive battle. At the end of the first day Te Rauparaha shifted his position, a fact which has encouraged the Ngai-Tahu people to claim the credit of a victory. But Ngati-Toa did not retire from the field altogether; and for several days hostilities continued to be carried on in a succession of duels between the champions of the opposing tribes, in which the battle honours were fairly evenly divided between them. In these contests Te Rauparaha is said to have warned his men against risking defeat by coming too confidently into close quarters with the enemy. Numerous incidents during the siege of Kaiapoi had served to impress him with Ngai-Tahu's prowess in this class of warfare, and any recklessness on the part of his warriors might therefore easily lose him a valuable life. Thus, when a Ngati-Toa and a Ngai-Tahu were struggling upon the hill-side in full view of both forces, and victory ultimately rested with the southern warrior, Te Rauparaha exclaimed to those about him, "_I kiia atu ano_" (I told you it would be so). But though an occasional success of this kind attended the southern arms, nothing of a decisive nature was accomplished by Taiaroa on this raid. Scarcity of provisions shortly afterwards compelled him to withdraw to the south; and before he had time or inclination to devise fresh reprisals, events of an external nature had so operated upon the Maori mind as to make any further conflict between the Ngati-Toa and Ngai-Tahu tribes undesirable if not impossible. It is now fitting to remember that, while these events had been proceeding along the eastern coast of the Middle Island, the process of subduing the southern tribes had not been neglected on its western shore. Out of the extreme confidence which pervaded the Ngati-Toa mind upon the return of Te Pehi from England, a wider field of conquest was sought than appeared to be provided by the plains of Canterbury. In obedience to these aspirations, an important division of their forces was sent across the Strait for the purpose of forcibly establishing themselves in the bays of the Nelson coast. _Hapus_ of the Ngati-Toa and Ngati-Awa united in this expedition, which was attended with unqualified success. They immediately moved to attack the Ngati-Apa settlements in Blind and Massacre Bays, from out of which they drove the inhabitants with ruthless severity, and immediately assumed possession of the soil. Those who had fought under Te Koihua and Te Puoho, the Ngati-Awa leaders, built _pas_ and remained in permanent occupation of the conquered country;[136] but Niho, a son of Te Pehi, and Takerei took their Ngati-Tama, and perhaps a few of their Ngati-Rarua, warriors across the wild and almost trackless mountains which intervene between Blind Bay and the west coast. From the Buller district they worked their way southward, killing and taking prisoners almost the entire population as they went, until they reached the Hokitika River, where resistance ceased and the need for further aggression disappeared. Niho and Takerei settled at Mawhera, on the banks of the Grey River, the centre of that romantic region, the greenstone country, which for centuries had been the Eldorado of Maori dreams.[137] At various other points, both to the northward and southward of Mawhera, the northerners established themselves in permanent _pas_, to the total exclusion of the weaker tribes, who had formerly controlled the barter of the precious nephrite. From these points of colonisation the restless spirit of the invaders was ever carrying them further southward and eastward in search of excitement and adventure. No systematic occupation of the land appears to have been attempted southward of Hokitika; but stray bands of marauders were frequently setting off on predatory expeditions into the pathless mountain-waste of western Otago, which then sheltered the shadowy remnant of the Ngati-Mamoe race. Further and further these adventurers penetrated into the deep glens, rugged passes, and dark forests, until they knew the geographical secrets of the interior almost as intimately as did its former conquerors.[138] In the absence of written records, many of these militant journeys have necessarily been effaced from memory, and no tradition has been left to commemorate those whose valiant spirit led them into the wilds of a hostile country, from which only a lion-hearted courage could bring them safely back. Of one such venture, however, undertaken about the year 1836, for the purpose of attacking Tu-Hawaiki on his island fortress at Ruapuke, the story has been preserved; and, because of its ambitious conception and dramatic ending, it is worthy of being narrated here as it has been told in the tribal traditions. The chief concerned in leading the adventure was Te Puoho, who came originally from the country south of the Mokau River, in Taranaki, to assist Te Rauparaha in his policy of conquest. He was at this time the head chief of the Ngati-Tama tribe, who were closely allied to Ngati-Awa, and whom the fortune of war had now settled round the great bays on the Nelson coast. Hearing that the inhabitants away to the south were "a soft people," Te Puoho conceived the idea of raiding their country, and, in addition to matching himself against Tu-Hawaiki, securing a large number of slaves,[139] whom he intended to use as beasts of burden. To this end he first completed a strong stockade, in which he intended to herd his captives, and then he set off with a fighting force of some seventy men, and a small number of women, to pierce his way through the dense forest and dangerous passes of the overland route. Arrived at the Grey River, where Niho and his people were settled, he expected to be largely reinforced from amongst his former friends; but, to his consternation, he found that his old comrade, Niho, was distinctly hostile, and most of his people coldly indifferent. A number of his own followers, finding that the purpose of the expedition was not approved by Niho, declined to proceed further in the enterprise and returned to Cook Strait. But at length Te Puoho, nothing daunted, succeeded in persuading a section of the Ngati-Wairangi to reverse their decision not to accompany him, and then with about a hundred followers he commenced his march southward. His first route took him over the sinuous tracks which hugged the coast line until they reached Jackson's Head, a distance of many hundred miles from the point of departure. Few particulars of this stage of the journey have been preserved: but it is known that they returned northward as far as the Haast River,[140] where they deflected their course to the eastward, and proceeded inland by way of the Haast Pass. At Lake Hawea they met a Ngai-Tahu eeling party, from whom they ascertained that the chief with his two wives had gone to Lake Wanaka. On the pretence of guiding two of Te Puoho's men thither, the chief's son, Te Raki, succeeded in getting them deeply entangled in the bush; and then, abandoning them to their own resources, he slipped away to his father's camp and advised him of what had occurred. Arming themselves, they went in search of the two men, who were now wandering aimlessly about, and, finding them floundering in the forest, they soon succeeded in killing them. When it dawned upon him that he had been duped, Te Puoho exacted _utu_ from amongst the other members of the eeling party, and pushed on further into the interior. They navigated the upper waters of the Molyneaux on _mokihis_, and made their way down the valley of the Mataura through the country of Wakatipu. In view of his previous achievements in that direction, no one would have been surprised had Te Rauparaha or his people attempted an invasion of these far southern districts by sea; but no one ever dreamed of a blow being struck at them by an inland route. Consequently, when this war party marched down the valley of the Mataura, the inhabitants were wholly off their guard, and fell an easy prey to the invaders. An eeling party was captured at Whakaea, and their store of food proved exceedingly welcome to the hungry wanderers, whose only provender up to this time had been wild cabbage, the root of the _ti_ palm, and a few _wekas_. These wanderings had now occupied the northern men nearly two years, during which many of them had died of cold and hunger. But, though a "dwindled and enfeebled band," they were still strong enough to secure another party of Ngai-Tahu, whom they found camped in the midst of a clump of _korokiu_ trees, which then grew upon the Waimea Plain. Te Puoho believed that he had secured the whole of the party, but in this he was mistaken. Some few escaped, and, hastening off to the Tuturau _pa_, warned the people there of the approaching danger, the fugitives making their way to the Awarua whaling station. Te Puoho and his party immediately proceeded to occupy the abandoned _pa_, in the hope that a prolonged rest would recruit their exhausted powers; and, innocent of the fact that retributive justice was at hand, they settled down to leisurely enjoy the recuperative process. From Awarua news of the raid was dispatched to the island of Ruapuke, where Tu-Hawaiki and his men were. Memory of the event is still well preserved on the island, as the last occasion on which oblation was offered to the god of battle. In accordance with ancient Maori custom, this ceremony took place in an immense cavern, which opens to the sea beach beneath the island fortress. It may still be seen, a dark abyss; and, although geological periods must have elapsed since it was instinct with the life of mighty waters, the echo-swish still sounds and resounds, as if acting and reacting the story of its birth. Shut up amidst these ghostly sights and sounds, the tribal _tohunga_ spent the night in severe exorcisms. Outside in the open was heard the clash of arms, plaintive wails and lamentations of the _tangi_ for the dead. At dawn of day the prescribed spells to weaken the enemy were cast and the invocation to the spear was spoken. The followers of Tu-Hawaiki then sailed for the mainland and effected a landing at what is now known as Fortrose. Concealing themselves during the day, they marched under cover of night, reaching Tuturau early on the morning of the third day. Being unapprehensive of danger, the inmates of the _pa_ were in their turn caught napping, and the recapture was effected as smartly as had been the original capture. As the attacking force crept cautiously within gunshot, Te Puoho was observed sleeping on the verandah of one of the houses. A slight noise fell upon his quick ear and startled him. He sprang to his feet; instantly the report of a gun rang out, and he fell a lifeless heap upon his bed. Some thirty in all were killed. The rest, with one exception,[141] were taken prisoners, and confined on Ruapuke Island, whence they were afterwards smuggled away by a pakeha-maori boatman named McDonald, who, under an arrangement with the Ngati-Toa tribe, landed them safely back at Kapiti. The Haast River raid, as the exploit of Te Puoho is known in Maori history, becomes interesting not only because it was on this occasion that the followers of Te Rauparaha reached the most southerly limit of their aggressions upon Ngai-Tahu, but because it affords another evidence, if such were needed, of the extremes to which the Maori was ever ready to go in order to get even with an enemy. Primarily, the raid was designed as a stroke of retaliation upon Tu-Hawaiki, whom they hoped to surprise by pouncing upon him from a new and unexpected quarter. To effect this, a long and dangerous journey had to be braved; they had to penetrate into a region in which Nature seemed to have determined to impose in the path of human progress her most forbidding barriers. Not only had this band of half-clad savages to cross what the late Sir Julius Von Haast has described as "one of the most rugged pieces of New Zealand ground which, during my long wanderings, I have ever passed," but they had to contend with snowfields lying deep in the Southern Alps, the swollen torrent, the pathless forest, and the foodless plains. Not even the roar of the avalanche as it swept down the mountain-side, the impassible precipice as it loomed dark across their path, nor the severity of the climate, with its oscillations from arctic cold to tropical heat, was sufficient to chill their ardour for revenge. So for two years they wandered amidst some of the grandest and gloomiest surroundings, at times suffering bitterly from cold and hunger. In the stress of these privations the weaker ones died; but the survivors were sustained by the enthusiasm of their leader, who directed their course ever to the southward, where they hoped some day to meet and vanquish their hated rival. Of the fate which overtook them, history has told; and, though future generations may be reluctant to endorse the purpose of their mission, they will not refuse to credit them with a certain spirit of heroism in daring and enduring what they did to accomplish their end. The peace which had been dramatically concluded at Kapiti by Te Heuheu breaking the _taiaha_ across his knee, and which closed what is known as the Hao-whenua war, was sacredly observed by all the tribes for some years; and this respite from anxiety afforded Te Rauparaha freedom of opportunity to pursue his grudge against the Rangitane and Muaupoko peoples. The humiliated remnant of the Muaupoko tribe had by this time sought and obtained the protection of Te Whatanui, who had promised them, in his now historic words, quoted many years afterwards by Major Kemp, that so long as they remained his dutiful subjects he would shield them from the wrath of Te Rauparaha: "I will be the rata-tree that will shelter all of you. All that you will see will be the stars that are shining in the sky above us; all that will descend upon you will be the raindrops that fall from heaven." Although slavery was the price they had to pay for the privilege of breathing their native air, it at least secured them the right to live, though it did not secure them absolute immunity from attack. More than once Te Whatanui had to protest against the inhumanity of Ngati-Toa towards those whom he had elected to save from utter destruction; and these distressing persecutions did not cease until the Ngati-Raukawa chief told Te Rauparaha, in unmistakable language, emphasised by unmistakable gestures, that, before another hair of a Muaupoko head was touched, he and his followers would first have to pass over his (Te Whatanui's) dead body. Unwilling to create a breach of friendship with so powerful an ally as Te Whatanui, Te Rauparaha ceased openly to assail the helpless Muaupoko, though still continuing to harass them in secret. He plotted with Te Puoho to trap the Rangitane, and with Wi Tako to ensnare the Muaupoko: the scheme being to invite them to a great feast at Waikanae, to partake of some new food[142] which the _pakeha_ had brought to Kapiti. So far as the Rangitane were concerned, the invitation was prefaced by an exchange of civilities in the shape of presents between Mahuri and Te Puoho; and when it was thought that their confidence had been secured, the vanity of the Rangitane was still further flattered by an invitation to the feast. A considerable number of them at once set out for Waikanae; but, when they arrived at Horowhenua, Te Whatanui used his utmost endeavours to dissuade Mahuri, their chief, from proceeding further. Knowing Te Rauparaha as he did, he felt convinced that he could not so soon forget his hatred for those who had sought to take his life at Papaitonga: and, while he would have had no compunction about killing in open war every man and woman of the tribes he was protecting, his generous soul revolted against the treachery and slaughter which he feared lay concealed beneath the present invitation. His counsel was therefore against going to Waikanae; but the impetuous young Mahuri saw no reason for alarm, and, heedless of the advice of Te Whatanui, he led his people to their destruction. On their arrival, the hospitality of Te Puoho was of the most bountiful nature. The visitors were shown to their houses, and no effort was spared to allay any suspicion of treachery. But one night, as they sat around their fires, the appointed signal was given, and the guests were set upon by a force superior in numbers by two to one, and, to use the words of a native[143] who knew the story well, "they were killed like pigs," only one man escaping from the massacre. This was Te Aweawe, whose life was spared at the instigation of Tungia, in return for a similar act of humanity which the Rangitane chief had been able to perform for him some time before. In justice to Te Rauparaha, it should be stated that this massacre was not entirely prompted by his old grudge against the Rangitane people, but partly arose out of a new cause of grievance against them, which serves to illustrate the complexity of Maori morality and the smallness of the pretence upon which they deemed a sacrifice of life both justifiable and necessary. The offence of which the Rangitane people had been adjudged guilty enough to deserve so terrible a punishment was the fact that they were somewhat distantly related to the Ngati-Kahungunu tribe, resident in the Wairarapa. These people had some time previously killed a number of Ngati-Toa natives, whom they believed to be plotting their destruction; for, while they were discussing their plans in one of the _whares_, a Ngati-Kahungunu, who was sleeping with at least one ear open, overheard their conversation, and at once gave the alarm, with the result that the tables were turned on the scheming Ngati-Toa. Their deaths, however, had to be avenged; and it is easy to understand how gladly Te Rauparaha would avail himself of this new excuse for wiping out old scores. The morning after the massacre, Tungia took Te Aweawe outside the Waikanae _pa_, and, placing a weapon in his hand, said, "Go! come back again and kill these people." The released chief at once made his way back as best he could to the Manawatu, where he found most of the settlements deserted by the terror-stricken inhabitants, in consequence of the appalling news which had just reached them of the death of their friends. He, however, succeeded in collecting about thirty warriors, and with these he travelled down the coast, receiving additions by the way from a few stragglers belonging to his own and the Muaupoko tribes. When they reached Waikanae, they found the Ngati-Toa and Ngati-Awa peoples busily engaged in gathering flax to trade away for guns and powder and little suspecting an attack. They had beguiled themselves into the false belief that the shattered Rangitane would not be able to collect in so short a time a force sufficiently strong to harm them. When, therefore, Te Aweawe, at the head of his brave little band, burst in upon them, dealing death at every blow, they, in their turn, were at all the disadvantage of being taken completely by surprise. Upwards of sixty of the followers of Te Rauparaha were killed, amongst them a chieftainess named Muri-whakaroto, who fell into the hands of the enraged Te Aweawe, and was despatched without the slightest compunction. Matea, the Rangitane chief second in command, was more chivalrous to Tainai Rangi, for he spared her and brought her back, a prisoner certainly, but still alive. Such of the flax-gathering party as were not slain made good their escape down the coast; and the avengers of Mahuri, fearing that they might soon return with a large and active war party, beat a hasty retreat, well satisfied with the result of their mission of revenge--the last great act of slaughter perpetrated by the resident people as a protest against the conquest of their country. Any policy of retaliation which Te Rauparaha and the chiefs who were co-operating with him may have contemplated, as a step towards restoring the equilibrium of tribal honour, had to be indefinitely delayed, owing to the rapidity with which events developed in another direction; and that delay robbed them of future opportunity. The death of Waitohi, Te Rauparaha's sister, and mother of Rangihaeata, had just occurred at Mana, where she had been living with her son. The demise of so high-born a woman necessarily demanded a _tangi_ on an unusually elaborate and extensive scale, and the whole of the tribes who had been associated with Te Rauparaha in his scheme of conquest assembled on the island to attend the obsequies of the honoured dead. Levies of provisions were made upon all the tributary tribes on both sides of the Straits, and for several weeks the peculiar rites of a Maori funeral were continued without intermission. It is said that, for no other purpose than to appear opulent in the eyes of his guests, Te Rauparaha ordered the killing and cooking of one of the poor slaves who had come from the Pelorus with his people's tribute to the feast. Be this as it may--and it is by no means improbable under the circumstances--the strange admixture of funeral and festival, which marks the Maori _tangi_, was observed at Mana in all its completeness and elaboration. But the death of Waitohi brought in its train something more than a great _tangi_; for indirectly it was the cause of the renewal of hostilities between Ngati-Awa and Ngati-Raukawa, culminating in the engagement known in Maori history as Kuititanga, which was fought on October 16, 1839. It is not clear why or in what way the old sore between these comrades in arms was re-opened, but the weight of testimony inclines towards the assumption that Te Rauparaha's irrepressible passion for intrigue was the moving impulse in urging Ngati-Raukawa to take the step they did. Whether he had grown jealous of Ngati-Awa's increasing numbers and power, or whether, having achieved all he could hope to accomplish, he wished to shake himself free from any further obligation to them, cannot of course be asserted with any confidence. Ngati-Raukawa were nothing loath to join in any conspiracy against Ngati-Awa. Living, as they did, north of Kapiti, they began to find themselves somewhat out of touch with the whalers; and probably it was the rapid extension of trade, enabling Ngati-Awa to procure guns as readily as Rauparaha himself, that induced him to instigate Ngati-Raukawa to break the truce which had existed since the battle of Pakakutu. No breach of the peace actually occurred at Mana, but bickerings and threats foretold the coming storm; and when Ngati-Awa returned to their _pas_ on the mainland, it was with the full consciousness that the attack would not be long delayed. The Ngati-Raukawa mourners remained at Mana for some time after Ngati-Awa had left, and it would have caused the latter no surprise had Ngati-Raukawa made an attack upon them--as indeed they invited it--as they passed Waikanae on their way to Otaki. This Ngati-Raukawa did not do, but went on with every semblance of peace, even ignoring the shots of defiance which were fired by Ngati-Awa as they passed. Towards evening, however, they altered their tactics, and, doubling back, surrounded the Kuititanga _pa_ during the night, in preparation for the attack at daybreak. A reconnoitring party was sent out to investigate the state of the defences, one of whom was indiscreet enough to enter a house, and, rousing a boy by his intrusion, attempted to cover his blunder by asking him for a light for his pipe. The boy sharply recognised his visitor as a Ngati-Raukawa; and knowing that no friendly native would be prowling about at that unseemly hour, sprang for his gun, and fired point-blank at the intruder. The echo of the shot rang through the clear morning air, and was the signal for a general movement on both sides. The women and children made a hurried flight to the neighbouring settlements, from which Ngati-Awa reinforcements swarmed up to the assistance of their beleaguered tribesmen; and by daylight the full strength of both forces--variously estimated at between eight hundred and a thousand men--was actively engaged. The _pa_, which bore the brunt of the first assault, stood close to the seashore on a narrow tongue of sand, between the Waikanae and Waimea Rivers.[144] At the inception of the attack it was defended by a slender company of thirty men, who offered so stubborn a defence that the assailants were held in check until assistance arrived. A strong company of Ngati-Awa crossed the Waikanae, and, catching Ngati-Raukawa between two fires at this point, caused them to deploy and so open an avenue, by which the supports reached the _pa_. Trenches were now hurriedly dug in the loose soil, which, together with the protection offered by the stockade, afforded them a friendly shelter from the fire of the enemy. In this respect they were more fortunate than the aggressors, who, fighting in the open, suffered a greater number of casualties, including several of their principal chiefs. Te Rauparaha took no part in the battle; but that he anticipated its occurrence is proved by the fact that he landed from his canoe shortly after it commenced. And when, at the close of an hour's desperate fighting, Ngati-Raukawa, who had his silent sympathy, if not his active help, began to waver under their heavy losses, he thought it prudent to get beyond the danger zone, and, plunging into the surf, swam towards his canoe. Ngati-Awa, who knew that he was inside the enemy's lines, saw the movement, and made a spirited effort to frustrate it, in the hope of capturing the man to whose subtle intrigues they attributed all their misfortunes. An equally vigorous rally on the part of Ngati-Raukawa intercepted their rush, and saved the chief, though at heavy cost to themselves. With Te Rauparaha safe amongst the whalers, who were watching the conflict from their boats, Ngati-Raukawa began rapidly to fall back; and, after maintaining a slackened fire, retired from the field altogether, taking their wounded with them, but leaving to Ngati-Awa the victor's privilege of burying the dead. Sixty of the Ngati-Raukawa had fallen, but only sixteen of the defenders. There were, however, many wounded in both camps. These were attended to by the medical men on board the _Tory_, which arrived at Kapiti on the day that the battle was fought; and, as Dr. Dieffenbach has left a graphic account of what he saw, no better authority can be here quoted:-- "All the people of the village were assembled; and, though grief was expressed in every face, they received us with the greatest kindness and attention, and we were obliged to shake hands with everybody. They regarded us as friends and allies, for we had brought with us from Te-Awaiti some of their relations; and when they saw the medical men of our party giving assistance to the wounded, their confidence and gratitude were unbounded. Some of the women gave themselves up to violent expressions of grief, cutting their faces, arms, and legs with broken mussel-shells, and inflicting deep gashes, from which the blood flowed profusely. We had brought with us E Patu, the son of a chief in East Bay, whose uncle had been killed in the battle. We found the widow standing on the roof of a hut, deploring in a low strain the loss of her husband. When E Patu approached she threw herself upon the ground, and, lying at his feet, related to him, in a funeral song, how great had been their happiness, how flourishing were their plantations, until the Ngati-Raukawa had destroyed their peace and bereft her of her husband. During this time E Patu stood before her, convulsively throwing his arms backwards and forwards, and joining in her lamentations. An old woman, bent down under the burden of many years, had her arms and face frightfully cut; she was painted with red _kokowai_, with a wreath of leaves round her head, and gesticulated and sang in a similar manner. In this place there were no wounded; they had been carried to the principal and most fortified _pa_, which lies a little to the northward. This latter village was very large; it stood on a sand-hill, and was well fenced in, and the houses were neatly constructed. Everything was kept clean and in good order, and in this respect it surpassed many villages in Europe. The population seemed to be numerous, and I estimated it, together with that of the first-mentioned village, and a third, about a mile higher up, to amount, on the whole, to seven hundred souls. Several native missionaries, some of them liberated Ngati-Awa slaves, live here; and the natives had built a large house, neatly lined with a firm and tall reed, for their church and meeting-house. At the time of our visit they were expecting the arrival of a missionary of the Church of England from the Bay of Islands, who purposed living amongst them. The medical aid which they had given to their wounded was confined to binding the broken limbs with splints made of the bark of a pine, or of the strongest part of the flax-leaves, and carefully protecting the wounds from external injury by means of hoops. Some of these bandages had been very well applied. I went to the beach on the following day to attend my wounded patients and to visit the scene of battle. This was at the third village, and many traces of the strife were visible: trenches were dug in the sand of the beach, the fences of the village had been thrown down, and the houses were devastated. The Ngati-Awa buried their own dead; and the improved state of this tribe was shown by the fact that, instead of feasting on the dead bodies of their enemies, they buried them, depositing them in one common grave, together with their muskets, powder, mats, &c., a generosity and good feeling as unusual as it was honourable to their character. The grave of their enemies they enclosed, and made it _tapu_ (sacred)." While this internecine strife raged up and down the coast, its disturbing influence had almost completely suspended the systematic settlement of the land by Europeans. There were many in Australia who, but for the peril of life and uncertainty of title, would long before this have swarmed over to New Zealand and occupied its shores. Only the most wanton and the more adventurous had come, and of these latter a few had been invited by the chiefs to remain, land being given to them on which to reside and establish themselves as traders. In isolated instances attempts had been made, chiefly by some subterfuge, to acquire from the natives large tracts of country for a nominal consideration; but these examples of dishonesty almost invariably brought their own punishment. One of the most unscrupulous of such perfidious transactions was that of Captain Blenkinsopp. He had sailed these seas in command of the whaler _Caroline_, and had made more than one trip to Cloudy Bay. There he became infatuated with a Maori woman of the Ngati-Toa tribe. His alliance with her gave him influence with Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata, who, about the year 1834, entered into a bargain with him, the spirit of which was that for the right to procure wood and water for his ship while at Cloudy Bay, the captain was to present the tribe with a ship's cannon,[145] which he had then with him at Kapiti. The conditions of this bargain were reduced to writing by Blenkinsopp, but not the bargain Te Rauparaha had counted upon. For wood and water, Ocean Bay and the magnificent Wairau Plain were substituted in the deed; and Rauparaha, with that reckless disregard for the value of his signature which he exhibited at all times when fire-arms were concerned, had signed it with the lines of his _moko_. The Wairau Plain is the floor of the valley through which the Wairau River runs. Terminating on the shores of Cloudy Bay, it recedes in ever-increasing elevation and diminishing breadth back for many miles, until it vanishes in the gorge at the foot of the Spencer Range. Covering an area of 65,000 acres, it comprises some of the richest agricultural and pastoral land in the Middle Island, and was at this time treasured by Rauparaha as one of his principal food-producing centres. Eager as he was to procure weapons with which to slaughter his enemies, he was equally sensible of the value of this valley; and it is scarcely reasonable to suppose that he would have parted with so rich an estate for a single piece of rusty artillery, subject to the additional disadvantage of the difficulty involved in its transport. Knowing that he was, for such purposes, ignorant of the English language, Blenkinsopp, with a touch of irony, presented Te Rauparaha with a copy of the deed, and told him to show it to any captain of a man-o'-war who might visit Kapiti. Te Rauparaha did not wait for a naval officer, but gave the document to a whaler protege of his, named Hawes, then living at his island fortress. Hawes explained to Rauparaha that by the deed he had parted with all his land at the Wairau: whereupon the chief, in a fit of anger, tore up the paper, threw the fragments into the fire, and declared that, so far as he was concerned, the contract was at an end. Not so with Blenkinsopp. He sailed to Sydney, and there proceeded to raise a substantial sum of money upon the security of his deed from a solicitor named Unwin, then practising in that city. For reasons which need not be discussed here, Mr. Unwin eventually claimed the valley as his own; and his attempt to occupy the district, its disastrous failure, culminating in the massacre at the Wairau Bar, in 1840, of his manager and all his men, are now matters of history, affording another instance of how the just sometimes suffer for the unjust. Nor were the deception of Mr. Unwin and the death of Mr. Wilton and his fellow employees the full measure of the toll exacted as the result of Blenkinsopp's perfidy. When Colonel Wakefield met at Hokianga the native woman who had formerly been Captain Blenkinsopp's wife, and was now his widow, she showed him a document which purported to be the original deed to which her late husband had secured Te Rauparaha's signature. As a matter of fact, the document was no more than a copy which had been left amongst the captain's papers, but, believing it to be genuine, Wakefield purchased it for £300;[146] and it was largely on this spurious foundation that his brother, Captain Wakefield, subsequently, and with such fatal results, sought to build up the New Zealand Company's claim to the Wairau. This transaction, in which Captain Blenkinsopp was so scandalously concerned, was but typical of many another, by which the credulity of the natives was cunningly exploited. Their influence had, however, been so far comparatively harmless, and the measure of injury they had inflicted had told more heavily upon the unscrupulous speculators than upon the natives. But now Te Rauparaha, and those tribes with whom he was associated, were about to be brought into contact, and to some extent into conflict, with a more persistent earth-hunger, and more powerful land-buyers, than any which had yet operated upon the coasts of New Zealand. The spirit of colonisation was abroad in England, and the restless genius of Edward Gibbon Wakefield[147] was busy coining schemes whereby the spirit of the hour might be embodied in action. Canada and South Australia had each attracted his attention; and now his eyes were turned to New Zealand as a field suitable for the planting of his quasi-philanthropic projects. His writings upon the subject of colonisation had drawn within the circle of his influence a galaxy of men, whose liberal education, lofty ideals, and generous impulses had earned for them the title of "philosophic radicals," and with these men, who stood for the most advanced development of English political aspiration, as its sponsors, the New Zealand Company was founded in 1839. With the story of this Company's early political troubles we are not concerned, for they bear only slightly on subsequent events in New Zealand. But the central fact with which we are concerned is that the Company was established for the purpose of acquiring land from the natives and transporting emigrants from England to settle thereon. To this end, the expeditionary ship _Tory_ was hurriedly despatched from the Thames, and arrived safely in New Zealand waters, bringing with her Colonel Wakefield, brother of the founder of the Company, with a staff of officers charged with the duty of conducting the negotiations for the purchase of land and arranging other preliminaries--which appeared to be regarded in the light of mere formalities--incidental to the introduction of a great colonising scheme. In furtherance of her mission, the _Tory_ paid a brief visit to Queen Charlotte Sound and Port Nicholson, and reached Kapiti on October 16, 1839, the day on which Ngati-Raukawa had been routed by Ngati-Awa at the fight of Kuititanga. The first tidings of this engagement was brought to the officers of the _Tory_ by a canoe-crew of natives who had just left the scene of strife; and although the sea was high, a boat's company had been organised, and was on the point of starting for the battlefield, when a message came from Te Rauparaha, who had returned to Evans' Island, that he wished them to pay him the honour of a visit. Accordingly, the course of the boat was deflected to the island, and there the chiefs of the two races met for the first time. Te Rauparaha was sitting upon the ground beside his wife, a woman who has been described as being of the "Meg Merrilies" type. He was deeply smeared with red ochre, and evidently in an uneasy frame of mind. His manner was restless, his glance furtive, and he was obviously depressed at the result of the battle. As Colonel Wakefield and his party approached, Te Rauparaha rose and hastened to exchange with them the missionary greeting, shaking them by the hand. With equal alacrity he sought to convince them that he had been in no way concerned in promoting the fight. In these protestations it cannot be said that he was in the least successful, for the Englishmen had already been prejudiced against him by the tales of his duplicity told them by both whalers and Ngati-Awas at Cloudy Bay; whilst his wandering, distrustful glances, as he spoke, were not calculated to inspire confidence. Though, on the whole, his conduct was unsatisfactory, the interview was occasionally illumined by flashes of his imperious nature, the inborn power to lead and command momentarily asserting itself, only to be again clouded by a mean cringing, which seemed to bespeak a craven spirit. Being assured that there were no hostile natives harbouring on board the _Tory_, Te Rauparaha left Evans' Island for Kapiti, promising to visit the ship on the following morning. Next day he was received by Colonel Wakefield with a salute of guns, which filled him with alarm, until it had been made clear that the demonstration was intended as a great compliment to him and those chiefs who were with him. The preliminaries of the reception being over, the question of the land purchase was introduced to the chiefs; but Colonel Wakefield discovered them to be distinctly hostile to his proposals, an opposition which he attributed to the influence of Mr. Wynen, the agent for a Sydney land syndicate, whose headquarters were then at Cloudy Bay. The energies of this gentleman had been insidiously applied to prejudice the native mind against the Company's scheme of colonisation; and it was only with the greatest difficulty that the Colonel was ultimately able to dissipate these prejudices, and to obtain their consent "to look over their land, and if he found it good, to take it." A gale which raged through the Strait prevented all communication with the shore and suspended the negotiations until the 21st, when Colonel Wakefield made a definite proposal to purchase all the Ngati-Toa possessions, together with their rights and claims on both sides of the Strait. After he had exhibited to their wondering eyes a great portion of the goods--the finery and the trumpery--which he intended to dignify by the term "payment," his proposals were doubtingly accepted, Te Hiko pressing for more soap and clothing, and Te Rauparaha clamouring for more arms. Te Rauparaha dictated to Mr. Jerningham Wakefield the names of the localities involved in the sale; and the binding nature of the bargain was impressed upon the natives as clearly as the linguistic limitations of Dicky Barrett, the interpreter, would permit. These preliminaries settled, the following day was appointed for the distribution of the goods; but the ceremony was intercepted by the indisposition of Te Hiko, whom Colonel Wakefield regarded as an indispensable party to the transaction, and he refused to proceed without him. This refusal greatly aggravated Te Rauparaha, whose hands were itching to grasp the guns, which had been thrown like leaven amongst the heap of worthless stuff; and he railed bitterly against the deference paid to one whom he designated "a boy," destitute alike of any interest in, or knowledge of, land. "Give us the goods," said he, "with more powder and arms. Of what use are blankets, soap, tools, and iron pots, when we are going to war? What does it matter whether we die cold or warm, clean or dirty, hungry or full? Give us two-barrelled guns, plenty of muskets, lead, powder, cartridges and cartouche boxes." This militant appeal was coldly ignored by Colonel Wakefield, who steadfastly declined to consider the question of distribution until Hiko's return, which did not occur until two days later. On the 23rd, however, the chiefs again assembled, and the merchandise, which the Company offered as payment for the land, was ostentatiously displayed on the deck of the _Tory_. The consummation of the transaction was, however, still to be delayed. While Te Hiko was busy trying on one of the coats which he had selected from the pile of clothing, Te Rauparaha, Tungia, and several of the warlike chiefs made an unseemly rush to secure some of the fowling-pieces, which were lying on the companion hatch ready for distribution. This exhibition of selfishness so exasperated Te Hiko that he at once threw down the garment, and, calling to Rangihiroa to accompany him, went down over the ship's side and made for the shore in a fit of ill-humour, out of which he could not be cajoled until next day. Colonel Wakefield immediately suspended the proceedings, whereupon Te Rauparaha again became deeply offended at the consideration shown for one whom he regarded as so much his inferior; but, in spite of importunities and threats which sorely tried his patience, the Colonel refused to recede from his former attitude, and declined to take one step towards the sale in Hiko's absence. As Wakefield was adamant against all their menaces and blandishments, nothing remained but to return on shore for the purpose of placating Te Hiko, which they shortly succeeded in doing. Next day, unsolicited by Colonel Wakefield, both Te Hiko and Te Rauparaha came off to the ship, and, after entertaining themselves for some time with the novelties of the _pakeha_, they asked that the deed of sale might be read over to them, the map being at the same time consulted. After questions had been asked and answered, and all doubts on either side apparently cleared away, the fateful document was signed, Te Rauparaha making a mark peculiarly his own, and Te Hiko subscribing the sign of the cross. Each then left the vessel, possessed of a gun, promising that the rest of the chiefs would come on board and sign on the next day. This ceremony was duly performed, but only eleven signatures were obtained, Te Rauparaha and two minor chiefs signing as proxy for the natives on the opposite side of the Strait. A share of the gifts was reserved for Te Rangihaeata, who was at Mana, and had taken no part in the negotiations. On Thursday, 24th October, Colonel Wakefield was able to report to his Directors in London that he had acquired by his purchases at Port Nicholson and Kapiti, at a cost of a few guns, some powder, lead, and miscellaneous goods, "possessions for the Company extending from the 38th to the 43rd degree of latitude on the western coast, and from the 41st to the 43rd on the eastern." But Colonel Wakefield still had some reservations as to the completeness and validity of his purchases; for he added to his report this qualifying sentence: "To complete the rights of the Company to all the land unsold to foreigners in the above extensive district, it remains for me to secure the cession of their rights in it from the Ngati-Awa, and, in a proportionately small degree, from the Ngati-Raukawa and Whanganui peoples." Three days later he had an interview with the Ngati-Awa people at Waikanae, and they, being excited by the spirit of war and fearful of another attack by Ngati-Raukawa, were easily tempted by the sight of guns and the prospect of powder. Several of the elder chiefs addressed the assemblage, and urged their followers to acquiesce in the Colonel's proposals, conditionally upon their receiving arms and ammunition. To this stipulation Wakefield felt no reluctance in agreeing, and, for the purpose of giving it effect, a conference was arranged to take place on board the _Tory_. On the appointed day (8th November) the natives were astir bright and early; soon after daylight they "began to come on board, and by 12 o'clock more than two hundred had assembled on the deck, including all the principal chiefs of the Sounds." To these unsophisticated dealers in real estate was produced the deed, phrased in stilted terms, which purported to convey to the Colonel, as agent for the Company, and in trust for the Company, a vast area of country, over much of which the signatories had absolutely no authority whatever. "Know all men that we the undersigned chiefs of the Ngati-Awa tribes, residing in Queen Charlotte's Sound, on both sides of Cook Strait, in New Zealand, have this day sold and parted with, in consideration of having received, as full and just payment for the same, ten single-barrelled guns, three double-barrelled guns, sixty muskets, forty kegs of powder, two kegs of lead slabs, two dozen pairs of scissors, two dozen combs, two pounds of beads, one thousand flints, the land bounded on the south by the parallel of the 43rd degree of South latitude, and on the west, north and east by the sea (with all islands), and also comprising all those lands, islands, tenements, &c., situate on the northern shore of Cook Straits, which are bounded on the north-east by a direct line drawn from the southern head of the river or harbour of Mokau, situate on the west coast in latitude of about 38 degrees South, to Tikukahore, situate on the east coast in the latitude of about 41 degrees South, and on the east, south and west by the sea, excepting always the island of Kapiti, and the small islands adjacent thereto, and the island of Mana, but including Tehukahore, Wairarapa, Port Nicholson, Otaki, Manawatu, Rangitikei, Whanganui, Waitotara, Patea, Ngati-Ruanui, Taranaki, Moturoa, and the several sugar-loaf islands and the river or harbour of Mokau." The goods which were specified in the deed as the price of the land were carefully arranged on deck; but during the process of distribution a violent altercation took place, which was only quelled by a threat from the Colonel to send the wares below and proceed to sea, if peace was not immediately restored. Advantage was taken of the "momentary calm" thus secured to obtain the coveted signatures, and consenting chiefs to the number of about thirty appended their marks to the document. Scarcely had the distribution of the beads and bullets recommenced than another mêlée, even more violent, took place. "In a moment," says the Colonel in his report to the Company, "the most tumultuous scene we had ever witnessed took place, in which many blows were exchanged: never did a ship witness such a scene of violence without bloodshed." A similar, "if not more unfriendly," riot occurred on shore amongst those natives who had first conveyed their goods to land before they commenced their peculiar method of division; but it mattered nothing to the Company's representative how the natives abused their goods or each other so long as they had put their marks to his deed. Equally was it a matter of indifference to the Maoris how many deeds they signed, so long as they became possessed of arms and ammunition. It was sufficient for the one that he had outwitted his rivals, and appeared to be doing well for his employers, and for the other that they had satisfied the most pressing need of the moment. Neither looked beyond the immediate present, or took a single thought for the long years of mistrust and misunderstanding that were to follow upon their hasty and ill-considered transactions. Confident that he had made "a full and just payment" for the land described in the deed, Colonel Wakefield on 9th November went on shore and took possession of the estate, in the name of the Company; and, in order to distinguish their possessions, "which so greatly predominate in this extensive territory," from those of other buyers, he designated them North and South Durham, according to the respective islands in which they were situated. Having completed his purchases at Kapiti to his own satisfaction, Colonel Wakefield, on 18th November, sailed northward, intending to call in at Whanganui for the purpose of perfecting his purchases there, as he regarded that district as one of some importance. But before he left he had received a glimmering that his proceedings had not been perfectly understood, and the first shadow of doubt must have crossed his mind when Te Rauparaha calmly informed him that he (Te Rauparaha) wanted more guns, and, in order to get them, intended to make further sales, embracing territory which the Colonel believed he had already bought. Language of the most reproachful character was used towards the chief, and his speedy repudiation of a solemn bargain was characterised in unmeasured terms; but Te Rauparaha steadfastly maintained that, so far as he was concerned, the sale in the Middle Island had not included more than D'Urville Island and Blind Bay at Nelson. Subsequent investigations proved that Te Rauparaha was right and the Colonel was wrong; but it is doubtful whether, when he left for Whanganui, the latter had realised the full extent of his error, and therefore he parted from the chief with bitterness in his heart and an angry word upon his lips. While these events were in progress in New Zealand, the operations of the Company and its contemporary land-speculators had not passed unnoticed in England. The British authorities were beginning to regard those islands with an anxious eye, but they displayed a painful indecision in adopting measures to meet the political emergency which they were commencing to realise was inevitable. As a tentative step, Mr. Busby was sent from New South Wales in the capacity of British Resident; but his usefulness was shorn down to the point of nullity by the purely nominal nature of the powers with which he was endowed. Negative as the results of this experiment had been, it nevertheless encouraged the British authorities to take a still bolder step in the appointment of Captain Hobson, R.N., as the accredited British Consul, who was authorised to negotiate with the chiefs, and, if possible, to acquire the country by cession, preparatory to annexing it as a dependency of New South Wales. Even Hobson's position was extremely anomalous until the now famous Treaty of Waitangi had been formulated and successfully promulgated amongst the tribes. The ratification of this document by the chiefs was a severe blow to the New Zealand Company, while it is doubtful whether the Maoris had more than a nebulous idea of its real meaning. It, however, gave the British Government the colour of right to institute the principles of established authority in those islands, where it had become their imperative duty to control the colonisation which their indifference had not been able to thwart. With the policy of the Treaty of Waitangi we are not now concerned, beyond recording the fact that, in order to give effect to that policy, it became necessary to procure the signatures of all the principal chiefs, as acknowledging their assent to the solemn obligations involved in the covenant. To this end Archdeacon Williams came southward, and in due course reached Kapiti, where, on May 14, 1840, he succeeded, but by what means we are not told, in inducing Te Rauparaha to sign the treaty. Similarly, Major Bunbury, an officer of the 80th Regiment, had been despatched by Captain Hobson in H.M.S. _Herald_, charged with the mission of securing the assent of the chiefs in the Middle Island to the proposals of the Government. After having visited all the southern _pas_ of importance, and proclaimed the sovereignty of the Queen both at Stewart Island and Cloudy Bay, he arrived at Kapiti on June 19th, and to him we are indebted for the following account of what there occurred:-- "When we arrived off the island of Kapiti several canoes were leaving the island, and on my preparing to go ashore, fortunately the first canoe we met had on board the chief Rauparaha, whom I was anxious to see. He returned on board with me in the ship's boat, his own canoe, one of the most splendid I have yet seen, following. He told me the Rev. Mr. Williams had been there, and had obtained his signature to the treaty, and on inquiring for the chiefs Rangihaeata and Te Hiko, I was informed that we should meet them both, probably at the island of Mana, and, as this lay on our route to Port Nicholson, thither we proceeded, the chief Rauparaha remaining on board the _Herald_, his canoes following. On our arrival, the _Herald_ having anchored, I went on shore, accompanied by Mr. Williams and Rauparaha. We learnt that Hiko, son of the late chief Te Pehi, had gone out on a distant expedition. The other chief, Rangihaeata, after some time returned with us on board, accompanied by Rauparaha, when both signed the treaty." What arguments or other inducements were held out to the chiefs to lead them to append their marks to the document is not clear. Rauparaha subsequently boasted that he had received a blanket for his signature, but whether this gift, or bribe, was tendered by the missionary or the Major is equally a matter of doubt. It would, however, be safe to assume that the blanket was a more potent factor in securing the allegiance of the chief to the policy of the treaty than any arguments that could have been pressed upon him. It is certainly asking much of the intelligence of Te Rauparaha to assert that he was seized with the full significance of the step he had taken, seeing that the terms and intentions of the treaty were afterwards so diversely interpreted by cultured Englishmen.[148] Major Bunbury, when being sent out on his southern mission, was instructed by Captain Hobson to assemble the chiefs, to explain the provisions of the treaty to them, and further, to give them "a solemn pledge that the most perfect good faith would be kept by Her Majesty's Government, that their property, their rights and privileges should be most fully preserved." In direct conflict with this official view, which was an accurate reflex of the instructions given to Captain Hobson himself by the Marquis of Normanby, the then Secretary of State for the Colonies, Lord Howick persuaded a Committee of the House of Commons to condemn the treaty as "a part of a series of injudicious proceedings," and with a light-hearted ignorance of Maori reverence for landed rights,[149] to assert that the acknowledgment of Maori property in wild lands subsequent to the Queen's assumption of sovereignty was "not essential to the construction of the treaty, and was an error which had been productive of serious consequences." Whether or not Te Rauparaha and his fellow-signatories were able to analyse the language of the treaty with the precision of an English statesman, they had certainly never placed upon it such a loose interpretation as this. And when tidings of the Committee's deliberations reached the colony, the alleged "serious consequences" which had followed upon the observance and administration of the treaty as laid down by Captain Hobson were safety itself compared with the catastrophe which might have followed from this rash attempt to repudiate, in the interests of the New Zealand Company, the essential principle of the treaty--that the "full, exclusive, and undisturbed possession of their lands and estates, forests, fisheries, and other possessions" was guaranteed to the natives by the Queen. Fortunately, at this time there was at the head of Britain's Colonial Department a Minister who held national honour to be dearer than personal gain. Lord Stanley, to his credit, refused to comply with the recommendations of the Committee to confiscate the native land "without reference to the validity or otherwise of its supposed purchase from the natives," and at the end of the famous three days' debate induced the House of Commons to adopt his view of the nation's obligations to the Maoris. The Crown having now assumed sovereignty over New Zealand, it became necessary to administer its affairs impartially in the interests of both Maori and _pakeha_ population; and, in this connection, one of its first and most pressing duties was to make an honest effort to unravel the complex web of land claims, in which both races had become unhappily entangled. The Government of Lord John Russell accordingly appointed as a commissioner to adjudicate upon claims of all classes of buyers Mr. Spain, an English lawyer, who, it is said, had been a prominent electioneering agent on the side of the Liberals. Mr. Spain arrived in New Zealand on December 8, 1841, and immediately took steps to establish his court. He has been described as a man of solid intelligence, but burdened with a good deal of legal pedantry; slow in thinking and in his apprehension of ways of dealing with new emergencies; steady and plodding in his methods, thoroughly honest in his intentions, and utterly inflexible to threats, though, perhaps, not unsusceptible to flattery. Considering the magnitude of their alleged purchases, the claims of the New Zealand Company naturally took precedence over all others in the business of the court; and, having regard to the temperament of the Commissioner, an inauspicious start was made by the representatives of the Company metaphorically shaking their fists in his face. In some degree their annoyance may have been pardonable, for they, believing themselves to be the pioneers of a great colonising scheme, had flattered themselves that not only the merit of their cause, but the fact that they had made their purchases prior to the proclamation of the Queen's sovereignty, would have placed them outside the exacting conditions of the Treaty of Waitangi. The coming of Mr. Spain, and his insistence upon an exhaustive examination of their titles, was a heavy blow to them, which they at first thought to ward off by affecting an attitude of amused indifference. They laughed at the treaty, with its engagement to respect Maori rights in land, and its elevation of the Maori to a civil status equal to themselves. But amidst this simulated merriment they exhibited an ill-concealed chagrin that the little self-governing community, which they had hoped to set up on the shores of Cook Strait, had been so unceremoniously superseded by the sovereignty of the Queen, and they resented with fear and anxiety the appointment of a commissioner, who might deem it his duty to ask awkward questions regarding their titles. Their policy was, therefore, one of delay and evasion, which was inaugurated by their raising technical objections to the constitution of the court, its jurisdiction, and its forms of procedure, but, most of all, to Mr. Spain's determination to call native evidence. That was surely an unnecessary elevation of the savage, and a corresponding degradation of the white man. In fact, they openly asserted that to put the testimony of the one against the other was a gratuitous insult to the dignity of the British subject. But this was not the full measure of Spain's offending in the eyes of the Company's champions. He was audacious enough to ask Colonel Wakefield to submit proof that those natives who had signed the Company's deed had the right to sell the land which they thus purported to convey to the Company; and some of them made themselves conspicuously offensive in the manner in which they ridiculed this demand as preposterous and ridiculous. The proceedings of the court at Wellington[150] do not materially concern our purpose, for Te Rauparaha took no part in the sale of Port Nicholson, nor need we burden the narrative with the interminable finesse which took place before the court was able seriously to attack the work which lay before it in other districts. When this condition was at length reached, Spain soon saw that he was faced with a most serious problem. That the Company's purchases were in most instances bad he had little hesitation in declaring. But there was no blinking the fact that hundreds of settlers had risked their all on the assurances of the Company that they could give them a title, and it would have been cruel indeed to visit the sins of the Company upon the unfortunate colonists. Spain, therefore, halted between justice to the Maoris and equity to the settlers, satisfying the requirements of his office by issuing interim reports, hoping that in the meantime some workable compromise might be evolved. This was ultimately found in an arrangement whereby Mr. Clarke and Colonel Wakefield were to agree upon what additional compensation was to be paid for the land purchased, and, failing their arriving at an understanding, Mr. Spain was to be the final arbitrator. At the outset of these negotiations, Mr. Clarke stipulated that the natives were not to be evicted from their _pas_ or their cultivations, nor were their burial-places to be disturbed; but to these reasonable reservations Colonel Wakefield could not at first be induced to frankly agree, while his unwillingness, or his inability, to comply with the ultimate awards tended to accentuate rather than to soothe public irritation. Meanwhile, Rangihaeata had been busy entering his practical protest against what he believed to be a violation of his rights at Porirua. He, in conjunction with Te Rauparaha and Te Hiko,[151] stoutly contended that Porirua, like the Wairau, had never been sold; and when, in the early part of 1841, the Company's surveyors went there to survey, Rangihaeata blocked up the forest track, levelled the surveyors' tents to the ground, and, at the end of each day, undid all the work which they had performed. This interference with the survey was obviated by an assurance being given to the chief, that, even if the land were surveyed, the Company's title must still be investigated by Mr. Spain before the settlers would be permitted to enter upon it. But, in defiance of this assurance, Colonel Wakefield, in April, 1842, issued leases to four settlers--Joseph Hurley, Thomas Parry, Benjamin Lowndes and Josiah Torr--who at once proceeded to erect houses and occupy their holdings. Two of the houses were nearly finished when the intelligence was brought to the chief. Rangihaeata immediately gave the settlers notice of his intention to pull their houses down; and this threat, so chivalrously declared, was duly executed next day, without any unnecessary violence, by the chief and a band of fifty men. The indignation which followed this assertion of native authority found expression in a public meeting at Wellington, at which the arrest of Rangihaeata was violently demanded, and those present declared their readiness to assist the Sheriff in effecting his capture. With the mandate of this meeting Mr. Murphy, the magistrate, refused to comply,[152] and when, in the following June, the huts were again demolished, he wrote to the Governor declaring his determination not to interfere "to prevent any natives keeping land which they state they have not sold, until Mr. Spain decides upon the claims." This determination to regard the Porirua land claims as _sub judice_ met with the entire concurrence of Captain Hobson, but was as bitterly assailed by Colonel Wakefield, who committed the indiscretion, almost criminal under the circumstances, of declaring, when speaking at Wellington, that he had not treated with the natives for a settlement of their claims, but preferred to employ the inconvenience created by these claims as grounds of complaint against the Government, and as arguments in aid of his efforts to secure the removal of the Governor. With such a feeling of declared insincerity pervading Colonel Wakefield's conduct, it is small wonder that the differences between the natives and the Company were slow of settlement, or that the efforts of Spain and Clarke to that end were unduly protracted. Equally true is it that thereby the cares and worries of the Governor were unnecessarily aggravated, while both brown and white populations were exasperated almost to the point of desperation by the vexatious delays. The irritated state of the public temper thus engendered not only made acts of violence possible, but even encouraged them, and these only added fuel to the threatened conflagration. A native woman was found by her friends murdered at Wellington, and suspicion fell upon a European. Only a few months later a settler was discovered lying upon the Petone road with his skull fractured, and questioning eyes were at once turned in the direction of the Maoris. The burial-grounds of the natives were being repeatedly desecrated by _pakeha_ looters in search of greenstone ornaments, and in the prosecution of this shameful traffic, deep offence was given by the secret exhumation of the body of Te Rauparaha's brother, Nohorua, at Cloudy Bay. For this act of violence to the honoured dead the natives would at one time have taken swift vengeance; but, acting under the restraining counsel of Mr. Clarke, they consented to refer their complaint to the Government for settlement, a forbearance which the Protector, in his letter to Captain Hobson, assured the Governor greatly surprised him.[153] The weight of these and other accumulating troubles began to tell heavily upon the frail physique of Captain Hobson, and borne down by the stress of his increasing responsibilities, he died at Auckland in September, 1842. Before his successor, Captain Fitzroy, arrived in the Colony, the tragedy for which the country was being rapidly prepared had been enacted, and the faithlessness of the New Zealand Company had been written in letters of blood on the floor of the Wairau Valley. [127] "Amongst these, there was a great chief named Tu-Hawaiki in Maori, 'Bloody Jack' by the Englishmen, because in his English, which he learned mostly from the rough whalers and traders, he often used the low word 'bloody'" (_Memoirs of the Rev. J.F.H. Wohlers_). Tu Hawaiki was both the patron and the pupil of the whalers, and was referred to by them as an evidence of what they had done in civilising the aborigines. "He was undoubtedly the most intelligent native in the country in 1840, and his reputation for honesty was such that Europeans trusted him with large quantities of goods" (_Thomson_). [128] "Just like the Governor." [129] Travers doubts the occurrence of this incident, holding that had Te Rauparaha been guilty of such conduct towards his own people, he could never have retained the respect of his fellow-chiefs. Wakefield, on the other hand, insists upon it, and it is also referred to in a Ngati-Toa account of Te Rauparaha's life found in White's _Ancient History of the Maori_. [130] A modified version of this incident states that all the crew were drowned except an old woman, who escaped by clinging to the overturned canoe. Tu-Hawaiki and his friends waited about the shore for some days until the bodies were cast up, and then the old woman was killed, her death being part of the religious rites performed at the funeral ceremonies. But there are discrepancies in the tradition, upon which it is now impossible to arbitrate. [131] This war is known in Maori history as the Hao-whenua war. [132] Te Heuheu's peace was made at Kapiti. He took a _taiaha_ and broke it across his knee. Some people then gave him a long-handled tomahawk, and Hoani Tuhata gave a sword, and peace was made (_Native Land Court Record_). [133] I am indebted to my friend, Mr. Robert McNab, for the following note, culled from an American whaling captain's log, which probably refers to this period, the incident described having occurred at Cloudy Bay on Saturday, April 30, 1836:-- "At 4 had visit from Roabolla (Rauparaha), the head chief of this Bay (just returned from a marauding expedition), accompanied with the customary demand of lay of tobacco, muskets, and cask of powder, which I peremptorily denied. This they returned with a threat that I should not whale here, to which I replied I was perfectly willing to go to sea, for I would not submit to any imposition, although I would present them with the same the English ships and parties did, but no more, and if they would not take that they should have nothing. They finally consented to receive a dozen pipes, 10 lbs. tobacco, and a piece of low-priced calico of about 30 yards, priced 17s. 4d., and a tin pot, then dismissed them with a blessing. He afterwards came and demanded supper, which I, of course, declined furnishing him, and bade him goodbye. There is no other way to deal with these people only to be positive with them, and let them know you do not fear them, as if any timidity is shown, they demand everything they see, nor would the ship hold enough for them, and the bad conduct of masters has encouraged them to be very importunate. I am willing to allow a lone ship here, not well armed, might be obliged to comply with their requisition, but no excuse can be offered for any one to do so now, as there are seven ships here all partially armed, and yet he showed me three muskets given him by the captains of ships the other side, to their shame be it spoken, for if they only reflected they would know 'tis for the interest of these natives to keep on good terms with us, as they know if ships are hindered coming here, adieu to their darling tobacco, muskets, and pipes. I have adopted this line of conduct from my own conviction, and the advice of the English masters now here who know them well." [134] This fight is known in Ngai-Tahu tradition as _Oroua-moa-nui_. The Rev. Canon Stack says that Paora Taki, afterwards a well-known Maori Assessor at Rapaki, who was fighting under Tu-Hawaiki, recognised Rauparaha, and might have killed him as he brushed past him on his way to the water, if he had only possessed a better weapon than a sharpened stake with which to assault him. [135] Dieffenbach says: "Ten or twelve years ago (1827-29) the southern headland of Tory Channel was the scene of a sanguinary contest between the original natives of the channel and the tribes of the Ngati-Awa. Rauparaha, at the head of the latter people, earned inglorious laurels by shutting up his opponents on a narrow tongue of land and then exterminating them." [136] "Te Koihua settled near Pakawau, in Massacre Bay, where I frequently saw the old man prior to his death. Strange to say, his love for greenstone was so great that even after he and his wife had reached a very advanced age, they travelled down the west coast in 1858, then a very arduous task, and brought back a large rough slab of that substance, which they proceeded diligently to reduce to the form of a _mere_" (_Travers_). [137] "Every tribe throughout Maoridom prized greenstone above everything else, and strove to acquire it. The locality in which it was found was known by report to all, and the popular imagination pictured untold wealth to be awaiting the adventurous explorer of that region" (_Stack_). [138] When Mr. Edward Shortland was travelling in the Middle Island in 1843-44, an account of which he has left us in his _Southern Districts of New Zealand_, he had for guide and assistant a native named Huruhuru, who employed the leisure of his evenings in giving Mr. Shortland information about the interior of the country, with which he was well acquainted. He drew a map of the four great lakes in central Otago, described the country through which the path across the island passed, and was able to name the principal streams, and even to point out the various stopping-places at the end of each day's journey. [139] In confirmation of at least one purpose of the expedition--that of securing slaves--it is interesting to note that, with the exception of two children who were killed and eaten at Lake Wanaka, none of the prisoners were sacrificed, although the temptation to do so must have been difficult to resist, as the party often suffered severely from hunger. [140] "For three miles we followed this stream, flowing in a north-north-east direction, through a comparatively open valley, with occasional patches of grass on its sides, and arrived then at its junction with a large stream of glacial origin, and of the size of the Makarora, which came from the eastern central chain, and to which, according to the direction of His Honour the Superintendent, I gave my name. This river forms, before it reaches the valley, a magnificent waterfall, several hundred feet in height" (_Haast's "Geology of Canterbury and Westland"_). [141] The exception above referred to was Nga-whakawa, Te Puoho's brother-in-law, who escaped in the dim light of the early morning. Mr. Percy Smith, writing in the _Polynesian Journal_, says: "His was a most unenviable position. A distance of nearly five hundred miles in a straight line separated him from his own people, the intermediate country being occupied by tribes bitterly hostile to his, who would welcome with joy the opportunity of sacrificing him. But notwithstanding the exceeding difficulties which lay in his path, this brave fellow decided to try to rejoin his relatives at Massacre Bay, at the extreme north end of the South Island. How long his arduous journey took I know not, but it must have been months. He dare not keep near the east coast, which was inhabited by his enemies, but had to follow the base of the mountains inland, seeking his sustenance in roots of the fern, which is very scarce, and of the _taramea_, occasionally snaring a _weka_ or other bird. So he made his toilsome way by mountain and valley, swimming the snow-cold rivers, ever on the alert for signs of wandering parties of his enemies, only lighting fires after dark by the arduous process of _hika-ahi_, or rubbing two sticks together, enduring cold, fatigue, and hunger, until, after making one of the most extraordinary journeys on record, he at last reached the home of his people at Parapara, Massacre Bay. Here he was the first to bring the news of the disaster which had befallen Te Puoho and his companions. The daughter of this man, born after his return, named Ema Nga-whakawa, was still living at Manawatu a few years since." [142] This food was composed of pumpkins, probably the first grown on the coast. [143] The late Rangitane chief at Awapuni, Kerei te Panau. [144] Kuititanga means the wedge-shaped piece of land which is formed by the junction of two rivers. [145] This celebrated cannon is now at the town of Blenheim. Its history has been stated as follows, by the late John Guard, of Port Underwood. In 1833, his father, the original "Jack Guard" of the _Harriet_, brought this gun from Sydney and traded it away to Nohorua, a brother of Rauparaha, for the right to establish a whaling station at Kakapo Bay. This bargain was greatly facilitated by a demonstration which Guard gave by loading the gun and firing it off, for its power vastly pleased the natives, who christened it _Pu-huri-whenua_, "the gun that causes the earth to tremble." In 1834, Captain Blenkinsopp came upon the scene, and is said to have carried the gun away from Kakapo Bay "without leave or licence," and bartered it to Rauparaha for the Wairau Plain and Ocean Bay. Subsequently, it was brought back to Port Underwood by Rauparaha, and again given to Guard's father. After his death, it was taken possession of by the province of Marlborough as an historic relic, during the superintendency of Mr. Eyes. [146] "Previous to sailing, Colonel Wakefield purchased from a lady, representing herself to be the widow of Captain Blenkinsopp, some deeds professing to be the original conveyances of the plains of the Wairau by Rauparaha, Rangihaeata, and others to that gentleman, in consideration of a ship's gun. They were signed with elaborate drawings of the _moko_ or tattoo on the chiefs' faces" (_Wakefield_). [147] According to Lord Lytton, Edward Gibbon Wakefield was "the man in these latter days beyond comparison of the most genius and widest influence in the great science of colonisation, both as a thinker, a writer, and a worker, whose name is like a spell to all interested in that subject." [148] Mr. Somes, one of the champions of the New Zealand Company in London, thus expressed the views of the Directorate upon the treaty: "We did not believe that even the Royal power of making treaties could establish in the eye of our courts such a fiction as a native law of real property in New Zealand. We have always had very serious doubts whether the Treaty of Waitangi, made with naked savages by a Consul invested with no plenipotentiary powers, could be treated by lawyers as anything but a praiseworthy device for amusing and pacifying savages for the moment." To this Lord Stanley replied through his secretary that he was "not prepared, as Her Majesty's Secretary of State, to join with the Company in setting aside the Treaty of Waitangi after having obtained the advantage guaranteed by it, even though it might be made with 'naked savages,' or though it might be treated by lawyers as a praiseworthy device for amusing and pacifying savages for the moment. Lord Stanley entertains a different view of the respect due to obligations contracted by the Crown of England, and his final answer to the demands of the Company must be that, as long as he has the honour of serving the Crown, he will not admit that any person, or any Government, acting in the name of Her Majesty, can contract a legal, moral, or honorary obligation to despoil others of their lawful and equitable rights." [149] "Long before the arrival of the white man in New Zealand there was a proverb amongst the Maoris--'_He wahine he whenua, e ngaro ai te tangata_,' which may be rendered in English 'For land or wife man stakes his life'" (_Clarke_). [150] When the court opened at Wellington on 16th May, one of the first witnesses called was Dicky Barrett, who had acted as interpreter to Colonel Wakefield when making his purchases, and Mr. George Clarke, who appeared as the representative of the natives, has left us the following sketch of Dicky's appearance in the box: "Barrett was a shore whaler who had married a native woman; he was a decent fellow enough among men of his class, but he was very ignorant, and I soon made him show, in the course of his evidence, that he did not even understand the English meaning of the deeds he professed to interpret. He admitted, too, that instead of telling the natives, as the deed set forth, that one-tenth of the surveyed lots should be reserved for their use, he had simply put it that one lot of the alienated land should be kept for the Maoris and one for the _pakehas_, and so on through the whole--that is, one half the land should be kept for their use. He admitted, further, that he had taken no account of many natives who were unwilling to sell. It soon became clear that Barrett's qualification to interpret was that he spoke whaler Maori, a jargon that bears much the same relation to the real language as the pigeon English of the Chinese does to our mother tongue." [151] "Te Hiko, whose signature Colonel Wakefield had boasted of obtaining in 1839, being examined before the Governor, the Chief Justice, Colonel Wakefield, the Rev. O. Hadfield, and others, denied that he had signed any deed of sale of Porirua. E. J. Wakefield asserted the contrary. The ignorant Barrett ... admitted that Hiko's signature was 'not obtained willingly,' and Clarke, the Protector, skilled in the language, declared that the document signed was calculated to mislead the natives. Hiko was constant in his denial of Wakefield's statements, and Hobson's mind was 'left with the impression that he had not sold' the land" (_Rusden_). [152] Subsequently, a similar application was made to Chief Justice Martin, when he arrived in Wellington in October, 1842, but he also declined to issue a warrant for the arrest of Rangihaeata, partly because the application was _ex parte_, and argument was requisite before judgment could be given on so grave a matter, and partly on technical grounds connected with the Police Magistrates Ordinance. [153] Mr. Spain, writing to Captain Hobson in 1842, remarked that the natives at Wellington had, upon many occasions, shown the greatest forbearance when deprived of their cultivations, and he very much doubted whether their white brethren would have followed their example if placed in similar circumstances. CHAPTER VII WAKEFIELD AND THE WAIRAU Amongst the many unsatisfactory negotiations for the purchase of land entered into between Colonel Wakefield and Te Rauparaha, few seem to have been so ill-defined as that relating to the Wairau Plain. Whether Wakefield really believed that he had bought it, or whether Rauparaha was equally confident that he had not sold it, will never be known. Certainly it is difficult to understand how such a wide difference of impression could have arisen between them, had they both been sincere in the transaction. It is true the Colonel might have considered that the plain was included in the purchases made in 1839, when he bargained for four hundred miles of country, extending from the 38th to the 43rd degree of latitude on the west coast, and from the 41st to the 43rd degree on the east coast. But he knew that the plain had never been specifically named, and in his heart he must have felt that no valid title could rest upon a purchase made as this one was, its full purport not being clearly explained by Dicky Barrett, who acted as interpreter, and the signatures of three chiefs only being obtained to the deed, when thirty thousand natives had, by native law, a voice in its disposal. That Colonel Wakefield did have some reservation, later on, about his right to the land is almost certain, for, after the settlement of Nelson had been in progress about a year, he strongly opposed the suggestion of his brother, Captain Wakefield, to include the Wairau in the district to be surveyed, partly because he considered that its occupation might militate against the success of the Wellington colony, but chiefly because he anticipated that the Company's title would be disputed by other claimants and by the natives. It would therefore seem that Captain Wakefield, the resident agent of the Company, was the more to blame for the improper occupation of the valley and for all the subsequent trouble, which he expiated with his life. He was as conversant as the Colonel with the whole circumstances of the case, perhaps more so; and, had it not been that he had no alternative between opening up the Wairau and acknowledging the ignominious failure of the Nelson settlement, he would hardly, in the face of so many warnings, have persisted in his high-handed and injudicious course. The story of the Nelson settlement repeats the tale of undue haste, imperfect preparations, a disposition to make florid promises and hold out inflated inducements, that characterised all the New Zealand Company's attempts at colonisation. One of the essential features of this settlement was that each settler should receive 150 acres of rural land, 50 acres of suburban land, and one town acre. But after the most thorough exploration of the region round Blind and Massacre Bays, it was found that, although a great deal of inferior country had been included in the sections laid off by the surveyors, there was still an enormous deficiency in the area required to provide for all the settlers who had either paid for their land in advance or were waiting to settle on it. Misled by the reports of some of his officers, Captain Wakefield had caused it to be broadly published that there was more than sufficient land at Port Whakatu to meet the requirements of the settlement, and it was while looking round for some tangible fact to justify his assertion that he bethought him of the Wairau. During his many excursions in search of rural land, Mr. Tuckett, the Company's chief surveyor, had discovered a route via Top House, by which the Wairau might be reached after a journey of 110 miles. This fact was reported to Captain Wakefield, who ordered that a complete examination of the district should be made by Mr. Tuckett. He, accompanied by his assistant, Mr. Davidson, and Captain England, a landowner in the settlement, made an extensive exploration, and subsequently conveyed the discomfiting intelligence to the resident agent that the Wairau Plain was the only available surface between Cape Farewell and Cape Campbell sufficient to afford the number of sections required to complete the settlement. The survey of the plain was then decided upon, but intelligence had reached Kapiti that the _pakehas_ had been down to the Wairau and that they intended to take possession of it. Immediately upon the receipt of this news, Rauparaha, accompanied by Hiko and Rangihaeata, crossed over to Nelson and sought an interview with Captain Wakefield. In plain and straightforward terms the natives told the Europeans, who had gathered in Dr. Wilson's residence to hear the _korero_, that they had not sold the Wairau to the principal agent of the Company, and that they had no intention of doing so, unless (to use Rauparaha's own expressive phrase) "the cask of gold was very great." They therefore warned them not to go there, as they had no right to the land. Captain Wakefield's answer was that he intended to proceed with the survey, as he claimed the land in the name of the Company. Rangihaeata vehemently denied the sale, and backed up his protestations by a threat that if Captain Wakefield attempted to carry out his intentions he would meet him and take his head. The agent was in no way disturbed or shaken by the hostile attitude of the chiefs; and to Rangihaeata's boisterous manner he calmly replied that, if any interference was offered, he would come with three hundred constables and arrest the belligerent natives. This unconciliatory attitude did not in the least assist to clear the atmosphere, for Rangihaeata went about the settlement during the next few days openly threatening with death every one who, he conceived, had any authority amongst the colonists, if they ventured to annex the Wairau, unless they could first succeed in killing him, in which event, he said, the land would remain as the lawful possession of the conqueror. Rauparaha, on the other hand, assumed the air of the diplomat, and professed not to sympathise with the policy of his lieutenant, whom he described as a "bad man." At the same time, in his fawning fashion, he entreated the Europeans not to go to the Wairau, and begged that the dispute might be referred to Mr. Spain, the Government Land Commissioner, who had been appointed to investigate the claims of the Company. But Captain Wakefield repudiated the jurisdiction of Mr. Spain in the matter, and refused to comply with the request. The chiefs, finding that neither threats nor persuasion could shake Captain Wakefield in his determination to take possession of the Wairau, indignantly left the settlement, Rauparaha expressing his intention to lay the whole circumstances of the case before the Queen's Commissioner and demand an immediate settlement of the claim. Scarcely had the angry Ngati-Toas left Nelson than the three chiefs who were resident at the Wairau arrived. These natives were sons of Rauparaha's elder brother, Nohorua, the oldest of whom, Rawiri Puaha, had previously informed Mr. Tuckett, when that gentleman visited his _pa_, that the plain was theirs and that Rauparaha had no power to sell it. They were gratified at the idea that the Europeans looked upon it with a favourable eye, but, at the same time, they were in no haste to enter into any negotiations for its sale until they had considerably extended their cultivations, in order that they might fairly claim a larger compensation. Doubtless one of their reasons for desiring closer intercourse with the _pakehas_ was that, in addition to their clearings, they had a large number of pigs running on the plain, which they used as a marketable commodity with the settlers at Port Underwood. But as fast as they cleared and cultivated the land and reared their pigs, Rauparaha was in the habit of coming over and coolly helping himself, with the result that his relations with the resident people were by this time considerably strained, and they probably thought that the presence of the settlers would check these depredations on the part of their high-handed relative. When they heard that Rauparaha had been to Nelson, they, being utterly mistrustful of his methods, at once concluded that he had gone there for the purpose of selling the plain; and it was to counteract this policy, as far as possible, that they went to see Captain Wakefield. The latter had always been much more considerate to resident natives than to those whom, like Rauparaha and Rangihaeata, he described as "travelling bullies."[154] He was therefore most anxious to make a valid and binding bargain with Puaha, to whom he offered a small schooner, and any reasonable quantity of goods, if he would acknowledge that the Wairau had been purchased by his brother, the Colonel. This Puaha refused to do, and therefore, at a subsequent interview, the resident agent adopted another line of argument, contending that the Company had already a legal title to the district by virtue of its being included in the latitude and longitude purchases made in 1839, and by right of a deed bought from Captain Blenkinsopp's widow for £300. Puaha denied the validity of both titles, pointing out that "the Wairau" had evidently been written into the first deed after signature; and that, in the second case, if Rauparaha had sold any portion of the land to Blenkinsopp, he had no right to do so without his (Puaha's) consent, which had never been asked and never given. For three days the conference was continued by the agent and the chief, without either being able to convince the other; but, at last, Puaha withdrew, still protesting in manly and dignified language against the views of the agent as to his title to the land. After these animated interviews, it might have been supposed that Captain Wakefield would, in his calmer moments, have seriously reviewed the position, and that against the vague and shadowy rights of the Company, as expressed in the two deeds in his possession, he would have set the fact that the authenticity of these sales was being stoutly contested by the resident and non-resident natives interested. He might have been expected also to recognise that the whole question, having been placed in the hands of Mr. Spain, was _sub judice_, and as such should remain in abeyance until the court had pronounced its judgment. These considerations were, however, altogether outweighed by the desire to placate the settlers, who were clamouring for their land, and to prevent the exposure of the Company's inability to fulfil its engagements. The fear that, if this could not be done, he would be open to crushing censure from all with whom they had entered into engagements, and the desire to rescue his own and his brother's reputation from public anger and ridicule, biased his otherwise judicial mind against the merits of the opposing case. Accordingly, he decided to act upon the impulse that moved him most, and on April 15, 1843, he entered into three contracts for the survey of the plain with Messrs. Barnicoat and Thompson, Mr. Cotterell, and Mr. Parkinson. In view of the probability of native interference, a special provision was inserted in the tenders that the contractors were to be indemnified in case of loss; and, on this understanding, the surveyors, with forty assistants, arrived a few days later, and commenced operations--Messrs. Barnicoat and Thompson at the Marshlands side of the valley, Mr. Cotterell in the neighbourhood of Riverlands, and Mr. Parkinson still higher up the plain, towards Grovetown. At first, the resident natives allowed the work to proceed with but slight resistance. Once or twice they refused to permit timber to be sawn for pegs and ranging rods; but with the exercise of a little tact and patience these difficulties were overcome, and the work had proceeded with so little friction that before Rauparaha arrived Messrs. Barnicoat and Thompson had practically completed their contract, the others not being quite so far advanced. Rauparaha and Rangihaeata were at Mana when the news of these proceedings reached them, and they at once engaged with their English friend, Joseph Toms, to convey them and a portion of their party in his schooner, _Three Brothers_, to Port Underwood, whence they intended to reach the Wairau in their canoes. On the 1st of June the schooner and the canoes arrived at the port, and Rauparaha, with one hundred armed followers, at once proceeded to the house of Mr. Cave, who for seven or eight years had been employed there as cooper for the whaling stations, and with whom they were on the best of terms. To him they declared their intention of burning the surveyors' camps, and for that purpose they left for the Wairau the same evening, in eight canoes and a whaleboat. Next morning Rauparaha, with thirty of his people, appeared at Mr. Cotterell's camp on the Opawa River, and, after stripping his huts, burned the _toetoe_ grass with which they were covered, as well as the survey pegs and ranging rods prepared from manuka sticks. They then assisted the surveyors to carry their belongings to the boats, and shipped them off to the _pa_ at the mouth of the river. Their next proceeding was to paddle up the Wairau to Mr. Barnicoat's camp, which was situated on the river-bank close to the Ferry Bridge, and there they re-enacted their settled programme. In these proceedings Rauparaha was very firm, yet conciliatory. There was no exhibition of temper or violence towards persons or property. He simply gave the surveyors to understand that he would have none of them or their surveying there, and that the sooner they returned to Nelson the better he would like it;[155] and, to this end, he assisted them to remove their instruments and personal effects to a place of safety before demolishing their _whares_. In logical fashion, he argued that the _toetoe_, having grown upon the land, was his, that he was entitled to do what he pleased with his own, and that so long as he did not interfere with any of the articles brought from England, he was committing no breach of justice. The instruments and baggage were placed in the boats and taken down to the _pa_, where they were safely landed and their owners treated with every consideration. But, before matters had reached this crisis, the contractors had despatched a joint letter to Mr. Tuckett, at Nelson, explaining the gravity of the situation, and asking him to come down at once and certify to the work already done. On receipt of this communication Mr. Tuckett, accompanied by Mr. Patchett, at once set out for the Wairau; and, on his arrival at the bar, on 3rd June, he was met by Mr. Cotterell, who briefly related all that had transpired since the arrival of Rauparaha, and the present position of natives and contractors respectively. So soon as he had grasped the situation, Mr. Tuckett hastily wrote a letter in pencil to Captain Wakefield, giving details, and intimating his intention of remaining on the scene until the Captain should make his pleasure known to him. This letter he entrusted to Mr. Cotterell, who at once left with his men in the boats for Nelson. The chief surveyor then set off up the Opawa River to the site of Mr. Cotterell's camp, where he pitched a tent and remained all night. In the morning he proceeded, in company with Mr. Patchett and Mr. Moline (Mr. Cotterell's assistant), to search for Mr. Parkinson, and, when they arrived at his hut, they found it in possession of a few natives, who had in no way interfered with it. The surveyor and his party not being there, Mr. Tuckett inquired for Rauparaha and Rangihaeata, who he was informed were in the bush. He thereupon explained that he intended to go over to the Awatere, that he would be absent about three days, and that at the end of that time he desired to meet the chiefs at Mr. Cotterell's camp, where he would converse with them over the recent events. The natives gladly undertook to convey this message to Rauparaha, who, with Rangihaeata, a number of their followers, and Mr. Parkinson's men, were awaiting them at the appointed place of meeting when the party returned from their explorations beyond the Vernon Hills. Here the expected conference took place, Rauparaha calmly but firmly explaining his reasons for interference. He claimed the Wairau as his own, but since there was a dispute about it, he had, on his return from Nelson, placed the matter in the hands of Mr. Spain, who had appointed a day on which to hear the case, Rauparaha on his part undertaking that in the meantime none of his people should enter upon the land. The day appointed by Mr. Spain had passed, and fearing that, if the survey was finished before he adjudicated upon their claim, they would lose their land, they had determined to stop the proceedings. Rauparaha expressed himself as being still willing to abide by Mr. Spain's decision, but the survey must cease and the Europeans must leave, until such time as that judgment should be given. Mr. Tuckett vainly endeavoured to point out the hardship this course would impose upon the contractors and their men, who were dependent upon their work for their living. He also explained that he was expecting instructions from Captain Wakefield, and asked permission to remain until he heard from his superior. His request for delay was met by a command to remove his tent to the boat, and, upon his refusing to obey, Rangihaeata burst into a violent passion, and, in a torrent of invective, reminded Mr. Tuckett of the warning he had given him in Nelson, ironically remarking that, if he was so fond of the Wairau, he (Rangihaeata) would bury him there. This insulting outburst was treated with studied contempt by the chief surveyor, who quietly rebuked Rangihaeata for his ungentlemanly behaviour, telling him that he would not converse with him until he mended his manners. While this brief altercation was proceeding, Rauparaha had remained silent, although he was evidently exercising a restraining influence upon his comrade. But he now advanced, and once more politely requested Mr. Tuckett to have his tent removed; but that gentleman still persisted in his right to remain, whereupon Rauparaha, becoming impatient, ordered some of his own people to carry out his behest, and in a few minutes the tent was struck and stowed away in the boat. Mr. Tuckett then deemed it unwise to offer further objection, and, together with the two chiefs, he agreed to go back to the _pa_. It had been Mr. Tuckett's intention to embark for Nelson next morning, but in the night a south-easterly gale came up and blew for three days, causing such a surf on the bar that Rauparaha advised him not to attempt to cross it. During this compulsory stay, the chief was most profuse in his expressions of goodwill towards the Europeans, and by his fawning and obsequious manner created a feeling of revulsion in the minds of the Englishmen. Rangihaeata, on the other hand, left them severely alone, seeking neither favours nor intercourse of any kind, and, save on one occasion, his isolation was complete. That exception arose from the fact that one of the men reported that he had lost a handkerchief and a billhook, which he had seen in the possession of Rangihaeata's people. Mr. Tuckett at once approached the chief, and asked to have the property returned. His reply was that he had some bad men as well as good ones amongst his followers, with the sarcastic addition that perhaps Mr. Tuckett was in the same position; but that, as he had come to the Wairau to defend his own and not to thieve, if the surveyor could identify the man, he would have his property back; failing that, he could have _utu_ instead. The billhook was soon found, and here the incident ended; but the impression it made upon Mr. Tuckett was that, if Rangihaeata was more violent than Rauparaha, he was up to this point certainly the more noble of the two. As soon as the weather cleared, the chief surveyor prepared to take his departure, but, as the boat would not carry both passengers and baggage, it was finally decided that Messrs. Barnicoat and Parkinson should remain, while Messrs. Tuckett, Patchett, and Moline proceeded to Nelson, although the chiefs raised no objection to the whole party remaining until additional boats could be brought, or until they could be conveyed to one of the whaling stations at Port Underwood. By noon on the following day Mr. Tuckett and his companions had got well into Blind Bay, when they observed the Government brig _Victoria_ under full sail. A gun was fired from the ship as a signal to board her. On doing so, they learned that the vessel had just left Nelson, and was proceeding to the Wairau with the police magistrate (Mr. Thompson), Captain Wakefield (the Company's agent), Captain England, J.P., Mr. Cotterell, and some of the would-be proprietors of the proposed settlement, as well as the chief constable, Mr. Maling, and twenty-four labouring men who had been sworn-in as special constables. The agent informed the chief surveyor that, after Mr. Cotterell had arrived at Nelson and made his report, it had been decided to proceed as soon as possible to the scene of operations, and arrest the chiefs on a charge of arson, a warrant having been granted by Messrs. Thompson, P.M., Captain Wakefield, Captain England, and A. McDonald, Esq., Justices of the Peace. Mr. Tuckett was naturally surprised and deeply grieved at this intelligence, and, in deprecation of the rash and impolitic step he informed Captain Wakefield of Rauparaha's interview with Mr. Spain, and of the chief's willingness to abide by the decision of the court. He further pointed out the great care observed by the natives not to interfere with any of the surveyors' property, or to injure the persons of any of their employees. He proceeded to argue that the men on board would not number one-half the strength of the natives then at the Wairau; and contrasted this numerical weakness with the threat made by the Captain at Nelson, that, if Rangihaeata interfered with the survey, he would come with three hundred constables to arrest him. His impression, therefore, was that the smallness of the party would inspire confidence in the minds of the natives rather than dread, and he strongly urged that, however satisfied the agent might feel about the result, prudence demanded that they should appear on the plain with such a force as would completely overawe the Maoris, and to which there would be no humiliation in surrendering. In support of his views, he handed to Captain Wakefield a letter which he had received from the Rev. Mr. Ironside on the day that he had met Mr. Cotterell at the bar, in which the missionary, ripe in experience of Maori feeling, and knowing how tenaciously they clung to their rights in landed property, ventured the opinion that, unless this dispute was most diplomatically handled, the result might be extremely serious. Mr. Ironside, taking the missionary view of the Company's scheme of colonisation, expressed great anxiety lest a collision might arise out of the subject of the claims to land, which would eventually terminate in the extinction of the native tribes, as had been the case in other countries settled by Europeans. He urged upon Mr. Tuckett not to be precipitate in endeavouring to include the Wairau in the Nelson survey, informing him that the resident natives and Rauparaha were at issue about the land, to such an extent that the former, if left to themselves, would probably withdraw from the Wairau, and treat with the Nelson agent for the sale of it. Captain Wakefield expressed himself deeply thankful for the counsel contained in Mr. Ironside's letter, and also for the advice tendered by Mr. Tuckett, with whose whole conduct he entirely acquiesced. So impressed was he with the force of the chief surveyor's arguments that he at once went into the cabin where Mr. Thompson was, and requested him to read Mr. Ironside's letter, stating that from it and other considerations urged by Mr. Tuckett he had come to the conclusion that it would be wiser to return to Nelson. Mr. Thompson was totally averse to turning back. He begrudged missing the opportunity of giving the natives what he called "a prestige for the law," and of showing the Government the correct way to deal with such troublesome fellows. At the same time he expressed the opinion that, if the authorities at Wellington had dealt with these chiefs as he had dealt with Ekawa at Massacre Bay, they would long ago have ceased to give annoyance. He also stated that, if they returned at that stage, they would simply be laughed at by the settlers, and he was not going to put himself in that undignified position. In his determination to go on Mr. Thompson was seconded by the Crown Prosecutor (Mr. Richardson), who begged that the expedition might not be given up, as he considered it was "only a lark"; and, in deference to the aggressive mood of the magistrate and the jocular anticipations of the lawyer, Captain Wakefield surrendered his better judgment. Mr. Tuckett, still apprehensive that disastrous consequences would follow if these unwise counsels prevailed, earnestly remonstrated with Mr. Thompson, taking up the attitude that he was exceeding his rights in proceeding to execute his warrant with an armed force. The magistrate admitted the correctness of Mr. Tuckett's premises, but hotly resented the assumption that he intended to use the force at all. He explained that he was not sure that he would land the men. Certainly he would not give out the arms or take the force into the presence of the natives until he had first exhausted every plausible means of getting the chiefs to submit themselves to trial on board the brig. Should they refuse to do so, which he did not expect, then he would investigate the charge on the spot, and afterwards decide whether he should call in the aid of the armed party or not. Had this plan of operations been strictly observed, much that afterwards happened might have been averted; but in no single particular did the magistrate follow his promised line of action, for as soon as the vessel arrived at Cloudy Bay, the men were supplied with fire-arms and landed at the mouth of the Wairau River. On seeing the Government brig enter the bay, the Maoris had abandoned the old _pa_ at the bar and retired further up the plain. Next morning the magistrate's band of special constables was ordered to get ready and go in pursuit. Perceiving that his worst fears were likely to be realised, and that the magistrate would not go without the armed force, Mr. Tuckett made a final appeal to Captain Wakefield, and offered to go himself and see Rauparaha, in company with the chief constable and the interpreter, if only the men bearing arms were allowed to remain where they were. To this suggestion the Captain readily agreed, and at once put the proposal before Mr. Thompson, who also consented, and ordered the chief constable to prepare himself for the journey; but when Mr. Maling announced himself ready to go, he presented such an armour-plated appearance that the chief surveyor absolutely refused to be seen in his company. He wore a cutlass at his side, a brace of pistols and a pair of handcuffs in his belt, while in his hand he carried a pair of heavy leg-irons. How he proposed to get Rauparaha down to the bar when he was both handcuffed and hobbled is not very clear, nor did he have time to explain. Mr. Tuckett at once drew attention to his accoutrements, and pointed out that the leg-irons would have an especially exasperating effect upon the natives; while, if he insisted upon carrying pistols, it would at least be judicious to conceal them, and so avoid the appearance of intimidation. The magistrate at once ordered that the irons should be discarded, but also intimated that he had changed his mind as to the mode of procedure, and that he had now determined that the whole force should participate in the arrest, a decision from which no amount of persuasion could induce him to deviate. At the outset an attempt was made to ascend the river in boats, but as the tide was on the ebb and the wind unfavourable, the travelling was both slow and laborious, and before they had proceeded very far, the boats were abandoned, and the party, except Mr. Cotterell and his men, who remained in a whaleboat, commenced the march along a survey track which ran parallel with the river. By this time the ardour of the men had considerably cooled; the bitter cold night experienced at the bar had helped to extinguish their enthusiasm, and now the keen morning wind and bad walking through the long wet grass completely dissipated all idea that the affair was to be regarded in the light of a pleasure trip. During the course of the journey, which was both a slow and irritating one, Captain Wakefield expressed the opinion that the natives were more inclined for trade than for war, and that the prospect of their attempting to fight in the event of a forcible arrest being made was very small. In reply to this, Mr. Tuckett still adhered to his former opinion that the Maoris would most certainly offer resistance if the armed force was taken into their presence. While this discussion was going on, the party reached the bend in the river at the back of Grovetown, where they met a number of resident natives, who, in consequence of their differences with Rauparaha, were quitting the Wairau and returning to Port Underwood. Amongst them were Puaha, a lad named Rore (who afterwards became the honoured and respected chief of the Wairau natives), his father, and a few other Maoris cutting timber in the bush. Of these they inquired the whereabouts of Rauparaha, and were informed that he was a few miles further up the valley, at the Tua Marina stream. Night coming on, they decided to camp in the Tua Mautine wood, but took the precaution to send Puaha forward to acquaint Rauparaha with the nature of their visit; and he was followed by the remainder of the natives at a later hour. Mr. Thompson was careful to explain to Puaha that he had not come to interfere with him; but it was noticed that his countenance bore a most anxious and concerned expression, and in the brief interview which he had with the magistrate, he not only advised, but earnestly entreated him not to precipitate a quarrel by taking the armed men into the presence of Rauparaha and his followers. If he did so, it would be impossible to convince them that he had not come for the purpose of shedding blood. The pained look that fell upon the face of Puaha when he realised the magistrate's intentions made a deep impression upon Captain Wakefield, and he several times made reference to it. Even when waking from his sleep in the night, he spoke of the fact as though he had a gloomy presentiment that all would not be well on the morrow. Mr. Thompson did not appear to be troubled with any such forebodings; his concern was that he would not have the opportunity of arresting the chiefs, who would probably make good their escape as soon as Puaha conveyed his message to them. He endeavoured to make light of the agent's fears by explaining that Puaha's troubled looks were due to the conflict between the dictates of his barbarous nature and the influence of his Christian teaching, which, under the circumstances, would naturally burn within him--a course of reasoning that Captain Wakefield seemed to cheerfully accept. At dawn next morning,[156] the camp of Te Rauparaha was easily located by the smoke rising through the forest trees at the mouth of the Waitohi Valley, about four miles away. The magistrate then mustered his constables, and served out to each man eighteen rounds of ball cartridge. All told, they numbered forty men, bearing muskets, bayonets, and cutlasses, besides ten or twelve gentlemen who were without arms, the chief surveyor and Mr. Cotterell being members of the Society of Friends, and refusing, in accordance with their religious principles, to carry them. After a short march across the plain through the fern and _toetoe_, they arrived at the foot of the Tua Marina hills, and there they halted, having, during the course of the journey, been cautioned not to fire unless ordered to do so. The constitution of the arresting party was not calculated to ensure success in the event of resistance on the part of the Maoris. They were untrained and without discipline. Some of them were even unwilling participants in the expedition, for they had been coerced into coming by the threat that they would lose their employment in the service of the Company if they refused to assist in the arrest of the chiefs. Their arms were old-fashioned and not in the best of repair; there was a total lack of organisation, and apparently no common understanding as to who was in authority. Under these circumstances, the result could scarcely have been different, regard being had to the character of the men with whom they had to deal. Anyone sitting on the hill-side even now can, without the aid of a vivid imagination, picture the animated scene which unfolded itself on that bright June morning. What are now grass paddocks were flats, more or less covered with native scrub. Of what was then dense bush only a few detached fragments now remain, but otherwise the physical features of the landscape are but little changed. The Maoris, when they first observed the Europeans, were squatting around their camp-fires on the western side of the Tua Marina stream. They immediately hailed them and inquired if they intended to fight. Mr. Thompson answered in the negative, and, after explaining the purpose for which he had come, asked the natives to place a canoe across the stream that he might come over and talk the more freely to them. Rauparaha consented to this course, but stipulated that the armed men should not be allowed to cross over; and, the magistrate agreeing to this condition, the special constables were left in charge of Captain England and Mr. Howard, who had instructions to act if called upon. He himself, accompanied by Captain Wakefield, Mr. Patchett, Mr. Tuckett, Mr. Cotterell and Mr. Brooks,[157] the interpreter, crossed over in the canoe, which was immediately drawn back again alongside the bank by a native nicknamed Piccawarro (big-fellow), to prevent any surprise from the force on the other side of the stream. When the magistrate walked into the presence of the natives, he observed that they numbered about ninety men and thirty-five women and children; but, as an indication of their peaceful intentions, they had placed in the midst of their group three women, the wives of Rauparaha, Rangihaeata, and Puaha, while the party of resident natives sat on one side, and the immediate followers of Rauparaha on the other. The noble and dignified Puaha stood in the centre with a Bible in his hand, reading from it select passages, and exhorting both parties to peace, while the natives sitting around chanted the usual welcome, _Haere-mai, Haere-mai_. Rangihaeata lay concealed behind some bushes, but Rauparaha came forward frankly when Mr. Thompson inquired for him, saying "Here am I," and offered to shake hands with the strangers. But this courtesy was declined by the magistrate, who pushed the chief's hand away, and it was left to Mr. Tuckett and Mr. Cotterell to perform the politeness of a friendly greeting. In reply to Rauparaha's inquiry as to what had brought them there, Mr. Thompson proceeded to explain to him, through Brooks, the interpreter, that he was their prisoner. Rauparaha disdainfully replied that it would be time enough to indulge in such talk when Mr. Spain had made his inquiry about the land. They then strove to make him understand that, as this case had nothing to do with the land, but was a charge of arson, it did not come within the province of Mr. Spain to inquire into it, but that the charge must be heard on the brig. Rauparaha declared that he had not destroyed any European property, in proof of which he appealed to Mr. Cotterell, who admitted the truth of his assertion, and therefore he would not go on board the brig, but he was quite willing that the matter should be adjudicated upon there and then, and, provided the compensation demanded was not excessive, he would be prepared to pay rather than there should be any ill-feeling between the two races. Thereupon he was told that, if he would not go voluntarily he must be taken by force, and a pair of handcuffs were produced to impress him with the sincerity of this threat. His chieftain blood was aroused by this insult; he indignantly dared them to try to imprison his hands in such implements and bind him like a slave, but begged for longer time to talk the matter over. The magistrate, who was now rapidly losing his temper, began to stamp and rave, and scorning the need for further argument, desired the interpreter to finally ask Rauparaha to say whether he would go on board the brig or not; and, upon his still firmly refusing to do so, Mr. Thompson turned to Brooks and exclaimed, with a violent gesture in the direction of the opposite bank, "Then tell him there are the armed party; they will fire on them all." A native from the Bay of Islands who was present amongst Rauparaha's people, and who understood a smattering of English, told those of Rauparaha's party that an order to fire had been given, and sixteen of them at once sprang to their feet, and, presenting their muskets at the magistrate, awaited the order from their chief to fire. The mistaken impression under which this hostile display had been made was at once removed by the chief surveyor and Mr. Patchett, who walked over to them and explained that only a threat, and not an order, to fire had been given, and on this assurance they immediately subsided to their seats on the ground. The altercation between Mr. Thompson and Rauparaha still proceeded. The former produced his warrant, which he told the chief was the "book-a-book" of the Queen "to make a tie," and that he was the Queen, again adding, in high and excited tones, stamping his foot the while, that if Rauparaha did not consent to surrender himself, he would order the Europeans to fire on them. This was quickly interpreted to the armed natives by the stranger from the Bay of Islands, and they instantly sprang to their feet and pointed their muskets at Mr. Thompson and his companions, as before. At this point, the peace-making Puaha[158] stepped forward with his Testament in his hand and said, "Don't fight, don't fight! This book says it is sinful to fight. The land has been made good by the preaching of the missionaries. Don't make it bad again." In this way he strove to reason with Mr. Thompson, but the latter in his frenzy and rage pushed the native aside, and angrily called out for Rangihaeata to come forward. That chief, on hearing his name, came from behind the bushes which concealed him, and, leaping into the midst of the throng, began to brandish his hatchet in dangerous proximity to the magistrate's head, meanwhile upbraiding him in a most violent manner. "What do you want with Rangihaeata that you come here to bind him? Do I go to Port Jackson or to Europe to steal your lands? Have I burned your house? Have I destroyed tents or anything belonging to you?" Such were the pertinent inquiries made by the angry chief; and, as it was quite evident from his flashing eyes and bitter tones that he was in no mood to be trifled with, Mr. Patchett appealed to the chief surveyor to interfere, "otherwise," he said, "we shall all be murdered." Rauparaha, seeing that his companion's manner was not likely to improve matters, ordered him to retire and leave the settlement of the matter to Puaha and himself, at the same time leading Rangihaeata's lame wife, Te Rongo, to him, so that she might be under his protection. Mr. Tuckett then seized the opportunity of pointing out to Captain Wakefield that, in the event of Rangihaeata's temper getting the better of him, they would be completely at the mercy of the natives, seeing that their retreat had been cut off by the removal of the canoe. After a brief consultation with Puaha, they agreed that it would be wiser to restore the means of communication between themselves and their party on the other side of the stream. Captain Wakefield, taking the initiative, jumped into the canoe, and with the aid of a pole shoved the bow down the stream until he found a convenient landing-place on the other side. While this movement was in progress, Mr. Thompson[159] had made another attempt to place the handcuffs upon Rauparaha's wrists. Just at that moment, when the chief had indignantly wrested his hand from the magistrate's grasp, and was bitterly protesting against the conduct of the Queen's officers, Captain Wakefield stepped on to the opposite bank of the creek, and, noticing a threatening movement towards Mr. Thompson on the part of the natives, in a loud voice gave the command, "Men, forward; Englishmen, forward!" The company at once obeyed, and four of the men who were in the front, Morgan, Clanzey, Ratcliffe and Tyrrell, jumped into the canoe for the purpose of crossing over to assist Mr. Thompson. Almost simultaneously the latter turned and entered the canoe at the other end, with the result that she was nearly capsized. A momentary confusion ensued, during which one of the Englishmen, in striving to get in front of his companions on the bank, tripped and fell, and in the fall his gun was accidentally discharged. That was the fatal crisis, for it turned what had hitherto been only stirring drama into fearful tragedy. The natives had now no doubt that the Europeans had come to fight, and Te Rauparaha, believing death to be imminent, turned, and, stretching his arms heavenward, exclaimed, "_Hei kona e te ra, hei kona e te ao marama--haere mai e te po, haere mai e te mate_" (Farewell, O sun, farewell, thou world of light; come on, O night, come on, O death). This was a cry which a chief would only utter in a situation of deepest stress, and no Maori loyal to his leader would refuse to obey the call, even though it should cost him his life. The natives therefore briskly returned the fire, the first volley being fatal to Tyrrell, who was shot in the throat. Clanzey and Ratcliffe were also shot by the first discharge of musketry, and their bodies fell into the water and sank to the bottom. The Englishmen returned volley for volley, and, in the midst of the general fusilade, Mr. Thompson and his party passed safely over in the canoe. Mr. Tuckett was the last to leave the bank on which the natives were, which he did by entering the stream, and, with one hand on the canoe, pulling himself through the water. At this stage of the fight the natives might easily have killed every one of the leading Europeans; for, when the latter started to cross the stream, the muzzles of the native guns were no more than a few yards away from them. The fact that they were not shot must have been due to some chivalrous sentiment on the part of the natives, who, seeing them unarmed, honourably abstained from attacking them. For some ten minutes after crossing the creek, Mr. Tuckett stood no more than twenty yards away, fully exposed to the fire that was being kept up by the natives and fourteen or fifteen of the European rank and file. Beside him stood Messrs. Barnicoat, Cotterell, Richardson, Patchett, and Maling. The two latter were shot almost at the same moment. Mr. Richardson bent over Mr. Patchett and inquired if he was hurt, to which he replied, "I am mortally wounded--I am mortally wounded; you can do no good for me; make your escape." [Illustration: _Photo by W. Macey._ MONUMENT ON MASSACRE HILL, WAIRAU.] The bullets now began to rain down upon them thick and fast. As several of the labourers had fallen in the vicinity, including Northam, Smith, and Burton, Mr. Tuckett and his friends retired to the foot of the ridge, whither the other officers had gone with a portion of the men to consult as to the best course to pursue. They decided to retreat up the hill, and called to Mr. Tuckett and the rest of the party to follow them. This act of mistaken generalship cost them dear, for up to that time their fire had kept the natives penned up on the other side of the stream. But the moment they observed the Europeans falling back, they dashed into the water, and, carrying their guns above their heads to keep them dry, crossed over and took possession of the trees which grew on the opposite edge. Secure within this cover, they opened a galling fire upon the Europeans, who were now hopelessly exposed upon the face of the fern-clad hill. Mr. Thompson did his utmost to steady the party by exclaiming, "For God's sake, men, keep together!" But his appeals were for the most part disregarded, not more than a third of the men remaining with their leaders, the rest retreating up the ridge and firing haphazard as they went. Captain Wakefield's attempts to instil something like discipline into the men were likewise frustrated by some panic-stricken individual rushing up and shouting out, "Run for your lives, lads, run!"--an injunction which they were not slow to obey. In an instant all semblance of organisation had disappeared. Time after time a few men were got together, but the majority were always utterly beyond control. On the last partial rally Captain Wakefield and Warrant Officer Howard ordered the men to fix bayonets and charge the natives; but on one of the men (Richard Painter), who had been in the artillery, pointing out that there was no one visible to charge at, the idea was abandoned. The natives were still maintaining a steady fire, and a protest on the part of the artilleryman, who declined to remain where he was "and be shot down like a crow," led to a further retreat up the hill-side. On the second brow of the hill they met Mr. Cotterell, who was sitting down with a double-barrelled gun at his side. At the commencement of the quarrel he had been unarmed, but he had now seized this weapon in self-defence. He appeared deeply distressed at what had occurred, and expressed his intention of quitting the scene; but he was dissuaded from this course by Captain Wakefield, who, addressing him in most earnest tones, said, "For God's sake, Mr. Cotterell, don't attempt to run away; you are sure to be shot if you do." Mr. Cotterell therefore remained with the party, only remarking to Painter, one of his own men, "This is bad work, Dick." Being now out of range of the native fire, a council of war was held of such of the party as could be got together, and finally it was decided that Captain England and Mr. Howard should bear a flag of truce to the natives, and endeavour to settle the dispute by negotiation. A white handkerchief was accordingly fixed on a stick, and, with this fluttering in the breeze, the two officers started towards the wood. As an indication of their sincerity in desiring to relinquish fighting, Captain Wakefield ordered all those who were with him to lay their arms on the ground, and the natives, seeming fully to appreciate the nature of the advances that were being made to them, ceased firing, and a number of them left their muskets behind the trees and came out to meet the bearers of the flag. Captain England and his comrade had almost reached the wood, when some of the Englishmen who had halted much higher up the hill than Captain Wakefield, seeing the Maoris emerging from the bush, commenced to fire upon them, notwithstanding that they had seen the flag of truce, as well as their companions laying down their arms. Regarding this as a dastardly act of treachery, the Maoris beat a hasty retreat into the bush, and reopened a rapid fire upon the Englishmen, whereupon Captain England and Mr. Howard ran back to the hill, and reached the spot from which they had started, uninjured by the native bullets. This attempt at conciliation having failed through the folly of their own people, the magistrate and Captain Wakefield decided to go further up the hill and meet those who were in advance of them, to induce them, if possible, to act in concert with the rest. In this they were no more successful than before, for no sooner did the one section begin to advance than the other began to retreat. Seeing that this must go on indefinitely, Mr. Tuckett endeavoured to persuade Captain Wakefield that their best hope of reaching the beach and getting back to the brig was to abandon the ridge which they were climbing, and strike down into the plain. Although this advice was twice pressed on Wakefield, he took no notice of it, and Mr. Tuckett thereupon, calling to Mr. Barnicoat and a labourer named Gay to follow him, descended in an oblique direction on to the plain below. For a moment Mr. Cotterell hesitated which course to take, but finally decided to go up the spur with the rest, and this decision cost him his life. When Captain Wakefield and his party began their last retreat, most of them left their muskets lying on the brow of the hill, and were therefore quite defenceless; but the Maoris kept up a running fire as they gradually crept up the side of the range. As they approached the summit of the first knoll, Mr. Cotterell stopped and surrendered himself when the natives reached him, calling out, "Enough, enough! that will do the fight," in the hope of assuring them that the Europeans wanted peace. But he was immediately struck down and his body thrown into a manuka bush. Captain Wakefield followed his example by surrendering a few minutes later, as did also Captain England, Messrs. Richardson, Howard, Brooks, Cropper, McGregor, and the magistrate. A few of the younger natives were in the van of the pursuit, and these held the prisoners in hand until the arrival of Rauparaha, whom they had outstripped. At first gold was offered as ransom, and it seemed as if the feud would end without more bloodshed, for the chief had accepted the assurances of Captain Wakefield that the shooting had been a mistake, and had shaken hands with them all. But Rangihaeata, who had killed the wounded as he found them lying on the hillside, panting with haste and anger, rushed up and called out to Rauparaha, "What are you doing? Your daughter Te Rongo[160] is dead. What are you doing, I say?" Scorning the acceptance of gold, he then fiercely demanded the lives of the principal Europeans as the only _utu_ that would compensate him for the loss of his wife, exclaiming in impassioned tones, "We are sure to be killed for this some day. The white people will take _utu_; let us then have some better blood than that of these _tutua_ (common men). We are chiefs; let us kill the chiefs, and take _utu_ for ourselves beforehand." To this Rauparaha was at first reluctant to agree, and his objections were well supported by Puaha and the other Christian natives; but he felt that, in view of Te Ronga's death, the demand was a reasonable one, and he at length yielded to the powerful appeal of his lieutenant, and delivered the unfortunate colonists over to their fate. At this juncture Mr. Thompson seemed, for the first time, to be apprehensive of serious consequences attending his conduct, and he implored Rauparaha to save their lives. But that chief haughtily answered, "Did I not warn you how it would be? A little while ago I wished to talk with you in a friendly manner, and you would not; now you say 'Save me.' I will not save you." The whole party then retired a little lower down the hill, and there the massacre commenced. Captain Wakefield and Mr. Thompson were killed by Te Oru,[161] a son of Te Ahuta, the first native who fell in the fight, as a retribution for the death of his father. Brooks, the interpreter, was struck down by Rangihaeata and despatched by the slaves, which would account for the mangled condition in which his body was found by the burial party from Port Underwood. The rest of the slaughter, according to native accounts, was conducted mainly by Rangihaeata. His method of procedure was to glide silently behind the victims while they were standing amongst the crowd of natives and brain them with a single blow of his tomahawk. The peculiar part of the tragedy was that none of the Englishmen, except Captain Wakefield, made the slightest resistance, and even he was checked by Mr. Howard exclaiming, "For God's sake, sir, do nothing rash!" Perhaps their ignorance of the native language prevented them from understanding all that was passing around them until they received the fatal blow. But there was no struggle, no cries, except from the native women, led by Puaha's wife, who pleaded with the men to "save some of the _rangatiras_, if only to say they had saved some." No Englishman who survived actually saw the massacre, and therefore it is impossible to describe the exact method of its execution; but the colonists to all appearances met their fate with the greatest equanimity. George Bampton, who had concealed himself amongst the fern only a few yards from the spot where the tragedy was enacted, in giving evidence at Nelson a few days after the event, deposed that "he heard neither cries nor screaming, but merely the sound of beating or chopping, which he supposed at the time to be natives tomahawking the white people." In accordance with Rauparaha's express orders, none of the dead bodies were mutilated or stripped, although Captain Wakefield's watch was taken by Rangihaeata and buried with Te Rongo, while one native furnished himself with a pair of white gloves and another with a pair of silver-mounted pistols. After burying their own dead in the Waitohi Valley, the two chiefs, with their followers, came down to the mouth of the Wairau River, bringing with them their own canoes and the whaleboat which had been taken up by Mr. Cotterell and his men. In these they went first to Robin Hood Bay, and then to Te Awaiti, in Tory Channel, where they remained a few days, finally crossing the Strait to Mana and Otaki, there to await developments. Shortly after the skirmishing began, a Sydney merchant named Ferguson, who had been a passenger in the brig to Nelson, and had accompanied her to the Wairau under the impression that he would have a pleasant outing, had taken one of the wounded men, Gapper, down to the river where the boats had been left that morning, and, with him and the boatman who had been stationed in charge, had paddled down the river to the bar, and reached the brig that afternoon. A number of the men had also gone down the Waitohi Valley, which was then densely bushed, and by this means had evaded pursuit until they could return to Nelson by the overland route. Others, again, who had broken away from the main body had made for the sea, so that before Mr. Tuckett and his two companions had proceeded very far they were joined by eight of the original party, one of whom, John Bumforth, was badly wounded in the shoulder. Mr. Tuckett first proposed that they should divide into two parties, the one to proceed to the bar and the other to the vicinity of Port Underwood, thinking that by this means the chances of some of them reaching the brig would be increased. But the men stoutly refused to separate, and the chief surveyor then decided to proceed to the corner of Cloudy Bay nearest the port, where luckily they found one of Mr. Dougherty's fully equipped whaleboats riding in the bay a few chains off. They hailed the boatmen, and explained that they wished to be taken to the brig, which was anchored some seven or eight miles away; but owing to the heavy swell that was rolling into the bay at the time, and the large number of the party, there was the greatest difficulty in persuading the whalers to comply with the request. Even after the danger of embarking had been overcome, the headsman had almost made up his mind not to risk the voyage to the brig, but to land the party at Port Underwood. But fortune still favoured the fugitives, for at this moment another boat's crew, who had been watching their movements, imagining that they had sighted a whale, came out in pursuit, and the two boats raced for the brig, which was almost reached before the pursuing crew discovered the true position of affairs. Up to this point the whalers had not been informed why Mr. Tuckett and his friends desired to get on board the brig, but they were now told that a _fracas_ had occurred between the Europeans and the natives, that the leaders of the party were Rauparaha's prisoners; and a promise (that was never fulfilled) was extracted from the boatmen that they would convey the intelligence to the other settlers at the port, and prepare them to act as they might think best under the circumstances. The captain of the brig then sent his boats to search the shore, in the hope that other fugitives might have reached the beach; but no one was seen, and no unusual circumstance was noted except the burning of a large fire at the mouth of the river, which had been lit for some purpose by the natives. The brig then weighed anchor and sailed for Wellington, the captain, whose inclination was to enter Port Underwood, adopting this course at the earnest solicitation of Mr. Tuckett, who believed that, if assistance was necessary, it could be more easily obtained from the larger centre of population. When the news of what had happened spread through the infant settlement early next morning, the excitement ran wild and high, and the settlers, believing that at the worst Captain Wakefield and his friends were only prisoners in the hands of the natives, immediately organised a band of volunteers to effect their forcible rescue. Their departure was, however, delayed by a gale, which had the effect of making most of the volunteers seasick; and, by the time the storm had abated, wiser counsels prevailed, and it was decided that only a quorum of magistrates and Dr. Dorset, the surgeon of the settlement, should proceed to the scene, the impression having gained ground that intercession was more likely to prevail with the Maoris than the presence of an armed force. The brig left Wellington for Cloudy Bay that night, and it was when she arrived at Port Underwood that Colonel Wakefield and Mr. Tuckett learned for the first time the appalling nature of the tragedy which had been enacted. They also learned that the natives, both resident and visiting, had hurriedly left the Wairau, believing that retaliatory measures would speedily be taken against them. Altogether about twenty-seven of the arresting party had managed to elude the pursuit of Rangihaeata's warriors. After undergoing intense privations, some wandered back to Nelson, but most of them went to Port Underwood, a few suffering from wounds, and all from protracted hunger and exposure. The first to arrive were Morgan and Morrison, who reached Ocean Bay with their trousers worn to their knees, and they were shortly followed by others who were in no better plight. Their wants and wounds were attended to by Mrs. Dougherty, who ministered to them with the kindest of care, and it was by these few survivors that the whalers were first apprised of the catastrophe. The Rev. Mr. Ironside had heard vague rumours about impending trouble between the chiefs and the Government; but, as he had not seen the arrival of the brig, he paid no heed to them until the following Sunday, when, in the midst of a heavy rain-storm, he noticed a Maori swiftly paddling his canoe up the bay. Knowing that a native would only be out on such a day under exceptional circumstances, Mr. Ironside sent one of his mission-boys to inquire. The boy did not return, which only increased the anxiety, and later on, when a few particulars did reach the station, they were only sufficient to indicate that a collision had taken place, without any details. That night the missionary and his wife retired to rest a prey to harrowing suspense. Next morning the storm had increased to a perfect hurricane, and as it was impossible to launch a boat, they could do nothing but wait. By Tuesday the weather had moderated, and a boat's crew of whalers took Mr. Ironside down to Ocean Bay, where the two chiefs and their exultant followers had arrived. From them the whole story was gleaned, and by them the tragedy was justified; "for," said Te Rangihaeata, "they killed my wife, Te Rongo, and they did not punish the murderer of Kuika."[162] Mr. Ironside at once asked permission to go and bury the dead, whereupon the fiery Rangihaeata ejaculated, "What do you want to go for? Better leave them to the wild pigs. But you can go if you like." Still the gale was too severe to admit of venturing across the twelve miles of open sea; but so anxious had they all become, that next morning a start was once more made from Ngakuta, and at the imminent risk of their lives the brave crew pulled their boat across the stormy bar into the river. On arriving at Tua Marina, Mr. Ironside and his party found that all the bodies had been left as Rauparaha had directed--unmutilated. The watch of Captain Wakefield was gone, one of the pistols, which he had evidently attempted to fire, had been laid across his throat in compliance with Maori custom, and a piece of "damper," in savage derision, had been placed under his head. The body of Brooks, the interpreter, was found to be in the most mangled condition, the others apparently only having received the one final and decisive blow, when they were struck down by the enraged Rangihaeata. Five bodies were discovered in the bush close to the creek, and were there interred with the benefits of Christian burial, while those who were slain on the brow of the hill, thirteen in number, were buried close by with similar rites. This fatiguing work had been almost completed by the devoted missionary and his band of native helpers when Colonel Wakefield, with the party from the brig, arrived to assist. On an extended search being made by the combined parties, one more body was found at the point where the road turns into the Waitohi Valley, and it was buried where it lay. Probably it was that of Isaac Smith, who had either sought to escape after being mortally wounded, and had died in the attempt, or had been overtaken in his flight and killed where he was found. Mr. Patchett was buried in a single grave on the spot where he fell, and Tyrrell and Northam were interred together close beside him. In recognition of the kindly and humane service rendered by Mr. Ironside during this critical and anxious period, the Nelson settlers presented him with a testimonial in the shape of a handsome edition of the Bible, bound in three volumes. The gift was gracefully acknowledged by the reverend gentleman in a letter to Mr. Domett, dated from Wellington on February 20, 1845. Upon the return of the party to Port Underwood, Messrs. Spain and McDonough (the magistrate at Wellington) set about collecting, with all possible speed, all available information concerning the disaster from those of both races who had been present, and who had now arrived at the settlement. Amongst those whose depositions were taken were two Maori boys, who had both been wounded, and were being taken care of by female relatives. Their story was a general corroboration of the Maori version, and they were both unanimous in declaring that, when the Europeans were overtaken on the brow of the hill, Puaha, who was one of the first to reach them, offered them his hand and did all in his power to obviate further bloodshed by pointing out that he had counted the slain, and, as both sides had exactly the same number shot, there was no need for further _utu_. In this view Rauparaha at first concurred, but he finally gave way before the vehement protestations of Rangihaeata, who reminded him in violent tones of his duty to his dead relative, Te Rongo. He had then allowed his enraged lieutenant to work his wicked will, which Puaha and his people, being unarmed, were powerless to prevent. At the conclusion of his inquiry, Mr. Spain left for Wellington, taking the wounded with him; and those of the survivors who had escaped uninjured proceeded back to Nelson, some in the boats and some overland. Before leaving the port Mr. Tuckett was authorised by Colonel Wakefield to act as agent for the settlement until the pleasure of the New Zealand Company should be known. His journey home was rather an adventurous one, as he had a very narrow escape of being intercepted by the natives when sailing through the French Pass. Some of his companions who were venturesome enough to call in at Tory Channel, were detained there for a week by the natives, but were ultimately permitted to take their departure unharmed. The body of Mr. Maling, the chief constable, had not been found when Mr. Ironside made his first search upon the scene of the massacre, a fact which created no surprise at the time, for it was thought probable that he had succeeded in making good his escape into the bush. But, as he had not arrived at any of the settlements, the missionary again returned to Tua Marina for the dual purpose of making an extended search and of protecting the graves already made from desecration by the wild pigs, with which the valley was at that time thickly stocked. He was successful in finding two bodies floating in the stream, being the remains of Clanzey and Ratcliffe, who had been shot while crossing in the canoe. These were reverently interred on the banks of the creek near where Mr. Patchett had been laid. The last resting-place of these men bears no mark to distinguish it from the surrounding landscape, but a plain though substantial monument has been raised over the spot where Captain Wakefield and his companions fell; while a memorial church, built by the Wakefield family, stands prominently upon the point of the hill, and solemnly presides over the whole scene. It would be difficult to describe the intense excitement which agitated the whole colony as the tidings of the massacre flew from settlement to settlement; and in the white heat of their anger the settlers were guilty of saying and doing many rash and intemperate things. Few of them had made themselves conversant with the whole facts of the case, and fewer still stayed to reason out the natural actions of men under the circumstances. All that they knew, and all that they cared to know, was that their countrymen had been, as a Nelson settler forcibly expressed it, "brutally butchered by a parcel of miscreant savages, ten thousand of whose useless lives would have all too cheaply purchased their survival, let the cant of ultra-philanthropists say what it will." But this fierce indignation was not participated in by the Europeans alone. Flying from the scene of the tragedy, Te Rauparaha arrived with his retainers at Waikanae, cold and wet with the sea spray which had swept over him on the passage across the Strait. He immediately assembled the Ngati-Awa people and told them the tale of the massacre, holding their attention by the graphic nature of his narrative. At first his listeners were unsympathetic, but he appealed to their sympathies by feigning physical distress. Bent in body and trembling in voice, he appeared to speak with difficulty, and used a hacking cough with some effect to melt their sternness. But his most telling point was made when, advancing a few steps, he held up his shaking hands and dramatically exclaimed, "Why should they seek to fetter me? I am old and weak; I must soon pass away. What could they gain by enslaving me? by fastening irons on these poor old hands? No; that is not what they seek. It is because through my person they hope to dishonour you. If they can enslave me they think they can degrade the whole Maori race." This was the dart that struck deep into Maori pride, and wounded their sense of honour. Instantly the tribe rose responsive to the suggestion, and weapons were gripped, eyes flashed, and the spirit of war surged in every breast. Missionary Hadfield was present, and saw the sway wielded by the old chief's oratory. He saw, too, how critical was the position, and gladly availed himself of the timely suggestion made by one of the missionary natives to ring the bell for evening prayers, and thus bring back the warriors' thoughts to a more peaceful frame. Next morning Te Rauparaha journeyed to Otaki, and there harangued the fighting men of Ngati-Toa. Here there was no need to adopt the arts of the stage. His auditors were his own followers, many of whom had been with him since childhood. They knew him and trusted him, and with them his word was law. He therefore threw off the guise of broken manhood, of fettered limbs, of tottering steps, and stood before them the bold and imperious chief that he was. His words ringing with the timbre of commanding confidence, were direct and to the purpose. "Now is the time to strike. You see what the smooth speech of the _pakeha_ is worth; you know now what they mean in their hearts. You know now that tyranny and injustice is all that you can expect at their hands. Come then and sweep them from the land which they have sought to bedew with our blood." In these warlike counsels he was ably seconded by Te Rangihaeata, who, reasoning as a Maori would reason, had always strongly held the view that, as the white men would be certain to seek satisfaction for the massacre, their duty was to get what _utu_ they could while the opportunity to do so was theirs. He therefore joined with his chief in urging an immediate march upon Wellington, in order by one swift stroke to obliterate the _pakeha_ and his settlements. These sanguinary proposals were not preached to unwilling ears, for it was but natural that the Maori should judge the settlers by their leaders, the representatives of the New Zealand Company, whose bad faith now appeared so audaciously transparent. But there was one chief who was proof against the hysteria of blood which had seized the tribes. Side by side with Hadfield he stood like a rock above the billows of hate which surged around him, and by his calm and stedfast loyalty broke the fury of the storm. This was Wiremu Kingi te Rangitake, the Ngati-Awa chief of Waitara. His resolute opposition to Te Rauparaha's plans was an obstacle which that chief could not overcome. He carried his own people with him, while Hadfield soothed the Ngati-Raukawa into neutrality. Without Ngati-Raukawa and Ngati-Awa, Ngati-Toa was not equal to a task which with their united forces would have been a simple matter. That the Maoris had the power at this time to drive the colonists into the sea, had they chosen to exercise it, has been freely admitted by the settlers themselves,[163] so that the service which Wiremu and the good missionary Hadfield rendered to the Colony at this juncture can only be estimated at the value of the infant settlement itself. And, with regret be it said, Wellington is even now destitute of any monument to which the passing generations might point as a public recognition of the fact that these two men once stood between it and extermination. Before Te Rauparaha was able to extend his projects for avenging his wrongs beyond his own immediate sphere of influence, he was visited by Mr. George Clarke, the Sub-Protector of the aborigines, who gave him his most solemn pledge that the Government would not attack him without first hearing his side of the question, and begged him to try and keep the natives quiet until the case could be investigated. Following close upon Mr. Clarke came Mr. Spain, deputed by the magistrates at Wellington, and empowered to speak as one in authority.[164] He strove to assure the natives that they were mistaken if they imagined that the Europeans would wage war against them indiscriminately by way of retaliation for the death of Captain Wakefield and his comrades. The question of punishment rested solely with the Governor, and, until he could decide who should be punished and what the punishment should be, there would be no act of aggression against the natives. "Your words are very good, but who can tell what will be the words of the Governor?" was the comment of one of the chiefs upon these assurances. To this Spain could only reply by pointing to their past intercourse, and asking if during their long acquaintance they had ever known him to deceive them. Fortunately, his record stood him in good stead, and the chief agreed that he for one would help to protect the Europeans. While this discussion was proceeding, Rauparaha had joined the assembly, and at this point he rose and delivered what Mr. Spain considered "a most powerful speech." He traversed anew the events which had led up to the _fracas_, and vehemently asked, "Is this the justice which the Queen of England promised to the Maori? You are not satisfied with having taken all our land from us, but you send a Queen's ship headed by a Queen's officer to fire upon us and kill us." Spain endeavoured to expound to the angry chief the niceties of British law, under which a warrant to arrest did not necessarily imply established guilt; had he surrendered he would probably have been admitted to bail until the day of the trial, and, so far from the Queen and the Governor being to blame for the conduct of the magistrate, they had never heard of the warrant. On Spain expressing his abhorrence of the killing of the captives, Te Rauparaha admitted the error of the step, which he palliated as due to their own custom and Rangihaeata's grief at the death of his wife. He then proceeded to question Spain with an acumen which astonished the lawyer, and forced him to form a very high estimate of the chief's intellectual capacity; for his examination was as keen "as if I had undergone that ordeal in Westminster Hall at the hands of a member of the English Bar." What Te Rauparaha wished to guard against was treachery. He wanted everything open to the light of day, and the conference ended by his saying to Spain, "If the Governor should decide upon sending soldiers to take me and Rangihaeata, let us know when they arrive, because you need not take the trouble to send up here for us. If you only send word I will come down to Port Nicholson with a thousand Maoris and fight with the _pakehas_. If they beat us, they shall have New Zealand, and we will be their slaves, but if we beat them, they must stand clear." Mr. Spain next proceeded to Otaki. There he was told that the natives intended to stand loyally by their chiefs, and that any attempt to seize them would lead to immediate reprisals. Following closely upon Mr. Spain's departure, Mr. Jerningham Wakefield reached Otaki. He came from the north, and, as he drifted down the Whanganui River, he received the first tidings of the death of his uncle. It was difficult at first to give credence to the nebulous rumours which reached him; but the constant reiteration of the same story about a fight with the _pakehas_ and the death of "Wideawake" gradually compelled attention, and ultimately received confirmation at the white settlement then known as Petre.[165] Here Wakefield was the recipient of a message from Te Rauparaha, demanding to know whether he was for peace or for war, and preferring a request that "Tiraweke" would come to Otaki to _korero_ with him. In the meantime he had sent his canoes to Manawatu, and was preparing for his retreat into the interior should he be attacked. Wakefield left Petre, and at the end of the first day he was met at Rangitikei by the old Ngati-Raukawa chief Te Ahu karamu,[166] who had gone thither with an armed party to conduct his friend safely through the disturbed district. On reaching Otaki, Wakefield went to Rangi-ura _pa_, the principal settlement, where the Maoris placed only one interpretation upon his coming--vengeance upon Te Rauparaha for the death of his uncle. For two days Wakefield rested at Otaki, but saw nothing of the chiefs. Rangihaeata was reported to be some distance in the interior, building a strong _pa_, where it was understood that the chiefs had determined to make a stand should the authorities seek to pursue them. Te Rauparaha was at the Pakakutu _pa_ at the mouth of the river, endeavouring to break down the influence of Mr. Hadfield and Wiremu Kingi. His efforts to consolidate his forces were various, as suited the circumstances. He sought to ingratiate himself into the good opinion of the missionary natives by appearing to become zealous in religious observances; on the feeling of others he played by a recital of his wrongs; and towards the European residents of Otaki he assumed an attitude of unconcealed hostility, and ordered their removal from the district. This step he deemed to be necessary, in order that he might be free to act unhampered by spies in the supposed impending campaign against the Queen's troops, and it was this mandate which brought the chief and Wakefield face to face. As a result of Rauparaha's prohibition, a _pakeha_ settler named White, who had been living under the patronage of Te Ahu karamu, found himself suddenly stopped at the Otaki River while in the act of driving some thirty head of cattle on to the land upon which his patron chief had invited him to settle. This high-handed action naturally aroused the anger of the Ngati-Raukawa chiefs, who had hitherto assumed that they were masters of the territory which they had chosen to "sit upon" when the division of the conquered lands was made. Te Ahu was especially angered at what he regarded as an uncalled-for encroachment upon his prerogative as a chief. He therefore announced his determination to proceed to the Pakakutu _pa_ and demand from Te Rauparaha a complete renunciation of his views. Wakefield was invited to be present, and to his facile pen we are indebted for a graphic account of what followed. The _korero_ did not commence immediately upon the arrival of Te Ahu's party at the _pa_, and Wakefield employed the interval in the kindly office of helping to dress the wounded leg of a Maori, whom he has described as one "particularly gentle and dignified in his manners." While thus engaged, Te Rauparaha approached him, and, with evident signs of apprehension as to the propriety of his doing so, offered a friendly salutation. Wakefield coldly declined to grasp the hand which he naturally believed was imbrued in his uncle's blood; and Rauparaha, immediately acknowledging the delicacy of his position, muttered "It is good," and returned to his seat. The speech-making commenced by his entering upon a lengthy narrative of himself and his conquests, for the evident purpose of riveting in the minds of his hearers the fact that he was the brain and the heart of the tribe. His story was eloquently told, for not the least of his great natural endowments was the precious gift of the silver tongue. The tale of conquest ended, he was proceeding to refer to the incidents of the Wairau, when Wakefield rose and checked him. Naturally the latter was sensitive upon the point of prejudging so dreadful a tragedy, by listening to an _ex-parte_ statement of its facts, when he was fully persuaded that at no distant date he would hear the truth disclosed before an impartial tribunal. He therefore told Te Rauparaha that he would not remain if he proposed to discuss the affair of the Wairau, but begged him to confine his speech to a justification of his extreme and arbitrary desire to drive the Europeans away from Otaki. Te Rauparaha acknowledged the reasonableness of this request, but so anxious was he to excuse himself in the eyes of Wakefield, that his oration had not proceeded far before he reverted to the subject of the massacre. Thereupon Wakefield rose, and, walking to the stile at the outer fence, was in the act of stepping over it to proceed home, when a chorus of shouts called him back, and a promise was given that there would be no further reference to the Wairau. Te Rauparaha then earnestly addressed himself to the status of the _pakehas_ at Otaki, claiming the land as his alone. He admitted the validity of the sales of the Manawatu, Whanganui, and Taranaki, but not those of Otaki or Ohau, and insisted that the white people, whalers included,[167] must remove to those districts which the Company had fairly bought. He upbraided the Queen for sending her constables to tie his hands. "Who is she," he asked, "that she should send her books and her constables after me? What have I to do with her? She may be Queen over the white people; I am the King of the Maori! If she chooses to have war, let her send me word, and I will stand up against her soldiers. But I must have room; I must have no white people so near."[168] Challenged as to the inconsistency of these views with his action in signing the Treaty of Waitangi, he wheeled sharply round and exclaimed, "Yes; what of that? They gave me a blanket for it. I am still a chief, just the same. I am Rauparaha. Give me another blanket tomorrow and I will sign it again. What is there in writing?" The attitude of absolute authority assumed by the chief distinctly alarmed Wakefield, who saw in it the elements of unlimited trouble for the New Zealand Company. For if Te Rauparaha's claim to exclusive jurisdiction over the land was well founded, then verily many of their purchases had been brought to the brink of repudiation. Turning hastily to Te Ahu and several of the chiefs around him, he sought enlightenment on the point, reminding them that they had frequently laid claim to large possessions in the neighbourhood, but had never acknowledged Te Rauparaha as having the least right or interest in them. Then Te Ahu proceeded in a tone of apology and regret to elucidate one of the many intricate phases of Maori land tenure which were now beginning to prove so embarrassing to the Company. He explained that when the tribe burned their houses at Maungatautari and came down to assist Te Rauparaha in his conquest, they had selected Otaki out of the conquered lands to be their future home. In times of peace Rauparaha would have made no claim to the land, nor would his claim have been acknowledged if he had. In proof of this, he quoted the scorn with which Rangihaeata's assumptions over the Manawatu had been rejected by Ngati-Raukawa; but now that the war clouds were in the air, the _riri_, or anger, had completely altered the whole aspect of affairs; the land had reverted to him who had conquered it, and Ngati-Raukawa had no land which they could call their own. "And then he rose," says Wakefield, "and endeavoured to persuade Rauparaha to change his determination. He reminded him of the 'war parties which he had brought to him on his back to assist him against his enemies, through dangers and troubles more than he could count.' He related how 'he had burned the villages of the tribe at Taupo to make them come with him to be by the side of Rauparaha on the sea-coast.' He counted how many times he had adhered to him 'in his feuds with Ngati-Awa,' and described 'how much of the blood of Ngati-Raukawa had been spilt for his name.' Te Ahu had now warmed with his subject, and was running up and down, bounding and yelling at each turn, and beginning to foam at the mouth, as the natives do when they seek to speak impressively. 'Let the cows go!' he cried. 'Let them go to my place!' "Rauparaha seemed to consider that Te Ahu's eloquence was becoming too powerful, and he jumped up too. They both continued to run up and down in short parallel lines, yelling at each other, with staring eyes and excited features, grimacing and foaming, shaking their hands and smacking their thighs. As they both spoke together, it became difficult to hear what they said, but I caught a sentence here and there, which gave me the sense of the argument. 'No!' cried Rauparaha; 'no cows; I will not have them.' 'Let them go!' yelled Te Ahu. 'Yield me my cows and my white man--the cows will not kill you.' 'No cows, no white men! I am King! Never mind your war parties! No cows!' answered Te Rauparaha. 'The cows cannot take you,' persisted Te Ahu; 'when the soldiers come we will fight for you, but let my cows go.' 'No, no, no, indeed,' firmly replied the chief, and sat down. "Te Ahu remained standing. He took breath for a minute, then drew himself up to his full height, and addressed his own people in a solemn kind of recitative. 'Ngati-Raukawa,' he sang, 'arise! Arise, my sons and daughters, my elder brothers and my younger brothers, my sisters, my grand-children, arise! Stand up, the families of Ngati-Raukawa! To Taupo! to Taupo! to Maungatautari! To our old homes which we burned and deserted; arise and let us go! Carry the little children on your backs, as I carried you when I came to fight for this old man who has called us to fight for him and given us land to sit upon, but grudges us white people to be our friends and to give us trade. We have no white men or ships at Maungatautari, but the land is our own there. We need not beg to have a white man or cows yielded to us there if they should want to come. To Maungatautari. Arise, my sons, make up your packs, take your guns and your blankets, and let us go! It is enough, I have spoken.' As he sat down, a mournful silence prevailed. An important migration had been proposed by the chief, which no doubt would be agreed to by the greater part of the Otaki, Ohau, and Manawatu natives, on whom was Rauparaha's chief dependence for his defence. "I noticed that he winced when he first heard the purport of Te Ahu's song; but, while Te Ahu continued, his countenance gradually resumed its confidence. Much as I abhorred his character, I could not but yield my unbounded admiration to the imperious manner in which he overthrew the whole effect of Te Ahu's beautiful summons to his tribe. Instead of his usual doubting and suspicious manner, his every gesture became that of a noble chief. He rose with all the majesty of a monarch, and he spoke in the clearest and firmest tones, so that the change from his customary shuffling, cautious and snarling diction was of itself sufficient to command the earnest attention of his audience. 'Go,' said he, 'go, all of you!--go, Ngati-Raukawa, to Maungatautari! Take your children on your backs and go, and leave my land without men. When you are gone, I will stay and fight the soldiers with my own hands. I do not beg you to stop. Rauparaha is not afraid! I began to fight when I was as high as my hip. All my days have been spent in fighting, and by fighting I have got my name. Since I seized by war all this land, from Taranaki to Port Nicholson, and from Blind Bay to Cloudy Bay beyond the water, I have been spoken of as a King. I am the King of all this land. I have lived a King, and I will die a King, with my _mere_ in my hand. Go; I am no beggar; Rauparaha will fight the soldiers of the Queen when they come, with his own hands and his own name. Go to Maungatautari.' Then, suddenly changing his strain, he looked on the assemblage of chiefs, bending down towards them with a paternal smile, and softening his voice to kindness and emotion. 'But what do I say?' said he; 'what is my talk about? You are children! It is not for you to talk. You talk of going here and doing that. Can one of you talk when I am here? No! I shall rise and speak for you all, and you shall sit dumb, for you are all my children, and Rauparaha is your head chief and patriarch.'" This fearless rejection of Ngati-Raukawa assistance, culminating in an arrogant assumption of absolute authority over their movements, completely won him his point, and one of the highest chiefs said to Wakefield, "It is true, Tiraweke! He is our father and our _Ariki_. Rauparaha is the King of the Maori, like your Queen over the white people." The others, full of conscious dignity in being followers of such a leader, acknowledged his authority by bowing a silent assent. Rauparaha remained inflexible in refusing to permit the cattle to enter the district, but, in deference to the urgent persuasions of the chiefs, he subsequently relaxed his prohibition against the white men already settled in the district, but stoutly refused to sanction the coming of any more. But this effort of Te Rauparaha to consolidate his forces was in no sense the full range of his preparations. To augment his fighting strength was as much his policy as to unite those who already acknowledged allegiance to him. And this he sought to do in a quarter which, in view of past events, he would have been least expected to approach, and where his advances, once made, would have been least likely to touch a responsive chord. His scheme involved no less a delicate task than salving the wounds of the Ngai-Tahu tribe, and negotiating a friendly alliance with the men whose _mana_ he had so rudely trampled in the dust at Kaikoura and Kaiapoi. To this end he collected a number of the most influential prisoners whom he had taken at the latter place, and, bidding them go back to their tribe, charged them to use their utmost endeavour to promote a good feeling towards him amongst their people. This unexpected act of clemency--or apparent clemency--which restored to them their much esteemed chief Momo, their great warrior Iwikau, and others equally noted in their history, went far to soothe the injured pride of Ngai-Tahu, who, after much serious debate, decided to forget the past, make peace, and accede to the new proposals. As an earnest of their acceptance of Rauparaha's terms, Taiaroa at once paid a visit to Kapiti, and, as he professed to be aggrieved at the manner in which some land transactions had been conducted in the south, there is little doubt that, had an attack upon Wellington been contemplated, he and his people would have combined with their former enemies to effect the annihilation of the colonists.[169] A fearful uncertainty thus continued to agitate the breasts of the settlers; and when H.M. ship of war, _North Star_ arrived in Wellington on 31st August, as the result of a memorial sent by the settlers to Sir George Gipps, Governor of New South Wales, she was received with a salute of guns and a display of bunting, which indicated a belief that the day of retribution was at hand. It was not, however, for four days that her commander, Sir Everard Home, was able to enter into communication with Major Richmond, the principal officer of the Government in Cook Strait. By him he was assured that "he had received various reports of meditated attacks upon Wellington by the natives under Te Rauparaha; that the chief was at a _pa_ not more than fourteen miles away, with between five hundred and a thousand of his fighting men; that Taiaroa, the chief from the Middle Island, had joined Te Rauparaha, and, having been an ancient enemy to him, had made peace; that the _pa_ at Porirua was fortified, and every preparation made for an attack on the town of Wellington." To this Sir Everard, having regard to his explicit instructions not to intervene unless the natives and the whites were at actual war, replied that, in his judgment, the circumstances did not warrant his interference, but that he would keep his ship in the harbour as a salutary check upon Maori aggression. In the meantime he penned the following letter to Te Rauparaha:-- "FRIEND RAUPARAHA,--It has come to my knowledge that you are collecting the tribes round you, because you expect that I am going to attack you. Those who told you so said that which is not true. It was to keep the peace and not to make war that I came here. You know that where many men are met together, and continue without employment, they will find something evil to do. They had best go home." Sir Everard Home, having satisfied himself that no immediate crisis was likely to arise at Wellington, unless it was precipitated by the settlers themselves, was constrained by reports of seething discontent at Nelson to visit the settlements in Blind Bay. But, before proceeding thither, he decided to call in at the island of Mana, and there personally discuss the situation with Te Rauparaha himself. Accompanied by Major Richmond and Captain Best, he left Wellington Harbour on the morning of October 5th, and anchored the _North Star_ under the lee of Mana that afternoon. "As soon as the ship anchored," says Sir Everard in his official report, "I landed, attended by Major Richmond and Captain Best, who commanded the detachment on board the _North Star_. We first went to the whaling station, or great _pa_, where we found Mr. Chetham (clerk of the Court), who had been sent to join us. We also soon after met Mr. Clarke. He informed us that Te Rauparaha had left that morning at daylight for Waikanae, which must have been a voluntary movement, as no person knew our intention till the Strait was entered. We immediately went round to the _pa_ where the tribe was established. Here we found no one on the beach to receive us, and, having landed, walked to the huts, where we found a few persons sitting together. Rangihaeata, they said, had fled to the bush, Te Rauparaha was at Waikanae, and, finding that nothing could be done, we returned on board." During this visit to Porirua, the attention of the official party had been directed to the presence of the New Zealand Company's boat, which had been brought by the natives from the Wairau, after the massacre, and hauled up on the shore of Taupo Bay amongst some twelve or fifteen canoes; and this fact was made a subject of discussion next day when the frigate reached Kapiti. Landing at Waikanae, where the interview was to take place, Sir Everard Home says:-- "We were received by the Rev. Mr. Hadfield, a missionary, a gentleman of high character and great intelligence, who, living in the _pa_ amongst the natives, knows every movement, for none could take place without his knowledge. He at once declared all the reports (of an intended attack upon Wellington) to be without foundation. Having walked to his house, which is within the _pa_, we proceeded to his school-yard, and the chiefs, Te Rauparaha, and Rere, chief of the tribe inhabiting the _pa_ of Waikanae, came, accompanied by about fifty men. I then stated to the chief all that was reported of him, and asked him what he had to say to contradict it. He replied that, far from wishing to continue the quarrel with the Europeans, which had been commenced by them, and not by him, his whole time was occupied in travelling up and down the coast, endeavouring to allay the irritation of the natives and to prevent any ill consequences arising from the provoking language and threats with which they were continually annoyed by the Europeans travelling backwards and forwards. That, for himself, he believed them to be lies invented by the white men, having been assured by the Police Magistrate that no steps would be taken until the arrival of the new Governor, or the pleasure of the Queen was known. He also declared that they all stood in fear of the white men, and asked why I had come if it was not to fight with and destroy them, for they had been told that was my intention. "I told them that the Queen's ships went to all parts of the world, and that my object was to preserve peace rather than to make war, and he was advised to believe no reports which he might hear, but to inquire into the truth of them of Major Richmond, through Mr. Clarke or Mr. Hadfield." The conference then dispersed, but at a later hour Te Rauparaha was sent for to Mr. Hadfield's house, and asked if he would send a letter to the principal chief at Porirua, requesting him to deliver up the Company's boat to Sir Everard Home. His reply was that he had but little influence amongst the Porirua people, but that, as he had always been against the retention of the boat, he would assert what authority he had to secure its return. He then became curious to know if the surrender of the boat would end the quarrel; but Major Richmond discreetly declined to commit himself on the point, and appealed to Te Rauparaha's position as a chief to see that justice was done. Te Rauparaha then penned the following letter, which he addressed to the Porirua chiefs:-- "Go thou, my book, to Puaha, Hohepa, and Watarauehe. Give that boat to the chief of the ship; give it to the chief for nothing. These are the words of Te Rauparaha. Your avarice in keeping back the boat from us, from me, Mr. Hadfield, and Mr. Ironside, was great. This is not an angry visit, it is to ask peaceably for the boat. There are only Mr. Clarke, Mr. Richmond, and the chief of the ship: they three who are going peaceably back to you that you may give up the boat. "This is my book, "TE RAUPARAHA." Armed with this authority Sir Everard Home returned to Porirua, where, after lying at anchor all day on Sunday, he landed on the following day, and made a formal demand for the return of the boat. At first, Te Rangihaeata was inclined to resist the request, but, on receipt of a private message from Te Rauparaha that a refusal might mean trouble, he yielded the point, and the boat was ultimately handed over with "the greatest good-humour." During the interview at Waikanae, Te Rauparaha had given the most profuse assurances that he, relying upon the promise that there would be no reprisals until the facts surrounding the massacre had been investigated, was employing his best endeavours to pacify his people. But his efforts, he said, were often nullified by the disturbing rumours which reached them of armings and drillings[170] by the settlers at Wellington, which seemed to portend war rather than peace. But the seeds of irritation and mistrust had already been sown much further afield than Waikanae and Otaki; for the natives, on leaving the Wairau, had taken with them, as well as the boat, the handcuffs and leg-irons which had been foolishly brought down by Mr. Maling to ensure Rauparaha's capture. These were sent from one _pa_ to another, and wherever they were exhibited, the enemies of the _pakeha_ were not slow to insinuate that, when the English became numerous in the land, they would provide leg-irons for the whole of the natives. The sight of these manacles, and the dark hints with which they were everywhere accompanied, created bitterness and resentment against settlers, with whom the Maoris had always lived in perfect harmony; so that before many weeks had passed away it only required a single spark of indiscretion to set the whole colony in a blaze of war. At no period of her history has New Zealand stood so much in need of firm, discreet and conciliatory guidance as in this critical juncture;[171] and fortunately the hand of authority was strong enough to prevent the spark being kindled. Acting-Governor Shortland, taking a bold but unpopular initiative, on July 12, 1843, issued the following proclamation:-- "Whereas it is essential to the well-being of this Colony that confidence and good feeling should continue to exist between the two races of its inhabitants, and that the native owners of the soil should have no reason to doubt the good faith of Her Majesty's solemn assurance that their territorial rights should be recognised and respected. Now, therefore, I, the officer administering the Government, do hereby publicly warn all persons claiming land in this Colony, in all cases where the claim is denied or disputed by the original native owners, from exercising rights of ownership thereon, or otherwise prejudicing the question of title to the same, until the question of ownership shall have been heard and determined by one of Her Majesty's Commissioners appointed to investigate claims to land in New Zealand." The wisdom of thus holding the hands of the settlers until the title to their lands had been settled by a constitutional course was not at first apparent to the pioneers, who treated the proclamation with scant respect, and roundly abused it and its author in the public press. "If," said one writer, "it had been the desire of its framer to hound a troop of excited savages upon a peaceable and scattered population, to destroy the remains of friendly feeling existing between the two races, to imbrue in blood the hands of both, and lead to the extermination of one or the other, such a proclamation might have served its purpose." This style of exaggerated invective will serve to show the unreasoning pitch to which even the better class of colonists had allowed themselves to be worked by the news of the catastrophe. Nor were they content with merely upbraiding the authorities in the press and at public meetings; deputations waited upon the Acting-Governor at Auckland, urging him to take immediate steps to avenge the death of Captain Wakefield. The Nelson deputation consisted of Dr. Monro and Mr. A. Domett, and the essence of their petition was contained in the following paragraph:-- "We have no hesitation in stating that it is the general opinion of the settlers at Nelson that our countrymen who were killed at Wairau Plain lost their lives in endeavouring to discharge their duties as magistrates and British subjects, obedient to British law, and that the persons by whom they were killed are murderers in the eyes of common sense and justice." They therefore hoped that impartial justice would be done, and that the penalties of the law would certainly overtake those whom its verdicts pronounced to be guilty. But to this and all other petitions of a similar tone Mr. Shortland staunchly refused to accede. In his reply to Dr. Monro and Mr. Domett he clearly set forth the error under which the settlers were labouring, when they ascribed the disaster to the performance of duty on the part of the magistrates, and pointed out that it might be more fairly attributed to an excess of duty on the part of those officials, in attempting to annex land which had never been legally purchased. After dwelling upon the criminality of those who were responsible for the final conflict, he proceeded:-- "But whatever may be the crime, and whoever may be the criminals, it is but too clear that the event we must all deplore has arisen from several parties of surveyors, without the concurrence of the local Government, proceeding to take possession of and to survey a tract of land in opposition to the original native owners, who had uniformly denied its sale. His Excellency therefore deems it proper to inform you that the New Zealand Company has not selected any block of land in the valley of the Wairau, nor has the local Government yet received any intimation that it is the intention of the Company to select a block in that district." To say that the Englishmen were trespassers is the mildest way in which the case against them can be stated, especially in view of the forceful opinion expressed by Mr. Swainson, the Attorney-General, who described their conduct as "illegal in its inception and in every step of its execution, unjustifiable in the magistrate and four constables, and criminal in the last degree on the part of the attacking party." Writing from Port Nicholson ten days after the massacre, Mr. Spain confirmed Mr. Swainson's condemnation of their conduct, which he declared to be "an attempt to set British law at defiance and to obtain, by force, possession of a tract of land, the title of which was disputed, and then under the consideration of a commissioner specially appointed to investigate and report upon it." From the information he had been able to collect, Mr. Spain arrived at the conclusion that at the commencement of the affair the natives exhibited the greatest forbearance, and the utmost repugnance to fight with the Europeans. His views were cordially endorsed by Mr. Clarke, the Protector of the aborigines, who reported to the Acting-Governor that he was "satisfied that such an unhappy affair as that of the Wairau could never have occurred had not the natives been urged to it by extreme provocation." These emphatic opinions from men who were not only capable of arriving at a judicial conclusion, but were impartial in the sense that they were not concerned in the catastrophe, together with the decision of the Attorney-General that no act of felony had been committed by the natives in burning the huts, fortified His Excellency in ignoring the violent clamour of the settlers for revenge. They induced him even to go further, and prohibit the military displays which they were beginning to organise amongst themselves under the plea that they were in imminent danger of being attacked by the natives. This prohibition was to their excited minds the crowning injustice of all; and in October, when H.M.S. _North Star_ arrived at Port Nicholson, the Wellington and Nelson settlements were practically in a state of open rebellion. When Sir Everard Home was applied to by the colonists to execute a warrant against Rauparaha and Rangihaeata for murder, he was compelled to "decline the honour," and admit candidly that he did not consider a force so necessary to put a check upon the natives as to keep in subjection the irate settlers themselves. The settlers further memorialised Sir Eardley Wilmot, Governor of Tasmania, for assistance, and he immediately sent a battleship to their aid. But he took the precaution to warn Captain Nicholson not to land his troops unless the natives and Europeans were in actual conflict; and this not being the case when the ship arrived, she soon after took her departure. In their extremity the settlers then turned to a French frigate which was lying in New Zealand waters; but Major Richmond, on hearing of the proposal to call upon her captain for aid, indignantly vetoed it as being "a stain upon British arms." The social and political atmosphere was still in this condition of ferment when, towards the close of the year, Captain Fitzroy, the newly appointed Governor, arrived. It was not, however, until February that he was able to give his undivided attention to the adjudication of matters connected with the massacre; but he then spared no pains to make himself master of all the facts upon which a decision was to be based. He first studied the merits of the European case, and then journeyed to Waikanae, where he landed on February 12, 1844, with his suite, consisting of Sir Everard Home, Mr. Spain, the officers of the _North Star_, Major Richmond and Mr. Symonds, the Wellington magistrates, and Mr. George Clarke, the Sub-Protector of the aborigines. There he met Rauparaha and Rangihaeata with upwards of four hundred of their tribe, congregated for the _korero_ in an enclosure in the centre of the _pa_, the Governor being provided with a chair, Rauparaha sitting by his side. His Excellency, addressing the assembled natives through Mr. Clarke, said:-- "I have heard from the English all that happened at the Wairau, and it has grieved my heart exceedingly. I now ask you to tell me your story so that I may compare the two and judge fairly. When I have heard your account of that dark day, I will reflect and then tell you what I shall do. The bad news I have just heard about killing the English after they had ceased fighting, and had trusted to your honour, has made my heart very dark, has filled my mind with gloom. Tell me your story that I may compare it with the English, and know the whole truth. When I first heard of the death of my friends at the Wairau, I was very angry and thought of hastening here with many ships of war, with many soldiers, and several fire-moved ships (steamers). Had I done so your warriors would have been killed, your canoes would have been all taken and burnt, your houses and your _pas_ would have all been destroyed, for I would have brought with me from Sydney an irresistible force. But these were hasty, unchristian thoughts: they soon passed away. I considered the whole case. I considered the English were very much to blame even by their own account, and I saw how much you had been provoked. Then I determined to put away my anger and come to you peaceably. Let me hear your story." Rauparaha then arose, and after being exhorted by several of his tribe to speak out that all might hear, he began in slow and measured tones to narrate their land troubles with the Company in the Wellington settlement, and then he passed on to the Wairau. This land, he declared, was taken away by Thompson and Captain Wakefield, and he described the visit of Rangihaeata and himself to Nelson to protest against its occupancy; nor did he omit to mention the threats then used towards them by Captain Wakefield. Then he told how they had gone over and stopped the survey, and brought Messrs. Cotterell and Barnicoat down to the bar, and how they had afterwards met Mr. Tuckett, and likewise refused him permission to remain. [Illustration: TAUPO PA, PORIRUA. Where Te Rauparaha was captured.] "After Mr. Tuckett had gone to Nelson," said Rauparaha, "we continued our planting, till one morning we saw the _Victoria_ (the Government brig). Then were our hearts relieved, for we thought Mr. Spain and Mr. Clarke had come to settle the question of our lands. Being scattered about on the different places on the river, we took no further notice, expecting a messenger to arrive from Mr. Spain; but a messenger came up to say that it was an army of English, and that they were busily engaged in cleaning their arms and fixing the flints of their guns. They met Puaha, and detained him prisoner. They said, 'Where are Rauparaha and Rangihaeata?' Puaha said, 'Up the river.' After Puaha and Rangihaeata arrived, we consulted as to what we should do. I proposed going into the bush, but they said 'No, let us remain where we are: what have we done that we should be thus beset?' The Europeans slept some distance from us, and, after they had breakfasted, came on towards us in two boats. We remained on the same spot without food. We were much alarmed. Early in the morning we were on the look-out, and one of the scouts, who caught sight of them coming round a point, called out, 'Here they come! here they come!' Our women had kindled a fire and cooked a few potatoes that we had remaining, and we were hastily eating them when they came in sight. Cotterell called out, 'Where is Puaha?' Puaha answered, 'Here I am, come here to me.' They said again, 'Where is Puaha?' Puaha again saluted them. Cotterell then said, 'Where is a canoe for us to cross?' Thompson, Wakefield, and some other gentlemen crossed over with a constable to take me, but the greater number stopped on the other side of the creek. Thompson said, 'Where is Rauparaha?' I answered, 'Here.' He said, 'Come, you must come with me.' I replied, 'What for?' He answered, 'To talk about the houses you have burnt down.' I said, 'What house have I burned down? Was it a tent belonging to you that you make so much ado about? You know it was not; it was nothing but a hut of rushes. The materials were cut from my own ground; therefore I will not go on board, neither will I be bound. If you are angry about the land, let us talk it quietly over. I care not if we talk till night and all day to-morrow; and when we have finished, I will settle the question about the land!' Mr. Thompson said, 'Will you not go?' I said 'No,' and Rangihaeata, who had been called for, and who had been speaking, said so too. Mr. Thompson then called for the handcuffs and held up the warrant, saying, 'See, this is the Queen's book, this is the Queen to make a tie, Rauparaha.' I said, 'I will not listen either to you or your book.' He was in a great passion; his eyes rolled about and he stamped his feet. I said I would rather be killed than submit to be bound. He then called for the constable, who began opening the handcuffs and advancing towards me. Mr. Thompson laid hold of my hand. I pushed him away, saying, 'What are you doing that for?' Mr. Thompson then called out 'Fire!' The Europeans began to cross over the creek, and as they were crossing they fired one gun. The women and children were sitting round the fire. We called out, 'We shall be shot,' After this one gun, they fired a volley, and one of us was killed, then another, and three were wounded. We were then closing fast; the _pakehas_' guns were levelled at us. I and Puaha cried out, 'Friends, stand up and shoot some of them in payment.' We were frightened because some of them were very close to us. We then fired; three of the Europeans fell. They fired again and killed Rongo, the wife of Rangihaeata. We then bent all our energy to the fight, and the Europeans began to fly. They all ran away, firing as they retreated; the gentlemen ran too. We pursued them and killed them as we overtook them. Captain Wakefield and Mr. Thompson were brought to me by the slaves, who caught them. Rangihaeata came running to me, crying out, 'What are you doing, I say?' Upon which some heathen slaves killed them at the instigation of Rangihaeata; neither Puaha nor the Christian natives being then present. There was no time elapsed between the fight and the slaughter of the prisoners. When the prisoners were killed, the rest of the people were still engaged in the pursuit, and before they returned they were all dead. I forgot to say that during the pursuit, when we arrived at the top of the hill, Mr. Cotterell held up a flag and said, 'That is enough, stop fighting!' Mr. Thompson said to me, 'Rauparaha, spare my life.' I answered, 'A little while ago, I wished to talk to you in a friendly manner, and you would not; now you say, 'Save me,' I will not save you. It is not our custom to save the chiefs of our enemies. We do not consider our victory complete unless we kill the chiefs of our opponents. Our passions were much roused, and we could not help killing the chiefs." At the conclusion of Rauparaha's address, Captain Fitzroy desired time to reflect upon what he had just heard, and, at the expiration of half-an-hour, he announced his decision as follows:-- "Now I have heard both sides, I have reflected on both accounts, and I am prepared to give my judgment. In the first place, the English were wrong; they had no right to build houses upon lands to which they had not established their claim--upon land the sale of which you disputed; on which Mr. Spain had not decided. They were wrong in trying to apprehend you, who had committed no crime. They were wrong in marking and measuring your land in opposition to your repeated refusal to allow them to do so until the Commissioner had decided on their claim. Had you been Englishmen, you would have known that it was wrong to resist a magistrate under any circumstances, but not understanding English law, the case is different. Had this been all, had a struggle caused loss of life in the fight--wrong and bad as it would have been to fight in the sight of God--I could not have blamed you so much as the English. The very bad part of the Wairau affair--that part where you were very wrong--was the killing of the men who had surrendered, who trusted to your honour as chiefs. Englishmen never kill prisoners; Englishmen never kill men who have surrendered. It is the shocking death of these unfortunate men that has filled my mind with gloom, that has made my heart so dark, that has filled me with sorrow; but I know how difficult it is to restrain angry men when their passions are aroused. I know you repent of your conduct, and are now sorry that those men were killed. As the English were very greatly to blame, as they brought on and began the fight, and as you were hurried into crime by their misconduct, I will not avenge their death."[172] In arriving at this determination, Captain Fitzroy may have been actuated to some extent by considerations of expediency; for, had he decided in any other way, the reprisals of the English would undoubtedly have created a war with the natives, which the Government was not in a position at that juncture to carry to a successful issue. Therefore, to have provoked hostilities with Rauparaha would have meant the obliteration of all the settlements before the necessary reinforcements could have arrived. At the same time, there was a large measure of justice in the course he chose to adopt, which, in the calmer judgment of to-day, must receive the endorsement of all impartial men, as it did that of Lord Stanley, the Secretary of State for the Colonies, immediately the Governor's decision was known to the Home authorities. In his despatches on the subject, Lord Stanley made it clear that, in his opinion, Mr. Thompson and Captain Wakefield had needlessly violated the rules of English law, the maxims of prudence, and the principles of justice; and having thus provoked an indefensible quarrel with a barbarous tribe, they could not reasonably complain at the barbarities practised in the subsequent conflict. He was therefore satisfied that, in declining to make the Wairau massacre a subject for criminal proceedings, the Governor had taken a wise, though undoubtedly bold, decision. As might have been expected, the action of Captain Fitzroy in refusing to arrest the two chiefs created a tempest of ill-will against him amongst the settlers, but, on the other hand, the Maoris were overjoyed at the prospect of once more possessing the friendship of the _pakeha_, and instantly resumed a sociable demeanour towards the colonists. This feeling, upon the advent of Captain Grey as Governor, was gradually reciprocated by the Europeans, who in time came to recognise the folly of their fears, and the absurdity of their hostile attitude. In this way, the startling nature of the catastrophe, which had paralysed the efforts of the New Zealand Company and thrown a pall over the settlement of the whole Colony, began to lose its deadly effect, and the splendid scheme of setting a new gem in the British Crown was rescued from the disaster which threatened it. [154] On the 13th June, Captain Wakefield wrote to his brother from Nelson: "The magistrates have granted a warrant, and Thompson, accompanied by myself, England, and a lot of the constables, are off immediately in the Government brig to execute it. We shall muster about sixty, so I think we will overcome these travelling bullies." [155] As told to the author by the late Mr. Barnicoat. [156] Saturday, June 17, 1843. [157] John Brooks had been engaged as a sawyer at Cloudy Bay. He was thoroughly acquainted with the native language and habits, having been eight years resident amongst the Waikato tribes. [158] Rawiri Kingi Puaha was born at Kawhia, and belonged to one of the best of the Ngati-Toa families. He migrated southward with Te Rauparaha, and was married to one of Te Pehi's daughters. He died at his own village, Takapuahia, Porirua Harbour, on September 6, 1858. He was a man widely respected by the colonists, and to the day of his death he "maintained a high character as a consistent and conscientious Christian." [159] "The conduct of Mr. Thompson has been unquestionably the means of bringing about the fatal conflict in which he himself lost his life. There is only one way of accounting for the part he has acted in that affair; as far as he is concerned, no more blame can be attached to him than to any other lunatic, for such he was to all intents and purposes, and such he was well known to be, even to Mr. Shortland" (_Martin's Letters_). [160] Te Rongo was not the _daughter_ of Te Rauparaha, as that word is generally understood by Europeans, but a much more distant relative. She was the widow of Te Whaiti, a nephew of Rauparaha and a first cousin of Rangihaeata, who married her because she was the widow of his near relative. The story that she was shot while standing in front of Rangihaeata to protect him is pure romance. She was killed by a stray bullet while hiding in the swamp at the rear of the Maori camp. [161] "Yesterday we passed (near Maraekowhai) the grave of Te Oru, the chief who killed Captain Wakefield at the Wairau" (_Crawford's "Travels in New Zealand"_). [162] This referred to an incident which occurred in 1839. A degenerate whaler named Dick Cook had cruelly murdered a native woman, Rangiawha Kuika, who was the wife of an Englishman named Wynen. The natives wished to deal with him in their own summary way, but the Rev. Mr. Ironside persuaded them to send him to Wellington to be tried according to the British forms of justice. He was charged with the crime at the Supreme Court, but was acquitted, the evidence being mainly circumstantial, his own wife (also a native woman), who saw him do the deed, not being allowed to give testimony against him. This was a delicate point which the natives could not understand, and they ever after retained the firm conviction that an injustice had been done in not punishing him. [163] Mr. Clarke, Sub-Protector of the aborigines, estimated that in 1843 there were 11,650 natives capable of bearing arms inhabiting the shores of Cook Strait. In a petition to Parliament signed by seven hundred residents of Wellington shortly after the massacre, it was stated "that it is in the power of the aborigines at any time to massacre the whole of the British population in Cook Strait, and Rauparaha has been known to declare that he will do it." [164] On the 29th June, the Wellington magistrates met at Mr. McDonough's house, and on the motion of Dr. Evans, seconded by the Hon. J. Petre, it was resolved: "That Mr. Spain, the Commissioner of Lands, be requested to go in his capacity as one of the magistrates to communicate to the native chiefs and tribes of Cook Strait their determination, which is not to take or to sanction any attempt to take vengeance for the death of the white men at Wairau, but to leave the whole matter to the decision of the Queen's Government, who will inquire into it and decide according to law." [165] Now known as Whanganui. [166] Te Ahu karamu's son was travelling with Wakefield on this journey, and under the impression that Wakefield would kill him in revenge for the massacre, Te Ahu "had furiously urged the Otaki natives to join Rauparaha and Rangihaeata in an attack upon Wellington." [167] "Some of the whalers present laughed at this, having too many friends and relatives by their wives to fear being turned out. Taylor, among the number, laughed outright, for he had lived with the tribe for many years and was a general favourite among them. Rauparaha turned to him and said, 'You must go too, Sammy'" (_Wakefield_). [168] Wakefield has said that Rauparaha not only rebuked the Queen, but spoke offensively of her. But it must always be remembered that he was naturally prejudiced against the chief, and that he was frequently vindictive towards those from whom he differed. [169] "Taiaroa talked to me for some time about land in a disgusting jargon composed of whaling slang, broken French, and bad English, so that I was obliged to beg him to speak in Maori, which I could better understand. I then made out that he was angry with 'Wideawake' (Colonel Wakefield) and other white people for taking so much land, and he said he would turn the white people off to the southward if he did not get plenty of _utu_" (_Wakefield_). [170] These displays had a distinctly disturbing effect upon the native mind, the Maoris regarding them as a sure and certain sign that the settlers meditated an attack upon them. [171] The entire military force in the Colony at the moment of the massacre was one weak company of infantry stationed at Auckland, and there was no vessel of war on the station (_Mundy_). [172] This decision was written out in pencil and handed to Mr. Clarke to read out to the assemblage. Because Governor Fitzroy did not claim the Wairau district as having been paid for with blood--a course which the chiefs fully expected would be taken, in accordance with their own customs--British prestige and power are said to have suffered considerably in their estimation, and Rangihaeata is reported to have remarked, "_He paukena te pakeha_" (The Governor is soft, he is a pumpkin). When the Middle Island was sold to the Government by Taiaroa and the descendants of Tamaiharanui, Rangihaeata claimed part of the payment as compensation for the death of Te Pehi and his friends killed at Kaiapoi, and his claim was allowed by Governor Grey. CHAPTER VIII THE CAPTIVE CHIEF The decision of which Governor Fitzroy had delivered himself, as the result of his hurried investigation into the circumstances attending the tragedy at the Wairau, brought him into bitter conflict with the more influential colonists, and added to his native troubles a European difficulty, which ultimately played no small part in his official undoing. Fitzroy had, with a patriotism worthy of the best traditions of our race, sacrificed place and high prospects in the homeland to assume the Governorship of New Zealand, a post which was afterwards described by Lord Stanley as "a laborious, responsible, and ill-remunerated office in a distant colony." Without money, or the means of obtaining it, to carry on his civil administration, and destitute of military support wherewith to assert his authority, he found himself defied by the natives and thwarted by the Europeans. His appeals for soldiers were unheeded, and his schemes for supplementing his revenue were disallowed by the Home authorities, who, instead of repairing their policy of parsimony, recalled the Governor. Thus was cut short a career upon which Robert Fitzroy had entered with only the highest motives, throughout which he had acted with the utmost devotion, and in which he had failed only because with his limited opportunities it was humanly impossible to succeed. His successor in the arduous task of soothing the dual discontent was Captain Grey, late of the 83rd Regiment, who was then serving the Crown with conspicuous distinction as Governor of South Australia. His success in dealing with native difficulties there, his achievements as an explorer, added to his valuable personal qualities, were his chief recommendations for the new responsibilities which it was proposed to ask him to assume. That the judgment of those responsible for the selection was sound, history has proved; but the administrations of Fitzroy and Grey cannot fairly be compared, for the reason that, while the former was expected to rule a turbulent population without either men or money, the latter was freely supplied with both. The new Governor was further invested with the additional prestige derivable from the title of Governor-in-Chief, and from the fact that he was supported by a Lieutenant-Governor, who, in his subordinate authority, was stationed in the Southern province. Captain Grey assumed the duties of his new office on November 18, 1845. His first recorded contact with Te Rauparaha was on the occasion of his receiving from him and other chiefs a memorial, in which they expressed their anxiety to know his political intentions, and begged him to give them someone skilled in both native and European laws, who would advise them how best to avoid conflict with the _pakeha_. They were, they said, deeply anxious to obey the laws of the Queen, and just as they had teachers amongst them to lead them to a proper understanding regarding the will of God, so, in order to avoid misunderstanding, they desired some one to act as their guide and friend in the matter of the temporal law. Grey was more than gratified with this evidence of loyalty and desire for harmony, and, in his reply, endeavoured to make it clear that it was his duty so to direct his authority as to secure the peace and happiness of all under his jurisdiction. "Maoris and Europeans," wrote the Governor, "shall be equally protected and live under equal laws, both of them alike subjects of the Queen and entitled to her favour and care. The Maoris shall be protected in all their property and possessions, and no one shall be allowed to take anything from them or to injure them; nor will I allow Maoris to injure one another. An end must be put to deeds of blood and violence." This clear and explicit declaration of his determination to permit of only one law for the _pakeha_ and Maori, and to hold the racial balance justly before the eyes of the world, touched a responsive chord in the heart of the Maori nation; and Te Rauparaha was but expressing the general sentiments of the people when he wrote in reply to the Governor's message: "We have heard your words, which are like the light of day to us; our hearts are glad. Friend, now will I hold fast your words for good, and for living in quiet, both of natives and Europeans. Your protecting word has come forth for one and for the other; your kind words are a light to us. Now, for the first time, I can say the light has dawned for the Maoris, and now no wrong-doing shall spring from me. I mean the errors of the natives. If you cannot come hither, will you write to me?" Not less reassuring was the word of Wi Kingi Rangitake, of Ngati-Awa. With these pronouncements of loyalty from the two most powerful chiefs on the west coast, Grey felt more than equal to the task of subduing the malcontent natives under Taringa-kuri, chief of the Kaiwara _pa_, whose depredations in the Hutt Valley had been causing the greatest anxiety to the Wellington settlers. Both Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata had laid claim to part payment for the land which the New Zealand Company had purchased in this valley, their claim being based upon the alleged conquest of the country. This conquest Mr. Spain held to be incomplete, inasmuch as they had not resided on the land, which was really occupied by Ngati-Awa. He therefore disallowed their claim, although Mr. Clarke, junr., was anxious to pay out of the £1,500 awarded to the natives a sum of £400 in liquidation of their rights, he having come to some such arrangement with Rauparaha at an interview which took place at Waikanae in the presence of the Governor. Hearing of Mr. Spain's objection, Rauparaha, on February 3, 1844, penned a letter to him, Mr. Clarke, and the Governor, in which he warned them against paying the purchase-money for Port Nicholson over to "wrong parties," and listening to "strange men," at the same time urging them to make haste and come to Otaki for the purpose of explaining their intentions to Rangihaeata and himself. "FRIEND MR. CLARKE, MR. SPAIN, AND THE GOVERNOR,--This letter is from me and Rangihaeata, respecting your foolish work in paying for the land. This was the cause of you and us going wrong at the Wairau, the foolish paying to wrong parties. Do not listen to strange men, but make haste and make known to us your intentions, that the truth of what you have said may be seen. Friend Clarke, make haste. Desist from listening to any man. Son Clarke and Mr. Spain, desist also from carrying your payment to men who have nothing to do with it, but bring it straight to us--myself and Rangihaeata. This is all my speech to you by us. "RAUPARAHA. "RANGIHAEATA." To this Mr. Clarke replied on the 29th, assuring Rauparaha that anything that he had promised him in the matter of payment would be carried out. Simultaneously, Mr. Spain arranged to hold a court at Porirua, in order to comply as speedily as possible with Te Rauparaha's request. This court, which was opened on 8th March, was attended by most of the leading chiefs and upwards of two hundred natives. After the preliminary addresses had been disposed of, Mr. Spain formally opened the court by saying, "Rauparaha, I received your letter asking me to settle the Port Nicholson purchase, and after inquiry I have decided that the natives who owned the land are entitled to more money, and I therefore offer you new terms." To this Te Rauparaha answered, "My wish was to settle my claims at Port Nicholson, but you want me to give up the Hutt." "Did you not consent to receive £300 for Port Nicholson and the Hutt?" inquired Mr. Spain in an injured tone; to which Te Rauparaha replied that he had not regarded the bargain in that light. Efforts were made to convince him that he had signed a deed in which the Hutt was included, but he insisted that the boundary was not to go beyond a creek known as Rotokakahi. "I am aware of the cause of this objection," said Mr. Spain. "That man sitting by your side, Taringa-kuri, is cultivating land at the Hutt to which he has no right." Te Rauparaha's answer was that the land belonged to Taringa-kuri, as he was the oldest man of the resident natives; whereupon Mr. Spain rose to depart, and as he did so he turned, and, more in sorrow than in anger, upbraided Te Rauparaha for thus breaking faith with him in so flagrant a manner. The court then adjourned without either party having been able to convince the other. But Te Rauparaha did not permit the grass to grow under his feet, for he at once despatched Taringa-kuri to cut a line through the scrub and bush dividing the Upper from the Lower Hutt Valley, in order to define clearly what territory he considered belonged to the _pakeha_ and what to the Maori. On hearing that this work was in progress, Mr. Spain felt it incumbent upon him to go out and warn Taringa-kuri that he was committing an illegal act, and that the boundary he was attempting to create would not be recognised by the Government. Mr. Spain's reception was not an encouraging one. "If you have come to make remarks about our cutting this line, you may as well return, as we will listen to nothing you have got to say, nor will we be deterred from it by you, by the Governor, or by the Queen," was the truculent declaration of the first native whom he met. Taringa-kuri was not less uncompromising. "I am cutting a line to divide the lands of the settlers from our own, and I am doing it under Te Rauparaha's orders," was his emphatic reply to Mr. Spain's demand for information as to why this work was proceeding. And in answer to the Commissioner's protest that the line being cut was not the line agreed upon, the chief, with a fine show of indignation, accused him of hostile intentions. "It is plain," he said, "you are not peaceably disposed; you heard at Porirua that Rauparaha would not agree to your boundaries, and you appear determined to insist upon them. You had better return to the land of your birth." Immediately upon his return to Wellington, Mr. Spain despatched a letter to Rauparaha again severely censuring him for committing a breach of faith in sending Taringa-kuri to cut the line contrary to his (Mr. Spain's) decision, and concluding by saying, "Let me tell you that after all that has occurred, Kuri is acting contrary to the laws of the Governor, and, if he persists in his illegal acts, he will be punished by the law accordingly." This letter Mr. Spain first showed to Mr. Hadfield, who approved its contents, and translated it into the native tongue for him, Mr. Spain thinking that this course would enhance its value in the native estimation. On the 27th Rauparaha replied that it was not he who was withholding the land, but Rangihaeata, who had negatived his voice in the councils of the tribe. But he still reiterated his former contention that he had never agreed to sell the Hutt. The remonstrances on the part of Mr. Spain having proved fruitless, the Governor first pacified Heke[173] and Kawiti in the north, and then came south in February, 1846, with all the prestige of a successful "fighting Governor," to direct his operations against the truculent Taringa-kuri. In an interview, the Governor peremptorily demanded the evacuation of the valley. The chief pleaded for time to reap and remove the standing crops; but the Governor, strong in the knowledge that he had right on his side, and an ample force to sustain his demand, refused to consider any compromise, and gave the chief no alternative between immediate compliance and a declaration of war. The natives hesitated to test the question by an appeal to arms, and sullenly withdrew from the disputed territory, but not from the valley itself. They fell back upon a _pa_ up in the ranges, which the Governor afterwards described as "the strongest position he had seen in any part of the world." From this mountain fastness they made sudden and destructive raids upon the peaceful settlements in the vale below. Two hundred soldiers were left to render the settlers what measure of protection they could, by defensive tactics. Their instructions were not to attack the rebels in their stronghold, but, by vigilantly preventing them from securing supplies, to endeavour by starvation to render its continued occupation impossible. This policy had early the anticipated effect, and, acting on Te Rauparaha's assurance that the rebels had abandoned the _pa_, the Governor visited the spot, and has thus described what he saw:-- "The forest which had been held by the enemy was traversed by a single narrow path, almost impassable for armed Europeans. This path ascended a narrow ridge of rocks, having a precipice on each side covered with jungle. The ridge of rocks was so narrow that only one person could pass along it at a time, and it led to a hill with a broad summit, upon which a fortress had been constructed in such a manner as completely to command the path, which was rendered more difficult by an abattis placed across it. The rear of this position was quite as inaccessible as the front, and on each flank was a precipice; from the number of huts placed upon it, it must have been occupied by from three hundred to four hundred men." No sooner was this position abandoned than another, almost equally impregnable, was taken up, and from this lair in the depth of the hills a band of marauders crept down through the forest early in April of 1846, stole past the troops, and late in the afternoon murdered a settler named Gillespie and his son, while they were engaged threshing wheat. There were soldiers in the vicinity at the time, but they were more intent upon getting grog from Burcham's public-house than upon protecting the settlers; and so stealthily was the attack carried out, that no one knew of the tragedy until Charles Gillespie, returning home in the dusk, found his father and brother in the throes of death. Te Rauparaha disclaimed, and probably with truth, all knowledge of or participation in this treacherous act, and even offered his assistance in bringing the murderers to justice. Rangihaeata was not so frank--or it may be that he was even more frank--for he instantly betook himself to the hills, and openly declared himself in sympathy with those who were thus contesting the question of the supremacy of the races. He refused to give the murderers up to the authorities, and busied himself with preparations for continuing the contest. Nor had the military long to wait for his onset. The most advanced British post in the valley was known as Boulcott's Farm, commanded by Lieutenant Page, who had a force of fifty men with him. Here, just before dawn, on May 16, 1846, the sentry, as he kept his lonely vigil, was startled by seeing some dark body creeping through the grass towards him. Without waiting to challenge, he fired, and in an instant the air was rent with the savage yells of a horde of warriors, who, under Mamaku, had left Rangihaeata's _pa_ at Pahautanui on the previous day, and, scaling the mountain range, had fallen upon the sleeping camp. The sentry and the picket were soon overpowered and killed, but not before the alarm had been given by Allen, the bugle-boy attached to the company. Roused from sleep by the commotion, he seized his bugle, and was in the act of sounding the call to arms, when a blow from a tomahawk struck the instrument from his hand. He still had time to recover it, and blow a blast which awakened his sleeping comrades, before he was laid low by a second stroke of the murderous axe. A galling fire was at once opened upon the outpost from the surrounding bush by the secreted natives, and Lieutenant Page and two men, who were with him in one of the out-buildings, hurried off to join their comrades who had been sleeping in the stockade. Intercepted by a swift rush on the part of a band of natives, they were only rescued from their perilous position by a determined effort on the part of the sergeant, who rallied some of the men and went to his commander's relief. Three men went down with wounds, and the remaining six fought the savages hand to hand, checking their onslaught until the wounded were got safely away and the remainder were able to retreat to the barn. Here the available force was assembled, and, leaving a sufficient garrison to defend the position, Lieutenant Page[174] and his men sallied out in extended order, firing as they went. Under this pressure the attack soon slackened, and, on the arrival of reinforcements, was turned into retreat, but not before six men had been killed and four wounded. During the following month there was another skirmish in the valley, which did not redound greatly to the credit of the British arms. These repeated raids convinced the Governor that he must lance the lairs which were harbouring these human wolves, who represented all that was worst in the native race. He had been desirous of deferring field operations against these malcontents until the winter was over; but, realising that every successful attack only encouraged the enemy to further excesses, and diminished the enthusiasm of the loyal natives, he now determined upon an immediate and active campaign. The policy of road-making, which had been initiated some months before, was vigorously prosecuted, the friendly natives, as well as the soldiers, being employed in the work. The deep paths which were thus cut through the luxuriant beauty of the wilderness to Porirua and into the heart of the Hutt Valley robbed the forest of much of its terror, and were masterly counter-strokes to the secret tactics of Rangihaeata's followers. That chief's reply to the Governor's policy was to build a _pa_ at Pahautanui, so skilfully situated and so strongly fortified that he openly boasted that nothing but British artillery could drive him from it. But he did more than this. A _tapu_ placed on the Porirua track for a time disturbed and paralysed our native allies; but the inconvenience was only temporary, and the Governor succeeded in gradually breaking down the chief's authority. An important military post was established at Porirua, garrisoned by three hundred men, and the services of the friendly natives were enlisted in the contemplated movement against the forces of Rangihaeata. His _pa_ was reconnoitred on the night of July 8th by Lieutenant the Hon. Charles Yelverton, of the Royal Artillery, and Mr. McKillop, then a midshipman on board H.M.S. _Calliope_, and the conclusion at which they arrived was that the artillery might easily be brought forward against the _pa_, and that in all other respects its investment was feasible, so soon as the Governor had a sufficient force at his disposal for the purpose. But there was one other factor to be taken into account. What would Te Rauparaha's attitude be if Rangihaeata were attacked? In his _pa_ at Taupo, on the shores of Porirua Harbour, he occupied a strong strategical position; and, though he had consistently professed his friendship for the Governor and his loyalty to the Queen, he was supremely distrusted, both by the authorities and by our native allies. As early as June of 1846, Major Last had reported to the Governor, from Wellington, that he was "a little suspicious of Te Rauparaha";[175] but the insinuation of disloyalty coming to the chief's ears, he challenged the Major's suspicions by offering to come to Wellington to prove the contrary. In view of the intensely hostile feeling prevailing amongst the European population against the chief, Major Last deemed the proposed visit to be ill-timed and impolitic, and declined to encourage Rauparaha in his intention. But the bold and fearless proposal must have shaken the officer's confidence in the grounds for his aspersion. The position of the chief at this time was a most unenviable one, for there is evidence that the Governor had begun to share the doubts of Major Last. It must not be forgotten, however, that the seeds of suspicion may have been assiduously sown in his mind by Rauparaha's tribal enemies, who would have exulted in embroiling him in a dispute with the local authorities. Even his friends who were with Rangihaeata in the field, either to further their own schemes or out of resentment at his passive attitude, sought to draw him into the vortex of the struggle. The _mana_ of the chief was still great, and Rangihaeata and Mamaku endeavoured to conjure with his name and claim his sanction for a letter to some tribal comrades containing an appeal for assistance. The native carrying this letter was captured, and the intercepted document placed in the hands of the Governor, who immediately sailed for Porirua in H.M.S. _Driver_. On board the vessel he was visited by Te Rauparaha, and, during the interview, the incriminating message was produced and handed to the chief, who instantly denounced its contents as falsehoods and its writer as his enemy. "I watched him narrowly at the time," says Grey, "and his manner was such as to lead me to think that he really had no knowledge that such a letter had been written." Though thus frankly confessing that the letter was an injustice to the chief, the Governor, either from some innate mistrust of his visitor or a too ready disposition to listen to the sinister suggestions made against him, resolved that he would take no risks as to the future conduct of the man whom he believed he had to checkmate. He therefore determined that, before moving against Rangihaeata, he would forestall any possibility of an attack upon his lines of communication by capturing Te Rauparaha and holding him hostage for the good behaviour of his tribe. Without indicating by sign or word to the chief that the friendship between them was at an end, and without permitting him even to suspect the existence of any doubts as to his loyalty, the Governor took his farewell of Te Rauparaha, and on the afternoon of July 22 left Porirua. For the purpose of allaying suspicion, the _Driver_, in which he sailed, ostentatiously steamed to the north; but during the night she returned and stealthily anchored at the entrance of the harbour. Boats were lowered, and a company of a hundred and thirty men, under Major Last, Captain Stanley, of H.M.S. _Calliope_, and Lieutenant McKillop,[176] landed, and silently surrounded the stockade of the Taupo _pa_, in which the chief and his people were sleeping. The arrangements of the capturing party were so admirably made that no suspicion of what was moving around them was allowed to reach the natives until the stormers rushed into Rauparaha's _whare_, and, seizing the chief in his bed, carried him, in spite of his struggles and protestations, down to the boat side. Lieutenant McKillop, who personally accomplished the seizure of the chief, has left on record the following account of the exciting incident:-- [Illustration: TE RANGIHAEATA. After a drawing by C. D. Barraud. Esq.] "I was sent for soon after we arrived, and had an interview with the Governor, who informed me of Rauparaha's treachery, and his wish to have him and three others taken prisoners, if possible by surprise; and knowing that I was acquainted with their persons and locality, he asked me if I would undertake the capture of the 'Old Serpent' myself, allowing me to choose my own time and method of doing it, Major Durie, the Inspector of Police, being selected to take the others. Accordingly it was arranged that we were to leave the ship before daylight the next morning and land quietly on the rocks some little distance from the _pa_ in which our treacherous allies lived, taking a mixed force of bluejackets and soldiers, amounting to two hundred men, to support us in the case of the natives rising before we had effected our object. It was the Governor's particular desire that we should not lay our hands on these men until we had told them they were prisoners for treason, but on no account to let old Rauparaha escape. I took Mr. Dighton with me to act as interpreter, and four of our men unarmed, giving them instructions to seize upon the old chief as soon as he was made aware of the charge preferred against him, and to hurry him down to the boat before he could rouse his people, the principal object being to secure him. We landed at break of day, and while they were forming the troops on the beach, I with my small party ran on, as it was then light, fearing that conscious guilt might sharpen their ears and frustrate our plans. When we reached the _pa_ not a soul was stirring, but our heavy footsteps soon brought some of the sleepers to the doors of their huts, knowing we were not of the barefooted tribe. We could not wait to give any explanation, but pushed on to the hut which contained the object of our search, whose quick ears had detected strange footsteps. Never having liked me, he did not look at all easy on perceiving who the intruder was, although his wife showed no alarm and received me with her usual salutation. Upon informing him that he was my prisoner, he immediately threw himself (being in a sitting posture) back into the hut, and seized a tomahawk, with which he made a blow at his wife's head, thinking she had betrayed him. I warded the blow with my pistol and seized him by the throat, my four men immediately rushing in on him, and, securing him by his arms and legs, started off as fast as his violent struggles would allow of, which for a man of his age (upwards of seventy) were almost superhuman. He roared out lustily 'Ngati-Toa! Ngati-Toa!' endeavouring to bring his tribesmen to his rescue, and in a few seconds every man was on his legs and came rushing over to see what was the matter with their chief; but the troops and bluejackets coming up at the same time and surrounding the _pa_ prevented any attempt at a rescue, as he was already in the boat. His last effort to free himself was fastening with his teeth on to my coxswain's shoulder, who bore this piece of cannibalism unflinchingly. I sent Mr. Dighton off to the ship with him, there being not much chance of his escaping from the boat, particularly as he was informed that he would be shot if he attempted to escape. I then returned to the _pa_ to search for arms and ammunition, and also to see if the other prisoners had been secured. The interior of the _pa_ presented a woeful spectacle, the women all howling in chorus with the pigs and the children, the two latter being much knocked about in the search for arms." In the mêlée which ensued upon the capture of Te Rauparaha, four other natives were also seized by Major Durie, and in the same arbitrary manner were carried off to the ship.[177] Two of these were the influential chiefs, Te Kanae (the _ariki_ of the Ngati-Toa tribe) and Hohepa, and two were men of inferior rank. By some writers who have been at no pains to conceal their hostility to Te Rauparaha, it is alleged that upon his arrival on board the _Driver_ he manifested the most craven spirit, until he was assured that it was not the Governor's intention to hang him from the yard-arm. But, whatever be the truth of this assertion, he at least retained sufficient dignity and self-respect as a chief to strenuously object to the additional humiliation of being imprisoned in company with men of no standing in the tribe; and, in deference to his injured pride and his vehement expostulations, Pohe and his companion were sent ashore and released from their brief captivity. Naturally, the little settlement at Taupo was thrown into a state of intense excitement. The seizure of their chief was so sudden, so unexpected, that its reality could not for the moment be grasped; but when its full significance broke in upon the astonished tribe, the startling tidings was immediately despatched to Te Rangihaeata, who was still sitting in defiance in his stronghold at Pahautanui. He at once made for the coast, but was too late. The Governor had several hours' start of him, and he was compelled to make a wide detour to avoid the British post at Porirua. He arrived on the wooded hill-side above Te Rauparaha's _pa_ only in time to see the war-ship with her captives steaming down the coast.[178] Enraged and disappointed at what he must have regarded as the perfidy of the _pakeha_, and disheartened at his own impotency, he gloomily retired to his lair, there to sing[179] that beautiful lament, in which he mournfully acknowledges the increasing ascendancy of the stranger, and chides the waning loyalty of his own people. "My brave canoe! In lordly decoration lordliest far, My proud canoe! Amid the fleet that fleetest flew-- How wert thou shattered by the surge of war! 'Tis but the fragments of thy wreck, O my renowned canoe, That lie all crushed on yonder war-ship's deck! Raha! my chief, my friend! Thy lonely journey wend: Stand with thy wrongs before our god of battle's face: Bid him thy foes requite!-- Ah me! Te Raukawa's foul desertion and disgrace-- Ah me! the English ruler's might! Raha! my chief of chiefs! Ascend with all thy griefs Up to their Lord of Peace--there stand before His face-- Let Him thy faith requite!-- Ah me! Te Toa's sad defection and disgrace-- Ah me! the English ruler's might! One counsel from the first I gave, 'Break up thy forces, comrade brave, Scatter them all about the land In many a predatory band!'-- But Porirua's forest dense, Ah, thou wouldst never stir from thence, 'There,' saidst thou, 'lies my best defence,'-- Now, now, of such design ill-starred, How grievously thou reap'st the full reward! Hence, vain lamenting--hence, away! Hence, all the brood of sorrow born! There will be time enough to mourn In the long days of summer, ere the food Is cropped, abundant for the work of blood. Now I must marshal in compact array, Great thoughts that crowding come of an avenging day!"[180] The seizure of Te Rauparaha, at such a time and in such a manner, is one of the many debatable points in the history of this period, and, notwithstanding that many pages have been written upon the incident, the ethics of the act are apparently as far from final determination as ever. To the present writer its justification lies in its success. There is no doubt that, however high-handed and arbitrary, it was a tactical stroke which compelled waverers to pause, and paralysed those who were already in active hostility. On the other hand, it might just as easily have roused the whole Maori race into a frenzy of injured pride, and plunged the country into the vortex of a retaliatory war. Only one thing saved New Zealand from this calamity, and that was the tribal dissensions. Had the Maori been a united people, this unprovoked indignity put upon one of their greatest men must have excited their bitterest passions against the perpetrators of the deed; and one almost shudders to realise in what a hair-balance the fate of the little Colony trembled at this moment of her history. In criticising the Governor's policy, however, it must be borne in mind that he, with his knowledge of Maori conditions, may have counted upon these very intertribal hatreds to prevent anything in the nature of a general rising. This being assumed, his action is shorn of some of its rashness and impolicy, and he becomes entitled to credit for the success of his methods of overawing the turbulent spirit of the malcontent Maoris. On no other ground than that the end justifies the means can the seizure of Te Rauparaha be defended, nor, so far as the writer is aware, has any other defence ever been seriously attempted. The most that can be urged against the chief is that, unlike Te Kingi Rangitake, he did not join the allies and enter upon active hostilities against the so-called rebels. Of the fact that he secretly aided them there is little evidence and no proof. What evidence there may be is confined to the intercepted letters, admitted by the Governor himself to be forgeries, and to the unsupported statements of natives, some jealous of his power, and others aggrieved at his previous treatment of them. In this respect Te Rauparaha must have felt that, having sown the wind, he was now reaping the whirlwind; for those natives who had gone down under his hand in war, or had been outwitted by his diplomacy, were only too anxious to represent him in an unfavourable light to the Governor, and were never tired of insinuating, and even broadly asserting, that his spirit was behind the rebellion, even though his hand might be invisible. In communicating with Mr. Gladstone on July 23, 1846, Grey described his military operations, which were designed to check a company of some two hundred rebels who, he had reason to believe, were marching from Whanganui to join Te Rangihaeata. He landed at Waikanae, Otaki, and Ohau, where he had a conference with the friendly chiefs. He proceeded to say: "The whole of the chiefs with whom I had interviews declared that these disturbances were to be entirely attributed to the intrigues of Te Rauparaha." How much his mind was influenced by the opinions of the chiefs may be judged by the fact that on the following day he launched his successful stroke, but how little he had weighed the value of their testimony may also be inferred from the circumstance that a year later he wrote a despatch to Mr. Gladstone's successor at the Colonial Office, in which he was forced to admit that after retaining Te Rauparaha in captivity for ten months his difficulties in deciding how to dispose of him were enhanced by the fact that all his "efforts made to secure the evidence of Pohi[181] failed, consequently it was not possible to prove Te Rauparaha's guilt in a court of law." It is strange, if so many chiefs knew that the brain of Te Rauparaha was forging the balls which Rangihaeata was firing, that none were able to testify to the fact in an established court of law, and, travesty upon British justice though it may seem, it is nevertheless a fact that the man who had relied upon the Treaty of Waitangi to secure him his rights and liberties was detained a prisoner without formal charge and without the chance of a trial until it was thought possible to prove his guilt. How far Te Rauparaha's seizure and continued detention were a palliation to the wounded feelings of the European settlers it is difficult to pronounce, but it is not in the least unlikely that the Governor paid some regard to the popular effect of the step, even if he totally ignored its judicial aspect. In all probability Te Rauparaha was at this time the best-hated man in New Zealand. The memory of the massacre at the Wairau had not yet died out, and there were many who, misunderstanding that fatal event, could not look upon the chief whose name had been so tragically associated with it in any other light than as a social and moral outcast. To this not inconsiderable section of the community imprisonment was much too good for Te Rauparaha, but it was preferable to the negative attitude of Governor Fitzroy, and Grey, no doubt, counted upon standing well with these extremists by the initiation of a policy in which there was a touch of retribution, however barren it might be of justice. With the European population, then, the kidnapping of the Ngati-Toa leader was, on the whole, a popular move, and with a number of the natives it was hailed as an act of retribution, long delayed, but nevertheless a judgment at last. Upon his own people the effect was different. They were stunned by the swiftness of the blow and confounded by its audacity. Here in a twinkling the very eye had been plucked out of their head, the heart torn from their body, and that, too, at a time when they had no quarrel with the Government, and by a man whom they had been wont to regard as their friend. Their first impulse was to fly to arms. To attack Wellington, to sweep the _pakeha_ into the sea, to avenge the wrongs of Te Rauparaha, was the cry. Te Rangihaeata called his own followers about him and sent out his appeals to the northern tribes: "Friends and children, come and revenge the injuries of Te Rauparaha, because Te Rauparaha is the eye of the faith of all men. Make haste hither in the days of December." But his design for the extermination of the Europeans was doomed to be frustrated. His own particular faithfuls were few in number, and the one great chief, Te Heuheu, to whom he might have looked for encouragement in such an emergency, was dead, buried beneath a huge landslide which had overwhelmed his village on the shores of Lake Taupo. Of others with whom he had been accustomed to co-operate in the days gone by, some were espousing the cause of the enemy, and some, having embraced the Christian faith, had grown weary of incessant war. Their reply, which was something in the nature of a rebuke, betokened that they had realised the futility of opposing the further progress of the _pakeha_. "How can you dry up the sea? That is why we say, finish fighting with the European." Such was their answer to his summons to arms, and Rangihaeata was left to fall back upon his small band of war-worn desperadoes to carry on a struggle which was hopeless from the first.[182] Abandoned to his own resources, he applied himself to his duties of leader with the energy of despair. Realising that his position at Pahautanui was no longer tenable, as its swamps and shallows were no protection against the artillery which he knew was collected at Porirua, he withdrew his forces into the deeply wooded Horokiwi Valley. Through this forest defile, tangled and matted by an almost impenetrable undergrowth, he was pursued by a force of 1,000 men, composed of militia and native allies, under Major Last. Te Rangihaeata's generalship proved equal to the peculiar circumstances in which he found himself, and his genius for war won for him the warmest encomiums from British officers, who have generously expressed their admiration for the skill with which the chief conducted his retreat. Into the density of the wooded valley he led his pursuers, enticing them by a simulated resistance, but abandoning his camps as soon as they pressed too closely upon him. In one of these semi-fortified resting-places the British soldiers discovered the bugle which had been taken from the boy Allen when he was struck down at the fatal fight at Boulcott's Farm. At length, retreat being no longer possible, the rebel chief turned at bay and fought his pursuers at a point near the head of the valley. His decision to throw down the gage of battle here was not the result of accident or impulse, but was due to deliberate calculation. The position was admirably chosen, and he held the enemy in check long enough to enable him to fortify it effectively. He threw a rough breastwork of tree-trunks across the narrow neck of a spur springing from a densely wooded hill, the approach to which was flanked by steep ravines, leaving so narrow a ridge that it could only be passed abreast by a very limited force of men. This wooden rampart, which presented so imposing a front to an enemy, was liberally perforated with loopholes, through which the defenders were able to concentrate their fire with deadly effect upon any approaching force. This arrangement, combined with the inaccessible nature of the ground, made its seizure by storm practically impossible. Nevertheless, an attack was determined upon, and on the morning of August 6, 1846, fire was opened upon the position, but with no other visible result than that Ensign Blackburn[183] and two privates were killed and nine others wounded. On the following day the assault, which had been so inauspiciously commenced, was suspended, for Major Last had now seen enough to convince him that some projectile more searching than bullets was necessary to dislodge the defenders from their stronghold. He accordingly sent to Porirua and procured two small mortars, which, after infinite labour spent in dragging them into position, were discovered to be absolutely worthless for purposes of attack, for the high forest trees made accurate gunnery impossible. Seeing his troops in a deplorable condition, even after this short bush campaign, and hopeless of driving Rangihaeata out, except at an enormous sacrifice of human life, Major Last decided to withdraw the regular troops and leave the friendly natives, under Puaha, to watch and wait for hunger to work its effects upon the stubborn garrison. A few days sufficed for this. On the 13th the allies were surprised by a hail of lead suddenly raining down upon their lines. No sooner had they sprung to arms than they saw that the enemy was afoot, the volley which they had fired being the signal for retreat. Immediately the real nature of the movement was ascertained, Puaha and his loyalists rushed forward over the fallen trees and broken ground, and reached the breastwork only in time to see the last of the defenders escape by the thickly veiled forest track, where they were swallowed up by the bush and lost to human view. Hunger and cold had done their work, for there were no signs of food supplies inside the camp except some edible fern. Nor did the escape of the defenders to the open avail them much, for they were so harried by the followers of Puaha as they fled along the snow-covered mountain ridge that the opportunities for procuring food were few and uncertain. Some made their perilous way to the coast, in the secret hope of finding food and shelter amongst their friends in the _pas_, but these were for the most part found by the vigilant Wiremu Kingi, and either driven back into the mountain fastnesses or promptly secured as prisoners of war.[184] Deeming himself fortunate to have so far evaded death or capture, Te Rangihaeata retreated northwards with his famished adherents until he reached the lowlands of the Manawatu. There, beaten though still defiant, he retired to a _pa_ built in the midst of the swamps and marshes of Poroutawhao, where he laid down his arms and, sullenly drawing his mat about him, prepared to watch the irresistible march of the _pakeha_, though refusing to acknowledge defeat at his hands. "I am finished," he wrote to the Governor, "but do not suppose that you conquered me. No; it was these my own relatives and friends, Rangitake and others. It was by them I was overcome, and not by you, O Governor."[185] A new cause for anxiety, in the outbreak of hostilities at Whanganui, now diverted Grey's attention momentarily from the fugitive chief, who improved the respite thus given by refraining from any act of violence. Although no formal peace was declared, Grey wisely decided not to precipitate further trouble by following him into the marshes of Poroutawhao. True, on the very day (April 18, 1847) that the news of the outbreak at Whanganui reached Wellington, the chief made a sensational descent upon Kapiti. In the grey of the early morning a whaler named Brown was awakened by a sound at the door of his hut, and, as he raised himself on his elbow, he saw the tall form of Rangihaeata enter the room with a tomahawk in his hand. The whaler not unnaturally thought he had come to take his life, and, in his subsequent narration of the incident, he indulged in some heroics, telling how he had challenged the chief to slay him on the spot. But Rangihaeata was not in search of a defenceless whaler's blood. He had come to demand some powder which was rightly his, and which he had left there for safe keeping. When he had secured his property, he went harmlessly away, after shaking hands in the most friendly manner with the frightened seaman. Some of his followers, however, were not quite so scrupulous; and, in searching the hut for the powder, they had appropriated a bundle of bank notes and some sovereigns, and secreted them about their persons until they returned to the _pa_. Here Rangihaeata discovered the theft, and immediately sent back the plunder to the Governor, accompanied by a characteristic note, in which he made it clear that, however much he might be in opposition to the Government, he had no desire to be esteemed a common thief. With Rangihaeata beaten out of the field, we may now return to Te Rauparaha, whom we left in the hands of his captors. To ensure his greater security, he was, immediately upon the arrival of the _Driver_ at Wellington, transferred to H.M.S. _Calliope_,[186] where he was placed under the watchful eye of Captain Stanley, for whom, we are told, he afterwards acquired a high regard. On board this ship he was detained with some show of liberty for upwards of ten months, visiting the principal ports of northern and central New Zealand, as the duties of the station demanded the presence of the vessel. During all this period no attempt was made to bring him to trial, though no pains were spared by the Governor to secure the evidence which would ensure his conviction. In a despatch written to the Colonial Office on December 1, 1846, Grey endeavoured to explain his position and justify his halting attitude, but, in the trenchant words of one of his critics, his was a justification which itself required to be justified:-- "A number of designing Europeans, who are annoyed at my interfering with their illegal purchases of land, have thought it proper to agitate the question of the justice and propriety of my arresting Te Rauparaha. Some most improper publications have already appeared, and I regret to state that I find a great effect is being produced upon the minds of the native chiefs. The difficulty of my position is that I am not yet quite satisfied whether or not it will be expedient or necessary to bring the old man to trial. In fact, I am rather anxious to avoid doing so, and I fear that, were I to make public the various crimes for which he has been seized by the Government, and the proofs of his guilt upon which the Government justify his detention, a large portion of the European population would be so exasperated against him that it would be difficult for the Government to avoid bringing him to trial; and, if I were compelled to adopt this step from having made known the charges against him, I should probably be accused of having ungenerously prejudiced the public against him previously to his being brought to trial." The only impression which the unbiassed student can derive from a perusal of this specious reasoning is that the Governor, in seeking to excuse himself for an unjustifiable action, has in reality delivered his own condemnation for a grave breach of trust. If the "various crimes" of which the chief was suspected were as defined as the Governor implies they were, and if "the proofs of his guilt upon which the Government justified his detention" were clear and unimpeachable, obviously then it was his bounden duty to the Colony and to Te Rauparaha that the chief should be brought to trial at the earliest possible moment. But the real fact was that the offences of Te Rauparaha were as imaginary as the proofs of his guilt were mythical, and he was kept captive on a ship of war while the Governor was diligently endeavouring to find Pohi, who was supposed to be possessed of important secrets, or was sedulously filling in the missing links in the chain of evidence which he hoped would establish the fact that certain messengers, who were known to have carried information to Rangihaeata, were indeed sent by Te Rauparaha. A fruitless ten months was spent in these endeavours to bring home guilt to Te Rauparaha, and at the end of that time Grey was forced to admit that he was still unable to prove the chief guilty in a court of law. He therefore began to consider how far he was justified in longer detaining him, while still refusing to do him the justice of giving him a clear acquittal. He temporised with other reasons, from which it is clear that he regarded the step as one of expediency rather than of right. "The detention of the prisoners," he wrote to Earl Grey, "has caused expense and inconvenience to the Government"; and therefore, to relieve his administration of something which it had forced upon itself, he was magnanimous enough to loose the chains from off the chief. But the Governor was also influenced by other considerations. He believed that the capture and long captivity of Te Rauparaha had completely destroyed his _mana_, so that he was now incapable of originating any new mischief, even if he were so inclined. But we may also do him the justice of believing that he was genuinely anxious to placate the Ngati-Toa people, who had repeatedly petitioned him for their leader's release, and to allay an ugly suspicion, which had gained credence amongst them, that Te Rauparaha had been murdered, and that his so-called detention was merely a subterfuge to cover a desperate crime. "Repeated applications," wrote the Governor, "have been made by Te Rauparaha's tribe for his release, and this step seems to be quite justified by his ten months of good conduct. Waka Nene and Te Wherowhero also petitioned for his release, and went guarantee for his good behaviour. Upon the whole, with the larger force that will be placed at my disposal, and after the convincing proofs which the natives have so frequently afforded of their regarding their interests as identical with those of the Government, I entertain no apprehension of Te Rauparaha being able to effect further mischief, even if he were disposed to do so. I therefore determined to order his release, merely requiring Te Wherowhero and Waka Nene to pledge their words for his future good conduct, and although I exacted no conditions either from themselves or from the prisoners, I recommended them to require both Te Rauparaha and Hohepa to reside on the northern portions of the island until I felt justified in stating that I had no objection to them permitting Te Rauparaha to return to his own country." Under the guarantee of good conduct given by Te Wherowhero and Waka Nene, Te Rauparaha was released at Auckland, and was received as a guest into Te Wherowhero's house, which had been built for him by the Government in what is now the Auckland Domain. Here, though nominally free, he must have felt the bitterness of his exile, for he frequently displayed the humiliation which was surging within his soul by relapsing into periods of deep melancholy, during which he doubtless meditated upon the departed glory of the past and the hopelessness of the future. With him times had indeed changed. From the imperious leader of a victorious tribe, supreme and absolute, his word the word of authority, his very look, his merest gesture, an unquestionable command, he found himself shorn of his power, degraded by captivity, destitute of influence, and little more than a memory--the hoary vestige of a stately ruin. But his path was not all strewn with thorns, and there were not wanting those, both Maori and European, who strove to lighten his burden and salve his wounded soul. Visitors frequently sought to cheer his drooping spirits, and, as a compliment to the conqueror of Kapiti, Te Wherowhero brought the flower of the Hauraki chiefs to do him honour. In September, 1847, two hundred of these warriors, casting aside their tribal prejudices, came and visited him. As the kilted band of strangers advanced, Te Rauparaha, dressed in a dogskin mat and forage cap, went out to meet them. He saluted several of the leading men according to native custom, and then followed the speechmaking inseparable from Maori gatherings. Squatting in a semicircle upon the ground, the assemblage listened with rapt attention to the oration delivered by Te Rauparaha, of whom all had heard, but whom few had previously seen. His speech was a dignified recitation of his past deeds, and while he spoke of his struggles with Waikato, his pilgrimage, and his conquests, he delivered himself brilliantly and dramatically, for the fire of the old warrior seemed to burn again within him and the blood of the victor to pulsate once more through his veins. But when he came to describe his seizure and captivity, the injustice and humiliation of it all bore down his valiant spirit, and he concluded his oration with difficulty and almost in tears. To this great effort of Maori eloquence replies of a lengthy and ceremonial nature were delivered by Taraia, Te Wherowhero, and several members of Hauraki's aristocracy, and then food was served on a sumptuous scale to the strangers. It was, however, noticed that Te Rauparaha ate but sparingly and was ill at ease. He rose and walked to his house, into which he was followed by two of the women, who there sang to him of the deeds of his fathers, and of the heroes of the ancient line from which he had sprung, the lament bringing a flood of tears to the old man's dim eyes. Still under the surveillance of Te Wherowhero, Te Rauparaha spent six months in the country of the Waikatos, the scene of some of his youthful exploits; but, feeling his freedom to be liberty only in name, and himself a stranger in a strange land, he preferred a request to the Governor to be allowed to return to his own people by the shores of Cook Strait, where was centred everything in life that he valued. The Governor granted his request, believing that he had now nothing to fear from the chief, and recognising that his return would have a quieting influence upon Rangihaeata, who, during his uncle's absence, had steadfastly refused to believe that the man by whose orders Wareaitu[187] had been executed would be more merciful to Te Rauparaha. Accordingly, in January of 1848, the Governor, Lady Grey, Lieut.-Colonel Mundy, Te Wherowhero, Taraia, Te Rauparaha, and several other chiefs, embarked on board H.M.S. _Inflexible_ and steamed for Otaki. Arrived there, the vessel was immediately boarded by Tamihana Te Rauparaha, who, clothed in the garb of a clergyman, came off to welcome his father. The morning of January 16, 1848, was the time appointed for the restoration of Te Rauparaha to his people. When the boats had been lowered to row the party ashore, the old chief came upon the quarter-deck dressed in full naval uniform, even to the cocked hat and the epaulets. His surprise and indignation were, however, considerable when he observed that the Governor and his suite had no idea of regarding the event as a State occasion, and were clothed in simple undress coats. Nor was his ill-temper improved when the Governor further robbed the incident of ceremonial importance by refusing to accord to him the honour of a salute from the ship's guns as he left the vessel's side. With eyes flashing and nostrils dilated, he sprang back into his cabin, and, throwing off his brilliant uniform, immediately reappeared wrapped in the sombre folds of an ancient blanket. Wounded in spirit at the absence of those impressive features which would have made his homecoming something of a triumph, he landed on the Otaki beach in no enviable mood; and, as the party proceeded towards the inland _pa_, he turned away from them, and sitting down in the sand with his face towards the ocean, covered his old grey head with his mat, and for two hours sat and sobbed like a child. During this meditation of tears no one approached him. Maori etiquette forbade his kinsmen breaking in upon his grief, and European courtesy dictated a discreet respect for the feelings of one who had come back to find the times so vastly changed, and for him so sadly out of joint. In that brief time, as the old warrior sat sighing in sympathy with the sobbing sea, there must have passed before him in vivid picture the whole panorama of his eventful life--his struggles, his schemes, his dreams, the anguish of defeat, the glut of victory, and then the final triumph in which tribe after tribe went down before him, and his name became wonderful and mighty throughout the land. But now, because of the advent of the _pakeha_, power had melted in his hand like snow. His life, like the wind-swept ruin of his old heathen _pa_, which stood broken and dilapidated a few chains off, had become but a shadow and a memory of the past; an exemplification of the fallible and transitory nature of mundane things. At length, rousing himself from his reverie, he proceeded to the new Christian settlement of Hadfield, at Otaki, which had been built mainly by the efforts of his son, Tamahana te Rauparaha, and his nephew, Matene te Whiwhi. A motley crowd of five or six hundred people poured out of the little settlement to welcome their chief, the Governor, and Lady Grey; and, as an evidence of the elevating influences which were operating amongst them,[188] prayers in the native tongue were read in the open air, before the feast which had been prepared for the visitors was placed before them. A glass-windowed, carpeted _whare_ was the banquet-room, and a clean damask cloth covered the table at which the guests were seated, while a daughter of Rangihaeata courteously discharged the duties of hostess. On the following day Te Rauparaha presented himself before the people, and was received with the usual evidences of Maori jubilation--interminable speeches, wild and barbarous dances, and endless feasting. Almost immediately he exercised the prerogative of his freedom by visiting Rangihaeata, who was hovering in the neighbourhood of Otaki, but with what intent no one knew. Te Rauparaha was accompanied by Te Wherowhero and some of the visiting chiefs, and the _korero_ lasted several days. What the precise nature of their discussions was will never be known; but that they were not of a treasonable nature may be inferred from the fact that the Governor, hearing that Rangihaeata was at that time harbouring a notorious murderer, whom he refused to deliver up to justice, sent a letter to Te Rauparaha calling upon him and his compatriots to show their displeasure at Rangihaeata's conduct by instantly withdrawing from his presence. At the time the letter arrived, the chiefs were on the point of sitting down to partake of Rangihaeata's hospitality; but without hesitation they rose and left, though not before telling the obdurate chief their reason for doing so.[189] This evidence of unfailing loyalty to the Crown was as gratifying to the Governor as it must have been aggravating to Rangihaeata, who, when he met His Excellency at Otaki, roundly abused him and all the _pakehas_ for their presumptuous interference with his affairs. He declared that he was not tired of war, but evidently men and women had changed with the times, and now preferred to fight with the tongue rather than the _mere_ or the musket. His contempt for the Europeans and all their doings was still as vehement as ever,[190] and in his violent denunciation of their encroachment upon his privileges as a chief, he declared that he wanted nothing of them, and he wore nothing of their work. He was then standing before the Governor, a tall and picturesque figure arrayed in a lustrous dogskin mat, with adornments in his hair; and when Grey quietly exposed his inconsistency by pointing to a peacock's feather dangling about his head, he angrily muttered, "True, that is _pakeha_," and cast it scornfully from him. Though Rangihaeata never accepted the Christian faith, in course of time his feelings mellowed and his attitude somewhat modified towards the occupation of the land by the white people. He not only acquiesced in the policy of road-making, which he had at first so strenuously opposed, but in 1852 he constructed two lines at Poroutawhao at his own expense. A school was even established at his _pa_, and subsequently his declared principles not to use British goods were so far modified that he purchased and drove in an English-made buggy along roads made by British soldiers. His feelings, too, towards the Governor considerably softened, and when, in 1852, Sir George Grey was about to proceed to England for a holiday, the chief wrote to him in terms of genuine friendship, which gave proof of the surprising change which had come over the hitherto untamable spirit of "the tiger of the Wairau":-- "O Governor! my friend, I send you greeting. I need scarcely call to your remembrance the circumstances attending my flight and pursuit: how it was that I took refuge in the fastnesses and hollows of the country, as a crab lies concealed in the depths and hollows of the rocks. You it was who sought and found me out, and through your kindness it is that I am at this present time enjoying your confidence and surrounded with peace and quietness. This, then, is the expression of my esteem for you, which I take occasion to make now that you are on the point of leaving for your native land." The release of Te Rauparaha was the signal for a furious outburst of hostile criticism against the Governor, and Colonel Wakefield led the agitation in one of the biased and bitter effusions usual with him where Te Rauparaha was concerned.[191] But the anticipation of the Governor that the chief could, or would, cause the authorities no further trouble, appears to have been amply justified. So far as is known of him from this time until his death, he lived quietly and unostentatiously at the Otaki settlement. It would seem that he accepted with as good grace as he might the new order of things, and even sought to assist his people in reaching a higher plane of civilisation than at his advanced years he himself could ever hope to attain. It is at least accounted unto him for righteousness by his son, Tamahana, that it was at his suggestion the Ngati-Raukawa people built the now famous church[192] at Otaki, wherein the tribe has so often heard the glad tidings of "peace on earth and goodwill towards men," so strongly contrasted with their old heathen doctrine of blood for blood. A striking feature in the architecture of this church is its central line of large totara pillars, which rise to a height of 40 feet, carrying the solid ridge-pole above. These wooden columns were hewn out of the forest on the banks of the Ohau, which in those days ran into the Waikawa, forming one large stream. The trees were felled in the bush, floated down the river to the sea, and thence dragged along the coast, one native standing on the tree with pole in hand to guide it through the surf, while a string of stalwart men tugged at the heavy tow-ropes, as they marched along the sandy beach. Column after column was, in this way, eventually landed at Waitohu, near Otaki, and then hauled across the sandhills by hundreds of brawny arms to the site where the church now stands. There the trees were, with infinite labour, dressed and prepared with native adzes, which are still kept in the church as interesting mementoes. No machinery of any kind was available to assist in the construction of the sacred edifice. Hand labour was everywhere brought into requisition, and only the most cunning workmen were employed, men of reputed skill being brought from the Manawatu to design and execute the carvings of the interior, while the reed lacework round the walls was also dexterously woven by these same masters of Maori art. Some attempt has been made, but with dubious success, to prove that Te Rauparaha ordered the building of this church because he had become deeply and genuinely religious, and his son has given us the pious assurance that he spent these last of his days "continually worshipping."[193] "I saw," says an intelligent but newly arrived clergyman, who visited him at this time, "amongst the other men of note, the old and once powerful chief, Te Rauparaha, who, notwithstanding his great age of more than eighty years, is seldom missed from his class, and who, after a long life of perpetual turmoil, spent in all the savage excitement of cruel and bloody wars, is now to be seen every morning in his accustomed place, repeating those blessed truths which teach him to love the Lord with all his heart and mind and soul and strength, and his neighbour as himself." This amiable picture, drawn in a spirit of enlarged charity, is unfortunately dimmed, and the sincerity of the chief's religious convictions discounted, by the story related of him by a conscientious, if unfriendly, critic. "A few days before his death," says this writer,[194] "when suffering under the malady which carried him off, two settlers called to see him. While there, a neighbouring missionary came in and offered him the consolations of religion. Rauparaha demeaned himself in a manner highly becoming such an occasion, but the moment the missionary was gone, he turned to his other visitors and said: 'What is the use of all that nonsense?--that will do my belly no good.' He then turned the conversation on the Whanganui races, where one of his guests had been running a horse." Such an incident, if true, leaves behind it the impression that the chief was shrewd enough to observe that the Christian faith had taken root amongst his people, and conventional enough to adopt it for fashion's sake, without realising any real spiritual change. But we will not attempt to pass judgment upon one who was at so manifest a disadvantage in grasping the mysteries of a faith which centuries of science and learning have left still obscure to many more fortunately circumstanced. But, whatever the chief's spiritual condition may have been, it was not vouchsafed to him to witness the completion of his building scheme. He had long passed man's allotted span, and life's last stage was closing in upon him. He was in his eighty-first year, and was stricken with an internal complaint, the precise nature of which has not been ascertained, but which necessitated his taking much rest. His last days were therefore spent in enforced inactivity, and, while practically an invalid, his greatest delight was to recount to those capable of appreciating his narrative the stories of his early campaigns. The late Bishop Hadfield was especially favoured in this respect; and when he grew weary of the company of his own people (of whose intellectuality he had so small an opinion that he once remarked that they could talk of nothing better than dogs and pigs), he would send for the missionary, and regale him with stories of the past, told with a native force which aroused astonishment and admiration in the mind of his hearer. His descriptions of former fights were generally dramatic, frequently graphic, and always eloquent, for his vocabulary was rich in words and phrases which were far beyond the linguistic capacity of the natives by whom he was surrounded. It is to be regretted that these recitals have perished with the good Bishop. Until quite late in his life a vivid impression of them remained in his memory, and his constant readiness to refer to them confirms the claim that Te Rauparaha was a man of superior intellect, in so far as that term may be applied to a Maori of his day. Towards the end of November, 1849, the complaint from which he was suffering begun to assume a more malignant form. On the 24th of that month he received a last visit from Rangihaeata, and bade farewell to his erstwhile comrade in arms. Three days later he was dead; the event was consummated for which Colonel Wakefield so devoutly wished when, ten years before, he wrote: "It will be a most fortunate thing for any settlement formed hereabouts when he dies, for with his life only will end his mischievous scheming and insatiable cupidity." Had Te Rauparaha been asked to pen his opinion of the promoters of the New Zealand Company, he might have couched his judgment in much the same terms. But now that he was dead there was no need, and little desire, to keep open the floodgates of vituperation, and there were many who in his lifetime could find no kindly thought for him, but were willing to bury the bitterness of racial misunderstanding in the grave wherein the chief was so soon to be laid. The news that Te Rauparaha was dead spread like a prairie fire, and natives from all parts of both islands flocked to Otaki to swell the weeping multitude who wailed around the bier of the dead chief. So altered, however, had the times become, that, though there was a feast, there was little _tangi_ of the barbarous sort, for his son Tamahana, who was sincere and consistent in his emulation of European methods,[195] discouraged in the native people, as far as possible, the indulgence in their time-honoured mourning customs, and, according to a contemporary authority, the whole proceedings were conducted "in a most decorous manner." The interment took place on 3rd December, the last resting-place being a spot chosen by his friend Rangihaeata, within the church enclosure, and immediately in front of the unfinished building. A procession of fifteen hundred people followed the body to the grave, where the beautiful burial service of the Anglican Church was read by Mr. Ronaldson, the native teacher from Whanganui. The coffin, made in the usual manner, was covered with black cloth, and the final chapter in the life of this remarkable man was written on the brass plate which adorned the casket:-- KO TE RAUPARAHA I MATE I TE 27 O NOWEMA 1849 [Te Rauparaha died on November 27, 1849.] [173] Heke had asked the pertinent question, "Is Rauparaha to have all the credit of killing the _pakeha_?" [174] "From what I know of the young lieutenant, I have no doubt he laid about him vigorously. Even had burly Rangihaeata confronted him, I should not have feared the result" (_Mundy_). [175] It was quite the orthodox thing for natives on opposite sides to hold intercourse with each other during war, and Rauparaha, having many relations engaged with Rangihaeata, would, in accordance with this custom, keep up a certain connection with them, and they with him. This, not being understood by the British authorities, was probably mistaken for treachery. [176] Afterwards McKillop Pasha, an Admiral of the Khedive of Egypt. [177] Grey, in his despatch to the Secretary for the Colonies, describing the seizure of Te Rauparaha, states that a "considerable quantity of arms and ammunition belonging to the disaffected portion of the Ngati-Toa tribe" was also seized, though he makes no attempt to explain what steps were taken under the exciting circumstances to ascertain who the precise owners were. [178] On the voyage to Wellington the prisoners were quartered in the workshop above the boilers. During the night a great disturbance was heard in this direction, and, on an examination being made, it was found that the room was full of steam. One of the boilers had sprung a leak, but the natives imagined that their vapour bath was an ingenious contrivance to compass their death. [179] Mr. Percy Smith is my authority for saying that Rangihaeata did not actually compose this lament, as is generally supposed, but merely adapted it from a very old original. [180] In October, 1850, Dr. Dorsett, as Chairman of the Settlers' Constitutional Society, in a letter addressed to Earl Grey, complained of the inadequacy of Te Rauparaha's punishment. Sir George Grey replied by quoting two laments, of which this was one, "to show the light in which the natives regarded the punishment inflicted on him." [181] Pohi was one of the inferior chiefs arrested with Te Rauparaha and afterwards released. Subsequently, Grey discovered that this man was supposed to possess "important information." [182] For the passive attitude adopted by many of the Ngati-Toa people some credit must be given to Te Rauparaha, who had already advised his son to go to the tribes and tell them to remain in peace. "I returned on shore," says Tamahana, "and saw Ngati-Toa and Rawhiri Puaha. We told them the words of Rauparaha respecting that which is good and living in peace. Two hundred Ngati-Raukawa came to Otaki. Rangihaeata wished to destroy Wellington and kill the _pakehas_ as satisfaction. I told them the words of Te Rauparaha, that they must put away foolish thoughts, live in peace, and cast away bad desires. They consented." [183] Ensign Blackburn, who was a fine officer and a great favourite with the troops, was shot by a native secreted in a tree, and he in turn was almost immediately brought down by an artilleryman. [184] Under the chilling atmosphere of bleak winter the enthusiasm of our native allies soon began to cool and the vigour of their pursuit to slacken. Power, in his _Sketches in New Zealand_, gives an amusing account of a big _korero_ held at Otaki to decide whether or not they would continue the chase, in which he says: "Rangihaeata's sister was present and addressed the meeting in favour of her absent brother, making at the same time some very unparliamentary remarks on the aggressions of the _pakehas_ and the want of pluck of the Maoris in not resisting them, as her illustrious brother was doing. An old chief requested her to resume her seat, informing her at the same time that she was the silly sister of a sillier brother. He then put it to the meeting whether pigs and potatoes, warm fires and plenty of tobacco, were not better things than leaden bullets, edges of tomahawks, snow, rain, and empty bellies? All the former, he distinctly stated, were to be enjoyed on the plain; the latter they had had plentiful experience of in the mountains, and was it to be expected that they--and he confidently relied upon the good sense of the meeting--could be such fools as to hesitate for a moment? The applause of the old man's rhetoric was unanimous, and it received no slight help from the timely appearance of a procession bearing the materials for a week's feasting." [185] Lieutenant McKillop, writing on this point, says: "We never had any such decided advantage over him in our various skirmishes with his tribe as to dishearten him, and had we been unassisted by friendly Maoris I have no doubt he would have held out and carried his point." [186] While the _Calliope_ was lying at Wellington, Te Rauparaha was visited by his son Tamahana, who has left it on record that, in that trying moment of his life, his father displayed a spirit of calm forgiveness towards those who had so treacherously deprived him of his liberty. His advice was: "Son, go to your tribes and tell them to remain in peace. Do not pay for my seizure with evil, only with that which is good. You must love the Europeans. There was no just cause for my having been arrested by Governor Grey. I have not murdered any Europeans, but I was arrested through the lies of the people. If I had been taken prisoner in battle, it would have been well, but I was unjustly taken." [187] In his _Travels in New Zealand_, Crawford remarks: "During the march to Pahautanui, a Maori named Martin Luther (Wareaitu) was taken prisoner and was some months afterwards tried by court martial and hanged. I cannot help thinking that this was a blunder." Dr. Thomson is even more emphatic, and declares that "Luther's death is a disgrace to Governor Grey's administration." [188] Visitors to modern Otaki cannot fail to notice a tall pole erected near the roadside opposite the church. The totara tree out of which the pole was hewn was brought there at the outbreak of the Maori war. It was intended as a flagstaff, but Mr. Hadfield persuaded the Maoris to remain perfectly neutral and make no demonstration one way or the other. The tree lay for many years on the common until the Rev. Mr. McWilliam induced the Maoris to shape the tree into a tapering obelisk 40 feet high, with the dates 1840 (the year when Christianity was established at Otaki) to 1880 (the year the obelisk was erected) going spirally round it from bottom to top, and so it became a memorial of the English Church Mission at Otaki. It was first erected in the middle of the common, but in 1890, that is, the fiftieth year of the mission, it was moved into the corner opposite the church gate. It is called by the Maoris the "Jubilee." There was a great gathering of Maoris on that occasion, and fifty of them were clad in white and took part in the ceremony. The chief speaker was Kereopa Tukumaru, an old chief from Kereru, who had been one of the first converts to Christianity, and was now able to tell what great things the religion of Christianity had done for the Maoris. "This man," says Mr. McWilliam, "was the most consistent Christian I have ever had the privilege of knowing." He was most industrious, but when not working he was reading his Bible. He knew nearly the whole of it by heart. His grave may be seen near the Kereru railway station on a small natural mound. It is an oblong raised vault, built of concrete, with a beautiful white marble angel standing over one end. [189] Colonel Mundy mentions that a remarkably plausible report was circulating in Wellington at this time, to the effect that Rangihaeata--in order to prove himself a convert to civilisation--had signified his intention to kill and eat the aforesaid murderer, and then "go into the best society." [190] As illustrating Rangihaeata's intolerance of Europeans, Crawford, in his _Travels in New Zealand_, mentions that when he visited Fraser's whaling station on Mana in 1839, he saw sitting in the corner of the room a large Maori wrapped in his mat. "He listened to the conversation, but said nothing. At last, as if displeased, he uttered a hideous and prolonged grunt, and rose to his feet: I was struck with his height and imposing, although savage, appearance--he grunted again and walked out of the room without speaking. This was Rangihaeata, the great follower or coadjutor of Te Rauparaha--the Ajax of his tribe, as the other was the Ulysses." [191] As illustrating the feeling of the time, we may mention that very great indignation was expressed in Wellington because Bishop Selwyn had taken Te Rauparaha to the house of the Rev. Mr. Cole, a clergyman of Wellington, to stay there during a visit to the city. Major Richmond, the Superintendent, and the Sub-Protector, Mr. Forsaith, had gone to Porirua and provided for his safe escort to Wellington. The Bishop had publicly refused to shake hands with Rangihaeata, showing to the natives his horror of the massacre at the Wairau on every occasion. But he refused to recognise Te Rauparaha as responsible for it, and did no more than his clear duty in providing for his safety on this occasion. The outcry raised against him was bitter, but was quietly ignored by him (_Brett's "Early History of New Zealand"_). [192] The church, which is a noble specimen of native architecture, was built under the supervision of Archdeacon Hadfield and Rev. H. Williams. It was commenced in 1849 and opened in 1851. Its length is 80 feet, its breadth 36 feet, and its height 40 feet. The ridge-pole is hewn out of a solid totara tree, 86 feet long. [193] "Te Rauparaha was not baptized, and, although his son wished the burial service of the Church to be used at his funeral, the minister did not feel himself justified in doing so; however, a lay member of the Church Missionary Society from Whanganui, opportunely passing through the place, read the service over him, and thus terminated the eventful life of the New Zealand warrior" (_Rev. Richard Taylor_). [194] The late Sir William Fox in his _Six Colonies of New Zealand_. [195] In 1868, Tamihana te Rauparaha and his wife Ruta (Ruth) lived by themselves about half-way between Otaki and Waikanae on his sheep run, but he now and again came to his town house in Otaki and stayed a few weeks. He was a fine, handsome man, tall and stout, but active and mentally energetic. He always dressed well, and in cleanliness and neatness was a thorough English gentleman. He had been home to England and presented to the Queen. He never forgot what he saw there, and he wished to be considered an English gentleman. For that reason he lost influence with his tribe. He held aloof from _tangis_ and other Maori feasts, but was most hospitable and generous to Europeans. His wife was a most ladylike and charming woman. She was not so well educated as Tamihana, but for all that she had the manners and taste of an English lady. She died several years before him, and he erected a small marble stone over her grave; but when he died, and was laid by her side, no monument of any kind was erected to his memory; the cast-iron fence, which had been broken accidentally, was not even repaired. The Maoris did not care much for him, because he was too civilised and _pakeha_-like for them, so they made no general mourning at his death. In his youth, Tamihana te Rauparaha and Matene te Whiwhi had journeyed all the way to the Bay of Islands to beg for a missionary, and in response to their request Mr. Hadfield (who was afterwards Bishop of Wellington and Primate) came back with them to Otaki, and lived amongst them and taught them Christianity for thirty years. The graves of Tamihana te Rauparaha and his wife are enclosed with an iron railing. On the tombstone of the wife is the inscription: "_Te ohatanga tenei mo Ruta te Rauparaha wahine O Tamihana te Rauparaha, i mate ki Otaki i te 10 o nga ra o Hurae, 1870._" CHAPTER IX WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE Te Rangihaeata survived his uncle by seven years, living during this time quietly at Poroutawhao. Though ceasing his violent opposition to the occupation of the land by the settlers, he still clung to his refusal to traffic in the native estate, either with individuals or with the Government. Almost immediately after the close of the war, Lieutenant-Governor Eyre and the Rev. Richard Taylor penetrated through the bush and swamps which surrounded Poroutawhao, and met the chief in the very heart of his stronghold. He was then, says Mr. Taylor, an old man with a head as white as the top of Tongariro, and a spirit somewhat resembling that active volcano, always fuming. His white hair strongly contrasted with his bronzed features and highly tattooed countenance. The missionary thus describes the retreat in which they found him, and the reception they met with:-- "A long, low, narrow strip of land, running through deep swamp, led to his retreat; the name of the place aptly describes it, being a cork, or stoppage, to war, and few would have liked to draw it out. The _pa_ was on a mound, the only one in the vicinity, and strongly fortified in the native style, with thick, lofty posts deeply sunk in the ground, and bound together with a _huahua_, or connecting pole, running round at a height of about ten feet. Inside the outer fence there was another, behind which the defenders could post themselves, and take aim through the outer one. The _pa_ was divided into a number of small courts, each equally well defended, and connected by very narrow passages. We found the chief with his wives and his head men assembled in the chief court, or _marae_, sitting on mats in front of his house. Fresh fern was strewed on the ground, and new mats laid on it for us; we were received with great respect, and welcomed with a loud _haeremai_: we sat down on the chief's right hand, and conversed on various subjects, until we were invited to enter a neighbouring house, where no one followed us, except a neatly dressed and good-looking lady, who was appointed to wait upon us according to Maori etiquette: there was a kind of table formed of two boxes, one placed on the other, with a new red blanket placed over it, and a form similarly covered in regal style. On the table was placed a dish of good fresh-baked cakes, another containing sugar, a knife, spoon, and two basins, one nearly allied to a wash-hand basin in size. The lady then brought a tea-kettle, and filled our cups with an infusion of mint, which she called tea. The wash-hand basin was, of course, placed before the representative of Majesty, who viewed with dismay its enormous capacity, which, being given him from respect, he could not well avoid draining to the bottom. After enjoying the Governor's perplexity, when the lady left the room, I emptied the contents of our bowls into a calabash, from which our natives were drinking; our repast being ended, we returned to the chief and sat by his side. The Governor requested me to ask the chief to sell some land, which I respectfully declined doing. He then attempted to do so himself: at first he was not understood, but when the chief comprehended what he meant, he gave a savage look of defiance, thrusting out his tongue and rolling about his eyes in such a way, that his Excellency, who had never seen such a display before, stared in amazement, and evidently felt anything but at ease. It need not be said that the land negotiations were speedily terminated, and we were soon threading our way back along Rangihaeata's swamp-girt road." Not less interesting was the experience of Lord Charles Butler and Mr. Carnegie, two officers of the _Calliope_, who, upon the cessation of hostilities, conceived the adventurous idea of visiting the chief in his lair at Poroutawhao. Starting from Wellington, accompanied by Lieutenant Servantes of the 96th, who during the war had acted as interpreter with the Government troops, and Tamahana Te Rauparaha, they experienced considerable difficulty in pushing their way across the country to the place of Rangihaeata's retreat. By dint of perseverance they at length reached the borders of the swamp surrounding the small hillock on which the _pa_ was built, and, meeting some of the natives there, they sent them on to the chief to ascertain if he would be prepared to receive them. A messenger soon returned to say that Lord Charles and Tamahana might come on, but that if Ewie (Lieutenant Servantes) attempted to do so, he would be shot. Rangihaeata had persuaded himself that Servantes had been acting the spy in the late proceedings against him. This impression, which was quite erroneous, doubtless arose from the fact that this officer had been a great deal in the company of the natives before the outbreak of hostilities, that he was thoroughly conversant with their language, customs, and haunts, and consequently was frequently acting in conjunction with the native allies when no other Europeans were near. There being no opportunity to offer explanations which might remove the chief's prejudice, Servantes deemed it prudent to respect Rangihaeata's mandate, and remained where he was, the others proceeding to the _pa_. As they approached, sounds and evidences of excitement, which they were at a loss to understand, greeted them, and as they drew nearer, several armed natives came out of the _pa_, pointing their muskets at Mr. Carnegie, at the same time abusing him with a tornado of picturesque native epithets. This hostile demonstration arose from the fact that they had mistaken the naval officer for Servantes; but, when the guides had silenced the clamour sufficiently to obtain a hearing, the necessary explanations were made, and the party was led into the _pa_. They found Rangihaeata leaning against his _whare_, and taking aim at the gateway with his gun, having fully determined to end the days of the supposed spy if he dared to enter the _pa_. The introductions were, however, satisfactory, and, putting away his musket, he gave his hand to his guests, whereupon his tribe likewise disarmed themselves, and prepared to extend hospitality to the visitors. Lord Charles opened the proceedings diplomatically, by presenting Rangihaeata with a few pounds of tobacco and a red blanket; and, as soon as the chief had filled his pipe with the fragrant weed, and adjusted the blanket to his brawny shoulders, he sat down and entered into a most amiable conversation with the _pakehas_, for whose refreshment he took care that food should be brought. He plied his visitors with many questions concerning Te Rauparaha and those natives who were prisoners with him, and closely inquired of those Europeans with whose names he was acquainted, making special reference to Lieutenant McKillop, of whose conduct in the war he had formed an excellent opinion. He was also exceedingly complimentary to Lord Charles, of whom he said he had received very flattering reports, but he was equally regretful of the conduct of his own people in deserting his standard, and spoke bitterly of his experiences since he had abandoned his _pa_ at Porirua. These misfortunes did not, however, detract in the least from his hospitality to his visitors. He begged them to remain with him until next day, in order that he might have the opportunity of killing a pig and regaling them with due splendour on the morrow. This kind invitation they modestly declined, and, after explaining that their visit was of purely a private nature, and not one which would warrant them in carrying back any message to the authorities, they took their leave of the chief, whom they have described as being particularly dirty, but a fine handsome man. By his winning ways and the generous use of presents, Governor Grey several times induced Rangihaeata to leave his retreat at Poroutawhao for the purpose of holding conferences with him; and when he believed that he had sufficiently ingratiated himself into the good opinion of the chief, he ventured to propose the sale to the Government of the Waikanae district. "It would have been the subject for an artist," says one writer, "to picture the indignant look of the chief as he flatly and rudely refused, telling the Governor to be content with what he had already got. 'You have had Porirua, Ahuriri, Wairarapa, Whanganui, Rangitikei, and the whole of the Middle Island given up to you, and still you are not content. We are driven up into a corner, and yet you covet that also.'" But, though his overtures were thus indignantly spurned and rejected, the _mana_ of the Governor did not suffer any diminution in the estimation of the chief, who to the end of his days continued to regard Grey with that chivalrous respect which is extended by one warrior to another whom he deems to be worthy of his steel. In 1856, while still residing at Poroutawhao, Rangihaeata was stricken with measles in a particularly malignant form, but, with his characteristic recklessness of consequences, he refused to take the ordinary precautions to facilitate his recovery. Though still in a high state of fever, he decided to visit Otaki, and ordered his groom to drive him thither. When passing the Waikawa River, he thought to abate the fever by taking a cold bath; and, stopping the buggy, he plunged into the river, from which he emerged with the hand of death upon him. He was taken on to Otaki, where his malady rapidly increased, and two days afterwards he passed away. His body was taken back, at the head of an enormous procession, to Poroutawhao, where he was buried beside his wife, the _tangi_ in his case being marked by all the barbarous features of native mourning, interspersed with not a few of the prevailing European vices. When in the prime of life, Rangihaeata stood over six feet in height, a handsome man, magnificently built. Like his more notorious uncle, he too had features of aquiline mould, lit up by a pair of piercing black eyes, which instantly flashed out their resentment on any real or fancied insult. He was exceedingly jealous of his _mana_, and quick to blaze into a fit of indignation at any word or act which he might construe to be a reflection upon his authority as a chief. That authority he frequently asserted by levying toll upon the settlers and whalers, but never in any case from pure cupidity, or where he did not, by Maori law, have some good and valid claim to _utu_. Against these extortions, as they were pleased to regard them, the whalers appealed to such authority[196] as they could find in the islands; and when they were unable to obtain what they deemed to be justice in that quarter, they took the law into their own hands, and tried to rid themselves of their tormentor by means of the poison-cup. Frequent attempts were made to poison him at the whaling stations; and we are credibly informed that, on one occasion, he was induced to swallow a pint of raw rum heavily drugged with arsenic. But, in their excess of zeal to compass the chief's death, they had been led to apply too great a quantity of poison, and instead of its acting as they anticipated, it merely acted as an emetic. If this statement be well-grounded, or if the whalers were as Major Bunbury described them to be, when he visited Mana in order to procure Rangihaeata's signature to the Treaty of Waitangi, it is not to be expected that such dissolute associates would afford the chief much light and leading in the path of rectitude. The reckless disregard by the settlers and whalers of the sanctity of native custom was responsible for many of the misunderstandings, which they have debited against Rangihaeata for malice and mischief; while no attempt has been made to exonerate him on the ground that he probably saw the act only from the point of view of his native origin and upbringing. He was in spirit and in the flesh a Maori, and gloried in it, openly professing a detestation for the _pakeha_ and all that he had brought to the country. He affected a supreme contempt for the luxuries of the white man; but the weakness of human nature had blinded him to the inconsistency of which he was daily guilty in acquiring and gratifying an uncontrollable love of tobacco and rum. When under the influence of liquor he was querulous and violent; but his drinking indiscretions were generally redeemed as far as possible by the payment of ample compensation, for, savage though he was, Rangihaeata was not destitute of a liberal sense of justice.[197] This he applied to himself as rigorously as to others. When he was flying before the troops in the Horokiwi Valley, he frequently inquired if those who were hottest in pursuit were relatives of the victims of his anger at the Wairau; for to him "a life for a life" was an inexorable law, to which even he must bow, if the friends of the massacred men should overtake him. In the cause of what he believed to be the liberty of his people he did and dared much, enduring intense hardships for the maintenance of a principle, and when we charge him with harbouring criminals and refusing to deliver them over to justice, our resentment against his conduct may be mitigated by the reflection that his loyalty to these misguided friends was not so much due to a sympathy with crime, as it was a practical protest against what he believed to be their unfair treatment by the New Zealand Company. Rangihaeata stoutly resisted all attempts to convert him to the Christian faith, clinging to his heathen gods as closely as he clung to his antipathy to European settlement. His convictions on these points were deep-rooted and irrevocable; and he died as he lived, a savage, guilty of much bloodshed, yet not altogether devoid of nobility. Though he never rose to the level of Te Rauparaha as a warrior or a statesman, he was, nevertheless, a strong man amongst his people, opposed alike to the missionary and the settler, but only because he saw with a prophetic eye that the growing ascendancy of the _pakeha_ meant the ultimate subjugation of the Maori race. Viewed from this standpoint--the only one equitable to Rangihaeata--his policy of hostility cannot be characterised as that of a stubborn rebel, but may with greater justice be regarded as the policy of a patriot. The character and personal attributes of Te Rauparaha have been the subject of much conflicting comment, and the pen-portraits of him which have come down to us have consequently varied, in sympathy with the mood or interest of his critics. In physical appearance, all, however, agree that he was short of stature and aquiline of feature;[198] and, though at times obsequious in manner, he was equally capable of displaying an imperious dignity of deportment which marked him as a man accustomed to wield unquestioned authority. While in repose, the general expression of his countenance was placid and thoughtful; but when under the influence of excitement or agitation, a receding forehead, a furtive glance, and tusk-like teeth, revealed by a curling lip, detracted considerably from his impressive appearance. Though upwards of sixty years of age when he came into contact with the Europeans (for he claimed to have been a boy when Cook visited the country), he was still possessed of a wiry frame, and was capable of exerting great physical strength and activity, his limbs being straight, his step elastic, and his athletic vigour little diminished by age. Perhaps the most graphic description given of the chief is that penned by Mr. Jerningham Wakefield, whose cameo-like portrait may be accepted as faithful, and typical of others given by contemporary writers of equal integrity, if of inferior literary skill. Wakefield saw Te Rauparaha for the first time on the morning after the battle of Kuititanga, from which the chief had just returned; and to the excitement of that event may be attributed the agitation observable in his manner, the "wandering watchful glances" he threw around him, and the air of "evident fear and distrust," all of which contributed so forcefully to the creation of an unfavourable impression on the minds of his visitors. "As we leaped from our boat, he advanced to meet us, and, with looks of evident fear and distrust, eagerly sought our hand to exchange the missionary greeting. During the whole of the ensuing conversation he seemed uneasy and insecure in his own opinion, and the whalers present described this behaviour as totally at variance with his usual boastfulness and arrogance. He made us a pious speech about the battle, saying that he had had no part in it, and that he was determined to give no encouragement to fighting. He agreed to come on board the next day, and departed to one of the neighbouring islands. He is rather under the average height, and very dignified and stately in his manner, although on this occasion it was much affected by the wandering and watchful glances which he frequently threw around him, as though distrustful of every one. Although at least sixty years old, he might have passed for a much younger man, being hale and stout, and his hair but slightly grizzled. His features are aquiline and striking; but an overhanging upper lip and a retreating forehead, on which his eyebrows wrinkled back when he lifted his deep-sunken eyelids and penetrating eyes, produced a fatal effect on the good prestige arising from his first appearance. The great chieftain, the man able to lead others, and habituated to wield authority, was clear at first sight; but the savage ferocity of the tiger, who would not scruple to use any means for the attainment of that power, the destructive ambition of a selfish despot, were plainly discernible on a nearer view." Such was the man who, in or about the year of Bonaparte's death, began to play the Napoleonic _rôle_ in New Zealand.[199] Like the Corsican conqueror, to whom his life affords an interesting historical parallel, he derived no especial advantage from hereditary lineage, for his place in the Maori peerage was only sufficient to lift him above the native plutocracy. In his rise to eminence birth played but a minor part, his path to fortune being carved out by innate enterprise, inherent courage, wonderful executive capacity, and that dash of political unscrupulousness which is seldom absent from leaders of men. From his youth up he displayed masterful qualities of mind,[200] which infallibly lift their possessor above the level of mediocrity, and when such qualities are found, whether in savage or civilised society, the measure of success attained is only limited by the degree of opportunity offered. Te Rauparaha's escapades as a boy reveal his natural bravery; his care as a young man for the generous entertainment of his visitors indicates an appreciation of the value of a good social impression; his exertions to master the art of war were sustained by a clear recognition of the fact that authority in an age of strife was impossible without military success; and his ambition to furnish his people with guns was just as clearly the result of the knowledge that military success was impossible without a weapon as efficient as that wielded by the enemy. It was not any doubt of the bravery or fidelity of his people that induced his anxiety regarding their safety at Kawhia, but a conviction that, unless they could procure muskets and fight Waikato on equal terms, their doom was sealed. But there was also that in him which made him hunger for conquest just as keenly as he desired to evade being conquered; and if the discovery of an escape from his dilemma at Kawhia was accidental, he was, as a rule, careful to leave nothing to accident in the execution of his fully matured plans. The migration from Kawhia to Kapiti was a bold and daring conception, fraught as it was with difficulties of transport, peril to old and young, and, more than all, with the certainty that every inch of the way would have to be either bargained for or fought for. Yet it is the manner in which the idea was executed rather than the idea itself that calls for our admiration. It was characterised by wise planning, discreet forethought, accurate calculation, clever diplomacy, skilful strategy; and, when all else failed, there were the strong right arm and the courageous heart to compel compliance, if compulsion were needed. That Te Rauparaha was blessed with abundant confidence in his own prowess is demonstrated by the lightheartedness with which he assumed the rank and responsibilities of the dying Hape Tuarangi; and it was just this spirit of cheerful self-sufficiency which inspired others with that unbounded trust and confidence in him, which enabled him to lead his people away from the ties of their ancestral home, and induce them to share with him the dangers and uncertainty of a great enterprise. It is at least a tribute to Te Rauparaha's talents as a leader that, so long as the Maori remained unchanged by European influences, he continued to receive the loyal support and unfailing allegiance of his people. He was always popular with the masses, otherwise he could not have accomplished a tithe of what he did. No criticism of Te Rauparaha is sound which represents him as wholly bad. There is in human nature a rough method of arriving at what is right; and no public, whether savage or civilised, will for long tolerate, much less venerate, a leader whose only policy is his own aggrandisement. The undisputed position which Te Rauparaha enjoyed in the affections of his own people, the fidelity with which they followed him, till the _mana_ of the chief was superseded by the ascendancy of the _pakeha_, afford proof that they, at all events, were able to discern some meritorious qualities in him, even though not endowed with the higher ethical vision of a modern critic. It has been suggested that, in after years, when dissensions arose amongst the tribes which acknowledged his chieftainship, the revolt was due to shattered confidence, this shaken faith being traceable to a belief that he was treacherously plotting with Ngati-Raukawa to compass the expulsion of Ngati-Awa from Waikanae. But it must not be forgotten that, by this period, the advent of the _pakeha_ had created a new atmosphere around the Maori, and the policy of the missionary in extolling the convert to the disparagement of the chief had, in a measure, destroyed the power of the people's leaders. And, in the general decline of hereditary authority, Te Rauparaha's _mana_ had suffered with the rest. It had therefore become more difficult--and it may have been impossible--for him to quell internecine strife by the peremptory means which he would have employed in the days of his absolute supremacy. No candid review of the chief's career can, however, fail to take cognisance of the fact that his methods frequently gave rise to suspicions of deepest treachery, the doubtful honour of these proceedings having long since passed into song and proverb. In common with all successful leaders, he possessed the virtue of keeping his own counsel. He made his plans, nursed them in his own mind, and, in the fullness of time, gave his orders accordingly--a secretive habit which gave origin to the saying: "No one knew his thoughts, whether they were good or evil." This reticence has, by some writers, been given an interpretation which does not rightly belong to it: because he was reserved, therefore he was treacherous. Such a deduction does not necessarily sum up the whole position. But, even when this has been admitted, there still remains the imputation of treachery, left by the derisive songs and proverbs, to be either admitted or combated. The unblushing apologist for Te Rauparaha might conceivably argue that these chants were but the creation of prejudiced or malignant minds; but the charges of deception, amounting to treachery, are too frequently reiterated to be rejected as altogether groundless. Barbarous though the Maori was, he had a code of honour which could not be lightly violated; and when a member of a tribe was killed, it was not the fact that he was dead which agitated his friends, but the circumstances of his dying. "Was his death _tika_?[201] Had it been compassed in fair fight? Or was it _kohuru_?"[202] These were questions always demanding a satisfactory answer, for the laws governing life and death were well defined. And, judged by these laws, it is impossible to hold Te Rauparaha blameless of the crime of treachery. The killing of the Rangitane chief, Toki-poto, the capture of the Hotu-iti _pa_, the seizure of Tamaiharanui, and possibly many another similar deed not so specifically recorded, were all acts of treachery, and serve to dim the lustre of his larger achievements conducted strictly in accordance with Maori military law. Nevertheless, it is possible that there has been much exaggeration in relation to this phase of the chief's character. When his troubles with the New Zealand Company began to develop, and more particularly after the Wairau massacre, it became the mission of a section of the European community to represent him as the incarnation of all that was cruel, treacherous, and unspeakably wicked. In this connection it becomes especially dangerous to accept unreservedly the judgment of the Wakefields, who were early prejudiced against him by his opposition to their colonising methods, and were afterwards deeply embittered towards him by the death of their relative at the Wairau. Impartiality under such circumstances is almost too much to expect; and it is only just to Te Rauparaha to say that they availed themselves fully of their special opportunities for disseminating a prejudice against him, so that a view so long uncontradicted can hardly now be eradicated. In no respect has the reputation of Te Rauparaha suffered more from bitter hostility than in connection with the Wairau massacre. And we cannot wonder; for at the time of its occurrence he had arrayed against him a galaxy of literary talent, such as the Colony has never seen since, and day by day these wielders of facile pens fed with scholarly vituperation the flames of racial animosity, which were already burning at white heat. They spoke of murder; they clamoured for revenge; and all who failed to see as they saw were exposed to the darts of their merciless sarcasm. But, with the softening influence of time, men's hearts have mellowed, stormy passions have subsided, and we of this day are able to review the facts with more sober judgment than was possible to those who lived and wrote in the heated atmosphere of the time. In this unhappy quarrel it must now be accepted as an established fact that the New Zealand Company were the aggressors. The Wairau Valley may, or may not, have been included in their original purchases; but Captain Wakefield knew that this point was being contested by the natives. He knew further that the dispute had been by them referred to Mr. Spain, and therefore no reasonable excuse can be advanced for his attempt to seize the valley while its title was still subject to judicial investigation. Te Rauparaha's attitude in the early stages of the trouble amounted to no more than a temperate protest. He personally interviewed Captain Wakefield at Nelson; he was as conciliatory in requesting the surveyors to leave the field as he was decided that they must go; he calmed Rangihaeata's violence at the conference with Mr. Tuckett; and, as Mr. Spain's final decision was fatal to the Company's claim, the charge of arson preferred against him dwindles into a legal fiction. The conciliatory tone thus manifested by the chief was equally marked in the more acute stage, which arose at Tua Marina. While the magistrate fumed and raged, the chief stood perfectly calm. He more than once begged that time should be taken to talk over the case; but the mad impetuosity of Thompson would brook no delay in determining a cause the merits of which he, the judge, had already prejudged in his own mind. For the precipitation of the conflict which followed, who shall say that the fault was Te Rauparaha's? It was neither his hand nor his command which put the brand to the bush, nor does it appear that it was ever within his power to control the outburst of human passion which flamed up upon the firing of the first shot. What part he took in the fight is uncertain. It has never been suggested that he bore arms, and therefore we may assume that he was an excited spectator, rather than an active participant in the mêlée. That he was early on the brow of the hill, after the retreat had ceased, would appear to be beyond doubt; but his first act on reaching the Europeans was to shake hands with them, a proceeding which seemed to imply that, even after all that had passed, his friendship had not been irretrievably lost. Indeed, there is nothing to lead us to suppose that he harboured any thoughts of retaliation, until Rangihaeata violently demanded _utu_ for the death of Te Rongo. This demand placed Te Rauparaha in a serious dilemma. Against any feeling of friendship for the Europeans which may still have lingered in his heart, he had now to set a claim which was wholly in accord with native custom; a right, in fact, which had been recognised by his forefathers for more centuries than we can with certainty name; a feature of Maori justice supported by ages of precedent, and which, imbibed from infancy, had become a part of his nature. This was undoubtedly the crisis of the tragedy. Had Te Rauparaha decided against Rangihaeata, there would have been no massacre; but where his detractors are unfair to him is in appearing to expect that he should have suddenly risen superior to his Maori nature, and, in place of allowing his actions to be governed by Maori law, that he--a heathen--should have viewed the attempt to seize his land and his person, together with the death of Te Rongo, in the forgiving spirit of a Christian. No Ethiop was ever asked to change his skin more rapidly; and if Te Rauparaha failed in the performance of the miracle, he only failed when success was morally impossible to him. In the massacre itself he had no share; and, beyond the fact that, under intense natural excitement, he gave a tacit consent to Rangihaeata's deed, he appears to have stood outside it. Of his relations with the whalers, accounts vary. If we accept the Wakefield view, we must believe that by them he was heartily detested and distrusted. That he was acquisitive to the point of aggression is possible; that he was often overbearing towards them may be equally true, for these are characteristics frequently seen in the powerful savage; but there are also instances recorded in which he showed a ready generosity and a strict sense of justice towards the whaling community. "The whalers and traders, who had the best opportunity of being intimately acquainted with him, and that, too, at a time when his power to injure was greatest, invariably spoke of him as ever having been the white man's friend. He always placed the best he had before them, and in no instance have I heard of his doing any one of them an injury. Speaking of him to an old whaler, he said emphatically that Te Rauparaha never let the white man who needed want anything he could give, whether food or clothing; in fact, his natural sagacity told him that it was his interest to make common cause with the Europeans, for it was through them that he acquired the sinews of war, guns, powder, and shot, and everything else that he required."[203] The impartiality with which he held the balance between the two races may be gathered from the following incident: A whaleboat had left Waikanae to proceed to Kapiti, the crew taking with them a native, who sat in the bow. On the journey over the Maori managed to secrete beneath his mat the small hatchet which the whalers used to cut the line, and was quietly walking off with it when the boat reached the island. Before he had gone many steps one of the crew whispered to the headsman what had happened, whereupon that worthy picked up the harpoon and drove it straight through the Maori's back, killing him on the spot. The native population was at once thrown into a state of uproar and fury, threatening dire vengeance upon the whalers, but Te Rauparaha quelled the disturbance in an instant, and, after inquiring into its cause, walked away, declaring that the native had only met with his deserts. Towards his native enemies Te Rauparaha was unquestionably merciless and cruel, though not more so, perhaps, than was sanctioned by the spirit of the times in which he lived. Yet that he was not wholly incapable of admiration for a worthy opponent is shown by his seeking out and sparing Te Ata o Tu, the Ngai-Tahu warrior, who fought so bravely against him at Kaiapoi. Even in this case there are persons who affect to believe that self-interest rather than chivalry may have been the moving impulse in his conduct, for he possibly counted upon so skilful a fighter being invaluable to him in his northern troubles. But surely we can afford to be magnanimous enough to concede to so fine an example of generosity a less mercenary motive?[204] Though relentless to a degree towards those tribes who came between him and his ambitions, it must always be remembered that his ruthlessness is not to be judged from the Christian standpoint. His enormities, which were neither few nor small, were those of a savage, born and bred in an atmosphere into which no spirit of Divine charity had ever entered. Compared with the excesses practised in civilised warfare by such champions of the Cross as Cortés and the Duke of Alva, his deeds of darkness become less repugnant, if not altogether pardonable. The attitude which he adopted towards the European was in exact opposition to that assumed by Te Rangihaeata. He welcomed rather than resented the coming of the white man, although he found reason to protest against the methods employed by the New Zealand Company in acquiring land on which to settle them. Nor in this respect can it be said that his objections were captious or ill-founded; in fact, with the exception of the Hutt dispute, the Commissioner's decisions were invariably a vindication of his contentions. Some doubt has necessarily been cast upon his loyalty to the Government (which he accepted when he signed the Treaty of Waitangi), by virtue of the fact that he was seized and held captive because of his supposed infidelity. There are those with whom it is only necessary to accuse in order to condemn. In this case accusation carried condemnation with it, but condemnation without proof of guilt is injustice. Whatever the measure of Te Rauparaha's duplicity may have been, the Governor conspicuously failed to do more than suspect him, and as conspicuously failed to bring the chief face to face with his accusers. It was never proved, nor was any attempt ever made to prove before a court of competent jurisdiction, that Te Rauparaha had held communication with the enemy. Even if he had so communicated, an easy explanation might have been found in the native practice, under which individuals in opposing forces frequently visited each other during the progress of hostilities. Te Rauparaha had many friends with the rebels, and it would appear perfectly natural to him to hold friendly correspondence with them, whilst himself maintaining an attitude of strict neutrality. Considering the contemptuous disregard which many British officials displayed towards rites and customs held sacred by the Maori, it is not to be expected that they would trouble to understand, or try to appreciate, this subtlety in the native character. And so, what was to the Maori a well-established and common custom, was by them translated into treachery, for which Te Rauparaha was made captive in a manner which leaves us but little right to talk of open and honourable tactics. His conduct while a captive on board the _Calliope_ appears to have been exemplary enough, and he succeeded in impressing those with whom he came into contact by his quick perception, particularly of anything meant to turn him into ridicule, of which he was most sensitive. He frequently became much excited and very violent, and at other times, when talking of his misfortunes, he would become deeply moved, and the tears would run down his wrinkled cheeks. It is recorded that he was very grateful for any kindness shown him; and when Lieutenant Thorpe left the ship to return to England he expressed the most intense sorrow, crying the whole day, and repeating the officer's name in piteous accents. This, it was noted, was not merely a temporary affection. When, a year later, the _Calliope_ was leaving the New Zealand station, he sent his favourite a very handsome mat, begging the officer by whom it was sent to tell Lieutenant Thorpe how glad he would be to see his face once more, and how well he would treat him now that he was free. Similarly, when Lieutenant McKillop was proceeding home, Te Rauparaha took him aside and entreated him to go, on reaching England, and convey to Queen Victoria his regard for her and express his keen desire to see her, only his great age and the length of the voyage standing between him and the consummation of that desire. "He hoped, however, she would believe that he would always be a great and true friend of hers, and use all his influence with his countrymen to make them treat her subjects well, and that, when he became free again, there would be no doubt as to his loyalty, as he would himself, old as he was, be the first to engage in a war against any who should offend her or the Governor, of whom he always spoke with the greatest respect." During his captivity the news of the outbreak of the war in the Sutlej reached the Colony, and, noticing the excitement on board the _Calliope_, he asked to be informed of the contents of the papers giving details of the battles. In this subject he maintained the liveliest interest; and, when he had sufficiently grasped the details, he was perceptibly impressed by the magnitude of the armies engaged and the tremendous resources of the Empire, about which he, in common with all natives, had been distinctly incredulous. That his release was marked by no exhibition of resentment is at least something to his credit, and the ease with which he afterwards adapted himself to the strangely altered order of things is proof that his nature was capable of absorbing higher ideals than are taught in savage philosophy, although it is doubtful if he ever reached the purer heights attained by a clear conception of the beatitudes of the Christian religion. In the life of Te Rauparaha there is much that is revolting and incapable of palliation. But, always remembering his savage environment, we must concede to him the possession of qualities which, under more enlightened circumstances, would have contributed as fruitfully to the uplifting of mankind as they did to its destruction. His superiority over his fellows was mental rather than physical; his success lay in his intellectual alertness, his originality, strategic foresight, and executive capacity. He was probably a better diplomat than he was a general, but he had sufficient of the military instinct to make him a conqueror. And if, in the execution of his conquests, the primary object of which was to find a safe home for his people, the weaker tribes went down, history was but repeating amongst the Maoris in New Zealand the story which animate nature is always and everywhere proclaiming, and which, in the cold language of the philosophers, is called "the survival of the fittest." [196] "On shore, I was much tormented by the zeal of some European sailors, who appeared to be a drunken set of lawless vagabonds, belonging to the different whaling establishments in the neighbourhood. The only respectable person amongst them was a stock-keeper in charge of some sheep and horned cattle, and the captain of a whaling vessel ahead of us. I asked the sailors, who were complaining that some of the property taken was theirs, if they had any specific charge to make against Rangihaeata, who was the most powerful chief in the neighbourhood. However, I could get nothing from them but vague declarations against native chiefs in general, to which I replied that the fault was probably as much on their side as on that of the natives. The old chief, who was present, appeared to understand the drift of the conversation, for he went into his hut and brought out several written testimonials of good conduct; on which I desired Mr. Williams to explain to him how much I was gratified in perusing them, and that I trusted that under the Queen's Government he would continue equally to deserve them: that he would find the Government just and even-handed, and that punishment would follow evil-doers, whether they were natives or Europeans. To which he replied, 'Kapai,' apparently much satisfied" (_Major Bunbury_). [197] "On Saturday (November 24, 1849), Rangihaeata and a party of his followers paid a last visit to Te Rauparaha. At the Ohau ferry Rangihaeata demanded some spirits from the temporary ferryman (the regular one being absent). On being refused, he knocked him down, and then helped himself, but afterwards tendered _utu_ for the violence offered and the spirits taken" (New Zealand _Spectator_, December 1, 1849). [198] In an enclosure opposite the Maori church at Otaki there stands upon a pedestal a marble bust of Te Rauparaha. The bust was procured in Sydney by Tamihana te Rauparaha at a cost of £200, and the likeness, which is said to be a very faithful one, was copied from a portrait painted by Mr. Beetham. Because Te Rauparaha had not become even "nominally Christian," Mr. Hadfield refused to permit the erection of the bust within the church enclosure, and for two years it lay upon the common, packed in the case in which it had come from Sydney. Subsequently, Mr. McWilliam, the native missionary, collected a few pounds with which to purchase the pedestal, and had the bust erected where it now stands. On the authority of Dieffenbach and Angas, it is said that Te Rauparaha possessed the physical curiosity of six toes on each foot. [199] It is estimated that during the course of Te Rauparaha's campaigns no less than 60,000 lives were sacrificed. [200] Mr. Spain, in one of his reports, has said: "Rauparaha is the most talented native I have seen in New Zealand. He is mild and gentlemanly in his manner and address; a most powerful speaker; and his argumentative faculties are of a first rate order." "He must have been a most powerful man, and, if his mind had been cultivated, would, no doubt, have been a most clever one. As it is, he seldom gets the worst of an argument about his own proceedings, puts such searching questions and gives such evasive answers, that he puzzled the best of our logicians on many occasions when endeavouring to get him to give a decided answer about his not giving us the assistance he promised when we were trying to capture the murderers from Rangihaeata" (_McKillop_). [201] Correct, according to prescribed rules. [202] Treachery, amounting to murder. [203] Rev. Richard Taylor. [204] "I must not omit to mention that, cruel and bloodthirsty as this man appears to have been, he must occasionally have made exceptions, as one of his slaves voluntarily accompanied him into captivity on board the _Calliope_, waiting on him and paying him every attention for a period of eighteen months, knowing from the beginning that he was quite free to leave him at any time. He was offered a rating on the ship's books, but this he refused, saying there would be no one to wait on the old man if he was otherwise employed" (_McKillop_). LIST OF TE RAUPARAHA'S WIVES AND CHILDREN { = Marore (Ngati-Toa) { | (the trap). { +---------------+-------------+-------+ { | | | | { Uira. Ranga-hounga-riri. Tutari. Poaka. { { = Kahui-rangi { | (stranger). { +---+------------+ { | | { Hononga Atua { (landslip). (god). { { = Ranga-ta-moana (Ngati-Toa) { | (day of taking at sea). { +-------+-------------------+ { | | { Whetu-kai-tangata Puta-kino { (man-eating star). (note of evil). { { = Hope-nui (Ngati-Toa) { | (big waist). { +---+-----------------+ { | | Rauparaha { Motu-hia Te Malata (leaf of { (cut off). (carry on a litter). paraha). { { = Akau (Tu-hou-rangi) { | (sea-coast). { +------+------------------------+ { | | { Tamu-whakairia Tamihana Rauparaha { (king lifted up). (Thompson leaf of paraha). { { = Kutia (Tu-hou-rangi) { | (nipped together). { +--+ { | { Paranihia { (Frances). { { = Kahu-kino (Ngatirangitihi) { | (evil garment). { +---------+ { | { Rangi houngi-riri tuarua { (day of battle, second). { { = Kahu-taiki (Ngati-Toa) { (garment of wicker work). [Illustration: MAP OF NEW ZEALAND] UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON. 
46161	----	BY FOREST WAYS IN NEW ZEALAND [Illustration: BERRIES OF SUPPLE JACK _Frontispiece_.] BY FOREST WAYS IN NEW ZEALAND BY F. A. ROBERTS [Illustration] HEATH, CRANTON, LTD. FLEET LANE, LONDON, E.C. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I WELLINGTON 9 II STEWART ISLAND 20 III OVERLAND TO MILFORD SOUND 29 IV THE COLD LAKES OF OTAGO 47 V THE NEW ZEALAND EDINBURGH 58 VI AMONG THE SOUTHERN ALPS 64 VII CHRISTCHURCH 79 VIII FROM CHRISTCHURCH TO THE WEST COAST 86 IX THREE WEEKS IN WESTLAND 102 X THROUGH THE BULLER VALLEY 119 XI THE COPLAND PASS 128 XII THE WESTLAND GLACIERS 143 XIII THE WAITOMO CAVES 167 XIV NEW ZEALAND'S WONDERLAND 178 XV AUCKLAND 194 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS COLOURED BERRIES OF SUPPLE JACK _Frontispiece_ _To face page_ A SANDY COVE--STEWART ISLAND 22 CLINTON RIVER--TE ANAU LAKE 30 LAKE WAKATIPU 47 OTAGO HARBOUR 59 ROAD BETWEEN FAIRLIE AND THE HERMITAGE 66 MOUNT COOK LILIES 72 RIVER AVON AT CHRISTCHURCH IN WINTER 81 THE WESTLAND FOREST 101 FRANZ JOSEF AND ALMER GLACIERS, FROM CAPE DEFIANCE 110 MOUNTS SEFTON AND FOOTSTOOL, FROM COPLAND PASS 132 GLACIER HOTEL, WAIHO GORGE 143 ICE PINNACLES, ALMER GLACIER 149 MOUNT MOLTKE AND VICTORIA GLACIER, FROM CHANCELLOR RIDGE 159 SOUTHERN ALPS, FROM MOUTH OF WAIHO RIVER 164 LAKE ROTORUA 179 MAORI ANCESTRAL FIGURE 197 By Forest Ways in New Zealand CHAPTER I WELLINGTON The ship which brought me to New Zealand called first at Wellington, the capital city, with a population, as I afterwards heard, of ninety thousand. Ships steam up a narrow, rocky channel into the harbour, which widens out into an area of fifty square miles, with deep water right up to the town, and wharves adjoining the chief streets. All round the harbour are hills, most of them now cleared of trees and grass-grown; but in 1840, when Wellington was founded as a Colony under the British Crown, it was a tiny settlement of huts ringed about by miles of untouched forests; and you realize with never-failing wonder how great a change has been wrought in a very short space of time. The town is built along the water front and up the hills behind, and is spreading every day higher up the hills and round the pleasant bays with which the rocky coast is indented. To the stranger the noteworthy fact about these houses is the fact that they are of wood, and as nearly all have red roofs, when you see them perched upon the green hillsides, you wonder if you have come to some big toy town. Later you find that only the residential houses are invariably of wood; most of the public buildings--Post Office, banks, Town Hall and shipping offices--are of solid, grey concrete on steel frames; and both wood and steel are designed to resist the earthquake shocks which often visit the city, though not as a rule with great severity. To a visitor from England all is strange and yet surprisingly the same as things left behind at home. Here is a big city with excellent shops, at which every imaginable need can be satisfied. You can buy clothes of every description--pretty dresses and hats or useful boots; there are jewellers and photographers; sellers of books, music or pianos; a depôt for Liberty's art needlework; and outside one of the florists' shops was a notice "Tree-ferns packed and despatched to all parts of the world." Tramcars run through streets paved with wooden blocks. On all sides are men, women and children, dressed--many of them--in the latest fashions from London or Paris; and it is no foreign country that you have reached; for the shops have English names and familiar advertisements of Bournville Chocolate or Pears' Soap, and all these people are your own fellow-countrymen. More than that, they are all possible friends, as I found before I had been two hours in Wellington. I asked some question of a lady in one of the tramcars, and after a little conversation she took me to a restaurant for "morning tea." Here, in a large and airy room, where all the small tables were decorated with vases of flowers on spotless white tablecloths, we were served with date-scones and sandwiches by girls tastefully dressed in green and white. The same day, my friend of the morning entertained me in her own home with afternoon tea and dinner. All this kindness was shown me because I was, as she explained, "a visitor from Home," and it was a pleasure to make me welcome in the new country. All through New Zealand I met with the same open-hearted friendliness and hospitality. The shops, like those in other colonial towns, differ from English ones in having outside verandahs--roofs of corrugated iron on iron posts; the verandahs make the shop interior a little dark, but afford most useful screens either from sun or rain. The town is known as "Windy Wellington"; and it is said that you can anywhere recognize a Wellington man by the way in which he holds on his hat at street corners; the wind blows away microbes and keeps the inhabitants healthy, but is very wearing both to clothes and temper, and it is never wise to allude to it. Neither is a strong wind always blowing. I have been in Wellington on calm days of glorious, sunny weather, when the town lay bathed in golden light, the blue harbour reflected the blue sky, and all the surrounding hills were blue, with peaks behind paling to grey in the distance. From the top of any of the hills that crowd closely together in narrow ridges behind Wellington, you look down on the town and on the irregular promontory on which it stands. On one side of the promontory is the harbour--a thread of blue water running out to the open ocean; and on a clear day, you look beyond the harbour to the coast of South Island with the snowy peaks of mountains near the coast. On the western side of the promontory, you can see over the thirty-three miles of Cook Strait to the nearest point of South Island, where blue headland and island, separated by purple shadows, rise confusedly from the sea. At your feet, sheep feed on the short, sweet grass; and here and there in the gullies are still trees and ferns, reminders of days gone by. The Dominion Parliament meets at Wellington in a wooden building that was until recently Government House; and the House of Representatives sits in the old ballroom, to which visitors are admitted by ticket. I went twice to hear the debate. The Speaker's Chair is a small throne cushioned in crimson velvet, set under a carved canopy of polished brown wood; on the right sat Mr. Massey and the members of the Government; on the left, Sir Joseph Ward and the Opposition. There are galleries at either end, one for reporters, the other for strangers and members of the Upper House; and round the room was set a row of chairs for members' wives. The Mace was on a table in front of the Speaker's Chair. The whole building is far too small, and will soon be replaced by a larger and grander house, of which the foundations have already been laid close to the present one. Near the Houses of Parliament is the Museum, a small wooden building, in which there is very little room adequately to display all the treasures, and some have to be packed away and not shown at all. The chief treasure is a Maori house--not a house for living in, but one in which the Maoris used to hold councils--a native Town Hall. It is a long, narrow house of one room, with a high-pitched, sloping roof, and it had originally one door and one window, both side by side at one of the narrow ends. Ranged against the two long walls are grotesque, carved, wooden figures of ancestors of the tribe of Maoris by whom the house was made--these figures are carved out of blocks of dull, red wood, and are three to four feet high; pieces of glittering blue and green shell are fastened in for eyes, and all the figures are ornamented very effectively with circular patterns in chip carving; there are sixteen figures on either side, and other figures again at both ends. The wall space between each figure should be filled in with reeds set close together, and crossed by narrow strips of wood fastened by thin bands of flax; in this house at Wellington, the reeds have all been replaced by wood, fluted, and painted a pale yellow; the ancestral figures too have been raised some way above the floor. Originally the walls were only the same height as the figures, and the roof sloped from the ridge-pole to the carved heads. The Maoris used to squat on the ground at their assemblies, so they did not need great height in their council halls. Besides the entire Maori house, this museum has other specimens of Maori carving; such as a wooden verandah; and, set up on a high post, a tiny wooden room, slightly ornamented with carving; this latter the Maoris used as a food-store. Here too, I saw Maori clothing: aprons for men and women, all made of flax, woven tightly at the top and the ends left long and loose; there were long cloaks of flax, decorated with thrums of flax tied at intervals over the outer surface; sleeping mats too, neatly woven of flax. Among the natural history exhibits the greatest curiosity is the "moa," an extinct New Zealand bird, who had no wings, but used to stalk over the country on enormous legs. No complete specimen of this bird has ever been found, but many eggs have been dug up, and sufficient bones and feathers for naturalists to reconstruct a life-sized model. There the bird stands, like a huge grey emu; as I stood by the side of it, my head reached the middle of the bird's thigh. There are several eggs on view--large white eggs, the size of cocoanuts; and some feathers, soft grey fluffy ones, like those of the emu, with whose feathers the model is covered. Present-day New Zealand birds are to be seen, with fish and beautiful shells from the South Seas. There are a few unexpected curios; such as a scrap of red and gold brocade from a cloak worn by Charles I; also certificates from Langley, Buckinghamshire, stating that two people named Powell, were in 1690 "buried in woollen, according to law." Wellington has pretty public gardens, extending over many acres up the hillside and down to a well-wooded ravine, and everywhere native trees and ferns flourish. Below the hill is a broad stretch of level ground, where you find flower-beds gaily planted with English asters, zinnias and sweet peas, and shady pergolas with climbing roses. There are Zoological Gardens too, spread over another hill on the opposite side of the town: the cages for birds and animals are set among trees--high dark pines, with undergrowth of lighter green--and the animals are rather hard to find as you trudge up and down the steep paths. A brown bear was in a cage, with the usual pole for him to climb: there were a fine African lion and lioness, sea-lions in a pond, monkeys, lemurs, squirrels and opossums; a good selection of many-coloured parrots and cockatoos from Australia, and most gawdy macaws from Malay. I was most interested in a native "kiwi," which I persuaded the head-keeper to find for me. The kiwi lives in the bush and only walks abroad by night, so that when he is in captivity he retires during the day to the darkest, innermost recesses of his cage. The keeper found him and pulled him along by his beak--a bird the size of a large hen but on longer legs; it has a very long slender beak, and fluffy, grey feathers, and resembles its giant relation, the extinct moa, in having no wings. In addition to gardens close to the town, Wellington has lately acquired several thousand acres of forest land round a sandy bay across the harbour. Here you find tall "rimus" and "totaras," green ferns and mosses, and many lovely tree-ferns--the variety with white undersides to their fronds, which in old days the Maoris used, like children in a fairytale, to mark out trails. In springtime, the hills behind the town and the high cliffs along the shore are dazzling with golden broom and gorse; and on sandhills, where it has been planted to bind the sand, the yellow tree-lupin grows as freely as a buttercup. Wellington has a large boys' school and fine University buildings. The University is affiliated to the Colleges of the other large towns, and women are admitted to degrees on equal terms with men. There is always a steady air of bustle and business about Wellington; it is an important port--big ships come and go, with cargoes to be discharged and taken; and the fact that it is the seat of the Government makes it a necessity for the Governor and his suite to live here for several months of the year, and also brings New Zealanders from all parts of the Dominion. CHAPTER II STEWART ISLAND Stewart Island lies south of the two main islands of New Zealand, separated by Foveaux Strait, a channel only thirty miles wide; but usually the sea there is rough, and the passage from South Island to Stewart Island in a small steam tug an unpleasant one. Stewart Island is about forty miles long from north to south, and has a coastline of between five and six hundred miles. In addition to Stewart Island proper there are numerous small islands, named and unnamed, scattered round the coast and away still further south. Stewart Island has two mountains, one two thousand, the other three thousand feet. The whole island is more or less hilly, and almost entirely covered with native bush. There is one township called Oban, and a number of houses and cottages scattered about throughout the island. The steamer leaves the Bluff, the port of Invercargill, twice a week for Stewart Island, and takes passengers and mails to Oban's tiny wharf on Half-Moon Bay. There are several "accommodation houses" for tourists in Oban, all packed with people during the holiday season. The one in which I stayed soon after Christmas was so full that some of the visitors had to be housed in a small cottage in the garden, others in a canvas tent, and one in a bathroom. There were over forty visitors, and the one small drawing-room was so crowded that we were glad to pack ourselves carefully on a cushioned seat running all round the room. The weather is very often wet on Stewart Island: it rained every day during the eight days I spent there, and though I walked out in all weathers, it was a pity to see the island so frequently through torrents of rain. The usual plan for visitors is to make up a party of twenty or thirty from one of the hotels, hire a boat, take lunch, and boil the billy in one of the charming bays which abound all round the island. The day after I arrived was bright and sunny, just the day for such an expedition, and a large party of us started gaily in a motor sailing-cutter on a trip to Glory Bay and Ulva Island. The sea was calm, with sufficient wind blowing for us to dispense with the motor engine and trust only to the sails--a much pleasanter way of travelling than by motor. We had a delightful two hours' run to Glory Bay, where we anchored, and were all landed in a small rowing boat on a beach covered thickly with grey pebbles, large and small. Here we found a convenient fireplace fixed up--two iron supports firmly fastened in piles of stones, a stout branch of a tree laid across the uprights, and on the branch iron hooks dangling--all provided by Government, to prevent any danger of damage to the bush by careless picnic parties. On the hooks three billies were hung, a fire of sticks was lighted underneath, and when the water boiled, tea was sprinkled into each billy. In a few minutes the tea was ready, and we had cups of it ladled out to us with an enamelled mug, and sat down on the beach to an excellent picnic lunch of meat sandwiches, jam sandwiches, and tea. The trees and ferns came right down to the beach, and we looked across the quiet bay through a framework of greenery to a wooded island with the open sea beyond. [Illustration: A SANDY COVE--STEWART ISLAND. _To face page 22_] To-day I made acquaintance for the first time with the New Zealand "rata," one of the finest of the forest trees, attaining a height of fifty to a hundred feet. The rata is a species of myrtle, and was covered just now with crimson myrtle flowers, which in the sunlight turned a vivid scarlet, so that in patches the bush seemed to be on fire. After lunch we explored the bay in the rowing boat, took snapshots, then again boarded the cutter, and sailed away for Ulva Island. This is an island several miles in extent, densely covered with bush; we landed, and walked for two miles along a very narrow, mossy track. The bush is very thick here, and shady: tall trees with ferns and mosses grow everywhere, while on the ground and over the tree-trunks and among the green moss are little fragile, white flowers. Even more noticeable than the trees are the tree-ferns--hundreds of them--with drooping, feathery green fronds crowning the slender, brown stems, which vary in height from six feet to forty. They grow in remarkable perfection and abundance on Stewart Island itself and on the islets round. Our bush-track ended on a sandy beach. We then walked along a well-made path for a short quarter of a mile to a post office and store, kept by a solitary man who is the only inhabitant of the island, and who apparently lives there very contentedly; he collects the letters from the settlers on the neighbouring islands, and sells grocery, thread, stationery and other useful articles. We had been told that this was the most southerly post office in the world, but learnt later that in the Auckland Islands there is one many miles nearer the South Pole. Before we returned to the boat it began to rain, and rained steadily all the way back to Oban--real rain, which came down in sheets, and made it impossible to see anything of the scenery. This expedition was the only one during my stay on Stewart Island, for after that, the sea was too rough for the boats to venture out. So stormy was it that twice within the week the steamer from the Bluff could not cross, and as the cable was not in working order, we were completely isolated. A great part of Stewart Island belongs to the Government of New Zealand, and the bush is carefully protected, and heavy fines are imposed on anyone who wilfully damages it by fire or in any other way. For the benefit of tourists Government has spent some hundreds of pounds on making tracks in all parts of the island: in places simply a roughly beaten path, in others a "corduroy" track, formed of stems of tree-ferns laid side by side. The walks along these tracks are enchanting, either through dense bush, or skirting the edge of the forest, with charming views through green ferns and crimson rata to islands near and far, and the ever-distant ocean. Often the tracks lead down to some sheltered bay with steep tree-clad cliffs, whose bases are washed continually by the blue Pacific. Above one of these beaches stands the most southerly cable station in the world--an upright post, boarded four-square, through which the overland wire vanishes, to re-appear at the opposite station on the Bluff. There are a number of native birds on Stewart Island. Chief among these are the "bell-bird" and the "tui." The bell-bird has a clear, musical call of its own, and can also imitate other birds. The "tui," is often called the "parson-bird," on account of two pretty white feathers which hang down under his chin like old-fashioned Geneva bands; the rest of his plumage is a dark glossy green; he is about the size of an English rook, bigger than the bell-bird, and like the bell-bird, sings well and musically. There are plenty of little birds; the robin, whose breast is yellow instead of red; tits, wax-eyes, wrens, and others, who dress in sober colours, and chirp to one another in pleasant, quiet notes. Round the coast you see penguins perched on the rocks. The smaller islands are favourite breeding-places for mutton-birds--grey birds about as big as quails--which are much esteemed by the Maoris as a delicacy: they are caught by the Maoris in quantities before the birds can fly, and after they have been plucked and smoked, they are preserved for future use in bags made of long ribbon seaweed. Very good fish are to be caught near Stewart Island, as indeed all round the New Zealand coasts; blue cod is one of the most delicate, eaten either fresh or smoked, and the Stewart Island oyster-beds are famous from one end of the Dominion to the other. The people who live on Stewart Island have the reputation of being rather lazy. Most of them are English, some of them are Maori half-castes. Part of the land has been cleared and is used for sheep runs, while some of the inhabitants are employed in cutting down timber. The chief business of the place is looking after the tourists who go in hundreds during the holiday months, and have a splendid holiday with boating, fishing, bathing and picnicing, or simply enjoying the mild climate and the lovely scenery. Oban itself is a small township with a post-office; two small stores, where you can buy post-cards, caps, boots, pencils or grocery; and a baker's shop, with a baker who takes great pride in his home-made bread, and had never heard of German yeast. Of public houses there are none, as Stewart Island favours local prohibition, and no intoxicating liquors may be sold. There is an "Athenaeum" or reading-room, an Anglican Church, a Presbyterian Church, and some small meeting-houses for religious purposes. The Athenaeum is used as a public hall for dances and concerts. One night a large party of us went to a concert there and heard songs and recitations. The chief item on the programme was the "haka," or ancient Maori war dance, which was performed by four half-caste Maori youths. There was no gliding movement, but much stamping of feet, gesticulating and shouting, all in unison: it is a most exhausting dance, and though it was most heartily encored, very little of the performance was given a second time. As the weather was so bad, we were very much thrown on our own resources for amusement inside the boarding-house. Some sang or recited, or played on piano or violin, and one of the men proved a most dexterous and amusing conjurer. One night about fifty visitors joined in progressive euchre--a game which is much played in New Zealand, and another night we had a games party. All through we contrived to be merry, in spite of the rain. CHAPTER III OVERLAND TO MILFORD SOUND The walk along the Milford Track from Lake Te Anau to Milford Sound has been described by a New Zealand writer as "the finest walk in the world." It is a walk of thirty-three miles, through scenery of ever-changing variety and beauty, and is now undertaken annually by hundreds of tourists during the summer months. Milford Track is in the South Island, among the lakes and fiords of Otago, and goes through an uninhabited and unexplored country of dense forest and inaccessible mountain. Tourists go by train to Lumsden, a small lowland township, and then on by motor coaches. These run for forty miles on a rough and stony road, almost impassable after heavy rain by reason of the mud and swollen creeks. At first it is rather an uninteresting drive, with flat "tussock" country on either side, and in the distance low hills; but gradually the scenery becomes wilder, the low hills give place to mountains bearing patches of never-melting snow, and the great lakes behind which they rise are surrounded by miles of untouched forest. The road here dwindles to vague ruts leading through the foothills of the more distant mountains, and tourists are taken for another twelve miles in wagonettes drawn by horses, to an accommodation house beside Lake Te Anau, where they spend the night. Next day comes a further journey of thirty-three miles on a small steamer to the other end of the lake, and here in a little forest clearing is another solitary house and Post Office--Glade House--the starting-point for the walk. I had gone with a friend, and we found eleven others all anxious to walk to Milford Sound, so we were a party of thirteen--five women and eight men--one happy family for the time being, all intent on enjoying everything as it came. Whatever luggage we took had to be carried on our backs, so we packed as few things as possible in stout canvas "swags" provided by Government for intending pedestrians, were rowed across a river in high flood, and plunged at once into the heart of the bush. [Illustration: CLINTON RIVER--TE ANAU LAKE. _To face page 30_] It was a delightful sunny day in midsummer. Before we began our walk there had been five days of incessant rain--every leaf dripped with moisture, and all about us was the noise of hurrying waterfall or river. The Clinton River, whose course we followed, was a wide torrent, rushing angrily over great boulders, or pausing for a while in deep quiet pools of clear green water. Numberless small streams flow from the mountains to join the Clinton, and many of them cross the track; sometimes they are bridged by a moss-grown, slippery tree-trunk; in other places they turn the track itself into a stream. There is no way round these creeks--you must simply wade through them; for my own part I did not wade through many, as one of the men of our party carried me on his back over all the worst of them. After the first two miles, this same kind friend insisted on taking my swag as well as his own, and I found that though I invariably began the day's tramp with swag on my back, I was not often allowed to carry it far. The track is a narrow path, and green with the daintiest mosses, lovely to see and soft to tread upon. In places there is a good deal of native grass, and not infrequently grass from England too--cocksfoot or Yorkshire fog--and fallen beech leaves make a pleasant rustle as your feet brush through them. I had seen New Zealand bush in Stewart Island, and very pretty it is, but it cannot compare in grandeur or variety with the forests of Otago. In New Zealand, the plants are still to be seen in the societies in which they have naturally grouped themselves through many generations of plant life--one group of plants in the river valleys, other groups by the sea coast or on Alpine heights; and wherever you go, you find fresh trees, ferns or mosses to admire, and always there is yet a chance of finding a plant that no one has seen before. For several miles of the Milford track the prevailing tree is the black beech, one of the handsomest of the forest trees, with tall dark trunk and head of spreading branches, crowded with tiny, glossy, green leaves. Below the beeches grow other trees, at first somewhat thinly, but crowding more closely together the more deeply we penetrate into the forest. Among the trees are elegant tree-ferns in colonies of a hundred or more; through trees and fern-fronds gleams the sunlight; and beyond the overarching branches you catch fascinating glimpses of high mountains, their rugged summits sharply outlined against bright blue sky. Only the summits of the mountains for a few hundred feet are bare; steeply as they rise, in fact almost perpendicularly from the valley, they are yet clothed with trees in all shades of green, relieved here and there by great patches of rata blossom--the "red glory of the gorges"--and it is a constant wonder how the trees contrive to cling at all, much more how they can grow and flourish in such difficult circumstances. Close to the track are fuchsias, which in New Zealand develop into big trees, and have pink ever-peeling bark, leathery grey-green leaves and flowers of dull purple. By the fuchsias grow veronicas, as tall as the fuchsias, now, at the end of January, in the full beauty of their abundant flower spikes, white or mauve; and with these are many trees of the compositæ family--olearias or senecios--all bearing bunches of white daisy-flowers. Many trees of the forest undergrowth have inconspicuous green or whitish flowers, and many-shaped leaves of glossy green--such are the broadleaf and the so-called fig and holly, growing side by side with the lancewood, whose leaves are saw-edged, grey-green swords. Everywhere too you find creepers and lianes--the tough black stems of the "supple-jack," and the trailing brambles of the "bush lawyer." The lawyer is a creeper which has hooked thorns on every little stem and leaf, and attaches itself relentlessly either to hair or clothes, like a dishonest solicitor, from whose clutches escape is difficult. After a ten-mile walk we reached our stopping-place for the night--Pompolona Huts--two huts of corrugated iron, boarded throughout on the inside. One is for the men to sleep in; the other is divided into three rooms--ladies' bunk-room, dining-room and pantry. The dining-room is also the kitchen, and has a huge open fireplace and a "colonial oven" for baking bread, and over the fire is fixed an iron bar from which dangle hooks and pots. The food provided for us was the tinned meat and fruit usual in all camp life in New Zealand, with the addition of potatoes and hot boiled pudding. The following morning we left Pompolona for McKinnon's Pass--the hardest bit of walking along the track. In fine weather the walk to Milford is easy enough, but going over the pass you are always liable to get caught in a blinding blizzard. Even in the valleys there is sometimes danger: a river or creek may rise several feet in a few hours, an insecure bridge may be loosened and washed away, or an unbridged stream suddenly become too high to ford. After leaving Pompolona Huts, the path goes through country less thickly wooded, with occasionally wide open spaces, and little tarns of placid brown water. The ribbon-wood was in perfection in these open glades, bearing great trusses of delicate white flowers with a faint sweet perfume; they reminded us of cherry blossom, though the petals are more fragile, and the ribbon-wood actually belongs to the mallow family. The bark of the ribbon-wood is stripped off by the Maoris, and an inner layer, which looks like fine white lacework, is used in strips for making ornamental baskets. Little native flowers grow in the open: pale-mauve campanulas; tiny white daisies, and small yellow buttercups; a small, white cranesbill; and other little white things; and high in the sunlight stand masses of hardy, wiry bracken. Soon we are back in the forest, climbing gradually upwards under the trees. Throughout this walk one is continually amazed by the absence of bare, brown tree-stems; nearly every tree is covered all over with moss; trunks and branches fairly drip with it, as frost-laden trees do with icicles--moss of extraordinary beauty; some of it hanging in slender, swaying sprays, over a foot long; some short, with thick stems and feathery tufts--all of it in varying shades of green or brown. Among the mosses nestle fungi in strange diversity of shape and colour--white, pink, green or orange. Ferns, too, adorn the tree trunks, and often pale-green lichens, which from a short distance look like bunches of palest flowers. There is a curious scarcity of birds. Stoats and weasels brought over from England and introduced into the bush in the hope that they would kill some of the superfluous English rabbits, have destroyed many native birds and their eggs, and it is now impossible to get rid of the stoats and weasels. The rare "kiwi" the wingless relation of the extinct "moa," lives still in these forests and is sometimes seen at night; I only saw it alive in the Wellington Zoological Gardens. We saw a number of "wekas"--Maori hens--brown birds about the size of a small pheasant, with very short tails and only rudimentary wings; they are not able to fly, but they walk very quickly through the fern. They had no fear of us, but walked across the path in front of us, or stood watching in the shade, and at night they prowled round the huts, looking for scraps and making weird calls to one another. We saw a few pigeons fluttering among the tree-tops, and some tits and tiny native wrens hopping from branch to branch; and by Te Anau were brown fantails, native cuckoos and a few small green-and-yellow parrakeets; and sometimes we heard the bell-bird's musical note, or the night owl hooting "more pork." English birds are now to be found in most parts of New Zealand--skylarks, sparrows, thrushes, blackbirds, starlings and goldfinches. I saw none of them on the way to Milford. Butterflies are rare, though we did see a fair number of native ones, with dainty many-coloured wings, mottled in red, brown or yellow; and the lack of bird notes was in some degree made up for by the lively chirping of a black-and-yellow cricket. Very few insects were to be seen as we walked, but whenever we stopped, sandflies, tiny black flies whose bite is as bad as a mosquito's, came swarming round--eager for our blood. Our only other enemies were the "biddabids"--the New Zealand substitute for an English burr. They are low-growing plants, the flower stalk a few inches high, and each flower stalk produces a dense brown head of seed, each little seed vessel furnished with four fine hooked claws. After brushing carelessly against a patch of these plants, stockings, skirt or jersey are found embroidered thickly with "biddies," and very difficult it is to rid oneself of them. Towards the top of McKinnon's Pass, the mossy path becomes a stony track, winding on and up among Alpine flowers--white gentians and ourisias growing side by side with tall white or yellow mountain daisies. Then the track leads through brown tufts of snow grass, while almost at the summit you again find tarns of quiet brown water, in whose depths snowy mountains are reflected. Here we breathed invigorating mountain air, and had a clear view of the mountains which before we had only partially seen through a fretwork of green. The top of the pass is more than three thousand feet above sea level--a narrow, rocky saddle blocking the head of the Clinton Cañon, and on the opposite side giving access to the valley of the Arthur River. Around the saddle are rugged peaks, rising to a height of five to seven thousand feet; some bare, others piled thickly with snow: and as we watched, avalanches came thundering down from one of the glaciers into the valley beneath. We could see the whole of the Clinton Cañon up which we had walked--a narrow valley, only half a mile wide, shut in by precipitous walls of four to seven thousand feet. Their rugged summits were all rock and snow; below they were clothed with dense forests reaching down to the valley, where the river wound in and out among the dark trees like a thread of light green ribbon. Looking down the Arthur valley, which is much wider than the Clinton, we again looked over miles of forest backed by other rocky heights. Below the pass, nine miles from Pompolona, are the Quinton Huts, our next resting place. Near these are the Sutherland Falls, said to be the highest waterfall in the world, falling in three gigantic leaps from a height of nearly two thousand feet. They come roaring down over the steep hillside--a mighty volume of water ever thundering on brown rock fringed with luxuriant forest growth, and scattering showers of spray over the trees and over the grassy knoll on which you stand to watch them. They were only discovered in 1880, by a man named Sutherland, a settler from Scotland in the early days, who had a fancy for exploring. At Quinton's we met another large party on their way back, and that night the huts were overcrowded: we were eleven ladies, with only nine bunks, so two slept in the dining-room. Next morning we all contrived to dress in perfect good temper; no one dreamed of making a trouble about anything, and it might have been excusable, as there was comfortable floor space for two, not for eleven; we had one small washstand, a small, square mirror hung on the wall for our only looking-glass, and a bench to serve as table and chair. There is no telephone in working order beyond Pompolona Huts, and the arrival of so many visitors at Quinton's was unexpected. The flour stored there had become damp, and could not be used in a hurry for baking by the men in charge, so at breakfast we ran short of bread: the ladies had as much as they wanted, but the men made up with biscuits and ginger nuts, and said sweetly that they liked them for a change. The last day's stage is a walk of fourteen miles, on through the forest, beside the green Arthur river, and for five miles of the way skirting the edge of a lovely lake. The river is twice crossed by long bridges: one a suspension bridge made of three flat planks, with strands of wire for protection on both sides; the other of "corduroy" planking--the planks all unhewn logs--supported in midstream on an enormous boulder. The forest scenery grows greener and the ferns and mosses more abundant as you draw nearer the coast. Giant pines replace the beech trees. You now see thick clumps of mositure-loving "crape" ferns, whose long transparent fronds curl over at their tips like the heraldic Prince of Wales's feathers. The track is edged by frail bracken of palest green; ferns like filmy green lace drape the trees. Of such marvellous luxuriance is all the forest growth that trees and creepers and perching plants are inextricably interwoven, and often you cannot tell to which stem or trunk any branch belongs. Ever since we left Glade House we had seen waterfalls, large and small, hundreds of them pouring down the mountains, culminating in the magnificent Sutherland Falls. Still as we walked we saw more waterfalls, none so high as the Sutherland Falls, but many exceedingly beautiful--some mere glittering threads of feathery white; others, which fell close beside the track, were falls both wide and high, crashing through the trees and breaking into seething white foam on huge grey boulders, resting at last in deep, green pools. That day we had lunch in a tumble-down hut, where we found tea, a fireplace and enamelled tin mugs. We boiled the billy on the fireplace and then drank our tea out of the mugs, which one of the men thoughtfully rinsed in a lake close at hand: they were not clean, but nectar in golden goblets could not have tasted more delicious. At the end of the track there is yet another hut, and usually a man in charge of it, who summons a motor launch from the head of Milford Sound, by letting off a charge of dynamite. We met this man on the track taking a lady to Quinton Huts, and received full instructions as to where a small rowing-boat was to be found: so some of the party went on ahead, found the boat, and rowed across the sound to summon Mr. Sutherland and his launch, while the rest of us had afternoon tea and a rest. The launch came and conveyed us safely to our journey's end--a lonely accommodation house with a Post Office, at the edge of forest and ocean. The house is a one-storied building of wood, with corrugated iron roof and a verandah: there is a garden, with vegetables, currants and raspberries. Grass grows right up to the house. Sheep feed on the grass, and stroll even into the bathroom, which has a door without a lock. The house is comfortably furnished, and considering its distance from anywhere, surprisingly well supplied with food and other necessaries. It is even possible to buy shoes here. The following morning we chartered the launch and were taken down the Sound and out on the Pacific Ocean. Milford Sound is ten miles long. At its narrowest it is only a quarter of a mile wide, but where it joins the ocean about two miles. The whole sound is a deep narrow channel, formed originally by glacial action. Mountains rise straight out of the water, covered thickly with bush for some four thousand feet, until the trees stop abruptly on reaching the line of winter snow: you here see a wonderful contrast--green leaf and crimson rata-flower on the brown rock. Here again are waterfalls. One falls sheer in a narrow unbroken column for five hundred feet; another falls in two great leaps; the higher of the two leaps curves far out from the rock and was turned by the sunshine into a golden halo. On one side of the Sound is Mitre Peak, over five thousand feet, with bare pointed summit: opposite stands the Lion, his massive rounded crest slanting down to a narrow ridge among the forest; and behind the Lion, far away, beyond a narrow tree-girt cove, is a yet higher peak, snow-laden above the green. As we sailed out to sea, we saw black cormorants watching for their prey; gulls--white with brown bars on their wings--came flying round the boat; and, scrambling out of the water and up the rocks at the side in most ungainly fashion, were small and terrified black-and-white penguins. In winter time, when for many miles the overland track lies buried in snow, a small steamer plies up the Sound once a month with provisions and letters for the inhabitants of the one lonely house, and sometimes a Government boat goes to Milford and other Sounds to visit lighthouses and a few scattered settlers. There is said to be one old man who lives quite alone in a hut on one of the West Coast Sounds, and to whom the Government steamer regularly takes his old age pension changed into food and clothing; the Captain always gives orders to the men who take food for "Maori Bill" to go provided with a spade and a Prayer Book as well, in case the poor old man should be dead. We could only spend two nights at Milford before beginning the walk back to Glade House, which we reached two days later, one happy family, as we had set out. [Illustration: LAKE WAKATIPU. _To face page 47._] CHAPTER IV THE COLD LAKES OF OTAGO One of the favourite holiday excursions in the South Island is to the Cold Lakes of Otago. In England it is hardly necessary to explain that lakes are cold, but in New Zealand you never know--you find a pool of hot sulphur water under the Southern Alps, and hot creeks and lakes in the thermal district of North Island. The largest of the Otago lakes is Wakatipu--a lake like a beautiful blue serpent. It is fifty miles long and varies in width from one mile to three and a half, as it winds in and out among stately mountains. Situated on one of the curves is Queenstown, a regal little city by the great lake, happily remote from the world and its bustle. It has no railway, and you reach it either by motor car, or more often by steamer--a delightful trip of twenty-five miles from the southern end of the lake. I meant to spend one week at Queenstown, but the place and its surroundings are so beautiful, and I met such a number of pleasant people there, that in the end I stayed for three weeks, and left with many regrets. There are several good hotels. The one at which I stayed was separated from the lake only by a broad road. From the windows of the hotel I looked out upon tall drooping willows, fringing the blue water; and sometimes at sunset saw a wonderful display of crimson and gold behind grim purple mountains towards the head of the lake. The lake is stocked with trout; enormous specimens came right up to the landing stage to be fed; these particular fish are pets of the town and may on no account be killed. From Queenstown tourists are driven to the Skipper's Gorge. It is a drive of sixteen miles through a strange country of bleak and rugged hills, which are bare of all vegetation but scanty, coarse grass and occasional low-growing shrubs; and on the hillsides gaunt grey rocks stand up, like pillars or ruined castles. Sheep can find pasturage on the hills, and as you drive up, you see in the valleys scattered homesteads on the stations, or the school of some tiny township. The district is thinly populated now, but in the sixties and the days of the Otago gold-rush, mines abounded in every little river-bed: a fair amount of gold is still found by sluicing and dredging. Life is lonely and hard in these far back places, either on station or gold-claim; and sometimes you hear sad tales of men and women, whom the loneliness drives to drink or suicide. The Skipper's Drive is a marvel of engineering. The road is cut out of the sides of the hills and the narrow thread winds round them, with often on the one hand a precipice over a hundred feet deep, and no protection beyond a low stone coping or a few inches of rough soil. The drivers are always skilful, and horses bred among the mountains can be trusted to keep their feet, so there is little need for alarm. Some of these remote valleys have wide and deep rivers and not many bridges. When the river-bank is high on both sides, wire ropes are stretched across and a very simple wooden cage hung on the ropes, and anyone wishing to cross sits on the floor of the cage with his legs dangling over the river-bed and pulls himself to the opposite side. At the Skipper's Gorge we found a cage of this kind, and I was able to enjoy crossing a river in such an unusual way. On a calm day there is no difficulty, but it must be dangerous in a high wind. The most delightful tracks round Queenstown are either for walking or riding. Whichever way you go--up one of the hills or along a track near Lake Wakatipu, you are always surrounded by wonderful scenery. From the top of Ben Lomond, at a height of between five and six thousand feet, you look down upon the lake, in colour a bright blue, toning to purple at the sides; rising steeply from the water, and sloping away from it to bare jagged peaks are mountains of five and six thousand feet; while far away, encircling the lake-head, are yet higher peaks, and to east and north, piled one behind the other, peaks and ever more peaks, purple and grey or whitely crowned with snow. Riding near the lake, you see everything more intimately. There are pines and weeping willows by road or track, gum-trees and poplars in garden and paddock; on the hillside are the tall, fresh, green fronds and the withered, brown ones of the bracken, making an undergrowth for elegant cabbage-trees, sturdy fuchsias and currants, and trailing bush lawyers. Below, in the still, blue water is an exact reflection of each outline of the purple hills above. A steamer goes on certain days each week from Queenstown to the northern end of the lake. Beyond, after a twelve mile drive, you reach two hotels and some scattered sheep-runs, on the very edge of cultivation. Here are wide river-valleys and tiny lakes, towering mountains and snowy glaciers; and the hills are clothed with magnificent beech forests, through which few people have as yet attempted to penetrate. I finally left Lake Wakatipu and Queenstown by motor coach. A drive of forty-eight miles took me to Lake Wanaka. It was a sunny summer day, and all was gay; the hills were blue and the valleys green. As the car zig-zagged up the Crown Range, we looked down on the blue surface of Wakatipu shimmering in the sunlight, and on the windings of the Molyneux River twisting among the hills in ribbons of blue--a blue more vivid and intense than that of the shining sky overhead. At Wanaka is a tiny township, named Pembroke. Here I stayed at a one-storied wooden hotel of many detached passages and cubicles, all standing in an old-fashioned English garden. This garden had wide herbaceous borders crowded with flowers; tall, drooping willows and excellent vegetables; and among the flower-beds were apple trees, and many plum trees laden with more ripe plums than the proprietor or his guests could possibly eat. There was even a giant mulberry tree, heavily laden with fruit. From Pembroke, visitors go in an oil launch, capable of holding sixty passengers, on an excursion of forty miles up the lake and picnic at the head of it. I do not think the reflections on Wanaka are quite so marvellous as on Wakatipu, but the lake as a whole is equally beautiful, and the general plan is the same in both--a long narrow lake among high mountain-peaks. The mountains which surround Wakatipu are bare of any but small low-growing trees, and on that account you see and enjoy their outlines more perfectly; but on the other hand, the tall, dense forest-growth, which fills many of the mountain gullies and fringes the shore of Wanaka, gives to the landscape an added richness. As at Wakatipu, the mountains which surround Wanaka are only the foreground for other and higher peaks, stretching ever to the west, purple or streaked with snow. There are small islands in the lake. At one of these we disembarked, and climbed up a steep track among the scrub. At the top we found, nestling under a rocky crag, a charming lakelet of three acres, at a level of four hundred feet above the main lake. Round the irregular, rocky shore of the tiny lake grow trees--ratas and other smaller ones--leaning over the water; and in the lake are minute islands with little stunted trees--all as though planned by some Japanese artist You stand at the edge of the Japanese garden, and look through its fringing trees and out upon the big blue lake to steep, bare hills beyond. Pembroke is a centre from which to go deerstalking. I saw no deer, but later in Christchurch I saw fine antlers which some sportsman had bagged. Coaches and motor cars connect Pembroke with Clyde and the railway of Central Otago. I chose to go by motor thinking it would be quicker, but alas! the road is rough, and the car broke down; and I had to be picked up by the horse coach, which obligingly ran on the same day. Clyde is on the edge of the fruit-growing district. At the hotel, I soon made friends with an elderly gentleman who took me to see peaches and apricots growing as standards; and the owner of the trees let me pick as many peaches as I could eat--and very delicious they were! Next day Clyde had a fruit and flower show in the town hall, and the farmers round all came to exhibit their produce and to see what others were doing. It was a little show, but held much promise of great things in the future. The peaches were excellent and so were the plums and apples, there were very few apricots, but good, ripe figs and blackberries: the presence of any blackberries at all in the show was perplexing, as throughout New Zealand the English blackberry bramble has grown and spread far too vigorously, and is now considered a "noxious weed," which must be destroyed whenever possible. In the vegetable section were good clean tomatoes, pumpkins, potatoes, beans and carrots. For plants in pots the competition was slight, and a fuchsia and two small heliotropes all won prizes. There were two stiff bouquets and a few table decorations, and on a raised platform, freehand drawings from the primary schools, and several good specimens of embroidery and plain needlework. The main purpose of the show was to encourage apple growing for export; different kinds were exhibited which are being tested for their flavour and keeping properties, and demonstrations were given in the best way of packing. The soil round Clyde is white and sandy, and looks barren and hopeless, but I was told that it is really so rich in plant foods, that, given sufficient water, it will grow anything. The railway from Clyde runs through a queer, wild country of rock and scattered stones; where the only vegetation consists in rare tufts of tussock grass and frequent dabs of pale green moss, which make you think the ground must be turning mouldy from lack of use. There is very little level ground and not much scope for a railroad: the train simply forces its way along, creeping through tunnels, and clinging hardily to the hillsides above steep precipices yawning below. People do come now and then to meet the train at some wayside station, but there is little traffic in such a desolate land. Later we ran through deep gorges, whose steep sides have patches of dark bush above the rushing Taieri River. The gorges widen out into the broad Taieri Plain, with its farms and woollen factory; and towards evening the train steamed into Dunedin's smart railway station. CHAPTER V THE NEW ZEALAND EDINBURGH The town of Dunedin is Scotch in name and origin and in the number of its inhabitants who are of Scotch descent, and is renowned for the enterprise of its settlers and the solid worth of its buildings and institutions. It was founded, in 1848, by Scotch Presbyterians; and though there is now an Anglican Bishop of Dunedin, and Ministers of various denominations, Presbyterianism is yet the dominant form of Christianity. Like other New Zealand settlements, the new Scotch colony consisted in its early days of a few small huts at the edge of the forest. A part of one of these huts, made of "wattle and daub," has been preserved, and is to be seen in the "Early Settlers' Hall." Here, too, are portraits of the "old identities," and pictures of the small sailing vessels in which they crossed the ocean, and of Prince's Street, the one street of the embryo town. Such grim, determined faces those early settlers had, and it must have needed all their courage to face life in a strange land among possibly unfriendly natives, with no roads, an almost complete absence of eatable fruits or vegetables, no fresh meat except fish and birds; and in a country covered either with impenetrable forest or rough tussock grass. Now all round Dunedin the forests have been cleared, and the low hills, which rose on either side of Otago Harbour from the Heads to the town wharves, are sown with British grass, and the land is divided up into sheep runs and dairy farms. [Illustration: OTAGO HARBOUR. _To face page 59._] Dunedin itself is a city set on a hill facing the harbour. Half-way up the hill, adding greatly to the health and beauty of the place, is the Town Belt--a broad band of native bush, left uncut between the business part of the town and residential suburbs, to keep for all time a forest way into the open country beyond. From some point above this belt of trees, you may look down upon the present city with the spires and towers of Churches, University and other fine buildings; upon the narrow harbour and the long neck of undulating hilly country, which on the south divides it from the open ocean. On the north are hills and valleys, with a sprinkling of houses and thick groves of trees; and as you walk or ride towards the west, you see a wide green plain stretching inland to distant hills; and immediately below, on the edge of the plain, rise the chimneys of the Mosgiel woollen factory, whose rugs are famous the world over. Between Prince's Street and the harbour lay in the beginning some furlongs of uninhabitable swamp-land, soon reclaimed by the zeal of the early colonists. These intrepid settlers cut off the top of the small hill on which the chief Presbyterian Church now stands, and with the material thus obtained they filled in the marsh and procured a good foundation for many of their public buildings--railway station, Post Office, University, banks, and the offices of the shipping companies. The railway station is a very pretty one--the finest in the Dominion--of grey stone, with projecting turrets and tall slender clock-tower, faced with stone and red brick; the trains run into it by way of a dangerous level crossing over a wide street between town and harbour. The Post Office is, like others in colonial towns, a large building, with separate departments for everything: stamps in one room, money orders in another, private letter-boxes in another part, and here the telegraph and cable department is in a distinct block in another street; private letter-boxes are found in New Zealand even in small post offices, deliveries are not very frequent, and people often find it more convenient to fetch their own letters. A New Zealand post office is planned with scrupulous regard to efficiency, and is straightforward enough when you have learnt your way about it, but at first each fresh one is, like the different tramway systems, exceedingly puzzling. Dunedin publishes three daily newspapers and three weekly ones--a fair number for a town of sixty thousand people--but in New Zealand all towns of any size publish one or more daily papers, and nearly every small country township has a local paper once or twice a week. The weekly papers here and in other large towns have capital illustrations and give news of the world and of New Zealand generally; the daily papers have the latest cables from London and all parts of the world, and for other news are chiefly concerned with the happenings in their own particular town and province; so that in Dunedin you hear very little of what is going on in Auckland. Dunedin has large public gardens laid out with green lawns and many-coloured flower-beds; in the gardens are greenhouses too, with orchids, palms, high pink begonias and trailing red fuchsias; among groups of dark trees flows the Water of Leith, and on a shady lake swim black swans and Paradise ducks; the latter are native birds of particularly gay and attractive plumage. In these gardens, as well as in all other public gardens in the Dominion, there is a bandstand where a band plays frequently, and here in the summer the citizens hold garden fêtes. I went with friends to one such fête on a sunny afternoon in March. It was held with the object of obtaining money for the further beautifying of the town by planting waste spaces with trees and flowers. Many hundreds of spectators stood round a large platform, erected for the display of the competitions; there were "poster" competitions for the children, gymnastic exhibitions by different schools, decorated bicycles and go-carts, and children danced with coloured ribbons round a maypole. On the lawns were putting and bowling contests for grownups. Tea was served in big tents, and all who could spent the afternoon either in helping or in being entertained. Dunedin and Otago generally have the reputation of being the most friendly and hospitable parts of the Dominion: personally I found Dunedin people entirely kind; they took me on trust and made me welcome in the happiest way, and I felt as though I had known them all my life. CHAPTER VI AMONG THE SOUTHERN ALPS My first experience of tourist travelling in New Zealand was a trip to the Southern Alps, with a stay among the mountains of only six days. It was a very short visit, but long enough for something of the fascination of the mountains to take hold of me and bring me back later for several months. From Christchurch the traveller sees, a hundred miles away, on the western side of the Canterbury Plain, the whole range of the Southern Alps, a wonderful rampart of snowy peaks; and it was with eager curiosity that I set out on the journey thither. Not many years ago the mountains were almost inaccessible and it was necessary to ride the greater part of the way. Now a railway winds up among the southern foothills, and during seven months of the year an excellent service of motor cars runs regularly three days a week between Fairlie, the railroad terminus, and the mountain hostel, ninety-six miles further. Fairlie is a small township, with two hotels, Post Office, a bank and a few shops in its main street. Round about the township are grassy hills with many "cabbage trees," their bare brown stems surrounded by one or more tufts of narrow green streamers, which wave lightly in the breeze: the cabbage tree is a species of lily, and in the early summer has long panicles crowded with creamy white blossoms among the green leaves. It grows on hill, plain or swamp, and always on good soil. Tourists spend the night at Fairlie, and start in the car next morning punctually at eight o'clock. This district has all been taken up by settlers for farms and sheep runs. We drove past "paddocks," as all fields are called in New Zealand, white with English ox-eye daisies or dazzlingly yellow with great bushes of broom, and saw homesteads sheltered by clumps of oaks, poplars, willows or pines. The road climbs steadily uphill to the top of Burke's Pass, more than two thousand feet above sea level, and for the rest of the way goes through "tussock" country, a land of hill and plain covered as far as eye could see with tufts of brown grass. On a rainy day such a landscape, stretching on interminably in one uniform tint of brown has a very desolate appearance, but when the sun shines the brown hills gleam yellow in the distance and develop beautiful purple shadows in their hollows, and big white clouds floating above them make purple shadows too: then, beyond the rounded hills stand blue mountains, rugged and mysterious, their summits streaked with snow. In the heart of the hills you come unexpectedly upon a lovely blue-green lake, six miles long, fed by glacier streams, a blue mountain torrent rushing out of it. Thirty miles further on we reached yet another lake--Lake Pukaki--twice the size of the first, and green rather than blue. Behind this lake, though still forty miles away, we saw Mount Cook, half hidden by clouds. Mount Cook, or as the Maoris called it, "Aorangi, the Sky Piercer," is 12,349 feet in height, the Monarch of the Southern Alps, and the loftiest mountain in New Zealand. The Maoris gave names to many of the high peaks in both islands, but knew them only from afar; they regarded them with reverent awe and had no wish to invade their solitudes. The honour of being the first to reach the summit of Mount Cook rests with three New Zealanders, who climbed it successfully on Christmas Day, 1894. [Illustration: ROAD BETWEEN FAIRLIE AND THE HERMITAGE. _To face page 66._] The tussock country is devoted to sheep runs, varying in size from one thousand to twenty thousand acres; the runs used to be as large as sixty thousand acres, but all the larger runs have now been split up by Government with a view to closer settlement. Merinos and crossbreds thrive very well, but as from three to five acres are needed to support one sheep, the runs need to be a fair size. Between the tufts of tussock grow some finer grasses, and English white clover and sorrel are gradually spreading; the tussock grass is often burnt in patches, so that the sheep may have the fresh shoots which spring up from its roots. Wire fences divide the runs, and at intervals are posted collie dogs, with a barrel for kennel, to keep a watchful eye on their masters' sheep; houses are very rare, ten miles or more apart, the older ones surrounded by flourishing trees. The road is kept in repair by men who go about with carts and long shovels and collect stones from the bank or any convenient pit by the roadside. There are stones everywhere, large and small, carried down from the mountains in the far-away days when all the valleys were filled with enormous glaciers. The road-menders are paid nine shillings a day, wet or fine; in wet weather they do no work, but as they have no fixed homes and sleep where they can, it is not a life to be envied. Every few miles along the road are posts with hooks--generally old horseshoes--and on the hooks, as the car went by, the driver hung the mail bags, and as a rule, a man on horseback came trotting up to fetch them. The telephone wire runs close to the road the whole way, and the tourist cars are provided with spare wires, which can be attached in case of need. On leaving Lake Pukaki, the road skirts the hillside above a valley some four miles wide, where on the right the Tasman River flows through a level swamp. In front, ever growing nearer, are the High Alps, range behind range, at first green or brown, then grey and purple, with glaciers gleaming whitely among the shadows. Our destination, in December, 1912, was the Old Hermitage, and this we safely reached punctually at 5 p.m. The Old Hermitage was a small hotel managed by the New Zealand Government Tourist Department. It was a comfortable, one-storied building, made of "cob"--a mixture of clay and grass--boarded inside, and with an outer casing made of corrugated iron. It was the first house built in New Zealand for the accommodation of climbers and has been a delight to many visitors; during the last few years it has proved far too small, and in 1912 a big hotel was being built on a better site, a mile away from the old one. The old house stands in a hollow at the very foot of the mountains, with the verandah facing Sefton's snowy peak. On either side of it are other mountains cleft by deep gullies, and to the sides of gullies and mountains cling hardy Alpine shrubs, while above the vegetation come shingle slopes and naked brown rock, and higher still, at about 5,000 feet, the unmelting snow. Most of the tourists who stop at the Hermitage for longer than one night wish to go for some excursion up one of the glaciers or mountains. The particular expedition that newcomers generally take is one to the Hooker Glacier with a night spent in an Alpine hut. At the Hermitage everything is provided by Government--guides, horses, alpenstocks or ice-axes, puttees, and even climbing boots. The Government boots are well made and kept in many sizes for hire, but the more comfortable plan is to take strong boots and have nails put in them. The head guide decided that I, like other "new chums," should go with a party of ladies to the Hooker, so off we set, carrying alpenstocks, and feeling very important; the head guide himself came with us, taking in his rucksack any clothes we needed as well as food. Our road lay up the valley, over ancient moraines covered with scanty tussock grass, low-growing brooms, heaths and dainty Alpine flowers. The New Zealand Alpine flowers are usually white--helichrysums, daisies or heaths; though sometimes the daisies are yellow, and there are mauve campanulas, and the white violets have streaks of mauve. To-day we saw, growing in profusion, clumps of yellow spear-grass, its leaves half an inch wide with points like needles, and bearing long spikes of dull yellow flowers--a plant known as "Spaniards" and very handsome, but best admired at a respectful distance. All the centre of this valley is filled with ice many feet thick, piled high with boulders large and small, and powdered over everywhere with grey dust; the Mueller Glacier which comes down from Mount Sefton brings with it an amazing amount of débris, and its terminal face is hardly visible; all is a weird scene of unrelieved desolation--one vast rubbish heap--and only on looking very closely where a glint of white or green shows through the silt, can you feel assured that the foundation of it is ice and not solid rock. We crossed the Hooker River by two suspension bridges--wooden planks hung on chains, which sway alarmingly in the wind, while the torrent brawls noisily many feet below, and walked along a narrow track up the Hooker Valley. Here we found ourselves among the Mount Cook lilies in full flower, by the river and up the hill sides, and at our feet in sheets of white among the stones--a perfect natural rock-garden. These so-called lilies are a species of ranunculus (Ranunculus Lyallii), they have smooth green stalks two feet high, and the flowers are in clusters, five to nine flowers on each stem, the individual flowers two inches across, pure white petals round bright yellow centres; the leaves stand below the flower heads, every leafstalk bearing a green cup--it is a large and perfect cup, and can be used to drink from, and after rain you find water waiting for the thirsty traveller. Other Alpine plants were here too--big white daisies with fleshy green leaves, yellow mountain celandines, many small-leaved native shrubs, and intruding patches of red English sorrel. Under a huge boulder, surrounded by lilies, we had our lunch of sandwiches and tea, and it was here that I first learnt the excellence of tea made in a "billy." The billy is a tin pail, large or small, and takes the place of both kettle and teapot, as when the water boils tea is sprinkled into it, the lid is left on for a few minutes and the tea is poured straight from the billy into the cups. [Illustration: MOUNT COOK LILIES. _To face page 72._] After a rough scramble among stones and over noisy streams hurrying to join the glacier below, early in the afternoon we reached the Hooker Hut, set in a level space against the mountain side. In front of the hut are the peaks of the Mount Cook Range--bare brown rock below, but always snow on their summits. At the foot of a steep cliff flows the Hooker Glacier, and at the head of the glacier towers Mount Cook, a mighty, snow-clad giant. The hut itself is, like most of the New Zealand Alpine huts, a serviceable building of corrugated iron on a framework of wood, lined with thick linoleum. This one is divided into two rooms with six bunks in each; one room for the ladies' bedroom, and the other to serve as living room and men's bedroom. The living room has a table, two large chests, benches and a kerosene oil-stove. The only living creatures we saw by the hut were the mountain parrots--"keas" as they are called in imitation of their cry which often resembles the word "ke-a" shrieked slowly and harshly; they have many calls and sometimes remind one of a whining puppy, sometimes of a crying baby, and on a wet day a kea will sit on a rock and croak until the dismal monotony of his cry compels you to speak severely and shy stones at him. They have black, curved parrot beaks and sage-green plumage, and when they fly, disclose pretty red backs, and a patch of red feathers on either wing. They are most friendly, inquisitive birds, and came up to the door of the hut and took the greatest interest in our doings. Our guide gave us a good dinner of hot soup, cold mutton, boiled tomatoes, canned apricots and tea. Soon after dinner we turned in. The bunks have wooden sides with strong canvas nailed across. On the canvas is laid a soft down mattress, and with the addition of a pillow and many grey blankets you have a very comfortable bed. Keas seem to need very little sleep; they roosted on the roof of the hut, and apparently overbalanced when asleep and went slipping down the iron over our heads. Finally they gave it up, and began calling to one another long before it was light. The only other sounds were of occasional avalanches slipping down the mountain sides. We got up at 5 a.m., and by 7 o'clock started for the glacier, along a very rough track over the moraine, then across patches of dirty snow. At last we were on the glacier and walked over the snow a couple of miles towards Mount Cook, getting good distant views of mountains and glaciers. So early in the season the glacier is covered with last winter's snow, only here and there are there crevasses wide and deep enough to show the beautiful green ice tints. Our feet sank into the snow at every step; and after a luncheon of sardine sandwiches and iced pineapple, which we ate sitting on our alpenstocks in the middle of the glacier, we were glad to turn and regain the track. When next I stayed at the Hermitage, fifteen months later, the new hotel had just been opened, and was crowded with tourists coming and going. The time was early autumn and the weather perfect, with cold nights and days of glorious sunshine, and I was able to see far more of the mountains than had been possible before. On the river flats, except for white gentians and mauve or white campanulas, most of the flowers were over; but in their place glowed berries of red, yellow, white, blue or black; and near the snow line was the New Zealand edelweiss, with quaint grey flower and leaf. After the hot summer the glaciers were very much broken, with the surface snow melted and the ice foundation traversed by many crevasses of ten to a hundred feet; and walking on the narrow ice ridges between the crevasses needed a steady head and well nailed boots. The largest glacier in New Zealand is the Tasman Glacier, which is eighteen miles long, and at its widest two and a half miles across. It flows parallel with the main Divide of the Alps, receiving several tributary glaciers in its course, until it ends abruptly in a high wall of stones and dirty grey ice, five miles from the Hermitage. To reach the head of the glacier is a two days' expedition. On the first day you ride for fourteen miles on horseback along a narrow track, which for part of the way is a mere scratch on the side of the mountain high above the glacier bed. After one night in a hut you then, if the weather is fine, go on the next day for a ten mile tramp over the solid ice. Right at the head of the Tasman, on a little plateau two or three hundred feet above the glacier, has been built a narrow stone platform on which stands a tiny hut. It is almost on the snow line, and the only vegetation is the wiry snow grass and a few intrepid gentians and lilies, which find shelter against great boulders. No keas venture so high, only a stray gull had flown up from the river valleys. Standing outside the hut I saw, under perfect conditions, one of the grandest mountain views to be found in New Zealand or any other country. Facing me was a mighty wall of mountains--all the highest peaks of the Southern Alps, giants of nine to twelve thousand feet, with snowy summits and great snowfields and buttresses of naked rock. On the extreme right, a dome of pure white snow, over nine thousand feet high; and, encircling its base, the beginning of the Tasman glacier, a great expanse of snow ever feeding the great ice river, whose course could be seen for twelve miles, sweeping majestically underneath the mountains, until, beyond Mount Cook, it was hidden by a spur of the range on which I stood. Mount Cook fitly dominated the scene, a thousand feet higher than any other mountain, with its summit a long toothed ridge of snow-clad peaks. I watched while the sun set and all the glacier lay in shadow: soon the snows of the lower slopes of the mountains became a cold, dead white, while their summits flushed with deep rose-colour against pure blue sky. CHAPTER VII CHRISTCHURCH Christchurch ranks next to Auckland as the second largest city in the Dominion, and in its general plan and social atmosphere is the most English of New Zealand towns. It was founded in 1850 by members of the "Canterbury Association," with the Archbishop of Canterbury at their head, as a settlement in connection with the Church of England, and was named after Christchurch College, Oxford. The exclusive character of the colony was soon found to be impracticable--all colonists were made welcome, and at the present time, Christchurch is sometimes spoken of as the happy home of cranks. When the first colonists, the "Canterbury Pilgrims," as they were called, reached New Zealand, they landed ten miles from the city of to-day, at a port which they named Lyttleton, and the first rough huts were built at the entrance to a long and sheltered harbour running inland between wooded hills. Lyttleton is still the port of Christchurch, and is connected with it by a railway tunnelling through the hills. Christchurch itself stands on the edge of the Canterbury Plain, with the Port Hills on the south, the ocean on the east, and unlimited space for growth on the north and west. In the centre of the city is the Cathedral, a fine building of grey stone with a noticeable spire, standing in an open grassy square. Round this square are set shops, hotels and the Post Office. From the Cathedral Square many roads radiate, and electric trams run in all directions--out into the country, or down to the sea shore, five miles away. The streets are straight and at right angles, and bear the names of English Cathedral cities--Hereford, Gloucester, Durham or Salisbury--but High Street runs diagonally through the squares; and the river Avon, bridged by many picturesque bridges of stone or wood, winds through the town, preventing any possibility of crowding or primness. [Illustration: RIVER AVON AT CHRISTCHURCH IN WINTER. _To face page 81_] All the streets are wide, and the river banks are green with grass and rushes. In the streets and along the riverside grow English oaks, sycamores, poplars or birches, and, more striking than all, hundreds of weeping willows which here grow to a great height, their supple branches drooping gracefully into the water. I have never seen English woodland trees so beautiful in an English autumn as the same trees are in Christchurch, where the leaves remain on the trees later than at Home, and each leaf turns a vivid yellow--a very pageant of gold in the clear bright sunlight under a cloudless sky. On one side of the town, the Avon flows through five hundred acres of park-land, part of which is highly cultivated and planted with flowers and trees from all parts of the world--a lovely garden with trim lawns and shady, gravelled paths. The greater part of the reserve is kept as a recreation ground for football, golf and tennis; and has also broad, tree-shaded avenues, down which you may canter on horseback, and see beyond the trees the blue rounded summits of the Port Hills, and many miles away to the west, the snowy peaks of the Southern Alps. In addition to the Cathedral, Christchurch has many other churches and very fine public buildings. Most of them are built of grey stone, and all stand in prominent places, where they can easily be found and admired. The Supreme Court of Law is on a grassy knoll above the river; the Municipal Buildings and the Public Library among groups of trees on the riverside; and close to the public gardens are the Museum, the University buildings of Canterbury College, and another group of buildings known as Christ's College--a big school for boys, founded on the model of an English Public School. Christchurch Museum, like the one at Wellington, has a fine Maori house with its series of carved ancestral figures; and here the walls are of reed left intact as the Maoris made them, and the house has on the outside a very ornamental display of painting in a bold freehand pattern, coloured red, white and blue. There are rare and beautiful examples of Maori cloaks; one of flax, with the feathers from pigeons' necks woven in closely, so that you see a rich blue and green feather garment; another was made of strips of dog-skin woven in with the flax; another had white dogs' tails, and yet another had feathers of the native kiwi, a soft grey, like those of the emu or the extinct moa. There are many curiosities from the islands of the Pacific; a large and fragile canoe made of thick reeds fastened together with reed thongs from the Chatham Islands; and from some island further north a most gruesome curio--a record of a cannibal feast--a log of wood bound with flax to a smaller piece, and between the two a neat bundle of human bones. In an annexe built specially to receive it is the skeleton of a great whale, eighty-seven feet long, washed ashore on the west coast a few years ago. One pathetic and modern treasure is a memento of Captain Scott's expedition--a small silken New Zealand flag, a combination of the Union Jack and the Southern Cross--worked for Dr. Wilson by a Christchurch lady. The flag was stitched to his shirt and went with him to the South Pole and was brought back by the relief party. Christchurch has an Art Gallery with a small permanent collection of paintings, and in it exhibitions are held of Arts and Crafts--pictures, wood-carving, bookbinding or embroidery--to encourage local talent; also a theatre, music halls and picture-palaces, and halls for dances and lectures. In one big hall was held, while I was staying in Christchurch, a series of the "Dominion Literary and Musical Competitions." They lasted for several weeks; and men, women and children from all parts of the Dominion, "from Auckland to the Bluff," came to compete in singing, instrumental music, recitations and impromptu speeches; the judges were well-known men from Melbourne, and the general public was admitted. Many of the songs and recitations were excellent, and all were rendered without shyness or hesitation. There are delightful homes in and around Christchurch--houses large and small, always with some garden-space; and on the outskirts, many of the houses have large gardens, excellently planned and cared for. Sometimes the larger houses are of brick; but as a rule, private houses are of wood and have roofs of corrugated iron; though some newer roofs are of curved Marseilles tiles, or of flat red tiles made in New Zealand. Every house has its outside verandah, used all the year round as a sitting room, and often in summer as a bedroom too. In the hot weather it is easy to leave Christchurch, either for the mountains or the coast. Many residents have little wooden cottages or huts at the foot of the Port Hills, where there is a wonderful beach of smooth grey sand running northwards in a forty mile curve. Others seek recreation in fishing up one of the rivers of the Canterbury Plain. Always the holiday may be taken in the open air to an extent which in England is seldom possible. CHAPTER VIII FROM CHRISTCHURCH TO THE WEST COAST At 8.30 one autumn morning, I left Christchurch, the City of the Plains, to travel across New Zealand from the Pacific Ocean to the Tasman Sea. The railway line runs westward through the great Canterbury Plain, a fertile country containing some of the best land in New Zealand for all kinds of farming. Long ago this plain must have been covered with bush, for early settlers tell how in ploughing they used to find the decayed stumps of forest trees; now, on either side of the railway line, are fields of grass or ploughed land--"paddocks," as they are uniformly termed--paddocks of many acres, divided from one another by green hedges of hawthorn or gorse. Scattered among them are homesteads and farm buildings, all usually of wood with iron roofs, and round about the homesteads are gardens, with fruit trees, poplars, drooping willows, oaks or sycamores, the tall dark-foliaged "pinus insignis" from North America, and the bright green sturdy "macrocarpa" pine from California. Often, too, you pass a grove of Australian gums, the clean grey trunks of the full-grown trees erect amid an undergrowth of young blue-grey leaves. There are flourishing little townships along the line, often bearing familiar English names, such as Malvern or Sheffield. Forty miles from Christchurch, the plain begins gradually to give way to low hills, outliers of the distant Southern Alps; and after winding up among them for another twenty miles the train reaches Cass, the terminus. At Cass passengers are transferred to coaches drawn by horses, which take them over the mountain pass dividing Canterbury from Westland. It is a wonderful mountain drive of twenty-six miles, and will in a few years' time be superseded by the new railway line which is to connect Cass with the West Coast by way of the Otira tunnel. This tunnel is a difficult piece of engineering work, boring five miles through the mountain and under a river bed. So far, only two and a half miles of it is finished. Coach road and railway line follow the course of a wide river bed, an expanse of rough grey shingle and big stones, at its widest a mile across. The river was just now a deep narrow stream in the middle of the stones, but in flood it becomes a mighty and swift-flowing torrent. We forded the stream without difficulty, the water only reaching to the horses' knees. Then on up another valley beside another wide shingly river, which became a narrow mountain stream as we followed its course. High bush-covered hills were on either side, so high that at three in the afternoon we drove in shadow, and watched the sunlight shining on the opposite ranges. All along this valley are scattered the huts of the men employed on the line, some of them tiny "wharés" of calico stretched over a wooden framework, with chimneys of corrugated iron or wood; better dwellings made of wood roofed with iron, and usually only one small window; and there was one smart house with a verandah--in this the chief engineer had been living. Bonny children were playing about, and in the centre of the railwaymen's township was the school with the school-mistress's cottage--both of wood painted red. We could see the entrance to the Otira tunnel on the hillside above us, and soon we began the ascent of the pass, up a steep winding road, and on reaching the summit, two thousand feet above sea-level, left Canterbury behind us, and descended by an even steeper road down into Westland. The Otira Gorge is far-famed, and tourists come many miles to see it. Mountains covered with forest tower up on either side, sombre and magnificent; in front are still higher mountains, their snowy summits glittering in the sunshine, and far away at the bottom of the ravine flows the Otira river, a brawling mountain torrent. Ever the road winds steadily down, cut from the hillside, in places supported on stays of wood or iron driven into the rock, and at some places dangerously insecure, where the face of the cliff consists only of loose rubble, and the road has no solid foundation, and is liable to disappear after storm and flood. There had been a slip only a few weeks before, but the new track was safe enough as we drove over it; the five horses were driven quickly, too, at a sharp trot all the way. The forest on the eastern slope of the pass is almost entirely of beech trees--tall and graceful, with small, glossy, green leaves, evergreen for the most part, and which remain on the trees through the winter, though in autumn some of them turn yellow or red. On the western side are beeches too, but among them grow many pines and other trees: the ferns and mosses are more luxuriant than on the eastern slopes, while here and there you catch sight of a waterfall rushing down a steep crag among the trees. From Otira township a two hours' journey by train takes the traveller on to Greymouth, which is reached just twelve hours after leaving Christchurch. Greymouth is a small township situated on the coast, built upon level land at the mouth of the Grey River, which is wide enough to serve as a harbour for ships of fair size, principally cargo boats. The bar outside is sometimes so rough that ships can neither enter nor leave, and Greymouth people would be glad of half a million pounds with which to construct a better harbour. Most of the houses are of wood and iron, the shops have outside verandahs, and the roofs are usually painted red. There is a church of grey stone with a spire, and other churches of less imposing appearance; a large red brick post-office with a tall clock tower, as well as several banks and hotels. Forty years ago, when gold was found in abundance all along the west coast, Greymouth was a gayer and more thriving town than it is to-day. It is now a coal mining centre and a market for dairy produce. Next day I left Greymouth, and went on by train to Hokitika, twenty-eight miles away, travelling through the bush all the time. There are clearings at intervals, with some sawmills at work, and in other parts cattle and sheep grazing, and round Hokitika is plenty of open country suitable for farmland. Hokitika is just such another town as Greymouth, but smaller, with a population of between two and three thousand. It, too, has houses with red roofs, banks and hotels. In addition it has a fine clock tower, set in an open space, and is the proud possessor of a Carnegie Library of solid stone; in the reading room of the Library I looked at a London _Graphic_ only six weeks old. Hokitika is only a few miles from Kumara, the home of Mr. Dick Seddon, the late Premier, and Hokitika and the West Coast generally owe a great deal to his interest in their welfare. Twelve miles from Hokitika, away to the east, is a lake called Lake Kanieri, which I had been told was beautiful, so next morning I hired a horse and went for a twelve mile ride along a road through the forest in search of it. I found it well worth seeing--a lake five miles long and two wide, surrounded on all sides by forest, hills behind hills at the head of the lake, the most distant streaked with snow. It was a dull day, with a strong wind blowing from the lake, and the yellow-grey waves came dashing against the shore in a line of white surf, like the breakers of some inland sea. The distant mountains were deep purple, an intense, almost black shade, toning into the dark green of the nearer hills. From Hokitika the train took me on for another twenty miles to Ross. I arrived there at sunset, a glorious sunset over the sea--all crimson and gold--which turned Ross into an enchanted city of grey mist, surrounded by low hills and trees bathed in a pink glow. Ross is a little town of seven hundred inhabitants, but it is brilliantly lighted by electricity, and boasts four churches--Anglican, Roman Catholic, Presbyterian and Wesleyan--and it has seven public houses. My further journey of seventy miles south was in the mail coach, drawn by a team of four horses. We set forth at seven-thirty in a grey dawn, which soon changed to a day of brilliant sunshine. Just outside Ross is a gold mine, worked by electricity, on the latest and most improved American methods. The power is brought twenty-five miles from a waterfall near Kanieri Lake. Great things are hoped from this mine, but at present there is so much water in the workings that most of the time is taken up with pumping out some millions of gallons a day. Beyond the mine we saw a gold sluicing claim, with long wooden troughs running down from the hill side. A great force of water is brought through an iron hose-pipe and directed against the rocks, which it tears down; the fragments of earth fall into the wooden troughs, the sand and gravel are washed away, while the gold stays at the bottom. Very soon we had our last sight of the sea, and for the rest of the way drove through the forest. The West Coast forest extends for three hundred miles between the sea and the Southern Alps, and to the north of the Alps as well--a narrow strip of country varying in width from fifteen to thirty miles, and I think that the further south you go the more beautiful it becomes. It is a semi-tropical forest in appearance, with its countless groves of tall and slender tree-ferns, with their rough brown stems and thick heads of drooping feathery fronds, a yard and more in length, and with its amazingly luxuriant undergrowth of trailing creepers and lianes, while daintiest ferns, mosses and lichens grow everywhere round and upon the forest trees. The Westland forest trees are mighty giants, and chief among them is the red pine or "rimu," as the Maoris call it. This tree towers straight up to a height of a hundred feet or so, then it branches out into a head of thick stems, becoming quite slender at their tips, and drooping gracefully towards the ground, clothed with long, coppery-green tassels, hardly leaves at all, but green scales packed closely together, and giving the tree the effect of being dressed in a "gay green gown" of shaggy moss. Then there is the white pine, growing best in swampy places, its enormous trunk buttressed like the clustered pillars of a mighty church, at first bare, and then showing dense tufts of green bristly spines high up against the sky; the black pine too, with grey trunk and very dark green spines. Less tall than the pines is the red birch or beech--the names are interchangeable in Westland--its leaves the size of elm-tree leaves, but thicker and more glossy, and all the branches now bearing bunches of dead, brown flowers. Of the same size as the beech is the "miro," a tree with smaller but equally glossy leaves, and berries beloved of the New Zealand wood pigeon. The "totara" is a tree that reminds one of the English yew, but its narrow leaves are longer and of a yellower green. Enormous "rata" trees grow in this bush, their branches thickly covered with myrtle-shaped leaves; the crimson flower was quite over on the big trees, but on the rata-vine which drapes many of the forest trees were still patches of red blossom among the green. Close to the road were giant fuchsia trees, with either yellow leaves or bare branches, for the fuchsia is one of the few trees that sheds its leaves in winter. One of the strangest trees is the lancewood, which, when young, bears long narrow leaves like lances, pointing stiffly to the ground; after some years' growth, the leaves become broader and shorter and no longer point downwards, they grow straight out or point towards the sky. Other New Zealand trees have this curious habit of bearing different kinds of leaves at different stages of their growth, and botanists see in it a reminiscence of the changes that the plants' ancestors have lived through--varying leaves suited to variations in the climate. The New Zealand bush is for the most part a sombre forest of many shades of green; though now the fuchsia is yellow, and the pepper-tree's leaves are green and pink; while in spring the clematis festoons the bush with masses of starry white blossoms; in summer the rata blazes crimson, tree-veronicas and olearias show purple and white, and the ribbon-wood bears the loveliest clusters of fragile white flowers. When the sun shines, you forget that you ever thought the bush sombre, so enchanting is the effect of light and shade on stem and leaf. Shafts of sunlight glint through the forest as through the aisles of some vast cathedral, bringing into strong relief the waving light-green fronds of stately tree-ferns, making a glorious harmony of green and gold, "all glossy glooms and shifting sheen." There is very little bare space in the Westland bush: all the plants grow close together, struggling for their share of sunlight and air; creepers climb to the tops of trees, and hang down in long festoons; plants with long, lily-like leaves perch among the branches, and sometimes hide the whole trunk with their drooping greenery. Ferns of many species cover the ground and live high up on the trees, and such lovely ferns they are: some have bright, glossy fronds from six to eight feet long; there is bracken, tall, with thick wiry leaves; or short and fragile, its fronds like the most delicate green lace. The ferns that live on the tree-trunks have usually short fronds, but sometimes they are over a foot in length; the polypods are thick and shining, the "filmy" ferns of such delicate texture that you can almost see through them. The kidney fern, "trichomanes reniforme," is one of these transparent ferns and grows in great abundance on the trees; it is shaped in exact accordance with its name, and has its spores arranged round the edge of the frond like a neat brown frill. There are beautiful club mosses trailing over the ferns and draping the banks by the roadside with garlands of bronze and green; and painted in for the ground colour are green mosses and grey lichens, all shades of grey and green with touches of copper; and on smooth banks coral red berries lying among the mosses. Every few miles we came to homesteads and clearings, where the bush has been cut down and burnt, and grass sown for grazing; the ground is too cold and damp for corn, but grass grows well and sheep and cattle thrive. It seems sad to destroy such beautiful forest, but settlers cannot make a living out of the bush, and as Government is wisely keeping two or three chains of forest all along the road on either side as well as other big areas of forest country, there is no fear that the bush will entirely disappear before the settler's axe. During our seventy mile drive, we crossed several rivers and creeks; only three of the rivers are bridged, the others must be forded; it was easy work, as the rivers were low, but in flood time they become roaring torrents, rushing over wide river-beds filled with big boulders and rough shingle, and many lives have been lost in the attempt to cross. From all the open spaces we had lovely views of distant mountains, deep blue behind the green tints of nearer trees, and often tall rimus standing out from the forest, bronze tassels against a background of blue. It is not a level road all the way--at one point I got down and walked on up a hill between three and four miles, and looking back had a wonderful view over the valley. I stood among the trees at the top, looking down upon the forest stretching away for miles in billowy curves to right and left, a blue haze over its greenness; and beyond, in the far background, a mountain crowned with snow. We passed three charming lakes, each one many acres in extent, and all with trees right down to the water's edge, the ground rising away from the water in gentle slopes. From the hill above one of these lakes, we saw the snowy peaks of Tasman and Cook, fifty miles away. On swampy land grows the New Zealand flax (phormium tenax), which is now being exported in some quantity to Japan for use in the manufacture of silk, and to Ireland to be used in making linen. [Illustration: THE WESTLAND FOREST. _To face page 101._] At 1 p.m. on the second day after leaving Ross, we came to the end of our journey--a solitary hotel, nestling under the mountains; and the driver pointed out to me with pride the Franz Josef Glacier, coming grandly down between the mountains to meet the forest, only three miles from the hotel. CHAPTER IX THREE WEEKS IN WESTLAND South Westland is a land apart from the rest of New Zealand--cut off by the mountains--an enchanted land, which if you once learn to know and love you never wish to leave, and when you do go away, you must always be wanting to return. It is a land of mountain and forest, of glacier and waterfall and rushing river, of blue sky and wide ocean. I first saw it in late autumn, when day after day the sun shone with steady radiance, warming you through and through as if it were still summer; bell-birds and tuis called to one another in the trees, and merry fantails darted hither and thither in the sun, catching sandflies, and spreading out their tails of brown or black-and-white stripes, like miniature fans. The district has a yearly rainfall of over a hundred inches, and to this owes the extreme luxuriance of its forests and the beauty of its many streams. It is a different world from the Alpine region on the east, where the mountains are grand with a grandeur of snowy summit and bare brown rock, and trees are few and stunted. In Westland you see the same peaks of snow, but they rise behind ranges clad in stately forests, shrouded often in mysterious violet tints; the glaciers which fall steeply down the mountain sides are bordered by tall trees; in summer the crimson rata blooms against the snow, and in May little white orchids were in flower only a few feet from the ice. I went to Waiho Gorge intending to spend a week there, but stayed for three, and the following year I returned and remained for two months. The hotel stands in a cleared space in the forest, on a gentle slope overlooking the Waiho river valley--a wide flat with grass and trees. The Franz Josef Glacier is three miles away, and the road to it is no rough and stony track, but a moss-grown path through bush of more than usual loveliness. Here the sunlight, filtering through interlacing branches, shines on great cushions of green moss, on the rich green fronds of many crape ferns with curling feathery tips, and everywhere soil and tree-stems alike are clothed with ferns, lichens, liverworts and mosses in bewildering profusion and most satisfying beauty. The Franz Josef Glacier is three-quarters of a mile wide and eight miles long, and flows to within six hundred feet of sea level, it is fed by another smaller glacier, and by vast snowfields lying among the mountains at its head. Its bed is far steeper than the Tasman, and the rate of flow much quicker, so the surface changes continually, and is broken up into the most extraordinary ridges and pinnacles of every conceivable shape and size; the pinnacles stand up like great teeth of ice, crevasses vary in depth from ten feet to a hundred, and the narrow ridges between are often cut short by other crevasses at right angles, making climbing among them tedious and difficult. A few years ago a hanging gallery of wooden steps on iron staples was erected in the hillside near the terminal face, forty feet above the level of the glacier; within six months the glacier rose up in a gigantic ice-wave and tore down the gallery like a child's toy; it then began to subside, and, when I saw it, was almost at its former level; but the gallery has not been replaced, and a few tattered planks still hang from the cliff. The Franz Josef is almost free from moraine, though there are a few grey rocks and stones and coarse silt scattered about on the ice above the terminal face, which in the centre of the glacier is a sheer ice-wall, two hundred feet high. The Waiho River rises here, in an amphitheatre of blue and white ice, sometimes at one point, sometimes at another; great blocks of ice are constantly breaking away at the snout, and the river escapes wherever it can force its way. The ice of the Franz Josef has the most beautiful colouring; there are caves of clearest crystal, or of white ice faintly tinged with blue, and many moulins and ice-bridges of an intense, bright blue. From Waiho, the Franz Josef forms the nearest highway across the Alps into Canterbury--a long climb up the glacier and over the snowy saddle at its head, then down the steep slope of another glacier to the Tasman. On my first visit, under the careful guidance of a Westland guide whose home is at Waiho, and who knows and loves the glacier and mountains as his intimate friends, I explored the lower slopes of the Franz Josef. We went together as far up the glacier as a hut which had just been built, three hours' climb from the terminal face. At this point a rocky mountain spur juts out into the glacier--Cape Defiance it is aptly named--and on this spur, some few hundred feet above the glacier, a little platform has been levelled, and a hut of wood and iron put up. It is like the hut by the Hooker Glacier on the other side of the Alps, and is divided by a wooden partition into two rooms, with six bunks in each room, but instead of an oil stove, the Cape Defiance Hut has an open fireplace made of flat grey stones from the mountain side. The hut is perfectly fitted together; and every strip of corrugated iron and wood used in it has been carried on men's backs up the glacier in loads of fifty to sixty pounds--there is no other way, and the two men who did it all needed to be mountaineers as well as carpenters. This hut was put up at Government expense, it is provisioned and kept going by private enterprise, and the guiding in Westland is in private hands. Round the hut grow ferns and a bushy tangle of ribbon-wood, broom and coprosma trees, and from its windows you look up towards the head of the glacier or across to the mountains on the opposite side, and on the far side of a small tributary glacier behind Cape Defiance, you hear a waterfall thundering down from a height of a thousand feet. The first winter snow had fallen and the whole glacier was covered with fresh snow, making walking easier over the slippery ice, but as we climbed higher the snow was deeper--almost up to my knees--and when after sunset we reached the hut, we found it half-buried in snow, with snow-drifts two or three feet deep all round it. The snow was speedily shovelled away, and a cheerful log fire soon blazed on the open hearth. At eight o'clock that night the moon rose, full and brilliant, and from the door of the hut we saw glacier and mountains distinct in the moonlight: at our feet the full width of the glacier, its uneven edges stretching upwards to a great ice-fall of white and towering pinnacles, its lower slopes vanishing into the night: meeting the snow of the glacier was the fresh white snow of the mountains rising from it--an unbroken expanse of snow low down, but above a mingling of brown rock and whiteness against the blue sky, and the blue was a deep violet shade, changing to sapphire where the clear moon shone serenely. Very few stars were visible, but one planet gleamed like a lamp over the crest of the mountain opposite, and above our heads shone the Southern Cross--the five stars of the cross guarded by two bright pointers, shining even more brilliantly than the Cross itself--while over the glacier, behind the topmost pinnacles, floated a few soft, white, fleecy clouds. I was the first lady to sleep in the Cape Defiance Hut, and found my bunk most comfortable with mattress and blankets, and for pillow, a spare blanket slipped inside a pillow-slip. I was offered a hot water bottle, but declined that, and though water in my room froze during the night, I was perfectly warm. Next morning before I got up my guide brought me a cup of tea and a biscuit, then hot water in a billy for me to wash in. For breakfast I had a poached egg served on hot buttered toast, and cups of delicious coffee--and all these luxuries on the edge of a glacier! The snow was too deep for us to go higher on the glacier, so we climbed a short way up the mountain behind the hut, where we found a convenient bare patch, sheltered by an overhanging rock, and could sit down on the rucksack and study the view. We were only two thousand feet above sea level, and there in front of us was the Tasman Sea, its irregular coastline sixteen miles distant; the sea was a smooth grey, backed by level grey and yellow clouds--a quiet, lonely sea, and on its surface no faintest trace of fishing boat or steamer. Just within the coastline glimmered the waters of a peaceful lagoon, and to the right, among the trees, shone a large lake, the surface ruffled by wind, which gave the effect of a fringe of snow on the far side. Between the foot of the glacier and the sea flowed the Waiho River, blue amid the pearly shingle of its wide bed. There is flat land sparsely covered with rough grass and shrub on both sides of the Waiho, then between river and sea stretch ridge behind ridge of low bush-covered hills, the furthest jutting out steeply into the ocean. Beyond the glacier, on the opposite side to where we sat, lies a long level ridge, densely clothed with forest trees, and over them lay the snow gradually melting in the hot sun. Behind the wooded range are higher mountains, and at right angles to them, covering the lower levels, are miles of forest, deep green at first, paling through greens and greys to dimmest grey, where the line of forest meets the dim, grey sea. Looking up the glacier, we could see two rocky peaks which stand some miles above the head, but not the actual head of the glacier, or the snowfield which feeds it. As we saw it that morning the Franz Josef was one magnificent ice-fall--the topmost ridge of huge ice-crags sharply outlined against the blue, and then a steep descent of rough broken ice, and over all a spotless mantle of snow, white and glistening in the sunshine: mountain and glacier and snow-sprinkled forests combined to make one glorious scene of wintry splendour. [Illustration: FRANZ JOSEF AND ALMER GLACIERS FROM CAPE DEFIANCE. _To face page 110_] Back to the hut for an early lunch, after which we washed plates and cups, swept the floor, folded up the blankets, sorted out the provisions, put out the fire with a sprinkling of snow, and with key in the lock outside, we left the hut to its winter solitude. Twenty miles from the Franz Josef Glacier is another, the Fox, which is eleven miles long, and this too, like the Franz Josef, comes down among the forest and ends in a winding river. To reach the Fox glacier, I rode on horseback through the bush, down the "Main South Road"--such a pretty road--worn bare in places by waggons and horses' feet, but for the most part soft with grass and moss, with grassy margins bordering the forest. After about eight miles, the road becomes a mere track, steep and often stony, and across it are cut shallow water-courses, lined with stones and the stems of tree-ferns; the whole road is continually being improved and widened, and in a few years settlers will be able to drive a carriage where they must now either ride or walk. At intervals by the side of the track are huts, usually of corrugated iron: one was of logs roofed with shingles, and one of fern stems, and along a section on which several men were working, we saw tents of canvas or white calico. The permanent iron huts are put up at Government expense, for the use primarily of surveyors, gold prospectors or roadmen, but any traveller is at liberty to light a fire and spend the night in one of them. At one such hut, standing in a grass paddock, fenced in with barbed wire, we dismounted, turned the horses loose to feed and walked in: it was a small, one-roomed hut, and had four wooden bunks stocked with straw and bracken for bedding, a wide open fireplace, and two wooden benches. We soon had a good fire of dry logs, and when the billy boiled we made tea, and ate our lunch in the sunny paddock, surrounded by bush-covered hills and the remoteness of the forest world. The aloofness of the "back blocks" is amazing, so vast and yet so friendly; in the forest itself you have only the birds for company, and they are all fearless and trustful, and unsuspecting of any danger from stick or gun: sometimes near a homestead you see cows or sheep grazing by tracks or river-beds, but the only native four-footed animals in all New Zealand are two varieties of bats, and its forests have no snakes or hurtful creatures of any kind. The people, too, who live among the Westland forests, share in the friendliness of the forest birds; even alone on a bush track at night, I always felt quite sure that if I did meet anyone--roadman or surveyor--he would simply be very glad to see me and would do anything in his power to help me. The Main South Road goes up three steep hills and down into the valleys between, over rivers and creeks, and always it is a forest road, and we looked through brown trunks and twining lianes and waving fern-fronds upon trees of every shade of green, down in the valleys and up the hillsides, and often some glorious snowy peak crowning the forest. Wherever the hill has been cut away in making the track the once bare soil is covered with ferns and mosses. We rode by walls of green flecked with red, where long glossy ferns and trailing festons of lycopodiums, all copper and green, stretched out to touch us as we passed; and down the cliffs tumbled sparkling waterfalls to join the brawling streams below. At sunset, we came to the brow of a long steep hill, overlooking a wide fertile plain--two silvery rivers winding through it; in the distance low bush-hills, and over them as the sun went down, a pink haze, through which the dark trees showed as through a filmy transparency, in front of a clear sky, blue tinged with green. At Weheka, the homestead where we stayed, I learnt a little about life in remote places: here we were eighty-seven miles from train or doctor, but always, through the telephone, in touch with the world outside. When anyone is ill, the doctor is rung up at Ross or Hokitika, and symptoms are described, and remedies are sent by the next mail--a doctor's visit costs forty or fifty pounds, and in case of emergency each settler must be his own doctor. For children in these country districts Government provides "household schools," allowing £6 a head per annum for three or more children of school age, and a teacher is sent from the nearest school, or sometimes the mother of the children is the teacher; when there are as many as seven children to be taught, a schoolroom is built for them near the homestead, and desks and maps are provided. Round Weheka a good deal of land has been cleared and sown with grass, and our host was shortly sending two hundred bullocks to the market at Hokitika, over a hundred miles away. This farmhouse grows every year more modern and up-to-date. The original homestead was a small one-roomed hut planted in the forest. The present house is roomy and comfortable, with large sitting-room and many bedrooms, the kitchen is a big room apart from the rest, and yet another building is the bathroom, in which is a large bath and a cold water tap, and near all the rest is the Government school. When I first stayed at Weheka, music was provided by an excellent gramophone, but the following year I found a new piano, and one daughter was learning to play the piano, and another the violin. At first the house was lighted by oil lamps and candles, now electric light has been installed, and an electric globe greets you at the garden-gate. There is only one other house near the homestead, but the Main South Road goes on bravely for thirteen miles to the next house, and beyond that to another settlement fifty miles further south. The day following my arrival at Weheka, I was taken on the Fox Glacier. Compared with the Franz Josef the Fox Glacier carries a quantity of moraine, the terminal face slopes gently down to the valley, and above it are boulders and stones, of every size; many of them are covered with bright red lichen, which makes them look as though they had been sprinkled with brick-dust. The lower ice is in smooth layers, and when you have safely crossed the tempestuous Fox River and scrambled over the loose rubble of the moraine, walking on the glacier itself presents no difficulty. At one time this glacier stood at a far higher level, and one high rock-face has deep grooves worn in it by the stones carried down in distant ages. Under the rock with its deep grooves, the ice has been forced into huge curves through the variation in its rate of flow: the centre of the glacier moves most quickly, and the ice at the edge has been left behind and wedged against the mountain side: in its efforts to move on, the ice river has become twisted into the strangest contortions, and you can trace cause and effect with unmistakeable clearness. From a point only a mile up we had a splendid view towards the head of the glacier. Ridges of rock and snow stand above it, and on their right is one tall white peak, beyond which the glacier rises and curves round in a sweeping ice-fall of pinnacles, all jagged white ice shot with green. Looking back down the valley, we saw the sea lying in grey streaks on the distant horizon. Forest and ice meet at the glacier's edge; we boiled ice-water in the billy, and sat on a grey pebbly beach, under the shelter of a big tree-veronica. The day had been grey and gloomy, but at sunset, as we left the glacier, the sun shone out, first lighting up the yellow autumn leaves of the fuchsia trees as from the glow of a fiery furnace, then flooding all the forest with golden light, so that for a few minutes all the bush was turned to gold, with the glacier behind part white and part grey shadow, until the sun sank below the horizon, and all was grey. CHAPTER X THROUGH THE BULLER VALLEY I first went into Westland from Christchurch by way of the Otira Gorge: I left it for Wellington by way of the Buller Gorge and the town of Nelson. For three days the return journey is the same--the drive by coach to Ross and the railway to Greymouth: here, instead of turning east to cross the mountains, you go on still by railway, over the Grey River and into the province of Nelson as far as Reefton, where at present the line ends, though it is gradually being continued further north. Motor cars meet the train and take passengers on for the remaining fifty miles between Reefton and Westport, running for a great part of the journey through the Buller Gorge, close to the Buller River. It is a very fine river, from two to three chains wide, and a great volume of brown water flows swiftly between high tree-covered cliffs. There is very little room for the road, which in places has been cut on the face of the cliff overhanging the river, and now on the opposite side trees are being felled and the beauty of the river injured to make a way for the new railroad. There is a certain sameness in the scenery, beautiful though it undoubtedly is--mile after mile of rounded hills of varying height, all uniformly covered with luxuriant growth of pines, beeches, fuchsias, veronicas and tree-ferns, and ever the brown river flowing below. Westport is the centre of the coal-mining industry--a small and dreary town of wooden houses and straight streets, at the head of a desolate plain backed by low forest-hills. It has a harbour at the mouth of the Buller, and here I watched trucks being unloaded into the hold of a small steamer. It was a most scientific unlading--the crane hoisted up the loaded truck and kept it suspended over the hold, then the bottom of the truck opened, and all the coal came tumbling out exactly as it was wanted. After one night at Westport, a motor coach took me back through the Buller Gorge and on up the Buller Valley, until twenty-seven miles from Westport it left me at a small hotel; here I had lunch, and afterwards went on again in a coach drawn by four sleek and well-groomed horses. All that afternoon we drove by the side of the Buller River, and all the time the scenery was fine--high cliffs and dense forests, and sometimes through a break in the cliffs we saw a high distant mountain peak, white with freshly fallen snow. The river-bed has been very rich in gold, and some is still found, though the claims are now not worked very energetically; one sluicing hose, that should have been at work tearing down the rock, was aimlessly pouring water with great force back into the river. It was the end of May and cold--as the driver sympathetically remarked "too late in the season for the Buller." I was very glad to see the first twenty miles, but after that, I wearied of forest and cliff; there was too much scenery endlessly repeated, and I was too cold to enjoy it. The last few miles we drove in the dark, and finally came to a little township in an open valley, and here stayed for the night. This valley and the hills surrounding it are all being cleared for grazing land, and up to the very tops of the hills are blackened tree-trunks, while grass is springing up everywhere round the half-burnt stumps. For another ten miles beyond the little settlement the road still follows the course of the Buller, which is now a narrow mountain stream of dark green water, hurrying along between high wooded banks, until at last--and I rejoiced in the change--it branches off, and up another valley and over a low saddle to Glenhope, another small settlement, where we again reach a railway and are able to proceed by train to Nelson. After travelling for two days through a wild and for the most part uninhabited country, the town of Nelson and the smiling fertility of the hollow in which it lies come as a complete and happy surprise. All round Nelson the land is highly cultivated, with hop-gardens and fruit orchards, and though the nearer hills have lost their forest growth and are bare of all but grass, the town itself is lavishly planted with many trees, the berberis hedges were a mass of crimson leaf, and yellow cassias and wattles were flowering, even in mid-winter. Nelson is known in this land of sunshine as "Sunny Nelson," and now that a private donor has generously given a site, there is presently to be built here a Solar Observatory, from which scientists may study the sun. The town has eight thousand inhabitants, good hotels and shops, and fine wide streets; a museum too, and public flower gardens. On rising ground among the trees at the head of the main street--Trafalgar Street--stands the Anglican Cathedral, of wood, painted red; it has a shingle roof and tapering spire, and a broad flight of white stone steps leads up to it: they are very handsome steps, but look a little incongruous so close to the wooden walls. There is a big jam factory at which fruit is tinned and a great deal of excellent jam made: there is no temptation to adulterate the jams, as fruit comes to the factory in greater quantity than the makers can use--peaches, nectarines, apricots, plums, strawberries or quinces--one of the men told me that quince jam is the only kind they are ever asked to send to England: in New Zealand, where quinces grow in such abundance that they are often left to rot on the ground, it is a jam of little account. In the main, Nelson is a delightful residential town, with good schools and plenty of pleasant houses standing in pretty gardens. Only a mile from the town is the port and the open sea, and by the sand dunes of a wide bay cottages are being built by the people of Nelson, and here they come and picnic, and enjoy sea bathing and golf and wonderful views across the bay, of snowy mountains and blue hills. The hills have as foreground a wide stretch of open country, neither hilly nor flat, but crumpled into little ridges running in all directions. This crumpled land is the district of Moutere, and here it has recently been discovered that apples grow better than they do anywhere else in the neighbourhood, so all who have land there are turning it to account for apple orchards. The great excitement of the place just then was the visit to the port of H.M.S. "New Zealand." Hundreds of people went aboard and were shown the ship and many of her treasures--such as signed portraits of the King and Queen, hanging on either side of a glass case containing presents given to the ship--silver gilt cups, massive branched candlesticks and Maori curios; portraits too of Dick Seddon and Sir Joseph Ward. Officers and men were entertained in the town, and the sailors gave exhibitions of naval drill and sports in a large paddock near the port. June 3rd, the King's birthday, is observed through the Dominion as a general holiday. It was winter certainly, but the sun shone and the air was mild, and friends took me out picnicing. First we drove three miles in an open carriage to a reservoir on the outskirts of the town, from there a steep track took us into the bush, and by a trickling stream we piled up sticks and boiled the billy, and then sat down for tea on a mossy bank overlooking a wooded ravine. It was all very pleasant and a little unexpected at that time of year, but other picnic parties were doing the same. From Nelson steamers run to Wellington. Nelson is situated at the north of South Island, and Wellington at the extreme southern point of North Island, but between the two places lie many miles of coastline, and the voyage takes several hours--from early morning until late at night, if as on the day when I crossed Cook Strait, the steamer calls in at Picton. Between Nelson and Picton the land shows a very curious geological formation--a flat tableland cut through by deep gorges up which the sea flows in long curving arms, and all the arms or "sounds" are indented with numberless bays, large and small, and off the coast and within the sounds are many rocky, tree-clad islands. At the entrance to Pelorus Sound the boats have for many years been met by a white dolphin--Pelorus Jack--who always escorted them up to Picton. Jack was specially protected by Act of Parliament, but for over a year nothing has been seen of him, and his old friends fear that he is dead. The steamer hugs the coast and you admire the high cliffs and forests and the waterways that separate them. We turned up Queen Charlotte Sound--a narrow entrance and then a long landlocked harbour, up which it took two hours to steam. On either side were high bush hills, cleared in places for grass; round us played a large shoal of porpoises, the great creatures often jumping right out of the water close to the ship, while all the time grey gulls circled gracefully round and round. At Picton we found H.M.S. "New Zealand" again on view, anchored behind a small island at the head of the sound; the town was crowded with people who had come to see her and join in the festivities, and outside the Town Hall were decorations of tree-ferns and feathery rimu branches. That evening we had a calm and uneventful journey down the sound, then suddenly as the ship entered Cook Strait, she lurched over, and continued to roll and pitch for the next two hours. I think most of the passengers were glad to be at peace and safely berthed in Wellington Harbour. CHAPTER XI THE COPLAND PASS As seen from the Hermitage, the Southern Alps form an apparently impassable barrier between Canterbury on the east and the Province of Westland lying between the mountains and the western sea. There are certainly no coach roads or bridle tracks across the snow, but with the help of a guide, a good walker, however inexperienced in mountaineering, can without much difficulty cross the mountains by one of the passes or saddles which divide some of the high peaks. Accordingly, early in April, I was ready to cross the Copland Pass with a guide who was returning to Westland--the same guide who last year took me on the Franz Josef glacier. Among the mountains the weather is always an uncertain quantity, and the day fixed for leaving the Hermitage was hopelessly wet, so we had to wait. The next day was fine, so in the afternoon we started and walked along the track for seven miles up the valley to the Hooker Hut, hoping to spend one night there and go on next day. All that night rain poured in torrents and the wind howled round the hut in furious gusts. Now this hut with its framework of wood looks very fragile, and as it rocked and shook me in my bunk all night I wondered would it stand the strain. I was assured in the morning that it was built on very solid foundations and anchored firmly to the rock, and not at all likely to be blown over. That day and the following night the wind and rain continued, so we left the hut and tramped back to the Hermitage and there stayed for another two days. On a beautiful sunshiny afternoon we tried again, and as we walked up to the hut, Mount Cook shone pink in the evening glow, the sky behind the mountains and away southwards down the Tasman Valley was blue and clear, with a few dainty clouds, and there seemed every prospect of fine weather. During the night up sprang the wind, and it was blowing hard as we left the hut to have a look at the pass. From the Hooker Hut a rough track leads up and over the tops of rocky ridges, where sometimes there is no track at all, but you must climb with hands as well as feet, and on this particular day the wind was so strong that I could only just manage to stand or breathe, and was glad to be securely roped to my guide and know that if I did fall it would not be far. After two hours' climbing, we had sleet driving against our faces to contend with as well as wind, and higher up a snowstorm was raging, so back we turned, and were glad to reach the shelter of the hut once more. Snow fell round the hut during the night, but cleared off the next morning, and soon after nine o'clock we made another start. The day was quite still, hardly a blade of grass moved, masses of white fleecy clouds floated round and above the mountains, and as the sun grew stronger, light mists rose from the valley below us, and scattered like thin gauze among the clouds. The Hermitage showed clearly in the valley, its white wall and red roof in sharp relief against a background of dark green and brown hillside; in front of the Hermitage the wide-stretching grey shingle of the Tasman river-bed, with the river apparently running uphill towards Lake Pukaki, very blue and distinct forty miles away, and having the curious effect of a lake up in the sky; behind the lake, brown mountains sprinkled with snow showing plainly against flat, indigo-coloured clouds, and over all a clear dome of pale blue. Climbing up the track was easy work on such a quiet morning, and we had at first no use for the rope. After the rock-ridge come snow-slopes, where there is always the possibility of slipping, so the guide put me on the rope and went ahead, kicking steps in the soft snow, or cutting them with his ice-axe where the snow was frozen. We went along the edges of deep crevasses and past lovely ice-caverns, where fringes of glittering icicles guard the entrances to blue recesses in the white ice, and up one short ice wall, where hand holes were cut as well as steps, and I climbed with hands and feet from one step to the next, with the help of my axe stuck firmly in the ledge above. At twelve o'clock we gained the summit, 7,000 feet above sea level, and found a narrow rock-wall, a succession of sharply toothed rocks, too sharp for snow to lodge on them, standing with their bases in the snow. We stood there, beside the rocky wall, with one hand in Westland and the other in Canterbury. It was now a radiant day of brilliant sunshine and deep blue sky, and we were surrounded by white peaks towering majestically into the blue heaven. Looking back, we had a fine view of Mount Cook and the Mount Cook Range, striking off at right angles to the main Divide. Mount Cook stood at the head, very snowy and beautiful, and the mountains of that range were a series of sharp rocky peaks, with patches of last year's snow on their summits, and a powdery sprinkling of fresh snow reaching far down their sides. Looking along the main Divide to the south, were peaks of rock and snow between us and the whiteness of Mounts Footstool and Sefton. These giants of respectively over nine and ten thousand feet rise up grandly from the valley--their steep, snowy summits glittering in the sunlight, then rough ridges of rock alternating with glacier and snowfield, falling away by degrees to the sheer mountain side of brown rock and sombre green bush. Beyond Sefton and at right angles to the main range were more peaks of rock and snow; facing us were other mountains; far below lay the Copland Valley, a silver stream flowing through it, and behind the brown peaks opposite, half hidden by billowy white clouds, we had a distant glimpse of the blue sea. The whole scene was as fair and wonderful as anyone could wish for. [Illustration: MOUNTS SEFTON AND FOOTSTOOL FROM COPLAND PASS. _To face page 132._] There are higher and grander mountains in other parts of the world, but perhaps none more satisfyingly beautiful than the New Zealand Alps, which always give one a happy feeling that they are exactly right, and could not possibly be altered for the better. Our next move was the descent into Westland. My guide stood in Canterbury and hauled me over the summit like a sack of potatoes, and then told me to slide down on to a narrow ledge, where I had for my only hand-holds rock thickly glazed with ice; and then to stand upright in snow which, apparently, had no bottom but infinity: not altogether liking the look of it, I rashly said, "I can't," and was answered instantly and very firmly with, "You must." So I had to make the best of it, and with the rope to steady me, found it quite simple after all. When the guide had scrambled over, he again took the lead, and went forward through the soft snow, kicking steps in a long steep slope, which led us out on a stretch of rough moraine, where fragments of rock of all shapes and sizes, with knife-like edges, lay scattered thickly on the mountain side. You learn to walk cautiously on such rocks, as their sharp edges hurt even through strong boots, and not infrequently one treads on a loose stone, and gets an unexpected tumble and a few bruises. Great boulders succeed the moraine, and here we trod on crisp grass, and found a few late white lilies and mountain daisies still in flower. Concealed by loose stones under a particularly huge boulder were cups and a billy. A fire was soon lighted, and we had an excellent lunch of tea and sardine sandwiches. Over our heads flew a couple of keas in plumage of red and green; beyond a steep precipice close at hand thundered a high and sparkling waterfall, while all round us towered the mountains in solitary grandeur. One great charm of mountaineering in New Zealand is its loneliness; you feel that for the time the whole world is yours to enjoy--the beauty and the wonder are for you alone. Right among the Alps there are only two hotels--one on either side--from which it is possible to begin climbing, and if a party sets out to go from one side of the mountains to the other, the fact is known by wire immediately they have started, and news of their arrival is anxiously awaited, and if any delay occurs, an "urgent" telegram is sent round asking for news, so that, wherever you may be, you are always protected by the thoughts of friends from east and west. Not many people have yet discovered the Southern Alps, very few even among the New Zealanders themselves realise how big and marvellous a playground they have in all the Alpine district: in whatever direction you go, you see peaks that no one has yet climbed, and tracts of forest and mountain that are completely unexplored. To climb at all in New Zealand, either on glacier or mountain, you need some share of the spirit of adventure, for you never know at the beginning of the day what you will have done by the end of it; always you must have confidence in your guide, and in your own feet and powers of endurance. There are no planks laid across crevasses or ropes fixed in steep places up the mountains--everything is entirely unspoiled, and the mountains stand as they have done through the centuries before any white man set foot in New Zealand. Until this season there had never been a serious accident to any climber in the Southern Alps, but last February--on February 22nd, 1914--as an experienced English climber and two of the Hermitage guides were descending Mount Cook, they were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and all three killed, and so sad a disaster has thrown a gloom over all this season's climbing. From the rock where my guide and I had lunch, a narrow and well-defined track, made only last year, winds gradually down for two or three miles over rough shingle and across many creeks hurrying from the snows. The track leads away down into the valley, winding in and out among the scrub, where snow grass flourishes, waving creamy tassels above thick clumps of long, bright green streamers; and the hillside is dotted with shrubs, gay with brilliant berries in all shades of red and orange. Always from the track are wonderful views of high, bush-covered hills, with snowy peaks ever rising majestically behind the green. The Alpine plants now give place to the familiar ferns and mosses of the Westland bush, and suddenly the track enters the forest and continues through it for another three miles, sometimes over tree-roots, sometimes leading over rushing torrents where you jump from one boulder to another, but in the main it affords an easy path, until it comes out upon Welcome Flat--a two-mile expanse of open grassy country, with the Copland River running through in many turbulent streams. The streams were too high and swift for me to ford, so my guide took me over on his back, and the water swirled madly round his knees, while I was very safe and quite dry. After the fords we had to leave the river, and strike again into the bush along a disused track, where tree-trunks lay right across the path, bush-lawyers and tree-ferns trailed in our faces, and our feet were entangled in moss-grown roots, and brought up suddenly by deep black hollows, where the wisest course was to sit down and slide from one level to the next. By daylight I am sure this must be an enchanting way through a wealth of forest greenery, but in the dusk and at the end of a long day's tramp it meant a difficult half-hour's scramble, and it was a relief to emerge into the open, and find ourselves at a three-roomed Alpine hut where we stopped for the night. Close to this hut are pools of hot sulphur water, fed continually by hot springs. The pools lie in an open space amid the bush; trees and ferns and green mosses grow down to the water's edge, and between the separate pools of bubbling green water is a wide deposit of silica in varying shades of pink--emeralds in a setting of garnets--and about the pools, steam constantly rising and floating away over the forest. While the fire was being lighted, soup made and peas boiled for dinner, I had a bath in one of the pools, by the light of a lantern stuck on a convenient post, in delightfully warm water, which kept rising in fresh bubbles all over me as I bathed: a dim moon looked down from a cloudy sky, and all was wrapped in the utter peace and quiet of forest and mountain by night. The following day was gloomy, wet and disappointing. All round Welcome Flat rise mountains of rock and snow, behind green bush sloping down to the river valleys; I saw no mountains--nothing but trees and valleys below a line of white, impenetrable mist. I was mounted astride on a horse whose back I shared with the packs--bags of sacking filled with rucksack and other bundles, all carefully covered with more sacking to keep them dry. The track leads always through the forest, up and down among the trees, and over many glacier-fed streams--so rough a track that we could only go at a walking pace. When we came to particularly strong and swift-rushing torrents I had to dismount, and, once safe on a big boulder in midstream, I watched admiringly while his master led the horse through the water, and let him scramble up the loose stones of the opposite bank. At the end of thirteen miles we arrived at a homestead, where it seemed strange to exchange the mountain solitudes for the bustle of farm life, with barking collie dogs, quacking ducks, crowing "roosters," horses, cows and sheep, and people constantly coming and going in and out of a comfortable house, standing in its gay flower-garden, surrounded by green paddocks. We were hungry, and very glad to eat an excellent dinner of roast duck and apple pie, and I was content to rest by a glowing fire and go early to bed. In the morning, we hired a second horse, and rode the last stage of thirty miles at a good pace, with a long stop at another homestead for lunch. This was a better day than the previous one, part sunny and part gloomy, and I had good views of the mountains. After a few miles, the road--for it is more than a bridle-track just here--leaves the forest and comes out on a wide shingle flat. Among the grey stones a river wanders in many devious branches. Some of the streams were shallow, but one, where the current swirled furiously along, was well over our horses' knees as we forded it. On the further side of the river we stopped, for this is one of the best view-points in all South Westland. Looking eastward to the mountains, we saw, through floating masses of white cloud, the peaks which I have learnt to know from the other side of the Alps. Haidinger Peak showed square and white against blue sky, and we had fleeting glimpses of Mounts Cook and Tasman--the latter, a sharp snowy peak at the head of the Fox Glacier. Below Mount Tasman the glacier curves down in a broad sweep of white ice, between sombre green forests, towards the river-valleys. From where our horses stood, the wide river-bed--grey shingle with silver streaks of water--made a spacious foreground to the mountains. All about us were low-growing, green shrubs, and tall, feathery, white sprays of "toi-toi" grass. On our left, looking down the river, were low, bush-covered hills, separated by broad gaps, where, only a few miles distant, several rivers flow into the Tasman Sea. To-day's ride was not lacking in excitement. The previous night there had been a high gale, the telephone wire was down at the fords; and in the forest, trees had been blown across road and wire, one tree so big that it completely blocked the way, and we had to get off our horses. The guide rapidly cut off straggling branches with an axe, which he had brought in case of accidents; we then climbed the trunk, and the horses easily jumped over. We came safely to our journey's end at Waiho Gorge, by the Franz Josef glacier, at nightfall, greeted cheerily by the light streaming through the open door of the hotel, and by the kindly welcome of my last year's friends. [Illustration: GLACIER HOTEL, WAIHO GORGE. _To face page 143._] CHAPTER XII THE WESTLAND GLACIERS I was back at Waiho Gorge and content--seventy miles from the nearest train, and with a mail once a week. At Waiho, there are a few small huts, three cottages and the hotel. The Glacier Hotel is a two-storied wooden building, with verandah and balcony, and accommodation for between thirty and forty; it has a dining-room, smoking-room and two sitting-rooms, in one of which is an excellent piano; there are two bathrooms with a good supply of hot and cold water, and soon the house will be lighted by electricity--the power to be brought from a convenient waterfall close by. Under the same roof is a store, where you can buy groceries, boot-laces and tobacco, and in the same store you find a post-office with a telephone--that indispensable luxury of the back blocks. It is in the parish of Ross, and four times a year the Anglican clergyman drives seventy miles to hold a service. While I was staying here, the Bishop of Christchurch took a journey of two hundred miles to conduct a Confirmation in the smoking-room: there were nine candidates, some of whom had come more than forty miles. The Presbyterian minister also comes from Ross and holds a service, and sometimes the Roman Catholic priest spends a night at the hotel. At this hotel, tourists may feel that they are visitors and friends, so kindly is their welcome, and so homelike and pleasant are the arrangements made for them. No one need be dull--something is always happening--a draper comes through with his pack of goods for sale; a farmer rides up with his daughters from a homestead thirty miles south, on their way to a dance held in a hall twenty miles further on; news too continually filters through--for the settlers all know one another, and take the keenest interest in each other's welfare. Catering is sometimes difficult. There are cows for milk, chickens and a kitchen garden, sheep too, in paddocks not far off; but all other provisions must either come in the weekly coach or by steamer to the small township of Okarito, seventeen miles away. Okarito is like other west coast harbours, in having a bar, which, in stormy weather, makes it impossible for even a small steamer to enter or leave the port. Often, for weeks at a time, the inhabitants of Waiho Gorge must depend on the mail coach for their supplies. I had come back to learn more of the mountains and their ways, if only the weather would allow me to climb. For a short expedition up the Franz Josef Glacier, a hut stocked with provisions and blankets stands ready a few hours' tramp from Waiho, and for a day on the Fox, the farmhouse at Weheka serves as base; but for any long climb up either glacier, the climber must be equipped with tent, sleeping-bag, food, clothes, and sometimes a small spirit-stove. The great drawback to such mountaineering is that these necessaries must all be carried, and, as my guide considered that I had enough to do to carry myself, my only share was my own small camera. In Westland, an Alpine tent is made of thin white mackintosh, with mackintosh floor and loose outer fly, also of mackintosh. The tent measures six feet by seven feet. The ridge-pole is of rope slipped through the top of the tent, and fastened securely to the spikes of two ice-axes set up at each end. The rope is next made firm round heavy stones, and the strings of the fly are held in place by more stones. Sleeping-bags are of eider-down or of blankets doubled over and stitched. For food you have bread, butter, tinned meats, tinned fruit, tea and milk. I spent several nights in a tent and found it surprisingly comfortable. When the tent has to be pitched on bare rock, the floor, in spite of extra clothing and a sleeping-bag, makes a hard bed, especially if bad weather compels you to stay in the tent longer than one night; but if it is possible to camp near shrubs, you can then collect branches and ferns, and these, packed closely together under the mackintosh, make a floor like a spring mattress. Whichever it was--either soft or hard--I contrived to sleep very well. My first long expedition from Waiho was up the Franz Josef Glacier to Cape Defiance Hut, with a climb next day up Mount Moltke, a mountain which rises immediately behind the hut and is between seven and eight thousand feet in height. It is an easy climb. After an early breakfast we left the hut at half-past seven. First we climbed up a rough track through the bush, where coprosmas and currant-trees bore dense and gorgeous clusters of berries--red, yellow and pink; then over grassy slopes, and on and up, by rocky ridges and snowfields; again more rocks and more steep slopes of snow, until at eleven o'clock, we stood on the summit, with the pure air and the view for our reward. On one side is the sea, to-day only partially seen through great masses of cloud floating below us. On the other side, all was clear, and before us stretched, from north to south, the whole range of the main Divide, from Elie de Beaumont to Mount Cook and beyond--a vision of whiteness on their background of blue sky. While we watched, the distant peaks gradually disappeared behind white mist, and presently, as we climbed down the snow-slopes, we too were enveloped in mist, and walked as grey ghosts in a ghostly world. Before reaching Cape Defiance, the mist cleared, and out shone the sun once more. From Waiho, the Franz Josef Glacier with its great white steps is a road ever beckoning onwards, and the ascent of Moltke is, so to speak, a halt by the way. It was the end of April, and the Franz Josef was even more deeply crevassed than the Tasman had been a month before; the weather too was unsettled, with heavy clouds in the west--not fit weather in which to begin a long climb. After ten days of watching and waiting, the weather cleared. We, that is, the guide and I, left Waiho on a radiant afternoon, and climbed up to Cape Defiance Hut. Here we were welcomed enthusiastically by keas, young and old, who chattered on the bushes or hopped inside the hut. The following day was still fine, so after an early lunch, we set out to cross the glacier, the guide carrying our tent, food and change of clothing. At first the ice was smooth and easy to walk on, gradually the cracks grew deeper and the ridges narrower, and I had to be roped and to wait patiently while many steps were cut, and twice the guide left me sitting on the rucksack and went ahead to pick out the best route for us both to take. The glacier here is steep as well as broken, and you climb a thousand feet in a very short time. [Illustration: ICE PINNACLES, ALMER GLACIER. _To face page 149._] We were by this time close to the side, opposite the Almer Glacier, a fine little glacier which fairly tumbles down the mountain side, ending in an extraordinary array of huge broken pinnacles, like so many Leaning Towers of Pisa--blocks of green and white ice, with summits half-melted and all ready to fall. We hurried quickly past, and, once on the mountain, were soon safe from danger of falling pinnacles or rolling boulder. A stiff climb of an hour took us up the ridge. First we climbed on loose shingle, then over rocks and slopes of slippery snow-grass; and, at about five thousand feet, we stood on the snow-line, among patches of snow, lying between big grey rocks. Even at this height, there were many roots of an Alpine ranunculus with leaves like those of an English buttercup, growing side by side with the edelweiss. The only bird was a tiny mountain wren with no tail, which fluttered about the rocks. Our tent was pitched on the bare rock, and, with the help of a spirit "cooker," we had an excellent hot stew, followed by tinned apricots and many cups of tea. At eight o'clock it began to rain, and rained or snowed quietly and continuously all night long. At dawn a thick mist hid glacier and mountains. We had hoped to climb up behind the Almer Glacier, and to ascend Mount Drummond, a mountain over eight thousand feet, which only one man, a surveyor, has ever climbed. With the weather in its present mood, we could only wait where we were, and in the intervals of eating and sleeping, we whiled away the time in playing patience, with the cards set out on a towel on the floor. It cleared a little in the afternoon, and we were able to crawl out and stretch our legs by scrambling up the rocks at the back of the tent. We felt cheered too, as we could again see the Franz Josef Glacier and dim outlines of the mountains. After a chilly night, we had breakfast by candle-light at six o'clock. Later the sun rose in a cloudless, pale blue sky, showing snow lying in a thin covering close round our tent, and the tent fly coated with frozen sleet. In spite of blue sky the weather still looked uncertain--not suitable for our intended attempt to climb Mount Drummond. We could only take advantage of the good weather while it lasted, and so we climbed higher up the snow-slopes of the rock on which we had camped, and over a steep ridge above the snow-slopes. From this point we had an excellent view of the head of the Franz Josef, and could see some four miles of its course curving downwards far beneath in a confused mass of broken ice--white shot with blue. The glacier is fed by an immense field of pure white snow, behind which rise several high peaks of the Alps. Directly opposite us was Graham's Saddle--a broad white stairway leading between two of the peaks, and affording access, as I knew, to the Tasman Glacier on the other side. Rocky spurs run out from the dividing range, and from another range at right angles, into this vast snowfield; and near the junction of the latter range with the Divide, Mount Spencer erects a steep, snowy cone of over 9,000 feet. On our way back to camp, we stopped to look for quartz crystals, which form here in quantities, and stick out at all angles from the sides and overhanging portions of the rocks: most of them are clear as glass, six-sided and sharply pointed, some are an opaque green; they vary in size from an eighth of an inch to two or three inches, and are very hard to detach, even with the sharp point of an ice-axe. As we rolled up the tent, the weather was clouding over, and no sooner were we well on the ice of the Franz Josef than snow began to fall, and continued falling until we reached Cape Defiance Hut. It was not an enjoyable tramp down the glacier in the driving snow and on ice with a surface of polished glass--indeed it was one of those days that make you wonder whether it is worth while to climb at all. One old kea emphatically disapproved; he joined us, and perched on the ice near, and remonstrated loudly with us at our rashness in venturing on such a day; at last, we spoke so threateningly that he flew off in disgust. We were soon soaked to the skin, as snow quickly finds its way through woollen jersey or tweed coat, and one cannot climb in a mackintosh. After six hours' incessant climbing, it was good to be safe inside the hut, and enjoy a fire, hot tea and dry blankets. After the snowstorm came a high wind, which howled furiously round the hut that night. It was blowing still, when on the following afternoon we started on our final three hours' climb down the glacier; but it was sunny too, and the hot sun had slightly melted the ice, and made it less slippery, so that climbing was easier than on the previous day. As we came back along the forest track to Waiho Gorge, the wind dropped completely, and the close of the day could not have been more lovely. There, behind the forests, stood Mount Drummond, and its resplendent whiteness and inaccessibility seemed to mock us from afar. The bad weather had made everyone in the valley anxious, fearing lest our tent might have been blown over or the glacier have proved impassable, and that morning two men had set forth towards the glacier as a search party, and had returned relieved, after seeing two black specks moving among the ice-falls. Three weeks later we made another attempt to climb Mount Drummond. All went well between Waiho and Cape Defiance; the glacier was in perfect condition, and you could walk anywhere without the least difficulty. On the following day we crossed the glacier immediately below the hut, and were dismayed to find the surface more smoothly polished and glasslike than on the day when we came down from the Almer; we could not walk a yard without step-cutting, and we took two hours to climb three quarters of a mile. That brought us to the nearest point on the opposite side: to climb further would have been sheer waste of time. All we could do was to scramble a short way up the mountain side, and pitch the tent, hoping for better weather on the morrow. Alas for our hopes! The morning dawned dull and gloomy, with thick clouds rolling up from the sea, and by the time we had struck camp, down came the rain, and we had a wet and tedious climb back to Cape Defiance. Rain poured in torrents all the next day, so we waited at the hut. The next day again was equally wet; however, at breakfast we finished our last crumbs of bread and biscuit, and were compelled to go, however bad the weather. The keas had entertained us during our stay at Cape Defiance by their absurd cries and friendly inquisitiveness, and a whole troop of them escorted us some way down the glacier, until finding our progress very slow, they flew away to shelter. We were absent so long, that when in the afternoon we walked calmly into the hotel, we found that a search party was intending to start with lanterns at five o'clock next morning to look for us. On the Fox Glacier we had fewer adventures, and were more successful in carrying through what we attempted, though there too we were compelled to strike camp in the rain and trudge back to the homestead, drenched to the skin and with our mountain unclimbed. At last came a bright sunny morning, free from any threatening cloud-bank out to sea. We set off hopefully on horseback and rode three miles through the bush to the foot of the glacier. We left the horses to feed along the track, then climbed for three hours up the glacier. Next we lighted a fire among the stones, in a sheltered nook under the steep mountain side, and had lunch and a short spell. Above its first smooth layers of ice the Fox is tremendously broken into gigantic pinnacles, impossible for climbing, and you are forced to take refuge amongst boulders and slippery rocks at the side. Higher still is the main ice-fall of the Fox--more pinnacles and ridges of ice coming down between the mountains in a wide frozen cascade--almost as magnificent as the great ice-fall on the Franz Josef. We crossed the glacier at the foot of the fall and did not attempt to climb up far among the séracs, but made for the side, and wormed our way up steep gullies through coarse wet grass, and then scrambled along smooth, glacier-worn rocks high above, where we held on carefully to flax, cotton-grass, or any overhanging branch. Late in the afternoon we came out on the bed of a precipitous creek, and on the further side of it found a small platform, some ten feet by seven, thickly overgrown with rank green grass, open to the glacier on one side, and on the others ringed about closely with many trees. Here we pitched the tent, with a soft floor of ferns and the leafy branches of veronicas, senecios and broadleaf trees. A fireplace of stones was soon built against the mountain side among ferns and biddies, and the wood fire burnt cheerily: it was too cold for sitting outside, so we had dinner inside the tent, looking out at our camp-fire and the dark cliff beyond the noisy creek; later the moon rose, showing the glacier beneath, white in the moonlight. At 9 p.m. we crawled into our sleeping-bags and slept. We awoke cold during the night, but after warming the tent with a small spirit lamp, we ate slices of currant loaf, and soon went to sleep again. At four-thirty the camp fire was lighted, and at five o'clock we had breakfast. It was an excellent breakfast of tea, bread and butter and delicious nectarine jam, and I even had a boiled egg. At seven we left our camp and set off up the creek-bed for the summit of Chancellor Ridge. The dawn was clear and cold, with the glacier and forests in cold grey shadow; the sea was a quiet grey, and above the horizon we saw the shadow of the earth in deep blue-grey on a sky of orange. Striking away from the creek across slopes of snow grass, we climbed up rocky ridges, and at about five thousand feet came out on a bare ridge, where I was put on the rope: then on up a steep snowfield, and over a rounded dome of snow where the surface was like pie-crust; next over slippery ice which had a sprinkling of snow, and where steps had to be chipped. Finally we had a stiff climb up the actual summit--a short and steep knob of rock, half concealed by snow; and on the top we found a tiny ledge of grey rock, with streaks of white and green quartz, and scanty green moss clinging to it. The summit is only between seven and eight thousand feet high, in New Zealand hardly to be considered a mountain, still, when we gained it successfully, my guide said briefly: "First lady to reach the summit, I must congratulate you." So we shook hands and were happy. [Illustration: MOUNT MOLTKE AND VICTORIA GLACIER FROM CHANCELLOR RIDGE. _To face page 159._] It was now ten o'clock and brilliantly sunny, and we stood alone in a world of snow. Below lay the head of the Fox Glacier--a great snowfield encircled by mountains. Immediately above the head of the glacier stood Mount Tasman, only a couple of miles from us, its base firmly planted in the snow, from base to summit clothed in a spotless mantle of pure white. On the far side of the range bounding the Fox, was Mount Cook: as seen from this point, a snow mountain of one aspiring peak. To the left of Tasman stretched a succession of snow-clad mountains, continuing until joined by another range at right-angles. Rising in a mountain at the head of the latter range, was the Victoria Glacier--a long river of dirty white ice, flowing down towards the Fox in a deep valley on the left of Chancellor Ridge. The main direction of the Southern Alps is parallel with the coastline, and when we turned our backs upon Mount Tasman we looked across the Victoria Glacier to a dazzling snow peak beyond, and down the Fox valley with its forest ranges to boundless miles of blue sea. On the sea--apparently floating on its surface--were narrow strips of cloud--grey, white and gold--and on the shore, some twenty miles distant, we saw lines of white surf on the irregular beaches between the tree-clad bluffs. After a well-earned lunch of sardines, sandwiches and pineapple, we retraced our steps down the slopes of snow to the rocky ridge, and from there took a different route and climbed down a steep rock-face. It was not very easy climbing, as the ground, sheltered from the sun, was still frozen hard; so my guide kept a cautious hand on the rope, while I found foothold and handhold. Below the rock-face we came back to snow grass and stony creeks, and so to last night's camping ground. At half-past two we left the camp for the climb down. While we were still on the glacier, the sun set in a sky of deep red, changing to orange, yellow and pale blue. Ice-steps are hard to see in the short New Zealand dusk, and by the time we reached the final moraine it was quite dark, and we congratulated ourselves on being safely off the ice. No horses were to be found, so we had to walk for the last three miles through the bush, and at half-past seven walked quietly into the farmhouse sitting-room, tired but triumphant. For a final view of the mountains, nothing can be better than a ride down the Waiho river-bed to the coast. The Waiho is a short river of thirteen miles, flowing in a river-bed three-quarters of a mile wide. It flows always as a roaring torrent, sometimes a narrow blue stream through the grey stones, but in flood-time a mighty river of yellow water churning madly between its banks, and whirling along with it lumps of ice, stones and mighty forest trees. By the river banks and on rocky islands in its bed are many low-growing shrubs, most of them some variety of coprosma--"black scrub" as the settlers call it--which may either creep along the ground or grow to a height of ten feet; and in the autumn every bush, large and small, was laden with berries--berries of black, crimson, scarlet, orange, white, grey or blue. Many of the berries are translucent, and shine in the sunlight like beads of Venetian glass, and the trees are blue or red from top to bottom with only slight suggestions of green leaf and black twig. In New Zealand the mistletoe berry is yellow, and was particularly abundant this autumn, growing on any tree, among branches already lavishly gay. Above the river banks tall currant-trees bear clusters of pink, white or black berries, while the pines have berries of red or purple. Often too, hanging from the branches of the trees, and twining round the ferns and drooping grey-green "gie-gies" which clothe their trunks, are garlands of scarlet supple-jack. With the Waiho at its normal level, one can ride close to the water, and the horses will pick their way carefully among the boulders and fallen tree-trunks, cantering on any smooth stretch of grass. While the horse chooses the way, his rider is free to give full attention to the beauty of river, mountain and forest. Looking back from the mouth of the river we saw the whole range of the Alps. In the centre of the picture was the Franz Josef Glacier with its immense white snowfield behind, and the Almer Glacier flowing into it on the left: prominent above the snowfield stood Mount Spencer in raiment of white, like a stately lady proud of her position: stretching away from Mount Spencer and the Franz Josef Glacier on either side, as far as eye could see, peak after peak was outlined in delicate purity against the blue, the summits varying in height and shape, some broad and rounded, others sharp and pointed, no peak standing out unduly from the rest--a range of mountains absolutely right in proportion, one harmonious whole, and all beautiful together. As seen from here, the Alps have as foreground forest-clad mountains encircling the Franz Josef Glacier and rising one behind the other below the snowy peaks; gradually they give place to quite low hills and to the scrub of the river-bed on which our horses stood. As we rode on towards the sea, we passed clear pools left by the river in the shingle, and in the still water the mountains were reflected; we saw Mount Cook, Tasman and the rest at our very feet, while in reality they were at a distance of forty miles and more. To-day all was calm, but the Waiho in its short course of thirteen miles can be cruel and terrible, and only lately a man was drowned as he tried to cross it. Lying in the river-bed are the gaunt bleached corpses of forest-trees, a few all the way and very many at the mouth, where they lie thickly along the shore; these trees had their roots undermined by the Waiho in flood-time, and when the flood went down the trees fell and died--they were the one sad sight of an otherwise perfect morning. After rounding a steep bush-clad bluff, we came out on the shore of the Tasman Sea, a quiet grey and blue sea, with the tide coming in, and great white curling breakers dashing against the beach--those mighty breakers which are ever rolling on the Pacific coasts--we cantered through the surf on firm grey sand, the spray flying round us as we rode. Ever in the distance, against the blue, rose the snowy peaks, whose loveliness compelled us to look again and yet again, until it was a relief to rest the eyes on the grey sameness of the sand. Forty years ago this beach was thronged with miners seeking gold; now not one lives here, and there is very little gold left, though we did come across three "beach combers," who were washing sand in wooden troughs, in the hope of finding a deposit of gold at the bottom. [Illustration: SOUTHERN ALPS FROM MOUTH OF WAIHO RIVER. _To face page 164._] The bluffs, which here run down to the sea, are ancient glacial moraines--high-piled heaps of boulders and loose soil, covered now with wind-swept tea-tree bushes, tall forest trees and crimson rata vine, and between the headlands, where once the glaciers flowed, are peaceful lagoons bordered with flax plants and rushes. At low tide you may skirt the bluffs on the sand between sea and cliff, but sometimes you must ride over them--up a steep track through scrub and forest, where a horse accustomed to the beach will carry you safely; and from his back, you look down through tall brown trunks on the blue sea far below. A ride of six miles from the mouth of the Waiho brings you to Okarito--a tiny township and port--its one street all grass-grown, and only a few houses and the wharf to mark what was, in the days of gold, a big and thriving town. In those days it had two Churches, many banks and hotels, and in the saloons, gay doings night after night. Another eight mile ride through the forest brought us to a small hotel, where I joined the mail coach which took me back to trains and towns, and very sorrowfully I said goodbye to the mountains and to my friends in Westland. CHAPTER XIII THE WAITOMO CAVES As in other countries, so in New Zealand, there are limestone caves, with stalactites and stalagmites, and all their effect of wonder and mystery. They are found in some of the low hills which rise in the heart of the Maori-owned "King Country," and as they are only a few miles from the Main Trunk railway line, which connects Wellington with Auckland, they can be very conveniently visited by tourists going north or south. The distance from Wellington to the caves is three hundred miles. Even on the main lines the average speed of an express train is only twenty-five miles an hour, so that a journey of three hundred miles takes a whole day, and gives the traveller many excellent opportunities for studying the landscape. The trains run on a 3 foot 10 inch gauge; except for a few miles in the South Island, there is but a single line throughout the Dominion; often the trains accomplish well-nigh impossible feats in crawling up and down precipitous gorges, and yet so carefully are they handled that an accident is almost an unheard-of occurrence. Nearly all the first-class carriages are on the corridor plan, with a gangway up the middle. There are two seats on one side and only one on the other, and the seats have movable backs, made to face either way. The seats are numbered and can be reserved separately. The second-class cars have straight rows of cushioned seats set lengthwise along the sides of the train and are not very comfortable; the fares on them are the same as the English third-class fares, while the first-class fare is always half as much again. There is never any difficulty about food on a long journey. The express trains have restaurant cars and provide excellent meals, charging only 2s. for early dinner or late tea. If you happen to be on a train that has no restaurant car, the train considerately stops at suitable hours for lunch or tea, and you find everything ready, either at the station refreshment room or in a hotel close by, and are warned, at the end of your meal, by a loudly-rung handbell, that the train is ready to go on again. Neither is there the least difficulty with luggage. The check system is in vogue. On showing your ticket, each box is labelled and numbered, duplicates of the numbers are given to the passenger, and the New Zealand Government assumes full responsibility for the luggage. On a through ticket from Wellington to Auckland, the traveller may, after the first thirty miles, break his journey as often as he pleases, and, if he takes two days or a month on the road, will find his belongings safely stored in the Auckland Left Luggage Office. On leaving Wellington, the railway skirts the west coast, and runs through rocky country, gracefully covered with native trees, chiefly manuka and kowhai: I was there in winter, too soon to see the yellow fringes of kowhai bloom, which in September are "Flung for gift on Taupo's face, Sign that Spring is come." The kowhai is one of the prettiest trees, with feathery green leaves and laburnum-like flowers, and shares with the fuchsia and the ribbon-wood the distinction of losing its leaves in the winter, and standing, though only for a short time, with bare branches. The views are fine on either side. On the west you look out on the ocean and a succession of irregular bays, whose high cliffs rise steeply up from the water: some miles away to the east, stand ranges of snow-capped mountains, remote and beautiful, with white clouds floating between the peaks. Between the mountains and the sea is level ground, excellent for grazing and dairying, and settlements and towns are rapidly growing. To the north of the plains is a rough country of swamp alternating with low, rounded hills. This land has been partly cleared and the beginning of settlements made, grass is sown in places and cabbage trees are left standing in the paddocks. Beyond, come stretches of fern and scrub--bracken and tea-tree repeated indefinitely for many miles--until presently the line runs through vast forests--thousands of acres of big bush--pines, ratas and the rest, with all their glorious entanglement of creepers and ferns. Later, while the train still runs through the forests, passengers wrap themselves in their rugs and try to sleep. It is not a very successful attempt, as at each stop you are roused--sometimes by the entrance of fresh passengers, and always by the guard who comes round to demand tickets. At midnight I reached my stopping-place, found a hotel and a bed, and slept comfortably. Next morning I was up at 7, and after a good breakfast of fried egg and bacon--the customary fare in country hotels--went on again by train for another fifty miles. At 11 o'clock I reached Hangatiki, a solitary little station, near a hotel and a few small houses. Here a coach with three horses was waiting, to drive the remaining six miles to the Waitomo Caves. The scenery was very much the same as before--small hills and swamp-land, with scrub of fern and manuka, varied by great patches of tall forest-trees. The whole of this district, the so-called "King Country," forms a Maori Kingdom in the centre of the North Island, and is, with the exception of some few holdings, in Maori hands. This land was formally assured to Maori chiefs, after one of the wars between English and Maoris, fifty years ago, and though the Maoris rejoice in its possession, they yet make little use of it. English settlers, who would turn it to good account find it difficult to buy; as, even if one Maori is willing to sell, he cannot sell without the consent of all the other Maoris, who, in common with himself, have rights of possession over any particular section. At Waitomo I found a government hostel, a very imposing two-storied wooden building, lighted by electricity, and with hot and cold water laid on in every bedroom. I was the only tourist, and when I asked the manager if a guide could show me one of the caves after dinner that evening, he expressed great regret that a party of visitors, whom he expected from Rotorua, had not arrived. However, as I was quite certain that I wished to see the caves, even if unattended, he finally summoned the guide, and sent one of the maids from the hotel with me as chaperone. It is no light matter to visit these caves. Having found guide and chaperone, the tourist is next expected to hire a suitable outfit, and to don nailed boots of strong leather, also a tunic and baggy knickers made of blue and white striped galatea, and is finally provided with an oil lantern, while the guide carries a lighted candle and a reel of magnesium wire. The guide proved to be a boy of good education, who had come out from Home in search of adventure, he had worked for a time in a solicitor's office in Wellington, and was doing a little guiding by way of variety. It was a pitch-black night and we were glad of our lanterns. The entrance to the first cave is a quarter of a mile away from the hotel and is approached by a rough and muddy track. You enter the cave through a rocky archway among the bush. This cave was first shown to white men in 1886, though the Maoris knew of it many years ago and avoided it and all such places as the abodes of evil spirits. The Waitomo Cave consists of a vast series of limestone caverns, with endless stalactites hanging from the roofs, and pure white columns rising to meet them from the floor. There is very little bare rock, wherever you look are limestone formations, richly covering the surface and assuming beautiful or most fantastic shapes. One great cluster of columns is like the pipes of an organ; in one cavern you have a poulterer's store, with geese and turkeys, heads downwards, hanging from the ceiling; in another is a greengrocer's shop, with great carrots and parsnips of yellow or creamy limestone; on the floor are many beginnings of stalagmites, formed by the overhead drippings, and which the iron in the water has coloured yellow or brown--these are poached eggs or Stewart Island oysters, according to fancy. In one grotto hangs a beautiful white shawl--the Waitomo Blanket--it hangs in graceful folds, and the iron has given it a broad brown border. All these caves are entirely untouched and unspoilt, they have not been in any way altered or improved, not even by the introduction of electric light. As we went slowly through, the guide kept lighting fresh lengths of magnesium wire, which softly and delightfully illuminated each fresh marvel. In one place he made a veritable bonfire of the wire, and displayed a lofty hall, very white and glittering, ornamented with lovely white pendants of all shapes and sizes. An underground river flows through the caves: when you reach the last cavern, the lights of candle and lantern are extinguished, and in perfect silence and almost total darkness you enter a small boat, which the guide pulls gently along on a wire rope fixed to the wall; then you are told to look up, and there on the roof are myriads of tiny glow-worms, by whose light huge stalactites are visible. The cavern continues for some two hundred yards, with a very uneven roof, all craggy projections of rock and limestone, and in every nook and corner, like stars in the sky, shine glow-worm lamps of varying intensity, giving just light enough to show the outlines of this mysterious place, and in the black water roof and glow-worms are dimly reflected. Next morning I again put on Government boots and cave dress, and, mounted astride on a good horse, went with the guide and a friend of his--a boy from the Waitomo Store--for a short ride of between two and three miles to see two more caves. Both of these were entered by low openings among the trees of a bush-covered hill. The larger of the two has a succession of long narrow passages, connecting several lofty halls, and the walls of passages and grottoes alike are covered with deposits of lime, much of it looking as though incrustations of brown coral had been thickly spread over every square inch of surface. Here too are glittering hanging shapes and many strange formations, some reminding you of huge cauliflowers, others of birds' heads. A narrow stream flows through, and, on the "ghost walk"--most appropriately named--you hear an uncanny noise, caused innocently enough by a waterfall which rushes down the rocks outside. The last cave is the smallest, and, except that it has no glow-worm cavern, the most beautiful of the three Waitomo Caves. Each and all of the caverns and passages which compose it are equally lovely, from floor to roof one gorgeous adornment of pure white crystal, which shines in countless jewelled forms in the glow of the light from the magnesium wire. One hall was particularly beautiful with multitudes of hanging stalactites; another was crowded with slender pillars stretching away into the darkness. In some caverns are small white figures perched on rocky ledges--one set like chessmen on a board; from the roofs of the caverns hang several thin white shawls with hem-stitched edges, while innumerable snowy pendants taper elegantly downwards to meet white columns rising from the floor. The whole effect of this wondrous cave is of some magician's palace of fairyland, built for Oberon and Titania, and to be gazed at in reverent amazement by mortal eyes. Apart from the caves, there is little to detain the traveller at Waitomo. There are few settlements and fewer tracks among the surrounding swamps and forests. I climbed a low hill which has been partially cleared. From the top I looked down upon a very new homestead of wood, its paddocks partly cleared and all fenced in with barbed wire. All round me on every side stretched ridges behind ridges of low hills clothed with sombre forests: while forty miles away, bounding the view to the south, were the snowy peaks of volcanic mountains, one of them over eight thousand feet high. CHAPTER XIV NEW ZEALAND'S WONDERLAND In the middle of the North Island of New Zealand is a marvellous district, stretching from White Island, in the Bay of Plenty, to the active volcano of Ngaruhoe, a hundred and fifty miles to the south, and varying in breadth from ten to twenty miles. Throughout the whole of this area no one knows what will happen next. Strange underground rumblings are heard; earthquake shocks are felt; in places the whole countryside is puffing out volumes of steam; and only twenty-seven years ago, a mountain, believed for centuries to be quite harmless, suddenly burst into violent eruption, and destroyed three villages with over a hundred Maoris and several Europeans. It is all very interesting: but as one man who lives close to a boiling lake explained to me, you can hardly enjoy living there, because you are always close to forces that no one really understands. [Illustration: LAKE ROTORUA. _To face page 179._] For the tourist the centre from which to see all the wonders is Rotorua--a very new town of straight streets at right angles to one another. The houses are of wood, roofed with corrugated iron: it is hardly safe to build with any other material in Rotorua, as two feet below the surface you are always liable to come upon a spring of hot water. The town is owned by the Government, which has built and maintains a hospital and sanatorium and fine bath-houses, surrounded by extensive and well laid-out grounds. In the grounds are planted many firs and gums and tall Australian wattles. When I saw them, the early-flowering wattles were a glory of golden blossom and delicate green leaves under the bright blue sky of a New Zealand winter. There are flower-beds with daffodils and other bulbs, rose-trees, and all the flowers of an English garden; also good tennis lawns and bowling-greens, and both town and gardens are set by the shores of a big shining lake. Round the lake are low, rather bare green hills, and on one side a mountain of two thousand feet. The first thing about Rotorua that strikes the visitor as strange is the smell of sulphur, which greets you even before the train stops at the railway station, and which you never lose while you remain in the place. When you walk out to see the town, your second surprise is the steam. It is not actually in the streets; but less than two miles away, behind a long avenue of gum-trees, you see masses of steam constantly rising in larger or smaller columns, and by the lake and away on the opposite side, more puffs of steam. The steam comes from hot springs and hot rivulets, which you find side by side with streams of cold water, from pools of boiling mud, and from fascinating geysers. A regular cluster of all these marvels is to be seen beyond the gum-trees, at Whaka, in a few acres of rocky white ground, overgrown with thickets of stunted "manuka" scrub, with its tiny evergreen leaves and rough brown stem. There is a large Maori settlement here, and another close to the cold water of Rotorua Lake, among more boiling pools and springs. The Maoris have always loved the hot water, and Maori villages have existed here long before Europeans thought of making a town and using Rotorua as a health resort. The Maoris use the hot pools to bathe in, and the Maori women wash their clothes in the hot streams, rubbing the things with soap on a convenient stone, and then boiling them in a still hotter stream close at hand. They even use the springs for cooking. They fix a wooden box over a steaming patch of soil; inside the box they place the kettle or the pot filled with meat and vegetables, cover the whole with coarse sacking and leave the food to simmer. As you walk about these strange places, the ground, sprinkled with sulphur, alum, red or yellow ochre, is hot under your feet. At Whaka you unexpectedly come upon deep holes where dark grey mud is always boiling. In one corner is a large pool of oily mud boiling perpetually in circles, and as it boils, the mud goes leaping up into the air like a company of frogs. There are many geysers here, but they are less active than formerly, and the most wonderful--which, with the help of bars of soap thrown down its throat, used to play always in honour of any royal personage--has not played for several years. How am I to describe a geyser? You walk on hot ground up to a low mound of white rock with a round hole in the middle of it. You look into the hole, and see, far below, bubbling water, with steam rising from it--very innocent apparently. Presently you are warned to stand back, and up comes the hot water, rushing through the geyser's throat, straight at first, then sloping outwards, and rising to any height from two feet to a hundred, in a beautiful spreading column of sparkling drops, curving over at the top like an ostrich feather; and round the water and above it steam rises in clouds. Some geysers play with absolute regularity, every four minutes or every half hour or at some other fixed time; others are more capricious, and play only once or twice a day, and at quite irregular intervals. I waited a whole afternoon hoping that the best of the Whaka geysers would play, and in the end it did, and up gushed the hot water to a height of forty feet or so--a magnificent display of sparkling diamonds. Most of these hot waters contain sulphur and other minerals, and bathing in them is an excellent cure for rheumatism, skin complaints and other ailments. In Rotorua you can even have a delightful bath of liquid mud, which is like grey cream mixed with oil, and makes one's skin feel as soft as silk. The railroad ends at Rotorua. Beyond, you must either drive in coach or motor, ride on horseback, or go in a steam launch across the lake. The country round is singularly desolate and almost uninhabited. Mile after mile the roads run between low hills covered with bracken and manuka scrub, with here and there some scanty tussock grass. Many thousands of pines, larches, gums and birches have been planted by prisoners who are kept in camps among the hills, and more trees are being planted all the time and are growing well; so, in a few years, the countryside will look less dreary. Among the low undulating hills other solitary hills stand out, of strange forbidding shape, either flat-topped ridges or cones--most of them extinct volcanoes, or not quite extinct even now: as from some of them puffs of steam are always rising, not from the tops of the hills, but from cracks on the hillsides. In some places the scattered puffs are concentrated in great blowholes: you hear a mighty roar inside the hill, and from a narrow throat-hole a gigantic mass of steam comes pouring out perpetually--the safety-valve of some internal machine. At Waimangu, seventeen miles from Rotorua, I was shown the spot where two girls and a man were all killed by a geyser a few years ago. The girls had been warned not to go too close, but they were anxious to take photographs and disregarded the warning. The guide sprang forward to pull them back, when suddenly up spouted the geyser to the extraordinary height of fifteen hundred feet, and the boiling water dashed down upon them all and carried them away and killed them in an instant. Since that tragedy the geyser has not played again, but a blowhole close by is beginning to send out jets of water as well as steam, and may in time develop into a geyser. Waimangu is only a few miles from Tarawera Mountain, which in June, 1886, burst into eruption, and covered everything within a radius of eight miles with a deep deposit of grey mud, and scattered thin layers of mud and ashes to a much greater distance. After the eruption, a very heavy rain fell and wore deep channels in all directions through the mud. In consequence, round Waimangu and the adjoining lake of Rotomahana you see the strangest, most desolate scenery of grey gullies, by this time scantily sprinkled with bracken and "toi-toi" grass, a tall, white-flowering grass like pampas grass. Waimangu itself is principally a valley of steam, sulphur, boiling mud, and little mud volcanoes. On the ground are deposits of sulphur and alum, and you walk cautiously on patches of hot, dry ground. Among the hot mud and through it all runs a hot stream, with some variety of green algæ growing in it. The hot stream flows into Rotomahana Lake, where once the famous pink and white terraces were to be seen: they were destroyed by the Tarawera eruption. Still the lake is sufficiently wonderful: a lake of chalky blue water, actually boiling at one end and cold at the other, lying in a crater, with the high, oblong-shaped mass of Tarawera Mountain on one side. A great gap in the side of the mountain is plainly visible, reminding all who see it of the hidden forces ever at work. On the other side of a low ridge, half a mile away, is Tarawera Lake, several miles across--a lake of quite ordinary, clear, cold water. The hills surrounding it are partly covered with bush, and among the living trees still stand the skeletons of trees destroyed by the eruption. A few miles from Waimangu is another valley, and in it a succession of primrose-coloured terraces, which are gradually being formed of silica left by the overflow of a lake of boiling sulphur, and very pretty they are. A lake of yellowish green water lies above several long shallow steps of pale primrose silica; all around are clumps of manuka and patches of brilliantly green mosses; and looking across the terraces, you see mile beyond mile of level plain, all a study in browns, with a dim blue ridge of hill on the distant horizon. Each of these wonder-spots has some special characteristic which distinguishes it from the others. The valley of the primrose terraces was one of sulphur--fringes of yellow sulphur floating round the edges of hot green lakes and pools; sulphur surrounding hot steam-holes; sulphur colouring the rocks and lying thickly upon the ground. In another place, where, again I saw sulphur, alum and hot springs, the chief wonder was the boiling mud: horrible, deep pools of dark grey mud and petroleum, always working away and heaving themselves up and down like the huge cauldrons of wicked witches. Fifty miles south of Rotorua is Weirakei. Here you see a marvellous valley, which not only has excellent examples of all the strange sights of this wonderland, but is also exceedingly pretty. It is a narrow valley, on either side are high cliffs of grey rock streaked with pink. At the bottom, among dainty ferns and bright green moss and silvery lichen runs a brawling stream of clear, cold, blue water. Beside the stream, and up the cliff sides, grow quantities of manuka, with feathery green sprays; and other shrubs, with tiny green leaves and small white berries: and on every hand, puffs of steam rise and float away over the greenery. This valley is specially noted for geysers, which play in absolute regularity one after another in beautiful columns of glittering water-drops, the columns varying in height from ten to forty feet. One geyser shoots out from a truly awesome opening, in shape like a dragon's mouth, formed in a mass of old-rose coloured silica, and torrents of boiling water pour out of the mouth and down a steep slope of more pink silica, and you stand on hot rock at the bottom of the slope, watching the water come right up to your feet. Below the geyser is another wonder--a small pool, deep blue in colour, and from its depths some gas is continually rising to the surface, like a flash of dazzling lightning. This is a valley of many colours; the deposits of silica are of white, pink, or emerald-green--there are mud-pools of cream or pink, where the boiling mud rises up and falls over in shapes resembling roses or lilies: and always the setting is of green, leafy sprays, emerald mosses and luxuriant ferns. Near Weirakei is another valley, where the stream which flows through it is a boiling creek, fed by tiny tributary streams of boiling water, all of chalky white. Half-way up this valley is a wide waterfall of boiling water tumbling over salmon-coloured cliffs; and all about, watered by the hot spray, grow lovely ferns and feathery manuka. There are three little pools in a cluster, two quite hot and one cold, their margins only a foot apart. You see a large lake of hot blue water, and on its surface is a floating scum like oily soapsuds. There are twin lakelets of brilliant blue. Deep down in a hollow is a lake of deep rose-colour. Side by side are lakelets, one of deep blue, the other of emerald green. You are shown a large mud volcano. Near it is a deep hole of fathomless black water. At the entrance of the valley is a big lake of hot blue water, surrounded by high grey cliffs. Here and throughout the thermal district, it is wise to follow the guide warily among the scrub and on the hot rock, for outside the track are holes and swamps; and if you once slip, you may get a scald from which you will never recover. Six miles beyond Weirakei is Taupo Lake, a great lake, twenty-five miles long. On the right of it are dim grey hills; and opposite them high cliffs of grey, streaked with pink and white. Beyond the far end of the lake, on a clear day, are to be seen snow-covered mountains, one of them a still active volcano, with smoke pouring out from its snowy crater. To the east of Rotorua, between that town and the Bay of Plenty, is still volcanic country, but the strange sights grow gradually less frequent. You see occasional puffs of steam among the bracken, and are told of hot springs where refreshing baths may be taken, but it is all a more normal country of lake, forest and swamp-land. A coach road, principally composed of yellow sand--as stone is scarce or almost unobtainable--runs from Rotorua to the Bay, a distance of eighty miles, and a very good road it is in dry weather. It runs past lakes surrounded by untouched bush, through the heart of sombre forests, and up and down steep gorges, where you see magnificent tree-ferns, "nikau" palms and many giant trees. The North Island forest is different from that in the South Island, though some of the trees are the same. There are still rimus and other pines, but the feathery beeches of the south are less frequent. The trees in the north are on the whole more massive and gloomy: there are great "tawas" and honeysuckles, with enormous trunks and dark glossy leaves; also many great ratas and totaras. The supple-jack erects its slender black stems among the tall trees, and the bush-lawyer drapes fuchsias and tree-ferns with festoons of green; but it is all far less luxuriant than the Westland bush. There are fewer ferns and mosses, often you see patches of bare brown earth among bare tree-trunks, and, scattered frequently through this northern forest, are the bleached branches of dead or dying trees. Some twenty miles from the sea, the hills, which in this part of New Zealand run down to the coast in long parallel ridges, stand back on either side, and the country opens out into a great plain--eighty thousand acres of swamp-land. This will one day be some of the most fertile land in the district. It is now being drained by a steam dredge, which forces its way straight through the swamp, leaving a wide dyke of dark brown water. At the beginning of the swamp there is a wide river, to be crossed only by a flat-bottomed punt, worked on a steel cable. The passengers sit still and the horses are driven on to the boat, and the current quickly pushes the boat to the opposite side. Later, the road runs along the coast, and reaches an inlet from the ocean of, perhaps, a mile wide. The water has to be crossed in a little ferry boat, worked by oil and petrol. The horses are quite used to it and go up the hanging gangway willingly enough; but sometimes, when the sea is rough, it is not safe to venture, and passengers must wait for several hours on an inhospitable, sandy shore. All this part of the country through which the coach runs, from Rotorua to Opotiki, on the Bay of Plenty, is some of the most isolated in New Zealand. Inland are scattered Maori settlements, and tiny English townships by the coast. During the last few years the land away back has been, to a great extent, taken up--forests are being cut down and swamps drained--and in a few years' time, the east coast will be one of the chief centres for sheep runs and dairy farms. On the Bay of Plenty, settlers tell you of cows and sheep, the price of wool and the prospects of new cheese factories. In spite of that you are still in "Uncanny Country," for there, forty miles out to sea, is the cone of White Island, which was once an active volcano. Its activities are now reduced to a large blowhole and a lake of ever-boiling sulphur, from both of which by day and night pour forth volumes of steam, and sometimes the north wind carries the smell of sulphur to you across the bay. CHAPTER XV AUCKLAND The people of Auckland love to think of their city as "last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart," and when they are away from it, they miss its sunny climate, with the glint of the sunlight on the water and through the water of its spacious harbours. It is the largest town in New Zealand, and has a population of one hundred and ten thousand inhabitants. It is situated on a neck of land, at its narrowest only eight miles wide, with the shining sea on both sides; and it is to its position that Auckland owes its unique and elusive charm. There are two harbours--one on the east, the other on the west, and at the eastern harbour wharves are built; here big ships lie at anchor close to the main streets of the city, and an excellent service of trams connects the wharves with shops and hotels and distant suburbs. When in 1840, New Zealand was declared a British colony, it was decided to make Auckland the capital, and so it remained until 1864, when the seat of Government was transferred to Wellington, as being more central for the whole country. The site of Auckland itself as well as the country round it is all volcanic, and in every direction are small cone-shaped, grass-covered hills, each just high enough for a pleasant afternoon's walk. From any one of their summits you look down on an innocent crater at your feet; on the hillside sheep browse and citizens play golf; and beyond, on a clear day, Auckland lies spread out before you--its streets and harbours, with sea and islands and distant forest ranges. The eastern harbour has no definite entrance, so numerous are the inlets and islands which you see on all sides; but bush-covered Rangitoto Island--a large extinct volcanic cone--forms a wall of several miles to the inner harbour; and for the outer harbour you may look across the Hauraki Gulf to Great Barrier Island, sixty miles away--a fine expanse of water for yachting and all kinds of boating. Auckland is truly a garden city. A deep, green gully, rich in beautiful tree-ferns and other native plants, runs through the centre, spanned by a wide and elegant bridge of iron and white stone; in the middle of the town are delightful public gardens with trees, green grass and gay flower-beds; private houses close to the shops have gardens in which grow violets and great camellia bushes, laden in winter with pink or white blossoms; tall white arum lilies run riot wherever they can find standing room; while close to the harbour are survivals of the ancient forest--big, gnarled Christmas trees, in summer a mass of crimson bloom. Just outside the chief thoroughfare is the Domain--a hundred acres of park-land with grass and groups of trees--the inalienable property of all the citizens. The town and suburbs are scattered over several miles. There are groups of houses beside the Domain; others encircling the green conical hills; and often the houses are built near some arm of the harbour, separated from it by trees and grass and a steep cliff, with always wide open views of sea and tree-clad islands. [Illustration: MAORI ANCESTRAL FIGURE. _To face page 197._] Even more delightful than its natural beauties is the fact that Auckland has no slums. There are a few narrow streets and mean houses, but the overcrowding and dirt of the poorer quarters of an English town do not exist, and the Auckland city authorities have firmly resolved that they never shall. There is plenty of space, so the houses need not be built too close together, and very few of them are of more than two stories; and as there is far more than enough work for everybody, there need be no poverty. The Anglican Cathedral is a fine wooden building, the outside painted red, while inside, the wood panelling from floor to ceiling is beautifully polished and left absolutely plain. It is just a hundred years since the Rev. Samuel Marsden and his helpers preached Christianity to the Maoris, and most of them are now at least nominal Christians, and they have all given up cannibalism. Auckland has a very good museum and two picture galleries. The museum has a magnificent Maori war canoe with exquisitively carved prow; parts of carved or painted houses; and a complete specimen of a Maori dwelling-house made of native bulrush, the long brown leaves packed closely together both for roof and walls, and fastened securely to a framework of wood. A large number of the exhibits, including most of the native weapons--clubs of stone, greenstone or wood, stone axe-heads and wooden spears--were given by Sir George Grey, who was for many years Governor of New Zealand. There are many specimens of more peaceful implements: fish-hooks made of bone or of glittering "pawa" shell; carved canoe balers, like large wooden slippers; also several fishing-nets. You see a large wicker birdcage of Maori workmanship, and a number of calabashes for holding water; these latter are made out of gourds, and the gourds were originally brought by the Maoris in their canoes from Hawaika. There is a quantity of kauri gum, and many ornaments made from it--all a clear yellow amber colour. In the art galleries are pictures both by English and New Zealand artists--some of England, Italy or the Mediterranean, others of New Zealand subjects. One of the most striking represents the coming of the Maoris in the Arawa Canoe--supposed to have been in the fourteenth century. The coast of the new country is shown as a distant, blue headland; on the green sea is the brown canoe, crammed with swarthy, brown bodies in the last stages of exhaustion; some of the men able to point out the land, and some looking eagerly, others too weary to care. How men provided with only frail wooden canoes ever dared to leave their homes in some far northern island of the Pacific seems an almost incredible venture of faith: and that they actually voyaged safely for several hundred miles, and in the end found "Ao Tea Roa"--the Land of the Long White Cloud--as they poetically called their new home, is more astonishing still. Goldie, a New Zealand artist, has very arresting portraits of Maoris. One picture is called "Memories," and shows an old Maori woman brooding over the past glories of her race; the whole face is instinct with thought and feeling, the brown eyes downcast, the skin wrinkled, blue tattoo markings are very plain on the chin, the hair is grey and abundant, and in her ears are long greenstone earrings. The second picture is of a man--a fine type of warrior and cannibal, his face tattooed all over in a geometrical pattern, and the lower lip protruding--a sign that he has lived largely on human flesh. Yet another portrait is of a young and handsome girl, with dark hair and eyes, full red lips, and a clear, brown complexion. From Auckland, I took a journey of over a hundred miles, in search of a kauri pine forest. The kauri is the king of the New Zealand forest trees and takes a thousand years to come to maturity. It is found only in the northern half of the North Island. Through the kindness of the Auckland Tourist Bureau and the Kauri Timber Company, special arrangements were made for me to see some forests, on the south-east of Auckland, where the trees are now being felled. I had first a train journey of six hours. The train ran through a level country of swamps alternating with stretches of bracken and manuka scrub, with here and there uncut patches of forest, to the small town of Te Aroha. Here I stayed for the night. I spent my spare time in climbing half-way up a little, wooded hill behind the town, and from this point gained a glorious view. On the one side lay the blue Hauraki Gulf, shimmering under golden sunset rays; and on the other stretched a great plain, through which wound a blue river, to lose itself in the far distance; and beyond the furthest gleam of the river, with the clear blue sky for background, stood a high, bush-covered mountain, glowing with soft rose-colour as the sun went down. Next morning I went on again for another hour and a half, and was met on the platform of a tiny country station by the local manager for the Kauri Timber Company. He took me to a curious conveyance strongly built of wood, drawn by a pony and running on tramway lines--a most convenient carriage; for when it was necessary to pass a timber truck, the wheels were taken off the lines, and when the truck had gone by they were put on again. In this carriage we drove for nine miles right into the heart of the bush. We went first through partially cleared country, with a few scattered homesteads; then past bush from which the kauri has been cut, and through acres of which forest fires have swept, leaving bare hillsides and blackened stumps. Here we saw the canvas tents of gum-diggers, who spend their days in searching for gum left many years ago by kauris long since dead. The men are usually Austrians from Croatia, and, I was told, a fine set of people. They probe the ground with long iron rods, and when the point of the rod sticks to gum they begin to dig, and often are successful in digging up huge blocks of clear yellow gum, which they sell at a good price. The gum is either turned into varnish, or used, like European amber, for ornaments. Growing among magnificent bush of beeches, ratas, red pines and other trees, we saw at last the precious kauri pine--some small trees no thicker than a man's arm, and others giants of twenty feet in girth. The full-grown kauri has a clean, straight trunk of sixty to a hundred feet without a branch; and then a massive head of stout branches stretching out on all sides for another sixty feet, and bearing thick tufts of small green leaves, growing very close together on their stems. The bark is the prettiest colour--pearly grey mottled with pink. We could hear the sound of axes hammering some distance away. After a picnic lunch at the manager's hut, the manager took me over a rough bridge of kauris thrown from side to side of a swift-flowing stream, and then along the edge of a deep trough of yellow mud and on through the forest, until we found men at work among the kauri pines. Some of them were fixing an iron chain round a great log about twelve feet long and six in diameter; when the chain was firmly screwed down, it was attached to an iron rope which ran alongside the mud-trough and across the creek to the engine-house. A shrill whistle was sounded, the engine set in motion, and the log, with a mighty heave, began to move. At turning corners it required great care from the bushmen, and at last it ploughed its way safely through the mud, and was brought quietly to rest by the engine house. Kauri timber is excellent for all purposes of building and furniture, and is now being rapidly cut down; in another twenty years or so, except for scattered trees in inaccessible places, very few will be left. On my way back to Auckland--a different journey by rail and steamer--a friend had arranged for me to be shown over a gold-mine. Accordingly, I stopped at Thames, a small town nestling under green hills beside a broad estuary at the mouth of the Thames River. The clerk at the booking-office kindly rang up a taxi for me, and I was then driven through the town to the Watchman Mine. To reach the mine, I was taken half-way up one of the hills to the entrance of the mine--a large, roughly-cut hole, with a passage running straight into the hill. From outside the entrance the view was a splendid one--I looked down on the town beneath and the wide river-mouth, which on the far side is bounded by irregular hills. I could see too for many miles up the Thames Valley--a wide, open plain, at present almost uncultivated, but destined one day to be rich in dairy farms and grain--and towards the head of the valley rose distant blue hills. So often in New Zealand you see this combination of plain and river and distant mountains, all fresh and unspoilt in the bright sunshine and clear atmosphere of a land where smoking factories are rare and fogs unknown. The mine itself I found to be a succession of dry, dark passages, through which we walked, holding lighted candles. The mine is most scientifically worked. The direction of the gold-bearing reefs is ascertained by experts, and the quartz, in which the gold lies buried, is blasted by dynamite. The quartz is next taken in trucks on a wonderful aerial tramway to a thoroughly up-to-date battery in the valley below. Here the quartz is crushed and mixed with water, and the mud is then treated with cyanide of potassium, which, after separating the gold, deposits it on zinc shavings. This sort of gold-mining seemed to me a very terrible occupation, when I heard that the miners often get killed through an unexpected explosion of dynamite; and even if the dynamite leaves them unscathed, after working a certain number of years, they get "miners' complaint," and die, choked with dust. I sailed from Auckland for Sydney on a sunny July day in New Zealand's mid-winter, very sorry to leave such a beautiful country, and the many friends who had done everything in their power to make my visit a pleasant one. Travel Books from HEATH, CRANTON & CO'S LIST AMERICA, OLD AND NEW: Professor J. Nelson Fraser, M.A., =7/6= net. IN FOREIGN LANDS: Professor J. Nelson Fraser, M.A. =7/6= net. THE AWAKENING OF THE DESERT (Illustrated): J. C. Birge. =7/6= net. TRAVELS EAST OF SUEZ (Illustrated): Rachel Humphreys, F.R.G.S. =7/6= net. CAPITALS OF THE NORTHLANDS (Illustrated): Ian C. Hannah, M.A. =6/-= net. SCRAMBLES IN STORM AND SUNSHINE (Illustrated): E. Elliot Stock. =6/-= net. THE LANDS OF THE LORDS MARCHERS (Illustrated): E. Elliot Stock. =5/-= net. A JOURNEY WITH A KNAPSACK (Illustrated): Reginald Rogers. =3/6= net. LITTLE SKETCHES OF FRENCH CHATEAUX (Illustrated): Reginald Rogers. =2/6= net. A NORTHERN VOYAGE (Illustrated): Reginald Rogers. =2/-= net. AN ENGLISH GIRL IN TOKYO (Illustrated): Teresa E. Richardson. =2/-= net. SEND FOR FLEET LANE, COMPLETE LIST. LONDON. BRISTOL: BURLEIGH LTD. AT THE BURLEIGH PRESS TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE -Plain print and punctuation errors fixed. 
6104	----	STATION LIFE IN NEW ZEALAND By Lady Barker. 1883 Preface. These letters, their writer is aware, justly incur the reproach of egotism and triviality; at the same time she did not see how this was to be avoided, without lessening their value as the exact account of a lady's experience of the brighter and less practical side of colonization. They are published as no guide or handbook for "the intending emigrant;" that person has already a literature to himself, and will scarcely find here so much as a single statistic. They simply record the expeditions, adventures, and emergencies diversifying the daily life of the wife of a New Zealand sheep-farmer; and, as each was written while the novelty and excitement of the scenes it describes were fresh upon her, they may succeed in giving here in England an adequate impression of the delight and freedom of an existence so far removed from our own highly-wrought civilization: not failing in this, the writer will gladly bear the burden of any critical rebuke the letters deserve. One thing she hopes will plainly appear,--that, however hard it was to part, by the width of the whole earth, from dear friends and spots scarcely less dear, yet she soon found in that new country new friends and a new home; costing her in their turn almost as many parting regrets as the old. F. N. B. Letter I: Two months at sea--Melbourne. Port Phillip Hotel, Melbourne. September 22d, 1865. .... Now I must give you an account of our voyage: it has been a very quick one for the immense distance traversed, sometimes under canvas, but generally steaming. We saw no land between the Lizard and Cape Otway light--that is, for fifty-seven days: and oh, the monotony of that time!--the monotony of it! Our decks were so crowded that we divided our walking hours, in order that each set of passengers might have space to move about; for if every one had taken it into their heads to exercise themselves at the same time, we could hardly have exceeded the fisherman's definition of a walk, "two steps and overboard." I am ashamed to say I was more or less ill all the way, but, fortunately, F---- was not, and I rejoiced at this from the most selfish motives, as he was able to take care of me. I find that sea-sickness develops the worst part of one's character with startling rapidity, and, as far as I am concerned, I look back with self-abasement upon my callous indifference to the sufferings of others, and apathetic absorption in my individual misery. Until we had fairly embarked, the well-meaning but ignorant among our friends constantly assured us, with an air of conviction as to the truth and wisdom of their words, that we were going at the very best season of the year; but as soon as we could gather the opinions of those in authority on board, it gradually leaked out that we really had fallen upon quite a wrong time for such a voyage, for we very soon found ourselves in the tropics during their hottest month (early in August), and after having been nearly roasted for three weeks, we plunged abruptly into mid-winter, or at all events very early spring, off the Cape of Good Hope, and went through a season of bitterly cold weather, with three heavy gales. I pitied the poor sailors from the bottom of my heart, at their work all night on decks slippery with ice, and pulling at ropes so frozen that it was almost impossible to bend them; but, thank God, there were no casualties among the men. The last gale was the most severe; they said it was the tail of a cyclone. One is apt on land to regard such phrases as the "shriek of the storm," or "the roar of the waves," as poetical hyperboles; whereas they are very literal and expressive renderings of the sounds of horror incessant throughout a gale at sea. Our cabin, though very nice and comfortable in other respects, possessed an extraordinary attraction for any stray wave which might be wandering about the saloon: once or twice I have been in the cuddy when a sea found its way down the companion, and I have watched with horrible anxiety a ton or so of water hesitating which cabin it should enter and deluge, and it always seemed to choose ours. All these miseries appear now, after even a few days of the blessed land, to belong to a distant past; but I feel inclined to lay my pen down and have a hearty laugh at the recollection of one cold night, when a heavy "thud" burst open our cabin door, and washed out all the stray parcels, boots, etc., from the corners in which the rolling of the ship had previously bestowed them. I was high and dry in the top berth, but poor F---- in the lower recess was awakened by the douche, and no words of mine can convey to you the utter absurdity of his appearance, as he nimbly mounted on the top of a chest of drawers close by, and crouched there, wet and shivering, handing me up a most miscellaneous assortment of goods to take care of in my little dry nest. Some of our fellow-passengers were very good-natured, and devoted themselves to cheering and enlivening us by getting up concerts, little burlesques and other amusements; and very grateful we were for their efforts: they say that "anything is fun in the country," but on board ship a little wit goes a very long way indeed, for all are only too ready and anxious to be amused. The whole dramatic strength of the company was called into force for the performance of "The Rivals," which was given a week or so before the end of the voyage. It went off wonderfully well; but I confess I enjoyed the preparations more than the play itself: the ingenuity displayed was very amusing at the time. You on shore cannot imagine how difficult it was to find a snuff-box for "Sir Anthony Absolute," or with what joy and admiration we welcomed a clever substitute for it in the shape of a match-box covered with the lead out of a tea-chest most ingeniously modelled into an embossed wreath round the lid, with a bunch of leaves and buds in the centre, the whole being brightly burnished: at the performance the effect of this little "property" was really excellent. Then, at the last moment, poor "Bob Acres" had to give in, and acknowledge that he could not speak for coughing; he had been suffering from bronchitis for some days past, but had gallantly striven to make himself heard at rehearsals; so on the day of the play F---- had the part forced on him. There was no time to learn his "words," so he wrote out all of them in large letters on slips of paper and fastened them on the beams. This device was invisible to the audience, but he was obliged to go through his scenes with his head as high up as if he had on a martingale; however, we were all so indulgent that at any little _contretemps_, such as one of the actresses forgetting her part or being seized by stage-fright, the applause was much greater than when things went smoothly. I can hardly believe that it is only two days since we steamed into Hobson's Bay, on a lovely bright spring morning. At dinner, the evening before, our dear old captain had said that we should see the revolving light on the nearest headland about eight o'clock that evening, and so we did. You will not think me childish, if I acknowledge that my eyes were so full of tears I could hardly see it after the first glimpse; it is impossible to express in a letter all the joy and thankfulness of such a moment. Feelings like these are forgotten only too quickly in the jar and bustle of daily life, and we are always ready to take as a matter of course those mercies which are new every morning; but when I realized that all the tosses and tumbles of so many weary days and nights were over, and that at last we had reached the haven where we would be, my first thought was one of deep gratitude. It was easy to see that it was a good moment with everyone; squabbles were made up with surprising quickness; shy people grew suddenly sociable; some who had comfortable homes to go to on landing gave kind and welcome invitations to others, who felt themselves sadly strange in a new country; and it was with really a lingering feeling of regret that we all separated at last, though a very short time before we should have thought it quite impossible to be anything but delighted to leave the ship. We have not seen much of Melbourne yet, as there has been a great deal to do in looking after the luggage, and at first one is capable of nothing but a delightful idleness. The keenest enjoyment is a fresh-water bath, and next to that is the new and agreeable luxury of the ample space for dressing; and then it is so pleasant to suffer no anxiety as to the brushes and combs tumbling about. I should think that even the vainest woman in the world would find her toilet and its duties a daily trouble and a sorrow at sea, on account of the unsteadiness of all things. The next delight is standing at the window, and seeing horses, and trees, and dogs--in fact, all the "treasures of the land;" as for flowers--beautiful as they are at all times--you cannot learn to appreciate them enough until you have been deprived of them for two months. You know that I have travelled a good deal in various parts of the world, but I have never seen anything at all like Melbourne. In other countries, it is generally the antiquity of the cities, and their historical reminiscences, which appeal to the imagination; but _here_, the interest is as great from exactly the opposite cause. It is most wonderful to walk through a splendid town, with magnificent public buildings, churches, shops, clubs, theatres, with the streets well paved and lighted, and to think that less than forty years ago it was a desolate swamp without even a hut upon it. How little an English country town progresses in forty years, and here is a splendid city created in that time! I have no hesitation in saying, that any fashionable novelty which comes out in either London or Paris finds its way to Melbourne by the next steamer; for instance, I broke my parasol on board ship, and the first thing I did on landing was to go to one of the best shops in Collins Street to replace it. On learning what I wanted, the shopman showed me some of those new parasols which had just come out in London before I sailed, and which I had vainly tried to procure in S----, only four hours from London. The only public place we have yet visited is the Acclimatization Garden; which is very beautifully laid out, and full of aviaries, though it looks strange to see common English birds treated as distinguished visitors and sumptuously lodged and cared for. Naturally, the Australian ones interest me most, and they are certainly prettier than yours at home, though they do not sing. I have been already to a shop where they sell skins of birds, and have half ruined myself in purchases for hats. You are to have a "diamond sparrow," a dear little fellow with reddish brown plumage, and white spots over its body (in this respect a miniature copy of the Argus pheasant I brought from India), and a triangular patch of bright yellow under its throat. I saw some of them alive in a cage in the market with many other kinds of small birds, and several pairs of those pretty grass or zebra paroquets, which are called here by the very inharmonious name of "budgerighars." I admired the blue wren so much--a tiny _birdeen_ with tail and body of dust-coloured feathers, and head and throat of a most lovely turquoise blue; it has also a little wattle of these blue feathers standing straight out on each side of its head, which gives it a very pert appearance. Then there is the emu-wren, all sad-coloured, but quaint, with the tail-feathers sticking up on end, and exactly like those of an emu; on the very smallest scale, even to the peculiarity of two feathers growing out of the same little quill. I was much amused by the varieties of cockatoos, parrots, and lories of every kind and colour, shrieking and jabbering in the part of the market devoted to them; but I am told that I have seen very few of the varieties of birds, as it is early in the spring, and the young ones have not yet been brought in: they appear to sell as fast as they can be procured. But before I end my letter I must tell you about the cockatoo belonging to this hotel. It is a famous bird in its way, having had its portrait taken several times, descriptions written for newspapers of its talents, and its owner boasts of enormous sums offered and refused for it. Knowing my fondness for pets, F---- took me downstairs to see it very soon after our arrival. I thought it hideous: it belongs to a kind not very well known in England, of a dirtyish white colour, a very ugly-shaped head and bill, and large bluish rings round the eyes; the beak is huge and curved. If it knew of this last objection on my part, it would probably answer, like the wolf in Red Riding Hood's story, "the better to talk with, my dear"--for it is a weird and knowing bird. At first it flatly refused to show off any of its accomplishments, but one of the hotel servants good-naturedly came forward, and Cocky condescended to go through his performances. I cannot possibly-tell you of all its antics: it pretended to have a violent toothache, and nursed its beak in its claw, rocking itself backwards and forwards as if in the greatest agony, and in answer to all the remedies which were proposed, croaking out, "Oh, it ain't a bit of good," and finally sidling up, to the edge of its perch, and saying in hoarse but confidential whisper, "Give us a drop of whisky, _do_." Its voice was extraordinarily distinct, and when it sang several snatches of songs the words were capitally given, with the most absurdly comic intonation, all the _roulades_ being executed in perfect tune. I liked its sewing performance so much--to see it hold a little piece of stuff underneath the claw which rested on the perch, and pretend to sew with the other, getting into difficulties with its thread, and finally setting up a loud song in praise of sewing-machines just as if it were an advertisement. By the next time I write I shall have seen more of Melbourne; there will, however, be no time for another letter by this mail; but I will leave one to be posted after we sail for New Zealand. Letter II: Sight-seeing in Melbourne. Melbourne, October 1st, 1865. I have left my letter to the last moment before starting for Lyttleton; everything is re-packed and ready, and we sail to-morrow morning in the _Albion_. She is a mail-steamer--very small after our large vessel, but she looks clean and tidy; at all events, we hope to be only on board her for ten days. In England one fancies that New Zealand is quite close to Australia, so I was rather disgusted to find we had another thousand miles of steaming to do before we could reach our new home; and one of the many Job's comforters who are scattered up and down the world assures me that the navigation is the most dangerous and difficult of the whole voyage. We have seen a good deal of Melbourne this week; and not only of the town, for we have had many drives in the exceedingly pretty suburbs, owing to the kindness of the D----s, who have been most hospitable and made our visit here delightful. We drove out to their house at Toorak three or four times; and spent a long afternoon with them; and there I began to make acquaintance with the Antipodean trees and flowers. I hope you will not think it a very sweeping assertion if I say that all the leaves look as if they were made of leather, but it really is so; the hot winds appear to parch up everything, at all events, round Melbourne, till the greatest charm of foliage is more or less lost; the flowers also look withered and burnt up, as yours do at the end of a long, dry summer, only they assume this appearance after the first hot wind in spring. The suburb called Heidelberg is the prettiest, to my taste--an undulating country with vineyards, and a park-like appearance which, is very charming. All round Melbourne there are nice, comfortable, English-looking villas. At one of these we called to return a visit and found a very handsome house, luxuriously furnished, with beautiful garden and grounds. One afternoon we went by rail to St. Kilda's, a flourishing bathing-place on the sea-coast, about six miles from Melbourne. Everywhere building is going on with great rapidity, and you do not see any poor people in the streets. If I wanted to be critical and find fault, I might object to the deep gutters on each side of the road; after a shower of rain they are raging torrents for a short time, through which you are obliged to splash without regard to the muddy consequences; and even when they are dry, they entail sudden and prodigious jolts. There are plenty of Hansoms and all sorts of other conveyances, but I gave F---- no peace until he took me for a drive in a vehicle which was quite new to me--a sort of light car with a canopy and curtains, holding four, two on each seat, _dos-a-dos_, and called a "jingle,"--of American parentage, I fancy. One drive in this carriage was quite enough, however, and I contented myself with Hansoms afterwards; but walking is really more enjoyable than anything else, after having been so long cooped up on board ship. We admired the fine statue, at the top of Collins Street, to the memory of the two most famous of Australian explorers, Burke and Wills, and made many visits to the Museum, and the glorious Free Library; we also went all over the Houses of Legislature--very new and grand. But you must not despise me if I confess to having enjoyed the shops exceedingly: it was so unlike a jeweller's shop in England to see on the counter gold in its raw state, in nuggets and dust and flakes; in this stage of its existence it certainly deserves its name of "filthy lucre," for it is often only half washed. There were quantities of emus' eggs in the silversmiths' shops, mounted in every conceivable way as cups and vases, and even as work-boxes: some designs consisted of three or five eggs grouped together as a centre-piece. I cannot honestly say I admired any of them; they were generally too elaborate, comprising often a native (spear in hand), a kangaroo, palms, ferns, cockatoos, and sometimes an emu or two in addition, as a pedestal--all this in frosted silver or gold. I was given a pair of these eggs before leaving England: they were mounted in London as little flower-vases in a setting consisting only of a few bulrushes and leaves, yet far better than any of these florid designs; but he emu-eggs are very popular in Sydney or Melbourne, and I am told sell rapidly to people going home, who take them as a memento of their Australian life, and probably think that the greater the number of reminiscences suggested by the ornament the more satisfactory it is as a purchase. I must finish my letter by a description of a dinner-party which about a dozen of our fellow-passengers joined with us in giving our dear old captain before we all separated. Whilst we were on board, it very often happened that the food was not very choice or good: at all events we used sometimes to grumble at it, and we generally wound up our lamentations by agreeing that when we reached Melbourne we would have a good dinner together. Looking back on it, I must say I think we were all rather greedy, but we tried to give a better colouring to our gourmandism by inviting the captain, who was universally popular, and by making it as elegant and pretty a repast as possible. Three or four of the gentlemen formed themselves into a committee, and they must really have worked very hard; at all events they collected everything rare and strange in the way of fish, flesh, and fowl peculiar to Australia, the arrangement of the table was charming, and the delicacies were all cooked and served to perfection. The ladies' tastes were considered in the profusion of flowers, and we each found an exquisite bouquet by our plate. I cannot possibly give you a minute account of the whole menu; in fact, as it is, I feel rather like Froissart, who, after chronicling a long list of sumptuous dishes, is not ashamed to confess, "Of all which good things I, the chronicler of this narration, did partake!" The soups comprised kangaroo-tail--a clear soup not unlike ox-tail, but with a flavour of game. I wish I could recollect the names of the fish: the fresh-water ones came a long distance by rail from the river Murray, but were excellent nevertheless. The last thing which I can remember tasting (for one really could do little else) was a most exquisite morsel of pigeon--more like a quail than anything else in flavour. I am not a judge of wine, as you may imagine, therefore it is no unkindness to the owners of the beautiful vineyards which we saw the other day, to say that I do not like the Australian wines. Some of the gentlemen pronounced them to be excellent, especially the equivalent to Sauterne, which has a wonderful native name impossible to write down; but, as I said before, I do not like the rather rough flavour. We had not a great variety of fruit at dessert: indeed, Sydney oranges constituted its main feature, as it is too late for winter fruits, and too early for summer ones: but we were not inclined to be over-fastidious, and thought everything delicious. Letter III: On to New Zealand. Christchurch, Canterbury, N. Z. October 14th, 1865. As you so particularly desired me when we parted to tell you _everything_, I must resume my story where in my last letter I left it off. If I remember rightly, I ended with an attempt at describing our great feast. We embarked the next day, and as soon as we were out of the bay the little _Albion_ plunged into heavy seas. The motion was much worse in her than on board the large vessel we had been so glad to leave, and all my previous sufferings seemed insignificant compared with what I endured in my small and wretchedly hard berth. I have a dim recollection of F---- helping me to dress, wrapping me up in various shawls, and half carrying me up the companion ladder; I crawled into a sunny corner among the boxes of oranges with which the deck was crowded, and there I lay helpless and utterly miserable. One well-meaning and good-natured fellow-passenger asked F---- if I was fond of birds, and on his saying "Yes," went off for a large wicker cage of hideous "laughing Jackasses," which he was taking as a great treasure to Canterbury. Why they should be called "Jackasses" I never could discover; but the creatures certainly do utter by fits and starts a sound which may fairly be described as laughter. These paroxysms arise from no cause that one can perceive; one bird begins, and all the others join in, and a more doleful and depressing chorus I never heard: early in the morning seemed the favourite time for this discordant mirth. Their owner also possessed a cockatoo with a great musical reputation, but I never heard it get beyond the first bar of "Come into the garden, Maud." Ill as I was, I remember being roused to something like a flicker of animation when I was shown an exceedingly seedy and shabby-looking blackbird with a broken leg in splints, which its master (the same bird-fancying gentleman) assured me he had bought in Melbourne as a great bargain for only 2 pounds 10 shillings! After five days' steaming we arrived in the open roadstead of Hokitika, on the west coast of the middle island of New Zealand, and five minutes after the anchor was down a little tug came alongside to take away our steerage passengers--three hundred diggers. The gold-fields on this coast were only discovered eight months ago, and already several canvas towns have sprung up; there are thirty thousand diggers at work, and every vessel brings a fresh cargo of stalwart, sun-burnt men. It was rather late, and getting dark, but still I could distinctly see the picturesque tents in the deep mountain gorge, their white shapes dotted here and there as far back from the shore as my sight could follow, and the wreaths of smoke curling up in all directions from the evening fires: it is still bitterly cold at night, being very early spring. The river Hokitika washes down with every fresh such quantities of sand, that a bar is continually forming in this roadstead, and though only vessels of the least possible draught are engaged in the coasting-trade, still wrecks are of frequent occurrence. We ought to have landed our thousands of oranges here, but this work was necessarily deferred till the morning, for it was as much as they could do to get all the diggers and their belongings safely ashore before dark; in the middle of the night one of the sudden and furious gales common to these seas sprang up, and would soon have driven us on the rocks if we had not got our steam up quickly and struggled out to sea, oranges and all, and away to Nelson, on the north coast of the same island. Here we landed the seventh day after leaving Melbourne, and spent a few hours wandering about on shore. It is a lovely little town, as I saw it that spring morning, with hills running down almost to the water's edge, and small wooden houses with gables and verandahs, half buried in creepers, built up the sides of the steep slopes. It was a true New Zealand day, still and bright, a delicious invigorating freshness in the air, without the least chill, the sky of a more than Italian blue, the ranges of mountains in the distance covered with snow, and standing out, sharp and clear against this lovely glowing heaven. The town itself, I must say, seemed very dull and stagnant, with little sign of life or activity about it; but nothing can be prettier or more picturesque than its situation--not unlike that of a Swiss village. Our day came to an end all too soon, and we re-embarked for Wellington, the most southern town of the North Island. The seat of government is there, and it is supposed to be a very thriving place, but is not nearly so well situated as Nelson nor so attractive to strangers. We landed and walked about a good deal, and saw what little there was to see. At first I thought the shops very handsome, but I found, rather to my disgust, that generally the fine, imposing frontage was all a sham; the actual building was only a little but at the back, looking all the meaner for the contrast to the cornices and show windows in front. You cannot think how odd it was to turn a corner and see that the building was only one board in thickness, and scarcely more substantial than the scenes at a theatre. We lunched at the principal hotel, where F---- was much amused at my astonishment at colonial prices. We had two dozen very nice little oysters, and he had a glass of porter: for this modest repast we paid eleven shillings! We slept on board, had another walk on shore after breakfast the following morning, and about twelve o'clock set off for Lyttleton, the final end of our voyaging, which we reached in about twenty hours. The scenery is very beautiful all along the coast, but the navigation is both dangerous and difficult. It was exceedingly cold, and Lyttleton did not look very inviting; we could not get in at all near the landing-place, and had to pay 2 pounds to be rowed ashore in an open boat with our luggage. I assure you it was a very "bad quarter of an hour" we passed in that boat; getting into it was difficult enough. The spray dashed over us every minute, and by the time we landed we were quite drenched, but a good fire at the hotel and a capital lunch soon made us all right again; besides, in the delight of being actually at the end of our voyage no annoyance or discomfort was worth a moment's thought. F---- had a couple of hours' work rushing backwards and forwards to the Custom House, clearing our luggage, and arranging for some sort of conveyance to take us over the hills. The great tunnel through these "Port Hills" (which divide Lyttleton from Christchurch, the capital of Canterbury) is only half finished, but it seems wonderful that so expensive and difficult an engineering work could be undertaken by such an infant colony. At last a sort of shabby waggonette was forthcoming, and about three o'clock we started from Lyttleton, and almost immediately began to ascend the zig-zag. It was a tremendous pull for the poor horses, who however never flinched; at the steepest pinch the gentlemen were requested to get out and walk, which they did, and at length we reached the top. It was worth all the bad road to look down on the land-locked bay, with the little patches of cultivation, a few houses nestling in pretty recesses. The town of Lyttleton seemed much more imposing and important as we rose above it: fifteen years ago a few sheds received the "Pilgrims," as the first comers are always called. I like the name; it is so pretty and suggestive. By the way, I am told that these four ships, sent out with the pilgrims by the Canterbury Association, sailed together from England, parted company almost directly, and arrived in Lyttleton (then called Port Cooper) four months afterwards, on the same day, having all experienced fine weather, but never having sighted each other once. As soon as we reached the top of the hill the driver looked to the harness of his horses, put on a very powerful double break, and we began the descent, which, I must say, I thought we took much too quickly, especially as at every turn of the road some little anecdote was forthcoming of an upset or accident; however, I would not show the least alarm, and we were soon rattling along the Sumner Road, by the sea-shore, passing every now and then under tremendous overhanging crags. In half an hour we reached Sumner itself, where we stopped for a few moments to change horses. There is an inn and a village here, where people from Christchurch come in the warm weather for sea-air and bathing. It began to rain hard, and the rest of the journey, some seven or eight miles, was disagreeable enough; but it was the _end_, and that one thought was sufficient to keep us radiantly good-humoured, in spite of all little trials. When we reached Christchurch, we drove at once to a sort of boarding-house where we had engaged apartments, and thought of nothing but supper and bed. The next day people began calling, and certainly I cannot complain of any coldness or want of welcome to my new home. I like what I have seen of my future acquaintances very much. Of course there is a very practical style and tone over everything, though outwardly the place is as civilized as if it were a hundred years old; well-paved streets, gas lamps, and even drinking fountains and pillar post-offices! I often find myself wondering whether the ladies here are at all like what our great grandmothers were. I suspect they are, for they appear to possess an amount of useful practical knowledge which is quite astonishing, and yet know how to surround themselves, according to their means and opportunities, with the refinements and elegancies of life. I feel quite ashamed of my own utter ignorance on every subject, and am determined to set to work directly and learn: at all events I shall have plenty of instructresses. Christchurch is a very pretty little town, still primitive enough to be picturesque, and yet very thriving: capital shops, where everything may be bought; churches, public buildings, a very handsome club-house, etc. Most of the houses are of wood, but when they are burned down (which is often the case) they are now rebuilt of brick or stone, so that the new ones are nearly all of these more solid materials. I am disappointed to find that, the cathedral, of which I had heard so much, has not progressed beyond the foundations, which cost 8,000 pounds: all the works have been stopped, and certainly there is not much to show for so large a sum, but labour is very dear. Christchurch is a great deal more lively and bustling than most English country towns, and I am much struck by the healthy appearance of the people. There are no paupers to be seen; every one seems well fed and well clothed; the children are really splendid. Of course, as might be expected, there is a great deal of independence in bearing and manner, especially among the servants, and I hear astounding stories concerning them on all sides. My next letter will be from the country, as we have accepted an invitation to pay a visit of six weeks or so to a station in the north of the province. Letter IV: First introduction to "Station life." Heathstock, Canterbury, November 13th, 1865. I have just had the happiness of receiving my first budget of English letters; and no one can imagine how a satisfactory home letter satisfies the hunger of the heart after its loved and left ones. Your letter was particularly pleasant, because I could perceive, as I held the paper in my hands, that you were writing as you really felt, and that you were indeed happy. May you long continue so, dearest. F---- says that this beautiful place will give me a very erroneous impression of station life, and that I shall probably expect to find its comforts and luxuries the rule, whereas they are the exception; in the mean time, however, I am enjoying them thoroughly. The house is only sixty-five miles from Christchurch, nearly due north (which you must not forget answers to your south in point of warmth). Our kind friends and hosts, the L----s, called for us in their comfortable and large break, with four horses. Mr. L---- drove, F---- sat on the box, and inside were the ladies, children, and a nurse. Our first stage was to Kaiapoi, a little town on the river Waimakiriri, where we had a good luncheon of whitebait, and rested and fed the horses. From the window of the hotel I saw a few groups of Maories; they looked very ugly and peaceable, with a rude sort of basket made of flax fibres, or buckets filled with whitebait, which they wanted us to buy. There are some reserved lands near Kaiapoi where they have a very thriving settlement, living in perfect peace and good-will with their white neighbours. When we set off again on our journey, we passed a little school-house for their children. We reached Leathfield that evening, only twenty-five miles from Christchurch; found a nice inn, or accommodation-house, as roadside inns are called here; had a capital supper and comfortable beds, and were up and off again at daylight the next morning. As far as the Weka Pass, where we stopped for dinner, the roads were very good, but after that we got more among the hills and off the usual track, and there were many sharp turns and steep pinches; but Mr. L---- is an excellent whip, and took great care of us. We all got very weary towards the end of this second day's journey, and the last two hours of it were in heavy rain; it was growing very dark when we reached the gate, and heard the welcome sound of gravel under the wheels. I could just perceive that we had entered a plantation, the first trees since we left Christchurch. Nothing seems so wonderful to me as the utter treelessness of the vast Canterbury plains; occasionally you pass a few Ti-ti palms (ordinarily called cabbage-trees), or a large prickly bush which goes by the name of "wild Irishman," but for miles and miles you see nothing but flat ground or slightly undulating downs of yellow tussocks, the tall native grass. It has the colour and appearance of hay, but serves as shelter for a delicious undergrowth of short sweet herbage, upon which the sheep live, and horses also do very well on it, keeping in good working condition, quite unlike their puffy, fat state on English pasture. We drove through the plantation and another gate, and drew up at the door of a very large, handsome, brick house, with projecting gables and a verandah. The older I grow the more convinced I am that contrast is everything in this world; and nothing I can write can give you any idea of the delightful change from the bleak country we had been slowly travelling through in pouring rain, to the warmth and brightness of this charming house. There were blazing fires ready to welcome us, and I feel sure you will sufficiently appreciate this fact when I tell you that by the time the coal reaches this, it costs nine pounds per ton. It is possible to get Australian coal at about half the price, but it is not nearly as good. We were so tired that we were only fit for the lowest phase of human enjoyment--warmth, food, and sleep; but the next morning was bright and lovely, and I was up and out in the verandah as early as possible. I found myself saying constantly, in a sort of ecstasy, "How I wish they could see this in England!" and not only see but feel it, for the very breath one draws on such a morning is a happiness; the air is so light and yet balmy, it seems to heal the lungs as you inhale it. The verandah is covered with honeysuckles and other creepers, and the gable end of the house where the bow-window of the drawing-room projects, is one mass of yellow Banksia roses in full blossom. A stream runs through the grounds, fringed with weeping willows, which are in their greatest beauty at this time of year, with their soft, feathery foliage of the tenderest green. The flower beds are dotted about the lawn, which surrounds the house and slopes away from it, and they are brilliant patches of colour, gay with verbenas, geraniums, and petunias. Here and there clumps of tall trees rise above the shrubs, and as a background there is a thick plantation of red and blue gums, to shelter the garden from the strong N.W. winds. Then, in front, the country stretches away in undulating downs to a chain of high hills in the distance: every now and then there is a deep gap in these, through which you see magnificent snow-covered mountains. The inside of the house is as charming as the outside, and the perfection of comfort; but I am perpetually wondering how all the furniture--especially the fragile part of it--got here. When I remember the jolts, and ruts, and roughnesses of the road, I find myself looking at the pier-glass and glass shades, picture-frames, etc., with a sort of respect, due to them for having survived so many dangers. The first two or three days we enjoyed ourselves in a thoroughly lazy manner; the garden was a never-ending source of delight, and there were all the animals to make friends with, "mobs" of horses to look at, rabbits, poultry, and pets of all sorts. About a week after our arrival, some more gentlemen came, and then we had a series of picnics. As these are quite unlike your highly civilized entertainments which go by the same name, I must describe one to you. The first thing after breakfast was to collect all the provisions, and pack them in a sort of washing-basket, and then we started in an American waggon drawn by a pair of stout cobs. We drove for some miles till we came to the edge of one of the high terraces common to New Zealand scenery: here we all got out; the gentlemen unharnessed and tethered the horses, so that they could feed about comfortably, and then we scrambled down the deep slope, at the bottom of which ran a wide shallow creek. It was no easy matter to get the basket down here, I assure you; we ladies were only permitted to load ourselves, one with a little kettle, and the other with a tea-pot, but this was quite enough, as crossing the creek by a series of jumps from one wet stone to another is not easy for a beginner. Mr. L---- brought a large dog with him, a kangaroo-hound (not unlike a lurcher in appearance), to hunt the wekas. I had heard at night the peculiar cry or call of these birds, but had not seen one until to-day. "Fly" put up several, one after another, and soon ran them down. At first I thought it very cruel to destroy such a tame and apparently harmless creature, but I am assured that they are most mischievous, and that it would be useless to turn out the pheasants and partridges which Mr. L---- has brought from England, until the numbers of the wekas are considerably reduced. They are very like a hen pheasant without the long tail feathers, and until you examine them you cannot tell they have no wings, though there is a sort of small pinion among the feathers, with a claw at the end of it. They run very swiftly, availing themselves cleverly of the least bit of cover; but when you hear a short sharp cry, it is a sign that the poor weka is nearly done, and the next thing you see is Fly shaking a bundle of brown feathers vehemently. All the dogs are trained to hunt these birds, as they are a great torment, sucking eggs and killing chickens; but still I could not help feeling sorry when Fly, having disposed of the mother, returned to the flax-bush out of which he had started her, and killed several baby-wekas by successive taps of his paw. I have wandered away from my account of the picnic in the most unjustifiable manner. The gentlemen were toiling up the hill, after we had crossed the creek, carrying the big basket by turns between them; it was really hard work, and I must tell you in confidence, that I don't believe they liked it--at least I can answer for one. I laughed at them for not enjoying their task, and assured them that I was looking forward with pleasure to washing up the plates and dishes after our luncheon; but I found that they had all been obliged, in the early days of the colony, to work at domestic drudgery in grim and grimy earnest, so it had lost the charm of novelty which it still possessed for me. As soon as we reached a pretty sheltered spot half-way up the hill among some trees and ferns, and by the side of the creek, we unpacked the basket, and began collecting dry wood for a fire: we soon had a splendid blaze under the lee of a fine rock, and there we boiled our kettle and our potatoes. The next thing was to find a deep hole in the creek, so over-shadowed by rocks and trees that the water would be icy cold: in this we put the champagne to cool. The result of all our preparations was a capital luncheon, eaten in a most romantic spot, with a lovely view before us, and the creek just like a Scotch burn, hurrying and tumbling down the hill-side to join the broader stream in the valley. After luncheon, the gentlemen considered themselves entitled to rest, lying lazily back among the fern and smoking, whilst we ladies sat a little apart and chatted: I was busy learning to knit. Then, about five, we had the most delicious cup of tea I ever tasted, and we repacked the basket (it was very light now, I assure you), and made our way back to the top of the terrace, put the horses in again, and so home. It was a long, bright, summer holiday, and we enjoyed it thoroughly. After a voyage, such an expedition as this is full of delight; every tree and bird is a source of pleasure. Letter V: A pastoral letter. Heathstock, December 1st, 1865. All I can find to tell you this month is that I have seen one of the finest and best wool-sheds in the country in full work. Anything about sheep is as new to you as it is to me, so I shall begin my story at the very beginning. I am afraid you will think us a very greedy set of people in this part of the world, for eating seems to enter so largely into my letters; but the fact is--and I may as well confess it at once--I am in a chronic state of hunger; it is the fault of the fine air and the outdoor life: and then how one sleeps at night! I don't believe you really know in England what it is to be sleepy as we feel sleepy here; and it is delightful to wake up in the morning with the sort of joyous light-heartedness which only young children have. The expedition I am going to relate may fairly be said to have begun with eating, for although we started for our twelve miles' drive over the downs immediately after an excellent and somewhat late breakfast, yet by the time we reached the Home Station we were quite ready for luncheon. All the work connected with the sheep is carried on here. The manager has a nice house; and the wool-shed, men's huts, dip, etc., are near each other. It is the busiest season of the year, and no time could be spared to prepare for us; we therefore contented ourselves with what was described to me as ordinary station fare, and I must tell you what they gave us: first, a tureen of real mutton-broth, not hot water and chopped parsley, but excel-lent thick soup, with plenty of barley and meat in it; this had much the same effect on our appetites as the famous treacle and brimstone before breakfast in "Nicholas Nickleby," so that we were only able to manage a few little sheeps' tongues, slightly pickled; and very nice _they_ were; then we finished with a Devonshire junket, with clotted cream _a discretion_. Do you think we were much to be pitied? After this repast we were obliged to rest a little before we set out for the wool-shed, which has only been lately finished, and has all the newest improvements. At first I am "free to confess" that I did not like either its sounds or sights; the other two ladies turned very pale, but I was determined to make myself bear it, and after a moment or two I found it quite possible to proceed with Mr. L----round the "floor." There were about twenty-five shearers at work, and everything seemed to be very systematically and well arranged. Each shearer has a trap-door close to him, out of which he pushes his sheep as soon as the fleece is off, and there are little pens outside, so that the manager can notice whether the poor animal has been too much cut with the shears, or badly shorn in any other respect, and can tell exactly which shearer is to blame. Before this plan was adopted it was hopeless to try to find out who was the delinquent, for no one would acknowledge to the least snip. A good shearer can take off 120 fleeces in a day, but the average is about 80 to each man. They get one pound per hundred, and are found in everything, having as much tea and sugar, bread and mutton, as they can consume, and a cook entirely to themselves; they work at least fourteen hours out of the twenty-four, and with such a large flock as this--about 50,000--must make a good deal. We next inspected the wool tables, to which two boys were incessantly bringing armfuls of rolled-up fleeces; these were laid on the tables before the wool-sorters, who opened them out, and pronounced in a moment to which _bin_ they belonged; two or three men standing behind rolled them up again rapidly, and put them on a sort of shelf divided into compartments, which were each labelled, so that the quality and kind of wool could be told at a glance. There was a constant emptying of these bins into trucks to be carried off to the press, where we followed to see the bales packed. The fleeces are tumbled in, and a heavy screw-press forces them down till the bale--which is kept open in a large square frame--is as full as it can hold. The top of canvas is then put on, tightly sewn, four iron pins are removed and the sides of the frame fall away, disclosing a most symmetrical bale ready to be hoisted by a crane into the loft above, where it has the brand of the sheep painted on it, its weight, and to what class the wool belongs. Of course everything has to be done with great speed and system. I was much impressed by the silence in the shed; not a sound was to be heard except the click of the shears, and the wool-sorter's decision as he flings the fleece behind him, given in one, or at most two words. I was reminded how touchingly true is that phrase, "Like as a sheep before her shearers is dumb." All the noise is _outside_; there the hubbub, and dust, and apparent confusion are great,--a constant succession of woolly sheep being brought up to fill the "skillions" (from whence the shearers take them as they want them), and the newly-shorn ones, white, clean, and bewildered-looking, being turned out after they have passed through a narrow passage, called a "race," where each sheep is branded, and has its mouth examined in order to tell its age, which is marked in a book. It was a comfort to think all their troubles were over, for a year. You can hear nothing but barking and bleating, and this goes on from early morning till dark. We peeped in at the men's huts--a long, low wooden building, with two rows of "bunks" (berths, I should call their) in one compartment, and a table with forms round it in the other, and piles of tin plates and pannikins all about. The kitchen was near, and we were just in time to see an enormous batch of bread withdrawn from a huge brick oven: the other commissariat arrangements were on the same scale. Cold tea is supplied all day long to the shearers, and they appear to consume great quantities of it. Our last visit was to the Dip, and it was only a short one, for it seemed a cruel process; unfortunately, this fine station is in technical parlance "scabby," and although of course great precautions are taken, still some 10,000 sheep had an ominous large S on them. These poor sufferers are dragged down a plank into a great pit filled with hot water, tobacco, and sulphur, and soused over head and ears two or three times. This torture is repeated more than once. I was very glad to get away from the Dip, and back to the manager's house, where we refreshed ourselves by a delicious cup of tea, and soon after started for a nice long drive home in the cool, clear evening air. The days are very hot, but never oppressive; and the mornings and evenings are deliciously fresh and invigorating. You can remain out late without the least danger. Malaria is unknown, and, in spite of the heavy rains, there is no such thing as damp. Our way lay through very pretty country--a series of terraces, with a range of mountains before us, with beautiful changing and softening evening tints creeping over the whole. I am sorry to say, we leave this next week. I should like to explore a great deal more. Letter VI: Society.--houses and servants. Christchurch, January 1866. I am beginning to get tired of Christchurch already: but the truth is, I am not in a fair position to judge of it as a place of residence; for, living temporarily, as we do, in a sort of boarding-house, I miss the usual duties and occupations of home, and the town itself has no place of public amusement except a little theatre, to which it is much too hot to go. The last two weeks have been _the_ gay ones of the whole year; the races have been going on for three days, and there have been a few balls; but as a general rule, the society may be said to be extremely stagnant. No dinner-parties are ever given--I imagine, on account of the smallness of the houses and the inefficiency of the servants; but every now and then there is an assembly ball arranged, in the same way, I believe, as at watering-places in England only, of course, on a much smaller scale. I have been at two or three of these, and noticed at each a most undue preponderance of black coats. Nearly all the ladies were married, there were very few young girls; and it would be a great improvement to the Christchurch parties if some of the pretty and partnerless groups of a London ball-room, in all their freshness of toilette, could be transferred to them. What a sensation they would make, and what terrible heart-aches among the young gentlemen would be the result of such an importation! There were the same knots of men standing together as at a London party, but I must say that, except so far as their tailor is concerned, I think we have the advantage of you, for the gentlemen lead such healthy lives that they all look more or less bronzed and stalwart--in splendid condition, not like your pale dwellers in cities; and then they come to a ball to dance, arriving early so as to secure good partners, and their great ambition appears to be to dance every dance from the first to the last. This makes it hard work for the few ladies, who are not allowed to sit down for a moment, and I have often seen a young and pretty partner obliged to divide her dances between two gentlemen. Although it tells only against myself, I must make you laugh at an account of a snub I received at one of these balls. Early in the evening I had danced with a young gentleman whose station was a long way "up country," and who worked so hard on it that he very seldom found time for even the mild dissipations of Christchurch; he was good-looking and gentlemanly, and seemed clever and sensible, a little _brusque_, perhaps, but one soon gets used to that here. During our quadrille he confided to me that he hardly knew any ladies in the room, and that his prospects of getting any dancing were in consequence very blank. I did all I could to find partners for him, introducing him to every lady whom I knew, but it was in vain; they would have been delighted to dance with him, but their cards were filled. At the end of the evening, when I was feeling thoroughly done up, and could hardly stand up for fatigue, my poor friend came up and begged for another dance. I assured him I could scarcely stand, but when he said in a _larmoyante_ voice, "I have only danced once this evening, that quadrille with you," my heart softened, and I thought I would make a great effort and try to get through one more set of Lancers; my partner seemed so grateful, that the demon of vanity, or coquetry, or whatever it is that prompts one to say absurd things induced me to fish for a compliment, and to observe, "It was not worth while taking all the trouble of riding such a distance to dance only with me, was it?" Whereupon my poor, doleful friend answered, with a deep sigh, and an accent of profound conviction, "No, indeed it was _not_!" I leave you to imagine my discomfiture; but luckily he never observed it, and I felt all the time that I richly deserved what I got, for asking such a stupid question. The music at these balls is very bad, and though the principal room in which they are given, at the Town Hall, is large and handsome, it is poorly lighted, and the decorations are desolate in the extreme. I am afraid this is not a very inviting picture of what is almost our only opportunity of meeting together, but it is tolerably correct. Visiting appears to be the business of some people's lives, but the acquaintance does not seem to progress beyond incessant afternoon calls; we are never asked inside a house, nor, as far as I can make out, is there any private society whatever, and the public society consists, as I have said, of a ball every now and then. My greatest interest and occupation consist in going to look at my house, which is being cut out in Christchurch, and will be drayed to our station next month, a journey of fifty miles. It is, of course, only of wood, and seems about as solid as a band-box; but I am assured by the builder that it will be a "most superior article" when it is all put together. F---- and I made the little plan of it ourselves, regulating the size of the drawing-room by the dimensions of the carpet we brought out, and I petitioned for a little bay-window, which is to be added; so on my last visit to his timber-yard, the builder said, with an air of great dignity, "Would you wish to see the _h_oriel, mum?" The doors all come ready-made from America, and most of the wood used in building is the Kauri pine from the North Island. One advantage, at all events, in having wooden houses is the extreme rapidity with which they are run up, and there are no plastered walls to need drying. For a long time we were very uncertain where, and what, we should build on our station; but only six weeks after we made up our minds, a house is almost ready for us. The boards are sawn into the requisite lengths by machinery; and all the carpentering done down here; the frame will only require to be fitted together when it reaches its destination, and it is a very good time of year for building, as the wool drays are all going back empty, and we can get them to take the loads at reduced prices; but even with this help, it is enormously expensive to move a small house fifty miles, the last fifteen over bad roads; it is collar-work for the poor horses all the way, Christchurch being only nine feet above the sea-level, while our future home in the Malvern Hills is twelve hundred. You know we brought all our furniture out with us, and even papers for the rooms, just because we happened to have everything; but I should not recommend any one to do so, for the expense of carriage, though moderate enough by sea (in a wool ship), is enormous as soon as it reaches Lyttleton, and goods have to be dragged up country by horses or bullocks. There are very good shops where you can buy everything, and besides these there are constant sales by auction where, I am told, furniture fetches a price sometimes under its English value. House rent about Christchurch is very high. We looked at some small houses in and about the suburbs of the town, when we were undecided about our plans, and were offered the most inconvenient little dwellings, with rooms which were scarcely bigger than cupboards, for 200 pounds a year; we saw nothing at a lower price than this, and any house of a better class, standing in a nicely arranged shrubbery, is at least 300 pounds per annum. Cab-hire is another thing which seems to me disproportionately dear, as horses are very cheap; there are no small fares, half-a-crown being the lowest "legal tender" to a cabman; and I soon gave up returning visits when I found that to make a call in a Hansom three or four miles out of the little town cost one pound or one pound ten shillings, even remaining only a few minutes at the house. All food (except mutton) appears to be as nearly as possible at London prices; but yet every one looks perfectly well-fed, and actual want is unknown. Wages of all sorts are high, and employment, a certainty. The look and bearing of the immigrants appear to alter soon after they reach the colony. Some people object to the independence of their manner, but I do not; on the contrary, I like to see the upright gait, the well-fed, healthy look, the decent clothes (even if no one touches his hat to you), instead of the half-starved, depressed appearance, and too often cringing servility of the mass of our English population. Scotchmen do particularly well out here; frugal and thrifty, hard-working and sober, it is easy to predict the future of a man of this type in a new country. Naturally, the whole tone of thought and feeling is almost exclusively practical; even in a morning visit there is no small-talk. I find no difficulty in obtaining the useful information upon domestic subjects which I so much need; for it is sad to discover, after all my house-keeping experience, that I am still perfectly ignorant. Here it is necessary to know _how_ everything should be done; it is not sufficient to give an order, you must also be in a position to explain how it is to be carried out I felt quite guilty when I saw the picture in _Punch_ the other day, of a young and inexperienced matron requesting her cook "not to put any lumps into the melted butter," and reflected that I did not know how lumps should be kept out; so, as I am fortunate enough to number among my new friends a lady who is as clever in these culinary details as she is bright and charming in society, I immediately went to her for a lesson in the art of making melted butter without putting lumps into it. The great complaint, the never-ending subject of comparison and lamentation among ladies, is the utter ignorance and inefficiency of their female servants. As soon as a ship comes in it is besieged with people who want servants, but it is very rare to get one who knows how to do anything as it ought to be done. Their lack of all knowledge of the commonest domestic duties is most surprising, and makes one wonder who in England did the necessary things of daily cottage life for them, for they appear to have done nothing for themselves hitherto. As for a woman knowing how to cook, that seems the very last accomplishment they acquire; a girl will come to you as a housemaid at 25 pounds per annum, and you will find that she literally does not know how to hold her broom, and has never handled a duster. When you ask a nurse her qualifications for the care of perhaps two or three young children, you may find, on close cross-examination, that she can recollect having once or twice "held mother's baby," and that she is very firm in her determination that "you'll keep baby yourself o' nights; mem!" A perfectly inexperienced girl of this sort will ask, and get, 30 pounds or 35 pounds per annum, a cook from 35 pounds to 40 pounds; and when they go "up country," they hint plainly they shall not stay long with you, and ask higher wages, stipulating with great exactness how they are to be conveyed free of all expense to and from their place. Then, on the other hand, I must say they work desperately hard, and very cheerfully: I am amazed how few servants are kept even in the large and better class of houses. As a general rule, they, appear willing enough to learn, and I hear no complaints of dishonesty or immorality, though many moans are made of the rapidity with which a nice tidy young woman is snapped up as a wife; but that is a complaint no one can sympathise with. On most stations a married couple is kept; the man either to act as shepherd, or to work in the garden and look after the cows, and the woman is supposed to attend to the indoor comforts of the wretched bachelor-master: but she generally requires to be taught how to bake a loaf of bread, and boil a potato, as well as how to cook mutton in the simplest form. In her own cottage at home, who did all these things for her? These incapables are generally perfectly helpless and awkward at the wash-tub; no one seems to expect servants to know their business, and it is very fortunate if they show any capability of learning. I must end my long letter by telling you a little story of my own personal experience in the odd ways of these girls. The housemaid at the boarding-house where we have stayed since we left Heathstock is a fat, sonsy, good-natured girl, perfectly ignorant and stupid, but she has not been long in the colony, and seems willing to learn. She came to me the other day, and, without the least circumlocution or hesitation, asked me if I would lend her my riding-habit as a pattern to give the tailor; adding that she wanted my best and newest. As soon as I could speak for amazement, I naturally asked why; she said she had been given a riding-horse, that she had loaned a saddle, and bought a hat, so now she had nothing on her mind except the habit; and further added, that she intended to leave her situation the day before the races, and that it was "her fixed intent" to appear on horseback each day, and all day long, at these said races. I inquired if she knew how to ride? No; she had never mounted any animal in her life. I suggested that she had better take some lessons before her appearance in public; but she said her mistress did not like to spare her to "practise," and she stuck steadily to her point of wanting my habit as a pattern. I could not lend it to her, fortunately, for it had been sent up to the station with my saddle, etc.; so had she been killed, as I thought not at all unlikely, at least my conscience would not have reproached me for aiding and abetting her equestrian freak. I inquired from every one who went to the races if they saw or heard of any accident to a woman on horseback, and I most anxiously watched the newspapers to see if they contained any notice of the sort, but as there has been no mention of any catastrophe, I suppose she has escaped safely. Her horse must have been quieter and better broken than they generally are. F---- says that probably it was a very old "station screw." I trust so, for her sake! Letter VII: A young colonist.--the town and its neighbourhood. Christchurch, March 1866. I must begin my letter this mail with a piece of domestic news, and tell you of the appearance of your small nephew, now three weeks old. The youth seems inclined to adapt himself to circumstances, and to be as sturdy and independent as colonial children generally are. All my new friends and neighbours proved most kind and friendly, and were full of good offices. Once I happened to say that I did not like the food as it was cooked at the boarding-house; and the next day, and for many days after, all sorts of dainties were sent to me, prepared by hands which were as skilful on the piano, or with a pencil, as they were in handling a saucepan. New books were lent to me, and I was never allowed to be without a beautiful bouquet. One young lady used constantly to walk in to town, some two or three miles along a hot and dusty road, laden with flowers for me, just because she saw how thoroughly I enjoyed her roses and carnations. Was it not good of her? Christchurch has relapsed into the quietude, to call it by no harsher name. The shearing is finished all over the country, and the "squatters" (as owners of sheep-stations are called) have returned to their stations to vegetate, or work, as their tastes and circumstances may dictate. Very few people live in the town except the tradespeople; the professional men prefer little villas two or three miles off. These houses stand in grounds of their own, and form a very pretty approach to Christchurch, extending a few miles on all sides: There are large trees bordering most of the streets, which give a very necessary shade in summer; they are nearly all English sorts, and have only been planted within a few years. Poplars, willows, and the blue gum grow quickest, are least affected by the high winds, and are therefore the most popular. The banks of the pretty little river Avon, upon which Christchurch is built, are thickly fringed with weeping willows, interspersed with a few other trees, and with clumps of tohi, which is exactly like the Pampas grass you know so well in English shrubberies. I don't think I have ever told you that it has been found necessary here to legislate against water-cress. It was introduced a few years since, and has spread so rapidly as to become a perfect nuisance, choking every ditch in the neighbourhood of Christchurch, blocking up mill-streams, causing meadows to be flooded, and doing all kinds of mischief. Towards Riccarton, about four miles out of town, the Avon shows like a slender stream a few inches wide, moving sluggishly between thick beds of water-cress, which at this time of year are a mass of white blossom. It looks so perfectly solid that whenever I am at Ilam, an insane desire to step on it comes over me, much to F----'s alarm, who says he is afraid to let me out of his sight, lest I should attempt to do so. I have only seen one native "bush" or forest yet, and that is at Riccarton. This patch of tall, gaunt pines serves as a landmark for miles. Riccarton is one of the oldest farms in the colony, and I am told it possesses a beautiful garden. I can only see the gable-end of a house peeping out from among the trees as I pass. This bush is most carefully preserved, but I believe that every high wind injures it. Christchurch is very prettily situated; for although it stands on a perfectly flat plain, towards the sea there are the Port Hills, and the town itself is picturesque, owing to the quantities of trees and the irregular form of the wooden houses; and as a background we have the most magnificent chain of mountains--the back-bone of the island--running from north to south, the highest peaks nearly always covered with snow, even after such a hot summer as this has been. The climate is now delicious, answering in time of year to your September; but we have far more enjoyable weather than your autumns can boast of. If the atmosphere were no older than the date of the settlement of the colony, it could not feel more _youthful_, it is so light and bright, and exhilarating! The one drawback, and the only one, is the north-west wind; and the worst of it is, that it blows very often from this point. However, I am assured that I have not yet seen either a "howling nor'-wester," nor its exact antithesis, "a sutherly buster." We have lately been deprived of the amusement of going to see our house during the process of cutting it out, as it has passed that stage, and has been packed on drays and sent to the station, with two or three men to put it up. It was preceded by two dray-loads of small rough-hewn stone piles, which are first let into the ground six or eight feet apart: the foundation joists rest on these, so as just to keep the flooring from touching the earth. I did not like this plan (which is the usual one) at all, as it seemed to me so insecure for the house to rest only on these stones. I told the builder that I feared a strong "nor'-wester" (and I hear they are particularly strong in the Malvern Hills) would blow the whole affair away. He did not scout the idea as much as I could have wished, but held out hopes to me that the roof would "kep it down." I shall never dare to trust the baby out of my sight, lest he should be blown away; and I have a plan for securing his cradle, by putting large heavy stones in it, somewhere out of his way, so that he need not be hurt by them. Some of the houses are built of "cob," especially those erected in the very early days, when sawn timber was rare and valuable: this material is simply wet clay with chopped tussocks stamped in. It makes very thick walls, and they possess the great advantage of being cool in summer and warm in winter. Whilst the house is new nothing can be nicer; but, in a few years, the hot winds dry up the clay so much, that it becomes quite pulverized; and a lady who lives in one of these houses told me, that during a high wind she had often seen the dust from the walls blowing in clouds about the rooms, despite of the canvas and paper, and with all the windows carefully closed. Next week F---- is going up to the station, to unpack and arrange a little, and baby and I are going to be taken care of at Ilam, the most charming place I have yet seen. I am looking forward to my visit there with great pleasure. Letter VIII: Pleasant days at Ilam. Ilam, April 1866. We leave this to-morrow for the station in the most extraordinary conveyance you ever saw. Imagine a flat tray with two low seats in it, perched on four very high wheels, quite innocent of any step or means of clambering in and out, and drawn, tandem-fashion, by two stout mares; one of which has a little foal by her side. The advantage of this vehicle is that it is very light, and holds a good deal of luggage. We hope to accomplish the distance--fifty miles--in a day, easily. Although this is not my first visit to Ilam, I don't think I have ever described it to you. The house is of wood, two storeys high, and came out from England! It is built on a brick foundation, which is quite unusual here. Inside, it is exactly like a most charming English house, and when I first stood in the drawing-room it was difficult to believe: that I was at the other end of the world. All the newest books, papers, and periodicals covered the tables, the newest music lay on the piano, whilst a profusion of English greenhouse flowers in Minton's loveliest vases added to the illusion. The Avon winds through the grounds, which are very pretty, and are laid out in the English fashion; but in spite of the lawn with its croquet-hoops and sticks, and the beds of flowers in all their late summer beauty, there is a certain absence of the stiffness and trimness of English pleasure-grounds, which shows that you have escaped from the region of conventionalities. There are thick clumps of plantations, which have grown luxuriantly, and look as if they had always been there. A curve of the opposite bank is a dense mass of native flax bushes, with their tall spikes of red blossom filling the air with a scent of honey, and attracting all the bees in the neighbourhood. Ti-ti palms are dotted here and there, and give a foreign and tropical appearance to the whole. There is a large kitchen garden and orchard, with none of the restrictions of high walls and locked gates which fence your English peaches and apricots. The following is our receipt for killing time at Ilam:--After breakfast, take the last _Cornhill_ or _Macmillan_, put on a shady hat, and sit or saunter by the river-side under the trees, gathering any very tempting peach or apricot or plum or pear, until luncheon; same thing until five o'clock tea; then cross the river by a rustic bridge, ascend some turf steps to a large terrace-like meadow, sheltered from the north-west winds by a thick belt of firs, blue gums, and poplars, and play croquet on turf as level as a billiard-table until dinner. At these games the cockatoo always assists, making himself very busy, waddling after his mistress all over the field, and climbing up her mallet whenever he has an opportunity. "Dr. Lindley"--so called from his taste for pulling flowers to pieces--apparently for botanical purposes--is the tamest and most affectionate of birds, and I do not believe he ever bit any one in his life; he will allow himself to be pulled about, turned upside down, scratched under his wings, all with the greatest indifference, or rather with the most positive enjoyment. One evening I could not play croquet for laughing at his antics. He took a sudden dislike to a little rough terrier, and hunted him fairly off the ground at last, chasing him all about, barking at him, and digging his beak into the poor dog's paw. But the "Doctor's" best performance is when he imitates a hawk. He reserves this fine piece of acting until his mistress is feeding her poultry; then, when all the hens and chickens, turkeys, and pigeons are in the quiet enjoyment of their breakfast or supper, the peculiar shrill cry of a hawk is heard overhead, and the Doctor is seen circling in the air, uttering a scream occasionally. The fowls never find out that it is a hoax, but run to shelter, cackling in the greatest alarm--hens clucking loudly for their chicks, turkeys crouching under the bushes, the pigeons taking refuge in their house; as soon as the ground is quite clear, Cocky changes his wild note for peals of laughter from a high tree, and finally alighting on the top of a hen-coop filled with trembling chickens, remarks in a suffocated voice, "You'll be the death of me." I must reverse the proverb about the ridiculous and the sublime, and finish my letter by telling you of Ilam's chief outdoor charm: from all parts of the garden and grounds I can feast my eyes on the glorious chain of mountains which I have before told you of, and my bedroom window has a perfect panoramic view of them. I watch them under all their changes of tint, and find each new phase the most beautiful. In the very early morning I have often stood shivering at my window to see the noble outline gradually assuming shape, and finally standing out sharp and clear against a dazzling sky; then, as the sun rises, the softest rose-coloured and golden tints touch the highest peaks, the shadows deepening by the contrast. Before a "nor'-wester" the colours over these mountains and in the sky are quite indescribable; no one but Turner could venture upon such a mixture of pale sea-green with deep turquoise blue, purple with crimson and orange. One morning an arch-like appearance in the clouds over the furthest ranges was pointed out to me as the sure forerunner of a violent gale from the north-west, and the prognostic was fulfilled. It was formed of clouds of the deepest and richest colours; within its curve lay a bare expanse of a wonderful green tint, crossed by the snowy _silhouette_ of the Southern Alps. A few hours afterwards the mountains were quite hidden by mist, and a furious gale of hot wind was shaking the house as if it must carry it off into the sky; it blew so continuously that the trees and shrubs never seemed to rise for a moment against it. These hot winds affect infants and children a good deal, and my baby is not at all well. However, his doctor thinks the change to the station will set him all right again, so we are hurrying off much sooner than our kind friends here wish, and long before the little house in the hills can possibly be made comfortable, though F---- is working very hard to get things settled for us. Letter IX: Death in our new home--New Zealand children. Broomielaw, Malvern Hills, May 1866. I do not like to allow the first Panama steamer to go without a line from me: this is the only letter I shall attempt, and it will be but a short and sad one, for we are still in the first bitterness of grief for the loss of our dear little baby. After I last wrote to you he became very ill, but we hoped that his malady was only caused by the unhealthiness of Christchurch during the autumn, and that he would soon revive and get on well in this pure, beautiful mountain air. We consequently hurried here as soon as ever we could get into the house, and whilst the carpenters were still in it. Indeed, there was only one bedroom ready for us when I arrived. The poor little man rallied at first amazingly; the weather was exquisitely bright and sunny, and yet bracing. Baby was to be kept in the open air as much as possible, so F---- and I spent our days out on the downs near the house, carrying our little treasure by turns: but all our care was fruitless: he got another and more violent attack about a fortnight ago, and after a few hours of suffering he was taken to the land where pain is unknown. During the last twelve hours of his life, as I sat before the fire with him on my lap, poor F----kneeling in a perfect agony of grief by my side, my greatest comfort was in looking at that exquisite photograph from Kehren's picture of the "Good Shepherd," which hangs over my bedroom mantelpiece, and thinking that our sweet little lamb would soon be folded in those Divine, all-embracing Arms. It is not a common picture; and the expression of the Saviour's face is most beautiful, full of such immense feminine compassion and tenderness that it makes me feel more vividly, "In all our sorrows He is afflicted." In such a grief as this I find the conviction of the reality and depth of the Divine sympathy is my only true comfort; the tenderest human love falls short of the feeling that, without any words to express our sorrow, God knows all about it; that He would not willingly afflict or grieve us, and that therefore the anguish which wrings our hearts is absolutely necessary in some mysterious way for our highest good. I fear I have often thought lightly of others' trouble in the loss of so young a child; but now I know what it is. Does it not seem strange and sad, that this little house in a distant, lonely spot, no sooner becomes a home than it is baptized, as it were, with tears? No doubt there are bright and happy days in store for us yet, but these first ones here have been sadly darkened by this shadow of death. Inanimate things have such a terrible power to wound one: though everything which would remind me of Baby has been carefully removed and hidden away by F----'s orders, still now and then I come across some trifle belonging to him, and, as Miss Ingelow says-- "My old sorrow wakes and cries." Our loss is one too common out here, I am told: infants born in Christchurch during the autumn very often die. Owing to the flatness of the site of the town, it is almost impossible to get a proper system of drainage; and the arrangements seem very bad, if you are to judge from the evil smells which are abroad in the evening. Children who are born on a station, or taken there as soon as possible, almost invariably thrive, but babies are very difficult to rear in the towns. If they get over the first year, they do well; and I cannot really call to mind a single sickly, or even delicate-looking child among the swarms which one sees everywhere. I cannot say that I think colonial children prepossessing in either manners or appearance, in spite of their ruddy cheeks and sturdy limbs. Even quite little things are pert and independent, and give me the idea of being very much spoiled. When you reflect on the utter absence of any one who can really be called a nurse, this is not to be wondered at. The mothers are thoroughly domestic and devoted to their home duties, far more so than the generality of the same class at home. An English lady, with even an extremely moderate income, would look upon her colonial sister as very hard-worked indeed. The children cannot be entrusted entirely to the care of an ignorant girl, and the poor mother has them with her all day long; if she goes out to pay visits (the only recognized social duty here), she has to take the elder children with her, but this early introduction into society does not appear to polish the young visitors' manners in the least. There is not much rest at night for the mater-familias with the inevitable baby, and it is of course very difficult for her to be correcting small delinquents all day long; so they grow up with what manners nature gives them. There seems to me, however, to be a greater amount of real domestic happiness out here than at home: perhaps the want of places of public amusement may have something to do with this desirable state of affairs, but the homes seem to be thoroughly happy ones. A married man is an object of envy to his less fortunate brethren, and he appears anxious to show that he appreciates his good fortune. As for scandal, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, it is unknown; gossip there is in plenty, but it generally refers to each other's pecuniary arrangements or trifling peculiarities, and is all harmless enough. I really believe that the life most people lead here is as simple and innocent as can well be imagined. Each family is occupied in providing for its own little daily wants and cares, which supplies the mind and body with healthy and legitimate employment, and yet, as my experience tells me, they have plenty of leisure to do a kind turn for a neighbour. This is the bright side of colonial life, and there is more to be said in its praise; but the counterbalancing drawback is, that the people seem gradually to lose the sense of larger and wider interests; they have little time to keep pace with the general questions of the day, and anything like sympathy or intellectual appreciation is very rare. I meet accomplished people, but seldom well-read ones; there is also too much talk about money: "where the treasure is, there will the heart be also;" and the incessant financial discussions are wearisome, at least to me. Letter X: Our station home. Broomielaw, July 1866. We are now in mid-winter, and a more delicious season cannot well be imagined; the early mornings and evenings and the nights are very cold, but the hours from 10 A.M. till 5 P.M. are exquisitely bright, and quite warm. We are glad of a fire at breakfast, which is tolerably early, but we let it out and never think of relighting it until dark. Above all, it is calm: I congratulate myself daily on the stillness of the atmosphere, but F---- laughs and says, "Wait until the spring." I bask all day in the verandah, carrying my books and work there soon after breakfast; as soon as the sun goes down, however, it becomes very cold. In an English house you would hardly feel it, but with only one plank an inch thick, a lining-board and canvas and paper, between you and a hard frost, a good fire is wanted. We burn coal found twelve miles from this; it is not very good, being only what is called "lignite." I don't know if that conveys to you a distinct impression of what it really is. I should say it was a better sort of turf: it smoulders just in the same way, and if not disturbed will remain many hours alight; it requires a log of dry wood with it to make a really good blaze. Fuel is most difficult to get here, and very expensive, as we have no available "bush" on the Run; so we have first to take out a licence for cutting wood in the Government bush, then to employ men to cut it, and hire a drayman who possesses a team of bullocks and a dray of his own, to fetch it to us: he can only take two journeys a day, as he has four miles to travel each way, so that by the time the wood is stacked it costs us at least thirty shillings a cord, and then there is the labour of sawing and cutting it up. The coal costs us one pound a ton at the mouth of the pit, and the carriage exactly doubles its price; besides which it is impossible to get more, than a small quantity at a time, on account of the effect of the atmosphere on it. Exposure to the air causes it to crumble into dust, and although we keep our supply in a little shed for the purpose, it is wasted to the extent of at least a quarter of each load. We are unusually unfortunate in the matter of firing; most stations have a bush near to the homestead, or greater facilities for draying than we possess. You tell me to describe my little house to you, so I must try to make you see it, only prefacing my attempt by warning you not to be disgusted or disappointed at any shortcomings. The house has not been built in a pretty situation, as many other things had to be considered before a picturesque site: first it was necessary to build on a flat (as the valleys here are called), not too far off the main track, on account of having to make the road to it ourselves; the next thing to be thought of was shelter from the north-west wind; then the soil must be fit for a garden, and a good creek, or brook, which would not go dry in the summer, close at hand. At present, everything out of doors is so unfinished that the place looks rather desolate, and it will be some years before our plantations can attain a respectable size, even allowing for the rapid growth in this climate. The first step is to obtain shelter from our enemy the "nor'-wester," and for this purpose we have planted quantities of broom in all directions; even the large beds for vegetables in the garden have a hedge of Cape broom on the exposed side; fortunately, the broom grows very quickly in spite of the wind, and attains to a luxuriant beauty rarely seen in England. We have put in many other trees, such as oaks, maples, etc., but not one is higher than this table, except a few poplars; the ground immediately outside the house has been dug up, and is awaiting the spring to be sown with English grass; we have no attempt at a flower-garden yet, but have devoted our energies to the vegetable one,--putting in fruit trees, preparing strawberry and asparagus beds, and other useful things. Out of doors matters would not even be as far advanced towards a garden and plantation as they are if we had commenced operations ourselves, but the ground has been worked since last year. I am glad we have chosen to build our house here instead of at the homestead two miles off; for I like to be removed from the immediate neighbourhood of all the work of the station, especially from that of the "gallows,"--a high wooden frame from which the carcases of the butchered sheep dangle; under the present arrangement the shepherd brings us over our mutton as we want it. Inside the house everything is comfortable and pretty, and, above all things, looks thoroughly home-like. Out of the verandah you pass through a little hall hung with whips and sticks, spurs and hats, and with a bookcase full of novels at one end of it, into a dining-room, large enough for us, with more books in every available corner, the prints you know so well on the walls, and a trophy of Indian swords and hunting-spears over the fireplace: this leads into the drawing-room, a bright, cheery little room--more books and pictures, and a writing-table in the "_h_oriel." In that tall, white, classical-shaped vase of Minton's which you helped me to choose is the most beautiful bouquet, made entirely of ferns; it is a constant object for my walks up the gullies, exploring little patches of bush to search for the ferns, which grow abundantly under their shelter by the creek. I have a small but comfortable bedroom, and there is a little dressing-room for F---- and the tiniest spare room you ever saw; it really is not bigger than the cabin of a ship. I think the kitchen is the chief glory of the house, boasting a "Leamington range" a luxury quite unknown in these parts, where all the cooking is done on an American stove,--a very good thing in its way, but requiring to be constantly attended to. There is a good-sized storeroom, in which F---- has just finished putting me up some cupboards, and a servants' room. It is not a palace is it? But it is quite large enough to hold a great deal of happiness. Outside, the premises are still more diminutive; a little wash-house stands near the kitchen door, and further up the enclosure is a stable, and a small room next it for saddles, and a fowl-house and pig-stye, and a coal-shed. Now you know everything about my surroundings; but--there is always a _but_ in everything--I have one great grievance, and I hope you will appreciate its magnitude. It was impossible for F---- to come up here when the house was first commenced, and the wretch of a builder deliberately put the drawing-and dining-room fireplaces in the corner, right up against the partition wall, of course utterly destroying the comfort as well as the symmetry of the rooms. I am convinced some economy of bricks is at the bottom of this arrangement, especially as the house was built by contract; but the builder pretends to be surprised that I don't admire it, and says, "Why, it's so oncommon, mum!" I assure you, when I first saw the ridiculous appearance of the drawing-room pier-glass in the corner, I should liked to have screamed out at the builder (like the Queen in "Alice in Wonderland"), "Cut off his head!" When we were packing up the things to come here, our friends expressed their astonishment at our taking so many of the little elegancies of life, such as drawing-room ornaments, pictures, etc. Now it is a great mistake not to bring such things, at all events a few of them, for they are not to be bought here, and they give the new home a certain likeness to the old one which is always delightful. I do not advise people to make large purchases of elegancies for a colonial life, but a few pretty little trifles will greatly improve the look of even a New Zealand up-country drawing-room. You have asked me also about our wardrobes. Gentlemen wear just what they would on a Scotch or English farm; in summer they require perhaps a lighter hat, and long rides are always taken in boots and breeches. A lady wears exactly what would be suitable in the country in England, except that I should advise her to eschew muslin; the country outside the home paddock is too rough for thin material; she also wants thick boots if she is a good walker, and I find nails or little screws in the soles a great help for hill-walking. A hat is my only difficulty: you really want a shady hat for a protection against the sun, but there are very few days in the year on which you can ride in anything but a close, small hat, with hardly any brim at all, and even this must have capabilities of being firmly fastened on the head. My nice, wide-brimmed Leghorn hangs idly in the hall: there is hardly a morning still enough to induce me to put it on even to go and feed my chickens or potter about the garden. This being winter, I live in a short linsey dress, which is just right as to warmth, and not heavy. It is a mistake to bring too much: a year's supply will be quite enough; fresh material can easily be procured in Christchurch or any of the large towns, or sent out by friends. I find my sewing-machine the greatest possible comfort, and as time passes on and my clothes need remodelling it will be still more use ful. Hitherto I have used it chiefly for my friends' benefit; whilst I was in town I constantly had little frocks brought to me to tuck, and here I employ it in making quilted cloth hats for my gentlemen neighbours. Letter XI: Housekeeping, and other matters. Broomielaw, September 1866. I am writing to you at the end of a fortnight of very hard work, for I have just gone through my first experience in changing servants; those I brought up with me four months ago were nice, tidy girls and as a natural consequence of these attractive qualities they have both left me to be married. I sent them down to Christchurch in the dray, and made arrangements for two more servants to return in the same conveyance at the end of a week. In the meantime we had to do everything for ourselves, and on the whole we found this picnic life great fun. The household consists, besides F---- and me, of a cadet, as they are called--he is a clergyman's son learning sheep-farming under our auspices--and a boy who milks the cows and does odd jobs out of doors. We were all equally ignorant of practical cookery, so the chief responsibility rested on my shoulders, and cost me some very anxious moments, I assure you, for a cookery-book is after all but a broken reed to lean on in a real emergency; it starts by assuming that its unhappy student possesses a knowledge of at least the rudiments of the art, whereas it ought not to disdain to tell you whether the water in which potatoes are to be boiled should be hot or cold. I must confess that some of my earliest efforts were both curious and nasty, but E ate my numerous failures with the greatest good-humour; the only thing at which he made a wry face was some soup into which a large lump of washing-soda had mysteriously conveyed itself; and I also had to undergo a good deal of "chaff" about my first omelette, which was of the size and consistency of a roly-poly pudding. Next to these failures I think the bread was my greatest misfortune; it went wrong from the first. One night I had prepared the tin dish full of flour, made a hole in the midst of the soft white heap, and was about to pour in a cupful of yeast to be mixed with warm water (you see I know all about it in theory), when a sudden panic seized me, and I was afraid to draw the cork of the large champagne bottle full of yeast, which appeared to be very much "up." In this dilemma I went for F----. You must know that he possesses such extraordinary and revolutionary theories on the subject of cooking, that I am obliged to banish him from the kitchen altogether, but on this occasion I thought I should be glad of his assistance. He came with the greatest alacrity; assured me he knew all about it, seized the big bottle, shook it violently, and twitched out the cork: there was a report like a pistol-shot, and all my beautiful yeast flew up to the ceiling of the kitchen, descending in a shower on my head; and F---- turned the bottle upside down over the flour, emptying the dregs of the hops and potatoes into my unfortunate bread. However, I did not despair, but mixed it up according to the directions given, and placed it on the stove; but, as it turned out, in too warm a situation, for when I went early the next morning to look at it, I found a very dry and crusty mass. Still, nothing daunted, I persevered in the attempt, added more flour and water, and finally made it up into loaves, which I deposited in the oven. That bread _never_ baked! I tried it with a knife in the orthodox manner, always to find that it was raw inside. The crust gradually became several inches thick, but the inside remained damp, and turned quite black at last; I baked it until midnight, and then I gave it up and retired to bed in deep disgust. I had no more yeast and could not try again, so we lived on biscuits and potatoes till the dray returned at the end of the week, bringing, however, only one servant. Owing to some confusion in the drayman's arrangements, the cook had been left behind, and "Meary," the new arrival, professed her willingness to supply her place; but on trial being made of her abilities, she proved to be quite as inexperienced as I was; and to each dish I proposed she should attempt, the unvarying answer was, "The missis did all that where I come from." During the first few days after her arrival her chief employment was examining the various knick-knacks about the drawing-room; in her own department she was greatly taken with the little cottage mangle. She mangled her own apron about twenty times a day, and after each attempt I found her contemplating it with her head on one side, and saying to herself, "'Deed, thin, it's as smooth as smooth; how iver does it do it?" A few days later the cook arrived. She is not all I could wish, being also Irish, and having the most extraordinary notions of the use, or rather the abuse, of the various kitchen implements: for instance, she will poke the fire with the toasting fork, and disregards my gentle hints about the poker; but at all events she can both roast mutton and bake bread. "Meary" has been induced to wash her face and braid up her beautiful hair, and now shines forth as a very pretty good-humoured girl. She is as clever and quick as possible, and will in time be a capital housemaid. She has taken it into her head that she would like to be a "first-rater," as she calls it, and works desperately hard in the prosecution of her new fancy. I have never told you of the Sunday services we established here from the first week of our arrival. There is no church nearer than those in Christchurch, nor--I may mention parenthetically--is there a doctor within the same distance. As soon as our chairs and tables were in their proper places, we invited our shepherds and those neighbours immediately around us to attend service on Sunday afternoon at three o'clock. F---- officiates as clergyman; _my_ duties resemble those of a beadle, as I have to arrange the congregation in their places, see that they have Prayer-books, etc. Whenever we go out for a ride, we turn our horses' heads up some beautiful valley, or deep gorge of a river, in search of the huts of our neighbours' shepherds, that we may tell the men of these services and invite them to attend. As yet, we have met with no refusals, but it will give you an idea of the scantiness of our population when I tell you that, after all our exertions, the "outsiders" only amount to fourteen, and of these at least half are gentlemen from neighbouring stations. With this number, in addition to our own small group, we consider that we form quite a respectable gathering. The congregation all arrive on horseback, each attended by at least two big colley dogs; the horses are turned into the paddock, the saddles deposited in the back verandah, and the dogs lie quietly down by their respective masters' equipments until they are ready to start homewards. There is something very wild and touching in these Sunday services. If the weather is quite clear and warm, they are held in the verandah; but unless it is a very sunny afternoon, it is too early in the year yet for this. The shepherds are a very fine class of men as a rule, and I find them most intelligent; they lead solitary lives, and are fond of reading; and as I am anxious to substitute a better sort of literature in their huts than the tattered yellow volumes which generally form their scanty library, I lend them books from my own small collection. But, as I foresee that this supply will soon be exhausted, we have started a Book Club, and sent to London for twenty pounds' worth of books as a first instalment. We shall get them second-hand from a large library, so I hope to receive a good boxful. The club consists of twenty-eight members now, and will probably amount to thirty-two, which is wonderful for this district. At the close of a year from the first distribution of the books they are to be divided into lots as near as possible in value to a pound each, the parcels to be numbered, and corresponding figures written on slips of paper, which are to be shaken up in a hat and drawn at random, each member claiming the parcel of which the number answers to that on his ticket. This is the fairest way I can think of for the distribution, and every one seems satisfied with the scheme. The most popular books are those of travel or adventure; unless a novel is really very good indeed, they do not care about it. The last little item of home news with which I must close this month's budget is, that F---- has been away for a few days on a skating excursion. A rather distant neighbour of ours called on his way up to the station far back among the hills, and gave such a glowing account of the condition of the ice in that part of the country, that F----, who is very fond of the amusement, was persuaded to accompany him. Our friend is the son of the Bishop, and owns a large station about twenty-six miles from this. At the back of his run the hills rise to a great height, and nestled among them lie a chain of lakes, after the largest of which (Lake Coleridge) Mr. H----'s station is named. On one of the smaller lakes, called by the classical name of "Ida," the ice attains to a great thickness; for it is surrounded by such lofty hills that during the winter months the sun hardly touches it, and it is commonly reported that a heavily-laden bullock-dray could cross it in perfect safety. F----was away nearly a week, and appears to have enjoyed himself thoroughly, though it will seem to you more of hard work than amusement; for he and Mr. H----, and some other gentlemen who were staying there, used to mount directly after breakfast, with their skates tied to their saddle-bow, and ride twelve miles to Lake Ida, skate all through the short winter's day, lunching at the solitary hut of a gentleman-farmer close by the lake, and when it grew dusk riding home again. The gentlemen in this country are in such good training through constant exercise, that they appear able to stand any amount of fatigue without minding it. Letter XII: My first expedition. Broomielaw, October 1866. This ought to be early spring, but the weather is really colder and more disagreeable than any which winter brought us; and, proverbially fickle as spring sunshine and showers are in England, ours is a far more capricious and trying season. Twice during this month have I been a victim to these sudden changes of climate; on the first occasion it was most fortunate that we had reached the shelter of a friendly and hospitable roof, for it was three days before we could re-cross the mountain-pass which lay between us and home. One beautiful spring morning F---- asked me if I would like to ride across the hills, and pay my first visit to some kind and old friends of his, who were among the earliest arrivals in the province, and who have made a lovely home for themselves at the foot of a great Bush on the other side of our range. I was delighted at the idea, for I have had very little opportunity of going about since we came here, owing to the short winter days and the amount of occupation at home consequent on a new establishment. Directly after breakfast, the horses were caught and saddled, and we started in high spirits. As we rode up the long, sunny valley stretching away for miles at the back of the house, F---- pointed out to me, with all a sheep-farmer's pride, the hundreds of pretty little curly-fleeced lambs skipping about the low hill-sides. After we passed our own boundary fence we came upon a very bad track,--this is the name by which all roads are called, and they do not deserve a better,--but it was the only path to our destination. The air was mild and balmy, and the sun shone brightly as we slowly picked our way across bogs and creeks, and up and down steep, slippery hill-sides; but just as we reached the lowest saddle of the range and prepared to descend, a cold wind met us. In an instant the sunshine was overclouded, and F----, pointing to a grey bank of cloud moving quickly towards us, said, "There is a tremendous sou'-wester coming up; we had better push on for shelter, or you'll be drowned:" but, alas! at each step the road grew worse and worse; where it was level the ground was literally honeycombed with deep holes half full of water, and at last we came to a place where the horse had to descend a flight of stone steps, each step being extremely slippery and some way below the other; and at the bottom of this horrible staircase there was a wide jump to be taken, the spring being off the lowest step, and the jump upwards alighting on a steep bank up which the horses scrambled like cats. Getting wet through appeared to me a very minor evil compared to the dangers of such a road, but F---- urged me forward, with assurances that the horse knew the path perfectly well and could carry me at a gallop quite safely; but it was impossible to infuse sufficient courage into my drooping heart to induce me to go faster than a walk. All this time the storm drew rapidly nearer, the wind blew in icy cold gusts, the hail came down in large stones, pelting our faces till they tingled again; it was nearly an hour before we rode up to the hospitable, ever-open porch door of Rockwood. I was immediately lifted off my saddle by kind and strong arms, and carried with frozen limbs and streaming habit into the kitchen, for I was as unfit for the drawing-room as my own water-spaniel. A blazing wood fire was hastily lighted in one of the bed-rooms, and thither the good hostess conveyed me. I emerged from that apartment the most extraordinary figure you ever saw. Imagine me arrayed in a short and very wide crinoline, over which was a bright-coloured linsey petticoat; an old pilot-coat for a jacket, huge carpet slippers on my feet, and my dripping hair hanging loose over my shoulders! I assure you, I looked like the portraits in books of travel, of the Tahitian women when they first assumed clothes; and the worst of it was, that I had to remain in this costume for three whole days. To return was impossible, the storm from the S.W. raged all that evening. When we opened our eyes next morning, snow was lying some inches deep, and still falling fast; there was no cessation for forty-eight hours, and then we had to give it time to thaw a little, so that it was Sunday morning before we started on our homeward ride. In the meantime, nothing could afford a greater contrast to the wild weather out of doors than the snug brightness within. Blazing logs of pine and black birch made every room warm and cheery; all day we chatted and amused ourselves in different ways (I learned to make a capital pudding, and acquainted myself with the mysteries of "junket"); in the evenings we had whist for an hour, and then either round games or songs. The young men of the house have nice voices and a great feeling for music, and some of the trios and glees went very well indeed. The only thing which spoilt my enjoyment was the constantly recurring remembrance of that terrible road. F---- tried to comfort me by assurances that the snow would have filled up the worst places so much that I should not see them, but, strange to say, I failed to derive any consolation from that idea; however, we accomplished the journey back safely, but with many slips and slides. As soon as we came on our own run, F----began to look out for dead lambs, but fortunately there were not many for him to mourn over; they must have taken shelter under the low hills, to leeward of the storm. The second ride was much longer, and if possible a more disagreeable one. It began just in the same way; we were again decoyed out by sunshine and soft air for a ride round the run, starting about half-past ten. The scenery was beautiful, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. The track lay along our own boundary fence most of the way, and we had ridden about ten miles, when we stopped at one of our shepherds' huts, technically called an out station, and accepted his offer of luncheon. He gave us capital tea, with an egg beaten up in it as a substitute for milk, cold mutton, bread, and a cake; the reason of these unwonted luxuries was that he kept fowls, and I was very jealous at seeing two broods of chickens out, whilst mine are still in the shell. This man is quite an artist, and the walls of his but were covered with bold pen-and-ink sketches, chiefly reminiscences of the hunting-field in England, or his own adventures "getting out" wild cattle on the Black Hills in the north of the province: he leads an extremely-solitary existence, his dogs being his only companions; his duties consist in riding daily a boundary down the gorge of the river, which he has to cross and re-cross many times: and he has to supply the home station and our house with mutton, killing four or five sheep a week. He is employed out of doors all day, but has plenty of time in the evenings for reading I found him well-informed and intelligent, and he expresses himself exceedingly well. We rested here an hour, and as we went outside and prepared to mount, F---- said, "I really believe there is _another_ sou'-wester coming up," and so there was: we could not go fast, for we were riding over a dry river-bed, composed entirely of loose large stones. Every few hundred yards we had to cross the river Selwyn, which was rising rapidly, as the storm had been raging in the mountains long before it reached us; on each side were high, steep hills, and in some places the river filled up the gorge entirely, and we had to ride in the water up to our saddle-girths. All this time the rain was coming down in sheets, but the wind grew colder and colder; at last the rain turned into snow, which speedily changed us and our horses into white moving figures. Eight long weary miles of this had we, only able to trot the last two, and those over very swampy ground. In your country a severe cold would probably have been the least evil of this escapade, but here no such consequence follow a good wetting; the houses are so little real protection from the weather, that you are forced to live as it were in the open air, whether you like it or not, and this hardens the constitution so much, that it is not easy to take cold from a little extra exposure. Men are apt to be careless and remain in their wet things, or stand before a fire till their clothes dry on them; and whenever I scold any one for being foolish, he always acknowledges that if he does but change when he comes into a house, he _never_ catches cold from any amount of exposure to the severest weather. Letter XIII: Bachelor hospitality.--a gale on shore. Broomielaw, November 1866. We have lately made a much longer excursion than those I told you of last, month, and this time have been fortunate in meeting with fine weather above all, our expedition has been over perfectly level ground, and on a good "track," which has greatly increased its charms in my eyes. A fortnight ago early summer set fairly in, and some bachelor neighbours took advantage of the change to ride over to see us, and arrange a plan for the following week. It all fitted in nicely, for F---- was obliged to go to Christchurch at that time, and the first idea of the expedition originated in my saying how dull I was at the station when he was away. I can get on very well all day; with my various employments--feeding the chickens, taking the big dogs out for a walk, and so on: but after the house is quiet and silent for the night, and the servants have gone to bed, a horrible lonely eerie feeling comes over me; the solitude is so dreary, and the silence so intense, only broken occasionally by the wild, melancholy cry of the weka. However, I am very rarely tried in this way, and when I am it can't be helped, if that is any consolation. I forget whether I told you that we left all "evening things," and other toilette necessaries which would not be wanted up country, behind us in Christchurch, so as to avoid the trouble of sending any luggage backwards or forwards. It is necessary to mention this, to account for the very light marching order in which we travelled. It was a lovely summer morning on which we left home, meaning to be away nearly a week, from Monday till Saturday. We were well mounted, and all our luggage consisted of my little travelling-bag fastened to the pommel of my saddle, containing our brushes and combs, and what is termed a "swag" in front of F----'s saddle; that is, a long narrow bundle, in this instance enclosed in a neat waterproof case, and fastened with two straps to the "D's," which are steel loops let in in four places to all colonial saddles, for the purpose of carrying blankets, etc.; they derive their name apparently from their resemblance to the letter. In this parcel our most indispensable garments were tightly packed. We cantered gaily along on the way to Christchurch, the horses appearing to enjoy the delicious air and soft springy turf as much as we did. There was a river and half-a-dozen creeks to be crossed; but they are all quite low at this time of year. As we stood in one of them to let the horses drink and cool their legs, I saw a huge eel hidden under the shadow of a high overhanging bank, waiting till the evening to come out and feed upon the myriads of flies and little white moths that skim over the surface of the water. It is considered a great advantage to our station that there is only the river Selwyn (of which the Maori name is the Wai-kiri-kiri) between us and town, not only for our own convenience, but because it is easy to take sheep across it, and it offers no difficulties to the wool drays. This river has a very good reputation, and is very rarely dangerous to cross; whereas the Rakaia and the Rangitata towards the south, and the Waimakiriri towards the north, of Christchurch, are most difficult, and always liable to sudden freshes. The general mode of crossing the larger rivers is by a boat, with the horse swimming behind; but accidents constantly occur from the foolhardiness of people attempting to ford them alone on horseback: they are lost in quicksands, or carried down by the current, before they can even realize that they are in danger. The common saying in New Zealand is, that people only die from drowning and drunkenness. I am afraid the former is generally the result of the latter. From the first our road lay with our backs to the hills; but as we cantered along the plains, I was often obliged to turn round and admire their grand outlines. The highest ranges were still snow-white, and made a magnificent background against the summer sky. An easy twelve miles' ride brought us to a charming little station, called by the pretty native name of Waireka; here lived our three bachelor hosts, and a nicer or more comfortable home in a distant land could not be desired. The house has been built for some years, consequently the plantations about it and the garden have grown up well, and the willows, gum-trees, and poplars shelter it perfectly, besides giving it such a snug home look. It stands on a vast plain, without even an undulation of the ground near it; but the mountains form a grand panoramic view. There is a large wide verandah round two sides of the house, with French windows opening into it; and I could not help feeling impatient to see my own creepers in such luxuriant, beauty as these roses and honeysuckles were. It was half amusing and half pathetic to notice the preparations which had been made to receive a lady guest, and the great anxiety of my hosts to ensure my being quite as comfortable as I am at home. Much had been said beforehand about the necessity of making up my mind to rough it in bachelor quarters, so I was surprised to find all sorts of luxuries in my room, especially a dainty little toilette-table, draped with white cloths (a big wooden packing-case was its foundation). Its ornaments were all sorts of nondescript treasures, placed in boxes at the last moment of leaving the English hall or rectory by careful loving hands of mothers and sisters, and lying unused for years until now. There was a little china tray, which had been slipped into some corner by a child-sister anxious to send some possession of her "very own" out to the other end of the world; there was a vase with flowers; a parti-coloured pin-cushion of very gay silks, probably the parting gift of an old nurse; and a curious old-fashioned essence bottle, with eau-de-cologne; the surrounding country had been ransacked to procure a piece of scented soap. The only thing to remind me that I was not in an English cottage was the opossum rug with which the neat little bed was covered. The sitting-room looked the picture of cosy comfort, with its well-filled book-shelves, arm-chairs, sofa with another opossum rug thrown over it, and the open fireplace filled with ferns and tufts of the white feathery Tohi grass in front of the green background. We enjoyed our luncheon, or rather early dinner, immensely after our ride; and in the afternoon went out to see the nice large garden (such a contrast to our wretched little beginnings), and finally strolled on to the inevitable wool-shed, where the gentlemen had an animated "sheep talk." I rather enjoy these discussions, though they are prefaced by an apology for "talking shop;" but it amuses me, and I like to see the samples of wool, which are generally handed about in the heat of a great argument, the long white locks are so glistening, and soft, and crinkly. My five-o'clock tea was duly remembered, and then, as there was nothing more to see out of doors within a short distance, I proposed that I should make a cake. The necessary ingredients were quickly collected. I had relays of volunteers to beat up the eggs, and though I suffered great anxiety until it was cut at supper, it turned out satisfactorily. The worst of my cookery is, that while I always follow the same directions most carefully, there is great uncertainty and variety about the result. In the evening we played round games. But we all went early to bed, as, we had to be up betimes, and in the saddle by seven o'clock, to catch the 9-30 train at Rolleston; twenty miles off. We had a beautiful, still morning for our ride, and reached the station--a shed standing out on the plain--in time to see our horses safely paddocked before the train started for Christchurch. The distance by rail was only fifteen miles, so we were not long about it; and we walked to the hotel from the railway-station in the town. A bath and breakfast were both very enjoyable, and then F---- went out to transact his business, and I employed myself in unpacking and _ironing_ a ball-dress for a party, to which we were engaged that evening. There was also another ball the following night. The second was a very late one, and we had scarcely an hour's sleep before we were obliged to get up and start by the 6 A.M. train back to Rolleston, where we remounted our horses and rode to dear little Waireka in time for breakfast. By the evening I was sufficiently rested to make another cake, which also, happily, turned out well. We intended to return home the next day (Friday), but a terrific "nor'-wester" came on in the night, and it was impossible to stir out of the house; it was the severest gale since our arrival, and it is hardly possible to give you a correct idea of the force and fury of the wind. Not a glimpse of the mountains was to be seen; a haze of dust, as thick as any fog, shut everything out. The sheep had all taken refuge under the high banks of the creeks. It is curious that sheep always feed head to wind in a nor'-west gale, whereas they will drift for miles before a sou'-wester. The trees bent almost flat before the hot breath of this hurricane, and although the house was built of cob, and its walls were very thick and solid, the creaking and swaying of the shingled roof kept me in perpetual alarm. The verandah was a great protection; and yet the small river-pebbles, of which the garden-walk was made, were dashed against the windows like hailstones by each gust. We amused ourselves indoors by the study and composition of acrostics, and so got through an imprisonment of two days, without a moment's cessation of the wind; but towards sunset on Saturday there were signs of a lull, and about midnight the gale dropped; and we heard the grateful, refreshing sound of soft and continuous rain, and when we came out to breakfast on Sunday morning everything looked revived again. It is a most fortunate meteorological fact that these very high winds are generally succeeded by heavy rain; everything is so parched and shrivelled up by them that I do not know what would become of the vegetation otherwise. We held a council, to determine what had better be done about returning home, and finally decided to risk a wet ride sooner than disappoint the little congregation; for should it prove a fine afternoon, those who lived near would certainly come; so we mounted after breakfast. I was wrapped in one of the gentlemen's macintoshes, and found the ride far from disagreeable. As we neared our own station we began to look out for signs of disaster; and about half a mile from the house saw some of the vanes from the chimneys on the track; a little nearer home, across the path lay a large zinc chimney-pot; then another; and when we came close enough to see the house distinctly, it looked very much dwarfed without its chimneys. There had been a large pile of empty boxes at the back of the stable; these were all blown away in the gale. One huge packing-case was sailing tranquilly about on the pond, and planks and fragments of zinc were strewn over the paddock. The moment we reached the house, Mr. U----, the gentleman-cadet of whom I have told you, came out, with a melancholy face, to tell me that a large wooden cage, full of the canaries which I had brought from England with me, had been blown out of the verandah, though it was on the most sheltered side of the house. It really seemed incredible at first, but the cage was lying in ruins in the middle of the paddock, and all my birds except one had disappeared. It happened in the middle of the night, and Mr. U----described, very amusingly, that when he was awakened by the noise which the cage made against a wire fence (which it just "topped" in passing), he sprang out of his bed in the attic, and clambered out of the window, expecting to find the very heavy sort of staircase-ladder in its place; but it was "over the hills and far away," so he had a drop of about twelve feet to the ground, which thoroughly aroused him. He went into the verandah to see if the cage was safe, and was nearly knocked down by a big tin bath, ordinarily kept there, which was just starting across country. As soon as he missed the cage he very pluckily went after it, being able to keep sight of it by the fitful gleams of moon-light, and he was just in time to rescue the poor little surviving canary. We could not help laughing at the recital of all the mischief which had been done, but still it is very tiresome, and the garden looks, if possible, more wretched than ever. There is no shelter for it yet, and my poor green-peas are blown nearly out of the ground. It rained hard all the evening, so our congregation was confined to the home party. Letter XIV: A Christmas picnic, and other doings. Broomielaw, December 1866. It is too late to wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year in this letter. In order to allow them to reach you in time I should have sent my good wishes in October's letter; I must remember to do so next year. I am writing on the last days of the month, so I shall be able to tell you of our own Christmas doings; though, first, I must describe the festivities attending a "coming of age in the Bush," to which we were invited about the middle of this month. How strange Christmas picnics and balls will appear in your eyes, before which still dangle probably the dear old traditional holly and ivy! I am obliged to preface all my descriptions with an account of a ride, if I am to begin, according to your repeated injunctions, at the very beginning; for a ride is quite certain to be both the beginning and end of each excursion, simply because we have no other means of going about, except on our feet. The ride upon this occasion was to Rockwood, where the birthday party was to assemble, but the road had not now so many terrors for me. In consequence of the fine dry weather, most of the bad places were safer and firmer, and the numerous creeks were only shallow sparkling streamlets over which a child could jump, instead of the muddy noisy wide brooks of three months ago. The day on which we started, this time, was a great contrast to the former one. When we reached the saddle I have before told you of, instead of being met and nearly driven back by a violent "sutherly buster," we stopped before beginning the steep descent to admire the exquisite view before us. Close on our right hand rose the Government bush out of which we get our firewood, standing grand and gloomy amid huge cliffs and crags; even the summer sunshine could not enliven it, nor the twitter and chirrup of countless birds. In front, the chain of hills we were crossing rolled down in gradually decreasing hillocks, till they merged in the vast plains before us, stretching away as far as the eye could reach towards the south, all quivering in the haze and glare of the bright sunlight. The background, extending along the horizon, was formed of lofty mountains still glistening white against the dazzling blue sky. Just at our feet the Rockwood paddocks looked like carpets of emerald velvet, spread out among the yellowish tussocks; the fences which enclose them were either golden with broom and gorse, or gay with wild roses and honeysuckle. Beyond these we saw the bright patches of flowers in the garden, and nothing could be more effective than the white gable of the house standing out against the vast black birch forest which clothed the steep hill-sides for miles--the contrast was so picturesque between the little bit of civilization and culture and the great extent of wild, savage scenery around it. After the utter treelessness of our own immediate neighbourhood, the sight of such a mass of foliage is a joy to my eyes. The day following our arrival was _the_ birthday, and we prepared to enjoy every hour of it. The party assembled was a very large one, consisting, however, chiefly of gentlemen, for the utmost exertions in the district could not produce more than five ladies altogether, and two of those had come an immense way. Directly after breakfast we all sallied forth, the ladies equipped in light cotton dresses (muslin is too thin for the bush) and little sailor hats,--we did not want shady ones, for never a gleam of sun can penetrate into a real New Zealand Bush, unless in a spot which has been very much cleared. Strong boots with nails in the soles, to help us to keep on our feet up the steep clay hill-sides, and a stout stick, completed our equipment; perhaps we were not very smart, but we looked like going at all events. I can answer for myself that I enjoyed every moment of that long Midsummer holiday most intensely, though I fear I must have wearied our dear, charming host, by my incessant questions about the names of the trees and shrubs, and of the habits and ways of the thousands of birds. It was all so new and so delightful to me,--the green gloom, the hoarse croak of the ka-ka, as it alighted almost at our feet and prepared, quite careless of our vicinity, to tear up the loose soil at the root of a tall tree, in search of grubs. It is a species of parrot, but with very dingy reddish-brown plumage, only slightly enlivened by a few, scarlet feathers in the wing. The air was gay with bright green parroquets flitting about, very mischievous they are, I am told, taking large tithe of the fruit, especially of the cherries. Every now and then we stood, by common consent, silent and almost breathless to listen to the Bell-bird, a dingy little fellow, nearly as large as a thrush with the plumage of a chaffinch, but with such a note!--how can I make you hear its wild, sweet, plaintive tone, as a little girl of the party said, "just as if it had a bell in its throat;" but indeed it would require a whole peal of silver bells to ring such an exquisite chime. Then we crept softly up to a low branch, to have a good look at the Tui, or Parson-bird, most respectable and clerical-looking in its glossy black suit, with a singularly trim and dapper air, and white wattles of very slender feathers--indeed they are as fine as hair-curled coquettishly at each side of his throat, exactly like bands. All the birds were quite tame, and, instead of avoiding us, seemed inclined to examine us minutely. Many of them have English names, which I found very tantalising, especially when, the New Zealand Robin was announced, and I could only see a fat little ball of a bird, with a yellowish-white breast. Animals there are none. No quadruped is indigenous to New Zealand, except a rat; but then, on the other hand, we are as free from snakes and all vermin as if St. Patrick himself had lived here. Our host has turned several pheasants into this forest, but they increase very slowly on account of the wekas. However, the happiness of this morning was made complete by our putting up two splendid rocketers. We could only make our way by the paths which have been cut through the Bush; a yard off the track it is impossible to stir for the dense undergrowth. In the ravines and steep gullies formed by the creeks grow masses of ferns of all sorts, spreading like large shrubs, and contrasting by their light bright green with the black stems of the birch-trees around them. There are a few pines in this bush, but not many. I can give you no idea of the variety among the shrubs: the koromika, like an Alpine rose, a compact ball of foliage; the lance-wood, a tall, slender stem, straight as a line, with a few long leaves at the top, turned downwards like the barb of a spear, and looking exactly like a lance stuck into the ground; the varieties of matapo, a beautiful shrub, each leaf a study, with its delicate tracery of black veins on a yellow-green ground; the mappo, the gohi, and many others, any of which would be the glory of an English shrubbery: but they seem to require the deep shelter of their native Bush, for they never flourish when transplanted. I noticed the slender the large trees have of the ground, and it is not at all surprising, after such a gale as we had three weeks ago, to see many of the finest blown down in the clearings where the wind could reach them. They do not seem to have any tap-root at all, merely a very insufficient network of fibres, seldom of any size, which spreads a short way along the surface of the ground As long as a Bush is undisturbed by civilization, it appears to be impervious to wind or weather; but as soon as it is opened and cleared a little, it begins to diminish rapidly. There are traces all over the hills of vast forests having once existed; chiefly of totara, a sort of red pine, and those about us are scattered with huge logs of this valuable wood, all bearing traces of the action of fire; but shepherds, and explorers on expeditions, looking for country, have gradually consumed them for fuel, till not many pieces remain except on the highest and most inaccessible ranges. It was a delightful, and by no means unacceptable surprise which awaited us on the other side, when, on emerging from a very thick part of the Bush, we came on a lovely spot, a true "meeting of the waters." Three broad, bright creeks came rushing and tumbling down from the densely wooded hills about to join and flow on in quite a good-sized river, amid boulders and a great deal of hurry and fuss,--a contrast to the profound quiet of our ramble hitherto, the silence of which was only broken by the twitter and whistle of the birds. Never a song can you hear, only a sweet chirrup, or two or three melodious notes. On the opposite bank of the river there was the welcome sight of several hampers more or less unpacked, and the gleam of a white tablecloth on the moss. Half-a-dozen gentlemen had formed themselves into a commissariat, and were arranging luncheon. We could see the champagne cooling in a sort of little bay, protected by a dam of big stones from being carried down the stream. It all looked very charming and inviting, but the next question was how to get across the river to these good things. Twelve or fourteen feet separated us, hungry and tired wanderers as we were, from food and rest; the only crossing-place was some miles lower down, near the house in fact; so even the most timid amongst us scouted the idea of retracing our steps. The only alternative was to make a bridge: one of the gentlemen who were with us carried an axe in case of emergency, and in a moment we heard the sharp ringing sounds foretelling the fall of a tree. In the mean-time, others of the party were dragging out fallen logs--of course small and manageable ones--and laying them from one huge boulder to another, working up to their knees in water. So many of these prostrate trunks were "convenient," that a cry soon arose to the woodman to "spare the trees," for there were quite enough on the ground. However, two substantial poles had been felled, and these were laid over the deepest and most dangerous part of the current. The bridge was soon declared passable, and loud shouts from the opposite side proclaimed that luncheon was quite ready. I was called, as having a most undeserved reputation for "pluck," to make trial of the aerial-looking fabric. I did not like it at all, and entreated some one else to lead the forlorn hope; so a very quiet young lady, who really possessed more courage in her little finger than I do in my whole body, volunteered to go first. The effect from the bank was something like tight-rope dancing, and it was very difficult to keep one's balance. Miss Kate, our pioneer, walked on very steadily, amid great applause, till she reached the middle of the stream, where fortunately the water was shallow, but strewed with masses of boulders. She paused an instant on the large rock on which the ends of the saplings rested, and then started afresh for the last half of her journey. The instant she put her foot on the second part of the bridge, it gave way with a loud crash; and the poor girl, with great presence of mind, caught at the tree she, had just crossed, and so saved herself from a ducking. Of course, she had plenty of help in an instant, but the difficulty was to regain any sort of footing. She could not drop into the water, and there was apparently no way of dragging herself up again; but one of the gentlemen crept on hands and knees along the unbroken part of the bridge, and eventually helped her up the sides of the large boulder which acted as a pier, and from which the log had slipped. From the other side they now pushed across tall, slim trees, freshly cut, and the rest of the passage was safe enough. I did not like the mode of transit at all, though I got over without a slip, but it requires a steady head to cross a noisy stream on two slippery round poles--for really the trees were little thicker--laid side by side, bending with every step. It was a great comfort to me all luncheon-time to know that we were not to return by the same path through the Bush. We had a good rest after lunch: I lay back on a bed of fern, watching the numbers of little birds around us; they boldly picked up our crumbs, without a thought of possible danger. Presently I felt a tug at the shawl on which I was lying: I was too lazy and dreamy to turn my head, so the next thing was a sharp dig on my arm, which hurt me dreadfully. I looked round, and there was a weka bent on thoroughly investigating the intruder into its domain. The bird looked so cool and unconcerned, that I had not the heart to follow my first impulse and throw my stick at it; but my forbearance was presently rewarded by a stab on the ankle, which fairly made me jump up with a scream, when my persecutor glided gracefully away among the bushes, leaving me, like Lord Ullin, "lamenting." We sauntered home slowly, gathering armfuls of, fern and a large variety of a stag's-head moss so common on the west coast of Scotland; and as soon as we had had some tea, the gentlemen went off with their towels to bathe in the creek, and the five ladies set to work at the decorations for the ball-room, weaving wreaths and arranging enormous bouquets very rapidly: we had such a wealth of flowers to work with that our task was not difficult. The most amusing part of the story is, however, that the ball took place in my bed-room! A very pompous lady of my acquaintance always prefaces the slenderest anecdote with these words, "And it happened in this wise," so I think I shall avail myself of the _tour de phrase_. It happened in this wise, then:-a large well-proportioned room had been added to the house lately; it was intended for a drawing-room, but for some reason has only been used as a spare bed-room, but as it may possibly return to its original destination, very little bed-room furniture has been put in it, and many of its belongings are appropriate to a sitting-room. We called in the servants, the light cane bedstead was soon deposited under the shade of a tree in the garden, the washing-stand was similarly disposed of, and an hour's work with hammer and nails and a ball of string turned the room into a perfect bower of ferns and flowers: great ingenuity was displayed in the arrangement of lights, and the result was a very pretty ball-room. We are always eating in this country, so you will not be surprised to hear that there was yet another meal to be disposed of before we separated to dress in all sorts of nooks and corners. White muslin was the universal costume, as it can be packed flat and smooth. My gown had been carried over by F---- in front of his saddle in a very small parcel: I covered it almost entirely with sprays of the light-green stag's-head, moss, and made a wreath of it also for my hair. I think that with the other ladies roses were the most popular decoration, and they looked very fresh and nice. I was the universal _coiffeuse_, and I dressed all the girls' heads with flowers, as I was supposed to be best up in the latest fashions. In the meantime, the piano had been moved to the bay-window of the ball-room, and at ten o'clock dancing commenced, and may be truly said to have been kept up with great spirit until four o'clock: it only ceased then on account of the state of exhaustion of the unfortunate five ladies, who had been nearly killed with incessant dancing. I threw a shawl over my head, and sauntered alone up one of the many paths close to the house which led into the Bush. Tired as I was, I shall never forget the beauty and romance of that hour,--the delicious crisp _new_ feeling of the morning air; the very roses, growing like a red fringe on the skirts of the great Bush, seemed awaking to fresh life and perfume; the numbers of gay lizards and flies coming out for their morning meal, and, above all, the first awakening of the myriads of Bush-birds; every conceivable twitter and chatter and chirrup; the last cry of a very pretty little owl, called, from its distinctly uttered words, the "More-pork," as it flitted away before the dawn to the highest trees: all made up a jubilant uproar compared to which one of the Crystal Palace choruses is silence. I sat down on a fallen tree, and listened and waited: every moment added to the lovely dawn around me, and I enjoyed to the full the fragrant smells and joyous sounds of another day in this fresh young land. All too soon came a loud "coo-ee" from the house, which I allowed them to repeat before I answered; this was to tell me that the ball-room was deserted, and had been again turned into a bed-room. When I opened my eyes later, after a six hours' nap, the room looked like a fairy bower, the flowers still unfaded. We had another picnic the next day up the gorge of a river, amid very wild and beautiful scenery; but everything had been arranged so as to make the expedition an easy one, out of consideration to the weary five. The day after this we rode home again, and I had to set to work directly to prepare for my own Christmas party to the shepherds and shearers,--for we have just commenced to muster the sheep, and the shearing will be in full force by Christmas Day. One great object I have in view in giving this party is to prevent the shearers from going over to the nearest accommodation-house and getting tipsy, as they otherwise would; so I have taken care to issue my invitations early. I found great difficulty in persuading some of the men to accept, as they had not brought any tidy clothes with them; and as the others would be decently, indeed well dressed, they did not like putting in a shabby appearance. This difficulty was obviated by F---- hunting up some of the things he had worn on the voyage, and rigging-out the invited guests. For two days before the great day I had been working hard, studying recipes for pies and puddings, and scouring the country in search of delicacies. Every lady was most kind, knowing that our poor, exposed garden was backward; I had sacks of green peas, bushels of young potatoes, and baskets of strawberries and cherries sent to me from all round the country; I made poor F---- ride twenty miles to get me a sirloin of beef, and, to my great joy, two beautiful young geese arrived as a present only the day before. It is a point of honour to have as little mutton as possible on these occasions, as the great treat is the complete change of fare. I only ventured to introduce it very much disguised as curry, or in pies. We were all up at daylight on Christmas morning, and off to the nearest little copse in one of the gullies, where a few shrubs and small trees and ferns grow, to gather boughs for the decoration of the washhouse. Marvels were done in the carpentering line to arrange tables around its walls. The copper, which at first presented such an obstacle to the symmetry of the adornments, became their chief glory; it was boarded over, its sides completely hidden by flags and ferns, and the dessert placed on it peeped out from a bower of greenery. I don't know how we got our own breakfast; from eleven o'clock there was the constant announcement "A horseman coming up the flat;" and by twelve, when I as beadle announced that all was ready, a large congregation of thirty-six came trooping into my little drawing-room. As soon as it was filled the others clustered round the door; but all could hear, I think. F---- began the service; and as the notes of the Christmas Anthem swelled up, I found the tears trembling in my eyes. My overwhelming thought was that it actually was the very first time those words had ever been sung or said in that valley--you in England can hardly realize the immensity of such a thought--"the first time since the world was made." I think the next sensation was one of extreme happiness; it seemed such a privilege to be allowed to hold the initial Christmas service. I had to grasp this idea very tight to keep down the terrible home-sickness which I felt all day for almost the first time. There are moments when no advantages or privileges can repress what Aytoun calls "the deep, unutterable woe which none save exiles feel." The service only lasted half an hour, beginning and ending with a hymn; there were three women present besides me--my two servants, and the nice young wife of a neighbouring shepherd. It was a sultry day, not a breath of air; but still it is never oppressive at this elevation. We wound up a big musical-box, set it going in the banqueting-hall (late washhouse), and marshalled the guests in they were extremely shy as a rule, and so we soon went away and left them to themselves. They ate incessantly for two hours--and I hope they enjoyed themselves; then the men lounged about the stables and smoked, and the three women cleared away a little. F---- and our gentlemen guests got up athletic sports in the shade which seemed very popular, though it appeared a great deal of trouble to take on such a hot day. As the sun sank below the hills it grew much cooler, and my two maids came with a shamefaced request to be allowed to dance in the kitchen. I inquired about the music?--that was provided for by a fiddle and some pipes; so I consented, but I found they wanted me to start them. I selected as my partner a very decent young farmer who lives near, but has left his farm and is at work branding our sheep all shearing-time. The pride and delight of his mate was much greater than my partner's; he stood near his friend, prompting him through the mazes of the most extraordinary quadrille you ever saw, with two extra figures. Then there was an endless polka, in which everybody danced, like Queen Elizabeth, "high and disposedly;" but the ball ended at nine o'clock, and we were given some cold dinner, for which we were all very ready. The next morning saw the remains of the festivity cleared away, and every one hard at work again; for this is our very busiest season. The work of the station, however, is carried on at the homestead two miles off. F---- is there all day long, but I see nothing of it. While the shearers' hearts were tender, I asked them to come over to church on Sunday, and they have promised to do so: I lend them quantities of books and papers also, so as to keep them amused and away from the accommodation-house. Letter XV: Everyday station life. Broomielaw, January 1867. You tell me to describe our daily home-life and domestic surroundings. I dare say it: will appear to be a monotonous and insignificant existence enough when put on paper, but it suits me exactly; and, for the first time in my life, I have enough to do, and also the satisfaction of feeling that I am of some little use to my fellow-creatures. A lady's influence out here appears to be very great, and capable of indefinite expansion. She represents refinement and culture (in Mr. Arnold's sense of the words), and her footsteps on a new soil such as this should be marked by a trail of light. Of course every improvement must be the work of time, but I find my neighbours very willing to help me in my attempts. A few lines will be sufficient to sketch a day's routine. The first of my duties is one I especially delight in. I am out very early with a large tin dish of scraps mixed with a few handfuls of wheat, and my appearance is the signal for a great commotion among all my fowls and ducks and pigeons. Such waddling and flying and running with outstretched wings to me: in fact, I receive a morning greeting from all the live-stock about the place. I am nearly knocked down by the big sheep-dogs; the calves come rushing with awkward gambols towards me for a bit of the fowls' bread, whilst the dogs look out for a bone; but, in the midst of the confusion, the poultry hold their own; indeed, an anxious hen eager to secure a breakfast for her chicks will fly at a big dog, and beat him away from a savoury morsel. I think I ought not to omit mentioning the devotion of a small pig; it is an exact illustration of the French proverb which speaks of the inequality of love, for I am quite passive and do not respond in the least to the little beastie's affection, which is the most absurd thing you ever saw, especially as it proceeds from so unromantic an animal. Late in the spring (that is to say, about November last) we were all returning from a great pig-hunting expedition, when I saw one of the party coming down a steep hill near the house with a small and glossy-black wild pig under each arm; he was very proud of his captives, placed them in a box with some straw, and fed them like babies out of a bottle. We laughed at him very much; but when he went away he begged so earnestly that the pigs should be reared that we promised to keep them. In a few days they became perfectly tame, and were very handsome little creatures; and one of them attached itself to me, following me all about, even into the house (but _that_ I really could not stand), accompanying me in all my walks, and, as far as it could, in my rides. Many a time have I seen poor little piggy carried down a creek by the current, squealing piteously, but it was evidently a case of "many waters cannot quench love," for a little further on piggy would appear, very much baked, but holding out gallantly, till sheer exhaustion compelled him to give in, when he would lie down under a tussock, apparently dying; but, as we were coming home in the dusk, Helen, my pretty bay mare, has given many a shy at piggy starting up from his shelter with gambols and squeals of joy. It is always a great temptation to loiter about in the lovely fresh morning air, but I have to be dressed in time for prayers and breakfast at nine; directly after breakfast I go into the kitchen; sometimes, it is only necessary to give orders or instructions, but generally I find that practice is much better than precept, and I see to the soup myself, and make the pudding--the joint can take care of itself. You have often asked me what we have to eat, so this will be a good opportunity of introducing our daily bill of fare, prefacing it with my recorded opinion that here is no place in the world where you can live so cheaply and so well as on a New Zealand sheep station, when once you get a start. Of course, it is expensive at first, setting everything going, but that would be the case in any country. I will begin at the very beginning:--Porridge for breakfast, with new milk and cream _a discretion_; to follow--mutton chops, mutton ham, or mutton curry, or broiled mutton and mushrooms, not shabby little fragments of meat broiled, but beautiful tender steaks off a leg; tea or coffee, and bread and butter, with as many new-laid eggs as we choose to consume. Then, for dinner, at half-past one, we have soup, a joint, vegetables, and a pudding; in summer, we have fresh fruit stewed, instead of a pudding, with whipped cream. I was a proud and happy woman the first day my cream remained cream, and did not turn into butter; for generally my zeal outran my discretion, and I did not know when to leave off whipping. We have supper about seven; but this is a moveable feast, consisting of tea again, mutton cooked in some form of entree, eggs, bread and butter, and a cake of my manufacture. I must, however, acknowledge, that at almost every other station you would get more dainties, such as jam and preserves of all sorts, than we can boast of yet; for, as Littimer says to David Copperfield, "We are very young, exceedingly young, sir," our fruit-trees, have not come into full bearing, and our other resources are still quite undeveloped. However, I have wandered away terribly from my first intention of telling you of the daily occupations to a description of our daily food. After I have finished all my little fussings about the house, I join F---- who has probably been for some time quietly settled down at his writing-table, and we work together at books and writing till dinner; after that meal, F---- like Mr. Tootes, "resumes his studies," but I go and feed my fowls again, and if I am very idly disposed I sit on a hencoop in the shade and watch the various tempers of my chickens and ducklings. A little later F---- and I go out for some hours: if it is not too hot, he takes his rifle and we go over the hills pig-stalking, but this is really only suitable exercise for a fine winter's day; at this time of year we either go for a walk or a ride, generally the latter--not a little shabby canter, but a long stretching gallop for miles and miles; perhaps stopping to have a cup of tea with a neighbour twelve or fifteen miles off, and then coming slowly home in the delicious gloaming, with the peculiar fresh crisp feeling which the atmosphere always has here the moment the sun sets, no matter how hot the day has been. I can hardly hope to make you understand how enjoyable our twilight hours are, with no fear of damp or malaria to spoil them; every turn of the track as we slowly wind up the valley showing us some beautiful glimpse of distant mountain peaks, and, above all, such sunset splendours, gradually fading away into the deep, pure beauty of a summer night. In one of our rides the other day, after crossing a low range of hills, we suddenly dropped down on what would be called in England a hamlet, but here it is designated by the extraordinary name of a "nest of cockatoos." This expression puzzled me so much when I first heard it, that I must give you as minute an explanation as I myself found necessary to the comprehension of the subject. When a shepherd has saved a hundred pounds, or the better class of immigrant arrives with a little capital, the favourite investment is in freehold land, which they can purchase, in sections of twenty acres and upwards, at 2 pounds the acre. The next step is to build a sod but with two rooms on their property, thatching it with Tohi, or swamp grass; a door and a couple of window-frames all ready glazed are brought from Christchurch in the dray with the family and the household goods. After this rough and ready shelter is provided, the father and sons begin fencing their land and gradually it all assumes a cultivated appearance. Pig-sties and fowl-houses are added; a little garden, gay with common English flowers, is made in front of the house, whose ugly walls are gradually hidden by creepers, and the homestead looks both picturesque and prosperous. These small farmers are called Cockatoos in Australia by the squatters or sheep-farmers, who dislike them for buying up the best bits of land on their runs; and say that, like a cockatoo, the small freeholder alights on good ground, extracts all he can from it, and then flies away to "fresh fields and pastures new." But the real fact is, that the poor farmer perhaps finds his section is too far from a market, so he is forced to abandon it and move nearer a town, where the best and most productive land has been bought up already; and he has to begin again at a disadvantage. However, whether the name is just or not, it is a recognized one here; and I have heard a man say in answer to a question about his usual occupation, "I'm a Cockatoo." This particular "nest" appeared to me very well off, comparatively speaking; for though the men complained sadly of the low price of their wheat and oats, still there was nothing like poverty to be seen. Ready money was doubtless scarce, and an extensive system of barter appeared to prevail; but still they all looked well fed and well clothed; sickness was unknown among them, and it did one's heart good to see the children--such sturdy limbs, bright fearless eyes, and glowing faces. They have abundance of excellent food. Each cottager has one or two cows, and the little ones take these out to pasture on the hills, so they are in the open air nearly all day: but their ignorance is appalling! Many of them had never even been christened; there was no school or church within thirty miles or more, and although the parents seemed all tidy, decent people, and deplored the state of things, they were powerless to help it. The father and elder sons work hard all day; the mother has to do everything, even to making the candles, for the family; there is no time or possibility of teaching the children. The neighbouring squatters do not like to encourage settlers to buy up their land, therefore they carefully avoid making things pleasant for a new "nest," and the Cockatoos are "nobody's business;" so, as far as educational advantages go, they are perfectly destitute. When I mentioned my discovery of this hamlet, and my dismay at the state of neglect in which so many fine intelligent-looking children were growing up, every one warned me not to interfere, assuring me the Cockatoo was a very independent bird, that he considered he had left all the Ladies Bountiful and blanket and coal charities behind him in the old country; that, in short, as it is generally put, "Jack is as good as his master" out here, and any attempt at patronage would be deeply resented. But I determined to try the effect of a little visiting among the cottages, and was most agreeably surprised at the kind and cordial welcome I received. The women liked to have some one to chat to about their domestic affairs, and were most hospitable in offers of tea, etc., and everywhere invitations to "come again" were given; so the next week I ventured to invite the men over to our Sunday services. Those who were fond of reading eagerly accepted the offer to join the book-club, and at last we started the educational subject. Many plans were discussed, and finally we arranged for one woman, who had received an excellent education and was quite fitted for the post, to commence a day-school; but this entailed so much loss of her valuable time that the terms she is obliged to ask seem disproportionately high to the people's means. She wants 2 shillings and 6 pence a week with each child, and this is terrible heavy on the head of a family who is anxious and willing to give them some "schooling." However, the plan is to be tried, and I have promised to start them with books, slates, copybooks, etc. It was quite touching to hear their earnest entreaties that F---- would come over on Sunday sometimes and hold a service there, but I tried to show them this could not be managed. The tears actually came into their eyes when I talked of the happiness it would be to see a little church and school in their midst; and the almost invariable remark was, "Ah, but it'll be a far day first." And so I fear it will--a very far day; but I have often heard it said, that if you propose one definite object to yourself as the serious purpose of your life, you will accomplish it some day. Well, the purpose of my life henceforward is to raise money somehow or somewhere to build a little wooden school-room (licensed for service, to be held whenever a missionary clergyman comes by), and to pay the salary of a schoolmaster and mistress, so that the poor Cockatoo need not be charged more than threepence a week for each child. The Board of Education will give a third of the sum required, when two-thirds have been already raised; but it is difficult to collect subscriptions, or indeed to induce the squatters to listen to any plan for improving the condition of the small farmers, and every year which slips away and leaves these swarms of children in ignorance adds to the difficulty of training them. [Note: Since this was written, a school-house, also used as a church, has been built in this district by private subscription and Government aid. A clergyman, who lives some twenty-five miles away, rides over and holds service once a month.] Letter XVI: A sailing excursion on Lake Coleridge. Lake Coleridge, February 1867. A violent storm of wind and rain from the south-west keeps us all indoors to-day, and gives me time to write my letter for the Panama mail, which will be made up to-morrow. The post-office is ten miles off, and rejoices in the appropriate name of "Wind-whistle;" it stands at the mouth of a deep mountain gorge, and there never was such a temple of the winds. This bad weather comes after a long spell of lovely bright summer days, and is very welcome to fill up the failing creeks in the lower ranges of hills. I must tell you how much we have been enjoying our visit here. F---- knows this part of the country well, but it is quite new to me, and a great contrast to the other scenery I have described to you We had long talked of paying Mr. C. H---- a visit at his bachelor cottage on his station far back among the high ranges of hills, but no time was fixed, so I was rather taken by surprise when last week he drove up to Broomielaw in a light American waggon with a pair of stout horses, and announced that he had come to take us to his place next day. There was no reason against this plan, and we agreed at once; the next morning saw us on the road, after an early breakfast. We had to drive about thirty-five miles round, whereas it would have been only twenty miles riding across the hills; but our kind host thought that it would be much more comfortable for me to be able to take a carpet-bag in the carriage instead of the usual system of saddle-bags one is obliged to adopt travelling on horseback. We made our first stage at the ever-hospitable station of the C----'s, on the Horarata, but we could not remain to luncheon, as they wished, having to push on further; and, as it turned out, it was most fortunate we took advantage of the first part of the day to get over the ground between us and our destination, for the gentle breeze which had been blowing since we started gradually freshened into a tremendous "nor'-wester," right in our teeth all the rest of our way. The poor horses bent their heads as low as possible and pulled bravely at their collars, up hill the whole time. Among the mountains the wind rushed with redoubled fury down the narrow gorges, and became icily cold as we neared the snowy ranges. It was impossible to see the hills for the thick mist, though I knew we must have a magnificent view before us. We took refuge for an hour just to rest the horses, at Windwhistle, and I certainly expected the house to come down whilst we were there. I can hardly tell you anything of the rest of the drive, for I was really frightened at my first experience of a "howling nor'-wester" out of doors, and Mr. H---- made me sit down at the bottom of the carriage and heaped over me all the cloaks and shawls we had brought. It was delightful to find ourselves under shelter at last in a pretty bright snug room, with lots of books and arm-chairs, and a blazing fire; _this_, you must remember, in midsummer. The next morning was perfectly calm, and the lake as serene as if no storm had been dashing its water in huge breakers against the beach only a few hours before. The view from the sitting-room was lovely: just beneath the window there was a little lawn, as green as possible from the spray with which the lake had washed it yesterday; beyond this a low hedge, an open meadow, a fringe of white pebbly beach, and then a wide expanse of water within one little wooded island, and shut in gradually from our view by spurs of hills running down to the shore, sometimes in bold steep cliffs, and again in gentle declivities, with little strips of bush or scrub growing in the steep gullies between them. The lake extends some way beyond where we lose sight of it, being twelve miles long and four miles broad. A few yards from the beach it is over six hundred feet deep. Nothing but a painting could give you any idea of the blue of sky and water that morning; the violent wind of yesterday seemed to have blown every cloud below the horizon, for I could not see the least white film anywhere. Behind the lower hills which surround the lake rises a splendid snowy range; altogether, you cannot imagine a more enchanting prospect than the one I stood and looked at; it made me think of Miss Procter's lines-- "My eyes grow dim, As still I gaze and gaze Upon that mountain pass, That leads--or so it seems-- To some far happy land Known in a world of dreams." All this time, whilst I was looking out of the window in most unusual idleness, Mr. H---- and F---- were making constant journeys between the boat-house and the store-room, and at last I was entreated to go and put on my hat. While doing this I heard cupboards being opened, and a great bustle; so when I reached the shore I was not so much surprised as they expected, to see in the pretty little sailing-boat (which was moored to a primitive sort of jetty made out of a broken old punt) the materials for at least two substantial meals, in case of being kept out by a sudden head-wind. I was especially glad to notice a little kettle among the _impedimenta_, and there were cloaks and wraps of all kinds to provide against the worst. Four gentlemen and I made up the crew and passengers, and a very merry set we were, behaving extremely like children out for a holiday. The wind was a trifle light for sailing, so the gentlemen pulled, but very lazily and not at all in good "form," as the object of each oarsman seemed to be to do as little work as possible. However, we got on somehow, a light puff helping us now and then, but our progress was hardly perceptible. I had been for a long time gazing down into the clear blue depth of water, every now and then seeing a flash of the white sand shining at the bottom, when I was half startled by our host standing suddenly up in the bow of the boat; and then I found that we were a couple of miles away from our starting-point, and that we had turned a corner formed by a steep spur, and were running right into what appeared a grove of rata-trees growing at the water's edge. The rata only grows in the hills and near water; it is a species of broad-leaf myrtle, with a flower exactly like a myrtle in character, but of a brilliant deep scarlet colour, and twice as large. When the bowsprit touched the rata-branches, which drooped like a curtain into the water, Mr. H---- made a signal to lower the mast, and parting the thick, blossom-covered foliage before us, with both hands, the way the boat had on her sent us gently through the screen of scarlet flowers and glossy green leaves into such a lovely fairy cove! Before us was a little white beach of fine sparkling sand, against which the water broke in tiny wavelets, and all around a perfect bower of every variety of fern and moss, kept green by streams no thicker than a silver thread trickling down here and there with a subdued tinkling sound. We all sat quite silent, the boat kept back just inside the entrance by the steersman holding on to a branch. It was a sudden contrast from the sparkling sunshine and brightness outside, all life and colour and warmth, to the tender, green, profound shade and quiet in this "Mossy Hum," as the people about here call it. Do not fancy anything damp or chilly. No; it was like a natural temple--perfect repose and refreshment to the eyes dazzled with the brilliant outside colouring. Centuries ago there must have been a great landslip here, for the side of the mountain is quite hollowed out, and Nature has gradually covered the ugly brown rent with the thickest tapestry of her most delicate handiwork. I noticed two varieties of the maiden-hair, its slender black stem making the most exquisite tracery among the vivid greens. There was no tint of colour except green when once we passed the red-fringed curtain of rata-branches, only the white and shining fairy beach and the gleaming threads of water. As we sat there, perfectly still, and entranced, a sort of delicious mesmeric feeling stole over me; I thought of the lotus-eater's chant, "There is no joy but calm," with, for, the first time in my life, a dim perception of what they meant, perhaps; but it was over all too quickly: prosaic words of direction to back water called us from shade to light, and in a moment more we were in front of the rata-trees, admiring their splendid colouring, and our little boat was dancing away over the bright waves, with her white wings set and her bows pointed towards the little toy island in the middle of the lake; it was no question now of rowing, a nice fresh breeze from the south (the _cold_ point here) sent us swiftly and steadily through the water. What a morning it was! The air was positively intoxicating, making you feel that the mere fact of being a living creature with lungs to inhale such an atmosphere was a great boon. We have a good deal of disagreeable weather, and a small proportion of bad weather, but in no other part of the world, I believe, does Nature so thoroughly understand how to make a fine day as in New Zealand. A little after mid-day we ran our boat to the lee of the island, and: whilst she was steadied by the same primitive method of holding on to branches of manuka and other scrub, I scrambled out and up a little cliff, where a goat could hardly have found footing, till I reached a spot big enough to stand on, from whence I anxiously watched the disembarkation of some of the provisions, and of the gridiron and kettle. In a few moments we were all safely ashore, and busy collecting dry fern and brushwood for a fire; it was rather a trial of patience to wait till the great blaze had subsided before we attempted to cook our chops, which were all neatly prepared ready for us. Some large potatoes were put to bake in the ashes; the tin plates were warmed (it is a great art not to overheat them when you have to keep them on your lap whilst you eat your chop). We were all so terribly hungry that we were obliged to have a course of bread and cheese and sardines _first_; it was really quite impossible to wait patiently for the chops. The officiating cook scolded us well for our Vandalism, and the next moment we detected him in the act of devouring a half-raw potato. The fragments of our meal must have been a great boon to the colony of wekas who inhabit the island, for as they increase and multiply prodigiously their provisions must often fall short in so small a space. No one can imagine how these birds originally came here, for the island is at least two miles from the nearest point of land; they can neither swim nor fly; and as every man's hand is against them, no one would have thought it worth while to bring them over: but here they are, in spite of all the apparent impossibilities attending their arrival, more tame and impudent than ever. It was dangerous to leave your bread unwatched for an instant, and indeed I saw one gliding off with an empty sardine tin in its beak; I wonder how it liked oil and little scales. They considered a cork a great prize, and carried several off triumphantly. After luncheon there was the usual interval of rest, and pipes on the part of the gentlemen. I explored a little, but there is nothing very pretty or abundant in the way of wild flowers in the parts of New Zealand which I have seen. White violets and a ground clematis are the only ones I have come across in any quantity. The manuka, a sort of scrub, has a pretty blossom like a diminutive Michaelmas daisy, white petals and a brown centre, with a very aromatic odour; and this little flower is succeeded by a berry with the same strong smell and taste of spice. The shepherds sometimes make an infusion of these when they are very hard-up for tea; but it must be like drinking a decoction of cloves. About three o'clock we re-embarked, and sailed a little higher up the lake beyond the point where we lose sight of it from Mr. H----'s house, every moment opening out fresh and more beautiful glimpses. Quite the opposite end of the shore is fringed with a thick deep forest, and another station has been built there, at which, I am told, the scenery is still more magnificent. At first I was inclined to wonder where the sheep live amid all this picturesque but mountainous country: however, I find that between and among these hills stretch immense valleys (or "flats," as they are called here), which are warm and sheltered in winter, and afford plenty of food for them; then, in summer, they go up to the mountains: but it is very difficult to "muster" these ranges. I am almost ashamed to confess to another meal before we returned home, but there was a lovely tempting spot in a little harbour, and so we landed and boiled some water and had a capital cup of tea. You require to be out as we were from morning till night in such an air as this to know what it is to feel either hungry or sleepy in perfection! The next day we made a similar excursion, exploring the opposite shore of the lake; but, before we started, our host distrusted the appearance of certain clouds, and sent round horses to meet us at the point where we were going to lunch; and it was just as well he did so, for a stiff breeze sprang up from the south-west, which would have kept us out all night. So we mounted the horses instead of re-embarking, having first secured the boat, and cantered home. We passed several smaller lakes; there is a perfect chain of them among these hills, and I was much amused at the names bestowed on them, according to the tastes or caprice of the station-owners whose runs happen to include them: for instance, two are called respectively "Geraldine" and "Ida," whilst three, which lie close together, rejoice in the somewhat extraordinary names of "the World," "the Flesh," and "the Devil." Letter XVII: My first and last experience of "camping out." Broomielaw, April 1867. I have nothing to tell you this mail, except of a rather ridiculous expedition which we made last week, and which involved our spending the whole night on the top of the highest hill on our run. You will probably wonder what put such an idea into our heads, so I must preface my account by a little explanation. Whenever I meet any people who came here in the very early days of the colony--only sixteen years ago, after all!--I delight in persuading them to tell me about their adventures and hardships during those primitive times, and these narratives have the greatest fascination for me, as they always end happily. No one ever seems to have died of his miseries, or even to have suffered seriously in any way from them, so I find the greatest delight in listening to the stories of the Pilgrims. I envy them dreadfully for having gone through so much with such spirit and cheerfulness, and ever since I came here I have regretted that the rapid advance of civilization in New Zealand precludes the possibility of being really uncomfortable; this makes me feel like an impostor, for I am convinced that my English friends think of me with the deepest pity, as of one cut off from the refinements and comforts of life, whereas I really am surrounded by every necessary, and many of its luxuries, and there is no reason but that of expense why one should not have all of these. One class of narratives is peculiarly attractive to me. I like to hear of benighted or belated travellers when they have had to "camp out," as it is technically called; and have lived in constant hope of meeting with an adventure which would give me a similar experience. But I am gradually becoming convinced that this is almost impossible by fair means, so I have been trying for some time past to excite in the breasts of our home party and of our nearest neighbours an ardent desire to see the sun rise from the top of "Flagpole," a hill 3,000 feet above the level of the sea, and only a: couple of miles from the house. As soon as they were sufficiently enthusiastic on the subject, I broached my favourite project of our all going up there over-night, and camping out on the highest peak. Strange to say, the plan did not meet with any opposition, even from F----, who has had to camp out many a winter's night, and with whom, therefore, the novelty may be said to have worn off. Two gentlemen of the proposed party were "new chums" like myself, and were strongly in favour of a little roughing; new-chums always are, I observe. F---- hesitated a little about giving a final consent on the score of its being rather too late in the year, and talked of a postponement till next summer, but we would not listen to such an idea; so he ended by entering so heartily into it, that when at last the happy day and hour came, an untoward shower had not the least effect in discouraging him. There was a great bustle about the little homestead on that eventful Tuesday afternoon. Two very steady old horses were saddled, one for me and the other for one of the "new chums," who was not supposed to be in good form for a long walk, owing to a weak knee. Everything which we thought we could possibly want was heaped on and around us after we had mounted; the rest of the gentlemen, four in number, walked, and we reached the first stage of our expedition in about an hour. Here we dismounted, as the horses could go no further in safety. The first thing done was to see to their comfort and security; the saddles were carefully deposited under a large flax-bush in case of rain, and the long tether ropes were arranged so as to ensure plenty of good feed and water for both horses, without the possibility of the ropes becoming entangled in each other or in anything else. Then came a time of great excitement and laughing and talking, for all the "swags" had to be packed and apportioned for the very long and steep ascent before us. And now I must tell you exactly what we took up. A pair of large double blankets to make the tent of,--that was one swag, and a very unwieldy one it was, strapped knapsack fashion, with straps of flax-leaves, on the back, and the bearer's coat and waistcoat fastened on the top of the whole. The next load consisted of one small single blanket for my sole use, inside of which was packed a cold leg of lamb. I carried the luncheon basket, also strapped on my shoulders, filled with two large bottles of cream, some tea and sugar, and, I think, teaspoons. It looked a very insignificant load by the side of the others, but I assure you I found it frightfully heavy long before I had gone half-way up the hill. The rest distributed among them a couple of large heavy axes, a small coil of rope, some bread, a cake, tin plates and pannikins, knives and forks, and a fine pigeon-pie. Concerning this pie there were two abominable propositions; one was to leave it behind, and the other was to eat it then and there: both of these suggestions were, however, indignantly rejected. I must not forget to say we included in the commissariat department two bottles of whisky, and a tiny bottle of essence of lemon, for the manufacture of toddy. We never see a real lemon, except two or three times a year when a ship arrives from the Fiji islands, and then they are sixpence or a shilling apiece. All these things were divided into two large heavy "swags," and to poor F---- was assigned the heaviest and most difficult load of all--the water. He must have suffered great anxiety all the way, for if any accident had happened to his load, he would have had to go back again to refill his big kettle; this he carried in his hand, whilst a large tin vessel with a screw lid over its mouth was strapped on his back also full of water, but he was particularly charged not to let a drop escape from the spout of the kettle; and I may mention here, that though he took a long time about it, for he could not go as straight up the hill as we did, he reached the top with the kettle full to the brim--the other vessel was of course quite safe. All these packings and repackings, and the comfortable adjustment of the "swags," occupied a long time, so it was past five when we began our climb, and half-past six when we reached the top of the hill, and getting so rapidly dark that we had to hurry our preparations for the night, though we were all so breathless that a "spell" (do you know that means _rest_?) would have been most acceptable. The ascent was very steep, and there were no sheep-tracks to guide us; our way lay through thick high flax-bushes, and we never could have got on without their help. I started with a stick, but soon threw it aside and pulled myself up by the flax, hand over hand. Of course I had to stop every now and then to rest, and once I chose the same flax-bush where three young wild pigs had retired for the night, having first made themselves the most beautiful bed of tussock grass bitten into short lengths; the tussocks are very much scattered here, so it must have been an afternoon's work for them; but the shepherds say these wild pigs make themselves a fresh bed every night. The first thing to be done was to pitch the tent on the little flat at the very top of the hill: it was a very primitive affair; two of the thinnest and longest pieces of totara, with which Flagpole is strewed, we used for poles, fastening another piece lengthwise to these upright sticks as a roof-tree: this frame was then covered with the large double blanket, whose ends were kept down on the ground by a row of the heaviest stones to be found. The rope we had brought up served to tie the poles together at the top, and to fasten the blanket on them; but as soon as the tent had reached this stage, it was discovered that the wind blew through it from end to end, and that it afforded very little protection. We also found it much colder at the top of this hill than in our valley; so under these circumstances it became necessary to appropriate my solitary blanket to block up one end of the tent and make it more comfortable for the whole party. It was very little shelter before this was done. The next step was to collect wood for a fire, which was not difficult, for at some distant time the whole of the hill must have been covered by a forest of totara trees; it has apparently been destroyed by fire, for the huge trunks and branches which still strew the steep sides are charred and half burnt. It is a beautiful wood, with a strong aromatic odour, and blazed and crackled splendidly in the clear, cool evening air, as we piled up a huge bonfire, and put the kettle on to boil. It was quite dusk by this time, so the gentlemen worked hard at collecting a great supply of wood, as the night promised to be a very cold one, whilst I remained to watch the kettle, full of that precious liquid poor F---- had carried up with such care, and to prevent the wekas from carrying off our supper, which I had arranged just inside the tent. In this latter task I was nobly assisted by my little black terrier Dick, of whose sad fate I must tell you later. By eight o'clock a noble pile of firewood had been collected, and we were very tired and hungry; so we all crept inside the tent, which did not afford very spacious accommodation, and began our supper. At this point of the entertainment everybody voted it a great success; although the wind was slowly rising and blowing from a cold point, and our blanket-tent did not afford the perfect warmth and shelter we had fondly credited it with. The gentlemen began to button up their coats. I had only a light serge jacket on, so I coaxed Dick to sit at my back and keep it warm; for, whilst our faces were roasted by the huge beacon-fire, there was a keen and icy draught behind us. The hot tea was a great comfort, and we enjoyed it thoroughly, and after it was over the gentlemen lit their pipes, and I told them a story: presently we had glees, but by ten o'clock there was no concealing the fact that we were all very sleepy indeed; however, we still loudly declared that camping out was the most delightful experiment. F---- and another gentleman (that kind and most good-natured Mr. U----, who lives with us) went outside the tent, armed with knives, and cut all the tussocks they could feel in the darkness, to make me a bed after the fashion of the pigs; they brought in several armfuls, and the warmest corner in the tent was heaped with them; I had my luncheon-basket for a pillow, and announced that I had turned in and was very comfortable, and that camping out was charming; the gentlemen were still cheery, though sleepy; and the last thing I remember was seeing preparations being made for what a Frenchman of my acquaintance always will call a "grogs." When I awoke, I thought I must have slept several hours. Though the fire was blazing grandly, the cold was intense: I was so stiff I could hardly move; all my limbs ached dreadfully, and my sensations altogether were new and very disagreeable. I sat up with great difficulty and many groans, and looked round: two figures were coiled up, like huge dogs, near me; two more, moody and sulky, were smoking by the fire; with their knees drawn up to their noses and their hands in their pockets, collars well up round their throats--statues of cold and disgust. To my inquiries about the hour, the answer, given in tones of the deepest despondency, was "Only eleven o'clock, and the sun doesn't rise till six, and its going to be the coldest night we've had this year." The speaker added, "If it wasn't so dark that we'd break our necks on the way, we might go home." Here was a pretty end to our amusement. I slowly let myself down again, and tried to go to sleep, but that relief was at an end for the night; the ground seemed to grow harder every moment, or, at all events, I ached more, and the wind certainly blew higher and keener. Dick proved himself a most selfish doggie; he would creep round to leeward of _me_, whilst I wanted him to let me get leeward of him, but he would not consent to this arrangement. Whenever I heard a deeper moan or sigh than usual, I whispered an inquiry as to the hour, but the usual reply, in the most cynical voice, was, "Oh, you need not whisper, nobody is asleep." I heard one plaintive murmur "Think of all our warm beds, and of our coming up here from choice." I must say I felt dreadfully ashamed of myself for my plan; it was impossible to express my contrition and remorse, for, always excepting Mr. U----, they were all too cross to be spoken to. It certainly was a weary, long night. About one o'clock I pretended to want some hot tea, and the preparation for that got through half an hour, and it warmed us a little; but everybody still was deeply dejected, not to say morose. After an interval of only two hours more of thorough and intense wretchedness we had a "grogs," but there was no attempt at conviviality--subdued savageness was the prevailing state of mind. I tried to infuse a little hope into the party, by suggestions of a speedy termination to our misery, but my own private opinion was that we should all be laid up for weeks to come with illness. I allotted to myself in this imaginary distribution of ills a severe rheumatic fever; oh! how I ached, and I felt as if I never could be warm again. The fire was no use; except to afford occupation in putting on wood; it roasted a little bit of you at a time, and that bit suffered doubly from the cold when it was obliged to take its share of exposure to the wind. I cannot say whether the proverb is true of other nights, but this particular night, certainly, was both darkest and coldest just before dawn. At last, to our deep joy, and after many false alarms, we really all agreed that there was a faint streak of grey in the east. My first impulse was to set off home, and I believe I tried to get up expressing some such intention, but F---- recalled me to myself by saying, in great surprise, "Are you not going to stop and see the sun rise?" I had quite forgotten that this was the avowed object of the expedition, but I was far too stiff to walk a yard, so I was obliged to wait to see what effect the sunrise would have on my frozen limbs, for I could not think of any higher motive. Presently some one called out "There's the sea," and so it was, as distinct as though it were not fifty miles off; none of us had seen it since we landed; to all of us it is associated with the idea of going home some day: whilst we were feasting our eyes on it a golden line seemed drawn on its horizon; it spread and spread, and as all the water became flooded with a light and glory which hardly seemed to belong to this world, the blessed sun came up to restore us all to life and warmth again. In a moment, in less than a moment, all our little privations and sufferings vanished as if they had never existed, or existed only to be laughed at. Who could think of their "Ego" in such a glorious presence, and with such a panorama before them? I did not know which side to turn to first. Behind me rose a giant forest in the far hills to the west--a deep shadow for miles, till the dark outline of the pines stood out against the dazzling snow of the mountains behind it; here the sky was still sheltering the flying night, and the white outlines looked ghostly against the dull neutral tints, though every peak was sharply and clearly defined; then I turned round to see before me such a glow of light and beauty! For an immense distance I could see the vast Canterbury plains; to the left the Waimakiriri river, flowing in many streams, "like a tangled bunch of silver ribbons" (as Mr. Butler calls it in his charming book on New Zealand), down to the sea; beyond its banks the sun shone on the windows of the houses at Oxford, thirty miles off as the crow would fly, and threw its dense bush into strong relief against the yellow plains. The Port Hills took the most lovely lights and shadows as we gazed on them; beyond them lay the hills of Akaroa, beautiful beyond the power of words to describe. Christchurch looked quite a large place from the great extent of ground it appeared to cover. We looked onto the south: there was a slight haze over the great Ellesmere Lake, the water of which is quite fresh, though only separated from the sea by a slight bar of sand; the high banks of the Rakaia made a deep dark line extending right back into the mountains, and beyond it we could see the Rangitata faintly gleaming in the distance; between us and the coast were green patches and tiny homesteads, but still few and far between; close under our feet, and looking like a thread beneath the shadow of the mountain, ran the Selwyn in a narrow gorge, and on its bank stood the shepherd's hut that I have told you once afforded us such a good luncheon; it looked a mere toy, as if it came out of a child's box of playthings, and yet so snug for all its lonely position. On the other hand lay our own little home, with the faint wreath of smoke stealing up through the calm air (for the wind had dropped at sunrise). Here and there we saw strings of sheep going down from their high camping-grounds to feed on the sunny slopes and in the warm valleys. Every moment added to our delight and enjoyment; but unfortunately it was a sort of happiness which one can neither speak of at the time, nor write about afterwards: silence is its most expressive language. Whilst I was drinking in all the glory and beauty before me, some of the others had been busy striking the tent, repacking the loads, very much lighter without the provisions; and we had one more excellent cup of tea before abandoning the encampment to the wekas, who must have breakfasted splendidly that morning. Our last act was to collect all the stones we could move into a huge cairn, which was built round a tall pole of totara; on the summit of this we tied securely, with flax, the largest and strongest pocket-handkerchief, and then, after one look round to the west--now as glowing and bright as the radiant east--we set off homewards about seven o'clock; but it was long before we reached the place where we left the horses, for the gentlemen began rolling huge rocks down the sides of the hills and watching them crashing and thundering into the valleys, sometimes striking another rock and then bounding high into the air. They were all as eager and excited as schoolboys, and I could not go on and leave them, lest I should get below them and be crushed under a small stone of twenty tons or so. I was therefore forced to keep well _above_ them all the time. At last we reached the spur where the horses were tethered, re-saddled and loaded them, and arrived quite safely at home, just in time for baths and breakfast. I was amused to see that no one seemed to remember or allude to the miseries and aches of that long cold night; all were full of professions of enjoyment. But I noticed that the day was unusually quiet; the gentlemen preferred a bask in the verandah to any other amusement, and I have reason to believe they indulged in a good many naps. Letter XVIII: A journey "down south." Waimate, May 1867. In one of my early letters from Heathstock I told you that the Hurunui, which is the boundary of that run, marks the extreme north of the Province of Canterbury; and now I am writing to you from the extreme south. I hope you do not forget to reverse in your own mind the ordinary ideas of heat and cold, as connected with those points of the compass. The distance from our house to this is about 160 miles, and we actually took two days and a half to get here!--besides, into these miles was compressed the fatigue of a dozen English railway journeys of the same length. But, I suppose, as usual, you will not be satisfied unless I begin at the very beginning. The first difficulty was to reach the point where we were to join the coach on the Great South Road. It was less than thirty miles, so we could easily have ridden the distance; but the difficulty was to get our clothes all that way. They could not be carried on horseback, and just then the station-dray was particularly employed; besides which it would have taken three days to come and go,--rather a useless expenditure of the man's time, as well as of the horses' legs, where only two little portmanteaus were concerned. Fortunately for us, however, this is a country where each man is ready and willing to help his neighbour, without any inquiry as to who he is; so the moment our dilemma was known various plans were suggested for our assistance, of which this was the one selected:-- On a certain bright but cold Wednesday afternoon, F---- and I and our modest luggage started in a neighbour's "trap" for the station I have already mentioned on the Horarata, where Mr. C. H---- and I stopped on our way to Lake Coleridge. It is on the plains at the foot of a low range of downs, and about twelve miles from us. You cannot imagine a more charming little cottage _ornee_ than the house is, capable of holding, apparently, an indefinite number of people, and with owners whose hospitality always prompts them to try its capabilities to the utmost. A creek runs near the house, and on its banks, sloping to the sun, lies a lovely garden, as trim as any English parterre, and a mass of fruit and flowers. Nothing can be more picturesque than the mixture of both. For instance, on the wall of the house is a peach-tree laden every autumn with rosy, velvet-cheeked fruit; and jasmine and passion-flowers growing luxuriantly near it. Inside all is bright neatness and such a welcome! As for our supper, on this particular day it comprised every dainty you can imagine, and made me think of my housekeeping with shame and confusion of face. We had a very merry evening, with round games; but there was a strong prejudice in favour of going to bed early, as we all had to be up by three o'clock: and so we were, to find a delicious breakfast prepared for us, which our kind hostess was quite disappointed to see we could not eat much of. Coffee and toast was all I could manage at that hour. We started in the dark, and the first thing we had to cross was a dry river-bed, in which one of the horses lay deliberately down, and refused to move. This eccentricity delayed us very much; but we got him into a better frame of mind, and accomplished our early drive of sixteen miles in safety, reaching the accommodation-house, or inn, where the coach from Christchurch to Timaru changes horses for its first stage, by six o'clock. There we had a good breakfast, and were in great "form" by the time the coach was ready to start. These conveyances have a world-wide celebrity as "Cobb's coaches," both in America and Australia, where they are invariably the pioneers of all wheeled vehicles, being better adapted to travel on a bad road, or no road at all, than any other four-wheeled "trap." They are both strong and light, with leathern springs and a powerful break; but I cannot conscientiously say they are at all handsome carriages; indeed I think them extremely ugly and not very comfortable except on the box-seat next the driver. Fortunately, this is made to hold three, so F---- and I scrambled up, and off we started with four good strong horses, bearing less harness about them than any quadrupeds I ever saw; a small collar, slender traces, and very thin reins comprised all their accoutrements. The first half of the journey was slow, but there was no jolting. The road was level, though it had not been made at all, only the tussocks removed from it; but it was naturally good--a great exception to New Zealand roads. The driver was a steady, respectable man, very intelligent; and when F----could make him talk of his experiences in Australia in the early coaching days, I was much interested. We crossed the Rakaia and the Rangitata in ferry-boats, and stopped on the banks of the Ashburton, to dine about one o'clock, having changed horses twice since we started from "Gigg's," as our place of junction was elegantly called. Here all my troubles began. When we came out of the little inn, much comforted and refreshed by a good dinner, I found to my regret that we were to change drivers as well as horses, and that a very popular and well known individual was to be the new coachman. As our former driver very politely assisted me to clamber up on the box-seat, he recommended F---- to sit on the outside part of the seat, and to put me next the driver, "where," he added, "the lady won't be so likely to tumble out." As I had shown no disposition to fall off the coach hitherto, I was much astonished by this precaution, but said nothing. So he was emboldened to whisper, after looking round furtively, "And you jest take and don't be afraid, marm; _he_ handles the ribbings jest as well when he's had a drop too much as when he's sober, which ain't often, however." This last caution alarmed me extremely. The horses were not yet put in, nor the driver put _up_, so I begged F---- to get down and see if I could not go inside. But, after a hasty survey, he, said it was quite impossible: men smoking, children crying, and, in addition, a policeman with a lunatic in his charge, made the inside worse than the outside, especially in point of atmosphere; so he repeated the substance of our ex-driver's farewell speech; and when I saw our new charioteer emerge at last from the bar, looking only very jovial and tolerably steady as to gait, I thought perhaps my panic was premature. But, oh, what a time I had of it for nine hours afterwards! The moment the grooms let go the horses' heads he stood up on his seat, shook the reins, flourished his long whip, and with one wild yell from him we dashed down a steep cutting into the Ashburton. The water flew in spray far over our heads, and the plunge wetted me as effectually as if I had fallen into the river. I expected the front part of the coach to part from the back, on account of the enormous strain caused by dragging it over the boulders. We lurched like a boat in a heavy sea; the "insides" screamed; "Jim" (that was the driver's name) swore and yelled; the horses reared and plunged. All this time I was holding on like grim death to a light iron railing above my head, and one glance to my left showed me F---- thrown off the very small portion of cushion which fell to his share, and clinging desperately to a rude sort of lamp-frame. I speculated for an instant whether this would break; and, if so, what would become of him. But it took all my ideas to keep myself from being jerked off among the horses' heels. We dashed through the river; Jim gathered up the reins, and with a different set of oaths swore he would punish the horses for jibbing in the water. And he did punish them; he put the break hard down for some way, flogged them with all his strength, dancing about the coach-box and yelling like a madman. Every now and then, in the course of his bounds from place to place, he would come plump down on my lap; but I was too much frightened to remonstrate; indeed, we were going at such a pace against the wind, I had very little breath to spare. We got over the first stage of twenty miles at this rate very quickly, as you may imagine; but, unfortunately, there was an accommodation-house close to the stables, and Jim had a good deal more refreshment. Strange to say, this did not make him any wilder in manner--that he could not be; but after we started again he became extremely friendly with me, addressing me invariably as "my dear," and offering to "treat me" at every inn from that to Timaru. I declined, as briefly as I could, whereupon he became extremely angry, at my doubting his pecuniary resources apparently, for, holding the reins carelessly with one hand, though we were still tearing recklessly along, he searched his pockets with the other hand, and produced from them a quantity of greasy, dirty one-pound notes, all of which he laid on my lap, saying, "There, and there, and there, if you think I'm a beggar!" I fully expected them to blow away, for I could not spare a hand to hold them; but I watched my opportunity when he was punishing the unfortunate fresh team, and pounced on them, thrusting the dirty heap back into his great-coat pocket. At the next stage a very tidy woman came out, with a rather large bundle, containing fresh linen, she said, for her son, who was ill in the hospital at Timaru. She booked this, and paid her half-crown for its carriage, entreating the drunken wretch to see that it reached her son that night. He wildly promised he should have it in half-an-hour, and we set off as if he meant to keep his word, though we were some forty miles off yet; but he soon changed his mind, and took a hatred to the parcel, saying it would "sink the ship," and finally tried to kick it over the splash-board. I seized it at the risk of losing my balance, and hugged it tight all the way to Timaru, carrying it off to the hotel, where I induced a waiter to take it up to the hospital. After we had changed horses for the last time, and I was comforting myself by the reflection that the journey was nearly over, we heard shouts and screams from the inside passengers. F---- persuaded Jim with much trouble to pull up, and jumped down to see what was the matter. A strong smell of burning and a good deal of smoke arose from inside the coach, caused by the lunatic having taken off both his boots and lighted a fire in them. It was getting dark and chilly; the other passengers, including the policeman, had dozed off and the madman thought that as his feet were very cold, he would "try and warm them a bit;" so he collected all the newspapers with which his fellow-travellers had been solacing the tedium of their journey, tore, them up into shreds, with the addition of the contents of a poor woman's bundle, and made quite a cheerful blaze out of these materials. It was some time before the terrified women could be induced to get into the coach again; and it was only by Jims asseverations, couched in the strongest language, that if they were not "all aboard" in half a minute, he would drive on and leave them in the middle of the plains, that they were persuaded to clamber in to their places once more. How thankful I was when we saw the lights of Timaru! I was stunned and bewildered, tired beyond the power of words to describe, and black and blue all over from being jolted about. The road had been an excellent one, all the way level and wide, with telegraph-poles by its side. We shaved these very closely often enough, but certainly, amid all his tipsiness, Jim bore out his predecessors remark. Whenever we came to a little dip in the road, or a sharp turn, as we were nearing Timaru, he would get the horses under control as if by magic, and take us over as safely as the soberest driver could have done; the moment the obstacle was passed, off we were again like a whirlwind! I was not at all surprised to hear that upsets and accidents were common on the road, and that the horses lasted but a very short time. We found our host had driven in from his station forty-five miles distant from Timaru, to meet us, and had ordered nice rooms and a good dinner; so the next morning I was quite rested, and ready to laugh over my miseries of the day before. Nothing could be a greater contrast than this day's journeying to yesterday's. A low, comfortable phaeton, and one of the most agreeable companions in the world to drive us, beautiful scenery and a nice luncheon half-way, at which meal F---- ate something like half a hundred cheese-cakes! The last part of the road for a dozen miles or so was rather rough; we had to cross a little river, the Waio, every few hundred yards; and a New Zealand river has so much shingle about it! The water can never quite make up its mind where it would like to go, and has half-a-dozen channels ready to choose from, and then in a heavy fresh the chances are it will select and make quite a different course after all. This is late autumn with us, remember, so the evenings close in early and, are very cold indeed. It was quite dark when we reached the house, and the blazing fires in every room were most welcome. The house is very unlike the conventional station pattern, being built of stone, large, very well arranged, and the perfection of comfort inside. There is no hostess at present; three bachelor brothers do the honours, and, as far as my experience goes, do them most efficiently. Our visit has lasted three weeks already, and we really must bring it to a termination soon. The weather has been beautiful, and we have made many delightful excursions, all on horseback, to neighbouring stations, to a fine bush where we had a picnic, or to some point of view. I can truly say I have enjoyed every moment of the time, indoors as well as out; I was the only lady, and was petted and made much of to my heart's content. There were several other guests, and they were all nice and amusing. One wet day we had, and only one. I must tell you an incident of it, to show you what babies grown-up men can be at the Antipodes. We worked hard all the morning at acrostics, and after my five o'clock tea I went upstairs to a charming little boudoir prepared for me, to rest and read; in a short time I heard something like music and stamping, and, though I was _en peignoir_, I stole softly down to see what was going on; when I opened the door of the general sitting-room a most unusual sight presented itself,--eight bearded men, none of them very young, were dancing a set of quadrilles with the utmost gravity and decorum to the tunes played by a large musical-box, which was going at the most prodigious pace, consequently the dancers were flying through the figures in silence and breathless haste. They could not stop or speak when I came in, and seemed quite surprised at my laughing at them; but you have no idea how ridiculous they looked, especially as their gravity and earnestness were profound. This is one of the very few stations where pheasants have been introduced, but then, every arrangement has been made for their comfort, and a beautiful house and yard built for their reception on a flat, just beneath the high terrace on which the house stands. More than a hundred young birds were turned out last spring, and there will probably be three times that number at the end of this year. We actually had pheasant twice at dinner; the first, and probably the last time we shall taste game in New Zealand. There is a good deal of thick scrub in the clefts of the home-terrace, and this affords excellent shelter for the young. Their greatest enemies are the hawks, and every variety of trap and cunning device for the destruction of these latter are in use, but as yet without doing much execution among them, they are so wonderfully clever and discerning. Letter XIX: A Christening gathering.--the fate of Dick. Broomielaw, June 1867. We reached home quite safely the first week of this month, and I immediately set to work to prepare for the Bishop's visit. We met him at a friend's house one day, just as we were starting homewards, and something led to my telling him about the destitute spiritual condition of my favourite "nest of Cockatoos." With his usual energy, as well as goodness, he immediately volunteered to come up to our little place, hold a service, and christen all the children. We were only too thankful to accept such an offer, as we well knew what an inducement it would be to the people, who would take a great deal of trouble and come from far and near to hear our dear Bishop, who is universally beloved and respected. For a week beforehand the house smelt all day long like a baker's shop about noon on Sunday, for pies, tarts, cakes, etc., were perpetually being "drawn" from the oven. I borrowed every pie-dish for miles round, and, as on another occasion I have mentioned, plenty of good things which our own resources could not furnish forth came pouring in on all sides with offers to help. F---- and I scoured the country for thirty miles round to invite everybody to come over to us that Sunday; and I think I may truly say everybody came. When I rode over to my "nest" and made the announcement of the Bishop's visit, the people were very much delighted; but a great difficulty arose from the sudden demand for white frocks for all the babies and older children. I rashly promised each child should find a clean white garment awaiting it on its arrival at my house, and took away a memorandum of all the different ages and sizes; the "order" never could have been accomplished without the aid of my sewing-machine. I had a few little frocks by me as patterns, and cut up some very smart white embroidered petticoats which were quite useless to me, to make into little skirts. In spite of all that was going on in the kitchen my maids found time to get these up most beautifully, and by the Saturday night the little bed in the spare room was a heap of snowy small garments, with a name written on paper and pinned to each. The Bishop also arrived quite safely, late that evening, having driven himself up from Christchurch in a little gig. It is impossible for you to imagine a more beautiful winter's morning than dawned on us that Sunday. A sharp frost over-night only made the air deliciously crisp, for the sun shone so brightly, that by nine o'clock the light film of ice over the ponds had disappeared, and I found the Bishop basking in the verandah when I came out to breakfast, instead of sitting over the blazing wood-fire in the dining-room. We got our meal finished as quickly as possible, and then F---- and Mr. U---- set to work to fill the verandah with forms extemporised out of empty boxes placed at each end, and planks laid across them; every red blanket in the house was pressed into service to cover these rough devices, and the effect at last was quite tidy. By eleven o'clock the drays began to arrive in almost a continual stream; as each came up, its occupants were taken into the kitchen, and given as much as they could eat of cold pies made of either pork or mutton, bread and hot potatoes, and tea. As for teapots, they were discarded, and the tea was made in huge kettles, whilst the milk stood in buckets, into which quart jugs were dipped every five minutes. I took care of all the women and children whilst F---- and Mr. U---- looked after the men, showed them where to put the horses, etc. All this time several gentlemen and two or three ladies had arrived, but there was no one to attend to them, so they all very kindly came out and helped. We insisted on the Bishop keeping quiet in the drawing-room, or he would have worked as hard as any one. I never could have got the children into their white frocks by two o'clock if it had not been for the help of the other ladies; but at last they were all dressed, and the congregation--not much under a hundred people--fed, and arranged in their places. There had been a difficulty about finding sufficient godmothers and godfathers, so F---- and I were sponsors for every child, and each parent wished me to hand the child to the Bishop; but I could not lift up many of the bigger ones, and they roared piteously when I touched their hands. I felt it quite a beautiful and thrilling scene; the sunburnt faces all around, the chubby, pretty little group of white-clad children, every one well fed and comfortably clothed, the dogs lying at their masters feet, the bright winter sunshine and dazzling sky, and our dear Bishops commanding figure and clear, penetrating voice! He gave us a most excellent sermon, short and simple, but so perfectly appropriate; and after the service was over he went about, talking to all the various groups such nice, helpful words. The truest kindness was now to "speed the parting guest," so each dray load, beginning with those whose homes were the most distant, was collected. They were first taken into the kitchen and given a good meal of hot tea, cake, and bread and butter, for many had four hours' jolting before them; the red blankets were again called into requisition to act as wraps, besides every cloak and shawl I possessed, for the moment the sun sunk, which would be about four o'clock, the cold was sure to become intense. We lived that day in the most scrambling fashion ourselves; there was plenty of cold meat, etc., on the dining-room table, and piles of plates, and whenever any of the party were hungry they went and helped themselves, as my two servants were entirely occupied with looking after the comfort of the congregation; it was such a treat to them to have, even for a few hours, the society of other women. They have only one female neighbour, and she is generally too busy to see much of them; besides which, I think the real reason of the want of intimacy is that Mrs. M---- is a very superior person, and when she comes up I generally like to have a chat with her myself. It does me good to see her bonny Scotch face, and hear the sweet kindly "Scot's tongue;" besides which she is my great instructress in the mysteries of knitting socks and stockings, spinning, making really good butter (not an easy thing, madam), and in all sorts of useful accomplishments; her husband is the head shepherd on the next station. They are both very fond of reading, and it was quite pretty to see the delight they took in the Queen's book about the Highlands. To return, however, to that Sunday. We were all dreadfully tired by the time the last guest had departed, but we had a delightfully quiet evening, and a long talk with the Bishop about our favourite scheme of the church and school among the Cockatoos, and we may feel certain of his hearty cooperation in any feasible plan for carrying it out. The next morning, much to our regret, the Bishop left us for Christchurch, but he had to hold a Confirmation service there, and could not give us even a few more hours. We were so very fortunate in our weather. The following Sunday was a pouring wet day, and we have had wind and rain almost ever since; it is unusually wet, so I have nothing more to tell you of our doings, which must seem very eccentric to you, by the way, but I assure you I enjoy the gipsy unconventional life immensely. You must not be critical about a jumble of subjects if I record poor Dick's tragical fate here; it will serve to fill up my letter, and if ever you have mourned for a pet dog you will sympathise with me. I must first explain to you that on a sheep station strange dogs are regarded with a most unfriendly eye by both master and shepherds. There are the proper colleys,--generally each shepherd has two,--but no other dogs are allowed, and I had great trouble to coax F---- to allow me to accept two. One is a beautiful water-spaniel, jet black, Brisk by name, but his character is stainless in the matter of sheep, and though very handsome he is only an amiable idiot, his one amusement being to chase a weka, which he never catches. The other dog was, alas! Dick, a small black-and-tan terrier, very well bred, and full of tricks and play. We never even suspected him of any wickedness, but as it turned out he must have been a hardened offender. A few weeks after he came to us, when the lambing season was at its height, and the low sunny hills near the house were covered with hundreds of the pretty little white creatures, F----used sometimes to come and ask me where Dick was, and, strange to say, Dick constantly did not answer to my call. An evening or two later, just as we were starting for our walk, Dick appeared in a great hurry from the back of the stable. F---- went up immediately to him, and stooped down to examine his mouth, calling me to see. Oh, horror! it was all covered with blood and wool. I pleaded all sorts of extenuating circumstances, but F---- said, with: judicial sternness, "This cannot be allowed." Dick was more fascinating than usual, never looking at a sheep whilst we were out walking with him, and behaving in the most exemplary manner. F---- watched him all the next day, and at last caught him in the act of killing a new-born lamb a little way from the house; the culprit was brought to me hanging his tail with the most guilty air, and F---- said, "I ought to shoot him, but if you like I will try if a beating can cure him, but it must be a tremendous one." I was obliged to accept this alternative, and retreated where I could not hear Dick's howls under the lash, over the body of his victim. A few hours after I went to the spot, lifted Dick up, and carried him into my room to nurse him; for he could not move, he had been beaten so severely. For two whole days he lay on the soft mat I gave him, only able to lap a little warm milk; on the third morning he tried to get up, and crawled into the verandah; I followed to watch him. Imagine my dismay at seeing him limp to the place where the body of his last victim lay, and deliberately begin tearing it to pieces. I followed him with my little horsewhip and gave him a slight beating. I could not find it in my heart to hit him very hard. I carefully concealed this incident from F----, and for some days I never let Dick out of my sight for a moment; but early one fine morning a knock came to our bed-room door, and a voice said, "Please, sir, come and see what's the matter with the sheep? there's a large mob of them at the back of the house being driven, like." Oh, my prophetic soul! I felt it was Dick. Whilst F---- was huddling on some clothes I implored him to temper justice with mercy, but never a word did he say, and sternly took his gun in his hand and went out. I buried my head in the pillows, but for all my precautions I heard the report of a shot in the clear morning air, and the echo ringing back from all the hills; five minutes afterwards F---- came in with a little blue collar in his hand, and said briefly, "He has worried more than a dozen lambs this morning alone." What could I say? F----'s only attempt at consolation was, "he died instantly; I shot him through the head." But for many days afterwards I felt quite lonely and sad without my poor little pet--yet what could have been done? No one would have accepted him as a present, and it flashed on me afterwards that perhaps this vice of his was the reason of Dick's former owner being so anxious to give him to me. I have had two offers of successors to Dick since, but I shall never have another dog on a sheep station, unless I know what Mr. Dickens' little dressmaker calls "its tricks and its manners." Letter XX: the New Zealand snowstorm of 1867. Broomielaw, August 1867. I have had my first experience of real hardships since I last wrote to you. Yes, we have all had to endure positive hunger and cold, and, what I found much harder to bear, great anxiety of mind. I think I mentioned that the weather towards the end of July had been unusually disagreeable, but not very cold This wet fortnight had a great deal to do with our sufferings afterwards, for it came exactly at the time we were accustomed to send our dray down to Christchurch for supplies of flour and groceries, and to lay in a good stock of coals for the winter; these latter had been ordered, and were expected every day. Just the last few days of July the weather cleared up, and became like our usual most beautiful winter climate; so, after waiting a day or two, to allow the roads to dry a little, the dray was despatched to town, bearing a long list of orders, and with many injunctions to the driver to return as quickly as possible, for all the stores were at the lowest ebb. I am obliged to tell you these domestic details, in order that you may understand the reason of our privations. I acknowledge, humbly, that it was not good management, but sometimes accidents _will_ occur. It was also necessary for F---- to make a journey to Christchurch on business, and as he probably would be detained there for nearly a week, it was arranged that one of the young gentlemen from Rockwood should ride over and escort me back there, to remain during F----'s absence. I am going to give you all the exact dates, for this snow-storm will be a matter of history, during the present generation at all events: there is no tradition among the Maoris of such a severe one ever having occurred; and what made it more fatal in its financial consequences to every one was, that the lambing season had only just commenced or terminated on most of the runs. Only a few days before he left, F---- had taken me for a ride in the sheltered valleys, that he might see the state of the lambs, and pronounced it most satisfactory; thousands of the pretty little creatures were skipping about by their mothers' side. I find, by my Diary, July 29th marked, as the beginning of a "sou'-wester." F---- had arranged to start that morning, and as his business was urgent, he did not like to delay his departure, though the day was most unpromising, a steady, fine drizzle, and raw atmosphere; however, we hurried breakfast, and he set off, determining to push on to town as quickly as possible. I never spent such a dismal day in my life: my mind was disturbed by secret anxieties about the possibility of the dray being detained by wet weather, and there was such an extraordinary weight in the air, the dense mist seemed pressing everything down to the ground; however, I drew the sofa to the fire, made up a good blaze (the last I saw for some time), and prepared to pass a lazy day with a book; but I felt so restless and miserable I did not know what was the matter with me. I wandered from window to window, and still the same unusual sight met my eyes; a long procession of ewes and lambs, all travelling steadily down from the hills towards the large flat in front of the house; the bleating was incessant, and added to the intense melancholy of the whole affair. When Mr. U---- came in to dinner; at one o'clock, he agreed with me that it was most unusual weather, and said, that on the other ranges the sheep were drifting before the cold mist and rain just in the same way. Our only anxiety arose from the certainty that the dray would be delayed at least a day, and perhaps two; this was a dreadful idea: for some time past we had been economising our resources to make them last, and we knew that there was absolutely nothing at the home-station, nor at our nearest neighbour's, for they had sent to borrow tea and sugar from us. Just at dusk that evening, two gentlemen rode up, not knowing F---- was from home, and asked if they might remain for the night. I knew them both very well; in fact, one was our cousin T----, and the other an old friend; so they put up their horses, and housed their dogs (for each had a valuable sheep-dog with him) in a barrel full of clean straw, and we all tried to spend a cheerful evening, but everybody confessed to the same extraordinary depression of spirits that I felt. When I awoke the next morning, I was not much surprised to see the snow falling thick and fast: no sheep were now visible, there was a great silence, and the oppression in the atmosphere had if possible increased. We had a very poor breakfast,--no porridge, very little mutton (for in expectation of the house being nearly empty, the shepherd had not brought any over the preceding day), and _very_ weak tea; coffee and cocoa all finished, and about an ounce of tea in the chest. I don't know how the gentlemen amused themselves that day; I believe they smoked a good deal; I could only afford a small fire in the drawing-room, over which I shivered. The snow continued to fall in dense fine clouds, quite unlike any snow I ever saw before, and towards night I fancied the garden fence was becoming very much dwarfed. Still the consolation was, "Oh, it won't last; New Zealand snow never: does." However, on Wednesday morning things began to look very serious indeed: the snow covered the ground to a depth of four feet in the shallowest places, and still continued to fall steadily; the cows we knew _must_ be in the paddock were not to be seen anywhere; the fowl-house and pig-styes which stood towards the weather quarter had entirely disappeared; every scrap of wood (and several logs were lying about at the back) was quite covered up; both the verandahs were impassable; in one the snow was six feet deep, and the only door which could be opened was the back-kitchen door, as that opened inwards; but here the snow was half-way over the roof, so it took a good deal of work with the kitchen-shovel, for no spades could be found, to dig out a passage. Indoors, we were approaching our last mouthful very rapidly, the tea at breakfast was merely coloured hot water, and we had some picnic biscuits with it. For dinner we had the last tin of sardines, the last pot of apricot jam, and a tin of ratifia biscuits a most extraordinary mixture, I admit, but there was nothing else. There were six people to be fed every day, and nothing to feed them with. Thursday's breakfast was a discovered crust of dry bread, very stale, and our dinner that day was rice and salt--the last rice in the store-room. The snow still never ceased falling, and only one window in the house afforded us any light; every box was broken up and used for fuel. The gentlemen used to go all together and cut, or rather dig, a passage through the huge drift in front of the stable, and with much difficulty get some food for the seven starving horses outside, who were keeping a few yards clear by incessantly moving about, the snow making high walls all around them. It was wonderful to see how completely the whole aspect of the surrounding scenery was changed; the gullies were all filled up, and nearly level with the downs; sharp-pointed cliffs were now round bluffs; there was no vestige of a fence or gate or shrub to be seen, and still the snow came down as if it had only just begun to fall; out of doors the silence was like death, I was told, for I could only peep down the tunnel dug every few hours at the back-kitchen door. My two maids now gave way, and sat clasped in each other's arms all day, crying piteously, and bewailing their fate, asking me whenever I came into the kitchen, which was about every half-hour, for there was no fire elsewhere, "And oh, when do you think we'll be found, mum?" Of course this only referred to the ultimate discovery of our bodies. There was a great search to-day for the cows, but it was useless, the gentlemen sank up to their shoulders in snow. Friday, the same state of things: a little flour had been discovered in a discarded flour-bag, and we had a sort of girdle-cake and water. The only thing remaining in the store-room was some blacklead, and I was considering seriously how that could be cooked, or whether it would be better raw: we were all more than half starved, and quite frozen: very little fire in the kitchen, and none in any other room. Of course, the constant thought was, "Where are the sheep?" Not a sign or sound could be heard. The dogs' kennels were covered several feet deep; so we could not get at them at all. Saturday morning: the first good news I heard was that the cows had been found, and dragged by ropes down to the enclosure the horses had made for them-selves: they were half dead, poor beasts; but after struggling for four hours to and from a haystack two hundred yards off, one end of which was unburied, some oaten hay was procured for them. There was now not a particle of food in the house. The servants remained in their beds, declining to get up, and alleging that they might as well "die warm." In the middle of the day a sort of forlorn-hope was organized by the gentlemen to try to find the fowl-house, but they could not get through the drift: however, they dug a passage to the wash-house, and returned in triumph with about a pound of very rusty bacon they had found hanging up there; this was useless without fuel, so they dug for a little gate leading to the garden, fortunately hit its whereabouts, and soon had it broken up and in the kitchen grate. By dint of taking all the lead out of the tea-chests, shaking it, and collecting every pinch of tea-dust, we got enough to make a teapot of the weakest tea, a cup of which I took to my poor crying maids in their beds, having first put a spoonful of the last bottle of whisky which the house possessed into it, for there was neither, sugar nor milk to be had. At midnight the snow ceased for a few hours, and a hard sharp frost set in; this made our position worse, for they could now make no impression on the snow, and only broke the shovels in trying. I began to think seriously of following the maids example, in order to "die warm." We could do nothing but wait patiently. I went up to a sort of attic where odds and ends were stowed away, in search of something to eat, but could find nothing more tempting than a supply of wax matches. We knew there was a cat under the house, for we heard her mewing; and it was suggested to take up the carpets first, then the boards, and have a hunt for the poor old pussy but we agreed to bear our hunger a little longer, chiefly, I am afraid, because she was known to be both thin and aged. Towards noon on Sunday the weather suddenly changed, and rain began to come down heavily and steadily; this cheered us all immensely, as it would wash the snow away probably, and so it did to some degree; the highest drifts near the house lessened considerably in a few hours, and the gentlemen, who by this time were desperately hungry, made a final attempt in the direction of the fowl-house, found the roof, tore off some shingles, and returned with a few aged hens, which were mere bundles of feathers after their week's starvation. The servants consented to rise and pluck them, whilst the gentlemen sallied forth once more to the stock-yard, and with great difficulty got off two of the cap or top rails, so we had a splendid though transitory blaze, and some hot stewed fowl; it was more of a soup than anything else, but still we thought it delicious: and then everybody went to bed again, for the house was quite dark still, and the oil and candles were running very low. On Monday morning the snow was washed off the roof a good deal by the deluge of rain which had never ceased to come steadily down, and the windows were cleared a little, just at the top; but we were delighted with the improvement, and some cold weak fowl-soup for breakfast, which we thought excellent. On getting out of doors, the gentlemen reported the creeks to be much swollen and rushing in yellow streams down the sides of the hills over the snow, which was apparently as thick as ever; but it was now easier to get through at the surface, though quite solid for many feet from the ground. A window was scraped clear, through which I could see the desolate landscape out of doors, and some hay was carried with much trouble to the starving cows and horses, but this was a work of almost incredible difficulty. Some more fowls were procured to-day, nearly the last, for a large hole in the roof showed most of them dead of cold and hunger. We were all in much better spirits on this night, for there were signs of the wind shifting from south to north-west; and, for the first time in our lives I suppose, we were anxiously watching and desiring this change, as it was the only chance of saving the thousands of sheep and lambs we now knew lay buried under the smooth white winding-sheet of snow. Before bedtime we heard the fitful gusts we knew so well, and had never before hailed with such deep joy and thankfulness. Every time I woke the same welcome sound of the roaring warm gale met my ears; and we were prepared for the pleasant sight, on Tuesday morning, of the highest rocks on the hill-tops standing out gaunt and bare once more. The wind was blowing the snow off the hills in clouds like spray, and melting it everywhere so rapidly that we began to have a new anxiety, for the creeks were rising fast, and running in wide, angry-looking rivers over the frozen snow on the banks. All immediate apprehension of starvation, however, was removed, for the gentlemen dug a pig out of his stye, where he had been warm and comfortable with plenty of straw, and slaughtered him; and in the loft of the stable was found a bag of Indian meal for fattening poultry, which made excellent cakes of bread. It was very nasty having only ice-cold water to drink at every meal. I especially missed my tea for breakfast; but felt ashamed to grumble, for my disagreeables were very light compared to those of the three gentlemen. From morning to night they were wet through, as the snow of course melted the moment they came indoors. All the first part of the last week they used to work out of doors, trying to get food and fuel, or feeding the horses, in the teeth of a bitter wind, with the snow driving like powdered glass against their smarting hands and faces; and they were as cheery and merry as possible through it all, trying hard to pretend they were neither hungry nor cold, when they must have been both. Going out of doors at this stage of affairs simply meant plunging up to their middle in a slush of half-melted snow which wet them thoroughly in a moment; and they never had dry clothes on again till they changed after dark, when there was no more possibility of outdoor work. Wednesday morning broke bright and clear for the first time since Sunday week; we actually saw the sun. Although the "nor-wester" had done so much good for us, and a light wind still blew softly from that quarter, the snow was yet very deep; but I felt in such high spirits that I determined to venture out, and equipped myself in a huge pair of F----'s riding-boots made of kangaroo-skin, well greased with weka-oil to keep the wet out, These I put on over my own thick boots, but my precautions "did nought avail," for the first step I took sank me deep in the snow over the tops of my enormous boots. They filled immediately, and then merely served to keep the snow securely packed round my ankles; however, I struggled bravely on, every now and then sinking up to my shoulders, and having to be hauled out by main force. The first thing done was to dig out the dogs, who assisted the process by vigorously scratching away inside and tunnelling towards us. Poor things! how thin they looked, but they were quite warm; and after indulging in a long drink at the nearest creek, they bounded about, like mad creatures. The only casualties in the kennels were two little puppies, who were lying cuddled up as if they were asleep, but proved to be stiff and cold; and a very old but still valuable collie called "Gipsy." She was enduring such agonies from rheumatism that it was terrible to hear her howls; and after trying to relieve her by rubbing, taking her into the stable-and in fact doing all we could for her--it seemed better and kinder to shoot her two days afterwards. We now agreed to venture into the paddock and see what had happened to the bathing-place about three hundred yards from the house. I don't think I have told you that the creek had been here dammed up with a sod wall twelve feet high, and a fine deep and broad pond made, which was cleared of weeds and grass, and kept entirely for the gentlemen to have a plunge and swim at daylight of a summer's morning; there had been a wide trench cut about two feet from the top, so as to carry off the water, and hitherto this had answered perfectly. The first thing we had to do was to walk over the high five-barred gate leading into the paddock just the topmost bar was sticking up, but there was not a trace of the little garden-gate or of the fence, which was quite a low one. We were, however, rejoiced to see that on the ridges of the sunny downs there were patches, or rather streaks, of tussocks visible, and they spread in size every moment, for the sun was quite warm, and the "nor'-wester," had done much towards softening the snow. It took us a long time to get down to where the bathing-place _had been_, for the sod wall was quite carried away, and there was now only a heap of ruin, with a muddy torrent pouring through the large gap and washing it still more away. Close to this was a very sunny sheltered down, or rather hill; and as the snow was rapidly melting off its warm sloping sides we agreed to climb it and see if any sheep could be discovered, for up to this time there had been none seen or heard, though we knew several thousands must be on this flat and the adjoining ones. As soon as we got to the top the first glance showed us a small dusky patch close to the edge of one of the deepest and widest creeks at the bottom of the pad-dock; experienced eyes saw they were sheep, but to me they had not the shape of animals at all, though they were quite near enough to be seen distinctly. I observed the gentlemen exchange looks of alarm, and they said to each other some low words, from which I gathered that they feared the worst. Before we went down to the flat we took a long, careful look round, and made out another patch, dark by comparison with the snow, some two hundred yards lower down the creek, but apparently in the water. On the other side of the little hill the snow seemed to have drifted even more deeply, for the long narrow valley which lay there presented, as far as we could see, one smooth, level snow-field. On the dazzling white surface the least fleck shows, and I can never forget how beautiful some swamp-hens, with their dark blue plumage, short, pert, white tails, and long bright legs, looked, as they searched slowly along the banks of the swollen creek for some traces of their former haunts; but every tuft of tohi-grass lay bent and buried deep beneath its heavy covering. The gentlemen wanted me to go home before they attempted to see the extent of the disaster, which we all felt must be very great; but I found it impossible to do anything but accompany them. I am half glad and half sorry now that I was obstinate; glad because I helped a little at a time when the least help was precious, and sorry because it was really such a horrible sight. Even the first glance showed us that, as soon as we got near the spot we had observed, we were walking on frozen sheep embedded in the snow one over the other; but at all events their misery had been over some time. It was more horrible to see the drowning, or just drowned, huddled-up "mob" (as sheep _en masse_ are technically called) which had made the dusky patch we had noticed from the hill. No one can ever tell how many hundred ewes and lambs had taken refuge under the high terrace which forms the bank of the creek. The snow had soon covered them up, but they probably were quite warm and dry at first. The terrible mischief was caused by the creek rising so rapidly, and, filtering through the snow which it gradually dissolved, drowned them as they stood huddled together. Those nearest the edge of the water of course went first, but we were fortunately in time to save a good many, though the living seemed as nothing compared to the heaps of dead. We did not waste a moment in regrets or idleness; the most experienced of the gentlemen said briefly what was to be done, and took his coat off; the other coats and my little Astrachan jacket were lying by its side in an instant, and we all set to work, sometimes up to our knees in icy water, digging at the bank of snow above us--if you can call it digging when we had nothing but our hands to dig, or rather scratch, with. Oh, how hot we were in five minutes! the sun beating on us, and the reflection from the snow making its rays almost blinding. It was of no use my attempting to rescue the sheep, for I could not move them, even when I had _scrattled_ the snow away from one. A sheep, especially with its fleece full of snow, is beyond my small powers: even the lambs I found a tremendous weight, and it must have been very absurd, if an idler had been by, to see me, with a little lamb in my arms, tumbling down at every second step, but still struggling manfully towards the dry oasis where we put each animal as it was dug out. The dear doggies helped us beautifully, working so eagerly and yet so wisely under their master's eye, as patient and gentle with the poor stiffened creatures as if they could feel for them. I was astonished at the vitality of some of the survivors; if they had been very far back and not chilled by the water, they were quite lively. The strongest sheep were put across the stream by the dogs, who were obedient to their master's finger, and not to be induced on any terms to allow the sheep to land a yard to one side of the place on the opposite bank, but just where they were to go. A good many were swept away, but after six hours' work we counted 1,400 rescued ones slowly "trailing" up the low sunny hill I have mentioned, and nibbling at the tussocks as they went. The proportion of lambs was, of course, very small, but the only wonder to me is that there were any alive at all. If I had been able to stop my scratching but for a moment, I would have had what the servants call a "good cry" over one little group I laid bare. Two fine young ewes were standing leaning against each other in a sloping position, like a tent, frozen and immoveable: between them, quite dry, and as lively as a kitten, was a dear little lamb of about a month old belonging to one; the lamb of the other lay curled up at her feet, dead and cold; I really believe they had hit upon this way of keeping the other alive. A more pathetic sight I never beheld. It is needless to say that we were all most dreadfully exhausted by the time the sun went down, and it began to freeze; nothing but the sheer impossibility of doing anything more in the hardening snow and approaching darkness made us leave off even then, though we had not tasted food all day. The gentlemen took an old ewe, who could not stand, though it was not actually dead, up to the stable and killed it, to give the poor dogs a good meal, and then they had to get some more rails off the stock-yard to cook our own supper of pork and maize. The next morning was again bright with a warm wind; so the effect of the night's frost soon disappeared, and we were hard at work directly after breakfast. Nothing would induce me to stay at home, but I armed myself with a coal-scoop to dig, and we made our way to the other "mob;" but, alas! there was nothing to do in the way of saving life, for all the sheep were dead. There was a large island formed at a bend in the creek, where the water had swept with such fury round a point as to wash the snow and sheep all away together, till at some little obstacle they began to accumulate in a heap. I counted ninety-two dead ewes in one spot, but I did not stay to count the lambs. We returned to the place where we had been digging the day before, and set the dogs to hunt in the drifts; wherever they began to scratch we shovelled the snow away, and were sure to find sheep either dead or nearly so: however, we liberated a good many more. This sort of work continued till the following Saturday, when F---- returned, having had a most dangerous journey, as the roads are still blocked up in places with snow-drifts; but he was anxious to get back, knowing I must have been going through "hard times." He was terribly shocked at the state of things among the sheep; in Christchurch no definite news had reached them from any quarter: all the coaches were stopped and the telegraph wires broken down by the snow. He arrived about mid-day, and, directly after the meal we still called dinner, started off over the hills to my "nest of Cockatoos," and brought back some of the men with him to help to search for the sheep, and to skin those that were dead as fast as possible. He worked himself all day at the skinning,--a horrible job; but the fleeces were worth something, and soon all the fences, as they began to emerge from the snow, were tapestried with these ghastly skins, and walking became most disagreeable, on account of the evil odours arising every few yards. We forgot all our personal sufferings in anxiety about the surviving sheep, and when the long-expected dray arrived it seemed a small boon compared to the discovery of a nice little "mob" feeding tranquilly on a sunny spur. It is impossible to estimate our loss until the grand muster at shearing, but we may set it down at half our flock, and _all_ our lambs, or at least 90 per cent. of them. Our neighbours are all as busy as we are, so no accurate accounts of their sufferings or losses have reached us; but, to judge by appearances, the distant "back-country" ranges must have felt the storm more severely even than we have; and although the snow did not drift to such a depth on the plains as with us, or lie so long on the ground, they suffered just as much,--for the sheep took shelter under the high river-banks, and the tragedy of the creeks was enacted on a still larger scale; or they drifted along before the first day's gale till they came to a wire fence, and there they were soon covered up, and trampled each other to death. Not only were sheep, but cattle, found dead in hundreds along the fences on the plains. The newspapers give half a million as a rough estimate of the loss among the flocks in this province alone. We have no reliable news from other parts of the island, only vague rumours of the storm having been still more severe in the Province of Otago, which lies to the south, and would be right in its track; the only thing which all are agreed in saying is, that there never has been such a storm before, for the Maories are strong in weather traditions, and though they prophesied this one, it is said they have no legend of anything like it ever having happened. Letter XXI: Wild cattle hunting in the Kowai Bush. Mount Torlesse, October 1867. We are staying for a week at a charming little white cottage covered with roses and honeysuckles, nestled under the shadow of this grand mountain, to make some expeditions after wild cattle in the great Kowai Bush. I am afraid that it does not sound a very orderly and feminine occupation, but I enjoy it thoroughly, and have covered myself with glory and honour by my powers of walking all day. We have already spent three long happy days in the Bush, and although they have not resulted in much slaughter of our big game, still I for one am quite as well pleased as if we had returned laden with as many beeves as used to come in from a border foray. I am not going to inflict an account of each expedition on you; one will serve to give an idea of all, for though there is no monotony in Nature, it may chance that frequent descriptions of her become so, and this I will not risk. Our ride over here was a sufficiently ridiculous affair, owing to the misbehaviour of the pack-horse, for it was impossible upon this occasion to manage with as little luggage as usual, so we arranged to take a good-sized carpet-bag (a most unheard-of luxury), and on each side of it was to be slung a rifle and a gun, and smaller bags of bullets, shot, and powder-flasks, disposed to the best advantage on the pack-saddle. This was all very well in theory, but when it came to the point, the proper steady old horse who was to bear the pack was not forthcoming! He had taken it into his head to go on a visit to a neighbouring run, so the only available beast was a young chestnut of most uncertain temper. The process of saddling him was a long one, as he objected to each item of his load as soon as it was put on, especially to the guns; but F---- was very patient, and took good care to tie and otherwise fasten everything so that it was impossible for "Master Tucker" (called, I suppose, after the immortal Tommy) to get rid of his load by either kicking or plunging. At last we mounted and rode by a bridle-path among the hills for some twelve miles or so, then across half-a-dozen miles of plain, and finally we forded a river. The hill-track was about as bad as a path could be, with several wide jumps across creeks at the bottom of the numerous deep ravines, or gullies as we call them. F---- rode first--for we could only go in single file--with the detestable Tucker's bridle over his arm; then came the chestnut, with his ears well back, and his eyes all whites, in his efforts to look at his especial aversion, the guns; he kicked all the way down the many hills, and pulled back in the most aggravating manner at each ascent, and when we came to a creek sat down on his tail, refusing to stir. My position was a most trying one; the track was so bad that I would fain have given my mind entirely to my own safety, but instead of this all my attention was centred on Tucker the odious. When we first started I expressed to F---- my fear that Tucker would fairly drag him off his own saddle, and he admitted that it was very likely, adding, "You must flog him." This made me feel that it entirely depended on my efforts whether F---- was to be killed or not, so I provided myself with a small stock-whip in addition to my own little riding-whip, and we set off. From the first yard Tucker objected to go, but there were friendly sticks to urge him on; however, we soon got beyond the reasonable limits of help, and I tried desperately to impress upon Tucker that I was going to be very severe: for this purpose I flourished my stock-whip in a way that drove my own skittish mare nearly frantic, and never touched Tucker, whom F---- was dragging along by main force. At last I gave up the stock-whip, with its unmanageable three yards of lash, and dropped it on the track, to be picked up as we came home. I now tried to hit Tucker with my horse-whip, but he flung his heels up in Helen's face the moment I touched him. I was in perfect despair, very much afraid of a sudden swerve on my mare's part sending us both down the precipice, and in equal dread of seeing F---- pulled off his saddle by Tucker's suddenly planting his fore-feet firmly together: F---- himself, with the expression of a martyr, looking round every now and then to say, "Can't you make him come on?" and I hitting wildly and vainly, feeling all the time that I was worse than useless. At last the bright idea occurred to me to ride nearly alongside of the fiendish Tucker, but a little above him on the hill, so as to be able to strike him fairly without fear of his heels. As far as Tucker was concerned this plan answered perfectly, for he soon found out he had to go; but Helen objected most decidedly to being taken off the comparative safety of the track and made to walk on a slippery, sloping hill, where she could hardly keep her feet; however, we got on much faster this way. Oh, how tired I was of striking Tucker! I don't believe I hurt him much, but I felt quite cruel. When we came to the plain, I begged F---- to let me lead him; so we changed, and there was no holding back on the chestnut's part then; it must have been like the grass and the stones in the fable. I never was more thankful than when that ride was over, though its disagreeables were soon forgotten in the warm welcome we received from our bachelor hosts, and the incessant discussions about the next day's excursion. We had finished breakfast by seven o'clock the following morning, and were ready to start. Of course the gentlemen were very fussy about their equipments, and hung themselves all over with cartridges and bags of bullets and powder-flasks; then they had to take care that their tobacco-pouches and match-boxes were filled; and lastly, each carried a little flask of brandy or sherry, in case of being lost and having to camp out. I felt quite unconcerned, having only my flask with cold tea in it to see about, and a good walking-stick was easily chosen. My costume may be described as uncompromising, for it had been explained to me that there were no paths but real rough bush walking; so I dispensed with all little feminine adornments even to the dearly-loved chignon, tucked my hair away as if I was going to put on a bathing-cap, and covered it with a Scotch bonnet. The rest of my toilette must have been equally shocking to the eyes of taste, and I have reason to believe the general effect most hideous; but one great comfort was, no one looked at me, they were all too much absorbed in preparations for a great slaughter, and I only came at all upon sufferance; the unexpressed but prevailing dread, I could plainly see, was that I should knock up and become a bore, necessitating an early return home; but I knew better! An American waggon and some ponies were waiting to take the whole party to the entrance of the bush, about four miles off, and, in spite of having to cross a rough river-bed, which is always a slow process, it did not take us very long to reach our first point. Here we dismounted, just at the edge of the great dense forest, and, with as little delay as possible in fine arrangements, struck into a path or bullock-track, made for about three miles into the bush for the convenience of dragging out the felled trees by ropes or chains attached to bullocks; they are not placed upon a waggon, so you may easily imagine the state the track was in, ploughed up by huge logs of timber dragged on the ground, and by the bullocks' hoofs besides. It was a mere slough with deep holes of mud in it, and we scrambled along its extreme edge, chiefly trusting to the trees on each side, which still lay as they had been felled, the men not considering them good enough to remove. At last we came to a clearing, and I quite despair of making you understand how romantic and lovely this open space in the midst of the tall trees looked that beautiful spring morning. I involuntarily thought of the descriptions in "Paul and Virginia," for the luxuriance of the growth was quite tropical. For about two acres the trees had been nearly all felled, only one or two giants remaining; their stumps were already hidden by clematis and wild creepers of other kinds, or by a sort of fern very like the hart's-tongue, which will only grow on the bark of trees, and its glossy leaves made an exquisite contrast to the rough old root. The "bushmen"--as the men who have bought twenty-acre sections and settled in the bush are called--had scattered English grass-seed all over the rich leafy mould, and the ground was covered with bright green grass, kept short and thick by a few tame goats browsing about. Before us was the steep bank of the river Waimakiriri, and a few yards from its edge stood a picturesque gable-ended little cottage surrounded by a rustic fence, which enclosed a strip of garden gay with common English spring flowers, besides more useful things, potatoes, etc. The river was about two hundred yards broad just here, and though it foamed below us, we could also see it stretching away in the distance almost like a lake, till a great bluff hid it from our eyes. Overhead the trees were alive with flocks of wild pigeons, ka-kas, parroquets, and other birds, chattering and twittering incessantly and as we stood on the steep bank and looked down, I don't think a minute passed without a brace of wild ducks flying past, grey, blue, and Paradise. These latter are the most beautiful plumaged birds I ever saw belonging to the duck tribe, and, when young, are very good eating, quite as delicate as the famous canvas-back. This sight so excited our younger sportsmen that they scrambled down the high precipice, followed by a water-spaniel, and in five minutes had bagged as many brace. We could not give them any more time, for it was past nine o'clock, and we were all eager to start on the serious business of the day; but before we left, the mistress of this charming "bush-hut" insisted on our having some hot coffee and scones and wild honey, a most delicious second breakfast. There was a pretty little girl growing up, and a younger child, both the picture of health; the only drawback seemed to be the mosquitoes; it was not very lonely, for one or two other huts stood in clearings adjoining, and furnished us with three bushmen as guides and assistants. I must say, they were the most picturesque of the party, being all handsome men, dressed in red flannel shirts and leathern knickerbockers and gaiters; they had fine beards, and wore "diggers' hats," a head-dress of American origin--a sort of wide-awake made of plush, capable of being crushed into any shape, and very becoming. All were armed with either rifle or gun, and one carried an axe and a coil of rope; another had a gun such as is seldom seen out of an arsenal; it was an old flint lock, but had been altered to a percussion; its owner was very proud of it, not so much for its intrinsic beauty, though it once had been a costly and splendid weapon and was elaborately inlaid with mother-of-pearl, but because it had belonged to a former Duke of Devonshire. In spite of its claims to consideration on this head as well as its own beauty, we all eyed it with extreme disfavour on account of a peculiarity it possessed of not going off when it was intended to do so, but about five minutes afterwards. It was suggested to me very politely that I might possibly prefer to remain behind and spend the day in this picturesque spot, but this offer I declined steadily; I think the bushmen objected to my presence more than any one else, as they really meant work, and dreaded having to turn back for a tired "female" (they never spoke of me by any other term). At last all the information was collected about the probable whereabouts of the wild cattle--it was so contradictory, that it must have been difficult to arrange any plan by it,--and we started. A few hundred yards took us past the clearings and into the very heart of the forest. We had left the sun shining brightly overhead; here it was all a "great green gloom." I must describe to you the order in which we marched. First came two of the most experienced "bush-hands," who carried a tomahawk or light axe with which to clear the most cruel of the brambles away, and to notch the trees as a guide to us on our return; and also a compass, for we had to steer for a certain point, the bearings of which we knew--of course the procession was in Indian file: next to these pioneers walked, very cautiously, almost on tiptoe, four of our sportsmen; then I came; and four or five others, less keen or less well armed, brought up the rear. I may here confess that I endured in silence agonies of apprehension for my personal safety all day. It was so dreadful to see a bramble or wild creeper catch in the lock of the rifle before me, and to reflect that, unless its owner was very careful, it might "go off of its own accord," and to know that I was exposed to a similar danger from those behind. We soon got on the fresh tracks of some cows, and proceeded most cautiously and silently; but it could hardly be called walking, it was alternately pushing through dense undergrowth, crawling beneath, or climbing over, high barricades made by fallen trees. These latter obstacles I found the most difficult, for the bark was so slippery; and once, when with much difficulty I had scrambled up a pile of _debris_ at least ten feet high, I incautiously stepped on some rotten wood at the top, and went through it into a sort of deep pit, out of which it was very hard to climb. On comparing notes afterwards, we found, that although we had walked without a moment's cessation for eleven hours during the day, a pedometer only gave twenty-two miles as the distance accomplished. Before we had been in the bush half an hour our faces were terribly scratched and bleeding, and so were the gentlemen's hands; my wrists also suffered, as my gauntlets would not do their duty and lie flat. There were myriads of birds around us, all perfectly tame; many flew from twig to twig, accompanying us with their little pert heads on one side full of curiosity; the only animals we saw were some wild sheep looking very disreputable with their long tails and torn, trailing fleeces of six or seven years' growth. There are supposed to be some hundreds of these in the bush who have strayed into it years ago, when they were lambs, from neighbouring runs. The last man in the silent procession put a match into a dead tree every here and there, to serve as a torch to guide us back in the dark; but this required great judgment for fear of setting the whole forest on fire: the tree required to be full of damp decay, which would only smoulder and not blaze. We intended to steer for a station on the other side of a narrow neck of the Great Bush, ten miles off, as nearly as we could guess, but we made many detours after fresh tracks. Once these hoof-marks led us to the brink of such a pretty creek, exactly like a Scotch burn, wide and noisy, tumbling down from rock to rock, but not very deep. After a whispered consultation, it was determined to follow up this creek to a well-known favourite drinking-place of the cattle, but it was easier walking in the water than on the densely-grown banks, so all the gentlemen stepped in one after another. I hesitated a moment with one's usual cat-like antipathy to wet feet, when a stalwart bushman approached, with rather a victimised air and the remark: "Ye're heavy, nae doot, to carry." I was partly affronted at this prejudgment of the case, and partly determined to show that I was equal to the emergency, for I immediately jumped into the water, frightening myself a good deal by the tremendous splash I made, and meeting reproving glances; and nine heads were shaken violently at me. Nothing could be more beautiful than the winding banks of this creek, fringed with large ferns in endless variety; it was delightful to see the sun and sky once more overhead, but I cannot say that it was the easiest possible walking, and I soon found out that the cleverest thing to do was to wade a little way behind the shortest gentleman of the party, for when he disappeared in a hole I knew it in time to avoid a similar fate; whereas, as long as I persisted in stalking solemnly after my own tall natural protector, I found that I was always getting into difficulties in unexpectedly deep places. I saw the bushmen whispering together, and examining the rocks in some places, but I found on inquiry that their thoughts were occupied at the moment by other ideas than sport; one of them had been a digger, and was pronouncing an opinion that this creek was very likely to prove a "home of the gold" some day. There is a strong feeling prevalent that gold will be found in great quantities all over the island. At this time of the year the water is very shallow, but the stream evidently comes down with tremendous force in the winter; and they talk of having "found the colour" (of gold) in some places. We proceeded in this way for about three miles, till we reached a beautiful, clear, deep pool, into which the water fell from a height in a little cascade; the banks here were well trodden, and the hoof-prints quite recent; great excitement was caused by hearing a distant lowing, but after much listening, in true Indian fashion, with the ear to the ground, everybody was of a different opinion as to the side from whence the sound proceeded, so we determined to keep on our original course; the compass was once more produced, and we struck into a dense wood of black birch. Ever since we left the clearing from which the start was made, we had turned our backs on the river, but about three o'clock in the afternoon we came suddenly on it again, and stood on the most beautiful spot I ever saw in my life. We were on the top of a high precipice, densely wooded to the water's edge. Some explorers in bygone days must have camped here, for half-a-dozen trees were felled, and the thick brush-wood had been burnt for a few yards, just enough to let us take in the magnificent view before and around us. Below roared and foamed, among great boulders washed down from the cliff, the Waimakiriri; in the middle of it lay a long narrow strip of white shingle, covered with water in the winter floods, but now shining like snow in the bright sunlight. Beyond this the river flowed as placidly as a lake, in cool green depths, reflecting every leaf of the forest on the high bank or cliff opposite. To our right it stretched away, with round headlands covered with timber running down in soft curves to the water. But on our left was the most perfect composition for a picture in the foreground a great reach of smooth water, except just under the bank we stood on, where the current was strong and rapid; a little sparkling beach, and a vast forest rising up from its narrow border, extending over chain after chain of hills, till they rose to the glacial region, and then the splendid peaks of the snowy range broke the deep blue sky line with their grand outlines. All this beauty would have been almost too oppressive, it was on such a large scale and the solitude was so intense, if it had not been for the pretty little touch of life and movement afforded by the hut belonging to the station we were bound for. It was only a rough building, made of slabs of wood with cob between; but there was a bit of fence and the corner of a garden and an English grass paddock, which looked about as big as a pocket-handkerchief from where we stood. A horse or two and a couple of cows were tethered near, and we could hear the bark of a dog. A more complete hermitage could not have been desired by Diogenes himself, and for the first time we felt ashamed of invading the recluse in such a formidable body, but ungrudging, open-handed hospitality is so universal in New Zealand that we took courage and began our descent. It really was like walking down the side of a house, and no one could stir a step without at least one arm round a tree. I had no gun to carry, so I clung frantically with both arms to each stem in succession. The steepness of the cliff was the reason we could take in all the beauty of the scene before us, for the forest was as thick as ever; but we could see over the tops of the trees, as the ground dropped sheer down, almost in a straight line from the plateau we had been travelling on all day. As soon as we reached the shingle, on which we had to walk for a few hundred yards, we bethought ourselves of our toilettes; the needle and thread I had brought did good service in making us more presentable. We discovered, however, that our faces were a perfect network of fine scratches, some of which _would_ go on bleeding, in spite of cold-water applications. Our boots were nearly dry; and my petticoat, short as it was, proved to be the only damp garment: this was the fault of my first jump into the water. We put the least scratched and most respectable-looking member of the party in the van, and followed him, amid much barking of dogs, to the low porch; and after hearing a cheery "Come in," answering our modest tap at the door, we trooped in one after the other till the little room was quite full. I never saw such astonishment on any human face as on that of the poor master of the house, who could not stir from his chair by the fire, on account of a bad wound in his leg from an axe. There he sat quite helpless, a moment ago so solitary, arid now finding himself the centre of a large, odd-looking crowd of strangers. He was a middle-aged Scotchman, probably of not a very elevated position in life, and had passed many years in this lonely spot, and yet he showed himself quite equal to the occasion. After that first uncontrollable look of amazement he did the honours of his poor hut with the utmost courtesy and true good-breeding. His only apology was for being unable to rise from his arm-chair (made out of half a barrel and an old flour-sack by the way); he made us perfectly welcome, took it for granted we were hungry--hunger is a very mild word to express my appetite, for one--called by a loud coo-ee to his man Sandy, to whom he gave orders that the best in the house should be put before us, and then began to inquire by what road we had come, what sport we had, etc., all in the nicest way possible. I never felt more awkward in my life than when I stooped to enter that low doorway, and yet in a minute I was quite at my ease again; but of the whole party I was naturally the one who puzzled him the most. In the first place, I strongly suspect that he had doubts as to my being anything but a boy in a rather long kilt; and when this point was explained, he could not understand what a "female," as he also called me, was doing on a rough hunting expedition. He particularly inquired more than once if I had come of my own free will, and could not understand what pleasure I found in walking so far. Indeed he took it so completely for granted that I must be exhausted, that he immediately began to make plans for F---- and me to stop there all night, offering to give up his "bunk" (some slabs of wood made into a shelf, with a tussock mattress and a blanket), and to sleep himself in his arm-chair. In the meantime, Sandy was preparing our meal. There was an open hearth with a fine fire, and a big black kettle hanging over it by a hook fastened somewhere up the chimney. As soon as this boiled he went to a chest, or rather locker, and brought a double-handful of tea, which he threw into the kettle; then he took from a cupboard the biggest loaf, of bread I ever saw--a huge thing, which had been baked in a camp-oven--and flapped it down on the table with a bang; next he produced a tin milk-pan, and returned to the cupboard to fetch out by the shank-bone a mutton-ham, which he placed in the milk-dish: a bottle of capital whisky was forthcoming from the same place; a little salt on one newspaper, and brown, or rather _black_, sugar on another, completed the arrangements, and we were politely told by Sandy to "wire in,"--digger's phraseology for an invitation to commence, which we did immediately, as soon as we could make an arrangement about the four tin plates and three pannikins. I had one all to myself, but the others managed by twos and threes to each plate. I never had a better luncheon in my life; everything was excellent in its way, and we all possessed what we are told is the best sauce. Large as the supplies were, we left hardly anything, and the more we devoured the more pleased our host seemed. There were no chairs; we sat on logs of trees rudely chopped into something like horse-blocks, but to tired limbs which had known no rest from six hours' walking they seemed delightful. After we had finished our meal, the gentlemen went outside to have half a pipe before setting off again; they dared not smoke whilst we were after the cattle, for fear of their perceiving some unusual smell; and I remained for ten minutes with Mr----. I found that he was very fond of reading; his few books were all of a good stamp, but he was terribly hard-up for anything which he had not read a hundred times over. I hastily ran over the names of some books of my own, which I offered to lend him for as long a time as he liked: and we made elaborate plans for sending them, of my share in which I took a memorandum. He seemed very grateful at the prospect of having anything new, especially now that he was likely to be laid up for some weeks, and I intend to make every effort to give him this great pleasure as soon as possible. We exchanged the most hearty farewells when the time of parting came, and our host was most earnest in his entreaties to us to remain; but it was a question of getting out of the bush before dusk, so we could not delay. He sent Sandy to guide us by a rather longer but easier way than climbing up the steep cliff to the place where the little clearing at its edge which I have mentioned had been made; and we dismissed our guide quite happy with contributions from all the tobacco-pouches, for no one had any money with him. We found our way back again by the notches on the trees as long as the light lasted, and when it got too dark to see them easily, the smouldering trunks guided us, and we reached the clearing from which we started in perfect safety. Good Mrs. D---- had a bountiful tea ready; she was much concerned at our having yet some three miles of bad walking before we could reach the hut on the outskirts of the bush, where we had left the trap and the ponies. When we got to this point there was actually another and still more sumptuous meal set out for us, to which, alas! we were unable to do any justice; and then we found our way to the station across the flat, down a steep cutting, and through the river-bed, all in the dark and cold. We had supper as soon as we reached home, tumbling into bed as early as might be afterwards for such a sleep as you Londoners don't know anything about. I have only described one expedition to you, and that the most unsuccessful, as far as killing anything goes; but my hunting instincts only lead me to the point of reaching the game; when it comes to that, I always try to save its life, and if this can't be done, I retire to a distance and stop my ears; indeed, if very much over-excited, I can't help crying. Consequently, I enjoy myself much more when we don't kill anything; and, on the other occasions, I never could stop and see even the shot fired which was to bring a fine cow or a dear little calf down, but crept away as far as ever I could, and muffled my head in my jacket. The bushmen liked this part of the performance the best, I believe, and acted as butchers very readily, taking home a large joint each to their huts, a welcome change after the eternal pigeons, ka-kas, and wild ducks on which they live. Letter XXII: The exceeding joy of "burning." Broomielaw, December 1867. I am quite sorry that the season for setting fire to the long grass, or, as it is technically called, "burning the run," is fairly over at last. It has been later than usual this year, on account of the snow having lain such an unusual time on the ground and kept the grass damp. Generally September is the earliest month in which it begins, and November the latest for it to end; but this year the shady side of "Flagpole" was too moist to take fire until December. It is useless to think of setting out on a burning expedition unless there is a pretty strong nor'-wester blowing; but it must not be _too_ violent, or the flames will fly over the grass, just scorching it instead of making "a clean burn." But when F---- pronounces the wind to be just right, and proposes that we should go to some place where the grass is of two, or, still better, three years' growth, then I am indeed happy. I am obliged to be careful not to have on any inflammable petticoats, even if it is quite a warm day, as they are very dangerous; the wind will shift suddenly perhaps as, I am in the very act of setting a tussock a-blaze, and for half a second I find myself in the middle of the flames. F---- generally gets his beard well singed, and I have nearly lost my eyelashes more than once. We each provide ourselves with a good supply of matches, and on the way we look out for the last year's tall blossom of those horrid prickly bushes called "Spaniards," or a bundle of flax-sticks, or, better than all, the top of a dead and dry Ti-ti palm. As soon as we come to the proper spot, and F---- has ascertained that no sheep are in danger of being made into roast mutton before their time, we begin to light our line of fire, setting one large tussock blazing, lighting our impromptu torches at it, and then starting from this "head-centre," one to the right and the other to the left, dragging the blazing sticks along the grass. It is a very exciting amusement, I assure you, and the effect is beautiful, especially as it grows dusk and the fires are racing up the hills all around us. Every now and then they meet with a puff of wind, which will perhaps strike a great wall of fire rushing up-hill as straight as a line, and divide it into two fiery horns like a crescent; then as the breeze changes again, the tips of flame will gradually approach each other till they meet, and go on again in a solid mass of fire. If the weather has been very dry for some time and the wind is high, we attempt to burn a great flax swamp, perhaps, in some of the flats. This makes a magnificent bonfire when once it is fairly started, but it is more difficult to light in the first instance, as you have to collect the dead flax-leaves and make a little fire of them under the big green bush in order to coax it to blaze up: but it crackles splendidly; indeed it sounds as if small explosions were going on sometimes. But another disadvantage of burning a swamp is, that there are deep holes every yard or two, into which I always tumble in my excitement, or in getting out of the way of a flax-bush which has flared up just at the wrong moment, and is threatening to set me on fire also. These holes are quite full of water in the winter, but now they contain just enough thin mud to come in over the tops of my boots; so I do not like stepping into one every moment. We start numerous wild ducks and swamp-hens, and perhaps a bittern or two, by these conflagrations. On the whole, I like burning the hill-sides better than the swamp--you get a more satisfactory blaze with less trouble; but I sigh over these degenerate days when the grass is kept short and a third part of a run is burned regularly ever spring, and long for the good old times of a dozen years ago, when the tussocks were six feet high. What a blaze they must have made! The immediate results of our expeditions are vast tracts of perfectly black and barren country, looking desolate and hideous to a degree hardly to be imagined; but after the first spring showers a beautiful tender green tint steals over the bare hill-sides, and by and by they are a mass of delicious young grass, and the especial favourite feeding-place of the ewes and lambs. The day after a good burn thousands of sea-gulls flock to the black ground. Where they spring from I cannot tell, as I never see one at any other time, and their hoarse, incessant cry is the first sign you have of their arrival. They hover over the ground, every moment darting down, for some insect. They cannot find much else but roasted lizards and, grasshoppers, for I have never seen a caterpillar in New Zealand. In the height of the burning season last month I had Alice S---- to stay with me for two or three weeks, and to my great delight I found our tastes about fires agreed exactly, and we both had the same grievance--that we never were allowed to have half enough of it; so we organized the most delightful expeditions together. We used to have a quiet old station-horse saddled, fasten the luncheon-basket to the pommel with materials for a five o'clock tea, and start off miles away to the back of the run, about three o'clock in the afternoon, having previously bribed the shepherd to tell us where the longest grass was to be found--and this he did very readily, as our going saved him the trouble of a journey thither, and he was not at all anxious for more work than he could help. We used to ride alternately, till we got to a deserted shepherd's hut in such a lovely gully, quite at the far end of the run! Here we tied up dear quiet old Jack to the remnants of the fence, leaving him at liberty to nibble a little grass. We never took off the saddle after the first time, for upon that occasion we found that our united strength was insufficient to girth it on again properly, and we made our appearance at home in the most ignominious fashion--Alice leading Jack, and I walking by his side holding the saddle _on_. Whenever we attempted to buckle the girths, this artful old screw swelled himself out with such a long breath that it was impossible to pull the strap to the proper hole; we could not even get it tight enough to stay steady, without slipping under him at every step. However, this is a digression, and I must take you back to the scene of the fire, and try to make you understand how delightful it was. Alice said that what made it so fascinating to her was a certain sense of its being mischief, and a dim feeling that we might get into a scrape. I don't think I ever stopped to analyse my sensations; fright was the only one I was conscious of, and yet I liked it so much. When after much consultation--in which I always deferred to Alice's superior wisdom and experience--we determined on our line of fire, we set to work vigorously, and the great thing was to see who could make the finest blaze. I used to feel very envious if my fire got into a bare patch, where there were more rocks than tussocks, and languished, whilst Alice's was roaring and rushing up a hill. We always avoided burning where a grove of the pretty Ti-ti palms grew; but sometimes there would be one or two on a hill-side growing by themselves, and then it was most beautiful to see them burn. Even before the flames reached them their long delicate leaves felt the wind of the fire and shivered piteously; then the dry old ones at the base of the stem caught the first spark like tinder, and in a second the whole palm was in a blaze, making a sort of heart to the furnace, as it had so much more substance than the grass. For a moment or two the poor palm would bend and sway, tossing its leaves like fiery plumes in the air, and then it was reduced to a black stump, and the fire swept on up the hill. The worst of it all was that we never knew when to leave off and come home. We would pause for half an hour and boil our little kettle, and have some tea and cake, and then go on again till quite late, getting well scolded when we reached home at last dead-tired and as black as little chimney-sweeps. One evening F---- was away on a visit of two nights to a distant friend, and Alice and I determined on having splendid burns in his absence; so we made our plans, and everything was favourable, wind and all. We enjoyed ourselves very much, but if Mr. U---- had not come out to look for us at ten o'clock at night, and traced us by our blazing track, we should have had to camp out, for we had no idea where we were, or that we had wandered so many miles from home; nor had we any intention of returning just yet. We were very much ashamed of ourselves upon that occasion, and took care to soften the story considerably before it reached F----'s ears the next day. However much I may rejoice at nor'-westers in the early spring as aids to burning the run, I find them a great hindrance to my attempts at a lawn. Twice have we had the ground carefully dug up and prepared; twice has it been sown with the best English seed for the purpose, at some considerable expense; then has come much toil on the part of F---- and Mr. U---- with a heavy garden-roller; and the end of all the trouble has been that a strong nor'-wester has blown both seed and soil away, leaving only the hard un-dug (I wonder whether there is such a word) ground. I could scarcely believe that it really was all "clean gone," as children say, until a month or two after the first venture, when I had been straining my eyes and exercising my imagination all in vain to discover a blade where it ought to have been, but had remarked in one of my walks an irregular patch of nice English grass about half a mile from the house down the flat. I speculated for some time as to how it got there, and at last F---- was roused from his reverie, and said coolly, "Oh, that's your lawn!" When this happens twice, it really becomes very aggravating: there are the croquet things lying idle in the verandah year after year, and, as far as I can see, they are likely to remain unused for ever. Before I close my letter I must tell you of an adventure I have had with a wild boar, which was really dangerous. F---- and another gentleman were riding with me one afternoon in a very lonely gully at the back of the run, when the dogs (who always accompany us) put up a large, fierce, black, boar out of some thick flax-bushes. Of course the hunting instinct, which all young Englishmen possess, was in full force instantly; and in default of any weapon these two jumped off their horses and picked up, out of the creek close by, the largest and heaviest stones they could lift. I disapproved of the chase under the circumstances, but my timid remonstrances were not even heard. The light riding-whips which each gentleman carried were hastily given to me to hold, and in addition F---- thrust an enormous boulder into my lap, saying, "Now, this is to be my second gun; so keep close to me." Imagine poor me, therefore, with all three whips tucked under my left arm, whilst with my right I tried to keep the big stone on my knee, Miss Helen all the time capering about, as she always does when there is any excitement; and I feeling very unequal to holding her back from joining in the chase too ardently, for she always likes to be first everywhere, which is not at all my "sentiments." The ground was as rough as possible; the creek winding about necessitated a good jump every few yards; and the grass was so long and thick that it was difficult to get through it, or to see any blind creeks or other pitfalls. _Mem_. to burn this next spring. The pig first turned to bay against a palm-tree, and soon disabled the dogs. You cannot think what a formidable weapon a wild boar's tusk is--the least touch of it cuts like a razor; and they are so swift in their jerks of the head when at bay that in a second they will rip up both dogs and horses: nor are they the least afraid of attacking a man on foot in self-defence; but they seldom or ever strike the first blow. As soon as he had disposed of both the dogs, who lay howling piteously and bleeding on the ground, the boar made at full speed for the spur of a hill close by. The pace was too good to last, especially up-hill; so the gentlemen soon caught him up, and flung their stones at him, but they dared not bring their valuable horses too near for fear of a wound which probably would have lamed them for life; and a heavy, rock or stone is a very unmanageable weapon. I was not therefore at all surprised to see that both shots missed, or only very slightly grazed the pig; but what I confess to being perfectly unprepared for was the boar charging violently down-hill on poor unoffending me, with his head on one side ready for the fatal backward jerk, champing and foaming as he came, with what Mr. Weller would call his "vicked old eye" twinkling with rage. Helen could not realize the situation at all. I tried to turn her, and so get out of the infuriated brute's way; but no, she would press on to meet him and join the other horses at the top of the hill. I had very little control over her, for I was so laden with whips and stones that my hands were useless for the reins. I knew I was in great danger, but at the moment I could only think of my poor pretty mare lamed for life, or even perhaps killed on the spot. I heard one wild shout of warning from above, and I knew the others were galloping to my rescue; but in certainly less than half a minute from the time the boar turned, he had reached me. I slipped the reins over my left elbow, so as to leave my hands free, took my whip in my teeth (I had to drop the others), and lifting the heavy stone with both my hands waited a second till the boar was near enough, leaning well over on the right-hand side of the saddle so as to see what he did. He made for poor Helen's near fore-leg with his head well down, and I could hear his teeth gnashing. Just as he touched her with a prick from his tusk like a stiletto and before he could jerk his head back so as to rip the leg up, I flung my small rock with all the strength I possessed crash on his head: but I could not take a good aim; for the moment Helen felt the stab, she reared straight up on her hind-legs, and as we were going up-hill, I had some trouble to keep myself from slipping off over her tail. However, my rock took some effect, for the pig was so stunned that he dropped on his knees, and before he could recover himself Helen had turned round, still on her hind-legs, as on a pivot, and was plunging and jumping madly down the hill. I could not get back properly into my saddle, nor could I arrange the reins; so I had to stick on anyhow. It was not a case of fine riding at all; I merely clung like a monkey, and F----, who was coming as fast as he could to me, said he expected to see me on the ground every moment; but, however, I did not come off upon that occasion. Helen was nearly beside herself with terror. I tried to pat her neck and soothe her, but the moment she felt my hand she bounded as if I had struck her, and shivered so much that I thought she must be injured; so the moment F---- could get near her I begged him to look at her fetlock. He led her down to the creek, and washed the place, and examined it carefully, pronouncing, to my great joy, that the tusk had hardly gone in at all--in fact had merely pricked her--and that she was not in the least hurt. I could hardly get the gentlemen to go to the assistance of the poor dogs, one of which was very much hurt. Both F---- and Mr. B---- evidently thought I must have been "kilt intirely," for my situation looked so critical at one moment that they could scarcely be persuaded that neither Helen nor I were in the least hurt. I coaxed F---- that evening to write me a doggerel version of the story for the little boys, which I send you to show them:-- St. Anne and the pig. You've heard of St. George and the dragon, Or seen them; and what can be finer, In silver or gold on a flagon, With Garrard or Hancock designer? Though we know very little about him (Saints mostly are shrouded in mystery), Britannia can't well do without him, He sets off her shillings and history. And from truth let such tales be defended, Bards at least should bestow them their blessing, As a rich sort of jewel suspended On History when she's done dressing. Some would have her downstairs to the present, In plain facts fresh from critical mangle; But let the nymph make herself pleasant, Here a bracelet, and there with a bangle Such as Bold Robin Hood or Red Riding, Who peasant and prince have delighted, Despite of all social dividing, And the times of their childhood united. Shall New Zealand have never a fable, A rhyme to be sung by the nurses, A romance of a famous Round Table, A "Death of Cock Robin" in verses? Or shall not a scribe be found gracious With pen and with parchment, inditing And setting a-sail down the spacious Deep day stream some suitable writing; Some action, some name so heroic That its sound shall be death to her foemen, And make her militia as stoic As St. George made the Cressy crossbowmen; A royal device for her banners, A reverse for her coinage as splendid, An example of primitive manners When all their simplicity's ended? Here it is, ye isles Antipodean! Leave Britain her great Cappadocian; I'll chant you a latter-day paean, And sing you a saint for devotion, Who on horseback slew also a monster, Though armed with no sharp lance to stab it, Though no helmet or hauberk ensconced her, But only a hat and a habit. This dame, for her bravery sainted, Set up for all times' adoration, With her picture in poetry painted, Was a lady who lived on a station. Her days--to proceed with the story In duties domestic dividing, But, or else she had never won glory, She now and then went out a-riding. It chanced, with two knights at her stirrup, She swept o'er the grass of the valleys, Heard the brooks run; and heard the birds chirrup, When a boar from the flax-bushes sallies. The cavaliers leaped from their horses; As for weapons, that day neither bore them; So they chose from the swift watercourses Heavy boulders, and held them before them. They gave one as well to the lady: She took it, and placed it undaunted On the pommel, and balanced it steady, While they searched where the animal haunted. A bowshot beyond her were riding The knights, each alert with his missile, But in doubt where the pig went a-hiding, For they had not kept sight of his bristle. When--the tale needs but little enlarging One turned round by chance on his courser; To his horror, the monster was charging At the lady, as if to unhorse her. But his fears for her safety were idle, No heart of a hero beat stouter: She poised the stone, gathered her bridle-- A halo, 'tis said, shone about her. With his jaws all extended and horrid, Fierce and foaming, the brute leapt to gore her, When she dropped the rock full on his forehead, And lo! he fell dying before her. There he lay, bristling, tusky, and savage; Such a mouth, as was long ago written; Made Calydon lonely with ravage, By such teeth young Adonis was bitten. Then praise to our new Atalanta, Of the chase and of song spoils be brought her, Whose skill and whose strength did not want a Meleager to finish the slaughter. She is sung, and New Zealand shall take her, Thrice blest to possess such a matron, And give thanks to its first ballad-maker, Who found it a saint for a patron. Letter XXIII: Concerning a great flood. Broomielaw, February 1868. Since I last wrote to you we have been nearly washed away, by all the creeks and rivers in the country overflowing their banks! Christchurch particularly was in great danger from the chance of the Waimakiriri returning to its old channel, in which case it would sweep away the town. For several hours half the streets were under water, the people going about in boats, and the Avon was spread out like a lake over its banks for miles. The weather had been unusually sultry for some weeks, and during the last five days the heat had been far greater, even in the hills, than anyone could remember. It is often very hot indeed during the mid-day hours in summer, but a hot night is almost unknown; and, at the elevation we live, there are few evenings in the year when a wood-fire is not acceptable after sunset; as for a blanket at night, that is seldom left off even in the plains, and is certainly necessary in the hills. Every one was anxiously looking for rain, as the grass was getting very dry and the creeks low, and people were beginning to talk of an Australian summer and to prophesy dismal things of a drought. On a Sunday night about eleven o'clock we were all sauntering about out of doors, finding it too hot to remain in the verandah; it was useless to think of going to bed; and F---- and Mr. U---- agreed that some great change in the weather was near. There was a strange stillness and oppression in the air; the very animals had not gone to sleep, but all seemed as restless and wakeful as we were. I remember we discussed the probability of a severe earthquake, for the recent wave at St. Thomas's was in everybody's mind. F---- and I had spent a few days in Christchurch the week before. There was a regular low-fever epidemic there, and, he had returned to the station feeling very unwell; but in this country illness is so rare that one almost forgets that such a thing exists, and we both attributed his seediness to the extraordinary heat. When we were out of doors that Sunday evening, we noticed immense banks and masses of clouds, but they were not in the quarter from whence our usual heavy rain comes; and besides, in New Zealand clouds are more frequently a sign of high wind than of rain. However, about midnight F---- felt so ill that he went in to bed, and we had scarcely got under shelter when, after a very few premonitory drops, the rain came down literally in sheets. Almost from the first F---- spoke of the peculiar and different sound on the roof, but as he had a great deal of fever that night, I was too anxious to notice anything but the welcome fact that the rain had come at last, and too glad to hear it to be critical about the sound it made in falling. I came out to breakfast alone, leaving F---- still ill, but the fever going off. The atmosphere was much lightened, but the rain seemed like a solid wall of water falling fast and furiously; the noise on the wooden roof was so great that we had to shout to each other to make ourselves heard; and when I looked out I was astonished to see the dimensions to which the ponds had. swollen. Down all the hill-sides new creeks and waterfalls had sprung into existence during the night. As soon as I had taken F---- his tea and settled down comfortably to breakfast, I noticed that instead of Mr. U---- looking the picture of bright good-humour, he wore a troubled and anxious countenance. I immediately inquired if he had been out of doors that morning? Yes, he had been to look at the horses in the stable. Well, I did not feel much interest in them, for they were big enough to take care of themselves: so I proceeded to ask if he had chanced to see anything of my fifty young ducks or my numerous broods of chickens. Upon this question Mr. U---- looked still more unhappy and tried to turn the conversation, but my suspicions were aroused and I persisted; so at last he broke to me, with much precaution, that I was absolutely without a duckling or a chicken in the world! They had been drowned in the night, and nothing was to be seen but countless draggled little corpses, what Mr. Mantilini called "moist unpleasant bodies," floating on the pond or whirling in the eddies of the creek. That was not even the worst. Every one of my sitting hens was drowned also, their nests washed away; so were the half-dozen beautiful ducks, with some twelve or fourteen eggs under each. I felt angry with the ducks, and thought they might have at any rate saved their own lives; but nothing could alter the melancholy returns of the missing and dead. My poultry-yard was, for all practical purposes, annihilated, just as it was at its greatest perfection and the pride and joy of my heart. All that day the rain descended steadily in torrents; there was not the slightest break or variation in the downpour: it was as heavy as that of the Jamaica _seasons_ of May and October. F----'s fever left him at the end of twelve hours, and he got up and came into the drawing-room; his first glance out of the window, which commanded a view of the flat for two or three miles, showed him how much the waters had risen since midnight; and he said that in all the years he had known those particular creeks he had never seen them so high: still I thought nothing of it. There was no cessation in the rain for exactly twenty-four hours; but at midnight on Monday, just as poor F---- was getting another attack of fever, it changed into heavy, broken showers, with little pauses of fine drizzle between, and by morning it showed signs of clearing, but continued at intervals till midday. The effect was extraordinary, considering the comparatively short time the real downpour had lasted. The whole flat was under water, the creeks were flooded beyond their banks for half a mile or so on each side, and the river Selwyn, which ran under some hills, bounding our view, was spread out, forming an enormous lake. A very conspicuous object on these opposite hills, which are between three and four miles distant, was a bold cliff known by the name of the "White Rocks," and serving as a landmark to all the countryside: we could hardly believe our eyes when we missed the most prominent of these and could see only a great bare rent in the mountain. The house was quite surrounded by water and stood on a small island; it was impossible even to wade for more than a few yards beyond the dry ground, for the water became quite deep and the current was running fast. F----'s fever lasted its twelve hours; but I began to be fidgety at the state of prostration it left him in, and when Tuesday night brought a third and sharper attack, I determined to make him go to town and see a doctor during his next interval of freedom from it. Wednesday morning was bright and sunny, but the waters had not much diminished: however, we knew every hour must lessen them, and I only waited for F----'s paroxysm of fever to subside about mid-day to send him off to Christchurch. I had exhausted my simple remedies, consisting of a spoonful of sweet spirits of nitre and a little weak brandy and water and did not think it right to let things go on in this way without advice: he was so weak he could hardly mount his horse; indeed he had to be fairly lifted on the old quiet station hack I have before mentioned with such deep affection, dear old Jack. It was impossible for him to go alone; so the ever-kind and considerate Mr. U---- offered to accompany him. This was the greatest comfort to me, though I and my two maids would be left all alone during their absence: however, that was much better than poor F---- going by himself in his weak state. Six hours of sunshine had greatly abated the floods, and as far as we could see the water was quite shallow now where it had overflowed. I saw them set off therefore with a good hope of their accomplishing the journey safely. Judge of my astonishment and horror when, on going to see what the dogs were barking at, about two hours later, I beheld F---- and Mr. U---- at the garden gate, dripping wet up to their shoulders, but laughing very much. Of course I immediately thought of F----'s fever, and made him come in and change; and have some hot tea directly; but he would not go to bed as I suggested, declaring that the shock of his unexpected cold bath, and the excitement of a swim for his life, had done him all the good in the world; and I may tell you at once; that it had completely cured him: he ate well that evening, slept well, and had no return of his fever, regaining his strength completely in a few days. So much for kill-or-cure remedies! It seems that as soon as they neared the first creek, with very high banks, about a mile from the house, the water came up to the horses' fetlocks, then to their knees, but still it was impossible to tell exactly where the creek began, or rather, where its bank ended; they went very cautiously, steering as well as they could for where they imagined the cutting in the steep bank to be; but I suppose they did not hit it off exactly, for suddenly they went plump into deep water and found themselves whirling along like straws down a tremendous current. Jack was, however, quite equal to the occasion; he never allows himself to be flurried or put out by anything, and has, I imagine, been in nearly every difficulty incident to New Zealand travelling. Instead, therefore, of losing his head as Helen did (Mr. U---- was riding her), and striking out wildly with her forelegs to the great danger of the other horse, Jack took it all as a matter of course, and set himself to swim steadily down the stream, avoiding the eddies as much as possible: he knew every yard of the bank, and did not therefore waste his strength by trying to land in impossible places, but kept a watchful eye for the easiest spot. F---- knew the old horse so well that he let him have his head and guide himself, only trying to avoid Helen's forelegs, which were often unpleasantly near; his only fear was lest they should have to go so far before a landing was possible that poor old Jack's strength might not hold out, for there is nothing so fatiguing to a horse as swimming in a strong current with a rider on his back, especially a heavy man. They were swept down for a long distance, though it was impossible to guess exactly how far they had gone, and F---- was getting very uneasy about a certain wire fence which had been carried across the creek; they were rapidly approaching it, and the danger was that the horses might suddenly find themselves entangled in it, in which case the riders would very likely have been drowned. F---- called to Mr. U----to get his feet free from the stirrups and loosened his own; but he told me he was afraid lest Mr. U---- should not hear him above the roaring of the water, and so perhaps be dragged under water when the fence was reached. However, Jack, knew all about it, and was not going to be drowned ignominiously in a creek which would not have wet his hoofs to cross three days before. A few yards from the fence he made one rush and a bound towards what seemed only a clump of Tohi bushes, but they broke the force of the current and gave him the chance he wanted, and he struggled up the high crumbling bank more like a cat than a steady old screw. Helen would not be left behind, and, with a good spur from Mr. U----, she followed Jack's example, and they stood dripping and shivering in shallow water. Both the horses were so _done_ that F---- and Mr. U---- had to jump off instantly and loose the girths, turning them with their nostrils to the wind. It was a very narrow escape, and the disagreeable part of it was that they had scrambled out on the wrong side of the creek and had to recross it to get home: however, they rode on to the next stream, which looked so much more swollen and angry, that they gave up the idea of going on to Christchurch that night, especially as they were wet through to their chins, for both horses swam very low in the water, with only their heads to be seen above it. The next thing to be considered was how to get back to the house. It never would do to risk taking the horses into danger again when they were so exhausted; so they rode round by the homestead, crossed the creek higher up, where it was much wider but comparatively shallow (if anything could be called shallow just now), and came home over the hills. Good old Jack had an extra feed of oats that evening, a reward to which he is by no means insensible; and indeed it probably is the only one he cares for. The Fates had determined, apparently, that I also should come in for my share of watery adventures, for we had an engagement of rather long standing to ride across the hills, and visit a friend's station about twelve miles distant, and the day we had promised to go was rather more than a week after F----'s attempted journey. In the meantime, the waters had of course gone down considerably, and there was quite an excitement in riding and walking about our own run, and seeing the changes the flood had made, and the mischief it had done to the fencing;--this was in process of being repaired. We lost very few sheep; they were all up at the tops of the high hills, their favourite summer pasture. I think I have told you that between us and Christchurch there is but one river, a most peaceable and orderly stream, a perfect pattern to the eccentric New Zealand rivers, which are so changeable and restless. Upon this occasion, however, the Selwyn behaved quite as badly as any of its fellows; it was not only flooded for miles, carrying away quantities of fencing near its banks, and drowning confiding sheep suddenly, but at one spot about four miles from us, just under the White Rocks, it came down suddenly, like what Miss Ingelow calls "a mighty eygre," and deserted its old timeworn bed for two new ones: and the worst of the story is that it has taken a fancy to our road, swept away a good deal of it, breaking a course for itself in quite a different place; so now, instead of one nice, wide, generally shallow river to cross, about which there never has been an evil report, we have two horrid mountain torrents of which we know nothing: no one has been in yet to try their depth, or to find out the best place at which to ford them, and it unfortunately happened that F---- and I were the pioneers. When we came to the first new channel, F----with much care picked out what seemed the best place, and though it was a most disagreeable bit of water to go through, still we managed it all right; but when we came to the next curve, it was far worse. Here the river took a sharp turn, and came tearing round a corner, the colour and consistency of pea-soup, and making such a noise we could hardly hear ourselves speak standing close together on the bank; once in the stream, of course it would be hopeless to try to catch a word. I am ashamed to say that my fixed idea was to turn back, and this I proposed without hesitation; but F---- has the greatest dislike to retracing his steps, and is disagreeably like Excelsior in this respect; so he merely looked astonished at my want of spirit, and proceeded very calmly to give me my directions, and the more he impressed the necessity of coolness and caution upon me, the more I quaked. He was to go over first, alone; I was to follow, having first tucked my habit well up under my arm, and taken care that I was quite free so as not to be entangled in any way _if_ Helen should be swept away, or if a boulder should come down with the stream, and knock her feet from under her: I was not to be at all frightened (!), and I was to keep my eyes fixed on him, and guide Helen's head exactly by the motion of his hand. He plunged into the water as soon as he had issued these encouraging directions; I saw him floundering in and out of several deep holes, and presently he got safe to land, dripping wet; then he dismounted, tied Leo to a flax bush, and took off his coat and big riding-boots,--I thought, very naturally to dry them, but I should have been still more alarmed, if possible, had I known that this was to prepare to be ready to swim to my help in case of danger. As it was, my only hope was that Helen might not like the look of the angry flood, and would refuse to go in;--how I should have blessed her for such obstinacy!--but no, she was eager to rejoin her stable companion, and plunged in without hesitation. I found it much worse even than I dreaded; the water felt so resistless, as if it _must_ sweep me right out of the saddle; I should like to have clutched Helen's mane or anything to have kept me on, but both hands were wanted to hold the reins quite low down, one on each side of her withers, so as to guide her exactly according to F----'s pilot-hand on the opposite bank: steering implicitly by this I escaped the holes and rocks which he had come against, and got over safely, but trembling, and with chattering teeth. F----said, quite disdainfully, "You don't mean to say you're really frightened?" So then I scolded him, rather incoherently, and demanded to be praised for coming at all! I wrung my habit out as well as I could, F---- poured the water out of his boots, and we proceeded, first over a plain, and then to climb a high steep hill. I wonder if you have any idea how disagreeable and dangerous it is to go zigzag up the side of a mountain after such rain as we have had. The soil was just like soap, nothing for the horses' hoofs to take hold of, not a pebble or a tuft of grass; all had been washed away, and only the slippery clay remained. As usual, F---- went first and I followed, taking care not to keep below him, lest he and Leo should come "slithering" (that is the only word for it) down upon me; but, alas, it was Helen and I who slithered! Poor dear, all her legs seemed to fly from under her at once, and she came down on her side and on my legs. I felt the leaping-crutch snap, and found my left shoulder against the ground; I let go the reins, and thought we had better part company, but found I could not move for her weight; _she_ struggled to get up, and we both slipped down, down--down: there was no reason why we should not have gone on to the bottom of the hill, when a friendly tussock afforded her an instant's resting-place for her hind hoofs, and she scrambled to her feet like a cat. I found myself still on her back; so I picked up my reins and tried to pretend that I had never thought of getting off. F---- dared not stir from his "bad eminence;" so Helen and I wended our slippery way up to him, and in answer to his horrified "Where is your habit?" I found I was torn to ribbons; in fact, my skirt was little more than a kilt, and a very short one too! What was to be done? We were only three or four miles from our destination, so we pushed on, and at the last I lingered behind, and made F---- go first and borrow a cloak or shawl. You would have laughed if you had heard my pathetic adjurations to him to be sure to bring it by himself. I was so afraid that some one else would politely insist on accompanying him. But it was all right, though even with this assistance it was very difficult to arrange matters so as to be tolerably respectable. My hostess was shocked at my tattered, wet plight, and dried me, and dressed me up till I was quite smart, and then we had a very pleasant day, and, best of all, came home by a different road, so as to avoid the slippery descent and the rivers in the dark; but I still mourn for my habit!-it was my last. Three have disappeared, owing to unfortunate accidents, this year, and now I am reduced to what can be contrived out of a linsey dress. Letter XXIV: My only fall from horseback. Broomielaw, June 1868. The autumn has passed away so quickly that I can hardly believe the winter has reached us so soon--the last winter we shall spend in New Zealand. I should like to have been able to boast, on my return to England, that in three years' constant riding, on all sorts of horses, good, bad, and indifferent, and over abominable roads, I had escaped a fall; but not only have I had a very severe one, but it was from my own favourite Helen, which is very trying to reflect upon. However, it was not in the least her fault, or mine either; so she and I are still perfectly good friends. We had been spending two days up at Lake Coleridge, as a sort of farewell visit, and on our way down again to Rockwood, a distance of about twenty miles, we stopped to lunch, by invitation, at a station midway. There was so much to be seen at this place that we loitered much longer than was prudent in the short days, and by the time we had thoroughly inspected a beautiful new wool-shed with all the latest improvements (from which F---- could hardly tear himself away), the fish-ponds elaborately arranged for the reception of the young trout expected from Tasmania and the charming garden well sheltered by a grove of large wattle-trees, it was growing dusk, and we prepared to push on as fast as possible; for nothing is more disagreeable than being caught in the dark on a New Zealand track, with its creeks and swamps and wire fences: the last are the most dangerous obstacles, if you get off the track, or if the gate through the fence has been placed for convenience a few yards on one side of it; the horses cannot see the slender wires in the dark, and so fall over them, injuring themselves and their riders most seriously sometimes. Having still about eight miles to go, we were galloping gaily over a wide open plain, our only anxiety arising from the fast failing daylight; but the horses were still quite fresh, and, as the French idiom would have it, devoured the ground at a fine pace; when, in an instant, the ground appeared to rise up to meet me, and I found myself dragged along on the extreme point of my right shoulder, still grasping both reins and whip. I was almost under the feet of the other horse, and I saw Helen's heels describing frantic circles in the air. F---- shouted to me to let go, which it had never occurred to me to do previously. I did so, and jumped up instantly, feeling quite unhurt, and rather relieved to find that a fall was not so dreadful after all. I then saw the cause of the accident: the handle of a little travelling-bag which had been hung over the pommel of my saddle had slipped over the slight projection, and as it was still further secured by a strap through the girth, it was dangling under poor Helen, whose frantic bounds and leaps only increased the liveliness of her tormentor. I never saw such bucks and jumps high into the air as she performed receiving a severe blow from the bag at each; it was impossible to help laughing, though I did not see how it was all to end. She would not allow F---- to approach her, and was perfectly mad with terror. At last the girths gave way, and the saddle came off, with the bag still fastened to it; the moment she found herself free, she trotted up to me in the most engaging manner, and stood rubbing her nose against my arm, though she was still trembling all over, and covered with foam. By this time I had made the discovery that I could not raise my right arm; but still a careful investigation did not tell me it was broken, for it gave me no pain to touch anywhere, except a very little just on the point of the shoulder. F---- now went to pick up the saddle and the reins; it was difficult to find these latter in the fast gathering darkness and I held his horse for him. To my horror I found after standing for a moment or two, that I was going to faint; I could not utter a word; I knew that if my fast-relaxing fingers let go their hold of the bridle the horse would set off towards home at a gallop, Helen would assuredly follow him, and we should be left eight miles from the nearest shelter to find our way to it, with a deep creek to cross. F---- was fifty yards off, with his back to me, searching for some indispensable buckle; so there was no help to be got from him at the moment. I exerted every atom of my remaining strength to slip the bridle over my left arm, which I pressed against my waist; then I sat down as quietly as I could, not to alarm the horse, bent forward so as to keep my left arm under me lest the bridle should slip off, and fainted away in great peace and comfort. The cold was becoming so intense that it soon revived me, and F----, suspecting something was wrong, came to relieve me of the care of the horse, and contrived to get the girths repaired with the ever-ready flax, and the bag secured in a very short time. But when it came to mounting again, that was not so easy: every time I tried to spring, something jarred horribly in the socket where the arm fits into the shoulder, and the pain was so great that I had to lie down on the ground. It was now nearly seven o'clock, quite dark, and freezing hard; we were most anxious to get on, and yet what was to be done? I could not mount, apparently, and there was no stone or bank to stand on and get up by for an immense way. At last F---- put me up by sheer strength. I found myself so deadly sick and faint when I was fairly in the saddle that it was some time before I could allow Helen to move; and never shall I forget the torture of her first step, for my shoulder was now stiffening in a most unpleasant way. F---- said it would be easier to canter; so we set off at full speed, and the cold air against my face kept me from fainting as we went along, though I fully expected to fall off every moment; if Helen had shied, or stumbled, or even capered a little, I should have been on the ground again. In my torture and despair, I proposed to be left behind, and for F---- to ride on and get help; but he would not hear of this, declaring that I should die of cold before he could get back with a cart, and that it was very doubtful if he should find me again on the vast plain, with nothing to guide him, and in the midnight darkness. Whenever we came to a little creek which we were obliged to jump, Helen's safe arrival on the opposite bank was announced by a loud yell from me, caused by agony hardly to be described. The cold appeared to get _into_ the broken joint, and make it so much worse. At last we reached Rockwood, and never was its friendly shelter more welcome. Everything that could be thought of was done to alleviate my sufferings; but I resembled Punch with his head on one side, for I had a well-defined and gigantic hump on my back, and my shoulder was swollen up to my ear. The habit-body was unpicked, as it was impossible to get it off any other way. Of course, the night was one of great agony; but I thought often, as I paced the room, how much better it was to have a blazing fire to cheer me up, and some delicious tea to put my lips to "when so dispoged" (like the immortal Mrs. Gamp), than to be lying on the open plain in a hard frost, wondering when F---- and his cart would arrive. The next day we returned home, much against our host's wish; and I walked all the way, some six miles of mountain road, for I could not bear the idea of riding. F---- led the horses, and we arrived quite safely. His first idea was to take me down to a doctor, but the motion of driving was greater agony than riding, as the road was rough; so after the first mile, I entreated to be taken back, and we turned the horses' heads towards home again; and when we reached it, I got out all my little books on surgery, medicine, etc., and from them made out how to set my shoulder in some sort of fashion, with F----'s help. Of course it is still useless to me, but I think it is mending itself; and after a week I could do everything with my left hand, even to writing, after a fashion. The only thing I could _not_ do was to arrange my hair, or even to brush it; and though F---- was "willing," he was so exceedingly awkward, that at last, after going through great anguish and having it pulled out by handfuls, I got him to cut it off, and it is now cropped like a small boy's. He cuts up my dinner, etc. for me; but it is a very trying process, and I don't wonder at children often leaving the nasty cold mess half eaten. I shall be very glad to be able to use my own knife again. Letter XXV: How We lost our horses and had to walk home. Broomielaw, November 1868. This will actually be my last letter from the Malvern Hills; and, in spite of the joy I feel at the hope of seeing all my beloved ones in England, I am _so_ sorry to leave my dear little happy valley. We have done nothing but pay farewell visits lately; and I turn for a final look at each station or cottage as we ride away with a great tightness at my heart, and moisture in my eyes, to think I shall never see them again. You must not be jealous at the lingering regrets I feel, for unless you had been with me here you can never understand how kind and friendly all our neighbours, high and low, have been to us from the very first, or how dearly I have grown to love them. I don't at all know how I am to say good-bye to my dear Mrs. M----, the shepherd's wife I told you of. I believe she will miss me more than any one; and I cannot bear to think of her left to pass her days without the help of books and papers, which I was always so glad to lend her. I often walk down the valley to take tea with her of an afternoon and to say good-bye, but I have not said it yet. I wish you could see her parlour as I saw it yesterday afternoon--her books in a bookcase of her husband's manufacture, very nice and pretty; her spinning-wheel in the comer; the large "beau-pot" of flowers in the window; and such a tea on the table!--cream like clots of gold, scones, oat-cakes, all sorts of delicacies! She herself is quite charming--one of Nature's ladies. I have given her, as a parting gift, a couple of Scotch views framed; and they hang on the wall as a memento of places equally dear to both of us. It is a sorrow to me to leave the horses and dogs and my pet calves and poultry; even the trees and creepers I go round to look at, with the melancholy feeling of other owners not loving them so much as I have done. However, I must not make my last letter too dismal, or you will feel that I am not glad enough to return to you all. My only apology is, I have been so _very_ happy here. Now for our latest adventure, as absurd as any, in its way. Have I ever told you that our post-office is ten miles off, with an atrocious road between us and it? I know you will throw down this letter and feel rather disgusted with me for being sorry to leave such a place, but we don't mind trifles here. Lately, since our own establishment has been broken up, we have been living in great discomfort; and among other things we generally, if not always, have to go for our own letters twice a week. Upon this occasion F---- and I had ridden together up the gorge of the Selwyn rather late in the afternoon, to avoid the extreme heat of the day. When we reached the shepherd's hut I have before mentioned, and which is now deserted, I proposed to F---- to go on over the hills alone and leave me there, as I was very hot and tired, and he could travel much quicker without me--for I am ashamed to say that I still object to riding fast up and down slippery hills. I cannot get rid of the idea that I shall break my neck if I attempt it, whereas F---- goes on over the worst road just as if it was perfectly level. Excuse this digression, for it is a relief to me to be a little spiteful about his pace whenever I have an opportunity, and it will probably be my last chance of expressing my entire disapproval of it. Helen was tied up to a post, and F----, after helping me to dismount, set off at a canter over the adjoining swamp on his way to cross the chain of hills between the river and the flat where the great coach-road to the West Coast runs. I had brought the ingredients for my five o'clock tea (without which I am always a lost and miserable creature), and I amused myself, during my solitude, by picking up dry bits of scrub for my fire; but I had to go down the river-bank for some driftwood to make the old kettle, belonging to the hut, boil. I could not help wondering how any human being could endure such solitude for years, as the occupant of a hut like this is necessarily condemned to. In itself it was as snug and comfortable as possible, with a little paddock for the shepherd's horse, an acre or so of garden, now overgrown with self-sown potatoes, peas, strawberry, raspberry, and gooseberry plants, the little thatched fowl-house near, and the dog-kennels; all giving it a thoroughly home-like look. The hoarse roar of the river over its rocky bed was the only sound; now and then a flock of wild ducks would come flying down to their roosting-place or nests among the Tohi grass; and as the evening closed in the melancholy cry of the bittern and the weka's loud call broke the stillness, but only to make it appear more profound. On each side of the ravine in which the hut stands rise lofty hills so steeply from the water's edge that in places we can find no footing for our horses, and have to ride in the river. At this time of the year the sheep are all upon the hills; so you do not hear even a bleat: but in winter, they come down to the sunny, sheltered flats. It appeared to me as if I was alone there for hours, though it really was less than one hour, when F---- returned with a large bundle of letters and papers tied to his saddle-bow. Tea was quite ready now; so he tied up his horse next Helen, and we had tea and looked at our letters. One of the first I opened told me that some friends from Christchurch, whom I expected to pay us a visit soon, were on their way up that very day, and in fact might be expected to arrive just about that hour. I was filled with blank dismay, for not only did the party consist of three grown-up people--nay, four--but three little children. I had made elaborate plans in my head as to how and where they should all be stowed away for a fortnight, but had naturally deferred till the last moment to carry out my arrangements, for they entailed giving up our own bedroom, and "camping" in the dining-room, besides wonderful substitutes of big packing-cases for cribs, etc. etc. But, alas! here we were eight miles from home and nothing done, not even any extra food ordered or prepared. The obvious thing was to mount our horses and return as fast as ever we could, and we hastened out of the hut to the spot where we had left them both securely tied to the only available post, through which unfortunately five wires ran, as it was one of the "standards" of a fence which extended for miles. Just as we came out of the hut in a great bustle, our evil destiny induced F----'s horse to rub its nose against the top wire of the fence; and in this process it caught the bar of its snaffle-bit, and immediately pulled back: this made all the wires jingle. Helen instantly took alarm, and pulled back too: fresh and increased vibration, extending up the hill-side and echoing back an appalling sound, was the result of this movement. In an instant there were both the horses pulling with all their force against the fence, terrified to death; and no wonder, for the more they pulled the more the wires jingled. F---- did all he could to soothe them with blandishments. I tried to coax Helen, but the nearer we drew the more frantically they backed and plunged, and the more the noise increased--till it was a case of "one struggle more and I am free;" and leaving their bridles still fastened to the fatal fence by the reins, we had the satisfaction of seeing both our horses careering wildly about--first celebrating their escape from danger by joyous and frantic bounds and kicks, and then setting off down the gorge of the river as hard as they could go. I fairly sat down and whimpered a little, not only at the thought of our eight miles' walk over shingle with a deep river to be crossed nine times, but at the idea of my poor little guests arriving to find no supper, no beds, "no nothing." F---- tried to cheer me up, and said the only thing was to get home as quick as possible; but he did not expect to find that our friends had arrived, for it had been very hazy over the plains all day, and probably had rained hard in Christchurch; so he thought they would not have started on their journey at all. But I refused to accept any comfort from this idea, and bemoaned myself, entirely on their account, incessantly. When we came to the first crossing, F---- picked me up and carried me over dry-shod, and this he did at all the fords; but in one we very nearly came to grief, for I was tilted like a sack over his shoulder, and when we were quite in the middle, and the water was very deep, up to his waist, he kept hoisting my feet higher and higher, quite forgetting that there was plenty more of me on the other side of his shoulder; so it ended in my arms getting very wet, which he did not seem to think mattered at all so long as my feet were dry; whereas I rather preferred having my feet than my head plunged into a surging, deafening yellow current. At the entrance of the gorge is a large stockyard, and near to it, at least a mile or two off, a large mob of horses is generally to be found feeding. We heard great neighing and galloping about amongst them as we came out of the gorge; it was much too dark to distinguish anything, but we guessed that our horses had joined these, and the sounds we heard were probably those of welcome. But the whole mob set off the moment we came near, and crossed the river again, entailing a tenth wetting upon poor F----. I was posted at the entrance of the gorge, with instructions to shout and otherwise keep them from going up by the route we had just come; but it was more than an hour before F----could get round the wary brutes, so as to turn them with their heads towards the stockyard. Of course, he had to bring up the whole mob. My talents in the shouting line were not called out upon this occasion, for they all trotted into the stockyard of their own accord, and I had nothing to do but put up the slip-rail as fast as I could with only one available arm, for though it is better, I cannot use the other yet. When F---- came up we both went into the yard, and could soon make out the two horses which had their saddles on--that was the only way we could distinguish them in the dark. It was now nearly eleven o'clock, and though warm enough it was very cloudy, not a star to be seen. We fastened on the patched up bridles as well as we could by feeling, and mounted, and rode home, about three miles more, as fast as we could. When we entered the flat near our own house, we heard loud and prolonged "coo-ees" from all sides. The servants had made up their minds that some terrible misfortune had happened to us, and were setting out to look for us, "coo-eeing" as they came along. F---- pointed out to me, with a sort of "I-told-you-so" air, that there was no light in the drawing-room--so it was evident our friends had not arrived; and when we dismounted I found, to my great joy, that the house was empty. All our fatigue was forgotten in thankfulness that the poor travellers had not been exposed to such a cold, comfortless reception as would have awaited them if they had made their journey that day. I must tell you, they arrived quite safely the next evening, but very tired, especially the poor children; however, everything was ready, and the little boys were particularly pleased with their box beds, greatly preferring the difficulties of getting in and out of them to their own pretty little cribs at home. Such are boys all over the world! Next month we leave this for ever, and go down to Christchurch to make our final arrangements for the long voyage of a hundred days before us. As the time draws near I realize how strong is the tie which has grown, even in these few short years, around my heart, connecting it with this lovely land, and the kind friends I have found in it. F---- feels the parting more deeply than I do, if possible, though for different reasons; he has lived so long among these beautiful hills, and is so accustomed to have before his eyes their grand outlines. He was telling me this the other day, and has put the same feelings into the following verses, which I now send you. A farewell. The seamen shout once and together, The anchor breaks up from the ground, And the ship's head swings to the weather, To the wind and the sea swings round; With a clamour the great sail steadies, In extreme of a storm scarce furled; Already a short wake eddies, And a furrow is cleft and curled To the right and left. Float out from the harbour and highland That hides all the region I know, Let me look a last time on the island Well seen from the sea to the snow. The lines of the ranges I follow, I travel the hills with my eyes, For I know where they make a deep hollow, A valley of grass and the rise Of streams clearer than glass. That haunt is too far for me wingless, And the hills of it sink out of sight, Yet my thought were but broken and stringless, And the daylight of song were but night. If I could not at will a winged dream let Lift me and take me and set Me again by the trees and the streamlet; These leagues make a wide water, yet The whole world shall not hide. Now my days leave the soft silent byway, And clothed in a various sort, In iron or gold, on life's highway New feet shall succeed, or stop short Shod hard these maybe, or made splendid, Fair and many, or evil and few, But the going of bare feet has ended, Of naked feet set in the new Meadow grass sweet and wet. I will long for the ways of soft walking, Grown tired of the dust and the glare, And mute in the midst of much talking Will pine for the silences rare; Streets of peril and speech full of malice Will recall me the pastures and peace Which gardened and guarded those valleys With grasses as high as the knees, Calm as high as the sky: While the island secure in my spirit At ease on its own ocean rides, And Memory, a ship sailing near it, Shall float in with favouring tides, Shall enter the harbours and land me To visit the gorges and heights Whose aspects seemed once to command me, As queens by their charms command knights To achievements of arms. And as knights have caught sight of queens' faces Through the dust of the lists and the din, So, remembering these holiest places In the days when I lose or I win, I will yearn to them, all being over, Triumphant or trampled beneath, To this beautiful isle like a lover, To her evergreen brakes for a wreath, For a tear to her lakes. The last of her now is a brightening Far fire in the forested hills, The breeze as the night nears is heightening, The cordage draws tighter and thrills, Like a horse that is spurred by the rider The great vessel quivers and quails, And passes the billows beside her, The fair wind is strong in her sails, She is lifted along. THE END. 
46703	----	[Illustration: LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR W. BIRDWOOD--"THE SOUL OF ANZAC." Frontispiece.] AUSTRALIA IN ARMS SOLDIER-SONGS FROM ANZAC By Signaller TOM SKEYHILL. With an Introduction by Major-General J. W. McCAY, C. B. Paper cover, 1s. net. Private Skeyhill trained in Egypt from January 1915 to April 1915. He landed with his battalion on Anzac Beach on 25th April, taking part in the fighting of that first fierce week. The next week he was with his battalion at Cape Helles, and shared in the well-known charge by the 2nd Brigade on the 8th May, when a high-explosive shell burst beside him and sent him to hospital, a blind and helpless man. There are hopes that eventually he may recover his sight, but at best the time must be long. His poems breathe love of country and of courage, the spirit of battle, soldiers' comradeship, and sympathy for the fallen. T. FISHER UNWIN LTD., LONDON AUSTRALIA IN ARMS A NARRATIVE OF THE AUSTRALASIAN IMPERIAL FORCE AND THEIR ACHIEVEMENT AT ANZAC BY PHILLIP F. E. SCHULER Special War Correspondent of _The Age_, Melbourne WITH 9 MAPS AND 53 ILLUSTRATIONS LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN LTD. ADELPHI TERRACE _First published in 1916_ (_All rights reserved_) TO THE MOTHERS OF THE HEROES WHO HAVE FALLEN I HUMBLY DEDICATE THESE RECORDS OF GLORIOUS DEEDS _TO THE MOTHER COUNTRY_ _Because you trusted them, and gave them dower Of your own ancient birthright, Liberty-- Forwent the meagre semblances of power To win the deepest truth and loyalty-- Now, when these seeming slender roots are tried Of all your strength, behold, they do not move; The stripling nations hasten to your side, Impelled, as children should be, by their love._ _And who shall grudge the pride of Motherhood To this old Northern Kingdom of the sea? Indeed our fathers' husbandry was good; This is the harvest of our history; Yet boast not. Rather pray we be not found Unworthy those great men who tilled the ground._ _F. D. Livingstone_ PREFACE One hot, bright morning early in the Dardanelles campaign, so the story goes, Lieut.-General Sir William Birdwood was walking up one of the worn tracks of Anzac that led over the hills into the firing-line when he stopped, as he very often did on these daily tours of the line, to talk with two men who were cooking over a fireplace made of shell cases. General Birdwood wore no jacket, therefore he had no badges of rank. His cap even lacked gold lace. Under his arm he had tucked a periscope. But the Australian addressed did not even boast of a shirt. Stripped to the waist, he was as fine a type of manhood as you might wish to see. He was burned a deep brown; his uniform consisted of a cap, shorts, and a pair of boots. His mate was similarly clad. "Got something good there?" remarked the General as he stopped near the steaming pot of bully-beef stew. "Ye-es," replied the Australian, "it's all right. Wish we had a few more spuds, though." Conversation then branched off into matters relating to the firing-line, till at last General Birdwood signified his intention of going, bidding the soldier a cheery "Good-day," which was acknowledged by an inclination of the head. The General walked up the path to his firing-line, and the Australian turned to his mate, who had been very silent, but who now began to swear softly under his breath-- "You ---- ---- ---- fool! Do you know who you were talking to?" "No!" "Well, that was General Birdwood, that was, yer coot!" "How was I to know that? Anyway, he seemed to know me all right." Those were the types of soldiers with whom I spent the first year of their entry into the Great War. I watched them drafted into camps in Australia, the raw material; I saw them charge into action like veteran troops, not a year later. Never downhearted, often grumbling, always chafing under delays, generous even to an alarming degree, the first twenty thousand who volunteered to go forth from Australia to help the Mother Country in the firing-line was an army that made even our enemies doubt if we had not deliberately "chosen" the finest of the race. Since then there have been not twenty, but two hundred thousand of that stamp of soldier sent across the water to fight the Empire's battles at the throat of the foe. This narrative does not pretend to be an "Eye-witness" account. In most instances where I have had official papers before me, I have turned in preference to the more bold and vigorous stories of the men who have taken part in the stirring deeds. I left Melbourne on 21st October on the Flagship of the Convoy, the _Orvieto_, that carried the 1st Division of Australian troops to Egypt, as the official representative of the _Melbourne Age_ with the Expedition. I landed with the troops and went with them into the desert camp at Mena. It was then that I realized what staunch friends these young campaigners were. Colonel Wanliss and officers of the 5th Infantry Battalion insisted that I should become a member of their mess. I can never be grateful enough for that courtesy. I wish also to gratefully acknowledge the kindly help and courtesy extended to me at all times by the Divisional Staff, and especially by Brigadier-General C. B. B. White, C.B. (then Lieut.-Colonel), Chief of the Staff, whom I always found courteous and anxious to facilitate me in my work as far as lay in his power. It was while witnessing the welding of the Australasian Army in Egypt that I met Mr. W. T. Massey, representative of the _Daily Telegraph_, London, and Mr. George Renwick, _Daily Chronicle_. We became a council of three for the four months we were together in Egypt, and it was a keen regret when Mr. Massey was unable to accompany me to the Dardanelles on the trip we had planned together, whereby, taking the advice of General Sir Ian Hamilton that we were "free British subjects and could always take a ticket to the nearest railway-station to the fighting," we had intended to witness together the landing. As it was, I went alone on a small 500-ton Greek trading steamer; but on arrival at Mitylene I was fortunate to find Mr. Renwick there and Mr. Stevens, who was now representing the _Daily Telegraph_, and they, having a motor-launch, invited me to join them in a little enterprise of our own. For a fortnight we watched the operations from the shores of Imbros and the decks of the launch, steaming up to the entrance of the Straits, living on what resources the island might deliver to us, which was mostly a poor fish, goat's milk, eggs, and very resinous native Greek wine. Eventually the motor-boat (and correspondents) was banished from "The Zone" by British destroyers. So I returned to Alexandria at the end of May, and was able to visit the hospitals and chat with the men from the firing-line. Then in July, General Sir Ian Hamilton--who had told us prior to his departure that he intended to do all in his power to help Mr. Massey and myself to visit the Anzac front--wrote from his headquarters at Imbros giving me his permission to come on to the famous battlefields. In four hours I was on my way to the Dardanelles on a transport, and by stages (visiting the notorious _Aragon_ at Mudros Harbour) reached Kephalos Bay, where the Commander-in-Chief had pitched his tent. The cordiality of General Hamilton's welcome will ever linger in my memory. I remember he was seated at a deal table in a small wooden hut with a pile of papers before him. He spoke of the Australians in terms of the highest praise. They were, he said, at present "a thorn in the side of the Turks," and when the time came he intended that that thorn should be pressed deeper. He advised me to see all I could, as quickly as I could. I received a passport through the British and French lines and travelled from Helles to Anzac and Suvla Bay at will. Lieut.-General Birdwood and his Staff, Major-General Legge and the officers throughout the 1st Australian Division, and Major-General Godley and the leaders of the New Zealand Brigades, extended to me such courtesies as lay in their hands. I was able to witness the whole of the August offensive from the closest quarters, being in our trenches at Lone Pine during the engagement of the 6th. At Anzac I was heartily welcomed by Captain Bean, the official correspondent with the Australian forces, who of all men was the most enthusiastic, painstaking, and conscientious worker that I have ever met, and I desire to acknowledge my debt to him for kindly criticism and good fellowship. I would never be able to record the names of friends in the force, both in the firing-line and at the base, from whom I have received valuable suggestions and practical help. I wish to express my gratitude to Mr. Geoffrey Syme, proprietor of _The Age_, for permission to use certain of the war dispatches I sent him for publication; to Mr. Osboldstone for permission to utilize some of the photographs he had already printed; and to the Minister of Defence for the reproduction of photographs and orders. I am deeply indebted also to Mr. J. R. Watson for the spontaneous manner in which he offered to handle the manuscript for me in London while I was far across the water and corrected the proofs, thus enabling me to join the ranks of our Army. The apparent delight with which he entered on the work removed from my mind all thought of overtaxing a friendship. Finally, I am most anxious to remove, at the outset, any suggestion that might be gained from this narrative that the Australians alone were the outstanding heroes of the Dardanelles campaign. When the history of the British forces--the magnificent 29th Division, the Lowland Division, and the Yeomanry--comes to be recorded, and the story of the French participation in the assault of Achi Baba told, it will be seen that, glorious as has been the name won by the Australians, heroically as they fought, proudly and surely as they held all they gained, they played a part in this "Great Adventure," and it is of that part that I have written because it was the only one of which I had full knowledge. PHILLIP F. E. SCHULER. Melbourne, _5th April 1916_. CONTENTS PART I AUSTRALIA ANSWERS THE CALL CHAPTER PAGE I. THE TOCSIN IN AUSTRALIA 15 II. THE ASSEMBLY 24 III. ADVENTURES ON THE CONVOY 35 IV. THE FIRST PAGE OF AUSTRALIAN NAVAL HISTORY--FROM THE DECKS OF THE CONVOY 40 V. THE FIRST PAGE OF AUSTRALIAN NAVAL HISTORY (_continued_)--THE DESTRUCTION OF THE _EMDEN_ 46 VI. UP THE RED SEA 61 VII. THE CAMPS ROUND CAIRO 67 VIII. RUMOURS OF THE TURKS' ATTACK 75 IX. FIRST SUEZ CANAL BATTLE 78 PART II THE ANZAC CAMPAIGN X. THE PLAN OF ATTACK 92 XI. THE DAWN OF ANZAC--THE LANDING 99 XII. A TERRIBLE THREE DAYS 115 XIII. A BATTLE PANORAMA OF GALLIPOLI 127 XIV. AN UNFULFILLED ARMY ORDER 134 XV. VICTORIANS' CHARGE AT KRITHIA 143 XVI. TURKISH MAY ATTACK AND ARMISTICE 157 XVII. ANZAC COVE 168 XVIII. THROUGH THE FIRING-LINES 179 XIX. LIFE AT QUINN'S AND POPE'S 193 XX. JUNE AND JULY PREPARATIONS 204 PART III THE GREAT ADVENTURE XXI. THE AUGUST PHASE AND NEW LANDING 212 XXII. LONE PINE 221 XXIII. THE HEROIC LIGHT HORSE CHARGE 236 XXIV. THE BATTLE OF SARI BAIR--FIRST PHASE 245 XXV. THE BATTLE OF SARI BAIR--THE CAPTURE OF THE RIDGE AND ITS LOSS 257 XXVI. HILL 60, GALLIPOLI 272 XXVII. THE EVACUATION OF THE PENINSULA 279 APPENDIX I. DISTINCTIONS FOR GALLANTRY AND SERVICES IN THE FIELD 293 II. MENTIONED IN DISPATCHES 311 INDEX 318 ILLUSTRATIONS LT.-GEN. SIR W. BIRDWOOD, "THE SOUL OF ANZAC" _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE THE STAFF OF THE FIRST AUSTRALIAN DIVISION 22 A QUIET AFTERNOON ON A TROOP DECK 36 TATTOOING WITH A HOME-MADE ELECTRICAL NEEDLE 36 H.M.A.S. _SYDNEY_ 42 OFFICERS FROM THE _EMDEN_ ON THE FLAGSHIP 56 THE DIRK OF PRINCE FRANCIS JOSEPH OF HOHENZOLLERN 56 THE FIRST TENTS IN THE MENA CAMP 62 VIEW OF MENA CAMP 62 AUSTRALIANS COMING INTO CAIRO FROM THE CAMPS 68 GENERAL HAMILTON REVIEWING THE AUSTRALIANS AT ZEITOUN 72 AUSTRALIANS AT THE SUEZ CANAL 82 TURKISH PRISONERS IN CAIRO 82 THE 29TH DIVISION 92 PRESENTATION OF COLOURS TO THE FRENCH COLONIAL TROOPS 92 AUSTRALIANS LEAVING FOR THE FRONT 96 BRIGADIER-GENERALS M'CAY AND MACLAGAN 96 FLEET IN MUDROS HARBOUR 100 TRANSPORTS LYING OFF THE DARDANELLES 100 GABA TEPE AND THE PLANNED LANDING BEACH 104 SHELLING ANZAC COVE 104 ANZAC COVE AS IT FINALLY BECAME 108 EARLY VIEW OF ANZAC BEACH 116 HOSPITALS ON ANZAC BEACH 116 "BEACHY BILL'S" SHRAPNEL OVER ANZAC COVE 122 BULLY BEEF GULLY 122 ARMY SERVICE WAGONS AT CAPE HELLES 128 THE _RIVER CLYDE_ IN SEDDUL BAHR BAY 128 THE 29TH DIVISION DUGOUTS AT CAPE HELLES 144 THE GREAT DERE, CAPE HELLES 144 WATER CARRIERS FROM THE SPRINGS AT CAPE HELLES 148 HEADQUARTERS 1ST AUSTRALIAN ARTILLERY BRIGADE 148 THE ROAD INTO KRITHIA 152 THE TURKISH EMISSARY LEAVING ANZAC BLINDFOLDED 160 TROOPS GOING INTO THE FIRING-LINE ON THE FIRST DAYS OF THE LANDING 164 THE BEACH CLEARING STATION 164 BRIGADIER-GENERAL MONASH'S HEADQUARTERS, REST GULLY 172 SPHINX ROCK AND REST GULLY 172 SHRAPNEL AND MONASH GULLY 180 CHAPLAIN DEXTER AND A TRENCH MORTAR 188 SHELL GREEN 188 HEADQUARTERS OF 5TH INFANTRY BATTALION 198 THE GREAT SAP LEADING TO NO. 2 OUTPOST 210 TURKISH PRISONERS DIGGING DUGOUTS 210 A GLIMPSE OF NO MAN'S LAND 228 THE COOKS' LINES IN BROWN'S DIP 232 DEAD ON THE PARAPETS OF LONE PINE TRENCHES 232 TURKISH MIA MIAS OCCUPIED BY THE AUSTRALIAN TROOPS 250 WATER-TANKS IN THE GULLIES 250 THE OVERHEAD COVER AT LONE PINE 260 A SAP LEADING UP AN EXPOSED HILL-SIDE 260 A GERMAN OFFICER'S DUGOUT 278 MAPS AND PLANS ANCHORAGE OF AUSTRALIAN AND NEW ZEALAND TRANSPORTS IN KING GEORGE SOUND, ALBANY, OCT. 31, 1914 _face page_ 28 PLAN OF THE _SYDNEY-EMDEN_ FIGHT _page_ 51 PLAN OF THE ATTEMPTED CROSSING OF SUEZ CANAL " 87 ANZAC POSITION ON MAY 19, 1915 _face page_ 112 AN AERIAL RECONNAISSANCE MAP OF THE TURKISH TRENCHES _face page_ 180 GALLIPOLI PENINSULA AND THE OUTSTANDING FEATURES OF THE AUSTRALIAN AND BRITISH POSITIONS _face page_ 216 AUSTRALIAN AND TURKISH TRENCHES AT LONE PINE " 224 OPPOSING TRENCHES ON THE NEK _page_ 239 HILL 60, GALLIPOLI " 273 AUSTRALIA IN ARMS PART I _AUSTRALIA ANSWERS THE CALL_ CHAPTER I THE TOCSIN IN AUSTRALIA It is impossible to look back and recall without a glow of intense pride the instantaneous response made by the young manhood of Australia to the first signal of danger which fluttered at the central masthead of the Empire. As time goes on that pride has increased as battalions and brigades have followed one another into the firing-line; it has become now a pride steeped in the knowledge that the baptism of fire has proven the young nation, has given it an indelible stamp of Nationhood, has provoked from the lips of a great English soldier the phrase, "These men from Australasia form the greatest army that an Empire has ever produced." To-day that pride is the courage with which the people face and mourn the loss of their thousands of braves. Let me recall the first dark days of August 1914, when the minds of the people of the Australian Commonwealth were grappling with and striving to focus the position of the British Empire in the war into which they had been so precipitately hurled. On Sunday, 2nd August, I well remember in Melbourne an army friend of mine being hastily recalled from a tennis party; and when I went to see him at the Victoria Barracks that same night, I found the whole place a glare of lights from end to end of the grim, grey stone building. It was the same the next and the next night, and for weeks, and so into the months. But even when the Governor-General, Sir Ronald Munro Ferguson, sent to the Prime Minister (Mr. Joseph Cook), at noon on 3rd August the telegram bearing the announcement that we all knew could not long be withheld, the strain seemed unlifted. "England has declared war on Germany" was the brief but terrible message quickly transferred to the broadsheets that the newspapers printed at lightning speed and circulated, while the crowds in the streets cheered and cheered again as the message was posted on the display boards. That night the streets were thronged (as they were for weeks to follow), and there was a series of riots, quickly subdued by the police, where raids had been made on German premises. Feeling was extraordinarily bitter, considering the remoteness of the Dominion. The Navy Office was barred to the casual visitor. Military motor-cars swept through the streets and whirled into the barracks square. Army and Fleet, the new Australian Naval unit, were ready. More than one person during those grey days felt a thrill of satisfaction and comfort in the knowledge that of that Fleet unit the battle-cruiser _Australia_ was greater and more powerful than any enemy vessel in Pacific waters. Now it is no secret that arrangements exist with the British Admiralty under which the Commonwealth naval authorities receive at the first signs of hostilities a telegram in the nature of a warning. The second message simply says "Strike." The fact that the Navy Office in Melbourne received its warning cablegram not from the Admiralty, but from a message sent from H.M.S. _Minotaur_, then flagship of the China Squadron, asking particulars concerning the Australian unit, and "presuming" that the naval authorities had received their warning, was only subsequently whispered. Where, then, was the Australian message? The original cable apparently was sent at the moment when Mr. Winston Churchill and Prince Louis of Battenberg between them took steps to keep mobilized the Grand Fleet in British waters, subsequent to the review, and sent them forthwith to their war stations. According to the pre-arranged understanding, the Australian unit was to pass automatically under the control of the Admiralty. Urgent wires were sent to the then Minister of Defence, Senator E. D. Millen, who was absent in Sydney, and the missing cablegram was brought to light in his possession. As soon as that final message came, the Australian ships, having coaled and prepared, moved to their war stations. It is not within the scope of this brief review to go further into this naval mobilization, though I shall make reference later on to the Fleet unit and its war history. On everybody's lips there now (4th August) arose the question of the young nation's part in the war. Would there be need of contingents? For the first period, at least, the Australian military authorities were too keenly occupied with home defence to vouchsafe much attention to this question, though high officers told me that it was inevitable that Australia would play her part very soon--to what extent and when, they could not judge. The immediate need lay in the mobilization of part or all of the available forces at hand for coastal defence. The nervous tenseness of the situation was apparent on all hands; an underflow of intense uncertainty was plainly traceable in all the military movements. At the barracks day and night I found the military machine that Australia had so recently set running, rapidly speeding up. All leave had been stopped on 1st August, and officers were hurrying back to their posts from various States of the Commonwealth. The defences of the ports along the coast were manned, and on the day when war was declared arrangements were completed for the extension of these defences to a mobile army, certainly of no great size as armies now are, to be used as shore patrols round the entrances of the great harbours of the capital cities. These men were the first draft of the Citizen Army that the Australian nation was training, and the rapidity with which they were mobilized, albeit it was only a small group, gave off the first spark from the machine, tested in a time of need. Yet the question that was ever to the fore during the first forty-eight hours after the declaration of war, and in fact until the following Wednesday, 10th August, was whether the whole of the Citizen Army was not to be mobilized. In other words, would there be a general mobilization, the plans for which were lying ready waiting to be opened all over the Commonwealth? The higher commands were told to hold themselves in readiness, and every one, from the youngest cadet to the Chief of the Staff, was expecting the word. What would have been the need for such action? Remotely, of course, the position of the German High Sea Fleet and the integrity of the British Grand Fleet, but more closely the proximity of the German Pacific Squadron, consisting of two powerful cruisers, the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_, a number of smaller warships, colliers, and perhaps transports. Fortunately, the battle-cruiser _Australia_ had been kept in Australian waters, and while she remained afloat, the German ships would not venture in her vicinity. But the possibility to which the military authorities looked was that of the German squadron eluding our patrols that stretched across the north of Australia from Darwin to the Marshall Islands, and convoying a landing party, arriving off our eastern or southern coasts. They might or might not land; they might content themselves with shelling the towns. At one time it was believed that secretly Germany had been pouring troops into German New Guinea and collecting stores there. That she had intended New Guinea or Papua as a base in the Pacific was evident enough. However, the worst fears were far from being realized. The British Fleet in the Pacific (now containing the Australian warships), and soon the Japanese Fleet cooperating, after an unsuccessful attempt to trap the enemy, edged them from the Australian coasts across the Pacific to South America, where they were eventually destroyed in the Falkland Islands engagement. By this time the need for a general mobilization in Australia was daily becoming less, as the enemy's ships were swept from the sea and the High Sea Fleet had been reduced to the category of floating forts. Accordingly the Government and military authorities turned their attention to the sending of an army to help the Motherland. German hopes had led them to suspect that the war would present for the people of the Commonwealth an excellent opportunity for revolt. Never did a young Dominion cling more closely or show its deep-rooted sense of gratitude and affection and responsibility to the parent nation. Having helped to secure herself, Australia immediately offered troops for active service overseas. A tremendous wave of enthusiasm swept over the land, and the acceptance by the Home Government of the offer was the occasion of great outbursts of cheering by the crowds that thronged the streets of the chief cities and eagerly scanned the news sheets and official announcements posted outside the newspaper offices. Recruiting began without delay. Already, in anticipation of events, the Defence Department had received names of officers and men from every State offering their services and anxious to join the first force. The composition of the force, after due consideration and consultation with the War Office, was to be a complete Division and a Brigade of Light Horse, 20,000 men in all. Depots were established at the barracks, and soon in the suburban drill-halls--halls which were already the centres of the Compulsory Service movement in Home Defence--as well. The men poured into the depôts. There was the keenest competition for selection. In making these drill-halls centres for recruiting the authorities were anxious to link up the regiments of the established Citizen Army with those that were going forth to battle across the seas, giving them in this way a tradition for all time. Young as the new army was, some 10 per cent. enlisted, those whose age was just twenty-one years. In this way, throughout the battalions was a sprinkling of the young Citizen Army, while the rest of the men were from the old militia regiments that had existed in past years. There were, I suppose, 60 per cent. of these men who flocked to the colours, and of these a proportion had seen service abroad, mostly in the South African War. Only a small number that went sloped a rifle for the first time. Who would lead the force--Australia's first complete Division to take the field? No doubt seemed to cloud the minds of the General Staff, however much the mind of the Minister of Defence, Senator Millen, was swayed hither and thither. Brigadier-General Bridges was just entering on the fourth year of his command of the Duntroon Military College. The success of that college was already an established fact; the men who have left it have since proved that beyond question. It was, therefore, on Brigadier-General Bridges (raised to the rank of Major-General) that the choice eventually fell, and he at once handed over the control of the college to Colonel Parnell, Commandant of Victoria, and immediately commenced, on or about the 14th August, the selection of his higher commands for the force designated "The First Australian Imperial Expeditionary Force." His task was no light one. Essentially a just man, but a man who demanded the utmost capacity from those beneath him in rank, he soon drew round him a brilliant Staff. The college, indeed, he robbed of most of its English leaders, and their places were filled by Australian officers. The Brigadiers were left the choice of their battalion commanders, and that choice fell on the men actively engaged in leading the young Citizen Army in the various centres, each State contributing its quota. The battalion commanders at first had free choice to select their officers, but subsequently a Board was established. Thousands of names were available, and, with one or two exceptions, it is with satisfaction I can write that every man chosen has proved himself in that force again and again as being worthy of the trust put in him, from high leaders to the most junior subalterns. While recruiting went on apace, the Barracks remained illuminated day and night, and the tension remained for many weeks at a high pitch. Though the matter had been pondered over, the truth was, little or no provision had been made to form the nucleus of an Expeditionary Force. All Australia's energies had been devoted to preparing her Home Defence Army. Yet the machinery that had been created for that army now proved itself to be capable of such expansion as to provide all the mass of material necessary for the organization and equipment of the Division under Major-General Bridges. The rapidity, the completeness, and efficiency with which that First Australian Contingent was equipped (referred to now by the men with such pride in comparison with other Empire troops) is eloquent enough praise in itself for the several war departments that met the strain, always remembering that in addition there was the partially mobilized Citizen Army to equip and maintain, and the growing army of 30,000 young soldiers each year, to train. Much impatience was exhibited at the delay in getting the Expedition away from Australia. That delay was inevitable in the circumstances, though apparently comparing so unfavourably with the Continental armies that were in the field in a few days, and in three weeks numbered millions of men. Australia in times of peace had never contemplated raising an Expeditionary Force, and what reserve supplies she had were not intended for such an emergency as this. Nevertheless, the General Staff rose to the occasion in a manner which, as I have said, reflects on them not only the greatest credit but high praise. Too much cannot be said either of the manner in which the general public co-operated in the assembling of the army, and especially in regard to the gifts of horses for all branches of the service. I consider myself indeed fortunate in having had an opportunity of witnessing the march through the streets of Melbourne of 4,000 Victorians who were to form the backbone of Victoria's contribution to the first 20,000 men. When I think of those lads on that bright August morning, and the trained army which General Sir Ian Hamilton reviewed in the desert in Egypt, one can laugh at those croakers who predicted the need for eighteen months' training to make these men real soldiers. I remember them on this morning, a band of cheerful youths (for the army is, and always must be, thought of as a young army--a mingling of freshness, vigour, eagerness, and panting zeal, the stuff that veterans are made of), headed by a band of Highland pipes and bugles that had volunteered to lead them, swinging with irregular, broken step along the main streets. Their pride swelled in their veins as they waved brown felt hats, straw-deckers, bowlers to their mates watching from office windows and roofs. It was the first sight of the reality of war that had come to really grip the hearts of the people, and they cheered these pioneers and the recklessness of their spirits. There were men in good boots and bad boots, in brown and tan boots, in hardly any boots at all; in sack suits and old clothes, and smart-cut suits just from the well-lined drawers of a fashionable home; there were workers and loafers, students and idlers, men of professions and men just workers, who formed that force. But--they were all fighters, stickers, men with some grit (they got more as they went on), and men with a love of adventure. So they marched out to their camp at Broadmeadows--a good ten-mile tramp. As they swung round through the break in the panelled fencing of Major Wilson's property (placed generously at the disposal of the Government), there was weariness in their feet and limbs, but not in their spirits. Some shuffled now, and the dust rose from the attenuated column right along the undulating dusty road, stretching back almost to the city's smoke, just faintly visible on the horizon, where the smoke-stacks and tall buildings caught the last rays of the setting sun. And they found their tents pitched, and they had but to draw their blankets and break up into groups of eight or ten or eleven for each tent. Then they strolled round the green fields till the bugle called them to their first mess, cooked in the dixies. And the rising odour of well-boiled meat and onions whetted their appetite. Then on the morrow they rose before the sun. Every morning they were thus early roused, were doing exercises with rifle and bayonet, and the drab black of their clothing changed to khaki uniforms; and as rapidly as this change came, so the earth was worn more brown with the constant treading of thousands of feet, and the grass disappeared altogether from the camp and the roads became rutted. More men and still more men crowded in and filled the vacant tents till other lines had to be pitched. The horses began to arrive, and motor-lorries with immense loads thundered across the paddocks to the stores, where huge tarpaulins covered masses of equipment and marquees tons of meat and bread. From four thousand the army grew to ten; for fresh contingents were offered, accepted, and sent into training. Tents peeped from between pine-trees that enclosed a field, and guns began to rumble in and were parked in neat rows pointing to the road. They waited for the horses which the gunners were busily lashing into control. It was rapid, effective horsebreaking that I saw in this artillery school, where the animals were left to kick logs till they tired, and then were compelled to drag them, in place of the valuable artillery pieces. The foam gathered on their haunches at such times and they flung themselves to the earth--and then they threw their riders for a change--until at length they grew weary of the play and subsided as fine artillery horses as ever dragged guns Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of Hell. [Illustration: THE STAFF OF THE FIRST AUSTRALIAN DIVISION AT MENA CAMP. To face p. 22.] All around the hills were green still. Each day they were covered with lines of moving troops. Infantry passed the guns on the road, and Light Horse passed the infantry and wheeled in through the same break in the panelled fence. The Commandant, Colonel Wallace, inspected the units in the making, so did the Brigadiers and the General himself or his representative. Then the State Governor, Sir Arthur Stanley, took a part, and the Governor-General spent an afternoon at the camp and reviewed the whole of the troops. The people flocked in thousands on holidays and Sundays to see their soldier sons. The camp each night was full of visitors till dusk, for those few precious hours permitted after the day's duties were done when family ties might be drawn close just a little longer. Every train and tram was filled with bands of soldiers; the traffic on the roads showed its quota of khaki. Bands turned the people's thoughts to war with their martial music, as they woke the troops with their persistent beating in the early morning. What it was in Melbourne, so in every State capital of the Commonwealth, where the camps lay scattered on the outskirts of the suburbs. Each State trained its own men for a common interest for the First Division, and in each State the method, like the routine, was the same. The time was approaching for departure. Camps were closed to the public. All leave was stopped. Nobody knew the date of going, and yet everybody knew it and chafed under the wait. But before the men went they showed "the metal of their pasture." In one never-to-be-forgotten glistening line they swept through the centres of the cities, marching from end to end. What once had been a heavy day--the march out to camp--they made light of now; and while the Light Horse headed the columns, the horses prancing and dancing to the drums, the guns rumbled heavily with much rattling after the even infantry lines. And still it was not farewell. Those tender partings were said in the quiet of the hearth. It could only be taken as the cities' greetings and tributes to the pioneers--those men of the 1st Australian Division--who went quietly, silently, without farewells to the waiting transports in the bright mid-October sunlight--train after train load of them--down to the wharves. And the people who watched them go were a few hundreds. CHAPTER II THE ASSEMBLY [Illustration: Bugle Call.] While it was general knowledge that the First Australian Contingent was about to leave its native shores--26th September--no exact date was mentioned as the day of departure. For one very sound reason. The German cruisers had not been rounded up and some of them were still known to be cruising in Australian waters. They could be heard talking in the loud, high-pitched Telefunken code, but the messages were not always readable, lucky as had been the capture early in the war of a code-book from a German merchant ship in New Guinea waters. The newspapers were prohibited by very strict censorship from giving any hint of the embarkation of troops, of striking camps, or of anything that could be communicated to the enemy likely to give him an idea of the position of the Convoy that was now hurrying from the northern capitals--from, indeed, all the capital cities--to the rendezvous, King George's Sound, Albany. That rendezvous, for months kept an absolute official secret, was, nevertheless, on the lips of every second person, though never named publicly. It was apparent that the military authorities had an uncomfortable feeling that though they had blocked the use of private wireless installations, messages were leaving Australia. I will say nothing here of the various scares and rumours and diligent searches made upon perfectly harmless old professors and others engaged in peaceful fishing expeditions along the coastal towns; that lies without the sphere of this book. It seemed almost callous that the troops going so far across two oceans, the first great Australian army that had been sent to fight for the Mother Country, should be allowed to slip away uncheered, unspoken of. For even the final scenes in Melbourne, where there were some four or five thousand people to see the _Orvieto_, the Flagship of the Convoy, depart, formed an impromptu gathering, and for days before great liners, with two thousand troops aboard, had been slipping away from their moorings with only a fluttering of a few handkerchiefs to send them off. Still, the troops had crowded into the rigging and sang while the bands played them off to "Tipperary." In every port it was alike. How much more touching was the leaving of the Flagship, when the crowd broke the barriers and rushed the pier, overwhelming the scanty military guards and forcing back Ministers of the Crown and men of State who had gone aboard to wish Major-General Bridges success with the Division. It was unmilitary, but it was magnificent, this sudden welling up of the spirit of the people and the burst of enthusiasm that knew no barriers. Ribbons were cast aboard and made the last links with the shore. Never shall I for one (and there were hundreds on board in whose throat a lump arose) forget the sudden quiet on ship and shore as the band played the National Anthem when the liner slowly moved from the pier out into the channel; and then the majestic notes of other anthems weaved into one brave throbbing melody that sent the blood pulsing through the brain. Britons never, never will be slaves blared the bugles, and the drums rattled and thumped the bars with odd emphasis till the ribbons had snapped and the watchers on the pier became a blurred impressionist picture, and even the yachts and steamboats could no longer keep pace with the steamer as she swung her nose to the harbour heads. All this was, let me repeat, in striking contrast to the manner in which the ships in Sydney Harbour, in Hobart, in Port Augusta, and from other capitals had pulled out into the stream at dusk or in the early hours of the cold September mornings and hastened away to the rendezvous. Before the final departure I have just described on the afternoon of 21st October there had been a false alarm and interrupted start. The reasons for this delay are certainly worth recording. The Flagship was to have left Melbourne--the last of the Convoy from Eastern waters--on 29th September. That is to say, by the end of the month all the details of the Division had been completed, and were embarked or ready for embarkation. Indeed, some had actually started, and a number of transports left the northern harbours and had to anchor in Port Phillip Bay, where the troops were disembarked altogether or each day for a fortnight or more. For the reasons of this we have to extend our view to New Zealand. It was not generally known at the time that a contingent of 10,000 men from the sister Dominion were to form portion of the Convoy, and that two ships from New Zealand had already left port, when a hasty message from the Fleet drove them back. Now it became the Navy's job, once the men were on the ships, to be responsible for their safety--the safety of 30,000 lives. It had been arranged that the New Zealand transports should be escorted across the Southern Ocean to Bass Straits by the little cruiser _Pioneer_--sister ship of the _Pegasus_, later to come into prominence--and another small cruiser, as being sufficient protection in view of the line of warships and destroyers patrolling the strategic line north of Australia, curving down to the New Zealand coast. The German cruisers, admittedly frightened of an encounter with the _Australia_, had been successfully eluding that battle-cruiser for weeks, and were skulking amongst the islands of the Pacific destroying certain trading and wireless stations, and apparently waiting for an opportunity to strike at the Convoy. One scare was, therefore, sufficient. The Dominion Government refused to dispatch the troops without adequate escort, and in consequence all the programme was thrown out of gear, and the _Minotaur_--flagship of the escort--went herself with the _Encounter_ and the two original cruisers to New Zealand and brought across the whole Maoriland Contingent. The alteration in the plans resulted in a delay of three weeks, for the warships had to coal again before proceeding across the Indian Ocean. However, it was better to be safe than sorry, and the delayed Australian Convoy was released in the third week of October and the ships commenced to gather at the appointed rendezvous. Yet I am loath to think that this alone was the reason for the delay. One can read now into events happening at the heart of Empire a very significant cause for hesitancy to send this Australian Contingent to England for service in France. For matters in Turkey were already unsatisfactory. On 25th September messages had reached London of the preparations of the Turks on the Sinai Peninsula and the activity of the Germans in the Ottoman Empire, led by that extraordinary personality Enver Pasha. It was certain that every effort was being made by Great Britain to preserve peace with the Turks, but the Porte was taking a high hand, and it appeared that war would become inevitable. How far the Australian Government was taken into the confidence of the Foreign Office one can only guess. It must be supposed that Major-General Bridges, the Prime Minister, and Minister of Defence, together with the Governor-General of the Commonwealth, were in possession of the main points of the diplomatic relations between Great Britain and Turkey. Matters, too, in the Persian Gulf were very unsatisfactory in the beginning of October, and by the time that the last ship of the Convoy had left port it was certain from the attitude of Turkey, as reflected in the reports of Sir Louis Mallet, British Ambassador at Constantinople, that war would be declared. Military preparations pointed to an attack on the Suez Canal being pushed forward with all speed, and it was therefore necessary to have a large defending force available to draw on. So far as it is possible to read the inner history of events, this was the actual reason for the holding up (strange paradox as it may sound) of the Convoy until the destination of the 30,000 men should be determined. For it must be conceded that, with the Cape route open, not very much longer and far safer, with the venomous _Emden_ raiding Indian waters and the German Pacific Fleet ready to dart out from the Northern islands, it was more feasible than using the Suez Canal with such a vast convoy of ships. As a matter of fact, this was the route chosen. True enough, when the time came, the landing of this army in Egypt for training "and war purposes" must have carried great significance to the Turks; and the plea of the badness of the English climate at the time preventing training in England, served as good an excuse as did the German cruiser menace in New Zealand waters. For while there may have been a lingering suspicion in Lord Kitchener's mind that perhaps the camps at Salisbury might not be ready, it was a trump card to have a body of 30,000 troops ready to divert either at once or in the near future to a strategic point against Turkey. Be all this as it may, the combined Convoys did not leave Australian shores until 1st November, and on the 30th October Sir L. Mallet had been told to ask for his passports within twelve hours unless the Turkish Government dismissed the German crews of the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ from Constantinople. So actually when leaving the last port the Convoy were directed against Turkey. Yet I suppose no one for a moment read in all the portents of the future even a remote possibility of the landing of the Australian troops in Turkey. Later it was admitted that while training they would simply defend Egypt--to German plotting the one vital point to strike at the British Empire. Let us return, however, with an apology for the digression, to the gathering up of the Convoy. King George's Sound, the chosen rendezvous of the fleet, is a magnificent harbour, steeped already in historical associations. It offered as fine an anchorage as could be wished for the forty transports and escorting warships. The harbour might have easily held three or four times the number of ships. Yet was this host of forty leviathians sufficient to find no parallel in history! True, the Athenians in ancient times, and even the Turks in the sixteenth century, had sent a fleet of greater size against the Order of St. John at Malta, had entered on marauding expeditions, but hardly so great an army had they embarked and sent across the Mediterranean. Here was a fleet crossing three seas, still disputed--though feebly enough, it is true. [Illustration: Anchorage of Australian AND NEW ZEALAND TRANSPORTS IN KING GEORGE SOUND ALBANY, OCTOBER 31^{st} 1916] Of many thrilling scenes it needs no great effort of memory to recall that Albany Harbour as those on the flagship saw it first through the thick grey mists of the early morning of 26th October. Almost the last of the Australian ships to enter port, the wind drove the waves over her bows and cast the spray on the decks. Most of the Divisional Staff, barely daylight as it was, were on deck, peering through the mists to catch the first glimpse of the host that they knew now lay at anchor in the harbour. First it was a visionary, fleeting glimpse of masts and funnels, and then, as the coast closed in darker on either bow and the beacons from the lighthouses at the entrance flashed, I could see ships gradually resolving themselves into definite shape, much in the way a conjurer brings from the gloom of a darkened chamber strange realities. The troops were astir and crowded to the ships' sides. They stood to attention as the liner glided down the lines of anchored transports, for the mass of shipping was anchored in ordered lines. The bugles rang out sharp and clear the assembly notes, flags dipped in salute to the General's flag at the mast-head. It was calm now inside this refuge. A large warship was creeping under the dark protection of a cliff like a lobster seeking to hide itself in the background of rocks, and the men learned with some surprise it was a Japanese cruiser, the _Abuki_. She remained there a few days and then steamed out, lost in a cloud of dense black smoke, while in her place came the two Australian cruisers, the _Melbourne_ and _Sydney_. Each night the troops watched one or others of these scouts put to sea, stealing at dusk to patrol, and not alone, the entrance to the harbour wherein lay the precious Convoy. On the morning of the 28th the New Zealand Convoy, consisting of ten ships, arrived, and anchored just inside the entrance of the harbour. From shore the sight was truly wonderful. Three regular lines of steamers, each crammed with troops and horses, were lying in an almost forgotten and certainly neglected harbour. What signs of habitation there were on shore were limited to a whaling station on the west and a few pretty red-roofed bungalows on the east; while the entrance to an inner harbour, the selected spot for a destroyer base of the Australian Navy, suggested as snug a little cove as one might wish. Opposite the main entrance behind the anchored Convoy was the narrow channel leading to the port where the warships anchored, protected from outer view behind high cliffs from which frowned the guns of the forts. It was from these forts, commanded then by Major Meekes, that I looked down on to the ships--that was after nearly being arrested as a spy by a suspicious vigilant guard. Each day three ships entered the port to coal, until the bunkers of the whole fleet were filled to overflowing, to carry them across the Indian Ocean. All was in readiness. It only needed the signal from the Admiralty to the Convoy and its escort and the army of 30,000 would move finally from Australian shores. This was the mustering of a complete Division for the first time in the history of the young Dominion. It had not as yet even been operating as an army in the field, but here it lay, taking thirty ships to transport (with ten more ships for the Maorilanders), in the same historical harbour where as early as 1780 a British frigate had put in for refuge from a storm and for water. It was this port, too, that two Princes of royal blood had visited; while later, at the beginning of the present century and a new era for Australia--the Commonwealth era--the King of England, then the Duke of York, had come. His visit was as unavoidable as certainly it was unexpected, for he had sought refuge, like the ancient British frigate from a violent storm; but, liking the spot, the King decided to stay, and festivities were transferred to Albany in haste. In 1907 the American Atlantic Squadron, under Rear-Admiral Speary, during its visit to Austral shores, had anchored in the broad bay. Thus had tradition, in which this assembly of the First Australian Expeditionary Force marked so deep a score, already begun to be formed round the beautiful harbour. It will not be out of place to quote here the disposition of the troops and the ships bearing the men of the Contingent. It was the largest of any convoy during the war, steaming over 6,000 leagues. The records need no comment beyond pointing out that the indicated speeds of the ships show how the speed of the Convoy had to be regulated by the speed of the slowest ship--the _Southern_--and that the arrangement of the three divisions of transports was based on the pace of each, the object of which is apparent when viewed in the light of the necessity of the Convoy scattering on the approach of enemy ships, and avoidance of slow ships hindering those of greater speed. In the closing days of October the message was flashed through the fleet that the Convoy should get under way on 1st November, and that right early in the morning, for Major-General Bridges, no less than Captain Gordon Smith, who had command of the Convoy (he was Second Naval Member on the Australian Naval Board), was anxious to be off to his destination. That that point was to some degree fixed when the ships left port I have no doubt, though the masters of the transports actually did not know the route until they were some hundred miles clear of the coast and the _Minotaur_ set the course to the Equator. Incessantly all through the night previous the tug-boats had churned the waters round our vessel's sides, darting off now to the uttermost ship of the line--the _Miltiades_ (she had English reservists on board), now to return from the lighted town which lay behind the Flagship with rebellious spirits, who had come near to being left behind, to explain away their return now as best they might. To and fro panted the motor-boats, with their eyes of red as if sleepy from overwork. The General of the Division, in fact all his Staff, were up late settling these cases. I wondered at the matters that needed his personal attention; even though the ships were to be together for weeks, still they were in a sense isolated. When the last tug had departed and the last lingering soldier been brought from the shore and sent off to his own ship, there stole over the whole sleeping fleet a great peace. It was Sunday morning. Heaving up her anchor at six o'clock by the chimes of the distant clocks on shore, the Flagship led the way from port. The waters were calm. No white-winged yachts came to circle round the fleet, only a tug with a cinematographer on board waited for the ships as they slowly went forth on to the perilous deep, each ship dipping its flag, paying tribute to the General on the Flagship, even down to the New Zealand transports, painted all a dull warship grey. The cruiser _Melbourne_ lay in harbour still, while the other warships had gone ahead to the open sea, the _Minotaur_ and _Sydney_ gliding gracefully through the dull waters, leaving in their wake a terrible wash of foam, as warships will. The bugles still rang in our ears, though the wind from the south blew the notes astern. Amongst a group of officers I was standing on a skylight of the dining saloon watching the moving panorama behind. To bring the fleet, anchored facing the head of the Sound, into motion meant the gradual turning of each ship so that they passed one another, and because the entrance to the harbour was not quite wide enough, the Flagship went out first, barely making 10 knots, followed by the _Southern_, and the others in their line behind. We watched her bows buried in the sea one minute and then DISPOSITION OF UNITS OF THE 1ST DIVISION IN THE CONVOY AND PLACES OF EMBARKATION. ---+--------------------+--------+------+---------------------------+----------------------------------+---------+-----+------- No.| Name. |Tonnage.|Speed.| Embarking at-- | Troops. |Officers.| Men.|Horses. ---+--------------------+--------+------+---------------------------+----------------------------------+---------+-----+------- A1 |_Hymettus_ | 4,606 |11-1/2| { Sydney, Melbourne, } | A.S.C. and horses | 5 | 106| 686 | | | | { and Adelaide } | | | | A2 |_Geelong_ | 7,951 |12 | Melbourne and Hobart | Mixed | 47 |1,295| -- A3 |_Orvieto_ | 12,130 |15 | Melbourne | G.O.C., Infantry and details | 94 |1,345| 21 A4 |_Pera_ | 7,635 |11 | Sydney | Artillery horses | 5 | 90| 391 A5 |_Omrah_ | 8,130 |15 | Brisbane | Infantry and A.S.C | 43 |1,104| 15 A6 |_Clan MacCorquodale_| 5,058 |12-1/2| Sydney | Horses | 6 | 113| 524 A7 |_Medic_ | 12,032 |13 |Adelaide and Freemantle |{ Two companies Infantry, } | 28 | 977| 270 | | | | |{ Artillery, A.S.C., and A.M.C. } | | | A8 |_Argyllshire_ | 10,392 |14 | Sydney | Artillery | 32 | 800| 373 A9 |_Shropshire_ | 11,911 |14 | Melbourne | Artillery | 42 | 794| 433 A10|_Karoo_ | 6,127 |12 | Sydney and Melbourne | Signallers and A.M.C. | 13 | 388| 398 A11|_Ascanius_ | 10,048 |13 |Adelaide and Freemantle | Infantry | 65 |1,728| 10 A12|_Saldanha_ | 4,594 |11 | Adelaide | Horses | 4 | 52| 274 A13|_Katuna_ | 4,641 |11 | Sydney and Hobart | Horses | 5 | 94| 506 A14|_Euripides_ | 14,947 |15 | Sydney | Infantry | 29 |2,202| 15 A15|_Star of England_ | 9,150 |13-1/2| Brisbane | Light Horse | 25 | 487| 457 A16|_Star of Victoria_ | 9,152 |13-1/2| Sydney | Light Horse | 26 | 487| 461 A17|_Port Lincoln_ | 7,243 |12 | Adelaide | Light Horse | 19 | 351| 338 A18|_Wiltshire_ | 10,390 |14 | Melbourne | Light Horse and A.M.C. | 35 | 724| 497 A19|_Afric_ | 11,999 |13 | Sydney | Infantry, A.S.C., and Engineers | 48 |1,372| 8 A20|_Hororata_ | 9,491 |14 | Melbourne | Infantry | 66 |1,986| 118 A21|_Marere_ | 6,443 |12-1/2| Melbourne | Horses | 4 | 80| 443 A22|_Rangatira_ | 10,118 |14 | Brisbane | Artillery, Infantry, and A.M.C. | 15 | 430| 450 A23|_Suffolk_ | 7,573 |12 | Sydney | Infantry | 32 | 979| 8 A24|_Benalla_ | 11,118 |14 | Melbourne | Infantry and A.S.C. | 49 |1,185| 10 A25|_Anglo-Egyptian_ | 7,379 |12 | Brisbane and Melbourne | Horses | 6 | 105| 492 A26|_Armadale_ | 6,153 |11 | Melbourne | Lines of Communication | -- | --| -- A27|_Southern_ | 4,709 |10-1/2| Sydney and Melbourne | Horses | 5 | 136| 281 A28|_Miltiades_ | 7,814 |13 | Sydney and Melbourne | Imperial Reservists | -- | 600| -- ---+--------------------+--------+------+---------------------------+----------------------------------+---------+-----+------- ORGANIZATION OF CONVOY. ----+--------------------+--------+--------+------------------------------ No.| Name. |Tonnage.| Speed. | Officer Commanding Troops. ----+--------------------+--------+--------+------------------------------ | 1st Division. | | | | | | | A3 |_Orvieto_ | 12,130 | 15 |{Lieut.-Colonel D. S. Wanliss | | | |{ (Flagship of G.O.C.) A27 |_Southern_ | 7,635 | 11 | Lieutenant R. T. Sutherland A4 |_Pera_ | 7,635 | 11 | Lieutenant E. W. Richards A26 |_Armadale_ | 6,153 | 11 | Major P. W. Smith A12 |_Saldanha_ | 4,594 | 11 | Lieutenant P. A. McE. Laurie A13 |_Katuna_ | 4,641 | 11 | Major S. Hawley A1 |_Hymettus_ | 4,606 | 11-1/2 | Major A. A. Holdsworth A23 |_Suffolk_ | 7,573 | 12 | Lieut.-Colonel C. F. Braund A25 |_Anglo-Egyptian_ | 7,379 | 12 | Lieutenant W. Standfield | | | | | 2nd Division. | | | | | | | A18 |_Wiltshire_ | 10,390 | 14 |{Lieut.-Colonel L. Long | | | |{ (Divisional leader) A7 |_Medic_ | 12,032 | 13 | Major A. J. Bessell-Browne A11 |_Ascanius_ | 10,048 | 13 | Lieut.-Colonel S. P. Weir A15 |_Star of England_ | 9,150 | 13-1/2 | Lieut.-Colonel R. M. Stoddart A2 |_Geelong_ | 7,951 | 12 | Lieut.-Colonel L. F. Clarke A17 |_Port Lincoln_ | 7,243 | 12 | Lieut.-Colonel F. N. Rowell A10 |_Karoo_ | 6,127 | 12 | Captain H. L. Mackworth A21 |_Marere_ | 6,443 | 12-1/2 | Captain C. H. Spurge A6 |_Clan MacCorquodale_| 5,058 | 12-1/2 | Major A. J. Bennett | | | | | 3rd Division. | | | | | | | A14 |_Euripides_ | 14,947 | 15 |{Colonel H. N. McLaurin | | | |{ (Divisional leader) A8 |_Argyllshire_ | 10,392 | 14 | Major S. E. Christian A9 |_Shropshire_ | 11,911 | 14 | Colonel J. J. T. Hobbs A19 |_Afric_ | 11,999 | 13 | Lieut.-Colonel L. Dobbin A24 |_Benalla_ | 11,118 | 14 | Lieut.-Colonel W. K. Bolton A22 |_Rangatira_ | 10,118 | 14 | Lieut.-Colonel C. Rosenthal A16 |_Star of Victoria_ | 9,152 | 13-1/2 | Lieut.-Colonel J. B. Meredith A20 |_Hororata_ | 9,491 | 14 | Lieut.-Colonel J. M. Semmens A5 |_Omrah_ | 8,130 | 15 | Lieut.-Colonel H. W. Lee A28 |_Miltiades_ | 7,814 | 13 | Major C. T. Griffiths ----+--------------------+--------+--------+------------------------------ NEW ZEALAND TRANSPORTS. ----+-----------------+--------+------ No.| Name. |Tonnage.|Speed. ----+-----------------+--------+------ | 1st Division. | | | | | 3 | _Maunganui_ | 7,527 | 16 9 | _Hawkes Bay_ | 7,207 | 13 8 | _Star of India_ | 6,800 | 11 7 | _Limerick_ | 6,827 | 13 4 | _Tahiti_ | 7,585 | 17 | | | | 2nd Division. | | | | | 10 |_Arawa_ | 9,372 | 12 11 |_Athenic_ | 12,234 | 12 6 |_Orari_ | 6,800 | 12 5 |_Ruapehu_ | 7,885 | 13 12 |_Waimana_ | 10,389 | 14 ----+-----------------+--------+------ the red of her keel, and saw her speed cone at the mast-head. We smiled at the efforts of this craft to keep pace, a smile which later in the voyage became wry at the mention of the ill-speeded vessel's name. Gradually on either quarter there crept towards us the leaders of the other lines or divisions, the _Euripides_ and _Wiltshire_ and their nine followers. Each ship was coaling and threw her smoke in the air, and each ship that left made a smoky trail, till the harbour became obscured like in a fog. As the _Orvieto_, following the course of the _Minotaur_ half a mile ahead, now turned to the westward, astern we saw nothing but a bank of dark grey cloud, and from it masts and funnels and sometimes the bows of a ship protruding. It was all so smoothly and finely planned that it seemed almost unreal, as the ships took up their positions, our central line slowing down to permit of the other ships making up leeway. As I looked down the lines of ships each became a little smaller and a little more indistinct, until the last was scarcely more than "hull up" on the horizon. On either hand a warship; ahead a warship. The coast faded to a dim blue, more distinct once the sun rose over the hills, but soon vanishing over the swelling horizon. It was the last link with the Homeland, and who knew how many would see those shores again--and when! It was at last the real start. Two days out--on the 3rd November--during the afternoon, the last two transports joined the fleet, escorted to their places by the Japanese cruiser _Ibuki_ and the _Pioneer_. They came through a storm, I remember, and slipped into line without the least fuss. The _Minotaur_ had signalled across to the Convoy, and soon we saw the warships that brought our escort up to five. This is how they lay beside the Convoy: the _Minotaur_ a mile ahead marked the course (at night we steered by a stern light); the _Ibuki_ on our right and starboard beam, a mile away; the _Sydney_ on the left a similar distance. The _Melbourne_ was a mile astern of the last New Zealand ship that followed hard in the track of the Australian Convoy, their ten ships ranged up on either side of the central division. The _Pioneer_ turned back. Each transport was two cables length ahead of the one following; each division (on parallel courses) four cables from the other. So went the fleet with its precious Convoy into the Indian Ocean. CHAPTER III ADVENTURES ON THE CONVOY Now the course set by the _Minotaur_, once the Convoy was well clear of the Western Australian coast, was not the ordinary trade route to Colombo. In the first place we steamed farther west, and then shaped a course to pass some 60 or 70 miles to the east of Cocos Islands. This was on the opposite side of that group to the ordinary track of the mail steamers. The reason for the change of route was to ensure protection. Other courses were open to us; for instance, the one which would have led us amongst the Deia Garcia Islands off the Madagascar coast. However, our destinies were guided by information received by wireless on the Flagship from the Admiralty. The troops were not aware of it, but there was a Japanese squadron operating round the coasts of Java and in this distant way protecting our flank. The speed of the Convoy varied from 9-1/2 to 11 knots an hour, though the usual run for a day was about 244 knots. The black sheep of the fleet--if one may call a vessel such--was the _Southern_, the 4,000-ton vessel which I have already referred to as following the _Orvieto_, the Flagship of the central line. She became the cynosure of every eye, regarded in turn with interest, mirth, derision, and finally anger and compassion. There was something in the attitude of the steamer with her great heavy bows that suggested she was always doing her best to keep up, and always she seemed to be stoking. One pictures her ghost stalking each night along her confined decks looking with alarm at the terrific pace! (10 knots) and wondering for how long it would continue. Not the least amusing part was that sometimes, gathering speed, she made spurts, and all but "came aboard" the _Orvieto_, taking this opportunity of hauling her speed cone part way down the mast, with an arrogance that she hastily had to abandon some ten minutes later. It was never quite understandable why she was chosen as a transport, and I have heard since that it was a hasty bargain of the Government when an early departure of the force was contemplated. The Medical Board had condemned certain ships as overcrowded, and this ship was taken on as an extra vessel, thereby reducing the speed of the Convoy by at least a knot an hour. The shortsightedness of this policy will be apparent when one calculates that the ships were hired by the day. With the _Southern_ absent, one and a half knots an hour would have been added to the speed of the Convoy. This meant the dropping of 36 knots in a day, which in a voyage of thirty-five days was the same as two days wasted. Now, reckoning coal at 15s. a ton, as a Government price, the cost of that first Convoy a day was at least £6,000. That is to say, probably a great deal more than £12,000 was flung away by keeping the _Southern_. I cannot help including this incident. Captain Kiddle, of the _Minotaur_, had been given power by the Navy Office to discard the vessel if she was a nuisance, and it was thought at one time of turning her into a hospital ship at Colombo; in fact, that zealous officer signalled to Captain Gordon Smith, commanding the Convoy, telling him "to distribute the horses and men when you get to Colombo, and then allow her [the _Southern_] to return to the obscurity from which she should never have emerged." Unfortunately, for some reason this was not done, and she remained there faithfully with us till the end of the voyage--the constant source of our gibes. Routine on the transports was not a very strenuous affair after the hard days of drill in the training camps and the long marches. To begin with, there was very little marching; only on the _Orvieto_ and ships like the _Euripides_, where there was a certain length of deck available, did it permit of companies of men being marched round the ship. Many is the time I have sat writing in my cabin listening to the steady tramp of unbooted feet along the decks above, and the bands, stationed amidships, thumping out march after march. Never, however, could I grow accustomed to the distant squeal of the bagpipes, a band of which we were unfortunate enough to have with us. One threw down one's pen and tried to piece together some melody in the panting pipes. [Illustration: A QUIET AFTERNOON ON A TROOP DECK.] [Illustration: TATTOOING WITH HOME-MADE ELECTRICAL NEEDLE. To face p. 36.] Each day the men roused out at réveillé, sounded at six o'clock, and did physical jerks (exercises) before breakfast. Then they cleaned ship and prepared for the ten o'clock inspection by the officer in command of the troops, who went round with the Medical Officers and the Captain. The troops by this time would be mustered on deck, gathered in groups, learning all about rifles, machine guns, signalling, listening to lectures by the officers on trenches and the way to take cover, sniping, observation, and even aiming at miniature targets realistically made by enthusiastic leaders. At 11.30 the main work was over for the day. For an hour or two in the afternoon there were more exercises, but as the ships steamed into the tropics this afternoon drill was relaxed. The officers attended classes, and regular schools were formed and an immense amount was done to advance their technical knowledge. Besides all this, there were boat and life-belt drills and occasional night alarms to vary the monotony--but a precaution very necessary indeed. As the Convoy for the greater part of the six weeks' voyage steamed without lights, or only lights very much dimmed, work for the day ceased at dusk. Always there were guards and orderly duties, for the correct running of the ship, which occupied about a hundred men on the largest transport with a definite duty each day. It was on the voyage that the skin sun-tanning process began, to be carried to perfection in Egypt, and later on the Gallipoli Peninsula. A pair of "slacks" (short pants) and a shirt and white hat was enough for the men to wear on deck. They did not put on boots for three weeks, and their feet became as hard as those of the mariners. One heard them stumping round the deck with muffled tramp. But the physical exercises regularly given, the rifle exercises and the earlier training, and high standard demanded on enlistment, made this first contingent into a force of young athletes. It was the raiding _Emden_ that rendered the precautions taken on the first Convoy that left Australia so very essential--a matter which subsequent contingents knew nothing of, with the German commerce and warships swept from the seas. The anxiety of Captain Gordon Smith--the naval officer on the Flagship of the Convoy responsible for the safe conduct of each transport, as the _Minotaur's_ captain, and subsequently Captain Silver of the _Melbourne_, was responsible for the whole fleet--at times turned to exasperation as he watched the lines of transports through his telescope. The dropping out of a ship from the long column through a temporary engine defect, the losing of position, the constant disregard by the New Zealand transport of instructions (they pulled out of the line deliberately to engage in target practice), and other matters, caused caustic, and characteristically naval, signals to go flying up and down the divisions. Once, when boxes and the like were being thrown overboard, providing ample evidence to the enemy, if found, of the track of the Convoy, the signal was made: "This is not a paperchase." At night too, when some ship incautiously showed lights through an open porthole, or a saloon door was left open on deck, after certain warnings, would buzz the message: "You are showing too much light; turn off your dynamos." When it came to the merchant skippers steering by stern lights hung over each vessel just above the propeller, throwing a phosphorescent light on the whitened waters, it was a task at the same time their terror and their despair, especially when orders came to draw closer together, during the nights' steaming in the vicinity of Cocos Islands. The transports were forbidden to use their wireless, and a buzzer was provided, with a "speaking" radius of about 15 miles, for intercommunication throughout the fleet. Relative to the tension at this period, I will make an extract from my notes written on the _Orvieto_:-- "So we sailed on, drawing nearer and nearer into the middle of the Indian Ocean. Looking at the chart each day, I feel that while we are a large fleet, the largest that has ever crossed this ocean, after all the seas are very broad. There is comfort as well as uneasiness in the thought. It will be as difficult for a foreign ship to find us as for us to run into a foreign ship by some chance. However, the lads are taught to grow accustomed to meet any emergency and to muster on deck with lights out.... It was on the night before we reached Cocos Islands--to be exact, 7th November--shortly after our evening meal, while the troops were lying about the decks loath to turn in on such a hot night, that the lights suddenly went out altogether. I remember wandering out of the saloon, having last seen the glowing end of General Bridges' cigar, and stumbled on companies of troops falling into their lines. I got to my station amidships, and remained there for what seemed hours, but which in reality was fifteen minutes, while I could only hear whispering voices round me, and just make out dim, silhouetted figures and forms. There were muffled commands. It was eerie, this mustering in the dark. I had been in alarms at night in a darkened camp, when I had risen from warm blankets and the hard ground and stumbled over guide-ropes to one's company down the lines, but to feel one's way round a crowded deck was a very different proposition. Over the whole fleet had been cast this shadow, for, in turn, each of the ships disappeared from sight. I hardly like to contemplate what would have happened to the soldier who ventured, thoughtlessly, to light a cigarette at this moment. The Australian is a good talker, and it seems impossible to absolutely stifle conversation. The ship was strangely quiet. However, the alarm was exceedingly well carried out.... Yet little did we dream that this testing was shortly to be put into stern actuality. On the following Saturday night, while we were steaming with very dimmed lights, cabin shutters closed, making the interior of the ship intensely stuffy, all lights went out. Yet that night, with a single light thrown on the piano, we held a concert. But the very next night the evening meal was taken before dusk, and at 7.30 all lights were again extinguished. In not one of the ships was a dynamo generating. The fleet had become almost invisible, like phantom ships on a still sea. One undressed in the dark, and felt one's way from point to point, bumping into people as one went. A few candles stuck in heaps of sand flickered in the smoke-room. It did not take long to get round that the reason for this drastic step was because it was thought that, if any danger threatened--which none of us thought it did, with the escort of warships around us--then to-night was the night...." How we passed the _Emden_ on this very evening, quite ignorant of our danger and of that daring cruiser's destruction, needs to be related in a separate chapter. CHAPTER IV THE FIRST PAGE OF AUSTRALIAN NAVAL HISTORY I. FROM THE DECKS OF THE CONVOY Taking events in their chronological order, I halt here in the narrative of the advance of the Australian Contingent into Egypt to deal with the incidents relating to the chase and destruction of the notorious raiding cruiser _Emden_ by the Australian cruiser _Sydney_, which, together with her sister ship, the _Melbourne_, at the time of the action was part of the Convoy. It was singularly significant that this first page of Australia's naval history--a glorious, magnificently written page--should have occurred in the very presence, as it were, of an Australian army. Well did it merit the enthusiasm and relief that followed the exploit not only throughout India, but through the Straits Settlements and amongst all the Allied merchant service that sailed the seas. About this time the _Minotaur_, till then the Flagship of the escort, had departed and was over 300 miles away on the route, I believe, to the Cape of Good Hope to replace the _Good Hope_, sunk by the German Pacific Squadron off Valparaiso a few days before. She left at 5.30 on the evening of the 8th November with the parting message: "Off on another service. Hope Australians and New Zealanders have good luck in Germany and give the Germans a good shaking." This had reduced our escort to the two Australian cruisers and the _Ibuki_. It was, however, very evident that there was nothing now to fear from the German ships after their short-lived victory off the South American coast, so only the _Emden_ remained at large (the _Königsberg_ meanwhile having been successfully bottled up on the South African coast). At the risk of tiring the reader's patience I will tell first of the relative position of the Convoy, believing that the knowledge that this great fleet, carrying 30,000 Australasians, had so narrow an escape will strengthen the dramatic interest of the naval battle when it shall be told. I intend to quote from a letter written at this time, but which the Censor in Australia, for some reason I have been unable to discover, refused to allow to be published, although approved by the naval officers directly connected with the fight and the escort. In consequence of which action, I may mention, much nonsense appeared in the Press from time to time relating to the closeness of the _Emden_ to the fleet. Little did the people in Australia, when the news of the victory was announced, know of the danger which their transports had run. The bald announcement made some days later by the Minister of Defence (when the news leaked out) that the Convoy had been within 100 miles of the sea fight, was the only information vouchsafed. Sea romances have been written by the score, but I doubt if there is any more thrilling than the tale from mid-Indian Ocean of a fight to the finish which took place quite unexpectedly in a calm tropical sea on a bright morning in November. It seemed, indeed, nothing short of a fairy-tale (Captain Silver's own words were: "It seems like a fairy-tale just to think that when we are trying our utmost to avoid the _Emden_ we should run across her tracks") that the ship for which the fleet--and no mean fleet--was seeking high and low, which had eluded capture so long, should be caught red-handed in the very presence of a Convoy of forty ships that were creeping across the ocean, anxious above all else to avoid such an awkward meeting. In the light of what actually occurred, events previous to the fight (which I described in the last chapter) had a curious significance. I suppose that none of us at the time fully appreciated the reasons which actuated the very drastic precautions against detection which were taken three days before we reached Cocos Islands. We had boat drills and day and night alarms. "On the evening of the 8th," I find I wrote, "we were called to our evening meal earlier than usual, and by dusk the fleet was plunged in darkness for the whole night. Of all conjectures for this action, the one which gained most support was that before dawn we would reach the danger-point of our voyage--the Cocos Islands--the only possible rendezvous for a hostile ship in mid-Indian Ocean. We knew that our course would carry us 50 miles to the eastward of the islands and was far away from the ordinary trade route, but still danger might lurk at this spot. Even mast-head lights were extinguished, and not a gleam could be seen from any ship. So they travelled through the night, while barely three hours ahead of them the _Emden_ was crossing their path, silently, very secretly, bent on a very different mission from what she might have undertaken had she known of the proximity of the fleet. One, however, can only conjecture what might have happened had the lights not been doused." On Monday morning, 9th November, the troops were already astir when they saw, at seven o'clock, the _Sydney_ preparing for action. Half an hour previously they had watched the _Melbourne_, then in charge of the Convoy and at the head of the line, dart away towards the south-west. Captain Silver had not gone far on this course when he remembered he was in charge, and there remained for him but to stay at his post and send forward the sister ship, the _Sydney_, into action. It was a sad blow for him and for the keen crew on board, who saw thus the opportunity for which they had been longing snatched from under their eyes. Nevertheless, he honourably stuck to his post, and I saw him gradually edge his cruiser towards the Convoy until it almost came alongside the _Orvieto_, the Flagship. Meanwhile the searchlight on her forward control was blinking speedily, in the pale, chill morning air, messages in code that sent the _Sydney_ dashing away to the south from the position she had held on the port beam of the Convoy. In less than ten minutes she disappeared behind a cloud of smoke. When the troops saw, as I could with good glasses, a warship travelling at 26 knots an hour with a White Ensign run up to her fore-peak, an Australian ensign at her truck, and the Union Jack floating from her after-mast, with the decks being cleared for action, they realized that some trouble was brewing, though the Convoy as a whole knew nothing very definitely for hours. On the Flagship we knew that a strange warship had been seen at the entrance to the harbour of Keeling Island, then 40 miles away. As the officers came on deck at 7.30, the _Melbourne_ was still signalling and the _Ibuki_ was preparing for action. The wireless calls for help had ceased abruptly, and we could see nothing but the two threatening warships. For all on board it was a period of supreme suspense and suppressed excitement. Captain Gordon Smith, Mr. Parker (Naval Secretary), and General Bridges were on the bridge waiting for the messages coming through from the _Sydney_ as she raced south. Scraps of news were reaching me as they were taken by the operators in the Marconi-room amidships. "It was Cocos Island that had called, about 50 miles away--it might not be the _Emden_, but some other ship--probably there was more than one, perhaps five!" Who was the enemy? Would the _Sydney_ reach her in time? Would the other ships go? Those were the thoughts drumming in our ears. The _Melbourne_, quite near us again, was semaphoring rapidly, and then she darted away between the lines of ships to a position 10 miles on our port-beam, lying almost at right angles to the course we were taking. Obviously she was waiting to catch any messages and act as a shield against the approaching enemy should she escape the _Sydney_ and try and push in on the Convoy. [Illustration: H.M.A.S. "SYDNEY" IN COLOMBO HARBOUR AFTER THE COCOS ISLAND ENGAGEMENT. To face p. 42.] Meanwhile the Japanese cruiser _Ibuki_ presented a magnificent sight. Long shall I remember how her fighting flags were run up to the mast-heads, as they had been on the _Sydney_, where they hung limp until the breeze sprung up and they floated out great patches of colour. The danger was imminent enough for her to move, slowly at first, and then rapidly gaining speed as she swept across our bows towards the west. So close did she pass that I could see plainly enough the white figures swarming over her decks. They worked in squads of twenty or thirty and very rapidly, standing on the gun-turrets and on the fire-control stations fastening the sandbags and hammocks round the vulnerable points to stop the flying splinters of the shells. The sun caught the dull colour of the guns and they shone. Masses of thick smoke coiled from her funnels, growing denser every minute. Each thrust of the propeller she was gaining speed. As the cruiser passed, there flew to the truck of her after-mast the national ensign, with another at her peak, half-way down the mast. Lit by the sun's rays, these flags looked blood-red streaks on a background of white. In battle array the cruiser won the admiration of all. Barely ten minutes after being signalled was she ready. The breeze was so light that the smoke rose in a column 40, 60 feet in the air; but as she gathered way the wind caught it, and drew it back behind, just as it caught and stretched the limp flags. And all the while were the great 12-in. guns being turned this way and that, as if anxious to nose out the enemy. We watched them swing in their heavy turrets. Both _Melbourne_ and _Ibuki_ during the hours of the battle were constantly changing their course, the latter turning and twisting, now presenting her broadside, now her bows only, to the direction in which the _Sydney_ had disappeared. Both were edging farther away, but always lay between the enemy and the Convoy. Warning had come from the _Sydney_ that the enemy was escaping northward, and a thrill ran through the watchers on board as it was spread around. It seemed as if any moment the Japanese guns might boom with their long range of fire. At five minutes to ten we heard from the Australian cruiser, "I am engaging the enemy," and again that "The enemy is escaping north." In suspense for another hour we waited, until the message arrived at 11.20, "Enemy ran ashore to save sinking." Though sent to the _Melbourne_, these signals were received on the _Orvieto_, being the Flagship of the Convoy, and knowing the code, as we had the chief naval transport officer on board, they were quickly interpreted. At 11.28 we heard, "Enemy beached herself to save sinking; am pursuing merchant collier." Meanwhile the _Minotaur_ had been asking for information, and accordingly the _Sydney_ sent the message, "_Emden_ beached and done for" at 11.44 to that cruiser, which, I believe, had turned back ready to give assistance if needed. A cheer rose from the troop decks and spread through the fleet as the message, definitely stating it was the _Emden_ that was destroyed, was semaphored from ship to ship down the lines. By noon flashed the message across the calm, vivid blue waters that our casualties had only been two (later three) killed and thirteen wounded. I well recall what relief that news brought, no one daring to hint how much the _Sydney_ had suffered. I thought, as I watched the troops talking excitedly on deck, of Wordsworth's line:-- Smiles broke from us and we had ease. That tense two hours had bathed us all in perspiration. The troops had broken from their drill to look longingly in the direction of the battle which was raging 50 miles away. Not even the distant rumble of a gun reached us on the transports. A little calculation showed that the _Sydney_ must have steamed nearly 70 miles in the three and a half hours before she dispatched her quarry. The victory seemed to draw us all closer together. A kind of general thaw set in. That night at mess, besides the toast of "The King," General Bridges proposed "The Navy, coupled with the name of the _Sydney_." Need it be related how it was honoured by soldiers? Now that it was known that the other enemy ship was but a collier, there was no need for the other cruisers to remain in fighting trim. But before I saw the fighting flags stowed away on the Japanese cruiser there was yet another instance of the fine spirit which animated our Ally. From the captain of the _Melbourne_ she sought permission a second time to enter the fight and join the _Sydney_, with the request, "I wish go." Indeed, at one time she started like a bloodhound straining at the leash towards the south, believing that her services were needed, when Captain Silver reluctantly signalled, "Sorry, permission cannot be given; we have to rest content in the knowledge that by remaining we are doing our duty." So in accordance with that duty she doubled slowly, and it seemed reluctantly, back, and went, unbinding her hammocks and sandbags, to her former post. Now, early in the morning there had come the same message sent from Cocos Island from the _Osaki_, a sister ship of the _Ibuki_, which ship, too, had picked up the call for help. This led us to the knowledge that a Japanese squadron was cruising off the coast of Java, a few hundred miles on our right, as part of that net which was gradually being drawn round the _Emden_. It will be realized that amongst the crews of the two warships excluded from a share in the fight there should be a certain disappointment. Captain Silver's action showed that high sense of, and devotion to, duty of which the Navy is justly proud. And feeling for brother officers, Captain Gordon Smith, as officer in charge of the Convoy, sent across to the two cruisers the typically facetious naval message:-- "Sorry there was not enough meat to go round." CHAPTER V THE FIRST PAGE OF AUSTRALIAN NAVAL HISTORY (_continued_) II. THE DESTRUCTION OF THE "EMDEN" It may indeed be considered a happy omen that the first chapter of Australia's naval history should be written in such glowing colours as those that surrounded the destruction of the German raider _Emden_, for whose capture no price was deemed too high to pay. Hearing the recital of that chapter by Captain Glossop in the cabin of the _Sydney_ two days after the engagement, I consider myself amongst the most fortunate. In the late afternoon I had come on board the _Sydney_, then lying in the harbour of Colombo cleaning up (having just twenty-four hours before handed over the last of her prisoners), from one of the native caïques, and except for the paint that had peeled from her guns and the wrecked after fire-control, I saw, at first glance, very little to suggest an action of the terrific nature she had fought. But as I walked round the lacerated decks I began to realize more and more the game fight the _Emden_ had put up and the accuracy of her shooting (she is alleged to have been the best gunnery ship in the German Fleet). On the bow side amidships was the yellow stain caused by the explosion of some lyddite, while just near it was a dent in the armour-plated side where a shell had struck without bursting. The after control was a twisted wreck of darkened iron and steel and burnt canvas. There were holes in the funnels and the engine-room, and a clean-cut hole in an officer's cabin where a shell had passed through the legs of a desk and out the cruiser's side without bursting. The hollows scooped out of the decks were filled with cement as a rough makeshift, while the gun near by (a shell had burst on it) was chipped and splattered with bullets and pieces of shell. Up in the bow was a great cavern in the deck, where a shell had struck the cruiser squarely, and had ripped up the decks like matchwood and dived below, where it burst amidst the canvas hammocks and mess tables, splintering the wood and riddling a notice board with shot. A fire had been quickly extinguished. Mounting then to the top of the forward fire-control, I saw where the range-finder had stood (it had been blown away), and where the petty officer had been sitting when the shell carried him and the instrument away--a shot, by the way, which nearly deprived the _Sydney_ of her captain, her range-finding officer, and three others. Returning to the after deck we found Captain Glossop himself. He was walking the decks enjoying the balmy evening, and he went with Captain Bean, the Australian Official War Correspondent, and myself below to his stateroom, where he told us in a beautifully clear and simple manner the story of the action. I saw, too, the chart of the battle reproduced here. After what we then heard, what we had already seen and learned from the officers at mess later that evening (they sent us off to the _Orvieto_ in the picket boat), we hastened back to set down the story of the fight. Perusal of reports, plans, and data obtained from one source and another leads me now to alter very little the first impressions I recorded of that famous encounter, which, I may add, was taken in a spirit of modesty mingled with a genuine and hearty appreciation of the foe by all the officers and crew of the _Sydney_. It is quite beyond the region of doubt to suppose that the _Emden_ knew anything of the approach of the Convoy, or of the presence of Australian cruisers in Indian waters. What she did believe was that the warship she saw approaching her so rapidly was either the _Newcastle_ or _Yarmouth_, and right up to the concluding phases of the action she believed this. On the other hand, the _Emden_ herself had been mistaken for the _Newcastle_ by the operators at the wireless station on Cocos Islands when she had put in an appearance on the evening before the action, 8th November, just at dusk. The coming of the cruiser to the island at sunset had not excited the suspicions of the people on shore, for her colour was not distinguishable, and she had apparently four funnels similar to the _Newcastle_. Having reconnoitred the harbour and seen all was safe, the _Emden_ had lain off all night, and next morning before dawn had steamed into the harbour and dropped anchor close inshore. Still the people at the station were unsuspicious until by some mischance (I have heard also, by orders) the astonished islanders saw one of the funnels wobble and shake, and then fall to the deck in a heap. It was the painted dummy canvas funnel. Meanwhile the _Emden_ had sent off a landing party, and there was just time for the operators to rush to their posts and send through the message by wireless which the Convoy had received, and which the _Melbourne_ and _Sydney_ had heard: "Strange cruiser at entrance to harbour" and the S.O.S. call. At the same time the cable operator was busy sending over the cable message after message, which was being registered in London, of the approach of the landing party, ending with the dramatic: "They are entering the door"--and silence. This revelation of the identity of the vessel at once explained to the operators where the German wireless signals, that had been choking the air overnight, had been emanating from. The endeavour of the cruiser to drown the calls for assistance by her high-pitched Telefunken waves was frustrated, and, as I have said, the arrival of the landing party put a stop to further messages. Still, the call had gone forth and was picked up at 6.30 a.m. by the Convoy, with the result that the _Sydney_ went into action steaming considerably over 20 knots an hour, and at each revolution of the propeller gaining speed until she was tearing through the water, cutting it with her sharp prow like a knife. It was not long before the lookout on the cruiser saw lights ahead from the island and the tops of palm-trees, and almost at the same moment the top of the masts of the "strange warship." Quickly the funnels rose over the horizon, and by the time the whole ship came into view there was very little doubt that it was the _Emden_. Yet the enemy showed no signs of attempting to escape and make a long chase of it (which she might have done, being a ship with a speed of 25 knots) and a dash for liberty, although the _Sydney's_ smoke she must have seen come up over the rim of the seas, probably long before she saw the ship itself. Even with the knowledge that her guns were of smaller calibre than her antagonist, she dashed straight at the _Sydney_ and tried to close. The _Emden_ opened fire at 9.40 at the extreme range of her guns, slightly under 10,000 yards. She let loose a whole broadside, but while this was in the air our guns had been trained on her and had fired too--the port-side batteries coming into action. With a shriek the German shells went over the heads of the men and the masts of the _Sydney_, while it was seen that the _Sydney's_ shots had also carried over the chase by about 400 yards. The next broadsides from both ships fell short, and the water was sent into the air like columns of crystal before the eyes of the gunners. Within the next few salvos both ships found the range, halving the first ranges, and hit the target. The air was filled with the sickening swish of the shells and the loud, dull explosions. As the German opened fire an exclamation of surprise broke from the lips of the officer in charge of the _Sydney's_ range-finder. That a cruiser with such light guns was able to open and engage a cruiser carrying 6-in. guns at such extreme range was disquieting. With the next shell his cap was almost raised from his head as it whistled past between him and his assistant and carried away the range-finder that was immediately behind him in the centre of the control. The man seated there was instantly killed, while the captain and another officer, a few feet away, were flung back against the sides of the control station. Lucky it was that this shell, the blast of which had scorched the men, passed through the starboard side of the lofty station and, without exploding, over the side of the ship. It was shells from this salvo, or ones following hard on it--for the Germans were firing at a furious rate, and three of their shells would be in the air at one time--that made the most telling hits on the _Sydney_. A shell had searched the after control and gouged a cavity the size of a man's body along the wall nearest the after funnel, and passed on without exploding there, but it struck the deck, scooping out a huge mass of iron before it ricochetted into the water. The five men had been thrown to the floor of the control, wounded in the legs, and while still stunned by the impact another shell tore its way through, completely wrecking the control and bursting inside as it struck the opposite wall. As the enemy's guns were firing at extreme range the angle of descent was steep, and therefore the impact not so great, for the _Sydney_, with a superior range of fire, kept edging off from the _Emden_, still trying to close. Again the enemy scored, and the next minute a shell blew two holes in the steam-pipe beside the funnel and exploded behind the second starboard gun, killing two of the gun crew and wounding others, while it ignited a quantity of guncotton and charges lying on deck. That, due to the remarkable coolness of a gunner, was at once thrown overboard and the fire extinguished. Great gashes were made in the deck where the bits of the shell (it was high explosive) had struck, and the gear of the gun itself was chipped all over, while one of the breech pins was blown away. At the time the gun was not in action, and when the _Sydney_ doubled, as she soon did, conforming with the move by the _Emden_, the gun was ready again for firing, worked by the port-side crew. Meanwhile shells had hulled the cruiser, and there had been a shudder through the vessel as a shell burst through the deck just below the forward control and wrecked the mess deck. But so intent on the enemy were the gunners that none I have talked to, seemed to have noticed the shells very much. [Illustration: _PLAN OF THE SYDNEY-EMDEN FIGHT at Cocos Islands 9^{th} November 1914 as prepared by Gunnery Observing Officer HMAS Sydney._] But what of the _Emden_? The greater power of our guns and the appalling accuracy of our fire had, in that first half-hour--when the air was thick with shot and shell and the stench of lyddite fumes filled the nostrils, when faces were blackened by the smoke from the guns and funnels--wrought fearful havoc in the enemy's ship. The _Sydney_ was not firing so rapidly as her opponent, but her fire was surer, and the shells went swifter, because more directly, to their mark. It was, I believe, the third or fourth salvo when the fore funnel of the _Emden_ went with a terrific crash over the side, dragging with it stays and rigging. Each of our salvos meant five guns aimed, and each of these appeared to be finding the mark. The water round the cruiser was alive with shell that sent the spray over her decks. In another few minutes a whole broadside hit the stern by the after port-holes. The shells--there must have been fully three of them--exploded in the interior of the ship, blowing and bulging up the deck, and twisting the iron plates as if they had been so much cardboard instead of toughened steel. Fires broke out from all points astern, and it has been learned since that this salvo wrecked the steering gear and communication system. After this the _Emden's_ speed appreciably diminished and she was compelled to steer by her propellers. In this manner were the whole of the after guns put out of action, and, indeed, one of the gun's crew was blown into the water by the shock of the impact and the blast of the arriving shells. The ship trembled in her course, and shuddered over her whole length. In between decks the fires were gaining, licking up the woodwork and the clothing of the crew. Smoke enveloped at this time the whole of the stern. It gushed from the hatches and the rents in the side, smothering the wounded that lay about the decks. The iron plates became white hot, and the crew were forced further and further forward as other fires broke out. Then, too, the after funnel came crashing down, cut off near the deck, and the inner funnel fell out and dragged in the water. Already the after control had gone by the board, and another salvo shot the foremast completely away, wrecking the whole of the forward control and bringing the rigging, iron plates, sandbags, and hammocks tumbling down to the decks on the crew below, mangling them in an indistinguishable, horrible heap. By this time the _Emden's_ fire had slackened considerably, as the guns were blown out of action. In the first quarter of an hour the Germans had been firing broadside after broadside as rapidly as the shells could be crammed into the breeches of the guns. The ship had doubled like a hare, bringing alternate broadsides into action, but the _Sydney_, unscathed as to her speed, and her engines working magnificently (thanks to the work of the chief engineer), at one time topped 27 knots, and was easily able to keep off at over 6,000 yards and, taking the greater or outside circle, steam round her victim. On the second time of doubling, when the fire from the _Emden_ had died down to an intermittent gun fire, the _Sydney_ ran in to close range (4,000 yards) and fired a torpedo. The direction was good, but it never reached its mark. It was seen that the enemy was beaten and must soon sink. A fresh burst of fire had greeted the Australian cruiser, which continued to pour salvo after salvo into her foe, sweeping the decks and riddling her sides until she crawled with a list. Early in the action a lucky shot had flooded the _Emden's_ torpedo chamber, and in this regard she was powerless. Fires now burst from her decks at all points, and smoke indeed covered her from stem to stern. For one period she was obscured from view by a very light yellow smoke that seemed to the _Sydney's_ gunners as if the ship had disappeared, as she had stopped firing. The gunners ceased fire. "She's gone, sir--she's gone!" shouted the men, their pent-up feelings for the first time bursting forth. "Man the lifeboats!" Cheers filled the air, but the next minute the _Emden_ emerged from the cloud, fired, and the men returned to serve their guns. It was then that the third and last remaining funnel went by the board. It was the centre one of the three, and it came toppling down, and lay across the third and after funnel, which had fallen over to port. The fires had driven the crew into the bows, which were practically undamaged, but the ship was in flames. The decks were unbearably hot. The German shells were falling very short, the guns no longer accurate. The _Sydney_ had ceased to fire salvos, and for the last half-hour individual gun fire had been ordered. The end came when the _Emden_, already headed for the shores of the north Keeling Island, struck on the reef and remained with her bows firmly embedded in the coral. It was just 11.20, and while the _Emden's_ flag was still flying Captain Glossop decided to give the foe two more salvos, and these found a target below the waterline. Still the German ensign flew at the after mast-head. In the meantime the enemy's collier, ignorant of the fray, had come up (it was arranged that the _Emden_ should coal at Cocos at 1 o'clock), and soon showed herself bent in some way or other on assisting the cruiser. The _Sydney_ kept guns trained on her, and now, when there was breathing space after an action lasting an hour and forty minutes, she gave chase, and at ten minutes past twelve caught up with the collier and fired a shell across her bows. At the mast-head was flown the international code signal to stop. This the Germans proceeded to do, first having taken measures to scuttle the ship by removing the sea-cock, and to make doubly sure they destroyed it. An armed crew put off from the _Sydney_ to the collier, which was now found to be the captured British merchantman s.s. _Buresk_. They finding it now impossible to save the ship, her crew were brought off, offering no resistance. There were eighteen Chinamen aboard, an English steward, a Norwegian cook, and a prize crew from the _Emden_ consisting of three officers, one warrant officer, and twelve men. When these had been taken in tow by the _Sydney's_ boats, the cruiser fired four shells into the collier, and she quickly subsided beneath the waves. Turning south again, the _Sydney_ proceeded back to the _Emden_ and picked up some survivors of the battle who were struggling in the water. They were men from the after guns who had been blown into the water when the salvo had struck the _Emden_, doing such fearful execution to her stern. These men had been in the water from ten o'clock, and were almost exhausted. As the waters hereabouts are shark infested, their rescue seemed all the more remarkable. Arriving now back before her quarry at 4.30, the _Sydney_ found the _Emden_ had still her colours flying. For some time she steamed back and forth, signalling in the international code for surrender, but without obtaining any answer. As the German flag still fluttered at the mast, there was nothing to do but to fire further broadsides, and these, with deadly accuracy, again found the target. It was only when the German captain hauled down his ensign with the Iron Cross in the middle and the German Jack in the corner and hoisted a white flag that the firing ceased. As it was after five o'clock, the _Sydney_ immediately steamed back to pick up the boats of the _Buresk_ before it grew dusk, and returning again, rescued two more German sailors on the way. A boat was sent off, manned by the German prize crew from the collier with an officer. Captain Müller was on board, and he was informed that the _Sydney_ would return next morning to render what assistance was possible. To attempt rescue work that night was impossible for one reason above all others--that the _Königsberg_ might still have been at large and coming to the scene. The German cruiser was an absolute wreck on the southern shores of the island, and the surf beat so furiously that it would have been dangerous for boats to have approached in the dusk. The island itself was quite deserted. Leaving these unfortunate men of war, let me turn to a section of the chapter which is really a story within a story. For, as the _Sydney_ approached the cable station on Direction Island, the largest of the Cocos Group, she learned for the first time that much had been happening on shore. The Germans had at daybreak that eventful morning landed a crew, consisting of three officers (Lieutenants Schmidt, Kieslinger, and Capt.-Lieutenant Von Möcke) and fifty men, including ten stokers, with four maxims, in charge of the first officer of the _Emden_, for the purpose of taking possession of the cable station and wireless plant. The majority of the men were the best gunners from the cruiser. Not having met with any resistance, as the population of the island is in all not more than thirty-eight whites (it belongs to the Marconi Company), the Germans proceeded leisurely with their work until they found the _Emden_ signalling furiously to them. They had no time to get away to their ship in the heavy boat before she up-anchored and steamed out to meet the smoke that was soon to resolve itself into the _Sydney_. With the other people on the station the Germans then proceeded to the roof of the largest of the cable buildings, where they watched the fight from beginning to end. With absolute confidence they seemed to have anticipated a victory for the _Emden_, and it was not till the broadsides from the _Sydney_ carried away the funnel that the inhabitants were hurried below and placed under a guard. With what feelings the gunners must have seen their cruiser literally blown to pieces under their eyes can but be imagined. They hardly waited until the _Sydney_ went off after the collier before they seized a schooner lying in the harbour. She proved to be the _Ayesia_, of 70 tons burden only. She had no auxiliary engine, so that if the raiders were to escape, which they had now determined to attempt, their time was very limited. The party, on landing, at first had proceeded to put out of action the cable and wireless instruments, which they smashed, while they managed to cut one of the cables. Fortunately, a spare set of instruments had been buried after the experience of a station in the Pacific, raided some weeks before by the German Pacific Squadron. Beds were next requisitioned, and supplies taken for a three months' cruise. Water was taken on board, and the schooner was loaded, so that just before dusk she slipped out and round the southern end of the island at what time the _Sydney_ was again approaching from the north after her last shots at the _Emden_. In fact, had not the _Sydney_ stopped to pick up another German sailor struggling in the water, she in all probability would have sighted the escaping schooner, which was later to land this party of Germans on the coast of Arabia. Having learned of the situation, the _Sydney_ was unable to land any men on the island, as it was imperative that she should lie off and be ready for any emergency, such as I have already hinted. This prohibited her going to the aid of the Germans on the vanquished _Emden_. All night she cruised slowly and her crew cleared away the wreckage, while the doctor tended to the wounded and made what arrangements were possible for the reception of the prisoners and wounded next day. The space on a cruiser is always cut to a minimum, so not much could be done. Fortunately, her own casualties had been slight for such an action. There were three killed, five seriously wounded (one of whom subsequently died), four wounded, and four slightly wounded. Early next morning the _Sydney_ once again steamed back to the _Emden_. The task before her was as difficult as it was awful. The ship was a shambles and the decks too appalling to bear description. The Germans lent what assistance they could, but the whole ship was in the most shocking condition. The men who remained alive on board were either half-mad with thirst or so stunned and stupefied with the detonation of the guns that they did not comprehend anything at all, or were unable to appreciate their position. They had all been without water for almost two days, as the _Sydney's_ salvos had wrecked the water-tanks. The fires had to burn themselves out, and though the decks were now cooled, the charred bodies that lay around showed only too plainly what an inferno the vessel must have been when she ran ashore. "At 11.10 a.m.," writes an officer, "we arrived off the _Emden_ again in one of the cutters. Luckily, her stern was sticking out beyond where the surf broke, so that with a rope from the stern of the ship one could ride close under one quarter with the boat's bow to seaward. The rollers were very big and surging to and fro, and made getting aboard fairly difficult. However, the Germans standing aft gave me a hand up, and I was received by the captain of the _Emden_." Nevertheless, it was a work of the utmost difficulty getting the wounded (there were fifteen bad cases), and even those who were only slightly injured, into the boats. Water was what the men wanted most, and a cask was hauled on board and eagerly drunk. The boarding party found the stern of the cruiser a twisted mass of steel, and her decks up to the bows were rent and torn in all directions, while plates had buckled, bolts had sprung, and the vessel was falling to pieces in some parts. Nearly every gun had been put out of action, and whole gun's crews had been incinerated inside the armoured shield. Our lyddite had done appalling, even revolting, execution. The aim of the gunners was deadly in the extreme. As one prisoner quite frankly admitted to an officer, "Your artillery was magnificent." The last man was rescued from the ship at 5 p.m. The captain and a nephew of the Kaiser, Prince Joseph of Hohenzollern, who was torpedo officer and just twenty years of age, were amongst those who had not sustained any injuries. During the absence of the _Sydney_ a party of twenty Germans had managed in some way to get ashore to the island. Either they had scrambled from the bows of the wrecked cruiser on to the reef and taken their chance in the surf or they had been washed ashore. It was, at any rate, too late that evening to rescue these men, and it was not till the next morning that a cutter and some stretchers were put off and ran up on the westward side of the island on a sandy beach, just at 5 a.m. The Germans on shore were in a terrible state. They had been too dazed to attempt even to get the coco-nuts for food and drink. The ship's doctor, through the strain, had insisted on drinking sea-water, and had gone mad and had died the previous night. In the meantime the _Sydney_ had returned overnight to Direction Island and brought another doctor to tend the wounded. She was back again off Keeling Island by ten o'clock, and the remaining wounded and prisoners embarked at 10.35 and the _Sydney_ started to steam for Colombo. [Illustration: PRISONERS FROM THE "EMDEN" ON THE FLAGSHIP GUARDED BY SENTRY AS THEY TAKE EXERCISE ON DECK. The group, from the left, is the German Doctor Captain Finklestein, Captain Debussy (in charge of prisoners), the Prince of Hohenzollern, Captain Gordon Smith, who is talking to Captain Müller, hidden behind sentry.] [Illustration: THE DIRK OF PRINCE FRANCIS JOSEPH OF HOHENZOLLERN. It was beautifully embossed but greatly damaged by the fire on the "Emden." To face p. 56.] On the _Sydney's_ decks the men were laid out side by side and their wounds attended to as far as possible. The worst cases were given accommodation below, the doctor of the _Sydney_ with the German surgeon working day and night to relieve the men of their pain. The heat from the ship and from the tropical sun made the conditions dreadful. The prisoners had in most cases nothing but the clothes they stood up in. One man, who had received a gash in his chest, had tied a kimono in a knot and plugged the wound with it by tying round a piece of cord. Otherwise he was naked. The death-roll on the cruiser had been appalling. There were 12 officers killed and 119 men. The wounded taken on board numbered 56, while there were 115 prisoners, including 11 officers. Many of the wounded subsequently died of their wounds. The prisoners were placed in the bows, with a small guard over them. The cruiser, at no time meant to carry extra men, was horribly congested. The less seriously wounded were removed to the _Empress of Russia_, which had passed the Convoy, hastily summoned from Colombo, about 60 hours' steam from that port, and this gave some relief. It was only after close inspection that I realized the full extent of the _Sydney's_ scars, which her crew point to now with such pride. A casual glance would hardly have detected a hole, about as big as a saucer, on the port side. This was the result of one of the high trajectory shots that had made a curious passage for itself, as I described earlier. This tracing of the course of the shells was most interesting. I saw where the paint had been scorched off the fire-control station, and where the hammocks that were used to protect the men from flying splinters had been burned brown, or black, or dyed crimson with blood. I saw, too, the shape of a man's leg on a canvas screen where it had fallen. Looking in at the door of one of the petty officers' mess-rooms below, I was told I was just in the same position as one of the crew who had been standing there when a shell struck the side of the ship opposite him and tried to pierce the armoured plate, though he himself had not waited long enough to see the great blister it raised, almost as large as a football, before it fell back spent into the sea. The men were below, writing home, when I went through to the bows to see the damage done by the shells that had torn up the decks. They laughed as they pointed to places now filled up with cement, and laughed at the notice board and draught-flue, riddled with holes. So far as the interior of the ship was concerned, there was nothing else to suggest the stress she had been through. The only knowledge the engineers had of the action was a distant rumbling of the guns and a small fragment of shell that tumbled down a companion-way into the engine-room. And I wonder if too great praise can be bestowed on the engineers for their work in this crisis. From 9.20 a.m., which was when the cruiser sighted the _Emden_, until noon, when she left the _Emden_ a wreck, the _Sydney_ steamed 68 miles at speeds varying between 13 and 27 knots. As I grew accustomed to look for the chips off the portions of the ship, I marked places where shells must have just grazed the decks and fittings. All the holes had been filled with cement till the cruiser could get to Malta to refit. Stays had been repaired and the damaged steam-pipe was working again. The only break had been a temporary stoppage of the refrigerating machinery, owing to a shell cutting the pipe. So I went round while the officers accounted for fourteen bad hits. I wondered how many times the _Emden_ had been holed and belted. Our gunners had fired about 650 rounds of ordinary shell, the starboard guns firing more than the port guns. The German cruiser had expended 1,500 rounds, and had practically exhausted all the ammunition she carried. I am unwilling to leave the story of the battle without reference to the action of a petty officer who was in the after fire-control when it was wrecked, at the beginning of the fight. It will be recalled that there were two shells that got home on this control, and the five men stationed there were injured, in some extraordinary way, not seriously. The wounds were nearly all about the legs, and the men were unable to walk. Yet they knew their only chance for their lives was to leave this place as soon as possible. Shells were streaming past, the ship was trembling under the discharge of the guns. Less badly damaged than his mates, a petty officer managed to stand, and though in intense pain, half-fell, half-lowered himself from the control station to the deck, about 5 feet below. The remainder of the group had simply to throw themselves to the deck, breaking their fall by clinging to the twisted stays as best they might. All five of them pulled themselves across the deck, wriggling on their stomachs until they reached the companion-way. They were all making up their minds to fall down this as well, as being the only means of getting below, when the gallant petty officer struggled to his feet and carried his mates down the companion-way one by one. As a feat alone this was no mean task, but executed under the conditions it was, it became a magnificent action of devotion and sacrifice. Before concluding this account, let me say that Major-General Bridges was anxious that the _Sydney_ should be suitably welcomed as she steamed past the Convoy on her way to Colombo, and sent a request to Captain Glossop asking that she might steam near the fleet. The answer was: "Thank you for your invitation. In view of wounded would request no cheering. Will steam between 1st and 2nd Divisions." The same request to have no cheering was signalled to Colombo, and it touched the captain of the _Emden_ deeply, as he afterwards told us. But the Convoy were denied the inspiring sight, for it was just 4.30 in the morning and barely dawn when the _Sydney_ and the _Empress of Russia_, huge and overpowering by comparison with the slim, dark-lined warship, whose funnels looked like spars sticking from the water, sped past in the distance. Once in port, however, when any boats from the fleet approached the _Sydney_, hearty, ringing cheers came unchecked to the lips of all Australasians. CHAPTER VI UP THE RED SEA At Colombo the Australian troops found the sight of quaint junks, and mosquito craft, and naked natives, ready to dive to the bottom for a _sou_, very fascinating after coming from more prosaic Southern climes. Colombo Harbour itself was choked with shipping and warships of the Allied Powers. There was the cruiser _Sydney_, little the worse for wear, and also several British cruisers. There was the five-funnelled _Askold_, which curiously enough turned up here just after the _Emden_ had gone--the two vessels, according to report, had fought one another to the death at the very beginning of the war in the China seas. There was a Chinese gunboat lying not far from the immense Empress liners, towering out of the water. The Japanese ensign fluttered from the _Ibuki_ (now having a washing day), her masts hung with fluttering white duck. There were transports from Bombay and Calcutta and Singapore, with ships bringing Territorials from England, to which now were added the transports from Australasia. Most of these latter were lying outside the breakwater and harbour, which could contain only a portion of that mass of shipping. So after two days' delay the great Convoy, having taken in coal and water, steamed on, and a section waited by the scorched shores of Aden for a time before linking up again with the whole. On the evening of the 27-28th November the destination of the Convoy, which was then in the Red Sea, was changed. A marconigram arrived at midnight for Major-General Bridges, and soon the whole of the Staff was roused out and a conference held. It had been then definitely announced from the War Office that the troops were to disembark in Egypt, both the Australians and New Zealanders, the purpose being, according to official statements, "to complete their training and for war purposes." The message said it was unforeseen circumstances, but at Aden I have no doubt a very good idea was obtained that Egypt was to be our destination, owing to the declaration of war on Turkey, while it seems quite probable that the G.O.C. knew at Albany that this land of the Nile was most likely to be the training-ground for the troops. The message further announced that Lieut.-General Sir William Birdwood would command. He was in India at the time. That the voyage was going to end far sooner than had been expected brought some excitement to the troops, though most had been looking forward to visiting England. None at this time believed that the stay in Egypt would be long. It was recognized that the climatic conditions would be enormously in the army's favour, which afterwards was given out as one of the chief reasons for the dropping down like a bolt from the blue of this army of 30,000 men, near enough to the Canal to be of service if required. There, too, they might repel any invasion of Egypt, such as was now declared by the Turks to be their main objective, and which Germany, even as early as October, had decided to be their means of striking a blow at England--her only real vulnerable point. But I hasten too fast and far. Arrangements, of course, had at once to be made for the distribution of the ships and the order of their procedure through the Canal (Alexandria was to be the port of disembarkation owing to lack of wharf accommodation at Suez). At the last church parade on Sunday the troops began to appear in boots and rather crumpled jackets that had been stowed away in lockers, and the tramp of booted feet on deck, with the bands playing, made a huge din. But the troops were looking marvellously fit--such magnificent types of men. The Flagship hurried on, and was at Suez a day before the remainder of the Convoy, so as to disembark some of the Staff, who were to go on to Cairo to make arrangements for the detraining and the camp, which of course was already set out by the G.O.C. in Egypt, General Sir John Maxwell. On 30th November, in the early morning, the _Orvieto_ anchored at Suez, and during the afternoon the rest of the ships began to come in, mostly New Zealanders first, and by three o'clock our ship started through the Canal. By reason of the nearness of the enemy an armed party was posted on deck with forty rounds each in their belts, for it was just possible that there might be raiding parties approaching at some point as we went slowly through, our great searchlight in the bows lighting up the bank. Before it was dusk, however, we had a chance of seeing some of the preparations for the protection of the Canal and Egypt, including the fortified posts and trenches, which are best described in detail when I come to deal with them separately when discussing the Canal attack. [Illustration: THE FIRST TENTS IN THE MENA DESERT CAMP ON 4TH DECEMBER, 1915.] [Illustration: VIEW OF MENA CAMP (COMPLETED) LOOKING ACROSS THE ENGINEER TO THE ARTILLERY LINES. To face p. 62.] A general impression I shall give, though, indicative of the feelings of many Australians travelling for the first time this great waterway. Not half a mile from the entrance to the Canal, with the town of Suez lying squat and white on the left, is the quarantine station of Shat. It was surrounded by deep trenches, out of which now rose up Indian troops, Sikhs and Gurkhas, and they came running across the sand to the banks of the Canal, where they greeted us with cheers and cries, answered by the troops, who had crowded into the rigging and were sitting on the ships' rails and deckhouses. Close beside the station was a regular, strong redoubt, with high parapets and loopholes and trenches running along the banks of the Canal, connected up with outer posts. About 20 miles farther on we came across a big redoubt, with some thousands of men camped on either side of the Canal. They belonged to the 128th Regiment, so an officer told us, as he shouted from a punt moored alongside the bank. It was just growing dusk as the transport reached this spot. The hills that formed a barrier about 15 miles from the Canal were fading into a deep vermilion in the rays of the departing sun that sank down behind a purple ridge, clear cut, on the southern side of the Canal outside of the town of Suez. Between it and the Canal was a luxurious pasturage and long lines of waving palm-trees. It was deathly still and calm, and the voices broke sharply on the air. "Where are you bound for?" asked an officer, shouting through his hands to our lads. "We're Australians, going to Cairo," chorused the men eagerly, proud of their nationality. "Good God!" commented the officer; and he seemed to be appalled or amazed, I could not tell which, at the prospect. Then there came riding along the banks a man apparently from a Canal station. A dog followed his ambling ass. "Get any rabbits?" shouted the Australian bushmen, and the man with the gun laughed and shouted "Good luck!" The desert sands were turning from gold into bronze, and soon nothing but the fierce glare of the searchlights lit up the banks. The bagpipes were playing, and this seemed to rouse the instincts of some of the Indian tribesmen, whom we saw dancing, capering, and shouting on the parapet of trenches as we swept slowly and majestically on. The troops on shore cheered, and our troops cheered back, always telling they were Australians, and, in particular, Victorians. We came across a sentinel post manned by Yorkshiremen, who spoke with a very broad accent. One such post, I remember, had rigged up a dummy sentry, and a very good imitation it was too. Out in the desert were hummocks of sand which had been set up as range marks for the warships and armed cruisers which we began now to pass anchored in the lakes. We asked one of the men on the Canal banks, who came down to cheer us, were they expecting the Turks soon to attack across the desert, and the answer was in the affirmative, and that they had been waiting for them for nights now and they had never come. Various passenger steamers we passed, and the Convoy, which closely was following the Flagship (almost a continuous line it was, for the next twenty hours), and they cheered us as we went on to Port Said, reached just after dawn. In those days Port Said was tremendously busy; for there were a number of warships there, including the French ships the _Montcalm_, _Desaix_, and _Duplex_. The strip of desert lying immediately to the north of the entrance to the Canal, where there had been great saltworks, had been flooded to the extent of some 100 square miles as a safeguard from any enemy advancing from the north by the shore caravan route. Beside which protection there were patrol and picket boats, which we now saw constantly going up and down the coast and dashing in and out of the Canal entrance. On the 1st December I watched the transports as they tied up on either side, leaving a clear passage-way for the late arriving ships that anchored further down towards the entrance to the Canal, near the great statue of De Lesseps that stands by the breakwater overlooking the Mediterranean. Amongst the transports were the warships, and a few ordinary passenger steamers outward bound to India. I remember that they were landing hydroplanes from a French "parent" ship, and we could see three or four being lifted on to a lighter, while others were tugged, resting on their floats, up to the hangar established at the eastern end of the wharves. Coaling was an operation that took a day, and gave the troops plenty to occupy their time, watching the antics of the Arabs and causing endless confusion by throwing coins amongst them, much to the distress of the chief gangers, who beat the unruly lumpers until they relinquished their searchings. The _Desaix_ and _Requiem_ were lying just opposite to the _Orvieto_, and also an aeroplane ship, so M. Guillaux, a famous French aviator, who was on board, told me. It carried only light guns, but had stalls for camels on the forward deck and a workshop amidships. It was altogether a most curious-looking vessel. The _Swiftsure_ was a little further down, and one of the "P" class of naval patrol boats, with Captain Hardy, of the Naval Depôt, Williamstown, curiously enough, in charge. As I went on shore to post some letters, for the first time I saw at the Indian Post Office written "The Army of Occupation in Egypt," and proclamations about martial law and other military orders, rather stern to men coming from the outskirts of Empire, where such things were unnecessary as part and parcel of dread war. I heard here rumours of the approach of the Turkish Army to the Canal, and it was in this spirit, and amidst thoughts of a possible immediate fight, that the troops looked forward to disembarking. It is impossible, almost, to describe the excitement amongst the troops on board (steadily growing and being fomented during the 1st and 2nd December) as the transports came past one another close enough for friends to exchange greetings. Each ship saluted with a blare of trumpets, and then the bands broke into a clatter. Never shall I, for one, forget the departure for Alexandria, twelve hours' steam away. The men, to add to their spirits, had received a few letters, one or two scattered throughout the platoons, and, as soldiers will in barrack life in India, these few were passed round and news read out for the general company. On the afternoon of the 2nd December the Flagship drew out and passed down between lines of troopships. Bugles challenged bugles in "salutes"; the bands played "Rule Britannia," the National Anthem, and the Russian Hymn, while the characteristic short, sharp cheers came from the French and British tars on the warships, in appreciation. We must have passed eight or ten ships before the entrance was cleared. The men, so soon as the salute had been duly given, rushed cheering to the sides to greet their comrades and friends, from whom now they had been separated some seven weeks. Early next morning the Flagship reached Alexandria Harbour, and by the tortuous channel passed the shattered forts (that British guns had smashed nearly forty years before), and at length, at eight o'clock, the long voyage came to an end. The men, their kitbags already packed and their equipment on, rapidly began to entrain in the waiting troop trains. It was the 5th--I call them the Pioneer 5th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Wanliss, who landed first, while at adjacent wharves the _Euripides_ disgorged New South Wales Battalions and the New Zealand transports landed their regiments. Thus I saw three troop trains away into the desert before, with the officers of the 5th, I boarded one for the camp at Cairo. CHAPTER VII THE CAMPS AROUND CAIRO Mena Camp, when I saw it at daybreak on the morning of 4th December, consisted of a score of tents scattered about in a square mile of desert, and perhaps a thousand men lying in their great-coats, asleep in the sand, their heads resting on their packs. The men of the 5th Battalion--those that are left of them--are not likely to forget that march out from Cairo on the night of the 3rd-4th, and the subsequent days of settling down to camp, and the greetings they gave to regiment after regiment as they came crowding into the camp. On the night the first troop trains came into Abbu Ella station, near Cairo, which was the siding on the southern side of the city, it was cold and sharp, but a bright moon came up towards midnight. Outside the sprinkling of Staff officers present to meet the train was a line of dusky faces and a jabbering crowd of natives. Electric trams buzzed along outside the station yard, and after the men had been formed up and detrained, they had a few minutes to get, from a temporary coffee-stall, some hot coffee and a roll, which, after the journey, was very much appreciated. It was nine o'clock. Guides were ready waiting. Territorials they were, who had been in Cairo for some time, and they led the men out on a long 10-mile march to Mena Camp. Baggage was to go by special tram, and it went out, under guard, later. Less a company of the 5th which had been sent forward as an advance party from Port Said, the battalion set out, pipes and bands playing, through the dimly seen minaretted city. These Australians will remember the long, hearty cheers they got as they tramped past the Kasr El Nil Barracks, situated on the banks of the River Nile, where the Manchester Territorials turned out to do honour to the new army in Egypt. Across the long Nile bridge and through Gezirah, down a long avenue of lebbock-trees, out on the main road to the Pyramids, the troops marched, singing, chipping, smoking, their packs getting a wee bit heavier at each step. Life on board ship had not made them as hard as they believed, and by the time they left the gem-studded city behind and turned on to the road that ran between irrigated fields they began to grow more silent. Overhead, the trees met in a vast arabesque design, showing only now and then the stars and the moon. The shadows on the path were deep, dispersed for a few seconds only by the passing electric trams, which the men cheered. Then they began, as the early hours of the morning drew on, to see something of the desert in front of them and the blurred outline of the Pyramids standing there, solemn sentinels, exactly as they had stood for over six thousand years. They grew in hugeness until the troops came right to the foot of the slope which led up to their base. Their thoughts were distracted from the sight by the advance party of their own battalion coming to meet them and conduct them through a eucalyptus grove (what memories of a fragrant bush!) along a great new-made white road, and through the sand for the last quarter of a mile to their camp lines. Was it any wonder, therefore, in the face of this, that when at dawn next morning I came amongst the troops they were still lying sleeping, and not even the struggling rays of the sun roused them from their slumber? How cheery all the officers were! Gathered in one tent, sitting on their baggage, they ate the "twenty-niners," as they called the biscuits ("forty-threes" they had been called in South Africa), with a bit of cheese and jam and bully beef. There was the Padre, Captain Dexter, and the Doctor, Captain Lind, Captain Flockart, Major Saker, Captain Stewart, Lieutenant Derham, and Lieutenant "Billy" Mangar, and scores of others, alas! now separated by the horror of war. That morning their spirits were high, and as soon as possible most of the regiments set out on what might be called an exploration expedition to the ridges of hills that ran along the eastern side of the camp, and above which peeped the Pyramids in small triangles. That day, I must say, little effort was made to settle down to camp, and the 5th, pioneers that they were, was the first Australian regiment to scramble over the ancient holy ground of Mena, the City of the Dead and burial-place of the forgotten monarchs of ancient Egypt. But what could be done? Tents had not yet arrived, and it was, indeed, weeks before all the troops were under canvas, though in the meantime they made humpies and dugouts for themselves in the sand with the help of native matting. [Illustration: AUSTRALIANS COMING INTO CAIRO FROM THE CAMPS. To face p. 68.] I turned back from the hill, dotted with whooping Australians, to watch another battalion march into camp, one of the New South Wales regiments of Colonel M'Laurin, and saw the wheeled transport drawn by mules (the horses, of course, being yet unfit for use after so long a sea voyage) almost stick in the sand, until shoulders were put to the wheel and they got the heavy vehicles to the lines. The whole camp had been laid out by the engineers on the Staff of the General Officer Commanding (General Sir John Maxwell) the week before. It must be remembered that barely a week's notice was given of the landing of the great overseas force, and it was one of the happy features of the troops' arrival in Egypt that they found arrangements so far advanced as they were. I remember walking along the white road, which a couple of steam-rollers were flattening, into the desert. The stone was being brought on a string of camels from quarries in the hills. Lines of small white stones marked where the road was going to lead right through the centre of the camp. It was a rectangle at that time, branching off from the Mena road through an orchard belonging to the Mena House Hotel, where the main road ended abruptly at the foot of the Pyramids; hard it was, too, as any cement, and each day lengthening, with cross sections sprouting out further into the desert. A loop of the electric tramway was being run along by one side of it, a water-pipe by the other, to reservoirs being constructed in the hills. Nevertheless, I cannot help commenting that the site of the camp lay in a hollow between, as I have said, two rows of hills running south into the desert and starting from a marsh in the swampy irrigation fields. Later on, the follies of such a site were borne out by the diseases that struck down far too high a percentage of the troops during their four months' residence there. Day after day, enthralled, I watched this encampment growing and spreading out on either side of the road, creeping up the sides of the hills, stretching out across the desert, until the furthermost tents looked like tiny white-peaked triangles set in the yellow sand. The battalions filed into their places coming from the seaboard, where twelve ships at a time were discharging their human cargoes; while each day ten trains brought the troops up 130 miles to the desert camps. After the men came the gear, the wagons, the guns, the horses. For this was the divisional camp, the first divisional camp Australia had ever assembled. It was, also, the first time that Major-General Bridges had seen his command mustered together. With his Staff he took up his headquarters in a section of Mena House for use as offices, with their living tents pitched close by. This was the chance to organize and dovetail one unit into another, work brigade in with brigade, artillery with the infantry, the Light Horse regiments as protecting screens and scouts. The Army Service Corps, Signallers, Post Office, all came into being as part of a larger unit for the first time. The troops became part of a big military machine, units, cogs in the wheel. They began to apply what had been learnt in sections, and thus duties once thought unnecessary began to be adjusted and to have a new significance. Of course, it could not all be expected to work smoothly at first. For some six weeks the horses were not available for transport work, and so the electric tramway carried the stores the 10 miles from the city, and brought the army's rations and corn and chaff for the animals. Donkeys, mules, and camels were all to be seen crowding along the Pyramid road day and night, drawing and carrying their queer, ungainly loads. Besides Mena Camp, two other sites had been selected as training areas for the army corps, which, as I have said, was commanded now by Lieut.-General (afterwards Sir William) Birdwood, D.S.O. One of these was at Zeitoun, or Heliopolis, some 6 miles from Cairo, on directly the opposite side of the town--that is, the south--to the Mena Camp; while the other was situated close to an oasis settlement, or model irrigation town, at Maadi, and lying just parallel with Mena Camp, but on the other (eastern) side of the river, and some 12 miles distant from it. Zeitoun was the site of the old Roman battlefields, and later of an English victory over an Arab host. In mythology it is recorded as the site of the Sun City. The troops found it just desert, of rather coarser sand than at Mena, and on it the remains of an aerodrome, where two years before a great flying meeting had been held. For the first month, only New Zealanders occupied this site, both their infantry and mounted rifles, and then, as the 2nd Australian and New Zealand Division was formed, Colonel Monash's 4th Brigade (the Second Contingent) came and camped on an adjacent site, at the same time as Colonel Chauvel's Light Horse Brigade linked up, riding across from Maadi. Then into the latter camp Colonel Ryrie led the 3rd Light Horse Brigade. As sightseers I am satisfied that the Australians beat the Yankee in three ways. They get further, they see more, and they pay nothing for it. Perhaps it was because they were soldiers, and Egypt, with its mixed population, had laid itself out to entertain the troops right royally. It must not be thought I want to give the impression that the Australian soldier, the highest paid of any troops fighting in the war, saved his money and was stingy. On the contrary, he was liberal, generous, and spoiled the native by the openness of his purse. Some believe that it was an evil that the troops had so much funds at their disposal. It was, I believe, under the circumstances--peculiar circumstances--that reflects no credit on the higher commands, and to be explained anon. It would be out of place just at the moment to bring any dark shadow across the bright, fiery path of reckless revelry that the troops embarked on during the week preceding and the week following Christmas. It was an orgy of pleasure, which only a free and, at that time, unrestrained city such as Cairo could provide. Those men with £10 to £20 in their pockets, after being kept on board ship for two months, suddenly to be turned loose on an Eastern town--healthy, keen, spirited, and adventurous men--it would have been a strong hand that could have checked them in their pleasures, innocent as they were for the most part. In all the camps 20 per cent. leave was granted. That meant that some 6,000 soldiers were free to go whither they wished from afternoon till 9.30 p.m., when leave was supposed to end in the city. Now, owing to lax discipline, the leave was more like 40 per cent., and ended with the dawn. Each night--soft, silky Egyptian nights--when the subtle cloak of an unsuspected winter hung a mantle of fog round the city and the camps--10,000 men must have invaded the city nightly, to which number must be added the 2,000 Territorial troops garrisoning Cairo at the time that were free, and the Indian troops, numbering about 1,000. The majority of the men came from Mena and from the New Zealand camp at Zeitoun. The Pyramids Camp was linked to the city by a fine highway (built at the time of the opening of the Canal as one of the freaks of the Empress Eugénie), along the side of which now runs an electric tramway. Imagine officials with only a single line available being faced with the problem of the transport of 10,000 troops nightly to and from the camps! No wonder it was inadequate. No wonder each tram was not only packed inside, but covered outside with khaki figures. Scores sat on the roofs or clung to the rails. Generally at three o'clock the exodus began from the camps. What an exodus! What spirits! What choruses and shouting and linking up of parties! Here was Australia at the Pyramids. Men from every State, every district, every village and hamlet, throughout the length and breadth of the Commonwealth, were encamped, to the number of 20,000, in a square mile. An army gains in weight and fighting prowess as it gains in every day efficiency by the unitedness of the whole. Now, the true meaning of camaraderie is understood by Australians, and is with them, I believe, an instinct, due to the isolated nature of their home lives and the freedom of their native land. When the troops overflowed from the trams, they linked up into parties and hired motor-cars, the owners of which were not slow to appreciate the situation. They tumbled ten or twelve into these cars, and went, irrespective of speed limits, hooting and whirring towards the twinkling city. And when the motors gave out, there was a long line of gharries (_arabehs_), which are open victorias, very comfortable, and with a spanking pair of Arab steeds, travelling the 10 miles to the city. [Illustration: GENERAL HAMILTON RETURNS THE SALUTE OF THE 4TH AUSTRALIAN INFANTRY BRIGADE AT ZEITOUN. Brigadier-General Monash immediately on the left of the Commander-in-Chief.] Imagine, therefore, this Pyramid road arched with lebbock-trees that made a tunnel of dark living branches and green leaves. By five o'clock night had fallen, coming so suddenly that its mantle was on before one realized the sun had sunk behind the irrigated fields, the canals, and the waving sugar-canes. Imagine these men of the South, the warm blood tingling in their veins (and sovereigns jingling in their pockets), invading the city like an avalanche! So much was novel, so much strange and entrancing in this city of Arabian fables. Cairo presents the paradox of the Eastern mind, and the reverse nature of events and incidents amused and excited the imaginations of the Australians. By midnight had commenced in earnest the return of the troops along that great highway, an exodus starting each night at nine o'clock. Again was the tram service inadequate, nor could the motors and gharries cope with the rush of the men back to the lines before leave expired. Donkey-men filled the breach with their obstinate asses, and the main streets were crowded with wild, shouting troops as a drove of twenty or thirty donkeys went clattering past, whooping Australians on their backs, urging on their speed to a delicate canter. But it was hard work riding these donkeys, and a 10-mile ride brought resolutions not to again overstay leave or, at least, to make adequate arrangements for return by more sober and comfortable means. The main highway such nights became a stream of flickering fire. The motors picked their way at frantic speed through the traffic, past the burdened camels and loaded carts of rations and fodder for the camp. No speed was too high; the limit of the engines was the only brake. By great good fortune no disaster occurred: minor accidents were regarded as part and parcel of the revels. Whatever may have been the attitude of the military authorities when the troops landed and up till Christmas week, the very first day of the New Year saw a vast change in the discipline of the camp. It was really a comparatively easy matter, had a proper grip been taken of the men, to have restrained the overstaying and breaking of leave that occurred up till New Year's Day. Mena Camp, situated 10 miles from the city in the desert, with only one avenue of practicable approach, required but few guards; but those guards needed to be vigilant and strong. True, I have watched men making great detours through the cotton-fields and desert in order to come into the camp from some remote angle, but they agreed that the trouble was not worth while. Once, however, the guards were placed at the bridge across the Canal that lay at right angles to the road and formed a sort of moat round the south of the camp, and examined carefully passes and checked any men without authority, leave was difficult to break. From 20 it was reduced to 10 per cent. of the force. General Birdwood's arrival resulted in the tightening up of duties considerably, while the visit of Sir George Reid (High Commissioner for the Commonwealth in London) and his inspiring addresses urging the troops to cast out the "wrong uns" from their midst, at the same time bringing to their mind the duty to their Country and their King that lay before them still undone, settled the army to its hard training. He, so well known a figure in Australia, of all men could give to the troops a feeling that across the seas their interests were being closely and critically watched. After a few weeks of the hard work involved in the completion of their military training, even the toughening sinews of the Australians and their love of pleasure and the fun of Cairo were not strong enough to make them wish to go far, joy-riding. CHAPTER VIII RUMOURS OF THE TURKS' ATTACK News in Egypt travels like wildfire. Consequently, during the end of January, just prior to the first attack on the Canal and attempted invasion of Egypt by the Turks, Cairo was "thick," or, as the troops said, "stiff," with rumours, and the bazaars, I found from conversation with Egyptian journalists, were filled with murmurs of sedition. It was said hundreds of thousands of Turks were about to cross the Canal and enter Egypt. The Young Turk party, no doubt, were responsible for originating these stories, aided by the fertile imagination of the Arab and fellaheen. So were passed on from lip to lip the scanty phrases of news that came direct from the banks of the Canal, where at one time rather a panic set in amongst the Arab population. Naturally these rumours percolated to the camps, and, with certain orders to brigades of the 1st Division and the New Zealanders to get equipped and stores to be got in as quickly as possible, it was no wonder that the troops were eagerly anticipating their marching orders. They would at this time, too, have given a lot to have escaped from the relentless training that was getting them fit: the monotony of the desert had begun to pall. At any rate, on 3rd January the 3rd Company of Engineers, under Major Clogstoun, had gone down to the Canal to assist the Royal Engineers, already at work on trenches, entanglements, and pontoon bridges. To their work I shall refer in detail later on, when I come to deal with the invasion. In the first week of February the 7th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Elliott, and 8th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Bolton, V.D., and the whole of the New Zealand Brigade of Infantry were hastily dispatched to the Canal, and were camped side by side at the Ismailia station. Meanwhile the New Zealand Artillery had already been sent to take up positions on the Canal banks. During January the Buccaneer Camel Corps, under Lieutenant Chope, met, during reconnoitring and patrol duty, a strong party of Arabs, Turks, and Bedouins, to the number of 300, and he gallantly engaged them and carried on a running fight in the desert for miles, successfully putting to flight the enemy and capturing some of their number, while they left dead and wounded on the sand. For this Lieutenant Chope was decorated with the D.S.O. Fresh rumours began now to float into Cairo as to the estimate of the Turkish force and the number of Germans likely to be in it. Djemal Pasha was known to be in command, but it was said that he was under the German General Von der Goltz, who had stiffened the force with about 300 of his barbarians, mostly non-commissioned officers and officers. The Turkish force, which was certainly a very mixed host, was declared to number about 80,000, which was more than four times the number that actually made the raid on the Canal, though I have no reason to doubt that there were that number on the borders of Egypt, ready to follow up the attack were it successful. Some dissent existed amongst the Turkish force, and was faithfully reported to the War Office in Cairo, and many Arabs and some Indians captured on the Canal told how they had been forced into the service and compelled to bear arms. Serious trouble had occurred with a party of Bedouins in Arabia, who brought camels to the order of the Turkish Government, and who found their animals commandeered and no money given in payment. On this occasion a fight occurred, and the Bedouins promptly returned to their desert homes. Summing up the opinion in Egypt at that time, it appeared tolerably certain, in the middle of January, that the Turkish attack was to be made. In what strength it was not quite known, but it seemed unlikely to be in the nature of a great invasion, as the transport troubles and the difficulties of the water supply were too great. One day the Turks would be said to have crossed the Canal, another that the Canal was blocked by the sinking of ships (from the very outset of the war one of the main objects of the invaders, using mines as their device). I suppose that British, Indian, and Egyptian troops (for the Egyptian mounted gun battery was encamped on the Canal) must have numbered over 80,000, not including the force of 40,000 Australians held as a reserve in Cairo, together with a Division of Territorials. If ever troops longed for a chance to meet the enemy, it was these Australians. The Engineers had been down on the Canal, as I have said, since January, and it was rumoured every day towards the end of January that there was to be at least a brigade of Australians sent down to the Canal. Imagine the thrill that went through the camp, the rumours and contradictions as to which brigade it should be. Finally, on the 3rd February the 7th and 8th Battalions, under Colonel M'Cay, Brigadier of the 2nd Infantry Brigade, were dispatched, and encamped outside of Ismailia. I saw these troops go from the camp. They were enormously pleased that they had been told off for the job, not that other battalions did not believe they would soon follow. As they marched out of the Mena lines (and from the desert, for they had to go at a moment's notice right from drill, with barely time to pack their kits) they were cheered lustily by their comrades, who deemed them "lucky dogs" to get out of the "blasted sand." However, they were going to far worse, and no tents; but then there was before them the Canal and a possible fight, and, anyway, the blue sea and a change of aspect from the "everlasting Pyramids." They entrained in ordinary trucks and got into bivouac somewhere about midnight. They found the New Zealanders there, two battalions of them. On the way down they passed a large Indian encampment, which I subsequently saw, where thousands of camels had been collected, ready to go out to meet the invaders or follow them up in the event of their hasty retreat. The camp lay sprawled out over miles of desert, and, just on the horizon, about 4 miles from the Canal, was an aeroplane hangar. I used to watch the aeroplanes going and coming on their reconnaissances out over the desert to the Turkish outposts and concentration camps. The Territorial guns, 15-pounders, were already in position round, or rather to the east of, Ismailia. On the 2nd February the attack began to develop. It was important enough, rather for its significance than its strength or result, to be treated at length. CHAPTER IX FIRST SUEZ CANAL BATTLE The Turkish Army, gathered under the direction of General Liman von Sanders, the German Military Governor of Turkey, was composed of Turks, Bedouins, Arabs, refugees from Asia Minor, and a few Germans. About 20,000 men in all, under the command of Djemal Pasha, they crossed the peninsula, dashed themselves vainly against the defences of the Canal, and fell back broken into Turkey again. Very briefly, or as concisely as is consistent with accuracy, let me review the Canal and the approaches to the waterway, and the troops that the Turks had available. Small as was the operation in actual degree of numbers, its purpose, likely to be repeated again, was to dislocate the machinery of the British Empire. The link that narrow waterway, 76 feet wide, means to Australia, is something more than a sea route. It was, therefore, not inappropriate that Australians should have taken part in its defence then, as well as later. One day, talking to a British officer who knew well the character of the Sinai Peninsula, he remarked, "This is a race to water for water." He was not sanguine of any success attending an attack, though he remembered the crossing of the desert by 10,000 men under the Egyptian General Ibraham, and without a railway line near the frontier at the end of his journey. But I do not want to convey the idea that the desert tract of 150 miles which lies between the Suez Canal and the borderland of Turkey is waterless, or that it is level. On the contrary. During January and February, when the chief rainfall occurs, there are "wadis," or gorges, where the water runs away in raging torrents until at length it disappears into the sand. So it comes about there are any number of wells, some good, some rather bad; but if carefully guarded, protected, and additional bores put down, the wells would make a sufficient water supply for any invading host, even up to as many as 40,000 men. Now this figure was, I believe, about the actual number of the army that took part in the attempt to pierce the line of the Canal. It was a quarter of the army stationed in Syria, and contained some of the finest, as it did some of the poorest, of the Turkish troops at that time under arms. It was impossible for the Turkish military authorities to draw away from the coast-line of the Mediterranean all of the army that had to be kept there in anticipation of a British landing at such spots as Gaza and Adana, where the railway to Constantinople runs close to the coast. Nor was the army well trained or well equipped. On the contrary, scouting parties that were captured, were in tattered garments and often without boots. Throughout the army the commissariat was bad in comparison with what it was when the Gallipoli campaign started. Now, the Canal is approached by caravan routes from three points, a northern, southern, and central zone. Gaza might be said to be the starting-point of the northern route, and it runs just out of artillery range along the coast until El Arisch is reached. It was along this sea route that Napoleon took his 10,000 men in retreat from Egypt. From this last town the route branches south towards El Kantara. The intervening space between that important crossing and Port Said is marshy, and is occupied with saltworks. In order to make Port Said impregnable these were flooded, giving a lake of some 300 miles in area and about 4 feet or 5 feet deep. Kantara therefore remained the most vital northerly spot at which the Canal could be pierced, and next to that, Ismailia. The northern route lies along almost level desert. But the further one gets south, the loftier become the curious sandstone and limestone ridges that, opposite Lake Timsah, can be seen, 12 or 14 miles from the Canal, rising up to 800 feet in height. Southwards from this point there lies a chain of hills running parallel to the Canal, with spurs running towards the central portion of the peninsula, where the ranges boast mountain peaks of 6,000 and 7,000 feet in height. There are gullies and ravines of an almost impassable nature, and the route winds round the sides of mountains, which features made the armies on the march hard to detect, as I learned our aviators reported. Maan may be described as the jumping-off point for the starting of any expedition against the central and southern portions of the Canal. To Maan leads a railway, and it runs beyond down past the Gulf of Akaba, parallel with the Red Sea. From Maan the caravan would go to Moufrak, and from thence to Nekhl, high up in the hills and ranges of the desert. Nekhl is not a large settlement, but, like most Arab and Bedouin villages, just a few mud huts and some wells, with a few palms and sycamore-trees round them. But when the end of January came there were 300 Khurdish cavalry there and a great many infantry troops. Nekhl is exactly half way on the direct route to Suez, but the force that was to attack the Canal branched northward from this point until it came over the hills by devious routes to Moiya Harah, and over the last range that in the evening is to be seen from the Canal--a purply range, with the pink and golden desert stretching miles between. Just out of gun range, therefore, was the camp which the Turkish force made. I am led from various official reports I have read to estimate that Turkish force here at nearly 18,000. A certain number of troops, 3,000 perhaps, came by the northern route, and linked up on a given date with the forces that were destined for the attack on Ismailia, Serapeum, and Suez. That is to say, half the army was making feint attacks and maintaining lines of communication, while the remainder, 20,000 men, were available to be launched against the chosen point as it turned out, Toussoum and Serapeum. But one must remember that, small as that force was, the Turkish leader undoubtedly reckoned on the revolt of the Moslems in Egypt, as every endeavour had been tried (and failed) to stir up a holy war; and that at Jerusalem there must have been an army of 100,000 men ready to maintain the territory won, should it be won, even if they were not at a closer camp. Therefore, the Turks overcame the water difficulty by elaborating the wells and carrying supplies with them on the march, and they got the support of artillery by attaching caterpillar wheels to get 6-in. and other guns through the sand towards the Canal (I am not inclined to believe the statements that the guns were buried in the desert years before by the Germans, and had been unearthed for the occasion), and for the actual crossing they brought up thirty or forty pontoons, which had been carried on wagons up to the hills, and then across the last level plain on the shoulders of the men. It was in very truth the burning of their boats in the attack if it failed. They had no railway, such as they had built in the later part of 1915, but relied on the camels for their provision trains. The rainfall in January, the wet season, was the best that had been experienced for many years, and so far as the climatic conditions were concerned, everything favoured the attack. This brings us down to the end of January 1915. For the whole of the month there had been parties of Turkish snipers approaching the Canal, and in consequence, the mail boats and cargo steamers, as well as transports, had had to protect their bridges with sandbags, while the passengers kept out of sight as far as possible. On all troopships an armed guard with fifty rounds per man was mounted on the deck facing the desert. It was anticipated that the Turkish plan of attack would include the dropping of mines into the Canal (which plan they actually succeeded in), and thus block the Canal by sinking a ship in the fairway. Skirmishes and conflicts with outposts occurred first at the northern end of the Canal defences, opposite to Kantara. The Intelligence Branch of the General Staff was kept well supplied with information from the refugees, Frenchmen, Armenians, and Arabs, who escaped from Asia Minor. They told of the manner in which all equipment and supplies were commandeered, together with camels. This did not point to very enthusiastic interest or belief in the invasion. By the third week in January the Turkish patrols could be seen along the slopes of the hills, and aeroplanes reported large bodies of troops moving up from Nekhl. On 26th January the first brush occurred. It was a prelude to the real attack. A small force opened fire on Kantara post, which was regarded as a very vital point in the Canal line. The Turks brought up mountain guns and fired on the patrols. At four o'clock on the 28th, a Thursday morning, the attacks developed. The British-Indian outpost line waited purely on the defensive, and with small losses to either side, the enemy withdrew. Minor engagements occurred from this time on till the attack which synchronized with the main attack--40 miles away--on 3rd February. Reinforcements were observed entrenched behind the sand dunes. Now, that night the Indian outposts successfully laid a trap for the Turks by changing the direction of the telegraph line and the road that led into Kantara. They led the Turks, when they eventually did come on, into an ambush. At this post was stationed the 1st Australian Clearing Hospital, and very fine work was performed by it. Sergeant Syme, though contrary to orders, drove a motor ambulance out under fire and brought in a number of wounded. Never have new troops won quicker appreciation from their officers than did the companies of Australian Engineers, under Major H. O. Clogstoun, who began in January to build up the defences of the Canal. They were a happy, hard-working unit, and showed rare skill and adaptability in making a series of bridges at Ismailia. You would see a large load of them going up the Canal perhaps to improve trenches, and they began a friendship (that Anzac cemented) with the Indian troops, which I doubt if time will do anything but strengthen. There were seventeen to twenty pontoons, or rowing boats, which they applied to the purpose, constructed, while the materials for other floating bridges were obtained from iron casks. In, I believe, eleven minutes these bridges could be thrown across the width of the Canal. Tugs were available to tow the sections to whatever point they might be required. As the traffic of shipping was heavy, the bridges were constantly being joined and detached again. Bathing in the Canal was a great luxury, and the men at the time, and the infantry later on, took full advantage of it. Before passing on, let me give the comment of Colonel Wright, the Engineer officer on General Maxwell's Staff, on a suggestion of removing these Engineers back to Cairo after having completed the bridges:-- I sincerely hope that you are not going to take this company from me until the present strife is over. They are simply invaluable, both officers and men, and have thoroughly earned the excellent reputation they have already acquired everywhere they have been. They have worked up till 2.30 by moonlight. Their work has been excellent. The men have been delighted with the work, and they have been exemplary in their conduct. Even if you can produce other companies as good, I should be rather in a hole if No. 3 were to be taken away. Thus we arrive at the day before the main attack was delivered. It was intended by the Turkish and German leaders that there should be feints all along the 70 miles of fightable front, and that between Toussoum and Serapeum the main body would be thrown in and across the Canal. Plans were formulated to deceive the defenders as to the exact point of the attack, troops marching diagonally across the front (an operation which had brought disaster to the German Army at the Marne), and changing position during the days preceding the main venture; but, nevertheless, this manoeuvre was limited to a 20-mile section, with Ismailia as the central point. The Turks commenced on the afternoon of Tuesday, 2nd February, to engage our artillery at a point some miles north of Ismailia, called El Ferdan, but there was little force in the attack. Really it seemed only designed to cover the movement of bodies of troops which had been massed at Kateb el Kheil, and which were now with camel trains proceeding south and taking up position for the attack. A party of British and Indian troops moved out to locate, and silence if possible, the artillery, but a sandstorm of great violence compelled both the Indian and Turkish forces to retire within their camps. [Illustration: AUSTRALIANS MANNING A COMMUNICATION TRENCH LEADING TO ISMAILIA FERRY POST.] [Illustration: TURKISH PRISONERS IN CAIRO. To face p. 82.] On the morning of the 3rd the main attack was delivered. I was enabled to visit the defences at Ismailia, and was taken through the Ismailia ferry post round through the long length of communication trenches that led to the forward positions and back to the banks of the Canal, many hundred yards farther north. I saw the extraordinary pits that had been dug by the Gurkhas, in the centre of which had been placed spiked iron rails, on which many of the enemy subsequently became impaled. There were flares and trip wires round the lines, making, even on the darkest night, a surprise attack an impossibility. Ismailia post, like, for that matter, all the posts I saw along the Canal, was exceedingly strong. The trenches were 10 feet deep, and many of them protected with overhead cover, with iron and wood and sandbags. Extreme care had been taken to conceal the exact contour of the trenches, and from two or three hundred yards away out in the desert I would never have suspected that there was a post bristling with machine guns on the edge of the yellow desert dunes behind which lay the blue waters of the Canal. For at this place, like so many spots along the Canal, the banks are as much as 80 feet high, which, while they serve as a protection, do not always enable the warships to fire over the banks. Gaps, however, were to be found, and the Bitter Lakes presented suitable stations for the battleships that took part in the battle, as I shall indicate. Before dawn on the 3rd, therefore, between Toussoum and Serapeum, at each of which places there were posts held by Indian troops, the main attempt was delivered and failed, though it was pressed home against a weak spot with some force. In choosing this point to drive in their wedge the Turks had borne in mind that the Suez-Cairo Railway was within a few miles of the Canal, and that one of the branches of the great Freshwater Canal, that supplies the whole of the length of the Canal settlements, lay not a mile away. Weather conditions favoured the Turks. It was cloudy and overcast. One would not say that the defenders were unprepared, for there had been too much quite apparent preparation by the enemy on the previous days. What was not known was the exact point of launching the attack. No doubt Djemal Pasha, who was present in person, gained much information from his spies, but he seems to have been rather wrongly informed. An early move of this adroit leader was an attempted bluff some days before the attack, when a letter was received by General Sir John Maxwell suggesting that, as the Canal was a neutral zone, and that shipping should not be interrupted, the fight should take place on ground to be selected on the Egyptian or western side of the Canal. One can picture the Turkish General, tongue in his cheek, writing the note. As regards the defence works: at the point of attack there was a post at Toussoum, which lies not 3 miles from the southern extremity of Lake Timsah and about 6 or 8 miles from Ismailia. A series of trenches had been dug on the east bank of the Canal. They were complete and strong, practically intended as a guard for the Canal Company's station of Toussoum, on the west bank. A ferry was in the vicinity, close to the station on the side next to the lake. A mile south was Serapeum, another post on the east bank, with trenches on the western bank and a camp. At Serapeum proper was a fine hospital. [Illustration: _Plan of the attempted Crossing of the Suez Canal at Toussoum & Serapeum by a TURKISH FORCE on 3^{rd} Feb ·1915·_] The alarm was sounded at 3.25, when sentries noticed blurred figures moving along the Canal bank not 100 yards distant from the Toussoum post. It was soon reported that the enemy were coming up in considerable strength on the south side (see point marked 47, on map) of the post. Therefore it may be taken that the enemy approach was carried out very quietly and silently, for two pontoons were already in the water when they were fired on from the groups of Indian troops entrenched on the western bank, and were sunk. This was the signal for launching the great effort, and immediately firing broke out in tremendous volume from Toussoum post. Artillery firing soon opened from both sides; the air was noisy with shell. Curiously, though the Turkish gunners had at first the range, they soon lengthened it, evidently in the belief that they would cut off reinforcements; their shells went high and little damage was done. The Toussoum guard-house escaped with a few hits only, and bullets riddled posts and rafters. Vainly about 1,000 Turks endeavoured to seize Toussoum post, while three times that number launched the pontoons, which had been carried on the shoulders of thirty men across the soft sand to the bank. There were places here suitable for the launching, for V-shaped dips or gullies enabled the enemy to approach, protected on either flank, though exposed to a murderous frontal fire from the opposite Canal bank, which apparently they had not expected. At the distance-post at 47/2 the first launching was attempted, but almost simultaneously came the launching for an attack at 47/6. Shouts of "Allah!" were now started by the enemy south of the Toussoum post. At once machine guns came into action and the shouting of "Allah!" died away. By this time the Turks got their machine guns into action, and were ripping belts of lead into the British post, making any attempt at a flanking movement impossible. This was, however, unnecessary to foil the main plan; for the pontoons that had been carried with such terrible difficulty across the desert were being sunk almost as they were launched. A few reached midstream--the rowers were riddled with bullets, the sides of the pontoons ripped, and they sank almost immediately with their freight. Two only reached the opposite bank. One was sunk there immediately and the Turks killed. From the other the men scrambled and entrenched themselves, digging up the soft mud in their desperation with their hands. Next morning they capitulated. Four men alone reached the upper portion of the shore and escaped, only to be captured a few days later in the villages. An hour after the first shot was fired, the 5th Battery Egyptian Mounted Artillery came into action from the opposite bank, and the Turkish position and head of the wedge being definitely determined, companies from the 62nd Punjabis from the reserve at Serapeum opened fire from midway between the two stations on the west Egyptian bank. The noise of rifles and the intense popping of machine guns resounded up and down the banks of the Canal between the two posts. The ground across which the Turks had made their final dash was tussocky, and behind these tussocks they gained some shelter and entrenched themselves, once the crossing had so dismally failed. It is estimated that some eighteen pontoons were launched. Some were dropped in the water over a low rubble wall that had been left close to the water's edge, others were brought down part of the bank less steep, and which offered easy access. Four boatloads of the enemy were sunk in midstream, the boats riddled with bullets, either from the shore batteries or from a torpedo-boat destroyer that came down from Serapeum at a quarter to eight. As daylight came, the Turks who still were in the water or struggling up the banks were shot down, while some few, as related, managed to dig themselves in on the west bank. The remainder of the attackers (killed, wounded, and prisoners numbered nearly 3,000), about 3,000, retired some hundred yards. As far as those in command at Toussoum and Serapeum can estimate it, after reading Turkish captured orders, a whole brigade of Syrians, Armenians, and Turkish troops, some the flower of the Army, took part in the attack; but for some reason not explainable the main body, about 12,000 men, never came into action. The initial attack failed to push back the resistance offered, and the Turks, one supposes, became disheartened, though actually the troops guarding those posts were barely 2,000. Boat after boat the enemy had hurried up till daylight broke, but often the bearers were shot down as they reached the Canal bank and pinned under their own pontoons. Dawn, no doubt, brought realization to the enemy that the attack had signally failed. All their boats were gone. They had lost eggs and baskets as well. New Zealand infantry companies were in the trenches on the west bank, and they kept up a withering fire directly opposite on the entrenched foe. In the meantime the _Hardinge_ and the _d'Entrecasteaux_ opened fire with 5-and 8-inch guns, and soon silenced the 6-inch battery which the Turks had dug in, some 5 miles from the Canal, between Toussoum and Ismailia. But, entrenching, the Turks continued to fight all through the morning and afternoon of the 3rd. The British received reinforcements shortly after noon and the position was safe. But the last phase of the attack was not ended quickly. At twenty minutes to nine that morning five lines of the enemy were seen advancing on Serapeum post, with a field battery of four 15-pounder guns in support. Their objective was evidently a frontal attack on Serapeum. Our Indian reinforcements crossed the Canal at that post, and the 92nd Punjabis moved out from the post and were ordered to clear up the small parties of Turks believed to be still amongst the dunes on the banks. About the same time a number of the Turkish troops amongst the hummocks commenced to retire. It was evidently done with a view to massing their forces; at the same time the enemy deployed two brigades in two lines some 3 miles from Serapeum, west and facing that post. The Punjabis met this attack. As supports there had been sent the Gurkha Rifles. The Punjabis occupied a ridge about 500 yards from the Serapeum post in a south-easterly line. An hour later three battalions of the enemy seemed to be advancing on the post in close order, with wide intervals between each battalion. That attack was never pressed home. A mile north, on the Toussoum flank, the battle still raged. Lieut.-Colonel Thomas Glover, just before noon, led a force of 92nd Punjabis in an attempt to dislodge the enemy from our day trenches, which they had occupied to the east of Toussoum post. At noon seven battalions of the enemy, with numerous field guns, could be seen about 3,500 yards away. Curiously enough, these units were halted. So the Indian troops' work of clearing the day trenches, continued, the Turks sending no reinforcements to their doomed comrades. It was here that occurred an incident which was thought to be treachery, but which perhaps may have been a misunderstanding on the part of the men in the trench. As it was related officially it is stated: "The enemy in the trenches made signs of surrender several times, but would not lay down their arms. Finally, some men of the left counter-attack got within 20 yards of the enemy's trench, and one machine gun took up a position enfilading it at point-blank range. The enemy's commander came across and made signs that they would surrender. He then returned to his own trench, seized a rifle, fixed a bayonet, and fired a shot at our men. Several of the enemy aimed at our troops. The machine gun opened fire at once, killing the commander, and the remainder of the enemy laid down their arms and were taken prisoners. Many prisoners were wounded, and fifty dead were counted by this post, where some pontoons were also found." Thus late in the afternoon the trenches near Toussoum were free; all pontoons in the vicinity had been destroyed; there remained but the enemy opposite the Serapeum position to deal with. Fresh British reinforcements began to arrive at dusk, including the 27th Punjabis. It was cold and raining, and during the night the enemy showed no disposition to renew the attack, though an intermittent fire was kept up. The enemy still held a small point on the east bank at 47/8, which seemed to indicate a fresh attempt to cross. None was made, and evidently the party was sacrificed while preparations were made for flight of the main army and orders could be circulated over the 90-mile front. At daylight on the morning of the 4th the enemy could be seen still digging themselves in opposite the ridge near Serapeum, occupied by the 92nd Punjabis. Successful steps were immediately taken to capture the few enemy remaining in the trenches on the east bank, and Captain Cohran in charge, with two companies, moved up in extended formation. Progress was slow. The enemy was very scattered, and the sand dunes uncertain. Again there were signs of treachery on the part of the enemy intimating surrender. Considerable British reinforcements had been sent up, and Major MacLachlan, who had taken over command, at once ordered a charge at a moment when the enemy commenced to stand up, apparently about to charge themselves. Fire was directed immediately against them, and they quickly got down again into the trenches. Shortly after this six officers and 120 men surrendered. Little more remains to be told. At the height of the engagement a Prussian officer, Major von den Hagen, was shot, and a cross marks the place of his burial, and can be seen to-day from passing steamers on the top of the Canal bank. On him was found a white flag folded in a khaki bag. It was some 2 feet square, and, while it might have been merely a night signalling flag, it is more probable that it was carried for the purpose of trickery. The enemy lost some 600 killed and about 3,000 wounded or taken prisoner. The British losses were comparatively light, about 50 killed and 200 wounded. Once the main Turkish Army started to retire they fled hurriedly, retreating precipitately to the south-east, while the main body withdrew into the hills. Many people have wondered since that the opportunity of trapping the Turkish Army by a rapid pursuit, when all the cavalry was available, and when camel trains were ready to move off in support, was not seized. As a matter of fact, orders were issued for a pursuing force to leave on the evening of the 4th, but early in the morning of the 5th countermanding orders came through. As the Australian troops and New Zealanders I referred to as being in reserve near Ismailia station were to form a part of the pursuing force, it was to them a keen blow. I rather suspect that the countermanding came from the War Office and Lord Kitchener, who understood the Moslem mind so clearly. For I have it from the lips of the officer, Lieut.-Colonel Howard, who was out on many reconnaissances to the eastern hills, that it was probably a good thing that the counter-attack had not been persisted in, for the Turks, on the evening of the 4th, when the whole of the main body so unexpectedly withdrew to the ridges, took up a thoroughly well entrenched position, which he thought it was reasonable to regard as an ambush. Patrols subsequently went into the hills and destroyed some of the wells that had been sunk, cleared up many points of doubt about the attack, and captured camel trains and provisions. By the end of the week not a Turk was within 60 miles of the Canal. PART II _THE ANZAC CAMPAIGN_ CHAPTER X THE PLAN OF ATTACK The first bombardment of the Turkish forts at the entrance to the Dardanelles by British and French squadrons started at 8 a.m. on 19th February 1915, and at dusk the warships had to be withdrawn, with the Turkish Kum Kale batteries still firing. On the 25th operations were resumed with the _Queen Elizabeth_, _Agamemnon_, and _Irresistible_ in the fight. By 4th March the outer forts had been silenced, and the way lay clear to the inner ring of forts in the vicinity of Dardanus. Meanwhile, the Turks had brought down howitzer batteries, which they carefully entrenched amongst the hills round the shores of Erenkeui Bay, and peppered the warships. For the next week there was a systematic bombardment from the ships inside the Straits, with indirect fire from the _Queen Elizabeth's_ 15-in. guns, and the _Agamemnon_ and _Ocean_, from the Gulf of Saros near Gaba Tepe, across the peninsula. Though the Turkish forts (9-in. and 10-in. guns) at Seddul Bahr, Morto Bay, and Kum Kale had been destroyed, the Turks had entrenched themselves round the ruins of the forts, and no landing was possible. Now, about this time there arose what will probably be recorded in after years as the great conflict of opinion between Admiral Carden and Admiral De Robeck as to the advisability of forcing the Dardanelles with the ships now assembled. To this conference of Admirals came General Sir Ian Hamilton, having travelled by the swift destroyer _Phaeton_ to the Dardanelles, arriving on 17th March at Tenedos, the headquarters of the fleet at that time. There he was met by General D'Amade, who had also arrived with 20,000 French troops to join the Army Expedition. One may picture that council of three Admirals and two army leaders. Admiral Carden the same day resigned for "health reasons." He did not favour the direct attack, and Admiral De Robeck, who did, took command. General D'Amade had sided with the retiring Admiral, while General Hamilton and the French Admiral, Guepratte, were in favour of the immediate strong attack. [Illustration: THE 29TH DIVISION ON THE RAMLEH ROAD REVIEWED BY GENERAL HAMILTON AND GENERAL D'AMADE ON 6TH APRIL, 1915.] [Illustration: PRESENTATION OF COLOURS TO FRENCH COLONIAL TROOPS PRIOR TO THEIR EMBARKATION FOR THE DARDANELLES. To face p. 92.] Consequently, the following day this operation was launched. General Hamilton saw it from the decks of a destroyer, on which he went into the thick of the fray. Later I heard his description of that fight, and the manner in which the _Bouvet_ had steamed to her doom in two minutes as she left the firing line, while the British ships _Irresistible_ and _Ocean_ sank more slowly and their crews were rescued. Close as had the ships crept to the towering forts of Point Kephez, there was no silencing the forts, and the attempt was given up--a failure. The _Gaulois_ and _Inflexible_ had both been badly damaged, and sought refuge near Rabbit Islands. It was not till after the campaign that the Turks were prepared to admit that a little more force and the forts would have fallen--a little greater sacrifice of ships; yet I learned from General Hamilton's Staff that the Allies expected, and were prepared, to lose twelve ships. So under such inauspicious circumstances the military operation began: yet not immediately. With all speed General Hamilton returned to Alexandria, having found in the meantime--I have, no doubt, to his chagrin and disgust--that the ships ready to embark troops contained certainly the equipment and gear, but all wrongly packed. A rearrangement was essential. This delay caused a revision of the whole of the plans of the Allies. Instead of there being a force immediately available to support the action of the ships which had battered the forts and crushed down the Turks, an intermittent bombardment, as the weather permitted, had to be kept up for a month, to prevent the Turks repairing effectively their destroyed forts, while the whole of the army was properly arranged and the transports collected. General Hamilton's army, therefore, became an invading host instead of a supporting force, landed to hold what the fleet had won. It was very patent to the War Council that now to force the Dardanelles by sending ships forward alone (even with the mine fields cleared) was impossible, and, committed to a campaign, resort had to be made to a landing. The Turks during the month's respite, in March-April, commenced thoroughly to entrench the Gallipoli Peninsula against the execution of the Allies' plans. These plans, speaking broadly, may be thus briefly described, leaving the story of the landing to explain the details: The peninsula, regarded from its topographical aspect, was naturally fortified by stern hills, which reduced the number of places of possible landings. So in the very nature of things it was necessary for the leader of such an expedition to attack at as many landings as possible and to push home only those which were most vital. This would prevent the enemy from being able to anticipate the point where the attack was to be delivered and concentrate troops there. During April the army was assembled at Lemnos--British, Australian, French, and Indian troops, drawn from Egypt. To the British was assigned the task of taking the toe of the peninsula; to the French the feint on the Kum Kale forts and the landing along the Asia Minor coast. The Australians were to thrust a "thorn" into the side of the Turks at Gaba Tepe, which was opposite Maidos, the narrowest portion of the peninsula. Certain other troops, mostly Australians, were to make a feint at the Bulair lines, while feints were also planned by warships at Enos and Smyrna. Two attacks only were to be pushed home--the Australians at Gaba Tepe and the British (afterwards to be supported by the French) at Cape Helles, at the toe of the peninsula. Officers of all the forces inspected the coast-lines in the various sections allotted them, from the decks of the warships bombarding the entrenchments and fortifications, which it was only too apparent that the Turks had effected in the months of warning and interval that had been given them. It looked, as it was, a desperate venture. Everything certainly hung on the successful linking up of the two landed armies round the foot of the great Kelid Bahr position, that lay like another rock of Gibraltar, protecting the Turkish Asiatic batteries at Chanak and Nagara from direct fire from the warships hammering at the entrance to the Straits and from the Gulf of Saros. But once the communications to this fortified hill were broken, it was regarded as certain that the Narrows would be won, and once field guns began to play directly on the rear of the forts at Kelid Bahr, unable to reply behind them up the peninsula, that the position would be gained. Anxious not to miss the scene of the landing, I had made plans with my friend Mr. W. T. Massey, the correspondent of the _Daily Telegraph_, to reach an island nearest to the entrance to the Dardanelles--Imbros. It was while trying to make these plans that one day we saw General Hamilton, from whom we had already received courteous replies to letters asking for permission to witness the landing. The Commander-in-Chief told us it was outside his power to grant this request. What he told us later is worthy of record. The same wiry leader, energetic, yet calm, his voice highly pitched, as I had remembered it during many trips with him as the Inspector-General of the Oversea Forces, round the camps of Victoria, he now greeted me cordially and spoke of his regret at being unable to offer us his help. As he spoke he paced up and down the bare room, with just a writing-desk in it, in a building situated in the centre of the town of Alexandria, which was the first base of the great Mediterranean Expedition. "I believe that the Press should have representatives with the forces," he began, "to tell the people what is being done. If the war is to succeed, you must interest the democracy first, for it is the democracy's war. By all means have censorship, but let your articles be written by a journalist, and not literary men who think they are journalists. The trained man who knows how to interest people in things that cannot matter to the army is the fellow needed. However, it has been decreed otherwise, and I can do nothing. You are free British subjects, nevertheless, and can always take a ticket to the nearest railway-station. If it is possible, I shall do all I can to help you." We wished the General success and left him, receiving then, as always, the greatest courtesy in all our dealings with the General Staff. It was an encouraging attitude, we felt, and for this reason we decided to land on Imbros and wait an opportunity to reach the mainland after the troops had advanced. I may say here that General Hamilton, true to his promise, did make a great exception for me later, and I was enabled to spend July and August on the peninsula itself. For the present, on a Greek steamer of uncertain tonnage, carrying a mixed cargo that included onions, garlic, and much oil and fish, I left for the islands lying round the entrance to the Dardanelles. I quitted the vessel at Castro, the capital of Lemnos Island (if a wretched little township with a decayed fort dominating it might be called a capital); and curiously enough, just afterwards that vessel was boarded by a British destroyer and sent to Malta for carrying flour to Dedeagatch, a Bulgarian port. Flour had been declared contraband since we had left Alexandria, for Turkey had obtained enormous supplies, 500,000 tons I was told it was estimated at, through the agency of King Ferdinand. My experiences of being in "The War Zone" were only beginning. At Castro I was arrested on landing, and asked if I did not know that the island was under the command of the Admiral. This was the British Admiral, Admiral de Robeck, though I did not know, but might easily have guessed, for the whole of the assembled fleet of transports, as well as the Allied battleships, were sheltered at Mudros at this time, waiting for the day to be determined on for the landing--this event subject now to the weather. Once already plans had been postponed. It was not until the 25th it was agreed that it would be possible to have a sufficiently long and fine spell of calm seas and a favourable phase of the moon to make the attempt. I had already experienced something of the storms of the Mediterranean on my journey north. For two days the sea had been running high and we were tossed about like a cockleshell. What, then, of small destroyers and landing-barges! By the time, however, we had passed the Dardanelles on our way to Lemnos the sea had grown perfectly calm again, and in the distance I could hear the boom of the guns--a solemn, stately knell it seemed at that time, as of a Nation knocking at the door of another Nation, a kind of threat, behind which I knew lay the power of the army. [Illustration: MARCHING ORDERS FOR THE FRONT. Men of the 3rd Brigade leaving Mena Camp in March for Mudros Harbour.] [Illustration: LEADERS AT THE LANDING. Brigadier-General M'Cay (commanding 2nd Brigade) having a final chat with Brigadier-General Sinclair-Maclagan (commanding 3rd Brigade), on the right. To face p. 96.] I managed at Castro to assuage the worst fears of the British officer, that I was a spy, and to assure him that I had a friend in General Hamilton, and that I had merely come for a "look round." Yes, I was told, I might go to Mudros Harbour, since I seemed to know the fleets were there, but I should be detained there pending the pleasure of the authorities, who were to determine when it would be safe to release me with the news I might obtain. The Greek gendarmes heartily co-operated in detaining me under observation until the next morning, and then I was permitted, on giving an undertaking not to visit Mudros, to set out for the hot springs at Thermia with the object of taking a bath. At this spot was a mountain, Mount Elias, and from it I, marvelling at the sea power of Great Britain, looked down on to the wonderful crowded harbour of Mudros. I saw the vast fleet lying placidly at anchor. With powerful glasses I could detect the small boats and the men landing on the slopes and dashing up the shore for practice. How far the real from this make-believe! Reluctantly, after hours of watching, I left this grandstand, having seen trawlers, warships, transports, coming and going along the tortuous channel to the harbour, which was protected by skilfully placed nets and guarded by active little patrol-boats. I found trace of the 3rd Australian Brigade round this charming valley at the foot of the mountain, for they had visited the springs for the same purpose that I had done--the luxury of a warm bath--and left a recommendation with the proprietor, which he treasures to this day, as to the value of the mineral waters. In the distance I could always hear the slow booming of the guns at the Dardanelles. I returned to Castro, satisfied that the time was nearly ripe, and forthwith determined to leave the island, where, obviously, I was cramped and would find no means of seeing the landing. It rained, to make matters more miserable; but my stay was not without interest. One day the Greek Admiral came ashore in his yacht and was received by the Governor of the island. From the inhabitants, many of whom were Turks, who knew all about the peninsula, having tended their flocks for many years at the Dardanelles shores, I gained my first knowledge of the fields of battle I was later to visit. These Turks were mostly taken up with living in the cafés and singing and dancing to curious rhythmic music, not unpleasantly tuned, but played by some execrable violinists. Most of the dances showed a distinct Russian trait. Let me remark here in passing that the Greek caïques, or sailing-boats, were all this time leaving this harbour for Bulgarian and Turkish ports along the coast (one offered to land me on the Gulf of Saros). The British officer at Castro told me he was there to stop the leakage of news. I asked if he thought it possible for information to be smuggled from the island. He replied in the negative; but I told him that I thought he was mistaken; for I had obtained much information of a general character about the fleet and about other correspondents interned at Mudros at the time, from various Greeks who had come across as traders to the capital, and it seemed to me to have been an easy matter for news to have been taken by the caïques to the Bulgarian coast. In fact, one man I now suspect of having been a spy (he was selling wine and came back with me when I left the island). I said so to the British officer, but he only smiled and advised me to leave for Salonika, as being the most suitable spot for me in the �gean. As a matter of fact, I half-suspect that he had orders to "remove the correspondent," and that satisfied me that, as the Tommies would say, "there was something doing." I left for Mitylene, an island close to the Asia Minor coast, where I had learned that more news was to be obtained and could be got away. Moreover, it enabled me to write what I had learned on the undelectable island of Mudros. Long will I remember those four days. I knew now, however, that the plans were ripe, that the day was close at hand for the landing. The whole island knew it, and I have no doubt (having watched the officers travelling on the warship up and down the coast of Gallipoli while the bombardment continued, by which means the leaders learned the nature of their task) that the Turks gained the same information as well, if, indeed, the actual plans had not been already betrayed by the Queen of Greece into the hands of her august and Germanic brother, William. CHAPTER XI THE DAWN OF ANZAC--THE LANDING Anzac! In April--a name unformed, undetermined; June--and the worth of a Nation and Dominion proved by the five letters--bound together, by the young army's leader, Lieut.-General Sir W. Birdwood, in the inspired "Anzac"--Australian, New Zealand Army Corps. In reality, the first battle of Anzac began when the transports commenced to steam out of the great harbour of Mudros on Saturday afternoon, 24th April. All that was needed for the swift commencement of the deep-laid plan was a perfectly calm sea. This condition General Sir Ian Hamilton had, as he sent forth, under the care of the Navy and Rear-Admiral Thursby, his fine army of Australians and New Zealanders. Already on the evening of the 23rd, the covering force for the British landing at Cape Helles, which had been entrusted to the 29th Division, had steamed to Tenedos, where the fleet lay enchained as in the story of ancient Troy, waiting for the remainder of the ships, which on the morning of the 24th began to stand off Tenedos. It was as if the shipping of the Levant had been suddenly diverted to lock the gates of the waterway leading to the heart of the Turkish Empire, for the sea was covered with ships--ships one-funnelled, two or four-funnelled; ships that went creeping along, skulking inshore; ships that were guarded by giant battleships and destroyers and escorted up to the land; and tiny little ships--scouts, picket boats, pinnaces, and trawlers. The majestic battleships led the lines from the great harbour amidst the beating of drums and ringing cheers from the crowded French and British transports that formed a channel down which each Division steamed from the port. With their minds set to the last task, the very test of themselves as soldiers, the Australians lay most of the night on the decks of the transports. On the battleship _Queen_, 1,500 of the finest men of the 3rd Brigade attended a short service held by the Padre, and heard the stirring message from the Admiral and the Army. Then for six hours of ease and smoke and chat with the Navy. Here was the beginning of the mutual admiration that grew in the hearts of the two services--in the one for England's mariners of old, in the other for the spirit of the young, vigorous, and physically great Nation. By dusk on that April evening, as calm as any spring night, and as cool as the troops would know it in Melbourne, a long string of transports, battleships, torpedo boats, pinnaces, and row boats, were slipping through the waters round the western headland of Imbros Island, where a lighthouse blinked its warning, towards the mountainous shores of Gallipoli. In a bight in the land the ships lay awhile, their numbers increasing as the hours drifted on. Down on the troopships' decks the men were quietly singing the sentimental ditties of "Home and Mother," or chatting in a final talk, yarning of the past--the future, so imminent now, left to take care of itself--until they were borne within a distance when silence was essential to success. Then they clenched their teeth. Leaders, instructed in the plan, knew exactly what their objectives were to be, though nothing but dark, hazy hills could they see in the dropping rays of the moon. Again and again they had rehearsed it, had placed their fingers on the knolls that the enemy held--just then in what numbers they did not know, but could only guess--went carefully through each operation of getting the troops from the ships to the shore and on those hills. Once finally now they went over it all, calmly, ever so calmly, calculating every step that they were to advance. [Illustration: PORTION OF THE FLEET AND TRANSPORTS IN MUDROS HARBOUR JUST BEFORE THE LANDING.] [Illustration: BALLOONSHIP "ARK ROYAL" AND TRANSPORTS OFF THE DARDANELLES IN MAY. To face p. 100.] Midnight. The moon still hung obstinately above the horizon, tipping with silver the island mountain peaks towering over the fleet. The smoke trickled from the funnels of the huge battleships that surrounded, and mingled between, the transports; it rolled in thick, snaky coils from the funnels of the low destroyers panting alongside the ships, ready for their mission. Over the whole of that army, 30,000 men, there hung a lifetime of suspense. Would the moon never go down! On the battleships, where companies of the 3rd Australian Brigade--the covering party--were waiting quietly, parting instructions were given. The voices of the high officers sounded crisp and deathly calm in the night. Against the grim, grey decks of the warships the waiting men were as patches of deeper shadow, circled by a ring of luminous paint. That line separated them into boat loads. Down the steel sides silently were dropped the rope ladders. So soon as the moon would descend, so soon would the men go down these into the destroyers--as elsewhere off that Gallipoli Peninsula, thousands would go over the sides of other transports on to other destroyers waiting to dash to the shore. Three o'clock, and still the moon was above the horizon, but just above it. It dipped. The opaque light faded from the sky. That intense darkness which precedes dawn settled on the sea. It blotted out even the faint line of the hills. The transports steamed forward to their appointed stations off the coast. The mystery of it! The silent, terrible power of an organized fighting machine! The wheels set in motion! Alongside of each ship came the destroyers, and alongside them in turn drifted the strings of boats into which the troops had to go on the last stage of their journey. Already the men, fully equipped with their heavy packs, greatcoats, and weapons of war, were drawn up on the decks. No unnecessary word was spoken now. I believe that the troops had so much to think of, that the thought of bullets did not enter their mind at that time. Those that did not carry a pick, had a spade; and every man carried a special entrenching tool. All had bags for filling with sand, wire-cutters, to say nothing of three days' rations in their haversacks, and their packs besides. They had 200 rounds of ammunition per man. Their rifles they tucked away under their arms, gripping them with their elbows. This left their hands free. So down four ladders they dropped over the sides of the battleships and transports on to the decks of the destroyers. They were crowded there; no room to move at all. To the unknown hostile strand they went. The last 2 miles was a race against time, for soon now the Turks would know of the landing. At least, they knew not at which point it would come, so they prepared the whole of the beaches. Later I shall tell you exactly how. It was four o'clock in the morning, and bitterly cold. The men said they remembered that much, and the last warm breakfast of coffee and rolls that they had on deck; they remembered little else than that. They had a rifle and no target that they could see. Now the Army Corps had, as I have told elsewhere, a covering force chosen specially and assiduously practised in landing on Mudros beaches--the 3rd Brigade, under Colonel Maclagan. This daring force was to blaze the way, or brush aside, in a military sense, any obstruction of the enemy; barely 3,500 men, on whom the reputation of an army and a Nation was staked. To be more exact. At 2.30 a.m. the transports, together with the tows and the destroyers, steamed in to within 4 miles of the coast. The moon was sinking slowly, and the silver haze it cast in the heavens, back of the island of Imbros, may have silhouetted the ships dimly and served as a warning for the Turks. Probably the ships came undetected, but no sight of land could be seen, not even a signal light. From the battleship _Queen_, lying but a mile off the promontory of Gaba Tepe, all directions were given and the attack commanded. Six bells and "All's well" still with the adventure. No smoking is allowed. Fierce oaths rap out at thoughtless soldiers who, by a simple act, might imperil the lives of all. Has a signal light on shore any significance? Nothing happens; so all believe it has not. The murmurs of the men had been lowered to whispers as they had last talks and confidences and chats over the "game afoot." It was only 12 miles across from Imbros to the intended point of disembarkation, but at a slow 4-knot speed, what length those three hours! Suddenly in the midst of all the whisperings and lapping of the waves on the black fleet, a ray of light stretches like a gaunt white arm far into the sky, and begins to sweep round stiffly behind the rugged hill. It rests down south at the entrance to the Straits, and then, as if satisfied in its search, roves idly along, until suddenly as it appeared, it vanishes. Yes, the fleets had escaped detection surely, for the light came from Chanak Fort, where the restless Turk spent another night in trembling anticipation. Often after did we see that wandering restless ray, with others, go streaming down the Straits in search of victims on which to train the fortress guns. That night, so well planned was the attack, it found naught of the ships lying concealed behind Tenedos, and which, so few hours later, were to set forth, British manned, at the time the Australians were hurling themselves ashore on the narrow cove that goes down to history named after them--Anzac. Only a general idea of the shore on which the army corps was to set foot had been gained by the leaders from the decks of warships. It revealed to them, just north of Gaba Tepe, a short strip of beach, little more than a hundred yards in length, with a low plain behind it, out of which rose up the ridges and foothills, ending in the great ridge of Sari Bair and culminating in Koja Chemin Tepe (Hill 971), the objective of the Army Corps. There was to be a descent on this beach, so it was planned, and a turn north-east up along a plateau or ridge that rose rapidly to the crowning hill. Gaba Tepe itself was a headland in which the Turks had concealed batteries of machine guns to enfilade this landing and other beaches, but which same point had served for weeks as a good target for the warships. This point was to be stormed and held. The 2-1/2-knot current that sweeps along the coast from the mouth of the Straits, bore the bows of heavily laden but shallow draft lifeboats and barges down the Gulf farther than was intended, and so the landing beach was mistaken in the dark. The attack once launched, there was no withdrawal or remedy, so the troops began to pour ashore a mile farther along the coast to the north than was intended; not, on landing, to reach a plain, but to be faced with terrible hills and deep ravines. But was it so awful an error? Chance had carried in her womb a deeply significant advantage, for at the original point the beach had been carefully prepared with barbed-wire, that ran down into the very water. Trenches lined the shore--making similar obstacles to those the British troops faced 9 miles away at Helles. So Chance guided the boats into a natural cove, certainly not very large--just a segment of a circle some 400 yards long. Never anticipating an attack at the foot of such a ridge, the Turks had dug but few trenches to protect this spot, more so as the whole of the beach might be commanded by machine guns, concealed in certain knolls. Around the northern point of the cove, however, the breach broadened out again into what, in winter, was a marsh about 200 yards wide, which eventually, towards Suvla Bay, opened out into the marshes and plains of Suvla Bay and the valley that leads up to the Anafarta villages. Unwittingly, into the cove and around its northern point, Ari Burnu, the first boats were towed by destroyers and pinnaces until, the water shallowing, the ropes were cast off and a naval crew of four, with vigorous strokes, pushed on until a splutter of rifles proclaimed that the Turks had realized the purpose. The battle opened at 4.17 a.m. The racket of the rifles reached the ears of the other brigades, locked still in the transports, while the 3rd Brigade, men of the 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th Battalions, went ashore to form the screen for the landing army--the 9th (Queensland) Battalion led by Lieut.-Colonel Lee, the 10th (South Australian) led by Lieut.-Colonel Weir, the 11th (West Australian) led by Lieut.-Colonel J. L. Johnston, and the 12th (from S.A., W.A., and Tasmania) led by Lieut.-Colonel Clarke, D.S.O. It was a terrible duty, but a proud position, and Colonel Sinclair Maclagan had command. The men had orders not to fire. They had to judge for themselves, and leap into the water when they were nearing the shore. So the men jumped from the boats into the icy �gean, up to their armpits sometimes, their rifles held above their heads, and slowly facing the stream of lead, waded to the shore. Eager to be free of action, they at once dropped their packs and charged. Some Turks were running along the beach to oppose them. These were killed or wounded. At other places round the northern extremity of the cove the boats were drifting in, and along the broader shore were grounding on the beach, only to be shattered and the whole parties in them decimated by the machine guns in Fisherman's Hut and the low hills above this enemy post. [Illustration: GABA TEPE AND THE PLANNED LANDING BEACH. Picture taken from Tasmania Post looking south on to Achi Baba in the far distance.] [Illustration: A SHELL BURSTING IN THE VERY HEART OF ANZAC COVE, NEAR LIEUT.-GENERAL BIRDWOOD'S DUGOUT AND THE END OF WATSON'S PIER. To face p. 104.] So the Turks found the attack on them before they realized its proximity and strength. A few companies of the enemy were manning shallow trenches on the foothills, others were on the ridges overlooking the beach. Firing spread from end to end of the beaches, the machine guns spluttering a deadly line. Against this opposition, with a yell and cheers, the Australians dashed into their first action. "Impshee,[1] Impshee, Yallah--you black devils!" was the cry that broke from a thousand throats. Louder and still louder grew the crack of the rifles, and when the Turks turned, not waiting for the army that now tumbled on to the beach, and ceased firing, the guns from behind the ridge and from Gaba Tepe point, took up the tale. Shrapnel soon began to burst over the beach, flicking to foam the waters between the now dimly visible transports and the water's edge. It was fortunate the Turkish gun fire went high in that first hour's fighting, and only fell harmlessly into the water, the men ashore escaping hurt as they swiftly advanced through the bushes, routing the Turks on the beach. Then, faced by almost perpendicular cliffs, these fearless fighters turned half-right (they had bayoneted the few Turks that remained) and went up the side of a high ridge--Maclagan's Ridge, 200 feet high--and paused only for want of breath. On they went a moment later, the officers leading what squads of men they could gather up, on to a plateau, known afterwards as "Plugge's Plateau," and down into a great ravine or _dere_--Shrapnel Gully. [1] Egyptian: "Get out!" Only men in perfect health and of the physique of these troops could have accomplished the scaling of those hills and still charge on, their vigour unabated. That climb had been amongst firs and holly bushes, over carpets of poppies, anemones, and wild flowers. The troops fired now from the ridges into the running Turks, whom they could not well see, but could hear crashing away ahead of them. It was the first step in a great charge. The Turks had not been numerous, but their position might well have been called impregnable. I do not suppose more than 500 to 800 Turks composed the force that manned the heights, but they had trenches, machine guns in positions, and had but to turn their fire on the water's edge that gently lapped the shore. They knew they had many thousands in reserve at Maidos, Bogali, and Kojadere, the nearest camp, but fearful of the landing host, they had turned and gone back to the gully, where, joined by reserves, they waited the next onslaught. These enemy lines too, now the gallant 3rd Brigade, spreading out in a thin line, drove before them. Raked by machine guns from other ridges, the bullets came whistling through the leaves of the bushes round them. It was no use to pause in the valley--bullets came from behind, as snipers waited while the onward rush went over them, and then fired into the rear of the advancing parties--only to push on and on. Terrible work this was, crashing through the undergrowth, down, down into a valley, the bottom of which could not be seen, over broken ground, to reach at last creeks, and then to climb the hill outlined faintly in irregular silhouette before the advancing dawn. As it grew lighter the enemy in great numbers could be seen running along these ridges, or establishing themselves in hasty entrenchments. Had they attacked, 4,000 strong as they were, they must have dispersed our isolated parties, driving them back at least. But the fierceness of the landing had shaken the nerve of the Turkish army; for the moment, I believe, the attack was paralysed. For an hour the Turks had ceased firing--between 5.30 and 6.30. Oh, thrice blessed hour, that gave the landing army time to gather its strength! The main gully was intersected by many smaller gullies, and down each of these parties of shouting Australians went, wherever they could find a leader--a sergeant, a South African veteran, or officer--to lead them. Some waited for word to go on, others went on till they were lost to their comrades for ever in the distant ridges. In the early hours Major Brand, Brigade-Major of the 3rd Brigade, directing the right of the line that was working east, led a party across a crest, and, on the hillside below, saw a redoubt and earthworks, on which, after opening rapid fire, without delay he charged. The Turks fled, leaving as a prize to fall into our hands a three-gun battery of Krupp guns. One cannot overestimate the gallantry of this small party, who lost no time in spiking the guns and destroying them as best they could. For already the Turkish first counter-attack was developing, and it became necessary for Colonel Maclagan, while waiting for the new regiments, to contract his front. Major Brand had to retire to the hill crest, and for this deed and other heroism that morning he obtained the D.S.O. Hours ere this had fled by, and meanwhile other regiments were pouring from the transports. Still the darkness hung over the shore. Only with the faint streaks of dawn could it be definitely learned that the brigade that had landed had won and held the heights. As one section of transports, having discharged its human freight, moved out, others filed in to take their places. The flashes of rifles could be seen on the cliffs, the error of the landing--that fortunate error--realized with a gasp of horror, surprise, and fear. All need for silence now ended, the orders rang out sharp and clear. Torpedo-boats bumped alongside, swiftly brought to rest, while the troops dropped down on to their decks, only to find there wounded men who had returned, never having set foot ashore. "Hullo, mates, stung!" called some men from the transports to the wounded men. "Blasted bad luck!--months of training, and never got a shot at the blighters, and only twenty minutes of fighting." Wounded were being lifted gently on board by the slings; others lay on the torpedo-boats, the time too precious to render anything but first aid while the task of disembarking still remained unfinished. How magnificent the attitude of the Navy now that the strain was lifted, and a silent, stern air had given place to a jaunty assurance. Boys ran pinnaces up to grim transports and took command of hundreds of men, fearing death as little as any tried veterans. Reckless of danger, they never flinched. Let me only tell of one such midshipman hailing a transport (the skipper told me the story himself later), saying:-- "Admiral's orders, but you will move in to ---- position, closer in shore." "Is there any danger?" bellowed back the skipper, thinking of the safety of his ship and the shells that threw towers of water up over his decks. "Danger, sir! What is danger?" came back the piping reply. And those men a little more senior, commanding the destroyers, the adventure of it all appealed to their deep-rooted instincts--the instincts of the Navy. "Well, where do you want to go to?" asked a destroyer commander of a young infantry officer with his hundreds of men as he came aboard from the liner towering above the squat little warship. "Good God!" exclaimed the officer, and, turning, shouted up to his commanding officer, still on board the transport, "He does not know where to take me!" "That is all right," laughed the naval man. "I went a bit north last time. I'll try a little higher up." And his engine-room bell tinkled and they were off. Amongst the boats and barges and small craft, as the dawn grew bright, the shells from the Turks fell, and the bullets from the hills raked them and killed the rowers at the oars. Major Jackson, in command of a company of the 7th Victorians, related to me his experience, that, in the words of a soldier, most vividly tells the adventures of all those regiments landed about six o'clock in the pale morning light:-- "We had few oars--not enough to get quickly out of the hell fire once the pinnaces had cast us off, nearly 100 yards from shore. All the men who could crouched low in the boat, while the others rowed or sat by me on the gunwale. Then one lad caught a crab, and I commenced to curse him till, taking one more stroke, he fell dead across his oar, shot through the head. The bullets were ripping against our sides and the boat was filling with water. Many of us had to jump out while still the water was up to our armpits and push the boat inshore; many could never leave the boat. I formed up all the men I could from my own and other boats, and was directed up to the hills. But I can tell you that in many boats few men came out, and others lay at the bottom jammed beneath their dead comrades, who crushed them down." [Illustration: ANZAC COVE, THE ACTUAL LANDING BEACH, SHOWING THE TRAVERSES SUBSEQUENTLY ERECTED ON THE PIERS AND BEACH FOR PROTECTION. The Beach Casualty Clearing Station was situated behind the boxes. Suvla Bay, over Ari Burnu Point, to the north.] Surely no words can describe the gallantry of troops who, without a murmur, bore their wounds. They joked while in the boats, talked of the nearness of the shot and shell, laughed as bullets flicked caps and jackets. Their attitude to death roused the enthusiasm of the sailors. "They believe they are still on a picnic!" exclaimed a naval officer, and as the outline of the cliffs grew more distinct, "Hell!" he exclaimed. "They are up there! Good on you, Australians!" It was the beginning of the knowledge to the Navy what fighters the young Nation had, and they welcomed them, and henceforth anything in their power was too little to help men who could face death with a cheer and a smile. Portions of the 5th, under Colonel Wanliss, and 6th Battalion, under Colonel M'Nicol, came inshore on large lighters that remained almost stationary off shore, with the shrapnel bursting over them, till lines were passed to the beach and their comrades hauled them in. Major Whitham, 12th Battalion, told me when he had called on his men from his boat, but three had responded--the rest had been shot. It is impossible to say which battalion landed first of the brigades. Generally it is conceded that the Queenslanders got ashore first, but only a few seconds later came the remainder of the troops from every State of the Commonwealth. The 1st and 2nd Brigades landed at six o'clock and were on shore by nine. The beach from a distance looked a surging mass of khaki figures, while the hillsides were covered with groups of men, who were working like fury, digging holes and tearing down the bushes. Pinnaces, stranded and sunk, lay along the shore, barges, too, and boats. Major Cass (now Colonel Cass, D.S.O.), Brigade-Major of the 2nd Brigade, commanded by Colonel M'Cay, described to me the landing of the Victorians, who now followed hard after the clearing party, together with the 1st Brigade, under Colonel M'Laurin. I will repeat it here as the testimony of a gallant soldier:-- "The transports moved into position, but they could not get forward, as warships and T.B.D.'s, with the 3rd Brigade, still occupied the allotted places. In consequence, the 7th Battalion and portion of the 6th were embarking in boats before the 5th and 8th could get to their places. The enemy now had light enough to use his field guns from Gaba Tepe, and shelled the boats heavily. Gaba Tepe was at once engaged by the _Triumph_ and _Bacchante_, but the guns were so well placed that they continued in action at intervals during the whole landing. This shell fire enfiladed the beach and caused many casualties in the boats. Those casualties caused further delay in the disembarkation, as wounded men were left in the boats, and even put in the boats from the beach. When the boats returned to the transports it was necessary to take the wounded on board, and, as provision had not been made for this, increasing delays took place with each tow or string of boats. It was interesting at this stage to watch the demeanour of the troops. At least 90 per cent. of them had never been under fire before, and certainly 95 per cent. had not been under shell fire. Yet they looked at the wounded, questioned them, and then went on with their disembarkation in a matter-of-fact way, as if they were used to this sort of thing all their lives. There seemed to be one desire--to get to grips with the enemy. Quickly and methodically the boats were loaded, tools handed down and stowed away, and all made ready, as had been practised at Mudros, and the tows started for the shore. On reaching the beach there was a certain amount of confusion. Men from all four battalions of the 2nd Brigade began landing at the one time, to find on the beach many men from the 3rd Brigade who had gone forward. Because of the landing being made a little farther north than was anticipated or intended, the 3rd Brigade had gone to the left flank, and the 2nd Brigade, after a hurried consultation between the two brigades, moved to the right flank. The first ridge emphasized the necessity for discarding the packs, and thus free of their loads, the men moved on. But practically all semblance of company and battalion formation was lost." And here let me write of the praise that all ranks have for the 26th Indian Mountain Battery that landed with the Victorians and pushed immediately into the heart of the position. The busy bang, bang of those terrible relentless little guns did much to stiffen and strengthen the next twenty-four hours' resistance of the army. "Yes, there are the guns, men, just behind you," and the officer saw on the face of the soldier a contented smile. "We're all ---- well right now, let the ---- come!" and on the soldier went digging. I shall have more to say of these Indians later. By midday the whole of the Victorians and the New South Wales Brigades were landed. Unavoidably, in the stress of battle they had mingled their battalions with the 3rd Brigade's, now forming a curved line on the edge of the plateau that lay on the far side of Shrapnel Gully, from a point about a mile from Gaba Tepe round on to the shoulder of the main ridge, thus forming an arc of which the beach made the cord. For, while the Australians had been holding the main ridge with a line running almost due north and south, the New Zealanders had landed, and had stormed and captured the ridge that lay almost at right angles (a last spur of Sari Bair) to the beach, advancing from the first ridge that had been stormed by the 3rd Brigade and making good the plateau called--after their leader, Colonel Plugge (Auckland Battalion)--Plugge's Plateau. Some of the landing parties, I have related, had got ashore at the point of Ari Burnu, or even farther north, and were enfiladed from machine guns placed in some fishermen's huts about 200 yards along the beach. With magnificent gallantry Captain Cribb, a New Zealand officer, led a party of men to the huts, which he captured at the point of the bayonet, killing or dispersing the Turks, who fled into the hills, leaving a quantity of ammunition and some stores to fall into our hands. Rid of this menace, the beach here suffered only from a frontal fire from the ridges, as it always did even in subsequent months. Later in the afternoon and evening the 4th Infantry Brigade, under Colonel Monash, that came swiftly up, filled the gap at the head of Shrapnel Gully and united the Australians and New Zealanders at a point where the Turks might have easily come and severed our lines, at the head of what was subsequently called "Monash Gully," near Pope's Hill and Quinn's Post. Now the fight for that main ridge was fierce in the extreme. While the beach and the landing waters were raked with shrapnel that caused hundreds of casualties, the gullies were also swept by fearful machine-gun fire. Overhead whizzed and burst the continuous pitiless shells. "Don't come up here!" yelled an officer to Lieutenant Mangar as he attempted to lead a platoon of men over a small under feature that formed a way to the main ridge. "This is riddled with machine-gun fire!" It was an exclamation often heard as parties of men strove to link up the firing-line. Early in the afternoon the Turkish first attack developed. At three o'clock they attempted to pierce our line in the centre along the main ridge. Already many of the most advanced parties, that had gone well forward, unsupported on either flank, for more than a mile farther (nearly three miles from the landing shore), led by corporals, sergeants, and what officers were available--alas, whose names must go unrecorded!--had been driven back and back fighting, even cutting their way out. They saw that to remain would mean to be slaughtered. The Turks were hurrying up reinforcements. How many men fell in that retirement I would not like to estimate. Of the 5th Battalion alone, Major Fethers, Major Saker, Major Clements--all leading groups of men towards the heart of the Turkish position--each fell, mortally wounded--finest types of soldiers of the army. Hundreds of men sold their lives in reckless valour, fighting forward, led by their officers, who believed that while they thus pressed on, the hills behind them were being made secure. This, indeed, was exactly what did happen, which always leaves in my mind the thought that it was the very bravery and zeal of those first lines of men--men from all battalions of various brigades, who pushed forward--that enabled the position in rear to be held and made good, though the pity was that sufficient reserves were not ready at hand to make good the line, farther inland, on the last ridge that overlooked Boghali and the main Turkish camp--a ridge some men reached that day, but which the Army Corps never afterwards gained. On Lieut.-Colonel M'Nicol, commanding the magnificent 6th Battalion and a portion of the 7th as well (Lieut.-Colonel Elliott, their leader, having been wounded), the main fighting fell in that first attack made on the right of the main ridge. Between him and the next battalion on his flank, the 8th, under Lieut.-Colonel Bolton, was a gap of some 400 yards. It was a desperate time holding these until the arrival of Lieut.-Colonel Thompson with the 4th Infantry, that effectively filled the gap, driving back the Turks, though losing their gallant leader in the charge. No time yet to dig in; the Turks' attack was pressed with fury. Hand-to-hand fighting resulted in the Turk going down as the Australian yelled defiance at him in his excitement and frantic despair at the terrible hail of shrapnel raining from above. There seemed to be constant streams of men making their way to the dressing-station. Major Cass told me "four well-defined and partly sheltered tracks were followed, but even along these tracks men were being killed or wounded again by shrapnel coming over the firing-line on the ridge. This continual thinning of the already weakened line for a time seemed to imply disaster. The shrapnel of the Turks was doing its work with a deadly thoroughness. The enemy's guns could not be located by the ships' guns. We had only one mountain battery ashore, and it was seen and met by a storm of shrapnel, losing half its strength in casualties. Reinforcements were urgently needed, and so slowly did they come that they appeared to be drops in the bucket. But with dogged persistence our troops held the main ridge. In advance of this line were still to be seen a few small parties of men--the remains of platoons which had pushed forward and hung on." [Illustration: ANZAC POSITION ON MAY 19TH, 1915. To face p. 112.] As night fell, the line, though not continuous, was linked in two sides of a triangle round the position, with the beach as a base. The 4th Brigade had, under Colonel Monash, been dashed up to the central portion of the line, where the Turks were massing in the greatest numbers. General Bridges had come ashore and so had Lieut.-General Birdwood, and sought to gain the true strength of the situation from the leaders. For a memorable conference had been held between the three Brigadiers earlier in the day, when roughly the line was divided up, the 2nd being to the south, then the 3rd, the 1st, and finally the 4th near the Sari Bair main ridge. It was not as the original plans had been conceived, but it served well. The line was now desperately in need, everywhere, of reinforcements. On the beach the scenes were indescribable. The wounded were pouring into the temporary dressing station that Colonel Howse, V.C., had rapidly erected ashore; the boats that brought to the beach the living, went back to the ships with the wounded and dead. General Bridges would not permit the guns to be landed--thereby adding to the chaos on the beach, where stores, equipments, and ammunition came tumbling from the boats on to the narrow shore, not 10 yards wide--until after dusk, when the first gun was brought into action, a Victorian gun, under Colonel Johnston. Some guns of Colonel Rosenthal's Artillery Brigade had come ashore at noon, but Colonel Hobbs, under orders from the Army Corps, sent them back. It was, as yet, no place for guns, with the Turks massing for attack and the situation critical, but it was guns that were urgently needed. The cry for reinforcements became more insistent as the night wore on. Lieut.-General Birdwood was recalled to the _Queen_. Orders were given to prepare for evacuation, and at midnight the boats were simply carrying off the wounded in tightly packed boatloads. Delay was inevitable with such casualties--three or four thousand--yet it was this delay that made the situation desperate. Would the wounded have to be abandoned when the position was relinquished and another 3,000 men lost? Before night had deepened the Turks commenced to counter-attack again. Charge after charge they made, their shrapnel bursting in front of them over our lines; but they would never face the lines of bayonets that waited for them, and well directed volleys sent them back to their trenches and silenced their shrill cries of "Allah, Allah Din!" Towards early morning the position became calmer, as the Turks were flung back. What troops could be spared dug and dug for their lives, exhorted by their officers. Orders, counter-orders, false commands, came through from front to rear, from rear to front, from flank to flank. Snipers fell to blows from the butt of a rifle, prisoners prayed for safety, never dreaming it would be granted them. So the crisis came and passed. A determination, long fostered in the hearts of all, to "stick for Australia," to hang on or die in their trenches, won the day. Moral, if not very sanguinary support was given by two 18-pounder guns that opened fire from our own trenches on the Turkish positions at dawn of the Monday morning. I doubt if more surprised men ever faced shells than the Turkish leaders when they realized that in the very firing-line, by the side of the landed infantry, were field guns, generally in rear of the battle line, and now firing at point-blank range at the enemy entrenched lines. It was a feat of no mean importance to drag by lines of men, as the Italian gunners later did at Gorizia, those great guns to the front of the battle; it required great grit to keep them there. How the "feet" cheered the gunners on that morning as they plumped shell after shell into the disordered Turkish ranks. "There they go! Give it them, the blighters!" yelled the excited infantrymen; and they poured their rifle fire into the bodies of Turks that could be seen moving or crawling in the green bushes which in those days covered the plateau. So ended the most horrible night ever spent on Anzac, and thus began the dawn of that famous position. CHAPTER XII A TERRIBLE THREE DAYS Dawn on the 26th came stealing over the hills beyond the Straits and snow-capped Mount Ida, showing her pink peak above the dark grim fortifications of Kelid Bahr, and along the Dardanelles Straits. Dawn awoke to hear the thundering boom of the guns from the fleet in amongst the valleys and gullies of Anzac, the rattle of muskets and the rip-rip-rip of machine guns. It spread with an echoing roar to the beach; it was taken up by the ships that lay one or two miles off the coast; it was intensified and flung back to shore again by the monster guns on the deck of the _Queen Elizabeth_. Down to the entrance of the Straits rolled the sound; and back from the Straits came the thundering roar as of a million kettledrums, while the fierce attacks and counter-attacks of the British pushed in on to the fortifications, and turned the Turks in terror to the foothills of Achi Baba. The enemy had abandoned their smashed guns; they had evacuated the fortifications and the village of Seddul Bahr, as the magnificent, imperishable 29th Division had managed to gain a foothold round the toe of the peninsula. Word had early been flashed up to Anzac that the landing had been a success, but had been resisted more fiercely, more terribly than even the most sanguinary expectations predicted. It was the naval guns that took the place of the field guns, bursting shrapnel in the front of the Turkish lines, that held back the enemy charges, that decimated their men, that enabled the British and the Australian troops to effect the landing and hang on to the ridges until their trenches were deep enough, their guns landed, and the lines organized to withstand any attacks, however violent. It was artillery fire that the infantry (30,000 infantry) needed most at Anzac, and it was heavy artillery fire with a vengeance they got. As I watched the warships pumping in shells on to the hills, saw the Turks answering with the bluish white, curling clouds of shrapnel that burst over the sea and the gullies, it gave me an indication of the fury of the battle of which these were the only visible signs at long range. There was a balloon observing for the ships. The _Queen Elizabeth_, the _Triumph_, and the _Bacchante_, and five other warships lay off Anzac. There were three times as many off Cape Helles, with the French fleet steaming off Kum Kale. I watched the leaping tongues of fire from the warships' sides, and heard the muffled report as the smoke blew back over the decks in a yellow cloud; and before it had vanished (but many seconds later, as it had whirled miles in the air), the explosion of the shell bursting on the side of the hills and among the trenches. The wounded felt that shelling most, as they lay on the cliffs, on the shore, on the decks of the transports, with the ships firing point-blank at them. It shook them--it chilled their blood. But the men in the trenches knew that on the naval gunners depended their lives, depended their success; it was these protecting screens of fire, of huge shells, that gave them time to dig, and to settle down into what was fast becoming trench warfare. The Turks gathered battalions to battalions and flung them against the parts of our lines where the configuration of the country made them naturally weakest. The shells from the warships decimated them. If Sunday had been the critical night for the Army Corps at Anzac, Monday and Tuesday were the critical days. Each party of men fought as a separate, desperate unit. The Turk might throw his complete reserve battalions against the right, the centre, or the left of our thinned ranks, but it was only the grit, the determination of the fighting spirit of the Australians and New Zealanders that enabled them to hold back the enemy or continue the attacks in small units led by a corporal or a junior subaltern. Reinforcements were hastily gathered, such parties as might be found in the valleys going to join the scattered regiments, or trying to find their comrades of a battalion. No counter-attack on a large scale could be ordered while such disorganization prevailed; but each section of the line sought to advance, as it was found necessary to take and straighten and strengthen the position on the second ridge, so as to eventually link up the whole line. [Illustration: MACLAGAN'S RIDGE AND ANZAC BEACH ON 26TH AUGUST, SHOWING THE HILLSIDE AS YET UNINHABITED.] [Illustration: EARLY HOSPITALS ON ANZAC BEACH.] In this way, then, the firing-line was roughly divided--on the first morning after landing--into four sections. On the extreme right was mostly the 2nd Brigade, under Colonel M'Cay, next to him the 3rd Brigade, under Colonel Maclagan, with battalions of the 1st Brigade, under Colonel M'Laurin, on his left. The 4th Brigade, under Colonel Monash, filled the apex of the position, and turning back the flank to the beach were the New Zealanders, under General Russell. A rough-and-ready division of the line it was, but it held, and, with little alteration, was kept as the sections of the position. Units were terribly mixed, and battalions, irrespective of brigades, were ordered to defend weakened positions or reinforce where the Turkish attacks grew most violent. Daylight found the troops still digging for their lives. Rain fell slightly. The men had some cover now, and found to their satisfaction and comfort that shrapnel no longer worried them so long as they kept in their trenches. How true in those days that the safest part of the position was the firing-line; for the tracks across the gullies were naked and open to the fire of the snipers' bullets that came even behind the line where the Turk had crept (for the gullies had not yet been searched and cleared). One party of Turks, indeed, endeavoured to get a machine gun through the lines on a stretcher, roughly covered by a greatcoat, as if they were carrying out a wounded man. They had not gone far before the trick was discovered, and these daring men were shot down. They were German non-commissioned officers in charge of machine guns. Lieutenant Mangar told me how he lay wounded behind a bush watching these German gunners, not 10 yards from him, pouring lead into our retreating parties of men. Finally, they, in turn, were forced to retire, and he crept in, under cover of darkness, to his own trenches. The opening round of our guns was the signal for rejoicing, and five guns were firing throughout the day. A New Zealand battery first came into action with a roar, and some of Colonel Rosenthal's 3rd Brigade were landed later in the day. Artillery lanes had been cut round steeper slopes, over which the gunners and infantrymen dragged them, once they had been brought along the beach by the gun teams. Desperate efforts were made by artillery officers to silence the battery of guns that the Turks had skilfully concealed on Gaba Tepe, and though our field guns, warships, and destroyers plastered the point, the enemy's guns still continued to do terrible execution on the landing beach and amongst the troops entrenching on the right of the position. A landing party had been repulsed with heavy losses, finding the beach a mass of barbed-wire entanglements, and machine guns concealed in the cliffs. Hang on and dig, hang on to the edge of the second plateau, back on to which they had been forced after the charge across the three ridges to the last lines of hills that looked down on the green, cultivated plains stretching almost to the Dardanelles, was all the Australians could do now. As far as possible the officers were endeavouring to reorganize their companies and battalions. Brigadiers have explained to me how for days, as they could, they gathered 50 or 60 men from this unit and that, and would communicate with the brigadier next along the line, and a transfer would be effected. It was not possible to let many men from the firing-line at one time, as the Turks were furiously making preparations for attack. Practically nothing could be accomplished on this Monday or Tuesday. In the still all too shallow trenches the "spotters" for the warships (young lieutenants from Duntroon College, Australia, had been chosen) telephoned to the beach, from whence, by means of a wireless signal station, they directed the ships' fire with telling effect. Officers had but to find targets to be able to get any number of shells from the _Triumph_ or _Bacchante_, or the destroyers that nosed close inshore, hurtling in the required direction. Throughout the morning of Monday the Turks again began their counter-attacks, which with brief intervals, it seemed almost without ceasing, for two days they dashed first at one and then at another section of the line. A Turkish order may be quoted to show the manner in which the German leader, Liman von Sanders, endeavoured to inspire his troops, which now numbered probably 40,000 men, to further sacrifices. It ran:-- Attack the enemy with the bayonet and utterly destroy him. We shall not retrace one step, for if we do our religion, our country, and our nation will perish. Soldiers, the world is looking to you. Your only hope of salvation is to bring the battle to a successful issue, or gloriously to give up your life in the attempt. It may be added here, too, that after two days' constant attack the Turkish leaders refused to ask their troops to face the ships' fire again during the day. For it was the ships' fire (with the _Queen Elizabeth's_ enormous 15-inch shrapnel pellets--a thousand in a case) as well as our machine guns and the rifles and the Indian Mountain Artillery (magnificently served were these guns) that the Turks faced as they charged. First on the right of the line the attacks began. The Turks were hurled back by the 8th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Bolton. The Australians stood steady, sweeping the enemy's lines, heaping up the dead. The Turks advanced in the favourite massed German formation. Grimly, with bayonets fixed, the Australians waited in their unfinished trenches. At the apex of the line, the head on Monash Gully, the great Turkish attack of the day developed. Two ridges met here, and formed what was named at once the "Nek." The Sari Bair ridge ran at right angles to the beach, beginning with what had been named Walker's Ridge and Russell Top, and continuing on past Chunak Bair to Hill 971, or Koja Chemin Tepe. Just above Russell Top the broad plateau (on the edge of which most of the Australian army now clung desperately) joined the Sari Bair ridge at the Nek. This main Australian ridge ran in a bow round to Gaba Tepe. So steep was the head of the gully and so cut up with hills (for a spur ran out from the very centre of it--Pope's Hill) that it was not possible to get a continuous line of trenches across to the Nek. There was no alternative but to dig in here from Russell Top, down across the gully, and up again on to the knob which struck out into the gully, dividing its head in two (called subsequently Pope's Hill), and from this point across to Quinn's Post, so linking up with the rest of the right of the line. The summit of the arc, as I have described our position--now for the first time more definitely defined--was the gully. On the left the New Zealanders held Walker's Ridge, Plugge's Plateau, and the section of Russell Top, and the trenches leading down on their left into the valley; with the result that the Turks chose this point as the best for breaking through our position and coming in behind our lines. Had they succeeded in their endeavours, which lasted till Wednesday, it would have meant the cutting of Anzac in two. The 2nd Battalion, under Colonel Braund, had held the trenches nearest the Nek until relieved by the New Zealanders on Sunday night. Meanwhile the 4th Brigade, less many companies, had been flung into the central position. All the hills were still at this time covered with thick scrub, and favoured the tactics of the Turks, who crept through it until they were near enough to make a rush at the trenches. But the men of the 2nd Battalion and the New Zealanders stood firm. From the Nek, and what afterwards became the Chessboard trenches, the Turkish snipers shot down into the gully, which was a veritable death-trap with this menace above it. No wonder to it clung the name of the "Valley of the Shadow of Death." It took many days for our sharpshooters from the high positions we had won to compel the enemy to keep under cover, and eventually to withdraw their snipers--those who were not shot at their posts. Farther along the line M'Cay's Hill and Braund's Hill, in the centre of the right of the position, were subjected to a furious bombardment by the Turkish artillery, and their machine guns were playing on these points until nearly three o'clock, when the attacks of the Turks began to increase in fury. They sent wave after wave of men against our lines, and the 8th Battalion were forced to retire to the edge of the ridge. The enemy now came across from up Happy Valley and other gullies on the right, and were threatening to break through and get behind our lines round M'Cay's Hill. It was then that two battalions, the 9th, now under Major Robertson, and 10th, under Lieut.-Colonel Weir, which had already suffered under racking fire, and had had to retire from distant ridges to which they had penetrated in a counter-attack, were brought up from a gully where they had been held in reserve. They straightway commenced to retake the lost hill. Three times they charged before the Turks finally broke, unable to face the reckless bravery of the Australians, and the hill was finally in our possession. But our losses were again heavy. This finally settled the possession of the hill, which enabled the line to be drawn straighter along the right. Meanwhile General Bridges had completed an inspection of the ground of the position, and determined that certain portions would have to be straightened out so that the best advantage might be taken of the country before them. For this duty the 4th Battalion, or rather remaining section of it, which had been kept in reserve, were ordered to advance some hundred yards and occupy the new line. Since the landing the enemy had crept into our lines as spies, dressed in the uniforms of fallen men, and had been successful by various ruses in trapping more than one officer. They had passed false messages down the line, and had caused men to cease fire for a time, before the fallacy of the orders had been discovered. On this occasion the 4th, led by Lieut.-Colonel Thompson, believing that the whole of the line was to charge, went forward, charging on and on through two valleys to a distant ridge--Pine Ridge. They passed a small Turkish camp, and were only stopped at length by a terrible machine-gun fire when still 1,000 yards from the mouth of the enemy's heavy artillery. They had then to retire, realizing the hopelessness of their position. They fell back. As they reached what was intended for their objective they entrenched. But their gallant leader was killed in the charge. Again and again during Monday night and Tuesday the Turks charged and counter-attacked along the whole front, but the Australians, confident of their prowess after twenty-four hours' continuous fighting, grimly held their ground. They had learned that trenches gave some protection from shrapnel, and those that were not fighting were burrowing like rabbits, digging in, while their comrades held the line. The Turks continued to direct their hardest blows against the centre, but as fast as they hurried up their reserves so did the Australians come hurrying up from the beach. The unloading of the shells and supplies had proceeded rapidly now that it had been determined to hold on. The Anzacs had come for good, they left no doubt about that, and, with the guns firing from the very trenches, it was with a cheer that the lads waited for the Turks. Never would the foe face the last 20 yards and the glistening line of bayonets. Sometimes a section of our men would leave the trenches, sufficient indication of what would follow, so sending the Turks shambling back. They feared the Australian in those days and the use he made of his bayonet. It even happened that the fixing of bayonets, the men stopping their digging, halted a Turkish charge. Not that I wish to suggest that the Turk was not brave, but he had been badly rattled and shattered with the ships' appalling fire. But our troops were getting sleepy and tired, for they had been fighting for three days continuously. They had plenty of munitions and rations, and with judicious use (a thing that the Australians taught the English Tommies later on) their water supply held out. But everything had to be laboriously carried up those hills from the beach. The casualty lists show the high percentage of officers killed and wounded, due, I believe, not only to their heroism and example of leadership, but to the nature of the country. Brigadiers and battalion commanders exposed themselves, standing among the bushes and undergrowth, so as to find out where the attack might be coming from, while a tornado of lead swept past them. There was no cover other than very rough and very inadequate look outs. The snipers of the Turks were still playing havoc in our lines; many, indeed, were still behind the troops, dug into pits, with days' supplies of food and ammunition, concealed by bushes, and that was why the men as far as possible kept down in their trenches; it was that which made Shrapnel Valley the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It was while reconnoitring thus the Brigadier of the 1st Brigade--a soldier who could ill be spared at such a time or at any time, Colonel M'Laurin--fell, shot through the heart, and his Brigade-Major, Major Irvine, was killed standing alongside of him. This sad loss happened on Tuesday during the afternoon, when the Brigadier had come out from his dugout close to the firing-line (all quarters were in those early days, and were little better afterwards, so far as situation went). Some idea of the fierceness of the fighting may be gleaned from the casualties the 1st Division suffered. The 3rd Brigade in the first two days, Sunday and Monday, had 1,900, the 2nd Brigade 1,700, the 1st Brigade 900 killed and wounded. In the 2nd Brigade alone 11 officers were killed at the landing, 34 wounded, and 2 missing, afterwards discovered to be killed. There but remains now to complete the story of this great landing battle by reference to the part that the 4th Brigade took during the days till Wednesday, some mention of which has already been made. [Illustration: SHRAPNEL BURSTING OVER THE PIERS AT ANZAC FROM SHELLS FIRED BY "BEACHY BILL." View taken looking towards Hell Spit.] [Illustration: BULLY BEEF GULLY, WITH PLUGGE'S PLATEAU ABOVE. On the right, along the hillside, was 1st Australian Divisional Headquarters. Coral for Turkish prisoners on the left, with water tanks for reticulation scheme of Anzac, above. To face p. 122.] Two separate manoeuvres were tried by the Turks to break our line. They tried them both at once. One was an attempt to drive in our right flank and get round by the beach to the heart of the position. This they failed to do, as the knolls were so strongly held (the 2nd Battalion had been specially thrown on to the extreme right flank to guard against this); while the fire from the warships, especially the _Queen Elizabeth_, was far too accurate and bloody, so that the enemy dared not show themselves on those exposed slopes and in the gullies, easily raked either by direct or indirect fire from the warships, officers spotting, as I have said, from the trenches. The other attempt, a separate and even sterner battle, was the stabs that the Turks made at the highest point of the arc of our semicircular position--or at the apex, as it has been termed--near the head of Monash Gully. Our trenches were down in the gully. They were overlooked by the Turks. Shrapnel fell over them constantly and for long periods at a time. On the edges of the main ridge the position grew more and more perilous. Only for the gallant defence of Quinn's and Pope's Hills nothing could have stopped the wedge that the Turks sought to make being driven in. An officer of the 14th Battalion seized the point known as Quinn's Post, a knoll on the side of the ridge, and held on like grim death with his gallant men. I venture to say that had the Turks, rallying their numbers, succeeded in dislodging this little band of heroes from their position on this knoll, who must then have been dashed to their doom in the Shrapnel Gully, they would have gained their purpose and that great and important artery would have been commanded by Turkish fire. On Wednesday Major Quinn took it over and held it, and the post from that time on bore his name. Pope's Hill filled the gap between the heads of Monash Gully. It will easily be realized from a glance at a map (it was a thousand times more evident to see) that only for this post and this feature, the Turks would have wrought havoc in our position. An officer of the 1st Battalion took Pope's Hill with a body of about 100 men, composed of various units. In fact, he had under his command men from practically the whole of the 1st Division, whom he had gathered up as they wandered up the gullies looking for their units. He held on until the evening of Sunday, when he was relieved by a composite force, under Lieut.-Colonel Pope, with whose name this dangerous and vital hill has been ever since associated. Under his command Lieut.-Colonel Pope had about a battalion and a half, consisting of a company of the 15th, a company of the Auckland Battalion, and the 16th Battalion, about 400 men in all. In this first conflict the 4th Brigade won its renown, and Colonel Pope his name. This gallant officer had been guided up from the beach by a Staff officer, but the force, small as it was, in the darkness got divided. Part debouched to the south flank and were absorbed in the trenches there; the remainder pushed on firmly and reached the spur, Pope's Hill, and relieved Captain Jacobs, who had all the day been clinging with his little band of 100 men to this desperate position. It was shortly after these relieving troops arrived that a most curious incident occurred, which showed the cunning tactics of the Turks. Information, originating no one knew where, was passed along the short firing-line from the left that Indian troops were in possession of the ground immediately to the left of the hill at the very head of the gully. It was clearly advisable that the gap which existed between the Australian line and these Indian troops should be closed, as it gave the Turks a free passage-way down the gully, steep as it was, thereby cutting our position in two. Immediately on receipt of the verbal message Lieutenant Easton, 16th Battalion, and Private Lussington, who understood Hindustani, were dispatched, and they soon got in touch with a party of Indians that were entrenched on the side of the hill. The Indians stated that a senior officer was required to discuss matters with their officer, and accordingly Captain R. T. A. M'Donald, the adjutant, was sent forward. He had not gone far--the whole of our line to the Turkish trenches at the very head of the gully where the parley took place was not more than 150 yards--when he called back out of the darkness that the O.C. alone would do to discuss the position with. Colonel Pope went at once, and reaching the northern edge of the gully, found his adjutant and the two men who had been first sent forward talking with a party of six Indians, who had stood with their bayonets fixed. One glance was sufficient to convince the O.C. that these men were not Indians at all. He had suspected that something was wrong when called, and no sooner had he joined the party than he called out a word of warning. The Turks--for such these Indians proved themselves to be in disguise--at once formed round the Australians. Colonel Pope, who was nearest the edge of the gully, with rare courage, broke through the ring and leaped down some 12 feet into the gully below. Shots were fired after him, but he escaped, and, with a severe shaking, reached his lines. The other three men were taken prisoners at once and sent to Constantinople. In the possession of the Adjutant were important documents, plans, and maps, which in this way early fell into the hands of the Turks. Colonel Pope lost little time in extending his position across the hill that he held. His front covered about 300 yards. He had barely 400 men under his command. From this onward, through the night and succeeding days, every spare moment was spent in improving the trenches on the hill which sloped down into the gully. It was almost a sheer drop at the head of it of 80 feet, and the hillside was covered with loose earth and dense bush. There were snipers on the hill still, in concealed pits, and snipers, too, firing from the opposite side of the gully, where there had been a small Turkish camp. At periods through Monday, on until Tuesday morning, fierce attacks were made against Pope's Hill, but the Turks were repulsed by the steady fire of the defenders of the post. Reinforcements had brought the garrison up to 450 men. But both machine guns of the 16th Battalion were put out of action during Monday, and it was not till Tuesday that these were replaced by guns from the Royal Marine Light Infantry, who were now hurried up as a reserve, as will be explained in a subsequent chapter. On the 30th the 16th Battalion was relieved by the 15th. So began in bloody battle the history of this famous post, some of the still bloodier onslaughts against it remaining to be described, as they occurred, later. The topography and defences of this post and this section of the line must form always a separate chapter in the history of Anzac. The failure of the Turks to smash the resistance in the first days determined the success of the Australians. Fit as no troops have been, fit for fierce fights, from thence onward the invaders had a contempt for the Turks, and only were anxious that he should attack. In those few early days it is said that the Turks suffered nearly 50,000 casualties at Anzac and Cape Helles. Ours were over 8,000, and the British twice as many again. The enemy left thousands of dead on the battlefield before the trenches. But while they were reorganizing their great attack on Wednesday there was a lull, a curious solemn quiet that spread all along the line, which had ceased to spit and splutter except in a spasmodic way. On Tuesday the commencement of the reorganization of the Australian army was begun. It was completed by Friday. Anzac, after four days' fighting, was established. Australians had won their first battle, had gained, in that first desperate encounter, deathless fame by deeds that have no parallel in history (not even remembering the scaling of the heights of Abraham), and which rank in glory with the imperishable records of the gallant 29th Division and their attack and capture of the Turkish positions at Cape Helles. CHAPTER XIII A BATTLE PANORAMA OF GALLIPOLI This narrative is devoted to the deeds of the Australians, but on that account it must not be judged that the scanty reference to the part played by the British troops indicates that part was but of secondary importance to the Dardanelles operations and the Gallipoli campaign. On the contrary, the position may be best summed up by the words of General Sir Ian Hamilton, who said to me on Imbros one day: "We [the British] have occupied the end of the peninsula, while the Australians are a thorn in the side of the Turks. When the time comes we will press that thorn a little deeper." Yes, the British had occupied about 4 miles of the toe of the peninsula in those early days, and were slowly pushing the Turkish line back into the Krithia village and on to the great Achi Baba Hill; but to do so the aid of the French had to be called up and the Asia Minor campaign had to be abandoned. Now, I was fortunate to have been near enough to watch the French and British warships bombarding the Turkish position on Sunday morning, 25th April, on either side of the Straits, and to have seen the hosts of transports creeping from round the shores of the islands. It was only a little Greek trading steamer that I was on, and it impudently pushed its nose into the heart of these stupendous operations. I was on her by design; she was there by accident. The whole of the fleet had lain for days at their anchorage behind Tenedos. I had seen them there, their anchors down, on the very ocean bed where the Greek anchors had rested when they planned their descent on Troy to rescue the beautiful Helen. It was one of those radiant mornings that are so typical of the spring months of the Levant. The sea was almost without a ripple on it. A haze hid the distant headlands as in a shroud and cast a soft, flimsy mantle round the ships. The smoke of battle hung on the shores and round the battle-cruisers. Along the Asiatic coast, opposite the island of Tenedos, was steaming slowly a huge six-funnelled battleship of the French, its guns darting tongues of flame, three or four or six every minute. On shore the French troops were fighting their way inland and pushing back the Turkish field batteries that were answering the warships and shelling the invaders. Then we went on up towards the entrance to the Straits amongst the great liners, on which was more than one high General directing the landing of the finest British troops that the Homeland had ever produced, the 29th Division. They had been the last regular Division available, and General Hamilton had in them the mainstay of his army, the tested stuff, for that difficult landing on four beaches at the Dardanelles entrance. I watched the cruisers come steaming by, and then, signalling, steer for the shore and commence the hurling of shells on the edge of the cliffs and farther inland, where the Turks were still clinging to the battlements round the shores of their peninsula. By dawn the British, as well as the Australian, landing had been effected--at fearful cost certainly, but nevertheless accomplished--and Fusilier regiments had pushed inshore and died on the beach in lines. Their comrades had scaled the cliffs, while the Turks inch by inch, one can write, were driven from their forts, their guns broken by the weeks of bombardment. Round the toe of the peninsula the troops landed. All day the desperate fighters of the 29th Division clung to their terrible task, completing it under cover of darkness on the Sunday evening. From V beach to Morto Bay, 2 miles away, near which inlet, under the fortress of Seddul Bahr, the _River Clyde_, crammed with 2,500 men, had steamed in and been run ashore (or as near shore as reefs had permitted), the fighting continued. From the bows of this transport (an Iron Horse indeed!) a dozen machine guns were spitting darting tongues of red as still against her iron sides rattled the hail of Turkish bullets or burst the shells from the guns of the forts. It is not in my story to describe the landing from that ship--alas! now blown into fragments. It was not till some months after she had run aground that I was aboard her. In the last days of April she was the object to which all turned their eyes in recognition of a gallant undertaking, magnificently carried out by Captain Unwin, who was in charge of her. For his work this brave officer was awarded the V.C. [Illustration: ARMY SERVICE WAGONS AT CAPE HELLES ON THE WAY TO THE LANCASHIRE LANDING FOR RATIONS, THE ONLY HORSED VEHICLES THE AUSTRALIANS LANDED AT GALLIPOLI.] [Illustration: THE "RIVER CLYDE" IN SEDDUL BAHR BAY. French lines in foreground. Kum Kale Fort across the Straits in the distance. To face p. 128.] Now the Australians faced sheer cliffs; they rushed down into gullies and up on to farther ridges. The British troops scaled cliffs or found stretches of sandy beach, defended with almost impenetrable barbed wire entanglements; but beyond was a garden of loveliness--almost level fields still bearing ripening crops, and trees laden with fruits; poppies, anemones, and the hundred smaller wild flowers of the Levant carpeted the soil. Those were the shores strewn with the bodies of the most gallant men that ever fought, who had never flinched as they faced murderous fire from far fiercer guns than any that opposed the first rush of the Australians up that narrow section of the Anzac hills. Yet the Turks fell back. The warships, with their protective armour, moved in and wrought havoc on the enemy as they were driven back and back. Behind steamed the transports. Amongst all this mixed fleet thickly dropped the shells, splashing the water in great fountains over the decks, casting it 50, 100 feet into the air. Fifteen miles away Anzac was stormed and won. The Australians held with the same bulldog grit that gave the British their footing ashore. How did the French come to Helles? It was a few days afterwards, when the reinforcements for the British force were so urgently needed that it became necessary to evacuate the Kum Kale position, on the southern entrance to the Straits, and transfer the entire French army to the right flank of the Cape Helles position. That was the way the French troops came with their wonderful 75's, that later in the week were so accurately finding out the Turkish trenches, throwing a curtain of fire before the Allied lines. I do not believe in the history of any war (and one remembers particularly the storming of the heights of Quebec in this regard) has there been any battle panorama so truly magnificent, so amazingly impressive, as that 20 miles of beaches and the entrance to the Dardanelles as seen from the hilltops of the islands scattered round the entrance to the Straits. Rabbit Islands may not be marked on maps--they are only little dotted rocks on charts--but they have a light on them to guide the mariner to the entrance to the Dardanelles, which is about a mile and a half away. From them and the shelter of a single farmhouse you might look right up almost to the Chanak forts, certainly up to Kephez Bay, where the warships, screened by destroyers and mine-sweepers, were pressing their attack on the Narrows. They commanded a view of the beaches, round which transports had gathered with lighters, tugs, trawlers, pinnaces, and barges, disgorging materials and men for the great fight progressing now over the flowered fields above from the tops of the cliffs. The white hospital ships loomed like aluminium-painted craft in the fierce sun, and their yellow funnels seemed fairer still by the side of the darkened smoke-stacks of the panting destroyers, the smoke belching from their short stacks as they raced back and forth amidst them, dragging barges here, nosing in between warships there--warships from whose grim grey sides sprang red-tipped tongues and sheets of flame and rolled clouds of smoke. High into the air tore the screaming shells, which in their parabola passed over the defenceless shipping and the troops bayoneting the Turks on shore, to destroy the main Turkish position. Battleships, standing farther off still, sent shells 5, 6, 8 miles up on to the enemy forts that barked and snapped still in the Narrows. That was one picture. Take, then, the broader view from the hills of Imbros, 9 miles away. The whole peninsula was sprawled out in all its irregularity, with its still green slopes ending abruptly at the dark cliffs. In the centre were the masses of gathered hills (Kelid Bahr position), crowned with forts, invisible even at the closest observation except from aeroplane above; and beyond, across the slender rim of blue of the Narrows, the towering white of Mount Ida. I remember looking right down into the Narrows from a certain hill on this salubrious island. How intensely blue its waters were, on which I saw quickly pass a transport and a cruiser. I wondered that the yellow balloon looking down on to the Straits, signalling to the Allied warships, did not sink them with those shells which long-range guns dropped right across the 7,000 yards of the narrow neck on to the town of Maidos and Turkish transports lying at the wharves there. At Nagara there was a lighthouse that was an easy landmark to pick out, and not far distant white barracks and hospitals. Then, passing down towards the entrance, the huge citadel of the Straits, Kelid Bahr, blocked the view of the opposite shore and of the fortress Chanak, and yet lower down still, where the peninsula fell away, I could see across the narrow channel the white scarps of Dardanus and the town called Whitecliffs. These towns in the afternoon looked like miniature cities on the side of a vivid, wonderful landscape; they were a mass of white domes and towers. The sun glinted on the windows of the houses, and a thousand scintillating lights darted like the fire of rifles from the dwellings. Blue, beyond, the hills round Troy stood back from the raging battle being fought on the point of the peninsula. An aeroplane swung out of the distance and flew up and down the Straits, its observer prying into the secrets of the forts. Achi Baba was the dominating feature of the lower end of the peninsula, yet it seemed very flat beside the greater feature of Kelid Bahr and the hills of Anzac. From the angle at which I was observing the village of Krithia was just visible, snuggling between two shoulders of low hills, tucked away, it seemed, from the guns. Yet I was destined to see that village reduced to crumbling ruins by the battering guns, and watch the burning fires covering the peninsula with grey smoke. At night how they glowed and smouldered dully! Far more terrible was the fire that broke out at Maidos on the afternoon of the 29th April, when the shells from the warships destroyed the barracks, the wharves, the granaries, the arsenal, and set fire to the town. The smoke rose in a huge black column, and then, reaching a higher current of air, was carried down to the very entrance of the Straits, until in the oblique rays of the setting sun it became a dirty brown smudge above the peninsula. Next day the fires were burning still; at night the reflection lit the sky and silhouetted the hills beyond. For days afterwards the smoke was shielding from view the waters of the Narrows. I take the following extract from my diary, written at the time from the Imbros hills:-- 2 p.m. Discovered four tents Cape Tekel. Balloon observing over Straits. 2.15 Turkish guns observed in wood on the left of Tree Hill (Achi Baba). 2.30 Smoke rising over Straits north of Kelid Bahr. 2.35 Aeroplane flying up the Dardanelles over Turkish forts. 2.40 Ships dropping shells on village of Everden (Turkish headquarters). 3.0 Smoke rising south of Maidos. 3.15 Considerable activity amongst warships. 3.20 Dense smoke 100 yards long, 400 feet high, believe to be Cham Kalesi. 4.0 Certain smoke from village Maidos, rising now 2,000 feet high--still burning. Bombardment ceased for last ten minutes. 4.30 Firing at Gaba Tepe, warships plastering cliffs. 4.45 Intense fire from the fleet. 4.50 Maidos still burning. Balloon observing north Tree Hill (Achi Baba). 6.30 _Queen Elizabeth_ and balloon observing ship _Ark Royal_ going towards entrance to the Straits. All quiet. Maidos burning fiercely. Turkish guns silent. And so it was day after day. What of Anzac! It was 9 miles away, but with powerful field-glasses the boats near to the beach could be seen. The glinting rays of heliographs shone from the cliffs. An aeroplane came rapidly from over the crests of the hills and dropped down beside the parent ship and was hauled on board. Four, five, or six times a day would the "Baby" observation balloon ascend and remain with its line of flags below, motionless in the air for hours. The destroyers, those rats of the seas as they have been called, scampered over the blue water. Their guns thumped the flanks of the Australian position close to Gaba Tepe, near which point always there lay some battleship, generally the _Queen Elizabeth_, while at Suvla Bay, close inshore, the warships closed in to throw shells on to the Sari Bair ridge and Battleship Hill, a flat peak that just showed a bald top above the ridge. Anzac itself was wrapped in impenetrable mists for those first three days. From the gullies darted flashes of the guns--our own guns, almost in the infantry trenches--while the Turkish woolly balls of shrapnel came tumbling above the beaches, above the tops of the hills where the troops were digging--digging for their lives. Our own shrapnel I could see bursting far inland and on the point of Gaba Tepe, where hidden enemy guns were silenced. It was awe inspiring to watch the mass of earth thrown skyward by the striking of the _Queen Elizabeth's_ shells on Mal Tepe, a feature which dominated the alluring plain, crowned with olive groves and guarded solely by the batteries at Gaba Tepe. How entrancingly green those plains looked with their few scattered vineyards and olives! I remember wondering what would have been the result if the troops had been advancing across them just in the same way as I was watching the British advancing from the shores up the peninsula. There came the morning--29th April--when on the end of the peninsula, near Cape Tekel, white-topped tents appeared, and horses could be seen in lines. They were hidden from the Turkish view by the cliffs, but none the less shells fell among them occasionally. It denoted the British were firmly established. The press of shipping had increased. At a hundred I lost count of the ships. At Anzac there was not less than half that number, all transports, waiting--waiting as if to remove the landed army. I could find no other reason for their being there, idly changing position, while from their sides constant strings of boats came and went; but in them, I learned later, were the wounded. The transports became floating hospital wards. Up and down the shore from Anzac to Helles patrolled the cruisers, bombarding the red road open to view, where the Turkish columns were moving. From the very midst of the merchant fleet the warships' guns thundered with their "b-brum-brum-m-m," two guns together, and the faint, dull shell explosions sounded on land along the road to Krithia, where wide sheets of riven flame rolled along the ground, and a sickly yellow cloud enveloped horses, men, and guns in its toils as the Turks retreated. Then there dawned the day when the Royal Naval Air Service armoured motor-cars dashed into action, grappling wire entanglements, and sped back, with the Turkish shells bursting after them from the guns on Achi Baba as they retired. Unforgettable will remain the memory of the panorama: the calm of the sea, the havoc on shore, the placidness of the shipping, the activity of the fleet. Down below me in the mountain glens, where trickled sparkling brooks, patient Greek shepherds called on Pan pipes for their flocks, and took no more notice of the distant roar of battle--the crackle of rifles and machine guns could be heard--than of the murmuring of the sea on the seashore; and like it, unceasingly, day and night for weeks, was a horrible deadly accompaniment of one's dreams. CHAPTER XIV AN UNFULFILLED ARMY ORDER It is impossible to contemplate the position at Anzac on Wednesday, 28th April, when the fighting for a foothold on the peninsula had finished and the Turks had been crushed back, without feeling that the battlefields of France and Flanders had not taught the lessons that were only too startlingly obvious--that success was only won by adequate reserves being ready to hurl against the enemy _in extremis_. Granted that two or three days--Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday--were necessary for the reorganization of the Australian lines, bent but not broken, and full of fighting vigour, and eager to fulfil the task that was set them of breaking across the peninsula at this, almost its narrowest neck, there seems to be no explanation why there was such a miscalculation by experienced Generals of Turkish strength, and lack of reserves, which left the Turks the same three days to lick their wounds and bandage them, and return, greatly reinforced, to the fray. It becomes more inexplicable still when it is found that certain Army Corps orders were issued for a general advance, and that a chance word alone was the means of that advance being altered to a mere straightening of a portion of the strongly entrenched line. I do not think it was because we feared the Turks: that would be to pay him more credit than his actions warranted. It was, to put it quite plainly, faulty Staff work. Events are too near to attempt to place the blame; for assuredly there was some one blameable for the great wasted opportunity to crush the Turkish army of Liman von Sanders. Behind the apparent chaos of Anzac Cove and the fighting force on the hills during the first three days there was, nevertheless, the great purpose that mattered. Every one was doing his utmost to reduce the lines of communication, the stores on the beach, and the army itself to their proper and normal state. Those days from Tuesday onward may be regarded as showing some of the finest Staff organizing work that has been done in the campaign. By Friday the position was completely reorganized. Units had been rested and linked up; trenches had been straightened, strengthened, and defended against attack. Water, ammunition, food, were trickling in regular streams up the gullies; guns were in position, and fresh troops had been landed to relieve the strain and hurry matters forward. Unfortunately, it seems, they were not in sufficient numbers apparently to justify a general offensive immediately. The 1st Light Horse Brigade, under Brigadier-General Chauvel, and the Royal Marine Light Infantry, those young troops that had seen their first service in the defence of Antwerp, were put into the trenches to relieve the men who had won their first fight and fame in a three days' battle. For seventy-two hours these heroes had been without sleep; they were dropping in their tracks from fatigue. They had had water and biscuits and bully beef, but until Wednesday nothing warm to eat or drink. All day and night small parties of perhaps as many as 50, perhaps only 10 men, were to be seen going from one section of the line to another; men who had been collected a mile away from their original unit, who had got separated in the wild rushes over the hills, who had gone into the firing-line at the nearest point at which they found themselves to it. It was essential that commanders should have their own men before any move forward could be attempted on a large scale. In digging alone, the men suffered terrible hardships after their advances, strategical retreats, and the endless fatigues for water, food, and munitions. In order, therefore, that the battalions could be reformed and rearrangements made in the commands of the companies, units were withdrawn at various points from the firing-line, as they could be spared, and placed in reserve gullies, where the men obtained good sleep and rest, a hot meal, and, generally, a swim down on the beach. Now, in this 1st Division reorganization work no officer took a greater or finer part than Colonel C. B. B. White, the Chief of General Staff to General Bridges, ably supported by Major Glasfurd. He seemed indefatigable, never perturbed, always ready to remedy a defect. Major Blamey, who was Intelligence Officer, carried out daring reconnaissance work towards Maidos, leaving our lines under cover of darkness and penetrating to a distant ridge and determining much of the enemy's position on the right. Meanwhile, complete field telephone communication had been established under most awful conditions, directed by Major Mackworth, D.S.O., whose gravest difficulty was the constant breaking of the lines, through men stumbling over them in the saps and shrapnel fire, that led to the beach and the Army Corps headquarters, not usually a matter for much worry, as being distant many miles from the firing-line, in an ordinary battlefield. On 28th and 29th April a comparative calm stole over Anzac. Gradually the Turks had ceased their intense bombardments of the gullies. Their waste of ammunition had been enormous, 600 shells falling often in the course of a few hours in one small gully; yet the damage on the beach was almost negligible. Their shelling of the cove was now regulated to odd times, and never lasted for more than half an hour or an hour. The Australians had orders not to waste their rifle fire in blazing away into the darkness to no purpose, and scarcely fired a shot except at periods throughout the night when fierce bursts foreshadowed an enemy counter-attack. Anzac of the first days and Anzac of this second period was a contrast as of a raging ocean to a placid sea. By 30th April all initial difficulties had been overcome. It was on that day occurred the incident, already briefly mentioned, that had such far-reaching effects on the destinies of the Australians, and, I venture to say, on the whole of the Gallipoli operations. I refer to the formulation of an order for a general advance that was never executed. Many officers will recall that the leaders of the armies were, on the evening of the 30th April, summoned to conferences, the 1st Division under Major General Bridges, and the 2nd Division under Major-General Godley. Now, Major-General Godley had already been informed of the serious and vital nature of the centre of the line, the apex of the position, which was blunted, for the Turks still held trenches at the head of Monash Gully which commanded portions of it. He had not visited General Monash's positions and had hinted that there would be a forward movement when all units would be "out of it," and meanwhile "Cling on" was the order the 4th Brigade received. It is with this latter conference we are mostly concerned. General Godley was very seriously talking with Generals Russell and Johnston (New Zealand officers) when Brigadier-General Monash, commanding the 4th Infantry Brigade, arrived from the firing-line. Outside the dugouts there were many Staff officers. The "pow-wow" was held to disclose the plans for a general attack, ordered from Army Corps headquarters, to take place on the following evening. It was to commence at 7 o'clock. The plan disclosed that the 1st Australian Division (now roughly holding the main ridge that ran in a south-easterly direction) was to advance due east--that was, across Mule Gully on to Pine Ridge and towards the villages of Kojadere and Bogali, lying beyond; while the 2nd Australian and New Zealand Division was to advance due north beyond Chunak Bair up the back of the great Sari Bair ridge, of which we already held the spur, known as "Russell's Top." This position lay just south of the point where the ridge occupied by the Australasian Division at Pope's Hill and Quinn's Post joined the Sari Bair crest. General Monash, on hearing General Birdwood's orders, immediately pointed out that if such an advance were made the gap that already existed in the line at the head of Monash Gully, between the left flank of the 4th Brigade and the right of the New Zealand troops, would be widened. Now a very unfortunate circumstance prevented this discussion being continued to its conclusion, for a telephone message had come from that section of the line held by General Monash's troops that the R.M.L.I. (who had been holding the trenches) had been driven out by the Turks, who were pouring in at the head of the gully. There was no alternative under the circumstances but for the General to return to his headquarters, situated in Shrapnel Valley, more than a mile away, to supervise the regaining of the lost trenches. But before he hurried away General Monash was told by General Godley that the gap would be remembered when making out the divisional order that night. At any rate, it was the business of General Monash to see that touch was maintained with the New Zealanders in the coming fight. The divisional orders duly arrived next morning, in which the 4th Brigade was ordered to keep touch with the New Zealanders on the left. It was very apparent to General Monash that if the advance was persisted in, the centre, which he was responsible for, would be the weakest section of the whole line, and would, as the advance continued, grow weaker and weaker as the armies advanced to their separate objective, the gap widening all the time. It would fall to the already much reduced 4th Brigade alone to extend its flanks and to keep in touch. Two new battalions would be needed to make good the gap. Consequently, on Monday morning General Monash met Brigadier-General Walker, who was commanding the 1st Infantry Brigade (Colonel M'Laurin having been killed in the circumstances related), and very forcibly pointed out, not on the map, but on the actual ground itself from an overlooking point, what exactly would be the result of the execution of the new plan. General Walker agreed. "It cannot be done," he said. Soon afterwards General Bridges arrived, and, after a conference, strode over to the telephone without comment--in his usual silent way. It could be seen he was convinced, and in the next few minutes the statements he made while waiting at the telephone left no doubt about the matter. He called up General Birdwood, who was reported to be on the battleship _Queen_, then lying off the position. General Bridges turned and said: "I take it on myself; the Australian Division will not attack. You [addressing General Monash] may tell General Godley so from me." General Godley, on being informed of this message by telephone a little later by General Monash himself, announced his determination of carrying out the attack. "Very well," he said, "the New Zealand Division will carry out orders and attack." General Monash then asked that a Staff officer should be sent up to reconnoitre the position. This was done, and he, after visiting Quinn's Post and the position in the vicinity, reported that the manoeuvre was highly impracticable, with the troops detailed, with the result that General Godley too cancelled his section of the orders. Yet the Army Corps order remained uncancelled, as it remained unfulfilled. One can only conclude that it was drawn up without a proper reconnaissance of the country having been made. That there should have been a general advance is recognized on all hands, and there is no doubt in the minds of many Generals with whom I have spoken that it would have been possible that day, had proper provision been made in the original orders for the filling of the very vital gap in the centre of our line. The whole lamentable incident must be put down as indicative of bad Staff work--for thus it was that the whole future of Anzac was changed by a chance meeting of three senior officers on the main ridge and General Bridges' firm decision. Two days later an attempt, that may only be termed half-successful, was made to effectively seal the head of Monash Gully against Turkish advance. The attack was begun with great gallantry, some of the Naval Brigade penetrating through many Turkish lines, but the increasing battle-front as the plateau of the ridge broadened out, and the strength of the Turks (left unchallenged from the right of the line opposite the Australian position) enabled them to concentrate their attention on the centre. The troops were compelled bit by bit to withdraw to the edge of the plateau, where they clung on and remained clinging on for the rest of the period that Anzac was held. On 2nd May, exactly a week after the landing, the Australians and New Zealanders were charged with the task of capturing the head of Shrapnel Gully and the plateau beyond that led up to the Baby 700, a rounded feature, the first step in the ridge, of which Chunak Bair was the second, and highest, point. The Australian line stretched across the gully, with Pope's Hill held in the centre. On the right were Quinn's and Courtney's Posts, with the Bloody Angle, one head of the gully between, held by the enemy. On the left from Pope's Hill the line went down into the main head of the gully, up the eastern slope of the hill on to the summit, where the New Zealanders were holding on Russell Top. Practically the whole of the 2nd New Zealand and Australian Brigade were to take part in the operations, supported by Royal Marine Light Infantry troops. Lieut.-Colonel Pope was to advance up the head of Monash Gully and then storm the heights on the right of the gully, while the Otago Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel McDonald, was to advance up the gully and take the left slopes, which was the sector afterwards called the Turkish Chessboard trenches. The 13th Battalion was to support the 16th, and was, on reaching the high ground, to link up the two battalions by turning to the left. This manoeuvre meant that a line was to be drawn in front of Pope's Hill and that the 15th Battalion, which held that post, was to make a sortie. The attack was timed for seven o'clock. An intense bombardment opened the battle. Warships and the guns available on shore commenced to prepare the position by blowing up the Turks. The battalions were moving up the gullies and were waiting for the ceasing of the firing to attack. At 7.15 the bombardment ceased as suddenly as it began, and the men, cheering and singing snatches of "Tipperary" and their new Australian song, "Australia will be there," commenced to charge. Against them came a torrent of lead from rifles and machine guns, for the Turks had occupied the week in fortifying the plateau, of which we only yet held just small pieces of the outer edge. A reconnaissance had been made during the day and the leaders knew just where their objectives lay. By 8 a.m. a ridge--a sort of false crest immediately in front of Pope's Hill and to the left of Quinn's Post and covering the south-easterly front of the general position--had been captured at the point of the bayonet. Fierce hand-to-hand fighting had occurred in places before the troops got a footing and routed the Turks from the line of trenches. The enemy counter-attacked almost as soon as we had gained their position, but they failed to dislodge the Australians. Meanwhile, on the left flank the Otago Battalion, who had had to make a detour round the mountain ridge from their position, had arrived late for the battle, having found the communication-ways blocked with wounded. They did not reach their point of concentration till a quarter to eight, and it was only an hour later that they charged the position, which had been partially held for them by an extension of the 13th Battalion's line. This Australian battalion, led by Lieut.-Colonel Burnage, had stormed the ridge on which the Turkish entrenchments had been dug, just immediately in front of Pope's Hill, and the Turks, though they counter-attacked, were unable here also to regain possession of those trenches. The Nelson Battalion of the Naval Brigade now sent up a company under Major Primrose, and, with a company of the 14th Battalion, the position of the 16th was rendered a little more secure. In the darkness touch had not been kept on the left, their flank was in the air, and the 13th Battalion had not linked up as it should. The Turkish fire was smashing down the resistance of the men on the left, and the position was fast becoming untenable as the dawn broke. At 4 a.m. the Portsmouth Battalion was ordered up to support the 16th and to strengthen its left flank. Through some misunderstanding of orders valuable time was lost by the leader of the Marine Battalion, who was unwilling to enter the firing-line when orders had only been given him to form a support. The Commanding Officer would take no responsibility for going into the firing-line. While the position was still in doubt, the situation became utterly untenable owing to shells that commenced to burst in the 16th Battalion trenches, which subsequently it was found came from the destroyers, who mistook the target--so close were the trenches--and before this ghastly error could be rectified, the battalion was forced to retire on this left flank. To make matters worse a stampede ensued in the rank and file of the Portsmouth Battalion, who were congregated in the gully below. It was only by the presence of mind and great personal effort of Major Tilney, second in command of the 16th Battalion, and Major Festian, Brigade-Major of the R.M.L.I., that the stampede was checked. Efforts were made to direct gun fire on what at first were believed to be the Turkish artillery. Horrible confusion prevailed. Daylight was breaking. Some of the Portsmouth Battalion occupied a ridge on the left of the gully, on to which the Turks were firing a deadly enfilade and almost rear fire from their centre position. Until ten o'clock in the morning the 13th and 16th clung to the trenches (some of their trenches were blown away into the gully by gun fire), but, exposed to a withering fire, had at length to withdraw. At one o'clock the gully and captured trenches were abandoned. The Otago Battalion meanwhile, on the extreme left, joining with the 13th Battalion, had faced a terrible fire, but reached almost to the point of its objective in line with the remainder of the line there, well in advance of Pope's Hill. There they stuck desperately, waiting for reinforcements, which were to come under cover of darkness from the Canterbury Battalion. This succour was found impracticable, as it had been found on the right that an advance was not possible. Shells began to destroy the trenches dug overnight, with the result that the left flank of the New Zealanders was driven back. There remained but the 13th Battalion and a party from the Otago Battalion clinging on to the sharp ridge in front of Pope's Hill. They were digging hard throughout the day, while the Turks, too, were digging so close to them that it was almost impossible to say which trenches belonged to which. But the Turks, also, were working round behind the position, and at dusk there was nothing for it but that the gallant 13th should retire from their position, now being enfiladed from both flanks. The Otago Battalion, which was more or less isolated, clung on desperately to the position it had won until two days later, when it had to cut its way out. The one object accomplished by the attack was the checking of any enemy offensive against the posts which were undoubtedly the weakest portion of the whole line. But the main objective, to straighten out the line, or rather to bring the line to a culminating point at the head of the gully, and gain a footing on the plateau where the main ridge linked up with the ridge running away to the south-east, was not accomplished. It was the greatest of the many attacks about this time planned for this purpose. All along this section of the ridge fierce fighting went on during the next weeks, sorties being made from various posts to prevent the Turk pushing our line from the edge of the ridge which they had so desperately won, until in the great May attack the Australians gained the upper hand and the mastery of the Turkish fire. Always a dangerous and nervy part of the line, it was only declared "safe" after the Turkish offensive on 19th May. CHAPTER XV VICTORIANS' CHARGE AT KRITHIA While the Australians' position at Anzac was being made secure, preparations were pushed forward at Cape Helles for the storming of the loaf-shaped hill of Achi Baba, on which the Turks had, after the fortnight's fighting, been forced to take up a defensive position. There they had strongly entrenched themselves behind line after line of trenches. Their actual first resisting line, however, was by this about 3 miles from the toe of the peninsula on the right, at a point near De Tots battery, the taking of which the French eventually accomplished with great gallantry. Later the Gurkhas on the opposite (the left) flank performed a magnificent feat in reaching a point south-west of Krithia village by storming and obtaining a footing on the slopes of the Great Dere, while the British line swung round before the southern angle of the Krithia village. The fresh "shove" was meant to take the village at the point of the bayonet and capture the slopes of Achi Baba. Whatever that fortress position may have become later (and the German officers captured boasted that it was a position that would never be taken by frontal assault), at that time there seemed every prospect of it falling into the hands of bold, determined troops. It was for this reason, to give impetus to the attack, to strengthen the British troops that held the central portion of the line, that the 2nd Australian Brigade, under Colonel (later Brigadier-General) M'Cay, were, on the night of 5th May, silently removed from the beach at Anzac, and, 3,000 strong, were landed at Cape Helles at six o'clock in the morning. Though this brigade had been through the thick of the landing and attack on Anzac, it had, perhaps, suffered least of all the brigades, and was now chosen suddenly for this fresh assault. The New Zealand Infantry Brigade, under Colonel F. E. Johnston, was also landed, and took up a position on the left flank of the Australians; their left flank in turn in touch with troops on the coast. So much for the general situation. The embarkation orders for the brigade came suddenly, while the troops were resting after a week's fight. At 9 p.m. the brigade was assembled on the beach. Here the men suffered a bitter experience, exposed to considerable fire, for insufficient transports had been provided. Eventually they embarked from six wharves and slipped silently away. Twenty casualties had been suffered from what were called spent bullets, the Anzac firing-line being over 1,000 yards away. The men left the shore in rowing-boats and went out to the trawlers, and then to the destroyers and on to transports. They knew naught of their destination. A very few hours' steaming and they arrived off the British position. All disembarked at 6 a.m. at Seddul Bahr (near the _River Clyde_) under a heavy shell fire from the Asiatic batteries, where the wandering, disappearing gun, "Asiatic Algy," began to pour shells on the brigade. The jetties at this time were only of the roughest wood, joining barges moored alongside one another. One is never likely to forget one's sensations upon landing on the end of the peninsula in the track of the victorious British armies. Thick masses of tangled Turkish barbed wire (wire so thick that ordinary shears would not sever it) were rolled round deserted trenches, guns lay dismounted from their concrete bases, houses had been torn down and lay shattered, with hardly a wall standing. There were 30,000 French troops now on the British right flank. All manner of stores, including great casks of their ration wine, had been landed, and lay piled in the sandy cove that stretched between two headlands, Seddul Bahr on the right, Helles fort on the left. The menacing walls of Seddul Bahr rose above it round the cliff, but no longer a fortress of the Turks. The village, in ruins, was buried behind. [Illustration: MAJOR STEVENSON COMMANDING BATTERY 18-POUNDER GUNS AT CAPE HELLES. Dugouts of the 29th Division on the sides of the Great Dere.] [Illustration: THE GREAT DERE, UP WHICH THE GURKHAS MADE SO BOLD AN ADVANCE. To face p. 144.] After a steep pull up a ridge (on which stood two haystacks) from this beach, the brigade advanced across country to the Krithia road. What country it was to look down on, after the bushy hills and gullies of Anzac! Here was a flowering heath and meadows of corn and poppies and wild flowers. There were orchards and aged olive-trees and some farmers' huts and houses in the distance; while cattle grazed in sheltered hollows. It was undulating country, resembling a hollow plain, of miles in extent, and especially flat-looking to the Australians, fresh from Anzac's rugged hills. Grim, but not very forbidding, stood the smoothly rounded hill of Achi Baba--Tree Hill--barring the advance up the peninsula, a long arm stretching down to each shore. Shells from the warships were plastering the face of it as the brigade advanced. Dense clouds of white shrapnel were bursting over the Turkish trenches which lay round the long, rolling slopes that ended at the village of Krithia on the left (the west), and which ran out to the Dardanelles on the east, falling away into steep gullies on the seashore. The bivouac chosen for the brigade was about a mile from the landing and on the west of the road that led direct into the distant village. Here, as in every line, the troops might rest in some comfort, though not safety; for besides the shells from Achi Baba batteries there were guns firing from the Asiatic shore. Nothing remained but to again dig and dig in for one's life. However, here a new difficulty was encountered, for water was struck when the trenches were sunk about 18 inches, and that is why in so many trenches there were such high parapets. It was the only means of getting sufficient protection. If one thing at this time and under the particularly trying conditions heartened the troops more than another, it was to hear, and watch, the French "75" batteries sending fourteen shells to the minute to the Turkish trenches. Moreover, Australian batteries--a whole brigade, in fact, under Colonel Christian--were discovered entrenched beside the French guns in the very centre of the peninsula, and the troops knew that, in any attack, they would have their own guns to support them. No sooner had they halted than they started to prepare their meal, and were laughing, singing, and joking. They felt a certain security even in the face of the foe. That afternoon, the 6th May, the Brigadier (Colonel M'Cay) and his Brigade Staff (Major Cass and Captain Walstab) moved forward to a stony rise, occupied by the gunners as an observation station, and from there they looked down over the whole of the ground undulating away to Achi Baba, 4 miles distant. The country was, I have said, flat. It was not a plain, strictly speaking, for there were small depressions and dry creek beds that would be sufficient to protect a great number of troops when the time came for advance. The southern slopes of the big hill were intersected by many ravines, which in wet weather formed the head-waters of the three _deres_ or gullies that flowed south down the peninsula--the Kereves Dere (the great gully) and Maltepe Dere and Kanli Dere. This divided the peninsula into three ridges, which ran parallel with one another in a northerly and southerly direction. On the eastern slopes, facing the Straits, these _deres_ were particularly rugged and often precipitous. There still remained portions of a telegraph line across a ridge on the right going north-east from Seddul Bahr; it had been the scene of heavy fighting, in which the French made many gallant charges to take what has been called the "Haricot," a formidable redoubt placed on the crest of a hill, and which had held up the French advance for many previous days and cost many lives to finally capture. To realize how any advance across such open country could be accomplished, it is necessary to explain that the guns on the peninsula were placed in a great semicircle, starting from the northern slopes of Morto Bay, where the French guns, hidden behind the grape-vines and clustered corn and hedges, lay. In the valley, between the low hills through which the Krithia road runs, were some British 60-pounders, and on the southern slopes of a hill in the centre of the peninsula British and Australian 18-pounders were firing. Hidden amongst some trees was a heavy British battery, and in the Kanli Valley were other guns. The French firing-line extended along in front of their batteries for about 1,000 yards, and adjoining them on the left was the Naval Division. Next to their left flank was the 29th Division. It was the New Zealand and Australian Brigade and General Cox's Indian Brigade that formed a composite Division held in reserve to the 29th. It must be here explained of this composite Division that in the first day's fighting the Australians took no part. The New Zealanders were called into action to support the 29th Division, and suffered heavy casualties. But to give the true significance to the share of the Australians in the grand offensive during the early days in May, the early stages of the battle that began on the morning of the 6th at eleven o'clock and continued for three days, need describing. The artillery duels of those days were terrific in the extreme, and the whole of the battle lines were violently swept with shell. The configuration of the country was such that the hills on the extreme end of the peninsula gave a grand-stand view, and the Staffs of the Army Corps operating could be seen on these points watching the armies moving forward into action. It has been described as "a Melton Prior battlefield," where you saw each unit going into action. Such an offensive was only possible on account of the comparative weakness of the Turkish trenches, a defect which they lost no time in rectifying later on, when a period of sullenness set in. For the Turk has, in this campaign at least, proved himself to be a most industrious, even colossal, digger of trenches and a fine trench fighter, however poor he shows himself to be in open combat. A general advance was the order on the 6th. The French "75" batteries, with their sharp bark, began fiercely to smash the enemy trenches, concentrating fire on the "Haricot" and the Kereves Dere, and the valleys beyond that contained Turkish supports. The Krithia village was shelled by the heavy British guns, aeroplanes spotting. French and British battleships had moved up on the flanks and were pouring a terrible enfilade fire on the Turks and covering the slopes of Achi Baba with sheets of flame as the shells burst along the position. It was in vain that the Turkish batteries, prodigal with their ammunition, tried to silence our guns, carefully concealed, and in the absence of aeroplanes, which the Turks did not seem to possess at that time or were afraid to send into the air, the British and French gunners went on without interruption, except for chance disabling shots which put a gun or two out of action. As the French and British lines advanced there came the roar of musketry and the rattle of machine guns to add to the already terrific din. The British maintained their advance, though the machine guns in the thick scrub could not be located, while the French swept on, gaining the "Haricot," then losing it. All this battle panorama was rapidly passing before the eyes of the leaders of the Australian troops, who were waiting their turn to charge and take their part in the battle. Soon the French were forced to retire to the trenches they had lately left, much to the chagrin of all, though the British troops held their gain of about 1,000 yards, while the Naval Division had gone forward about 700 yards in the centre. The 29th also advanced nearly 1,000 yards on the left, near the �gean shore. This line they entrenched during the night. It was a very bent line, with the French farthest in the rear. The Turks were too exhausted to attempt any counter-attack, and so the line stood till the morning of the 7th. Then a further advance was made at 10.30, the guns blazing the way and plastering the slopes of Achi Baba for the infantry to advance. As on the previous day, the Australian officers watched the fighting from a position which overlooked the battle-front of 4 miles, subjected only to an occasional whizzing bullet and a stray shell. This was a curious battlefield for modern warfare, where most of the fighting is underground. Imagine an area of about 5 square miles. The valley road was the main transport route, despite the fact that the enemy overlooked and commanded it. On the west side were the red and pink farms, hidden by a copse of fir-trees. The French at this time had placed their headquarters in one of these houses. With a start of surprise one saw their Staff moving along, with orderlies, mounted messengers, and signallers, all beautifully mounted, riding right up to within half a mile of the firing-line down this valley, through the shot and shell. Along the road rumbled the French ammunition-wagons, the caissons, turning east to Morto Bay, bearing supplies to the batteries there. The French gunners got their supplies by day and the British, who were more exposed, by night; and so the traffic on the roads was regulated, otherwise the congestion would have been terrible. A motor-cyclist, with the latest word from the battlefield, would ride at breakneck speed through the traffic, and, once past the mules, plodding stolidly along, would travel at 50 or 60 miles an hour for the short stretch until he dipped out of sight behind the last ridge on the peninsula. Dust rose constantly in dense clouds. I remember looking at these clouds as the armoured cars on another occasion swept forward, and wondered that the Turks did not shell them, which eventually they did; but during these days they directed all their energies to searching for the guns and plastering the slopes of the Seddul Bahr ridges and the clumps of trees scattered over the peninsula, where it seemed obvious our artillery might be concealed. [Illustration: ARTILLERY WATER-CARRIERS FROM THE SPRINGS AT CAPE HELLES.] [Illustration: HEADQUARTERS 1ST AUSTRALIAN ARTILLERY BRIGADE. Dining-room cellar on the left, ten feet deep, and protected by iron and sandbags. Firing-line 600 yards distant. To face p. 148.] It was not till the third day that the Australians went into the fight. This Saturday, 8th, had opened much as the other two days had done with intense bombardments, and then an advance by the infantry in short rushes, always driving the Turks before them, pressing them back to the village of Krithia and the foot slopes of Achi Baba. But by this time on the flanks the Turks had concealed a great many machine guns in the fir woods, and built redoubts, and such advances became terribly expensive. On the 7th the New Zealanders had moved away to the support of the 29th Division, and they lost heavily from these guns. At 10.30 on this morning they were ordered to go through the British lines and try to take the trenches on the left front of Krithia--now a village wrecked and shattered by the shells that burst in it and smouldering with fires that the artillery had started. Once I had seen it, a pretty little hamlet with white- and red-roofed dwellings snuggling down in the hollow of a hill, with the stern, flat-topped Achi Baba mound lying just to the east. On a ridge stood sentinel windmills, their long arms stark and bare, waving from the side of a curious round stone store, like a silo. They were the Turkish granaries, and made fine observation posts. The Wellington Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel W. G. Malone, was on the left, the Auckland, under Lieut.-Colonel A. Plugge, in the centre, and Canterbury, under Lieut.-Colonel D. M. Stewart, on the right. The Otago, under Lieut.-Colonel T. W. McDonald, was in reserve. On the flanks the battalions, facing an awful fire, slowly moved up about 300 yards, but the centre battalion, a dense copse in front concealing a strong force of the enemy, were unable to go ahead. By 2.30 there was nothing left for the gallant New Zealand battalions to do but to dig in. The Otagos had been called to support and repair the fearful losses, but the advance was checked. However, it was determined that the New Zealanders should again attack just at dusk. Later on this order was changed to a general attack by the whole line. With but a few minutes' notice the Australians, till then in reserve, were ordered to prepare to form the front, or rather centre front, of the advancing line. It had been bright and crisp all the morning, and the troops were in high fettle. At midday, General Paris, commanding the composite Division, had ordered the Australians to move up in support of the British centre, which they did, advancing due north about a mile. Their new position was in a broad _dere_ (gully), and as fairly a protected and comfortable spot as such places go so near the firing-line. Colonel M'Cay, to reach it, had deployed his troops on lines best calculated to avoid searching shrapnel fire, moving them up in platoon columns, that is, in small bodies placed some 200 yards' distance from one another, which had the effect of almost neutralizing the shelling of the Turks. The 6th Battalion was in the lead, followed by the 7th, 5th, and 8th. The Turks, for some reason, did not open fire as the troops moved across the valley, though it was fully expected they would, and so they arrived at a position where there were trenches--some British, some Turkish--already dug, while the _dere_ itself offered further cover. The men began to deepen and widen these trenches for their comfort. The 6th, under Lieut.-Colonel M'Nicol, was bivouacked on the steep sides of the stream; and opposite them on the left was the 8th, under Lieut.-Colonel Bolton. About 30 yards in rear of the 6th was brigade headquarters, just in line with Colonel Cox's Indian Brigade. Lieut.-Colonel Garside, commanding the 7th, was behind the 8th, and headquarters and the 5th, under Lieut.-Colonel Wanliss, behind the 8th. In the midst of taking in reinforcements and entrenching, the plan for the general attack was communicated to the Australian leaders. Just a few minutes after five o'clock Colonel M'Cay received by telephone from General Paris orders to advance without delay. It was now definitely known that the French had been held up at the "Haricot" for two days, and that they had now been ordered to make a general advance (which they did with colours flying and bands playing, an extraordinary and inspiriting sight, white and black troops fighting side by side). At all costs the Turks had to go. So sudden had been the decision for the general advance that there was no time to issue written orders, a dilemma in which the Brigadier (Colonel M'Cay) found himself. However, by 5.15 the troops were on the move, the Brigade Staff giving the directions and the orders verbally. So, one may write, there began an offensive which in detail and execution was like the battles of half a century ago, when generals, calling on their men, dashed into the thick of the fray. No man will ever be able to do justice to the events of the next half hour or fifty minutes. As might have the finest regulars in the world, those Victorians moved from their bivouac, into which they had yet scarcely settled. The 7th were to occupy about 500 yards of front on the right, and the 6th Battalion on the left with a similar frontage. The general direction of the attack was the north-east, and striking point just on the east of the village of Krithia. The flanks rested, therefore, on two valleys: on the right Mai Tepe Dere, and Kanli Dere on the left. The 5th Battalion was supporting the right flank, and the 8th the left. Seeing the preparations for the new attack, the Turkish guns turned from the first line of British troops, already in position some 500 yards away ahead, and directed a veritable hell-fire of shrapnel and bullets against the supports, which they rightly judged must be moving up about this time. The whole Allied front was barely 4 miles, swept by a terrible inferno of shells. The air was filled with the white, woolly clouds that the Anzac men--old soldiers now--knew meant a hail of lead. The ground was torn and ripped up as the shells fell; little parties of men were swept away, killed outright. Overhead whined and whistled the shells; ours on their way to the Turkish trenches, theirs coming on to our advancing line. Overhead might have been a whirling shield of armour. Rapidly the Australians scrambled over the Indian trenches which were in their path, the 7th doubling forward so as to continue the line of the 6th, and together with the other two regiments (in support), the whole mass of 3,000 men started to move forward rapidly towards the front trenches occupied by the Naval Division. Pictures of the ground will show its openness; they do not show the first slight slope up which the Australians charged in a 1,000 yards advance, of which that was the first sector. At the top of the slope--it was hardly appreciable to the casual glance--were the Naval Division trenches. Beyond these the ground sloped away down into a broad depression, that only began to rise again a little to the south of the Krithia village and Achi Baba. Once it had been cultivated ground. Over this the Australians charged. The right flank was resting now on the Krithia road. The troops were heavily laden; for besides their packs, many carried shovels, entrenching tools, and picks; they had to dig in when they had advanced. They stumbled or fell into the British trenches, where they lay for a while panting. Many lads were unable to reach the security of the trenches (for they were strongly held and crowded), and so they lay in whatever depressions were available behind the parados, while the lead streamed over them--whizz--swing--whizz--swing--little singing messages of death. You heard them close to your ear even above the din of the booming shells. With bayonets fixed the Australians left the trenches. Colonel M'Cay--surely his life was charmed that day--walked along the parapet swinging his stick, as was his custom, and looking down into the trenches, called: "Come on, Australians!" The Brigade-Major, Major Cass, was in another sector doing the same. No second call was needed to rouse the troops. They would follow those brave officers to the very jaws of death. They scrambled to the parapets, and crouching low, began to advance, 50, 60, 70 yards at a rush, and then, as exhaustion overcame them, a short respite lying flattened to the ground. But the line never wavered, though thinned at every step, going on and on with the officers rallying the men as they panted forward. God! the marvel of it! The ground was quite bare, except for isolated bushes of green shrub, through which the bullets sang and tore. Intense masses of rifles and machine guns poured down lead on to the advancing Australian lines. The British had cheered these heroes as they left the trenches--now they stood watching and wondering. Rushing downhill, the troops were in a regular shallow basin, like a huge plate. The Turkish trenches lay scarcely 800 yards ahead. That was the only information that the Australians got as to their objective: that was all they wanted; anyway, no enemy could be seen now in the battle smoke and dust. No reconnaissance had been possible, except in a general sort of way, and it was for this reason that Colonel M'Cay led his men and allotted sections of the line to the rest of his Brigade Staff. For the rest he trusted to the spirit of his men. [Illustration: THE ROAD INTO KRITHIA ON WHICH THE RIGHT FLANK OF THE AUSTRALIANS RESTED IN THE ADVANCE. Achi Baba in the distance on the extreme right. Krithia village is about a mile along the road. The firing-line crosses the road some 1,500 yards away.] The Turks, well entrenched and concealed, waited for the Australian charge. No use for the attackers to fling themselves down and fire; they had no target. On again they went, panting, lying down, advancing in short rushes of 50 yards, or less, as the men grew more and more tired. The line thinned. The slopes were covered with dead and wounded. Darkness was falling. A constant stream of disabled men were toiling slowly back to the shelter of the gullies. Stretcher-bearers, regardless of the stream of lead, were going forward and dragging back to the naval trenches those men whom they found badly wounded. Sometimes a British soldier leaped out to help in a comrade. Then, after a charge of 400 yards, across the Krithia road was seen the low parapet of a Turkish trench, and the 7th Battalion opened fire as the Turks commenced to fly before the unbroken Australian line; but it was only a short halt, for the 6th Battalion was still advancing, so as to get to close quarters with the bayonet. "Bayonet them" had been the orders, and the steel the Turks were to get if they waited. On went the 7th, the reserve battalions now coming up into the firing-line. Losses got more and more terrible. They reached the parapet of a now deserted enemy trench, yet still the Turkish fire came in a steady stream from the front and the left, where machine guns were rattling from a copse that had before broken the New Zealand ranks. On the right it had become silent. Major Cass, leading there, found it strangely so, and for the moment, could not account for the pause, as according to the plan the French were to have charged and advanced. What had happened he learned very shortly. Again the French had been checked. But 400 yards' advance had been made by the Australians and New Zealanders. The extreme left of the line was brought to a standstill, the British-Indian force unable to press farther on. Australians, and alongside them New Zealanders, were entrenching for their lives. The Turkish trenches had been stormed, and the first objective taken, though Krithia was still unstormed, 800 yards away. But, in this moment of success, a horrible fresh danger made itself manifest. The French had not taken the "Haricot." While the Australians' right still pushed on the Frenchmen were not advancing. A gap of many hundred yards yawned between the right of the Australian line and the left of the French. Into this breach the Turks were not slow to hurl their men. They began working down a gully. The manner in which the discovery of this attempt to pierce the line was made is dramatic in the extreme. Major Cass, who had been leading the right of the Australian line, had fallen wounded, shot through the shoulder (it broke his collar-bone), and as he lay behind a slight mound that had been dug for him by some of his devoted men, there came from the left, almost at right angles to him, a bullet that smashed his other shoulder. Although suffering from shock, his arms helplessly hanging by his side, he managed, nevertheless, to get his pocket-book out, and began to write. As a soldier the truth had quickly flashed in his mind: the Turks were between the Allied lines, and very soon they would be in the rear as well. The peril of the situation demanded instant action. Hastily he scribbled a note in triplicate, explaining the position to the Commander of the Naval Brigade, holding the trenches in the rear, through which the Australians in their charge had advanced. Major Cass sent these notes back by Private H. Wilson, Headquarters Staff, who returned with an answer after what, to the wounded man, seemed an interminable time. The shrapnel still screamed overhead and the bushes were cut by the descending bullets, that made a spluttering sound as they swept the valley. Another verbal message was sent by Lieutenant Stewart to the Brigadier. At last the reassuring reply came back from the Naval Brigade that the breach would be filled. The Drake Battalion advanced with the 5th Australian Battalion, under Colonel Wanliss, until the distance between--some 300 yards--was filled. So was the Turkish flanking movement hindered and pressed back. Five hours later Major Cass, in the early hours of the morning, reached the beach and a hospital ship. The devotion of the messenger who carried the message and then wished to take his officer from the firing-line was duly rewarded, while Major Cass received the D.S.O. Meanwhile it happened that the reserve battalions had come up into the firing-line almost at the same moment as that line came to a halt, exhausted. Entrenching tools and sandbags were carried, and at once the whole line commenced to dig in. It was dusk. During the whole of that night the Turks kept up a continuous fire, with the idea, no doubt, of preventing reinforcements being brought up by us under cover of darkness. Nevertheless, further drafts of reinforcements were hurried into the firing-line, and the new trenches were secured. Not a single yard of trench was retaken by the Turks. From that day on till the final evacuation of the peninsula was accomplished, visiting officers would be shown the "Australian" trenches, which marked the point of their magnificent charge of 1,000 yards--a sheer gain of some 400 yards, made in a few minutes. The brigade held the trenches until the following Tuesday morning, when they were relieved by the 29th Division. The Australian losses had been appallingly heavy, partly on account of the open ground over which the advance was made, and partly from the fact that the Turks had a concealed and well fortified position. The whole of the Brigade Staff was wounded, and the casualties amongst the officers were very severe indeed. The Brigadier, Colonel M'Cay, was wounded about nine o'clock as he was returning from the trenches, having lived a charmed life for many hours as he superintended the men digging the new trenches. Lieut.-Colonel Garside, who was commanding the 7th Battalion, was killed almost at the side of Major Wells, both fine soldiers, who had showed magnificent courage. It was in this charge, too, that Lieut.-Colonel M'Nicol, of the 6th, received machine-gun wounds which nearly cost him his life. For his magnificent work he received the D.S.O. Probably half the brigade was either killed or wounded, and the Brigadier estimated his loss at 1,800, thereby reducing his command by half. Till Monday night the removal of the wounded proceeded. Progress to the beach, 2 miles away, was painfully slow. Never, so a wounded officer told me, shall he forget the calls of the men for "water," for "help" as the stretcher-bearers and doctors, working with unsurpassed heroism, passed to and from the first dressing-station, 2 miles in the rear. Here the wounded could be placed on rough general service wagons and taken over the fearful rutted roads to the beach. Two further transfers had to take place before the men reached the hospital ship. The bitter cold of the night added to the intensity of the suffering of the men. Yet so long as they knew that they would be found the men bore their wounds and pain patiently and stoically, content in the news from the front that they had won and the Turks had fled. On the 12th, the brigade--all that was left of it--was withdrawn from the firing-line, and on the 15th reached Anzac again, to the tired troops almost like a homecoming. They came back to a new fight, but one in which the Turks attacked, were broken, and repulsed. CHAPTER XVI TURKISH MAY ATTACK AND ARMISTICE The Turks' strongest attack of the campaign was made in the middle of May, when they attempted an assault all along the Anzac line. Both sides had had time to reorganize, and both had received reinforcements. The Turks probably had 35,000 men in their trenches at this time, while the Australians had 30,000. During the first fortnight of the month the enemy had brought up guns of bigger calibre, and had placed in the Olive Grove, from which they could enfilade the beach from the east, a six-gun battery which even the warships and the Australian gunners were unable to completely silence. The Allies had aeroplanes and captive balloons spotting for them, and yet the Turkish batteries, skilfully concealed, managed to continue shelling the beach and the incoming barges. Very little notice was taken by the Navy of this shelling, and very soon, too, the troops regarded it as the natural thing. What they would have felt like, these Australians, had they been fighting in France, where, for certain periods, they would be relieved and taken from under constant shell fire, it is not easy to say. The strain wore them down certainly, but it never affected the army nerves or its heart or its determination. Nevertheless, May was a sad month for the troops, though it also brought later a chance of the Turks being taught a lesson. On Saturday, 15th May, Major-General Bridges, the leader of the 1st Division, fell mortally wounded. It had often been remarked by the troops at Anzac that their General was absolutely careless of his own safety. He was daily round the trenches, a rather glum, silent man, but keenly observant, and quickly able to draw from his officers all the points of information he required. Often he recklessly exposed himself to gain a view of the Turkish positions, despite the remonstrances of his Staff. As time wore on he took heed, and on the morning when he fell had been more than usually careful. General Bridges had left Anzac Headquarters, near the beach, at about 9.30, and was going up Shrapnel Gully, and at this time that terrible gully had no secret sap through which one might pass with comparative safety from snipers' bullets coming from the head of the gully. It was a matter of running, from sandbag traverse to sandbag traverse, a gauntlet of lead, up the bed of the dry gully. General Bridges had just passed a dressing-station dug into the side of the hill, and had received a warning from the stretcher-bearers standing round the entrance. "You had better run across here, sir," they told him, "as the Turks are pretty lively to-day." He did, and reached a further traverse, where he stood near another dressing-station smoking a cigarette. "Well," he said to his Staff officer, after a few minutes, "we must make another run for it." He ran round the corner of the traverse and through the thick scrub. Before he could reach the next cover, not many yards away, he was struck by a bullet and lay prone. It is believed that the sniper at the head of the gully was waiting and watching that morning, and had already inflicted a number of casualties. Medical attention was immediately available. A doctor at the adjacent dressing-station found that the femoral artery in the thigh had been severed. The bullet, instead of merely piercing the leg, had entered sideways and torn a way through. Only for the fact that skilled attention was so prompt, General Bridges must have died within a few minutes. The wound was plugged. Taken to the dressing-station, the General's first words were, "Don't carry me down; I don't want any of your fellows to run into danger." Seeing the stretcher case, the Turks did not fire on the party that now made its way to the beach, all traffic being stopped along the track. The dying leader was immediately taken off to a hospital ship, but his condition was critical. Before the ship left his beloved Anzac, his last words to an officer, who had been with him from the first, were, "Anyhow, I have commanded an Australian Division for nine months." General Bridges died four days later on his way to Alexandria. It was very typical, that last sentence of the man. His whole heart and soul and energies had been devoted to planning the efficiency of the 1st Division. A born organizer, a fine tactician, he was a lone, stern figure that inspired a great confidence in his men. His judgment in the field had proved almost unfailing. Unsparing to himself, he demanded, and obtained, the best in those he commanded. He was one of the finest leaders on Gallipoli, and in him General Hamilton and Lieut.-General Birdwood reposed the highest confidence. General Birdwood, cabling from Army Corps headquarters to the Governor-General of Australia, said:-- It is with the deepest regret that I have to announce the death on 19th May of General Bridges, who has proved himself the most gallant of soldiers and best of commanders. I am quite unable to express what his loss means to the Australian Division, which can never pay the debt it owes him for his untiring and unselfish labours, which are responsible for the high state of organization to which the Division has been brought in every detail. The high ideals placed before the boys trained at Duntroon, and which he succeeded in attaining as far as my knowledge of those now serving with the Australian forces in the field is concerned, will, I hope, go down to the honour of his name as long as the military history of Australia lasts. The Commander-in-Chief, General Sir Ian Hamilton, cabled on 20th May:-- General Bridges died on the passage to Alexandria. The whole force mourns his irreparable loss, which was avenged yesterday in a brilliant action by his own troops, who inflicted a loss of 7,000 on the enemy at a cost of less than 500 to themselves. It is this Turkish attack that I now shall describe, and the nature of the revenge. Brigadier-General Walker, who had been commanding the 1st Infantry Brigade since the death of Colonel McLaurin, succeeded to the immediate command of the Division. The new Turkish batteries employed at this time contained some 6-inch guns, and it is believed that the _Goeben_ or one of the cruisers belonging to the Turks had come down from Constantinople and was stationed, just parallel to Bogali, in the Straits. Enemy warships, it is believed, were able to throw shells accurately into the heart of our position, searching for the guns. By the 18th May the Turks had an 11-in. gun, some 8-in., and a number of 4·7-in. guns trained on Anzac. With the support of these, and with the small mountain and field pieces that they had been using before, it has been since learned, they felt that they could safely attack. Their offensive was fixed for the 19th May. Preliminary bombardments began on the evening before, 18th, and were the fiercest that had yet been experienced. The hills echoed with the chaotic explosions of the bursting of heavy shells. One of the Australian 18-pounders was knocked out completely, and other shells reached the gun-pits; but the gunners stuck to their posts and replied effectively to this Turkish bombardment. It was reported that evening from aeroplane reconnaissances that the Turks had been seen landing a new Division at the Straits, and that they were marching to the support of the Anzac troops. Headquarters were located at Bogali. At once the warships commenced a bombardment of the main road leading along the side of the hills to Krithia village, where troops could be seen moving. They followed them up and shelled the general Turkish Staff out of a village midway between Kelid Bahr and Krithia. Attacks at Anzac were always determined by the time at which the moon sank. I can remember on one occasion waiting night after night in the trenches, when the Turks were supposed to be about to attack, until the moon would sink. We would rouse-up and watch its departing sickly yellow circle dip behind the hills of Troy, and then turn towards the Turkish trenches, which we could see occasionally spitting fire, and wait for the general fusillade to open. Now, on the 18th the moon dipped down at a little before midnight, and just as the midnight hours passed, from the centre of the line round Quinn's Post arose the clatter of Turkish bombs. In the closely wedged trenches the Australians answered this attack with similar missiles, and for a while a little "bomb party," as it was called by the troops, began. From an intermittent rifle fire the sound of the sharp crackle of rifles intensified and extended from end to end of the Turkish lines. It was as if thousands of typewriters, the noise of their working increased a thousandfold, had begun to work. Every second the racket grew; in less than two minutes the gullies were torrents of singing lead, while the bullets could be heard everywhere whizzing through the bushes. The rapid beat of the machine guns began, their pellets thudding against the sandbag parapets. Bombs, bursting like the roar of water that had broken the banks of dams, drowned the general clatter. Immense "football bombs" (as the troops termed them) they were, that wrought awful havoc and formed huge craters. For half an hour the fury lasted. Then it died down, much as violent storms do, arising suddenly, and departing by fading away in a curiously short, sharp burst of firing. Again the sudden rapid fire arose and then again the splutter of ceasing shots. Bombing had stopped. [Illustration: THE TURKISH EMISSARY BEING LED FROM ANZAC COVE AFTER ARRANGING THE DETAILS OF THE ARMISTICE, AT THE CONFERENCE ON 23RD MAY, 1915. HE IS PRECEDED BY A STAFF OFFICER. To face p. 160.] It is hard to know what the reason of the Turk was for this "bluff," for it was such, for no attack followed. It was not exactly an unusual incident in itself, but, nevertheless, always had the effect of rousing up the line and the troops manning the trenches. Probably the Turks calculated that we would be led to believe that the whole show was over for that night, and consequently without further bombardment they began a few hours later their extended attack. Just in the hour preceding dawn--about 3.30 the time is given--the Turks began silently and stealthily to approach the trenches. Without a sound they came, in large and small bodies, up the gullies, working by the help of a marching tape that would keep them together. They approached to within, in some cases, 30 or 40 yards of our trenches. At that time coloured rocket shells were not so much used as they were later; no coloured green and red lights that would burn for some minutes, lit up any section of the line. But the sentries on the parapets suddenly began to detect, even in the blackness of the night preceding dawn, crawling figures. The Turk was always a good scout, and would get right under the parapets of our trenches almost undetected. But when he came to facing the Australian bayonet and jumping down into the trenches it was a different matter altogether. Now, it was just at the centre of the right of the position, at the point where the 1st Brigade and the 1st Battalion of that brigade held the line, that the alarm first was given. The sentries shot down the advancing figures. Immediately others rose up quickly and rushed silently at the trenches. A few managed to jump across the parapets and down into the trenches. It is a brave man indeed who will do such an act. The attack was launched. Right down the Australian line now spread the order for rapid fire, for the Turks could be seen and heard calling "Allah! Allah!" They came in great numbers, dashing forward in the already coming dawn, for in the sky behind them the sun would rise, and now already its faintest streaks were appearing, casting an opaque tinge in the heavens. Gallantly as the Turks charged, the Australians stood magnificently steady, and fired steadily into the masses of moving silhouetted figures. It was "terrible, cold-blooded murder," as one of the defenders described it to me later. "They were plucky enough, but they never had a dog's chance." Now in a few places the Turks did reach our trenches, but they found themselves trapped, and the few who escaped with their lives, surrendered. Across the Poppyfield the Turks had pressed hardest, but they were thrust back and back. Next morning, when the dawn came, their bodies could be seen lying in heaps on the slopes. It was as if the men had been mown down in lines. While the attacks were developing against the centre of the right of the line--company after company and battalion after battalion were sent on by the Turks in their endeavours to push the Australians off the peninsula--there began fierce fighting on the extreme right, on the left, and at the apex of the position at the head of Monash Gully. It was a desperate enough position, for the Turks were not more than 10 or 20 yards away in places. Our machine guns ripped along their parapets; when one gun ceased, to fix in its jaws a new belt, another took on the fire; so the noise was insistent, and the Turks, yelling "Allah! Allah!" stumbled forward a few paces and were mown down, but never were able to advance to the trenches. Far into the morning the attacks continued. Mostly they were short rushes, opposed by terrific bursts of fire, bombs hurled into the advancing mass; a check and then a pause. As the enemy were still advancing, only at isolated points could their machine guns reply or rifles be fired. That there were some enemy bullets did not affect the troops, who regarded it as too good an opportunity to miss. The Australians' sporting instincts were roused, and at many points the men could be seen sitting on the parapets of the trenches, calmly picking off the Turks as they came up, working their bolts, loading, furiously. This was the way in which the few casualties that did occur (100 killed and 500 wounded) were sustained. It was a bloodless victory, if ever there has been one. Once a German Albatross aeroplane had come sailing over the position at a very high altitude, the Turks must have known that their chances of success were gone. They commenced to shell the shipping off the beaches, in the hope that any reinforcements that might be arriving might be sunk, but they were not even successful in this. Our artillery had the range to a few yards, and as the Turks left their trenches (though only so short a distance away) the shrapnel swept along their parapets, and they were shot down in rows. It is calculated that 3,000 Turks perished in that attack. Some make the estimate higher, and there is reason to believe that they may be right. The wounded numbered nearly 15,000. It was their one and only general attack. It failed hopelessly. It was never repeated. So horrible had the battlefield become, strewn with Turkish dead, that the enemy sued for an armistice. On the day succeeding the engagement and the repulse of the Turks, towards dusk white flags and the red crescents began to be hoisted all along the line. Now of the Turks and their flags of truce something had already been learned down on the banks of the Canal. On the other hand, in the evacuation of wounded from Gaba Tepe, when the attacking parties had failed to get a foothold on the narrow beach, and had been forced to retire leaving their wounded still on the shore, those soldiers were tended by the Turkish doctors. Their subsequent evacuation by the Navy under the Red Cross flag was accurately observed by the enemy. But that did not prevent this "new move" being regarded with some caution. It was between five and six o'clock that in the centre of the right of the line a Turkish Staff officer, two medical officers, and a company commander came out of their trenches--all firing having ceased, and by arrangement through an interpreter who had called across from our own to the enemy trenches during the day--and met Major-General H. B. Walker, who was commanding the 1st Division, on the neutral ground between the trenches. It was stated by the Staff officer that he had been instructed to arrange a suspension of arms in order that the dead between the lines might be buried and the wounded tended and removed. The position was, to say the least, a delicate one. The officer carried no written credentials. General Hamilton's dispatches convey the subsequent proceedings as they were viewed at the time by most of the leaders at Anzac:-- He [the Turkish Staff officer] was informed (writes the Commander-in-Chief) that neither he nor the General Officer Commanding Australian Division had the power to arrange such a suspension of arms, but that at 8 p.m. an opportunity would be given of exchanging letters on the subject, and that meanwhile hostilities would recommence after ten minutes' grace. At this time some stretcher parties on both sides were collecting wounded, and the Turkish trenches opposite ours were packed with men standing shoulder to shoulder two deep. Matters were less regular in front of other sections, where men with white flags came out to collect wounded (some attempted to dig trenches that were not meant for graves). Meanwhile it was observed that columns were on the march in the valley up which the Turks were accustomed to bring their reinforcements (Legge and Mule Valleys). On hearing of these movements, General Sir W. R. Birdwood, commanding Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, ordered his trenches to be manned against a possible attack. As the evening drew in the enemy's concentration continued, and everything pointed to their intention of making use of the last of the daylight to get their troops into position without being shelled by our artillery. A message was therefore sent across to say that no clearing of dead or wounded could be allowed during the night, and that any negotiations for such purpose should be opened up through the proper channel and initiated before noon on the following day. Stretcher parties and others fell back, and immediately fire broke out. In front of our right section masses of men advanced behind lines of unarmed men holding up their hands. Firing became general all along the line, accompanied by a heavy bombardment of the whole position, so that evidently this attack must have been pre-arranged. Musketry and machine-gun fire continued without interruption till after dark, and from then up till about 4 a.m. the next day. Except for a half-hearted attack in front of Courtney's Post, no assault was made until 1.20 a.m., when the enemy left their trenches and advanced on Quinn's Post. Our guns drove the Turks back to their trenches and beat back all other attempts at assault. By 4.30 a.m. on 21st May musketry fire had died down to normal dimensions. Negotiations were again opened up by the Turks during the morning of the 22nd. It must be recollected that by now the battlefields had been three weeks fought over, and many Australians as well as Turks who had perished in those first awful days, still lay unburied where they had fallen. The stench of decaying flesh threatened terrible calamity to both armies. For two days the Turkish dead in thousands lay rotting in the sun, their swollen corpses in some places on our very parapets. General Hamilton accordingly dispatched his Chief of Staff, Major-General W. P. Braithwaite, during the morning of the 22nd, to assist General Birdwood in coming to terms with an envoy that was to be sent by Essad Pasha, commanding at that time a section of the Turkish forces. Accordingly, on the afternoon of the 22nd an officer rode in from the extreme right of their line, across the plain that dipped down to the sea between the headland of Gaba Tepe and the last knoll of our position. He carried a white flag of truce. It was an impressive moment. He was beautifully mounted, and his uniform was a mass of gold lace. He was met by Staff officers from the Australian Army Corps. Now, coming to the wire entanglements that had been made across the beach--the visiting officer had already been blindfolded--it was a matter of doubt for a moment how he was to be taken across within the Anzac lines. A solution was gained when four Australians stripped off their uniforms and, placing the officer on a stretcher, bore the Turk round through the water to the other side. There he remounted his horse, and was escorted along the beach to the prepared dugout, where he met in consultation General Braithwaite and representatives of the Australian and New Zealand Corps, with interpreters. It took two days to arrange the details of the armistice, and eventually the terms were satisfactorily agreed on, written, and signed in duplicate by both army leaders. [Illustration: TROOPS GOING INTO THE FIRING-LINE ON THE FIRST DAY OF LANDING.] [Illustration: THE BEACH CLEARING STATION (LIEUT.-COLONEL GIBLIN) IN THE EARLY DAYS OF ANZAC. To face p. 164.] On the 24th May--Empire Day, as Australians know it--the armistice was begun at eight o'clock, and lasted till five o'clock in the evening. Some of its features are interesting, gruesome as the object was. Burial parties were selected from each side. Groups of selected officers left the trenches and started to define with white flags the lines of demarcation. It had been decided there should be a central zone where the men from the two sides might work together--a narrow strip it was, too. The Turks were not to venture into what might be termed "our territory," that varied in width according to the distances the trenches were apart, and the Australians were not to venture into the enemy's. Orders were issued that there was to be no firing anywhere along the line. Arms were to be collected and handed over to the respective armies to which they belonged, minus the rifle bolts. No field-glasses were to be used, and the men were to keep down in the trenches and not look over the parapets. Now one of the disadvantages of the armistice, from the Australians' point of view, was that the topographical features of the position enabled any of the Turks who might approach within a certain distance to look down into the heart of the Anzac position (that was, into their own gullies), but also into gullies that now contained the Australians' reserve trenches and bivouacs, and where the troops were sheltered and stores placed. It seems very probable that the enemy realized this advantage, however slight. I do not think they were able to gain much. Nevertheless, in the interests of the health of all at Anzac, it was essential that the armistice should be arranged. So the party of the armistice went carefully round the 2-mile front of the position, moving the flags a little nearer the Turkish lines here, there, nearer the Australian. Following these slowly worked the burial parties, all wearing white armlets--doctors and padres. Under guise of a sergeant of the Red Crescent walked General Liman von Sanders, the German leader against Anzac, and he mixed with the burial parties. It was a misty and wet morning, and every one wore greatcoats and helmets that were sufficient cloak to any identity. All day the parties worked, collecting the identity discs of many gallant lads whose fate had been uncertain, men whose mouldering bodies had been seen lying between the trenches. They were buried in huge open trenches, often alongside their fallen foe, as often it was impossible, owing to the condition of the bodies, to remove them to the Turkish burial-grounds. Once some firing began on the right, where it was alleged some parties were digging firing trenches, but it was hushed, and I have never been able to find an exact and official statement of this. Some of the Turks who were directing operations mingled with our men; they spoke perfect English. By judicious handing out of cigarettes they sought to discover as much as they dared or as much as they might be told. Brigadier-General G. J. Johnston (Artillery officer) told me an amusing interview he had with a Turkish officer who asked him about the number of men Australia was sending to the war. The Gunner replied, "Five times as many thousands as had been already landed, while hundreds of thousands more were ready." Another conversation shows very clearly the absence of bitterness on one side or the other. It concerned the meeting of two men who exchanged cards, while the Turk told (one suspects with a cynical smile) of many haunts of pleasure and amusement in Constantinople where the Australian could amuse himself when he came. I do not wish to convey that the Turks believed that they would be beaten, but they were not hated enemies of the Australians, and on this, as on other occasions, they played the game. Over 3,000 of their dead were buried that day. They lay in heaps; they sprawled, swelled and stark, in rows, linked together by the guiding ropes which they had clung to. Many were lying just above the Turkish parapets, where our machine guns had mowed them down as they left their trenches. And these the Turks themselves just barely covered, as was their custom in burying their dead. Chaplains Merrington and Dexter both held short services over the graves of the fallen in the few hollows near Quinn's Post and other points farther south. A cairn of stones was left to mark the spot on which some day a greater memorial may be raised; down in the gullies rough wooden crosses mark other graves. Gradually, after 3 p.m., the parties withdrew from their solemn task, and as the last white flag was struck and the parties retreated into their own trenches, the snip, snip, zip, zip, and crack of the bullets and boom of the bombs began again, and never ceased till the last shot was fired on the peninsula. CHAPTER XVII ANZAC COVE The evolution of Anzac was as the growth of a mining settlement. Little had been done by the Turks in their defensive preparations to disturb the natural growth that spread from the crest of Maclagan's Ridge almost down to the water's edge--a growth of holly bush, a kind of furze, and an abundant carpet of grasses, wild flowers, poppies, and anemones. Round Ari Burnu their line of shallow trenches had run along to the Fishermen's Huts, but there were no tracks, other than the sheep or goat track round the base of the cliffs that the farmers might have used coming from Anafarta on to the plains below Kelid Bair and across to the olive-groves, on the way to Maidos and the villages along the peninsula road to Cape Helles. Anzac Beach--"Z" Beach in the scheme of operations--was covered with coarse pebbles, occasionally a patch of sand. Barely 20 yards wide, and 600 yards long, the hills and cliffs began to rise steeply from it. The shore was cleft in the centre by a gully--Bully Beef Gully--which opened into the Cove. It was no more than a sharp ravine, very narrow, and in the days of April and in November very moist, and wet, and sticky. It took very little time after the dawn of day on that April Sunday morning for the point of concentration to be fixed on in this Cove. The whole of the stores, equipment, as well as the troops, were landed from end to end of the beach. Somehow there was a feeling of greater security in this Cove, but in fact it was so shallow, so accurately plotted in the enemy's maps, that the Turks had little difficulty in bursting the shells from one end of it to the other at their will. Luckily, the water was fairly deep almost up to the shore. Twenty yards out one found 15 feet of water and a stony bottom, which enabled the picket boats and pinnaces to come close in, as it allowed barges to be drawn well up to the beach, so that the stores could be tumbled out. Photographs, better than word pictures, describe that beach in those first days and weeks. Ordnance officers of both Divisions, as well as of the Army Corps, wrestled with the problem of making order out of chaos. Once the army was to stick, it had to stick "By God!" and not be allowed to starve, or want for ammunition or entrenching tools. A small stone jetty was the first work of the Engineers, and this was rapidly followed by a jetty that the signallers, under Captain Watson (for the Engineers had vastly more important duties that called them away up to the gullies and the firing-line), constructed. But that was done after the second week. The Army Medical Corps worked in a dressing-station, just a tent with a Red Cross flying overhead. Yet it could not be said that the Turks wilfully shelled this station, though necessarily they must have dropped their shells round its canvas doors, while inside it came the bullets, because of the stores that lay about, blocking, choking the beach. Many were the experiments that were made to distribute the supplies. Colonel Austin, Ordnance officer, 1st Division, with his staff-sergeant, Tuckett, had attempted to erect the piles of boxes of biscuits, as well as picks and shovels and ammunition around Hell Spit. Promptly the Turks dropped shells right into the middle of them, scattering the whole and killing several men. There was nothing for it but to move back along the Cove, dig into the sides of the cliffs, and pile the reserve stores up the main gully. On the beach cases were stacked in the form of traverses, round which the men might take such shelter as was afforded when the guns--Beachy Bill, from Olive Grove, and Anafarta, from the village near Suvla--commenced their "hates." This beach and the cliffs overlooking it might be best described as "The Heart of Anzac." At the foot of the gully was camped General Sir William Birdwood--the "Soul of Anzac"--and his whole Staff in dugouts no different from the holes the men built in the hills. A hundred feet up the slopes on the south side was General Bridges and his Staff, and on the other hand General Godley with the 2nd A. and N.Z. Division. Those first quarters were only slightly varied in after-months. General Birdwood remained always on the beach, almost at the foot of the jetty. Here it was that one found the living pulse of the position--the throb of life that meant the successful holding of the acres so gallantly won, the strength that held back the Turks, while road arteries cut into the hillsides and formed the channels down which the best blood of the Australians and New Zealanders flowed. One cannot help recording that constantly shells burst round the leader's dugout. Thus it happened that his Staff officer, Captain Onslow, met his death under tragic circumstances in July. It was a particularly hot night, and this popular officer said he would sleep on the top of his dugout as being cooler. The Turks commenced to shell the beach (probably in the belief that we were that night landing men and stores, which we were not). Captain Onslow retired within the poor and partial shelter, emerging again after about a quarter of an hour, when he fancied the guns had stopped. Unfortunately, it was only a lull, and the next shell burst right on the dugout, killing him instantly. "It is only a question of time," was a phrase current on the beach amongst the working parties. It meant one had only to be there long enough and the inevitable shell-burst would find its victims. Yet considering the traffic--that the whole army of 30,000, increasing to 50,000 in July and August, as the zealous Australian Light Horsemen (dismounted) came into action, were fed from that 600 yards strip of beach--it was astonishing that the casualties were as low as they were. Twenty men were killed at a shell-burst once--that was the most horrible incident. Thousands of the heaviest shells fell harmlessly into the water. Six hundred shells a day, at one period, fell along the shore and around the pinnaces and lighters or amongst the slowly moving transports. No large ships were sunk. "The beach"--and those two words were used to include the thousands that inhabited it and the adjacent hillsides--watched the vessels chased from anchorage to anchorage. The army blessed their lives they were ashore; while those afloat wondered how any were left alive after the "hottings" the beach got. But the casualties from both Turkish enfilading batteries were never reckoned in all at 2,000--big enough, but very little result for the molestation that the Turks hoped to throw down on the heroes who toiled there day and night. For most of the work was done at night, in the small hours of the morning, when the transports under a darkened sky--the moon had to be studied studiously on Gallipoli--could come close inshore with 100-gallon tanks, thousands of Egyptian water-tins, millions of rounds of ammunition, and thousands of rounds of shells, scores of tons of beef and biscuits. Bread and the little fresh meat that came ashore were landed from the regular trawler service that arrived from Imbros by day, via Helles. Once a great steam pumping engine was landed. One heard it afterwards puffing away on the beach, sending the water from the barges (filled with water from the Nile and anchored by the pier) up to the tank reservoirs on the side of the ridge, where began a reticulation scheme all over Anzac to the foot of the hills, thereby certainly saving the energy of the army expended on fatigues. How the troops blessed it! None of that "luxury," however, in the early days; only the monotonous grind up and down the slopes with water-cans. You come on the Telephone Exchange of Anzac (to which led what appeared an impossible tangle of wires) and the Post Office, on either side of the entrance to Bully Beef Gully, opposite Watson's Landing. It is possible to talk all over the position from here. Three or four men are working constantly at the switches. Farther along the beach on the right and you find the clearing stations, under Colonel Howse, V.C., wedged in between the hillside and the screen of boxes on the beach. You come to Hell Spit, round which you might be chased by a machine gun from Gaba Tepe; and beyond, the graveyard, open to shell fire. Burials mostly have to be carried out at night, when the shelling is not so dangerous. There was a chaplain who, with his little band of devoted stretcher-bearers and the comrades of the fallen, was performing the last rites at this spot, when, to his dismay, the Turks commenced the shelling again. "Dust unto dust," repeated the chaplain, and the bursting shell flung the newly exposed earth over the party. "Oh, hell!" said the padre. "This is too ho-at for me! I'm aff!" And he went. So was the spirit of war bred in the souls of the men. It was sheer madness, the risks the troops would take on the beach when the Turks had fired old Beachy Bill from the Olive Grove--bathing under shell fire. But if needs must they always faced those shellings, anxious to get back to their job--to get supplies ashore before they were sunk, to get comrades away to comfort on the hospital ships. No amount of shelling interrupted the daily swim for long. So you walk north back along the beach, pondering, looking up at the heights above Ari Burnu Point. You wonder at the men of the 3rd Brigade who stormed it and the ridge on your right. The idealness of the Point for machine guns to repel any landing, seems only too evident. You pass the Army Corps headquarters--a line of dugouts, well shielded from the sun with canvas and blankets. Above is the wireless station, with its widespread aerials on a bare hill--deserted except for a few casual men who had burrowed deep and took their chance--and immense searchlights for signalling in a cavern in the hill. Near at hand, too, is the Army Post Office, in a low wooden building, one of the few at Anzac. Tinkerings and hammerings arise from the bomb factory, next door almost, where the finishing touches are put to the jam-tin bombs, originally constructed in Egypt, and to the Turkish shell cases, converted into "surprise packets" by diligent sappers, who work day and night to keep pace with the demand for twice any number that the Turks might throw. Up farther on this bared hill is the corral built for the reception of Turkish prisoners. You meet them, tired-looking, sullen men, being marched down through the gully to the pier. Hereabouts is an incinerator, always smoking and exploding cartridges that have fallen into it. You come to two more gullies before you reach the northern point of the Cove. Up one is the New Zealand Headquarters, bunched--huddled, in fact--on the side of the ravine, with the terrace in front, on which the leaders sit and yarn in the spare moments, watching the shells burst on the beach, the warships racing about from harbour to harbour, destroyers nosing slowly into the flanks of the position, aeroplanes skimming away to the Turkish lines. In the next and last gully there are many scores of placid mules, munching away, waiting for their work at sunset. You reach the Point (Ari Burnu), a flat, rounded, rather sharp bend, and you find yourself amongst a great many mule-wagons, standing in the sand, and before you a 2-mile sweep of yellow beach (Ocean Beach) that bends round to Suvla Bay. There rises up from the shore a mass of knolls and hills, the under features of the Sari Bair ridge, with the Salt Lake (the salt sparkles in the sun) drying at their base. Immediately in the foreground, and to the left, are the abrupt terminations of the Sari Bair ridge: Sphinx Rock and the brown, clayey, bare slopes of Plugge's Plateau, the whole hillside so mouldered away with the lashing of the Mediterranean storms, that the shells which burst on it bring tumbling to the gullies below vast falls of earth, until it appears that the whole hill could easily be blown away. Away up higher, beyond, is the battle-line; its spent bullets come flopping about you, splashing up the water, flicking up the sand. They are never so spent that they won't penetrate your flesh or bones and stick. [Illustration: BRIGADIER-GENERAL MONASH'S HEADQUARTERS, REST GULLY.] [Illustration: SPHINX ROCK AND THE ENTRANCE TO REST GULLY. To face p. 172.] Hastily you turn into a sap, and all that wonderful broad expanse of beach and hills is lost. For by day the Ocean Beach is impracticable, and at night, only by taking a risk, which the Indian muleteers do, can the nearest portion of it be used, thus relieving the pressure of traffic in the great communication-way. What a task to dig this sap miles out into the enemy's territory, the only link with the strong, but isolated, posts (beyond Fishermen's Huts) held in turn by parties of New Zealanders, Maoris, and Light Horsemen, under Lieut.-Colonel Bauchop! It is deep, broad--7 feet broad--hot, dusty, but safe. You may leave it just as you reach the Ari Burnu Point, and, passing through a gap in the hills and down a gully, regain the Cove. Just round the Point you may look in at the Ordnance Stores, indicated by a dirty blue-and-white flag, ragged and torn with shot and shell. That flag was brought ashore by Colonel Austin, and was the only army flag ever flown at Anzac. Surely there is a smithy? A clanging sound of blows on an anvil makes cheerful noise after the frenzied burst of shells. The workshops are protected with huge thicknesses of stores; guns of all descriptions are being made and remade here. Farther along are the medical stores, and you find a spacious dugout, lined with lints and ointments, bandages, splints, stretchers, and disinfectants. Hospital supplies were never short at Anzac. Gurkha, Maori, Englishman, Australian, New Zealander passes you on the beach. You may meet them all together, talking. You may see them only in their respective groups with their own kin. It all reminds you of an anthill. There are men--not hurrying, but going in all directions--stopping to talk every dozen paces, and then going on or turning back, apparently without motive, without reason. There are some that march alone and never halt. But the whole trend of traffic is from the hills and to the hills. Outward they go loaded, and return empty-handed for more. There came a time, not infrequent, when placid twilights fell on Anzac, when even the intermittent crack of rifles or the occasional burst of a bomb passed almost unnoticed. The wicked "psing" of bullets passing overhead on their way to the water went unheeded. A solemn stillness filled the air. Yes, quiet as a mining camp on the seashore, far away from war's turmoil, the beach nearly always rested with the sinking of the sun behind the massed hills of Samothrace--the island refuge of ancient oracles; its departing rays lit the sky in golden shadows, that mingled with blue the orange and green tints in the sky. Deeper shades darkened the island of Imbros and cast into silhouette the warships, waiting and watching till the aeroplanes sailing overhead should transmit their observations, which meant targets, for the bombardment of new enemy positions. The warships lay, like inert monsters, on a shimmering sea. Sunsets on Gallipoli took away the sting of battle. The shore parties, their most arduous labours still to come, watched the twilight in a state of suspended animation. Five o'clock was the hour for the commencement of bathing. It usually was, too, the signal for a Turkish "hate" of ten minutes or more, to banish the bathers. Any who could be spared stripped off their remaining few clothes, clambered aboard barges, or dived from the end of the pier, and washed off the sweat of a sweltering day in the clear waters; for Anzac was for five months as warm a corner as any in the �gean. Generals, orderlies, intelligence officers, men who had been toiling round the firing-line from dewy dawn, plunged in, spluttering an interchange of scraps of gossip of this position and that, and news from the outside world that seemed almost lost to those on this battlefield. You carefully placed your clothes, ready to dodge along the pier back to comparative safety, behind high stacks of stores, as the first shrieking shell came hurtling over from Olive Grove. "Old Beachy Bill snarling again," was the only comment, and once the little "hate" had ceased, back again for the last dive. Then sometimes out of the stillness would sound a gong--a beaten shell-case--bidding the officers to an evening meal; or the high-pitched voice of Captain Chaytor, the naval officer in command on the beach--as brave a fellow as ever stepped. The Navy took no more notice of shells than they did of Army orders--they were under "the Admiral." Still the co-operation between the two services was never marred by serious obstructions. "Last boat for Imbros," announced the naval officer. He might have said "Last boat for the shore." Gripping handbags or kitbags, there was usually a party waiting, and they dodged out now from behind shelters or from dugouts. They were off to one or other of the bases on duty, and the trawler or destroyer was waiting offshore for the pinnace to come alongside. "Picket boat ahoy! Where are you from?" Again the naval officer is speaking. The voice of a midshipman, suitably pitched and full-throated, replies, "_London_, sir." "I did not ask where you were born. Where are you from?" "_London_, sir." Then the naval officer remembers his evening aboard the battleship _London_, and orders the panting craft alongside. The shells begin to fall. He gives sharp orders through his megaphone, and pinnaces begin backing out from the shore, scattering in all directions till they are half a mile from the beach, and have become almost impossible targets for any gunners. The Turks desist. On the beach bathing is promptly resumed. General Birdwood rarely ever missed his evening dip. He bathed amongst his men, shedding off rank with his uniform, which led more than once to amusing incidents. One day the canvas pipe of the water-barge fell from the pier into the sea, and an irate man on the barge, seeing some one near it, cursed him, and asked him if he would "---- well lend a fellow a ---- hand to get the ---- thing up." General Birdwood--for it was he--delights to relate the story himself, and how he hastily commenced to pull the pipe into place, when a sergeant dashed up and offered to relieve him, in the midst of abusive directions from the bargee, who, unconscious of the signals from the sergeant and of the vacant staring of all around, urged on his General to more strenuous and more successful efforts. Did it endear the General less to the men? Rather not. A quiet, very firm, but very friendly man was this leader of the Australians, who understood their character admirably. On another occasion, when returning to his dugout over the top of the hill where rested the bomb factory, he accidentally stood on the roof of a dugout, and stones and earth began to fall on the occupant beneath. "Quick, quick!" said General Birdwood, knowing his men; "let me get away from this! I would rather face half a dozen Turks than that Australian when he comes out!" There is a "beach" story, too--all stories originated on the beach--far too characteristic to go unrecorded, of an Australian "pinching" extra water from the water barge one very still evening, when he was caught by the naval officer on duty, who, in the pure English of the Navy, demanded, "What are you doing thar, sir?" and up to the dugouts on the hillside floated the prompt reply, "Getting some ---- wart-ar, sir." But night has fallen and the beach wakens to its greatest degree of activity. Long since have efforts to load and land stores, to take ammunition to the firing-line, been abandoned by day. The Turkish observation at Gaba Tepe stopped that. All the hillside glows with twinkling lights; the sound of laughter or stern commands floats down from the higher steppes of the hills on to the beach. There is a fine dust rising from the strand as the traffic increases and becomes an endless stream of men, of mules, of wagons. Somewhere offshore--you know that it must be about 400 yards--there come voices across the waters as the barges are loaded and the steam pinnaces tug them to the shore. They are lashed to the narrow piers, where the waves lap their sides. Parties quickly board them to unload the food that is the life of the army, and the munitions which are its strength. There are heavier goods, too, to bring ashore, sometimes needing large parties to handle. There are rifles and machine guns, there are picks and shovels, iron plates for loopholes. Wood, too, forms not the least strain placed on the transport. So it goes on night after night, this constant stream of material to keep the army efficient, ready for any attack, ready, too, for any offensive. The trawlers have sneaked close into the Cove. The Turkish gunners, as if seeing this, begin to shell the beach. The work in the Cove stops abruptly. Men come scrambling from the pier and the boats to seek the shelter of dugouts and the great piles of stores. The shells fall harmlessly in the water (unless they destroy a barge of flour). When the bombardment ceases the routine is resumed. From Gaba Tepe the Turks could not see into the heart of Anzac, but their guns easily reached the distance, measured exactly. Opposite the pier-heads the men congregate. You find it difficult to push your way amongst the Indian mule-carts, to reach the canvas water-sheet and the tanks from which the men are getting supplies. The traffic divides. One section goes north to the No. 2 and No. 3 outposts, 2 miles away, out through the long sap: the dust from the shore is almost choking as you reach the sap, for the strings of mules pass and repass almost endlessly. The other branch of the traffic goes south (along the beach too) in front of the hospitals round Hell Spit, and then, striking one of many paths, is diverted along the right flank of the firing-line. No long line of sap to protect you here, and always a chance of a dropping bullet. Only when the moon rises above the horizon and the pine ridges and then above the battle front is it time for the beach to rest. Higher and higher it mounts, until at midnight it is slanting towards the entrance to the Dardanelles. One by one the lights have gone out and cooks' fires have ceased to flicker. On either flank two long arms of light, that broaden as they reach the hill, start from the sides of the destroyers. They were staring into the Turkish hills and gullies. Behind them the gunners watch all night for movements in the enemy's ranks, and the guns boom at the slightest stir. After the alarms of the night and the bursts of rapid fire, the dawn brings another lull over Anzac, when the constant rattle of muskets in the firing-line a mile away over the ridges and the swish and t-tzing of the little messengers of death as they pass out to sea, are like to be forgotten or accepted as part of the curious life of Anzac. But the work never quite ceases, and morning finds tired officers giving the last directions before they turn into their dugouts and escape the morning "hate" that the Turks with the first flush of dawn begin to throw over the beach and amongst the lingering, dawdling trawlers and transports that have drifted inshore. The shells follow the ships till they regain the circle of safety, some 2 miles from land. "Keep your distance, and we won't worry you," say the Turks. It is exciting to watch the steamers dodging the shells just as the sun first casts a glitter on the blue �gean. But they have accomplished all they need, and till the arrival of the daily trawlers from Imbros, Mudros, and Cape Helles, there is no need for worry. So the workers take a morning dip and turn in, while the men on the pinnaces are rocked to sleep as they lie wallowing offshore, and the pump begins its monotonous clanking. On rugged cliffs and amongst bristling bush the heart of Anzac began to palpitate with power and life. With roads and terraces was the hillside cut in May and stripped of its bush. The throb of the heart was the pulse of the army, its storehouse and its life; but the shore of the Cove was dyed to the murmuring waters' edge with the blood of the men that made it. CHAPTER XVIII THROUGH THE FIRING-LINES Anzac was divided into two parts by Shrapnel Gully, which ran from Hell Spit right up to the very apex of the position, at the junction of the ridge that the army held and the main ridge of Sari Bair. Thousands of men lost their lives in this great broad valley during the early days of the fighting, when the Turkish artillery burst shrapnel over it. That was how it got its name. It was there that General Bridges met his death, in this Valley of the Shadow of Death. In its upper course it merged into Monash Gully, called after the Brigadier of the 4th Brigade, that had held its steep sides at Pope's Hill--which was a knuckle--at Quinn's Post, and between the two the sharp depression on the edge of the ridge--"The Bloody Angle." A daring sniper might always reach the very head of the gully and shoot down the long Valley. Only, in time, the superiority and alertness of our sharpshooters overcame that menace. Few Turkish snipers that played that game returned alive. I went without a guide round Anzac, because the paths were well worn when I trod them, though there were many twisted roads, but all leading upwards to the trenches winding round the edge of the ridge. One could not miss one's way very well by keeping on the path that led southward from the heart of Anzac round to the first point--Hell Spit (beyond, a machine gun played and chased any who approached, unless the Turks happened to be off duty, as they sometimes were), and there you found the broad, open mouth of the gully. Usually a party of men were coming up from bathing. They were sun-burned right down to their waists (for they never wore shirts if they could possibly avoid it, and looked more like Turks than the Turks themselves), and you found them squatting in a sap, the mouth of which gaped on to the beach, secure behind the angle of a hill. By their side were large Egyptian water-tins. The "coves" up above in the trenches were drinking this ration of water for their evening meal, but there was always time to have a chat with a comrade or mate from the northern side of Anzac, or with men who lived in the heart of the position. For the troops knew only their own section of the line, and had seen nothing of famed posts and positions captured and held. In fact, it was a sort of mutual understanding that these fatigue parties always stopped for the purpose of swapping stories about adventures with Turks. "Had much fighting, Fred, down your way?" one would drawl. "Bit of an attack, but the blighters would not face the ---- bayonet." "Was out doing a bit of scouting the other night from Russell Top," spoke another fine-featured man, "and only for a thunderstorm would have captured a bit of a ridge, but a blooming interpreter chap got the shivers, and we just got back without being nabbed." It would make a book in itself to record all the conversations one dropped amongst, of scraps of fighting, of one section of the line and another. The men flattened themselves against the side of the sap to let a stretcher case pass, always asking, if the wounded man showed any signs of life, about the wound and his regiment. About July, in the saps one met men carrying large quantities of sheet-iron and beams of wood to form the terraces up along the sides of the hills. One sheet of iron could make a dugout magnificent, even luxurious; two was a home fit for a general. This sap wound backwards and forwards up the gully, just giving glimpses of the tops of the ridge, over which bullets came whizzing and embedding themselves against the hillside. That was the reason of the sap. The little graveyard you passed was full of these spent bullets: shells whined away over it to the beach. [Illustration: SHRAPNEL GULLY, LOOKING NORTH INTO MONASH GULLY FROM NEAR THE JUNCTION OF WANLISS GULLY. The white cross in the centre of the hills represents the small section of Turkish trenches on the Nek that overlooked the Gully. On the left is Russell Top.] [Illustration: A MAP COMPILED FROM AERIAL RECONNAISSANCE OF THE TURKISH AND OUR TRENCHES ON THE NEK, POPE'S HILL, QUINN'S POST, COURTNEY'S POST, AND GERMAN OFFICER'S TRENCH. On either flank of Pope's Hill are the heads of Monash Gully, the Bloody Angle between Pope's and Quinn's. To face p. 180.] You came out into the open again where the gully broadened out. Looking round, there were three or four wells visible, where the engineers were busily erecting pumps. Iron tanks, too, were being brought into use, part of the great reticulation scheme of Anzac, and round them were grouped the men who had come down from the hilltops. That water, blessed though it was, was thrice blessed by the men who once carried it on their shoulders, grown sore under the weight. Some men with 18-pounder shells tucked under their arms passed. "Heavy, lads?" "Too blooming heavy altogether; one's about enough up them hills!" Thus, by a stream of munition-carriers, was the artillery kept supplied with its ammunition. Shells were not too plentiful in those days, but the gunners were busy laying in supplies for the great artillery duel that all knew one day would be fought. Ammunition, it may be recorded, went by the beach at night, and so up to the very highest point of the gullies possible, on mules. Just at this broadening of Shrapnel Gully on the right (south) was the Indian encampment. A mass of rags and tatters it looked, for it was exposed to the fierce sun, and when gay coloured blankets were not shielding the inmates of the dugouts, the newly washed turbans of the Sikhs and Mohamedans were always floating in the idle breeze. Their camp was always busy. They never ceased to cook. Though the wiry Indians could speak little English, they got on well with the Australians, who loved poking about amongst their camps hunting for curios, while the Indians collected what trophies they could from the Australians. If you looked intently hereabouts, you might make out, smothered away in the shadow of a hill, the dark muzzle of a gun in a pit, with the gunners' camp beside it. He would have been a keen observer in an aeroplane who could have detected those guns and marked them on his maps. Sufficient proof of this might be found in the fact that nearly all these guns were brought away at the evacuation. One or two that I saw in the firing-line, or just behind it, had been battered. Three ways lay open to you, now that you had crossed the broad bottom of the gully. You might turn to the right and continue on up the main gully till it joined with Monash Gully, and so go on a visit to the apex of the position. You might turn off slightly to the left and reach, by a rather tortuous track, the centre of the left flank (or by this route travel behind the firing-line along the western slopes of the hills to Lone Pine, and then reach the extreme left). A far shorter, and the third way, was to go round the Indian encampment, and either up White Gully or through a gap in another spur of the main ridge, and come out on to Shell Green. This patch of once cultivated land was a small plateau--the only cleared space on Anzac. The Turkish shells passed over it on their way to the beach from the olive-grove guns concealed 2 miles away. Sometimes, also, they dropped on it. You crossed at the northern end of it, and reached the artillery headquarters of Colonel Rosenthal's 3rd Brigade dug into the side of the hill. It was across the gully facing the southern edge of this green that the big 6-in. field gun, fired for the first time in August, was placed. I remember watching the huge pit that was dug for it, and the widening of the artillery roads that enabled it to be dragged into position. Directly above Shell Green--a very dirty patch of earth after very few weeks--was Artillery Lane, which was a track that had been cut in the side of the hill, and which also served as a terrace. Dugouts were easily accessible along this road, though it was subject to some shell fire, so lower down the hillside was preferable, even if the climb was steeper and the promenade more restricted. Brigadier-General Ryrie, commanding 2nd Light Horse Brigade, had his headquarters at this spot, and also the 3rd Infantry Brigade, under Brigadier-General Maclagan. Lieut.-Colonel Long too, with the Divisional Light Horsemen, also made his camp there. All of which troops were holding, in July, the section of the line that reached down to the sea on the extreme left. It was a complicated position, for a series of small crests had had to be won before Chatham's Post was established and an uninterrupted view obtained of the Turkish huts along Pine Ridge and the plain where the olive-groves were. Down on the beach that led round from Gaba Tepe--the beach where the troops should have landed--were barbed-wire entanglements and a series of posts manned only at night. Along that beach a little way, the commander of the post, a Light Horseman, pointed out to me a broken boat. It was a snipers' nest, he explained, where the Turks sometimes lurked and waited. We now stood out in a cutting looking down on Gaba Tepe at the Turkish trenches that ran in parallel lines along the hills, till a bracket of bullets suggested the wisdom of drawing back to cover. Along a very deep sap (so narrow that in some places one had to squeeze one's way through) and down a hill brought one up to Chatham's Post, called so after a Queenslander, who captured it, of that name. Right on the crown of this knoll and along its western slope were a series of machine gun positions, striking at the heart of the left of the Turkish lines. I was asked, "Like to see an old Turk we have been laying for, for some time?--a sergeant he is. The beggar doesn't care a jot for our shooting." Several rifles cracked as the observer made way for me to put my eye to a telescope. Very clearly I saw a fine big Turk moving along one of the enemy's communication-ways; it was apparent he was supervising and directing. He bore a sort of charmed life, that man. Eventually (some days later) he was shot. His name? Why, Abdul, of course--they all were. Our telescope was withdrawn just in time, and the iron flap dropped over the loophole as bullets splashed against it and the sandbag parapets above. "Damn them and their snipers!" said a young bush-man, and began again his observation from another point. Up and down and through a long tunnel and we came back again to the rear of the main hill. When I saw where I had walked, set out on a map, it seemed very short after the miles of winding trenches that disappeared in all directions over and through the hill. Yet the troopers were still digging. Their troubles! Brigadier-General Maclagan had a birthday--or he said it was about time he had--one day when I came in, and he celebrated it by cutting a new cake which his Brigade-Major, Major Ross, had obtained through the post. "Luxury," began the Brigadier, with his mouth full of currants, "is only a matter of comparison. Look at my couch and my pigeon-holes, my secret earthen safes, and--bring another pannikin of tea." Yes, it was comparison. "Ross, you will show the trenches--fine fellow, Ross," and the Brigadier cut another piece of cake. Other officers dropped in and the cake slowly vanished. I wondered what Ross thought. "No use," he said to me later. "Better eat it now. Might not be here to eat it to-night. What about these trenches, now? You have a periscope? Right." As we started I felt his position was like that of the officer who, having received a hamper with some fine old whisky, found himself suddenly grown popular and received a great many visitors in one night. News spread quickly at Anzac! It was the middle section of the right of the line that I was visiting, adjacent to the Light Horse position, just described. The Turks started shelling before we had fairly started, and I watched the shells bursting on Shell Green--harmlessly enough, but very thick. The Brigade-Major left word at the telephone switchboard where he was going, and, choosing one of three ways, dived into a sap on the hillside that was reached by a flight of steps. One had not gone far to be struck by the scrupulous cleanliness of this underground line. No tins, papers, or broken earthworks: everything spick and span. I was being told how the wheatfield had been taken at the time just as we were passing across it--through a sap and working up under cover on to the outer ridge. That day I seemed to do nothing else but grip hard brown hands and meet new faces. That splendid Staff officer had a word for all his men. "Wish the beggars would only attack. We have everything nicely prepared for them," he began to explain as we walked through a tunnel and halted on the side of a hill. We stood behind some bushes in a machine-gun pit. "Never been fired," said the officer, and then smiled in a curious way. "Got four more all along the top of the gully in two tiers. We expect--that is our hope--the Turks will come up here to try and cut off that hill which we have taken. Let 'em." It was the first time I had seen a real trap. God help any foe that entered that valley! Did I want to see all the position? I did. It took two hours--two of the shortest, most amazing hours I spent at Anzac. "We are going now to see the gallery trenches. Always believe in making things roomy below ground," the Major explained, "so that the men do not get any suggestion of being cramped." So we entered a fine, high, and broad gallery, lit by the holes that were opened at intervals along it and used as firing-steps. My guide chuckled as he came to a point where it was rather dark. He stopped before more manholes filled with barbed wire. On the firing-step a soldier was carefully handling his tin of stew. This was a mantrap--a small hole and a thin crust of earth and wide pit--prepared against the rushing of the position, one of dozens that were all round the front as a protecting screen. It was rather a difficult matter getting round the galleries as the afternoon wore on, for the men had commenced their meals. They gathered in small groups, some one always on guard for his comrades. Rifles were ready, standing by the wall. It was not exactly a solemn meal, for plenty of curses accompanied the passing of some "clumsy devil" that knocked down earth into a tin of tea. The trenches were remarkably sweet. The Major drew one's attention to the fact with justifiable pride. Of the Turks that were entrenched on the other side of the ridge one saw nothing. Through a periscope you could make out their earthworks. One stumbles on adventure in the firing-line. I was without my guide, proceeding along a trench, when I was advised it was not worth while. Quite recently it cut a Turkish trench, and now only a sandbag parapet divided the two lines. It really was not worth occupying, except when there was a fight on. It was too deadly a position for either side to remain long in! How the line twisted! Turning back along an angle, I found we had got back again into the gully--the Valley of Despair I have heard it called--only much higher up. There was an interesting little group of men round a shaft. Major Ross explained: "Trying to get their own water supply. Down about 80 feet. Yes, all old miners. The Tasmanians have done most of this tunnelling work: must have dug out thousands of tons of earth. Perfectly wonderful chaps they are. Dug themselves to a shadow, and still fought like hell. Me thin? Oh, it does me good walking about these hills; I can't sit in a dugout." A messenger came up from the signal office. "You must excuse me. I have to go back to B. 11" (a junction of a trench and sap), and he dived into the trenches again. Imagine, now, you have begun walking back along the firing-line, going from the extreme right to the left. Already two sections have been passed. Had you continued along from the last gallery trenches, you would have come out into the section opposite the Lone Pine trenches of the Turks. The enemy here was a more discreet distance of 80 to 200 yards away across a broad plateau. The ridge was higher at this point, and one might look back through a periscope (with great care) from certain sharp-angled look-out posts, raised slightly, according to the conformation of the ground, above the level of the ordinary trenches, down the back of the ridge, and on to the positions one had just left. They call this spot "The Pimple." Some of the posts were the observation posts for artillery, others for special sentry posts. As Lone Pine will form the subject of a separate chapter, the trenches will not be elaborated here. Sufficient to say that here, too, were gallery trenches, but lower and darker and less roomy; but, nevertheless, absolutely effective either for defensive or offensive purposes. You reached them by climbing to the end of Artillery Lane up through Browne's Dip. It was on the second day that along this roadway the guns were dragged into the firing-line, when Major Bessell-Browne had a battery right on the crest of the ridge almost in the firing-line (the guns were actually in the infantry trenches for a time), until the Turks made it too warm for them. Now, this hilltop, which lay just behind the position held by the 1st Infantry Brigade and to the south-east of White Gully, was bare of any infantry trenches. It was, moreover, covered with furze and holly bushes. The trenches had been advanced to the edge of the plateau, on the other side of which the Turkish lines ran. With Colonel Johnston, Brigadier of the Victorian Artillery Brigade, I had climbed up here one morning to see the gun positions. One passed from Artillery Lane into an extremely narrow trench right amongst some bushes, and found oneself in a snug little position, completely concealed from observation. Out of the midst of these earthworks a gun pointed to the Turkish positions on Pine Ridge, Battleship Hill, and Scrubby Knoll. There was a telescope carefully laid through a loophole, the iron flap of which was discreetly dropped. It swept the Turkish ridges closely. A sergeant was in a "possy" (the soldier's term for his position in the firing-line and dugout) watching a party of Turks digging. He could just see their spades come up in the air. It was believed that they were making emplacements for new guns. Colonel Johnston let the enemy nearly finish and then blew them and their earthworks to pieces. It was what he called "stirring up a stunt," for not long after, sure enough, as he anticipated, the Turks commenced to reply, and shells began dropping in front of and over this post as the Turks searched for our guns. These little artillery duels lasted about half an hour, and when ammunition was plentiful (the daily limit was fixed for many weeks at two shells a day unless anything special occurred) two or three "stunts" might occur during a day. Sometimes word would come down from the infantry trenches that Turks were passing in certain gullies or could be seen working up on to Battleship Hill or up the side of Baby 700, and the guns would be laid accordingly. It would be difficult to estimate the number of targets that had been registered by the active artillerymen. They had them all tabulated, and could train their guns on to any spot during a night alarm in a moment. For from some point or other good views could be obtained of the Turkish positions: not in detail, of course, but sufficient, with the knowledge that aeroplane sketches and reconnaissance provided (Major Myles was one of the most successful of the artillery officers who went observing from the hangars at Tenedos), to cause great havoc amongst the Turkish supports and reserves. But such shelling, whatever damage was done, never prevented the Turks from digging new firing-lines and communication and reserve trenches. Their industry in this respect was even greater than the Australians', who moved whole hills or honeycombed them with galleries until you might expect that a real heavy burst of shells or a downpour of rain would cause them to collapse. The Turks had mobilized digging battalions, units in which men who had conscientious objections to bear arms (many of them farmers) used to work. This was how Pine Ridge became such a huge mass of enemy trenches. Why, there were secret saps and ways all along from Kojadere right to Gaba Tepe Point. But sometimes the Turks were caught napping, as when the Australians captured an advanced spur or knoll on the plateau that gave a glimpse down a gully (for the other side of the plateau that sloped away down to Kojadere was just as cut by ravines as was the Anzac side), and after a few days' quiet preparations--the Turks being ignorant of our new advantage--our machine guns swept backwards and forwards along it, while the artillery drove the Turks into this hail of lead with shrapnel and high explosives. With Colonel Johnston I went farther back towards the seashore along the back of one of the spurs, and round Majors Phillips', Caddy's, Burgess's guns, well dug into deep pits protected by solid banks of earth, covered with natural growth of bushes. It seemed to me unless a direct hit was obtained there was little chance of their being destroyed. Space was conserved in every way so as to leave as little opening as possible; magazines were dug into the cliff and dugouts as well. Yet several guns were knocked out. There was one gun crew amongst whom a shell had burst. Two men had been killed outright, and others badly wounded. When the stretcher-bearers rushed into the gun-pit they found a dying man trying to open the breech of the gun to load. His strength failed, and he fell back dead in a comrade's arms. Those men thought only of the gun and their mates after that explosion. Little gaps occurred in the Anzac front where two gullies met on the razor-back crest of the hill. One was at the head of Wanliss Gully, between the 4th Battalion of the 1st Brigade and the 5th Battalion, holding the section opposite the German Officers' Trench. Here the crest of the hill had been so worn away, and the head of the gully was so steep, that no trenches could be connected. As a result, all the protection that could be given was to bend back the trenches on either side down the hill, and establish strong posts and make entanglements from side to side of the gully. It was a source of intense anxiety to Colonel Wanliss (commanding 5th Battalion), who was early responsible for its protection. The 2nd Infantry Brigade held the section of trenches going to Quinn's Post during the greater part of four months: held them sometimes lightly, sometimes in great strength. Opposite were the Turks' most elaborate works, designated "German Officers' Trench" and "Johnston's Jolly." These series of Turkish trenches varied from 20 to 80 yards from the Australian lines. The origin of their names is interesting. German officers had been seen in the trench that bears their name, which offered sufficient reason, as there were not a great number of Hun officers on the peninsula. The other series of trenches had presented to Colonel Johnston's mind a good target, on which he always said he would have a "jolly good time" if his guns had only been howitzers and able to reach them, which, with his 18-pounders, he could not. The Turks had used huge beams many feet in thickness to fortify these trenches along this sector of the line. Probably it was because it led directly to the heart of the enemy's position (Mule Gully was beyond and Kojadere) that such measures were taken. No artillery bombardment had had much effect on these trenches. One day--it illustrates the spirit of the Turkish army--a Turkish officer was seen directing the erection of some overhead cover down a communication trench behind this position. A burst of shell had warned him that he was observed, and bullets from machine guns played round him. He paid little attention, and went on with the directing of his job. When complete it was blown down, and continued to be blown down as fast as it was constructed, until the Turks had to give it up in despair. That brave officer directing the operations, was killed. [Illustration: CHAPLAIN DEXTER (5TH INFANTRY BATTALION) LEARNING THE WORKING OF A TRENCH MORTAR. Turkish firing-line thirty yards beyond the parapet.] [Illustration: SHELL GREEN, THE ONLY LEVEL AND CULTIVATED SPOT ON ANZAC: GUN EMPLACEMENT AND LIMBERS IN THE FOREGROUND. This position was subsequently used as an aeroplane signalling station.] Opposite the left front of "German Officers' Trench" came Steel's Post, and next to Steel's, Courtney's Post, both called after officers of the 4th Infantry Brigade, whose regiments had held the positions in the first awful fortnight's fighting. Really they might be more aptly termed by the number of the regiment--14th Battalion--and the fine men who composed it. The Turks' line drew very close at this point. A gully cut into the plateau from the Anzac side and formed the "Bloody Angle." On the north of it was Pope's Hill, and on the south was Quinn's--the famous post cleft in the hillside--a concave position, at the heart of which the Turkish rifles pointed from the north and south, for it was from the night of the landing a savage thorn pressed in their side. But the history of these posts needs a special chapter. By them Anzac held or fell. Early I said Anzac was divided into two halves by Shrapnel Gully--the southern has just been travelled over. There remains to describe only those trenches that lay north of Shrapnel and Monash Gully, on the Nek, and back along Russell Top, the northern section of the famous position. It was mostly a New Zealand position; for New Zealanders and Maoris were largely responsible for its defence till the 3rd Light Horse Brigade, under General Hughes, took it over. Approached from the beach, the cliffs of Russell Top rise almost precipitously. The New Zealanders, mounted and dismounted troops, had had to set to work to cut a road up the face of this cliff to the top of the ridge. It was the isolated nature of the position--until a way was cut down the slopes into Monash Gully to the very foot of the hill--that caused so much difficulty in moving troops, and was responsible for more than one delay in getting men to required posts at given times. Russell's Top might be best described as the end of the main Sari Bair ridge. Southward from the ridge, and almost at right angles to it, ran the spur commencing with Plugge's Plateau, that formed the first ridge (Maclagan's ridge) stormed by the Australians. It overhung Anzac Cove. Incidentally it was the second line of our defence, the triangle within the triangle, and on it were the hastily formed trenches that the Australians had dug during the 25th, 26th, and 27th April, lest the Turkish attempts to "drive them into the sea" proved successful. Guns were hauled up these ridges by hundreds of men, just as the Italians were doing on the Gorizia front. Had this last position been carried the guns could never have been got away. They might certainly have been tumbled down into the gullies below and spiked. Russell Top itself was a short section or series of trenches grouped on either side of the ridge, and ending at the Nek. They faced roughly north and south. They commanded Anzac position to the south, and all the series of our works described in the early part of the chapter. On the north they dominated (the impossibility of getting very heavy artillery right along the ridge, owing to its precipitous and exposed nature, limited severely that command) all the series of foothills that led up to Chunak Bair and Koja Chemin Tepe. In this direction short, sharp spurs, covered with dense bushes and undergrowth, branched out from the Sari Bair ridge. To name them, starting from the beach: The first in our possession was Walker's Ridge, and then Happy Valley, then Turks' Point, then Snipers' Nest, where the Turks had command of the beach to good effect, and from which it was found impossible, though many stealthy attacks were made and the destroyers plastered the spur with shell, to dislodge them. Beyond, stern above all these crooked steep hilltops, was Rhododendron Ridge. Now, just after Turks' Point the ridge narrowed and formed the Nek. I do not think it was more than 160 yards wide at the utmost, just a thin strip of land, with sheer gullies protecting it on either flank. From here, too, the Sari Bair ridge began to slope up, rising rapidly to Baby 700, Battleship Hill, Chunak Bair. Immediately in front of the Nek, adjacent to the head of Monash Gully, were the terrible Chessboard Trenches, so named because the newly dug exposed earth where the trenches ran, lay in almost exact squares across the ridge from one side to the other, like a chessboard. The New Zealand trenches (afterwards manned by Australian Light Horse) were about 80 yards from the enemy's lines, though the Turks occupied somewhat higher ground, and consequently looked down on to our trenches. But such was the superiority of fire that our troops had obtained, that the enemy were never able to take full advantage of this position. To hold these few acres of ground against fearful attacks cost hundreds of lives. The trenches were mostly sandbagged, the earth being too crumbling to hold against the searching fire of "75's" which the Turks (they had captured them in the Balkan War from the Serbians) had, together with Krupp artillery. Our machine guns commanded Snipers' Nest and the angle of Rhododendron Ridge where it joined the main ridge. Traverses, therefore, became nothing but huge pillars of sand. The work entailed in keeping them clear and intact was very heavy indeed. A number of trench mortars concealed round the crown of Russell Top strengthened our position; while on the north flank many trenches existed amongst the undergrowth which the Turks were ignorant of. Still, through the possession of this ridge we had been able to fling out outpost stations along the beach towards Suvla Bay, and dig the sap which eventually was the connecting link with Anzac in the great operations at Suvla Bay on 7th August. But the Nek itself the Turks had mined and we had countermined, till beneath the narrow space between the trenches, was a series of mine tunnels with gaping craters above. Only once had the Turks attempted an attack across this Nek, as I have described, but they so strengthened their position (and it was comparatively easy, owing to the configuration of the ground) that they were here probably more, what the Australians called "uppish and cheeky" than in any other part of the line. One day, while I was standing talking with General Hughes, a message weighted with a stone was flung at our feet from the enemy's line. It looked like a pamphlet. It was written in Turkish, and when taken to the interpreter's quarters and transcribed, proved to be Turkish boasts published in Constantinople. Round the flank of our trenches was a favourite way for deserters to come in, which they did on many occasions. Once on a dark night the sentries were startled to hear a voice speaking even more perfect English, and certainly more correct, than one was accustomed to hear in the trenches, saying: "Will you please tell your men to cease firing, as I want to surrender?" Of course, the situation was rather difficult, as the Turks were fond of ruses, but eventually an Armenian officer jumped over the parapet and gave himself up. And very useful he proved, with the information he brought and gave during subsequent operations. But most difficult problem of all on this high plateau-top was the maintenance of supplies; not only of food and water, but of munitions. It was forty minutes' terrible climb to the top from the beach--a climb that needed every muscle strong to accomplish, even lightly laden. To fortify the position as it had been, was a magnificent achievement, and could only have been done by troops with the hearts of lions and the spirit of the Norsemen of old. It might have been thought in the face of such difficulties, with the fevers of the Mediterranean eating into their bodies, that the spirit of the army would have failed. On the contrary, the Australasians accepted the position just as it was, bad as it was: the sweltering heat and the short rations of water; the terrible fatigues, absent from campaigns in other theatres of the war zone; and, above all, the constant exposure to shell fire and rifle fire week after week and month after month. But the spirit of the trenches was buoyant and reflective without becoming pessimistic. The men were heartily sick of inaction. They rejoiced in the prospects of a battle. It was the inertia that killed. CHAPTER XIX LIFE AT QUINN'S AND POPE'S It is doubtful if the true history of Quinn's and Pope's positions will ever be collated. But any soldier will tell you that these two posts made Anzac, for it was on the holding of these precarious and well-nigh impossible positions in the early days of occupation that the whole Australian line depended. The names will be for ever bound up with the gallant officers who defended them, though it will be only meet that their subsequent commanders should have their names inscribed on the roll of the bravest of brave men that clung to the edges of the hillsides at the head of Monash Gully. There was, till the last days, always some fighting going on round Quinn's and Pope's, where the Turkish trenches approached to within a few yards of ours. Sorties by one side or the other were frequently made there; always bombing, alarms, mines, and countermines. I would never have been surprised if at any time the whole of Pope's and Quinn's had collapsed, blown to atoms by some vast network of mines, or wrecked by shell fire. The two places were a mass of trenches, burrows, secret tunnels, and deep shafts. They bristled with machine guns. My greatest difficulty is to adequately convey some detailed idea of the positions as I saw them--a few of the desperate conflicts have been already recorded, and I hope that what will follow will enable the nature of the fighting to be better realized. Quinn's! The famous post was soon after the landing known throughout the Eastern Mediterranean, and its history, or a portion of it, reached England and Australia early in the accounts of Anzac. That it "held," the Turk found to his cost. He tried to overwhelm it; he was driven back into his trenches, not once, but scores and scores of times. In the first weeks of the fighting, the Turk came on against Quinn's with cries of "Allah! Allah!" and retired amidst weepings and moanings, leaving men dead and dying before the Post. From that day it became a desperate position, but when I examined it the men (they were Canterbury men from New Zealand and some of our own lads) under Lieut.-Colonel Malone, a magnificent stamp of leader, were quite cheery, and the whole tone of the Post was one of confidence, notwithstanding any attack the enemy might make. "We are waiting for him, and wish he would come," were the words of the commanding officer. "Brother Turk has learnt his lesson; so he sits still and flings bombs--he gets two back for every one he throws." That was the spirit which enabled Quinn's to be successfully held. Once, in the early days, the way to Quinn's was through a hail of bullets up Shrapnel Gully, dodging from traverse to traverse, till you came to the foot of a ridge that ran almost perpendicularly up 200 feet. On the top and sides clung Quinn's. The ridge was bent here, where one of the heads of the great gully had eaten into the plateau. That was what made the hillside so steep. Quinn's helped to form one side of the ravine called the "Bloody Angle." Yes, in the early history of Quinn's and Pope's, just across the gully, not 100 yards away, had flowed down those hillsides the best blood of the Australian army. For the enemy peered down into the hollow--then not afraid, as he was later, to expose his head and shoulders to take deliberate aim. The moral ascendancy of our sharpshooters was the first step in the victory of Quinn's. After June it was no longer a matter of the same extreme peril coming up the broad valley, for there was a secret sap most of the way along Shrapnel Gully. Once you turned north, half way up the gully, you lost the view of the sea behind the hills, and you found yourself among a variety of Army Service Corps units--among water-tanks and water-carriers. You heard the clatter of pumps and the rattle of mess-tins as the men stood out in long lines from the cooks' fires that gleamed at half a dozen points. There was only a space of a few feet on either side of the path that contained the dugouts; the rest of the hillside was still covered with prickly undergrowth and shooting grasses. The sound of a mouth-organ resounded up the valley; bullets sped past very high overhead, and shells dropped very occasionally at this point among the inner hills behind the ridge. From the gully I turned on my left into a sap that wound about and shut off all views except that of Quinn's and Pope's. I came out of the sap again into the gully to a place where sandbags were piled thick and high to stop the bullets, for here it was not so comfortable, as far as the enemy's rifles were concerned. You went into a perfect fortress of low-lying squat huts, to which you found an entrance after some difficulty. I had to squeeze through a narrow, deep trench to reach it. That was the headquarters of Brigadier-General Chauvel, who commanded the central section of the line that I could see all along the edge of the ridge about 150 yards away--almost on top of us--Pope's on the left, the isolated hilltop; then Quinn's, Courtney's, and Steel's. They were a group of danger points--a constant source of anxiety and despair to the General who commanded them. It was delightfully cool inside those caves in the gully after the heat of the sap. I was told by Major Farr and Major Williams, who were talking to the commanders of the posts by telephone, that I could not lose my way. "Keep on following the narrow path, and if you are lucky you will be in time for a battle." Each hung up the receiver and gave a curt order for some further boxes of bombs to be dispatched. Battles on Quinn's were no mild engagements, for usually the hillside was covered with bursting shells and bombs that the Turks hurled over in amazing numbers. Fortunately, these "stab" attacks were brief. As I pushed on towards the narrow sap that ran into the side of the hill, I could see by the excavated earth how it zigzagged up the side of the ridge. I passed great quantities of stores, and, under the lee of a small knoll, cooks' lines for the men holding the Post above, which was still obscured from view. All one could see was a section of the Turkish trench just where it ended 20 yards from our lines, and the barbed-wire entanglements that had been thrown out as a screen. The air was filled with the appetizing odour of sizzling bacon, onions, and potatoes, while shells whizzed across the valley. I was glad to be safely walking between high sandbag parapets. Soon the path became so steep that steps had been made in the hill--steps made by branches interlaced and pegged to the ground. It was a climb, one ascending several feet in every stride. Sandbags were propped up here and there in pillars to protect us from the sight of the enemy on our left. One's view was confined to the wire entanglements on the skyline and the steep, exposed slope of the hill on the right. Behind lay the valley, full of shadows and points of light from dugouts and fires. They were quite safe down there, but you were almost on the edge of a volcano that might break out above you at any moment. You passed various sandbagged huts, until quite near the crest of the hill trenches began to run in various directions, and you saw the rounded top of the hill chipped away and bared under the constant rifle and bomb attacks. What had appeared ledges in the distance resolved themselves into a series of terraces, where the men found protection and, as busy as bees, were preparing for tea. Lieut.-Colonel Malone was my guide. He was an Irishman, and keen about the Post and just the man to hold it. His great motto was "that war in the first place meant the cultivation of domestic virtues," and he practised it. He brought me up a gently inclined track towards a point at which barbed wire could be seen across a gully which ended in a sharp fork. That was the "Bloody Angle." Then we turned around and looked back down the gully. In the distance, 100 yards away on the right, along the top of the ridge, were two distinct lines of trenches, with ground between which you at once knew was "dead" ground. The hill doubled back, which almost left Quinn's open to fire from the rear. "That is our position--Courtney's Post and Steel's to the east," said my guide, "and those opposite are the Turkish trenches. We call them the 'German Officers' Trenches,' because we suspect that German officers were there at one time. Now we have given them a sporting chance to snipe us; let us retire. I always give a visitor that thrill." It was only the first of several such episodes which vividly brought home to one's mind the desperate encounters that had been waged around this famous station. The men who held on here had a disregard of death. They were faced with it constantly, continuously. There were four rows of terraces up the side of the hill. Once the men had just lived in holes, dug as best they could, with a maze of irregular paths. That was in the period when the fighting was so fierce that no time could be spared to elaborate the trenches not actually in the firing-line. Afterwards, when the garrison was increased to 800 and material came ashore--wooden beams and sheet-iron--conditions underwent a change. Four or five terraces were built and long sheds constructed along the ledges and into the side of the hill. These had sandbag cover which bullets and bombs could not penetrate. Just over the edge of the hill, not 30 yards away, were our own lines, and the Turkish trenches 4 to 25 yards beyond again. When the shells came tearing overhead from our guns down in the gully the whole hillside shook with the concussion of the burst. No wonder the terraces collapsed one day! I was standing talking to Lieut.-Colonel Malone and saw about 100 of the men who were in reserve leaning against the back of the shed that belonged to a terrace lower down. They were all looking up at an aeroplane, a German Taube, skimming overhead. A huge bomb burst in the trenches on the top of the hill, and the men, involuntarily, swayed back. That extra weight broke away the terrace, and it collapsed with a roar. Fortunately, the damage done was small, though about eight men were injured. To go through Quinn's was like visiting a miniature fortress. The whole extent of the front was not more than 200 yards. One dived down innumerable tunnels that ran 10 or 20 feet in the clay under the enemy trenches, and contained mines, ready set, to be blown up at the first sign of an enemy attack in mass. A certain amount of protection had been gained at Quinn's from the deluge of bombs that the enemy accurately threw, by a screen of wire-netting that caught the bombs so they burst on the parapets. But such protection was no use against the heavy football bomb. Loopholes were all of iron plating, and in most cases of double thickness, and even thus they were almost pierced by the hail of bullets from the Turkish machine guns. The Turks did not occupy their forward trenches by day. Only at night they crept up into them in large numbers. Several craters formed a sort of danger-point between the lines where mines had been exploded, and into these it was the endeavour of some Turks to steal at night on their way to an attack. Now, one of the stories about Quinn's--alas! how many tales of gallantry must go unrecorded--is that the enemy's troops became so demoralized by the nearness of the trenches and the constant vigilance of our men that, in order to properly man their trenches in this sector, the Turks had to give non-commissioned rank to all the men there posted. Our own garrison in June and July were changed every eight days. Lieut.-Colonel Malone, however, remained in charge, having under him mixed forces of New Zealanders and Australians. One day I went with him into one series of tunnel trenches that wound back and forth and that opened up unexpectedly into a strongly fortified emplacement either for a machine gun or an observation post. Lying all along the tunnels, either on the ground, pressed close to the walls, or in a niche, or ledge, were the garrison. It was difficult not to tread on them. We came to a point where, pegged to the earthen walls, were any number of pictures--of Sydney beach, of St. Kilda foreshore, of bush homes and haunts, of the latest beauty actresses, and--most treasured possession--some of Kirchner's drawings and coloured work from French papers. They were a happy family at Quinn's. Once orders had been given that conversations could be carried on only in whispers, so close was the enemy. For the most part, however, that was not necessary, but there were certain places where we had machine-gun emplacements--traps they were really, and the guns had never been fired. They were to be surprises for "Johnny Turk" when he should attack again in force. Here certainly it would not have been wise to discuss the position, for the enemy, some few yards distant, might have heard and understood. One had only to show a periscope above the trenches at Quinn's to bring down a hail of bullets, and three periscopes was the signal for the turning of a machine gun on the sandbag parapets, with a broken glass in the periscope the only result. [Illustration: HEADQUARTERS OF THE 5TH INFANTRY BATTALION LOOKING TOWARDS POPE'S HILL. The terraces dug out of the side of the hill can be traced. The firing-line is forty yards over the crest. To face p. 198.] The shells from our guns in the valley just skimmed the tops of the trenches, clearing them about 12 feet and bursting in the enemy's lines. It was a very sensational experience until one got used to the sound and could detect which way the shells were travelling. It is told of this Post that two men were sitting in the trench talking in whispers when a shell came whining and roaring towards them. It burst. They did not rise to see where, but it was near. Said the new arrival to his mate, "Is that ours?" "No," came the hissed reply, "theirs!" "The----!" was the only vouchsafed and typically Anzac comment. Yes, the Post was undoubtedly strong, for it could enfilade any attack from German Officers' Trench on the right, and the Turks knew that and attempted none. What was most amazing about the position were the series of gun-pits, dug out of the centre of a shoulder of the hill which ran down the right side of the position on the flank of the gully nearest to Courtney's. I went up through a winding passage-way, where blue-bottle flies kept up a drowsy humming. Every half-dozen yards there were small concealed openings in the side of the tunnel, through which I looked out on to the terraces and towards Pope's. When I reached the summit and found a series of three chambers each with ledges ready for machine guns, Lieut.-Colonel Malone explained. "This," he said, "is the place to which we might retire if the Turks did break through the Post and come down the gully side. We would catch them here. They cannot detect the guns, for they are hidden by this thick scrub. We are now on the side of that hill you saw on to which the Turks, from in front of Pope's and the Bloody Angle, can fire. We could reach them, but the Staff will not give me the machine guns. The reason is we have not enough, as it is, on the Post--not as many as I would like. I would like a dozen--we have seven. The enemy would never get us out of here till we starved." I no longer ceased to wonder why Quinn's was declared "perfectly safe." To get across to Pope's you had to go down into the gully again by the steep way you had come, and travel another 200 yards up towards its head until you came to an almost bare and precipitous hillside, which you climbed the best way you could, picking a path in and out amongst the dugouts. If you had a load of stores, you could go to a part where a rope hung down from the crown of the hill, about 100 feet up, and by it you might haul yourself to the top. Pope's was even more exposed than Quinn's when you entered it. The Commander's dugouts were perched on the back of the hill, facing the gully, and bullets and shells burst round his cave entrances. Lieut.-Colonel Rowell, of the 3rd Regiment of Light Horse, was in charge the day I went over every section of it. The Light Horsemen were desperately proud of their holding this dangerous and all-important knoll that blocked the entrance to the gully. Here, again, there were tunnels connecting up the front and support trenches. They twisted about and wound in and out, conforming to the shape of the top of the hill. But they were not connected on either flank. It was just an isolated post. There were positions for machine guns that by a device were made disappearing guns. They were hauled up rapidly by a pulley and rope and then lowered out of sight again. It was a rough-and-ready makeshift, but the only means of keeping secret positions (on a hill that did not offer much scope for selection) for the guns. Iron loopholes were absolutely essential; an iron flap fell across them as soon as the rifle had been withdrawn. I remember standing opposite one of these till I was warned to move, and, sure enough, just afterwards some bullets went clean through and thumped against the back of the trench. Many men had been shot through the loopholes, so close were the enemy's snipers. Down on the right flank of the post, just facing the head of Monash Gully and the Nek and Chessboard Trenches, was a remarkable series of sharpshooters' posts. They were reached through a tunnel which had been bored into the side of the hill. The bushes that grew on the edge had not been disturbed, and the Turks could know nothing of them. It was through these our crack rifle-shots fired on the Turks when they attempted, on various occasions, to come down through the head of Monash Gully from their trenches on the Chessboard and round the flank of Pope's Hill. Maps show the nearness of the Turks' line to ours, scarcely more than 15 yards away in places: what they do not show is the mining and countermining beneath the surface. Constantly sections of trenches were being blown up by the diligent sappers, and in July, Pope's Hill had become almost an artificial hill, held together, one might say, by the sandbags that kept the saps and trenches intact. Words fail to convey the heartbreaking work of keeping the communications free and the trenches complete, for every Turkish shell that burst did damage of some sort, and nearly every morning early some portion of the post had to be rebuilt. Looking here across the intervening space--it was very narrow--to the right and left I could see the Turkish strong overhead cover on their trenches, made of wooden beams and pine logs. Between was no man's land. What tragedy lay in this fearful neutral zone! The immediate foreground was littered with old jam-tins, some of which were unexploded "bombs." There was a rifle, covered with dust, and a heap of rags. My attention was called to the red collar of the upper portion of what had been a Turkish jacket, and gradually I made out the frame of the soldier, who had mouldered away, inside it. It was a pitiful sight. There were four other unburied men from the enemy's ranks. Nearer still was a boot and the skeleton leg of a Turk, lying as he had fallen in a crumpled heap. I gathered all this from the peeps I had through the periscope. Such is an outline of what the posts that Lieut.-Colonel Pope and Major Quinn won and established, had developed into after months of fighting. Something has already been told of the early battles round them. It is impossible to chronicle all the attacks and counter-attacks. It must here suffice to continue the history already begun in other chapters by referring briefly to the sortie on 9th May, the third Sunday after landing. Quinn's was still a precarious position. On both sides the engineers had been sapping forward, and the trenches were so close that the men shouted across to one another. Near midnight on the 9th, the 15th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Cannan, with two companies of the 16th in support, about 900 men in all, attacked the Turkish trenches in front of Quinn's. They issued forth in three separate bodies, and after a fierce struggle routed the Turks. Rapidly communication trenches were dug connecting up the forward with the rear trenches, which meant that two island patches of ground were formed. Then it was found that all three parties had not linked up, and the Turks held an intervening section of the line. An attempt by companies of the 15th and 16th Battalions failed to gain the Turkish parapets in the face of a terrible fire. When dawn broke the whole of the captured trenches became the centre of concentrated Turkish fire from two flanks, and our gallant men were compelled to make their way back along their new communication trenches to their own lines again. This, therefore, left the Turkish trenches and our own connected by three saps. It was an amazing position. Sandbag parapets had been hastily erected, and on either side of these the troops stood and bombed one another. The infantry called in Arabic they had learnt in Egypt, believing that the Turks would understand, "Saida" (which is "Good day") and other phrases. They threw across bully-beef tins or bombs, indiscriminately. It was what the troops called "good sport." So the positions remained for five days until Friday, 14th May, when a Light Horse squadron of the 2nd Light Horse--C Squadron, under Major D. P. Graham--was chosen to attack the Turks and rout them from this unpleasantly close proximity to our line. The communication sap had first to be cleared. Two parties of men, 30 in each, with bayonets fixed, dashed from the trenches at 1.45 a.m. In the face of a tremendous machine-gun and musketry fire from the enemy they charged for the parapets, so short a distance away. The troops dropped rapidly. Major Graham, seeing his men melt away, endeavoured to rally those that remained. But the Turkish fire was too fierce, and the few that survived were compelled to jump into the communication sap, and thus make their way back to their lines. Major Graham himself, with the utmost coolness, brought in some of the wounded after the attack had failed, but at length he fell, mortally wounded. So ended the first May attack. Desperate endeavours were made by the Turks, in their grand attack on 19th May, to enter our trenches, but the line was held safely under Major Quinn's command until Saturday, 29th May, when, after exploding a mine under part of our forward position, a strong body of Turks managed to penetrate, during the early morning, to our second line. The Post was at that moment in a desperate position. Major Quinn himself, at the head of the gallant 15th Battalion, commenced to lead a counter-attack. The din of battle was terrific. Few fiercer conflicts had raged round the famous posts than on this cool, clear morning. The Turks were routed and driven back to their lines, but the brave leader, Major Quinn, fell, riddled with bullets, across the very trenches which his men had dug. So fierce had been the charge that a certain section of trench held by the enemy had been run over by our troops. In that the Turks clung. They were caught in between cross-fires, but held desperately the communication trenches. After various attempts to dislodge them it was suddenly thought that they might surrender, which solution, on being signalled to them, they willingly agreed to. The post was immediately strengthened, and the dangerous communication trenches were effectively blocked and held by machine guns. Lieut.-Colonel Pope, after desperate fighting on the hill that bore his name, still survived to lead his battalion in the great August attacks. The brigade, and, indeed, the whole Division, mourned the loss of so gallant an officer and so fearless a leader as Major Quinn. They honour his name no less than that of the dauntless Pope. CHAPTER XX JUNE AND JULY PREPARATIONS There is no doubt that operations in May convinced General Sir Ian Hamilton that neither at the southern nor in the northern positions on the peninsula was his force strong enough to push back the Turks, though he held what he had won strongly enough. Consequently he cabled to the War Office, urging that reinforcements should be sent. But in the middle of May the withdrawal of the Russians from the Gallipoli campaign was declared from Petrograd, and the Commander-in-Chief found it necessary to increase his estimate of the force he would require to force his way across to the Narrows. His new demand was two additional army corps. Already the Lowland Division (52nd) had been dispatched, but this was but 20,000 men; four times as many were required to press home the offensive. The abatement of the Russian attacks had released about 100,000 of the finest Turkish troops, and these reinforcements began to arrive on the peninsula in June. General Hamilton writes in his last dispatch: "During June your Lordship became persuaded of the bearing of these facts, and I was promised three regular Divisions, plus the infantry of two Territorial Divisions. The advance guard of these troops was due to reach Mudros by 10th July; by 10th August their concentration was to be complete." So thus before the end of May the Commander-in-Chief had in mind the larger plan, beginning a new phase of the campaign, to be carried out in July, or at the latest August. Therefore, it may be truly said, the June-July Anzac battles were fought as preparatory actions (in the absence of sufficiently strong forces) to clear and pave the way for the great August offensive. The grip on the Turks was tightened. Fighting round Quinn's Post, as already related, had been taking place during the greater part of May. Sometimes the Australians attacked, and, more seldom, the Turks counter-attacked. It was at any time a desperately held position. It continued so till the end of the chapter. Now, while the Anzac troops could not yet advance, they could help any direct assault on Achi Baba, such as had been once tried in May with but partial success. So it happened on the 28th June the Anzac troops were ordered to make demonstrations to allow the pushing home by the English and French of attacks that had commenced on 8th May, when the Australians had taken so prominent a part in the advance on Krithia village. In this 28th June action the Gurkhas were ordered, and did advance, up the Great Dere, and flung the British flank round the west of that village. It was a fine gain of some 800 yards. However, the Turks had plenty of troops available, and they lost no time in organizing terrific counter-attacks. Owing to the offensive taken at Anzac the Australians were able to draw off a portion from this attack, which tactics at the same time both puzzled and harassed the Turks. The details I will briefly relate. In June the 2nd Light Horse Brigade, under Brigadier-General Ryrie, held the southerly portion of the line at Tasman's Post, that overlooked Blamey's Meadow. Next them, holding the line, were the 3rd Infantry Brigade, under Brigadier-General Maclagan, reinforced now with new troops, though with still a proportion of the men that had taken part in the landing. Except for patrol work and various small excursions and alarms against the Turks, there had been no big attack made yet. They were keen for battle. All the night of the 27th-28th and during the morning masses of shells could be seen bursting on the hills round Krithia, and sheets of flame rolled along the slopes of the hills as the warships and the guns ashore bombarded the Turkish trenches. Early on the 28th news had been received that all efforts of the Turks to drive back the British had failed. The troops at Anzac revelled in that great artillery struggle. At midday their turn came. For the first time, a day attack was planned. The Light Horse were to leave their trenches at one o'clock. Destroyers moved close in to Gaba Tepe and to the north of the Australian position, and began an intense shelling of the exposed Turkish trenches, that in some places were open to enfilade fire. Soon the artillery ashore began, and added further havoc. In front of the southern part of our line, near Harris Ridge, about 600 yards away, was a strong Turkish position on a rise--one of the many spurs of the main ridge. This was the objective of the attacking troops. All Queenslanders, Light Horse, and infantry, had been selected--a squadron and two companies, about 500 men, who were to lead the charge. They were to be led by Lieut.-Colonel H. Harris. The Western Australian Infantry, about 300 in all, were chosen to support the Queensland (9th) Infantry, led by Major Walsh; and New South Wales (7th) Light Horse Regiment, to support the Queensland (5th) dismounted squadron. Just after one o'clock the guns ceased, and the storming parties of Queenslanders dashed forward from their trenches, and, with comparatively few casualties, gained a footing on the nearest slope of the ridge, that was covered with thick brush. They found certain protection, and there they commenced to entrench. Just over the ridge was a plateau of cultivated ground, called "The Wheatfield," and across this the Turks had dug trenches at right angles to the ridge. From the trenches that the Light Horsemen had left, rifle fire could be kept up on these trenches. Beyond, the strong Turkish positions on Wineglass Ridge and Pine Ridge were being shelled by the destroyers and the New Zealand artillery. However, it did not take the Turks long to bring gun fire on these advanced troops, and high-explosive shell burst in the shallow trenches. The brown and red earth was flung up in dense clouds, but the troops held to their position. They went on digging. It was as fine an example of courage as one might wish to see--these splendid men calmly entrenching amidst the craters the shells left round them. Soon, however, the very object of the offensive was disclosed to the Australians themselves, for they could see Turkish reinforcements being hurried up in the distant gullies (they had come from the village of Eski Keui, half-way down the peninsula to Krithia). Turkish leaders could be seen in the fierce sunlight signalling to their troops to keep low, as they could be observed by our forces; and no doubt the Turks with their white fezzes and skull-caps made excellent targets, as they soon found, to their consternation and cost, by the accuracy of our gun fire. These enemy reinforcements were scattered, and, in disorder, sought what shelter they could in the gullies. Having held the ridge and accomplished the diversion, the Light Horse gradually retired and regained their own trenches. By 4.30 in the afternoon the infantry too had been withdrawn from the advanced position. So not only had the attack been successful in drawing up Turks who would otherwise have gone to the assistance of their comrades hard pressed around Krithia, but they were, through bad leadership, brought up into positions in gullies which our guns had registered, and terrible casualties resulted. Both the Queensland units--Light Horse as well as infantry--had shown fine gallantry, and they were dashingly led by Lieut.-Colonel Harris. Once having stirred the Turk, it behoved the Australians to be ready for a counter-attack. But Tuesday, 29th, remained still and quiet; only the occasional bursting of a bomb round Quinn's and Pope's Posts and the intermittent crack of rifles, broke the calm of a perfect summer day. To the enemy there had been every indication that a serious advance was contemplated from Anzac. During the afternoon, growing nervous of the close approach of some of our mine tunnels under their trenches, the Turks exploded their countermines, which would effectively seal any advance from underground and through craters. Just afterwards a summer storm arose, which enveloped the Turkish lines in clouds of dust. What better opportunity could have presented itself for our attack? No sooner had the wind driven the dust over the trenches than the enemy commenced a fierce fire, which they maintained without ceasing for two hours. The stream of lead that passed over our trenches was terrific. Only when the storm abated did the Turkish rifle and machine gun fire die away. All of this the enemy did to check an anticipated advance which we had no intention of making. Millions of rounds of Turkish ammunition had been wasted. But the Turks now determined to turn the situation to their own purpose, which apparently was to draw attention to their lines in this southern section, while they prepared to launch, unexpectedly, an attack from another quarter. The Australian leaders were already aware of this method of surprise, and had come to look on it as part of the Turkish "bluff"; for the enemy had tried it before, when they had blown bugles and shouted orders and given loud commands in their trenches, and nothing had happened--not at that spot. Now the firing ceased just before midnight. An hour and a half later the enemy began a violent attack on the Nek, with new troops belonging to the 18th Regiment of the enemy's 6th Division. They had come recently from Asia Minor, and were some of the best troops of the Turkish Regular Army. Enver Pasha himself, the Commander-in-Chief of the Turkish forces, had ordered the attack so that the Australians might, once and for all, be "pushed into the sea." In this way began an attempt to rush our trenches at the head of Monash Gully. The line was here held by New Zealanders and Light Horse. On this left flank considerable rearrangement from the earlier days had taken place. The Maories held the extreme left down to the shore. On Russell Top were the New Zealand Mounted Rifles, under Brigadier-General Russell, and the 3rd Light Horse, under Brigadier-General Hughes. These fine men held the trenches opposite the mass of Turkish lines, the Chessboard Trenches. Brigadier General Chauvel's Light Horse Brigade was in the trenches at Quinn's and Pope's, together with some New Zealand infantry regiments. Thus was the gap at the head of Monash Gully up as far as Steel's Post, held. From midnight till 1.30 an intense fire of musketry and guns was poured on to our trenches on Russell's Top. It was still bright moonlight when, in a series of lines, the Turks commenced to attack at 1.30. They came shambling on, shouting "Allah! Allah!" towards the parapets of our trenches, less than 100 yards across the Nek. At this spot the Light Horsemen had been digging out two saps towards the enemy, and it was into these some of the enemy charged, our troops dividing to allow them to enter. Then the Australians fell on them from either side with bombs, and none escaped. For it was the habit of the Turk when he attacked, not to jump into the trench and come to hand-to-hand encounters if he could help it, but to lie on top of the parapet and fire down into the trench. Very few of the enemy, in these three charges that came and faded away, reached our lines. When the first charge had been so blankly stopped not many yards after it began, the Turks tried to work along the northern edge of the ridge, where the ground fell away steeply into the gullies below, and on the southern side of the Nek, where the ground was no less difficult, but not as deep, sloping down to the head of Monash Gully. Our machine guns wrought fearful havoc, and 400 Turks at least perished in the charges. Then the destroyers sent the rays of their searchlights farther up the hill towards the rounded top of Baby 700, and revealed the enemy reserves advancing. Gun fire destroyed these. Meanwhile, a further attack was developing down the heads of the gullies on either side of Pope's Hill, the hill that guarded the entrance to the gully, and the centre of the position. I have already told how from the sides of this hill machine guns were trained down into the gully; and how the line of concealed sharp-shooters' posts we had established, gave absolute command, and at the same time protection, to the holders of the gully. The bright rays of the moon aided the defenders, and they could easily detect the stealthily moving figures. Towards one o'clock the Turks commenced to work down this gully. It is related of that fight--an incident typical, no doubt, of many--that a Light Horseman, seeing a Turk silhouetted on the edge of the ridge, rushed at him with his bayonet, and the two men slipped over the edge of the cliff, down through the bush and loose earth, till they both were brought up almost face to face on a ledge. They crossed bayonets--one pictures the two figures in the indefinite light of the moon standing there motionless for a fraction of a minute--till the Australian, realizing that he had in his magazine a cartridge, pulled the trigger. When his comrades came to his assistance, dashing through the undergrowth, they found him with the dead Turk, smiling. Now, it was evident the Turks had meant to stay in that attack. The few men that did reach the trenches on Russell's Top, and were killed there, must have been men of the second or third lines. They carried large numbers of bombs and digging implements. They had quantities of provisions--figs, dates, and olives--and water-bottles filled. They were evidently intended to be the holding party. As daylight came, some of the enemy still lurked in the head of the gully on either flank of Pope's Hill. Just before dawn a further line of 300 men attempted to rush the head of the gully. They reached the edge of the cliff, and then broke into small parties running this way and that, under the fire of our machine guns, which played on them from the Light Horse lines on Russell's Top (the main charge by this having faded away) and from the side of Pope's Hill. At the same time a few of the enemy left their trenches at Quinn's to rush our post on the side of the hill. None got more than a few yards. All the men of that last desperate attack were killed or wounded. A few were taken prisoners. The scene next morning was ghastly. In the saps on the Nek twenty and thirty dead Turks lay piled in a row. Before Pope's Hill, never very strongly threatened that night, there were scores of dead. The total loss must have been nearly 600 killed and 2,000 casualties. It is historically important as the last Turkish attack against Anzac proper. The Turks showed a desperate courage; for this attack on the Nek was but sending troops to certain destruction; yet the men never flinched, and they were soon to show the same valour again, in attacks on the higher slopes of the Sari Bair ridge. Throughout July it was always expected that the enemy's superstition would lead him to make a bold effort in the season of Ramazan--the end of July. Warnings had reached Anzac to this effect. Prisoners had anticipated it, probably due to the orders of Enver Pasha to dislodge at all costs the Australian forces. The enemy had been bringing up new regiments. All through July the Turks showed a nervous disposition to burst out into heavy fusillades all along the line. At night they sent coloured lights over the gullies and our position. Our gunners did the same, at the time when the moon dropped behind the hills of Troy, between midnight and 3 a.m. The troops stood to arms at moonset. Our trenches were then always fully manned. The reserves slept in the saps. [Illustration: THE GREAT SAP LEADING FROM NO. 2 OUTPOST INTO ANZAC ROUND ARI BURNU POINT. Fishermen's huts were situated half-way along the beach (Ocean Beach). Russell Top and Plugge's Plateau in the distance.] [Illustration: TURKISH PRISONERS DIGGING NEW DUGOUTS FOR GENERAL GODLEY NEAR NO. 2 POST, AFTER THE FIRST AUGUST OFFENSIVE. To face p. 218.] Ramazan passed; and still the Turks clung to the protection of their trenches. The June battles had completely disheartened them. Their ammunition was running short. Certainly ours had been none too plentiful, and orders had been given since May to conserve it as far as possible. Two rounds per gun a day was the limit, except under special circumstances. As General Hamilton himself admitted, "Working out my ammunition allowance, I found I would accumulate just enough high-explosive shell to enable me to deliver one serious attack each period of three weeks." It was exceedingly exasperating to the gunners, this shortage. There came times when, owing to the necessity of getting permission from headquarters, the gunners grew impatient, as they saw targets escaping into the folds of the hills. A General told me on one occasion how a column could be seen moving about 4 miles away, but owing to the delay of hours in getting the necessary permission to loose off some twenty rounds of shell, the column escaped. He had fired his allowance per gun, as was his invariable custom, just to remind "Abdul" he was awake, early in the morning. It was not, however, Sir Ian Hamilton's plan to draw much attention to Anzac just at present. He wanted the Turkish mind focused on Cape Helles, which was one reason for the period of quiet that occurred in July at Anzac, though care was taken that the moral ascendancy that had been gained over the Turks by the Australians was never lost, and not one whit less was given to the Turks now than had been given before in vigilant sniping and bombing. But the effect on the spirits of the Turks was noticeable, and at the end of July, long before the official information leaked out to the troops, there appeared in the trenches opposite Quinn's Post a notice-board, on which was printed in irregular letters, "Warsaw is fallin." The result of which little enemy joke was that thousands of rifle bullets shattered the notice. Notes began to be thrown over stating that the Australians would be well treated if they surrendered. In spite of which, Turkish deserters still continued to come into our lines, all of whom told of the growing fear of the Turks at the length of the campaign, and the disheartening of their troops. Incidentally, I may say, prisoners all believed they were going to be killed. I remember Major Martyn telling me how one party, on coming through a communication trench to our lines, had tried to kiss his hands in gratitude at being spared. So, chafing under the delayed advance, the Australians waited for their chance to teach "Abdul" a lasting lesson. PART III _THE GREAT ADVENTURE_ CHAPTER XXI THE AUGUST PHASE AND NEW LANDING It will have been gathered from the fighting that followed the terrible May attack of the Turks, when they lost so heavily in trying to dislodge the Australians from Anzac and British from Helles, that nothing would have satisfied our commanders better than for a Turkish attack to develop during the end of July. This, I feel certain in saying, would have been repulsed, as others had been repulsed, and would have left the Turkish army weak, just at the moment when General Sir Ian Hamilton had completed all his plans for the continuing of the Great Adventure begun in April. The rumours of a projected Turkish attack at Anzac proved groundless. The Australians were left unmolested, while the Turks, conceiving that the British still intended to attempt the assault of Achi Baba, had gathered on the end of the peninsula great reserve forces. General Hamilton's strategy had had much to do with this (the great sacrifices of the attacks on Krithia would not then have seemed so vain had the full plan succeeded), for in his mind was just the reverse idea--that Anzac should be the turning-point, the pivot of all operations, as it had been intended from the first. It was to become the centre of an unlinked battle front, of which Cape Helles was the right flank and Suvla Bay was to be the left. An attack launched from this left--a new and an entirely unexpected left--would leave a way for the centre to push forward. Then automatically would the right have advanced. This strategy was really an elaboration of the early plan of the Commander-in-Chief, aimed at the cutting of the Turkish communications to the great dominating fortress of Kelid Bahr, which afterwards could be reduced at leisure with the co-operation of the Navy. It has been often asked what advantage would have accrued from the Australians and the new British troops reaching Maidos and holding the heights of Koja Chemen Tepe. None less than the forcing of the Turkish communication from Europe into Asia, and that they should be compelled to undertake the very hazardous and doubtful operation of keeping intact the Gibraltar of the peninsula--the Kelid Bahr fortress--by supplying it across the Narrows from Chanak and the badly railwayed coast of Asia Minor. But there were alternative plans open to General Hamilton, and such will always give opportunity to military strategists to debate the one adopted. What General Hamilton knew in May was that he would have 200,000 new British troops by August at his command, with 20,000 Australian reinforcements on their way and due to arrive about the middle of the same month. His army, as he commanded it then, was about 150,000 strong (including the French Expedition), and its strength might easily be diminished to 100,000 by August owing to normal wastage, Turkish offensives, and sickness that began to make itself evident. Two hundred thousand men to attack an Empire! In the days of its Byzantine glory, in the times of the early struggles for Balkan supremacy, such an army would have been considered noble. Now, though British, it was not enough. Apparently the situation on the Western front did not warrant another 100,000 men that General Hamilton had asked for more than once, to give him a safe margin, being granted him. The Turks, released from their toils against Russia on the east in the Caucasus--the Mesopotamian front not seriously threatened and the attack on the Canal being impossible--found ample men at their disposal. On the other hand, they had a long and vulnerable coast-line to guard, but the 900,000 men of that German organized and commanded army, made a powerful fighting force. Nearly 400,000 troops were apportioned for service on the peninsula. I am not asserting that that number of men were facing the landed armies, but they were available, some perhaps as far away as Adrianople or the Gulf of Enos. If General Hamilton's problem was a difficult one, Enver Pasha's way was not exactly smooth. He was harassed by lack of heavy ammunition, the populace were wavering, while above all hung the terrible threat of another landing on the European or Asiatic shores. But one factor the British leader had to ponder deeply was the submarine menace that had been threatening the very existence of the already landed armies. Two fine warships, the _Triumph_ and _Majestic_, had been sunk in May while shelling and guarding the positions ashore, and the fleet had been compelled to seek shelter in the harbour of Mudros. Even though monitors, with 14-in. guns, were soon available to maintain the invaluable support that the battleships had previously given to the army, there was not the weight of artillery of a highly mobile nature, ready for any emergency, without the Admiralty were prepared to hazard a great loss. Transportation of troops and stores was dangerous and subject to irritating, and even dangerous, delays. General Hamilton sums up the situation in a masterly fashion in his final dispatch:-- Eliminating the impracticable, I had already narrowed down the methods of employing these fresh forces to one of the following four:-- (_a_) Every man to be thrown on to the southern sector of the peninsula, to force a way forward to the Narrows. (_b_) Disembarkation on the Asiatic side of the Straits, followed by a march on Chanak. (_c_) A landing at Enos or Ibrije for the purpose of seizing the neck of the Isthmus at Bulair. (_d_) Reinforcement of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, combined with a landing in Suvla Bay. Then with one strong push to capture Hill 305 [971], and, working from that dominating point, to grip the waist of the peninsula. As to (_a_) I rejected that course-- 1. Because there were limits to the numbers which could be landed and deployed in one confined area. 2. Because the capture of Krithia could no longer be counted upon to give us Achi Baba, an entirely new system of works having lately appeared upon the slopes of that mountain--works so planned that even if the enemy's western flank was turned and driven back from the coast, the central and eastern portions of the mountain could still be maintained as a bastion to Kelid Bahr. 3. Because if I tried to disengage myself both from Krithia and Achi Baba by landing due west of Kelid Bahr my troops would be exposed to artillery fire from Achi Baba, the Olive Grove, and Kelid Bahr itself; the enemy's large reserves were too handy; there were not fair chances of success. As to (_b_), although much of the Asiatic coast had now been wired and entrenched, the project was still attractive. Thereby the Turkish forces on the peninsula would be weakened; our beaches at Cape Helles would be freed from Asiatic shells; the threat to the enemy's sea communications was obvious. But when I descended into detail I found that the expected reinforcements would not run to a double operation. I mean that, unless I could make a thorough, whole-hearted attack on the enemy in the peninsula I should reap no advantage in that theatre from the transference of the Turkish peninsular troops to reinforce Asia, whereas, if the British forces landed in Asia were not strong enough in themselves seriously to threaten Chanak, the Turks for their part would not seriously relax their grip upon the peninsula. To cut the land communications of the whole of the Turkish peninsular army, as in (_c_), was a better scheme on paper than on the spot. The naval objections appeared to my coadjutor, Vice-Admiral Robeck, well-nigh insurmountable. Already, owing to submarine dangers, all reinforcements, ammunition, and supplies had to be brought up from Mudros to Helles or Anzac by night in fleet sweepers and trawlers. A new landing near Bulair would have added another 50 miles to the course such small craft must cover, thus placing too severe a strain upon the capacities of the flotilla. The landing promised special hazards, owing to the difficulty of securing the transports and covering ships from submarine attack. Ibrije has a bad beach, and the distance to Enos, the only point suitable to a disembarkation on a large scale, was so great that the enemy would have had time to organize a formidable opposition from his garrisons in Thrace. Four divisions at least would be required to overcome such opposition. These might now be found; but, even so, and presupposing every other obstacle overcome, it was by no manner of means certain that the Turkish army on the peninsula would thereby be brought to sue for terms, or that the Narrows would thereby be opened to the fleet. The enemy would still be able to work supplies across the Straits from Chanak. The swiftness of the current, the shallow draft of the Turkish lighters, the guns of the forts, made it too difficult even for our dauntless submarine commanders to paralyse movement across these land-locked waters. To achieve that purpose I must bring my artillery fire to bear both on the land and water communications of the enemy. This brings me to (_d_), the storming of that dominating height, Hill 305 [971], with the capture of Maidos and Gaba Tepe as its sequel. From the very first I had hoped that by landing a force under the heights of Sari Bair we should be able to strangle the Turkish communications to the southwards, whether by land or sea, and so clear the Narrows for the fleet. Owing to the enemy's superiority, both in numbers and in position; owing to underestimates of the strength of the original entrenchments prepared and sited under German direction; owing to the constant dwindling of the units of my force through wastage; owing also to the intricacy and difficulty of the terrain, these hopes had not hitherto borne fruit. But they were well founded. So much at least had clearly enough been demonstrated by the desperate and costly nature of the Turkish attacks. The Australians and New Zealanders had rooted themselves in very near to the vitals of the enemy. By their tenacity and courage they still held open the doorway from which one strong thrust forward might give us command of the Narrows. From the naval point of view the auspices were also favourable. Suvla Bay was but one mile further from Mudros than Anzac, and its possession would ensure us a submarine-proof base, and a harbour good against gales, excepting those from the south-west. There were, as might be expected, some special difficulties to be overcome. The broken, intricate country--the lack of water--the consequent anxious supply questions. Of these it can only be said that a bad country is better than an entrenched country, and that supply and water problems may be countered by careful preparation. It has been pointed out before what need there was for studying the moon at Anzac. In the fixing of the date for the new landing the Commander-in-Chief had to find a means of "eliminating" the moon. That is, he had to find the night which would give him the longest hours of darkness, after the arrival of his forces. He found that on 7th August the moon would rise at 2 p.m. The weather might be depended on to be perfect, so that before the light would be fully cast over the movements of the troops ashore it would be almost dawn. General Hamilton would have liked the operations to have commenced a month earlier, he says, but the troops were not available. He had to fill in the time by keeping the enemy occupied and wearing them down with feints. To have waited for another month till the whole of his command had actually arrived on the adjacent islands of Mudros and Imbros, where their concentration had been planned, would have been to come too close to the approaching bad season and increase the element of risk of the Turks discovering the plans. So the die was cast. Early in July, I was in Alexandria--the main base of the army. Even there the general opinion seemed to be that surely soon there must be an attack, for such vast quantities of stores were being sent to the peninsula. Never could one forget the sight of the wharves at that seaport, burdened to their utmost capacity with cases that contained not only the staple food of the army--beef and biscuits--but butter, cheese, jams, and vast quantities of entrenching weapons. The whole of Egypt was scoured for the last man that could be spared. Whole companies of Australians were organized from the men who had been left on guard duty--men who were keen to get away, but had been compelled to stay. Reinforcements were hurried forward to complete their training, even in the rear of the firing-line of Anzac. Hospital ships were prepared, hospitals were cleared in anticipation of the thousands of returning wounded. [Illustration: GALLIPOLI PENINSULA AND THE OUTSTANDING FEATURES OF THE AUSTRALIAN AND BRITISH POSITIONS. THE SHADED PORTION REPRESENTS THE ORIGINAL ANZAC LINE.] At Mudros Harbour camps and bivouacs were scattered all round the harbour front. I saw a whole brigade of British troops disembarked from the massive _Mauretania_ and bivouacked under the open sky. Immensely cheery bodies of men they were, waiting for the weeks to slip by till the appointed day. This island of Lemnos lay 40 miles from the firing-line. Closer by 30 miles to the firing-line was Imbros, where thousands of other troops were gathered as far as the capacities of the island (the water supply was the problem; a ship was moored close inshore and pumped water all day into long lines of tanks) permitted. In order to refresh the men already in the fighting-line they were rested at Imbros in battalions, the only relief they had had, since they landed, from the roar of the shells. But there came a day when this had to cease, for the resources of the naval and trawling services were strained to the utmost collecting stores and bringing forward fresh troops. Kephalos Bay, at Imbros, was not much of an anchorage, but a boom and protecting nets kept out the submarines, and good weather favoured the operations. Gurkhas, Maoris, New Zealanders, Australians, and British troops were on the island, camped amongst the vineyards, that were just ripening. General Hamilton's headquarters were on the most southern promontory of the island, and near by were the aeroplane hangars, from which, morning and evening, patrols rose, sweeping up the Straits. Never out of sight of the land, never out of the sound of the guns, one viewed from this point the vast panorama of the peninsula. General Hamilton guided the operations from that spot, as being the most central and giving rapid access to any one of his three fighting fronts. Wharves had been built by parties of Egyptian engineers, who had been brought up specially from Cairo. The presence of Turkish prisoners in camp in a hollow and the native Greeks in their loose, slovenly garments, completed the extraordinary concourse of nations that were represented on this picturesque and salubrious island. In the harbour were anchored some of the weirdest craft that the Navy possessed--the new heavy monitors that had been of such service already along the Belgian coast and the baby monitors that had been down the African coast and up the Tigris River. Four large and two small of these shallow-draught craft there were, whose main attribute was their unsinkableness. In the same category must be ranged the converted cruisers of old and antiquated patterns--for naval ships--from whose sides bulged a false armour-shield which was calculated to destroy the torpedo before it reached or could injure the inner shell of the vessel. And, lastly, to this extraordinary fleet must be added the armoured landing-punts, that sometimes drifted, sometimes steamed about the harbour, crammed with a thousand troops each. The motive-power was an oil-engine that gave them a speed of just 5 miles an hour. From the front there hung a huge platform that could be let down as required: across it the troops, emerging from the hold, where they were packed behind bullet-proof screens, might dash ashore. As all the weight of the craft was at the stern, its blunted prow would rest on the shore. From these strange vessels the troops destined for service at Suvla Bay practised landing assiduously. Finally, there were the preparations on the peninsula itself. Terraces and trenches had to be prepared for the new army that was to be secretly conveyed at night to the Anzac and from which they would issue forth to the support of the Australians and form the link with the British armies to operate on the left flank at Suvla Bay. I suppose the observers in the German aeroplanes that were chased from above our lines might well have wondered why the ledges were being dug in the sides of the small valleys--that is, if they could detect them at all. What they certainly would not see would be the huge quantities of ammunition, millions and millions of rounds, that for days was being taken out through the long sap to our No. 2 outpost on the north, already strengthened with reinforcements from the Light Horse and New Zealand Rifle regiments. Both at Imbros and at Anzac there were vast numbers of Egyptian water-cans and ordinary tins (which probably once had contained honey or biscuits), ready filled with water for the landing troops. Down at the wells in the valleys pumps had increased the capacity of the daily supply, and the tanks in the gullies were kept full--except when the wretched steam-engine employed at Anzac, broke down. Why so poor a thing should have been obtained it is difficult to conceive, when more up-to-date plant might easily have been found. But the greatest feat of all was the landing of guns, both at Helles and at Anzac. At the end of July there were at Cape Helles one hundred and twenty-four guns, composed of the following units:-- VIIIth Army Corps, comprising the artillery of 29th Division, 42nd Division, 52nd Division, and Royal Naval Division. Attached were 1st Australian Brigade (Colonel Christian): 6th Australian Battery (Major Stevenson), 3rd New Zealand Battery. At Anzac there were over seventy guns, under Brigadier-General Cunliffe Owen, when the great offensive began, from 10-pounder mountain batteries to a 6-in. battery of field guns, howitzers, and a 9-in gun. There were guns on every available ridge and in every hollow; they were along the great northern sap, firing over it on to the northern slopes of the Sari Bair ridge, until they gradually were dragged out along the beach to the new ground won by the Australian and New Zealand Division. Owing to the closeness of the enemy positions, the small space available at Anzac, and the height of the hills, the guns were firing across one another's fronts. In all this magnificently conceived plan of General Hamilton's, one thing that stands out above all others is the manner in which the Turks were deceived. This in some measure may be attributed to the way in which the Turkish and German observing aeroplanes were chased from the skies, for the French and British aviators had the upper hand. On a few occasions the enemy did venture forth, but only at great altitudes; invariably very swiftly they were compelled to return to their lines by the Allied aviators. The enemy's hangars behind the forts at Chanak were destroyed during one air raid, organized by Flight-Commander Sampson, from Tenedos. Now, General Hamilton determined on certain main ruses, and left the formulation of any plans to help the Anzac position to Lieut.-General Birdwood, which I shall mention in their place. As for the general scheme, the Commander-in-Chief writes:-- Once the date was decided, a certain amount of ingenuity had to be called into play so as to divert the attention of the enemy from my main strategical conception. This--I repeat for the sake of clearness--was:-- 1. To break out with a rush from Anzac and cut off the bulk of the Turkish army from land communication with Constantinople. 2. To gain such a command for my artillery as to cut off the bulk of the Turkish army from sea traffic, whether with Constantinople or with Asia. 3. Incidentally to secure Suvla Bay as a winter base for Anzac and all the troops operating in the northern theatre. My schemes for hoodwinking the Turks fell under two heads:-- _First_, strategical diversions meant to draw away enemy reserves not yet committed to the peninsula. _Second_, tactical diversions meant to hold up enemy reserves already on the peninsula. Under the first heading came a surprise landing by a force of 300 men on the northern shore of the Gulf of Saros; demonstrations by French ships opposite Mitylene along the Syrian coast; concentration at Mitylene; inspections at Mitylene by the Admiral and myself; making to order of a whole set of maps of Asia, in Egypt, as well as secret service work, most of which bore fruit. Amongst the tactical diversions were a big containing attack at Helles. Soundings, registration of guns, etc., by monitors between Gaba Tepe and Kum Tepe. An attack to be carried out by Anzac on Lone Pine trenches, which lay in front of their right wing, and as far distant as the local terrain would admit from the scene of the real battle. Thanks entirely to the reality and vigour which the Navy and the troops threw into them, each one of these ruses was, it so turned out, entirely successful, with the result that the Turks, despite their excellent spy system, were caught completely off their guard at dawn on the 7th August. Therefore, if I may be pardoned the term, the 1st Australian Division was to be, in this huge offensive, the "bait" that was to be flung to the Turks, to keep them in their trenches massed before Anzac, while their attention was distracted at Cape Helles by the offensive planned there. Thus there would be left a clear road round the left flank from Suvla Bay across the Salt Lake, through Bijak Anafarta, and so on to the northern slopes of the great crowning position of this, the central portion of the peninsula, Koja Chemen Tepe, or Hill 971, to give it its more familiar name. But once the Turks were trapped, as they surely would have been, the way was clear for the long-desired advance of the Australian and New Zealand Divisions on to Pine Ridge, to Battleship Hill, advancing and attacking from both its slopes up to the Sari Bair ridge, and so to possession of the plains that stretched to Maidos. And in this carefully prepared scheme the 1st Australian Infantry Brigade, under Brigadier-General Smyth, were to make the first move--how vital a trust for a young army!--by an attack on Lone Pine trenches on 6th August. CHAPTER XXII LONE PINE Lone Pine was the first big attack that the 1st Brigade had taken part in since the landing. Indeed, it was the first battle these New South Welshmen had as a separate and complete operation. It was, perhaps, the freshest and strongest infantry brigade of the four at Anzac, though barely 2,000 strong. The men had been in the trenches (except for a few battalions that had been rested at Imbros) since April. They were ripe for a fight; they were tired of the monotony of sniping at a few Turks and digging and tunnelling. It is necessary first to go back a few days prior to this attack, to the night of the 31st July, when there had been rather a brilliant minor operation carried out by the Western Australian troops of the 11th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel J. L. Johnston, who had issued forth from Tasmania Post. The Turks had largely brought this attack on themselves by having tunnelled forward to a crest that lay not very many yards distant from our position. We had been unable to see what their preparations consisted of, though it was known they were "up to mischief," as Major Ross told me. Exactly what this amounted to was revealed one day, when they broke down the top of their tunnels and there appeared on the crest of the small ridge a line of trenches about 100 yards in extent. The enemy had come within easy bombing distance, but it was difficult for them to locate our sharpshooters and machine guns, that were so well concealed behind the growing bush. To overcome this the Turks would creep up near to our lines--they were very skilled scouts indeed--and would throw some article of clothing or equipment near where the rifles were spitting. Next morning these garments served as an indication (that is, if we had not removed them) for the directing of fire. On the night of 31st July at 10.15 the attack began. The Turkish trenches were heavily bombarded, and mines which had rapidly been tunnelled under their trenches were exploded, with excellent results. Four assaulting columns, each of 50 men, led by the gallant Major Leane, then dashed forward from the trenches, crossing our barbed-wire entanglements on planks that had been laid by the engineers. The men had left the trenches before the debris from our two flanking mines had descended, and it took them very few seconds to reach the enemy's line, which was fully manned with excited and perturbed Turks, who, immediately the mines had exploded, set up a fearful chattering. The Australians fired down into the enemy's ranks, and then, having made a way, jumped into the trenches and began to drive the Turks back on either side. On the extreme right a curious and dangerous situation arose. The Turks had retired some distance down a communication trench, but before our lads could build up a protecting screen and block the trench, the enemy attacked with great numbers of bombs. While the men were tearing down the Turkish parapets to form this barricade a veritable inferno raged round them as the bombs exploded. Our supplies were limited, and were, indeed, soon exhausted. The parapet still remained incomplete. Urgent messages had been sent back for reinforcements, and the position looked desperate. By a mere chance it was saved. An ammunition box was spied on the ground between the lines. This was dragged in under terrible fire, and found to contain bombs. Very soon the Australians then gained the upper hand. The parapet was completed, and this entrance of the Turks, as well as their exit, blocked. But in the charge a short length of the Turkish trenches (they wound about in an extraordinary fashion) had remained uncaptured, and this line, in which there were still some 80 Turks fighting, was jammed in between the Australian lines. The enemy were obviously unconscious that some of their trenches that ran back on either flank of this trench, had been captured. Scouts were sent out by Major Leane, and these men, after creeping up behind the enemy's line, that still continued to fire furiously, cleared up any remaining doubt that it was still a party of the enemy. A charge was organized, but was driven back. Then a further charge from the original lines was made direct at the trench. The Turks turned and fled down their own communication trench, but, as we held either flank, were caught by bombs and rifle fire, and killed. The Turkish dead in this attack were estimated at 100. The enemy soon turned their guns on the position, and under high-explosive shell fire all night, our troops worked with the sapper parties, under Major Clogstoun (3rd Field Company), deepening the captured trenches and transferring the parapets, which faced our lines, to the westerly side, facing the Turks. Their own trenches had been wretchedly shallow, barely 3 feet deep. By dawn our troops had ample protection. But unfortunately their brave leader, Major Leane, fell mortally wounded. Ever after the trenches were known as Leane's Trenches--one of the many men to leave an honoured name on Anzac. Machine guns shattered a Turkish attack that was being formed in a gully on the right. The Turks never attempted to retake the trench during the next days immediately preceding Lone Pine. General Hamilton regarded the action as most opportune. Now, while the higher commands realized the scope of the pending operations, the troops knew very little. "The 1st Brigade is for it to-morrow" was the only word that spread along the line, very rapidly, on the evening of the 5th. That it was to be the commencement of a great coup was only guessed at from various local indications. So far as was definitely known, it was to be a purely local attack. By our leaders it was rather hoped, however, the Turks would be led to believe it was but preliminary to a flanking movement from this point out towards Maidos and the plains of the Olive Grove. That was the situation on the morning of the 6th August--a bright, rather crisp morning, when the waters of the gulf were a little disturbed by the wind, and barges rocked about violently in Anzac Cove. Perhaps the arrival of the old comrade to the Australians, the _Bacchante_, that had been so good a friend to the troops during the early stages, might have been taken as a signal of hard fighting. She replaced the monitor _Humber_, that had been at work shelling the guns on the Olive Grove Plains and on Pine Ridge, 800 yards or more in front of our right flank, for some weeks. On the morning of the 6th the heart of Anzac was wearing rather a deserted appearance, for the Divisional Headquarters of the 1st Division had been moved up to just behind the firing-line at the head of White Gully, so as to be nearer the scene of action and shorten the line of communications. Major-General H. B. Walker was commanding the Division, and was responsible for the details for this attack. The New Zealanders also had left Anzac, and Major-General Godley had established his headquarters on the extreme left, at No. 2 post, where he would be in the centre of the attacks on the left. On the beach, I remember, there were parties of Gurkhas still carrying ammunition and water-tins on their heads out through the saps. Ammunition seemed to be the dominant note of the beach. Other traffic was normal, even quiet. Now the Lone Pine entrenchment was an enormously strong Turkish work that the enemy, while they always felt a little nervous about it, rather boasted of. It was a strong _point d'appui_ on the south-western end of Plateau 400, about the centre of the right flank of the position. At the nearest point the Turkish trenches approached to within 70 yards of ours, and receded at various places to about 130 yards. This section of our trenches, from the fact that there was a bulge in our line, had been called "The Pimple." Their entrenchments connected across a dip, "Owen's Gully," on the north with Johnston's Jolly and German Officers' Trench, all equally strongly fortified positions, with overhead cover of massive pine beams, railway sleepers, and often cemented parapets. The Turks had seen to it when constructing these trenches that the various positions could be commanded on either side by their own machine-gun fire. [Illustration: AUSTRALIAN AND TURKISH TRENCHES AT LONE PINE.] Why was it called Lone Pine? Because behind it, on the Turkish ridge, seamed with brown trenches and _mia mias_[2] of pine-needles, there remained standing a solitary pine-tree amongst the green holly-bushes. Once there had been a forest of green pines on the ridge. The others had gradually been cut down for wood and defensive purposes. Singular to relate, on the morning of the attack the Turks felled this last pine-tree. [2] Aboriginal word for a shelter made of gum leaves, branches, and bark. Immediately in the rear of our trenches was "Browne's Dip," and it was here that the reserves were concealed in deep dugouts. Brigadier-General Smyth had his headquarters there, not 80 yards from the firing-line, and barely 150 from the Turkish trenches. It was at the head of the gully that dipped sharply down to the coast. The position was quite exposed to the Turkish artillery fire, but by digging deep and the use of enormous sandbag ramparts some little protection was obtained, though nothing stood against the rain of shells that fell on this area--not 400 yards square--in the course of the attacks and counter-attacks. To properly understand and realize the nature of the Lone Pine achievement it must be explained that our trenches consisted of two lines. There was the actual firing-line, which the Turks could see, and the false firing-line, which was a series of gallery trenches that ran parallel to our first line beneath the ground, and of which the enemy had little cognizance. These two lines were separated by from 10 to 40 yards. The false line was reached through five tunnels. It was one of the most elaborately prepared positions on an intricate front. Three main tunnels from these gallery trenches ran out towards the Turkish line. In each of these, on the morning of the 6th, a large charge of ammonel was set by the engineers, ready to explode at the beginning of the attack. Now, the idea of the gallery trenches had been, in the first place, defensive. The ground had been broken through, but no parapets had been erected on the surface, as the enemy did not know exactly the direction of this forward firing-line. At night these holes in the ground gave the men a chance to place machine guns in position, in anticipation of a Turkish offensive. Later, however, they were blocked with barbed-wire entanglements, while _cheveaux de frise_ were placed outside them, much, it may be stated, to the disgust of the engineers, who had prepared this little trap for the enemy with keen satisfaction. Before the attack all this barbed wire was removed, and it was decided that while one line of men should dash from the parapets, another line should rise up out of the ground before the astonished eyes of the Turks, and charge for the second line of the Turkish works, leaving the men from the actual firing-line to capture the Turkish first works. All that was needed for the success of this plan was the careful synchronizing of watches, and an officer stationed at every cross-section of trenches and tunnels to give the signal. Lifeless the beach and the old headquarters may have been, but there was no mistaking the spirits of the men as I went along those firing-line trenches at three o'clock on this beautiful, placid afternoon. Lying so long without fighting, there now rose up the old spirit of the landing and fight within them. "It's Impshee Turks now!" said the men of the 4th, as they moved along the communication trench from the centre of the position to the point of attack. Silence was enjoined on the men; isolated whispered conversations only were carried on. The seasoned troops knew the cost of attack on a strongly entrenched position. Most of the others (reinforcements) had heard vivid enough descriptions from their mates, and had seen little engagements along the line. I was moving slowly along the trenches. The men carried their entrenching tools and shovels. At various points their comrades from other battalions, who watched the line of heroes who were "for it," dashed out to shake some comrade by the hand. There was a warmth about these handgrips that no words can describe. It was the silence that made the scene of the long files of men such an impressive one. It was a significant silence that was necessary, so that the Turks in their trenches, not more perhaps at that point than 100 yards away, might gain no inkling of the exact point from which the attack was to be made. As the men went on through trench after trench, they came at length into the firing-line--the Pimple--where already other battalions had been gathered. There were men coming in the opposite direction, struggling past somehow, with the packs and waterproof sheets and impedimenta that made it a tight squeeze to get past. Messages kept passing back and forth for officers certain minor details of the attack. Our trenches before the Lone Pine position were only thinly manned by the 5th Battalion, who were to remain behind and hold them in case of failure. These men had crept into their "possies," or crevices in the wall, and tucked their toes out of the way. Some were eating their evening meal. Other parties were just leaving for the usual supply of water to be drawn down in the gullies and brought up by "fatigues" to the trenches. So into the midst of all this routine, marched the new men of the 1st Brigade, who were going out from this old firing-line to form a new line, to blaze the path, to capture the enemy's strongest post. They went in good spirits, resigned, as only soldiers can be, to the inevitable, their jaws set, a look in their faces which made one realize that they knew their moment of destiny had come; for the sake of the regiment, for the men who were around them, they must bear their share. It was strange to still hear muttered arguments about everyday affairs, to hear the lightly spoken words, "Off to Constantinople." As I got closer to the vital section of trenches (some 200 yards in length), they were becoming more congested. It was not only now the battalions that were to make the charge, but other men had to be ready for any emergency. They were filing in to take their place and make sure of holding what we already had. Sections got mixed with sections in the sharp traverses. It wanted, too, but a few minutes to the hour, but not the inevitable moment. There was a solemn silence over the hills, in the middle of that dazzling bright afternoon, before our guns burst forth, precisely at half-past four. Reserves were drawn up behind the trenches in convenient spots, their officers chatting in groups. Rapidly the shells began to increase in number, and the anger of their explosions grew more intense as the volume of fire increased. Amidst the sharp report of our howitzers amongst the hills, and the field guns, came the prolonged, rumbling boom of the ships' fire. There was no mistaking the earnestness of the _Bacchante's_ fire. Yet, distributed over the whole of the lines, it did not seem that the bombardment was as intense as one expected. In fact, there came a time when I believed that it was finished before its time. One was glad for the break, for it stopped the fearful ear-splitting vibrations that were shaking one's whole body. Yet as the black smoke came over the top of the trenches and drifted down into the valleys behind, it gladdened the waiting men, knowing that each explosion meant, probably, so much less resistance of the enemy's trenches to break down. But to those waiting lines of troops the bombardment seemed interminably long, and yet not long enough. What if the Turks had known how our trenches were filled with men! But, then, what if they really knew the exact point and moment where and when the attack was to be made! So that while in one sense the shelling gave the Turks some idea of the attack, it actually told them very little. Such bombardments were not uncommon. Their gun fire had died down to a mere spitting of rifles here and there along a line, and an occasional rapid burst of machine-gun fire. A few, comparatively very few, shells as yet came over to our trenches and burst about the crests of the hills where our line extended. It was ordered that the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Battalions should form the first line, and the 1st Battalion the brigade reserve. The 1st Battalion was under Lieut.-Colonel Dobbin, the second under Lieut.-Colonel Scobie, the third under Lieut.-Colonel Brown, and the fourth under Lieut.-Colonel Macnaghton. We were committed. At 5.30 came the avalanche. The artillery ceased. A whistle sharply blown was the signal prearranged. A score or more of other whistles sounded almost simultaneously. The officers, crouching each with his command under the parapets, were up then, and with some words like "Come, lads, now for the trenches!" were over our parapets, and in a long, more or less regular line the heavily-laden men commenced the dash across the dead ground between. They ran under the protection of the intense fire from our rifles and from our machine guns that swept their outer flanks; but it was impossible to fire or attempt any shooting over our advancing lines. The sun was still high enough to be in the eyes of the Turks, but they were ready to open rifle fire on the advancing line of khaki. With their machine guns, fortunately, they were less ready. They had the range for the parapet trenches, but not the intermediate line between, from which the first line of troops, 150 men about--50 from each of the three battalions--sped across the intervening space without very serious loss, the Turkish machine guns on this, as on most occasions, firing low. [Illustration: LOOKING FROM THE PIMPLE DOWN INTO OWEN'S GULLY: JOHNSTON'S JOLLY AND BATTLESHIP HILL ON THE EXTREME LEFT, AND LONE PINE TRENCHES ON THE RIGHT; PINE RIDGE IN THE DISTANCE. To face p. 228] The 2nd Battalion were on the extreme right, the 3rd in the centre, and the 4th Battalion occupied the left flank, adjacent to Owen's Gully. The men ran at full speed, so far as their equipment permitted, some stumbling, tripping over wires and unevennesses in the ground; others stumbling, hit with the bullets. A thousand dashes of brown earth, where the bullets struck, were flicked up right across that narrow patch. There was no cheer, just the steady advancing, unchecked line, till the men threw themselves on the first and second trenches. Barely a minute and they were across. It must have been with a feeling akin to dismay that the gallant line found the Turks' overhead cover on their trenches was undamaged and extremely difficult to pierce. The first line, according to the arranged plan, ran right over the top of the first enemy trenches, and, reaching the second line, began to fire down on the bewildered Turks, regardless of the fact that enemy machine guns were playing on them all the time. This was how so many fell in the early charge. A very few managed at once to drop down into the trench. I know with what relief those watching saw them gain, after that stunning check, a footing. But the greater number could be seen lying on the face of the trench, or immediately beneath the sandbags under the loopholes. Like this they remained for a few minutes, searching for the openings that our guns must have made. Gradually, sliding down feet foremost into the trench, they melted away. Each man, besides the white arm-bands on his jacket, had a white square on his back. This badge was worn throughout the attacks during the first two days, as a distinguishing mark from the enemy in the dark; a very necessary precaution where so many different types of troops were engaged. This made the advancing line more conspicuous on a bare landscape. Men could be seen feverishly seeking a way into the trenches. One man rendered the most valuable service by working along the front of the Turkish trenches beneath the parapet, tearing down the loopholes that were made of clay and straw with his bayonet. It was still only barely five minutes since the attack had commenced, yet the Turkish artillery had found our trenches, both the firing-line and the crest of the hill behind, and down into the gully. The whole hill shook under the terrific blows of the shells. Our replying artillery, six, eight, or more guns, firing in rapid succession over the heads of the men, and passing where the enemy's shells were bursting in the air, made in a brief five minutes an inferno that it seemed a matter of madness to suppose any one would escape. Following hard on the heels of the first men from our trenches went a second line, those on the left suffering worse than on the right. Again some did not wait at the first trench, but rushed on to the second Turkish trench. Soon there appeared a little signal arm sending back some urgent call. It turned out to be for reinforcements. It was not evident at the time they were needed, but they went. Our firing-trenches were emptying rapidly now, and only an ordinary holding-line remained. The Turkish guns lowered their range, and shrapnel burst over the intervening ground, across which troops, in spite, and in the face of it, must pass. Signallers ran lines of wires back and forth, only to have them cut and broken, and all their work to be done again. Five times they drew the reel across from the trench where the troops were fighting. You could gain little idea of what actually was happening in Lone Pine. Occasionally butts of rifles were uplifted. On the left flank, round the edge of the trenches on Johnston's Jolly, for a few minutes the Turkish bayonets glistened in the sun as men went along their trench, but whether they were hurrying to support their harried comrades or were the men our troops had turned in panic we could not see. Then the wounded commenced to come back. They came back across the plateau, dripping with blood, minus all their equipment and their arms. Some fell as they came, only to be rescued hours afterwards. News was filtering back slowly. In a quarter of an hour we had won three trenches; at 6.30 we held them strongly after an hour of bloody fighting. Further reinforcements were dashing forward, taking advantage of what might seem a lull, but suffering far worse than their comrades. Shouted orders even could not be heard in the din; whistles would not penetrate. In the midst of the whole attack one prayed that something would stop the vibrations that seemed to shake every one and everything in the vicinity. Our trenches were rent, torn, and flattened, and sandbags and debris piled up, blocking entrances and exits. Men worked heroically, clearing a way where they could. Doctors were in the trenches doing mighty work. Captain J. W. Bean went calmly hither and thither until wounded. Major Fullerton had gone with the first rush, had tripped, and fell. He was thought to be wounded, but went on and reached safely the Turkish trenches, where, for six hours, he was the only doctor on the spot. Wounded men came pouring back to the dressing-station behind the hill in "Browne's Dip," where friends directed them down the hill. It seemed horrible to ask the men to go farther. The stretcher-bearers were carrying cases down. I saw them hit, and compelled to hand over stretchers to willing volunteers, who sprang up out of the earth. They were men waiting their turn to go forward. The ground was covered each minute with a dozen bursting shells within the small area I could see. The dirt, powdered, fell on our shoulders. The shrapnel, luckily bursting badly, searched harmlessly the slopes of a hill 40 yards away. The great 6-inch howitzers of the enemy tore up the gully and hillside, sending stones and dirt up in lumps, any one of which would inflict a blow, if not a wound. They ripped an old graveyard to pieces. They tore round the dressing-station. We watched them on the hill amongst the trenches. Would our turn be next? No one knew. You could not hear except in a distant kind of way, for our guns fired at point-blank range, and their noise was even worse than the bursting shells. Yet when the call came, there rose from their dugouts another company of men of the 1st Battalion, and formed up and dashed for the comparative cover of a high bank of earth prior to moving off. The men went with their heads down, as they might in a shower of rain. A foul stench filled the air from explosives. "Orderly, find Captain Coltman [machine-gun officer]!" called Major King, Brigade-Major. Away into the firing-line or towards it would go the messenger. "Orderly, Orderly!" and again a message would be sent to some section of the line. The officer giving these directions was a young man (he had already been wounded in the campaign). His face was deadly white and his orders crisp and clear. He dived into his office, only to come out again with a fresh message in his hand (ammunition was wanted) and dash off himself into the firing-line. He was back again in a few minutes to meet his Brigadier. They stood there in the lee, if one may so call it, of some sandbags (the office had been blown down) asking in terse sentences of the progress of the battle. "I think it is all right. They say they can hold on all right. They want reinforcements." I saw the signallers creeping over the hill, feeling for the ends of broken wires, trying to link up some of the broken threads, so that information could be quickly sought and obtained. Doctors I saw treating men as they passed, halting with a case of bandages; men past all help lay in a heap across the path leading into the sap. It was, after all, just a question of luck. You kept close into a bank, and with the shells tearing up the earth round you, hoped that you might escape. After a time there was so much else to think of, especially for the men fighting, that it was no time to think of the shells. They arrived with a swish and sickening explosion and a thud. Where the next was coming, except it was sure to be in the vicinity, was a matter for the Turks and Kismet. Men ran like rabbits and half fell, half tumbled into the dugouts. Somehow the whole thing reminded me of people coming in out of a particularly violent storm. Once in the firing-line, the shells were going overhead, and curiously enough one felt safe, even in the midst of the dead and dying. To look with a periscope for a minute over the top of the parapet. The machine guns were traversing backwards and forwards, not one, but five or six of them. I was with Captain Coltman. He went from end to end of the line, inspecting our machine guns. Some were firing, others were cooling, waiting a target, or refitting, rectifying some temporary trouble caused by a bullet or a shell. Men were watching with periscopes at the trenches. It was exactly an hour since the battle had begun, and the Turkish trenches, now ours, were almost obscured by the battle smoke and the coming night. Yet I could just see the men rushing on. The 1st Battalion reinforcement launched out at 6.20 to consolidate the position and strengthen the shattered garrison. They disappeared into the trenches. In some cases the best entrance had been gained by tearing away the sandbags and getting in under the overhead cover. I was down a tunnel that led to our advanced firing-line when I faintly heard the men calling, "There goes another batch of men!" I could hear a more wicked burst of fire from the enemy's machine guns, and then the firing died down, only to be renewed again in a few minutes. In the captured trenches a terrible bomb battle was being fought. Gradually the Turks were forced back down their own communication trenches, which we blocked with sandbags. By 6.30 the message came back, "Everything O.K.," and a little later, "Have 70 prisoners." These men were caught in a tunnel before they could even enter the battle. [Illustration: COOKS' LINES IN BROWN'S DIP JUST BEHIND LONE PINE TRENCHES.] [Illustration: AUSTRALIAN AND TURKISH DEAD LYING ON THE PARAPETS OF THE CAPTURED LONE PINE TRENCHES. All the Australian troops in the August offensive wore a white armlet and white square cloth on their backs as a distinguishing mark. To face p. 232.] Cheerful seems hardly the right word to use at such a grim time, yet the men who were behind the machine guns, ready to pop them above the trenches for a moment and then drop them again before the enemy could blow them to pieces, never were depressed, except when their gun was out of action. Soon they got others to replace them. They were watching--so were the men round them, with bayonets fixed, in case the Turks drove us back from Lone Pine. As we made our way along the old firing-line, it meant bobbing there while the bullets welted against the sandbags and the earth behind you. You were covered every few yards with debris from bursting shells. The light was fading rapidly. The sun had not quite set. The last departing rays lit up the smoke of the shells like a furnace, adding to the grim horribleness of the situation. Of the inner fighting of those first two hours in the Turkish trenches little can be written till all the stories are gathered up and tangled threads untied, if ever that is possible. But certain facts have been revealed. Major Stevens, who was second in command of the 2nd Battalion, was charging down a Turkish trench when he saw a Turk about 2 yards from him in a dugout. He called over his shoulder to the men following him to pass up a bomb, and this was thrown and the Turk killed. Then Major Stevens came face to face with a German officer at the mouth of the tunnel. In this tunnel were some 70 Turks. The Australian was fired at point-blank by the German, but the shot missed its mark and the officer was shot dead by a man following Stevens. The Turks in the tunnel surrendered. They had gone there on the commencement of the bombardment, as was their custom, and had not had time to man the trenches before the Australians were on them. The first warning that had been given, it was learned from a captured officer, was when the sentries on duty called, "Here come the English!" Farther down the trench a party of Australians were advancing against the Turks, who were shielded by a traverse. The first Australian that had run down, with his bayonet pointed, had come face to face with five of the enemy. Instinctively he had taken protection behind the traverse. He had called on his mates, and then ensued one of the scores of incidents of that terrible trench fight when the men slew one another in mortal combat. Their dead bodies were found in piles. Captain Pain, 2nd Battalion, with a party of three men, each holding the leg of a machine gun, propped himself up in the middle of one trench and fired down on to the Turks, massed for a charge, till suddenly a bullet killed one of the party, wounded Pain, and the whole gun collapsed. The Turks had in one case a machine gun firing down the trench, so that it was impossible for us to occupy it. By using one of the many communication trenches that the Turks had dug a party managed to work up close enough to bomb the Turks from the flank, compelling them to retire. Every man and every officer can repeat stories like these of deeds that won the Australians the day; but, alas! many of those brave men died in the trenches which they had captured at the bayonet's point. At seven o'clock, when the first clash of arms had passed, the enemy made their first violent and concerted effort to regain their lost trenches. It was a furious onslaught, carried on up the communication trenches by a veritable hail of bombs. In some places we gave way, in others we drove back the enemy farther along his trenches. From the north and the south the enemy dashed forward with fixed bayonets. They melted away before our machine guns and our steady salvos of bombs. The Australians stuck to their posts in the face of overwhelming numbers--four to one: they fought right through the night, and as they fought, strove to build up cover of whatever material came nearest to hand. Thousands of sandbags were used in making good that position. Companies of the 12th Battalion were hurried up towards midnight to strengthen the lines, rapidly diminishing under the fury of the Turkish attack. But these men found a communication-way open to them to reach the maze of the enemy's position. Our mines, that had been exploded at the head of the three tunnels mentioned earlier, had formed craters, from which the sappers, under Colonel Elliott and Major Martyn, began to dig their way through to the captured positions. Only two of these tunnels were opened up that night, just six hours after the trenches had been won. The parties dug from each end: they toiled incessantly, working in shifts, with almost incredible speed. It was the only way to get relief for the wounded; to go across the open, as many of the gallant stretcher-bearers, signallers, and sappers did, was to face death a thousand times from the Turkish shrapnel. So part tunnel, part trench, the 80 yards was sapped and the wounded commenced to be brought in in a steady stream. It took days to clear the captured trenches. Australians and Turks lay dead, one on top of the other, three or four deep. All it was possible to do was to fill these trenches in. That night down the tunnel on the right kept passing ammunition, bombs--some 3,000 were used in the course of the first few hours--water, food, rum for the fighters, picks, shovels, and machine guns. Every half-hour the Turks came on again, shouting "Allah!" and were beaten back. The resistance was stubborn. It broke eventually the heart of the Turks. Officers and men in that first horrible night performed stirring deeds meriting the highest honour. The names of many will go unrecorded except as part of that glorious garrison. It was a night of supreme sacrifice, and the brigade made it, to their everlasting honour and renown. CHAPTER XXIII THE HEROIC LIGHT HORSE CHARGE So far as the 1st Australian Division was concerned, their offensive in the great battle of August began with the capture of Lone Pine, late on the afternoon of the 6th August, and ended with the desperate, heroic charge of the 8th and 10th Light Horse Regiments on the early morning of the 7th. Lone Pine had started the whole of the operations, and the Australian Division throughout the night was to carry them on by a series of offensives from their trenches right along the line. All this fighting, as has been explained, was to cover the main object of the plan, the landing of the new British force at Suvla Bay and the seizing of a base for winter operations; and, further, the capture of the crest of the main ridge, Chunak Bair and Koja Chemen Tepe, or Hill 971. So naturally the operations fall into sections. From what has been subsequently learned, the Turks, immediately after their crushing defeat at Lone Pine, hurried up reinforcements from Bogali and diverted others that were on their way to Cape Helles. It did not stay their attack at Cape Helles, however, which had been planned, by some curious chance, to take place almost at the identical hour that the British, on the 7th, were to attack the Turkish lines, which was the reason for the British being hurled back after desperate fighting. But if there was a success for the Turk at Cape Helles, it was nothing to the blow they suffered by the loss of their declared impregnable Lone Pine trenches and the successfully accomplished landing at Suvla Bay. But in between these two operations were the long hours of the night, when the captured trenches at Lone Pine were subjected to fearful bombing attacks, and successive Turkish regiments were hurled against the closed breach, operations which lasted over all for four days. Two Divisions at least were massed by the Turks against the Anzac forces by midnight of the 6th. The enemy's trenches positively bristled with bayonets. Our green and red rocket shells showed them up; we could see them moving along the gullies and over the hills in the early dawn. The Light Horsemen on the Nek knew that the enemy were waiting to meet the charge they were in duty bound to make at grey dawn. To retrace in detail the events of that night. On the Lone Pine section of the line the Turkish bombardment began to ease at eight o'clock, and the Turks, for a time, gave up searching the valleys of Anzac for our reserves and for the guns. Every available piece of artillery must have been trained on the position. Then the warships and our Australian and New Zealand howitzers kept up a regular, almost incessant fire. A gun banged each minute on various sections of the line. It had been determined by Major-General Walker that there should be an offensive by the men of the 2nd Infantry Brigade, occupying the trenches opposite German Officers' Trench. Our lines were but thinly held, as there had been a gradual easing off to the right towards the Lone Pine trenches, that had swallowed up the whole of the 1st Brigade, so that now the 2nd Brigade only was left to hold the position. Lieut.-Colonel Bennett with the 6th Battalion was charged with the task of taking the almost impregnable German Officers' Trenches. Crowned with massive beams, bristling with machine guns, it had been demonstrated on more than one occasion what the Turks intended should be the fate of any men who dared attack these trenches. At eleven o'clock on the night of the 6th, the sappers exploded the first mine underneath the Turkish trenches immediately in front of them. Another charge was fired at 11.30, and two at 11.40. The battalion then began to occupy the forward gallery positions that had been prepared. Unfortunately, the guns did not do the damage that was anticipated. On the contrary, they did nothing but warn the already thoroughly roused enemy of an impending assault. The first attack was planned for twelve o'clock. At that time the bombardment of the section of the Turkish trenches ceased. From the tunnel trenches the men scrambled up, a few only from each hole, as there was little space. The enemy's machine guns raged and raked our ranks from end to end. Few of the men got more than a yard or two. The tunnels became choked with dead and dying. The attack withered at its birth. What else could be expected under such conditions? Yet a second attempt was made at 3.55 a.m., but with no better result. A score or more of machine guns firing at various angles, with the range set to a nicety, swept down the attackers almost before they had time to leave their trenches. The position was desperate. Had the whole of the attack to be sacrificed because this line of men failed to do their duty? But did they fail? They charged twice, and were preparing to go a third time, on the determination of General Walker (but against the judgment of Brigadier-General Forsyth, who saw the hopelessness of it all), when, realizing that the object had already been served, as news came through of the successful landing at Suvla Bay, the third charge was cancelled at the last moment. Dawn was beginning to steal into the sky behind the Turkish position. A thin, waning moon shed but little light over the terrible battlefields. From a forward observation station I noted the battle line spitting red tongues of flame all along to the Nek, while at Quinn's Post occurred every few minutes, terrible explosions of shell and bombs from either side. A gun a minute was booming constantly--booming from the heart of Anzac. The destroyers, the rays of their searchlights cast up on to the hill, swept the top of the Sari Bair ridge with the high-explosive shell from their 6-inch guns. Fearful as had been the night, the dawn was more horrible still, as an intense bombardment commenced on the Chessboard Trenches on the Nek. Howitzers and high-explosive shells fell thickly round those masses of Turkish trenches, so often and accurately registered in the weeks of waiting. The surmise that the Turks had brought up reinforcements had indeed proved correct, for they were waiting now in the trenches on the Nek--confidently, we learn, waiting any "English" attack, which now seemed inevitable. It was inevitable. [Illustration: _Approximate Scale 1 inch = 50 yds._ _OPPOSING TRENCHES ON THE NEK_] At this time the 3rd Light Horse Brigade, under Brigadier-General Hughes, held the Nek. I have already described this position. It was barely 120 yards wide. The Turkish trenches were scarcely 80 yards away from our line. They sloped backward slightly up the ridge to the sides of Baby 700 and Chunak Bair. On the right of this narrow causeway was the head of Monash Gully, a steep drop into a ravine, and across it, Pope's Hill and Quinn's Post. On the left the sheer precipices fell away down into the foothills of the Sari Bair ridge. Row after row one could see of the enemy trenches--Chessboard Trenches; the name significant of their formation. It fell to the 8th and 10th Light Horse Regiments to storm these enemy redoubts. They were to charge at 4.30 in the morning--the morning after the bloody battle of Lone Pine, after, as I heard Colonel Antill, Brigade-Major of that Light Horse Brigade, say, we had gone along the whole of our battle front "ringing a bell." Then, when that had tolled and sounded, were the Light Horse to face their certain death. The story is simply told. It is very brief. The attack was to be made in four lines. The 8th Light Horse (Victorians) were to supply the first two lines, 150 men in each. Besides scaling ladders that had been specially made to enable men to get into the trenches, these Light Horsemen each carried two empty sandbags. They had food supplies, and plenty of ammunition. But they were not to fire a shot. They had to do their work with the cold steel of the bayonet. Following them was a third line of 150 men of the 10th Regiment, and yet another line--the last--ready with picks and shovels and bombs--any quantity of bombs--and reserves of water and ammunition. They were to help to make good the trenches when they were won. Against the sandbags of our lines thumped the bullets as the Turkish machine guns traversed from end to end of the short line. A hard purring and the whistle of bullets, then a few minutes' pause. Still the bombardment continued furiously, smashing, it was thought, the Turkish trenches to atoms. But while the communication-ways were blocked and heavy casualties were inflicted, the front Turkish trenches remained practically unharmed. In three lines of trenches, their bayonets fixed, standing one above the other to get better shooting, resting on steps or sitting on the parados of the trenches, the Turks waited the coming of the Light Horsemen. The trenches were smothered in a yellow smoke and dust from the bursting lyddite from the ships, that almost obscured from our view the enemy's position. It was a bombardment the intensity of which had never been seen yet on Gallipoli; the hill was plastered with awful death-dealing shells. Just at 4.25 the bombardment slackened significantly. Immediately there began to pour a sheet of lead from the Turkish trenches. Musketry and machine guns fired incessantly. Could anything live for a minute in it? At the end of three minutes our guns ceased. Lieut.-Colonel A. White elected to lead the men he loved. He made a brief farewell to his brother officers. He shook them by the hand and went into the firing-line. He stood waiting with his watch in hand. "Men," he said, "you have ten minutes to live." And those Light Horsemen of his regiment, recruited from the heart of Victoria, knew what he said was true. They waited, listening to the terrible deluge that rained against the parapets of their trenches. "Three minutes, men," and the word came down from the far end of the line, did the order still hold good? It was a sergeant who sent it, and by the time he had received the reply passed back along the waiting line, the whistle for the charge sounded. With an oath, "---- him!" he leaped to the parapet of the trench; he fell back on his comrade waiting below him--dead. The whole line went. Each man knew that to leave those trenches was to face certain, almost immediate death. They knew it no less than the glorious Light Brigade at Balaclava. There is surely a comparison between the two deeds, and shall not the last make the young Nation more honoured! Those troops, with all the knowledge, after months of waiting, of what trench warfare meant, of what they might now expect, never flinched, never presented a braver front. Theirs not to reason why; theirs but to do--and die. They charged. Lieut.-Colonel White had not gone ten paces when he fell dead, riddled with bullets. The first line of 150 men melted away ere they had gone half the distance to the trenches, and yet the second line, waiting and watching, followed them. One small knoll alone gave a little protection for a few dozen paces to the advancing line from the Turkish machine guns, that rattled from a dozen different points along that narrow front, and swept from the right flank across from the enemy trenches opposite Quinn's Post. Adding to the terror of it all came the swish of the shells from the French "75" guns that the Turks had captured from the Servians, and which were now firing ten shells a minute on to the Nek. The parapets were covered with dead and dying. Stretcher-bearers rescued men where they could from just above the parapets, and dragged them down into the trenches, while over the same parapets went other men, doomed like their magnificent comrades. Just a handful of men--how many will hardly ever be known, probably it was not ten--managed to reach the section of the Turkish line facing the extreme right of our position. At other places some few others had pitched forward and fallen dead into the Turkish trenches. But those few men that won through raised a little yellow and red flag, the prearranged signal, the signal for the second part of the attack to develop. It were better that those gallant men had never reached that position. The third line were ordered to advance, and went over the parapets. There was nothing else to do. Comrades could not be left to die unsupported. At the same time from Bully Beef Sap (that was the trench that ran down into Monash Gully from the Nek) the Royal Welsh Fusiliers attacked up the head of the gully. Their first two lines, so soon as they came under fire, fell, crumpled; at which moment the third line--Western Australian Light Horse--had gone forward from the Nek. But before the whole of the 150 men could rush to their certain destruction, Brigadier General Hughes stopped the attack. So it happened that a small party of 40 on the left managed to crawl back into the trenches. The remainder fell alongside their brave Victorian brothers who had charged and died. For the flag in the enemy's trench soon disappeared, and the fate of the brave men who erected it was never told. Late the next night a private named McGarry crawled back from beneath the parapet of the Turkish trenches, where he had feigned dead all day. He told of the forest of Turkish steel that stood in the series of three trenches, ranged one behind the other. Another man, Lieutenant Stuart, 8th Light Horse, who, after going 15 yards, fell wounded, and managed to crawl into the crater of a shell-burst, where he lay until the signal was given to retire, returned from amongst the dead and dying lying under the pale morning light on no man's ground between the trenches. Thus in a brief fifteen minutes did regiments perish. Only an incident it was of the greatest battle ever fought in the Levant, but an imperishable record to Australia's glory. Nine officers were killed, 11 missing, 13 wounded; 50 men killed, 170 wounded, and 182 missing: and those missing never will return to answer the roll call--435 casualties in all. What did the brigade do but its duty?--duty in the face of overwhelming odds, in the face of certain death; and the men went because their leaders led them, and they were men. What more can be said? No one may ask if the price was not too great. The main object had been achieved. The Turks were held there. It was learned that many of the enemy in the trenches had their full kits on, either just arrived or bidden remain (as they might be about to depart). And so right along the line were the enemy tied to their trenches, crowded together as they could be, packed, waiting to be bayoneted where they stood or disperse the foe. Above all, the Australians had kept the way clear for the great British flanking movement already begun. For all this, will the spot remain sacred in the memory of every Australian of this generation and the generations to come. Now, while the 3rd Light Horse Brigade was charging from the Nek there was also a charge from round Quinn's Post by the 1st Brigade, under Brigadier-General Chauvel, who held this sector of the line. The 2nd Regiment attacked the Turkish position opposite Quinn's Post in four lines. Fifty men went in each. Major T. J. Logan led one section of the first line. Led! It was only fifteen or twenty paces to the enemy, yet few of the men managed to crawl up over the parapet. They were shot down as soon as they began to show themselves, and fell back into their own trenches. Major Bourne led the other party. Both gallant leaders fell dead before they or any of their troops could reach the Turkish lines. One man only, who returned unwounded, declares that he escaped by simply watching the stream of bullets from the enemy's machine guns striking the parapets of our trenches and leaping over it; for as usual, the Turkish guns were searching low. And as this assault was launched the 1st Regiment, led by Major T. W. Glasgow, charged from Pope's Hill, on the left of Quinn's. There was in front the small ridge--Deadman's Ridge--which had been attacked on the 2nd May, and won in parts by the 4th Infantry Brigade. It was covered with trenches, dug one above the other. From all three the Light Horsemen drove the Turks. In the forward line the men for a few minutes had the awful experience of being bombed by the Turks in front and their own men behind, until the mistake was suddenly recognized by Major Glasgow, who immediately charged with his men over the parapets to the third trench, and joined up the whole of the regiment. But the Turks held the higher ground above, and from their trenches it was an easy mark to throw bombs down on to the Light Horsemen in the trenches lower on the ridge. Our bomb supplies had all to be brought forward from Pope's position under machine-gun fire. The valiant men who still clung to the trenches they had gained, suffered cruel loss from bombs that the Turks hurled overhead and along the communication trenches. After two hours' desperate fighting, at 7.30 a.m. the order was reluctantly given to retire. Then only the right section of our line ever got back, and with them the gallant commander, without a scratch. Major Reed and Lieutenant Nettleton both died in those trenches. Twenty-one men were killed and 51 were missing after the attack. So in the course of a terrible hour the Light Horse Brigades, National Guardsmen of Australia, won deathless glory by noble sacrifice and devotion to duty, and formed the traditions on which the splendour of the young army is still being built. CHAPTER XXIV THE BATTLE OF SARI BAIR--FIRST PHASE It must be recognized that except for the 4th Infantry Brigade the offensive of the Australians was completed on the morning of the 7th. Part had succeeded--part had failed. Their further advance rested entirely on the success of the second phase of the great scheme, the assault of the Sari Bair ridge. This terrible task fell mostly on the New Zealanders, but partly, too, on the new British army and the Indian brigades. The Australians were the connecting link between this greater Anzac and Suvla Bay landing. When the time came, they joined in the general offensive on the crest of the Sari Bair ridge and the attempt to take Hill 971--Koja Chemen Tepe. As my story mainly rests with the Australians, if more details necessarily are given of their part in this action, it must not be considered as a slur on the brilliant achievements of the New Zealanders and Britishers. What fighting I did not see at close fighting quarters I learned from the officers of those splendid battalions, later. The vital movement to extend the Anzac position, connecting it with Suvla Bay, enveloping and taking of the summit of the mass of hills that dominated the central part of the peninsula and the Narrows, was entrusted to the care of General Sir William Birdwood. He had prefaced it with the offensive from Anzac proper. Now, under Major-General Sir Alexander Godley, the attempt to sweep up the northern slopes was to be carried out by a mixed force of Australians, New Zealanders, British, and Indians, numbering in all some 12,000 men. The complete capture of the Sari Bair ridge would have brought into action again the 1st Australian Division, whose left wing at Anzac might have been relied on to advance over Baby 700 and up to Battleship Hill. What is too often overlooked, or forgotten, is that the capture of the great Hill 971 was a separate operation, though a natural corollary to the holding of the ridge, as a deep ravine separated this peak from the Sari Bair ridge. From Hill 971 the northern slopes (called the Abdel Rahman Bair), ran back within a mile to the Bijuk Anafarta village. It was separated from the foothills that fell away to the sea by the Asma Dere. Therefore a column, it was hoped (of the British troops and the 4th Australian Brigade), would make good this ridge and advance alongside it to the main peak. The operations, owing to the nature of the ground, fell into two stages. The first was the advance over the foothills to the Sari Bair ridge, the landing at Suvla Bay and first advance. The second stage was the united effort to take the hill and main ridge. To foretell the conclusion--now alas, passed into history as a splendid failure--the second stage was only partly possible, because on the right, from the direction of Suvla Bay, the British attack never developed; that is to say, it never reached even the foot of the Abdel Rahman Bair. I have been in the heart of all that mass and tangle of hills and ravines. The country resembled, on a less grand scale, that of the Buffalo Ranges of Victoria, or the Blue Mountains, near Sydney. It might be ideal bushranging country, but the worst possible for an army fighting its way forward to the heights; gullies and precipices barred the way. Even with expert guides, and maps compiled by the Turks themselves, which we captured and had copied, there were many battalions that lost their way, and only by dogged perseverance and extraordinary pluck did they extricate themselves and reach points of vantage from which they could link up their positions. I say this of all forces engaged, because I know that many miscalculations occurred even after three days of fighting as to the exact gullies in which the troops were that had linked up with the units holding "The Farm" and Rhododendron Ridge. Gullies were cut by creeks, hills divided by spurs. Into this tangle was first hurled an army of 12,000 men--mostly fine bushmen, it is true, used either to the gum forest of Australia and its wide expanses, or to the jungles of the tropics. General Hamilton had accepted General Birdwood's plans, that there should be two covering columns to reach the two ridges that met at the Hill 971, almost at right angles (Sari Bair, running from west to east, and Abdel Rahman Bair, running nearly due north and south), and two assaulting columns to capture the positions. General Hamilton sets forth the plan thus:-- The right covering force was to seize Table Top, as well as all other enemy positions commanding the foothills between the Chailak Dere and the Sazli Beit Dere ravines. If this enterprise succeeded, it would open up, at the same time interposing between, the right flank of the left covering force and the enemy holding the Sari Bair main ridge. This column was under Brigadier-General A. H. Russell, who had the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade, the Otago Mounted Rifles Regiment, Colonel A. Bauchop; the Maori Contingent and New Zealand Field Troop. The left covering force was to march northwards along the beach to seize a hill called Damakjelik Bair, some 1,400 yards north of Table Top. If successful, it would be able to hold out a hand to the 9th Corps as it landed south of Nibrunesi Point, whilst at the same time protecting the left flank of the left assaulting column against enemy troops from the Anafarta Valley during its climb up the Aghyl Dere ravine. Brigadier-General J. H. Travers commanded the column which consisted of headquarters 40th Brigade, half the 72nd Field Company, 4th Battalion South Wales Borderers, and 5th Battalion Wiltshire Regiment. The right assaulting column was to move up the Chailak Dere and Sazli Beit Dere ravines to the storm of the ridge of Chunuk Bair. The column was under Brigadier-General F. E. Johnston, commanding New Zealand Infantry Brigade, Indian Mountain Battery (less one section), one company New Zealand Engineers. The left assaulting column was to work up the Aghyl Dere and prolong the line of the right assaulting column by storming Hill 305 (Koja Chemen Tepe), the summit of the whole range of hills. Brigadier-General (now Major-General) H. V. Cox was in command of the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade, 4th Australian Infantry Brigade; Brigadier-General Monash, Indian Mounted Battery (less one section), one company New Zealand Engineers. It may be roughly estimated that there were 3,000 troops with each column. A divisional reserve was formed from the 6th Battalion South Lancashire Regiment and 8th Battalion Welsh Regiment (Pioneers), mustered at Chailak Dere, and the 39th Infantry Brigade and half 72nd Field Company at Aghyl Dere. The two assaulting columns (writes Sir Ian Hamilton) which were to work up three ravines to the storm of the high ridge were to be preceded by two covering columns. One of these was to capture the enemy's positions commanding the foothills, first to open the mouths of the ravines, secondly to cover the right flank of another covering force whilst it marched along the beach. The other covering column was to strike far out to the north, until, from a hill called Damakjelik Bair, it could at the same time facilitate the landing of the 9th Corps at Nibrunesi Point (Suvla Bay) and guard the left flank of the column assaulting Sari Bair from any forces of the enemy which might be assembled in the Anafarta Valley. Old No. 3 Post was the first objective of that right covering force which General Birdwood had prepared, and No. 2 Post was its jumping-off place. You reached this outpost, either day or night, by travelling along the great sap that for two miles wound out from the heart of Anzac. All the troops that were to take part in this new attack had come from Anzac. That night they had marched out under the cloak of darkness across the broad open flats that reached from the foothills to the water's edge. At the post they found its garrison ready to move. Major-General Godley had his headquarters there already. Here, too, had been marshalled all available water-cans and ammunition supplies. So the first dash into what was practically the unknown was to commence at 9.30 p.m. Just in front of No. 2 Post was Old No. 3 Post, a steep-sided position which the Turks had captured from us on 30th May. They had since strengthened it by massive woodworks, protecting the avenues of advance by great stretches of thick barbed-wire. Behind the post again was Table Top, very flat on the summit, and about 400 feet high. On either flank of these hills ran a gully. On the left Sazli Beit Dere, and on the right the Chailak Dere. Both entrances through the valleys so formed to the inner hills were dominated by Old No. 3 Post, a veritable fortress with its revetted earthworks and its naturally steep sides. General Birdwood had planned a ruse to take this hill. Every night, just at the same time, the destroyer _Colne_ bombarded the post. Earlier in the evening her rays had gone wandering round the hills, but always at 9 p.m. there was a steady streak of light fixed on Old No. 3 Post, and the 6-in. guns belted the position for ten minutes. There was then a pause, and the beams disappeared, only to reappear again with the shells at 9.20. The bombardment continued till 9.30 p.m. For weeks this operation had continued. The Turks, it was learned from deserters, had got into the habit of retiring to their tunnels and never worrying much about the bombardment. After it was all over the New Zealanders used to hear an old Turk (they saw him once and christened him "Achmet"), a wire-mender, who came along the front of the line to repair the damage. They would not shoot him, though an attempt was made to trap him one night. On the evening of the 6th August the bombardment continued, as it had every night for weeks, but under the noise of it, the Auckland Mounted Rifles Regiment, under Lieut.-Colonel Mackesy, stole from the trenches down into the gully and up to the lip of the Turkish trenches on the outpost. As the bombardment ceased, they rushed into the trenches without firing a shot, and bayoneted or bombed the astonished enemy. Many of the Turks were found to have removed their boots and coats and were resting. Seventy were captured. It took several hours in the darkness to clear the hill and the trenches that ran down into the gullies; the Turks gathered in small parties, resisting. Meanwhile the attack on the left had been launched under the gallant leadership of Lieut.-Colonel Bauchop against the hill that bore his name. It had fallen to the Otagos to clear this hill and the Chailak Dere. By one o'clock Bauchop's Hill had been stormed and won. The enemy, surprised, made a stout resistance, and it was some time before the machine guns, cunningly concealed in this hill, were located. Colonel Bauchop fell mortally wounded in this assault. The New Zealanders worked with the bayonet round and over the hill, never firing a shot until they found their further progress barred by a terrible wire entanglement and trench that the Turks had placed across the mouth of the gully, which effectively sealed it. It was a party of New Zealand Engineers, under Captain Shera, with Maories in support, who broke a way through and left the path clear for the assaulting columns, by this time following. Simultaneously, to the east, on the right of this attacking party, a violent, almost silent struggle for the possession of Table Top was also in progress. The destroyers had been bombarding the hill, which had now to be carried at the point of the bayonet by the dismounted mounted brigades of General Russell. The Canterbury men led the attack with bayonet and bomb. Their magazines were empty, under orders. For the first hours of this hill-fight all was silence. In the gullies and amongst the wooded spurs of the hills, parties of Turkish patrols were bayoneted and gave no alarm. Then from the north echoed the cheers of the Maories as they took Bauchop's Hill. It was caught up by the Canterbury men, now on Table Top. It was flung up to the lower slopes of the Rhododendron ridge, where the Turks still were. It was the battle-cry for the assaulting columns, which were advancing now through these protecting screens to the attack on the main ridge and on 971. The 4th Australian Brigade, under General Monash, formed the head of the assaulting column that went out from the left, followed by General Cox's Indian Brigade--the whole command under General Cox. Already the way here had been blazed by the left covering force, under Brigadier-General Travers, consisting of South Wales Borderers and Wiltshires, who had marched out swiftly to the Damakjelik Bair--a hill that guarded the entrance to the Aghyl Dere, up which the left assaulting column of General Cox had to turn. The Turks at eleven o'clock still kept up a flanking fire from the northern slopes of Bauchop's Hill, but gradually they were driven off, and when the new columns arrived at this point--late, it is true--it was only to find isolated and terrified parties of Turks sniping from different points as they were driven back and back. The full story of this advance may be briefly told. It was while the attention of the Turks was riveted on the fall of their trenches along the plateau at Anzac, that the Australian 4th Infantry Brigade had left Rest Gully, below the Sphinx Rock, just on the left of Anzac (where it had been for the past ten weeks), and in silence made for the seashore, actually traversing under a torrent of shell fire part of the same ground and foreshore where the troops had landed first on the peninsula. It was a start warranted to depress more seasoned troops than these browned Australians, for shrapnel fell over them, while shells skimmed above their heads on their way to the beach. But they pushed steadily on. Fortunately the casualties were light. In the far distance, from the hills on their right, came the sound of the clatter of rifles. That was the attack on No. 3 Post, for, as the troops watched the three beams of the destroyers' searchlights playing on the ridges, they saw one suddenly turned up into the sky and the noise of the ship's guns died away. The beam was the signal for attack. [Illustration: TURKISH MIA MIAS OCCUPIED BY THE 4TH INFANTRY BRIGADE IN THE AGYHIL DERE ON 8TH AUGUST.] [Illustration: SOLVING THE WATER PROBLEM. Tanks in the gullies into which water was pumped from Anzac. To face p. 250.] Immediately the taking of the foothills by the New Zealanders was assured, the way was clear for the 4th Infantry Brigade, under Brigadier-General Monash, to advance from the outskirts of our furthermost outpost line. It was hardly a week since I had been to the edge of our flank and looked across the flats and ploughed lands, over which then it would have been instant death to have advanced. Now that the Turks had been to some extent cleared from the hills on the right, the column, with one flank exposed to the hills and the other on the seashore, set out, in close formation, from under cover of our outposts. The column worked in towards some raised land that made a sort of road running round the foot of the hills, and met with no resistance. But there was a considerable amount of shrapnel being thrown over the column, and the ranks were thinned. A mile from our outposts the brigade swung round into a gully called the Aghyl Dere, and was at once met by a hot rifle fire from the Turks, who had taken up positions behind hastily thrown-up ramparts in the gully. The nature of the country made it easy to defend the valley. General Monash found it necessary to spread out a screen. It was composed of the 15th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Cannan. The advance was constantly checked by the narrowness of the defiles through which the troops had to pass. At the head of the column was a Greek, and also a Turkish interpreter. There were evidences of considerable occupation at some time by the Turks, for a series of _mia mias_ were found in the gully. But the enemy were hastily fleeing before the advancing Australian Brigade. At the junction of the gully with a branch that ran east towards the slopes of the main ridge, there came a serious halt. Already the leading battalion, the 13th, had deployed and was scouring a grassy plain out to the left--that is, the north. It was by this time eleven o'clock, and absence of any idea of the numbers of the enemy, now at bay, rendered the position critical. General Cox, with the Indian troops, had deployed to the right and was making as rapidly as possible for the slopes of the main ridge on the sector allotted to them. At this confluence of the two streams it was decided by General Monash that the 13th and 14th Battalions of the 4th Brigade, under Lieut.-Colonel Burnage and Major Rankine respectively, should be turned to the north to join up with the British force, who were holding the hills overlooking the Chocolate Hills and Anafarta Valley, the line being extended as the battalions advanced and covered a wider front. With the 15th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Cannan, and the 16th, under Lieut.-Colonel Pope, General Monash pushed on. It was soon evident that the opposition here met was the screen the Turks had placed to enable them to get away two field guns (they were the "75's" which had given so much trouble), for the emplacements were soon discovered. The advance had been a series of rushes rather than a steady march forward. I have seen no country that more resembled the Australian bush. The bushes grew very tall in the creek-bed. The whole battle was a running fight right up to the head of the _dere_, where, rather than lose touch with the British on his left, General Monash halted his troops. Dawn was just appearing in the sky, and as the men reached the fringe of the foothills there lay between them and the main ridge only a broad valley and a series of smaller knolls. On this ridge, above the Asma Dere, they therefore entrenched. Knowing that their lives depended on their speed, the men dug rapidly, and when I met the brigade, just after ten o'clock on the 7th, the reports came back that the fire-trenches were completed and, except for shrapnel and sniping, the enemy had shown no signs of a counter-attack. It is now necessary to trace the events on the right, where the New Zealand Infantry, at midnight, had started on the second great phase of this night's venture--the storming of the Chunak Bair ridge. From the Table Top to the Rhododendron spur ran a thin razor-back ridge and a communication trench. The Turks had fled along this. The cheers of the army forging its way into the hills, had roused the Turks. Our infantry, in four columns, were advancing to the assault. General Monash's progress I have already described. The Indian troops of the 29th Brigade (Sikhs and Gurkhas) were on his right, having turned east where the Aghyl Dere forked, and now were approaching the foot of the main ridge, making for the hills called "Q." This point, in the Sari Bair ridge, was immediately to the south of the dominating peak--Koja Chemen Tepe. They held a ridge at dawn just west of "the Farm" that nestled in a shoulder of the main ridge immediately below Chunak Bair summit. On the right the Otago and Canterbury Infantry Battalions were forcing their way up to the Rhododendron ridge. They had fought up the thickly wooded valley of the Sazli Beit, deploying men to the right and left to clear Turks from knolls, where they gathered to impede the progress of the army. Shrapnel now began to burst over the advancing companies as the enemy gained knowledge of the assault. The din of battle grew more awful as the morning came. From Anzac there resounded the fearful crashing of the bombardment of the Turkish trenches on Battleship Hill and the eastern slopes of the main ridge and the bomb battle at Lone Pine. The Light Horse at 4.30 had charged across the Nek and perished. Two battalions of New Zealanders met on the northern slopes of the Rhododendron ridge, and gathered in a depression quite well distinguishable from the No. 2 Post, and which was promptly termed the "Mustard Plaster." It was the one cramped position that the Turkish guns could not reach, where the troops were now digging in along the edge of the offshoot of the main ridge. Shrapnel, in white woolly balls, began to burst over the halted column. The 10th Gurkhas had advanced to within 300 yards of the crest of the ridge, about the vicinity of the Farm, while the 5th and 6th Gurkhas had fought their way on to the ridge farther to the north. There they had linked up with the 14th Sikhs on the right, who were in touch with the Australians, now brought to a standstill on the ridge above the Asma Dere. Amongst the hills, the New Zealanders cleared the Turks from their bivouacs. Either they were bayoneted, or fled, or else surrendered. The Otagos had taken 250 prisoners before dawn. It was a curious incident, for the Turks piled their arms, cheered, and willingly left the fight. They were captured on Destroyer Hill, which was one of the knolls that had been passed in the first onward rush and left uncleared. The Canterbury Battalion, advancing up a southern gully, and the Otago Battalion, in the northern direction, swept the few remaining Turks before them, and met on the Rhododendron spur at seven o'clock. Above them lay the rugged line of Chunak Bair, 850 feet high, and just 200 feet higher than the position they held, and still some 400 yards away. This Rhododendron spur cut into the main ridge along a narrow neck. Turkish machine guns and enemy trenches, dug along the top of the crest of Sari Bair, commanded that spot. The New Zealanders were compelled to dig their trenches just below the edge of the Rhododendron spur. In support they had some light mountain batteries and machine guns, under Major Wallingford. Having reached so near to victory early on this first morning (the 7th), they were ordered to advance again, first at 9.30 a.m. and then again at eleven o'clock, when a general assault by all the forces along the ridge took place. It was in vain that efforts were made to advance up the slopes of those terrible hills. But the Auckland Battalion gallantly charged across the bridge of land that linked the spur with the main ridge below, and to the south of Chunak Bair. It was only a narrow neck of some 30 yards wide. It was raked by Turkish fire. Up the bushy slope scrambled the gallant New Zealanders. They were checked at noon 200 yards from the crest of the ridge by a fearful musketry fire. They dug in. At dawn, from the hills, I watched the Suvla Bay Landing spread out in a magnificent panorama before me. I saw the sea, usually just specked with a few small trawlers and a monitor or destroyer, covered with warships and transports and craft of all descriptions. I discerned through the pale morning light the barges and boats, close inshore, discharging troops round the Suvla Bay and Nebrunesi Point. As the sun mounted over the crest of Hill 971, the rays caught the rigging and masts and brasswork of the ships, and they shone and reflected lights towards the fleeing Turks. I saw, too, the British troops pouring over the hills immediately surrounding the Salt Lake. The warships were firing steadily, and, when there was light enough, the observation balloon rose steadily, and stayed in the sky, until attacked by a hostile aeroplane. But, as if anticipating this event, our aeroplanes darted up, and the Taube fled precipitously, and descended in a terrific volplane down behind the high hills. The sea was alive with small pinnaces and boats from the ships. Hospital ships lay in a long line from Gaba Tepe to Suvla Bay. I counted six of them, and they were coming and going all day. So during the rest of the day the two assaulting columns clung to what they had won--a great gain of 2 miles on the left of Anzac--and the new base at Suvla Bay was secured. But, while the first part of the British 9th Army Corps plans had been successful, and the Navy had achieved another magnificent feat in landing the troops, stores, water, and munitions round the shores of Suvla Bay, the newly landed army under Lieut.-General Stopford were held back all that long day on the very fringe of Salt Lake. I remember how anxiously from the various commanding positions we had gained we watched for the signs of the advance of that British column. Our line bent back sharply to the Damakjelik Hills, that had been captured early the previous night. I am not in a position to explain the delays that occurred on the beach round Nebrunesi Point. Turkish officers have stated how the first reports from their outposts at Suvla Bay, believed the landing to be only a feint. Also how two regiments of gendarmes had held back, with some few machine guns, the British Divisions advancing towards the Chocolate Hills (the first of the series of hills that ran right into Buyak Anafarta), the capture of which was so urgently needed by us to control the attack on the Abdel Rahman Bair ridge, and to protect and support the attack on the main peak, Hill 971. The great offensive had been auspiciously launched; it had gone well till dawn, in spite of the terrible difficulties of the maze of hills that clustered beneath the Sari Bair ridge. The new expedition had been landed, and had been left an open door to pass through (if it had but had the "punch") into the heart of the Turkish main positions. It is not too much to say that the Turks were thoroughly alarmed, surprised, and bewildered; they knew not now at which spot the great attack was to come. They had massed all their main forces at Cape Helles for an offensive there. Their supports had been hurried up to Anzac. Their reserves were still only on their way up the peninsula, coming from Gallipoli to Suvla Bay. Ignorant of the impending landing, the enemy dashed battalion after battalion against the captured Lone Pine; they recoiled before the stubborn and gallant resistance of its garrison. But by the next dawn they had recovered from the shock, and their resistance had grown powerful. Even then it was not too late. General Hamilton anxiously hastened the final assault. CHAPTER XXV THE BATTLE OF SARI BAIR--THE CAPTURE OF THE RIDGE AND ITS LOSS As night fell on the 7th August, death and destruction was spread around the hills by the guns of the warships. It began on the farther deep-tinted purple mountain ridges overlooking Suvla Bay; it continued in a series of white shell-bursts on to the Sari Bair ridge. Grass fires lit the sky and smudged the landscape in the valley of the Salt Lake. After midnight the assault of the highest peaks was to commence. New columns had been organized. The New Zealanders, supported by British troops, were to press home their advantage on Chunak Bair. The Gurkhas were to take "Q" Hill; the Australians and Sikhs were to attack the Abdel Rahman ridge, and advance due east along its crest and capture the crowning hill, Koja Chemen Tepe. Monitors, battleships, and destroyers covered the hills of these positions with high-explosive shell, the searchlights blazing white patches on the ridges from 3.30 a.m. till 4.15. Under this cover of screaming steel the attacks were commenced. At a conference between the Brigadier of the 4th Brigade and General Russell it was decided to storm the slopes of Abdel Rahman Bair. Sufficient time had elapsed to enable an inspection to be made of the country immediately in front of the ridge, but not time to reconnoitre the best route through difficult, unknown country. At 3 a.m. the brigade moved from the trenches. It was perfectly dark, and the first country crossed was the narrow crest of the bush-covered hills they held. It was barely 30 yards. Then the men slid down into the gully below, for the reverse slope was an almost precipitous sandstone ridge. Once down into the dip the brigade moved in column quietly, and swung on toward Anafarta over the crest of a low hill and down into a cornfield. The troops, lest the rustling through the corn, not yet harvested, might warn the enemy, were kept to the gully until a hedge of furze and holly, that ran east in the direction required, was reached. Following this closely, so as to pass unseen, the Australians reached a stubble field. The 15th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Cannan, had spread out as a screen in front, but before this again a platoon was deployed to pick off the scouts of the enemy. The distance covered must have been nearly half a mile, and, except for a stray shot or two on the right, where the outposts of the enemy were encountered, no opposition had been offered. The ridge of Abdel Rahman Bair was now just at right angles to the course of the advancing column as set by the guides, some 150 yards away. It rose, a black obstacle in their path. Along the back of this they were to push their way up towards the main heights, or as far as was possible with the troops at the disposal of the commander. In this general assault it was the 4th Brigade that was this time to be the decoy, or covering brigade, for the advance which the Indians simultaneously were making direct on the main ridge of Sari Bair. To screen the troops from observation in the advance across the cropped field (it was not yet four o'clock), the column kept close to the edge of the scrubby land. No sooner had the right of the protecting screen touched the slopes of the densely scrubby hills than, at short range, there came from every nook of the hill, rising in tier after tier, a murderous fire from machine guns and rifles. At once the troops were hurried to the right. They swept back the Turks there, who retreated, under the fire of their own guns, still higher up the ridge. But it was essential that our left flank, that faced Anafarta, should be protected. Again the platoons had to advance amidst a terrible fire from machine guns. Meanwhile the 16th and 14th Battalions, under Lieut.-Colonel Pope and Major Rankine respectively, advanced in extended platoons, trying to force a passage up the ridge. The men attacked bravely, but it was one continuous roar of musketry and machine guns they faced. Our own machine gunners in the now coming dawn, managed to locate the Turkish guns. Two were soon put out of action, but still the hills seemed alive with these terrible weapons, and the bullets tore gaps in our ranks. At five o'clock it was apparent, unless reinforcements were brought up, the ridge could not be taken. Soon the order for withdrawal was given. It was skilfully carried out under a covering fire from our machine guns, splendidly handled by Captain Rose, which undoubtedly saved many lives by momentarily silencing the enemy's fire, and enabling our troops to get back to the protection of our trenches. By 9 a.m. on the 8th, the withdrawal had been completed, and every man, including the wounded, was within the protection of the well-prepared trenches, left but a few hours before. It will be apparent that, great as this sacrifice was, it had necessitated a large force of the enemy being drawn away from the main objective, and gave the chance, which the New Zealanders so gallantly seized, of taking the crest of the hill; and it also enabled the Indian troops to work their way on to the uppermost slopes of the great ridge. The 15th Battalion suffered most severely, and came to closest grips with the enemy. Many hand-to-hand encounters took place, and ghastly bayonet wounds were received, but the Turks suffered quite as heavily as our lines. Looking across the valley I could see, days later, the hill covered with their dead. The brigade lost in the two days' fighting nearly 1,000 men. In the half light of the early morning the attack began on the Sari Bair ridge. For the storming of Chunak Bair the Wellington Battalion and Auckland Mounted Rifles had been chosen, together with the Maoris--all that remained of that band--and Gloucester Battalion. The force was led by Lieut.-Colonel Malone, the gallant defender of Quinn's Post in the past months. At the head of the Wellingtons Lieut.-Colonel Malone led his men up through the long Turkish communication trench, which was perfectly visible from our outposts, to the summit of the hill. The Turks had retired during the night from this section of the ridge, leaving only a machine gun and a few men, who had come from Achi Baba, to defend the crest. The Gloucesters at the same time, in the face of heavy fire, gained a footing on an adjacent section of the ridge, and held on. It was a magnificent achievement, and only the grim determination of the troops engaged could have scaled that shell-swept slope--covered but thinly with bushes--and held it in poor shallow trenches, with short supplies, on the third day of a great battle. Meanwhile the Gurkhas, supported by battalions of the 13th Division, pushed up the slopes of "Q" Hill, and reached a point within 150 yards of the top. But no sooner had these positions been won than the Turks directed a terrific fire on the ridge. The Wellingtons' ranks thinned rapidly, but the Auckland Mounted Rifles managed to reach the firing-line in time to reinforce it, before the enemy commenced to attack in force. The Turks poured up the reverse side of the ridge, where our Anzac guns decimated them. Colonel Malone, seeing that the Turkish plan had been carefully laid and the trenches marked for destruction, ordered the troops to dig a new trench 15 yards in the rear--a perilous operation under the shrapnel fire that was pouring on to the attackers. Yet that shallow trench was dug and held against the Turks. Bombs and water were running low. It was two and a half miles back down through the gullies to the beach. The heat of the sun was terrific, and under it the men had been fighting for nearly three days. They were bloodstained and parched. I never have seen such appalling sights as the men who came in wounded during those days. Nevertheless there, on the top of the ridge, fluttered the small yellow and red flags, marking a section, barely 300 yards long, which had been won and held, the first foot set on the desired ridge. A shell-burst killed Colonel Malone during that afternoon in the trenches, which he and his men had so gallantly won. Colonel Moore, who succeeded him, was wounded before midnight. Shell fire destroyed the whole of a section of the front line of the trenches. The men rebuilt them and still fought on. The next morning the remaining section of the hill "Q" was to be charged by the Gurkhas and the South Lancashires. [Illustration: THE OVERHEAD COVER OF PINE LOGS IN THE CAPTURED LONE PINE TRENCHES.] [Illustration: A SAP LEADING UP THE SIDE OF A HILL SWEPT BY TURKISH SHELLS AND MACHINE GUNS, ON THE EXTREME RIGHT OF THE ANZAC POSITION. The bushy nature of the ground makes a striking comparison with the bared slopes where the shrubs and roots have been used for firewood, and covered with dugouts. To face p. 260.] So dawned the third morning of this fearful fight to dislodge the Turks from the ridge. The support that was expected from the British armies landed at Suvla Bay had failed, as now the Turks had brought up reinforcements, and all idea of a swift advance from this quarter was impossible. But General Hamilton realized that even yet there was time to snatch a victory. The chance lay in smashing a way through at the highest and most distant points gained on the crest of the ridge. So for this undertaking he flung forward a complete new column under Brigadier-General Baldwin, two battalions each from the 38th Infantry and 29th Brigades, and one from the 40th Brigade. There began at 4.30 p.m. on the 9th, as a prelude to this supreme effort, the shelling of the whole of the Sari Bair ridge--north of the position held by the New Zealanders. The destroyers' fire was terribly accurate. From Anzac the howitzers and field guns tore up the ridge from the east where the Turkish reserves had been massing. It was as if the hill was in eruption; smoke and flame rolled from its sides. At the "Mustard Plaster" it was intended that the assaulting column of General Baldwin should wait, and from there debouch up the hillside, prolonging to the north the crest-line held by the New Zealanders. But in the darkness the valleys and gullies of those chaotic hills, baffled even the guides. The column, advancing up the Chailak Dere to the support of the men on the hill, lost its way. The tragic result will be apparent when it is stated that already the 6th Gurkhas, led by Major C. G. L. Allanson, crept as rapidly as the steepness of the hill and the density of the undergrowth would permit to the very summit of the great ridge--and gained it--at a point midway between "Q" Hill and the Chunak Bair summit. It was, after all, only a handful of sturdy men who had to face whole battalions of the Turkish army. Still, the advantage gained was enough to stiffen the sinews of any leader and his army. There before them, at their feet one might write, lay the whole of the enemy's main position, and the road leading down the peninsula into Bogali. Beyond, glittering in tantalizing fashion, were the placid waters of the Dardanelles, on which the first light of the rising sun began to pour, outlining the score of ships bringing supplies to the armies. Into the ranks of the astonished and panic-stricken lines of Turks, the Gurkhas and the South Lancashire Regiment began to pour a torrent of lead, sweeping down the reverse slopes of the ridge. But in the very hour of their wonderful success came the first horrible check. Mistaking the target, the destroyers dropped 6-in. high-explosive shells amongst the Indian troops. The havoc was appalling. No course was open but to retire to a point of safety down the side of the ridge. The Turks were not slow to grasp the situation, and by the time that the mistake had been rectified, the Turks charged again and reoccupied the trenches they had so hastily evacuated. In spite of which disaster, even yet victory was imminent, had but General Baldwin's troops been at the moment (according to prearranged plans) swarming over the very crowning summit of the Chunak Bair position. Instead, they were still only on the sides of the ridge just above the Farm, advancing steadily, pressing up in line. But the Turks had launched their blow. They came pouring over the crest of the hill, and fired down from the commanding position into the ranks of the storming columns. A small battery placed on the very top of the summit of Chunak Bair compelled General Baldwin to withdraw his troops to below the Farm, while the enemy turned the full force of their blow on to the New Zealanders and British troops, who still stood their ground. Till night fell the Turks attacked. Our regiments clung on exhausted, desperate. They were then relieved by the 6th Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, and the 5th Wiltshire Regiment. Worn with the three days' fight, almost famished, but in good heart, buoyed by the feat of arms they had achieved, never have men deserved more the honours that have been paid them, than those New Zealanders. Through no fault of theirs, they left to the new garrison trenches that were not deep--they were not even well placed. The Turkish fire had left little chance of that. The crest remained dead ground. Even while the line was being reformed by Lieut.-Colonel Levinge, the fiercest of the Turkish counter-attacks began. To the enemy the possession of the ridge by the foe was like a pistol pointed at the very heart of their army. Unfortunately, only half our new troops were dug in when that counter-attack came (the Wiltshires finding constant checks in the gullies and hills through and up which they had marched to reach the firing-line). It is estimated that the attacking force which the Turks launched against that garrison of 1,000 men, was a division and a regiment and three battalions. Probably 30,000 men swarmed over the crest of the hill on the 10th. In one huge effort the Turks were staking all. The German leaders found no obstacle in the loss of life. As these masses of enemy, line after line of closely formed men, came up on to the crests, the warships opened fire from Ocean Beach, while on the reverse slope the Anzac guns caught the Turks as they advanced along the communication trenches and on to the hill. From the beach our newly placed guns, near No. 2 Post, drenched the hillside with shells. The British were overwhelmed certainly. At a fearful cost did the enemy accomplish it. Watching the commencement of the bombardment from a distance of 2,000 yards, I was more than ever convinced the Turk was a brave soldier. For thirty hours now he had been working under an intermittent fire to gain a footing on Rhododendron spur. From a range of 1,700 yards he was attacked by a group of machine guns from our position on Snipers' Nest west of the Nek, and driven from his hasty trenches by the lyddite shells that sent tons of earth and stones into the air at each explosion and cast for a moment a haze over the hill. The Turk, as he crawled away or went at a shuffle back over the ridge, was caught by the machine-gun fire. His plight was desperate. The shells fell at the rate of about ten a minute for an hour and a half, and recommenced for two hours more in the afternoon. Those shells dropped from one end of the ridge to the other, only a matter of 300 yards, and then, lowering the range, the gunners hurled shells into the hollow, drove out the Turks, and followed them as they fled back up the side of the hill. Turk after Turk came from those broken trenches, some wounded and without equipment, some still with rifles and packs. Some were moving slowly and painfully, while others were running low and quickly across the sky-lines. I watched them struggling from newly made trenches down the slope of the hill, which the gunners on the ships could see equally well with the artillery observing officers directing the field guns on the beach. I have never seen such accurate or persistent fire. As the 8-in. or 10-in. shells from the warships struck the hillside, above the dust and dirt, one could see, almost with every shot, men blown into the air. Once three Turks went skywards, and four men, whom a minute before I had seen crawling amongst the scattered bushes, disappeared. The striking of the shells on the hill was seen before the double thunder of the guns was heard. Sometimes shrapnel, bursting just over the crest, laid low men who had escaped the larger shells. The guns of the 1st Australian Division were playing on that side as well. The Turk was caught between two fires. For hours I watched the enemy crawling out of that gully over the hill. It was appalling. The slopes were thick with their dead. Never had a hill been so dearly lost, so dearly won, and now lost again, to become, as it was for days, no man's ground; for with the continued bombardment that night and the machine gun battery playing along the ridges next morning (11th), the Turks were content to hold the trenches behind the crest on the eastern side. But for the rat-a-tat-tat of our machine guns on this morning--the sixth day of the battle--all was perfectly still along the now extended battle front. And all through those appalling five days of the fiercest fighting that had ever been fought on the peninsula, never for a moment did the Turks relinquish their idea of recapturing the cherished Lone Pine trenches. In the first day's fighting the Australian casualties had been nearly 1,000. By the end of the fourth day they had doubled. It was one huge bomb battle, with short respites. As the fight continued, overhead cover was erected by the sappers to prevent the Turks firing down the length of trenches. I saw men tired--so tired that they could not even stand. Yet they clung on. Colonel Macnaghten handed over his gallant 4th to Colonel Cass, only because he could not stay awake to once again refuse to relinquish his post. Relief was given to his battalion for a few hours by Light Horse regiments and infantry battalions drawn from other sections of the line. Thus the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 12th Battalions and squadrons of the 2nd Light Horse Brigade all played their share in repelling the Turks in that unforgettable four-day bomb battle. But so terrible was the position that men were only kept for short periods in the trenches. Through these rapid changes was the sting gradually drawn from the Turkish attacks. But it took five days to extract, and in that time many deeds of priceless heroism, devotion, and sacrifice were performed by men whose names will ever be associated with that fighting. I can name but a few of them. There was Captain Shout, 1st Battalion, who could throw two bombs, and even three, in quick succession. Having charged down one of the innumerable Turkish trenches, he endeavoured to dislodge the enemy from the other end of a sap. Reckless of his life, he hurled the missiles as if they had been so many cricket balls. He killed eight Turks before he was himself killed by a bomb. Lieutenant Symons led a charge and retook a portion of an isolated sap that the Turks had occupied. It happened at 5 a.m. on the morning of the 9th. Six officers of ours had been killed or wounded in that trench. With an extraordinary courage, Lieutenant Symons led a small party down the sap and dislodged the Turks, himself killing many. He then built a sandbag barricade under the very nose of the enemy. A somewhat similar charge was made by Lieutenant Tubb, of the 7th, backed by Corporal Burton and Corporal Dunstan, two of his men. All of these men received the Victoria Cross for their bravery. Never before in any hundred square yards of ground have so many honours been won and such wonderful gallantry shown. Men and officers fighting in that inferno seemed to be inspired with unparalleled courage. Private Keysor (1st Battalion) threw back enemy bombs into their own trenches, and, though twice wounded, continued till the end of the engagement to act as bomb-thrower wherever there was need. Private Hamilton (1st Battalion) on the 9th sat calmly on the parados, thereby getting fire to bear on the enemy. He rallied his comrades, and they drove back the enemy. Major Sasse (1st Battalion) won distinction by charging at the head of a small body of men down a Turkish sap, and then directing a bomb attack from the parados of the captured trenches. One has only to turn to the stories of the Military Crosses gained, to find how attack was met by counter-attack; how trenches were taken at the bayonet's point during the four days that battle lasted. The men who sold their lives in these herculean efforts to shake off the Turks, numbered nearly 800. Officers made noble examples for their troops. Colonel Scobie, 2nd Battalion, was leading back a small section of his command from an ugly sap from which they were being bombed, when he was killed by a bomb. Colonel Brown, passing the head of one of the many dangerous saps that led to the Turkish position on the other side of the plateau, was shot through the breast and fell dead at the feet of his men. Lone Pine on that second day, when I was through it, presented a spectacle of horror. The dead Australians and Turks lay deep in the trenches. Parapets had partly buried them. It was at the entrance to a tunnel that I saw our lads sitting with fixed bayonets and chatting calmly to one another. There was a horrible odour in the trenches that compelled one to use the smoke helmet for some little relief. At the end of this tunnel, 40 yards away, so one of the men told me, were 30 dead Turks. In through a shell hole that had broken open a Turkish tunnel, and over these dead bodies, a wounded sapper had crawled on the day after the battle from the battlefield above, thereby saving himself from exposure and probable death. How these men had died none exactly knew. A shell may have broken through the tunnel--probably had--and those who had not been killed outright had died of suffocation from the shell fumes. It became necessary now to fill in the end of the tunnel, to prevent any entry by the enemy as much as to safeguard the health of our men. The thousands of rifles, broken belts, scattered cartridges, clothing of all descriptions that were to be seen belonging to either side were being collected in order to make the way clear. One realized that there must be days before the trenches could become normal again. For all the time, simultaneously with the relief of the wounded, existed the need for the protection of the fighting troops, the changing over of the parapets, the filling of sandbags to pile up the traverses, the erection of the overhead cover. All that involved a horrible waste of men--the ruin of scores of lives--in the accomplishment. Yet never must it be forgotten that the enemy was driven from what might well have been considered an impregnable position, had been shaken, had lost five to every one of our troops. As I walked down the trenches it was impossible to avoid the fallen men lying all around. They lay on the parapets and their blackened hands hung down over our path. While this bombing continued it was no use trying to clear the way. Amidst the horribleness of the dead, the men fought and lived. They fought, too, knowing that behind the ramparts that protected them, must lie their comrades. It was the most touching sight in the world to see units that had won the fight being withdrawn on the second day. Perhaps only a few hundred came back. They were covered with blood; they were unrecognizable in the dirt that had been scattered over them; they were lean and haggard from want of sleep. But they bore themselves without the least touch of fatigue as they passed by British troops working behind the lines. They had in their demeanour that which showed a confidence in something accomplished and a pride in a victory won. They acknowledged modestly the tribute of those who had known the fury of battle--who had seen the charge. As they came out of the tunnel which led from the firing-line there were comrades who waited to grip their hands. For news travels in a curious manner from trench to trench of a comrade hit, wounded, or one whose life has gone. You hear it soon even down on the beach. And amidst these brave men and those waiting to take their turn at defending, the dead bodies of the enemy were drawn, to be buried in a great pile on a hill slope. The tracks of the canvas shroud showed in the loose earth, the air polluted by the stench of the passing corpse. Not far away was a heap of Turkish equipment, 30 feet high, piled up, waiting sorting, which had been taken from the trenches. Of Turkish rifles we had enough for a battalion. Already I had seen a party of our men in the trenches handling with a certain satisfaction, and no little rapidity, the captured machine guns, which, with the ammunition also captured, gave us a splendid opportunity of turning the enemy's weapons on himself. The spoils of victory were very sweet to these men. I have referred more than once to the bravery of the Turkish soldier. The fight he put up on these Lone Pine trenches would be enough to establish that reputation for him were there not other deeds to his credit. Not that that diminishes one degree the glory of the achievement of our arms. The fury of the fire of shot and shell was enough to have dismayed any troops. The Australians went through that with heads bent, like men going through a fierce pelting rain. Taken all round, the Turks are by no means an army of poor physique. They may not be as well clad as our troops, but they looked healthy and well fed. A sergeant, a fine-built man, standing nearly 6 feet, who had served in the Balkan War and also the gendarmerie, when captured, accepted his fate, but showed no signs of relief that he was to be led away captive. If anything, his tone suggested that he would have liked to have gone on fighting. In this attitude he was different from the large majority of the prisoners. He never expected an attack, and the first thing that was known in the enemy trenches was a shout from the look-out. He had at once rushed to get his men out of the tunnel to line the fire-trenches, but before he could reach a position the "English," as the sergeant persisted in calling our troops, had arrived, and were jumping down on top of them. He believed that all his officers had been killed. It was Kismet, the will of Allah, that he should be taken. After the constant boom of the guns, the tearing whistle of the shells overhead day and night, distant and near, the cracking of rifles for five days and nights, the morning of the sixth day broke so calm that the bursting of a shell on the beach broke a kind of peaceful meditation. The troops began to ask one another what had happened or was happening. If you listened very carefully the soft patter of a machine gun came from the distant hills across at Suvla Bay. The battle was evidently not ended there. That evening (12th August) the quiet of the lines was broken by the appearance, in close proximity to our observation balloon over the shipping in Suvla Bay, of a German aeroplane. As it sailed overhead I could just hear the throbbing of the engine. It was heading south, when from the direction of the Narrows came one of our airmen. He was flying a little lower than the enemy. At first he apparently did not see the hostile machine. There was no mistaking the two types--the enemy, dark in colour, grey, with black crosses painted on the wings, and ours yellow, with red eyes on the wings. Suddenly the British turned directly towards the enemy, which promptly veered and fled towards the Turkish lines at Bogali, dropping behind the ridges. The Turkish aviator thus robbed us of the chance of witnessing a battle in the air. What days of quiet followed the digging of new trenches on the Chunak Bair slopes, after the crest had been won and lost! To complete this battle scene, there remains but to be told the position gained by the 4th Australian Brigade. Its line was spread along the crest of the range of hills practically where I first described them. Along the Asma Dere by hard digging they had secured a position, and from it I had an excellent view of Buyik Anafarta in flames. The warship shells had set it alight. From the extreme right on the plains round Suvla Bay grass fires were burning harmlessly. I watched, too, ambulances drawn by six-horse teams bringing in the British wounded across the dried Salt Lake. The headquarters of the Australian Brigade was on the side of a long, broad gully, which recently had been under cultivation. On my way there I had to pass up the bed of a creek filled with dead mules, which the Turkish shrapnel had slaughtered. I passed New Zealand engineers successfully sinking wells, and line after line of water-carriers. Ahead was a string of ten mules bringing ammunition and supplies. On my left, at the edge of a few acres of cropped land, was a German officers' camp. A well-built hut of branches and mud was concealed from the view of aircraft under the shady branches of a grove of olive-trees. There were several huts like this, with a slit for a window that faced out to the sea. Immediately behind was a hill, on the slope of which were tents and a number of well-made dugouts and tracks, the remains of a considerable Turkish encampment. I followed the telephone line, hung from bush to bush, and then came to some tall scrub, in which the brigade was camped, like a party of railway surveyors in the bush, protected from the sun by bush huts and from bullets by timber taken from the enemy's shelters. As I talked to General Monash bullets pattered against the earth walls, and he opened his case and showed me the collection he was making of the "visitors" that dropped round him as he wrote and directed the working of his command. He was justly proud of the way his men had fought; of the running fight they had won; of their march of miles through unknown country, and the way they had established themselves in the heart of the enemy's stronghold. In the trenches the men showed no sign of fatigue now, having rested for a few days. A much reduced brigade it was, but the men were watching the Turks digging on the hills and waiting their opportunity. Every few minutes would come the clatter of the machine gun from somewhere along the front. The firing-line was only a few hundred yards away, so the Staff was in the midst of the attacks. The firing of our artillery from the hills behind and the presence of our aeroplanes overhead made the men keen and zealous. They were then still ripe for any advance. In the face of such achievements, was it to be wondered that General Hamilton, Lieut.-General Birdwood, Major-General Godley, all wrote of the men who fought these battles in terms of the highest admiration? "Whatever happens," were General Hamilton's words to General Birdwood, "you and your brave army corps have covered yourselves with glory. Make good the crest, and the achievement will rank with Quebec." Yes, it ranked alongside any of the fighting in history. It had been in turn trench fighting, bayonet charges, and fighting in the open, and everywhere the overseas troops had won. But at what cost! At Lone Pine the casualties were 2,300 killed and wounded men. From the captured trenches there were dragged 1,000 killed, Australians and Turks. They were buried in the cemetery on the side of the hill in Brown's Dip. The Army Corps in four days had lost 12,000 men killed and wounded. The British casualties on the Anzac section were 6,000 out of 10,000 troops engaged. In all 18,000 casualties for a gain of 2 miles and a position on, but not the crest of, the ridge. I have omitted the casualties of the fighting at Suvla Bay. And the Turks! Their losses? It must be one of the satisfactions of the splendid failure that they lost nearly three to our one. Over 1,000 of the enemy perished at Lone Pine. On the 10th I saw them lying in heaps of hundreds on the bloody slopes of Chunak Bair. We had captured in all about 700 prisoners, and much material and equipment. Thousands of Turkish rifles were removed from Lone Pine, and hundreds of thousands rounds of ammunition. We took seven of their machine guns and belts of ammunition, and turned them against their own army. One hundred and thirty prisoners were taken in that section. General Monash captured over a hundred prisoners, including officers, great quantities of big gun ammunition (including fifty cases of "75" ammunition, near where the Turks had their French gun), thousands of rounds of rifle ammunition, quantities of stores. The New Zealanders took in the first attack on Old No. 3 Post 125 prisoners and some machine guns, and also a nordenfeldt. As the fighting extended to the left, further plants of ammunition were discovered in the valley. Anzac was enlarged from barely 300 acres to about 8 square miles. A base for twenty operations was gained at Suvla Bay, and though the passage along the beach to Anzac was still a hazardous one, to the joy of many Australian dispatch riders, it provided a race through a hail of bullets along that zone. If devotion and heroism could make success, then the Army Corps had indeed covered itself with glory. But it had very substantial deeds to its credit as well. It had fought, adding fresh laurels to those won in its first fight at the landing. Weakened, worn, but by no means disheartened, it was strengthened after 20th August by the arrival of the 2nd Australian Division from Egypt, under Major-General Legge, which enabled respite from trench warfare to be enjoyed by the veteran brigades. Except for the fighting on the extreme left of our Army Corps line, where the Australians linked with the Suvla Bay forces across the Chocolate Hills, the weeks after the great battles at Anzac were calm. It was only a calm that precedes a storm. CHAPTER XXVI HILL 60, GALLIPOLI In the days immediately following the halting of the 4th Infantry Brigade in the Asma Dere, it would have been possible to have walked on to the top of the steep knoll marked "Hill 60" on the maps. From the ridge that the Australians then occupied there was only a small ridge in between, and a cornfield joining a valley not many yards across. Then came the hill--not, perhaps, as famous as Hill 60 in France, nor even as bloodstained, but one that cost over 1,000 men to take--that commanded the broad plain spread inland to the town of Bujik Anafarta. A mile and a half to the north across the plain were the "W." hills, the end spur of which, nearest the sea, Chocolate Hills, the British by this time held. Hill 60 was necessary to our plans in order to link up securely the position and give us command of the plain, on which were a number of fine wells. On the 21st August, when the first attack was made, the hill and the ridge which joined it, were strongly held by the enemy. A day attack had been determined on, following a fierce bombardment. Owing to a sudden change of plans to a general attack, the bombardment failed; it was not as intense as was intended, and in consequence the preparation for the attacking lines was inadequate. At two o'clock the guns commenced, not only to shell Hill 60, but all along the Turkish front on the plain. For an hour scores of guns shook the earth with the concussion of the shells. Then the British advance began--yeomanry and the imperishable 29th Division. [Illustration: _REFERENCE_ _Communication Trench dug by 4th Brigade on night of 21 August_ _HILL 60 GALLIPOLI_ _FINALLY CAPTURED ON 28th August 1915_] Now, in this larger plan, Hill 60 was only an incident, but an important one for the Australians. General Birdwood had placed Major-General Cox in command of a force consisting of two battalions of New Zealand Mounted Rifles, two battalions of the 29th Irish Brigade, the 4th South Wales Borderers, the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade, and the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade. The Indians seized the well, Kabak Kuyu, after some stiff fighting on the plain. This left the way for the Maoris and Connaught Rangers and the battalions of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles to storm the hill from the west and the south-west, while the 4th Australian Brigade (reduced now to scarcely 1,500 men) was to advance from the southern section of the ridge, which it held. Between the trenches from which the New Zealanders and Connaught Rangers had to advance was a small spur, an offshoot of the main ridge. Over this the force had to charge before they dipped down again into a gully that led round the foot of the redoubt. As the men swept over this hill (or round the flank of it) they came under the fire of the Turkish machine guns. Very few men reached the foot of the redoubt, where they found protection, by reason of the very steepness of the ground, from the stream of lead from the enemy trenches circling this Hill 60. Some of the New Zealanders worked round the end of the spur, charged across the 100 yards of open ground to the foot of the knoll also, and so into the communication trenches of the Turks. Trench fighting of desperate character continued till nightfall. The second lines that were sent to support the attacking force, faced the rapid volleys from the Turkish guns on the ridge, firing down into the valley. The 13th Battalion, under Major Herring, and the 14th, under Major Dare, not 500 men in all, had been reduced to not more than 300 men by the time they had advanced a short distance up the slope and taken the first line of Turkish trenches. To them there was only one consolation: they could not be fired on where they were, tucked under the side of the Turks' own hill. But they could not get word back or find a means of communication, other than over the fearful bullet-swept slope that lay behind them. Messengers indeed were sent. One managed to dodge up the many folds in the hillside, chased by the machine guns. As he reached the skyline and our trench, he cried "I have a mess--" but he got no further: a Turkish bullet struck him, and he fell, dead, into the trench amongst his comrades. Snipers rendered the situation worse. A bush fire broke out amongst the holly-bushes on the hillside, covered with the dead and wounded. No reinforcements came through till ten o'clock next morning, when a communication trench had been dug down from the ridge, which the 4th Brigade held, prolonging the line to the north. That night was one of horror for the Australians and New Zealanders clinging to the base of the knoll. The dying men on the exposed slope of the hill were heard calling to their comrades. Many were the brave deeds performed in bringing men to safety. Captain Loughran, the medical officer of the 14th Battalion, brought in with his stretcher-bearers eight men. Yet the following morning, wounded still lay amongst the bushes, and as the fire swept up the hill, they crept out, only to be killed by Turkish bullets. One man was seen working his way on his back up a depression, the bullets flicking the earth round him, and--delirious probably--as they missed, so he slowly waved his hand back and forth. Finally the Turks turned a machine gun on him, and he lay still. The padre of the 14th Battalion, Chaplain A. Gillison, sacrificed his life in bringing the wounded from off that horrible hill. He was waiting to read the burial service over some men that had been brought in to be buried. Suddenly came a cry from over the hill, and with two stretcher-bearers--noble heroes always--he went out, creeping towards the British soldier, who was being worried by ants. Just as he had started to drag the wounded man back to safety he was shot through the spine. He died at the beach clearing station. Chaplain Grant, with the New Zealand forces, also went in search of a wounded man along a trench on the hillside. In the maze of trenches at the foot of the redoubt he took the wrong turning. As the brave chaplain turned an angle (voices had been heard ahead) a Turkish bullet struck him and he fell forward. Thus, on the 22nd, the main Australian position was still 150 yards away down the back of the ridge to the north, while the New Zealanders held a small section of the trenches on the western side of the knoll. The Indians had been linked up with the British Suvla Bay army by the 18th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel A. E. Chapman, the first of the new Australian battalions of the 2nd Division to go into the fight. That battalion was set the task, on the morning of the 22nd, of charging a section of the trenches on the upper slopes of the knoll, so as to relieve the desperate position of the New Zealanders clinging to the trenches on the side of the hill. But when they had swept clear a Turkish communication trench, they found themselves enfiladed by the enemy's rifles. A strong bomb attack at 10 a.m. shattered their ranks and drove them to the New Zealand line, where they stuck. So the position was only slightly improved to what it had been the previous evening, for there was now a linked line round the base of Kaijak Aghala, Hill 60. The Australasians had won about 150 yards of trench, while the 4th Brigade, still occupying the upper slopes, had already inflicted severe losses on the enemy, who were feverishly entrenching the top of the hill, turning it into a strong redoubt, and opening up new communication trenches. In all the operations at and round this hill the Australians had been able to terribly harass the Turks, and machine guns had caught the enemy in the open when they were attempting to dig out into the plain. The gunners let the Turks go forward with their picks and shovels and entrenching tools, and then commenced to "stir them up," and, as they returned, played a machine gun on them. But the enemy made good progress in strengthening the redoubt on this knoll in the four days that elapsed before the hill was finally carried. There was no question that the first bombardment had failed to smash the trenches. General Cox, in spite of the first failure to attain the intended objective, still favoured a day attack, following on an intense bombardment. And in the closing days of August he had his way, and then began the second battle for possession of the important Hill 60. Major-General Cox was given by General Birdwood detachments of the 4th and 5th Australian Brigades, the New Zealand Mounted Rifle Brigade, and the 5th Connaught Rangers. The advance was to take place at 5 p.m. on the 27th. While the 4th Brigade was reduced to about 1,200 men, the 5th Brigade, just landed, was still some 3,500 strong, but only 1,000 men could be spared for the attack. The remainder of the command must have numbered over 2,000 men; in all, perhaps, 3,000 men. Never, it has been declared, was there such a bombardment witnessed at Anzac as that concentrated on the Turkish position from four o'clock on the afternoon of the 27th till an hour later, when the attack began. It could be seen that the trenches were smashed and levelled, and many of the Turks slunk away, but were caught by our snipers and machine gunners from the right of the position, where the crest of the ridges commanded the communication to the hill. The main attack developed on the trench that led up the ridge to the crest on the south-east. The Auckland and Canterbury Mounted Rifles formed the first line of attack, Otago and Wellington the second, and the 16th Battalion, under Lieut.-Colonel Chapman, the third. The right was still left to the 4th Brigade. On the left, adjoining the plain, were the Connaught Rangers. The attack was the most gallant affair. It was all over in very few minutes. The Turks were stunned and paralysed by the terribleness of the bombardment, and the New Zealanders, though they met with severe fire, rapidly reached the trenches with a cheer and bayoneted the enemy that remained. They found sufficient evidence here of the effect of the high-explosive shells, for the trenches were choked with dead. On the extreme left the Connaughts had, with remarkable dash, gained a footing in the trenches from which the 18th Battalion had been driven with such heavy loss on the 22nd. But in the bomb battle that ensued till midnight they were pushed back, and the Turks retained their wedge. The 9th Light Horse at eleven o'clock, led by Colonel Reynell, charged gallantly on to the top of the hill into the heart of the Turkish position, in an endeavour to reach their communication trench, but failed to gain their objective. The Colonel was killed, and his men were bombed back until they were forced on to the New Zealand lines. Nevertheless, the hill was for the most part in our hands; there remained but the Turkish wedge driven in, with Australian and British troops on either side of the hill. The 4th Brigade meanwhile had launched 300 men, with some of the 17th Battalion, against the trench running back along the spur, as these other violent attacks succeeded. Captain Connolly led the first of that line. He, with all other officers in the charge, was wounded, and his men were once more forced back to a line of trenches which continued the New Zealand flank round the north-east of the hill, just on the crest. All next day the Turks made desperate efforts to dislodge the New Zealand line, but without effect. At 1 o'clock on the morning of the 29th, the 10th Light Horse--part of the regiment that had stormed the Nek at dawn on the 7th August--took the remaining sector of the trenches in one gallant dash and cut the Turkish wedge. They entered the redoubt in the crown of the hill. It was filled with the Turkish dead, who had bravely sold their lives in its last defence. In this way was the famous Gallipoli Hill 60 captured by Britons and Australasians. It was the last of the great offensives planned at Anzac. Over 1,000 men were killed or wounded in the engagement. But the Turks lost five times that number. Our gain was an important strategic point, whereby we could command the plain and the enemy lines of communications. Three machine guns and some prisoners were taken, together with 300 rifles and ammunition and bombs. The line with the Suvla Bay army was straightened, and more ground added to the land that the gallant Anzac troops had won early in the month. But by now the old army was weakening with disease. Dysentery had reduced the numbers in the last weeks even more than the fighting. So the whole of the 1st Australian Division was withdrawn, and the 2nd Division filled their places. It was not a swift movement, but one carried out gradually, battalion by battalion (200 or 300 men only in each) leaving the firing-line to their new and zealous comrades. At length the New Zealand and Australian Division was relieved, and the whole of these brave men--but how small a proportion of the original Army Corps!--who had never left the fighting zone since the day they landed, found themselves at Mudros, free from the nervous strain of watching for bombs, bullets, and shells. They were tended and properly fed. They were praised for their glorious deeds and feats of arms. [Illustration: A GERMAN OFFICER'S DUGOUT FOUND BELOW THE RIDGE HELD BY THE 4TH INFANTRY BRIGADE ON 7TH AUGUST. The advance had just come to a standstill when the photograph was taken, and the troops were still digging on the crest of the hill. Headquarters Staff assembled at the foot of the olive-tree. Much shell and valuable papers were discovered here.] CHAPTER XXVII THE EVACUATION OF THE PENINSULA While the days dragged slowly by on the Anzac front, and the armies had been brought to a standstill at Suvla Bay, events at the seat of the Allies' War Council were moving rapidly. After the last fight and the failure of the great adventure, General Hamilton estimated his force at 95,000 men. He was 45,000 men below his normal strength for the units he held. Sickness was wasting his army at an alarming rate. He cabled to the War Office for more reinforcements, pointing out that the enemy against him was 110,000. They were all fine fighters, brought up from the best regiments that had been employed against the Russians. General Hamilton writes:-- I urged that if the campaign was to be brought to a quick victorious decision larger reinforcements must at once be sent out. Autumn, I pointed out, was already upon us, and there was not a moment to be lost. At that time (16th August), my British Divisions alone were 45,000 under establishment, and some of my fine battalions had dwindled down so far that I had to withdraw them from the fighting-line. Our most vital need was the replenishment of these sadly depleted ranks. When that was done I wanted 50,000 fresh rifles. From what I knew of the Turkish situation, both in its local and general aspect, it seemed, humanly speaking, a certainty that if this help could be sent me at once, we could clear a passage for our fleet to Constantinople. It may be judged, then, how deep was my disappointment when I learnt that the essential drafts, reinforcements, and munitions could not be sent me, the reason given being one which prevented me from any further insistence. What could the Commander-in-Chief do under such circumstances? He might have resigned; that was not his temperament. He would fight to a finish. What troops remained in Egypt were reorganized, and the attack, as soon as possible, began again on the Suvla Bay front. All was in vain. By September the whole Gallipoli front had settled down to trench warfare, and a winter campaign seemed inevitable. Meanwhile events on the Balkan frontier were hastening the Turkish plans. Additional troops were available for service on the peninsula with the Bulgarian frontier free, and that nation joined to the Central Powers. The failure of the Allies to save Serbia was of enormous significance to Turkey. It meant the prolongation of her sickness, for it left the way free from Germany to Constantinople. Big-gun ammunition, which the Turks had undoubtedly always conserved, began to flow in freely from Austrian and German works, across the Danube through Bulgaria. Then the Turks, finding, too, that the attacks on Achi Baba were never likely to be renewed in any great force, and that the Allied forces left there were comparatively weak, removed numbers of their heavy artillery batteries to the Anzac position and began again with renewed fury to enfilade the beach. The Olive Grove guns and the batteries from Mai Tepe thundered their shells on the Anzac slopes; at Suvla Bay the plain was swept with Turkish shrapnel. Though the weather remained fine and the Allies continued to land stores and munitions with ease, the Navy let it be understood that after the 28th October they would guarantee no further regular communications. All September was wasted by the British Cabinet deliberating on the wisdom of continuing the Gallipoli campaign, a far longer time than it had taken to embark on the enterprise at the very beginning of the year. During that month sickness further wasted the army. By the 11th October the Cabinet came to a decision. They asked General Hamilton the cost of lives that would be involved in withdrawing from Gallipoli. Fine soldier that he is, the Commander-in-Chief refused to entertain the idea; whereupon he was recalled to London for the official reason "that a fresh and unbiased opinion from a responsible commander might be given upon an early evacuation." General Hamilton's departure was a matter of the keenest regret to the Australian troops. They had often met him in the saps at Anzac, and his tall, commanding figure was well known by all on the beach. It had been the custom for various battalions and regiments to supply guards for his headquarters, situated at Imbros on the south of Kephalos Bay, and on many occasions he had inspected and complimented them on their bearing. His farewell order to the troops, and, later, the concluding words of his last report, show the affection he held for his men whom he has described as "magnificent." He left the Dardanelles on the 17th October on a warship bound for Marseilles. General Sir Charles Monro, one of the ablest of the new British leaders, and a man who had come to the front since the beginning of the war, was chosen to succeed General Hamilton. It must be presumed that even his unbiased report evidently left the matter in doubt. The casualties of evacuation were put down at probably 20 per cent. of the force, or even higher--20,000 men. Thereupon Lord Kitchener himself determined to visit the Levant and thoroughly investigate the situation. There were more reasons than the approach of winter and the drain on the reserves of the army, the munitions, and maintenance of lines of communication, that necessitated some very vital alteration in the action and attitude of the Allies in the Levant and Mesopotamia. Greece was wavering. There was distinctly a pro-German feeling amongst the Greek population and a widespread German propaganda on lines that ended so successfully with Bulgaria a few months before. The Serbian Army was shattered before the landing of the Allies at Salonika could prevent the free passage to Turkey of everything that the sorely harassed and depleted Ottoman Army needed. In Egypt, British prestige was at a low ebb. There were already signs of revolt on the western frontier, where the Senussi had been organized by Enver Pasha's brother. A further attack on the Canal was threatening, while the campaign in Mesopotamia looked far from reassuring. Egypt was a vast arsenal and rapidly becoming an armed camp. The strain on the transport service and lines of communication was rapidly growing acute--in fact, the position that faced the Allies was that by some means or other their energies would have to be narrowed. Anzac, Helles, Salonika, Egypt, and Mesopotamia all needed regular supplies throughout the severe winter months, and these had to be transported by sea. Yet the submarine peril had grown more menacing, three or four ships being sunk daily, despite the greatest vigilance of the fleet. Even the Greeks were engaged in helping these under-water craft in their endeavours to starve out the armies of the Allies. It seemed obvious one or several of the fronts had to be abandoned, or else the Gallipoli offensive completed rapidly. For Egypt had to be kept safe at all costs: so had the army in Mesopotamia, guarding the Persian oilfields. To release a grip on the Eastern theatre of Europe at Salonika would mean perhaps that the Greeks would go over to the Central Powers. There was no alternative, once the necessary forces were denied to General Hamilton to end the task which I have endeavoured to show was so near successful completion, but that the work of evacuating Gallipoli should be attempted. It was a hazardous undertaking. Lord Kitchener's visit to the Anzac battlefields was regarded as a great compliment by the troops. So bad had become the Turkish shelling of the Anzac Cove that it was not without the greatest anxiety that the leaders watched the landing of the Minister for War. Accompanying him were General Maxwell from Egypt and General Birdwood. Though the time of arrival had been kept as secret as possible, the news spread like lightning over Anzac. Lord Kitchener went straight to Russell's Top, a climb of twenty minutes up a roughly hewn artillery road, from which he could overlook the whole of the Anzac position, across the mass of huddled foothills at Suvla Bay. He chatted to the many men and officers. "The King has asked me," he said to various parties he met, "to tell you how splendidly he thinks you have done. You have indeed done excellently well; better even than I thought you would." He was astonished at the positions won. Lord Kitchener went right through the trenches on the Nek; he saw every important position and over thirty leaders. As he returned to the beach the troops cheered lustily. The hillside had suddenly, on this wild afternoon of November, grown animated. On the beach--it was only three hours later--he turned to Colonel Howse, as he had turned to others, and asked if he wanted anything done. Colonel Howse promptly brought a number of matters regarding the medical arrangements forward. "I think I can promise you your first and your second request," the great War Lord assured him, "and we will see about the third." It is curious to note that not a shell was fired at the departing launch or the destroyer as it steamed swiftly away. Lord Kitchener left no one long in doubt of his impressions of the Australasians and the position they had made. A man not prone to superlatives, he spoke then, and since, in the highest terms of the valour of the deeds that won those Anzac heights. In a special Army Corps order General Birdwood wrote:-- Zealand Army Corps a message which he was specially entrusted by the King to bring to our army corps. His Majesty commanded Lord Kitchener to express his high appreciation of the gallant and unflinching conduct of our men throughout the fighting, which has been as hard as any yet seen during the war, and wishes to express his complete confidence in the determination and fighting qualities of our men to assist in carrying this war to an entirely successful termination. The order proceeds:-- Lord Kitchener has ordered me to express to all the very great pleasure it gave him to have the opportunity, which he considered a privilege, of visiting "Anzac," to see for himself some of the wonderfully good work which has been done by the officers and men of our army corps, as it was not until he had himself seen the positions we captured and held that he was able to fully realize the magnitude of the work which has been accomplished. Lord Kitchener much regretted that time did not permit of his seeing the whole corps, but he was very pleased to see a considerable proportion of officers and men, and to find all in such good heart and so confidently imbued with that grand spirit which has carried them through all their trials and many dangerous feats of arms--a spirit which he is quite confident they will maintain until they have taken their full share in completely overthrowing their enemies. "Boys," General Birdwood adds in his characteristic way, "we may all well be proud to receive such a message, and it is up to all of us to live up to it and prove its truth." The story of the last three months at Anzac may be swiftly told. It was a struggle during September and October to prepare for the coming winter months. Quantities of wooden beams, and sheet-iron, and winter equipment began to pour into Anzac. Preparations were made for the removal of the hospitals and clearing stations from the beach and from the beds of the creeks, to higher ground. For the weather could no longer be depended on, and the narrowness of the beach rendered it imperative that all the stores should be moved, as the waves would lash against the foot of the cliffs in the sudden storms that arise in the �gean--storms that are the mariner's constant anxiety. Then at the end of October the activity suddenly was modified. The question of evacuation had brought a new commander and Lord Kitchener to this front. A winter campaign was in abeyance. Engineers used to tell me that they did not see where the wood was coming from to shore up the trenches against the rains, and that they would all be washed down into the gullies at the first storm. The Australians had only a few days' experience of wet weather, and not very heavy showers at that, in April, when they had landed; but Turkish farmers captured told what might be expected. Ever ingenious, the troops commenced collecting tins, and anything that would keep their "possies" and dugouts dry. In some places great caverns were dug into the side of hills by the battalions of the 2nd Division, where they might be protected from the storms and from the severest shelling. General Monash had planned for the 4th Brigade a huge barracks on the side of Cheshire Ridge--a wonderful piece of engineering. The weather, though still fine, had become decidedly colder. At night the wind was biting, and rain early in November, gave a taste of what the conditions were to be like at Christmas-time. Saps were running with water; the soft, clayey mud clung in clods to the men's boots. The 1st Division and the Australian and New Zealand Divisions came back gradually from the rest camp at Mudros--the men fit again now, but the battalions still below strength in point of numbers. Hostilities had been confined almost entirely to mining operations along the whole of the front. Mines and countermines were exploded. In some places--particularly at Quinn's Post--the tunnels had met, and an underground battle had ensued. Once we had reconnoitred a whole Turkish gallery, and found the sentries nodding at their posts with the guard in a tunnel, arguing and chattering away in a rapid, unintelligible tongue. These operations were not always accomplished without loss and severe casualties. Fumes overcame a large party near Lone Pine, and many lives were lost, some in the efforts to rescue those who had been suffocated in the mine tunnel. In one instance the Turks exploded a mine that trapped some sappers in a tunnel. After three days the men dug themselves out, and appeared before their astonished and delighted friends over the parapets of our trenches. From one end of the position to the other, right in the heart of the Turkish hills below the famous Sari Bair ridge, infantry and engineers dug down under the Turkish trenches. I remember talking to Lieut.-Colonel Martyn, of the Divisional Engineers, about his plans. He was considering the possibility of going down 40 feet, tunnelling right through the hill at German Officers' Trench, and in one great effort breaking through in the rear of the Turkish position. If they went deep enough there seemed little likelihood of the Turks hearing the picking and tapping. Whatever may have been the eventual plan, the end of November and the first week of December saw most of the energies of the men engaged in making storm shelters for themselves. That period was one fraught with misfortune for the troops. Whether the Turkish reconnaissance on the 27th November was intended as a mere bluff, or whether the Turks were anxious to discover if an offensive was in preparation by us, they attacked in thin lines all along the Anzac position. They were driven back with severe loss, and hardly a man reached our parapets. On the 29th November the Turks commenced a terrible bombardment with heavy howitzers--8, 9, and 10-in. pieces--of the Lone Pine trenches, which were pounded and flattened. A series of mines were exploded under them, and we had to evacuate portions of this dearly held post. But the Turks dared make no fresh attack. Our casualties were heavy. The day previously a snowstorm had swept down on the north wind that wrought havoc with the shipping in the Cove. Pinnaces broke from their moorings and barges went ashore and were smashed. How wonderful the hills on the morning of the 29th, covered with a snow mantle, which astonished the Australians, the great majority of whom were experiencing their first snowstorm! Icicles hung from the trenches--the sentries stamped up and down. The wind howled down the gullies, that were soon turned into morasses; the trenches were ankle-deep in mud. For three days the frost continued, but the troops were in good spirits and fairly comfortable. Many of the men suffered frost-bite, but on the third day of December the sun shone and the conditions had materially improved. And now, in this strange eventful story comes the last stage of all. Though the decision for the evacuation was taken in November, the troops guessed nothing of it even up to a week before it took place. They had no realization that the series of very quiet evenings, when scarcely a shot was fired along the whole of the 5-mile front that Anzac now comprised, had in them any definite end. It was all part of the plan conceived by General Birdwood (now commanding the whole Gallipoli forces in place of General Monro) for beginning the education of the Turks to our leaving. But the main proposition to be faced was how to remove 200 guns and hundreds of tons of stores, equipment, and munitions and men, and keep up a semblance of normal activity of throwing supplies into Anzac. Cloudy skies and a first-phase moon helped at night, when the guns were stealthily drawn from their covered pits. There was no unusual gathering of transports by day, though the waters at night might resemble the days of the early landing, when the pinnaces and trawlers had crowded inshore with tows. The tows they removed now contained arms and munitions. More often they contained men declared not absolutely fit. It was often remarked in the trenches, as December began, that it was an easy matter now to get a spell. The very slightest sickness was sufficient excuse to send men to the beach, from whence all the serious cases had long ago been removed, and so to the transports or hospital ships, as the case might be. Yet during the day, when Turkish aeroplanes hung menacingly over the position, observers might have seen bodies of men marching up the tortuous sap to the trenches. There was more indication of permanency, even of attack, than of evacuation. So on the 10th December there was left at Anzac barely 20,000 men--very fit, very sound, and very determined men. It wanted nine days to the day of evacuation. Still there was no hint that any unusual step was anticipated. Some regiments were removed for special duty--they anticipated another fight, even a new landing. They left by night. They arrived at dawn at Mudros, safe from the firing-line and Anzac for ever. The greater part of the army service, engineer, and hospital units had left with their equipment. They came down the deep saps from the south and from the north, right from under those hills from the crest of which the Turks could look down almost to the heart of our position. No longer could we hope to make a firm resistance to the Turkish attack, which it had been hoped would develop in November. Rearguard actions were contemplated and evolved, to resist any onslaught. On the beach the heavy ammunition was being loaded on to lighters. All except nine worn guns had gone. Two were left still, almost in the firing-line, where they had been from the first. Quantities of stores and equipment were destroyed on the 16th and 17th rather than they should fall into the hands of the Turks. The "archives" of the brigades and divisions had been removed too, for some time. The administrative dugouts were bare of books, typewriters, and correspondence. Final orders had been issued. It was now only a question of supervision and Staff work to get the men away. And what Staff work it was on the part of General Birdwood to remove that whole army of 40,000 men (I include those troops brought out of the trenches early in December) from such a perilous position! One may write in terms of the highest praise of the demeanour and discipline of the men in those last days, but it is to the leaders that must fall inevitably the greatest praise--the leaders of the army and the leaders of the men: men such as Brigadier-General White, the Chief of Staff to General Birdwood, Brigadier-Generals Antill, Monash, Johnston, Forsyth, and Holmes, who worked on the beach till the very last. Thousands of men were removed from Anzac during the night of the 18th. They came down rapidly through the gullies, silently, and with empty magazines. They embarked swiftly, according to a carefully adjusted timetable. By morning the sea was calm and passive. A sudden storm was the one thing now which might yet cause havoc to the plans. It was during this last day that the situation was so tense. Turkish observers might, one thought, have easily detected the thinly held lines and the diminished stores on shore. The enemy remained in utter ignorance. They would have seen--as the gunners surely saw from their observation positions on Gaba Tepe and Kelid Bahr--parties of Australians ("smoking parties," as they were called) idling about in saps and on exposed hills, meant to attract the fire of the Turkish guns; for "Beachy Bill" could never resist what the troops called "a smile" at parties on the beach. The destruction of stores continued. To the enemy, Anzac firing-line was normal that day. At dusk on the 19th began the final phase of this delicate and extraordinary operation. A force of 6,000 men were holding back 50,000 Turkish troops. The communications at Anzac were like a fan: they all led out from the little Cove in the very centre of the position. They went as far as 3 miles on the left (the north), and half that distance to Chatham's Post on the right (the south), almost to Gaba Tepe. In the centre they were short and very steep. They led up to the Nek and to Russell's Top and to Quinn's Post. From these points the Turks could have looked down into the heart of our position. If that heart were to pulse on steadily until suddenly it stopped altogether, it must be protected till the last. Therefore the flanks of the position were evacuated first. From the Nek to the beach it was a descent of some 500 yards--a descent that might be accomplished in ten minutes. It was the head of our second line of defence that had been so hastily drawn up in the early days. There was now the last stand to be made. Three columns, A, B, and C, held the Anzac line; 2,000 picked men in each, and the whole unit chosen men from infantry battalions and regiments of Light Horse. The last were the "die hards." Darkness spread rapidly after five o'clock over the front hills, wrapping them in gloom. The sea was still calm. Clouds drifted across the face of the moon, half-hidden in mist. Already men were leaving the outskirts of our line. They would take hours to reach the beach, there joining up with other units come from the centre, and closer positions to the shore. They marched with magazines empty: they had not even bayonets fixed. They might not smoke or speak. They filed away, Indian fashion, through the hills into the big sap, on to the northern piers on Ocean Beach. Their moving forms were clearly distinguishable in the glimmer from the crescent moon. The hills looked sullen and black. No beacon lights from dugouts burned. That first column began to leave Anzac shore at eight o'clock on the transports that were swiftly gliding from the shore. Another two hours and some thousands of men had gone. Parties of the 3rd Light Horse Brigade had left Destroyer Hill; most of the 1st Light Horse had evacuated No. 1 Post, the 4th Australian Brigade the line on Cheshire Ridge, the New Zealand Mounted Rifles, Yeomanry, and Maoris the famous Hill 60, position. But still small detachments, 150 to 170 in each, belonging to these seasoned regiments and brigades remained at their post, holding quietly the Anzac line. Midnight. The head of the second column reached the Cove and the piers so often shelled. Those on the beach knew that only 2,000 lone men were holding back the enemy along the front. They were in isolated groups: the New Zealand Infantry on the Sari Bair ridge, the 20th Infantry at the Nek, the 17th Infantry at Quinn's, the 23rd and 24th Infantry at Lone Pine, the 6th Light Horse Regiment at Chatham's Post, on the extreme right, down by the shore. On the beach there was no confusion. Units concentrated at fixed points in the gullies. They left at a certain time. They arrived just to the moment, marching hard. They found the Navy ready to clear them to the transports. There must be no hitch: there was none. On either flank could be heard a feeble rifle fire. Overhead came the answering "psing-psing" of the Turkish bullets. At 1.30 began the withdrawal of the "die hards" from the points they were holding with such a terrible peril hanging over them. A bomb burst at "the Apex," on the slopes of Chunak Bair, with a resonant thud, with the rapid answer following from the Turkish rifles. But nothing else happened. What could happen? The New Zealand garrison had gone from this dearly-won ridge, with a parting message left under a stone for the Turks. By two o'clock the small parties of the 19th Infantry at Pope's, the 18th Infantry at Courtney's Post, and the 17th Infantry at Quinn's Post, were still further reduced. A few hundred desperate fighters were hurrying in from the outposts of the line on the left and the right, each firing a shot as they left. The right stole away at 2.30 from Chatham's Post, men of the 6th Light Horse. Still there were "die hards" of the 1st Brigade, and the 7th Battalion next them, in Leane's Trench up to Lone Pine, held by the 23rd and 24th Infantry of the 2nd Division. Here the Turks in their trenches were within 15 feet of them. There were a few score of determined men left at Quinn's Post, a strong party on the Nek, but yet not 800 men in all holding the whole front. Yet our line from end to end was spluttering. Ah! that was through a device whereby the running sand from an emptying bucket, fired an Australian rifle. Swiftly the fate of Anzac was being decided now. All the trenches at Lone Pine were deserted by 3.15 a.m. The garrisons at Quinn's and Pope's Hill--the ever-impregnable post of our centre--were silently, swiftly moving down Monash Gully into Shrapnel Gully, through the sap, and towards the longed-for beach. The Anzac line was contracting rapidly. The moon slid behind some clouds as the party passed the deserted walls and tanks. Empty dugouts gaped like bottomless pits on either side of their path. Suddenly behind on the heights, like a thunderclap, there was a roar, as a vivid flash lit the sky, and tongues of flame rolled along the hills. The whole of the Nek was thus blown up by an immense series of mines. Three and a half tons of Amenol, placed there by the 5th Company of Australian Engineers, were used to throw a barrier across this entrance. The sight, awful in its meaning to the army now embarked, lent speed to the steps of those brave rearguards. From off that same Nek the Australians were rushing down the track to the boats waiting by the piers. The Turkish fire broke forth, growing, swelling in volume, as if a door were suddenly opened on a raging battle. Guns from the warships began to pound the hills. It was not yet four o'clock, but the dawn was creeping in, and with it the Turks to our trenches. Fearful of a trap, they began their exploration of Anzac as the guns of the Navy completed the destruction of our few guns on the beach (that had fired till the end) and on the piers, and swept the ranks of the advancing enemy. Suvla Bay was also evacuated on the same evening, and with the same success, for, as the news broke on an astonished world, it was reported--and will be recorded--as one of the most extraordinary feats of naval and military history, that only three men at Anzac and two at Suvla Bay had been wounded in this astonishing masterpiece of strategy. Before the closing days of the year, the English and French positions at Cape Helles had been abandoned also, and the Gallipoli campaign was brought to a sudden but very deliberate close. I have suggested that there were strong enough reasons for its commencement, and others for its conclusion. As to the failure, it can but be attributed to the lack of men, the lack of reinforcements, the lack of munitions. When and where these armies and reinforcements should have been landed, the campaign shows significantly enough. But in the contemplation of this failure there comes a not unpleasant feeling of achievement, the full significance of which has not yet been recognized, and will not be fully understood till the Turks lay down their arms and sue for peace. The exhaustion of the Turkish nation and its army during that Gallipoli campaign was great, and how near to collapse historians will discover. The new Russian offensive in the Caucasus found it ill prepared to resist. Over 250,000 casualties were suffered by the Turks in the Dardanelles; a great mass of the Turkish mercantile fleet was lost. And still their coast lies as open as ever to invasion, so that large armies are compelled to be kept along it. No one can regard the evacuation (whatever relief it gave to the army) without a tinge of sadness and bitterness at relinquishing positions that had been so dearly won, to the troops engaged most of all. But it stands to the credit of the Australians that they took the situation calmly as it developed. The army made a masterly retreat, after suffering 40,000 casualties, of whom 8,000 had been killed. But the Commonwealth and the Dominion of New Zealand offered fresh battalions to the Motherland as the only sign on the changing of the tide of battle. In one day--25th April--Australia attained Nationhood by the heroism of her noble sons. "Anzac" will ever form the front page in her history, and a unique and vivid chapter in the annals of the Empire. The very vigour of their manhood, the impetuosity of their courage, carried slopes that afterwards in cold blood, seemed impregnable. And they held what they won, and proved themselves an army fit to rank alongside any that a World Empire has produced. But yet in all their fighting there was no bitterness--not against the Turks--but a terrible, earnest fearlessness that boded ill for lurking enemies. They found a staunch and worthy foe, who, whatever their treatment of the people within their own borders was, abstained from the brutalities of the Germans. Above all, the young army won its way into the hearts and confidence of the British Navy and the Indians from so near their own shores. They gained a respect for themselves and for discipline. They formed for the generations of new armies yet unborn on Australian soil, traditions worthy of the hardy, freeborn race living under the cloudless skies of the Southern Cross. Open-hearted, ever generous, true as gold, and hard as steel, Australia's first great volunteer army, and its valorous deeds, will live in history while the world lasts. APPENDIX I DISTINCTIONS FOR GALLANTRY AND SERVICES IN THE FIELD The following awards for services rendered in connection with military operations in the field were made by His Majesty the King to members of the Australian Imperial Force. THE VICTORIA CROSS Captain Alfred John Shout, 1st Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For most conspicuous bravery at Lone Pine trenches, in the Gallipoli Peninsula. On the morning of 9th August 1915, with a very small party, Captain Shout charged down trenches strongly occupied by the enemy, and personally threw four bombs among them, killing eight and routing the remainder. In the afternoon of the same day, from the position gained in the morning, he captured a further length of trench under similar conditions, and continued personally to bomb the enemy at close range under very heavy fire, until he was severely wounded, losing his right hand and left eye. This most gallant officer has since succumbed to his injuries. Lieutenant William John Symons, 7th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For most conspicuous bravery on the night of 8th-9th August 1915, at Lone Pine trenches, in the Gallipoli Peninsula. He was in command of the right section of the newly captured trenches held by his battalion, and repelled several counter-attacks with great coolness. At about 5 a.m. on 9th August a series of determined attacks were made by the enemy on an isolated sap, and six officers were in succession killed or severely wounded, a portion of the sap being lost. Lieutenant Symons then led a charge and retook the lost sap, shooting two Turks with his revolver. The sap was under hostile fire from three sides, and Lieutenant Symons withdrew some 15 yards to a spot where some overhead cover could be obtained, and in the face of heavy fire built up a sand barricade. The enemy succeeded in setting fire to the fascines and woodwork of the head-cover, but Lieutenant Symons extinguished the fire and rebuilt the barricade. His coolness and determination finally compelled the enemy to discontinue their attacks. Lieutenant Frederick Harold Tubb, 7th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty at Lone Pine trenches, in the Gallipoli Peninsula, on 9th August 1915. In the early morning the enemy made a determined counter-attack on the centre of the newly captured trench held by Lieutenant Tubb. They advanced up a sap and blew in a sandbag barricade, leaving only one foot of it standing; but Lieutenant Tubb led his men back, repulsed the enemy, and rebuilt the barricade. Supported by strong bombing parties, the enemy succeeded in twice again blowing in the barricade, but on each occasion Lieutenant Tubb, although wounded in the head and arm, held his ground with the greatest coolness and rebuilt it, and finally succeeded in maintaining his position under very heavy bomb fire. Second Lieutenant Hugo Vivian Hope Throssell, 10th Light Horse Regiment, Australian Imperial Force (Western Australia). For most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty during operations on the Kaiakij Aghala (Hill 60), in the Gallipoli Peninsula, on 29th and 30th August 1915. Although severely wounded in several places during a counter-attack, he refused to leave his post or to obtain medical assistance till all danger was past, when he had his wounds dressed and returned to the firing-line until ordered out of action by the medical officer. By his personal courage and example he kept up the spirits of his party and was largely instrumental in saving the situation at a critical period. No. 384 Corporal Alexander Stewart Burton, 7th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force, and No. 2130 Corporal William Dunstan, 7th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For most conspicuous bravery at Lone Pine trenches, in the Gallipoli Peninsula, on 9th August 1915. In the early morning the enemy made a determined counter-attack on the centre of the newly captured trench held by Lieutenant Tubb, Corporals Burton and Dunstan, and a few men. They advanced up a sap and blew in a sandbag barricade, leaving only one foot of it standing; but Lieutenant Tubb, with the two corporals, repulsed the enemy and rebuilt the barricade. Supported by strong bombing parties, the enemy twice again succeeded in blowing in the barricade, but on each occasion they were repulsed and the barricade rebuilt, although Lieutenant Tubb was wounded in the head and arm, and Corporal Burton was killed by a bomb while most gallantly building up the parapet under a hail of bombs. No. 943 Private John Hamilton, 1st Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For most conspicuous bravery on 9th August 1915, in the Gallipoli Peninsula. During a heavy bomb attack by the enemy on the newly captured position at Lone Pine, Private Hamilton, with utter disregard to personal safety, exposed himself under heavy fire on the parados, in order to secure a better fire position against the enemy's bomb-throwers. His coolness and daring example had an immediate effect. The defence was encouraged and the enemy driven off with heavy loss. No. 465 Lance-Corporal Albert Jacka, 14th Battalion Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For most conspicuous bravery on the night of the 19th-20th May 1915, at "Courtney's Post," Gallipoli Peninsula. Lance-Corporal Jacka, while holding a portion of our trench with four other men, was heavily attacked. When all except himself were killed or wounded, the trench was rushed and occupied by seven Turks. Lance-Corporal Jacka at once most gallantly attacked them single-handed, and killed the whole party, five by rifle fire and two with the bayonet. No. 958 Private Leonard Keysor, 1st Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty at Lone Pine trenches, in the Gallipoli Peninsula. On 7th August 1915 he was in a trench which was being heavily bombed by the enemy. He picked up two live bombs and threw them back at the enemy at great risk to his own life, and continued throwing bombs, although himself wounded, thereby saving a portion of the trench which it was most important to hold. On 8th August, at the same place, Private Keysor successfully bombed the enemy out of a position from which a temporary mastery over his own trench had been obtained, and was again wounded. Although marked for hospital, he declined to leave, and volunteered to throw bombs for another company which had lost its bomb-throwers. He continued to bomb the enemy till the situation was relieved. THE MOST HONOURABLE ORDER OF THE BATH _To be a Knight Commander._ Major-General William Throsby Bridges, _C.M.G._, General Officer Commanding 1st Australian Division (since died of wounds). _To be Additional Members of the Military Division of the Third Class, or Companions._ Colonel (temporary Major-General) H. G. Chauvel, _C.M.G._, Commanding Australian Mounted Division. Colonel (temporary Surgeon-General) Neville Reginald Howse, _V.C._, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, Staff. Colonel (temporary Brigadier-General) the Honourable James Whiteside McCay, 2nd Infantry Brigade. Colonel (temporary Brigadier-General) F. C. Hughes, commanding 3rd Light Horse Brigade. Colonel (temporary Brigadier-General) John Monash, 4th Infantry Brigade. Colonel (temporary Brigadier-General) Joseph John Talbot Hobbs, Commanding Divisional Artillery. Colonel (temporary Brigadier-General) C. B. B. White, _D.S.O._, Chief of Staff, 1st Australian Army Corps. Lieut.-Colonel Harold Pope, 16th Battalion (South and Western Australia). Lieut.-Colonel Richard Edmond Courtney, 14th Battalion (Victoria). Lieut.-Colonel George Jamieson Johnston, 2nd Field Artillery Brigade. Lieut.-Colonel James Harold Cannan, 15th Battalion (Queensland and Tasmania). Lieut.-Colonel Charles Rosenthal, 3rd Field Artillery Brigade. Lieut.-Colonel Granville John Burnage, 13th Battalion (New South Wales). Lieut.-Colonel Ernest Hillier Smith, 12th Battalion (South Australia, Western Australia, Tasmania). THE MOST DISTINGUISHED ORDER OF SAINT MICHAEL AND SAINT GEORGE _To be Additional Members of the Third Class, or Companions._ Colonel the Honourable Joseph Livesley Beeston, Army Medical Corps. Colonel (temporary Brigadier-General) G. de L. Ryrie, Commanding 2nd Light Horse Brigade (New South Wales). Lieut.-Colonel Alfred Joshua Bennett, D.S.O., 1st Battalion (New South Wales). Lieut.-Colonel Henry Gordon Bennett, 6th Battalion (Victoria). Lieut.-Colonel W. E. H. Cass, Commanding 2nd Infantry Battalion. Lieut.-Colonel Sydney Ernest Christian, 1st Field Artillery Brigade. Lieut.-Colonel C. M. Macnaghten, Commanding 4th Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). Lieut.-Colonel Jeremy Taylor Marsh, Divisional Train, Army Service Corps. Lieut.-Colonel T. M. Martin, Commanding 2nd Australian General Hospital. Lieut.-Colonel Robert Heylock Owen, 3rd Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). Lieut.-Colonel David Sydney Wanliss, 5th Infantry Battalion (Victoria). Major (temporary Lieut.-Colonel) D. M. McConaghy, Commanding 3rd Battalion (New South Wales). Major (temporary Lieut.-Colonel) James Campbell Robertson, 9th Battalion (Queensland). Major Alfred Joseph Bessell-Browne, D.S.O., 3rd Field Artillery Brigade. Major Edmund Alfred Drake Brockman, 11th Battalion (Western Australia). Major Giffard Hamilton Macarthur King, 1st Field Artillery Brigade. Major Reginald Lee Rex Rabett, 1st Field Artillery Brigade. Major George Ingram Stevenson, 2nd Field Artillery Brigade. Major J. L. Whitham, Second in Command, of 12th Battalion (South and Western Australia and Tasmania). THE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE ORDER _To be Companions._ Rev. W. E. Dexter (Chaplain 4th Class), 2nd Infantry Brigade (Victoria). Rev. J. Fahey (Chaplain 4th Class), 3rd Infantry Brigade (Queensland, South Australia, Western Australia, and Tasmania). Lieut.-Colonel Walter Ramsay McNicoll, 6th Australian Infantry Battalion (Victoria). On the night of 25th-26th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for repeatedly exhibiting great gallantry and skill in the command of his battalion. Lieut.-Colonel Cyril Brudenell Bingham White, Royal Australian Garrison Artillery, Staff. During the operations near Gaba Tepe on 25th April, 1915, and subsequently for his distinguished service co-ordinating Staff work, and in reorganization after the inevitable dislocation and confusion arising from the first landing operations. He displayed exceptional ability. Major Charles Henry Brand, 3rd Infantry Brigade (Australian Forces). On 25th April 1915, during operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, for conspicuous gallantry and ability in organizing stragglers under heavy fire, and for organizing and leading an attack resulting in the disablement of three of the enemy's guns. Major Brand himself conveyed messages on many occasions under fire during emergencies. Major W. L. H. Burgess, 3rd Field Artillery Brigade. Major James Samuel Denton, 11th Australian Infantry Battalion (Western Australia). During the operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe on the 25th April 1915, for valuable services in obtaining and transmitting information to ships' guns and mountain batteries, and subsequently for holding a trench, with about 20 men, for over six days, repulsing several determined attacks. Major Gus Eberling, 8th Battalion (Victoria). Major James Heane, 4th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 1st May 1915, during the operations near Gaba Tepe, for displaying conspicuous gallantry in leading his company to the support of a small force which, in an isolated trench, was without means of reinforcement, replenishment, or retreat. He attained his object at a heavy sacrifice. Major Herbert William Lloyd, 1st Field Artillery Brigade. Major Francis Maxwell de Frayer Lorenzo, 10th Battalion (South Australia). Major William Owen Mansbridge, 16th Australian Infantry Battalion (Western Australia). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for exceptional gallantry and resource during the first assault, and again on the 2nd and 3rd May during an assault on a difficult position. Major (temporary Lieut.-Colonel) A. M. Martyn, Commanding Officer Engineers, First Australian Division. Major Robert Rankine, 14th Australian Infantry Battalion (Victoria). On the night of 26th-27th April 1915, during operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, for gallantly leading an assault resulting in the capture of a most important post, and subsequently for holding that position against repeated attacks for five days without relief. Major Arthur Borlase Stevens, 2nd Battalion (New South Wales). Major (temporary Lieut.-Colonel) Leslie Edward Tilney, 16th Battalion (South Australia, Western Australia). Captain Arthur Graham Butler, Australian Army Medical Corps (attached 9th Australian Infantry Battalion). During operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe on 25th April 1915 and subsequent dates, for conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in attending wounded under heavy fire, continuously displaying courage of high order. Captain Cecil Arthur Callaghan, 2nd Battery, Australian Field Artillery, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry and ability on 12th July 1915, during an action on the Gallipoli Peninsula. As forward observing officer, he advanced with the first line of infantry and established telephone communication with his battery from the captured hostile trenches. During the day he continued to advance under heavy fire, sending back accurate reports, valuable not only to the guns, but also to the corps staff. Captain Cecil Duncan Sasse, 1st Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry and determination during the attack on Lone Pine, Gallipoli Peninsula, on 6th-7th August 1915, when he led several bayonet charges on trenches occupied by the enemy, resulting in substantial gains. Captain Sasse was wounded three times, but remained on duty. Captain (temporary Major) Alan Humphrey Scott, 4th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry in the attack on Lone Pine, Gallipoli Peninsula, on 6th-7th August 1915. He held on to a very exposed position till all the wounded had been removed. Later, after a heavy bombarding attack in superior force had compelled him to retire, he led a bayonet charge which re-took and held a position, in face of the enemy's enfilading machine-gun fire. This position was of great importance, as linking up the positions captured on either flank. THE MILITARY CROSS Major J. T. M'Coll. Captain J. S. S. Anderson, Staff, 1st Infantry Brigade. Captain M. H. Cleeve, 4th Infantry Brigade. Captain G. Cooper, 14th Infantry Battalion (Victoria). Captain J. E. Dods, Medical Officer, 5th Light Horse (Queensland). Captain J. Hill, 15th Infantry Battalion (Queensland and Tasmania). Captain Owen Glendower Howell-Price, 3rd Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry on 7th August 1915, in the attack on Lone Pine, Gallipoli Peninsula. He showed the greatest bravery in leading an attack against the Turkish trenches, frequently rallying his men under heavy fire, and restoring order at critical moments. He killed three Turks with his own hands. Captain (temporary Major) R. L. Leane, 11th Infantry Battalion (Western Australia). Captain G. McLaughlin, 1st Field Artillery Brigade (New South Wales). Captain Jasper Kenneth Gordon Magee, 4th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 25th April 1915 and subsequent dates, during operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, for gallantry in leading his men, and exhibiting sound judgment and ability on several occasions, under a constant and harassing fire. Captain J. H. F. Pain, 2nd Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). Captain Clifford Russell Richardson, 2nd Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for displaying great coolness and courage, and leading a charge against superior numbers under a heavy cross fire, resulting in the flight of the enemy in disorder. Captain James William Albert Simpson, 13th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 2nd May 1915, during an attack in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, for showing conspicuous bravery and skill in directing the battalion through unreconnoitred scrub. He was conspicuously active in consolidating the position gained under heavy fire. Captain W. C. N. Waite, 3rd Field Artillery Brigade (Composite). Lieutenant (temporary Captain) Heinrich Bächtold, 1st Field Company, Australian Engineers. Lieutenant G. N. Croker, Divisional Engineers. Lieutenant Alfred Plumley Derham, 5th Australian Infantry Battalion (Victoria). On 25th April 1915, and subsequently during operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, for acting with great bravery and ability, and continuing to do duty until 30th April, although shot through the thigh on 25th April. Lieutenant Charles Fortescue, 9th Australian Infantry Battalion (Queensland). From 25th to 29th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for conspicuous gallantry. He twice led charges against the enemy, and rendered good service in collecting reinforcements and organizing stragglers. Lieutenant R. G. Hamilton, Signal Company. Lieutenant (temporary Captain) G. H. L. Harris, 1st Light Horse Regiment (New South Wales). Lieutenant (temporary Captain) H. James, 11th Infantry Battalion (Western Australia). Lieutenant (temporary Captain) J. E. Lee, 13th Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). Lieutenant Reginald George Legge, 13th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 1st and 2nd May 1915, during operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, for conspicuous ability and courage in the successful handling of his machine gun section. On several occasions he inflicted severe losses on the enemy, and was himself severely wounded in the neck. Lieutenant Eric Edwin Longfield Lloyd, 1st Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For exceptionally gallant conduct on 5th June 1915, during the operations in the Gallipoli Peninsula, in personally leading a party of 100 men to take a trench from which an enemy machine gun was severely harassing his position. Although unable to remove the machine gun owing to the heavy head cover, he destroyed it with rifle fire. He personally shot two Turks with his own pistol, and, with his party, inflicted severe losses on the enemy. Lieutenant Terence Patrick McSharry, 2nd Australian Light Horse Regiment (Queensland). For exceptional bravery and resource on many occasions since 25th April 1915, especially on night of 28th-29th May, during operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, Dardanelles, in organizing several assaults, and at great personal risk making several valuable reconnaissances. He was again brought to notice for gallant conduct on the night, 4th-5th June. Lieutenant N. Marshall, 5th Infantry Battalion (Victoria). Lieutenant J. H. Mirams, 2nd Field Company, Engineers. Lieutenant (temporary Captain) Uvedale Edward Parry-Okeden, 1st Australian Divisional Ammunition Park. Lieutenant Percy John Ross, 7th Battery, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland). For conspicuous gallantry in the attack on Lone Pine on 6th and 7th August, 1915, when he kept his gun in action for forty-eight hours, although continuously attacked at close quarters by superior gun fire. His gun emplacement was several times almost completely demolished, and he himself was finally wounded. Lieutenant Ross rendered very valuable assistance to the infantry in the attack through his determination to keep his gun in action at all costs. Lieutenant Alfred John Shout, 1st Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 27th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for showing conspicuous courage and ability in organizing and leading his men in a thick, bushy country, under very heavy fire. He frequently had to expose himself to locate the enemy, and led a bayonet charge at a critical moment. Lieutenant S. E. Sinclair, 1st Field Artillery Brigade (New South Wales). Second Lieutenant E. T. Bazeley, 22nd Battalion (Victoria). Second Lieutenant W. A. Moncur, 7th Infantry Battalion (Victoria). Second Lieutenant R. I. Moore, 3rd Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). Second Lieutenant R. T. Ramsay, 9th Field Ambulance. No. 96 Sergeant-Major D. Smith, 5th Battalion, 2nd Australian Brigade (Victoria). On 8th May 1915, during operations south of Krithia, for conspicuous gallantry and good services in rallying and leading men forward to the attack. Although wounded in both arms, he continued to direct his men, setting a valuable example of devotion to duty. THE DISTINGUISHED CONDUCT MEDAL Second Lieutenant R. R. Chapman. Second Lieutenant W. C. McCutcheon. Lieutenant (temporary Captain) W. W. Meligan. No. 6 Sergeant A. Anderson, 2nd Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry on 25th April 1915 and subsequent dates, during the operations near Gaba Tepe, in assisting to reorganize small parties of various battalions under heavy fire, and placing them in the firing line. No. 74 Private T. Arnott, 1st Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry on 30th May 1915, in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, whilst serving in a machine gun section. Although engaged by two hostile machine guns which demolished the emplacement, Private Arnott served his gun whilst exposed to the enemy's fire until badly wounded. One hostile machine gun was destroyed. No. 189 Sergeant W. Ayling, 11th Australian Infantry Battalion (Western Australia). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for gallantry in commanding his platoon after his officer had been wounded. When compelled to retire he carried the wounded officer with him, and on obtaining reinforcements again led his platoon to the attack. Corporal G. Ball. No. 43 Lance-Corporal H. A. Barker, 7th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For conspicuous gallantry, ability, and resource on the 25th and 26th April, 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). During the operations on these two days, the officer, sergeant, and corporal of his machine gun section, having been wounded, Corporal Barker assumed the command, and continued working the guns under a heavy shell fire. At one time the enemy actually succeeded in getting into the machine gun trench, but were all killed. One after another the machine guns were rendered useless by shell fire, but he collected portions of useless guns, and built them up anew. Finally he was working with two guns only, composed of parts of at least seven other guns. Bombardier C. W. Baxter. Private A. Bell. No. 874 Sergeant C. E. Benson, 9th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland). For gallant conduct and ability on the 25th April 1915, at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). With great courage and presence of mind he, on two occasions, rallied and led forward again into the firing-line men whose officers had all been killed or wounded, and who had suffered very heavy losses. His fine example and devotion to duty were conspicuous. No. 695 Private W. J. Birrell, C Company, 7th Battalion, 2nd Australian Brigade (Victoria). On 8th May 1915, during operations near Krithia, for distinguished conduct in collecting and organizing men who had become detached, and leading them to a weak flank of the firing-line. No. 170 Lance-Corporal P. Black, 16th Australian Infantry Battalion (South Australia, Western Australia). On the night of 2nd-3rd May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for exceptional gallantry. After all his comrades in his machine gun section had been killed or wounded, and although surrounded by the enemy, he fired all available ammunition and finally brought his gun out of action. Corporal H. Brennan. No. 997 Private L. W. Burnett, Australian Army Medical Corps. From 25th April to 5th May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for exceptionally gallant work and devotion to duty under heavy fire. No. 1250 Private D. H. Campigli, 8th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For gallant conduct on the 25th and 26th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles), when, with a small detachment, which was retiring on the main body, he, on two occasions, carried in a wounded man under heavy fire. No. 119 Lance-Corporal F. R. Cawley, 15th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, Tasmania). For conspicuous gallantry on the night of the 9th-10th May 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). During a sortie from Quinn's Post, Lance-Corporal Cawley, accompanied by another non-commissioned officer, advanced with great coolness and courage past the first line of the enemy's trenches to a tent some distance in the rear. They killed all the occupants, and cut the telephone wires which connected it with the fire-trenches, thus preventing communication from the rear. No. 66 Lance-Corporal V. Cawley, No. 2 Field Ambulance, 1st Australian Division. For conspicuous gallantry on 25th April 1915, and subsequently during landing operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe. He advanced under heavy rifle and shrapnel fire and spent the day attending to wounded men. He repeatedly, during the following days, brought wounded men in over ground swept by the enemy's fire. No. 182 Sergeant W. A. Connell, 12th Australian Infantry Battalion (Western Australia). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for gallantly attacking an entrenched position and an enemy's machine gun. No. 94 Staff Sergeant-Major M. E. E. Corbett, 15th Australian Infantry Battalion (Queensland). On 3rd May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for exceptional gallantry in serving his machine gun after he had been wounded, until it was put out of action, and again for rallying men and leading them to a second attack, retrieving a difficult situation. No. 1403 Private M. D. Cowtan, 1st Australian Casualty Clearing Hospital. For conspicuous good work on 25th April 1915, and subsequently during the landing operations in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe. He was indefatigable during the first four days in giving aid and carrying water to the wounded, and his unswerving courage under fire was invaluable in its effect. No. 733 Lance-Corporal J. Craven, 15th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, Tasmania). For conspicuous gallantry on the 27th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles), when, under a heavy shell and machine-gun fire, he carried water and food to the men in the front trenches. He also assisted four wounded men into shelter, and, later on, he exhibited the greatest coolness and courage in voluntarily carrying messages under heavy fire and at great personal risk. Sergeant R. C. Crawford. No. 712 Sergeant N. A. Cross, 13th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry on 9th May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, in taking an enemy's trench. Out of a party of 40 men to which he belonged, only 12 reached their objective. On the officer in command being wounded, he endeavoured to assist him back, but the officer was again shot and killed. Sergeant Cross then immediately returned to the forward position. Lance-Corporal F. P. Curran. No. 457 Lance-Corporal C. Davis, 1st Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For great gallantry on the 5th June 1915, during the operations near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). He was one of a small party who, led by an officer, and under a heavy fire, made a direct attack on a machine gun, which was destroyed. -- Driver G. Dean, Australian Divisional Signal Company. On 8th May 1915, during operations near Krithia, for distinguished gallantry. Was detailed to accompany four officers to the firing-line to lay telephone wire. Owing to the heavy fire only one officer reached the position. Driver Dean kept up constant communication with brigade headquarters until 3 a.m. on 9th May, when the remaining officer was wounded. Alone, he assisted this officer back and attended other wounded men, but never neglected his duties on the telephone. No. 926 Private S. Diamond, 6th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For conspicuous gallantry and ability on the 25th and 26th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). When, on one occasion during the operations, most of the officers having been killed or wounded, and part of the line having commenced to retire, Private Diamond showed the greatest courage and decision of character in assisting to stop the retirement, and in leading the men forward again under a heavy fire. He also frequently carried messages over open ground swept by a heavy fire, and exhibited a splendid example of devotion to duty. No. 744 Private H. Edelsten, 15th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, Tasmania). For conspicuous gallantry on the 25th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). After the landing, he passed frequently from the supports to the firing-line under a very heavy fire to keep the communications open. Later on, he showed great bravery on three occasions in carrying wounded men to a place of safety. Sergeant A. G. Edwards. Driver L. Farlow. No. 325 Private A. Farmer, 3rd Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for gallantry in repeatedly carrying messages and twice going back for ammunition under severe rifle and machine-gun fire; and again on 27th April, when his officer was wounded, for organizing a party of three men who carried the wounded officer to the rear. Private Farmer exposed himself fearlessly, and it was owing to his coolness and initiative that the party succeeded. He was himself wounded. No. 151 Lance-Corporal G. C. Farnham, 3rd Field Ambulance, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, South Australia, Western Australia, Tasmania). For great gallantry on the 25th April 1915, and throughout the landing operations near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). In attending to the wounded under a heavy fire he showed the greatest zeal and disregard of danger, and at all times gave a fine exhibition of coolness and devotion to duty. No. 261 Gunner G. G. Finlay, 2nd Battery, 1st Australian Field Artillery Brigade (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry on 8th June 1915, south-west of Krithia, Gallipoli Peninsula. When a company of infantry had been forced by enfilade fire to vacate a trench, it was reported that one of their wounded had been left in the trench, which was now absolutely commanded by the enemy's fire. Gunner Finlay, with another man, volunteered to bring him in, and succeeded in doing so. It was a most gallant adventure and showed a fine spirit of self-sacrifice. No. 851 Lance-Corporal W. Francis, 13th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 3rd May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for great bravery in removing wounded from the trenches to a dressing station over ground swept by machine-gun fire. No. 764 Lance-Corporal H. W. Freame, 1st Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 25th April 1915, and subsequently during the operations near Gaba Tepe, for displaying the utmost gallantry in taking water to the firing-line although twice hit by snipers. No. 499 Lance-Corporal R. V. Gay, 6th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For conspicuous gallantry and ability on the 25th and 26th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). When, on one occasion during the operations, most of the officers having been killed or wounded, and part of the line having commenced to retire, Corporal Gay showed great courage and decision of character in assisting to stop the retirement, and in leading the men forward again under a heavy fire. He also frequently carried messages over open ground swept by a heavy fire, and exhibited a splendid example of devotion to duty. No. 918 Private F. Godfrey, 12th Australian Infantry Battalion (Western Australia). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for exceptionally gallant conduct in personally capturing an enemy officer, and going out single-handed and shooting five enemy snipers. Corporal R. L. Graham. No. 122 Private C. P. Green, 10th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (South Australia). For conspicuous gallantry on the 25th April 1915, during the landing at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). He had reached shelter on the beach, when he saw a wounded man struggling in the surf, which was under heavy fire. Without hesitation, he turned back, reached the man in the water, and brought him successfully to shore, and subsequently to a place of shelter. No. 611 Private J. V. F. Gregg-Macgregor, 1st Field Ambulance, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty on the 25th April 1915, and subsequent days, after the landing at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). In company with another man, Private Gregg-Macgregor showed the greatest bravery and resource in attending to the wounded. Totally regardless of danger, he was for three consecutive days under a continuous and heavy shell and rifle fire, dressing and collecting the wounded from the most exposed positions. He allowed no personal risk or fatigue to interfere with the performance of his duties, and his gallant conduct and devotion offered a splendid example to all ranks. No. 582 Lance-Corporal C. Grimson, 1st Australian Light Horse Regiment (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry on the night of the 28th-29th May 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). Owing to the explosion of a mine, which destroyed a portion of our parapet, the enemy was enabled to occupy a portion of our trenches, thus dividing the defending force into two. Lance-Corporal Grimson crawled over the broken ground towards the enemy, capturing successively three Turks. He then, with the greatest courage, entered the remaining portion of the trench held by the enemy, about 12 in number, and compelled them all to surrender, thus enabling the defending force to re-unite. No. 2 Staff-Sergeant C. V. Heath, Australian Flying Corps. For conspicuous pluck and determination in Mesopotamia on the 1st August 1915. He assisted to pole a "bellum" (long flat-bottomed boat) 28 miles in twelve hours in intense heat, in order to rescue aviators who had been forced to descend in the enemy's country. No. 493 Private C. R. Heaton, 9th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland). For great bravery on the 25th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles), when he rescued and brought into shelter, under a very heavy shell and rifle fire, a wounded man. Sergeant W. J. Henderson. No. 371 Private E. P. Hitchcock, Australian Army Medical Corps (attached 6th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force) (Victoria). For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty on the 8th May 1915, and following days, north of Cape Helles (Dardanelles). In assisting the wounded under constant heavy fire, Private Hitchcock exhibited a heroism beyond praise. Absolutely regardless of danger, he, in company with another man, attended to the wounded, leading up the stretcher-bearers, and dressing the severe cases in the fire-trenches, even before they were completed. Not only was he instrumental in saving many lives, but, by his coolness and courage, he set a splendid example of devotion to duty, and gave the greatest encouragement to all ranks. No. 556 Sergeant V. Horswill, 11th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Western Australia). For great gallantry and devotion to duty near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). After two ammunition-carriers had been wounded, he rendered invaluable service in assisting to carry up and distribute ammunition under a heavy shell and rifle fire. No. 1293 Private R. Humberston, 3rd Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 25th April 1915, and subsequently during operations near Gaba Tepe, for conspicuous coolness and bravery in volunteering on many occasions for dangerous missions and for judgment in carrying them out. No. 1065 Staff-Sergeant H. Jackson, Australian Army Medical Corps. From 25th April until 5th May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for exceptionally gallant work and devotion to duty under heavy fire. No. 518 Private W. S. James, 15th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, Tasmania). For conspicuous bravery on the night of the 3rd-4th May 1915, during the operations near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). During an attack by the enemy he frequently picked up and threw back their own hand-grenades, exhibiting the greatest coolness and courage at a critical time. Later on he assisted in carrying food and water to the firing-line under a very heavy and continuous shell and machine-gun fire. Private W. P. Kedley. Private W. Kelly. Private W. J. Kelly. No. 75 Lance-Corporal T. Kennedy, 1st Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 25th April 1915, and subsequent dates, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for displaying the greatest coolness and pluck in running round under heavy fire and collecting stragglers, whom he formed and led into the firing-line. This he did time after time, with excellent results. No. 741 Lance-Corporal J. Kenyon, 9th Australian Infantry Battalion (Queensland). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for conspicuous courage and initiative in returning from the firing-line under heavy fire, collecting reinforcements, and assisting in leading a successful bayonet charge to the top of a hill, which was eventually held against great odds. No. 323 Private A. M. Kirkwood, 6th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For conspicuous gallantry and ability on the 8th May 1915, during the operations north of Cape Helles (Dardanelles). During an advance, when the officers and non-commissioned officers had been killed or wounded, Private Kirkwood assumed the command, taking charge of the men in his immediate neighbourhood, directing their fire and, by his coolness and courage, rendering valuable assistance in steadying all ranks at a critical moment. He led each advance in his section of the line, and, finally, performed most valuable service in consolidating the position gained. Private J. H. Kruger. Gunner A. G. McAllister. No. 697 Sergeant J. M. McCleery, 11th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, South Australia, Western Australia, Tasmania). For conspicuous gallantry and ability on the 25th April 1915. After the landing at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles), he led an attack on a strongly held position, and by his bravery and the ability with which he handled his force, he succeeded in gaining the position. Private W. M'Crae. No. 1156 Corporal R. McGregor, 3rd Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For great bravery on the 27th April 1915, subsequent to the landing at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). Ammunition in the firing-trench having run short, and efforts to obtain supplies having failed, owing to the ammunition-carriers having been killed, he volunteered to return to the support trench in the rear and obtain further supplies. This he succeeded in doing, although both in going and returning he was exposed to a very heavy shell fire. No. 99 Sapper G. F. McKenzie, 3rd Field Company, Australian Engineers. On 4th May 1915, during a landing and an attack on the enemy's redoubt near Gaba Tepe, for conspicuous gallantry in rescuing a wounded sapper and carrying him back to the boat under heavy fire. Having pushed the boat off, he himself returned to the beach and was subsequently wounded. No. 577 Gunner A. McKinlay, 3rd Battery, 1st Australian Field Artillery Brigade (New South Wales). For conspicuous gallantry on the 8th June 1915, south-west of Krithia, Gallipoli Peninsula. When a company of infantry had been forced by enfilade fire to vacate a trench, it was reported that one of their wounded had been left in the trench, which was now absolutely commanded by the enemy's fire. Gunner McKinlay, with another man, volunteered to bring him in, and succeeded in doing so. It was a most gallant adventure, and showed a fine spirit of self-sacrifice. Corporal H. M. MacNee. Private F. O. McRae. No. 1357 Lance-Corporal J. T. Maher, 15th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, Tasmania). For gallant conduct and resource on several occasions during the operations at Quinn's Post (Dardanelles). Corporal Maher particularly distinguished himself as a brave and expert bomb-thrower, and always exhibited the highest courage and devotion to duty. No. 852 Private H. C. Martyr, 8th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For conspicuous bravery on the 26th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles), when he went out and carried a wounded man over 50 yards of open ground, swept by a heavy shell and rifle fire, to shelter. He exhibited great courage and coolness, and gave a fine example of devotion to duty. No. 927 Sergeant G. F. Mason, 11th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Western Australia). For conspicuous gallantry and ability on the 25th April 1915, and the three following days at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). During these days of continuous fighting, Sergeant Mason showed great courage and resource in holding his men together under constant fire, and when isolated parties which had advanced too far had to be withdrawn, he covered their retirement with conspicuous skill and bravery. No. 322 Corporal R. A. Mason, 3rd Australian Light Horse Regiment (South Australia, Tasmania). For conspicuous gallantry and resource between the 26th May and the 28th June 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles), during the mining operations. He invariably performed exceptionally good work, and exhibited a complete disregard of danger. He took a leading part in loading and tamping numerous mines, and was always ready to undertake any work, however hazardous. He gave a splendid example of courage and devotion to duty. No. 280 Private A. C. B. Merrin, 5th Australian Infantry Battalion, 2nd Australian Brigade (Victoria). On 25th April 1915, and subsequently during operations on the Gallipoli Peninsula, for exhibiting on many occasions the greatest courage and coolness in carrying messages, helping wounded, and bringing up food and water under heavy fire. No. 1151 Corporal R. I. Moore, 3rd Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). From 25th until 29th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe. Commanded his section under heavy and continuous fire from snipers who were within 30 yards of his trench. He displayed exceptional courage in twice advancing alone about 20 yards, and on the second occasion he accounted for five of the enemy. No. 370 Private A. A. Morath, Australian Army Medical Corps (attached 6th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force) (Victoria). For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty on the 8th May 1915, and following days, north of Cape Helles (Dardanelles). In assisting the wounded under constant heavy fire, Private Morath exhibited a heroism beyond praise. Absolutely regardless of danger, he, in company with another man, attended to the wounded, leading up the stretcher-bearers, and dressing the severe cases in the fire-trenches, even before they were completed. Not only was he instrumental in saving many lives, but by his coolness and courage he set a splendid example of devotion to duty, and gave the greatest encouragement to all ranks. Lance-Corporal C. R. Murfitt. No. 315 Lance-Corporal H. Murray, 16th Australian Infantry Battalion (South Australia). For distinguished service on several occasions from 9th to 31st May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, when attached to the machine gun section. During this period he exhibited exceptional courage, energy, and skill, and inflicted severe losses on the enemy, he himself being twice wounded. No. 305 Private G. Pappas, 13th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (New South Wales). For great gallantry on the 4th May 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). He volunteered to go out and bring in a wounded man, under heavy machine-gun fire, and succeeded in carrying him to a place of safety. Private G. L. Peel. Sapper C. R. Rankin. No. 543 Private S. Ricketson, 5th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Victoria). For gallant conduct and great bravery on the 25th May 1915, at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). When all his officers and non-commissioned officers had been killed or wounded, he showed great coolness and courage in rallying men under a very heavy fire, and his example and devotion to duty exercised the greatest influence over the men, and kept them steady under trying conditions. He also exhibited conspicuous bravery in digging in the open, and under a heavy fire, a shelter for a wounded officer. No. 530 Private G. Robey, 9th Australian Infantry Battalion (Queensland). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for conspicuous gallantry in swimming to a boat and bringing back into safety a wounded comrade who was the only occupant. This was done under heavy fire. No. 1088 Corporal E. Robson, 4th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 1st May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for distinguished conduct in the command of a platoon, guiding and controlling the men after the officer commanding the platoon had been wounded. Although in an exposed position he personally carried up ammunition and freely exposed himself. No. 178 Private C. H. G. Rosser, 3rd Field Ambulance, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, South Australia, Western Australia, Tasmania). For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty on the 25th April 1915 and subsequent days, after the landing at Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). In company with another man, Private Rosser showed the greatest bravery and resource in attending to the wounded. Totally regardless of danger, he was for three consecutive days under a continuous and heavy shell and rifle fire, dressing and collecting the wounded from the most exposed positions. He allowed no personal risk or fatigue to interfere with the performance of his duties, and his gallant conduct and devotion offered a splendid example to all ranks. Sergeant P. F. Ryan. Corporal A. Sheppard. Private W. E. Sing. Corporal P. Smith. Private T. B. Stanley. No. 41 Staff Sergeant-Major A. Steele, 9th Australian Infantry Battalion (Queensland). From 25th to 29th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for distinguished conduct in manning and maintaining his machine gun, which he continued to work after the remainder of his section had been killed or wounded. Sergeant R. G. Stone. Lance-Corporal J. Tallon. No. 204 Corporal R. Tickner, 15th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland, Tasmania). For conspicuous gallantry on the night of the 9th-10th May 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). During a sortie from Quinn's Post, Corporal Tickner, accompanied by another non-commissioned officer, advanced with great coolness and courage past the first line of the enemy's trenches to a tent some distance in the rear. They killed all the occupants, and cut the telephone wires which connected it with the first trenches, thus preventing communication from the rear. No. 791 Private W. Upton, 13th Australian Infantry Battalion (New South Wales). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for great bravery in bringing wounded into shelter, and again on 2nd May, after being shot through the foot, in continuing to defend his trench until again wounded. Private J. C. Vaughan. Private A. J. Vines. Sergeant A. J. Wallish. No. 456 Private J. C. Weatherill, 10th Australian Infantry Battalion (South Australia). On 25th April 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for exceptionally good work in scouting and in an attack resulting in the capture of two of the enemy's guns. Corporal H. Webb. No. 974 Sergeant M. Wilder, 9th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force (Queensland). For conspicuous gallantry on the 26th April 1915, near Gaba Tepe (Dardanelles). Assisted by another non-commissioned officer, who was subsequently killed, he carried a wounded man into a place of safety under a very heavy fire. Later on, he was instrumental in collecting stragglers, whom he led back into the firing-line. Corporal J. Williams. Corporal E. D. Wood. No. 213 Private A. Wright, 15th Australian Infantry Battalion (Queensland). On the night of 2nd-3rd May 1915, during operations near Gaba Tepe, for repeated instances of gallantry when acting as a scout and guide to his unit. Private E. Yazley. APPENDIX II MENTIONED IN DISPATCHES DIVISIONAL ARTILLERY Brigadier-General J. J. T. Hobbs, Western Australia. Brigadier-General G. de L. Ryrie, M.P., 2nd Light Horse Brigade (New South Wales). Brigadier-General A. H. Russell, New Zealand. INFANTRY BRIGADE Lieut.-Colonel Esson, New Zealand. Major C. H. Foot, D.A.Q.M.G., Australian Engineers. Major E. J. H. Nicholson, G.S.O. (3). Major Griffiths, Military Secretary. Captain W. Smith, Provost-Marshal. Sergeant R. Pennea, Military Police. Corporal G. Little, Military Police. Corporal W. Elliott, Military Police. Corporal M. Hoy, Military Police. Private G. Roach, Australian Field Artillery. AUSTRALIAN ARTILLERY Colonel G. J. Johnston, Brigadier 2nd Artillery Brigade (Victoria). Colonel C. Rosenthal, 1st Artillery Brigade (Queensland). Colonel S. Christian, 3rd Artillery Brigade (New South Wales). Major A. Bessell-Browne, 8th Battery. Major W. Burgess, 9th Battery. Major O. Phillips, 4th Battery (Victoria). Major G. H. M. King, 3rd Battery (New South Wales). Major G. I. Stevenson, 6th Battery (Victoria). Captain H. Lloyd, 1st Artillery Brigade. Captain U. E. Parry-Okeden, Divisional Train. Captain W. Hodgson, 5th Battery. Lieutenant C. Clowes, 2nd Battery. Lieutenant T. Playfair, 1st Battery. Sergeant J. Braidwood. Sergeant W. Wallis. Corporal E. Coleman. Corporal R. Gammon. Bombardier N. M'Farlane. Bombardier J. Benson. Gunner E. Batnes. Gunner H. Wilson. Gunner E. Day. AUSTRALIAN ENGINEERS Major H. O. Clogstoun, R.E. Captain H. Bachtold. Lieutenant R. G. Hamilton (New South Wales). Driver W. J. Davis. Sappers G. Chisholm, H. Eggleton, S. Garrett, and N. Hartbridge. AUSTRALIAN LIGHT HORSE ~First Regiment (N.S.W.).~ Major H. V. Vernon. Lieutenant G. H. L. Harris. Trooper W. Varley. ~Third Regiment (S.A. and Tasmania).~ Lieut.-Colonel Rowell. ~Sixth Regiment (N.S.W.).~ Lieutenant G. Ferguson. Sergeant S. Tooth. Trooper R. Foster. Trooper C. Fenner. ~Eighth Regiment (Victoria).~ Lieut.-Colonel A. H. White. Sergeant Grenfell. Trooper Sanderson. ~Ninth Regiment (Victoria and S.A.).~ Lieut.-Colonel Miell. Lieut.-Colonel Reynell. Sergeant H. Sullivan. Sergeant Ashburner. ~Tenth Regiment (W.A.).~ Lieutenant Kidd. Lieutenant Hugo Throssell, V.C. Sergeant W. Henderson. Lance-Corporal M'Gee. Trooper T. Stanley. INFANTRY. ~First Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Lieut.-Colonel A. J. Bennett. Major W. Davidson. Captain H. Jacobs. Captain G. F. Wootten. Lieutenant Buchanan. Lieutenant Howell-Price. Sergeant Barber. Corporal Bint. Lance-Corporal Davis. Privates R. Cumming and C. Sharpe. ~Second Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Major Stevens. Major Tebbuth. Captain Concanon. Privates S. Carpenter and E. Roberts. ~Third Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Lieut.-Colonel R. H. Owen. Captain Leer. Captain Wilson. Sergeant C. White. Corporal J. Scott. Privates Blackburn, Mulcahy, Owens, and Hutton. ~Fourth Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Captain S. Milson. Lieutenant Anderson. Lieutenant Stacey. Lieutenant Fanning. Sergeant Steber. Privates Kirby, Deacon, R. Mackenzie, and Benson. ~Fifth Battalion (Victoria).~ Colonel D. S. Wanliss. Lieutenant G. H. Capes. Captain R. M. F. Hooper. Sergeant-Major Marshall. Sergeant Nesbit. Privates Ricketson and M'Donnell. ~Sixth Battalion (Victoria).~ Lieut.-Colonel H. G. Bennett. Major F. V. Hogan. Privates Morath and Hitchcock. ~Seventh Battalion (Victoria).~ Captain S. M. de Ravin. Captain S. Grills. ~Eighth Battalion (Victoria).~ Major G. Eberling. Captain Sergeant. ~Ninth Battalion (Queensland).~ Lieut.-Colonel J. C. Robertson. Sergeant Scrivener. Privates Henry, Bailey, A. Campbell, and Bruns. ~Tenth Battalion (S.A.).~ Major F. W. Hurcombe. Major F. M. Lorenzo. Captain C. Rumball. Sergeant-Major Sawyer. Sergeant-Major Henderson. Sergeant Leane. ~Eleventh Battalion (W.A.).~ Major Drake Brockman. Major J. H. Peck. Captain A. E. J. Croly. Captain Rockliff. Captain S. H. Jackson. Sergeant Pugsley. Lance-Sergeant Wright. Corporals Pride and Skuse. Privates J. F. Wilson and M'Jannett. ~Twelfth Battalion (S.A., W.A., and Tasmania).~ Lieut.-Colonel E. H. Smith. Lieutenant Patterson. Sergeant Pearson. Corporal Marshall. Lance-Corporal Hart. Privates C. Thomson and Turner. ~Thirteenth Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Private Currie. ~Fourteenth Battalion (Victoria).~ Lieut.-Colonel R. E. Courtney. ~Fifteenth Battalion (Queensland and Tasmania).~ Lieut.-Colonel J. H. Cannon. Private Slack. ~Sixteenth Battalion (S.A. and W.A.).~ Lieut.-Colonel L. E. Tilney. Sergeant Carr. Lance-Corporal Davies. AUSTRALIAN DIVISIONAL TRAIN Lieut.-Colonel J. T. Marsh. Lieutenant D. G. M'Hattie (New South Wales). AUSTRALIAN ARMY MEDICAL CORPS Colonel J. L. Beeston, 4th Field Ambulance. Lieut.-Colonel H. W. Bryant, 1st Australian Stationary Hospital (Victoria). Captain R. W. Chambers (Victoria). Captain H. K. Fry. Sergeants Bryce, W. Gunn, and Hookway. Corporal Faulkner. Lance-Corporals Goode and G. Hill. Privates Collis, M'Rae, Peel, Sawyer, Simpson, Vines, and Watts. CHAPLAINS Rev. F. W. Wray (Anglican), 4th Infantry Brigade. Rev. Luxford. MENTIONED IN GENERAL HAMILTON'S FINAL DISPATCH STAFF Lieut.-General Sir William Birdwood, Commanding Army Corps. Major-General Sir J. H. Godley, Australian and New Zealand Division. Brigadier-General H. G. Chauvel, C.M.G., 1st Light Horse Brigade. Colonel Walker, 1st Australian Division. Colonel Smyth, 1st Australian Infantry Brigade. Brigadier-General F. Hughes, 2nd Australian Light Horse Brigade. Brigadier-General J. Monash, 4th Australian Infantry Brigade. Colonel Cunliffe-Owen, Army Corps Artillery. Colonel J. J. T. Hobbs, V.D., 1st Australian Divisional Artillery. Colonel J. M. Antill, C.B., Brigade-Major (after Commanding), 2nd Australian Light Horse Brigade. Captain Powles. Captain J. S. Anderson. Captain G. A. Farr. Captain C. Thomas. Captain C. Cook. Captain W. E. Henderson. Captain Rose. Lieutenant A. Rhodes. Lieutenant Hindley. Sergeant-Major Wann. BRIDGING TRAIN Lieut.-Commander Bracegirdle. Lieut.-Commander Bond. Warrant Officer Shepherd. Petty Officer Beton. Petty Officer Pender. Seaman Harvey. Seaman M'Carron. 1st DIVISIONAL ARTILLERY Major O. F. Phillips. Major U. L. H. Burgess. Captain C. A. Callaghan. Captain W. C. N. Waite. Captain G. M'Laughlin. Captain A. H. K. Jopp. Lieutenant P. J. Ross, D.S.O. Lieutenant S. E. Sinclair. Sergeant-Major Stamens. Corporal Cook. Corporal Miller. Corporal East. Bombardier Mackinnon. Bombardier Baynes. Bombardier Dingwall. Gunner Medihurst. Gunner Hillbeck. Gunner Carr. Gunner J. Reid. Gunner Brew. Driver Younger. ENGINEER COMPANIES Major J. M. C. Corlette. Major A. M. Martyn. Captain R. J. Dyer. Lieutenant J. H. Mirams. Lieutenant G. G. S. Gordon. Lieutenant R. G. Hamilton. Second-Lieutenant H. Greenway. Second-Lieutenant G. N. Croker. Sergeant Graham. Corporal Sheppard. Corporal Ewart. Corporal Wilson. Corporal Elliott. Corporal Lobb. Corporal Jordon. Corporal Climpson. Sapper Townshend. Sapper Vincent. Sapper Batchelor. Sapper Allison. Sapper Kelly. Private Jonas. AUSTRALIAN LIGHT HORSE ~First Regiment (N.S.W.).~ Lieutenant G. Harris. Corporal Collett. Corporal Keys. Privates Tancred, Barrow, Little, A. Thompson, and Barnes. ~Second Regiment (Queensland).~ Major T. W. Glasgow, D.S.O. ~Fourth Regiment (Victoria).~ Corporal Forsyth. Trooper Kerr. ~Fifth Regiment (Queensland).~ Major S. Midgley, D.S.O. Private Sing. ~Sixth Regiment (N.S.W.).~ Captain G. C. Somerville. Sergeant Ryan. Trooper Paul. ~Seventh Regiment (N.S.W.).~ Corporal Curran. ~Eighth Regiment (Victoria).~ Lieutenant Wilson. Corporal J. Anderson. Trumpeter Lawry. Trooper A'Beckett. ~Ninth Regiment (Victoria and S.A.).~ Lieutenant M'Donald. Privates Morrison and Howell. ~Tenth Regiment (W.A.).~ Major Scott. Captain Fry. Sergeant Gollan. Sergeant Foss. Corporal M'Cleary. Corporal Hamphire. Trooper Roberts. Trooper Firns. Trooper M'Mahon. Sergeant Howard. Corporal Ketterer. Corporal Benporath. Privates Howland, G. Brown, Foster and Anear. INFANTRY ~First Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Captain C. D. Sasse, D.S.O. Lieutenant P. S. Woodforde. Lieutenant G. Steen. Lieutenant H. Wells. Lieutenant R. T. Ramsay. Sergeant-Major Norris. Sergeant Sparkes. Sergeant Wicks. Privates Kelly, Allen, Ramsay, and Judd. ~Second Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Lieut.-Colonel R. Scobie. Major W. E. H. Cass. Major L. J. Morshead. Captain J. H. F. Pain. Captain G. S. Cook. Lieutenant C. A. Whyte. Sergeant-Major Lowans. Sergeant Host. Corporal M'Elloy. Privates A. Robertson, Townsend, Nichol, Montgomery, and Gannemy. ~Third Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Lieut.-Colonel Brown. Major D. M. M'Conaughy. Major Austin. Captain O. G. Howell-Price, D.S.O. Captain B. T. Moore. Lieutenant M'Leod. Lieutenant V. E. Smythe. Lieutenant R. W. Woods. Lieutenant R. Moore. Sergeant-Major Coldenstedt. Sergeant Clark. Sergeant Edwards. Corporal M'Grath. Corporal Graham. Corporal Thomas. Corporal Powell. Privates Green, Morgan, and Horan. ~Fourth Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Lieut.-Colonel C. M. Macnaghten. Major I. G. Mackay. Captain E. A. Lloyd. Captain C. S. Coltman. Lieutenant I. J. A. Massie. Lieutenant M'Donald. Lieutenant C. W. Foster. Lieutenant J. D. Osborne. Sergeant-Major M'Alpine. Sergeant-Major Johnstone. Sergeant M'Mapon. Sergeant Crawford. Sergeant Claydon. Corporal Stone. Privates M'Neill, Hurley, Lynn, and Hewitt. ~Fifth Battalion (Victoria).~ Lieutenant N. Marshall. Sergeant Ross. Corporal Williams. Corporal Wood. ~Sixth Battalion (Victoria).~ Lieutenant P. D. Moncur. Privates Callaghan, Thorning, and George. ~Seventh Battalion (Victoria).~ Lieut.-Colonel H. Elliott. Lieutenant D. B. Ross. Corporal Dunstan. Corporal Burton. Corporal Wright. Corporal Keating. Privates Ellis, Ball, and Wadeson. ~Eighth Battalion (Victoria).~ Lieutenant J. C. M. Traill. Sergeant Goodwin. Corporal M'Kinnon. Privates Young, Green, and Hicks. ~Ninth Battalion (Queensland).~ Corporal Page. ~Tenth Battalion (S.A.).~ Lieutenant F. H. Hancock. Lieutenant F. H. G. N. Heritage. Corporal Hill. Private M'Donald. ~Eleventh Battalion (W.A.).~ Major S. R. Roberts. Captain R. L. Leane. Lieutenant H. James. Lieutenant G. Potter. Lieutenant Prockter. Lieutenant Frankly. Sergeant Wallish. Sergeant Hallahan. Corporal Taylor. Corporal F. Smith. Privates Johns, Morrison, Roper, W. Smith, Whitbread, and Retchford. ~Twelfth Battalion (S.A., W.A., and Tasmania).~ Major J. L. Whitham. Sergeant Will. Sergeant Keen. Privates Yaxley, C. Smith, Ward, M'Kendrick, Jarvis, Johnston, Thomas, and Reade. ~Thirteenth Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Major S. C. E. Herring. Captain C. B. Hopkins. Captain J. E. Lee. Captain W. J. M. Locke. Lieutenant H. C. Ford. Lieutenant Annoni. Privates Duncan, Doig, Round, and Kenbury. ~Fourteenth Battalion (Victoria).~ Major C. M. M. Dare. Captain Cooper. ~Fifteenth Battalion (Queensland and Tasmania).~ Captain Moran. Captain J. Hill. Private Barrett. ~Sixteenth Battalion (S.A. and W.A.).~ Captain Heming. ~Eighteenth Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Captain S. P. Goodsell. Sergeant Fidge. Corporal Dryden. Corporal Hooper. Privates Mahoney, Workman, Martin, and Collins. ~Twentieth Battalion (N.S.W.).~ Corporal Brennan. ~Twenty-third Battalion (Victoria).~ Private Bell. DIVISIONAL TRAIN. Captain M. H. Cleeve. Sergeant F. Smith. ARMY MEDICAL CORPS. Lieut.-Colonel Garner. Lieut.-Colonel H. W. Bryant. Lieut.-Colonel A. H. Sturdee. Major H. A. Powell. Captain L. W. Dunlop. Captain E. T. Brennan. Captain J. Bentley. Captain J. E. Dods. Captain C. Thompson. Captain A. L. Dawson. Captain H. V. P. Conrick. Captain L. St. V. Welch. Captain Fullerton. Captain Stack. Quartermaster Boddam. Sergeant-Major Wheeler. Sergeant Barber. Sergeant Hood. Sergeant Sargent. Sergeant Henderson. Sergeant Nixon. Corporal Bosgard. Corporal G. Smith. Privates Priestman, Lilingen, Cruickshanck, Brighton, Spooner, and Foster. CHAPLAINS. Rev. W. E. Dexter, 2nd Infantry Brigade. Rev. Father J. Fahey, 3rd Infantry Brigade. Rev. T. S. Power, 4th Infantry Brigade. Rev. Gillison, 4th Infantry Brigade. INDEX Abbu Ella, Troop trains at, 67 Abdel Rahman Bair, 246 Attack on, 255, 257, 259 Achi Baba, 127 Advances on, 149 Attack on, 215 Description of, 131 Futility of assaulting, 265 Guns on, 214 May attack on, 145 Adana, 79 Admiralty, Delay of message from, 16 Adrianople, Turkish forces at, 213 Aeroplanes-- Enemy, 268 German over Quinn's, 197 Taube driven down, 255 _Agamemnon_, H.M.S., 82 _Age, Melbourne_, Correspondent of, 10 Aghyl Dere, 247 4th Brigade capture, 251 Akaba, Gulf of, 80 Albany-- Convoy rendezvous at, 74 Description of harbour, 30 Final scenes, 34 King's visit to, 30 Traditions of, 28 Transport fleet at, 31 Albatross, German aeroplane, 163 Alexandria, 62, 96 Aspect in July, 216 Convoy reaches, 66 "Allah," Turks call, 162 Allanson, Major C. G., 261 Allies' War Council, 279 Amenol, Use of, 290 Ammunition-- For "Great Adventure," 224 Hamilton's admissions about, 211 Mule transport of, 181 Turks receive, 280 Want of, 291 Anafarta, Bujik, 169, 220, 246, 269 Advance in Valley of, 252 Antill, Brigadier-General, 240, 287 Anzac-- Administration leave, 287 Army Corps, return of, 284 Artillery position at, 181 Bomb factory at, 172 Calm days at, 136 Casualties, total, 291 Closing scenes at, 283 _seq_. Compared to Helles, 144 Complete capture of, 114 Contemplating plans, 96 Covering party, 104 Dawn of, 99 Dispatch riders at, 271 Dysentery at, 278 Evacuation contemplated, 280 Evacuation commences, 286 Extending, 245 First Division return to, 284 General attack abandoned, 139 Guns in August, 219 "Heart of," 169 Hospital ships off, 255 Hospital supplies, 174 Hospital, winter, 283 June-July at, 204 Kitchener, Earl, visits, 282 Last picture of, 290 Life at, 180 _seq._ Maxwell, General, visits, 282 Moon and operations at, 216 New attack from, 137 N.Z.'s on flank of, 117 N.Z.'s leave, 144 Nights, 176 Origin of, 99 Partition of, 119 Post Office, 171 Reinforcements at, 157 Reorganization, 135 Reticulation scheme, 171 R.M.L.I. land at, 135 Second Brigade leave, 143 Shrapnel Gully divides, 179 Sikhs at, 181 Snowstorms, 285 "Soul of" (General Birdwood), 169 Telephone Exchange, 171 Transports leave for, 100 Trawlers, 177 Turkish charge on Nek, 210 Turkish counter-attacks, 121 Turkish May attack, 160 Turkish regulars at, 208 Turks enter, 290 Winter camps prepared, 283 Winter storms, 285 Anzac Beach-- Gurkhas on, 224 Nature of, 168 Ordnance store, 169 Red Cross at, 169 Turkish fire on, 280 Anzac Cove, 103 Stores landed, 168 Work at, 135 Arabia-- Germans land in, 55 Arabs, 75 Information from, 81 _Aragon_, H.M.S., 9 Ari Burnu, 104, 172 _Ark Royal_ balloon ship, 132 Armenians-- In Turkish army, 88 Refugee, 81 Surrender, 92 Armistice-- Empire Day, 165 General Birdwood on, 164 General Hamilton on, 164 Turks seek, 163 Armoured motor-cars, 133 Army-- Anzac Corps, 214 Corps orders unfulfilled, 134 General Hamilton's, 213 Army Corps-- First withdrawal of, 278 Return, 284 Army Service Corps, 194 Artillery-- Ammunition shortage, 211 Anzac, 219 Capture of Krupp, 106 Duels at Helles, 147 Egyptian Mounted, 86 First landing, 113 French 75 cm., 129, 145 "Hates," 169 Helles, 219 Indian Mountain Battery, 110 Landing 3rd Brigade, 117 Lane, 182, 186 Need at Anzac, 115 N.Z., at Helles, 219 Positions on Anzac, 181 Sixth Australian Battery, 219 Turkish (_see also under_ Turkish), 280 Turkish Anzac, 159 Turkish Olive Grove, 157 Asia Minor, Refugees from, 78 "Asiatic Algy," 144 _Askold_, Russian cruiser, 61 Asma Dere, 252 Ridge, attack on, 253 Auckland-- Battalion at Helles, 149 Landing of Battalion, 111 Mounted Rifles, 259 Austin, Colonel, 169 Flag of, 173 Australia-- Citizen Army, 17 Excitement over war, 16 First Contingent leaves, 31 First Expeditionary Force, 20 German hopes for revolt in, 18 Mobilization of Army in, 17 _Australia_, H.M.A.S., 16-18 Germans fear, 26 Australian Army-- Army Service Corps, 194 Assembly at Lemnos, 94 Casualties, total of, 291 Citizen forces with, 19 Commencement of landing, 100 Departure of First, 23 Engineers on Canal, 82 Landing casualties of, 126 Light Horse at Anzac, 170 Line held by, 139 Number of First, 8 Offer of, 18 Reorganizing units, 134 Units of-- 1st Division, 8, 20, 23, 28, 31, 61, 136, 220, 245, 264 At Mena, 70, 72 Composition, 19 Egypt, training of, 70 Final departure, 290 New Commander of, 159 Return of, 284 Withdrawal of, 278 2nd A. and N.Z. Division, 71, 136, 275, 278, 284 Arrival of, 271 Last stand, 290 1st Infantry Brigade, 117, 138, 219, 220 Landing, 109 Lone Pine, 221-7 2nd Infantry Brigade, 77, 109, 117, 188, 237 At Helles, 143, 150 3rd Infantry Brigade, 100, 105, 117, 182 At Thermia, 97 Landing, 104, 109 Landing casualties, 122 4th Infantry Brigade, 71, 111, 117, 122, 137, 138, 244, 257, 269, 272, 273, 276 Advance, 245, 250 _seq._ Evacuation, 289 Subterranean barracks, 284 5th Infantry Brigade, 276 1st Light Horse Brigade, 71, 135 2nd Light Horse Brigade, 182, 205, 264 3rd Light Horse Brigade, 71, 238, 289 Artillery, 3rd Brigade, 182, 145 Engineers, 3rd Field Company, 223; 5th Field Company, 290 Victorians charge at Krithia, 150 Australians-- Amusements of, 73 Attitude of wounded, 107 Birdwood's, General, appreciation of, 270, 283 Character of, 8 Descriptions of, 74 Dispatch riders, 271 General Hamilton's praise of, 9, 270 Hatred of trench warfare, 221 King's message to, 282, 283 On Canal, 76, 77 Rest at Mudros, 217 Sight-seeing, 71 Suffer frost-bite, 286 The "Die Hard," 289 Turkish opinion of, 183 Use of bayonet, 161 Autumn Campaign, question of, 279 Aviators, Ascendancy of British, 219 _Ayesia_, 55 "Baby 700," 139, 187, 240 Searchlights on, 209 _Bacchante_, H.M.S., 109, 116, 118, 223, 227 Baldwin, Brigadier-General, 261, 262 Balloon, Observation, 130 Barbed wire entanglements, 182 Base, Suvla as winter, 220 Bathing under fire, 179 Battenberg, H.R.H. Prince Louis of, 16 Battle, noise of, 228 Battleship Hill, 186 Advance against, 246 Bombardment, 253 Bauchop, Colonel A., 173, 247 Death of, 249 Bauchop's Hill, 249 Bayonet, Australians' use of, 161 Beach, Turkish fire on, 170 "Beachy Bill," 169, 175, 288 Bean, Captain C. E. W., 10-47 Bean, Captain J. W., 231 Bedouin, Troubles amongst, 76 Bennett, Lieut.-Colonel, 237 Bessell-Browne, Major, 186 Birdwood, Lieut.-General Sir W., 62, 99, 245, 248, 286 Admiration for Australians, 270, 283 Advance, order by, 137 Appreciation by General Bridges, 158 Anecdote of, 7 August plans, 219 Bathing story, 157 Command of, 70 Help from, 9 Landing of, 113 On Armistice, 164 On H.M.S. _Queen_, 138 Plans against Sari Bair, 247 Recall to H.M.S. _Queen_, 113 "Soul of Anzac," 169 Staff work of, 287 Stories of, 176 Bitter Lakes, Battleships on, 84 Blamey, Major, 136 Blamey's Meadow, Fight near, 205 "Bloody Angle," The, 139-79 Bogali, 105, 137 Bolton, Lieut.-Colonel, 75, 112, 150 Bombardment of Nek, 241 Bombing at Lone Pine, 221, 235 Bombs-- Anzac factory, 172 At Apex, 289 Beef tins as, 202 Bourne, Major, Death of, 243 _Bouvet_, Sinking of warship, 93 Braithwaite, Major-General, 165 Brand, Major, 106 Braund, Colonel, 120 Braund's Hill, 120 _Breslau_, Turkish interest in, 28 Bridges, Major-General Sir W. T., 61, 136, 169 Appointment, 19 At Ismailia, 82 Death of, 158 Divisional Command, 139 Energy of, 157 Landing of, 113 Orders advance, 120 British-- At Malta Bay, 128 At Suvla Bay, 236, 255 British Army-- New divisions wanted, 204 July strength of, 213 Units of:-- 9th Army Corps, 247, 255 13th Division, 260 29th Division, 10, 99, 126, 128, 146 29th Division Artillery, 115, 219 52nd Division, 219 29th Infantry Brigade, 261, 273 38th Infantry Brigade, 261 39th Infantry Brigade, 247 40th Infantry Brigade, 247, 261 4th South Wales Borderers, 247, 273 5th Connaught Rangers, 273, 276 5th Wiltshire Regiment, 247, 262 6th South Lancs Regiment, 247, 260 6th Royal North Lancs Regiment, 262 8th Welsh Regiment, 247 72nd Field Company, 247 Artillery, De Tot's Battery, 143 Fusilier Regiments, Landing of, 128 Gloucesters attack Sari Bair, 259 Indian Mountain Battery (26th), 110 Praise of, 10 Royal Naval Division, 135, 148, 219 Armoured cars of, 143 Nelson Battalion, 141 Portsmouth Battalion, 141 British casualties at Anzac, 270 British prestige in Egypt, 281 Brown, Lieut.-Colonel, 228 Death of, 266 Browne's Dip, 186, 225, 270 Buccaneer Camel Corps, 76 Bujik Anafarta, 220, 246 Bulair Lines, Feint attack on, 94 Bulgarian aid to Turkey, 280 Bully Beef Sap, 168, 171, 242 _Buresk_, s.s., 53 Burgess, Major, 188 Burnage, Lieut.-Colonel, 141, 252 Burton, Corporal, 265 Caddy, Major, 188 Caiques, Greek, in Dardanelles, 98 Cairo, 63 Australian pastimes in, 73 Paradox of, 73 Troops leave for, 66 Young Turk Party in, 75 Cannan, Lieut.-Colonel, 201, 251, 258 Cape Helles offensive, 220 Carden, Admiral, 93 Cass, Lieut.-Colonel, 109, 145, 264 Saves situation, 154 Version of landing, 42 Castro, 96 Casualties-- Landing, 126 Total Anzac, 291 Total Turkish, 291 Turkish May attack, 163 Caucasus, Turks in, 213 Censor, Attitude of Australian, 41 Chailak Dere, 261 Cham Kalesi, 132 Chanak, Forts at, 130, 213 Channel, Brigadier-General, 71, 135, 195, 243 Chapman, Lieut.-Colonel A. E., 275, 276 Chatham's Post, 182, 288 Evacuation of, 290 Chaytor, Captain, 175 Cheshire Ridge, barracks in, 284 Chessboard Trenches, 200 Attack on, 140, 238, 242 Casualties at, 243 Description of, 191 China Squadron, Flagship of, 16 Chocolate Hills, 252, 271 Advance, 255 Chope, Lieutenant, 76 Christian, Colonel, 145, 219 Chunak Bair, 119, 137, 190, 236 Bombs on, 289 Dead Turks on, 270 Gaining summit of, 261 Second attack, 257 Storming of, 252 Topography of, 253 Turkish attacks on, 262 Churchill, Hon. W. S., 16 Clarke, D.S.O., Lieut.-Colonel, 104 Clemens, Major, 112 Clogstoun, Major H. O., 75, 82, 223 Cocos Islands, 75 Convoy passes, 38 German landing, 54 Plan of battle, 51 Cohran, Captain, 90 Collman, Captain, 231 _Colne_, H.M.S., Bombardment by, 248 Colombo-- Convoy at, 61 Route of Convoy to, 35 _Sydney_, H.M.A.S., at, 46 Leaves Cocos for, 57 Connolly, Captain, 277 Constantinople, 167, 279 British Ambassador, 27 Canal route to, 79 Convoy-- Commanding officer of, 30, 33 Departure of _Orvieto_ and, 25 Destination changed, 61 Details of, 32 Disposition of, 30 Enters Red Sea, 61 Final Departure, 31 First Division at Albany, 24 Japanese Java Squadron, 35 Names of ships, 32 New Zealand ships, 33 _Orvieto_, flagship of, 8 Precaution against _Emden_, 37, 39, 41 Proximity of _Emden_, 41 Reaches Alexandria, 66 Colombo, 61 Port Said, 64 Route to Colombo, 35 _Southern_, details of, 35, 36 Speed of, 35 Start of N.Z. force with, 26 Through Suez Canal, 63 Cook, Mr. Joseph, 16 Courtney's Post, 139, 195 Cove of Anzac (_see_ Anzac Cove), 103 Cover, Turkish use of overhead, 189 Cox, Major-General H. V., 146, 247, 272 Attack by, 250 Day operations by, 276 Cribb, Captain, 111 Cunliffe-Owen, Brigadier-General, 219 _Daily Telegraph_ correspondent, 95 D'Amade, General, 92 Damakjelik Hill, 247 British capture, 250 Dardanelles-- Current from, 103 First bombardment, 92 Panorama, 129 _Phaeton_, H.M.S., at, 92 _Queen Elizabeth_ bombards, 92 Turkish casualties, 291 Warships' losses, 93 Dare, Major, 274 Darwin, Importance of Port, 18 Deadman's Ridge, 244 Dedeagatch, 96 Deia Garcia Islands, 35 Democracy, General Hamilton on the, 95 _D'Entrecasteaux_, 88 _Desaix_, battleship, 64 Despair, Valley of, 185 Destroyers-- Mistake at Chunak Bair, 262 Searchlights, 209 Destroyer Hill-- Capture of, 254 Evacuation of, 289 De Tot's Battery, 143 Dexter, Chaplain, 68, 167 "Die Hards," Last Australian, 289 Direction Island, Cable on, 54 Discipline, Australians learn, 74 Division-- 29th, in May attack, 146 (_see under_ British Army) 1st Australian, 20 (_see under_ Australian Army) New Zealand and Australian, 71 (_see under_ Australian Army) Djemal Pasha, 76, 78 Bluff of, 84 Dobbin, Lieut.-Colonel, 228 Doctors at Lone Pine, 232 Dugouts, Descriptions of, 170, 180 Dunstan, Captain, 265 Duntroon Military College, 19 _Duplex_, 64 Dysentery at Anzac, 278 Easton, Lieutenant, Capture of, 124 Egypt-- Army in, 77 British prestige in, 281 Convoy sent to, 62 G.O.C., 62 German menace in, 62 Secret service work in, 220 Turkish plots in, 80 Egyptian-- Engineers at Imbros, 217 Mounted Artillery, 77, 86 Water-tins, 171 El Arisch, 79 El Ferdan, 83 Elias, Mount, View from, 97 Elliott, Lieut.-Colonel, 75, 112, 235 _Emden_-- Beaching, 53 Casualties on, 57 Challenges _Sydney_, 48 Course against _Sydney_, 51 Destruction of, 40 Dummy funnel, 48 Germans watch fight, 54 Hits on, 50 Indian Gulf raids, 27 Nearness to Convoy, 41 Precaution against, 37 Shells fired by, 59 Wreck of, 56 Empire Day, Armistice on, 165 _Empress of Russia_, H.M.S., 57 _Encounter_, H.M.A.S., 26 Enemy messages, 192 Engineering, Anzac schemes of, 285 Engineers-- At Lone Pine, 235 Egyptian, 217 General Maxwell's appreciation of, 83 New Zealand, 247 Third Australian Company, 75, 82 Enos, Gulf of, 213 Landing at, 214 Entanglements at Gaba Tepe, 182 Enver Pasha-- Brother of, 27 Difficulties of, 281 Orders by, 208 Erenkeui Bay, 92 Eski Keui, 206 Eucalyptus trees, 68 _Euripides_, transport, 34 Evacuation, Gallipoli-- Administrative Staff, 287 Attitude of Dominions to, 291 Casualties at Anzac, 291 Casualties at Helles, 291 Casualties at Suvla Bay, 291 Chatham's Post, 290 Estimated casualties in, 281 Explosion on Nek, 290 General Hamilton refuses, 280 Helles, 291 Last Anzac scenes, 290 Method of, 288 Officers responsible for, 287 Part of Navy, 289 Plans for, 286 Questions raised, 280 Reasons for, 281 _seq._ Staff work at, 287 Stores destroyed at, 287 Three columns in, 288 Units in, 288 _seq._ Everden, 132 Expeditionary Force-- Australian attitude to, 20 Delay in departure, 27 March in Melbourne, 23 Eye-witness, 8 Falkland Islands, Battle of, 18 "Farm, The," Capture of, 246, 253, 262 Farr, Major, 195 Ferdinand, King, and Turkey, 96 Ferguson, Sir Ronald Munro, 15 Festian, Major, 141 Fethers, Major, 112 Fever, Mediterranean, 192 Fisherman's Huts, 168 Capture of, 111 Flag, Colonel Austin's Anzac, 173 Flockart, Captain, 68 Flour, Bulgaria gets, 96 Forsyth, Brigadier-General J., 238, 287 French Army-- A charge by, 147 Artillery at Helles, 145 At Lemnos, 95 Fail at "Haricot," 154 Infantry at Helles, 144 Landing, 128 Leader, 73 Numbers of, 213 French 75 cm. guns, use by Turks, 191 French Navy at Dardanelles, 220 Frost-bite, Australians suffer, 286 Fullerton, Major, 231 Fusilier Regiments landing, 128 Gaba Tepe, 92, 119, 163 Bombardment of, 109, 205 Plans for landing, 94, 215 Snipers, 182 Transports off, 102 Turkish guns on, 118 Gallery trenches, 184 Gallipoli-- (_See also_ Anzac and Helles) Causes of campaign failure, 291 Night of landing on, 100 Reason for evacuation of, 281 _seq_. Sunsets, 171 Turkish plans at, 280 Turkish losses, 291 Wild flowers, 168 Garside, Lieut.-Colonel, 150 Death of, 155 _Gaulois_, damaging of, 93 Gaza, 79 German-- Aeroplane at Anzac, 268 Albatross machine, 163 Attack methods, 119 Belief about Australia, 18 Cocos landing party, 54 N.C.O.'s with Turks, 117 Officers at Anzac, 188 Officers' camp, 169 Officers' Trench, 118, 119, 224, 237 Officers with Turks, 213 Sailors on Keeling Island, 56 Telefunken Code, 24 Von den Hagen, Major, 90 Germany-- Menaces Egypt, 62 New Guinea base, 18 Pacific Squadron, 18 Gezirah, 68 Gharry, Australians' use of, 73 Gillison, Chaplain A., Death of, 375 Glasfurd, Major, 136 Glasgow, Major T. W., 244 Glossop, Captain, 46, 53 Glover, Lieut.-Colonel Thomas, 89 _Gneisenau_, German cruiser, 18 Godley, Major-General Sir A., 9, 136, 169, 224, 245 _Goeben_-- Guns from, 159 Turkish interest in, 28 Goltz, Von der, 76 _Good Hope_, H.M.S., 40 Gordon-Smith, Captain, 36 Message to Fleet, 45 Gorizia, Italian gunners at, 114 Graham, Major D. P., 202 Granaries, Turkish, 149 Grant, Chaplain, 295 Great Adventure, The, 10 Deception of Turks in, 219 General Hamilton sums up, 214 Plans of, 212 Great Dere, 205 Great Sap, the, 173 Greece-- Attitude of, 281 Queen of, 98 Greek-- Interpreter, 251 Islands' food, 9 Music, 98 Natives on Imbros, 133, 217 Voyage on steamer, 96 Gunners, Heroic Anzac, 188 Guns, handling of, 190 Gurkhas (_see also_ Indian Army), 83, 88, 143, 253, 205 Hagen, Major Von den, 90 Hamilton, General Sir Ian-- Appreciation of Major-General Bridges, 158 Asks for reinforcements, 279 Author's help from, 9 Departure from Anzac, 281 Estimate of ammunition supply, 211 First sight of Dardanelles, 92 Headquarters, 9, 217 Interview with, 95 Landing plans, 93 Needs more troops, 104 Plan of "Great Adventure," 212 _seq._ Plan of Sari Bair battle, 247 _seq._ Praise of Australians, 9, 270 Questioned on evacuation, 280 Recall to London, 280 Strategy of, 220 Sums up Anzac landing, 127 Sums up his army, 279 Sums up July position, 214 Views on Armistice, 164 Hamilton, Private, 265 Hangars at Tenedos, 187 Happy Valley, 120, 190 _Hardinge_, H.M.S., 88 Hardy, Captain, 65 "Haricot" redoubt, 146 French repulse at, 150, 154 Harris Ridge, attack on, 206 "Hates," Artillery, 169 "Heart of Anzac," 169 Heliopolis, Camp at, 70 Hell Spit, 177 Danger at, 171 Machine guns at, 179 Helles, Cape, 94 Auckland Battalion at, 149 Battleship support, 147 British landing, 99, 126 Cass saves situation at, 154 Colonel M'Cay's dilemma at, 151 Compared with Anzac, 144 Country at, 144 Evacuation, 291 Guns at, 219 Main Turkish force at, 256 May attacks, 143, 145 Offensive at, 220 Otago Battalion at, 149 Second attack, 147 Supplies at, 148 Turks hoodwinked at, 211 Turkish success at, 236 29th Division at, 126 Victorian charge at, 150 Wellington Battalion at, 149 Herring, Major, 274 Hill 971, 103, 119, 190, 236 Storming of, 215 Topography of, 246 Hill Q, Storming of, 253 Hill 60, 272 Capture, 277 Casualties, 277 Evacuation, 289 Final attack on, 276 First failure at, 274 Ninth lighthouse at, 277 Plans of attack, 272 Stretcher-bearers, 274 Tenth lighthouse at, 277 Hindustani, Turkish ruse, 124 Hobbs, Colonel, 113 Holmes, Brigadier-General, 287 Horses landed at Helles, 133 Hospital ships off Anzac, 255 Hospital supplies at Anzac, 174 Hospitals-- Anzac winter, 284 British ambulances, Suvla Bay, 269 Colonel Howse's Beach, 113, 171 Howard, Lieut.-Colonel, 91 Howitzer heavy guns, 285 Howse, V.C., Surgeon-General, 113, 171, 282 Hughes, Brigadier-General F. G., 190, 192, 238 Huts, Turkish, 182 Hydroplane, French, 65 Ibraham, General, 78 _Ibuki_-- Clears for action, 43 Japanese Naval Escort, 29 Ida, Mount, 115 Imbros Island, 9 Anzac viewed from, 131 Australians at, 217 General Hamilton's headquarters, 217 Viewed from Anzac, 174 Indian Army-- Attack by Brigade, 250 Brigades at Helles, 146, 150 Gurkhas attack Hill Q, 260 Gurkhas at Helles, 143 Mingles with Australians, 181 Suvla Bay, 275 5th Gurkhas, 253 6th Gurkhas, 253, 261 10th Gurkhas, 253 14th Sikhs, 253 62nd Punjabis, 86 92nd Punjabis, 89 Mountain Batteries, 119, 247 26th Mountain Battery, 110 Indian Ocean, Convoy in, 38 Indian troops, Turks disguised as, 124 Infantry, Australian-- 1st Battalion, 123, 228, 265 2nd Battalion, 120, 228, 266 3rd Battalion, 228 4th Battalion, 112, 121, 228, 264 5th Battalion, 8, 66, 109, 150, 226, 264 6th Battalion, 109, 112, 150, 237, 264, 289 7th Battalion, 75, 112, 150, 264, 265 8th Battalion, 75, 112, 120, 150 9th Battalion, 104, 120, 206 10th Battalion, 104, 120 11th Battalion, 104, 221 12th Battalion, 104, 109, 235, 264 13th Battalion, 141, 252, 274 14th Battalion, 141, 258, 275 15th Battalion, 124, 201, 252, 258 16th Battalion, 124, 141, 201, 252, 276, 288 17th Battalion, 277, 289 18th Battalion, 277 20th Battalion, 289 23rd Battalion, 289 24th Battalion, 289 _Inflexible_, H.M.S., Damage to, 93 Interpreters, Greek, 251 _Irresistible_, H.M.S., Sinking of, 93 Irvine, Major, Death of, 122 Ismailia, 79 Defences of, 83 Pontoon bridges at, 82 Jacobs, Captain, 124 Japanese Fleet, 18 _Ibuki_ and _Emden_, 43 Java Squadron, 35 _Osaki_ near _Emden_, 45 Java, Japanese ships off, 45 Jerusalem, 80 Johnston, Brigadier-General G., 113, 137, 166, 186, 247, 287 Johnston, Lieut.-Colonel J. L., 104, 221, 224 Johnston's Jolly, 224 Name of, 188 Joseph of Hohenzollern, H.I.H., 56 Journalists, General Hamilton on, 95 Kabak Kuya Well, 273 Kaijak Aghala (Hill 60), 275 Kaiser, Nephew of, 56 Kanli, Valley, 146 Artillery in, 146 Kantara, 79, 81 Road to, 82 Kasr-el-Nil Barracks, 67 Kateb-el-Kheil, 83 Keeling Island-- _Emden_ at, 42, 53 _Sydney_ leaves, 57 Kelid Bahr, Fortifications of, 94, 115, 130, 214, 288 Kelid Bair, 168 Kephalos Bay, 9 Anchorage at, 217 Mine-sweepers at, 130 Keveres Dere, 146 Keysor, Private, 265 Kiddle, Captain, of _Minotaur_, 36 Kieslinger, Lieutenant, 54 King Ferdinand, 96 King George's Sound-- Convoy assemble at, 24 Traditions of, 28 King, His Majesty the, Message from, 282 King, Major, 231 Kitchener, Earl, 90, 281 At Russell Top, 282 Delivers King's message, 283 Message to Australasians, 283 Visit to Anzac, 282 Koja Chemen Tepe (_see also_ Hill 971), 103, 116, 190, 220 Kojadere, 137 Turkish camp at, 105 Turkish trenches to, 187 _Königsberg_, Sinking of, 40 H.M.A.S. _Sydney_, and, 54 Krithia, 127 Country round, 144 May attack on, 143, 149 Plans to capture, 205, 214 Road into, 153 Krupp guns captured, 106 Kum Kale Fort-- Attack on, 220 Bombardment of, 92, 94 Kurdish Cavalry, 80 Lakes, Bitter, 84 Landing, Australian-- Anzac covering force, 104 Country faced at, 106 Crisis, 113, 116 Details of, 102 _seq._ Effect of current on, 103 Fourth Brigade in, 112 Navy's part in, 107 Need of artillery at, 115 New Zealand part in, 117 Plans for, 96 Queensland first, 109 Reinforcements at, 112 Third Brigade, 102 Turkish opposition at, 105 Landing-- French at Kum Kale, 128 Fusilier Regiments at Helles, 128 Nine Army Corps, 247 Suvla Bay failure, 214, 254, 260 Leane, Major, 222 Death of, 223 Lee, Lieut.-Colonel, 104 Legge, Major-General, 9, 271 Legge Valley, 164 Lemnos, Island of, 217 Transports, 94 Levant, The-- Earl Kitchener visits, 281 Flowers of, 129 Ships in, 99 Levinge, Lieut.-Colonel, 262 Life at Anzac, 180 Light Horse-- Anzac attack, 205 Attacks on the Nek, 243 Gallantry, 207 Landing of, 170 Light Horse Units:-- 1st Regiment, 208, 244 2nd Regiment, 202 3rd Regiment, 200 5th Regiment, 206 7th Regiment, 206 8th Regiment, 236, 240 9th Regiment, 277 10th Regiment, 236, 277 Lind, Captain, 68 Logan, Major T. J., Death of, 243 _London_, H.M.S., Anecdote of, 175 Lone Pine, 224 After bomb attacks, 266 Artillery at, 227 Attacks at, 221, 222 Author at, 10 Bombing at, 221, 236, 255, 285 Capture, 229, 270 Casualties, 270 Charges, 228, 229 Details of trenches, 224 Engineers at, 235 Evacuation, 289 Machine guns at, 232 Military Crosses won at, 265 Mining operations, 285 Plans for, 223 Signallers at, 230 Tunnel trenches, 225 Turkish overhead cover, 229 Turkish version of, 268 Victoria Crosses won at, 265 Loughran, Major, 274 Lussington, Private, 124 Maadi, Light Horse at, 70 Maan Railway, 80 M'Cay, Brigadier-General, 77, 109, 117, 143, 150, 151 Wounded at Helles, 155 M'Cay's Hill, 120 McDonald, Lieut.-Colonel, 140, 149 McDonald, Captain, R.T.A., Capture of 124 McGarry, Private, 242 Machine guns-- Captured Turkish, 267 Hell Spit, 179 Lone Pine, 232 Noise of, 115 On the Nek, 240 Quinn's, 199 Mackesy, Lieut.-Colonel, 249 Mackworth, D.S.O., Major, 136 MacLachlan, Major, 90 Maclagan, Brigadier-General Sinclair, 102, 117, 182, 183, 205 Maclagan's Ridge, 105, 168 McLaurin, Colonel, 69, 109, 117 Death of, 122 Macnaghten, Colonel, 228, 264 McNicol, Lieut.-Colonel, 109, 112, 150 Wounded at Helles, 155 Maidos, 94, 105, 213, 215 Destruction of, 131 Reconnaissance of, 136 Shells dropping on, 130 _Majestic_, Sinking of, 211 Mallet, Sir Louis, 27 Malone, Lieut.-Colonel W. C., 149, 259 At Quinn's, 196 Death of, 260 Malta, 96 Mal Tepe, 132, 280 Dere, 146 Manchester Territorials, 67 Mangar, Lieut., 68, 111, 117 Maoris, 173, 247, 273 At Russell Top, 208 Table Top attack, 249 Marshall Islands, 18 Martyn, Lieut.-Colonel, 211, 235, 285 Massey, W. T., 8, 95 _Mauretania_, Troops on, 217 Maxwell, General-- Anzac visit, 282 Canal attack, 84 May attack-- At Helles, 145 Turkish, 160 Mediterranean, Submarines in, 214 Meekes, Major, 29 _Melbourne_, H.M.A.S., 29, 42 Mena-- Camp at, 67, 70 Roads at, 69 Menace, Submarine, 214 Merrington, Chaplain, 167 Mesopotamian Campaign, 213, 281 _Mia mias_, 251 Military Crosses, 265 Millen, E. D., Admiralty message to, 16 Miltiades, 30 Miners, Tasmanian, 185 Mining-- Anzac, 237 Lone Pine, 285 Of the Nek, 290 Operations in November, 284 Quinn's, 193 Turkish, 191 _Minotaur_, H.M.S., 16, 26, 40 Mitylene, Island of, 9, 98, 220 Mocke, Captain von, 54 Moiya Harah, 80 Monash, Brigadier-General J., 71, 111, 117, 137, 247, 251, 269, 271 Monash Gully, 111, 119, 200, 290 Fierce fighting at, 162 Mongrak, 180 Monitors, 214, 218 Monro, General Sir Charles, 281, 286 _Montcalm_, H.M.S., 64 Moore, Colonel, 260 Morto Bay, 92, 128, 146 Moslems, Attempt to embroil, 80 Mudros, 7, 97 Camps at, 217 First Army Corps rest at, 278 Fleet at, 96 Permission to visit, 97 Ships shelter at, 214 Troops reach, 287 Mule Gully, 137, 164, 189 Mules, Ammunition, 181 Müller, Captain, Surrender of, 54 "Mustard Plaster, The," 253 Attack on, 261 Myles, Major, 187 Naval Australian Unit, 16 Naval Division at Helles, 147 Navy-- Air Service, 133 At evacuation of Anzac, 289 First Australian action, 40 German Pacific Squadron, 18 Part in landing, 107 Speed of _Sydney_, 45 Spirit of, 107 Transportation of supplies, 280 Nagara Lighthouse, 131 Narrows, 130, 214, 268 Napoleon, Egyptian Campaign, 79 Nebrunesi Point, 247, 254 Nekhl, 80, 81 Nelson Battalion at Quinn's, 141 "Nek, The," 119, 288, 289 Bombs on, 241 Casualties, 243 Final mine on, 290 Light Horse charge, 237 Light Horse repulse, 242 Mining on, 191 Nearness of trenches on, 200 Significance of attacks, 243 Turkish machine guns on, 210, 240 Nettleton, Lieutenant, death of, 244 _Newcastle_, H.M.S., 47 New Guinea-- Codes captured at, 24 German, 18 New Zealand Army, Units of-- Artillery, 219 Engineers, 247, 249 Infantry, 88 Auckland Battalion, 111, 149, 254 Canterbury Battalion, 149, 194, 253 Otago Battalion, 140, 142 Wellington Battalion, 149 Mounted Rifles, 249, 273, 276, 289 New Zealand Convoy, 26, 27, 33 New Zealanders-- Attack on Sari Bair, 245, 247 Charge at Helles, 149 Hold Chunak Bair, 254 Infantry in Canal, 77 Infantry leave Anzac, 144 Line held by, 139 On Russell Top, 139, 190 Storm Chunak Bair, 252 Ninth Army Corps, 255 No. 2 Outpost, 177, 218, 224, 248, 254, 263 No. 3 Outpost, 248, 271 No Man's Land, 201 Observation post, Turkish, 149 Ocean Beach, 173, 263, 289 _Ocean_, H.M.S., 92 Sinking of, 93 Olive Grove Battery, 157, 214, 280 Onslow, Captain, Death of, 170 Ordnance stores, Anzac, 169, 173 _Orvieto_, H.M.T., 8 Departure of, 25 _Osaki_, Japanese cruiser, 45 Osboldstone & Co., 10 Otago Battalion, 142, 149, 247, 253 Captures Bauchop's Hill, 249 Ottoman Empire-- Help for, 281 Exhaustion of, 291 Outposts, 173 Outpost No. 1, 289 Outpost No. 2, 177, 263 Attack from, 248 Observation from, 254 Strengthening of, 218 Troops move to, 224 Outpost No. 3-- Attack on, 248 Prisoners taken at, 271 Overhead cover, Turkish, 189 Owen, Cunliffe-, Brigadier-General, 219 Owen's Gully, 224 Padre, A, under shell fire, 172 Pain, Captain, 234 Papua, German base, 18 Paris, General, 150 Parker, Mr., 43 Parnell, Colonel, 19 Passport, Press, 9 Pearce, 10 _Pegasus_, H.M.A.S., 26 Periscope, Use of, 185, 198 Persian Gulf Campaign, 27 _Phaeton_, H.M.S., 92 Phillips, Major, 188 Pimple, The, 186, 224 Pine Ridge, 106, 121, 137, 182, 186, 187, 220 _Pioneer_, H.M.A.S., 26, 34 Plugge, Lieut.-Colonel, 111, 149 Plugge's Plateau, 105, 119, 173 Pontoon bridges, Canal, 82 Pope, Lieut.-Colonel, 252, 258 Advance by, 140 Escape from capture, 124 First command, 124 Pope's Hill, 119, 137, 179, 208, 240 Attacks from, 142, 244 Capture of, 123, 124 Evacuation, 290 History, 200 _seq._ Life at, 200 Nearness of trenches on, 201 Occupation, 111 Poppyfield, 162 Port Said-- Flooding of, 79 Warships at, 64 Portsmouth Battalion at Quinn's, 141 Post Office, Anzac, 171 "Possy," Description of a, 186 Primrose, Major, 141 Pyramids, 68, 72 "Q" Hill, 257 Taking of, 261 Quebec, 129 Sari Bair compared to, 270 _Queen_, H.M.S., 100, 138 General Birdwood's recall to, 113 _Queen Elizabeth_, H.M.S., 92, 109, 115, 116, 132 Shrapnel, 119 Spotters for, 122 Queensland Infantry first ashore, 109 Queensland Light Horse, Gallantry of, 207 Quinn, Major, 123, 201 Death of, 203 Quinn's Post, 119, 137, 208, 240, 242, 288 Attack fails, 140 Bombing at, 160 Early history, 194 Evacuation, 290 Life at, 195 Machine guns at, 199 Mining at, 193, 284 Occupation, 111 Periscopes, use of, 198 Tunnel trenches, 193, 197 Turkish notices at, 211 Rabbit Island, 93, 130 Ramazan, Turkish attack at, 210 Rankine, Lieut.-Colonel, 252, 258 Rearguard action, Anzac, 287 Red Crescent, Turkish, 166 Red Cross-- Beach Station, 169 Use of flag, 163 Red Sea, Convoy in, 61 Redoubt, "Haricot," 146 Reed, Major, Death of, 244 Reid, Sir George, 74 Reinforcements-- Anzac, 291 Need of, 213 Renwick, George, 8 _Requiem_, cruiser, 65 Rest Gully, 250 Reticulation scheme, Anzac, 171 Reynell, Colonel, 277 Rhododendron Ridge, 191, 263 Capture of, 253 Topography, 246 _River Clyde_, 144 Grounding of, 128 Robeck, Vice-Admiral de, 92, 96, 215 Robertson, Major, 120 Rose, Captain, 259 Rosenthal, Colonel, 113, 182 Ross, Major, 183, 221 Rowell, Lieut.-Colonel, 200 Royal Marine Light Infantry, 135, 137, 141 Royal Naval Air Service, 133 Ruses, Australian, 219 Russell Top, 119, 137, 190 Attack on, 209 Kitchener at, 282 New Zealand work on, 139, 190 Supplies, 192 Russell, Brigadier-General A. H., 137, 247, 249, 257 Russian, Greek music and, 98 Saker, Major, 112 Salonica, 98, 281 Salt Lake, 173, 220 Ambulances at, 269 British at, 254 Grass fires at, 257 Samothrace, Island of, 174 Sampson, Flight-Commander, 219 Sanders, General Liman von, 78, 134 Army Order by, 118 Use of Red Crescent, 166 Sap, The Great, 173 Sap, The Secret, 187 Sapping at Lone Pine, 235 Sari Bair Ridge, 103, 113, 119, 173 Battle of, 257, 264 Columns attacking, 245, 247 Machine guns on, 254 Plans against, 137, 215, 246, 258 Shelling of, 132 Saros Gulf, 92, 98 Warships in, 95 Sasse, Major, 265 Sazli Beit Dere, 247 Capture of, 253 _Scharnhorst_, 18 Schmidt, Lieutenant, 54 Scobie, Lieut.-Colonel, 228 Death of, 266 Scrubby Knoll, Guns against, 186 Searchlights, Destroyers', 209 Use of, 238 Seddul Bahr, 128 Forts at, 92 French at, 144 Ruins, 144 Turkish shelling of, 149 Village, 115 Serapeum, 80, 83 Serbian Army, 281 Shell Green, 182, 184 Shells, Star, Turkish, 161 Shera, Captain, 249 Shout, V.C., Captain, 265 Shrapnel, Effects of, 116 Shrapnel Gully, 105, 194 Anzac divided by, 179, 189 Indian camp in, 181 Snipers in, 122 Signallers at Lone Pine, 230 Sikhs Infantry, 181, 253 Silver, Captain, 38, 41, 42, 45 Sinai, Water on, 78 Smith, Captain Gordon, 30 Smyth, Brigadier-General, 210 Snipers at Gaba Tepe, 182 Snipers, Turkish, 122 Surrender of, 192 Snipers' Nest, 190 Machine guns at, 191, 263 Snowfall at Anzac, 285 "Soul of Anzac" (_see also_ General Birdwood) 169 _Southern_, H.M.T., 30, 35, 36 Speary, Rear-Admiral, 30 Sphinx Rock, 173, 250 Spy suspicions at Castro, 96 Stanley, Sir Arthur, 23 Star shell, Turkish use of, 161 Steel's Post, 189, 208 Stevens, G., 9 Stevens, Major, 233 Stevenson, Major, 219 Stewart, Captain J. C., 68 Stewart, Lieut.-Colonel D. M., 149 Stewart, Lieutenant, 154 Stopford, General, 255 Stores, Anzac, 287 Storm-- Anzac, 285 Mediterranean, 173 Strategy, General Hamilton's, 220 Stretcher-bearers, 188 At Lone Pine, 231 At Hill 60, 274 Submarines, 214, 215 Supplies-- Navy transport of, 280 Helles, 148 Russell Top, 192 Suvla Bay, 169, 173 Base established, 255, 271 British ambulances at, 255, 269 British position, 255 Evacuation, 291 Failure, 260 Landing, 204, 214, 236, 254 Stalemate, 279 Turkish forces, 255 Warships in, 132 _Swiftsure_, H.M.S., 65 Suez, 62 Suez Canal-- Australian Engineers on, 82 Australians on, 77 Convoy in, 63 Desert round, 78 Guarding, 64 Mountains near, 79 Suez Canal, Battle of-- Kitchener's hand in, 90 New Zealand Infantry at, 88 Turkish attack, 85, 88 Turks captured in, 86 White flag in, 90 Suez-Cairo Railway, 84 _Sydney_, H.M.A.S., 29, 46, 52 Attacks _Emden_, 44 Attacks s.s. _Buresk_, 54 Casualties on, 57 Course against _Emden_, 51 Fire on, 52 Hits on, 46, 49, 58 Range-finder of, 49 Shells fired by, 59 Speed of, 45, 58 Syme, Geoffrey, 10 Syme, Sergeant, 82 Symons, V.C., Lieutenant, 265 Syrian coast, French ships off, 220 Table Top position, 247, 249 Tasman Post, 205, 221 Tasmanian miners, 185 Taube-- At Anzac, 255 Over Quinn's, 197 Tekel, Tents at Cape, 131 Telefunken Code, 24 Telephone Exchange, Anzac, 171 Tenedos, Island of, 92 Fleet at, 99, 127 Hangars at, 187, 219 "The Bloody Angle," 194 "The Wheatfield," 206 Thermia, Australians at, 97 Thompson, Lieut.-Colonel, 112 Thursby, Admiral, 99 Tilney, Major, 141 Timsah, Lake, 79 Toussoum, 83, 89 Defences at, 85 Transports-- Exercise on, 36 Hospital, 133 Routine on, 37 Transport services, strain on, 281 Travers, Brigadier-General J. H., 247, 250 Trawlers at Anzac, 177 Trenches-- Enemy, 189 Gallery, 184 German Officers', 188 Lone Pine, 224 Quinn's, 195, 197 Tunnel, 197 _Triumph_, H.M.S., 109, 116, 118, 214 Troy, Hills of, 99, 131 Tubb, Lieutenant, 265 Tuckett, Sergeant, 169 Tunnels-- At Lone Pine, 225 At Quinn's, 193, 197 Turkey-- Australia's interest in, 27 Governor of, 78 King Ferdinand and, 96 War with, 27, 62 Turkish Army-- Ammunition supplies, 280 Artillery, 118, 144, 149, 157, 159, 169 Attack Chessboard, 140 Attack Harris Ridge, 207 Attack Quinn's, 208 Attack Russell Top, 209 Bewilderment of, 256 Canal attack, 76, 80, 85 Casualties, 126, 163, 270, 291 Checking attacks by, 142 Counter-attacks, 119, 121, 125 Defence of Sari Bair, 260 Escape of column, 211 Failure at Canal, 88 Failure at Nek, 210 Flight from Sari Bair, 261 Fortifications on Nek, 244 "Haricot" position, 146 Headquarters, 132 Heroism, 263 Huts, 182 Lone Pine defeat, 233 _seq_. Machine guns, 254 Main forces, 256 May attacks, 160 Opposition at Anzac, 105, 288 Opposition at Suvla, 255 Pine Ridge trenches, 187 Plans, 280 Prisoners, 211 Reconnaissances, 285 Reinforcements, 206 Regular troops, 208 Reserves, 105, 256 Shells on beach, 170 Spirit, 189 Strength of snipers in, 213, 279, 122 Use of Germans in, 117 Use of overhead cover, 229 Wiles of, 124 Turk's Point, 190 Turks-- Australians' opinion of, 183 Deceptions of, 219 Sedition in Egypt, 80 Surrender of, 192 "Uppishness" of, 192 Use 75 cm. guns, 191 Use overhead cover, 189, 229 Young, in Cairo, 75 Unwin, Captain, 129 Victoria-- First Army quota, 21 Training Expeditionary Force, 22 Victoria Barracks, 15 Victoria Crosses, 265 Victorian Brigade, Landing, 111 Victorian Infantry at Helles, 143, 150 Victorian Light Horse, Heroic charge, 236 _seq._ Von den Hagen, Major, 90 Von Mocke, Captain, 54 Walker, Major-General, 138, 159, 163, 237 Walker's Ridge, 119, 190 Wallace, Colonel, 23 Wallingford, Major, 254 Walsh, Major, 206 Walstab, Captain, 145 Wanliss, Lieut.-Colonel, 8, 66, 109, 150, 154 Wanliss Gully, 188 War-- Attitude of Australia in, 15 Correspondents, General Hamilton and, 95 Council and Gallipoli, 94 General Hamilton on, 95 Office, 279 Outbreak of, 16 Zone experiences, 96 Warsaw, 211 Warships-- In Bitter Lakes, 84 Shatter Turks, 290 Shelling by, 116 Support at Helles, 147 Water-- Anzac supply, 171 Carriers, 194 Problems at Anzac, 218 Tanks, 194 Tasmanians dig for, 185 Watson, Captain, 169 Watson, J. R., 10 Watson's Pier, 169 Weir, Lieut.-Colonel, 104, 120 Wellington Battalion, 149, 259, 276 Wells, Tasmanians sink, 185 "Wheatfield, The," 206 "W" Hills, 272 White, Lieut.-Colonel A., Death of, 241 White, Brigadier-General, C.B.B., 8, 136, 287 Whitecliffs, Town of, 131 White flag, Turkish use of, 90, 163 White Gully, 182, 186 Wild flowers, Gallipoli, 168 Williams, Major, 195 Wilson, Major, 21 Wilson, Private H., 154 Wineglass Ridge, 206 Winter base, Suvla Bay as, 220 Winter campaign, Plans for, 283 Wireless-- Cocos message, 48 Emden's use of, 48 Transports and, 38 Witham, Major, 109 _Yarmouth_, H.M.S., 47 Yeomanry, 289 Zeitoun, Camp at, 70 Zone, Correspondents in the, 9 _Printed in Great Britain by_ UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON * * * * * TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text with ~tildes~. The List of Illustrations do not match the captions in three cases: The illustration "Facing p. 82" is listed as "AUSTRALIANS AT THE SUEZ CANAL", but the actual caption is "AUSTRALIANS MANNING A COMMUNICATION TRENCH LEADING TO ISMAILIA FERRY POST." Similarly, the illustrations "Facing p. 96" are given as "AUSTRALIANS LEAVING FOR THE FRONT" and "BRIGADIER-GENERALS M'CAY AND MACLAGAN", but the captions are "MARCHING ORDERS FOR THE FRONT" and "LEADERS AT THE LANDING." Illustrations which are opposite p. 210 in the original are marked as "To face p. 218." Variable spelling of proper names has been retained as in the original. 
40073	----	A LIVELY BIT OF THE FRONT BLACKIE & SON LIMITED 50 Old Bailey, LONDON 17 Stanhope Street, GLASGOW BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED Warwick House, Fort Street, BOMBAY BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED TORONTO [Frontispiece: HE HAD BLUNDERED RIGHT INTO A PARTY OF HUNS] A LIVELY BIT OF THE FRONT A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN Illustrated by Wal Paget BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW By Percy F. Westerman Captain Fosdyke's Gold. In Defiance of the Ban. Captain Sang. The Senior Cadet. The Amir's Ruby. The Secret of the Plateau. Leslie Dexter, Cadet. All Hands to the Boats. A Mystery of the Broads. Rivals of the Reef. A Shanghai Adventure. Pat Stobart in the "Golden Dawn". The Junior Cadet. Captain Starlight. The Sea-Girt Fortress. On the Wings of the Wind. Captured at Tripoli. Captain Blundell's Treasure. The Third Officer. Unconquered Wings. The Riddle of the Air. Chums of the "Golden Vanity". Clipped Wings. The Luck of the "Golden Dawn ". The Salving of the "Fusi Yama". Winning his Wings. A Lively Bit of the Front. A Cadet of the Mercantile Marine. The Good Ship "Golden Effort". East in the "Golden Gain" The Quest of the "Golden Hope". Sea Scouts Abroad. Sea Scouts Up-Channel. The Wireless Officer. A Lad of Grit. The Submarine Hunters. Sea Scouts All. The Thick of the Fray. A Sub and a Submarine. Under the White Ensign. The Fight for Constantinople. With Beatty off Jutland. The Dispatch Riders. Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow Contents CHAP. I. MALCOLM CARR'S DECISION II. No. 99,109, R/M CARR III. THE FIRST TREK IV. THE INTERRUPTED CONCERT V. BROKEN DOWN IN MID-OCEAN VI. MAN OVERBOARD VII. QUITS! VIII. LEFT BEHIND IX. IN THE RING X. VOLUNTEERS FOR THE STOKEHOLD XI. CORNERED XII. RUNNING THE GAUNTLET XIII. NEWS OF PETER XIV. THE ANZACS' HOAX XV. THE EVE OF MESSINES XVI. KONRAD VON FELDOFFER XVII. OVER THE TOP XVIII. THE CAPTURED TRENCH XIX. TRAPPED IN A DUG-OUT XX. THE WAY OUT XXI. OUT OF TOUCH XXII. A PRISONER OF WAR XXIII. AT DÜREN CAMP XXIV. ESCAPE XXV. ON THE BARGE XXVI. AT THE FRONTIER XXVII. THE END OF A SPY XXVIII. IN THE FIRING-LINE AGAIN XXIX. THE BATTLE IN THE MUD XXX. THE LAST STAND Illustrations HE HAD BLUNDERED RIGHT INTO A PARTY OF HUNS (Frontispiece) "BY GUM, THAT'S A MIGHTY QUEER CHUNK OF COAL!" "WING HIM!" EXCLAIMED MALCOLM "IT'S SPUD MURPHY AND JOE JENNINGS!" A LIVELY BIT OF THE FRONT CHAPTER I Malcolm Carr's Decision "Post in yet, Dick?" enquired Malcolm Carr, as he stood in the open doorway of a "tin" hut that formed part of the Wairakato Camp. "Give the man a chance, Malcolm," was the reply. "You'll get your letters before we start. Expecting anything important?" Malcolm Carr was a typical specimen of the youthful New Zealander. Although only seventeen years of age, he was a full inch over six feet in height, and, although broad across the shoulders, was sparely built yet supple of frame. His features were clear-cut and slightly elongated. A massive chin betokened force of character. His deep-set, grey eyes gave promise of an alertness and keenness of vision that are the attributes of a healthy, open-air life. He was dressed in a soft flannel shirt open at the neck, buckskin riding-breeches, leggings, and strong laced boots, the latter provided with spurs. On his left wrist he wore a watch in a leather case that bore signs of hard usage and exposure to the weather. Attached to his belt was a sheath-knife, while in contrast to his up-country appearance he carried in the breast-pocket of his shirt a canvas-covered notebook, a couple of pencils, and a fountain-pen. His companion, Dick Selwyn, differed little from him in appearance and attire. He was barely half an inch shorter than Malcolm--they raise tall youths in New Zealand--of greater girth, and slightly heavier. His large, muscular hands, however, were a marked contrast to the slim, supple, well-kept pair on which young Carr prided himself. Both lads were pupils under the State Railways Department of the Dominion. Their college course completed, they were assisting in the survey of the Wairakato valley, where a projected line was about to be commenced to link up the east and west coasts of South Island. It was an ideal existence, under perfect climatic conditions. The month was November--late spring. For three weeks no rain had fallen, yet on the breezy uplands the ground was green with verdure. Away to the west could be discerned the lofty ridges of the Southern Alps, some of the loftier peaks still retaining their garb of snow. To the eastward the ground sloped irregularly until the hilly country merged into the fertile plains that terminated upon the shores of Pegasus Bay. Beyond the small collection of corrugated-iron huts and tents there were no signs of other human habitation. Farmsteads were few and far between in the Wairakato valley. Thirty miles of indifferent road separated the camp from the nearest village, while another forty miles had to be covered before the town of Christchurch--Malcolm's home--was reached. "Hope the post will arrive before we start," remarked Carr as he turned to enter the hut, from which wafted the appetizing odour of frying eggs and bacon, the fumes of cheap kerosene notwithstanding. "Tell Kaitiu to take the large theodolite down to No. 4, and to be a jolly sight more careful than he was yesterday. Any signs of the Boss yet?" Receiving a negative reply, Malcolm set to work to lay the table for breakfast--the two lads shared the same hut and meals. The interior of the hut was plainly yet substantially furnished. Table and chairs occupied a considerable portion of the floor space. Against the walls were cupboards and lockers, the latter mostly filled with plans and drawings. At one end was an oil stove, with a meagre supply of crockery and ironware above. Immediately opposite was a door leading into the sleeping-room. In one corner were a couple of sporting rifles and some fishing-rods, against which was leaning one of those ubiquitous objects of modern civilization--a motor tyre. It was mainly on account of that motor tyre that Malcolm was anxious for the arrival of the camp postman. A new inner tube was wanted--badly. Without it there were long odds against juggernaut making the seventy-odd-mile run into Christchurch on the coming Saturday. Juggernaut, minus one tyre, stood without, sheltering under a rick-cloth that did duty for a garage. A car of ancient and composite design--partly Daimler, partly Darracq, and with a suspicion of half a dozen makers' parts in the _tout ensemble_--the wondrous, once-discarded vehicle had been given to Peter and Malcolm Carr by a cousin of theirs. Being of a mechanical turn of mind, the two brothers soon reduced the motor to a state of servile tractability, although there was hardly a thoroughfare in Christchurch whose buildings did not bear a more or less permanent record of Juggernaut's frailties. Peter Carr--big, easy-going, generous Peter--had gone two years previously. Enlisting in the first contingent, he had taken part in the repulse of the first Turkish invasion of Egypt and the heroic yet ill-starred Gallipoli campaign without receiving as much as a scratch, and having hardly spent a day in hospital. From Gallipoli Peter went to France, and up to the present his luck still held. But before going on active service Peter had disposed of his share of juggernaut to his young brother, thus, in a manner, helping to mitigate Malcolm's regret that he was not at least two years older, and thus able to share with his brother the honour, glory, and vicissitudes of fighting the Boche. "Grub!" announced Malcolm laconically. "Right-o!" was the muffled response as Dick "barracked" into the hut, still scrubbing his face vigorously with a towel. "Kaitiu's taken the gear down to No. 4, and the Boss wants to see you in his office at nine." Breakfast over, and the empty cups and plates subjected to a thorough washing and drying, Malcolm prepared for his day's work. "Post!" shouted Dick, as a dust-smothered vehicle known as a buggy, driven by an equally dusty man, appeared in sight down the dusty road. Malcolm Carr knew his man. A large pannikin of tea awaited the postman, for the jaded animal a bucketful of water. While the representative of the Dominion State Post was refreshing, the lad could obtain his mails without having to go down to the works office. "Now we're all right, Dick," remarked Malcolm as the postman handed him a parcel containing the anxiously-awaited inner tube. "I'll be able to give you a lift down to Springfield on Saturday. What! More of them? A regular budget, Mike!" Mike the postman grinned approvingly as he handed over four newspaper packets and half a dozen letters, while Dick's consignment showed that that worthy was by no means forgotten. The first letter Malcolm opened was from his brother Peter--"Somewhere in France". "DEAR MALCOLM (it ran), "U-boats and other noxious German insects permitting, I hope this will reach you. I cannot say much beyond that we are very busy on our sector of the Front. I'm afraid you'll be too late to join me out here, unless the war goes on for another two or three years. Our chaps are of the opinion that it won't. We are having a thundering good time, with plenty of excitement. I have a Hun helmet for you. I gained it properly, after a tough scrap in a mine gallery, but cannot give details. It's no more risky out here than it is driving juggernaut through the market-square on a Saturday night. By the by, how goes the old chariot? Must knock off now, as I have to write to the guv'nor. It is now a quarter to five, and we parade at half-past for (_words deleted with blue pencil_). "Your loving brother, "PETER S. CARR." The next letter was from Malcolm's father, above referred to as the "guv'nor". "DEAR MALCOLM, "Just received a cablegram: 'No. 04452, Sergeant P. Carr, reported wounded and missing.' There are no further details, but as several of our Christchurch friends have received similar news, it is evident that the Nth reinforcements have been in the thick of it. Just what Peter wanted, dear lad! Cannot write more, as I can hardly realize the import of the cablegram. Hope to see you on Saturday. "Your loving father, "FRANK CARR." Malcolm deliberately folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. The rest of the correspondence remained unopened. "Wounded and missing"--he knew pretty well what that meant. The odds were greatly against the chance of seeing Peter again. Somewhere in the mud of Flanders--what a mockery that bright sunlit morning in New Zealand seemed--somewhere in that hideous No-Man's-Land his brother had fallen. A raid in the hostile trenches; Peter wounded and left behind unnoticed by his comrades. A man in that predicament stood less than a dog's chance. He must have been too badly hit to be able to crawl in--and the boys back from the front told grim tales of Hun brutality to the wounded who were unfortunate enough to fall into the enemy's hands. So far the Carrs had been lucky. Peter was the only member of the family of military age. Several of their intimate friends and scores of mere acquaintances had made the great sacrifice, but for the first time Malcolm realized the closeness of the Great War. Its ravages had touched him through his elder brother---- "By Jove!" exclaimed Dick Selwyn, deep in a newspaper, "there are two of my cousins, Jim and Laurence Selwyn--you know, they had a farm just out of Ashburton--done in; and Tom Selwyn of Oamaru dangerously wounded. That looks as if----Hallo! What's up, old man?" "Peter's wounded and missing," replied Malcolm briefly. For some minutes silence fell upon the pair. The postman, gulping his tea outside the hut, was shouting unheeded witticisms to the lads within. Presently Malcolm glanced at the clock. "Ten to eight," he remarked calmly. "I'll fix up that tyre. There's plenty of time before I see the Boss. I'm going to chuck my hand in and join up." CHAPTER II No. 99,109, R/M Carr "You can't," said Dick. "For one thing, you are tied to your job; for another, you are not old enough." "I'll have a jolly good shot at it anyhow," declared Malcolm resolutely. "Plenty of chaps have gone to the front at sixteen or seventeen. Ted Mostyn, for example; he's only eighteen, and he's back with two buckshees (wounds) already." "_Kia ora_, then, old chap," exclaimed Selwyn. "I hope you'll pull it off." Both lads set to work to fit the new inner tube and replace juggernaut's front off-side wheel. This task completed, Malcolm washed the dirt and grease from his hands, saddled his horse, and set off for the office of Mr. Hughes, the Head of the Wairakato Survey. "Morning, Malcolm!" was that worthy's genial greeting. "Where's Selwyn? Coming along, is he? That's good. I wanted to see you about that section of pipe-line that has been giving trouble. Did you bring your rough book?" Not until the matter of the survey had been gone thoroughly into did young Carr tackle his principal. "I want to know," he began, straight to the point, "I if you could release me at noon." "Certainly!" was the ready response. "The work is well in hand, and I believe you haven't had leave for some months." "For the duration of the war, I mean," continued Malcolm. "For the duration of the what?" exclaimed the astonished Hughes. "Dash it all, what's the war to do with you? They haven't put you in the ballot by mistake?" "No," replied the lad. "It's like this. But perhaps I'd better show you the governor's letter." Mr. Hughes read the proffered document. "I see," he said gravely. "And you wish to avenge your brother?" "Not avenge--it's duty," corrected Malcolm. "I can't exactly explain---- Now Peter's gone----" "You have no positive information on that point, Malcolm." "Wounded and missing--that means that there is no longer a member of our family in the firing-line. I'm seventeen, I'm a sergeant in the cadet corps, physically fit, and all that sort of thing. And I don't suppose they'll be too particular as to my age if I forget to say that I was born somewhere about the year 1900." The Boss considered for some moments. "I won't stand in your way, my boy," he said kindly. "After all, the actual work here won't start until after the war. The preliminary surveys can still go on. All right, Malcolm! jolly good luck and all that sort of thing, you know. Come and lunch with me before you start." The morning passed ever so slowly. Contrary to his usual manner, Malcolm found his thoughts wandering from his work. The desire to be up and doing, to push on with his share in the great adventure, gripped his mind to the exclusion of all other topics. In the ranks of the Dominion lads there was one of many gaps waiting specially for him to fill, and he meant to fill it worthily. On his way back to the hut, after having lunched with Mr. Hughes, Malcolm encountered a sturdy Maori. "Hallo, Te Paheka!" he exclaimed. "You're just the man I want to see. You want another motor-car? All right, come with me to Christchurch, and you can have my blessed car. That's a bargain." Te Paheka was a typical specimen of a twentieth-century Maori. He was a tall, heavily-built, muscular man of about forty-five years of age, and lived at a _whare_ about three miles from the camp. In his youth he had been given a thoroughly sound college education, and had gone to England in order to graduate. As a scholar he shone; as a business man he was a failure, owing to the fatal and all too common trait amongst Maoris of the educated class of pleasure in the spending of money, and, oddly enough, to an inherent tendency to relapse, if only temporarily, to an aboriginal existence. Te Paheka owned a considerable amount of land. Frequently he sold tracts of ground to settlers, displaying much shrewdness in the various transactions. He never went back on his word. To those who dealt fairly and squarely with him he was a stanch friend, but it was his boast that no white man would have the opportunity of letting him down a second time. With the proceeds of the sales Te Paheka would come into the nearest large town, and have a right royal time while funds lasted. Usually his weakness in that direction was a motor-car. He had been known to go to the largest dealers in Christ-church and purchase the swiftest car procurable, drive it at breakneck speed until he collided with something, and then sell the remains and retire to his _pah_ until he found an opportunity for another exuberance of pecuniary extravagance. But of late Te Paheka had fallen on hard times. The war had hit him badly. With the heavy drain upon New Zealand's man power and the sudden and marked diminution in the stream of immigrants, the opportunities to sell land vanished, and with them the prospects of buying another motor-car. Malcolm knew this. He also had found the Maori ready to do him a good turn. On one occasion Te Paheka had extricated the lad from a dangerous position during a landslide on the Wairakato Ridge; and now the chance had arrived to repay the courteous native by making him a present of the ancient but still active Juggernaut. "Would I not?" was Te Paheka's reply to the lad's offer. "Yes, I'll take great care of her for your sake, Mr. Malcolm. What can I knock out of her--a good fifty?" "Hardly," replied Malcolm, laughing. The idea of juggernaut ambling along at nearly a modest mile a minute was too funny. "Come along. I am starting for home at three o'clock." "I suppose you'll let me drive?" enquired Te Paheka. Mental visions of seeing juggernaut toppling over the edge of Horseshoe Bend, and crashing upon the rock four or five hundred feet below, prompted Malcolm to a discreet reply. "It's my last chance of driving a car for a very long time, Te Paheka," he said diplomatically. "You'll be able to do what you like with her after I get home." "You lucky bounder!" was Dick Selwyn's greeting when the chums met at the hut. "The Boss is a decent sort. He might very well have put the tin hat on your suggestion. Shall I lend a hand with your gear?" "Packed already," announced Malcolm. "All except my .303 rifle and the greenheart rod. Thought they might come in useful for you, and I don't suppose I'll need them in a hurry." With hardly anyone to see him off, excepting a couple of Maori lads who were employed as messengers, Malcolm, accompanied by Te Paheka, set off on the momentous journey that was to end--where? Perhaps in France, perhaps on the high seas. He found himself counting the chances of getting back to New Zealand. Would it be as a wounded, perhaps crippled man, or as a hale and hearty veteran after that still remote day when peace is to be declared, and German militarism crushed once and for all time? Without incident the lad brought the car to a standstill in the market-place of Christchurch. Te Paheka, torn between the desire to run away with his new gift and to wish his white friend farewell and _kia ora_ in a manner worthy of a dignified and old-standing Maori gentleman, looked like prolonging the leave-taking ceremony indefinitely, until he leave-taking happened to see the tail-end of a Napier racing car disappearing round the corner. "There's Tom Kaiwarawara with his new motor, Malcolm!" he exclaimed, making a dash for juggernaut's steering-wheel. "Golly, I'll catch him up or bust. _Kia ora_, Malcolm." And the last the lad saw of juggernaut was the car cutting round a sharp corner at a good twenty-five miles an hour, whilst pedestrians scattered right and left to avoid being run down. "I'll see Te Paheka's name in the papers before a week's up," mused juggernaut's late owner. "Either in the police-court intelligence or in the inquest reports." "I am not at all surprised at your decision, Malcolm," said his father, when the lad had reported the progress of his quick yet carefully considered project. "I can see that you are resolved, and on that account I won't stand in your way. After all's said and done, you are likely to make a far more efficient soldier than some men I know who have had to go. And the old adage 'a volunteer is worth two pressed men' still holds good. Unless a man has his heart in his work he's not likely to shine at his job." Two hours later Malcolm Carr duly enlisted, and for many a day his official designation was to be No. 99,109, Rifleman Carr, N.Z. Rifle Brigade. CHAPTER III The First Trek "Cheer-oh, Malcolm!" Carr gave an involuntary gasp of astonishment; then, recovering himself, grasped Dick Selwyn's outstretched hand. "Bless my soul, Dick, what brings you here?" "Same job as yours," replied Selwyn. "Do you think I am going to let you have _all_ the fun? You _impshied_ without even asking me to chip in. Enough to make a fellow cut up rough with his joining chum. So I rode down, and now I'm up." "And Hughes?" "He's great--absolutely! Never even murmured when he had two fellows chucking their hands in on the same day. Told me he could get along very well without us. I doubt it though. Smithers is an ass with the theodolite, and Hedger's 'trig' is rotten. By the by, on my way down last night I passed Te Paheka." "Going strong?" "Very," replied Selwyn, grinning. "He was sitting on a pine-trunk half-way up the Horseshoe. There were a few disintegrated remains of Juggernaut on the track, the bulk of the wreckage was down the valley." Early in the afternoon a batch of recruits, amongst them Malcolm and Dick, left Christchurch for Port Lyttelton to embark for Wellington, and thence to Featherston Camp. With a very few exceptions the men, although still in civilian clothes, bore themselves erect, and marched in a way that would have evoked praise from an English drill sergeant. The exceptions were those men who for some reason had not undergone military training while at school. Now they had cause to regret the omission. They were mere beginners at the great game of war, while others, younger in years, were already their seniors in the profession of arms. At Featherston Malcolm worked harder than ever he did before, but it was interesting work. Drills and parades, from early morn till late in the afternoon, soon brought the detachment up to a state bordering upon perfection, and the word went round that the Thirty-somethingth reinforcements would be sent to France some weeks earlier than the usual time, thanks to the efficiency of all ranks. There was one man, however, who proved a sort of stumbling-block--Rifleman Dowit. It was soon a standing joke that Dowit never could "do it" properly, except to grouse. Yet he was justified in his boast that he had put the Brigade Staff to ignominious flight. It was on the bombing-instruction ground. The preliminary course with dummy bombs had been completed, and now came the exciting part of this particular branch of training--hurling live Mills' bombs. A squad, including Carr and Selwyn, had been marched down to the bombing-trench, where each man had to throw three bombs over the parapet at a target twenty yards away. It was a bright moonlit night, which perhaps accounted for the good attendance on the part of the Brigade Staff to witness the operations. "I wonder how Dowit will manage," remarked Dick to his chum. "The man can't throw straight, or anything like it. He'll be hitting the top of the parapet, and letting the bombs tumble back into the trench. I vote we _impshie_ round a traverse when he starts." "It wouldn't be a bad move to warn the sergeant," rejoined Malcolm. The order to commence was given. Most of the men acquitted themselves well, including Carr and Selwyn. Then came Rifleman Dowit's turn. "Here you are, Dowit," said the sergeant, handing him the three dangerous missiles. "Do you want me to say it _all_ over again? 'Hold the bomb firmly in the right hand, at the same time gripping the lever. Withdraw the safety-pin, and----' Here, you idiot, what _are_ you doing?" Rifleman Dowit had removed the safety-pin, and was whirling the missile round and round at arm's length. At every complete circle the head of the bomb missed the edge of the parapet by a hair-breadth. If the wielder had omitted to grip the lever, then in four seconds----! Already, in anticipation of the rifleman's awkwardness, the rest of the squad were either flat on their faces or else disappearing round the traverse into the adjoining bays. The sergeant alone stood his ground. Describing a magnificent parabola, the released bomb hurtled through the air; but instead of towards the target it was whizzing in the opposite direction--straight for the group of officers standing a dozen yards from the rear of the trench. They promptly and precipitately scattered, some taking to their heels, others throwing themselves flat upon their faces in momentary expectation of a terrific explosion. A subaltern, however, did his best to avert the threatened catastrophe. Picking up a conveniently-placed sandbag, he hurled it at the now motionless bomb, missed it, but caught the recumbent form of a portly major squarely between the shoulders. Pluckily the subaltern did the next best thing. At imminent danger he placed his foot upon the latent missile of destruction and waited. "It's all right, sir," exclaimed the sergeant, who had clambered over the parados and run to the extended group of officers. "It's only a dummy. I had my doubts about Rifleman Dowit, and a thundering good job I did," he added grimly. "Bring the man here," ordered the major breathlessly, for the blow from the sandbag had shaken him considerably. Thereupon Rifleman Dowit was given a good dressing down and promptly transferred to the bearer section. For the time being he passes out of this story, but we shall hear of him again. Malcolm and Dick found bayonet exercise exciting work--thrusting at suspended sacks stuffed with straw called for strength and strenuous activity--while at the ranges both lads gained a high percentage of bulls, and in a very short while the "crossed rifles ", denoting marksmanship, ornamented the sleeves of their uniforms. Before the training course at Featherston was completed, Malcolm won his sergeant's stripes, while Dick was made full corporal. Both the lads knew that it was but a temporary step, all non-coms. reverting to riflemen on arrival in England, before proceeding across to France. Nevertheless the rank conferred certain privileges upon the holders, besides giving them valuable experience in the duties of non-commissioned officers. During their leisure hours there was plenty to amuse the men in camp. A battalion picture-theatre, billiard rooms, voluntary swimming parades, boxing, and a variety of other indoor and outdoor games contributed to the men's enjoyment; and, although discipline was well enforced, there was a total absence of irritating petty restrictions that form a constant source of annoyance to the men of the New Armies of the Motherland. At last came the welcome news of a parade at midnight in full marching order. Every man of the Thirty-somethingth reinforcements knew what that meant: a move to Trentham--the final camp before embarkation. It was a point of honour that no man should fall out during the arduous fourteen-hours' march over The Summit. Malcolm would never forget that midnight trek. It was a perfectly still evening. The Southern Cross was blazing in the sky. The air was warm but bracing. Out of the lines of tin huts the two thousand five hundred men comprising the draft poured forth like bees. They made plenty of noise, "barracking" each other like boys out of school. The utmost enthusiasm prevailed, yet despite the turmoil the sense of discipline made itself felt. In full marching order the men set out briskly to the strains of the band that was to play them for the first few miles of the route. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, crowds of civilian friends of the departing troops accompanied them--in motor-cars, horsed vehicles, mounted, and on foot. New Zealand knew how to bid her sons a fitting farewell. Once clear of the camp (the band having carried out its part of the business) the men burst into song. It was an unwritten law that each draft should attempt to sing all the way to The Summit, and the Thirty-somethingth was not going to be outdone. Mile after mile of the steep ascent the men toiled gamely. Backs began to ache under the drag of the packs; entrenching tools began to make their presence aggressively known as they chafed the men's legs; rifles were being constantly shifted from shoulder to shoulder or carried at the trail, as the weapons seemingly increased in weight at each step. Yet not a man fell out, nor did the singing cease until the order was given to halt at The Summit. "A smart bit of work. The boys are in fine fettle," remarked Platoon-sergeant Fortescue to Malcolm. "I had my doubts about Tosher Phillips. He is the weak link in the chain, so to speak." "As a matter of fact," rejoined Malcolm, "the man has galls on his heels to the size of half-crowns, and one boot is almost full of blood. He wouldn't take advantage of a lift in one of the wagons--said he'd rather stick it." "By Jove!" ejaculated Fortescue. "Is that so? Then I think I must call back all I said concerning Tosher. All the same, I'll speak to the Company Officer and get him to order the man to fall out. The boy's shown his grit; that's the main thing." Sergeant Fortescue was a man of about thirty years of age, and a seasoned veteran. English born and bred, he had gained a degree at Cambridge, and, failing to turn it to any good account, had been sent to New Zealand by his disappointed father. In the Dominion he found that he was "up against something" in which an ornate classical education did not count. Down on his luck, he tried for a clerical post in a Wellington lawyer's office. "Any qualifications?" enquired the lawyer. "Er--well, I'm considered good at Greek Iambics and Latin Prose, don't you know." "'Fraid you've come to the wrong shop," rejoined the man of law bluntly. "This is a live country, not a dead one. Good morning!" So Fortescue drifted up-country and found employment on a farm. It was hard work. The polished 'Varsity man, who hardly knew how to use a saw or to drive a nail in straight, found it particularly so. He had grit. He got on well with his fellow farm hands, who promptly dubbed him "Fortyscrews", a name that was eventually cut down to "Screws". He accepted the nickname cheerfully, stuck to his job, and in five years saved enough to start sheep-farming on his own account. Then came the war. Fortescue promptly "sold out" and enlisted. At Gallipoli he acquitted himself manfully, was mentioned for gallantry in an affair at Quinn's Post, and was brought back to Alexandria in a hospital ship, with a wound sufficiently dangerous to smash many a man up completely. Given the chance of being sent either to England or to New Zealand, he chose the latter alternative. In six months he was himself again. Re-enlisting, he was offered a staff job at Featherston, but declined it, preferring to see more fun at the Front. For the second time Trevor Fortescue had marched over The Summit on the long trail that ended within sight and sound of hostile guns. Dusty, tired, footsore, but in high spirits, the Thirty-somethingth marched into camp at Trentham. Their stay was but a short one, for three days later the reinforcement embarked at Wellington on Transport 99 for England--and France. CHAPTER IV The Interrupted Concert Transport 99, otherwise the S.S. _Awarua_, was a single-screw vessel of 8000 tons. Originally a combined passenger and cargo boat, she had been ruthlessly converted into a troop-conveying ship, and the internal rearrangements were not by any means suitable for her new rôle. Nevertheless, after the first few days, when many of the men were prostrate with sea-sickness, the troops soon accustomed themselves to their new conditions, and settled down with the fixed determination to make the voyage a sort of maritime picnic. "Say, Quarter," began Fortescue, addressing the Quartermaster-sergeant, "how about a sing-song on the mess deck this evening? Most of the boys have found their sea-legs, and there's no lack of talent." "Good idea!" replied the Q.M.S. "We'll form ourselves into an entertainment committee. Let me see: there's Sergeant Thomson, he's a bit of a vocalist." "Unfortunately he shot his false teeth over the side last night," reported Malcolm. "He was so jolly bad that he never realized his loss till this morning. He's out of it, I fancy." "We'll put him down anyway," declared Fortescue. "There's M'Kie and Macdonald: they'll open with a duet on the bagpipes." Other names were submitted and approved, not-withstanding the fact that their owners were not consulted on the matter. "How about the officers?" enquired Selwyn. "They are to be invited, I suppose?" "Rather," replied Fortescue. "By the way, what has Lieutenant Nicholson been doing to get his left optic in a sling? He wasn't looking skywards out of one of the ports when Thomson jettisoned his ivories?" "Dunno," replied the M. S. "He was all right when he went the rounds last night." "I know," chipped in another N.C.O. "It was the Padre." "The Padre!" exclaimed half a dozen voices. "Our Padre been scrapping?" "Hardly!" was the reply. "He shares a two-bunk berth with the Lieutenant. Padre has, or had, the upper bunk, and he tops the scale at sixteen stone. I don't insinuate, mind you, that any of the fellows tampered with the ironwork, but all the same the bunk collapsed, and our Padre subsided heavily upon poor little Nicholson." "We'll get the company poet to write up a special stanza and recite it at the concert," declared Fortescue. "Sort of object lesson on the way our Padre tackles sin." The men, remembering that the Lieutenant's initials were S.I.N., laughed uproariously. These impromptu concerts gave them poetic licence to joke at the expense of their officers. The latter, too, were quite used to that sort of thing. In fact they enjoyed it. Even the popular Padre found these entertainments a welcome antidote to the dull business of censoring letters. The concert--as far as it went--was a huge success. According to _The Deep Sea Roll_, the Thirty-somethingth's magazine, the opening items and the honorary reporter's notes were as follows:-- "A duet by the brothers Mac. I thought they would never finish, due mainly to Macdonald, who had his Scotch blood up and his bagpipes in good wind." "Sergeant Thomson next stepped into the ring and gave 'Thora' a slap up. It was a pity he lost his teeth, but, thank goodness, he has not lost his voice." "Tiny Anderson's voice was like his size--tremendous. 'Asleep in the Deep' was his song. I thought he _was_ asleep at one part of it." There was no lack of enthusiasm on the part of the audience. The men, packed like sardines in a barrel, filled the mess-deck almost to suffocation, their boisterous applause increasing in volume as item succeeded item in quick succession. "Item seven--Cornet Competition," announced Sergeant Fortescue. "Sisters Howard and O'Dowd have kindly consented to act as judges." Prolonged sounds of cheering greeted the two Red Cross nurses as they stepped upon the platform with marked timidity. They would perhaps--and did--unhesitatingly and calmly assist the medical officers in their work of mercy and within range of hostile shells, but their present task was an ordeal. Four strapping young fellows, each armed with a highly-polished cornet, appeared and stood facing their critical audience, receiving their caustic comments with a studied indifference. "Rifleman Gilway." Rifleman Gilway advanced two paces, lifted the instrument to his lips, and distended his cheeks. Beyond an eerie gurgle ("the last gasp of a dying flounder", according to the above-quoted honorary reporter) not a sound came from the cornet. The audience, rocking with laughter, threw shouts of encouragement and advice to the would-be musician, but all in vain. Rifleman Gilway's eyes were riveted upon the half of a cut, juicy lemon displayed within six inches of his face by a waggish subaltern. The sight of the acid fruit effectually prevented the man getting a single note out of the instrument. He puffed and blew like a grampus, the tears ran down his distended cheeks, and the perspiration oozed from his forehead, till in disgust he retired from the contest. Cornet No. 2 shared the same fate, after a gallant struggle. By this time the audience was almost silent. The men could laugh no longer. They were almost on the verge of hysterical tears of excessive merriment. The third competitor withdrew without an effort, but the fourth was something of a strategist. He used his music-card as a screen to shut out the sight of the tantalizing lemon. By so doing he had to lean forward slightly. His cheeks were bulging, but again silence--mysterious silence. Compared with Rifleman Gilway's efforts those Of Corporal Jephson were simply terrific. His whole frame shook under the tremendous force of lung power. The doctor began to shift uneasily in his chair, anticipating a case of apoplexy. Jephson's face gradually changed in colour fro light bronze to a deep purple. Something had to go---- Something did! From the interior of the instrument a wad of paper was ejected with the velocity of a stone from a catapult. In its wake followed, a compact mass of viscous substance. Both struck the waggish subaltern full in the face, and then the nature of the "main charge" became apparent. It was treacle. A practical joker had primed Jephson's cornet with the sticky stuff, plugging it with a wad. Amidst renewed outbursts of cheering the subaltern retired for repairs and renewals, while the lady judges were fortunately spared the task of bestowing the palm upon the cornet champion of the Thirty-somethingths. More songs followed, then a series of recitations bearing upon incidents and characters on board Transport No. 99. Many of the references were pointedly personal; the victims enjoyed them as much as anyone, for it is difficult to raise a New Zealander's "dander" by means of a practical joke. And when the reciter commenced a string of verses portraying the catastrophe in the cabin shared by Lieutenant Nicholson and the Padre, the former's "Hear, hear!" and the latter's deep bass laugh were heard above the roars of hilarity. The composer of the verses had turned the accident into a work of intent on the Padre's part, representing the latter combating the evil influence of sin. The reciter began with slight hesitation; then, finding that he was receiving unstinted approval, he warmed up to his task. "Sin turned in, and soon was heard the music of his snore, And then the Padre set to work as none had worked before. He got a large belaying-pin, he got the vessel's lead, And everything that weighed at all he piled upon the bed. He took the screws out, one by one, that held the fixing frail, Till all that stood 'twixt him and Sin was but a single nail. Then with a fierce look in his eye, as one who thirsts for blood, He hurled his weight upon the bunk--there came a sickening thud----" Crash! The old _Awarua_ shook under the terrific impact of an unseen force, listed to starboard, and then slowly recovered, to heel to port. Simultaneously every electric light on the ship was extinguished, while above the noise of escaping steam arose the babel of hundreds of voices as the swarm of humanity slithered in a struggling mass along the sloping floor of the mess deck. "Torpedoed, by Jupiter!" shouted a voice. The ominous words were taken up by others, and in the darkness an ugly rush was made for the upper deck. CHAPTER V Broken down in Mid-ocean "It's all right, boys!" came a deep voice. "It's only the Padre fallen out of his bunk again." The men recognized the voice. "Good old Padre!" they shouted, and then silence fell upon the crowd. Someone struck a match, and held it so that the feeble glimmer shone upon his face. It was the C.O. "File out in an orderly manner, lads," he ordered. "Fall in on the upper deck. I'll _follow_ you out. We are not going over the top this time; when we do I'll take good care to _lead_ you." On the upper deck a bugle rang out shrilly. The seamen, assisted by some troops, who, detailed for duty, had not attended the sing-song, were "standing by" ready to lower away the boats. Rapidly yet without confusion the mess deck was cleared. The first signs of panic nipped in the bud, the men were now as cool as cucumbers. "How far is it to the nearest land?" enquired one as he ascended the ladder. "Less'n half a mile underneath your feet," was the grim answer. True to his word, the Colonel was the last to leave the mess deck. As he emerged into the open air he remarked to the Chaplain: "My word, Padre, heaven forgive you for that lie, but you saved the situation." Like most of his comrades, Malcolm Carr was under the impression that he would soon have to swim for it, unless he was one of the lucky ones to get told off to the boats. If anyone had suggested that he was afraid, he would have stoutly repudiated the statement; but he was conscious of a peculiar sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. To a man not a sailor by profession the knowledge that only a comparatively thin steel plate, and fractured at that, is between him and death by drowning is apt to be decidedly disconcerting. He had voluntarily contracted to risk his life by fighting the Boche, but to be "downed" without the chance of seeing a shot fired in earnest was hardly playing the game. "Hallo, Malcolm!" Carr turned his head and peered into the face of his right-hand man. It was Dick Selwyn. "Hallo, Dick! I didn't recognize your voice. How goes it?" "So, so!" replied Dick. "Look here, I vote we stick together. Why aren't they lowering the boats? They don't seem in any sort of a hurry." "Perhaps it is as well. You know----" Again a bugle rang out. The ranks stiffened. "Boys!" exclaimed the Colonel; "the Captain has just sent word that there is no immediate danger. There has been a slight explosion in a bunker. One compartment--the for'ard stokehold--is flooded. For the present the men will remain on deck. The cooks will issue a hot ration. Stand at ease!" Out came pipes and cigarettes. The men began chatting and yarning, discussing the possibilities and chances of the catastrophe. The explosion had been an internal one, sufficient to cripple the vessel's engines. The question naturally arose as to whether it was the work of a Hun agent. "I'd like to know who the idiot was who yelled out something about being torpedoed," remarked a rifleman. "I did," owned up the man in question. "What about it?" "If you were in C Company they'd give you poison," declared the first speaker contemptuously. "And," retorted the other, "if I were in C Company I'd take it. As for----" "Stop that!" ordered Sergeant Fortescue; then, turning to Malcolm, he added: "It shows the boys are settling down again. Sort of psychologic phenomenon; I've noticed it before. While there's danger they are as well-behaved as kids in a drawing-room; directly it's over they let themselves go and start treading on each other's corns. Well, here we are, midway between New Zealand and Cape Horn, with our engines broken down. A fine old jamboree!" "We've wirelessed for assistance, I've been told," observed Malcolm. "Aye," agreed Fortescue, "and received a reply. No. 101, which left Wellington two days after we did, sends a reassuring message. She's a faster boat, you know. But I might add," he said, lowering his voice, "that we've been warned that the _See Adler_ is somewhere knocking around, and we have to take due precaution. Ah! There you are. They're serving out small-arms and ammunition to C Company." The situation was a grave one. Lying helpless on the water was Transport 99, unescorted and with no other friendly vessel within ten hours' steaming of her. She was armed with two 4.7 guns both mounted aft. These were of little use against a swift hostile craft should the latter approach on a bearing three degrees on either side of the _Awarua's_ bows. On the other hand there were half a dozen Maxims and nearly two thousand rifles on board, although these would be of little use if the raider kept beyond 200 yards' range. Against an armed and mobile vessel the _See Adler_ would stand but little chance. She was a sailing craft provided with a powerful motor installation. Earlier in the year she had caused a certain amount of sensation by her depredations in the Atlantic, until British cruisers made that locality too hot for her. She vanished mysteriously. There were vague rumours that she had been sent to the bottom by one of the Allied warships. It was now evident that she had rounded the Horn, making use of her sails only and keeping her motors for cases of emergency, and at the present was within a few miles of the transport _Awarua_. Throughout the rest of the night the transport's crew manned the two stern-chasers. The Maxims, protected by coal-sacks and mealie-bags, were kept ready for instant action, while each company took duty in turn to man the side, ready to supplement the machine- and quick-firing guns with a fusillade of small arms. Daybreak came, but with it no signs of the expected raider. Viewed from the deck, the _Awarua_ showed no trace of the explosion beyond a slight list to starboard. The steam had been raised from the auxiliary engines, and the pumps were continuously ejecting water that made its way from the flooded stokehold to the adjoining compartments. The ship's artificers were busily engaged in repairing the fractured main steam-pipe. It was just possible that the vessel might be able to proceed under her own steam, either back to Wellington or else to Port Stanley, in the Falkland Islands. Meanwhile there was no line of churned water extending from under the vessel's quarter as far as the eye could reach, no dull reverberations of the "screw". The _Awarua_, lying helpless, rolled sullenly in the swell at the mercy of wind and ocean current. Meanwhile the troops were kept fully occupied. Ennui was at all costs to be banished, and the best antidote for that was plenty of hard work. Parades, boat drill, physical exercises, almost filled the bill; but even then there were plenty of enthusiasts to take part in strenuous games on deck, in which the C.O. and most of the officers took a personal interest and prominent part. Just before sunset a blurr of smoke was detected on the horizon. Transport 101 was arriving upon the scene. Two hours later, in the starry night, the new arrival came within hailing distance, and preparations were made to take the _Awarua_ in tow. By midnight Transport 99 was moving slowly through the water in the wake of the towing vessel, three hearty cheers from the boys showing their relief at the thought that the tedious period of immobility was at an end. The repairs to the steam-pipe were almost completed, and with reasonable luck the _Awarua_ might be able to proceed under her own steam before daybreak. At réveillé Malcolm Carr heard the welcome thud of the propeller. Going on deck, he found that Transport 101 was hull down to the west'ard, while a couple of cable-lengths on the _Awarua's_ star-board quarter was a long grey cruiser flying the White Ensign. Just then one of the crew came aft. Malcolm knew him by sight. He was a loquacious Welsh-man, always "in the know", and one of the recognized media between the ship's officers and the rank and file. "Hallo, Sergeant!" he exclaimed, jerking his thumb in the direction of the cruiser. "How's that, eh? Sorter objec' lesson on the great silent navy I'll allow. She's our escort as far as the Falklands." "She's turned up at just the right moment," remarked Malcolm. "She's what?" enquired the seaman. "My eye, you don't know nuffink, Sergeant. She's been hoppin' about us for the last three days. I 'eard our Old Man tell the First Officer so. Got our wireless, but wouldn't reply." "Why not?" asked Carr curiously. "'Cause she was waitin' to mop up that _See Adler_. Kept out of sight, hoping, in a manner o' speaking, that the Dutchy would have a smack at us, and then she'd butt in. Howsomever, they say as a jap cruiser 'as got the hang of the 'Un, an' you chaps 'ave been done out of a visit to Davy Jones this time." CHAPTER VI Man Overboard "Party, fall in! Sergeant, march the men aft report to the Second Mate for boat drill. Until you are dismissed you will take your orders from him." Sergeant Carr saluted, and then devoted his attention to the squad fallen in on the upper deck. They were a set of stalwarts, but without exception were up-country farmers and sheep-shearers before they left New Zealand for the still distant Front. Until they joined the S.S. _Awarua_ at Wellington, very few of them had ever seen a ship's boat. Transport 99 was forging ahead at a modest 10 or 11 knots. The 21-knot cruiser, although steaming under natural draught, was cutting rings round her charge, as if reproaching her for her tardiness. The wind was abeam and fairly fresh, making the old _Awarua_ roll heavily. Aft on the port side of the poop stood the Second Mate, a short, bull-necked, burly man, whose attitude, suggested a bored interest in the work in hand. He had the old salt's pitying contempt for "flat-footed landlubbers". Very many times since the outbreak of war had he been called upon to instruct troops in boat drill, and never had he seen any practical result of his labours. The monotony of imparting boat knowledge into the heads of men who possessed not the slightest inclination towards things nautical irritated him. Forgetting that his instruction classes were composed of men who were not seamen, he was apt to give orders without explaining the precise nature of the various terms he employed, and failure on the part of his audience to follow his deep-sea phrases reduced him to a state of profanity. The boat selected for the drill was a "double-ender" life-boat hanging in the old-fashioned style of davits. The davits were swung inboard, the boat resting on "chocks" or hinged pieces of wood shaped to fit the lower strakes of the boat. "Now then," began the Second Officer. "In the event of this craft being torpedoed, you men will form the crew of this boat. At a prolonged blast on the syren all hands will come to attention and await orders. At the bugle-call you will throw off coats and boots, put on life-belts--suppose you know by this time _how_ to put 'em on?--and fall in by numbers, facing outboard. We'll take the life-belts for granted." The men received this part of the instruction without emotion. They had heard it many times before. "You are bow, and you are stroke," continued the Second Mate, addressing two of the men. "Stroke the bow-wow, Tommy," whispered a wag in an audible aside. "Now we are getting on. We'll finish up with a bloomin' menagerie." "Silence, there!" snapped the instructor. "Bow and stroke will jump into the boat, see that the plug is inserted, and hook the falls--four hands to man each of the falls. You," addressing the would-be humorist, "will attend to the gripes----" "Should have thought that was a job for the doctor," remarked the man _sotto voce_, at which several of the men within hearing began to laugh. "This is no laughing matter, you pack of jackanapes," bawled the now infuriated ship's officer. "You'd feel a bit sick if you found yourselves in the ditch through not knowing how to lower away. Now, then, together." Out swung the davits, the task rendered difficult by the roll of the ship, until the boat was ready for lowering. The Second Mate looked at the surging water, and considered the erratic rolling motion of the lofty hull. To lower away with a practised crew manning the falls would entail a certain amount of risk should the boat surge against the ship's side; with a crowd of raw amateurs the danger was magnified threefold. "Good enough!" he ordered. "We'll suppose the lowering and hoisting part is done. I'll put you through that another day when there's less sea. Now, stand by." A shrill rasping of chain and an involuntary cry of mingled surprise and apprehension from the two in the boat interrupted the Second Officer's explanation. Accidentally the "stroke" had released the after disengaging-gear. The next instant the boat was hanging vertically, held only by the for'ard tackle. The bowman, making a frantic grab at the upper block of the davit, hung on like grim death until his feet found a hold on the edge of the foremost thwart. The boat, swinging like a gigantic pendulum, was doing her best to stave in her quarter against the ship's side. The "stroke" was not so fortunate. With the release of the gear the lower block dealt him a numbing blow on the shoulder. Unable to grasp any object that might afford security, he fell with considerable force into the sea. "Man overboard!" shouted the Second Officer, and picking up a life-belt he hurled it close to the spot where the luckless fellow had disappeared. Almost at the same time the sentry let fall the patent life-buoy. For some minutes the rest of the squad were too taken aback by the suddenness of the catastrophe to grasp the situation. The bowman, more scared than hurt, although considerably shaken, clambered out of the boat and gained the deck. "Good heavens," ejaculated Malcolm, "the man overboard can't swim a stroke!" Heedless of the fact that of all the party he was the only one who had not removed his boots, Malcolm ran aft. With a bound he cleared the rail and dived overboard. Fortunately for him, the _Awarua_ was moving at a comparatively low speed. As it was, in spite of the momentum of his leap, he struck the water obliquely, and with a thud that temporarily winded him. Coming to the surface, he took in a deep breath of salt-laden air, rubbed the water from his eyes, and looked for the missing man. On the crest of a roller he espied the rifleman's head and shoulders and outstretched arms. In the interval that had elapsed between the accident and Malcolm's dive the ship had travelled a good hundred yards. Midway between the would-be rescuer and the object of his attentions floated the life-buoy, its position clearly indicated by a cloud of calcium smoke. He could see no sign of the life-belt. Using a powerful trudgeon stroke, Malcolm started and swam towards the spot where he had caught a momentary glimpse of the man. In less than two dozen strokes he found that his saturated sleeves hampered his arms. His boots, too, were acting as a drag, yet there was no time to tread water and kick them off. On the crest of the third roller Malcolm again caught sight of the man. He had ceased to struggle and was floating without any apparent motion, his head and shoulders clear of the water. Changing to breast stroke, Carr slid down the slope of the long roller. Then, as he rose on the succeeding crest, he found that he was within ten yards of the man. "Hang it all!" thought Malcolm as he approached. "I might have saved myself a job. He's better off than I am. The bounder's wearing a life-saving waistcoat." "Hallo, Sergeant!" gurgled the rifleman. "Did that rotten boat sling you out too? When are they going to pick us up? The water's none too warm. I'm feeling nipped already." "Oh, it's you, Macready!" exclaimed Malcolm, recognizing a Canterbury farmer, a fellow of magnificent physique. "When are they going to pick us up, you ask? Can't say. I rather fancy they'll have to reverse engines and stop before they lower a boat. That will take some time." He waited until he found himself on the crest of a long roller, and then looked in the direction of the _Awarua_. The transport was now nearly two miles away. Whether she had slowed down or was still steaming ahead he could not determine. As far as he could see there were no signs of a boat being lowered. Macready was certainly right about the low temperature of the sea. Already Carr felt the numbing effect of the water. His fingers as he fumbled with the laces of his boots were practically devoid of feeling. "I have one of those air waistcoats," explained the man. "It's only partly filled. Much as I could manage to do, that. I guess there's a tidy drop of water got in while I was blowing. If we can get more wind into the thing it'll support two; at least I hope so. The fellow at the stores said it would." "Don't trouble on my account," said Malcolm. "I'll swim to the life-buoy and bring it back." The patent life-saving device was still emitting dense clouds of calcium smoke. Provided the expected rescuing-boat made for that there was a good chance of Malcolm and the rifleman being picked up, unless in the meanwhile they were overcome by the acute coldness of the water. "Any signs of a boat, Sergeant?" asked the man, as Malcolm, evidently exhausted by his exertions, pushed the life-buoy before him to within arm's length of his companion in peril. Malcolm was reluctantly obliged to admit that the probability of rescue from that direction was of a diminishing nature. The _Awarua_ was still holding on her course. "Suppose they think that as we were a pair of fools to be slung overboard we aren't worth picking up," continued Macready. Malcolm did not reply. He did not attempt to enlighten the man as to the reason why there were two "in the ditch" instead of one. He was also at a loss to explain the apparent callousness of the responsible officer of Transport 99 in not promptly lowering a boat and effecting a speedy rescue. The two men were too intent upon the disappearing _Awarua_ to notice the approach of the escorting cruiser. The latter was circling round the transport, and was on the point of turning at a distance of a mile astern, when the alert officer of the watch noticed the accident to the boat. Bringing his telescope to bear upon the _Awarua_, he could see quite clearly the life-boat hanging by the bow tackle only. As he looked he was a distant witness of Sergeant Carr's leap into the sea. Instinctively he grasped the situation and took prompt measures. At his orders a signalman on the fore bridge set the arms of the semaphore at "Attention". When the transport acknowledged the preparatory signal the semaphore began to spell out its message: "Carry on; we'll pick up your man." "Away sea-boat's crew," was the next order, and quickly the falls were manned, and the boat, containing her full complement, lowered until the keel was within a few feet of the water. Meanwhile the cruiser's engines had been reversed until her speed diminished five knots. "Lower away!" was the next order. With a resounding "smack" the boat "landed" on the crest of a wave. Dexterously the patent releasing-gear was operated, and, carried onward with the momentum imparted by the still-moving cruiser, the sea-boat shot away from the side of her parent. The order, "Give way, lads, for all you're worth!" given by the midshipman in charge, was somewhat unnecessary. At the prospect of saving life every man was pulling his hardest. The sharp bows of the boat literally cleft the water. "Way 'nough. In bow," ordered the midshipman, a youth of sixteen or seventeen with the assurance of a successful barrister. As neatly as if he were bringing a picket-boat alongside the flagship under the super-critical eye of the admiral, the midshipman steered the boat close to the wellnigh exhausted men. Ready hands lifted Malcolm and Macready into the stern-sheets, and within seven minutes of the first order for the sea-boat to be manned, the two New Zealanders were standing upon the quarter-deck of H.M.S. _Gosport_. CHAPTER VII Quits! "Take these men to the sick-bay," ordered the officer of the watch; "they both look pretty well knocked up. Semaphore the convoy and report that the men have been picked up. We'll see what's to be done with them later on." After divisions the Commander reported the circumstances to the Captain. The latter, being a chartered humorist, signalled No. 99 to the effect that when boat-lowering practice was again resorted to it would be advisable to provide ring-bolts and securing lashings to prevent the soldiers falling overboard; meanwhile he would make sure of the two he _had_ picked up by keeping them on board the _Gosport_ until her arrival at Port Stanley with the transport under her charge. Thus Sergeant Malcolm Carr found himself an honorary member of the C.P.O.'s mess on board the _Gosport_, one of the earlier type of "town" cruisers detailed for convoying duties in the South Pacific. Malcolm thoroughly enjoyed the novelty of being on board a war-ship. What struck him most was the good order and discipline that prevailed; everything was "carried out at the double", yet there was a total absence of unnecessary noise. Compared with the somewhat boisterous conditions obtaining on board Transport 99, the _Gosport_ was a floating model of smartness and efficiency. "Do you know anything about a kangaroo, Sergeant?" enquired a burly armourer's mate. It was Thursday--"make and mend" afternoon. The ship's company was allowed a period of comparative relaxation. Being fine weather, most of the "I watch below" were on deck, sunning themselves upon the raised fo'c'sle. "A kangaroo?" repeated Malcolm cautiously, half suspecting that the man was trying to "pull his leg". "Yes," replied the other, a proper kangaroo. "You ought to know a lot about them, since they come from down your way." "I'm afraid you are mistaken," said Carr. "I have seen kangaroos in New Zealand, but they were looked upon as animal curiosities. Why do you ask?" "We've got a kangaroo for a ship's mascot. Had it given us when we were coaling ship at Sydney. The brute is pining. He won't tackle ship's beef or condensed milk. His hay ration's expended, but the cook's keeping him going on biscuit mashed in 'bubbly'. Some of the men suggested cocoa as a change of diet. We thought perhaps, seeing that you were an Anzac, that you Could tell us what's the correct grub for the brute." "It's want of exercise that's put Panjie off 'is feed, Bill," interposed a leading signalman. "That's what's done it." "Maybe you're right," was the armourer's mate's grudging concession. "And if," continued the "bunting-tosser", carried away by his brilliant brain-wave, "Panjie was to fall in with the physical-exercise party, an' skip round the ship 'arf a dozen times afore breakfast, I'll allow he'd scoff his 'ard tack without a murmur." In the course of the afternoon a request was forwarded to the Commander that the kangaroo should be allowed on deck for exercise. The paper, marked "Approved, provided due precautions are taken", was returned to the members of the "Mascot Committee". Without further delay preparations were made for the kangaroo's course of physical exercise. A space between two of the casemate guns of the starboard side was barricaded off, the officers' practice nets having been loaned for the event. Practically all the ship's company crowded round to witness the show. Every coign of vantage was packed with interested lower-deck humanity, while from both the fore and after bridges the officers forgathered to watch the performance. Panjie's cage, carried by half a dozen lusty blue-jackets, was deposited in close proximity to the only opening left in the extensive corral. Not since the eventful day when the _Gosport's_ barbers close-clipped Bingo, the monkey, had such interest been shown in any unofficial incident. Bingo was Panjie's predecessor, a large Madagascar ape. Curiosity concerning a barrel of coal-tar led to Bingo's undoing. Cropping, and afterwards washing the animal with grease and paraffin, were the only remedies, and but temporary; for, shorn of its warm fur, the monkey caught pneumonia and succumbed. Heralded by the chief keeper, a corporal of Red Marines, the kangaroo leapt lightly into the arena in an attitude reminiscent of a light-weight boxer. It was a half-grown animal of about four feet six inches in height. Apparently indifferent to the grant of limited freedom, it ambled to a recess formed by the side of the casemate and the raised coaming of a closed ammunition-hoist. "Put a pair of boxing-gloves on him, Paddy," shouted one of the Corporal's shipmates. "Take him on for half a dozen rounds under the Marquis of Queensberry's rules." "Enter him for the high jump," vociferated another. "Take 'im on 'catch as catch can'," suggested a third. To all these suggestions the marine turned a deaf ear. He had his own idea of the correct method of exercising the animal and at the same time contributing to his comrades' enjoyment. "Now then, you concertina boys, give us a two-step," he called out. "Come on, my lady, let's see if I can span your slender waist." Either the kangaroo objected to the marine's mistake in the matter of gender or else he was disinclined to be forced to perform, for, as the Corporal grasped the animal's short fore paws, Panjie let rip with one of his powerful hind legs. The kangaroo might have been off his feed, but his muscular powers seemed in no way impaired. The sharp claws, missing the man's face by a mere inch, sliced his forage jacket and trousers from shoulder to knee. At the possibility of a scrap the ship's company cheered, some yelling encouragement to the kangaroo, others backing the representative of His Majesty's jollies. The outburst of sound terrified the animal. With a stupendous bound Panjie leapt at the netting, ripping his way through as easily as a pantomime clown jumps through a paper hoop. Over the heads and shoulders of a tightly-packed throng of bluejackets the brute vaulted; then, viewing a comparatively clear space, it bounded towards the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck. Here the Fleet-paymaster and the Engineer-commander, who were keeping aloof from the revels, were engaged in a strictly official conversation. Like a dart Panjie dived betwixt the bowed legs of the accountant officer, and, in blind desperation, butted the senior officer of the engineering branch full in the chest. Then with a terrific leap the kangaroo cleared the rail and disappeared overboard. There was a rush to the side. Some of the men hastened to man the sea-boat, but the upheld hand of the Commander indicated that they were to "stand fast". The sea was like glass. The usual Pacific roll was entirely absent. A quarter of a mile on the starboard quarter the _Awarua_ was resolutely plugging along at 10 knots. Bobbing in the wake of the cruiser was a darkbrown object. It was Panjie. The animal had escaped the suction of the propellers, but the fall from a vessel pelting along at 20 knots had evidently stunned it. At all events it made no effort to swim. No order was given for the _Gosport_ to reverse engines or even to slow down. She merely "carried on" describing a vast circle round the slow-moving Transport 99. "By Jove, sir!" exclaimed the Commander, addressing the Captain. "The _Awarua's_ starboarding helm." "She is," admitted the Skipper grimly. "We've played into her hands this time, I fancy." The "owner's" surmise was correct. Lining the side of the transport were hundreds of troops. Some of them, and several of the _Awarua's_ crew, had provided themselves with running bowlines, and as the unfortunate Panjie drifted close to the ship he was saluted with a shower of lassos. "They've hooked him, sir!" reported the Commander as the kangaroo's limp body, firmly encircled with three or four bowlines, was unceremoniously hauled on board the transport. "By the powers they have," agreed the Skipper bitterly, and straightway he left the bridge and went below. Five minutes later the _Awarua's_ semaphore began working rapidly. On the _Gosport's_ bridge a barefooted signalman wrote down the message on a pad. He was unable to conceal a broad grin as he handed the signal to the Commander. No need for the latter to read the writing. He, in common with nearly all the officers and crew, had read the semaphore verbatim. With the utmost temerity the skipper of the _Awarua_ had sent the following report:-- "One of your crew has been picked up by Transport 99. In view of the heavy sea now running" (_it was a flat calm a regular "Paddy's hurricane"_) "I propose retaining the said member, in order to avoid a repetition of the accident. Do you concur?" The message was sent to the captain of the cruiser. Sportsmanlike the skipper accepted the sarcastic signal with a good grace. Back came the answer: "Now we are quits! Congratulations!" CHAPTER VIII Left Behind Seven days behind scheduled time the _Awarua_ crawled into Port Stanley harbour. Here Sergeant Malcolm Carr and Rifleman Macready were received in exchange for Panjie, who, thanks to the store of fodder on board the transport, had been fed into a state of adiposity. Meanwhile a reserve transport had been sent across from Simon's Bay, and orders were given to tranship the troops, stores, and baggage from No. 99 to No. 109. Within three days the task was accomplished, and, five other troopships having arrived from Australia, the convoy left for Table Bay, still under the care of H.M.S. _Gosport_. Although the transports were still a considerable distance from the U-boat danger zone, every revolution of their propellers was bringing them nearer to that part of the South Atlantic where vessels had been known-to have been destroyed by mines. On the evening of the third day Malcolm had to accompany Lieutenant Nicholson on the rounds. After visiting the various mess decks the upper deck had to be inspected. It was a pitch-dark night. The stars were obscured. Beyond the long undulations the sea was calm. Transport 109, otherwise the S.S. _Pintail_, was leading vessel of the starboard column, the formation being that known as "double column ahead". The _Gosport_ was two miles distant on the starboard bow, her position indicated solely by a feeble stern lantern. The vessels forming the convoy were steaming with all navigation-lamps screened, keeping station merely by means of the phosphorescent wake of the vessel next ahead. "Hallo, what's the move?" exclaimed Mr. Nicholson as the six transports altered helm, swung round until they formed double column line abreast. "We're at right angles to our former course. What's the _Gosport_ doing?" The Lieutenant walked to the rail. Malcolm and the rest of the party halted and watched a masthead signalling-lamp that was blinking rapidly on the cruiser. Suddenly the beams of two powerful search-lights from the _Gosport's_ bridge pierced the darkness. The giant rays were directed full upon the hull of a large vessel steaming about five cable-lengths from, and on a parallel course to, that of the cruiser. The stranger had been showing no steaminglights. She was a two-masted, double-funnelled craft of about four thousand tons. On her side, clearly shown up in the rays of the search-light, were painted the Dutch national colours, and the words _Waeszyl_, Holland in letters six feet in height. Again the _Gosport's_ flashing-lamp began signalling; but while the message, whatever it might mean, was still in progress, two tongues of flame leapt from the cruiser's side, and the simultaneous roar of a double report crashed through the night. An instant later a stupendous blaze of light, followed by a detonation the volume of which completely drowned all other sounds, dazzled the eyes and burst upon the ears of the spectators. A pall of black smoke, tinted silvery in the rays of the search-lights, marked the spot where the so-called _Waeszyl_ had been. For some seconds objects of varying sizes, hurled high in the air, dropped into the sea, some of them in perilous proximity to the convoy. After that--silence. From the troop-decks of the transports crowds of men poured through the hatchways. It was an impossible task to try to keep the New Zealanders below. They simply had to see what there was to be seen; which, according to the general verdict, was precious little. Presently boats were lowered from the cruiser, and a search was made over and around the spot where the mysterious vessel had disappeared. In less than half an hour the boats returned, the searchlights were switched off, and the cruiser and her charges resumed their interrupted course. There was very little sleep that night for the men of the Thirty-somethingth reinforcements. The men sat up discussing the appalling incident, and forming ingenious theories as to the cause of the _Gosport's_ speedy destruction of the supposed Dutchman. They had reckoned on entering the danger zone when they came within the normal radius of action of hostile U-boats. Already they had practical proof that at almost every knot of the twelve-thousand-miles voyage they were open to attack--Providence and the armed unit of Britain's fleet permitting. Just before noon on the following day the _Pintail_ passed close to a water-logged ship's boat. Kept under observation by means of telescopes and binoculars, the derelict told its own tale. There were evidences that it had been hastily lowered. A gaping hole on one side and a shattered gun-wale on the other, together with traces of fire, showed that the boat had been shelled. There were distinct signs that the perpetrators of the outrage had sought to obliterate all traces of their dastardly work: the name of the ship had been scraped off the boat's bows, her air-tight tanks had been stove in, yet in spite of this precaution the boat still remained awash. For once, at least, the policy of _Spurlos versenkt_ had failed. Cold-blooded murder had undoubtedly been committed on the high seas. The _Gosport_ was not in time to prevent this particular crime--but she had avenged it. Slowly, but no less surely, the details of the previous night's engagement leaked out. It had not been, as Malcolm had surmised, a one-sided engagement. A commerce-raider and mine-layer disguised as a Dutch cargo boat had sighted the _Gosport_, and, mistaking her in the darkness for a merchantman, turned and shaped a parallel course to that of the cruiser. Detected by the war-ship's look-out, the suspicious vessel was promptly challenged by flashing signals. The raider's reply was a grim one. A torpedo fired from a submerged tube tore towards the _Gosport_, passing within a few feet of her stern. The phosphorescent swirl of the under-water missile told its own tale. The cruiser put two shells into the raider's quarter, in the hope that her steering-gear would be blown away and the vessel rendered unmanageable. Unfortunately for Hans, one of the projectiles burst in a compartment where a number of mines were stored--result, utter and swift annihilation! As the transport approached the Cape, justifiable anxiety consumed those responsible for the navigation of the convoy. The _Pintail's_ skipper never left the bridge for thirty-six hours. Two merchant-men had recently been sunk by mines in these waters. Although the vessel that had laid these sinister instruments of death and destruction had been destroyed, the results of her previous activities remained. At last the convoy dropped anchor in Table Bay. The second stage of the long sea voyage was accomplished. The _Gosport_ coaled and left for the Pacific, Until it was definitely established that German raiders no longer infested the route between Wellington and the Horn the presence of a few light cruisers was necessary, otherwise armed merchant-cruisers could effectually perform convoying duties, and release the "pukka" warships for other duties in home waters. "Now I think of it," remarked Dick Selwyn, "I have a second cousin living at Muizenberg; I'll look him up. There's leave till six o'clock. Coming?" "Looking up" even distant relations is a characteristic of the New Zealander. Wounded Anzacs, on receiving the ten-days' leave in England before rejoining their units, frequently make railway journeys running into hundreds of miles simply for the Purpose of "looking up" a remote blood relation in the Old Country, In Selwyn's case his relation lived at a small town on the shores of False Bay, a distance of about twenty miles from Cape Town. "I'm on," replied Malcolm. "It will give us a chance of seeing something of South Africa. How about Fortescue?" Sergeant Fortescue, when appealed to, promptly decided to accompany them; and as soon as leave was granted the three non-coms. hurried ashore. The railway journey accomplished, Selwyn made the disappointing discovery that his cousin no longer lived at Muizenberg. He had moved to a farm near Slang Kop, a distance of about five miles across the peninsula that terminates in the world-renowned Cape of Good Hope. "Game to foot it, you chaps?" asked Selwyn. "I don't like to be done." The others agreed without enthusiasm, although loyalty to their chum left no plausible alternative; so at a steady pace they set out along an upland track that led to the farm. Selwyn's cousin "did his visitors right down properly", to quote Malcolm's description of the reception. So much so that before either of the three realized the fact it was a question of whether they could return to Muizenberg station in time for the train. A springless Cape cart drove them at the maximum pace obtainable by the wiry horse and the vociferous exhortations of the native "boy". In spite of every effort the trio reached the outskirts of Muizenberg just in time to see the train steam out of the station. Since Muizenberg is a popular seaside resort for the business folk at Cape Town, there is a fairly frequent train service. Enquiries of the railway officials elicited the information that a train would leave at 7.15 p.m. Malcolm and his companions accepted the situation calmly. Mutual recriminations were absent, although they knew that it was a serious matter to overstay shore leave. "It isn't as if the transport were lying alongside a wharf," remarked Selwyn. "Our best chance is to hire a boat and trust to luck to get on board without being observed by the officers. The corporal on the gangway wouldn't give the show away." "The main point is to get on board," said Fortescue. "If there is an enquiry we must simply state plain facts and face the music. There's an officer's boat at nine-thirty." "I'm afraid there isn't," corrected Malcolm. "I saw the announcement cancelled on the notice-board outside the orderly room." "By gum, that looks fishy!" exclaimed Fortescue. "Supposing the _Pintail_ sails to-night. That yarn about the convoy getting under way on Thursday night may be a blind. They say Cape Town swarms with pro-Germans." When at length the train crawled out of Muizenberg station the three "Diggers" (as New Zealand infantrymen are commonly dubbed amongst themselves) had for company a sympathetic fellow-passenger, who on hearing of their plight was quick to suggest a plan. "I know your boat," he remarked. "No. 109 is lying nearest in-shore off Woodstock--that's a suburb of Cape Town, you know. I'm a transport officer, so I know a bit about it. Hop off the train at Woodstock and enquire for Van Hoek's boathouse. It's at the mouth of Salt River. Old Van will row you off for a matter of ten shillings." The passenger seemed of a very communicative disposition. He evinced considerable interest in various incidents of the New Zealanders' voyage. Without much questioning he led the three Anzacs to give a fairly detailed account of what had happened. "It's all news to me," he remarked. "Even in the Transport Office we hear but very little. Of course the heads know a lot, but the minor officials, such as myself, are not taken into their confidence." The train slowing down as it approached Woodstock station terminated the conversation. With many thanks for the information, Malcolm and his chums left the carriage, and, in giving up their tickets, enquired of the Dutch ticket-collector the way to Van Hoek's establishment. The official had never heard of the place; nor had three or four others to whom the enquiry was put. "At any rate," said Fortescue in desperation, "I suppose there is such a show as Salt River?" "Oh yes, we know where that is," was the chorused reply. Declining offers to be shown the way, the three chums set out, and presently arrived at the low shore of the estuary. The opposite bank was invisible, as at the spot the mud-flats were covered at high tide. To all appearance it was open water right out to Table Bay. The shore was deserted. The few buildings were evidently untenanted. On the beach half a dozen boats were hauled up above high-water mark. Farther out were others riding easily to moorings. The night was calm. The brilliant starlight made it an easy matter to discern the double line of transports. "By Jove," ejaculated Fortescue, "they're raising steam! They are sailing to-night after all!" "No good cooling our heels here," said Selwyn. "Let's borrow a boat, since we can't find an owner. The wind's dead on shore, what there is of it; we can cast her adrift after we get on board." "And put five shillings on one of the thwarts," added Malcolm. "The fellow who finds it will be repaid for his trouble." Of the six boats all were without gear save one. In vain they attempted to launch it down the beach; their united efforts were unavailing. Nor was Fortescue's suggestion to transfer the gear to a lighter craft productive of better results. "These boats are as heavy as lead," declared Malcolm, wiping his heated brow. "I believe they're bolted and riveted to the ground. How about it? Suppose we swim out to the nearest of those boats?" This proposition was adopted. The three men stripped, secured their clothing on top of their heads by means of their belts, and, two of them taking an oar in case the moored craft was destitute If means of propulsion, they slipped boldly into the water. Malcolm was the first to reach the moored boat. Holding on to the gunwale with one hand, he unbuckled his bundle and tossed it into the boat; then, clambering over the stern, proceeded to dress while his companions "got aboard". There were oars already, as well as mast, sails, and other gear. On the strength of having stroked his college boat Fortescue took command. Under his directions the rudder was shipped, and an attempt made to raise the anchor. The three men heaving together very nearly put the boat's bows under, but the refractory mooring refused to come home. Did they but know it, they were vainly trying to raise an iron chain attached to a mass of stone weighing nearly half a ton. "We're going the wrong way about the trick," declared Selwyn. "See that rope with a chunk of wood on the end of it? That's fastened to the chain, so if we chuck the lot overboard we'll be able to make a start." The mooring dropped with a resounding splash. Fortescue and Malcolm manned the oars and gave way with a will. "Jolly hard graft," muttered Malcolm breathlessly after a quarter of an hour's strenuous work. "Do you think we're getting any nearer? I don't." Fortescue glanced over his shoulder. "No, I don't," he admitted bluntly. "What's more, the transports are 'on the move. That's put the kybosh on the whole contraption." CHAPTER IX In the Ring For a full minute silence reigned. The chums had light-heartedly discussed the possibility of the convoy sailing; but now, when the supposition merged into hard fact, they could hardly realize the gravity of the situation. Mitigating circumstances or otherwise, reduced to rock-bottom level, the three non-coms, had overstayed their leave, and were actually deserters, from a military point of view. It was just possible that they might be sent back under arrest to New Zealand. The thought that they would be done Out of "having a slap at Fritz" almost stunned them. "Let's get back," said Fortescue, as the grey-hulled vessels grew more and more indistinct in the starlit night. "We'll make for the transport office and report ourselves. If we hadn't taken that fellow's advice and wasted precious time looking for Van what's-his-name we might have caught the tender." "I wonder whether that fellow in the train was all above board?" said Malcolm. "Now I come to think over the matter it looks rather fishy. And we told him a jolly lot, too. He might be a Boche." "If he is a Boche, and I run across him, I'll bash him," said Selwyn vehemently. "Set to, you Diggers!" ordered Fortescue. "Selwyn, you take an oar and relieve Carr. Now, then, you pull while I back." Under the reverse action of the oars the boat turned towards the shore, then both men pulled their hardest. "We don't seem to be moving," remarked Malcolm after five minutes had elapsed. "I've been watching those two lights, and they have been in line ever since we turned." "Perhaps we're aground," suggested Fortescue, and thrusting his oar vertically into the water he sounded. The thirteen-foot oar failed to touch bottom. "Plenty of water," he reported. "Carr, you must be making a mistake. Now, Selwyn, put your back into it. I've never had such a heavy old tub to pull in all my previous experience." "We're not gaining an inch," reported Malcolm. "Current out of the river, most likely," was Selwyn's theory. For once Fortescue lost his temper. "Currents, you young jackal!" he exclaimed. "Do you think this is a Bath-bun shop? We are a crowd of jackasses. We never unmoored the boat properly." The craft was fitted with a short bowsprit, from the end of which a wire shroud or "bobstay" led to a shackle-plate in the stem. When the mooring-buoy had been thrown overboard, the rope had caught between the bobstay and the stem, with the result that for the last hour the three raw amateurs in salt-water seamanship had been simply keeping their craft straining at the end of the buoy-rope. The tension was broken in a double sense. The mooring-rope was this time properly cast adrift, while the mercurial spirits of the three absentees rose to the occasion. "We've been a crowd of mugs," declared Selwyn, laughing. "Swotting for an hour or more and fancying we were on the move. Now what's to be done?" "I suggest that we sleep on board until daybreak," said Fortescue. "No good purpose is served by jogging into Cape Town at this hour of the night. I suppose neither of you thought to bring along any tommy?" The others had to admit that they were unprovided with food. "Then tighten your belts, boys," continued Fortescue. "We've been feeding like turkey-cocks; a few hours' fast won't do much harm." With the first streaks of dawn they ran the boat ashore, secured her with a rope, and set off towards the town. When the transport office opened the three absentees reported themselves, and, after having had a stiff "dressing down" were placed under open arrest. "One advantage of being a non-com.," remarked Fortescue. "We are lucky not to be in the 'clink'." "That Tommy officer seems a good sort," declared Malcolm. "As you say, he might have made things hot for us. So we have to cool our heels here until we can proceed with the next draft." Two days later the three chums received instructions to report on board the _Pomfret Castle_, which was due to sail with a mixed contingent on the following afternoon. The vessel was a Union Castle liner commandeered by the Government. Capable of doing twenty-two knots, compared with the _Pintail's_ seventeen, it was more than likely, U-boats and mines excepted, that the _Pomfret Castle_ would arrive at Plymouth days ahead of the convoy with the New Zealand reinforcements. Taking no chances this time, Malcolm and his companions went on board a couple of hours before the authorized time. Baggage was still being stowed, while the decks teemed with troops of various nationalities. The bulk consisted of South Africans, mostly veterans of middle age, with a sprinkling of youths; detachments transferred from Mesopotamia to France; and Imperial troops from German South-East Africa. A draft of Maoris, and about twenty Australians who had overstayed their leave at Cape Town, completed the muster. Instructed by the embarkation officer, the New Zealanders went below to their mess. "Hallo, here are three Diggers!" exclaimed a strapping Queenslander. "Make them at home, you chaps. Now our mess is quite filled up. By Gum, I don't quite cotton on to those Dutchmen. I'm a believer in Australia for the Australians, and You fellows stand in with that crush." The speaker introduced himself as Jack Kennedy, quartermaster-sergeant by rank, and sheep-farmer in civilian life. His left hand was in a sling, a strip of surgical plaster embellished his cheek. During his stay at Cape Town he had been forced into a squabble with a crowd of disloyal Cape Dutch. Words led to blows, with the result that three of his opponents were picked up insensible, while Kennedy was taken to the military hospital with a broken wrist and a nasty contusion of the forehead, caused by the nail-shod boot of an eighteen-stone antagonist. "No kits?" continued Kennedy. "Your chaps went on and left you behind? We were much in the same sort of hole, only Buck-up Miller here knows the ropes. We'll soon see that you are comfortable. How about a pannikin of tea?" Under the attentions of their new chums Malcolm and his companions soon adapted themselves to present conditions, and before the _Pomfret Castle_ cleared Table Bay the Anzacs felt as if they had known each other for years. Although the troops on board were going to fight a common foe--a foe that victorious would speedily prove more than a menace to Australia, to United South Africa, and to civilization in general--there was a certain amount of misunderstanding between the Afrikanders and their brothers-in-arms. In spite of the utmost endurance on the part of the Imperial officers, petty squabbles were frequent. The Boers, for instance, were prone to treat the Maoris in a similar manner to the Kaffir "boys". They could not understand how a white man could treat a Maori as an equal, being ignorant of the high moral and physical standard of the latter, that has justly earned the appreciation and admiration of the New Zealand colonists. For their part the Maoris accepted the Afrikanders' remarks with courteous equanimity, but there were others on board who championed them--with no uncertain voice. Big Kennedy 'was as good as his word, and before nightfall each of the New Zealanders had a full kit, although they wisely refrained from asking questions as to the origin of the source of supplies. Already they were well advanced in the ways of the old campaigner. If they kept rigidly to the codes of civil life they would soon have found themselves very much out in the cold as far as personal comforts were concerned, although on board, in camp, and on active service, it was noticeable that personal property was rightly considered as inviolate. One of the morning parades had Just ended, and Malcolm was hurrying down the accommodation-ladder to the mess deck when he was brought up sharply by a huge fist tapping him on the centre of his chest. Coming out of the brilliant sunshine to the comparative gloom 'tween decks, young Carr could not at first discern the features of the man who barred his progress. It was a Maori. The man was grinning broadly, yet he did not say a single word. "Te Paheka!" exclaimed Malcolm in astonishment. "You here?" A few months previously, when Malcolm saw Te Paheka vanishing round a corner as he drove juggernaut at a furious rate, the lad had come to the conclusion that he had seen the last of his Maori friend for many a long day. And now, by one of the vagaries of fate, Te Paheka was on board the _Pomfret Castle_, rigged out in khaki, and bound for the goal of freedom--the Western Front. "Yes, I came along," explained Te Paheka. "Since you added a few years to your age I thought I would make a corresponding reduction in mine. Things were a bit dull. You heard about the car? Selwyn told you, then? I've cleared out. Sold every acre of land that I could legally dispose of. The rest the paternal Government prevents me getting rid of; but it's let, so I think I'm good for about four hundred a year. By the time I return--if I ever do see Wairakato again--I'll have enough to buy the out-and-out top-hole racing car in New Zealand." Just then four men hurried along the alley-way. By the letters S.A.H.A. on their shoulder-straps, Malcolm knew that they belonged to the South African Heavy Artillery. As the foremost passed by he deliberately lurched against Te Paheka. "Out of my way, Zwartnek!" he shouted, adding something in _Taal_ which, fortunately for him, neither Malcolm nor the Maori understood. As the last of the four men passed, Malcolm, seething with indignation, caught a glimpse of his features. "Dash it all!" he soliloquized. "Where have I seen that fellow before?" Te Paheka took no notice of the insult. "I would have told that fellow to _impshie_ pretty sharp if I'd been you, Te Paheka," observed the lad. The Maori shrugged his broad shoulders. "Manners, Malcolm, or the lack of them," he remarked. "This evening I hope to teach him a lesson. There's a boxing-match fixed up, and I hear that this fellow is the champion of his battery. I'll do my best to take him down a peg." The two men separated, Te Paheka going to his mess, while Malcolm made his way to his quarters, where he informed Selwyn of his chance meeting with the Maori. "And," he added, "although I'm not absolutely sure about it, I have an idea that the blighter who let us down on the train from Muizenberg is on board." "A transport officer?" enquired Fortescue. "No; in khaki--an Afrikander artilleryman." Fortescue whistled softly. "Sure?" he asked. "No, I said I wasn't," declared Malcolm. "I only caught sight of him as he passed. The blighter looked a bit sheepish, and didn't want to catch my eye." "Golly!" ejaculated Selwyn. "That's fishy! We'll keep a look-out for him. Wonder if he'll put in an appearance at the boxing-match?" "We will, in any case," observed Kennedy. "All our boys will be there to give your Maori chum a buck up. I'll pass the word to some of the Tommy soldiers. They're good sports, and will shout with the rest of us." With the laudable intention of keeping the men's minds fully occupied during the hours of leisure, the officers had arranged for the boxing-tournament at an early stage of the voyage. The contests were to take place on the promenade deck, a space having been roped off and seats provided for the officers. Every other available part of the deck which would command a view of the "ring" was packed. Men were clustered like flies in the boats on the boat deck, others swarmed up the shrouds, to the choleric but ineffectual protests of the ship's officers. Several pairs of sparring-men having displayed their prowess and received indiscriminate praise and rebuffs from their respective supporters, the event of the evening was announced. Gunner Jan van Eindhovengen was open to engage upon a ten-round contest with any non-commissioned officer or man amongst the troops on board. Amidst the vociferous shouts of "Oom Jan" from his compatriots, the Afrikander stepped into the ring. Stripped to the waist, his huge bulk, bull neck, and massive limbs showed to their fullest advantage. Across his chest and back the muscles stood out like knots on a gnarled oak. His arms were as thick as the thigh of an ordinary man, while his seconds had considerable difficulty in placing the gloves on his enormous hands. With a supercilious and self-confident smile he folded his arms across his chest and surveyed the dense crowd of spectators. Having summed up the formidable champion, Malcolm directed his attention towards the group of men from which van Eindhovengen had just emerged. From the other side of the ring the lad scanned the faces of the Afrikander's comrades, but Without the desired result. In vain he looked for the man who, he felt confident, was the selfsame individual they had met on the Muizenberg train. "A freak of the imagination, I suppose," decided the lad, whereupon he devoted his attention to the events in the ring. A counter-blast of cheering announced the appearance of a challenger--Sergeant Smithers, of the 2nd Battalion West Othershires. The Sergeant was the best boxer of his regiment, but he had forgotten that a protracted sojourn in the reputed site of the Garden of Eden--where a boundless expanse of glaring sand, a total absence of verdure, millions of tormenting flies, and a meagre menu consisting chiefly of bully beef and tepid water, are the outstanding characteristics--is apt to undermine one's physical condition. Severely punished, Sergeant Smithers held out for five rounds, while the gigantic Jan, disdaining the services of his seconds, grimly eyed the circle of spectators in the hope of meeting another antagonist. Softly, then gradually increasing in volume until it rose to a tremendous roar, the Maori war-song greeted the appearance of Te Paheka. In wonderment, for, with few exceptions, none of the other troops had heard the chant-like chorus before, the white men relapsed into silence. For the moment all attention was shifted from van Eindhovengen to the new challenger. Although middle-aged, Te Paheka displayed the figure of an athlete. His well-developed muscles rippled under his olivine skin. They lacked the gnarled appearance of those of his antagonist, but their easy, rhythmic undulations contrasted favourably with the jerky, bombastic movements of the Afrikander's muscles and sinews. In height van Eindhovengen exceeded him by two inches, and was a good two stone heavier. Standing alone, Te Paheka would have been regarded as a huge man. Confronting the artilleryman, he looked no more than of medium height and build. Clad in a pair of shorts of a vivid orange hue--for Te Paheka shared with the rest of the Maoris a love of brilliant colour--and with a silk red ensign emblazoned with the New Zealand stars round his waist, Te Paheka grinned amicably at the Afrikander. The Maori's bare chest and back were covered with elaborate tattooing, but, according to modern custom, his face was unmarked. "Allemachte!" exclaimed one of van Eindhovengen's supporters. "He is not nearly so big as Oom Jan. Oom Jan will wipe the floor with him." "The presumptuous nigger!" said another. "He does not know Oom Jan!" Even Malcolm felt doubtful concerning Te Paheka's chances. He knew the Maori to be a good boxer, as most natives are, but age, if only ten or fifteen years, together with inferior reach and weight, must assuredly handicap Te Paheka considerably. The two men advanced and shook hands, van Eindhovengen with obvious disdain, Te Paheka as naturally as the gentleman he was. "Take your corners, men!" Round No. 1 commenced. The Afrikander, confident of knocking out his opponent quickly and completely, led off with a tremendous blow with his left. Had the glove hit its mark Te Paheka would have been shot over the ropes like a stone from a catapult. Stepping smartly back a couple Of paces, he allowed the blow to fall on empty air. "Jehoshaphat!" ejaculated Kennedy. "Why didn't the Maori take advantage of it? The Dutchy nearly overbalanced himself with the force of his blow." Malcolm, to whom the remark was addressed, made no reply beyond a confident nod. Already he was tumbling to Te Paheka's tactics. The Maori was fighting a rear-guard action hoping that his staying powers and agility were greater than those of his ponderous opponent. Round and round the ring the two men went, until the South Africans yelled to their man to hurry up and the Anzacs began to mutter impatiently. Thud! Te Paheka had got one home on the face of the Afrikander. Outwardly it had little or no effect upon Jan's rugged figurehead. The Maoris yelled with delight, but the next instant their hopes were dashed to the ground as Te Paheka, incautiously attempting to follow up his advantage, laid himself open to a terrific blow from the Afrikander's right. With a dull crash he landed heavily on the sanded floor. Over him stood van Eindhovengen, ready to strike him down should he attempt to rise. The cool, deliberate voice of the timekeeper calling off the fateful ten seconds silenced all other sounds of approbation or encouragement to the fallen man. In the intervals between the numbers one could have heard a pin drop. For the first time since the tournament started could be heard the plash of the waves against the ship's sides and the gentle moan of the wind through the rigging. Seven--eight--nine! The Afrikander struck--but struck emptiness--where Te Paheka had been a fraction of a second before. With an agility so rapid that the spectators had not time to grasp its significance, the Maori regained his feet, dealt a numbing blow upon the biceps of his antagonist, and was off to the opposite corner of the ring. Before the boxers could engage again "Time" sounded. Te Paheka was glad of the respite. It was also remarked that Jan did not scorn the attentions of his second. A dull mark on the upper part of his brawny right arm promised trouble to him in the near future. During the second round the Maori kept strictly on the defensive, while van Eindhovengen tired himself considerably in making blind and ineffectual rushes at his nimble opponent. His supporters no longer yelled to him to "hurry up and knock the black out", while the Maoris sung their choruses again and again every time Jan failed to drive Te Paheka over the ropes. The third round was a slow one. The Afrikander, realizing that he was fatiguing himself with futile efforts, adopted semi-defensive tactics, in the hope that the Maori would close. It was not until the close of time that the latter succeeded in getting home a "body punch", which did not improve Jan's temper. "Do something this time, you chaps!" shouted a Tommy as the men faced each other for the fourth round. "You're supposed to be sparring, not going in for a waltzing race." "By Jove, he's cornered!" exclaimed Fortescue, as Te Paheka, stepping back to avoid a left-hander, came in contact with the ropes. The Afrikander's glove rasped the Maori's ribs. So violent was the effort that again Jan was on the point of overbalancing. This time Te Paheka followed up the advantage. An upper cut caught van Eindhovengen full on the point of his chin, while almost simultaneously the Maori drove home a resounding blow on the Afrikander's solar plexus. Down like a felled ox the huge South African dropped. In silence the spectators heard the fateful ten seconds called, then a vociferous cheer from Afrikanders, Anzacs, and Maoris alike greeted the victor. For that instant the sporting instincts of the men triumphed over racial prejudices, and for the rest of the voyage--and after--the Maoris and Afrikanders "hit it off" splendidly. [Illustration: "BY GUM, THAT'S A MIGHTY QUEER CHUNK OF COAL!"] CHAPTER X Volunteers for the Stokehold Day after day passed, and although the _Pomfret Castle_ was pelting along at full speed there were no signs of the convoy of which the _Pintail_ formed part. If the liner were in wireless touch with the transports the fact was never communicated to the troops on board. As far as they were concerned the South Atlantic was a desert, for not another vessel had been sighted since leaving Cape Town. At Sierra Leone the _Pomfret Castle_ found two more liners awaiting her. Having coaled, the three vessels, under the escort of a light cruiser, left for Plymouth. The troops were now approaching the U-boat danger-zone. For four days a course due west was maintained, until the vessels ported helm and Stood north, it being the rule that no two convoys should shape the same course through the North Atlantic. "You've been torpedoed already, have you?" enquired an Australian, addressing Jack Kennedy. "What did you do?" "Do?" replied the Queenslander, with a laugh. "Why, simply put on my life-belt and made tracks for the boat. We only had ten minutes before the old hooker sank. The boys had a high old time. They actually put the ship up for auction as she was foundering. It was a calm----" "Periscope on the starboard bow!" shouted a stentorian voice. Already the 4.7-inch guns were manned. The Maxims began hurling nickel at the rate of 450 shots a minute, with the idea of either disabling the periscope or churning up the water in its vicinity, in order to make it impossible for the U-boat to discharge a torpedo with any degree of accuracy. Simultaneously the helm was starboarded, and the _Pomfret Castle_ steered straight for the patch where the machine-gun bullets were ricochetting from the water. The escorting cruiser, then two miles to wind'ard, also altered course, but, owing to the _Pomfret Castle_ being in her line of fire, could not take an active part in the proceedings. The "Cease fire" sounded as the liner approached the spot where the periscope had been observed. Some of the troops began to cheer at the thought that a U-boat had been sent to the bed of the Atlantic, but their jubilation was quickly nipped in the bud. In the centre of the patch, and torn by machinegun fire almost to a state of unrecognizability, was a bird known as a diver. The _Pomfret Castle_ look-out had mistaken the unfortunate fowl for the periscope of a hostile submarine, at the cost of the bird's life and an extravagant waste of ammunition. Although the three New Zealanders were keenly on the alert to renew the acquaintance with their supposed transport official, the man, if he were on board, had not come under their observation. At every available opportunity Malcolm and his chums were on deck when the South Africans paraded, but without satisfactory results. "I am forced to come to the conclusion that you are the victim of an unaccountable hallucination, my lad," observed Fortescue to Malcolm, shortly after the diver incident. "I The fellow, if he is on board, couldn't lie doggo all this time. This morning I found an excuse to have a look round the sick quarters, and our Muizenberg pal isn't there." "I am certain I spotted him when I first met Te Paheka on board," insisted Malcolm. "Pardon me, laddie," said Fortescue firmly, "but you weren't at all sure about it at the time. An impression grows until you are certain of something that never occurred. I've known a fellow pitch an altogether impossible yarn before to-day. He also was aware of the fact, but in time he became firmly convinced that his statement was gospel truth." That afternoon the course of the convoy was abruptly changed to due west again, in obedience to a signal from the escorting cruiser. It was quite a simple matter that resulted in the alteration of course. The cruiser found that she was in the track of an unknown vessel that, although invisible, left a tell-tale track by throwing overboard ashes and other debris. A keen-witted _kapitan-leutnant_ of a U-boat would not fail to take advantage of these it "signs and portents", hence the advisability of giving the steamer's track a wide berth. The vessels comprising the convoy were also cautioned when in the danger-zone to avoid "starting" ashes from the stokehold, and throwing garbage and refuse overboard, except at specified times, in order to baffle the hostile submarines' quest. Day and night a guard of riflemen stood to arms on deck, Maxims were ready for instant action, and the crews of the quick-firers slept at the guns. Hourly the game of U-boat dodging became more exciting. The troops, however, were quite composed, beyond indulging in friendly bets as to their chances of arriving at Plymouth without being torpedoed. They ate heartily, and for the most part slept soundly. "You were hard and fast in the land of dreams last night, Malcolm," remarked Dick Selwyn in the morning. "Why do you mention the fact? I plead guilty to the indictment," rejoined his chum. "There was a bit of a flutter in the night," explained Selwyn. "The cruiser reported that there was a light flashing through one of the scuttles. Our skipper sent for the C.O., and he turned out the guard. Every part of the ship was visited, but without success, for the dead-lights were in position over every scuttle. Then, almost as soon as the rounds were over, the cruiser complained about the same thing again. Twice a corporal's guard was in here, and yet you slept through it all." Selwyn had not erred on the side of exaggeration. On the contrary, he had not attached the fullest importance to the incident. Not only was a light showing from the _Pomfret Castle_; it was blinking, sending a message in Morse, although the signalman of the cruiser was unable to decipher the code. "Boys," exclaimed Kennedy, "there's a call for volunteers for the stokeholds! How about it?" "Firemen on strike?" enquired an Australian, as he tumbled out of a comfortable attitude on a locker, and stretched his arms and gave a prodigious yawn. "No, chum," replied Kennedy. "The convoy has to increase speed--we're about to cross the intensive zone--and the old tub requires a lot of whacking up." "Then I'm on," said his questioner with alacrity. Fortescue, Selwyn, and Carr were also amongst the volunteers, and after breakfast twenty men paraded in dungarees to take their "trick" below. "Hanged if I'd like to do this for a living," remarked Malcolm, as the men gingerly made their way down the greasy and polished perpendicular ladder, one of many that gave access to No. 2 stokehold. "It's all right for the novelty of the thing. What with this pitching and rolling it reminds me of Point Elizabeth Colliery in an earthquake." "If a blessed torpedo should----" began one of the Anzacs, but Kennedy promptly shut him up. "Less chin-wag going; you'll want all your energy for elbow grease," he exclaimed. "Now then, chum, give the word and we'll do our best." The last sentence was addressed to one of the regular hands, who, stripped to the waist like the rest of the _Pomfret Castle's_ firemen and greasers, was responsible for this particular stokehold. "Just you wait till we've got shot of this crush," said the man, indicating a number of South Africans who had just completed their two-hours' voluntary task. "They've stuck it jolly well. If you chaps do as good we'll make the old boat hop it like billy-oh." A crowd of Afrikanders, black with coal dust and running with perspiration, filed along the narrow passage between the huge boilers. Amongst them was Jan van Eindhovengen, proud as a peacock at having broken all records in shovelling coal from the bunkers. When the twenty South Africans had left the stokehold the relieving gang was set to work. Malcolm's task was to remove coal from a cavernous recess, the fuel being handled by Fortescue and Selwyn, who had to transport it to one of the furnaces. At other bunkers a similar operation was performed by their comrades, the "trimmers" being specially instructed to remove the coal in a methodical manner, so that there was slight possibility of the remaining contents being thrown out by the roll of the vessel. Others, armed with long-handled shovels, fed the capacious furnaces so frequently that the place reverberated to the clanging of the red-hot metal doors at the ends of the multi-tube boilers. At intervals the ash-hoists had to be supplied with still-smouldering embers, for so quickly did the heaps of ashes accumulate, that, unless removed constantly, they would seriously hamper the fireman at work in the already-congested space. Before Malcolm had been twenty minutes at his task he began to realize the necessity for careful removal of the lumps of coal. In spite of every precaution, masses of black, shiny fuel would clatter down from the steadily-diminishing heap. Since he was wearing a pair of canvas shoes and no socks, he had to display considerable agility in avoiding the miniature avalanches. Presently he came to a tight "pack". The lumps were so closely wedged that the only way to attack the sloping wall of coal was by means of a long "fireman's rake". Just as Malcolm was releasing the top tier, the vessel gave a heavier roll than usual, and a regular cataract of coal shot towards the mouth of the bunker. Back sprang the lad, crouching the while to prevent bringing his head in contact with a low girder. Even then he was too late. A huge lump, fully eighteen inches in diameter, trundled over his left foot and brought up against the sill of the bunker. Fully expecting to find his foot crushed, Malcolm was agreeably surprised, and at the same time astonished, that nothing of the sort occurred. Beyond a few slight grazes, he was uninjured. Desisting from his labours, he regarded the mass of coal with studied interest. "Buck up, laddie!" exclaimed Fortescue. "Keep the pot boiling! Don't go to sleep!" Disregarding the admonition, Malcolm stooped and grasped the huge mass. He could lift it with the utmost ease. At the very outside it weighed less than five pounds. "What do you make of this?" he bawled, tossing the lump to Fortescue. The latter, prepared to receive a weighty object, was quite as surprised as Carr had been. "By gum," he remarked, "that's a mighty queer chunk of coal!" "Found a nugget?" enquired Selwyn, glad of an opportunity of a respite. "It's hollow, and it's been filled with water," continued Fortescue. "The thing, whatever it is, is still leaking. Chuck it aside, and let's get on with the job. We'll examine it later." "What's all this jawing about?" asked the leading hand. "Chauvin' yer fat won't empty this 'ere bunker." "I agree," rejoined Fortescue complaisantly. "But cast your optics on this, my festive shoveller." "Ain't you seen a lump of coal afore?" demanded the man. "Not like this one," said Fortescue. "Handle it." The man took the proffered object; then, muttering an unintelligible ejaculation, simply bolted with it to the nearest ladder. "Hallo, here's another find!" exclaimed Selwyn. "This yours, Malcolm?" He held up a small pocket-book, black with coal dust. "Not mine," replied Carr. "Must have belonged to one of those fellows we relieved." "Possibly," agreed Selwyn, throwing the book into the pocket of his overalls. "We'll soon find out if it is." The interrupted task was resumed, but in less than ten minutes the leading hand returned, accompanied by three of the regular firemen. "You three," he announced, indicating Carr and his chums, "are to knock off and report to the Quartermaster." Going on deck they duly reported themselves, and were conducted to a cabin on the lower bridge, their protests about having to appear in a coal-grimed state being ignored. Within were the Captain and the Chief Engineer of the ship, while in two pieces on the table lay the lump of "coal". "Which of you found this?" enquired the "Old Man" brusquely, indicating Malcolm's find. "I did, sir," replied the lad. "I It rolled on my foot, and, finding it was remarkably light, I examined it." "A thundering good job you did," rejoined the Captain. "Look here, this is in confidence--you must not mention the affair to anyone--had that thing been thrown into the furnace, the chances are that the ship would have been blown up. No. 7 bunker---- Let me see, Jephson," he continued, addressing the engineer; "that was replenished at Sierra Leone, wasn't it?" The officer addressed consulted a memorandum. "No, sir," he replied; "7 and 8 of No. 2 stoke-hold were bunkered at Cape Town. They hadn't been touched when we arrived at Sierra Leone." The infernal machine--for such it was--was an ingeniously-constructed piece of work. The hollow shell of papier-mâché was made to resemble a lump of coal. Within was a slab of wet gun-cotton, while to make up the deficiency of weight the hollow was filled with water. Fortunately the bomb must have been cracked in contact with lumps of genuine coal, for the water had escaped. The contrivance would have been thrown into the furnace, with disastrous results; but Malcolm's astuteness had saved the situation. "Mind, not a word!" cautioned the Skipper again as the three New Zealanders were dismissed. "In due course your conduct will be reported to the proper authorities, and no doubt you will hear favourably on the matter." CHAPTER XI Cornered "How about that notebook?" enquired Malcolm. The three chums were lounging in camp-chairs on the upper deck after their strenuous but interrupted "trick below". In consideration for their voluntary labours all men who had been in the stokehold were excused drills and parades for the rest of the day. "Clean forgot all about it," replied Selwyn. "I left it in the pocket of my boiler suit. By this time I guess some other fellow is wearing the overalls. After all, the notebook may find its way to the rightful owner." The three sat in silence for some minutes. Fortescue was puffing at his pipe, deep in thought; Selwyn was idly contemplating the unbroken expanse of horizon; while Malcolm devoted his attention to the examination of half a dozen large blisters on his hands. Already soldiering had hardened his hands considerably, but stoking, he decided, had proved to be far more strenuous than bayonet exercise, if an aching back, stiff muscles, and galls as big as half-crowns were any criterion. Thus engaged, the chums hardly noticed the appearance of a corporal's guard--an N.C.O. and two privates with side-arms. Consequently they were surprised when the Corporal halted his men and asked abruptly: "Are you Diggers the chaps what were doing stoking just now in No. 2 stokehold? You are? Well, you're bloomin' well under arrest." "Under arrest--what for?" demanded Fortescue. For a moment he suspected a practical joke, but the fact that the men wore side-arms knocked that idea on the head. "Dunno," replied the man shortly. "Fall in!" Along the crowded troop deck the prisoners and their escort made their way, their presence occasioning little interest on the part of the spectators. Defaulters were common objects amongst the different Colonial troops who comprised the _Pomfret Castle's_ passengers. Outside the large cabin known as the orderly-room were a dozen Australians, also under guard. Presently their numbers were augmented by five more. Every man of the coaling squad in No. 2 stokehold had been arrested. "What's this rotten farce all about?" demanded Kennedy, appealing to the New Zealanders. Malcolm shook his head. His own impression was that it had something to do with the discovery of the explosive in the bunker. "Silence!" ordered a sergeant-major, who was now in charge of the batch of prisoners. The door was thrown open, and the Anzacs with their escort paced into the orderly-room. At one end was a green-baize-covered table, at which were seated four "Tommy" officers--a major, two captains, and a lieutenant of a British line regiment. In front of them were sheets of foolscap, a book on military law, and a small object wrapped in brown paper. "You men," began the Major without any preliminaries, "volunteered for work in No. 2 stoke-hold. Twenty all told, I see. Were there any other men of the party, or do you comprise the whole squad? Very well, then. Now I mean to find out who is the owner of this article. It was found in one of the boiler suits supplied to the squad; it was not there when the suits were issued, consequently the article in question must belong to one of you men. The owner of this will step forward two paces." The Major, unwrapping the paper coverings, held up for inspection the notebook that Selwyn had picked up in his bunker. "Is this your property?" demanded the Major as Selwyn stepped forward. "No, sir." "Then why the deuce----" exclaimed the officer, raising his voice. "Here, remove the other prisoners." For twenty minutes the ejected men cooled their heels in the alley-way until again summoned to the orderly room. "You are released from arrest," declared the Major curtly; then, as an afterthought, he added: "It would be advisable that you maintain discretion over the matter." "What happened, old man?" enquired Fortescue, as the three New Zealanders gained a secluded part of the mess deck. "The pocket-book contained a secret code," explained Selwyn. "It has been partly deciphered, and is proved to be a means of communication between someone on board the ship and the U-boats. I explained how I found it, and offered to produce you chaps as witnesses, but the Major was awfully decent about it. He means to find the owner, and if necessary is going to interrogate every man who went into that stokehold. Hallo, they've rounded up our immediate predecessors already." As he spoke twenty Afrikanders, headed by the gigantic Jan van Eindhovengen, marched along the mess deck under escort. "By Golly!" exclaimed Fortescue. "That's the man!" "Who--the boxer?" enquired Selwyn. "No, the last but one. Our pal in the Muizenberg train." "So it is," agreed Malcolm. "Don't let him twig us." The Diggers waited until the batch of suspects vanished. "Ought we to report what we know concerning that chap?" asked Malcolm. "And possibly get choked off if we do," objected Fortescue. "Let's wait and see what happens. If the fellow is bowled out, there's no need for us to butt in. He'll face a firing-party without our assistance. Taken for granted that he is a spy, what was his object in bamboozling us?" "Give it up," replied Selwyn. "Getting three men to miss their proper transport wouldn't affect the progress of the war sufficiently to warrant his action." "We told him a lot--more than we ought to have done," remarked Malcolm. "Of course we didn't know." "And then I suppose," added Fortescue, "he thought we might report the matter, and so he switched us off on a branch line, so to speak. We'll let it go at that, but it wouldn't be a bad move to wait outside the orderly-room after those fellows have gone in and play the eavesdropper. If our Muizenberg pal is marched off under escort, then we needn't trouble further in the matter. If he gets off, then we'll tackle him and ask him for an explanation." Acting upon this suggestion, the three chums made their way along the alley-way until they came to the orderly-room door. The Afrikanders were already within. Outside stood a "Tommy" sergeant as part of the escort. "Want to go through the hoop again, you chaps?" enquired the N.C.O., with a grin. "Not much--only curious," replied Fortescue, who had met the non-com. before on several occasions. "We'll _impshie_--hook it, you know--when they clear the court." Listening, the three chums could hear the stern tones of the Major and the bass voice of the interpreter, for several of the South Africans spoke nothing but Taal--a dialect comprised largely of Dutch, with a sprinkling of Zulu and Kaffir words. "That's our man," whispered Malcolm. "The blighter's yapping in Dutch," announced Fortescue, "and he can speak English perfectly. Hallo!" A torrent of words, plainly indicating indignant denials, wafted through the closed door. Several of the Afrikanders were speaking at once. A revolver-shot rang out, a sharp exclamation of pain, and then a tremendous scuffling. "Come on, boys!" ordered the Sergeant, addressing the men of the escort waiting without. The door was thrown open. The Tommies rushed in, while at their heels came Fortescue, Selwyn, and Carr. Their resolution to remain passive and unseen witnesses had vanished into thin air. Within all was confusion. The Major lay with his head and shoulders resting upon the table. Two of the other officers were endeavouring to stanch the blood that flowed from his forehead. In one corner of the room a crowd of Afrikanders swayed in a compact mass, as if eager to wreak their vengeance on someone, while held like a rat in the jaws of a terrier was the man from Muizenberg, his captor being Jan van Eindhovengen. "Give him to us, Jan!" shouted a dozen angry voices. "We know what to do with the rogue." With difficulty the furious Afrikanders were calmed. The spy, his features pale with terror, was removed under a strong guard, while the wounded officer was carried to the sick quarters. It was not until the afternoon that Oom Jan told Fortescue of what had occurred. Already strange rumours of varying degrees of accuracy had floated round the ship, but it was unanimously agreed that van Eindhovengen was the hero of the hour. The spy had contrived to join the draft at Cape Town under the name of Pieter Waas. The real Pieter Waas happened to be a stranger to the rest of the Afrikanders, and, induced to desert by spy, had considerately transferred his name to his doubtful benefactor. At the court of enquiry the pseudo Waas denied all knowledge of the pocket-book, although van Eindhovengen had seen the man with it in his possession without knowing its sinister import. It was not until it was explained to the Afrikanders that the ownerless book was a means by which they might be sent to the bottom of the sea by a hostile submarine that Oom Jan "rounded" on the spy. At first the fellow strenuously contradicted van Eindhovengen's accusation, but the big Afrikander would not be gainsaid. Suddenly the suspect whipped out a small automatic pistol. Whether it was with the intention of taking his own life or that of his accuser he himself only knew. Like a flash van Eindhovengen's hand shot out. His powerful fingers gripped the spy's wrist as in a vice. As the pistol dropped from the fellow's limp hand the weapon went off, a bullet grazing the head of the president of the court of enquiry, and rendering him insensible. "And now," concluded Oom Jan, "the spy is under lock and key. He is a slim _smous_ = rascal (Cape Dutch), but, Allemachte, it is all over with him. Presently, after he has set foot on dry land, a dozen bullets will bid him _Hambla gachle_. It is a too fitting end to a spy." "But he hasn't been tried and sentenced yet," remarked Fortescue. The Afrikander's face fell. "Surely he is guilty," he said. "Why then waste time over him?" "It is the Englishman's proud boast that every prisoner shall be given a fair trial," explained Fortescue. "It will be general court martial, no doubt. Thank goodness we New Zealanders are not mixed up in the business. By the by, Malcolm, have you any idea when we arrive at Plymouth? It seems to me that we've been dodging across the Atlantic half a dozen times." "This is the twenty-eighth day of the voyage," observed Malcolm. "I heard that when the _Pomfret Castle_ was on the ordinary mail service she did the trip in fourteen as regular as clockwork." "There's one thing, the boys will be snugly in camp by this time and waiting for us," added Selwyn. "We've missed the rotten 'shaking down' process. I wonder what sort of a show Codford is like?" "You'll find out in due course," replied Fortescue grimly. "I've had some; enough of Salisbury Plain for me, thank you." "We're not there yet," Malcolm reminded him. Fortescue looked fixedly at the expanse of sea over which the twilight was spreading. Already the grey outline of the convoying cruiser was blending into invisibility against the gathering mantle of night. "'That's so," he agreed solemnly. CHAPTER XII Running the Gauntlet "Land in sight!" The welcome announcement resulted in a rush on deck on the part of the motley throng of Anzacs, South Africans, English troops, and Maoris. Some men eager for a glimpse of the country of their birth, which they had not seen for many a long-drawn month of campaigning in the inhospitable waste of Mesopotamia; others for the first sight of the Mother Country; others out of mere curiosity; while the Maoris peered through the dim light to feast upon the prospects of speedily setting foot on dry land. It was not much to look at, judged from a strictly optical point of view. Merely a slender lighthouse, rearing itself itself out of the sea, while miles beyond it, and just visible against the pale rosy tints of dawn, was a line of dark-grey cliffs, backed by higher ground that was totally destitute of trees. The _Pomfret Castle_ and the rest of the convoy had slowed down in the vicinity of the Wolf Rock Lighthouse. The attendant cruiser was circling round at top speed, as if to shepherd her flock before entrusting them to the care of another. Against the line of cliffs could be discerned a haze of smoke, Out of which appeared a number of indistinct dots that quickly resolved themselves into a flotilla of destroyers. In double-column line ahead the greyhounds of the sea tore to meet the approaching troopships, then, at a signal from the senior officer, the destroyers "broke line", tearing hither and thither seemingly without order or reason--zigzagging, pirouetting, and crossing each others' bows as if participating in an intricate maritime dance. "Putting the wind up any blessed U-boat that might be wanting to butt in," exclaimed Kennedy. "Hallo! There's our cruiser off. She's done with us." The transports dipped ensigns; the cruiser returned the compliment in a similar manner as she swung round and retraced her course. Her mission accomplished, she set off on particular service to escort another convoy from somewhere to somewhere else, while the destroyers closed round the _Pomfret Castle_ and her consorts as if to welcome them into port. For the most part the men ignored the call to breakfast. They had a different feast on hand--to feast their eyes upon the varying outlines of the rugged Cornish coast; for as the distance decreased the monotonous aspect gave place to one of intense interest. "There's Rame Head," exclaimed a delighted Tommy. "Many a time I've stood on top of it. I was born an' bred at Cawsand," he added, gratuitously. "Just round the corner you'll see Plymouth." "I've seen it three times before," remarked another--the inevitable grouser of the company; "and, every time it's been raining cats and dogs. Proper wet 'ole, I calls it." "Let it, and a jolly good job too," rejoined the first speaker. "After Mesopotamia you won't hear men grumbling about rain--not 'arf. It can rain every day in the year, an' good luck to it." "Just you wait till you gets ter France," chipped in another. "Up to yer neck in mud an' slush. You'll jolly soon wish yourself grilling again." "You've turned your back on Mesopotamia, boys," exclaimed the licensed jester of the company. "Now you've the Mess-up-at-homia, an' so make the best of it. Blimy, wot's this comin'; a bloomin' Zeppelin!" "Where?" exclaimed a dozen voices. Following the direction of the speaker's outstretched hand Malcolm had his first view of an airship. It was not a large craft as airships go. Underneath its silver-grey envelope hung a small car like the fuselage of an aeroplane. As it approached, the whirring circle of a single, two-bladed propeller could be discerned. It was a "Blimp", or dirigible observation balloon. The airship was flying rapidly "down wind" at an altitude of about two hundred feet. As it passed almost overhead the fuselage appeared to scrape the _Pomfret Castle's_ main truck by inches. Presently the Blimp swung round and faced the wind, keeping on a course slightly diverging from that of the convoy. Plugging away dead in the eye of the wind its progress was not more than twenty miles an hour "over the ground", which in reality was a portion of the English Channel. Suddenly the _Pomfret Castle_ starboarded helm and broke out of line. The alteration of course had the effect of causing the huge vessel to list outwards. As she did so a long trail of foam almost parallel to the starboard side of the ship shot ahead until it was lost to sight in the distance. For some moments not a single man moved. Attention had been shifted from the Blimp to the milk-white track in the water--the wake of the torpedo. Only by prompt use of her helm had the _Pomfret Castle_ escaped destruction. Even in home waters she had to run the gauntlet, despite the encircling line of destroyers. With the utmost audacity a U-boat had lain submerged across the track of the convoy, trusting to be able to launch her bolt and disappear before even the swift destroyers could take her bearings, and close upon the spot where the tips of her periscopes had appeared when the torpedo had been discharged. She had seen the escorting vessels and had taken the risk, but she had reckoned without the far-seeing eyes of the Blimp. Already the airship had spotted a dark elongated shape beneath the waves. Invisible when viewed at a narrow angle to the surface, the submarine stood out clearly against the grey waste of waters when seen from above. Something, glittering in the dull light, shot from beneath the fuselage of the alert Blimp. With a mighty splash the missile struck the surface of the sea and disappeared. For five long-drawn seconds nothing appeared to happen. Unseen by the watchers on the troop-ship, a deadly aerial torpedo was worming its way through the water until it reached a depth of sixty feet. Before the spray cast up by the impact of the missile had subsided, another and far greater column of water leapt a hundred feet or more into the air. A cloud of smoke hid the Blimp from view, while, out of the breaking spout of upheaved water, appeared a solid, dark-grey substance--the after part of a U-boat! For a brief instant the wreckage was revealed to view. Even the horizontal and vertical rudders and the twin propellers were visible. Then, as if reluctant to sink into obscurity, the strafed U-boat disappeared from mortal ken for all time. No need for the destroyers to tear at full speed across the ever-widening circle of oil; no need for explosive grapnels to trail over the downward path of the vertically-descending pirate craft. The diabolical _Spurlos versenkt_ policy had recoiled with a vengeance upon yet another of the Kaiser's _Unterseebooten_. A hoarse roar of cheering broke from the throats of the men. Tommies, Anzacs, South Africans, and Maoris vied with each other as to who could produce the greatest and most prolonged volume Of sound. Other vessels of the convoy took up the hearty "Hip, hip, hurrah!" until the watchers on the distant Cornish cliffs must have heard the strenuous demonstrations of exultation. Meanwhile the destroyers, their crews grimly silent, merely "carried on". The men whose lives they were guarding might well let themselves go, but these units of the great silent navy meant business. Time for shouting when the German navy ceased to exist as a fighting force--and "The Day" was yet to come. The Blimp, also scorning to display any indications of its triumphant success, turned and flew serenely over the convoy, outwardly indifferent to the work of destruction it had accomplished. Not until the last of the convoy passed the western end of the breakwater, and gained the security of Plymouth Sound, did the modern counterpart of the "Little cherub that sits up aloft, To keep guard o'er the life of poor Jack" relinquish its task. Then, amid a farewell outburst of cheering, the Blimp flew eastwards, to disappear from view behind the lofty Staddon Heights. CHAPTER XIII News of Peter Malcolm's first impressions on landing in Old England were far from agreeable. A drizzling rain was falling. It was yet early, and beyond a few dock hands Millbay Pier was deserted. No crowds of enthusiastic spectators waited to welcome the men who had made a perilous voyage of thousands of miles to take part in the fight for freedom. In almost complete silence the securing-ropes were made fast and the gangways run out by apathetic workmen, while with the utmost dispatch the disembarkation of men and stores began. Wearing grey Balaclava helmets instead of their smart uniform hats, and without their accoutrements, the three New Zealanders found themselves drawn up in the rear of their Australian comrades. "Who are these men?" enquired an embarkation Officer of the Anzac major who accompanied him. "Three New Zealanders who missed their transport at Cape Town, sir," replied the latter. "What regiment?" The Australian turned to Fortescue and repeated the question. The embarkation officer consulted a document. "Thirty-somethingth reinforcements, eh? Dash it all, you men! You've arrived before they have. I don't know what to do with them, Major." He spoke wearily. Dealing with absentees and men who had "got adrift" had occupied a good part of his time during the last two years. It was getting decidedly monotonous. "Let them entrain with our boys, sir," suggested the kindly Anzac major. "I'll be responsible for them as far as Salisbury. They're for Codford, I suppose?" "Very well," acceded the embarkation officer, glad to find an easy solution to the difficulty. "You are the senior non-com., I suppose," he asked, addressing Fortescue. "Here, take this, and when you arrive in camp report yourselves." He handed Fortescue a yellow paper, and hurried off to find shelter from the downpour. The entrainment was a slow process. The men were hungry. They wished in vain for the breakfast that the majority had forgone when the _Pomfret Castle_ sighted land. There were rumours that tea and coffee were to be served out at a way-side station, but promises, Fortescue observed, do not fill an empty stomach. In vain Malcolm looked for Te Paheka. Already the Maori contingent had been spirited away--to what immediate destination he knew not. Handcuffed and under a strong escort, the spy arrested under the name of Pieter Waas was hurried along the slippery quay--the bent, dejected figure of a man who, although uncondemned, knows that his life is forfeit. Who and what he was yet remained to be proved, unless, like many a nameless spy, he went to his death preferring that the mystery that surrounded his life should accompany him to the Great Beyond. Packed like sardines in a tin, the Anzacs filled the long train to overflowing. Again under cover, their mercurial spirits rose, and when at length the rain ceased, and the train rumbled betwixt the red-earthed, verdant coombes of Devon, bathed in brilliant sunshine, the Anzacs unanimously voted that there were worse places on earth than the Old Country. It was late in the afternoon when Malcolm and his two chums alighted at Codford station, and, making their way by a roundabout route along the main street of the village, where old-time cottages and hideous wooden shanties stood cheek by jowl, arrived at the vast array of tin huts that comprised the camp. Things turned out better than either of the three chums had expected. They were reprimanded, but for the time being they were not deprived of their stripes. Until the arrival of the Thirty-somethingth reinforcements they were given light duties and a generous amount of leisure time. "Malcolm Carr, by all that's blue and pink!" This was the greeting hurled at Malcolm a few hours after his arrival in camp. At that time there were comparatively few troops at Codford. Heavy drafts had just been sent to Sling Camp, preparatory to proceeding to France, while the expected reinforcements had not yet put in an appearance. Yet one of the first men young Carr met that evening was a Christchurch acquaintance who lived but a few doors away from Malcolm's parents. "By Jove, this is great, Tommy!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Never thought I'd run against you here. You know Selwyn, of course? This is Fortescue, one of the boys--and one of the best. An old Christchurch chum, Tommy Travers." "When did you blow in?" enquired Travers, as the four made their way along a narrow plank gangway between the lines of huts--the only means of preventing men sinking above their ankles in mud. "Arrived at Plymouth this morning," replied Malcolm. "And you? Been across yet?" Travers touched his coat-sleeve, on which was a faded gold stripe. "Yes," he answered; "five months of it. I got this buckshie in that scrap in Delville Wood, when our brigade captured Flers. Shrap," he added laconically. "It was hell let loose, and our boys copped it. Six weeks in hospital, and then I came here. Managed to get dropped when the last draft went to Sling, so I suppose I'll be off with the next crush. Any news Christchurch way?" "Did you hear that my brother Peter is wounded and missing?" asked Malcolm, after a flow of conversation on strictly personal subjects. "Yes," replied Travers. "He was sergeant of my platoon. I think I was one of the last of our chaps to see him. It was like this: our battalion cleared the southern portion of Delville Wood in grand style. We fairly put the wind up Fritz. Bombs and bayonets all the time. We had a lot of casualties, though. When we rushed our objective your brother Peter was senior non-com. There were two subalterns left, but they weren't fit for much. Both hit, but too plucky to chuck their hands in. Well, we began digging ourselves in on the edge of the wood when the Boches started to pump in high-explosive, shrap, and gas shells. There was precious little left of the wood. Not a leaf to be seen, and at most a crowd of charred tree-trunks, many of 'em still blazing." "Why Fritz treated us to an extra special dose goodness only knows. The battalion lying on our right barely copped it at all, and the Tommy regiment on our left came off lightly until the Huns had finished with us. We had little or no cover. The ground was chock-full of big roots, and we hadn't time to remove them. The trees were flying in big and little chunks all over the show, and all the cover we could get were a few shell-holes." "Although it was night, the place was lit up as brightly as anything; a continuous slap-up of bursting shells and streams of liquid fire. I heard afterwards that our battalion was given orders to fall back and adjust the line, but certain it was that we never had any commands to retire." "Then I got it properly. Shrap in the left arm and both legs. Went down like a felled ox, and lay there until my puttees--which I started to unroll but didn't finish--began smouldering. Things were looking and feeling bit warmer than usual when your brother nipped up. Remember, none of the boys were firing. There was nothing to let rip at. The Boche guns simply let us have it, and their counter-attack hadn't developed. If they were about to counter-attack we couldn't see them. The smoke was too thick for that, although, as I said before, we could see everything within twenty yards or so. Our only indication of the Huns trying to rush us was when their guns lifted and put up a barrage behind us.". "Peter never said a word. For one thing, there was such a terrific din going on that you'd have had to shout close to a fellow's ear to make him understand; for another, your brother had got it in the jaw. Nothing much, I should say, as buckshies go nowadays, but still it was enough to look unpleasant." "He finished unwinding my puttees and threw them away. I can smell them now, smouldering under my nose. Then he began hauling me towards a shell-hole, when down he went, all of a heap, shot through the ankle." "After a bit he raised himself and pointed towards the crater we were making for, and we both started to crawl for it. By Jingo, didn't that journey give me gee-up while it lasted! Then, just as we were close to the shell-hole, a 'crump' burst somewhere close, and I remembered nothing more until I found myself in the advance dressing-station. Two men of C Company, Pat O'Connor and Sandy Anderson--both from Taranaki--brought me in, I was told afterwards, and I met them while I was in hospital at Brockenhurst. They were certain they never saw Sergeant Peter Carr." "The Germans drove us in with their counter-attack, didn't they?" asked Fortescue. "Aye, but we ousted them next morning," replied Travers, "and out of Flers as well. That's when Pat O'Connor copped it; but he swears that none of our fellows were left alive during the retirement in the woods." "Then you think that Peter was killed?" asked Malcolm. Travers squared his shoulders. "Speaking as man to man," he replied, "I don't think there can be the faintest doubt about it. And Peter Carr was a downright good sort. . . . How about it, you fellows? Good for a game of a 'hundred up'?" CHAPTER XIV The Anzacs' Hoax For the next few weeks events moved rapidly. With the belated arrival of the Thirty-somethingth reinforcement, Malcolm Carr and Dick Selwyn found themselves reverted to the ranks. Fortescue, by virtue of having seen active service, still retained his stripes. Rumours of something great in the nature of a stunt about to take place gained credence from the fact that the men were put through their final training as quickly as possible. The "Diggers" accepted the "speeding up" with alacrity. They realized that the sooner they completed their arduous "field exercises" the sooner they would attain their ambition to "put it across Fritz". The spring gave place to early summer, a spell of beautifully fine weather, so much so that the mud of Salisbury Plain vanished, and the green grass of the rolling downs turned russet for lack of rain. Yet, in spite of the heat, bayonet practice, bombing instruction, and long route marches kept the men lean, active, and in the very pink of condition. "_Ehoa!_ It's Sling." The announcement ran like wildfire along the line of huts. It meant that the transfer of the brigade to Sling Camp was another milestone in the long trek to the Front. It is futile to attempt to find Sling on the pre-war maps of Salisbury Plain. A large town of mushroom growth, it had been one of the places inseparably associated with New Zealand's part in the Great War. To the man who had yet to undergo his baptism of fire, Sling meant proficiency for the firing-line. To the wounded New Zealander recovering from wounds, being ordered to Sling meant that he was considered fit to "I get one back on Fritz". In brief, Sling Camp was a piece of New Zealand soil planted in England, where the pick of the manhood of the Southern Dominion forgathered for the final polishing touches of the noble profession of arms. Before June was far advanced word went round that the brigade was to cross the Channel and go into camp at "Etaps"--as Étaples is almost uniformly designated by the khaki lads. Again rumour spoke truthfully, for at four o'clock the next afternoon the "Diggers" were ordered to entrain for Southampton. "Wonder if there's any chance of looking round Southampton?" asked Selwyn. "I've a second cousin there." Fortescue smiled grimly. "No, you don't, my dinky lad," he replied. "After Muizenberg we steer clear of your relations. As a matter of fact, they'll push us straight on board a transport, and she'll sail as soon as it gets dark." The train, upon arrival at the place of embarkation, ran straight into the docks, and brought up close to one of the many transports that were berthed there with banked fires ready to sail at any hour of the day or night. In full marching order the men trooped up the gangways, divested themselves of their packs, and made themselves as comfortable as possible for their twelve or fourteen hours' voyage. Within the space of two hours twelve hundred troops, both Australians and New Zealanders, were embarked. "Good-bye, Blighty!" shouted an Anzac. "Shan't see you again for many a long day." "Stow your jaw and get your life-belt," ordered a non-com. "You'll be in the soup if the platoon commander finds you without it." The wire hawsers were cast off. A couple of tugs began straining at their huge charge, and slowly the transport drew away from the side of the dock. Then, gathering speed, she slipped down the land-locked expanse of Southampton Water, through the fort-guarded Spithead, and gained the English Channel. "We'll be airing our French by this time tomorrow," declared Malcolm. "For the preservation of the Entente we would be wise to keep our mouths shut," said Selwyn. "From what I remember, Malcolm, you were last but one in French at the Coll." "And you?" "Absolutely the last," admitted Selwyn. "Talking of French," began Fortescue, "reminds me of something that happened to me at Plug Street. Hallo, what's the move now?" Fortescue's narrative, or rather attempted narrative, of what occurred at Plug Street was somewhat remarkable. On three previous occasions Malcolm and Selwyn had heard him commencing the tale, and each time something had occurred to "switch him off." It was no ordinary interruption on this occasion. The transport had altered helm and was turning to starboard, with her bows pointing towards the Foreland end of The Wight. Still porting helm, she swung round until she reversed her former direction, then, standing on her course, began to make for Spithead once more. "What's up now?" was the enquiry on the lips of hundreds of men. "One of the brass hats' has dropped his toothbrush overboard and we're going back to look for it," declared a South Australian. "Corker, my boy, you were too sharp on your bead when you chortled, 'Good-bye, Blighty!'" Presently it transpired that the transport had received a wireless message ordering her to return to Southampton, as four German submarines had been reported lying in wait at a distance of ten Miles south of the Nab Lightship. Since the night was pitch dark, the escorting ships could not carry out their protective duties with the same degree of efficiency as usual. In the circumstances prudence directed the temporary abandonment of the cross-channel voyage. It was one o'clock in the morning when the transport berthed in the Empress Dock. Orders were given for the troops to disembark and proceed to the large rest camp on the outskirts of Southampton. Disappointed though they were, the men maintained their cheerfulness, and before the long column was clear of the dock gates they were cheering, laughing, and shouting frantically, despite all attempts on the part of their officers to enforce silence. Up the long High Street the khaki-clad troops marched boisterously. The inhabitants, roused from their sleep by the unusual clamour, flocked to the windows. Many a time had they seen troops fully equipped proceeding _towards_ the docks; never since the outbreak of hostilities had they seen soldiers in heavy marching order tramping in column of fours away from the place of embarkation. "What's up?" was the oft-repeated enquiry from the invisible heights of many a darkened window in the High Street. "Haven't you heard?" shouted a bull-voiced Anzac. "Peace is declared, and we're the first troops home from the Front." At the prospect of a gigantic hoax others took up the mendacious parable, and long before the men reached their destination for the night the startling news had spread far and wide. It was not until the arrival of the morning papers that the good folk of Southampton realized that they had been "properly had". The enforced detention at Southampton, was, however, not without certain compensations. The men were allowed out of camp during the following afternoon, a boon they thoroughly appreciated. Selwyn had seized upon the opportunity to visit his relations, but when fie again invited Malcolm and Fortescue to accompany him they begged to be excused, and wandered round the town instead. Old Southampton was both a surprise and a revelation to Malcolm Carr. Coming from a country where a fifty-year-old building is considered to be old, the sight of the fourteenth-century walls and fortified gates filled him with enthusiasm, while Fortescue was able to explain the nature of the various architectural features. Wandering down a narrow and far from clean street they came face to face with an ancient stone building flung athwart the road. On the side of the archway a notice board announced it to be the old Westgate, through which the armies of Edward III and Henry V marched to embark upon the expedition that ended respectively in the victories of Crécy and Agincourt. "One can imagine the throng of mailed knights leathern-jerkined archers pouring under the double portcullis," remarked Fortescue. "Those armies left this place as enemies of France; to-day ours also leave Southampton, but with a different purpose, to rid French soil of the Hun and all his works." "And it shows," added Malcolm, "in another way how times change. Unless I'm mistaken, Henry V's army consisted of thirty thousand troops--not a third of the number of men raised in New Zealand alone." "To carry the comparison still further," continued his companion, "our quota is roughly a fiftieth of the fighting forces of the Empire. For every man who levelled lance or drew bow at Agincourt against the French, one hundred and fifty are to-day fighting side by side with their former enemies. Those chaps--'island carrions, desperate of their bones', as Will Shakespeare aptly puts it--are our ancestors, Malcolm, whether we are New Zealanders, Australians, or Canadians, and although we are up against a big thing I haven't the faintest doubt that blood will tell, as it did in those days. But, by Jove, it's close on four o'clock. We'll have to get back as sharp as we can, or we may have the Muizenberg business all over again." That evening the troops re-embarked. By this time the lurking U-boats had been dealt with in a most effective way. Their shattered hulls lay on the bed of the English Channel. The route was now clear, and the transport's voyage was practically devoid of incident. Without the loss of a single man, thanks to the mysterious yet effective means of protection afforded by the British navy, the Thirty-somethingth reinforcement had completed yet another stage of their Odyssey. At last they were upon the soil of La Belle France, and within sound of the hostile guns. CHAPTER XV The Eve of Messines "Now then, you chaps, if you aren't hungry your pals are. Look slippy and get those rations up. You'll tumble across the wagons at La Tuille Farm." "Right oh, Sergeant!" responded a youthful corporal. "Come along, chapses! Best foot forward!" The Sergeant, having seen that a start was about to be made, backed out of the dug-out, dropped the tapestried curtain--it was a ragged and soiled ground-sheet--over the entrance, and disappeared along the narrow trench. Crowded into the small dug-out were seven New Zealand riflemen. Three of them are old acquaintances: Carr, Selwyn, and Macready, all looking lean, dirty, and unkempt, while their uniforms were caked in dried mud and frayed with hard usage. The final touches at Staples were a thing of the past. For four long days the men had been in the first-line trenches facing the formidable Messines Ridge. The dug-out was comparatively dry. For one thing, the weather had been propitious, and the loathsome mud had almost disappeared. The roof was composed of untrimmed tree trunks on which were piled sand-bags sufficiently thick to stop shells of medium calibre. The walls were likewise timbered, while along three sides ran a narrow shelf on which were bundles of straw to serve as beds. Hanging from nails driven into the rough-and-ready wainscot were the men's haversacks and other equipment, while ranged alongside the door were their rifles. Those were the only objects upon which any great care had been bestowed. In spite of rain, mud, discolouring fumes of shells, hard usage, and a dozen other difficulties, the rifles were kept well-oiled and in perfect condition. In the centre of the dug-out stood a cylindrical piece of perforated iron in which a fire was burning dully. The fumes filled the confined space to such an extent that it was difficult for any of the occupants to distinguish their companions' features, but that was a detail to be endured with equanimity in the trenches. As it was the month of June, and warm, the men were lucky to be able to have a fire, considering the scarcity of fuel and the difficulty of conveying wood and charcoal up to the firing-line. During the day Fritz had been actively engaged in "watering" the line with high-explosive shells. Not only did the advance and support trenches get it hot, but for miles behind the lines hostile shells were dropping promiscuously, on the chance of blowing up one or more of the numerous dumps and otherwise hampering the supply columns. But as night fell the "strafe" became desultory, and under cover of darkness the fatigue and foraging parties were able to set to work with a reasonable chance of getting through without being "done in". "Come along, boys," exclaimed the young corporal--Billy Preston from Timaru--a veteran of Egypt and Gallipoli notwithstanding the fact that he was within a month of his twenty-first birthday. "The sooner we get the job done the better." The men were dog-tired. A couple of hostile raids had kept them on the qui vive the previous night, while throughout the day they had had but few opportunities for sleep. And now, just as they were preparing to snatch a few hours' rest, they had been told off to bring up the rations. "We've got to assemble at two, haven't we?" enquired Rifleman Joliffe--commonly known as Grouser Joliffe. "They say our chaps are to attempt to take Messines Ridge. Attempt, I say, mind you, and our guns haven't hardly touched the job. There's uncut wire, you can see that for Yourselves, and machine-guns every yard of the way. 'Struth! I'm for swinging the lead. You don't catch me hurrying when the whistle goes." His remarks fell on unheeding ears. The men were used to Grouser Joliffe's complaints by this time, They knew that when the critical moment arrived Joliffe would be amongst the first to mount the fire-step and clamber over the parapet. Yet there were grounds for belief in what the rifleman had said. The formidable ridge was to be attempted. The British knew it; the Huns knew it. With its labyrinths of wire and nests of skilfully-hidden machine-guns Messines Ridge was far more difficult to assault than in the earlier stages of the war, when French won and lost the important position. Meanwhile Malcolm had rolled out of his narrow uncomfortable perch and was stretching his cramped limbs. Selwyn was fumbling with his puttees. "Hang it," he exclaimed. "A rat has been gnawing at them. Anyone got a piece of string?" The deficiency remedied, and the scanty toilet operations performed (the inhabitants of the dug-out had turned in "all standing", even to their boots), the men put on their shrapnel helmets, seized their rifles, and sallied forth into the night. For some moments Malcolm could see nothing. The transition from the smoky, ill-lighted dug-out to the darkness of the open air confused his sight. All he could do was to keep in touch with the man preceding him until he grew accustomed to the change of venue. Fresh air--is there such a thing anywhere within miles of No Man's Land? Malcolm doubted it. The atmosphere reeked of numerous and distinct odours. Traces of poison gas lurked in the traverses, pungent fumes from bursting shells wafted over parapet and parados, while the report, passed on from various successive occupants of this section of the line, that a dozen dead Huns had been buried under the floor of the support trench--the old first-line trench of a Prussian regiment--seemed to find definite confirmation. A low whine and a terrific _wump_ as a high-explosive shell arrived and burst fifty yards in the rear of the trench showed that Fritz was still strafing. A fortnight previously Malcolm's heart would have been in his boots. Now he scarcely heeded the messenger of death and destruction, although showers of dust and calcined wood flew over the parados amongst the ration party. Familiarity with missiles of that description had quickly bred contempt. At frequent intervals lurid star-shells lit up the sky. The Huns were getting decidedly jumpy of late. Expecting a strong attack, yet not knowing the actual time, they were massing their men on the ridge under the protection of their artillery. Away to the left machine-guns were delivering a _staccato obbligato_. "Our heavies are quiet to-night," remarked Selwyn, who was trudging along the duck-boards literally on Malcolm's heels. "Why to blazes don't they give Fritz half a dozen for every one he throws over? Hanged if I can make things out." Malcolm pulled tip suddenly, to avoid charging into the back of the man immediately preceding him. Those behind bunched up and halted, while from the front of the single file came a very strong exclamation of pain and anger. "What's wrong?" enquired the Corporal "Someone buckshied?" "Yes," replied the voice of Grouser Joliffe. "Copped it in my blessed arm." "Then foot it to the dressing-station," ordered Corporal Preston. "Me?" enquired the rifleman. "Me? Not much. Wait till we've brought in the grub, and then--you don't catch me going over the top tonight." For another hundred and fifty yards the party proceeded before the men turned into the zigzag communication-trench. This ran backwards for nearly a mile. In places it was eight feet deep, with sand-bags on either side in addition, In others, in marshy spots, where the high-explosive shells had spitefully disturbed the tranquillity of meandering streams and carried the sluggish water to overflow and swamp the surrounding ground, the "trench" was above normal ground-level, with a lofty and broad wall of sand-bags to right and left. Here and there the trench was roofed in, where, from experience, men had learnt it was unhealthy owing to being exposed to machine-gun fire. The Huns had got to know the weak spots. Aerial observation during daylight had enabled them to train machine-guns upon certain points of the communication-trenches. The lethal weapons would be ominously silent until after dark; then, on the off-chance of receiving a good bag, they would let loose a hail of bullets. The men hastened across the more-exposed sections generally on their hands and knees. Even the bravest heaved a sigh of relief when the danger-spot was safely crossed. Going over the top they would unhesitatingly rush a machine-gun emplacement, but crawling away from the enemy, never knowing when a hail of bullets would sweep the ground, was enough to try the nerves of the case-hardened campaigner. Presently the communication-trench ended, and the ration-party stumbled across a double line of narrow-gauge rails, part of the intricate system behind the lines. The track ran diagonally to the direction of the trench. To the left it led to and beyond the Army Service Corps dump at La Tuille. In the opposite direction it disappeared in the bowels of the earth, while a network of branch lines complicated the system. All through the hours of darkness, for several months past, heavily-laden trucks carefully covered with camouflaged canvas rumbled away from the lines to return empty ere dawn. Latterly the reverse conditions prevailed. Full trucks, each propelled singly by manual labour and with long intervals between the vehicles, proceeded towards the trenches but never reached them. Subterranean works of an extensive nature were on the point of being completed. Every load of excavation was carefully taken miles to the rear in the dead of night, in order to baffle the enemy's aerial observers. So well guarded were these operations that even the men in the trenches were unaware of their nature, although many shrewd conjectures were not far out. "Hallo, chums!" called out one of the ration-party as a truck hauled by three sappers rattled along. "How's your Channel Tunnel scheme getting along?" "Fine!" was the reply. "Are you taking up any shares in the concern? There'll be a sharp rise very shortly, you know." Another fifty yards and a word of command from Corporal Preston brought the squad to a halt. Out of the darkness came the sound of a hundred marching feet; then, almost invisible in their khaki uniform, a battalion of Australian infantry passed. It was significant that the men were in light marching order. "By Gum! There's something up," whispered Selwyn. "Crowds of bombers and a whole crush of Lewis guns. Hallo! Here's more of them." The progress of the ration-party was slow. A constant stream of infantry, swarms of transport of all conditions, clearly denoted that operations of more than minor importance were impending. "There's enough to swamp our trenches," declared Malcolm. "Where on earth are they going to assemble?" "That Sapper fellow evidently knew something when he talked about a sharp rise," said Selwyn. "And look! Tanks--crowds of them!" Ambling along by the side of the tramway came a long line of armoured mastodons. The ground shook under the relentless pressure of the tractor bands, the air reeked with petrol fumes. Viewed in broad daylight the Tanks looked formidable enough; in the darkness, their weird outlines distorted by the misty atmosphere, they appeared like huge, grotesque monsters from another world. "If I were Fritz I'd think twice before standing up to one of those brutes," soliloquized Malcolm. "Twenty-two of them. This will be a big stunt, and no mistake." At length, after many delays, the ration-party arrived at the farm--or, rather, the pile of rubble that was known as La Tuille Farm before a nest of German machine-guns had attracted the notice of an observant battery-commander. That was three months ago. Already nettles and briers were covering the blackened debris, as if Nature were doing her best to disguise the destructive handiwork of Man. At the rear of the mound was the A.S.C. advanced depot. Piles of bully-beef tins, tiers of barrels and cases, small mountains of loaves covered with tarpaulins, were diminishing rapidly under the heavy calls made upon them by deputations from the men in the trenches. Although within range of hostile guns, the "dump" had so far escaped serious damage, To bring the supplies nearer the lines by mechanical transfer would be to court disaster, so every ounce of food had to be carried by squads detailed for that purpose. Every scrap of provisions the men in the trenches received had to be brought at the risk of life and limb. The task was a hazardous one, but there was never any lack of men willing and eager to run the risk of being strafed for the sake of feeding their comrades in the firing-line. Corporal Preston went off to find the non-com. who had to issue the rations to his section, leaving his men to stand easy until he returned. Someone touched Malcolm on the shoulder. "Bear a hand, chum, and help me turn off the tap," said a husky voice. Malcolm turned, and found that the speaker was Grouser Joliffe. "Turn off what tap?" he asked. "S--sh! Not so loud!" continued the rifleman. "It's my arm, I mean. Bleeding like anything. Help me off with my coat and clap a first-aid dressing on it, and I'll be all right. No dressing-station for me, I'll miss this stunt. Think we'll be back in time?" he added anxiously. "Corporal's a long time about it." The two men withdrew a few paces, and Carr helped Joliffe to remove his coat. Already the sleeve was moist and clammy. On the left arm, just below the shoulder, was a nasty gash, caused by a fragment of a shell. "It's good enough for Blighty, old lad!" exclaimed Malcolm. "No dinkum Blighty for me!" expostulated Joliffe vehemently. "Never had a chance to fire a round yet--nor to use my blinkin' bay'net. But I mean to," he added. "If the boys go over the top without me there'll be trouble!" Malcolm bound up the wound, adjusting the bandages tightly. Although the dressing operation was a painful one, Grouser Joliffe never uttered a sound, although Malcolm could see beads of perspiration glistening on the rifleman's wrinkled forehead. "How's that?" he asked. Joliffe lifted his left arm with an effort. "Feels a bit stiff," he admitted. "Maybe you've tied those bandages a bit too tight. Still, 'tisn't your fault. When we get back I'll have a few swings with my rifle and bay'net; then if the dressing wants altering you'll bear a hand?" "Certainly!" said Malcolm, as he helped the man on with his coat. "You'll be lucky if you don't fall out before we get back," he soliloquized. Having drawn the stores, the ration-party set out on the return journey. Until they reached the commencement of the communication-trench they were able to make use of a couple of empty trucks which were lying on a siding close to the dump. The vehicles each had four flanged wheels. The bodies were made of wood, originally painted grey, but little of the paint was left. Caked mud still stuck to the bottom of the trucks, but men in the firing-line cannot be fastidious. Loaves, bags of sugar, tea, and tins of bully beef were thrown in indiscriminately. The water-carriers lifted their heavy burdens--every drop of water had to be taken into the trenches, for, although there are springs and water-holes in abundance close to the firing-line, the risk of contamination had to be carefully guarded against--and the "homeward" trek began. Beyond a few desultory shells the British artillery was practically inactive. Fritz had already been used to a furious bombardment as a preliminary of a "big stunt". For change, he was not being warned in this fashion, and, consequently, although expecting an attack within the next few days, the absence of a downright strafe put him off his guard. Nevertheless, the German guns on the spur of Messines Ridge, and miles beyond the heights, were persistently "watering" the ground behind the British lines. Stumbling over the sleepers, the ration-party kept their groaning vehicles rumbling along the hastily-laid track. Grouser Joliffe was silent now, but Malcolm noticed that, although he used only one hand to help propel the truck, he was not lacking in energy. "He won't last out at that rate," thought the lad; but when he offered to take the place of the wounded man, Joliffe turned upon him almost savagely. "I'm all right," he persisted. "You keep your mouth shut and let me alone, or the other fellows will tumble to it. I was a blamed fool to holler when I copped it!" A shrieking, tearing sound had the effect of making every man throw himself upon the ground. With a terrific crash an 8-inch shell exploded within fifty yards of the track, sending showers of dirt over the trucks and upon the prostrate party. "All right there?" enquired the Corporal, as the men regained their feet. "Good! Carry on." A short distance farther on the party came to an abrupt halt. The rails had vanished. Across the track was a crater twenty feet in diameter, from which acrid fumes were still slowly emanating from the pulverized earth. Already a fatigue-party was at work diverting the lines round the edge of the yawning pit. At all costs communication must be maintained, in order to leave no hitch in the arrangements for the morning's attack. "You'll have to unload, mate," said the sergeant in charge of the Engineers. "Thank your lucky stars you weren't here twenty minutes ago. The Jocks copped it. They've carted fifteen of 'em off. There's been two of 'em already to-night, so look out for a third for luck." The Diggers set to work to negotiate the obstacle. The idea of unloading did not appeal to them in the slightest. Leaving a man in charge of one truck--experience had taught them the necessity for that, where unguarded stores are anyone's property--all hands lifted the second vehicle clear of the rails. The flanged wheels sank deeply into the soft ground, but by sheer hard work the truck was propelled round the crater to the spot where the lines resumed their-sphere of usefulness. On the way back to the other track Malcolm glanced at the luminous face of his wristlet watch. It was nearly midnight. Suddenly a blinding flash appeared to leap from the g round at the lad's feet. With a tremendous roar ringing in his ears, Malcolm found himself being hurtled through the air, and amidst a shower of debris he fell, a limp mass, into the smoking crater. CHAPTER XVI Konrad von Feldoffer Slowly Malcolm raised himself into a sitting position. Breathless from the violent shock, blinded by the shower of dust, deafened by the terrific concussion, and with his sense of smell deadened to everything but the acrid fumes of the burst shell, he was at a loss to know what had happened. "Am I still No. 99,109, Rifleman Carr, or have I gone west?" he asked himself aloud. Beyond a faint hollow rumble, he failed to detect the sound of his own voice. Almost afraid to make the experiment, he flexed his limbs. Nothing much wrong there, anyway. He was beginning to see, despite the darkness and the nauseating, pungent fumes. He looked at his watch. The glass had vanished. The hands told him that it was three minutes past twelve. Unless the watch had stopped, only five or six minutes had elapsed since the catastrophe took place. He held the timepiece close to his ear, but could hear nothing. Anxiously he watched the big hand, until after a seemingly interminable interval he had conclusive evidence that the watch was still going. Satisfied on that point, Malcolm took stock of his surroundings. The outlook was limited to the sloping walls of the crater and the vault of black night overhead. Except for a direct hit, he was in a place of comparative safety. Enough for to-night; he would stay where he was until dawn, and then---- "I'm all right," he thought, "but what of my chums?" Filled with new-born resolution, Malcolm regained his feet and commenced to climb the steep, yielding side of the shell crater. At the third step the soft soil gave way, and he fell on his face. As he did so he heard a loud popping sound, as if his ear-drums were bursting, and the next instant he could hear the distant rumble of the guns and the voices of men in his proximity. "I'm from Timaru, but I'm not timorous," shouted a voice. "Buck up, lads!" "That's the Corporal," decided Malcolm. "At all events we haven't all been done in." "Hallo there!" exclaimed Corporal Preston, as Malcolm gained the lip of the crater. "Who are you?" "Carr." "Shouldn't have recognized you," continued the non-com., for Malcolm was hatless, his coat was partly torn away, while his face was black with grime. "Got a buckshie? No--good!" "Cheer-o, Malcolm!" This from Selwyn, who was engaged in binding a first-aid dressing round the ribs of the prophetic sergeant of engineers. Four other men lay on the ground, killed outright. Two of them belonged to the ration-party, and the others were Tommies who had been engaged in relaying the uptorn line. "No use waiting here," declared Preston. "Bring that other truck along." The first truck lay on its side, the woodwork shattered, and the rations scattered in all directions. The two men on the side nearest the exploding shell had been instantly killed, but the others, sheltered to a certain extent by the vehicle, had got off at the expense of a severe shaking. Nevertheless, all available hands set to work to retrieve the rations, and to set the second truck upon the uninterrupted stretch of rails. High-explosives were still bursting at varying distances as the ration-party continued their perilous way across the open. It was with feelings of relief that Malcolm heard the Corporal give the word to unload once more. The men had reached the beginning of the communication-trench. From this point progress was slow. The ramification of trenches was chock-a-block with troops under arms--Australians and New Zealanders, making ready for the task of going over the top. "You've been a precious long time about it," was the Sergeant's ungracious comment when the ration-party found their own section of trench. "Set to, lads; here's your grub." Eagerly the men of the platoon threw themselves upon the dearly-bought food. So hungry were they that they made no complaint about the gritty state of the loaves. Perhaps it was as well that they asked no questions. After all, they were able to feed, and in a short space of time pannikins of tea were boiling over the biscuit-tin stoves in the dug-out. Having fed, Malcolm turned in on his straw bed. He was not sleepy, only stiff, and since it wanted less than an hour to the time fixed for the New Zealanders to turn out under arms, he employed the interval in writing. The other occupants of the dug-out were similarly engaged, knowing that, confronted by the problem of an impending battle, there was a possibility that this might be their last opportunity to communicate with their relatives and friends. "This is the rottenest part of the whole business," remarked Selwyn. "It gives a fellow time to think about going over, and the prospect isn't a cheerful one." "You're right," assented a Digger who had taken part in four big engagements. "I quite understand; but mark my words, you'll forget you ever had cold feet the moment the whistle goes." "It's that plaguey uncut wire and those machineguns I don't like," grumbled Joliffe. "What the brass-hats are thinking about to send the boys against that lot beats me. Why, back in Delville Wood----" "Rifleman Carr here?" enquired a voice. The ground-sheet hanging over the entrance to the dug-out was thrust aside, and Sergeant Fortescue, his head partly hidden in his steel helmet, appeared in view. "Thought I'd drop in for a little chin-wagging," continued Fortescue. "I've some news that might interest you--and Selwyn too." He pulled a creased and folded newspaper from his pocket, and, holding it up to the guttering light, pointed a shapely yet begrimed forefinger at a certain paragraph. "Our Muizenberg pal has dodged the firing-party," continued Fortescue. "The blighter is a bit of a wily fox, and judging by his history he's badly wanted." The paragraph was to the effect that Konrad von Feldoffer, a German convicted of espionage by a general court martial, had made a daring and successful attempt to escape. How, the report did not say, but the fact remained that a dangerous spy was still at large. It went on to say that Konrad von Feldoffer was known to be a German naval officer. Upon the outbreak of hostilities he was in Canada. After various attempts, successful and otherwise, to cripple the internal communications of the Dominion, he fled across the border to the United States. Too late he was traced to Australia, where he enlisted in a Victoria regiment, deserting when the Anzacs were under fire in Gallipoli. Shortly afterwards he turned up in India, joined a volunteer regiment under orders for Mesopotamia, and mysteriously vanished during the retreat from Ctesiphon. Proceeding to England, and posing as a mercantile marine officer, forged documents and an engaging manner procured him an introduction to Whitehall, with the result that he was given a commission in the Royal Naval Reserve and appointed to an armed merchant cruiser. One of his first exploits in that capacity was to board a supposed Norwegian tramp, whose decks were piled high with timber. The vessel was allowed to proceed--a wolf in sheep's clothing, as a dozen or more Allied ships learned to their cost. Three weeks after commissioning, the merchant-cruiser was torpedoed and sunk in broad daylight by a U-boat. While the crew were taking to the boats, the submarine appeared on the surface. To the surprise of the British officer and crew, the hitherto unsuspected spy swam across to the hostile craft. Having picked him up, the U-boat submerged and disappeared from the scene. Too late it was discovered that the renegade was one and the same with the now notorious Konrad von Feldoffer. For several months nothing was heard of the spy's activities. As a matter of fact, the cosmopolitan rogue was particularly busy in South Africa, drifting thence into German South-West Africa, where he played a conspicuous part in a daring gun-running expedition under the nose of a British cruiser. On the principle that it is advisable to desert a sinking ship in time, von Feldoffer drifted via Johannesburg to Cape Town, where his efforts to get into communication with German mine-layers operating off the Cape met with slight success. He was now anxious to return to the Fatherland. Accordingly he joined an Afrikander regiment of heavy artillery under the name of Pieter Waas, only to be apprehended on board the transport at Selwyn's instigation. From the date of the paper--it was ten days old already--Malcolm gathered that the spy had been at liberty for nearly a month. Unless he were already recaptured it was pretty certain to conclude that von Feldoffer was clear of the British Isles. Would his experiences and narrow escape deter him from further enterprises or merely whet his appetite for other surprising adventures? "One thing is pretty clear," declared Fortescue; "he won't risk showing up with the New Zealand boys. But, by Jove, it's close on two o'clock. Our fellows have to assemble at that hour. S'long, chums; I'll look out for you when we fall in. We may as well keep together in this stunt." Fortescue was barely gone when the Platoon Sergeant entered the dug-out. "Turn out, boys," he ordered. "Don't forget your gas-masks. Fritz will be letting loose a few gallons of stink, I reckon." "What time do we go over, Sergeant?" enquired one of the riflemen. "When the whistles go, sonny," replied the non-com., with a prodigious wink, "and not before." "Can we go over after?" persisted the questioner. The Sergeant eyed the man with mock severity. "Take my tip and hop it sharp," he replied darkly. "The men who remain in the trenches fifteen seconds after the order to advance will be sorry for themselves. If there are any slight casualties, Corporal," he added, addressing Billy Preston, "turn 'em out. It won't be healthy for them to stop in the dug-out." "Wonder why?" asked several of the men after the Sergeant had departed to give similar instructions to the occupants of the adjoining "desirable villas". The question remained unanswered. In silence Malcolm and his comrades took their rifles and filed out into the already-crowded communication-trench. "Let's find Fortescue," said Malcolm, addressing Selwyn in a low voice that hardly sounded like his own. "He'll be in the next bay or the one beyond." "Lead on, then," prompted his chum. Slinging their rifles, the twain made their way along the narrow, winding trench, stumbling over the recumbent forms of resting men and squeezing past the fully-accoutred troops packed into the narrow place. "He was here a minute ago," declared one, after several fruitless enquiries had been made of the denizens of the two adjoining sectors. "Guess he's in the firing-trench. They're fixing the storming-ladders." The firing-trench was comparatively clear. A dozen men were sitting on the fire-step, listlessly fumbling with their equipment in a vain effort to kill time before the supreme moment arrived to go out into the open. Others were placing in Position the rough wooden ladders by which the stormers would be able to scale the breast-high parapet, each ladder being carefully tested lest an insecure structure should impede the operation of going over the top. A few non-coms., detailed to lay off the distance-tapes, were comparing notes as coolly as if they were arranging for the regimental sports. "Dashed if I can see him," whispered Malcolm. Although there was no need for speaking in an undertone, the scene of preparation instinctively Compelled him to lower his voice. "Seen anything of Sergeant Fortescue?" enquired Selwyn, addressing a rifleman who had just completed the fixing of one ladder and was thoroughly surveying his work. The man turned sharply, gave a grunt of Surprise, and before the lad could realize what had happened, he swarmed up the ladder, paused irresolutely for a brief instant on the sandbagged parapet, and leapt into the darkness of No Man's Land. It was the spy, von Feldoffer. CHAPTER XVII Over the Top "Wing him!" exclaimed Malcolm, unslinging his rifle, opening the cut-off, and springing upon the fire-step. Selwyn followed his example, and with levelled rifles the two chums awaited the first sound that might betray the progress of the spy. "What are you fellows up to?" enquired a sergeant. "Don't you know the order? No individual firing until further orders." "A man has just leapt over the parapet. He's a spy," said Malcolm. "In a N.Z. rifleman's uniform," added Selwyn. The Sergeant snorted incredulously. "You've been seeing things," he remarked, but to satisfy his curiosity he raised his head above the parapet and peered into the gloom just then a star-shell burst overhead, its glare throwing every object on the immediate front into strong relief. The crater-pitted No Man's Land showed no sign If any movement. A score or more silent forms in field-grey uniform lay upon the ground--they had been there for the last three days. Not a trace Of a man in khaki was to be discovered. "Come out of it, you chaps," continued the Sergeant. "You've made a mistake. Hop it!" Malcolm and Selwyn obeyed promptly, and alighting upon the floor of the trench the latter cannoned into a passing soldier. "Here, what the deuce do you think you're doing?" asked a well-known voice, despite its tone of plaintive asperity. "By gum, Fortescue," ejaculated Selwyn, "this is lucky! We've been looking for you." "And so your search is rewarded," rejoined Fortescue. "What's the idea?" "We thought we'd hang together when the stunt comes off," explained Malcolm. "But there's another thing. Our Muizenburg pal was here a few minutes ago." "What?" exclaimed Fortescue incredulously. "Fact!" confirmed his informant. "We asked if you were anywhere about, and the fellow we addressed happened to be Konrad von What's-his-name. He recognized us, for he _impshied_ like a wild colt. I was----" "Sergeant Fortescue here?" "Yes, sir," replied Fortescue, standing to attention and saluting as he recognized Captain Nicholson the S.I.N. of the old _Awarua_ days and his lieutenancy a thing of the past. "You've warned the men to nip over smartly?" asked the Captain. "Yes, sir, I've seen to that. There is another matter on which I should like to speak." Briefly Fortescue related the incident of the spy's flight as told him by his two comrades. Captain Nicholson's face lengthened. "By Jove, this is a serious matter! What was the fellow doing?" "Assisting in fixing ladders, sir." "Then pass the word for the sergeant in charge of his party." The non-com. was soon on the spot. He was the sergeant who had doubted the veracity of Malcolm's statement, and still had the same opinion on the matter as before. But when the roll-call was taken one of the men was missing--Rifleman Scrooch. "Know anything about him, Sergeant?" enquired Captain Nicholson. "Not much, sir," was the reply, "except that he came in with the last draft from Etaps." Captain Nicholson consulted his watch. "He won't get far," he remarked grimly. "In another fifteen minutes----" "Let's get back," suggested Fortescue as his officer disappeared. "The bombers will be falling in here in half a tick. We're in the first supports. Fritz is pretty sleepy to-night; I wonder if he knows what's in store for him." The bomb-throwers, heavily laden with canvas bags filled with their death-dealing missiles, filed into the front trench, together with their supporting riflemen. A sharp, decisive order was passed from one officer to another, and the sinister clicking sound of bayonets being fixed to rifles rippled along the line of trenches as the very pick of New Zealand's manhood prepared for the coming ordeal. Every man of the brigade knew what was to be expected of him. Messines Ridge was to be carried at the point of the bayonet, and the knowledge that the hostile wire was practically uncut and that the heights bristled with machine-guns was common property. Stupendous though the task was, not a man flinched, although several groused at the lack of consideration on the part of the Staff to send them against a prepared position in a practically-unbroken state; which showed that the troops were generally ignorant of the measures taken to safeguard them. "Five minutes more!" The officers bunched together to compare watches. They had done so a dozen times that evening, but perhaps it was excusable. Everything depended upon the operations being carried out with the precision of reliable clockwork. A second or two out either way would mean throwing away scores, perhaps hundreds, of valuable lives, for Fritz, although fairly quiet, was on the alert. The British artillery was now almost silent. In previous stunts the position to be attacked was subjected to hours of terrific bombardment, but now hardly a shell fell upon the Hun defences. As for the protecting "barrage", the waiting troops looked for it in vain. "Keep together!" whispered Malcolm tersely, as he nervously felt the tip of his quivering bayonet. "Right, old man!" replied Selwyn in a low-pitched, unnatural voice. It was useless to disguise the fact. Both had "the wind up" very badly. Malcolm could hear his heart thumping violently under his tunic; he was fully conscious of an empty, nauseating sensation in the pit of his stomach. He doubted whether he could stir up courage at the critical moment to leap over the parapet into the impending tornado of machine-gun bullets and pulverizing, bursting shells. [Illustration: "WING HIM!" EXCLAIMED MALCOLM] Others had done the same. Why not he? Vainly he tried to argue with himself that he was differently constituted from other men. He was too young to die. He had not drunk deeply of the joys of manhood. Why had he been such a fool as to underrate his age when he joined up? If---- The shrill blast of a whistle pierced the strained silence. With a loud yell the men leapt upon the scaling-ladders. His fears thrown to the wind, and the exhilarating sensation of unfettered action surging through his veins, Malcolm found himself scrambling over sand-bags and leaping into the pitted No Man's Land. Even as he took the leap a seven-fold lurid flash burst from the dominating ridge of Messines. The ground trembled and swayed beneath his feet. Sand-bags and tons of earth subsided into the trenches so recently vacated by the troops, while a deafening, dumbfounding roar beat upon the lad's ears. Almost mechanically Malcolm broke into a run. In front and on either side other men were surging onwards, their bayonet-tips describing erratic curves as they lurched over the still-trembling ground. Showers of dust beat upon their faces. Farther ahead masses of solid rock and earth were falling with a succession of thuds, while, where Messines Ridge had been, was a riven mound of disintegrated Soil, over which a dense cloud of black smoke rolled sullenly in the sultry night air. One of the greatest engineering feats of the Great War--in fact, the greatest mining operation in the history of the world's battles--had been successfully carried out, a task compared with which the great mine of Beaumont Hamel paled into insignificance. With a concentrated roar, the concussion of which was distinctly felt over the greater part of south-eastern England, the explosive contents of a series of mine-chambers were fired simultaneously. In the fraction of a second the whole of Messines Ridge underwent a startling change. German dug-outs, trenches, machine-gun emplacements, and an unknown but vast number of troops went up in the terrific blast. Months of diligent and stupendous labour had not been spent in vain. At one stroke the culminating moment had done more than hours of intensive bombardment. With little risk the British troops were able to sweep the position that for two years had defied their efforts. Yet the New Zealanders were not to have a "walk over". From the heavy guns, well behind the pulverized ridge, shells were bursting in front and behind the trenches. Hostile machine-guns that had almost inexplicably escaped the general carnage were spitting venomously, while in the front German trenches, which were on comparatively level ground to the east of the Messines Ridge, a hot but erratic rifle-fire was directed upon the khaki-clad stormers. On and on Malcolm ran, his face turned towards the two lines of sand-bags beyond which the Huns were still putting up a fight. Whether Fortescue and Selwyn were with him he knew not. The resolution he had made to keep with his chums was gone. His sole desire was to reach the hostile trenches and battle with the field-grey enemy. Men were running in front of him. Swift of foot though he was, there were others who surpassed in the maddening rush. More than once he had to leap over the writhing bodies of gallant Anzacs who had gone down in the charge. He was dimly conscious of khaki-clad forms crashing heavily to the ground on either side, of a whizz of flying metal that sent his steel helmet spinning, of a sharp, burning pain in his left wrist, and of a dozen other mental and physical sensations. In the midst of a regular mob of panting, yelling, and shouting men, and preceded by a terrific fusillade of Mills's bombs, Malcolm found himself struggling through masses of partly-severed barbed wire and up on the hostile parapet. The ruddy glare from the exploding missiles revealed a line of cowed, terrified men, some with "pill-box" caps, others with the typical "Dolly Varden" steel helmets. With uplifted hands and tremulous cries of "Kamerad!" they bowed to the inevitable, and almost contemptuously were sent through the crowd of New Zealanders to the British lines. Other Huns were made of sterner stuff, and offered a stubborn resistance. With rifle-shots, bayonets, clubbed weapons, and bombs they contested their ground. Machine-gunners used their deadly weapons with desperate energy, until they were stretched out by the sides of their now silent charges. The air was heavy with suffocating smoke; fragments of shell were flying with complete impartiality; shouts, oaths, and curses punctuated the crash of steel and the rattle of musketry, as men in their blind ferocity clutched at each other's throats and rolled in mortal combat upon the ground. Presently Rifleman Malcolm Carr found himself confronted by a tall, bearded Prussian, whose head-dress consisted of a steel helmet, with a visor completely covering the upper part of his face as far as his mouth. Even in the heat of combat Malcolm could not help noticing the incongruity of the bristling whiskers flowing beyond the fellow's face-armour. It was one of those transitory yet indelibly-stamped impressions that are frequently formed in times of imminent danger. The Prussian lunged with his bayonet. Malcolm promptly turned it aside and countered. His bayonet, darting above the other's belated guard, caught the Hun fairly in the lower part of his chest. With a disconcerting jar that wellnigh dislocated his wrist, and sent a numbing pain through his right arm, the lad realized that he was up against great odds. The Prussian was wearing a steel breastplate underneath his tunic. Malcolm could imagine the grin of supercilious triumph under the Hun's mask. He shortened his grasp and thrust again, this time at the Fritz's shoulder. The man, despite the handicap of wearing heavy steel plates, ducked agilely, and, reversing his rifle, prodded the New Zealander with the butt of his weapon. Stepping backwards to avoid the blow, Malcolm tripped over some obstacle and fell heavily into a still-intact emplacement. For some seconds he lay still. A few inches above his head came the deafening tick-tock of a German machine-gun. He had fallen in front of the weapon, and was pressed down by a heavy weight that still had the power of movement. Groping, his fingers came in contact with human hair--the beard of his antagonist. The Prussian was lying face downwards upon the New Zealander's body. "My festive," mentally ejaculated Rifleman Carr, "you didn't play the game with your body-armour; I'll do the reprisal dodge." Fiercely he tugged at the Prussian's beard. With a yell of pain the fellow bent his knees and reared his body, only to fall inertly upon the half-suffocated Digger. In rising he had intercepted a dozen or more bullets from the machine-gun. So close was the muzzle, that his clothes smouldered in the blast of the weapon. Not that it mattered very much to him, for he was stone dead. With a frantic effort Malcolm rolled himself clear of the body of his late foe; then, resisting the temptation to regain his feet, he crouched in a corner of the emplacement and took stock of his immediate front. He could easily have touched the cooling-jacket of the weapon as the machine-gun continued its death-dealing work. He could discern the sullen, determined features of the two men who alone remained of the machine-gun's crew. Vainly Malcolm groped for his rifle. The violent impact had sent the weapon yards away. Nor could he find the rifle of his late adversary. The man had been a bomber; perhaps some of his stock of hand-propelled missiles yet remained? Very cautiously the New Zealander felt for the canvas pockets suspended from the Hun's neck. Every one was empty. "Rough luck!" he soliloquized. "Don't know so much about it, though; if he had had any left when we scrapped he might have chucked one at my head." The machine-gun ceased firing. For a moment Malcolm was seized with the haunting fear that the gunners had spotted him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that they were fitting another belt of ammunition. Presently Rifleman Carr's hand came in contact with a hard substance protruding from the Prussian's pocket. By the feel of it he was assured that he had found a revolver. Stealthily he withdrew the weapon and examined it. The pistol was evidently smaller than those used in the opposing armies. Belgian made, it had probably been obtained from a looted shop. Although officially unsanctioned, raiding parties, British, French, and German, frequently carried small revolvers when engaged in paying uninvited and unwelcome visits to the hostile lines. The weapon was loaded in five chambers. Whether it was sufficiently powerful for the work Malcolm proposed to do the lad could not definitely form an opinion. It was like riding an untried steed. Failure on the part of the cheap mechanism meant death; nevertheless, for the sake of his comrades who were exposed to the brisk fire of the machine-gun, he was determined to take the risk. A gentle pressure on the trigger revealed the pleasing fact that the revolver was of a self-acting type. So far so good. The next question was--are the cartridges reliable? Deliberately Malcolm, steadying the barrel on the neck of the dead Hun, aimed between the eyes of the fellow holding the firing-handle of the machine-gun. Two shots rang out in quick succession. Giving a yelp of mingled pain and surprise, Fritz doubled up across the gun, his feet beating a tattoo against an ammunition-box. His companion, partly deafened by the double report almost under his nose, and taken aback by the collapse of the gunner, crouched irresolute. Before he could decide whether to snatch up his rifle or to raise his hands and shout "Kamerad" a bullet from Malcolm's revolver struck him fairly in the centre of his low forehead. Wriggling from underneath the dead Prussian, Rifleman Carr regained his feet. The wave of New Zealanders forming the first storming-party had swept beyond the now silent machine-gun. The supports were doubling up, their numbers no longer lessened by the rain of bullets from the hitherto overlooked emplacement. Between the two lines of attackers khaki-clad figures littered the ground, while numbers of wounded, both New Zealanders and Huns, trickled towards the British trenches. "My capture!" exclaimed Malcolm. "I'll put a tally on the beauty." Searching, he found his rifle and bayonet. Unfixing the latter, he scratched upon the field-grey paint of the machine-gun the words: "99,109, Carr, No. 3 Platoon, C Company". "If I go under, the boys will know I've done something towards my bit," he muttered. "I wonder where my pals are?" CHAPTER XVIII The Captured Trench "Hallo, Malcolm!" Above the rattle of musketry and the crash of bombs, Rifleman Carr heard his name shouted in cheery stentorian tones. Looking in the direction from which the shout came, the lad saw two stretcher-bearers jogging along with a heavy burden over the uneven ground. One of the men was Mike Dowit, the hero of the bombing exercise at far-off Featherstone Camp. It was not he who called, for his jaw was swathed in a bandage. The other man was unknown to Malcolm. Right at the heels of the stormers the regimental stretcher-bearers had gone over the top, defenceless, and, as such, running even more risks than the infantry. Already Dowit and his companion had made three journeys to the advance dressing-station, notwithstanding the fact that the former had received a nasty wound in his chin from a fragment of shell. "Hallo, Malcolm!" was the repeated hail, as the man in the stretcher waved his shrapnel helmet to attract attention still further. It was Sergeant Fortescue, "Proper buckshie this time," he declared, as the bearers, through sheer weariness, halted and set their burden on the ground. "Machine-gun copped me fairly. Three if not four bullets through my left leg, close to knee. 'Fraid I won't see you for another three months." "Seen Selwyn?" asked Malcolm anxiously. "Up there clearing out the dug-outs," replied Fortescue. "He's all right; so's Joliffe, M'Kane, and M'Turk. Poor little Billy Preston's done in, though. Shot through the head. I saw him. A fearful mess." "You're a liar, Sergeant!" muttered a hollow voice, as the subject of the conversation strolled in a leisurely manner up to the stationary stretcher. Corporal Preston's appearance did not belie Fortescue's statement that it was a fearful mess. Almost as the last German was cleared out of the captured trench, a piece of shrapnel struck the Corporal just below his right ear, and ploughed through his skin from the cheek-bone to the corner of his mouth. He dropped like a stone, and Fortescue had come to the erroneous conclusion that Billy Preston had made the great sacrifice. Despite his injuries, Corporal Preston was grinning broadly on the uninjured side of his face. A lighted cigarette was between his lips. A saturated field-bandage held to his wound partly concealed the slight but ugly gash. "Feel as dinky as anything, by gum!" he mumbled, without removing the consoling "fag". "This'll mean a trip to Blighty. I can do with it nicely, but I'm jolly glad I got there. Five blessed Fritzes to my certain knowledge, by gum! I'm from Timaru, but I'm not timorous--not I." And, waving his disengaged hand, Corporal Billy Preston resumed his long trek of pain that was to end somewhere in England under the kindly care of nurses from far-off New Zealand. "By Jove, he has!" agreed Fortescue. "I saw him polish off a couple of Huns with his bayonet, and knock out another with the butt of his rifle. Well, s'long, Malcolm, and _kia ora_." The bearers lifted the stretcher and continued on their way, while Rifleman Carr, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, hurried towards the German second-line trenches, where, judging by the deep detonations of exploding bombs and the sharp crack of rifle-shots, there was still work to be done. German shells were "watering" the captured ground. Malcolm hardly noticed them. He had acquired the hardened campaigner's indifference to Fritz's "hate" that confidence in the knowledge of being on the winning side cannot fail to give. Overhead, British shells screeched on their way, as with mathematical precision they fell in the place appointed, to form a "barrage" through which neither German supports could advance nor defeated Huns retire without risk of being pulverized by the high-explosive missiles. The second-line German trenches formed the nearmost limit of ground practically unaffected by the explosion of the great mine. Beyond lay the tortured slopes of Messines Ridge, from the fissures of which escaping smoke trailed upwards in the wan morning light. Already the first line of storming troops was engaged in consolidating the captured position, while the supports were assembling and concentrating prior to advancing upon the farthermost of their objectives--the village of Messines. Every Hun remaining above ground had been accounted for. Hundreds were lying in grotesque attitudes, never to move again, while dejected and dazed prisoners were being marshalled in droves under escort for the advance cages. But in the tottering dug-outs the Prussian die-hards were still offering resistance; and it was the clearing of their sub-terranean strongholds that was occupying the attention of the victorious New Zealanders. "Look out, chum!" shouted a voice as Malcolm approached a knot of Diggers gathered in a shellhole in what was formerly the parados of the trench. "Duck!" Malcolm obeyed promptly. He was used to taking imperative hints with the utmost smartness. Even then he was only just in time to escape a bullet. For the second time that morning his steel helmet was sent flying, strap notwithstanding. "Come and bear a hand and get your own back," continued the man who had warned him. Recovering his head-gear, Rifleman Carr joined the group by a discreet and circuitous route, to find Grouser Joliffe and half a dozen men of his platoon engaged upon the task--up to now unsuccessful--of clearing out a dug-out. Joliffe had discarded his rifle. His wounded arm had given out, and he had the limb supported in a sling made from a puttee. A dozen bombs hung from his neck. He held another in his uninjured hand. "Take that, you skulking Hun!" he shouted, hurling a bomb into the mouth of the dug-out. "That's the fifth I've given 'em," he added, addressing Malcolm as if to apologize for the fact that the occupants of the den were still in a state of aggressive activity. "One of our chaps has gone for some smoke-bombs. He ought to be here by now if he isn't knocked out on the way. That'll settle their hash." Rifleman Joliffe was the only member of the party who remained standing. Partly sheltered by a break in the traverse, he proposed to throw another missile, while his companions, taking cover behind a few hastily-piled sand-bags, waited with levelled rifles the expected rush from the dug-out. Deftly the bomber lobbed another grenade fairly into the yawning cavity. With a muffled crash the bomb exploded. Acrid fumes drifted from the sloping tunnel, while a succession of dismal groans gave credence to Joliffe's belief that he'd "done the blighter in this time". "Hold hard!" cautioned the corporal of the section as the daring rifleman prepared for a closer inspection of his handiwork. "What for?" expostulated Joliffe. "I know that copped him right enough." "Then it's your bloomin' funeral," rejoined the non-com. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Confident in the result of his prowess, the bomber strode boldly towards the mouth of the dug-out. Before he had taken three steps the still eddying smoke was pierced by the flash of a rifle. With a look of pained surprise upon his face Rifleman Joliffe half-turned and stood stock-still for quite five seconds. Then his knees bent and down he went; his legs and arms quivered convulsively for a few seconds. "What are you men doing?" enquired Captain Nicholson, who, unawares, had made his way along the trench until stopped by the knot of prone riflemen. "Dug-out giving trouble, eh? All right; follow me and we'll rush it." "Better not, sir," said the Corporal. "We've chucked in a couple of dozen bombs, but still we haven't knocked 'em out." Although the non-com.'s report was an exaggerated one as to the number of missiles thrown into the mouth of the tunnel, the fact that the defenders were still able to offer resistance was a perplexing problem. According to the rules of the game the bombs ought to have blown the Huns to pieces. "We've sent for some smoke-bombs," continued the Corporal. "Then, sir, when we've tried these, we'll follow you. Hallo, here they are, the beauties!" "Four--all I could get," announced the newcomer's well-known voice. It was Dick Selwyn--ragged and begrimed, but unharmed. Handing over the missiles, Selwyn threw himself down by the side of his chum. Not a word passed between the two, although they were longing to exchange confidences. All attention was centred upon the sinister hole in front of which the body of Rifleman Joliffe lay--a silent warning of the danger that lurked within. "You're a left-handed thrower, M'Turk," said Captain Nicholson, who knew the physical capabilities and peculiarities of each individual of his platoon. "Try your hand with one of these." Being able to throw left-handed gave the Digger a considerable pull over his companions for the work of smoking out the Huns. Without exposing any part of his body, which a right-handed man would have had to do owing to the position of the dug-out, M'Turk could lob the bombs fairly into the mouth of the tunnel. With unerring accuracy the "stink-bomb" vanished into the dark recess. The New Zealanders could hear it rolling down the steps. Smoke began to issue from the dug-out, thinly at first, then rapidly increasing in volume and density. Suddenly a startling apparition dashed through the thick cloud of smoke--a man whose head and body were completely encased in steel. With arms outstretched the Hun staggered towards the Diggers, coughing violently the while under the irritating influence of the smoke-bomb. "Collar him!" ordered Captain Nicholson. A dozen hands seized him. His head-dress was removed, disclosing the features of a pale, insignificant, and spectacled German. "What a cheek!" exclaimed M'Turk. "Fancy a worm like that holding us up!" "Science against brute force, chum," remarked the Corporal, pointing to an anti-gas apparatus that dangled from the man's neck. "If it hadn't been that the gadget was smashed we might have gone on bombing till the end of the war." The prisoner's armour was certainly proof against fragments of bombs, even at close range, as the splayed marks upon the steel testified. With the anti-gas apparatus he had been able to withstand the choking fumes, until a chance splinter of metal had perforated the flexible pipe between the Hun's mouth and the oxygen-container hidden under his back-plate. Although his arms and legs were unprotected, the man had practically escaped injury from the bombs, since the fragments of the exploded missile flew upwards. A gash on the knuckle of his right hand and a few slight scratches on the calves of his legs were the total result of the Anzacs' efforts until the smoke-bomb came into play. "A chirpy little sausage-eater!" exclaimed Captain Nicholson, who, like his men, was not backward in acknowledging bravery even in an enemy. "See that he is sent back, Corporal. Now, lads, why was he so determined? There's more in this dug-out than meets the eye, I believe. I mean to find out. Who'll back me up?" CHAPTER XIX Trapped in a Dug-out "I will, sir!" said Malcolm promptly. "And I," added Selwyn. "Me too," chorused M'Turk and M'Kane. "And, by gum, how about me?" enquired a lusty voice, as Riflemen Joliffe, bleeding profusely from the head, sat up and vainly attempted to regain his feet. The other New Zealanders had forgotten Grouser Joliffe, or rather they had put him out of their minds until the clearing-up job was completed. One and all had taken it for granted that the rifleman had paid the penalty for his rashness, and had been shot dead on the spot. Had they known that he was only wounded they would have rushed to his aid, but, thinking otherwise, they had no intention of attending to the dead until the wounded were cared for and the position properly consolidated. It was Joliffe's steel helmet that had saved him. The German's bullet, fired at a range of ten yards, had struck the upper part of the rim and deflected upwards, completely penetrating the head-dress, while the wearer escaped with a scalp wound, rendering him unconscious for a quarter of an hour. "Another day, Joliffe!" sang out Captain Nicholson. "See to him, you fellows. Now then, Carr, keep close behind me. M'Turk, M'Kane, and Selwyn at three paces interval." With a revolver in his right hand, and an electric torch in his left, the Captain, bending low, began the descent of the steep flight of steps leading to the dug-out. By this time the noxious vapours had exhausted themselves, although there was still sufficient smoke to dim the rays of the torch. Rifle and bayonet at the ready, Malcolm followed his officer, his ears on the alert to catch the first sound that might denote the presence of other Hun cave-dwellers. As he descended, Malcolm found that the smoke was dispersing under the influence of a steady draught of warm air. The tunnel was heavily timbered--top, sides, and floor. Along one side ran a couple of insulated wires, one of which belonged to an electric alarm-bell. The other was for internal lighting, but every incandescent bulb had been shattered under the terrific concussion of the great Messines mine. In places the massive planks were bulging ominously; so much so that Captain Nicholson hesitated more than once. "What do you make of it, Carr?" he asked, pausing at a particularly bad spot. "I hardly know, sir," replied Malcolm. "Since the shorings didn't collapse when the mine went up, they ought to stand for a bit longer." "Suppose so," agreed the youthful officer as he resumed his tour of discovery. "Sort of 'creaking door hangs longest'. Let's hope so in this case." At the ninety-eighth step--Malcolm counted them carefully--the descent ended. The daring five found themselves in a long room, measuring about eighty feet by ten. On one side were recesses that formed, as they afterwards discovered, the lower part of the lift-tunnel communicating with the open air. At one time the lift had been used for bringing up machine-guns that were stored deep underground in anticipation of a heavy bombardment of the British guns. Each recess was piled high with rubble, the result of the stupendous concussion, while a dozen intact machine-guns had been prevented from being brought into action against the attacking infantry. In the opposite wall were other recesses, panelled and furnished with rich curtains and hangings. Each recess contained a wire mattress and bedding, while articles of a personal nature showed that the former occupants were officers, and not of the rank and file. "I believe we've struck the brigade headquarters," said Captain Nicholson, flashing his torch into a large recess in which stood a table littered with book and papers. "We'll attend to those documents later. No use doing so until we've made sure of our ground. I wonder where the gilded occupants are?" "From what I know of the blighters, sir," remarked M'Turk, "they didn't show their mugs above ground while we were tumbling over the top." "Perhaps there's another way out--a sort of bolt-hole," suggested Selwyn. "Hope they haven't ruined the show?" "No likely," replied Captain Nicholson briskly, "As for your idea of a bolt-hole, there's something in that. It would account for that fellow in that sardine-can suit holding out so long, just to give them time to get clear. Ssh! Ssh! What's that?" The men stood on the alert for some moments. A muffled cough broke the silence. Then came the dull thud of a pick being driven into soft earth. "This way," ordered the Captain, striding towards the end of the room. "Get a bomb ready." "Not a blessed one between the lot of us, sir," reported M'Kane. "Thought we'd finished with Mills's pills for a bit. I'll nip back and get a few." Captain Nicholson hesitated. "No need," he decided. "The fellows, whoever they are, are trapped. They'll give in when they find that the game's up." In the panelled wall, so skilfully fashioned that it almost escaped attention, was a door. The New Zealanders stopped and listened. Voices were heard talking excitedly, to the accompaniment of the tearing of paper. Thrusting his torch into his breast pocket, the Captain, holding his revolver ready for instant action, threw open the door. Another long room showed beyond the doorway. At the farther end a table extended almost from side to side. On the floor were several lighted candles that cast an unaccustomed glare upon the faces of a dozen German officers. Some of them were engaged in burning documents, others in tearing up books and plans. Right at the far end two men were attacking a fall of debris by means of pick and shovel. This much Malcolm took in at a glance, as with levelled rifle he supported his captain. "Surrender!" shouted Captain Nicholson sternly. "Not so fast," replied a Prussian, speaking in English, and with hardly a trace of a foreign accent. "Let us discuss the situation." "By all means," agreed Captain Nicholson, confident that he held the winning cards. The Hun who had spoken was carefully noting the strength of the intruders. He had a particular object in gaining time. "You are too premature, Herr Kapitan von Anzaken," he continued slowly. The boot is on the other leg. You are our prisoners. _Nein_--do not get excited--consider: you are but a handful. We are fourteen, all armed. In there"--he indicated a doorway on his left--"are fifty tons of explosives, so I would not have you throw a bomb, for our sakes and yours. Again, I have but to touch this button and the tunnel to the dug-out by which you made your approach will be blown in. We have particular need of you, since your friends will hesitate twice before attempting to smoke us out with you here. Now, to avoid further unpleasantness, you will throw down your arms and make surrender." "I'll see you to blazes first!" retorted Nicholson. "Hands up, or----" Like a flash a dozen hands went up--but each hand held an automatic pistol! The New Zealand officer made no attempt to back. Outwardly calm, he stood erect on the threshold, with his four men close behind him. Confronting him were the obviously excited Huns. Even the slight pressure of a trembling finger upon the trigger of one of the automatic weapons would mean death to the imperturbable Nicholson. "I give you ten seconds to surrender!" he exclaimed. "And I give you five to throw down your arms!" retorted the Prussian major. "One--two--three----" Crash! A blinding flash seemed to leap up from the floor, and, with a deafening roar bursting upon his ears, Malcolm was dimly conscious of being hurled backwards by a terrific blast, then everything became a blank. He regained his senses to find himself in utter darkness. He was lying on the floor with his shoulders and head leaning against something aggressively hard. Acrid fumes assailed his nostrils. He tried to move, to find a heavy, inert body lying across his legs. Groping to find out the nature of his surroundings, his hand came in contact with his uncomfortable pillow. It was a pair of hobnailed boots. As he thrust them aside the wearer stirred. "What's up, Sergeant? Another stunt?" It was M'Turk, wandering in his mind. Evidently he was under the hallucination that the Platoon sergeant was rousing him at an unearthly hour of the morning. "Where are we, M'Turk?" asked Malcolm. The Digger grunted. "Ask me another, chum," he replied, coughing after every word. "By gum! I remember--those swine of Huns and fifty tons of explosives. Well, we're still alive and kicking, so to speak. Where are the others? The Captain?" "Someone lying across my legs," replied Malcolm. "Our captain, I fancy. Have you a match?" "Have I a match?" repeated M'Turk mirthlessly. "A dozen boxes in my dug-out. Came with me last parcel--but ne'er a one on me. Where's that torch?" Sitting up, Malcolm bent forward and searched the man who was pinning him down. He was wrong in his surmise. It was not Captain Nicholson, but one of the riflemen. In one of his pockets Carr found a squashed box containing three or four precious matches. The first match fizzled and went out. "Damp, like everything else except my throat!" muttered M'Turk. "I could drink half a gallon at one go. Try again, chum." At the second attempt the flickering light struggled bravely for the mastery, then out it went. "Two more," announced Malcolm. "Hold on," ejaculated his companion. "I've a paper. I'll tear off a piece, and you can set it alight--if your matches aren't all duds!" This time the attempt was successful. In the glare of the burning newspaper Malcolm made the astonishing discovery that Grouser Joliffe was lying across his legs, while nearer the room in which the German staff officers had been was Dick Selwyn, leaning against the wainscot and breathing stertorously. The faces of both men were black with smoke and dirt. There were no signs of Captain Nicholson or M'Kane. "Old Grouser, by gum!" exclaimed M'Turk. "How in the name of everything did he get there?" "Give it up!" replied Malcolm, as he made his way to Selwyn's side. "There are a lot of things that want explaining in this hole." "Say what?" prompted his companion, tearing a fresh strip from the newspaper and rolling it into a rough-and-ready torch. "Where are Fritz & Co.? Where is our officer? How is it that I was next to him, and now Selwyn is nearer the door; while Joliffe, who is supposed to be on the way to the dressing-station, is here? And what about the fifty tons of explosives?" M'Turk staggered to his feet and made his way to the entrance to the inner room. The door had been wrenched from its hinges; from the root ferro-concrete girders had fallen, bringing with them a pile of debris that completely covered the table. Of the Huns, all were buried beneath the mound of earth, unless they had been blown to pieces by the explosion. "Not so much as a Hun's button left as a souvenir!" reported M'Turk. "Hope our mates haven't been kyboshed. Yet it seems to me that if fifty ton of stuff did go up we wouldn't be here now--except in little bits." "That's what puzzles me," admitted Rifleman Carr. "Perhaps only a portion of the explosives went off. Again, who propped you and Selwyn up against the wall?" M'Turk made another roll of crumpled paper. "Won't last out much longer at that rate!" he remarked ruefully. "Hallo! What's that?" A couple of dull concussions were distinctly felt. In the inner portion of the spacious dug-out more rubble slid noisily from the caving-in roof. "Fritz getting to work again," said Malcolm. "They are shelling the captured position." "And following it up with a counter-attack," added M'Turk. "Strikes me our chaps won't have any time to attend to us for a bit." "I did the job properly that time--a bit too properly?" exclaimed Grouser Joliffe, who had recovered consciousness and was taking a lively interest in the conversation. "You did what?" enquired M'Turk. "I wasn't going to be done out of the fun," said Joliffe doggedly. "Didn't I draw that little tinpot's fire, and give you a chance to butt in?" "You did, like a blooming idiot!" agreed M'Turk. "So when you fellows _impshied_ down the tunnel I slipped in after you. You wanted looking afters just fancy, nosing around a dug-out and not taking any bombs. I kept out of sight while the Captain was taking stock, knowing he'd send me back if he twigged me. Then, when the Boches tried to hold you up, I nipped behind and slung a bomb at 'em. By gum! It was a beauty, though for the life of me I don't know how we got blown out here. It wasn't my bomb that played a dirty trick like that, and it wasn't fifty tons of high explosives. So what was it? Anyone got a drink? My throat's like blotting-paper." "The last of the paper," announced M'Turk. "Any of you fellows got some more? No; well, I'll nip round to see if I can find any. I'd as soon set the show on fire as stick here in the dark." "There's someone coming," declared Malcolm. "Where?" enquired M'Turk and the bomber simultaneously. The sound of footsteps grew nearer and nearer, the rays of a torch flashed on the ground, and Captain Nicholson's voice was heard exclaiming: "It's no go that way, M'Kane. We'll have to make the best of things; but it's no use denying the fact that we're trapped." CHAPTER XX The Way Out "So, you cat with nine lives, we've to thank you for this beautiful fix!" remarked Captain Nicholson after he had greeted his companions in misfortune. "Don't know about that, sir," replied the bomber. "If I hadn't been nippy, those Huns would have plugged the lot of you, and more'n likely they would have got away. What were those coves doing with the pick and shovel, sir, if they didn't know there was a chance of getting out that way?" "That passage is closed, at any rate," decided Captain Nicholson, glancing in the direction of the mound of debris and the displaced girders. "M'Kane and I have explored the entrance, There's been a big fall. The supplementary shoots are also choked. We followed a level working for nearly a hundred yards. It leads nowhere. Fritz never had time to finish it. Look here, this torch won't hold out for ever. The battery's running down. How's Selwyn?" "Only suffering from shock, sir," replied Malcolm. "All right; you can do nothing more so far as he is concerned," decided the officer. "We'll make a thorough search of these sleeping-quarters, and see if we can find any candles. Knowing the systematic thoroughness of Fritz, I guess he's taken precautions in the event of the electric light going out. By Jove," he added, as the dug-out trembled violently, "there's some strafing going on outside!" A search resulted in the discovery of several oillamps and packets of candles. There was also food in considerable quantities and wine in bottles. "I'd swop all that fizz for a pannikin of tea," declared Joliffe. "You're never satisfied, chum," remarked M'Turk, deftly knocking off the neck of a bottle and taking a draught. "If you had what I've got you'd be satisfied," retorted the bomber. "I don't mind telling you now. Captain can't order me back out of it, can you, sir?" "Well, what have you got?" enquired Nicholson. "Splinter of shell in me shoulder--copped that last night along with the ration-party, sir; then this crack on the skull from that tin-pot Boche; and now I've copped it in both legs--and still I'm not knocked out." The men sat down to make a meal. Selwyn, under the reviving effect of a drink of wine, had opened his eyes. Although considerably shaken, he was otherwise unhurt. Captain Nicholson's story of what had occurred threw little light upon the mystery. He remembered the explosion; he was conscious of being hurled high in the air and of falling on top of the prostrate body of one of his men. The first to recover, he waited until M'Kane regained consciousness, and, having placed M'Turk and Selwyn in a reclining position, set off to find an egress and bring assistance. At the thirtieth step they were stopped by a solid mass of rubble that was only prevented from falling upon them by the fact that two massive timbers had dropped across the tunnel. To tamper with them meant certain disaster. Retracing their way to the main dug-out, they found a hitherto overlooked passage running at right angles to the longer walls. As the Captain had previously reported, it was a blind alley. "Although I believe that the Hun's yarn about fifty tons of stuff is all moonshine," continued Nicholson, "I can't see how one bomb would raise Cain like this. It's just possible that there was a small quantity of explosives in the place--sufficient to bring the roof down and to give us a pretty shaking up." The imprisoned men ate, drank, and talked--all except Selwyn, who complained of a violent headache and dizziness. Captain Nicholson let them carry on at their leisure. As long as they kept their spirits up there was little cause for anxiety. The great thing was to guard against depression. "Now then, boys!" he exclaimed at length. "Heaven helps those who help themselves--how about it? Are we going to sit here until we are dug out or are we going to extricate ourselves?" "Win off our own bat, sir," replied M'Turk. "That's the sort," rejoined his officer. "Now, look here. Do any of you fellows remember if there were other dug-outs close to this?" "There was an entrance about twenty yards to the left of this one, sir," said Malcolm. "I noticed that it was clear, for when I came up our fellows were hauling out a batch of Huns." "That's our direction," decided Captain Nicholson. "It's not much use trying to open up the tunnel at which the Boches were working when we surprised them. It leads towards Messines Ridge, and I guess there's not much tunnelling left there. I should imagine they were ignorant of the actual results of the mine, or they would have given it up as a bad job." Armed with mattocks and picks, Malcolm, M'Turk, and M'Kane attacked the side of the entrance-tunnel at a spot a few yards beneath the choke. The ground was clayey and easy to work, but in the absence of shoring material there was a grave risk of the new tunnel caving in. At the end of an hour's strenuous activity a tunnel about twelve feet long, and sufficiently large to enable a man to crawl along, had been excavated. "Any luck?" enquired Captain Nicholson for the twentieth time during that hour. "No, sir," replied Malcolm, who was working at the head of the sap and cautiously dislodging soil, which, in turn, was picked up by M'Turk and passed out so as not to obstruct the portion of the tunnel already dug. The ground vibrated under the impact of a heavy shell thirty or forty feet overhead. Although the bombardment had decreased in violence the Huns were still sending heavy stuff across at irregular intervals. "Hanged if I like this job," soliloquized Malcolm. "I thought the whole show would collapse that time. By Jove, something's going!" Making a vain attempt to back out of the confined space, Carr felt the ground giving way beneath his bent legs. "What's up, Digger?" enquired M'Turk, hearing his companion's exclamation. Without waiting for an answer M'Turk crawled to within arm's length of the lad and grasped him by the arm. As he did so the subsidence increased, and, amidst a shower of soil, the two riflemen found themselves falling through the air. Both uttered an exclamation of horrified surprise, not knowing at that stage if they were hurtling into a deep abyss to be dashed to pieces at the bottom. Anticipating the worst, they were agreeably relieved to find that they had dropped only ten or twelve feet, and had alighted upon a pile of soft material that proved to be a stack of folded blankets. "It's all right, sir," shouted Malcolm. "Where are you?" enquired Captain Nicholson, crawling cautiously along the newly-excavated gallery. "That's more than I can say, sir," replied Carr. "We're in the dark absolutely." Having tested the ground at the edge of the hole, Captain Nicholson flashed his torch into the dug-out into which the two riflemen had fallen. "By Jove," he exclaimed, "you've found a way out! I won't join you just yet. Stand by while I drop some candles and matches; then have a look round and report. See if there's a ladder available." The torch was switched off and the two riflemen waited in utter darkness. "I'm beginning to fancy I'm a blessed mole!" remarked M'Turk. "Twice I've been buried in our own dug-out. First time wasn't much to speak of; but Plug Street--ugh! For five mortal hours I was pinned down, the Huns strafing all the time, and the water rising up through the dirt that covered me up to my chin. And, as if I hadn't had enough, one of the boys who were digging me out must needs drive a pick through my calf. After all," he added, "it was worth it. I got six months in Blighty, and haven't had the same luck since. I'd give five pounds for old Fortyscrew's buckshie. Guess he's having a fair holiday by now." "Fortescue was hit only quite recently," said Malcolm. "I met him on my way up." "D'ye know we've been nearly fifteen hours in this warren?" asked M'Turk. "I thought not! And with reasonable luck a man can be hit and find himself in Blighty within twelve hours. Hallo, here's the Captain!" The torch was flashed upon the two men and a cloth in which were two candles and a box of matches dropped into the circle of light. "Look alive!" was the officer's exhortation. "It's quite time we broke through. Does the air seem pure? No petrol fumes hanging around, for instance?" "Now you come to mention it, sir," replied M'Turk, "it does hum a bit, although it's not petrol. Since I've been out here I've become a Sort of authority on stinks." "It's the fumes of high-explosive," declared Malcolm. "Right you are," rejoined his companion, as he struck a match and lit the candles. "By gum, this dug-out's copped it." In the dim light the place looked a regular shambles. The dug-out was larger than the one in which they had been trapped, but the fittings were of a plainer and more substantial nature. Evidently it had been the underground quarters of some of the Prussian rank and file, for three sides of the place consisted of four tiers of bed-boxes. The fourth, except for a doorway, was taken up with a large arms-rack capable of holding a couple of hundred rifles and bayonets. Most of the floor space was occupied by long trestle tables, while in one corner was the large stack of blankets and bedding upon which Malcolm and M'Turk had fallen. Although there was no shattered woodwork, everything pointed to a violent disturbance in the enclosed space. Tables and stools had been overthrown; the floor in front of the arms-rack was covered with weapons hurled from their stands. Broken bottles, plates, and earthenware littered the lime-trodden floor. Against the doorway were four huge Prussians, leaning apathetically against the timbered supports of the arms-rack. Two of them, their eyes fixed upon the New Zealanders, had their arms folded on their broad chests. The others were steadying themselves by their rifles, to which the bayonets were fixed. Without any weapons, either of offence or defence, for they had left their rifles in the other dug-out, Malcolm and M'Turk were at a decided disadvantage; but the odds did not deter them. "Bomb 'em out of it!" shouted M'Turk, swinging a purely imaginary missile. "Hands up, Fritz!" The Huns stirred not a muscle. "What's the fuss?" sang out Captain Nicholson. "Four Boches, sir," replied Malcolm. In a trice the Captain dropped from the tunnel into the dug-out. With his revolver ready for instant action he rejoined his two men, while M'Kane, preceded by his rifle, followed his superior officer's example. "Hands up!" ordered Captain Nicholson, levelling his revolver at the head of one of the Huns at a range of less than ten yards. The Boche's eyes stared unblinkingly at the muzzle of the weapon, while his companions showed no signs of shaking off their apathy. "By gum, sir," exclaimed M'Turk, "I believe they've been done in!" Holding the candle above his head, the rifleman strode over the littered floor and gripped one of the Prussians by the shoulder. Like a log the heavy body toppled forward and fell on its face. "Stone dead, sir," replied M'Turk. "Every man jack of 'em. And there are more of them over there." Curiosity prompted Captain Nicholson to examine the corpses. Not one bore the trace of a wound. In addition to the four by the doorway sixteen lay partly hidden by the overturned tables and chairs. Without a mark to show how they had been killed, all the men were dead. Some had been struck down in the act of writing. One man still held a pencil firmly clenched in his hand. Others were eating when death overtook them suddenly and painlessly. "Killed by concussion when the mine went up," suggested M'Kane. "More likely by one of our heavy shells," declared Captain Nicholson. "If your theory is correct, how do you account for the fact that those staff officers in the next dug-out came off scot-free until Joliffe thought fit to bring trouble on them and us? No, stay where you are, Joliffe!" he exclaimed, as the bomber's voice was heard shouting his intention of "barracking in". "We'll come back and fetch the pair of you when we've found a way out. Now, boys, let's see how the land lies." Passing through the doorway and ascending a flight of steps the party reached a wrecked dug-out that bore unmistakable testimony to the tremendous powers of devastation of a British 14-inch shell. The missile had penetrated twenty feet of earth and concrete, closing the entrance to the open air, and half-filling the place with debris. A funnel-like shaft, through which the sky was visible, was now the only means of communication with the open. "We're not out of the wood yet, boys," remarked Captain Nicholson, surveying the scene of destruction, "but we're getting on." As he spoke, the orifice was darkened, and a gruff voice from above exclaimed, to the accompaniment of a string of highly uncomplimentary ejaculations: "Now then, you, up you come or I'll blow you to blazes!" "Please don't stand there calling us names," expostulated Captain Nicholson affably. "Rather skip off and bring a rope." CHAPTER XXI Out of Touch After a wait of nearly ten minutes a rope was procured, while other willing helpers brought a number of short ladders to the mouth of the crater. These, lashed together, were lowered into the hole and allowed to rest upon the steeply sloping sides. Down swarmed several men, not New Zealanders, but belonging to an Australian regiment. Foremost amongst them was Malcolm's Queensland chum on board the _Pomfret Castle_--big Jack Kennedy. "Hallo, Digger!" exclaimed that worthy, recognizing Rifleman Carr in the candlelight. "What have you been doing? Cleaning out a chimney? You're as black as an aborigine." "I hardly thought to run across you again," remarked Malcolm. "The world is small," rejoined Kennedy. "We were on your right when the attack started. Your fellows have rushed Messines village and are holding all the captured positions. Who are your pals? Beg pardon, sir, I didn't know you were an officer!" (This to Captain Nicholson, who, owing to the dirt and grime in which he was smothered, was hardly distinguishable from the others.) "We'll give you a leg up." "Hold on," protested Captain Nicholson. "There are two of our men who have to be brought along. They're rather shaken up. You'll want a ladder--Carr." "Yes, sir," replied Malcolm. "Will you show these men the way into the other dug-out?" Saluting, Malcolm turned and made his way over the wrecked woodwork, three Australians following in his footsteps. Two of the latter carried a short ladder. "Fortescue with you?" enquired Kennedy, as the men planted the ladder on the pile of earth that had fallen from the newly-excavated tunnel. "No," replied Carr. "He got a buckshie in his advance, but Selwyn's there. Do you remember Pieter Waas on the old _Pomfret Castle_?" "Do I not, the larrikin!" replied Kennedy. "I suppose you know that he got away soon after he was landed at Plymouth?" "Yes, and more," added Malcolm. "He was in our trenches last night, and slipped over the top to the German lines." The Australian smiled incredulously. "Fact!" persisted his informant. "I spotted him and he spotted me. Before he could be winged he was off in the darkness." "Then let's hope he went up in the great bust," said Kennedy. "A bit of a sell that, to bunk from the security of our trenches right on top of a million pounds of aminol. This the way up? Golly, this tunnel wasn't made for a man of my size!" The rescuers found Grouser Joliffe indulging in a particularly strong burst of grumbling--not at his adventures in the dug-out, not at the hardships he had undergone, nor at the wounds he had received. He had just made the disconcerting discovery that he had lost a packet of five cigarettes, and, being a frugal man, the loss irritated him exceedingly. Dick Selwyn, although stiff and exhausted, was able to walk with assistance, although Malcolm foresaw difficulties when his chum came to the narrow tunnel and the swaying ladder leading to the other dug-out. "Which of the boys left his coat behind?" enquired Selwyn, indicating a neatly folded bundle on the ground at a few feet from him. "None," replied Malcolm emphatically. "Then what's this?" Malcolm examined the clothing. Not only was there a coat, but a New Zealander's complete kit. "By Jove," he exclaimed, "I have it! That's the uniform the spy fellow was wearing. He must have come here, knowing that this dug-out was the Hun brigade head-quarters, and changed into a Boche rig-out. Ten to one he was amongst that lot of staff officers." "If so, he's properly done in," added Selwyn. The two chums were only partly correct in their surmise. Konrad von Feldoffer, on realizing that he had been recognized by a couple of men who, he thought, belonged to another battalion, had rather prematurely bolted for the German lines. In the guise of a New Zealander he had been hoping to gather useful and definite information concerning the forthcoming advance. Since most of the Diggers were in ignorance of the mining operations under Messines Ridge, von Feldoffer gained very little information on that point. By means of a pre-arranged signal the spy arrived at the German trenches without being fired on by his compatriots, despite his khaki uniform and British-pattern shrapnel-helmet. Taken to the head-quarters' dug-out, he made his report to the Hun authorities, changed into German uniform, and left immediately afterwards for a new sphere of activity. So, once more, by the matter of a few hours, Konrad von Feldoffer escaped a well-merited death; while, through ignorance of the terrific preparations made for the blowing up of Messines Ridge, he had unwittingly done the Allies a good turn; for instead of withdrawing the troops the Hun commander had concentrated a thousand on the mined ridge in order to repel an infantry attack that threatened only in the minds of the German staff. "What are you fellows doing?" enquired Malcolm of the Australian. "Demolishing dug-outs?" "Not much," replied Kennedy. "We are not raiding this time. We're here to hold what we've got, not to do as much damage as we can and return to our own lines. Already our heavies are well up. A battery of 14-inch guns is in a position just behind the original first-line Boche trench. The air is positively stiff with aeroplanes--all British. The Hun airmen take jolly good care to give us a miss. They absolutely funk it." "Don't blame 'em!" added another Anzac. "We're top dog in the air just now." Taking the discarded uniform for identification purposes, Malcolm proceeded to lead the rescue party on their return journey. The two injured men gave considerable trouble. Joliffe, whose wounds were giving him excruciating pain, showed a decided tendency to become light-headed, while Selwyn was so badly bruised and shaken that he could hardly crawl. Yet, in spite of their difficulties, the Australians succeeded in bringing both men to the foot of the shaft communicating with the open air. Placed on a stretcher, that was raised by means of a rope running through a block at the end of a hastily constructed derrick, the injured men were taken up the funnel-like shaft, while the others ascended by means of ladders, Captain Nicholson being the last to quit the dug-out that might have proved to be his grave. After receiving medical attention, Selwyn and Joliffe were sent to the base hospital, while Captain Nicholson and Riflemen Carr, M'Turk, and M'Kane set out to rejoin their battalions at Messines village. A steady trickle of Anzac wounded--mostly walking cases--making their way to the advance dressing-stations, gave indications that the Diggers were still hotly engaged. Although the British guns already in position were pounding away as hard as they could, there was a heavy fire from the hostile artillery, of which a formidable number had been placed in prepared positions behind the shattered ridge. With typical Teutonic thoroughness the Huns had prepared for the possibility of having Messines wrenched from their hands, and, having lost the ground, they were ready to swamp it with high-explosive shells before launching a counter-attack on a large scale. Judging by the cheerfulness of the wounded, the New Zealanders were confident of being able to hold the captured village. To Captain Nicholson's question every man expressed his opinion that Fritz was badly beaten. Some of the pick of the Prussian and Bavarian regiments had already attempted to retrieve the lost ground, but had gone down against the brave lads of the Antipodes. Malcolm found the bulk of his company entrenched on the right of the shell-racked village. A line of captured trenches had been reorganized and placed in a state of defence against its former masters. Since the threatened counter-attack had not yet materialized, most of the New Zealanders were resting in the dug-outs obligingly constructed by Fritz, who little thought that he would have to abandon his painstaking work except upon the conclusion of a victorious German peace. Apart from an alarm in the early hours of the morning, when a very half-hearted attack was easily repulsed, the New Zealanders spent an undisturbed and comparatively restful night. With morning came most reassuring and gratifying reports from the whole of the Messines Front. English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish, Canadian, and Anzac troops had gained their respective objectives with comparatively few losses, taking into consideration the important results. Once more the prestige of the German army had suffered a severe blow, while, in prisoners alone, the Huns lost more than the total casualties of the successors to the "contemptible little army". It was not to be supposed that the High Command of the Hun armies would suffer the loss of an important position without making desperate and determined efforts to turn the scale of victory. Fresh divisions were hurried up to relieve the wornout and demoralized troops, whose _moral_ had, been badly shaken by the stupendous explosion under Messines Ridge, and the fierce infantry attacks that succeeded it. Across the shell-pitted ground dense masses of field-grey-clad Huns were hurled, supported by a terrific covering fire from the German guns. In the hastily-constructed trenches beyond the ruined village the New Zealanders awaited the assault with a quiet confidence. To Malcolm Carr the experience was a novel one. During his comparatively brief service in the trenches he had been called upon to repel isolated raids, both by day and night; he had taken part in several successful excursions over the top to harry the German trenches; he had participated in one of the greatest actions on the Western Front; but, for the first time, he was helping to man a captured position against a massive hostile counter-attack. This was something very different from anything he had previously experienced. The rousing cheer, the surging mass of khaki-clad figures over the top, and the mad excitement of the headlong rush were absent. In silence the riflemen manned the firesteps and awaited the assault of Germany's crack "shock troops ". Overhead, far above the bursting shells, aeroplanes were swooping hither and thither. Whether they were friend or foe the Diggers hardly troubled to ascertain. As a matter of fact they were both, and high in the air fierce combats were in progress as the Hun airmen sought in vain to drive off the almost too daring British fliers. One thousand yards--nine hundred--eight hundred. Not a shot was fired from the Anzac trenches--although dozens of Maxims, Lewis guns, and rifles were ready to receive Fritz in the strictly conventional way--until the foremost of the serried grey-clad masses drew within seven hundred yards. Then, like the outpouring of a dozen concentrated thunderstorms, British guns that hitherto had been silent set up a barrage--so heavy that the German fire, furious though it was, seemed negligible in comparison. In front and in the rear of the advancing German infantry the hail of shells descended like a giant twin portcullis, while the intervening space was thick with shrapnel. The dense masses desisted, recoiled, and attempted to flee through the barrage, while death and wounds took heavy toll. A whistle sounded; others took up the call. Whether the order to advance was premeditated, or given on the spur of the moment, few of the New Zealanders knew. At any rate, now was the opportunity to secure another few hundred yards of ground. "Up and over, boys!" A line of khaki topped the parapet, leapt into the open, and broke into a steady double. Malcolm, with bayonet fixed and magazine charged, found himself right-hand man of C Company as the Diggers surged onwards in extended order. A few scared and demoralized Huns, who had contrived to dodge the barrage, came towards them slowly, as if uncertain of their reception. With hands upraised and cries of "Kamerad" on their lips the surrendering men passed between the advancing troops, who saluted them with ironical advice to "Cut it out, and not so much of your Kamerad stunt!" Presently the battalion slowed down. The men were treading on the heels of their own barrage. So perfectly were the shells falling that there was little fear of one falling short and playing havoc with the khaki boys. With a feeling of complete confidence, akin to that of a child for its mother, the New Zealanders literally clung to the skirts of the barrage, at the same time adjuring the distant artillerymen to "Push it along and let's get on!" In response to a signal from an observing aeroplane the barrage suddenly parted, some of the guns surging round to the right, others lifting and pounding away at a mass of German reserves. Immediately in front of C Company was a gap that would bring men to hand-grips with the foe. Nothing could have kept the Anzacs back. In vain a daring German aeroplane swooped down and brought a machine-gun to play with absolute impartiality upon the combatants, finally to "crash" upon the corpse-covered ground. With no visible result did the Huns send up their so-called S.O.S. signals for aid. The retirement became a rout, while the New Zealanders pressed hard at the heels of the opponents. "Enough of that, boys!" ordered Captain Nicholson, who of all the company officers was the senior one unwounded. "Dig yourselves in and stand fast." Already the haunting suspicion that C Company had pushed on in advance of the rest of the line assailed the young officer. Times without number he had been impressed, and had impressed others, with the need of keeping in touch with the flanking companies. How the line ran, whether the Australian troops of the right were in advance or to the rear of the New Zealanders, he knew not. Dense clouds of low-lying smoke hid everything. The Huns were releasing prodigious quantities of poison gas. Away to the left an advance ammunition-dump went up with a terrific explosion. In a slight depression, littered with coils of severed barbed wire and displaced sand-bags, Captain Nicholson got his men in hand. The defeated Prussians were being swallowed up in the haze of battle, but dense masses of grey-clad troops were advancing under cover of the liberated gas. There was no doubt about it, C Company had lost touch. Every man realized the fact, although none remarked it to his comrade. The heat of battle over, they set to work to consolidate and hold the position they had carried at such a cost. Rifle and machine-gun bullets were beginning to spray the ground anew. Captain Nicholson scribbled a few lines in his pocket-book, tore out the leaf, and beckoned to Malcolm, who was engaged in collecting sand-bags. "Cut it out, Carr!" he shouted. The order, puzzling to a Tommy, was plain to the rifleman addressed. Desisting from his task, he approached his officer and saluted. "Find the C.O.," ordered Captain Nicholson. "Give him this--at all costs." Malcolm took the folded paper and thrust it in his pocket, unfixed his bayonet and returned it to the scabbard, slung his rifle, and started off at a run in the direction of the invisible Messines village. According to the ethics of the Great War a dispatch-bearer must walk while under shell-fire, but when exposed to rifle-fire he may run without loss of dignity or prestige. And, since the matter was urgent, Malcolm felt glad that he was not to traverse a shell-watered zone. Wounded men, both friend and foe, called imploringly as he passed. Beyond a few cheering words to his helpless comrades he could do nothing to aid them. His errand was too pressing. There were dead, too, in ghastly heaps, some with their fingers still clutching the throats of their opponents, others in a naturally recumbent position that gave the appearance of having fallen easily to sleep. All the while bullets were whizzing overhead, thudding against the debris that littered the ground, or ricochetting from the hard earth. In his imagination Malcolm felt that he was the target for a whole Prussian division. No wonder, then, that his heart was in his mouth as, bending low, he darted from shell-hole to shell-hole and took advantage of the slightest shelter afforded by a rise in the terrain. A feeling of utter loneliness assailed him. It was different from advancing with tried and trusted comrades around him and the inspiring dash that accompanied the rush of men confident of victory. Save for the slain and wounded he was alone in the open, not facing bullets, but followed and overlooked by a regular hail coming from an unseen source. "I've got the wind up this time," he muttered. "Hope I'm on the right track. I don't remember passing this----" His foot tripped on a strand of wire, the lowermost and only intact part of an entanglement. Down he crashed heavily, his shrapnel-helmet rolling down a declivity for a distance of nearly ten yards. "Buckshie for me this time," he exclaimed, without making an effort to rise. "Wonder where I've got it?" Gradually he made the discovery that beyond a grazed instep, for one of the barbs had penetrated his boot, he was unwounded. His ankle was throbbing painfully. In his fall he had sprained it. With an effort he regained his feet, clenched his teeth as a sharp twinge shot through his frame, and again pushed onwards. Although at a deminished pace he still ran--not from inclination but from a sense of duty. A bang and a cloud of white smoke high above his head told Malcolm that the guns were renewing their activity. "Shrap., and I've lost my helmet!" he exclaimed. "I'll lose my head next, if I haven't done so already. By gum, I'm out of my tracks!" He stopped and surveyed his surroundings. He was now quite alone. Even the dead and wounded were no longer in evidence. Smoke limited his range of vision to a distance of less than a hundred yards. Beyond, a few gaunt stumps of trees loomed through the pungent vapour like distorted shadows. With the sun completely obscured, he had no means of ascertaining his direction. For all he knew he might have followed a semicircular course. The sound of the guns helped him not at all. Which were the hostile and which the British artillery was a question he was unable to answer. A whiff of nauseating gas drifted across his path. His right hand sought his anti-gas mask. It had vanished. Only a portion of one of the straps remained; it had been completely severed by a bullet. And now another difficulty arose. The deadly gas used by the Huns, having a density greater than air, has a tendency to fill the hollows and leave the high ground comparatively clear. On Malcolm's front the ground rose gradually to a height of about twenty feet. While it might afford protection from the noxious vapour, the ridge was certainly open to rifle-fire. Nor could Carr understand why, in a temporarily-deserted expanse, there should be such a persistent hail of machine-gun fire. "Better to risk a bullet than a dose of gas," decided the rifleman, and with this intention he breasted the slope as rapidly as his sprained ankle would allow. "Might get a sight of the village, too," he soliloquized as he neared the summit of the ridge. Something struck him sharply on the hip. Mechanically he glanced down. The butt of his slung rifle was splintered, the brass heel-plate curiously twisted. A piece of shell, which otherwise would have inflicted a dangerous if not mortal wound, had been intercepted by the rifle. "A miss is as good as a mile," he remarked to himself. The sensation akin to panic had passed. A kind of blind fatalism gripped him. "If I'm booked to be plugged it's no use getting flurried over it," he continued, talking aloud. His voice seemed strange and distant, but for want of someone with whom to converse it afforded him a slight sense of companionship--an audible indication that he was still alive. "On the other hand, if my number isn't up, why worry? All the same, I should like to know how far I'm away from Messines." Fifty yards ahead was a zigzag trench, its direction only discernible by interrupted sections of sand-bags and badly-shattered wire. Subjected earlier in the day to a terrible artillery pounding, it had been abandoned, but whether by Briton or Hun there was no indication except by closer examination. Evidently it was the rearmost of an intricate system of field-fortifications, for Malcolm was on the parados side while beyond, merging into smoke and haze, were other ramifications of the maze of trenches, all silent and deserted. "They are bound to lead somewhere," was Malcolm's surmise. "To the Messines salient most likely. I'll risk it. It's certainly safer than in the open, so here goes." Choosing a gap in the parados, Rifleman Carr cautiously slid on to the floor of the trench. The effort gave his ankle a wrench that sent a pain through his leg like the searing of a hot iron. "I'll get there if I have to crawl for it," he muttered. "There's one thing certain, I won't be able to go back." The trench was dry and the floor made good going, except in places where the sand-bags had slipped and formed awkward obstacles. There were no indications as to who were the owners of the place. Discarded British and German rifles, clips of cartridges, and other articles were impartially strewn about. Just as Malcolm was approaching the fourth or fifth bay a heavy shell landed about twenty yards from the parapet. With a concussion that sent sand-bags flying and hurled tons of dirt high in air the missile exploded. Bending to avoid the flying fragments that were descending like rain, Malcolm, regardless of his sprained foot, bolted round the traverse, and before he was fully aware of the fact he had blundered right into a party of Huns. CHAPTER XXII A Prisoner of War It would be difficult to say who were the most taken aback: the Boches at the sight of a khaki-clad man who might or might not be the foremost of a party of trench raiders, or Malcolm on finding himself confronted by a score of fully-armed Germans. The New Zealander's first impulse was to unsling his rifle. By use of his magazine he might drive the Huns into the next bay, and, profiting by the diversion, effect a smart retirement. The weapon was useless; the piece of shell that had smashed the butt had jammed the bolt action. The rifle was little better than a broken reed. Malcolm turned and ran, but he had forgotten his sprained ankle. Before he had taken a couple of strides his legs gave way under him, and like a felled ox he collapsed upon the duck-boards. Even as he lay prostrate his wits did not desert him. At all costs the note entrusted to him by his captain must be destroyed. Although ignorant of its contents, Malcolm felt assured that it was of great importance, otherwise Captain Nicholson would not have sent anyone across the open under a hail of bullets. With a deft movement the trapped rifleman removed the paper from his pocket and conveyed it to his mouth, and before the approaching Huns were upon him he had swallowed the paper. Ten seconds later he was in the grip of three hulking Saxons, who promptly bound his wrists behind his back and propped him up against the fire-step of the trench. The others, having satisfied themselves that the prisoner was an isolated straggler, crowded round and regarded him with undisguised interest. Unable to understand a word Of German, Malcolm was at a loss to follow their excited conversation. He managed to glean that there was a discussion as to what the Huns would do with their prisoner. One particularly villainous-looking Boche was apparently advising that he should be shot outright, fingering the trigger of his rifle as if in joyous anticipation of playing the joint rôle of judge and executioner. This amiable proposal was overruled by the others, and, after the prisoner had been searched and his belongings confiscated, Malcolm was marched along the trench, preceded and followed by men with loaded rifles. Almost every yard of the way was occupied by troops. The men regarded the passing of the prisoner with slight interest. Their attention was principally directed upon some distant object, as if they were momentarily expecting an attack. By one of those freaks of misfortune Rifleman Carr had completely lost his bearings, and in his wanderings had made his way towards the German trenches instead of towards the village of Messines. The shells and bullets that had given him such a warm time had come from his own lines, and in endeavouring to seek cover he had stumbled upon a temporarily-unoccupied section of the original enemy support-trenches. Even then he had no warning of his expensive mistake until he literally walked into a trap, the bay being filled with Saxons of the 209th Reserve Regiment. Conducted into a deep and spacious dug-out, the prisoner was brought before two German officers. One, a major, was short and corpulent. Bald-headed, of florid complexion, and with abnormally-puffed eyelids, magnified still more by a pair of heavy convex glasses, the Saxon had Landsturmer written all over him. His companion was a tall, cadaverous lieutenant of about twenty-five, narrow-chested, and with protruding shoulder-blades. His hawkish features, upturned moustache, and colourless skin gave him a truly Machiavellian aspect. He wanted only a pointed beard and a ruff to complete the living representation of a sixteenth-century portrait of one of the ruffianly Margraves of the Palatinate. "It's the long chap who will cause trouble," mentally decided Malcolm. "The big-paunched fellow won't count. They're going to question me, that's evident. If I try to bamboozle them there will be trouble. By Jove! I'll give them a few choice New Zealand catch-phrases, and see what happens." At a sign from the Lieutenant the sergeant in charge of the escort deftly removed the prisoner's identity disc and handed it to his superior officer for inspection. The cadaverous one jotted down something in a pocket-book, and exchanged a few words with his confrere. "Now listen," began the Lieutenant in broken English; "der truth we must haf. If lies you tell it useless is. We vill haf you shot at vonce. Tell me where you come from?" "Ask me?" replied Malcolm promptly. The Lieutenant frowned. "I haf asked," he rejoined. "Where you come from--what position?" "Cut it out!" ejaculated the lad. His questioner bent over a map spread out on the table in front of him. With a puzzled expression on his face he addressed the Major. Malcolm distinctly heard the words "Cut it out" mentioned more than once. The lad smiled inwardly. The sight of the two Germans poring over a map to find this non-existent locality of "Cut it out" tickled his sense of humour. Foiled in that direction, and attributing his discomfiture to the fact that the military map was quite inadequate to present needs, the Lieutenant wrote in his notebook again. "How you arrive at our lines?" continued the inquisitor. Malcolm thought fit to reply in a totally irrelevant string of Maori phrases, concluding with "_Haeremai te kai_" (come to dinner) and a decisive shake of his head. By the time he had finished the Hun lieutenant's face was a study in angry astonishment. "It is evident," he remarked in German to his companion, "that the prisoner is one of the Englander's mercenaries--from Portugal, perhaps, or even from one of those outlandish and unheard-of nations that have presumptuously declared war against us. The fact that his identity disc proclaims him to be a New Zealander proves nothing, except that the English are liars. I was always under the impression that New Zealanders were black, tattooed savages. Since the prisoner is worthless to us I would suggest that he be shot forthwith." The Major shook his head. "Do not be too hasty, von Rügen. Shooting prisoners would be all very well if we were not in a vile plight ourselves. What would happen to you and me if those Englanders repeated the success they had over the 46th Westphalians? By some means the enemy found out that von Tondhoven had executed the two sergeants who were caught just beyond our entanglements--and what was the result? Not a single officer of the 46th Regiment was given quarter. Here we are cut off from our supplies. At any moment that infernal barrage might start, and then the khakis would be swarming on top of us. No, no, von Rügen, I am not at all satisfied with your suggestion, nor am I at the prisoner's replies." To Malcolm's mortification the Major held up a packet of documents taken from the prisoner--his pay-book, a few letters and post cards from far-off New Zealand, and a few snapshots of incidents on board the transport _Awarua_. Scribbling on a piece of paper, the Major handed the slip to the prisoner. On it was written: "How is you not understand English, since we haf writing on you discovered?" Malcolm studied the writing with feigned interest, puckering his brow and frowning in assumed perplexity. By a pantomime display he obtained a pencil from the Sergeant, and wrote rapidly and distinctly "'Nuff sed" in reply. A reference to two different Anglo-German dictionaries followed, accompanied by many guttural ejaculations from the baffled Teutons. "I will have the prisoner sent back to-night," decided the Major. "We have evidently captured one of a new type. He will interest the Intelligence officers---- Himmel! Is that the cursed barrage commencing?" A heavy shell landing in close proximity to the dug-out set the concrete girders shaking. With a hurried gesture the Major dismissed the prisoner, and, accompanied by the saturnine lieutenant, bolted to a flight of steps leading to a still deeper refuge. At a guttural order, the purport of which there was no mistaking, Malcolm turned, and, surrounded by his guards, hurried out into the trench. There was good cause for haste. With the exception of a few sentries, stationed in concreted, sand-bagged shelters, the trench was deserted. The Saxon infantry had bolted to their dug-outs like startled rabbits, as shell after shell screeched overhead and burst amongst the labyrinth of trenches in the rear. Speedily Rifleman Carr, now a prisoner of war, found himself in a dug-out with half a dozen Huns for companionship. For two reasons the Boches were favourably disposed towards their captive. One was that they were Saxons, who, hating the Prussian and all his works, were less imbued with the doctrine of hate towards the enemies of the Fatherland. The other was the knowledge that, in the event of a successful British infantry attack, the presence of a well-treated prisoner would tend considerably to mitigate their treatment when the tables were turned. Over and over again instances have come to light of whole companies of Huns surrendering to their late prisoners when the lads in khaki were swarming with fixed bayonets over the parapets and into the enemy trenches. Malcolm acted warily. Suspecting a trap, he refrained from verbal conversation, although several of the Saxons could speak a few words of English. He thanked them by signs when they provided him with a portion of their own meagre fare and showed him their treasures in the form of photographs of relatives and places in the Fatherland. Meanwhile the bombardment continued without intermission. Although the expected barrage had not put in an appearance, the British "heavies" were lavishly showering shells upon the German position. The ground was trembling continually, acrid-smelling smoke found its way into the deepest dug-outs. Wherever a direct hit occurred it was all U P with the luckless inmates of the crowded underground shelters. Twenty or thirty feet of earth, reinforced with concrete and sand-bags, was not proof against the terribly destructive missiles. From time to time, as shells landed unpleasantly near, the faces of the Germans grew long. Malcolm, too, felt far from comfortable. The possibility of being blown into infinitesimal fragments by British shells was not what he had bargained for. He was quite willing, for five shillings a day, to take his chance of being knocked out by the Boches, but---- The lugubrious faces of the Huns had the effect of making the rifleman pull himself together. At any rate, Fritz was not going to see that he had cold feet. Moistening his lips, Malcolm began to whistle. In ordinary circumstances he could whistle well. Often while in billets or standing by in a dug-out his chum would ask him to oblige with a whistling solo; but now he was forced to confess that the result was not exactly melody. "Nicht mehr!" exclaimed a corporal peremptorily. Although he did not know what the Saxon said, the accent and the emphatic gesture were sufficient. "He means 'shut up'," soliloquized Malcolm. "That's a nasty one. I suppose it gets on his nerves. Well, I'm not surprised. I fancy I was a trifle flat and wobbly." A few seconds later the dug-out shook violently. Some of the men who were standing upright were thrown forward, gear was hurled from the racks and shelves, while the concrete walls cracked from top to bottom, bulging ominously under the pressure of earth behind them. "A near one!" decided Malcolm. "Another five yards this way and it would have been all up." A hoarse voice shouted through the tunnel that formed the entrance. Without showing any tendency to bestir themselves the men looked at each Other enquiringly. Evidently they were wanted outside, but were debating as to who should make the first move. The carrying out of orders promptly--generally the German soldiers' chief concern--was noticeably absent. It was not until the command had been given three times that the men reluctantly left their shelter. Left to himself, Malcolm discussed the situation. Now was his opportunity to slip out at the heels of the Hun and trust to luck in the open. If he escaped being blown up, he might be able to go over the parapet unobserved and make his way towards the British lines. While the bombardment was in progress there was little chance of the Huns manning the trenches. On the other hand, prudence counselled him to stay where he was. Should the infantry attack develop and be successful his rescue would be merely a question of time. Then again came the maddening thought that if the British troops did not capture the position he would remain a prisoner in the hands of the enemy. "I'll chance it and go outside," he decided. Without, the air was thick with smoke. At the most, Malcolm could see but twenty to twenty-five paces to right and left. In front was the parados, the ground covered with a yellowish dust from the high-explosive shells. At the entrance to the dugout into which he had been taken to be questioned, a dozen men were vigorously plying pick and shovel, the while urged to still greater efforts by a gigantic sergeant. A 12-inch shell had fallen on top of the shelter. Concrete earth and sand-bags were not proof against the terrific impact, despite the fact that thirty feet of solid material formed the roof of the subterranean retreat. "They might just as well save themselves the job," thought Malcolm. "Mephistopheles and the Fat Boy won't be worth troubling about, I guess. It was a jolly good thing that they didn't invite me to stay and have dinner with them. Now for it!" Making for a gap in the parapet the lad began to crawl up the steps of disentangled sand-bags and trench-props. The British guns were evidently lifting. Although the air was "stiff" with screeching shells, the missiles were flying high overhead and bursting far behind the German first-line trench. Machine-gun and rifle-firing had ceased. Beyond the few men engaged in digging out their unfortunate officers the normally lightly-held front trench was practically deserted. "I'll win through yet!" exclaimed the lad, voicing his thoughts aloud. The next instant a lurid flash leapt up from the ground almost in front of him. Hurled violently backward by a terrific blast again, Malcolm had a fleeting vision of the ground rising up to meet him, and then everything became a blank. CHAPTER XXIII At Düren Camp When he recovered consciousness Malcolm Carr found himself lying on a bundle of straw in an advance dressing-station. He was puzzled greatly. He could not imagine how he came there, or why he should be there at all. He had no recollection of being lifted by the blast of a shell. Somehow things didn't seem quite right. Gradually the chain of events during the last few hours connected itself. He remembered the stand of C Company; being sent off by the platoon-commander with an urgent message; blundering into the hostile lines; being made prisoner and attempting to escape. "And now I've got a buckshie," he decided. "Wonder where I am?" He raised his head and looked around. The effort sent a throbbing pain from the base of his neck to his spine. He felt bruised all over, while his left arm was tightly bandaged from elbow to wrist. A strange, almost uncanny silence seemed everywhere, and yet the place was teeming with activity. The dressing-station was in the open. The ground was crowded with bundles of straw and stretchers, each occupied by a helpless human being. More stretchers were constantly arriving with their ghastly burdens. Men slightly wounded were staggering in, covered with dust, and looking utterly dejected. Not one had a smile upon his face. Malcolm had seen an advance dressing-station more than once, where casualties were arriving after a stiff engagement. Then he had been struck by the cheerfulness shown by most of the men. Even the badly wounded were elated, for the day had gone well, and they were happy in the knowledge that the stiff task imposed upon them had been brilliantly accomplished. But things seemed different here. In front of a partly demolished barn, over which was flying a Geneva Cross flag, covered ambulance motors were being filled up with wounded, who, their injuries attended to, were being dispatched to the base hospital. To Malcolm's bewilderment, the powerful motors started in absolute silence, while the heavy wheels made no sound as they jolted over the _pavé_. Gradually the sensation of dizziness diminished, and it dawned upon Malcolm that he was still a prisoner. Everywhere the field-grey uniforms were conspicuous, but even that discovery did not explain the deep silence. Making another effort, the rifleman sat up. The blanket that covered him had slipped off. From the waist upwards he was destitute of clothing. His skin was as yellow as that of a Chinese. On the straw to his right was a Hun whose right leg had been badly injured. The man was trying to attract Malcolm's attention, but although his lips were moving no words fell upon the lad's ears. In vain the New Zealander tried to reply. If he spoke he was unaware of it. The sound of his own voice was absent. He was deaf and dumb. When Malcolm was thrown by the concussion of the bursting shell, he alighted in the trench he had left, unconscious, his uniform partly torn off, and his face and body dyed with the yellow fumes. In this state he lay insensible for several hours. When the bombardment cleared, the threatened infantry assault did not materialize. It was not intended that it should, the object of the artillery activity being to keep the Germans pinned to that section of their defences while other operations were being carried out in another part of the line. So, when the guns died down to a desultory shelling, the Huns set to work to clear up the badly-damaged trenches. While the wounded were being removed, a couple of Prussian Poles, who were employed as ambulance-men, placed Malcolm on a stretcher, and threw a discarded greatcoat over his legs, not realizing that he was an enemy, since the remnants of his khaki uniform were indistinguishable from the field-grey after they had been "chromed" by the fumes of bursting shells. Otherwise it is doubtful whether the stretcher-bearers would have removed a wounded enemy. Without the discovery being made, the New Zealander was taken to the German advance dressing-station, and his injuries dressed, and thus he found himself wounded and a prisoner. It was later in the evening when Malcolm was taken by motor-ambulance to a railway station twenty miles behind the lines. With him were about twenty Prussians, Saxons, and Würtemburgers, whose demeanour was one of extreme dejection. Their wounds, although serious, were not of a nature to debar them from further military service. They realized that they were going to be patched up in order to be again sent to the front, more than likely to the terrible Ypres district. Now that they were wounded they bemoaned the fact that their injuries were not greater, and envied those of their comrades who were permanently disabled and unfit for further service in the field. "Wonder what Fortescue would say if he saw me in these togs?" thought Malcolm as he surveyed the German greatcoat and trousers with which he was provided on arriving at the station. "And Selwyn? 'Not too much of that, Digger'--that's what he'd chuck at me. I shouldn't be surprised if the Huns take me for one of themselves." Which was exactly what they were doing. For two hours the ever-increasing throng of wounded waited in the station. Momentarily men dropped, to be left to the rough-and-ready attentions of their comrades. The few doctors and their assistants, utterly fatigued by reason of the long and continual strain, were almost useless as far as their duties were concerned. Once again the German machine of thoroughness and precision had broken down. At last a hospital train drew up just outside the station. To Malcolm's surprise the Red Cross carriages disgorged a battalion of fully-equipped troops. Fearing attacks from British airmen, the German High Command had given orders that, as far as possible, troops were to be moved toward the Front in hospital trains, while, to bring up additional machine-guns with the least danger and delay, the motor-ambulances, still displaying the symbol that all unkultured nations respect, were employed to their utmost capacity. The train then ran into the station, and the entrainment of the wounded commenced. Beyond the red cross on the sides and tops of the carriages there was nothing to distinguish the train from any other. Marshalled in military formation, the "walking cases" boarded the carriages, which were similar to the fourth-class compartments of the German State Railways--hard wooden seats not excepted. Of the next twelve hours Malcolm had no clear recollection. Frequent stoppages were the only respite to the otherwise incessant jolting. At one station very inferior bread and watery soup were served out. Beyond that the wretched "cannon-fodder" went hungry until the train drew up at a large town that Malcolm afterwards knew to be Frankfort. Here the conditions in hospital were passable, although food was poor and meagre; but Rifleman Carr made progress, and in less than a week he had recovered from the effect of his wounds except for his speech and hearing. Several times doctors and nurses wrote questions for him to answer, but, not understanding German, he could only shake his head. Taken for a Saxon suffering from shell-shock, he was afterwards left severely alone as far as conversation was concerned. One morning an orderly went round the ward distributing postcards to enable the patients to write to their relations and friends. "Wonder if I can get a letter through to New Zealand?" thought Malcolm. "I'll have a cut at it anyhow." Greatly to the curiosity of an observant nurse, the lad obtained a postcard, and wrote to his father, signing himself "R/m 99,109, Malcolm Carr, N.Z.R.B., prisoner of war." The nurse, puzzled that the patient could write and yet be unable to read, called a doctor's attention to the fact, and Malcolm's postcard was kept back for examination. Within five minutes the hospital ward was in a state of uproar, for the discovery had been made that an enemy was enjoying the same treatment and attention as a good German. After being subjected to a searching and protracted examination, the questions being written in English, Malcolm was summarily "fired out" to an unknown destination. Escorted by two Landsturmers, and garbed in very motley attire, the New Zealander was marched through the streets to the railway station, and after a six-hour journey the train stopped at a small station that, from the name on the _Fahrkartenausgabe_, was called Düren. In what part of Germany Düren was situated Malcolm had not the faintest idea. He had yet to learn that it was a small town in Rhenish Prussia roughly midway between Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne. The prisoner kept his eyes open during his progress through the narrow streets. Everywhere were signs of industrial activity. The workshops were disgorging their occupants--old men, women, and children, whose emaciated features contrasted vividly with those of the prosperous munition-workers in Great Britain. At the outskirts of the town was a large, newly-erected factory, from which Gotha machines, their wings folded for transit, were being taken away in large motor-lorries, while sandwiched between the building and the outskirts of the town proper was a large barbed-wire compound within which were rows of wooden huts. This was Malcolm's prison camp. So great was the Huns' fear of air raids over the industrial towns of the Rhine valley that several of the larger places of detention for prisoners of war had been broken up, and the men sent to numerous small camps in close proximity to towns within the radius of hostile airmen. "This will be a tight hole to squeeze through," soliloquized the new arrival, as he noted the elaborate precautions taken against any attempt on the part of the prisoners to escape. The double gateway was strongly guarded by armed troops, assisted by a particularly ferocious-looking type of dog. Between the outer and inner rectangular fences, a distance of fifty feet, more guards kept vigilant watch; while at frequent intervals tall look-out boxes had been erected to enable the sentries to keep the whole of the camp under observation. Both fences were made of barbed wire, supported by massive posts, and so Criss-crossed that even a cat would have had considerable difficulty in creeping through without injury from the sharp spikes. Having handed over their charge, the two Landsturmers were given a receipt for the delivery of the prisoner, and then dismissed. Malcolm's latest jailers were four stolid-looking Prussians, who, badly wounded in Flanders, had been retained as guards at the camp. By them the New Zealander was conducted to a building just within the second or inner gate. Here he was registered and given a number, and afterwards subjected to perfunctory examination by a doctor, who, finding that the prisoner exhibited no trace of infection or contagious disease, passed him as a fit inmate of the camp. In an adjoining room he was given a large sack and a filthy horse-cloth. The former, when filled with straw, was to serve as a bed; the latter was his one and only blanket. A printed list, in English, of the numerous rules and regulations was then handed to him, and the initiation ceremony of the new member of the Düren Prison Camp was completed. Escorted by an armed orderly, Malcolm was taken down the broad central road. A few prisoners in khaki rigs were standing disconsolately at the doors of the huts. Most of them shouted a rough but well-meaning greeting to the new arrival, to which Malcolm, understanding the purport of the unheard words, replied by a wave of his hand. In vain Rifleman Carr looked for a New Zealand uniform: these were mostly Tommies and Jocks, a sprinkling of Canadians, and two West Indians; Anzacs seemed to be unrepresented in the motley throng of captives. Presently Malcolm's escort halted, pointed to one of the numbers on the prisoner's card, and then to a corresponding number on the door of a hut. It was an intimation to the effect that, during the pleasure of the All Highest, Rifleman Carr was to be his guest in hut No. 7 of the Düren Detention Camp. "What's the latest, chum?" enquired a Tommy as Malcolm entered. "Blow me if 'e ain't barmy!" "Rot!" ejaculated another. "He's deaf. What's his regiment, I wonder? Come on, chaps, let's make the poor beggar comfortable." "A jolly hard thing to do in this rotten hole," added a third. "Who's got a pencil?" A stump was presently forthcoming, and, writing upon a piece of brown paper, the last speaker, a sergeant of an English line regiment, contrived to get in touch with the new arrival. "He's a New Zealander," he announced to his companions. "Isn't there one of their chaps in No. 4? I'll give him the tip." So saying, the good-natured non-com. left the hut, to return with a tall, bearded man, whose uniform was sufficiently intact to indicate that he belonged to the New Zealand Rifle Brigade. Even his hat was tolerably well preserved, even to the encircling red cord. For a few minutes the two men from "Down Under" stood facing each other, astonishment and incredulity written in their faces. Then, with a loud bang, something seemed to give way in Malcolm's ears. With a vehemence that surprised himself, Malcolm Carr almost shouted the name of "Peter!" The next instant the brothers were shaking hands and rapping out questions, to the surprise of the other occupants of the hut, who had suspicions that they were the victims of a practical joke. "I don't know that it's so very remarkable after all," declared the Sergeant. "Plenty of fellows, deaf and dumb through concussion, have recovered speech and hearing by a shock of some sort. My word, those Diggers can talk!" He crossed the room to where the brothers were exchanging experiences. "Look here," he said. "I'm in charge of this hut, and my pal Jeffson is responsible for No. 4. After roll-call I'll arrange for you (indicating Malcolm) to doss in No. 4, and get another man from there to take your place here. Only, if you don't want to get me into a regular row with the camp commandant, take care to slip back before morning roll-call." Peter Carr's greatest concern was the fact that he had never received a letter or parcel from New Zealand. He had written several times, but Malcolm was able to inform him that, up to a comparatively recent date, their father had not heard anything about Peter beyond the official statement that he was wounded and missing. "I say," remarked the elder Carr in the course of the evening, "we'll have to make a change--a shift round. I've a Canuk for my linked man." "Linked man?" echoed Malcolm. "What's that?" "We're expecting and hoping for a raid," explained Peter. "Only three nights ago we heard bombs dropping on Julich, which is but a few miles away. So if some of our airmen do make a stunt, we'll take our chances of being blown up and make a dash for liberty. Since it would be madness for the whole crush to keep together, we've arranged to separate, if we do get clear, and work in pairs. Everything's all cut and dry, and we are told off in twos; but I'll push the Canadian on to the previous odd man out, and we'll stick together." It was long after midnight when the reunited brothers ended their conversation. Nor did sleep follow quickly as far as Malcolm was concerned. It was not the constant clatter of machinery and the rasping of dozens of circular saws in the adjoining factories that kept him awake, but the excitement of the day, culminating in the discovery of his elder brother, whom he had regarded as dead for months past. Early next morning the prisoners were served with a meagre and ill-nourishing meal, consisting of turnip soup and a dirty-coloured liquid that was supposed to be coffee. This was supplemented by food sent from home, the men putting the edible contents of all their parcels into a common stock. At six they were told off in gangs for work either on the roads or in the fields. The Huns had tried hard to compel them to labour in the mines, but such was the indomitable spirit of the luckless sons of the British Empire that the attempt ended in failure. Malcolm was fairly fortunate in being in the same party as his brother, their work being to construct new roads in the vicinity of the large aircraft factory. The prisoners were too well guarded to have the faintest chance of escape. Even those in the open fields were careful to keep together; any man straying more than twenty yards from the rest of the party being liable to be shot by the numerous armed guards. "All in good time, Malcolm," remarked his brother, when discussing the subject of escape. "It's not much use having a few minutes' liberty and then being done in. Two of the boys tried the game a short time ago; both were back within half an hour. One had to be carried in with a gunshot wound in both legs and a bullet through his neck. The other lost a couple of fingers, and was badly bitten by the watch-dogs. That sort of thing cools a fellow down a bit; but when we get a fair chance----!" Days ran into weeks, weeks into months, but the expected agent of deliverance was not forthcoming. The men had made their plans. Food of a nature that would not deteriorate by keeping had been laid by at the cost of great self-sacrifice. A map, cut from a pre-war Baedeker, had been passed from hand to hand, in order to give the men a fair idea of their whereabouts. One night the men were for the most part asleep on their straw mattresses, dog-tired with their labours, when the hitherto constant whirr of machinery stopped. Accustomed to the clang and clatter, the sleepers were aroused by the unusual silence. The hut was in darkness, for lights were luxuries denied the prisoners. "What's up?" enquired one of the men, as a steam whistle began to send out a succession of high and low blasts. "Time you were, chum!" replied Peter. "Out of it, boys, and get your gear! Now's our chance!" CHAPTER XXIV Escape Deftly and quickly the men dressed in the darkness. Much practice enabled them to don their scanty clothing and badly-worn foot-gear. "Fritz has got the wind up properly this time," declared the Sergeant, as the sound of scurrying feet and cries and shouts of alarm rose on the still air. "Work's knocked off for the rest of the night, I reckon, even if our airmen don't pay Düren a visit." He went to the door and peered cautiously down the roadway. Between the wire fences the watchdogs were barking furiously, adding to the din as the workers poured from the factories and rushed to their homes. "The Boches are still on guard," he reported, "an' the dogs; but ain't they in a funk. I can see their bayonets shaking." "The dawgs', Sargint?" asked a man facetiously. "But no sign of our airmen," continued the non-com., ignoring the chartered funny man's question. "Hope they won't give the show a miss after all. All ready, you chaps?" In the town the uproar was subsiding. The siren had ceased its two-pitched wail. The last of the powerful engines had stopped its belated purr. Even the watch-dogs were quieting down. The night was dark but clear; overhead the stars shone resplendent; a soft north-easterly breeze rustled the leaves. In the distance the rumble of heavily-laden trains could be heard, but still no sound of approaching British aircraft. A quarter of an hour passed in almost utter silence. The prisoners, assailed alternately by hopes and fears, strained their ears to catch the first faint purr of the aerial machines. "By Jove, they're at it!" exclaimed one as a couple of vivid flashes, followed after a short interval by three in quick succession, lit up the south-western horizon. "Shut up!" snapped the Sergeant, the while counting his pulse-beats between the first flash and the first report. "Boom, boom--boom, boom, boom!" The hollow, reverberating sound of five reports fell upon the listeners' ears. "Ten miles off," declared the non-com., as calmly as if giving the range of a howitzer. "Good!" Another flash, followed at a shorter interval by the crash of the exploding bomb told unmistakably that the raiders were approaching. The men felt like cheering. Even the prospect of being strafed by a British bomb did not cause them the slightest concern. In their blind faith they regarded a bomb as the key to unlock their prison doors. Very faintly at first, then steadily increasing in volume, came the hum of many British aircraft. "No Gothas this time!" exclaimed Peter, who, like the rest of the men, could distinguish with unfailing certainty the different "pitch" of the British and Hun machines. "Here they are!" almost shouted Malcolm, pointing into the night. He was not mistaken. Flying in perfect V-shaped formation, and at a low altitude that made the airmen more certain of hitting their objectives, were eleven biplanes standing out sharply against the star-lit sky. "Crash! crash!! crash!!!" Away on the left a battery of antis., the guns mounted on motor-lorries, opened a furious fire upon the rapidly-moving airmen. The air was thick with bursting shells, the flashes of which threw a lurid light upon the ground. The gunners were only a hundred yards or so from the barbed-wire enclosures. "We'll have the shrapnel on our heads when they shorten the range," observed one man. "No fear," replied Peter. "They'll be afraid of the stuff falling on their own thick skulls. Now, Malcolm, stand by. Hurrah, there go the white-livered Landsturmers!" Which was a fact. Panic-stricken, the grey-bearded and bald-headed guards deserted their posts and bolted precipitately, as if by running they could outstrip a squadron of biplanes moving at a hundred miles an hour. The dogs, too, had changed their tune--instead of barking they were whining dolefully. Right overhead the leading aircraft of the V formation seemed to swoop. The Huns, as Peter Carr had predicted, had ceased fire, and were tearing away to take up a fresh position whence they could serve their guns without fear of the earth-returning shrapnel peppering their gunners. An ear-splitting roar announced that the strafing of Düren had commenced. A powerful bomb had landed fairly in the centre of the principal factory, blowing out the walls and sending showers of bricks, stones, tiles, and timber far and wide. It was the first of several. The very ground seemed to emit fire, the earth trembled under the terrific concussions, dense clouds of smoke were rising up from the disintegrated buildings, while the din was indescribably awful. "Now's our time!" roared the Sergeant. "No. 2 hut's empty. Good luck, chaps!" Into the open the men ran, not away from the adjoining and badly-shattered factory but towards it. As they expected, some of the bombs had fallen wide of the building and had blown gaps in the double fence. "Keep together, Malcolm," shouted Peter. "You bet," replied his brother. Unmolested, the crowd of prisoners slid boldly into the deep crater formed by the explosion of one of the missiles and scrambled up the other side. Almost before they were aware of it they had passed what had been lines of unclimbable fence. They were free men--but for how long? Across the deserted main road and into the open country beyond, the fugitives ran, none to say them nay. Then, according to previous plans, they separated, each couple taking a different direction, until the two brothers found themselves alone. Behind them the bombs were still falling. The raiders were circling over their objectives. Since they had flown such a long distance they were determined to do the job thoroughly. "Tip-and-run tactics" had no supporters in the British Air Service. "Make sure of your target, even if you have to sit on it," was one of the maxims of the daring pilots belonging to a breed that produces the best airmen in the world, bar none. Alternately running and walking briskly, the two Carrs covered a distance of about three miles without any attempt at caution. They were confident that no Hun was abroad that night within miles of the scene of the raid, with the exception of the anti-aircraft gunners. These, intent upon their work, and perforce kept to the highways, were not likely to give trouble. Right and left, within hailing distance, were other fugitives, but for all the sound they made they might be a league or more away. Once Peter stopped to wrench up a couple of young saplings. "Take this," he said, handing one to his brother. "It may come in handy." Beyond that, no words were exchanged for the best part of an hour. Moving more cautiously, the twain set their faces resolutely towards the west and liberty. Both brothers had had plenty of experience of night journeys in far-off New Zealand, but, in place of the Southern Cross, they now had the less-familiar Great Bear and the North Star to guide them. Frequently they had to make detours in order to avoid isolated farm-houses. Once a considerable distance had to be traversed in order to pass a large village. The place was so shrouded in darkness that the fugitives were within a hundred yards of the nearmost house before they discovered the fact; for, although the sky was clear, a light ground-mist of ever-varying density made observation a matter of difficulty. "It will be dawn in half an hour," remarked Malcolm. "Yes, worse luck!" rejoined his brother. "We'll have to find somewhere to hide. That's the worst of these short nights. I wanted to cover a good thirty miles before daybreak, but it's doubtful whether we've done twenty. The question is, where can we hide?" "Those trees," suggested Malcolm, pointing to a cluster of heavily-foliaged oaks. "Not much. The Boches will make a mark on every tree within fifty miles of Düren. They'll take it for granted that every man of us will make for a tree-top. Long grass--_bonsor_ if we can avoid treading it too much. Farm buildings--very doubtful. We'll carry on for another ten minutes, and keep one eye skinned for a suitable show." Before they had covered another hundred yards the two men found that further progress was impeded by a broad canal. To the right the waterway was clear and uninterrupted, as far as the now-thickening mist permitted. To the left was a string of barges; beyond, looming faintly through the air, the outlines of a house and the uprights of a swing bridge. "Lock-keeper's cottage," declared Peter. "There's a light burning. Friend Hans is evidently entertaining the bargees and ignores Kaiser Bill's lighting restrictions. We'll scout round and then take the liberty of crossing the lock bridge." "One moment," remonstrated his brother. "Cover's what we are looking for. We aren't out to run up against a Boche lock-keeper. Can't we hide in one of these boats?" Peter glanced doubtfully at the idle barges. There were four in a string, their bows pointing westwards. When the journey was resumed the coaly flotilla would be proceeding nearer the German-Dutch frontier--perhaps to Holland itself, as almost every ton of coal imported into that country, since the tightening of the blockade, came from the Westphalian pits and was exchanged for badly-wanted foodstuffs. "Sit tight a minute," he said. "I'll have a look round." Cautiously the elder Carr stepped from the bank upon the deck of the foremost barge. Even then his boots grated loudly upon the thick deposit of coal dust upon the grimy planks. For some seconds he stood still, his ears strained to detect the first sounds of a disturbed sleeper. Reassured, Peter crept aft, where a slightly raised deck formed the roof of a small cuddy or cabin. The sliding hatch was closed, and secured on the outside by a padlock. "It's pretty evident that the place is deserted," he decided, "unless Hans has locked Gretchen up inside while he clears out to see his pals. I wonder if there's a cuddy-hole in the other end of the boat, where the crew keep ropes and spare gear?" Making his way for'ard, Peter discovered that there was a forepeak, but the cover was securely padlocked. No place of refuge there! He paused and surveyed the mound of coal glistening in the misty starlight. "I wonder--yes there was an old barrel on the bank; that will do." Seized by an inspiration, Peter joined his brother. "Look slippy!" he exclaimed. "We'll hide under the coal. We'll have to throw some of it overboard first, and get this old barrel to form our trench props." Silently the two men boarded the barge. At the after end of the cargo space, the roaming of the raised deck projected slightly. Here they set to work to remove a portion of the coal. Unless the stuff was unloaded there was little chance of discovery, since the bargee could not see the spot from where he stood to steer. Working quietly and silently the New Zealanders removed a sufficient number of lumps of coal, and dropped them into the water without making a splash. In a very short time a hollow six or seven feet in length and three in breadth was excavated. The barrel staves, set slantwise between the sloping bank of coal and the after bulkhead, served as a roof, while, to camouflage their place of concealment, coal was piled on the boards until the new level was about the same as the original one. By the time they had completed their task dawn was breaking. The vivid crimson shafts of light and the rosy tints just above the horizon betokened the approach of bad weather. "Spotted, by Jove!" ejaculated Malcolm, pointing towards the tall reeds that fringed the landward side of the tow-path. Peter followed the direction of his brother's outstretched hand. Less than fifty feet away the reeds had been parted, disclosing the heads and shoulders of two men. "Swim for it!" he exclaimed; but, as the Carrs ran to the side of the barge, with the intention of taking a header into the canal, a voice was heard calling: "Not so much of a blinkin' 'urry, Diggers!" [Illustration: "IT'S SPUD MURPHY AND JOE JENNINGS!"] CHAPTER XXV On the Barge Pulling himself up just in time, Malcolm turned and looked again at the gap in the rushes as the two men emerged cautiously and crept towards the barge. "It's Spud Murphy and Joe Jennings!" he exclaimed. "Right you are, chum," replied the latter. "Thought as 'ow we were the farthest west of our little crush. You've been mighty nippy, mates. What's your move?" "We've constructed a dug-out," replied Peter, pointing to the concealed lair, of which only the narrow entrance was visible. "An' good luck to ye," rejoined the Irishman. "Faith we'll not be for keepin' ye company for long. Sure, a bargain's a bargain; but we'll jist be havin'a few wurrds wid yez before we carry on." "You can try your luck with us," said Peter. "Och, no!" replied Murphy. "Four's jist two too many. Will you have seen any of the bhoys?" "Not a sign after we separated," answered the elder Carr. "Have you?" "Only the Sargint, just about an hour ago," replied Private Jennings. "He'd lost touch with his chum an' was limpin' along. It's my belief he copped it from a splinter of a bomb. Anyway 'e wouldn't own up to it, and choked us off when we offered to give 'im a 'and. 'Ow much farther to the blinkin' frontier, Digger? It can't be much more, can it?" Neither of the New Zealanders could give a definite reply, but, to cheer the men up, Peter expressed his opinion that another thirty miles would see them in Dutch territory. "An' then it won't be long afore I'm in Blighty again," continued Jennings hopefully. "Three long measly years since I saw an English girl. Honest, I'll go down on me blinkin' knees an' kiss the shoe of the first girl I meet in Blighty, even if she's got a face like a muddy duck-board." "You're speaking metaphorically, I take it," remarked Peter. "I met a who?" enquired Private Jennings. "Lumme, I don't want to meet nobody while I'm on blinkin' German soil. Come on, Spud, let's be shiftin'. S'long, chums, an' good luck!" As a matter of fact, the two fugitives, when they arrived at the canal bank, intended to hide themselves in a similar manner to that decided upon by Peter and Malcolm Carr. Finding themselves forestalled, their simple yet steadfast code of honour would not permit them to remain. The decision made at Düren Camp, that the escaping men should separate in pairs, was to be rigidly adhered to. The New Zealanders realized the fact, and that it would be useless to renew their offer that the four should seek a common hiding-place. "_Kia ora_, boys!" exclaimed Peter. "And may we meet across the frontier!" added Malcolm. Noiselessly the two Tommies lowered themselves into the water and swam with long steady strokes to the opposite bank. Creeping on all-fours across the tow-path, they vanished in the tall grass beyond. "Jolly good sorts," declared Peter. "Come on, Malcolm; it's time we went to roost." It was indeed. The daylight was rapidly increasing in strength. The mist was rolling away under the influence of a faint easterly breeze. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of the lock-keeper's cottage cocks were crowing lustily. Malcolm backed into the coal-screened lean-to shelter; his brother followed, and, having deposited his bulky carcass in the hollow, began to pile lumps of coal over the entrance. "Thank goodness they didn't whitewash the coal!" he remarked. "Why whitewash?" asked his brother curiously. "To stop thefts," was the reply. "I wondered what the idea was when I saw whitewashed stacks of coal in various railway sidings in England, so I enquired. A thief couldn't disturb the heap without leaving a tell-tale black gap in the whitened level of the stack. How about grub? I'm feeling hungry." "And so am I," admitted Malcolm. "We're rationed on a four-days basis, aren't we?" The meal consisted of a Plasmon biscuit, a small bar of chocolate, and a slice of potato bread. The brothers ate in silence, their ears strained to catch the first sound of the returning bargees. "We ought to have provided ourselves with water," whispered Peter. "We never bargained for being cooped up here, otherwise I would have brought a tin." "I'm not thirsty," said Malcolm, "but isn't it cold?" "Rather!" admitted Peter with conviction. "It's early morning yet, and the coal has lost its heat by radiation. Before midday we'll be hot enough, I fancy, with the sun pouring down upon our black roof. Hist! Footsteps!" The sounds of heavily-shod feet crunching on the dew-soddened gravel drew nearer and nearer. Then voices could be distinguished. "Women!" whispered Malcolm. The New Zealanders listened intently. The sound of footsteps ceased, although the voluble conversation continued. Then the thudding foot-falls drew nearer, while the unmistakable sound of a coil of rope being thrown upon the deck of one of the other barges was heard. The clamour drew closer. Supposedly the string of barges was "manned" by women, the diminishing group halting at each barge to prolong the conversation before the crews boarded their respective boats, until, by the clatter almost overhead, the fugitives knew that the last barge had received its complement--two, perhaps three, buxom and stolid German women. Malcolm could hear the padlock to the cabin hatch being unlocked. Pails clattered, water sluiced along the diminutive after deck. Despite the dirty nature of the cargo, the crew were making determined efforts to keep the deck and Cuddy clean. Wood crackled in the cabin stove, smoke wafted for'ard, wisps eddying into the fugitives' hiding-place. Then came the appetizing odour of frying sausages. An hour passed; still no indication that the barges were starting on their daily journey. Two boats, however, passed, proceeding in the opposite direction, each drawn by a horse. Malcolm could hear the lap of the water against the bows. That was a fairly sure indication, taking into consideration the direction of the wind, that the barges were going eastwards. With a following wind the ripples would be absent, or, at least, hardly perceptible. As each barge passed there was a lively exchange of greetings between their crews and those of the stationary boats; but, in spite of the fact that the Carrs had picked up several German words during their period of captivity, the hidden listeners were unable to understand the conversation, beyond the knowledge that it referred largely to the air raid of the previous night. Then a steam-propelled craft came up, fussily and noisily. Abreast of the foremost barge she reversed engines and manoeuvred until a heavy bump, followed by the groaning of rope fenders between the two craft, announced that the tug--for such was her rôle--as alongside. "I hope they won't want to take in coal," thought Malcolm. Moments of suspense followed, but there was no attempt on the part of the men comprising the tug's crew to remove any portion of the barge's cargo. Judging by the sounds, they were preparing to take the string of barges in tow, for Malcolm could hear a heavy hawser being dragged along the barge's waterways and made fast to the towing-bitts a few feet from the bows. The engine-room telegraph-bell clanged. With the water hissing under her stern the tug forged ahead. Then, with a jerk, as the hawser took up the strain, the barge began to glide through the water. Then another jerk announced that barge No. 2 had started; another and another, until the cumbersome flotilla was in motion. Already, cramped in their close quarters, the New Zealanders were beginning to feel the effects of the heat, as Peter had predicted. Overhead the hot sun poured pitilessly down upon the absorbent coal. The air in the confined space was hot and stuffy. Their throats burned with a torturing thirst--and the day was not more than seven hours old. At irregular intervals the barges had to be passed through locks, and since the locks admitted only two boats at a time, and the hawser had to be cast off before the gate opened and secured again when the lower level was reached, progress was tediously slow. Bridges, too, caused delays, for, in spite of vigorous blasts of the tug's fog-horn, the persons in charge displayed no great activity in manning the winches by which the obstructions were swung. Early in the afternoon the flotilla approached a large town. The hum of industrialism was plainly audible to the two fugitives. The barges were constantly bumping into craft either tied up to the quays or proceeding in the opposite direction. There were swarms of mischievous boys on the banks, whose sole amusement seemed to be throwing stones at the irate bargees, until one of the women grew so furious that she leapt upon the coal that screened the New Zealanders' retreat, and picking up fragments hurled them at her tormentors. It was another period of great anxiety. The barrel-staves creaked under the weight of the bulky German woman. Some of the lumps began to shift, while particles of coal dust, filtering through the interstices, floated in the already-stifling air, causing intense irritation to the fugitives' eyes and throats. With feelings of profound relief the New Zealanders heard the woman striding back to her place beside the long tiller, while the next moment the already-gloomy dug-out was plunged into profound darkness. The barge was entering a tunnel--one of several by which the canal was led underneath the town. Malcolm welcomed this new phase of the voyage in inland waters. The air was comparatively cool, a pleasing relief from the hot sunshine in the open; but before long the disadvantages of the tunnel made themselves apparent. The din was terrific. The sound of the grunting and groaning of the tug's noisy engine was magnified tenfold, echoing and re-echoing along the domed expanse, while clouds of sulphurous smoke permeated everything. Yet, the while, there was the comforting thought that, unless the general direction of the canal had changed, every revolution of the tug's propellers was bearing the fugitives nearer the frontier and freedom. On emerging from the tunnel the string of barges stopped alongside a wharf. The tug, its mission accomplished, cast off and steamed away. Malcolm felt anxious. Was this basin in the heart of a populous town to be the journey's end for the flotilla? If so, the brothers were in a very tight corner indeed. Peter, too, was sharing in Malcolm's unspoken thoughts. More so when an unmistakably military command was issued at a few feet distant. Peering through a gap in the barrier of lumps of coal the New Zealanders saw a corporal and three men armed with rifles standing on the wharf, with a crowd of interested spectators lounging in the background. Did it mean that the Huns had a suspicion that some of the escaped prisoners from Düren Camp had found a refuge on one of the barges? Another order, and the soldiers stepped on board. The metal butts of the rifles clattered on the planks, and a spirited conversation ensued between the corporal--occasionally aided by his men--and the three women comprising the barge's crew. During the conversation a lean and decrepit horse, led by a boy of about ten or eleven years of age, arrived at the wharf. In a leisurely manner one of the crew went forward and threw a rope, the end of which was fastened to the animal's traces. Most of this the New Zealanders could not see; while presently they heard the wretched beast's hoofs slipping on the cobbles as the barge slowly gathered way. Although the soldiers remained on board, the Carrs' fears were not fully confirmed. The barge was about to enter another tunnel that happened to pass directly under a large and important munitions factory. With characteristic caution and forethought the Huns left nothing undone to safeguard their proceedings; hence, in the case of barges using the subterranean waterway, a corporal's guard was placed upon each during the journey through the tunnel. Contrary to the New Zealanders' expectations, the barge, beyond stopping to land the guard, did not tie up for the night within the limits of the town; but, maintaining a two-miles-an-hour pace, held on until the lengthening shadows announced the close of another day. Having made all secure, the women bargees left the boat. The sound of the led horse's hoofs grew fainter and fainter, until silence reigned supreme. "How about it?" whispered Malcolm. "My throat is like a chunk of hot lava. If I don't get a drink of water I'll go dilly!" "Wait till it's dark," suggested the cautious Peter. "If we remove the coal from the mouth of our hiding-place, and someone drifts past, there'll be trouble." Peering through a narrow gap between the large lumps of coal, Peter made the discovery that the tow-path against which the barge lay was clear, and apparently right out in the country and free from the presence of buildings. The fact puzzled him. Why on two consecutive nights the barge should choose a berth far from a town or village required a lot of explanation. He could only suggest that the women manning the boat took care to avoid Populous districts, so that they could go ashore without exposing the cargo to the predatory activities of the war-tried inhabitants. "Time!" whispered Peter at length. Deftly the brothers set to work to remove the barrier, although once a large mass of coal slid noisily against the wooden bulkhead. When the opening was sufficiently enlarged, Malcolm crept cautiously out into the open, only to throw himself flat on his face. The canal bank visible from the New Zealanders' shelter was deserted, but on the opposite side of the waterway was a large three-storied, red-tiled house. At one of the open windows sat two men smoking long, bent-stemmed pipes. From their elevated situation they could command the whole of the exposed surface of the barge's cargo. The wonder was that the sight of Malcolm's head and shoulders emerging from the hole had escaped their notice. Quick to perceive that something was amiss, Peter forbore to question his brother. In deep suspense Malcolm lay with his face flattened against the coal, scarce daring to move a muscle, and fervently expressing a wish that the night would speedily grow darker than it was. A quarter of an hour passed. Judging by the persistence with which the two smokers stuck to their seats by the open window, Malcolm felt certain that they had a special interest in the barge and its contents. Presently Malcolm felt himself in a cold sweat, for the sound of approaching footsteps came from the tow-path. Although the new-comers trod stealthily, the stillness of the air and the conducting properties of the calm water carried the sound of their footfalls with disconcerting clearness. Opposite the boat the footsteps ceased. The people, whoever they were, were intent upon something on the barge. Then, leaping lightly upon the waterways, the men, as they proved to be, crept softly aft towards the place where Malcolm lay in the starlight. CHAPTER XXVI At the Frontier A prey to the wildest apprehensions, Malcolm Carr flattened himself on his hard, uneven bed. Rapidly he debated as to his course of action; whether to regain his feet and throw himself upon the two men before they had time to recover from their surprise, or to keep perfectly still in the hope that he would be unnoticed. He could hear Peter shifting his position, ready to join in the imminent struggle. "Wer da?" shouted a guttural voice from the window of the house across the canal. Immediately after came the "pluff" of an air-gun being discharged, and a pellet thudded against a post on the tow-path. With muttered exclamations the two men took to their heels, while the watchers, leaving their post at the window, ran downstairs, presently to reappear accompanied by a large dog. For a moment or two they stood looking across the canal at the barge; then, calling the animal to heel, they walked rapidly in the direction of a bridge about a quarter of a mile away. "This is too hot a show for us, Malcolm," whispered Peter, as he emerged from his hiding-place. "That dog will be our undoing. Those fellows are evidently crossing the canal to inspect the barge in case the thieves have had time to take anything." Clearly it was too risky to land and run across the fields; the dog would track the fugitives with the greatest ease. The question was how they were to put the animal off the scent in the brief time that remained before the watchmen, or whoever they might be, arrived upon the scene. "You said you were thirsty," continued Peter grimly. "Now's your chance. Overboard and hang to the rudder." Silently the fugitives lowered themselves into the water, and, swimming cautiously, gained the slight protection afforded by the bluff overhang of the boat's quarter and long, projecting rudder. Hanging on to a chain, and keeping in the shadow, the brothers awaited developments, knowing that if the now open entrance to their dug-out were spotted, suspicion would be diverted from the marauders to them. Since the news of the escape of a numerous body of prisoners from Düren must have been sent far and wide, the inference that the barge had been a hiding-place for some of their number was obvious. Up came the two watchmen, breathing stentorously, for they were middle-aged and corpulent. They were in uniform; each was armed with an air-rifle and a short sword. Malcolm could hear them walking along the barge, testing the locks of the fore and after cuddies, and examining the metal fittings of the winch and the tiller-head. One of the men even flashed an electric torch over the side, but it was a purely perfunctory action. Meanwhile the dog was sniffing on the track of the would-be thieves, and made no attempt to go farther than the spot where the men had been brought up by the canal official's hail. Finally, after a considerable amount of argument, the watchmen whistled the dog, regained the tow-path, and walked briskly in the direction the marauders had gone. "Peter," whispered his brother, "I'm a silly ass!" "Eh?" "I forgot about my ration when I went overboard. It's sopping wet." "So's mine," added Peter. "I took mine deliberately. It couldn't be helped. If we'd left the stuff on the barge that dog would have discovered it. A packet with the word 'London' printed on it would give the show away absolutely. For one thing, the stuff's been soaking in fresh water." "And so have I," rejoined Malcolm. "At any rate, my thirst is quenched, and we have to spend the rest of the night in wet clothes." "I'm going to try my hand at house robbery," announced Peter. "Although I couldn't understand all the conversation between those two fellows, I managed to learn that they decided to go to the nearest village and get the police to make enquiries of the whereabouts of a certain Karl Hoeffer--evidently one of the two men who gave us an unpleasant five minutes. You're not to come; this is a one-man job. Make your way back to our hiding-place, wring out your wet clothes--over the coal, mind--and wait till I come back." Malcolm knew that his elder brother's word was law in such matters. It was useless to expostulate. As he regained the barge he could just discern Peter's figure creeping up the opposite bank of the canal. In ten minutes Peter was back again with the best part of a rye loaf, a large sausage, and a piece of cheese, all wrapped up in a couple of blankets. "'Nuff said!" he remarked. "Wrap yourself up and eat. I'll tell you about it later." The blankets were dry and comforting, the food really appetizing, and, having made a satisfying meal, the brothers slept soundly after forty hours of unceasing vigilance. As Peter had expected, he experienced no serious difficulty on his foraging expedition. The house was deserted, but by means of a stack-pipe he entered by the open window at which the watchmen had been sitting. Having raided the pantry, the New Zealander removed a blanket from each of two separate beds, taking care that outwardly the beds appeared undisturbed. To cross the canal without wetting the food and blankets he swam back with the spoils held over his head. By the time the things were missed, the barge, with ordinary luck, ought to be miles away. With the first streak of dawn the sleepers awoke, feeling greatly refreshed. Malcolm had taken the precaution to fill a tin with water from the canal. The liquid was fresh to a certain degree, and men who have served in the trenches are not fastidious. The main point was that the fugitives would be able to quench their thirst during the heat of the day. Their wet clothes were spread out against the wall of their retreat, so that the heat of the sun's rays, penetrating the absorbent coal, would dry them sufficiently for the men before nightfall. Shortly after sunrise the remaining barges of the flotilla, which had been tied up for the night at some distance along the canal, came up and passed the solitary craft. Before her crew returned with the horse, the previously leading barge became the last of the group. The second day passed much like the first, except that the heat was not so trying, and that the men in hiding did not suffer from thirst. About four o'clock in the afternoon of the next day a longer halt than usual occurred. Making use of their observation-holes the stowaways saw that the craft had tied up alongside another barge which was fast to a long quay. Beyond was a row of tall, quaintly-built houses with picturesque red-tiled roofs and fronted by a line of closely-trimmed trees. Nearly fifty people were lounging about, regarding the new arrival with curious interest, while on the adjoining barge stood about a dozen men in grimy overalls, with planks, barrows, and spades, in readiness to commence work. Like ants the coal-heavers swarmed over the heaped-up cargo, shovelling the coal into barrows and trundling them along the planks on to the quay, whence they disappeared into a large shed about a hundred yards away. With feelings of satisfaction the New Zealanders saw that the for'ard portion of the cargo was the first to be dealt with, and that, before the man with the first load returned with his empty barrow, five others were on the way, leaving six on board. "No use waiting to be dug out," whispered Peter. "Now's our chance, if at all." With a mighty heave of his shoulders Peter sent the barrel staves and their superimposed covering of coal flying. Before the coal-heavers could grasp what was happening, the two men leapt across the intervening barge and gained the quay. With lowered heads they charged straight for the nearmost of the waterside idlers. Right and left scattered the dumbfounded spectators, and without any attempt at obstruction the fugitives gained the open and unfrequented part of the quay. Not until they had put fifty yards between them and the barge did the onlookers grasp the situation, then, joined by the coal-heavers, who had abandoned their task, the whole crowd started in pursuit, yelling loudly in an unintelligible manner. At the end of the quay the main street bore off to the left, and from that point there were houses on both sides. Those on the right had gardens of gradually-increasing length running down to the canal, which was here a considerably wide waterway. Everywhere along the canal wharves were barges, often double- and triple-tiered, but alongside the waterside edges of the gardens were several small pleasure-craft. Every house seemed to possess one. Another thing Peter noticed was that the nearmost of the houses on the canal side of the street was separated from the quay by a supplementary waterway that burrowed under the road. Along the cobbled street the two men ran, Passers-by stood stock-still in amazement. A grey-coated policeman drew his sabre and attempted to bar the way, shouting peremptorily in a manner that clearly indicated "Stop!" "In here!" exclaimed Peter, and literally bundled his brother into an open doorway, then slammed and bolted the door. "We've five minutes fresh start at least," he said hurriedly. "Come along through. There's a boat at the end of the garden." Even as they made their way through a spotlessly-clean kitchen, to the consternation of a portly woman-servant, Malcolm could not help noticing the resplendant copper vessels on the shelves. Evidently the owner of the house had not conformed to the Imperial German Government's order to surrender all metal suitable for the manufacture of munitions. At the farther part of the garden two men were sitting at a table. One was a rotund pleasant-faced man of about fifty who was puffing sedately at a long-stemmed, huge-bowled pipe. The other, holding a large cigar in his hand, was certainly not far off sixty years of age, clean-shaven, 'and dressed in a manner more like an Englishman than a German. Before the smokers could rise from their seats the two fugitives were past and dropping over the low wall into a boat. "Push off, Malcolm!" shouted Peter, as he gripped the oars. "What's your hurry, you fellows?" asked a deliberately cool voice from above. "Can't you behave yourselves in a neutral country? What's the trouble?" Leaning on the wall, his grey eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth, was the elder of the two men who had been sitting in the garden. At his elbow was the other, gesticulating and protesting volubly at the bull-in-a-chinashop tactics of the intruders. "Neutral country?" repeated the astounded Peter. "What do you mean? Where are we?" "In Holland. To be more precise, in the town of Roermonde," was the surprising information. "You've done a bunk from Germany, I presume? I thought so. It's all right, Mynheer van Enkhuizen," he continued in English, addressing the Dutchman; "these are some of my compatriots who have escaped from Germany." "In that case it does matter not at all," replied the owner of the house in the slow hesitating manner of foreign-spoken English. "It is of no consequence that your friends have trampled through my dwelling and over my garden. Excuse me. I will inform the noisy crowd also that it is not of any consequence, and then I will instruct Katje to provide food for your military friends." "Come into the house," exclaimed the Englishman. "I'll hear your story presently, although I presume you are two of the men who got away from Düren. Eight of them have crossed the frontier up to the present, and I shouldn't be surprised if others do the same in the course of the next few days. My name? Oh, just Brown--of London! Yes, that will be all right. Von Enkhuizen, although his manner may seem a bit erratic according to British notions, is a genuinely sympathetic fellow. You've fallen on your feet, both of you." For three days the two refugees enjoyed the Dutchman's hospitality. Then the Carrs were furnished with money and a ticket to enable them to travel via the Hook of Holland to England; and, with many earnest expressions of gratitude to their benefactors, Peter and Malcolm set out on their roundabout journey back to the firing-line in Flanders. CHAPTER XXVII The End of a Spy "By gum, Peter, we'll have to make ourselves precious scarce while this trip's on." exclaimed Malcolm as he rejoined his brother in the steerage of the S.S. _Koning der Zee_ after a tour of inspection. "Eh? What's wrong now?" enquired Peter, busily engaged in overhauling the contents of a small kit provided by his friends at Roermonde. "Nothing wrong," said his brother. "On the contrary, it's a bit of quite all right. I've just seen a delightful old pal, Konrad What's-his-Tally, otherwise Pieter Waas of Muizenburg fame. You remember I told you about him just before we said good-bye to Düren: how he diddled Fortescue, Selwyn, and me at the Cape and was collared on board the _Pomfret Castle_, and afterwards managed to join the N. Z. Rifle Brigade." "I remember, but I thought he went sky-high when the great mine went off at Messines," remarked the elder Carr. "There was a doubt about it," admitted Malcolm, "but the fact remains that he's on board this vessel. Except that he has bleached his hair, he has made no attempt to disguise himself. Suppose he imagined that it wouldn't be safe to trust to a false beard, or anything like that. The landing authorities would spot it. So we must keep well out of his way until we go ashore at Harwich." "Why both of us?" asked Peter. "I've never met him, and he's never run across me as far as I know. I'm in mufti, and so are you. I don't suppose he'd spot you in that rig-out." "I'm not going to give him the chance," declared Malcolm. "In spite of the fact that he's travelling first class and we're mere dirt in the steerage, I mean to keep below, out of sight." The _Koning der Zee_ was still berthed alongside the wharf at The Hook. "Blue Peter" was hoisted at the fore, while the Dutch national ensign floated from her ensign staff. Her sides were painted in red, white, and blue horizontal stripes, while amidships her name was displayed in letters six feet in height--in conformity with an arbitrary regulation made by an unscrupulous nation whose U-boats did not hesitate to torpedo at sight, despite the distinguishing marks of neutral craft. The mail-boat's passenger-list was a light one. There were about a dozen repatriated Britons from Ruhleben, a score of Dutch merchants, the two New Zealanders, and the spy, Konrad von Feldoffer. The latter, posing as a Gelderland potato-merchant, was on a highly important mission on behalf of his Imperial master in connection with the landing of United States troops in England. At first scorning the idea that Uncle Sam could render personal aid, the Huns were beginning to realize that the Americans were doing something great, and not merely "talking big". Von Feldoffer was, therefore, one of the first of a small army of spies entrusted with the risky task of sowing the seeds of discontent and enmity amongst the men from "across the Herring Pond". The German authorities knew full well the beneficial effect to their armies once they could provoke unhealthy rivalry and bitter dissension between the American and British troops, but they forgot the force of the trite quotation of an American admiral: "Blood is thicker than water". Konrad von Feldoffer was firmly convinced that, with a carefully prepared forged passport in his possession, he would be able to land without difficulty. He had never previously landed at Harwich, and with the slight disguise he adopted--bleaching his hair--he stood the remotest chance of being recognized. He had reckoned without Rifleman Malcolm Carr. The latter was watching the people on the jetty when he saw von Feldoffer, preceded by a couple of porters, elbowing his way through the crowd of onlookers to board the vessel. The late-comer was typically Dutch as far as his clothes and appearance went, but his face was that of Malcolm's acquaintance on the Muizenburg train. A second glance confirmed the New Zealander's suspicions. Promptly Malcolm turned and bolted down the companion, rejoining Peter in the steerage. "Bother the fellow!" exclaimed Peter. "He's done me out of the salt sea breezes. All right, I'll keep below; but really I don't see the use of doing so. It's not likely that a first-class passenger would invade the quarters of the steerage passengers." Assisted by a funny but powerful little tug, the _Koning der Zee_ drew clear of the wharf, and, slipping between the piers, gained the choppy waters of the North Sea. Beyond territorial waters danger unseen lurked. All on board realized the fact--it was Germany's version of the freedom of the seas. Serving out the life-belts was in itself a significance. Yet undeterred, the captain of the _Koning der Zee_ had sailed regularly since the memorable 4th of August, 1914, risking U-boats and floating mines to uphold the flag of Holland on waters that were hers by equal right with other nations of the world. Less than thirty miles from the Dutch coast the _Koning der Zee_ met her doom. Travelling at twenty-two knots, her bows struck the flexible wire bridle connecting a pair of mines. Like porpoises, the deadly cylinders swung towards the ship under the strain on the span. One struck the hull just below the water-line on the starboard side, nearly abaft the foremost funnel; the second bumped heavily under her port quarter. Practically simultaneously the deadly mechanical mines exploded. Calculated to blow a hole in the bottom of the most strongly constructed war-ship afloat, the mines simply pulverized the thin steel plating of the luckless Dutch vessel. Amidst the rush of escaping steam the _Koning der Zee_ began to settle rapidly. Well it was that the passenger list was a light one. Notwithstanding the fact that three boats had been blown to fragments by the explosions, the rest were practically intact. Promptly the undismayed crew bundled the passengers into them and lowered away--an easy task, since the vessel was sinking on a comparatively even keel. The captain and the wireless operator were the last to leave, the latter striving in vain to get the damaged transmitter into working order until peremptory orders from his superior obliged him to desist. Within eight minutes the _Koning der Zee_ had disappeared beneath the element which in name she professed to rule, leaving five boats tossing upon the choppy seas. "You've got plenty of sea breezes now, Peter," remarked his brother as they sat on the stern grating of one of the life-boats. "And salt spray thrown in. I wonder what the next move is to be?" "I don't mind very much, provided we are not picked up by a German ship," replied Peter. "Where's your pal the spy?" "In there," said Malcolm, indicating one of the boats lying at about a hundred yards distance. "He was mighty sharp in nipping in." The boats closed, their officers conferring with the captain as to what course to pursue. Since the conversation was in Dutch the New Zealanders understood not a word, but from the gestures of the skipper they concluded that the boats were to attempt to row back to the cost of Holland--a thirty-mile pull dead to windward, and in the teeth of a steadily-rising wind--unless picked up by another vessel in the meantime. "It's a bit of a game," continued Malcolm, "when the spy is mined by his own people. I wonder what he thinks about it." As a matter of fact, von Feldoffer was thinking furiously. He had been given to understand by the German Admiralty that instructions would be issued to U-boat commanders concerned that the _Koning der Zee_ was not to be molested on the day arranged for the spy to cross the North Sea. On the strength of this assurance von Feldoffer started for England; but, although the U-boats carried out instructions, the floating mines, once launched, did not conform to the mandate of the Berlin Admiralty. "Hallo, what's up now?" enquired Peter, observing that the attention of the Dutch sailors was directed to something on the northern horizon. He was not left long in doubt. Rapidly the "something" resolved itself into a long, lean, grey destroyer, from the mast of which two flags streamed in the breeze--and those flags were not the Black Cross of Germany, but the glorious White Ensign of Britain. "We heard the racket, so we came up to investigate," shouted the alert Lieutenant-Commander of H.M. destroyer _Angiboo_. "Come alongside as sharp as you can." "No, thanks!" replied the Dutch skipper in English. "I'm making for The Hook. If you'll receive some English passengers I will be obliged." "Think twice about it," replied the naval officer cheerfully. "The glass is tumbling down, and the Dutch coast is dead to windward. You'll never fetch there, unless I'm greatly mistaken." "Very well, then, I accept," decided the skipper of the lost mail-boat. With her quick-firers manned, in case a U-boat lurked in the vicinity, the _Angiboo_ stopped until the last of the passengers and crew of the _Koning der Zee_ gained her deck; then, quickly increasing speed to twenty-five knots, the destroyer shaped a south-westerly course to rejoin the rest of the flotilla. Presently Malcolm made his way for'ard until he reached the foot of the ladder reaching to the destroyer's bridge. "I'd like a few words with your captain," he said, addressing an able seaman. The man eyed the erratically-clad New Zealander with tolerant amusement. "A word with the owner, eh? Wot's wrong now, chum? Has your raggie pinched your dress-suit case?" "Cut it out, my man," said Malcolm authoritatively. "In your lingo, 'stow it'. Request your captain to see Mr. Carr, of the New Zealand Rifle Brigade." That did it. The intentionally-misleading use of the word 'mister' led the bluejacket to believe that Malcolm was a junior officer of one of the overseas contingent. For the first time in his life the young New Zealander received a Royal Navy salute. "Very good, sir," said the bluejacket. "I axes your pardon, sir; no offence meant." It was not long before Malcolm found himself in the presence of Lieutenant-Commander Sefton in the chart-room. Briefly he stated his case against the spy, Konrad von Feldoffer. "You are absolutely certain?" asked the Lieutenant-Commander. "There would be a most unholy rumpus if I ran the fellow in and he turned out to be a neutral of unimpeachable character." "I'll stake anything on what I say, sir," replied Malcolm. "If you will let me confront him----" "No, no!" interrupted the skipper of the _Angiboo_. "We don't want the dramatic touch on board this craft. I'll send for the master of the _Koning der Zee_, and get him to% bring Herr von Feldoffer to me. We'll do the job as politely as possible." Just at that moment the rest of the destroyer flotilla was sighted, bearing south-south-west. Until the _Angiboo_ resumed station her lieutenant-commander dared not leave the bridge. "Now," he resumed, "you make your way aft, and keep out of sight until I call you. I'll interview friend Feldoffer on the quarter-deck. Messenger, pass the word for the master of the Dutchman to see me in the ward-room." Malcolm followed the bluejacket down the ladder. Then, with every precaution, he made his way aft as far as the after funnel. From this position he was within hailing distance of the diminutive quarter-deck. Presently the messenger returned to the bridge and made his report. Lieutenant-Commander Sefton descended and proceeded to the officers' quarters aft. While the Dutch skipper was searching for the passenger, von Feldoffer was anxiously keeping an eye on the bridge, fearful lest any of the officers were shipmates with him on the armed merchant-cruiser. He saw Malcolm ascend the bridge, but, the latter being in mufti and having his back turned towards him, von Feldoffer did not recognize the New Zealander. But when Malcolm came down the ladder the astute Hun made the discovery that he was in a very tight corner. Deliberating with himself, the spy decided to "mark time" until events shaped themselves. It was a pure coincidence that the New Zealander and he were on the same boat; it might be that the latter's visit to the bridge was utterly unconnected with him. He hoped so; but still, things looked black. A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Von Feldoffer started violently, and, turning, found the master of the _Koning der Zee_ confronting him. "I startled you, Mynheer van Gheel," remarked the Dutch skipper, addressing the spy by the name he had assumed before leaving Holland. "The English captain wishes to see you in his cabin." "For what purpose, Mynheer?" enquired von Feldoffer uneasily. "_'t Spijt me!_" ejaculated the Dutchman. "How can I tell, unless it be that your signature is required to the written report upon the destruction of my unfortunate ship? It is purely a matter of form, I should imagine." Konrad von Feldoffer bowed, and, falling into step with the Dutchman, walked aft. "Look out, Malcolm!" whispered Peter, who had joined his brother by the after funnel. "The fellow's coming this way." Taken aback, Malcolm turned and faced the spy. The latter, betraying no sign of recognition, walked past him; then, before his companion or any of the bluejackets on deck could prevent him, he cleared the stanchion-rails and leapt headlong into the sea. "Man overboard!" Promptly a couple of life-buoys were hurled over the side. A petty officer proposed to dive after the suicide, but was instantly told to "Hold fast!" by one of the officers. A semaphore message was sent to the destroyer next astern to keep a look-out for the drowning man, but he was not seen again. Either his back had been broken on impact with the water, for the destroyer was making a good twenty-five knots, or else he had been caught by the blades of one of the two starboard propellers. "Perhaps it's for the best," commented Lieutenant-Commander Sefton when the circumstances of the tragedy were told him. "It has saved the nation the cost of a trial and a dozen rounds of ball ammunition." CHAPTER XXVIII In the Firing-line Again Ten days later Peter and Malcolm Carr found themselves told off to a draft that was about to leave Sling Camp for the Front. During that time Malcolm had been notified that the sum of one hundred pounds had been awarded him in recognition of his services in discovering the infernal machine in the coal-bunker of the transport _Pomfret Castle_. Other awards had been made to Sergeant Fortescue and Rifleman Selwyn. "A jolly useful sum!" remarked Peter. "What are you going to do with it?" "Cable it to New Zealand," replied Malcolm. "I don't want to touch it here if it can be avoided." "Think twice, old man," said his brother. "Bank it in a British bank, and then if you do want to draw it in a hurry it's there. You never know your luck. If anything should happen to you out there--one has to consider such a thing--the money can then be cabled to the governor." The draft from Sling was a large one. Report had it that another big "stunt" was imminent, and that New Zealand was to have the honour of being well represented in the impending operations. Almost without incident the draft crossed the Channel, and once more Malcolm found himself on the soil of France. It was now late September. Normandy looked its best, the leaves displaying their autumn tints, and the apple trees bending under the weight of fruit. And yet, only a few miles away, was the war-tortured belt of terrain, a mass of ruined buildings, even now being rebuilt, where Briton and Gaul were slowly yet surely wresting French soil from the Hun. Most of the New Zealanders around Étaples were now under canvas, the weather being fine, but with a sharp fall in temperature during the night. Upon the arrival of the new draft the men were told off to various companies, and once more the two Carrs were separated. Malcolm took the matter philosophically, knowing that in war-time a soldier cannot pick and choose his mates; but to his astonishment and delight he found that Fortescue and Selwyn were in the same lines. "Yes, I'm back again," remarked the former, after Malcolm had related his adventures. "I had a good time in Blighty, and when I was passed out by the medical board I was offered a staff job at Hornchurch." "And like a jay he turned it down," added Selwyn. "He might have had a soft time in Blighty; instead, he puts in for France--and just as winter's coming on, too." "One would imagine that you were a lead-swinger, Selwyn," exclaimed Fortescue. "Not so much of that, Digger," protested the latter. "Of course I couldn't hang behind when I've to look after big helpless Sergeant Fortescue." "What happened after you got your buckshie at Messines?" asked Malcolm. "A regular holiday--it was _bonsor_," replied Selwyn. "Nine hours after I got hit I was at Tin Town, Brockenhurst. Three weeks there and they pushed me on to Home Mead. Take my tip, Malcolm; if you get a buckshie try and work it to be sent there. Had the time of my life. The other boys will tell you the same. It is some hospital. Then back to Codford, where I had my leave." "Where did you go?" asked Malcolm. "The usual round; Edinburgh and Glasgow. Gorgeous time there, too; people were awfully kind." When the young rifleman described his Scottish journey as the usual round, he was referring to the somewhat curious fact that a large percentage of New Zealanders go to Edinburgh when granted leave after being discharged from hospital. It is a sort of solemn rite, and few men from "down under" go back to New Zealand without seizing the opportunity of paying a flying visit to the "Land of Burns". "So you saw a bit of Blighty, then?" remarked Malcolm. "Yes, rather!" was the reply; "and now I'm going to see a bit of France, or is it Belgium this time?" "Ask me another," replied Sergeant Fortescue. "All I know is that the division moves up to the front on the 3rd of next month, so it looks as if we're going to shake Fritz by the scruff of his neck." "Hallo, there's Mike Dowit!" exclaimed Malcolm, as the stretcher-bearer passed by. "How goes it, chum?" Stretcher-bearer Dowit stopped, crossed the road, and grasped the rifleman's hand. Being a man of very few words, he excelled himself by saying nothing. "Ask him," prompted Fortescue, "when he's going to have another bath at the Estaminet Moulin Gris." The stretcher-bearer flushed and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Mike's as shy as a _wahine_," continued the Sergeant. "I'll tell you the yarn. We were billeted at an estaminet that had copped it pretty thick. Roof practically off, and the outbuildings nothing but a pile of bricks; you know the sort of thing. Well, Mike discovered a tub full of water, as he thought, and early one morning he slipped out to have a bath. He had only just started his ablutions when Madame's face appeared at the only window left in the inn. 'Arrêtez!' she shouted; 'arrêtez! You no use soap. Soap na poo. You spoil ze beer--compree?'" "I've only got her word that it was beer," declared Dowit stolidly. "It's a great joke with the boys," continued Fortescue, after the stretcher-bearer had gone. "They chip him frightfully about it; ask if that's why he's got the D.C. M. I suppose you didn't know that it was awarded him, for gallantry at Messines--rescuing wounded under heavy fire? My word! Mike was hot stuff that day. It was a thundering good job when he slung that dud bomb at Featherstone Camp, or I mightn't be here now." In the dead of night of the 3rd of October the New Zealand Division, in heavy marching order, silently relieved a Tommy division on the Flanders Front. "Where are we, Sergeant?" enquired Rifleman M'Kane. "This spot doesn't seem familiar." "It will be before morning," replied Fortescue grimly. "We're opposite Gravenstafel, and those are the Heights of Abraham. If we are not firmly planted upon them by to-morrow afternoon I'm a Dutchman." The new position was certainly a novel one as far as Malcolm was concerned. The seemingly endless lines of zigzag trenches were no longer in evidence. Shelter was provided by the simple expedient of linking up suitable shell-craters, with which the soft ground was liberally besprinkled. Hardly were the New Zealanders settled when the Huns began a furious bombardment. It was not a spasmodic burst of shell-fire, but a concentrated and deliberate fire upon the series of field-works fronting the village of Gravenstafel. Every man knew what it meant; the Germans were about to attack in force, while a similar operation was impending on the part of the British. The question was, which side would get away quickest? Would the serried wave of infantry meet in the open? Gamely the New Zealanders endured their gruelling; until the guns lifted and put up a barrage behind them. Sheltering in a dug-out were Sergeant Fortescue, Corporal Billy Preston, Riflemen Carr, Dick Selwyn, M'Kane, M'Turk, and two others--youngsters for the first time under shell-fire, who were the objects of undisguised solicitude on the part of the non-coms. Up to the present their attention was thrown away; neither Henderson nor Stewart showed the faintest indication of "jumpiness". The dug-out trembled under the terrific impact of shells bursting within an unpleasant distance. Even the more seasoned men were inwardly perturbed. Save for a few disjointed sentences--conversation was far from being a success--the occupants of the shelter remained silent. "They're lifting, thank goodness!" exclaimed Fortescue. "Wonder if Fritz will attempt a raid on a big scale? If so, he'll have the shock of his life." "What time do we assemble, Sergeant?" asked Henderson, who was hesitating over the opening sentences of a letter he was about to commence. "At five, my festive," replied Fortescue. "It will----" The sound of heavy footsteps descending the steps leading to the dug-out interrupted his words. Then a voice enquired: "All right, down there?" "All seats taken; house full," replied M'Turk. "Sorry; but try your luck somewhere else." The ground-sheet hung up over the entrance was pulled aside, and the voice continued: "That's all right, boys; hope you'll have a full house after the stunt." The men sprang to their feet and stood at attention. It was well that the roof of the dug-out was a fairly lofty one. Sergeant Fortescue saluted. "Beg pardon, sir!" he exclaimed, for standing in the doorway, cloaked and wearing his shrapnel-helmet, was the Brigadier. "Glad to see you so chirpy, boys," remarked the Brigadier. "Good night, and good luck!" The next instant he was gone, to continue his flying visits to the men. It had been an anxious time, especially to the commanding officers, and, in order to satisfy themselves that the boys were still in a position to carry out the attack, the brigadiers made personal tours along the firing-line. "He's some sport," declared Selwyn. "What's it like outside, I wonder? I'll go and have a look round." Malcolm accompanied his chum. In the open air the cold, contrasted with the warmth of the dug-out, was intense. The wind blew chilly upon their faces. Overhead the sky was darkened with drifting clouds, between the rifts of which the light of the full moon shone upon the ghostly expanse of shell-craters. The German guns were still firing hotly, directing their missiles a good four hundred yards behind the New Zealand lines. The British artillery was replying, but lacking the intensity of the enemy's fire. "Hanged if I'd like to be with the ration-parties to-night," remarked Selwyn. "There'll be a few of the boys knocked out behind our lines, I fancy." "Let's get back out of it," suggested Malcolm. "It's too jolly cold to stand here. What's the time?" He consulted the luminous dial of his wristlet watch. "By gum--a quarter to five!" he exclaimed. "The boys will start assembling in another fifteen minutes." "What's it doing?" enquired Fortescue when the chums returned to the dug-out. "Fine so far, but threatening," replied Selwyn. "It'll be our usual luck--raining in torrents, I'm afraid." "Anyone know our objectives?" enquired M'Kane as he slowly adjusted the straps of two empty canvas bags that later on were to be crammed full with Mills's bombs. "Eighteen hundred yards on a two-thousand-yards front, and not an inch beyond," replied Fortescue. "That'll bring us on to the hill, which is what we want. Dry ground during the winter, you know." At last Fortescue gave the word. The men, grasping their rifles, filed out, to find the fortified craters filling up with silent khaki-clad Diggers. "Keep together," whispered Malcolm to Selwyn. "Rather!" replied his chum. "Dash it all, I wish we were off. I always loathe this hanging-about business." Just then the German barrage redoubled in violence. As it did so the long-threatening rain began to fall--a cold drizzle. The New Zealanders could not understand why the Huns were putting up such a persistent barrage. They could only put it down to the fact that Fritz had a good inkling of the impending stunt and was getting "jumpy". As a matter of fact, it was owing to another reason. For an hour a handful of New Zealanders clung to the crater defences in the front line. These men had orders not to go forward in the advance, the attacking infantry being in the second and third line of trenches. Quite under the impression that the nearmost German pill-boxes were lightly held, the New Zealanders in the advance posts were afterwards surprised to learn that they had been within a few yards of hundreds of picked German troops. The Huns intended attacking at about the same time as the New Zealanders, and the hitherto deserted block-houses had been reoccupied during the night by swarms of German infantry. At six o'clock the British guns opened a barrage, compared with which the German fire paled into insignificance. Eighteen-pounders and 4.5-inch howitzers, supported by the giant 12- and 14-inch long-range guns farther back, threw tons of metal upon the enemy lines, the heavier projectiles hurtling overhead with a roar like that of an express train. The earth trembled, and the sky was lurid with the flashes of bursting shells, as rapidly the strongly constructed pill-boxes were beaten into fragments of riven concrete. So intense was the fire that the German artillery now replied but feebly and inaccurately, while, a sure sign that Fritz was "done" red and green rockets sent their distress signals from the enemy position for aid that was not forthcoming. "Fix bayonets!" The order passed along the line. So deafening was the roar of the guns that the click of the bayonets as they were fixed was inaudible. Here and there men gave a final adjustment to their steel helmets or fumbled with their equipment, but for the most part the New Zealanders stood motionless, with firm, set faces, awaiting the command to unleash. The British barrage lifted, the whistles blew, and out of their lines the khaki-clad troops surged. CHAPTER XXIX The Battle in the Mud It was as unlike a charge as could possibly be imagined. With rifles at the slope, the New Zealanders sauntered forward towards their objective, keeping almost at the heels of the barrage, save here and there where a "pill-box", presumably deserted, was found to be chock-a-block with Huns. Almost before he was aware of it, Malcolm found himself confronted by a practically intact concrete block-house, which was so near the New Zealand outposts that it had escaped damage during the bombardment. Looming ominously through the misty, drizzling dawn, the pill-box might have accounted for scores of gallant New Zealanders, for it was crammed with Huns, and well provided with machine-guns. Yet not a shot came from that isolated fortress. Unaware that it was tenanted, a dozen men of C Company strolled past the grinning loopholes. "Kamerad! Kamerad!" The words, just audible above the clamour, caused several Diggers to stop. "By Jove," exclaimed Fortescue, "the place is full of Boches! Out 'em, boys!" With levelled bayonets Malcolm, Selwyn, and half a dozen riflemen advanced towards the door in the rear of the pill-box, while M'Turk and M'Kane, each brandishing a bomb, ran close to the wall immediately by the side of the machine-gun aperture. Here, secure from bullets from the inside, they had the garrison at their mercy should the Huns show any signs of treachery. "Out you come, Fritz!" shouted Fortescue. "We won't hurt you." Furtively a German poked his steel helmeted head through the doorway. With arms upheld he stumbled out, terror written on his face. Behind him, after a brief interval, came another; then more, close at each other's heels, until fifty-three Huns, without firing a shot, were prisoners in the hands of the New Zealanders. "Who'll take them back?" asked Fortescue. No one seemed at all anxious for the job. Every man whom the Sergeant looked at enquiringly shook his head. With the prospect of a scrap ahead, none would accept the task of escorting fifty demoralized Huns. "Send 'em back on their own, Sergeant," suggested M'Turk. "They'll go quietly, you bet. We want to get on. Look where our barrage is." Already the line of bursting shells was a couple of hundred yards away. The advancing infantry-men were almost invisible in the drifting smoke and rain. "Off you go!" ordered Fortescue, pointing in the direction of the New Zealand advance posts. Like a flock of sheep the Huns, with hands still upraised, shuffled on the first of their long trek to captivity--to some delectable spot in England, where, far from the sound of the guns, there is food in plenty for Hun prisoners of war, German U-boats notwithstanding. At the double the New Zealanders hastened to overtake the rest of C Company. Away on the left sharp rifle and machine-gun fire, punctuated by the crash of exploding bombs, showed that there were other block-houses where a strenuous resistance was being maintained. Men, too, were already returning wounded, cheerful in spite of pain; others, lying in the mud, would never rise again, for machine-guns were busy beyond the Hannebeke stream. Ordinarily a quiet, well-conducted brook, the Hannebeke stream had been rudely disturbed by the terrific bombardment of the British heavies. Where a shell had fallen in the bed of the stream the lip of the upheaved crater had formed a dam--and there was not one but many such. Over the low-lying banks the water had flowed, until for nearly a hundred yards in width there was water everywhere, hiding the tenacious mud, and acting as a camouflage to thousands of deep craters. Into the morass the New Zealanders plunged boldly, only to find that they were quickly up to their belts in mud and water. When a man stumbled into a shell-hole, he simply disappeared, until, rising to the surface, he managed to scramble out with the aid of a more fortunate chum. Here and there huge spurts of mud and water leapt towards the rainy sky as German shells burst indiscriminately in the swollen stream; while everywhere the slowly-flowing water was flecked with little spurts of spray as the machine-gun bullets ricochetted from the surface. When a man was hit when crossing that forbidding morass it generally meant death to him--death by suffocation in the pestilent mud of Flanders. Looking like muddy replicas of Lot's wife, Malcolm and Selwyn at last emerged from the morass, Fortescue was ahead, Corporal Preston too, while M'Turk, with his chum M'Kane hanging on to his back, was just extricating himself from a deep crater. "Thanks!" he exclaimed, as Malcolm gave him a hand. He was too breathless to say more. Setting his burden down in the shelter of a ruined pill-box, M'Turk bound up his chum's wound--a machine-gun bullet through the calf of his right leg. "Now you stop there till I come back," he admonished the "buckshied" M'Kane, "unless the bearers pick you up. Just the silly thing you would do, to try and crawl through that muck. S'long. See you presently." He overtook Malcolm, swinging along with prodigious strides despite the tenacious slime. "There are the swine who knocked my pal over," he shouted, pointing to an insignificant heap of stones about eighty yards to his right front. "There's a blessed tic-tac in there. I'll blow 'em to blazes." The fragments of concrete marked the former position of a pill-box which had been built over a deep dug-out. The German machine-gunners had lain low when the first wave of New Zealanders had swept overhead; then, hauling up their deadly weapon, they had trained it on the khaki lads still struggling through the Hannebeke stream. Grasping a bomb, M'Turk edged cautiously towards the flank of the machine-gun emplacement; but before he had gone ten yards he stopped and stood upright with his left hand raised to the rim of his shrapnel-helmet. For quite five seconds he remained thus, then his knees gave way under him, slowly and reluctantly, it seemed, he fell in a huddled heap face downwards in the mud. "M'Turk's down, by Heaven!" ejaculated Malcolm. He threw himself on his hands and knees and crawled towards the luckless bomber, Selwyn following. With an effort they dragged the man on his back. He was beyond mortal aid. A rifle bullet had struck him fairly on the left temple, causing instantaneous death. Slinging his rifle, Malcolm possessed himself of three of M'Turk's bombs. He would attempt to carry out the task the bomber had essayed when a chance bullet struck him down: to wipe out the viper's nest and to silence the deadly machine-gun that was loosing a fresh bolt of ammunition upon the floundering men making their way across the swollen stream. He advanced rapidly. Time was the first consideration, caution second. Every instant instant meant death to his comrades in the mud. Suddenly one of the machine-gunners caught sight of the approaching danger. With a yell he sprang to his feet and raised his hands. The machine-gun began to spit fire once more, and that decided it. The Hun who offered to surrender was a negligible quantity. With splendid precision the Mills's bomb flew straight at the group of grey-coated men. One missile was enough. Malcolm turned and doubled after his comrades, and, again under shelter of the slowly-creeping barrage, was once more in comparative safety. On and on pressed the now-exultant Diggers, until the steady advance was checked. Somewhere through the mist and smoke came a hail of machine-gun bullets. Men were dropping right and left. "Take cover!" shouted an officer. It was easier said than done. The muddy ground afforded little shelter, while the shell-craters were filled with water. The barrage had passed on and was "squatting" at about two hundred yards distance. The obstacle was then revealed. Away to the left front of C Company was a concrete redoubt built around a heap of rubbish that marked the site of Van Meulen Farm. Bravely a number of New Zealanders rushed forward with bomb and bayonet, only to drop in the mud under the hellish machine-gun fire. How fared the rest of the advance the men on this particular sector knew not. They were most unpleasantly aware that a formidable barrier lay athwart their course, and that it must be rushed before the troops could storm the heights. Not only was Van Meulen Redoubt strongly constructed and well armed; it was stubbornly held by some of the pick of the German army--men resolved to fight to the last cartridge rather than surrender. "Why don't they send along the Tanks?" asked little Henderson, as he thrust a fresh charge into his magazine. "Never mind about the Tanks, sonny," replied Sergeant Fortescue. "We've got to do our own dirty work." For nearly twenty minutes the men maintained a hot fire, concentrating their aim upon the narrow apertures through which the machine-guns were delivering their death-dealing bullets. It was a thankless task. A machine-gun would be silenced for a few seconds and then resume its fire; for each weapon, in addition to the protection afforded by the massive concrete walls, was equipped with a steel shield through which a narrow sighting-aperture afforded the only vulnerable spot. At last one of the battalions forming the reserve stormers came up, eager for the fray. If courage and sheer weight of numbers could win the day Van Meulen Farm was doomed. "Come on, boys!" shouted a young officer. "I'll lead you. Rout the beggars out of it." With a cheer the men leapt from their scanty cover. Bombers, Lewis gunners, and riflemen surged forward, heedless of the gaps in their ranks. The intervening ground was all but covered when the gallant young officer fell. His death, far from disheartening the men, added fuel to their burning ardour. Into the machine-gun slits bombs were tossed in dozens, until the confined space within the redoubt was filled with noxious smoke from the loud-sounding missiles of destruction. Still the Huns held out. When one machine-gun was disabled another was brought up; but by this time the deadly weapon had lost much of the sting. The entrance to the blockhouse was forbidding enough. A flight of narrow and steep stone steps gave access to a low doorway. On the metal-cased woodwork the Diggers rained blows with the butt-ends of their rifles; others, placing the muzzles of the weapons close to the stout fastenings, strove to blow them away. It was not until a dozen men, bearing a massive beam, appeared upon the scene that the difficulty was overcome. The battering-ram simply pulverized the already-weakening barrier. With a cheer, and preceded by a shower of grenades, the riflemen poured in to complete the work with cold steel. Within was a terrible scene. In hot blood civilized men went back to primeval instincts and fought like wild beasts, clawing, tearing and gouging when it was too close work for the bayonet. The smoke-laden air was rent with shouts, oaths, shrieks, and groans, punctuated by the clash of steel and the whip-like cracks of automatic pistols. Like rats in a trap the Huns fought and died, while the survivors of the storming-party staggered out of the shambles and threw themselves on the ground in sheer bodily exhaustion. Rifleman Carr had come off lightly. One of the first to force his way through the shattered entrance, he presented a sorry appearance. His right sleeve was torn away at the elbow, the left was ripped almost to ribbons. His Webb equipment was twisted and cut; he was plastered in mud and filth from head to foot, while his steel helmet bore the splayed marks of the impact of two pistol-bullets fired at close range. Nevertheless, with the exception of a slight cut across the cheek, and the mark of a Hun's teeth showing angrily above his left wrist, he was uninjured. A burning thirst gripped his throat. He felt for his water-bottle. It was no longer there. Unconcernedly he reached out his hand and secured one belonging to a dead comrade. The bottle was full. The liquid put new life into him. "Hallo, Henderson!" he exclaimed, catching sight of the man, who was vainly struggling to unfix the remains of his bayonet. "Seen Selwyn?" "Half a tick ago," was the reply. "He's all right. Seen anything of Stewart?" "Chuck it!" ejaculated Sergeant Fortescue. "What's the use of worrying about your pals when the job's not finished? Come along; if you can't run, walk; if you can't walk, crawl. We can't have C Company out of the last lap." He spoke imperiously--savagely. A greater contrast to the mild-spoken, 'Varsity-educated greenhorn, who, a few years previously, was down on his luck in New Zealand, could hardly be imagined. A great responsibility had been thrown upon his shoulders. With the lust of battle gripping him, he found himself a leader of men. C Company was widely scattered. Many had fallen; others had gone forward with other companies; platoons and units were mingled indiscriminately. After the fall of Van Meulen Farm Redoubt Fortescue discovered that he was senior non-com. of the remnants of C Company, while not a single commissioned officer was left standing. The men resumed their advance. Scores of prisoners, making their way in the opposite direction, were visible and comforting signs that the day was still going well; while wounded New Zealanders, painfully making for the dressing-stations, were able to augment the news by the announcement that the Diggers were up and over the Abraham Heights. Beyond that there were no indications of how the battle fared--whether the Tommies on the left or the "Aussies" on the right were maintaining equal progress. Mist and smoke and the deafening clamour of thousands of guns limited both range of vision and hearing. The ground was better going now. On the slope, the mud, though still ankle-deep, was a hardly-noticeable impediment. Stolidly the handful of men comprising the remains of C Company held onwards, eager to renew a closer acquaintance with Fritz. "Cheer-o, Malcolm!" exclaimed a voice. "Didn't recognize you." Rifleman Carr glance indifferently over his shoulder. Dick Selwyn, his jaw enveloped in a bandage, had just overtaken him. "Buckshie?" enquired Malcolm laconically. "Nothing--just a mere scratch," was the reply. "I thought you were done in back there. In fact, I was looking for what was left of you." "I might have been," rejoined Malcolm. He found himself wondering at his apathy in the matter. In the heat of combat the grim figure of Death stalking up and down amid his comrades hardly concerned him. The horror of it all would be apparent after the battle--if he lived to see it. "Young Stewart's gone," continued Selwyn. "A shell copped him. Corporal Preston, too, and goodness only knows who else. They've played the very deuce with the boys." "It'll be worse before it's finished," added Malcolm. "But I wouldn't miss it for anything." Over the already-won ground, pitted with shell-holes and thickly strewn with khaki and field-grey forms, the men of C Company continued their advance, until they fell in with a swarm of Diggers preparing to rush another formidable obstacle to the achievement of the objective. CHAPTER XXX The Last Stand "Who says we won't be in Berlin before Christmas?" shouted a man staggering past under the weight of a Stokes's gun, his burden increased by reason of the quagmire. "Not 'arf, you Diggers!" The riflemen within hearing expressed their approval of the idea, for the obstacle that was holding up a section of the advance was a row of concrete pill-boxes surrounding the entrance to a deep and extensive cave--a formidable stronghold known as "Berlin". Beyond was a large wood, which, when carried, would be the final objective for the day's operations. The New Zealanders settled Berlin redoubt most effectively, and in far less time than had been taken in reducing Van Meulen, Otto, and other concreted strongholds. Thirty rounds from the Stokes's mortars in the short space of two minutes played havoc with the garrisons. Then, with loud yells of triumph, the stormers rushed the position on three sides simultaneously, bombarded the pill-boxes with grenade and smoke-bombs, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing the scanty remnant of a once numerous garrison come forth in fear and terror, accepting their conquerors' assurances that their lives would be spared. "See that the job's done properly, Sergeant," ordered a major of another company, addressing Fortescue, who was assembling the handful of his platoon. Fortescue saluted, and, calling Malcolm and another man to follow, made his way into the redoubt. The three did not tarry long. It was a veritable slaughter-house. The floor was literally paved with hideously-mutilated bodies of Germans who had fallen victims to the deadly Stokes's bombs. No need to investigate lest a living Fritz was lying doggo with the dead. The survivors had only been too eager to seize the chance of leaving the place alive. The operations at Berlin Farm had delayed a section of the line. Before the men could be sent forward a pioneer battalion, composed mostly of Maoris, whose skill at rapid digging-in had won the admiration of the High Command, came surging up to assist in the consolidation of the captured position. That, again, was a distinctly satisfactory sign. New Zealand meant to hold what she had gained. As C Company, or rather what was left of it, were re-forming, Malcolm encountered Grouser Joliffe. The man, ragged and battle-worn, was grousing no longer. A supremely-satisfied smile overspread his face. "Boys," he whispered, "I've been in luck. Copped a dozen of the dirty 'Uns back there, and not one of them had the courage to put up a fight--an' me single-handed. I sent 'em back, and then had a look round their dug-out. It was some show--not 'arf. Cigars, fags, and drinks no end. Some of the boys strolled in and helped me refresh; but I haven't forgot my pals. Thought I'd tumble across some of 'em still left. Here, take this." He handed Malcolm a bottle of soda-water, and bestowed a similar gift upon Selwyn and Sergeant Fortescue, for two canvas bags, meant to carry a stock of bombs, were crammed with filled bottles of mineral water from the captured dug-out. "Joliffe, you are a proper white man!" declared Fortescue, deftly knocking off the head of the bottle and draining the contents at a gulp. "But what have you been up to?" "Mud-larkin', Sergeant," replied the man, with a solemn wink. He touched the tip of his bayonet. "Like spearing eels in the Waikato, it was." The men went forward once more. Ahead, dimmed by the rain and drifting smoke, could be discerned the rearmost edge of Berlin Wood. It was quite unlike anything of the nature of a wood for the shells had searched it so thoroughly that hardly a tree-trunk stood more than ten feet in height, while every vestige of leaves and branches had vanished. The blackened and badly-scored trunks looked more like the columns of a long-buried temple than trees, while in many places the charred wood was smouldering, despite the water-logged condition of the ground. Notwithstanding the terrific pounding of the British heavies, the wood was still strongly held by the enemy. Fallen tree-trunks lay athwart pill-boxes that were still intact, shell craters afforded shelter for dozens of deadly machine-guns. Trip wires and other fiendish contrivances abounded, while in several places _fougasses_ had been constructed, powerful enough to blow a whole platoon in the air. In cold blood even the bravest man would hesitate before entering the forbidding wood of death; but the New Zealanders never faltered. Into the gloomy sulphurous maze they plunged, with yells and shouts of encouragement. So intricate was the going that, although several bodies of troops had passed well ahead, there were pill-boxes and other fortified posts left undetected in their rear. Fritz, lying _perdu_, while the crowd of Anzacs poured onward, would resurrect his tic-tocs and direct a withering machine-gun fire into the backs of the luckless men. "Look out! On your left!" shouted Fortescue, whose ready eye had detected a sinister movement behind a prostrate tree-trunk. Half a dozen men of C Company dashed towards the spot with levelled bayonets. For some reason not a bomb was hurled, nor was a shot fired either by the Diggers or the Huns. In a skilfully-concealed emplacement were two machine-guns, with a crew consisting of an officer and twelve stalwart Prussians. "Hands up!" roared Fortescue. The German officer set the example, his men quickly imitating him, as with arms upraised he awaited the approach of the New Zealanders. He was a tall, bald-headed man with a prominent double-chin. His beady eyes were furtively taking stock of the scanty number who opposed him. "Fritz looks greasy," mentally commented Malcolm, as he fingered the trigger of his rifle. The German officer rapped out an order. Hands were dropped and rifles seized. "Do 'em in!" shouted Fortescue. "The treacherous swine." Although outnumbered, the Diggers did the work Diggers smartly and effectually. As the Prussian officer raised his revolver to fire point-blank at Sergeant Fortescue, Malcolm plunged his bayonet into the Hun's side, while Fortescue reciprocated the service by shooting a German who was about to deal Rifleman Carr a smashing blow with the butt of his rifle before the latter could disengage his blade. "Now what's to be done, Sergeant?" enquired Joliffe, as he surveyed the scene of the struggle. Of the seven New Zealanders who had rushed the position only four were left standing--Fortescue, Malcolm, Joliffe, and Henderson. Dick Selwyn was lying with his back propped against a tree-trunk and a gunshot wound in his left arm. The bullet, fired at close range, had been almost as destructive as a dum-dum. The other man was dead. "Got it this time, Malcolm!" murmured Dick faintly, as his chum knelt beside him, and with a queer smile on his face Selwyn passed into unconsciousness. While Rifleman Carr was busy with first-aid dressings, Sergeant Fortescue was pondering over the situation. He had lost touch with the advance. It was a vain sacrifice to attempt to push on with a mere handful of men. He decided to sit tight and await developments. Reserves would be speedily coming up; of that he felt certain. "Can we get him out of this, Fortescue?" enquired Malcolm, indicating his unconscious chum. Fortescue shook his head. "No," he replied. "'Gainst orders. Sorry!" It cost the man an effort to refuse, but the sense of discipline had the upper hand. He, too, knew that once a wounded man was left in the depths of the battle-swept wood there was little chance of his being removed before it was too late. Yet if the rule were broken, and every unwounded man took upon himself to succour his disabled chum, the advance would be jeopardized. Out of the smoke stumbled a wounded man, hesitatingly, as if not certain of his bearings. His shrapnel-helmet had fallen off, revealing an unbandaged bullet wound extending over both eyebrows. From his waist downwards he was literally caked with plastic mud. "This way, chum!" shouted Fortescue, seeing that the man was partly blinded by the flow of blood, and as likely as not dazed by the nature of his wound. "Look out!" exclaimed the wounded Digger, as Joliffe and Henderson assisted him into the emplacement. "We've copped it properly up there. The boys floundered into a bog, and were shot down like rabbits. And the Boches are counter-attacking. They'll be along here in half a shake." It was bad news. The main attack had inclined away to the right, while the thinly-held line between the New Zealand division and the English regiments on the left had been stopped, not by the Huns, but by the impossible condition of the marshy ground. Into the gap a strong body of German troops, who, having previously held the wood, knew how to avoid the treacherous swamp, came hurriedly, with the intention of driving a wedge between the assaulting troops. It was one of those minor operations which, if successful, might turn the fortunes of the day. "By gum!" ejaculated Fortescue. "We're up against something. Any of you fellows know how to handle these?" He indicated the two captured machine-guns, in one of which a fresh belt of ammunition had just been placed when the Diggers upset Fritz's preparations. "Guess I'll have a cut at it," remarked Malcolm. Joliffe also signified his belief that he would be able to "work the gadget". "All right, then," continued Fortescue. "Henderson, you and I will do a bit of bombing. How about you, chum? Can you bear a hand?" The wounded man who had brought the news of impending danger seized a couple of discarded rifles. "I'm good for a few rounds rapid," he replied, as he examined the magazines of the weapons. "If I do a few of 'em in I don't mind overmuch. One of my mates told me he saw them shooting every wounded man of our crush they came across, so it's stick it to the last." There was one alternative: to abandon the position. It meant leaving Dick Selwyn to the mercies of the Huns, for retirement through the mud would be impossible if hampered by a wounded man. Fortescue promptly dismissed the thought. "Yes," he exclaimed, "we'll stick it out to the last! If I go under, Rifleman Carr takes command, then Joliffe. Now, stand by! Here they come!" The foremost of the advancing Germans appeared in sight at a distance of about eighty yards from the devoted New Zealanders--bombers and riflemen in a compact mass--the advance guard of the formidable counter-attack. They approached cautiously, almost furtively. Although assured by their officers that this part of the wood was not held, they appeared to have their doubts as to the success of their desperate measure. Both machine-guns got off the mark almost at the same time. At that short range it was impossible to miss. Where men had been standing a second or so before was a struggling heap of writhing figures, while, to add to the slaughter, several of the bombs carried by the enemy exploded in their midst with devastating effect. Back pressed the survivors, the wounded crawling slowly to the shelter of the fallen trees. Grouser Joliffe cheered. So far the Diggers had scored heavily. Bullets whistling past their ears told them the unpleasant news that the Huns were developing an encircling movement. While the main body kept well back, skilled riflemen, taking advantage of abundant cover, were converging upon the little band of New Zealanders. Bombs, too, were hurled, but the distance was too great. They fell and exploded harmlessly. Except for the moral effect, the machine-guns were now of little use. Better work could be performed by individual shooting, but the diverging fire from five rifles was a feeble reply to the converging volleys from ten times that number, while the emplacement, constructed to meet an attack from the westward, was ill-designed to ward off an assault from the opposite quarter. For full five minutes the defenders lay low, replying cautiously to the hostile fire, yet conserving their energies for the time when the Huns would attempt to rush the scantily-held post. Then came a catastrophe. A bullet, passing through an aperture in the concrete, struck Fortescue in the chest. Almost at the same time the already wounded Digger who had brought the news received a second wound in the right shoulder. Malcolm Carr was now in charge of a garrison of four effectives all told. With a weird attempt at cheering a number of Boches, mostly bombers, emerged from behind the tree-trunks and rushed towards the defences. Both guns quickly stopped the rush, but not before three men were astride the concrete wall. Hardly realizing what he was about, Malcolm abandoned the machine-gun, seized a rifle, and dropped the foremost Hun. The second promptly lunged with his bayonet, and, although Malcolm parried, the blade transfixed his left arm just above the elbow. The next instant Henderson dropped the fellow with a bullet at close quarters, while Joliffe accounted for the third. The three New Zealanders quickly slipped behind cover, just in time to escape a hail of bullets from the Huns, who had witnessed their comrades' deaths. Deftly Joliffe tied a strip of linen tightly above Malcolm's wound, for there was no time to lose. Although unable to use a rifle, Malcolm could still work the machine-gun, in spite of the throbbing and burning pain that shot through his left arm and down his side. "We've settled a good many of the swine," exclaimed Joliffe. "When the boys come up they'll see we've died game." Beyond a few desultory shots the attack had quieted down. It was ominous. The Huns, unable to rush the position, were bringing up a trench-mortar. Suddenly the lull in this part of the wood (elsewhere the noise of combat was still intense) was broken by the rattle of rapid independent rifle-firing and the well-known battle-cry of the New Zealand boys. Bombs, too, were crashing in all directions, while Lewis guns added to the din. Then, as swarms of khaki-clad figures dashed from between the shattered tree-trunks, Malcolm realized that aid was forthcoming in the very nick of time. His work accomplished, he dropped inertly to the ground between the bodies of his greatest chums, and everything became a blank. * * * * * Up the hill leading to No. 1 General Hospital, Brockenhurst--an establishment known as Tin Town--two men in "hospital blues" were slowly making their way. Both were wearing new, stiff-brimmed New Zealand hats, adorned with scarlet puggarees. The "blues" might be ill-fitting and sloppy, but it was a point of honour amongst the "boys" that their head-gear should be smart. One of the men had his left arm in a sling, the empty sleeve being pinned to his coat; the other, in addition to wearing a bandage round his forehead, walked with a pronounced limp and leant heavily upon a rubber-shod walking-stick. "Think you'll manage it, Malcolm?" enquired the man with the crippled arm. "It's a stiffish pull." "I guess I'll do it, Dick," replied Rifleman Carr. "We've tackled some job for our first walk beyond the grounds; but Fortescue will be disappointed if we don't fetch there. How much farther is it?" "Foot a bit stiff?" enquired Selwyn as his companion paused and rested one hand on Dick's shoulder. "It gives me gip at times; suppose I'm a bit out of training, too," replied Malcolm. "What puzzles me is how did I get that buckshie?" "What puzzles me," rejoined Dick, "is how any of us came out of it alive. There's Fortescue, with a hole drilled completely through his chest, alive and kicking. You came off lightly, my boy; but when they carted me into the operating-room I thought it was good-bye to my arm." At length the chums reached the portals of Tin Town. Following an asphalted path between well-kept lawns they arrived at the corrugated-iron building in which Sergeant Fortescue was to be found. Being a fine afternoon, and most of the cases convalescent, the ward was almost deserted. The object of their search was soon discovered. "Glad to see you," exclaimed Fortescue when the preliminary greetings had been exchanged. "I hear you're boarded for New Zealand, Selwyn?" "Yes, I'm off to Torquay on Thursday," replied Selwyn. "Suppose it'll be six weeks more before I get a boat, and then cheer-o for Christchurch." "Lucky dog!" commented Fortescue. "By the way, Malcolm, I've news for you. That boxing Maori pal of yours, Te Paheka's his name, I fancy, is in the next ward. Do you know, he carried you right back to the advance dressing-station, and that you were both bowled over by a shell just the other side of Hannebeke stream? That's how you got it in the foot, and Te Paheka had a chunk taken off his shoulder. Yet he stuck to you and carried you in before he collapsed." "That's news," declared Malcolm. "How is he? I'll look him up when we leave you. And now I'll tell you some news. I've been recommended for a commission, and am to have a staff job in Blighty until I'm fit to go out again." "_Kia ora_, laddie," said Fortescue heartily. "C Company, or what's left of the boys, seem to be dropping in for plums. They've even given me the D.C.M. Goodness only knows what for," he added modestly. "They say it was for holding a captured post. But what else were we to do? It was a case of sticking it or going under. My word, our fellows paid the price; but they are great." "We had a lady visitor this afternoon," remarked Selwyn after more blunt congratulations had been tendered and received. "She started by remarking how magnificent it was of the boys to come all the way from New Zealand to help smash Big and Little Willie; how loyal to the Mother-land, and all that sort of talk. We managed to enlighten her some; told her that we preferred to fight in Europe than to sit still and run the risk of meeting Fritz down under--for that's what it would be if Germany did get the upper hand. So we chuck in our little lot to help others, and at the same time to help ourselves. Well, so long, Fortescue, we'll look you up again to-morrow." Te Paheka's olivine features were wreathed in smiles when Malcolm entered his ward. The Maori's fighting days were over. Never again would he use either bayonet or boxing-gloves, for his right arm was totally incapacitated. He, too, was "boarded" for Aotea Roa[1]--the Land of the Southern Cross. "I am lucky, Malcolm," he said after Rifleman Carr had thanked him for his act of devotion. "Lucky to be able to bring you in. Golly, I can still drive a motor-car. When you come home, Malcolm, I'll be waiting for you at Lyttelton with the most top-hole car going. And you'll be there all right, with honours and distinctions. _Kia ora_." "Thanks, Te Paheka!" replied Malcolm. "I'll do my level best to carry on, for the honour of New Zealand and the Anzac Brigade." [1] Aotea Roa--"the white cloud"--is the Maori name for New Zealand. 
18068	----	Five Years in New Zealand (1859 to 1864.) BY ROBERT B. BOOTH, M.Inst.C.E. LONDON: J. G. HAMMOND & CO., LTD. Fleet Lane, Old Bailey, E.C. 1912. Contents. PAGE CHAPTER I. How I came to Emigrate 1 CHAPTER II. The Voyage--Rats on Board--The White Squall--Harpooning a Shark--Burial of the Twins--Tropics--Icebergs--Exchange of Courtesies in mid-Pacific 4 CHAPTER III. Port Lyttelton and Christchurch--Call on Friends--Visit Malvern Hill 14 CHAPTER IV. A Period of Uncertainty--Leave for Nelson as Cadets on Sheep Run 19 CHAPTER V. Working of a Sheep Run--Scab--C's Departure for Home 25 CHAPTER VI. Shepherd's Life--Driving Sheep--Killing Wild Sow--Return to Christchurch 30 CHAPTER VII. I join a Survey Party--Travel to the Ashburton 36 CHAPTER VIII. Wild Pig Hunting 41 CHAPTER IX. Cattle Ranching and Stock Riding 46 CHAPTER X. Take Employment with a Bush Contractor--Serious Illness--Start for South and the Gold Diggings 51 CHAPTER XI. Our Eventful Journey to the Gold Diggings 58 CHAPTER XII. Life on the Gold Diggings 64 CHAPTER XIII. Leave the Diggings--Attempt to Drive Wild Cattle thereto--Return to Dunedin 69 CHAPTER XIV. Leave for Mesopotamia--Road-making--Sheep Mustering--Death of Dr. Sinclair--Contracts on the Ashburton, etc. 73 CHAPTER XV. Winter under the Southern Alps--Frost Bite--Seeking Sheep in the Snow--The Runaway 80 CHAPTER XVI. Start on Exploring Expedition to the Wanaka Lake 85 CHAPTER XVII. Exploration Trip continued--Weekas--Inspection of New Country--Escape from Fire 89 CHAPTER XVIII. Death of Parker--Royal Mail robbed by a Cat--Meet with Accident fording River 94 CHAPTER XIX. The Ghost Story--Benighted in the Snow 99 CHAPTER XX. Decide to go to India--Visit Melbourne, etc.--Arrival at Bombay 106 List of Illustrations. SEE PAGE Harpooning a Shark 7 The Arrival of Lapworth 16 Pat and His Mail Bag Dislodged by a Cat 96 Killing the Wild Sow 34 Encounter with Wild Boar 44 The Baked Steers 49 Seeking Sheep in the Snow 81 The Gold Diggings 67 Peddlars at the Diggings 67 Mesopotamia Station 73 Upper Gorge of the Rangitata 75 Glent Hills Station 97 Introduction. The islands of New Zealand, discovered by the Dutch navigator, Tasman, in 1642, and surveyed and explored by Captain Cooke in 1769, remained unnoticed until 1814, when the first Christian Missionaries landed, and commenced the work of converting the inhabitants, who, up to that time had been cannibals. The Missionaries had been unusually successful, and prepared the way for the first emigrants, who landed at Wellington in the North Island in 1839. A year later the Maori Chiefs signed a treaty acknowledging the Sovereignty of Queen Victoria, and the colonisation of the country quickly followed. The seat of Government was first placed at Auckland, where resided the Governor, and there were formed ten provinces under the jurisdiction of superintendents. The head of the Government was subsequently transferred to Wellington, the provincial system abolished, and their powers exercised by local boards directly under the Governor. The total area of the three islands is about 105,000 square miles, and the population, which has been steadily increasing, was in 1865 upwards of 700,000. The Maori race is almost entirely confined to the North Island, and, although it was then gradually dying out, numbered about 30,000. They are of fine physique, tall and robust, and are said to belong to the Polynesian type, probably having come over from the Fiji Islands, or some of the Pacific group, in their canoes. When first discovered they lived in villages or "Pahs," comprising a number of small circular huts, with a larger one for the Chief, mud-walled and thatched with grass or flax. The pahs usually occupied a commanding position, and were fenced round with one or more palisades of rough timber. The Maori dress consisted of a simple robe made of woven flax, an indigenous plant growing in profusion over most of the country. They practised to a large extent the custom of tattooing their faces and bodies, and further decorated themselves with ear-rings of greenstone, bone, etc. Owing to subsequent education and intercourse with Europeans, their savage habits have now mostly given way to modern customs. In 1860 commenced the disastrous Taranaki war, which lasted some years, and was caused in the first instance by the encroachment of European settlers on the lands originally granted exclusively to the Aborigines. Since the settlement of this trouble, peace and prosperity have reigned, and the Maoris have become an important item in the community, many of them holding positions of trust and office under the Colonial Government. The Province of Canterbury, forming the central portion of the middle island, was founded about 1845 by the Irishmen Godley, Harman, and others; and the English Church, under Bishop Harpur, was established at Christchurch, the capital of the Province. Otago, in the south, was founded by the Scotch, and the free church established at Dunedin. The Province of Nelson formed the upper or northern portion of the Island. It is to these three Provinces that the scenes of the following pages refer. * * * * * It has been said that the true and unvarnished history of any person's life, no matter how commonplace, would be interesting. It was not because I thought that a history of any part of my life would prove interesting to others, that I first decided to write the following story of the experiences of a young emigrant to New Zealand between the ages of 16 and 21. I wrote it many years ago, when all was fresh in my memory; then I laid it by. Now when I have retired, after a life's service passed in foreign lands, it has been a pleasure to me to recall and live over again in memory the scenes of my earliest life. It may, however, be possible that the account of the adventures, successes, and failures of a lad, thrown on his own resources at so early an age, may prove of some value to others starting under similar circumstances in life's race; and if it in any way shows that the Colonies are a good field for a young man who wishes to adopt the life that may be open to him there, and who is determined to work steadily, keeping always his good name and honour as guiding lights to hold fast to and steer by, the story may not be quite useless. The Colonies are as good to-day as forty years ago, better I should say, for they offer more varied openings now than they did then. The great colonial dependencies of Great Britain were founded and worked into power by the emigrants who overflowed thence from the Motherland. These, for the most part, took with them little or nothing beyond their pluck, energy, strong hearts, and trust in God, and still they go and will go. It is a duty they owe to the mother-country as well as to themselves, and the great Colonies of Canada, Australia, and New Zealand are calling for more and more of the right sort of workers to join in and take their share in building up great nations, and extending the glory and civilising influence of Great Britain over all the world. I would say to all young men in this country who have no sufficient call or opening at home, especially to those who have not succeeded in obtaining professional positions, and who wait on, hoping for something to turn up, go out while there is yet time, to the great countries waiting to welcome you to a man's work and a man's place in the world, and don't rest content with an idle, useless, and dependent position where you have no place or occupation. Do your plain duty honestly and fearlessly. Treat the world well and it will treat you well. I do not, of course, give this advice to all. There are men who will not succeed in the Colonies any better than here. Some will fail anywhere. I mean the idle and lazy, the untrustworthy, the drunkard, and the incapable; these classes go to the bad quickest in the Colonies. There is no place or shelter for them there, where only honest workers are wanted or tolerated. For the man who is prepared to put his hand to anything he finds to do, and can be trusted, there is always employment and promotion waiting; but for him who is too proud or too lazy to work, or who prefers to fritter his time in dissipation and amusement, there is nothing but failure and ruin ahead. My advice does not apply either to those who have _good_ prospects, professional or otherwise, in this country, and whose duties call them to remain, but to the thousands of the middle and lower classes who are not so circumstanced, and it must be remembered that the men who are specially and constantly needed in the Colonies are those of the labouring and farming classes, or who may intend to adopt that life and are fitted for it by health and will. For the artisan and the professional who can only work at their own trade or profession, the openings naturally are not so plentiful, but there is abundance of employment for them until openings occur, if they choose to occupy their time otherwise in the meanwhile. For the young man who can afford the time, and many can, a few years' fling in the Colonies would be the best of educations, but he should determine to see all that was to be seen on the spot, and take part in all that was doing, and not rest content only with a few days' sojourn in an hotel here and there, or joining in the gaieties and dissipations of the towns. CHAPTER I. HOW I CAME TO EMIGRATE. I was one of a family of nine, of which four were sons. My eldest brother was destined for the Church; the second had entered a mercantile house in Liverpool; and I, who was third on the list, it was my father's intention, should be educated for the Royal Engineers, and at the time my story opens I was prosecuting my studies for admission to the Academy at Woolwich, and had attained the age of sixteen, when my health failed, and I was sent home for rest and change. I did not again resume my studies, because it was soon after decided that I should emigrate to New Zealand. The decision was principally, if not entirely, due to my own wishes. I had long entertained a strong bent to seeing the world for myself, and the idea was congenial to my boyish and quixotic notions of being the arbiter of my own fortunes. I recollect I was much given to reading tales of wild life in America and elsewhere; they contained a peculiar attraction for me, and influenced my mind in no small degree detrimental to continuing my studies for the Army or any specified profession at home. When I first proposed what was in my mind it created somewhat of a sensation in the old home, and my father would not hear of any such madness as to throw up my studies after having advanced so far, and go away to the antipodes on a mere wild-goose chase, etc. On consulting his friends, however, many advised him to let me have my will; others (more wisely perhaps) expressed their opinions that I should be forced to resume my work, and that the ill-health was imagination, or foxing! (I have often since been inclined to agree with the latter supposition.) The final decision, however, was that I should emigrate to Canterbury, New Zealand, in the following April. This colony was at that time about fourteen years' old, and was highly thought of as a field for youthful enterprise, and it was then the fashion to consider such tendencies as I expressed to be an omen of future success which should not be baulked. A young friend, C----, son of a neighbouring squire, offered to accompany me as my chum and partner. He was six years my senior, and had had considerable experience in farming, so was considered very suitable for a colonial life; whereas I knew literally nothing of farming or anything else beyond my school work. Our preparations were put in hand, and our passages booked by the good ship "Mary Anne," to sail from St. Katherine's Docks, London, on April 29th, 1859. When all was finally settled my elation was supreme. The feeling that school grind was past and gone, that the world was open to me, and that I was free to do and act as I would was exhilarating. I felt that I had already attained to manhood, and that the world was at my feet, and a glorious life before me; well, I suppose most boys prematurely let loose would think the same, and I don't know that it is any harm to start under the circumstances with a hopeful and happy heart. The day of parting at length arrived. It was a bright and lovely morning, about the middle of April, when I said goodbye to all my playmates at the old home, took a last look at the guns and fishing-rods, visited the various animals in the stables, gave a loving embrace to the great Newfoundland Juno, whom I could not hope to see again, submitted to be blessed and kissed by the servants and labourers, who had assembled to see me off, and took my seat on the car with my father, mother, and eldest brother, for the railway station, where C---- was to meet us. C---- and I went direct to Liverpool from Drogheda, to which place my eldest brother accompanied us. My father and mother, having business _en route_, were to meet us there on the following day. We had a rough passage to Liverpool, and the steamer was laden with cattle and pigs, the stench from which, combined with sea-sickness, was, I recollect, a terrible experience, and it was in no enviable condition of mind or body we arrived at the Liverpool Docks on a foggy, wet and dismal morning. My mercantile brother, Tom, came on board, and had all our belongings speedily conveyed to the lodgings we were to occupy during our stay. On the following day my father and mother arrived, and we spent a few days pleasantly seeing the lions of the great city and visiting friends. On arrival at London we found that we had a week or more before the ship sailed. Neither my father nor mother had been in London before; all was as new to them as to us, and we made the best of the time at our disposal. On the evening of the day before the ship sailed, after seeing our luggage on board, and cabins made ready for occupation, we accompanied my father, mother, and brother to Euston Station, where they were to bid us God-speed. I was in good spirits till then, but when on the railway platform, a few minutes before the train started, my dear mother fairly broke down, and the tears were stealing down my father's cheeks. The less said about such partings the better; it was soon over, and the train started. I never saw my dear old father again. C---- and I, after watching the train disappear, started for the docks, and before bed-time had made acquaintance with some of our future _compagnons de voyage_. The scene on deck was confusing and affecting. Upwards of four hundred emigrants were on board, and the partings from their friends and relatives, the kissings and blessings and cryings, mingled with the shouting of sailors, hauling in of cargo and luggage, and general noise and confusion incident to starting upon a long voyage, continued without intermission until we were fairly under weigh about 11 o'clock at night. After the unusual exertion and excitement of the day, we both slept soundly, and when we awoke next morning, off Gravesend, we were disappointed at having missed the "Great Eastern," lately launched and then lying in the river. By 12 noon we were fairly out at sea, with a favourable breeze, and the pilot left us in view (it might be the last) of the old country we were leaving behind. Before my eyes again rested on the cliffs of old England I had seen many lands and people, had mixed and worked with all sorts and conditions of men, had many experiences and adventures; and although I did not find the fortune at once which I thought was waiting for me to pick up, I found that there is always a fortune, be it great or small, according to their deserts, waiting for those who determine to work honestly and heartily for it, and that every man's future success or failure depends mainly on himself. CHAPTER II. THE VOYAGE AND INCIDENTS THEREON--RATS ON BOARD, THE WHITE SQUALL, HARPOONING A SHARK, BURIAL OF THE TWINS, A TROPICAL ESCAPADE--ICEBERGS--EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES AT SEA, ETC. The "Mary Anne" was, as I stated, an emigrant ship, and carried on the voyage about four hundred men, women, and children, sent out chiefly through the Government Emigration Agents. Persons going out in this way were assisted by having a portion of their passage paid for them as an advance, to be refunded after a certain time passed in the colony. The only first-class passengers in addition to C----and myself were two old maiden ladies, the Misses Hunt, who, with the doctor and his wife, the captain and first-mate, comprised our cabin party. In the second-class were three passengers--T. Smith, whose name will frequently appear in these pages, and two brothers called Leach, going out to join a rich cousin, a sheep farmer in Canterbury. Smith was the son of a wealthy squire, with whom, it appeared, he had fallen out respecting some family matters, and in a fit of pique left his home and took passage to New Zealand. His funds were sufficient to procure him a second-class berth, but on representing matters to the captain, who knew something of his family, it was arranged that he should join us in the saloon, hence he became one of our comrades, and eventually a particular friend. The captain's name was Ashby, and he soon proved to be a most jolly and agreeable companion. The first-mate, Lapworth, also became a favourite with us all. The doctor was usually drunk, or partly so, and led his wife, a kind and amiable little lady, a very unpleasant life. The Misses Hunt were elderly, amiable, and generally just what they should be. Our cabins we had (in accordance with the usages of emigrant ships) furnished ourselves, and they were roomy and comfortable, but I will not readily forget the horror with which I woke up during the first night at sea, with an indescribable feeling that I was being crawled over by some loathsome things. In a half-wakeful fit, I put out my hand, to find it rest upon a huge rat, which was seated on my chest. I started up in my bunk, when, as I did so, it appeared that a large family of rats had been holding high carnival upon me and my possessions; fully a dozen must have been in bed with me. I had no light, nor could I procure one, so I dressed and went on deck until morning. As a boy I was fond of carpentering, and was considerably expert in that way. My father thinking some tools would be useful to me, provided me with a small chest of serviceable ones (not the ordinary amateur's gimcracks), and this chest I had with me in my cabin. On examination I discovered several holes beneath the berth, where no doubt the previous night's visitors had entered. I set to work, and with the aid of some deal boxes given me by the steward, I had all securely closed up by breakfast, where the others enjoyed a hearty laugh at my experience of the night. The captain said there were doubtless hundreds of rats on board, and seemed to regard the fact with complacency rather than otherwise. Sailors consider that the presence of rats is a guarantee of the seaworthiness of the ship, and they will never voluntarily take passage in a vessel that is not sound. The captain's supposition proved true enough, and it was not unusual of an evening to see these friendly rodents taking an airing on the ropes and rigging, and upon the hand-rails around the poop deck, and while so diverting themselves, I have endeavoured to shake them overboard, but always in vain; they were thoroughbred sailors, knew exactly when and where to jump, and flopping on the deck at my feet would disappear, with a twist of their tails amidships. I do not think that the sailors approved of the rats being destroyed, and rather preferred their society than otherwise. We soon settled down to our sea life, and the groans of sickness and the screaming of children from between decks ceased in time. Our own party of nine had the poop to ourselves, and were very comfortable; we soon got to like the life, and generally arranged some way of spending each day agreeably. We had a fair library, chess, backgammon, whist, etc., and when we got into the Tropics and had occasional calms, we went out in the captain's gig; then further south we had shooting matches at Cape pigeons and albatrosses, and in all our amusements the captain and Lapworth took part. There were not many incidents on the voyage worthy of note, but I will mention the most interesting of them which I can recollect. The first was when we encountered a white squall about a week out from England. It was a lovely evening, a slight breeze sending us along some four knots under full sail. We were lounging on deck watching the sunset, and occupied with our thoughts, when suddenly there was a cry from the "look out" in the main fore-top which created an instantaneous and marvellous scene of activity on board. It was then that we witnessed the first example of thorough seamanship and discipline; the shrill boatswain's whistle, the captain shouting a few orders, passed on by the mates, a crowd of sailors appearing like magic in the rigging, and in another instant the ship riding under bare masts; a deathlike stillness for a few seconds, and then a snow white wall of foam, stretching as far as the eye could reach, came down upon us with a sweeping wind, striking the ship broadsides, and over she went on her beam ends. Half a minute's hesitation or bungling would in all probability have sent us over altogether. There was a shout to us novices to look out--away went deck chairs and tables. The Misses Hunt--poor old ladies--who had been quietly knitting unconscious of any coming danger, were unceremoniously precipitated into the lee scuppers. I seized the mizen-mast, while C---- falling foul of a roving hen-coop, grasped it in a loving embrace, and accompanied it to some haven of safety, where he stretched himself upon it until permitted to walk upright again. The officers and crew appeared like so many cats in the facility with which they moved about; so much so that deciding to have a try myself, I was instantly sent rolling over to the two old ladies, creating a shout of laughter from all hands. The squall lasted about half an hour, and was succeeded by a fine night and a spanking breeze. [Illustration: HARPOONING A SHARK.] Another bit of excitement was the harpooning and capture of a shark which had been following the ship for days. This is always an omen of ill-luck with sailors, who are very superstitious, believing that a shark under such circumstances is waiting for a body dead or alive, and will follow the ship until its desire is appeased. They are always, therefore, keen to kill a shark when opportunity offers. Fortunately, for our purpose, a calm came on while the shark was visiting us, and he kept moving about under the stern in a most friendly manner. The plan of operations was as follows:--A large junk of pork was made fast to a rope and suspended from the stern, letting it sink about a foot under the surface. C----, Smith, and I were in the captain's boat, with three sailors, under the orders of Lapworth, who had taken his stand immediately above with a harpoon. The shark came up, nibbling and smelling at the pork, so close to us in the boat that he almost rubbed along the side without apparent alarm or taking any notice of our presence. He was a monster, nearly nine feet in length, and as he came alongside, his back fin rose some inches above the surface. He did not seem inclined to seize the pork until Lapworth had it quickly jerked up, when the brute made a dash at it, half turning as he did so, and at the same instant received the harpoon through his neck. I recollect the monster turning over on his back, Lapworth swinging himself over into the boat, a little organised commotion among the men, and in a few moments running nooses were passed over head and tail, and he was hoisted on deck and speedily despatched. The body was cut up and divided amongst the crew, some of whom were partial to shark steak. A piece of the backbone I secured for myself as a memento of the occasion. As if to bear out the superstition I have mentioned, a few days subsequently a death, or rather two deaths, did actually take place; they were the twins and only children of a Scottish shepherd and his wife, both on board. Pretty little girls of eight, as I remember them, playing about the deck, and favourites with all, they died within a day of each other. The father was a gigantic fellow, and I have pleasant recollections of him in after years, when time and other children had helped to assuage his and his wife's grief for the loss of their two darlings at sea by one stroke of illness. There is something more affecting in a burial at sea than one on land. In this instance the little body was wrapped in a white cloth, to which a small bag of coals was fastened, and laid upon a slide projecting from the stern of the vessel ready for immersion. The captain read the Burial Service, all on board standing uncovered. At the words "Dust to dust," etc., the body was allowed to slide into the sea--where it immediately disappeared. The mother was too ill to be present, and the father's grief was severe, as it might well be, to witness his child laid in so lonely a resting place in mid-ocean without sign or mark. The following evening a similar scene was enacted when the body of the other little sister was committed to the deep, and the father had to be taken away before the service was completed. No ceremonies I ever beheld impressed and affected me so much as the burial of the little twins at sea. While in the Tropics we had occasional calms, sometimes lasting for two or three days; the sea was like molten glass, and the sun burnt like a furnace. On such occasions we were permitted to row about within a reasonable distance of the ship, so that if a breeze suddenly sprang up we might not be left behind. Once this very nearly occurred, when we had rowed a long way off, after what was supposed to be a whale spouting. We suddenly felt a gentle breath of air, and noticed the glassy surface giving place to a slight disturbance. We were a mile off the ship, but could distinctly hear the summons from aboard, and noticed the sails filling. We rowed with all our strength, stripped to the waist, and succeeded in getting up when the ship was well under weigh. It was a stiff piece of work, and the captain was so concerned and annoyed at our disobedience of his orders that he refused to allow us to boat again during the voyage. We suffered sorely for our escapade, for not knowing the strength of a tropical sun, we exposed ourselves so that the skin was burned and peeled off, and we were in misery for several days, while our arms and necks were swathed in cotton wool and oil. After leaving the tropics we had a pleasant voyage and fair winds until we rounded the Cape, where we encountered some rough weather, and at 56° S.L., it being then almost winter in those latitudes, we passed many icebergs of more or less extent. Few of them appeared to be more than ten or fifteen feet above water, but the greater portion of such blocks are submerged, and considerable caution had to be observed night and day to steer clear of them. They were usually observable at first from the large number of birds resting on them, causing them to appear like a dark speck on the horizon. One of these icebergs (according to an entry made in the ship's log) was stated to be five miles long and of great height, and we were supposed to have passed it at the latter end of the night so near that "a biscuit might be thrown upon it." I am afraid the entry was open to criticism, and that the existence, or at any rate, the extent of this particular iceberg might have been due to an extra glass of grog on the mate's imagination. We sighted no land during the voyage, except the Peak of Teneriffe, as it emerged above a cloud; and but few vessels, and of those only two closely. One was a Swedish barque, homeward bound, the other a large American clipper ship. We spoke the latter when the vessels were some miles apart, but as the courses were parallel, she being bound for London, while we were from thence, we gradually neared, when an amusing conversation by signals took place. Our captain, by mistake of the signaller, invited the Yankee captain to dinner, and the reply from the American, who good-naturedly took it as a joke, was "Bad roadstead here." Our captain thought they were chaffing him, and had not the mistake been discovered in time, the rencontre might not have ended as pleasantly as it did. Our captain and second mate went on board the Yankee, and their captain returned the visit. While this was proceeding the two ships appeared to be sailing round each other, and the sight was very imposing. When the ceremonies were over, and a few exchanges of newspapers, wines, etc., were made and bearings compared, the vessels swung round to their respective courses, up flew the sails, and a prolonged cheer from both ships told us this little interchange of courtesies in the midst of the South Pacific was at an end. I think it was the same night that we experienced a very heavy gale; the lightning, thunder, rain, and wind were terrific, and the sea ran mountains high. I stayed on deck nearly all the night, half perished with wet and cold; but such a storm carries with it a peculiar attraction, and one which I could not resist. I do not know anything more weird and impressive than the chant of the sailors hauling on the ropes, mingled with the fierce fury of the storm, and every now and again the dense darkness lit up by a vivid flash of lightning; the deck appears for the moment peopled by phantoms combined with the fury of the elements to bring destruction on the noble little vessel with its precious freight struggling and trembling in their grasp. The following morning the storm had quite abated, but the sea was such as can be seen only in mid-ocean. Our little ship (she was only 700 tons) appeared such an atom in comparison with the enormous mountains of water. At one moment we would be perched on the summit of a wave, seemingly hundreds of feet high, and immediately below a terrible abyss into which we were on the point of sinking; the next we would be placed between two mountains of water which seemed going to engulf us. I always took a place with the sailors on emergencies, to give a hand at hauling the ropes, and got to be fairly expert at climbing into the rigging. The rope-hauling was done to some chant started by the boatswain or one of the sailors--this is necessary to ensure that the united strength of the pullers is exerted at the same moment. One of the chants I well remember. It was:-- "_Haul_ a bowlin', the 'Mary Anne's' a-_rollin'_. _Haul_ a bowlin', a bowlin' _haul_; _Haul_ a bowlin', the good ship's a-_rollin'_; _Haul_ a bowlin', a bowlin' _haul_." The chant is sung out in stentorian notes by the leader, and on the word in italics every man joins in a tremendous and united pull. Crowds of Cape pigeons and albatrosses accompanied us all across the South Pacific. These birds never seem to tire and but rarely rest on the water, except when they swoop down and settle a moment to pick up something that has been thrown overboard; this is quickly devoured, and they are again in pursuit. The albatrosses, some white, some grey, and some almost black, are huge birds; some that we shot, and for which the boat was sent, measured nine feet from tip to tip of wings. On August 1st we rounded Stewart's Island, the southern-most of the New Zealand group. It is little more than a barren rock, and was not then inhabited, whatever it may be now. Although it was the winter season, and the latitude corresponded to that of the North of England, we remarked how mild and dry was the atmosphere in comparison. Indeed the weather was glorious and seemed to welcome us to the land we were coming to. On the 3rd of August we sighted the coast of Canterbury, and at daylight on the 4th we found ourselves lying becalmed about 12 miles off Port Lyttelton Heads, from whence the captain signalled for a pilot steamer to take the ship to harbour. In the clear rare atmosphere, and the pure invigorating feeling of that glorious morning, we were all impatient of delay. A couple of fishing boats were lying not far off, and we begged the captain to let us row out to them and he permitted us, conditionally that we returned and kept near the ship, because immediately the tug arrived we would start. We rowed to the boats and obtained some information from the fishermen, with whom were two of the natives, Maori lads; indeed, I think the boat partly belonged to the Maoris, for these people do not take service with the white settlers. They pointed out to us where the entrance lay, and told us that Port Lyttelton was some five miles further down a bay. Before we returned to breakfast we had decided to anticipate matters by going ahead of the ship. We quietly laid in a small supply of food and appeared at the cabin table like good and obedient boys. Incidentally, one of us asked the captain if it would be easy to row into port, and he replied that it would be very risky to attempt it; it was a long way, and the wind or a squall might get up at any moment, or the tide might be contrary, and he positively forbade us to entertain any such idea. All this, however, only increased our desire for the "lark," as we called it, and about 9 o'clock, having rowed about quietly for a while, we suddenly bade good-bye to the "Mary Anne" and steered straight for the Heads, where we had been told Port Lyttelton lay. Our crew consisted of Smith, the two Leaches, C----, and myself, with a man named Kelson, who was a good oarsman, and we thought he would be useful as an extra hand, but he had no notion of our freak when we started, and was considerably chagrined when he discovered our real intention; he had a young wife on board, whom he feared would be in distress about him. For some time we pulled away manfully, but at length began with some dismay to notice two facts, one, that we were losing sight of the ship, and the other that the hills did not appear to be any nearer! Some one suggested returning, but as that would have looked like funk, it was overruled, and we went to the oars with renewed vigour. After some hours pulling we had the satisfaction to find that although the masts of the ship were scarcely visible we were certainly drawing nearer to the land, and could occasionally distinguish waves breaking on the rocks. The coast apparently was quite uninhabited, with no sign of life on land or sea. We had evidently been working against the tide or some current, for we had been rowing steadily from 9 to 4, which would have amounted to less than two miles an hour, whereas we could pull five. Our course must have been true, as also the directions we received, for on entering between the heads we found ourselves in a lovely bay stretching away to where we were able to discern the masts of vessels in the distance, and soon after a large white object lying upon the shore. To satisfy our curiosity and obtain news of our whereabouts we rowed over and found that the white object was the carcase of a whale which had been washed on shore, and on which several men were engaged cutting it up. These speedily discovered our "new chum" appearance, but with true Colonial hospitality at once offered us a nip of rum, at the same moment somewhat disturbing our equanimity by telling us that if we went on to the Port we would be put in choky for leaving the ship before the Medical Officer examined her. It was strange and very pleasant to feel the solid ground under our feet after 94 days at sea, and we sat awhile with the whale men before resuming our boat. Then we proceeded quietly down the Bay, which was very beautiful, the dense and variegated primeval forests clothing the lower portions of the hills and fringing the ravines and gullies to the shore, the pretty caves and bays lying in sheltered nooks, with a mountain stream or cascade to complete the picture, and all undefiled by the hand of man. The bold outline of the bare rocky summits, the deep blue of the silent calm bay, and the distant view of the little Port of Lyttelton picturesquely sloping up the hillside. Seeing no sign of the ship, and fearing to approach the town, we rowed into a little sandy cove, where we fastened the boat and proceeded to ascend the hill to endeavour to discover the ship's whereabouts. About half-way we came upon a neat shepherd's cottage in one of the most picturesque localities imaginable, and commanding a magnificent view of the bay and harbour. On calling we found the cottage occupied by the shepherd's wife, a pleasant buxom Scots-woman, who immediately proffered us food, an offer too tempting to be declined, and we presently sat down to our first Colonial meal of excellent home-made bread, mutton, and tea, and how delighted we were to taste the fine fresh mutton after many weeks of salt junk and leathery fowls on board the "Mary Anne"! We had finished our hearty dinner, and were giving our loquacious hostess all the news we could of the old country, when the ship hove in sight, towed by a little tug steamer. We ran for our boat and gave chase, but only reached her side as the anchor was being dropped in Lyttelton Harbour. We received from the Captain and Lapworth a sound but good-humoured rating, but there would be no opportunity of further "larks" from the "Mary Anne"! The voyage was over, and a most pleasant one it had been, especially for our small party, and I am sure that no voyagers to the New World ever had the luck to travel with kinder or more sympathetic captain and officers, or with abler seamen, than those in command of the good ship "Mary Anne." Poor Mrs. Kelson was in sore distress about her husband, whom she persisted in giving up for lost, and doubtless she looked pretty sharply after his movements for a while. CHAPTER III. LYTTELTON AND CHRISTCHURCH.--CALL ON OUR FRIENDS.--VISIT MALVERN HILL. Port Lyttelton at the time was but an insignificant town in comparison with what it has since become, although from its confined situation it is unlikely ever to attain to any great size. It is the port of the capital of the province, Christchurch, from which it is separated by a chain of hills. A rough and somewhat dangerous cart road led from it to the capital, along and around the hill side, which was twelve miles in length, but there was also a bridle track direct across the hills, by which the distance was reduced by one-half. This path, however, could be used only by pedestrians, or on horseback with difficulty. In 1862 it was decided to connect the port with Christchurch by a railway, cutting a tunnel through the hill, and the project was completed in 1866. In 1859 Port Lyttelton was built entirely of wood, the houses being for the most part single-storeyed. There was a main street running parallel to the beach, with two or three branch streets, running up the hill therefrom; there were a few shops, several stores, stables, and small inns. The harbour was an open roadstead, and possessed but a primitive sort of quay or landing place for boats and vessels of small tonnage. We were invited on shore by the Leach's sheep-farming cousin, who had come to meet them, but we returned on board to sleep. The following morning, getting our luggage together, we all four started for Christchurch on hired horses, sending our kit round the hill by cart. The climb up the bridle path (we had to lead the horses) was a stiff pull for fellows just out of a three months' voyage, but we were repaid on reaching the top by the magnificent panorama opened out before us. To our right was the open ocean, blue and calm, dotted with a few white sails; to the left the long low range of hills encircling the bay, and on a pinnacle of which we stood. At our feet lay Christchurch, with its few well-laid-out streets and white houses, young farms, fences, trees, gardens, and all the numerous signs of a prosperous and thriving young colony, the little river Avon winding its peaceful way to the sea and encircling the infant town like a silver cord, and the muddy Heathcote with its few white sails and heavily-laden barges. While beyond stretched away for sixty miles the splendid Canterbury Plains bounded in their turn by the southern Alps with their towering snow-capped peaks and glaciers sparkling in the sun; the patches of black pine forest lying sombre and dark against the mountain sides, in contrast with the purple, blue, and gray of the receding gorges, changing, smiling, or frowning as clouds or sunshine passed over them. All this heightened by the extremely rare atmosphere of New Zealand, in which every detail stood out at even that distance clear and distinct, made up a picture which for beauty and grandeur can rarely be equalled in the world. Upon arrival at Christchurch we put up at a neat little inn on the outskirts of the town, called Rule's accommodation house. It was a picture of neatness, cleanliness, and comfort. We found it occupied by several squatters of what might be called the better class, who, on their occasional business visits to Christchurch, preferred a quiet establishment to the larger and more noisy hotels, of which the town possessed two. These gentlemen were clothed in cord breeches and high boots, with guernsey smock frocks, in which costume they appeared to live. English coats and collars and light boots were luxuries unknown or contemned by these hardy sons of the bush, whom we found very pleasant company, but who, it was apparent to us before we were many minutes in their society, regarded us as very raw material indeed. According to bush custom it was usual to dub all fresh arrivals "new chums" until they had satisfactorily passed certain ordeals in bush life. They should be able to ride a buckjumper, or, at any rate, hold on till the saddle went, use a stockwhip, cut up and light a pipe of tobacco with a single wax vesta while riding full speed in the teeth of a sou'-wester, and be ready and competent to take a hand at any manual labour going. After dinner some of our new acquaintances entertained us with some miraculous tales of bush life, while others looked carelessly on to see how far we could be gulled with impunity. An amusing incident, however, occurred presently which rapidly increased their respect for the raw material. C---- was a young giant, six feet three in his stockings, and the last man to put up with an indignity. One of the party--a rough, vulgar sort of fellow, who had been romancing considerably, and who evidently was not on the most cordial terms with the rest of the company--carried his rudeness so far as to drop into C----'s seat when the latter had vacated it for a moment. On his return C---- asked him to leave it, which the fellow refused to do. C---- put his hand on his collar. "Now," said he, "get out! Once, twice, three times"--and at the last word he lifted the chap bodily and threw him over the table, whence he fell heavily on the floor. He was thoroughly cowed, and with a few oaths left the room. It needed only such an incident as this to put us on the friendliest terms with them all, and we enjoyed a pleasant afternoon and gathered much information. [Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF LAPWORTH.] The following morning, whilst waiting for breakfast, sitting out on the grass in front of the house, we heard a stampede coming along the road from the direction of the Fort, and presently there hove in sight Lapworth astride a hired nag, coming ahead at a gallop, one hand grasping the mane and the other the crupper, while stirrups and reins were flying in the wind. In his rear were Bob Stavelly, third mate, and the boatswain, astride another animal, Bob steering, and the boatswain holding on, seemingly by the tail. Lapworth, a quarter of a mile off, was shouting "Stop her! Stop her!" but the mare needed no assistance; she evidently understood where she was required to go, and decided to do it in her own time and way. Galloping to the grass plot on which we were standing she suddenly stopped short and deposited Lapworth ignominiously at our feet. The other animal followed suit, but did not succeed in clearing itself, and after some tacking Bob and the boatswain got under weigh again and steered for the "White Hart," where they were bent on a spree. Christchurch at this time was about fourteen years in existence. It consisted of only a few hundred houses, chiefly single-storeyed and entirely constructed of timber. The streets were well laid out, broad, and on the principle of the best modern towns, but few of them were as yet made or metalled. There were not many buildings of architectural pretensions, but all were characterised by an air of comfort, neatness, and suitability, and it was apparent the rapid strides the young colony was making would ere long place it high in the rank of its order. There were two churches, a town hall, used on occasion as court house, ball-room, or theatre; three hotels, some very presentable shops and stores, and a few particularly neat and handsome residences standing in luxuriant grounds, such as those occupied by the Superintendent, Bishop, Judge, etc. The suburbs were extending on all sides with the fencing in of farms, erection of homesteads, and conversion of the native soil into land suitable for growing English corn and grass. Through the rising city wound the little river Avon, only twenty to thirty yards in width, spanned by two wooden bridges, and a couple of mills had also been erected upon it. The river was only about fifteen miles from its source to the sea, and at the time to which I refer was almost covered with watercress. This plant was not indigenous; it was introduced a few years before by a colonist, who was so partial to the vegetable that he brought some roots from home with him, and planted them near the source of the river, where he squatted. The watercress took so kindly to the soil that it had now covered the river to its mouth, and the Colonial Government were put to very considerable annual expense to remove it. As I have already stated, we had been provided with introductions to some of the most influential families in Christchurch--namely, the Bishop, the Chief Justice Gresson, and some others. The following day we made our calls and were most hospitably received, especially by Mr. and Mrs. Gresson, who from that time during my stay in New Zealand were my constant and valued friends. We were introduced to many of the best up-country people, and a month was passed pleasantly visiting about to enable us to decide on what line we would take up as a commencement. We possessed very little money, so a life of service in some form was an absolute necessity at the beginning. While awaiting events, C---- and I were invited by young Mr. H----, son of the Bishop, to visit his sheep station at Malvern Hills, some forty-five miles distant across the plains, where we could see what station life was like and have some sport after wild pigs, ducks, etc. Procuring the loan of a couple of horses we all started early one morning, what change of clothes we needed being strapped with our blankets before and behind on our saddles, and I carried a gun. It was an exhilarating ride in the cool, fragrant atmosphere, although a description would lead one to think it would be monotonous to ride forty-five miles over an almost perfectly flat plain, with no more than an occasional shepherd's hut, a mob of sheep, or an isolated homestead to break the surrounding view. The plain was almost bare of vegetation, beyond short yellow grass here and there burnt in patches, and now and then a solitary cabbage tree (a kind of palm) dotted the wide expanse. Beyond a few paradise ducks feeding on the burnt patches, or an occasional family of wild pigs, we met with no animal life. Quail used to be abundant, but the run fires were fast destroying them. We had before us the nearing view of the Malvern Hills, the sloping pine forests and scrub, with the long, undulating spurs running back to the foot of great snow-clad peaks. The station, or homestead, stood on a plateau some fifty feet above the plain; it consisted of two huts, mud-walled and thatched with snow grass. One of these contained the general kitchen and sleeping room for the station hands, the other was the residence of the squatter and his overseer. Behind these there were a wool shed for clipping and pressing the wool, with sheep yards attached, a stockyard for cattle, and a fenced in paddock in which a few station hacks were kept for daily use. On arrival our first duty was to remove saddles, bridles, and swags and lead the horses to some good pasture, where they were each tethered to a tussock by thirty yards of fine hemp rope, which they carried tied about their necks. Then, after a rough wash in the open, we were soon gathered round a hospitable table in the kitchen, where all sat in common to a substantial meal of mutton, bread, and tea, the standard food with little variation of a squatter's homestead. Night had closed in by now, and we were soon glad to retire to our blankets, and the sweet fresh beds of Manuka twigs laid on the floor of Harper's hut, for the temporary accommodation of us visitors. We slept like tops till roused at daybreak to breakfast, after which the forenoon was spent in being shown over the station and in a climb to the forests, where we saw the pine trees being felled, and split up into posts and rails. After the midday meal a pig hunt was organised, and a few animals were accounted for, falling chiefly to Harper's rifle. (Pig hunting I will specially refer to later on.) We passed a pleasant and instructive week at Malvern Station, taking a hand in all the routine work, riding after the stock, working in the bush, and occasionally taking a cross-country ride of fifteen or twenty miles to visit a neighbouring station. CHAPTER IV. A PERIOD OF UNCERTAINTY AS TO OCCUPATION.--EVENTUALLY LEAVE FOR NELSON AS CADETS ON A SHEEP RUN. On our return to Christchurch we were beset with a diversity of advice not calculated to bring us to a speedy decision. Some advised us to go on a sheep run for a year or two as cadets to learn the routine, with a view to obtaining thereafter an overseership, and in time a possible partnership. Others advised our setting up as carters between the Port and Christchurch, while, again, others recommended us to invest what money we possessed in land and take employment up country until we had saved enough to farm it. All advice was excellent, and had we decided on one line it would have been well, or if we had had fewer advisers perhaps it would have been better. We were waiting and talking about work instead of going at it, living at some expense, and keeping up appearances without means to support them. But it was not easy under the circumstances to decide. To go upon a sheep station and work as a labourer or overseer was very obnoxious to C----. With his home experience of farming he expected too much all at once, and naturally I was guided by him. Farming on a small scale, even if we had sufficient money to buy and work a farm, would not pay. There was not then a large enough home market for the crops produced. Land-holders held on, hoping that as the wealth of the Colony increased and the town extended and peopled, land would proportionately increase in value, and market for their produce would be found at home or abroad. But the Colony was then very young, and the staple produce of the country upon which everything depended was wool, which was only partially developed. The country was not then a tenth stocked. Sheep-farming was decidedly the thing to go in for whenever we could contrive to do so, but in the meantime what were we to take up for a living. The answer should have been simple enough. But, however, there is no need to dwell on our petty disappointments; they were only what hundreds feel and have felt who have gone to the Colonies with too sanguine expectations that it was an easy and pleasant road to fortune. That it is a road to fortune is very true, if a young man is content and determined to begin at the beginning and go steadily on; but it is not always an easy road at first for the youngster who has very little or nothing to commence upon, especially if he be a gentleman born, and has only his hands to help him. He must put his pride in his pocket and learn to be content to be taken at his present value. If he does that he will find, that his birth and education will stand to him, and that no matter what occupation he may be forced to take up, if his life and conduct be manly and reliable he will command as much or more respect from his (for the time being) fellow workers as he would do under different circumstances. It is a huge mistake to suppose that the gentleman lowers himself anywhere--and especially in the Colonies--by undertaking any kind of manual labour. I have known the sons of gentlemen of good family working as bullock-drivers, shepherds, stockdrivers, bushmen, for a yearly wage, and nobody considered the employment derogatory. On the contrary, these are the men who get on and in time become wealthy. A sad event occurred about this time, which, as it was in a way connected with our ship, I will relate here. It was the custom of Government at that time to send out to the Australian Colonies for employment as domestic servants, possibly wives for young colonists (women being much in the minority), a number of girls from the Reformatory Schools in London; and in the "Mary Anne" some twenty or thirty of them had arrived. While on board they were under the charge of matrons, and on arrival were received in a house maintained at Government expense, until they obtained service or were otherwise disposed of. This house was under the superintendence of a medical man, Dr. T----, whose acquaintance we had made on our first arrival. He was a middle-aged man, a thorough gentleman, a bachelor, and a great favourite in Christchurch society. Amongst the shipment of young women was a very handsome, ladylike, and well-educated girl, and an accomplished musician. The doctor was smitten, proposed to her, and married her quietly. On the day on which we first heard of the event we happened to be sitting with some acquaintances in the public room of the White Hart Hotel, when Dr. T---- entered, and walking over to the fire, called for a glass of water, nodding to us all round in his usual friendly way. On receiving the water, he threw into it and stirred up a powder which he took from his pocket, and immediately drank off the mixture. "I've done it now," he said; "I have taken strychnine!" and remained standing with his back to the fire in an unconcerned manner. We scarcely heeded his remark, taking it as a joke, till he suddenly crossed to a sofa, and called to us for God's sake to send for a doctor. One was sent for, but he arrived too late, if indeed his presence could have been of use at any time. A doctor knows how much to take to ensure death. After a few fits of convulsions, very terrible to witness, Dr. T---- was a corpse. The cause of his committing suicide was due to his discovery, very soon after his marriage, of the true character of the woman he had taken to his home. I do not know whether the custom of sending out to the Colonies persons of this class still exists, but it certainly cannot be a good one, and I fear that but a very small percentage of them really turn over a new leaf. There must be now, at any rate, better means of disposing of the surplus members of reformatory establishments in the Old Country than sending them to run wild amidst the freedom and temptations of the new world--a custom as hurtful to them as to the Colony which receives them. C---- and I at length decided to commence work as carriers; we rented a four-acre paddock, and built a small wooden hut, and were in treaty for the purchase of the necessary drays and teams, but it was all being done in a half-hearted way, as well as in opposition to the best of our advisers. C----'s aversion to undertake anything where he was not entirely his own master was unconquerable. Doubtless the carrying business would have answered very well, for a time at any rate, and there was no actual hurry, so long as we were employed and earning a living, but it was not to be. We were invited to meet at dinner at the Chief Justice's a Mr. and Mrs. Lee from Nelson Province. Mr. Lee was a large sheep-farmer, and before we left that evening we had accepted a most kind invitation from him to go to his run for a month or two at any rate, before deciding finally to take up the rough and uncertain business we had proposed for ourselves. The Judge so strongly advised this course for us both, that C---- could not refuse, although he was by no means keen about it. The judge explained that the opportunity was an excellent one, and would in all probability lead to his (C----'s) being offered the overseership, if he decided to take up the life after a fair trial. I did not know then, as I did soon after, that C---- had serious intentions of abandoning the country before giving it a fair trial; everything he saw was obnoxious to him, and he evidently yearned for his home in Ireland and his little farm again. I purchased for my own use a small but powerful bay mare, C---- obtained a mount from Mr. Lee, and in the course of a few days we started in company with Mr. and Mrs. Lee, all on horseback, for their station of Highfield. Highfield was, as well as I recollect, nearly three hundred miles from Christchurch, and we accomplished the distance in a little over a week, Mrs. Lee riding with us all the way. Indeed, there was no other means of travelling over that wild track, and she was, like most squatters' wives in those days, an experienced horsewoman. Our luggage was carried on three pack horses, which we drove before us, and in this manner we accomplished from thirty to forty miles each day. At night we rested, either at a rough accommodation house (a kind of private hotel) or a squatter's station, and during the day's ride we sometimes halted for lunch at any convenient locality where we could find water to make tea and firewood to boil it with. Then the packs and saddles were removed from the horses, which were allowed to roll and feed on the native grass while we refreshed the inner man with the usual bush fare, of which a sufficient supply was carried with us. After crossing the Hurunui river, the boundary between Canterbury and Nelson, we soon left the plains behind and entered a fine undulating country watered by abundant streams and some large rivers, which latter could be forded only with considerable care and judgment, being sometimes full of quicksands, and always rapid. On approaching our destination, which, as its name implies, stood on an elevated situation, the gorges and river-bed flats, along which our track ran, narrowed and became more wooded and picturesque, till we at length passed through the narrow precipitous gorge that led us to the open plateau upon which the station buildings stood. These comprised the dwelling house, a long, low, commodious building, furnished most comfortably in English fashion; the men's huts, comprising three sleeping rooms, the kitchen and dining-room for the hands, the store, dairy, etc., with an enclosed yard, formed one group, while at some distance away stood the woolshed and sheep yards, paddocks, stock yards for cattle and sheds for cows and working bullocks. In front of the dwelling was a pretty and rather extensive garden plot, through the centre of which wound a small stream of pure spring water. The entire group of buildings, with the garden, paddocks, etc., occupied the centre of a piece of undulating land, open towards the south, where a fine view of the country over which we had journeyed was visible, and on all other sides was bounded by hills, which to the north and west stretched away to the Alps. It was a grand site to make a home upon, although I could not help the feeling that it was a somewhat lonely one; the nearest neighbours were fifteen to twenty miles distant. Mr. Lee's run comprised about 30,000 acres, principally hills, with occasional stretches of flat land upon which the cattle and horses grazed, while the sheep fed on the mountain sides. We speedily fell into the life, and found it exhilarating. Mr. Lee was a fine specimen of the English country squire, a good horseman and sportsman, and he could put his hand to any kind of work. He had a large store and workshop near the yards, where every conceivable thing needed for use on a station so far from supplies was kept, and he was an excellent carpenter and smith. Indeed, a great portion of the rather extensive buildings and yards he had erected himself, with such assistance as he could derive from raw station hands, while only such articles as doors and windows, furniture, and suchlike were brought from Christchurch. The house walls, roofs, and floors were all of green timber cut in the neighbouring pine forest. The walls of the living houses were composed of a framing of round pine averaging 4 or 5 inches thick, covered on the outside with weather boarding, and on the inside with laths, the space between of four inches being filled with clay and chopped grass, and the whole surface afterwards plastered with clay and mud-washed. The roofs were made of pine framing covered with boards and pine shingles. The outbuildings were usually built with roughly squared framing to which heavy split slabs would be vertically fastened, the inside being left rough or plastered with mud as desired; and the roofs were of round pine framing covered with rickers (young pine plants) and thatched with snow grass. Squatters soon learnt to be their own architects, and very good ones many of them turned out. The country immediately surrounding the station was almost treeless, and Mr. Lee was doing a good deal of planting, and had a very fine garden under formation. Some two miles to the rear of the station, in a deep cleft of the hills, lay a considerable black and white pine forest. It is a peculiarity of New Zealand that the pine forests indigenous to that country (and which bear no similarity to European pines) are invariably found in more or less accurately defined patches, growing thickly and never scattered to any appreciable extent. One may ride twenty miles through spurs and hills with no vegetation on them, and then suddenly stumble on a densely wooded ravine or mountain side so accurately contained within itself as to lead one to imagine it had been originally planted. Within twenty miles of Highfield was another station, called Parnassus, belonging to Mr. Edward Lee, our Mr. Lee's brother. We soon rode over to see him, and made excursions to other neighbours, none living nearer than ten miles. There were upwards of one hundred horses at Highfield, including all ages and sexes, of which the main body of course ran wild, while a few were kept in paddocks for use. The horse Mrs. Lee rode from Christchurch was a new purchase and a very fine animal, named Maseppa, and, strange to say, although he carried her perfectly all the journey to Highfield, he had now, after a few weeks on the run, developed into a vicious buckjumper. One day, when Mr. Lee wanted to ride him, he was driven in with the mob and saddled. Immediately he was mounted the brute bucked and sent Mr. Lee flying. Fortunately the ground was soft, and he escaped with a few bruises. C---- then had a try, with more success, but the horse was never safe for a lady to ride, and he was soon after disposed of to a stock-rider on the Waiou. It may be interesting here to give a general sketch of a sheep-farmer's life and work on his station, obtained from my experience at Highfield, and occasionally on other runs, during my five years' residence in the country, and this I will endeavour to do in the next chapter. CHAPTER V. WORKING OF A SHEEP-RUN--SCAB--C----'S DEPARTURE FOR HOME, ETC. The intending squatter might either purchase a sheep run outright, if opportunity offered, or if he was fortunate enough to discover a tract of unclaimed country, he could occupy it at once by paying the Provincial Government a nominal rental, something like half a farthing an acre. This would only be the goodwill of the land, which was liable to be purchased outright by anybody else direct from Government, at the upset price fixed, which in Nelson was one pound per acre for hilly land, and two pounds for flat land suitable for cultivation. Nobody could purchase outright a run or portion of it while another occupier held the goodwill of it without first challenging the latter, who retained the presumptive right to purchase. To protect themselves as much as possible from land being purchased away from them, or from being obliged to purchase themselves, goodwill holders were in the habit of buying up the best flat land, as well as making the land around their homesteads private property. A run so divided and cut up would not be so tempting to a rich man, and would effectually debar the man of small means, as the present occupier would not sell his private property unless at a price which would reimburse him for the loss of his interest in the goodwill of the run, and the new-comer, if he did not possess the scraps of private property as well as the remainder of the run, would be continually harassed by the previous owner occupying the best portions, and would be liable to fine for trespass, etc. When a tract of country is occupied for the first time, it will usually be found covered with tussocks of grass scattered far apart and lying matted and rank on the ground. The first thing to do is to apply the match and burn all clean to the roots, and after a few showers of rain the grass will begin to sprout from the burnt stumps. Then the sheep are turned on to it, and the cropping, tramping, and manuring it receives, with occasional further burnings, renders it in a couple of years fair grazing country. An even sod takes the place of the isolated tussock, and the grass from being wild and unsavoury becomes sweet and tender. It takes, however, three to five years to transform a wild mountain side (if the land be moderately good) into an ordinarily fair sheep-run calculated to carry one sheep to every five acres--that is, of course, for the native or indigenous grass; the same ground cleared and laid down in English grass would carry three to five sheep to the acre. A settler having obtained his run is bound by Government to stock it within a year with a stipulated number of sheep per 1,000 acres, failing which he forfeits his claim to possession. A man holding a fairly good run of 30,000 acres may feed from 3,000 to 4,000 sheep upon it, making due allowance for increase and disability to dispose of surplus stock. The farming is conducted as follows: The flock is divided into two or more parts, in all cases the wethers being kept separate from the ewes and lambs, and occupying different portions of the run, the object being that the ewes and lambs may have rest, the wethers being liable to be driven in for sale or slaughter. A shepherd is put in charge of each flock, and he resides at some convenient place on the boundary, whence it is his duty to walk or ride round his boundary at least once a day, and see that no sheep have crossed it. If he discovers tracks made during his absence he must follow them until he recovers his wanderers. It is not necessary that a shepherd should see his sheep daily; he may not see a third of his flocks for months, unless he wishes to discover their actual whereabouts; he has only to assure himself that they have not left the run, and it is practically impossible for them to do so without leaving their footprints to be discovered on the boundary. The breeding season is spring and the shearing season summer, which corresponds to our winter in England. The usual increase of lambs, if the ewes be healthy and strong, is 75 to 95 per cent. in about equal proportions of male and female. When the lambs are about six weeks old the entire flock is driven in for cutting, tailing, and earmarking. The tails are cut off and the ear nicked or punched with the registered earmark of the station, and a certain number of the most approved male lambs are reserved. A good hand can cut and mark two thousand lambs per day, and not over one per cent. will die from the consequences. When the operation is over, the flock is counted out and handed over to the shepherd to take them back to their run until the shearing season. At this time a complete muster is made; all hands turn out on the hills, and every sheep is brought in that can be found. Not infrequently in the hilly country an exciting chase is had after a wild mob that have defied the exertions of the shepherds and their dogs for a considerable time. These animals will run up the most inaccessible places, skirt the edges of precipices at a height at which they can be discovered only by the aid of a telescope, and have been known to maintain their freedom in spite of man or dog for years. When at length caught they present a ludicrous appearance; their fleeces have become tangled and matted, hanging to the ground in ragged tails, and can with difficulty be removed, their feet have grown crooked and deformed, and they rarely again become domesticated with the flock. The shearing is carried on in a large shed, divided into pens or small compartments, each connected separately with the attached yards. It is usually done by contract, the price being £1 to £1 5s. per hundred sheep. Each man has his pen, which is cleared out and refilled as often as necessary, and at each clearance the number therein are counted to his name. The shorn sheep are passed direct to the branding yard, and from thence to a common yard, from which all are counted out at nightfall for return to the run. A good shearer will clip one hundred sheep in a day, the average for a gang of men being 75. Upon the fleece being removed it is gathered up by an attendant placed for the purpose, and handed over to the sorter, who spreads it upon a table and removes dirty and jagged parts, and sometimes it is classed. It is then rolled up and thrown into the wool press to be packed for export. The wool bales so pressed measure 9 ft. by 4 ft. by 4 ft., and contain on an average one hundred fleeces, and each fleece runs from three to four pounds in weight. The lambs' wool is pressed separately, and commands a higher price than that of the adult sheep. The hand press is a wooden box, made the size of the canvas bale, which is suspended therein by hooks from the open top; the box has a movable side, which is loosened out to give exit to the bale when pressed. The pressing is done by the feet, assisted by a blunt spade, and the bales are generally very creditably turned out, the sheep-farmer priding himself on a neatly pressed bale. When pressed the end is sewn up and the bale rolled over to a convenient place for branding, when it is ready for loading on the dray. Previous to shearing, the sheep are sometimes driven through a deep running stream and roughly washed, to remove sand and grease. Wool certified to have been so cleaned will command a higher price than unwashed wool. At the time to which I refer, most of the runs in Nelson Province were "unclean"--that is, infected with scab; and it became so general that it was considered almost impossible to eradicate. The disease was most infectious. A mob of clean, healthy sheep merely driven over a run upon which infected sheep had recently fed would almost surely catch the disease. A sheep severely infected with scab becomes a pitiful object. The body gets covered with a yellow scaly substance, the wool falls off or is rubbed off in patches, the disease causing intense itchiness, the animal loses flesh and appetite, and unless relieved sickens and dies. The Nelson settlers, although they could not hope to speedily eradicate the pest, were nevertheless bound by the Provincial Government to adopt certain precautions against its spreading. Every station was provided with a scab yard and a tank in which the flocks were periodically bathed in hot tobacco water, and such animals as were unusually afflicted received special attention and hand-dressing. These arrangements strictly enforced proved successful to a great extent in keeping the disease in check. Mr. Lee's run was scabby, although not so bad as some of his neighbour's, and the strictest precautions were observed to keep it as clean as possible. Upon arrival at Highfield we had immediate opportunity to see for ourselves the most interesting part of the working of the run. The cutting season had just commenced, and the mustering and shearing would ere long follow. My chum C---- was a particularly smart fellow at everything appertaining to this kind of life. He speedily picked up the routine, and made himself so generally valuable that Mr. Lee offered him the post of overseer, with £60 a year as a beginning, and all found. But C----, on the plea that the pay was too small, refused it. This was his great mistake, to refuse what ninety-nine men in a hundred would have jumped at in his circumstances! It would have been the first step on the ladder, and with his abilities and experience he had only to wait a certain time to become a partner. But his heart was not in the country, and nothing would reconcile him to remaining in it. Within two months of our coming to Highfield he determined to return home. This resolution being taken, nothing would shake it, and the day was fixed for his departure. He and I were badly suited I fear to work together, and had he had some other chum perhaps he might have agreed with the new life better, and turned out a successful colonist; for most certainly, although we were not able to see it at the time, he had eminent opportunities open to him for becoming one. I rode twenty miles with him on his way to Christchurch. He was to stay the first night at a station twenty-five miles from Highfield. On the bank of the Waiou river we parted--we two chums who had come all the way from the Old Country to work and stick together. I thought it then hard of C----, although I had no right to expect him to stay in New Zealand in opposition to his own wishes and judgment to please me. As I watched him cross the river and presently disappear between the hills further on, a feeling of strange loneliness came over me. Well, I was not much more than a child! I must have sat there ruminating for a considerable time, for when I came to myself it was dark, and I remembered that I was in an almost trackless region which I had passed through only once before in daylight, and in company, when we had a view of the hills to guide us, and that I was at least seven miles from the nearest station (Rutherford's), but of the exact direction of which I was not certain. However, I had been long enough in the country to have passed more than one night in the open air, and at the worst this could only happen again, and I was provided with a blanket strapped to my saddle. I was not, however, to be without bed or supper. I mounted my mare, which had been browsing beside me, and gave her her head--the wisest course I could have taken. After an hour's sharp walk I discovered lights in the distance, which soon after proved to be those of Rutherford's station, where I was most hospitably received. Considerable astonishment was expressed at C----'s--to them-- unaccountably foolish action in throwing over, after two months' trial, an opportunity which most men situated as he was would have worked for years to obtain. C---- reached the Old Country in due time, resumed his small farm, married, had a large family, and died a poor man. The following morning I returned to Highfield feeling myself a better man and more independent now that I had myself only to depend on. CHAPTER VI. SHEPHERD'S LIFE--DRIVING SHEEP TO CHRISTCHURCH--KILLING A WILD SOW--ARRIVAL IN CHRISTCHURCH. I passed nearly a year at Highfield, during which time I made myself acquainted with all the routine of a sheep-farmer's life. I learned to ride stock, shoe horses, shear sheep, plough, fence, fell and split timber, and everything else that an experienced squatter ought to be able to do, not omitting the accomplishment of smoking. Mr. Lee then offered me what he had offered C----, and I agreed to accept it pending a visit I meditated making to Christchurch to consult my friend Mr. Gresson about a desire I entertained of entering the Government Land Office and to become a surveyor. I had done my best to like the life of a sheep-farmer, but I was becoming weary of it, and something was always prompting me to seek for more congenial employment. So far as stockriding, pig-hunting, and shooting were concerned, the life was delightful, but such recreations could be enjoyed anywhere. To sheep and sheep-farming I conceived a growing aversion as a life's work, and although I was prepared to hold to it if nothing better to my mind presented itself, I was equally determined to find something else if it were possible. Mr. Lee had three shepherds at this time in charge of flocks, who resided in different places at least four miles from each other and from the home station. Two of these were the sons of gentlemen in the Old Country, and one of them a distant relation. The life of the boundary shepherd is a peculiarly lonely one, especially if he be young and single. His residence is a little one-roomed hut, sometimes two rooms, built of mud and thatched with grass, an earthen floor, with a large chimney and fireplace occupying one end. His furniture consists of a table, bunk, and a couple of chairs, and if he be an educated man and fond of reading he will have a table for his books and writing materials. He is supplied monthly with a sack of flour and a bag of tea and sugar, salt, etc. His cooking utensils are a kettle, camp oven, and frying pan, to which are added a few plates, knives and forks, and two or three tin porringers. He always possesses at least one dog and a horse, and possibly a cat. The only light is that procured from what is called a slush lamp, made by keeping an old bowl or pannikin replenished by refuse fat or dripping in which is inserted a thick cotton wick. He cooks for himself, washes his own clothes, cuts up his firewood, and fetches water for daily use. Such luxuries as eggs, butter, or milk are unknown. Perhaps once a month he may have occasion to visit the home station, or somebody passing may call at his hut, or he may occasionally meet a neighbouring shepherd on his round. With these exceptions he has no intercourse with his fellow-beings, and all his affection is bestowed on his dog and horse; he would be badly off, indeed, without them. One of these young men, by name Wren, became a great friend of mine, and many a time I visited him or spent a night in his lonely little hut, which was located in a small clearing surrounded by dense bush and immediately over a small and turbulent stream, which he used to say was always good company and prevented his feeling so lonely during the long dark nights as he otherwise would. It is strange how in the course of time a person will get accustomed to such a lonely life, and many like it, but it cannot be good for a young man to have too much of it, and fortunately for Wren a few years would see him located at headquarters. To take charge of a boundary was part of his education as a cadet. It was different with the other. He was an unfortunate of that class so frequently met with in the Colonies, a "ne'er-do-well" who had while at home contracted habits of dissipation, and he was sent out to New Zealand under the then very mistaken supposition that he would thereby be cured. But there is no permanent cure for such a man; his life may be prolonged a little by enforced abstinence, but he will never, or rarely ever, recover his power of will so far as to avoid temptation if it comes in his way. If it be possible to do such a man any real good, there may be some chance for him at home, where he would have the care and influence of his friends to support him, but there is no chance for him in the Colonies. Such a man will under pressure abstain for months, but the moment that pressure is removed he will make for the nearest place where his propensity can be indulged, and give himself up to the devil body and soul, so long as he has the means to do so, or can obtain what he desires by fair means or foul. He knows no shame; all honourable and manly feeling has become callous within him; and it is a happy release indeed for all connected with him when his pitiable life is ended. It was a custom of Mr. Lee's to send yearly to Christchurch a flock of fat wethers for sale, and as I wished to proceed there on the business I referred to, I was to be entrusted with the charge of them, in company with a Scottish shepherd, by name Campbell, who was a new arrival in the country. The sheep numbered four hundred, and we had to drive them nearly three hundred miles, and deliver them in as good condition as when they left. We started early in December, the hottest time of the year, carrying what we needed for camping out on one pack horse. It was by no means a pleasure journey to drive, or rather feed, sheep along for three hundred miles at ten to fifteen miles a day, over dry and hot plains with not a tree to shelter one, and to stay awake turn about night after night to watch them. Mr. Lee accompanied us as far as the Waiou river, over which it occupied the best part of a day to cross the sheep, then he left us to proceed to Christchurch to seek and bring back the Government Scab Inspector to meet us at the Hurunui river, the boundary, and there to pass the sheep, otherwise they would not be permitted to enter the Canterbury province. It may appear strange that it would occupy a day to cross 400 sheep over a river, but it is a very difficult thing to induce sheep to take to the water; indeed, by merely driving them it is impossible. Where the water is at all fordable, several men wade in, each carrying a sheep, and when half-way across the animals are loosed and sent swimming to the other side, but not infrequently this plan fails, by reason of the sheep turning and swimming back to the mob, and the operation may have to be repeated many times before it is successful. The object is to give the mob a lead, and when sheep get a lead they will follow it blindly, no matter where it will lead them to. When the river is too deep for wading, men on horseback ford or swim over, carrying sheep on their saddles, and drop them in midstream till the required lead is obtained. As soon as the mob understand they have to go, a panic seems to take them, and they make such frantic efforts to rush on that to prevent them hurting each other is sometimes impossible. An unfortunate instance of this occurred while I was at Highfield. We were driving a large mob of sheep to the yards to be dipped, and had to pass them over one side of the rocky gorge leading to the Highfield plateau before mentioned. Some of the leaders near the edge took alarm, and a few fell over the cliff. Seeing their comrades disappear, others followed, and then the whole mob made for the precipice, and jumped frantically over. The fall was about twenty feet only, but the animals followed each other with such rapidity that in a few minutes some three hundred sheep lay in a mass, piled on top of each other. It was with great difficulty the dogs and men prevented the whole mob following suit, in which case there would have been great loss; as it was, nearly one hundred sheep were smothered before it was possible to extricate them. There is another danger to which they are exposed when driving them over new ground. There is a small plant, I forget the name of it, but it is well known to every shepherd, and grows in luxuriance along some of the river beds. It is about a foot high and has dark green leaves. If by any chance a mob of hungry sheep are driven into this plant, they will attack it ravenously, and in a few minutes they will stagger and fall as if intoxicated, and if not immediately attended to they will die. The only chance for them is to bleed them by driving in the blade of a small knife each side of the nose. The blood will flow black and thick, and the animal will speedily recover, but delay is fatal. We travelled steadily about 15 miles each day, and in due time reached the north bank of the Hurunui river, only to find no sign of Mr. Lee or the Inspector. This was specially disappointing as our supply of flour and sugar was getting very low, and we were promised a fresh supply at this point. For several days neither the supplies nor Mr. Lee appeared. The little flour remaining was full of maggots, our tea and tobacco were finished, and we had to live on mutton boiled in a frying-pan (we were obliged to kill a sheep). There was no feeding ground near the river, the country having been recently burnt, and so we were obliged to take the sheep daily a couple of miles inland, carrying with us some of the mutton and water, and drink the latter nearly hot, travelling back to the river-bed at nightfall to camp the sheep in an angle between two streams, by which means we contrived to obtain a little rest. One day we varied our food by securing some fresh pork in a somewhat novel manner. There were many wild pigs about but we had no means of shooting or otherwise killing them. One day while driving our sheep inland, we came across a mob of pigs in a dry nallah, all of which bolted except a full-grown sow and a litter of young ones, which could not run with the herd; and as the mother would not leave them behind, she decided to stay, and if need be fight for her family. It was a touching picture, no doubt, but there is not much room for sentiment when the stomach is empty and the body weary and unsatisfied. The prospect of fresh pork that night in lieu of the everlasting mutton, the cooking of which we had varied in every way we could devise was very tempting, and we set to work to make some plan for capturing the sow; the baby piggies were too young and delicate for our taste. We possessed no weapons but our pocket knives, and they would be of small use against so powerful a brute as a wild sow in defence of her young. The dogs shirked her neighbourhood altogether. At length, in our extremity, we were struck by the idea that we might strangle her with one of the tether ropes carried around the horses' necks. We unloosed one, and each taking an end thirty feet apart, approached to the encounter. To our amazement and joy the sow herself here contributed in a quite unexpected manner to her own capture. Immediately the rope was within her reach she snapped viciously at it, and retained it in her mouth. Discovering that she persisted in holding on, and that the rope was far back in her jaws, we shortened hand rapidly, and ran round, crossing each other in a circle, keeping the rope taut meanwhile. By this means we quickly twisted the rope firmly over her snout, so that had she now desired she could not have rid herself of it. The rest was easy; we shortened hand till near enough to despatch her with our clasp knives. We cut up the beast and carried off as much of the meat as would last us some days, and that night supped sumptuously off pork chops. [Illustration: KILLING THE WILD SOW.] After ten days of this very undesirable existence, Mr. Lee arrived and informed us that the Inspector would be up on the morrow. Very welcome news; and we were further gladdened by a fresh supply of the necessaries of life which Mr. Lee had brought on a led pack horse. The delay was owing to the Inspector having been called away to a distant part of Canterbury, and Mr. Lee had a ride of nearly a hundred miles to find him. In those days the postal arrangements were very primitive. Once a week only the mails were carried, and some stations distant from the line of route were obliged to send a horseman 20 to 50 miles to fetch their post. The sheep were safely crossed on the third day, and we started afresh for Christchurch. We had up to this time been more than a month on the journey, at the hottest season, without a tree to shelter us and with only the bare ground for a bed. One blanket and one change of clothes had I. Campbell, I think, had not so much. For a part of the time mutton and water seasoned with dust was our food, and the open sky our covering day and night; however, we were none the worse for it, and to a certain extent I enjoyed the life, for had I not then rude health and a splendid constitution, which subsequently carried me safely through rougher, if not more enjoyable, experiences than driving sheep. The rest of the journey was comparatively easy, and fifteen days saw us in Christchurch with the sheep in excellent condition. Here I found letters from home awaiting me, those from my father and mother almost insisting on my return and to resume my studies. This was due to the accounts given them by C----, for I took special care to write in glowing terms of everything. The letter had, however, no effect towards altering my determination to stay in New Zealand. Through Judge Gresson's influence I obtained temporary employment under the Land Office, but to join permanently would require the payment of a fee for which I had not sufficient funds in hand. It was suggested that I should write home and ask for assistance, but this I objected to do. I merely mentioned the circumstances, leaving the rest to chance, and in the meantime I was engaged to accompany a survey party down the coast, which would start in a few days. CHAPTER VII. I JOIN A SURVEY PARTY--TRAVEL TO THE ASHBURTON. The survey party consisted of a Government Surveyor Mr. D----, his assistant H----, and myself, with a few labourers, and our destination was Lake Ellesmere, some 15 to 20 miles down the coast, where a dispute between the squatters and the Provincial Government boundaries was to be decided. We started in a rough kind of two-wheeled cart, into which Mr. D----, H----, and I, with our provisions for ten days and the survey instruments, were all packed together with our respective swags of blankets and the cooking utensils. This vehicle was pulled by one horse, and as we had no tents we would have to camp out most of the time. We reached our destination the same evening, when, tethering the horse, we proceeded to make ourselves comfortable for the night round a camp fire, whereon we boiled our tea and fried chops, and after placing the usual damper under the hot ashes so as to be ready for the morning, we rolled our blankets around us and with feet to the fire, slept soundly. My duties consisted in dragging the chain or humping a theodolite knee deep in water or swamp, but I learned much even in this short experience which proved of subsequent value. On our return, Mr. D---- had to diverge to a small farm, if it could be called such, owned by two brothers named Drew, having some work to look into for them. These Drews were the sons of a clergymen in England, and they had lately come to New Zealand with a little money and no experience, taken a small tract of land in this swampy wilderness, and settled down to farm it. The buildings consisted of a wretched mud hut, some twelve feet square, a small yard, and a few pigsties. What a habitation it was, and what filth and absence of management was apparent all over it! Failure was stamped on these men, and on their surroundings; it was clear they could not succeed, and yet they were not drunkards or scamps or reckless; on the contrary, they were quiet and good-natured, and appeared to be hard-working, although it was difficult to see what work they really did. For two days we stayed here, all five of us sleeping at night on the floor of the hut. There were no bunks. I was very glad when that duty was over. These Drews soon after gave up the farm; one died, the other I saw two years afterwards, the part-proprietor of a glass and delph shop in Christchurch, but only for a time. That inevitable tendency to failure engraved on the Drews followed him to the glass shop, and the latter became, in due course, the sole property of Drew's partner. If these men had gone upon a farm or sheep-run for two or three years' apprenticeship, investing their money safely meanwhile, they might have become in a few more years, prosperous colonists. It was their absolute ignorance, added to a want of sufficient means to carry out what they undertook to do, that brought depression and failure upon them. And a percentage of the emigrants who go to the Colonies act under similar circumstances as they did, and from being on arrival strong, hopeful and brave, they, from lack of something in themselves or from want of the needful advice and sense to adopt it, gradually deteriorate past all recovery. I recollect the billiard-marker at one of the Christchurch hotels was the younger son of a baronet. He worked as billiard-marker for his food, and as much alcohol as he could get. I believe he was never unfit to mark, and never quite sober. He died at his post, but not before he had learned that he had succeeded to the baronetcy, and seen relatives who had come from home to search for and bring him back. It is a strange error of judgment which sends such men as this to the Colonies, but perhaps those who are responsible consider they are justified by the removal of the scapegrace and finally getting rid of him by any means. On our return to Christchurch I met my old friend and fellow voyager T. Smith, who had just been appointed overseer of a sheep and cattle station down south. He pressed me to accompany him to the locality, pending arrival of letters from home, and as I had nothing just then on hand, I accepted his invitation. It seemed very apparent that I was fast becoming a rolling stone, but though I stuck to nothing long, it was not altogether my fault, and I was always at work, increasing my stock of experience, such as it was. This departure to Smith's station on the Ashburton led me away on an entirely new line for some time. The station to which Smith had been appointed overseer was about 100 miles from Christchurch. The owner did not live there, so the entire management was in Smith's hands. The route lay across the Canterbury plains by a defined cart track, with accommodation houses at certain distances along its course, so no camping out was needed. The Canterbury Plains are supposed to be the finest in the world, extending as they do, about 150 miles in length by 40 to 60 in width, and over this immense space there was not a forest tree or scarcely a shrub of any size to be met with, except a description of palm, called cabbage trees, which grow in parts along the river beds, and occasionally dot the adjacent plain. The plains are almost perfectly flat, with no undulations more than a few feet in height. They are intersected every ten to twenty miles by wide shallow river beds, which during the summer months, when the warm nor'-westers melt the snow and ice on the Alps, are often terrific torrents, impassable for days together, while at other times they are shingle interspersed with clear rapid streams, more or less shallow, and generally fordable with ordinary care. Some of the principal rivers such as the Rakaia, Rangatata and Waitaki, are at all times formidable. The Rakaia bed, for example, is, or was, nearly half a mile wide, a vast expanse of shingle, full of treacherous quicksands, in which the course of the different streams is altered after every fresh. One might approach the Rakaia to-day and find it consist of three or four streams from twenty to one hundred yards wide, and not exceeding one to two feet in depth; to-morrow it might be a roaring sea a quarter of a mile in width, racing at a speed of five to ten miles an hour. At the crossing of this river, accommodation houses were established at each side, both establishments providing expert men and horses who were constantly employed seeking for fords and conducting travellers across. Nowadays, doubtless fine bridges, railways, and smart hotels have taken the place of what I am endeavouring to describe as the condition of things fifty years ago. The Rakaia is fifty miles from Christchurch, and that was our first day's ride. The accommodation house on the north side was a weird-looking habitation, a long, low, single-storeyed desolate-looking building, partly constructed of mud and partly of green timber slabs rough from the forest, but it was, even so, a welcome sight after our long monotonous ride. The house consisted of a small sitting-room or parlour for the better class of guests, not uncomfortably furnished, and about twelve feet square, two small bedrooms, a kitchen and a bar, the former serving for cooking purposes as well as a sitting and a bed-room for those travellers who could not afford the luxury or were not entitled to the dignity of the parlour. Separated a little way from this tenement was a long low shed used as a stable for such animals as their owners could afford to pay for so much comfort and a feed, in preference to the usual tussock and twenty yards of tether on the well-cropped ground around the hostelry. It was a rough place, and a rough lot of characters were not unfrequently seen there. The Jack Tar just arrived from the bush or some up-country station with a cheque for a year's wages, bent on a spree, and standing drinks all round while his money lasted, the Scottish shepherd plying liquor and grasping hands for "Auld Lang Syne," the wretched debauched crawler, the villainous-looking "lag" from "t'other side," the bullock puncher, whose every alternate word was a profane oath, the stockrider, in his guernsey shirt and knee boots with stockwhip thrown over his shoulder, engaging the attention of those who would listen with some miraculous story of his exploits, mine host smilingly dealing out the fiery poison, with now and again the presence of the dripping forder from the river, come in for his glass of grog and pipe before resuming his perilous occupation. Smith and I put up in the parlour, and when we had dined and lit pipes proceeded to look after our horses, after which we paid a visit to the kitchen for a little hobnobbing with the motley assemblage collected there, and, of course, we stood liquor round in the usual friendly way. We soon retired, and ere long the kitchen floor, too, was covered with sleepers rolled in their blue or red blankets without which no colonist ever travelled. Early the following morning we were piloted over the river, and in the afternoon made the Ashburton, where was a very superior house of entertainment, conducted by a Mr. Turton, a man above the general run of bush hotel keepers, and who, I believe, subsequently became a rich squatter, as he well deserved. The third day's ride brought us to our destination. There was a comfortable rough dwelling house and the usual adjuncts in the way of station buildings. The situation was pleasant, at the opening of a wide gorge at the foot of the downs, and a fine stream ran along the front of the enclosure. A considerable portion of the run was hilly, and was at that time one of the best in the province. It was on this journey that I first came across the most wonderful optical illusions, called mirages, that I had seen, and there is something in the atmosphere maybe of the New Zealand plains that lends itself specially to the creation of these beautiful phenomena. We were riding over the open plain on a clear morning, near the Ashburton river bed, more than twenty miles from the nearest hills, when suddenly within fifty yards of us, appeared a most beautiful calm lake, apparently many miles in extent, and dotted with cabbage trees (like palms), whose reflections were cast in the water. Neither of us had seen the like before, and for a while really believed we were approaching a lake, although how such could possibly exist where a few moments before had been dry waving grass, was like magic. We rode on, and as we went the lake seemed to move with us, or rather to recede as we advanced, keeping always the same distance ahead. The phenomenon lasted for about a quarter of an hour, and then cleared away as magically as it came. In the same district I subsequently observed some extraordinary optical illusions of a like nature--once, in the direction of the sea where no hills or other obstacles intervened, I saw a beautiful inverted landscape of mountains, woods, and other objects like castles. The picture or reflection seemed suspended in the air, and extended a long way on the horizon. It must have been a reflection of some scene far from the place where the phenomenon presented itself. I spent a month with Smith, but as it was the slack time of the year there was little routine work on the station, and much of our time was passed in amusement. The best fun was pig hunting, in which we were frequently joined by neighbouring squatters. CHAPTER VIII. WILD PIG-HUNTING. It is said that Captain Cook introduced pigs into New Zealand. They were at the time I write of, the only wild quadrupeds in the land, except rats (for which I believe the country is also indebted to Captain Cook), but together they made up for no end of absentees by their prodigious powers of breeding. Most of the middle island was infested with pigs; they principally inhabited the low hills and river bed flats and swamps, and would come down on to the large plains in herds for feeding on the root of a plant called spear grass, to obtain which they would tear up the sward and injure large tracts of grazing land. Their depredations became so extensive that the Provincial Government was obliged to take steps for their extermination by letting contracts for killing them off, at, I think, sixpence per head, or rather tail, and by this means I have known a single district cleared of 8,000 to 10,000 pigs in a season. Pig-hunting on the hills is not the inspiriting amusement it is on the plains. In the former they must be hunted on foot, and shot down, riding being impracticable, while on the plain they were hunted on horseback with dogs bred for the purpose, and the huntsman's weapon is only a short heavy knife sharpened on both sides to a point like a dagger, and suspended in a sheath attached to the waist belt. Spears were sometimes used, but they were of a very rough and primitive description, and not effective. Pig-sticking on the modern scientific principles was not then practised in New Zealand. For a day's pig-hunting on the plains a party of men on strong and fast horses, with a few kangaroo dogs and a bullock dray in attendance, formed the hunting party. The location of the herd is previously noted and kept quiet. The dogs are held in leash till well within sight, say, from half to one mile off. The animals are easily startled, and they know that their best chance of safety depends on their reaching the hills before their pursuers overtake them. With a fast horse, giving full-grown pigs a start of a mile, it will be all the huntsman can do to pick them up in a gallop of 3 to 5 miles, and the best chance in his favour is when there is a herd, and not only a single pig or small number of strong hardy fellows. Until pressed the herd will keep pretty much together, and if by good management the hunters contrive to get to leeward of them as well as to intercept them from making direct for the cover of the hills they are sure of good sport. The kangaroo dog (so called) was a cross between a stag-hound and mastiff, very fast and powerful, and he ran only by sight. A well-trained dog on overhauling his pig will run up on the near side and seize the boar by the off lug, thereby protecting himself from being ripped by the animal's tusks. Then the hunter should be on the spot to jump off his horse and assist the dog by plunging his knife into the beast's heart from the off side. With a good dog the danger to which the experienced hunter is exposed is slight. A properly trained, courageous dog will hold the largest boar for several minutes in the manner described and will not let him go till forced to from sheer exhaustion. But if he is obliged to disengage himself before assistance arrives, he will very probably be ripped or killed. The trained bush horse will stand quietly where his rider leaves him, never attempting to move further from the spot than to nibble the grass will necessitate. One day, having heard that a large mob of pigs had come down on the plains near the gorge of the Rakaia, some fifteen miles off, we at once organised a hunt, and two neighbours from another station promised to join us. A rendezvous was fixed upon where we were to meet at daybreak, a bullock dray having been sent on the previous night. We were all well mounted and equipped with three fine dogs. After riding some ten miles we separated, taking up a long line over the plain, and using our field glasses to obtain an idea of the position of the herd as soon as possible, and thus give us time to arrange a plan of attack before coming to too close quarters, the animals being very quick to scent danger. One of our friends, Legge, who was riding on the extreme left, was the first to discover the herd, and he galloped up to say that there were a considerable number of pigs about two miles further east, scattered amongst the cabbage trees near a small river bed. On approaching carefully till within view we could count upwards of fifty, and many seemed to be large boars; no young pigs were visible. The latter, indeed, seldom came far out on the plains, their elders probably fearing that in the event of surprise they would not be able to run with the rest of the herd. The whole mob of pigs lay directly between us and the hills, which were almost five miles distant, so it became necessary for us to divide and make wide detours, so as to obtain a position on their further side without being seen. This movement took about an hour, but we succeeded under cover of snow grass and cabbage trees in approaching within half a mile of the herd, with the hills behind us, before they took the alarm. Then all were speedily in motion, but as our position prevented them from taking a direct line to shelter, they ran wildly, and so gave us a considerable advantage. The order for attack was now given; the dogs were slipped, and away we went like a whirlwind, each singling out a pig and taking the boars first, as did the horses. Owing to our first advantage we picked up with the leaders in a couple of miles, and two of the largest boars were immediately seized by the dogs close together in a piece of bad marshy ground, covered with snow and spear grass, much rooted and honeycombed. Smith, who was first in the running, narrowly escaped a broken neck. The huge sixteen hand mare he rode planted her feet in a hole and somersaulted, throwing Smith on to one of the boars and dog engaged, but the latter was game, and by his pluck and smartness saved his master and himself from being ripped, and before Smith was fairly on his feet the boar had six inches of steel through his heart and his career was ended. [Illustration: ENCOUNTER WITH WILD BOAR.] During the few minutes we were here engaged, the other boar, a powerful and fierce brute, had forced the dog which seized him some fifty yards down a dry gully, and it was clear that unless he was speedily relieved the dog would have the worst of the encounter. Smith and I rushed to his assistance none too soon. The boar, in his struggles, had already slightly ripped the dog on the shoulder, and the blood was streaming down his leg and breast, but the plucky hound still held on, lying close on the near side, while his teeth were fast through the boar's off lug, the latter striving all he could to get his head round and tusk the dog. Added to this the position they had contrived to get themselves into was unfortunate; the boar was so close to the bank it was impossible to reach his off side, and the dog lay so close he could not be touched on the other. Smith was a powerful fellow, and in fun of this kind would have faced a boar singlehanded. He called to me that he would rush in and seize the boar by his hind legs and try to pull him round, while I watched my opportunity to jump between him and the bank. It was our only chance to save the dog, at any rate, and luckily it proved successful. As Smith laid on I jumped, and although I fell on all fours between the boar and the slippery bank, I contrived just in time to drive the knife into his heart, and the huge beast rolled over and with a few gasps died. We were both exhausted, and the poor dog, when the excitement was over, lay down with a low whine, thoroughly done up from exhaustion and loss of blood. We washed and bound his wound as well as we could and tied him to a bush of snow grass to await the dray. Legge and Forde had already despatched a large boar and two full-grown sows, and were in chase of others. We came up with them when they were engaged with a fine young boar which had sheltered and come to bay in a clump of thorny scrub (wild Irishman, so called). Neither dogs nor men could reach him, and the only plan was to irritate him till he bolted. This was difficult, but at length successful, and the beast made a rush straight for us. However, he was bent on defence rather than offence, and we escaped his tusks. Legge was first mounted and away with one of the dogs in chase, but going over the rough, honeycombed ground I mentioned he too met with a bad fall which threw him out of the running, and now Smith, Forde, and I were in full cry with the two dogs. By this time both dogs and horses were somewhat blown, whereas the boar having had a rest we feared would escape, and reaching a low swampy flat he disappeared in a large patch of snow grass and reeds. As we were not sure of his exact position, we decided to ride through in line, to endeavour to drive him again to the open. In doing so the boar broke covert under Forde's horse's legs, and ripped him below the hock. This rendered Forde and his horse _hors de combat_, and Smith and I had the chase again in our hands. For nearly a mile that boar led us a furious dance over villainous ground, through spear grass and swamp, in momentary danger of being thrown or torn by thorny shrub, twisting and doubling in and out of inaccessible places, but he was beginning to show signs of fatigue, and we saw he could not make much fight when once the dogs got hold. The latter were in fierce excitement, having lost their prey so often. After a final spurt of half a mile they pulled him down, and he was easily despatched. Our bag was now six pigs, of which four were boars, and we had been actually hunting for about three hours, including the time spent in making the detour. After cutting off a ham and the head of the last boar, we carried them back to where we left Forde with his wounded horse. Legge had already arrived, and we all sat down to take some food while awaiting the arrival of the dray. The remainder of the herd had reached the hills long since, and there was no more sport to be had in the neighbourhood that day. Forde removed his saddle and bridle to be sent on the dray and turned his horse loose to find his way to the run, while he started on foot to the nearest station to procure another mount to carry him home. The rest of us proceeded to a flat near the first gorge of the Ashburton, where we succeeded in killing five other pigs before the evening closed. Forde's horse reached his station as soon as his wounded leg permitted him, but the wound being found more serious than anticipated, and that he would be lame for life, it was decided to destroy him. CHAPTER IX. CATTLE RANCHING AND STOCKRIDING. While I stayed at Smith's Station, we made acquaintance with a young man, by name Hudson, a son of the famous Railway King. He had come to New Zealand a few years previously with slender means and was a pushing, energetic fellow. He settled on the Ashburton and set up business as a carter, investing his money in a couple of drays and bullock teams, with which he contracted to convey wool from the stations to Christchurch, returning with stores, etc., and sometimes carting timber from the forest and such like. My first day's experience of driving wild cattle was in his company. A stockrider's life is perhaps of all occupations the most enjoyable, and there is just that element of risk connected with it that increases its fascination, but to make it intelligible to the reader, a sketch of the working and management of a cattle station will be necessary. Although most sheep farmers feed a certain number of cattle to enable them to utilise the portions of their run which may be unsuitable for grazing, there are some squatters who confine themselves to cattle alone, and the produce derived from such stations includes beef, butter, cheese, hides, horns, and working stock--that is, bullocks destined for use in pulling drays; such entirely taking the places of draught horses up country. A cattle rancher may have from one to two thousand head of cattle running wild. Of these, one portion is milch cows, which are daily driven in for milking and from which the extensive butter and cheese dairies are supplied; another the fat cattle fed for the market, and a third, young stock for breaking in as working bullocks. As with sheep, the cattle are periodically mustered in the stock yards for branding, selections for various purposes, and for sale. Mustering a large head of wild cattle is exciting work. Half a dozen men mounted on well-trained horses, each carrying his stockwhip, start for the run. The stockwhip is composed of a lash of plaited raw hide, twelve to fifteen feet long, and about one and half inches thick at the belly, which is close to the handle. The latter is about nine inches long, made of some hard tough wood, usually weighted at the hand end. The experienced stockman can do powerful execution with these whips, one blow from which is sufficient to cut a slice out of the beast's hide, and I have seen an expert cut from top to bottom the side of a nail can with a single blow from his whip. The cattle are spread over perhaps twenty or thirty thousand acres of unfenced country, and each man follows his portion of the herd, collecting and driving into a common centre. For a time all goes well, until some wary or ill-conditioned brute breaks away, followed possibly by a number of his comrades, who only need a lead to give the stockman trouble. Then commences a chase, and not infrequently it is a chase in vain, and the fagged stockman and his jaded steed are obliged to give them up for that day, and proceed to hold what he has got in hand. There is sometimes considerable danger in following up too closely these beasts when they begin to show signs of fatigue, as they then often turn to bay under the first scrap of shelter, and if the horseman unwarily or ignorantly approaches too near in his endeavour to dislodge them, they will charge, and the death of the horse or rider may be the result. Both, however, are generally too well aware of these little failings to endeavour to prevail over a jaded or "baked" beast, and prefer to let him rest. Upon the cattle being yarded, the most exciting operation is the capturing and securing of the young beasts requiring to be broken in to the yoke. An experienced and expert stockman enters the enclosure carrying in his hand a pine sapling, 12 or 15 feet in length, at the end of which is a running noose of raw hide or strong hemp rope, attached to a strong rope which is passed round a capstan outside the stockyard and near to a corner post. With considerable dexterity, not infrequently accompanied by personal danger, the man slips the noose over the horns of the beast he wishes to secure, when he immediately jumps over the rails, and with the assistance of the men outside, winds up the rope till the struggling and infuriated animal is fast held in a corner of the yard. Another noose is then slipped round the hind leg nearest the rails and firmly fastened. The yard being cleared, a steady old working bullock is now driven alongside our young friend, and the two are yoked together neck and neck, the trained bullock selected being always the more powerful of the two. The ropes are then unfastened and the pair left free to keep company for a month or so, by which time the old worker will have trained his young charge sufficiently to permit of his being put into the body of a team and submitted to the unmerciful charge of the bullock puncher (driver). There is no escape for the novice then, yoked fast to a powerful beast with others before and behind, and the cruel cutting whip over him, in the hands of a man possessing but little sentiment: he must obey, and after a time becomes as tractable as the rest. Indeed, it is wonderful how intelligent and obedient these animals become under the hands of an experienced driver. There is a code of bullock punching language they soon get to understand; they answer readily to their names, and are, if anything, more sensible, obedient, and manageable than horses. My ride with Hudson, which I referred to, was as hard a day's work as I have experienced of the kind. We started from the Ashburton at daybreak, and after a quiet canter of five miles, reached an open piece of river bed flat, on which were grazing some two hundred head of cattle, amongst which were five young bullocks of Hudson's he wished to cut out and drive to Moorhouse's station on the Rangitata, about twenty miles further south. The cutting out is more difficult than driving the whole herd, which will be apparent. Having entered among them and found the animals we were in search of, we proceeded quietly to move them to a common place near the edge, from which we meant to drive them, and Hudson, who had considerable experience, succeeded after a while in collecting his five beasts in a favourable spot for our enterprise. We then took up positions on either side, and with a sudden spurt endeavoured to drive them on to the plain. We were partially successful, leaving only one of the five behind, and we got the other four clear away some miles before they seemed to be aware of the absence of their comrades, but with some smart galloping we were keeping them well together in the direction we wanted to go. We were not, however, destined to continue fortunate for long. After a while we unexpectedly came across a herd of fresh cattle, into which our charges at once bolted, and it took two hours hard galloping before we succeeded in extricating only two of them. With these we were obliged to be satisfied; our horses were showing signs of fatigue, and without fresh mounts and other assistance it would be impossible to cut out the others that day. [Illustration: THE BAKED STEERS.] Fortunately those we had went away quietly, and we hoped that no further impediment would occur. We were sadly mistaken. For six miles all went well, but it was then clear that the animals were getting baked (jaded); they were in too good condition for the hard cutting out twice repeated. On reaching an isolated cabbage tree one deliberately lay down, while the other backed against the tree and stood sulkily at bay. Being nearest, I ignorantly made at them with the whip, when I was saluted with a bellow and a sudden charge, which, had not my horse been more on guard than I was, might have maimed one or both of us. The beast, having charged, backed again to the tree, and stood with nozzle touching the ground, breathing heavily, with sunken flanks and half-glazed eyes, a picture of imbecility, recklessness, and fatigue. Hudson, on coming up, saw it was useless to attempt driving him further, and so we left him and the cabbage tree, and resumed our course with one bullock, which we actually did succeed in getting to the stockyard as night was falling. Here, unfortunately, we found the yards closed and no one by to open them, and whilst I dismounted to take down the rails, the infernal beast once more bolted, apparently as fresh as ever, and notwithstanding all our endeavours to overhaul him darkness and our jaded horses failed us, and we had no resource but to wend our weary way to the homestead, three miles up the river, disappointed, dead beat, and hungry. We were most hospitably received by Mr. and Mrs. Ben Moorhouse, with whom for genuine kindness and hospitality few could compare, and they invited us to stay with them a day or two, which we gladly agreed to do. It was a real treat to pass any time in such a lovely locality and with such friends. The homestead was built on the river bed flat, a natural park covered with shrubbery palms, pines, and forest trees, along which on one side the turbulent Rangitata rushed in a confusion of waterfalls, whirlpools, and cascades, amidst huge masses of rock, and beyond which rose precipitous hills with their lower portions clothed in richest vegetation. The views up the gorge from this point were enchanting, but I will take another opportunity of describing some of the mountain scenery of the Southern Alps, the grandest in its own peculiar form of any in the world. Mr. Ben Moorhouse was one of three brothers, two of whom were squatters, and the eldest superintendent of the Province of Canterbury. They had all been some years in Australia, and were exceedingly fine men over six feet in height and built in proportion, good shots and experts at most games of strength and skill, not amongst the least of which was the science of boxing. We were treated the morning after our arrival to a lesson with the gloves, subsequently often repeated, and following this we had turns each in trying to ride a very clever buckjumper, a late purchase. The faculty of buckjumping is, I believe, almost confined to Australian horses, and seems to be bred in them--perhaps the original rough breaking was responsible for the vice; but whatever be the cause it was then a fact that eight out of every ten horses could and did buckjump, and with many of them the vice was incurable. An experienced buckjumper will decide as the saddle is being put on him to get rid of it as soon as possible without any apparent reason for such reprehensible conduct. He will swell himself out so that the girths cannot be fully tightened, and when he is mounted will suddenly bound off the ground, throw down his head, and prop violently on his fore feet, and this he will continue to repeat till the saddle comes on to his withers, and the rider finds some other resting place. So long as the saddle keeps its position, and the girths hold, there is a chance for the rider, but if they go he must, although he frequently goes without them. There is a special saddle made for buckjumpers, provided with heavy pads to prop the knee against, and so prevent the rider from being chucked forward, and this is sometimes assisted by securely fastening an iron bar with a roll of blanket around it across the pommel of the saddle. This presses across the thighs just above the knees, and affords great additional security, and a surcingle is strapped over the seat of the saddle as a further assistance to the girths. There is also another plan adopted with a really bad brute--namely, a crutch of wood or iron fastened to a martingale below, with two rings above, through which the reins are led. This contrivance is to prevent the animal lowering his head, which is a necessary movement on his part for accomplished bucking. CHAPTER X. I UNDERTAKE EMPLOYMENT WITH A BUSH CONTRACTOR--GET SERIOUSLY ILL--START FOR THE SOUTH AND THE GOLD DIGGINGS. I had now been more than a month on the Ashburton, but as I could not expect home letters yet for some weeks, and was getting tired of mere amusement, I accepted an offer made me to join in a new line of work. A man named Metcalfe, a relative of a neighbouring squatter, had lately started work as a bush contractor, and had just then undertaken to construct a number of station buildings for a run holder on the Ashburton. Metcalfe was an experienced bushman and a good rough carpenter. He asked me to join him and I at once accepted. We would have to fell and cut up our own timber in the forest, cart it down some forty miles, and construct all the works without other assistance. Our first business was to provide a habitation for ourselves in the forest, as we required to stay there a month or two while cutting the necessary timber. We laid out a space 10 feet by 12 feet, drove in posts at the corners, and nailed a strong rail on top, then we felled and split up into slabs a number of white pine trees, and set them upwards all round with their edges overlapping and nailed them at the top to the rail, or, more properly, wall plate, the feet of the slabs being set a few inches in the ground. Over this enclosure we made a sloping framework of wickers (fine saplings) and covered it with an old tent which Metcalfe possessed. At one end of the hut we constructed a wide fireplace and chimney in the same manner, and hung up an old blanket over the space left for a doorway. The inside of the slab walls and chimney we wattled with mud and laths, which we split up, and plastered over with mud and chopped grass. We made rough cots with wickers and slabs, raised a foot above the ground, so as to form seats as well as beds, and covered them with a thick layer of minuka branches, which made capital springy mattresses, and over all we laid our blankets. For a table we split and dressed fairly smooth a pine slab a foot wide in which we bored four holes and inserted therein wicker legs. Our mansion was now complete and it had not occupied two days to build. We rose at daybreak, boiled a kettle of tea, which with cold baked mutton and damper formed our breakfast, then to work till 12 o'clock, when we took an hour for dinner, and again to work till dark, when we adjourned to the hut, and after a visit to the creek for ablutions, and seeing that our horses were watered and put on fresh pasture for the night, we sat down to supper by a rousing fire, then lit pipes and chatted or read till it was time to turn in, when the fire was raked over, and the damper of bread inserted under the hot ashes to be ready for the morning. During the evening also one of us made the bread; the camp oven would be put on the fire with sufficient mutton to last us for two or three days. It was a grand life for healthy, strong fellows as we were, living and working alone in a virgin forest, with no sound around us but the rippling of the brook and the whisper of the wind through the foliage of the tall pines, or the ringing of our axes, with every now and then the crashing fall of a huge tree. I should remark here that the black and white pine (so called) of New Zealand is not by any means similar to that which grows in Europe. They grow straight and tall, it is true, but for fully half their height throw out heavy and numerous branches thickly covered all the year round with very small evergreen leaves. The trees are easily cut up and split into posts and rails, or sawn into boards. At the time I refer to the forests were free to all settlers for their home needs on the payment of a nominal fee to the Provincial Government. The timber in due time was felled, cut up, and carted to the station, and we removed our camp to the site of the operations. It was a bleak, wild place, three miles from the south mail track, and consisted only of a small slab hut or two with a wool shed and sheep yards. The owner, Mr. T. Moorhouse, had lately purchased the run, and was about to improve and reside on it. A description of our life here would not be interesting, so I will pass over three months during which we worked steadily and the buildings were nearly complete, when one day, as I was nailing the shingles on a roof under a powerful sun, I suddenly felt sick and giddy, and was obliged to go inside and lie down. The same evening I developed a severe attack of gastric fever which three days after turned to a kind of brain fever, and for nigh on six weeks I lay betwixt life and death. For half of this time I lay on the floor in a corner of the new building, the bare ground with a layer of tea leaves for my bed, the noise grinding into my brain when I was at all conscious, and only Metcalfe (good man that he was) with an old Scottish shepherd to look after me when they could find time to do so. No doctor, medicine, or attendance of any kind was procurable nearer than sixty miles away, with a weekly post. One night, to make me sleep they gave me laudanum (a bottle of which Metcalfe had with him for toothache) and the following morning I was discovered standing on the brink of an artificial pond nearly a quarter of a mile off, barefoot and half naked, to reach which I must have walked over places I could not easily have passed in my senses. This was when the brain attack came on, and for a week I lay, I was told, almost unconscious. Metcalfe contrived to send some information to Christchurch, and after I had been down for over three weeks Moorhouse arrived and removed me to his own hut, where he looked after me for some time. Then he had me carried to and fixed up in his dog cart and drove me sixty miles over the plains in a single day to Christchurch, where I arrived a good bit more dead than alive, but to find a comfortable room, and every attendance and luxury a sick man could wish for, prepared for me by my good friends Mr. and Mrs. Gresson. I must have taken a good deal of killing in those days, but the drive to Christchurch, severe as it was, saved me, and in three weeks I was myself again. When I was convalescent I found letters from home awaiting me. My father sent a little money, but wished me to utilise it in paying my passage home, and appeared to have lost faith in my doing any good in New Zealand; but I was more determined than ever to remain. Was I not accumulating colonial experiences, and always found employment of some kind awaiting me? and I was still very young--only a little over eighteen. The free life I had spent for nearly two years had had its effect, and I could not consent to throw it up, at any rate not just yet. The doctors who had attended me expressed their opinions that I had overtaxed my strength at work to which I was not accustomed, and forbade my undertaking anything of the kind for a while. This of course was nonsense, but I saw no reason why I should not enjoy a holiday for a month or so in Christchurch till I had settled future plans. Just at this time I received a letter from Smith, informing me that the run he had charge of was sold, and having thereby lost his appointment, he was coming to Christchurch _en route_ for Otago on a voyage of enterprise, and invited me to join him. This was excellent; the wandering disposition was again strong upon me, and I looked forward to such a trip to a new part of the country in company with my old friend with the keenest delight. I agreed to his proposal at once, and immediately he arrived we set to work to make preparations for our journey south, although where that journey was to lead us or of what might be before us we were profoundly ignorant; but that knowledge or want of knowledge enhanced the glory of the movement. We were a couple of free lances starting to seek what might turn up, and eventually we were led into a new and very interesting experience, even if it did not turn out a remunerative one. After paying my expenses in Christchurch, I possessed about £50 in cash and a valuable and well-bred mare. Smith's possessions were about on an equivalent. We decided to travel with one pack horse, and for this purpose we purchased between us for £15, a notorious buckjumper, called "Jack the Devil," and if ever deformity of temper and the lowest vice were depicted in an animal's face and bearing, this beast possessed them in an eminent degree. Although small and not beautiful to look at, he was very powerful, and had he been less vicious his price would have been treble what we obtained him for, but nobody cared to own him. How well I remember the first time he was loaded, how quietly he stood with the whites of his eyes rolling and girths swelled until all was apparently secure, and then in less time than I can relate, how saddle and swags were scattered to the winds. Smith was a determined fellow and a Yorkshireman to boot, and he had no intention of giving in to Jack; on the contrary, this little exhibition of devilry made him all the more determined to discover Jack's weak point and take the devil out of him. The pack saddle was gathered up and taken to the harness maker along with the animal, and the two were put together in such a manner that if he again bucked it off, some part of Jack's personality would have to accompany it. The next trial was more successful, and after a few attempts he gave in, and from that day he became a most docile pack horse. On the eve of starting we were joined by our mutual friend Legge, who had been some years overseer of a station. He was a smart, handy fellow, and although he did not contribute much in the way of financial assistance, we were glad to have him join our party, knowing him to be dependable, plucky, and good-tempered. At length we started, and after journeying through the scene of our late life on the Ashburton and Rangitata, we arrived without adventure at the then small town of Timaru on the sea coast, about a hundred miles south. Here we found the inhabitants in great excitement over news just arrived that gold had been discovered in large quantities on the Lindis, about one hundred and twenty miles inland from Dunedin in Otago. We, in common with every one else, were, of course, immediately infected with the gold mania, the more so as we were bent on adventure of any kind that might turn up, and here was an unexpected piece of good fortune ready to our hands. During our few days sojourn at Timaru we made another addition to our party in the person of a man named Fowler, whom, at his urgent request, we permitted to accompany us in our now proposed expedition to the gold diggings. We arranged to start at once, and deferred preparations until we would arrive at Dunedin, the capital and port of Otago, and which, with fair marching, we hoped to reach on the third day. We travelled in the usual bush fashion, each man with his swags strapped before and behind his saddle, Jack the Devil carrying our provisions and cooking kit, etc. Upon halting for the night we selected some suitable spot near running water where wood for a fire could be obtained. Each unsaddled, watered, and tethered out his horse and carried his swags to the camping ground, where Jack's load was removed and placed ready for use. Then while one fetched water another collected a supply of firewood for the night. A roaring fire was made, water boiled for tea, flour and water mixed into a paste and fried in dripping or fat, with the meat we had brought along with us, or maybe a leg of mutton would be baked in the camp oven; and so, within an hour, we four bushmen would be squatting comfortably around our fire and enjoying an excellent supper. The meal being over we carefully washed and put away the utensils and food ready for the morning, and after visiting the horses, settled ourselves in our respective positions for the night, lit pipes, spun yarns, or sang songs, till drowsiness claimed us, and we disappeared under our blankets with our saddles for pillows and slept only as those who lead the life of a bushman can. We rose before daybreak, and ere the sun had well appeared had eaten our primitive breakfast and were in the saddle for the march. On the evening of the third day we reached the Waitaki river, which separates Canterbury from Otago, and is the largest in the South Island. The Waitaki was never fordable at this point, and passengers were ferried across in a small boat behind which the horses were swum. This latter is a somewhat dangerous operation unless expertly carried out; a horse which may be a powerful swimmer being able to work a swift stream so much faster than a boat can be rowed, there is danger that he may strike and overturn the latter, and so he must not be allowed to get above or ahead of the boat, but be kept in his place immediately behind. The boat on being started from one bank or shingle spit must have fair room to work obliquely to a lower landing place on the opposite side, without running foul of shoals or sandspits, and as the current runs with great rapidity the voyage across is usually three or four times as long as the stream is wide. At this river we found an accommodation house. I forget the name of the occupier, but I well recollect the appearance of the wretched structure, and of its landlord and landlady. What a pair of outcasts they looked, and how they existed on that wild bed of shingle! Their tastes must have been simplicity itself, and little satisfied them here below. The landlord and his wife, with one other man, who assisted with the boat, were the only sojourners on this desert bed. Few travellers stayed at their wretched tenement, because being only ten miles from Dunedin they were generally able to push on, and partly because the locality did not possess pasturage for horses; and so with the exception of what they derived from selling an occasional nip of poisonous liquor to a passing traveller, their emoluments were derived from the ferry alone. We were not fortunate enough to arrive in time to cross that evening, and were perforce obliged to stay at the accommodation hut till morning, or else return half a mile to where pasture was obtainable. The landlord, however, produced some hay and oats, and cleaned out his shed, in which we were able to put two of the horses, while the others were tied out, and so to save time and trouble we decided to make the best of what fare we could obtain. The house comprised one room with a closet or bar off it. In the room, which was well enough when lit up by a good fire, we all supped together round a rough table with boxes from the bar for seats, our food the usual description, the junk of mutton boiled with lumps of dough called damper, and the landlady produced some plates, while we used our own clasp knives. Soon after, our weary bodies were strewn over the floor wherever we could individually select a fairly even spot, and the landlady, I believe, retired into the bar. The following morning we put ourselves, horses, and baggage safely across the Waitaki, and by 10 o'clock arrived in Dunedin. Dunedin was situated, like Port Lyttelton, on rising undulating ground, encompassed by an amphitheatre of hills which, to the south, extended to a point or promontory and gave shelter to the little harbour. Also, like Lyttelton, the latter was an open roadstead, but on the town front was bounded by a steep bank from which the narrow strand beneath was reached by a wide cutting. The town was quite in its infancy, but already possessed some well-laid-out streets and handsome wooden buildings. As we anticipated, we found the good folk of Dunedin much exercised about the gold diggings. They were the first discovered in the country, and the town was in a fever of excitement for news of their success or otherwise. No very reliable information had come, but such as was obtainable appeared sufficiently satisfactory and encouraging to justify our making immediate arrangements for transporting ourselves thither. CHAPTER XI. OUR EVENTFUL JOURNEY TO THE LINDIS GOLD DIGGINGS. The Lindis was one hundred and twenty miles inland from Dunedin. There was no road, and but for a portion of the way up the valley of the Waitaki only a rough bullock dray track leading to some isolated sheep and cattle stations, beyond which there was literally no track at all. The country was mountainous, and early winter having set in, it was supposed that much of the higher latitudes would be covered with snow, but beyond the fact that numbers of pedestrians had during the past fortnight proceeded towards the Lindis, and that a ship-load of diggers had arrived from Victoria and were hourly leaving the town, we had nothing reliable to guide us. We heard that the few sheep-farmers on the route were much opposed to the influx of diggers, and had publicly notified that they would not encourage or give them any accommodation on their stations. This was alarming for the time, but fortunately the information proved correct in only one instance. It led us, however, to make such preparation for our journey as would render us to a great extent independent of assistance on the way. We purchased a strong one-horse dray which we loaded with about 10 cwt. of provisions, in the form of flour, tea, sugar, salt, ship biscuits, a small quantity of spirits for medicinal use and tobacco. Also two small calico tents, some cooking utensils and blankets, with bush tools, spades, picks, and axes. Legge's horse had been broken to harness, and mine was an excellent draught horse. I omitted to mention that at Timaru I had exchanged my mare for a strong gelding which had previously run in the mail cart, getting £10 boot. The swap proved a fortunate one for us, as neither Smith's nor Fowler's animals had ever been in harness, and "Jack the Devil" was out of the question. Legge's horse and mine therefore were destined for the dray, tandem fashion, and upon trial they pulled splendidly. When the dray was loaded and covered over with a large waterproof tarpaulin, and our two fine horses yoked thereto, it looked a very business-like turn-out. Two of us took it in turn to walk beside the horses and conduct the team, while the other two rode, accompanied by "Jack," his pack-saddle laden with our needs for the day and night halts. One fine morning in June, 1861, we started from Dunedin, with our handsome team, the first of its kind that ever travelled the road we were going, and we started from the smiling little town amidst the cheers and good wishes of those we left behind. For the first few days all was fairly smooth sailing. We travelled about twenty miles each day, camping or resting independently of stations, and the track so far being formed by wool drays, was on the whole feasible, although we had occasionally to make good the crossings over creeks and rivers. On the evening of the third day we arrived at a small cattle station belonging to a Mr. Davis, where were a number of diggers resting for the night. Mr. Davis was one of those hospitably inclined to the diggers, but as he could not be expected to feed such numbers for nothing, he notified that meals would be charged for at one shilling per head. This was eagerly and gratefully responded to, and upwards of two hundred men were assembled at the station the evening we arrived. The kitchen and dining hut being unable to accommodate more than twelve or fifteen at once, a multitude had to remain outside while each gang went in, in turn, to be fed. Inside the scene was curious. An enormous fire of logs blazed on the hearth, which occupied one entire end of the hut, over which were suspended two huge pots filled with joints of mutton, beef, and doughboys, boiling indiscriminately together. They were frequently being removed to the table and others substituted in their place. The pots were flanked by large kettles of water, into which, when on the boil, a handful or two of tea would be thrown. After a few minutes the decoction would be poured into an iron bucket, some milk and sugar added, and placed upon the table, where each man helped himself by dipping his pannikin therein. Fortunately the hungry seekers after gold were not particular about their meat being a shade over or under cooked; they were glad to accept what they got, and indeed right wholesome food it was. The doughboys were simply large lumps of dough, made of flour and water, used as a substitute for bread, of which a sufficient quantity could not be prepared for the immense demand. We obtained our turn in due time, and after a hearty meal retired to the quarters we had pitched upon for the night--viz., a straw shed where we rolled our blanket around us and slept soundly. The following evening, after a severe day's journey, we arrived wet and fagged at the next station, Miller and Gooche's. Here a similar scene was being enacted, and here, in common with many other diggers, we were obliged to remain for several days owing to severe weather setting in. Miller and Gooche's station was situated at the junction of a tributary stream with the Waitaki, at the entrance of a rugged and mountainous gorge. From this point our real difficulties were to begin, as we would diverge from the main valley we had hitherto followed, and work our way over a rough tract of hilly country, up ravines and spurs to the great pass, then pretty certain to be covered with snow. For the four days during which we were detained at this station it rained, sleeted, and snowed alternately and unceasingly. There were upwards of one hundred and fifty men there, and the station running short of flour, a supply had to be procured from Davis's, where luckily a large store had been collected. Most diggers possessed nothing beyond the clothes they wore, with a blanket and a kettle, and many had no money wherewith to pay for food, so the squatters were obliged to make a virtue of necessity and give free where there was no chance of payment, and this they did right willingly. As for the diggers, I must say so much for them that, rough fellows as they were, they paid freely and gratefully all they could, and I did not hear of a single instance of robbery or outrage save one, and we were the victims of that. It was merely the abstraction, emptying, and replacing on our dray of a case of "Old Tom," all the spirits we possessed, and we did not discover the loss until too late for any chance of detecting the delinquents. At Miller and Gooche's we passed four very miserable days. The two small huts and the sheep shed were filled to overflowing, and we lay on the floor of the latter at night, cold, stiff, dirty, and packed into our places like sardines. The rain and sleet, slop, cold, and offensive odour combined would need to be experienced to be appreciated; it was indescribable and the greatest and most disagreeable of anything I experienced before or since of such a mixture. At length the weather cleared, and in company with another dray just arrived from Dunedin, and got up in imitation of ours, we started for the pass, not without grave misgivings of what might be before us. The first day we made five miles. Our route lay along the course of a large creek bounded both sides by precipitous hills. The recent rain had swollen the stream, and either obliterated or washed away the rough dray track, which even at its best was not suited for the passage of a horse team. We were therefore obliged to cut a way in and out of the nullah wherever we crossed; so some idea may be formed of our day's work. We were fortunate in being accompanied by the fresh dray, indeed without it, and the assistance given by a number of the diggers who kept with us, and with whom we shared our food, I do not think we would have succeeded in getting over the Lindis Pass, at any rate not nearly so expeditiously as we did. When we came to an exceptionally difficult and steep pull, the drays were taken over one at a time with three horses yoked, and all hands helping them. On the morning of the second day we were still four miles from the pass, and it took very severe work from men and horses to negotiate the remainder of that fast narrowing, steep and rugged bed, and late in the afternoon to reach the summit. It was, as we anticipated, covered with snow. The cold that night was intense, and we had difficulty in procuring before dark set in enough brushwood to keep up a small fire for more than a few hours. It was here we discovered the loss of the "Old Tom" which we had meant to save for just such a special occasion as this. Now that we were half-frozen and without means of bettering our condition for the night, it was proposed to open the first bottle, and have a nip round for ourselves and comrades. Our chagrin and disappointment may be imagined when we found the twelve bottles to contain only water. I often wondered how we got through that night; one or two of us alone must surely have perished. Our safety lay in our number. We rolled our blankets tightly round us and lay down close together on the wet and now fast freezing ground, and lit our pipes, and then we slept. Tired as we were, nothing could keep sleep from us--even if we were to be frozen during it. For the horses we had collected a little grass and carried it on the drays, but they had a bad time of it, and the icicles hung from their manes and tails in the morning as they stood shivering with their backs turned to the keen mountain blast. However, we all survived, and were none the worse, and as soon as it was light we gathered enough brushwood to make a rousing fire, by which we melted the frozen snow and ice from our blankets, and from the harness before we could put it on the horses. We soon finished a hearty breakfast of mutton grilled in the hot ashes, and hot tea, and proceeded to get ready for the day's work, which we knew would be a heavy one if we were to get over the pass before sundown. It was two miles to the top, but such a two miles to take a horse dray over. The gradient was not only very steep and rough, but it was covered with six to eighteen inches of snow, except in some few exposed parts where it had drifted off and left the surface nearly bare. There was no track to guide us beyond a very uncertain and irregular one made by a few pedestrians and horses who had preceded us the evening before when we had been delayed by the drays. We decided to take the drays over separately, yoking all four horses to each in turn, tandem fashion, by means of ropes with which we were well provided. Just as we were about to start the first, a party of diggers arrived, who volunteered to push and spoke the wheels. Thanks to these men and the game, honest horses, our difficulties were considerably lightened. Some went before to clear the snow where it lay thickest, but this was soon abandoned as labour in vain. We found that the utmost efforts of the four horses, assisted by half a dozen men, were only sufficient to drag the dray from twenty to fifty yards at a spurt, then on stopping to take a breath a log was thrown behind the wheels, and after a few moments' rest another spurt was made, and so on. Our progress was so satisfactory that before nightfall both drays were safely over the pass and we had proceeded down the opposite side as far as an out-station of McLean's, on whose run we now were. Here we learned to our joy that we were within twenty-five miles of the reported diggings, with a fairly passable track all the way. Mr. R. McLean was a wealthy sheep farmer who had originally made his money on the Australian goldfields. His present attitude therefore towards the diggers was considered the more cruel. He had given orders at all his out-stations that neither food nor shelter was to be afforded them, and upon our arrival at the shepherd's hut aforesaid, the occupant, a worthy Scotsman, informed us with regret that we would have to arrange for our accommodation in the open, it being as much as his place was worth to feed or shelter diggers. This was unpleasant news, as we hoped to have taken up our quarters in his hut that night after our severe camping out the previous four days. Although the diggings broke out in McLean's run he had no power to prevent the land being worked upon, excepting only such portions of it as were private property, but he discouraged and put obstacles in the way of the diggers in any form he could, some said because he knew as an experienced digger himself that they would not pay. Whether this was the case or not, he might have understood the impossibility of stopping a gold rush in its infancy, while its value was still an unknown quantity. Our last stage the following day was for the greater part by one of the most picturesque valleys I had yet seen. Mr. McLean had made a very fair road from the Lindis Pass boundary to his home station, which latter was only some five miles from the diggings, so it was very different travelling to what we had experienced on the other side. The track first wound along a deep ravine with rugged precipitous sides, mostly clothed with evergreen underwood from which huge masses of rock would now and then emerge, and sometimes overhanging a rushing torrent which had been swelled by the recent heavy rains and thus enhanced the effect on this glorious sunny morning. The waterfalls and cascades sparkled in a hundred colours, wheeling, foaming, and dashing in a mad race amidst huge rocks, till lost in shadow beneath a precipice or overhanging mass of variegated bush. The gorge then opened out into a level amphitheatre, with the river, grown calm and broad, winding peacefully, and surrounded by the mountains in all their enchanting shades of colour, and the distant peaks capped with snow. Then another gorge of more imposing grandeur with a magnificent view beyond and through it, closed in turn by a sombre pine forest swept by the river, now grown larger and deeper, dancing and racing like a living thing in the brilliant sunshine and rare atmosphere of a New Zealand morning. How well I remember the whole trip with all its roughness and all its beauty, its very contrasts no doubt helping to impress it upon the memory. Such scenes and incidents are difficult to forget, even if one would, and each and all are as distinct to my mind in almost every detail at this moment as if I had been with them only yesterday, instead of more than forty years ago. CHAPTER XII. LIFE ON THE GOLD DIGGINGS. And now I will endeavour to picture my impression of the gold diggings as they appeared on that same evening. After passing through one of the most beautiful of the Lindis gorges we found ourselves at the entrance of a wide tract of open and undulating country, almost bare of anything beyond short yellow grass, encompassed on all sides by hills which stretched away westward to the snow-crowned mountains. The extent of the open was from one to two miles square, and through its centre--or nearly so--the Lindis flowed in a rocky bed. Along the river and far up the downs on either side were sprinkled hundreds of little tents with their hundreds of fires and rising eddies of smoke. The banks of the river were crowded with men at work, some in the water, some out, others pitching tents or tending horses, some constructing rough furniture, cradles and long Toms for washing gold, hundreds of horses tethered among the tents or upon the open, and above all the suppressed hum of a busy multitude. On all new gold diggings it was usual to establish a self-constituted form of government among the diggers themselves, which in the absence of any regular police force or law of the land was responsible for the protection and good conduct of the entire community. Some capable man was elected as president and chief, before whom all cases of misdemeanour were heard, and whose decisions and powers to inflict punishment were final. Under such rule, crude as it was, the utmost good conduct usually prevailed, and any glaring instances of robbery or crime were not only rare, but severely dealt with. To this man we reported our arrival, and a camping ground was pointed out to us. It was too late to do anything towards preparing a permanent camp that night, but at daybreak the following morning we were hard at work, and by evening had made ourselves a comfortable hut. We marked out a rectangle of 12 ft. by 10 ft., the size of our largest tent, around which we raised a sod wall two feet high, which we plastered inside with mud. Over the walls we rigged up our tent, securing it by stays and poles set in triangles at each extremity. At one end we built a capacious fireplace and chimney eight feet wide, leaving two feet for a doorway. The chimney was built of green sods, also plastered within, and our door was a piece of old sacking weighted and let fall over the opening. Around the hut we cut a good drain to convey away rain water. At the upper end of the hut we raised a rough framework of green timber cut from the neighbouring scrub, one foot high and six wide, thus taking up exactly half of our house. Upon this we spread a plentiful supply of dry grass to form our common bed. Our working tools and other gear found place underneath, and with a few roughly made stools and the empty "Old Tom" case for a table, our mansion was complete. It was not yet night when our work was done, and some of us strolled about to obtain any information available. This was not as satisfactory as we could have desired. Very many had been disappointed, gold was not found in sufficient quantities to pay, and prospectors were out in every direction. It was early yet, however, to condemn the diggings, and the grumblers and the disappointed are always present in every undertaking, so we comforted ourselves, and sought dinner and the night's sleep we were so much in need of. The usual requisites for a digger are, a spade, pick, shovel, long Tom or cradle, and a wide lipped flat iron dish (not unlike an ordinary wash-hand basin) for final washing. The long Tom consists of a wooden trough or race, twelve to fifteen feet long and two feet wide; its lower end is fitted into an iron screen or grating, fixed immediately above a box or tray of the same size. To work the machine it is set so that a stream of water obtained by damming up a little of the river is allowed to pass quickly and constantly down the race, and through the grating into the box at the other end. The "stuff" in which the gold is supposed to be is thrown into the race, where, by the action of the current of water, the earth, stones, rubbish and light matter are washed away and the heavy sand, etc., falls through the grating into the box. As frequently as necessary this box is removed and another substituted, when the contents are washed carefully by means of the basin. By degrees all the sand and foreign matter is washed away, leaving only the gold. The cradle is very similar to what it is named after, a child's swing cot. It is simply a suspended wooden box, fitted with an iron grating and tray beneath into which the "stuff" is cradled or washed by rocking it by hand. It takes considerable experience of the art of finding gold to enable a man to fix on a good site for commencing operations. There are of course instances of wonderful luck and unexpected success, but they are very much the exception, and form but a diminutive proportion of the fortune of any gold diggings. We hear of the man who has found a big nugget and made a fortune, but nothing of the thousands who don't find any big nuggets, and earn but bare wages or often less. On most diggings a large proportion of the men are working for wages only, and it not infrequently depends on the fortune of the employer whether the labourer receives his wages or not. It may be a case of general smash. We saw much of this on the Lindis diggings. They were not a general success at that time, as we soon discovered to our cost; and many who went there wildly hoping to find gold for the picking up, and with no means to withstand a reverse, were only too glad to work for those who had means to carry on for a while, for their food only. We procured a long Tom, and spent some days prospecting with variable success--_i.e._, we found gold nearly everywhere, each shovelful of earth contained gold, but in quantities so generally infinitesimal as to be not worth the time spent in working for it. The land was impregnated with gold, but the difficulty was to find it in sufficient quantity to pay. We at length fixed upon a claim and set up our gear. From daylight to dark we worked day after day, excavating, cradling, and washing, each one taking it in turns to look after the horses and tent and fetch food from the camp, which was at some distance away. The final washing of the stuff was done twice daily, at noon and again at evening, and what an exciting and anxious operation this was! How earnestly the decreasing sediment was peered at to discover signs of the precious metal! How our hearts would jump with delight when a bright yellow grain was discovered, appearing for a moment on the dark surface, then more careful washing, with beating hearts and necks craning over the fateful dish as the mass got less and less, and then the sinking and disappointment to find that the day's hard work of four men did not bring us five shillings worth of gold! But hope, with the young and sanguine, is hard to beat, and the following morning would see us at work as cheerily as ever. [Illustration: THE GOLD DIGGINGS.] A fortnight after our arrival our provisions ran short, and we were obliged to have recourse to the stores, of which two had been started by an enterprising firm in Dunedin, and soon after we were nearly having a famine, owing to the stores themselves running short by reason of the drays conveying supplies having been snowed up in crossing the pass. McLean was applied to, but he refused, and it was fortunate for him that a caravan arrived before the diggers were actually in want. With this caravan arrived a pedlar and a liquor merchant, two such characters as cannot well be found except on a gold diggings. They carried with them a plentiful supply of slop clothes, boots, tools, and spirits, etc., and as luck--or ill luck--would have it, they pitched their camp alongside ours. One of these men rarely did business without the other. If a digger came to purchase a pair of trousers or boots the bargain was never completed to the satisfaction of both parties without a glass of spirits at the adjacent grog shop to clinch it; and at night, when the diggers would drop round the latter for a glass, many pairs of breeches, boots, or other articles were disposed of under the happy influence of wine and company. [Illustration: PEDDLARS AT THE DIGGINGS.] These men are to be met with in all parts of the Colonies where crowds are collected, and they are usually of Jewish origin. There was nothing objectionable about them; they were simply shrewd, energetic men of business, ready without actual dishonesty to take every possible advantage of the wants and weaknesses of their fellow men. We had some pleasant evenings in their company, and many a jovial song and dance they treated us to, for which, no doubt, they succeeded in extracting good value for their wind and muscle. Meat was scarce on the diggings, and at times for days together we had none. McLean indeed did not refuse to sell fat cattle, but he demanded prohibitive prices, and so it was customary to procure meat from a distance. We had been now two months on the Lindis, our funds instead of increasing were diminishing, and we saw little or no hope of a change for the better. An exodus had already commenced, and the incomers were daily decreasing in number. After holding a council meeting in our hut, it was decided that our camp be broken up, and that we should all return together as far as Davis's station, from whence two should proceed to Dunedin with the dray, while the other two should purchase some fat beasts and drive them to the diggings for sale. The tents and tools were disposed of to a newly arrived group of Australian diggers at a fair enough price, and we disposed of all the remaining gear we did not actually need on the return journey, taking with us little beyond the empty dray, and all being ready we bade farewell to the Lindis diggings, and once more started on our uncertain and adventurous travels. I omitted to mention that during our residence on the Lindis we were sadly troubled with rats. There must have been millions in the locality, and it was very difficult to guard our food from their depredations. During the day they mostly disappeared until sundown, when they came in swarms to the tents. Sitting by the fire in the evening I have frequently killed a dozen with a short stick as they approached fearlessly in search of food, and during the night we got accustomed to sharing our common bed with a goodly number of the rascals. CHAPTER XIII. WE LEAVE THE LINDIS--ATTEMPT TO DRIVE FAT CATTLE TO THE DIGGINGS AND FAIL--RETURN TO DUNEDIN. On the return journey we had as much company as when we came, and the road was even worse, but the dray being almost empty we experienced less difficulty in proceeding. The first day took us out of McLean's run, and the second saw us at nightfall on Miller and Gooche's side of the pass, which was still snowed over, but the traffic had worked the track up into deep slush and mud, and late in the evening we were near losing the dray and horses in a swamp we had inadvertently entered while seeking a better passage. With the assistance of some friendly diggers we succeeded in extricating them, but the unfortunate accident prevented our proceeding further that night, and we passed it on the borders of the swamp where not an atom of firewood could be obtained. The ground was in a puddle of melted snow and mud, not a dry spot to be found. We were muddy and wet from head to foot, without the means of making even a pannikin of tea, and the night was pitch dark. We just crouched down together by the dray, hungry, shivering, and fagged. Sleep, of course, was out of the question, and we had constantly to clap our arms to keep the blood in circulation. Towards midnight intense frost set in. We smoked incessantly; in that, I think, was to a great extent our safety. We did not remove the harness from the horses, which were tied to the dray without any food for the night. The following morning at eleven o'clock we arrived at Miller and Gooche's, where we had to melt the ice off our leggings and boots before we could remove them--and what a breakfast we ate! Nobody who has not experienced what it is to starve on a healthy stomach for thirty hours and spend most of that time on a mountain pass under snow and frost can understand how we appreciated our food. The next day we reached Davis's, when Fowler and Legge left us for Dunedin, and Smith and I arranged with Davis for the purchase of a couple of fat steers for £12 10s. each, hoping that if we succeeded in driving them to the diggings we would double our money. In the afternoon we went with Davis to the run, and selected the animals, which we drove with a mob to the stockyard. Here we separated our pair and put them in another yard for a start in the morning. Driving a couple of wild bullocks alone from their run is, as I have already explained, by no means an easy task, and Davis warned us that these would give us trouble--indeed, I believe he considered us slightly mad to attempt to drive the beasts such a distance at all. On first starting we had no small difficulty in preventing them returning to the run, and it cost us some hard galloping to get them away on the road to Miller and Gooche's, where it was our intention to yard for the night. We had proceeded to within a mile of the station, when the brutes for the twentieth time bolted, on this occasion taking to the hills over some low spurs and rocky ground, intersected with ravines and gullies. I was riding hard to intercept them when I was suddenly sent flying on to my head, turning a somersault on to a rough bank of spear grass. Shaking myself together and somewhat recovering from the shock, I discovered the tail and stern of my steed projecting above the ground, the remainder of him being invisible. It appeared he had planted his fore feet in a deep fissure covered with long grass, and just large enough to take in head and fore parts. The shock sent me over, as I described, while he remained stuck. It was a ridiculous position, and tired, sore from the spear-grass, and annoyed as I was, I could not refrain from a hearty laugh at our predicament before attempting to extricate my unhappy quadruped; this I succeeded in doing with some difficulty, and found him, with the exception of some few scratches, quite unhurt. I again mounted, but the wily steers had disappeared, and Smith was nowhere to be seen, I rode quietly on and presently discovered the latter, himself and horse dead beat, and using very unparliamentary language at our bad luck, at the beasts, and at gold diggings in general. We had nothing for it but to go back to Miller's for the night. The following day we returned to Davis's, where we found the bullocks had arrived the night before, and Davis, after a laugh at our misadventures, returned us the £25, and the same evening we left for Dunedin. We camped some ten miles further down the Waitaki, with a very eccentric personage in the form of an old retired clergyman of the Church of England. He lived like a hermit in a small hut under the hills, which he had built himself, as well as some outbuildings and a capital little bakery, which he was very proud of. He cultivated a small plot of ground, where he grew potatoes and other vegetables and kept a cow, and he possessed several cats and a couple of fine collie dogs. He gave food--especially bread--to any traveller passing who needed it, and free quarters for the night. He showed us a small canoe in which he was in the habit of paddling himself across the river, and was always ready to obey a call to any, even distant, station where his services were needed in a case of illness, death, or marriage. He was a most entertaining host, and we enjoyed the night we spent with him in his curious and lonely habitation. We heard that he had suffered some severe domestic calamity, which drove him to his present lonely life, but he spent his days in doing all the good that lay in his power, and doubtless many a passing traveller was the better in more ways than one for meeting the old recluse. On arriving at Dunedin we found that Legge had already disposed of the dray satisfactorily, and Smith finding a purchaser for his horse he parted with him, thus placing us all in funds. It was decided then that Smith and Legge should take the coasting steamer to Port Lyttelton, while I proceeded overland with my own horse and "Jack the Devil," arranging to meet at Christchurch. Fowler left us at Dunedin, and we saw him no more. My journey back was uneventful, but happening to meet with Bains, of the Post, the original owner of my horse, we exchanged mounts for a consideration of £5 transferred from his pocket to mine. He wanted his harness horse back, while I needed only a saddle horse, so the exchange was a satisfactory one in every way, and enabled me to hasten my journey to Christchurch, where I found Legge and Smith awaiting me. We sold Jack for twice what he cost us, and squared accounts for the trip, which, although it did not fulfill the brilliant expectations with which we started upon it, was nevertheless an interesting and pleasant experience, and one which we would have been sorry to have missed. I found home letters awaiting me, with renewed requests from my father to return while there was time to resume my studies, and offering me further assistance if I needed it. I declined all, feeling that I could not now renounce the life I had chosen, and it would not be right of me, in opposition to his opinion, to accept any financial assistance even had I needed it, which was not the case. I had tried most phases of a colonial life, had gained a great deal of experience, and knew that I could always obtain remunerative employment, and after I had enjoyed a little more rambling and freedom I could decide on some fixed line to settle down upon. In the meantime there was no immediate hurry, and I was very young. CHAPTER XIV. LEAVE FOR MESOPOTAMIA--ROAD MAKING--SHEEP MUSTERING--DEATH OF DR. SINCLAIR--ROAD CONTRACTS ON THE ASHBURTON--WASHED DOWN STREAM. I had only been a few days in Christchurch when I met a Mr. Butler whom I had once before seen up-country. He immediately offered me a post on his run at £60 a year, with all expenses paid, which I could hold for as long or short time as I needed. This exactly suited me in my present circumstances. I accepted his offer and started the following day for Mesopotamia, as he had quaintly named his station; it lay between two rivers. [Illustration: MESOPOTAMIA STATION.] Mr. Samuel Butler was a grandson of the late famous Bishop Butler. He had come to New Zealand about a year previously with a small fortune which, as he said, he intended to double and then return home, and he did so in a remarkably short time. Immediately he landed he made himself acquainted with the maps and districts taken up, and rode many hundreds of miles prospecting for new country. His energy was rewarded by the discovery of the unclaimed piece of mountain land he now occupied near the upper gorge of the Rangitata. The run, which comprised about 8,000 acres, formed a series of spurs and slopes leading from the foot of the great range and ending in a broad strip of flat land bounded by the Rangitata. Upon two other sides were smaller streams, tributaries of the latter--hence the name Mesopotamia (between the rivers) given to it by its energetic possessor. Mr. Butler had been established upon the run about a year, and had already about 3,000 sheep on it. The homestead was built upon a little plateau on the edge of the downs approached by a cutting from the flat, and was most comfortably situated and well sheltered, as it needed to be, the weather being often exceedingly severe in that elevated locality. Butler was a literary man, and his snug sitting-room was fitted with books and easy chairs--a piano also, upon which he was no mean performer. The station hands comprised a shepherd, bullock driver, hutkeeper, and two station hands employed in fencing in paddocks, which with Cook, the overseer, Butler, and myself made up the total. At daybreak we all assembled in the common kitchen for breakfast, after which we separated for our different employments. At 12 noon we met again for dinner, and again about 7 p.m. for supper, which meal being over, Butler, Cook, and I would repair to the sitting room, and round a glorious fire smoked or read or listened to Butler's piano. It was the most civilised experience I had had of up-country life since I left Highfield and was very enjoyable. I did not, however, remain very long at Mesopotamia at that time. There was a proposal on foot to improve the track leading from the Ashburton to the Rangitata on which some heavy cuttings were required to be made. I applied for the contract and obtained it at rates which paid me very well. My supervisor was a man called Denny, who had been a sailor, and I knew him to be a capable and handy fellow, as most sailors are. He was quite illiterate--could not even read or write, but he was clever and intelligent and had seen a great deal of colonial life and some hard times. Every night when supper was over and we sat by the fire in our little hut, I read aloud, to his great delectation, and his remarks, pert questions, and wonderful memory were remarkable. This work paid well, and I was soon in a position to make my first investment of £100 in sheep, which I placed on terms on Butler's run. To explain this transaction: I purchased one hundred two tooth ewes at a pound each, upon these I was to receive 45 per cent. increase yearly in lambs, half male and half female, and a similar rate of percentage of course on the female increase as they attained to breeding age. In addition I was to receive £12 10s. per hundred sheep for wool annually. It was a good commencement, and I decided to stick to contract work if possible, and increase my stock till I had sufficient to enable me to obtain a small partnership on a run. Just at this time there arrived at Mesopotamia a friend of Butler's by name Brabazon, an Irishman of good family, it being his intention to remain for some time as a cadet to learn sheep farming. He became a great personal friend of Cook's and mine, and many a pleasant day we spent together when, during intervals of rest, I was able to pay a visit to the Rangitata Station. On the completion of the road contract, the mustering season had begun, and I went over with my men to give a hand and remained for a month assisting at the shearing, etc. I think it was at this time that a most sad occurrence took place, resulting in the death of Dr. Sinclair, who was travelling for pleasure in company with Dr. Haast, Geologist and Botanist to the Government of Canterbury. He and Dr. Haast with their party had been staying at Mesopotamia for a few days previous to starting on an expedition to the upper gorge of the Rangitata. They all left one afternoon, Dr. Sinclair, as usual, on foot. He had an unaccountable aversion to mounting a horse, and could not be induced to do so when it was possible to avoid it. Strange to say, a horse was eventually the cause of his death. He was a man of some seventy years of age with snow white hair, a learned antiquary and botanist, and old as he was, and in appearance not of strong build, he could undergo great fatigue and walk huge distances in pursuit of his favourite science. The party had proceeded in company some few miles up the river, when Haast and his men went ahead to select a camping place, leaving Dr. Sinclair with a man and horse in attendance to come on quietly and take him over the streams, the intended camp being on the opposite side of the river. [Illustration: UPPER GORGE OF THE RANGITATA.] The plan adopted for crossing a stream, when there is more than one person and only a single horse, is as follows: One end of a sufficiently long rope is fastened round the animal's neck, the other being held by one of the men. One then crosses the stream on horseback, when he dismounts, and the horse is hauled back by means of the rope, when another mounts, and so on. In this instance the attendant rode over first, but the stream being somewhat broader than the rope was long, the latter was pulled out of Dr. Sinclair's hands. The man then tried to turn the horse back loose, but the animal, finding himself free, bolted for the run. Dr. Sinclair called to the man that he would ford the stream on foot, and although, as the attendant stated, he warned him against attempting to do so, he immediately entered, but the current was too powerful and quickly washed him off his feet. It was now nearly dark and the man said that although he ran as fast as he was able down the stream, he was unable to see anything of the Doctor. This was the miserable story the station hand gave in at the homestead when he arrived an hour afterwards. All hands turned out, and having mounts in the paddock, Cook and Brabazon were soon in the saddle galloping towards the fording place. Striking the stream some distance below where the accident occurred, both sides were carefully searched, as they worked up. When within a quarter of a mile of the ford Cook discovered the body of the Doctor lying stranded with head and shoulders under water. Life, of course, was extinct. He was drawn gently from the stream and laid on the shingle just as the foot men arrived with torches. It was a sad spectacle, this fine old man we all loved and respected so much, only a few hours before full of life and health, now a ghastly corpse, his hair and long white beard lying dank over his cold white face and glaring eyes. The scene was rendered all the more weird and awful by the surroundings, the still dark night, the rushing water, and overhanging cliffs under the red glare of the torches. His body was laid across one of the saddles while one walked on each side to keep it from falling, and so they returned to the station that lonely four miles in the dead of night. He was laid in the woolshed and a watch placed on guard, and early in the morning a messenger was despatched to Dr. Haast with the sad tidings. His party were at first alarmed at his non-appearance the previous evening, but at length took it for granted that he must have returned to the station, and felt confident that with his attendant and a horse he could not possibly have come to any harm, the river being easily fordable on horseback, or even on foot by a strong man, but of course such a clumsy mistake as employing too short a rope never struck anybody. The attendant who was responsible was one of the hands employed on ditching and fencing, and possibly was not much experienced at river fording, and he said the Doctor delayed so long botanising that darkness was upon them by the time they reached the fording place. Dr. Sinclair's remains were interred the following day about a mile from the homestead on the flat near the south bank of the Rangitata, where his tomb doubtless may now be seen, his last earthly resting place; and, dear old man, with all his strong antipathy to horses, what would he have thought could he have known that one was destined at last to be the cause of his death? As a set-off against the previous sad story I may relate an amusing one, in which I was myself a principal actor, and which occurred soon after my arrival at Mesopotamia. Butler was much exercised about some experimental grass-growing he was carrying on about three miles from the station, on the further side of one of the boundary streams I first referred to, where he had recently secured another slice of country. Early one morning I had started alone on foot for the paddocks, where Butler and Cook were to meet me later, riding, and if I found the stream too high to ford on foot, I was to await their arrival. On reaching the river it was so swollen as to be unsafe to attempt fording, and so, lighting my pipe, I sat down under the shelter of a large boulder, and presently fell asleep. When I woke up, after some considerable time, and remembered where I was, I feared that Cook and Butler must have passed while I slept, and was on the point of returning to the station, when I observed two horsemen a long way down stream, apparently searching for something. I speedily understood what was on foot. My friends were laboriously seeking for my dead body, having naturally supposed, when they could not find me at the paddock, that I had tried to ford the river and been washed away. The idea of these two men spending the morning hunting for a supposed drowned man, who was enjoying a sound sleep near them all the time, was so ludicrous that I could not refrain from an immoderate fit of laughter when they arrived. Butler was hot-tempered, and anything approaching to ridicule where he himself was concerned was a mortal insult. He turned pale with passion and rode off, and I do not think he ever entirely forgave me for not being drowned when he had undertaken so much trouble to discover my body. It was at Mesopotamia that I noticed so many remains of that extinct bird, the "Moa," and it appeared that some of the species had inhabited that locality not very many years previously. Indeed, some old Maoris I had met on the Ashburton said they remembered the bird very well. It was not uncommon to come across a quantity of bones, and near by them a heap of smooth pebbles which the bird had carried in his craw for digestive purposes, and I recollect one day employing a number of the bones in making a footway over a small creek. A complete skeleton of the Moa bird is to be seen in the British Museum. I had now obtained a fresh contract for making cuttings, draining swamps, and bridging over some ten miles in the Lower Ashburton gorge and Valley, and I was busily engaged all the summer and autumn. There were some extensive patches of swampy ground where great difficulty was experienced in passing the heavy wool drays, and to make a feasible road over them was one of my tasks, and an interesting one it proved, giving some scope to my engineering ability. Having laid out the proposed line of road over the marsh, I cut from it at right angles, and some 300 feet in length, a channel wide and deep enough, I calculated, to convey away the flood water during heavy rains, and from the upper end of this channel I cut four feeding drains, two running along the road line, and two diagonally, all four meeting at the top end of the main channel; over the latter, at this point, I constructed a wooden bridge of rough green timber from the forest, distant about eight miles. I sunk a row of heavy round piles or posts about a foot in diameter at each side of the channel, which was fifteen feet wide, securing them with heavy transverse beams spiked on to their tops; over this I laid heavy round timber stretchers, about nine inches in diameter and four in number, upon which were spiked closed together a flooring of stout pine saplings from two and a half to four inches thick. The floor between these was then covered with a thick layer of brushwood, topped with earth and gravel. The road embankment was then carried on from each side till the swamp was cleared. I am particular about describing this, as it was my first attempt at bridge building and draining, and of all the thousands of bridges I have since constructed, I do not think any one of them interested me more keenly than these in the Ashburton Valley when I was a lad of nineteen. The bridges and roads over the marshes proved quite satisfactory, and it was a real delight to me when the first teams of wool drays passed over safely. I was at the same time engaged on the cuttings, and got some of them completed before the severe winter set in. I was so busy this season that much of my time was necessarily spent in supervising between the forest and the work, and I had a rough hut erected at the former, where I could live during my visits. Once, on passing to the forest, I met with an amusing accident. I was riding a huge sixteen-hand black mare and had heavy swags of blankets strapped before and behind the saddle, in addition to which I carried a new axe, some cooking utensils and a large leg and loin of mutton, which I had called for at the station, fearing that my men were out of meat. Near the forest I had to cross a small stream with steep banks. There had been heavy rain the previous night, and the little stream was a rushing torrent, and as I forded it, the water reached to the girths. The opposite bank was steep and slippery, and the huge animal laboured so in negotiating it that the girths snapped, and the entire saddle, with myself, slipped over her tail into the rushing stream. In this manner we were carried down; immersed to nearly my armpits, but securely attached, for some two hundred yards, before I was able to extricate myself and incumbrances by seizing a branch as we swept by a bend in the stream. With some difficulty I succeeded in getting all out safely and fortunately on the right side. The mare was quietly feeding where she had emerged. Where the work went on in the valley I had a couple of tents for my gang of navvies, some of whom were sailors. I always found these excellent workers, and specially handy and clever in many ways, where a mere landsman would be at fault. I worked with them, and shared everything as one of themselves, even to a single nip of rum I allowed to each man once a day. They treated me with every respect, and I had not, so far as I can recollect, a single instance of serious trouble with any of them. They received good wages, and earned them, and if any man among them had been found guilty of reprehensible conduct, the others would have supported me at once in clearing him from the camp. When the day's work was over, these sailor navvies would all bear a hand to get matters right for the night and the next day. Mutton was put in the oven, bread made, and placed under the ashes, firewood collected, and water in the kettle ready for putting on the fire at daybreak, then the nip of rum and pipe alight, and yarns or songs would be told or sung in turn, till the blankets claimed us. This was a very severe winter, and as the snow began to lie heavily I was perforce obliged to stop work for a month or two, and for that time I accepted an invitation from Cook and Brabazon to keep them company at Mesopotamia. Butler had left for Christchurch, where he would remain for an indefinite time. CHAPTER XV. WINTER UNDER THE SOUTHERN ALPS--FROST-BITE--SEEKING SHEEP IN THE SNOW--THE RUNAWAY. In winter in these high latitudes, such as the Upper Rangitata, lying at the foot and immediately eastward of the great Alpine range behind which the winter sun dipped at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, it was intensely cold, and instances of frost-bite were not uncommon. I recollect a poor young fellow, a bullock-driver on a neighbouring station, getting frost-bitten one night when he had lost his way in the snow. He knew nothing of it until he arrived at the station in the morning, when, on removing his boots his feet felt numb and dead, and no amount of rubbing had any effect in inducing a return of circulation. It soon transpired that his toes were frost-bitten. A messenger was despatched to the Ashburton in hope of finding a doctor, but in vain, and the lad was sent to Christchurch, 150 miles, in a covered dray. This, of course, took a considerable time, and when he arrived gangrene had set in, and both feet had to be amputated above the ankles. When the snow falls in large quantities it becomes an anxious time for the sheep farmer, and if the flocks are not strong and healthy they are sure to suffer. In snowstorms, the sheep will seek the shelter of some hill or spur, collecting together on the lee side, and here they are sometimes drifted over, when if the snow does not remain beyond a certain period they are mostly safe. As the snow drifts over them the heat of their bodies keeps it melted within a certain area, while the freezing and increase of drift and falling snow continue above and beyond the circle. In this manner a compartment is formed underneath in which the animals live and, to some extent, move about. The existence of these habitations is discovered by the presence of small breathing holes on the surface leading from below like chimneys, and sheep will live in this manner for a fortnight or so. When they have eaten up all the grass and roots available they will feed on their own wool, which they tear off each other's backs, and chew for the grease contained in it. For a fortnight we had been completely snowed up at Mesopotamia. Upon the homestead flat the snow was four feet deep, through which we cut and kept clear a passage between the huts, and for fifty yards on one side to the creek, where through a hole in the ice we drew water for daily use. Fortunately we had abundance of food and a mob of sheep had previously been driven into one of the paddocks to be retained in case of emergency. The confined life was trying. We read, played cards, practised daily with the boxing gloves, and missed sorely the outdoor exercise. One day, however, we had a benefit of the latter which was a new experience to all of us. The overseer was getting anxious about the sheep. Once or twice distant bleating had been heard, but for some days it had ceased, and as he wished to satisfy himself of the safety of his flocks, we decided to make a party and go in search of them. When last seen, before the heavy snow began to fall, the flocks of ewes and lambs were two miles from the homestead on the lea of the great spur forming the north extremity of the run, and it was in this direction the bleating was heard. We arranged our party as follows: Cook, Brabazon, and I, with two station hands, were to start early the following morning, while two men remained at the huts to be on the look out for us, and if we were late in returning they had orders to follow up in our snow trail and meet us. We each dressed as lightly as possible, and provided ourselves with stout pine staffs to assist us in climbing and feeling our way over dangerous localities. Each of us carried a parcel of bread and meat, and a small flask of spirits was taken for use only in case of urgent necessity. An expedition of this kind is always attended with danger. Travelling through deep snow is exceedingly tiring, and the glare and glistening from its surface tends to induce sleepiness. Many a man has lost his life from these causes combined when but a short distance from safety. [Illustration: SEEKING SHEEP IN THE SNOW.] We started in Indian file, the foremost man breaking the snow and the others placing their feet in his tracks. When the leader, whose work was naturally the heaviest, got tired, he stepped aside, and the next in file took up the breaking, while the former fell into the rear of all, which is, of course, the easiest. Proceeding thus, we went on steadily for some hours, our route being by no means straight, as we had to utilise our knowledge of the ground and avoid dangerous and suspicious places. The aspect of a piece of country considerably changes in surface appearance under a heavy covering of snow where deep and extensive drifts have formed. Notwithstanding our deviations and undulating course, we made the summit of the great spur at midday. Such a scene as here opened out before us is difficult to describe. If it had been a flat plain with the usual domestic accessories there would be only a dreary circumscribed and more or less familiar picture, but here we were among the silent mountains untouched by the hand of man, in the clearest atmosphere in the universe, with magnificent and varying panoramas stretching away from us on every side. To the north we could see far into the upper gorge of the Rangitata, with its precipices and promontories receding point by point in bold outline to the towering peaks forty miles beyond, and below it the wide flats of the great river, with its broad bed and streams so rapid that they could not be frozen over. On the east the low undulating downs stretching away towards the plains, while westward they ran in huge spurs to the foot of the Alpine range, towering 13,000 feet above us. Turning southward was seen the lower gorge, with its hills almost meeting in huge precipitous spurs, with stretches of pine forests clothing their slopes. Turn where we would over those immense panoramas all was white, pure, dazzling, glittering white, with a deathlike stillness over all. No life, no colour, save a streak of grey-blue on the broad river bed, and the shadow thrown by the mountains in the depths of their frowning gorges. The cold grey cloudless sky itself was scarcely any contrast. It was a magnificent wilderness of snow, and we viewed it spell-bound till our eyes ached with the glare and we felt a strange desire to lie down and sleep. Such is invariably the attendant sensations under these circumstances, whence the danger. If one once gives way to the drowsiness and longing for rest, he is gone. The sleep comes quickly, but it is a sleep from which there is no awakening--hence the precautions taken on such an expedition to have as large a party of strong men as possible to assist each other in case of failure. The need for such caution was fully verified in our case. We were fortunate in discovering a number of sheep on the leeward of the spur where the snow had drifted off and lay comparatively light, and some were feeding off the tops of tall snow grass which remained uncovered. In other places numbers were living under the snow as the breathing holes testified. The visit and inspection were as satisfactory as we hoped, and after a short rest and hasty lunch, we started on our return journey, which, as it would be in our old tracks, and for the most part downhill, would be very much easier than the previous one. It was well that our homeward journey was easier, or the trip would not have ended as satisfactorily as it did. We all felt on starting that we had had nearly enough work, and looked forward longingly to the snug huts two miles distant. It was now half-past one, and by three o'clock darkness and severe frost would set in (indeed, it was freezing all day). We originally trusted to reach the station by that hour, but we had delayed longer with the sheep than we should have. We proceeded manfully and had accomplished about half the distance when Cook, who had been exhibiting signs of weariness, suddenly "sat down in his tracks," and asked for some grog, which was given him. This revived him somewhat, and we again got under weigh, keeping him in the rear, but after a little while he again succumbed, and said he could go no further. He was quite happy, only looked a bit dazed, said he was tired and sleepy, and begged us to go on, and send a man and horse for him. This was what we feared. He was too far gone to remember that a horse could not walk where we had come. There was nothing for it but to carry, or assist him as best we could, and keep him moving, for if we had left him he would have frozen dead in half an hour. With this fear we received new strength, and two by two, we half carried and half dragged him for some distance when we were met by the hut keeper, and the remaining station hand, an old man, by name Darby--who, as agreed, had left to seek us, fearing some accident. With this additional assistance Cook was carried the remaining distance, and laid, now quite asleep, on a cot, where we rubbed his extremities with snow, till circulation returned, and then let him sleep, which he did, and indeed which we all did, until very late the following day. The same winter a sad accident occurred on a run south of Canterbury, belonging to two brothers, by name, I think, McKenzie. They went alone to visit their sheep in the snow, and when returning, the elder got tired and could not proceed. He contentedly sat down, desiring his brother to go on to the station and send him assistance. The latter, fearing nothing, left him, and when the assistance arrived the man was found dead. The close of winter was now coming on, and the snow was fast thawing from the mountains, while the river flats were almost clear where drifts had not formed. With the thaw the Rangitata came down in great volume, a sea of yellow foaming water a quarter of a mile in width. During the time we were snowed up the mob of horses came almost every day to the stock yard for rock salt and we now took the opportunity to retain three, as the ground was clear enough for riding. I had brought with me from Christchurch a new purchase in the form of a big rawboned gelding, fresh off board ship from Melbourne, and had turned him to graze with the other horses on the run. He was now in splendid condition. When we were all mounted the gelding showed some inclination to buck, but went away quietly after all, and we cantered along to the bank of the river. Returning, we wished to try the paces of our nags, and started for a race. My animal then showed his temper, and after a few bucks, which did not unseat me, he fairly bolted. I had only a light snaffle on him, while his mouth was like iron. The bridle, too, was old as ill-luck would have it, or I might have succeeded in stopping him; but after a few moments of vain endeavour to do so, the rein broke at the ring of the snaffle, and he was free. With a vicious shake of the head he threw the bit from his mouth and headed for the downs, where I knew there was a large tract of burnt "Irishman" scrub, into which, if he took me, I would be torn to pieces. In an instant's thought I decided to get clear of him, then kicking my feet, as I thought, out of the stirrups, I sprang off. I remembered nothing more till I woke up, two hours later, in a cot in the hut, with an aching head and stiff back. The others said I could not have cleared both feet from the stirrups when I jumped, for it seemed to them that I was dragged for an instant. At any rate, I struck the ground on the back of my head and shoulders, and lay stunned; they first thought me lifeless. The huts were near, and I was carried up and resuscitated. The following day I was sufficiently recovered to give the gelding a lesson in running away he had cause to remember. CHAPTER XVI. START ON AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION TO THE WANAKA LAKE. We had just now capital pig-hunting. The severity of the snow sent the animals into the flats, where we shot them down, riding being impracticable. My visit being ended and the weather favourable, I proceeded to Christchurch preparatory to resuming work. I was accompanied by a young man named Evans, a stockrider from one of the Ashburton stations, and on arriving at the Rakaia, being in a hurry, we foolishly tried to ford the river without a guide, as I had frequently done at other times. The river was quite fordable, but the streams were fairly deep, taking the horses some way above the girths. We had nearly crossed the largest when my horse suddenly went down, and in an instant we were swimming in a swift current nearly to the waist. Evans's horse followed the other's example. They were both good swimmers, and took us out safely on the side from which we entered, some 300 yards down stream. Another try under the forder's guidance was successful, but the accident detained us at the north bank accommodation house for the night. In addition to the completion of the Ashburton gorge road, I obtained a contract from a wealthy runholder in the neighbourhood to put up many miles of wire fencing, then just coming into use for dividing the runs, and also for the erection of several outstation buildings, all of which I had completed before the middle of the summer season, and I was in treaty for further work when I received an offer from Mr. T. Moorhouse, at whose station I had been so ill, to accompany him on an exploring trip to the head of the Wanaka Lake, in Otago Province. He had taken up (or imagined he had done so) some sheep country there, and the expedition was for the purpose of inspecting his newly acquired possessions. Nobody had yet seen this country, or at any rate, been on it. The journey would be about 300 miles, in addition to the voyage up the lake by boat, about twenty miles. It would be a new experience for me, and I was delighted with the offer, the more so that I would receive a good return for my time with all expenses paid, and I was glad to have an opportunity of again visiting the Lindis and the country far beyond my late travels, during the summer, when all would look its best and camping out be a real pleasure. As we were not to start for ten days, I went to Christchurch to receive payment for work, and I was anxious to purchase a good saddle horse in place of my big mare, which was too clumsy and heavy for our proposed ride to Otago. On the day on which I purchased the animal there was an auction sale of walers in the town, and I was sitting on the stockyard rails, looking on, when I saw a jockey riding a powerful bay up and down in front of the stand. This jockey proved to be an old acquaintance, and although some 60 years of age, was still an excellent rider. He was a popular little fellow, a character in his way, and was known by the name of "Old Bob." I was on the point of speaking to him, when the horse he rode was called for sale, and Bob was desired to show off his paces. For a turn or two the animal behaved well, and the bidding was brisk, when apparently, without any cause he bucked violently. I think Bob held on for four or five bucks, then the saddle went forward, and he was shot off, striking the hard road on his head. He seemed to roll up or double up, or something, and lay still, several people rushed to him, but he was past all help, his skull was split in two. On my return to Moorhouse's our preparations were soon completed. In addition to our saddle horses we selected for pack animals as well as for occasional riding two of the best of the station hacks; one of them carried stores and some cooking utensils, while the other was laden with clothes and blankets. We travelled lightly, it being our intention to put up at stations or accommodation houses as much as possible till we arrived at our destination. The route we followed was for the first 150 miles the same as that described in our journey to the diggings. We moved much faster and in six days reached Miller and Gooche's, the former of whom was now on the station. McGregor Miller was one of the finest men I had seen, a Hercules in strength and build, and as jolly and hospitable as he was a perfect gentleman. We stayed two days with him. The station as well as the country presented very different aspects to what they did on my previous visit. A new house had been built and furnished comfortably, and the surroundings were fast being improved under the guiding hand of the "boss," who worked with his men as one of themselves, and easy-going fox-hunting squire as he was in the old country a couple of years since, he could handle an axe, spade, or shovel with the best of them. On the first day's ride from here we went over the Lindis Pass, the scene of so much hardship to us diggers, and on to McClean's station, where we received a hearty Scotch welcome and an excellent dinner, and sat up late with the old gentleman discussing whiskey toddy and chatting over old times. The Moorhouses and McCleans were old friends, and had been together in Australia on the diggings many years before. He was not, I recollect, much impressed with Moorhouse's speculation, but as he had a run at the south of the Wanaka and a homestead there he arranged for our reception and for a boat to take us a portion of the voyage up the lake. The next day's ride lay through the scene of the late Lindis diggings, but not a vestige of the encampments remained beyond the ruins of the hut walls and excavations. The gold diggings proved a failure, and within a few months of our leaving them they were deserted. They were, I understood, subsequently re-opened by a company who employed machinery with more success than was possible with manual labour. The country beyond this was bleak and uninteresting, until the following evening when we arrived at the Molyneux river, where it flowed out of the south end of the Wanaka Lake. We were here again in the midst of mountains and very near to the great Alpine range which towered above us and which, although it was midsummer, was capped in snow. Upon the opposite side of the river, and on the shore of the lake, stood the very fine group of station buildings erected by Mr. Robert McClean. His people having been advised of our coming, a boat was sent across, behind which we swam our horses, and were soon comfortably fixed for the night and hospitably received by the overseer, who had a boat ready to convey us the following day twenty-five miles up the lake to another station formed there. The Molyneux struck me as being the clearest water I had ever seen; it was quite colourless, and though of great depth, even here at its source, the bottom was distinctly visible from the boat. It was a grand river, large and deep enough to float a small steamer. Early the following morning we saw a large timber raft come down the lake and enter the Molyneux. There were extensive forests at the head of the lake, and an energetic contractor had engaged men to cut timber there, which he was now floating down the river to the coast some 200 miles distant. The raft was forty feet square, composed of rough round logs bound together and covered with a load of split and sawn timber, forming altogether a very valuable cargo. The contractor and four other men stood on the raft, each provided with a life belt, which he wore ready for accident, and fastened to the side of the raft lay several coils of stout rope with grappling hooks attached, by which they would be able to anchor by throwing the hooks round some object on the bank. Notwithstanding these precautions there was considerable danger in navigating the river in some parts, where occurred rapids and rocks, and occasionally as we were informed, a raft would get overturned or broken up, in which case the men in charge would have to swim for their lives or drown unless they had taken the precaution to provide themselves with lifebelts. We left our horses and most of the impedimenta there, and about mid-day took boat with three of the McClean men to assist at the oars. The boat was a fine one and carried a light sail, which unfortunately was no use to us, the little wind there was being dead ahead. The Wanaka is, I believe, the largest and most beautiful lake in New Zealand. On one side, for nearly the entire length, it was bounded by steep hills, for the greater part clothed with forest and undergrowth crowned by noble promontories and headlands. Above and beyond were seen the mountains receding away to the snow line in their various and changing colours. The opposite side was more homely and less grand in outline, but still very lovely. The low hills were broken by extensive tracts of undulating or flat land, where flocks of sheep or herds of cattle grazed, bordered by sedges and marshes with flocks of wild duck in all the enjoyment of an undisturbed existence. Looking up the lake to where the mountains seemed to meet, the colouring and grandeur of the scene was sublime. Since I voyaged up the Wanaka I have seen mountain scenery in many other lands, but I cannot call to mind anything which for beauty and grandeur surpasses that by which I was now surrounded. It had, may be, a peculiar wildness of its own not elsewhere to be met with, except in the Himalayas, and no doubt much of the effect is due to the exceeding rarity of the atmosphere, and hence the greater extent of landscape which can be observed at once. CHAPTER XVII. EXPLORATION TRIP CONTINUED--WEEKAS--INSPECTION OF NEW COUNTRY--ESCAPE FROM FIRE. It was some time after dark when we arrived at Wynne's Station, which was situated in a bend behind a promontory, and not observable until close upon it. The owner was absent, but we were received by the overseer, Mr. Brand, and his assistants, two young gentlemen cadets. The run, which was recently taken up, was suited only for cattle which grazed on the extensive flats reaching inwards between the mountain ranges and the undulating hills. The mountain sides were too rough and scrubby for sheep as yet till fires had reduced the wild growth of small brush and induced grass to spread. The homestead being yet in its infancy, all was crude and rough, but its surroundings were delightful. It stood on a small flat not yet denuded of the original wild growth which lay in heaps half burnt, or in scattered clumps, the cleared portions being partly ploughed up. The flat was enclosed by a semicircle of steep hills covered with rocks and brushwood in the wildest luxuriance, and almost impossible of passage even to pedestrians. The stockyards lay away some distance, and they, with the run generally, were approached by boats, of which three fine ones lay hauled up in front of the homestead. Indeed, a great deal of the work of the station was done by boat, including the fetching of supplies, bringing timber from the forest and firewood from an island in the lake, and visiting remote parts of the run only accessible inland by a rough and circuitous cattle track impracticable for a dray. Mr. Brand did not think much of Moorhouse's spec. He had seen the country, but had not been on it, and did not think it good or extensive enough to be worked alone. He offered not only to lend us a fine boat for the remainder of the journey, but to accompany us himself to the forest which was adjacent to our quest, having to convey some stores to his men there. It was arranged that on the third day we would proceed thither, and in the meantime I lent a hand at anything going on, and amused myself sketching, an occupation I was very fond of, and I had already collected a considerable number of views taken on the Rangitata and other places. We left in the afternoon, intending to camp about ten miles up. We numbered five in all, and the boat was fairly well laden with stores for the forest. The pull was a stiff one and we took no sail, the wind at this season always blowing down the lake. It was some time after dark when we reached our proposed camping place, a narrow strand of white shingle sprinkled with clusters of shrubbery backed with thick underwood, which afforded shelter and firewood. The boat was made fast, and materials for supper and a huge fire were speedily under weigh. We were much pestered here with weekas (woodhens) who carried off most of our food which was not securely covered by night. These birds are the most persistent thieves, nearly as large as a common fowl, of a browny colour, gamy looking, with long legs and very short wings, the latter only serving to assist them in running, for they cannot fly. They are to be found in every New Zealand bush, and unless travellers take the precaution to place provisions or any articles, edible or not, out of their reach, they will not long remain in ignorance of their proximity. When living in the forest I have frequently amused myself killing these birds in the following manner, while sitting at my camp fire at night. I procured two short sticks, at the end of one I attached a bit of red cloth or rag to be used as a lure. They are the most curious birds in existence, and this together with their thieving propensities is so powerful that when their desires for appropriation are excited they possess little or no fear. I would sit by the fire holding out the red rag, when in a few moments a slight rustle would be heard from the branches. After a little the bird would step boldly into the open firelight stretching his neck and cocking his head knowingly as he approached in a zig-zag way the object of his curiosity and desire. So soon as he would come sufficiently near, and his attention was taken up with the bright object he hoped to possess, whack would descend the other stick on his head, and his mortal career of theft was at an end. Then I would roast the two drumsticks, having separated them from the body, skinning them, and eating them for supper; they are the only part of the bird fit for food. The remainder of the body is boiled down for oil, which is invaluable for boots of any kind, making them waterproof and pliable. I have frequently killed six or eight weekas in a single evening at my camp fire. I did not, however, eat all the drumsticks. We were up betimes, and after a hearty breakfast started for our last pull to the head of the lake, which we reached in the forenoon. The heaviest part of the work, however, had yet to come--namely, pulling the boat a mile up the stream which flows into the lake. This was unavoidable, as the land each side was an impassable swamp. For the last half-mile the current was so swift we could make no headway against it with the oars, and the water being only from one to two feet deep, we got out and waded, hauling the boat by hand to the landing place. Here we had to transfer provisions from the boat to our own backs and trudge on foot over nearly two miles of rough and partly swampy ground to the forest where Brand had his hut, in which we intended to camp that night. It was fairly late in the afternoon when we reached the hut, and we were not sorry to relieve ourselves of our burdens and partake of food. It was a rough camp, and as wild a situation as one could find, and it was a rough-looking lot of men that night who occupied it, in the depth of a black pine forest with the glaring light of a huge fire illuminating the recesses of the overhanging trees and dense underwood, increasing the darkness beyond, with the ominous cry of the mawpawk and laughing jackass only breaking the dead stillness. We were soon rolled in our blankets around the fire, and slept like men who had earned their rest. The following day we rested and prepared for our excursion into the new country, and expecting to be absent two days took with us enough food for so long. In addition to our blankets we carried each a bag of ship biscuits, some tea, sugar, and cooked mutton, with a small kettle and two tin panakins. The first day we proceeded nearly five miles up the valley, which was from 1/2 to 3/4 mile wide, much of it swampy and scored by deep-water channels, many of which were now dry, but partly covered or concealed by long tussock roots more or less burnt. On each side were low rugged hills covered with dense scrub, some portions of which had been burnt by fires which had crept up there from lower down the lake. Where the fire had done its work the ground was a foot deep in ashes and charred bits of timber, while studded about, or covered over with burnt debris were innumerable half burnt stumps; altogether it was not a locality one would select for a pleasant walk. In some few places where rain had washed away the ashes the tussock roots were beginning to sprout, and it was not difficult to see that in course of time there would be an improvement in the land, but there was not much of it on the flats, while the hills would be for years almost impracticable. Besides, it was exceedingly difficult of access and stock would in all probability require to be transported thither by boat. We were now walking over country in its pure native wildness; the first human beings, certainly the first civilised ones, who had ever trod upon it. We spent two days exploring as far in every direction as we could go, and as we went we steadily applied the match, setting fire to bush and grass alike, thus making our progress very evident to those in the forest and all down the lake. We were in a fearful state of filth, notwithstanding that we had washed ourselves in the clear stream daily, the ashes got ground into our skins and even the application of fine sand in lieu of soap would not eradicate it, only causing rawness with accompanying smarting. Moorhouse was really to blame for this, for, vain man that he was, he carried a little pocket looking-glass by which we discovered the condition we were in. Had he left the glass behind we would probably have remained black and happy till our return. On the last day we had a close shave for our lives. We were crossing a narrow bushy point, the upper portion of which had caught a returning fire, and it was coming down upon us with the wind, with a deafening roar and volumes of smoke. Our chance of safety lay in getting into the open and across the water before the fire reached us, and we were nearly, very nearly caught. The bush grew denser as we went on, and was filled with "lawyers," which impeded our progress, so that in our extremity to tear ourselves away we left most of our scanty clothing and somewhat of our skins in their clutches, while a fresh breeze springing up, increased the pace of the terrible fire which came roaring towards us in a wall of flame, sparks and smoke, which had already nearly blinded us, the trees snapping, creaking, and falling behind us like reports of artillery. Singed, torn, and half naked, we just succeeded in escaping being charred as completely as any stump on the hills. The "lawyer" (so-called) is a creeping, or rather climbing, plant common to the New Zealand bush. It grows in long thread-like tendrils, as thick as whip cord, armed with myriads of sharp hooked thorns turned backwards. The tendrils grow hundreds of feet in length, stretching from branch to branch, and often forming a maze or web extending over a large area. A person getting entangled in their embraces rarely escapes with a whole skin, and never with a whole coat. We returned the evening of the third day as black as sloes, and with only a few shreds of singed clothes on our backs, thoroughly worn out with hard walking and insufficient sustenance. We remained one day for repairs and then, in company with Brand, had a glorious sail down the lake to Wynne's station. Our return journey to Christchurch was without incident save one, worth mentioning. This was where we were both nearly drowned crossing the Lindis in a flood. Moorehouse, I believe, sold his interest in the Wanaka district for a song. CHAPTER XVIII. DEATH OF PARKER--ROYAL MAIL ROBBED BY A CAT--MEET WITH ACCIDENT CROSSING RIVER. During our absence a sad occurrence took place, which I will record here. A Mr. Parks, a Government surveyor, and well-to-do sheep farmer on the Ashburton, had been engaged during the previous year in making surveys on the Rakia and Ashburton, and on his staff was a young man named Parker. This lad was another instance of the ideas some home people entertain, that for a youngster without intellect, energy, or application sufficient to obtain him entrance to a profession in England, the Colonies are the proper place. In their opinion he must get on there, or at any rate, he will be got rid of. The latter may be true enough, but as regards the former, the proofs are few indeed. Parker was a weak, good natured, feckless lad, about eighteen or twenty years of age, and the only thing he appeared to be able to make anything of was playing the fiddle. Wherever he went his violin accompanied him. While fiddling he was happy, but it was pitiful to watch him trying to work at or take an interest in any employment which he could neither appreciate nor understand. The survey party had proceeded up the gorge of the Rakia, and were absent about a fortnight, when Mr. Parks, requiring to send back to his station for some instrument he had forgotten, and Parker being the least useful hand on the survey, he decided to send him. The distance was twenty miles, and the route was across the open plain leading for a part of the way along the river. He was to go on foot, and put up the first night at Grey's station, about half-way. Between the Camp and Grey's the path led along the bank of the Rakia, which was here very steep, upwards of a hundred feet perpendicularly above the riverbed, and occasionally subject to landslips. A week passed without the return of Parker, and Mr. Parks, getting concerned for the lad's safety, despatched a messenger for information, when it was found that Parker had not appeared either at Grey's, or his own station, and for another week inquiries were made for him in every direction in vain. At about the end of the second week from the date of Parker leaving the survey camp, a shepherd of Grey's, happening to descend into the Rakia river bed in search of some wandering sheep, came upon a roll of red blankets lying at the foot of a landslip. Going up, he found it to contain the body of a man half decomposed, and being eaten by rats. Upon the ground alongside was a pocket-book containing writing and a pencil. The shepherd, taking the pocket-book, returned speedily to Grey's. Upon examination the book was found to contain a diary of five days, written by the unfortunate Parker, before he died of starvation, thirst, and a broken leg, at the foot of the landslip. From the entries it appeared that he had been fiddling along (in his usual absent manner, no doubt) very close to the edge of the Rakia bank, when a portion of it gave way under his feet, and he fell sliding and tumbling until he reached the bottom on a bed of shingle, his leg broken, and his body bruised and shattered. He succeeded in loosening the swag of blankets he had strapped on his back, wrapped them round him and lay down, occasionally calling, and always hoping against hope that some one would discover him. It was a vain hope, poor chap--not twice in a year's space was a human being seen on that wild river bed. He lived for five days in the agonies of hunger, thirst and despair, not even a drop of water could he reach, although the river ran within twenty yards of him, and at last death mercifully put an end to his misery. I now returned to work, continuing at the same time the study of my books, which I kept at the Ashburton, to fit me for the duties of surveyor and contractor. I was deriving a good return from my sheep and could add yearly to their number. During the remainder of the summer and autumn I worked steadily at bush work, hut-building and run-fencing, and when the winter set in I rigged up a hut in the forest, where I lived alone and earned a good return for my time in felling and cutting-up firewood for which I received from the squatters--I think--ten shillings a cord, 9 ft. by 4 ft. by 4 ft. The Ashburton Valley road had been greatly improved, and the weekly mail which hitherto ran between Christchurch and Dunedin was now made bi-weekly, and the stations on the Ashburton and Rangitata gorges arranged for a regular postman on horseback to fetch the mail from the Ashburton immediately on arrival, in lieu of the old plan of having it conveyed from one station to another by private messengers. I recollect a ridiculous accident which happened to one of these mail carriers, who had been despatched to fetch mails across the plains. I do not think I mentioned that there were numbers of wild cats to be met with all over the country. They were not indigenous, but domestic animals or their descendants gone wild, and with their wild existence they engendered a considerable addition of strength and fierceness. The shepherd's dog was the natural enemy of these animals. On the occasion to which I refer, the messenger, an old Irish servant of Mr. Rowley's, was riding quietly on one of the station hacks, a horse called "Old Dan," a noted buckjumper in his day. Heavy saddle bags with the posts were suspended on either side, in addition to various packages tied on fore and aft. Suddenly Pat's dog put up a cat and went away in full chase. The plain was quite open, with no trees or shrubs nearer than the river bed, half a mile distant. The cat finding herself hard pressed, and despairing of reaching the river-bed before the dog would catch her, spied old Dan with Paddy and the post thereupon, and conceived that her only chance of safety lay in mounting too. No sooner thought than done. She doubled, sprang on old Dan's tail and fastened her claws in his hinder parts. Dan not approving of such treatment, set to bucking. First Pat went off, then the saddle bags and parcels, followed by puss. Old Dan finding himself free, ran for his life, the cat after him, and the dog after the cat, leaving poor Pat on the ground to watch the trio as they disappeared from sight. [Illustration: PAT AND HIS MAIL-BAG DISLODGED BY A CAT.] Pat had over ten miles to travel and carry the bags and parcels as best he could, and return the next day for the saddle. The story of how the cat robbed H.M. Mail was long laughed over on the Ashburton, and Paddy was unmercifully chaffed for his part in the performance. I was busily employed till late in the following autumn finishing the works I had in hand, and lived a portion of the time at Glent hills, Mr. Rowley's hill station, where I had a considerable contract for wire fencing with which Mr. Rowley was dividing up into extensive sections the wide valley in which lay the lakes Emma and Clearwater. [Illustration: GLENT HILLS STATION.] During the summer I joined once again in the general mustering, and lived on the mountain sides for days and nights together. It was here I contrived to catch some cold which caused a singing like the bleating of sheep in my right ear, and for which I subjected myself to the very doubtful advice and care of old "Blue Gum Bill," the shepherd who was for the time being my comrade. "Blue Gum" was a "lag," that is, a ticket-of-leave convict, from Australia. One of his hands, I forget which, had been amputated, and in lieu thereof he had affixed a stump of blue gum wood, with an iron hook inserted at the end. As is not unusual in such cases, "Blue Gum" could do more with this iron hook than many men could accomplish with a hand. He was a character in his way, and whatever may have been the cause of his enforced exile from the Old Country many years before, he was now a most exemplary old fellow, for whom I entertained a great respect and liking. He said he could cure my ear, into which he assured me some small animal had entered, and it would be necessary, in the first place to kill it, when the noise would naturally cease. He made me lie down with my bleating ear uppermost, and proceeded to fill it with as much strong tobacco juice as it would hold. This operation he repeated several times, and appeared greatly disappointed on my complaining that the animal still continued musical. The ear troubled me for a long time, and eventually the hearing became impaired. Whether the fact that I never more than half recovered my hearing in that ear, and that for many years it has been almost completely deaf, is due to "Blue Gum's" doctoring or not, is scarcely worth entering into now. When the winter had really set in, I started to pay a visit (my last it turned out) to my friends in Mesopotamia. On arriving at the Rangitata I met the wool drays on their return journey from Christchurch, waiting while one of the men was on horseback seeking for a ford, in which occupation he asked my assistance. The river was a little swollen and discoloured, and the course of the main stream had been altered during the flood. While seeking a fording place I unluckily got into a quicksand, and in an instant I was under the mare, while she was plunging on her side in deep water. I had released my feet from the stirrups upon entering, and was free thus far. I had hold of the tether rope round her neck, and presently we were both out, and as I thought safely. I mounted again, and after getting the drays safely over, I rode on to the station. Here, on putting my foot to the ground I found I could not stand, and from a queer feeling about the left knee, it was apparent that I had been kicked while under the plunging mare. For nigh three weeks I was unable to walk, and to this day I feel the effect of that kick. I was, perforce, obliged now to keep quiet, and was not over-sorry, for the quarters were comfortable, and I was with my friends, and had leisure to read and work. Our evenings by the fire were very enjoyable, and many a story and song went round, or Butler would play while we smoked. One evening, I recollect, he told us a very remarkable ghost story, the best authenticated, as he said, he had ever heard, and to those who entertain the belief that the spirits of the departed have power to revisit this earth for the accomplishment of any special purpose, the story will be interesting. CHAPTER XIX. THE GHOST STORY--BENIGHTED IN THE SNOW. Two young men--we will call them Jones and Smith, for convenience--emigrated to New South Wales. They each possessed sufficient money to start them, as they hoped, as young squatters, and in due time they obtained what they sought. Jones became the owner of a small cattle ranch fifty miles from Melbourne, while Smith commenced sheep farming in partnership with an experienced runholder, forty miles further inland. The friends occasionally visited each other, but in those days the settlers were few and months often passed without the cattle rancher seeing his friend or anybody to speak to beside the one man he retained on the station as hutkeeper, stockman, and general factotum. It was about two years after Jones had settled on his ranch that his friend Smith, requiring to visit Melbourne, decided to take Jones on his way and stop a night with him. He left his homestead early and arrived at the ranch late in the afternoon. As he rode near he saw Jones sitting on the stockyard toprail, apparently enjoying an evening pipe. On calling to him Jones jumped down, but instead of coming to meet his friend he ran into the bush (wood) close to the stockyard. Smith, supposing he was playing a joke, dismounted and followed him; but neither hunting nor calling had any effect--Jones was not to be found. Smith, thinking he might be taking some short cut to the hut, which was a little way off, mounted and proceeded thither. Here, again, he was disappointed, and on enquiry from the hutkeeper learned from him that his master had left for Melbourne and England a month previously, and that he--the hutkeeper--was in charge till his return. Smith, not liking the man or his manner, pretended to accept his statement, and said nothing about having just seen his master. After taking some refreshment and a slight rest he proceeded on his way to Melbourne, where on enquiry at hotels and shipping offices he learnt that his friend had not been seen in Melbourne for a long time, and had not taken his passage for England. He then told his story to a mutual acquaintance, who agreed to return with him and endeavour to discover what was wrong before taking steps. Together they journeyed back, and on coming within sight of the stock yard there was Jones sitting on the rail in his previous position, and, as before, jumped down and ran into the bush. Smith and his companion now made an extensive examination of the locality, but were unable to discover anything to assist them. They then proceeded to the hut as if they had just arrived from Melbourne, and without mentioning that they had seen his master, got into general conversation with the hutkeeper, but failed to elicit anything beyond what he had previously stated, adding only that he did not expect his employer's return for five or six months. They remained at the station that night and left early in the morning, apparently for Smith's homestead, but when they had ridden out of sight of the hut they wheeled and returned to Melbourne by another route. The idea that occupied their minds at this point was that Jones was insane, probably led thereto by his lonely life; that he was wandering about in the bush in the neighbourhood of the hut, which he continued to visit, as they had seen, and that he had, with a madman's acuteness, purposely misled the hutkeeper about his going to England. Smith and his companion feared to mention their suspicions to the hutkeeper, believing that he would not remain alone on the station if he thought that a maniac was about. Seeing Jones a second time, apparently in his usual health, had divested their minds of any suspicion that the hutkeeper had deceived them, or was in any way responsible, and the real facts as they subsequently turned out had not presented themselves to their minds. They decided now to place the matter in the hands of the police. There were at that time (and no doubt still are) retained under the Australian police force a number of native trackers, called the "Black Police." These men were a species of human bloodhounds, and could follow a trail by scent or marks indistinguishable by the white man. On representing the case to the chief of the police, that officer deputed a detective and a couple of constables, with a number of the "Black Police" to accompany Smith and his friend to Jones's ranch. They took a circuitous route, arriving as before at the stockyard without giving information to the hutkeeper, but at the same time directing two men to approach the hut unseen and watch it till further directions. When the party on this occasion approached the stockyard Jones was not occupying his usual seat on the rails. The black trackers, on being shown the place and their work explained to them, they at once commenced the hunt. One of them presently picked up a rail which was lying near by on which he pointed out certain marks, calling them "white man's hair" and "white man's blood." Then after examining the ground around the stockyard they took up the trail leading into the bush at a point where Jones was seen to go. Working up this for some two hundred yards and pointing out various signs as they proceeded, they arrived at a small slimy lagoon or pond, on the edge of which they picked up something they called "white man's fat." Some of them now dived into the pond, where they discovered the body of Jones, or what remained of it. The hutkeeper was immediately arrested, but denied any knowledge of the matter. After consigning the body of the unfortunate rancher to a hurried grave, the prisoner was taken to Melbourne, where he was tried for the murder of his master, and when he was convicted and sentenced, he confessed that he had crept up behind Jones when he sat smoking on the stockyard rail and killed him by a blow on the head with the rail picked up by the black trackers, that he then dragged the body to the bush, and threw it into the lagoon. I do not recollect whether Butler told us if the real object of the murder transpired, but the murderer turned out to be a ticket-of-leave convict well known to the police. The peculiarity of the story lay in the fact that the apparition of Jones twice appearing to his friend, and on one occasion to a stranger also, was sworn to in Court during the trial. I was obliged, owing to business, to leave Mesopotamia in midwinter, and to save a very circuitous journey I decided to travel down the gorge of the Rangitata some twenty-five miles, to the station I referred to once before belonging to Mr. B. Moorehouse. The route lay partly along the mountain slopes overhanging the river, and then diverged across a pass as I had been carefully instructed, but there was no roadway, only a bridle path now pretty sure to be covered with snow, and there was no shelter of any kind over the whole distance. Although I had never made the journey, my former experiences gave me every confidence that I would be able to find my way without much trouble, and taking with me only a scrap of bread and meat and a blanket I started as soon as it was light enough to see, certain in my mind that I would reach Moorehouse's early in the afternoon. The first few miles through the run I knew so well I got along without trouble, but further on the difficulties began. It was impossible, owing to the slushy and slippery as well as uneven nature of the ground, to get out of a slow walk, and frequently I had to double on my tracks to negotiate a swampy nullah, and often to dismount and lead my animal over nasty places which he funked as much as I did. By midday I had got over about half the distance, when I made the serious mistake of continuing down the gorge instead of turning over the saddle or pass to which I had been specially directed; but I was misled by sheep walks leading on towards the gorge, while the footpath over the pass was entirely obliterated by snow. I did not discover my mistake until I could go no further; the sheep walks led only to the shelter of some huge precipices, which here approached close to the river on either side, narrowing the stream to a fourth of its usual volume, and confining it in a rocky channel through which it thundered furiously. The noise was deafening, and the position one of the grandest and wildest I had ever beheld, but I could not afford the time just then for sentiment. It was already getting dark, and I had scarcely a foot to stand on. It seemed indeed, for a moment, that I would not be able to turn my horse, which I was leading, on the narrow path we had now got on to, and if I succeeded in doing that I would have a considerable distance to retrace before reaching safe ground, a false step would send us headlong a couple of hundred feet into a rushing torrent, if we escaped being smashed on the rocks before we got there. I do not think I ever felt so lonely or alarmed, but I had to act, and that quickly. Fortunately my horse was a steady one, well accustomed to climbing over bad places, and no doubt the coming darkness and weird surroundings did not affect him as they did me, and my anxiety after all was then more on his account than my own, for without him I knew I could feel my way back alone. As I moved to turn, the horse twisted round as if on a pivot and followed me like a cat, indeed he could see the track better than I could, and exhibited little nervousness as he crept along with his nose near the ground, and testing every step before he trusted the weight of his body on it. I was very thankful when we at length emerged from that frowning and dark chasm as it now appeared, with the foaming water away in its black depths and an icy wind blowing directly from it. But what were we to do now? In the darkness it would be impossible to either go onward or return the way I had come, and the fact that I was benighted, and in a very nasty position too, now struck me clearly; but there was nothing for it but to make the best of a bad job. Outside the narrow gorge it was considerably lighter, and I had no difficulty in finding my way a bit up towards the pass, where I fortunately discovered a patch of tall snow grass between the tussocks of which the ground had been partly sheltered from the snow, and near this I stumbled on a quantity of "Irishman" scrub which had recently been burnt and was easily broken down. So far this was lucky, for it secured me the means of making a fire, without which it would have been impossible, I believe, to live till the morning, which was still some sixteen hours distant. I tethered my horse to a tussock, and selecting a couple of large ones, knotted their tops together, forming thereby a little room about four feet long by two wide. In this I cut and spread some more snow grass and pushed my saddle and blanket to one end. This did not occupy many minutes, and now I had to break down and collect firewood to last me during the night. When all was done I felt terribly hungry, the little bit of food I had brought with me I had eaten early in the day, and the fact that I had not a morsel left increased my longing for it. Fortunately I had a supply of tobacco and a box of wax vestas, and I smoked continuously. I dared not attempt to lie down to sleep, for I had not covering enough to keep me warm, and indeed I felt no desire for sleep. I was too much concerned about the night; if heavy snow fell I would find it very difficult to move, even when daylight appeared, and it was now falling in a half-hearted sort of way. My poor horse stood as near the fire as he could, without any food, and shivering, and I was constantly standing up and clapping my arms and stamping my feet if the fire got low, then, when a bit warmed, I would crouch inside my den and sometimes I dozed, only to waken up from sheer cold and resume my exercise. After some hours I had the satisfaction to notice that the snow had ceased falling, and a brighter night, with frost, had set in. This was pleasant, as the probability of being snowed up was no longer to be apprehended, but the biting cold was terrible, and I knew that if I succumbed to sleep, I would be frost-bitten. I scarcely know how I got through the night; one never does. I must have had periods of unconsciousness, and the heat emanating from the hot ashes, and what fire I was able to keep going, saved me. Had it not been for that, I could not have survived, and it was a piece of extraordinary luck my lighting on a patch of snow grass and scrub in that wild and desolate pass. How I longed for daylight may be imagined, and the first tinge of light I noticed on the horizon was a welcome sight indeed. My firewood was long since burnt away, but the ashes were yet warm, and I thrust in my hands till I revived some life into them, and was able to collect more brushwood which I carried over, and had a rousing fire, and was enabled to get the saddle on to my horse. I was now undecided whether to retrace my steps to Mesopotamia or endeavour to find my way to Moorehouse's; on the latter, however, I decided, as I judged I was midway between the two, and started to explore the pass, leading my horse. The exercise revived us both, and I succeeded in finding the trail I needed. The journey was simple after what I had experienced on the other side, and I had the satisfaction of meeting one of Moorehouse's shepherds before the day was much older, who accompanied me to the station, and who would scarcely believe that I had passed the night where I did. I found Mr. and Mrs. Ben Moorehouse at home, and was, as always, most hospitably received, and soon found myself with a change of kit, seated before an excellent meal, to which after thirty hours fasting I did ample justice. After that I slept till morning. On my arrival at Christchurch an offer was made to me to join an expedition to the Fiji Islands, just then creating some interest as a possible place for colonists. The previous year some explorer had brought from thence a ship load of curiosities, including war clubs and spears of hard polished and carved wood, mats and numerous other articles in use among the cannibal tribes, and an exhibition of them was held in the Town Hall. I now learnt that an acquaintance of mine, a Mr. Gibson, had chartered a small vessel called the "Ocean Queen," 40 tons burthen, and intended to sail in her, with his young wife, for the Fiji Islands. Also that four other men had joined him in the enterprise. I knew Gibson to be a plucky fellow, but when it transpired that neither he nor the others possessed money beyond what the voyage would cost them, and that what they intended to do when they arrived at the Fiji Islands was to be left to chance, the proposed expedition assumed a different complexion. The Judge denounced it as sheer madness, specially for a man to take his wife to such a place. It was true that some missionaries had settlements there, but these are generally safe, as the savages, as a rule, fear and respect the missionaries of the Great Spirit, be it that of the white man or the black, and they know that the missionaries mean no harm to them or their possessions, but it would be very different in the case of a number of white men arriving unprotected in a small boat with the intention of settling on their land. However, nothing would dissuade Gibson and his party. Whether the "Ocean Queen" arrived at the Fiji Islands was never known. Certainly she and the party who sailed in her were never again heard of. CHAPTER XX. DECIDE TO GO TO INDIA--VISIT MELBOURNE, ETC. For the following six months I kept steadily to work. I was gradually adding to my stock of sheep, and had nothing occurred to disturb me I should doubtless have continued at work and in time have become a veritable squatter. I was able to command constant employment in any colonial capacity, and had been more than once offered the overseership of a run, but the old distaste for the life of a sheep-farmer was as strong as ever. It was in the month of May, 1864, when I received a letter from my brother in Bombay, saying that there were excellent openings in the engineering line there, to which he had interest enough to help me, and he pressed me to go to Bombay and try my luck. My brother was then representative of a large mercantile firm at Bombay. I think neither he nor the others at home had ever divested themselves of the idea that I was not succeeding, and never would succeed in New Zealand, because I had not at once made a fortune out of nothing, or discovered gold for the picking up. Of course, they were not right. I had, considering my youth and ignorance on going out to New Zealand, done admirably. It was necessary to undergo a term of probation and education for the work of a sheep-farmer or any other in the Colony, and this I had not only accomplished, but I had been, and was, making money and a living, and had fair prospects before me should I decide to adopt the life of a squatter permanently. I consulted my friends and some of them were for following my brother's advice, but something within myself kept prompting me in the same direction, and I began to feel more and more that I had mistaken my vocation, and that I was bound to try before it would be too late to get into the swing of the more congenial employment for which I was longing. The wandering spirit, too, mastered me once more, and I wished now to see India and all I had heard and read of that wonderful land, as I had originally desired to see New Zealand. I did not decide hastily. I was aware that my leaving New Zealand now would to some extent throw me back, if at any time in the future I decided to return, but I was still very young, not yet 22, and a year or two would make very little difference, and I knew that if I returned to New Zealand I could always command immediate employment. I decided at length to see India at any rate, and I wrote to my brother to that effect. The disposal of my sheep, horses, and other small possessions, was soon accomplished, and one fine morning in May 1864, I found myself at Port Lyttelton, accompanied by a number of old chums who had come to see me off by the steamboat to Dunedin, from whence I was to proceed by mail to Melbourne, and from thence to Bombay by the P. and O. I felt sad indeed to look my last (it might be for ever) on the shores of Canterbury, where I had passed five happy years, endeared to me all the more on account of the varied and adventurous life I had led, and the good friends and companions I was leaving behind, and I leaned on the bulwarks of the little steamer as we passed out of the lovely bay and saw the shepherd's hut, high up on the cliff, where we wanderers from the ship five years before had been entertained by the Scotch housewife to our first New Zealand dinner, then on to where we visited the whalers and the head to which we rowed in the Captain's gig. The whole scene arose before me afresh; where were we all scattered to? I longed to do it all over again, and be with the old mates; and here I was, a lonely wanderer once more, leaving all to go away to begin a new life in a strange land. It was not easy, but I tried hard to think I was doing right. By the time we passed out of the Heads it had grown dark, and my reverie was broken by the supper bell, and Burton (a friend who was going to Australia on a pleasure trip) telling me to rouse up, have some food, and make myself pleasant. How carefully I followed his advice during the next six weeks! We reached Dunedin the following evening and had to remain there for a few days for the departure of the Melbourne mail boat. This time Burton and I contrived to spend very pleasantly. He was a wealthy young squatter, and I had a good sum of money with me, in fact, I was becoming a bit reckless; but I could not have foreseen that an accident would retain me far longer on the voyage to India than I supposed, and I saw little harm in enjoying myself with the money I had earned and saved. What kind of guardian angel was in charge of me from this time I cannot say, but he must have been an excessively pleasant and jolly one, for under his guidance I enjoyed a most delightful time. Dunedin had improved marvellously since I had last seen it; it was already a town of considerable pretensions and possessed a theatre and several good hotels. On the fourth day we left for Melbourne in the s.s. "Alhambra," and now I believed that I had done with New Zealand for good and all, but I was mistaken. After three days at sea we encountered south of Tasmania a terrific gale during which the shaft of the screw was broken, and the Captain had no resource but to return to Dunedin under sail, an operation which occupied seven days, to the great disgust of all on board. At Dunedin we were again delayed for three days till another boat started which took us to Melbourne. The voyage was pleasant and we steamed in nearly a calm sea close along the Tasmanian coast and through the Bass Straits, sighting land all the way from thence. Tasmania presented quite an English appearance after New Zealand, and we could trace the neat towns and well-wooded country dotted with homesteads and farms. Melbourne possesses a very fine and well protected harbour, but the surroundings sadly lacked the native beauty of New Zealand. The countries present very different aspects to the new-comer; while New Zealand can boast of some of the wildest and grandest scenery in the world, that of New South Wales is almost the reverse, being homely and of a natural park-like appearance, which, although beautiful in a certain sense, is monotonous after the wild contrasts of plains and mountain, forests and rivers of New Zealand. Melbourne proper lay some five miles from the port, which then possessed a fine wooden pier, alongside of which and in the adjacent roadstead, lay many fine merchant vessels and steamers awaiting their cargoes of wool, etc. The port and city were connected by a railway, the first constructed in Australia, and almost parallel with it wound the River Yarrow, so named from its usually muddy or yellow colour. We proceeded to Melbourne by rail and put up at one of the principal hotels. Here we discovered that our accident had caused us to miss the China mail boat which was to have conveyed us to Point de Galle, and I would now have almost a whole month to remain at Melbourne. This news was I fear more welcome than otherwise. I wished to see something of Melbourne, and here was the opportunity forced upon me, so I decided to make the very most of my time. Melbourne, even at this period, was a considerable city, handsome and well laid out on the most approved modern principles, with straight and spacious streets and squares, and possessing throughout architecture equal to that of the best modern English towns, in addition to some really magnificent public buildings. A considerable portion of the city stood on a gentle slope, and along many of the streets between the roadway and the footpaths, ran continuous streams of pure spring water, over which, when in flood, foot passengers were taken by carriage. Along the banks of the Yarrow were lovely gardens and extensive parks, and many a pleasant row I had under the shade of the huge pine and gum trees. The river frequently overflowed its banks and submerged the low-lying country between the city and the port, at which times I have travelled by train while the rails were under water. Some of the suburbs and watering places around Melbourne, such as St. Kilda, were exceedingly picturesque. A railway was just then opened from Melbourne to Ballarat, the scene of the famous gold diggings to which Melbourne is primarily indebted for her present magnificence and prosperity. Extensive quartz crushing by machinery was then being carried out, and a visit to the locality was most interesting. We made many excursions up country, and altogether thoroughly enjoyed our time. So much so indeed that had another accident detained me longer I would not have felt any regret. Early in August I started by the P. and O. mail boat for Ceylon, with mutual regrets on Burton's part and on my own that our pleasant holiday was ended. I never met Burton again. At King George's Sound, Northern Australia, was a small coaling station, possessing only a score or so of houses or stores, and one hotel so-called. On arrival we went on shore and were immediately greeted by a number of the most wretched specimens of humanity I had yet seen. They were diminutive in stature, perfectly naked with the exception of a dirty rag of blanket twisted about the shoulders and waist, out of the folds of which issued a wreath of smoke from the fire stick without which the Australian aboriginal rarely leaves his or her wigwam. Their hair was plastered down on the head with thick ochre paint, and they were disgustingly filthy and altogether unpleasant to look at. They invariably asked for "sixpence," which amount seemed to represent the sum of their earthly happiness, and with most of them was the only word of English they could speak. The men all carried boomerangs, a flat curved stick which they threw for our edification, and sixpences, very scientifically, and contrived to dispose of a good many to the passengers. We saw with them also some skins of that rare and handsome bird the emu, now I believe becoming very scarce. A most remarkable thing about King George's Sound is the utter waste and wildness of the country, not a sign of life or cultivation. The few natives who inhabit this wild region subsist principally on roots and such wild fruits as are obtainable, or on birds which they can kill with their boomerangs. They are very little, if at all, superior to the lower animals, and I believe there is no institution of marriage or acknowledgment of domestic relations among them. One thing, however, there was as a set off against all the rest--namely, the extraordinary wealth of flowers which grew thickly amongst the thousand varieties of rare ferns all over the land. What would be held as the most delicate hothouse plants in England here formed a brilliant carpet in their wild luxuriance. We literally walked knee deep in exotics. We carried large bundles of them on board, when we left that night after a stay of only twelve hours. Point de Galle was reached on the twelfth day, and here the mail steamer from Calcutta by which I was to proceed to Bombay had already arrived. A few of us went on shore with small caps on our heads and some with cabbage tree hats, but we speedily discovered they would not do. The heat on shore was intense, a muggy, stifling heat, which to us Australians was killing. We were guided to the Bazaar, and introduced to several hotels by some five score natives, whose numbers increased as we proceeded, and were augmented by numerous sellers of sun toppee, pugarees, etc. We were speedily provided each with a tropical headpiece with a long tail of white muslin therefrom which hung down the back. After a substantial "tiffin" in a large shady room, under the swaying punkah (the first I had seen), it was proposed by some of our sable friends that we should visit the tea gardens, one of the lions of Galle, and I, forgetting all about the boat, was on the point of joining the movement, having taken a seat in the conveyance for the purpose, when my good angel, by some means I have now forgotten, informed me that the steamer for Bombay would start in ten minutes. I jumped from the carriage and ran full speed with a crowd of attendant blacks in full cry at my heels, shot into the first boat I came to and reached the steamer as the screw commenced to turn. In four days we arrived at Bombay, where, in due course, I entered State Service, and where I remained for thirty-five years, but my life and experiences there may possibly form the subject of another story. * * * * * Printed by J.G. HAMMOND and Co., Ltd., 32-36, Fleet Lane, London, E.C. 
28906	----	THE TALE OF TIMBER TOWN. THE TALE OF TIMBER TOWN BY A. A. GRACE (_Author of "Tales of a Dying Race," "Maoriland Stories," "Folk-Tales of the Maori," "Hone Tiki Dialogues," &c._) GORDON & GOTCH Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, Perth, Launceston, Wellington, Auckland, Christchurch, Dunedin, N.Z. 1914 CONTENTS. PAGE PROEM 9 CHAPTER I. The Master-Goldsmith 11 II. The Wreck of The Mersey Witch 15 III. The Pilot's Daughter 18 IV. Rachel Varnhagen 24 V. Bill the Prospector 30 VI. The Father of Timber Town 33 VII. Cut-Throat Euchre 35 VIII. The Yellow Flag 43 IX. What looked like Courting 48 X. Hocussed 51 XI. The Temptation of the Devil 57 XII. Rock Cod and Macaroni 62 XIII. What the Bush Robin Saw 65 XIV. The Robbery of the Mails 68 XV. Dealing Mostly with Money 73 XVI. The Wages of Sin 77 XVII. Rachel's Wiles 81 XVIII. Digging 83 XIX. A Den of Thieves 86 XX. Gold and Roses 91 XXI. The Foundation of the Gold League 96 XXII. Women's Ways 101 XXIII. Forewarned, Forearmed 108 XXIV. The Goldsmith Comes to Town 112 XXV. Fishing 119 XXVI. A Small, but Important Link in the Story 124 XXVII. The Signal-Tree 127 XXVIII. The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Second Time 130 XXIX. Amiria Plays her Highest Card in the Game of Love 134 XXX. In Tresco's Cave 139 XXXI. The Perturbations of the Bank Manager 145 XXXII. The Quietude of Timber Town is Disturbed 147 XXXIII. The Gold League Washes Up 150 XXXIV. The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Third Time 153 XXXV. Bail 156 XXXVI. In Durance Vile 160 XXXVII. Benjamin's Redemption 164 XXXVIII. The Way to Manage the Law 173 XXXIX. Tresco Makes the Ring 178 EPILOGUE 183 AUTHOR'S NOTE. Carlyle Smythe, in his interesting reminiscences of Mark Twain, printed in _Life_, says that, of all the stories which interested the great American writer while travelling with him through Australasia, the tragical story which is the basis of "The Tale of Timber Town" fascinated the celebrated author more than any other. The version which Mark Twain read was the re-print of the verbatim report of the most remarkable trial ever held in New Zealand, and perhaps south of the Line, and there is no cause for wonder in his interest. I, too, have studied and re-studied that narrative, with its absorbing psychological and sociological problems; I have interrogated persons who knew the chief characters in the story; I have studied the locality, and know intimately the scene of the tragedy: and even though "The Tale of Timber Town" has in the writing taxed my energies for many a month, I have by no means exhausted the theme which so enthralled Mark Twain. I have tried to reproduce the characters and atmosphere of those stirring days, when £1,000,000 worth of gold was brought into Timber Town in nine months; and I have sought to reproduce the characters and atmosphere of Timber Town, rather than to resuscitate the harrowing details of a dreadful crime. I have tried to show how it was possible for such a tragedy to take place, as was that which so absorbed Mark Twain, and why it was that the tale stirred in him an interest which somewhat surprised Carlyle Smythe. Here in Timber Town I met them--the unassuming celebrity, and the young _entrepreneur_. The great humorist, alack! will never read the tale as I have told it, but I am hopeful, that in "The Tale of Timber Town," his erstwhile companion and the public will perceive the literary value of the theme which arrested the attention of so great a writer as Mark Twain. "The Tale of Timber Town" first appeared in the pages of _The Otago Witness_, whose proprietors I desire to thank for introducing the story to the public, and for the courtesy of permitting me to reserve the right of reproduction of the work in book-form. _Timber Town._ A.A.G. PROEM. Timber Town lay like a toy city at the bottom of a basin. Its wooden houses, each placed neatly in the middle of a little garden-plot, had been painted brightly for the delight of the children. There were whole streets of wooden shops, with verandahs in front of them to shade the real imported goods in their windows; and three wooden churches, freshly painted to suit the tastes of their respective--and respectable--congregations; there was a wooden Town Hall, painted grey; a wooden Post Office, painted brown; a red college, where boys in white disported upon a green field; a fawn-coloured school, with a playground full of pinafored little girls; and a Red Tape Office--designed in true Elizabethan style, with cupolas, vanes, fantastic chimney-tops, embayed windows, wondrous parapets--built entirely of wood and painted the colour of Devonshire cream, with grit in the paint to make it look like stone. Along the streets ran a toy tram, pulled by a single horse, which was driven by a man who moved his arms just as if they were real, and who puffed genuine clouds of smoke from his tobacco-pipe. Ladies dressed in bright colours walked up and down the trim side-paths, with gaudy sunshades in their hands; knocked at doors, went calling, and looked into the shop windows, just like actual people. It was the game of playing at living. The sky shone brightly overhead; around the town stood hills which no romantic scene-painter could have bettered; the air of the man with water-cart, of the auctioneer's man with bell, and of the people popping in and out of the shops, was the air of those who did these things for love of play-acting on a stage. As a matter of fact, there was nothing to worry about, in Timber Town; no ragged beggars, no yelling hawkers, no sad-eyed, care-worn people, no thought for to-morrow. The chimneys smoked for breakfast regularly at eight o'clock every morning; the play of living began at nine, when the smiling folk met in the streets and turned, the men into their offices to play at business, the women into the shops where meat and good things to eat were to be had for little more than love. Between twelve and two o'clock everybody went home to dinner, and the cabs which stood in front of the wooden Post Office, and dogs which slept on the pavement beneath the verandahs, held possession of the streets. But if anyone would see the beauty and fashion of Timber Town, from four to five in the afternoon was the hour. Then wives and daughters, having finished playing at house-keeping for the day, put on their gayest costumes, and visited the milliners. Southern Cross Street buzzed with gaudy life; pretty women bowed, and polite men raised their hats--just as people do in real cities--but, as everybody knew everybody else, the bowing and hat-raising were general, just as they are when the leading lady comes into the presence of the chorus on the stage. Then the vision of gossiping, smiling humanity would pass away--the shops put up their shutters at six o'clock; the game was over for the day, and all the chimneys smoked for tea. Timber Town by night, except when the full moon shone, was sombre, with nothing doing. The street lamps burnt but indifferent gas; people stayed indoors, and read the piquant paragraphs of _The Pioneer Bushman_, Timber Town's evening journal, or fashioned those gay dresses which by day helped to make the town so bright, and went to bed early and slept with a soundness and tranquillity, well-earned by the labour of playing so quaintly at the game of life. The hills which surrounded the little town pressed so closely upon it, that by sheer weight they seemed likely to crush its frail houses into matchwood. On one side mountains, some bare and rugged, some clothed with forest, rose behind the foot-hills, and behind them more mountains, which seemed to rise like the great green billows of an angry sea. On one side stretched the blue of the distant forest-covered ranges, upon the other the azure of the encroaching ocean, which, finding a way between the encircling hills, insinuated its creeping tides into the town itself. And overhead spread the blue sky, for the sky above Timber Town was blue nine days out of ten, and the clouds, when they came, performed their gloomy mission quickly and dispersed with despatch, that the sun might smile again and the playing of the people continue. No nest in the forest was ever more securely hid than was Timber Town from the outside world. Secreted at the end of a deep bay, that bay was itself screened from the ocean outside by an extensive island and a sandspit which stretched for many a mile. Inaccessible by land, the little town was reached only by water, and there, in that quiet eddy of the great ocean, lived its quiet, quaint, unique existence. In such a place men's characters develop along their own lines, and, lacking that process of mental trituration which goes on in large cities where many minds meet, they frequently attain an interesting if strange maturity. In such a community there is opportunity for the contemplation of mankind ignorant of poverty; and such a happy state, begotten of plenty and nurtured by freedom, has its natural expression in the demeanour of the people. It was not characteristic of Timber Town to hoard, but rather to spend. In a climate bright through the whole year, it was not natural that the sorrows of life, where life was one long game, should press heavily upon the players. But we come upon the little timber town at a time of transition from sequestered peace to the roar and rush of a mining boom, and if the stirring events of that time seem to change the tranquil aspect of the scene, it is only that a breeze of life from outside sweeps over its surface, as when a gust of wind, rushing from high mountains upon some quiet lake nestling at their feet, stirs the placid waters into foam. So through the wild scene, when the villain comes upon the stage and the hidden treasure is brought to light, though the play may seem to lose its pastoral character, it is to be remembered that if tragedy may endure for the night, comedy comes surely enough in the morning. * * * * * THE TALE OF TIMBER TOWN. CHAPTER I. The Master-Goldsmith. Jake Ruggles leant over the goldsmith's bench, put the end of his blow-pipe into the gas-flame, and impinged a little oxygenized jet upon the silver buckle he was soldering. He was a thin, undersized, rabbit-faced youth, whose head was thatched with a shock of coarse black hair. He possessed a pair of spreading black eyebrows upon a forehead which was white when well washed, for Nature had done honestly by the top of his head, but had realised, when his chin was reached, the fatuity of spending more time upon the moulding and adornment of the person of Jake Ruggles. The master-goldsmith was a rubicund man, with a face which Jake, in a rage, had once described as that of "a pig with the measles." But this was, without doubt, a gross perversion of the truth. Benjamin Tresco's countenance was as benign as that of Bacchus, and as open as the day. Its chief peculiarity was that the brow and lashes of one eye were white, while piebald patches adorned his otherwise red head. In his own eyes, the most important person in Timber Town was Benjamin Tresco. But it was natural for him to think so, for he was the only man of his trade in a town of six thousand people. He was a portly person who took a broad view of life, and it was his habit to remark, when folk commented on his rotundity, "I _am_ big. I don't deny it. But I can't help myself--God A'mighty made me big, big in body, big in brain, big in appetite, big in desire to break every established law and accepted custom; but I am prevented from giving rein to my impulses by the expansiveness of my soul. That I developed myself. I could go up the street and rob the Kangaroo Bank; I could go to Mr. Crewe, the millionaire, and compel him at the pistol's mouth to transfer me the hoards of his life-time; I could get blazing drunk three nights a week; I could kidnap Varnhagen's pretty daughter, and carry her off to the mountains; but my soul prevents me--I am the battle-ground of contending passions. One half of me says, 'Benjamin, do these things'; the other half says, 'Tresco, abstain. Be magnanimous: spare them!' My appetites--and they are enormous--say, 'Benjamin Tresco, have a real good time while you can; sail in, an' catch a-holt of pleasure with both hands.' But my better part says, 'Take your pleasure in mutual enjoyments, Benjamin; fix your mind on book-learning and the elevating Arts of peace.' I am a bone of contention between Virtue and License, an' the Devil only knows which will get me in the end." But at the time of introduction he was quietly engraving a little plate of gold, which was destined to adorn the watch-chain of the Mayor, who, after Mr. Crewe, was Timber Town's most opulent citizen. When the craftsman engraves, he fastens his plate of gold to the end of a piece of wood, long enough to be held conveniently in the hand, and as thick as the width of the precious metal. This he holds in his left hand, and in his right the graver with which he nicks out little pieces of gold according to design, which pieces fall into the apron of the bench--and, behold! he is engraving. The work needs contemplation, concentration, and attention; for every good goldsmith carries the details of the design in his head. But, that morning, there seemed to be none of these qualities in Benjamin Tresco. He dropped his work with a suddenness that endangered its fastenings of pitch, rapped the bench with the round butt of his graver, and glared ferociously at Jake Ruggles. "What ha' you got there?" he asked fiercely of his apprentice, who sat with him at the bench and was now working industriously with a blow-pipe upon the hoop of a gold ring. "Who told you to stop soldering the buckles?" Jake turned his head sideways and looked at his master, like a ferret examining an angry terrier; alert, deliberate, and full of resource. "It's a bit of a ring I was give to mend," he replied, "up at The Lucky Digger." Tresco stretched out a long arm, and took the gem. Then he drew a deep breath. "You've begun early, young man," he exclaimed. "Would you poach on my preserves? The young lady whose finger that ring adorns I am wont to regard as my especial property, an' a half-fledged young _pukeko_, like you, presumes to cut me out! _You_ mend that lady's trinkets? _You_ lean over a bar, an' court beauty adorned in the latest fashion? _You_ make love to my 'piece' by fixing up her jewels? Young man, you've begun too early. Now, look-a-here, I shall do this job myself--for love--I shall deliver this ring with my own hand." Tresco chuckled softly, and Jake laughed out loud. The scene had been a piece of play-acting. The apprentice, who knew his master's weakness for the pretty bar-maid at The Lucky Digger was, as he expressed himself, "taking a rise out of the boss," and Tresco's simulated wrath was the crisis for which he had schemed. Between the two there existed a queer comradeship, which had been growing for more than two years, so that the bald, rotund, red-faced goldsmith had come to regard the shock-headed, rat-faced apprentice more as a son than as an assistant; whilst Jake would say to the youth of his "push," "Huh! none o' yer bashin' an' knockin' about fer me--the boss an' me's chums. Huh! you should be in _my_ boots--we have our pint between us reg'lar at eleven, just like pals." Picking up the ring with a pair of tweezers, the master-jeweller first examined its stone--a diamond--through a powerful lens. Next, with a small feather he took up some little bits of chopped gold from where they lay mixed with borax and water upon a piece of slate; these he placed deftly where the gold hoop was weak; over the top of them he laid a delicate slip of gold, and bound the whole together with wire as thin as thread. This done, he put the jewel upon a piece of charred wood, thrust the end of his blow-pipe into the flame of the gas-burner, which he pulled towards him, and with three or four gentle puffs through the pipe the mend was made. The goldsmith threw the ring in the "pickle," a green, deadly-looking chemical in an earthenware pot upon the floor. Tresco was what the doctors call "a man of full habit." He ate largely, drank deeply, slept heavily, but, alas! he was a bachelor. There was no comfortable woman in the room at the back of his workshop to call in sweet falsetto, "Benjamin, come to dinner! Come at once: the steak's getting cold!" As he used to say, "This my domicile lacks the female touch--there's too much tobacco-ashes an' cobwebs about it: the women seem kind o' scared to come near, as if I might turn out to be a dog that bites." The ring being pickled, Benjamin fished it out of the green liquid and washed it in a bowl of clean water. A little filing and scraping, a little rubbing with emery-paper, and the goldsmith burnished the yellow circlet till it shone bright and new. "Who knows?" he exclaimed, holding up the glistening gem, "who knows but it is the ring of the future Mrs. T.? Lord love her, I have forty-eight pairs of socks full of holes, all washed and put away, waiting for her to darn. Think of the domestic comfort of nearly fifty pairs of newly-darned socks; with her sitting, stitching, on one side of the fire, and saying, 'Benjamin, these ready-made socks are no good: _I_ must knit them for you in future,' and me, on the other side, smiling like a Cheshire cat with pure delight, and saying: 'Annie, my dear, you're an angel compacted of comfort and kindness: my love, would you pass me a paper-light, _if_ you please?' But in the meantime the bird must be caught. I go to catch it." He slipped his dirty apron over his head, put on his coat and weather-beaten hat of strange outlandish shape, placed the ring in a dainty, silk-lined case, and sallied forth into the street. Timber Town burst on his benignant gaze. Over against him stood a great wooden shop, painted brilliant blue; along the street was another, of bright red; but most of the buildings were a sober stone-colour or some shade of modest grey or brown. One side of the street was verandah'd along its whole length, and the walks on either side of the macadamised road were asphalted. Benjamin, wearing the air of Bacchus courting the morning, walked a hundred yards or so, till he came to the centre of the town, where four streets met. At one corner stood the Kangaroo Bank; at another a big clothing-shop; at the two others Timber Town's rival hostelries--The Bushman's Tavern and The Lucky Digger. The Bank and hotels, conspicuous amid the other buildings, had no verandahs in front of them, but each was freshly painted; the Bushman's Tavern a slate-blue, The Lucky Digger a duck-egg green. The sun was hot; the iron on the roofs ticked in the heat and reflected the rays of heaven. Benjamin paused on the edge of the pavement, mopped his perspiring brow, and contemplated the garish scene. Opposite the wooden Post Office, which flanked the "clothing emporium," stretched a rank of the most outlandish vehicles that ever came within the category of cabs licensed to carry passengers. Some were barouches which must have been ancient when Victoria was crowned, and concerning which there was a legend that they came out to the settlement in the first ships, in 1842; others were landaus, constructed on lines substantial enough to resist collision with an armoured train; but the majority were built on a strange American plan, with a canopy of dingy leather and a step behind, so that the fare, after progressing sideways like a crab, descended, at his journey's end, as does a burglar from "Black Maria." Along the footpaths walked, in a leisurely manner, a goodly sprinkling of Timber Town's citizens, with never a ragged figure among them. Perhaps the seediest-looking citizen "on the block" was Tresco himself, but what he lacked in tailoring he made good in serene benignity of countenance. His features, which beamed like the sun shining above him, were recognised by all who passed by. It was, "How do, Benjamin; bobbin' up, old party?" "Mornin', Tresco. You remind me of the rooster that found the jewel--you look so bloomin' contented with yourself." "Ah! good day, Mr. Tresco. I hope I see you well. Remember, I still have that nice little bit of property for sale. Take you to see it any time you like." With Benjamin it was, "How do, Ginger? In a hurry? Go it--you'll race the hands round the clock yet." "Good morning, Mr. Flint. Lovely weather, yes, but hot. Now, half-a-pint is refreshing, but you lawyers have no time--too many mortgages, conveyances, bills of sale to think about. I understand. Good morning." "Why, certainly, Boscoe, my beloved pal. Did you say 'half'?--I care not if it's a pint. Let us to the blushing Hebe of the bar." Tresco and his friend, Boscoe, entered the portals of The Lucky Digger. Behind the bar stood a majestic figure arrayed in purple and fine linen. She had the development of an Amazon and the fresh face of a girl from the shires of England. Through the down on her cheek "red as a rose was she." Tresco advanced as to the shrine of a goddess, and leant deferentially over the bar. Never a word spoke he till the resplendent deity had finished speaking to two commercial travellers who smoked cigars, and then, as her eyes met his, he said simply, "Two pints, if you please, miss." The liquor fell frothing into two tankards; Boscoe put down the money, and the goddess withdrew to the society of the bagmen, who talked to her confidentially, as to their own familiar friend. Tresco eyed the group, smilingly, and said, "The toffs are in the cheese, Boscoe. You'd think they'd a monopoly of Gentle Annie. But wait till I get on the job." Boscoe, a wizened little tinsmith, with the grime of his trade upon him, looked vacuously to his front, and buried his nose in his pot of beer. "Flash wimmen an't in my line," said he, as he smacked his lips, "not but this yer an't a fine 'piece.' But she'd cost a gold mine in clo'es alone, let alone brooches and fallals. I couldn't never run it." Here one of the gaudy bagmen stretched out his hand, and fingered the bar-maid's rings. The girl seemed nothing annoyed at this awkward attention, but when her admirer's fingers stole to her creamy chin, she stepped back, drew herself up with infinite dignity, and said with perfect enunciation, "Well, you _have_ got an impudence. I must go and wash my face." She was about to leave the bar, when Tresco called after her, "My dear, one minute." From his pocket he drew the dainty ring-case, and held it out to the girl, who took it eagerly. In a moment the gem was on her finger. "You dear old bag of tricks!" she exclaimed. "Is it for me?" "Most certainly," said Benjamin. "One moment." He took the ring between his forefinger and thumb, as if he were a conjurer about to perform, glanced triumphantly round the bar-room, held the girl's hand gallantly in his, deliberately replaced the ring on her finger, and said, "With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee worship; with all my worldly goods I thee endow." "Thanks, I'll take the ring," retorted the bar-maid, with mock annoyance and a toss of her head, "but, really, I can't be bothered with your old carcase." "Pleasing delusion," said Tresco, unruffled. "It's your own ring!" A close, quick scrutiny, and the girl had recognised her refurbished jewel. "You bald-headed rogue!" she exclaimed. But Tresco had vanished, and nothing but his laugh came back through the swinging glass-door. The bagmen laughed too. But Gentle Annie regarded them indignantly, and in scornful silence, which she broke to say, "And _now_ I shall go and wash my face." CHAPTER II. The Wreck of the Mersey Witch. The Maori is a brown man. His hair is straight, coarse, black, and bright as jet. His eyes are brown, his teeth are pearly white; and, when he smiles, those brown eyes sparkle and those white teeth gleam. A Maori's smile is one of Nature's most complete creations. But as Enoko poked his head out of the door of the hut, his face did not display merriment. Day was breaking; yet he could see nothing but the flying scud and the dim outline of the shore; he could hear nothing but the roar of the breakers, battering the boulders of the beach. He came out of the hut, his teeth chattering with the rawness of the morning; and made a general survey of the scene. "It's too cold," he muttered in his own language. "There's too much wind, too much sea." With another look at the angry breakers, he went back into the hut. "Tahuna," he cried, "there's no fishing to-day--the weather's bad." Tahuna stirred under his blankets, sat up, and said in Maori, "I'll come and look for myself." The two men went out into the cold morning air. "No," said Tahuna, "it's no good--there's a north-east gale. We had better go back to the _pa_ when the day has well dawned." The words were hardly out of his mouth, when a sudden veering of the wind drew the scud from the sea and confined it to the crest of the rocky, wooded cliff under which the Maoris stood. The sea lay exposed, grey and foaming; but it was not on the sea that the men's eyes were riveted. There, in the roaring, rushing tide, a ship lay helpless on the rocks. Enoko peered, as though he mistrusted the sight of his eye--he had but one. Tahuna ran to the hut, and called, "Come out, both of you. There's a ship on the rocks!" From the hut issued two sleepy female forms, the one that of the chief's wife, the other that of a pretty girl. The former was a typical Maori _wahine_ of the better class, with regular features and an abundance of long black hair; the latter was not more than eighteen years old, of a lighter complexion, full-figured, and with a good-natured face which expressed grief and anxiety in every feature. "Oh!" she exclaimed, as a great wave broke over the helpless ship, "the sailors will be drowned. What can we do?" "Amiria," said the chief to her, "go back to the _pa_, and tell the people to come and help. We three,"--he pointed to his wife, Enoko and himself--"will see what we can do." "No," replied the girl, "I can swim as well as any of you. I shall stay, and help." She ran along the beach to the point nearest the wreck, and the others followed her. Tahuna, standing in the wash of the sea, cried out, "A rope! A rope! A rope!" But his voice did not penetrate ten yards into the face of the gale. Then all four, drenched with spray, shouted together, and with a similar result. "If they could float a rope ashore," said the chief, "we would make it fast, and so save them." The vessel lay outside a big reef which stretched between her and the shore; her hull was almost hidden by the surf which broke over her, the only dry place on her being the fore-top, which was crowded with sailors; and it was evident that she must soon break up under the battering seas which swept over her continually. "They can't swim," said the chief, with a gesture of disgust. "The _pakeha_ is a sheep, in the water. _We_ must go to _them_. Now, remember: when you get near the ship, call out for a rope. We can drift back easily enough." He walked seawards till the surf was up to his knees. The others followed his example; the girl standing with the other woman between the men. "Now," cried Tahuna, as a great breaker retired; and the four Maoris rushed forward, and plunged into the surf. But the force of the next wave dashed them back upon the beach. Three times they tried to strike out from the shore, but each time they were washed back. Tahuna's face was bleeding, Enoko limped as he rose to make the fourth attempt, but the women had so far escaped unscathed. "When the wave goes out," cried the chief, "rush forward, and grasp the rocks at the bottom. Then when the big wave passes, swim a few strokes, dive when the next comes, and take hold of the rocks again." "That's a good plan," said Enoko. "Let us try it." A great sea broke on the shore; they all rushed forward, and disappeared as the next wave came. Almost immediately their black heads were bobbing on the water. There came another great breaker, the four heads disappeared; the wave swept over the spot where they had dived, but bore no struggling brown bodies with it. Then again, but further out to sea, the black heads appeared, to sink again before the next great wave. Strong in nerve, powerful in limb were those amphibious Maoris, accustomed to the water from the year of their birth. They were now fifty yards from the shore, and swam independently of one another; diving but seldom, and bravely breasting the waves. The perishing sailors, who eagerly watched the swimmers, raised a shout, which gave the Maoris new courage. Between the Natives and the ship stretched a white line of foam, hissing, roaring, boiling over a black reef which it was impossible to cross. The tired swimmers, therefore, had to make a painful detour. Slowly Tahuna and Enoko, who were in front, directed their course towards a channel at one end of the reef, and the women followed in their wake. They were swimming on their sides, but all their strength and skill seemed of little avail in bringing them any nearer to their goal. But suddenly Amiria dived beneath the great billows, and when her tangled, wet mane reappeared, she was in front of the men. They and the chief's wife followed her example, and soon all four swimmers had passed through the channel. Outside another reef lay parallel to the first, and on it lay the stranded ship, fixed and fast, with the green seas pounding her to pieces. When the Maoris were some fifty yards from the wreck, they spread themselves out in a line parallel to the reef on which lay the ship, her copper plates exposed half-way to the keel. "Rope! Rope! Rope!" shouted the Maoris. Their voices barely reached the ship, but the sailors well knew for what the swimmers risked their lives. Already a man had unrove the fore-signal-halyards, the sailors raised a shout and the coiled rope was thrown. It fell midway between Tahuna and Enoko, where Amiria was swimming. Quickly the brave girl grasped the life-line, and it was not long before her companions were beside her. They now swam towards the channel. Once in the middle of that, they turned on their backs and floated, each holding tight to the rope, and the waves bearing them towards the shore. The return passage took only a few minutes, but to get through the breakers which whitened the beach with foam was a matter of life or death to the swimmers. They were grasped by the great seas and were hurled upon the grinding boulders; they were sucked back by the receding tide, to be again thrown upon the shore. Tahuna was the first to scramble out of the surf, though he limped as he walked above high-water-mark. Amiria lay exhausted on the very margin, the shallow surge sweeping over her; but the rope was still in her hand. The chief first carried the girl up the beach, and laid her, panting, on the stones; then he went back to look for the others. His wife, with wonderful fortune, was carried uninjured to his very feet, but Enoko was struggling in the back-wash which was drawing him into a great oncoming sea. Forgetting his maimed foot, the chief sprang towards his friend, seized hold of him and a boulder simultaneously, and let the coming wave pass over him and break upon the beach. Just as it retired, he picked up Enoko, and staggered ashore with his helpless burden. For five minutes they all lay, panting and still. Then Amiria got up and hauled on the life-line. Behind her a strange piece of rock, shaped like a roughly-squared pillar, stood upright from the beach. To this she made fast the line, on which she pulled hard and strong. Tahuna rose, and helped her, and soon out of the surf there came a two-inch rope which had been tied to the signal-halyards. When the chief and the girl had fixed the thicker rope round the rock, Tahuna tied the end of the life-line about his waist, walked to the edge of the sea, and held up his hand. That was a signal for the first man to leave the ship. He would have to come hand-over-hand along the rope, through the waters that boiled over the deadly rocks, and through the thundering seas that beat the shore. And hand-over-hand he came, past the reef on which the ship lay, across the wild stretch of deep water, over the second and more perilous reef, and into the middle of the breakers of the beach. There he lost his hold, but Tahuna dashed into the surf, and seized him. The chief could now give no attention to his own safety, but his wife and Amiria hauled on the life-line, and prevented him and his burden from being carried seawards by the back-wash. And so the first man was saved from the wreck of _The Mersey Witch_. Others soon followed; Tahuna became exhausted; his wife took his place, and tied the life-line round her waist. After she had rescued four men, Enoko came to himself and relieved her; and Amiria, not to be outdone in daring, tied the other end of the line about her waist, and took her stand beside the half-blind man. As the captain, who was the last man to leave the ship, was dragged out of the raging sea, a troop of Maoris arrived from the _pa_ with blankets, food, and drink. Soon the newcomers had lighted a fire in a sheltered niche of the cliff, and round the cheerful blaze they placed the chilled and exhausted sailors. The captain, when he could speak, said to Tahuna, "Weren't you one of those who swam out to the ship?" "Yeh, boss, that me," replied the chief in broken English. "You feel all right now, eh?" "Where are the women we saw in the water?" "T'e _wahine_?" said Tahuna. "They all right, boss." "Where are they? I should like to see them. I should like to thank them." The chief's wife, her back against the cliff, was resting after her exertions. Amiria was attending to one of the men she had dragged out of the surf, a tall, fair man, whose limbs she was chafing beside the fire. When the chief called to his wife and the girl, Amiria rose, and placing her Englishman in the charge of a big Maori woman, she flung over her shoulders an old _korowai_ cloak which she had picked up from the beach, and pushing through the throng, was presented to the captain. He was a short, thick-set man, weather-beaten by two score voyages. "So you're the girl we saw in the water," said he. "Pleased to meet you, miss, pleased to meet you," and then after a pause, "Your daughter, chief?" Amiria's face broke into a smile, and from her pretty mouth bubbled the sweetest laughter a man could hear. "Not my taughter," replied Tahuna, as his wife approached, "but this my _wahine_, what you call wife." The Maori woman was smiling the generous smile of her race. "You're a brave crowd," said the captain. "My crew and I owe you our lives. My prejudice against colour is shaken--I'm not sure that it'll ever recover the shock you've given it. A man may sail round the world a dozen times, an' there's still something he's got to learn. I never would ha' believed a man, let alone a woman, could ha' swum in such a sea. An' you're Natives of the country?--a fine race, a fine race." As they stood, talking, rain had commenced to drive in from the sea. The captain surveyed the miserable scene for a moment or two; then he said, "I think, chief, that if you're ready we'll get these men under shelter." And so, some supported by their dusky friends, and some carried in blankets, the crew of _The Mersey Witch_, drenched and cold, but saved from the sea, were conveyed to the huts of the _pa_. CHAPTER III. The Pilot's Daughter. She came out of the creeper-covered house into a garden of roses, and stood with her hand on a green garden-seat; herself a rosebud bursting into perfection. Below her were gravelled walks and terraced flower-beds, cut out of the hill-side on which the quaint, gabled house stood; her fragrant, small domain carefully secreted behind a tall, clipped hedge, over the top of which she could see from where she stood the long sweep of the road which led down to the port of Timber Town. She was dressed in a plain, blue, cotton blouse and skirt; her not over-tall figure swelling plumply beneath their starched folds. Her hair was of a nondescript brown, beautified by a glint of gold, so that her uncovered head looked bright in the sunlight. Her face was such as may be seen any day in the villages which nestle beneath the Sussex Downs, under whose shadow she was born; her forehead was broad and white; her eyes blue; her cheeks the colour of the blush roses in her garden; her mouth small, with lips coloured pink like a shell on the beach. As she stood, gazing down the road, shading her eyes with her little hand, and displaying the roundness and whiteness of her arm to the inquisitive eyes of nothing more lascivious than the flowers, a girl on horseback drew up at the gate, and called, "Cooee!" She was tall and brown, dressed in a blue riding-habit, and in her hand she carried a light, silver-mounted whip. She jumped lightly from the saddle, opened the gate, and led her horse up the drive. The fair girl ran down the path, and met her near the tethering-post which stood under a tall bank. "Amiria, I _am_ glad to see you!" "But think of all I have to tell you." The brown girl's intonation was deep, and she pronounced every syllable richly. "We don't have a wreck every day to talk about." "Come inside, and have some lunch. You must be famishing after your long ride." "Oh, no, I'm not hungry. _Taihoa_, by-and-by." The horse was tied up securely, and the girls, a contrast of blonde and brunette, walked up the garden-path arm-in-arm. "I have heard _such_ things about you," said the fair girl. "But you should see him, my dear," said the brown. "You would have risked a good deal to save him if you had been there--tall, strong, struggling in the sea, and _so_ helpless." "You _are_ brave, Amiria. It's nonsense to pretend you don't know it. All the town is talking about you." The white face looked at the brown, mischievously. "And now that you have got him, my dear, keep him." Amiria's laugh rang through the garden. "There is no hope for me, if _you_ are about, Miss Rose Summerhayes," she said. "But wasn't it perfectly awful? We heard you were drowned yourself." "Nonsense! I got wet, but that was all. Of course, if I was weak or a bad swimmer, then there would have been no hope. But I know every rock, every channel, where the sea breaks its force, and where it is strongest. There was no danger." "How many men?" "Twenty-nine; and the one drowned makes thirty." "And which is _the_ particular one, your treasure trove? Of course, he will marry you as soon as the water is out of his ears, and make you happy ever afterwards." Amiria laughed again. "First, he is handsome; next, he is a _rangatira_, well-born, as my husband ought to be. I really don't know his name. Can't you guess that is what I have come to find out?" "You goose. You've come to unburden yourself. You were just dying to tell me the story." They had paused on the verandah, where they sat on a wooden seat in the shade. "Anyway, the wreck is better for the Maori than a sitting of the Land Court--there! The shore is covered with boxes and bales and all manner of things. There are ready-made clothes for everyone in the _pa_, boots, tea, tobacco, sugar, everything that the people want--all brought ashore from the wreck and strewn along the beach. The Customs' Officers get some, but the Maori gets most. I've brought you a memento." She put her hand into the pocket of her riding-habit, and drew out a little packet. "That is for you--a souvenir of the wreck." "Isn't it rather like stealing, to take what really belongs to other people?" "Rubbish! Open it, and see for yourself," said Amiria, smiling. Rose undid the packet's covering, and disclosed a black leather-covered case, much the worse for wear. "It isn't injured by the water--it was in a tin-lined box," said the Maori girl. "It opens like a card-case." Rose opened the little receptacle, which divided in the middle, and there lay exposed a miniature portrait framed in oxidized silver. The portrait represented a beautiful woman, yellow-haired, with blue eyes and a bright colour on her cheeks, lips which showed indulgence in every curve, and a snow-white neck around which was clasped a string of red coral beads. Rose fixed her eyes on the picture. "Why do you give me this?" she asked. "Who is it?" Amiria turned the miniature over. On its back was written "Annabel Summerhayes." Rose turned slightly pale as she read the name, and her breath caught in her throat. "This must be my mother," she said quietly. "When she died, I was too young to remember her." Both girls looked at the portrait; the brown face close to the fair, the black hair touching the brown. "She must have been very good," said Amiria, "----look how kind she is." Rose was silent. "Isn't that a nice memento of the wreck," continued the Maori girl. "But anyhow you would have received it, for the Collector of Customs has the packing-case in which it was found. However, I thought you would like to get it as soon as possible." "How kind you are," said Rose, as she kissed Amiria. "This is the only picture of my mother I have seen. I never knew what she was like. This is a perfect revelation to me." The tears were in her voice as well as in her eyes, and her lip trembled. Softly one brown hand stole into her white one, and another brown hand stole round her waist, and she felt Amiria's warm lips on her cheek. The two girls had been playmates as children, they had been at school together, and had always shared each other's confidences, but this matter of Annabel Summerhayes was one which her father had forbidden Rose to mention; and around the memory of her mother there had grown a mystery which the girl was unable to fathom. "Now that this has occurred, there is no harm in disobeying my father," she said. "He told me never to speak of my mother to him or anyone else, but when you give me her picture, it would be stupid to keep silence. She looks good, doesn't she, Amiria? I think she was good, but my father destroyed everything belonging to her: he even took the trouble to change my name from Annabel to Rose--that was after we arrived here and I was three years old. I do not possess a single thing that was hers except this picture; and even that I must hide, for fear my father should destroy it. Come, we will go in." They passed along the shady verandah, and entered the house. Its rooms were dark and cool, and prettily if humbly furnished. Rose took Amiria along a winding passage, up a somewhat narrow flight of stairs, and into a bedroom which was in one of the many gables of the wooden house. The Maori girl took off her hat and gloves, and Rose, drawing a bunch of keys from her pocket, opened a work-box which stood on the dressing-table, and in it she hid the miniature of her mother. Then she turned, and confronted Amiria. The dark girl's black hair, loosened by riding, had escaped from its fastenings, and now fell rippling down her back. "It's a great trouble," she said. "Nothing will hold it--it is like wire. The pins drop out, and down it all comes." Rose was combing and brushing the glossy, black tresses. "I'll try _my_ hand," said she. "The secret is plenty of pins; you don't use enough of them. Pins, I expect, are scarce in the _pa_." She had fastened up one long coil, and was holding another in place with her white fingers, when a gruff voice roared through the house:-- "Rosebud, my gal! Rosebud, I say! What's taken the child?" Whilst the two girls had been in the bedroom, three figures had come into sight round the bend of the beach-road. They walked slowly, with heavy steps and swaying gait, after the manner of sailor-men. As they ascended the winding pathway leading to the house, they argued loudly. "Jes' so, Cap'n Summerhayes," said the short, thick-set man, with a blanket wrapped round him in lieu of a coat, to the big burly man on his left, "I stood off and on, West-Nor'-West and East-Sou'-East, waiting for the gale to wear down and let me get into your tuppeny little port. Now _you_ are pilot, I reckon. What would _you_ ha' done?" "What would I ha' done, Sartoris?" asked the bulky man gruffly. "Why, damme, I'd ha' beat behind Guardian Point, and took shelter." "In the dark?" "In the dark, I tell you." "Then most likely, Pilot, you'd ha' run _The Witch_ on the Three Sisters' reefs, or Frenchman's Island. I stood off an' on, back'ard an' forrard." "An' shot yourself on to the rocks." The third man said nothing. He was looking at the Pilot's house and the flowers while the two captains paused to argue, and fidgeted with the blanket he wore over his shoulders. "Well, come in, come in," said the Pilot. "We'll finish the argyment over a glass an' a snack." And then it was that he had roared for his daughter, who, leaving Amiria to finish her toilet, tripped downstairs to meet her father. "Why, Rosebud, my gal, I've been calling this half-hour," exclaimed the gruff old Pilot. "An' here's two gentlemen I've brought you, two shipwrecked sailors--Cap'n Sartoris, of _The Mersey Witch_, and Mr. Scarlett." His voice sounded like the rattling of nails in a keg, and his manner was as rough as his voice. Each blanketed man stepped awkwardly forward and shook hands with the girl, first the captain, and then the tall, uncomfortable-looking, younger man, who turned the colour indicated by his name. "What they want is a rig-out," rumbled the Pilot of Timber Town; "some coats, Rosebud; some shirts, and a good feed." The grizzled old mariner's face broke into a grim smile. "I'm Cap'n Summerhayes, an't I? I'm Pilot o' this port, an't I?--an' Harbour Master, in a manner o' speaking? Very good, my gal. In all those capacities--regardless that I'm your dad--I tell you to make these gen'lemen comfortable, as if they were at home; for you never know, Rosebud, when you may be entertaining a husband unawares. You never know." And, chuckling, the old fellow led the shipwrecked men into his bedroom. When they had been provided with suits belonging to the Pilot, they were shown into the parlour, where they sat with their host upon oak chairs round a battered, polished table, with no cloth upon it. Captain Sartoris was a moderately good-looking man, if a trifle weather-beaten, but dressed in the Pilot's clothes he was in danger of being lost and smothered; and Scarlett bore himself like one who laboured under a load of misery almost too great to be borne, but he had wisely rejected the voluminous coat proffered by his benefactor, and appeared in waistcoat and trousers which gave him the appearance of a growing boy dressed in his father's cast-off apparel. Such was the guise of the shipwrecked men as they sat hiding as much of themselves as possible under the Pilot's table, whilst Rose Summerhayes bustled about the room. She took glasses from the sideboard and a decanter from a dumb-waiter which stood against the wall, and placed them on the table. "And Rosebud, my gal," said the Pilot, "as it's quite two hours to dinner, we'll have a morsel of bread and cheese." The French window stood open, and from the garden was blown the scent of flowers. Rose brought the bread and cheese, and stood with her hands folded upon her snowy apron, alert to supply any further wants of the guests. "And whose horse is that on the drive?" asked the Pilot. "Amiria's," replied his daughter. "Good: that's a gal after my heart. I'm glad she's come." "Take a chair, miss," said Captain Sartoris from the depths of the vast garments that encumbered him. "Thank you," replied Rose, "but I've the dinner to cook." "Most domestic, I'm sure," continued Sartoris, trying hard to say the correct thing. "Most right an' proper. Personally, I like to see young ladies attend to home dooties." Rose laughed. "Which is to say the comfort of you men." "My gal," said her father sternly, "we have all we want. Me an' these gen'lemen will be quite happy till dinner-time." Rose stooped to pick up the boots which her father had discarded for a pair of carpet-slippers, and rustled out of the room. "Gen'lemen," said the Pilot of Timber Town, "we'll drink to better luck next time." The three men carefully filled their glasses, emptied them in solemn silence, and put them almost simultaneously with a rattle on the polished table. "Ah!" exclaimed the Pilot, after a long-drawn breath. "Four over proof. Soft as milk, an't it? Goes down like oil, don't it?" "Most superior tipple," replied the skipper, "but you had your losses in _The Witch_, same as me and the owners. I had aboard six cases of the finest port as ever you tasted, sent out for you by your brother; senior partner of the firm, Mr. Scarlett. 'Cap'n Sartoris,' he says, 'I wish you good luck and a prosperous voyage, but take care o' that port wine for my brother. There's dukes couldn't buy it.' 'No, sir,' I says to him, 'but shipowners an' dukes are different. Shipowners usually get the pick of a cargo.' He laughed, an' I laughed: which we wouldn't ha' done had we known _The Witch_ was going to be piled up on this confounded coast." The Pilot had risen to his feet. His face was crimson with excitement, and his brow dark with passion. "Cap'n Sartoris!" he exclaimed, as he brought his fist with a bang upon the table, so that the decanter and tumblers rattled, "every sea-faring man hates to see a good ship wrecked, whoever the owner may be. None's more sorry than me to see the bones of your ship piled on that reef. But when you talk about bringing me a present o' wine from my brother, you make my blood boil. To Hell with him and all his ships!" With another bang upon the table, he paced up and down, breathing deeply, and trembling with passion still unvented. Sartoris and Scarlett looked with astonishment at the suddenly infuriated man. "As for his cursed port wine," continued the Pilot, "let him keep it. _I_ wouldn't drink it." "In which case," said the skipper, "if I'd ha' got into port, I'd ha' been most happy to have drank it myself." "I'd have lent you a hand, Captain," said Scarlett. "Most happy," replied Sartoris. "We'd ha' drank the firm's health, and the reconciliation o' these two brothers. But, Pilot, let me ask a question. What on this earth could your brother, Mr. Summerhayes, ha' done to make you reject six cases o' port--reject 'em with scorn: six cases o' the best port as was ever shipped to this or any other country? Now, that's what puzzles me." "Then, Cap'n Sartoris--without any ill-feeling to you, though I do disagree with your handling o' that ship--I say you'll have to puzzle it out. But I ask this: If _you_ had a brother who was the greatest blackguard unhung, would _you_ drink his port wine?" "It would largely depend on the quality," said the skipper--"the quality of the wine, not o' the man." "The senior partner of your firm is my brother." "That's right. I don't deny it." "If he hadn't been my brother I'd ha' killed him as sure as God made little apples. He'd a' bin dead this twenty year. It was the temptation to do it that drove me out of England; and I vowed I'd never set foot there while he lived. And he sends me presents of port wine. I wish it may choke him! I wish he may drink himself to death with it! Look you here, Sartoris: you bring back the anger I thought was buried this long while; you open the wound that twelve thousand miles of sea and this new country were healing. But--but I thank God I never touched him. I thank God I never proved as big a blackguard as he. But don't mention his name to me. If you think so much of him that you must be talking, talk to my gal, Rosebud. Tell her what a fine man she's got for an uncle, how rich he is, how generous--but _I_ shall never mention his name. I'm a straight-spoken man. If I was to tell my gal what I thought of him, I should fill her with shame that such a man should be kindred flesh and blood." The Pilot had stood still to deliver this harangue, and he now sat down, and buried his face in his hands. When he again raised his head, the skipper without a ship was helping himself sorrowfully to more of the whisky that was four over proof. Slowly the rugged Pilot rose, and passed out of the French window into the garden of roses and the sunlight. "I think," said Sartoris, passing the decanter to Scarlett, "that another drop o' this will p'raps straighten us up a bit, and help us to see what we've gone an' done. For myself, I own I've lost my bearings and run into a fog-bank. I'd be glad if some one would help me out." "The old man's a powder-magazine, to which you managed to put a match. That's how it is, Captain. These many years he's been a sleeping volcano, which has broken suddenly into violent eruption." Both men, figures comical enough for a pantomime, looked seriously at each other; but not so Amiria, whose face appeared in the doorway. "It's a mystery, a blessed puzzle; but I'd give half-a-crown for a smoke," said Sartoris, looking wistfully at the Pilot's tobacco-pipes on the mantelpiece. "I wonder if the young lady would object if I had a draw." There was an audible titter in the passage. "A man doesn't realise how poor he can be till he gets shipwrecked," said Scarlett: "then he knows what the loss of his pipe and 'baccy means." There was a scuffling outside the door, and the young lady with the brown eyes was forcibly pushed into the room. "Oh, Rose, I'm ashamed," exclaimed the Maori girl, as the Pilot's daughter pushed her forward. "But you two men are so funny and miserable, that I can't help myself,"--she laughed good-naturedly--"and there's Captain Summerhayes, fretting and fuming in the garden, as if he'd lost a thousand pounds." The scarecrows had risen respectfully to their feet, when suddenly the humour of the situation struck them, and they laughed in unison; and Amiria, shaking with merriment, collapsed upon the sofa, and hid her mirth in its cushions. "Never mind," said the skipper, "it's not the clo'es that make the man. Thank God for that, Scarlett. Clo'es can't make a man a bigger rogue than he is." "Thank God for this." Scarlett tapped his waist. "I've got here what will rig you out to look less like a Guy Fawkes. You had your money in your cabin when the ship struck; mine is in my belt." "I wondered, when I pulled you ashore," said the Maori girl, "what it was you had round your waist." Scarlett looked intently at the girl on the sofa. "Do you mean _you_ are the girl that saved me? You have metamorphosed yourself. Do you dress for a new character every day? Does she make a practice of this sort of thing, Miss Summerhayes--one day, a girl in the _pa_; the next, a young lady of Timber Town?" "Amiria is two people in one," replied Rose, "and I have not found out which of them I like most, and I have known them both for ten years." "Most interesting," said Captain Sartoris, shambling forward in his marvellous garb, and taking hold of the Maori girl's hand. "The privilege of a man old enough to be your father, my dear. I was glad to meet you on the beach--no one could ha' been gladder--but I'm proud to meet you in the house of my old friend, Cap'n Summerhayes, and in the company of this young lady." There could be no doubt that the over-proof spirit was going to the skipper's head. "But how did you get here, my dear?" "I rode," replied Amiria, rising from the sofa. "My horse is on the drive. Come and see him." She led the way through the French-window, and linked arms with Rose, whilst the two strange figures followed like a couple of characters in a comic opera. On the drive stood the Pilot, who held Amiria's big bay horse as if it were some wild animal that might bite. He had passed round the creature's neck a piece of tarred rope, which he was making fast to the tethering-post, while he exclaimed, "Whoa, my beauty. Stand still, stand still. Who's going to hurt you?" The Maori girl, holding her skirt in one hand, tripped merrily forward and took the rope from the old seaman's grasp. "Really, Captain," she said, laughing, "why didn't you tie his legs together, and then lash him to the post? There, there, Robin." She patted the horse's neck. "You don't care about eating pilots, or salt fish, do you, Robin?" "We'll turn him into the paddock up the hill," said Rose. "Dinner's ready, and I'm sure the horse is not more hungry than some of us." "None more so than Mr. Scarlett an' myself," said Sartoris, "----we've not had a sit-down meal since we were wrecked." CHAPTER IV. Rachel Varnhagen. He sat on a wool-bale in his "store," amid bags of sugar, chests of tea, boxes of tobacco, octaves of spirits, coils of fencing-wire, bales of hops, rolls of carpets and floor-cloth, piles of factory-made clothes, and a miscellaneous collection of merchandise. Old Varnhagen was a general merchant who, with equal complacency, would sell a cask of whisky, or purchase the entire wool-clip of a "run" as big as an English county. Raising his eyes from a keg of nails, he glanced lovingly round upon his abundant stock in trade; rubbed his fat hands together; chuckled; placed one great hand on his capacious stomach to support himself as his laughter vibrated through his ponderous body, and then he said, "'Tear me, 'tear me, it all com' to this. 'Tear, 'tear, how it make me laff. It jus' com' to this: the Maoris have got his cargo. All Mr. Cookenden's scheming to beat me gifs me the pull over him. 'Tear me, it make me ill with laffing. If I believed in a God, I should say Jehovah haf after all turn his face from the Gentile, and fight for his Chosen People. The cargo is outside the port: a breath of wind, and it is strewn along the shore. Now, that's what I call an intervention of Providence." He got off the wool-bale much in the manner in which a big seal clumsily takes the water, and walked up and down his store; hands in pockets, hat on the back of his head, and a complacent smile overspreading his face. As he paused at the end of the long alleyway, formed by his piles of merchandise, and turned again to traverse the length of the warehouse, he struck an attitude of contemplation. "Ah! but the insurance?" he exclaimed. As he stood, with bent head and grave looks, he was the typical Jew of the Ghetto; crafty, timid, watchful, cynical, cruel; his grizzled hair, close-clipped, crisp, and curly; his face pensive, and yellow as a lemon. "But he will haf seen to that: I gif him that much credit. But in the meantime he is without his goods, and the money won't be paid for months. That gif me a six-months' pull over him." The old smile came back, and he began to pace the store once more. There was a rippling laugh at the further end of the building where Varnhagen's private office, partitioned off with glass and boards from the rest of the store, opened on the street. It was a laugh the old man knew well, for he hopped behind a big pile of bales like a boy playing hide-and-seek, and held his breath in expectation. Presently, there bustled into the warehouse a vision of muslin and ribbons. Her face was the face of an angel. It did not contain a feature that might not have been a Madonna's. She had a lemon-yellow complexion, brightened by a flush of carmine in the cheeks; her eyes were like two large, lustrous, black pearls; her hair, parted in the middle, was glossy and waving; her eyebrows were pencilled and black; her lips were as red as the petals of the geranium. But though this galaxy of beauties attracted, it was the exquisite moulding of the face that riveted the attention of Packett, the Jew's storeman, who had conducted the dream of loveliness to the scene. She tapped the floor impatiently with her parasol. "Fa-ther!" She stamped her dainty foot in pretty anger. "The aggravating old bird! I expect he's hiding somewhere." There came a gurgling chuckle from amid the piled-up bales. The girl stood, listening. "Come out of that!" she cried. But there was never another sound--the chuckling had ceased. She skirmished down a by-alley, and stormed a kopje of rugs and linoleums; but found nothing except the store tom-cat in hiding on the top. Having climbed down the further side, she found herself in a difficult country of enamelled ware and wooden buckets, but successfully extricating herself from this entanglement she ascended a spur of carpet-rolls, and triumphantly crowned the summit of the lofty mountain of wool-bales. The country round lay at her feet, and half-concealed behind a barrel of Portland cement she saw the crouching form of the enemy. Her head was up among the timbers of the roof, and hanging to nails in the cross-beams were countless twisted lengths of clothesline, and with these dangerous projectiles she began to harass the foe. Amid the hail of hempen missiles the white flag was hoisted, and the enemy surrendered. "Rachel! Rachel! Come down, my girl. You'll break your peautiful neck. Packett, what you stand there for like a wooden verandah-post? Go up, and help Miss Varnhagen down. Take care!--my 'tear Rachel!--look out for that bucket!--mind that coil of rubber-belting! Pe careful! That bale of hops is ofer! My 'tear child, stand still, I tell you; wait till I get the ladder." With Packett in a position to cut off retreat, and the precipice of wool-bales in front, Rachel sat down and shook with laughter. Varnhagen naturally argued that his pretty daughter's foot, now that the tables were so suddenly turned upon her, would with the storeman's assistance be quickly set upon the top rung of the ladder which was now in position. But he had not yet learned all Rachel's stratagems. "No!" she cried. "I think I'll stay here." "My child, my Rachel, you will fall!" "Oh, dear, no: it's as firm as a rock. No, Packett, you can go down. I shall stay here." "But, my 'tear Rachel, you'll be killed! Come down, I beg." "Will you promise to do what I want?" "My 'tear daughter, let us talk afterwards. I can think of nothing while you are in danger of being killed in a moment!" "I want that gold watch in Tresco's window. I sha'n't come down till you say I can have it." "My peautiful Rachel, it is too expensive. I will import you one for half the price. Come down before it is too late." "What's the good of watches in London? I want that watch at Tresco's, to wear going calling. Consent, father, before it is too late." "My loafly, how much was the watch?" "Twenty-five pounds." "Oh, that is too much. First, you will ruin me, and kill yourself afterwards to spite my poverty. Rachel, you make your poor old father quite ill." "Then I am to have the watch?" "Nefer mind the watch. Some other time talk to me of the watch. Come down safe to your old father, before you get killed." "But I _do_ mind the watch. It's what I came for. I shall stay here till you consent." "Oh, Rachel, you haf no heart. You don't loaf your father." "You don't love your daughter, else you'd give me what I want." "I not loaf you, Rachel! Didn't I gif you that ring last week, and the red silk dress the week pefore? Come down, my child, and next birthday you shall have a better watch than in all Tresco's shop. My 'tear Rachel, my 'tear child, you'll be killed; and what good will be your father's money to him then? Oh! that bale moved. Rachel! sit still." "Then you'll give me the watch?" "Yes, yes. You shall have the watch. Come down now, while Packett holds your hand." "Can I have it to-day?" "Be careful, Packett. Oh! that bale is almost ofer." "Will you give it me this morning, father?" "Yes, yes, this morning." "Before I go home to dinner?" "Yes, pefore dinner." "Then, Packett, give me your hand. I will come down." The dainty victress placed her little foot firmly on the uppermost rung; and while Packett held the top, and the merchant the bottom, of the ladder, the dream of muslin and ribbons descended to the floor. Old Varnhagen gave a sigh of relief. "You'll nefer do that again, Rachel?" "I hope I shall never need to." "You shouldn't upset your poor old father like that, Rachel." "You shouldn't drive me to use such means to make you do your duty." "My duty!" "Yes, to give me that watch." "Ah, the watch. I forgot it." "I shall go now, and get it." "Yes, my child, get it." "I'll say you will pay at the end of the month." "Yes, I will pay--perhaps at the end of the month, perhaps it will go towards a contra account for watches I shall supply to Tresco. We shall see." "Good-bye, father." "Good-bye, Rachel; but won't you gif your old father a kiss pefore you go?" The vision of muslin and ribbons laid her parasol upon an upturned barrel, and came towards the portly Jew. Her soft dress was crumpled by his fat hand, and her pretty head was nestled on his shoulder. "Ah! my 'tear Rachel. Ah! my peautiful. You loaf your old father. My liddle taughter, I gif you everything; and you loaf me very moch, eh?" "Of course, I do. And won't it look well with a brand-new gold chain to match?" "Next time my child wants something, she won't climb on the wool-bales and nearly kill herself?" "Of course not. I shall wear it this afternoon when I go out calling." "Now kiss me, and run away while I make some more money for my liddle Rachel." The saintly face raised itself, and looked with a smile into the face of the old Jew; and then the bright red lips fixed themselves upon his wrinkled cheek. "You are a good girl; you are my own child; you shall have everything you ask; you shall have all I've got to give." "Good-bye, father. Thanks awfully much." "Good-bye, Rachel." The girl turned; the little heels tapped regularly on the floor; the pigeon-like walk was resumed; and Rachel Varnhagen, watched by the loving eyes of her father, passed into the street. The gold-buying clerk at the Kangaroo Bank was an immaculately dressed young man with a taste for jewelry. In his tie he wore a pearl, in a gold setting shaped like a diminutive human hand; his watch-chain was of gold, wrought in a wonderful and extravagant design. As he stepped through the swinging, glazed doors of the Bank, and stood on the broad step without, at the witching hour of twelve, he twirled his small black moustache so as to display to advantage the sparkling diamond ring which encircled the little finger of his left hand. His Semitic features wore an expression of great self-satisfaction, and his knowing air betokened intimate knowledge of the world and all that therein is. He nodded familiarly to a couple of young men who passed by, and glanced with the appreciative eye of a connoisseur at the shop-girls who were walking briskly to their dinners. Loitering across the pavement he stood upon the curbing, and looked wistfully up and down the street. Presently there hove in sight a figure that riveted his attention: it was Rachel Varnhagen, with muslins blowing in the breeze and ribbons which streamed behind, approaching like a ship in full sail. The gold-clerk crossed over the street to meet her, and raised his hat. "You're in an awful hurry. Where bound, Rachel?" "If _your_ old Dad told _you_ to go and buy a gold watch and chain, _you'd_ be in a hurry, lest he might change his mind." "My soul hankers after something dearer than watches and chains. If your Dad would give me leave, I'd annex his most precious jewel before he could say, 'Knife!' He'd never get a chance to change his mind. But he always says, 'My boy, you wait till you're a manager, and can give me a big overdraft.' At that rate we shall have to wait till Doomsday." "The watch is at Tresco's. Come along: help me turn the shop upside down to find the dandiest." "How d'you manage to get round the Governor, Rachel? I'd like to know the dodge." "He wouldn't mind if _you_ fell off a stack of bales and broke your neck. He'd say, 'Thank God! that solves that liddle difficulty.'" "Wool bales? Has wool gone up? I don't understand." "Of course you don't, stupid. If you were on the top of a pile of swaying bales, old Podge would say, 'Packett, take away the ladder: that nice young man must stay there. It's better for him to die than marry Rachel--she'd drive him mad with bills in a month.'" "Oh, that wouldn't trouble me--I'd draw on _him_." "Oh, would you?" Rachel laughed sceptically. "You don't know the Gov. if you think that. You couldn't bluff him into paying a shilling. But _I_ manage him all right. _I_ can get what I want, from a trip to Sydney to a gold watch, dear boy." "Then why don't you squeeze a honeymoon out of him?--that would be something new, Rachel." She actually paused in her haste. "Wouldn't it be splendid!" she exclaimed, putting her parasol well back behind her head, so that the glow of its crimson silk formed a telling background to her face. "Wouldn't it be gorgeous? But as soon as I'm married he will say, 'No, Rachel, my dear child, your poor old father is supplanted--your husband now has the sole privilege of satisfying your expensive tastes. Depend on him for everything you want.' What a magnificent time I should have on your twelve notes a month!" The spruce bank-clerk was subdued in a moment, in the twinkling of one of Rachel's beautiful black eyes--his matrimonial intentions had been rudely reduced to a basis of pounds, shillings and pence. But just at this embarrassing point of the conversation they turned into Tresco's doorway, and confronted the rubicund goldsmith, whose beaming smile seemed to fill the whole shop. "I saw an awf'ly jolly watch in your window," said Rachel. "Probably. Nothing more likely, Miss Varnhagen," replied Benjamin. "Gold or silver?" "Gold, of course! Let me see what you've got." "Why, certainly." Tresco took gold watches from the window, from the glass case on the counter, from the glass cupboard that stood against the wall, from the depths of the great iron safe, from everywhere, and placed them in front of the pretty Jewess. Then he glanced with self-approval at the bank-clerk, and said: "I guarantee them to keep perfect time. And, after all, there's nothing like a good watch--a young lady cannot keep her appointments, or a young man be on time, without a watch. Most important: no one should be without it." Rachel was examining the chronometers, one by one; opening and shutting their cases, examining their dials, peering into their mysterious works. She had taken off her gloves, and her pretty hands, ornamented with dainty rings, were displayed in all their shapeliness and delicacy. "What's the price?" she asked. "Prices to suit all buyers," said Tresco. "They go from ten pounds upwards. This is the one I recommend--it carries a guarantee for five years--jewelled throughout, in good, strong case--duplex escapement--compensation balance. Price £25." He held up a gold chronometer in a case which was flat and square, with rounded corners, and engraved elaborately--a watch which would catch the eye and induce comment. The jeweller had gauged the taste of his fair customer. "Oh! the duck." "The identical article, the ideal lady's watch," said Tresco, unctuously. "And now the chain," said Rachel. Benjamin took a dozen lady's watch-guards from a blue velvet pad, and handed them to the girl. The gold clerk of the Kangaroo Bank stood by, and watched, as Rachel held the dainty chains, one by one, across her bust. "Quite right, sir, quite right," remarked the goldsmith. "When a gentleman makes a present to a lady, let him do the thing handsome. Them's my sentiments." The girl looked at Tresco, and laughed. "This is to be booked to my father," she said. "There, that's the one I like best." She held out an elaborate chain, with a round bauble hanging from it. "If you had to depend on Mr. Zahn, here, you'd have to wait till the cows came home." Benjamin was wrapping up the watch in a quantity of tissue paper. "No, no. I'll wear it," exclaimed Rachel. One dainty hand stretched forward and took the watch, while the other held the chain. "There," she said, as she handed the precious purchase to her sweetheart, "fix it on." She threw her head back, laid her hand lightly on the young man's arm, and allowed him to tuck the watch into her bodice and fasten the chain around her neck. He lingered long over the process. "Yes, I would," said the voice from behind the counter. "I most certainly should give her one on the cheek, as a reward. Don't mind me; I've done it myself when I was young, before I lost my looks." The young man stepped back, and Rachel, after the manner of a pouter pigeon, nestled her chin on her breast, in her endeavour to see how the watch looked in wearing. Then she tapped the floor with the toe of her shoe indignantly, and said, looking straight at the goldsmith: "You lost your looks? What a find they must have been for the man who picked them up. If I were you, I'd advertise for them, and offer a handsome a reward--they must be valuable." "Most certainly, they were," replied Benjamin, his smile spreading across his broad countenance, "they were the talk of all my lady friends and the envy of my rivals." "I expect it was the rivals that spoilt them. But don't cry over spilt milk, old gentleman." "Certainly not, most decidedly not--there are compensations. The price of the watch and chain is £33." "Never mind the price. _I_ don't want to know the price--that'll interest my Dad. Send the account to him, and make yourself happy." And, touching her sweetheart's arm as a signal for departure, the dazzling vision of muslins and ribbons vanished from the shop. CHAPTER V. Bill the Prospector. He came down the street like a dog that has strayed into church during sermon-time; a masterless man without a domicile. He was unkempt and travel-stained; his moleskin trousers, held up by a strap buckled round his waist, were trodden down at the heels; under the hem of his coat, a thing of rents and patches, protruded the brass end of a knife-sheath. His back was bent under the weight of his neat, compact swag, which contained his six-by-eight tent and the blankets and gear necessary to a bushman. He helped his weary steps with a long _manuka_ stick, to which still clung the rough red bark, and looking neither to left nor right, he steadfastly trudged along the middle of the road. What with his ragged black beard which grew almost to his eyes, and the brim of his slouch hat, which had once been black, but was now green with age and weather, only the point of his rather characterless nose and his two bright black eyes were visible. But though to all appearances he was a desperate ruffian, capable of robbery and cold-blooded murder, his was a welcome figure in Timber Town. Men turned to look at him as he tramped past in his heavy, mud-stained blucher boots. One man, standing outside The Lucky Digger, asked him if he had "struck it rich." But the "swagger" looked at the man, without replying. "Come and have a drink, mate," said another. "Ain't thirsty," replied the "swagger." "Let 'im alone," said a third. "Can't you see he's bin working a 'duffer'?" Benjamin Tresco, standing on the curb of the pavement, watched the advent of the prospector with an altogether remarkable interest, which rose to positive restlessness when he saw the digger pause before the entrance of the Kangaroo Bank. The ill-clad, dirty stranger pushed through the swinging, glass door, stood with his hobnailed boots on the tesselated pavement inside the bank, and contemplated the Semitic face of the spruce clerk who, with the glittering gold-scales by his side, stood behind the polished mahogany counter. But either the place looked too grand and expensive, or else the clerk's appearance offended, but the "swagger" backed out of the building, and stood once more upon the asphalt, wearing the air of a stray dog with no home or friends. Tresco crossed the street. With extended hand, portly mien, and benign countenance, he approached the digger, after the manner of a benevolent sidesman in a church. "Selling gold, mate?" He spoke in his most confidential manner. "Come this way. _I_ will help you." Down the street he took the derelict, like a ship in full sail towing a battered, mastless craft into a haven of safety. Having brought the "swagger" to a safe anchorage inside his shop, Tresco shut the door, to the exclusion of all intruders; took his gold-scales from a shelf where they had stood, unused and dusty, for many a month; stepped behind the counter, and said, in his best business manner: "Now, sir." The digger unhitched his swag and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor, stood his long _manuka_ stick against the wall, thrust his hand inside his "jumper," looked at the goldsmith's rubicund face, drew out a long canvas bag which was tied at the neck with a leather boot-lace, and said, in a hoarse whisper, "There, mister, that's my pile." Tresco balanced the bag in his hand. "You've kind o' struck it," he said, as he looked at the digger with a blandness which could not have been equalled. The digger may have grinned, or he may have scowled--Tresco could not tell--but, to all intents and purposes, he remained imperturbable, for his wilderness of hair and beard, aided by his hat, covered the landscape of his face. "Ja-ake!" roared the goldsmith, in his rasping, raucous voice, as though the apprentice were quarter of a mile away. "Come here, you young limb!" The shock-headed, rat-faced youth shot like a shrapnel shell from the workshop, and burst upon the astonished digger's gaze. "Take this bob and a jug," said the goldsmith, "and fetch a quart. We'll drink your health," he added, turning to the man with the gold, "and a continual run of good luck." The digger for the first time found his full voice. It was as though the silent company of the wood-hens in the "bush" had caused the hinges of his speech to become rusty. His words jerked themselves spasmodically from behind his beard, and his sentences halted, half-finished. "Yes. That's so. If you ask me. Nice pile? Oh, yes. Good streak o' luck. Good streak, as you say. Yes. Ha, ha! Ho, ho!" He actually broke into a laugh. Tresco polished the brass dish of his scales, which had grown dim and dirty with disuse; then he untied the bag of gold, and poured the rich contents into the dish. The gold lay in a lovely, dull yellow heap. "Clean, rough gold," said Tresco, peering closely at the precious mound, and stirring it with his grimy forefinger. "It'll go £3 15s. You're in luck, mister. You've struck it rich, and"--he assumed his most benignant expression--"there's plenty more where this came from, eh?" "You bet," said the digger. "Oh, yes, any Gawd's quantity." He laughed again. "You must think me pretty green, mister." He continued to laugh. "How much for the lot?" Tresco spread the gold over the surface of the dish in a layer, and, puffing gently but adroitly, he winnowed it with his nicotine-ladened breath till no particle of sand remained with the gold. Then he put the dish on the scales, and weighed the digger's "find." "Eighty-two ounces ten pennyweights six grains," he said, with infinite deliberation, and began to figure on a piece of paper. Seemingly, the goldsmith's arithmetic was as rusty as the digger's speech, for the sum took so long to work out that the owner of the gold had time to cut a "fill" of tobacco from a black plug, charge his pipe, and smoke for fully five minutes, before Tresco proclaimed the total. This he did with a triumphant wave of the pen. "Three hundred and nine pounds seven shillings and elevenpence farthing. That's as near as I can get it. Nice clean gold, mister." He looked at the digger; the digger looked at him. "What name?" asked Tresco. "To whom shall I draw the cheque?" "That's good! My name?" laughed the digger. "I s'pose it's usual, eh?" "De-cidedly." "Sometimes they call me Bill the Prospector, sometimes Bill the Hatter. I ain't particular. I've got no choice. Take which you like." "'Pay Bill the Prospector, or Order, three hundred and nine pounds.' No, sir, that will hardlee do. I want your real name, your proper legal title." "Sounds grand, don't it? 'Legal title,' eh? But if you must have it--though it ar'n't hardly ever used--put me down Bill Wurcott. That suit, eh?--Bill Wurcott?" Tresco began to draw the cheque. "Never mind the silver," said the digger. "Make it three hundred an' nine quid." And just then Jake entered with the quart jug, tripped over the digger's swag, spilt half-a-pint of beer on the floor, recovered himself in time to save the balance, and exclaimed, "Holee smoke!" "Tell yer what," said the digger. "Let the young feller have the change. Good idea, eh?" Jake grinned--he grasped the situation in a split second. The digger took the cheque from Tresco, looked at it upside-down, and said, "That's all right," folded it up, put it in his breeches' pocket just as if it had been a common one-pound note, and remarked, "Well, I must make a git. So-long." "No, sir," said the goldsmith. "There is the beer: here are the men. No, sir; not thus must you depart. Refresh the inner man. Follow me. We must drink your health and continued good fortune." Carefully carrying the beer, Tresco led the way to his workshop, placed the jug on his bench, and soon the amber-coloured liquor foamed in two long glasses. The digger put his pint to his hairy lips, said, "_Kia ora._ Here's fun," drank deep and gasped--the froth ornamenting his moustache. "The first drop I've tasted this three months." "You must ha' come from way back, where there're no shanties," risked Tresco. "From way back," acknowledged the digger. "Twelve solid weeks? You _must_ have a thirst." "Pretty fair, you bet." The digger groped about in the depth of his pocket, and drew forth a fine nugget. "Look at that," he said, with his usual chuckle. Tresco balanced the lump of gold in his deft hand. "Three ounces?" "Three, six." "'Nother little cheque. Turn out your pockets, mister. I'll buy all you've got." "That's the lot," said the digger, taking back the nugget and fingering it lovingly. "I don't sell that--it's my lucky bit; the first I found." Another chuckle. "Tell you what. Some day you can make me something outer this, something to wear for a charm. No alloy, you understand; all pure gold. And use the whole nugget." Tresco pursed his lips, and looked contemplative. "A three-ounce charm, worn round the neck, might strangle a digger in a swollen creek. Where'd his luck be then? But how about your missis? Can't you divide it?" The digger laughed his loudest. "Give it the missis! That's good. The missis'd want more'n an ounce and a half for her share. Mister, wimmen's expensive." "Ain't you got no kid to share the charm with?" "Now you're gettin' at me"--the chuckle again--"worse 'an ever. You're gettin' at me fine. Look 'ere, I'm goin' to quit: I'm off." "But, in the meantime, what am I to do with this nice piece of gold? I could make a ring for each of your fingers, and some for your toes. I could pretty near make you a collarette, to wear when you go to evening parties in a low-necked dress, or a watch chain more massive than the bloomin' Mayor's. There's twelve pounds' worth of gold in that piece." The digger looked perplexed. The problem puzzled him. "How'd an amulet suit you?" suggested the goldsmith. "A what?" "A circle for the arm, with a charm device chased on it." "A bit like a woman, that--eh, mister?" "Not at all. The Prince o' Wales, an' the Dook o' York, an' all the _elite_ wears 'em. It'd be quite the fashion." The digger returned the nugget to his pocket. "I call you a dam' amusin' cuss, I do that. You're a goer. There ain't no keepin' up with the likes o' _you_. You shall make what you blame well please--we'll talk about it by-and-by. But for the present, where's the best pub?" "The Lucky Digger," said Jake, without hesitation. "Certainly," reiterated Tresco. "You'll pass it on your way to the Bank." "Well, so-long," said the digger. "See you later." And, shouldering his swag, he held out his horny hand. "I reckon," said the goldsmith. "Eight o'clock this evening. So-long." And the digger went out. Tresco stood on his doorstep, and with half-shut eyes watched the prospector to the door of The Lucky Digger. "Can't locate it," he mused, "and I know where all the gold, sold in this town, comes from. Nor I can't locate _him_. But he's struck it, and struck it rich." There were birch twigs caught in the straps of the digger's "swag," and he had a bit of _rata_ flower stuck in the band of his hat. "That's where he's come from!" Tresco pointed in the direction of the great range of mountains which could be seen distinctly through the window of his workshop. "What's it worth?" asked Jake, who stood beside his master. "The gold? Not a penny less than £3/17/-an ounce, my son." "An' you give £3/15/-. Good business, boss." "I drew him a cheque for three hundred pounds, and I haven't credit at the bank for three hundred shillings. So I must go and sell this gold before he has time to present my cheque. Pretty close sailing, Jake. "But mark me, young shaver. There's better times to come. If the discovery of this galoot don't mean a gold boom in Timber Town, you may send the crier round and call me a flathead. Things is goin' to hum." CHAPTER VI. The Father of Timber Town. "I never heard the like of it!" exclaimed Mr. Crewe. "You say, eighty-two ounces of gold? You say it came from within fifty miles of Timber Town? Why, sir, the matter must be looked into." The old gentleman's voice rose to a shrill treble. "Yes, indeed, it _must_." They were sitting in the Timber Town Club: the ancient Mr. Crewe, Scarlett, and Cathro, a little man who rejoiced in the company of the rich octogenarian. "I'm new at this sort of thing," said Scarlett: "I've just come off the sea. But when the digger took a big bit of gold from his pocket, I looked at it, open-eyed--I can tell you that. I called the landlord, and ordered drinks--I thought that the right thing to do. And, by George! it was. The ruffianly-looking digger drank his beer, insisted on calling for more, and then locked the door." Mr. Crewe was watching the speaker closely, and hung on every word he uttered. Glancing at the lean and wizened Cathro, he said, "You hear that, Cathro? He locked the door, sir. Did you ever hear the like?" "From inside his shirt," Scarlett continued, "he drew a fat bundle of bank notes, which he placed upon the table. Taking a crisp one-pound note from the pile, he folded it into a paper-light, and said, 'I could light my pipe with this an' never feel it.' "'Don't think of such a thing,' I said, and placed a sovereign on the table, 'I'll toss you for it.' "'Right!' said my hairy friend. 'Sudden death?' "'Sudden death,' I said. "'Heads,' said he." "Think of that, now!" exclaimed Mr. Crewe. "The true digger, Cathro, the true digger, I know the _genus_--there's no mistaking it. Most interesting. Go on, sir." "The coin came down tails, and I pocketed the bank-note. "'Lookyer here, mate,' said my affluent friend. 'That don't matter. We'll see if I can't get it back,' and he put another note on the table. I won that, too. He doubled the stakes, and still I won. "'You had luck on the gold-fields,' I said, 'but when you come to town things go dead against you.' "'Luck!' he cried. 'Now watch me. If I lost the whole of thisyer bloomin' pile, I could start off to-morrer mornin' an, before nightfall, I'd be on ground where a week's work would give me back all I'd lost. An' never a soul in this blank, blank town knows where the claim is.'" "Well, well," gasped old Mr. Crewe; his body bent forward, and his eyes peering into Scarlett's face. "I've lived here since the settlement was founded. I got here when the people lived in nothing better than Maori _whares_ and tents, when the ground on which this very club stands was a flax-swamp. I have seen this town grow, sir, from a camp to the principal town of a province. I know every man and boy living in it, do I not, Cathro? I know every hill and creek within fifty miles of it; I've explored every part of the bush, and I tell you I never saw payable gold in any stream nearer than Maori Gully, to reach which you must go by sea." "What about the man's mates?" asked Cathro. "I asked him about them," replied Scarlett. "I said, 'You have partners in this thing, I suppose.' 'You mean pals,' he said. 'No, sir. I'm a hatter--no one knows the place but me. I'm sole possessor of hundreds of thousands of ounces of gold. There's my Miner's Right.' He threw a dirty parchment document on the table, drawn out in the name of William Wurcott." "Wurcott? Wurcott?" repeated Mr. Crewe, contemplatively. "I don't know the name. The man doesn't belong to Timber Town." "You speak as though you thought no one but a Timber Town man should get these good things." Cathro smiled as he spoke. "No, sir," retorted the old gentleman, testily. "I said no such thing, sir. I simply said he did not belong to this town. But you must agree with me, it's a precious strange thing that we men of this place have for years been searching the country round here for gold, and, by Jupiter! a stranger, an outsider, a mere interloper, a miserable 'hatter' from God knows where, discovers gold two days' journey from the town, and brings in over eighty ounces?" The old man's voice ran up to a falsetto, he stroked his nose with his forefinger and thumb, he broke into the shrill laugh of an octogenarian. "And the rascal boasts he can get a hundred ounces more in a week or two! We must look into the matter--we must see what it means." The three men smoked silently and solemnly. "Scarlett, here, owns the man's personal acquaintance," said Cathro. "The game is to go mates with him--Scarlett, the 'hatter,' and myself." All three of them sat silent, and thought hard. "But what if your 'hatter' won't fraternize?" asked Mr. Crewe. "You young men are naturally sanguine, but I know these diggers. They may be communicative enough over a glass, but next day the rack and thumbscrews wouldn't extract a syllable from them." "All the more reason why we should go, and see the digger what time Scarlett deems him to be happy in his cups." This was Cathro's suggestion, and he added, "If he won't take us as mates, we may at least learn the locality of his discovery. With your knowledge of the country, Mr. Crewe, the rest should be easy." "It all sounds very simple," replied the venerable gentleman, "but experience has taught me that big stakes are not won quite so easily. However, we shall see. When our friend, Scarlett, is ready, _we_ are ready; and when I say I take up a matter of this kind, you know I mean to go through with it, even if I have to visit the spot myself and prospect on my own account. For believe me, gentlemen, this may be the biggest event in the history of Timber Town." Mr. Crewe had risen to his feet, and was walking to and fro in front of the younger men. "If payable gold were found in these hills, this town would double its population in three months, business would flourish, and everybody would have his pockets lined with gold. I don't talk apocryphally. I have seen such things repeatedly, upon the Coast. I have seen small townships literally flooded with gold, and yet a pair of boots, a tweed coat, and the commonest necessaries of life, could not be procured there for love or money." CHAPTER VII. Cut-throat Euchre. "Give the stranger time to sort his cards," said the thin American, with the close-cropped head. "Why, certainly, certainly," replied the big and bloated Englishman, who sat opposite. "Well, my noble, what will you do?" The Prospector, who was the third player, looked up from his "hand" and drummed the table with the ends of his dirty fingers. "What do I make it? Why, I turn it down." "Pass again," said the American. "Ditto," said the Englishman. "Then this time I make it 'Spades,'" said the digger, bearded to the eyes; his tangled thatch of black hair hiding his forehead, and his clothes such as would have hardly tempted a rag-picker. "You make it 'next,' eh?" It was the Englishman who spoke. "We'll put you through, siree," said the American, who was a small man, without an atom of superfluous flesh on his bones. His hair stood upright on his head, his dough-coloured face wore a perpetual smile, and he was the happy possessor of a gold eye-tooth with which he constantly bit his moustache. The player who had come to aid him in plucking the pigeon was a big man with a florid complexion and heavy, sensuous features, which, however, wore a good-natured expression. The game was cut-throat euchre; one pound points. So that each of the three players contributed five pounds to the pool, which lay, gold, silver and bank-notes, in a tempting pile in the middle of the table. "Left Bower, gen'lemen," said the digger, placing the Knave of Clubs on the table. "The deuce!" exclaimed the florid man. "Can't help you, partner," said the man with the gold tooth, playing a low card. "One trick," said the digger, and he put down the Knave of Spades. "There's his mate." "Right Bower, egad!" exclaimed the big man, who was evidently minus trumps. The pasty-faced American played the Ace of Spades without saying a word. "A blanky march!" cried the digger. "Look-a-here. How's that for high?" and he placed on the table his three remaining cards--the King, Queen, and ten of trumps. The other players showed their hands, which were full of red cards. "Up, and one to spare," exclaimed the digger, and took the pool. About fifty pounds, divided into three unequal piles, lay on the table, and beside each player's money stood a glass. The florid man was shuffling the pack, and the other two were arranging their marking cards, when the door opened slowly, and the Father of Timber Town, followed by Cathro and Scarlett, entered the room. "Well, well. Hard at it, eh, Garsett?" said the genial old gentleman, addressing himself to the Englishman. "Cut-throat euchre, by Jupiter! A ruinous game, Mr. Lichfield,"--to the man with the gold tooth--"but your opponent"--pointing with his stick to the digger--"seems to have all the luck. Look at his pile, Cathro. Your digger friend, eh, Scarlett? Look at his pile--the man's winning." Scarlett nodded. "He's in luck again," said Mr. Crewe; "in luck again, by all that's mighty." The pool was made up, the cards were dealt, and the game continued. The nine of Hearts was the "turn-up" card. "Pass," said Lichfield. "Then I order you up," said the digger. The burly Garsett drew a card from his "hand," placed it under the pack, and said, "Go ahead. Hearts are trumps." The gentleman with the gold tooth played the King of Hearts, the digger a small trump, and Garsett his turn-up card. "Ace of Spades," said Lichfield, playing that card. "Trump," said the digger, as he put down the Queen of Hearts. "Ace of trumps!" exclaimed Garsett, and took the trick. "'Strewth!" cried the man from the "bush." "But let's see your next." "You haven't a hope," said the big gambler. "Two to one in notes we euchre you." "Done," replied the digger, and he took a dirty one-pound bank-note from his heap of money. "Most exciting," exclaimed Mr. Crewe. "Quite spirited. The trumps must all be out, Cathro. Let us see what all this betting means." "Right Bower," said the Englishman. "Ho-ho! stranger," the American cried. "I guess that pound belongs to Mr. Garsett." The digger put the Knave of Diamonds on the table, and handed the money to his florid antagonist. "Your friend is set back two points, Scarlett." It was Mr. Crewe that spoke. "England and America divide the pool." The digger looked up at the Father of Timber Town. "If you gen'l'men wish to bet on the game, well and good," he said, somewhat heatedly. "But if you're not game to back your opinion, then keep your blanky mouths shut!" Old Mr. Crewe was as nettled at this unlooked-for attack as if a battery of artillery had suddenly opened upon him. "Heh! What?" he exclaimed. "You hear that, Cathro? Scarlett, you hear what your friend says? He wants to bet on the game, and that after being euchred and losing his pound to Mr. Garsett. Why, certainly, sir. I'll back my opinion with the greatest pleasure. I'll stake a five-pound note on it. You'll lose this game, sir." "Done," said the digger, and he counted out five sovereigns and placed them in a little heap by themselves. Mr. Crewe had not come prepared for a "night out with the boys." He found some silver in his pocket and two pounds in his sovereign-case. "Hah! no matter," he said. "Cathro, call the landlord. I take your bet, sir"--to the digger--"most certainly I take it, but one minute, give me one minute." "If there's any difficulty in raising the cash," said the digger, fingering his pile of money, "I won't press the matter. _I_ don't want your blanky coin. I can easy do without it." The portly, rubicund landlord of the Lucky Digger entered the room. "Ah, Townson," said old Mr. Crewe, "good evening. We have a little bet on, Townson, a little bet between this gentleman from away back and myself, and I find I'm without the necessary cash. I want five pounds. I'll give you my IOU." "Not at all," replied the landlord, in a small high voice, totally surprising as issuing from such a portly person, "no IOU. I'll gladly let you have twenty." "Five is all I want, Townson; and I expect to double it immediately, and then I shall be quite in funds." The landlord disappeared and came back with a small tray, on which was a bundle of bank-notes, some dirty, some clean and crisp. The Father of Timber Town counted the money. "Twenty pounds, Townson. Very well. You shall have it in the morning. Remind me, Cathro, that I owe Mr. Townson twenty pounds." The digger looked with surprise at the man who could conjure money from a publican. "Who in Hades are _you_?" he asked, as Mr. Crewe placed his £5 beside the digger's. "D'you own the blanky pub?" "No, he owns the town," interposed Garsett. The digger was upon his feet in a moment. "Proud to meet you, mister," he cried. "Glad to have this bet with you. I like to bet with a gen'l'man. Make it ten, sir, and I shall be happier still." "No, no," replied the ancient Mr. Crewe. "You said five, and five it shall be. That's quite enough for you to lose on one game." "You think so? That's your blanky opinion? See that?" The digger pointed to his heap of money. "Where that come from there's enough to buy your tin-pot town three times over." "Indeed," said Mr. Crewe. "I'm glad to hear it. Bring your money, and you shall have the town." "Order, gentlemen, order," cried the dough-faced man. "I guess we're here to play cards, and cards we're going to play. If you three gentlemen cann't watch the game peaceably, it'll be my disagreeable duty to fire you out--and that right smart." And just at this interesting moment entered Gentle Annie. She walked with little steps; propelling her plenitude silently but for the rustle of her silk skirt. In her hand she held a scented handkerchief, like any lady in a drawing-room; her hair, black at the roots and auburn at the ends, was wreathed, coil on coil, upon the top of her head; her face, which gave away all her secrets, was saucy, expressive of self-satisfaction, petulance, and vanity. And yet it was a handsome face; but it lacked mobility, the chin was too strong, the grey eyes wanted expression, though they were ever on the watch for an admiring glance. "The angel has come to pour oil upon the troubled waters," said the flabby, florid man, looking up from his cards at the splendid bar-maid. Gentle Annie regarded the speaker boldly, smiled, and coloured with pleasure. "To pour whisky down your throats," she said, laughing--"that would be nearer the mark." "And produce a more pleasing effect," said Garsett. "Attend to the game," said the American. "Spades are trumps." "Pass," said the digger. "Then down she goes," said the Englishman. "Pass again," said the American. "I make it Diamonds, and cross the blanky suit," said the digger. Gentle Annie turned to the Father of Timber Town. "There's a gentleman wants to see you, Mr. Crewe," she said. "Very good, very good; bring him in--he has as much right here as I." "He said he'd wait for you in the bar-parlour." "But, my girl, I must watch the game: I have a five-pound note on it. Yes, a five-pound note!" "Think of that, now," said Gentle Annie, running her bejewelled hand over her face. "You'll be bankrupt before morning. But never mind, old gentleman,"--she deftly corrected the set of Mr. Crewe's coat, and fastened its top button--"you'll always find a friend and protector in _me_." "My good girl, what a future! The tender mercies of bar-maids are cruel. 'The daughter of the horse-leech'--he! he!--where did you get all those rings from?--I don't often quote Scripture, but I find it knows all about women. Cathro, you must watch the game for me: I have to see a party in the bar. Watch the game, Cathro, watch the game." The old gentleman, leaning heavily upon his stick, walked slowly to the door, and Gentle Annie, humming a tune, walked briskly before, in all the glory of exuberant health and youth. When Mr. Crewe entered the bar-parlour he was confronted by the bulky figure of Benjamin Tresco, who was enjoying a glass of beer and the last issue of _The Pioneer Bushman_. Between the goldsmith's lips was the amber mouthpiece of a straight-stemmed briar pipe, a smile of contentment played over the breadth of his ruddy countenance, and his ejaculations were made under some deep and pleasurable excitement. "By the living hokey! What times, eh?" He slapped his thigh with his heavy hand. "The town won't know itself! We'll all be bloomin' millionaires. Ah! good evening, Mr. Crewe. Auspicious occasion. Happy to meet you, sir." Benjamin had risen, and was motioning the Father of Timber Town to a seat upon the couch, where he himself had been sitting. "You will perceive that I am enjoying a light refresher. Have something yourself at my expense, I beg." Mr. Crewe's manner was very stiff. He knew Tresco well. It was not so much that he resented the goldsmith's familiar manner, as that, with the instinct of his _genus_, he suspected the unfolding of some money-making scheme for which he was to find the capital. Therefore he fairly bristled with caution. "Thank you, nothing." He spoke with great dignity. "You sent for me. What do you wish to say, sir?" Benjamin looked at the rich man through his spectacles, without which he found it impossible to read the masterpieces of the editor of _The Pioneer Bushman_; pursed his lips, to indicate that he hardly relished the old gentleman's manner; scrutinised the columns of the newspaper for a desired paragraph, on which, when found, he placed a substantial forefinger; and then, glancing at Mr. Crewe, he said abruptly, "Read that, boss," and puffed furiously at his pipe, while he watched the old man's face through a thick cloud of tobacco smoke. Mr. Crewe read the paragraph; folded up the paper, and placed it on the couch beside him; looked at the ceiling; glanced round the room; turned his keen eyes on Tresco, and said:-- "Well, what of that? I saw that an hour ago. It's very fine, if true; very fine, indeed." "True, mister? _I_ bought the gold _myself_! _I_ gave the information to the 'buster'! Now, here is my plan. I know this gold is _new_ gold--it's no relation to any gold I ever bought before. It comes from a virgin field. By the special knowledge I possess as a gold-buyer, I am able to say that; and you know when a virgin field yields readily as much as eighty-two ounces, the odds are in favour of it yielding thousands. Look at the Golden Bar. You remember that?--eight thousand ounces in two days, and the field's been worked ever since. Then there was Greenstone Gully--a man came into town with fifty ounces, and the party that tracked him made two thousand ounces within a month. Those finds were at a distance, but this one is a local affair. How do I know?--my special knowledge, mister; my intuitive reading of signs which prognosticate coming events; my knowledge of the characters and ways of diggers. All this I am willing to place at your disposal, on one condition, Mr. Crewe; and that condition is that we are partners in the speculation. I find the field--otherwise the partnership lapses--and you find me £200 and the little capital required. I engage to do my part within a week." Mr. Crewe stroked his nose with his forefinger and thumb, as was his habit when in deep contemplation. "But--ah--what if I were to tell you that I can find the field entirely by my own exertions? What do you say to that, Mr. Tresco? What do you say to that?" "I say, sir, without the least hesitation, that you _never_ will find it. I say that you will spend money and valuable time in a wild-goose chase, whereas _I_ shall be entirely successful." "We shall see," said Mr. Crewe, rising from his seat, "we shall see. Don't try to coerce me, sir; don't try to coerce _me_!" "I haven't the least desire in that direction." Benjamin's face assumed the expression of a cherub. "Nothing is further from my thoughts. I know of a good thing--my special knowledge qualifies me to make the most of it; I offer you the refusal of 'chipping in' with me, and you, I understand, refuse. Very well, Mr. Crewe, _I_ am satisfied; _you_ are satisfied; all is amicably settled. I go to place my offer where it will be accepted. Good evening, sir." Benjamin put his nondescript, weather-worn hat on his semi-bald head, and departed with as much dignity as his ponderous person could assume. "And now," said Mr. Crewe to himself, as the departing figure of the goldsmith disappeared, "we will go and see the result of our little bet; we will see whether we have lost or gained the sum of five pounds." The old man, taking his stick firmly in his hand, stumped down the passage to the door of the room where the gamblers played, and, as he turned the handle, he was greeted with a torrent of shouts, high words, and the noise of a falling table. There, on the floor, lay gold and bank notes, scattered in every direction amid broken chairs, playing cards, and struggling men. Mr. Crewe paused on the threshold. In the whirl and dust of the tumult he could discern the digger's wilderness of hair, the bulky form of Garsett, and the thin American, in a tangled, writhing mass. His friend Cathro was looking on with open mouth and trembling hands, ineffectual, inactive. But Scarlett, making a sudden rush into the melee, seized the lucky digger, and dragged him, infuriated, struggling, swearing, from the unwieldy Garsett, on whose throat his grimy fingers were tightly fixed. "Well, well," exclaimed Mr. Crewe. "Landlord! landlord! Scarlett, be careful--you'll strangle that man!" Scarlett pinioned the digger's arms from behind, and rendered him harmless; Garsett sat on the floor fingering his throat, and gasping; while Lichfield lay unconscious, with his head under the broken table. "Fair play!" shouted the digger. "I've bin robbed. Le'me get at him. I'll break his blanky neck. Cheat a gen'leman at cards, will you? Le'me get at him. Le'go, I tell yer--who's quarrelling with _you_?" But he struggled in vain, for Scarlett's hold on him was tighter than a vice's. "Stand quiet, man," he expostulated. "There was no cheating." "The fat bloke fudged a card. I was pickin' up a quid from the floor--he fudged a card. Le'go o' me, an' I'll fight you fair." "Stand quiet, I tell you, or you'll be handed over to the police." The digger turned his hairy visage round, and glanced angrily into Jack's eyes. "You'll call in the traps?--you long-legged swine!" With a mighty back-kick, the Prospector lodged the heel of his heavy boot fairly on Scarlett's shin. In a moment he had struggled free, and faced round. "Put up your fists!" he cried. "I fight fair, I fight fair." There was a whirlwind of blows, and then a figure fell to the floor with a thud like that of a felled tree. It was the lucky digger, and he lay still and quiet amid the wreckage of the fight. "Here," said Cathro, handing Mr. Crewe ten pounds. "Take your money--our friend the digger lost the game." "This is most unfortunate, Cathro." But as he spoke, the Father of Timber Town pocketed the gold. "Did I not see Scarlett knock that man down? This is extremely unfortunate. I have just refused the offer of a man who avers--who avers, mind you--that he can put us on this new gold-field in a week, but I trusted to Scarlett's diplomacy with the digger: I come back, and what do I see? I see my friend Scarlett knock the man down! There he lies as insensible as a log." "It looks," said Cathro, "as if our little plan had fallen through." "Fallen through? We have made the unhappy error of interfering in a game of cards. We should have stood off, sir, and when a quarrel arose--I know these diggers; I have been one of them myself, and I understand them, Cathro--when a quarrel arose we should have interposed on behalf of the digger, and he would have been our friend for ever. Now all the gold in the country wouldn't bribe him to have dealings with us." The noise of the fight had brought upon the scene all the occupants of the bar. They stood in a group, silent and expectant, just inside the room. The landlord, who was with them, came forward, and bent over the inanimate form of the Prospector. "I think this is likely to be a case for the police," said he, as he rose, and stood erect. "The man may be alive, or he may be dead--I'm not a doctor: I can't tell--but there's likely to be trouble in store for the gentlemen in the room at the time of the fight." Suddenly an energetic figure pushed its way through the group of spectators, and Benjamin Tresco, wearing an air of supreme wisdom, and with a manner which would not have disgraced a medico celebrated for his "good bedside manner," commenced to examine the prostrate man. First, he unbuttoned the insensible digger's waistcoat, and placed his hand over his heart; next, he felt his pulse. "This man," he said deliberately, like an oracle, "has been grossly manhandled; he is seriously injured, but with care we shall pull him round. My dear"--to Gentle Annie, who stood at his elbow, in her silks and jewels, the personification of Folly at a funeral--"a drop of your very best brandy--real cognac, mind you, and be as quick as you possibly can." With the help of Scarlett, Tresco placed the digger upon the couch. In the midst of this operation the big card-player and his attenuated accomplice, whose unconsciousness had been more feigned than actual, were about to slip from the room, when Mr. Crewe's voice was heard loudly above the chatter, "Stop! stop those men, there!" The old gentleman's stick was pointed dramatically towards the retreating figures. "They know more about this affair than is good for them." Four or five men immediately seized Garsett and Lichfield, led them back to the centre of the room, and stood guard over them. At this moment, Gentle Annie re-entered with the _eau de vie_; and Tresco, who was bustling importantly about his patient, administrated the restorative dexterously to the unconscious digger, and then awaited results. He stood, with one hand on the man's forehead and the other he held free to gesticulate with, in emphasis of his speech:-- "This gentleman is going to recover--with proper care, and in skilled hands. He has received a severe contusion on the cranium, but apart from that he is not much the worse for his 'scrap.' See, he opens his eyes. Ah! they are closed again. There!--they open again. He is coming round. In a few minutes he will be his old, breathing, pulsating self. The least that can be expected in the circumstances, is that the gentlemen implicated, who have thus been saved most disagreeable consequences by the timely interference of skilled hands, the least they can do is to shout drinks for the crowd." He paused, and a seraphic smile lighted his broad face. "Hear, hear!" cried a voice from behind the spectators by the door. "Just what the doctor ordered," said another. "There's enough money on the floor," remarked a third, "for the whole lot of us to swim in champagne." "My eye's on it," said Tresco. "It's what gave me my inspiration. The lady will pick it up while you name your drinks to the landlord. Mine's this liqueur brandy, neat. Let the lady pick up those notes there: a lady has a soul above suspicion--let her collect the money, and we'll hold a court of enquiry when this gentleman here is able to give his evidence." The digger was now gazing in a befogged manner at the faces around him; and Gentle Annie, having collected all the money of the gamblers in a tray, placed it on the small table which stood against the wall. "Now, doctor," said a tall man with a tawny beard, "take your fee; it's you restored the gent. Take your fee: is it two guineas, or do you make it five?" "'Doctor,' did you say? No, Moonlight, my respected friend, I scorn the title. Doctors are a brood that batten on the ills of others. First day: 'A pain internally, madam? Very serious. I will send you some medicine. Two guineas. Yes, the sum of two guineas.' Next day: 'Ah, the pain is no better, madam? Go on taking the medicine. Fee? Two guineas, _if_ you please.' And so on till the pain cures itself. If not, the patient grows worse, dies, is buried, and the doctor's fees accrue proportionately. But we will suppose that the patient has some incurable tumour. The doctor comes, examines, looks wise, shakes his head, says the only chance is to operate; but it will be touch and go, just a toss up. He gets his knives, opens up the patient, and by good luck touches no vital part. Then the patient is saved, and it's 'My work, gentlemen, entirely my work. That's what skill will do. My fee is forty-five guineas.' That's how he makes up for the folks that don't pay. Doctor, _me_? No, Moonlight, my friend, I am a practitioner who treats for love. No fee; no fee at all. But, Annie, my dear, I'll trouble you for that glass of brandy." The digger was contemplating Tresco's face with a look of bewildered astonishment. "An' who the blanky blank are _you_?" he exclaimed, with all his native uncouthness. "What the blank do you want to take my clo'es off of me for? Who the blue infernal----" All eyes were fixed on his contused countenance and the enormous bump on his temple. "Ah! there's the gent that shook me of five quid. I'll remember you, old party. An' as for you two spielers--you thought to fleece me. I'll give you what for! An' there's the other toff, 'im that biffed me. Fancy bein' flattened out by a toney remittance man! Wonderful. I call it British pluck, real bull-dog courage--three to one, an' me the littlest of the lot, bar one. Oh, it's grand. It pays a man to keep his mouth shut, when he comes to Timber Town with money in his pocket." The eyes of the spectators began to turn angrily upon Lichfield and Garsett, who, looking guilty as thieves, stood uneasy and apart; but Scarlett stepped forward, and was about to speak in self-defence, when Mr. Crewe offered to explain the situation. "I ask you to listen to me for one moment," he said; "I ask you to take my explanation as that of a disinterested party, a mere looker on. These three gentlemen"--he pointed to the three euchre players--"were having a game of cards, quite a friendly game of cards, in which a considerable sum of money was changing hands. My friend Scarlett, here, was looking on with me, when for some cause a quarrel arose. Next thing, the gentleman here on the sofa was attacking his opponents in the game with an empty bottle--you can see the pieces of broken glass amongst the cards upon the floor. Now, a bottle is a very dangerous weapon, a very dangerous weapon indeed; I might say a deadly weapon. Then it was that Mr. Scarlett interfered. He pulled off our friend, and was attacked--I saw this with my own eyes--attacked violently, and in self-defence he struck this gentleman, and inadvertently stunned him. That, I assure you, is exactly how the case stands. No great damage is done. The difference is settled, and, of course, the game is over." "An' '_e_," said the digger, raising himself to a sitting posture, "'_e_ shook me for five quid. The wily ol'e serpint. 'E never done nothin'--'e only shook me for five quid." "Count the money into three equal parts, landlord," said the Father of Timber Town. "It's perfectly true, I _did_ relieve the gentleman of five pounds; but it was the result of a bet, of a bet he himself insisted on. He would have made it even heavier, had I allowed him. But here is the money--he can have it back. I return it. I bet with no man who begrudges to pay money he fairly loses; but I have no further dealings with such a man." "Oh, you think I want the blanky money, do you?" cried the digger. "You're the ol'e gen'leman as is said to own the crimson town, ain't you? Well, keep that five quid, an' 'elp to paint it crimsoner. _I_ don't want the money. _I_ can get plenty more where it came from, just for the pickin' of it up. You keep it, ol'e feller, an' by an' by I'll come and buy the town clean over your head." "Give the patient some more brandy, my dear." Tresco's voice sounded as sonorous as a parson's. "Now he's talkin'. And what will you do with the town when you've bought it, my enterprising friend?" "I'll turn the present crowd out--they're too mean to live. I'll sell it to a set of Chinamen, or niggers. I'd prefer 'em." "These are the ravings of delirium," said Tresco. "I ask you to pay no attention to such expressions. We frequently hear things of this sort in the profession, but we let them pass. He'll be better in the morning." "Is the money divided?" asked Mr. Crewe. "Yes," said the landlord. "One hundred and twenty-five pounds and sixpence in each lot." "Mr. Garsett," said the Father of Timber Town, the tone of command in his voice, "come and take your money. Mr. Lichfield, take yours, sir." Still agitated and confused, the two gamblers came forward, took their shares, and pocketed notes and gold with trembling hands. "Give your friend his, Tresco," said the venerable arbitrator. "Here's your winnings, or your losings," said the goldsmith to the digger. "It don't matter what name you call 'em by, but tuck it safely away agin your brisket. And when next you strike it rich, take my advice: put it in the bank, an' keep it there." The digger took the money in his open hands, placed scoopwise together, and said, "All this mine, is it? You're too kind. What do _I_ want the blanky money for, eh? Didn't I tell you I could get money for the pickin' of it up? Well, you're all a pretty measly crowd, all as poor as church rats, by the manners of yer. Well, _you_ pick it up." And he flung the money among the crowd, lay back on the couch, and closed his eyes. There was a scurry, and a scrambling on the floor, in the doorway, and in the passage outside. Amid the tumult, Garsett and the American slunk off unperceived, while Tresco and Mr. Crewe, the landlord, Gentle Annie and Scarlett remained spectators of the scene. Soon all was hushed and still, and they were left alone with the eccentric digger; but presently the tall figure of Moonlight, the man with the tawny beard, reappeared. "Here's fifty pound, anyway," he said, placing a quantity of notes and gold in the landlord's hands. "Some I picked up myself, some I took off a blackguard I knocked over in the passage. Take the lot, and give it back to this semi-lunatic when he suffers his recovery in the morning. Good-night, gentlemen; I wish you the pleasures of the evening." So saying, the man with the tawny beard disappeared, and it was not long before Tresco was left alone with his patient. CHAPTER VIII. The Yellow Flag. The harbour of Timber Town was formed by a low-lying island shaped like a long lizard, which stretched itself across an indentation in the coast-line, and the tail of which joined the mainland at low tide, while the channel between its head and the opposing cliffs was deep, practicable, and safe. Immediately opposite this end of the island the wharves and quays of Timber Town stretched along the shore, backed by hills which were dotted with painted wooden houses, nestling amid bowers of trees. Beyond these hills lay Timber Town itself, invisible, sheltered, at the bottom of its basin. The day was hot, clear and still; the water lapped the shore lazily, and the refracted atmosphere shimmered with heat, wherever the sea touched the land. A little dingey put off from the shore. It contained two men, one of whom sat in the stern while the other pulled. Silently over the surface of the calm, blue water the little craft skimmed. It passed through a small fleet of yachts and pleasure-boats moored under the lee of the protecting island, and presently touched the pebbles of a miniature beach. Out stepped the Pilot of Timber Town and Captain Sartoris. "An' you call this blazin' climate o' yours temperate," exclaimed the shipwrecked mariner. "Heat?" said the Pilot, making the painter of the boat fast to some rusty bits of iron that lay on the shore; "you call this heat, with the sea-breeze risin', and the island cooling like a bottle of champagne in an ice-chest. It's plain to see, Sartoris, you're a packet-rat that never sailed nowhere except across the Western Ocean, in an' out o' Liverpool and New York." They had approached the end of the island, and overlooked the harbour entrance. "Now, this is where I intend to place the beacon. What do you think of it?" Sartoris assumed the manner and expression of supreme interest, but said nothing. "Them two leading lights are all very well in their way, but this beacon, with the near one, will give a line that will take you outside o' that sunken reef which stretches a'most into the fairway; and a vessel 'll be able to come in, scientific and safe, just like a lady into a drawing-room." With a seaman's eye Sartoris took in the situation at a glance. "Very pretty," he said, "very neat. A lovely little toy port, such as you see at the theayter. It only wants the chorus o' fisher girls warbling on that there beach road, and the pirate brig bringing-to just opposite, an' the thing would be complete." "Eh! What?" ejaculated the Pilot. "What's this play-goin' gammon? You talk like a schoolboy that's fed on jam tarts and novelettes, Sartoris. Let's talk sense. Have you ever heard of an occulting light?" "No, certainly not; not by that name, anyhow." "D'you know what an apparent light is?" "No, but I know plenty of apparent fools." "An apparent light is a most ingenious contraption." "I've no doubt." "It's a optical delusion, and makes two lights o' one--one on shore, which is the real one, and one here, which is the deception." But while the Pilot went on to talk of base plates, lewis bats, and all the paraphernalia of his craft, the skipper's eye was fixed on a string of little islands which stood off the end of the western arm of the great bay outside. "Now, I never saw those when I was coming in," said he. "Where did you get them islands from, Summerhayes? Are they occulting, real, or apparent? Changing your landmarks, like this, is deceiving." The Pilot, forgetting the technicalities of his profession, looked at the phenomenon which puzzled the skipper, and said, as gruffly as a bear, "That's no islands: it's but a bit of a mirage. Sometimes there's only one island, sometimes three, sometimes more--it's accordin' to circumstances. But what's this craft coming down the bay? Barque or ship, Sartoris?--I've forgot me glass." Both men stood on the seaward edge of the island, and looked long and hard at the approaching vessel. "Barque," said Sartoris, whose eyes were keener than the older man's. "There's no barque due at this port for a month," said the Pilot. "The consignees keep me posted up, for to encourage a sharp lookout. The _Ida Bell_ should arrive from London towards the middle of next month, but _she_ is a ship. This must be a stranger, putting in for water or stores; or maybe she's short-handed." For a long time they watched the big craft, sailing before the breeze. "Sartoris, she's clewing up her courses and pulling down her head-sails." "Isn't she a trifle far out, Pilot?" "It's good holding-ground out there--stiff clay that would hold anything. What did I tell you?--there you are--coming-to. She's got starn-board. There goes the anchor!" The skipper had hitherto displayed but little interest in the strange vessel, but now he was shouting and gesticulating, as a flag was run up to her fore-truck. "Look at that, Summerhayes!" he exclaimed. "If you ain't blind, tell me what that flag is. Sure as I'm a master without a ship, it's the currantine flag." "So it is, so it is. That means the Health Officer, Sartoris." And the gruff old Pilot hastened down to the dingey. As the two seamen put off from the island, the skipper, who was in the stern of the little boat, could see Summerhayes's crew standing about on the slip of the pilot-shed; and by the time the dingey had reached the shore, the Pilot's big whale-boat lay by the landing-stage. "Where's the doctor?" roared Summerhayes. "Is he goin' to make us hunt for him when he's required for the first time this six weeks?" "All right, all right," called a clear voice from inside the great shed. "I'm ready before you are this time, Pilot." "An' well you are," growled the gruff old barnacle. "That furrin'-lookin' barque outside has hoisted the yellow flag. Get aboard, lads, get aboard." "Your men discovered the fact half an hour ago, by the aid of your telescope." The doctor came slowly down the slip, carrying a leather hand-bag. "If you've any mercy," said the Pilot, "you'll spare 'em the use o' that. Men die fast enough without physic." "Next time you get the sciatica, Summerhayes, I'll give you a double dose." "An' charge me a double fee. I know you. Shove her off, Johnson." The grim old Pilot stood with the steering-oar in his hand; the skipper and the doctor sitting on either hand of him, and the crew pulling as only a trained crew can. "Steady, men," said the Pilot: "it's only half tide, and there's plenty of water coming in at the entrance. Keep your wind for that, Hendricson." With one hand he unbuttoned the flap of his capacious trouser-pocket, and took out a small bunch of keys, which he handed to Sartoris. "Examine the locker," he said. "It's the middle-sized key." The captain, in a moment, had opened the padlock which fastened the locker under the Pilot's seat. "Is there half-a-dozen of beer--quarts?" asked Summerhayes. "There is," replied Sartoris. "Two bottles of rum?" "Yes." "Glasses?" "Four." "An' a corkscrew?" "It's here." "Then we've just what the doctor ordered: not this doctor--make no mistake o' that. An' them sons o' sea cooks, forrard there, haven't yet found a duplicate key to my locker. Wonderful! wonderful!" The crew grinned, and put their backs into every stroke, for they knew "the old man" meant that they shouldn't go dry. "I'm the Pilot o' this here port, eh?" "Most certainly," said the doctor. "An' Harbour Master, in a manner o' speaking?" "That's so." "And captain o' this here boat?" They were hugging the shore of the island, where the strength of the incoming tide began to be felt in the narrow tortuous channel. The bluff old Pilot put the steering-oar to port, and brought his boat round to starboard, in order to keep her out of the strongest part of the current. "Now, lads, shake her up!" he shouted. The men strained every nerve, and the boat was forced slowly against the tide. With another sudden movement of the steering-oar Summerhayes brought the boat into an eddy under the island, and she shot forward. "Very well," he said; "it's acknowledged that I'm all that--Pilot, Harbour Master, and skipper o' this boat. Then let me tell you that I'm ship's doctor as well, and in that capacity, since we're outside and there's easy going now under sail, I prescribe a good stiff glass all round, as a preventive against plague, Yellow Jack, small-pox, or whatever disease it is they've got on yonder barque." Sartoris uncorked a bottle, and handed a glass to the doctor. "And a very good prescription, too," said the tall, thin medico, who had a colourless complexion and eyes that glittered like black beads; "but where's the water?" "Who drinks on my boat," growled the Pilot, "drinks his liquor neat. I drown no man and no rum with water. If a man must needs spoil his liquor, let him bring his own water: there's none in my locker." The doctor took the old seaman's medicine, but not without a wry face; Sartoris followed suit, and then the Pilot. The boat was now under sail, and the crew laid in their oars and "spliced the main brace." "That's the only medicine we favour in this boat or in this service," said the Pilot, as he returned the key of the locker to his pocket, "an' we've never yet found it to fail. Before encount'ring plague, or after encount'ring dirty weather, a glass all round: at other times the locker is kept securely fastened, and I keep the key." Saying which, he buttoned the flap of his pocket, and fixed his eyes on the strange barque, to which they were now drawing near. It could be seen that she was a long time "out"; her sails, not yet all furled, were old and weather-worn; her sides badly needed paint; and as she rose and fell with the swell, she showed barnacles and "grass" below the water-line. At her mizzen-peak flew the American ensign, and at the fore-truck the ominous quarantine flag. As the boat passed under the stern, the name of the vessel could be seen--"_Fred P. Lincoln_, New York"--and a sickly brown man looked over the side. Soon he was joined by more men, brown and yellow, who jabbered like monkeys, but did nothing. "Seems they've got a menag'ry aboard," commented Sartoris. Presently a white face appeared at the side. "Where's the captain?" asked the Health Officer. "With the mate, who's dying." "Then who are you?" "Cap'n's servant." "But where's the other mate?" "He died a week ago." "What's wrong on board?" "Don't know, sir. Ten men are dead, and three are sick." "Where are you from?" "Canton." "Canton? Have you got plague aboard?" "Not bubonic. The men go off quiet and gradual, after being sick a long time. I guess you'd better come aboard, and see for yourself." The ladder was put over the side, and soon the doctor had clambered on board. The men in the boat sat quiet and full of contemplation. "This is a good time for a smoke," said the Pilot, filling his pipe and passing his tobacco tin forrard. "And I think, Sartoris, all hands 'd be none the worse for another dose o' my medicine." Again his capacious hand went into his more capacious pocket, and the key of the locker was handed to Sartoris. "Some foolish people are teetotal," continued Summerhayes, "and would make a man believe as how every blessed drop o' grog he drinks shortens his life by a day or a week, as the case may be. But give me a glass o' liquor an' rob me of a month, rather than the plagues o' China strike me dead to-morrer. Some folks have no more sense than barn-door fowls." A yellow man, more loquacious than his fellows, had attracted the attention of Sartoris. "Heh! John. What's the name of your skipper?" The Chinaman's reply was unintelligible. "I can make nothing of him," said Sartoris. But, just at that moment, the man who had described himself as the captain's servant reappeared at the side of the ship. "My man," said Summerhayes, "who's your captain?" "Cap'n Starbruck." "Starbruck!" exclaimed Sartoris. "I know him." In a moment he was half-way up the ladder. "Hi! Sartoris," roared the Pilot. "If you go aboard that vessel, you'll stay there till she's got a clean bill o' health." "I'm going to help my old shipmate," answered Sartoris from the top of the ladder. "Turn and turn about, I says. He stood by me in the West Indies, when I had Yellow Jack; and I stand by him now." As he spoke his foot was on the main-rail. He jumped into the waist of the quarantined barque, and was lost to sight. "Whew!" said the Pilot to the vessel's side. "Here's a man just saved from shipwreck, and he must plunge into a fever-den in order to be happy. I wash my hands of such foolishness. Let 'im go, let 'im go." The thin, neat doctor appeared, standing on the main-rail. He handed his bag to one of the boat's crew, and slowly descended the ladder. "An' what have you done with Sartoris?" asked the Pilot. "He's aboard," replied the doctor, "and there he stops. That's all I can say." "And what's the sickness?" "Ten men are dead, five more are down--two women, Chinese, and three men. I should call it fever, a kind of barbiers or beri-beri. But in the meanwhile, I'll take another drop of your excellent liquor." The doctor drank the Pilot's medicine in complete silence. "Let go that rope!" roared Summerhayes. "Shove her off. Up with your sail." The trim boat shot towards the sunny port of Timber Town, and Sartoris was left aboard the fever-ship. CHAPTER IX. What Looked Like Courting. On the terrace of the Pilot's house was a garden-seat, on which sat Rose Summerhayes and Scarlett. Rose was looking at her dainty shoe, the point of which protruded from beneath her skirt; while Scarlett's eyes were fixed on the magnificent panorama of mountains which stretched north and south as far as he could see. Behind the grass-covered foot-hills, at whose base crouched the little town, there stood bolder and more rugged heights. In rear of these rose the twin forest-clad tops of an enormous mountain mass, on either side of which stretched pinnacled ranges covered with primeval "bush." Scarlett was counting hill and mountain summits. His enumeration had reached twenty distinct heights, when, losing count, he turned to his companion. "It's a lovely picture to have in front of your door," he said, "a picture that never tires the eye." A break in the centre of the foot-hills suddenly attracted his attention. It was the gorge through which a rippling, sparkling river escaped from the mountain rampart and flowed through the town to the tidal waters of the harbour. "That valley will take us into the heart of the hills," he said. "We start to-morrow morning, soon after dawn--Moonlight and I. Do you know him?" The girl looked up from her shoe, and smiled. "I can't cultivate the acquaintance of every digger in the town," she replied. "Don't speak disparagingly of diggers. _I_ become one to-morrow." "Then, mind you bring me a big nugget when you come back," said the girl. "That's asking me to command good luck. Give me that, and you shall have the nugget." "Does luck go by a girl's favour? If it did, you would be sure to have it." "I never had it on the voyage out, did I?" "Perhaps you never had the other either." "That's true--I left England through lack of it." "I shouldn't have guessed that. Perhaps you'll gain it in this country." Scarlett looked at her, but her eyes were again fixed on the point of her shoe. "Well, Rosebud--flirting as usual?" Captain Summerhayes, clad in blue serge, with his peaked cap on the back of his head, came labouring up the path, and sat heavily on the garden-seat. "I never see such a gal--always with the boys when she ought to be cooking the dinner." "Father!" exclaimed Rose, flushing red, though she well knew the form that the Pilot's chaff usually took. "How _can_ you tell such fibs? You forget that Mr. Scarlett is not one of the old cronies who understand your fun." "There, there, my gal." The Pilot laid his great brown hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Don't be ruffled. Let an old sailor have his joke: it won't hurt, God bless us; it won't hurt more'n the buzzing of a blue-bottle fly. But you're that prim and proper, that staid and straight-laced, you make me tease you, just to rouse you up. Oh! them calm ones, Mr. Scarlett, beware of 'em. It takes a lot to goad 'em to it, but once their hair's on end, it's time a sailor went to sea, and a landsman took to the bush. It's simply terrible. Them mild 'uns, Mr. Scarlett, beware of 'em." "Father, do stop!" cried Rose, slapping the Pilot's broad back with her soft, white hand. "All right," said her father, shrinking from her in mock dread; "stop that hammerin'." "Tell us about the fever-ship, and what they're doing with Sartoris," said Scarlett. "Lor', she's knocked the breath out of a man's body. I'm just in dread o' me life. Sit t'other end o' the seat, gal; and do you, Mr. Scarlett, sit in between us, and keep the peace. It's fearful, this livin' alone with a dar'ter that thumps me." The old fellow chuckled internally, and threatened to explode with suppressed merriment. "Some day I shall die o' laffing," he said, as he pulled himself together. "But you was asking about Sartoris." He had now got himself well in hand. "Sartoris is like a pet monkey in a cage, along o' Chinamen, Malays, Seedee boys, and all them sort of animals. Laff? You should ha' seen me standing up in the boat, hollerin' at Sartoris, and laffin' so as I couldn't hardly keep me feet. 'Sartoris,' I says, 'when do the animals feed?' An' he looks over the rail, just like a stuffed owl in a glass case, and says nothing. I took a bottle from the boat's locker, and held it up. 'What wouldn't you give for a drop o' that!' I shouts. But he shook his fist, and said something disrespectful about port wine; but I was that roused up with the humour o' the thing, I laffed so as I had to set down. A prisoner for full four weeks, or durin' the pleasure o' the Health Officer, that's Sartoris. Lord! _what_ a trap to be caught in." "But what's the disease they've on board?" asked Scarlett. "That's where it is," replied the Pilot--"nobody seems to know. The Health Officer he says one thing, and then, first one medical and then another must put his oar in, and say it's something else--dengey fever, break-bone, spirrilum fever, beri-beri, or anything you like. One doctor says the ship shouldn't ha' bin currantined, and another says she should, and so they go on quarrelling like a lot o' cats in a sack." "But there have been deaths on board," said Rose. "Deaths, my dear? The first mate's gone, and more'n half the piebald crew. This morning we buried the Chinese cook. You won't see Sartoris, not this month or more." "Mr. Scarlett is going into the bush, father. He's not likely to be back till after the ship is out of quarantine." "Eh? What? Goin' bush-whacking? I thought you was town-bred. Well, well, so you're goin' to help chop down trees." Scarlett smiled. "You've heard of this gold that's been found, Pilot?" "I see it in the paper." "I'm going to try if I can find where it comes from." "Lord love 'ee, but you've no luck, lad. This gold-finding is just a matter o' luck, and luck goes by streaks. You're in a bad streak, just at present; and you won't never find that gold till you're out o' that streak. You can try, but you won't get it. You see, Sartoris is in the same streak--no sooner does he get wrecked than he is shut up aboard this fever-ship. And s'far as I can see, he'll get on no better till he's out o' his streak too. You be careful how you go about for the next six months or so, for as sure as you're born, if you put yourself in the way of it, you'll have some worse misfortune than any you've yet met with. Luck's like the tide--you can do nothing agin it; but when it turns, you've got everything in your favour. Wait till the tide of your luck turns, young man, before you attempt anything rash. That's my advice, and I've seen proof of it in every quarter of the globe." "Father is full of all sorts of sailor-superstitions. He hates to take a ship out of port on a Friday, and wouldn't kill an albatross for anything." "We caught three on the voyage out," said Scarlett; "a Wandering Albatross, after sighting the Cape of Good Hope, and two sooty ones near the Campbell Islands. I kept the wing-bones, and would have given you one for a pipe-stem, Captain, if the ship had reached port." "But she didn't, my lad," growled the Pilot, "and that's where the point comes in. Why sailors can't leave them birds alone astonishes me: they don't hurt nobody, and they don't molest the ship, but sail along out of pure love o' company. On the strength o' that you must kill 'em, just for a few feathers and stems for tobacco-pipes. And you got wrecked. P'r'aps you'll leave 'em alone next voyage." During the last part of the conversation, Rose had risen, and entered the house. She now returned with a small leather case in her hand. "This, at any rate, will be proof against bad luck," she said, as she undid the case, and drew out a prismatic compass. She adjusted the eye-piece, in which was a slit and a glass prism and lifted the sight-vane, down the centre of which a horsehair stretched perpendicularly to the card of the compass. Putting the instrument to her eye, Rose took the bearing of one of the twin forest-clad heights, and said, "Eighty degrees East--is that right?" "You've got the magnetic bearing," said Scarlett, taking the instrument from the girl's hand. "To find the real bearing, you must allow for the variation between the magnetic and true North." "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed; "that's too dreadfully technical. But take the compass: it should keep you from being lost in the bush, anyway." "Thank you," said Jack. "It will be very useful. It's a proper mining-compass." "I hope its needle will guide you to untold gold, and that the mine you are looking for will act on it like a loadstone." "Practical and sentimental--that's Rosebud," said the Pilot, from the further end of the seat. "And you'll always notice, Scarlett, that it's the practical that comes first with her. Once upon a time she give me a cardigan jacket to wear under my coat. She'd knitted it herself. She said it would keep me warm on frosty nights, and prevent me gettin' cold and all that; and when I gets into the boat one night, and was feeling for a match, bless you if I didn't find a piece o' paper, folded up, in the pocket o' that there cardigan jacket. I took it out and read it by the lantern. It was from my own dar'ter, jest as if I'd ha' been her sweetheart, and in it was all manner o' lovey-dovey things just fit to turn her old dad's head. Practical first, sentimental afterwards--that's Rosebud. Very practical over the makin' of an apple-pie--very sentimental over the eatin' of it, ain't you, my gal?" "I don't know about the sentiment," said Rose, "but I am sure about the pie. If that were missing at dinner-time I know who would grumble. So I'll go, and attend to my duties." She had risen, and was confronting Scarlett. "Good-bye," she said, "and good fortune." Jack took her proffered hand. "Thank you," he said. She had walked a few steps towards the house, when she looked over her shoulder. "Don't forget the nuggets," she said with a laugh. "I sha'n't forget," he replied. "If I get them, you shall have them. I hope I may get them, for _your_ sake." "Now, ain't that a wee bit mushy, for talk?" said the old Pilot, as his daughter disappeared. "You might give a gal a few pennyweights, or even an ounce, but when you say you hope you may find gold for her sake, ain't that just a trifle flabby? But don't think you can deceive my gal with talk such as that. She may be sentimental and stoopid with her old dad, but I never yet see the man she couldn't run rings round at a bargain. And as for gettin' soft on a chap, he ain't come along yet; and when he does, like as not I'll chuck him over this here bank, and break his impident neck. When my gal Rosebud takes a fancy, that's another matter. If she _should_ have a leanin' towards some partic'lar chap, why, then I'd open the door, and lug him in by the collar if he didn't come natural and responsive. I've got my own ideas about a girl marrying--I had my own experience, and I say, give a girl the choice, an' she'll make a good wife. That's my theory. So if my gal is set agin a man, I'm set agin him. If she likes a partic'lar man, I'll like him too. She won't cotton to any miserable, fish-backed beach-comber, I can promise you. So mushy, flabby talk don't count with Rose; you can make your mind clear on that point." The young man burst into a laugh. "Keep her tight, Pilot," he said, in a voice loud with merriment. "When you know you've got a good daughter, stick to her. Chuck every interloper over the bank. I should do so myself. But don't treat _me_ so when I come with the nuggets." "Now, look 'ee here," said the Pilot, as he rose cumbersomely, and took Scarlett by the arm. "I've said you're in a bad streak o' luck, and I believe it. But, mark me here: nothing would please me better than for you to return with a hatful of gold. All I say is, if you're bent on going, be careful; and, being in a bad streak, don't expect great things." "Good-bye," said Scarlett. "I'm in a bad streak? All right. When I work out of that you'll be the first man I'll come to see." "An' no one'll be gladder to see you." Captain Summerhayes took Scarlett's hand, and shook it warmly. "Good-bye," he said. "Good luck, and damn the bad streak." Jack laughed, and walked down the winding path. The Pilot stood on the bank, and looked after him. "Hearten him up: that's the way," he said to himself, as he watched the retreating figure; "but, for all that, he's like a young 'more-pork' in the bush, with all his troubles to come." CHAPTER X. Hocussed. In a small inner room in The Lucky Digger sat Benjamin Tresco and the Prospector. The goldsmith was happy. His glass was before him, between his teeth was the stem of his pipe, and in consequence his face beamed with contentment, pleasure, good humour, and indolence. The digger, on the other hand, looked serious, not to say anxious, and his manner was full of uneasiness. His glass stood untouched, his half-finished pipe had gone out, and he could not sit still, but began to pace backwards and forwards restlessly. "I've put my foot in it," he said, pulling nervously at his bushy beard. "I've quarrelled with the toffs of the town, and the best thing I can do is to make a git. I'll start for the bush to-morrer." "Now you're talking bunkum," said Tresco, as the smoke from his pipe wreathed above his head. "I know those men--two bigger rogues never breathed. They simply wanted to fleece you, and instead of that you gave 'em one in the eye. More power to you: it was immense! As for old Mr. Crewe and his crowd, they were on the make too; but they are out of court--there's no chance of them trying to renew your acquaintance. Now, what you must do is to enjoy yourself quietly, and by-and-by get back to your claim. But, for to-night, we'll have a good time--a little liquor, a quiet game of cards, a bit of a talk, and perhaps a better understanding." "To speak the blanky truth," said the digger, "you're the whitest man I've met. True, I've give myself away a bit, but you're the only man ain't tried to do the pump-handle business with me." "I'll buy all the gold you like to bring to town." "Right! Here's my fist: you shall 'ave all I git." The two men solemnly shook hands. "Drink your liquor," said Tresco. "It'll do you good." The digger drank, and re-lit his pipe. "Now, what I says is that there's men I like to put in the way of a good thing." "Same here," said Benjamin. "An' I say you've dealt honest by me, and I'll deal fair and open with you." "What I should expect," said Benjamin. "I've found a good thing--more than I could ever want myself, if I lived a hundred years. I intend to do the handsome to a few o' my pals." "I'm one." "You're one. First, I shall go back and do a bit more prospecting, and see if I can better my claim. Then I shall come to town, and let my mates into the know." "Just so." "By-and-by we'll slip out o' town, an' no man any the wiser. You can't track _me_--I'm too smart, by long chalks." Tresco's glass stood empty. "We'll drink to it," he said, and rang the little hand-bell that stood on the table. Gentle Annie entered, with that regal air common to bar-maids who rule their soggy realms absolutely. "Well, old gentleman, same old tipple, I suppose," said she to Tresco. "My dear, the usual; and see that it's out of the wood, the real Mackay. And bring in some dice." The two men sat quietly till the bar-maid returned. Tresco rattled the dice, and threw a pair of fours. "No deception," he said. "Are these the house's dice, my dear?" "They're out of the bar," replied Gentle Annie. "Are they in common use for throwing for drinks?" "What d'you take me for? D'you think I know how to load dice?" "My dear, this gentleman must know everything's square when he plays with me. When we ring again, just bring in the usual. Adieu. Au revoir. Haere ra, which is Maori. Parting is such sweet sorrow." As the bar-maid disappeared the digger placed a pile of bank-notes on the table, and Tresco looked at them with feigned astonishment. "If you think, mister, that I can set even money again that, you over-estimate my influence with my banker. A modest tenner or two is about my height. But who knows?--before the evening is far spent perhaps my capital may have increased. Besides, there are always plenty of matches for counters--a match for a pound." "What shall it be?" asked the digger. "'Kitty,'" answered Tresco. "A pound a throw, best of three." "I'm agreeable," said the digger. "Throw for first 'go,'" said Tresco. The digger nodded, took the dice, and threw "eight." The goldsmith followed with six, and said, "You go first." The Prospector put three pounds in the centre of the table beside Tresco's stake, and began to play. His highest throw was ten. Tresco's was nine, and the digger took the pool. "Well, you got me there," said the goldsmith. "We'll have another 'go.'" Again the pool was made up, and this time Tresco threw first. His highest throw was "eleven," which the digger failed to beat. "She's mine: come to me, my dear." Taking the pool, the goldsmith added, "We're quits, but should this sort of thing continue, I have a remedy--double every alternate 'Kitty.'" The game continued, with fluctuations of luck which were usually in the digger's favour. But the rattling of the dice had attracted attention in the bar, and, lured by that illusive music, four men approached the room where the gamblers sat. "No intrusion, I hope," said the leader of the gang, pushing open the door. "Come in, come in," cried Tresco, barely glancing at the newcomers, so intent was he on the game. They entered, and stood round the table: an ugly quartette. The man who had spoken was short, thick-set, with a bullet head which was bald on the top, mutton-chop whiskers, and a big lump under his left ear. The second was a neat, handsome man, with black, glittering eyes, over which the lids drooped shrewdly. The third was a young fellow with a weak face, a long, thin neck and sloping shoulders; and the fourth, a clean-shaven man of heavy build, possessed a face that would have looked at home on the shoulders of a convict. He answered to the name of Garstang. "Dolphin," said he to the man with the lump, "cut in." "No, no; let it be Carnac," said Dolphin, looking at the keen-eyed man, who replied, "I pass it on to young William." "Gor' bli' me, why to me?" exclaimed the stripling. "I never strike any luck. I hand the chanst back to you, Carny." The man with the shrewd eyes sat down at the table, on which he first placed some money. Then he said in a clear, pleasant voice: "You've no objection, I suppose, to a stranger joining you?" "Not at all, not at all," said the genial Benjamin. "If you're meanin' me"--the digger glanced at the company generally--"all I've got to say is: the man as increases the stakes is welcome." They threw, and the digger won. "That's the style," said he, as he took the pool. "That's just as it oughter be. I shout for the crowd. Name your poisons, gentlemen." He rang the bell, and Gentle Annie appeared, radiant, and supreme. She held a small tray in one hand, whilst the other, white and shapely, hung at her side. As the men named their liquors, she carefully repeated what they had ordered. When Carnac's turn came, and she said, "And yours?" the handsome gambler stretched out his arm, and, drawing her in a familiar manner towards him, said, "You see, boys, I know what's better than any liquor." In a moment Gentle Annie had pulled herself free, and was standing off from the sinister-faced man. "Phaugh!" she said with disgust, "I draw the line at spielers." "You draw the line at nothing that's got money," retorted the owner of the glittering eyes, brutally. "Gentlemen," said Gentle Annie, with a touch of real dignity in her manner, "I have your orders." And she withdrew modestly, without so much as another glance at Carnac. The play continued till her return. She handed round glasses to all but the handsome gambler. "And where's mine?" asked he. "You forgot to order it," said she. "I'll send the pot-boy to wait on _you_." In a perfectly affable manner she took the money from the uncouth digger, and then, throwing a disdainful glance at Carnac, she tossed her head defiantly, and went out. The game continued. Now Tresco's pile of money was increased, now it had dwindled to a few paltry pounds. The digger looked hot and excited as he, too, lost. Carnac, wearing a fixed, inscrutable smile, won almost every throw. The gambler's feverish madness was beginning to seize Tresco as it had already seized his friend, but at last he was stopped by lack of funds. "How much have you on you, Bill?" he asked of the Prospector. "How much have I got, eh?" said Bill, emptying his pockets of a large quantity of gold and bank-notes. "I reckon I've enough to see this little game through and lend a mate a few pounds as well." "I'll trouble you for fifty," said Tresco, who scribbled an IOU for the amount mentioned on the back of an envelope, and handed it to the digger. The man with the lump on his neck had seated himself at the table. "I think, gents, I'll stand in," said he. "You two are pals, and me and Carnac's pals. Makes things equal." He placed three pounds in the pool. "Hold on," Carnac interrupted. "I propose a rise. Make it £5 a corner--that'll form a Kitty worth winning--the game to be the total of three throws." "Consecutive?" Tresco asked. "Consecutive," said the digger. "It avoids a shindy, and is more straightfor'ard." A pool of £20 was thus made up, and the play continued. The innocent youth who answered to the name of William stood behind Tresco's chair and winked at Garstang, whose loosely-made mouth twitched with merriment. "Don't be rash, Dolly," remarked Young William to the man with the hideous neck, who held the dice box. "Think of your wife an' kids in Sydney before you make yer throw. You're spoilin' my morals." "Go outside, and grow virtuous in the passage." Dolphin made his throws, which totalled twenty-six. Tresco followed with eighteen. The digger's and Carnac's chances still remained. So lucky on the diggings, so unlucky in town, Bill the Prospector took the box with a slightly trembling hand and rattled the dice. His first throw was twelve, his second eleven. "Even money I beat you," he said to Dolphin. "Garn," replied that polite worthy. "What yer givin' us? D'you take me for a flat?" The digger threw, and his score totalled thirty. "P'r'aps, mister," he said, turning to Carnac, "you'd like to take me up. Quid to quid you don't beat me." The glittering eyes fixed themselves on the digger. "You're too generous, sir," said the gentlemanly Carnac. "Your score is hard to beat. Of course, I mean to try, but the odds are in your favour." "I'll make it two to one," said the digger. "Well, if you insist," replied Carnac, "I'll accommodate you." He placed his pound upon the table, and made his first throw--ten. "Shake 'er up, Carny," cried Young William. "I back you. No deception, gentlemen; a game which is nothing but luck." The suave gambler's next throw was eleven. "An even pound you lose, mister," said William to the digger. "Done," cried the Prospector. "Put out the money." Carnac threw twelve, said, "The little lady's mine," and took the pool. The digger handed two pounds to the winner and a pound note to Young William who, crumpling his money in his palm, said, "Oysters for supper and a bottle of fizz--there'll be no end of a spree." The monotonous round of the game continued, till Tresco's borrowed money had dwindled to but five pounds, which was enough for but one more chance with the dice. The Prospector had fared but little better. What with the money he had staked, and side bets on individual throws, his pile of money had been reduced to half. "There ain't nothin' mean about me," he said, "but I'd be obliged if some gen'leman would shout." Dolphin touched the bell, and said, "I was beginning to feel that way myself." A very undersized young man, who had plastered his black hair carefully and limped with one leg, appeared, and said in a very shrill voice, "Yes, gentlemen." "Who are you?" asked Dolphin. "I'm the actin'-barman," replied the young man, twirling the japanned tray in his hands, and drawing himself up to his full height. "I should call you the blanky rouseabout," said Dolphin. "We want the bar-maid." "Miss Quintal says she ain't comin'," said the important youth. "To tell the truth, she's a bit huffed with the 'ole lot of yer. What's your orders, gents?" He had hardly got the words out of his mouth, when Young William rushed him from the room and along the passage. Dolphin rang the bell, but no one came to the door till Young William himself reappeared. "I guess we won't have no more trouble with that lot," said he. "I jammed 'im inter a cupboard under the stairs, along with the brooms an' dustpans. 'Ere's the key. I'll take your orders meself, gentlemen." "Where's the lovely bar-maid?" asked Dolphin. "She's that took up with a gent that's got a cast in his eye and a red mustache," replied William, "that she's got no time fer this crowd. What's yours, Garstang? Look slippy. Don't keep me all night." The men named their liquors, and Young William, taking three shillings from Dolphin, returned to the bar. He was rather a long time away, and when he reappeared Carnac remarked, "You've been deuced slow over it--you'll have to be sharper than that, if you want to be waiter in a hotel, my Sweet William." "You're all very small potatoes in this room, you're no class--you're not in it with wall-eyed blokes. Here's yer drinks." He went round the table, and carefully placed each individual's glass at his elbow; and the game continued. The pool fell to Carnac, and all Tresco's money was gone. "Here's luck," said the Prospector, lifting his glass to Dolphin; and when he had drunk he put his stake in the middle of the table. Carnac rattled the dice-box. "Hello!" he said. "Kitty is short by five pounds. Who's the defaulter?" "Me, I'm afraid, gentlemen," said Tresco. "I'm cleaned out. 'Case of stone-broke." "What's this?" exclaimed the digger. "You ain't got a stiver left? Well, there ain't nothing mean about me--here y'are." He roughly divided his money, and pushed one-half across the table to Tresco. "Hear, hear!" cried Carnac, clapping his hands. "'Ere, 'ere!" echoed Sweet William. "Very 'an'some, most magnanimous." Benjamin reached out his hand for the money, and in so doing overturned his glass, which broke into shivers on the floor. "Good liquor spilt," he remarked as he counted the money and drew another IOU for the amount loaned, which was sixty-seven pounds. The play proceeded. "Here's to you," said Dolphin, as he drank to Tresco. "Better luck--you deserve it." The digger was filled with the gambler's fever. His eyes were wild, his face was hot; he drained his glass at a draught, and drummed the table with his fingers. "Neck or nothin', Tresco," he said. "Make it ten pound a corner, and let's blanky well bust or win. Win, I say--double the stakes, and see if that'll change our luck." "Anything to oblige you, gentlemen," said Carnac. "Let it be ten pounds, and you can withdraw as soon as you win your money back. It's a free country: you can have one throw, two, or any number you please. But don't say you were coerced, if you lose." Tresco answered by putting his ten pounds in the pool. The situation seemed to amuse Young William. He stood behind the goldsmith's chair, holding his sides to suppress his laughter, and making pantomimic signs to Garstang, who looked on with stolid composure and an evil smile. The players made their throws, and Carnac won the pool. "Never mind," cried the Prospector, with strong expletives. "There's my stake--let me have another shy. Game to the finish." He rose to his feet, threw his money down on the table with a bang, reeled as he stood, and sat down heavily. And so the game went on. No luck came to Tresco, and but a few pounds remained in front of him. "One more Kitty, and that finishes me," he said, as he placed his stake in the pool. As usual, he lost. "Here's seven pounds left," he cried. "Even money all round, and sudden death on a single throw." The final pool was made up. The digger threw first--a paltry seven. Dolphin followed with five. It was Tresco's turn to play next, and he threw eleven. Carnac dallied long with the dice. He was about to throw, when the Prospector rose from his seat and, swaying, caught at the suave gambler's arm for support. With a rattle the dice-box fell. Carnac uttered an oath. Before the players three dice lay upon the table. Tresco swore deep and loud, and in a moment had fastened both his hands upon the cheat's throat. Carnac struggled, the table with all its money fell with a crash, but the sinister Garstang made a swift movement, and before Tresco's face there glittered the barrel of a revolver. "Drop him," said Garstang hoarsely. "Loose hold, or you're dead." The goldsmith dropped his man, but Garstang still covered him with his weapon. "Stow the loot, William," said Dolphin, suiting the action to the word; and while the two trusty comrades filled their pockets with gold and bank-notes, Carnac slunk from the room. With a heavy lurch the digger tumbled up against the wall, and then fell heavily to the floor. "Don't give so much as a squeak," said Garstang to the goldsmith, "or you'll lie beside your mate, only much sounder." Dolphin and Young William, laden with booty, now retired with all speed, and Garstang, still covering his man, walked slowly backward to the door. He made a sudden step and was gone; the door shut with a bang; the key turned in the lock, and Benjamin Tresco was left alone with the insensible form of Bill the Prospector. "Hocussed, by Heaven!" cried the goldsmith. "Fleeced and drugged in one evening." CHAPTER XI. The Temptation of the Devil. The atmosphere of the little room at the back of Tresco's shop was redolent of frying chops. The goldsmith was cooking his breakfast. As he sneezed and coughed, and watered at the eyes, he muttered, "This is the time of all others that I feel the lack of Betsy Jane or a loving wife." There was the sound of a foot on the narrow stairs, and Jake Ruggles appeared, his hair still damp from his morning ablutions and his face as clean as his muddy complexion would permit. "'Mornin', boss." "Good morning, my lad." "Chops?" "Chops and repentance," said the goldsmith. "Whatyer givin' us?" asked Jake, indignant. "Who's takin' any repentance this morning?--not me, you bet." "There's a game called Euchre, Jake--never play it. There is likewise a game called Kitty, which is worse. You can lose more money in one night at one of these games than you can earn in six months." "Speak f'yerself," said the irreverent Jake. "I own I wasn't at a temp'rance meetin' las' night, but I was in bed long before you come home." "I was attending a sick friend," said Benjamin, dishing up the chops. "I confess I was kept out a little late." "Must 'a' bin the horrors--I hope 'e didn't die." "You are mistaken, my brilliant youth. But I own it was something not unlike it. My friend was drugged while having a friendly game of chance with men he deemed to be respectable. One of them dosed his liquor, while another rooked him with loaded dice, and what with one thing and another he was fleeced of all his cash, and was hocussed into the bargain." "An' what was _you_ doin' there?" "I? I was being rooked too, but either the drug was the wrong sort to hocuss _me_, or I overturned my glass by accident, but I escaped with the loss of a few pounds." "Hocuss yer grandmother!" Jake's ferret-like eyes looked unutterable scorn. "Your bloomin' hocuss was brandy." "The mind of Youth is perverse and foolish," said the goldsmith, as he poured out the tea. "When the voice of Experience and the voice of Wisdom say, 'Eschew cards, abjure dice, avoid men with lumps on their necks and revolvers in their pockets,' sapient Youth says, 'The old man's goin' dotty.' But we shall see. Youth's innings will come, and I bet a fiver--no, no, what am I thinking of?--I stake my honour that Youth's middle stump gets bowled first ball." Three years before Tresco had arrived in Timber Town, and had started business on borrowed money. Everything had favoured him but his own improvidence, and on the eve of what he believed to be a financial boom, he found himself in what he described as "a cleft stick." The quarter's rent was a fortnight overdue, the interest on his mortgaged stock must be paid in a few days; and in addition to this he was now saddled with a debt of honour which, if paid, would leave him in a bankrupt condition. Rising from his half-finished meal, he put on his apron, went into the workshop, and sat down at his bench. The money which he had held for satisfying the immediate calls of his creditors was squandered, and in the course of the morning he might expect a visit from his landlord, demanding payment. He might put the digger from his mind--a man drugged overnight would not trouble him next day. The thought gave him relief, and he took up his tool and began to engrave a monogram on a piece of silver. The outlines of the letters were marked in pencil, and the point of his graver deftly ploughed little furrows hither and thither, till the beauty of the design displayed itself. Jake had opened the shop and taken down the shutters. The goldsmith had lighted his pipe, and the workshop had assumed its usual air of industry, when a rapping was heard on the glass case which stood on the counter of the shop. Benjamin, glad to welcome so early a customer, rose with a beaming face, and bustled out of the workshop. Bill the Prospector stood before him. "_Good_ morning!" Tresco's greeting was effusively delivered. "I hope I see you well." "A bit thick in the head, mate," said the digger, "but not much the worse, 'cept I ain't got so much as a bean to get a breakfast with." "Come in, come in," exclaimed Benjamin, as he ushered the digger into the back room, where such chops as had escaped the voracious appetite of Jake Ruggles remained upon the table. "Sit down, my friend; eat, and be well filled," said the goldsmith. "I'll brew another pot of tea, and soon our Richard will be himself again." The dissipated digger ate half a chop and a morsel of bread and, when the tea was ready, he drank a cupful thirstily. "Try another," suggested Tresco, holding the teapot in his hand. "You're a marvel at making a recovery." The digger complied readily. "That's the style," said the goldsmith. "There's nothing like tea to counteract the effects of a little spree." "Spree!" The digger's face expressed indignation which he did not feel equal to uttering. "The spree remained with the other parties, likewise the dollars." He emptied his cup, and drew a long breath. "I reckon we struck a bit of a snag," said Benjamin, "four of 'em in a lump." "They properly cleaned me out, anyway," said the digger. "I ain't got so much as sixpence to jingle on a tombstone." He fumbled in his pockets, and at length drew out two pieces of crumpled paper. These he smoothed with his rough begrimed hands, and then placed them on the table. They were Tresco's IOUs. "I suppose you'll fix these 'ere, mate," said he. Benjamin scratched his head. "When I've squared up my hotel bill an' a few odds and ends," explained the digger, "I'll be makin' tracks." Tresco looked on this man as a veritable gold-mine, in that he had discovered one of the richest diggings in the country. To quarrel with him therefore would be calamitous: to pay him was impossible, without recourse to financial suicide. "What does it amount to?" he asked, bending over the bits of dirty paper. "H'm, £117--pretty stiff little bill to meet between 10 p.m. and 10 a.m. Suppose I let you have fifty?" The digger looked at the goldsmith in astonishment. "If I didn't want the money, I'd chuck these bits o' paper in the fire," he exclaimed. "S'fer as _I'm_ concerned the odd seventeen pound would do _me_, but it's the missis down in Otago. She _must_ 'ave a clear hundred. Women is expensive, I own, but they mustn't be let starve. So anty up like a white man." "I'll try," said Tresco. "If I was you I'd try blanky hard," said the digger. "Act honest, and I'll peg you off a claim as good as my own. Act dishonest, an' you can go to the devil." Tresco had taken off his apron, and was putting on his coat. "I've no intention of doing that," he said. "How would it be to get the police to make those spielers disgorge?--you'd be square enough then." "Do that, and I'll never speak to you again. I've no mind to be guy'd in the papers as a new chum that was bested by a set of lags." "But I tell you they had loaded dice and six-shooters." "The bigger fools we to set two minutes in their comp'ny." "What if I say they drugged you?" "I own to bein' drunk. But if you think to picture me to the public as a greenhorn that can be drugged first and robbed afterwards, you must think me a bigger fool'n I look." Tresco held his hat in his hand. "I want this yer money _now_," said the digger. "In three weeks money'll be no object to you or me, but what I lent you last night must be paid to-day." Tresco went to the door. "I'll get it if I can," he said. "Stay here till I come back, and make yourself at home. You may rely on my best endeavours." He put on his hat, and went into the street. Mr. Crookenden sat in his office. He was a tubby man, with eyes like boiled gooseberries. No one could guess from his face what manner of man he might be, whether generous or mean, hot-tempered or good-humoured, because all those marks which are supposed to delineate character were in him obliterated by adipose tissue. You had to take him as you found him. But for the rest he was a merchant who owned a lucrative business and a few small blunt-nosed steamers that traded along the coasts adjacent to Timber Town. As he sat in his office, glancing over the invoices of the wrecked _Mersey Witch_, and trying to compute the difference between the value of the cargo and the amount of its insurance, there was a knock at the door, and Benjamin Tresco entered. "How d'e do, Tresco? Take a chair," said the man of business. "The little matter of your rent, eh? That's right; pay your way, Tresco, and fortune will simply chase you. That's been _my_ experience." "Then I can only say, sir, it ain't bin mine." "But, Tresco, the reason of that is because you're so long-winded. Getting money from you is like drawing your eye-teeth. But, come, come; you're improving, you're getting accustomed to paying punctually. That's a great thing, a very great thing." "To-day," said the goldsmith, with the most deferential manner of which he was capable, "I have _not_ come to pay." "Mr. Tresco!" "But to get _you_ to pay. I want a little additional loan." "Impossible, absolutely impossible, Tresco." "Owing to losses over an unfortunate investment, I find myself in immediate need of £150. If that amount is not forthcoming, I fear my brilliant future will become clouded and your rent will remain unpaid indefinitely." The fat man laughed wheezily. "That's very good," he said. "You borrow from me to pay my rent. A very original idea, Tresco; but don't you think it would be as well as to borrow from some one else--Varnhagen, for instance?" "The Jews, Mr. Crookenden; I always try to avoid the Jews. To go to the Jews means to go to the dogs. Keep me from the hands of the Jews, I beg." "But how would you propose to repay me?" "By assiduous application to business, sir." "Indeed. Then what have you been doing all this while?" "Suffering from bad luck." The ghost of a smile flitted across Benjamin's face as he spoke. "But Varnhagen is simply swimming in money. He would gladly oblige you." "He did once, at something like 60 per cent. If I remember rightly, you took over the liability." "Did I, indeed? Do you know anything of Varnhagen's business?" "No more than I do of the Devil's." "You don't seem to like the firm of Varnhagen and Co." "I have no reason to, except that the head of it buys a trinket from me now and then, and makes me 'take it out' by ordering through him." "Just so. You would like to get even with him?" "Try me." "Are you good in a boat, Tresco?" The goldsmith seemed to think, and his cogitation made him smile. "Tolerably," he said. "I'm not exactly amphibious, but I'd float, I'd float, I believe," and he looked at his portly figure. "Are you good with an oar?" "Pretty moderate," said Tresco, trying to think which end of the boat he would face while pulling. "And you've got pluck, I hope?" "I hope," said the goldsmith. "To be plain with you, Tresco, I've need of the services of such a man as yourself, reliable, silent, staunch, and with just enough of the devil in him to make him face the music." Benjamin scratched his head, and wondered what was coming. "You want a hundred pounds," said the merchant. "A hundred and fifty badly," said the goldsmith. "We'll call it a hundred," said the merchant. "I've lost considerably over this wreck--you can understand that?" "I can." "Well, Varnhagen, who has long been a thorn in my side, and has been threatening to start a line of boats in opposition to me, has decided, I happen to hear, to take immediate advantage of my misfortune. But I'll checkmate him." "You're the man to do it." "I hold a contract for delivering mails from shore. By a curious juncture of circumstances, I have to take out the English mail to-morrow night to the _Takariwa_, and bring an English mail ashore from her. Both these mails are _via_ Sydney, and I happen to know that Varnhagen's letters ordering his boats will be in the outgoing mail, and that he is expecting correspondence referring to the matter by the incoming mail. He must get neither. Do you understand?--neither." Tresco remained silent. "You go on board my boat--it will be dark; nobody will recognise you. Furthermore I shall give you written authority to do the work. You can find your own crew, and I will pay them, through you, what you think fit. But as to the way you effect my purpose, I am to know nothing. You make your own plans, and keep them to yourself. But bring me the correspondence, and you get your money." "Make it £200. A hundred down and the balance afterwards. This is an important matter. This is no child's play." The subtle and criminal part of Benjamin's mind began to see that the affair would place his landlord and mortgagee in his power, and relieve him for evermore from financial pressure. To his peculiar conscience it was justifiable to overreach his grasping creditor, a right and proper thing to upset the shrewd Varnhagen's plans: a thought of the proposed breach of the law, statutory and moral, did not occur to his mind. "There may be some bother about the seals of the bags," said the merchant, "but we'll pray it may be rough, and in that case nothing is simpler--one bag at least can get lost, and the rest can have their seals damaged, and so on. You will go out at ten to-morrow night, and you will have pretty well till daylight to do the job. Do you understand?" Benjamin had begun to reflect. "Doesn't it mean gaol if I'm caught?" "Nonsense, man. How can you be caught? It's _I_ who take the risk. _I_ am responsible for the delivery of the mails, and if anything goes wrong it's _I_ will have to suffer. You do your little bit, and I'll see that you get off scot-free. Here's my hand on it." The merchant held out his flabby hand, and Tresco took it. "It's a bargain?" "It's a bargain," said Tresco. Crookenden reached for his cheque book, and wrote out a cheque for fifty pounds. "Take this cheque to the bank, and cash it." Tresco took the bit of signed paper, and looked at it. "Fifty?" he remarked. "I said a hundred down." "You shall have the balance when you have done the work." "And I can do it how I like, where I like, and when I like between nightfall and dawn?" "Exactly." "Then I think I can do it so that all the post office clerks in the country couldn't bowl me out." But the merchant merely nodded in response to this braggadocio--he was already giving his mind to other matters. Without another word the goldsmith left the office. He walked quickly along the street, regarding neither the garish shops nor the people he passed, and entered the doors of the Kangaroo Bank, where the Semitic clerk stood behind the counter. "How will you take it?" The words were sweet to Benjamin's ear. "Tens," he said. The bank-notes were handed to him, and he went home quickly. The digger was sitting where Tresco had left him. "There's your money," said the goldsmith, throwing the notes upon the table. The digger counted them. "That's only fifty," he said. "You shall have the balance in two days, but not an hour sooner," replied Tresco. "In the meanwhile, you can git. I'm busy." Without more ceremony, he went into his workshop. "Jake, I give you a holiday for three days," he said. "Go and see your Aunt Maria, or your Uncle Sam, or whoever you like, but don't let me see your ugly face for three solid days." The apprentice looked at his master open-mouthed. The goldsmith went to the safe which stood in a corner of the shop, and took out some silver. "Here's money," he said. "Take it. Don't come back till next Friday. Make yourself scarce; d'you hear?" "Right, boss. Anythin' else?" "Nothing. Go instanter." Jake vanished as if the fiend were after him, and Tresco seated himself at the bench. Out of a drawer immediately above the leather apron of the bench he took the wax impression of something, and a square piece of brass. "Fortune helps those who help themselves," he muttered. "When the Post Office sent me their seals to repair, I made this impression. Now we will see if I can reproduce a duplicate which shall be a facsimile, line for line." CHAPTER XII. Rock Cod and Macaroni. The small boat came alongside the pilot-shed with noise and fuss out of all proportion to the insignificance of the occasion. It was full spring-tide, and the blue sea filled the whole harbour and threatened to flood the very quay which stretched along the shore of Timber Town. In the small boat were two fishermen, the one large and fat, the other short and thick. "Stoppa, Rocka Codda!" cried the big man, who was of a very dark complexion. "You son 'a barracouta, what I tella you? Why you not stoppa ze boat?" "Stop 'er yourself, you dancin', yelpin' Dago." "You calla me Dago? I calla you square-'ead. I calla you Russian-Finna. I calla you mongrel dogga, Rocka Codda." The Pilot's crew, standing at the top of the slip, grinned broadly, and fired at the fishermen a volley of chaff which diverted the Italian's attention from his mate in the boat. "Ah-ha!" His voice sounded as shrill as a dozen clarions, and it carried half-a-mile along the quay. He sprang ashore. "Hi-ya!" It was like the yell of a hundred cannibals, but the Pilot's crew only grinned. "You ze boys. I bringa you ze flounder for tea. Heh?" In one moment the fat fisher was back in the boat, and in another he had scrambled ashore with a number of fish, strung together through the gills. Above the noise of the traffic on the quay his voice rose, piercing. "I presenta. Flounder, all aliva. I give ze fish. You giva"--with suddenness he comically lowered his voice--"tobacco, rumma--what you like." He lay the gift of flounders on the wooden stage. "Where I get him? I catcha him. Where you get ze tobacco, rumma? You catcha him. Heh?" Rock Cod, having made fast the boat, was now standing beside his mate. A sailor picked up the flounders, and, turning back the gills of one of them, said, "Fresh, eh, Macaroni?" The bulky Italian sidled up to the man. "Whata I tell you? Where I catcha him? In ze sea. Where you catcha ze tobacco? In ze sea. What you say? Heh?" He gave the sailor a dig in the ribs. By way of answer he received a push. His foot slipped on the wet boards of the stage, and into the water he fell, amid shouts of laughter. As buoyant as a cork, he soon came to the surface, and, scrambling upon the stage, he seized a barracouta from the boat, and rushed at his mate. "You laugha at me, Rocka Codda? I teacha you laugh." Taking the big fish by the tail, he belaboured his partner in business with the scaly carcase, till the long spines of the fish's back caught in the fleshy part of his victim's neck. But Rock Cod's screams only drew callous comment from his persecutor. "You laugha at your mate? I teacha you. Rocka Codda, I teacha you respecta Macaroni. Laugha now!" With a sudden jerk Rock Cod obtained his freedom, though not without additional agony. He faced his partner, with revenge in his wild eyes and curses on his tongue. But just at this moment, a stoutly-built, red-faced sailor pushed his way through the Pilot's crew, and, snatching the barracouta from the Italian, he thrust himself between the combatants. "Of all the mad-headed Dagoes that God A'mighty sent to curse this earth you, Macaroni, are the maddest. Why, man, folks can hear your yelling half the length of the quay." "Looka!" cried the Italian. "Who are you? Why you come 'ere? Rocka Codda and Macaroni fighta, but ze ginger-headed son of a cooka mus' interfere. Jesu Christo! I teacha you too. I got ze barracouta lef'." He turned to seize another fish from the bottom of the boat, but the sight of two men fighting on the slip with barracoutas for weapons might detract too much from the dignity of the Pilot's crew. The Italian was seized, and forcibly prevented from causing further strife. "D'you think I came here to save Rock Cod from spoiling your ugly face?" asked the red-haired man. "No, siree. My boss, Mr. Crookenden, sent me. He wants to see you up at his office; and I reckon there's money in it, though you deserve six months' instead, the pair of you." "Heh? Your boss wanta me? I got plenty fisha, flounder, barracuda, redda perch. Now then?" "He don't want your fish: he wants you and Rock Cod," said the red-headed man. "Georgio"--the Italian was, in a moment, nothing but politeness to the man he had termed "ginger"--"we go. Ze fisha?--I leava my boat, all my fisha, here wit' my frien's. Georgio, conducta--we follow." Accompanied by the two fishermen, the red-headed peacemaker walked up the quay. "What's the trouble with your boss?" asked Rock Cod. "What's 'e want?" "How can I tell? D'you think Mr. Crookenden consults _me_ about his business? I'm just sent to fetch you along, and along you come." "I know, I understanda," said the Italian. "He have ze new wine from Italia, my countree--he senda for Macaroni to tasta, and tell ze qualitee. You too bloody about ze neck, Rocka Codda, to come alonga me. You mus' washa, or you go to sell ze fish." "Go an' hawk the fish yourself," retorted Rock Cod. "You're full o' water as a sponge, an' there'll be a pool where you stand on the gen'leman's carpet." Wrangling thus, they made their way towards the merchant's office. While this scene was being performed at the port of Timber Town, Benjamin Tresco was in his workshop, making the duplicate of the chief postmaster's seal. With file and graver he worked, that the counterfeit might be perfect. Half-a-dozen impressions of the matrix lay before him, showing the progress his nefarious work was making towards completion. "One struggle more and I am free," muttered the goldsmith. "The English seals, I happen to know, usually arrive in a melted or broken condition. To restore them too perfectly would be to court detection--a dab of sealing-wax, impressed with a key and sat upon afterwards, will answer the purpose. But this robbing business--well, it suits my temperament, if it doesn't suit my conscience. Oh, I like doing it--my instincts point that way. But the Sunday-school training I had when a boy spoils the flavour of it. Why can't folk let a lad alone to enjoy his sins? Such a boy as I was commits 'em anyway. An' if he _must_ commit 'em and be damned for 'em, why spoil _both_ his lives--at least they might leave him alone here. But they ain't practical, these parsonic folk." He rose, and took a white, broken-lipped jug from a shelf, and drank a deep draught. "Water," he murmured. "See? Water, air, sunshine, all here for me, in common with the parson. P'r'aps I shall lack water in limbo, but so, too, may the parson--anyway he and I are on the same footing here; therefore, why should he torment me by stirring up my conscience? He has a bad time here and--we'll grant this for the sake of argument--a good time afterwards. Now, I've _got_ to have a bad time with old Safety Matches down below. Why, then, should the parson want to spoil my time here? It looks mean anyway. If I were a parson, I'd make sure I had a good time in _this_ world, and chance the rest. Sometimes I'm almost persuaded to be converted, and take the boss position in a bethel, all amongst the tea and wimmen-folk. Lor', wouldn't I preach, wouldn't I just ladle it out, and wouldn't the dears adore me?" Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the door. Instantly the spurious seals and the fraudulent matrix were swept into the drawer above the apron of the bench, and Benjamin Tresco rose, benignant, to receive his visitors. He opened the door, and there entered the red-headed sailor, who was closely followed by Rock Cod and Macaroni. Tresco drew himself up with dignity. "This is quite unexpected," he said. "The honour is great. Who do I see here but Fish-ho and his amiable mate? It is sad, gentlemen, but I'm off flounders since the Chinaman, who died aboard the barque, was buried in the bay. It is a great misfortune for Fish-ho to have dead Chinamen buried on his fishing-grounds, but such is the undoubted fact." "You need have no fear on that score, mister," said the red-headed sailor. "They've not come to sell fish. Speak up, Macaroni." "We come to tella you we come from Mr. Crookendena. We come to you accepta ze service of Rocka Codda and Macaroni." For one brief moment Tresco looked perplexed. Then his face assumed its usual complacence. "Are you in the know, too?" he asked of the seaman. "All I know is that I was told to pilot these two men to your shop. That done, I say good-day." "And the same to you," said Tresco. "Happy to have met you, sir, and I'm sorry there's nothing to offer you in the jug but water." "There's no bones broke anyway," replied the sailor as he edged towards the door. "But if you'll say when the real old stingo is on tap, I'll show you how to use the water." "Certainly," said Tresco. "Nothing will please me better. Good afternoon. Sorry you must go so soon. Take great care of yourself. Good men are scarce." As the door closed behind the sailor the goldsmith turned to the fishermen. "So you were sent to me by Mr. Crookenden?" "That's so." It was Rock Cod who answered. "He give us the price of a drink, an' says he, 'There'll be five pound each for you if you do as Mr. Tresco tells you.' We're a-waitin' orders; ain't that so, Macaroni?" "Rocka Codda spik alla right--he understanda ze Inglese. I leave-a it to him." "You are good men in a boat, I have no doubt. Very good." The goldsmith pursed his lips, and looked very important. "Mr. Crookenden has entrusted me with a mission. You row the boat--I carry out the mission. All you have to do is to bring your boat round to Mr. Crookenden's wharf at ten o'clock to-night, and the rest is simple. Your money will be paid you in the morning, in full tale, up to the handle, without fail. You understand? Five pounds a piece for a few hours' hire of your boat and services." "We catch your drift all right," said Rock Cod. "But, remember"--the goldsmith looked very serious--"mum's the word." "I have ze mum," said Macaroni. "I spik only to Rocka Codda, he spik only to me--zat alla right?" "Quite so, but be punctual. We shall go out at ten o'clock, wet or fine. Till then, adieu." "Ze same to you," said the Italian. "You ze fine fella." "Take this, and drink success to my mission." Tresco handed them a silver coin. "That part of the business is easy," remarked Rock Cod. "But as to the job you've got in hand, well, the nature o' that gets over _me_." "All you're asked to do is to row," said Tresco. "As to the rest, that lies with me and my resourcefulness. Now git." Benjamin opened the door, and pushed the fishermen out. "Remember," he said, as they departed, "if I hear a word about the matter in the bar of any hotel, our bargain is off and not a cent will you get for your pains." "Look 'ere, cap'n." Rock Cod turned suddenly round. "We passed you our word: ain't that good enough?" "My trusty friend, it is. So-long. Go, and drink my health." Without another word the fishermen went, and the goldsmith returned to put the finishing touches to his fraudulent work. CHAPTER XIII. What the Bush Robin Saw. The Bush Robin had a pale yellow breast, and his dominion extended from the waterfall, at the bottom of which lay a deep, dark, green pool, to the place where the _rimu_ tree had fallen across the creek. His life was made up of two things; hunting for big white grubs in the rotten barrels of dead trees, and looking at the yellow pebbles in the stream. This last was a habit that the wood-hen had taught him. She was the most inquisitive creature in the forest, and knew all that was going on beyond the great river, into which the creek fell, and as far away as the Inaccessible Mountains, which were the end of the world: not that she travelled far, but that all wood-hens live in league, and spend their time in enquiring into other people's business. The _tui_ and the bell-bird might sing in the tops of the tall trees, but the Bush Robin hardly ever saw them, except when they came down to drink at the creek. The pigeons might coo softly, and feed on _tawa_ berries till actually they were ready to burst, and could not fly from the trees where they had gorged themselves--as great gluttons as ever there were in Rome: but the Bush Robin hardly knew them, and never spoke to them. He was a bird of the undergrowth, a practical entomologist, with eyes for nothing but bugs, beetles, larvæ, stick-insects, and the queer yellow things in the river. Being a perfectly inoffensive bird, he objected to noise, and for that reason he eschewed the company of the kakas and paroquets who ranged the forest in flocks, and spoilt all quietude by quarrelling and screeching in the tree-tops. But for the _kakapo_, the green ground-parrot who lived in a hollow _rata_ tree and looked like a bunch of maiden-hair fern, he had great respect. This was a night-bird who interfered with no one, and knew all that went on in the forest between dark and dawn. Then there was the red deer, the newest importation into those woods. The Bush Robin never quite knew the reason of his own inquisitiveness, and the roaming deer never quite knew why the little bird took so much interest in his movements, but the fact remained that whenever the antlered autocrat came to drink at the stream, the Bush Robin would stand on a branch near by, and sing till the big buck thought the little bird's throat must crack. His thirst quenched, the red deer would be escorted by the Bush Robin to the confine of the little bird's preserve, and with a last twitter of farewell, Robin would fly back rapidly to tell the news to his mate. I had almost forgotten her. She was slightly bigger than Robin himself, and possessed a paler breast. But no one saw them together; and though they were the most devoted pair, none of the forest folk ever guessed the fact, but rather treated their tender relationship with a certain degree of scepticism. Therefore, these things having been set forth, it was not strange that the Bush Robin, having eaten a full meal of fat white grubs, should sit on a bough in the shade of a big _totara_ tree and watch, with good-natured interest begotten of the knowledge that he had dined, the movements of the world around him. The broken ground, all banks and holes and roots, was covered with dead leaves, moss, sticks, and beds of ferns, and was overgrown with supple-jacks, birch-saplings and lance-wood. On every side rose immense trees, whose dark boughs, stretching overhead, shut out the sun from the gloomy shades below. The Bush Robin, whose sense of hearing was keen and discriminating, heard a strange sound which was as new as it was interesting to him. He had heard the roaring of the stags and the screeching of the parrots, but this new sound was different from either, though somewhat like both. There it was again. He must go and see what it could mean. In a moment, he was flitting beneath the trees, threading his way through the leafy labyrinth, in the direction of the strange noise. As he alighted on a tall rock, which reared itself abruptly from the hurly-burly of broken ground, before him he saw two strange objects, the like of which he had never seen, and of which his friend the wood-hen, who travelled far and knew everything, had not so much as told him. They must be a new kind of stag, but they had no horns--yet perhaps those would grow in the spring. One had fallen down a mossy bank, and the other, who was dangling a supple-jack to assist his friend in climbing, was making the strange noise. The creature upon the ground grunted like the wild pigs, from whose rootings in the earth the Bush Robin was wont to derive immense profit in the shape of a full diet of worms; but these new animals walked on two feet, in a manner quite new to the little bird. Then the strange beings picked up from the ground queer things which the Bush Robin failed to comprehend, and trudged on through the forest. The one that led the way struck the trees with a glittering thing, which left the boles marked and scarred, and both held in their mouths sticks which gave off smoke, a thing beyond the comprehension of the little bird, and more than interesting to his diminutive mind. Here were new wonders, creatures who walked on two legs, but not as birds--the one with the beard like a goat's must be the husband of the one who had none; and both breathed from their mouths the vapour of the morning mist. The Bush Robin followed them, and when they paused to rest on the soft couch of ferns beneath a _rimu_ tree, the bird alighted on the ground and hopped close to them. "I could catch the little beggar with my hand," said one. "Don't hurt him," said the other, "he'll bring us luck." "Then give me a match--my pipe's gone out." The match was lighted, and the cloud of smoke from the re-lit pipe floated up to the boughs overhead. The Bush Robin watched the miracle, but it was the yellow flame which riveted his attention. The lighted match had been thrown away, and before the smoker could put his foot on it, the little bird darted forward, seized the white stem and, with the burning match in his beak, flitted to the nearest bough. The men laughed, and watched to see what would happen. Pleased beyond expression with his new prize, the Bush Robin held it in his beak till a fresh sensation was added to the new things he was experiencing: there was a sudden shake of his little head, the match fell, and went out. The men undid their swags and began to eat, and the Bush Robin feasted with them on white crumbs which looked, like the match-stick, as if they might be grubs, but tasted quite different. "Tucker's good," said the man with the beard, "but, I reckon, what we want is a drink." "The billy's empty," said the other--"I spilt it when I came that cropper, and nearly broke my neck." "Then there's nothing for it but to wait till we come to a stream." They rose, tied up their swags, and journeyed on; the bearded man continuing to blaze the track, the younger man following him, and the Bush Robin fluttering beside them. The creek was but a little way off. Soon the noise of its waters greeted the ears of the travellers. The thirsty men hurried in the direction of the sound, which grew louder and louder, till suddenly pushing through a tangled screen of supple-jacks and the soft, green fronds of a small forest of tree-ferns, they stood on the bank of a clear stream, which rushed noisily over a bed of grey boulders. The bearded man stooped to drink: the other dipped the billy into the water and drank, standing. The little bird had perched himself on a big rock which stood above the surface of the swirling water. "Good," said he with the beard. "There's no water like bush water." "There's that little beggar again," said the other, watching the bird upon the rock. "He's following us around. This shall be named Bush Robin Creek." "Bush Robin Creek it is," said the other. "Now take a prospect, and see if you can get a colour." The older man turned over a few boulders, and exposed the sand that lay beneath them. Half a shovelful of this he placed in a tin dish, which he half-filled with water. Then squatting on his heels, he rotated the dish with a cunning movement, which splashed little laps of water over the side and carried off the lighter particles of sand and dirt. When all the water in the dish was thus disposed of, he added more and renewed the washing process, till but a tablespoonful of the heaviest particles of grit remained at the bottom. This residue he poked over with his forefinger, peering at it nearly. Apparently he saw nothing. More water was put into the dish, and the washing process was continued till but a teaspoonful of grit remained. "We've got the colour!" he exclaimed, after closely examining this residue. His comrade knelt beside him, and looked at the "prospect." A little more washing, and at the bottom of the dish lay a dozen flakes of gold, with here and there a grain of sand. "We must go higher up," said the bearded man. "This light stuff has been carried over a bar, maybe, and the heavier gold has been left behind." Slowly and with difficulty they worked their way along the bank of the creek, till at last they came to a gorge whose rocky sides stood like mighty walls on either side. The gold-seekers were wading up to their waists in water, and the Bush Robin was fluttering round them as they moved slowly up the stream. Expecting to find the water deeper in the gorge, the man in front went carefully. The rocky sides were full of crevices and little ledges, on one of which, low down upon the water, the little Robin perched. The man reached forward and placed his hand upon the ledge on which the bird was perched; the Bush Robin fluttered overhead, and then the man gave a cry of surprise. His hand had rested on a layer of small nuggets and golden sand. "We've got it, Moonlight! There's fully a couple of ounces on this ledge alone." The bearded man splashed through the water, and looked eagerly at the gold lying just above the water-line. "My boy, where there's that much on a ledge there'll be hundreds of ounces in the creek." He rapidly pushed ahead, examining the crevices of the rock, above and below the water-line. "It's here in stacks," he exclaimed, "only waiting to be scraped out with the blade of a knife." Drawing his sheath-knife from his belt, he suited the action to the word; and standing in the water, the two men collected gold as children gather shells on the shore. And the Bush Robin watched the gold-seekers take possession of the treasured things, which he had looked upon as his own especial property; fancying that they glittered merely for his delight. CHAPTER XIV. The Robbery of the Mails. The night was pitch dark; the wind had gone to rest, and not a ripple stirred the face of the black waters. "Ahoy! there." "Comin', comin'. I've only bin waitin', this 'arf hour." The man standing at the horse's head ran round to the back of his "express"--a vehicle not unlike a square tray on four wheels--and, letting down the tail-board, pulled out a number of mail-bags. With two of these under each arm, he made his way to the wooden steps which led down to the water's edge, and the men in the boat heard the shuffling and scraping of his feet, as he felt with his boot for the topmost step; his hands being fully occupied in holding the bags. Slowly, step by step, he stumped down to the water, where willing hands took his burden and stowed it in the bottom of the boat. "Four," said the carrier. "One more lot, and that lets me out." As he reached the top of the wharf, on his return journey, the bright lamps of his express dazzled his eyes, and somebody cannoned against him at the back of the trap. "Now, then! Who're yer shovin' up agin?" "All right, my man. I'm not stealing any of the bags." The express-man recognised the voice. "Is that you, Mr. Crookenden? Beg pardon, sir." "Come, come, get the mail aboard. My men don't want to be out in the boat all night." The man carried down his last load of bags, and returned, panting. "There's only the paper to be signed," he said, "and then they can clear." "Give _me_ the form." The man handed a piece of paper to the mail-contractor. "How many bags?" "Eight." By the light of the lamps Crookenden signed the paper, and handed it back to the carrier, who mounted to his seat, and drove away. The merchant went to the edge of the wharf. "All right, down there?" "Aye, aye, sir," replied a gruff voice. "Then cast off." There was the noise of oars, and a dark object upon the waters vanished into the night. "Good-night!" "Good-night," answered the gruff voice faintly, and Crookenden turned his steps towards home. "That's all serene," said the owner of the gruff voice, whose modulations had suddenly assumed their accustomed timbre--the rather rasping articulation of the goldsmith. "Couldn't have fallen out better if I'd arranged it myself. Lay to! belay! you lazy lubbers, forrard--or whatever is the correct nautical expression to make her jump. Put your backs into it, and there'll be five pounds apiece for you in the morning." "Alla right, boss; we ze boys to pulla. Rocka Codda, you asleep zere?--you maka Macaroni do alla ze work." "Pull yerself, you lazy Dago. Anyone w'd think you was rowing the bloomin' boat by yourself. Why, man, I'm pulling you round every dozen strokes. The skipper, aft there, is steerin' all he knows agin me." The truth was that Benjamin's manipulation of the tiller was extraordinary and erratic, and it was not until the boat was well past the wharves that he mastered its mysteries. The tide was ebbing, and when the boat was in the stream her speed doubled, and there was no need for using the oars. Swiftly and silently she drifted past the lights on the quay and the ghostly houses which stood beside the water. The Pilot's system of beacons was so perfect that with their aid a tyro such as Tresco found no difficulty in steering his course out of the harbour. Outside in the bay, the lights of two vessels could be seen: those of the plague-ship and of the steamer which, unable to get into the port in the teeth of the tide, was waiting for the mails. But Tresco pointed his boat's nose straight for the long beach which fringed the end of the bay. The rowers had seen the mail-bags put aboard the boat, and they now wondered why they did not go straight to the steamer. "Hi! boss. The mail-steamer lies to starboard: that's her lights behind the barque's." "Right, my man," replied Tresco; "but I have a little business ashore here, before we pull out to her." The boat was now nearing the beach. As soon as her keel touched the sand, Tresco jumped into the water and, ordering the fishermen to do the same, the boat was quickly pulled high and dry. "Take out the bags," commanded the pseudo-skipper. The men demurred. "Why you do this? Santa Maria! is alla these mail go back to town?" "_There's_ the steamer--_out there_!" exclaimed Rock Cod. "A man'd think----" But he was cut short. "You saw Mr. Crookenden put the bags aboard. He's the contractor--I'm only acting under his instructions. Do you wish to remain fishermen all your lives, or would you rather die rich?" "We know the value of dollars, you may bet that," answered Rock Cod. "Then lend a hand and get these bags ashore. And you, Macaroni, collect driftwood for a fire." When the mail-bags were all landed, Benjamin took a lantern from the boat, lit it, and walked up the beach to where the fishermen stood, nonplussed and wondering. "Your feet must be wet, Macaroni." "_Si, signor._" "Wet feet are bad, not to say dangerous. Go down to the boat, and you'll find a bottle of rum and a pannikin. Bring them here, and we'll have a dram all round." Tresco placed the lantern on the sand, and waited. "You see, Rock Cod, there are some things in this world that cut both ways. To do a great good we must do a little wrong--that's not quite my own phrase, though it expresses my sentiments--but in anything you do, never do it by halves." "I ain't 'ad no schoolin' meself," answered the fisherman. "I don't take much account of books; but when there's a drop o' rum handy, I'm with you." The Italian came up the beach with the liquor. "Here's what'll put us all in good nick," said Tresco, as he drew the cork of the bottle, and poured some of the spirit into the pannikin. "Here's luck," and he drank his dram at a draught. He generously replenished the cup, and handed it to Rock Cod. "Well, cap'n," said that puzzled barnacle, "there's things I don't understand, but here's fun." He took his liquor at a gulp, and passed the pannikin to his mate. It took the Italian no time to catch the drift that matters were taking. "You expecta make me drunk, eh, signor? You steala ze mail an' carry him away, eh? Alla right, you try." "Now, look here," said Tresco; "it's this way. These bags want re-sorting--and I'm going to do it. If in the sorting I come across anything of importance, that's _my_ business. If, on the other hand, you happen across anything that you require, but which seems thrown away on other folks, that's _your_ business. If you don't like the bargain, you can both go and sit in the boat." Neither man moved. It was evident that Crookenden had chosen his tools circumspectly. "Very good," said Tresco, "you have the run of your fingers over this mail when I have re-sorted it, provided you keep your heads shut when you get back to town. Is it a bargain?" He held out his hand. Rock Cod was the first to take it. He said:-- "It's a bargain, boss." Macaroni followed suit. "Alla right," he said. "I reef in alonga you an' Rocka Codda. I no spik." So the compact was made. Seizing the nearest bag, Tresco cut its fastenings, and emptied its contents on the sand. "Now, as I pass them over to you," said he, seating himself beside the heap of letters, "you can open such as you think were meant for you, but got misdirected by mistake to persons of no account. But burn 'em afterwards." He put a match to the driftwood collected by the Italian. "Those that don't interest you, gentlemen, be good enough to put back into the bag." His hands were quick, his eyes were quicker. He knew well what to look for. As he glanced at the letters, he threw them over to his accomplices, till in a short time there was in front of them a bigger pile of correspondence than had been delivered to them previously in the course of their conjoint lives. The goldsmith seldom opened a letter, and then only when he was in doubt as to whether or not it was posted by the Jewish merchant. The fishermen opened at random the missives in front of them, in the hope of finding they knew not what, but always in disappointment and disgust. At length, however, the Italian gave a cry of joy. "I have heem. Whata zat, Rocka Codda?" He held a bank-note before his mate's eyes. "Zat five pound, my boy. Soon I get some more, eh? Alla right." Tresco put a letter into the breast-pocket of his coat. It's envelope bore on its back the printed legend, "Joseph Varnhagen, General Merchant, Timber Town." So the ransacking of the outgoing mail went forward. Now another bag was opened, but, as it contained nothing else but newspapers and small packages, the goldsmith desired to leave it intact. But not so his accomplices. They therein saw the chief source of their payment. Insisting on their right under the bargain, the sand in front of them was soon strewn with litter. Tresco, in the meantime, had directed his attention to another bag, which contained nothing but correspondence, and evidently he had found what he was most earnestly in search of, for he frequently expressed his delight as he happened across some document which he thrust into his bosom. In this way the mail was soon rummaged, and without waiting for the other two men to finish their search, the goldsmith began to reseal the bags. First, he took from his pocket the counterfeit matrix which had cost him so much labour to fashion. Next, he took some string, similar to that which he had previously cut, and with it he retied the necks of the bags he had opened. With the help of a lighted match, he covered the knotted strings, first of one bag and then of another, with melted sealing-wax, which he impressed with the counterfeit seal. His companions watched the process with such interest that, forgetting for a time their search amongst the chattels of other people, they gave their whole attention to the process of resealing the bags. "Very 'andy with his fingers, ain't 'e, Macaroni?--even if 'e _is_ a bit un'andy in a boat." Confederacy in crime had bred a familiarity which brought the goldsmith down to the level of his co-operators. All the bags were now sealed up, excepting the one which the fishermen had last ravaged, and the contents of which lay scattered on the sand. "This one will be considerably smaller than it useter was," remarked Tresco, as he replaced the unopened packets in the bag. "Hi! stoppa!" cried Macaroni, "Rocka Codda an' me wanta finish him." "And leave me to hand in an empty bag? Most sapient Macaroni, under your own guidance you would not keep out of gaol a fortnight: Nature did not equip you for a career in crime." Tresco deftly sealed up the last bag, and then said, "Chuck all the odds and ends into the fire, and be careful not to leave a scrap unburned: then we will drink to our continued success." The fire blazed up fiercely as the torn packages, envelopes, and letters were thrown upon its embers. The goldsmith groped about, and examined the sand for the least vestige of paper which might form a clue to their crime, but when he was satisfied that everything had been picked up, he returned to the fire, and watched the bright flames as they leapt heavenwards. His comrades were dividing their spoil. "I think, boss," said Rock Cod, "the best of the catch must ha' fell to your share: me and my mate don't seem to have mor'n ten pound between us, not countin' truck worth p'r'aps another five." "So far as _I_ am concerned, my man,"--Tresco used the unction of tone and the dignity of manner that he loved so well--"I am but an agent. _I_ take nothing except a few letters, some of which I have not even opened." The Italian burst out laughing. "You ze boss? You conducta ze holy show, eh? Alla right. But you take nuzzing. Rocka Codda an' Macaroni get ten pound, fifteen pound; an' you get nuzzing." "Information is what I get," said Tresco. "But, then, information is the soul of business. Information is sometimes more valuable than a gold-mine. Therefore, in getting, get information: it will help you to untold wealth. My object, you see, is knowledge, for which I hunger and thirst. I search for it by night as well as by day. Therefore, gentlemen, before we quit the scene of our midnight labours, let us drink to the acquisition of knowledge." Rock Cod and Macaroni did not know what he meant, but they drank rum from the pannikin with the greatest good-will. After which, Benjamin scattered the embers of the fire, which quickly died out, and then the three men shoved the boat off and pulled towards the lights of the steamer. On board the barque Captain Sartoris paced the poop-deck in solitude. Bored to death with the monotony of life in quarantine, the smallest event was to him a matter of interest. He had marked the fire on the beach, and had even noticed the figures which had moved about it. How many men there were he could not tell, but after the fire went out, and a boat passed to starboard of the barque and made for the steamer which lay outside her, he remarked to himself that it was very late at night for a boat to be pulling from the shore. But at that moment a head was put out of the companion, and a voice called him in pidgin English to go down. He went below, and stood beside the sick captain, whose mind was wandering, and whose spirit was restless in its lodging. He watched the gasping form, and marked the nervous fingers as they clutched at the counterpane as hour after hour went by, till just as the dawn was breaking a quietness stole over the attenuated form, and with a slight tremour the spirit broke from its imprisonment, and death lay before Sartoris in the bunk. Then he went on deck, and breathed the pure air of the morning. CHAPTER XV. Dealing Mostly with Money. Pilot Summerhayes stood in his garden, with that look on his face which a guilty schoolboy wears when the eye of his master is upon him. In his hand he held a letter, at which he glanced furtively, as if he feared to be caught in the act of reading, although the only eyes that possibly could have detected him were those of two sparrows that were discussing the purple berries of the Portuguese laurel which grew near by. "'I enclose the usual half-yearly allowance of £250.'" The Pilot was reading from the letter. "Damnation take him and his allowance!" ejaculated the irascible old sailor, which was a strange anathema to hurl at the giver of so substantial a sum of money. "I suppose he thinks to make me beholden to him: I suppose he thinks me as poor as a church-rat, and, therefore, I'm to be thankful for mercies received--_his_ mercies--and say what a benefactor he is, what a generous brother. Bah! it makes me sicker than ever to think of him." He glanced at the letter, and read, "'Hoping that this small sum is sufficient for yourself and my very dear niece, to whom I ask to be most kindly remembered, I remain your affectionate brother, Silas Summerhayes.'" A most brotherly epistle, containing filial expressions, and indicating a bountiful spirit; and yet upon reading it the Pilot swore deep and dreadful oaths which cannot be recorded. Every six months, for at least fifteen years, he had received a similar letter, expressing in the same affectionate terms the love of his brother Silas, which was accentuated by a like draft for £250, and yet the Pilot had persistently cursed the receipt of each letter. There was a footstep on the verandah behind him. With a start the old man thrust the epistle and draft into his pocket, and stood, with a look on his face as black as thunder, confronting almost defiantly his charming daughter. "Have you got your letters, father? I heard the postman's knock." As she spoke, Rose looked rather anxiously at her frowning parent. "Good news, I hope--the English mail arrived last night." "I daresay it did, my gal," growled the Pilot. "But I don't see what you and me have to do with England, seeing we've quit it these fifteen years." "But we were born there! Surely people should think affectionately of their native country." "But we won't die there, please God--at least, _I_ won't, if I can help it. You'll not need to, I hope. We're colonials: _this_ is our country." The girl turned to go indoors, but, a sudden impulse seizing her, she put her arms around the old man's neck, and kissed his weather-beaten cheek. "What's been troubling you, father? _I'll_ drive the worry away." She held his rough hand in hers, and waited for him to speak. "You're a good gal, Rosebud; you're a great comfort. But, Lord bless me, you're as sensitive as a young fawn. There's nothing the matter with _me_, except when now and again I get a fit of the blues; but you've drove 'em away, da'rter; you've drove 'em clean away. Now, just you run in and attend to your house; and leave me to go into town, where I've a bit of business to attend to--there's a good gal." He kissed his daughter's smooth, white forehead, and she ran indoors, smiling and happy. The Pilot resettled the peaked cap on his head, stumped down the garden-path, and passed out of his gate and along the road. His steps led him to the main street of the town, where he entered the Kangaroo Bank, the glass doors of which swung noiselessly behind him, and he stood in front of the exquisite clerk of Semitic origin, who dealt out and received over the broad counter the enormous wealth of the opulent institution. "Good morning, Captain Summerhayes." "'Mornin'," said the Pilot, as he fumbled in the inside pocket of his coat. At length he drew out the draft and handed it to the clerk, who turned it over, and said, "Please endorse it." The old sailor took a pen, and with infinite care wrote his name on the back of the document. When the clerk was satisfied that everything was in order, he said, "Two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. How will you take it, Captain?" "_I_ don't want to take it," answered the Pilot gruffly. "I'll put it along with the other." "You wish to deposit it?" said the clerk. "Certainly. You'll need a form." He drew a printed slip from a box on the counter, and filled it in. "Sign here, please," he said, indicating with his finger the place of signature. "No, no," said the old man, evidently annoyed. "You've made it out in _my_ name. It should be in my da'rter's, like all the rest have been." The clerk made the necessary alteration, and the Pilot signed. "If you call in this afternoon, I'll give you the deposit receipt," said the clerk. "Now, really, young man, an't that a bit slow? D'you think I've got nothing better to do than to dodge up and down from the port, waitin' for your precious receipts?" The clerk looked surprised that anyone should question his dictum for one moment, but he immediately handed the signed form to a neighbouring clerk for transmission to the manager, or to some functionary only one degree less omnipotent. "And while we're waiting," said the Pilot, "I'd be much obliged if you'd show me the book where you keep the record of all the monies I've put into your bank." The clerk conferred with another clerk, who went off somewhere and returned with a heavy tome, which he placed with a bang on the counter. The Jew turned over the broad leaves with a great rustling. "This inspection of our books is purely optional with us, Captain, but with an old customer like yourself we waive our prerogative." "Very han'some of you, very han'some indeed. How does she stand?" The clerk ran his fingers down a long column of figures, and said, "There are a number of deposits in Miss Rose's name. Shall I read the amounts?" "I've got the receipts in my strong-box. All I want is the total." "Ten thousand, five hundred pounds," said the clerk. "And there's this here new lot," said the Pilot. "Ten thousand, seven hundred and fifty altogether." The Pilot drew the heavy account book towards him, and verified the clerk's statements. Then he made a note of the sum total, and said, "I'll take that last receipt now, if it's ready." The clerk reached over to a table, where the paper had been placed by a fellow clerk, and handed it to the gruff old sailor. "Thank you," said Pilot Summerhayes. "Now I can verify the whole caboodle at my leisure, though I hate figures as the devil hates holy water." He placed the receipt in his inside pocket and buttoned up his coat. "Good-day," he said, as he turned to go. "I wish you good morning, Captain." The Pilot glanced back; his face wearing a look of amusement, as though he thought the clerk's effusiveness was too good to be true. Then he nodded, gave a little chuckle, and walked out through the swinging, glass doors. The Jew watched the bulky sailor as he moved slowly, like a ship leaving port in heavy weather, with many a lurch and much tacking against an adverse wind. By the expression on the Semitic face you might have thought that Isaac Zahn was beholding some new and interesting object of natural history, instead of a ponderous and grumpy old sailor, who seemed to doubt somewhat the _bona fides_ of the Kangaroo Bank. But the truth was that the young man was dazzled by the personality of one who might command such wealth; it had suddenly dawned on his calculating mind that a large sum of money was standing in the name of Rose Summerhayes; he realised with the clearness of a revelation that there were other fish than Rachel Varnhagen in the sea of matrimony. The witching hour of lunch was near at hand. Isaac glanced at the clock, the hands of which pointed to five minutes to twelve. As soon as the clock above the Post Office sounded the hour, he left the counter, which was immediately occupied by another clerk, and going to a little room in the rear of the big building, he titivated his person before a small looking-glass that hung on the wall, and then, putting on his immaculate hat, he turned his back upon the cares of business for one hour. His steps led him not in the direction of his victuals, but towards the warehouse of Joseph Varnhagen. There was no hurry in his gait; he sauntered down the street, his eyes observing everything, and with a look of patronising good humour on his dark face, as though he would say, "Really, you people are most amusing. Your style's awful, but I put up with it because you know no better." He reached the door of Varnhagen's store in precisely the same frame of mind. The grimy, match-lined walls of the merchant's untidy office, the litter of odds and ends upon the floor, the antiquated safe which stood in one corner, all aroused his pity and contempt. The old Jew came waddling from the back of the store, his body ovoid, his bald head perspiring with the exertion he had put himself to in moving a chest of tea. "Well, my noble, vat you want to-day?" he asked, as he waddled to his office-table, and placed upon it a packet of tea, intended for a sample. "I just looked round to see how you were bobbing up." "Bobbin' up, vas it? I don't bob up much better for seein' _you_. Good cracious! I vas almost dead, with Packett ill with fever or sometings from that ship outside, and me doin' all his vork and mine as well. Don't stand round in my vay, ven you see I'm pizzy!" Young Isaac leisurely took a seat by the safe, lighted a cigarette, and looked on amusedly at the merchant's flurry. "You try to do too much," he said. "You're too anxious to save wages. What you want is a partner to keep your books, a young man with energy who will look after your interests--and his own. You're just wearing yourself to skin and bone; soon you'll go into a decline, and drop off the hooks." "Eh? Vat? A decline you call it? Me? Do I look like it?" The fat little man stood upright, and patted his rotund person. "It's the wear and tear of mind that I fear will be fatal to you. You have brain-tire written large over every feature. I think you ought to see a doctor and get a nerve tonic. This fear of dying a pauper is rapidly killing you, and who then will fill your shoes?" "My poy, there is one thing certain--_you_ won't. I got too much sense. I know a smart feller when I see him, and _you're_ altogetter too slow to please _me_." "The really energetic man is the one who works with his brains, and leaves others to work with their hands." "Oh! that's it, eh? Qvite a young Solomon! Vell, _I_ do both." "And you lose money in consequence." "I losing money?" "Yes, _you_. You're dropping behind fast. Crookenden and Co. are outstripping you in every line." "Perhaps you see my books. Perhaps you see theirs." "I see their accounts at the bank. I know what their turn-over is; I know yours. You're not in it." "But they lose their cargo--the ship goes down." "But they get the insurance, and send forward new orders and make arrangements with us for the consignors to draw on them. Why, they're running rings round you." "Vell, how can I help it? My mail never come--I don't know vat my beobles are doing. But I send orders, too." "For how much?" "Dat's _my_ pizz'ness." "And _this_ is mine." The clerk took a sheet of paper from his pocket. "_I_ don't want to know your pizz'ness." "But you'd like to know C. and Co.'s." "Qvite right. But _you_ know it--perhaps you know the Devil's pizz'ness, too." Young Zahn laughed. "I wish I did," he said. "Vell, young mans, you're getting pretty near it; you're getting on that vay." "That's why it would be wise to take me into _your_ business." "I dare say; but all you vant is to marry my taughter Rachel." "I want to marry her, that's true, but there are plenty of fish in the sea." "And there are plenty other pizz'ness besides mine. You haf my answer." The bank-clerk got up. "What I propose is for your good as well as mine. _I_ don't want to ruin you; I want to see you prosper." "_You_ ruin me? How do you do that? If I change my bank, how do _you_ affect me?" "But you would have to pay off your overdraft first." "That vill be ven the manager pleases--but as for his puppy clerk, dressed like a voman's tailor, get out of this!" The young man stood, smiling, by the door; but old Varnhagen, enacting again the little drama of Luther and the Devil, hurled the big office ink-pot at the scheming Isaac with full force. The clerk ducked his head and ran, but the missile had struck him under the chin, and his immaculate person was bespattered from shirt-collar to mouse-coloured spats with violet copying-ink. In this deplorable state he was forced to pass through the streets, a spectacle for tittering shop-girls and laughing tradesmen, that he might gain the seclusion of his single room, which lay somewhere in the back premises of the Kangaroo Bank. CHAPTER XVI. The Wages of Sin. As Pilot Summerhayes turned up the street, after having deposited his money, he might well have passed the goldsmith, hurrying towards the warehouse of Crookenden and Co. to receive the wages of his sin. In Tresco's pocket was the intercepted correspondence, upon his face was a look of happiness and self-contentment. He walked boldly into the warehouse where, in a big office, glazed, partitioned, and ramparted with a mighty counter, was a small army of clerks, who, loyal to their master, stood ready to pillage the goldsmith of every halfpenny he possessed. But, with his blandest smile, Benjamin asked one of these formidable mercenaries whether Mr. Crookenden was within. He was ushered immediately into the presence of that great personage, before whom the conducting clerk was but as a crushed worm; and there, with a self-possession truly remarkable, the goldsmith seated himself in a comfortable chair and beamed cherubically at the merchant, though in his sinful heart he felt much as if he were a cross between a pirate and a forger. "Ah! you have brought my papers?" said the merchant. "I've brought _my_ papers," said the goldsmith, still smiling. Crookenden chuckled. "Yes, yes," he said, "quite right, quite right. They are yours till you are paid for them. Let me see: I gave you £50 in advance--there's another £50 to follow, and then we are quits." "Another hundred-and-fifty," said Tresco. "Eh? What? How's that? We said a hundred, all told." "Two hundred," said Tresco. "No, no, sir. I tell you it was a hundred." "All right," said Tresco, "I shall retain possession of the letters, which I can post by the next mail or return to Mr. Varnhagen, just as I think fit." The merchant rose in his chair, and glared at the goldsmith. "What!" cried Tresco. "You'll turn dog? Complete your part of the bargain. Do you think I've put my head into a noose on your account for _nothing_? D'you think I went out last night because I loved you? No, sir, I want my money. I happen to need money. I've half a mind to make it two-hundred-and-fifty; and I would, if I hadn't that honour which is said to exist among thieves. We'll say one-hundred-and-fifty, and cry quits." "Do you think you have me in your hands?" "I don't _think_," replied the cunning goldsmith. "I _know_ I've got you. But I'll be magnanimous--I'll take £150. No, £160--I must pay the boatmen--and then I'll say no more about the affair. It shall be buried in the oblivion of my breast, it shall be forgotten with the sins of my youth. I must ask you to be quick." "Quick?" "Yes, as quick as you conveniently can." "Would you order me about, sir?" "Not exactly that, but I would urge you on a little faster. I would persuade you with the inevitable spur of fate." The merchant put his hand on a bell which stood upon his table. "That would be of no use," said Benjamin. "If you call fifty clerks and forcibly rob me of my correspondence, you gain nothing. Listen! Every clerk in this building would turn against you the moment he knew your true character; and before morning, every man, woman and child in Timber Town would know. And where would you be then? In gaol. D'you hear?--in gaol. Take up your pen. An insignificant difference of a paltry hundred pounds will solve the difficulty and give you all the comfort of a quiet mind." "But what guarantee have I that after you have been paid you won't continue to blackmail me?" "You cannot possibly have such a guarantee--it wouldn't be good for you. This business is going to chasten your soul, and make you mend your ways. It comes as a blessing in disguise. But so long as you don't refer to the matter, after you have paid me what you owe me, I shall bury the hatchet. I simply give you my word for that. If you don't care to take it, leave it: it makes no difference to me." The fat little merchant fiddled nervously with the writing materials in front of him, and his hesitation seemed to have a most irritating effect upon the goldsmith, who rose from his chair, took his watch from his pocket, and walked to and fro. "It's too much, too much," petulantly reiterated Mr. Crookenden. "It's not worth it, not the half of it." "That's not _my_ affair," retorted Tresco. "The bargain was for £200. I want the balance due." "But how do I know you have the letters?" whined the merchant. "Tut, tut! I'm surprised to hear such foolishness from an educated man. What you want will be forthcoming when you've drawn the cheque--take my word for that. But I'm tired of pottering round here." The goldsmith glanced at his watch. "I give you two minutes in which to decide. If you can't make up your mind, well, that's your funeral. At the end of that time I double the price of the letters, and if you want them at the new figure then you can come and ask for them." He held his watch in his hand, and marked the fleeting moments. The merchant sat, staring stonily at the table in front of him. The brief moments soon passed; Tresco shut his watch with a click, and returned it to his pocket. "Now," he said, taking up his hat, "I'll wish you good morning." He was half-way to the door, when Crookenden cried, "Stop!" and reached for a pen, which he dipped in the ink. "He, he!" he sniggered, "it's all right, Tresco--I only wanted to test you. You shall have the money. I can see you're a staunch man such as I can depend on." He rose suddenly, and went to the big safe which stood against the wall, and from it he took a cash-box, which he placed on the table. "Upon consideration," he said, "I have decided to pay you in cash--it's far safer for both parties." He counted out a number of bank notes, which he handed to the goldsmith. Tresco put down his hat, put on his spectacles, and counted the money. "Ten tens are a hundred, ten fives are fifty, ten ones are ten," he said. "Perfectly correct." He put his hand into the inner pocket of his coat, and drew out a packet, which was tied roughly with a piece of coarse string. "And here are the letters," he added, as he placed them on the table. Then he put the money into his pocket. Crookenden opened the packet, and glanced at the letters. Tresco had picked up his hat. "I am satisfied," said the merchant. "Evidently you are a man of resource. But don't forget that in this matter we are dependent upon each other. I rely thoroughly on you, Tresco, thoroughly. Let us forget the little piece of play-acting of a few minutes ago. Let us be friends, I might say comrades." "Certainly, sir. I do so with pleasure." "But for the future," continued Crookenden, "we had better not appear too friendly in public, not for six months or so." "Certainly not, not too friendly in public," Benjamin smiled his blandest, "not for at least six months. But any communication sent me by post will be sure to find me, unless it is intercepted by some unscrupulous person. For six months, Mr. Crookenden, I bid you adieu." The merchant sniggered again, and Benjamin walked out of the room. Then Crookenden rang his bell. To the clerk who answered it, he said: "You saw that man go out of my office, Mr. Smithers?" "Yes, sir." "If ever he comes again to see me, tell him I'm engaged, or not in. I won't see him--he's a bad stamp of man, a most ungrateful man, a man I should be sorry to have any dealings with, a man who is likely to get into serious trouble before he is done, a man whom I advise all my young men to steer clear of, one of the most unsatisfactory men it has been my misfortune to meet." "Yes, sir." "That's all, Mr. Smithers," said the head of the firm. "I like my young men to be kept from questionable associates; I like them to have the benefit of my experience. I shall do my best to preserve them from the evil influence of such persons as the man I have referred to. That will do. You may go, Mr. Smithers." Meanwhile, Benjamin Tresco was striding down the street in the direction of his shop; his speed accelerated by a wicked feeling of triumph, and his face beaming with an acute appreciation of the ridiculous scene in which he had played so prominent a part. "Hi-yi!" he exclaimed exultingly, as he burst into the little room at the back of his shop, where the Prospector was waiting for him, "the man with whips of money would outwit Benjamin, and the man with the money-bags was forced to shell out. Bill, my most esteemed pal, the rich man would rob the poor, but that poor man was Benjamin, your redoubtable friend Benjamin Tresco, and the man who was dripping with gold got, metaphorically speaking, biffed on the boko. Observe, my esteemed and trusty pal, observe the proceeds of my cunning." He threw the whole of his money on the table. "Help yourself," he cried. "Take as much as you please: all I ask is the sum of ten pounds to settle a little account which will be very pressing this evening at eight o'clock, when a gentleman named Rock Cod and his estimable mate, Macaroni Joe, are dead sure to roll up, expectant." The digger, who, in spite of his return to the regions of civilisation, retained his wildly hirsute appearance, slowly counted the notes. "I make it a hundred-and-sixty," he said. "That's right," said Tresco: "there's sixty-seven for you, and the balance for me." Bill took out the two IOUs, and placed them on the table. They totalled £117, of which Benjamin had paid £50. "I guess," said the Prospector, "that sixty-seven'll square it." He carefully counted out that sum, and put it in his pocket. Benjamin counted the balance, and made a mental calculation. "Ninety-three pounds," he said, "and ten of that goes to my respectable friends, Rock Cod and Macaroni. That leaves me the enormous sum of eighty-three pounds. After tearing round the town for three solid days, raising the wind for all I'm worth and almost breaking my credit, this is all I possess. That's what comes of going out to spend a quiet evening in the company of Fortunatus Bill; that's what comes of backing my luck against ruffians with loaded dice and lumps on their necks." "Have you seen them devils since?" asked the Prospector. "I've been far too busy scrapin' together this bit of cash to take notice of folks," said Benjamin, as he tore up the IOUs and threw them into the fireplace. "It's no good crying over spilt milk or money lost at play. The thing is for you to go back to the bush, and make good your promise." "I'm going to-morrow mornin'. I've got the missus's money, which I'll send by draft, and then I'll go and square up my bill at the hotel." "And then," said Benjamin, "fetch your swag, and bunk here to-night. It'll be a most convenient plan." "We're mates," said the Prospector. "You've stood by me and done the 'an'some, an' I'll stand by you and return the compliment. An' it's my hope we'll both be rich men before many weeks are out." "That's so," said Benjamin. "Your hand on it." The digger held out his horny, begrimed paw, which the goldsmith grasped with a solemnity befitting the occasion. "You'll need a miner's right," said the digger. "I've got one," said Tresco. "Number 76032, all in order, entitling me to the richest claim in this country." "I'll see, mate, that it's as rich as my own, and that's saying a wonderful deal." "Damme, I'll come with you straight away!" "Right, mate; come along." "We'll start before dawn." "Before dawn." "I'll shut the shop, and prospect along with you." "That's the way of it. You an' me'll be mates right through; and we'll paint this town red for a week when we've made our pile." "Jake! Drat that boy; where is he? Jake, come here." The shock-headed youth came running from the back yard, where he was chopping wood. "Me and this gentleman," said his master, "are going for a little excursion. We start to-morrow morning. See? I was thinking of closing the shop, but I've decided to leave you in charge till I return." The lad stood with his hands in his pockets, and blew a long, shrill whistle. "Of all the tight corners I was ever in," he said, "this takes the cake. I'll want a rise in wages--look at the responsibility, boss." The goldsmith laughed. "All right," he said. "You shall have ten shillings a week extra while I'm away; and if we have luck, Jake, I'll make it a pound." "Right-oh! I'll take all the responsibility that comes along. I'll get fat on it. And when you come back, you'll find the business doubled, and the reputation of B. Tresco increased. It'll probably end in you taking me in as partner--but _I_ don't care: it's all the same to _me_." The goldsmith made an attempt to box the boy's ear, but Jake dodged his blow. "That's your game, is it?" exclaimed the young rogue. "Bash me about, will you? All right--I'll set up in opposition!" He didn't wait for the result of this remark, but with a sudden dart he passed like a streak of lightning through the doorway, and fled into the street. CHAPTER XVII. Rachel's Wiles. Rachel Varnhagen walked down the main street of Timber Town, with the same bustling gait, the same radiant face, the same air of possessing the whole earth, as when the reader first met her. As she passed the Kangaroo Bank she paused, and peered through the glass doors; but, receiving no responsive glance from the immaculately attired Isaac, who stood at the counter counting out his money, she continued her way towards her father's place of business, where she found the rotund merchant in a most unusual state of excitement. "Now, vat you come bothering me this morning, Rachel? Can't you see I'm pizzy?" "I want a cheque, father." "You get no cheque from me this morning, my child. I've got poor all of a sudden. I've got no cheques for nopody." "But I have to get things for the house. We want a new gourmet boiler--you know you won't touch currie made in a frying-pan--a steamer for potatoes, and half-a-dozen table-knives." "Don't we haff no credit? What goot is my name, if you can't get stew-pans without money? Here I am, with no invoices, my orders ignored as if I was a pauper, and my whole piz'ness at a standstill. Not one single letter do I get, not one. I want a hundred thousand things. I send my orders months and months ago, and I get no reply. My trade is all going to that tam feller, Crookenden! And you come, and ask me for money. Vhen I go along to the Post Master, he kvestion me like a criminal, and pring the Police Sergeant as if I vas a thief. I tell him I nefer rob mail-bags. I tell him if other peoples lose letters, I lose them too. I know nothing aboudt it. I tell him the rascal man is Crookenden and Co.--he should take _him_ to prison: he contracts for mails and nefer delivers my letters. I tell him Crookenden and Co. is the criminal, not me. Then he laff, but that does not gif me my letters." During this harangue, Rachel had stood, the mute but pretty picture of astonishment. "But, father," she said, "I want to go to the bank. I want to speak to Isaac awfully, and how can I go in there without some excuse!" "I'll gif you the exguse to keep out! I tell you somethings which will make you leave that young man alone. He nefer loaf you, Rachel--he loaf only my money." "Father! this worry about the mail has turned you silly." "Oh, yes, I'm silly when I throw the ink-pot at him. I've gone mad when I kick him out of my shop. You speak to that young man nefer again, Rachel, my tear; you nefer look at him. Then, by-and-by, I marry you to the mos' peautiful young man with the mos' loafly moustache and whiskers. You leaf it to your poor old father. He'll choose you a good husband. When I was a young man I consult with _my_ father, and I marry your scharming mamma, and you, my tear Rachel, are the peautiful result. Eh? my tear." The old man took his daughter's face between his fat hands, and kissed her on both cheeks. "You silly old goose," said Rachel, tenderly, "you seem to think I have no sense. I'm not going to marry Isaac _yet_--there can't be any harm in speaking to him. I'm only engaged. Why should you be frightened if I flirt a little with him? You seem to think a girl should be made of cast-iron, and just wait till her father finds a husband for her. You're buried up to your eyes in invoices and bills of lading and stupid, worrying things that drive you cranky, and you never give a thought to my future. What's to become of me, if I don't look out for myself? Goodness knows! there are few enough men in the town that I _could_ marry; and because I pick out one for myself, you storm and rage as if I was thinking of marrying a convict." "Young Zahn is worse: he is the worst rogue I ever see. He come in here to bully me into making him my partner. He threatens to tell my piz'ness to Crookenden and Co. I tell him, 'You do it, my poy. I schange my account, and tell your manager why.' That young man's too smart: soon he find himself in gaol. If my tear little Rachel marries a criminal, what would become of her poor old father? My tear, my tarling, you make me die with grief! But wait till the right young man comes along, then I gif you my blessing and two thousand pounds. But I gif you not von penny if you marry young Zahn." The tears were now standing in Rachel's pretty eyes, and she looked the picture of grief. "I never do _anything_, but you blame me," she sobbed. "When I wish to do a thing, you always say it's bad. You don't love me!" And she burst into a flood of tears. "Rachel! Rachel! I gafe you the gold watch; and that bill came to thirty-three pounds. I gif you everything, and when I tell you not to run after a bad young feller, you say I nefer loaf you. Rachel, you are cruel; you make your father's heart bleed; you stab me here"--he pointed with his fat forefinger to the middle of his waistcoat--"you stab me here"--he placed his finger on his forehead. "You show no loaf, no consideration. You make me most unhappy. You're a naughty girl!" The old fellow was almost crying. Rachel put her arms about his neck, and pressed his corpulent person with affection. "Father, I'll be good. I know I'm very bad. But I love you, father. I'll never cause you any sorrow again. I'll do everything you tell me. I won't gad about so much; I'll stop at home more. I will, father; I really will." "My tear Rachel! My loafly!" The old man was holding his pretty daughter at arm's length, and was gazing at her with parental fondness. "You are my peautiful, tear, goot, little girl." Again her arms were flung round his neck. Again she kissed his bristly cheeks with her ruby-red lips. "You _are_ an old dear," she exclaimed. "You're the kindest old governor going." "You loaf your old father?" "Of _course_ I do. But I _do_--I _do_ so want a small cheque. I must have it for the house." "You'll always loaf your father, Rachel?" "Always." She renewed her affectionate embraces. "You shall have a little one--not so big as when my ship comes home, not so big as I'd like, but enough to show that I loaf you, Rachel." He let her lead him to his desk, and there he sat and wrote a cheque which Rachel took gladly. She gave him one more kiss, and said, "You dear, good, kind old party; your little Rachel's _awfully_ pleased," and gaily tripped from the dingy office into the sunny street. CHAPTER XVIII. Digging. Moonlight and Scarlett were glad with the delight of success, for inside their tent, which was pitched beside Bush Robin Creek, lay almost as much gold as one of them could conveniently carry to Timber Town. They had searched the rocky sides of the gorge where they had first found gold, and its ledges and crevices had proved to be exceedingly rich. Next, they had examined the upper reaches of the creek, and after selecting a place where the best "prospects" were to be found, they had determined to work the bottom of the river-bed. Their "claim" was pegged off, the water had been diverted, and the dam had been strengthened with boulders taken from the river-bed, and now, having placed their sluice-boxes in position, they were about to have their first "washing up." As they sat, and ate their simple fare--"damper" baked on the red-hot embers of their fire, a pigeon which Scarlett had shot that morning, and tea--their conversation was of their "claim." "What do you think it will go?" "The dirt in the creek is rich enough, but what's in the flat nobody can say. There may be richer gold in some of the higher terraces than down here. I've known such cases." At the place where they were camped, the valley had been, at some distant period, a lake which had subsided after depositing a rich layer of silt, through which the stream had cut its way subsequently. Over this rich alluvial deposit the forest had spread luxuriantly, and it was only the skill of the experienced prospector that could discover the possibilities of the enormous stretches of river silt which Nature had so carefully hidden beneath the tangled, well-nigh impenetrable forest. "The river is rich," continued Moonlight, "that we know. Possibly it deposited gold on these flats for ages. If that is so, this valley will be one of the biggest 'fields' yet developed. What we must do first is to test the bottom of the old lake; therefore, as soon as we have taken the best of the gold out of the river, I propose to 'sink' on the terraces till I find the rich deposit." "Perhaps what we are getting now has come from the terraces above," said Jack. "I think not." "Where does it come from then?" "I can't say, unless it is from some reef in the ranges. You must not forget that there's the lower end of the valley to be prospected yet--we have done nothing below the gorge." Talking thus, they ate their "damper" and stewed pigeon, and drank their "billy" tea. Then they lit their pipes, and strolled towards the scene of their labours. The place chosen for the workings was selected by circumstance rather than by the diggers. At this particular point of its course there had been some hesitation on the part of the river in choosing its bed, and with but a little coaxing it had been diverted into an old channel--which evident signs showed to be utilised as an overflow in time of flood--and thus by a circuitous route it found its way to the mouth of the gorge. All was ready for the momentous operation of washing up, and the men's minds were full of expectation. The bottom of fine silt, which had been laid bare when the boulders had been removed, stood piled on the bank, so as to be out of harm's way in case the river burst through the dam. Into the old bed a trickle of water ran through the sluice-boxes. These were set in the dry bed of the stream, and were connected with the creek by a water-race. They were each twelve feet in length, and consisted of a bottom and two sides, into which fitted neatly a twelve-foot board, pierced with a number of auger-holes. These boxes could be joined one to another, and the line of them could thus be prolonged indefinitely. The wash-dirt would be shovelled in at the top end, and the water, flowing down the "race," would carry it over the boxes, till it was washed out at the lower end, leaving behind a deposit of gold, which, owing to its specific gravity, would lodge in the auger-holes. Moonlight went to the head of the "race," down which presently the water rushed, and rippled through the sluice-boxes. Next, he threw a shovelful of wash-dirt into the lower part of the "race," and soon its particles were swept through the sluice, and another shovelful followed. When Moonlight tired, Scarlett relieved him, and so, working turn and turn about, after an hour they could see in the auger-holes a small yellow deposit: in the uppermost holes an appreciable quantity, and in the lower ones but a few grains. "It's all right," said Moonlight, "we've struck it." He looked at the great heaps of wash-dirt on the bank, and his eyes shone with satisfaction. "Do you think the dam will hold?" asked Scarlett of the experienced digger. "It's safe enough till we get a 'fresh'," was the reply. Moonlight glanced at the dripping rampart, composed of tree-trunks and stones. "But even if there does happen to be a flood, and the dam bursts," he added, "we've still got the 'dirt' high and dry. But we shall have warning enough, I expect, to save the 'race' and sluice-boxes." "It meant double handling to take out the wash-dirt before we started to wash up," said Scarlett, "but I'm glad we did it." "Once, on the Greenstone," said Moonlight, "we were working from the bed of the creek. There came a real old-man flood which carried everything away, and when we cleaned out the bed again, there wasn't so much as a barrowful of gold-bearing dirt left behind. Once bitten, twice shy." If the process was monotonous, it had the advantage of being simple. The men slowly shovelled the earth into the last length of the "race," and the running water did the rest. In the evening, a big pile of "tailings" was heaped up at the foot of the sluice, and as some of the auger-holes were half-filled with gold, Moonlight gave the word for cleaning out the boxes. The water from the dam was cut off, leaving but a trickle running through the boxes. The false bottoms were then taken out of the sluice, and upon the floors of the boxes innumerable little heaps of gold lay exposed to the miners' delighted eyes. The heavy gold, caught before it had reached the first sluice-box, lay at the lower end of the "race." To separate the small quantity of grit that remained with the gold, the diggers held the rich little heaps claw-wise with their fingers, while the rippling water ran through them. Thus the gold was left pure, and with the blade of a sheath-knife, it was easily transferred to the big tin dish. "What weight?" asked Jack, as he lifted the precious load. Moonlight solemnly took the "pan" from his mate. "One-fifty to one-sixty ounces," he said oracularly. His gaze wandered to the heap of wash-dirt which remained. "We've washed about one-sixth," he said. "Six times one-fifty is nine hundred. We'll say, roughly, £4 an ounce: that gives us something like £3600 from that heap." As night was now approaching, they walked slowly towards their tent, carrying their richly-laden dish with them. Sitting in the tent-door, with their backs to the dark forest and their heads bent over the gold, they transferred the precious contents of the dish to a strong chamois-leather bag. Moonlight held open the mouth of the receptacle, and watched the process eagerly. About half the pleasant task was done, when suddenly a voice behind them said, "Who the blazes are _you_?" Turning quickly, they saw standing behind them two men who had emerged from the forest. Seizing an axe which lay beside him, Moonlight assumed an attitude of defence. Scarlett, who was weaponless, stood firm and rigid, ready for an onslaught. "You seem to have struck it," said the newcomer who had spoken, his greedy eyes peering at the dish. "Do put down that axe, mate. We ain't bushrangers." Moonlight lowered the head of his weapon, and said, "Yes, we've got the colour." "Blow me if it ain't my friend Moonlight!" exclaimed the second intruder, advancing towards the diggers. "How's yerself?" "Nicely, thank you," replied Moonlight. "Come far to-day?" "A matter of eight hours' tramp--but not so fer; the bush is mighty thick. This is my mate. Here, Ben, shake 'ands." It was none other than Benjamin Tresco who came forward. As he lowered his "swag" to the ground, he said, smiling urbanely, "How de do? I reckon you've jumped our claim. But we bear no malice. We'll peg out another." "This ain't ours," said the Prospector, "not by chalks. You're above the gorge, ain't you?" "Yes," replied Moonlight, "I should reckon we must be a mile above it." "Where I worked," continued Bill, "was more'n a mile below the gorge. What are you makin'?" "A few pennyweights," responded Moonlight. "It looks like it!" exclaimed the Prospector, glancing at the richly-laden dish. "Look 'ere, Ben: a few pennyweights, that's all--just makin' tucker. Poor devils!" Moonlight laughed, and so did Scarlett. "Well, we might do worse than put our pegs alongside theirs, eh, Ben?" "Oceans worse," replied Tresco. "Did you prospect the gorge?" asked Moonlight. "I wasn't never in the gorge," said the Prospector. "The river was too high, all the time I was working; but there's been no rain for six weeks, so she's low now." Tresco advanced with mock trepidation, and looked closely at the gold in the chamois-leather bag, which he lifted with assumed difficulty. "About half a hundredweight," he said. "How much more of this sort have you got?" Moonlight ignored the question, but turning to the Prospector, he said, "I shouldn't have left till I'd fossicked that gorge, if I'd been you." "Then you've been through it?" queried Bill. Moonlight nodded. "How did it pan out?" "There was gold there." "Make tucker, eh?" the Prospector laughed. "Well this'll be good enough for us. We'll put in our pegs above yours. But how you dropped on this field just gits over me. You couldn't have come straighter, not if I'd shown you the way myself." "Instinct," replied Moonlight. "Instinct and the natural attraction of the magnet." He desired to take no credit for his own astuteness in prospecting. Scarlett had so far said nothing, but he now invited the newcomers to eat, before they pitched their tent. "No, no," said the Prospector, "you must be on pretty short commons--you must ha' bin out a fortnight and more. Me an' my mate'll provide the tucker." "We _are_ a bit short, and that's the truth," said Moonlight, "but we reckon on holding out till we've finished this wash-up, and then one of us'll have to fetch stores." While Benjamin and his mate were unpacking their swags and Scarlett was lighting the fire, Moonlight transferred the rest of the gold from the dish to the leather bag. When the four men sat down to their frugal meal of "billy" tea, boiled bacon, and "damper," they chatted and laughed like schoolboys. "Ah!" exclaimed Tresco, as red flames of the fire shot toward the stars and illumined the gigantic trunks of the surrounding trees, "this is freedom and the charm of Nature. No blooming bills to meet, no bother about the orders of worrying customers, no everlasting bowing and scraping; all the charm of society, good-fellowship, confidence, and conversation, with none of the frills of so-called civilization. But that is not all. Added to this is the prospect of making a fortune in the morning. Now, that is what I call living." CHAPTER XIX. A Den of Thieves. Down a by-lane in the outskirts of Timber Town stood a dilapidated wooden cottage. Its windows lacked many panes, its walls were bare of paint, the shingles of its roof were rotten and scanty; it seemed uninhabitable and empty, and yet, as night fell, within it there burned a light. Moreover, there were other signs of life within its crazy walls, for when all without was quiet and dark, the door opened and a bare-headed man emerged. "Carny!" he called. A whistle sounded down the lane, and soon a figure advanced from the shadow of a hedge and stood in the light of the open door. "We've only waited near an hour for you," said the first man. "If you've orders to be on time, be on time. D'you expect the whole push to dance attendance on you?" "Now, Dolphin, draw it mild. That blame pretty girl at The Lucky Digger kept me, an' wouldn't let me go, though I told her I had a most important engagement." "Petticoats an' _our_ business don't go together," gruffly responded Dolphin. "Best give 'em a wide berth till we've finished our work here and got away." The two men entered the house, and the door was shut. At a bare, white-pine table sat two other men, the sour-faced Garstang and the young fellow who answered to the name of Sweet William. "Come in, come in," said the latter, "and stop barrackin' like two old washerwomen. Keep yer breath to discuss the biz." Dolphin and Carnac drew chairs to the table, on which stood a guttering candle, glued to the wood with its own grease. "Charming residence," remarked Carnac, elegant in a black velvet coat, as he glanced round the bare and battered room. "Sweet William Villa," said the young man. "I pay no rent; and mighty comfortable it is too, when you have a umberella to keep out the rain." "Our business," said the pugnacious-looking Dolphin, "is to square up, which hasn't been done since we cleaned out the digger that William hocussed." He drew a handful of notes and gold from his pocket, and placed it on the table. "Gently," said Sweet William, who took Carnac's hat, and placed it over the money. "Wait till I fix my blind." Snatching a blanket from a bed made upon the bare floor, he hung it on two nails above the window, so as to effectually bar the inquisitive gaze of chance wayfarers. "Damme, a bloke would think you wanted to advertise the firm and publish our balance-sheet." Stepping down to the floor, he replaced Carnac's hat upon its owner's head, and said "Fire away." Each man placed his money in front of him, and rendered his account. Then Dolphin took all the money, counted it, and divided it into four equal heaps, three of which he distributed, and one of which he retained. "Fifty-seven quid," said Sweet William, when he had counted his money. "A very nice dividend for the week. I think I'll give up batching here, and live at The Lucky Digger and have a spree." "Not much, William," broke in Dolphin. "Keep yourself in hand, my son. Wait till we've made our real haul and got away with the loot: then you can go on the burst till all's blue. Each man wants his wits about him, for the present." "You mean the bank," said Carnac. The leader of the gang nodded. "I've fossicked around the premises," continued the gentleman in the velvet coat, "and I must confess that they're the most trifling push _I_ ever saw. There's the manager, a feeble rat of a man; another fellow that's short-sighted and wears specs.; a boy, and the teller, a swell who wears gloves on his boots and looks as if he laced himself up in stays." "I reckon there's a rusty old revolver hanging on a nail somewheres," remarked Garstang. "Most likely," said Dolphin, "but our plan is to walk in comfortable and easy just before closing-time. I'll present a faked-up cheque which'll cause a consultation between the teller and the short-sighted party. In the meantime, Carnac will interview the manager about sending a draft to his wife in England. You, Garstang, will stand ready to bar the front door, and William will attend to the office-boy and the door at the back. Just as the clerks are talking about the cheque, I'll whip out my weapon and bail 'em up, and then the scheme will go like clock-work." "But suppose there's a mob of customers in the place?" asked Garstang. "A lot of harmless sheep!" replied Dolphin. "It'll be your duty to bail them up. There's a big strong-room at the back, well-ventilated, commodious, and dry. We'll hustle everybody into that, and you and William will stand guard over them. Then Carnac will bring the manager from his room, and with the persuasion of two pistols at his head the little old gentleman will no doubt do the civil in showing us where he stows his dollars. There'll be plenty of time: the bank will be closed just as in the ordinary course of things. We'll do the job thoroughly, and when we've cleaned the place out, we'll lock all the parties up in the strong-room, and quit by the back door as soon as it's dusk." "Sounds O.K.," remarked Sweet William, "but there'll be a picnic before morning. I reckon we'll need to get away pretty sudden." "That can be arranged in two ways," said Dolphin. "First, we can choose a day when a steamer is leaving port early in the evening, say, eight o'clock; or we can take to the bush, and make our way across country. I've turned over both plans in my mind, and I rather prefer the latter. But that is a point I leave to you--I'll fall in with the opinion of the majority." "Yes," said Garstang, "it looks as if it must succeed: it looks as if it can't go wrong. Our leader Dolphin, the brains of the gang, has apparently fixed up everything; the details are all thought out; the men are ready and available, but----" "But what?" asked Dolphin gruffly. "Are you going to back down? Frightened of getting a bit of lead from a rusty old revolver, eh?" "It ain't that," replied the ugliest member of the gang, "but supposin' there's no money in the bloomin' bank, what then?" A roar of laughter greeted his surmise. "What d'you suppose the bank's for," asked Carnac, "if not to store up money?" "Whips and whips of money," observed Sweet William, the stem of his lighted pipe between his teeth. "You go with a legitimate cheque for, say, £550, and you'd get it cashed all right." "Certainly"; replied Garstang, "in notes. And that's where we'd fall in. Every number is known, and so soon as we tried to cash the dirty paper, we'd get lagged. Even if we passed 'em at pubs, we'd be traced. What we want is gold--nothing but gold. And I'd be surprised if they have a thousand sovereigns in the bank." "If they have," remarked Dolphin, "you'll get two-fifty. Isn't that good enough?" "That's it," retorted his troublesome follower, "there's considerable risk about the business, in spite of you fixing all the details so neat and easy. I ask, 'Is it good enough to get about ten years for the sake of £250?'" "Just what I thought," exclaimed Dolphin. "You're a cock-tail. In your old age you've grown white-livered. I guess, Garstang, you'd better retire, and leave those to carry out the work who don't know what fear is." "That's so," echoed Carnac, drumming the table with his white fingers. "You don't ketch my meaning," growled Garstang, angry and surly. "What I want is a big haul, and damn the risk. There's no white liver about _me_, but I say, 'Let's wait till we've reason to know that the bank's safe is heavily loaded.' I say, 'Wait till we know extra big payments have been made into it.' Let's get all we can for our trouble." "'Ere, 'ere," said Sweet William. "I'm there. Same sentiment 'ere," and he smote his narrow chest. "But how are we to find out the bank's business?" asked Dolphin. "Lor' bless us, if the manager would tip us the wink, we'd be all right." "Get me took in as extry clerk," suggested William. "Blame me, if I don't apply for the billet to-morrow morning." "Go on chiacking," said Garstang; "poke borak--it don't hurt _me_. But if you want to do anything in a workmanlike and perfessional manner, listen to advice. Isn't shipments of virgin gold made from the Coast? Isn't such shipments made public by the newspapers? Very good. When we see a steamer has brought up a pile of gold, where's it put but in the bank? There's our chance. D'you follow? Then we'll be sure to get something for our pains." "'Ere, 'ere!" cried Sweet William, smacking the now leering Garstang on the back. "Good on you. Maximum return for minimum risk." Carnac joined in the laugh. "You're not so thick-headed after all," he said to the crooked-faced man. "Nor 'e ain't so awful white-livered neither," said William. Dolphin, whose eyes were fixed on the table contemplatively, was silent for a while. When the noise made by the other three had terminated, he said, "Well, have it as you like. But how will the scheme fit in with the steamer business?" "First rate," answered William. "Where there's gold there'll be a steamer to take it away, won't there?" "And when the steamer doesn't get its gold at the appointed time," replied Dolphin, "the whole town will be roused to hunt for it. That's no game for us. I agree to waiting for gold to be lodged in the bank, but if that does't come off within reasonable time, I'm for taking the chance that's offered. I'm willing to wait a fortnight. How'd that suit you, Garstang?" "I'm agreeable," said the sour-faced man. "And in the meanwhile," added the leader, "we don't know one another. If we meet, we don't so much as pass the time of day. D'you all understand?" The three answered affirmatively, and Sweet William said, "Don't never any of you chaps come near my shanty. This meetin' stands adjourned _sine die_." "If there's a notice in the newspaper of gold arriving, that means we meet here at once," said Dolphin, "otherwise we meet this day fortnight. Is that clear?" "Yes, that's clear," said Garstang. "Certainly," said Carnac, "perfectly clear." "An', please, when you go," said Sweet William, "don't raise the whole neighbourhood, but make a git one by one, and disperse promiscuous, as if you'd never met in your beautiful lives." The four men were now standing round the table. "Good night all," said Dolphin, and he went out quietly by the front door. "Remember what the boss says about the wine," remarked William, when the leader of the gang had gone. "No boozing and giving the show away. You're to be strictly sober for a fortnight, Garstang. And, Carny, if that girl at The Lucky Digger tries to pump you as to what your lay is, tell 'er you've come to buy a little property and settle down. She'll think you mean marrying." Carnac smiled. "You might be my grandfather, William," he said. "Personally, _I'm_ a shearer that's havin' a very mild sort of spree and knockin' down his cheque most careful. You've bin aboard a ship, ain't you, Garstang?" "D'you suppose I swam out to this blanky country?" said the crooked-featured gentleman. "Then you're a sailor that's bin paid off and taken your discharge." Carnac had his hand on the latch of the door through which Dolphin had disappeared. "No, no; you go out the back way," said William, who conducted the man in the velvet coat into the back yard, and turned him into a paddock full of cabbages, whence he might find his way as best he could to the roadway. When the youthful William returned, Garstang was smoking; his elbows on the table, and his ugly head resting in his hands. "You seem bloomin' comfortable, Garstang." "I'd be a darn sight more comfortabler for a drop of grog, William." William took a bottle from beneath his bed. "Just eleven o'clock," said the younger man, looking at his watch. "This house closes punctual. You shall have one nip, mister, and then I chuck you out." He poured the contents of the bottle into the solitary mug, and added water from a jug with a broken lip. Then the two rogues drank alternately. "What do you intend to do when you've made your pile, Garstang?" "Me? I'm goin' back to London and set up in a nice little public, missis, barmaid, and boots, complete, and live a quiet, virtuous life. That's me. I should prefer somewheres down Woolwich way--I'm very fond of the military." "I'm goin' to travel," said William. "I'm anxious for to see things and improve me mind. First, I'll go to America--I'm awful soft on the Yanks, and can't help thinkin' that 'Frisco's the place for a chap with talent. Then I'll work East and see New York, and by-and-by I'll go over to Europe an' call on the principal Crown Heads--not the little 'uns, you understand, like Portugal and Belgium, or fry of that sort: they ain't no class--an' then I'll marry a real fine girl, a reg'lar top-notcher with whips of dollars, an' go and live at Monte Carlo. How's that for a programme, eh?" "Nice and complete. But I rayther expect the Crown 'Eads'd be one too many for _you_. The Czar o' Rooshia, f'r instance, I fancy he'd exile you to Siberia." "But that'd be agin international law an' all rule an' precedent--I'd tell 'im I was a British subject born in Australia, and wrap a Union Jack around me stummick, an' dare 'im to come on. How'd that be for high?" "You'd be 'igh enough. You'd be 'anded over to th' British authorities--they'd see you went 'igh enough. The experience of men of our perfession is, lie very low, live very quiet, don't attract no attention whatever--when you've succeeded in makin' your pile. That's why I say a public: you've a few select pals, the best of liquor, and just as much excitement as a ordinary man needs. I say that, upon retirement, for men of our perfession a public's the thing." "How'd a theayter do?" "Too noisy an' unrestful, William. An' then think of all the wimmen--they'd bother a man silly." "What d'you say to a song and dance 'all?" "'Tain't so bad. But them places, William, I've always noticed, has a tendency to grow immoral. Now, a elderly gent, who's on the down-grade and 'as _'ad_ 'is experiences, don't exactly want _that_. No, I'm dead set on a public. I think that fills the bill completely." "But we can't _all_ go into the grog business." "I don't see why. 'Tain't as if we was a regiment of soldiers. There's but four of us." "Oh, well, the liquor's finished. You can make a git, Garstang. But, if you ask me what I'll do with this pile as soon as it's made, I say I still have a hankerin' after the Crown Heads. They must be most interestin' blokes to talk to: you see, they've had such experience. I'm dead nuts on Crown Heads." "And they're dead nuts on the 'eads of the likes of you, William. Good-night." "So-long, Garstang. Keep good." And with those words terminated the gathering of the four greatest rogues who ever were in Timber Town. CHAPTER XX. Gold and Roses. The Pilot's daughter was walking in her garden. The clematis which shaded the verandah was a rich mass of purple flowers, where bees sucked their store of honey; the rose bushes, in the glory of their second blooming, scented the air, while about their roots grew masses of mignonette. Along the winding paths the girl walked; a pair of garden scissors in one hand and a basket in the other. She passed under a latticed arch over which climbed a luxuriant Cloth of Gold, heavy with innumerable flowers. Standing on tip-toe, with her arms above her head, she cut half-a-dozen yellow buds, which she placed in the basket. Passing on, she came to the pink glory of the garden, Maria Pare, a mass of brown shoots and clusters of opening buds whose colour surpassed in delicacy the softest tint of the pink sea-shell. Here she culled barely a dozen roses where she might have gathered thirty. "Yellow and pink," she mused. "Now for something bright." She walked along the path till she came to M'sieu Cordier, brilliant with the reddest of blooms. She stole but six of the best, and laid them in the basket. "We want more scent," she said. There was La France growing close beside; its great petals, pearly white on the inside and rich cerise without, smelling deliciously. She robbed the bush of only its most perfect flowers, for though there were many buds but few were developed. Next, she came to the type of her own innocence, The Maiden Blush, whose half-opened buds are the perfect emblem of maidenhood, but whose full-blown flowers are, to put it bluntly, symbolical of her who, in middle life, has developed extravagantly. But here again was no perfume. The mistress passed on to the queen of the garden, La Rosiere, fragrant beyond all other roses, its reflexed, claret-coloured petals soft and velvety, its leaves--when did a rose's greenery fail to be its perfect complement?--tinged underneath with a faint blush of its own deep colour. She looked at the yellow, red, and pink flowers in her basket, and said, "There's no white." Now white roses are often papery, but there was at least one in the garden worthy of being grouped with the beauties in the basket. It was The Bride, typical, in its snowy chastity and by reason of a pale green tint at the base of its petals, of that purity and innocence which are the bride's best dowry. Rose cut a dozen long-stemmed flowers from this lovely bush, and then--whether it was because of the sentiment conveyed by the blooms she had gathered, or the effect of the landscape, is a mystery unsolved--her eyes wandered from the garden to the far-off hills. With the richly-laden basket on her arm, she gazed at the blue haze which hung over mountain and forest. Regardless of her pleasant occupation, forgetful that the fragrant flowers in the basket would wither in the glaring sun, she stood, looking sadly at the landscape, as though in a dream. What were her thoughts? Perhaps of the glorious work of the Master-Builder; perhaps of the tints and shades where the blue of the forest, the brown of the fern-clad foot-hills, the buff of the sun-dried grass, mottled the panorama which lay spread before her. But if so, why did she sigh? Does the contour of a hill suffuse the eye? Not a hundred-thousand hills could in themselves cause a sob, not even the gentle sob which amounted to no more than a painful little catch in Rose's creamy throat. She was standing on the top of the bank, which was surmounted by a white fence; her knee resting on the garden-seat upon which she had placed her basket, whilst in reverie her spirit was carried beyond the blue mountains. But there appeared behind her the bulky form of her father, who walked in carpet slippers upon the gravel of the path. "Rosebud, my gal." The stentorian tones of the old sailor's voice woke her suddenly from her day-dream. "There's a party in the parlour waitin' the pleasure of your company, a party mighty anxious for to converse with a clean white woman by way of a change." The girl quickly took up her flowers. "Who can it possibly be, father?" "Come and see, my gal; come and see." The old fellow went before, and his daughter followed him into the house. There, in the parlour, seated at the table, was Captain Sartoris. Rose gave way to a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure; and was advancing to greet her visitor, when he arrested her with a gesture of his hand. "Don't come too nigh, Miss Summerhayes," he said, with mock gravity. "I might ha' got the plague or the yaller fever. A man out o' currantine is to be approached with caution. Jest stand up agin' the sideboard, my dear, and let me look at you." The girl put down her roses, and posed as desired. "Very pretty," said Sartoris. "Pink-and-white, pure bred, English--which, after being boxed in with a menag'ry o' Chinamen and Malays, is wholesome and reassuring." "Are you out for good, Captain?" "They can put me aboard who can catch me, my dear. I'd run into the bush, and live like a savage. I'm not much of a mountaineer, but you would see how I could travel." "But what was the disease?" asked the Pilot. "Some sort of special Chinese fever; something bred o' dirt and filth and foulness; a complaint you have to live amongst for weeks, before you'll get it; a kind o' beri-beri or break-bone, which was new to the doctors here. I've been disinfected and fumigated till I couldn't hardly breathe. Races has their special diseases, just the same as they has their special foods: this war'n't an English sickness; all its characteristics were Chinee, and it killed the Captain because he'd lived that long with Chinamen that, I firmly believe, his pigtail had begun to shoot. Furrin crews, furrin crews! Give me the British sailor, an' I'll sail my ship anywhere." "And run her on the rocks, at the end of the voyage," growled the Pilot. "I never came ashore to argify," retorted the Captain. "But if it comes to a matter of navigation, there _are_ points I could give any man, even pilots." Seeing that the bone of contention was about to be gnawed by the sea-dogs, Rose interposed with a question. "Have you just come ashore, Captain?" "In a manner o' speakin' he has," answered her father, who took the words out of his friend's mouth, "and in a manner o' speakin' he hasn't. You see, my dear, we went for a little preliminary cruise." "The first thing your father told me was about this here robbery of mails. 'When was that?' I asked. 'On the night of the 8th or early morning of the 9th,' he says. That was when the captain of the barque died. I remembered it well. 'Summerhayes,' I said, 'I have a notion.' And this is the result, my dear." From the capacious pocket of his thick pilot-jacket he pulled a brown and charred piece of canvas. "What's that?" he asked. "I haven't the least idea," replied Rose. "Does it look as though it might be a part of a mail-bag?" asked Sartoris. "Look at the sealing-wax sticking to it. Now look at _that_." He drew from the deep of another pocket a rusty knife. "It was found near the other," he said. "Its blade was open. And what's that engraved on the name-plate?--your eyes are younger than mine, my dear." The sailor handed the knife to Rose, who read the name, and exclaimed, "B. Tresco!" "That's what the Pilot made it," said Sartoris. "And it's what I made it. We're all agreed that B. Tresco, whoever he may be, was the owner of that knife. Now this is evidence: that knife was found in conjunction with this here bit of brown canvas, which I take to be part of a mail-bag; and the two of 'em were beside the ashes of a fire, above high water-mark. On a certain night I saw a fire lighted at that spot: that night was the night the skipper of the barque died and the night when the mails were robbed. You see, when things are pieced together it looks bad for B. Tresco." "I know him quite well," said Rose: "he's the goldsmith. What would he have to do with the delivery of mails?" "Things have got this far," said the Pilot. "The postal authorities say all the bags weren't delivered on board. They don't accuse anyone of robbery as yet, but they want the names of the boat's crew. These Mr. Crookenden says he can't give, as the crew was a special one, and the man in charge of the boat is away. But from the evidence that Sartoris has brought, it looks as if Tresco could throw light on the matter." "It's for the police to take the thing up," said Sartoris. "I'm not a detective meself; I'm just a plain sailor--I don't pretend to be good at following up clues. But if the police want this here clue, they can have it. It's the best one of its kind I ever come across: look at it from whatever side you please. It's almost as perfect a clue as you could have, if you had one made to order. A policeman that couldn't follow up that clue----'Tresco' on the knife, and, alongside of it, the bit of mail-bag--why, he ought to be turned loose in an unsympathising world, and break stones for a living. It's a beautiful clue. It's a clue a man can take a pride in; found all ready on the beach; just a-waitin' to be picked up, and along comes a chuckle-headed old salt and grabs it. Now, that clue ought to be worth a matter of a hundred pound to the Government. What reward is offered, Pilot?" "There's none, as I'm aware of," answered Summerhayes. "But if the post-master is a charitable sort of chap, he might be inclined to recommend, say, fifty; you bein' a castaway sailor in very 'umble circumstances. I'll see what I can do. I'll see the Mayor." "Oh, you will!" exclaimed Sartoris. "You'd better advertise: 'Poor, distressed sailor. All contributions thankfully received.' No, sir, don't think you can pauperise _me_. A man who can find a clue like that"--he brought the palm of his right hand down with a smack upon the table, where Tresco's knife lay--"a man who can find that, sir, can make his way in any community!" Just at that moment there were heavy footsteps upon the verandah, and a knocking at the front door. Rose, who was sitting near the window, made a step or two towards the passage, but the old Pilot, who from where he stood could see through the glass of the front door, forestalled her, and she seated herself opposite the skipper and his clues. "So you think of visiting the police sergeant?" she asked, by way of keeping up the conversation. But the skipper's whole attention was fixed on the voices in the next room, into which the Pilot had conducted his visitor. "H'm," said Sartoris, "I had an idea I knew the voice, but I must have been mistaken. Who is the party, Miss Rose?" "I haven't the slightest clue," replied the girl, smiling. "Father has such a number of strange friends in the port that I've long given up trying to keep count of them. They come at all hours, about all sorts of things." The words were hardly out of her mouth, when the Pilot, wearing a most serious expression of face, entered the room. "Well, well," he said, "well, well. Who'd ha' thought it? Dear, dear. Of all the extraordinary things! Now, Cap'n Sartoris, if you'd 'a' asked _me_, I'd 'a' said the thing was impossible, impossible. Such things goes in streaks, and his, to all intents and purposes, was a bad 'n; and then it turns out like this. It's most remarkable, most extraordinary. It's beyond me. I don't fathom it." "What the deuce an' all are you talkin' about, Summerhayes?" Sartoris spoke most deprecatingly. "A man would think you'd buried a shipmate, or even lost your ship." "Eh? What?" the Pilot thundered. "Lost my ship? No, no. I've bin wrecked in a fruiter off the coast of Sardinia, an' I've bin cast away on the island of Curacoa, but it was always in another man's vessel. No, sir, _I_ never failed to bring the owners' property safe into port. Any fool can run his ship on shore, and litter her cargo along half-a-mile of sea coast." "We've heard that argyment before," said Sartoris. "We quite understand--you couldn't do such a thing if you tried. You're a most exceptional person, and I'm proud to know you; but what's this dreadful thing that's redooced you to such a state of bad temper, that your best friends 'd hardly know you? I ask you that, Summerhayes. Is it anything to do with these clues that's on the table?" "Clues be----!" It is sad to relate that the Pilot of Timber Town was about to use a strong expression, which only the presence of his daughter prevented. "Come out of that room there," he roared. "Come, an' show yourself." There was a heavy tread in the passage, and presently there entered the room a very shabby figure of a man. A ruddy beard obscured his face; his hair badly needed cutting; his boots were dirty and much worn; his hands bore marks of hard work, but his eyes were bright, and the colour of his cheek was healthy, and for all the noise he made as he walked there was strength in his movements and elasticity in his steps. Without a word of introduction, he held out his hand to Miss Summerhayes, who took it frankly. Captain Sartoris had risen to his feet. "How d'y do, sir," he said, as he shook hands. "I hope I see you well, sir. Have you come far, or do you live close handy?" "I've come a matter of twenty miles or so to-day," said the tall stranger. "Farming in the bush, I suppose," said Sartoris. "Very nice occupation, farming, I should think." He closely eyed the ragged man. "Or perhaps you fell down a precipice of jagged stones which tore you considerable. Anyhow, I'm glad I see you well, sir, _very_ glad I see you well." There was a rumbling noise like the echo of distant thunder reverberating through the hills. Rose and Sartoris almost simultaneously fixed their eyes upon the Pilot. Summerhayes's huge person was heaving with suppressed merriment, his face was red, and his mouth was shut tight lest he should explode with laughter. But when he saw the two pairs of bewildered eyes staring at him, he burst into a laugh such as made the wooden walls of the house quiver. Sartoris stood, regarding the Pilot as though he trembled for his friend's senses; and a look of alarm showed itself in Rose's face. "You don't know him!" cried the Pilot, pulling himself together. But the Titanic laughter again took hold of him, and shook his vast frame. "You've travelled with him, you've sailed with him, you've known him, Sartoris--you've bin shipwrecked with him!" Here the paroxysm seized the Pilot anew; and when it had subsided it left him exhausted and feeble. He sank limply upon the old-fashioned sofa, and said, almost in a whisper, "It's Jack Scarlett, and you didn't know him; Jack Scarlett, back from the diggings, with his swag full of gold--and you thought him a stranger." It was now the turn of Rose and the skipper to laugh. Jack, who up to this point had kept a straight face, joined his merriment to theirs, and rushing forward they each shook him by the hand again, but in a totally different manner from that of their former greeting. Out of his "jumper" the fortunate digger pulled a long chamois-leather bag, tied at the neck with a boot-lace. Taking a soup-plate from the sideboard, he emptied the contents of the bag into it, and before the astonished eyes of the onlookers lay a heap of yellow gold. They stared, and were speechless. From about his waist Scarlett untied a long leather belt, which proved to be lined with gold. But the soup-plate would hold no more, and so the lucky digger poured the residue in a heap upon the polished table. Next, he went out to the verandah, and undoing his swag, he returned with a tin canister which had been wrapped in his blankets. This also was full of gold, and taking off its lid, he added its contents to the pile upon the table. "And there's some left in camp," he said. "I couldn't carry it all to town." "Well, well," said Sartoris, "while I've been boxed up in that stinking plague-ship, I might ha' been on God A'mighty's earth, picking up stuff like this. Well, well, what luck!" "There must be a matter o' two thousand pound," said the Pilot. "Two thousand pound!" "More," said Jack. "There should be about 800 ozs., valued at something like £3000; and this is the result of but our first washing-up." "Good lord, what luck!" exclaimed the Pilot. "As I always have said, it comes in streaks. Now, Jack, here, has had his streak o' bad luck, and now he's got into a new streak, and it's so good that it's like to turn him crazy before he comes to the end of it. If you want to know the real truth about things, ask an old sailor--he won't mislead you." But all that Rose said was, "How nice it must be to meet with such success." "By George, I was almost forgetting our bargain," exclaimed Scarlett. He took from his pocket a little linen bag, which he handed to Rose. "Those are the nuggets you wanted--glad to be able to keep my promise." The girl untied the neck of the small bag, and three heavy pieces of gold tumbled on the table. "I can't take them," she exclaimed. "They're worth too much. I can't make any adequate return." "I hope you won't try. Pilot, she _must_ take them." "Take 'em? Of course. Why, Rosebud, his luck would leave him to-morrer, if you was to stop him keeping his promise. You're bound to take 'em." Rose weighed the bits of virgin gold in the palm of her little hand. "Of course, I never really meant you to give me any of your gold," she said. "I only spoke in joke." "Then it's a joke I should make pretty often, if I were you," said Sartoris. "You don't seem to know when you're well off." "I take it under compulsion; hoping that you'll find so much more that you won't feel the loss of this." "There's no fear of that," said Jack. "As for repayment, I hope you won't mention it again." "I'll have to give it you in good wishes." The basket of roses stood on the table. Jack looked at the beautifully blended colours, and stooped to smell the sweet perfume. "I'll take one of these," he said, "--the one you like the best." The girl took a bud of La Rosiere, dark, velvety, fragrant, perfect. "I'm in love with them all," she said, "but this is my favourite." She handed the bud to Jack, who put it in the button-hole of his worn and shabby coat. "Thanks," he said, "I'm more than repaid." Sartoris burst out laughing. "Don't you feel a bit in the way, Summerhayes?" he said. "I do. When these young things exchange love-tokens, it's time we went into the next room." "No," laughed the Pilot, "we won't budge. The gal gets twenty-pound worth of gold, and offers a rose in return. It's a beautiful flower, no doubt; but how would a slice of mutton go, after 'damper' and 'billy' tea? Rosebud, my gal, go and get Mr. Scarlett something to eat." Joining in the laugh, Rose went into her kitchen, and Jack commenced to pack up his gold, in order that the table might be laid for dinner. But if you come to think of it, there may have been a great deal in his request, and even more in the girl's frank bestowal. CHAPTER XXI. The Foundation of the Gold League. Mr. Crewe sat in the Timber Town Club with his satellite, Cathro, beside him. The old gentleman was smoking a well-seasoned briar pipe, from which he puffed clouds of smoke contemplatively, as he watched the gesticulations of a little man who was arguing with a gentleman who wore riding-breeches and leggings. "I tell you, sir," said the little man, "that there is not the vestige of proof that the mails were stolen, not the slightest scintilla of truth in the suspicion." "Then what became of them?" asked the other, as he fixed a gold horse-shoe pin more securely in his tie. "What became of them?" exclaimed the little man. "They were washed overboard, washed overboard and lost." "But," said the man of horses, "I happened to be riding home late that night, and, I assure you, there was not a breath of wind; the sea was as smooth as glass." "That might be," retorted the little man, who was now pacing up and down in front of his adversary in a most excited fashion. "That might be, but there is a lot of surge and swell about a steamer, especially in the neighbourhood of the screw, and it is very possible, I may say highly probable, that the missing bags were lost as the mail was being passed up the side." "But how would that affect the incoming mail?" asked the other. "Did that drop over the side, too?" "No, sir," said the diminutive man, drawing himself up to his full height. "There is nothing to prove that the incoming mail was anything but complete. We are honest people in Timber Town, sir. I do not believe we have in the entire community men capable of perpetrating so vile a crime." He turned to the Father of Timber Town for corroboration. "I appeal to you, Mr. Crewe; to you, sir, who have known the town from its inception." Mr. Crewe drew his pipe from his mouth, and said, with great deliberation, "Well, that is, ah--that is a very difficult question. I may say that though Timber Town is remarkably free from crime, still I have known rascals here, and infernal dam' rascals, too." The little man fairly bristled with indignation at this remark. He was about to refute the stigma laid on his little pet town, when the door opened and in walked Scarlett, dressed still in his travel-stained clothes, and with his beard unshorn. His appearance was so strange, that the little argumentative man believed an intruder, of low origin and objectionable occupation, had invaded the sacred precincts of his club. "I beg your pardon, but what does this mean, sir?" he asked; immense importance in his bearing, gesture, and tone. "You have made some mistake, sir. I should like to know if your name has been duly entered in the visitors' book, and by whom, sir?" Taking no notice of these remarks, Jack walked straight across the room, and held out his hand to Mr. Crewe. The white-haired old gentleman was on his feet in a moment. He took the proffered hand, and said, with a politeness which was as easy as it was natural, "What is it I can do for you, sir? If you will step this way, we can talk quite comfortably in the ante-room." Jack laughed. "I don't believe you know me," he said. "'Pon my honour, you're right. I don't," said Mr. Crewe. Jack laughed again, a thing which in a non-member almost caused the pompous little man to explode with indignation. "I'm the fellow, you know, who went to look for the new gold-field," said Jack, "and by the lord! I've found it." "Scarlett! Is it you?" exclaimed old Mr. Crewe. "You have got it? My dear sir, this is good news; this is excellent news! You have found the new gold-field? This is really remarkable, this is indeed most fortunate! This is the happiest day I have seen for a long while!" "Eh? What? what?" said Cathro, who was on his feet too. "Is it rich?" "Rich?" said Jack. Taking a bank deposit-receipt from his pocket, he handed it to Cathro. "Good God!" cried he, eyeing the figures on the paper, "it's a fortune." Mr. Crewe had his gold spectacles upon his nose and the paper in his hand in a moment. "Three thousand one hundred and eighty-seven pounds!" he exclaimed. "Well, well, that is luck! And where's your mate, Scarlett? Where is Moonlight?" "He's on the claim." "On the claim? Then there's still gold in sight?" "We've but scratched the surface," said Jack. "This is only the foretaste of what's to come." The important little man, who had eagerly listened to all that had been said, was hovering round the group, like an excited cock sparrow. "Really!" he exclaimed, "this is most interesting, very interesting indeed. A remarkable event, Mr. Crewe, a most remarkable event. Do me the honour, sir, to introduce me to your friend." "Mr. Tonks, Scarlett," said the old gentleman. "Allow me to introduce Mr. Tonks." Jack greeted the little man politely, and then turning to Cathro, said, "We've pegged off four men's claims; so, Cathro, you'll have to turn digger, and go back with me to the field." "But my dear sir," replied Cathro, whose shrivelled form betokened no great physical strength, "my dear Scarlett, am I to do pick-and-shovel work? Am I to trundle a barrow? Am I to work up to my waist in water, and sleep in a tent? My dear sir, I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed." Scarlett threw back his head, and laughed. "Oh, that's nothing," he said. "It's the getting there with a 70lb. swag on your back that's the trouble. The country is a mass of ranges; the bush is as thick as a jungle, and there's nothing but a blazed track to go by. But your claim is waiting for you. What do you intend doing with it?" The attenuated Cathro sank on a couch despairingly. "I think I'll sell it," he said. "I'll sell it to Tonks here, I'll sell it for £1000 down, and be content with small profits and quick returns." The little man, important that he should be referred to as good for so substantial an amount, strutted up and down, like a bantam on whom the eyes of the fowl-yard rested. However, the gentleman, dressed for riding, was beforehand with him. "It's an open offer, I suppose," he said. "Certainly," replied Cathro. "I don't care who gets my claim, so long as I get the money." "Then it's concluded," said the horsey man. "I buy the claim." "Done," said Cathro. "The matter is closed. The claim is yours. Now, that's how I like to do business; just a straight offer and a prompt acceptance. Scarlett, this is Mr. Chesterman. He takes my place. You can take him over the ranges and along the blazed track: no doubt, you'll find him a better bushman than myself. Chesterman is accustomed to carry a 70lb. swag; he'll make an excellent beast of burden. I wish you luck, Chesterman." "But don't you think," said Mr. Crewe, turning to the horsey man, "don't you think you're rather hasty in buying for such a large sum a property you have never seen?" "I've been on several gold-fields," said Chesterman, "and I have had good luck on all of them. My method has always been to act on the first information of a discovery. A field is always richest at the beginning of the rush, and I know by experience that the picked claims, on a new field that yields such results as this does on the first washing, are worth having. I start to-morrow. Is it possible to get a horse through?" "No," replied the pioneer, "not the slightest chance of it. Until a track is cut, it will be quite impossible; but if you're good in the bush you can follow the blaze, when once you have struck it." At this moment, there entered the room a very imposing person. He was quite six feet high, and broad in proportion; his frank and open face was adorned with a crisp, gold-coloured beard. He was dressed in a rough, grey, tweed suit, and carried a newspaper in his hand. Big men are not usually excitable, but the blue eyes of this Hercules were ablaze with suppressed emotion. In a voice that sounded like a cathedral bell, he said, without preface or introduction, so that the room rang again, "Listen. 'Gold discovery in the Eastern ranges. There has arrived in town a lucky digger who is said to have sold, this morning, some 800 ounces of gold to the Kangaroo Bank. It is understood that the precious metal came from a new gold-field on Bush Robin Creek, which lies somewhere Eastward of the Dividing Range. From accounts received, it would appear that a field of unequalled richness has been opened up, and that a phenomenal rush to the new El Dorado will shortly set in. All holders of Miners' Rights are entitled to peg off claims.' Gentlemen, I have been to the Kangaroo Bank," continued the giant, "and I have seen the gold myself. It is different from any sold here hitherto, barring some 70 ounces, which were brought in a few weeks ago, from the same locality. So, you see, we have had a gold rush created at our very doors. I propose that all the men present form themselves into a committee to wait upon the local representative of the Minister for Mines--that, I take it, would be the Commissioner for Lands--and urge the construction of a graded track to the new field." "A very good suggestion," said Mr. Crewe, "a very good suggestion. For if you want to get these Government people to do anything, by Jupiter, you need to commence early. We'll go along, if you are willing, gentlemen; we'll go in a body to the Red Tape Office, and see what can be done. But before we go, let us drink the health of Mr. Scarlett, here. He has done remarkably well in bringing this discovery to light, and I ask you to drink to his continued good luck, at my expense, gentlemen, entirely at my expense." The steward of the club, a thin, dark man, with black eyes which were watchful and merry, went quietly round the room, which was now filled with men, and took their orders. Then he disappeared. "I think, gentlemen," continued Mr. Crewe, "that, as the oldest colonist present, I may be allowed to express an opinion. I think I may say, without fear of contradiction, that I have watched the development of many gold-fields in my time, and have benefited by not a few; and, gentlemen, from the description given by our friend, here, this new field is likely to prove the richest of them all. By far the best thing is for the younger men amongst us to go and prove the thing. I should recommend a party being formed under the guidance of Mr. Scarlett, and that it should start as soon as possible. I would go myself if I were a few years younger, and I _will_ go so soon as the track is cut. I shall see the field myself. But I am really too old to contend with supple-jacks and 'lawyers' and the thick undergrowth of the bush. I should only be in your way. I should only be a nuisance." The quick-eyed steward, who, by a method of memory known only to himself, had retained in his mind the correct list of the strange and various liquors ordered, now appeared with a gigantic tray, on which he bore a multitude of glasses. These he deftly handed round, and then all present rose to their feet. "Mr. Scarlett," said the Father of Timber Town. "I ask you to drink his health and continued good luck." The ceremony over, Jack stood up. "It's awfully good of you," he said, "to give me the credit of this new 'find,' but as a matter of fact I have had little to do with it. The real discoverer is the man who came in from the bush, some six weeks ago, and painted the town red. After doing him justice, you should pay your respects to my mate, Moonlight, who is more at home in the bush than he is in town. To him you owe the declaration of the new field. I shall be returning in a day or two, and I shall be glad to take with me any of you who care to come. I promise you a rough journey, but there is good gold at the end of it." He raised his glass to his lips, drained it, and sat down. "We must organise," said the giant who had read from the newspaper, "we must form ourselves into some sort of a company, for mutual strength and support." The notion of so big a man calling upon his fellows for help did not seem to strike anybody as peculiar, if not pathetic. "Chair, chair," cried the pompous Mr. Tonks. "I propose that Mr. Crewe be placed in the chair." "Hear, hear." "Unity is strength." "Limited liability----" "Order! ORDER!" "Let me have my say." "Sit down, old fellow; nobody wants to hear you." Amid this babel of voices, old Mr. Crewe rose, and waited for the attention of his audience. When every eye was riveted on him, he said, "Though I discerned the importance of this discovery, I was not prepared, gentlemen, for the interest you have so warmly expressed. It is a fact that this is the commencement of a new era in the history of Timber Town. We are about to enter upon a new phase of our existence, and from being the centre of an agricultural district, we are to become a mining town with all the bustle and excitement attendant upon a gold rush. Under the mining laws, each of you has as much right as my friend Scarlett, here, to a digger's claim upon this field, provided only that you each obtain a Miner's Right and peg off the ground legitimately. But I understand that the desire is to unite for mutual benefit. That is to say, you desire to pool your interests and divide the proceeds. The first thing, then, is for each man to peg off his claim. That done, you can work the properties conjointly under the supervision of a committee, pay the gross takings into a common account, and divide the profits. In this way the owner of a duffer claim participates equally with the owner of a rich one. In other words, there is less risk of failure--I might say, no risk at all--but also much temptation. Such a scheme would be quite impossible except amongst gentlemen, but I should imagine that where men hold honour to be more precious than money, none will risk his good name for a little gold. First, it must be the association of working miners; secondly, a company of gentlemen. Unless a man feels he can comply with these two conditions, he had best stand aside." "It would be too late for a man to think of backing out," interrupted the bearded Hercules, "after he had turned thief by performing the Ananias trick of keeping back part of his gains: that man would probably leave the field quicker than he went, and poorer." "Or possibly he might not leave it at all," interjected Chesterman. "However that might be," continued Mr. Crewe, "the object of all present is, I understand, to act in unison. There will be hundreds of diggers on the field before very long, and in many cases claims will be jumped and gold will be stolen, in spite of the Warden and the constabulary. You will be wise, therefore, to co-operate for mutual protection, if for no other reason." "Name, title?" "What shall the association be called?" A dozen names were suggested by as many men. Some were offered in jest, some in earnest; but none met with approval. When the tempest of voices was past, Mr. Crewe said, "The association must have a name; certainly, it must have a name. It is not to be a company, registered under the Act. It is not to be a syndicate, or a trust. It is simply a league, composed of gentlemen who intend to stand beside each other, and divide the profits of their enterprise. If you cannot consolidate your claims, you must work them individually. I shall therefore suggest that you call yourselves The Timber Town Gold League. Your articles of agreement can be drawn up in half-an-hour, and you can all sign them before you leave this room." Here Scarlett whispered to Mr. Crewe, who scrutinised his hearers, and then said, "To be sure; certainly. Whilst Bulstrode, here, who is a lawyer and should know his business, is drawing up the document, Scarlett asks you to drink to the prosperity of the new league." The suggested ceremony necessitated more speeches, but when they were finished the lawyer read the articles of association. Strangely enough, they were devoid of legal technicalities, and consisted of four clearly-worded clauses, destitute of legal fiction, to which all present readily subscribed their names. That done, they drank to the prosperity of The Timber Town Gold League. CHAPTER XXII. Women's Ways. Scarlett had a day upon his hands while his gold-seeking _confreres_ of the League made their preparations for the journey to Bush Robin Creek. To loiter about the town meant that he would be pestered with questions regarding the locality of the new "field," which, until his friends' "claims" were pegged off, it was desirous to keep secret. He decided, therefore, to re-visit the scene of the wreck of _The Mersey Witch_. On a mount, lent him by Chesterman, he was on his way to the Maori _pa_, before the town was stirring. The road, which he had never traversed before, wound its tortuous way along the shore for some eight miles, and then struck inland across the neck of a wooded peninsula, on the further side of which the rugged and rocky shore was fringed with virgin forest. He had reached the thick and shady "bush" which covered the isthmus, where the dew of the morning still lay cool on leaf and frond, and the great black boles of the forest giants stood sentinel amid the verdant undergrowth, when he overtook a girl who was walking towards the _pa_. Her dress was peculiar; she wore a short Maori mat over her shoulders, and a blue petticoat fell from waist to ankle, while her head and feet were bare. Jack reined in his horse, and asked if he was on the road which led to the _pa_, when the girl turned her merry, brown face, with its red lips and laughing, brown eyes, and said in English as good as his own, "Good morning. Yes, this is the road to the _pa_. Why, you were the last person I expected to see." She held up her hand to him, to greet him in European fashion. "Amiria!" he exclaimed. "How _are_ you? It's quite appropriate to meet you here--I'm on my way to the wreck, to see how the old ship looks, if there is anything of her left. How far is it to the _pa_?" "About two miles." "What brings you so far, at this time of the morning?" "You passed a settler's house, half-a-mile back." "Yes, a house built of slabs." "I have been there to take the woman some fish--our people made a big haul this morning." Jack dismounted, and, hooking his arm through the bridle, he walked beside the Maori girl. "Why didn't you ride, Amiria?" "My horse is turned out on the hills at the back of the _pa_, and it's too much trouble to bring him in for so short a ride. Besides, the walk won't hurt me: if I don't take exercise I shall lose my figure." She burst into a merry laugh, for she knew that, as she was then dressed, her beauty depended on elasticity of limb and sweetness of face rather than upon shape and fashion. "I'll show you the wreck," she said. "It lies between us and the _pa_. It looks a very harmless place in calm weather with the sun shining on the smooth sea. The tide is out, so we ought to be able to reach the wreck without swimming." They had come now to the edge of the "bush," and here Scarlett tied his horse to the bough of a tree; and with Amiria he paced the soft and sparkling sands, to which the road ran parallel. The tide was low, as the girl had said, and the jagged rocks on which the bones of the ship lay stranded, stood black and prominent above the smooth water. The inner reefs were high and dry, and upon the slippery corrugations of the rocks, covered with seaweed and encrusted with shell-fish, the two walked; the Maori girl barefooted and agile, the Englishman heavily shod and clumsy. Seeing the difficulty of Scarlett's advance, Amiria held out her hand to him, and so linked they approached the sea. A narrow belt of water separated them from the reef on which the wreck lay, and to cross this meant immersion. "The tide is not as low as I thought," said Amiria. "At low spring-tide you can walk, almost dry-shod, to the other side." "I'm afraid we can't reach it without a ducking," said Scarlett. "But you can swim?" Scarlett laughed. "It's hardly good enough to ride home in wet clothes." He divined Amiria's meaning, but pretended otherwise. Then she laughed, too. "But I have a plan," she said. Without a word more, she threw off her flax cape and dropped into the water. A few strokes and she had reached the further reef. "It will be all right," she cried, "I think I can ferry you across on a raft." She walked over the sharp rocks as though her feet were impervious, and clambering through a great rent in the vessel's side, she disappeared. When next Jack caught sight of her she was perched on the top of the battered poop, whence she called, "I'll roll a cask over the rocks, and get you across. There's a big chest in the saloon that belongs to you." She disappeared again, and when Jack next saw her, she was rolling a huge barrel with difficulty towards the channel. "It's a quarter-full of sand," she cried, "and when you stand it on its end it is ballasted. You'll be able to come over quite dry." Launching the cask, she pushed it before her as she swam, and soon clambered up beside Scarlett. "It's bunged, I see," said he. "I did it with a piece of wood," said she. Then, booted and spurred, Jack placed himself cross-legged on the cask, and so was ferried across the intervening strip of water. The main deck of the vessel was washed away, but the forecastle and poop remained more or less intact. The ship, after settling on the rock, had broken her back, and the great timbers, where the copper sheathing and planks had been torn away, stood up like naked ribs supporting nothing. Walking upon an accumulation of sand and debris, the Maori girl and Jack passed from the hold to what was left of the main deck, and entered the saloon. All the gilding and glory had departed. Here a cabin door lay on the floor, there the remains of the mahogany table lay broken in a corner. A great sea-chest, bearing Scarlett's name upon its side, stood in the doorway that led to the captain's cabin. Full of sand, the box looked devoid of worth and uninviting, but Scarlett, quickly taking a piece of board, began to scoop out the sodden contents. As he stooped, a ray of sunlight pierced the shattered poop-deck and illumined his yellow hair. Attracted by the glitter, Amiria put out her hand and stroked his head. Jack looked up. "Isn't that a bit familiar?" he asked. Amiria laughed. "Not from the girl who saved you. If I hadn't pulled you out of the water, it might seem a great thing to touch you, but I know you so well that really it doesn't matter." Jack buried his head in the chest. This relationship between preserver and preserved was new to him: he hardly knew what to make of it. But the humour of the situation dawned on him, and he laughed. "By George, I'm at your mercy," he said, and, standing up, with his back still towards her, he laughed again. "You've appropriated me, just as your people appropriated the contents of this box and the rest of the wreckage. You'll have to be put in charge of the police for a little thief." And again his laugh rang through the ruined saloon. Remarking that the girl made no reply to this sally, he glanced towards her, to find that she had turned her back upon him and was sobbing in a corner. Leaving his task of clearing out the sea-chest, he went towards her, and said, "I'm awfully sorry, Amiria, if I've said anything that hurt your feelings. I really didn't mean to." He had yet to learn that a Maori can bear anything more easily than laughter which seems to be derisive. As the girl continued to cry, he placed his hand upon her shoulder. "Really, Amiria, I meant nothing. I would be the last person on earth to hurt your feelings. I don't forget what I owe you. I can never repay you. If I have been clumsy, I ask your pardon." He held up her head, and looked into her tear-stained face. "You'll forgive me, won't you?" The girl, her still untutored nature half-hidden beneath a deceptive covering of _Pakeha_ culture, broke into a torrent of Maori quite unintelligible to the white man, but as it ended in a bright smile bursting out from behind her tears, he knew that peace was made. "Thank you," he said; "we're friends again." In a moment, she had thrown her arms about him and had burst into a rhapsody in her native tongue, and, though he understood not one word of it, he knew intuitively that it was an expression of passionate affection. The situation was now more awkward than before. To rebuff her a second time would be to break his word and wound her more deeply than ever. So he let this new burst of feeling spend itself, and waited for her to return to her more civilised self. When she did, she spoke in English. "You mustn't judge me by the _Pakeha_ girls you know. My people aren't like yours--we have different ways. White girls are cold and silent when they feel most--I know them: I went to school with them--but _we_ show our feelings. Besides, I have a claim on you which no white girl has. No white girl would have pulled you out of the surf, as I did. And if I showed I cared for you then, why shouldn't I show it now? Perhaps the _Pakeha_ would blame me, but I can't always be thinking of your _ritenga_. In the town I do as the white woman does; out here I follow the Maori _ritenga_. But whichever _ritenga_ it is, I love you; and if you love me in return, I am the happiest girl in the _kainga_." Scarlett gave a gasp. "Ah--really, I wasn't thinking of marrying--yet." Amiria smiled. "You don't understand," she said. "But never mind; if you love me, that's all right. We will talk of marrying by and by." Scarlett stood astonished. His mind, trained in the strict code of a sternly-proper British parish, failed to grasp the fact that a Maori girl regards matters of the heart from the standpoint of a child of Nature; having her code of honour, it is true, but one which is hardly comprehended by the civilised _Pakeha_. Jack felt he was standing upon the dizzy abyss that leads to loss of caste. There was no doubt of Amiria's beauty, there was no doubt of her passionate affection, but there was a feeling at the back of his mind that his regard for her was merely a physical attraction. He admired every curve of her supple shape, he felt his undying gratitude go out to the preserver of his life, but that was all. Yet a weakness was stealing over him, that weakness which is proportionate usually to the large-heartedness of the individual. Suddenly relinquishing Amiria's clasp, he went to the broken port-hole of a dilapidated cabin and looked out upon the incoming sea. "We must be quick," he cried, "or we shall be caught by the tide." "What matter?" said the girl, lazily. "I have stayed here a whole night when the sea was not as calm as it is now." "But I have to get back to town--I start for the gold-fields to-morrow, before daylight." "Why do you go to the stupid gold-fields? Isn't there everything a man wants here? The _pa_ is full of food--you shall want for nothing." "I suppose it is the _Pakeha_ way to want to grow rich. Come along." He clambered down to where the broken keelson lay, and regained the rocks. Amiria followed him slowly, as though reluctant to leave the scene of her confession, but presently she stood beside him on the slippery seaweed. He led the way to where the barrel lay floating in the rising tide. That the ignominy of being ferried by a girl might not be repeated, he had brought from the wreck a piece of board with which to propel himself. Perceiving his intention so soon as he was sitting cross-legged on the top of his strange craft, Amiria dashed into the water, seized the improvised oar, and threatened to drag it from his grasp. "I'll take you across myself," she almost screamed. "Why should you think I don't want to take you back?" "All right," said Jack, dropping his piece of wood, "have it your own way. I hand myself over to you, but let us get across quickly." Again the Englishman felt how mean are the conventions of the white man, how petty his propriety; again the Maori girl felt nothing but pleasure and pride in the part she played. When they reached the further side, Amiria picked up her mat and threw it over her glistening shoulders, and Scarlett floundered over the slippery rocks towards the beach. "You'll come to the _pa_?" "You're too kind. I must get back to town." "But you've had nothing to eat." "I have my lunch in my wallets." Amiria's face fell. "You're very unkind," she said. "I'll stay all day, next time I come." "When will that be?" "As soon as I can. Ah, here's my horse, under this birch tree. Well, good-bye, Amiria. Thank you for taking charge of me to-day. My word, how you can swim: like a mermaid." His hand touched hers for a brief moment; the next he was in the saddle. His spur lightly touched the horse's flank, and the springy turf yielded to the iron-shod hooves; there was a waving of a disappearing hand, and the brown girl was left alone. "You will come back," she called through the leaves. "I'll come back." Then, slowly, sadly, she walked towards the _pa_, talking to herself in Maori, listless and sorrowful. By the time that Scarlett had reached the outskirts of Timber Town the night had begun to close in. Leaving the main road, he passed along a by-way to a ford, where a foot-bridge spanned the river. As his horse bent its head to drink, Jack heard a woman scream upon the bridge above him. In a moment he had dismounted, and his heavy boots were resounding on the wooden planks. In the middle of the bridge he came upon a girl struggling in the grasp of a thick-set ruffian, who was dragging her towards the bank further from the town. Grappling with the brutal fellow, Jack released the girl, who ran past him in the direction of the horse. The scoundrel cursed and kicked, but Jack, who had him by the throat, almost squeezed the life out of him, and then heaved him over the bridge into the dark and gurgling water. Returning to the girl, who was standing at the bridge-head, crying and, seemingly, deprived of power to run further, Scarlett led her to where the horse stood beside the water. "Which way shall I take you?" he asked. "I live at the other side of the town," she replied. "I was going home when that brute met me on the bridge." Again she lost control of her powers, and Jack was obliged to support her. When she had recovered, he swung her into the saddle and led the horse across the river. "I was just in time," he said. "How do you feel now?" "Better." "It's lucky I didn't kill the brute. Do you know who he is?" "I never saw him before. But I think he's a digger: lots of them have come into the town since this discovery of gold was made. Oh, I'm _so_ frightened! Do you think he will come again?" "It's hardly likely. I think he must have had enough trouble for one night." "Suppose you have drowned him----" "There's no chance of that--the water is only deep enough to break his fall. He'll be all right." "I think I had better get down, if you please: it would be rather an unusual thing to ride through the town in this manner. I think I can walk." She slid limply to the ground, and Jack supported her. "Whom must I thank for helping me?" she asked. "I'm a digger, too," said Jack; and he told her his name. "Are you the man who discovered the new field?" "Some people give me the credit of it. I start back to-morrow. It was lucky I was crossing that stream when I did. You haven't told me whom I have had the pleasure of rescuing." They were passing a street lamp, and for the first time Jack could see the girl's face. She was pretty, with black hair, an oval face, and a dark complexion. "I'm Miss Varnhagen," she said. "My Dad will be awfully grateful to you." She looked at her preserver with eyes which expressed all the gratitude that Scarlett could desire. "I'll see you safely home," he said; "and when you tell your father, perhaps he will repay me by letting me see you again." "He'll be only too pleased. He says the town owes you more than it can ever pay you for discovering this gold, which, he says, will mean thousands of pounds to him and the other merchants." They passed through the town and paused before a great wooden mansion, painted a light colour, which made it conspicuous even in the dark. Here Rachel said she lived. Between the gate and the house grew a plantation of palms, camellias, and rare shrubs, which were displayed by the lights which shone above the gate and the door. "Won't you come in and see my father?" "Nothing would please me more, but I'm wet, and my horse is tired and needs a feed. Some other time I'll call and tell your father how pleased I was to be of service to you. Good-night." Rachel gave his hand a tender squeeze. "Thanks awf'lly," she said, looking up at him with seraphic eyes. "Thank you awf'lly much. I think you're just the nicest man I ever met. Be sure you come to see us when you return. Good-night." Another tender squeeze of the hand, another affectionate look, and she disappeared among the palms and camellias. Jack mounted his horse, and rode it to its stables. Then he went to The Lucky Digger, where he changed his clothes and had dinner, after which he directed his steps towards the house of Pilot Summerhayes. His knock was answered by Rose herself, who conducted him into the quaint dining-room, where, upon the polished table, lay the materials for a dress which she was making, and beside them the hundred-and-one oddments which are necessary for such a task. "Father's out. He has gone to fetch a steamer in." "I'm sorry," said Jack. "I should like to see him before I go back to the bush." Rose sat silent. She was very demure, and her manner was somewhat stiff; therefore, seeing that his experiences had exhilarated him, Jack said, "I've had a great day. Two of the prettiest girls I ever saw almost devoured me." "Where have you been, Mr. John Scarlett? You want watching." Rose's bashfulness had entirely disappeared, but she was blushing profusely. "I went out to see the wreck," said Jack, "and met your little Maori friend." "Your life's preserver." "My life's preserver. She ferried me across an impassable strip of water on a barrel, and almost captured my heart in the saloon." "Don't play any games with Amiria's heart, or I shall cut you dead. I tell you that plainly." "I assure you I have no intention whatever of playing with Amiria's heart. It was she who played with mine, and nearly won. But I saved myself by flight. It was fortunate I had a good horse." Rose laughed. "One would imagine you were hardly big enough to look after yourself. That's the kind of young man they generally send out from England. Well?" "As I was coming home I met a digger molesting another friend of mine, a Miss Varnhagen." "You'd better be careful--she's a flirt." "Then I rather like flirts. I threw the digger into the river, and took her home. She has the most lovely eyes I ever saw." "And she knows how to use them." "You're jealous, I'm afraid. Wouldn't you want to look at the man who had saved you from an ugly brute, who met you in the dark on a narrow bridge from which you couldn't possibly escape?" "Perhaps. But why don't you feel a little sentimental over the girl who saved you from a watery grave? You're callous, I'm afraid, Mr. Scarlett." "Not at all: I'm merely flattered. It seems a pity I can't stop in Timber Town, and see more of such girls; but I must be off to-morrow to get more gold. Gold is good, Miss Summerhayes, but girls are better." "Fie, fie. Gold and a good girl--that's perfection." "They always go together--I quite understand that." "Now you're frivolling. You're making yourself out to be _blasé_ and all that. I shall tell my father to forbid you the house." "In which case I shall call on Miss Varnhagen." "That would be all right--you would meet with the punishment you deserve. Marry the Varnhagen girl, and you will be grey in two years, and bald in five." "Well, I'm going to the gold-fields to-morrow." "So you said. I hope you will have the same luck as before." "Is that all you have to say?" "What more do you want?" "Any amount." "You've got gold: you've got feminine adoration. What more is there, except more gold?" "More feminine adoration." "I should have thought you had to-day as much affection as is good for you." "You're in high spirits to-night." "I am. It's jolly to think of people succeeding. It's jolly to know somebody is growing rich, even if my old father and I are poor, that is too poor for me to go to assembly balls and private dances and things like that. So I sit at home and sew, and make puddings, and grow roses. Heigh-ho! I'm very happy, you know." Jack looked at her closely. Her cheeks were pink-and-white, her crisp, brown hair formed a becoming setting to her face, and her blue eyes sparkled as they watched him. "It seems to agree with you," he said. "I feel inclined to recommend a course of sewing and cooking to all my plain girl-friends." "Mr. Scarlett!" "I mean it." "Then go, and tell Rachel Varnhagen to use your recipe." "She's beautiful already." Just at this point of the conversation, there was the sound of heavy steps somewhere in a remote part of the house, and presently the Pilot of Timber Town tramped into the room. "Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Scarlett! Making love to my dar'ter, when I thought you was on your way to the diggings? Come, come; you're losing your opportunities; you're wasting time in gallivanting, when you might be growing rich. There's great news abroad. They've issued a writ against that chap Tresco for the robbery of those mail-bags." "Tresco?" said Scarlett. "Aye, Tresco the goldsmith. He's wanted by the police." "Then I'm afraid they won't find him," said Jack. "He's safe, I reckon." "Indeed. How do you know that?" "He was in the bush with his prospector friend, when I left Bush Robin Creek. But he robbed no mails, bless you, Pilot. What would he want with other people's letters?" "I don't pretend to know. There's money in mail-bags, I suppose. Perhaps he was after that." "He's after gold, right enough, and he'll get it, if I'm not mistaken." Jack had risen to go. "We leave early in the morning," he said. "I must get some sleep. Good-bye, Pilot; good-bye, Miss Summerhayes." "Good luck, lad. Come back rich." Rose was silent till Jack was near the door. Then she said, "I shall remember your recipe--I shan't neglect home duties: I shall attend to them regularly." Jack laughed, and the Pilot went with him to the front door. "Eh, lad, there never was such a gal for minding a house. She can make a batter-puddin' with anyone, and I don't care who the next is. Good night, lad, good night. There's never no need to tell her to look after her old father, none at all. And it's a good test--as good as you can have, Jack, my lad. If a gal looks after her old father well, she'll look after her husband, too, when he comes along. Good night, Jack; good night. Eh, but you're in a lucky streak. You'll die rich, Jack. Good night, Jack; good night." CHAPTER XXIII. Forewarned, Forearmed. Tresco and the Prospector were eating their "tucker" beneath the boughs of a spreading black-birch. In front of them burned brightly a fire of dead branches, suspended above which was the "billy," black and battered externally, but full of fragrant tea. "I shall go home to England," said Benjamin; his mouth half-filled with cold bacon. "I shall visit my widowed mother, and be the comfort and support of her declining years. There must be over 200 ounces in the tent, and hundreds more in the claim." "I ain't got a widowed mother," said the Prospector. "_I_ shall go into Timber Town and make The Lucky Digger open house--come when you like, have what you like, at the expense of Mr. William Wurcott. That's my style. I like to see a man free with his dollars." They had pegged out their claim at a spot where the corrugations in the rocky bed of the creek stretched from bank to bank and a beach of soft sand spread itself along the water's edge. The first "prospect" that they had "panned off" resulted in a return of a couple of ounces. Next they had "fossicked" with sheath-knives in the crevices of the rocks, and had quickly got something more than half a cupful of gold, in shape and size like pumpkin seeds. The day following, they continued to "pan off" the sands in front of their tent; each dish yielding a handsome return. But as Benjamin found this process difficult in his unskilful hands, he directed his attention to looking for new patches. Wading about in the shallows with a dish in one hand and a shovel in the other, he overturned loose bits of rock which he found lying on the sand. Sometimes he would find an ounce or two, sometimes nothing at all; but upon turning over a flat slab of rock, to raise which needed all his strength, he gave a whoop of delight, for a yellow mass lay glittering in the rippling waters. With a single scoop of his shovel he had won 80 ozs. of gold. This rich spot was where the water was but two feet deep, and above it and below it gold could be seen shining amongst the sand and gravel. When the cream of the claim, so to speak, had been skimmed off with the tin dish, the men began to set up sluice boxes, by means of which they might work the whole of their ground systematically. In constructing these boxes they received every help from Moonlight, who lent them tools, and aided them in cutting out the slabs. Left mateless during Scarlett's visit to Timber Town, the veteran miner frequently exchanged his lonely camp for the more congenial quarters of Tresco and the Prospector. It was during one of the foregatherings round the camp-fire, when Night had spread her sable mantle over the sleeping earth, and only the wakeful wood-hen and the hoarsely-hooting owl stirred the silence of the leafy solitude, that Moonlight was "swapping" yarns with the Prospector. As the flames shot up lurid tongues which almost licked the overhanging boughs, and the men sat, smoking their black tobacco, and drinking from tin pannikins tea too strong for the urban stomach, Bill the Prospector expectorated into the flames, and said: "The biggest streak o' luck I ever had--barring this present field, you understand--was at the Diamond Gully rush. There weren't no diamonds, but I got over 100 ounces in three days. Gold was more plentiful than flour, and in the police camp there was two safes full of gold belonging to the Bank, which was a twelve by eight tent, in charge of a young feller named Henery. A more trusting young man I never met. When I went to sell my little pile, he had over 12,000 ounces in a old leather boot-trunk in his tent, besides more in a sugar-bag. He'd even filled one of his top-boots with gold, and its feller stood waitin' to receive my contribution. 'Good morning,' I says. 'Are you the boss o' this show?' 'I'm in charge of the Bank,' he says, just as grand as if he was behind a mahog'ny counter with brass fixings. 'Then weigh my pile,' I says, handing over my gold. Then what d'you think he done? 'Just wait till I get my scales,' he says. 'I've lent 'em to the Police Sergeant. Please have the goodness to look after the business while I'm gone.' With that he leaves me in the company of close on £100,000, and never a soul'd have bin the wiser if I'd helped myself to a thousand or two. But the reel digger don't act so--it's the loafers on the diggings gets us a bad name. I've dreamed of it, I've had reg'lar nightmares about it when I've bin stone-broke and without a sixpence to buy a drink." "What?" said Tresco. "Gold littered about like lumber, and you practically given the office to help yourself? It's wonderful, Bill, what restraint there is in an honest mind! You can't ever have been to Sunday School." "How d'you know?" asked the Prospector. "Because, if you'd ha' bin regular to Sunday School when you were a boy, and bin told what a perfect horrible little devil you were, till you believed it, why, you'd ha' stole thousands of pounds from that calico Bank, just to prove such theories true. Now _I_ was brought up godly. I was learnt texts, strings of 'em a chain long; I had a red-headed, pimply teacher who just revelled in inbred sin and hell-fire till he made me want to fry him on the school grate. I couldn't ha' withstood your temptation. I'd most certainly have felt justified in taking a few ounces of gold, as payment for keeping the rest intact." "You're talking nonsense, the two of you," said Moonlight. "To rob on a gold-field means to be shot or, at the very least, gaoled. And when a man's on good gold himself, he doesn't steal other people's. My best luck was on the Rifle River, at a bend called Felix Point. It had a sandy beach where the water was shallow, just like this one here. My mate and I fossicked with a knife and a pannikin, and before the day was over we had between 30 and 40 ounces. The gold lay on a bottom of black sand and gravel which looked like so many eggs. After we'd put up our sluice we got as much as 200 ounces a day, and thought the claim poor when we got no more than fifty." "I 'xpect you had a rare ole spree when you got to town," said the Prospector. "How much did you divide?" "Between twenty and thirty thousand," replied Moonlight. "I handed my gold over to the Police escort, and went to town as comfortable as if I was on a turnpike road. I didn't go on the wine--I'm almost a teetotaler. A little red-headed girl got most of my pile--a red-headed girl can generally twist me round her thumb. That must have been ten years ago." "You've grown older and, perhaps, wiser," interjected Benjamin. "Wonderful thing, age." "This time I'm going to take a draft on Timbuctoo, or Hong-kong, or some place where red-headed girls are scarce, and see if I can't get away with a little cash." "Most probably you've got a widowed mother, like me," said Benjamin. "Go, and comfort her declining years. Do like me: wipe out the recollection of the good times you've had by acts of filial piety. A widowed mother is good, but if you can rake up a maiden aunt and keep her too, that'll be a work of supererogation." "Of how much?" asked Bill. "It's a word I picked up in my College days--I'm afraid I've forgotten the precise meaning." Benjamin's face lit up with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. He lifted his pannikin to his lips, nodded to his companions, said, "Here's luck," and drank the black tea as though it had been nectar. "That's the beauty of turning digger," he continued; "the sobriety one acquires in the bush is phenomenal. If you asked me to name the most virtuous man on this planet, I should say a prospector in the bush--a bishop is nothing to him. But I own that when he goes to town the digger becomes a very devil let loose. Think of the surroundings here--innocent twittering birds, silent arboreous trees, clear pellucid streams, nothing to tempt, nothing to degrade." Tresco might have amplified his discourse as fully as a bishop, but that at this point there was a shouting and the noise of dry boughs cracking under advancing feet. In a moment the three men were standing, alert, astonished, in various attitudes of defence. Moonlight had armed himself with a pick, the Prospector had grasped a shovel, Tresco drew a revolver from inside his "jumper." The shouting continued, though nothing could be seen. Then came out of the darkness, "What-ho there, Moonlight! Can't you give us a hand to cross the river?" "It's my mate," said Moonlight. "I know the voice. Is that you, Scarlett?" "It's Scarlett, all right," called back the voice, "but how am I to cross this infernal river?" The three men walked to the edge of the water, and peered into the darkness. "Perfectly safe," said the Prospector. "She's barely up to your middle." There was a splashing as of some one walking in the water, and presently a dark object was seen wading toward them. "Now, what the deuce is all this about, Scarlett?" It was Moonlight who thus expressed his wonderment. "The man who travels here at night deserves to get bushed. That you reached camp is just luck." "Camp?" replied the dripping Scarlett. "I've been waiting for you at _our_ camp since nightfall with twenty other devils worse than myself. Don't you ever sleep in your tent?" "Of course 'e does," the Prospector answered for Moonlight, "but mayn't a digger be neighbourly, and go to see 'is friends? "Come, and dry yerself by the fire, and have a bit of tucker." "But Great Ghost!" exclaimed Moonlight, "all the gold's in my tent, in the spare billy." "Quite safe. Don't worry," said Scarlett. "All those twenty men of mine are mounting guard over it, and if one of them stole so much as an ounce, the rest would kill him for breach of contract. That's the result of binding men to go share and share alike--they watch each other like ferrets." Jack took off his clothes, and wrapped in a blanket he sat before the fire, with a pipe in his mouth and a steaming pannikin in his hand. "Well, happy days!" he said as he drank. "And that reminds me, Tresco--you're wanted in Timber Town, very badly indeed--a little matter in connection with the mails. 'Seems there's been peculation of some sort, and for reasons which are as mad as the usual police tactics, the entire force is searching for you, most worthy Benjamin. The yarn goes that you're a forger in disguise, a counterfeiter of our sovereign's sacred image and all that, the pilferer of Her Majesty's mails, a dangerous criminal masquerading as a goldsmith." "Holee Smoke!" cried the Prospector. "Look to your gold, gen'lemen--there's thieves abroad, and one of us may be harbourin' a serpent unaware. Ben, my lovely pal, consider yourself arrested." "Do I understand there's a writ out?" asked Moonlight, serious, judicial, intensely solemn. "This must be put a stop to instantly. Imagine our virtuous friend in gaol." "Anyway, joking apart, the men I have brought know all about it," said Scarlett. "You've got till to-morrow morning to make tracks, Benjamin." The goldsmith coughed, and stood up in the full blaze of the fire-light. "I confess to nothing," he said. "My strong point hasn't been my piety, I own to that. I'm not much of a hot gospeller. I can't call to mind any works of unusual virtue perpetrated by me in unthinking moments. I'll go even so far as this: I'll acknowledge there are times when, if I let myself off the chain, I'd astonish all Timber Town; for there lurks somewhere inside my anatomy a demon which, let loose, would turn the town into a little hell, but, gentlemen, believe me, he is bound hand and foot, he's in durance vile. I'm no saint, but I'm no forger or counterfeiter, or animal of that sort--not yet. I have notions sometimes that I'd make a first-class burglar, if I gave my mind thoroughly to the business: I'd go to work in a scientific way; I'd do the business in a workmanlike fashion. I've got a strong leaning towards the trade, and yet I never burgled once, I who take a pleasure in investigating locks and latches and all the hundred-and-one contraptions used against thieves. But what is Timber Town?--a trap. The man who goes housebreaking in a little tin-pot place like that deserves to be caught. No, it is too isolated, too solitary, too difficult of egress to foreign parts, is Timber Town. The idea is preposterous, foolish, untenable--excellent word, untenable--and as for forging, the thing is so ridiculous that it isn't worth confuting. But what's this about robbing mails? What mails?" "The incoming English mail," said Scarlett. "Someone went through the bags before they were delivered." "Ah!" said Benjamin, "we must look for the motive in the perpetration of such a crime as that. We'll grant that the robbery took place--we'll make that concession. But what was the motive? The thief would expect one of two things--either to enhance his wealth, or to obtain valuable information. Who does the cap fit? Personally, I am as poor as a crow but for this gold: as regards information, all the secrets of the citizens of Timber Town do not interest me--I have no use for scandal--and as I have no rivals in my calling, mere trade secrets have no charm for me. The police are chuckle-heads." Tresco buried his face in his pannikin, and then re-lit his pipe. "Very good argyment," commented the hirsute Prospector, "very clear and convincin', but the police aren't open to argyment--they act on instinct." "Armed with a writ, a policeman is like a small boy with a shotgun," remarked Moonlight--"he must let it off. I don't say you're guilty, Tresco, but I say the minions of the Law will have you in their clutches if you don't make yourself scarce." "An' just as I was accumulating the one little pile of my life," murmured Benjamin. "Sometimes I think the gods show incompetence in the execution of their duty; sometimes I think there ain't no gods at all, but only a big, blind Influence that blunders on through Creation, trampling promiscuous on small fry like me." He pulled at his pipe contemplatively. "Decamp, is it? Obscure my fairy-like proportions from the common gaze? But who's to look after my interests here? What's to become of my half of the gold yet ungot?" "Can't you trust a mate?" said Bill. "Ain't I acted square so far? What are you gettin' at? I'll work the claim to its last ounce, and then I'll go whacks, same as if you'd bin here all the time. Then you can leave the country. Till then I'll put you away in a hiding-place where all the traps in the blanky country"--Bill had worked on Australian fields, and showed it in his speech--"won't find you, not if they search for years." Scarlett rose. He had put on his garments, now dry and warm. "So-long, Benjamin," he said. "You may be the biggest criminal unhung, for all I know, but you have one thing in your favour: if you robbed those mails it must have been for the benefit of another man." Moonlight bade good-bye, but as though to make up for his mate's aspersion, said, "I know nothing of this business, but I know the police. If they're not turned into a holy show when they set foot in this camp to look for you, may I never find another ounce of gold. Keep your end up, Benjamin. So-long." And he followed his mate into the darkness. The Prospector was wrapped in thought. He sat, gazing into the fire, for fully ten minutes. Then he said, "There's three ways--the Forks, the Saddle, and the Long Valley. I give 'em my own names. The Saddle's the safest. It's a bit of a tough climb, but it's sure. There's no hurry, but we must leave here at dawn, before these newsters reach the claim, which Moonlight'll see isn't jumped. So we'll sleep happy and comfortable, pack our swags just before daylight, take all our gold along with us, and cook our tucker when we make our first halt. All serene, my lovely Bishop; all thought out and planned, just like in a book. Never hurry in the bush, my beautiful ecclesiastic, as nothing's ever gained by that. More haste, less speed--in the bush, my learned preacher. What a pity they didn't catch you young and turn you into a sky-pilot, Ben. The way you jawed them two was fit for the pulpit. But now I know where you got the money to repay me that £117. I don't want any explanation. I know where you got it." CHAPTER XXIV. The Goldsmith Comes to Town. Timber Town was in a state of commotion. The news of the discovery of the new gold-field had spread far and wide, and every steamer which came into the port was crowded with clammering diggers. Every boarding-house was full to overflowing, every inn was choked with men in heavy boots and corduroy trousers; the roads on the outskirts of the town were lined with rows of tents; everybody talked of the El Dorado in the mountains; there was no thought but of gold; men were buying stores in every shop; pack-horses stood with their heavy loads, in every inn-yard; and towards the bush, threading their way through the tortuous gorge that led into the heart of the mountains, a continual string of diggers, laden with heavy "swags" or leading patient over-laden horses, filed into the depths of the forest. Jake Ruggles had lived a troubled life since his legal head and overlord, the official sponsor of his promising young life, had dropped out of his existence, as a stone drops to the bottom of a well and is no more seen. Upon his immature shoulders rested all the worry of the goldsmith's business. He was master of Tresco's bench; the gravers and the rat-tail files, the stock-drills and the corn-tongs were under his hand for good or for evil. With blow-pipe and burnisher, with plush-wheel and stake-anvil he wrought patiently; almost bursting with responsibility, yet with anxiety gnawing at his heart. And the lies he told on behalf of his "boss"!--lies to men with unpaid accounts in their hands, lies to constables with bits of blue paper from the Clerk of the Court, lies to customers whose orders could not be executed except by the master-goldsmith. On all sides the world pressed heavily on Jake. His wizened face was quickly assuming the aspect of a little old man's; his furtive eyes began to wear a scared look; sleep had ceased to visit his innocent couch with regularity; his appetite, which formerly had earned him a reputation with his peers, was now easily appeased with a piece of buttered bread and a cup of milkless tea; the "duff" and rice puddings, of the goldsmith's making, had passed out of his life even as had the "boss" himself. Never was there a more badgered, woe-begone youth than Jake. It was night time. The shutters of the shop were up, the door was bolted, the safe, with its store of gold-set gewgaws, was locked, and the key rested securely in the apprentice's pocket, but by the light of a gas-jet, his head bent over the bench, Jake was hard at work on a half-finished ring. In one hand he held a tapering steel rod, on which was threaded a circle of metal which might have been mistaken for brass; in the other he held a light hammer with which he beat the yellow zone. Tap-tap. "Jerusalem, my 'appy 'ome, oh! how I long for thee!" Tap-tap-tap went the hammer. "If the 'old man' was on'y here to lend a hand, I'd give a week's pay. The gold's full o' flaws--all along of the wrong alloy, in smeltin'--full o' cracks and crevices." He took the gold hoop off the steel rod, placed it on a piece of charred wood, pulled the gas-jet towards him, and with the blow-pipe impinged little jets of flame upon the yellow ring. "An' the galloot that come in this afternoon said, 'I always find the work turned out of this shop ah--excellent, ah--tip-top, as good as anything I ever bought in the Old Country, don'tcherknow.' Yah! Gimme silver, that's all. Gimme a butterfly buckle to make, or a monogram to saw out, an' I wouldn't call the Pope my uncle." His eye lifted from his work and rested on a broken gold brooch, beautiful with plaited hair under a glass centre. "An' that fussy old wood-hen'll be in, first thing to-morrow, askin' for 'the memento of my poor dear 'usband, my child, the one with the 'air in it'--carrotty 'air. An' those two bits of 'air-pins that want them silver bangles by ten o'clock, they'll be here punctual. I'm just fair drove silly with badgerin' wimmen. I'm goin' ratty with worry. When the boss comes back from his spree, I'll give 'im a bit o' my mind. I'll tell 'im, if he _must_ go on a bend he should wait till the proper time--Christmas, Anniversary of the Settlement, Easter, or even a Gov'ment Holiday. But at a time like _this_, when the town's fair drippin' with dollars ... stupid ole buck-rabbit! An' when he can't be found, the mutton-headed bobbies suddenly become suspicious. It's no good for me to tell 'em it's his periodical spree--_they_ say it's robbery. Oh, well, I back my opinion, that's all. But whether it's the one, or the other, of all the chuckle-headed old idiots that ever was born"--Tap-tap. It was not the noise of Jake's hammer, but a gentle knocking at the side-door of the workshop. The apprentice rose quietly, and put his ear to the key-hole. Tap-tap-tap. "Who's there?" "Open the door," said a soft voice. "It's me. I want to come in." "Very likely you do. There's many more'd like to come in here." "Is that you, Jake?" "Never you mind. Who're you?" "You weasel-faced young imp, am I to burst open my own door?" The mystery was at an end. In a moment, the bolt was withdrawn and Benjamin Tresco stood in his workshop. But before he spoke, he bolted the door behind him. Then he said, "Well?" "So you've come back?" said Jake, fiercely. "Looks like it," said the goldsmith. "How's things?" "Gone to the devil. How d'you expect me to keep business goin' when you go on a howling spree, for weeks?" "Spree? Me? My dear innocent youth, I have clean forgotten the very taste of beer. At this present moment, I stand before you a total abstainer of six weeks' duration. And yet what I ask for is not beer, but bread--I'm as hungry as a wolf; I've hardly eaten anything for two days. What have you got in the house?" "Nothin'." "What!" "_I_ don't 'ave no time to cook. When I can find time, I go up to The Lucky Digger and get a good square feed. D'you expect me to do two men's work and cook as well?" Tresco undid the small "swag" which he carried, and before the astonished eyes of his apprentice he disclosed fully a hundred ounces of gold. "Jee-rusalem! Blame me if you ain't been diggin'!" "That's so, my son." "And the police are fair ratty because they thought you were hiding from the Law." "So I am, my son." "Garn!" "Solemn fact--there's a writ out against me." "Well?" "I ain't got a mind to be gaoled at such a glorious time in the history of Timber Town. I want to get more gold, stacks of it." "An' where do _I_ come in?" "You come in as owner of this business by and by--if you're a good boy." "Huh! I want to go diggin' too." "All in good time, my energetic youth, all in good time. But for the present, give me some food." "Didn't I tell you there isn't any?" yelled Jake. "Very good, very good, but don't talk so loud. Take this half-crown, and go to The Lucky Digger. Tell the young lady in the bar that you have a friend who's dying of hunger. Tell her to fill a jug with a quart of beer, and a basket with tucker of sorts. And hurry back; for, by my sacred aunt, if I don't get something better presently, I shall turn cannibal and eat _you_!" While the boy was gone, Tresco weighed the gold that lay on the bench. It came to 111 ounces, and this, valued at the current price of gold from Bush Robin Creek--the uninitiated are possibly unaware that as one star differeth from another star in glory, so the gold from one locality differs in price from that found in another--came to £430 2s. 6d. Finding the safe locked, Tresco, whistling softly, turned down the gas, and sat at his bench in the gloom. When Jake returned he was cautiously admitted, the door was re-bolted, and the gas was turned up sufficiently to show the goldsmith the way to his mouth. "Where's the key of the safe, Jake?" "Where it ought to be." "You young imp, anty up." Jake produced the key from his pocket. "D'you suppose I label it and put it in the winder?" "Put this gold away--there's 111 ounces. I'll bring some more next time I come. Now." He lifted the jug, and drank. When he set it down again, it was half empty. "That's what I call a moment of bliss. No one who hasn't spent a month in the bush knows what a thirst really is; he ain't got no conception what beer means. Now, what's in the basket?" He lifted the white napkin that covered his supper. "Ham!" A beautific smile illumined his face. "Ham, pink and white and succulent, cut in thin slices by fair hands. Delicious! And what's this? Oyster patties, cold certainly, but altogether lovely. New bread, cheese, apple turn-over! Couldn't be better. The order of the menu is; first, entrees--that means oysters--next, ham, followed by sweets, and topped off with a morsel of cheese. Stand by and watch me eat--a man that has suffered semi-starvation for nearly a month." Jake lit a cigarette, an indulgence with which in these days of worry and stress he propitiated his overwrought nerves. He drew in the smoke with all the relish of a connoisseur, and expelled it through his nostrils. "Is this gold the result of six weeks' work?" he asked. "No, barely one week's," answered Tresco, his mouth full of ham and new bread. "Crikey!" Jake inhaled more cigarette smoke. "'Seems to me our potty little trade ain't in it. I move that we both go in for the loocrative profession of diggin'." "Mumf--mumf--muff--muff." The ham had conquered Tresco's speech. "Jes' so. That's what _I_ think, boss." Benjamin gave a gulp. "I won't take you," he said, as plainly as possible. "Oh, you won't?" "I won't." "Then, suppose I go on my own hook, eh?" "You've got to stop and look after this shop. You're apprenticed to _me_." "Oh, indeed!" "If a man chooses to spend a little holiday in the bush, is his apprentice to suppose his agreement's cancelled? Not a bit of it." "An' suppose a man chooses to spend a little holiday in gaol, what then?" "That's outside the sphere of practical politics, my son." "I don't know so much about that. I think different. I think we'll cry quits. I think I'll go along with you, or likely there'll be trouble." "Trouble?" "Yes, trouble." "What sort of trouble, jackanapes?" "Why, crimson trouble." "Indeed." "I've got you tied hand and foot, boss. You can take that from _me_." "Is that so? What do you think you can do?" "I intend to go along with you." "But I start to-night. If I can scrape together enough food to last a week or two. But I'll take you along. You shall come. I'll show you how I live. Now, then, what d'you say?" There was a twinkle in Tresco's eye, and the corners of his mouth twitched with merriment. "Think I don't know when I've got a soft thing on?" Jake took off his apron, and hung it on a nail. "Shan't want _that_, for a month or two anyway." Then he faced the "boss" with, "Equal whacks, you old bandicoot. I'll find the tucker, and we'll share the gold." Tresco's smile broke into a hearty laugh. He put his hands to his sides, threw back his head, and fairly chortled. "I don't see any joke." Jake looked at his master from beneath his extravagant eyebrows. "You'll ... you'll get the tucker ... see?" "Why, yes--how's a man to live?" "An' you'll help swag it?" "'Course." "You'll implicitly obey your lawful lord and master, out on the wallaby?" "'Spect I'll 'ave to." "You won't chiack or poke borak at his grey and honoured head when, by reason of his endowment of adipose tissue, his wind gives out?" "Oh, talk sense. Adipose rabbits' skins!" "All these several and collective points being agreed upon, my youthful Adonis, I admit you into partnership." "Done," said the apprentice, with emphasis. "It's a bargain. Go and sleep, and I'll fossick round town for tucker--I'm good for a sixty-pound swag, and you for eighty. So-long." He turned off the gas, took the key of the side door, which he locked after him, and disappeared, whilst Tresco groped his way to bed. The surreptitious goldsmith had slept for two hours when the stealthy apprentice let himself quietly into the dark and cheerless house. He bore on his back a heavy bag of flour, and carried on his arm a big basket filled with minor packages gleaned from sleepy shopkeepers, who had been awakened by the lynx-eyed youth knocking at their backdoors. In the cheerful and enlivening company of an alarum clock, Jake retired to his couch, which consisted of a flax-stuffed mattress resting on a wooden bedstead, and there he quickly buried himself in a weird tangle of dirty blankets, and went to sleep. At the conclusion of three brief hours, which to the heavy sleeper appeared as so many minutes, the strident alarum woke the apprentice to the stress of life. By the light of a tallow candle he huddled on his clothes, and entered the goldsmith's chamber. "Now, then, boss, three o'clock! Up you git!" Benjamin rubbed his eyes, sat up in bed, and yawned. "''Tis the voice of the sluggard, I heard him complain: You've waked me too soon--I must slumber again.' What's the time, Jake?" "Ain't I tellin' you?--three o'clock. If we don't want to be followed by every digger in the town, we must get out of it before dawn." "Wise young Solomon, youth of golden promise. Go and boil the kettle. We'll have a snack before we go. Then for fresh fields and pastures new." The goldsmith bounded out of bed, with a buoyancy which resembled that of an india-rubber ball. "Ah-ha! 'Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweek bird's throat, Come hither.' You see, Jakey, mine, we were eddicated when we was young." Benjamin had jumped into his clothes as he talked. "A sup and a snack, and we flit by the light of the moon." "There ain't no moon." "So much the better. We'll guide our steps by the stars' pale light and the beams of the Southern Cross." By back lanes and by-roads the goldsmith and his boy slunk out of the town. At the mouth of the gorge where diggers' tents lined the road, they walked delicately, exchanging no word till they were deep in the solitude of the hills. As the first streak of dawn pierced the gloom of the deep valley, they were wading, knee-deep, a ford of the river, whose banks they had skirted throughout their journey. On the further side the forest, dank, green, and dripping with dew, received them into its impenetrable shades, but still the goldsmith toiled on; his heavy burden on his back, and the panting, weary, energetic, enthusiastic apprentice following his steps. Leaving the track, Tresco led the way up a steep gully, thickly choked with underscrub, and dark with the boughs of giant trees. Forcing their way through tangled supple-jacks and clinging "lawyer" creepers which sought to stay their progress, the wayfarers climbed till, as day dawned, they paused to rest their wearied limbs before a sheer cliff of rock. "It's not very far now," said the goldsmith, as he wiped his dripping brow. "This is the sort of work to reduce the adipose tissue, my son. D'you think you could find your way here by yourself, indomitable Jakey?" "Huh! 'Course," replied the breathless youth, proud to be his master's companion in such a romantic situation, and glorying in his "swag". "Is this your bloomin' camp?" "No, sir." Tresco glanced up the face of the great limestone rock which barred their path. "Not exactly. We've got to scale this cliff, and then we're pretty well there." A few supple-jacks hung down the face of the rock. These Tresco took in his hand, and twisted them roughly into a cable. "'Look natural, don't they?" he said. "'Look as if they growed t'other end, eh? Now, watch me." With the help of his rope of lianas he climbed up the rugged cliff, and when at the summit, he called to Jake to tie the "swags" to separate creepers. These he hoisted to the top of the cliff, and shortly afterwards the eager face of the apprentice appeared over the brow. "Here we are," exclaimed Benjamin, "safe as a church. Pull up the supple-jacks, Jake." With an enthusiasm which plainly betokened a mind dwelling on bushrangers and hidden treasure, the apprentice did as he was told. Out of breath through his exertions, he excitedly asked, "What's the game, boss? Where's the bloomin' plant?" "Plant?" replied the goldsmith. "Yes, the gold, the dollars?" "Dollars? Gold?" "Yes, gold! 'Think _I_ don't know? Theseyer rocks are limestone. Who ever saw gold in limestone formation? Eh?" "How do _you_ know it's limestone?" "Yah! Ain't I bin down to the lime-kiln, by Rubens' wharf, and seen the lime brought over the bay? What's the game? Tell us." "The thing that I'm most interested in, at this present moment,"--the goldsmith took up his heavy "swag"--"is tucker." Without further words, he led the way between perpendicular outcrops of rocks whose bare, grey sides were screened by fuchsia trees, birch saplings, lance-wood, and such scrub as could take root in the shallow soil. Turning sharply round a projecting rock, he passed beneath a tall black birch which grew close to an indentation in the face of the cliff. Beneath the great tree the heels of the goldsmith crushed the dry, brown leaves deposited during many seasons; then in an instant he disappeared from the sight of the lynx-eyed Jake, as a rabbit vanishes into its burrow. "Hi! Here! Boss! Where the dooce has the ole red-shank got too?" A muffled voice, coming as from the bowels of the earth, said, "Walk inside. Liberty Hall.... Free lodging and no taxes." Jake groped his way beneath the tree, surrounded on three sides by the limestone cliff. In one corner of the rock was a sharp depression, in which grew shrubs of various sorts. Dropping into this, the lad pushed his way through the tangled branches and stood before the entrance of a cave. Inside Tresco held a lighted candle in his hand. In front of him stood Jake, spellbound. Overhead, the ceiling was covered with white and glistening stalactites; underfoot, the floor was strewn with bits of carbonate and the broken bases of stalagmites, which had been shattered to make a path for the ruthless iconoclast who had made his home in this pearly-white temple, built without hands. Tresco handed Jake another lighted candle. "Allow me to introduce you, my admirable Jakey, to my country mansion, where I retire from the worry of business, and turn my mind to the contemplation of Nature. This is the entrance hall, the portico: observe the marble walls and the ceiling-decorations--Early English, perpendicular style." Jake stood, open-mouthed with astonishment. "Now we come to the drawing-room, the grand _salon_, where I give my receptions." Benjamin led the way through a low aperture, on either side of which stalactites and stalagmites had met, leaving a low doorway in the centre. Beyond this, the candles' dim light struggled for supremacy in a great hall, whose walls shone like crystal. On one side the calcareous encrustations had taken the form of a huge organ, cut as if out of marble, with pipes and key-board complete. "Holee Christopher!" exclaimed the apprentice. "Nature's handiwork," said the goldsmith. "Beautiful.... Been making, this thousand years, for _me_--an' you." "Then I reckon Nature forgot the chimbley--it's as cold as the grave." "On the contrary, there is a chimney; but Nature doesn't believe in a fireplace in each room. Proceed. I will now show you my private apartments. Mind the step." He led the way down a dark passage, strewn with huge pieces of limestone, over which master and apprentice scrambled, into an inner chamber, where the white walls were grimed with smoke and the black embers of an extinguished fire lay in the middle of the floor. "My _sanctum sanctorum_," said the goldsmith, as he fixed the butt of his candle to a piece of rock by means of drops of melted wax poured from the lighted end. "This is where I meditate; this is where I mature my plans for the betterment of the human species." "Rats! You're darn well hidin' from the police." "My son, you grieve me; your lack of the poetic shocks me." "Oh, garn! You robbed those mails, that's about the size of it." "Robbed?--no, sir. Examined?--yes, sir. I was the humble instrument in the hands of a great rascal, a man of unprincipled life, a man who offered bribes, heavy bribes--an' I took 'em. I had need of money." "First comes the bender and then the bribe. I know, boss. But where d'you get the gold?" Benjamin stooped over a mass of bedding, rolled up in a tent-fly, and brought to light a canvas bag. "My private store," he said, "mine and Bill's. We go whacks. We're doing well, but expediency demands that for a short while I should retire into private life. And, by the hokey, I can afford it." "Gold?" asked Jake, peering at the bag. "Nuggets," said the goldsmith. Jake dropped his "swag" and felt the weight of the bag. "It gits over me," he said. "Either you stole it, or you dug it. I give it up. Any'ow, there it is." Benjamin smiled his broadest, and began to rake together the charred sticks scattered over the floor. "This is my only trouble," he said. "To yank my firewood in here is heart-breaking; that and swagging tucker from town." "Where's the smoke go to?" Jake looked into the inky blackness above. "Don't know. Never asked. I guess it finds its way somewhere, for after I've hung my blanket over the doorway and lighted the fire, I sometimes notice that the bats which live overhead buzz round and then clear out somewhere. I imagine that there's a passage which connects with the open air. Some day, perhaps, an over-earnest policeman will drop on our heads. Then there'll be a picnic, eh?" "What I want, just at present," said Jake, "is a drink." "That's another of my troubles," replied the goldsmith. "I have to fetch my water from outside, but it's lovely water when you've got it." He placed his bag of gold in a corner. "Don't put all your eggs into one basket," he said. "I believe in Jacob's plan--divide your belongings. If I'm caught here, I have the plant in town. If I'm caught in town, I have the plant here. Anyhow, the police can't get everything." "An' where do I come in?" The eyes of the rabbit-faced youth peered into his master's. "I don't precisely know. I don't think you come in at all." "Then what about that gold in the safe, boss?" "The key is here." Benjamin slapped his pocket gently. "But, if you're a good boy you shall have my business, and be the boss goldsmith of Timber Town." "Honest injin?" "Perfectly honest. If I get away with my gold, all I leave behind is yours." "Shake hands on it." "Certainly," said the goldsmith, and he held out his hand. Jake took it in his. "It's a bargain," he said. "That's right; a bargain." "I'll help you to get away with your gold, and you'll leave me your business, lock, stock, and barrel." "That's exactly it," said the goldsmith, taking up an empty "billy" from the ground. "Now we'll go and get the water for our tea." CHAPTER XXV. Fishing. A case of bottling-plums, the bloom still on their purple cheeks, stood on the kitchen table. Beside it stood Rose, her arms bare to the elbows, and a snowy apron flowing from breast to ankle. Marshalled in regular array in front of the case, stood a small army of glass jars, which presently were to receive the fruit. In a huge preserving-pan a thick syrup was simmering on the stove; and Rose had just begun to place the fruit in this saccharine mixture, when a succession of knocks, gentle but persistent, was heard coming from the front door. "Oh, bother," said Rose, as she paused with a double handful of plums half way between the fruit-case and the stove. "Who can that be?" Again the knocking resounded through the house. "I suppose I must go," said Rose, placing the fruit carefully in the pan, and then, slipping off her flowing apron, she went hurriedly to the front door. There stood the pretty figure of Rachel Varnhagen, dressed in billowy muslin, a picture hat which was adorned with the brightest of ribbons and artificial flowers, and the daintiest of shoes. Her sallow cheeks were tinged with a carmine flush, her pearly teeth gleamed behind a winning smile, and a tress of glossy hair, escaped from under her frail head-dress, hung bewitchingly upon her shoulder. "Oh, how do you _do_?" she exclaimed effusively, as she closed her silk parasol. "I look an awful guy, I know; but there's _such_ a wind, that I've almost been blown to pieces." It was the first time that Rose's humble roof had had the privilege of sheltering the daughter of the rich Jew. "I'm afraid I hardly expected you." The Pilot's daughter looked frankly and with an amused smile at Rachel. "I'm in the middle of bottling fruit. Do you mind coming into the kitchen?--the fruit will spoil if I leave it." Leading the way, she was followed by her pretty caller, who, in all her glory, seated herself on a cane-bottomed chair in the kitchen, and commenced to gossip. "I've _such_ news," she said, tapping the pine floor with the ferrule of her parasol. Rose continued to transfer her plums to the preserving-pan. "I expect you heard of the dreadful experience I had with that horrid, drunken digger who caught me on the foot-bridge--everybody heard of it. Who do you think it was that saved me?" She waited for Rose to risk a guess. "I suppose," said the domestic girl, her arms akimbo as she faced her visitor, "I should think it ought to have been Mr. Zahn." "Oh, him!" exclaimed Rachel, disgustedly. "I've jilted him--he was rude to Papa." "Then _who_ could it be?" Rose placed more plums in the preserving-pan. "_You_ ought to know." Just the trace of a pout disfigured Rachel's pretty mouth. "He's a friend of yours, I believe; a very great friend, indeed." "I've a good many friends." The preserving-pan was now full, and Rose sat down, to wait a few minutes till the fruit should be ready for bottling. "Papa is simply in love with him. He says he can never repay him. And how he laughed when I told him that my gallant rescuer threw the digger into the water! Can't you guess who it is, _now_?" Rose was silent. "Really, I think this stupid cooking and jam-making has made you silly. Why don't you work in the morning, and go out in the afternoon to see your friends?" Rose turned her blue eyes on her visitor. They distinctly said, "What business is that of yours?" But her lips said, "Now, really, how can I?" "When a girl's engaged"--Rachel sighed as she spoke--"she doesn't care much about society." Rose smiled. "At least that was the way with me." Rachel's carmine lips gave a little quiver at the corners. "I suppose _you_ feel like that." "Me? I feel just as usual." "But you're so English, nothing would disturb _you_." Rose laughed aloud. "I should shriek if a digger touched me," she said. "But it was almost worth the fright, dear." Rachel leaned forward confidentially. "First, he put me on his horse, and we forded the river together; then, he took me home and was so kind. I _do_ think you're _such_ a lucky girl." "Me? Why?" Suddenly Rachel's manner altered. Bursting into a rippling laugh, she raised her parasol, and skittishly poked Rose in the ribs. "How very close some people are," she exclaimed. "But you might as well own the soft impeachment, and then all the girls could congratulate you." The thought went through Rose's mind, that if the good wishes of her acquaintances were like this girl's perhaps they might well be spared. She was completing her task by ladling the plums from the big pan into the array of jars, and she bent over her work in order to hide her annoyance. "And I hear he's _so_ rich," continued Rachel. "He's had such wonderful luck on the diggings. Papa says he's one of the best marks in Timber Town--barring old Mr. Crewe, of course." Rose gazed, open-eyed, at her visitor. "How much do you think he is worth?" asked Rachel, unabashed. "I really don't know. I have no notion whom you mean." Again the rippling laugh rang through the kitchen. "Really, this is too funny. Own up: wasn't Mr. Scarlett very lucky?" "Oh! Mr. Scarlett? I believe he got _some_ gold--he showed me some." "Surely, he had it weighed?" "I suppose so--I thought there was something in the paper about it." "Was all that gold Mr. Scarlett's?" "Yes, about as much as would fill this saucepan. He poured it out on the dining-room table, and Captain Sartoris and my father stared at it till their eyes almost dropped out." "You lucky girl! They say he gave you the dandiest ring." Rose mutely held out her unadorned fingers. When they had been closely inspected, she said, "You see, this is all rubbish about my being engaged. As for Mr. Scarlett, I have reason to think that he left his heart behind him in the Old Country." "Confidences, my dear. If he has told you that much, it won't take you long to hook him. We giddy girls have no chance against you deep, demure stay-at-homes. The dear men dance and flirt with us, but they don't propose. How I wish I had learned to cook, or even to bottle plums! Fancy having a man all to yourself in a kitchen like this; making a cake, with your sleeves tucked up to the elbows, and no one to interrupt--why, I guarantee, he'd propose in ten minutes." She tapped her front teeth with her finger. "I have to go to the dentist to-morrow. I do hate it so, but I've got to have something done to one of my front teeth. I'm thinking of getting the man to fill it with gold, and put a small diamond in the middle. That ought to be quite fetching, don't you think?" "It certainly would be unique." "I think I'll go along to Tresco's shop, and get the stone." "But don't you think the sight of a diamond in a tooth would pall after a while? or perhaps you might loosen it with a bit of biscuit, and swallow it. A diet of diamonds would pall, too, I fancy." "It's not the expense." Rachel pouted as she spoke. "The question is whether it's done among smart people." "You could but try--your friends would soon tell you." "I believe it's quite the thing over in Melbourne." "Then why not in Timber Town?" "But perhaps it's only amongst actresses that it's 'the thing.'" "So that the glitter of their smiles may be intensified?" Rachel had risen from her seat. "I must be going," she said. "I looked in for a minute, and I've stopped half-an-hour." "Then won't you stay just a little longer--I'm going to make some tea." "It's very tempting." Rachel took off her gloves, and displayed her begemmed fingers. "I think I _must_ stop." Rose infused the tea in a brown earthenware pot, and filled two china cups, in the saucers of which she placed two very old ornamented silver teaspoons. The two girls sat at opposite sides of the white-pine table, in complete contrast; the one dark, the other fair; the one arrayed in purple and fine linen, the other dressed in plain starched print and a kitchen apron; the one the spoilt pet of an infatuated father, the other accustomed to reproof and domestic toil. But they met on common ground in their taste for tea. With lips, equally pretty, they were sipping the fragrant beverage, when a hoarse voice resounded through the house. "Rosebud, Rosebud, my gal! Where's my slippers? Danged if I can see them anywhere." Into the kitchen stumped the Pilot of Timber Town, weary from his work. Catching sight of Rachel, he paused half-way between the door and the table. "Well, well," he said, "I beg pardon, I'm sure--bellowing like an old bull walrus at my dar'ter. But the gal knows her old Dad--don't you, Rosebud? He don't mean nothing at all." In a moment, Rose had the old man's slippers in her hand, and the Pilot sat down and commenced to take off his boots and to put on the more comfortable footgear. Rachel was on her feet in a moment. "I must be going," she said. "Which way do I get out?" "Rosebud, show the young lady the door--she's in a hurry." The Pilot never so much as took his eyes off the boot that he was unlacing. Leading the way through the intricate passages, Rose conducted Rachel to the front door, and came back, smiling. "Now, what does _she_ want?" asked the Pilot. "She's a mighty strange craft to be sailing in these waters. There's a queer foreign rake about her t'gallant mast that's new to me. Where's she owned, Rosebud?" "That's Miss Varnhagen." "What! the Jew's dar'ter? Well, well. That accounts for the cut of her jib. Old Varnhagen's dar'ter? 'Want to sell anything?" Rose laughed. "Oh, no. She came, fishing." "Fishing?" "Fishing for news. She's very anxious to know how much gold Mr. Scarlett has got; in fact, she's very anxious to know all about Mr. Scarlett." The old Pilot laughed, till the shingles of the roof were in danger of lifting. "The wimmen, oh! the wimmen!" he said. "They're deep. There's no sounding 'em. No lead'll bottom them. You'll have to protect that young man, my gal; protect him from scheming females. Once they can lure him on a lee shore, they'll wreck him to pieces and loot the cargo. So she wanted to know how he was freighted? He's down to Plimsoll, my gal; down to Plimsoll with gold. A mighty fine cargo for wreckers!" * * * At the very time that Rachel was walking out of the garden of roses, Scarlett was turning into The Lucky Digger. He had come in from the "bush," weary and tired, and was met in the passage by a man who packed stores to the new gold-field. In the bar stood Isaac Zahn, who was flirting with the bar-maid. But the regal dispenser of liquors responded to the young clerk's sallies with merely the brief politeness which she was paid to show towards all the customers of the inn. He could extort no marked encouragement, in spite of every familiarity and witticism at his command. Turning his back on the Israelite, Scarlett gave all his attention to the packer. "The track's clear to the field," said Jack, "all but four miles at the further end. In a few days, you'll be able to take your horses through easily." "My rate is £15 per ton," said the man. "The Syndicate won't quarrel with that." Jack's head turned involuntarily, as an unusual sound occurred in the bar-room. Zahn, leaning over the counter, had caught Gentle Annie roughly by the wrist. There was a struggle, the crash of falling glass, and a scream. From the fair arm of the bar-maid blood was flowing. In a moment, Scarlett was in the bar-room. He seized the spruce bank-clerk by the collar, and dragged him into the passage. Zahn kicked and swore; but, setting his teeth, Scarlett pulled his struggling victim towards the front-door; and there, with a suddenness which would have done credit to a field-gun, he kicked the Jew into the street. The trajectory was low, but Zahn, with legs and arms extended, shot across the asphalt pavement, and fell sprawling at the feet of a dainty figure dressed in muslins and ribbons of rainbow hue. It was Rachel Varnhagen, tripping home to her tea. With a little scream of elegant surprise, she dropped her parasol, and gazed at the prostrate form of her jilted lover. Gathering himself up stiffly, Isaac stood, whimpering, before her; his whining interspersed with unprintable invective. Scarlett, however, heedless of the anathemas of the stricken clerk, stepped from the door of The Lucky Digger, picked up the fallen parasol, and handed it politely to Rachel. In less than a moment she recognised him. "Oh, thanks," she said. "It's really awfully good of you." "What? To kick this unmitigated blackguard?" "I've no doubt he deserved it," she said, glancing with disgust at the clerk. "It's charming of you to pick up my sunshade. I hope you're coming up to see us--Papa wants to see you awfully. It would be lovely if you would come to-night." "Thank you. I'll try. I hope you are none the worse for the fright you got." "Thanks, I'm not dead. What a terrible man you are--I wouldn't like to quarrel with you. Say eight o'clock." "Very good, eight." "Don't forget. I shall expect you." Zahn, who heard all the conversation, ground his teeth, and slunk away. Rachel smiled her farewell and bowed to Jack, who lifted his hat, and went into the inn, to see what could be done for the bar-maid's injured wrist. CHAPTER XXVI. A Small but Important Link in the Story. The Timber Town Club was filled with ineffable calm. The hum of convivial voices was hushed, the clicking billiard-balls were still, no merry groups of congenial spirits chatted in ante-room, or dining-room. All was strangely quiet, for most of the members were at the diggings, and the times were too pregnant with business to warrant much conviviality. Scarlett and Mr. Crewe alone sat in the reading-room, where the magazines from England lay in perfect order on little tables, and steel engravings, of which the Club was proud, hung upon the walls. Jack was enjoying the luxury of a big easy chair, and the Father of Timber Town sat upright in another. "I was asked out to spend the evening, yesterday," said Jack, lazily. "Indeed, asked to spend the evening?" replied the alert old gentleman. "I can't say that I see anything remarkable in that, Scarlett." Jack smiled. "By a most charming young lady, I assure you." "Ah, that is another matter, quite a different matter, my dear sir." "Ostensibly, it was to meet her father, but hang me if the old gentleman put in an appearance!" "Ho-ho! Better, Scarlett, better still. And what did you do, you rascal?" "I did nothing. It was the young lady who took up the running." "But wasn't she provided with a judicious Mama, in the background somewhere?" "No, a calamity seems to have befallen the Mama. She's _non est_." "That's very good. The girl depends for protection solely upon her Papa?" "I remarked that, and said, 'Your Father will hardly approve of my coming to see you in his absence.' 'Oh, you needn't mind that,' she said--'he trusts me implicitly. And as for you--didn't you save me, the other night?' You see, I found a drunken digger molesting her, and threw him into the river. But I haven't so much as seen the old boy yet." "Quite so, quite so, but I want to hear about the girl--the father will turn up in due time, and as for the digger, he at least would get a bath." "I waited for her loving parent to come home, as it was supposed he wanted to see me." "I see; I see: and what did he say when he came?" "He didn't say anything." "That was very churlish conduct, don't you think Scarlett?" "But, you see, he didn't come." "Didn't come home? Now, look here, Scarlett; now, look here, my good fellow. You're getting into bad ways; you're courting temptation. By Jupiter! they'll be marrying you next. They will, sir; they'll be marrying you, before you know where you are; marrying you in a church. And if they can't get you to church, they'll marry you before the Registrar; by Jupiter! they will." "But she's a pretty girl, remember that." "She may be the most monstrous pretty girl, for all I care. But don't you let her hook you, my boy. Women are all fudge, sir. Girls are mostly dolls dressed in feathers and fine clothes. But I grant you that there's some dignity in a woman who's a mother; but by forty she becomes old, and then she must be a plaguey nuisance. No, Scarlett, I never married, thank God. Fancy being at the beck and call of a crotchety old beldame, at my time of life. No, sir; I never knew what it was to be questioned and badgered when I came home at night, no matter if it was two in the morning. I can do as I like, sir: I need not go home at all. I'm a free man. Now, take my advice, Scarlett; be a free man too." "But you never could have been in love, Mr. Crewe." "Perhaps not; very likely not." Mr. Crewe had stood during the latter part of the dialogue, that he might the more emphatically denounce matrimony; and Scarlett rose from his comfortable chair, and stood beside him. "But do as I did, my dear sir"--the Father of Timber Town placed his hand on Jack's sleeve--"and nothing disastrous will happen. Whenever a young woman became very pressing, what do you think I used to do?" "I don't know. I don't see how I can tell. Perhaps you told her you had an incurable disease, and had one foot in the grave." "No, sir; that would have made her marry me the quicker--in order to get my money. No, I used to propose solemnly and in due form--on behalf of my brother Julius. I would say, 'My dear young lady, my brother Julius _ought_ to be married, and you are the girl to suit him. He is delicate, affectionate in disposition, domesticated--quite the reverse of myself, my dear--and you are the beau ideal companion for him.' But do you believe that Julius is married? No, sir; not a bit of it; no more married than I am--no, sir; as confirmed an old bachelor as ever you saw. Very good, wasn't it? Just the way to deal with them, eh? Adopt the plan, Jack; adopt the plan, and you'll escape as certainly as I did." "Look here," said Scarlett, "we'll go and see the banker; we ought to have seen him this morning." The old gentleman chuckled. He perceived that his young friend had changed the subject of conversation; but he also agreed that business should come before gossip. It was but a brief walk from the Club to the Kangaroo Bank. "You're a god-send to this town, Jack; a perfect god-send. Do you know that since you discovered this gold, sir, my properties in Timber Town have increased twenty-five per cent. in value? And do you know that I believe they will increase cent. per cent.? Imagine it, sir. Why, we shall all be rich men." They passed out into the bright street, where the gaily-painted shops shone in the blazing sun and the iron roofs of the verandahs ticked with the midday heat. The door of the Bank stood open, that the outer air might circulate freely through the big building. The immaculately-attired clerk stood behind his counter, with a big piece of plaster on his forehead; but Scarlett, taking no notice of the scowl he received from the dark-featured Zahn, knocked at the door of the Manager's room. Within the financial _sanctum_, a little shrivelled-up man sat at a large table which was placed in the middle of the room. His face was clean-shaven but for a pair of grizzled mutton-chop whiskers, and as he bent over his papers he showed a little bald patch on the top of his crown. Scarlett and Mr. Crewe stood side by side, in front of him. "I have come from the diggings," said Jack, "and have called to ask ..." "Oh ... How do you do, Mr. Crewe? Be seated, sir.... Be seated, both of you.... A lovely day, Mr. Crewe; a perfectly beautiful day. Take a seat, sir, I beg." But as the chairs stood a long way off against the wall, old Mr. Crewe and Jack only glanced at them. "I've come to ask," continued Scarlett, "that you will establish a branch of your Bank on Bush Robin Creek." The Manager looked first at Scarlett and then at Mr. Crewe. "You're very good," he said. "Establish a branch on the diggings? Gentlemen, _do_ be seated." So saying, he journeyed to a far wall, and returned with a couple of chairs, which he dragged after him to where his visitors stood. "It would be a great convenience to the diggers," said Jack, "to sell their gold on the field, and receive drafts on your Bank. Then, they would travel with more safety and less fear of being robbed." "It's worth thinking of," said the Manager, when he had seen that both Scarlett and Mr. Crewe were seated. "It should be profitable to the Bank," said Mr. Crewe, "and that, sir, is your main consideration." "The track will be completed in a few days," Scarlett remarked, "and your agent couldn't possibly lose his way in the bush." "Could not lose his way? Exactly. It would be very awkward if he were to get lost, with £20,000 in his possession." "I can imagine what sort of a losing it would be considered," said Mr. Crewe, laughing. "How far is it to the field?" asked the Manager. "As the crow flies, about forty miles," replied Jack, "but by the track, some eight or ten miles more." "The difficulty will be the escort," said the Manager. "There must be an escort to convey gold to town. If the police, now, would give assistance, it could be managed." "Failing them," said Jack, "the diggers would be only too glad to provide an escort themselves." The banker smiled. "I was imagining that the Government might undertake the transportation." "This is a detail," said Mr. Crewe. "It could be arranged when your agent wished to come to town with all the gold he had bought on the field." "I make the proposal to you on behalf of the syndicate which I represent," said Jack. "There is a demand for a branch of your Bank on Bush Robin Creek: communication is now easy, and the field is developing fast." "I shall see to it, gentlemen; I shall do my best to oblige you." "And to benefit your institution," interjected Mr. Crewe. The Manager smiled the sycophantic smile of one who worships Mammon. "I shall endeavour to meet the difficulty, Mr. Crewe. We shall see what can be done." He rang his bell, and a clerk appeared. "Mr. Zahn is not at the counter to-day," he said. "No, sir," said the clerk; "he is buying gold." "Very good; send him to me," said the Manager, and Isaac was quickly summoned. "I shall require you to proceed to the diggings at Bush Robin Creek," said the Manager, addressing the gold-clerk. "These gentlemen have made representations to me which show that there is considerable business to be done there by buying gold. You will hold yourself in readiness to start in a couple of days. Does that suit you, sir?" he added, turning to Scarlett. "Admirably," replied Jack. "I'll return to-morrow, and shall tell the diggers that your agent is coming." "But why should you not travel together?" said the Manager. "You could show Mr. Zahn the way." Isaac looked at Scarlett, and Scarlett looked at him. "I think I could find my way alone," said Zahn. Jack smiled. "I shall be only too glad to give any assistance I can; but if Mr. Zahn prefers to travel by himself, of course there is the bare chance that he might get off the track and be lost." "I'll risk it," said the Jew. "I'd rather get lost than be thrown over a precipice." "Dear me, dear me," said Mr. Crewe, his voice and gesture expressive of the utmost astonishment. "This looks bad, Jack; this is a very bad beginning." "You mean that you don't quite appreciate this gentleman's overtures?" asked the Manager. Zahn was silent. "We had a small difference in a hotel," said Jack. "But for my part I am quite willing to let bygones be bygones." Zahn scowled. "That may be so," he said, "but I should prefer to travel alone." "Dear, dear; well, well," said the Father of Timber Town. "But, after all, this is a mere matter of detail which can be settled by and by. If you go to the diggings, sir"--he turned his benignant gaze on the clerk--"you will not only be in a most responsible position, but you will be able to do such profitable business for your Bank, sir, that you will probably earn promotion." "It's settled," said the Manager. "We shall send a representative, and I hope that the arrangement will be satisfactory to all parties. I hope you are contented, Mr. Crewe." "Perfectly, my dear sir, perfectly," said the Father of Timber Town. "Then you may consider the thing done," said the Manager; and ushering his visitors from the room he conducted them to the garish street. CHAPTER XXVII. The Signal-Tree. "I jest walked in," said Dolphin, "an' I says, 'About thisyer gold-escort: when does it start?' I says. The shrivelled party with the whiskers looks at me acrost the counter, an' e' says, 'What business is that of yours, my man?' 'None,' I says, ''xcept me an' my mate is nervous of swaggin' our gold to town ourselves.' 'Don't you bother about that,' 'e says. 'All you've got to do is to sell your gold to our agent on the field, and leave the rest to him.' The escort will leave reg'lar, accordin' to time-table; so we can stick it up, sure as Gawd made little apples." "And what about goin' through the Bank?" asked Sweet William. "Now I ask you," said Dolphin, "what's the use of messing with the Bank, when we can clean out the gold-escort, an' no one the wiser?" "Same here. My opinion," said Gentleman Carnac. "I'm slick agin letting the Bank orf," growled Garstang. "Why not let the escort get its gold to the Bank, and then nab everything in the show. The original plan's the best." "I gave you credit for more sense, Garstang." The leader of the gang looked darkly at his subordinate. "I gave you credit for knowing more of your trade." "More credit, eh?" asked the man with the crooked mouth. "For why?" The four rascals were in the cottage where they had met before, and the room reeked with the smoke of bad tobacco. "Why?" replied Dolphin. "Because you're the oldest hand of the lot, an' you've been in the business all your life." "Jes' so," said Garstang, with an evil smile. "'Xcept when I've bin the guest of the Widow." "Which has been pretty frequent," interjected Sweet William. "To clean the Bank out is easy enough," said Dolphin: "the trouble is to get away with the stuff. You ought to see that with half an eye. To stick up the escort requires a little skill, a little pluck; but as for gettin' away with the gold afterwards, that's child's play." "Dead men don't tell no tales," remarked Sweet William. "But their carcases do," objected Garstang. "You beat everything!" exclaimed the leader, growing almost angry. "Ain't there such a thing as a shovel? No wonder you were copped pretty often by the traps, Garstang." "You two men wrangle like old women," said Carnac. "Drop it. Tell us what's the first thing to do." "To go an' look at the country," answered Dolphin. "That's it.... Go it.... Dolphin controls the whole push.... Jest do as 'e tells." Garstang was evidently annoyed that the leadership of the murderous gang, which had once been his, had passed out of his hands. Dolphin took no notice of the remarks. "We shall have plenty time to get to work, 'cause the Bank can't bring the gold to town till it's bought it, and it can't begin to buy it till the agent reaches the field, an' he only started to-day." "Every blessed thing's ready," chimed in Sweet William, who was evidently backing the new leader strongly. "Carny an' me's bin through the guns, an' they're all clean an' took to bits ready for putting in the swags. When they're packed, not a trap in the country but wouldn't take us for the garden variety of diggers, 2 dwts. to the dish, or even less. Quite mild, not to say harmless, gruel-fed, strictly vegetarian--a very useful an' respectable body of men." Dolphin smiled at the young man's witticism. "It doesn't need for more than two to go," he said. "There's no use in making a public show of ourselves, like a bloomin' pack-train. Two's plenty." "I'll stop at 'ome," growled Garstang. "It's your faik, Dolphin--you planned it. Let's see you carry it out." "I'll go," volunteered William. "Carny can stop behind an' help keep Garstang's temper sweet." In his hilarity he smacked the sinister-faced man on the back. "Keep your hands t' yerself," snarled Garstang, with an oath. "You're grown too funny, these days--a man'd think you ran the show." "Lord, what a mug!" Young William grimaced at Garstang's sour face. "But it'll sweeten up, ole man, when the gold's divided." "We're wasting time," broke in Dolphin. "We must be getting along. Pack your swag, William: mine's at The Bushman's Tavern." "Matilda is ready," exclaimed the youthful member of the gang, picking up his swag from the floor, and hitching it on to his shoulders. "Gimme that long-handled shovel, Carny--it'll look honest, though it weighs half a ton. Well, so-long." He shook the bad-tempered Garstang, slapped Carnac on the back, and followed Dolphin from the cottage. While this ominous meeting was being held, Jake Ruggles might have been observed to be acting in a most extraordinary manner in the back-garden of Tresco's shop. In the middle of a patch of ill-nourished cabbages which struggled for existence amid weeds and rubbish, he had planted a kitchen chair. On the back of this he had rested a long telescope, which usually adorned the big glass case which stood against the wall behind the shop-counter. This formidable instrument he had focussed upon the pinnacle of a wooded height, which stood conspicuous behind the line of foot-hills, and, as he peered at the distant mountain-top, he gave vent to a string of ejaculations, expressive of interest and astonishment. Upon the top of the wooded mountain a large tree, which he could distinguish with the naked eye, stood conspicuous; a tree which spread its branches high above its fellows, and silhouetted its gigantic shape against the sky-line. Directing his telescope upon this remarkable giant of the forest, by aid of its powerful lenses he could see, projecting from the topmost branch, a flag, which upon further observation proved to be nothing less than the red ensign employed on merchant ships; and it was this emblem of the mercantile marine which so amazed and interested the youthful Ruggles. "The ole beggar's got his pennant out," he exclaimed, as he smacked his lean shanks and again applied his eye to the telescope. "That means a spree for Benjamin. The crafty ole rascal'll be comin' in to-night. It means his tucker supply's given out, an' I must fly round for bacon, tea, sugar, bread, flour; an' I think I'll put in a tin or two of jam, by way of a treat." He took a long look at the signal, and then shut up the telescope. "It's quite plain," he soliloquised: "the old un's comin' in. I must shut up shop, and forage. Then, after dark, I'll take the tucker to the ford." But, as though a sudden inspiration had seized him, he readjusted his instrument and once more examined the conspicuous tree. "Why, he's there himself, sittin' in a forked bough, an' watchin' me through his glass." Placing the telescope gently on the ground, Jake turned himself into a human semaphore, and gesticulated frantically with his arms. "That ought to fetch 'im," and he again placed his eye to the telescope. "Yes, he sees. He's wavin' his 'at. Good old Ben. It's better than a play. Comic opera ain't in it with this sort o' game. He's fair rampin' with joy 'cause I seen 'im." Shutting up his instrument, Jake gave a last exhibition of mad gesticulations, danced a mimic war-dance, and then, with the big telescope under his arm, he went into the house. It was a long stretch of tangled forest from the big tree to Tresco's cave, but the goldsmith was now an expert bushman, versed in the ways of the wilderness, active if not agile, enduring if still short of breath. His once ponderous form had lost weight, his once well-filled garments hung in creases on him, but a look of robust health shone in his eye and a wholesome tan adorned his cheek. He strode down the mountain as though he had been born on its arboreous slopes. Without pause, without so much as a false step, he traversed those wild gullies, wet where the dew still lay under the leafy screen of boughs, watered by streams which gurgled over mighty boulders--a wilderness where banks of ferns grew in the dank shade and the thick tangle of undergrowth blocked the traveller's way. But well on into the afternoon Tresco had reached the neighbourhood of his cave, where his recluse life dragged out its weary days. His route lay for a brief mile along the track which led to the diggings. Reaching this cleared path, where locomotion was easier, the goldsmith quickened his pace, when suddenly, as he turned a corner, he came upon two men walking towards him from Timber Town. In a moment he had taken cover in the thick underscrub which lined each side of the track, and quickly passing a little way in the direction from which he had come, he hid himself behind a dense thicket, and waited for the wayfarers to pass by. They came along slowly, being heavy laden. "I tell yer I seen the bloke on the track, Dolly, just about here," said the younger man of the two. "One moment he was here, next 'e was gone. Didn't you see 'm?" "I must ha' bin lookin' t'other way, up the track," said the other. "I was thinkin' o' somethin'. I was thinkin' that this place, just here, was made a-purpose for our business. Now, look at this rock." He led his companion to the inner edge of the track, where a big rock abutted upon the acute angle which the path made in circumventing the forest-clad hill-side. Placing their "swags" on the path the two men clambered up behind the rock, and Tresco could hear their conversation as he lay behind the thick scrub opposite them. "See?" said Dolphin, as he pointed up the track in the direction of Timber Town. "From here you can command the track for a half-a-mile." Sweet William looked, and said, "That's so--you can." "Now, look this way," Dolphin pointed down the track in the direction of the diggings. "How far can you see, this way?" "Near a mile," replied William. "Very good. We plant two men behind this rock, and two over there in the bush, on the opposite side, and we can bail up a dozen men. Eh?" "It's the place, the identical spot, Dolly; but I should put the other two men a little way up the track--we don't want to shoot each other." "Just so. It would be like this: we have 'em in view, a long while before they arrive; they're coming up hill, tired, and goin' slow; we're behind perfect cover." "I don't see how we can beat it, unless it is to put a tree across the road, just round the corner on the Timber Town side." "No, no. That'd give the show away. That'd identify the spot. There're a hundred reasons against it. A tree across the track might stop the diggers as well, and the first party that come along would axe it through, and where would our log be then? It would never do. But let's get down, and have a drink. Thank Gawd, there's a bottle or two left in my swag." Tresco saw them clamber down from the rock, and drink beer by the wayside. Only too quickly did he recognise these men, who looked like diggers but behaved so strangely; but the sight of the liquor was almost more than he could bear, yet not daring to stir a finger lest he should be discovered he was forced to see them drink it. Indeed, they made quite a meal; eating bread and cheese, which they washed down with their favourite beverage. When the bottles were empty, Dolphin flung them into the bushes opposite to him, and the missiles, shivering into hundreds of pieces, sprinkled the goldsmith with broken glass. He stifled a wordy protest which rose to his lips, and lay still; and shortly afterwards he had the pleasure of seeing the undesirable strangers hump their "swags" and retrace their steps towards Timber Town. When they had disappeared, Tresco came from his hiding-place. He looked up and down the track. "Just so," he soliloquised, "half-a-mile this way, a mile that. Good cover.... Commanding position. What's their little game? It seems to me that there are bigger rascals than Benjamin in Timber Town." And with this salve applied to his conscience, the goldsmith pursued his way towards his dismal cavern. CHAPTER XXVIII. The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Second Time. Tresco stood in the yellow light of the paraffin lamp, and gazed in wonderment at Gentle Annie. He was a tattered and mournful object; his boots worn out, his trousers a marvel of patchwork, his coat a thing discoloured and torn, his hair and beard unshorn, himself a being unrecognisable by his former friends. Gentle Annie's attitude betokened the greatest surprise. With her hands on her bosom, her lips parted, her cheeks pale, her eyes frightened, she stood, and timidly returned the gaze of the strange man before her. "What do you want?" she asked, so soon as she could find her voice. "Why do you come here?" "Don't be alarmed," said Benjamin reassuringly. "First, let me tell you that I'm your friend and protector. Do you forget Tresco the goldsmith?" Gentle Annie gave vent to a little cry of astonishment. "I am an outlaw,"--he spoke as if he were defending himself before his peers--"an outcast, a hunted dog. My own house is unsafe, so I came here for protection and a little comfort." He dropped suddenly into quite a sentimental tone of voice. "I haven't spoken to a soul, save my lad, for over six weeks. I'm a bit lonesome and miserable; and I badly need a well-cooked meal." "But if you stop here"--Gentle Annie's ample bust rose and fell with agitation--"the police will catch you." "They'd think of looking for me in the moon before they came here, my dear; besides I have no intention of stopping. I only want rest and food." "I'll do what I can for you, but you must go almost directly." "Why, certainly." Tresco sat down, and drew a deep breath. "It's good to look at a wholesome woman again--it seems years since I saw one." A smile passed over Gentle Annie's face, and her eyes twinkled with merriment. "I see you're not cured of your old weakness," she said. "No, my dear; and I hope I never shall be." Benjamin had rallied from his depression. "On the contrary, it increases." They were a strange couple--the wild-looking man on one side of the table, and the fine figure of a woman who emitted a faint odour of patchouli, on the other. "I suppose you know I'm my own mistress now." "It looks like it. I understood something of the kind from Jake." "I objected to be pulled about indiscriminately, so I left The Lucky Digger. A rough brute cut my arm with a broken glass." She rolled up her sleeve, and showed the scar of the newly-healed wound. Benjamin took the soft, white arm in his hand, and gave it just the suspicion of a squeeze. "I wish I'd bin there, my dear: I'd ha' chucked him through the window." "Mr. Scarlett--who has been so lucky on the diggings--kicked him out of the house on to the pavement." "Ah! but did he do the thing properly, scientifically?" "I think so. And when he found the boss blaming me for the row, he turned on him like a tiger. But afterwards old Townson gave me the office, so I've retired into private life. Do you like my rooms?" "A trifle small, don't you think?" said Benjamin. "Cozy." "My dear, where you are it can't help being cozy." "After that I'll get you something to eat. What do you say to grilled steak and onions?" "Delicious! Couldn't be better." Gentle Annie bustled out to the safe, at the back of the house, and returned with a dish of red and juicy meat. "And to follow, you shall have stewed plums and cream." "Better than ever," said Benjamin; his mouth watering behind his ragged beard. "I believe I understand mankind," said Gentle Annie, going to a cupboard, whence she took a big bottle, which she placed on the table. "If all the women in the world understood men as you do, my dear, we should have Arcadia here, instead of Gehennum." "Instead of what?" "Gehennum, my dear; a place where they drive men into the wilderness and cut them off from supplies, and they rot in damp caves, destitute of bread, beer, and even tobacco." "No; I really can't supply that last. If I let you smoke, some old cat would come sniffing round to-morrow morning, and say, 'Phew! a _man_ has been here.' Good food and drink you shall have, but no tobacco." "But you'll let me wash?" "Certainly. Cleanliness is next to godliness. If you can't have the one, I wouldn't bar you from the other." She led him to the door of her bedroom, and said, "Walk in." The room was a dainty affair of muslin blinds and bed-hangings. To Benjamin it was a holy of holies dedicated to the sweet, the lovely, the inscrutable. All the feminine gear lying around, the little pots of powder and ointment, the strange medicaments for the hair, the mirrors, the row of little shoes, the bits of jewellery lying on fat pincushions, the skirts and wrappers and feminine finery hanging behind the door, these and fifty other things appealed to the softest spot in his susceptible nature. He took up the ewer, and poured water into the basin; but he was ashamed to place his dirty coat on a thing so clean as was the solitary dimity-covered chair, so he put the ragged garment on the floor. Then he took up a pink cake of soap, and commenced his ablutions. A strong and agreeable odour tickled his olfactory nerves--the cooking had begun. Though his ears were full of lather, he could hear the meat frying in the pan, and the spluttering of the fat. "What punishment do they give to people who harbour malefactors?" Gentle Annie called from over her cooking. "Who's a malefactor?" called Tresco from the middle of a towel with which he was drying his roseate face. "What are _you_ then?" "I'm a gentleman at large, my dear. No one has charged me with anything yet, let alone convicted me." "But there's a warrant out against you, old gentleman." "Maybe. I haven't seen it." "But what's _my_ position?" "You're accessory after the fact, if there is a fact." "What am I liable for?" "That depends on the judge, my dear. It might be two, three, or more kisses. If I was on the bench, the sentence would be as heavy as possible, and I'd insist on executing it myself." A laugh came from over the frying-pan. "If you're not careful, old party, you'll have some of this hot fat on your head." Benjamin had finished his toilette, and walked into the other room. The small, square table was spread with a white cloth, and a place was set for one. "But, my dear, won't you partake?" said Benjamin, eyeing the arrangement of the table. "I'm not hungry," the girl replied. "I'll watch the lion feed." The little room was filled with the smell of cooked viands, and Tresco seated himself in readiness to eat. The smoking steak, garnished with fried onions and potatoes, was placed before him. "For what I am about to receive, my dear, I thank you." Gently squeezing the ex-bar-maid's hand, he kissed it. "Now, that'll do. You're getting giddy in your old age--it must be the effect of the steak. Cupboard love, cupboard love!" Tresco drew the cork of the big bottle, which he handed to Gentle Annie. "What's this for?" she asked. "You pour it out, my dear. It'll make it taste so much sweeter." "You gay old deceiver: you're like the rest of them." "No, my dear: they're imitation; I'm the genuine article." Gentle Annie filled his tall glass deftly, so that the froth stood in a dome over the liquor. She was about to replace the bottle on the table, when Tresco took a tumbler from the dresser, and filled it for her. "Keep me company," he said. "It looks more comfortable." "But stout's so fattening." "My dear, a lean woman is a reproach to her sex." "Then, what's a fat one?" "A credit, like I am to mine, or used to be before I got thin through semi-starvation. Here's to your very good health; may your beauty never grow less." Benjamin raised his glass to his lips. "More flattery." Gentle Annie's comfortable laugh shook her whole body. "I'm sorry I can't return the compliment." "You do better: you supply the inner man--steak, done to a turn; stout; sweet stuffs. You couldn't have treated me better, if I'd been a bishop." "Why a bishop?" "I've looked round, and taken stock of my fellows; and I think a bishop has a rousing good time, don't you?" "I can't say; I don't often entertain bishops." "Bishops and licensed victuallers; I think they get the cream of life." "But what about lords and dukes?" "They have to pay through the nose for all they get, but bishops and landlords get all their good things chucked in gratuitous. Of course a bishop's more toney, but a publican sees more of life--honours, meaning good tucker and liquor, divided." Tresco attacked the juicy steak: his satisfaction finding expression in murmurs of approval. He finished the stout with as much relish as if it had been the richest wine; and then Gentle Annie took from the cupboard two glass dishes, the one half-filled with luscious red plums swimming in their own juice, the other containing junket. Tresco had almost forgotten the taste of such food. While he was eating it Gentle Annie made some tea. "Is this the way you treat the toffs, when they come to see you?" "Toffs? You're the greatest toff that has come to see me, so far." "I shall come again." "Do you know there's a reward offered for you?" "How much?" "Twenty pounds." "Is that all? I'll give it you, my dear." From his dirty rags he pulled out a small linen bag, from which he emptied upon a clean plate a little pile of nuggets. Gentle Annie was lost in wonderment. Her eyes glistened, and she turned the pieces of gold over with her finger covetously. "These should go close on £4 to the ounce," remarked the goldsmith, as he separated with the blade of a table-knife a portion of the gold equal to what he guessed to be five ounces, and the remainder he replaced in the bag. "That's for you," he said, pushing the plate towards her. Gentle Annie gleefully took the gold in her hands. "You generous old party!" she exclaimed. "I know when I am well off." They now drank tea out of dainty cups, and Benjamin took a pipe and tobacco from his pocket. "I really must have a smoke to settle my dinner," he said. "Of course," said she; "it was only my fun. I smoke myself." Taking a packet from the mantelpiece, she lighted a cigarette, which she handed to Tresco, when a low knock was heard at the door. In a moment she had blown out the light, and led the erring goldsmith to her inner room, where he stood, apprehensive but alert. From his belt he drew a knife, and then he furtively examined the fastenings of the muslin-draped window. He heard his hostess open the door and speak to her visitor, who replied in a deep voice, at some length. But, presently, the door closed, the steps of the visitor were heard departing, and Gentle Annie softly entered the room. "You're quite safe," she said. "Who was it?" "Only a friend of mine. He's gone. He won't call again to-night." CHAPTER XXIX. Amiria Plays Her Highest Card in the Game of Love. Scarlett was bound for the gold-fields. He bestrode a tall chestnut mare, with white "socks." In the cool of the morning, with the dew sparkling on the hedges and the birds twittering in the orchards, he rode out of Timber Town. He crossed the ford where he had rescued Rachel from the clutches of the digger, and had turned into the gorge which led through the foot-hills when he came suddenly upon Amiria, waiting for him, with her horse standing across the road. She was dressed in a perfectly-fitting habit of dark blue cloth, a hard felt hat, and in her hand she carried a dainty whip; but her feet were bare, and one pretty toe protruded from the stirrup. "I'm hanged!" exclaimed Jack. "Who ever expected to see you here, at this time of the morning?" The Maori girl laughed. "I knew you were going to-day--Rose Summerhayes told me. So I said to myself, 'I'll go to the diggings too; I'll see how they get this gold.' Perhaps I may find some myself. Is it far?" "About fifty miles. But I can't take you to the field." "Why not? I shan't steal anything." Scarlett could not forbear a smile. "I don't mean that," he said. "I was thinking what the fellows would say." Amiria's merry laugh rang through the narrow valley. "Oh, you _Pakeha_ people, how funny you are--always troubled by what others may think about you, always bothering about the day after to-morrow. Yet I think it's all put on: you do just the same things as the Maori. I give it up. I can't guess it. Come on; see if your horse can trot mine." She flicked her big bay that she was riding, and started off at a swinging pace. And so, Scarlett riding on the soft turf on one side of the road and Amiria on the other, they raced till they came to the next ford. "I beat!" cried the Maori girl, her brown cheeks glowing with excitement. The horses were given a mouthful of water, and then they splashed through the shallows; their iron shoes clanking on the boulders as dry land was reached. "You are very rich, aren't you?" Amiria asked, as they walked their horses side by side. "What do you mean by rich?" "Oh, you have lots of gold, money, everything you want." "Not by any means." "You must be very greedy, then. They tell me you have thousands of pounds in the bank, a big house which you are building, and a fine girl." "A girl?" "Yes, Rahera Varnhagen. Isn't she a fine girl?" "Rachel Varnhagen!" "Yes. I was in the old man's store yesterday, buying things for the _pa_, and he told me he had given his girl to you." Jack opened his eyes in astonishment. He wondered who was the liar, the Jew or the Maori girl, but all he said was, "Well, I'm hanged!" Amiria laughed. "You see, these things can't be kept dark." "But it's all a yarn. I'm not engaged to anybody. Can't a man talk to a girl, without all Timber Town saying he is going to marry her?" "I don't know. Don't you like her?" "I think she's very pretty, but that doesn't necessarily mean I want to marry her." "Then you _don't_ like her?" "I like her only as a friend." "Shall I tell her that?" Jack thought for a moment. He had suddenly become rather suspicious of women-folk. "It might hurt her feelings," he said. "If you don't speak the truth, she will think you mean to marry her." "Then, tell her I don't mean to do anything of the sort." Amiria laughed softly to herself. "That leaves two," she said. "Leaves two? What do you mean?" "There are three girls in love with you. Rahera was one--she is out of it. That leaves two." "This is the very dickens! Who are the other two, pray?" "Rose Summerhayes is one." Jack laughed. "She is too discreet, too English, to give her love, except where she is certain it will be returned." "You can't tell: you don't know." Amiria had reined in her horse beside Jack's. "She is always talking about you. She talks about you in her sleep--I know: I have heard her." "No, no; you make a mistake. She's a great friend of mine, but that is all. Who's the other daring girl?" "You know," replied Amiria, with a pout. "How am I to presume to think of such a thing?" "You know quite well." "Upon my honour, I don't." "Does a girl ride with you, if she doesn't like you?" "Depends upon the girl." "Would I trouble to meet you, if I didn't?" "Then it's you? Upon my word! This is overwhelming." "But _I_ have a right to tell you--I saved your life. I know you as other girls don't." "Oh, I say, this is a bit rough on a fellow. I couldn't help getting shipwrecked, you know." "But I saved you. I have the right to you first. If you don't like me, then you can marry some other girl." "I don't think you understand, Amiria. Of course I'm awfully indebted to you. As you say, I owe you my life. But if I marry you, I can't marry anybody else afterwards." The Maori girl had jumped from her horse, and Scarlett was standing beside her. The horses grazed on the grassy bank of the stream. "I know all the ways of your people," said Amiria: "I was sent to school to learn them. Some I think good; some I think bad. Your marriage is like the yoke you put on bullocks. It locks you tight together. Before you know really whether you like each other you have this yoke put on you: you are tied up for ever. The Maori way is better. We have our marriage too--it is like the bridle on my horse, light, easy, but good. We only put it on when we know that we like each other. That's the way I wish to be married, and afterwards I would get your priest to give us his marriage, so that I might be _tika_ in the eyes of the _Pakeha_ people." As she spoke, her eyes flashed and her whole attitude was masterful, if not defiant; her cheek coloured, her mouth quivered with excitement, her gestures, as well as her speech, were full of animation. Evidently, she was giving expression to the warmest feelings of her passionate nature. Scarlett held a small _manuka_ stick, plucked from a flowering bush by the wayside. With this he struck his leather legging repeatedly, as he walked to and fro in agitation. Pausing by the river's brim, he gazed into the rippling water. "This is something like marriage by capture," he said, "but the tables are turned on the man. The thing may be all right for you, but I should lose caste. With all your tuition, Amiria, you don't understand _Pakeha_ ways. I could marry you, English fashion; but I haven't the least intention of doing so." The Maori girl had followed him, and as he gave his decision her arm was linked through his. The tethered horses were cropping the grass, regardless of their riders. Scarlett, wrestling with the problem that confronted him, was still gazing at the water. But a sob recalled him to his duty. His companion's whole frame was quivering with emotion, and, as he turned, his eyes were met by hers steadfastly regarding him through their tears. "You had better go home," he said. "The best place for you is the _pa_. The best way for you to show your regard for me is to turn back." She had shot her one bolt, and it had missed its mark. She turned her head aside, and hid her face in her hands. Slowly and disconsolately, she walked towards her horse, and unloosing him from the bush to which he was tied, she climbed into the saddle. Her whip had dropped on the grass. Picking it up, Scarlett took it to her. She looked the picture of misery, and his heart began to melt. Her right hand hung limply at her side, and as he was putting the whip into it, he pressed her fingers gently. She did not draw her hand away, but left it in his clasp: gradually her tears dried, and a smile came into her face. "Hullo!" said a strange voice behind them. "Spoonin'? Don't mind me, mate: I've bin there myself." They turned their heads, to see four grinning men behind them on the track. "Hold on, Carny; step behind the bushes, an' give the couple a chanst. Boys will be boys. Can't you see the young feller was about to enjoy a kiss?" "Take her orf the horse, mate," said another of the men. "Go for a walk with her--we'll mind the horses. We won't take no notice." Flushing with anger, Amiria drew herself up. "You'd better go," said Scarlett. "I'll attend to these men." Without another word the Maori girl turned her horse's head for home, walked him quietly past Dolphin and his gang, without taking the least notice of any of them, and then cantered away. As she did so the four men burst into hoarse laughter and obscene remarks. Scarlett walked menacingly towards Garstang, who had been the chief offender. "You filthy brute," he said, "what do you mean?" "Filthy, eh?" retorted Garstang. "D'you 'ear that, Dolly? An' I suppose my mates is filthy too, eh, mister?" "Jab 'im in the mouth, Garstang." This advice from Sweet William. But Dolphin settled the matter. With a revolver in his hand he stepped towards the menacing Scarlett. "Now, hook it," he said. "If you can't take a bit of chaff without turning nasty, don't think you can get up to any of your funny business here. I give you three minutes in which to clear." As Scarlett, following the general practice of the diggers, went unarmed, he could only reply by acting upon dictation; but before he turned to go, he looked well at the men before him. Then he mounted his horse, and rode away. He quickly forded the stream, and, without turning his head to look again at the strange gang, he plunged into the dense forest which stretched across mountain and valley. As he climbed the slopes of the range over which the track led him, the sun shone brightly and not a cloud was in the sky. The air was so still that even at the summit of the range, 2000 feet and more above the sea, not the slightest breeze stirred. The atmosphere was oppressive, and, three parts of the way down the further slope, where a clear rivulet crossed the path, Jack was fain to rest beneath the shade of a giant tree-fern, and eat and drink. There was not a creature to harm him; no venomous reptile, no ravenous beast dwelt in those vast sub-tropical forests; no poisonous miasma reeked from the moist valleys below; in the evergreen trees countless pigeons cooed, _kaka_ parrots and green paroquets screamed, and black parson-birds sang. It was a picture of Nature in one of her most peaceful and happy moods. Forgetful of the distractions which he had left behind him, Jack's mind had turned to the contemplation of the bright prospects which lay before him, when his reverie was broken by the sound of voices and the noise of horses' hoofs; and round a bend of the track, slowly ascending the uncertain gradient, appeared the gold-escort. Leading the cavalcade, rode a mounted constable dressed in a blue tunic, with silver buttons, dun-coloured, corded riding-breeches, top-boots, and a blue shako. His carbine was slung negligently, and he whistled as he rode. Behind him came Isaac Zahn, sitting loosely on his horse; a revolver strapped in its case at his belt. He was followed by an unarmed mounted man who led the pack-horse which carried the gold; and an armed digger, who rode a white horse, brought up the rear. The leading horse whinnied, and Jack's mare answered. "Good morning," said the constable, reining up. "A beautiful day, sorr. Have ye such a thing as a match wid you?" Jack, who was smoking, handed a box of matches to the man, who lighted his pipe. The whole cavalcade had come to a halt, and Zahn, who pretended not to recognise Jack, sat on his horse, and scowled. Scarlett's eyes involuntarily fixed themselves on the heavily-laden pack-horse. "I should advise you to keep your weather eye lifted, constable," he said. "Bedad, an' we'll attend to that," replied the Irishman, with a broad smile. "The escort's as good as in Timber Town already. Thank you, sorr." He handed back the matches. "Good morning t'you." And lightly touching his horse with the spur, he passed on. Disregarding Scarlett's nod of recognition, Zahn followed the leader, without so much as a glance at the man whom he hated as his supposed supplanter in the affections of the beautiful Jewess. The pack-horse and its leader, a stoutly-built man, went heavily by, and the rear-guard let his horse drink at the stream, but he was a man filled with the importance of his office, and to Jack's greeting he replied merely with a mechanical nod, as though he would say, "Don't speak to me: I'm exceedingly intent upon conveying this gold to Timber Town." "Strange crowd," mused Jack, as the last hoof disappeared round the upper bend of the track; "riding loose in the saddle, their arms slung behind them. If I'd had a gun, I could have shot the first man before he saw me. Robbing escorts can't be such a difficult matter as is supposed. If Zahn had been civil I'd have used the opportunity to warn him of the queer gang I met at the ford. They may be simple diggers--they look like it--but the man who whips out a pistol on the least provocation is to be guarded against when you're in charge of five or six thousand ounces of gold." With these thoughts Jack mounted his horse, and rode away. The winding track at length led him into a deep valley, down which flowed a broad river whose glistening waters rippled laughingly over a shallow bed of grey boulders. Along its banks grew mighty pines, the _rimu_, the _totara_, and the broad-spreading black-birch, their trunks hidden in dense undergrowth and a tangle of creepers; while here and there beside the sparkling waters grew thick clumps of bright green tree-ferns. But the track was now flat and straight, and putting his horse into a trot Scarlett covered the ground rapidly. After some ten miles of riding, he came to a ford where the track crossed the river, and entered rougher country. As he drew rein at the verge of the water to let his horse drink, he noticed that the heavens had suddenly become dark. Looking at the strip of sky revealed by the treeless stretch above the waters, he saw a phenomenon in the upper air. Across the tranquil blue expanse advanced a mighty thunder-cloud; its unbroken face approaching at immense speed, though not a leaf of the forest stirred, nor the frond of a fern moved. It was like the oncoming of a mighty army, sweeping across the still country, and leaving devastation in its track. Then the low rumble of the thunder, like the sound of cannon in the distant hills, heralded the commencement of the storm. A flash broke from the inky black cloud, and simultaneously a deafening thunder-clap burst upon the solitary traveller. Then followed an ominous silence, broken by the rushing of the wind among the tree-tops, and the high heads of the forest giants bent before the storm. The rain came down in a deluge, and shut from sight both hill and valley; so that instead of wandering through a leafy paradise, where birds sang and the sunshine glittered on a million leaves, Scarlett groped his way as in a maze, dark and impenetrable; his horse dejected, himself drenched and cold. CHAPTER XXX. In Tresco's Cave. Tresco stood in his dark, dank cavern, and meditated upon the loneliness of life. He was naturally a sociable man, and loved the company of his fellows, but here he was living a hermit's existence, shut up in the bowels of the earth, with no better associates than the clammy stalactites which constantly dripped water upon the white, calcareous floors. The atmosphere was so cold that it chilled the marrow of the goldsmith's bones, and to render habitable the inner recess where he lived he was forced to keep a fire perpetually burning. To do this it was necessary for him to sally into the daylight, in order that he might collect firewood, of which there was in the neighbourhood of the cave an abundant supply. Groping his way slowly through the winding passage, every twist and turn of which he knew in the dark, Benjamin passed into the lofty cavern which he had named the Cathedral, where the stalactites and stalagmites, meeting, had formed huge columns, which seemed to support the great domed roof overhead. This was a place which Tresco was never tired of admiring. "A temple built without hands," he said, as he held aloft his candle, and viewed the snow-white pillars which stood on either side of what he named the Nave. "What a place to preach in." He who has no companions must needs talk to himself if he would hear the human voice. "Here, now, a man _could_ expatiate on the work of the Creator, but his sermon would have to be within the fifteen minutes' limit, or his congregation would catch their death of cold. 'Dearly beloved brethren, the words of my text are illustrated by the house in which we are assembled.'" His voice filled the Nave, and reverberated down the aisles. "'Here you have the real thing, built by the Master Builder, Nature, for the use of the Cave Man, and preserved for all time. How wonderful are the works of Creation, how exquisite the details. You have heard of the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian columns, and of the beauties of Greek architecture, but compare these white, symmetrical piers, raised in one solid piece, without join or crevice. Observe yonder alabaster gallery where the organ swells its harmonious tones; observe the vestry, where the preacher dons his sacerdotal garb--they are perfect. But did I hear a lady sneeze? Alas! Nature forgot the hot-air pipes; the Cathedral, I admit, strikes a little chilly. Therefore I dismiss you, my brethren, lest you should catch pleurisy, or go into galloping consumption.'" He finished with a laugh, and then passed into the small entrance-cave, which he denominated facetiously the Church Porch. Here he blew out his candle, which he placed on a rock, and emerged from his hiding-place. He had burst from the restful, if cold, comfort of his cave upon the warring elements. Peal after peal of thunder rolled along the wooded slopes of the rugged range; fierce flashes of lightning pierced the gloom of the dark valley below, and from the black thunder-cloud overhead there poured a torrent of rain which made the goldsmith think of the Deluge. "Ha!" he exclaimed, as he stood in the entrance of his damp den, "there are worse places than my cave after all. But what I want is firewood. Lord! that flash almost blinded me. Rumble--grumble--tumble--crash--bang! Go it; never mind _me_. You aren't frightening me worth tuppence. I rather like a little electricity and _aqua pura_." In answer there was a dazzling flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder which seemed to burst almost above Benjamin's head. "All right, if you insist--I'll go. Sorry I obtruded ... Good afternoon." He retreated into the cave, took up his candle, which he relighted, saying to himself, "I'll go and explore that passage behind the Organ Loft, and see if it leads to the outer world. In case I get shut in here, like a rat in a hole, it's just as well for me to know my burrow thoroughly." Groping his way up a slippery ascent where his feet continually stumbled over the uneven surface of the encrusted floor, he climbed to the Organ Loft, where, screened behind a delicate, white tracery which hung from roof to floor of the gallery and assumed the shape of an organ, pipes and panels complete, he could see his candle's flame shoot long fingers of light into the vast Nave below. However, he spent but little time in contemplation of the weird scene, but turning sharply to the right he followed a narrow, winding passage which led into the heart of the limestone mountain. His progress was both slow and difficult, for the encrusting carbonate had, in many places, all but filled up the passage, and, in many others, the floor was so broken as to make it almost impossible for him to press onwards. Now he would squeeze himself between the converging sides of the passage, now he would crawl on hands and knees through a hole which would barely receive his shoulders; and thus, sweating, panting, bruised, and even bleeding where his hands and arms had been grazed by rasping and projecting rocks, he at length sat down to rest in a place where the tunnel broadened into a small chamber. How far he had pushed his way into the bowels of the earth he could not tell, neither was he thoughtful of the distance. What he was looking and hoping for, was a gleam of light ahead, but whenever he blew out his candle the inky blackness was so intense as to be painful to his eyes. "My God! Supposing a man got in here, and couldn't get back? Suppose I got stuck between two rocks?--I'd have to stop here till I grew thin enough to squeeze out." Quickly he re-lit his candle. "That's better," he exclaimed. "There is after all some company in a lighted candle. We'll now go on; we'll press forward; we'll see whither this intricate path leadeth. 'Vorwarts' is the word: no turning back till the goal is reached." He crept through a low aperture, and with difficulty he rose to his feet; a few steps further on he stumbled; the candle fell from his hand, and dropped, and dropped, and dropped, in fact he never heard it reach the bottom. Feeling in his pocket for his matches as he lay prone, he struck a light, and held the burning taper beyond him as far as he could reach. All that he saw was a dark and horrible abyss. He struck another match with the same result. He seized a piece of loose rock, rolled it over the edge, and waited for the sound of its lodgment at the bottom. He heard it bumping as it fell, but its falling seemed interminable, till at length the sound of its passage to the nether regions died away in sheer depth. Tresco drew a long breath. "Never," he said, "never, in the course of his two score years and ten has Benjamin been so near Hades. The best thing he can do is to 'git,' deliberately and with circumspection. And the candle has gone: happy candle to preserve the life of such a man as B.T." Slowly and with the utmost caution he crept backwards from the horrible pit. But his supply of matches was scanty, and often he bumped his head against the ceiling, and often he tripped and fell, till before long there was not a part of his portly person that was free from pain. Yet still he struggled on, for he realised that his life depended on his extricating himself from the terrible labyrinth in which he was entangled. He struck match after match, till his stock was expended, and then, panting, weary, and sore, he clenched his teeth and battled onward. It seemed miles to the end of the passage. He imagined that he had got into some new tunnel, the opening of which he had passed unwittingly when he crept into the trap; and to the natural dread of his situation was added the horrible fear that he was lost in the bowels of the earth. And then, when his strength and nerve had all but given out, came deliverance. Before him he saw a faint glimmer of light, which grew brighter and brighter as he pressed painfully forward, and ere he knew that he was safe he found himself in the gallery behind the organ loft. But what was the brilliant light that filled the nave of the Cathedral? What was the sound he heard? It was the sound of men's voices. Sitting round a fire, whose red flames illumined the white walls of the grotto, were four men, who talked loudly as they dried their wet garments before the blaze. Tresco crept to the trellis-work of the gallery, and peered down upon the scene. In the shifting light which the unsteady flames threw across the great cave below he could hardly distinguish one man from another, except where facing the ruddy light the features of this intruder or of that reflected the fierce glow. "I had to chiv the fat bloke, an' he squealed like a pig when I jabbed 'im." The speaker was sitting cross-legged with his back towards Tresco, and was wiping the blade of a big butcher's knife. "My man died coughing," said another. "'E coughed as 'e sat like a trussed fowl, an' when I 'squeezed' 'im, 'e just give one larst little cough an' pegged out quite pleasant, like droppin' orf to sleep." "It's been a bloody mess," remarked a third speaker. "There's Garstang there, a mass of blood all over his shirt, and there's the two men that was shot; any'ow you like to look at it, it's an unworkmanlike job. All four of 'em should ha' been 'squeezed'--bullets make reports and blood's messy." "Garn! Whatyer givin' us, Dolly?" said the youngest member of the gang. "Didn't you shoot your own man--an' on the track, too? I don't see what you've got to growl at. We've got the gold--what more do you want?" "I shot the unfortunate man, your Honour, firstly because he was a constable, and secondly because he was givin' trouble, your Honour. But I prefer to do these things professionally." Dolphin's mock seriousness tickled his hearers, and they laughed. "But, joking apart," he said, "after all the experience we've had, to go and turn that mountain-side into a butcher's shambles is nothin' short of disgraceful. They all ought to've been 'squeezed,' an' have died as quiet as mice, without a drop of blood on 'em." "All food for worms; all lying in the howling wilderness, where they'll stop till kingdom come. What's the use of worrying? Hand over that bag of gold, Garstang, an' let's have a look. I've got an awful weakness for nuggets." A blanket was spread on the floor of the cavern, and upon this were heaped bank-notes and sovereigns and silver that glittered in the fire-light. The four men gathered round, and the leader of the gang divided the money into four lots. "Here's some of the gold." The shrill-voiced young man handed a small but heavy bag to Dolphin. "There's stacks more." "One thing at a time, William," said the leader. "First, we'll divide the money, then the gold, which won't be so easy, as we've got no scales. Here, take your cash, and count it. I make it £157 7s. apiece." From a heap of bundles which lay a few yards off he drew forward a tent-fly, and then he carried into the light of the fire a number of small but heavy bags, one by one, and placed them on the canvas. "My lot's only £147 7s.," said a deep and husky voice. "You must ha' made a mistake, Garstang," said Dolphin. "Count it again." While the hulking, wry-faced robber bent to the task, the leader began to empty the contents of the bags upon the tent-fly. Peering through the tracery of the Organ Gallery, Tresco looked down upon the scene with wonder and something akin to envy. There, on the white piece of folded canvas, he could see dull yellow heaps, which, even in the uncertain light of the fire, he recognised as gold. At first, half-stunned by the presence of the strangers, he was at a loss to determine their character, but from their conversation and the display of such ill-gotten riches, he quickly grasped the fact that they were greater criminals than himself. He saw their firearms lying about; he heard their disjointed talk, interlarded with hilarious oaths; he saw them stooping over the heaps of gold, and to his astonished senses it was plain that a robbery on a gigantic scale had been committed. On one side of the fire the wet and steaming garments of the murderers were hung on convenient stalagmites to dry; upon the other side of the red blaze the four men, dressed in strange motley, gleaned from their "swags," wrangled over the division of the plunder. "There's only a hundred-an'-forty-seven quid in my lot, I tell yer!" Garstang's rasping voice could be plainly heard above the others. "Count it yerself." "Count it, Dolly, an' shut his crooked mouth." "I'll take his word for it," said the leader. "We can make it good to you, Garstang, when we get to town and sell some gold. Now listen, all of you. I'm going to divide the biggest haul we've ever made, or are likely to make." "Listen, blokes," interrupted Sweet William, with an oath. "Give the boss your attention, _if_ you please." Tresco glued his eye tighter to the aperture through which he peered. There lay the dull, yellow gold--if only he could but scare the robbers away, the prize would be his own. He rose on one knee to get a better view, but as he did so his toe dislodged a loose piece of stone, which tumbled noisily down the gallery steps, the sound of its falling re-echoing through the spacious cavern. In a moment the robbers were thrown into a state of perturbation. Seizing their arms, they glanced wildly around, and stood on their defence. But all was hushed and still. "Go forward, Garstang, and search the cave," ordered the leader in a voice of authority. With a firebrand in one hand and a revolver in the other, the big, burly man crept forward; his mates alert to fire over him at any object he might discover. His search was haphazard, and his feet were naturally uncertain among the debris which had accumulated on the floor of the cavern. Skirting the grotto's edge, he examined the inky shadows that lay behind pillar and projection, till he came to the stairs which led to the Organ Gallery. Tresco, filled with an unspeakable dread, contemplated a retreat down the passage he had lately explored, where he might be driven by the murderers over the abyssmal depth which he had failed to fathom, when suddenly the man with the torch tripped, fell, and the flame of his firebrand disappeared in a shower of sparks. With an oath the prostrate man gathered up his bruised limbs, and by the aid of the flickering fire-light he groped his way back to his fellows, but not before he had placed his ear to the damp floor and had listened for the sound of intruders. "There's nobody," he said, when he reached his mates. "The row was only a blanky spike that fell from the roof an' broke itself. The ground's covered with 'em." "Come on, then," said Sweet William; "let's finish our business." They gathered again round the treasure. "You see, I have arranged it in two heaps," said Dolphin--"nuggets in one, gold-dust in the other. I propose to measure out the dust first." Each man had provided himself with one of the leather bags which had originally held the gold, and their leader filled a pint pannikin with gold-dust. "That's one," he said, lifting it heavily. "That's for you, old crooked chops." And he emptied the measure into Garstang's bag. "Two." He emptied a pannikinful of gold into Carnac's bag. "Three." Sweet William received a like measure. "Four." Dolphin helped himself. "That makes four pints of gold," he said. "What d'you say, mates, will she go round another turn?" "No," said Carnac, "try a half-pint all round." Dolphin fetched a smaller pannikin from the swags, and the division of the gold continued. To share the nuggets equally was a difficult matter, and a good deal of wrangling took place in consequence. This, however, was quieted by the simple expedient of tossing a coin for disputed pieces of gold. The biggest nuggets being thus disposed of, the smaller ones were measured in the half-pint pot, till at length the envious eyes of the goldsmith saw the last measureful disappear into its owner's bag. This exceedingly delicate matter being settled, the bushrangers sat round the fire, drank tea which they brewed in a black "billy," lit their pipes, and--as is invariably the case with a gang of thieves--enacted again the awful drama in which they had lately played their horrible parts. Shivering on the damp floor of the dripping gallery, Tresco strained his ears to hear every diabolical detail of the conversation. "Garstang, old man, Dolly's right; you'd better see to that shirt of yours. It looks as if you'd killed a pig in it." "The chap I chiv'd was as fat as a pig, anyway," said the crooked-mouthed murderer, as he attempted to rub out the guilty stains with a dirty piece of rag. "The blood spurted all over me as soon as I pulled out the knife." "Take it off, man; it looks as bad as a slaughterman's," said the leader of the gang. "Throw it in the fire." "I consider I did my man beautifully," said Carnac. "I told him to say his prayers, and while he knelt I just shot him behind the ear. Now, I call that a very pretty method of dying--no struggling, no fuss, no argument, simply a quick departure in an odour of sanctity." And the gentlemanly murderer laughed quietly and contentedly. "The blanky banker went ratty when he saw my gun," said Sweet William. "I had to fair yank 'im through the supple-jacks an' lawyers. It was something horrid--it made my arm ache. At larst I says, 'Look 'ere, are you goin' to walk, or am I to shoot you?' An' he kept on sayin', 'All the gold is on the horse; don't take it all, please,' till I felt sick. 'Up you git,' I says, an' I dragged 'im through the bush, and then bli'me if 'e didn't sit down an' cough an' cry. Such dam' foolishness made me lose patience. I just 'squeezed' 'im where he sat." "My bloke was the devil to die," said Garstang. "First I shot him one way, then I shot him another; an' at larst I had to chiv 'im with the knife, though it was the larst thing I wanted to do." "They should all have been 'squeezed,'" said Dolphin, "and nothing's easier if you've got the knack--noiseless, bloodless, traceless, the only scientific way of doin' the work." "All of which you've said before, Dolly." Sweet William rose and groped his way to the mouth of the cave. "It's the blamed horses that bother me," said Carnac. "We left their carcases too near the track. We should have taken them a mile or more along, and have shoved them over a precipice, down which they might have fallen by accident in the storm. As it is, they'll be putrid in a fortnight, and make the track impassable." "By which time," said Dolphin, "we shall be out of reach." "What about the Bank?" Garstang asked the question almost insolently. "I thought you 'ad such wonderful plans of yer own." "The thing's easy enough," retorted Dolphin, "but the question is whether it's worth while. We've made a haul to be proud of; never did men have a better streak o' luck. We've taken hundreds of ounces from a strong escort, which we stopped at the right place, just in the right way, so that they couldn't so much as fire a shot. It would be a crying shame to spoil such a job by bein' trapped over a paltry wooden Bank." "Trapped be sugared!" said Garstang. "The inference 'll be"--Sweet William had returned from the cave's mouth, and took up the conversation where he left it--"everybody with any sense'll say the escort an' the banker made orf with the gold--nothin' but blood'ounds could ever find their bodies." "It's bin a wonderful time," said Dolphin, "but we can't expect such luck to foller us around like a poodle-dog." "I'm for havin' a slap at the Bank, anyway," growled Garstang. "Imagine the effect upon the public mind--the robbery of an escort and a bank, both in one week!" This was how the gentlemanly Carnac regarded the question. "It'd be a record. We'd make a name that wouldn't easily be forgotten. _I'm_ for trying." "Well, it's stopped raining, blokes," said Sweet William, "but outside it's dark enough to please an owl. If we want to get into Timber Town without bein' seen, now's the time to start." So saying, he picked up his "swag," which he hitched upon his back. The other men rose, one by one, and shouldered their packs, in which each man carried his gold. With much lumbering, stumbling, and swearing, the murderers slowly departed, groping their way to the mouth of the cave by the light of the fire, which they left burning. Tresco waited till the last sound of their voices had died away, then he stretched his cramped, benumbed limbs, heaved a deep sigh of relief, and rose to his feet. "My God, what monsters!" He spoke under his breath, for fear that even the walls should hear him. "If they had found me they'd have thought as little of cutting my throat as of killing a mosquito. If ever I thanked God in my life--well, well--every nerve of me is trembling. That's the reaction. I must warm myself, and have a bite of food." After carefully scattering the murderers' fire, he groped his way to his inner cell, and there he made his best endeavours to restore his equanimity with warmth, food, and drink. CHAPTER XXXI. The Perturbations of the Bank Manager. The windows of the Kangaroo Bank were ablaze with light, although the town clock had struck eleven. It was the dolorous hour when the landlord of The Lucky Digger, obliged by relentless law, reluctantly turned into the street the topers and diggers who filled his bar. Bare-headed, the nails of his right hand picking nervously at the fingers of his left, the manager of the Bank emerged from a side-door. He glanced up the dark street towards the great mountains which loomed darkly in the Cimmerian gloom. "Dear me, dear me," murmured he to himself, "he is very late. What can have kept him?" He glanced down the street, and saw the small crowd wending its way from the hostelry. "It was really a most dreadful storm, the most dreadful thunderstorm I ever remember." His eye marked where the light from the expansive windows of the Bank illumined the wet asphalt pavement. "Landslips frequently occur on newly made tracks, especially after heavy rain. It's a great risk, a grave risk, this transporting of gold from one place to another." "'Evenin', boss. Just a little cheque for twenty quid. I'll take it in notes." The men from The Lucky Digger had paused before the brilliantly lighted building. "Give him a chance.... Let him explain.... Carn't you see there's a run on the Bank." "Looks bad.... Clerks in the street.... All lighted up at this time o' night.... No money left." "Say, boss, have they bin an' collared the big safe? Do you want assistance?" The Manager turned to take refuge in the Bank, but his tormentors were relentless. "Hold on, mate--you're in trouble. Confide in us. If the books won't balance, what matter? Don't let that disturb your peace of mind. Come and have a drink.... Take a hand at poker.... First tent over the bridge, right-hand side." "It's no go, boys. He's narked because he knows we want an overdraft. Let 'im go and count his cash." The Manager pulled himself free from the roisterers and escaped into the Bank by the side door, and the diggers continued noisily on their way. The lights of the Bank suddenly went out, and the Manager, after carefully locking the door behind him, crossed over the street to the livery stables, where a light burned during the greater part of the night. In a little box of a room, where harness hung on all the walls, there reclined on a bare and dusty couch a red-faced man, whose hair looked as if it had been closely cropped with a pair of horse-clippers. When he caught sight of the banker, he sat up and exclaimed, "Good God, Mr. Tomkinson! Ain't you in bed?" "It's this gold-escort, Manning--it was due at six o'clock." "Look here." The stable-keeper rose from his seat, placed his hand lovingly on a trace which hung limply on the wall. "Don't I run the coach to Beaver Town?--and I guess a coach is a more ticklish thing to run than a gold-escort. Lord bless your soul, isn't every coach supposed to arrive before dark? But they don't. 'The road was slippy with frost--I had to come along easy,' the driver'll say. Or it'll be, 'I got stuck up by a fresh in the Brown River.' That's it. I know. But they always arrive, sometime or other. I'll bet you a fiver--one of your own, if you like--that the rivers are in flood, and your people can't get across. Same with the Beaver Town coach. She was due at six o'clock, and here've I been drowsing like a more-pork on this couch, when I might have been in bed. An' to bed I go. If she comes in to-night, the driver can darn well stable the 'orses himself. Good night." This was a view of the question that had not occurred to Mr. Tomkinson, but he felt he must confer with the Sergeant of Police. The lock-up was situated in a by-street not far from the centre of the town. The Sergeant was sitting at a desk, and reading the entries in a big book. His peaked shako lay in front of him, and he smoked a cigar as he pored over his book. He said nothing, he barely moved, when the banker entered; but his frank face, in which a pair of blue eyes stood well apart, lighted up with interest and attention as Mr. Tomkinson told his tale. When the narrative was ended, he said quietly, "Yes, they may be weather-bound. Did you have a clear understanding that the gold was to be brought in to-day?" "It was perfectly understood." "How much gold did you say there was?" "From fifteen to twenty thousand pounds' worth--it depends on how much the agent has bought." "A lot of money, sir; quite a nice little fortune. It must be seen to. I'll tell you what I will do. Two mounted constables shall go out at daylight, and I guarantee that if the escort is to be found, _they_ will find it." "Thank you," said Tomkinson. "I think it ought to be done. You will send them out first thing in the morning? Thank you. Good night." As the banker turned to go, the Sergeant rose. "Wait a moment," he said. "I'll come with you." They walked contemplatively side by side till they reached the main street, where a horseman stood, hammering at Manning's stable-gate. "Nobody in?" said the Sergeant. "You had better walk inside, and put the horse up yourself." "I happen to know that the owner has gone to bed," said Tomkinson. The horseman passed through the gateway, and was about to lead his sweating mount into the stables, when the Sergeant stopped him. "Which way have you come to-day?" he asked. "From Bush Robin Creek," replied the traveller. "You have ridden right through since morning?" "Yes. Why not?" "Did you overtake some men with a pack-horse?" "No. I passed Mr. Scarlett, after the thunderstorm came on. That was on the other side of the ranges." "How did you find the rivers? Fordable?" "They were all right, except that on this side of the range they had begun to rise." "Perhaps the men we are expecting," said the nervous banker, "took shelter in the bush when the storm came on. You may have passed without seeing them." "Who are the parties you are expecting?" asked the traveller. "Mr. Zahn, the agent of the Kangaroo Bank, was on the road to-day with a considerable quantity of gold," replied the Sergeant. "You mean the gold-escort," said the traveller. "It left about three hours before I did." "Do you know Mr. Zahn?" asked the Sergeant. "I do. I've sold gold to him." "I'll take your name, if you please," said the Sergeant, producing his pocket-book. "Rooker, Thomas Samuel Rooker," said the traveller. "Where are you to be found?" "At The Lucky Digger." "Thank you," said the Sergeant, as he closed his book with a snap and put it in his pocket. "Good night." "Good night," said the traveller, as he led his horse into the stable. "If I can be of any use, send for me in the morning." "It's pretty certain that this man never saw them," said the Sergeant, "therefore they were not on the road when he passed them. They must have been, as you say, in the bush. There is plenty of hope yet, sir, but I should advise you to get up pretty early to-morrow morning, if you want to see my mounted men start. Good night." With a gloomy response, Mr. Tomkinson turned his steps towards the Bank, there to toss on a sleepless bed till morning. CHAPTER XXXII. The Quietude of Timber Town Is Disturbed. The crowd which had gathered in front of the verandah of the Post Office of Timber Town was made up, as is not uncommon with crowds, of all sorts and conditions of men. There were diggers dressed in the rough clothes suitable to their calling and broad-brimmed felt hats; tradesmen, fat with soft living, and dressed each according to his taste; farmers, in ready-made store-clothes and straw hats; women, neatly, if plainly, dressed as suited the early hour of the day; a few gaily-dressed girls, and a multitude of boys. Nailed to the wooden wall of the building was a poster, printed with big head-lines, upon which the interest of all present was centred. NOTICE. FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD!!! WHEREAS persons of the names of ISAAC ZAHN, PETER HEAFY, WILLIAM JOHNSON, and JAMES KETTLE have mysteriously disappeared; AND WHEREAS it is supposed that they have been murdered on the road between Bush Robin Creek and Timber Town; AND WHEREAS, further, they had in their custody at the time a considerable quantity of gold, the property of the Kangaroo Bank; THIS IS TO NOTIFY that should those persons, or any of them, have been murdered, a reward of FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS (£500) will be given to any person who shall give information that will lead to the conviction of the murderers; AND A LIKE REWARD will be given to any person who shall give such information as shall lead to the restoration of the stolen gold to its lawful owners. (Signed) WILLIAM TOMKIN TOMKINSON, Manager, Kangaroo Bank, Timber Town. "Isaac Zahn? He was the gold-buying clerk. I knew 'im well. An' if you ask me, I think I know who put 'im away." "You're right, John. D'you call to mind that long-legged toff at The Lucky Digger?" "I do. 'E caught Zahn a lick under the jaw, an' kicked 'im into the street. I seen 'im do it." "That's the bloke." "Hi! Higgins. Here, old man. D'you want five hundred pounds?" "I ain't partic'lar, George--I don't know the man's name." "But you saw that bit of a scrap in The Lucky Digger, between one of these parties as is murdered and the toff from the Old Country." "I was in the bar." "Well, there was very bad blood between them--you see that? And I heard the toff tell Zahn that the next time 'e saw 'im he'd about stiffen 'im. I heard it, or words to that effect. Now, I want you to bear witness that what I say is true." "Yes, yes, I remember the time. You mean Mr. Scarlett, the man who discovered the field." "There's wheels within wheels, my boy. They were rivals for the same girl. She jilted young Zahn when this new man took up the running. Bad blood, very bad blood, indeed." "But is he dead? Has there been a murder at all? Collusion, sir, collusion. Suppose the escort quietly appropriated the gold and effaced themselves, they'd be rich men for life, sir." "You're right, Mr. Ferrars. Until the bodies are found, sir, there is no reason to believe there has been murder." At this moment the local bellman appeared on the scene, and stopped conversation with the din of his bell. Subsequently, after the manner of his kind, and in a thin nasal voice, he proclaimed as follows:--"Five hundred pound reward--Five hundred pound reward.--It being believed--that a foul murder has been committed--on the persons of--Isaac Zahn, Peter Heafy, William Johnson, James Kettle--citizens of Timber Town--a search-party will be formed--under the leadership of Mr. Charles Caxton--volunteers will be enrolled at the Town Hall--a large reward being offered--for the apprehension of the murderers--Five hundred pound--Five hundred pound!" He then tucked his bell under his arm and walked off, just as unconcernedly as if he were advertising an auction-sale. By this time a crowd of two or three hundred people had assembled. A chair was brought from The Lucky Digger, and upon this a stout man clambered to address the people. But what with his vehemence and gesticulations, and what with the smallness of his platform, he stepped to the ground several times in the course of his speech; therefore a lorry, a four-wheeled vehicle not unlike a tea-tray upon four wheels, was brought, and while the orator held forth effusively from his new rostrum, the patient horse stood between the shafts, with drooping head. This pompous person was succeeded by a tall, upright man, with the bearing of a Viking and the voice of a clarion. His speech was short and to the point. If he had to go alone, he would search for the missing men; but he asked for help. "I am a surveyor," he said. "I knew none of these men who are lost or murdered, but I appeal to those of you who are diggers to come forward and help. I appeal to the townsfolk who knew young Zahn to rally round me in searching for their friend. I appeal for funds, since the work cannot be done without expense; and at the conclusion of this meeting I shall enrol volunteers in the Town Hall." He stood down, and Mr. Crewe rose to address the crowd, which had now assumed such proportions that it stretched from pavement to pavement of the broad street. All the shops were closed, and people were flocking from far and wide to the centre of the town. "Men of Timber Town," said Mr. Crewe, "I'm not so young as I was, or I would be the first to go in search of these missing men. My days as a bushman are over, I fear; but I shall have much pleasure in giving £20 to the expenses of the search-party. All I ask is that there be no more talking, but prompt action. These men may be tied to trees in the bush; they may be starving to death while we talk here. Therefore let us unite in helping the searchers to get away without delay." A movement was now made towards the Town Hall, and while the volunteers of the search-party were being enrolled two committees of citizens were being formed in the Town Clerk's office--the one to finance, and the other to equip, the expedition. While these things were going forward, there stood apart from the crowd four men, who conversed in low voices. "It's about time, mates, we got a bend on." "Dolly, you make me tired. I ask you, was there ever such a chance. All the traps in the town will be searching for these unfortunate missin' men. We'll have things all our own way, an' you ask us to 'git.'" "'Strewth, Garstang, you're a glutton. S'far's I'm concerned, I've got as much as I can carry. I don't want no more." The four comrades in crime had completely changed their appearance. They were dressed in new, ready-made suits, and wore brand-new hats, besides which they had shaved their faces in such a manner as to make them hardly recognisable. Dolphin, who, besides parting with his luxuriant whiskers and moustache, had shaved off his eyebrows, remarked, with the air of a man in deep thought, "But there's no steamer leaving port for two days--I forgot that. It seems we'll have to stay that long, at any rate." "And I can't bear bein' idle--it distresses me," said Sweet William. "This'll be the last place where they'll look for us," remarked Carnac. "You take it from me, they'll search the diggings first." "When they've found the unfortunate men, they'll be rampin' mad to catch the perpetrators." This from Dolphin. A rough, bluff, good-natured digger pushed his way into the middle of the group. "Come on, mates," he said; "put your names down for a fiver each. It's got to be done." And seizing Garstang and Sweet William, he pulled them towards the Town Hall. "G'arn! Let go!" snarled Garstang. "Whatyer givin' us?" exclaimed William, as she shook himself free. "The bloke's fair ratty." "Here! Hi!" Dolphin called to the enthusiastic stranger. "What's all this about missing men? What's all the fuss about?--as like as not the men are gone prospecting in the bush." "A gold-buyer with 5000 oz. of gold doesn't go prospecting," replied the digger. "Come and read the notice, man." The four murderers lounged towards the Post Office, and coolly read the Bank Manager's placard. "They've got lost, that's about the size of it," said Garstang. "Why all this bobbery should be made over a few missin' men, beats me," sneered Dolphin. "Whenever there's a 'rush' in Australia, there's dozens of men git lost," said Sweet William, "but nobody takes any notice--it's the ordinary thing." "But there's gold to the value of £20,000 gone too," said the enthusiastic stranger. "Wouldn't you take notice of _that_?" "It'll turn up," said Carnac. "They must have lost their way in the thunderstorm. But you may bet they're well supplied with tucker. Hang it all, they might come into town any minute, and what fools we'd look then." "P'r'aps their pack-horse got frightened at the lightning and fell over a precipice. It might, easy." This was William's brilliant suggestion. "An' the men are humpin' the gold into town theirselves," said Garstang. "There ain't any occasion to worry, that I can see. None at all, none at all. Come an' have a drink, mate. I'll shout for the crowd." The five men strolled towards The Lucky Digger, through the door of which they passed into a crowded bar, where, amid excited, loud-voiced diggers who were expressing their views concerning the gold-escort's disappearance, the four murderers were the only quiet and collected individuals. CHAPTER XXXIII. The Gold League Washes Up. The amalgamated "claims," worked upon an economical and extensive scale, had promised from the outset to render enormous returns to the members of the Gold League. Throughout the canvas town which had sprung up on the diggings, the news that the "toffs" were to divide their profits had created the widest interest, and in every calico shanty and in every six-by-eight tent the organising genius of the "field," Mr. Jack Scarlett, was the subject of conversation. Such topsy-turvy habitations as the stores and dwellings of Canvas Town never were seen. The main street, if the thoroughfare where all the business of the mushroom township was transacted could be dignified with such a name, was a snare to the pedestrian and an impossibility to vehicles, which, however, were as yet unknown on the "field." The "Cafe de Paris" possessed no windows in its canvas walls, and its solitary chimney was an erection of corrugated iron, surmounted by a tin chimney-pot. "The Golden Reef," where spirituous liquors were to be had at exorbitant prices, was of a more palatial character, as it had a front of painted wood, in which there hung a real door furnished with a lock, though the sides of the building were formed of rough logs, taken in their natural state from the "bush." The calico structure which bore in large stencilled letters the name of The Kangaroo Bank, was evidently closed during the absence of the Manager, for, pinned to the cotton of the front wall, was a piece of paper, on which was written in pencil the following notice:--"During the temporary absence of the Manager, customers of the Bank are requested to leave their gold with Mr. Figgiss, of the Imperial Dining Rooms, whose receipts will be duly acknowledged by the Bank. Isaac Zahn, Manager." Upon reading the notice, would-be customers of the wealthy institution had only to turn round in order to see Mr. Figgiss himself standing in the door of his place of business. He was a tall, red-bearded, pugnacious-looking man, with an expansive, hairy chest, which was visible beneath the unbuttoned front of his Crimean shirt. The Imperial Dining Rooms, if not spacious, were yet remarkable, for upon their calico sides it was announced in letters of rainbow tints that curries and stews were always ready, that grilled steaks and chops were to be had on Tuesdays and Fridays, and roast pork and "duff" on Sundays. But further along the street, where tree-stumps still remained and the pedestrian traversed water-worn ruts which reached to his knee, the true glory of Canvas Town stood upon a small elevation, overlooking the river. This was the office of the Timber Town Gold League. It was felt by every digger on the "field" that here was a structure which should serve as a model. Its sides were made of heavy slabs of wood, which bore marks of the adze and axe; its floor, raised some four feet from the ground, was of sawn planks--unheard-of luxury--and in the cellars below were stored the goods of the affluent company. Approaching the door by a short flight of steps, admittance was gained to a set of small offices, beyond which lay a spacious room, which, at the time when the reader is ushered into it, is filled with bearded men dressed in corduroy, or blue dungaree, copper-fastened, trousers and flannel shirts; men with mud on their boots and on their clothes, and an air of ruffianism pervading them generally. And yet this is the Timber Town Gold League, the aristocratic members of which are assembled for the purpose of dividing the proceeds of their first "wash-up." On an upturned whisky-case, before a big table composed of boards roughly nailed together and resting on trestles, sits the Manager of the League, Mr. Jack Scarlett, and before him lie the proceeds of the "wash-up." The room is full of tobacco-smoke, and the hubbub of many voices drowns the thin voice of the League's Secretary, who sits beside the Manager and calls for silence. But Jack is on his feet and, above the many voices, roars, "Order!" "Quiet." "Sit down." "Stop that row." "Order for the boss of the League." Before long all is still, and the lucky owners of the gold which lies in bags upon the table, listen eagerly for the announcement of the returns. "Gentlemen,"--Scarlett's face wears a pleasant smile, which betokens a pleasant duty--"as some of you are aware, the result of our first wash-up is a record for the colony. It totals 18,000 oz., and this, at the current price of Bush Robin gold--which I ascertained in Timber Town during my last visit--gives us a return of £69,750." Here Jack is interrupted by tremendous cheering. "Of this sum," he continues, when he can get a hearing, "your Committee suggests the setting aside, for the payment of liabilities and current expenses, the sum of £9750, which leaves £60,000 to be divided amongst the members of the League." Upon this announcement being made, an uproar ensues, an uproar of unrestrained jubilation which shakes the shingle roof, and the noise of which reaches far down the street of Canvas Town and across the flats, where clay-stained diggers pause amid their dirt-heaps to remark in lurid language that the toffs are having "an almighty spree over their blanky wash-up." "I rise to make a propothition," says a long, thin, young Gold Leaguer, with a yellow beard and a slight lisp. "I rise to suggest that we send down to Reiley's for all hith bottled beer, and drink the health of our noble selves." The motion is seconded by every man in the room rising to his feet and cheering. Six stalwart Leaguers immediately go to wait upon the proprietor of The Golden Reef, and whilst they are transacting their business their mates sing songs, the choruses of which float through the open windows over the adjacent country. The dirt-stained owners of the Hatters' Folly claim hear the members of the League asking to be "wrapped up in an old stable jacket," and those working in the Four Brothers' claim learn the truth about "the place where the old horse died." At length the forage-party arrives with the liquor, and there follows the unholy sound of the drawing of corks. By this time all Canvas Town has learnt what business is going forward in "the Toffs' Shanty," and from both sides of the river the diggers begin to assemble in anticipation of a "spree." Across the scarred, disfigured valley, over the mullock-heaps, from every calico tent, from out of every shaft, from the edge of the dark forest itself, bearded men, toil-stained but smiling, bent on festivity, collect in Canvas Town's one ramshackle street. Between the calico shanties and along the miry, uneven ways, men stand in groups, their conversation all of the luck of "the toffs." But around the Office of the Gold League the crowd is greatest, and the cheers of the members are echoed by the diggers outside. Bill the Prospector and Moonlight are on guard at the door, for though they have no interest in the League's claims, as owners of the two richest patches on the field they stand hand-in-glove with the leaders of that strong combination. Inside, Scarlett has risen to his feet, amid prolonged cheering. "We have not decided yet, gentlemen," he says, "whether we shall take our dividends in gold or in cheques; and this causes me to allude to a most disagreeable matter. It is well known that the agent of the Kangaroo Bank has been robbed of a considerable amount of gold and perhaps murdered, on his way between this field and Timber Town." Suddenly the room is filled with groans, deep and sepulchral, which are immediately repeated by the growing crowd outside. "Evidently," continues Jack, "it is not safe for a man to travel with gold on his person; I therefore wish to propose that payments be made by cheque, and that all members not absolutely needed on the claims form themselves into an escort to convey the gold to Timber Town. And when we adjourn, I suggest that a meeting of all diggers on the field be called for the purpose of forming a vigilance committee, for the detection and suppression of crime on the diggings." He sits down amid renewed cheering. This has barely subsided and the long, thin young man, who appears to be a person of importance in the League, has risen to speak, when a considerable disturbance occurs outside. During Scarlett's speech four mounted constables have wended their way through the groups of diggers standing in the street. They dismount in front of the League's Office, and ascend the steps, at the top of which they come into violent altercation with Moonlight and the Prospector. These are immediately ordered in the Queen's name to stand aside, and the four blue-coated men walk into the meeting. The tall, thin, young man, catching sight of the intruders, pauses in his speech, and says, "What the deyvil!" but the constables walk straight to the improvised table, and their leader, laying his hand on Scarlett's shoulder, say, "John Richard Scarlett, you are charged with the murder of Isaac Zahn. I arrest you in the Queen's name." For half a minute there rests on the assembly a silence that can be felt. Then there bursts a roar of indignation from fifty throats. In a moment the constables have closed round their prisoner, and with drawn revolvers they stand ready to resist interference. Not many of "the toffs" are armed, but such as are quickly draw their weapons, and it only needs a single shot to start a fight which must end disastrously for the Law, when Scarlett's voice rings out, "Stand back, you fellows! For God's sake, don't fire! This thing is a mistake which will be more quickly cleared up before a Magistrate than by bloodshed." Expostulating, but obedient to his wish, his friends one by one lower their weapons. "_I_ know nothing of a mistake," says the Sergeant, as he takes a piece of paper from his pocket. "But here's the warrant, which any gentleman present is at liberty to see. We are but carrying out our duty." The handcuffs are now on Scarlett's wrists, and his captors lead him slowly through the crowded room. "Let me speak." Filled with emotion which he can hardly suppress, Jack's voice almost seems to choke him. "Let me speak before you take me away." "Not a word," retorts the Sergeant. "You shall say all you want to the Magistrate." "Men," cries Scarlett, as he is hustled through the door, "I am innocent, I swear." But he has no time to say more. He is hurried down the steps; he is quickly placed on a spare horse; the constables spring into their saddles, and ere the great concourse of diggers can grasp what is happening, Jack is conducted at a trot through the town of canvas, along the track which leads to Timber Town, and is soon out of sight. CHAPTER XXXIV. The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Third Time. The flash digger put his elbows on the table, and leered at Gentle Annie who sat, radiant, at the other side of the board. "You must have made quite a pile." "My dear, it's never wise to tell a woman all you know or all you've got. But I don't mind telling you this much: I had luck, or I wouldn't be able to satisfy _your_ little whims." He put his hand into his breast pocket, and drew out a plush-covered case. "You asked for the biggest diamond in Timber Town, and here it is." He opened the case, and took out a gold ring, in which was set a stone, fully a carat-and-a-half in weight. Gentle Annie's eyes glittered almost as brightly as the facets of the diamond. "Dear little jewels for our dear girls." The flash digger held up the brilliant between his finger and thumb. "That bit of carbon cost me £30." He passed the ring to the girl, who eagerly tried it, first on one finger, then on another. "Lovely!" she exclaimed: then, as the sudden suspicion struck her, she asked, "You're sure it's real?" "Well, I'll be----." But he restrained himself. "My dear, if it's shnein, the bargain's off." Gentle Annie had risen, and was scratching with the stone the glass of a picture-frame which held a gaudy chromo-lithograph. As she did so, the digger rose, and encircled her waist with his arm. "Well, are you satisfied?" "Quite," she replied, with a laugh. "It bites like a glazier's diamond." "Then give me a kiss." The girl made a pretence of trying to get away, but quickly gave in, and turned her lips to the digger's hawk-like face, and kissed his cheek. "That's right," he said; "that's as it should be. Mind you: I'm boss here while I stay; I'm the proprietor of the bloomin' show. All other blokes must stop outside." His arm still encircled her waist, and she, regarding him through half-closed, indulgent eyes, leaned her weight against him, when a low cough startled both of them. The door slowly opened, and upon the threshold stood a dark figure which, advancing towards the light, turned into a man, big, broad, and stern. "No, no," said the flash digger, calm, cool, and collected, while the girl tried to assume a posture of aloofness. "You must get out, mister. I'm boss of this show. No one's allowed here without an invite from me. So, out you go." But, to his astonishment, the intruder, without saying a word, quietly took a seat, and began to cut himself a pipeful of tobacco from a black plug which he drew nonchalantly from his pocket. "Make no mistake," said the flash digger, striking a dramatic attitude. "I'm not the man to give an order a second time. Out you get, or I'll drill a hole clean through you." "One minute." The stranger shut the blade of his knife, which he placed deliberately in his pocket. "One minute. Do me the kindness to lower that pistol, and stand where I can see your face more plainly. I've no intention of resisting--unfortunately I left my shooting-iron behind." As the digger did not move, the stranger jerked his head now forward, now back, now to this side, now to that, peering at the man who held his life in his hand. "Yes, it's as I thought," he said. "I've had the pleasure of seeing you before, on two or three occasions. There's no need for you an' me to quarrel. If we're not exactly pals, we're something even closer." "You're wasting valuable time, and risking your life for no reason whatever," said the digger. "You'd better be quick." "Oh, I'm going," said the intruder. "Set your mind at rest about that. I was only trying to think where I had met you--it was in a cave. You and your mates knew enough to come in out of the rain. You had made a nice little haul, a very nice little haul." A look of the utmost perplexity came over the face of the flash digger, and this was followed by a look of consternation. His arm had fallen to his side, and he was saying slowly, "Who the deuce are _you_? How the deuce d'you know where _I've_ been?" when the man who sat before him suddenly pulled his hand from under the table and covered his aggressor with a revolver. "One move," said Tresco--the reader will have recognised that the goldsmith had come to town--"one move, Mr. Carnac, and you're as dead as the murdered men on the hill." The tension on Gentle Annie's nerves, which during this scene had been strung to the highest pitch, had now become too great to be borne silently. "Don't, don't!" she cried. "For God's sake, for _my_ sake, stop! stop!" "Don't be frightened, my dear," said the goldsmith, without taking his eye off his rival and antagonist. "If there's to be trouble between this man and me, you can't make or mar it. Now, mister, kindly drop your revolver on the floor." The man did as he was bid, and the heavy falling of iron sounded loud through the otherwise silent room. "Right turn. Quick march." Tresco rose slowly, still covering his man. "Open the door for him, my dear!" "It's a trap! I'm trapped by the woman," cried Carnac, glaring awfully at Gentle Annie. "You slut, give me back my ring." "Walk straight out, mister," said the goldsmith, quietly, "and don't call the lady names, or you'll repent it. She happens to be my particular friend. And let me tell you before you go, that the one thing that will save you from the hangman's noose is that you don't set foot inside this door again. D'you hear?" "Yes," said the robber. "You understand my meaning?" "Perfectly." "Then let him out, Annie." The door swung open, Carnac walked slowly into the night, and Tresco and Gentle Annie were alone. The goldsmith heaved a sigh of relief. "Haaaah! Close thing, very close; but Benjamin was just one too many for him. You see, brains _will_ come out on top. Kindly bolt the door, my dear." He picked up Carnac's revolver, placed it on the table, sat down, wiped his brow, and again gave vent to another sigh of relief. "My dear, it's brought on my usual complaint--desperate thirst. Phaugh! a low-lived man, and in this house, too! In the house of my little woman, curse him!" Gentle Annie placed a glass and a bottle before him, and the goldsmith drank. "What's that about a ring, my dear? Did I understand he had given you a ring?" The girl took the precious diamond from her finger, and handed it to Tresco. "Why, it's my own work--I recognise the setting; I remember the stone. Thirty pounds that ring is worth; thirty pounds, if a penny. Did he steal it, or buy it, I wonder?" "Bought it, he said." "If so, he's not mean, anyway. I tell you what I'll do--I'll buy it back from you. It's not right you should be defiled by wearing such a man's ring." "He shall have it back--I'll give it him." "No, my dear. What he has given, he has given. Thirty pounds." From his pocket he drew a small linen bag, from which he took eight or ten small nuggets. These he balanced in his palm. "Seven ounces," he said, contemplatively. "Say eight, to give you good value. That's it, my dear." With a bump he placed the gold on the table. "This ring is now mine. The work is of the best; never did I take more care or pride in my craft than when I set that stone. But it has been in the hands of a vile fellow; it is polluted." He rose from his chair, placed the jewel on the hearthstone, and fiercely ground the precious stone beneath his iron-shod heel, and flung the crushed and distorted gold setting into the fire. "That you should have been so much as touched by such a man, is a thing not to be forgotten quickly." He drank the rest of his liquor at a breath. "I must go, my dear. I must go." "What! won't you stop? I want you to stay a little longer." "Nothing would please me better. But that man is one of a gang. If I stop here, he may bring seven other devils worse than himself, and the last end of Benjamin will be worse than the first. I should be waylaid and killed. And that would be unfortunate." "Do you suppose they will come here when you have gone?" "No fear of that, after what I've told him. That man will shun this house as if it was his grave. Well, good night." He took Gentle Annie's face between his hands. Then he held her at arms' length, and gazed steadfastly into her face. And, the next moment, he was gone. The girl turned the nuggets over and over with a listless finger. "Men, men," she murmured, "how madly jealous--and when there is so little need. As if I care for one a pennyworth more than another." CHAPTER XXXV. Bail. The Pilot of Timber Town sat in his dining-room in the many-gabled house; Captain Sartoris sat opposite him, and both looked as miserable as men could possibly look. "It's a bad business, a terrible bad business," said Captain Summerhayes, "to be charged with robbery and cold-blooded murder. I was in the Court. I heard the Resident Magistrate commit him to the Supreme Court. 'Your Worship,' says Jack, 'on what evidence do you commit me? I own that I was on the road to Canvas Town, but there is nothing wrong in that: there is no evidence against me.' An' no more there is. I stake all I've got on his innocence; I stake my life on it." "Same here, same here, Summerhayes," said Sartoris. "But I don't see how that helps him. I don't see it helps him worth tuppence. He's still in the lock-up." "It helps 'im this much," said the old Pilot: "he can be bailed out, can't he?--and we're the men to do it." "We'd need to be made o' money, man. Ten thousand pound wouldn't bail 'im." "We'll see, we'll see. Rosebud, my gal!" The Pilot's gruff voice thundered through the house. "We'll put it to the test, Sartoris; we'll put it to the test." Rose Summerhayes hurried from the kitchen; the sleeves of her blouse tucked up, and her hands and arms covered with flour. "What is it, father?" "Young Scarlett's in prison," growled the Pilot, "and there he's likely to stay till the sitting of the Supreme Court." The pink in Rose's pretty face turned as white as the flour she had been kneading. "Have they found him guilty, father?" "Not exactly that, my gal, but it looks black for the lad, as black as the pit." "But he's _not_ guilty!" cried the girl. "Nothing will persuade me to believe that." "We must bail him out," said her father. "Bring me my deed-box." Rose rustled from the room, and presently returned with a square, japanned, tin box, which bore her father's initials upon its lid. The Pilot took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and quickly unlocked the box. Upon the bare, polished table he placed a number of Bank deposit receipts. "I can't do it," he said; "no more can Sartoris. But _you_ can, my gal. Just add up these amounts, Cap'n, while I explain." He handed the receipts to Sartoris. "It isn't often I've mentioned your uncle to you, Rosebud. But he's a rich man, more than ordinary rich, my dear. Ever since you were a little dot, so high, he's sent me money as reg'lar as the clock. I've never asked 'im for it, mind ye; and, what's more, I've never spent a penny of it. I wouldn't touch it, because I don't bear him any love whatever. Before you was born, my gal, he did me a most unforgivable wrong, an' he thinks money will wipe it out. But it won't: no, no, it won't. Howsomever, I banked all that money in your name, as it kept coming in; and there it's been piling up, till I don't really know how much there mayn't be. What's the total, Sartoris? Give us the total, man." But the Captain had forgotten his calculation, in open-mouthed astonishment. "'Arf-a-minute, 'arf-a-minute," he said, quickly giving his attention to the papers which lay before him. "Fifteen hundred and two thousand is three thousand, five hundred; and thirteen hundred is four thousand, eight hundred; and seven hundred and seventy-five is---- Why, there's more money here than ever I saw in a skipper's house before. I'll need a pencil and a bit o' paper, Miss Rose. There's a mint o' money--as much as would bail out a duke." Supplied with stationery, he slowly made his calculation; the Pilot watching him unconcernedly, and Rose checking the amounts one by one. At last he found his total, and drew a line under it. "Well, what is it?" asked the Pilot. "I make it ten thousand, seven hundred and seventy-five pound," he said. "Goodness, girl, here's all this money!--and you baking and scrubbing as if you was a servant. Summerhayes," he added, turning upon the Pilot, "I think you've been doing an injustice, sir; a gross injustice." "Personally," replied the Pilot, "I don't intend to receive a pennyworth o' benefit from that money. If the gal likes to be a lady now, there's nothing to stop her; but I don't share in the spending o' that money, not in a penny of it. Of that I'm determined." "You're a contumacious, cantankerous old barnacle," retorted Sartoris, "that's what you are. It'd serve you right if your daughter was to cut the painter and cast you adrift, and leave you to sink or swim." "We can very well settle that point by and by, Sartoris. The present question is, Shall we bail out young Scarlett, or not? I put it to you, Rosebud. Here's all this money--what are you going to do with it? If you go bail for Scarlett and he runs away, you'll lose it. If he stands his trial, then you'll get it all back and have the knowledge, I believe, that you helped an innocent man. Which will you do?" "I couldn't hesitate," replied Rose. "I'm sure Mr. Scarlett wouldn't commit such a dreadful crime as that he's charged with. I--I--feel," her breath caught in her throat, and she gave vent to something very like a sob, "I should be glad to do anything to get him out of prison." "Quite right, quite right!" thundered the old Pilot. "There speaks my gal, Sartoris; there speaks my dar'ter, Rosebud!" Rising from his chair, he kissed her heartily, and stood, regarding her with pride and pleasure. "My dear young lady," said Sartoris, as he took Rose's hand in his, and warmly pressed it, "it does you great honour. Young Mr. Scarlett an' me was shipmates; we was wrecked together. I know that lad better than I know my own brother--and, I say, you may safely back your opinion of him to any amount." "Get my hat, gal," said the Pilot. "We'll be going." And so, after she had hastily performed her toilet, Rose walked into town, with the two old sea-dogs as an escort. First, they went to the Kangaroo Bank, where the Pilot placed the sheaf of deposit receipts on the manager's table, and said, "It comes to something over ten thousand pound, sir. What we want to know is, will you allow my dar'ter to draw five or ten thousand, and no questions asked?" "Ah--really," said Mr. Tomkinson, "it would be most unusual. These deposits are made for a term, and the rule of the bank is that they can't be drawn against." "Then what is the good of all this money to my gal, if she can't use it?" "She can draw it as it falls due." "But suppose that don't suit? Suppose my dar'ter wants it at once, what then?" The manager rubbed his chin: that was his only reply. "These bits o' paper are supposed to be as good as gold," continued the Pilot, rustling the receipts as they lay upon the table, "ain't they?" "Better," said the manager, "in some ways much better." "Indeed," retorted the Pilot. "Then what's the good o' them, if nothing can be done with 'em?" "For the matter o' that, Summerhayes," said Sartoris, "if this gen'leman don't quite like to trust himself in the matter, there's plenty outside will take them there bits o' paper as security, and be glad to get 'em. I've seen the thing done, Summerhayes, though I can't say I've done it myself, never having had enough money to deposit in a bank." "Ah--well," said the banker, "of course it _can_ be managed, but you would lose the interest." "The interests be--be--the interest be hanged!" exclaimed the Pilot. "But the young lady must act under no compulsion, sir." Mr. Tomkinson spoke with a dignity worthy of the great institution which he represented. "She must do it of her own free will." "Ask her," said the Pilot. The manager looked at Rose, who said, "I want to draw seven thousand pounds of this money," but she felt as though she was speaking in a dream, so unreal did the situation seem to her. "The best way for your daughter to act," said the manager, turning to the Pilot, "will be for her to sign seven thousand pounds' worth of these receipts over to the bank, and to open in her own name an account, on which she can draw to the amount specified." "Very good," said the Pilot, "that would suit; but why couldn't you say so at first, instead o' boxing the compass?" The business was soon concluded, and Rose, for the first time in her life, drew a cheque, which was for nothing less than £7000. "This is a large sum," said the manager, "a large sum to take in a lump." "Isn't it her own money she's taking?" said the Pilot. "I'm her father, and I don't see anything wrong about it." "But there her credit ceases," said the manager. "Let it cease," said the Pilot. The cheque was cashed at the counter, and Rose walked out of the bank with a mighty sheaf of notes in her hand. For safety's sake, the Pilot relieved her of some of her wealth, and Captain Sartoris relieved her of the rest, and thus the three walked briskly towards the Red Tape Office. Here, with difficulty and much climbing up and down stairs and traversing of corridors, they found the room of the District Judge, who was, in his minor capacity, likewise the Resident Magistrate. He was a man of benign countenance, who, after the customary greetings and explanations had been made, politely asked them to be seated. This invitation the Pilot neglected to comply with, but, advancing to the table behind which the Judge sat, he said, "I believe you have locked up a young man of the name of Scarlett." "That's so," said the Judge. "Well, he's a friend o' mine," said the Pilot, "a partic'lar friend." "Indeed," said the Judge, smiling kindly. "I'm glad that Mr. Scarlett is not without friends." "I've a great respect for the Law," continued the Pilot. "I always had, but that don't make me feel less anxious to help a friend o' mine that's got into its clutches." The Judge continued to smile at the Pilot from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. "I can quite believe it," he said. "Cap'n Sartoris," said the Pilot, in his gruffest manner. "Stand up, sir!" Sartoris stood. "Scarlett was your shipmate, Cap'n?" continued the Pilot. "Certainly he was," answered Sartoris. "And he was my very good friend, sir," added Summerhayes, turning to the Judge. "So you have said," said the Judge. "Well, we've come to bail him out," said the Pilot; "that's what has brought us here. How much will it take, Judge?" "A--really--this is very sudden," replied the Judge. "Er--this is--ah--most unusual. In fact, I might say that this is quite an unparalleled case." "We're plain, sea-faring men," said Sartoris, who felt he was bound to back up the Pilot, and to say something; "law isn't our strong point." "Would you consider a matter o' five thousand pound might do it?" asked the Pilot. The old Judge leaned over his table, and took up a book. "Bail?" he said. "Page 249. Listen to this. 'On charges of murder, it is the uniform practice of Justices not to admit the person charged to bail; although in point of law, they may have power to do so.' That is from The Justice of the Peace--it seems perfectly plain." "You _may_ give bail, but you make a practice of refusing it," commented the Pilot. "Might I suggest that you set an example to the other Justices, an' come out strong in the matter o' bail? If you've got power to make the lot of a well-known citizen a little happier, why not use it? Hand over them notes, Sartoris." The Pilot emptied his pockets of all the money that Rose had handed him, and placed it on the Judge's table, and Sartoris contributed his quota to the pile. "There you are, Judge," said the Pilot, pushing all the money towards the legal magnate, "that should be enough to bail out a Member of the Legislative Council, or even the Governor himself. That should fix it. But don't think, Judge, that me and Cap'n Sartoris is doing this thing. No, sir, it's my dar'ter. She supplies the motive-power that works the machinery. All this money belongs to her. She it is that wishes to bail out this young man who, we believe, has been falsely accused." "Ah--really," said the good old Judge, "I must say--now listen to this: I have here the newest edition." He took another and bulkier volume from his table. "Page 66, section 176. Allow me to read. 'The exercise of discretion with respect to taking of bail for the appearance of an accused person, where such discretion exists--namely, in all crimes except treason, being accessory after the fact to treason'----" "Yes," interrupted the Pilot, "that's the Law, an' very good it is, very good to them as understands it; but what Sartoris, my dar'ter, and me want is for you to let this young feller out of gaol till the trial, an' we'll be responsible." A perplexed look came over the Judge's face. He took off his glasses, and wiped them; readjusted them; gave a bewildered look at the Pilot, and said, "Yes, yes; but listen to what I am reading. The first question is whether bail ought to be taken at all; the second, what the amount should be." "Place it high, Judge," said the Pilot. "We've come prepared for that. We've come prepared with seven thousand." "Really, this is most irregular," complained the Judge, his finger marking the place on the page from which he was reading. "The--ah--object of bail, that is the amount of bail should be sufficient to secure the appearance of the accused to answer the charge." He had found his place, and read on determinedly, "'And it may be remarked here, that it is not the practice in England, under any circumstances, to take bail on charges of murder.'" "Jus' so, Judge," said the Pilot. "Jus' so. It's not the custom in England. That's as I should ha' thought. But here, where murders don't occur every day, you may grant it if you like. That's as I thought, just as I thought. What's your opinion, Cap'n Sartoris?" "Same here," said Sartoris, tapping his chest. "I'm with you, Pilot; with you on every point." "Theoretically, that is so," said the Judge, "but practically, how are you going to assess bail for a man who is to be tried for his life? What amount of money will guarantee his reappearance? Why, no sum, however great." The Judge shut his book with a snap, and set his mouth firmly as one who had made up his mind. "This young man," he continued, "whom I knew and respected as well as you yourselves, has been accused of most serious crimes. He is said, with the aid of other persons at present at large, to have murdered the members of a gold-escort and to have stolen gold to the value of something like twenty thousand pounds." The two seamen stood attentively, with their eyes fixed earnestly on the Judge, whilst Rose covered her face with her hands. "Besides which,"--the Judge had now regained his judicial composure, and his words flowed smoothly, as though he were on the bench--"we must remember that the accused is reputed to be a wealthy man. Supposing him to have augmented his means by murder and malpractice, what would ten, twenty or even thirty thousand pounds be to him in comparison with his life? That is the question. There can be no guarantee of his reappearance. Bail is impossible. But I will do this: I will extend you the privilege--seeing your affection for this man, who, for your sakes as well as his own, I hope may be acquitted--I will allow you leave to visit him on certain days, between the hours of 10 a.m. and 12 noon, and I will write an order to that effect." He looked at Jack's sympathisers, who remained dumb. Dipping his pen in the ink, he asked them their names in full, and wrote. Handing each of them an order, he said, "You will present those to the gaoler when you desire to visit your friend. I may say that I very much admire the strong affection which you have shown towards one who is under such a serious charge as that made against the prisoner, John Scarlett. I wish you good morning." So saying, he rose from his chair, and, when they had gathered up their money, ushered them out of the room. CHAPTER XXXVI. In Durance Vile. With a basket on her arm, Rose Summerhayes issued from the creeper-covered verandah of the many-gabled house, and stood in her garden of roses. It was the time of the autumn blooms. With a pair of garden scissors she cut the choicest flowers, and placed them upon the snowy napkin which covered the contents of her basket. Then she tripped into the town. She passed by Tresco's shop, where Jake Ruggles, worried by the inquiries of the police, and overwhelmed with orders which he could not execute, strove to act the absent goldsmith's part. At the door of The Lucky Digger, where stood a noisy throng of men from the gold-field, she heard the words, "It never was the work of one man. If he did it, he had accomplices. How could one man lug the four of 'em up that mountain-side," and she hurried past, knowing too well to whom the talk referred. As she passed the Kangaroo Bank, a florid man, wearing a white waistcoat, came out through the glass doors with a digger who had been selling gold. "So you thought you'd bring your gold to town yourself?" said the florid man. "After that, yes," replied the digger. "I sold the nugget to Zahn for six-pound-ten, and, when next I see it, the Sergeant's got it. There never was a clearer case. It's a good thing they've got 'im safe in gaol." Rose hurried on, feeling that all the town, watching her with unsympathetic eyes, knew well where she was going. But at last she stood before the gate of the wooden prison. After ringing for admittance, she was ushered into a room, bare of furniture save for a pine table and a couple of chairs, where a warder read the Judge's order, made some entries in a big book, and examined the contents of the basket. She was next conducted through a species of hall which opened into a small, covered yard, on either side of which stood rows of white-washed, wooden cells. Unlocking the second cell on the left-hand side, the warder said in a loud voice, as though he were speaking to some one who was either a long way off or very deaf, "Visitor to see you. Stand up, man. 'Tisn't every day that a pris'ner has a young lady to see him." Rose entered the cell, and the door was closed behind her. The walls were white and bare. On a small bench at the further end sat a figure she saw but indistinctly until her eyes became accustomed to the dim light which crept through the grating in the door, against which she could observe the head of the watchful warder who stood inside the cell. Jack rose slowly to his feet, and stood speechless, with his hand extended. "I've brought you a couple of fowls and some fruit," said Rose. "Thank you." Jack's voice was very low, and his words came very slowly. "Do you know the crime I'm accused of?" "Please don't talk of that," said Rose. "I know all about it." "I wonder you come to see me. No one else does." "Perhaps they're not allowed to. But my father and Captain Sartoris will be here presently." "Indeed! It's very kind of them." "But, you see, we don't believe you're guilty; we think you'll be able to prove your innocence at the trial." Conversation goes but tamely when a prison warder dwells on every word. The two stood in the centre of the cell, Jack holding tightly the girl's right hand, while with her left she held the basket. Withdrawing her hand from his ardent clasp, she placed the roses on the bench and uncovered the dainties which the basket contained. There being no table on which to place them, she spread the napkin on the bench, and laid the delicacies upon it. "I am allowed to come every other day," she said, "and next time I hope to bring my father with me. He's engaged to-day with a ship." "I never saw the men after they passed me on the track. I never did this thing." Rose took his hand in hers, and gently pressed it. "If you don't wish to hurt me, you will not speak about it. At home we agree to say nothing. We hear all sorts of things, but we keep silent--it makes it hurt less." "You still have faith in me?" "Why not?" "Do others take that view?" "I hope so." "But I'm afraid the men on the diggings think hardly of me." "Why should they? They are all coming to town, I am told, in order to attend the trial." "So much the greater will be my degradation, if I am found guilty." "On the other hand, so much greater will be your triumph, when you prove your innocence." The conversation had got thus far, when voices were heard without, the door of the cell opened, and the Pilot and Captain Sartoris entered. "Well, lad," exclaimed old Summerhayes, as he vigorously shook Jack's hand. "Keeping her head well to the wind, eh? That's the style, lad. You'll find she'll weather the storm." "Aye, aye," said Sartoris. "If she goes down with all hands it's not the fault of the skipper, providing he's steered his true course." "That's so," said the Pilot; "providing he's steered his true course. We were thinking o' bail, Jack. We thought to make you comfortable till you'd proved they'd arrested the wrong man; but that old barnacle of a Judge wouldn't budge an inch. He consulted his log, and neither Sartoris, nor me, nor my dar'ter, could drive any sense into him. So we gave it up: we intend to do our best to make you happy here." "Lord bless you," said Sartoris, "it won't seem no time at all before you are out an' about. Then the whole affair will be but an episode,"--he dwelt on the word, which he had been treasuring in his mind for hours past--"simply an episode, only made to be forgotten." This speech was a great effort of oratory, and the Captain drew a long breath, looking sideways at the Pilot, as though he had given a cue. "Luck goes in streaks, lad," said Captain Summerhayes. "You struck a bad one when you set sail with Sartoris here. I don't mean no offence to you, Captain; but I do not, never did, and never shall, admire the way you handled _The Mersey Witch_." "Go on," remarked Sartoris; "rub it in. I can bear it." "Having got into a bad streak, Jack, you must expect it to stick to you for a time. I did think as how you'd lost it when you come home with all that gold. But, you see, I was right at first; you're in it yet. There's no cure but to bear it. An' that you will, lad, like the man you are." "We've come to cheer you up, Jack," said Sartoris, "an' I hope we've done it. But there's one thing that I believe is usual in these cases, an' that's a sky-pilot. I have heard as how a sky-pilot's more comfortin' to a man in gaol than anything else. What's your special brand? What kind do you fancy? I'm ashamed to say we've talked so little religion, Jack, that I don't know what religious crew you signed on with when you was young, but if there's any special breed o' parson you fancy, you've only got to give him a name, and if he lives in this town or within a radius of ten miles, he shall come an' minister to you reg'lar, or I'll know the reason why." During this remarkable speech, Rose had quietly slipped out of the cell and, with her empty basket on her arm, had turned her steps homeward. On rounding a corner of a street in the centre of the town, she almost ran into Rachel Varnhagen. "Well, well, well, where have you been?" was the Jewess's greeting, as she stopped to talk to Rose. "I've been to the gaol." "To the gaol! Goodness, what for?" Rose did not reply. "I do believe you've been to see that contemptible murderer." "If you mean a friend of mine, who was also a friend of yours who did you a great service, I beg you to stop." "I mean that man Scarlett." "And so do I." "What! you've been speaking to _him_? You must be mad. The man's a murderer. It's awful!" "You shouldn't judge him before he has been tried." "The evidence is the same now as it will be then. There was a nugget of a strange shape, which a digger sold to poor Isaac Zahn, and it was found on your precious Scarlett when he was arrested." Rose made no answer. "And to think," Rachel continued, "that I was almost engaged to him." "I never heard that," said Rose, coldly. "My dear, I'm thankful to say nobody did, but he used to come regularly to our house when he was in town, and my stupid old father used to encourage him. Such an escape I never had. Fancy being married to a murderer. Ugh!" "There's no need to fancy anything of the sort. You couldn't have married him till he asked you." "But, dear, if he _had_, I should have accepted him. You know, he is so handsome. And he is awfully rich. My father wouldn't have heard of my refusing him. Certainly, he's not of our religion, but then we're not very orthodox. I'm afraid I should have accepted him: I'm sure I should. And then, think of poor Isaac. I really _was_ fond of him. I know it now; but he was _so_ slow in making money--I couldn't waste all my life in waiting." "You must feel his death dreadfully," said Rose. "But it doesn't comfort me very much, when my friends go to see his murderer." "I haven't been to see a murderer." "Good gracious! If that awful Scarlett didn't murder him, who did?" "I haven't the least idea, but I feel sure there's been a mistake on the part of the police." "There's no mistake: they found the bodies yesterday in the bush." As Rachel spoke, the two girls saw a strange procession coming down the street. "Look!" cried Rachel, seizing Rose's arm for support. "Look what is coming." In single file, slowly the searchers were carrying the bodies of the murdered men, wrapped in canvas and strapped to poles cut from the forest trees. As they advanced, a crowd, bare-headed and at every step increasing, accompanied the doleful procession. They passed the spot where stood the two girls, the one supporting the other, and so disappeared out of sight. CHAPTER XXXVII. Benjamin's Redemption. The Supreme Court sat in the large hall of the wooden building, ornate with all the decorations of the Elizabethan style, which has been referred to in these pages as the Red Tape Office. The hall was divided by a barrier, on one side of which were arranged the bench, dock, jury-box, and everything else appertaining to the functions of Justice; and on the other side stood the general public. But as yet the Court was not assembled, save for half-a-dozen be-wigged barristers and a few policemen; and the public, crowded like cattle in a pen, discussed in suppressed tones such matters as seemed good. Presently, a door beside the bench opened, and a very fat bailiff, preceding the Judge himself, who was followed by many minions of the law, advanced into the body of the court, and cried, "Silence for His Honor the Queen's Judge!" struck the butt of his long staff upon the floor, and proceeded to deliver a long rigmarole, couched in early English, the tenor of which was that the proceedings about to take place were most solemn and dignified, and all men must keep silence in order that His Honour the Judge might hear himself speak. Then the Judge seated himself on the bench, nodded to all the barristers, who thereupon immediately sat down likewise, and then the policemen, looking fiercely at the harmless, herded public, cried in angry tones for "Silence! Silence! Silence!" though not a man had so much as coughed since the great Judge had entered. There seeming to be no fear of a demonstration against Law, Order, and Justice, a be-wigged gentleman who sat immediately in front of the Judge, in the manner that the clerk used to sit before the parson in the days of the three-decker pulpit, stood up, and after consulting various little bits of paper, called and empanelled the Grand Jury, a most important body of men, comprising all that was substantial and wealthy in Timber Town--short, fat men; tall, thin men; men of medium height; bullet-headed men, long-headed men, bald-headed men, and one man who was known to dye his hair; men whose stomachs rested on their knees as they sat; men who looked as though they had not had a full meal for a month; men dressed in tweeds; men dressed in black broad-cloth as if for a funeral; men with gay flowers in the button-holes of their coats; bearded men, and shorn men; as varied an assortment of men as could pronounce opinion on any case. Each member of this queer company having been furnished with a little testament, the legal luminary administered the oath, and they kissed the book literally like one man, and sat down with a shuffling of feet that was truly disgraceful in so sedate an assembly. They having chosen the fattest man of them all as their foreman, the Judge addressed them: "Mr. Foreman and gentlemen of the Grand Jury," he said, "give me your attention. Great crimes have been committed in your district,"--and not a man of them all but dropped his eyes and looked as if he felt himself guilty--"and great excitement has been caused in the public mind. But it is one of the highest triumphs of civilisation that we possess a wholesome system of procedure, whereby time is afforded to elapse for the abatement of popular excitement,"--here he glanced searchingly at the exemplary public on the other side of the barrier, as though he challenged one of them to move--"before such cases as those which will come before you, are heard." Here the Judge paused, and the jurymen looked at each other, as much as to say that after all they might escape. "But," continued His Honor, "we must take all proper precautions in such grave affairs as we are here to consider, lest the eye of reason should be jaundiced by prejudice, or become dazzled by passion, or lest the arm of Justice should smite wildly and without discrimination." Every juryman looked at the Judge, to see if the state of his eye was clear and in keeping with this grave injunction. "The first case which will come before you is that of John Richard Scarlett, who is charged with the murder of Isaac Zahn and others. I am not sure as to what will be the form of the indictment, but I should suppose there will be four separate indictments, that is to say, the prisoner will be charged with the murder of each man killed. I now ask you to retire and consider this grave case with that perspicacity and unbiassed judgment which I feel sure you are capable of exercising in so large a degree." The Judge had made every juryman's breast swell with pride, and from their box they poured in a long stream, and clattered over the floor of the Court to the jury-room, the door of which stood ajar, ready to receive them. The public portion of the hall was now crowded to excess, and the gallery above the main entrance was quickly filling. The people maintained perfect order, but on every face was an eager look which showed the intense interest that was being taken in the proceedings. But when the Judge retired, pending the decision of the Grand Jury, there broke out a hum of conversation, subdued but incessant. On the public side of the barrier there was nothing to be seen but a sea of faces, the faces of all sorts of men, and of not a few women, all waiting for the appearance of the prisoner. Suddenly at the back of this tightly-packed throng there arose a slight commotion, caused by a wild, unkempt man pushing his way through the doorway into the middle of the crowd. His hair was long and matted, his clothes were torn and covered with clay, his face was anxious yet determined. Having wedged himself into the living mass, his identity soon became merged and lost in the multitude of men, work-stained and way-worn like himself. For almost the entire population of Canvas Town was assembled to hear the case against Scarlett; the aristocratic members of the League had come to see what fate awaited their president; solitary "hatters" had come to witness the discomfiture of "the boss of the toffs"; the female portion of the concourse had been attracted by the romance which was believed to underlie the tragedy; while the townsmen were there out of sympathy with the young banker whom they had all known. Filling all available space in the hall and overflowing into the great quadrangle outside, this motley crowd discussed the case against Scarlett in all its bearings, though there was a dense ignorance on the part of the critics as to the evidence that would be called. To everything he heard the wild, unkempt man turned a deaf ear; regarding, as he undoubtedly did, the self-appointed judges around him with silent contempt and some degree of amusement. At length the door of the jury-room opened, and the head of a Grand Juror was thrust out. To him a constable immediately whispered. The Grand Jury had come to a decision, and the Judge was summoned from his room. No sooner had the great man taken his seat, than amid a murmur of excitement the prisoner was placed in the dock. He looked thin and care-worn. On his legs were heavy irons, and handcuffs were upon his wrists. Otherwise he was as when first arrested; he wore the same riding-breeches and leggings, and the same tweed coat. Then the Grand Jury filed solemnly in, and stood in a big semicircle between the barrier and the Court, the foreman standing a little in front of his fellows. "Mr. Foreman and gentlemen of the Grand Jury, how do you find in the case of John Richard Scarlett, charged with the murder of Isaac Zahn?" "A true bill, Your Honour," answered the foreman. "How do you find in the case of John Richard Scarlett, charged with the murder of James Kettle?" "A true bill, Your Honour." A like answer was returned in respect to the other three charges, and the Judge then discharged the Grand Jury, who promptly filed out of Court, only to reappear in the gallery above the Judge's bench. A Special Jury--which, the Judge was careful to tell Jack, was a great privilege extended to him by the Court--was empanelled to try the case, but not without a great deal of challenging on the part of the Crown Prosecutor and of Jack's counsel. "Prisoner at the bar, you are charged with the wilful murder of Isaac Zahn. How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?" "Not Guilty!" Scarlett's voice rang clear through the hall. There was a shuffling amongst the barristers on the floor of the Court; papers were rustled, law-books were opened or placed neatly in rows, and a general air of business pervaded the scene. Then the Crown Prosecutor rose and, after clearing his throat several times, declared that he would call certain witnesses to prove that the prisoner was on the road between Timber Town and Canvas Town on the day of the murder, that he was at open variance with the murdered man, Isaac Zahn, that he possessed when arrested certain property belonging to the murdered man, and certain other important facts, all of which went to prove the prisoner's guilt. First, he called a constable who deposed as to the finding of the bodies; next, a doctor, who gave evidence as to how Zahn met his death. Then followed a member of the search-committee, who supplied various details respecting the track, the position of the body of Zahn when found, and of the effects found upon it. These three witnesses but fulfilled the formalities of the Law in proving that the dead man was murdered and robbed, but there was a great stir in the hall when the next witness entered the box. This was a corn-stalk of a man who wore a long yellow beard, and seemed to consist of legs, arms, and head; his body being of such small importance in the scheme of his construction as to be hardly noticeable. "John Rutherford," said the Crown Prosecutor, "kindly tell the jury your trade or calling." "Digger," answered the witness, as laconically as possible. "The witness means," said the barrister, turning to the jury, "that he mines for gold," an explanation which nobody needed. "But be so good as to inform the Court if you know a hostelry named The Lucky Digger." A smile stole over the lean witness's face. "I reckon I've bin there," he said. "Were you there on the afternoon of Saturday, the 25th of February, last?" "I might ha' bin." "You can't be certain?" "You've hit it, mister--I can't be certain." "Then we'll try to assist your memory. Do you know the prisoner at the bar?" The witness looked at Scarlett with a grin. Then he turned, and confronted the lawyer. "I know him," he said. "He was boss of the gentlemen diggers." "Did you know the deceased, Isaac Zahn, with whose murder the prisoner is charged?" "I did--he bought gold of me." "Did you ever know the two men, John Scarlett and Isaac Zahn, to quarrel?" "I did." "Please be so good as to describe to the jury the nature of the quarrel." "I was standin' in the bar of The Lucky Digger, havin' a pint with a friend," said the long, thin witness, "when I heard the prisoner exchangin' words with Zahn." "Ah! a very important matter," said the counsel for the Crown. "What was the subject of their conversation?" "Seemed to me they were both sparkin' up to the bar-maid," said the digger, "an' consequently there was bad blood between 'em, specially on the part of Scarlett." "Did he strike the deceased?" "Certainly. Struck 'im in the bar, in the passage, an' kicked 'im into the street." "You swear to that?" "Decidedly. I seen 'im do it." "Thank you. You may stand down--unless, of course, my friend the counsel for the defence would like to ask a question." Scarlett's barrister, a man of jovial countenance, smiled, and shook his head. "Call Rachel Varnhagen." The pretty Jewess, dressed in black, walked modestly into the Court, mounted the step or two which led to the witness-box, and bowed to the Judge and jury. "I should be pleased to spare you the pain of appearing as a witness in this case," said the barrister for the Crown, looking his softest at the lovely Rachel, "but the importance I attach to the evidence I believe you will give, is so great that I am forced to sacrifice my private feelings upon the altar of Justice. I believe you know the prisoner at the bar?" "Yes, I do," replied Rachel, in a very low voice. "Did you know Isaac Zahn, with whose murder he is charged?" "I did." "Is it a fact that you were engaged in marriage to Isaac Zahn?" "I was, but the engagement was broken off some six weeks before his death." "And that you afterwards became engaged to John Scarlett?" "I was never engaged to marry the prisoner." "Ah, then I have been misinformed. Were not the prisoner and the deceased rivals for your hand?" "I believed them to be so." "Did you ever know them to quarrel?" "I once saw the prisoner throw Isaac Zahn out of a house." "What house?" "I was passing along the street, when through the door of a public-house I saw the prisoner throw or kick Isaac Zahn into the street, and he fell on the pavement at my feet." "Can you remember the name of the public-house?" "It was The Lucky Digger." The barrister sat down, and looked at the ceiling of the Court--he had finished his examination--and the Judge motioned the fair Rachel to stand down. The next witness to be sworn was Amiria. "Do you remember the 3rd of March last?" asked the Crown Prosecutor. The brown eyes of the Maori girl flashed, and, drawing herself up with dignity, she said, "Of course, I do. Why should I forget it?" "What did you do on that day--where did you go?" "I went for a ride, though I can't see how that can interest you?" "Did you go alone?" "No." "Who accompanied you?" "Mr. Scarlett." "Indeed. Where did you ride to?" "In the direction of Canvas Town." "Well, well. This is most important. Did you accompany the prisoner all the way?" "No. We parted at the last ford before you come to the mountains, and I returned alone to Timber Town." "What time of day was that?" "Between nine and ten in the morning." "And which way did the prisoner take after leaving you?" "He crossed over the ford, and went towards Canvas Town." "Thank you." Then the counsel for the Crown turned to the Judge. "I have finished with the witness, Your Honour," he said. "But I have not finished," cried Amiria, lifting her voice so that it rang through the Court. "There were others on the road that day." "Ah!" said the Judge. "I understand you desire to make a statement?" "I desire to say that at the ford were four horrible-looking men." The Crown Prosecutor laughed. "Yes, yes," he said. "You would tell the Court that there were others on the road besides yourself and the prisoner. What were the names of the men to whom you refer?" "I don't know. How should I know their names?" Again the Crown Prosecutor laughed. But Scarlett's counsel was on his feet in a moment. "Would you recognise them, if you saw them again?" he asked. "I think so," answered the Maori girl. "What should you say was their occupation?" "I don't know, but they looked much more like murderers than Mr. Scarlett did." "Look if you can see the men you speak of, in Court." The dark girl glanced at the sea of faces on the further side of the barrier. "They may be here, but I can't see them," she said. "Just so. But do you see any persons like them?" "In dress, yes. In face, no." "Very good, don't trouble yourself further. That will suffice." And Amiria was ushered from the Court. "Call William Tomkin Tomkinson." The Bank Manager stood trembling in the box, all the timidity of his soul brought to the surface by the unusual situation in which he found himself. "What quantity of gold do you suppose your agent, Mr. Zahn, was bringing to town when he was thus foully murdered?" asked the Crown Prosecutor. "I really don't know the exact amount, but I should imagine it was between £15,000 and £20,000." "You know the prisoner?" "I have met him in the way of business?" "What was the nature of his business?" "He came to ask the Bank to send an agent to the field for the purpose of buying gold." "And you told him you would send one?" "I called Mr. Zahn into my room. I told him he would be sent to the field, and I suggested that the prisoner should conduct him to Canvas Town." "Was that suggestion acted upon?" "No. Scarlett was willing to comply, but Zahn refused his offer." "Why did he refuse?" "He was frightened to trust himself with the prisoner." "This is very important, Mr. Tomkinson. I must ask you to repeat the murdered man's exact words when he refused to accompany the prisoner to the field." "I do not recollect his exact words. As nearly as I can remember, he said that he would rather run the risk of getting lost in the bush than be thrown over a precipice." "Did you know they had quarrelled previously?" "I learnt so, at the time to which I refer." "Thank you, sir. Your evidence has proved to be valuable, very valuable indeed. I shall ask the witness no more questions, Your Honour." Scarlett's counsel was contemplatively tapping his front teeth with his forefinger throughout this examination. He now rose, and informed the Judge that though he desired to ask the witness no questions at the present time, perhaps he might ask for him and the witness Amiria to be recalled at a later stage of the proceedings. The next witness was a digger, a short man with a bushy, red beard. But even more extraordinary than the man's beard was his casual, almost insolent, bearing. He glanced at the Judge contemptuously, he looked pityingly at the jury, he regarded the barristers with dislike, and then he settled himself resignedly against the front of the witness-box, and fixed his eyes superciliously upon the Sergeant of Police. "Are you the owner of a claim on Bush Robin Creek?" "I am, and it's a good claim too." The witness evidently considered himself on familiar terms with the counsel for the Crown. "Did you sell gold to Isaac Zahn?" "I did, an' he give me £3 15s. an ounce. The result of a month's work, yer Honour." "How much did you sell?" "Forty-six ounces fifteen pennyweights; but, bless yer, I'd on'y begun to scratch the top of the claim." The idea of the witness blessing the Crown Prosecutor convulsed the bar with merriment; but, looking straight at the witness, the Judge said, "I beg you to remember, sir, that you are in a Court of Law, and not in the bar of a public-house." To which admonition the digger was understood, by those nearest to him, to murmur, "I on'y wish I were." "Was there anything unusual in the appearance of the gold that you sold to Zahn?" "It was very 'eavy gold," replied the witness, "an' there was one nugget that 'e give me extry for, as a curio." "Indeed," said the counsel, as though this fact was quite new to him. "What was it like?" "It weighed close on two ounces, an' was shaped like a kaka's head." "What is a _kaka_, my man, and what shape is it's head?" "I thought you'd ha' known--it's a parrot, mister." "Would you know the nugget, if you saw it again?" "'Course, I would," replied the witness with infinite contempt. "I got eyes, ain't I, an' a mem'ry?" "Is that it?" The barrister handed a bit of gold to the witness. "That's the identical nugget," replied the witness: "you may make your mind easy on that. I sold it to Zahn soon after he come to the field." "Thank you," said the Crown Prosecutor, and, turning to the jury, he added, "That nugget, gentlemen, is an exhibit in the case, and is one of the effects found on the prisoner at the bar, when he was searched after his arrest." The witness left the box amid a murmur of excitement, and from the gestures of the jurymen it was clear that his evidence had impressed them. The case against Scarlett wore a serious aspect, and the Crown Prosecutor, smiling, as though well pleased with his work, was preparing to examine witnesses to prove the prisoner's arrival at Canvas Town on the night of the murder, when there arose a considerable commotion amongst the public, by reason of a wild, unshorn man pushing his way violently towards the barrier. The Police Sergeant and his constables cried, "Silence in the Court!" but amid noisy protestations from the crowd, the ragged, struggling figure reached the barrier, vaulted over it, and stood on the floor of the Court. The barristers rose to stare at the extraordinary figure; the Judge, open-mouthed with astonishment, glared at everybody generally; the Sergeant made three strides towards the intruder, and seized him roughly by the arm. "I desire to give evidence!" cried the disturber of the proceedings. "I wish to be sworn." With his clothes in tatters and earth-stained, his boots burst at the seams and almost falling to pieces, his hair long and tangled, his beard dirty and unkempt, thus, in a state of utter disreputableness, he unflinchingly faced the Court; and the crowd, forgetful of the prisoner, Judge, and jury, gave its whole attention to him. Beckoning with his hand, the Judge said, "Bring this man forward. Place him where I can see him." The Police Sergeant led the would-be witness to the space between the dock and the jury-box. "Now, my man," said the Judge, "I imagine that you wish to say something. Do you wish to give evidence bearing on this case?" "I do, Your Honour." "Then let me warn you that if what you have to say should prove frivolous or vexatious, you will be committed for disturbing the Court." "If what I have to say is irrelevant, I shall be willing to go to gaol." The Judge looked at this ragged man who used such long words, and said sternly, "You had better be careful, sir, exceedingly careful. What is your name?" "Benjamin Tresco." "Oh, indeed. Very good. T-r-e-s-c-o-e, I presume," remarked the Judge, making a note of the name. "No, T-r-e-s-c-o." "No 'e'?" "No, Your Honour; no 'e'." "Benjamin Tresco, of what nature is the evidence you desire to give?" "It tends to the furtherance of Justice, Your Honour." "Does it bear on this case? Does it deal with the murder of Isaac Zahn?" "It does." "Would it be given on behalf of the Crown, or on behalf of the prisoner?" "I can't say. It has no bearing on the prisoner, except indirectly. It affects the Crown, perhaps--the Crown always desires to promote Justice." "Let the man be sworn." So Benjamin was placed in the box, and stood prominent in his rags before them all. After he had been sworn, there was a pause; neither the prosecution, nor the defence, knowing quite what to make of him. At length the counsel for the Crown began, "Where were you on March the 3rd, the supposed day of the murder of Isaac Zahn?" "I don't keep a diary. Of late, I haven't taken much account of dates. But if you refer to the date of the thunderstorm, I may state that I was in my cave." "Indeed. In your cave? That is most interesting. May I ask where your cave may be?" "In the mountains, not far from the track to Canvas Town." "Dear me, that's very novel. When you are at home, you live in a cave. You must be a sort of hermit. Do you know the prisoner?" "Slightly." "Did you meet him in your cave?" "No; but there I saw the men who ought to be in the dock in his stead." "Eh? What? Do you understand what you are saying?" "Perfectly." "Perfectly? Indeed. Have you come here to give evidence for the Crown against the prisoner at the bar?" "I have nothing to do with the prisoner. I have come to disclose the guilty parties, who, so far as I am aware, never in their lives spoke two words to the prisoner at the bar." "Your Honour," said the bewildered barrister, "I have nothing further to ask the witness. I frankly own that I consider him hardly accountable for what he says--his general appearance, his manner of life, his inability to reckon time, all point to mental eccentricity, to mental eccentricity in an acute form." But the counsel for the defence was on his feet. "My good sir," he said, addressing the witness, with an urbanity of tone and manner that Benjamin in his palmiest days could not have surpassed, "putting aside all worry about dates, or the case for the Crown, or the prisoner at the bar, none of which need concern you in the slightest degree, kindly tell the jury what occurred in your cave on the day of the thunderstorm." "Four men entered, and from the place where I lay hid I overheard their conversation. It referred to the murder of Isaac Zahn." "Exactly what I should have imagined. Did you know the four men? Who were they? What were their names?" "I knew the names they went by, and I recognised their faces as those of men I had met in Timber Town." "Tell the jury all that you heard them say and all that you saw them do in the cave?" "I had returned from exploring a long passage in the limestone rock, when I heard voices and saw a bright light in the main cave. For reasons of my own, I did not desire to be discovered; therefore, I crept forward till I lay on a sort of gallery which overlooked the scene. Four men were grouped round a fire at which they were drying their clothes, and by the light of the flames they divided a large quantity of gold which, from their conversation, I learned they had stolen from men whom they had murdered. They described the method of the murders; each man boasting of the part he had played. They had stuck up a gold-escort, and had killed four men, one of whom was a constable and another a banker." "That was how they described them?" "That is so. The two remaining murdered men they did not describe as to profession or calling." "You say that you had previously met these fiends. What were their names?" "They called each other by what appeared to be nicknames. One, the leader, was Dolly; another Sweet William, or simply William; the third was Carny, or Carnac; the fourth Garstang. But how far these were their real names I am unable to say." "Where did you first meet them?" "In The Lucky Digger. I played for money with them, and lost considerably." "When next did you meet them?" "Some weeks afterwards I saw two of them--the leader, known as Dolphin, or Dolly, and the youngest member of the gang, named William." "Where was that?" "On the track to Bush Robin Creek. I had come out of the bush, and saw them on the track. When I had hidden myself, they halted opposite me at a certain rock which stands beside the track. From where I lay I heard them planning some scheme, the nature of which I then scarcely understood, but which must have been the sticking-up of the gold-escort. I heard them discuss details which could have been connected with no other undertaking." "Would you know them if you saw them again?" "Certainly." "Look round the Court, and see if they are present." Benjamin turned, and looked hard at the sea of faces on the further side of the barrier. There were faces, many of which he knew well, but he saw nothing of Dolphin's gang. "I see none of them here," he said, "but I recognise a man who could bear me out in identifying them, as he was with me when I lost money to them at cards." "I would ask you to point your friend out to me," said the Judge. "Do I understand that he was with you in the cave?" "No, Your Honour; I knew him before I went there." "What is his name?" "On the diggings, he is Bill the Prospector, but his real name is William Wurcott." "Call William Wurcott," said the Judge. William Wurcott was duly cried, and the pioneer of Bush Robin Creek pushed his way to the barrier and stood before the Court in all his hairiness and shabbiness. Tresco stood down, and the Prospector was placed in the box. After being sworn according to ancient custom, Bill was asked all manner of questions by counsel and the Judge, but no light whatever could he throw on the murder of Isaac Zahn, though he deposed that if confronted with the visitors to Tresco's cave, he would be able to identify them as easily as he could his own mother. He further gave it as his opinion that as the members of the gang, namely, Sweet William and his pals--he distinctly used the words "pals" before the whole Court--had drugged him and stolen his money, on the occasion to which Tresco had referred, they were quite capable, he thought, of committing murder; and that since his mate Tresco had seen them dividing stolen gold in his cave, on the day of the thunderstorm, he fully believed that they, and not the prisoner at the bar, were the real murderers. All of which left the minds of the jury in such a confused state with regard to the indictment against the prisoner, that, without retiring, they returned a verdict of Not Guilty, and Jack left the Court in the company of Rose, the Pilot, and Captain Sartoris. CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Way to Manage the Law. It may have been that the Prospector's brief appearance in Court had roused the public spirit latent in his hirsute breast, or it may have been that his taciturnity had been cast aside in order that he might assume his true position as a leader of men; however that may have been, it is a fact that, on the morning after the trial, he was to be seen and heard haranguing a crowd outside The Lucky Digger, and inciting his hearers to commit a breach of the peace, to wit, the forcible liberation of a prisoner charged with a serious crime. "An' what did 'e come for?--'e come to see his pal had fair play," Bill was exclaiming, as he stood on the threshold of the inn and faced the crowd of diggers in the street. "'E proved the whole boilin' of 'em, Judge, law-sharks, police, an' bum-bailies, was a pack of fools. He made a reg'lar holy show of 'em. An' what does 'e git?--Jahroh." Here the speaker was interrupted by cries, approving his ruling in the matter. "He come to give Justice a show to git her voice 'eard, and what's 'e find?--a prison." Bill paused here for effect, which followed immediately in the form of deep and sepulchral groans. "Now I arsk you, ain't there plenty real criminals in this part o' the world without freezin' on to the likes of _us_? But the Law's got a down on diggers. What did the police know of this Dolphin gang? Nothing. But they collared Mr. Scarlett, and was in a fair way to scrag 'im, if Justice hadn't intervened. Who have you to thank for that?--a digger, my mate Tresco. Yes, but the Law don't thank 'im, not it; it fastens on to the very bloke that stopped it from hangin' the wrong man." Here there arose yells of derision, and one digger, more vociferous than his fellows, was heard to exclaim, "That's right, ole man. Give 'em goss!" The crowd now stretched across the broad street and blocked all traffic, in spite of the exertions of a couple of policemen who were vainly trying to disperse Bill's audience. "Now I want to know what you're goin' to do about it," continued the Prospector. "All this shoutin' an' hoorayin' is very fine, but I don't see how it helps my mate in the lock-up. I want to know what you're goin' to _do_!" He paused for an answer, but there was none, because no one in the vast assembly was prepared to reply. "Then," said the Prospector, "I'll tell you what. I want six men to go down to the port for a ship's hawser, a thick 'un, a long 'un. I want those men to bring that there hawser, and meet me in front of the Police Station; an' we'll see if I can show you the way to manage the Law." The concourse surged wildly to and fro, as men pushed and elbowed their way to the front. "Very good," said Bill, as he surveyed the volunteers with the eye of a general; "you'll do fine. I want about ten chain o' rope, thick enough and strong enough to hold a ship. Savee?" The men detailed for this special duty answered affirmatively, seized upon the nearest "express," and, clambering upon it, they drove towards the sea amidst the cheering of the crowd. The Prospector now despatched agents to beat up all the diggers in the town, and then, accompanied by hundreds of hairy and excited men, he made his way towards the lock-up, where the goldsmith, who had been arrested immediately after Scarlett's trial, lay imprisoned. This place of torment was a large, one-storied, wooden building which stood in a by-street facing a green and grassy piece of land adjacent to the Red Tape Office. By the time that Bill, followed by an ever increasing crowd, had reached the "station," the men with the hawser arrived from the port. No sooner were the long lengths of heavy rope unloaded from the waggon, then deft hands tied a bowline at one end of the hawser and quickly passed it round the lock-up, which was thus securely noosed, and two or three hundred diggers took hold of the slack of the rope. Then was the Prospector's opportunity to play his part in the little drama which he had arranged for the edification of Timber Town. Watch in hand, he stepped up to the door of the Police Station, where he was immediately confronted by no less a person than the Sergeant himself. "'Day, mister," said Bill, but the policeman failed to acknowledge the greeting. "You've got a mate of ours in here--a man of the name of Tresco. It's the wish of these gentlemen that he be liberated. I give you three minutes to decide." The infuriated Sergeant could hardly speak, so great was his anger. But at last he ejaculated, "Be off! This is rioting. You're causing a breach of the peace." "Very sorry, mister, but time's nearly up," was the only comment that the Prospector made. "I arrest you. I shall lock you up!" Bill quickly stepped back, and cried to his men. "Take a strain!" The hawser was pulled taut, till it ticked. "Heave!" The building creaked to its foundations. Bill held up his hand, and the rope slackened. Turning to the Sergeant, he said, "You see, mister, this old shanty of yours will go, or I must have my mate. Which is it to be? It lies with you to say." But by way of answer the Sergeant rushed at him with a pair of handcuffs. Half-a-dozen diggers intervened, and held the Law's representative as if he had been a toy-terrier. The Prospector now gave all his attention to his work. "Take a strain!" he cried. "Heave!" The wooden building creaked and cracked; down came a chimney, rattling upon the iron roof. "Pull, boys!" shouted the Prospector. "Take the time from me." With arms extended above his head, he swayed his body backwards and forwards slowly, and shouted in time to his gesticulations, "Heave! Heave! Now you've got her! Altogether, boys! Let her 'ave it! Heave!" The groaning building moved a foot or two forward, the windows cracked, and another chimney came down with a crash. Bill held up his hand, and the hawser slackened. "Now, mister," he said, addressing the helpless, struggling Sergeant, "when's my mate a-comin'? Look sharp in saying the word, or your old shed'll only be fit for firewood." At this point of the proceedings, a constable with an axe in his hand issued from the tottering building; his intention being to cut the rope. But he was immediately overpowered and disarmed. "That fixes it," said the Prospector. "Now, boys; take a strain--the last one. Heave, all! Give 'er all you know. Altogether. Heave! There she comes. Again. Heave!" There was a crashing and a smashing, the whole fabric lurched forward, and was dragged half-way across the road. Bill held up his hand. "Now, Sergeant, have you had enough, or do you want the whole caboose pulled across the paddock?" But the answer was given by a constable leading a battered, tattered, figure from the wrecked building. It was Benjamin Tresco. Led by the Prospector, the great crowd of diggers roared three deafening cheers; and then the two mates shook hands. That affecting greeting over, Benjamin held up his hand for silence. "Gentlemen, I thank you," he said. "This is the proudest day of my life. It's worth while being put in limbo to be set free in this fashion. I hardly know what I've done to deserve such a delicate attention, but I take it as a token of good feeling, although you pretty near killed me with your kindness. The Law is strong, but public opinion is stronger; and when the two meet in conflict, the result is chaos for the Law." He pointed to the wrecked building, by way of proof; and the crowd roared its approval. "But there's been a man worse man-handled than me," continued the goldsmith, "a man as innocent as an unborn babe. I refer to Mr. Scarlett, the boss of the Robin Creek diggings." The crowd shouted. "But he has regained his liberty." Benjamin's face shone like the rising sun, as he said the words. "I call upon you to give three cheers for Mr. Jack Scarlett." The response was deafening, and the roar of the multitude was heard by the sailors on the ships which lay at the wharves of Timber Town. From the mixed crowd on the side-path, where he had been standing with Cathro and Mr. Crewe, Scarlett stepped forward to thank the man who by his intervention had delivered him from obloquy and, possibly, from death. Immediately the diggers marked the meeting, they rushed forward, seized Scarlett, Tresco, and the Prospector; lifted them shoulder high, and marched down the street, singing songs appropriate to the occasion. At the door of The Lucky Digger the procession stopped, and there the heroes were almost forcibly refreshed; after which affecting ceremony one body-guard of diggers conducted Scarlett to the Pilot's house, and another escorted Bill and Ben to the goldsmith's shop. But whereas Scarlett's friends left him at Captain Summerhayes' gate, the men who accompanied Tresco formed themselves into a guard for the protection of his person and the safety of his deliverer. When Scarlett walked into the Pilot's parlour, he found the old sailor poring over a pile of letters and documents which had just arrived by the mail from England. "Well, Pilot, good news, I hope," said Jack. "No," replied the gruff old seaman; "it's bad--and yet it's good. See here, lad." He pushed a letter towards Jack, and fixed his eyes on the young man's face. "I had better not read it," said Jack. "Let Miss Summerhayes do so." "I've no secrets from _you_, lad. There's nothing in it you shouldn't know; but, no, no, 'tain't for my dar'ter's eyes. It's from my brother's lawyers, to say he's dead." "What, dead?" "Yes, died last January. They say he had summat on his mind; they refer me to this packet here--his journals." The Pilot took up two fat little books, in which a diary had been kept in a clear, clerkly hand. "I've been looking them through, and it's all as clear as if it had been printed." Scarlett sat down, and looked at the old man earnestly. "I've told you," continued Summerhayes, "how I hated my brother: you've heard me curse him many a time. Well, the reason's all set down in these books. It worried him as he lay sickening for his death. To put it short, it was this: He was rich--I was poor. I was married--he was single. He had ships--I had none. So he gave me command of one of his tea-clippers, and I handed over to his care all I held dear. But I believed he proved unworthy of my trust. And so he did, but not as I thought. Here in his diary he put down everything he did while I was on that voyage; writing himself down blackguard, if ever a man did. But he owns that however base was his wish, he was defeated in the fulfilment of it. And here, as he was slowly dying, he puts down how he repents. He was bad, he was grasping, he was unscrupulous, but he wasn't as bad as he wished to be, and that's all you can say for him. I bury my resentment with his body. He's dead, and my hatred's dead. To prove his repentance he made his Will, of which this is a certified copy." The Pilot handed to Jack a lengthy legal document, which had a heavy red seal attached to it, and continued, "To my dar'ter he leaves the bulk of his money, an' to me his ships. There, that ends the whole matter." Jack read the deed while the Pilot smoked. "You're a rich man, Captain Summerhayes," said he, as he handed back the document to its owner. "If I choose to take the gift," growled the Pilot. "Which you must, or else see an immense sum of money go into the maw of Chancery." "Chancery be smothered! Ain't there my dar'ter Rose?" "Yes, but she couldn't take the ships except at your wish or at your death." "Then she shall have 'em." "Nonsense, Pilot. You know now that your brother never wronged you unpardonably. You own that in a large measure you misjudged him. Now then, place your unfounded charge against his evil intention, and you are quits. He tried to square himself by leaving you half his wealth, and you will square yourself with him by accepting his gift. If you don't do that, you will die a worse man than he." The Pilot was silent for some time, and drummed the table with his fingers. "I don't like it," he complained. "You must take it. If you don't, you will drag before the public a matter that must grieve your daughter." "All right, I'll take it; but I shall hold it in trust for my gal." "That is as you please." "But there's one good thing in it, Jack. Sartoris! Rosebud! Come here. There's a gentleman wants to see you." Rose Summerhayes and the shipless Captain, when the Pilot opened his mail, had retired to the kitchen, in order that the old man, who was evidently upset by his news, might digest it quietly. They now reappeared, looking half-scared lest the heavens had fallen on the Pilot. They were astonished to see him radiant, and laughing with Jack. "Now, my gal and Captain Sartoris, sir, I've got a little matter to clear up. I own there was a problem in them letters as almost bamfoozled me. I confess it almost beat me. I own it got the better of me considerably. But this young man, here--stand up, Jack, and don't look as if you'd stolen the sugar out of the tea-caddy--this young man, my dear, pulled me through. He put it to me as plain as if he'd bin a lawyer an' a parson rolled into one. The difficulty's overcome: there's nothing of it left: it don't exist." Sartoris' eyes opened wider and wider as he gazed in astonishment at the Pilot, who continued, "Yes, Sartoris, you well may look, for I'm goin' to tell you something you don't expect. You are to have another ship. I have letters here as warrant me in saying that: you shall have command of another ship, as soon as you land in England." "D'you mean to say your brother has forgiven the wreck of _The Witch_? You must be dreaming, Summerhayes." "Probably I am. But as soon as you reach home, Sartoris, there's a ship waitin' for you. That ends the matter." He turned abruptly to Scarlett. "There's something I have to say to you, young feller. My gal, here, came to me, the night before last--when some one we know of was in a very queer street--she came to me, all of a shake, all of a tremble, unable to sleep; she came to me in the middle of the night--a thing she'd never done since she was six years old--an' at first I thought it was the hysterics, an' then I thought it was fever. But she spoke plain enough, an' her touch was cool enough. An' then she began to tell me"---- "Really, father," Rose exclaimed, her cheeks colouring like a peony, "_do_ stop, or you'll drive me from the room." "Right, my dear: I say no more. But I ask you, sir," he continued, turning to Scarlett. "I ask _you_ how you diagnose a case like that. What treatment do you prescribe? What doctor's stuff do you give?" There was a smile on the old man's face, and his eyes sparkled with merriment. "I put it to you as a friend, I put it to you as a man who knows a quantity o' gals. What's the matter with my dar'ter Rose?" For a moment, Jack looked disconcerted, but almost instantly a smile overspread his face. "I expect it arose from a sudden outburst of affection for her father," he said. But here Sartoris spoilt the effect by laughing. "I suspect the trouble rose from a disturbed condition of the heart," said he, "a complaint not infrequent in females." "An' what, Cap'n, would you suggest as a cure?" asked the Pilot; his eyes twinkling, and his suppressed merriment working in him like the subterranean rumbling of an earthquake. "Cast off the tow-rope, drop the pilot, and let her own skipper shape her course"--this was the advice that Sartoris gave--"to my mind you've been a-towin' of her too long." "But she's got no skipper," said Summerhayes, "an', dear, dear, she's a craft with a deal too much top-hamper an' not near enough free-board to please me, an' her freight's valued at over fifty thousand. Where's the man, Sartoris, you'd guarantee would take her safely into port?" The two old sailors were now bubbling with laughter, and there were frequent pauses between their words, that their mirth might not explode. "There was a time," said Sartoris, "there was a time when I'd ha' bin game to take on the job meself." "What!" exclaimed Rose. "You? Why, you're old and shaky and decrepit." "Yes, I don't deny it--I'm a bit of a hulk, my dear," but Sartoris laughed as he spoke. "I may have to pass in my cheques, any day. That's why I stand aside; but I'll find you the man to take my place. Here 'e is!" The grizzled old sailor seized Scarlett by the arm, and pushed him towards the girl. "This is him. He's got his master's ticket all right; an' though he's never had command of a ship, he's anxious to try his hand. Pilot, my advice is, let 'im have her." "Thank 'e, Cap'n." Here the Pilot's laughter, too long suppressed, burst forth with a terrific roar, in which Sartoris joined. "I mark what you say, Cap'n. I take your advice." His words again halted to make way for his Titanic laughter. "I believe it's about the best thing I can do." He had now caught hold of Scarlett's hand. "Come here, my gal." Taking hold of Rose's hand also, he said, "My dear, I built you--an' I pride myself your lines are beautiful, though I've never told you so till now--I launched you in life, an' now I put you in charge of the best skipper I can lay hands on. Always answer your helm quick, take care you don't fall away to lee-ward in making your course, an' I'll go bail he'll treat you fair an' safely carry you into port." He put his daughter's hand into Jack's. "There," he said. "A long voyage an' a happy one. May you weather every storm." And, walking to the window, the Pilot made pretence of looking out on the roses in the garden, in order to hide the moisture which clouded his eyes. CHAPTER XXXIX. Tresco Makes the Ring. The goldsmith sat at his bench; his spectacles on his nose, his apron round the place where his waist should have been, and in his hands the implements of his craft. Nobody had told him, he had hardly told himself, that it was for the last time that he was sitting within the four boarded walls where he had spent so many hours during the last four years, at the bench which bore on every square inch of its surface the marks of his labour. But Tresco knew, as did also Jake Ruggles and the Prospector who watched him, that the end of his labours had come. The goldsmith's thoughts were in keeping with his work: he was about to make a wedding-ring, and his speech was of Love. First, he took a little ingot of pure gold, and, laying it on the smooth surface of what looked like an upturned, handleless flat-iron, he wrought upon the precious, yellow metal with a hammer, till it was shaped like a badly-made rod. This he handed over to Jake, who put it on the wire "devil" and strove with blow-pipe and flame to bring it to a red heat. "Woman," said Benjamin, "Woman is like a beautiful scene, or the perfume of a delicate rose--every man loves her, be he prince or pauper, priest or murderer. To labour for Woman is the sweetest work of Man--that's why a goldsmith is in love with his craft. Think of all the pretty creatures I have made happy with my taste and skill. While there are women there must be goldsmiths, Jake!" "What?" asked the apprentice, taking his lips from the stem of the blow-pipe, and looking at his master. "You're sure this is the correct size?" Tresco held an old-fashioned ring between his forefinger and thumb, and tested with the point of a burnisher the setting of the rubies in it. "Yes," replied the shock-headed youth. "I seen her take it orf her finger, when the toff bought her engagement-ring. I was 'all there,' don't you make no mistake. 'Leave this,' I said, looking at the rubies; 'the settin' is a bit shaky,' I says. 'Allow me to fix it,' I says. An' there you are with a pattern. Savee?" Benjamin laughed. "Mind you make it real good," said the Prospector, who stood, watching the operation. "Person'lly, I'd say put a good big diamond in the centre." "'Twouldn't do," replied the goldsmith. "Unfortunately, Custom says wedding-rings must be plain, so plain it must be." "Then let it be pure," said the Prospector. "Anyway it'll bring good luck." He had divided his lucky nugget, the same that he had refused to sell when he made the goldsmith's acquaintance and sold the first gold from Bush Robin Creek, and while he had retained one half of this talisman, out of the other half Tresco was fashioning a wedding-ring for Scarlett. The red-hot piece of gold had been cooled suddenly by being cast into the "pickle," and was now subjected to another severe hammering, after which it was drawn, by means of a gigantic pair of tongs fixed to the windlass of a bench by a long leather strap through graduated holes in a strong steel plate. Next, it was branded, by means of certain steel punches, with the goldsmith's private marks, and afterwards it was bent with pliers into a circle, and its clear-cut ends were soldered together under the blow-pipe. Benjamin peered over the tops of his glasses at the Prospector. "I owe you luck, fortune, and freedom," he said, "and yet, Bill, your power to create happiness is distinctly limited." "I dessay," replied the Prospector. "But what'd you have me do? Would you ask me to make you into a gold-plated angel with a pair o' patent wings, twelve foot in the spread? It'd save me a deal o' trouble if you could fly away from the police an' Timber Town." "I wasn't thinking of the police. I was thinking of adorable, elusive Woman. I ought to be making my own wedding-ring: instead of that I must roll my bluey and be footing it over the mountains before to-morrow morning. I'm turned into a perfect Wandering Jew." "You should be darn glad I give you the opportunity." "I leave behind the loveliest fallen angel you ever set eyes on." "You'll find plenty more o' that sort where you're goin'." "Perhaps: but not one of 'em the prospective Mrs. T. Ah, well, all through life my hopes of domestic bliss have invariably been blighted; but the golden key of wealth will unlock the hardest woman's heart. When I have leisure and freedom from worry, I'll see what can be done. In the meanwhile, Jake, go and fetch some beer." He took a shilling from his pocket, and gave it to the apprentice. "Make tracks," he said, "or my sorrow will have fled before I've had time to drown it." Jake disappeared, as if shot from a cannon, and his master placed the roughly-formed ring on a steel mandril. "But this," said the goldsmith, tapping the ring skilfully with a diminutive hammer, "this is for the finger of an angel. Just think, Bill, what it would be to be spliced to a creature so good that it'd be like being chained to a scripture saint for the rest of your life." "I guess I'd be on the wallaby in a fortnight," said the Prospector. "Personally, I prefer a flesh-and-blood angel, with a touch of the devil in her. But at best marriage is on'y a lottery. A wife's like a claim--she may prove rich, or she may turn out to be a duffer." The goldsmith was now working upon the ring with a file. Next, he rubbed it with emery paper, and finished it with a burnisher. "Yes," said he, as he filled his pipe, and lighted it at the pilot-flame of the gas-jet which stretched its long, movable arm over the bench, "men, like flies, are of two kinds--those that fall into the soup, an' those that don't. I have borne a charmed life: you have fallen into the tureen. Here comes the beer!" There was a scuffling on the side-path, and Jake's voice was heard in shrill altercation. Up to that point, Benjamin's body-guard had attended rigidly to its self-imposed duty, but now, following close on the heels of the apprentice, its members burst into the workshop. Shaking with laughter, Tresco addressed the thirsty influx. "I'm sorry, mates," he said, "but I can't see my way to make that quart of beer into two gallons. But I give largess to my vassals--that, I believe, is real, toff, Court dialect. Drink this." He took a crumpled one-pound bank-note from his pocket, and handed it to the self-appointed captain of his guard, who immediately withdrew his fire-eaters, and the goldsmith was left to complete his work in peace. "Here's health to the bride that's to wear it," said Benjamin, as he raised his glass to his thirsty lips. "I'm not much at sentiment," said the Prospector, "but may she always ring as true as the metal it's made of, for she's got a Man for a husband." "May Luck go with them." To the Prospector the ring now seemed perfect, but the goldsmith placed a jeweller's magnifier in his eye, and scrutinised the shining marriage-token lest it might contain the slightest flaw. But his work stood the test and, placing the ring in a dainty velvet case, he rose and put on his hat. "That finishes my career as a goldsmith," he said. "I don't suppose I shall sit at a bench again. To you, Bill, I owe my fortune, to you I owe my liberty. No words of my misshapen tongue can express what I feel; but you, mate, can guess it." The two men looked silently at each other, and solemnly shook hands. The Prospector might have said a great deal: he might have expatiated in lurid language on his admiration of Tresco's self-sacrifice, but he said nothing. He silently held the goldsmith's hand, till a tell-tale moisture dimmed the craftsman's eyes, so that they could not see through their spectacles. Pulling himself together with a sudden effort, Benjamin said firmly, if a little loudly, "Is my swag packed, Jake?" "Bill done it himself," answered the apprentice. "I seen him do it when he packed his own." "That's one more little kindness. Thanks, mate." Tresco placed the ring-case in his pocket, and led the way to the kitchen. There the "swags" lay on the table, and each man took his own and hitched it on his shoulders. "Two such valuable swags," said the Prospector, "it's never been my fortune to see. Twenty thousand couldn't buy 'em." With these words, he passed into the street; Tresco following. The body-guard of diggers closed round them, and escorted them to the house of Pilot Summerhayes. Inside the garden-gate, the party of rough, ill-clad, warm-hearted men paused, and one of their number went forward, and knocked at the front door. Rose opened it. "We want to see Mr. Scarlett," said the digger. The girl vanished, and Jack, followed by the Pilot, appeared. "Hullo! hullo!" exclaimed the gruff old sailor, as he caught sight of the gold-miners in the garden. "We're invaded, Jack: it's another warrant. How now, my man; what have we been doing? Are there more murderers to be lodged in gaol?--I thought they'd caught the lot." "There's four of 'em in quod, boss," replied the digger; "I guess that's the whole gang, s'far's Tresco's evidence goes to prove." "Ah! there's the goldsmith himself," exclaimed the Pilot, pressing through the throng in the garden. "How d'you do, sir? I have to thank you, on behalf of my dar'ter and myself." He gripped the goldsmith's hand, and almost wrung it off. "That's all right," said Tresco. "Yes, that's all right. I couldn't stand by and see an innocent man murdered. Certainly not." Here he got his hand free, and proffered it to Scarlett, who grasped it with a warmth which quite equalled the Pilot's. "Tresco," said Jack, looking straight into the goldsmith's face, "you have accumulated against me a debt I can never pay." "I don't know," replied the goldsmith, laughing; "I'm not so sure of that. Sometimes Justice miscarries. How about that _kaka_ nugget? When you've explained that, I shall feel I was justified in saving you from the hand of the Law." Jack laughed too. "You dog! You know the facts as well as I do. Moonlight took a fancy to the piece of gold and offered a good price, which the Jew took. I bought it from my mate. That point is perfectly clear. But I see you've got your swag on your back: your days in Timber Town are numbered." "That's so," said Tresco. "I can only say this," continued Jack: "if ever you are in a tight place, which God forbid, I hope I shall be near to help you out of it; if I am not, wire to me--though I am at the end of the earth I will come to your help." Tresco smiled. "Yes," he said, "you're going to be married--you look on everything through coloured glasses: you are prepared to promise anything. You are going to the altar. And that's why we've come here." He had taken the little velvet case from his pocket. "As you'll be wanting something in this line"--he opened the case and displayed the wedding-ring--"I have made this out of a piece of Bush-Robin gold, and on behalf of Bill and myself I present it to you with our best wishes for a long and happy life." Jack took the gift, and drew a feigned sigh. He knew the meaning of such a present from such givers. He looked at the ring: he looked at the assembled diggers. "After this, I guess, I shall _have_ to get married," he said. "I don't see any way out of it. Do you, Pilot?" "I reckon he's hooked, gen'lemen," replied the old sailor. "There's many a smart man on the 'field'--I'm aware of that--but never a one so smart but a woman won't sooner or later take him in her net. I give my dar'ter credit for having landed the smartest of the whole crowd of you." "Well," said Jack, as he turned the glittering ring between his fingers, "I've got to go through with it; but such tokens of sympathy as this ring"--he placed it on the first joint of his forefinger, and held it up that all might see--"will pull me through." "And when is the happy day?" asked Tresco. "The choice of that lies with the lady," replied Jack; "but as the Pilot has just received news of his brother's death, I expect my freedom will extend for a little while yet." "My mate and me'll be far away by then," said the Prospector, and he looked at Benjamin as he spoke. "But you may bet we'll often think of you and your wife, and wish you health an' happiness." "Hear, hear." The crowd was beginning to feel that the occasion was assuming its proper aspect. "We hope," continued Bill, "that your wife will prove a valuable find, as valuable a find as your claim at Robin Creek, an' that she'll pan out rich in virtue an' all womanly qualities. H'm." The Prospector turned for sympathy to his friends. "I think that's pretty fair, eh, mates?" But they only grinned. So Bill addressed himself once more to the subject in hand, though his ideas had run out with his last rhetorical effort. "I don't think I can beat that," he said; "I think I'll leave it at that. I hope she'll pan out rich in virtue, an' prove a valuable claim. Me an' Tresco's got a long way to go before night. I hope you'll excuse us if we start to make a git." He held out his hand to Jack, and said, "Health an' prosperity to you an' the missis, mate. So-long." Then he hitched up his swag, and walked down the gravelled path regardless of Tresco or anyone else. The goldsmith tarried a moment or two. "It's hardly possible we shall meet again," he said. "If we don't, I wish you a long good-bye. It is said that men value most those to whom they have been of service; but whether that is so or not, I shall always like to think of the days we spent together on Bush Robin Creek." "When this little bit of a breeze has blown over," said Jack, "I hope you'll come back." "Not much." The reply was straight and unequivocal. "I may have retrieved my character in the eyes of the people of Timber Town, but in the eyes of the Law never, even if I satisfy its requirements in its prescribed manner. I shall go to some other country and there live, happy in the knowledge that I expiated my wrong-doing by saving my innocent friend from the danger of death, at the price of my own liberty. Good-bye." "Good-bye." Jack's hand clasped the craftsman's, each man took a long, straight look at the other's kindly face, and then they parted. The body-guard closed round the goldsmith and the Prospector, and escorted them through the Town to The Lucky Digger, where they saw their charges fed and refreshed for the journey. Then they conducted them out of the town to the top of the dividing range, and there bade them a long adieu. EPILOGUE. When the play is over, it is customary for the curtain to be raised for a few moments, that the audience may take a last look at the players; and though the action of our piece is ended and the story is told, the reader is asked to give a final glance at the stage, on which have been acted the varied scenes of the tale of Timber Town. In the inner recess of Tresco's cave, where he had made his comfortless bed, the dim light of a candle is burning. As its small flame lights up the cold walls, stained black with the smoke of the goldsmith's dead fire, a weeping woman is seen crouching on the damp floor. It is Gentle Annie. Between the sobs which rack her, she is speaking. "While he lived for weeks in this dripping hole, I lodged comfortably and entertained murderers! Vile woman, defiled by hands stained with blood! despised, loathed, shunned by every man, woman, or child that knows me. Yet _he_ did not despise me, though I shall despise myself for ever, and for ever, and for ever. And he is gone--the only one who could have raised me to my better self." Rising from the ground, she takes the candle, and gropes her way out of the cave into the pure light of the Sun. In a common Maori _whare_, built of _raupo_ leaves and rushes, sits a dusky maiden, filled with bitterness and grief. Outside the low doorway, stand Scarlett and his wife. Forbidden to enter, they beg the surly occupant to come out to them. But the only answer is a sentence of Maori, growled from an angry mouth. "But, Amiria, we have ridden all the way from Timber Town to see you," pleads the silvery voice of Rose Scarlett. "Then you can ride back to Timber Town. I didn't ask you to come." "Amiria," says Jack; his voice stern and hard, "if you insult my wife, you insult me. Have not you and she been friends since you were children?" Amiria emerges from her hut. On her head is a man's hat, and round her body is wrapped a gaudy but dirty blanket. "Listen to what I say." The same well-moulded, dusky face is there, the same upright bearing, the same musical voice, but the tone is hard, and the look forbidding. "I learnt all the _Pakeha_ ways; I went to their school; I can speak their tongue; I have learnt their _ritenga_: and I say these _Pakeha_ things are good for the _Pakeha_, but for the Maori they are bad. The white man is one, the Maori is one. Let the white man keep to his customs, and let the Maori keep to his. Let the white marry white, and let the brown marry brown. That is all. Take your wife with you, and think of me no more. I am a Maori _wahine_, I have become a woman of the tribe. My life is in the _pa_, yours is in the town. Now go. I want to see you no more." So saying she disappears inside the hut. Scarlett draws himself to his full height, and stands, contemplating the sea. Then his eye catches a fleck of white at his side; and he turns, to see his wife drying the tears which cannot be restrained. He takes her by the hand, and leads her through the little crowd of natives standing round. "Come away, little woman," he says; "we can do no good here. It's time we got back to Timber Town." So mounting their horses, they ride away. It so happens that as they reach their journey's end, and pass the big "emporium" of Varnhagen and Co., they catch sight of the gay figure of a girl, dressed in fluttering muslin and bright ribbons, beside whom walks a smart young man. "Wasn't that Miss Varnhagen?" asks Jack after they have passed by at a trot. "Yes," replies Rose. "Who was the fellow with her?" "He's the new gold-clerk at the Kangaroo Bank. She's engaged to him." 
46597	----	(http://www.freeliterature.org) from page images generously made available by HathiTrust Digital Library (http://www.hathitrust.org/digital_library) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original 170 engravings. See 46597-h.htm or 46597-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46597/46597-h/46597-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46597/46597-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through HathiTrust Digital Library. See http://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/008613392 A Voyage Round the World. IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS: A Romantic Narrative of the Loss of Captain Grant of the Brig Britannia and of the Adventures of His Children and Friends in His Discovery and Rescue. [Illustration] by JULES VERNE, Author of "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," etc., etc. Illustrated with One Hundred and Seventy Engravings Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1874. CONTENTS. I. The Shark II. The Three Documents III. The Captain's Children IV. Lady Glenarvan's Proposal V. The Departure of the Duncan VI. An Unexpected Passenger VII. Jacques Paganel is Undeceived VIII. The Geographer's Resolution IX. Through the Strait of Magellan X. The Course Decided XI. Traveling in Chili XII. Eleven Thousand Feet Aloft XIII. A Sudden Descent XIV. Providentially Rescued XV. Thalcave XVI. News of the Lost Captain XVII. A Serious Necessity XVIII. In Search of Water XIX. The Red Wolves XX. Strange Signs XXI. A False Trail XXII. The Flood XXIII. A Singular Abode XXIV. Paganel's Disclosure XXV. Between Fire and Water XXVI. The Return on Board XXVII. A New Destination XXVIII. Tristan d'Acunha and the Isle of Amsterdam XXIX. The Storm on the Indian Ocean XXX. A Hospitable Colonist XXXI. The Quartermaster of the Britannia XXXII. Preparations for the Journey XXXIII. An Accident XXXIV. Australian Explorers XXXV. Crime or Calamity? XXXVI. Fresh Faces XXXVII. A Warning XXXVIII. Wealth in the Wilderness XXXIX. Suspicious Occurrences XL. A Startling Discovery XLI. The Plot Unveiled XLII. Four Days of Anguish XLIII. Helpless and Hopeless XLIV. A Rough Captain XLV. The Wreck of the Macquarie XLVI. Vain Efforts XLVII. A Dreaded Country XLVIII. Introduction to the Cannibals XLIX. A Momentous Interview L. The Chief's Funeral LI. Strangely Liberated LII. The Sacred Mountain LIII. A Bold Stratagem LIV. From Peril to Safety LV. Why the Duncan went to New Zealand LVI. Ayrton's Obstinacy LVII. A Discouraging Confession LVIII. A Cry in the Night LIX. Captain Grant's Story LX. Paganel's Last Entanglement [Illustration] IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS. CHAPTER I. THE SHARK. On the 26th of July, 1864, under a strong gale from the northeast, a magnificent yacht was steaming at full speed through the waves of the North Channel. The flag of England fluttered at her yard-arm, while at the top of the mainmast floated a blue pennon, bearing the initials E. G., worked in gold and surmounted by a ducal coronet. The yacht was called the Duncan, and belonged to Lord Glenarvan, one of the sixteen Scottish peers sitting in the House of Lords, and also a most distinguished member of the "Royal Thames Yacht Club," so celebrated throughout the United Kingdom. Lord Edward Glenarvan was on board with his young wife, Lady Helena, and one of his cousins, Major MacNabb. The Duncan, newly constructed, had just been making a trial voyage several miles beyond the Frith of Clyde, and was now on her return to Glasgow. Already Arran Island was appearing on the horizon, when the look-out signaled an enormous fish that was sporting in the wake of the yacht. The captain, John Mangles, at once informed Lord Glenarvan of the fact, who mounted on deck with Major MacNabb, and asked the captain what he thought of the animal. "Indeed, your lordship," replied Captain Mangles, "I think it is a shark of large proportions." "A shark in these regions!" exclaimed Glenarvan. "Without doubt," replied the captain. "This fish belongs to a species of sharks that are found in all seas and latitudes. It is the 'balance-fish,' and, if I am not greatly mistaken, we shall have an encounter with one of these fellows. If your lordship consents, and it pleases Lady Helena to witness such a novel chase, we will soon see what we have to deal with." "What do you think, MacNabb?" said Lord Glenarvan to the major; "are you of a mind to try the adventure?" "I am of whatever opinion pleases you," answered the major, calmly. "Besides," continued Captain Mangles, "we cannot too soon exterminate these terrible monsters. Let us improve the opportunity, and, if your lordship pleases, it shall be an exciting scene as well as a good action." "Very well, captain," said Lord Glenarvan. He then summoned Lady Helena, who joined him on deck, tempted by the exciting sport. The sea was magnificent. You could easily follow along its surface the rapid motions of the fish, as it plunged and rose again with surprising agility. Captain Mangles gave his orders, and the sailors threw over the starboard ratling a stout rope, to which was fastened a hook baited with a thick piece of pork. [Sidenote: THE LAST MOUTHFUL.] The shark, although still at a distance of fifty yards, scented the bait offered to his voracity. He rapidly approached the yacht. You could see his fins, gray at their extremity and black at their base, beat the waves with violence, while his "caudal appendage" kept him in a rigorously straight line. As he advanced, his great glaring eyes seemed inflamed with eagerness, and his yawning jaws, when he turned, disclosed a quadruple row of teeth. His head was large, and shaped like a double-headed hammer. Captain Mangles was right. It was a very large specimen of the most rapacious family of sharks,--the "balance fish" of the English and the "jew-fish" of the Provençals. [Illustration] All on board of the Duncan followed the movements of the shark with lively attention. The animal was soon within reach of the hook; he turned upon his back, in order to seize it better, and the enormous bait disappeared down his vast gullet. At the same time he hooked himself, giving the line a violent shake, whereupon the sailors hoisted the huge creature by means of a pulley at the end of the yard-arm. The shark struggled violently at feeling himself drawn from his natural element, but his struggles were of no avail. A rope with a slip-noose confined his tail and paralyzed his movements. A few moments afterward he was hauled over the ratlings, and precipitated upon the deck of the yacht. One of the sailors at once approached him, not without caution, and with a vigorous blow of the hatchet cut off the formidable tail of the animal. The chase was ended, and there was nothing more to fear from the monster. The vengeance of the sailors was satisfied, but not their curiosity. Indeed, it is customary on board of every vessel to carefully examine the stomachs of sharks. The men, knowing the inordinate voracity of the creature, wait with some anxiety, and their expectation is not always in vain. Lady Glenarvan, not wishing to witness this strange "exploration," retired to the cabin. The shark was still panting. He was ten feet long, and weighed more than six hundred pounds. These dimensions are nothing extraordinary; for if the balance-fish is not classed among the giants of this species, at least he belongs to the most formidable of their family. The enormous fish was soon cut open by a blow of the hatchet, without further ceremony. The hook had penetrated to the stomach, which was absolutely empty. Evidently the animal had fasted a long time, and the disappointed seamen were about to cast the remains into the sea, when the attention of the mate was attracted by a bulky object firmly imbedded in the viscera. "Ha! what is this?" he exclaimed. "That," replied one of the sailors, "is a piece of rock that the creature has taken in for ballast." "Good!" said another; "it is probably a bullet that this fellow has received in the stomach, and could not digest." [Illustration: "Good," said Glenarvan; "wash the dirty thing, and bring it into the cabin."] "Be still, all of you!" cried Tom Austin, the mate; "do you not see that the animal was a great drunkard? and to lose nothing, has drank not only the wine, but the bottle too!" "What!" exclaimed Lord Glenarvan, "is it a bottle that this shark has in his stomach?" "A real bottle!" replied the mate, "but you can easily see that it does not come from the wine-cellar." "Well, Tom," said Glenarvan, "draw it out carefully. Bottles found in the sea frequently contain precious documents." "Do you think so?" said Major MacNabb. "I do; at least, that it may happen so." "Oh! I do not contradict you," replied the major. "Perhaps there may be a secret in this." "We shall see," said Glenarvan. "Well, Tom?" "Here it is," said the mate, displaying the shapeless object that he had just drawn with difficulty from the interior of the shark. "Good," said Glenarvan; "wash the dirty thing, and bring it into the cabin." Tom obeyed; and the bottle found under such singular circumstances was placed on the cabin-table, around which Lord Glenarvan, Major MacNabb, and Captain John Mangles took their seats, together with Lady Helena; for a woman, they say, is always a little inquisitive. Everything causes excitement at sea. For a moment there was silence. Each gazed wonderingly at this strange waif. Did it contain the secret of a disaster, or only an insignificant message confided to the mercy of the waves by some idle navigator? [Sidenote: "OLD IN BOTTLE."] However, they must know what it was, and Glenarvan, without waiting longer, proceeded to examine the bottle. He took, moreover, all necessary precautions. You would have thought a coroner was pointing out the particulars of a suspicious quest. And Glenarvan was right, for the most insignificant mark in appearance may often lead to an important discovery. Before examining it internally, the bottle was inspected externally. It had a slender neck, the mouth of which was protected by an iron wire considerably rusted. Its sides were very thick, and capable of supporting a pressure of several atmospheres, betraying evidently previous connection with champagne. With these bottles the wine-dressers of Aï and Epernay block carriage-wheels without their showing the slightest fracture. This one could, therefore, easily bear the hardships of a long voyage. [Illustration] "A bottle of the Maison Cliquot," said the major quietly; and, as if he ought to know, his affirmation was accepted without contradiction. "My dear major," said Lady Helena, "it matters little what this bottle is, provided we know whence it comes." "We shall know, my dear," said Lord Edward, "and already we can affirm that it has come from a distance. See the petrified particles that cover it, these substances mineralized, so to speak, under the action of the sea-water. This waif had already taken a long voyage in the ocean, before being engulfed in the stomach of a shark." "I cannot but be of your opinion," replied the major; "this fragile vase, protected by its strong envelope, must have made a long journey." "But whence does it come?" inquired Lady Glenarvan. "Wait, my dear Helena, wait. We must be patient with bottles. If I am not greatly mistaken, this one will itself answer all our questions." And so saying, Glenarvan began to scrape off the hard particles that protected the neck. Soon the cork appeared, but very much damaged with the salt water. "This is a pity," said Glenarvan; "for if there is any paper in it, it will be in a bad condition." "That's what I fear," replied the major. "I will add," continued Glenarvan, "that this badly-corked bottle would soon have sunk; and it is fortunate that this shark swallowed it, and brought it on board of the Duncan." "Certainly," interposed Captain Mangles; "it would have been better, however, had it been caught in the open sea on a well-known latitude and longitude. We could then, by studying the atmospheric and marine currents, have discovered the course traversed; but with a guide like one of these sharks, that travel against wind and tide, we cannot know whence it comes." "We shall soon see," answered Glenarvan. At the same time he drew out the cork with the greatest care, and a strong saline odor permeated the cabin. "Well?" said Lady Helena, with a truly feminine impatience. "Yes," said Glenarvan; "I am not mistaken! Here are papers!" "Documents! documents!" cried Lady Helena. "Only," replied Glenarvan, "they appear to be damaged by the water. It is impossible to remove them, for they adhere to the sides of the bottle." "Let us break it," said MacNabb. "I would rather keep it whole," replied Glenarvan. [Illustration: The fragments soon strewed the table, and several pieces of paper were perceived adhering to each other. Glenarvan drew them out carefully.] "I should, too," said the major. "Very true," added Lady Helena; "but the contents are more valuable than that which contains them, and it is better to sacrifice one than the other." "Let your lordship only break off the neck," said the captain, "and that will enable you to draw them out without injury." "Yes, yes, my dear Edward!" cried Lady Glenarvan. It was difficult to proceed in any other way, and, at all hazards, Glenarvan determined to break the neck of the precious bottle. It was necessary to use a hammer, for the stony covering had acquired the hardness of granite. The fragments soon strewed the table, and several pieces of paper were perceived adhering to each other. Glenarvan drew them out carefully, separating and examining them closely, while Lady Helena, the major, and the captain crowded around him. [Illustration] CHAPTER II. THE THREE DOCUMENTS. These pieces of paper, half destroyed by the sea-water, exhibited only a few words, the traces of handwriting almost entirely effaced. For several minutes Lord Glenarvan examined them attentively, turned them about in every way, and exposed them to the light of day, observing the least traces of writing spared by the sea. Then he looked at his friends, who were regarding him with anxious eyes. "There are here," said he, "three distinct documents, probably three copies of the same missive, translated into three different languages: one English, another French, and the third German. The few words that remain leave no doubt on this point." "But these words have at least a meaning?" said Lady Glenarvan. "That is difficult to say, my dear Helena. The words traced on these papers are very imperfect." "Perhaps they will complete each other," said the major. "That may be," replied Captain Mangles. "It is not probable that the water has obliterated these lines in exactly the same places on each, and by comparing these remains of phrases we shall arrive at some intelligible meaning." "We will do so," said Lord Glenarvan; "but let us proceed systematically. And, first, here is the English document." It showed the following arrangement of lines and words: [Illustration] "That does not mean much," said the major, with an air of disappointment. "Whatever it may mean," replied the captain, "it is good English." "There is no doubt of that," said his lordship. "The words _wreck, aland, this, and, lost_, are perfect. _Cap_ evidently means _captain_, referring to the captain of a shipwrecked vessel." "Let us add," said the captain, "the portions of the words _docu_ and _ssistance_, the meaning of which is plain." "Well, something is gained already!" added Lady Helena. "Unfortunately," replied the major, "entire lines are wanting. How can we find the name of the lost vessel, or the place of shipwreck?" "We shall find them," said Lord Edward. "Very likely," answered the major, who was invariably of the opinion of every one else; "but how?" "By comparing one document with another." "Let us see!" cried Lady Helena. The second piece of paper, more damaged than the former, exhibited only isolated words, arranged thus: [Sidenote: COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY.] [Illustration] "This is written in German," said Captain Mangles, when he had cast his eyes upon it. "And do you know that language?" asked Glenarvan. "Perfectly, your lordship." "Well, tell us what these few words mean." The captain examined the document closely, and expressed himself as follows: "First, the date of the event is determined. _7 Juni_ means June 7th, and by comparing this figure with the figures '62,' furnished by the English document, we have the date complete,--June 7th, 1862." "Very well!" exclaimed Lady Helena. "Go on." "On the same line," continued the young captain, "I find the word _Glas_, which, united with the word _gow_ of the first document, gives _Glasgow_. It is plainly a ship from the port of Glasgow." "That was my opinion," said the major. "The second line is missing entirely," continued Captain Mangles; "but on the third I meet with two important words _zwei_, which means _two_, and _atrosen_, or rather _matrosen_, which signifies _sailors_ in German." "There were a captain and two sailors, then?" said Lady Helena. "Probably," replied her husband. "I will confess, your lordship," said the captain, "that the next word, _graus_, puzzles me. I do not know how to translate it. Perhaps the third document will enable us to understand it. As to the two last words, they are easily explained. _Bringt ihnen_ means _bring to them_, and if we compare these with the English word, which is likewise on the sixth line of the first document (I mean the word _assistance_), we shall have the phrase _bring them assistance_." "Yes, bring them assistance," said Glenarvan. "But where are the unfortunates? We have not yet a single indication of the place, and the scene of the catastrophe is absolutely unknown." "Let us hope that the French document will be more explicit," said Lady Helena. "Let us look at it, then," replied Glenarvan; "and, as we all know this language, our examination will be more easy." Here is an exact fac-simile of the third document: [Illustration] "There are figures!" cried Lady Helena. "Look, gentlemen, look!" "Let us proceed in order," said Lord Glenarvan, "and start at the beginning. Permit me to point out one by one these scattered and incomplete words. I see from the first letters _troi_ _ats_ (_trois-mats_), that it is a brig, the name of which, thanks to the English and French documents, is entirely preserved: _The Britannia_. Of the two following words, _gonie_ and _austral_, only the last has an intelligible meaning." [Sidenote: THE PUZZLE EXPLAINED.] "That is an important point," replied Captain Mangles; "the shipwreck took place in the southern hemisphere." "That is indefinite," said the major. "I will continue," resumed Glenarvan. "The word _abor_ is the trace of the verb _aborder_ (to land). These unfortunates have landed somewhere. But where? _Contin!_ Is it on a continent? _Cruel!_" "'Cruel!'" cried Mangles; "that explains the German word _graus, grausam, cruel_!" "Go on, go on!" cried Glenarvan, whose interest was greatly excited as the meaning of these incomplete words was elucidated. "_Indi_! Is it India, then, where these sailors have been cast? What is the meaning of the word _ongit_? Ha, longitude! And here is the latitude, 37° 11'. In short, we have a definite indication." "But the longitude is wanting," said MacNabb. "We cannot have everything, my dear major," replied Glenarvan; "and an exact degree of latitude is something. This French document is decidedly the most complete of the three. Each of them was evidently a literal translation of the others, for they all convey the same information. We must, therefore, unite and translate them into one language, and seek their most probable meaning, the one that is most logical and explicit." "Shall we make this translation in French, English, or German?" asked the major. "In English," answered Glenarvan, "since that is our own language." "Your lordship is right," said Captain Mangles, "besides, it was also theirs." "It is agreed, then. I will write this document, uniting these parts of words and fragments of phrases, leaving the gaps that separate them, and filling up those the meaning of which is not ambiguous. Then we will compare them and form an opinion." Glenarvan at once took a pen, and, in a few moments, presented to his friends a paper on which were written the following lines: [Illustration] At this moment a sailor informed the captain that the Duncan was entering the Frith of Clyde, and asked his orders. "What are your lordship's wishes?" said the captain, addressing Lord Glenarvan. "Reach Dumbarton as quickly as possible, captain. Then, while Lady Helena returns to Malcolm Castle, I will go to London and submit this document to the authorities." The captain gave his orders in pursuance of this, and the mate executed them. "Now, my friends," said Glenarvan, "we will continue our investigations. We are on the track of a great catastrophe. The lives of several men depend upon our sagacity. Let us use therefore all our ingenuity to divine the secret of this enigma." "We are ready, my dear Edward," replied Lady Helena. "First of all," continued Glenarvan, "we must consider three distinct points in this document. First, what is known; second, what can be conjectured; and third, what is unknown. What do we know? That on the 7th of June, 1862, a brig, the Britannia, of Glasgow, was wrecked; that two sailors and the captain threw this document into the sea in latitude 37° 11', and in it ask for assistance." "Exactly," replied the major. [Sidenote: "LINE UPON LINE."] "What can we conjecture?" resumed Glenarvan. "First, that the shipwreck took place in the South Seas; and now I call your attention to the word _gonia_. Does it not indicate the name of the country which they reached?" "Patagonia!" cried Lady Helena. "Probably." "But is Patagonia crossed by the thirty-seventh parallel?" asked the major. "That is easily seen," said the captain, taking out a map of South America. "It is so: Patagonia is bisected by the thirty-seventh parallel, which crosses Araucania, over the Pampas, north of Patagonia, and is lost in the Atlantic." "Well, let us continue our conjectures. The two sailors and the captain _abor, land_. Where? _Contin_,--the _continent_, you understand; a continent, not an island. What becomes of them? We have fortunately two letters, _pr_, which inform us of their fate. These unfortunates, in short, are _captured_ (pris) or _prisoners_. By whom? The _cruel Indians_. Are you convinced? Do not the words fit naturally into the vacant places? Does not the document grow clear to your eyes? Does not light break in upon your mind?" Glenarvan spoke with conviction. His looks betokened an absolute confidence; and his enthusiasm was communicated to his hearers. Like him they cried, "It is plain! it is plain!" A moment after Lord Edward resumed, in these terms: "All these hypotheses, my friends, seem to me extremely plausible. In my opinion, the catastrophe took place on the shores of Patagonia. However, I will inquire at Glasgow what was the destination of the Britannia, and we shall know whether she could have been led to these regions." "We do not need to go so far," replied the captain; "I have here the shipping news of the _Mercantile and Shipping Gazette_, which will give us definite information." "Let us see! let us see!" said Lady Glenarvan. Captain Mangles took a file of papers of the year 1862, and began to turn over the leaves rapidly. His search was soon ended; as he said, in a tone of satisfaction,-- "May 30, 1862, Callao, Peru, _Britannia_, Captain Grant, bound for Glasgow." "Grant!" exclaimed Lord Glenarvan; "that hardy Scotchman who wished to found a new Scotland in the waters of the Pacific?" "Yes," answered the captain, "the very same, who, in 1861, embarked in the Britannia at Glasgow, and of whom nothing has since been heard." "Exactly! exactly!" said Glenarvan; "it is indeed he. The Britannia left Callao the 30th of May, and on the 7th of June, eight days after her departure, she was lost on the shores of Patagonia. This is the whole story elucidated from the remains of these words that seemed undecipherable. You see, my friends, that what we can conjecture is very important. As to what we do not know, this is reduced to one item, the missing degree of longitude." "It is of no account," added Captain Mangles, "since the country is known; and with the latitude alone, I will undertake to go straight to the scene of the shipwreck." "We know all, then?" said Lady Glenarvan. "All, my dear Helena: and these blanks that the sea has made between the words of the document, I can as easily fill out as though I were writing at the dictation of Captain Grant." Accordingly Lord Glenarvan took the pen again, and wrote, without hesitation, the following note: "June 7, 1862.--The brig Britannia of Glasgow was wrecked on the shores of Patagonia, in the Southern Hemisphere. Directing their course to land, two sailors and Captain Grant attempted to reach the continent, where they will be prisoners of the cruel Indians. They have thrown this document into the sea, at longitude ----, latitude 37° 11'. Bring them assistance or they are lost." [Sidenote: A NOBLE RESOLVE.] "Good! good! my dear Edward!" said Lady Glenarvan; "and if these unfortunates see their native country again, they will owe this happiness to you." "And they shall see it again," replied Glenarvan. "This document is too explicit, too clear, too certain, for Englishmen to hesitate. What has been done for Sir John Franklin, and so many others, will also be done for the shipwrecked of the Britannia." "But these unfortunates," answered Lady Helena, "have, without doubt, a family that mourns their loss. Perhaps this poor Captain Grant has a wife, children----" [Illustration: Dumbarton Castle.] "You are right, my dear lady; and I charge myself with informing them that all hope is not yet lost. And now, my friends, let us go on deck, for we must be approaching the harbor." Indeed, the Duncan had forced on steam, and was now skirting the shores of Bute Island. Rothesay, with its charming little village nestling in its fertile valley, was left on the starboard, and the vessel entered the narrow inlets of the frith, passed Greenock, and, at six in the evening, was anchored at the foot of the basaltic rocks of Dumbarton, crowned by the celebrated castle. Here a coach was waiting to take Lady Helena and Major MacNabb back to Malcolm Castle. Lord Glenarvan, after embracing his young wife, hurried to take the express train for Glasgow. But before going, he confided an important message to a more rapid agent, and a few moments after the electric telegraph conveyed to the _Times_ and _Morning Chronicle_ an advertisement in the following terms: "For any information concerning the brig Britannia of Glasgow, Captain Grant, address Lord Glenarvan, Malcolm Castle, Luss, County of Dumbarton, Scotland." CHAPTER III. THE CAPTAIN'S CHILDREN. [Sidenote: THE GLENARVAN ANCESTRY.] The castle of Malcolm, one of the most romantic in Scotland, is situated near the village of Luss, whose pretty valley it crowns. The limpid waters of Loch Lomond bathe the granite of its walls. From time immemorial it has belonged to the Glenarvan family, who have preserved in the country of Rob Roy and Fergus MacGregor the hospitable customs of the ancient heroes of Walter Scott. At the epoch of the social revolution in Scotland, a great number of vassals were expelled, because they could not pay the great rents to the ancient chiefs of the clans. Some died of hunger, others became fishermen, others emigrated. There was general despair. [Illustration] Among all these the Glenarvans alone believed that fidelity bound the high as well as the low, and they remained faithful to their tenants. Not one left the roof under which he was born; not one abandoned the soil where his ancestors reposed; all continued in the clan of their ancient lords. Thus at this epoch, in this age of disaffection and disunion, the Glenarvan family considered the Scots at Malcolm Castle as their own people. All were descended from the vassals of their kinsmen; were children of the counties of Stirling and Dumbarton, and honestly devoted, body and estate, to their master. Lord Glenarvan possessed an immense fortune, which he employed in doing much good. His kindness exceeded even his generosity, for one was boundless, while the other was necessarily limited. The lord of Luss, the "laird" of Malcolm, represented his fellows in the House of Lords; but with true Scottish ideas, little pleasing to the southrons, he was disliked by many of them especially because he adhered to the traditions of his ancestors, and energetically opposed some dicta of modern political economy. He was not, however, a backward man, either in wit or shrewdness; but while ready to enter every door of progress, he remained Scotch at heart, and it was for the glory of his native land that he contended with his racing yachts in the matches of the Royal Thames Yacht Club. Lord Edward Glenarvan was thirty-two years old. His form was erect and his features sharp, but his look was mild, and his character thoroughly imbued with the poetry of the Highlands. He was known to be brave to excess, enterprising, chivalrous, a Fergus of the nineteenth century; but good above all, better than Saint Martin himself, for he would have given his very cloak to the poor people of the Highlands. He had been married scarcely three months, having espoused Miss Helena Tuffnel, daughter of the great traveler, William Tuffnel, one of the numerous victims to the great passion for geographical discoveries. Miss Helena did not belong to a noble family, but she was Scotch, which equaled all nobilities in the eyes of Lord Glenarvan. This charming young creature, high-minded and devoted, the lord of Luss had made the companion of his life. He found her one day living alone, an orphan, almost without fortune, in the house of her father at Kilpatrick. He saw that the poor girl would make a noble wife, and he married her. Miss Tuffnel was twenty-two, a youthful blonde, with eyes as blue as the waters of the Scotch lakes on a beautiful morning in spring. Her love for her husband exceeded even her gratitude. She loved him as if she had been the rich heiress, and he the friendless orphan. As to their tenants and servants, they were ready to lay down their lives for her whom they called "our good lady of Luss." [Sidenote: LIFE IN THE SCOTTISH HOME.] Lord and Lady Glenarvan lived happily at Malcolm Castle, in the midst of the grand and wild scenery of the Highlands, rambling in the shady alleys of horse-chestnuts and sycamores, along the shores of the lake, where still resounded the war cries of ancient times, or in the depths of those uncultivated gorges in which the history of Scotland lies written in ruins from age to age. One day they would wander in the forests of beeches and larches, and in the midst of the masses of heather; another, they would scale the precipitous summits of Ben Lomond, or traverse on horseback the solitary glens, studying, comprehending, and admiring this poetic country, still called "the land of Rob Roy," and all those celebrated sites so grandly sung by Walter Scott. In the sweet, still evening, when the "lantern of Mac Farlane" illumined the horizon, they would stroll along the "bartizans," an old circular balcony that formed a chain of battlements to Malcolm Castle, and there, pensive, oblivious, and as if alone in the world, seated on some detached rock, under the pale rays of the moon, while night gradually enveloped the rugged summits of the mountains, they would continue wrapt in that pure ecstasy and inward delight known only to loving hearts. [Illustration] Thus passed the first months of their married life. But Lord Glenarvan did not forget that his wife was the daughter of a great traveler. He thought that Lady Helena must have in her heart all the aspirations of her father, and he was not mistaken. The Duncan was constructed, and was designed to convey Lord and Lady Glenarvan to the most beautiful countries of the world, along the waves of the Mediterranean, and to the isles of the Archipelago. Imagine the joy of Lady Helena when her husband placed the Duncan at her disposal! Indeed, can there be a greater happiness than to lead your love towards those charming "isles where Sappho sung," and behold the enchanting scenes of the Orient, with all their spirit-stirring memories? [Illustration] Meantime Lord Glenarvan had started for London. The safety of the unfortunate shipwrecked men was at stake. Thus, in his temporary absence, Lady Helena showed herself more anxious than sad. The next day a dispatch from her husband made her hope for a speedy return; in the evening a letter hinted at its postponement. His proposal had to encounter some difficulties, and the following day a second letter came, in which Lord Glenarvan did not conceal his indignation against the authorities. [Illustration: "Please, madam, speak! I am strong against grief, and can hear all."] On that day Lady Helena began to be uneasy. At evening she was alone in her chamber, when the steward of the castle, Mr. Halbert, came to ask if she would see a young girl and boy who desired to speak with Lord Glenarvan. "People of the country?" asked Lady Helena. "No, madam," replied the steward, "for I do not know them. They have just arrived by the Balloch railway, and from Balloch to Luss they tell me they have made the journey on foot." "Bid them come up, steward," said Lady Glenarvan. The steward withdrew. Some moments afterward the young girl and boy were ushered into Lady Helena's chamber. They were brother and sister; you could not doubt it by their resemblance. The sister was sixteen. Her pretty face showed weariness, her eyes must have shed many tears; her resigned, but courageous, countenance, and her humble, but neat, attire, all prepossessed one in her favor. She held by the hand a boy of twelve years, of determined look, who seemed to take his sister under his protection. Indeed, whoever had insulted the young girl would have had to settle with this little gentleman. The sister stopped, a little surprised at seeing herself before Lady Helena; but the latter hastened to open the conversation. "You wish to speak with me?" said she, with an encouraging look at the young girl. [Sidenote: "ONE TOUCH OF NATURE."] "No," answered the boy, in a decided tone; "not with you, but with Lord Glenarvan himself." "Excuse him, madam," said the sister, looking at her brother. "Lord Glenarvan is not at the castle," replied Lady Helena; "but I am his wife, and if I can supply his place with you----" "You are Lady Glenarvan?" said the young girl. "Yes, miss." "The wife of Lord Glenarvan, of Malcolm Castle, who published an advertisement in the _Times_ in regard to the shipwreck of the Britannia?" "Yes, yes!" answered Lady Helena, with alacrity. "And you?" "I am Miss Grant, and this is my brother." "Miss Grant! Miss Grant!" cried Lady Helena, drawing the young girl towards her, and taking her hands, while she also drew the boy towards her. "Madam," replied the young girl, "what do you know of the shipwreck of my father? Is he living? Shall we ever see him again? Speak! oh, please tell me!" "My dear child," said Lady Helena, "God forbid that I should answer you lightly on such a subject; I would not give you a vain hope----" "Please, madam, speak! I am strong against grief, and can hear all." "My dear child," answered Lady Helena, "the hope is very slight, but with the help of God who can do everything, it is possible that you will one day see your father again." "Alas, alas!" exclaimed Miss Grant, who could not restrain her tears, while Robert covered the hands of Lady Glenarvan with kisses. When the first paroxysm of this mournful joy was past, the young girl began to ask innumerable questions. Lady Helena related the story of the document, how that the Britannia had been lost on the shores of Patagonia; in what way, after the shipwreck, the captain and two sailors, the only survivors, must have reached the continent; and, at last, how they implored the assistance of the whole world in this document, written in three languages, and abandoned to the caprices of the ocean. During this recital Robert Grant devoured Lady Helena with his eyes; his life seemed to hang on her lips. In his childish imagination he reviewed the terrible scenes of which his father must have been the victim. He saw him on the deck of the Britannia; he followed him to the bosom of the waves; he clung with him to the rocks of the shore; he dragged himself panting along the beach, out of reach of the waves. Often during the course of this narration words escaped his lips. "Oh, papa! my poor papa!" he cried, pressing close to his sister. As for Miss Grant, she listened with clasped hands, and did not utter a word until the story was ended, when she said,-- "Oh, madam, the document! the document!" "I no longer have it, my dear child," replied Lady Helena. "You no longer have it?" "No; for the very sake of your father, Lord Glenarvan had to take it to London; but I have told you all it contained, word for word, and how we succeeded in discovering the exact meaning. Among these remains of the almost effaced words the water had spared some characters. Unfortunately the record of the longitude had altogether been destroyed, but that was the only missing point. Thus you see, Miss Grant, the minutest details of this document are known to you as well as me." "Yes, madam," replied the young girl; "but I would like to have seen my father's writing." [Sidenote: WAITING FOR THE VERDICT.] "Well, to-morrow, perhaps, Lord Glenarvan will return. My husband desired to submit this indisputable document to the authorities in London, to induce them to send a vessel immediately in search of Captain Grant." "Is it possible, madam!" cried the young girl. "Did you do this for us?" "Yes, my dear miss, and I expect Lord Glenarvan every moment." "Madam," said the young girl, in a deep tone of gratitude, and with fervency, "may Heaven bless Lord Glenarvan and you!" "Dear child," answered Lady Helena, "we deserve no thanks. Any other person in our place would have done the same. May the hopes that are kindled be realized! Till Lord Glenarvan's return you will remain at the castle." "Madam," said the young girl, "I would not presume on the sympathy you show to us strangers----" "Strangers! Dear child, neither your brother nor you are strangers in this house; and I desire that Lord Glenarvan on his arrival should inform the children of Captain Grant of what is to be attempted to save their father." It was not possible to refuse an invitation made with so much cordiality. It was, therefore, decided that Miss Grant and her brother should await at Malcolm Castle the return of Lord Glenarvan. CHAPTER IV. LADY GLENARVAN'S PROPOSAL. During this conversation, Lady Helena had not spoken of the fears expressed in her husband's letters concerning the reception of his petition by the London officials; nor was a word said in regard to the probable captivity of Captain Grant among the Indians of South America. Why afflict these poor children with their father's situation, and check the hopes they had just conceived? It would not change matters. Lady Helena was, therefore, silent on this point, and, after satisfying all Miss Grant's inquiries, she questioned her concerning her life, and situation in the world in which she seemed to be the sole protectress of her brother. It was a simple and touching story, which still more increased Lady Glenarvan's sympathy for the young girl. Mary and Robert Grant were the only children of Captain Harry Grant, whose wife had died at the birth of Robert, and during his long voyages his children were left to the care of his good old cousin. Captain Grant was a hardy sailor, a man well acquainted with his profession, and a good negotiator, combining thus a twofold aptitude for his calling commercially. His home was at Dundee, in the county of Forfar, and he was moreover, by birth, a child of that "bonnie" place. His father, a minister of Saint Catherine's Church, had given him a thorough education, knowing that it would be sure to help all, even a sea-captain. [Sidenote: IDEAS AND REALITIES.] During his early voyages, first as mate, and afterwards in the capacity of skipper, Harry Grant prospered, and some years after the birth of his son Robert, he found himself the possessor of a considerable fortune. Then a great idea entered his mind which made his name popular throughout Scotland. Like the Glenarvans and several other great families of the Highlands, he was opposed in heart, if not in deed, to the advance and prevalence of English thought and feeling. The interests of his country could not be in his eyes the same as those of the Anglo-Saxons, and, in order to give the former a peculiar and national development, he resolved to found a Scottish colony in some part of the Southern World. Did he dream of that independence in the future of which the United States had set the example, and which the Indies and Australia cannot fail one day to acquire? Very likely; but he allowed his secret hopes to be divined. It was, therefore, known that the Government refused to lend their aid in his project of colonization; nay, they even raised obstacles which in any other country would have overcome the project. But Harry Grant would not be discouraged. He appealed to the patriotism of his countrymen, gave his fortune to serve the cause, built a vessel and furnished it with a fine crew, confided his children to the care of his old cousin, and set sail to explore the great islands of the Pacific. It was the year 1861. Until May, 1862, they had received news of him, but since his departure from Callao, in the month of June, no one had heard anything of the Britannia, and the marine intelligencers became silent concerning the fate of the captain. At this juncture of affairs the old cousin of Harry Grant died, and the two children were left alone in the world. Mary Grant was then fourteen. Her courageous soul did not flinch at the situation that was presented, but she devoted herself entirely to her brother, who was still a child. She must bring him up and instruct him. By dint of economy, prudence, and sagacity, laboring night and day, sacrificing all for him, denying herself everything, the sister succeeded in educating her brother and bravely fulfilled her sisterly duties. The two children lived thus at Dundee, and valiantly overcame their sorrowful and lonely circumstances. Mary thought only of her brother, and dreamed of a happy future for him. As for herself, alas! the Britannia was lost forever, and her father dead! We must not, therefore, attempt to depict her emotion when the advertisement in the _Times_ accidentally met her eye, and suddenly raised her from her despair. It was no time to hesitate. Her resolution was immediately taken. Even if she should learn that her father's dead body had been found on a desert coast, or in the hull of a shipwrecked vessel, it was better than this continual doubt, this eternal torment of uncertainty. She told her brother all; and the same day the two children took the Perth Railroad, and at evening arrived at Malcolm Castle, where Mary, after so many harassing thoughts, began to hope. Such was the sorrowful story that the young girl related to Lady Glenarvan, in an artless manner, without thinking that through all those long years of trial she had behaved herself like an heroic daughter. But Lady Helena thought of this, and several times, without hiding her tears, she clasped in her arms the two children of Captain Grant. As for Robert, it seemed as if he heard this story for the first time: for he opened his eyes in astonishment, as he listened to his sister; comprehended what she had done, what she had suffered; and at last, encircling her with his arms, he exclaimed, unable longer to restrain the cry that came from the very depths of his heart,-- "Oh, mamma! my dear mamma!" [Illustration: "My father, my poor father!" cried Mary Grant, throwing herself at the feet of Lord Glenarvan.] Night had now fully set in; and Lady Helena, remembering the fatigue of the two children, would not longer continue the conversation. Mary and Robert were conducted to their chambers, and fell asleep dreaming of a brighter future. After they had retired, Lady Helena saw the major, and told him all the events of the day. "That Mary Grant is a brave girl," said MacNabb, when he had heard his cousin's story. "May Heaven grant my husband success in his enterprise!" replied Lady Helena; "for the situation of the two children would be terrible!" "He will succeed," answered MacNabb, "or the hearts of the authorities must be harder than the stone of Portland." In spite of the major's assurance, Lady Helena passed the night in the greatest anxiety, and could scarce gain an hour's repose. [Sidenote: "BROKEN CISTERNS."] The next morning Mary and her brother rose at daybreak, and were walking in the galleries and water terraces of the castle, when the sound of a coach was heard in the great court-yard. It was Lord Glenarvan returning to Malcolm Castle at the full speed of his horses. Almost immediately Lady Helena, accompanied by the major, appeared in the court-yard, and flew to meet her husband. But he seemed sad, disappointed, and angry. He clasped his wife in his arms, and was silent. [Illustration] "Well, Edward!" she exclaimed. "Well, my dear Helena," he replied, "those people have no hearts!" "They refused?" "Yes, they refused me a vessel: they spoke of the millions vainly spent in searching for Franklin; they declared the document was vague and unintelligible; they said that the shipwreck of these unfortunates had happened two years ago, and that there was little chance of finding them. They maintained too, that, if prisoners of the Indians, they must have been carried into the interior of the country; that they could not ransack all Patagonia to find three men,--three Scotchmen; the search would be vain and perilous, and would cost the lives of more men than it would save. In short, they gave all the absurd reasons of people who mean to refuse. They remembered the captain's projects, and I fear that the unfortunate man is forever lost!" "My father, my poor father!" cried Mary Grant, throwing herself at the feet of Lord Glenarvan. "Your father! What, Miss----?" said he, surprised at seeing a young girl at his feet. "Yes, Edward, Miss Grant and her brother," replied Lady Helena; "the two children of Captain Grant, who have thus been condemned to remain orphans." "Ah, miss!" answered Lord Glenarvan, "if I had known of your presence----" He said no more. A painful silence, interrupted only by sobs, reigned in the court-yard. No one raised his voice, neither Lord Glenarvan, Lady Helena, the major, nor the servants of the castle, who were standing about even at this early hour. But by their attitude they all protested against the conduct of the officials. After several moments the major resumed the conversation, and, addressing Lord Glenarvan, said,-- "Then you have no more hope?" "None." "Well," cried young Robert, "I will go to these people, and--we shall see----" He did not finish his threat, for his sister stopped him; but his clinched hands indicated his intentions. "No, Robert," said she, "no; let us thank these kind people for what they have done for us. Let us always keep them in remembrance; but now we must take our departure." "Mary!" cried Lady Helena. "Miss, where would you go?" said Lord Glenarvan. "I am going to throw myself at the feet of the Queen," replied the young girl, "and we shall see if she will be deaf to the prayers of two children imploring help for their father." Lord Glenarvan shook his head; not that he doubted the clemency of Her Gracious Majesty, but he doubted whether Mary Grant would gain access to her; for but few suppliants reach the steps of a throne. Lady Helena understood her husband's thoughts. She knew that the young girl might make a fruitless journey, and she pictured to herself these two children leading henceforth a cheerless existence. Then it was that she conceived a grand and noble idea. "Mary Grant," she exclaimed, "wait, my child; listen to what I am about to say." The young girl held her brother by the hand, and was preparing to go. She stopped. Then Lady Helena, with tearful eye, but firm voice and animated features, advanced towards her husband. [Sidenote: "NOBLY PLANNED."] "Edward," said she, "when Captain Grant wrote that letter, and cast it into the sea, he confided it to the care of God himself, who has brought it to us. Without doubt He designed to charge us with the safety of these unfortunates." "What do you mean, Helena?" inquired Lord Glenarvan, whilst all waited in silence. "I mean," replied Lady Helena, "that we ought to consider ourselves happy in beginning our married life with a good action. You, my dear Edward, to please me, have planned a pleasure voyage. But what pleasure can be more genuine or more beneficent than to save these unfortunates whom hope has almost abandoned?" "Helena!" cried Lord Glenarvan. "Yes, you understand me, Edward. The Duncan is a good, staunch vessel. It can brave the Southern seas; it can make the tour of the world,--and it will, if necessary! Let us start, Edward,--let us go in search of Captain Grant!" At these courageous words Lord Glenarvan had extended his arms to his wife. He smiled. He pressed her to his heart, while Mary and Robert kissed her hands. And during this touching scene the servants of the castle, affected and enthusiastic, uttered from their hearts this cry of gratitude,-- "Hurrah for the lady of Luss! Hurrah! three times hurrah, for Lord and Lady Glenarvan!" CHAPTER V. THE DEPARTURE OF THE DUNCAN. It has been already said that Lady Helena had a brave and generous soul. What she had just done was an undeniable proof of it, and Lord Glenarvan had good reason to trust in this noble woman, who was capable of comprehending and following him. The idea of sailing to the rescue of Captain Grant had already taken possession of him when he saw his petition rejected at London; but he could not have thought of separating from her. Yet, since she desired to go herself, all hesitation was at an end. The servants of the castle had received her proposal with cries of joy; the safety of their brother Scots was at stake, and Lord Glenarvan joined heartily in the hurrahs that greeted the lady of Luss. The scheme once resolved upon, there was not an hour to lose. That very day Lord Glenarvan sent to Captain Mangles orders to bring the Duncan to Glasgow, and make every preparation for a voyage to the South Seas, which might become one of circumnavigation. Moreover, in her plans Lady Helena had not overestimated the qualities of the Duncan: of first-class construction with regard to strength and swiftness, she could without injury sustain a long voyage. [Sidenote: FITTING FOR SEA.] The Duncan was a steam yacht of one hundred and ten tons burden. She had two masts,--a foremast with fore-sail, main-sail, foretop and foretop-gallant sails; and a mainmast, carrying a main-sail and fore-staff. Her rigging was, therefore, sufficient, and she could profit by the wind like a simple clipper; but she relied especially upon her mechanical power. Her engine was of an effective force of one hundred and sixty horse power, and was constructed on a new plan. It possessed apparatus for overheating, which gave its steam a very great tension. It was a high-pressure engine, and produced motion by a double screw. The Duncan under full steam could acquire a speed equal to any vessel of that day. Indeed, during her trial trip in the Frith of Clyde, she had made, according to the log, seventeen knots an hour. She was, therefore, fully capable of circumnavigating the world; and her captain had only to occupy himself with the internal arrangement. His first care was to increase his store-room, and take in the greatest possible quantity of coal, for it would be difficult to renew their supplies on the voyage. The same precaution was taken with the steward's room, and provisions for two years were stowed away. Money, of course, was not wanting, and a pivot-gun was furnished, which was fixed at the forecastle. You do not know what may happen, and it is always best to have the means of defense in your reach. Captain Mangles, we must say, understood his business. Although he commanded only a pleasure yacht, he was ranked among the ablest of the Glasgow captains. He was thirty years of age, with rather rough features, indicating courage and kindness. When a child, the Glenarvan family had taken him under their care, and made him an excellent seaman. He had often given proofs of skill, energy, and coolness during his long voyages, and when Lord Glenarvan offered him the command of the Duncan, he accepted it with pride and pleasure, for he loved the lord of Malcolm Castle as a brother, and until then had vainly sought an opportunity to devote himself to his service. The mate, Tom Austin, was an old sailor worthy of all confidence; and the crew of the Duncan was composed of twenty-five men, including the captain and mate. They all belonged to the county of Dumbarton, were all tried seamen, sons of the tenants of the family, and formed on shipboard a genuine clan of honest people, who of course were not without the national bagpipe. Lord Glenarvan had, in them, a band of faithful subjects, happy in their avocation, devoted, courageous, and skillful in the use of arms, as well as in the management of a ship, while they were ready to follow him on the most perilous expeditions. When they learned where they were going, they could not restrain their joyous emotion, and the echoes of the rocks of Dumbarton awoke to their cries of enthusiasm. Captain Mangles, while occupied in lading and provisioning his craft, did not forget to prepare Lord and Lady Glenarvan's apartments for a long voyage. He likewise provided cabins for Captain Grant's children, for Lady Helena could not refuse Mary permission to accompany her on the expedition. As for young Robert, he would have hidden in the hold sooner than not go; even if he had been compelled to serve as cabin-boy, like Lord Nelson and Sir John Franklin, he would have embarked on board the Duncan. To think of opposing such a little gentleman! It was not attempted. They were even obliged to take him other than as passenger, for as cabin-boy or sailor he _would serve_. The captain was accordingly commissioned to teach him the duties of a seaman. "Good!" said Robert; "and let him not spare a few blows of the rope's end if I do not walk straight." "Be easy, my boy," replied Glenarvan, without adding that the use of the "cat-o'-nine-tails" was prohibited, and moreover quite needless, on board the Duncan. [Sidenote: GLASGOW GOSSIP.] To complete the roll of the passengers, it will be sufficient to describe Major MacNabb. The major was a man of fifty, of calm, regular features, who did as he was bid; of an excellent and superior character, modest, taciturn, peaceable, and mild; always agreeing with anything or any one, disputing nothing, and neither contradicting himself nor exaggerating. He would mount with measured step the staircase to his bed-chamber, even were a cannon-ball behind him; and probably to his dying day would never find an opportunity to fly into a passion. This man possessed, in a high degree, not only the common courage of the battle-field (that physical bravery due only to nervous strength), but, better still, moral courage, that is to say, firmness of soul. If he had a fault, it was that of being absolutely Scotch from head to foot, a pure-blooded Caledonian, an infatuated observer of the ancient customs of his country. Through his relationship to the Glenarvans he lived at Malcolm Castle; and as major and military man it was very natural that he should be found on board the Duncan. Such, then, were the passengers of this yacht, summoned by unforeseen circumstances to accomplish one of the most surprising voyages of modern times. Since her arrival at the wharf at Glasgow, she had monopolized the public attention. A considerable number came every day to visit her. They were interested in her alone, and spoke only of her, to the great umbrage of the other captains of the port, among others Captain Burton, commanding the Scotia, a magnificent steamer, moored beside the Duncan, and bound for Calcutta. The Scotia, from her size, had a right to consider the Duncan as a mere fly-boat. Nevertheless, all the attraction centred in Lord Glenarvan's yacht, and increased from day to day. The time of departure approached. Captain Mangles had shown himself skillful and expeditious. A month after her trial trip in the Frith of Clyde, the Duncan, laden, provisioned, and equipped, was ready to put to sea. The 25th of August was appointed for the time of departure, which would enable the yacht to reach the southern latitudes by the beginning of spring. Lord Glenarvan, when his plan was matured, did not neglect to make investigations into the hardships and perils of the voyage; yet he did not hesitate on this account, but prepared to leave Malcolm Castle. On the 24th of August, Lord and Lady Glenarvan, Major MacNabb, Mary and Robert Grant, Mr. Olbinett, the steward of the yacht, and his wife, who was in the service of Lady Glenarvan, left the castle, after taking an affectionate farewell of their family servants. Several hours afterward they found themselves on board. Many of the population of Glasgow welcomed with sympathetic admiration the young and courageous lady who renounced the pleasures of a life of luxury, and sailed to the rescue of the shipwrecked sailors. The apartments of Lord Glenarvan and his wife occupied the entire stern of the vessel. They consisted of two bed-chambers, a parlor, and two dressing-rooms, adjoining which was an open square inclosed by six cabins, five of which were occupied by Mary and Robert Grant, Mr. and Mrs. Olbinett, and Major MacNabb. As for the cabins of the captain and the mate, they were situated in the forecastle, and opened on the deck. The crew were lodged between-decks very comfortably, for the yacht of course carried nothing but her coal, provisions, and armament. The Duncan was to start on the night of the 24th, as the tide fell at three o'clock in the morning. But first those who were present were witness to a touching scene. At eight in the evening Lord Glenarvan and his companions, the entire crew, from the firemen to the captain, all who were to take part in this voyage of sacrifice, left the yacht, and betook themselves to Saint Mungo, the ancient cathedral of Glasgow. This antique church, an uninjured relic in the midst of the ruins caused by the Reformation, and so marvelously described by Walter Scott, received beneath its massive arches the owners and sailors of the Duncan. [Sidenote: PRAYER, AND PROGRESS.] A numerous throng accompanied them. There in the spacious aisle, filled with tombs of the great and good, the Rev. Mr. Morton implored the blessing of Heaven, and commended the expedition to the care of Providence. For a moment the voice of Mary Grant arose in the old church. The young girl was praying for her benefactors, and shedding before God the sweet tears of gratitude. The assembly retired under the influence of a deep emotion. At eleven, every one was on board. The captain and the crew occupied themselves with the final preparations. At midnight the fires were kindled, and soon clouds of black smoke mingled with the vapors of the night; the sails of the Duncan had been carefully reefed in a canvas sheathing, which served to protect them from injury. The wind blew from the southeast, and did not favor the progress of the vessel; but at two o'clock the ship began to heave under the action of her boilers. The manometer indicated a pressure of four atmospheres, and the overheated steam whistled through the escape-valves. The sea was tranquil, and soon daylight enabled them to distinguish the passes of the Clyde between the buoys and beacons, whose lights were gradually extinguished as the morning dawned. Captain Mangles informed Lord Glenarvan, who at once came on deck. Very soon the ebb-tide was felt. The Duncan gave a few shrill whistles, slackened her cables, and separated from the surrounding vessels. Her screw was set in motion, which propelled her into the channel of the river. The captain had taken no pilot. He was perfectly acquainted with the navigation of the Clyde, and no one could have commanded better. At a sign from him the yacht started. With his right hand he controlled the engine, and with his left the tiller, with silent but unerring skill. [Illustration: The Rev. Mr. Morton implored the blessing of Heaven, and commended the expedition to the care of Providence.] [Sidenote: A CHANGE OF SCENE.] Soon the last workshops on the shore gave place to villas, built here and there upon the hills, and the sounds of the city died away in the distance. An hour afterwards, the Duncan passed the rocks of Dumbarton; two hours later she was in the Frith of Clyde; and at six o'clock in the morning she doubled Cantyre Point, emerged from the North Channel, and gained the open sea. [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. AN UNEXPECTED PASSENGER. During the first day's voyage the sea was quite rough, and the wind freshened towards evening. The Duncan rolled considerably, so that the ladies did not appear on deck, but very wisely remained in their cabins. The next day the wind changed a point, and the captain set the main-, fore-, and foretop-sails, thus causing less perception of the rolling and pitching motion. Lady Helena and Mary Grant were able before daybreak to join Lord Glenarvan, the major, and the captain, on deck. The sunrise was magnificent. The orb of day, like a gilded metal disk, rose from the ocean, as from an immense and silvery basin. The ship glided in the midst of a splendid iridescence, and you would truly have thought that her sails expanded under the influence of the sun's rays, whilst even the crew of the yacht silently admired this reappearance of the orb of day. "What a magnificent spectacle!" said Lady Helena, at last. "This is the beginning of a beautiful day. May the wind not prove contrary, but favor the progress of the Duncan!" "No better weather could be desired, my dear Helena," replied Lord Glenarvan; "we have no reason to complain of the commencement of the voyage." "Will it be a long one, my dear Edward?" "That is for the captain to answer," said he. "Are we progressing well? Are you satisfied with your vessel, captain?" "Very well indeed," was the answer. "She is a marvelous craft, and a sailor likes to feel her under his feet. Never were hull and engine more in unison. See how smooth her wake is, and how easily she rides the waves. We are moving at the rate of seventeen knots an hour. If this continues, we shall cross the line in ten days, and in five weeks shall double Cape Horn." "You hear, Mary," said Lady Helena: "in five weeks!" "Yes," replied the young girl, "I hear; and my heart beat quickly at the words of the captain." "And how do you bear this voyage, Miss Mary?" inquired Lord Glenarvan. "Very well, my lord; I do not experience very many discomforts. Besides, I shall soon be accustomed to it." "And young Robert?" [Sidenote: COMPLIMENTS AND CONGRATULATIONS.] "Oh, Robert!" replied Captain Mangles: "when he is not engaged with the engine he is perched at mast-head. I tell you he is a boy who mocks sea-sickness. Only look at him!" At a gesture of the captain, all eyes were turned towards the mainmast, and every one could perceive Robert, suspended by the stays of the foretop-gallant sail, a hundred feet aloft. Mary could not restrain a motion of fear. "Oh, be easy, miss!" said Captain Mangles. "I will answer for him, and promise you I will present, in a short time, a famous sailor to Captain Grant; for we shall find that worthy captain." "May Heaven hear you, sir!" replied the young girl. "My dear child," said Lord Glenarvan, "there is in all this something providential, which ought to give us hope. We are not merely going, we are led; we are not seeking blindly, we are guided. And then see all these brave people enrolled in the service of so good a cause. Not only shall we succeed in our enterprise, but it will be accomplished without difficulty. I have promised Lady Helena a pleasure voyage; and, if I am not mistaken, I shall keep my word." "Edward," said Lady Glenarvan, "you are the best of men." "Not so; but I have the best of crews, on the best of ships. Do you not wonder at our Duncan, Miss Mary?" "On the contrary, my lord," answered the young girl, "I don't so much wonder as admire; for I am well acquainted with ships." "Ah! indeed!" "When a mere child, I played on my father's ships. He ought to have made a sailor of me. If it were necessary, perhaps I should not now be embarrassed in taking a reef or twisting a gasket." "What is that you're saying, miss?" exclaimed the captain. "If you talk so," continued Lord Glenarvan, "you will make a great friend of Captain John; for he thinks nothing in the world can equal the life of a sailor. He sees no other, even for a woman. Is it not so, John?" "Undoubtedly, your lordship," replied the young captain; "and yet, I confess, Miss Grant is better in her place on deck, than taking a reef in the top-sail. But still I am very much flattered to hear her speak so." "And especially when she admires the Duncan!" added Glenarvan. "Right, my lord; for she deserves it." "Upon my word," said Lady Helena, "since you are so proud of your yacht, you make me anxious to examine her to the very hold, and see how our brave sailors are quartered between-decks." "Admirably," replied the captain; "they are quite at home there." "Indeed they are, my dear Helena," said Lord Glenarvan. "This yacht is a part of our old Caledonia,--a detached portion of the county of Dumbarton, traveling by special favor, so that we have not left our country. The Duncan is Malcolm Castle, and the ocean is Loch Lomond." "Well, then, my dear Edward, do the honors of the castle," said Lady Helena. "I am at your disposal, madam," answered her husband; "but first let me inform Olbinett." The steward of the yacht was an excellent manager, a Scotchman, who deserved to have been a Frenchman from his self-importance, and, moreover, fulfilled his duties with zeal and intelligence. He was at once ready for his master's commands. "Olbinett, we are going to make a tour of the vessel before breakfast," said Glenarvan, as if a journey to Tarbet or Loch Katrine was in question. "I hope we shall find the table ready on our return." Olbinett bowed gravely. [Illustration: This man, tall, lank, and shriveled, might have been forty years old. He resembled a long, broad-headed nail, for his head was large and thick, his forehead high, his nose prominent, his mouth wide, and his chin blunt.] "Do you accompany us, major?" asked Lady Helena. "If you order it," replied MacNabb. "Oh!" said Lord Glenarvan, "the major is absorbed in the smoke of his cigar; we must not disturb him, for I assure you he is an inveterate smoker, Miss Mary; he smokes all the time, even in his sleep." The major made a sign of assent, and the passengers descended between-decks. MacNabb remained alone, talking to himself, according to his custom, but never contradicting himself. Enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke, he stood motionless, gazing back at the wake of the yacht. After a few moments of contemplation, he turned and found himself face to face with a new character. If _anything_ could have surprised him, it must have been this meeting, for the passenger was absolutely unknown to him. [Sidenote: A TELESCOPIC APPARITION.] This man, tall, lank, and shriveled, might have been forty years old. He resembled a long, broad-headed nail, for his head was large and thick, his forehead high, his nose prominent, his mouth wide, and his chin blunt. As for his eyes, they were hidden behind enormous eye-glasses, and his look seemed to have that indecision peculiar to nyctalops. His countenance indicated an intelligent and lively person, while it had not the crabbed air of those stern people who from principle never laugh, and whose stupidity is hidden beneath a serious guise. The nonchalance and amiable freedom of this unknown nonentity clearly proved that he knew how to take men and things at their best advantage. Even without his speaking you felt that he was a talker; but he was abstracted, after the manner of those who do not see what they are looking at or hear what they are listening to. He wore a traveling cap, stout yellow buskins and leather gaiters, pantaloons of maroon velvet, and a jacket of the same material, whose innumerable pockets seemed stuffed with note-books, memoranda, scraps, portfolios, and a thousand articles as inconvenient as they were useless, not to speak of a telescope which he carried in a sling. The curiosity of this unknown being was a singular contrast to the calmness of the major. He walked around MacNabb, and gazed at him questioningly, whilst the latter did not trouble himself whence the stranger came, whither he was going, or why he was on board the Duncan. When this enigmatical character saw his approaches mocked by the indifference of the major, he seized his telescope, which at its full length measured four feet; and motionless, with legs straddled, like a sign-post on a highway, he pointed his instrument to the line where sky and water met. After a few moments of examination, he lowered it, and resting it on the deck, leaned upon it as upon a cane. But immediately the joints of the instrument closed, and the newly discovered passenger, whose point of support suddenly failed, was stretched at the foot of the mainmast. [Illustration] Any one else in the major's place would at least have smiled, but he did not even wink. The unknown then assumed his rôle. "Steward!" he cried, with an accent that betokened a foreigner. He waited. No one appeared. "Steward!" he repeated, in a louder tone. Mr. Olbinett was passing just then on his way to the kitchen under the forecastle. What was his astonishment to hear himself thus addressed by this tall individual, who was utterly unknown to him! "Where did this person come from?" said he to himself. "A friend of Lord Glenarvan? It is impossible." However, he came on deck, and approached the stranger. "Are you the steward of the vessel?" the latter asked him. "Yes, sir," replied Olbinett; "but I have not the honor----" "I am the passenger of cabin number six." "Number six?" repeated the steward. "Certainly; and your name is----?" "Olbinett." "Well, Olbinett, my friend," answered the stranger of cabin number six, "I must think of dinner, and acutely, too. For thirty-six hours I have eaten nothing, or, rather, have slept, which is pardonable in a man come all the way from Paris to Glasgow. What hour do you dine, if you please?" "At nine o'clock," answered Olbinett, mechanically. The stranger attempted to consult his watch; but this took some time, for he did not find it till he came to his ninth pocket. [Sidenote: CONFUSION WORSE CONFOUNDED.] "Well," said he, "it is not yet eight o'clock; therefore, Olbinett, a biscuit and a glass of sherry for the present; for I am fainting with hunger." Olbinett listened without understanding. Moreover, the unknown kept talking, and passed from one subject to another with extreme volubility. "Well," said he, "has not the captain risen yet? And the mate? What is he doing? Is he asleep, too? Fortunately, the weather is beautiful, the wind favorable, and the ship goes on quite by herself----" Just as he said this, Captain Mangles appeared at the companion-way. "Here is the captain," said Olbinett. "Ah, I am delighted," cried the stranger, "delighted to make your acquaintance, Captain Burton!" If any one was ever astounded, John Mangles certainly was, not less at hearing himself called "Captain Burton," than at seeing this stranger on board his vessel. The latter continued, with more animation: "Permit me to shake hands with you, and if I did not do so day before yesterday, it was that no one might be embarrassed at the moment of departure. But to-day, captain, I am truly happy to meet you." Captain Mangles opened his eyes in measureless astonishment, looking first at Olbinett, and then at the new comer. "Now," continued the latter, "the introduction is over, and we are old friends. Let us have a talk; and tell me, are you satisfied with the Scotia?" "What do you mean by the Scotia?" asked the captain, at last. "Why, the Scotia that carries us: a good ship, whose commander, the brave Captain Burton, I have heard praised no less for his physical than his moral qualities. Are you the father of the great African traveler of that name? If so, my compliments!" "Sir," replied Captain Mangles, "not only am I not the father of the traveler Burton, but I am not even Captain Burton." "Ah!" said the unknown, "it is the mate of the Scotia then, Mr. Burdness, whom I am addressing at this moment?" "Mr. Burdness?" replied Captain Mangles, who began to suspect the truth. But was he talking to a fool, or a rogue? This was a question in his mind, and he was about to explain himself intelligibly, when Lord Glenarvan, his wife, and Miss Grant came on deck. The stranger perceived them, and cried,-- "Ah! passengers! passengers! excellent! I hope, Mr. Burdness, you are going to introduce me----" And advancing with perfect ease, without waiting for the captain,-- "Madam" said he to Miss Grant, "Miss" to Lady Helena, "Sir" he added, addressing Lord Glenarvan. "Lord Glenarvan," said Captain Mangles. "My lord," continued the unknown, "I beg your pardon for introducing myself, but at sea we must relax a little from etiquette. I hope we shall soon be acquainted, and that, in the society of these ladies, the passage of the Scotia will seem as short to us as agreeable." Lady Helena and Miss Grant could not find a word to answer. They were completely bewildered by the presence of this intruder. "Sir," said Glenarvan, at length, "whom have I the honor of addressing?" "Jacques Eliacim François Marie Paganel, secretary of the Geographical Society of Paris; corresponding member of the societies of Berlin, Bombay, Darmstadt, Leipsic, London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and New York; honorary member of the Royal Geographical and Ethnographical Institute of the East Indies, who, after passing twenty years of his life in studying geography, designs now to enter upon a roving life, and is directing his course to India to continue there the labors of the great travelers." CHAPTER VII. JACQUES PAGANEL IS UNDECEIVED. The secretary of the Geographical Society must have been an agreeable person, for all this was said with much modesty. Lord Glenarvan, moreover, knew perfectly whom he had met. The name and merit of Jacques Paganel were well known to him. His geographical labors, his reports on modern discoveries, published in the bulletins of the Society, his correspondence with the entire world, had made him one of the most distinguished scientific men of France. Thus Glenarvan extended his hand very cordially to his unexpected guest. "And now that our introduction is over," added he, "will you permit me, Monsieur Paganel, to ask you a question?" "Twenty, my lord," replied Jacques Paganel; "it will always be a pleasure to converse with you." "You arrived on board this vessel the day before yesterday?" "Yes, my lord, day before yesterday, at eight o'clock in the evening. I took a cab from the Caledonian Railway to the Scotia, in which I had engaged cabin number six at Paris. The night was dark. I saw no one on board. Feeling fatigued by thirty hours of travel, and knowing that a good way to avoid sea-sickness is to go to bed on embarking, and not stir from your bunk for the first days of the voyage, I retired immediately, and have conscientiously slept thirty-six hours, I assure you." Jacques Paganel's hearers now knew the reason of his presence on board. The Frenchman, mistaking the vessel, had embarked while the crew of the Duncan were engaged in the ceremony at Saint Mungo. Everything was explained. But what would the geographer say, when he learned the name and destination of the vessel on which he had taken passage? "So, Monsieur Paganel," said Glenarvan, "you have chosen Calcutta as your centre of action?" "Yes, my lord. To see India is an idea that I have cherished all my life. It is my brightest dream, which shall be realized at last in the country of the elephants and the Thugs." "Then you would not care to visit another country?" "No, my lord; it would be even disagreeable, for I have letters from Lord Somerset to the governor-general of India, and a mission from the Geographical Society which I must fulfil." "Ah! you have a mission?" "Yes, a useful and curious voyage to undertake, the programme of which has been arranged by my scientific friend and colleague, M. Vivien de Saint Martin. It is to follow in the steps of the brothers Schlagintweit, and many other celebrated travelers. I hope to succeed where Missionary Krick unfortunately failed in 1846. In a word, I wish to discover the course of the Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo, which waters Thibet, and finally to settle whether this river does not join the Brahmapootra in the northeast part of Assam. A gold medal is promised to that traveler who shall succeed in supplying this much-needed information on Indian geography." Paganel was grandiloquent. He spoke with a lofty animation, and was carried away in the rapid flight of imagination. It would have been as impossible to check him as to stay the Rhine at the Falls of Schaffhausen. "Monsieur Jacques Paganel," said Lord Glenarvan, after a moment of silence, "that is certainly a fine voyage, and one for which science would be very grateful; but I will not further prolong your ignorance. For the present, you must give up the pleasure of seeing India." "Give it up! And why?" "Because you are turning your back upon the Indian peninsula." "How? Captain Burton----" "I am not Captain Burton," replied John Mangles. "But the Scotia?" "This vessel is not the Scotia." Paganel's amazement cannot be depicted. He looked first at Lord Glenarvan, always serious; then at Lady Helena and Miss Grant, whose features expressed a sympathetic disappointment; and finally at Captain Mangles, who was smiling, and the imperturbable major. Then, raising his shoulders and drawing down his glasses from his forehead to his eyes, he exclaimed,-- "What a joke!" But at that his eyes fell upon the steering wheel, on which were inscribed these two words, thus: [Illustration] "The Duncan! the Duncan!" he cried in a tone of real despair; and, leaping down the companion-way, he rushed to his cabin. When the unfortunate geographer had disappeared, no one on board, except the major, could retain gravity, and the laugh was communicated even to the sailors. To mistake the railroad was not so bad; to take the train to Dumbarton, instead of Edinburgh, would do. But to mistake the vessel, and be sailing to Chili, when he wished to go to India, was the height of absent-mindedness. [Sidenote: ABSENT-MINDEDNESS.] "On the whole, I am not astonished at this on the part of Jacques Paganel," said Glenarvan; "he is noted for such blunders. He once published a celebrated map of America, in which he located Japan. However, he is a distinguished scholar, and one of the best geographers of France." [Illustration] "But what are we going to do with the poor gentleman?" asked Lady Helena. "We cannot take him to Patagonia." "Why not?" replied MacNabb gravely. "We are not responsible for his errors. Suppose he were in a railroad car, would it stop for him?" "No; but he could get out at the first station," answered Lady Helena. "Well," said Glenarvan, "he can do so now, if he pleases, at our first landing." At this moment Paganel, woeful and humble, reappeared on deck, after convincing himself that his baggage was on board. He kept repeating those fatal words: "The Duncan! the Duncan!" He could find no others in his vocabulary. He went to and fro, examining the rigging of the yacht, and questioning the mute horizon of the open sea. At last he returned to Lord Glenarvan. [Illustration] "And this Duncan is going----?" he asked. "To America, Monsieur Paganel." "And where especially?" "To Concepcion." "To Chili! to Chili!" cried the unfortunate geographer. "And my mission to India! But what will M. de Quatrefages say, the President of the Central Commission? How shall I represent myself at the sessions of the Society?" [Sidenote: COURTESY AND CONVERSE.] "Come, monsieur," said Glenarvan, "do not despair. Everything can be arranged, and you will only have to submit to a delay of little consequence. The Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo will wait for you in the mountains of Thibet. We shall soon reach Madeira, and there you will find a vessel to take you back to Europe." "I thank you, my lord, and must be resigned. But we can say this is an extraordinary adventure, which would not have happened but for me. And my cabin which is engaged on board the Scotia?" "Oh, as for the Scotia, I advise you to give her up for the present." "But," said Paganel after examining the vessel again, "the Duncan is a pleasure yacht." "Yes, sir," replied Captain Mangles, "and belongs to his lordship, Lord Glenarvan----" "Who begs you to make free use of his hospitality," said Glenarvan. "A thousand thanks, my lord," replied Paganel; "I am truly sensible to your courtesy. But permit me to make a simple remark. India is a beautiful country. It offers marvelous surprises to travelers. These ladies have probably never visited it. Well, the man at the helm needs only to give a turn to the wheel, and the Duncan will go as easily to Calcutta as Concepcion. Now, since this is a pleasure voyage----" The negative reception that met Paganel's proposal did not permit him to develop it. He paused. "Monsieur Paganel," said Lady Helena at length, "if this were only a pleasure voyage, I would answer: 'Let us all go to India,' and Lord Glenarvan would not disapprove. But the Duncan is going to recover some shipwrecked sailors, abandoned on the coast of Patagonia; and she cannot change so humane a course." In a few moments the Frenchman was acquainted with the situation of affairs, and learned, not without emotion, the providential discovery of the documents, the story of Captain Grant, and Lady Helena's generous proposal. "Madam," said he, "permit me to admire your conduct in all this, and to admire it without reserve. May your yacht continue on her course; I would reproach myself for delaying her a single day." "Will you then join in our search?" asked Lady Helena. "It is impossible, madam; I must fulfil my mission. I shall disembark at your first landing." "At Madeira then," said Captain Mangles. "At Madeira let it be. I shall be only one hundred and eighty leagues from Lisbon, and will wait there for means of further conveyance." "Well, Monsieur Paganel," said Glenarvan, "it shall be as you desire; and, for my part, I am happy that I can offer you for a few days the hospitalities of my vessel. May you not grow weary of our company." "Oh, my lord," exclaimed the geographer, "I am still too happy in being so agreeably disappointed. However, it is a very ludicrous situation for a man who takes passage for India, and is sailing to America." In spite of this mortifying reflection, Paganel made the best use of a delay that he could not avoid. He showed himself amiable, and even gay; he enchanted the ladies with his good humor, and before the end of the day he was the friend of every one. At his request the famous document was shown to him. He studied it carefully, long and minutely. No other interpretation appeared to him possible. Mary Grant and her brother inspired him with the liveliest interest. He gave them good hopes. His way of distinguishing the events, and the undeniable success that he predicted for the Duncan, elicited a smile from the young girl. [Sidenote: THIS, OR THAT, OR NEITHER.] As to Lady Helena, when he learned that she was the daughter of William Tuffnel, there was an outburst of surprise and admiration. He had known her father. What a bold discoverer! How many letters they had exchanged when the latter was corresponding member of the Society! He it was who had introduced him to M. Malte-Brun. What a meeting! and how much pleasure to travel with the daughter of such a man! Finally, he asked Lady Helena's permission to kiss her, to which she consented, although it was perhaps a little "improper." CHAPTER VIII. THE GEOGRAPHER'S RESOLUTION. Meanwhile the yacht, favored by the currents, was advancing rapidly towards the equator. In a few days the island of Madeira came in view. Glenarvan, faithful to his promise, offered to land his new guest here. "My dear lord," replied Paganel, "I will not be formal with you. Before my arrival on board, did you intend to stop at Madeira?" "No," said Glenarvan. "Well, permit me to profit by the consequences of my unlucky blunder. Madeira is an island too well known. Everything has been said and written about it; and it is, moreover, rapidly declining in point of civilization. If, then, it is all the same to you, let us land at the Canaries." "Very well, at the Canaries," replied Glenarvan. "That will not take us out of our way." "I know it, my dear lord. At the Canaries, you see, there are three groups to study, not to speak of the Peak of Teneriffe, which I have always desired to see. This is a fine opportunity. I will profit by it; and, while waiting for a vessel, will attempt the ascent of this celebrated mountain." "As you please, my dear Paganel," replied Glenarvan, who could not help smiling, and with good reason. The Canaries are only a short distance from Madeira, scarcely two hundred and fifty miles, a mere trifle for so good a vessel as the Duncan. The same day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Captain Mangles and Paganel were walking on the deck. The Frenchman pressed his companion with lively questions concerning Chili. All at once the captain interrupted him, and pointing towards the southern horizon, said,-- "Mr. Paganel!" "My dear captain," replied the geographer. "Please cast your eyes in that direction. Do you see nothing?" "Nothing." "You are not looking right. It is not on the horizon, but above, in the clouds." "In the clouds? I look in vain." "Stop, now, just on a line with the end of the bowsprit." "I see nothing." "You do not wish to see. However that may be, although we are forty miles distant, you understand, the Peak of Teneriffe is visible above the horizon." Whether Paganel wished to see or not, he had to yield to the evidence some hours afterwards, or, at least, confess himself blind. "You perceive it now?" said his companion. "Yes, yes, perfectly!" replied Paganel. "And that," added he in a contemptuous tone, "is what you call the Peak of Teneriffe?" "The same." "It appears to be of very moderate height." "Yet it is eleven thousand feet above the level of the sea." "Not so high as Mont Blanc." "Very possibly; but when you come to climb it, you will find it, perhaps, high enough." [Illustration: They could scarcely see the city, which was on an elevated plain in the form of a terrace, resting on volcanic rocks three hundred feet in height. The appearance of the island through this rainy curtain was misty.] "Oh! climb it, my dear captain? What is the use, I ask you, after Humboldt and Bonpland? What can I do after these great men?" [Illustration: Peak of Teneriffe.] "Indeed," replied Captain Mangles, "there is nothing left but to wander about. It is a pity, for you would be very tired waiting for a vessel at Teneriffe. You cannot look for many distractions there." "Except my own," said Paganel, laughing. "But, my dear captain, have not the Cape Verd Islands important landings?" "Certainly. Nothing is easier than to land at Villa-Praïa." "Not to speak of an advantage that is not to be despised," answered Paganel; "that the Cape Verd Islands are not far from Senegal, where I shall find fellow-countrymen." "As you please, Mr. Paganel," replied Captain Mangles. "I am certain that geographical science will gain by your sojourn in these islands. We must land there to take in coal; you will, therefore, cause us no delay." [Sidenote: DECLINED, WITH THANKS.] So saying, the captain gave the order to pass to the southeast of the Canaries. The celebrated peak was soon left on the larboard; and the Duncan, continuing her rapid course, cut the Tropic of Cancer the next morning at five o'clock. The weather there changed. The atmosphere had the moisture and oppressiveness of the rainy season, disagreeable to travelers, but beneficial to the inhabitants of the African islands, who have no trees, and consequently need water. The sea was boisterous, and prevented the passengers from remaining on deck; but the conversation in the cabin was not less animated. The next day Paganel began to collect his baggage preparatory to his approaching departure. In a short time they entered the bay of Villa-Praïa, and anchored opposite the city in eight fathoms of water. The weather was stormy and the surf high, although the bay was sheltered from the winds. The rain fell in torrents so that they could scarcely see the city, which was on an elevated plain in the form of a terrace, resting on volcanic rocks three hundred feet in height. The appearance of the island through this rainy curtain was misty. Shipping the coal was not accomplished without great difficulty, and the passengers saw themselves confined to the cabin, while sea and sky mingled their waters in an indescribable tumult. The weather was, therefore, the topic of conversation on board. Each one had his say except the major, who would have witnessed the deluge itself with perfect indifference. Paganel walked to and fro, shaking his head. "It is an imperative fact," said he. "It is certain," replied Glenarvan, "that the elements declare themselves against you." "I will see about that." "You cannot face such a storm," said Lady Helena. "I, madam? Certainly. I fear only for my baggage and instruments. They will all be lost." "Our landing is the only thing doubtful," resumed Glenarvan. "Once at Villa-Praïa, you will not have very uncomfortable quarters; rather uncleanly, to be sure, in the company of monkeys and swine, whose surroundings are not always agreeable; but a traveler does not regard that so critically. Besides, you can hope in seven or eight months to embark for Europe." "Seven or eight months!" exclaimed Paganel. "At least that. The Cape Verd Islands are very rarely frequented during the rainy season. But you can employ your time profitably. This archipelago is still little known. There is much to do, even now." "But," replied Paganel in a pitiful tone, "what could I do after the investigations of the geologist Deville?" "That is really a pity," said Lady Helena. "What will become of you, Monsieur Paganel?" Paganel was silent for a few moments. "You had decidedly better have landed at Madeira," rejoined Glenarvan, "although there is no wine there." "My dear Glenarvan," continued Paganel at last, "where shall you land next?" "At Concepcion." "Alas! but that would bring me directly away from India!" "No; for when you have passed Cape Horn you approach the Indies." "I very much doubt it." "Besides," continued Glenarvan with the greatest gravity, "as long as you are at the Indies, what difference does it make whether they are the East or the West?" "'What difference does it make'?" "The inhabitants of the Pampas of Patagonia are Indians as well as the natives of the Punjab." "Eh! my lord," exclaimed Paganel, "that is a reason I should never have imagined!" [Sidenote: BAIT FOR A TRAVELLER.] "And then, my dear Paganel, you know that you can gain the gold medal in any country whatever. There is something to do, to seek, to discover, everywhere, in the chains of the Cordilleras as well as the mountains of Thibet." "But the course of the Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo?" "Certainly. You can replace that by the Rio Colorado. This is a river very little known, and one of those which flow on the map too much according to the fancy of the geographer." "I know it, my dear lord; there are errors of several degrees. I do not doubt that at my request the Society would have sent me to Patagonia as well as to India; but I did not think of it." "The result of your continual abstraction." "Well, Monsieur Paganel, shall you accompany us?" asked Lady Helena in her most persuasive tone. "And my mission, madam?" "I inform you that we shall pass through the Strait of Magellan," continued Glenarvan. "My lord, you are a tempter." "I add that we shall visit Port Famine." "Port Famine!" cried the Frenchman, assailed on all sides; "that port so celebrated in geographical fasts!" "Consider also, Monsieur Paganel," continued Lady Helena, "that in this enterprise you will have the right to associate the name of France with that of Scotland." "Yes; doubtless." "A geographer may be very serviceable to our expedition; and what is more noble than for science to enlist in the service of humanity?" "That is well said, madam." "Believe me, try chance, or rather Providence. Imitate us. It has sent us this document; we have started. It has cast you on board the Duncan; do not leave her." "And do you, indeed, wish me, my good friends?" replied Paganel. "Well, you desire me to stay very much?" "And you, Paganel, you are dying to stay," retorted Glenarvan. "Truly," cried the geographer, "but I fear I am very indiscreet." Thus far the Duncan had acquitted herself admirably: in every way her powers for steaming or sailing had been sufficiently tested, and her captain and passengers were alike satisfied with her performance and with one another. [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. THROUGH THE STRAIT OF MAGELLAN. The joy on board was general, when Paganel's resolution was known. Young Robert threw himself on his neck with very demonstrative delight. The worthy geographer almost fell backwards. "A rough little gentleman," said he; "I will teach him geography." As Captain Mangles had engaged to make him a sailor, Glenarvan a man of honor, the major a boy of coolness, Lady Helena a noble and generous being, and Mary Grant a pupil grateful towards such patrons, Robert was evidently to become one day an accomplished gentleman. The Duncan soon finished shipping her coal, and then leaving these gloomy regions she gained the current from the southeast coast of Brazil, and, after crossing the equator with a fine breeze from the north, she entered the southern hemisphere. The passage was effected without difficulty, and every one had good hopes. On this voyage in search of Captain Grant, the probabilities increased every day. Their captain was one of the most confident on board; but his confidence proceeded especially from the desire that he cherished so strongly at heart, of seeing Miss Mary happy and consoled. He was particularly interested in this young girl; and this feeling he concealed so well, that, except Miss Grant and himself, no one on board the Duncan had perceived it. As for the learned geographer, he was probably the happiest man in the southern hemisphere. He passed his time in studying the maps with which he covered the cabin-table; and then followed daily discussions with Mr. Olbinett, so that he could scarcely set the table. But Paganel had all the passengers on his side except the major, who was very indifferent to geographical questions, especially at dinner-time. Having discovered a whole cargo of odd books in the mate's chests, and among them a number of Cervantes' works, the Frenchman resolved to learn Spanish, which nobody on board knew, and which would facilitate his search on the shores of Chili. Thanks to his love for philology, he did not despair of speaking this new tongue fluently on arriving at Concepcion. He therefore studied assiduously, and was heard incessantly muttering heterogeneous syllables. During his leisure hours he did not fail to give young Robert practical instruction, and taught him the history of the country they were rapidly approaching. In the meantime the Duncan was proceeding at a remarkable rate. She cut the Tropic of Capricorn, and her prow was headed toward the strait of the celebrated geographer. Now and then the low shores of Patagonia were seen, but like an almost invisible line on the horizon. They sailed along the coast for more than ten miles, but Paganel's famous telescope gave him only a vague idea of these American shores. The vessel soon found herself at the head of the strait, and entered without hesitation. This way is generally preferred by steam-vessels bound for the Pacific. Its exact length is three hundred and seventy-six miles. Ships of the greatest tonnage can always find deep water, even near its shores, an excellent bottom, and many springs of water. The rivers abound in fish, the forest in game, there are safe and easy landings at twenty places, and, in short, a thousand resources that are wanting in the Strait of Lemaire, and off the terrible rocks of Cape Horn, which are continually visited by storms and tempests. [Illustration: Sometimes the tips of her yards would graze the branches of the beeches that hung over the waves.] During the first hours of the passage, till you reach Cape Gregory, the shores are low and sandy. The entire passage lasted scarcely thirty-six hours, and this moving panorama of the two shores well rewarded the pains the geographer took to admire it under the radiant beams of the southern sun. No inhabitant appeared on the shores of the continent; and only a few Fuegians wandered along the barren rocks of Terra del Fuego. At one moment the Duncan rounded the peninsula of Brunswick between two magnificent sights. Just here the strait cuts between stupendous masses of granite. The base of the mountains was hidden in the heart of immense forests, while their summits, whitened with eternal snow, were lost in the clouds. Towards the southeast Mount Taru towered six thousand five hundred feet aloft. Night came, preceded by a long twilight, the light melting away insensibly by gentle degrees, while the sky was studded with brilliant stars. In the midst of this partial obscurity, the yacht boldly continued on her course, without casting anchor in the safe bays with which the shores abound. Sometimes the tips of her yards would graze the branches of the beeches that hung over the waves. At others her propeller would beat the waters of the great rivers, starting geese, ducks, snipe, teal, and all the feathered tribes of the marshes. Soon deserted ruins appeared, and fallen monuments, to which the night lent a grand aspect; these were the mournful remains of an abandoned colony, whose name will be an eternal contradiction to the fertility of the coasts and the rich game of the forests. It was Port Famine, the place that the Spaniard Sarmiento colonized in 1581 with four hundred emigrants. Here he founded the city of San Felipe. But the extreme severity of the cold weakened the colony; famine devoured those whom the winter had spared, and in 1587 the explorer Cavendish found the last of these four hundred unfortunates dying of hunger amid the ruins of a city only six years in existence. [Sidenote: CHEERLESS MEMORIES.] The vessel coasted along these deserted shores. At daybreak she sailed in the midst of the narrow passes, between beeches, ash-trees, and birches, from the bosom of which emerged ivy-clad domes, cupolas tapestried with the hardy holly, and lofty spires, among which the obelisk of Buckland rose to a great height. Far out in the sea sported droves of seals and whales of great size, judging by their spouting, which could be seen at a distance of four miles. At last they doubled Cape Froward, still bristling with the ices of winter. On the other side of the strait, on Terra del Fuego, rose Mount Sarmiento to the height of six thousand feet, an enormous mass of rock broken by bands of clouds which formed as it were an aerial archipelago in the sky. [Illustration: Port Famine.] Cape Froward is the real end of the American continent, for Cape Horn is only a lone rock in the sea. Passing this point the strait narrowed between Brunswick Peninsula, and Desolation Island. Then to fertile shores succeeded a line of wild barren coast, cut by a thousand inlets of this tortuous labyrinth. The Duncan unerringly and unhesitatingly pursued its capricious windings, mingling her columns of smoke with the mists on the rocks. Without lessening her speed, she passed several Spanish factories established on these deserted shores. At Cape Tamar the strait widened. The yacht rounded the Narborough Islands, and approached the southern shores. At last, thirty-six hours after entering the strait, the rocks of Cape Pilares were discerned at the extreme point of Desolation Island. An immense open glittering sea extended before her prow, and Jacques Paganel, hailing it with an enthusiastic gesture, felt moved like Ferdinand Magellan himself, when the sails of the Trinidad swelled before the breezes of the Pacific. CHAPTER X. THE COURSE DECIDED. Eight days after doubling Cape Pilares the Duncan entered at full speed the Bay of Talcahuana, a magnificent estuary, twelve miles long and nine broad. The weather was beautiful. Not a cloud is seen in the sky of this country from November to March, and the wind from the south blows continually along these coasts, which are protected by the chain of the Andes. Captain Mangles, according to Lord Glenarvan's orders, had kept close to the shore of the continent, examining the numerous wrecks that lined it. A waif, a broken spar, a piece of wood fashioned by the hand of man, might guide the Duncan to the scene of the shipwreck. But nothing was seen, and the yacht continued her course and anchored in the harbor of Talcahuana forty-two days after her departure from the waters of the Clyde. [Sidenote: LEARNING SPANISH!] Glenarvan at once lowered the boat, and, followed by Paganel, landed at the foot of the palisade. The learned geographer, profiting by the circumstance, would have made use of the language which he had studied so conscientiously; but, to his great astonishment, he could not make himself understood by the natives. "The accent is what I need," said he. "Let us go to the Custom-house," replied Glenarvan. There they were informed by means of several English words, accompanied by expressive gestures, that the British consul resided at Concepcion. It was only an hour's journey. Glenarvan easily found two good horses, and, a short time after, Paganel and he entered the walls of this great city, which was built by the enterprising genius of Valdivia, the valiant companion of Pizarro. How greatly it had declined from its ancient splendor! Often pillaged by the natives, burnt in 1819, desolate, ruined, its walls still blackened with the flames of devastation, eclipsed by Talcahuana, it now scarcely numbered eight thousand souls. Under the feet of its idle inhabitants the streets had grown into prairies. There was no commerce, no activity, no business. The mandolin resounded from every balcony, languishing songs issued from the lattices of the windows, and Concepcion, the ancient city of men, had become a village of women and children. Glenarvan appeared little desirous of seeking the causes of this decline--though Jacques Paganel attacked him on this subject--and, without losing an instant, betook himself to the house of J. R. Bentock, Esq., consul of Her Britannic Majesty. This individual received him very courteously, and when he learned the story of Captain Grant undertook to search along the entire coast. The question whether the Britannia had been wrecked on the shores of Chili or Araucania was decided in the negative. No report of such an event had come either to the consul, or his colleagues in other parts of the country. But Glenarvan was not discouraged. He returned to Talcahuana, and, sparing neither fatigue, trouble, or money, he sent men to the coast, but their search was in vain. The most minute inquiries among the people of the vicinity were of no avail. They were forced to conclude that the Britannia had left no trace of her shipwreck. [Illustration: In Concepcion.] [Sidenote: "TRY AGAIN!"] Glenarvan then informed his companions of the failure of his endeavors. Mary Grant and her brother could not restrain their grief. It was now six days since the arrival of the Duncan at Talcahuana. The passengers were together in the cabin. Lady Helena was consoling, not by her words--for what could she say?--but by her caresses, the two children of the captain. Jacques Paganel had taken up the document again, and was regarding it with earnest attention, as if he would have drawn from it new secrets. For an hour he had examined it thus, when Glenarvan, addressing him, said,-- "Paganel, I appeal to your sagacity. Is the interpretation we have made of this document incorrect? Is the sense of these words illogical?" Paganel did not answer. He was reflecting. "Are we mistaken as to the supposed scene of the shipwreck?" continued Glenarvan. "Does not the name Patagonia suggest itself at once to the mind?" Paganel was still silent. "In short," said Glenarvan, "does not the word _Indian_ justify us still more?" "Perfectly," replied MacNabb. "And therefore, is it not evident that these shipwrecked men, when they wrote these lines, expected to be prisoners of the Indians?" "There you are wrong, my dear lord," said Paganel, at last; "and if your other conclusions are just, the last at least does not seem to me rational." "What do you mean?" asked Lady Helena, while all eyes were turned towards the geographer. "I mean," answered Paganel, emphasizing his words, "that Captain Grant is _now prisoner of the Indians_: and I will add that the document leaves no doubt on this point." "Explain yourself, sir," said Miss Grant. "Nothing is easier, my dear Mary. Instead of reading _they will be prisoners_, read _they are prisoners_, and all will be clear." "But that is impossible," replied Glenarvan. "Impossible? And why, my noble friend?" asked Paganel, smiling. "Because the bottle must have been thrown when the vessel was breaking on the rocks. Hence the degrees of longitude and latitude apply to the very place of shipwreck." "Nothing proves it," said Paganel, earnestly; "and I do not see why the shipwrecked sailors, after being carried by the Indians into the interior of the country, could not have sought to make known by means of this bottle the place of their captivity." "Simply, my dear Paganel, because to throw a bottle into the sea it is necessary, at least, that the sea should be before you." "Or, in the absence of the sea," added Paganel, "the rivers which flow into it." An astonished silence followed this unexpected, yet reasonable, answer. By the flash that brightened the eyes of his hearers Paganel knew that each of them had conceived a new hope. Lady Helena was the first to resume the conversation. "What an idea!" she exclaimed. "What a _good_ idea!" added the geographer, simply. "Your advice then?" asked Glenarvan. "My advice is to find the thirty-seventh parallel, just where it meets the American coast, and follow it, without deviating half a degree, to the point where it strikes the Atlantic. Perhaps we shall find on its course the survivors of the Britannia." "A feeble chance," replied the major. "However feeble it may be," continued Paganel, "we ought not to neglect it. If I am right that this bottle reached the sea by following the current of a river, we cannot fail to come upon the traces of the prisoners. Look, my friends, look at the map of this country, and I will convince you beyond a doubt." [Sidenote: NIL DESPERANDUM!] So saying, Paganel spread out before them upon the table a large map of Chili and the Argentine Provinces. "Look," said he, "and follow me in this passage across the American continent. Let us pass over the narrow strip of Chili and the Cordilleras of the Andes, and descend into the midst of the Pampas. Are rivers, streams, water-courses, wanting in these regions? No. Here are the Rio Negro, the Rio Colorado, and their affluents, cut by the thirty-seventh parallel, all of which might have served to transport the document. There, perhaps, in the midst of a tribe, in the hands of settled Indians, on the shores of these unknown rivers, in the gorges of the sierras, those whom I have the right to call our friends are awaiting an interposition of Providence. Ought we, then, to disappoint their hopes? Do you not think we should follow across these countries an unswerving course? And if, contrary to all expectation, I am still mistaken, is it not our duty to trace this parallel to the very end, and, if necessary, make upon it the tour of the world?" These words, spoken with a noble enthusiasm, excited a deep emotion among Paganel's hearers. All rose to shake hands with him. "Yes, my father is there!" cried Robert Grant, devouring the map with his eyes. "And wherever he is," replied Glenarvan, "we shall find him, my child. Nothing is more consistent than our friend Paganel's interpretation, and we must follow without hesitation the course he has indicated. Either Captain Grant is in the hands of countless Indians, or is prisoner in a feeble tribe. In the latter case, we will rescue him. In the former, after ascertaining his situation, we will join the Duncan on the eastern coast, sail to Buenos Ayres, and with a detachment, organized by the major, can overcome all the Indians of the Argentine Plains." "Yes, yes, your lordship," answered Captain Mangles; "and I will add that this passage of the continent will be without peril." "Without peril, or fatigue," continued Paganel. "How many have already accomplished it who had scarcely our means for success, and whose courage was not sustained by the grandeur of the undertaking!" "Sir, sir," exclaimed Mary Grant, in a voice broken with emotion, "how can I thank a devotion that exposes you to so many dangers?" "Dangers!" cried Paganel. "Who uttered the word _danger_?" "Not I!" replied Robert Grant, with flashing eye and determined look. "Danger!" repeated Paganel; "does such a thing exist? Moreover, what is the question? A journey of scarcely three hundred and fifty leagues, since we shall proceed in a straight line; a journey which will be accomplished in a favorable latitude and climate; in short, a journey whose duration will be only a month at most. It is a mere walk." "Monsieur Paganel," asked Lady Helena at last, "do you think that, if the shipwrecked sailors have fallen into the power of the Indians, their lives have been spared?" "Certainly I do, madam. The Indians are not cannibals; far from that, one of my countrymen whom I knew in the Society was three years prisoner among the Indians of the Pampas. He suffered, was ill-treated, but at last gained the victory in this trying ordeal. A European is a useful person in these countries. The Indians know his value, and esteem him very highly." "Well then, there is no more hesitation," said Glenarvan; "we must start, and that, too, without delay. What course shall we take?" "An easy and agreeable one," replied Paganel. "A few mountains to begin with; then a gentle descent on the eastern slope of the Andes; and at last a level, grassy, sandy plain, a real garden." "Let us see the map," said the major. "Here it is, my dear MacNabb. We shall begin at the end of the thirty-seventh parallel on the coast of Chili. After passing through the capital of Araucania, we shall strike the Cordilleras, and descending their steep declivities across the Rio Colorado, we shall reach the Pampas. Passing the frontiers of Buenos Ayres, we shall continue our search until we reach the shores of the Atlantic." [Sidenote: A STROLL ACROSS THE COUNTRY.] Thus speaking and developing the programme of the expedition, Paganel did not even take the trouble to look at the map spread before him. And he had no need to; educated in the schools of Frézier, Molina, Humboldt, and Miers, his unerring memory could neither be deceived nor baffled. After finishing his plan, he added: "Therefore, my dear friends, the course is straight. In thirty days we shall accomplish it, and arrive before the Duncan on the eastern shore, since the westerly winds will delay her progress." "The Duncan then," said Captain Mangles, "will cross the thirty-seventh parallel between Cape Corrientes and Cape St. Antonio?" "Exactly." "And whom would you constitute the members of such an expedition?" asked Glenarvan. "The fewer the better. The only point is to ascertain the situation of Captain Grant, and not to engage in combat with the Indians. I think that Lord Glenarvan, as our chief, the major, who would yield his place to no one, your servant Jacques Paganel----" "And I!" cried Robert Grant. "Robert?" said Mary. "And why not?" answered Paganel. "Travels develop youth. We four, then, and three sailors of the Duncan----" "What," exclaimed Captain Mangles, "your lordship does not intercede for me?" "My dear fellow," replied Glenarvan, "we shall leave the ladies on board, the dearest objects we have in the world. Who would watch over them, if not the devoted captain of the Duncan?" "We cannot accompany you, then," said Lady Helena, whose eyes were dimmed by a mist of sadness. "My dear wife," replied Glenarvan, "our journey will be performed with unusual rapidity, our separation will be short, and----" [Illustration: The mate, Tom Austin, Wilson, a powerful fellow, and Mulready, were the fortunate ones.] [Sidenote: GOOD AFTERNOON!] "Yes, yes; I understand you," answered Lady Helena. "Go, then, and may you succeed in your enterprise." "Besides, this is not a journey," added Paganel. "What is it, then?" asked Lady Helena. "A passage, nothing more. We shall pass, that is all, like honest men, over the country and do all the good possible. '_Transire benefaciendo_' is our motto." With these words the discussion ended. The preparations were begun that very day, and it was resolved to keep the expedition secret, in order not to alarm the Indians. The 14th of October was fixed for the day of departure. When they came to choose the sailors who were to go, they all offered their services, and Glenarvan was forced to make a choice. He preferred to have them draw lots, that he might not mortify such brave men. This was accordingly done; and the mate, Tom Austin, Wilson, a powerful fellow, and Mulready, were the fortunate ones. Lord Glenarvan had displayed great energy in his preparations, for he wished to be ready at the day appointed; and he was. Captain Mangles likewise supplied his ship with coal, that he might put to sea at any moment. He wished to gain the Argentine shore before the travelers. Hence there was a real rivalry between Glenarvan and the captain, which was of advantage to both. At last, on the 14th of October, at the time agreed upon, every one was ready. At the moment of departure the passengers of the yacht assembled in the cabin. The Duncan was on the point of starting, and already her propeller was agitating the quiet waters of Talcahuana Bay. Glenarvan, Paganel, MacNabb, Robert Grant, Tom Austin, Wilson and Mulready, armed with carbines and Colt's revolvers, were preparing to leave the vessel. Guides and mules were waiting for them on shore. "It is time," said Lord Glenarvan at last. "Go, then, my husband!" replied Lady Helena, restraining her emotion. He pressed her to his breast, while Robert threw himself upon the neck of his sister. "And now, dear companions," said Jacques Paganel, "one last clasp of the hand to last us till we reach the shores of the Atlantic." It was not asking much, but these were clasps which would strengthen the hopes of the worthy geographer. They then returned to the deck, and the seven travelers left the vessel. They soon reached the wharf, which the yacht approached within less than half a cable's length. Lady Helena cried for the last time,-- "My friends, God help you!" "And he will help us, madam," answered Jacques Paganel; "for, I assure you, we shall help ourselves." "Forward!" shouted Captain Mangles to his engineer. "_En route_!" returned Glenarvan; and at the same instant that the travelers, giving reins to their animals, followed the road along the shore, the Duncan started again at full speed on the highway of the ocean. CHAPTER XI. TRAVELING IN CHILI. The native troop engaged by Glenarvan consisted of three men and a boy. The leader of the muleteers was an Englishman who had lived in the country for twenty years. His occupation was to let mules to travelers, and guide them across the passes of the Andes. Then he consigned them to the care of a "laqueano" (Argentine guide), who was familiar with the road over the Pampas. [Sidenote: THE PROCESSION FORMED.] This Englishman had not so forgotten his native tongue, in the company of mules and Indians, that he could not converse with the travelers. Hence it was easy for Glenarvan to make known his wishes, and for the muleteer to execute his orders, of which circumstance the former availed himself, since Paganel had not yet succeeded in making himself understood. This leader, or "catapaz," in the language of Chili, was assisted by two native peons and a boy of twelve. The peons had charge of the mules laden with the baggage of the party, and the boy led the madrina (little mare), which wore small bells, and went in advance of the other ten mules. The travelers were mounted on seven, and the catapaz on one, of these animals, while the two others carried the provisions and a few rolls of cloth designed to insure the good-will of the chiefs of the plains. The peons traveled on foot according to their custom. This journey in South America was, therefore, to be performed under the most favorable conditions of safety and speed. [Illustration] Crossing the Andes is not an ordinary journey. It cannot be undertaken without employing those hardy mules, of which the most preferable belong to the Argentine Republic. These excellent animals have attained in that country a development superior to their pristine quality and strength. They are not very particular about their food, drink only once a day, and easily make ten leagues in eight hours. There are no taverns on this route, from one ocean to the other. You eat dried meat, rice seasoned with allspice, and whatever game can be captured on the way. In the mountains the torrents, and in the plains the rivers, furnish water, generally flavored with a few drops of rum, of which each has a supply in an ox-horn called "chiffle." However, care must be taken not to indulge too much in alcoholic drinks, which are specially injurious in a region where the nervous system is peculiarly excited. As for your bedding, it consists merely of the native saddle called "recado." This saddle is made of sheep-skins tanned on one side and covered with wool on the other, and is supported by broad girths elaborately embroidered. A traveler wrapped in one of these warm coverings can brave with impunity the dampness of the nights, and enjoy the soundest repose. Glenarvan, who knew how to travel and conform to the customs of different countries, had adopted the Chilian costume for himself and his friends. Paganel and Robert, two children (a large and a small one), felt no pleasure in introducing their heads into the national poncho (a large blanket with a hole in the centre), and their legs into leathern stirrups. They would rather have seen their mules richly caparisoned, with the Arab bit in their mouths, a long bridle of braided leather for a whip, and their heads adorned with metal ornaments and the "alforjas" (double saddle-bags containing the provisions). [Sidenote: LAND AND WATER.] Paganel, always absent-minded, received three or four kicks from his excellent animal just as he was mounting. Once in the saddle, however, with his inseparable telescope in a sling and his feet confined in the stirrups, he confided himself to the sagacity of his beast, and had no reason to repent. As for young Robert, he showed from the first a remarkable capacity for becoming an excellent horseman. [Illustration] They started. The day was magnificent, the sky was perfectly clear, and the atmosphere sufficiently refreshed by the sea-breezes in spite of the heat of the sun. The little party followed at a rapid pace the winding shores of the bay, and made good progress the first day across the reeds of old dried marshes. Little was said. The parting farewells had left a deep impression upon the minds of all. They could still see the smoke of the Duncan as she gradually disappeared on the horizon. All were silent, except Paganel; this studious geographer kept asking himself questions, and answering them, in his new language. The catapaz was, moreover, quite a taciturn man, whose avocation had not made him loquacious. He scarcely spoke to his peons, for they understood their duty very well. Whenever a mule stopped, they urged him with a guttural cry. If this did not suffice, a good pebble thrown with sure aim overcame his obstinacy. If a girth gave way or a bridle was loosened, the peon, taking off his poncho, enveloped the head of the animal, which, when the injury was repaired, resumed its pace. The custom of the muleteers is to set out at eight o'clock in the morning after breakfast, and travel thus till it is time to rest at four o'clock in the afternoon. Glenarvan, accordingly, conformed to this custom. Precisely when the signal to halt was given by the catapaz, the travelers arrived at the city of Arauco, situated at the southern extremity of the bay, without having left the foam-washed shore of the ocean. They would have had to proceed twenty miles farther to the west to reach the limits of the thirty-seventh parallel; but Glenarvan's agents had already traversed that part of the coast without meeting with any signs of shipwreck. A new exploration became, therefore, useless, and it was decided that the city of Arauco should be chosen as their point of departure. From this their course was to be directed towards the east in a rigorously straight line. The little party entered the city and took up their quarters in the open court of a tavern, whose accommodations were still in a rudimentary state. While supper was preparing, Glenarvan, Paganel and the catapaz took a walk among the thatch-roofed houses. Except a church and the remains of a convent of Franciscans, Arauco presented nothing interesting. Glenarvan attempted to make some inquiries, but failed, while Paganel was in despair at not being able to make himself understood by the inhabitants. But, since they spoke Araucanian, his Spanish served him as little as Hebrew. [Sidenote: ONWARD, AND ONWARD STILL.] The next day, the madrina at the head, and the peons in the rear, the little troop resumed the line of the thirty-seventh parallel towards the east. They now crossed the fertile territory of Araucania, rich in vineyards and flocks. But gradually solitude ensued. Scarcely, from mile to mile, was there a hut of "rastreadores" (Indian horse-tamers). Now and then they came upon an abandoned relay-station, that only served as a shelter to some wanderer on the plains; and, by means of a ford, they crossed the Rio Tubal, the mountains visible in the distance. At four o'clock in the afternoon, after a journey of thirty-five miles, they halted in the open country under a group of giant myrtles. The mules were unharnessed, and left to graze at will upon the rich herbage of the prairie. The saddle-bags furnished the usual meat and rice, the pelions spread on the ground served as covering, the saddles as pillows, and each one found on these improvised beds a ready repose, while the peons and the catapaz watched in turn. As the weather continued pleasant, all the travelers, not excepting Robert, were still in good health; and, since the journey had begun under such favorable auspices, they thought it best to profit by it, and push on. The following day they advanced rapidly, crossed without accident Bell Rapids, and at evening encamped on the banks of the Rio Biobio. There were thirty-five miles more to travel before they were out of Chili. The country had not changed. It was still rich in amaryllis, violets, date-trees, and golden-flowered cactuses. A few animals, among others the ocelot, inhabited the thickets. A heron, a solitary owl, thrushes and snipes wary of the talons of the hawk, were the only representatives of the feathered tribe. Of the natives few were seen; only some "guassos" (degenerate children of the Indians and Spanish), galloping on horses which they lacerated with the gigantic spurs that adorned their naked feet, and passing like shadows. They met on the way no one who could inform them, and inquiries were therefore utterly impossible. [Sidenote: AN ASTONISHED CATAPAZ.] Glenarvan thought that Captain Grant, if prisoner of the Indians, must have been carried by them beyond the Andes. Their search could be successful only in the Pampas. They must be patient, and travel on swiftly and continuously. [Illustration: By means of a ford, they crossed the Rio Tubal, the mountains visible in the distance.] They advanced in the same order as before, which Robert with difficulty kept, for his eagerness led him to press forward, to the great annoyance of his animal. Nothing but a command from Glenarvan would keep the young boy at his place in the line. The country now became more uneven; and several hillocks indicated that they were approaching the mountains. Paganel still continued his study of Spanish. "What a language it is!" exclaimed he; "so full and sonorous!" "But you are making progress, of course?" replied Glenarvan. "Certainly, my dear lord. Ah! if there were only no accent! But, alas! there is one!" In studying this language, Paganel did not, however, neglect his geographical observations. In these, indeed, he was astonishingly clever, and could not have found his superior. When Glenarvan questioned the catapaz about some peculiarity of the country, his learned companion would always anticipate the answer of the guide, who then gazed at him with a look of amazement. That same day they met a road which crossed the line that they had hitherto pursued. Lord Glenarvan naturally asked its name of their guide, and Paganel as naturally answered,-- "The road from Yumbel to Los Angelos." Glenarvan looked at the catapaz. "Exactly," replied he. Then, addressing the geographer, he said,-- "You have traveled in this country?" "Certainly," replied Paganel gravely. "On a mule?" "No; in an arm-chair." The catapaz did not understand, for he shrugged his shoulders and returned to the head of the troop. At five o'clock in the afternoon they stopped in a shallow gorge, a few miles above the little town of Loja; and that night the travelers encamped at the foot of the first slopes of the Andes. CHAPTER XII. ELEVEN THOUSAND FEET ALOFT. The route through Chili had as yet presented no serious obstacles; but now the dangers that attend a journey across the mountains suddenly increased, the struggle with the natural difficulties was about to begin in earnest. An important question had to be decided before starting. By what pass could they cross the Andes with the least departure from the prescribed course? The catapaz was questioned on this subject. "I know," he replied, "of but two passes that are practicable in this part of the Andes." "Doubtless the pass of Arica," said Paganel, "which was discovered by Valdivia Mendoza." "Exactly." "And that of Villarica, situated to the south of Nevado." "You are right." "Well, my friend, these two passes have only one difficulty; they will carry us to the south, or the north, farther than we wish." "Have you another pass to propose?" asked the major. "Yes," replied Paganel; "the pass of Antuco." "Well," said Glenarvan; "but do you know this pass, catapaz?" [Sidenote: ATTAINING TO EMINENCE.] "Yes, my lord, I have crossed it, and did not propose it because it is only a cattle-track for the Indian herdsmen of the eastern slopes." "Never mind, my friend," continued Glenarvan; "where the herds of the Indians pass, we can also; and, since this will keep us in our course, let us start for the pass of Antuco." The signal for departure was immediately given, and they entered the valley of Los Lejos between great masses of crystalized limestone, and ascended a very gradual slope. Towards noon they had to pass around the shores of a small lake, the picturesque reservoir of all the neighboring streams which flowed into it. Above the lake extended vast "llanos," lofty plains, covered with grass, where the herds of the Indians grazed. Then they came upon a swamp which extended to the south and north, but which the instinct of the mules enabled them to avoid. Soon Fort Ballenare appeared on a rocky peak which it crowned with its dismantled walls. The ascent had already become abrupt and stony, and the pebbles, loosened by the hoofs of the mules, rolled under their feet in a rattling torrent. The road now became difficult, and even perilous. The steepness increased, the walls on either side approached each other more and more, while the precipices yawned frightfully. The mules advanced cautiously in single file, with their noses to the ground, scenting the way. Now and then, at a sudden turn, the madrina disappeared, and the little caravan was then guided by the distant tinkling of her bell. Sometimes, too, the capricious windings of the path would bend the column into two parallel lines, and the catapaz could talk to the peons, while a crevasse, scarcely two fathoms wide, but two hundred deep, formed an impassable abyss between them. Under these conditions it was difficult to distinguish the course. The almost incessant action of subterranean and volcanic agency changes the road, and the landmarks are never the same. Therefore the catapaz hesitated, stopped, looked about him, examined the form of the rocks, and searched on the crumbling stones for the tracks of Indians. [Illustration] Glenarvan followed in the steps of his guide. He perceived, he _felt_, his embarrassment, increasing with the difficulties of the way. He did not dare to question him, but thought that it was better to trust to the instinct of the muleteers and mules. For an hour longer the catapaz wandered at a venture, but always seeking the more elevated parts of the mountain. At last he was forced to stop short. They were at the bottom of a narrow valley,--one of those ravines that the Indians call "quebradas." A perpendicular wall of porphyry barred their exit. [Sidenote: CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN.] The catapaz, after searching vainly for a passage, dismounted, folded his arms, and waited. Glenarvan approached him. "Have you lost your way?" he asked. "No, my lord," replied the catapaz. "But we are not at the pass of Antuco?" "We are." "Are you not mistaken?" "I am not. Here are the remains of a fire made by the Indians, and the tracks left by their horses." "Well, they passed this way?" "Yes; but we cannot. The last earthquake has made it impracticable." "For mules," replied the major; "but not for men." "That is for you to decide," said the catapaz. "I have done what I could. My mules and I are ready to turn back, if you please, and search for the other passes of the Andes." "But that will cause a delay." "Of three days, at least." Glenarvan listened in silence to the words of the catapaz, who had evidently acted in accordance with his engagement. His mules could go no farther; but when the proposal was made to retrace their steps, Glenarvan turned towards his companions, and said,-- "Do you wish to go on?" "We will follow you," replied Tom Austin. "And even precede you," added Paganel. "What is it, after all? To scale a chain of mountains whose opposite slopes afford an unusually easy descent. This accomplished, we can find the Argentine laqueanos, who will guide us across the Pampas, and swift horses accustomed to travel over the plains. Forward, then, without hesitation." "Forward!" cried his companions. "You do not accompany us?" said Glenarvan to the catapaz. "I am the muleteer," he replied. "As you say." "Never mind," said Paganel; "on the other side of this wall we shall find the pass of Antuco again, and I will lead you to the foot of the mountain as directly as the best guide of the Andes." Glenarvan accordingly settled with the catapaz, and dismissed him, his peons, and his mules. The arms, the instruments, and the remaining provisions, were divided among the seven travelers. By common consent it was decided that the ascent should be undertaken immediately, and that, if necessary, they should travel part of the night. Around the precipice to the left wound a steep path that mules could not ascend. The difficulties were great; but, after two hours of fatigue and wandering, Glenarvan and his companions found themselves again in the pass of Antuco. They were now in that part of the Andes properly so called, not far from the main ridge of the mountains; but of the path traced out, of the pass, nothing could be seen. All this region had just been thrown into confusion by the recent earthquakes. They ascended all night, climbed almost inaccessible plateaus, and leaped over broad and deep crevasses. Their arms took the place of ropes, and their shoulders served as steps. The strength of Mulready and the skill of Wilson were often called into requisition. Many times, without their devotion and courage, the little party could not have advanced. Glenarvan never lost sight of young Robert, whose youth and eagerness led him to acts of rashness, while Paganel pressed on with all the ardor of a Frenchman. As for the major, he only moved as much as was necessary, no more, no less, and mounted the path by an almost insensible motion. Did he perceive that he had been ascending for several hours? It is not certain. Perhaps he imagined he was descending. [Sidenote: PRACTICING "EXCELSIOR."] At five o'clock in the morning the travelers had attained a height of seven thousand five hundred feet. They were now on the lower ridges, the last limit of arborescent vegetation. At this hour the aspect of these regions was entirely changed. Great blocks of glittering ice, of a bluish color in certain parts, rose on all sides, and reflected the first rays of the sun. [Illustration] The ascent now became very perilous. They no longer advanced without carefully examining the ice. Wilson had taken the lead, and with his foot tested the surface of the glaciers. His companions followed exactly in his footsteps, and avoided uttering a word, for the least sound might have caused the fall of the snowy masses suspended eight hundred feet above their heads. They had reached the region of shrubs, which, four hundred and fifty feet higher, gave place to grass and cactuses. At eleven thousand feet all traces of vegetation disappeared. The travelers had stopped only once to recruit their strength by a hasty repast, and with superhuman courage they resumed the ascent in the face of the ever-increasing dangers. [Illustration: Two hours more of terrible exertion followed. They kept ascending, in order to reach the highest summit of this part of the mountain.] [Sidenote: SOMEWHAT SERIOUS.] The strength of the little troop, however, in spite of their courage, was almost gone. Glenarvan, seeing the exhaustion of his companions, regretted having engaged in the undertaking. Young Robert struggled against fatigue, but could go no farther. Glenarvan stopped. "We must take a rest," said he, for he clearly saw that no one else would make this proposal. "Take a rest?" replied Paganel; "how? where? we have no shelter." "It is indispensable, if only for Robert." "No, my lord," replied the courageous child; "I can still walk--do not stop." "We will carry you, my boy," said Paganel, "but we must, at all hazards, reach the eastern slope. There, perhaps, we shall find some hut in which we can take refuge. I ask for two hours more of travel." "Do you all agree?" asked Glenarvan. "Yes," replied his companions. "I will take charge of the brave boy," added the equally brave Mulready. They resumed their march towards the east. Two hours more of terrible exertion followed. They kept ascending, in order to reach the highest summit of this part of the mountain. Whatever were the desires of these courageous men, the moment now came when the most valiant failed, and dizziness, that terrible malady of the mountains, exhausted not only their physical strength but their moral courage. It is impossible to struggle with impunity against fatigues of this kind. Soon falls became frequent, and those who fell could only advance by dragging themselves on their knees. Exhaustion was about to put an end to this too prolonged ascent; and Glenarvan was considering with terror the extent of the snow, the cold which in this fatal region was so much to be dreaded, the shadows that were deepening on the solitary peaks, and the absence of a shelter for the night, when the major stopped him, and, in a calm tone, said,-- "A hut!" [Illustration] CHAPTER XIII. A SUDDEN DESCENT. Any one but MacNabb would have passed by, around, or even over this hut a hundred times without suspecting its existence. A projection on the surface of the snow scarcely distinguished it from the surrounding rocks. It was necessary to uncover it; after half an hour of persistent labor, Wilson and Mulready had cleared away the entrance to the "casucha," and the little party stepped in. [Sidenote: A "RESTAURANT" REOPENED.] This casucha, constructed by the Indians, was made of adobes, a kind of bricks dried in the sun. Ten persons could easily find room inside, and, if its walls had not been sufficiently water-tight in the rainy season, at this time, at least, they were some protection against the severity of the cold. There was, besides, a sort of fireplace with a flue of bricks very poorly laid, which enabled them to kindle a fire, and thus withstand the external temperature. "Here is a shelter, at least," said Glenarvan, "even if it is not comfortable. Providence has led us hither, and we cannot do better than accept this fortune." "Why," replied Paganel, "it is a palace. It only wants sentries and courtiers. We shall get along admirably here." "Especially when a good fire is blazing on the hearth," said Tom Austin; "for, if we are hungry, we are none the less cold it seems to me; and, for my part, a good fagot would delight me more than a slice of venison." "Well, Tom," said Paganel, "we will try to find something combustible." "Something combustible on the top of the Andes?" said Mulready, shaking his head doubtfully. "Since a chimney has been made in this hut," replied the major, "there is probably something here to burn." "Our friend is right," added Glenarvan. "Prepare everything for supper; and I will play the part of wood-cutter." "I will accompany you with Wilson," said Paganel. "If you need me----," said Robert, rising. "No, rest yourself, my brave boy," replied Glenarvan. "You will be a man when others are only children." Glenarvan, Paganel, and Wilson went out of the hut. It was six o'clock in the evening. The cold was keen and cutting, in spite of the calmness of the air. The azure of the sky was already fading, and the sun shedding his last rays on the lofty peaks of the mountains. Reaching a hillock of porphyry, they scanned the horizon in every direction. They had now gained the summit of the Andes, which commanded an extended prospect. To the east the sides of the mountains declined by gentle gradations, down which they could see the peons sliding several hundred feet below. In the distance extended long lines of scattered rocks and stones that had been crowded back by glacial avalanches. The valley of the Colorado was already growing dim in the increasing twilight; the elevations of land, the crags and the peaks, illumined by the rays of the sun, gradually faded, and darkness covered the whole eastern slope of the Andes. Towards the north undulated a succession of ridges that mingled together insensibly. To the south, however, the view was magnificent; and, as night descended, the grandeur was inimitable. Looking down into the wild valley of Torbido, you saw Mount Antuco, whose yawning crater was two miles distant. The volcano, like some enormous monster, belched forth glowing smoke mingled with torrents of bright flame. The circle of the mountains that inclosed it seemed to be on fire. Showers of incandescent stones, clouds of reddish vapors, and streams of lava, united in glittering columns. A loud rumbling that increased every moment, and was followed by a dazzling flash, filled this vast circuit with its sharp reverberations, while the sun, his light gradually fading, disappeared as a star is extinguished in the shadows of the horizon. [Sidenote: FOOD BROUGHT TO THE DOOR.] Paganel and Glenarvan would have remained a long time to contemplate this magnificent struggle of the fires of earth with those of heaven, and the improvised wood-cutters were becoming admirers of nature; but Wilson, less enthusiastic, reminded them of their situation. Wood was wanting, it is true, but fortunately a scanty and dry moss clothed the rocks. An ample supply was taken, as well as of a plant whose roots were quite combustible. This precious fuel was brought to the hut, and piled in the fire-place; but it was difficult to kindle the fire, and especially to keep it burning. When the viands were prepared, each one drank several mouthfuls of hot coffee with delight. As for the dried meat, it appeared a little unsatisfactory, which provoked on the part of Paganel a remark as useless as it was true. "Indeed," said he, "I must confess a llama-steak would not be bad just now." "What!" cried the major, "are you not content with our supper, Paganel?" "Enchanted, my good major; but I acknowledge a plate of venison would be welcome." "You are a sybarite," said MacNabb. "I accept the title, major; but you yourself, whatever you may say, would not be displeased with a beefsteak." "Probably not." "And if you were asked to take your post at the cannon, you would go without a word." "Certainly: and, although it pleases you----" His companions had not heard any more, when distant and prolonged howls were heard. They were not the cries of scattered animals, but those of a herd approaching with rapidity. Would Providence, after furnishing them with shelter, give them their supper? Such was the thought of the geographer. But Glenarvan humbled his joy somewhat by observing that the animals of the Andes were never met with in so elevated a region. "Whence comes the noise, then?" asked Tom Austin. "Hear how it approaches!" "An avalanche!" said Mulready. "Impossible! these are real howls!" replied Paganel. "Let us see," cried Glenarvan. "Let us see like hunters," answered the major, as he took his rifle. All rushed out of the hut. Night had come. It was dark, but the sky was studded with stars. The moon had not yet shown her disk. The peaks on the north and east were lost in the darkness, and the eye only perceived the grotesque outlines of a few towering rocks. The howls--those of terrified animals--were redoubled. They came from the dark side of the mountain. What was going on? Suddenly there came a furious avalanche, but one of living creatures, mad with terror. The whole plateau seemed to tremble. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of these animals. Were they wild beasts of the Pampas, or only llamas? The whole party had only time to throw themselves to the earth, while this living whirlwind passed a few feet above them. At this moment the report of a fire-arm was heard. The major had shot at a venture. He thought that a large animal fell a few paces from him, while the whole herd, carried along by their resistless motion, disappeared down the slopes illumined by the volcano. "Ah, I have them!" cried a voice, that of Paganel. "What have you?" asked Glenarvan. "My glasses, to be sure!" "You are not wounded?" "No, a little kick,--but by what?" "By this," replied the major, dragging after him the animal he had shot. Each one hastened to gain the hut; and by the light of the fire MacNabb's prize was examined. It was a pretty animal, resembling a little camel without a hump. It had a small head, flat body, long legs and claws, fine coffee-colored hair, and its breast was spotted with white. Scarcely had Paganel looked at it when he exclaimed,-- "It is a guanaco!" "What is that?" asked Glenarvan. "An animal that eats itself." "And is it good?" [Sidenote: "A DISH FOR THE GODS."] "Delicious! a dish for the gods! I knew well that you would like fresh meat for supper. And what meat this is! But who will dress the animal?" "I will," said Wilson. "Well, I will engage to broil it," replied Paganel. "You are a cook, then, Monsieur Paganel?" said Robert. "Certainly, my boy. A Frenchman is always a cook." In a little while Paganel placed large slices of meat on the coals, and, in a short time, served up to his companions this appetizing viand. No one hesitated, but each attacked it ravenously. To the great amazement of the geographer, a general grimace accompanied by a "pwah!" followed the first mouthful. "It is horrible!" said one. "It is not eatable!" replied another. The poor geographer, whatever was the difficulty, was forced to agree that this steak was not acceptable even to starving men. They therefore began to launch jokes at him, and deride his "dish for the gods," while he himself sought a reason for this unaccountable result. "I have it!" he cried. "I have it!" "Is the meat too old?" asked MacNabb, calmly. "No, my intolerant major; but it has traveled too much. How could I forget that?" "What do you mean?" asked Tom Austin. "I mean that the animal is not good unless killed when at rest. I can affirm from the taste that it has come from a distance, and, consequently, the whole herd." "You are certain of this?" said Glenarvan. "Absolutely so." "But what event could have terrified these animals so, and driven them at a time when they ought to be peacefully sleeping in their lairs." "As to that, my dear Glenarvan," said Paganel, "it is impossible for me to say. If you believe me, let us search no farther. For my part I am dying for want of sleep. Let us retire, major!" "Very well, Paganel." Thereupon each wrapped himself in his poncho, the fuel was replenished for the night, and soon all but Glenarvan were buried in profound repose. He alone did not sleep. A secret uneasiness held him in a state of wakeful fatigue. He could not help thinking of that herd, flying in one common direction, of their inexplicable terror. They could not have been pursued by wild beasts: at that height there were scarcely any, and yet fewer hunters. What fright had driven them over the abysses of Antuco, and what was the cause of it? He thought of their strange situation, and felt a presentiment of coming danger. However, under the influence of a partial drowsiness, his ideas gradually modified, and fear gave place to hope. He saw himself in anticipation, on the morrow, on the plain at the foot of the Andes. There his actual search was to begin; and success was not, perhaps, far distant. He thought of Captain Grant and his two sailors, delivered from a cruel slavery. These images passed rapidly before his mind, every instant interrupted by a flash of fire, a spark, a flame, illumining the faces of his sleeping companions, and casting a flickering shadow over the walls of the hut. Then his presentiments returned with more vividness, while he listened vaguely to the external sounds so difficult to explain on these solitary summits. At one moment he thought he heard distant rumblings, dull and threatening like the rollings of thunder. These sounds could be caused only by a tempest, raging on the sides of the mountain. He wished to convince himself, and left the hut. The moon had risen, and the sky was clear and calm. Not a cloud was to be seen either above or below, only now and then the moving shadows of the flames of the volcano. At the zenith twinkled thousands of stars, while the rumblings still continued. They seemed to approach, and run along the chain of the mountains. [Illustration: The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the crash of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered all communication with each other impossible.] Glenarvan returned more uneasy than before, seeking to divine what relation there was between these subterranean noises and the flight of the guanacos. He looked at his watch; it was two o'clock. However, having no certain knowledge of immediate danger, he did not wake his companions, whom fatigue held in a deep repose, but fell himself into a heavy sleep that lasted several hours. All at once a violent crash startled him to his feet. It was a deafening roar, like the irregular noise of innumerable artillery wagons rolling over a hollow pavement. Glenarvan suddenly felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. He saw the hut sway and start open. "Look out!" he cried. His companions, awakened and thrown into confusion, were hurried down a rapid descent. The day was breaking, and the scene was terrible. The form of the mountains suddenly changed, their tops were truncated, the tottering peaks disappeared, as if a pitfall had opened at their base. A mass, several miles in extent, became detached entire, and slid towards the plain. "An earthquake!" cried Paganel. He was not mistaken. It was one of those phenomena frequent on the mountain frontier of Chili. This portion of the globe is disturbed by subterranean fires, and the volcanoes of this chain afford only insufficient outlets for the confined vapors. In the meantime the plateau, to which seven stunned and terrified men clung by the tufts of moss, glided with the rapidity of an express. Not a cry was possible, not a movement of escape. They could not hear each other. The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the crash of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered all communication with each other impossible. [Sidenote: A STEEP GRADIENT.] At one time the mass would slide without jolts or jars; at another, seized with a pitching and rolling motion like the deck of a vessel shaken by the billows, it would run along the edge of the abysses into which the fragments of the mountain fell, uproot the trees of centuries, and level with the precision of an enormous scythe all the inequalities of the eastern slope. How long this indescribable scene lasted, no one could tell; in what abyss all were to be engulfed, no one was able to foresee. Whether they were all there alive, or whether one of them was lying at the bottom of a crevasse, no one could say. Stunned by the swiftness of the descent, chilled by the keenness of the cold, blinded by the whirlwinds of snow, they panted, exhausted and almost inanimate, and only clung to the rocks by the supreme instinct of preservation. All at once a shock of unusual violence arrested their gliding vehicle. They were thrown forward and rolled upon the last declivities of the mountains. The plateau had stopped short. [Illustration] For a few moments no one stirred. At last one rose, deafened by the shock, but yet firm. It was the major. He shook off the snow that blinded him, and looked around. His companions were not very far from one another. He counted them. All but one lay on the ground. The missing one was Robert Grant. CHAPTER XIV. PROVIDENTIALLY RESCUED. The eastern side of the Andes consists of long slopes, declining gradually to the plain upon which a portion of the mass had suddenly stopped. In this new country, garnished with rich pastures and adorned with magnificent vegetation, an incalculable number of apple-trees, planted at the time of the conquest, glowed with their golden fruit and formed true forests. It seemed as if a part of beautiful Normandy had been cast into these monotonous regions, and under any other circumstances the eye of a traveler would have been struck with this sudden transition from desert to oasis, from snowy peak to verdant prairie, from winter to summer. The earth had regained an absolute immobility, and the earthquake had ceased. But without doubt the subterranean forces were still exerting their devastating action at a distance, for the chain of the Andes is always agitated or trembling in some part. This time, however, the commotion had been of extreme violence. The outline of the mountains was entirely changed; a new view of summits, crests, and peaks was defined against the azure of the sky; and the guide of the Pampas would have sought in vain for his accustomed landmarks. [Sidenote: COMEDY CHANGED TO TRAGEDY.] A wonderfully beautiful day was breaking. The rays of the sun, issuing from their watery bed in the Atlantic, glittered over the Argentine plains and were already silvering the waves of the other ocean. It was eight o'clock in the morning. Glenarvan and his companions, revived by the aid of the major, gradually recovered consciousness. Indeed, they had only undergone a severe giddiness. The mountain was descended, and they would have applauded a means of locomotion which had been entirely at nature's expense, if one of the feeblest, Robert Grant, had not been missing. Every one loved the courageous boy: Paganel was particularly attached to him; the major, too, in spite of his coldness; but especially Glenarvan. When the latter learned of Robert's disappearance, he was desperate. He pictured to himself the poor child engulfed in some abyss, and calling vainly for him whom he considered his second father. "My friends," said he, scarcely restraining his tears, "we must search for him, we must find him! We cannot abandon him thus! Every valley, every precipice, every abyss must be explored to the very bottom! You shall tie a rope around me and let me down! I will do it, you hear me, I will! May Heaven grant that Robert is still living! Without him, how could we dare find his father? What right have we to save Captain Grant, if his rescue costs the life of his child?" His companions listened without speaking. They felt that he was seeking in their looks some ray of hope, and they lowered their eyes. "Well," continued Glenarvan, "you understand me; you are silent! You have no more hope!" A few moments of silence ensued, when MacNabb inquired: "Who of you, my friends, remembers when Robert disappeared?" To this question no answer was given. "At least," continued the major, "you can tell with whom the boy was during the descent." "With me," replied Wilson. "Well, at what moment did you last see him with you? Recall the circumstances. Speak." "This is all that I remember. Robert Grant was at my side, his hand grasping a tuft of moss, less than two minutes before the shock that caused our descent." "Less than two minutes? Remember, Wilson, the minutes may have seemed long to you. Are you not mistaken?" "I think not--yes, it is so, less than two minutes." "Well," said MacNabb; "and was Robert on your right, or on your left?" "On my left. I remember that his poncho flapped in my face." "And where were you situated in reference to us?" "On the left also." "Then Robert could have disappeared only on this side," said the major, turning towards the mountain, and pointing to the right. "And also considering the time that has elapsed since his disappearance, the child must have fallen at a high part of the mountain. There we must search, and, by taking different ways, we shall find him." Not a word more was said. The six men, scaling the declivities of the mountain, stationed themselves at different heights along the ridge, and began their search. They kept always to the right of their line of descent, sounding the smallest fissures, descending to the bottom of precipices half filled with fragments of the mass; and more than one came forth with his garments in shreds, his feet and hands lacerated, at the peril of his life. [Sidenote: A SLEEPLESS NIGHT.] All this portion of the Andes, except a few inaccessible plateaus, was carefully explored for many hours without one of these brave men thinking of rest. But it was a vain search. The child had not only found death in the mountains, but also a tomb, the stone of which, made of some enormous rock, was forever closed over him. Towards noon Glenarvan and his companions, bruised and exhausted, found themselves again in the valley. The former was a prey to the most violent grief. He scarcely spoke, and from his lips issued only these words, broken by sighs,--"I will not go; I will not go!" Each understood this determination, and respected it. "We will wait," said Paganel to the major and Tom Austin. "Let us take some rest, and recruit our strength. We shall need it, whether to begin our search or continue our journey." "Yes," replied MacNabb, "let us remain, since Edward wishes it. He hopes: but what does he hope?" "God knows!" said Tom Austin. "Poor Robert!" replied Paganel, wiping his eyes. Trees thronged the valley in great numbers. The major chose a group of lofty carob-trees, under which was established a temporary encampment. A few blankets, the arms, a little dried meat, and some rice, was all that remained to the travelers. A stream, which flowed not far off, furnished water, still muddy from the effects of the avalanche. Mulready kindled a fire on the grass, and soon presented to his master a warm and comforting repast. But Glenarvan refused it, and remained stretched on his poncho in profound prostration. Thus the day passed. Night came, clear and calm as the preceding. While his companions lay motionless, although wakeful, Glenarvan reascended the mountain. He listened closely, still hoping that a last cry might reach him. He ventured alone and afar, pressing his ear to the ground, listening, restraining the beatings of his heart, and calling in a voice of despair. The whole night long he wandered on the mountain. Sometimes Paganel, sometimes the major, followed him, ready to help him on the slippery summits, or on the edge of the chasms, where his rashness led him. But his last efforts were fruitless; and to the cry of "Robert! Robert!" a thousand times repeated, echo alone replied. Day dawned, and it was necessary to go in search of Glenarvan on the mountain, and bring him in spite of his reluctance back to the encampment. His despair was terrible. Who would now dare to speak to him of departure, and propose leaving this fatal valley? But the provisions were failing. They would soon meet the Argentine guides and horses to take them across the Pampas. To retrace their steps was more difficult than to advance. Besides, the Atlantic was the place appointed to meet the Duncan. All these reasons did not permit a longer delay, and it was for the interest of all that the hour for departure should be no longer deferred. MacNabb attempted to draw Glenarvan from his grief. For a long time he spoke without his friend appearing to hear him. Glenarvan shook his head. At length, words escaped his lips. "Go?" said he. "Yes, go." "One hour more!" "Well, one hour more," replied the worthy major. When it had passed, Glenarvan asked for another. You would have thought a condemned man was praying for his life. Thus it continued till about noon, when MacNabb, by the advice of all, would no longer hesitate, and told Glenarvan that they must go, the lives of his companions depended upon a prompt decision. "Yes, yes," replied Glenarvan, "we will go, we will go!" But as he spoke his eyes were turned away from MacNabb. His gaze was fixed upon a black speck in the air. Suddenly his hand rose, and remained immovable, as if petrified. "There! there!" cried he. "See! see!" [Illustration: The bird had raised him by his garments, and was now hovering in mid-air at least one hundred and fifty feet above the encampment. He had perceived the travelers, and was violently striving to escape with his heavy prey.] All eyes were raised towards the sky, in the direction so imperatively indicated. At that moment the black speck visibly increased. It was a bird hovering at a measureless height. "A condor," said Paganel. "Yes, a condor," replied Glenarvan. "Who knows? He is coming, he is descending! Let us wait." What did Glenarvan hope? Was his reason wandering? He had said, "Who knows?" Paganel was not mistaken. The condor became more distinct every moment. This magnificent bird, long revered by the Incas, is the king of the southern Andes. In these regions he attains an extraordinary development. His strength is prodigious; and he often precipitates oxen to the bottom of the abysses. He attacks sheep, goats, and calves wandering on the plain, and carries them in his talons to a great height. Sometimes he hovers at an elevation beyond the limit of human vision, and there this king of the air surveys, with a piercing look, the regions below, and distinguishes the faintest objects with a power of sight that is the astonishment of naturalists. What had the condor seen? A corpse,--that of Robert Grant? "Who knows?" repeated Glenarvan, without losing sight of him. The enormous bird approached, now hovering, now falling with the swiftness of inert bodies. He soon described circles of larger extent, and could be perfectly distinguished. He measured fifteen feet across his wings, which supported him in the air almost without motion, for it is the peculiarity of these great birds to sail with a majestic calmness unlike all others of the winged tribes. The major and Wilson had seized their rifles, but Glenarvan stopped them with a gesture. The condor was approaching in the circles of his flight a sort of inaccessible plateau a quarter of a mile distant. He was turning with a vertical rapidity, opening and closing his formidable claws, and shaking his cartilaginous neck. [Sidenote: SOMETHING WORSE.] "There! there!" cried Glenarvan. Then suddenly a thought flashed through his mind. "If Robert is still living!" exclaimed he, with a cry of terror, "this bird! Fire, my friends, fire!" But he was too late. The condor had disappeared behind the lofty boulders. A second passed that seemed an eternity. Then the enormous bird reappeared, heavily laden, and rising slowly. A cry of horror was uttered. In the claws of the condor an inanimate body was seen suspended and dangling. It was Robert Grant. The bird had raised him by his garments, and was now hovering in mid-air at least one hundred and fifty feet above the encampment. He had perceived the travelers, and was violently striving to escape with his heavy prey. [Illustration] "May Robert's body be dashed upon these rocks," cried Glenarvan, "rather than serve----" He did not finish, but, seizing Wilson's rifle, attempted to take aim at the condor. But his arm trembled; he could not sight the piece. His eyes were dimmed. "Let me try," said the major. With clear eye, steady hand, and motionless body, he aimed at the bird, that was already three hundred feet above him. But he had not pressed the trigger, when a report resounded in the valley. A light smoke curled up between two rocks, and the condor, shot in the head, fell, slowly turning, sustained by his broad outspread wings. He had not released his prey, and at last reached the ground, ten paces from the banks of the stream. "Quick! quick!" said Glenarvan; and without seeking whence this providential shot had come, he rushed towards the condor. His companions closely followed him. [Illustration] [Sidenote: "THE LOST IS FOUND."] When they arrived the bird was dead, and the body of Robert was hidden under its great wings. Glenarvan threw himself upon the child, released him from the talons of the condor, stretched him on the grass, and pressed his ear to his breast. Never did a wilder cry of joy issue from human lips than when Glenarvan rose, exclaiming: "He lives! he lives!" In an instant Robert was stripped of his garments, and his face bathed with fresh water. He made a movement, opened his eyes, looked around, and uttered a few words: "You, my lord--my father!----" Glenarvan could not speak. Emotion stifled him, and, kneeling, he wept beside this child so miraculously saved. CHAPTER XV. THALCAVE. After the great danger that he had just escaped, Robert incurred another, no less great,--that of being overwhelmed with caresses. However feeble he was still, not one of these good people could refrain from pressing him to his heart. But it must be confessed that these well-meant embraces are not fatal, for the boy did not die. When his rescue was certain, thought reverted to his rescuer, and the major very naturally thought of looking around him. Fifty paces from the stream, a man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on one of the first ledges of the mountain. A long gun lay at his feet. This individual, who had so suddenly appeared, had broad shoulders, and long hair tied with leathern thongs. His height exceeded six feet, and his bronzed face was red between his eyes and mouth, black below his eyelids, and white on his forehead. After the manner of the Patagonians of the frontiers, the native wore a splendid cloak, decorated with red arabesques, made of the skin of a guanaco, its silky fur turned outward, and sewed with ostrich-tendons. Under his cloak a tippet of fox-skin encircled his neck and terminated in a point in front. At his girdle hung a little bag containing the colors with which he painted his face. His leggings were of ox-hide, and fastened to the ankle with straps regularly crossed. The figure of this Patagonian was fine, and his face denoted real intelligence in spite of the colors that adorned (!) it. He waited in an attitude full of dignity, and, seeing him so motionless and stern on his pedestal of rocks, you would have taken him for a statue. The major, as soon as he perceived him, pointed him out to Glenarvan, who hastened towards him. The Patagonian took two steps forward; Glenarvan took his hand, and pressed it. There was in the latter's look, in his physiognomy, such a feeling, such an expression of gratitude, that the native could not mistake it. He inclined his head gently, and uttered a few words that neither the major nor his friend could understand. The Patagonian, after regarding the strangers attentively, now changed the language; but whatever it was, this new idiom was no better understood than the first. However, certain expressions which he used struck Glenarvan. They seemed to belong to the Spanish language, of which he knew several common words. "Spanish?" said he. The Patagonian nodded. "Well," said the major, "this is our friend Paganel's business. It is fortunate that he thought of learning Spanish." Paganel was called. He came at once and with all the grace of a Frenchman saluted the Patagonian, to which the latter paid no attention. The geographer was informed of the state of affairs, and was only too glad to use his diligently-acquired knowledge. [Sidenote: SOMETHING WRONG.] "Exactly," said he. And opening his mouth widely in order to articulate better, he said, in his best Spanish,-- "You--are--a--brave--man." The native listened, but did not answer. "He does not understand," said the geographer. "Perhaps you do not pronounce well," replied the major. "Very true! Curse the pronunciation!" And again Paganel began, but with no better success. "I will change the expression," said he. And pronouncing with magisterial slowness, he uttered these words,-- "A--Patagonian,--doubtless?" The native remained mute as before. "Answer!" added Paganel. The Patagonian did not reply. "Do--you--understand?" cried Paganel, violently enough to damage his organs of speech. It was evident that the Indian did not understand, for he answered, but in Spanish,-- "I do not understand." It was Paganel's turn now to be astonished, and he hastily put on his glasses, like one irritated. "May I be hanged," said he, "if I understand a word of this infernal jargon! It is certainly Araucanian." "No," replied Glenarvan; "this man answered in Spanish." And, turning to the Patagonian, he repeated,-- "Spanish?" "Yes," replied the native. Paganel's surprise became amazement. The major and Glenarvan looked at him quizzingly. "Ah, my learned friend!" said the major, while a half smile played about his lips, "you have committed one of those blunders peculiar to you." "What!" cried the geographer, starting. "Yes, it is plain that this Patagonian speaks Spanish." "He?" [Illustration: A man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on one of the first ledges of the mountain. This individual had broad shoulders, and long hair tied with leathern thongs.] [Sidenote: A PENINSULAR BABEL.] "Yes. By mistake you have learnt another language, while thinking that you studied----" MacNabb did not finish. A loud "Oh!" from the geographer, accompanied by shrugs of the shoulders, cut him short. "Major, you are going a little too far," said Paganel in a very dry tone. "To be sure, since you do not understand." "I do not understand because this native speaks so badly!" answered the geographer, who began to be impatient. "That is to say, he speaks badly, because you do not understand," returned the major, calmly. "MacNabb," said Glenarvan, "that is not a probable supposition. However abstracted our friend Paganel may be, we cannot suppose that his blunder was to learn one language for another." "Now, my dear Edward, or rather you, my good Paganel, explain to me what the difficulty is." "I will not explain," replied Paganel, "I insist. Here is the book in which I practice daily the difficulties of the Spanish language! Examine it, major, and you will see whether I impose upon you." So saying, Paganel groped in his numerous pockets. After searching a few moments, he drew forth a volume in a very bad state, and presented it with an air of assurance. The major took the book, and looked at it. "Well, what work is this?" he asked. "The Lusiad," replied Paganel; "an admirable poem which----" "The Lusiad!" cried Glenarvan. "Yes, my friend, the Lusiad of the immortal Camoëns, nothing more or less." "Camoëns!" repeated Glenarvan; "but, unfortunate friend, Camoëns was a Portuguese! It is Portuguese that you have been studying for six weeks." "Camoëns! Lusiad! Portuguese!" Paganel could say no more. His eyes wandered, while a peal of Homeric laughter rang in his ears. The Patagonian did not wink; he waited patiently for the explanation of this event, which was totally incomprehensible to him. "Insensate! fool!" cried Paganel, at last. "What! is it so? Is it not a mere joke? Have I done this? It is the confusion of languages, as at Babel. My friends! my friends! to start for India and arrive at Chili! to learn Spanish and speak Portuguese! this is too much, and, if it continues, I shall some day throw myself out of the window instead of my cigar." To hear Paganel take his blunder thus, to see his comical actions, it was impossible to keep serious. Besides, he set the example himself. "Laugh, my friends," said he, "laugh with a will! you cannot laugh as much as I do at myself." And he uttered the most formidable peal of laughter that ever issued from the mouth of a geographer. "But we are none the less without an interpreter," said the major. "Oh, do not be troubled," replied Paganel. "The Portuguese and Spanish resemble each other so much that I made a mistake. However, this very resemblance will soon enable me to rectify my error, and in a short time I will thank this worthy Patagonian in the language he speaks so well." Paganel was right, for he could soon exchange a few words with the native. He even learned that his name was Thalcave, a word which signifies in Araucanian "the thunderer." This surname was doubtless given to him for his skill in the use of fire-arms. [Sidenote: BETTER PROSPECTS.] But Glenarvan was particularly rejoiced to discover that the Patagonian was a guide, and, moreover, a guide of the Pampas. There was, therefore, something so providential in this meeting that the success of the enterprise seemed already an accomplished fact, and no one any longer doubted the rescue of Captain Grant. In the meantime the travelers and the Patagonian had returned to Robert. The latter stretched his arms towards the native, who, without a word, placed his hand upon his head. He examined the child and felt his wounded limbs. Then, smiling, he went and gathered on the banks of the stream a few handfuls of wild celery, with which he rubbed the boy's body. Under this treatment, performed with an extreme gentleness, the child felt his strength revive, and it was plain that a few hours would suffice to restore him. It was therefore decided that that day and the following night should be passed at the encampment. Besides, two important questions remained to be settled--food, and means of conveyance. Provisions and mules were both wanting. Fortunately Thalcave solved the difficulty. This guide, who was accustomed to conduct travelers along the Patagonian frontiers, and was one of the most intelligent baqueanos of the country, engaged to furnish Glenarvan all that his little party needed. He offered to take him to a "tolderia" (encampment) of Indians, about four miles distant, where they would find everything necessary for the expedition. This proposal was made partly by gestures, partly by Spanish words which Paganel succeeded in understanding. It was accepted, and Glenarvan and his learned friend, taking leave of their companions, reascended the stream under the guidance of the Patagonian. They proceeded at a good pace for an hour and a half, taking long strides to keep up to the giant Thalcave. All the region was charming, and of a rich fertility. The grassy pastures succeeded each other, and could easily have fed thousands of cattle. Large ponds, united by a winding chain of streams, gave these plains a verdant moisture. Black-headed swans sported on the mirror-like surface, and disputed the empire of the waters with numberless ostriches that gamboled over the plains, while the brilliant feathered tribes were in wonderful variety. [Illustration] Jacques Paganel proceeded from admiration to ecstasy. Exclamations of delight continually escaped his lips, to the astonishment of the Patagonian, who thought it very natural that there should be birds in the air, swans on the lakes, and grass on the prairies. The geographer had no reason to regret his walk, or complain of its length. He scarcely believed himself started, or that the encampment would soon come in sight. This tolderia was at the bottom of a narrow valley among the mountains. Here in huts of branches lived thirty wandering natives, grazing large herds of milch cows, sheep, cattle and horses. Thus they roamed from one pasture to another, always finding a repast ready for their four-footed companions. [Sidenote: GLENARVAN GOING TO MARKET.] Thalcave took upon himself the negotiation, which was not long. In return for seven small Argentine horses, all saddled, a hundred pounds of dried meat, a few measures of rice, and some leathern bottles for water, the Indians received twenty ounces of gold, the value of which they perfectly understood. Glenarvan would have bought another horse for the Patagonian, but he intimated that it was unnecessary. [Illustration] The bargain concluded, Glenarvan took leave of his new "providers," as Paganel expressed it, and returned to the encampment. His arrival was welcomed by cries of joy at sight of the provisions and horses. Every one ate with avidity. Robert partook of some nourishment; he had almost entirely regained his strength, and the remainder of the day was passed in perfect rest. Various subjects were alluded to: the absent dear ones, the Duncan, Captain Mangles, his brave crew, and Harry Grant who was, perhaps, not far distant. As for Paganel, he did not leave the Indian. He became Thalcave's shadow, and could not remain quiet in the presence of a real Patagonian, in comparison with whom he would have passed for a dwarf. He overwhelmed the grave Indian with Spanish phrases, to which the latter quietly listened. The geographer studied this time without a book, and was often heard repeating words aloud. "If I do not get the accent," said he to the major, "you must not be angry with me. Who would have thought that one day a Patagonian would teach me Spanish!" CHAPTER XVI. NEWS OF THE LOST CAPTAIN. At eight o'clock the next morning Thalcave gave the signal for departure. The slope was gradual, and the travelers had only to descend a gentle declivity to the sea. When the Patagonian declined the horse that Glenarvan offered him, the latter thought that he preferred to go on foot, according to the custom of certain guides; and indeed, his long legs ought to have made walking easy. But he was mistaken. At the moment of departure Thalcave whistled in a peculiar manner. Immediately a magnificent Argentine horse, of superb form, issued from a small wood near by, and approached at the call of his master. The animal was perfectly beautiful. His brown color indicated a sound, spirited and courageous beast. He had a small and elegantly poised head, widely opening nostrils, a fiery eye, large hams, swelling withers, broad breast, long pasterns, in short, all the qualities that constitute strength and suppleness. The major, like a perfect horseman, admired unreservedly this specimen of the horses of the plains. This beautiful creature was called Thaouka, which means "bird" in the Patagonian language, and he justly merited this appellation. [Sidenote: A FRESH START.] When Thalcave was in the saddle, the horse pranced with spirited grace, and the Patagonian, a skillful rider, was magnificent to behold. His outfit comprised two weapons of the chase, the "bolas" and the lasso. The bolas consists of three balls tied together by a leathern string, which are fastened to the front of the saddle. The Indians frequently throw them the distance of a hundred paces at the animal or enemy that they are pursuing, and with such precision that they twist about their legs and bring them to the ground. It is, therefore, in their hands a formidable instrument, and they handle it with surprising dexterity. The lasso, on the contrary, does not leave the hand that wields it. It consists simply of a leathern thong thirty feet in length, terminating in a slip-noose which works upon an iron ring. The right hand throws the slip-noose, while the left hand holds the remainder of the lasso, the end of which is firmly tied to the saddle. A long carbine in a sling completed the Patagonian's armament. Thalcave, without observing the admiration caused by his natural grace, ease and courage, took the lead, and the party advanced, now at a gallop, and now at a walk, for their horses seemed entirely unaccustomed to trotting. Robert mounted with much boldness, and speedily convinced Glenarvan of his ability to keep his seat. On issuing from the gorges of the Andes, they encountered a great number of sand-ridges, called "medanos," real waves incessantly agitated by the wind, when the roots of the herbage did not confine them to the earth. This sand is of an extreme fineness; and, at the least breath, they saw it float away in light clouds, or form regular sand-columns which rose to a considerable height. This spectacle caused pleasure as well as annoyance to the eyes. Pleasure, for nothing was more curious than these columns, wandering over the plain, struggling, mingling, sinking and rising in inexpressible confusion; and annoyance, since an impalpable dust emanated from these innumerable medanos and penetrated the eyelids, however tightly they were closed. [Illustration] This phenomenon continued during a great part of the day. Nevertheless, they advanced rapidly, and towards six o'clock the Andes, forty miles distant, presented a darkish aspect already fading in the mists of the evening. The travelers were a little fatigued with their journey, and, therefore, saw with pleasure the approach of the hour for retiring. They encamped on the shores of a turbulent stream, enclosed by lofty red cliffs. Toward noon of the next day, the sun's rays became very oppressive, and at evening a line of clouds on the horizon indicated a change in the weather. The Patagonian could not be deceived, and pointed out to the geographer the western portion of the sky. "Good, I know," said Paganel, and addressing his companions: "A change in the weather is about to take place. We shall have a 'pampero.'" [Sidenote: TALKING LIKE A BOOK.] He explained that this pampero is frequent on the Argentine Plains. It is a very dry wind from the southwest. Thalcave was not mistaken, and during the night, which was quite uncomfortable for people sheltered with a simple poncho, the wind blew with great violence. The horses lay down on the ground, and the men near them in a close group. Glenarvan feared they would be delayed if the storm continued; but Paganel reassured him after consulting his barometer. "Ordinarily," said he, "this wind creates tempests, which last for three days; but when the barometer rises as it does now, you are free from these furious hurricanes in a few hours. Be assured, then, my dear friend; at break of day the sky will have resumed its usual clearness." "You talk like a book, Paganel," replied Glenarvan. "And I am one," replied Paganel, "which you are free to consult as much as you please." He was not mistaken. At one o'clock in the morning the wind suddenly subsided, and every one was able to enjoy an invigorating sleep. The next morning they rose bright and fresh, especially Paganel, who displayed great cheerfulness and animation. During this passage across the continent, Lord Glenarvan watched with scrupulous attention for the approach of the natives. He wished to question them concerning Captain Grant, by the aid of the Patagonian, with whom Paganel had begun to converse considerably. But they followed a path little frequented by the Indians, for the trails over the Pampas, which lead from the Argentine Republic to the Andes, are situated too far to the north. If by chance a wandering horseman appeared in the distance, he fled rapidly away, little caring to come in contact with strangers. However, although Glenarvan, in the interest of his search, regretted the absence of the Indians, an incident took place which singularly justified the interpretation of the document. Several times the course pursued by the expedition crossed paths on the Pampas, among others quite an important road--that from Carmen to Mendoza--distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses, sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and lay bleaching in the sun. There were thousands of them, and, without doubt, more than one human skeleton had added its bones to those of these humbler animals. Hitherto Thalcave had made no remark concerning the line so rigorously followed. He understood, however, that if they kept no definite course over the Pampas, they would not come to cities or villages. Every morning they advanced towards the rising sun, without deviating from the straight line, and every evening the setting sun was behind them. In his capacity of guide, Thalcave must, therefore, have been astonished to see that not only he did not guide them, but that they guided him. Nevertheless, if he was astonished, with the reserve natural to the Indians he made no remark. But to-day arriving at the above-mentioned road, he stopped his horse, and turned towards Paganel. "Road to Carmen," said he. "Yes, my good Patagonian," replied the geographer, in his purest Spanish; "road to Carmen and Mendoza." "We do not take it?" resumed Thalcave. "No," answered Paganel. "And we are going----?" "Always to the east." "That is going nowhere." "Who knows?" Thalcave was silent, and gazed at the geographer with profound surprise. He did not admit, however, that Paganel was joking the least in the world. An Indian, with his natural seriousness, never imagines that you are not speaking in earnest. "You are not going to Carmen then?" he added, after an instant of silence. [Sidenote: A PROFESSORIAL DIFFICULTY.] "No," replied Paganel. "Nor to Mendoza?" "No." At this moment Glenarvan, rejoining Paganel, asked what Thalcave said, and why he had stopped. When he had told him, Glenarvan said,-- "Could you not explain to him the object of our expedition, and why we must always proceed toward the east?" "That would be very difficult," answered Paganel, "for an Indian understands nothing of geography." "But," said the major seriously, "is it the history, or the historian, that he cannot understand?" "Ah, MacNabb," said Paganel, "you still doubt my Spanish!" "Try, my worthy friend." "Very well." Paganel turned to the Patagonian, and began a discourse, frequently interrupted for want of words and from the difficulty of explaining to a half-ignorant savage details which were rather incomprehensible to him. The geographer was just then a curious sight. He gesticulated, articulated, and exerted himself in a hundred ways, while great drops of sweat rolled down his face. When his tongue could no longer move, his arm came to his aid. He dismounted, and traced on the sand a geographical map, with lines of latitude and longitude, the two oceans, and the road to Carmen. Never was professor in such embarrassment. Thalcave watched these manoeuvres without showing whether he comprehended or not. The lesson in geography lasted more than half an hour. At last Paganel ceased, wiped his face, which was wet with perspiration, and looked at the Patagonian. "Did he understand?" inquired Glenarvan. "We shall see," replied Paganel; "but, if he did not, I give it up." [Sidenote: "PERHAPS!"] Thalcave did not stir. He no longer spoke. His eyes were fixed upon the figures traced on the sand, which the wind was gradually effacing. [Illustration: An important road--that from Carmen to Mendoza--distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses, sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and lay bleaching in the sun.] "Well?" asked Paganel. Thalcave did not appear to hear him. Paganel already saw an ironical smile forming upon the lips of the major, and, wishing to save his reputation, had begun with renewed energy his geographical demonstrations, when the Patagonian stopped him with a gesture. "You are searching for a prisoner?" he said. "Yes," replied Paganel. "And exactly on the line from the setting to the rising sun?" said Thalcave, indicating by a comparison, in the Indian manner, the course from west to east. "Yes, yes, that is it!" "And it is your God," said the Patagonian, "who has confided to the waves of the vast ocean the secrets of the prisoner?" "God himself." "May his will be accomplished then!" replied Thalcave, with a certain solemnity. "We will go to the east, and, if necessary, even to the sun." Paganel, in his exultation over his pupil, immediately translated to his companions the replies of the Indian. Glenarvan requested Paganel to ask the Patagonian if he had heard of any strangers falling into the hands of the Indians, which was accordingly done. "Perhaps," replied the Patagonian. As soon as this word was translated, Thalcave was surrounded by the seven travelers, who gazed at him with questioning looks. Paganel, excited and scarcely finding his words, resumed these interesting interrogatories, while his eyes, fixed upon the grave Indian, strove to anticipate his reply before it issued from his lips. Every word the Patagonian said he repeated in English, so that his companions heard the Indian speak, as it were, in their own language. "And this prisoner?" inquired Paganel. "He was a stranger," replied Thalcave slowly; "a European." "You have seen him?" "No, but he is mentioned in the accounts of the Indians. He was a brave man." "You understand, my friends," said Paganel; "a courageous man!" "My father!" cried Robert Grant. Then, addressing Paganel: "How do you say 'It is my father,' in Spanish?" he asked. "_Es mio padre_," answered the geographer. Immediately Robert, taking Thalcave's hands, said in a sweet voice,-- "_Es mio padre!_" "_Suo padre!_" replied the Patagonian, whose look brightened. He took the boy in his arms, lifted him from his horse, and gazed at him with the most curious sympathy. His intelligent countenance became suffused with a peaceful emotion. But Paganel had not finished his inquiries. Where was this prisoner? What was he doing? When had Thalcave heard of him? All these questions thronged his mind at once. He did not have to wait long for answers, but learnt that the European was a slave of one of the Indian tribes that scour the plains. "But where was he last?" asked Paganel. "With the cazique Calfoucoura," answered Thalcave. "On the line we have been following?" "Yes." "And who is this cazique?" "The chief of the Poyuches Indians; a man with two tongues and two hearts." [Sidenote: A SCIENTIFIC BATH.] "That is to say, false in word and in deed," said Paganel, after translating to his companions this beautiful metaphor of the Indian language. "And can we rescue our friend?" he added. "Perhaps so, if your friend is still in the hands of the Indians." "And when did you hear of him?" "A long time ago, and, since then, the sun has brought back two summers to the sky." Glenarvan's joy could not be described. This answer coincided exactly with the date of the document. But one question remained to be asked. "You speak of a prisoner," said Paganel; "but were there not three?" "I do not know," replied Thalcave. "And you know nothing of their actual situation?" "Nothing." This last word ended the conversation. It was possible that the three prisoners had been separated a long time. But the substance of the Patagonian's information was that the Indians spoke of a European who had fallen into their power. The date of his captivity, the place where he must have been, everything, even to the Patagonian phrase used to express his courage, related evidently to Captain Harry Grant. Their progress was now somewhat slow and difficult; their next object being to reach and cross the river Colorado, to which at length their horses brought them. Here Paganel's first care was to bathe "geographically" in its waters, which are colored by a reddish clay. He was surprised to find the depth so great as it really was, this being the result of the snow having melted rapidly under the first heat of summer. The width likewise of this stream was so considerable that it was almost impossible for their horses to swim across; but they happily discovered a sort of weir-bridge, of wattles looped and fastened together, which the Indians were in the habit of using; and by its aid the little troop was enabled to pass over to the left bank, where they rested for the night. [Illustration] CHAPTER XVII. A SERIOUS NECESSITY. They set out at daybreak. The horses advanced at a brisk pace among the tufts of "paja-brava," a kind of grass that serves the Indians as a shelter during the storms. At certain distances, but less and less frequent, pools of shallow water contributed to the growth of willows and a certain plant which is found in the neighborhood of fresh water. Here the horses drank their fill, to fortify themselves for the journey. Thalcave, who rode in advance, beat the bushes, and thus frightened away the "cholinas" (vipers), while the agile Thaouka bounded over all obstacles, and aided his master in clearing a passage for the horses that followed. [Illustration: They set out at daybreak. The horses advanced at a brisk pace among the tufts of "paja-brava," a kind of grass that serves the Indians as a shelter during the storms.] Early in the afternoon, the first traces of animals were encountered--the bones of an innumerable drove of cattle, in whitened heaps. These fragments did not extend in a winding line, such as animals exhausted and falling one by one would leave behind them. Thus no one, not even Paganel, knew how to explain this chain of skeletons in a space comparatively circumscribed. He therefore questioned Thalcave, who was not at a loss for a reply. "What is this?" they asked, after Paganel had inquired of the Indian. "The fire of heaven," replied the geographer. "What! the lightning could not have produced such a disaster," said Tom Austin, "and stretched five hundred head of cattle on the earth!" But Thalcave reaffirmed it, and he was not mistaken; for the storms of the Pampas are noted for their violence. At evening they stopped at an abandoned rancho, made of interlaced branches plastered with mud and covered with thatch. This structure stood within an inclosure of half-rotten stakes which, however, sufficed to protect the horses during the night against the attacks of the foxes. Not that they had anything to fear personally from these animals, but the malicious beasts gnawed the halters, so that the horses could escape. A few paces from the rancho, a hole was dug which served as a kitchen and contained half-cooled embers. Within, there was a bench, a bed of ox-hide, a saucepan, a spit, and a pot for boiling maté. The maté is a drink very much in use in South America. It is the Indian's tea, consisting of a decoction of leaves dried in the fire, and is imbibed through a straw. At Paganel's request, Thalcave prepared several cups of this beverage, which very agreeably accompanied the ordinary eatables, and was declared excellent. [Sidenote: A CHANGE FOR THE WORSE.] The next day they resumed their journey towards the east. About noon a change took place in the appearance of the Pampas, which could not escape eyes wearied with its monotony. The grass became more and more scanty, and gave place to sickly burdocks and gigantic thistles; while stunted nettles and other thorny shrubs grew here and there. Heretofore, a certain moisture, preserved by the clay of the prairie, freshened the meadows; the vegetation was thick and luxuriant. But now a patchy growth, bare in many places, exposed the earth, and indicated the poverty of the soil. These signs of increasing dryness could not be mistaken, and Thalcave called attention to them. [Illustration] "I am not sorry at this change," said Tom Austin; "to see always grass, nothing but grass, becomes tiresome before long." "But where there is grass there is water," replied the major. "Oh, we are not in want," said Wilson, "and shall find some river on our course." However, when Wilson said that the supply of water would not fail he had not calculated for the unquenchable thirst that consumed his companions all that day; and, when he added that they would meet with some stream in their journey he had anticipated too much. Indeed, not only were rivers wanting, but even the artificial wells dug by the Indians were empty. On seeing these indications of dryness increase from mile to mile, Paganel asked Thalcave where he expected to find water. "At Lake Salinas," replied the Indian. "And when shall we arrive there?" "To-morrow evening." The natives ordinarily, when they travel on the Pampas, dig wells, and find water a few feet below the surface; but the travelers, destitute of the necessary implements, could not employ this expedient. It was therefore necessary to obtain a supply in some other way, for, if they did not absolutely suffer from the tormenting desire for drink, no one could entirely allay his thirst. At evening they halted, after a journey of thirty miles. Every one relied upon a good night to recruit himself after the fatigues of the day; but they were greatly annoyed by a very persistent swarm of mosquitoes, which disappeared, however, after the wind changed. If the major preserved his calmness in the midst of the petty annoyances of life, Paganel, on the contrary, could not treat the matter so indifferently. He fought the mosquitoes, and sadly regretted the absence of his acid-water, which would have soothed the pain of their bites. Although the major endeavored to console him, he awoke in a very bad humor. However, he was very easily persuaded to set out at daybreak, for it was important to arrive at Lake Salinas the same day. The horses were very much exhausted: they were dying of thirst; and, although their riders had denied themselves on their account, still their share of water had been very limited. The dryness was to-day even greater, and the heat no less intolerable, with the dusty wind, the simoom of the Pampas. [Sidenote: INDIANS AHEAD!] During the day the monotony of the journey was interrupted. Mulready, who rode in advance, turned back, signaling the approach of a party of Indians. This meeting elicited different opinions. Glenarvan thought of the information that these natives might furnish concerning the shipwrecked seamen of the Britannia. Thalcave, for his part, scarcely enjoyed meeting in his journey the wandering Indians of the plains. He considered them plunderers and robbers, and only sought to avoid them. According to his orders, the little party collected together, and made ready their fire-arms. It was necessary to be prepared for any emergency. The Indian detachment was soon perceived. It consisted of only ten men, which fact reassured the Patagonian. They approached within a hundred paces, so that they could be easily distinguished. Their high foreheads, prominent rather than receding, their tall forms, and their olive color, showed them to be magnificent types of the Indian race. They were clad in the skins of guanacos, and carried various weapons of war and the chase, while their dexterity in horsemanship was remarkable. [Illustration] Having halted, they appeared to hold a conference, crying and gesticulating. Glenarvan advanced toward them; but he had not proceeded two yards, when the detachment wheeled about and disappeared with incredible swiftness. The tired horses of the travelers could never have overtaken them. "The cowards!" cried Paganel. "They fly too fast for honest men," said MacNabb. "What are these Indians?" inquired Paganel of Thalcave. "Gauchos!" replied the Patagonian. "Gauchos!" repeated Paganel, turning toward his companions, "Gauchos! We had no need, then, to take such precautions. There was nothing to fear!" "Why?" asked the major. "Because the Gauchos are inoffensive peasants." "Do you think so, Paganel?" "Certainly. They took us for robbers, and fled." Glenarvan was quite disappointed in not speaking with them, as he expected to obtain additional tidings of the lost sailors; but it was necessary to push on, if they would reach their destination that evening. At eight o'clock Thalcave, who had gone a little in advance, announced that the lake so long desired was in sight. A quarter of an hour afterward the little party descended the high banks. But here a serious disappointment awaited them,--the lake was dry! CHAPTER XVIII. IN SEARCH OF WATER. Lake Salinas terminates the cluster of lagoons that adjoin the Ventana and Guamini mountains. Numerous expeditions are made to this place to obtain supplies of salt, with which these waters are strongly impregnated. But now the water had evaporated under the heat of the sun, and the lake was only a vast glittering basin. When Thalcave announced the presence of a drinkable liquid at Lake Salinas, he meant the streams of fresh water that flow from it in many places. But at this time its affluents were as dry as itself. The burning sun had absorbed everything. Hence, the consternation was general when the thirsty party arrived at the parched shores of Lake Salinas. It was necessary to take counsel. The little water in the leathern bottles was half spoiled, and could not quench their thirst, which began to make itself acutely felt. Hunger and fatigue gave place to this imperative want. A "roukah," a kind of upright tent, of leather, which stood in a hollow, and had been abandoned by the natives, served as a refuge for the travelers, while their horses, stretched on the muddy shores of the lake, ate the saline plants and dry reeds, although reluctantly. When each had sat down in the roukah, Paganel asked Thalcave's advice as to what was best to be done. A rapid conversation, of which Glenarvan caught a few words, ensued between the geographer and the Indian. Thalcave spoke calmly, while Paganel gesticulated for both. This consultation lasted a few minutes, and then the Patagonian folded his arms. "What did he say?" inquired Glenarvan. "I thought I understood him to advise us to separate." "Yes, into two parties," replied Paganel. "Those of us whose horses are so overcome with fatigue and thirst that they can scarcely move will continue the journey as well as possible. Those who are better mounted, on the contrary, will ride in advance, and reconnoitre the Guamini River, which empties into Lake San Lucas. If there is sufficient water there, they will wait for their companions on the banks of the stream; if not, they will return to save the rest a useless journey." "And then?" asked Tom Austin. "Then we must go southward to the first branches of the Ventana mountains, where the rivers are numerous." "The plan is good," replied Glenarvan, "and we will follow it without delay. My horse has not suffered so much yet from want of water, and I offer to accompany Thalcave." "Oh, my lord, take me!" cried Robert, as if a pleasure excursion were in question. "But can you keep up with us, my child?" "Yes, I have a good beast that asks nothing better than to go in advance. Will you, my lord? I beseech you!" "Come then, my boy," said Glenarvan, delighted not to be separated from Robert. "And we three," he added, "will be very stupid if we do not discover some clear and fresh stream." "And I?" said Paganel. "Oh, you, my dear Paganel!" replied the major, "you will remain with the reserve detachment. You know the course, the Guamini River, and the Pampas, too well to abandon us. Neither Wilson, Mulready, nor myself are capable of rejoining Thalcave at his rendezvous, unless we advance confidently under the guidance of the brave Jacques Paganel." [Illustration: "Poor father!" exclaimed Robert; "how he will thank you when you have found him!" And, so saying, he took his lordship's hand and pressed it to his lips.] "I resign," said the geographer, very much flattered to obtain a higher command. "But no distractions!" added the major. "Do not lead us where we have nothing to do, and bring us back to the shores of the Pacific!" "You would deserve it, my intolerable major," said Paganel, smiling. "But tell me, my dear Glenarvan, how will you understand Thalcave's language?" "I suppose," answered Glenarvan, "that the Patagonian and I will not need to talk. Besides, with the few Spanish words that I know, I shall succeed well enough on an emergency in giving him my opinion and understanding his." "Go then, my worthy friend," replied Paganel. "Let us eat first," said Glenarvan, "and sleep till the hour of departure." They ate supper without drink, which was rather unrefreshing, and then fell asleep. Paganel dreamed of torrents, cascades, streams, rivers, ponds, brooks, nay even full bottles, in short, of everything which generally contains water. It was a real nightmare. The next morning at six o'clock the horses were saddled. They gave them the last drink of water left, which they took with more dislike than pleasure, for it was very nauseating. The three horsemen then mounted. "_Au revoir!_" said the major, Austin, Wilson, and Mulready. Soon the Patagonian, Glenarvan, and Robert (not without a certain throbbing of the heart) lost sight of the detachment confided to the sagacity of the geographer. [Sidenote: THE YOUNG SAILOR ON HORSEBACK.] Thalcave was right in first proceeding towards the Guamini, since this stream lay on the prescribed course, and was the nearest. The three horses galloped briskly forward. These excellent beasts perceived, doubtless, by instinct, whither their masters were guiding them. Thaouka, especially, showed a spirit that neither fatigue nor thirst could overcome. The other horses followed, at a slower pace, but incited by his example. The Patagonian frequently turned his head to look at Robert Grant, and, seeing the young boy firm and erect, in an easy and graceful position, testified his satisfaction by a word of encouragement. "Bravo, Robert!" said Glenarvan. "Thalcave seems to congratulate you. He praises you, my boy!" "And why, my lord?" "Because of the way you ride." "Oh, I merely keep firm; that is all," replied Robert, who blushed with pleasure at hearing himself complimented. "That is the main point, Robert," said Glenarvan; "but you are too modest, and I am sure you cannot fail to become an accomplished equestrian." "Well," said Robert, "but what will papa say, who wishes to make a sailor of me?" "The one does not interfere with the other. If all horsemen do not make good sailors, all sailors may certainly make good horsemen. To ride on the yards, you must learn to keep yourself firm. As for knowing how to manage your horse, that comes more easily." "Poor father!" exclaimed Robert; "how he will thank you when you have found him!" And, so saying, he took his lordship's hand and pressed it to his lips. "You love him well, Robert?" "Yes, my lord; he was so kind to sister and me. He thought only of us, and every voyage brought us a memento of the countries he visited, and, what was better, tender caresses and kind words, on his return. Ah! you will love him too, when you know him! Mary resembles him. He has a sweet voice like her. It is singular for a sailor, is it not?" "Yes, very singular, Robert," said Glenarvan. "I see him still," replied the boy, as if speaking to himself. "Good and brave papa! He rocked me to sleep on his knees, when I was little, and kept humming an old Scottish song which is sung around the lakes of our country. I sometimes recall the air, but indistinctly. How we loved him, my lord! Well, I think one must be very young to love his father well." "And old to reverence him, my child," replied Glenarvan, quite moved by the words that came from this young heart. During this conversation, their horses had relaxed their pace and fallen behind the other; but Thalcave called them, and they resumed their former gait. It was soon evident, however, that, with the exception of Thaouka, the horses could not long maintain this speed. At noon it was necessary to give them an hour's rest. Glenarvan grew uneasy. The signs of dryness did not diminish, and the want of water might result in disastrous consequences. Thalcave said nothing, but probably thought that if the Guamini was dry it would then be time to despair, if indeed an Indian's heart has ever experienced such an emotion. They therefore kept on, and by use of whip and spur the horses were induced to continue their journey, but they could not quicken their pace. Thalcave might easily have gone ahead, for in a few hours Thaouka could have carried him to the banks of the stream. He doubtless thought of it, but probably did not like to leave his two companions alone in the midst of this desert, and, that he might not outstrip them, he forced Thaouka to lessen his speed. It was not, however, without much resistance, prancing and neighing, that Thalcave's horse consented to keep pace with the others. It was not so much the strength as the voice of his master which restrained him; the Indian actually talked to his horse; and the animal, if he did not answer, at least comprehended him. The Patagonian must have used excellent arguments, for, after "discussing" some time, Thaouka yielded, and obeyed his master's commands. [Sidenote: GAINED AT LAST.] But, if Thaouka understood Thalcave, Thalcave had none the less understood Thaouka. The intelligent animal, through his superior instincts, had perceived a moisture in the air. He inhaled it eagerly, and kept moving his tongue, as if it were steeped in a grateful liquid. The Patagonian could not be deceived; water was not far distant. He therefore encouraged his companions by explaining the impatience of his horse, which the others were not long in understanding. They made a final effort, and galloped after the Indian. About three o'clock a bright line appeared in a hollow of the plain. It trembled under the rays of the sun. "Water!" cried Glenarvan. "Water, yes, water!" cried Robert. They had no more need to urge their horses. The poor beasts, feeling their strength renewed, rushed forward with an irresistible eagerness. In a few moments they had reached the Guamini River, and, saddled as they were, plunged to their breasts into the cooling stream. Their masters imitated their example, without reluctance, and took an afternoon bath which was as healthful as it was pleasant. [Illustration] "Ah, how good it is!" said Robert, as he quenched his thirst in the middle of the river. "Be moderate, my boy," said Glenarvan, who did not set a good example. Nothing was heard but the sound of rapid drinking. As for Thalcave, he drank quietly, without hurrying, long and deeply, till they might perhaps fear that the stream would be drained. "Well," said Glenarvan, "our friends will not be disappointed in their expectations. They are sure, on arriving at the Guamini, to find an abundance of clear water, if Thalcave leaves any!" "But could we not go to meet them?" asked Robert. "We could spare them several hours of anxiety." "Doubtless, my boy; but how carry the water? Wilson has charge of the water-bottles. No, it is better to wait, as we agreed. Calculating the necessary time, and the slow pace of the horses, our friends will be here at night. Let us, then, prepare them a safe shelter and a good repast." Thalcave had not waited for Glenarvan's orders to search for a place to encamp. He had very fortunately found on the banks of the river a "ramada," a kind of inclosure designed for a cattle-fold and shut in on three sides. The situation was excellent for the purpose, so long as one did not fear to sleep in the open air; and that was the least anxiety of Thalcave's companions. Thus they did not seek a better retreat, but stretched themselves on the ground in the sun to dry their water-soaked garments. "Well, since here is shelter," said Glenarvan, "let us think of supper. Our friends must be satisfied with the couriers whom they have sent forward; and, if I am not greatly mistaken, they will have no reason to complain. I think an hour's hunting will not be time lost. Are you ready, Robert?" "Yes, my lord," replied he, with gun in hand. [Sidenote: AN EVENING'S SPORT.] Glenarvan had conceived this idea because the banks of the Guamini seemed to be the haunt of the game of the surrounding plains. "Tinamous," a kind of partridge, plovers called "teru-teru," yellow rails, and water-fowl of magnificent green were seen rising in flocks. As for quadrupeds, they did not make their appearance; but Thalcave, pointing to the tall grass and thick coppice, explained that they were hidden there. The hunters had only to take a few steps to find themselves in one of the best game-coverts in the world. [Illustration] They began to hunt, therefore, and, disdaining the feathered tribe, their first attempts were made upon the large game of the Pampas. Soon hares and guanacos, like those that had attacked them so violently on the Andes, started up before them by hundreds; but these very timid animals fled with such swiftness that it was impossible to come within gun-shot. The hunters, therefore, attacked other game that was less fleet. A dozen partridges and rails were brought down, and Glenarvan shot a peccary, which was very good eating. In less than half an hour they had obtained without difficulty all the game they needed. Robert captured a curious animal called an armadillo, which was covered with a sort of helmet of movable bony pieces and measured a foot and a half in length. It was very fat, and would be an excellent dish, as the Patagonian said; while Robert was proud of his success. As for Thalcave, he showed his companions a "nandou" hunt. This bird, peculiar to the Pampas, is a kind of ostrich, whose swiftness is marvelous. The Indian did not try to decoy so nimble an animal, but urged his horse to a gallop, straight towards the bird, so as to overtake it at once, for, if the first attack should fail, the nandou would soon fatigue both horse and rider with its giddy backward and forward movements. Thalcave, arriving at a proper distance, launched his "bolas" with a strong hand, and so skillfully that they twisted about the legs of the ostrich and paralyzed its efforts. In a few moments it lay on the ground. The Indian soon captured his prize and contributed it to the common repast. The string of partridges, Thalcave's ostrich, Glenarvan's peccary, and Robert's armadillo were brought back to camp. The ostrich and the peccary were immediately stripped of their skin and cut into small slices. As for the armadillo, it is a dainty animal which carries its roasting dish with it, and it was, accordingly, placed in its own bony covering on the glowing embers. The three hunters were satisfied with the partridges for supper, and kept the rounds of beef for their friends. This repast was washed down with clear water, which was then considered superior to all the wines in the world. The horses were not forgotten. A great quantity of dry fodder, piled in the ramada, served them for food and bedding. [Sidenote: DESERT SILENCE.] When everything was ready, Glenarvan, Robert, and the Indian wrapped themselves in their ponchos, and stretched their limbs on a bundle of alfafares, the usual bed of the hunters of the Pampas. CHAPTER XIX. THE RED WOLVES. Night came,--the night of the new moon, only the uncertain light of the stars illumined the plain. On the horizon the zodiacal light faded away in a dark mist. The waters of the Guamini flowed without a murmur, while birds, quadrupeds, and reptiles reposed after the fatigues of the day. The silence of the desert reigned on the vast expanse of the Pampas. Glenarvan, Robert, and Thalcave had yielded to the common law, and, stretched on their thick beds of grass, they enjoyed a refreshing sleep. The horses, overcome with fatigue, had lain down on the ground: Thaouka alone, like a true blooded horse, slept standing, spirited in repose as in action, and ready to start at the least sign from his master. Perfect tranquillity reigned within the inclosure, and the embers of the night-fire, as they gradually died out, cast their last rays over the silent obscurity. About ten o'clock, after a short sleep, the Indian awoke. His eyes became fixed beneath his lowered eyebrows, and his head was turned in a listening attitude towards the plain. He seemed endeavoring to detect some scarcely perceptible sound. A vague uneasiness was soon expressed on his face, usually so calm. Had he perceived the approach of prowling Indians, or the coming of jaguars, water-tigers, and other formidable beasts which are numerous in the neighborhood of rivers? This last possibility doubtless appeared plausible to him, for he cast a rapid glance over the combustible materials piled in the inclosure, and his anxiety increased. In fact, all this dry bedding would quickly be consumed, and could not long intimidate the audacious animals. According to this conjecture, Thalcave had only to await the progress of events, which he did, half reclining, his head resting on his hands, his elbows on his knees, his eyes motionless, in the attitude of a man whom a sudden anxiety has awakened from sleep. An hour passed. Any other person but Thalcave, reassured by the outward silence, would have lain down again. But where a stranger would have suspected nothing, the highly-trained senses and natural instinct of the Indian foresaw the coming danger. While he was listening and watching, Thaouka gave a low neigh. His nose was stretched towards the entrance to the ramada. The Patagonian suddenly started. "Thaouka has scented some enemy," said he. He arose and scanned the plain attentively. Silence still reigned, but not tranquillity. Thalcave discerned shadows moving noiselessly among the tufts of grass. Here and there glittered luminous points, which spread on all sides, now fading away, and now gleaming forth again. You would have thought fantastic elves were dancing on the surface of an immense lagoon. A stranger would doubtless have taken these flitting sparks for glow-worms, which shine, when night comes, in many parts of the Pampas. But Thalcave was not deceived; he knew with what enemies he had to deal. He loaded his carbine, and took a position near the first stakes of the inclosure. He did not wait long. A strange cry, a mingling of barks and howls, resounded over the plain. The report of the carbine answered it, and was followed by a hundred frightful yelps. Glenarvan and Robert suddenly awoke. [Sidenote: FEARFUL ODDS.] "What is the matter?" asked Robert. "Indians?" said Glenarvan. "No," replied Thalcave, "aguaras." Robert looked at Glenarvan. "Aguaras?" said he. "Yes," replied Glenarvan, "the red wolves of the Pampas." Both seized their weapons, and joined the Indian. The latter pointed to the plain, from which arose a series of formidable howls. Robert involuntarily took a step backward. "You are not afraid of the wolves, my boy?" said Glenarvan. "No, my lord," replied Robert, in a firm tone. "With you I fear nothing." "So much the better. These aguaras are not very formidable beasts; and were it not for their numbers I should not even think of them." "What does it matter?" replied Robert. "We are well armed. Let them come." "And they shall be well received." Speaking thus, Glenarvan endeavored to reassure the lad; but he did not think without a secret terror of that dense horde of exasperated beasts. Perhaps there were hundreds of them; and these three, however well armed, could not advantageously contend against so many and such antagonists. By the howls that resounded over the Pampas, and by the multitude of shadows that flitted about the plain, Glenarvan could not be mistaken as to the number. These animals had scented a sure prey, horse-flesh or human flesh, and not one among them would return to his lair without having his portion. The situation was, therefore, very alarming. Meanwhile the circle of wolves grew gradually narrower. The horses, awakened, gave signs of the liveliest terror. Thaouka alone pawed the ground, seeking to break his halter, and ready to rush out. His master succeeded in calming him only by whistling continually. Glenarvan and Robert had stationed themselves so as to defend the entrance of the ramada, and with their loaded rifles were about to fire at the first ranks of wolves, when Thalcave turned aside their weapons already poised for a shot. "What does Thalcave wish?" asked Robert. "He prohibits us from firing," answered Glenarvan. "Why?" "Perhaps he does not consider it the proper time." This was not, however, the motive which actuated the Indian, but a graver reason, which Glenarvan understood when Thalcave, raising his powder-flask and inverting it, showed that it was almost empty. "Well?" said Robert. "We must economize our ammunition. Our hunt to-day has cost us dear, and we are deficient in powder and shot. We have not twenty charges left." The boy answered nothing. "You are not afraid, Robert?" "No, my lord." "Very well, my boy." At this moment another report resounded. Thalcave had brought down a too bold enemy. The wolves that were advancing in close ranks recoiled, and gathered together again a hundred paces from the inclosure. [Sidenote: THE LAST HOUR.] Glenarvan, at a sign from the Indian, took his place at once, while the latter, collecting the bedding, grass, and all combustible materials, piled them at the entrance of the ramada and threw on a burning ember. Soon a curtain of flame was defined against the dark background of the sky, and through the openings the plain appeared illumined by great moving reflections. Glenarvan could therefore judge of the great number of animals against which they had to defend themselves. Never had so many wolves been seen together before, nor so excited by rapacity. The fiery barrier that Thalcave had just opposed to them had redoubled their fury. Some, however, advanced to the very fire, crowded by the rear ranks, and burned their paws. From time to time a shot was necessary to check the howling horde, and at the end of an hour fifteen bodies lay on the prairie. The besieged were now in a situation relatively less dangerous. So long as their supplies lasted, so long as the barrier of fire stood at the entrance to the ramada, invasion was not to be feared. But what was to be done if all these methods of repelling the wolves should fail at the same time? Glenarvan gazed at Robert, and felt his heart beat quick with excitement. He forgot himself, and thought only of this poor child, who displayed a courage beyond his years. Robert was pale, but his hand did not leave his weapon, and he awaited with firm bearing the assault of the enraged wolves. Meantime, Glenarvan, after coolly considering the situation, resolved to do something decisive. "In one hour," said he, "we shall have no more powder, shot, or fire. We must not wait till then to make a sally." He turned towards Thalcave, and, recalling a few words of Spanish, began a conversation with the Indian, frequently interrupted by the cracks of the rifle. It was not without difficulty that these two men succeeded in understanding each other. Glenarvan, fortunately, knew the habits of the red wolf. Without this knowledge he could not have interpreted the words and gestures of the Patagonian. Nevertheless, a quarter of an hour passed before he could give to Robert the meaning of Thalcave's answer. He had questioned the Indian concerning their situation. "And what did he answer?" inquired Robert. "He said that, cost what it may, we must hold out till daybreak. The aguara goes out only at night, and when morning comes he returns to his lair. He is the wolf of darkness, a cowardly beast that fears the daylight." "Well, let us defend ourselves till day." "Yes, my boy, and with our knives if we can no longer use our guns." Already Thalcave had set the example, and when a wolf approached the fire, the long knife of the Patagonian was thrust through the flames and drawn back again red with blood. However, the means of defense were failing. About two o'clock in the morning, Thalcave threw into the fire the last armful of fuel, and the besieged had only five charges left. Glenarvan cast about him a sorrowful glance. He thought of the child who was there, of his companions, of all whom he loved. Robert said nothing; perhaps the danger did not appear imminent to his hopeful spirit. But Glenarvan pictured to himself that terrible event, now apparently inevitable, the being devoured alive! He was not master of his emotion; he drew the child to his breast, he clasped him to his heart, he pressed his lips to his forehead, while tears flowed from his eyes. Robert gazed at him with a smile. "I am not afraid," said he. "No, my boy, no," replied Glenarvan; "and you are right. In two hours, day will appear, and we shall be saved! Well done, Thalcave, my brave Patagonian!" cried he, as the Indian killed with the butt of his gun two enormous beasts that were attempting to cross the glowing barrier. [Sidenote: A DYING HOPE.] But at this moment the dying light of the fire showed him the aguaras advancing in a dense body to assail the ramada. The dénouement of the bloody drama was approaching. The fire gradually subsided, for want of fuel; the flames sank; the plain, before illumined, now relapsed into shadow, and in the shadow reappeared the terrible eyes of the red wolves. A few moments more, and the whole drove would rush into the inclosure. [Illustration] Thalcave discharged his carbine for the last time, stretched out one more of their enemies, and, as his ammunition was exhausted, folded his arms. His head sank upon his breast; he appeared to be questioning himself. Was he searching for some bold, novel, or rash scheme for repelling this furious herd? Glenarvan did not venture to ask him. At this moment a change took place in the action of the wolves. They seemed to be retreating, and their howls, so deafening before, suddenly ceased. An ominous silence reigned over the plain. "They are going," said Robert. "Perhaps," replied Glenarvan, who was listening with intentness. But Thalcave shook his head. He knew well that the animals would not abandon a certain prey until at daybreak they returned to their holes and dens. However, the tactics of their enemies had evidently changed, they no longer endeavored to force the entrance of the ramada; but their new manoeuvres were already causing a still more imminent danger. The wolves, abandoning their design of penetrating the inclosure by this entrance, which was defended by weapon and fire, went to the back of the ramada and sought to assail it in the rear. Their claws were soon heard rattling against the half-decayed wood. Already their powerful paws and bloody mouths had forced their way between the shattered stakes. The horses, bewildered and panic-stricken, broke their halters and dashed into the inclosure. Glenarvan seized Robert in his arms, to defend him to the last extremity; and he would have attempted a rash flight, and rushed out of the ramada, had not his eyes fallen upon the Indian. Thalcave, turning like a deer, had suddenly approached his horse, which was neighing with impatience, and was beginning to saddle him carefully, forgetting neither strap nor buckle. He seemed no longer to care for the howls, that were now redoubled. Glenarvan gazed at him with a dark foreboding. "He is leaving us!" cried he, seeing Thalcave gather up his reins as though he were about to mount. "He? never!" said Robert. In truth the Indian was about to make a venture, not to leave his friends, but to save them by sacrificing himself. Thaouka was ready. He champed his bit; he pranced; his eyes, full of a fiery spirit, shot forth lightning flashes; he understood his master. Just as the Indian was seizing the mane of his horse, Glenarvan caught him by the arm with a convulsive grasp. "You are going?" said he, pointing to the plain, which was now deserted. "Yes," replied the Indian, who comprehended the gesture of his companion; and, with vehement gesticulations which were however perfectly intelligible, he added a few words in Spanish, which signified: "Thaouka--good horse--swift--will draw the wolves after him." [Illustration: Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed.] "Ha! Thalcave!" cried Glenarvan. "Quick, quick!" continued the Indian; while Glenarvan said to Robert, in a voice broken by emotion,-- "Robert, my lad, you hear! He will sacrifice himself for us; he will rush out over the plain, and turn aside the fury of the wolves upon himself." "Friend Thalcave," replied Robert, looking imploringly at the Patagonian, "friend Thalcave, do not leave us!" "No," said Glenarvan, "he will not leave us." And, turning to the Indian, he added, pointing to the terrified horses crowding against the stakes,-- "Let us go together." "No," said the Indian, who was not mistaken as to the meaning of these words. "Bad beasts--frightened--Thaouka--good horse." "Very well," said Glenarvan. "Thalcave shall not leave, Robert. He shows me what I have to do. It is my duty to go, and his to remain with you." Then, seizing Thaouka's bridle, he added,-- "I will go." "No," replied the Patagonian, calmly. "I tell you," cried Glenarvan, taking the bridle from the hands of the Indian, "I will go. Save this boy! I trust him to you, Thalcave!" Glenarvan, in his excitement, mingled English and Spanish together. But what matters the language? In such a terrible situation, signs tell all, and men quickly understand each other. [Sidenote: SAFETY FOR TWO.] However, Thalcave resisted, and the discussion was prolonged. The danger was increasing every moment. Already the broken stakes were yielding to the teeth and claws of the wolves. But neither Glenarvan nor Thalcave appeared willing to yield. The Indian had drawn Glenarvan towards the entrance of the inclosure. He pointed to the plain, now free from wolves. In his animated language, he explained that not a moment was to be lost; that the danger, if this plan failed, would be greater for those who remained; in short, that he alone knew Thaouka well enough to employ his marvelous agility and speed for the common safety. Glenarvan blindly persisted in his resolve to sacrifice himself, when suddenly he was pushed violently back. Thaouka pranced, reared on his hind legs, and all at once, with a spring, cleared the barrier of fire and the rampart of bodies, while a boyish voice cried,-- "God save you, my lord!" Glenarvan and Thalcave had scarcely time to perceive Robert, who, clinging to the horse's mane, disappeared in the darkness. "Robert, unfortunate!" cried Glenarvan. But these words the Indian himself could not hear. Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed. Thalcave and Glenarvan rushed out of the ramada. Already the plain had resumed its tranquillity, and they could scarcely distinguish a moving line which undulated afar in the shadows of the night. Glenarvan sank upon the ground, overcome, in despair, clasping his hands. He gazed at Thalcave, who smiled with his accustomed calmness. "Thaouka--good horse--brave child--he will be saved!" he repeated, nodding his head. "But if he falls?" said Glenarvan. "He will not fall!" In spite of Thalcave's confidence, his companion passed the night in terrible anguish. He was no longer even mindful of the danger still to be feared from the wolves. He would have gone in search of Robert, but the Indian restrained him, and explained that their horses could not overtake the boy, that Thaouka must have distanced his enemies, and could not be found in the darkness. They must wait for day to start in search of Robert. At four o'clock in the morning day began to break. The mists of the horizon were soon tinged with pale rays. A sparkling dew covered the plain, and the tall grass began to wave under the first breezes of the dawn. The moment of departure had arrived. "Forward!" said the Indian. Glenarvan did not reply, but sprang upon Robert's horse, and the two were soon galloping towards the west in the direction from which their companions were to come. For an hour they traveled thus with great speed, gazing around for Robert, and dreading at each step to behold his mangled body. Glenarvan tortured the flanks of his horse with his spurs. Suddenly shots were heard, and reports at regular intervals, like signals for recognition. [Illustration] "It is they!" cried Glenarvan. Thalcave and he urged their horses to a more rapid pace, and a few moments afterwards they joined the party led by Paganel. [Sidenote: LIVELY GRATITUDE.] To Glenarvan's joy, Robert was there, alive, borne by the noble Thaouka, who neighed with pleasure at seeing his master. "Ah, my boy! my boy!" cried Glenarvan, with unspeakable tenderness; and Robert and he, dismounting, rushed into each other's arms. Then it was the Indian's turn to clasp to his breast the courageous son of Captain Grant. "He lives! he lives!" exclaimed Glenarvan. "Yes," replied Robert, "thanks to Thaouka." The Indian had not waited for these words of gratitude to embrace his horse, but at that very moment he spoke to him and embraced him, as if human blood flowed in the veins of the noble animal. Then, turning towards Paganel, he pointed to young Robert. "A brave boy!" said he. Glenarvan, however, asked, even while he admired the lad,-- "Why, my son, did you not let Thalcave or me try this last chance of saving you?" "My lord," replied he, in accents of the liveliest gratitude, "was it not my duty to sacrifice myself, when Thalcave has saved my life, and you are going to save my father?" CHAPTER XX. STRANGE SIGNS. After their first outbursts of joy at meeting were over, Paganel, Austin, Wilson, and Mulready--all who had remained behind, except the major--were conscious of one thing, namely, that they were suffering from thirst. Fortunately, the Guamini flowed at no great distance. They accordingly continued their journey, and at seven o'clock in the morning the little party arrived at the ramada. On seeing its entrance strewn with the bodies of the wolves, it was easy to understand the violence of the attack and the vigor of the defense. The travelers, after fully quenching their thirst, devoted their attention to breakfast in the inclosure. The ostrich-steaks were declared excellent, and the armadillo, roasted in its own covering, was a delicious dish. "To eat reasonably of this," said Paganel, "would be ingratitude towards Providence. We really must eat immoderately." And he did so accordingly,--but was not sick, thanks to the clear water of the Guamini, which appeared to possess superior digestive properties. [Sidenote: AEROSTATIC EXPERIMENTS.] At ten o'clock Glenarvan gave the signal for departure. The water-bottles were filled, and they set out. The horses, being greatly revived, evinced much spirit, and maintained an easy and almost continuous canter. The next morning they crossed the boundary which separates the Argentine Plains from the Pampas. Here Thalcave hoped to meet the chiefs in whose hands he doubted not that he should find Harry Grant and rescue him and his two companions from slavery. Since they had left the Guamini, the travelers noticed, with great satisfaction, a considerable change in the temperature, thanks to the cold winds of Patagonia, which cause continual currents of air. Neither man nor beast had any reason to complain, after suffering so much from dryness and heat. They therefore pushed on with courage and confidence. But, whatever might have been said, the country seemed to be entirely uninhabited, or, to use a more exact word, "disinhabited." Frequently they skirted the shores of fresh-water lagoons, on whose banks, in the shelter of the bushes, tiny wrens skipped and melodious larks warbled, in company with the brilliant-plumaged tanagers. These pretty birds gayly fluttered about, heedless of the haughty starlings that strutted on the banks like soldiers with their epaulettes and red breasts. In the thorny coppices the nests of the annubis swung like hammocks, and on the shores of the lagoons magnificent flamingoes, marching in regular file, spread their fiery-colored wings to the wind. Their nests were seen, by thousands together, like a small village, in the shape of truncated cones a foot high. The birds were not startled at the approach of the travelers, which was contrary to Paganel's calculations. "I have been curious for a long time," said he to the major, "to see a flamingo fly." "Well," said MacNabb. "Now, since I have an opportunity, I shall profit by it." "Do so, Paganel." "Come with me, major, and you too, Robert; I need witnesses." And Paganel, leaving his companions to go on, proceeded towards the flock of flamingoes, followed by Robert and the major. Arriving within range, Paganel fired a blank charge (for he would not needlessly destroy even a bird), and all the flamingoes flew away, while the geographer gazed at them attentively through his glasses. "Well," said he to the major, when the flock had disappeared, "did you see them fly?" "Certainly," replied MacNabb; "you could not do otherwise, unless you were blind. But let us hasten on, for we have fallen a mile behind." When he had joined his companions, Paganel found Glenarvan in excited conversation with the Indian, whom he did not appear to understand. Thalcave had frequently stopped to examine the horizon, and each time his countenance expressed a lively astonishment. Glenarvan, not seeing his ordinary interpreter present, had attempted, but in vain, to question the Patagonian. So, as soon as he perceived the geographer at a distance, he cried,-- "Come, friend Paganel, Thalcave and I can scarcely succeed in understanding each other." Paganel conversed a few moments with the Indian, and, turning to Glenarvan, said,-- "Thalcave is astonished at a circumstance that is really strange." "What?" "At meeting neither Indians, nor any traces of them, on these plains, which are usually furrowed with their trails, whether they are driving home the cattle stolen from the ranchos, or going to the Andes to sell their zorillo carpets and whips of braided leather." "And to what does Thalcave attribute this abandonment?" "He cannot tell; he is astonished. That is all." "But what Indians did he expect to find in this part of the Pampas?" "The very ones who have had foreign prisoners; those natives who are commanded by the caziques Calfoucoura, Catriel, and Yanchetruz." "Who are these caziques?" [Illustration: Arriving within range, Paganel fired a blank charge (for he would not needlessly destroy even a bird), and all the flamingoes flew away, while the geographer gazed at them attentively through his glasses.] "Chiefs of tribes that were very powerful thirty years ago, before they were driven beyond the sierras. Since that time they have been subdued as much as an Indian can be, and now scour the Pampas as well as the province of Buenos Ayres. I am therefore astonished, like Thalcave, at not encountering traces of them in a country where they generally pursue the calling of plunderers." "Well, then," inquired Glenarvan, "what course ought we to take?" "I will see," replied Paganel. After a few moments' conversation with Thalcave, he said,-- "This is his advice, which seems to me very wise. We must continue our journey to the east as far as Fort Independence; and there, if we have no news of Captain Grant, we shall at least know what has become of the Indians of the plain." "Is Fort Independence far?" "No; it is situated at Tandil, sixty miles distant." "And when shall we arrive there?" "On the evening of the day after to-morrow." Glenarvan was quite disconcerted at finding no Indians on the Pampas, a circumstance which was little expected. There are ordinarily too many of them. Some special cause must therefore have removed them. But a serious question was to be considered. If Captain Grant was a prisoner of one of these tribes, had he been carried to the north or to the south? This problem harassed Glenarvan. It was advisable at all hazards to keep track of the captain. In short, it was better to follow Thalcave's advice and reach the village of Tandil, where at least they could obtain information. About four o'clock in the afternoon they approached a hill that might have passed for a mountain in so level a country. It was Tapalquem Sierra, and at its foot the travelers encamped for the night. [Sidenote: GALLOPING GAUCHOS.] The passage of this mountain was accomplished the next day with the greatest ease. They followed the sandy undulations of a gradually sloping terrace, which certainly did not present difficulties to people who had scaled the Andes, and the horses scarcely relaxed their rapid pace. At noon they reached the abandoned Fort Tapalquem, the first of the chain of forts built on the southern frontier against the plundering natives. But not a shadow of an Indian did they encounter, to the increasing surprise of Thalcave; although, towards the middle of the day, three rovers of the plain, well armed and mounted, gazed for a moment at the little party, but prevented their approach, galloping away with incredible rapidity. Glenarvan was furious. "Gauchos," said the Patagonian. "Ah! Gauchos," replied MacNabb. "Well, Paganel, what do you think of these creatures?" "I think they look like famous bandits," answered Paganel. "And hence of course are, my dear geographer?" "Of course, my dear major." Paganel's avowal was followed by a general laugh, which did not disconcert him at all. According to Thalcave's orders, they advanced in close ranks, and at evening encamped in a spacious abandoned rancho, where the chief Catriel generally assembled his bands of natives. From an examination of the ground and the absence of fresh tracks, the Patagonian knew that it had not been occupied for a long time. The next morning Glenarvan and his companions found themselves again on the plain. The first estancias (vast establishments for raising cattle), which border upon the Tandil, were descried; but Thalcave resolved not to stop, but to keep straight on to Fort Independence, where he wished to obtain information, especially concerning the singular condition of this abandoned country. The trees, so rare since leaving the Andes, now reappeared. The greater part of these have been planted since the arrival of the Europeans on the American continent. They generally surround "corrals," vast cattle-inclosures protected with stakes. Here thousands of cattle, sheep, cows, and horses, branded with the mark of the owner, graze and fatten, while large numbers of huge dogs keep watch. The soil is admirably adapted to raising cattle, and yields an excellent fodder. The people lead the life of the shepherds of the Bible. Their flocks are perhaps even more numerous than those which fed on the plains of Mesopotamia; but the family element is wanting, and the owners of the great folds of the Pampas have little to recommend themselves or their manner of life. Paganel explained all these particulars to his companions, and even succeeded in interesting the major. Thalcave, meanwhile, hastened their progress, as he wished to arrive that evening at Fort Independence. The horses, urged on by their masters, and following the example of Thaouka, dashed through the tall grass. They passed several farms, fortified and defended by deep ditches. The principal house was provided with an elevated terrace, from which the inmates could fire upon the plunderers of the plain. Glenarvan might perhaps have obtained here the information that he sought; but it was wisest to go to the village of Tandil. They did not stop, therefore, and soon the feet of the horses struck the grassy sward of the first mountain slopes. An hour afterward the village appeared at the bottom of a narrow gorge crowned by the embattled walls of Fort Independence. [Illustration: In fact, they were a dozen young children and boys who were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a striped shirt confined at the waist by a leathern girdle.] CHAPTER XXI. A FALSE TRAIL. Paganel, after giving his companions a brief account of the village of Tandil, added that they could not fail to obtain information there; moreover, the fort was always garrisoned by a detachment of national troops. Glenarvan, accordingly, put the horses into the stable of a "fonda;" and Paganel, the major, Robert, and he, under the guidance of Thalcave, proceeded towards Fort Independence. After ascending the ridges of the mountains for a short time, they arrived at the postern, rather carelessly guarded by a native sentinel. They passed without difficulty, and inferred either great negligence or extreme security. A few soldiers were exercising on the parade-ground of the fort, the oldest of whom was not more than twenty and the youngest scarcely ten. In fact, they were a dozen young children and boys who were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a striped shirt confined at the waist by a leathern girdle. The mildness of the climate justified this light costume. Each of these young soldiers carried a gun and a sword, which were too long and heavy for the little fellows. All had a certain family resemblance, and the corporal who commanded resembled them too: they were twelve brothers, who were parading under the orders of the thirteenth. [Sidenote: AN ARGENTINE COMMANDANT.] Paganel was not astonished. He remembered his Argentine statistics, and knew that in this country the average number of children in a family exceeds nine. But what surprised him exceedingly was to see these little soldiers practicing the French tactics, and to hear the orders of the corporal given in his own native language. "This is singular," said he. But Glenarvan had not come to see boys drill, still less to occupy himself with their nationality or relationship. He did not, therefore, give Paganel time to express further astonishment, but besought him to ask for the commander of the fortress. Paganel did so, and one of the soldiers proceeded towards a small building which served as the barracks. A few moments after, the commander appeared in person. He was a man of fifty, robust, with a military air, thick whiskers, prominent cheek-bones, gray hair, and commanding look, so far as one could judge through the clouds of smoke that issued from his short pipe. Thalcave, addressing him, introduced Lord Glenarvan and his companions. While he spoke, the commander kept scrutinizing Paganel with quite embarrassing persistence. The geographer did not know what the trooper meant, and was about to ask him, when the latter unceremoniously seized his hand, and said, in a joyous tone, in his own language,-- "A Frenchman?" "Yes, a Frenchman," replied Paganel. "Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman," cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with rather painful violence. "One of your friends?" asked the major of Paganel. "Yes," replied he, with national pride; "we have friends in all parts of the world!" [Illustration: "Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman," cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with rather painful violence.] [Sidenote: RAISING A REGIMENT.] He then entered into conversation with the commander. Glenarvan would gladly have put in a word in regard to his affairs, but the soldier was telling his story, and was not in the mood to be interrupted. This honest man had left France a long time before; and the native language was no longer perfectly familiar to him: he had forgotten, if not words, at least the manner of combining them. As his visitors soon learned, he had been a sergeant in the French army. Since the foundation of the fort he had not left it, and commanded it by appointment from the Argentine government. He was by parentage a Basque, and his name was Manuel Ipharaguerre. A year after his arrival in the country, Sergeant Manuel was naturalized, joined the Argentine army, and married an honest Indian woman, who had twins,--boys, to be sure, for the sergeant's worthy consort would never present him with daughters. Manuel did not think of any other calling than that of the soldier, and hoped, in time, with the help of God, to offer to the republic a whole battalion of young soldiers. "You have seen them?" said he. "Charming fellows! Good soldiers! José! Juan! Miguel! Pepe! Pepe is only seven years old, and is already biting his cartridge!" Pepe, hearing himself complimented, joined his two little feet, and presented arms with perfect precision. "He will do!" added the sergeant. "He will be a major--or brigadier-general one day!" This story lasted a quarter of an hour, to Thalcave's great astonishment. The Indian could not understand how so many words could come from a single throat. No one interrupted the commander; and even a French sergeant had to conclude at last, though not without forcing his guests to accompany him to his dwelling. Here they were introduced to Madame Ipharaguerre, who appeared to be "a good-looking person," if this expression may be employed in regard to an Indian. When he had exhausted himself, the sergeant asked his guests to what he owed the honor of their visit. And now it was their turn to explain. Paganel, opening the conversation in French, told him of their journey across the Pampas, and ended by asking why the Indians had abandoned the country. "War!" replied the sergeant. "War?" "Yes, civil war." "Civil war?" rejoined Paganel. "Yes, war between Paraguay and Buenos Ayres," answered the sergeant. "Well?" "Why, all the Indians of the north are in the rear of General Flores, and those of the plains are plundering." "But the caziques?" "The caziques with them." This answer was reported to Thalcave, who shook his head. Indeed, he either did not know, or had forgotten, that a civil war, which was afterwards to involve Brazil, was decimating two-thirds of the republic. The Indians had everything to gain in these internal struggles, and could not neglect such fine opportunities for plunder. The sergeant, therefore, was not mistaken in attributing this desertion of the Pampas to the civil war that was being waged in the northern part of the Argentine Provinces. But this event disconcerted Glenarvan's hopes. If Captain Grant was a prisoner of the caziques, he must have been carried by them to the northern frontiers. Yet how and where to find him? Must they attempt a perilous and almost useless search to the northern limits of the Pampas? It was a serious matter, which was to be earnestly considered. However, one important question was still to be asked of the sergeant, and the major thought of this, while his companions were looking at each other in silence. "Have you heard of any Europeans being retained as prisoners by the caziques of the Pampas?" Manuel reflected for a few moments, like a man who recalls events to recollection. "Yes," said he, at length. "Ah!" cried Glenarvan, conceiving a new hope. [Sidenote: REVELATIONS.] Paganel, MacNabb, Robert, and he now surrounded the sergeant. "Speak, speak!" cried they, gazing at him with eagerness even in their looks. "Several years ago," replied Manuel, "yes,--that is it,--European prisoners--but have never seen them." "Several years ago?" said Glenarvan. "You are mistaken. The date of the shipwreck is definite. The Britannia was lost in June, 1862, less than two years ago." "Oh, more than that, my lord!" "Impossible!" cried Paganel. "Not at all. It was when Pepe was born. There were two men." "No, three!" said Glenarvan. "Two," replied the sergeant, in a positive tone. "Two?" exclaimed Glenarvan, very much chagrined. "Two Englishmen?" "No," continued the sergeant. "Who speaks of Englishmen? It was a Frenchman and an Italian." "An Italian who was massacred by the Indians?" cried Paganel. "Yes, and I learned afterwards--Frenchman saved." "Saved!" exclaimed Robert, whose very life seemed to hang on the sergeant's lips. "Yes, saved from the hands of the Indians," replied Manuel. Each looked to the geographer, who beat his brow in despair. "Ah! I understand," said he, at last. "All is clear, all is explained." "But what is to be done?" asked Glenarvan, with as much anxiety as impatience. "My friends," answered Paganel, taking Robert's hands, "we must submit to a severe misfortune. We have followed a false trail! The captive in question is not the captain, but one of my countrymen (whose companion, Marco Vazello, was actually assassinated by the Indians), a Frenchman who often accompanied these cruel savages to the banks of the Colorado, and who, after fortunately escaping from their hands, returned to France. While thinking that we were on the track of Captain Grant, we have fallen upon that of young Guinnard." A profound silence followed this declaration. The mistake was palpable. The sergeant's story, the nationality of the prisoner, the murder of his companion, and his escape from the hands of the Indians, all accorded with the evident facts. Glenarvan gazed at Thalcave with a bewildered air. The Indian then resumed the conversation. "Have you never heard of three English captives?" he asked the sergeant. "Never," replied Manuel. "It would have been known at Tandil. I should have heard of it. No, it cannot be." Glenarvan, after this formal response, had nothing more to do at Fort Independence. He and his friends, therefore, departed, not without thanking the sergeant and shaking hands with him. Glenarvan was in despair at this complete overthrow of his hopes. Robert walked beside him in silence, with tearful eyes, while his protector could not find a single word to console him. Paganel gesticulated and talked to himself. The major did not open his lips. As for Thalcave, his Indian pride seemed humbled at having gone astray on a false trail. No one, however, thought of reproaching him for so excusable an error. They returned to the encampment, saddened indeed. Still, not one of the courageous and devoted men regretted so many hardships uselessly endured, so many dangers vainly incurred. But each saw all hope of success annihilated in an instant. Could they find Captain Grant between Tandil and the sea? No. If any prisoner had fallen into the hands of the Indians on the Atlantic coast, Sergeant Manuel would certainly have been informed. An event of such a nature could not have escaped the natives who trade from Tandil to Carmen. Among the traders of the Argentine Plains everything is known and reported. There was therefore but one course now to take,--to join, without delay, the Duncan at Cape Medano, the appointed rendezvous. [Illustration: More than once during the journey, the attention and interest of all, but especially of Paganel, were arrested by the curious illusion of the mirage.] In the meantime, Paganel had asked Glenarvan for the document, by relying on which their search had resulted so unfortunately. He read it again with unconcealed vexation, seeking to discover a new interpretation. "This document is, at all events, clear," said Glenarvan. "It explains in the most definite manner the shipwreck of the captain and the place of his captivity." "No," replied the geographer, stamping with his foot, "a hundred times no! Since Captain Grant is not on the Pampas, he is not in America. This document ought to tell where he is; and it shall, my friends, or I am no longer Jacques Paganel." CHAPTER XXII. THE FLOOD. [Sidenote: OMENS AND MIRAGES.] Fort Independence is one hundred and fifty miles from the shores of the Atlantic. But for unforeseen and unexpected delays, Glenarvan could have rejoined the Duncan in four days. He could not, however, reconcile himself to the idea of returning on board without Captain Grant, and failing so completely in his search; and did not therefore, as usual, give the orders for departure. But the major assumed the task of saddling the horses, renewing the provisions, and making his arrangements for the journey. Thanks to his activity, the little party, at eight o'clock in the morning, was on its way down the grassy slopes of the Tandil Sierra. Glenarvan, with Robert at his side, galloped on in silence. His lordship's bold and resolute character did not permit him to accept this disappointment calmly. His heart beat violently, and his brain was on fire. Paganel, tormented by the mystery of the document, arranged the words in every way, as if to draw from them a new meaning. Thalcave silently resigned himself to Thaouka's sagacity. The major, always confident, performed his duties like a man upon whom discouragement can have no effect. Tom Austin and his two sailors shared their master's annoyance. Once, when a timid hare crossed the path in front of them, the superstitious Scotchmen gazed at one another. "A bad omen," said Wilson. "Yes, in the Highlands," replied Mulready. "What is bad in the Highlands is no better here," added Wilson, sententiously. About noon the travelers had descended the mountains and gained the undulating plains that extend to the sea; the boundless prairie spread its broad carpet of verdure before them. More than once during the journey the attention and interest of all, but especially of Paganel, were arrested by the curious illusion of the mirage, by which was presented in the sky, at the limits of the horizon, a semblance of the estancias, the poplars and willows near them, and other objects; the images being so much like the reality that it required a strong effort to realize their deceptive character. The weather hitherto had been fine, but now the sky assumed a less pleasing aspect. Masses of vapor, generated by the high temperature of the preceding days, condensed into thick clouds and threatened to dissolve in showers of rain. Moreover, the proximity of the Atlantic, and the west wind, which here reigns supreme, rendered the climate of this region peculiarly moist. However, for that day at least the heavy clouds did not break; and at evening the horses, after traveling forty miles, halted on the edge of a deep "cañada," an immense natural ditch filled with water. A shelter was wanting, but the ponchos served for tents as well as clothing, and peaceful slumbers enwrapped all. The next day, as they progressed farther, the presence of subterranean streams betrayed itself more noticeably, and moisture was seen in every depression of the ground. Soon they came to large ponds, some already deep and others just forming. So long as there were only lagoons, the horses could easily extricate themselves; but with these treacherous swamps it was more difficult. Tall grass obstructed them, and it was necessary to incur the danger before it could be understood. These quagmires had been already fatal to more than one human being. Robert, who had ridden half a mile in advance, returned at a gallop, crying,-- "Monsieur Paganel! Monsieur Paganel! A forest of horns!" "What!" replied the geographer, "have you found a forest of horns?" "Yes, yes; or at least a field." "A field! you are dreaming, my boy," said Paganel, shrugging his shoulders. "I am not dreaming," retorted Robert; "you shall see for yourself. This is a strange country! People sow horns, and they spring up like corn! I should like very well to have some of the seed." "But he speaks seriously," said the major. "Yes, major, you shall see." Robert was not mistaken, and soon they found themselves before a vast field of horns, regularly planted. "Well?" said Robert. "This is something singular," replied Paganel, turning towards the Indian with a questioning look. [Sidenote: AN ANXIOUS INDIAN.] "The horns come from the ground," explained Thalcave; "and the cattle are under it." "What!" cried Paganel, "is there a whole drove in this mire?" "Yes," answered the Patagonian. In fact, a vast herd had perished in this bog, which had given way beneath them. Hundreds of cattle had thus met their death, side by side, by suffocation in this vast quagmire. This circumstance, which sometimes takes place on the plains, could not be ignored by the Indian, and it was a warning which it was proper to heed. They passed around this immense hecatomb, which would have satisfied the most exacting gods of antiquity; and an hour after the field of horns was far behind. Thalcave now began to observe with an anxious air the state of things around him. He frequently stopped, and rose in his stirrups. His tall form enabled him to survey a wide range; but, perceiving nothing that could enlighten him, he resumed his undeviating course. A mile farther, he stopped again, and, turning from the beaten track, proceeded a short distance, first to the north, then to the south, and then resumed his place at the head of the party, without saying either what he hoped or what he feared. These manoeuvres, many times repeated, puzzled Paganel and annoyed Glenarvan. The geographer was accordingly requested to interrogate the Indian, which he did at once. Thalcave replied that he was astonished to see the plain so soaked with moisture. Never within his recollection, since he had performed the office of guide, had his feet trodden a soil so saturated. Even in the season of the great rains the Argentine plain was always easily passed. "But to what do you attribute this increasing moisture?" asked Paganel. "I know not," replied the Indian; "and what if I did?" "Do the mountain streams, when swollen with the rains, ever overflow their banks?" "Sometimes." "And now, perhaps?" "Perhaps," said Thalcave. Paganel was forced to be contented with this answer, and communicated to Glenarvan the result of the conversation. "And what does Thalcave advise?" inquired Glenarvan. "What is to be done?" asked Paganel of the Patagonian. "Advance quickly," replied the Indian. This advice was easier to give than to follow. The horses were quickly fatigued with treading a soil that sank beneath them deeper and deeper as they progressed, so that this part of the plain might have been compared to an immense basin in which the invading waters would rapidly accumulate. It was advisable, therefore, to cross without delay these sloping terraces that an inundation would have instantly transformed into a lake. They hastened their pace, though there was no great depth to the water which spread out in a sheet beneath the horses' feet. About two o'clock the flood-gates of the heavens opened, and tropical torrents of rain descended. Never was a finer opportunity presented for showing oneself a philosopher. There was no chance of escaping this deluge, and it was better for the travelers to receive it stoically. Their ponchos were soon dripping, and their hats wet them still more, like roofs whose gutters have overflowed. The fringes of the saddle-cloths seemed so many liquid streams; and the horsemen, bespattered by their animals, whose hoofs splashed in the water at every step, rode in a double shower, which came from the ground as well as the sky. [Sidenote: HYDROPATHIC TREATMENT.] It was in this wretchedly cold and exhausted state that they arrived, towards evening, at a very miserable rancho. Only people who were not fastidious could have given it the name of a shelter, only travelers in distress would consent to occupy it. But Glenarvan and his companions had no choice. They therefore cowered down in the abandoned hut which would not have satisfied even a poor Indian of the plains. A sorry fire of grass, which gave out more smoke than heat, was kindled with difficulty. The torrents of rain made havoc without, and large drops oozed through the mouldy thatch. The fire was extinguished twenty times, and twenty times did Wilson and Mulready struggle against the invading water. The supper was very meagre and comfortless, and every one's appetite failed. The major alone did justice to the water-soaked repast, and did not lose a mouthful: he was superior to misfortune. As for Paganel, like a Frenchman, he tried to joke; but now he failed. "My jokes are wet," said he: "they miss fire." However, as it was more agreeable--if possible, under the circumstances--to sleep, each one sought in slumber a temporary forgetfulness of his fatigues. The night was stormy. The sides of the rancho cracked as if they would break, while the frail structure bent beneath the gusts of wind and threatened to give way at every shock. The unfortunate horses neighed in terror without, exposed to the inclemency of the tempest; and their masters did not suffer less in their miserable shelter. However, sleep drowned all their troubles at last. Robert first closed his eyes, reclining his head on Lord Glenarvan's shoulder; and soon all the inmates of the rancho slept under the protection of God. They woke the next morning at the call of Thaouka, who, always ready, neighed without, and struck the wall of the hut vigorously with his hoof, as though to give the signal for departure. They owed him too much not to obey him, and they accordingly resumed their journey. The rain had ceased, but the hard earth held what had fallen. On the impenetrable clay, pools, marshes, and ponds overflowed and formed immense "bañados" of treacherous depth. Paganel, on consulting his map, judged rightly that the Grande and Nivarota Rivers, into which the waters of the plain usually flow, must have mingled together in one broad stream. An extremely rapid advance, therefore, became necessary. The common safety was at stake. If the inundation increased, where could they find a refuge? The vast circle of the horizon did not offer a single point, and on this level plain the progress of the water must be rapid. The horses were urged to their utmost speed. Thaouka took the lead, and might have borne the name of sea-horse, for he pranced as if he had been in his native element. Suddenly, about six o'clock in the evening, he manifested signs of extreme agitation. He turned frequently towards the vast expanse to the south; his neighs were prolonged, his nostrils keenly snuffed the air, and he reared violently. Thalcave, whom his antics could not unseat, managed his steed without difficulty. The froth from the horse's mouth was mingled with blood under the action of the firmly-closed bit, and yet the spirited animal could not be calm. If free, his master felt but too well that he would have fled away at full speed towards the north. "What is the matter with Thaouka?" asked Paganel. "Has he been bitten by those voracious blood-suckers of the Argentine waters?" "No," replied the Indian. "Is he terrified, then, at some danger?" "Yes, he has scented danger." "What?" "I do not know." Although the eye did not yet reveal the peril that Thaouka divined, the ear could already detect it. A low murmur, like the sound of a rising tide, was heard as from the limit of the horizon. The wind blew in damp gusts laden with spray; the birds, as if fleeing from some unknown phenomenon, shot swiftly through the air; and the horses, wading to their knees, felt the first impulse of the current. Soon a mingled roar, like bellowing, neighing, and bleating, resounded half a mile to the south, and immense herds appeared, tumbling, rising, and rushing, a confused mass of terrified beasts, and fled by with frightful rapidity. It was scarcely possible to distinguish them in the midst of the clouds of spray dashed up by their flight. [Illustration: "The flood! the flood!" replied Thalcave, spurring his horse towards the north.] "Quick! quick!" cried Thalcave, in a piercing voice. "What is it?" said Paganel. "The flood! the flood!" replied Thalcave, spurring his horse towards the north. "The inundation!" cried Paganel; and his companions, with him at their head, fled away in the track of Thaouka. It was time. Five miles to the south a high and broad wall of water was rushing over the plain, which was fast becoming an ocean. The tall grass disappeared as before the scythe, and the tufts of mimosas, torn up by the current, separated and formed floating islands. The mass of waters spread itself in broad waves of irresistible power. The dikes of the great rivers had evidently given way, and perhaps the waters of the Colorado and Rio Negro were now mingling in a common stream. The wall of water descried by Thalcave advanced with the speed of a race-horse. The travelers fled before it like a cloud driven by the storm. Their eyes sought in vain a place of refuge. Sky and water mingled together on the horizon. The horses, excited by the danger, dashed along in a mad gallop, so that their riders could scarcely keep their seats. Glenarvan frequently glanced behind him. "The water is overtaking us," he thought. "Quick! quick!" cried Thalcave. [Sidenote: THE ARK.] The unfortunate beasts were urged to a swifter pace. From their flanks, lacerated with the spur, flowed bright red streams, which marked their course on the water by long, crimson lines. They stumbled in the hollows of the ground; they were entangled in the hidden grass; they fell and rose again continually. The depth of the water sensibly increased. Long surges announced the on-rush of the mass of water that tossed its foaming crests less than two miles distant. For a quarter of an hour this final struggle against the most terrible of elements was prolonged. The fugitives could keep no account of the distance they had traversed; but, judging by the rapidity of their flight, it must have been considerable. Meantime the horses, immersed to their breasts, could no longer advance without extreme difficulty. Glenarvan, Paganel, Austin, all believed themselves lost, victims of the horrible death of unfortunates abandoned at sea. Their animals began to lose their footing; six feet of water was sufficient to drown them. We must forbear to picture the acute anguish of these eight men overtaken by a rising inundation. They felt their powerlessness to struggle against these convulsions of nature, superior to human strength. Their safety was no longer in their own hands. Five minutes after, the horses were swimming, while the current alone carried them along with irresistible force and furious swiftness. All safety seemed impossible, when the voice of the major was heard. "A tree!" said he. "A tree!" cried Glenarvan. "Yes, yonder!" replied Thalcave, and he pointed northward to a kind of gigantic walnut-tree, which rose solitary from the midst of the waters. His companions had no need to be urged. This tree that was opportunely presented to them they must reach at all hazards. The horses probably could not accomplish the distance; but the men, at least, could be saved,--the current would carry them. At that moment Tom Austin's horse gave a stifled neigh and disappeared. His rider, extricating himself from the stirrups, began to swim vigorously. "Cling to my saddle!" cried Glenarvan to him. "Thanks, my lord," replied he, "my arms are strong." "Your horse, Robert?" continued Glenarvan, turning towards the boy. "All right, my lord, all right! He swims like a fish." "Attention!" cried the major, in a loud voice. This word was scarcely pronounced, when the enormous wall of water reached them. A huge wave, forty feet high, overwhelmed the fugitives with a terrible roar. Men and beasts, everything, disappeared in a whirlpool of foam. A ponderous liquid mass engulfed them in its furious tide. When the deluge had passed, the men regained the surface, and rapidly counted their numbers; but the horses, except Thaouka, had disappeared forever. "Courage! courage!" cried Glenarvan, who supported Paganel with one arm and swam with the other. "All right! all right!" replied the worthy geographer; "indeed I am not sorry----" What was he not sorry for? No one ever knew; for the poor man was forced to swallow the end of his sentence in half a pint of muddy water. The major calmly advanced, taking a regular stroke of which the most skillful swimmer would not have been ashamed. The sailors worked their way along like porpoises in their native element. As for Robert, he clung to Thaouka's mane, and was thus drawn along. The horse proudly cut the waters, and kept himself instinctively on a line with the tree, towards which the current bore him, and which was now not far distant. In a few moments the entire party reached it. It was fortunate; for, if this refuge had failed, all chance of safety would have vanished, and they must have perished in the waves. The water was up to the top of the trunk where the main branches grew, so that it was easy to grasp them. Thalcave, leaving his horse, and lifting Robert, seized the first limb, and soon his powerful arms had lodged the exhausted swimmers in a place of safety. But Thaouka, carried away by the current, was rapidly disappearing. He turned his intelligent head towards his master, and, shaking his long mane, neighed for him beseechingly. [Illustration: A huge wave, forty feet high, overwhelmed the fugitives with a terrible roar. Men and beasts, everything, disappeared in a whirlpool of foam. A ponderous liquid mass engulfed them in its furious tide.] "Do you abandon him?" said Paganel. "I?" cried the Indian, and, plunging into the tempestuous waters, he reappeared some distance from the tree. A few moments after, his arm rested upon the neck of Thaouka, and horse and horseman swam away together towards the misty horizon of the north. CHAPTER XXIII. A SINGULAR ABODE. The tree upon which Glenarvan and his companions had just found refuge resembled a walnut-tree. It had the same shining foliage and rounded form. It was the "ombu," which is met with only on the Argentine Plains. It had an enormous, twisted trunk, and was confined to the earth not only by its great roots, but also by strong shoots which held it most tenaciously. It had thus resisted the force of the inundation. [Sidenote: AN ORNITHOLOGICAL OMNIUM-GATHERUM.] This ombu measured one hundred feet in height, and might have covered with its shade a circumference of three hundred and sixty feet. All the upper part rested on three great branches, which forked from the top of the trunk, that was six feet in diameter. Two of these branches were nearly perpendicular, and supported the immense canopy of foliage, whose crossed, twisted, and interlaced limbs, as if woven by the hand of a basket-maker, formed an impenetrable shelter. The third branch, on the contrary, extended almost horizontally over the roaring waters; its leaves were bathed in them, while it seemed a promontory to this island of verdure surrounded by an ocean. There was abundant space, also, in the interior of this gigantic tree. The foliage, which was not very dense at its outer circumference, left large openings like sky-lights, and made it well ventilated and cool. At sight of these branches rising in innumerable ramifications towards the clouds, while the parasitic convolvuli bound them to each other, and the rays of the sun shone through the interstices of the leaves, you would really have thought that the trunk of this ombu bore upon itself alone an entire forest. On the arrival of the fugitives, a feathered population flew away to the top branches, protesting by their cries against so flagrant a usurpation of their dwelling. These birds, that had themselves sought refuge upon this solitary ombu, were seen by hundreds,--blackbirds, starlings, and many other richly-feathered varieties; and when they flew away it seemed as if a gust of wind had stripped the tree of its leaves. Such was the asylum offered to Glenarvan's little party. Robert and the nimble Wilson were scarcely perched in the tree, before they hastened to climb to the topmost branches. Their heads protruded above the dome of verdure. From this lofty position the view embraced a wide range. The ocean created by the inundation surrounded them on all sides, and their eyes could discern no limit. No other tree emerged from the watery surface; the ombu, alone in the midst of the unconfined waters, groaned at every shock. At a distance, borne along by the impetuous current, floated uprooted trunks, twisted branches, thatch torn from some demolished rancho, beams swept by the waters from the roofs of cattle-folds, bodies of drowned animals, bloody skins, and, on a swaying tree, a whole family of growling jaguars that clung with their claws to this fragile raft. Still farther off, a black speck almost invisible attracted Wilson's attention. It was Thalcave and his faithful Thaouka, disappearing in the distance. [Illustration: He turned his intelligent head towards his master, and, shaking his long mane, neighed for him beseechingly.] [Sidenote: A COMMITTEE OF SUPPLY.] "Thalcave, friend Thalcave!" cried Robert, stretching out his hands towards the courageous Patagonian. "He will be saved, Mr. Robert," said Wilson; "but let us join Lord Glenarvan." A moment after, Robert and the sailor descended the three stories of branches and found themselves among their companions. Glenarvan, Paganel, the major, Austin, and Mulready were seated astraddle, or dangling in the branches, according to their own inclinations. Wilson gave an account of their visit to the top of the tree. All shared his opinion in regard to Thalcave. The only question was, whether Thalcave would save Thaouka, or Thaouka Thalcave. The present situation of these refugees was undeniably insecure. The tree would not probably give way to the force of the current, but the rising waters might reach the top branches, for the depression of the soil made this part of the plain a deep reservoir. Glenarvan's first care, therefore, was to establish, by means of notches, points of comparison which enabled him to note the different heights of the water. The flood was now stationary, and it appeared to have reached its greatest elevation. This was encouraging. "And now what shall we do?" asked Glenarvan. "Build our nest, of course," replied Paganel. "Build our nest!" cried Robert. "Certainly, my boy, and live the life of birds, since we cannot live the life of fishes." "Very well," said Glenarvan; "but who will give us our beakful?" "I," replied the major. All eyes were turned towards MacNabb, who was comfortably seated in a natural arm-chair formed of two pliant branches, and with one hand was holding out the wet though well-filled saddle-bags. "Ah, MacNabb," cried Glenarvan, "this is just like you! You think of everything, even under circumstances where it is allowable to forget." "As soon as it was decided not to be drowned, I concluded not to die of hunger." "I should not have thought of this," said Paganel, innocently; "but I am so absent-minded!" "And what do the saddle-bags contain?" inquired Tom Austin. "Provisions for seven men for two days," replied MacNabb. "Well," said Glenarvan, "I hope that the inundation will be considerably lower twenty-four hours hence." "Or that we shall find some means of gaining _terra firma_," added Paganel. "Our first business, then, is to breakfast," said Glenarvan. "After drying ourselves," observed the major. "And fire?" said Wilson. "Why, we must make one," replied Paganel. "Where?" "At the top of the trunk, of course." "With what?" "With dead wood that we shall cut in the tree." "But how kindle it?" said Glenarvan. "Our tinder is like a wet sponge." "We will manage that," answered Paganel; "a little dry moss, a ray of sunlight, the lens of my telescope, and you will see by what a fire I will dry myself. Who will go for wood in the forest?" "I!" cried Robert, and, followed by his friend Wilson, he disappeared like a cat in the depths of the foliage. [Sidenote: GOING BIRD'S-NESTING.] During their absence Paganel found dry moss in sufficient quantity; he availed himself of a ray of sunlight, which was easy, for the orb of day now shone with a vivid brightness, and then, with the aid of his lens, he kindled without difficulty the combustible materials which were laid on a bed of leaves in the fork of the branches. It was a natural fireplace, with no danger of conflagration. Wilson and Robert soon returned with an armful of dead wood, which was cast on the fire. Paganel, to cause a draught, placed himself above the fireplace, his long legs crossed in the Arab fashion; then, moving his body rapidly up and down, he produced, by means of his poncho, a strong current of air. The wood kindled, and a bright, roaring flame soon rose from this improvised oven. Each dried himself in his own way, while the ponchos, hung on the branches, swung to and fro in the breeze. They now breakfasted, sparingly however, for they had to allow for the following day. The immense basin might not perhaps be empty so soon as Glenarvan hoped, and, moreover, the provisions were limited. The tree bore no fruit; but fortunately it afforded a remarkable supply of fresh eggs, thanks to the numerous nests that loaded the branches, not to speak of their feathered occupants. These resources were by no means to be despised. The question now was, therefore, in case of a prolonged stay, how to secure comfortable quarters. "Since the kitchen and dining-room are on the ground floor," said Paganel, "we will sleep in the first story. The house is large, the rent reasonable, and we must take our ease. I perceive that above there are natural cradles, in which, when we have once laid ourselves, we shall sleep as well as in the best beds in the world. We have nothing to fear; moreover, we will keep watch, and there are enough of us to repulse all the wild animals." "Only we have no arms," said Tom Austin. "I have my revolvers," said Glenarvan. "And I mine," replied Robert. "What use," continued Tom Austin, "if Mr. Paganel does not find the means of manufacturing powder?" "It is not necessary," replied MacNabb, showing a full flask. "Where did you get that, major?" inquired Paganel. "Of Thalcave. He thought it might be useful to us, and gave it to me before going back to Thaouka." "Brave and generous Indian!" cried Glenarvan. "Yes," added Tom Austin, "if all the Patagonians are fashioned after this model, I pay my respects to Patagonia." "I desire that the horse be not forgotten," said Paganel. "He forms part of the Patagonian, and, if I am not greatly mistaken, we shall see them again." "How far are we from the Atlantic?" inquired the major. "Not more than forty miles," answered Paganel. "And now, my friends, since each is free to act, I ask permission to leave you. I am going to choose an observatory above, and, with the aid of my telescope, will keep you acquainted with what goes on here." The geographer was allowed to go. He very adroitly swung himself from branch to branch, and disappeared behind the thick curtain of foliage. His companions at once occupied themselves with making the sleeping-room and preparing their beds, which was neither a difficult nor a lengthy task. As there were no bedclothes to fix nor furniture to arrange, each soon resumed his place by the fire. They then conversed, but not about their present condition, which they must patiently endure. They returned to the inexhaustible subject of Captain Grant's recovery. If the waters subsided, in three days the travelers would be again on board the Duncan. But the captain and his two sailors, those unfortunate castaways, would not be with them; and it even seemed after this failure, after this vain search in South America, as if all hope of finding them were irrevocably lost. Whither direct a new search? What, too, would be the grief of Lady Helena and Mary Grant on learning that the future had no hope in store for them! "Poor sister!" exclaimed Robert; "all is over for us!" [Illustration: Glenarvan, Paganel, the major, Austin, and Mulready were seated astraddle, or dangling in the branches, according to their own inclinations.] Glenarvan, for the first time, had no consoling answer to make. What hope could he give the child? Had he not followed with rigorous exactitude the directions of the document? "At all events," said he, "this thirty-seventh degree of latitude is no vain indication. Have we not supposed, interpreted, and ascertained that it relates to the shipwreck or the captivity of Captain Grant? Have we not read it with our own eyes?" "All that is true, my lord," replied Tom Austin; "nevertheless our search has not succeeded." "It is discouraging as well as annoying," said Glenarvan. "Annoying if you will," replied MacNabb, in a calm tone, "but not discouraging. Precisely because we thus have a definite item, we must thoroughly exhaust all its instructions." "What do you mean?" inquired Glenarvan. "What do you think ought to be done?" "A very simple and reasonable thing, my dear Edward. Let us turn our faces towards the east, when we are on board the Duncan, and follow the thirty-seventh parallel even around to our starting-point, if necessary." "Do you think, my dear major, that I have not thought of this?" replied Glenarvan. "Indeed I have, a hundred times. But what chance have we of succeeding? Is not leaving the American continent departing from the place indicated by Captain Grant himself, from Patagonia, so clearly named in the document?" "Do you wish to begin your search in the Pampas again," replied the major, "when you are sure that the shipwreck of the Britannia did not take place on the Pacific or Atlantic coast?" Glenarvan did not answer. "And however feeble the chance of finding Captain Grant by following this latitude may be, still ought we not to attempt it?" "I do not deny it," replied Glenarvan. [Sidenote: APPLIED GEOGRAPHY.] "And you, my friends," added the major, addressing the sailors, "are you not of my opinion?" "Entirely," answered Tom Austin, while Wilson and Mulready nodded assent. "Listen to me, my friends," continued Glenarvan, after a few moments of reflection, "and you too, Robert, for this is a serious question. I shall do everything possible to find Captain Grant, as I have undertaken to do, and shall devote my entire life, if necessary, to this object. All Scotland would join me to save this noble man who sacrificed himself for her. I too think, however slight may be the chance, that we ought to make the tour of the world on the thirty-seventh parallel; and I shall do so. But this is not the point to be settled: there is a much more important one, and it is this: Ought we once and for all to abandon our search on the American continent?" This question, so directly asked, was unanswered. No one dared to declare his opinion. "Well?" resumed Glenarvan, addressing the major more especially. "My dear Edward," replied MacNabb, "it would involve too great a responsibility to answer you now. The case requires consideration. But first of all I desire to know what countries the thirty-seventh parallel crosses." "That is Paganel's business," replied Glenarvan. "Let us ask him, then," said the major. The geographer was no longer to be seen, as he was hidden by the thick foliage. It was necessary to call him. "Paganel! Paganel!" cried Glenarvan. "Present!" answered a voice which seemed to come to them from the sky. "Where are you?" "In my tower." "What are you doing?" "Surveying the wide horizon." "Can you come down a moment?" "Do you need me?" "Yes." "What for?" "To know what countries the thirty-seventh parallel crosses." "Nothing easier," replied Paganel; "I need not even disturb myself to tell you." "Very well, then." "Leaving America, the thirty-seventh parallel crosses the Atlantic." "Good." "It strikes Tristan d'Acunha Island." "Well?" "It passes two degrees to the south of the Cape of Good Hope." "And then?" "It runs across the Indian Ocean." "And then?" "It grazes St. Paul's Island of the Amsterdam group." "Go on." "It cuts Australia across the province of Victoria." "Proceed." "Leaving Australia----" This last sentence was not finished. Did the geographer hesitate? Did he know no more? No; but a startling cry was heard in the top of the tree. Glenarvan and his friends grew pale as they gazed at each other. Had a new calamity happened? Had the unfortunate Paganel fallen? Already Wilson and Mulready were hastening to his assistance, when a long body appeared. Paganel dangled from branch to branch. His hands could grasp nothing. Was he alive, or dead? They did not know; but he was about to fall into the roaring waters, when the major, with a strong hand, arrested his progress. "Very much obliged, MacNabb!" cried Paganel. "Why, what is the matter with you?" said the major. [Illustration: A long body appeared. Paganel dangled from branch to branch. His hands could grasp nothing. Was he alive, or dead?] "What has got into you? Is this another of your eternal distractions?" "Yes, yes," replied Paganel, in a voice choked with emotion (and leaves). "Yes, a distraction,--phenomenal this time." "What is it?" "We have been mistaken! We are still mistaken!" "Explain yourself." "Glenarvan, major, Robert, my friends," cried Paganel, "all you who hear me, we are seeking Captain Grant where he is not." "What do you say?" cried Glenarvan. "Not only where he is not," added Paganel, "but even where he has never been." CHAPTER XXIV. PAGANEL'S DISCLOSURE. A profound astonishment greeted these unexpected words. What did the geographer mean? Had he lost his senses? He spoke, however, with such conviction that all eyes were turned towards Glenarvan. This declaration of Paganel was a direct answer to the question the former had asked. But Glenarvan confined himself to a negative gesture, indicating disbelief in the geographer, who, as soon as he was master of his emotion, resumed. "Yes," said he, in a tone of conviction, "yes, we have gone astray in our search, and have read in the document what is not written there." "Explain yourself, Paganel," said the major; "and more calmly." [Sidenote: A NEW IDEA.] "That is very simple, major. Like you, I was in error; like you, I struck upon a false interpretation. When, but a moment ago, at the top of this tree, in answer to the question, at the word 'Australia' an idea flashed through my mind, and all was clear." "What!" cried Glenarvan, "do you pretend that Captain Grant----" "I pretend," replied Paganel, "that the word _Austral_ in the document is not complete, as we have hitherto supposed, but the root of the word _Australia_." "This is something singular," said the major. "Singular!" replied Glenarvan, shrugging his shoulders; "it is simply impossible!" "Impossible," continued Paganel, "is a word that we do not allow in France." "What!" added Glenarvan, in a tone of the greatest incredulity, "do you pretend, with that document in your possession, that the shipwreck of the Britannia took place on the shores of Australia?" "I am sure of it!" replied Paganel. "By my faith, Paganel," said Glenarvan, "this is a pretension that astonishes me greatly, coming from the secretary of a geographical society." "Why?" inquired Paganel, touched in his sensitive point. "Because, if you admit the word Australia, you admit at the same time that there are Indians in that country, a fact which has not yet been proved." Paganel was by no means surprised at this argument. He seemingly expected it, and began to smile. "My dear Glenarvan," said he, "do not be too hasty in your triumph. I am going to defeat you completely, as no Englishman has ever been defeated." "I ask nothing better. Defeat me, Paganel." "Listen, then. You say that the Indians mentioned in the document belong exclusively to Patagonia. The incomplete word _indi_ does not mean Indians, but natives (_indigènes_). Now do you admit that there are natives in Australia?" It must be confessed that Glenarvan now gazed fixedly at Paganel. "Bravo, Paganel!" said the major. "Do you admit my interpretation, my dear lord?" "Yes," replied Glenarvan, "if you can prove to me that the imperfect word _gonie_ does not relate to the country of the Patagonians." "No," cried Paganel, "it certainly does not mean Patagonia. Read anything you will but that." "But what?" "_Cosmogonie! théogonie! agonie!_" "_Agonie!_" cried the major. "That is indifferent to me," replied Paganel; "the word has no importance. I shall not even search for what it may signify. The principal point is that _Austral_ means Australia, and we must have been blindly following a false trail, not to have discovered before so evident a meaning. If I had found the document, if my judgment had not been set aside by your interpretation, I should never have understood it otherwise." This time cheers, congratulations, and compliments greeted Paganel's words. Austin, the sailors, the major, and Robert especially, were delighted to revive their hopes, and applauded the worthy geographer. Glenarvan, who had gradually been undeceived, was, as he said, almost ready to surrender. "One last remark, my dear Paganel, and I have only to bow before your sagacity." "Speak!" "How do you arrange these newly-interpreted words, and in what way do you read the document?" [Illustration: The hunt promised well, and gave hopes of culinary wonders.] "Nothing is easier. Here is the document," said Paganel, producing the precious paper that he had studied so conscientiously for several days. A profound silence ensued, while the geographer, collecting his thoughts, took his time to answer. His finger followed the incomplete lines on the document, while, in a confident tone, he expressed himself in the following terms: "'June 7th, 1862, the brig Britannia, of Glasgow, foundered after'--let us put, if you wish, 'two days, three days,' or, 'a long struggle,'--it matters little, it is quite unimportant,--'on the coast of Australia. Directing their course to shore, two sailors and Captain Grant endeavored to land,' or 'did land on the continent, where they will be,' or 'are prisoners of cruel natives. They cast this document,' and so forth. Is it clear?" "It is clear," replied Glenarvan, "if the word _continent_ can be applied to Australia, which is only an island." "Be assured, my dear Glenarvan, the best geographers are agreed in naming this island the Australian continent." "Then I have but one thing to say, my friends," cried Glenarvan. "To Australia, and may Heaven assist us!" "To Australia!" repeated his companions, with one accord. "Do you know, Paganel," added Glenarvan, "that your presence on board the Duncan is a providential circumstance?" "Well," replied Paganel, "let us suppose that I am an envoy of Providence, and say no more about it." [Sidenote: A FESTIVE BANQUET.] Thus ended this conversation, that in the future led to such great results. It completely changed the moral condition of the travelers. They had caught again the thread of the labyrinth in which they had thought themselves forever lost. A new hope arose on the ruins of their fallen projects. They could fearlessly leave behind them this American continent, and already all their thoughts flew away to the Australian land. On reaching the Duncan, they would not bring despair on board, and Lady Helena and Mary Grant would not have to lament the irrevocable loss of the captain. Thus they forgot the dangers of their situation in their new-found joy, and their only regret was that they could not start at once. It was now four o'clock in the afternoon, and they resolved to take supper at six. Paganel wished to celebrate this joyful day by a splendid banquet. As the bill of fare was very limited, he proposed to Robert that they should go hunting "in the neighboring forest," at which idea the boy clapped his hands. They took Thalcave's powder-flask, cleaned the revolvers, loaded them with fine shot, and started. "Do not go far," said the major, gravely, to the two huntsmen. After their departure Glenarvan and MacNabb went to consult the notches on the tree, while Wilson and Mulready revived the smouldering embers. Arriving at the surface of this immense lake, they saw no sign of abatement. The waters seemed to have attained their highest elevation; but the violence with which they rolled from south to north proved that the equilibrium of the Argentine rivers was not yet established. Before the liquid mass could lower, it must first become calm, like the sea when flood-tide ends and ebb begins. They could not, therefore, expect a subsidence of the waters so long as they flowed towards the north with such swiftness. While Glenarvan and the major were making these observations, reports resounded in the tree, accompanied by cries of joy almost as noisy. The clear treble of Robert contrasted sharply with the deep bass of Paganel, and the strife was which should be the most boyish. The hunt promised well, and gave hopes of culinary wonders. When the major and Glenarvan returned to the fire, they had to congratulate Wilson upon an excellent idea. The honest sailor had devoted himself to fishing with wonderful success, with the aid of a pin and a piece of string. Several dozen of little fish, delicate as smelts, called "mojarras," wriggled in a fold of his poncho, and seemed likely to make an exquisite dish. At this moment the hunters descended from the top of the tree. Paganel carefully carried some black swallows' eggs and a string of sparrows, which he meant afterwards to serve up as larks. Robert had adroitly brought down several pairs of "hilgueros,"--little green-and-yellow birds, which are excellent eating, and very much in demand in the Montevideo market. The geographer, who knew many ways of preparing eggs, had to confine himself this time to cooking them in the hot ashes. However, the repast was as varied as it was delicate. The dried meat, the hard eggs, the broiled mojarras, and the roast sparrows and hilgueros, formed a repast which was long remembered. The conversation was very animated. Paganel was greatly complimented in his twofold capacity of hunter and cook, and accepted these encomiums with the modesty that belongs to true merit. Then he gave himself up to singular observations on the magnificent tree that sheltered them with its foliage, and whose extent, as he declared, was immense. "Robert and I," said he jokingly, "imagined ourselves in the open forest during the hunt. One moment I thought we should be lost. I could not find my way. The sun was declining towards the horizon. I sought in vain to retrace my steps. Hunger made itself felt acutely. Already the gloomy coppices were resounding with the growls of ferocious beasts,--but no, there are no ferocious beasts, and I am sorry." "What!" cried Glenarvan, "you are sorry there are no ferocious beasts?" "Certainly." "But, when you have everything to fear from their ferocity----" "Ferocity does not exist,--scientifically speaking," replied the geographer. [Illustration: However, the repast was as varied as it was delicate. The dried meat, the hard eggs, the broiled mojarras, and the roast sparrows and hilgueros, formed a repast which was long remembered.] "Ha! this time, Paganel," said the major, "you will not make me admit the utility of ferocious beasts. What are they good for?" "Major," cried Paganel, "they are good to form classifications, orders, families, genera, sub-genera, species----" "Very fine!" said MacNabb. "I should not have thought of that! If I had been one of Noah's companions at the time of the deluge, I should certainly have prevented that imprudent patriarch from putting into the ark pairs of tigers, lions, bears, panthers, and other animals as destructive as they were useless." "Should you have done so?" inquired Paganel. "I should." "Well, you would have been wrong in a zoological point of view." "But not in a human one." "This is shocking," continued Paganel; "for my part, I should have preserved all the animals before the deluge of which we are so unfortunately deprived." "I tell you," replied MacNabb, "that Noah was right in abandoning them to their fate, admitting that they lived in his time." "I tell you that Noah was wrong," retorted Paganel, "and deserves the malediction of scholars to the end of time." The listeners to this argument could not help laughing at seeing the two friends dispute about what Noah ought to have done or left undone. The major, who had never argued with any one in his life, contrary to all his principles, was every day at war with Paganel, who must have particularly excited him. Glenarvan, according to his custom, interrupted the debate, and said,-- [Sidenote: WANTED, A JAGUAR!] "However much it is to be regretted, in a scientific or human point of view, that we are deprived of ferocious animals, we must be resigned to-day to their absence. Paganel could not hope to encounter any in this aerial forest." "No," replied the geographer, "although we beat the bush. It is a pity, for it would have been a glorious hunt. A ferocious man-eater like the jaguar! With one blow of his paw he can twist the neck of a horse. When he has tasted human flesh, however, he returns to it ravenously. What he likes best is the Indian, then the negro, then the mulatto, and then the white man." "However that may be, my good Paganel," said Glenarvan, "so long as there are no Indians, mulattoes, or negroes among us, I rejoice in the absence of your dear jaguars. Our situation is not, of course, so agreeable----" "What!" cried Paganel, "you complain of your lot?" "Certainly," replied Glenarvan. "Are you at your ease in these uncomfortable and uncushioned branches?" "I have never been more so, even in my own study. We lead the life of birds; we sing and flutter about. I almost think that men were destined to live in the trees." "They only want wings," said the major. "They will make them some day." "In the meantime," replied Glenarvan, "permit me, my dear friend, to prefer the sand of a park, the floor of a house, or the deck of a vessel to this aerial abode." "Glenarvan," said Paganel, "we must take things as they come. If favorable, so much the better; if unfavorable, we must not mind it. I see you long for the comforts of Malcolm Castle." "No, but----" "I am certain that Robert is perfectly happy," interrupted Paganel, to secure one advocate, at least, of his theories. "Yes, Monsieur Paganel!" cried the boy, in a joyful tone. "It is natural at his age," replied Glenarvan. "And at mine," added the geographer. "The less ease we have, the fewer wants; the fewer wants, the happier we are." "Well," said the major, "here is Paganel going to make an attack upon riches and gilded splendor." "No, my dear major," continued Paganel; "but, if you wish, I will tell you, in this connection, a little Arab story that occurs to me." "Yes, yes, Monsieur Paganel," cried Robert. "And what will your story prove?" asked the major. "What all stories prove, my brave companion." "Not much, then," replied MacNabb. "But go on, Scheherezade, and tell one of those stories that you relate so well." "There was once upon a time," said Paganel, "a son of the great Haroun-al-Raschid who was not happy. He accordingly consulted an old dervish, who told him that happiness was a very difficult thing to find in this world. 'However,' added he, 'I know an infallible way to procure you happiness.' 'What is it?' inquired the young prince. 'It is,' replied the dervish, 'to put on the shirt of a happy man.' Thereupon the prince embraced the old man, and set out in search of his talisman. He visited all the capitals of the earth; he tried the shirts of kings, emperors, princes, and nobles; but it was a useless task, he was no happier. Then he put on the shirts of artists, warriors, and merchants, but with no more success. He had thus traveled far, without finding happiness. At last, desperate from having tried so many shirts, he was returning very sadly one beautiful day to the palace of his father, when he spied in the field an honest laborer, who was joyously singing as he ploughed. 'Here is, at all events, a man who possesses happiness,' said he to himself, 'or happiness does not exist on earth.' He approached him. 'Good man,' said he, 'are you happy?' 'Yes,' replied the other. 'You wish for nothing?' 'No.' 'You would not change your lot for that of a king?' 'Never!' 'Well, sell me your shirt!' 'My shirt! I have none!'" [Illustration: They were agreed on this point, that it was necessary to have courage for every fortune, and be contented with a tree when one has neither palace nor cottage.] CHAPTER XXV. BETWEEN FIRE AND WATER. Jacques Paganel's story had a very great success. He was greatly applauded, but each retained his own opinion, and the geographer obtained the result common to most discussions,--of convincing nobody. However, they were agreed on this point, that it was necessary to have courage for every fortune, and be contented with a tree when one has neither palace nor cottage. During the course of this confabulation evening had come on. Only a good sleep could thoroughly refresh, after this eventful day. The inmates of the tree felt themselves not only fatigued by the sudden changes of the inundation, but especially overcome by the heat, which had been excessive. Their feathered companions had already set the example; the hilgueros, those nightingales of the Pampas, had ceased their melodious warblings, and all the birds had disappeared in the recesses of the foliage. The best plan was to imitate them. But before "retiring to their nest," as Paganel said, Glenarvan, Robert, and he climbed to the observatory, to examine for the last time the watery expanse. It was about nine o'clock. The sun had just set in the sparkling mists of the horizon, and all the western part of the firmament was bathed in a warm vapor. The constellations, usually so dazzling, seemed veiled in a soft haze. Still they could be distinguished, and Paganel pointed out to Robert, for Glenarvan's benefit, that zone where the stars are most brilliant. [Sidenote: PHILOSOPHY AND PONCHOS.] While the geographer was discoursing thus, the whole eastern horizon assumed a stormy aspect. A dense and dark band, clearly defined, gradually rose, dimming the light of the stars. This cloud of threatening appearance soon invaded almost the entire vault of the sky. Its motive power must have been inherent in itself, for there was not a breath of wind. Not a leaf stirred on the tree, not a ripple curled the surface of the waters. Even the air seemed to fail, as if some huge pneumatic machine had rarefied it. A strong electric current was perceptible in the atmosphere, and every creature felt it course along the nerves. Glenarvan, Paganel, and Robert were sensibly affected by these electric currents. "We shall have a storm," said Paganel. "You are not afraid of thunder?" asked Glenarvan of the boy. "Oh, no, my lord," replied Robert. "Well, so much the better; for the storm is now not far distant." "And it will be violent," continued Paganel, "so far as I can judge from the state of the sky." "It is not the storm that troubles me," said Glenarvan, "but the torrents of rain with which it will be accompanied. We shall be drenched to the skin again. Whatever you may say, Paganel, a nest cannot suffice a man, as you will soon learn to your cost." "Oh, yes, it can, with philosophy," briskly replied the geographer. "Philosophy does not prevent you from getting wet." "No, but it warms you." "Well, then," said Glenarvan, "let us join our friends and persuade them to envelop us with their philosophy and their ponchos as closely as possible, and especially to lay in a stock of patience, for we shall need it." So saying, he gave another look at the threatening sky. The mass of clouds now covered it entirely. A faint line of light towards the horizon was scarcely discernible in the dimness. The sombre appearance of the water had increased, and between the dark mass below and the clouds above there was scarcely a separation. At the same time all perception seemed dulled; and a leaden torpor rested upon both eyes and ears, while the silence was profound. "Let us go down," said Glenarvan; "the lightning will soon be here." His two companions and himself slid down the smooth branches, and were somewhat surprised to find themselves in a remarkable kind of twilight, which was produced by myriads of luminous objects that crossed each other and buzzed on the surface of the water. "Phosphorescences?" said Glenarvan. "No," replied Paganel, "but phosphorescent insects, real glow-worms,--living diamonds, and not expensive, of which the ladies of Buenos Ayres make magnificent ornaments for themselves." "What!" cried Robert, "are these things, that fly like sparks, insects?" "Yes, my boy." Robert caught one of the brilliant creatures. Paganel was right. It was a kind of large beetle, an inch in length, to which the Indians give the name of "tuco-tuco." This curious insect threw out flashes at two points situated in front of its sheath, and its light would have enabled one to read in the darkness. Paganel, on bringing it close to his watch, saw that it was ten o'clock. Glenarvan now joined the major and the three sailors, and gave them instructions for the night. A terrible storm was to be expected. After the first rollings of the thunder, the wind would doubtless break forth and the tree be violently shaken. It was, therefore, advisable for every one to tie himself firmly to the bed of branches that had been appropriated to him. If they could not avoid the torrents of the sky, they must at least guard against those of the earth, and not fall into the rapid current that broke against the trunk of the tree. They wished each other good night without much hope of passing one, and then each, getting into his aerial resting-place, wrapped himself in his poncho and waited for sleep. [Illustration: The incessant flashes assumed various forms. Some, darting perpendicularly towards the earth, were repeated five or six times in the same place; others spread in zigzag lines, and produced on the dark vault of the heavens astonishing jets of arborescent flame.] But the approach of a mighty tempest brings to the hearts of most sentient beings a vague anxiety of which the bravest cannot divest themselves. The occupants of the tree, agitated and fearful, could not close their eyes, and the first thunder-clap found them all awake. It took place about eleven o'clock, resembling a distant rumbling. Glenarvan climbed to the end of the branch, and peered out from the foliage. The dark firmament was fitfully illumined by vivid and brilliant flashes, which the waters brightly reflected, and which disclosed great rifts in the clouds. Glenarvan, after surveying the zenith and the horizon, returned to his couch. "What do you think, Glenarvan?" asked Paganel. "I think that the storm is beginning, and, if it continues, it will be terrible." "So much the better," replied the enthusiastic Paganel. "I like a fine spectacle, especially when I cannot avoid it. Only one thing would make me anxious, if anxiety served to avert danger," added he, "and that is, that the culminating point of this plain is the ombu upon which we are perched. A lightning-conductor would be very useful here, for this very tree among all those of the Pampas is the one that particularly attracts the lightning. And then, as you are aware, my friends, meteorologists advise us not to take refuge under trees during a storm." "Well," said the major, "that is timely advice." "It must be confessed, Paganel," replied Glenarvan, "that you choose a good time to tell us these encouraging things!" "Bah!" replied Paganel; "all times are good to receive information. Ah, it is beginning!" [Sidenote: AN EXTRAORDINARY STORM.] Violent thunder-claps interrupted this conversation, and their intensity increased till they reached the most deafening peals. They soon became sonorous, and made the atmosphere vibrate in rapid oscillations. The firmament was on fire, and during this commotion it was impossible to distinguish from what electric spark emanated the indefinitely-prolonged rumblings that reverberated throughout the abysses of the sky. The incessant flashes assumed various forms. Some, darting perpendicularly towards the earth, were repeated five or six times in the same place; others, separating into a thousand different branches, spread in zigzag lines and produced on the dark vault of the heavens astonishing jets of arborescent flame. Soon the sky, from east to north, was crossed by a phosphorescent band of intense brilliancy. This illumination gradually overspread the entire horizon, lighting up the clouds like a bonfire, and was reflected in the mirror-like waters, forming what seemed to be an immense circle of fire, of which the tree occupied the centre. Glenarvan and his companions watched this terrific spectacle in silence. Sheets of dazzling light glided towards them, and blinding flashes followed in rapid succession, now showing the calm countenance of the major, then the speculative face of Paganel or the energetic features of Glenarvan, and again the frightened look of Robert or the unconcerned expression of the sailors. The rain, however, did not fall as yet, nor had the wind risen. But soon the flood-gates of the heavens opened, and the rain came down in torrents, the drops, as they struck the surface of the water, rebounding in thousands of sparks illuminated by the incessant lightning. Did this rain predict the end of the storm? Were Glenarvan and his companions to be released with a few thorough drenchings? At the height of this struggle of the elements, suddenly there appeared at the end of the branch which extended horizontally, a flaming globe, of the size of a fist, and surrounded by a black smoke. This ball, after revolving a few moments, burst like a bombshell, and with a noise that was distinguishable in the midst of the general tumult. A sulphurous vapor filled the atmosphere. There was a moment of silence, and then Tom Austin was heard crying,-- "The tree is on fire!" He was right. In a moment the flame, as if it had been communicated to an immense piece of fireworks, spread along the west side of the tree. The dead limbs, the nests of dry grass, and finally the live wood itself, furnished material for the devouring element. The wind now rose and fanned the flames into fury. Glenarvan and his friends, speechless with terror, and venturing upon limbs that bent beneath their weight, hastily took refuge in the other, the eastern part of the tree. Meantime the boughs shriveled, crackled, and twisted in the fire like burning serpents. The glowing fragments fell into the rushing waters and floated away in the current, sending forth flashes of ruddy light. The flames at one moment would rise to a fearful height, to be lost in the aerial conflagration, and the next, beaten back by the furious hurricane, would envelop the tree like a robe of molten gold. Glenarvan, Robert, the major, Paganel, and the sailors, were terrified. A thick smoke was stifling them; an intolerable heat was scorching them. The fire was extending to the lower part of the tree on their side; nothing could stop or extinguish it; and they felt themselves irrevocably doomed to the torture of those victims who are confined within the burning sides of a sacrificial fire-basket. At last their situation was no longer tenable, and of two deaths they were forced to choose the least cruel. "To the water!" cried Glenarvan. [Illustration: In a few moments the gigantic water-spout struck the ombu, and enveloped it in its watery folds.] Wilson, whom the flames had reached, had already plunged into the current, when they heard him cry, in tones of the greatest terror,-- "Help! help!" Austin rushed towards him and assisted him to regain the trunk. "What is the matter?" "Caymans! caymans!" replied Wilson. And, in truth, the foot of the tree was seen to be surrounded by the most formidable monsters. Their scales glittered in broad plates of light, sharply defined by the conflagration. Their flat tails, their pointed heads, their protruding eyes, their jaws, extending back of their ears, all these characteristic signs were unmistakable. Paganel recognized the voracious alligators peculiar to America, and called caymans in Spanish countries. There were a dozen of them, beating the water with their powerful tails, and attacking the tree with their terrible teeth. At this sight the unfortunate travelers felt themselves lost indeed. A horrible death was in store for them,--to perish either by the flames or by the teeth of the alligators. There are circumstances in which man is powerless to struggle, and where a raging element can only be repulsed by another equally strong. Glenarvan, with a wild look, gazed at the fire and water leagued against him, not knowing what aid to implore of Heaven. The storm had now begun to abate; but it had developed in the air a great quantity of vapor, which the electric phenomena were about to set in violent commotion. To the south an enormous water-spout was gradually forming,--an inverted cone of mist, uniting the raging waters below to the stormy clouds above. It advanced revolving with frightful rapidity, collected at its centre a liquid column, and by a powerful attraction, caused by its gyratory motion, drew towards it all the surrounding currents of air. [Sidenote: A STRANGE BARK.] In a few moments the gigantic water-spout struck the ombu and enveloped it in its watery folds. The tree was shaken to its very base, so that Glenarvan might have thought that the alligators had attacked it with their powerful jaws and were uprooting it from the ground. His companions and he, clinging to one another, felt the mighty tree give way and fall, and saw its flaming branches plunge into the tumultuous waters with a frightful hiss. It was the work of a second. The water-spout had passed, to exert elsewhere its destructive violence, and pumping the waters of the plain as if it would exhaust them. The tree now, loosened from its moorings, floated onward under the combined impulses of wind and current. The alligators had fled, except one which crawled along the upturned roots and advanced with open jaws; but Mulready, seizing a large brand, struck the creature so powerful a blow that he broke its back. The vanquished animal sank in the eddies of the torrent, still lashing his formidable tail with terrible violence. Glenarvan and his companions, delivered from these voracious creatures, took refuge on the branches to leeward of the fire, while the tree, wrapped by the blast of the hurricane in glowing sheets of flame, floated on like a burning ship in the darkness of the night. CHAPTER XXVI. THE RETURN ON BOARD. For two hours the tree floated on the immense lake without reaching _terra firma_. The flames had gradually died out, and thus the principal danger of this terrible voyage had vanished. The current, still keeping its original direction, flowed from southwest to northeast; the darkness, though illumined now and then by flashes, had become profound, and Paganel sought in vain for his bearings. But the storm was abating, the large drops of rain gave place to light spray that was scattered by the wind, while the huge distended clouds were crossed by light bands. The tree advanced rapidly on the impetuous torrent, gliding with surprising swiftness, as if some powerful propelling means were inclosed within its trunk. There was as yet no certainty that they would not float on thus for many days. About three o'clock in the morning, however, the major observed that the roots now and then struck the bottom. Tom Austin, by means of a long branch, carefully sounded, and declared that the water was growing shallow. Twenty minutes later, a shock was felt, and the progress of the tree was checked. "Land! land!" cried Paganel, in ringing tones. The ends of the charred branches had struck against a hillock on the ground, and never were navigators more delighted to land. Already Robert and Wilson, having reached a firm plateau, were uttering shouts of joy, when a well-known whistle was heard. The sound of a horse's hoofs was heard upon the plain, and the tall form of the Indian emerged from the darkness. [Illustration: The sound of a horse's hoofs was heard upon the plain, and the tall form of the Indian emerged from the darkness.] "Thalcave!" cried Robert. "Thalcave!" repeated his companions, as with one voice. "Friends!" said the Patagonian, who had waited for them there, knowing that the current would carry them as it had carried him. At the same moment he raised Robert in his arms and clasped him to his breast. Glenarvan, the major, and the sailors, delighted to see their faithful guide again, shook his hands with the most earnest cordiality. The Patagonian then conducted them to an abandoned estancia. Here a good fire was burning, which revived them, and on the coals were roasting succulent slices of venison, to which they did ample justice. And when their refreshed minds began to reflect, they could scarcely believe that they had escaped so many perils,--the fire, the water, and the formidable alligators. Thalcave, in a few words, told his story to Paganel, and ascribed to his intrepid horse all the honor of having saved him. Paganel then endeavored to explain to him the new interpretation of the document, and the hopes it led them to entertain. Did the Indian understand the geographer's ingenious suppositions? It was very doubtful; but he saw his friends happy and very confident, and he desired nothing more. It may be easily believed that these courageous travelers, after their day of rest on the tree, needed no urging to resume their journey. At eight o'clock in the morning they were ready to start. They were too far south to procure means of transport, and were therefore obliged to travel on foot. The distance, however, was only forty miles, and Thaouka would not refuse to carry from time to time a tired pedestrian. In thirty-six hours they would reach the shores of the Atlantic. [Sidenote: IN THE DARK.] As soon as refreshed the guide and his companions left behind them the immense basin, still covered with the waters, and proceeded across elevated plains, on which, here and there, were seen groves planted by Europeans, meadows, and occasionally native trees. Thus the day passed. The next morning, fifteen miles before reaching the ocean, its proximity was perceptible. They hastened on in order to reach Lake Salado, on the shores of the Atlantic, the same day. They were beginning to feel fatigued, when they perceived sand-hills that hid the foaming waves, and soon the prolonged murmur of the rising tide struck upon their ears. "The ocean!" cried Paganel. "Yes, the ocean!" replied Thalcave. And these wanderers, whose strength had seemed almost about to fail, climbed the mounds with wonderful agility. But the darkness was profound, and their eyes wandered in vain over the gloomy expanse. They looked for the Duncan, but could not discern her. "She is there, at all events," said Glenarvan, "waiting for us." "We shall see her to-morrow," replied MacNabb. Tom Austin shouted seaward, but received no answer. The wind was very strong, and the sea tempestuous. The clouds were driving from the west, and the foaming crests of the waves broke over the beach in masses of spray. If the Duncan was at the appointed rendezvous, the lookout man could neither hear nor be heard. The coast afforded no shelter. There was no bay, no harbor, no cove; not even a creek. The beach consisted of long sand-banks that were lost in the sea, and the vicinity of which is more dangerous than that of the rocks in the face of wind and tide. These banks, in fact, increase the waves; the sea is peculiarly boisterous around them, and ships are sure to be lost if they strike on these bars in heavy storms. It was therefore very natural that the Duncan, considering this coast dangerous, and knowing it to be without a port of shelter, kept at a distance. Captain Mangles must have kept to the windward as far as possible. This was Tom Austin's opinion, and he declared that the Duncan was not less than five miles at sea. The major, accordingly, persuaded his impatient relative to be resigned, as there was no way of dissipating the thick darkness. And why weary their eyes in scanning the gloomy horizon? He established a kind of encampment in the shelter of the sand-hills; the remains of the provisions furnished them a final repast; and then each, following the major's example, hollowed out a comfortable bed in the sand, and, covering himself up to his chin, was soon wrapped in profound repose. Glenarvan watched alone. The wind continued strong, and the ocean still showed the effects of the recent storm. The tumultuous waves broke at the foot of the sand-banks with the noise of thunder. Glenarvan could not convince himself that the Duncan was so near him; but as for supposing that she had not arrived at her appointed rendezvous, it was impossible, for such a ship there were no delays. The storm had certainly been violent and its fury terrible on the vast expanse of the ocean, but the yacht was a good vessel and her captain an able seaman; she must, therefore, be at her destination. These reflections, however, did not pacify Glenarvan. When heart and reason are at variance, the latter is the weaker power. The lord of Malcolm Castle seemed to see in the darkness all those whom he loved, his dear Helena, Mary Grant, and the crew of the Duncan. He wandered along the barren coast which the waves covered with phosphorescent bubbles. He looked, he listened, and even thought that he saw a fitful light on the sea. "I am not mistaken," he soliloquized; "I saw a ship's light, the Duncan's. Ah! why cannot my eyes pierce the darkness?" [Illustration: Glenarvan watched alone. He could not convince himself that the Duncan was so near him; but as for supposing that she had not arrived at her appointed rendezvous, it was impossible, for such a ship there were no delays.] Then an idea occurred to him. Paganel called himself a nyctalops; he could see in the night. The geographer was sleeping like a mole in his bed, when a strong hand dragged him from his sandy couch. "Who is that?" cried he. "I." "Who?" "Glenarvan. Come, I need your eyes." "My eyes?" replied Paganel, rubbing them vigorously. "Yes, your eyes, to distinguish the Duncan in this darkness. Come." "And why my eyes?" said Paganel to himself, delighted, nevertheless, to be of service to Glenarvan. He rose, shaking his torpid limbs in the manner of one awakened from sleep, and followed his friend along the shore. Glenarvan requested him to survey the dark horizon to seaward. For several moments Paganel conscientiously devoted himself to this task. "Well, do you perceive nothing?" asked Glenarvan. "Nothing. Not even a cat could see two paces before her." "Look for a red or a green light, on the starboard or the larboard side." "I see neither a red nor a green light. All is darkness," replied Paganel, whose eyes were thereupon involuntarily closed. For half an hour he mechanically followed his impatient friend in absolute silence, with his head bowed upon his breast, sometimes raising it suddenly. He tottered along with uncertain steps, like those of a drunken man. At last Glenarvan, seeing that the geographer was in a state of somnambulism, took him by the arm, and, without waking him, led him back to his sand-hole, and comfortably deposited him therein. At break of day they were all started to their feet by the cry,-- [Sidenote: IMPATIENCE.] "The Duncan! the Duncan!" "Hurrah! hurrah!" replied Glenarvan's companions, rushing to the shore. The Duncan was indeed in sight. Five miles distant, the yacht was sailing under low pressure, her main-sails carefully reefed, while her smoke mingled with the mists of the morning. The sea was high, and a vessel of her tonnage could not approach the shore without danger. Glenarvan, provided with Paganel's telescope, watched the movements of the Duncan. Captain Mangles could not have perceived them, for he did not approach, but continued to coast along with only a reefed top-sail. At this moment Thalcave, having loaded his carbine heavily, fired it in the direction of the yacht. They gazed and listened. Three times the Indian's gun resounded, waking the echoes of the shore. At last a white smoke issued from the side of the yacht. "They see us!" cried Glenarvan. "It is the Duncan's cannon." A few moments after, a heavy report rang out on the air, and the Duncan, shifting her sail and putting on steam, was seen to be approaching the shore. By the aid of the glass they saw a boat leave the ship's side. "Lady Helena cannot come," said Tom Austin: "the sea is too rough." "Nor Captain Mangles," replied MacNabb: "he cannot leave his vessel." "My sister! my sister!" cried Robert, stretching his arms towards the yacht, which rolled heavily. "I hope I shall soon get on board!" exclaimed Glenarvan. "Patience, Edward! You will be there in two hours," replied MacNabb. Glenarvan now joined Thalcave, who, standing with folded arms alongside of Thaouka, was calmly gazing at the waves. Glenarvan took his hand, and, pointing to the yacht, said,-- "Come!" The Indian shook his head. "Come, my friend!" continued Glenarvan. "No," replied Thalcave, gently. "Here is Thaouka, and there are the Pampas!" he added, indicating with a sweep of his hand the vast expanse of the plains. It was clear that the Indian would never leave the prairies, where the bones of his fathers whitened. Glenarvan knew the strong attachment of these children of the desert to their native country. He therefore shook Thalcave's hand, and did not insist; not even when the Indian, smiling in his peculiar way, refused the price of his services, saying,-- "It was done out of friendship." His lordship, however, desired to give the brave Indian something which might at least serve as a souvenir of his European friends. But what had he left? His arms, his horses, everything had been lost in the inundation. His friends were no richer than himself. For some moments he was at a loss how to repay the disinterested generosity of the brave guide; but at last a happy idea occurred to him. He drew from his pocket-book a costly medallion inclosing an admirable portrait, one of Lawrence's master-pieces, and presented it to Thalcave. "My wife," said Glenarvan. Thalcave gazed with wonder at the portrait, and pronounced these simple words,-- "Good and beautiful!" Then Robert, Paganel, the major, Tom Austin, and the two sailors bade an affectionate adieu to the noble Patagonian, who clasped each one in succession to his broad breast. All were sincerely sorry at parting with so courageous and devoted a friend. Paganel forced him to accept a map of South America and the two oceans, which the Indian had frequently examined with interest. It was the geographer's most precious possession. As for Robert, he had nothing to give but caresses, which he freely lavished upon his deliverer and upon Thaouka. [Illustration: They pushed off, and the boat was rapidly borne from the shore by the ebbing tide. For a long time the motionless outline of the Indian was seen through the foam of the waves.] At that instant the Duncan's boat approached, and, gliding into the narrow channel between the sand-banks, grounded on the beach. "My wife?" asked Glenarvan. "My sister?" cried Robert. "Lady Helena and Miss Grant await you on board," replied the cockswain. "But we have not a moment to lose, my lord, for the tide is beginning to ebb." The last acknowledgments were given, and Thalcave accompanied his friends to the boat. Just as Robert was about to embark, the Indian took him in his arms and gazed at him tenderly. "Now go," said he; "you are a man!" "Adieu, my friend, adieu!" cried Glenarvan. "Shall we ever see each other again?" asked Paganel. "Who knows?" replied Thalcave, raising his arms towards heaven. They pushed off, and the boat was rapidly borne from the shore by the ebbing tide. For a long time the motionless outline of the Indian was seen through the foam of the waves. Then his tall form grew indistinct, and soon became invisible. An hour afterwards they reached the Duncan. Robert was the first to spring upon the deck, where he threw himself upon his sister's neck, while the crew of the yacht filled the air with their joyous shouts. Thus had our travelers accomplished the journey across South America on a rigorously straight line. Neither mountains nor rivers had turned them aside from their course; and, although they were not forced to struggle against the evil designs of men, the relentless fury of the elements had often tested their generous intrepidity to its utmost powers of endurance. CHAPTER XXVII. A NEW DESTINATION. The first moments were consecrated to the happiness of meeting. Lord Glenarvan did not wish the joy in the hearts of his friends to be chilled by tidings of their want of success. His first words, therefore, were,-- "Courage, my friends, courage! Captain Grant is not with us, but we are sure to find him." It needed only such an assurance to restore hope to the passengers of the Duncan. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, while the boat was approaching the ship, had experienced all the anguish of suspense. From the deck they endeavored to count those who were returning. At one time the young girl would despair; at another she would think she saw her father. Her heart beat quickly; she could not speak; she could scarcely stand. Lady Helena supported her, while Captain Mangles stood beside her in silence. His keen eyes, accustomed to distinguish distant objects, could not discern the captain. "He is there! he is coming! my father!" murmured the young girl. But as the boat gradually drew near, the illusion vanished. Not only Lady Helena and the captain, but Mary Grant, had now lost all hope. It was, therefore, time for Glenarvan to utter his assuring words. [Sidenote: "BREAKFAST!"] After the first embraces, all were informed of the principal incidents of the journey; and, first of all, Glenarvan made known the new interpretation of the document, due to the sagacity of Jacques Paganel. He also praised Robert, of whom his sister had a right to be proud. His courage, his devotion, and the dangers that he had overcome, were conspicuously set forth by his noble friend, so that the boy would not have known where to hide himself, if his sister's arms had not afforded him a sure refuge. [Illustration: Lady Helena and Mary Grant, while the boat was approaching the ship, had experienced all the anguish of suspense. From the deck they endeavored to count those who were returning.] "You need not blush, Robert," said Captain Mangles; "you have behaved like the worthy son of Captain Grant." He stretched out his arms towards Mary's brother, and pressed his lips to the boy's cheeks, which were still wet with tears. They then spoke of the generous Thalcave. Lady Helena regretted that she could not have shaken hands with the brave Indian. MacNabb, after the first outbursts of enthusiasm, repaired to his cabin to shave himself. As for Paganel, he flitted hither and thither, like a bee, extracting the honey of compliments and smiles. He wished to embrace all on board the Duncan, and, beginning with Lady Helena and Mary Grant, ended with Mr. Olbinett, the steward, who could not better recognize such politeness than by announcing breakfast. "Breakfast!" cried Paganel. "Yes, Mr. Paganel," replied Olbinett. "A real breakfast, on a real table, with table-cloth and napkins?" "Certainly." "And shall we not eat hard eggs, or ostrich steaks?" "Oh, Mr. Paganel!" replied the worthy steward, greatly embarrassed. "I did not mean to offend you, my friend," said the geographer; "but for a month our food has been of that sort, and we have dined, not at a table, but stretched on the ground, except when we were astride of the trees. This breakfast that you have just announced seemed to me, therefore, like a dream, a fiction, a chimera." "Well, we will test its reality, Monsieur Paganel," replied Lady Helena, who could not help laughing. "Accept my arm," said the gallant geographer. "Has your lordship any orders to give?" inquired Captain Mangles. "After breakfast, my dear fellow," replied Glenarvan, "we will discuss in council the programme of the new expedition." The passengers and the young captain then descended to the cabin. Orders were given to the engineer to keep up steam, that they might start at the first signal. The major and the travelers, after a rapid toilette, seated themselves at the table. Ample justice was done to Mr. Olbinett's repast, which was declared excellent and even superior to the splendid banquets of the Pampas. Paganel called twice for every dish, "through absent-mindedness," as he said. This unfortunate word led Lady Helena to inquire if the amiable Frenchman had occasionally shown his habitual failing. The major and Lord Glenarvan looked at each other with a smile. As for Paganel, he laughed heartily, and promised "upon his honor" not to commit a single blunder during the entire voyage. He then in a very comical way told the story of his mistake in the study of Spanish. "After all," he added, in conclusion, "misfortunes are sometimes beneficial, and I do not regret my error." "And why, my worthy friend?" asked the major. "Because I not only know Spanish, but Portuguese also. I speak two languages instead of one." "By my faith, I should not have thought of that," replied MacNabb. "My compliments, Paganel, my sincere compliments!" [Sidenote: TABLE-TALK IN THE SOUTH ATLANTIC.] Paganel was applauded, but did not lose a single mouthful. He did not, however, notice one peculiarity observed by Glenarvan, and that was the young captain's attentions to his neighbor, Mary Grant. A slight sign from Lady Helena to her husband told him how matters stood. He gazed at the two young people with affectionate sympathy, and finally addressed the captain, but upon a different subject. "How did you succeed with your voyage, captain?" he inquired. "Excellently," replied the captain; "only I must inform your lordship that we did not return by way of the Strait of Magellan." "What!" cried Paganel, "you doubled Cape Horn, and I was not there!" "Hang yourself!" said the major. "Selfish fellow! you give me this advice in order that you may share my rope!" retorted the geographer. "Well, my dear Paganel," added Glenarvan, "unless we are endowed with ubiquity, we cannot be everywhere. Since you crossed the Pampas, you could not at the same time double Cape Horn." "Nevertheless, I am sorry," replied the geographer. Captain Mangles now told the story of his voyage, and was congratulated by Glenarvan, who, addressing Mary Grant, said,-- "My dear young lady, I see that Captain John pays his homage to your noble qualities, and I am happy to find that you are not displeased with his ship." "Oh, how could I be?" replied Mary, gazing at Lady Helena, and perhaps also at the young captain. "My sister loves you, Mr. Captain," cried Robert, "and I do too." "And I return your love, my dear boy," replied Captain Mangles, a little confused by Robert's words, which also brought a slight blush to the face of the young girl. Then, changing the conversation to a less embarrassing subject, the captain added,-- "Since I have related the Duncan's voyage, will not your lordship give us a few particulars of your travels, and the exploits of our young hero?" No recital could have been more agreeable to Lady Helena and Miss Grant, and Glenarvan hastened to satisfy their curiosity. He told, word for word, all about their journey from ocean to ocean. The passage of the Andes, the earthquake, Robert's disappearance, his capture by the condor, Thalcave's fortunate shot, the adventure with the wolves, the boy's devotion, the meeting with Sergeant Manuel, the inundation, their refuge in the tree, the lightning, the fire, the alligators, the water-spout, the night on the shores of the Atlantic, all these incidents, cheerful or serious, excited alternately the joy and terror of his hearers. Many a circumstance was related that brought Robert the caresses of his sister and Lady Helena. Never was boy more highly praised, or by more enthusiastic friends. "Now, my friends," remarked Lord Glenarvan, when he had finished his recital, "let us think of the present. Let us return to the subject of Captain Grant." When breakfast was over, the party repaired to Lady Helena's state-room, and, taking seats around a table loaded with maps and charts, resumed the conversation. Glenarvan explained that the shipwreck had not taken place on the shores either of the Pacific or the Atlantic, and that, consequently, the document had been wrongly interpreted so far as Patagonia was concerned; that Paganel, by a sudden inspiration, had discovered the mistake and proved that they had been following a false trail. The geographer was accordingly asked to explain the French document, which he did to the satisfaction of every one. When he had finished his demonstration, Glenarvan announced that the Duncan would immediately set sail for Australia. The major, however, before the order was given, asked permission to make a single remark. "Speak, major," said Glenarvan. "My object," said MacNabb, "is not to invalidate the arguments of my friend Paganel, still less to refute them. I consider them rational, sagacious, and worthy of our whole attention. But I desire to submit them to a final examination, that their validity may be incontestable." [Illustration: "My object," said MacNabb, "is not to invalidate the arguments of my friend Paganel, still less to refute them."] No one knew what the prudent MacNabb meant, and his hearers listened with some anxiety. "Go on, major," said Paganel: "I am ready to answer all your questions." "Nothing can be simpler," said the major. "Five months ago, in the Frith of Clyde, when we studied the three documents, their interpretation seemed clear to us. No place but the western coast of Patagonia could, we thought, have been the scene of the shipwreck. We had not even the shadow of a doubt on the subject." "Very true," added Glenarvan. "Afterwards," resumed the major, "when Paganel, in a moment of providential absent-mindedness, embarked on board our vessel, the documents were submitted to him, and he unhesitatingly sanctioned our search upon the American coast." "You are right," observed the geographer. "And, nevertheless, we are mistaken," said the major. "Yes, we are mistaken," repeated Paganel; "but to be mistaken is only to be human, while it is the part of a madman to persist in his error." "Wait, Paganel," continued the major; "do not get excited. I do not mean that our search ought to be prolonged in America." "What do you ask, then?" inquired Glenarvan. "Simply the acknowledgment that Australia now seems to be the scene of the Britannia's shipwreck as much as South America did before." "Granted," replied Paganel. "Who knows, then," resumed the major, "whether, after Australia, another country may not offer us the same probabilities, and whether, when this new search proves vain, it may not seem evident that we ought to have searched elsewhere?" [Sidenote: FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.] Glenarvan and Paganel glanced at each other. The major's remarks were strictly correct. "I desire, therefore," added MacNabb, "that a final test be made before we start for Australia. Here are the documents and maps. Let us examine successively all points that the thirty-seventh parallel crosses, and see if there is not some other country to which the document has as precise a reference." "Nothing is easier," replied Paganel. The map was placed before Lady Helena, and all showed themselves ready to follow Paganel's demonstration. After carefully examining the documents, it was unanimously agreed that Paganel's interpretation was the correct one. "I leave you, therefore, my friends," said he, in conclusion, "to decide whether all the probabilities are not in favor of the Australian continent." "Evidently," replied the passengers and the captain with unanimity. "Captain," said Glenarvan, "have you sufficient provisions and coal?" "Yes, my lord, I procured ample supplies at Talcahuana, and, besides, we can lay in a fresh stock of fuel at Cape Town." "One more remark," said the major. "A thousand, if you please!" "Whatever may be the guarantees for success in Australia, will it not be well to call for a day or two, in passing, at the islets of Tristan d'Acunha and Amsterdam? They are situated so near our strict line of search, that it is worth our while to ascertain if there be on them any trace of the shipwreck of the Britannia." "The unbeliever!" said Paganel. "I do not want to have to return to them, monsieur, if Australia does not after all realize our newly-conceived expectations." "The precaution is not a bad one," said Glenarvan. [Illustration: At sunrise they saw the conical peak of Tristan, seemingly separated from all the rest of the rocky group.] [Illustration: A few hours of their united toil resulted in the death of a large number of seals who were "caught napping."] "And I do not wish to dissuade you; quite the contrary," replied the geographer. "Well, then, we will adopt it, and start forthwith," said Lord Glenarvan. "Immediately, my lord," replied the captain, as he went on deck, while Robert and Mary Grant uttered the liveliest expressions of gratitude; and the Duncan, leaving the American coast and heading to the east, was soon swiftly ploughing the waves of the Atlantic. CHAPTER XXVIII. TRISTAN D'ACUNHA AND THE ISLE OF AMSTERDAM. [Sidenote: LOOKING ALOFT.] The Duncan now had before her a broad stretch of ocean but little traversed by navigators. Between the shores of South America and the little speck in the ocean known by the name of Tristan d'Acunha, there was no probability of her meeting with any strange sail; and under some circumstances, or in some company, the days might have been monotonous and the hours might have hung wearily. But so ardent was the desire for success, and so accomplished, yet varied, were the characters of those who composed the little assembly, that the voyage on the South Atlantic, though devoid of striking incident, was by no means wanting in interest. Much of the time was spent on deck, where the ladies' cabins were now located, Mary Grant especially training her hand, head, and heart in feeling, thought, and action. The geographer set to work on a composition entitled "Travels of a Geographer on the Argentine Pampas;" but many a blank page did he leave. Tho Scottish peer (when tired of examining for the thousandth time all that belonged to his yacht) could look at the books and documents which he had brought with him, intending to peruse them carefully. And as to the major he was never in company and never out of company; his cigar insured, nothing else was wanted. Ever and anon many miles of the ocean would be covered by masses of sea-weed; these different species of algæ would afford subject for research; specimens must be preserved, authorities must be consulted, and as one result at least all would become wiser. Then a discussion would ensue on some geographical problem, and maps that were not attainable were of course appealed to by each disputant, though the subject in question was often of very trivial moment. It was in the midst of a debate of this kind, during the evening, that a sailor cried out,-- "Land ahead!" "In what direction?" asked Paganel. "To windward," replied the sailor. The landsmen's eyes were strained, but to no purpose. The geographer's telescope was brought into requisition, but with no avail. "I do not see the land," said its owner. "Look into the clouds," said the captain. "Ah!" replied Paganel, struck with the idea, and shortly with the reality also; for there was the barren mountain-top of Tristan d'Acunha. "Then," said he, "if I remember aright, we are eighty miles from it. Is not that the distance from which this mountain is visible?" "Exactly so," replied the captain. A few hours brought them much nearer to the group of high and steep rocks, and at sunrise they saw the conical peak of Tristan, seemingly separated from all the rest of the rocky group, and reflecting the glory of the blue heavens and of the rising orb on the placid sea at its base. There are three islets in this group,--Tristan d'Acunha, Inaccessible, and Rossignol; but it was only at the first [Illustration: Our friends found a few voluntary exiles on the former island, who, by means of seal-fishing, eke out a scanty existence in this out-of-the-way spot.] [Illustration: Inasmuch as this was sufficient to cook fish, Paganel decided that it was not necessary for him to bathe here "geographically."] of these that the Duncan called. Inquiry was made of the authorities (for these islets are governed by a British official from the Cape of Good Hope) if there were any tidings of the Britannia. But nothing was known of such a ship; they were told of the shipwrecks which had occurred, but there was nothing that afforded a clue to that which they sought. They spent some hours in examination of the fauna and flora, which were not very extensive. They saw and were seen by the sparse population that subsist here, and in the afternoon of the same day the yacht left the islands and islanders so rarely visited. Whilst the passengers had been thus engaged, Lord Glenarvan had allowed his crew to employ their time advantageously to themselves in capturing some of the seals which are so plentiful in these latitudes. A few hours of their united toil resulted in the death of a large number of seals who were "caught napping," and in the stowing away, for the profit of the crew when they should reach the Australian market, several barrels of the oil obtained from their carcases. Still onward on the same parallel lay the course of the Duncan, towards the Isles of Amsterdam and St. Paul; and the same subjects of conversation, study, and speculation engaged them all, until, one morning, they espied the first mentioned island, far ahead; and as they drew nearer, a peak rose clearly before their vision which strongly reminded them of the Peak of Teneriffe they had beheld a few months before. [Sidenote: WARM SPRINGS AND WARM TALK.] The Isle of Amsterdam or St. Peter, and the Isle of St. Paul, have been visited by very few, and but little is known of them. The latter is uninhabited; but our friends found a few voluntary exiles on the former island, who, by means of seal-fishing, eke out a scanty existence in this out-of-the-way spot. Here again inquiry was made, but in vain, for any information of the Britannia, her voyage, or her shipwreck. Neither on the Isle of Amsterdam nor on that of St. Paul, which the whalers and seal-fishers sometimes visit, had there been any trace of the catastrophe. Desolate as these lonely islands appeared to our travelers, they still were not devoid of objects of interest. They were meagre enough in vegetation and in animal life; but there were warm springs which well repaid a visit. Captain Mangles found the temperature of their waters to be 166° Fahrenheit; and, inasmuch as this was sufficient to cook fish, Paganel decided that it was not necessary for him to bathe here "geographically." When they resumed their course, though many miles were before them, there was a growing sense of anticipation; they were not to pause again until the "Australian continent" was reached; and more and more did the conversation and discussions tend towards this continent as their subject. On one occasion so certain was Paganel as to the ease with which they would be able to pursue their search, when they arrived, that he asserted that more than fifty geographers had already made the course clear for them. "What! fifty, do you say?" asked the major, with an air of doubt. "Yes, MacNabb, decidedly," said the geographer, piqued at the hesitancy to believe him. "Impossible!" replied the major. "Not at all; and if you doubt my veracity, I will cite their names." "Ah!" said the major, quietly, "you clever people stick at nothing." "Major," said Paganel, "will you wager your rifle against my telescope that I cannot name at least fifty Australian explorers?" "Of course, Paganel, if you like," replied MacNabb, seeing that he could not now recede from his position without incurring the ridicule of the company. [Illustration: "Major," said Paganel, "will you wager your rifle against my telescope that I cannot name at least fifty Australian explorers?"] [Illustration: "Master Robert shall count for us." And forthwith the learned geographer opened his budget, and poured forth the history of the discovery of Australia.] "Well, then," said Paganel to Lady Helena and Miss Grant, "come and be umpires, and Master Robert shall count for us." And forthwith the learned geographer opened his budget, and poured forth the history of the discovery of Australia, with the names of its discoverers and the dates of their explorations, as fluently as though his sole calling in life was to be professor of Australian history. Rapidly he mentioned the first twenty who found or traversed the Austral shores; as rapidly did the names of the second score flow from his lips; and after the prescribed fifty had been enumerated, he kept on as though his list were inexhaustible. "Enough, enough, Monsieur Paganel!" said Lady Helena. "You have shown that there is nothing, great or small, about Australia, of which you are ignorant." "Nay, madam," said the geographer, with a bow. Then, with a peculiar expression, he smiled as he said to the major, "We will talk about the rifle at another time." CHAPTER XXIX. THE STORM ON THE INDIAN OCEAN. Two days after this conversation, Captain Mangles took an observation, and the passengers saw, to their great satisfaction, upon consulting the map, that they were in the vicinity of Cape Bernouilli, which they might expect to reach in four days. The west wind had hitherto favored the progress of the yacht, but for several days it had shown a tendency to fail, and now there was a perfect calm. The sails flapped idly against the masts, and had it not been for her powerful screw, the Duncan would have been becalmed on the ocean. [Sidenote: FOREBODINGS OF DISASTER.] This state of things might be prolonged indefinitely. At evening Glenarvan consulted the captain on the subject. The latter, whose supply of coal was rapidly diminishing, appeared much disturbed at the subsidence of the wind. He had covered his ship with canvas, and set his studding- and main-sails, that he might take advantage of the least breeze; but, in nautical language, there was not enough wind "to fill a hat." "At all events," said Glenarvan, "we need not complain. It is better to be without wind than to have a contrary one." "Your lordship is right," replied Captain Mangles; "but I dread some sudden change in the weather. We are now in the neighborhood of the trade-winds, which, from October to April, blow from the northeast, and our progress will, therefore, be very much retarded." "But what can we do, captain? If this misfortune occurs, we must submit to it. It will only be a delay, after all." "Probably, if a storm does not come upon us too." "Do you fear bad weather?" asked Glenarvan, looking at the sky, which, however, was cloudless. "Yes," replied the captain. "I tell your lordship, but would conceal my apprehensions from Lady Helena and Miss Grant." "You act wisely. What do you apprehend?" "There are signs of a great storm. Do not trust the appearance of the sky, my lord; nothing is more deceptive. For two days the barometer has fallen to an alarming degree. This is a warning that I cannot disregard. I particularly fear the storms of the South Seas, for I have been already exposed to them." "John," replied Glenarvan, "the Duncan is a stout vessel, and her captain a skillful seaman. Let the storm come; we will take care of ourselves." Captain Mangles, while giving expression to his fears, was by no means forgetful of his duty as a sailor. The steady fall of the barometer caused him to take every measure of precaution. The sky, as yet, gave no indication of the approaching tempest; but the warnings of his infallible instrument were not to be disregarded. The young captain accordingly remained on deck all night. About eleven o'clock the sky grew threatening towards the south. All hands were immediately called on deck, to take in the sails. At midnight the wind freshened. The creaking of the masts, the rattling of the rigging, and the groaning of bulkheads informed the passengers of the state of affairs. Paganel, Glenarvan, the major, and Robert came on deck to render assistance if it should be needed. Over the sky, that they had left clear and studded with stars, now rolled thick clouds broken by light bands and spotted like the skin of a leopard. "Has the storm broken upon us?" asked Glenarvan. "Not yet, but it will presently," replied the captain. At that moment he gave the order to reef the top-sail. The sailors sprang into the windward rattlings, and with difficulty accomplished their task. Captain Mangles wished to keep on as much sail as possible, to support the yacht and moderate her rolling. After these precautions had been taken, he told the mate and the boatswain to prepare for the assault of the tempest, which could not be long in breaking forth. Still, like an officer at the storming of a breach, he did not leave the point of observation, but from the upper deck endeavored to draw from the stormy sky its secrets. [Sidenote: AN ADDED CALAMITY.] It was now one o'clock in the morning. Lady Helena and Miss Grant, aroused by the unusual bustle, ventured to come on deck. The wind was sharply whistling through the cordage, which, like the strings of a musical instrument, resounded as if some mighty bow had caused their rapid vibrations; the pulleys clashed against each other; the ropes creaked with a sharp sound in their rough sockets; the sails cracked like cannon, and vast waves rolled up to assail the yacht, as it lightly danced on their foaming crests. When the captain perceived the ladies, he approached and besought them to return to the cabin. Several waves had already been shipped, and the deck might be swept at any moment. The din of the elements was now so piercing that Lady Helena could scarcely hear the young captain. "Is there any danger?" she managed to ask him during a momentary lull in the storm. "No, madam," replied he; "but neither you nor Miss Mary can remain on deck." The ladies did not oppose an order that seemed more like an entreaty, and returned to the cabin just as a wave, rolling over the stern, shook the compass-lights in their sockets. The violence of the wind redoubled; the masts bent under the pressure of sail, and the yacht seemed to rise on the billows. "Brail up the main-sail!" cried the captain; "haul in the top-sails and jibs!" The sailors sprang to their places; the halyards were loosened, the brails drawn down, the jibs taken in with a noise that rose above the storm, and the Duncan, whose smoke-stack belched forth torrents of black smoke, rolled heavily in the sea. Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, and Robert gazed with admiration and terror at this struggle with the waves. They clung tightly to the rigging, unable to exchange a word, and watched the flocks of stormy petrels, those melancholy birds of the storm, as they sported in the raging winds. At that moment a piercing sound was heard above the roar of the hurricane. The steam was rapidly escaping, not through the escape-valve, but through the pipes of the boiler. The alarm-whistle sounded with unusual shrillness; the yacht gave a terrible lurch, and Wilson, who was at the helm, was overthrown by an unexpected blow of the wheel. The vessel was in the trough of the sea, and no longer manageable. "What is the matter?" cried Captain Mangles, rushing to the stern. "The ship is careening!" replied Austin. "Is the rudder unhinged?" "To the engine! to the engine!" cried the engineer. The captain rushed down the ladder. A cloud of steam filled the engine-room; the pistons were motionless in their cylinders, and the cranks gave no movement to the shaft. The engineer, seeing that all efforts were useless, and fearing for his boilers, had let out the steam through the escape-valve. "What has happened?" asked the captain. "The screw is either bent or entangled," replied the engineer; "it will not work." "Is it impossible to free it?" "Impossible, at present." To attempt to repair the accident at that moment was out of the question. The screw would not move, and the steam, being no longer effective, had escaped through the valves. The captain was, therefore, forced to rely on his sails, and seek the aid of the wind, which had been hitherto his most dangerous enemy. He came on deck, and, briefly informing Glenarvan of the situation, begged him to return to the cabin with the others; but the latter wished to remain. "No, my lord," replied Captain Mangles, in a firm tone: "I must be alone here with my crew. Go! The ship may be in danger, and the waves would drench you unmercifully." "But we may be of use----" "Go, go, my lord; you must! There are times when I am master on board. Retire, as I wish!" [Sidenote: THE STRUGGLE CONTINUED.] For John Mangles to express himself so authoritatively, the situation must have been critical. Glenarvan understood that it was his duty to obey. He therefore left the deck, followed by his three companions, and joined the ladies in the cabin, who were anxiously awaiting the result of this struggle with the elements. "My brave John is an energetic man," remarked Glenarvan as he entered. Meantime Captain Mangles lost no time in extricating the ship from her perilous situation. He resolved to keep towards the Cape, that he might deviate as little as possible from his prescribed course. It was, therefore, necessary to brace the sails obliquely to the wind. The top-sail was reefed, a kind of fore-sail rigged on the main-stay, and the helm crowded hard aport. The yacht, which was a stanch and fleet vessel, started like a spirited horse that feels the spur, and proudly breasted the angry billows. The rest of the night was passed in this situation. They hoped that the tempest would abate by break of day. Vain hope! At eight o'clock in the morning it was still blowing hard, and the wind soon became a hurricane. The captain said nothing, but he trembled for his vessel and those whom she carried. The Duncan now and then gave a fearful lurch; her stanchions cracked, and sometimes the yards of the mainmast struck the crests of the waves. At one moment the crew thought the yacht would not rise again. Already the sailors, hatchet in hand, were rushing to cut away the fore-shrouds, when they were violently torn from their fastenings by the blast. The ship righted herself, but, without support on the waves, she was tossed about so terribly that the masts threatened to break at their very foundations. She could not long endure such rolling; she was growing weak, and soon her shattered sides and opening seams must give way for the water. [Illustration: Then, impelled by the hurricane, the billows outran her; they leaped over the taffrail, and the whole deck was swept with tremendous violence.] [Sidenote: NEARING THE END.] Captain Mangles had but one resource,--to rig a storm-jib. He succeeded after several hours' labor, but it was not until three o'clock in the afternoon that the jib was hauled to the main-stay and set to the wind. With this piece of canvas the Duncan flew before the wind with inconceivable rapidity. It was necessary to keep up the greatest possible speed, for upon this alone depended her safety. Sometimes, outstripping the waves, she cut them with her slender prow and plunged beneath them, like an enormous sea-monster, while the water swept her deck from stem to stern. At other times her swiftness barely equaled that of the surges, her rudder lost all power, and she gave terrific lurches that threatened to capsize her. Then, impelled by the hurricane, the billows outran her; they leaped over the taffrail, and the whole deck was swept with tremendous violence. The situation was indeed alarming. The captain would not leave his post for an instant. He was tortured by fears that his impassive face would not betray, and persistently sought to penetrate with his gaze the gathering gloom. And he had good cause for fear. The Duncan, driven out of her course, was running towards the Australian coast with a swiftness that nothing could arrest. He felt, too, as if by instinct, that a strong current was drawing him along. At every moment he feared the shock of a reef upon which the yacht would be dashed into a thousand pieces, and he calculated that the shore was not more than a dozen miles to leeward. Finally he went in search of Lord Glenarvan, consulted with him in private, explained their actual situation, viewed it with the coolness of a sailor who is ready for any emergency, and ended by saying that he should be obliged perhaps to run the Duncan ashore. "To save those she carries, if possible, my lord," he added. "Very well, captain," replied Glenarvan. "And Lady Helena and Miss Grant?" "I will inform them only at the last moment, when all hope is gone of keeping at sea. You will tell me." "I will, my lord." Glenarvan returned to the ladies, who, without knowing all the danger, felt it to be imminent. They displayed, however, a noble courage, equal at least to that of their companions. Paganel gave himself up to the most unreasonable theories concerning the direction of atmospheric currents, while the major awaited the end with the indifference of a Mussulman. About eleven o'clock the hurricane seemed to moderate a little, the heavy mists were gradually dissipated, and through the openings the captain could see a low land at least six miles to leeward. He steered directly for it. Huge waves rolled to a prodigious height, and he knew that they must have a firm point of support to reach such an elevation. "There are sand-bars here," said he to Tom Austin. "That is my opinion," replied the mate. "We are in the hands of God," continued the captain. "If He does not himself guide the Duncan over the bar, we are lost." "It is high tide now, captain; perhaps we may do it." "But see the fury of those waves! What ship could resist them? God help us, my friend!" Meantime the Duncan dashed towards the shore with terrible swiftness. Soon she was only two miles from the sand-bars. The mists still continued to conceal the land. Nevertheless Captain Mangles thought he perceived, beyond this foaming barrier, a tranquil haven, where the Duncan would be in comparative safety. But how to reach it? He called the passengers on deck, for he did not wish, when the hour of shipwreck had come, that they should be confined in the cabin. Glenarvan and his companions gazed at the awful sea. Mary Grant grew pale. "John," said Glenarvan in a low tone to the young captain, "I will try to save my wife, or will perish with her. Do you take charge of Miss Grant." [Sidenote: OILY INFLUENCES.] "Yes, your lordship," was the prompt reply. The Duncan was now only a few cable-lengths from the sand-bars. As it was high tide, there would doubtless have been sufficient water to enable the yacht to cross these dangerous shoals; but the enormous waves upon which she rose and fell would infallibly have wrecked her. Was there then any means of allaying these billows, of calming this tumultuous sea? A sudden idea occurred to the captain. "The oil!" cried he; "pour on oil, men, pour on oil!" These words were quickly understood by all the crew. They were about to employ a method that sometimes succeeds. The fury of the sea can often be appeased by covering it with a sheet of oil, which floats on the surface and destroys the shock of the waters. The effect is instantaneous, but transient. As soon as a ship has crossed this treacherous sea, it redoubles its fury; and woe to those who would venture to follow. The barrels containing the supply of seal-oil were hoisted into the forecastle by the crew, to whom the danger gave new strength. Here they were stove in with a blow of the hatchet, and suspended over the starboard rattlings. "Hold on!" cried the captain, waiting for the favorable moment. In a few seconds the yacht reached the entrance to the pass, which was barred by a terrible line of foam. "Let go!" cried the young captain. The barrels were inverted, and from their sides streamed floods of oil. Immediately the unctuous liquid leveled the foaming surface of the sea, and the Duncan sailed on calm waters, and was soon in a quiet harbor beyond the terrible sand-bars; and then the ocean, released from its fetters, bounded after its escaped prey with indescribable fury. [Illustration: "Let go!" cried the young captain. The barrels were inverted, and from their sides streamed floods of oil.] CHAPTER XXX. A HOSPITABLE COLONIST. The captain's first care was to secure anchorage. He moored the vessel in five fathoms of water. The bottom was good, a hard gravel, affording an excellent hold. There was no danger of drifting, or of stranding at low tide. The Duncan, after so many hours of peril, was now in a sort of creek sheltered by a high promontory from the fury of the wind. Lord Glenarvan shook the hand of the young captain, saying,-- "Thanks, John!" And Captain Mangles felt himself fully rewarded by these simple words. Glenarvan kept to himself the secret of his anguish, and neither Lady Helena, Mary Grant, nor Robert suspected the magnitude of the perils they had just escaped. One important point remained to be settled. On what part of the coast had the Duncan been cast by the storm? How could she regain her prescribed course? How far were they from Cape Bernouilli? Such were the first questions addressed to the captain, who at once took his bearings and noted his observations on the map. The Duncan had not deviated very far from her route. She was at Cape Catastrophe, on the southern coast of Australia, not three hundred miles from Cape Bernouilli. But could the Duncan's injuries be repaired? This was the question to decide. The captain wished to know the extent of the damage. It was discovered, by diving, that a flange of the screw was bent and came in contact with the stern-post. Hence it was impossible for the screw to rotate. This injury was considered serious enough to necessitate going into dry-dock, which of course could not be done in their present locality. Glenarvan and the captain, after mature reflection, resolved that the Duncan should follow the western shore, seeking traces of the Britannia, should stop at Cape Bernouilli, where further information could be obtained, and then continue southward to Melbourne, where her injuries could be repaired; and, as soon as this was done, that she should cruise along the eastern shores to finish the search. This arrangement was approved, and Captain Mangles resolved to take advantage of the first favorable wind. He did not have to wait long. Towards evening the hurricane had entirely subsided, and a moderate breeze was blowing from the southwest. Preparations were made for getting under way; new sails were set, and at four o'clock in the morning the sailors heaved at the capstan, the anchor was weighed, and the Duncan, with all sails set, cruised close to windward along the coast. They arrived at Cape Bernouilli without finding the least trace of the lost vessel. But this failure proved nothing. Indeed, during the two years since the shipwreck, the sea might have scattered or destroyed the fragments of the brig. Besides, the natives, who scent shipwrecks as a vulture does a corpse, might have carried away every vestige of it. Harry Grant and his two companions, therefore, without doubt, had been taken prisoners the moment the waves cast them ashore, and been carried into the interior of the country. [Sidenote: HOPING AGAINST HOPE.] But here one of Paganel's ingenious suppositions failed. So long as they were in the Argentine territory, the geographer could rightly maintain that the latitude of the document referred to the place of captivity,--not to the scene of the shipwreck. Indeed, the great rivers of the Pampas and their numerous affluents could easily bear the document to the sea. In this part of Australia, on the contrary, few streams cross the thirty-seventh parallel, and the principal Australian rivers--the Murray, the Yara, the Torrens, and the Darling--either flow into each other, or empty into the ocean by mouths where navigation is active. What probability was there, then, that a fragile bottle could have descended these continually navigated waters, and reached the Indian Ocean? This consideration could not escape such sagacious minds. Paganel's supposition, plausible in Patagonia, was illogical in Australia. The geographer perceived this in a discussion on the subject with the major. It was clear that the latitude applied only to the place of shipwreck, and that consequently the bottle had been cast into the sea where the Britannia was wrecked,--on the western coast of Australia. However, as Glenarvan justly observed, this interpretation did not preclude the possibility of Captain Grant's captivity, who, moreover, had intimated as much by the words "where they will be prisoners of the cruel Indians." But there was no more reason for seeking the prisoners on the thirty-seventh parallel than on any other. This conclusion, after much discussion, was finally accepted, and it was decided that, if no traces of the Britannia were found at Cape Bernouilli, Lord Glenarvan should return to Europe, relinquishing all hope of finding the object of their search. This resolution occasioned profound grief to the children of the lost captain. As the boats containing the whole of the party were rowed ashore, they felt that the fate of their father would soon be probably decided; irrevocably, we may say, for Paganel, in a former discussion, had clearly demonstrated that the shipwrecked seamen would have reached their country long ago, if their vessel had stranded on the other, the eastern coast. [Sidenote: A NEW PROSPECT.] "Hope! hope! never cease to hope!" said Lady Helena to the young girl seated beside her, as they approached the shore. "The hand of God will never fail us." [Illustration: As the boats containing the whole of the party were rowed ashore, they felt that the fate of their father would soon be probably decided.] "Yes, Miss Mary," said the captain; "when men have exhausted human resources, then Heaven interposes, and, by some unforeseen event, opens to them new ways." "God grant it, captain!" replied Mary. The shore was now only a cable's length distant. The cape terminated in gentle declivities extending far out into the sea. The boat entered a small creek, between banks of coral in process of formation, which in time would form a chain of reefs along the southern coast of the island. The passengers of the Duncan disembarked on a perfectly barren shore. Steep cliffs formed a lofty sea-wall, and it would have been difficult to scale this natural rampart without ladders or cramping-irons. Fortunately, the captain discovered a breach half a mile southward, caused by a partial crumbling of the cliffs. Probably the sea, during violent equinoctial storms, had beaten against this fragile barrier, and thus caused the fall of the upper portions of the mass. Glenarvan and his companions entered this opening, and reached the summit of the cliffs by a very steep ascent. Robert climbed an abrupt declivity with the agility of a cat, and arrived first at the top, to the great chagrin of Paganel, who was quite mortified at seeing himself outstripped by a mere lad of twelve. However, he distanced the peaceable major; but that worthy was utterly indifferent to his defeat. The little party surveyed the plain that stretched out beneath them. It was a vast, uncultivated tract, covered with bushes and brushwood, and was compared by Glenarvan to the glens of the Scottish lowlands, and by Paganel to the barren lands of Brittany. But though the country along the coast was evidently uninhabited, the presence of man, not the savage, but the civilized worker, was betokened by several substantial structures in the distance. "A mill!" cried Robert. True enough, at no great distance apparently, the sails of a mill were seen. "It is indeed a mill," replied Paganel. "Here is a beacon as modest as it is useful, the sight of which delights my eyes." "It is almost a belfry," said Lady Helena. "Yes, madam; and while one makes bread for the body, the other announces bread for the soul. In this respect they resemble each other." "Let us go to the mill," replied Glenarvan. They accordingly started. After half an hour's walk the soil assumed a new aspect. The transition from barren plains to cultivated fields was sudden. Instead of brushwood, quick-set hedges surrounded an inclosure freshly ploughed. Some cattle, and half a dozen horses, grazed in pastures encircled by acacias. Then fields of corn were reached, several acres of land bristling with the yellow ears, haycocks like great bee-hives, vineyards with blooming inclosures, a beautiful garden, where the useful and the ornamental mingled; in short, a fair and comfortable locality, which the merry mill crowned with its pointed gable and caressed with the moving shadow of its sails. At this moment a man of about fifty, of prepossessing countenance, issued from the principal house, at the barking of three great dogs that announced the coming of the strangers. Five stout and handsome boys, his sons, accompanied by their mother, a tall, robust woman, followed him. This man, surrounded by his healthful family, in the midst of these new erections, in this almost virgin country, presented the perfect type of the colonist, who, endeavoring to better his lot, seeks his fortune and happiness beyond the seas. Glenarvan and his friends had not yet introduced themselves, they had not had time to declare either their names or their rank, when these cordial words saluted them:-- [Sidenote: AN AUSTRALIAN HOME.] "Strangers, welcome to the house of Patrick O'Moore." "You are an Irishman?" said Glenarvan, taking the hand that the colonist offered him. "I was," replied Mr. O'Moore. "Now I am an Australian. But come in, whoever you are, gentlemen; this house is at your service." The invitation so hospitably given was accepted without ceremony. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, conducted by Mrs. O'Moore, entered the house, while the colonist's sons relieved the visitors of their fire-arms. A large, cool, airy room occupied the ground-floor of the house, which was built of stout beams arranged horizontally. Several wooden benches, built into the walls, and painted in gay colors, ten stools, two oaken trunks, in which white china and jugs of polished pewter were arranged, and a long table, at which twenty people could be comfortably seated, constituted the furniture, worthy of the house and its hardy inhabitants. Dinner was soon served. Dishes of soup smoked between roast beef and legs of mutton, flanked by large plates of olives, grapes, and oranges. The host and hostess had such an engaging air, and the fare was so tempting, so ample, and so abundantly furnished, that it would have been unbecoming not to accept this rural bounty. The domestics of the farm, the equals of their master, had already come to partake of the repast; and the host reserved the place of honor for the strangers. "I expected you," said he, quietly, to Lord Glenarvan. "You did?" replied the latter, very much surprised. "I always expect those who are coming," replied the Irishman. Then, in a grave voice, while his household stood respectfully, he invoked a Divine blessing. Lady Helena was much affected by his perfect simplicity of manner, and a look from her husband told her that he likewise was touched by it. [Illustration: A fair and comfortable locality, which the merry mill crowned with its pointed gable and caressed with the moving shadow of its sails.] [Sidenote: THE OLD QUESTION.] Ample justice was done to the repast. The conversation was general. The colonist told his story. It was like that of most deserving and voluntary emigrants. Many go far to seek their fortunes, and find only sorrow and disaster; they accuse fate, forgetting to blame their ignorance, laziness, and vices. The man who is sober and persevering, economical and honest, is almost sure to succeed. This had been the case with Mr. O'Moore. He had left Dundalk, where he was poor, and, emigrating with his family to Australia, had landed at Adelaide. At first he engaged in mining, but soon relinquished this for the less hazardous pursuits of the farmer, in which he had been successful beyond his highest anticipations. His agricultural knowledge was a great aid to him. He economized, and bought new lands with the profits of the first. His family flourished, as well as his farm. The Irish peasant had become a landed proprietor, and, although his establishment was only two years old, he owned at that moment five hundred acres of well-cultivated land and five hundred head of cattle, was his own master, and as independent as one can be even in the freest country in the world. His guests congratulated him sincerely when his story was finished. He doubtless expected a similar confidence, but did not urge it. Glenarvan had an immediate interest in speaking of the Duncan, of his own presence at Cape Bernouilli, and of the search that they had pursued so perseveringly. But, like a man who considers the main object in view, he first questioned his host concerning the shipwreck of the Britannia. The Irishman's answer was not cheering. He had never heard of the ship. No vessel had for some time been lost on the coast; and, as the shipwreck had occurred only two years before, he could affirm with absolute certainty that the sailors had not been cast on that part of the western shore. "And now, my lord," added he, "may I be allowed to ask why you have inquired of me concerning this shipwreck?" Glenarvan then told the story of the document, the voyage of the Duncan, and the attempts made to find Captain Grant. He confessed that his dearest hopes had been destroyed by Mr. O'Moore's discouraging information, and that he now despaired of ever finding the shipwrecked seamen of the Britannia. These words produced a gloomy impression upon his hearers. Robert and Mary listened to them with tearful eyes. Paganel could not find a word of consolation or hope. Captain Mangles suffered a grief that he could not subdue. Despair was seizing upon the souls of the noble people whom the Duncan had vainly brought to these distant shores, when all at once a voice was heard:-- "My lord, praise and thank God! If Captain Grant is living, he is in Australia." CHAPTER XXXI. THE QUARTERMASTER OF THE BRITANNIA. The astonishment that these words produced cannot be described. Glenarvan sprang to his feet, and, pushing back his chair, cried,-- "Who says that?" "I!" replied one of O'Moore's workmen, seated at the end of the table. "You, Ayrton?" said the colonist, no less astonished than Glenarvan. "I," repeated Ayrton, in an excited but firm tone; "I, a Scotchman like yourself, my lord, one of the shipwrecked sailors of the Britannia!" [Sidenote: A FRESH FACE.] Mary Grant, half fainting with emotion, and overcome with happiness, sank into the arms of Lady Helena; while Captain Mangles, Robert, and Paganel went towards the man whom their host had called Ayrton. He was a somewhat rough-looking, broad-shouldered man, of about forty-five, of more than medium height, and with piercing eyes sunk deeply beneath his projecting brows. His strength must have been unusual, even considering his stature, for he was all bone and sinew. His countenance, full of intelligence and energy, although the features were stern, prepossessed one in his favor. The sympathy that he elicited was still more increased by the traces of recent hardships imprinted upon his face. It was evident that he had suffered much, although he seemed a man able to brave, endure, and conquer suffering. The travelers felt all this at first sight. Ayrton's appearance had interested them; and Glenarvan, acting as spokesman for all, pressed him with inquiries. This strange meeting had evidently produced a bewildering effect, and the first questions were, to some extent, without order. "You are one of the sailors of the Britannia?" asked Glenarvan. "Yes, my lord; Captain Grant's quartermaster," replied Ayrton. "Saved with him from the shipwreck?" "No, my lord. At that terrible moment I was washed overboard and cast ashore." "You are not one of the sailors, then, of whom the document makes mention?" "No; I did not know of the existence of such a document. The captain must have thrown it overboard after I was gone." "But the captain, the captain?" "I suppose he was lost, drowned, with the rest of the crew. I thought I was the sole survivor." "But you said that Captain Grant was living!" [Illustration: He was a somewhat rough-looking, broad-shouldered man, of about forty-five.] [Illustration: "When I was washed from the forecastle, as I was hauling down the jib, the Britannia was driving towards the coast of Australia, which was not two cable-lengths distant."] "No. I said, 'if the captain is living'----" "'He is in Australia,' you added." "He can be nowhere else." "You do not know, then, where he is?" "No, my lord. I repeat that I thought he was buried in the waves or dashed upon the rocks. You say that perhaps he is still living." "What do you know, then?" asked Glenarvan. "Simply this, that if Captain Grant is living he is in Australia." "Where did the shipwreck take place?" inquired the major. This should have been the first question; but, in the excitement of the moment, Glenarvan, anxious to know where Captain Grant was, had not inquired where the Britannia was lost. From this point the conversation assumed a more definite form, and soon the details of the complicated story appeared clear and exact to the minds of Ayrton's hearers. To the major's question Ayrton replied,-- "When I was washed from the forecastle, as I was hauling down the jib, the Britannia was driving towards the coast of Australia, which was not two cable-lengths distant. The shipwreck, therefore, took place at that point." "In latitude thirty-seven?" asked Captain Mangles. "Thirty-seven," replied Ayrton. "On the west coast?" "No. On the east coast." "And when?" "On the night of June 27th, 1862." "The same! the very same!" cried Glenarvan. "You see, then, my lord," added Ayrton, "that I was right in saying that, if Captain Grant still lives, you must seek him in Australia." [Sidenote: OLD MEMORIES.] "And we will seek, find, and save him, my friend!" cried Paganel. "Ah, precious document!" added he, with perfect simplicity: "it must be confessed that you have fallen into the hands of very sagacious people." No one noticed these flattering words of Paganel. Glenarvan, Lady Helena, Mary, and Robert had crowded around Ayrton, and eagerly clasped his hands. It seemed as if the presence of this man was a guarantee of the safety of Harry Grant. Since the sailor had escaped the dangers of shipwreck, why should not the captain be safe and sound? Ayrton repeated his declaration that if Captain Grant were living he must be in Australia. He answered with remarkable intelligence and clearness the many questions that were propounded to him. Miss Mary, while he spoke, held one of his hands in her own. This sailor had been a companion of her father, one of the shipwrecked survivors of the Britannia. He had lived with Harry Grant, had sailed the seas with him, had braved the same dangers! She could not withdraw her eyes from that weather-beaten face, and she wept with happiness. Hitherto no one had thought of doubting the veracity of the quartermaster. Only the major, and perhaps Captain Mangles, questioned whether Ayrton's story merited _entire_ confidence. This unexpected meeting might be suspicious. To be sure, Ayrton had mentioned facts and dates that agreed, and striking particulars. But details, however exact they may be, do not constitute a certainty; and generally, as we know, falsehood endeavors to strengthen itself by its preciseness. MacNabb, therefore, reserved his opinion. [Illustration: When he came to himself, he was in the hands of the natives, who carried him into the interior of the country.] As for Captain Mangles, his doubts did not stand long before the assertions of the sailor, and he considered him a real companion of Captain Grant when he heard him speak to the young girl of her father. Ayrton knew Mary and Robert perfectly. He had seen them at Glasgow on the departure of the Britannia. He remembered that they had been present at the farewell dinner given on board to the friends of the captain. Sheriff MacIntyre was one of the guests. Robert--scarcely ten years old--had been confided to the care of Dick Turner, the boatswain, but had escaped from him and climbed to the top-sail yard-arm. [Illustration: At last, exhausted and almost dead, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Mr. O'Moore, where his labor insured him a comfortable livelihood.] "It is true! it is true!" cried Robert. The quartermaster remembered, too, a thousand little circumstances to which he did not seem to attach so much importance as did Captain Mangles. When he stopped, Mary said, in her sweet voice,-- "Mr. Ayrton, please tell us more about our father." Ayrton acceded to the young girl's request. Glenarvan was reluctant to interrupt him, and yet many more important questions thronged his mind. But Lady Helena, pointing out to him Mary's joyful excitement, checked his inquiries. [Sidenote: TWO YEARS OF SLAVERY.] The quartermaster now told the story of the Britannia and her voyage across the Pacific. During the period of a year Harry Grant landed at the principal ports of Oceanica, opposing unjustifiable captures, and often a victim to the hostility of unjust traders. He found, however, an important point on the western coast of Papua. Here the establishment of a Scottish colony appeared to him feasible, and its prosperity assured. After examining Papua, the Britannia sailed to Callao for provisions, and left that port on the 30th of May, 1862, to return to Europe by the way of the Indian Ocean and the Cape. Three weeks after her departure, a terrible tempest disabled her. It became necessary to cut away the masts. A leak was discovered in the hold, which they did not succeed in stopping. The crew were soon overtasked and exhausted. The pumps could not be worked. For eight days the vessel was at the mercy of the storm. There were six feet of water in her hold, and she gradually foundered. The boats had been washed overboard, and the crew had given themselves up for lost, when on the night of June 22nd, as Paganel had rightly interpreted, they descried the eastern coast of Australia. The vessel soon stranded. A violent shock was felt. At this moment Ayrton, borne by a wave, was cast into the midst of the breakers, and lost all consciousness. When he came to himself, he was in the hands of the natives, who carried him into the interior of the country. Since then he had heard nothing more of the Britannia, and naturally supposed that she had been wrecked, with all on board, on the dangerous reefs of Twofold Bay. This was Ayrton's story, which elicited more than once exclamations of sympathy. The major could not justly doubt its correctness; and after this recital the quartermaster's own experiences possessed a more real interest. Indeed, thanks to the document, they no longer doubted that Captain Grant had survived the shipwreck with two of his sailors. From the fate of the one they could fairly conjecture that of the other. Ayrton was invited to tell of his own adventures, which was soon and simply done. The shipwrecked sailor, prisoner of a native tribe, was carried into the interior regions watered by the Darling. Here he led a very wretched existence, because the tribe itself was miserable; but he was not maltreated. For two long years he endured a painful slavery. However, the hope of regaining his liberty sustained his courage. He watched for the least opportunity of escaping, although his flight would plunge him into the midst of innumerable perils. One night in October he eluded the vigilance of the natives, and took refuge in the depths of extensive forests. For a month, living on roots, edible ferns, and the gum of the mimosa, often overcome by despair, he wandered in those vast solitudes, with the sun as his guide by day and the stars by night. In this way he crossed marshes, rivers, mountains, in short, all that uninhabited portion of country that few travelers have explored. At last, exhausted and almost dead, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Mr. O'Moore, where his labor insured him a comfortable livelihood. "And if Ayrton is pleased with me," said the Irish colonist, when the story was finished, "I cannot but be pleased with him. He is an honest and intelligent man, a good worker, and, if he chooses, this house shall long be at his service." Ayrton thanked Mr. O'Moore, and waited for further questions. He probably thought, however, that the legitimate curiosity of his hearers ought to be satisfied. What could he say that had not been repeated a hundred times already? Glenarvan was, therefore, about to open the conversation on a new topic, to profit by the information received from Ayrton, when the major, addressing him, said: "You were quartermaster of the Britannia?" "Yes," replied Ayrton. But perceiving that a certain feeling of distrust, a doubt, however slight, had suggested this inquiry, he added,-- "I saved my contract from the wreck." He immediately left the room in search of this authoritative document. During his absence, which lasted but a few moments, Mr. O'Moore said: "My lord, I will answer for it that Ayrton is an honest man. During the two months that he has been in my employ, I have had no fault to find with him. I knew the story of his shipwreck and captivity. He is a true man, and worthy of your entire confidence." Glenarvan was about to answer that he had never doubted Ayrton's honesty, when the latter returned and presented his contract. It was a paper signed by the owners of the Britannia and Captain Grant, whose writing Mary recognized immediately. It stated that "Tom Ayrton, able seaman, was engaged as quartermaster on board the brig Britannia of Glasgow." There was, therefore, no possible doubt of Ayrton's identity, for it would have been difficult to suppose that this contract could be in his hands and not belong to him. [Sidenote: ENTANGLEMENTS.] "Now," said Glenarvan, "I appeal to you all for advice as to what is best to be done. Your advice, Ayrton, would be particularly valuable, and I should be much obliged if you would give it to us." The sailor reflected a few moments, and then replied: "I thank you, my lord, for the confidence you place in me, and hope to show myself worthy of it. I have some knowledge of the country, and of the customs of the natives; and, if I can be of use to you----" "Certainly," replied Glenarvan. "I think, like you," continued Ayrton, "that Captain Grant and his two sailors were saved from the shipwreck; but, since they have not reached the English possessions, since they have not reappeared, I doubt not that their fate was the same as my own, and that they are prisoners of the natives." "You repeat, Mr. Ayrton, the arguments that I have already substantiated," said Paganel. "The shipwrecked seamen are evidently prisoners of the natives, as they feared. But ought we to suppose that, like you, they have been carried to the north?" "It is quite likely, sir," replied Ayrton. "The hostile tribes would hardly remain in the neighborhood of the English provinces." "This fact will complicate our search," said Glenarvan, quite disconcerted. "How shall we find the traces of the prisoners in the interior of so vast a continent?" A prolonged silence followed this remark. Lady Helena frequently cast a questioning glance at her companions, but without eliciting a responsive sign. Paganel himself was silent, contrary to his custom. His usual ingenuity now failed him. Captain Mangles paced the room with long strides, as if he had been on the deck of his vessel, involved in some difficulty. "And you, Mr. Ayrton," said Lady Helena, at length, to the quartermaster, "what would you do?" "Madam," replied he, promptly, "I should re-embark on board the Duncan, and go straight to the place of the shipwreck. There I should act according to circumstances, or indications that chance might furnish." "Very good," said Glenarvan; "but we must wait till the Duncan is repaired." "Ah! you have suffered injuries?" inquired Ayrton. "Yes," replies the captain. "Serious?" "No; but they necessitate repairs which cannot be made on board. One of the flanges of the screw is bent, and this work can be done only at Melbourne." "Can you not sail?" asked the quartermaster. "Yes; but, if the wind is contrary, it would take considerable time to reach Twofold Bay, and at any rate we should have to return to Melbourne." "Well, let the yacht go to Melbourne," said Paganel, "and we will go without her to Twofold Bay." "But how?" "By crossing Australia, as we crossed South America." "But the Duncan?" added Ayrton, with singular persistency. "The Duncan will join us, or we will join her, according to circumstances. If Captain Grant is found during our journey, we will return together to Melbourne. If, on the contrary, we continue our search to the coast, the Duncan shall join us there. Who has any objections to make to this plan? Have you, major?" "No," replied MacNabb, "if it is practicable." "So practicable," said Paganel, "that I propose that Lady Helena and Miss Grant accompany us." "Do you speak seriously, Paganel?" asked Glenarvan. "Quite seriously, my lord. It is a journey of three hundred and fifty miles. At the rate of twelve miles a day it would last scarcely a month,--long enough to give time for repairing the Duncan." "But the ferocious animals?" said Glenarvan, wishing to state all possible objections. [Sidenote: OBSTACLES EXPLAINED AWAY.] "There are none in Australia." "But the savages?" "There are none in the course we shall take." "Well, then, the convicts?" "There are no convicts in the southern provinces of Australia, but only in the eastern colonies." "Mr. Paganel is perfectly right," said O'Moore; "they have all left the southern provinces. Since I have lived on this farm, I have not heard of one." "And, for my part, I never met one," added Ayrton. "You see, my friends," continued Paganel, "that there are few savages, no wild beasts, and no convicts. There are not many countries of Europe of which we could say as much. Well, is it agreed?" "What do you think, Helena?" asked Glenarvan. "What we all think," replied she, turning towards her companions. "Forward!" CHAPTER XXXII. PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY. It was not Glenarvan's habit to lose time in adopting and executing a plan. As soon as Paganel's proposal was accepted, he at once resolved that the preparations for the journey should be completed as soon as possible. And what was to be the result of this search? The existence of Harry Grant seemed to have become undeniable, which increased the probabilities of success. No one expected to find the captain exactly on the line of the thirty-seventh parallel; but perhaps they would come upon traces of him, and, at all events, their course would bring them straight to the scene of the shipwreck, which was the principal point. Moreover, if Ayrton would consent to join the travelers, to guide them through the forests, and to the eastern coast, there was another chance of success. Glenarvan felt the importance of this arrangement, and was therefore particularly desirous of obtaining the services of Captain Grant's companion. He inquired of his host whether he was willing for him to propose to Ayrton to accompany them. Mr. O'Moore consented, though not without regret at losing so good an assistant. "Well, Ayrton, will you aid us in our search for the sailors of the Britannia?" The quartermaster did not answer immediately; he seemed to hesitate for a few moments, but finally, after reflecting, said: "Yes, my lord, I will follow you; and, if I do not set you upon the track of Captain Grant, I will at least guide you to the place where his vessel was wrecked." "Thanks," replied Glenarvan. "One question, my lord." "Ask it." "Where will you join the Duncan?" "At Melbourne, if we do not cross Australia; on the eastern coast, if our search is continued so far." "But the captain of the Duncan?" "He will await my orders at Melbourne." "Very well, my lord," said Ayrton; "rely on me." "I will," replied Glenarvan. The quartermaster was heartily thanked by the travelers. Captain Grant's children lavished upon him their most grateful caresses. All were delighted at his decision, except the colonist, who would lose in him an intelligent and faithful assistant. But he understood the importance that Glenarvan attached to this new addition to his force, and was resigned. He had, moreover, engaged to furnish them with the means of conveyance for the journey, and, this business being settled, the party returned on board. [Illustration: This business being settled, the party returned on board.] Everything was now changed; all hesitation had vanished. These courageous searchers were no longer to wander on blindly. Harry Grant, they believed, had found a refuge on the continent, and each heart was full of the satisfaction that certainty brings when it takes the place of doubt. In two months, perhaps, the Duncan would land the lost captain on the shores of Scotland. When Captain Mangles seconded the proposal that they should attempt to cross Australia with the ladies, he supposed that this time he would accompany the expedition. He therefore consulted Glenarvan on the subject, and brought forward various arguments in his own favor, such as his desire to take part in the search for his countryman, and his usefulness in the undertaking. "One question, John," said Glenarvan. "You have absolute confidence in your mate?" "Absolute," replied he. "Tom Austin is a good sailor. He will take the Duncan to Melbourne, repair her thoroughly, and bring her back at the appointed time. He is a man devoted to duty and discipline, and will never take the responsibility of changing or delaying the execution of an order. You can rely upon him as fully as on myself." "Very well, captain," replied Glenarvan; "you shall accompany us; for," added he, smiling, "you certainly ought to be present when we find Mary Grant's father." "Ah, my lord!" murmured Captain Mangles, with something like a blush upon his swarthy cheeks. [Sidenote: A PALACE-CART.] The next day the captain, accompanied by the carpenter and by the sailors loaded with provisions, returned to the farm of Mr. O'Moore, who was to assist him in the preparations. All the family were waiting for him, ready to work under his orders. Ayrton was there, and freely gave them the benefit of his experience. He and his employer were agreed on this point, that the ladies ought to make the journey in an ox-cart, and the gentlemen on horseback. The colonist could procure them the animals and vehicle. The vehicle was a cart twenty feet long and covered with an awning, the whole resting upon four wheels, without spokes, felloes, or tires. The front wheels were a long way from the hind ones, and were joined together by a rude contrivance that made it impossible to turn short. To the body of the cart was attached a pole thirty-five feet long, to which three pairs of oxen were coupled. The animals, thus arranged, drew by means of a yoke across their necks, to which the bow was fastened with an iron pin. It required great skill to manage this long, narrow, tottering vehicle, and guide the oxen by means of the whip. But Ayrton had served his apprenticeship at O'Moore's farm, and his employer guaranteed his dexterity. Upon him, therefore, devolved the duty of driving. The cart, being without springs, was not very easy; but our travelers were obliged to conform to circumstances as much as they could. As no change was possible in its rude construction, Captain Mangles arranged the interior in the most comfortable manner. He divided it into two compartments by a wooden partition. The rear one was designed for the provisions, the baggage, and Mr. Olbinett's portable kitchen, while the forward one was reserved exclusively for the ladies. The carpenter converted it into a convenient chamber, covered it with a thick carpet, and furnished it with a dressing-table and two berths for Lady Helena and Mary Grant. Thick leathern curtains secured privacy, when necessary, and were a protection against the chilliness of the night. In rainy weather the men could find shelter under the awning; but a tent was to serve this purpose at the time of encampment. Captain Mangles succeeded in crowding into this narrow space all that two ladies could need, and Lady Helena and Mary Grant did not greatly miss the comfortable cabins of the Duncan. [Sidenote: A RETURN VISIT.] As for the men, seven strong horses were apportioned to Lord Glenarvan, Paganel, Robert Grant, Major MacNabb, Captain Mangles, and the two sailors, Wilson and Mulready, who accompanied this new expeditionary party. The horses and oxen grazed near at hand, and could be easily collected at the moment of departure. [Illustration: The vehicle was a cart twenty feet long and covered with an awning, the whole resting upon four wheels, without spokes, felloes, or tires.] Having made his arrangements, and given his orders to the carpenter, Captain Mangles returned on board with the colonist's family, who wished to pay Lord Glenarvan a visit. Ayrton thought proper to join them, and about four o'clock the captain crossed the gangway of the Duncan. Of course, Glenarvan invited his visitors to dinner, and they willingly accepted his return hospitality. Mr. O'Moore was amazed. The furniture of the cabins, the tapestry, the upholstery, and the fancy-work of maple and ebony excited his admiration. Ayrton, on the contrary, gave only a secondary attention to these costly luxuries. He first examined the yacht from a sailor's point of view. He explored the hold; he went down into the engine-room; he looked at the engine, inquired its effective power and consumption; he visited the coal-house, the pantry, and the powder-magazine, and took particular interest in the gun-room and the mounted cannon in the forecastle. Glenarvan now had to deal with a man who was a critical judge, as he could see by Ayrton's keen inquiries. At last the quartermaster finished his exploration by inspecting the masts and rigging; and, after a few moments of general review, said: "You have a fine vessel, my lord." "A good one, too," replied Glenarvan. "How many tons' burden is she?" "Two hundred and ten." "Shall I be greatly mistaken," added Ayrton, "if I say that the Duncan can easily make fifteen knots an hour at full speed?" "Say seventeen," interposed the captain, "and you will be nearer right." "Seventeen!" cried the quartermaster: "why, then, no man-of-war, not even the best, could overtake her." "Not one," said the captain. "The Duncan is a real racing yacht, and is not to be beaten in any way." "Not even in sailing?" asked Ayrton. "Not even in sailing." "Well, my lord, and you, captain, accept the compliments of a sailor who knows what a vessel is worth." "Thanks, Ayrton," replied Glenarvan; "and now remain on board, and it will be your own fault if the ship is not all you can desire." "I will think of it, my lord," said the quartermaster, modestly. Mr. Olbinett now approached, and informed Lord Glenarvan that dinner was ready; and they all adjourned to the saloon. "That Ayrton is an intelligent man," said Paganel to the major. "Too intelligent!" growled MacNabb, who, without any apparent reason, disliked the looks and manners of the quartermaster. During dinner, Ayrton gave some interesting information concerning Australia, with which he was perfectly familiar. He inquired the number of sailors that Glenarvan intended to take with him in his expedition. When he learned that only two, Wilson and Mulready, were to accompany them, he seemed astonished. He advised Glenarvan to form his party of the best seamen of the Duncan. He even insisted upon this point, which must have removed all suspicion from the mind of the major. "But," said Glenarvan, "is there any danger in our journey across Australia?" "None," replied Ayrton. [Sidenote: A CHANGE OF RESIDENCE.] "Well, then, let us leave on board as many as possible. There must be men to navigate the Duncan and take charge of her. It is especially important that she should arrive promptly at the place of meeting, which we will appoint hereafter. Let us not, therefore, lessen the crew." Ayrton seemed to appreciate this reason, and no longer insisted. At evening the party separated. Ayrton and O'Moore's family returned to their home. The horses and cart were to be ready the next day, and the travelers were to start at eight o'clock in the morning. Lady Helena and Mary Grant now made their last preparations, which were short and less minute than those of Jacques Paganel. The geographer passed half the night in unscrewing, cleaning, and screwing on again the lenses of his telescope. He was still asleep the next morning, when the major awoke him early with a loud summons. The baggage had already been conveyed to the farm through the care of Captain Mangles. A boat was waiting for the travelers, and they were not long in embarking. The young captain gave his last orders to Tom Austin, and instructed him above all to await the commands of Lord Glenarvan at Melbourne, and execute them scrupulously whatever they might be. The trusty sailor replied that they might rely on him. In the name of the crew he offered to his lordship their best wishes for the success of the expedition. The boat put off, and a thunder of applause rent the air. In a few moments the party reached the shore, and in no great length of time arrived at O'Moore's farm. Everything was ready. Lady Helena was delighted with her quarters. The immense cart, with its rude wheels and massive timbers, especially pleased her. The six oxen yoked in pairs seemed to indicate primeval simplicity, and were a novel sight. Ayrton, whip in hand, awaited the orders of his new chief. [Illustration: Ayrton and Olbinett took their places respectively in front and in the rear part of the cart, while Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, Robert, Captain Mangles, and the two sailors, mounted their horses.] "I declare!" said Paganel, "this is an admirable vehicle, worth all the mail-coaches in the world. I know of no better way of traversing the earth than in this style, like mountebanks. A house that moves when you please and stops wherever you please is all you can desire." [Illustration: The "Mosquito Plains," whose very name describes them, and serves to tell of the tortures that our friends had to encounter.] "Monsieur Paganel," replied Lady Helena, "I hope to have the pleasure of receiving you in my parlor." "Madam," replied the geographer, "you do me great honor! Have you chosen a day?" "I shall be at home every day for my friends," replied Lady Helena, smiling, "and you are----" "The most devoted of all," added Paganel, gallantly. This exchange of compliments was interrupted by the arrival of seven horses, all harnessed, driven by one of O'Moore's sons. Lord Glenarvan paid for these new acquisitions, and added many thanks, which the honest colonist seemed to value as highly as the gold and notes which he received. The signal for departure was now given. Lady Helena and Miss Grant seated themselves in their compartment, Ayrton and Olbinett took their places respectively in front and in the rear part of the cart, while Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, Robert, Captain Mangles, and the two sailors, all armed with carbines and revolvers, mounted their horses. A "God bless you" was Mr. O'Moore's parting salute, which was echoed in chorus by his family. Ayrton uttered a peculiar cry, and started his long team. The cart moved, the timbers cracked, the axles creaked, and the farm of the honest hospitable Irishman soon disappeared from view at the turn of the road. CHAPTER XXXIII. AN ACCIDENT. Our travelers made tolerably good progress by their new mode of conveyance. The heat was great, but endurable, and the road was quite easy for the horses. They were still in the province of South Australia, and in this part at least the scenery was not of the most interesting character. A succession of small hills, with very dusty tracks, small shrubs, and scant herbage, had to be traversed for several miles; and when these had been passed they reached the "Mosquito Plains," whose very name describes them, and serves to tell of the tortures that our friends had to encounter. Both the bipeds and the quadrupeds suffered terribly from the infliction of these flying pests, whom to avoid was impossible; but there was some consolation for the former in the spirits of hartshorn, carried in the medicine-chest, which alleviated the pain caused by the sting of those whom Paganel was continually consigning to a place and person whom they would not visit. But shortly a more pleasant neighborhood was reached. Hedges of acacias, then a newly cut and better made roadway, then European imported trees--oaks, olives, and lemons,--then a well-kept fence,--all these signs told of their approach to Red-gum Station, the home and settlement of an emigrant engaged in the cattle-breeding which is the source of so much Australian wealth. It was in itself an establishment of small importance; but to its owners it was a home, and to its visitors, on this occasion, it was a hotel, as the "station" generally is to the traveler. [Illustration: Red-gum Station, the home and settlement of an emigrant engaged in the cattle-breeding which is the source of so much Australian wealth.] [Illustration: The major was skillful enough to shoot a very rare bird,--a "jabiru," or giant crane. This creature was five feet high; and its broad, black, sharp conical beak measured eighteen inches in length.] Glenarvan's party invariably found beneath the roof of these solitary settlers a well-spread and hospitable table; and in the Australian farmer they always met an obliging host. After a night spent at this resting-place the party advanced through a grove, and at evening encamped on the shores of a brackish and muddy lake. Mr. Olbinett prepared supper with his usual promptness, and the travelers--some in the cart and others under the tent--were not long in falling asleep, in spite of the dismal howlings of the dingos,--the jackals of Australia. The next morning Glenarvan and his companions were greeted with a magnificent sight. As far as the eye could reach, the landscape seemed to be one flowery meadow in spring-like luxuriance. The delicate blue of the slender-leaved flax-plant mingled with the flaming scarlet of the acanthus, and the ground was clothed with a rich carpet of green and crimson. After a rapid journey of about ten miles, the cart wound through tall groups of acacias, mimosas, and white gum-trees. The vegetable kingdom on these plains did not show itself ungrateful towards the orb of day, and repaid in perfume and color what it received in sunshine. As for the animal kingdom, it was no less lavish of its products. Several cassowaries bounded over the plain with unapproachable swiftness. The major was skillful enough to shoot a very rare bird,--a "jabiru," or giant crane. This creature was five feet high; and its broad, black, sharp conical beak measured eighteen inches in length. The violet and purple colors of its head contrasted strongly with the lustrous green of its neck, the dazzling white of its breast, and the vivid red of its long legs. [Sidenote: A FOUR-FOOTED ARMY.] This bird was greatly admired, and the major would have won the honors of the day, if young Robert had not encountered a few miles farther on, and bravely vanquished, an unsightly beast, half hedgehog, half ant-eater, a chaotic-looking animal, like those of pre-historic periods. A long, glutinous, extensible tongue hung out of its mouth, and fished up the ants that constituted its principal food. Of course, Paganel wished to carry away the hideous creature, and proposed to put it in the baggage-room; but Mr. Olbinett opposed this with such indignation that the geographer gave up his idea of preserving this curious specimen. Hitherto few colonists or squatters had been seen. The country seemed deserted. There was not even the trace of a native; for the savage tribes wander farther to the north, over the immense wastes watered by the Darling and the Murray. But now a singular sight was presented to Glenarvan's party. They were fortunate enough to see one of those vast herds of cattle which bold speculators bring from the eastern mountains to the provinces of Victoria and South Australia. About four o'clock in the afternoon, Captain Mangles descried, three miles in advance, an enormous column of dust that spread along the horizon. What occasioned this? It would have been very difficult to say. Paganel was inclined to regard it as some phenomenon, for which his lively imagination already sought a natural cause. But Ayrton dissipated all his conjectures by declaring that this cloud of dust proceeded from a drove of cattle. The quartermaster was not mistaken. The thick cloud approached, from the midst of which issued a chorus of bleatings, neighings, and bellowings, while the human voice mingled in cries and whistles with this pastoral symphony. A man emerged from the noisy multitude; it was the commander-in-chief of this four-footed army. Glenarvan advanced to meet him, and friendly relations were established without ceremony. The leader, or, to give him his real title, the "stock-keeper," was proprietor of a part of the herd. His name was Sam Machell, and he was on his way from the eastern provinces to Portland Bay. His cattle comprised one thousand oxen, eleven thousand sheep, and seventy-five horses. All these animals, bought when lean on the plains of the Blue Mountains, were to be fattened in the healthy pastures of South Australia, where they would be sold for a large price. Sam Machell briefly told his story, while the drove continued its course through the clumps of mimosas. Lady Helena, Mary Grant, and the horsemen dismounted, and, seated in the shade of a huge gum-tree, listened to the stock-keeper's narrative. He had set out seven months before, and had made about ten miles a day, at which rate his journey would last three months longer. To aid him in this laborious task, he had with him twenty dogs and thirty men. Five of the men were blacks, who are very skillful in recovering stray animals. Six carts followed the drove; and the drivers, provided with stock-whips, the handles of which were eighteen inches and the lashes nine feet in length, moved among the ranks and maintained order, while the canine light dragoons hovered about on the wings. The travelers were amazed at the discipline of this novel army. The different classes advanced separately, for wild oxen and sheep do not associate well; the first will never graze where the second have passed. Hence it was necessary to place the oxen at the head; and these accordingly, divided into two battalions, took the lead. Five regiments of sheep, commanded by five drivers, followed, and the platoon of horses formed the rear-guard. The stock-keeper observed to his hearers that the leaders of the army were neither dogs nor men, but oxen, whose superiority was recognized by their mates. They advanced in the front rank with perfect gravity, choosing the best course by instinct, and thoroughly convinced of their right to be treated with consideration. [Sidenote: AN UNFORESEEN HINDRANCE.] Thus the discipline was maintained, for the drove obeyed them without resistance. If it pleased them to stop, the others were obliged to yield, and it was useless to attempt to resume the line of march if the leaders did not give the signal. Such was Sam Machell's account, during which a great part of the herd had advanced in good order. It was now time for him to join his army, and choose the best pastures. He therefore took leave of Lord Glenarvan, mounted a fine native horse that one of his men was holding for him, and a few moments after had disappeared in a cloud of dust, while the cart, resuming its interrupted journey, stopped at nightfall at the foot of Mount Talbot. The next day they reached the shores of the Wimerra, which is half a mile wide, and flows in a limpid stream between tall rows of gum-trees and acacias. Magnificent myrtles raised aloft their long, drooping branches, adorned with crimson flowers, while thousands of goldfinches, chaffinches, and golden-winged pigeons, not to speak of chattering parrots, fluttered about in the foliage. Below, on the surface of the stream, sported a pair of black swans, shy and unapproachable. Meantime the cart had stopped on a carpet of turf whose fringes hung over the swiftly flowing waters. There was neither raft nor bridge, but they must cross at all hazard. Ayrton busied himself in searching for a practicable ford. A quarter of a mile up-stream, the river seemed to him less deep, and from this point he resolved to reach the other bank. Various soundings gave a depth of only three feet. The cart could, therefore, pass over this shallow without running much risk. "Is there no other way of crossing the river?" asked Glenarvan of the quartermaster. "No, my lord," replied Ayrton; "but this passage does not seem to me dangerous. We can extricate ourselves from any difficulty." "Shall Lady Helena and Miss Grant leave the cart?" "Not at all. My oxen are sure-footed, and I will engage to keep them in the right track." "Well, Ayrton," said Glenarvan, "I trust to you." The horsemen surrounded the heavy vehicle, and the party boldly entered the river. Usually, when these fordings are attempted, the carts are encircled by a ring of empty barrels, which support them on the water. But here this buoyant girdle was wanting, and it was, therefore, necessary to confide to the sagacity of the oxen, guided by the cautious Ayrton. The major and the two sailors dashed through the rapid current some distance ahead, while Glenarvan and Captain Mangles, one on each side of the cart, stood ready to assist the ladies, and Paganel and Robert brought up the rear. Everything went well till they reached the middle of the river, but here the depth increased, and the water rose above the felloes. The oxen, if thrown out of their course, might lose their footing and overturn the unsteady vehicle. Ayrton exerted himself to the utmost. He leaped into the water, and, seizing the oxen by the horns, succeeded in keeping them in the right track. At this moment an accident, impossible to foresee, took place. A crack was heard; the cart inclined at an alarming angle; the water reached the feet of the ladies, and the whole vehicle threatened to give way. It was an anxious moment. Fortunately a vigorous blow upon the yoke brought the cart nearer the shore. The river grew shallower, and soon men and beasts were in safety on the opposite bank. Only the front wheels of the cart were damaged, and Glenarvan's horse had lost the shoes of his fore-feet. This mishap required immediate repair. The travelers gazed at each other in some degree of perplexity, when Ayrton proposed to go to Black Point Station, twenty miles to the north, and bring a farrier. [Sidenote: FOOD, PHYSICAL AND MENTAL.] "Very well, Ayrton," said Glenarvan. "How much time do you need to make the journey and return to the encampment?" "Fifteen hours," replied Ayrton. "Go, then; and, while waiting for your return, we will encamp on the banks of the Wimerra." A few moments after, the quartermaster, mounted on Wilson's horse, disappeared behind the thick curtain of mimosas. CHAPTER XXXIV. AUSTRALIAN EXPLORERS. After the departure of Ayrton, and during this compulsory halt, promenades and conversations became the order of the day. There was an abundance of agreeable surroundings to talk about, and nature seemed dressed in one of her most attractive garbs. Birds, novel and varied in their plumage, with flowers such as they had never before gazed on, were the constant theme of the travelers' remark; and when, in addition, they had in Mr. Olbinett one who knew how to spread before them and make the best of all the culinary novelties that were within reach, a very substantial foundation was possible for the "feast of reason and the flow of soul" which followed, and for which, as usual, they were to no small extent indebted to their learned historico-geographical professor, whose stock of information was as varied as it was pleasant. [Illustration: A crack was heard; the cart inclined at an alarming angle; the water reached the feet of the ladies, and the whole vehicle threatened to give way. It was an anxious moment.] After dinner the traveling party had, as if in anticipation, seated themselves at the foot of a magnificent banksia; the young moon was rising high into the heavens, lengthening the twilight, and prolonging it into the evening hour; whilst the smoke of the major's cigar was seen curling upwards, losing itself in the foliage of the tree. [Illustration: After dinner the traveling party had, as if in anticipation, seated themselves at the foot of a magnificent banksia; the young moon was rising high into the heavens, lengthening the twilight, and prolonging it into the evening hour.] "Monsieur Paganel," said Lady Helena, "you have never given us the history that you promised when you supplied us with that long list of names." The gentleman addressed did not require any lengthened entreaties on this subject, but, with an attentive auditory, and in the grandest of all lecture-rooms, he rehearsed to them the two great dramas of Australian travel, which have made the names of Burke and Stuart immortal in the history of that continent. He told them that it was on the 20th of August, 1860, that Robert O'Hara Burke set out, under the auspices of the Royal Society of Melbourne, to cross the continent from south to north, and so to reach the Indian Ocean. Eleven others--including a botanist, an astronomer, and an army officer--accompanied him, with horses and other beasts of burden. But the expedition did not long continue so numerous or so well provided; in consequence of misunderstandings, several returned, and Burke pressed on with but few followers and fewer aids. Again, on the 20th of November, he still further diminished his numbers by leaving behind at an encampment several of his companions, that he and three others might press on towards the north with as little incumbrance as possible. After a very painful journey across a stony desert, they arrived at the extreme point reached by Stuart in 1845; and from this point, after determining as accurately as possible their latitude and longitude, they again started northward and seaward. [Sidenote: LYING DOWN TO DIE.] By the 7th of January they had gone so far as to reach the southern limit of the tropical heat; and now under a scorching sun, deceived by the mirage, often without water, and then hailing a storm as a source of refreshment, now and then meeting with the aborigines, who could in no wise help them, they had indeed a hard road to travel, though having neither rivers, lakes, nor mountains to bar their path. At length, however, there were various signs that they were approaching the sea; by-and-by they reached the bank of a river which flows into the Gulf of Carpentaria; and finally Burke and Wills, after terrible hardships, arrived at the point where the sea-water flowed up to and inundated the marshes, though the sea-shore itself they did not reach. With naught but barrenness in sight on either hand, their great desire was to get back and rejoin their companions; but peril after peril awaited them, many of which their note-book has preserved an account of, but many more will be forever unrecorded. The three survivors (for one of the party had succumbed to the hardships) now strained every effort to reach the encampment, where they hoped to find their companions and a store of provisions. On the 21st of April they gained the goal, but the prize was missing; only seven hours before, after five months of waiting in vain, their companions had taken their departure. Of course nothing remained but to follow them with their feeble strength and scanty means of subsistence; but calamities still dogged their footsteps, and at last the leader, Burke, lay down exhausted, saying to his companion, King, "I have not many hours to live; here are my watch and my notes; when I am dead, place a pistol in my right hand, and leave me without burial." His forebodings were realized, and the next morning he died. King, in despair, went in search of some Australian tribe, for now Wills had begun to sink, and he shortly afterwards died also. At length the sole survivor was rescued by an expedition sent out in search of Burke; and thus the sad tale was told of this Australian tragedy. [Illustration: "When I am dead, place a pistol in my right hand, and leave me without burial." His forebodings were realized, and the next morning he died.] The narrative concerning Stuart was a less melancholy one, though the trials endured on his expedition were likewise great. Aided by the parliament of South Australia, he likewise proceeded northward, in the year 1862, about seven degrees to the west of the line taken by Burke. He found his route to be a more accessible and easy one than the other, and was rewarded for his toil when, on the 24th of July, he beheld the waters of the Indian Ocean, and proudly unfurled the Australian flag from the topmost branch of the highest tree he could find. His return to the inhabited regions was successfully accomplished, and his entry into Adelaide, on the 17th of December, was an ovation indeed. But his health was shattered, and, after receiving the gold medal of the Royal Geographical Society, and returning to his native Scotland, he died on the 5th of June, 1866. [Illustration: He beheld the waters of the Indian Ocean, and proudly unfurled the Australian flag from the topmost branch of the highest tree he could find.] The histories of these Australian travels were lengthy, as told by Paganel. When he had finished, hope and despair seemed to fight for the mastery in the breasts of his listeners; but they did not fight long, for peaceful slumbers soon enwrapped the company, except those whose turn it was to watch over their fellow-travelers. CHAPTER XXXV. CRIME OR CALAMITY? [Sidenote: THE MISCHIEF REPAIRED.] It was not without a certain feeling of apprehension that the major had seen Ayrton leave the Wimerra to procure a farrier at Black Point Station. However, he did not breathe a word of his personal suspicions, but contented himself with exploring the surroundings of the river, whose tranquillity was undisturbed. As for Glenarvan, his only fear was to see Ayrton return alone. In the absence of skilled labor, the cart could not resume its journey, which would be interrupted for several days perhaps; and his longings for success and eagerness to attain his end admitted of no delay. Fortunately, Ayrton had lost neither his time nor his trouble. The next morning he reappeared at break of day. A man accompanied him, by profession a farrier. He was a tall, stout fellow, but of a low and brutish appearance, which did not prepossess one in his favor. However, this was of little importance, if he knew his business. At all events his breath was not wasted in idle words. "Is he an efficient workman?" inquired Captain Mangles of the quartermaster. "I know no more than you, captain," replied Ayrton. "We shall see." The farrier began his work. He was a man who understood his trade, as one could see by the way in which he repaired the wheels of the cart. He labored skillfully and with uncommon energy. During the operation, the major noticed that the farrier's wrists were considerably eroded, and that they were each encircled by a blackish ring of extravasated blood. These were the marks of recent wounds, which the sleeves of a miserable woolen shirt but partially concealed. MacNabb questioned the man about these erosions, which must have been very painful. He, however, made no reply, but stolidly kept on at his work. Two hours after, the injuries of the cart were repaired. As for Glenarvan's horse, he was quickly shod. The farrier had taken care to bring shoes all prepared. There was a peculiarity about them, however, which did not escape the major. It was a trefoil rudely carved on the outer rim. He pointed it out to Ayrton. "It is the Black Point mark," replied the quartermaster, "which enables them to follow the tracks of the horses that stray from the station, and not confound them with others." The farrier, having done all that was required of him, now claimed his wages, and departed without having spoken four words. Half an hour later, the travelers were on the move. Beyond the curtain of mimosas extended a broad, uncovered space, which justly deserved its name of "open plain." Fragments of quartz and ferruginous rocks lay among the bushes, tall grass, and hedgerows that protected numerous flocks. Several miles farther on, the wheels of the cart sank deeply in the marshy lowlands, through which ran winding creeks, half hidden beneath a canopy of gigantic rushes. The journey, notwithstanding, was neither difficult nor tedious. Lady Helena invited the horsemen to call upon her in turn, for her parlor was very small. Each was thus relieved from the fatigue of horseback riding, and enjoyed the society of this amiable lady, who, assisted by Miss Mary, performed with perfect grace the honors of her movable mansion. Captain Mangles was not forgotten in these invitations, and his rather sober conversation was not at all displeasing. At eleven o'clock they arrived at Carlsbrook, quite an important municipality. Ayrton thought it best to pass by the city without entering. Glenarvan was of the same opinion; but Paganel, always eager for something new, desired to visit the place. Accordingly, the geographer, taking Robert with him as usual, started on his explorations, while the cart slowly continued its journey. Their inspection of the town was very rapid, and shortly afterwards they had joined their companions. While they were passing through this region, the travelers requested Paganel to give them some account of its progress, and the geographer, in compliance with their wishes, had just begun a lecture upon the civilization of the country, when he was interrupted by a shrill whistle. The party were not a mile from the railroad. A locomotive, coming from the south, and going slowly, had stopped just where the road they were following crossed the iron track. At this point the railway passes over the Lutton on an iron bridge, and thither Ayrton directed his cart, preceded by the horsemen. The travelers were attracted, moreover, by a lively feeling of curiosity, for a considerable crowd was already rushing towards the bridge. The inhabitants of the neighboring stations, leaving their houses, and the shepherds their flocks, lined the sides of the track. Frequent cries were heard. Some serious event must have taken place to cause such excitement,--a great accident, perhaps. [Illustration: A terrible accident had occurred, not a collision, but a running off the track and a fall into the river, which was filled with the fragments of cars and locomotives.] Glenarvan, followed by his companions, urged on his horse, and in a few moments arrived at Camden Bridge. Here the cause of this agitation was at once manifest. A terrible accident had occurred, not a collision, but a running off the track and a fall into the river, which was filled with the fragments of cars and locomotives. Either the bridge had given way, or the engine had run off the track; for five coaches out of six had been precipitated into the bed of the Lutton. The last car, miraculously preserved by the breaking of its coupling, stood on the very verge of the abyss. Below was to be seen nothing but a terrible heap of blackened and bent axle-trees, broken cars, twisted rails, and charred timbers. The boiler, which had burst at the shock, had thrown its iron plates to an enormous distance. From this mass of unsightly objects issued flames and spiral wreaths of steam, mingled with black smoke. Large spots of blood, scattered limbs, and trunks of burnt bodies appeared here and there; and no one dared to estimate the number of victims buried beneath the ruins. Glenarvan, Paganel, the major, and Captain Mangles mingled with the crowd, and listened to the conjectures that passed from one to another. Each sought to explain the catastrophe, while laboring to save what was left. "The bridge has broken," said one. [Sidenote: CAUSES AND EFFECTS.] "Broken?" replied others. "That cannot be, for it is still uninjured. They forgot to close it for the passage of the train, that is all." It was a draw-bridge, which had been constructed for the convenience of the shipping. Had the man on guard, through unpardonable negligence, forgotten to close it, and thus precipitated the train, at full speed, into the bed of the Lutton? This supposition seemed plausible, for one half of the bridge lay beneath the fragments of the cars, while the other still hung intact in its chains. Doubt was no longer possible; surely carelessness must have caused the calamity. The accident had happened to the night express, which left Melbourne at forty-five minutes past eleven. It must have been a quarter-past three in the morning when the train reached Camden Bridge, where this terrible destruction of life and property took place. The travelers and employés of the last car at once busied themselves in seeking assistance; but the telegraph-wires, whose poles lay on the ground, were no longer available. It took the authorities of Castlemaine three hours to reach the scene of the disaster; and it was, therefore, six o'clock in the morning before a corps of workers was organized under the direction of the surveyor-general of the district, and a detachment of policemen, commanded by an officer. The squatters had come to their aid, and exerted themselves to extinguish the fire, which consumed the heap of ruins with unconquerable fierceness. Several unrecognizable bodies lay on the edge of the embankment, but it was impossible to rescue a living being from this furnace. The fire had rapidly accomplished the work of destruction. Of the travelers in the train, whose number was not known, only ten survived, those in the last car. The railroad company had just sent an extra locomotive to convey them to Castlemaine. Meantime, Lord Glenarvan, having made the acquaintance of the surveyor-general, was conversing with him and the police-officer. The latter was a tall, thin man, of imperturbable coolness, who, if he had any feeling, betrayed no sign of it on his impassible features. He was like a mathematician engaged upon a problem; he was seeking to elucidate the mystery of the disaster. To Glenarvan's first words, "This is a great calamity!" he replied, calmly, "It is more than that." "More than that!" cried Glenarvan; "and what can be more than that?" "It is a crime!" replied the officer, coolly. Glenarvan turned to Mr. Mitchell, the surveyor-general, with a questioning look. "That is correct," said the latter; "our examination has convinced us that the catastrophe is the result of a crime. The last baggage-wagon was robbed. The surviving travelers were attacked by a party of five or six malefactors. The bridge was opened intentionally; and, taking into account this fact with the disappearance of the guard, I cannot but come to the conclusion that the miserable man was the accomplice of the criminals." The police-officer, at these words, slowly shook his head. "You are not of my opinion?" inquired Mr. Mitchell. "Not as regards the complicity of the guard." "At any rate, this assumed complicity," continued the surveyor-general, "enables us to attribute the crime to the natives who wander about the country. Without the guard's assistance these natives could not have opened the draw-bridge, for they do not understand its working." "Exactly," replied the officer. "Now, it is known," added Mr. Mitchell, "from the testimony of a boatman, whose boat passed Camden Bridge at forty minutes past ten in the evening, that the bridge was closed according to regulation, after his passage." "Quite right." [Illustration: In the midst of the multitude two men were bearing a corpse. It was that of the guard, already cold. A poniard-thrust had pierced him to the heart.] "Therefore the complicity of the guard seems to me to be proved incontestably." The officer again made a gesture of dissent. "Then you do not attribute the crime to the natives?" inquired Glenarvan. "I do not." "To whom, then?" At this moment a loud uproar was heard half a mile up the river. A crowd had formed, which rapidly increased, and was now approaching the station. In the midst of the multitude two men were bearing a corpse. It was that of the guard, already cold. A poniard-thrust had pierced him to the heart. The assassins had dragged the body some distance from Camden Bridge, doubtless intending by this means to mislead the police in their first investigations. This discovery clearly justified the doubts of the officer. The natives had no hand in the crime. "Those who struck the blow," said he, "are persons already familiar with the use of these little instruments." As he spoke he displayed a pair of "darbies," a kind of manacles consisting of a double ring of iron, furnished with a padlock. "Before long," added he, "I shall have the pleasure of presenting them with these bracelets as a new year's gift." "Then you suspect----?" "People who have 'traveled free on Her Majesty's vessels.'" "What! convicts?" cried Paganel, who recognized the phrase employed in the Australian colonies. "I thought," observed Glenarvan, "that those who have been transported had no right to stay in the province of Victoria." "Ah, well," replied the officer, "if they have not the right, they take it! Sometimes they escape; and, if I am not greatly mistaken, these fellows have come direct from Perth. Well, they shall return again, you may be sure." [Sidenote: A RAILROAD SLEEPER.] Mr. Mitchell nodded approvingly at the words of the officer. At this moment the cart arrived at the railroad crossing. Glenarvan, wishing to spare the ladies the spectacle at Camden Bridge, took leave of the surveyor-general, and made a sign to his companions to follow him. "There is no occasion," said he, "for us to interrupt our journey." On reaching the cart, Glenarvan simply told Lady Helena that a railroad accident had taken place, without mentioning the part that the convicts had played in the catastrophe. He reserved this matter that he might question Ayrton in private. The little party then crossed the track, not far above the bridge, and resumed their route towards the east. CHAPTER XXXVI. FRESH FACES. They had not proceeded far before they reached a native cemetery, pleasantly situated and with abundance of shady trees. Here for a time they halted, and, whilst Robert and Paganel were exploring, Lord and Lady Glenarvan almost stumbled over a queer object. It was human, indigenous, and sleeping; but at first this was all that they could decide, until, as the eyes opened and the sleeper roused to active life, they saw before them a boy of eight years, with a notice pinned to the back of his jacket which read as follows: "TOLINÉ*, to be conducted to Echuca, care of Jeff Smith, Railway Porter. Prepaid." [Illustration: A boy of eight years, with a notice pinned to the back of his jacket which read as follows: "Toliné, to be conducted to Echuca, care of Jeff Smith, Railway Porter. Prepaid."] Here, it would seem, was another waif that Providence had cast in their path. They questioned him, and his answers were pertinent and clear. He had been educated in the Wesleyan Methodist day-school at Melbourne, and was now going for a time to visit his parents, who were living with the rest of their tribe in Lachlan. He had been in the train to which the accident had happened, and had, with childlike confidence, troubled less about his fate than did those of older years. Going to a little distance, and laying himself on the grass, he had soon fallen into the slumber from which our travelers had aroused him. [Illustration: Paganel and the others had now gathered round, and Toliné had to answer many a question. He came out of his examination very creditably.] Paganel and the others had now gathered round, and Toliné had to answer many a question. He came out of his examination very creditably; the reverence with which he spoke of the Creator and of the Bible produced a very favorable impression on the Scottish heads of the expedition, whilst the fact that he had taken "the first prize in geography" was sufficient introduction to Monsieur Paganel, who forthwith tested his knowledge, greatly to his own satisfaction, and considerably to the credit of his young pupil. The curiosity of his discoverers having been fully satisfied, Toliné was made welcome, and partook with the others of the general repast. Many were the plans and purposes concerning him, and much wonder was expressed as to how they could speed him on his way; but in the morning it was discovered that he had solved the problem for himself, and a bouquet of fresh leaves and flowers, laid by the side of Lady Helena's seat, was the only memento that Toliné had left. [Sidenote: A GOLDEN CITY.] The party were now approaching the district which, in the years 1851 and 1852, was so much talked of throughout the civilized world, and attracted from all parts so many reckless adventurers and fortune-hunters. The line of the thirty-seventh parallel, on which they were traveling, led them through the diggings and municipality of Mount Alexander, which was one of the most successful spots for the digger at the commencement of the gold fever, in consequence of the comparatively level nature of the ground and the general richness of the soil, so different from some other localities where only once in a while was some enormous nugget to be found. As they drew near to the streets of this hastily-built town, Ayrton and Mulready, who were in charge of the cart, were sent forward, whilst the others walked through the place to inspect what there might be of interest, as well as to ascertain what might be learned concerning the object of their expedition. Thus, in this strange gathering of all nationalities and creeds and professions, the regular inhabitants beheld a still more extraordinary sight than that every day afforded them: folks who to the refinement which education and civilization give added both the earnestness of the worker and the freshness and vigor of the pleasure-seeking tourist. In the streets, in connection with the strange sign-boards and announcements, the novel erections and purposes to which some of them were adapted, Paganel had a history and commentary for every one. Still more did he expatiate upon the thousand-and-one topics of interest when they visited the bank building, which here is the centre of more than one agency connected with this great gold-bearing district. Here was the mineralogical museum, in which might be seen specimens illustrative of all the various ways in which the gold has been found, whether in combination with clay or other minerals, or--as it is sometimes, to the great joy of the finder, discovered--_pur et simple_. Here also were models, diagrams, and even the tools themselves, to illustrate the different methods by which the object of search was dug out, or washed, or crushed, or tested. Here also was an almost unequaled collection of precious stones, gems of all sorts, making the gallery in which they were placed a real Golconda for its wealth and attractions. Besides all this, here was the centre of the varied agencies by which the reports were brought in from the companies established for mining purposes, and also from each isolated worker, of the space purchased, the number of feet or yards dug, the ore extracted, the comparative richness or poverty of the soil here, there, and elsewhere, which in their summarized and aggregate form have greatly helped to a correct knowledge of the comparative and absolute gold-bearing value of various spots. Then, in addition to the usual operations of a banking establishment, it was here that the ore was stored, from hence that it was sent, under government escort and with government guarantee, subject to a fixed, though moderate, charge, so that the transport to Melbourne, which at first was a dangerous and expensive "middle passage," was now as easily and inexpensively accomplished as is the transmission of freight from London to Paris. [Illustration: In the streets, in connection with the strange sign-boards and announcements, the novel erections and purposes to which some of them were adapted, Paganel had a history and commentary for every one.] Over the whole of this establishment they were conducted by the most courteous and obliging of officials, and the services thus rendered charmed the Frenchman, who was none the less loquacious, and was in truth able even to enlighten his guides. [Illustration: Here was the mineralogical museum, in which might be seen specimens illustrative of all the various ways in which the gold has been found.] [Sidenote: PLEASING PROGRESS.] But his joy culminated when, after some time spent in the hotel, the party left the town, and passed through the "diggings," properly so called. It was difficult to persuade Paganel and Robert--who kept together--to come on, in order that they might not leave Ayrton and Mulready too long in suspense. Now the Frenchman would see just the key that he needed to understand a point not before clear to him; anon you might see him as in the illustration, when he had picked up a pebble and was sure that it was in itself so interesting as a mineralogical specimen that he must treasure it up for the Bank of France, so that his own land might have at least one part of Australia. All this was done with such a mingling of childish good-nature and scientific and national pride that it was useless to do anything but laugh, and an irrepressible smile came over even the major's features. At length, however, by drawing him into a lecture, they succeeded in persuading him to follow them; and, as they left the diggings, he told them the history of the prophecies, the discovery, and the spread of knowledge as to the rich auriferous deposits of this part of Australia. He could give them facts and incidents and dates as to the ingress into Melbourne, and the exodus therefrom to the diggings, in the year 1852; he told them how the energy and the love of order which characterize the English-speaking peoples had reduced to system, method, subordination, the chaotic surgings and restlessness which marked the first weeks and months of this new era; and he detailed, as though he had studied the subject to the entire neglect of other matters, the working of the system,--how the land was registered, what was the sum paid in the aggregate, how the taxes were collected, wherein the system had been found faulty. All this occupied much time, and, before he had finished, the cart was in sight, in which Lady Helena and Miss Grant reseated themselves, and for the remainder of the day and the succeeding night their progress was in the accustomed order. CHAPTER XXXVII. A WARNING. At sunrise the travelers left the gold regions and crossed the frontiers of the county of Talbot. Their line of travel now struck the dusty roads of the county of Dalhousie. Half the journey was accomplished. In fifteen days more of travel equally rapid the little party would reach the shores of Twofold Bay. Moreover, every one was in good health. Paganel's assertions as to the salubrity of this climate were verified. There was little or no moisture, and the heat was quite endurable. Neither men nor animals complained. [Illustration: Anon you might see him as in the illustration, when he had picked up a pebble and was sure that it was in itself so interesting as a mineralogical specimen that he must treasure it up for the Bank of France.] [Sidenote: A PILLARED GROVE.] Only one change had been made in the line of march since leaving Camden Bridge. The criminal disaster on the railway, when made known to Ayrton, had induced him to take precautions hitherto needless. The horsemen were not to lose sight of the cart. During the hours of encampment one of them was always on guard. Morning and evening the priming of the fire-arms was renewed. It was certain that a band of malefactors were scouring the country; and, although nothing gave cause for immediate suspicion, still it was necessary to be ready for any emergency. In truth they had reason to act thus. An imprudence, or negligence even, might cost them dear. Glenarvan, moreover, was not alone in giving heed to this state of affairs. In the isolated towns and stations the inhabitants and squatters took precautions against any attack or surprise. The houses were closed at nightfall. The dogs were let loose within the palisades, and barked at the slightest alarm. There was not a shepherd, collecting his numerous flocks on horseback for the evening return, who did not carry a carbine suspended from the pommel of his saddle. The news of the crime committed at Camden Bridge was the reason for this excessive caution, and many a colonist who had formerly slept with open doors and windows now carefully locked his house at twilight. After awhile, the cart entered a grove of giant trees, the finest they had hitherto seen. There was a cry of admiration at sight of the eucalyptuses, two hundred feet high, whose spongy bark was five inches in thickness. The trunks measured twenty feet in circumference, and were furrowed by streams of odorous sap. Not a branch, not a twig, not a wanton shoot, not even a knot, disfigured their perfect symmetry. They could not have issued smoother from the hand of the turner. They were like so many columns exactly mated, and could be counted by hundreds, spreading at a vast height into capitals of finely-shaped branches adorned with vertical leaves, from which hung solitary flowers, whose calices were like inverted urns. Under this evergreen canopy the air circulated freely. A continual ventilation absorbed the moisture of the earth, and horses, herds of cattle, and carts could easily pass between these trees, which were widely separated and arranged in straight rows. It was neither a wood with thickets crowded and obstructed by brambles, nor a virgin forest barricaded with fallen trunks and entangled with inextricable parasites, where only axe and fire can clear a way for the pioneers. A carpet of herbage below, and a sheet of verdure above; long vistas of noble pillars; little shade or coolness; a peculiar light, like the rays that sift through a delicate tissue; shadows sharply defined upon the ground: all this constituted a strange sight. The forests of Oceanica are entirely different from those of the New World, and the eucalyptus--the "tara" of the aborigines--is the most perfect tree of the Australian flora. The shade is not dense, nor the darkness profound, beneath these domes of verdure, owing to a strange peculiarity in the arrangement of the leaves of the eucalyptus. Not one presents its face to the sun, but only its sharp edge. The eye sees nothing but profiles in this singular foliage. Thus the rays of the sun glide to the earth as if they had passed between the slats of a window-blind. Every one observed this and seemed surprised. Why this particular arrangement? This question was naturally addressed to Paganel, who replied like a man who is never at fault. "What astonishes me," said he, "is not the freak of nature, for she knows what she does; but botanists do not always know what they say. Nature was not mistaken in giving to these trees this singular foliage; but men are wrong in calling them eucalyptuses." "What does the word mean?" asked Mary Grant. "It comes from the Greek words [Greek: eu kalyptô], signifying _I cover well_. But you all see that the eucalyptus covers badly." [Sidenote: A SILENT MARCH.] "Just so, my dear Paganel," replied Glenarvan; "and now tell us why the leaves grow thus." "In this country, where the air is dry," said Paganel, "where rains are rare and the soil is parched, the trees need neither wind nor sun. Hence these narrow leaves seek to defend themselves against the elements and preserve themselves from too great an evaporation. They therefore present their edges, and not their faces, to the action of the solar rays. There is nothing more intelligent than a leaf." "Nor more selfish," remarked the major. "They thought only of themselves, and not at all of travelers." The entire party was inclined to be of MacNabb's opinion, except Paganel, who, as he wiped his face, congratulated himself upon traveling beneath these shadowless trees. However, this arrangement of foliage was to be regretted; for the journey through these forests is frequently very long and painful, since nothing protects the traveler from the heat of the sun. All day long our travelers pursued their way under these interminable arches. They met neither quadruped nor human being. A few cockatoos inhabited the tops of the trees; but at that height they could scarcely be distinguished, and their chattering was an almost inaudible murmur. Sometimes a flock of parrots would shoot across a distant vista, illumining it with a rapid flash of variegated light. But generally a deep silence reigned in this vast temple of verdure, and the measured tread of the horses, a few words exchanged now and then in desultory conversation, the creaking of the cart-wheels, and from time to time a cry from Ayrton as he urged on his sluggish team, were the only sounds that disturbed this vast solitude. [Illustration: They were like so many columns exactly mated, and could be counted by hundreds.] At evening they encamped at the foot of some trees that bore the marks of a recent fire. They formed tall chimneys, as it were, for the flames had hollowed them out internally throughout their entire length. Having only this shell of bark remaining, they no longer suffered severely from this treatment. However, this lamentable habit of the squatters and natives will finally destroy these magnificent trees, and they will disappear like the cedars of Lebanon, so many centuries old, consumed by the careless fires of wandering encampments. [Illustration: At evening they encamped at the foot of some trees that bore the marks of a recent fire. They formed tall chimneys, as it were, for the flames had hollowed them out internally throughout their entire length.] Olbinett, according to Paganel's advice, kindled a fire in one of these tubular trunks. He obtained a draught at once, and the smoke soon disappeared in the dark mass of foliage. The necessary precautions were taken for the night, and Ayrton, Mulready, Wilson, and Captain Mangles watched by turns till sunrise. During all the next day the interminable forest presented its long, monotonous avenues, till it seemed as if it would never end. Towards evening, however, the rows of trees became thinner; and a few miles farther on, upon a small plain, appeared a collection of regularly built houses. "Seymour!" cried Paganel. "This is the last place we shall meet with before leaving the province of Victoria." "Is it an important town?" inquired Lady Helena. "Madam," replied he, "it is a simple parish that would like to become a municipality." "Shall we find a comfortable hotel?" asked Glenarvan. "I hope so," answered the geographer. "Well, then, let us go into the town; for the ladies will not be sorry, I imagine, to rest here one night." "My dear Edward," replied Lady Helena, "Mary and I accept; but on the condition that it shall cause no trouble or delay." "None at all," said Lord Glenarvan. "Moreover, our oxen are fatigued. To-morrow we will start at break of day." [Sidenote: A TALK AFTER SUPPER.] It was now nine o'clock. The moon was approaching the horizon, and her rays were dimmed by the gathering mist. The darkness was increasing. The whole party, accordingly, entered the broad street of Seymour under the guidance of Paganel, who always seemed to be perfectly acquainted with what he had never seen. But his instinct directed him, and he went straight to Campbell's North British Hotel. Horses and oxen were taken to the stable, the cart was put under the shed, and the travelers were conducted to quite comfortable apartments. At ten o'clock the guests took their seats at a table, over which Olbinett had cast his experienced eye. Paganel had just explored the town, in company with Robert, and now related his nocturnal impressions in a very laconic style. He had seen absolutely nothing. However, a man less absent-minded would have observed a certain excitement in the streets of Seymour. Groups were formed here and there, which gradually increased. People talked at the doors of the houses, and questioned each other with an air of anxiety. Various daily papers were read aloud, commented upon, and discussed. These signs, one might suppose, could not have escaped the most careless observer; Paganel, however, had suspected nothing. The major, on the contrary, without even leaving the hotel, had ascertained the fears that were agitating the little community. Ten minutes' conversation with the loquacious landlord had informed him; but he did not utter a word. Not until supper was over, and Lady Helena, Mary, and Robert had retired to their chambers, did the major say to his companions: "They have traced the authors of the crime committed at Camden Bridge." "Have they been arrested?" asked Ayrton, quickly. "No," replied MacNabb, without seeming to notice the eagerness of the quartermaster. "So much the worse," added Ayrton. "Well," inquired Glenarvan, "to whom do they attribute the crime?" "Read," said the major, handing to Glenarvan a copy of the _Australian and New Zealand Gazette_, "and you will see that the police-officer was not mistaken." Glenarvan read aloud the following passage: "Sydney, Jan. 2, 1865.--It will be remembered that on the night of December 29 an accident took place at Camden Bridge, five miles from Castlemaine Station, on the Melbourne and Sandhurst Railway, by which the night express was precipitated at full speed into the Lutton River. Numerous thefts committed after the accident, and the corpse of the guard found half a mile above, prove that it was the result of a crime; and, in accordance with the verdict at the inquest, this crime is to be attributed to a band of convicts who escaped, six months ago, from the Perth penitentiary, in Western Australia, as they were about to be transferred to Norfolk Island. These convicts are twenty-nine in number, and are commanded by a certain Ben Joyce, a dangerous criminal, who arrived in Australia several months ago in some way, and upon whom justice has not yet succeeded in laying hands. The inhabitants of the cities, and the colonists and squatters of the stations, are warned to be on their guard, and requested to send to the undersigned any information which may assist his investigations. "J. P. MITCHELL, Surveyor-General." * * * * * When Glenarvan had finished reading this article, MacNabb turned to the geographer and said: "You see, Paganel, that there may yet be convicts in Australia." "Runaways there may be, of course," replied Paganel, "but not those who have been transported and regularly received. These people have no right to be here." "Well, at any rate they are here," continued Glenarvan; "but I do not suppose that their presence need cause us to change our plans or delay our journey. What do you think, captain?" [Sidenote: LOOKING AT BOTH SIDES.] Captain Mangles did not answer immediately. He hesitated between the grief that the abandonment of the search would cause the two children, and the fear of compromising the safety of the party. "If Lady Glenarvan and Miss Grant were not with us," said he, "I should care very little for this band of wretches." Glenarvan understood him, and added: "Of course it is not advisable to give up our undertaking; but perhaps it would be prudent for the sake of the ladies to join the Duncan at Melbourne, and continue our search for Captain Grant towards the east. What do you think, MacNabb?" "Before replying," said the major, "I should like to hear Ayrton's opinion." The quartermaster, thus addressed, looked at Glenarvan. "I think," said he, "that, as we are two hundred miles from Melbourne, the danger, if there is any, is as great on the southern as on the eastern road. Both are little frequented, and one is as good as the other. Moreover, I do not think that thirty malefactors can intimidate eight well-armed and resolute men. Therefore, in the absence of better advice, I should go on." "Well said," replied Paganel. "By continuing our course we shall cross Captain Grant's track, while by returning to the south we should go directly away from it. I agree with you, therefore, and shall give myself no uneasiness about the runaway convicts." Thus the determination to make no change in the programme was unanimously approved of. "One more remark, my lord," said Ayrton, as they were about to separate. "Speak." "Would it not be advisable to send an order to the Duncan to sail to the coast?" "Why?" asked Captain Mangles. "It will be time enough to send the order when we arrive at Twofold Bay. If any unforeseen event should compel us to return to Melbourne, we might be sorry not to find the Duncan there. Moreover, her injuries cannot yet have been repaired. I think, therefore, that it would be better to wait." "Well," replied Ayrton, without further remark. The next day the little party, armed and ready for any emergency, left Seymour, and half an hour after re-entered the forest of eucalyptuses, which appeared again towards the east. Glenarvan would have preferred to travel in the open country, for a plain is less favorable to sudden attacks and ambuscades than a thick wood. But they had no alternative; and the cart kept on all day between the tall, monotonous trees, and at evening encamped on the borders of the district of Murray. They were now setting foot on one of the least frequented portions of the Australian continent, a vast uninhabited region stretching away to the Australian Alps. At some future day its forests will be leveled, and the home of the colonist will stand where now all is desolation; but at present it is a desert. In this region is situated the so-styled "reserve for the blacks." On these remote plains various spots have been set apart, where the aboriginal race can enjoy to the full the privilege of gradually becoming extinct. Though the white man is at perfect liberty to invade this "reserved" territory, yet the black may call it his own. Paganel, who was in his element wherever statistics or history was concerned, went into full details respecting the native races. He gave a long account of the cruelties to which these unfortunate beings had been subjected at the hands of the early colonists, and showed how little had been done by the interference of the government. As a striking instance of the manner in which the aborigines melt away before the advance of civilization, he cited the case of Tasmania, which at the beginning of this century had five thousand native inhabitants, but in 1863 had only seven. [Sidenote: STUDIES IN ANTHROPOLOGY.] "Fifty years ago," said he, "we should have met in our course many a tribe of natives; whereas thus far we have not seen even one. A century hence, the black race will have utterly disappeared from this continent." At that moment Robert, halting in front of a group of eucalyptuses, cried out: "A monkey! there is a monkey!" The cart was instantly stopped, and, looking in the direction indicated by the boy, our travellers saw a huge black form moving with astonishing agility from branch to branch, until it was lost from view in the depths of the grove. "What sort of a monkey is that?" asked MacNabb. "That monkey," answered Paganel, "is a full-blooded Australian." Just then were heard sounds of voices at some little distance; the oxen were put in motion, and after proceeding a few hundred paces the party came suddenly upon an encampment of aborigines, consisting of some ten or twelve tents, made of strips of bark arranged in the manner of tiles, and giving shelter to their wretched inhabitants on only one side. Of these miserable beings there were about thirty, men, women, and children, dressed in ragged kangaroo-skins. Their first movement was one of flight; but a few words from Ayrton restored confidence, and they slowly approached the party of Europeans. The major jocularly insisted that Robert was correct in saying that he had seen a monkey; but Lady Helena declined to accept his views, and, getting out of the cart, made friendly advances to these degraded beings, who seemed to look upon her as a divinity. Reassured by her gentle manner, they surrounded the travelers, and began to cast wishful glances at the provisions which the cart contained. Glenarvan, at the request of his wife, distributed a quantity of food among the hungry group. [Illustration: Of these miserable beings there were about thirty, men, women, and children, dressed in ragged kangaroo-skins.] After this had been dispatched, our friends were favored by their new acquaintances with a sham fight, which lasted about ten minutes, the women urging on the combatants and pretending to mutilate those who fell in the fray. Suddenly the excited crowd dropped their arms, and a profound silence succeeded to the din of war. A flight of cockatoos had made its appearance in the neighboring trees; and the opportunity to display their proficiency in the use of the boomerang was at once improved by the Australians. The skill manifested in the construction and use of this instrument served Lady Helena as a strong argument against the monkey theory, though the major pretended that he was not yet convinced. [Illustration: A sham fight, which lasted about ten minutes, the women urging on the combatants and pretending to mutilate those who fell in the fray.] Lord Glenarvan was now about to give the order to advance, when a native came running up with the news that he had discovered half a dozen cassowaries. The chase that followed, with the ingenious disguise assumed by the hunter, and the marvelous fidelity with which he imitated the movements and cries of the bird, was witnessed with interest by the travelers. Lady Helena adduced the skill displayed as a still further argument against the major's theory; but the obstinate MacNabb declined to recede from his position, citing to his antagonist the statement of the negroes concerning the orang-outangs,--that they are negroes like themselves, only that they are too cunning to talk, for fear of being made to work. CHAPTER XXXVIII. WEALTH IN THE WILDERNESS. [Sidenote: A PIANO IN THE DESERT.] After a peaceful night, the travelers, at seven o'clock in the morning, resumed their journey eastward over the plains. Twice they crossed the tracks of squatters, leading towards the north; and then the different hoof-prints would have been confounded if Glenarvan's horse had not left upon the dust the Black Point mark, distinguishable by its three trefoils. Sometimes the plain was furrowed with winding creeks, bordered by box-wood, which took their source on the slopes of the Buffalo Range, a chain of mountains whose picturesque outlines stretched along the horizon, and which the party resolved to reach that evening. Ayrton urged on his oxen, and, after a journey of thirty-five miles, they reached the place. The tent was pitched beneath a great tree. Night had come, and supper was quickly dispatched; all thought more of sleeping than of eating, after the fatigues of the day. Paganel, to whom fell the first watch, did not lie down, but, rifle on shoulder, guarded the encampment, walking to and fro that he might the better resist sleep. In spite of the absence of the moon, the night was almost bright with the splendor of the southern constellations; and the geographer amused himself in reading the great book of the firmament, which is always open. The silence of sleeping nature was broken only by the sound of the horses' chains as they rattled against their feet. Paganel was becoming fully absorbed in his astronomical meditations, and occupying himself more with the things of heaven than those of earth, when a distant sound startled him from his reverie. He listened attentively, and, to his great astonishment, thought he distinguished the tones of a piano. A few boldly-struck chords wafted to his ears their harmonious vibrations. He could not be mistaken. "A piano in the desert!" said he to himself. "It cannot be!" It was indeed very surprising, and Paganel began to think that some strange Australian bird was imitating the sound of the instrument. [Sidenote: A TWOFOLD SURPRISE.] But at that moment a voice, harmoniously pitched, was heard. The pianist was accompanied by a vocalist. The geographer listened incredulously, but in a few moments was forced to recognize the sublime air that struck upon his ear. It was "_Il mio tesoro tanto_" from Don Juan. [Illustration: Paganel did not lie down, but, rifle on shoulder, guarded the encampment, walking to and fro that he might the better resist sleep.] "Parbleu!" thought the geographer, "however strange the Australian birds may be, or even though the parrots were the most musical in the world, they could not sing Mozart." He listened to the end of this grand inspiration of the master. The effect of this sweet melody, in the stillness of the starlit night, was indescribable. He remained a long time under the influences of its enchantment. At last the voice ceased, and all was silent. When Wilson came to relieve the geographer, he found him wrapt in a profound reverie. Paganel said nothing to the sailor, but, reserving his account of the incident for Glenarvan the next day, he crept into the tent. In the morning the whole party were awakened by unexpected bayings. Glenarvan at once arose. Two magnificent pointers were gamboling along the edge of a small wood; but at the approach of the travelers they disappeared among the trees, barking loudly. "There must be a station in this desert," said Glenarvan, "and hunters, since those are hunting-dogs." Paganel was just about to relate his experiences of the past night, when two men appeared, in hunting costume, mounted on fine horses. They naturally stopped at sight of the little party, encamped in gypsy-like fashion, and seemed to be wondering what the presence of armed men in this place meant, when they perceived the ladies, who were alighting from the cart. They immediately dismounted, and advanced towards them, hat in hand. Glenarvan went to meet them, and introduced himself and party, giving the name and rank of each member. The young men bowed, and one of them, the elder, said: "My lord, will your ladies, your companions, and yourself do us the honor to accompany us to our house?" "May I ask, gentlemen, whom I have the honor of addressing?" inquired Glenarvan. "Michael and Alexander Patterson, proprietors of Hottam Station. You are already on the grounds of the establishment, and have but a quarter of a mile to go." "Gentlemen," replied Glenarvan, "I should be unwilling to slight a hospitality so graciously offered----" "My lord," interrupted Michael Patterson, "by accepting you will confer a favor upon two poor colonists, who will be only too happy to extend to you the honors of the desert." Glenarvan bowed in token of assent. "Sir," said Paganel, addressing Michael Patterson, "should I be too inquisitive were I to ask if it was you who sang that divine air of Mozart last night?" "It was I, sir," replied the gentleman; "and my brother accompanied me." "Well, sir," continued Paganel, extending his hand, "accept the sincere compliments of a Frenchman, who is an ardent admirer of Mozart's music." The young man modestly returned the geographer's greeting, and then pointed towards the right to the road they were to take. The horses had been confided to the care of Ayrton and the sailors, and the travelers at once betook themselves on foot to Hottam Station, under the guidance of the two young men. It was a magnificent establishment, characterized by the perfect order of an English park. Immense meadows, inclosed by fences, extended as far as the eye could reach. Here grazed thousands of oxen and sheep. Numerous shepherds and still more numerous dogs tended this vast herd, while with the bellowing and bleating mingled the baying of mastiffs and the sharp crack of stock-whips. [Sidenote: ARTIFICIAL SELECTION.] To the east the prospect was broken by a border of gum-trees, beyond which rose the imposing peak of Mount Hottam, seven thousand five hundred feet high. Long avenues of tall trees stretched in all directions, while here and there stood dense clumps of grass-trees, shrubby plants about ten feet high, resembling the dwarf palm, with a thick foliage of long narrow leaves. The air was laden with the perfume of laurels, whose clusters of white flowers in full bloom exhaled the most delicate fragrance. With the charming groups of native trees were mingled those transplanted from European climes. The peach, the pear, the apple, the fig, the orange, and even the oak were hailed with delight by the travelers, who, if they were not astonished at walking in the shade of the trees of their country, wondered, at least, at the sight of the birds that fluttered among the branches, the satin-birds with their silky plumage, and the canaries, clad in golden and black velvet. Here, for the first time, they saw the menure, or lyre-bird, whose tail has the form of the graceful instrument of Orpheus. As the bird fled away among the arborescent ferns, its tail striking the branches, they almost expected to hear those harmonious chords that helped Amphion to rebuild the walls of Thebes. Lord Glenarvan was not satisfied with merely admiring the fairy wonders of this oasis of the Australian desert. He listened with profound interest to the young men's story. In England, in the heart of civilization, a new-comer would have first informed his host whence he came and whither he was going; but here, by a nice shade of distinction, Michael and Sandy Patterson thought they should make themselves known to the travelers to whom they offered their hospitalities, and briefly told their story. [Illustration: Here, for the first time, they saw the menure, or lyre-bird, whose tail has the form of the graceful instrument of Orpheus.] [Sidenote: NATURE AND ART.] It was like that of all intelligent and active young Englishmen, who do not believe that the possession of riches absolves from the responsibility to labor for the welfare of others. Michael and Alexander Patterson were the sons of a London banker. When they were twenty years old, their father had said: "Here is money, my sons. Go to some distant land, found there a useful establishment, and acquire in labor the knowledge of life. If you succeed, so much the better; if you fail, it matters little. We shall not regret the money that will have enabled you to become men." They obeyed; they chose the province of Victoria as the place to sow the paternal bank-notes, and had no reason to repent. At the end of three years their establishment had attained its present prosperity. They had just finished the brief account of their career, when the dwelling came in sight at the end of a fine avenue of trees. It was a charming house of wood and brick, surrounded by clusters of plants, and had the elegant form of a Swiss cottage, while a veranda, from which hung Chinese lanterns, encircled it like a Roman impluvium. The windows were shaded by brilliant-colored awnings, which at a distance looked almost like masses of flowers. Nothing could be prettier, cozier, or pleasanter to the sight. On the lawn and among the shrubbery round about stood bronze candelabra, supporting elegant lamps with glass globes, which at nightfall illumined the whole garden with a beauteous light. No farm-hands, stables, or outhouses were to be seen,--nothing that indicated scenes of toil. The dwellings of the workmen--a regular village, consisting of some twenty cottages--were a quarter of a mile distant, in the heart of a little valley. Telegraph-wires secured immediate communication between the village and the house of the proprietors, which, far from all tumult, was in truth "a thing of beauty." The avenue was soon passed. A little iron bridge, of great elegance, crossing a murmuring stream, gave access to the private grounds. A courteous attendant advanced to meet the travelers; the doors of the house were opened, and the guests of Hottam Station entered the sumptuous dwelling. All the luxuries of refined and civilized life seemed to be present. Into the vestibule, which was adorned with decorative subjects, illustrating the turf or the chase, opened a spacious parlor, lighted with five windows. A piano, covered with classic and modern music; easels, upon which were half-finished paintings; marble statues, mounted on tasteful pedestals; on the walls, a few pictures by Flemish masters; rich carpets, soft to the feet as grassy meadows; panels of tapestry, descriptive of pleasing mythological episodes; an antique chandelier, costly chinaware, delicate vases, and a great variety of articles of _virtù_, indicated a high appreciation of beauty and comfort. Everything that could please, everything that could relieve the tedium of a voluntary exile, everything that could remind one of a luxurious European home, was to be found in this fairy abode. It would have been easy to imagine oneself in some princely castle of England, France, or Germany. The five windows admitted, through delicate curtains, a light tempered and softened by the shadows of the veranda. Lady Helena looked out, and was astonished. The house, upon this side, commanded the view of a broad valley, which extended to the eastern mountains. The alternation of meadow and woodland, broken here and there by vast clearings, the graceful sweep of the hill-sides, and the outlines of the entire landscape, formed a picture beyond the power of description. This vast panorama, intersected by broad bands of light and shade, changed every hour with the progress of the sun. In the mean time, in accordance with the hosts' orders, breakfast had been prepared by the steward of the station, and in less than a quarter of an hour the travelers were seated at a bountiful table. The quality of the viands and the wines was unexceptionable; but what was especially gratifying, in the midst of these refinements of wealth, was the evident pleasure experienced by the young settlers in dispensing to strangers, beneath their own roof, this magnificent hospitality. [Sidenote: AUSTRALIANS, NATIVE AND IMPORTED.] The young gentlemen were soon made acquainted with the object of the expedition, and took a lively interest in Glenarvan's search, giving also great encouragement to the captain's children. "Harry Grant," said Michael, "has evidently fallen into the hands of the natives, since he has not appeared in the settlements on the coast. He knew his position exactly, as the document proves, and, as he has not reached any English colony, he must have been made prisoner by the natives as soon as he landed." "That is precisely what happened to his quartermaster, Ayrton," replied Captain Mangles. "But, gentlemen," inquired Lady Helena, "have you never heard of the shipwreck of the Britannia?" "Never, madam," said Michael. "And what treatment do you think Captain Grant would experience as a prisoner among the Australians?" "The Australians are not cruel, madam," replied the young settler: "Miss Grant may reassure herself on this point. There are many instances of their kindness; and some Europeans have lived a long time among them, without having any reason to complain of brutality." These words corroborated the information previously given by Paganel and Ayrton. When the ladies had left the table, the conversation turned upon convicts. The settlers had heard of the accident at Camden Bridge, but the band of runaways gave no uneasiness, they would not dare to attack a station that was guarded by more than a hundred men. They were confident, too, that they would not venture into the deserted regions of the Murray, nor into the colonies of New South Wales, where the roads are well protected. [Sidenote: A DAY'S SPORT.] Glenarvan could not decline the invitation of his amiable hosts to spend the entire day at Hottam Station. The delay thus occasioned could be turned to good account: the horses and oxen would be greatly benefited by their rest in the comfortable stables of the establishment. It was, therefore, decided to remain, and the two young men submitted to their guests a programme for the day's sports, which was adopted with alacrity. [Illustration: It was a charming house of wood and brick, surrounded by clusters of plants, and had the elegant form of a Swiss cottage.] At noon, seven fine hunters pawed the ground at the gate of the house. For the ladies was provided an elegant coach, and the long reins enabled their driver to show his skill in manoeuvring the "four-in-hand." The horsemen, accompanied by outriders, and well armed, galloped beside the carriage, while the pack of hounds bayed joyously in the coppices. For four hours the cavalcade traversed the paths and avenues of these spacious grounds. As for game, an army of bushmen could not have started up a greater number of animals. Young Robert, who kept close to the major's side, accomplished wonders. The intrepid boy, in spite of his sister's injunctions, was always ahead, and the first to fire. But Captain Mangles had promised to watch over him, a fact which tended not a little to allay Miss Grant's apprehension for her brother's safety. Of all the sports of the day the most interesting was unquestionably a kangaroo hunt. About four o'clock the dogs started a troop of these curious animals. The little ones took refuge in their mothers' pouches, and the whole drove rushed away in single file. Nothing can be more astonishing than the enormous bounds of the kangaroo, whose hind legs are twice as long as its fore ones, and bend like a spring. At the head of the drove was a male five feet high,--"an old man," in the language of the bushmen. For four or five miles the chase was briskly continued. The kangaroos did not slacken their pace; and the dogs, who feared, with good reason, the powerful blows of their formidable paws, did not venture to approach them. But at last the drove stopped in exhaustion, and "the old man" braced himself against the trunk of a tree, ready to fight for his life. One of the pointers, carried on by the impetus of his course, rolled within reach of him. A moment after, the unfortunate dog was tossed into the air, and fell back lifeless. The entire pack, deterred by the fate of their comrade, kept at a respectful distance. It became necessary to dispatch the kangaroo with the rifle, and nothing but bullets could bring down the gigantic quadruped. At this juncture Robert narrowly escaped being the victim of his rashness. In order to make sure of his aim, he approached so near the kangaroo that the animal made a spring at him. Robert fell. A cry of alarm resounded. Mary Grant, speechless with apprehension, stretched her hands towards her brother. No one dared to fire, for fear of hitting the boy. Suddenly Captain Mangles, with his hunting-knife open, rushed upon the kangaroo, at the risk of his life, and stabbed it to the heart. The beast fell dead, and Robert rose unharmed. An instant after, he was in the arms of his sister. "Thanks, Captain Mangles! thanks!" said Mary, extending her hand to the young captain. "I promised to take care of him," replied the captain, as he took the trembling hand of the young girl. This adventure ended the hunt. The troop of kangaroos had scattered after the death of their leader, whose carcass was brought to the house. It was now six o'clock, and dinner was in readiness for the hunters; comprising, among other dishes, a soup of kangaroo's tail, prepared in the native style. After a dessert of ices and sherbet, the party repaired to the parlor, where the evening was devoted to music. Lady Helena, who was a good pianiste, presided at the instrument, while Michael and Alexander Patterson sang with great taste selections from the latest compositions of the modern musical masters. [Sidenote: A FRESH DEPARTURE.] At eleven o'clock tea was served in true English style. Paganel having desired to taste the Australian tea, a liquid, black as ink, was brought to him. It consisted of a quart of water, in which half a pound of tea had been boiled four hours. Paganel, with a wry face, pronounced it excellent. At midnight the guests were conducted to cool and comfortable chambers, where they renewed in dreams the pleasures of the day. The next morning, at sunrise, they took leave of the two young settlers, with many thanks, and with warmly-expressed hopes to see them at Malcolm Castle at no very distant day. The cart then started, and in a few minutes, as the road wound around the foot of Mount Hottam, the hospitable habitation disappeared, like a passing vision, from the eyes of the travelers. For five miles farther they traversed the grounds of the station, and not till nine o'clock did the little party pass the last palisade and enter upon the almost unknown districts of the country before them. CHAPTER XXXIX. SUSPICIOUS OCCURRENCES. A mighty barrier crossed the road on the southeast. It was the chain of the Australian Alps, which extend in capricious windings fifteen hundred miles, and are capped with clouds four thousand feet aloft. [Sidenote: ASCENDING THE MOUNTAINS.] The sky was dull and lowering, and the rays of the sun struggled through dense masses of mist. The temperature was, therefore, endurable; but the journey was difficult on account of the irregularity of the surface. The unevenness of the plain constantly increased, and here and there rose mounds, covered with young green gum-trees. Farther on, these excrescences formed the first slopes of the great Alps. The ascent was very laborious, as was shown by the efforts of the oxen, whose yokes cracked under the tension of the heavy vehicle. The animals panted heavily, and the muscles of their hams were strained almost to breaking. The axles threatened to give way under the sudden jolts that Ayrton, with all his skill, could not prevent. The ladies, however, lost none of their accustomed cheerfulness. [Illustration: Of all the sports of the day the most interesting was unquestionably a kangaroo hunt.] Captain Mangles and the two sailors rode a few hundred paces in advance, to choose practicable passes. It was a difficult and often a perilous task. Several times Wilson was forced to make a way with his hatchet through the midst of dense thickets. Their course deviated in many windings, which impassable obstacles, lofty blocks of granite, deep ravines, and treacherous swamps compelled them to make. At evening they encamped at the foot of the Alps, on the banks of a small stream that flowed along the edge of a plain covered with tall shrubbery, whose bright-red foliage enlivened the banks. "We shall have difficulty in passing here," said Glenarvan, as he gazed at the chain of mountains, whose outlines were already growing dim in the twilight. "Alps! that is a name suggestive of arduous climbing." "You will change your opinion, my dear Glenarvan," replied Paganel. "You must not think you are in Switzerland." "Then these Australian Alps----?" asked Lady Helena. "Are miniature mountains," continued Paganel. "You will cross them without noticing it." The next day, in spite of the assurances of the confident geographer, the little party found great difficulty in crossing the mountains. They were forced to advance at a venture, and descend into deep and narrow gorges that, for aught they knew, might end in a wall of rock. Ayrton would doubtless have been eventually nonplused had they not, after an hour's climbing, caught sight of a tavern on one of the paths of the mountain. "Well!" said Paganel, as they reached the hostelry, "the proprietor of this inn cannot make a great fortune in such a place. Of what use can he be?" "To give us the information we need for our journey," replied Glenarvan. "Let us go in." Glenarvan, followed by Ayrton, entered the tavern. The landlord of "Bush Inn" was a coarse man, of forbidding appearance, who had to consider himself as the principal customer for the gin, brandy, and whisky of his tavern, and scarcely ever saw any one but squatters or herdsmen. He replied in an ill-humored way to the questions that were addressed him; but his answers sufficed to determine Ayrton upon his course. Glenarvan, however, remunerated the tavern-keeper for the little trouble they had given him, and was about to leave the inn, when a placard, affixed to the wall, attracted his attention. It was a notice of the colonial police, detailing the escape of the convicts from Perth, and setting a price upon the head of Ben Joyce--a hundred pounds sterling to any one who should deliver him up. "Indeed," said Glenarvan, "that is a rascal worth hanging." "And especially worth taking," replied Ayrton. "A hundred pounds! What a sum! He is not worth it." "As for the inn-keeper," added Glenarvan, as he left the room, "I scarcely put faith in him, despite his placard." "Nor I either," said Ayrton. Glenarvan and the quartermaster rejoined the party, and they all proceeded to where a narrow pass wound across the chain. Here they began the ascent. [Sidenote: ANOTHER DEATH.] But it was an arduous task. More than once the ladies and their companions had to dismount, and it was often necessary to push the wheels of the heavy vehicle at some steep ascent, or to hold it back along the edge of some dangerous precipice. The oxen, as they could not work to advantage at sudden turns, had frequently to be unyoked, and the cart blocked to prevent it from sliding back. Ayrton was repeatedly forced to bring the already exhausted horses to his assistance. Whether this exertion was too prolonged, or whether from some other cause, one of the horses gave out during the ascent. He fell suddenly, without an instant's warning. It was Mulready's horse; and when the sailor attempted to help him up, he found that he was dead. Ayrton examined the animal carefully, but did not seem to understand the cause of this sudden death. "The beast must have burst a blood-vessel," said Glenarvan. "Evidently," replied Ayrton. "Take my horse, Mulready," added Glenarvan; "I will join Lady Helena in the cart." Mulready obeyed, and the little party continued their fatiguing ascent, abandoning the body to the crows. The next day they began the descent, which was much more rapid. During its course a violent hail-storm burst on them, and they were forced to seek a shelter beneath the rocks. Not hailstones, but pieces of ice as large as one's hand, were precipitated from the angry clouds. A sling could not have hurled them with greater force, and several sharp blows warned Paganel and Robert to be on their guard. The cart was pierced through in many places: indeed, few roofs could have resisted the fall of these cutting missiles, some of which froze to the trunks of the trees. It was necessary to wait for the end of this avalanche, for fear of being stoned to death, and it was an hour before the party regained the steep path, still slippery with icy incrustations. At evening the cart, considerably shattered, but still firm on its wooden wheels, descended the last slopes of the Alps, between tall solitary pines, and reached the plains of Gippsland. [Illustration: Not hailstones, but pieces of ice as large as one's hand, were precipitated from the angry clouds.] [Sidenote: DIVIDED COUNSELS.] All were impatient to gain their destination, the Pacific Ocean, where the Britannia had been wrecked. There only could traces of the shipwrecked seamen be found, and not in these desert regions. Ayrton urged Lord Glenarvan to send an order to the Duncan to repair to the coast, that he might have at his disposal all the aid possible in his search. In his opinion they ought to take advantage of the Lucknow road, which would lead them to Melbourne. Afterwards this might be difficult, for highways leading directly to the capital would be absolutely wanting. This advice of the quartermaster seemed reasonable. Paganel seconded it. He thought, too, that the yacht would be very useful under the present circumstances, and added that they could no longer communicate with Melbourne after passing the Lucknow road. Glenarvan was undecided, and perhaps would have sent the order that Ayrton so particularly desired, if the major had not opposed this plan with great energy. He explained that Ayrton's presence was necessary to the expedition; that on approaching the coast the country would be unknown; that, if chance set them on the track of Captain Grant, the quartermaster would be more capable than any one else of following it; in short, that he alone could point out the place where the Britannia was lost. MacNabb, therefore, advocated their continuing on the journey without change. Captain Mangles was of the same opinion. The young captain observed that his lordship's orders could more easily reach the Duncan if sent from Twofold Bay, than by dispatching a messenger two hundred miles over a wild country. The major carried his point, and it was therefore decided that they should proceed to Twofold Bay. MacNabb noticed that Ayrton seemed quite disappointed, but he said nothing, and, according to his custom, kept his thoughts to himself. Early in the afternoon they passed through a curious forest of ferns. These arborescent plants, in full bloom, measured thirty feet in height. Horses and horsemen could easily pass beneath their drooping branches, and sometimes the rowel of a spur would ring, as it struck against their solid stalks. The coolness of the grove was very grateful to the wearied travelers. Paganel, always demonstrative, gave vent to exclamations of delight that startled flocks of parrots and cockatoos. All at once his companions saw the geographer reel in the saddle, and fall to the ground like a log. Was it giddiness, or sunstroke, caused by the heat? They hastened to him. "Paganel! Paganel! what is the matter?" cried Lord Glenarvan. "The matter is, my dear friend," replied Paganel, extricating himself from the stirrups, "that I no longer have a horse." "What! your horse----?" "Is dead, stricken like Mulready's." At once Glenarvan, Captain Mangles, and Wilson examined the animal. Paganel was right. His horse had been suddenly stricken dead. "This is singular," said the captain. "Very singular indeed," muttered the major. Glenarvan could not restrain a feeling of uneasiness at this strange occurrence. It was impossible for them to retrace their steps in this desert; while, if an epidemic were to seize all the horses, it would be very difficult to continue the journey. Before the end of the day his fears seemed to be justified. A third horse, Wilson's, fell dead, and, what was worse, one of the oxen was also stricken. Their means of conveyance now consisted of only three oxen and four horses. [Sidenote: A FINE FERNERY.] The situation had grown serious. The mounted horsemen could, of course, take turns in traveling on foot. But, if it should be necessary to leave the cart behind, what would become of the ladies? Could they accomplish the one hundred and twenty miles that still separated them from Twofold Bay? Captain Mangles and Glenarvan anxiously examined the remaining horses: perhaps preventives might be found against new calamities. No sign of disease, however, could be detected. The animals were in perfect health, and bravely endured the hardships of the journey. Glenarvan, therefore, was inclined to think that this mysterious epidemic would have no more victims. This was Ayrton's opinion too, who declared that he could not at all understand the cause of the frightful mortality. They started again, and the cart served to convey the pedestrians, who rode in it by turns. At evening, after a journey of only ten miles, the signal to halt was given, the encampment arranged, and the night was passed comfortably beneath a large group of arborescent ferns, among whose branches fluttered enormous bats. The next day they made an excellent beginning, and accomplished fifteen miles. Everything led them to hope that they would encamp that evening on the banks of the Snowy River. Evening came, and a fog, clearly defined against the horizon, marked the course of the long-looked-for stream. A forest of tall trees was seen at a bend in the road, behind a moderate elevation. Ayrton guided his oxen towards the tall trunks dimly discerned in the shadow, and was just passing the boundary of the wood, when the cart sank into the earth to the hubs. "What is the matter?" asked Glenarvan, when he perceived that the cart had come to a stop. "We are fast in the mud," replied Ayrton. He urged his oxen with voice and whip, but they were up to their knees in the mire, and could not stir. "Let us encamp here," said Captain Mangles. "That is the best plan," answered Ayrton. "To-morrow, at daybreak, we can see to extricate ourselves." [Illustration: Early in the afternoon they passed through a curious forest of ferns. These arborescent plants, in full bloom, measured thirty feet in height.] [Illustration: Flashes of lightning, the dazzling forerunners of a coming storm, every now and then illumined the horizon.] "Very well: be it so," replied Glenarvan. Night had set in rapidly, after a short twilight, but the heat had not departed with the sun. The air was heavy with stifling mists. Flashes of lightning, the dazzling forerunners of a coming storm, every now and then illumined the horizon. The beds were prepared, and the sunken cart was made as comfortable as possible. The sombre arch of the great trees sheltered the tent of the travelers. Provided no rain fell, they would have no reason to complain. Ayrton succeeded with difficulty in extricating his three oxen from the mud, in which they had by this time sunk to their flanks. The quartermaster picketed them with the four horses, and would allow no one to give them their fodder. This service he performed himself with great exactness, and that evening Glenarvan observed that his care was redoubled, for which he thanked him, as the preservation of the team was of paramount importance. Meantime, the travelers partook of a hasty supper. Fatigue and heat had driven away hunger, and they needed rest more than nourishment. Lady Helena and Miss Grant, wishing their companions good-night, retired to their accustomed bedroom. As for the men, some crawled under the tent, while others stretched themselves on the thick grass at the foot of the trees. Gradually each sank into a heavy sleep. The darkness increased beneath the curtain of dense clouds that covered the sky. Not a breath of air was felt. The silence of the night was only interrupted by the occasional howlings of wild animals. About eleven o'clock, after an uneasy slumber, the major awoke. His half-closed eyes were attracted by a dim light that flickered beneath the great trees. One would have thought it was a whitish sheet glittering like the surface of a lake. MacNabb imagined, at first, that the flames of a conflagration were spreading over the ground. [Sidenote: STRANGE SIGHTS AND SOUNDS.] He rose and walked towards the wood. His surprise was great when he found himself in the presence of a purely natural phenomenon. Before him extended an immense field of mushrooms, which emitted phosphorescent flashes. The major, who was not selfish, was about to waken Paganel, that the geographer might witness the spectacle with his own eyes, when an unexpected sight stopped him. The phosphorescent light illumined the wood for the space of half a mile, and MacNabb thought he saw shadows rapidly moving along the edge of the clearing. Did his eyes deceive him? Was he the sport of an illusion? He crouched down, and, after a long and attentive observation, distinctly perceived several men, who seemed by their movements to be searching the ground for something. What could these men want? He must know, and, without an instant's hesitation or awakening his companions, he crawled along on all-fours, carefully concealing himself in the tall grass. CHAPTER XL. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. [Sidenote: INCREASING PERPLEXITIES.] It was a terrible night. At two o'clock in the morning the rain began to fall in torrents, which continued to pour from the stormy clouds till daylight. The tent was an insufficient shelter. Glenarvan and his companions took refuge in the cart, where they passed the time in conversing upon various subjects. The major, however, whose short absence no one had noticed, contented himself with listening in silence. The fury of the tempest gave them considerable uneasiness, since it might cause an inundation, by which the cart, fast in the mire, would be overwhelmed. [Illustration: He crouched down, and, after a long and attentive observation, distinctly perceived several men.] More than once Mulready, Ayrton, and Captain Mangles went to ascertain the height of the rushing waters, and returned drenched from head to foot. At length day appeared. The rain ceased, but the rays of the sun failed to penetrate the thick veil of clouds. Large pools of muddy, yellowish water covered the ground. A warm vapor issued from the water-soaked earth and saturated the atmosphere with a sickly moisture. Glenarvan, first of all, turned his attention to the cart. In his eyes, this was their main support. It was imbedded fast in the midst of a deep hollow of sticky clay. The fore wheels were almost entirely out of sight, and the hind ones were buried up to the hubs. It would be a very difficult matter to pull out the heavy vehicle, and would undoubtedly require the united strength of men, oxen, and horses. "We must make haste," said Captain Mangles. "If this clay dries, the work will be more difficult." Glenarvan, the two sailors, the captain, and Ayrton then entered the wood, where the animals had passed the night. It was a tall forest of gloomy gum-trees. Nothing met the eye but dead trunks, widely separated, which had been destitute of their bark for centuries. Not a bird built its nest on these lofty skeletons; not a leaf trembled on the dry branches, that rattled together like a bundle of dry bones. Glenarvan, as he walked on, gazed at the leaden sky, against which the branches of the gum-trees were sharply defined. To Ayrton's great astonishment, there was no trace of the horses and oxen in the place where he had left them. The fettered animals, however, could not have gone far. They searched for them in the wood, but failed to find them. Ayrton then returned to the banks of the river, which was bordered by magnificent mimosas. He uttered a cry well known to his oxen, but there was no answer. The quartermaster seemed very anxious, and his companions glanced at each other in dismay. An hour passed in a vain search, and Glenarvan was returning to the cart, which was at least a mile off, when a neigh fell upon his ear, followed almost immediately by a bellow. "Here they are!" cried Captain Mangles, forcing his way between the tall tufts of the gastrolobium, which were high enough to conceal a whole herd. Glenarvan, Mulready, and Ayrton rushed after him, and soon shared his astonishment. Two oxen and three horses lay upon the ground, stricken like the others. Their bodies were already cold, and a flock of hungry crows, croaking in the mimosas, waited for their unexpected prey. Glenarvan and his friends gazed at each other, and Wilson did not suppress an oath that rose to his lips. "What is the matter, Wilson?" said Lord Glenarvan, scarcely able to control himself. "We can do nothing. Ayrton, bring the ox and horse that are left. They must extricate us from the difficulty." "If the cart were once out of the mud," replied Captain Mangles, "these two animals, by short journeys, could draw it to the coast. We must, therefore, at all events, release the clumsy vehicle." "We will try, John," said Glenarvan. "Let us return to camp, for there must be anxiety at our long absence." Ayrton took charge of the ox, and Mulready of the horse, and the party returned along the winding banks of the river. Half an hour after, Paganel, MacNabb, Lady Helena, and Miss Grant were told the state of affairs. "By my faith," the major could not help exclaiming, "it is a pity, Ayrton, that you did not shoe all our animals on crossing the Wimerra." "Why so, sir?" asked Ayrton. "Because of all our horses only the one you put into the hands of the farrier has escaped the common fate." "That is true," said Captain Mangles; "and it is a singular coincidence!" [Sidenote: MISTAKES AND MISAPPREHENSIONS.] "A coincidence, and nothing more," replied the quartermaster, gazing fixedly at the major. MacNabb compressed his lips, as if he would repress the words ready to burst from them. Glenarvan, the captain, and Lady Helena seemed to expect that he would finish his sentence; but he remained silent, and walked towards the cart, which Ayrton was now examining. "What did he mean?" inquired Glenarvan of Captain Mangles. "I do not know," replied the young captain. "However, the major is not the man to speak without cause." "No," said Lady Helena; "Major MacNabb must have suspicions of Ayrton." "What suspicions?" asked Glenarvan. "Does he suppose him capable of killing our horses and oxen? For what purpose, pray? Are not Ayrton's interests identical with ours?" "You are right, my dear Edward," said Lady Helena. "Besides, the quartermaster has given us, ever since the beginning of the journey, indubitable proofs of his devotion to our comfort." "True," replied Captain Mangles. "But, then, what does the major's remark mean? I must have an understanding." "Perhaps he thinks he is in league with these convicts?" remarked Paganel, imprudently. "What convicts?" inquired Miss Grant. "Monsieur Paganel is mistaken," said Captain Mangles quickly: "he knows that there are no convicts in the province of Victoria." "Yes, yes, that is so," eagerly replied Paganel, who would fain have retracted his words. "What could I have been thinking of? Convicts? Who ever heard of convicts in Australia? Moreover, as soon as they land, they make very honest people. The climate, you know, Miss Mary, the moral effect of the climate----" In his desire to correct his blunder, the poor geographer became hopelessly involved. Lady Helena looked at him, wondering what had deprived him of his usual coolness; but, not wishing to embarrass him further, she retired with Mary to the tent, where Mr. Olbinett was engaged in preparing breakfast. "I deserve to be transported myself," said Paganel piteously. "I think so," replied Glenarvan. Ayrton and the two sailors were still trying to extricate the cart. The ox and the horse, yoked side by side, were pulling with all their strength; the traces were stretched almost to breaking, and the bows threatened to give way to the strain. Wilson and Mulready pushed at the wheels, while the quartermaster, with voice and whip, urged on the ill-matched team. But the heavy vehicle did not stir. The clay, now dry, held it as if it had been cemented. Captain Mangles wetted the clay to make it yield, but to no purpose: the cart was immovable. Unless the vehicle was taken to pieces, they must give up the idea of getting it out of the quagmire. As tools were wanting, of course they could not undertake such a task. Ayrton, however, who seemed determined to overcome the difficulty at any cost, was about to renew his exertions, when Lord Glenarvan stopped him. "Enough, Ayrton! enough!" said he. "We must be careful of the ox and horse that remain. If we are to continue our journey on foot, one can carry the two ladies and the other the provisions. They may do us good service yet." "Very well, my lord," replied the quartermaster, unyoking his exhausted animals. "Now, my friends," added Glenarvan, "let us return to camp, deliberate, consider our situation, know what our chances are, and come to a resolution." [Illustration: But the heavy vehicle did not stir. The clay, now dry, held it as if it had been cemented.] A few minutes after, the travelers were indemnifying themselves for their sleeplessness the past night by a good breakfast, and the discussion of their affairs began. The first question was to determine the exact position of the encampment. Paganel was charged with this duty, and fulfilled it with his customary precision. "How far are we from Twofold Bay?" asked Glenarvan. "Seventy-five miles," replied Paganel. "And Melbourne is----?" "Two hundred miles distant, at least." "Very well. Our position being determined," continued Glenarvan, "what is it best to do?" The answer was unanimous,--make for the coast without delay. Lady Helena and Mary Grant engaged to travel fifteen miles a day. The courageous women did not shrink from traversing the entire distance on foot, if necessary. "But are we certain to find at the bay the resources that we need?" asked Glenarvan. "Without doubt," replied Paganel. "Eden is not a new municipality; and its harbor must have frequent communication with Melbourne. I even believe that thirty-five miles from here, at the parish of Delegete, we can obtain provisions and the means of conveyance." "And the Duncan?" asked Ayrton. "Do you not think it advisable to order her to the bay?" "What say you, captain?" said Glenarvan. "I do not think that there is any necessity for such a proceeding," replied the young captain, after reflection. "There will be plenty of time to send your orders to Tom Austin and summon him to the coast." "That is quite true," added Paganel. "Besides," continued Captain Mangles, "in four or five days we shall be at Eden." "Four or five days!" interposed Ayrton, shaking his head; "say fifteen or twenty, captain, if you do not wish to regret your error hereafter." [Sidenote: DIFFICULTIES FORESEEN.] "Fifteen or twenty days to make seventy-five miles!" exclaimed Glenarvan. "At least, my lord. You will have to cross the most difficult portion of Victoria,--plains covered with underbrush, without any cleared roads, where it has been impossible to establish stations. You will have to travel with the hatchet or the torch in your hand; and, believe me, you will not advance rapidly." Ayrton's tone was that of a man who is thoroughly acquainted with his subject. Paganel, towards whom questioning glances were turned, nodded approvingly at the words of the quartermaster. "I acknowledge the difficulties," said Captain Mangles, at length. "Well, in fifteen days, my lord, you can send your orders to the Duncan." "I may add," resumed Ayrton, "that the principal obstacles do not proceed from the roughness of the journey. We must cross the Snowy, and, very probably, have to wait for the subsidence of the waters." "Wait!" cried the captain. "Can we not find a ford?" "I think not," replied Ayrton. "This morning I searched in vain for a practicable one. It is unusual to find a river so much swollen at this season; it is a fatality against which I am powerless." "This Snowy River is broad, then?" remarked Lady Glenarvan. "Broad and deep, madam," answered Ayrton; "a mile in breadth, with a strong current. A good swimmer could not cross it without danger." "Well, then, let us build a boat!" cried Robert, who was never at fault for a plan. "We can cut down a tree, hollow it out, embark, and the thing is done." "Good for the son of Captain Grant!" replied Paganel. "The boy is right," continued Captain Mangles. "We shall be forced to this. I therefore think it useless to waste our time in further discussions." "What do you think, Ayrton?" asked Glenarvan. "I think, my lord, that if no assistance comes, in a month we shall still be detained on the banks of the Snowy." "But have you a better plan?" inquired Captain Mangles, somewhat impatiently. "Yes; let the Duncan leave Melbourne, and sail to the eastern coast." "How can her presence in the bay assist us to arrive there?" Ayrton meditated for a few moments, and then said, evasively: "I do not wish to obtrude my opinion. What I do is for the interest of all, and I am disposed to start as soon as your lordship gives the signal for departure." Then he folded his arms. "That is no answer, Ayrton," continued Glenarvan. "Tell us your plan, and we will discuss it. What do you propose?" In a calm and confident tone the quartermaster thereupon expressed himself as follows: "I propose that we do not venture beyond the Snowy in our present destitute condition. We must wait for assistance in this very place, and this assistance can come only from the Duncan. Let us encamp here where provisions are not wanting, while one of us carries to Tom Austin the order to repair to Twofold Bay." This unexpected proposal was received with a murmur of astonishment, and Captain Mangles took no pains to conceal his aversion. "In the mean time," continued Ayrton, "either the waters of the Snowy will have subsided, which will enable us to find a practicable ford, or we shall have to resort to a boat, and shall have time to construct it. This, my lord, is the plan which I submit to your approval." "Very well, Ayrton," replied Glenarvan; "your idea deserves to be seriously considered. Its greatest objection is the delay it will cause; but it spares us severe hardships, and perhaps real dangers. What do you think, friends?" [Illustration: "If it please your lordship, I will go."] "Let us hear your advice, major," said Lady Helena. "During the whole discussion you have contented yourself with listening simply." "Since you ask my opinion," answered the major, "I will give it to you very frankly. Ayrton seems to me to have spoken like a wise and prudent man, and I advocate his proposition." This answer was rather unexpected; for hitherto MacNabb had always opposed Ayrton's ideas on this subject. Ayrton, too, was surprised, and cast a quick glance at the major. Paganel, Lady Helena, and the sailors had been favorably disposed to the quartermaster's project, and no longer hesitated after MacNabb's declaration. Glenarvan, therefore, announced that Ayrton's plan was adopted. "And now, captain," added he, "do you not think that prudence dictates this course, and that we should encamp on the banks of the river while waiting for the means of conveyance?" "Yes," replied Captain Mangles, "if the messenger succeeds in crossing the Snowy, which we cannot cross ourselves." All looked at the quartermaster, who smiled with the air of a man who knows perfectly well what he is about to do. "The messenger will not cross the river," said he. "Ah!" cried Captain Mangles. "He will strike the Lucknow road, which will take him direct to Melbourne." "Two hundred miles on foot!" exclaimed the captain. "On horseback," continued Ayrton. "There is one good horse left. It will be a journey of but four days. Add two days for the Duncan to reach the bay, twenty-four hours for the return to the encampment, and in a week the messenger will be back again with the crew." [Sidenote: CANDIDATES FOR OFFICE.] The major again nodded approvingly at these words, to the great astonishment of Captain Mangles. But the quartermaster's proposition had gained all the votes, and the only question was how to execute this apparently well-conceived plan. "Now, my friends," said Glenarvan, "it remains only to choose our messenger. He will have a difficult and dangerous mission; that is certain. Who is willing to devote himself for his companions, and carry our instructions to Melbourne?" Wilson, Mulready, Captain Mangles, Paganel, and Robert offered themselves immediately. The captain particularly insisted that this mission should be confided to him; but Ayrton, who had not yet finished, resumed the conversation, and said: "If it please your lordship, I will go. I am acquainted with the country, and have often crossed more difficult regions. I can extricate myself where another would fail. I therefore claim, for the common welfare, the right to go to Melbourne. One word will place me on a good footing with your mate, and in six days I engage to bring the Duncan to Twofold Bay." "Well said!" replied Glenarvan. "You are a brave and intelligent man, Ayrton, and will succeed." The quartermaster was evidently more capable than any one else of fulfilling this difficult mission. Captain Mangles raised one final objection, that Ayrton's presence was necessary to enable them to find traces of the Brittania or Captain Grant; but the major observed that they should remain encamped on the banks of the Snowy till the messenger's return, that it was not proposed to resume the search without him, and that consequently his absence could be in no way prejudicial to their interests. "Well then, Ayrton, start," said Glenarvan. "Make haste, and return to the encampment by way of Eden." A gleam of satisfaction seemed to light up the eyes of the quartermaster. He turned his head to one side, though not so quickly but that Captain Mangles had intercepted his glance, and instinctively felt his suspicions increased. The quartermaster made his preparations for departure, aided by the two sailors, one of whom attended to his horse, and the other to his provisions. Meantime Glenarvan wrote the letter designed for Tom Austin. He ordered the mate of the Duncan to repair without delay to Twofold Bay, and recommended the quartermaster to him as a man in whom he could place entire confidence. As soon as he arrived at the bay, he was to send a detachment of sailors under the command of Ayrton. He had just reached this part of his letter, when the major, who had been looking over his shoulder, asked him, in a singular tone, how he wrote the word Ayrton. "As it is pronounced," replied Glenarvan. "That is a mistake," said the major coolly. "It is pronounced Ayrton, but it is written 'Ben Joyce'!" CHAPTER XLI. THE PLOT UNVEILED. The sound of the name of Ben Joyce fell upon the party like a thunderbolt. Ayrton suddenly sprang to his feet. In his hand was a revolver. A report was heard; and Glenarvan fell, struck by a bullet. Before Captain Mangles and the sailors recovered from the surprise into which this unexpected turn of affairs had thrown them, the audacious convict had escaped, and joined his band, scattered along the edge of the wood of gum-trees. [Illustration: A report was heard; and Glenarvan fell, struck by a bullet.] The tent did not offer a sufficient shelter against the bullets, and it was clearly necessary to beat a retreat. Glenarvan, who was but slightly injured, had risen. "To the cart! to the cart!" cried Captain Mangles, as he hurried on Lady Helena and Mary Grant, who were soon in safety behind its stout sides. The captain, the major, Paganel, and the sailors then seized their rifles, and stood ready to repel the convicts. Glenarvan and Robert had joined the ladies, while Olbinett hastened to the common defence. These events had transpired with the rapidity of lightning. Captain Mangles attentively watched the edge of the wood; but the reports suddenly ceased on the arrival of Ben Joyce, and a profound silence succeeded the noisy fusillade. A few wreaths of white smoke were still curling up between the branches of the gum-trees, but the tall tufts of gastrolobium were motionless and all signs of attack had disappeared. The major and Captain Mangles extended their examinations as far as the great trees. The place was abandoned. Numerous footprints were seen, and a few half-burnt cartridges smoked on the ground. The major, like a prudent man, extinguished them, for a spark was enough to kindle a formidable conflagration in this forest of dry trees. "The convicts have disappeared," said Captain Mangles. "Yes," replied the major; "and this disappearance alarms me. I should prefer to meet them face to face. It is better to encounter a tiger in the open plain than a serpent in the grass. Let us search these bushes around the cart." [Sidenote: UNRAVELINGS.] The major and captain scoured the surrounding country. But from the edge of the wood to the banks of the Snowy they did not meet with a single convict. Ben Joyce's band seemed to have flown away, like a flock of mischievous birds. This disappearance was too strange to inspire a perfect security. They therefore resolved to keep on the watch. The cart, which was a really immovable fortress, became the centre of the encampment, and two men kept guard, relieving each other every hour. Lady Helena and Mary Grant's first care had been to dress Glenarvan's wound. At the very moment that her husband fell, from Ben Joyce's bullet, in her terror she had rushed towards him. Then, controlling her emotion, this courageous woman had assisted Glenarvan to the cart. Here the shoulder of the wounded man was laid bare, and the major perceived that the ball had lacerated the flesh, causing no other injury. Neither bones nor large muscles seemed affected. The wound bled considerably, but Glenarvan, by moving the fingers of his hand and fore-arm, encouraged his friends to expect a favorable result. When his wound was dressed, he no longer desired any attention, and explanations followed. The travelers, except Wilson and Mulready, who were keeping guard outside, had taken seats as well as possible in the cart, and the major was requested to speak. Before beginning his story, he informed Lady Helena of the escape of a band of convicts from Perth, their appearance in the province of Victoria, and their complicity in the railway disaster. He gave her the number of the _Australian and New Zealand Gazette_ purchased at Seymour, and added that the police had set a price on the head of Ben Joyce, a formidable bandit, whom eighteen months of crime had given a wide-spread notoriety. But how had MacNabb recognized this Ben Joyce in the quartermaster Ayrton? Here was the mystery that all wished to solve; and the major explained. Since the day of his meeting with Ayrton he had suspected him. Two or three almost insignificant circumstances, a glance exchanged between the quartermaster and the farrier at Wimerra River, Ayrton's hesitation to pass through the towns and villages, his strong wish to order the Duncan to the coast, the strange death of the animals confided to his care, and, finally, a want of frankness in his actions,--all these facts, gradually noticed, had roused the major's suspicions. However, he could form no direct accusation until the events that had transpired the preceding night. Gliding between the tall clumps of shrubbery, as was related in the previous chapter, he approached near the suspicious shadows that had attracted his attention half a mile from the encampment. The phosphorescent plants cast their pale rays through the darkness. Three men were examining some tracks on the ground, and among them he recognized the farrier of Black Point Station. "Here they are," said one. "Yes," replied another, "here is the trefoil of the hoofs again." "It has been like this since leaving the Wimerra." "All the horses are dead." "The poison is not far away." "There is enough here to settle an entire troop of cavalry. This gastrolobium is a useful plant." "Then they were silent," added MacNabb, "and departed. I wanted to know more: I followed them. The conversation soon began again. 'A cunning man, this Ben Joyce,' said the farrier; 'a famous quartermaster, with his invented shipwreck. If his plan succeeds, it will be a stroke of fortune. Devilish Ayrton! Call him Ben Joyce, for he has well earned his name.' These rascals then left the wood of gum-trees. I knew what I wished, and returned to the encampment with the certainty that all the convicts in Australia are not reformed, in spite of Paganel's arguments." "Then," said Glenarvan, whose face was pale with anger, "Ayrton has brought us here to rob and assassinate us?" "Yes," replied the major. "And, since leaving the Wimerra, his band has followed and watched us, waiting for a favorable opportunity?" [Sidenote: FROM DEPTH TO DEPTH.] "Yes." "But this wretch is not, then, a sailor of the Britannia? He has stolen his name and contract?" All eyes were turned towards MacNabb, who must have considered this matter. "These," replied he, in his calm voice, "are the proofs that can be derived from this obscure state of affairs. In my opinion this man's real name is Ayrton. Ben Joyce is his fighting title. It is certain that he knows Harry Grant, and has been quartermaster on board the Britannia. These facts, proved already by the precise details given by Ayrton, are still further corroborated by the conversation of the convicts that I have related. Let us not, therefore, be led astray by vain conjectures, but only be certain that Ayrton is Ben Joyce, a sailor of the Britannia, now chief of a band of convicts." The major's explanation was accepted as conclusive. "Now," replied Glenarvan, "will you tell me how and why Harry Grant's quartermaster is in Australia?" "How, I do not know," said MacNabb; "and the police declare they know no more than I on the subject. Why, it is also impossible for me to say. Here is a mystery that the future will explain." "The police do not even know the identity of Ayrton and Ben Joyce," said Captain Mangles. "You are right, John," replied the major; "and such information would be likely to facilitate their search." "This unfortunate, then," remarked Lady Helena, "intruded into O'Moore's farm with a criminal intention?" "There is no doubt of it," continued MacNabb. "He was meditating some hostile attack upon the Irishman, when a better opportunity was offered. Chance threw us in his way. He heard Glenarvan's story of the shipwreck, and, like a bold man, he promptly decided to take part in the expedition. At the Wimerra he communicated with one of his friends, the farrier of Black Point, and thus left distinguishable traces of our course. His band followed us. A poisonous plant enabled him to gradually kill our oxen and horses. Then, at the proper moment, he entangled us in the marshes of the Snowy, and surrendered us to the convicts he commanded." Everything possible had been said concerning Ben Joyce. His past had just been reviewed by the major, and the wretch appeared as he was,--a bold and formidable criminal. His intentions had been clearly proved, and required, on the part of Glenarvan, extreme vigilance. Fortunately, there was less to fear from the detected bandit than the secret traitor. But one serious fact appeared from this explanation. No one had yet thought of it; only Mary Grant, disregarding the past, looked forward to the future. Captain Mangles first saw her pale and disconsolate. He understood what was passing in her mind. "Miss Mary!" cried he, "you are weeping!" "What is the matter, my child?" asked Lady Helena. "My father, madam, my father!" replied the young girl. She could not continue. But a sudden revelation dawned on the mind of each. They comprehended Mary's grief, why the tears flowed from her eyes, why the name of her father rose to her lips. The discovery of Ayrton's treachery destroyed all hope. The convict, to entice Glenarvan on, had invented a shipwreck. In their conversation, overheard by MacNabb, his accomplices had clearly confessed it. The Britannia had never been wrecked on the reefs of Twofold Bay! Harry Grant had never set foot on the Australian continent! For the second time an erroneous interpretation of the document had set the searchers of the Britannia on a false trail. All, in the face of this situation and the grief of the two children, preserved a mournful silence. Who then could have found words of hope? Robert wept in his sister's arms. Paganel murmured, in a voice of despair,-- [Sidenote: CALM AND CLOUDINESS.] "Ah, unlucky document! You can boast of having sorely puzzled the brains of a dozen brave people!" And the worthy geographer was fairly furious against himself, and frantically beat his forehead. In the mean time Glenarvan had joined Mulready and Wilson, who were on guard without. A deep silence reigned on the plain lying between the wood and the river. Heavy clouds covered the vault of the sky. In this deadened and torpid atmosphere the least sound would have been clearly transmitted; but nothing was heard. Ben Joyce and his band must have fled to a considerable distance; for flocks of birds that sported on the low branches of the trees, several kangaroos peacefully browsing on the young shoots, and a pair of cassowaries, whose unsuspecting heads were thrust between the tall bushes, proved that the presence of man did not disturb these peaceful solitudes. "You have not seen nor heard anything for an hour?" inquired Glenarvan of the two sailors. "Nothing, my lord," replied Wilson. "The convicts must be several miles away." "They cannot have been in sufficient force to attack us," added Mulready. "This Ben Joyce probably intended to recruit some bandits, like himself, among the bushrangers that wander at the foot of the Alps." "Very likely, Mulready," replied Glenarvan. "These rascals are cowards. They know we are well armed, and are perhaps waiting for darkness to commence their attack. We must redouble our vigilance at nightfall. If we could only leave this marshy plain and pursue our journey towards the coast! But the swollen waters of the river bar our progress. I would pay its weight in gold for a raft that would transport us to the other side!" "Why," said Wilson, "does not your lordship give us the order to construct this raft? There is plenty of wood." "No, Wilson," answered Glenarvan; "this Snowy is not a river, it is an impassable torrent." [Illustration: A pair of cassowaries proved that the presence of man did not disturb these peaceful solitudes.] [Sidenote: READINESS FOR SERVICE.] At this moment Captain Mangles, the major, and Paganel joined Glenarvan. They had been to examine the Snowy. The waters, swollen by the recent rains, had risen a foot above low-water mark, and formed an impetuous current. It was impossible to venture upon this roaring deluge, these rushing floods, broken into a thousand eddies by the depressions of the river-bed. Captain Mangles declared that the passage was impracticable. "But," added he, "we ought not to remain here without making any attempt. What we wished to do before Ayrton's treason is still more necessary now." "What do you say, captain?" asked Glenarvan. "I say that assistance is needed; and since we cannot go to Twofold Bay, we must go to Melbourne. One horse is left. Let your lordship give him to me, and I will go." "But it is a perilous venture, John," said Glenarvan. "Aside from the dangers of this journey of two hundred miles across an unknown country, all the roads may be guarded by Ben Joyce's accomplices." "I know it, my lord; but I know, too, that our situation cannot be prolonged. Ayrton only asked eight days' absence to bring back the crew of the Duncan. But I will return in six days to the banks of the Snowy. What are your lordship's orders?" "Before Glenarvan speaks," said Paganel, "I must make a remark. It is well that one of us should go to Melbourne, but not that these dangers should be incurred by Captain Mangles. He is the captain of the Duncan, and must not, therefore, expose himself. Allow me to go in his place." "Well said," replied the major; "but why should it be you, Paganel?" "Are we not here?" cried Wilson and Mulready. "And do you believe," continued MacNabb, "that I am afraid to make a journey of two hundred miles on horseback?" "My friends," said Glenarvan, "if one of us is to go to Melbourne, let fate decide. Paganel, write our names----" "Not yours at least, my lord," insisted Captain Mangles. "And why?" asked Glenarvan. "Separate you from Lady Helena, when your wound is not yet healed?" "Glenarvan," interposed Paganel, "you cannot leave the encampment." "No," resumed the major; "your place is here. Edward, you must not go." "There are dangers to incur," replied Glenarvan; "and I will not leave my part to others. Write, Paganel; let my name be mingled with those of my companions, and Heaven grant that it may be the first drawn." All yielded to this wish; and Glenarvan's name was added to the others. They then proceeded to draw, and the lot fell upon Mulready. The brave sailor uttered a cry of joy. "My lord, I am ready to go," said he. Glenarvan clasped his hand, and then turned towards the cart, leaving the major and Captain Mangles to guard the encampment. Lady Helena was at once informed of the decision taken to send a messenger to Melbourne, and of the result of the drawing by lot. She spoke words to Mulready that went to the heart of that noble sailor. They knew that he was brave, intelligent, hardy, and persevering. The lot could not have fallen better. It was decided that Mulready should depart at eight o'clock, after the short twilight. Wilson charged himself with getting the horse ready. He took the precaution to change the tell-tale shoe that he wore on his left foot, and to replace it by one belonging to the horses that had died in the night. The convicts could not now track Mulready, or follow him, unless mounted. [Sidenote: ANOTHER DISTRACTION.] While Wilson was occupied with these arrangements, Glenarvan was preparing the letter designed for Tom Austin; but his wounded arm disabled him, and he asked Paganel to write for him. The geographer, who seemed absorbed in one idea, was oblivious to what was passing around him. It must be confessed that Paganel, in all this succession of sad misfortunes, thought only of his false interpretation of the document. He turned the words about in every way to draw from them a new meaning, and remained wrapt in these meditations. Thus he did not hear Glenarvan's request, and the latter was forced to repeat it. "Very well," replied Paganel; "I am ready." So saying, he mechanically produced his note-book. He tore out a blank page, and then, with his pencil in his hand, made ready to write. Glenarvan began to dictate the following instructions: "Order for Tom Austin to put to sea, and bring the Duncan----" Paganel had just finished this last word when his eyes fell upon the number of the _Australian and New Zealand Gazette_ that lay upon the ground. The paper, being folded, only allowed him to see the two last syllables of its title. His pencil stopped, and he seemed to completely forget Glenarvan and his letter. "Well, Paganel?" said Glenarvan. "Ah!" continued the geographer, uttering a cry. "What is the matter?" asked the major. "Nothing! nothing!" replied Paganel. Then, in a lower tone, he repeated: "Aland! aland! aland!" He had risen; he had seized the paper. He shook it, seeking to repress words ready to escape his lips. Lady Helena, Mary, Robert, and Glenarvan gazed at him without understanding this inexplicable agitation. Paganel was like a man whom a sudden frenzy has seized. But this state of nervous excitation did not last. He gradually grew calm. The joy that gleamed in his eyes died away, and, resuming his place, he said, in a quiet tone: "When you wish, my lord, I am at your disposal." Glenarvan continued the dictation of his letter, which was distinctly worded as follows: "Order for Tom Austin to put to sea, and bring the Duncan to the eastern coast of Australia." "Australia?" cried Paganel. "Ah, yes, Australia!" The letter was now finished, and presented to Glenarvan for his signature, who, although affected by his recent wound, acquitted himself as well as possible of this formality. The note was then folded and sealed, while Paganel, with a hand that still trembled from excitement, wrote the following address: "Tom Austin, "Mate of the Yacht Duncan, "Melbourne." Thereupon he left the cart, gesticulating, and repeating these incomprehensible words: "Aland! aland! Zealand!" CHAPTER XLII. FOUR DAYS OF ANGUISH. The rest of the day passed without any other incident. Everything was ready for the departure of Mulready, who was happy to give his master this proof of his devotion. Paganel had regained his coolness and accustomed manners. His look still indicated an uneasy state of mind, but he appeared decided to keep his secret. He had doubtless strong reasons for acting thus, for the major overheard him repeating these words, like a man who is struggling with himself: "No, no! they would not believe me! And, besides what use is it? It is too late!" [Illustration: "Adieu, my lord," said he, in a calm voice, and soon disappeared by a path along the edge of the wood.] This resolution taken, he occupied himself with giving Mulready the necessary directions for reaching Melbourne, and, with the map before him, marked out his course. All the trails of the prairie converged towards the Lucknow road, which, after extending straight southward to the coast, suddenly turned in the direction towards Melbourne. It was simply necessary to follow this, and not attempt to cross the unknown country. Mulready could not, therefore, go astray. As for dangers, they lay only a few miles beyond the encampment, where Ben Joyce and his band were probably lying in wait. This point once passed, Mulready was sure he could easily distance the convicts and accomplish his important mission. At six o'clock supper was eaten in common. A heavy rain was falling. The tent no longer afforded sufficient shelter, and each had taken refuge in the cart, which was a safe retreat. The sticky clay held it in its place as firm as a fort on its foundations. The fire-arms consisted of seven rifles and seven revolvers, and thus enabled them to sustain a long siege, for neither ammunition nor provisions were wanting. In six days the Duncan would anchor in Twofold Bay. Twenty-four hours after, her crew would reach the opposite bank of the river; and, if the passage was not then practicable, at least the convicts would be compelled to retreat before superior forces. But, first of all, it was necessary that Mulready should succeed in his enterprise. At eight o'clock the darkness became intense. It was the time to start. The horse was brought out. His feet had been muffled; as an additional precaution, and made no sound. The animal seemed fatigued, but upon his surefootedness and endurance depended the safety of all. The major advised the sailor to spare his beast as soon as he was out of reach of the convicts. It was better to lose half a day and reach his destination safely. Captain Mangles gave him a revolver, which he had loaded with the greatest care. Mulready mounted. [Sidenote: A GLOOMY PROSPECT.] "Here is the letter which you are to take to Tom Austin," said Glenarvan. "Let him not lose an hour, but start for Twofold Bay; and, if he does not find us there, if we have not crossed the river, let him come to us without delay. Now go, my brave sailor, and may God guide you!" Glenarvan, Lady Helena, Mary Grant, all clasped Mulready's hand. This departure on a dark and stormy night, over a road beset with dangers, across the unknown stretches of a desert, would have appalled a heart less courageous than that of the sailor. "Adieu, my lord," said he, in a calm voice, and soon disappeared by a path along the edge of the wood. At that moment the tempest redoubled its violence. The lofty branches of the trees shook dismally in the darkness. You could hear the fall of the dry twigs on the drenched earth. More than one giant tree, whose sap was gone, but which had stood till then, fell during this terrible hurricane. The wind roared amid the cracking of the trees and mingled its mournful sounds with the rushing of the river. The heavy clouds that chased across the sky poured forth masses of mist, while a dismal darkness increased still more the horrors of the night. The travelers, after Mulready's departure, ensconced themselves in the cart. Lady Helena, Mary Grant, Glenarvan, and Paganel occupied the front compartment, which had been made water-tight. In the rear part Olbinett, Wilson, and Robert had found a sufficient shelter, while the major and Captain Mangles were on guard without. This precaution was necessary, for an attack by the convicts was easy and possible. These two faithful guardians, therefore, took turns and philosophically received the blasts that blew sharply in their faces. They strove to pierce with their eyes the shades so favorable for an ambuscade, for the ear could detect nothing amid the din of the storm, the roaring of the wind, the rattling of the branches, the fall of trees, and the rushing of the impetuous waters. In the mean time there were several lulls in the fury of the tempest, the wind ceasing as if to take breath. The river only moaned adown the motionless reeds and the black curtain of the gum-trees, and the silence seemed more profound during these momentary rests. The major and Captain Mangles now listened attentively. During one of these intervals a sharp whistle reached their ears. The captain hastened to the major. "Did you hear anything?" asked he. "Yes," replied MacNabb. "Was it a man or an animal?" "A man," said the captain. They both listened again. The mysterious whistle was suddenly repeated, and something like a report followed it, but almost inaudibly, for the storm just then broke forth with renewed violence. They could not hear themselves talk, and took their stations to leeward of the cart. At this moment the leathern curtains were raised, and Glenarvan joined his two companions. He likewise had heard the suspicious whistle, and the report. "From what direction?" he asked. "Yonder," said the captain, pointing to the dark line, towards which Mulready had gone. "How far?" "The wind carried it," was the reply. "It must be three miles distant at least." "Let us go!" said Glenarvan, throwing his rifle over his shoulder. "No," interposed the major; "it is a decoy to entice us away from the cart." "But if Mulready has fallen beneath the shots of these wretches!" continued Glenarvan, seizing MacNabb's hand. "We shall know to-morrow," replied the latter, firmly determined to prevent Glenarvan from committing a useless imprudence. [Sidenote: A CRY IN THE NIGHT.] "You cannot leave the encampment, my lord," said Captain Mangles; "I will go alone." "No!" cried MacNabb, with energy. "Will you have us, then, perish singly, diminish our numbers, and be left to the mercy of these criminals? If Mulready has been their victim, it is a calamity that we must not repeat a second time. He has gone according to lot. If the lot had chosen me, I should have gone like him, but should neither have asked nor expected any assistance." In restraining Glenarvan and Captain Mangles the major was right from every point of view. To attempt to reach the sailor, to go on such a dark night to meet the convicts, ambuscaded in some coppice, was useless madness. Glenarvan's little party did not number enough men to sacrifice any more. However, Glenarvan seemed unwilling to yield to these reasons. His hand played nervously with his rifle. He walked to and fro around the cart; he listened to the least sound; he strove to pierce the dismal obscurity. The thought that one of his friends was mortally wounded, helplessly abandoned, calling in vain upon those for whose sake he had sacrificed himself, tortured him. MacNabb feared that he should not succeed in restraining him, that Glenarvan, carried away by his feelings, would cast himself into the power of Ben Joyce. "Edward," said he, "be calm; listen to a friend; think of Lady Helena, Mary Grant, all who remain! Besides, where will you go? Where find Mulready? He was attacked two miles distant at least. On what road? What path take?" At this very moment, as if in answer to the major, a cry of distress was heard. "Listen!" said Glenarvan. The cry came from the very direction whence the report had sounded, but less than a quarter of a mile distant. Glenarvan, pushing back MacNabb, was advancing along the path, when, not far from the cart, these words were uttered: "Help! help!" It was a plaintive and despairing voice. Captain Mangles and the major rushed towards it. In a few moments they perceived, on the edge of the coppice, a human form that was dragging itself along and groaning piteously. It was Mulready, wounded and half dead. When his companions raised him, they felt their hands dabbling in blood. The rain now increased, and the wind howled through the branches of the dead trees. In the midst of these terrific gusts, Glenarvan, the major, and the captain bore the body of Mulready. On arriving at the cart, Paganel, Robert, Wilson, and Olbinett came out, and Lady Helena gave up her room to the poor sailor. The major took off Mulready's vest, wet with blood and rain. He discovered the wound. It was a poniard stab, which the unfortunate had received in his right side. MacNabb dressed it skillfully. Whether the weapon had reached the vital parts, he could not say. A stream of bright-red blood spurted forth, while the paleness and the swoon of the wounded man proved that he had been seriously injured. The major accordingly placed upon the opening of the wound, after first washing it with fresh water, a thick wad of tinder, and then a few layers of lint, confined by a bandage, and thus succeeded in stopping the hemorrhage. The patient was then laid on his side, his head and breast raised, and Lady Helena gave him a refreshing draught. At the end of a quarter of an hour, the wounded man, who had been motionless till then, made a movement. His eyes half opened, his lips murmured disconnected words, and the major, putting down his ear, heard him say: "My lord--the letter--Ben Joyce----" [Sidenote: A DAY OF DOUBT.] The major repeated these words, and glanced at his companions. What did Mulready mean? Ben Joyce had attacked the sailor, but why? Was it not simply for the purpose of preventing him from reaching the Duncan? This letter--Glenarvan examined the sailor's pockets. The letter addressed to Tom Austin was gone. The night passed in anxiety and anguish. They feared every moment that the wounded man would die. A burning fever consumed him. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, as though his sisters, did not leave him; never was patient better nursed, or by more tender hands. Day appeared. The rain had ceased. Heavy clouds still rolled along the vault of the sky, and the earth was strewn with the fragments of branches. The clay, soaked by floods of water, had yielded; and the sides of the cart became unsteady, but sank no deeper. Captain Mangles, Paganel, and Glenarvan took a tour of exploration around the camp. They traversed the path still marked with blood, but found no trace of Ben Joyce or his band. They went to the place where the attack had been made. Here two corpses lay on the ground, shot by Mulready. One was the farrier of Black Point. His face, which had mortified, was a horrible sight. Glenarvan did not pursue his investigations farther, prudence forbidding. He therefore returned to the cart, much alarmed by the seriousness of the situation. "We cannot think of sending another messenger to Melbourne," said he. "But we must," replied Captain Mangles; "and I will make the attempt, since my sailor has failed." "No, John. You have not even a horse to carry you these two hundred miles." Indeed, Mulready's horse, the only one that remained, had not reappeared. Had he fallen beneath the shots of the murderers? Was he running wild over the desert? Had the convicts captured him? [Illustration: In the midst of these terrific gusts, Glenarvan, the major, and the captain bore the body of Mulready.] [Sidenote: RESOLUTION, AND RECOVERY.] "Whatever happens," continued Glenarvan, "we will separate no more. Let us wait eight or fifteen days, till the waters of the river resume their natural level. We will then reach Twofold Bay by short journeys, and from there send to the Duncan by a surer way the order to sail for the coast." "This is the only feasible plan," replied Paganel. "Well, then, my friends," resumed Glenarvan, "no more separation! A man risks too much to venture alone across this desert, infested with bandits. And now may God save our poor sailor and protect ourselves!" Glenarvan was right in both resolves, first to forbid any single attempt to cross the plains, and next to wait patiently on the banks of the river for a practicable passage. Scarcely thirty-five miles separated them from Delegete, the first frontier town of New South Wales, where they would find means of reaching Twofold Bay. From this point he could telegraph his orders to the Duncan. These measures were wise, but they had been adopted rather tardily. If they had not sent Mulready with the letter, what misfortunes would have been avoided, not to speak of the attack upon the sailor! On arriving at the camp, Glenarvan found his companions less anxious; they seemed to have regained hope. "He is better!" cried Robert, running to meet him. "Mulready?" "Yes, Edward," replied Lady Helena. "A reaction has taken place. The major is more encouraged. Our sailor will live." "Where is MacNabb?" asked Glenarvan. "With him. Mulready wished to speak with him. We must not disturb them." Indeed, within an hour the wounded man had rallied from his swoon, and the fever had diminished. But the sailor's first care, on recovering memory and speech was to ask for Lord Glenarvan, or, in his absence, the major MacNabb, seeing him so feeble, would have forbidden all conversation; but Mulready insisted with such energy that he was forced to yield. The interview had already lasted some time, and they were only waiting for the major's report. Soon the curtains of the cart moved, and he appeared. He joined his friends at the foot of a gum-tree. His face, usually so calm, betokened a serious anxiety. When his eyes encountered Lady Helena and the young girl, they expressed a deep sadness. Glenarvan questioned him, and learned what the sailor had related. On leaving the encampment, Mulready had followed one of the paths indicated by Paganel. He hastened, as much at least as the darkness of the night permitted him. According to his estimate, he had traveled a distance of about two miles, when several men--five, he thought--sprang to his horse's head. The animal reared. Mulready seized his revolver and fired. He thought that two of his assailants fell. By the flash of the report, he recognized Ben Joyce, but that was all. He had not time to fully discharge his weapon. A violent blow was struck upon his right side, which brought him to the ground. However, he had not yet lost consciousness. The assassins believed him dead. He felt them search him. Then a conversation ensued. "I have the letter," said one of them. "Give it to me," replied Ben Joyce; "and now the Duncan is ours!" At this point in the story Glenarvan could not restrain a cry. MacNabb continued: [Sidenote: A HOPELESS CHANCE.] "'Now, you others,' said Ben Joyce, 'catch the horse. In two days I shall be on board the Duncan, and in six at Twofold Bay. There is the place of meeting. The lord's party will be still fast in the marshes of the Snowy. Cross the river at Kemple Pier bridge, go to the coast, and wait for me. I will find means to bring you on board. With the crew once at sea, and a vessel like the Duncan, we shall be masters of the Indian Ocean.' 'Hurrah for Ben Joyce!' cried the convicts. Mulready's horse was then led up, and Ben Joyce disappeared at a gallop on the Lucknow road, while the band proceeded southeastward to the Snowy River. Mulready, although severely wounded, had strength to drag himself within two hundred paces of the encampment, where we picked him up almost dead. This," added MacNabb, "is Mulready's sad story. You understand now why the courageous sailor wished so much to speak." This revelation terrified all. "Pirates! pirates!" cried Glenarvan. "My crew massacred, my Duncan in the hands of these bandits!" "Yes, for Ben Joyce will surprise the vessel," replied the major, "and then----" "Well, we must reach the coast before these wretches," said Paganel. "But how cross the Snowy?" asked Wilson. "Like them," answered Glenarvan. "They will cross Kemple Pier bridge, and we will do the same." "But what will become of Mulready?" inquired Lady Helena. "We will take turns in carrying him. Shall I give up my defenceless crew to Ben Joyce's band?" The plan of crossing Kemple Pier bridge was practicable, but perilous. The convicts might locate themselves at this point to defend it. It would be at least thirty against seven! But there are moments when we do not think of these things, when we must advance at all hazards. "My lord," said Captain Mangles, at length, "before risking our last chance, before venturing towards the bridge, it is prudent to reconnoitre it first. I will undertake this." "I will accompany you, captain," replied Paganel. [Sidenote: THE BURNED BRIDGE.] This proposal was accepted, and the captain and Paganel prepared to start immediately. They were to follow along the bank of the river till they came to the place indicated by Ben Joyce, and keep out of sight of the convicts, who were probably lying in wait. These two courageous men accordingly, well furnished with arms and provisions, set out, and soon disappeared among the tall rushes of the river. [Illustration: The animal reared. Mulready seized his revolver and fired.] All day the little party waited for them. At evening they had not yet returned, and great fears were entertained. At last, about eleven o'clock, Wilson announced their approach. They arrived, worn out with the fatigues of a six-mile journey. "The bridge? Is it there?" asked Glenarvan, rushing to meet them. "Yes, a bridge of rushes," said Captain Mangles. "The convicts passed, it is true, but----" "But what?" cried Glenarvan, who foresaw a new calamity. "They burned it after their passage," replied Paganel. CHAPTER XLIII. HELPLESS AND HOPELESS. It was not the time to despair, but to act. If Kemple Pier bridge was destroyed, they must cross the Snowy at all events, and reach Twofold Bay before Ben Joyce's band. They lost no time, therefore, in vain words; but the next day Captain Mangles and Glenarvan went to examine the river, preparatory to a passage. The tumultuous waters, swollen by the rains, had not subsided. They whirled along with indescribable fury. It was certain death to brave this torrent. Glenarvan, with folded arms and lowered head, stood motionless. "Do you wish me to try to swim to the opposite bank?" asked Captain Mangles. "No, John," replied Glenarvan, seizing the bold young man by the hand; "let us wait." They both returned to the encampment. The day was passed in the most lively anxiety. Ten times did Glenarvan return to the river. He sought to contrive some bold plan of crossing it, but in vain. It would not have been more impassable if a torrent of lava had flowed between its banks. During these long hours of delay, Lady Helena, with the major's assistance, bestowed upon Mulready the most skillful care. The sailor felt that he was returning to life. MacNabb ventured to affirm that no vital organ had been injured, the loss of blood sufficiently explained the patient's weakness. Thus, as soon as his wound was healed and the hemorrhage stopped, only time and rest were needed for his complete restoration. Lady Helena had insisted upon his occupying her end of the cart. Mulready felt greatly honored. His greatest anxiety was in the thought that his condition might delay Glenarvan, and he forced them to promise that they would leave him at the camp in charge of Wilson, as soon as the river became fordable. Unfortunately, this was not possible, either that day or the next. At seeing himself thus detained, Glenarvan despaired. Lady Helena and the major tried in vain to pacify and exhort him to patience. Patience! when, at that moment perhaps, Ben Joyce was going on board the yacht, when the Duncan was weighing anchor and steaming towards that fatal coast, to which every hour brought her nearer! [Sidenote: ALMOST DESPAIRING.] Captain Mangles felt at heart all Glenarvan's anguish, and, as he wished to overcome the difficulty at all hazards, he constructed a canoe in the Australian fashion, with large pieces of the bark of the gum-trees. These slabs, which were very light, were held together by wooden cross-bars, and formed a very frail craft. The captain and the sailor tried the canoe. All that skill, strength, or courage could do they did. But scarcely were they in the current, when they capsized and narrowly escaped with their lives. The boat was drawn into the eddies and disappeared. Captain Mangles and Wilson had not advanced ten yards into the river, which was swollen by the rains and melting snows till it was now a mile in breadth. Two days were wasted in this way. The major and Glenarvan went five miles up stream without finding a practicable ford. Everywhere was the same impetuosity, the same tumultuous rush of water; all the southern slopes of the mountains had poured their liquid torrents into this single stream. They were forced, therefore, to give up any hope of saving the Duncan. Five days had passed since Ben Joyce's departure, the yacht was probably that very moment at the coast, in the hands of the convicts. However, this state of things could not last long. Indeed, on the morning of the third day, Paganel perceived that the waters were beginning to subside. He reported to Glenarvan the result of his observations. "What does it matter now?" replied Glenarvan; "it is too late!" "That is no reason for prolonging our stay at the encampment," replied the major. "Certainly not," said Captain Mangles; "to-morrow, perhaps, it will be possible to cross." "But will that save my unfortunate crew?" cried Glenarvan. "Listen to me, my lord," continued Captain Mangles. "I know Tom Austin. He was to execute your orders, and start as soon as his departure was possible. Who knows whether the Duncan was ready, or her injuries repaired, on the arrival of Ben Joyce at Melbourne? Supposing the yacht could not put to sea, and suffered one or two days of delay?" "You are right, John," replied Glenarvan. "We must reach Twofold Bay. We are only thirty-five miles from Delegete." "Yes," said Paganel, "and in that town we shall find rapid means of conveyance. Who knows whether we shall not arrive in time to prevent this calamity?" "Let us start!" cried Glenarvan. Captain Mangles and Wilson at once occupied themselves in constructing a raft of large dimensions. Experience had proved that pieces of bark could not resist the violence of the torrent. The captain cut down several gum-trees, of which he made a rude but substantial raft. It was a tedious task, and that day ended before the work was completed; but the next day it was finished. The waters had now considerably subsided. The torrent had become a river again, with a rapid current. However, with proper management, the captain hoped to reach the opposite bank. At noon they put on board as much provisions as each could carry for two days' travel. The rest was abandoned with the cart and the tent. Mulready was well enough to be moved; he was recovering rapidly. Each took his place on the raft, which was moored to the bank. Captain Mangles had arranged on the starboard side, and confided to Wilson, a kind of oar to sustain the raft against the current, and prevent its drifting. As for himself, he stood at the stern, and steered by means of a clumsy rudder. Lady Helena and Mary Grant occupied the centre of the raft near Mulready. Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, and Robert surrounded them, ready to lend assistance. "Are we ready, Wilson?" asked Captain Mangles. "Yes, captain," replied the sailor, seizing his oar with a firm hand. [Illustration: However, the raft was entangled in the midst of the river, half a mile below where they started.] "Attention, and bear up against the current." Captain Mangles unmoored the raft, and with one push launched it into the current of the river. All went well for some time, and Wilson resisted the leeway. But soon the craft was drawn into the eddies, and turned round and round, so that neither oar nor rudder could keep it in a straight course. In spite of their efforts, they were soon placed in a position where it was impossible to use the oars. They were forced to be passive; there was no means of preventing this gyratory motion. They were whirled about with a giddy rapidity, and sent out of their course. The captain, with pale face and set teeth, stood and gazed at the eddying water. However, the raft was entangled in the midst of the river, half a mile below where they started. The current here was very strong, and, as it broke the eddies, it lessened the whirling motion. The captain and Wilson resumed their oars, and succeeded in propelling the craft in an oblique direction. In this way they approached nearer the left bank, and were only a few yards distant, when Wilson's oar broke. The raft, no longer sustained against the current, was carried down stream. The captain endeavored to prevent it, at the risk of breaking his rudder, and Wilson with bleeding hands assisted him. At last they succeeded, and the raft, after a voyage of more than half an hour, ran upon the steeply-sloping bank. The shock was violent; the timbers were thrown apart, the ropes broken, and the foaming water came through. The travelers had only time to cling to the bushes that hung over the stream. They extricated Mulready and the two ladies, who were half drenched. In short, everybody was saved; but the greater part of the provisions and arms, except the major's rifle, were swept away with the fragments of the raft. [Sidenote: A WEARY PILGRIMAGE.] The river was crossed, but the little party were without resources, thirty-five miles from Delegete, in the midst of these untrodden deserts. They resolved to start without delay. Mulready saw that he would cause trouble, and desired to remain behind, even alone, and wait for aid from Delegete. But Glenarvan refused. He could not reach the town before three days. If the Duncan had left Melbourne several days before, what mattered a delay of a few hours? "No, my friend," said he; "I will not abandon any one. We will make a litter, and take turns in carrying you." The litter was made of branches covered with leaves, and upon this Mulready was placed. Glenarvan wished to be the first to bear the sailor, and, seizing one end of the litter and Wilson the other, they started. What a sad sight! and how disastrously this journey, so well begun, had ended! They were no longer going in search of Captain Grant. This continent--where he was not, nor had ever been--threatened to be fatal to those who were seeking traces of him, and perhaps new discouragements still awaited them. The first day passed silently and painfully. Every ten minutes they took turns in carrying the litter. All the sailor's companions uncomplainingly imposed upon themselves this duty, which was made still more arduous by the great heat. At evening, after accomplishing only five miles, they encamped under a group of gum-trees. The rest of the provisions that had escaped the shipwreck furnished the evening meal. They must hereafter rely on the major's rifle; but he found no opportunity to fire a single shot. Fortunately, Robert found a nest of bustards, containing a dozen large eggs, which Olbinett cooked in the hot ashes. In addition to these embarrassments, their way became very difficult. The sandy plains were bristling with thorny plants that tore their garments and lacerated their limbs. The courageous ladies, however, did not complain, but valiantly advanced, setting the example, and encouraging each other by a word or a look. On the third day Mulready traveled part of the way on foot. His wound had entirely healed. The town of Delegete was only ten miles distant, and at evening they encamped on the very frontiers of New South Wales. A fine and penetrating rain had been falling for several hours, and all shelter would have failed, if Captain Mangles had not fortunately discovered a ruined and abandoned sawyer's hut. They were obliged to content themselves with this miserable hovel of branches and thatch. Wilson attempted to kindle a fire to prepare the food, and accordingly collected some dead wood that strewed the ground. But when he attempted to light the fuel he did not succeed; the great quantity of aluminous material that it contained prevented combustion. It was, therefore, necessary to dispense with fire and food, and sleep in wet garments, while the birds, hidden in the lofty branches, seemed to mock these unfortunate travelers. However, Glenarvan and his friends were approaching the end of their sufferings; and it was time. The two ladies exerted themselves heroically, but their strength was failing every hour. They dragged themselves along, they no longer walked. The next day they started at daybreak, and at eleven o'clock Delegete came in sight, fifty miles from Twofold Bay. Here means of conveyance were quickly obtained. Feeling himself so near the coast, hope returned to Glenarvan's heart; perhaps there had been some slight delay, and he would arrive before the Duncan! In twenty-four hours he would reach the bay! At noon, after a comforting repast, all the travelers took their seats in a mail-coach, and left Delegete at the full speed of five strong horses. The postilions, stimulated by the promise of a large reward, drove them along at a rapid rate, over a well-kept road. No time was lost in changing horses, and it seemed as if Glenarvan had inspired all with his own intense eagerness. [Illustration: The two ladies exerted themselves heroically, but their strength was failing every hour. They dragged themselves along, they no longer walked.] All day and all night they traveled with the same swiftness, and at sunrise the next morning a low murmur announced the proximity of the Indian Ocean. It was necessary, however, to pass around the bay to gain that part of the coast where Tom Austin was to meet the travelers. When the sea appeared, all eyes quickly surveyed the wide expanse. Was the Duncan there, by a miracle of Providence, as she had been discerned before by some of them on the Argentine coast? Nothing was seen; sky and water mingled in an unbroken horizon; not a sail brightened the vast extent of ocean. One hope still remained. Perhaps Tom Austin had thought it best to cast anchor in Twofold Bay, as the sea was rough and a vessel could not be moored in safety near such shores. "To Eden!" said Glenarvan. The mail-coach at once took the road to the right, which ran along the edge of the bay, and proceeded towards the little town of Eden, only five miles distant. The postilions stopped not far from the light that guarded the entrance to the harbor. Several ships were anchored in the roadstead, but none displayed the flag of Malcolm Castle. Glenarvan, Captain Mangles, and Paganel alighted immediately, and hastened to the custom-house. Here they questioned the employees, and consulted the latest arrivals. No vessel had entered the bay for a week. "She may not have started!" cried Glenarvan, who would not despair. "Perhaps we have arrived before her!" Captain Mangles shook his head. He knew Tom Austin; his mate would never have delayed so long to execute an order. "I will know what this means," said Glenarvan. "Certainty is better than doubt." [Sidenote: THE LAST HOPE.] Fifteen minutes later a telegram was sent to the ship-brokers of Melbourne, and the travelers repaired to the Victoria Hotel. Not long after an answer was delivered to Lord Glenarvan. It read as follows: "Lord Glenarvan, Eden, Twofold Bay. "Duncan started on the 18th instant for some unknown destination." The dispatch fell from Glenarvan's hands. There was no more doubt! The honest Scotch yacht, in Ben Joyce's hands, had become a pirate-vessel! Thus ended their search in Australia, begun under such favorable auspices. The traces of Captain Grant and his shipwrecked sailors seemed irrecoverably lost. This failure had cost the lives of an entire crew. Lord Glenarvan was crushed by the blow, and this courageous searcher, whom the leagued elements had failed to deter, was now baffled by the malice of men. CHAPTER XLIV. A ROUGH CAPTAIN. If ever the searchers for Captain Grant had reason to despair of seeing him again, was it not when every hope forsook them at once? To what part of the world should they venture a new expedition? how explore unknown countries? The Duncan was no longer in their possession, and they could not be immediately reconciled to their misfortune. The undertaking of these generous Scots had, therefore, failed. Failure! sad word, that finds no echo in a valiant soul; and yet, amid all the changes of destiny, Glenarvan was forced to acknowledge his powerlessness to pursue this work of mercy. Mary Grant, in this situation, no longer had the courage to utter the name of her father. She suppressed her own anguish by thinking of the unfortunate crew. Controlling herself in the presence of her friend, it was she who consoled Lady Helena, from whom she had received so many consolations. The young girl was the first to speak of their return to Scotland. At seeing her so courageous and resigned, Captain Mangles admired her, and would have spoken a final word in favor of Captain Grant, if Mary had not stopped him with a look and then said: "No, Mr. John; let us think of those who have sacrificed themselves. Lord Glenarvan must return to England." "You are right, Miss Mary," replied he; "he must. The English authorities must also be informed of the fate of the Duncan. But do not give up all hope. The search that we have begun I would continue alone, rather than abandon. I will find Captain Grant, or succumb to the task!" This was a solemn compact which John Mangles thus made. Mary accepted it, and gave her hand to the young captain, as if to ratify this treaty. On the part of the latter it was a devotion of his entire life; on the part of the former, an unchanging gratitude. The time of their departure was now definitely decided. They resolved to proceed to Melbourne without delay. The next day Captain Mangles went to inquire about vessels that were upon the point of sailing. He expected to find frequent communication between Eden and Melbourne, but he was disappointed. The vessels were few; two or three anchored in Twofold Bay composed the entire fleet of the place. There were none for Melbourne, Sydney, or Point-de-Galle. In this state of affairs, what was to be done? Wait for a ship? They might be delayed a long time, for Twofold Bay is little frequented. After some deliberation, Glenarvan was about to decide upon reaching Sydney by the coast, when Paganel made a proposal that was unexpected to every one. The geographer had just returned from Twofold Bay. He knew that there were no means of transportation to Sydney or Melbourne; but, of the three vessels anchored in the roadstead, one was preparing to start for Auckland, the capital of Ika-na-Maoui, the northern island of New Zealand. Thither Paganel proposed to go by the bark in question, and from Auckland it would be easy to return to England by the steamers of the English company. This proposition was taken into serious consideration, although Paganel did not enter into those extended arguments of which he was usually so lavish. He confined himself to stating the fact, and added that the voyage would not last more than five or six days. Captain Mangles advocated Paganel's plan. He thought it should be adopted, since they could not wait for the uncertain arrival of other vessels. But, before deciding, he judged it advisable to visit the ship in question. Accordingly, he, with Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, and Robert, took a boat, and pulled out to where it was anchored. It was a brig of two hundred and fifty tons, called the Macquarie, which traded between the different ports of Australia and New Zealand. The captain, or rather the "master," received his visitors very gruffly. They saw that they had to deal with an uneducated man, whose manners were not different from those of the five sailors of his crew. A coarse red face, big hands, a flat nose, a blinded eye, lips blackened by his pipe, and a specially brutish appearance, made Will Halley a very forbidding character. But they had no choice, and for a voyage of a few days there was no need to be very particular. "What do you want?" asked Will Halley, as the strangers reached the deck of his vessel. "The captain," replied Mangles. [Sidenote: A BUSINESS INTERVIEW.] "I am he," said Halley. "What then?" "The Macquarie is loading for Auckland?" "Yes. What of it?" "What does she carry?" "Anything that is bought or sold." "When does she sail?" "To-morrow, at the noon tide." "Would she take passengers?" "That depends upon the passengers, and whether they would be satisfied with the ship's mess." "They would take their own provisions." "Well, how many are there?" "Nine,--two of them ladies." "I have no cabins." "We will arrange a place for their exclusive use." "What then?" "Do you accept?" asked Captain Mangles, who was not embarrassed by this curtness. "I must see," replied the master of the Macquarie. He took a turn or two, striking the deck with his heavy, hobnailed boots; then, turning to Captain Mangles, said: "What do you pay?" "What do you ask?" was the reply. "Fifty pounds." Glenarvan nodded assent. "Very well! Fifty pounds." "But the passage in cash!" added Halley. "In cash." "Food separate?" "Separate." "Agreed. Well?" said Will Halley, holding out his hand. "What?" "The advance-money." "Here is half the fare,--twenty-five pounds," said Captain Mangles, counting out the sum, which the master pocketed without saying "thank you." "Be on board to-morrow," said he. "Whether you are here or not, I shall weigh anchor." "We will be here." Thereupon Glenarvan, the major, Robert, Paganel, and Captain Mangles left the vessel, without Will Halley's having so much as touched the brim of his hat. "What a stupid fellow!" was their first remark. "Well, I like him," replied Paganel. "He is a real sea-wolf." "A real bear!" remarked the major. "And I imagine," added Captain Mangles, "that this bear has at some time traded in human flesh." "What matter," replied Glenarvan, "so long as he commands the Macquarie, which goes to New Zealand? We shall see very little of him on the voyage." Lady Helena and Mary Grant were very much pleased to know that they were to start the next day. Glenarvan observed, however, that the Macquarie could not equal the Duncan for comfort; but, after so many hardships, they were not likely to be overcome by trifles. Mr. Olbinett was requested to take charge of the provisions. The poor man, since the loss of the Duncan, had often lamented the unhappy fate of his wife, who had remained on board, and would be, consequently, the victim of the convicts' brutality. However, he fulfilled his duties as steward with his accustomed zeal, and their food might yet consist of dishes that were never seen on the ship's table. In the mean time the major discounted at a money-changer's some drafts that Glenarvan had on the Union Bank of Melbourne. As for Paganel, he procured an excellent map of New Zealand. Mulready was now quite well. He scarcely felt his wound, which had so nearly proved fatal. A few hours at sea would complete his recovery. [Illustration: The landlord of Victoria Hotel furnished them with two horses, and they set out.] Wilson went on board first, charged with arranging the passengers' quarters. Under his vigorous use of the brush and broom the aspect of things was greatly changed. Will Halley shrugged his shoulders, but allowed the sailor to do as he pleased. As for Glenarvan and his friends, he scarcely noticed them; he did not even know their names, nor did he care to. This increase of cargo was worth fifty pounds to him, but he valued it less than the two hundred tons of tanned leather with which his hold was crowded,--the skins first, and the passengers next. He was a real trader; and by his nautical ability he passed for a good navigator of these seas, rendered so very dangerous by the coral reefs. During the afternoon, Glenarvan wished to visit once more the supposed place of the shipwreck. Ayrton had certainly been the quartermaster of the Britannia, and the vessel might really have been lost on that part of the coast. And there, at all events, the Duncan had fallen into the hands of the convicts. Had there been a fight? Perhaps they would find on the beach traces of a struggle. If the crew had perished in the waves, would not the bodies have been cast ashore? Glenarvan, accompanied by his faithful captain, undertook this examination. The landlord of Victoria Hotel furnished them with two horses, and they set out. But it was a sad journey. They rode in silence. The same thoughts, the same anxieties, tortured the mind of each. They gazed at the rocks worn by the sea. They had no need to question or answer; no sign of the Duncan could be found,--the whole coast was bare. Captain Mangles, however, found on the margin of the shore evident signs of an encampment, the remains of fires recently kindled beneath the few trees. Had a wandering tribe of natives passed there within a few days? No, for an object struck Glenarvan's eye, which proved incontestably that the convicts had visited that part of the coast. [Sidenote: THE LAST NIGHT IN AUSTRALIA.] It was a gray and yellow jacket, worn and patched, left at the foot of a tree. It bore a number and badge of the Perth penitentiary. The convict was no longer there, but his cast-off garment betrayed him. "You see, John," said Glenarvan, "the convicts have been here! And our poor comrades of the Duncan----" "Yes," replied the captain, in a low voice, "they have certainly been landed, and have perished!" "The wretches!" cried Glenarvan. "If they ever fall into my hands, I will avenge my crew!" Grief and exposure had hardened Glenarvan's features. For several moments he gazed at the vast expanse of water, seeking perhaps to discern some ship in the dim distance. Then his eyes relaxed their fierceness, he regained his composure, and, without adding a word or making a sign, took the road to Eden. Only one duty remained to be fulfilled,--to inform the constable of the events that had just transpired, which was done the same evening. The magistrate, Thomas Banks, could scarcely conceal his satisfaction at making out the official record. He was simply delighted at the departure of Ben Joyce and his band. The whole village shared his joy. The convicts had left Australia because of a new crime; but, at all events, they had gone. This important news was immediately telegraphed to the authorities of Melbourne and Sydney. Having accomplished his object, Glenarvan returned to the Victoria Hotel. The travelers passed this last evening in Australia in sadness. Their thoughts wandered over this country, so fertile in misfortunes. They recalled the hopes they had reasonably conceived at Cape Bernouilli, now so cruelly disappointed at Twofold Bay. Paganel was a prey to a feverish agitation. Captain Mangles, who had watched him since the incident at Snowy River, many times pressed him with questions which Paganel did not answer. But that evening, as he went with him to his chamber, the captain asked him why he was so nervous. "My friend," replied Paganel evasively, "I am no more nervous than usual." "Mr. Paganel, you have a secret that troubles you." "Well, as you will," cried the geographer; "it is stronger than I." "What is stronger than you?" "My joy on the one hand, and my despair on the other." "You are joyful and despairing at the same time?" "Yes; joyful and despairing at visiting New Zealand." "Have you any news?" asked Captain Mangles. "Have you discovered the lost trail?" "No, friend. _People never return from New Zealand!_ But yet--well, you know human nature. As long as we breathe we can hope; and my motto is '_dum spiro, spero_,' which is the best in the world." CHAPTER XLV. THE WRECK OF THE MACQUARIE. The next day the travelers were installed on board the Macquarie. Will Halley had not offered the ladies his cabin, which was not to be regretted, as the lair was only fit for the brute. At noon they made ready to take the flood-tide. The anchor was weighed. A moderate breeze blew from the southwest. The sails were gradually set, but the five men worked slowly. At last, incited by the oaths of the skipper, they accomplished their task. But in spite of her spread of canvas the brig scarcely advanced. Yet, however poorly she sailed, in five or six days they hoped to reach the harbor of Auckland. At seven o'clock in the evening they lost sight of the shores of Australia, and the lighthouse at Eden. The sea was rough, and the vessel labored heavily in the trough of the waves. The passengers found their situation very uncomfortable; but, as they could not remain on deck, they were forced to submit to confinement. [Illustration: But on the next day seven canoes of the islanders attacked it most violently and suddenly, causing it to capsize.] That evening conversation very naturally turned upon the land to which they were now sailing, its discovery and colonization; and just as naturally all turned to Paganel as to a bookcase, for some information thereon. It was very readily accessible, although evidently to the geographer's mind there was something of a painful character connected with the name, the impression, and the very thoughts of New Zealand and its Maori inhabitants. "Monsieur Paganel," said Lady Helena, "have your friends, the English, been the only ones to search out this island?" "By no means, madam," was the prompt reply. "On the contrary, they have come second, nay, third, in the race; only," and he looked half roguishly and half maliciously, "_they stayed when they came_." And then he told them of its first discovery by Abel Tasman, the Dutch navigator, in 1642; that, when first he landed, there seemed to be amicable feelings expressed by the islanders toward himself, a number of them coming back to his ship, and being apparently well pleased to cultivate intercourse. But on the next day, as he sent his boat to find good anchorage nearer to the shore, seven canoes of the islanders attacked it most violently and suddenly, causing it to capsize, and so vigorously assailing its occupants with their pikes that it was with difficulty any of them were able to swim back to their ship, leaving those of their companions who were not drowned to be butchered by the natives. [Sidenote: A SADDENING HISTORY.] Of course he did not forget to mention that a French navigator, Surville by name, was the next to visit the shores, and that his visit likewise was the cause of bloodshed and misery. But he gave them a more lengthy and extended narrative of Captain Cook's voyages, which were the most important in their results as well as the most interesting and tragic in many of their incidents. It was on the 6th of October, 1769, that this navigator first landed on the shores which he visited twice afterwards, and each time added greatly to the stock of previous knowledge concerning these islands, their productions, and their inhabitants. By him it was first ascertained that cannibalism was practiced by some, if not all, of the tribes at that time; and it was very evident, from the manner of Paganel's narration, that hereabout lay the extremely sensitive point of the worthy geographer's fears and forebodings. However, he was not deterred from rehearsing how one and another not merely visited, but began to settle, on the island, so that in the treaty of 1814 it was formally recognized as belonging to Great Britain, and twenty years after was important enough to have a separate official and governmental establishment. Paganel also told, at great length, the tales of many of the sad incidents which from time to time have marked even the commercial intercourse between the European and the Maori; as, for instance, the sad tale of conflict and bloodshed connected with the death of Captain Marion, a French navigator, in 1772. He had landed near the spot where Surville had ill-treated some of the natives and traitorously seized a son of the chief, Takouri, who yet appeared to welcome this next French visitant, though remembering none the less the terrible duty of vengeance which is felt by the Maori to be so binding. [Illustration: It was on the sixth of October, 1769, that this navigator (Captain Cook) first landed on the shores.] For a long time the cloak of friendship was worn by the natives, the more thoroughly to lull the suspicions of the whites, and to entice a larger number on shore; in which endeavor they succeeded only too well. The French ships being greatly out of repair, Marion was induced to fell timber at some distance in the interior, and to establish in this occupation a great number of his men, going frequently to them, and remaining with them and the apparently friendly chiefs. On one of these occasions the Maoris fulfilled their revengeful project with a terrible satisfaction to themselves. Only one man, of all those in the interior, managed to escape, the commander himself falling a prey to their vengeance. They then endeavored to kill the second in command, who, with several others, was nearer to the shore. These, of course, at once started for their boats; breathless, they reached them, hotly pursued to the water's edge by the insatiate savages. Then, safe themselves, the French marksmen picked off the chief, and the previous exultation of the aborigines was, even in the hour of their triumph, turned to lamentation, coupled with wonder at the terrible power of the white man's fire-barrel. [Illustration: Safe themselves, the French marksmen picked off the chief.] All this and much more did the geographer narrate; but it must be confessed that he neither spoke, nor did they listen, with the complacency evinced in his previous tales. Besides, their surroundings were at the time uncomfortable, and the first prognostications of a speedy passage were not likely to be verified. Unfortunately, this painful voyage was prolonged. Six days after her departure, the Macquarie had not descried the shores of Auckland. The wind was fair, however, and still blew from the southwest; but nevertheless the brig did not make much headway. The sea was rough, the rigging creaked, the ribs cracked, and the vessel rode the waves with difficulty. Fortunately, Will Halley, like a man who was in no hurry, did not crowd on sail, or his masts would inevitably have snapped. Captain Mangles hoped, therefore, that this clumsy craft would reach its destination in safety; still, he was pained to see his companions on board in such miserable quarters. [Sidenote: PERSISTENT GRIEF.] But neither Lady Helena nor Mary Grant complained, although the continual rain kept them confined, and the want of air and rolling of the ship seriously incommoded them. Their friends sought to divert them, and Paganel strove to while the time with his stories, but did not succeed so well as previously. Of all the passengers, the one most to be pitied was Lord Glenarvan. They rarely saw him below; he could not keep still. His nervous and excitable nature would not submit to an imprisonment between four wooden walls. Day and night, heedless of the torrents of rain and the dashing spray of the sea, he remained on deck, sometimes bending over the rail, sometimes pacing up and down with feverish agitation. His eyes gazed continually into space, and, during the brief lulls, his glass persistently surveyed the horizon. He seemed to question the mute waves; the mist that veiled the sky, the masses of vapor, he would have penetrated with a glance; he could not be resigned, and his countenance betokened an acute grief. The power and hopefulness of this man, hitherto so energetic and courageous, had suddenly failed. Captain Mangles seldom left him, but at his side endured the severity of the storm. That day, Glenarvan, wherever there was an opening in the mist, scanned the horizon with the utmost persistency. The young captain approached him. "Is your lordship looking for land?" he asked. Glenarvan shook his head. "It will yet be some time before we leave the brig. We ought to have sighted Auckland light thirty-six hours ago." Glenarvan did not answer. He still gazed, and for a moment his glass was pointed towards the horizon to windward of the vessel. "The land is not on that side," said Captain Mangles. "Your lordship should look towards the starboard." "Why, John?" replied Glenarvan. "It is not the land that I am seeking." "What is it, my lord?" [Sidenote: A COURAGEOUS CAPTAIN.] "My yacht, my Duncan! She must be here, in these regions, plowing these seas, in that dreadful employment of a pirate. She is here, I tell you, John, on this course between Australia and New Zealand! I have a presentiment that we shall meet her!" [Illustration: Day and night, heedless of the torrents of rain and the dashing spray of the sea, he remained on deck.] "God preserve us from such a meeting, my lord!" "Why, John?" "Your lordship forgets our situation. What could we do on this brig, if the Duncan should give us chase? We could not escape." "Escape, John?" "Yes, my lord. We should try in vain. We should be captured, at the mercy of the wretches. Ben Joyce has shown that he does not hesitate at a crime. I should sell my life dearly. We would defend ourselves to the last extremity. Well! But, then, think of Lady Helena and Mary Grant!" "Poor women!" murmured Glenarvan. "John, my heart is broken, and sometimes I feel as if despair had invaded it. It seems to me as if new calamities awaited us, as if Heaven had decreed against us! I am afraid!" "You, my lord?" "Not for myself, John, but for those whom I love, and whom you love also." "Take courage, my lord," replied the young captain. "We need no longer fear. The Macquarie is a poor sailer, but still she sails. Will Halley is a brutish creature; but I am here, and if the approach to the land seems to me dangerous I shall take the ship to sea again. Therefore from this quarter there is little or no danger. But as for meeting the Duncan, God preserve us, and enable us to escape!" Captain Mangles was right. To encounter the Duncan would be fatal to the Macquarie, and this misfortune was to be feared in these retired seas, where pirates could roam without danger. However, that day, at least, the Duncan did not appear, and the sixth night since their departure from Twofold Bay arrived without Captain Mangles's fears being realized. But that night was destined to be one of terror. Darkness set in almost instantaneously towards evening; the sky was very threatening. Even Will Halley, whose sense of danger was superior to the brutishness of intoxication, was startled by these warning signs. He left his cabin, rubbing his eyes and shaking his great red head. Then he drew a long breath, and examined the masts. The wind was fresh, and was blowing strong towards the New Zealand coast. Captain Halley summoned his men, with many oaths, and ordered them to reef the top-sails. Captain Mangles approved in silence. He had given up remonstrating with this coarse seaman; but neither he nor Glenarvan left the deck. Two hours passed. The sea grew more tempestuous, and the vessel received such severe shocks that it seemed as if her keel were grating on the sand. There was no unusual roughness, but yet this clumsy craft labored heavily, and the deck was deluged by the huge waves. The boat that hung in the larboard davits was swept overboard by a rising billow. Captain Mangles could not help being anxious. Any other vessel would have mocked these surges; but with this heavy hulk they might well fear foundering, for the deck was flooded with every plunge, and the masses of water, not finding sufficient outlet by the scuppers, might submerge the ship. It would have been wise, as a preparation for any emergency, to cut away the waistcloth to facilitate the egress of the water; but Will Halley refused to take this precaution. [Sidenote: A NAUTICAL COUP D'ETAT.] However, a greater danger threatened the Macquarie, and probably there was no longer time to prevent it. About half-past eleven Captain Mangles and Wilson, who were standing on the leeward side, were startled by an unusual sound. Their nautical instincts were roused, and the captain seized the sailor's hand. "The surf!" said he. "Yes," replied Wilson. "The sea is breaking on the reefs." "Not more than two cable-lengths distant." "Not more! The shore is here!" Captain Mangles leaned over the railing, gazed at the dark waves, and cried: "The sounding-lead, Wilson!" The skipper, who was in the forecastle, did not seem to suspect his situation. Wilson grasped the sounding-line, which lay coiled in its pail, and rushed into the port-shrouds. He cast the lead; the rope slipped between his fingers; at the third knot it stopped. "Three fathoms!" cried Wilson. "We are on the breakers!" shouted the sober captain to the stupefied one. Whether the former saw Halley shrug his shoulders or not is of little consequence. At all events, he rushed towards the wheel and crowded the helm hard alee, while Wilson, letting go the line, hauled upon the top-sail yard-arms to luff the ship. The sailor who was steering, and had been forcibly pushed aside, did not at all understand this sudden attack. "To the port-yards! let loose the sails!" cried the young captain, managing so as to escape the reefs. For half a minute, the starboard side of the brig grazed the rocks, and, in spite of the darkness, John perceived a roaring line of breakers that foamed a few yards from the ship. [Sidenote: VERY CRITICAL CIRCUMSTANCES.] At this moment Will Halley, becoming conscious of the imminent danger, lost his presence of mind. His sailors, who were scarcely sober, could not comprehend his orders. Moreover, his incoherent words and contradictory commands showed that this stupid drunkard's coolness had failed. He was surprised by the nearness of the land, which was only eight miles off, when he thought it thirty or forty. The currents had taken him unawares, and thrown him out of his ordinary course. [Illustration: The sailor who was steering, and had been forcibly pushed aside, did not at all understand this sudden attack.] However, Captain Mangles's prompt management had rescued the brig from her peril; but he did not know his position. Perhaps he was inclosed by a chain of reefs. The wind blew fresh from the east, and at every pitch they might strike bottom. The roar of the surf was soon redoubled, and it was necessary to luff still more. John crowded the helm down and braced farther to leeward. The breakers multiplied beneath the prow of the ship, and they were obliged to tack so as to put to sea. Would this manoeuvre succeed with such an unsteady vessel, and under such reduced sail? It was uncertain, but as their only chance they must venture it. "Hard alee!" cried Captain Mangles to Wilson. The Macquarie began to approach the new line of reefs. Soon the water foamed above the submerged rocks. It was a moment of torturing suspense. The spray glittered on the crests of the waves. You would have thought a phosphorescent glow had suddenly illumined the water. Wilson and Mulready forced down the wheel with their whole weight. Suddenly a shock was felt. The vessel had struck upon a rock. The bob-stays broke, and nearly overthrew the mainmast. Could they come about without any other injury? No; for all at once there was a calm, and the ship veered to windward again, and her movements suddenly ceased. A lofty wave seized and bore her forward towards the reefs, while she rolled heavily. The mainmast went by the board with all its rigging, the brig heaved twice and was motionless, leaning over to starboard. The pump-lights were shattered in pieces, and the passengers rushed to the deck; but the waves were sweeping it from one end to the other, and they could not remain without danger. Captain Mangles, knowing that the ship was firmly imbedded in the sand, besought them for their own sakes to go below again. "The truth, John?" asked Glenarvan, faintly. "The truth, my lord, is that we shall not founder. As for being destroyed by the sea, that is another question; but we have time to take counsel." "Is it midnight?" "Yes, my lord, and we must wait for daylight." "Can we not put to sea in the boat?" "In this storm and darkness it is impossible. And, moreover, where should we strike land?" "Well, John, let us remain here till morning." Meantime Will Halley was running about the deck like a madman. His sailors, who had recovered from their stupor, stove in a brandy-barrel and began to drink. Mangles foresaw that their drunkenness would lead to terrible scenes. The captain could not be relied upon to restrain them; the miserable man tore his hair and wrung his hands; he thought only of his cargo, which was not insured. "I am ruined! I am lost!" cried he, running to and fro. Captain Mangles scarcely thought of consoling him. He armed his companions, and all stood ready to repel the sailors, who were filling themselves with brandy, and cursing frightfully. "The first of these wretches who approaches," said the major calmly, "I will shoot like a dog." The sailors doubtless saw that the passengers were determined to keep them at bay, for, after a few attempts at plunder, they disappeared. Captain Mangles paid no more attention to these drunken men, but waited impatiently for day. [Sidenote: SLEEPING IN A SAND-CRADLE.] The ship was now absolutely immovable. The sea grew gradually calm, and the wind subsided. The hull could, therefore, hold out a few hours longer. At sunrise they would examine the shore. If it seemed easy to land, the yawl, now the only boat on board, would serve to transport the crew and passengers. It would require three trips, at least, to accomplish this, for there was room for only four persons. As for the gig, it had been swept overboard, during the storm, as before mentioned. While reflecting on the dangers of his situation, the young captain, leaning against the binnacle, listened to the roar of the surf. He strove to pierce the dense darkness, and estimate how far he was from that desired yet dreaded coast. Breakers are frequently heard several leagues at sea. Could the frail cutter weather so long a voyage in her present shattered state? While he was thinking thus, and longing for a little light in the gloomy sky, the ladies, relying upon his words, were reposing in their berths. The steadiness of the brig secured them several hours of rest. Glenarvan and the others, no longer hearing the cries of the drunken crew, refreshed themselves also by a hasty sleep, and, early in the morning, deep silence reigned on board this vessel, which had sunk to rest, as it were, upon her bed of sand. About four o'clock the first light appeared in the east. The clouds were delicately tinged by the pale rays of the dawn. Captain Mangles came on deck. Along the horizon extended a curtain of mist. A few vague outlines floated in the vapors of the morning. A gentle swell still agitated the sea, and the outer waves were lost in the dense, motionless fog. He waited. The light gradually brightened, and the horizon glowed with crimson hues. The misty curtain gradually enveloped the vast vault of the firmament. Black rocks emerged from the water. Then, a line was defined along a border of foam, and a luminous point kindled like a lighthouse at the summit of a peak against the still invisible disk of the rising sun. "Land!" cried Captain Mangles. [Illustration: The mainmast went by the board with all its rigging, the brig heaved twice and was motionless, leaning over to starboard.] [Illustration: As the Macquarie lay over on her starboard beams, her opposite side was raised, and the defective seams were out of water.] His companions, awakened by his voice, rushed on deck, and gazed in silence at the coast that was seen on the horizon. Whether hospitable or fatal, it was to be their place of refuge. "Where is that Halley?" asked Glenarvan. "I do not know, my lord," replied Captain Mangles. "And his sailors?" "Disappeared, like himself." "And like himself, doubtless, drunk," added MacNabb. "Let us search for them," said Glenarvan; "we cannot abandon them on this vessel." Mulready and Wilson went down to the bunks in the forecastle. The place was empty. They then visited between-decks, and the hold, but found neither Halley nor his sailors. "What! nobody?" said Glenarvan. "Have they fallen into the sea?" asked Paganel. "Anything is possible," replied Captain Mangles, who cared little for their disappearance. Then, turning towards the stern, he said,-- "To the boat!" Wilson and Mulready followed, to assist in lowering it. The yawl was gone! CHAPTER XLVI. VAIN EFFORTS. Will Halley and his crew, taking advantage of the night and the passengers' sleep, had fled with the only boat left. They could not doubt it. This captain, who was in duty bound to be the last on board, had been the first to leave. [Sidenote: AN ADVANTAGEOUS LOSS.] "The rascals have fled," said Captain Mangles. "Well, so much the better, my lord. We are spared so many disagreeable scenes." "I agree with you," replied Glenarvan. "Besides, there is a better captain on board, yourself, and courageous seamen, your companions. Command us; we are ready to obey you." All endorsed Glenarvan's words, and, ranged along the deck, they stood ready for the young captain's orders. "What is to be done?" asked Glenarvan. John cast a glance over the ocean, looked at the shattered masts of the brig, and, after a few moments' reflection, said: "We have two ways, my lord, of extricating ourselves from this situation: either to raise the vessel and put her to sea, or reach the coast on a raft, which can be easily constructed." "If the vessel can be raised, let us raise it," replied Glenarvan. "That is the best plan, is it not?" "Yes, my lord; for, once ashore, what would become of us without means of transport?" "Let us avoid the coast," added Paganel. "We must beware of New Zealand." "All the more so, as we have gone considerably astray," continued Captain Mangles. "Halley's carelessness has carried us to the south, that is evident. At noon I will take an observation; and if, as I presume, we are below Auckland, I will try to sail the Macquarie up along the coast." "But the injuries of the brig?" inquired Lady Helena. "I do not think they are serious, madam," replied Captain Mangles. "I shall rig a jury-mast at the bows; and we shall sail slowly, it is true, but still we shall go where we wish. If, unfortunately, the hull is stove in, or if the ship cannot be extricated, we must gain the coast, and travel by land to Auckland." "Let us examine the state of the vessel, then," said the major. "This is of the first importance." Glenarvan, the captain, and Mulready opened the main scuttle, and went down into the hold. About two hundred tons of tanned hides were there, very badly stowed away; but they could draw them aside without much difficulty, by means of the main-stay tackling, and they at once threw overboard part of this ballast so as to lighten the ship. After three hours of hard labor, they could see the bottom timbers. Two seams in the larboard planking had sprung open as far up as the channel wales. As the Macquarie lay over on her starboard beams, her opposite side was raised, and the defective seams were out of water. Wilson hastened, therefore, to tighten the joints with oakum, over which he carefully nailed a copper plate. On sounding they found less than two feet of water in the hold, which the pumps could easily exhaust, and thus relieve the ship. After his examination of the hull, the captain perceived that it had been little injured in stranding. It was probable that a part of the false keel would remain in the sand, but they could pass over it. Wilson, after inspecting the interior of the brig, dived, in order to determine her position on the reef. The Macquarie was turned towards the northwest, and lay on a very shelving, slimy sand-bar. The lower end of her prow and two-thirds of her keel were deeply imbedded in the sand. The rest, as far as the stern, floated where the water was five fathoms deep. The rudder was not, therefore, confined, but worked freely. The captain considered it useless to lighten her, as he hoped they would be ready to make use of her at the earliest opportunity. The tides of the Pacific are not very strong, but he relied upon their influence to float the brig, which had stranded an hour before high water. The only point was to extricate her, which would be a long and painful task. [Sidenote: LABOR FOR THE COMMON WEAL.] "To work!" cried the captain. His improvised sailors were ready. He ordered them to reef the sails. The major, Robert, and Paganel, under Wilson's direction, climbed the maintop. The top-sail, swelled by the wind, would have prevented the extrication of the ship, and it was necessary to reef it, which was done as well as possible. At last, after much labor, severe to unaccustomed hands, the maintop-gallant was taken down. Young Robert, nimble as a cat, and bold as a cabin-boy, had rendered important services in this difficult operation. It was now advisable to cast one anchor, perhaps two, at the stern of the vessel in the line of the keel. The effect of this would be to haul the Macquarie around into deep water. There is no difficulty in doing this when you have a boat, but here all the boats were gone, and something else must be supplied. Glenarvan was familiar enough with the sea to understand the necessity of these arrangements. One anchor was to be cast to prevent the ship from stranding at low water. "But what shall we do without a boat?" asked he of the captain. "We will use the remains of the mizen-mast and the empty casks," was the reply. "It will be a difficult, but not impossible task, for the Macquarie's anchors are small. Once cast however, if they do not drag, I shall be encouraged." "Very well, let us lose no time." To accomplish their object, all were summoned on deck; each took part in the work. The rigging that still confined the mizen-mast was cut away, so that the maintop could be easily withdrawn. Out of this platform Captain Mangles designed to make a raft. He supported it by means of empty casks, and rendered it capable of carrying the anchors. A rudder was fastened to it, which enabled them to steer the concern. This labor was half accomplished when the sun neared the meridian. The captain left Glenarvan to follow out his instructions, and turned his attention to determining his position, which was very important. Fortunately, he had found in Will Halley's cabin a Nautical Almanac and a sextant, with which he was able to take an observation. By consulting the map Paganel had bought at Eden, he saw that they had been wrecked at the mouth of Aotea Bay, above Cahua Point, on the shores of the province of Auckland. As the city was on the thirty-seventh parallel, the Macquarie had been carried a considerable distance out of her course. It was, therefore, necessary to sail northward to reach the capital of New Zealand. "A journey of not more than twenty-five miles," said Glenarvan. "It is nothing." "What is nothing at sea will be long and difficult on land," replied Paganel. "Well, then," said Captain Mangles, "let us do all in our power to float the Macquarie." This question being settled, their labors were resumed. It was high water, but they could not take advantage of it, since the anchors were not yet moored. Yet the captain watched the ship with some anxiety. Would she float with the tide? This point would soon be decided. They waited. Several cracks were heard, caused either by a rising or starting of the keel. Great reliance had been placed upon the tide, but the brig did not stir. The work was continued, and the raft was soon ready. The small anchor was put on board, and the captain and Wilson embarked, after mooring a small cable at the stern. The ebb-tide made them drift, and they therefore anchored, half a cable's length distant, in ten fathoms of water. The bottom afforded a firm hold. [Sidenote: A MIDNIGHT CONCLAVE.] The great anchor now remained. They lowered it with difficulty, transported it on the raft, and soon it was moored behind the other; the captain and his men returning to the vessel, and waiting for high water, which would be early in the morning. It was now six o'clock in the evening. The young captain complimented his sailors, and told Paganel that, with the aid of courage and good discipline, he might one day become quartermaster. Meantime, Mr. Olbinett, after assisting in different operations, had returned to the kitchen, and prepared a very comforting and seasonable repast. The crew were tempted by a keen appetite, which was abundantly satisfied, and each felt himself invigorated for fresh exertions. After dinner, Captain Mangles took a final precaution to insure the success of his experiment. He threw overboard a great part of the merchandise to lighten the brig; but the remainder of the ballast, the heavy spars, the spare yards, and a few tons of pig-iron, were carried to the stern, to aid by their weight in liberating the keel. Wilson and Mulready likewise rolled to the same place a number of casks filled with water. Midnight arrived before these labors were completed. But at this hour the breeze subsided, and only a few capricious ripples stirred the surface of the water. Looking towards the horizon, the captain observed that the wind was changing from southwest to northwest. A sailor could not be mistaken in the peculiar arrangement and color of the clouds. He accordingly informed Glenarvan of these indications, and proposed to defer their work till the next day. [Sidenote: "A TIDE IN THE AFFAIRS OF MEN."] "And these are my reasons," said he. "First, we are very much fatigued, and all our strength is necessary to free the vessel. Then, when this is accomplished, how can we sail among the dangerous breakers, and in such profound darkness? Moreover, another reason induces me to wait. The wind promises to aid us, and I desire to profit by it, and am in hopes that it will drift the old hull out when the tide raises her. To-morrow, if I am not mistaken, the breeze will blow from the northwest. We will set the main-sails, and they will help to raise the brig." [Illustration: They therefore anchored, half a cable's length distant, in ten fathoms of water.] These reasons were decisive. Glenarvan and Paganel, the most impatient on board, yielded, and the work was suspended. The night passed favorably, and day appeared. Their captain's predictions were realized. The wind blew from the northwest, and continued to freshen. The crew were summoned. It was nine o'clock. Four hours were still to elapse before it would be high water, and that time was not lost. The laborers renewed their efforts with very good success. Meantime the tide rose. The surface of the sea was agitated into ripples, and the points of the rocks gradually disappeared, like marine animals returning to their native element. The time for the final attempt approached. A feverish impatience thrilled all minds. No one spoke. Each gazed at the captain, and awaited his orders. He was leaning over the stern-railing, watching the water, and casting an uneasy glance towards the cables. At last the tide reached its height. The experiment must now be made without delay. The main-sails were set, and the mast was bent with the force of the wind. "To the windlass!" cried the captain. Glenarvan, Mulready, and Robert on one side, and Paganel, the major, and Olbinett on the other, bore down upon the handles that moved the machine. At the same time the captain and Wilson added their efforts to those of their companions. "Down! down!" cried the young captain; "all together!" The cables were stretched taut under the powerful action of the windlass. The anchors held fast, and did not drag. But they must be quick, for high tide lasts only a few moments, and the water would not be long in lowering. They redoubled their efforts. The wind blew violently, and forced the sails against the mast. A few tremors were felt in the hull, and the brig seemed on the point of rising. Perhaps a little more power would suffice to draw her from the sand. "Helena! Mary!" cried Glenarvan. The two ladies came and joined their efforts to those of their companions. A final crack was heard, but that was all! The experiment had failed. The tide was already beginning to ebb, and it was evident that, even with the aid of wind and tide, this insufficient crew could not float their ship. As their first plan had failed, it was necessary to have recourse to the second without delay. It was plain that they could not raise the Macquarie, and that the only way was to abandon her. To wait on board for the uncertain arrival of assistance would have been folly and madness. The captain therefore proposed to construct a raft strong enough to convey the passengers and a sufficient quantity of provisions to the New Zealand coast. It was not a time for discussion, but for action. The work was accordingly begun, and considerably advanced when night interrupted them. In the evening, after supper, while Lady Helena and Mary Grant were reposing in their berths, Paganel and his friends conversed seriously as they paced the deck. The geographer had asked Captain Mangles whether the raft could not follow the coast as far as Auckland, instead of landing the passengers at once. The captain replied that it would be impossible with such a rude craft. "And could we have done with the boat what we cannot do with the raft?" "Yes, candidly speaking, we could," was the reply; "but with the necessity of sailing by day and anchoring by night." [Sidenote: A FRENCHMAN'S FOIBLE.] "Then these wretches, who have abandoned us----" "Oh," said Captain Mangles, "they were drunk, and in the profound darkness I fear they have paid for their cowardly desertion with their lives." "So much the worse for them," continued Paganel; "and for us, too, as this boat would have been useful." "What do you mean, Paganel?" said Glenarvan. "The raft will take us ashore." "That is precisely what I would avoid," replied the geographer. "What! can a journey of not more than twenty miles terrify us, after what has been done on the Pampas and in Australia?" "My friends," resumed Paganel, "I do not doubt your courage, nor that of our fair companions. Twenty miles is nothing in any other country except New Zealand. Here, however, anything is better than venturing upon these treacherous shores." "Anything is better than exposing yourself to certain death on a wrecked vessel," returned Captain Mangles. "What have we to fear in New Zealand?" asked Glenarvan. "The savages!" replied Paganel. "The savages?" said Glenarvan. "Can we not avoid them by following the coast? Besides, an attack from a few wretches cannot intimidate ten well-armed and determined Europeans." "It is not a question of wretches," rejoined Paganel. "The New Zealanders form terrible tribes that struggle against the English government, fight with invaders, frequently conquer them, and always eat them." "Cannibals! cannibals!" cried Robert; and then he murmured, as though afraid to give full utterance to the words, "My sister! Lady Helena!" "Never fear, my boy!" said Glenarvan; "our friend Paganel exaggerates." [Illustration: The work was accordingly begun, and considerably advanced when night interrupted them.] [Illustration: Not long since, in the year 1864, one of these clergymen was seized by the chiefs and hung from the tree.] "I do not exaggerate," replied Paganel. "With these New Zealanders war is what the sports of the chase are to civilized nations; and the game they hunt for they feast upon." "Paganel," said the major, "this may be all very true, but have you forgotten the introduction of Christianity? has it not destroyed these anthropophagous habits?" "No, it has not," was the prompt reply. "The records are yet fresh of ministers who have gone out to proclaim Christianity and have fallen victims to the murderous and cannibal instincts of those to whom they preached. Not long since, in the year 1864, one of these clergymen was seized by the chiefs, was hung to the tree, was tantalized and tortured to his last moments; and then, whilst some tore his body to pieces, others devoured the various members. No, the Maoris are still cannibals, and will remain so for some time to come." But Paganel was on this point a pessimist, contrary to his usual characteristic. CHAPTER XLVII. A DREADED COUNTRY. What Paganel had stated was indisputable. The cruelty of the New Zealanders could not be doubted. There was, therefore, danger in landing. But if the danger had been a hundred times greater, it must have been faced. Captain Mangles felt the necessity of leaving this vessel, which would soon break up. Between two perils, one certain, the other only probable, there was no possible hesitation. [Sidenote: ANOTHER CHANGE OF RESIDENCE.] As for the chance of being picked up by some passing ship, they could not reasonably rely upon it, for the Macquarie was out of the course usually taken in going to New Zealand. The shipwreck had happened on the desert shores of Ika-Na-Maoui. "When shall we start?" asked Glenarvan. "To-morrow morning at ten o'clock," replied Captain Mangles. "The tide will begin to rise then, and will carry us ashore." Early the next day the raft was finished. The captain had given his entire attention to its construction. They needed a steady and manageable craft, and one capable of resisting the waves for a voyage of nine miles. The masts of the brig could alone furnish the necessary materials. The raft was at length completed. It could doubtless sustain the shock of the surges; but could it be steered, and the coast be reached, if the wind should veer? This was a question only to be decided by trial. At nine o'clock the loading began. The provisions were first put on board in sufficient quantities to last until the arrival at Auckland, for there could be no reliance upon the products of this dreaded country. Olbinett furnished some preserved meats, the remains of the Macquarie's supplies. There was very little, however; and they were forced to depend upon the coarse fare of the mess, which consisted of very inferior ship-biscuits and two barrels of salt fish, greatly to the steward's regret. These stores were inclosed in sealed cans and then secured to the foot of the mast. The arms and ammunition were put in a safe and dry place. Fortunately, the travelers were well supplied with rifles and revolvers. A small anchor was taken on board, in case they should reach the shore at low tide and be forced to anchor in the offing. Flood-tide soon began, the breeze blew gently from the northwest, and a slight swell agitated the surface of the sea. "Are we ready?" asked Captain Mangles. "All is ready, captain," replied Wilson. "Aboard, then!" Lady Helena and Mary Grant descended the ship's side by a clumsy rope-ladder, and took their seats at the foot of the mast near the cases of provisions, their companions around them. Wilson took the helm, the captain stationed himself at the sail-tackling, and Mulready cut the cable that confined the raft to the brig. The sail was spread, and they began to move towards the shore under the combined influence of wind and tide. The coast was only nine miles distant,--not a difficult voyage for a well-manned boat; but with the raft it was necessary to advance slowly. If the wind held out, they might perhaps reach land with this tide; but if there should be a calm, the ebb would carry them back, or they would be compelled to anchor and wait for the next tide. However, Captain Mangles hoped to succeed. The wind freshened. As it had been flood now for some hours, they must either reach land soon, or anchor. Fortune favored them. Gradually the black points of the rocks and the yellow sand of the bars disappeared beneath the waves; but great attention and extreme skill became necessary, in this dangerous neighborhood, to guide their unwieldy craft. They were still five miles from shore. A clear sky enabled them to distinguish the principal features of the country. To the northeast rose a lofty mountain, whose outline was defined against the horizon in a very singular resemblance to the grinning profile of a monkey. Paganel soon observed that all the sand-bars had disappeared. "Except one," replied Lady Helena. "Where?" asked Paganel. "There," said Lady Helena, pointing to a black speck a mile ahead. "That is true," answered Paganel. "Let us try to determine its position, that we may not run upon it when the tide covers it." [Illustration: The yawl was drawn alongside.] "It is exactly at the northern projection of the mountain," said Captain Mangles. "Wilson, bear away towards the offing." "Yes, captain," replied the sailor, bearing with all his weight upon the steering oar. They approached nearer; but, strange to say, the black point still rose above the water. The captain gazed at it attentively, and, to see better, employed Paganel's telescope. "It is not a rock," said he, after a moment's examination; "it is a floating object, that rises and falls with the swell." "Is it not a piece of the Macquarie's mast?" asked Lady Helena. "No," replied Glenarvan; "no fragment could have drifted so far from the ship." "Wait!" cried Captain Mangles. "I recognize it. It is the boat." "The brig's boat?" said Glenarvan. "Yes, my lord, the brig's boat, bottom upwards." "The unfortunate sailors!" exclaimed Lady Helena, "they have perished!" "Yes, madam," continued the captain; "and they might have foreseen it; for in the midst of these breakers, on a stormy sea, and in such profound darkness, they fled to certain death." "May Heaven have pity on them!" murmured Mary Grant. For a few moments the passengers were silent. They gazed at this frail bark towards which they drew nearer and nearer. It had evidently capsized a considerable distance from land, and of those who embarked in it probably not one had survived. "But this boat may be useful," said Glenarvan. "Certainly," replied Captain Mangles. "Come about, Wilson." [Sidenote: REALITIES AND FANCIES.] The direction of the raft was changed, but the wind subsided gradually, and it cost them much time to reach the boat. Mulready, standing at the bow, warded off the shock, and the yawl was drawn alongside. "Empty?" asked Captain Mangles. "Yes, captain," replied the sailor, "the boat is empty, and her seams have started open. She is of no use to us." "Can we not save any part?" asked MacNabb. "No," answered the captain. "She is only fit to burn." "I am sorry," said Paganel, "for the yawl might have taken us to Auckland." "We must be resigned, Mr. Paganel," rejoined the captain. "Moreover, on such a rough sea, I prefer our raft to that frail conveyance. A slight shock would dash it in pieces! Therefore, my lord, we have nothing more to stay here for." "As you wish, John," said Glenarvan. "Forward, Wilson," continued the young captain, "straight for the coast!" The tide would yet flow for about an hour, and in this time they could accomplish a considerable distance. But soon the breeze subsided almost entirely, and the raft was motionless. Soon it even began to drift towards the open sea under the influence of the ebb. The captain did not hesitate a moment. "Anchor!" cried he. Mulready, who was in an instant ready to execute this order, let fall the anchor, and the raft drifted till the cable was taut. The sail was reefed, and arrangements were made for a long detention. Indeed, the tide would not turn till late in the evening; and, as they did not care to sail in the dark, they anchored for the night in sight of land. Quite a heavy swell agitated the surface of the water, and seemed to set steadily towards the shore. Glenarvan, therefore, when he learned that the whole night would be passed on board, asked why they did not take advantage of this current to approach the coast. [Illustration: Night approached. Already the sun's disk was disappearing beneath the horizon.] [Illustration: The ladies were carried in their companions' arms, and reached the shore without wetting a single fold of their garments.] "My lord," replied the young captain, "is deceived by an optical illusion. The apparent onward movement is only an oscillation of the water, nothing more. Throw a piece of wood into the water, and you will see that it will remain stationary, so long as the ebb is not felt. We must therefore have patience." "And dinner," added the major. Olbinett took out of a case of provisions some pieces of dried meat and a dozen biscuits, though reluctant to offer such meagre fare. It was accepted, however, with good grace, even by the ladies, whose appetites the fresh sea air greatly improved. Night approached. Already the sun's disk, glowing with crimson, was disappearing beneath the horizon; and the waters glistened and sparkled like sheets of liquid silver under his last rays. Nothing could be seen but sky and water, except one sharply-defined object, the hull of the Macquarie, motionless on the reefs. The short twilight was rapidly followed by the darkness, and soon the land that bounded the horizon some miles away was lost in the gloom. In this perplexing situation these shipwrecked people lapsed into an uneasy and distressing drowsiness, and as the result at daybreak all were more exhausted than refreshed. With the turn of the tide the wind rose. It was six o'clock in the morning, and time was precious. Preparations were made for getting under way, and the order was given to weigh anchor; but the flukes, by the strain of the cable, were so deeply imbedded in the sand that without the windlass even the tackling that Wilson arranged could not draw them out. [Sidenote: TERRA-FIRMA ONCE MORE.] Half an hour passed in useless efforts. The captain, impatient to set sail, cut the cable, and thus took away all possibility of anchoring, in case the tide should not enable them to reach the shore. The sail was unfurled, and they drifted slowly towards the land that rose in grayish masses against the background of the sky, illumined by the rising sun. The reefs were skillfully avoided, but, with the unsteady breeze, they did not seem to draw nearer the shore. At last, however, land was less than a mile distant, craggy with rocks and very precipitous. It was necessary to find a practicable landing. The wind now moderated and soon subsided entirely, the sail flapping idly against the mast. The tide alone moved the raft; but they had to give up steering, and masses of sea-weed retarded their progress. After awhile they gradually became stationary three cable-lengths from shore. But they had no anchor, and would they not be carried out to sea again by the ebb? With eager glance and anxious heart the captain looked towards the inaccessible shore. Just at this moment a shock was felt. The raft stopped. They had stranded on a sand-bar, not far from the coast. Glenarvan, Robert, Wilson, and Mulready leaped into the water, and moored their bark firmly with cables on the adjoining reefs. The ladies were carried in their companions' arms, and reached the shore without wetting a single fold of their garments; and soon all, with arms and provisions, had set foot on the inhospitable shores of New Zealand. Glenarvan, without losing an hour, would have followed the coast to Auckland; but since early morning the sky had been heavy with clouds, which, towards noon, descended in torrents of rain. Hence it was impossible to start on their journey, and advisable to seek a shelter. [Illustration: While the fire served to dry their garments conversation beguiled the hours, as they lay or stood at ease.] Wilson discovered, fortunately, a cavern, hollowed out by the sea in the basaltic rocks of the shore, and here the travelers took refuge with their arms and provisions. There was an abundance of dry sea-weed, lately cast up by the waves. This formed a soft couch, of which they availed themselves. Several pieces of wood were piled up at the entrance and then kindled; and while the fire served to dry their garments conversation beguiled the hours, as they lay or stood at ease. [Illustration: Louper, with difficulty, managed to support himself on one of them.] [Sidenote: SEALS AND SIRENS.] Paganel, as usual, upon being appealed to, could tell them of the rise, extension, and consolidation of the British power upon the island; he informed them of the beginnings--and, to his belief, of the causes--of the strife which for years decimated the aborigines, and was very injurious to the colonists who had emigrated; then, in reply to Robert's questions, he went on to speak of those who on a narrower theatre had emulated by their heroism and patience the deeds of the world's great travelers and scientific explorers. He told them of Witcombe and Charlton Howitt, men known in their own circles and in connection with their own branch of the New Zealand government. At still greater length he detailed the adventures of Jacob Louper, who was the companion of Witcombe, and had gone as his assistant to discover a practicable route over the mountains in the north of the province of Canterbury. In those mountain wilds, which even the islanders rarely traverse, these two Europeans suffered greatly, but still worse was their fate when they descended to the water-level and essayed to cross the Taramakau near its mouth. Jacob Louper at length found two old and almost useless canoes, and by attaching the one to the other they hoped to accomplish the passage safely. Before they had reached the middle of the rapid current, however, both the tubs capsized. Louper, with difficulty, managed to support himself on one of them, and by clinging to it was at length carried to the river's bank, which his companion also reached; but when after a period of insensibility Louper returned to consciousness and found the body of Witcombe, it was lifeless. Though terribly bruised and still bleeding from his wounds, Louper hollowed a grave for the remains, and then, after many more days of privation and danger, came to the huts of some of the Maoris, by whose assistance he at length reached the settled parts of the colony. These facts and reminiscences, it must be confessed, were not of the most inspiriting character; but they were in the same key as most of Paganel's disquisitions and information concerning these islands, and they were before a late hour exchanged for peaceful though probably dreamy slumbers, by his hearers. Early the next morning the signal for departure was given. The rain had ceased during the night, and the sky was covered with grayish clouds, which intercepted the rays of the sun, so that the temperature thus moderated enabled them to endure the fatigues of the journey. By consulting the map, Paganel had calculated that they would have to travel eight days. But, instead of following the windings of the coast, he considered it best to proceed to the village of Ngarnavahia, at the junction of the Waikato and Waipa rivers. Here the overland mail-road passed, and it would thence be easy to reach Drury, and rest, after their hardships, in a comfortable hotel. But before they left the shore their attention was drawn to the large number of seals, of a peculiar appearance and genus, which lay on the broad sands daily washed by the tidal water. These seals, with their rounded heads, their upturned look, their expressive eyes, presented an appearance, almost a physiognomy, that was mild and wellnigh tender, and served to recall to the traveler's memory the tales about the sirens of the olden and modern times, who served as the enchantresses to just such inhospitable shores as that seemed on which they had themselves been cast. These animals, which are very numerous on the coast of New Zealand, are hunted and killed for the sake of their oil and their skins, and Paganel was of course able to tell how much within the last few years they had been searched for by the traders and navigators on these seas. [Illustration: These seals, with rounded heads, upturned look, expressive eyes, presented an appearance, almost a physiognomy, that was mild and wellnigh tender.] [Illustration: The New Zealand "kiwi," known to naturalists as the apteryx.] Whilst speaking of these matters, Robert drew Paganel's attention to some curious amphibious creatures, resembling the seals, but larger, which were devouring with rapidity the large stones lying on the shore. "Look," said he, "here are seals which feed on pebbles." Paganel assured them that these sea-elephants were only weighting themselves preparatory to their descent into the water, and protested that if they would but wait for a time they might see them descend and subsequently return when they had unloaded themselves. The first part of this programme they saw accomplished; but, greatly to Paganel's grief, Glenarvan would not longer delay the party, and they soon began to see inland beauties and curiosities of another sort. The district through which they had to walk this day and the next was one very thick with brush and under-wood, and there was no possibility of horse or vehicle passing or meeting them. They now regretted the absence of their Australian cart, for the height and frequency of the large ferns in the neighborhood prevented their making any rapid progress on foot. [Sidenote: THE LAST STAGE OF PERIPATETICS.] Here and there, however, Robert and Paganel would rejoice together over some choice bush or bird that they had met with. Notable among the latter was the New Zealand "kiwi," known to naturalists as the apteryx, and which is becoming very scarce, from the pursuit of its many enemies. Robert discovered in a nest on the ground a couple of these birds without tails or wings, but with four toes on the foot, and a long beak or bill like that of a woodcock, and small white feathers all over its body. Of this bird there was then an entire absence in the zoological collections of Europe, and Paganel indulged the hope that he might be able to be the proud contributor of such a valuable specimen to the "Jardin" of his own city. For the present, at least, the realization of his hopes had to be deferred; and at length, after some days of weariness and continued travel, the party reached the banks of the Waipa. The country was deserted. There was no sign of natives, no path that would indicate the presence of man in these regions. The waters of the river flowed between tall bushes, or glided over sandy shallows, while the range of vision extended to the hills that inclosed the valley on the east. At four o'clock in the afternoon nine miles had been valiantly accomplished. According to the map, which Paganel continually consulted, the junction of the Waikato and Waipa could not be more than five miles distant. The road to Auckland passed this point, and there they would encamp for the night. As for the fifty miles that would still separate them from the capital, two or three days would be sufficient for this, and even eight hours, if they should meet the mail-coach. "Then," said Glenarvan, "we shall be compelled to encamp again to-night." "Yes," replied Paganel; "but, as I hope, for the last time." "So much the better; for these are severe hardships for Lady Helena and Mary Grant." "And they endure them heroically," added Captain Mangles. "But, if I am not mistaken, Mr. Paganel, you have spoken of a village situated at the junction of the two rivers." "Yes," answered the geographer; "here it is on the map. It is Ngarnavahia, about two miles below the junction." "Well, could we not lodge there for the night? Lady Helena and Miss Grant would not hesitate to go two miles farther, if they could find a tolerable hotel." "A hotel!" cried Paganel. "A hotel in a Maori village! There is not even a tavern. This village is only a collection of native huts; and, far from seeking shelter there, my advice is to avoid it most carefully." "Always your fears, Paganel!" said Glenarvan. "My dear lord, distrust is better than confidence among the Maoris. I do not know upon what terms they are with the English. Now, timidity aside, such as ourselves would be fine prizes, and I dislike to try New Zealand hospitality. I therefore think it wise to avoid this village, and likewise any meeting with the natives. Once at Drury, it will be different, and there our courageous ladies can refresh themselves at their ease for the fatigues of their journey." The geographer's opinion prevailed. Lady Helena preferred to pass the last night in the open air rather than to expose her companions. Neither she nor Mary Grant required a halt, and they therefore continued to follow the banks of the river. Two hours after, the first shadows of evening began to descend the mountains. The sun before disappearing below the western horizon had glinted a few rays through a rift in the clouds. The eastern peaks were crimsoned with the last beams of day. Glenarvan and his friends hastened their pace. They knew the shortness of the twilight in this latitude, and how quickly night sets in. It was important to reach the junction of the two rivers before it became dark. But a dense fog rose from the earth, and made it very difficult to distinguish the way. Fortunately, hearing availed in place of sight. Soon a distinct murmur of the waters indicated the union of the two streams in a common bed, and not long after the little party arrived at the point where the Waipa mingles with the Waikato in resounding cascades. "Here is the Waikato," cried Paganel, "and the road to Auckland runs along its right bank." "We shall see to-morrow," replied the major. "Let us encamp here. It seems to me as if those deeper shadows yonder proceeded from a little thicket of trees that has grown here expressly to shelter us. Let us eat and sleep." [Sidenote: A TRANSFORMATION SCENE.] "Eat," said Paganel, "but of biscuits and dried meat, without kindling a fire. We have arrived here unseen; let us try to go away in the same manner. Fortunately, this fog will render us invisible." The group of trees was reached, and each conformed to the geographer's rigorous regulations. The cold supper was noiselessly eaten, and soon a profound sleep overcame the weary travelers. CHAPTER XLVIII. INTRODUCTION TO THE CANNIBALS. The next morning at break of day a dense fog was spreading heavily over the river, but the rays of the sun were not long in piercing the mist, which rapidly disappeared under the influence of the radiant orb. The banks of the stream were released from their shroud, and the course of the Waikato appeared in all its morning beauty. A narrow tongue of land bristling with shrubbery ran out to a point at the junction of the two rivers. The waters of the Waipa, which flowed more swiftly, drove back those of the Waikato for a quarter of a mile before they mingled; but the calm power of the one soon overcame the boisterous impetuosity of the other, and both glided peacefully together to the broad bosom of the Pacific. As the mist rose, a boat might have been seen ascending the Waikato. It was a canoe seventy feet long and five broad. The lofty prow resembled that of a Venetian gondola, and the whole had been fashioned out of the trunk of a pine. A bed of dry fern covered the bottom. Eight oars at the bow propelled it up the river, while a man at the stern guided it by means of a movable paddle. This man was a native, of tall form, about forty-five years old, with broad breast and powerful limbs. His protruding and deeply furrowed brow, his fierce look and his sinister countenance, showed him to be a formidable individual. He was a Maori chief of high rank, as could be seen by the delicate and compact tattooing that striped his face and body. Two black spirals, starting from the nostrils of his aquiline nose, circled his tawny eyes, met on his forehead, and were lost in his abundant hair. His mouth, with its shining teeth, and his chin, were hidden beneath a net-work of varied colors, while graceful lines wound down to his sinewy breast. There was no doubt as to his rank. The sharp albatross bone, used by Maori tattooers, had furrowed his face five times, in close and deep lines. That he had reached his fifth promotion was evident from his haughty bearing. A large flaxen mat, ornamented with dog-skins, enveloped his person; while a girdle, bloody with his recent conflicts, encircled his waist. From his ears dangled ear-rings of green jade, and around his neck hung necklaces of "pounamous," sacred stones to which the New Zealanders attribute miraculous properties. At his side lay a gun of English manufacture, and a "patou-patou," a kind of double-edged hatchet. Near him nine warriors, of lower rank, armed and of ferocious aspect, some still suffering from recent wounds, stood in perfect immobility, enveloped in their flaxen mantles. Three dogs of wild appearance were stretched at their feet. The eight rowers seemed to be servants or slaves of the chief. They worked vigorously, and the boat ascended the current of the Waikato with remarkable swiftness. In the centre of this long canoe, with feet tied, but hands free, were ten European prisoners clinging closely to each other. They were Lord Glenarvan and his companions. [Sidenote: A TESTING TIME.] The evening before, the little party, led astray by the dense fog, had encamped in the midst of a numerous tribe of natives. About midnight, the travelers, surprised in their sleep, were made prisoners and carried on board the canoe. They had not yet been maltreated, but had tried in vain to resist. Their arms and ammunition were in the hands of the savages, and their own bullets would have quickly stretched them on the earth had they attempted to escape. They were not long in learning, by the aid of a few English words which the natives used, that, being driven back by the British troops, they were returning, vanquished and weakened, to the regions of the upper Waikato. Their chief, after an obstinate resistance, in which he lost his principal warriors, was now on his way to rouse again the river tribes. He was called Kai-Koumou, a terrible name, which signified in the native language "he who eats the limbs of his enemy." He was brave and bold, but his cruelty equaled his bravery. No pity could be expected from him. His name was well known to the English soldiers, and a price had been set upon his head by the governor of New Zealand. This terrible catastrophe had come upon Glenarvan just as he was about reaching the long-desired harbor of Auckland, whence he would have returned to his native country. Yet, looking at his calm and passionless countenance, you could not have divined the depth of his anguish, for in his present critical situation he did not betray the extent of his misfortunes. He felt that he ought to set an example of fortitude to his wife and his companions, as being the husband and chief. Moreover, he was ready to die first for the common safety, if circumstances should require it. [Sidenote: CHIEFS, CIVILIZED AND UNCIVILIZED.] His companions were worthy of him; they shared his noble thoughts, and their calm and haughty appearance would scarcely have intimated that they were being carried away to captivity and suffering. By common consent, at Glenarvan's suggestion, they had resolved to feign a proud indifference in the presence of the savages. It was the only way of influencing those fierce natures. [Illustration: A boat might have been seen ascending the Waikato. It was a canoe seventy feet long and five broad.] Since leaving the encampment, the natives, taciturn like all savages, had scarcely spoken to each other. However, from a few words exchanged, Glenarvan perceived that they were acquainted with the English language. He therefore resolved to question the chief in regard to the fate that was in store for them. Addressing Kai-Koumou, he said, in a fearless tone: "Where are you taking us, chief?" Kai-Koumou gazed at him coldly without answering. "Say, what do you expect to do with us?" continued Glenarvan. The chief's eyes blazed with a sudden light, and in a stern voice he replied: "To exchange you, if your friends will ransom you; to kill you, if they refuse." Glenarvan asked no more, but hope returned to his heart. Doubtless, some chiefs of the Maori tribe had fallen into the hands of the English, and the natives would attempt to recover them by way of exchange; their situation, therefore, was not one for despair. Meantime the canoe rapidly ascended the river. Paganel, whose changeable disposition carried him from one extreme to another, had regained his hopefulness. He believed that the Maoris were sparing them the fatigue of their journey to the English settlements, and that they were certain to arrive at their destination. He was, therefore, quite resigned to his lot, and traced on his map the course of the Waikato across the plains and valleys of the province. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, suppressing their terror, conversed in low tones with Glenarvan, and the most skillful physiognomist could not have detected on their faces the anxiety of their hearts. The Waikato River is worshiped by the natives, as Paganel knew, and English and German naturalists have never ascended beyond its junction with the Waipa. Whither did Kai-Koumou intend to take his captives? The geographer could not have guessed if the word "Taupo," frequently repeated, had not attracted his attention. By consulting his map, he saw that this name was applied to a celebrated lake in the most mountainous part of the island, and that from it the Waikato flows. Paganel, addressing Captain Mangles in French, so as not to be understood by the savages, asked him how fast the canoe was going. The captain thought about three miles an hour. "Then," replied the geographer, "if we do not travel during the night, our voyage to the lake will last about four days." "But whereabouts are the English garrisons?" asked Glenarvan. "It is difficult to say," replied Paganel. "At all events, the war must have reached the province of Taranaki, and probably the troops are collected beyond the mountains, on the side of the lake where the habitations of the savages are concentrated." "God grant it!" said Lady Helena. Glenarvan cast a sorrowful glance at his young wife and Mary Grant, exposed to the mercy of these fierce natives, and captives in a wild country, far from all human assistance. But he saw that he was watched by Kai-Koumou, and, not wishing to show that one of the captives was his wife, he prudently kept his thoughts to himself, and gazed at the banks of the river with apparent indifference. [Sidenote: ACCESSIONS, AND PROGRESS.] The sun was just sinking below the horizon as the canoe ran upon a bank of pumice-stones, which the Waikato carries with it from its source in the volcanic mountains. Several trees grew here, as if designed to shelter an encampment. Kai-Koumou landed his prisoners. The men had their hands tied, the ladies were free. All were placed in the centre of the encampment, around which large fires formed an impassable barrier. Before Kai-Koumou had informed his captives of his intention to exchange them, Glenarvan and Captain Mangles had discussed various methods of recovering their liberty. What they could not venture in the boat they hoped to attempt on land, at the hour for encamping, under cover of the night. But since Glenarvan's conversation with the chief, it seemed wise to abandon this design. They must be patient. It was the most prudent plan. The exchange offered chances that neither an open attack nor a flight across these unknown regions could afford. Many circumstances might indeed arise that would delay, and even prevent, such a transaction; but still it was better to await the result. What, moreover, could ten defenceless men do against thirty well-armed savages? Besides, Glenarvan thought it likely that Kai-Koumou's tribe had lost some chief of high rank whom they were particularly anxious to recover; and he was not mistaken. The next day the canoe ascended the river with increased swiftness. It stopped for a moment at the junction of a small river which wound across the plains on the right bank. Here another canoe, with ten natives on board, joined Kai-Koumou. The warriors merely exchanged salutations, and then continued their course. The new-comers had recently fought against the English troops, as could be seen by their tattered garments, their gory weapons, and the wounds that still bled beneath their rags. They were gloomy and taciturn, and, with the indifference common to all savage races, paid no attention to the captives. Towards evening Kai-Koumou landed at the foot of the mountains, whose nearer ridges reached precipitously to the river-bank. Here twenty natives, who had disembarked from their canoes, were making preparations for the night. Fires blazed beneath the trees. A chief, equal in rank to Kai-Koumou, advanced with measured pace, and, rubbing his nose against that of the latter, saluted him cordially. The prisoners were stationed in the centre of the encampment, and guarded with extreme vigilance. The next morning the ascent of the Waikato was resumed. Other boats came from various affluents of the river. Sixty warriors, evidently fugitives from the last insurrection, had now assembled, and were returning, more or less wounded in the fray, to the mountain districts. Sometimes a song arose from the canoes, as they advanced in single file. One native struck up the patriotic ode of the mysterious "Pihé," the national hymn that calls the Maoris to battle. The full and sonorous voice of the singer waked the echoes of the mountains; and after each stanza his comrades struck their breasts, and sang the warlike verses in chorus. Then they seized their oars again, and the canoes were headed up stream. During the day a singular sight enlivened the voyage. About four o'clock the canoe, without lessening its speed, guided by the steady hand of the chief, dashed through a narrow gorge. Eddies broke violently against numerous small islands, which rendered navigation exceeding dangerous. Never could it be more hazardous to capsize, for the banks afforded no refuge, and whoever had set foot on the porous crust of the shore would probably have perished. At this point the river flowed between warm springs, oxide of iron colored the muddy ground a brilliant red, and not a yard of firm earth could be seen. The air was heavy with a penetrating sulphureous odor. The natives did not regard it, but the captives were seriously annoyed by the noxious vapors exhaled from the fissures of the soil and the bubbles that burst and discharged their gaseous contents. Yet, however disagreeable these emanations were, the eye could not but admire this magnificent spectacle. [Illustration: At this point the river flowed between warm springs, and not a yard of firm earth could be seen.] The canoes soon after entered a dense cloud of white smoke, whose wreaths rose in gradually decreasing circles above the river. On the shores a hundred geysers, some shooting forth masses of vapor, and others overflowing in liquid columns, varied their effects, like the jets and cascades of a fountain. It seemed as though some engineer was directing at his pleasure the outflowings of these springs, as the waters and vapor, mingling in the air, formed rainbows in the sunbeams. For two miles the canoes glided within this vapory atmosphere, enveloped in its warm waves that rolled along the surface of the water. Then the sulphureous smoke disappeared, and a pure swift current of fresh air refreshed the panting voyagers. The region of the springs was passed. Before the close of the day two more rapids were ascended, and at evening Kai-Koumou encamped a hundred miles above the junction of the two streams. The river now turned towards the east, and then again flowed southward into Lake Taupo. The next morning Jacques Paganel consulted his map and discovered on the right bank Mount Taubara, which rises to the height of three thousand feet. At noon the whole fleet of boats entered Lake Taupo, and the natives hailed with frantic gestures a shred of cloth that waved in the wind from the roof of a hut. It was the national flag. CHAPTER XLIX. A MOMENTOUS INTERVIEW. [Sidenote: NEW ZEALAND TOPOGRAPHY.] Long before historic times, an abyss, twenty-five miles long and twenty wide, must at some period have been formed by a subsidence of subterranean caverns in the volcanic district forming the centre of the island. The waters of the surrounding country have rushed down and filled this enormous cavity, and the abyss has become a lake, whose depth no one has yet been able to measure. Such is this strange Lake Taupo, elevated eleven hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea, and surrounded by lofty mountains. On the west of the prisoners towered precipitous rocks of imposing form; on the north rose several distant ridges, crowned with small forests; on the east spread a broad plain furrowed by a trail and covered with pumice-stones that glittered beneath a net-work of bushes; and on the north, behind a stretch of woodland, volcanic peaks majestically encircled this vast extent of water, the fury of whose tempests equaled that of the ocean cyclones. But Paganel was scarcely disposed to enlarge his account of these wonders, nor were his friends in a mood to listen. They gazed in silence towards the northeast shore of the lake, whither the canoe was bringing them. The mission established at Pukawa, on the western shores, no longer existed. The missionary had been driven by the war far from the principal dwellings of the insurrectionists. The prisoners were helpless, abandoned to the mercy of the vengeful Maoris, and in that wild part of the island to which Christianity has never penetrated. Kai-Koumou, leaving the waters of the Waikato, passed through the little creek which served as an outlet to the river, doubled a sharp promontory, and landed on the eastern border of the lake, at the base of the first slopes of Mount Manga. A quarter of a mile distant, on a buttress of the mountain, appeared a "pah," a Maori fortification, situated in an impregnable position. The prisoners were taken ashore, with their hands and feet free, and conducted thither by the warriors. After quite a long détour, Glenarvan and his companions reached the pah. [Illustration: At noon the whole fleet of boats entered Lake Taupo.] [Illustration: On their arrival, the captives were terribly impressed at sight of the heads that ornamented the stakes of the second inclosure.] This fortress was defended by an outer rampart of strong palisades, fifteen feet high. A second line of stakes, and then a fence of osiers, pierced with loop-holes, inclosed the inner space, the court-yard of the pah, in which stood several Maori tents, and forty huts which were symmetrically arranged. On their arrival, the captives were terribly impressed at sight of the heads that ornamented the stakes of the second inclosure. Lady Helena and Mary Grant turned away their eyes with more of disgust than terror. These heads had most of them belonged to hostile chiefs, fallen in battle, whose bodies had served as food for the conquerors. The geographer knew them to be such by their hollow and eyeless sockets! In Kai-Koumou's pah only the heads of his enemies formed this frightful museum; and here, doubtless, more than one English skull had served to increase the size of the chief's collection. His hut, among those belonging to warriors of lower rank, stood at the rear of the pah, in front of a large open terrace. This structure was built of stakes, interlaced with branches, and lined inside with flax matting. Only one opening gave access to the dwelling. A thick curtain, made of a vegetable tissue, served as a door. The roof projected so as to form a water-shed. Several faces, carved at the ends of the rafters, adorned the hut, and the curtain was covered with various imitations of foliage, symbolical figures, monsters, and graceful sculpturing, a curious piece of work, fashioned by the scissors of the native decorators. [Sidenote: FEMININE ORATORY.] Inside of the habitation the floor was made of hard-trodden earth, and raised six inches above the ground. Several rush screens and some mattresses, covered with woven matting of long leaves and twigs, served as beds. In the middle of the room a hole in a stone formed the fireplace, and another in the roof answered for a chimney. The smoke, when it became sufficiently thick, perforce escaped at this outlet, but it of course blackened the walls of the house. On one side of the hut were storehouses, containing the chief's provisions, his harvest of flax, potatoes, and edible ferns, and the ovens where the various articles of food were cooked by contact with heated stones. Farther off, in small pens, pigs and goats were confined, and dogs ran about seeking their scanty sustenance. They were rather poorly kept, for animals that formed the Maori daily food. Glenarvan and his companions had taken in the whole at a glance. They awaited beside an empty hut the good pleasure of the chief, exposed to the insults of a crowd of old women, who surrounded them like harpies, and threatened them with their fists, crying and howling. Several English words that passed their lips clearly indicated that they were demanding immediate vengeance. In the midst of these cries and threats, Lady Helena affected a calmness that she could not feel in her heart. This courageous woman, in order that her husband's coolness might not forsake him, heroically controlled her emotions. Poor Mary Grant felt herself growing weak, and Captain Mangles supported her, ready to die in her defence. The others endured this torrent of invectives in various ways, either indifferent like the major, or increasingly annoyed like Paganel. Glenarvan, wishing to relieve Lady Helena from the assaults of these shrews, boldly approached Kai-Koumou, and, pointing to the hideous throng, said: "Drive them away!" The Maori chief gazed steadily at his prisoner without replying. Then with a gesture he silenced the noisy horde. Glenarvan bowed in token of thanks, and slowly resumed his place among his friends. Kai-Koumou, fearing an insurrection of the fanatics of his tribe, now led his captives to a sacred place, situated at the other end of the pah, on the edge of a precipice. This hut rested against a rock that rose a hundred feet above it and was a steep boundary to this side of the fortification. In this consecrated temple the priests, or "arikis," instruct the New Zealanders. The building was spacious and tightly closed, and contained the holy and chosen food of the god. Here the prisoners, temporarily sheltered from the fury of the natives, stretched themselves on the flax mats. Lady Helena, her strength exhausted and her energy overcome, sank into her husband's arms. Glenarvan pressed her to his breast, and said: "Courage, my dear Helena; Heaven will not forsake us!" Robert was scarcely within the hut before he climbed on Wilson's shoulders, and succeeded in thrusting his head through an opening between the roof and the wall, where strings of pipes were hanging. From this point his view commanded the whole extent of the pah, as far as Kai-Koumou's hut. "They have gathered around the chief," said he, in a low voice. "They are waving their arms, and howling. Kai-Koumou is going to speak." The boy was silent for a few moments, then continued: "Kai-Koumou is speaking. The savages grow calm; they listen." "This chief," said the major, "has evidently a personal interest in protecting us. He wishes to exchange his prisoners for some chiefs of his tribe. But will his warriors consent?" "Yes, they are listening to him," continued Robert. "They are dispersing; some return to their huts,--others leave the fortification." "Is it really so?" cried the major. "Yes, Mr. MacNabb," replied Robert. "Kai-Koumou remains alone with the warriors that were in the canoe. Ha! one of them is coming towards us!" [Illustration: Robert was scarcely within the hut before he climbed on Wilson's shoulders, and succeeded in thrusting his head through an opening.] "Get down, Robert," said Glenarvan. At this moment Lady Helena, who had risen, seized her husband's arm. "Edward," said she, in a firm voice, "neither Mary Grant nor I shall fall alive into the hands of those savages!" And, so saying, she presented to her husband a loaded revolver. "A weapon!" exclaimed Glenarvan, whose eyes suddenly brightened. "Yes. The Maoris do not search their female prisoners; but this weapon is for us, Edward, not for them." "Glenarvan," said MacNabb quickly, "hide the revolver. It is not time yet." The weapon was immediately concealed in his clothes. The mat that closed the entrance of the hut was raised. A native appeared. He made a sign to the captives to follow him. Glenarvan and his companions passed through the pah, and stopped before Kai-Koumou. Around him were assembled the principal warriors of his tribe, among whom was seen the chief whose canoe had first joined Kai-Koumou on the river. He was a man of about forty, robust, and of fierce and cruel aspect. His name was Kara-Tété, which means in the native language "The Irascible." Kai-Koumou treated him with some respect, and from the delicacy of his tattooing it was evident that he occupied a high rank in his tribe. An observer, however, would have detected a rivalry between the two chiefs. The major, indeed, perceived that Kara-Tété's influence surpassed that of Kai-Koumou. They both ruled the powerful tribes of the Waikato with equal rank; and, during this interview, although Kai-Koumou smiled, his eyes betrayed a deep hostility. He now questioned Glenarvan. "You are English?" said he. "Yes," replied Glenarvan, without hesitation, for this nationality would probably facilitate an exchange. [Sidenote: THE RATE OF BARTER.] "And your companions?" asked Kai-Koumou. "My companions are also English. We are shipwrecked travelers, and, if you care to know, we have taken no part in the war." "No matter," replied Kara-Tété, brutally. "Every Englishman is our enemy. Your people have invaded our island. They have stolen away our fields; they have burned our villages." "They have done wrong," said Glenarvan, in a grave tone. "I say so because I think so, and not because I am in your power." "Listen," continued Kai-Koumou. "Tohonga, the high-priest of Nouï-Atoua, has fallen into the hands of your brothers. He is prisoner of the Pakekas (Europeans). Our god commands us to ransom his life. I would have torn out your heart, I would have hung your companions' heads and yours forever to the stakes of this palisade. But Nouï-Atoua has spoken." So saying, Kai-Koumou, who had hitherto controlled himself, trembled with rage, and his countenance was flushed with a fierce exultation. Then, after a few moments, he resumed, more coolly: "Do you think the English will give us our Tohonga in exchange for you?" Glenarvan hesitated, and watched the Maori chief very attentively. "I do not know," said he, after a moment's silence. "Speak," continued Kai-Koumou. "Is your life worth that of our Tohonga?" "No," answered Glenarvan. "I am neither a chief nor a priest among my people." Paganel was astounded at this reply, and gazed at Glenarvan in profound wonder. Kai-Koumou seemed equally surprised. "Then you doubt it?" said he. "I do not know," repeated Glenarvan. "Will not your people accept you in exchange for our Tohonga?" "Not me alone," replied Glenarvan; "but perhaps all of us." "Among the Maoris," said Kai-Koumou, "it is one for one." "Offer these ladies first in exchange for your priest," answered Glenarvan, pointing to Lady Helena and Mary Grant. Lady Helena would have rushed towards her husband, but the major restrained her. "These two ladies," continued Glenarvan, turning respectfully towards them, "hold a high rank in their country." The warrior glanced coldly at his prisoner. A malicious smile passed over his face; but he almost instantly repressed it, and replied, in a voice which he could scarcely control: "Do you hope, then, to deceive Kai-Koumou by false words, cursed European? Do you think that Kai-Koumou's eyes cannot read your heart?" Then, pointing to Lady Helena, he said: "That is your wife!" "No, mine!" cried Kara-Tété. Then, pushing back the prisoners, the chief laid his hand on Lady Helena's shoulder, who grew pale at the touch. "Edward!" cried the unfortunate woman, in terror. Glenarvan, without uttering a word, raised his arm. A report resounded. Kara-Tété fell dead. At this sound a crowd of natives issued from the huts. The pah was filled in an instant. A hundred arms were raised against the captives. Glenarvan's revolver was snatched from his hand. Kai-Koumou cast a strange look at Glenarvan, and then, guarding with one hand the person of him who had fired, he controlled with the other the throng that was rushing upon the Europeans. [Illustration: At last his voice rose above the tumult. "Taboo! taboo!" cried he.] At last his voice rose above the tumult. "Taboo! taboo!" cried he. At this word the crowd fell back before Glenarvan and his companions, thus temporarily preserved by a supernatural power. A few moments after they were led back to the temple that served as their prison; but Robert Grant and Paganel were no longer with them. CHAPTER L. THE CHIEF'S FUNERAL. Kai-Koumou, according to a custom quite ordinary in New Zealand, joined the rank of priest to that of chief, and could, therefore, extend to persons or objects the superstitious protection of the taboo. The taboo, which is common to the tribes of Polynesia, has the power to prohibit at once all connection with the object or person tabooed. According to the Maori religion, whoever should lay his sacrilegious hand on what is declared taboo would be punished with death by the offended god; and in case the divinity should delay to avenge his own insult, the priests would not fail to excite his anger. As for the prisoners confined in the temple, the taboo had rescued them from the fury of the tribe. Some of the natives, the friends and partisans of Kai-Koumou, had stopped suddenly at the command of their chief, and had protected the captives. [Sidenote: THE TORTURES OF SUSPENSE.] Glenarvan, however, was not blind to the fate that was reserved for him. Only his death could atone for the murder of a chief. Among savage races death is always preceded by a protracted torture. He therefore expected to cruelly expiate the righteous indignation that had nerved his arm, but hoped that Kai-Koumou's rage would fall only on himself. What a night he and his companions passed! Who could depict their anguish, or measure their sufferings? Neither poor Robert nor brave Paganel had reappeared. But how could they doubt their fate? Were they not the first victims of the natives' vengeance? All hope had vanished even from the heart of the major, who did not easily despair. John Mangles felt himself growing mad at sight of the sad dejection of Mary Grant, thus separated from her brother. Glenarvan thought of that terrible request of Lady Helena, who, rather than yield to torture or slavery, preferred to die by his hand. Could he summon this fearful courage? As for an escape, that was plainly impossible. Ten warriors, armed to the teeth, guarded the entrance of the temple. Morning came at last. There had been no communication between the natives and the prisoners. The hut contained a considerable quantity of food, which the unfortunates scarcely touched. Hunger gave place to grief. The day passed without bringing a change or a hope. Doubtless the hour for the dead chief's funeral and their torture would be the same. However, although Glenarvan concluded that Kai-Koumou must have abandoned all idea of exchange, the major on this point retained a gleam of hope. "Who knows," said he, reminding Glenarvan of the effect produced upon the chief by the death of Kara-Tété,--"who knows but that Kai-Koumou in reality feels obliged to you?" But, in spite of these observations, Glenarvan would no longer hope. The next day also passed away without the preparations for torture being made. The reason of the delay was this. The Maoris believe that the soul, for three days after death, inhabits the body of the deceased, and therefore during this time the corpse remains unburied. This custom was rigorously observed, and for two days the pah was deserted. Captain Mangles frequently stood on Wilson's shoulders and surveyed the fortification. No native was seen; only the sentinels guarded in turn at the door of their prison. But on the third day the huts were opened. The savages, men, women, and children, to the number of several hundreds, assembled in the pah, silent and calm. Kai-Koumou came out of his house, and, surrounded by the principal warriors of his tribe, took his place on a mound several feet high in the centre of the fortification. The crowd of natives formed a semicircle around him, and the whole assembly preserved absolute silence. At a sign from the chief, a warrior advanced towards the temple. "Remember!" said Lady Helena to her husband. Glenarvan clasped his wife to his heart. At this moment Mary Grant approached John Mangles. "Lord and Lady Glenarvan," said she, "I think that, if a wife can die by the hand of her husband to escape a degrading existence, a maiden can likewise die by the hand of her lover. John (for I may tell you at this critical moment), have I not long been your betrothed in the depths of your heart? May I rely upon you, dear John, as Lady Helena does upon Lord Glenarvan?" "Mary!" cried the young captain, in terror. "Ah! dear Mary----" He could not finish: the mat was raised, and the captives were dragged towards Kai-Koumou. The two women were resigned to their fate, while the men concealed their anguish beneath a calmness that showed superhuman self-control. They came before the chief, who did not delay sentence. "You killed Kara-Tété!" said he to Glenarvan. "I did." [Sidenote: THE BEGINNING OF THE END.] "You shall die to-morrow at sunrise." "Alone?" inquired Glenarvan, whose heart beat quickly. "What! as if our Tohonga's life were not more precious than yours!" cried Kai-Koumou, whose eyes expressed a fierce regret. At this moment a commotion took place among the natives. Glenarvan cast a rapid glance around him. The crowd opened, and a warrior, dripping with sweat and overcome with fatigue, appeared. As soon as Kai-Koumou perceived him, he said in English, evidently that he might be understood by the captives: "You come from the camp of the pale-faces?" "Yes," replied the Maori. "You saw the prisoner, our Tohonga?" "I did." "Is he living?" "He is dead! The English have shot him." The fate of Glenarvan and his companions was settled. "You shall all die to-morrow at daybreak!" cried Kai-Koumou. The unfortunates were therefore to suffer a common death. Lady Helena and Mary Grant raised towards heaven a look of thankfulness. The captives were not taken back to the temple. They were to attend that day the funeral of the dead chief, and the bloody ceremonies connected therewith. A party of natives conducted them to the foot of an enormous koudi, where these guardians remained without losing sight of their prisoners. The rest of the tribe, absorbed in their official mourning, seemed to have forgotten them. The customary three days had elapsed since the death of Kara-Tété. The soul of the deceased had therefore forever abandoned its mortal abode. The sacred rites began. The body was carried to a small mound in the centre of the fortification, clothed in splendid costume, and enveloped in a magnificent flaxen mat. The head was adorned with plumes, and wore a crown of green leaves. The face, arms, and breast had been rubbed with oil, and therefore showed no mortification. The parents and friends of the deceased came to the foot of the mound, and all at once, as if some director were beating time to a funeral dirge, a great concert of cries, groans, and sobs arose on the air. They mourned the dead in plaintive and modulated cadences. His relations struck their heads together; his kinswomen lacerated their faces with their nails, and showed themselves more lavish of blood than of tears. These unfortunate females conscientiously fulfilled their barbarous duty. But these demonstrations were not enough to appease the soul of the deceased, whose wrath would doubtless have smitten the survivors of his tribe; and his warriors, as they could not recall him to life, wished that he should have no cause to regret in the other world the happiness of this. Kara-Tété's wife was not to forsake her husband in the tomb. Moreover, the unfortunate woman would not have been allowed to survive him; it was the custom, in accordance with duty, and examples of such sacrifices are not wanting in New Zealand history. The woman appeared. She was still young. Her hair floated in disorder over her shoulders. Vague words, lamentations, and broken phrases, in which she celebrated the virtues of the dead, interrupted her groans; and, in a final paroxysm of grief, she stretched herself at the foot of the mound, beating the ground with her head. At this moment Kai-Koumou approached her. Suddenly the unfortunate victim rose; but a violent blow with the "méré," a formidable club, wielded by the hand of the chief, struck her lifeless to the earth. [Sidenote: POOR HUMANITY!] Frightful cries at once broke forth. A hundred arms threatened the captives, who trembled at the horrible sight. But no one stirred, for the funeral ceremonies were not ended. Kara-Tété's wife had joined her husband in the other world. Both bodies lay side by side. But for the eternal life his faithful spouse could not alone suffice the deceased. Who would serve them in presence of Nouï-Atoua, if their slaves did not follow them? Six unfortunates were brought before the corpse of their master and mistress. They were servants, whom the pitiless laws of war had reduced to slavery. During the life of the chief they had undergone the severest privations, suffered a thousand abuses, had been scantily fed, and compelled constantly to labor like beasts; and now, according to the Maori belief, they were to continue their existence of servitude for eternity. They appeared to be resigned to their fate, and were not astonished at a sacrifice they had long anticipated. Their freedom from all bonds showed that they would meet death unresistingly. Moreover, this death was rapid, protracted sufferings were spared them. These were reserved for the captives who stood trembling not twenty paces distant. Six blows of the méré, given by six stalwart warriors, stretched the victims on the ground in a pool of blood. It was the signal for a terrible scene of cannibalism, which followed in all its horrible details. Glenarvan and his companions, breathless with fright, strove to hide this awful scene from the eyes of the two unhappy ladies. They now understood what awaited them at sunrise the next day, and what cruel tortures would doubtless precede such a death. They were dumb with horror. The funeral dance now began. Strong spirits, extracted from an indigenous plant, maddened the savages till they seemed no longer human. Would they not forget the taboo of the chief, and throw themselves in their final outbreaks upon the prisoners who trembled at their frenzy? [Illustration: A terrible scene of cannibalism, which followed in all its horrible details.] [Illustration: The corpses, folded together, in a sitting posture, and tied in their clothes by a girdle of withes, were placed on this primitive bier.] But Kai-Koumou had preserved his reason in the midst of the general intoxication. He allowed this bloody orgy an hour to reach its utmost intensity. The last act of the funeral was played with the usual rites. The bodies of Kara-Tété and his wife were taken up, and their limbs bent and gathered against the stomach, according to the New Zealand custom. The place for the tomb had been chosen outside of the fortification, about two miles distant, on the summit of a small mountain, called Maunganamu, situated on the right shore of the lake. Thither the bodies were to be carried. Two very rude palanquins, or rather litters, were brought to the foot of the mound. The corpses, folded together, in a sitting posture, and tied in their clothes by a girdle of withes, were placed on this primitive bier. Four warriors bore it between them, and the entire tribe, chanting the funeral hymn, followed them in procession to the place of burial. The captives, who were always watched, saw them leave the inner inclosure of the pah, and then the songs and cries gradually died away. For about half an hour this funeral escort continued in sight, in the depths of the valley. Finally they perceived it again winding along the mountain paths. The distance gave a fantastic appearance to the undulating movements of the long, sinuous column. The tribe stopped at the summit of the mountain, which was eight hundred feet high, at the place prepared for Kara-Tété's interment. A common Maori would have had only a hole and a heap of stones for a grave; but for a powerful and dreaded chief, destined doubtless for a speedy deification, a tomb worthy of his exploits was reserved. [Sidenote: THE LAST NIGHT.] The sepulchre had been surrounded by palisades, while stakes, ornamented with faces reddened with ochre, stood beside the grave where the bodies were to lie. The relatives had not forgotten that the "waidoua" (the spirit of the dead) feeds on substantial nourishment like the body during this perishable life. Food had therefore been deposited in the inclosure, together with the weapons and clothes of the deceased. Nothing was wanting for the comfort of the tomb. Husband and wife were laid side by side, and then covered with earth and grass after a series of renewed lamentations. Then the procession silently descended the mountain, and now no one could ascend it under penalty of death, for it was tabooed. CHAPTER LI. STRANGELY LIBERATED. Just as the sun was disappearing behind Lake Taupo, the captives were led back to their prison. They were not to leave it again until the summit of the Wahiti mountains should kindle with the first beams of the day. One night remained to prepare for death. In spite of the faintness, in spite of the horror with which they were seized, they shared their repast in common. "We shall need all the strength possible to face death," said Glenarvan. "We must show these barbarians how Europeans and Christians can die." The meal being finished, Lady Helena repeated the evening prayer aloud, while all her companions, with uncovered heads, joined her. Having fulfilled this duty, and enjoyed this privilege, the prisoners embraced each other. Lady Helena and Mary Grant then retired to one corner of the hut, and stretched themselves upon a mat. Sleep, which soothes all woes, soon closed their eyes, and they slumbered in each other's arms, overcome by fatigue and long wakefulness. Glenarvan, taking his friends aside, said: "My dear companions, our lives and those of these poor ladies are in God's hands. If Heaven has decreed that we shall die to-morrow, we can, I am sure, die like brave people, like Christians, ready to appear fearlessly before the final Judge. God, who does read the secrets of the soul, knows that we are fulfilling a noble mission. If death awaits us instead of success, it is his will. However severe his decree may be, I shall not murmur against it. But this is not death alone; it is torture, disgrace; and here are two women----" Glenarvan's voice, hitherto firm, now faltered. He paused to control his emotion. After a moment's silence, he said to the young captain: "John, you have promised Mary Grant what I have promised Lady Helena. What have you resolved?" "This promise," replied John Mangles, "I believe I have the right in the sight of God to fulfill." "Yes, John; but we have no weapons." "Here is one," answered John, displaying a poniard. "I snatched it from Kara-Tété's hands when he fell at your feet. My lord, he of us who survives the other shall fulfill this vow." At these words a profound silence reigned in the hut. At last the major interrupted it by saying: "My friends, reserve this extreme measure till the last moment. I am no advocate of what is irremediable." "I do not speak for ourselves," replied Glenarvan. "We can brave death, whatever it may be. Ah, if we were alone! Twenty times already would I have urged you to make a sally and attack those wretches. But _they_----" [Sidenote: THE APPROACH OF DAY.] At this moment Captain Mangles raised the mat and counted twenty-five natives, who were watching at the door of their prison. A great fire had been kindled, which cast a dismal light over the irregular outlines of the pah. Some of these savages were stretched around the fire; and others, standing and motionless, were darkly defined against the bright curtain of flame. It is said that, between the jailer who watches and the prisoner who wishes to escape, the chances are on the side of the latter. Indeed, the design of one is stronger than that of the other, for the first may forget that he is guarding, but the second cannot forget that he is guarded; the captive thinks oftener of escaping than his guardian thinks of preventing his escape. But here it was hate and vengeance that watched the prisoners, and not an indifferent jailer. They had not been bound, for bonds were useless where twenty-five men guarded the only outlet of the prison. This hut was built against the rock that terminated the fortification, and was only accessible by a narrow passage that connected it with the front of the pah. The other two sides of the building were flanked by towering precipices, and stood on the verge of an abyss a hundred feet deep. A descent this way was therefore impossible. There was no chance of escaping in the rear, which was guarded by the enormous rock. The only exit was the door of the temple, and the Maoris defended the narrow passage that connected it with the pah. All escape was therefore out of the question; and Glenarvan, after examining the walls of his prison, was forced to acknowledge this disheartening fact. Meantime, the hours of this night of anguish were passing away. Dense darkness had covered the mountain. Neither moon nor stars illumined the deep shades. A few gusts of wind swept along the side of the pah. The stakes of the hut groaned, the fire of the natives suddenly revived at this passing draught, and the flames cast rapid flashes into the temple, illumining for a moment the group of prisoners. These poor people were absorbed with their last thoughts; a deathly silence reigned in the hut. It must have been about four o'clock in the morning, when the major's attention was attracted by a slight sound that seemed to come from behind the rear stakes, in the back wall that lay towards the rock. At first he was indifferent to the noise, but finding that it continued, he listened. At last, puzzled by its persistence, he put his ear close to the ground to hear better. It seemed as if some one was scraping and digging outside. When he was certain of this fact, he passed quietly towards Glenarvan and the captain, and led them to the rear of the hut. "Listen," said he, in a low voice, motioning to them to bend down. The scrapings became more and more audible. They could hear the little stones grate under the pressure of a sharp instrument and fall down outside. "Some creature in its burrow," said Captain Mangles. Glenarvan, with bewildered gaze, stood astonished. "Who knows," said he, "but that it is a man?" "Man or animal," replied the major, "I will know what is going on." Wilson and Olbinett joined their companions, and all began to dig in the wall, the captain with his poniard, the others with stones pulled out of the ground, or with their nails, while Mulready, stretched on the earth, watched the group of natives through the loop-hole of the mat. But they were motionless around the fire, and did not suspect what was transpiring twenty paces from them. The soil was loose and crumbling, and lay upon a bed of clay, so that, in spite of the want of tools, the hole rapidly enlarged. It was soon evident that somebody, clinging to the sides of the pah, was making a passage in its outer wall. What could be the object? Did he know of the existence of the prisoners, or could a mere chance attempt at escape explain the work that seemed nearly completed? [Sidenote: HEAVENLY HELP FROM AN EARTHLY HAND.] The captives redoubled their efforts. Their lacerated fingers bled, but still they dug on. After half an hour's labor, the hole they were drilling had reached a depth of three feet. They could perceive by the sounds, which were now more distinct, that only a thin layer of earth prevented immediate communication. A few moments more elapsed, when suddenly the major drew back his hand, which was cut by a sharp blade. He suppressed a cry that was about to escape him. Captain Mangles, holding out his poniard, avoided the knife that was moving out of the ground, but seized the hand that held it. It was the hand of a woman or a youth, a European hand. Not a word had been uttered on either side. There was plainly an object in keeping silent. "Is it Robert?" murmured Glenarvan. But, though only whispering this name, Mary Grant, awakened by the movement that was taking place in the hut, glided towards Glenarvan, and, seizing this hand all soiled with mud, covered it with kisses. "It is you! it is you!" cried the young girl, who could not be mistaken, "you, my Robert!" "Yes, little sister," replied Robert, "I am here to save you all! But silence!" "Brave lad!" repeated Glenarvan. "Keep watch of the savages outside," continued Robert. Mulready, whose attention had been diverted for a moment by the appearance of the hand, resumed his post of observation. "All is well," said he. "Only four warriors are watching now. The others have fallen asleep." "Courage!" replied Wilson. In an instant the hole was widened, and Robert passed from the arms of his sister into those of Lady Helena. Around his body was wound a rope of flax. "My boy! my boy!" murmured Lady Helena; "these savages did not kill you?" "No, madam," replied Robert. "Somehow, during the uproar, I succeeded in escaping their vigilance. I crossed the yard. For two days I kept hidden behind the bushes. At night I wandered about, longing to see you again. While the tribe were occupied with the funeral of the chief, I came and examined this side of the fortification, where the prison stands, and saw that I could reach you. I stole this knife and rope in a deserted hut. The tufts of grass and the bushes helped me to climb. By chance I found a kind of grotto hollowed out in the very rock against which this hut rests. I had only a few feet to dig in the soft earth, and here I am." Twenty silent kisses were his only answer. "Let us start," said he, in a decided tone. "Is Paganel below?" inquired Glenarvan. "Mr. Paganel?" repeated the boy, surprised apparently at the question. "Yes; is he waiting for us?" "No, my lord. What! is he not here?" "He is not, Robert," replied Mary Grant. "What! have you not seen him?" exclaimed Glenarvan. "Did you not meet each other in the confusion? Did you not escape together?" "No, my lord," answered Robert, at a loss to understand the disappearance of his friend Paganel. "Let us start," said the major; "there is not a moment to lose. Wherever Paganel may be, his situation cannot be worse than ours here. Let us go." Indeed, the moments were precious. It was high time to start. The escape presented no great difficulties, but for the almost perpendicular wall of rock outside of the grotto, twenty feet high. The declivity then sloped quite gently to the base of the mountain, from which point the captives could quickly gain the lower valleys, while the Maoris, if they chanced to discover their flight, would be forced to make a very long détour, since they were not aware of the passage that had been dug in the mountain. [Illustration: First her husband, and then she, slid down the rope to the point where the perpendicular wall met the summit of the slope.] They now prepared to escape, and every precaution was taken to insure their success. The captives crawled one by one through the narrow passage, and found themselves in the grotto. Captain Mangles, before leaving the hut, concealed all traces of their work, and glided in his turn through the opening, which he closed with the mats. Their outlet was therefore entirely hidden. The object now was to descend the perpendicular wall of rock, which would have been impossible if Robert had not brought the flax rope. It was unwound, fastened to a point of rock, and thrown over the declivity. Before allowing his friends to trust their weight to these flaxen fibres, Captain Mangles tested them. They seemed to be quite strong, but it would not answer to venture rashly, for a fall might be fatal. "This rope," said he, "can only bear the weight of two bodies, and we must therefore act accordingly. Let Lord and Lady Glenarvan slide down first. When they have reached the bottom, three shakes at the rope will be the signal to follow them." "I will go first," replied Robert. "I have discovered at the base of the slope a sort of deep excavation, where those who descend first can wait for the others in safety." "Go then, my boy," said Glenarvan, clasping the boy's hand. Robert disappeared through the opening of the grotto. A moment after, three shakes of the rope informed them that he had accomplished his descent successfully. Glenarvan and Lady Helena now ventured out of the grotto. The darkness below was still profound, but the gray light of dawn was already tinging the top of the mountain. The keen cold of the morning reanimated the young wife; she felt stronger, and commenced her perilous escape. [Sidenote: A PRECIPITATE DESCENT.] First her husband, and then she, slid down the rope to the point where the perpendicular wall met the summit of the slope. Then Glenarvan, going before his wife and assisting her, began to descend the declivity of the mountain backwards. He sought for tufts of grass and bushes that offered a point of support, and tried them before placing Lady Helena's feet upon them. Several birds, suddenly awakened, flew away with shrill cries, and the fugitives shuddered when a large stone rolled noisily to the base of the mountain. They had accomplished half the distance when a voice was heard at the opening of the grotto. "Stop!" whispered Captain Mangles. Glenarvan, clinging with one hand to a tuft of grass and holding his wife with the other, waited, scarcely breathing. Wilson had taken alarm. Hearing some noise outside, he had returned to the hut, and, raising the mat, watched the Maoris. At a sign from him the captain had stopped Glenarvan. In truth, one of the warriors, startled by some unaccustomed sound, had risen and approached the prison. Standing two paces from the hut, he listened with lowered head. He remained in this attitude for a moment, that seemed an hour, with ear intent and eye on the alert. Then, shaking his head as a man who is mistaken, he returned to his companions, took an armful of dead wood and threw it on the half-extinct fire, whose flames revived. His face, brightly illumined by the blaze, betrayed no more anxiety, and, after gazing at the first glimmers of dawn that tinged the horizon, he stretched himself beside the fire to warm his cold limbs. "All right!" said Wilson. The captain made a sign to Glenarvan to continue his descent. The latter, accordingly, slid gently down the slope, and soon Lady Helena and he stood on the narrow path where Robert was waiting for them. The rope was shaken three times, and next Captain Mangles, followed by Mary Grant, took the same perilous course. They were successful, and joined Lord and Lady Glenarvan. Five minutes later all the fugitives, after their fortunate escape from the hut, left this temporary retreat, and, avoiding the inhabited shores of the lake, made their way by narrow paths farther down the mountain. They advanced rapidly, seeking to avoid all points where they might be seen. They did not speak, but glided like shadows through the bushes. Where were they going? At random, it is true, but they were free. About five o'clock day began to break. Purple tints colored the lofty banks of clouds. The mountain peaks emerged from the mists of the morning. The orb of day would not be long in appearing, and instead of being the signal for torture, was to betray the flight of the condemned. Before this dreaded moment arrived it was important that the fugitives should be beyond the reach of the savages. But they could not advance quickly, for the paths were steep. Lady Helena scaled the declivities, supported and even carried by Glenarvan, while Mary Grant leaned upon the arm of her betrothed. Robert, happy and triumphant, whose heart was full of joy at his success, took the lead, followed by the two sailors. For half an hour the fugitives wandered at a venture. Paganel was not there to guide them,--Paganel, the object of their fears, whose absence cast a dark shadow over their happiness. However, they proceeded towards the east as well as possible, in the face of a magnificent dawn. They had soon reached an elevation of five hundred feet above Lake Taupo, and the morning air at this altitude was keen and cold. Hills and mountains rose one above another in indistinct outlines; but Glenarvan only wished to conceal himself and his companions. Afterwards they would see about issuing from this winding labyrinth. [Illustration: They saw, but were also seen.] At last the sun appeared and flashed his first rays into the faces of the fugitives. Suddenly a terrible yelling, the concentrated union of a hundred voices, broke forth upon the air. It rose from the pah, whose exact position Glenarvan did not now know. Moreover, a thick curtain of mist stretched at their feet, and prevented them from distinguishing the valleys below. But the fugitives could not doubt that their escape had been discovered. Could they elude the pursuit of the natives? Had they been perceived? Would their tracks betray them? At this moment the lower strata of vapor rose, enveloping them for an instant in a moist cloud, and they discerned, three hundred feet below them, the frantic crowd of savages. They saw, but were also seen. Renewed yells resounded, mingled with barks; and the whole tribe, after vainly endeavoring to climb the rock, rushed out of the inclosure and hastened by the shortest paths in pursuit of the prisoners, who fled in terror from their vengeance. CHAPTER LII. THE SACRED MOUNTAIN. The summit of the mountain was a hundred feet higher. It was important for the fugitives to reach it, that they might conceal themselves from the sight of the Maoris, on the opposite slope. They hoped that some practicable ridge would then enable them to gain the neighboring peaks. The ascent was, therefore, hastened, as the threatening cries came nearer and nearer. The pursuers had reached the foot of the mountain. "Courage, courage, my friends!" cried Glenarvan, urging his companions with word and gesture. [Sidenote: A SCENE OF ENCHANTMENT.] In less than five minutes they reached the top of the mountain. Here they turned around to consider their situation, and take some route by which they might evade the Maoris. From this height the prospect commanded Lake Taupo, which extended towards the west in its picturesque frame of hills. To the north rose the peaks of Pirongia; to the south the flaming crater of Tongariro. But towards the east the view was limited by a barrier of peaks and ridges. Glenarvan cast an anxious glance around him. The mist had dissolved under the rays of the sun, and his eye could clearly distinguish the least depressions of the earth. No movement of the Maoris could escape his sight. The natives were not five hundred feet distant, when they reached the plateau upon which the solitary peak rested. Glenarvan could not, for ever so short a time, delay longer. At all hazards they must fly, at the risk of being hemmed in on all sides. "Let us go down," cried he, "before our only way of escape is blocked up." But just as the ladies rose by a final effort, MacNabb stopped them, and said: "It is useless, Glenarvan. Look!" And all saw, indeed, that an inexplicable change had taken place in the movements of the Maoris. Their pursuit had been suddenly interrupted. Their ascent of the mountain had ceased, as if by an imperious interdict. The crowd of natives had checked their swiftness, and halted, like the waves of the sea before an impassable rock. All the savages, thirsting for blood, were now ranged along the foot of the mountain, yelling, gesticulating, and brandishing guns and hatchets; but they did not advance a single foot. Their dogs, like themselves, as though chained to earth, howled with rage. What was the difficulty? What invisible power restrained the natives? The fugitives gazed without comprehending, fearing that the charm that enchained Kai-Koumou's tribe would dissolve. Suddenly Captain Mangles uttered a cry that caused his companions to turn. He pointed to a little fortress at the summit of the peak. "The tomb of the chief Kara-Tété!" cried Robert. "Are you in earnest?" asked Glenarvan. "Yes, my lord, it is the tomb; I recognize it." Robert was right. Fifty feet above, at the extreme point of the mountain, stood a small palisaded inclosure of freshly-painted stakes. Glenarvan, likewise, recognized the sepulchre of the Maori chief. In their wanderings they had come to the top of the Maunganamu, where Kara-Tété had been buried. Followed by his companions, he climbed the sides of the peak, to the very foot of the tomb. A large opening, covered with mats, formed the entrance. Glenarvan was about to enter, when, all at once, he started back suddenly. "A savage!" said he. "A savage in this tomb?" inquired the major. "Yes, MacNabb." "What matter? Let us enter." Glenarvan, the major, Robert, and Captain Mangles passed into the inclosure. A Maori was there, clad in a great flax mantle. The darkness of the sepulchre did not permit them to distinguish his features. He appeared very calm, and was eating his breakfast with the most perfect indifference. Glenarvan was about to address him, when the native, anticipating him, said, in an amiable tone, and in excellent English: "Be seated, my dear lord; breakfast is awaiting you." It was Paganel. At his voice all rushed into the tomb, and gazed with wonder at the worthy geographer. Paganel was found! The common safety was represented in him. They were going to question him: they wished to know how and why he was on the top of the mountain; but Glenarvan checked this unseasonable curiosity. [Illustration: "Be seated, my dear lord; breakfast is awaiting you."] "The savages!" said he. "The savages," replied Paganel, shrugging his shoulders, "are individuals whom I supremely despise." "But can they not----?" "They! the imbeciles! Come and see them." Each followed Paganel, who issued from the tomb. The Maoris were in the same place, surrounding the foot of the peak, and uttering terrible cries. "Cry and howl till you are tired, miserable creatures!" said Paganel. "I defy you to climb this mountain!" "And why?" asked Glenarvan. "Because the chief is buried here; this tomb protects us, and the mountain is tabooed." "Tabooed?" "Yes, my friends; and that is why I took refuge here, as in one of those asylums of the Middle Ages, open to unfortunates." Indeed, the mountain was tabooed, and by this consecration had become inaccessible by the superstitious savages. The safety of the fugitives was not yet certain, but there was a salutary respite, of which they strove to take advantage. Glenarvan, a prey to unspeakable emotion, did not venture a word; while the major nodded his head with an air of genuine satisfaction. "And now, my friends," said Paganel, "if these brutes expect us to test their patience they are mistaken. In two days we shall be beyond the reach of these rascals." "We will escape!" said Glenarvan; "but how?" "I do not know," replied Paganel, "but we will do so all the same." All now wished to hear the geographer's adventures. Strangely enough, in the case of a man loquacious usually, it was necessary to draw, as it were, the words from his mouth. He, who was so fond of telling stories, replied only in an evasive way to the questions of his friends. "Paganel has changed," thought MacNabb. [Sidenote: THE WORTH OF SPECTACLES.] Indeed, the countenance of the geographer was no longer the same. He wrapped himself gloomily in his great flaxen mantle, and seemed to shun too inquisitive looks. However, when they were all seated around him at the foot of the tomb, he related his experiences. After the death of Kara-Tété, Paganel had taken advantage, like Robert, of the confusion of the natives, and escaped from the pah. But less fortunate than young Grant, he had fallen upon an encampment of Maoris, who were commanded by a chief of fine form and intelligent appearance, who was evidently superior to all the warriors of his tribe. This chief spoke English accurately, and bade him welcome by rubbing his nose against that of the geographer. Paganel wondered whether he should consider himself a prisoner; but seeing that he could not take a step without being graciously accompanied by the chief, he soon knew how matters stood on this point. The chief, whose name was "Hihy" (sunbeam), was not a bad man. The spectacles and telescope gave him a high opinion of Paganel, whom he attached carefully to his person, not only by his benefits, but by strong flaxen ropes, especially at night. This novel situation lasted three long days. Was he well or badly treated? Both, as he stated without further explanation. In short, he was a prisoner, and, except for the prospect of immediate torture, his condition did not seem more enviable than that of his unfortunate friends. Fortunately, last night he succeeded in biting asunder his ropes and escaping. He had witnessed at a distance the burial of the chief, knew that he had been interred on the summit of Maunganamu mountain, and that it was tabooed in consequence. He therefore resolved to take refuge there, not wishing to leave the place where his companions were held captives. He succeeded in his undertaking, arrived at Kara-Tété's tomb, and waited in hope that Providence would in some way deliver his friends. Such was Paganel's story. Did he omit designedly any circumstance of his stay among the natives? More than once his embarrassment led them to suspect so. However that might be, he received unanimous congratulations; and as the past was now known, they returned to the present. Their situation was still exceedingly critical. The natives, if they did not venture to climb the mountain, expected that hunger and thirst would force their prisoners to surrender. It was only a matter of time, and the savages had great patience. Glenarvan did not disregard the difficulties of his position, but waited for the favorable issue which Providence seemed to promise. And first he wished to examine this improvised fortress; not to defend it, for an attack was not to be feared, but that he might find a way of escaping. The major and the captain, Robert, Paganel, and himself, took the exact bearings of the mountain. They observed the direction of the paths, their branches and declivities. A ridge a mile in length united the Maunganamu to the Wahiti range, and then declined to the plain. Its narrow and winding summit presented the only practicable route, in case escape should become possible. If the fugitives could pass this point unperceived, under cover of the night, perhaps they might succeed in reaching the deep valleys and outwitting the Maoris. But this course offered more than one danger, as they would have to pass below within gun-shot. The bullets of the natives on the lower ramparts of the pah might intercept them, and form a barrier that no one could safely cross. Glenarvan and his friends, as soon as they ventured on the dangerous part of the ridge, were saluted with a volley of shots; but only a few wads, borne by the wind, reached them. They were made of printed paper. Paganel picked them up out of curiosity, but it was difficult to decipher them. [Sidenote: A STRANGE COLPORTEUR.] "Why!" said he, "do you know, my friends, what these creatures use for wads in their guns?" "No," replied Glenarvan. "Leaves of the Bible! If this is the use they make of the sacred writings, I pity the missionaries. They will have difficulty in founding Maori libraries." "And what passage of the Scriptures have these natives fired at us?" asked Glenarvan. "A mighty promise of God," replied Captain Mangles, who had also read the paper. "It bids us hope in Him," added the young captain, with the unshaken conviction of his Scottish faith. "Read, John," said Glenarvan. He read this line, which had so strangely reached them: "Because he hath set his love upon Me, therefore will I deliver him:" Psalm xci. I. "My friends," said Glenarvan, "we must make known the words of hope to our brave and dear ladies. Here is something to reanimate their hearts." Glenarvan and his companions ascended the steep paths of the peak, and proceeded towards the tomb, which they wished to examine. On the way they were astonished to feel, at short intervals, a certain trembling of the ground. It was not an irregular agitation, but that continued vibration which the sides of a boiler undergo when it is fully charged. Steam, in large quantities, generated by the action of subterranean fires, seemed to be working beneath the crust of the mountain. This peculiarity could not astonish people who had passed between the warm springs of the Waikato. They knew that this region of Ika-Na-Maoui is volcanic. It is like a sieve, from the holes of which ever issue the vapors of subterranean laboratories. Paganel, who had already observed this, called the attention of his friends to the circumstance. The Maunganamu is only one of those numerous cones that cover the central portion of the island. The least mechanical action could provoke the formation of a crater in the clayey soil. "And yet," said Glenarvan, "we seem to be in no more danger here than beside the boiler of the Duncan. This crust is firm." "Certainly," replied the major; "but a boiler, however strong it may be, will always burst at last after too long use." "MacNabb," said Paganel, "I do not desire to remain on this peak. Let Heaven show me a way of escape, and I will leave it instantly." Lady Helena, who perceived Lord Glenarvan, now approached. "My dear Edward," said she, "you have considered our position! Are we to hope or fear?" "Hope, my dear Helena," replied Glenarvan. "The natives will never come to the top of the mountain, and we shall have abundant time to form a plan of escape." "Moreover, madam," said Captain Mangles, "God himself encourages us to hope." So saying, he gave her the text of the Bible which had been sent to them. She and Mary Grant, whose confiding soul was always open to the ministrations of Heaven, saw, in the words of the Holy Book, an infallible pledge of safety. "Now to the tomb!" cried Paganel, gayly. "This is our fortress, our castle, our dining-room, and our workshop. No one is to disarrange it. Ladies, permit me to do the honors of this charming dwelling." All followed the good-natured Paganel. When the savages saw the fugitives desecrate anew this tabooed sepulchre, they fired numerous volleys, and uttered yells no less terrible. But fortunately their bullets could not reach as far as their cries, for they only came half-way, while their vociferations were lost in empty air. [Sidenote: BOARD AND LODGING.] Lady Helena, Mary Grant, and their companions, quite reassured at seeing that the superstition of the Maoris was still stronger than their rage, entered the tomb. It was a palisade of red painted stakes. Symbolical faces, a real tattooing on wood, described the nobleness and exploits of the deceased. Strings of pipes, shells, and carved stones extended from one stake to another. Inside, the earth was hidden beneath a carpet of green leaves. In the centre a slight protuberance marked the freshly-made grave. Here reposed the weapons of the chief, his guns loaded and primed, his lance, his splendid hatchet of green jade, with a supply of powder and balls sufficient for the hunts of the other world. "Here is a whole arsenal," said Paganel, "of which we will make a better use than the deceased. It is a good idea of these savages to carry their weapons to heaven with them." "But these are English guns!" said the major. "Doubtless," replied Glenarvan; "it is a very foolish custom to make presents of fire-arms to the savages, who then use them against the invaders, and with reason. At all events, these guns will be useful to us." "But still more useful," said Paganel, "will be the provisions and water intended for Kara-Tété." The parents and friends of the dead had, indeed, faithfully fulfilled their duties. The amount of food testified their esteem for the virtues of the chief. There were provisions enough to last ten persons fifteen days, or rather the deceased for eternity. They consisted of ferns, sweet yams, and potatoes, which were introduced some time before by the Europeans. Tall vases of fresh water stood near, and a dozen baskets, artistically woven, contained numerous tablets of green gum. The fugitives were, therefore, fortified for several days against hunger and thirst, and they needed no urging to take their first meal at the chief's expense. Glenarvan directed Mr. Olbinett's attention to the food necessary for his companions; but he, with his usual exactness, even in critical situations, thought the bill of fare rather scanty. Moreover, he did not know how to prepare the roots, and there was no fire. But Paganel solved the difficulty, and advised him to simply bury his ferns and potatoes in the ground itself, for the heat of the upper strata was very great. Olbinett, however, narrowly escaped a serious scalding, for, just as he had dug a hole to put his roots in, a stream of watery vapor burst forth, and rose to the height of several feet. The steward started back in terror. "Close the hole!" cried the major, who, with the aid of the two sailors, covered the orifice with fragments of pumice-stone, while Paganel murmured these words: "Well! well! ha! ha! very natural!" "You are not scalded?" inquired MacNabb of Olbinett. "No, Mr. MacNabb," replied the steward; "but I scarcely expected----" "So many blessings," added Paganel, in a mirthful tone. "Consider Kara-Tété's water and provisions, and the fire of the earth! This mountain is a paradise! I propose that we found a colony here, cultivate the soil, and settle for the rest of our days. We will be Robinson Crusoes of Maunganamu. Indeed, I look in vain for any deficiency on this comfortable peak." "Nothing is wanting if the earth is firm," replied Captain Mangles. "Well, it was not created yesterday," said Paganel. "It has long resisted the action of internal fires, and will easily hold out till our departure." "Breakfast is ready," announced Mr. Olbinett, as gravely as if he had been performing his duties at Malcolm Castle. The fugitives at once sat down near the palisade, and enjoyed the repast that Providence had so opportunely furnished to them in this critical situation. No one appeared particular about the choice of food, but there was a diversity of opinion concerning the edible ferns. Some found them sweet and pleasant, and others mucilaginous, insipid, and acrid. The sweet potatoes, cooked in the hot earth, were excellent. [Illustration: The steward started back in terror.] Their hunger being satiated, Glenarvan proposed that they should, without delay, arrange a plan of escape. "So soon!" said Paganel, in a truly piteous tone. "What! are you thinking already of leaving this delightful place?" "I think, first of all," replied Glenarvan, "that we ought to attempt an escape before we are forced to it by hunger. We have strength enough yet, and must take advantage of it. To-night let us try to gain the eastern valleys, and cross the circle of natives under cover of the darkness." "Exactly," answered Paganel; "if the Maoris will let us pass." "And if they prevent us?" asked Captain Mangles. "Then we will employ the great expedients," said Paganel. "You have great expedients, then?" inquired the major. "More than I know what to do with," rejoined Paganel, without further explanation. They could now do nothing but wait for night to attempt crossing the line of savages, who had not left their position. Their ranks even seemed increased by stragglers from the tribe. Here and there freshly-kindled fires formed a flaming girdle around the base of the peak. When darkness had invaded the surrounding valleys, the Maunganamu seemed to rise from a vast conflagration, while its summit was lost in a dense shade. Six hundred feet below were heard the tumult and cries of the enemy's camp. At nine o'clock it was very dark, and Glenarvan and Captain Mangles resolved to make an exploration before taking their companions on this perilous journey. They noiselessly descended the declivity some distance, and reached the narrow ridge that crossed the line of natives fifty feet above the encampment. [Sidenote: ANOTHER SUNRISE.] All went well so far. The Maoris, stretched beside their fires, did not seem to perceive the two fugitives, who advanced a few paces farther. But suddenly, to the left and right of the ridge, a double volley resounded. "Back!" cried Glenarvan; "these bandits have eyes like a cat, and the guns of riflemen!" Captain Mangles and he reascended at once the precipitous slopes of the mountain, and speedily assured their terrified friends of their safety. Glenarvan's hat had been pierced by two bullets. It was, therefore, dangerous to venture on the ridge between these two lines of marksmen. "Wait till to-morrow," said Paganel; "and since we cannot deceive the vigilance of these natives, permit me to give them a dose in my own way." The temperature was quite cold. Fortunately, Kara-Tété wore in the tomb his best night-robes, warm, flaxen coverings, in which each one wrapped himself without hesitation; and soon the fugitives, protected by the native superstition, slept peacefully in the shelter of the palisades, on the earth that seemed to quake with the internal commotion. CHAPTER LIII. A BOLD STRATAGEM. The rising sun awakened with his first rays the sleepers on the Maunganamu. The Maoris for some time had been moving to and fro at the foot of the peak without wandering from their post of observation. Furious cries saluted the appearance of the Europeans as they issued from the desecrated tomb. Each cast a longing glance towards the surrounding mountains, the deep valleys, still veiled in mist, and the surface of Lake Taupo, gently rippling beneath the morning wind. Then all, eager to know Paganel's new project, gathered around him with questioning looks; while the geographer at once satisfied the restless curiosity of his companions. "My friends," said he, "my project has this advantage, that if it does not produce the result that I expect, or even fails, our situation will not be impaired. But it ought to and will succeed." "And this project?" asked the major. "This is it," replied Paganel. "The superstition of the natives has made this mountain a place of refuge, and this superstition must help us to escape. If I succeed in convincing Kai-Koumou that we have become the victims of our sacrilege, that the wrath of Heaven has fallen upon us, in short, that we have met a terrible death, do you think that he will abandon the mountain and return to his village?" "Probably," said Glenarvan. "And with what horrible death do you threaten us?" inquired Lady Helena. "The death of the sacrilegious, my friends," continued Paganel. "The avenging flames are under our feet. Let us open a way for them." "What! you would make a volcano?" cried Captain Mangles. "Yes, a factitious, an improvised one, whose fury we will control. There is quite a supply of vapors and subterranean fires that only ask for an outlet. Let us arrange an artificial eruption for our own advantage." "The idea is good," said the major, "and well conceived, Paganel." "You understand," resumed the geographer, "that we are to feign being consumed by the flames of Pluto, and shall disappear spiritually in the tomb of Kara-Tété." [Sidenote: A VOLCANO IN MINIATURE.] "Where we shall remain three, four, or five days, if necessary, till the savages are convinced of our death, and abandon the siege." "But if they think of making sure of our destruction," said Miss Grant, "and climb the mountain?" "No, my dear Mary," replied Paganel, "they will not do that. The mountain is tabooed, and if it shall itself devour its profaners the taboo will be still more rigorous." "This plan is really well conceived," remarked Glenarvan. "There is only one chance against it, and that is, that the savages may persist in remaining at the foot of the mountain till the provisions fail us. But this is scarcely probable, especially if we play our part skillfully." "And when shall we make this last venture?" asked Lady Helena. "This very evening," answered Paganel, "at the hour of the greatest darkness." "Agreed," said MacNabb. "Paganel, you are a man of genius; and although from habit I am scarcely ever enthusiastic, I will answer for your success. Ha! these rascals! we shall perform a little miracle for them that will delay their conversion a good century. May the missionaries pardon us!" Paganel's plan was therefore adopted, and really, with the superstitious notions of the Maoris, it might and ought to succeed. It only remained to execute it. The idea was good, but in practice difficult. Might not this volcano consume the audacious ones who should dig the crater? Could they control and direct this eruption when the vapors, flames, and lava should be let loose? Would it not engulf the entire peak in a flood of fire? They were tampering with those phenomena whose absolute control is reserved for forces higher than theirs. Paganel had foreseen these difficulties, but he expected to act prudently, and not to venture to extremes. An illusion was enough to deceive the Maoris, without the awful reality of a large eruption. How long that day seemed! Each one counted the interminable hours. Everything was prepared for flight. The provisions of the tomb had been divided, and made into convenient bundles. Several mats, and the fire-arms, which had been found in the tomb of the chief, formed light baggage. Of course these preparations were made within the palisaded inclosure and unknown to the savages. At six o'clock the steward served a farewell feast. Where and when they should eat in the valleys no one could foretell. Twilight came on. The sun disappeared behind a bank of dense clouds of threatening aspect. A few flashes illumined the horizon, and a distant peal of thunder rumbled along the vault of the sky. Paganel welcomed the storm that came to the aid of his design. At eight o'clock the summit of the mountain was hidden by a foreboding darkness, while the sky looked terribly black, as if for a background to the flaming outbreak that Paganel was about to inaugurate. The Maoris could no longer see their prisoners. The time for action had come. Rapidity was necessary, and Glenarvan, Paganel, MacNabb, Robert, the steward, and the two sailors at once set to work vigorously. The place for the crater was chosen thirty paces from Kara-Tété's tomb. It was important that this structure should be spared by the eruption, for otherwise the taboo would become ineffective. Paganel had observed an enormous block of stone, around which the vapors seemed to pour forth with considerable force. This rocky mass covered a small natural crater in the peak, and only by its weight prevented the escape of the subterranean flames. If they could succeed in overturning it, the smoke and lava would immediately issue through the unobstructed opening. [Sidenote: VULCANS AT WORK.] The fugitives made themselves levers out of the stakes of the tomb, and with these they vigorously attacked the ponderous mass. Under their united efforts the rock was not long in moving. They dug a sort of groove for it down the side of the mountain, that it might slide on an inclined plane. As their action increased, the trembling of the earth became more violent. Hollow rumblings and hissings sounded under the thin crust. But the bold experimenters, like real Vulcans, governing the underground fires, worked on in silence. Several cracks and a few gusts of hot smoke warned them that their position was becoming dangerous. But a final effort detached the block, which glided down the slope of the mountain and disappeared. The thin covering at once yielded. An incandescent column poured forth towards the sky with loud explosions, while streams of boiling water and lava rolled towards the encampment of the natives and the valleys below. The whole peak trembled, and you might almost have thought that it was disappearing in a general conflagration. Glenarvan and his companions had scarcely time to escape the shock of the eruption. They fled to the inclosure of the tomb, but not without receiving a few scalding drops of the water, which bubbled and exhaled a strong sulphureous odor. Then mud, lava, and volcanic fragments mingled in the scene of devastation. Torrents of flame furrowed the sides of the Maunganamu. The adjoining mountains glowed in the light of the eruption, and the deep valleys were illumined with a vivid brightness. The savages were soon aroused, both by the noise and the heat of the lava that flowed in a scalding tide through the midst of their encampment. Those whom the fiery flood had not reached fled, and ascended the surrounding hills, turning and gazing back at this terrific phenomenon, with which their god, in his wrath, had overwhelmed the desecrators of the sacred mountain; while at certain moments they were heard howling their consecratory cry: "Taboo! taboo! taboo!" [Illustration: The fugitives made themselves levers out of the stakes of the tomb.] [Illustration: An incandescent column poured forth towards the sky with loud explosions, while streams of boiling water and lava rolled towards the encampment of the natives.] Meantime an enormous quantity of vapor, melted stones, and lava had escaped from the crater. It was no longer a simple geyser. All this volcanic effervescence had hitherto been confined beneath the crust of the peak, since the outlets of Tangariro sufficed for its expansion; but as a new opening had been made, it had rushed forth with extreme violence. All night long, during the storm that raged above and below, the peak was shaken with a commotion that could not but alarm Glenarvan. The prisoners, concealed behind the palisade of the tomb, watched the fearful progress of the outbreak. Morning came. The fury of the volcano had not moderated. Thick, yellowish vapors mingled with the flames, and torrents of lava poured in every direction. Glenarvan, with eye alert and beating heart, glanced between the interstices of the inclosure, and surveyed the camp of the Maoris. The natives had fled to the neighboring plateaus, beyond the reach of the volcano. Several corpses, lying at the foot of the peak, had been charred by the fire. Farther on, towards the pah, the lava had consumed a number of huts, that were still smoking. The savages, in scattered groups, were gazing at the vapory summit of Maunganamu with religious awe. Kai-Koumou came into the midst of his warriors, and Glenarvan recognized him. The chief advanced to the base of the peak, on the side spared by the eruption, but did not cross the first slopes. Here, with outstretched arms, like a sorcerer exorcising, he made a few grimaces, the meaning of which did not escape the prisoners. As Paganel had foreseen, Kai-Koumou was invoking upon the mountain a more rigorous taboo. Soon after, the natives descended, in single file, the winding paths that led towards the pah. [Sidenote: A WEARY WAITING.] "They are going!" cried Glenarvan. "They are abandoning their post! God be thanked! Our scheme has succeeded! My dear Helena, my brave companions, we are now dead and buried; but this evening we will revive, we will leave our tomb, and flee from these barbarous tribes!" It would be difficult to describe the joy that reigned within the palisade. Hope had reanimated all hearts. These courageous travelers forgot their past trials, dreaded not the future, and only rejoiced in their present deliverance; although very little reflection would show how difficult was the task of reaching an European settlement from their present position. But if Kai-Koumou was outwitted, they believed themselves safe from all the savages of New Zealand. A whole day must pass before the decisive attempt could be made, and they employed their time in arranging a plan of escape. Paganel had preserved his map of New Zealand, and could therefore search out the safest routes. After some discussion, the fugitives resolved to proceed eastward towards the Bay of Plenty. This course would lead them through districts that were very rarely visited. The travelers, who were already accustomed to overcoming natural difficulties, only feared meeting the Maoris. They therefore determined to avoid them at all hazards, and gain the eastern coast, where the missionaries have founded several establishments. Moreover, this portion of the island had hitherto escaped the ravages of the war and the depredations of the natives. As for the distance that separated Lake Taupo from the Bay of Plenty, it could not be more than one hundred miles. Ten days would suffice for the journey. The missions once reached, they could rest there, and wait for some favorable opportunity of gaining Auckland, their destination. These points being settled, they continued to watch the savages till evening. Not one of them remained at the foot of the mountain, and when darkness invaded the valleys of the lake, no fire betokened the presence of the Maoris at the base of the peak. The coast was clear. At nine o'clock it was dark night, and Glenarvan gave the signal for departure. His companions and he, armed and equipped at Kara-Tété's expense, began to cautiously descend the slopes of the Maunganamu. Captain Mangles and Wilson led the way, with eyes and ears on the alert. They stopped at the least sound,--they examined the faintest light; each slid down the declivity, the better to elude detection. Two hundred feet below the summit, Captain Mangles and his sailor reached the dangerous ridge that had been so obstinately guarded by the natives. If, unfortunately, the Maoris, more crafty than the fugitives, had feigned a retreat to entice them within reach, if they had not been deceived by the eruption, their presence would be discovered at this point. Glenarvan, in spite of his confidence and Paganel's pleasantries, could not help trembling. The safety of his friends was at stake during the few moments necessary to cross the ridge. He felt Lady Helena's heart beat as she clung to his arm. But neither he nor Captain Mangles thought of retreating. The young captain, followed by the others, and favored by the dense obscurity, crawled along the narrow path, only stopping when some detached stone rolled to the base of the mountain. If the savages were still in ambush, these unusual sounds would provoke from each side a formidable volley. However, in gliding like serpents along this inclined crest, the fugitives could not advance rapidly. When Captain Mangles had gained the lowest part, scarcely twenty-five feet separated him from the plain where the natives had encamped the night before. Here the ridge ascended quite steeply towards a coppice about a quarter of a mile distant. [Sidenote: TABOOED NO LONGER.] The travelers crossed this place without accident, and began the ascent in silence. The thicket was invisible, but they knew where it was, and, provided no ambuscade was laid there, Glenarvan hoped to find a secure refuge. However, he remembered that they were now no longer protected by the taboo. The ascending ridge did not belong to the sacred mountain, but to a chain that ran along the eastern shores of Lake Taupo. Therefore not only the shots of the savages, but also a hand-to-hand conflict, were to be feared. For a short time the little party slowly mounted towards the upper elevations. The captain could not yet discern the dark coppice, but it could not be more than two hundred feet distant. Suddenly he stopped, and almost recoiled. He thought he heard some sound in the darkness. His hesitation arrested the advance of his companions. He stood motionless long enough to alarm those who followed him. With what agonizing suspense they waited could not be described. Would they be forced to return to the summit of the mountain? But, finding that the noise was not repeated, their leader continued his ascent along the narrow path. The coppice was soon dimly defined in the gloom. In a few moments it was reached, and the fugitives were crouching beneath the thick foliage of the trees. CHAPTER LIV. FROM PERIL TO SAFETY. Darkness favored the escape; and making the greatest possible progress, they left the fatal regions of Lake Taupo. Paganel assumed the guidance of the little party, and his marvelous instinct as a traveler was displayed anew during this perilous journey. He managed with surprising dexterity in the thick gloom, chose unhesitatingly the almost invisible paths, and kept constantly an undeviating course. At nine o'clock in the morning they had accomplished a considerable distance, and could not reasonably require more of the courageous ladies. Besides, the place seemed suitable for an encampment. The fugitives had reached the ravine that separates the Kaimanawa and Wahiti ranges. The road on the right ran southward to Oberland. Paganel, with his map in his hand, made a turn to the northeast, and at ten o'clock the little party had reached a sort of steep buttress, formed by a spur of the mountain. The provisions were taken from the sacks, and all did ample justice to them. Mary Grant and the major, who had not hitherto been very well satisfied with the edible ferns, made this time a hearty meal of them. They rested here till two o'clock in the afternoon, then the journey towards the east was resumed, and at evening the travelers encamped eight miles from the mountains. They needed no urging to sleep in the open air. The next day very serious difficulties were encountered. They were forced to pass through a curious region of volcanic lakes and geysers that extends eastward from the Wahiti ranges. It was pleasing to the eye, but fatiguing to the limbs. Every quarter of a mile there were obstacles, turns, and windings, far too many for rapid progress; but what strange appearances and what infinite variety does nature give to her grand scenes! [Sidenote: ALMOST TIRED OUT!] Over this expanse of twenty square miles the overflow of subterranean forces was displayed in every form. Salt springs, of a singular transparency, teeming with myriads of insects, issued from the porous ground. They exhaled a penetrating odor, and deposited on the earth a white coating like dazzling snow. Their waters, though clear, were at the boiling-point, while other neighboring springs poured forth ice-cold streams. On every side water-spouts, with spiral rings of vapor, spirted from the ground like the jets of a fountain, some continuous, others intermittent, as if controlled by some capricious sprite. They rose like an amphitheatre, in natural terraces one above another, their vapors gradually mingling in wreaths of white smoke; and flowing down the semi-transparent steps of these gigantic staircases, they fed the lakes with their boiling cascades. It will be needless to dilate upon the incidents of the journey, which were neither numerous nor important. Their way led through forests and over plains. The captain took his bearings by the sun and stars. The sky, which was quite clear, was sparing of heat and rain. Still, an increasing weariness delayed the travelers, already so cruelly tried, and they had to make great efforts to reach their destination. However, they still conversed together, but no longer in common. The little party was divided into groups, not by any narrow prejudice or ill feeling, but to some extent from sadness. Often Glenarvan was alone, thinking, as he approached the coast, of the Duncan and her crew. He forgot the dangers that still threatened him, in his grief for his lost sailors and the terrible visions that continually haunted his mind. They no longer spoke of Harry Grant. And why should they, since they could do nothing for him? If the captain's name was ever pronounced, it was in the conversations of his daughter and her betrothed. The young captain had not reminded her of what she had said to him on the last night of their captivity on the mountain. His magnanimity would not take advantage of words uttered in a moment of supreme despair. [Sidenote: ACCOMPLISHING THE LAST STAGE.] When he did speak of Captain Grant, he began to lay plans for a further search. He declared to Mary that Lord Glenarvan would resume this undertaking, hitherto so unsuccessful. [Illustration: On every side water-spouts, with spiral rings of vapor, spirted from the ground like the jets of a fountain.] He maintained that the authenticity of the document could not be doubted. Her father must, therefore, be somewhere; and though it were necessary to search the whole world, they were sure to find him. The young girl was cheered by these words; and both, bound by the same thoughts, now sympathized in the same hope. Lady Helena often took part in the conversation, and was very careful not to discourage the young people with any sad forebodings. Glenarvan and his companions, after many vicissitudes, reached the foot of Mount Ikirangi, whose peak towered five thousand feet aloft. They had now traveled almost one hundred miles since leaving the Maunganamu, and the coast was still thirty miles distant. Captain Mangles had hoped to make the journey in ten days, but he was ignorant then of the difficulties of the way. There were still two good days of travel before they could gain the ocean, and renewed activity and extreme vigilance became necessary, for they were entering a region frequented by the natives. However, each conquered the fatigue, and the little party continued their course. Between Mount Ikirangi, some distance on their right, and Mount Hardy, whose summit rose to the left, was a large plain, thickly overspread with twining plants and underbrush. Progress here was tedious and difficult in the extreme; for the pliant tendrils wound a score of folds about their bodies like serpents. Hunting was impossible; the provisions were nearly exhausted, and could not be renewed, and water failed, so that they could not allay their thirst, rendered doubly acute by their fatigue. The sufferings of Glenarvan and his friends were terrible, and for the first time their moral energy now almost forsook them. At last, dragging themselves along, wearied to the utmost degree in body, almost despairing in mind, they reached Lottin Point, on the shores of the Pacific. At this place several deserted huts were seen, the ruins of a village recently devastated by the war; around them were abandoned fields, and everywhere the traces of plunder and conflagration. But here fate had reserved a new and fearful test for the unfortunate travelers. They were walking along the coast, when, at no great distance, a number of natives appeared, who rushed towards the little party, brandishing their weapons. Glenarvan, shut in by the sea, saw that escape was impossible, and, summoning all his strength, was about to make preparations for battle, when Captain Mangles cried: "A canoe! a canoe!" And truly, twenty paces distant, a canoe, with six oars, was lying on the beach. To rush to it, set it afloat, and fly from this dangerous place was the work of an instant; the whole party seemed to receive at once a fresh accession of bodily strength and mental vigor. In ten minutes the boat was at a considerable distance. The sea was calm. The captain, however, not wishing to wander too far from the coast, was about to give the order to cruise along the shore, when he suddenly ceased rowing. He had observed three canoes starting from Lottin Point, with the evident intention of overtaking and capturing the unfortunate fugitives. "To sea! to sea!" cried he; "better perish in the waves than be captured!" The canoe, under the strokes of its four oarsmen, at once put to sea, and for some time kept its distance. But the strength of the weakened fugitives soon grew less, and their pursuers gradually gained upon them. The boats were now scarcely a mile apart. There was therefore no possibility of avoiding the attack of the natives, who, armed with their long guns, were already preparing to fire. [Sidenote: DEATH ON EVERY HAND.] What was Glenarvan doing? Standing at the stern of the canoe, he looked around as if for some expected aid. What did he expect? What did he wish? Had he a presentiment? All at once his face brightened, his hand was stretched towards an indistinct object. "A ship!" cried he; "my friends, a ship! Row, row!" Not one of the four oarsmen turned to see this unexpected vessel, for they must not lose a stroke. Only Paganel, rising, directed his telescope towards the place indicated. "Yes," said he, "a ship, a steamer, under full headway, coming towards us! Courage, captain!" The fugitives displayed new energy, and for several moments longer they kept their distance. The steamer grew more and more distinct. They could clearly discern her masts, and the thick clouds of black smoke that issued from her smoke-stack. Glenarvan, giving the helm to Robert, had seized the geographer's glass, and did not lose a single movement of the vessel. But what were Captain Mangles and his companions to think when they saw the expression of his features change, his face grow pale, and the instrument fall from his hands. A single word explained this sudden emotion. "The Duncan!" cried Glenarvan,--"the Duncan and the convicts!" "The Duncan?" repeated the captain, dropping his oar and rising. "Yes, death on all sides!" moaned Glenarvan, overcome by so many calamities. It was indeed the yacht--without a doubt,--the yacht, with her crew of bandits! The major could not repress a malediction. This was too much. Meantime the canoe was floating at random. Whither should they guide it, whither flee? Was it possible to choose between the savages and the convicts? [Illustration: A second ball whistled over their heads, and demolished the nearest of the three canoes.] [Sidenote: A MYSTERIOUS PRESERVATION.] Just then a shot came from the native boat, that had approached nearer. The bullet struck Wilson's oar; but his companions still propelled the canoe towards the Duncan. The yacht was advancing at full speed, and was only half a mile distant. Captain Mangles, beset on all sides, no longer knew how to act, or in what direction to escape. The two poor ladies were on their knees, praying in their despair. The savages were now firing a continued volley, and the bullets rained around the canoe. Just then a sharp report sounded, and a ball from the yacht's cannon passed over the heads of the fugitives, who remained motionless between the fire of the Duncan and the natives. Captain Mangles, frantic with despair, seized his hatchet. He was on the point of sinking their own canoe, with his unfortunate companions, when a cry from Robert stopped him. "Tom Austin! Tom Austin!" said the child. "He is on board! I see him! He has recognized us! He is waving his hat!" The hatchet was suspended in mid-air. A second ball whistled over their heads, and demolished the nearest of the three canoes, while a loud hurrah was heard on board the Duncan. The savages fled in terror towards the coast. "Help, help, Tom!" cried Captain Mangles, in a piercing voice. And a few moments afterwards the ten fugitives, without knowing how, or scarcely comprehending this unexpected good fortune, were all in safety on board the Duncan. CHAPTER LV. WHY THE DUNCAN WENT TO NEW ZEALAND. The feelings of Glenarvan and his friends, when the songs of old Scotland resounded in their ears, it is impossible to describe. As soon as they set foot on deck the bagpiper struck up a well remembered air, while hearty hurrahs welcomed the owner's return on board. Glenarvan, John Mangles, Paganel, Robert, and even the major, wept and embraced each other. Their emotions rose from joy to ecstasy. The geographer was fairly wild, skipping about and watching with his inseparable telescope the canoes returning to shore. But at sight of Glenarvan and his companions, with tattered garments, emaciated features, and the traces of extreme suffering, the crew ceased their lively demonstrations. These were spectres, not the bold and dashing travelers whom, three months before, hope had stimulated to a search for the shipwrecked captain. Chance alone had led them back to this vessel that they had ceased to regard as theirs, and in what a sad state of exhaustion and feebleness! However, before thinking of fatigue, or the imperative calls of hunger and thirst, Glenarvan questioned Tom Austin concerning his presence in these waters. Why was the Duncan on the eastern coast of New Zealand? Why was she not in the hands of Ben Joyce? By what providential working had God restored her to the fugitives? These were the questions that were hurriedly addressed to Tom Austin. The old sailor did not know which to answer first. He therefore concluded to listen only to Lord Glenarvan, and reply to him. "But the convicts?" inquired Glenarvan. "What have you done with the convicts?" "The convicts!" replied Tom Austin, like a man who is at a loss to understand a question. "Yes; the wretches who attacked the yacht." "What yacht, my lord? The Duncan?" "Of course. Did not Ben Joyce come on board?" "I do not know Ben Joyce; I have never seen him." "Never?" cried Glenarvan, amazed at the answers of the old sailor. "Then will you tell me why the Duncan is now on the shores of New Zealand?" [Sidenote: MYSTERY MORE MYSTERIOUS!] Although Glenarvan and his friends did not at all understand Austin's astonishment, what was their surprise when he replied, in a calm voice: "The Duncan is here by your lordship's orders." "By my orders?" cried Glenarvan. "Yes, my lord. I only conformed to the instructions contained in your letter." "My letter?" exclaimed Glenarvan. The ten travelers at once surrounded Tom Austin, and gazed at him in eager curiosity. The letter written at the Snowy River had reached the Duncan. "Well," continued Glenarvan, "let us have an explanation; for I almost think I am dreaming. You received a letter, Tom?" "Yes; a letter from your lordship." "At Melbourne?" "At Melbourne; just as I had finished the repair of the ship." "And this letter?" "It was not written by you; but it was signed by you, my lord." "Exactly; it was sent by a convict, Ben Joyce." "No; by the sailor called Ayrton, quartermaster of the Britannia." "Yes, Ayrton or Ben Joyce; it is the same person. Well, what did the letter say?" "It ordered me to leave Melbourne without delay, and come to the eastern shores of----" "Australia!" cried Glenarvan, with an impetuosity that disconcerted the old sailor. "Australia?" repeated Tom, opening his eyes. "No, indeed; New Zealand!" "Australia, Tom! Australia!" replied Glenarvan's companions, with one voice. [Illustration: As soon as they set foot on deck the bagpiper struck up a well remembered air, while hearty hurrahs welcomed the owner's return on board.] Austin was now bewildered. Glenarvan spoke with such assurance, that he feared he had made a mistake in reading the letter. Could he, faithful and accurate sailor that he was, have committed such a blunder? He began to feel troubled. [Illustration: This sally finished the poor geographer.] "Be easy, Tom," said Lady Helena. "Providence has decreed----" "No, madam, pardon me," returned the sailor; "no, it is not possible! I am not mistaken. Ayrton also read the letter, and he, on the contrary, wished to go to Australia." "Ayrton?" cried Glenarvan. "The very one. He maintained that it was a mistake, and that you had appointed Twofold Bay as the place of meeting." "Have you the letter, Tom?" asked the major, greatly puzzled. "Yes, Mr. MacNabb," replied Austin. "I will soon bring it." He accordingly repaired to his own cabin. While he was gone, they gazed at each other in silence, except the major, who, with his eye fixed upon Paganel, said, as he folded his arms: "Indeed, I must confess, Paganel, that this is a little too much." At this moment Austin returned. He held in his hand the letter written by Paganel, and signed by Glenarvan. "Read it, my lord," said the old sailor. Glenarvan took the letter, and read: "Order for Tom Austin to put to sea, and bring the Duncan to the eastern coast of New Zealand." "New Zealand?" cried Paganel, starting. He snatched the letter from Glenarvan's hands, rubbed his eyes, adjusted his spectacles to his nose, and read in his turn. "New Zealand!" repeated he, in an indescribable tone, while the letter slipped from his fingers. Just then he felt a hand fall upon his shoulder. He turned, and found himself face to face with the major. [Sidenote: PAGANEL IN THE WITNESS-BOX.] "Well, my good Paganel," said MacNabb, in a grave tone, "it is fortunate that you did not send the Duncan to Cochin-China." This sally finished the poor geographer. A fit of laughter seized the whole crew. Paganel, as if mad, ran to and fro, holding his head in his hands, and tearing his hair. However, when he had recovered from his frenzy, there was still another unavoidable question to answer. "Now, Paganel," said Glenarvan, "be candid. I acknowledge that your absent-mindedness has been providential. To be sure, without you the Duncan would have fallen into the hands of the convicts; without you we should have been recaptured by the Maoris. But do tell me, what strange association of ideas, what unnatural aberration, induced you to write New Zealand instead of Australia?" "Very well," said Paganel. "It was----" But at that moment his eyes fell upon Robert and Mary Grant, and he stopped short, finally replying: "Never mind, my dear Glenarvan. I am a madman, a fool, an incorrigible being, and shall die a most famous blunderer!" The affair was no longer discussed. The mystery of the Duncan's presence there was solved; and the travelers, so miraculously saved, thought only of revisiting their comfortable cabins and partaking of a good breakfast. However, leaving Lady Helena, Mary Grant, the major, Paganel, and Robert to enter the saloon, Glenarvan and Captain Mangles retained Tom Austin with them. They wished to question him further. "Now, Tom," said Glenarvan, "let me know: did not this order to sail for the coast of New Zealand seem strange to you?" "Yes, my lord," replied Austin. "I was very much surprised; but, as I am not in the habit of discussing the orders I receive, I obeyed. Could I act otherwise? If any accident had happened from not following your instructions, should I not have been to blame? Would you have done differently, captain?" "No, Tom," answered Captain Mangles. "But what did you think?" asked Glenarvan. "I thought, my lord, that, in the cause of Captain Grant, it was necessary to go wherever you directed me; that by some combination of circumstances another vessel would take you to New Zealand, and that I was to wait for you on the eastern coast of the island. Moreover, on leaving Melbourne, I kept my destination secret, and the crew did not know it till we were out at sea and the shores of Australia had disappeared from sight. But then an incident occurred that perplexed me very much." "What do you mean, Tom?" inquired Glenarvan. "I mean," he replied, "that when the quartermaster, Ayrton, learned, the day after our departure, the Duncan's destination----" "Ayrton!" cried Glenarvan. "Is he on board?" "Yes, my lord." "Ayrton here!" repeated Glenarvan, glancing at Captain Mangles. "Wonderful indeed!" said the young captain. In an instant, with the swiftness of lightning, Ayrton's conduct, his long-contrived treachery, Glenarvan's wound, the attack upon Mulready, their sufferings in the marshes of the Snowy, all the wretch's deeds, flashed upon the minds of the two men. And now, by a strange fatality, the convict was in their power. "Where is he?" asked Glenarvan quickly. "In a cabin in the forecastle," replied Tom Austin, "closely guarded." "Why this confinement?" [Sidenote: AN UNOFFICIAL TRIBUNAL.] "Because, when Ayrton saw that the yacht was sailing for New Zealand, he flew into a passion; because he attempted to force me to change the ship's course; because he threatened me; and, finally, because he urged my men to a mutiny. I saw that he was a dangerous person, and was compelled, therefore, to take precautions against him." "And since that time?" "Since that time he has been in his cabin, without offering to come out." "Good!" At this moment Glenarvan and Captain Mangles were summoned to the saloon. Breakfast, which they so much needed, was ready. They took seats at the table, but did not speak of Ayrton. However, when the meal was ended, and the passengers had assembled on deck, Glenarvan informed them of the quartermaster's presence on board. At the same time he declared his intention of sending for him. "Can I be released from attending this tribunal?" asked Lady Helena. "I confess to you, my dear Edward, that the sight of this unfortunate would be very painful to me." "It is only to confront him, Helena," replied Glenarvan. "Remain, if you can. Ben Joyce should see himself face to face with all his intended victims." Lady Helena yielded to this request, and Mary Grant and she took their places beside him, while around them stood the major, Paganel, Captain Mangles, Robert, Wilson, Mulready, and Olbinett, all who had suffered so severely by the convict's treason. The crew of the yacht, who did not yet understand the seriousness of these proceedings, maintained a profound silence. "Call Ayrton!" said Glenarvan. CHAPTER LVI. AYRTON'S OBSTINACY. Ayrton soon made his appearance. He crossed the deck with a confident step, and ascended the poop-stairs. His eyes had a sullen look, his teeth were set, and his fists clinched convulsively. His bearing displayed neither exultation nor humility. As soon as he was in Lord Glenarvan's presence, he folded his arms, and calmly and silently waited to be questioned: "Ayrton," said Glenarvan, "here we all are, as you see, on board the Duncan, that you would have surrendered to Ben Joyce's accomplices." At these words the lips of the quartermaster slightly trembled. A quick blush colored his hard features,--not the sign of remorse, but the shame of defeat. He was prisoner on this yacht that he had meant to command as master, and his fate was soon to be decided. However, he made no reply. Glenarvan waited patiently, but Ayrton still persisted in maintaining an obstinate silence. "Speak, Ayrton; what have you to say?" continued Glenarvan. The convict hesitated, and the lines of his forehead were strongly contracted. At last he said, in a calm voice: "I have nothing to say, my lord. I was foolish enough to let myself be taken. Do what you please." [Sidenote: A DUMB PRISONER.] Having given his answer, the quartermaster turned his eyes toward the coast that extended along the west, and affected a profound indifference for all that was passing around him. You would have thought, to look at him, that he was a stranger to this serious affair. But Glenarvan had resolved to be patient. A powerful motive urged him to ascertain certain circumstances of Ayrton's mysterious life, especially as regarded Harry Grant and the Britannia. He therefore resumed his inquiries, speaking with extreme mildness, and imposing the most perfect calmness upon the violent agitation of his heart. "I hope, Ayrton," continued he, "that you will not refuse to answer certain questions that I desire to ask you. And, first, am I to call you Ayrton or Ben Joyce? Are you the quartermaster of the Britannia?" Ayrton remained unmoved, watching the coast, deaf to every question. Glenarvan, whose eye flashed with some inward emotion, continued to question him. "Will you tell me how you left the Britannia, and why you were in Australia?" There was the same silence, the same obstinacy. "Listen to me, Ayrton," resumed Glenarvan. "It is for your interest to speak. We may reward a frank confession, which is your only resort. For the last time, will you answer my questions?" Ayrton turned his head towards Glenarvan, and looked him full in the face. "My lord," said he, "I have nothing to answer. It is for justice to prove against me." "The proofs will be easy," replied Glenarvan. [Sidenote: USELESS APPEALS.] "Easy, my lord?" continued the quartermaster, in a sneering tone. "Your lordship seems to me very hasty. I declare that the best judge in Westminster Hall would be puzzled to establish my identity. Who can say why I came to Australia, since Captain Grant is no longer here to inform you? Who can prove that I am that Ben Joyce described by the police, since they have never laid hands upon me, and my companions are at liberty? Who, except you, can charge me, not to say with a crime, but even with a culpable action?" [Illustration: Ayrton soon made his appearance. He crossed the deck with a confident step, and ascended the poop-stairs.] Ayrton had grown animated while speaking, but soon relapsed into his former indifference. He doubtless imagined that this declaration would end the examination: but Glenarvan resumed, and said: "Ayrton, I am not a judge charged with trying you. This is not my business. It is important that our respective positions should be clearly defined. I ask nothing that can implicate you, for that is the part of justice. But you know what search I am pursuing, and, with a word, you can put me on the track I have lost. Will you speak?" Ayrton shook his head, like a man determined to keep silent. "Will you tell me where Captain Grant is?" asked Glenarvan. "No, my lord." "Will you point out where the Britannia was wrecked?" "Certainly not." "Ayrton," said Glenarvan, in almost a suppliant tone, "will you, at least, if you know where Captain Grant is, tell his poor children, who are only waiting for a word from your lips?" The quartermaster hesitated; his features quivered; but, in a low voice, he muttered: "I cannot, my lord." Then, as if he reproached himself for a moment's weakness, he added, angrily: "No, I will not speak! Hang me if you will!" "Hang, then!" cried Glenarvan, overcome by a sudden feeling of indignation. But finally controlling himself, he said, in a grave voice: "There are neither judges nor hangmen here. At the first landing-place you shall be put into the hands of the English authorities." "Just what I desire," replied the quartermaster. Thereupon he was taken back to the cabin that served as his prison, and two sailors were stationed at the door, with orders to watch all his movements. The witnesses of this scene retired indignant and in despair. Since Glenarvan had failed to overcome Ayrton's obstinacy, what was to be done? Evidently to follow the plan formed at Eden, of returning to England, and resuming hereafter this unsuccessful enterprise, for all traces of the Britannia now seemed irrevocably lost. The document admitted of no new interpretation. There was no other country on the line of the thirty-seventh parallel, and the only way was to sail for home. He consulted his friends, and more especially Captain Mangles, on the subject of return. The captain examined his store-rooms. The supply of coal would not last more than fifteen days. It was, therefore, necessary to replenish the fuel at the first port. He accordingly proposed to Glenarvan to sail for Talcahuana Bay, where the Duncan had already procured supplies before undertaking her voyage. This was a direct passage. Then the yacht, with ample provisions, could double Cape Horn, and reach Scotland by way of the Atlantic. This plan being adopted, the engineer was ordered to force on steam. Half an hour afterwards the yacht was headed towards Talcahuana, and at six o'clock in the evening the mountains of New Zealand had disappeared beneath the mists of the horizon. [Sidenote: WOMANLY INFLUENCE.] It was a sad return for these brave searchers, who had left the shores of Scotland with such hope and confidence. To the joyous cries that had saluted Glenarvan on his return succeeded profound dejection. Each confined himself to the solitude of his cabin, and rarely appeared on deck. All, even the loquacious Paganel, were mournful and silent. If Glenarvan spoke of beginning his search again, the geographer shook his head like a man who has no more hope, for he seemed convinced as to the fate of the shipwrecked sailors. Yet there was one man on board who could have informed them about this catastrophe, but whose silence was still prolonged. There was no doubt that the rascally Ayrton knew, if not the actual situation of the captain, at least the place of the shipwreck. Probably Harry Grant, if found, would be a witness against him; hence he persisted in his silence, and was greatly enraged, especially towards the sailors who would accuse him of an evil design. Several times Glenarvan renewed his attempts with the quartermaster. Promises and threats were useless. Ayrton's obstinacy was carried so far, and was so inexplicable, that the major came to the belief that he knew nothing; which opinion was shared by the geographer and corroborated his own ideas in regard to Captain Grant. But if Ayrton knew nothing, why did he not plead his ignorance? It could not turn against him, while his silence increased the difficulty of forming a new plan. Ought they to infer the presence of Harry Grant in Australia from meeting the quartermaster on that continent? At all events, they must induce Ayrton to explain on this subject. Lady Helena, seeing her husband's failures, now suggested an attempt, in her turn, to persuade the quartermaster. Where a man had failed, perhaps a woman could succeed by her gentle entreaty. Glenarvan, knowing the tact of his young wife, gave his hearty approval. Ayrton was, accordingly, brought to Lady Helena's boudoir. Mary Grant was to be present at the interview, for the young girl's influence might also be great, and Lady Helena would not neglect any chance of success. [Illustration: For an hour the two ladies were closeted with the quartermaster, but nothing resulted from this conference.] For an hour the two ladies were closeted with the quartermaster, but nothing resulted from this conference. What they said, the arguments they used to draw out the convict's secret, all the details of this examination, remained unknown. Moreover, when Ayrton left them they did not appear to have succeeded, and their faces betokened real despair. [Illustration: He contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, which so increased the rage of the crew, that nothing less than the intervention of the captain and his lordship could restrain them.] When the quartermaster was taken back to his cabin, therefore, the sailors saluted his appearance with violent threats. But he contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, which so increased the rage of the crew, that nothing less than the intervention of the captain and his lordship could restrain them. But Lady Helena did not consider herself defeated. She wished to struggle to the last with this heartless man, and the next day she went herself to Ayrton's cabin, to avoid the scene that his appearance on deck occasioned. For two long hours this kind and gentle Scotch lady remained alone face to face with the chief of the convicts. Glenarvan, a prey to nervous agitation, lingered near the cabin, now determined to thoroughly exhaust the chances of success, and now upon the point of drawing his wife away from this painful and prolonged interview. But this time, when Lady Helena reappeared, her features inspired confidence. Had she, then, brought this secret to light, and stirred the dormant feeling of pity in the heart of this poor creature? MacNabb, who saw her first, could not repress a very natural feeling of incredulity. However, the rumor soon spread among the crew that the quartermaster had at length yielded to Lady Helena's entreaties. All the sailors assembled on deck more quickly than if Tom Austin's whistle had summoned them. "Has he spoken?" asked Lord Glenarvan of his wife. "No," replied Lady Helena; "but in compliance with my entreaties he desires to see you." "Ah, dear Helena, you have succeeded!" "I hope so, Edward." "Have you made any promise that I am to sanction?" "Only one: that you will use all your influence to moderate the fate in store for him." [Sidenote: VERY BUSINESS-LIKE.] "Certainly, my dear Helena. Let him come to me immediately." Lady Helena retired to her cabin, accompanied by Mary Grant, and the quartermaster was taken to the saloon where Glenarvan awaited him. CHAPTER LVII. A DISCOURAGING CONFESSION. As soon as the quartermaster was in Lord Glenarvan's presence his custodians retired. "You desired to speak to me, Ayrton?" said Glenarvan. "Yes, my lord," replied he. "To me alone?" "Yes; but I think that if Major MacNabb and Mr. Paganel were present at the interview it would be better." "For whom?" "For me." Ayrton spoke calmly. Glenarvan gazed at him steadily, and then sent word to MacNabb and Paganel, who at once obeyed his summons. "We are ready for you," said Glenarvan, as soon as his two friends were seated at the cabin-table. Ayrton reflected for a few moments, and then said: "My lord, it is customary for witnesses to be present at every contract or negotiation between two parties. That is why I requested the presence of Mr. Paganel and Major MacNabb; for, properly speaking, this is a matter of business that I am going to propose to you." Glenarvan, who was accustomed to Ayrton's manners, betrayed no surprise, although a matter of business between this man and himself seemed strange. [Illustration: "Do you agree or not?"] [Sidenote: BARGAINING FOR TERMS.] "What is this business?" said he. "This is it," replied Ayrton. "You desire to know from me certain circumstances which may be useful to you. I desire to obtain from you certain advantages which will be valuable to me. Now, I will make an exchange, my lord. Do you agree or not?" "What are these circumstances?" asked Paganel, quickly. "No," corrected Glenarvan: "what are these advantages?" Ayrton bowed, showing that he understood the distinction. "These," said he, "are the advantages for which I petition. You still intend, my lord, to deliver me into the hands of the English authorities?" "Yes, Ayrton; it is only justice." "I do not deny it," replied the quartermaster. "You would not consent, then, to set me at liberty?" Glenarvan hesitated before answering a question so plainly asked. Perhaps the fate of Harry Grant depended upon what he was about to say. However, the feeling of duty towards humanity prevailed, and he said: "No, Ayrton, I cannot set you at liberty." "I do not ask it," replied the quartermaster, proudly. "What do you wish, then?" "An intermediate fate, my lord, between that which you think awaits me and the liberty that you cannot grant me." "And that is----?" "To abandon me on one of the desert islands of the Pacific, with the principal necessaries of life. I will manage as I can, and repent, if I have time." Glenarvan, who was little prepared for this proposal, glanced at his two friends, who remained silent. After a few moments of reflection, he replied: "Ayrton, if I grant your request, will you tell me all that it is for my interest to know?" "Yes, my lord; that is to say, all that I know concerning Captain Grant and the Britannia." "The whole truth?" "The whole." "But who will warrant----?" "Oh, I see what troubles you, my lord. You do not like to trust to me,--to the word of a malefactor! That is right. But what can you do? The situation is thus. You have only to accept or refuse." "I will trust you, Ayrton," said Glenarvan, simply. "And you will be right, my lord. Moreover, if I deceive you, you will always have the power to revenge yourself." "How?" "By recapturing me on this island, from which I shall not be able to escape." Ayrton had a reply for everything. He met all difficulties, and produced unanswerable arguments against himself. As was seen, he strove to treat in his business with good faith. It was impossible for a person to surrender with more perfect confidence, and yet he found means to advance still further in this disinterested course. "My lord and gentlemen," added he, "I desire that you should be convinced that I am honorable. I do not seek to deceive you, but am going to give you a new proof of my sincerity in this affair. I act frankly, because I rely upon your loyalty." "Go on, Ayrton," replied Glenarvan. "My lord, I have not yet your promise to agree to my proposition, and still I do not hesitate to tell you that I know little concerning Harry Grant." "Little!" cried Glenarvan. "Yes, my lord; the circumstances that I am able to communicate to you are relative to myself. They are personal experiences, and will scarcely tend to put you on the track you have lost." [Sidenote: REVELATIONS AND DISCLOSURES.] A keen disappointment was manifest on the features of Glenarvan and the major. They had believed the quartermaster to possess an important secret, and yet he now confessed that his disclosures would be almost useless. However that may be, this avowal of Ayrton, who surrendered himself without security, singularly affected his hearers, especially when he added, in conclusion: "Thus you are forewarned, my lord, that the business will be less advantageous for you than for me." "No matter," replied Glenarvan; "I accept your proposal, Ayrton. You have my word that you shall be landed at one of the islands of the Pacific." "Very well, my lord," said he. Was this strange man pleased with this decision? You might have doubted it, for his impassive countenance betrayed no emotion. He seemed as if acting for another more than for himself. "I am ready to answer," continued he. "We have no questions to ask you," rejoined Glenarvan. "Tell us what you know, Ayrton, and, in the first place, who you are." "Gentlemen," replied he, "I am really Tom Ayrton, quartermaster of the Britannia. I left Glasgow in Captain Grant's ship on the 12th of March, 1861. For fourteen months we traversed together the Pacific, seeking some favorable place to found a Scottish colony. Harry Grant was a man capable of performing great deeds, but frequently serious disputes arose between us. His character did not harmonize with mine. I could not yield; but with Harry Grant, when his resolution is taken, all resistance is impossible. He is like iron towards himself and others. However, I dared to mutiny, and attempted to involve the crew and gain possession of the vessel. Whether I did right or wrong is of little importance. However it may be, Captain Grant did not hesitate to land me, April 8, 1862, on the west coast of Australia." "Australia!" exclaimed the major, interrupting Ayrton's story. "Then you left the Britannia before her arrival at Callao, where the last news of her was dated?" "Yes," replied the quartermaster; "for the Britannia never stopped at Callao while I was on board. If I spoke of Callao at O'Moore's farm, it was your story that gave me this information." "Go on, Ayrton," said Glenarvan. [Sidenote: MORE BLANKS THAN PRIZES.] "I found myself, therefore, abandoned on an almost desert coast, but only twenty miles from the penitentiary of Perth, the capital of Western Australia. Wandering along the shore, I met a band of convicts who had just escaped. I joined them. You will spare me, my lord, the account of my life for two years and a half. It is enough to know that I became chief of the runaways, under the name of Ben Joyce. In the month of September, 1864, I made my appearance at the Irishman's farm, and was received as a servant under my true name of Ayrton. Here I waited till an opportunity should be offered to gain possession of a vessel. This was my great object. Two months later the Duncan arrived. During your visit at the farm you related, my lord, the whole story of Captain Grant. I then learned what I had not known, the Britannia's stoppage at Callao, the last news of her, dated June, 1862, two months after my abandonment, the finding of the document, the shipwreck of the vessel, and finally the important reasons you had for seeking Captain Grant in Australia. I did not hesitate, but resolved to appropriate the Duncan,--a marvelous ship, that would have distanced the best of the British navy. However, there were serious injuries to be repaired. I therefore let her start for Melbourne, and offered myself to you in my real character of quartermaster, volunteering to guide you to the scene of the shipwreck, which I falsely located on the eastern coast of Australia. Thus followed at a distance and sometimes preceded by my band of convicts, I conducted your party across the province of Victoria. My companions committed a useless crime at Camden Bridge, since the Duncan, once at Twofold Bay, could not have escaped me, and with it I should have been master of the ocean. I brought you thus unsuspectingly as far as the Snowy River. The horses and oxen fell dead one by one, poisoned by the gastrolobium. I entangled the cart in the marshes. At my suggestion----but you know the rest, my lord, and can be certain that, except for Mr. Paganel's absent-mindedness, I should now be commander on board the Duncan. Such is my story, gentlemen. My disclosures, unfortunately, cannot set you on the track of Captain Grant, and you see that in dealing with me you have made a bad bargain." The quartermaster ceased, crossed his arms, according to his custom, and waited. Glenarvan and his friends were silent. They felt that this strange criminal had told the entire truth. The capture of the Duncan had only failed through a cause altogether beyond his control. His accomplices had reached Twofold Bay, as the convict's blouse, found by Glenarvan, proved. There, faithful to the orders of their chief, they had lain in wait for the yacht, and at last, tired of watching, they had doubtless resumed their occupation of plunder and burning in the fields of New South Wales. The major was the first to resume the examination, in order to determine the dates relative to the Britannia. "It was the 8th of April, 1862, then, that you were landed on the west coast of Australia?" he asked of the quartermaster. "Exactly," replied Ayrton. "And do you know what Captain Grant's plans were then?" "Vaguely." "Continue, Ayrton," said Glenarvan. "The least sign may set us on the track." "What I can say is this, my lord. Captain Grant intended to visit New Zealand. But this part of his programme was not carried out while I was on board. The Britannia might, therefore, after leaving Callao, have gained the shores of New Zealand. This would agree with the date, June 27, 1862, given in the document as the time of the shipwreck." "Evidently," remarked Paganel. "But," added Glenarvan, "there is nothing in these half-obliterated portions of the document which can apply to New Zealand." "That I cannot answer," said the quartermaster. "Well, Ayrton," continued Glenarvan, "you have kept your word, and I will keep mine. We will decide on what island of the Pacific you shall be abandoned." "Oh, it matters little to me," answered Ayrton. "Return to your cabin now, and await our decision." The quartermaster retired, under guard of the two sailors. "This villain might have been a great man," observed the major. "Yes," replied Glenarvan. "He has a strong and self-reliant character. Why must his abilities be devoted to crime?" "But Harry Grant?" "I fear that he is forever lost! Poor children! who could tell them where their father is?" "I!" cried Paganel. As we have remarked, the geographer, although so loquacious and excitable usually, had scarcely spoken during Ayrton's examination. He had listened in total silence. But this last word that he had uttered was worth more than all the others, and startled Glenarvan at once. "You, Paganel!" he exclaimed; "do you know where Captain Grant is?" "As well as can be known," answered the geographer. "And how do you know?" "By that everlasting document." [Sidenote: A GEOGRAPHER'S REMINISCENCES.] "Ah!" said the major, in a tone of the most thorough incredulity. "Listen first, MacNabb, and shrug your shoulders afterwards. I did not speak before, because you would not have believed me. Besides, it was useless. But if I speak to-day, it is because Ayrton's opinion corroborates mine." "Then New Zealand----?" asked Glenarvan. "Hear and judge," replied Paganel. "I did not commit the blunder that saved us, without reason. Just as I was writing that letter at Glenarvan's dictation, the word Zealand was troubling my brain. You remember that we were in the cart. MacNabb had just told Lady Helena the story of the convicts, and had handed her the copy of the _Australian and New Zealand Gazette_ that gave an account of the accident at Camden Bridge. As I was writing, the paper lay on the ground, folded so that only two syllables of its title could be seen, and these were _aland_. What a light broke in upon my mind! 'Aland' was one of the very words in the English document,--a word that we had hitherto translated _ashore_, but which was the termination of the proper name Zealand." "Ha!" cried Glenarvan. "Yes," continued Paganel, with profound conviction, "this interpretation had escaped me, and do you know why? Because my examinations were naturally confined more particularly to the French document, where this important word was wanting." "Ho! ho!" laughed the major, "that is too much imagination, Paganel. You forget your previous conclusions rather easily." "Well, major, I am ready to answer you." "Then what becomes of your word _austral_?" "It is what it was at first. It simply means the southern (_australes_) countries." "Very well. But that word _indi_, that was first the root of Indians (_indiens_), and then of natives (_indigènes_)?" "The third and last time, it shall be the first two syllables of the word _indigence_ (destitution)." "And _contin_!" cried MacNabb; "does it still signify _continent_?" "No, since New Zealand is only an island." "Then?" inquired Glenarvan. "My dear lord," replied Paganel, "I will translate the document for you, according to my third interpretation, and you shall judge. I only make two suggestions. First, forget as far as possible the previous interpretations; and next, although certain passages will seem to you forced, and I may translate them wrongly, still, remember that they have no special importance. Moreover, the French document serves as the basis of my interpretation, and you must consider that it was written by an Englishman who could not have been perfectly familiar with the idioms of our language." So saying, Paganel, slowly pronouncing each syllable, read the following: "On the 27th of June, 1862, the brig Britannia, of Glasgow, foundered, after a long struggle (_agonie_), in the South (_australes_) Seas, on the coasts of New Ze_aland_. Two sailors and Captain Grant succeeded in landing (_abor_der). Here, continually (_contin_uellement) a prey (_pr_oie) to a cruel (_cruel_le) destitution (_indi_gence), they cast this document into the sea, at longitude ---- and latitude 37° 11'. Come to their assistance, or they are lost." Paganel stopped. His interpretation was admissible. But, although it appeared as probable as the other, still it might be as false. Glenarvan and the major therefore no longer attempted to dispute it. However, since the traces of the Britannia had not been encountered on the coasts of Patagonia or Australia, the chances were in favor of New Zealand. "Now, Paganel," said Glenarvan, "will you tell me why, for about two months, you kept this interpretation secret?" [Sidenote: UNANIMITY IN DESPAIR.] "Because I did not wish to give you vain hopes. Besides, we were going to Auckland, which is on the very latitude of the document." "But afterwards, when we were taken out of our course, why did you not speak?" "Because, however just this interpretation may be, it cannot contribute to the captain's rescue." "Why, Paganel?" "Because, admitting that Captain Grant was wrecked on the coast of New Zealand, as long as he has not made his appearance for two years since the disaster, he must have fallen a victim to the sea or the savages." "Then your opinion is----?" asked Glenarvan. "That we might perhaps find some traces of the shipwreck, but that the seamen of the Britannia have perished." "Keep all this silent, my friends," replied Glenarvan, "and leave me to choose the time for telling this sad news to the children of Captain Grant." CHAPTER LVIII. A CRY IN THE NIGHT. The crew soon learned that Ayrton's disclosures had not thrown light upon the situation of Captain Grant. The despair on board was profound, for they had relied on the quartermaster, who, however, knew nothing that could put the Duncan on the track of the Britannia. The yacht therefore continued on the same course, and the only question now was to choose the island on which to leave Ayrton. Paganel and Captain Mangles consulted the maps on board. Exactly on the thirty-seventh parallel was an island, generally known by the name of Maria Theresa, a lone rock in the midst of the Pacific, three thousand five hundred miles from the American coast, and one thousand five hundred miles from New Zealand. No ship ever came within hail of this solitary isle; no tidings from the world ever reached it. Only the storm-birds rested here during their long flights, and many maps do not even indicate its position. If anywhere absolute isolation was to be found on earth, it was here, afar from the ocean's traveled highways. Its situation was made known to Ayrton, who consented to live there; and the vessel was accordingly headed towards the island. Two days later the lookout hailed land on the horizon. It was Maria Theresa, low, long, and scarcely emerging from the waves, appearing like some enormous sea-monster. Thirty miles still lay between it and the yacht, whose prow cut the waves with such speed that soon the island grew distinct. The sun, now sinking towards the west, defined its outlines in glowing light. Several slight elevations were tinged with the last rays of the day. At five o'clock Captain Mangles thought he distinguished a faint smoke rising towards the sky. "Is that a volcano?" he inquired of Paganel, who, with his telescope, was examining the land. "I do not know what to think," replied the geographer. "Maria Theresa is a point little known. However, I should not be surprised if its origin was due to some volcanic upheaval." "But then," said Glenarvan, "if an eruption created it, may we not fear that the same agency will destroy it?" "That is scarcely probable," answered Paganel. "Its existence has been known for several centuries; and this seems a guarantee for its continuance." "Well," continued Glenarvan, "do you think, captain, that we can land before night?" [Sidenote: ANOTHER ARTIFICIAL VOLCANO.] "No, certainly not. I ought not to endanger the Duncan in the darkness, on a coast that is not familiar to me. I will keep a short distance from land, and to-morrow at daybreak we will send a boat ashore." At eight o'clock Maria Theresa, although only five miles to windward, appeared like a lengthened shadow, scarcely visible. An hour later, quite a bright light, like a fire, blazed in the darkness. It was motionless and stationary. "That would seem to indicate a volcano," said Paganel, watching it attentively. "However," replied Captain Mangles, "at this distance we ought to hear the commotion that always accompanies an eruption, and yet the wind brings no sound to our ears." "Indeed," observed Paganel, "this volcano glows, but does not speak. You might say that it throws out intermittent flashes like a lighthouse." "You are right," continued Captain Mangles; "and yet we are not on the illuminated side. Ha!" cried he, "another fire! On the shore this time! See! it moves, it changes its place!" He was not mistaken. A new light had appeared, that sometimes seemed to go out, and then all at once flash forth again. "Is the island inhabited?" asked Glenarvan. "Evidently, by savages," replied Paganel. "Then we cannot abandon the quartermaster here." "No," said the major; "that would be giving even savages too dangerous a present." "We will seek some other deserted island," resumed Glenarvan, who could not help smiling at MacNabb's delicacy. "I promised Ayrton his life, and I will keep my promise." "At all events, let us beware," added Paganel. "The New Zealanders have the barbarous custom of misleading ships by moving fires. The natives of Maria Theresa may understand this deception." "Bear away a point," cried the captain to the sailor at the helm. "To-morrow, at sunrise, we shall know what is to be done." At eleven o'clock the passengers and the captain retired to their cabins. At the bow the first watch was pacing the deck, while at the stern the helmsman was alone at his post. In the stillness Mary and Robert Grant came on deck. The two children, leaning upon the railing, gazed sadly at the phosphorescent sea and the luminous wake of the yacht. Mary thought of Robert's future; Robert thought of his sister's; both thought of their father. Was that beloved parent still living? Yet must they give him up? But no, what would life be without him? What would become of them without his protection? What would have become of them already, except for the magnanimity of Lord and Lady Glenarvan? The boy, taught by misfortune, divined the thoughts that were agitating his sister. He took her hand in his. "Mary," said he, "we must never despair. Remember the lessons our father taught us. 'Courage compensates for everything in this world,' he said. Let us have that indomitable courage that overcomes all obstacles. Hitherto you have labored for me, my sister, but now I shall labor for you." "Dear Robert!" replied the young girl. "I must tell you one thing," continued he. "You will not be sorry, Mary?" "Why should I be sorry, my child?" "And you will let me do as I wish?" "What do you mean?" asked she, anxiously. "My sister, I shall be a sailor----!" "And leave me?" cried the young girl, clasping her brother's hand. [Sidenote: EULOGY AND THRENODY.] "Yes, sister, I shall be a sailor, like my father, and like Captain John. Mary, my dear Mary, he has not lost all hope! You will have, like me, confidence in his devotion. He has promised that he will make me a thorough and efficient sailor, and we shall seek our father together. Say that you are willing, sister. What our father would have done for us it is our duty, or mine at least, to do for him. My life has but one object, to which it is wholly devoted,--to search always for him who would never have abandoned either of us. Dear Mary, how good our father was!" "And so noble, so generous!" added Mary. "Do you know, Robert, that he was already one of the glories of our country, and would have ranked among its great men if fate had not arrested his course?" "How well I know it!" answered Robert. Mary pressed her brother to her heart, and the child felt tears dropping upon his forehead. "Mary! Mary!" cried he, "it is in vain for them to speak, or to keep silent. I hope still, and shall always do so. A man like our father does not die till he has accomplished his purpose!" Mary Grant could not reply; sobs choked her utterance. A thousand emotions agitated her soul at the thought that new attempts would be made to find her father, and that the young captain's devotion was boundless. "Does Mr. John still hope?" asked she. "Yes," replied Robert. "He is a brother who will never forsake us. I shall be a sailor, shall I not, sister,--a sailor to seek my father with him? Are you willing?" "Yes," said Mary. "But must we be separated?" "You will not be alone, Mary, I know. John has told me so. Lady Helena will not permit you to leave her. You are a woman, and can and ought to accept her benefits. To refuse them would be ungrateful. But a man, as my father has told me a hundred times, ought to make his own fortune." "But what will become of our house at Dundee, so full of associations?" "We will keep it, my sister. All that has been well arranged by our friend John and Lord Glenarvan, who will keep you at Malcolm Castle like a daughter. He said so to John, who told me. You will be at home there, and wait till John and I bring back our father. Ah, what a joyful day that will be!" cried Robert, whose face was radiant with enthusiasm. "My brother, my child!" exclaimed Mary, "how happy our father would be if he could hear you! How much you resemble him, dear Robert! When you are a man you will be quite like him!" "God grant it, Mary!" said Robert, glowing with holy and filial pride. "But how shall we pay our debt to Lord and Lady Glenarvan?" continued Mary. "Oh, that will not be difficult," answered Robert, with his boyish impulsiveness. "We will tell them how much we love and respect them, and we will show it to them by our actions." "That is all we can do!" added the young girl, covering her brother's face with kisses; "and all that they will like, too!" Then, relapsing into reveries, the two children of the captain gazed silently into the shadowy obscurity of the night. However, in fancy they still conversed, questioned, and answered each other. The sea rocked the ship in silence, and the phosphorescent waters glistened in the darkness. But now a strange, a seemingly supernatural event took place. The brother and sister, by one of those magnetic attractions that mysteriously draw the souls of friends together, experienced at the same instant the same curious hallucination. [Sidenote: "METHOUGHT, THE BILLOWS SPOKE!"] From the midst of these alternately brightening and darkening waves, they thought they heard a voice issue, whose depth of sadness stirred every fibre of their hearts. "Help! help!" cried the voice. "Mary," said Robert, "did you hear?" And, raising their heads above the bulwarks, they both gazed searchingly into the misty shadows of the night. Yet there was nothing but the darkness stretching blankly before them. "Robert," said Mary, pale with emotion, "I thought--yes, I thought like you." At this moment another cry reached them, and this time the illusion was such that these words broke simultaneously from both their hearts: "My father! my father!" This was too much for Mary Grant. Overcome by emotion, she sank senseless into her brother's arms. "Help!" cried Robert. "My sister! my father! help!" The man at the helm hastened to Miss Grant's assistance, and after him the sailors of the watch, Captain Mangles, Lady Helena, and Lord Glenarvan, who had been suddenly awakened. "My sister is dying, and my father is yonder!" exclaimed Robert, pointing to the waves. No one understood his words. "Yes," repeated he, "my father is yonder! I heard his voice, and Mary did too!" Just then Mary Grant recovered consciousness, and, looking wildly around, cried: "My father, my father is yonder!" The unfortunate girl arose, and, leaning over the bulwark, would have thrown herself into the sea. "My lord! Madam!" repeated she, clasping her hands, "I tell you my father is there! I declare to you that I heard his voice issue from the waves like a despairing wail, like a last adieu!" [Sidenote: THE POSITIVENESS OF DISBELIEF.] Then her feelings overcame the poor girl, and she became insensible. They carried her to her cabin, and Lady Helena followed, to minister to her wants, while Robert kept repeating: [Illustration: The unfortunate girl arose, and, leaning over the bulwark, would have thrown herself into the sea.] "My father! my father is there! I am sure of it, my lord!" The witnesses of this sorrowful scene perceived at last that the two children had been the sport of an hallucination. But how undeceive their senses, which had been so strongly impressed? Glenarvan, however, attempted it, and taking Robert by the hand, said: "You heard your father's voice, my dear boy?" "Yes, my lord. Yonder, in the midst of the waves, he cried, 'Help! help!'" "And you recognized the voice?" "Did I recognize it? Oh, yes, I assure you! My sister heard and recognized it, too. How could both of us be deceived? My lord, let us go to his rescue. A boat! a boat!" Glenarvan saw plainly that he could not undeceive the poor child. Still, he made a last attempt, and called the helmsman. "Hawkins," asked he, "you were at the wheel when Miss Grant was so singularly affected?" "Yes, my lord," replied Hawkins. "And you did not see or hear anything?" "Nothing." "You see how it is, Robert." "If it had been _his_ father," answered the lad, with irrepressible energy, "he would not say so. It was _my_ father, my lord! my father, my father----!" Robert's voice was choked by a sob. Pale and speechless, he, too, like his sister, lost consciousness. Glenarvan had him carried to his bed, and the child, overcome by emotion, sank into a profound slumber. "Poor orphans!" said Captain Mangles; "God tries them in a terrible way!" "Yes," replied Glenarvan, "excessive grief has produced upon both at the same moment a similar effect." "Upon both!" murmured Paganel. "That is strange!" Then, leaning forward, after making a sign to keep still, he listened attentively. The silence was profound everywhere. Paganel called in a loud voice, but there was no answer. "It is strange!" repeated the geographer, returning to his cabin; "an intimate sympathy of thought and grief does not suffice to explain this mystery." Early the next morning the passengers (and among them were Robert and Mary, for it was impossible to restrain them) were assembled on deck. All wished to examine this land, which had been scarcely distinguishable the night before. The principal points of the island were eagerly scanned. The yacht coasted along about a mile from the shore, and the unassisted eye could easily discern the larger objects. Suddenly Robert uttered a cry. He maintained that he saw two men running and gesticulating, while a third was waving a flag. "Yes: the flag of England!" cried Captain Mangles, when he had used his glass. "It is true!" said Paganel, turning quickly towards Robert. "My lord!" exclaimed the boy, trembling with excitement,--"my lord, if you do not wish me to swim to the island, you will lower a boat! Ah, my lord, if you please, I do wish to be the first to land!" [Sidenote: A COMPENSATION FOR ALL.] No one knew what to say. Were there three men, shipwrecked sailors, Englishmen, on that island? All recalled the events of the night before, and thought of the voice heard by Robert and Mary. Perhaps, after all, they were not mistaken. A voice might have reached them. But could this voice be that of their father? No, alas, no! And each, thinking of the terrible disappointment that was probably in store, trembled lest this new trial would exceed their strength. But how restrain them? Lord Glenarvan had not the courage. "Lower the boat!" cried he. In a moment this was done; the two children, Glenarvan, Captain Mangles, and Paganel stepped into it, and six earnest and skilled oarsmen sped away towards the shore. At ten yards therefrom, Mary uttered again the heart-rending cry: "My father!" A man was standing on the beach between two others. His form was tall and stout, while his weather-beaten yet pleasant countenance betrayed a strong resemblance to the features of Mary and Robert Grant. It was, indeed, the man whom the children had so often described. Their hearts had not deceived them. It was their father, it was Captain Grant! He heard his daughter's cry, he opened his arms, and supported her fainting form. CHAPTER LIX. CAPTAIN GRANT'S STORY. Joy does not kill, for the long lost father and his recovered children were soon rejoicing together and preparing to return to the yacht. But how can we depict that scene, so little looked for by any? Words are powerless. [Sidenote: THE JOYS OF REUNION.] As soon as he gained the deck, Harry Grant sank upon his knees. The pious Scotchman, on touching what was to him the soil of his country, wished, first of all, to thank God for his deliverance. Then, turning towards Lady Helena; Lord Glenarvan, and their companions, he thanked them in a voice broken by emotion. While on their way to the yacht, his children had briefly told him the story of the Duncan. [Illustration: A man was standing on the beach between two others. His form was tall and stout.] How great a debt of gratitude did he feel that he owed this noble woman and her companions! From Lord Glenarvan down to the lowest sailor, had not all struggled and suffered for him? Harry Grant expressed the feelings of thankfulness that overflowed his heart with so much simplicity and nobleness, and his manly countenance was illumined by so pure and sincere a sentiment, that all felt themselves repaid for the trials they had undergone. Even the imperturbable major's eye was wet with a tear that he could not repress. As for Paganel, he wept like a child who does not think of hiding his emotion. Captain Grant could not cease gazing at his daughter. He found her beautiful and charming, and told her so again and again, appealing to Lady Helena as if to be assured that his fatherly love was not mistaken. Then, turning to his son, he cried rapturously: "How he has grown! He is a man!" He lavished upon these two beings, so dearly loved, the thousand expressions of love that had been unuttered during long years of absence. Robert introduced him successively to all his friends. All had alike proved their kindness and good wishes towards the two orphans. When Captain Mangles came to be introduced, he blushed like a young girl, and his voice trembled as he saluted Mary's father. Lady Helena then told the story of the voyage, and made the captain proud of his son and daughter. He learned the exploits of the young hero, and how the boy had already repaid part of his obligation to Lord Glenarvan at the peril of his life. Captain Mangles' language to Mary and concerning her was so truly loving, that Harry Grant, who had been already informed on this point by Lady Helena, placed the hand of his daughter in that of the noble young captain, and, turning towards Lord and Lady Glenarvan, said: "My lord and lady, join with me to bless our children!" It was not long before Glenarvan related Ayrton's story to the captain, who confirmed the quartermaster's declaration in regard to his having been abandoned on the Australian coast. "He is a shrewd and courageous man," added he; "but his passions have ruined him. May meditation and repentance lead him to better feelings!" But before Ayrton was transferred to Tabor Island, Harry Grant wished to show his new friends the bounds of his habitation. He invited them to visit his house, and sit for once at his table. Glenarvan and his companions cordially accepted the invitation, and Robert and Mary were not a little desirous to see those haunts where their father had doubtless at times bewailed his fate. A boat was manned, and the whole party soon disembarked on the shores of the island. A few hours sufficed to traverse Captain Grant's domain. It was in reality the summit of a submarine mountain, covered with basaltic rocks and volcanic fragments. When the shipwrecked seamen of the Britannia took refuge here, the hand of man began to control the development of nature's resources, and in two years and a half the captain and his companions had completely metamorphosed their island home. The visitors at last reached the house, shaded by verdant gum-trees, while before its windows stretched the glorious sea, glittering in the rays of the sun. Harry Grant set his table in the shade, and all took seats around it. Some cold roast meat, some of the produce of the breadfruit-tree, several bowls of milk, two or three bunches of wild chicory, and pure, fresh water, formed the elements of the simple but healthful repast. Paganel was in ecstasies. It recalled his old idea of Robinson Crusoe. [Sidenote: THE RULING PASSION STILL STRONG.] "That rascal Ayrton will have no cause to complain," cried he in his enthusiasm. "The island is a paradise!" "Yes," replied Harry Grant, "a paradise for three poor sailors whom Heaven sheltered here. But I regret that Maria Theresa is not a large and fertile island, with a river instead of a rivulet, and a harbor instead of a coast so exposed to the force of the waves." "And why, captain?" asked Glenarvan. "Because I would have laid here the foundation of that colony that I wish to present to Scotland." "Ah!" said Glenarvan. "Then you have not abandoned the idea that has made you so popular in your native land?" "No, my lord; and God has saved me, through your instrumentality, only to permit me to accomplish it. Our poor brothers of old Caledonia shall yet have another Scotland in the New World. Our dear country must possess in these seas a colony of her own, where she can find that independence and prosperity that are wanting in many European empires." "That is well said, captain," replied Lady Helena. "It is a noble project, and worthy of a great heart. But this island----?" "No, madam, it is a rock, only large enough to support a few colonists; while we need a vast territory, rich in all primitive treasures." "Well, captain," cried Glenarvan, "the future is before us! Let us seek this land together!" The hands of both men met in a warm clasp, as if to ratify this promise. All now wished to hear the story of the shipwrecked sailors of the Britannia during those two long years of solitude. Harry Grant accordingly hastened to satisfy the desires of his new friends, and began as follows: [Illustration: Harry Grant set his table in the shade, and all took seats around it.] [Sidenote: A TALE OF INDUSTRY.] "It was on the night of the 26th of June, 1862, that the Britannia, disabled by a six days' tempest, was wrecked on the rock of Maria Theresa. The sea was so high that to save anything was impossible, and all the crew perished except my two sailors, Bob Learce and Joe Bell, and myself; and we succeeded in reaching the coast after many struggles. The land that we thus reached was only a desert island, two miles wide and five long, with a few trees in the interior, some meadow land, and a spring of fresh water that, fortunately, has never ceased to flow. Alone with my two sailors, in this quarter of the globe, I did not despair, but, placing my confidence in God, engaged in a resolute struggle. Bob and Joe, my companions and friends in misfortune, energetically aided my efforts. We began, like Robinson Crusoe, by collecting the fragments of the vessel, some tools, a little powder, several weapons, and a bag of precious seeds. The first weeks were very toilsome, but soon hunting and fishing furnished us subsistence, for wild goats swarmed in the interior of the island, and marine animals abounded on its coast. Gradually our daily routine was regularly organized. I determined our exact situation by my instruments, which I had saved from the shipwreck. We were out of the regular course of ships, and could not be rescued except by a providential interposition. Although thinking of those who were dear to me, and whom I never expected to see again, still I accepted this trial with fortitude, and my most earnest prayers were for my two children. Meantime we labored resolutely. Much of the land was sown with the seeds taken from the Britannia; and potatoes, chicory, sorrel, and other vegetables improved and varied our daily food. We caught several goats, which were easily kept, and had milk and butter. The breadfruit-tree, which grew in the dry creeks, furnished us with a sort of nourishing bread, and the wants of life no longer gave us any alarm. We built a house out of the fragments of the Britannia, covered it with sails, carefully tarred, and under this shelter the rainy season was comfortably passed. Here many plans were discussed, and many dreams enjoyed, the best of which has just been realized! At first I thought of braving the sea in a boat made of the wreck of the vessel; but a vast distance separated us from the nearest land. No boat could have endured so long a voyage. I therefore abandoned my design, and no longer expected deliverance, except through a Divine interposition. Ah, my poor children, how many times, on the rocks of the coast, have we waited for ships at sea! During the entire period of our exile only two or three sails appeared on the horizon, and these soon to disappear again. Two years and a half passed thus. We no longer hoped, but still did not wholly despair. At last, yesterday afternoon, I had mounted the highest summit of the island, when I perceived a faint smoke in the west, which grew clearer, and I soon distinctly discerned a vessel that seemed to be coming towards us. But would she not avoid this island, which offered no landing-place? Ah, what a day of anguish, and how my heart throbbed! My companions kindled a fire on one of the peaks. Night came, but the ship gave no signal for approach. Deliverance was there, and should we see it vanish? I hesitated no longer. The darkness increased. The vessel might double the island during the night. I threw myself into the sea, to swim to her. Hope increased my strength. I beat the waves with almost superhuman energy, and approached the yacht. Scarcely thirty yards separated me, when she tacked. Then I uttered those despairing cries which my two children alone heard, for they were no illusion. I returned to the shore, exhausted and overcome by fatigue and emotion. It was a terrible night, this last one on the island. We believed ourselves forever abandoned, when, at daybreak, I perceived the yacht slowly coasting along the shores. Your boat was then lowered,--we were saved, and, thanks to the Divine goodness of Heaven, my dear children were there to stretch out their arms to me!" [Sidenote: THE DOCUMENT ONCE MORE!] Harry Grant's story was finished amid a fresh shower of kisses and caresses from Robert and Mary. The captain learned now, for the first time, that he owed his deliverance to that hieroglyphic document that, eight days after his shipwreck, he had inclosed in a bottle and confided to the mercy of the waves. But what did Jacques Paganel think during this recital? The worthy geographer revolved the words of the document a thousand ways in his brain. He reviewed his three interpretations, which were all false. How had this island been indicated in these damaged papers? He could no longer restrain himself, but, seizing Harry Grant's hand, cried: "Captain, will you tell me what your undecipherable document contained?" At this request curiosity was general, for the long-sought clew to the mystery would now be given. "Well, captain," said Paganel, "do you remember the exact words of the document?" "Perfectly," replied Harry Grant; "and scarcely a day has passed but memory has recalled those words upon which our only hope hung." "And what are they, captain?" inquired Glenarvan. "Tell us, for our curiosity is great." "I am ready to satisfy you," continued Harry Grant; "but you know that, to increase the chances of success, I inclosed in the bottle three documents, written in three languages. Which one do you wish to hear?" "They are not identical, then?" cried Paganel. "Yes, almost to a word." "Well, give us the French document," said Glenarvan. "This one was spared the most by the waves, and has served as the principal basis for our search." "This is it, my lord, word for word," answered Harry Grant. "'On the 27th June, 1862, the brig Britannia, of Glasgow, was lost 1500 leagues from Patagonia, in the southern hemisphere. Carried by the waves, two sailors and Captain Grant reached Tabor Island----'" "Ha!" interrupted Paganel. "'Here,'" resumed Harry Grant, "'continually a prey to a cruel destitution, they cast this document into the sea at longitude 153° and latitude 37° 11'. Come to their aid, or they are lost.'" At the word "Tabor," Paganel had suddenly risen, and then, controlling himself no longer, he cried: "How Tabor Island? It is Maria Theresa." "Certainly, Mr. Paganel," replied Harry Grant; "Maria Theresa on the English and German, but Tabor on the French maps." At this moment a vigorous blow descended upon Paganel's shoulder. Truth compels us to say that it was from the major, who now failed in his strict habits of propriety. "A fine geographer you are!" said MacNabb, in a tone of badinage. "But no matter, since we have succeeded." "No matter?" cried Paganel; "I ought never to have forgotten that twofold appellation! It is an unpardonable mistake, unworthy of the secretary of a Geographical Society. I am disgraced!" When the meal was finished, Harry Grant put everything in order in his house. He took nothing away, for he was willing that the guilty convict should inherit his possessions. They returned to the vessel; and, as he expected to sail the same day, Glenarvan gave orders for the quartermaster's landing. Ayrton was brought on deck, and found himself in the presence of Harry Grant. "It is I, Ayrton," said he. "Yes, captain," replied Ayrton, without betraying any astonishment at Harry Grant's appearance. "Well, I am not sorry to see you again in good health." [Illustration: The passengers could see the quartermaster, with folded arms, standing motionless as a statue, on a rock, and gazing at the vessel.] "It seems, Ayrton, that I made a mistake in landing you on an inhabited coast." "It seems so, captain." "You will take my place on this desert island. May Heaven lead you to repentance!" "May it be so," rejoined Ayrton, in a calm tone. Then Glenarvan, addressing the quartermaster, said: "Do you still adhere, Ayrton, to this determination to be abandoned?" "Yes, my lord." "Does Tabor Island suit you?" "Perfectly." "Now listen to my last words. You will be far removed from every land, and deprived of all communication with your fellow-men. Miracles are rare, and you will not probably remove from this island, where we leave you. You will be alone, under the eye of God, who reads the uttermost depths of all hearts; but you will not be lost, as was Captain Grant. However unworthy you may be of the remembrance of men, still they will remember you. I know where you are, and will never forget you." "Thank you, my lord!" replied Ayrton, simply. Such were the last words exchanged between Glenarvan and the quartermaster. The boat was ready, and Ayrton embarked. Captain Mangles had previously sent to the island several cases of preserved food, some clothes, tools, weapons, and a supply of powder and shot. The abandoned man could therefore employ his time to advantage. Nothing was wanting, not even books, foremost among which was a Bible. The hour for separation had come. The crew and passengers stood on deck. More than one felt the heart strangely moved. Lady Helena and Mary Grant could not repress their emotion. "Must it then be so?" inquired the young wife of her husband. "Must this unfortunate be abandoned?" [Sidenote: "FAREWELL! A LONG FAREWELL!"] "He must, Helena," answered Glenarvan. "It is his punishment." At this moment the boat, commanded by Captain Mangles, started. Ayrton raised his hat and gave a grave salute. Glenarvan and the crew returned this last farewell, as if to a man about to die, as he departed, in a profound silence. On reaching the shore, Ayrton leaped upon the sand, and the boat returned. It was then four o'clock in the afternoon, and from the upper deck the passengers could see the quartermaster, with folded arms, standing motionless as a statue, on a rock, and gazing at the vessel. "Shall we start, my lord?" asked Captain Mangles. "Yes, John," replied Glenarvan, quickly, with more emotion than he wished to manifest. "All right!" cried the captain to the engineer. The steam hissed, the screw beat the waves, and at eight o'clock the last summits of Tabor Island disappeared in the shadows of the night. CHAPTER LX. PAGANEL'S LAST ENTANGLEMENT. Eleven days after leaving Tabor Island the Duncan came in sight of the Australian coast, and anchored in Talcahuana Bay. Five months had elapsed since her departure from this port, during which time the travelers had made the circuit of the world on this thirty-seventh parallel. Their efforts had not been in vain, for they had found the shipwrecked survivors of the Britannia. The Duncan, having taken in her necessary stores, skirted the coasts of Patagonia, doubled Cape Horn, and steamed across the Atlantic. The voyage was very uneventful. The yacht carried a full complement of happy people; there seemed to be no secrets on board. A mystery, however, still perplexed MacNabb. Why did Paganel always keep hermetically incased in his clothes, and wear a comforter over his ears? The major longed to know the motive for this singular fancy. But in spite of his questions, hints, and suspicions, Paganel did not unbutton his coat. At last, fifty-three days after leaving Talcahuana, Captain Mangles descried the lighthouse of Cape Clear. The vessel entered St. George's Channel, crossed the Irish Sea, and passed into the Frith of Clyde. At eleven o'clock they anchored at Dumbarton, and early in the afternoon the travelers reached Malcolm Castle, amidst the hurrahs of their tenantry and friends. Thus it was that Harry Grant and his two companions were rescued, and that John Mangles married Mary Grant in the old cathedral of St. Mungo, where the Rev. Mr. Morton, who nine months before had prayed for the rescue of the father, now blessed the union of the daughter with one of his deliverers. It was arranged that Robert should be a sailor, like his father and brother-in-law, and that he should continue the contemplated project of the former, under the munificent patronage of Lord Glenarvan. But was Jacques Paganel to die a bachelor? Certainly not; for, after his heroic exploits, the worthy geographer could not escape celebrity. His eccentricities (and his abilities) made him much talked of in Scotland. People seemed as though they could not show him enough attention. Just at this time an amiable lady of thirty, none other than the major's cousin, a little eccentric herself, but still agreeable and charming, fell in love with the geographer's peculiarities. Paganel was far from being insensible to Miss Arabella's attractions, yet did not dare to declare his sentiments. The major accordingly undertook the part of Cupid's messenger between these two congenial hearts, and even told Paganel that marriage was "the last blunder" that he could commit. But the geographer was very much embarrassed, and, strangely enough, could not summon courage to speak for himself. [Illustration: Early in the afternoon the travelers reached Malcolm Castle, amidst the hurrahs of their tenantry and friends.] "Does not Miss Arabella please you?" MacNabb would say to him. "Oh, major, she is charming!" cried Paganel,--"a thousand times too charming for me; and, if I must tell you, would please me better if she were less so. I should like to find a defect." "Be easy," answered the major; "she has more than one. The most perfect woman always has her share. Well, then, Paganel, are you decided?" "I do not dare." "But, my learned friend, why do you hesitate?" "I am unworthy of her!" was the geographer's invariable reply. At last, one day, driven desperate by the irrepressible major, Paganel confessed to him, under the pledge of secrecy, a peculiarity that would facilitate his identification, if the police should ever be on his track! "Bah!" exclaimed the major. "It is as I tell you," persisted Paganel. "What matter, my worthy friend?" "Is that your opinion?" "On the contrary, you are only more remarkable. This adds to your personal advantages. It makes you the inimitable individual of whom Arabella has dreamed." And the major, preserving an imperturbable gravity, left Paganel a prey to the most acute anxiety. A short interview took place between MacNabb and the lady, and fifteen weeks after a marriage was celebrated with great pomp in the chapel of Malcolm Castle. [Illustration: Fifteen weeks after a marriage was celebrated with great pomp in the chapel of Malcolm Castle.] The geographer's secret would doubtless have remained forever buried in the abysses of the unknown if the major had not told it to Glenarvan, who did not conceal it from Lady Helena, who communicated it to Mrs. Mangles. In short, it reached the ear of Mrs. Olbinett, and spread. Jacques Paganel, during his three days' captivity among the Maoris, had been tattooed from head to foot, and bore on his breast the picture of an heraldic kiwi with outstretched wings, in the act of biting at his heart. This was the only adventure of his great voyage for which Paganel could never be consoled or pardon the New Zealanders. In spite of the representations of his friends, he dared not go back to France, for fear of exposing the whole Geographical Society in his person to the jests and railleries of the caricaturists. The return of Captain Grant to Scotland was welcomed as a cause for national rejoicing, and he became the popular man of old Caledonia. His son Robert has become a sailor like himself, and, under the patronage of Lord Glenarvan, has undertaken the plan of founding a Scottish colony on the shores washed by the Pacific Ocean. 
53244	----	[Illustration: KING TAWHIAO.] THE KING COUNTRY; OR, EXPLORATIONS IN NEW ZEALAND. _A NARRATIVE OF 600 MILES OF TRAVEL THROUGH MAORILAND._ BY J.H. KERRY-NICHOLLS. [Illustration: THE AUTHOR.] WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP. _SECOND EDITION._ London: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 1884 [_All rights reserved._] THIS WORK IS DEDICATED BY PERMISSION TO SIR GEORGE GREY, K.C.B., F.R.S., WHOSE CAREER AS GOVERNOR, STATESMAN, ORATOR, AUTHOR, AND EXPLORER, HAS SHED LUSTRE UPON THE HISTORY OF AUSTRALASIA. PREFACE. In publishing this record of travel, I have deemed it advisable to arrange my narrative under four principal divisions. In the introductory portion I refer to the leading physical features of that part of the North Island of New Zealand known as the King Country, relate the leading incidents connected with its history, describe the condition of the native race, and explain the object with which my journey was undertaken. The succeeding chapters deal with my visit to the Maori King when presenting my credentials from Sir George Grey at the tribal gathering held at Whatiwhatihoe in October, 1882. The description of the Lake Country includes my route from Tauranga, on the East Coast, to Wairakei, and which led me through the marvellously interesting region familiarly termed the Wonderland of New Zealand, while in the pages embracing my explorations in the King Country I record events as they occurred from day to day over a lengthy journey which was delightful on account of its novelty and variety, and exciting by reason of the difficulties, both as regards natural obstacles inseparable from the exploration of an unknown region under the unfavourable conditions by which I was constrained to carry it out, and the deep-rooted jealousy of the native race against the intrusion of Europeans into a portion of the island which is considered by them to be exclusively Maori territory. When it is considered that in company only with my interpreter, and with but three horses--ultimately reduced to two--and with what scant provisions we could carry, I accomplished considerably over 600 miles of travel, discovered many new rivers and streams, penetrated almost inaccessible regions of mountainous forest, found extensive areas of open plains suitable for European settlement, traced the sources of three of the principal rivers of the colony, examined the unknown shores of its largest lake, ascended one of the highest mountains of the southern hemisphere, experienced degrees of temperature varying from 80° in the shade to 12° below freezing-point, and successfully traversed from South to North, through its entire length, a territory with an area of 10,000 square miles, and which had been from the early history of the colony rigorously closed to Europeans by the hostility of the native tribes, it may be readily seen that the explorations, by their varied nature, disclose many important facts hitherto unknown concerning a vast and beautiful portion of New Zealand; and while they cannot fail to prove of practical utility to the colony, they will, I venture to think, be a welcome addition to geographical science. The map appended to this work may be said to form the most complete chart of the interior of the North Island as yet published. Up to the present time the extensive territory embraced by the King Country has, owing to the obstruction of the natives, never been surveyed, and consequently many of its remarkable physical features have remained unknown, the existing maps of this part of the colony being mere outlines. As, therefore, considerably more than half of the country traversed was through a region which was, to all intents and purposes, a _terra incognita_ from the commencement of my journey, I adopted a system of barometrical measurements and topographical observations, and thus secured a supply of valuable material, which I mapped out from day to day, while the names of mountains, rivers, valleys, and lakes were obtained from the natives by the skilful assistance of my interpreter, who was at all times unceasing in his endeavours to carry out this part of the work with accuracy. The table of altitudes of the various camping-places and stations of observation throughout the country explored will be found to be of considerable interest and importance. By these results the conformation of a large portion of the island may be arrived at. Thus, beginning at Tauranga, and taking that place at ten feet above sea-level, it will be seen that the land rises rapidly from the coast-line for a distance of about twenty miles, when, at the Mangorewa Gorge, it attains to an altitude of 1800 feet; from that point it falls towards the South until the table-land of the Lake Country is reached, when, at Lake Rotorua, it has an altitude of 961 feet. From the latter place, still going southward, the table-land rises with an elevation varying from 1000 to 1500 feet, until it falls towards the valley of the Waikato, when at Atea-Amuri it is not more than 650 feet above the level of the sea. Further along it gradually rises until it reaches Oruanui, some fifteen miles distant, where an altitude of 1625 feet is attained, until the country again falls to the extensive table-land of Taupo, where over a large area it maintains an elevation varying from 1000 to 1400 feet, the great lake itself standing at an altitude of 1175 feet. Southward of Lake Taupo the Rangipo table-land varies from 2000 to 3000 feet, until it falls towards the South Coast, giving an altitude at Karioi, on the Murimotu Plains, of 2400 feet. Westward of this point the country falls gradually to 560 feet to the valley of the Whanganui, and from that region going eastward to the Waimarino Plains it attains to an elevation of 2850 feet in a distance of about thirty miles. Northward again along the western table-land of Lake Taupo it varies in height from 1000 to 2420 feet, until the Takapiti Valley is reached, where it is only 900 feet. In the Te Toto Ranges an altitude of 1700 feet is attained, until at Manga-o-rongo, a deep basin-like depression in the valley of the Waipa, the land is not more than 200 feet above sea level. The wood engravings contained in this work are from original sketches by the author, with the exception of that of the native village of Lake Rotoiti, which is from a painting by the talented artist Mr. Charles Bloomfield. They were engraved by Mr. James Cooper of Arundel Street, Strand. The portraits of the native chiefs are from photographs taken by E. Pulman and J. Bartlett of Auckland. They have been reproduced by the Meisenbach process. In the Appendix will be found a synopsis of the principal _flora_ met with during the journey, together with that of Mount Tongariro and Mount Ruapehu, up to the highest altitude attained by plant-life in the North Island. A synopsis of the _fauna_ is also added. Biographical sketches are given of King Tawhiao and several noted chiefs, with a list of the principal tribes and their localities. There is likewise a brief reference to the Maori language, with a compendium of the most useful native words. In bringing this volume to its completion, I desire to acknowledge my indebtedness to Sir George Grey, K.C.B., for his letter of introduction to King Tawhiao; to Mr. C.O. Davis, for the willing way he at all times placed his scholarly knowledge of the Maori language at my disposal; to Mr. T.F. Cheeseman, F.L.S., for the classification of the _flora_ of Tongariro and Ruapehu; to Mr. James McKerrow, Surveyor-General, for maps and charts of the colony; to Mr. Percy Smith, Assistant-Surveyor-General, for a correction of altitudes; to Mr. Robert Graham, of Ohinemutu, for voluntarily placing his best horses at my disposal; to J.A. Turner, for an unceasing earnestness of purpose in fulfilling his duties as interpreter; and to the Whitaker Ministry, for their recognition of the usefulness of my work. CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. PAGE Geographical description of the King Country--Its political state--Efforts made to open it--Condition of the natives--Origin of the journey--Letter of introduction to the king 1 THE FRONTIER OF THE KING COUNTRY. CHAPTER I. THE KING'S CAMP. Alexandra--Crossing the frontier--Whatiwhatihoe--The camp--King Tawhiao--The chiefs--"_Taihoa_" 17 CHAPTER II. THE KORERO. The Kingites--Half-castes--An albino--The king's speech--Maori oratory--The feast 27 CHAPTER III. ASCENT OF PIRONGIA. Mount Pirongia--Geological features--The ascent--A fair prospect 36 THE LAKE COUNTRY. CHAPTER IV. AUCKLAND TO OHINEMUTU. The flank movement--Auckland Harbour--Tauranga--Whakari--The _tuatara_--_En route_--The Gate Pa--All that remains--Oropi--A grand forest--Mangorewa Gorge--Mangorewa River--A region of eternal fire 46 CHAPTER V. HOT-SPRING LIFE. Ohinemutu and Lake Rotorua--Te Ruapeka--The old _pa_--Native baths--Delightful bathing--A curious graveyard--Pigs--Area of thermal action--Character of the springs--Chemical constituents--Noted springs--Whakarewarewa--Te Koutu--Kahotawa--"_Tenakoe, pakeha_"--Hot and cold 56 CHAPTER VI. TRADITION, IDOLATRY, AND ROMANCE. Origin of the Maoris--Te Kupe--First canoes--The _runanga_ house--Maori carving--Renowned ancestors--Tama te Kapua--Stratagem of the stilts--Legend of the whale--The Arawa canoe--Noted braves--Mokia--A curious relic--Gods of the Arawas--Mokia by night--Hinemoa--A love song 68 CHAPTER VII. EN ROUTE TO THE TERRACES. Over the mountains--Rauporoa Forest--The _hotete_--Tikitapu--Rotokakahi --Te Wairoa--The natives--Waituwhera Gorge--The boat--A distinguished traveller--Sophia--Lake Tarawera--Mount Tarawera--Te Ariki--Te Kaiwaka 81 CHAPTER VIII. THE TERRACES. Te Tarata--Beauty of the terrace--The formation--The crater--A sensational bath--Ngahapu--Waikanapanapa--A weird gorge--Te Aua Taipo--Kakariki--Te Whatapohu--Te Huka--Te Takapo--Lake Rotomahana--Te Whakataratara--Te Otukapurangi--The formation--The cauldron 94 CHAPTER IX. OHINEMUTU TO WAIRAKEI. Te Hemo Gorge--Mount Horohoro--Paeroa Mountains--Orakeikorako--Atea -Amuri--Pohaturoa--The land of pumice--Te Motupuke--The glades of Wairakei 109 CHAPTER X. WAIRAKEI. The first view--The Geyser Valley--Curious sights--Tahuatahe --Terekirike--The Whistling Geyser--A nest of stone--Singular mud-holes--The Gas and Black Geyser--The Big Geyser--The great Wairakei--The Blue Lake--Hot mud-holes--Kiriohinekai--A valley of fumaroles--Te Karapiti Te Huka Falls--Efforts to pass under the falls--A cave--An enormous fissure--Another trial--A legend 115 EXPLORATION OF THE KING COUNTRY. CHAPTER XI. THE START. Reason of the journey--How I succeeded--My interpreter--Our horses--The Hursthouse difficulty--Departure from Wairakei--Tapuwaeharuru--The natives--Release of Hursthouse, and capture of Te Mahuki--The council of war 131 CHAPTER XII. THE REGION OF LAKE TAUPO. Natural phenomena--The great table-land--Position and dimensions of the lake--Water-shed--Geological features--The lake an extinct crater--Crater lakes--Areas of thermal action 139 CHAPTER XIII. EASTERN SHORE OF LAKE TAUPO. A grand view--True source of the Waikato--The river of "streaming water"--Our first camp--Variation of temperature--Roto Ngaio--Te Hatepe--Te Poroporo--The lake beneath us--A canoe--Motutere--Tauranga--Southern shore of the lake--Delta of the Upper Waikato 149 CHAPTER XIV. TOKANU. Scenery--The springs--The natives--Old war-tracks--Te Heuheu--A Maori lament--Motutaiko--Horomatangi 161 CHAPTER XV. THE RANGIPO TABLE LAND. Along the delta of the Upper Waikato--Mount Pihanga--The Poutu River and Lake Rotoaira--Boundaries of the Rangipo--Scenery--A fine night--A rough time--A great storm--The _karamu_ as fodder--Banks of the Upper Waikato--Another start--More bad weather--Flooded creeks--Pangarara--Te Hau 168 CHAPTER XVI. ASCENT OF TONGARIRO. Physical and geological features--Legend of Tongariro--A break in the clouds--The start for the ascent--Maories in the distance--The Waihohonu valley--The ascent--The brink of Hades--The great crater--The inner crater--The lower cones--Crater lakes--The descent--A valley of death--Tongariro by moonlight--A cold night--The start for Ruapehu 179 CHAPTER XVII. ASCENT OF RUAPEHU. (_First Day._) Approaching the mountain--A field for research--Physical and geological features--Plan of attack--Curious icicles--A lava barrier--Natives in the distance--Horse camp--Scoria hills and lava ridges--The start for the snow-line--Up the great spur--Head of the spur--Our camp--A wind-storm--Ruapehu by night--A picture of the past--Waiting for sunrise--Sunrise 199 CHAPTER XVIII. RUAPEHU. (_Second Day._) ASCENT OF THE GREAT PEAK. The start--A lava bluff--Last signs of vegetation--Wall of conglomerate rock--The Giant Rocks--Ancient crater--Difficult climbing--A frightful precipice--The ice crown--Cutting our way over the ice--The summit--Peaks and crater--A grand _coup d'oeil_--The surrounding country--Taking landmarks--Point Victoria 217 CHAPTER XIX. THE KAIMANAWA MOUNTAINS. Further plans--Across the plains--_In memoriam_--The Onetapu Desert--Mamanui camp--Grilled _weka_--A heavy frost--The Kaimanawas--Geological formation--A probable _El Dorado_--Reputed existence of gold 229 CHAPTER XX. SECOND ASCENT OF RUAPEHU. SOURCES OF THE WHANGAEHU AND WAIKATO RIVERS. Curious parterres--Supposed source of Whangaehu---A gigantic lava bed--A steep bluff--The Horseshoe Fall--The Bridal Veil Fall--The Twin Falls--A dreary region--Ice caves--Source of the Waikato--The descent--Our camp on the desert 237 CHAPTER XXI. KARIOI. Our commissariat gives out--The Murimotu Plains--The settlement--The homestead--The welcome--Society at Karioi--The natives--The Napier mail 252 CHAPTER XXII. FOREST COUNTRY. The start from Karioi--On the track--Te Wheu maps the country--The primeval solitude--Terangakaika Forest--The _flora_--Difficulties of travel--The lakes--Birds--Pakihi--Mangawhero River--Gigantic vines--Fallen trees--Dead forest giants--Mangatotara and Mangatuku Rivers--A "Slough of Despond"--Dismal swamp 258 CHAPTER XXIII. RUAKAKA. The _wharangi_ plant--Enormous ravines--Ruakaka--Reception by the Hauhaus--The chief Pareoterangi--The parley--Hinepareoterangi--A repast--Rapid fall of country--The Manganui-a-te-Ao--Shooting the rapids--The natives--Religion--Hauhauism--Te Kooti's lament--A Hauhau hymn 269 CHAPTER XXIV. NGATOKORUA PA. Departure from Ruakaka--A legend--Rough forest--Crossing the Manganui-a-te-Ao--Scenery of the river--Mount Towai--The plains in sight--Rapid rise in the country--Ruapehu from the west--The Waimarino plains--Arrival at the _pa_--The chief's family--A Hauhau chief--_Inter alia_--Pehi on the decay of the Maoris--A war-dance--The mere 281 CHAPTER XXV. HOT SPRINGS OF TONGARIRO. Departure from Ngatokorua--Okahakura Plains--Tongariro from the north--Source of the Whanganui--The hot springs--A marvellous sanatorium--Crater of Ketetahi--Te Perore--A strategic position--Kuwharua--Maori cakes--A grand region--Site for a public park 295 CHAPTER XXVI. WESTERN TAUPO. Supposed forest country--The western table-land--Soil and _flora_--Terania--Okarewa--Te Kaina Valley--Maoris on the track--Pouotepiki _pa_--A tangi--The natives--A friendly invitation--An old warrior--The women--Our quarters 304 CHAPTER XXVII. THE NORTHERN TABLE-LAND. The Whanganui stream--Oruapuraho Valley--Waihaha River--Kahakaharoa--The sweetbriar--The kiwi--The moa--A gigantic lizard--Waikomiko and Waihora Rivers--Te Tihoi Plains--Scenery--Mount Titiraupenga--Mangakowiriwiri River--Mangakino River--Swimming horses--Our camp--The Maoris as travellers--A Maori joke--Good horsemen--Their knowledge of the country--Their endurance--The Waipapa--Te Toto Ranges--The Waipari--Te Tauranga--The Upper Puniu--A fine specimen of tattooing--A night at Hengia 315 CHAPTER XXVIII. THE AUKATI LINE. Manga-o-rongo--Mangatutu River--The encampment--A sumptuous repast--The _kainga_--Surrounding scenery--Old warriors--The tribes--The Korero--Arrival of Te Kooti--His wife--His followers--A _tête-à-tête_--A song of welcome--A _haka_--Departure from Manga-o-rongo--Waipa River--Valley of the Waipa--Our last difficulty 328 APPENDIX. Potatau II. 345 Major Te Wheoro, M.H.R. 348 List of the New Zealand Tribes, with their localities 351 The Flora 352 The Fauna 360 The Maori language 366 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. King Tawhiao _Frontispiece_ The Maori Queen, Pare Hauraki 21 Wahanui, chief of the Ngatimaniapoto tribe 24 Manga Rewi, a chief of the Ngatimaniapoto tribe 25 Major Te Wheoro, M.H.R. 28 Te Tuhi, a chief of the Waikato tribe 29 Albino woman 30 Whitiora Wirouiru te Komete, a chief of the Waikato tribe 32 Paora tu Haere, head chief of the Ngatiwhatua tribe 34 Hati Wira Takahi, chief of the Ngapuhi tribe 37 Tawhao Ngatuere, a chief of the Ngatikahunu tribe 38 A chief of the Ngatiproa tribe 39 Paratene te Manu, a chief of the Ngatiwai tribe 40 Tukukino, head chief of the Ngatitematera 42 Te Raia Ngakutu te Tumuhuia, head chief of the Ngatitematera tribe. Last of the New Zealand Cannibals 43 Whakari, or White Island 48 The Tuatara 49 Native woman and child, Ohinemutu 58 Native village (_Lake Rotoiti_) (_Page_) 62 Specimen of Maori carving 72 Native woman, Lake Country 86 Pohaturoa 113 Section of valley of Waikato River at Huka Falls 126 Transverse section of North Island from S.W. to N.E. 140 Terrace formation and hot springs (_Valley of the Waikato_) 146 Lake Taupo (_Page_) 150 Source of the Waikato at Lake Taupo 153 Tongariro (_Page_) 180 Tongariro by moonlight (_Page_) 197 Mount Ruapehu (_Page_) 200 Summit of Ruapehu 204 Waiting for sunrise 213 Wall of lava conglomerate 219 The ice crown, Point Victoria 227 Great trachytic lava bed 240 The Bridal Veil Fall 245 Ruakaka (_Page_) 272 A chief armed with "mere" and "huata" 293 A "mere" 294 Native girl 312 Moa and apteryx 317 Native girl 330 Woman of the Waikato tribe 333 Te Kooti, from a sketch by the author 335 Te Kooti's wife 336 THE KING COUNTRY. INTRODUCTION. Geographical description of the King Country--Its political state--Efforts made to open it--Condition of the natives--Origin of the journey--Letter of introduction to the king. That portion of the North Island of New Zealand known as the King Country extends (as near as the boundary can be defined) from lat. 38° to 39° 20' S., and from long. 174° 20' to 176° E. Its approximate area is equivalent to 10,000 square miles. In the north the _aukati_, or boundary-line--separating it from the European portion of the colony--passes by the southern shores of Aotea Harbour, thence easterly through the Pirongia Ranges in a direct line to the Waikato River, along which it follows nearly to Atea-amuri, from which point it strikes directly south to Lake Taupo. It takes in the whole of the western half of that lake; it then stretches south along the Kaimanawa Mountains to the Murimotu Plains, whence it goes westerly, round the southern base of Mount Ruapehu to the mouth of the Manganui-a-te-Ao River, and thence north-westerly until it joins the coast at a point a little to the north of Pukearuhe. The physical features of this vast region present not only many beauties, but many natural advantages for European settlement, while it is one of the best watered parts of the island. In its southern portion the Whanganui River passes through it in a long winding course to the sea, fed by many tributaries flowing from the high mountain-ranges, both in the south and central divisions of the island. In the west the Mokau River and its affluents flow from its central region to the coast. In the north the Waipa Puniu and various other streams, having their sources in the Titiraupenga and Rangitoto Mountains, wind through it to the Waikato River; the high, wooded ranges of the central table-land form the sources of many watercourses disemboguing into Lake Taupo; while in the south-east the snow-clad heights of Tongariro and Ruapehu pour down their rapid waters in a perfect network of creeks and rivers. In the west it has a coast-line of over sixty miles, and it possesses one of the largest harbours in the island. Extensive forests cover a large portion of its southern area, and extend northerly over the broken ranges of the Tuhua to Mount Titiraupenga and the Rangitoto Mountains. Westward of this division there is a considerable area of open country, including the valley of the Waipa, which in its turn is bounded in the west by high, fern-clad hills and wooded ranges. In the vicinity of the high, snow-clad mountains in the south, there are vast open table-lands; while immediately to the west of Lake Taupo and north of Titiraupenga to the banks of the Waikato, there are again extensive open plains. Geologically considered, the King Country possesses in extensive depositions all the strata or rock-formations in which both gold, coal, iron, and other minerals are found to exist, while its extensive forests are rich in timber of the most varied and valuable kind. Geysers and thermal springs possessing wonderful medicinal properties are found in the vicinity of its many extinct craters; and, while it possesses one of the largest active volcanoes in the world, its grand natural features are crowned by the snowy peaks of some of the highest mountains of Australasia. In the north the trachytic cones of Titiraupenga and Pirongia rise to an elevation varying from 3000 to 4000 feet, near to its south-western boundary the snowy peak of Taranaki, or Mount Egmont, attains to an altitude of 8700 feet, on its eastern confines the rugged crater of Tongariro sends forth its clouds of steam from a height exceeding 7000 feet, while on its southern side the colossal form of Mount Ruapehu rears its glacier-crowned summit to an altitude of over 9000 feet above the level of the sea.[1] With these important features nature has endowed it with scenery of the grandest order, and with a climate unsurpassed for its variety and healthfulness. The political state of the King Country forms one of the most interesting chapters in the history of New Zealand. In the early days, before the colony was founded in 1840, and long after that event, there were no such obstacles to travelling through the island as existed in later times. The Maoris rather welcomed Europeans, who were free to go anywhere, except on places which were _tapu_,[2] or sacred in their eyes, and in consequence what little has been hitherto known of the King Country has been derived from the experiences of one or two travellers who penetrated into portions of it some thirty years ago. Among the most active of the early travellers was Ferdinand Von Hochstetter, a member of the Austrian Novara Expedition, who, in 1859, at the instance of Sir George Grey, at that time Governor of the Cape of Good Hope, made a tour through a portion of the North Island in company with Drummond Hay, Koch, Bruno, Hamel, and a number of European attendants and natives. At this time the Maoris were ready to welcome Europeans; hostilities between the two races had never broken out, and Hochstetter and his party were received and _fêted_ everywhere with almost regal honours. But in the course of years, as it was evident to the natives that the Europeans were the coming power in the land, suspicion and distrust were excited, and at last the tocsin sounded. The native chiefs, seeing that their influence was declining, and that in proportion to the alienation of the land, their _mana_ or authority over the tribes decreased, began to bestir themselves in earnest. It was considered that a head was needed to initiate a form of Government among the tribes to resist the encroachments daily made by the Europeans, and which seemed to threaten the national extinction of the native race. The first to endeavour to bring about a new order of things was a native chief named Matene Te Whiwi, of Otaki. In 1853 he marched to Taupo and Rotorua, accompanied by a number of followers, to obtain the consent of the different tribes to the election of a king over the central parts of the island, which were still exclusively Maori territory, and to organize a form of government to protect the interests of the native race. Matene, however, met with but little success. Te Heuheu, of Taupo, the great chief of the Ngatituwharetoa, at that time the most warlike tribe in the island, had no idea of any one being higher than himself, and therefore refused to have anything to do with the new movement, nor did Te Whiwi meet with much greater encouragement at Maketu and Rotorua. The agitation, however, did not stop, the fire once kindled rapidly spread, ardent followers of the new idea sprang up, and their numbers soon increased, until finally, in 1854, a tribal gathering was convened at Manawapou, in the country of the Ngatiruanui tribe. Here a large _runanga_, or council-house, was erected, which was called _Tai poro he nui_, or the finishing of the matter, and after many points had been discussed, a resolution was come to among the assembled tribes that no more land should be sold to Europeans. A solemn league was entered into by all present for the preservation of the native territory, and a tomahawk was passed round as a pledge that all would agree to put the individual to death who should break it. In 1854 another bold stand was made, and Te Heuheu, who exercised a powerful sway over the tribes of the interior, summoned a native council at Taupo, when the King movement began in earnest. It was there decided that the sacred mountain of Tongariro should be the centre of a district in which no land was to be sold to the government, and that the districts of Hauraki, Waikato, Kawhia, Mokau, Taranaki, Whanganui, Rangitikei, and Titiokura should form the outlying portions of the boundary; that no roads should be made by the Europeans within the area, and that a king should be elected to reign over the Maoris. In 1857 Kingite meetings were held at Paetai, in Waikato, and at Ihumatao and Manukau, at which it was agreed that Potatau Te Wherowhero, the most powerful chief of Waikato, should be elected king, under the title of Potatau the First, and finally, in June, 1858, his flag was formally hoisted at Ngaruawahia. Potatau, who was far advanced in life when raised to this high office, soon departed from the scene, and was succeeded by his son Matutaera Te Wherowhero, under the title of Potatau the Second. The events of the New Zealand war need not here be recited, but it may be easily imagined that during the continuance of the fighting the extensive area of country ruled over by the Maori monarch was kept clear of Europeans. But in 1863 and 1864 General Cameron, at the head of about 20,000 troops, composed of Imperial and Colonial forces, invaded the Waikato district, and drove the natives southward and westward, till his advanced corps were at Alexandra and Cambridge. Then followed the Waikato confiscation of Maori lands and the military settlements. The King territory was further broken into by the confiscations at Taranaki and the East Coast, but no advance was, however, made, by war or confiscation, into the country which formed the subject of my explorations. The active volcano of Tongariro is _tapu_, or strictly sacred, in the eyes of the Maoris, and several persons who had attempted to ascend it were plundered by the natives, and sent back across the frontier. On the west of Taupo Lake lies the Tuhua country, whose people had from the first, from the nature of the district, been much secluded from European intercourse, and who besides had given refuge to many of the desperadoes of the other tribes; while to the south-west of Taupo Lake were the people of the Upper Whanganui country, who have always been suspicious and hostile, while for some considerable time, too, the whole district was in terror of Te Kooti and his marauding bands. It is from these causes that the vast and important area embraced by the King Country has remained closed to Europeans, and, all things considered, it is a fact which must ever remain one of the most singular anomalies of British colonization, that, after a nominal sovereignty of forty years over New Zealand, this portion of the colony should have remained a _terra incognita_ up to the present day, by reason of the hostility and isolation of the native race. Having pointed out the leading causes which resulted in the closing of the King Country to European settlement, it will be interesting to glance at the endeavours which have been made by the different governments to break down the barrier of native isolation, and thus to throw open to the colonists an extensive area of the island, which is, in reality, as much a portion of British territory as is the principality of Wales. As is well known, since the termination of the lamentable war between the two races, the King natives have, on all occasions, jealously preserved their hostile spirit to Europeans; while the peculiar state of matters involved in the whole question, while unexampled in the history of any other part of the British Empire, has been naturally a source of annoyance and even danger to the several governments of the colony who have attempted from time to time to grapple with the native difficulty. The New Zealand war concluded, or rather died out, in 1865, when the confiscated line was drawn, the military settlements formed, and the King natives isolated themselves from the Europeans. For ten years it may be said that no attempt was made to negotiate with them. They were not in a humour to be dealt with. About 1874 and 1875, however, it became evident that something would have to be done. The colony had greatly advanced in population, and a system of public works had been inaugurated, which made it intolerable that large centres of population should be cut off from each other by vast spaces of country which Europeans were not allowed even to traverse. From time to time during the whole period the awkward position of affairs had been forced on public attention by outrages and breaches of the law occurring on the border, the perpetrators of which took secure refuge by fleeing to the protection of Tawhiao, who then--as now--defied the Queen's authority within his dominions. Sir Donald McLean, while Native Minister, had several important interviews with the Kingites, with a view to bring about a better relationship between the two races, and as he was well known to the natives both before and during his term of office, his efforts had considerable effect in promoting a more friendly intercourse. Again, Sir George Grey, when Premier of the Colony, attended two large native meetings in the King Country, in 1878, and opened up communication with the chiefs of the Kingites. At the second meeting at Hikurangi about seventeen miles beyond Alexandra, Sir George Grey laid before the natives definite terms of accommodation. He offered to give back to them the whole of the land on the west bank of the Waipa and Waikato rivers, and to confer certain honours on Tawhiao, the son of Te Wherowhero, who had succeeded to the kingship. At a subsequent meeting held at Te Kopua, in April, 1879, these offers were again made, but Tawhiao, for some reason which has never been satisfactorily explained, declined to accept them, and they were distinctly withdrawn. With the advent of the Whitaker ministry into power, it was felt that another attempt should be made to deal with the Maori king, and accordingly, during the session of 1882, acts were carefully framed so as to facilitate the object. A Native Reserves Act was passed, under which natives could have placed any blocks of land they chose under a board which would have administered the property for the benefit of the owners. An Amnesty Act was also put on the statute-book, under which the government could have issued pardons to those natives who had committed crimes and taken refuge among the Kingites. The most sanguine hopes were entertained that this difficulty would at last be settled, and in a way which would be satisfactory for both peoples. The terms which Mr. Bryce, as Native Minister, laid before Tawhiao and his people at the Kingite meeting, held at Whatiwhatihoe in October of the same year, were so liberal as to surprise the whole country. A large tract of the confiscated land on the west bank of the rivers Waipa and Waikato was offered to be restored, while Tawhiao was to be secured in all the lands which he could claim in the King Country, and the government were to endeavour to procure for him and his people a block of land from the Ngatimaniapoto tribe, the most extensive landowners in his dominions. Altogether the amount of land to be restored amounted to many thousands of acres, most of it fertile and well suited for the purposes of the natives, or that section of them known as the Waikatos, of whom Tawhiao was the hereditary chief. What the government proposed to do was that the king's _mana_, or sovereign authority, should be removed by the best means, and that in doing so the utmost care should be taken that all of the natives of the king's tribe should be provided for. This step was the more necessary from the fact that Tawhiao, although the acknowledged head of the Maori race, and exercising a supreme authority over the King Country, was, owing to the confiscation of his tribal lands which had taken place after the war, a comparatively landless monarch. At the Kingite gathering at Whatiwhatihoe, Tawhiao, in view of the proposals made, was willing to take back the land, but objected to receive a salary from the government, to be called to the legislative council, or to be made a magistrate.[3] He, and those around him, saw that to have accepted these terms would have been equivalent to saying that he abdicated his position as king. That being, from the Native Minister's point of view, the all-important matter, the negotiations could go no further, and the memorable meeting at Whatiwhatihoe broke up with Tawhiao still reigning as absolute monarch over one of the most extensive and fertile portions of New Zealand. With my reference to the geographical, historical, and political features of the King Country, I will here allude briefly to the physical and social position of the native race as I found it during my travels through that portion of the island where the inhabitants dwell in all their primitive simplicity. There can be no doubt whatever that the Maori race is greatly on the decrease,[4] and that the three principal diseases conducing to this result are phthisis, chronic asthma, and scrofula; the two first principally brought about, I believe, by a half-savage, half-civilized mode of life, and the latter from maladies contracted since the first contact of the people with Europeans. It is, however, clear that there is a large number of natives yet distributed throughout the King Country, and among them are still to be found, as of old, some of the finest specimens of the human race. A change of life, however, in every way different from that followed by their forefathers, has brought about a considerable alteration for the worse among the rising population, and, although during my journey I met and conversed with many tattooed warriors of the old school, and who were invariably both physically and intellectually superior to the younger natives, it was clear that this splendid type of savage would soon become a matter of the past. I found the natives living much in their primitive style, one of the most pernicious innovations, however, of modern civilization amongst them being an immoderate use of tobacco among both old and young. Although most of the native women were strong and well-proportioned in stature, and apparently robust and healthy, there appeared to be a marked falling off in the physical development of the younger men, when compared with the stalwart, muscular proportions of many of the older natives--a result which may, no doubt, be accounted for by their irregular mode of life when compared with that usually followed by their forefathers, combined with the vices of civilization, to which many of them are gradually falling a prey. It is a notable fact, which strikes the observer at once, that many of the old chiefs and elders of the various tribes, with their well-defined, tattooed features and splendid physique, have the stamp of the "noble savage" in all his manliness depicted in every line of their body, while many of them preserve that calm, dignified air characteristic of primitive races in all parts of the world before they begin to be improved off the face of the earth by raw rum and European progress. On the other hand, the rising generation has altogether a weaklier appearance, and, although I noticed many buxom lasses with healthy countenances and well-developed forms, not a few of the younger men were slight of build, with a thoughtful, haggard, and in many instances consumptive look about them. In both their ideas and mode of life they appeared to cling to their old customs tenaciously, and seemed to know little of what was going on in the world beyond their own country, while their religion, what little they possessed, evidently existed in a kind of blind belief in a species of Hauhauism, in which biblical truths and native superstition were curiously mixed. In matters of politics affecting their own territory they invariably expressed a desire that matters might remain as they were, and that they might be allowed to live out their allotted term in their own lands. From one end of the country to the other they seemed to entertain an almost fanatical faith in the power of Tawhiao, and they appeared to regard his influence in the light of our own legal fiction, "that the king could do no wrong." When I undertook to explore the King Country--being at the time only a new arrival in the colony--I found that it was a part of the British Empire of which I knew very little. I soon, however, learned that the extensive region ruled over by the Maori king was, to all intents and purposes, an _imperium in imperio_, situated in the heart of an important British colony, a _terra incognita_, inhabited exclusively by a warlike race of savages, ruled over by an absolute monarch, who defied our laws, ignored our institutions, and in whose territory the rebel, the murderer, and the outcast took refuge with impunity. This fine country, embracing nearly one half of the most fertile portion of the North Island, as before pointed out, was as strictly tabooed to the European as a Mohammedan mosque, and all who had hitherto attempted to make even short journeys into it had been ruthlessly plundered by the natives, and sent back across the frontier, stripped even of their clothes. At this time--in the early part of the year 1882--Te Wetere, Purukutu, Nuku Whenua, and Winiata, all implicated in the cruel murders of Europeans, were still at large, bands of native fanatics, excited to the point of rebellion against the whites, were massing themselves together in large numbers at Parihaka, and singing pæans to the pseudo-prophet, Te Whiti, who had for some time been inciting his followers to resist any attempt at incursion into their territory on the part of the European colonists who had acquired land and built settlements near the frontier. Thus it was that wars and rumours of wars were fast gathering around what was generally alluded to as the vexed Maori Question, while, to make matters still more unsatisfactory, it was known that the rebel Te Kooti, who had carried out the Poverty Bay massacre, after his marvellous escape from the Chatham Islands, and who had more than once played the part of a New Zealand Napoleon during the war, was hiding, with a price set on his head, in his stronghold in the Kuiti, ready, it was believed, to take up arms at any moment. This was the state of the country which I then and there volunteered to explore. The next point to consider was how the journey could be best set about. The matter was laid before Sir George Grey during the session of Parliament of 1882, and he, with a characteristic desire to advance an undertaking calculated to promote the interests of the colony, wrote a letter of introduction in my behalf to King Tawhiao, asking him to grant me his _mana_, or authority, to travel through the Maori territory. The letter was presented at a moment when the native mind was much disturbed in connection with the political relationship existing between the Kingites and the Europeans, and just at the time when the meeting at Whatiwhatihoe, before referred to, was about to be held between the Native Minister and Tawhiao, with a view to the opening of the country to settlement and trade. It is only right to state that the king received me on this occasion with every token of good feeling, and spoke, as indeed did all the natives, in the highest terms of Sir George Grey; but he advised me, as the native tribes were much disturbed in connection with the question about to be discussed between the Maoris and Europeans, not to set out on my journey until the meeting should be over. Leaving Whatiwhatihoe before the termination of the gathering, I made no further appeal to Tawhiao, who subsequently left for an extended tour through the island. The assemblage of the tribes broke up, as before shown, without any solution being arrived at with regard to the settlement of the native difficulty, and the question of the exploration of the King Country lay in abeyance for a few months, but the idea was always firmly fixed in my mind, although it was not until the 8th of March, 1883, that I left Auckland, _en route_ for Tauranga, to explore the wonders of the forbidden land at my own risk. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: For the altitudes of the various mountains, see map.] [Footnote 2: The word _tapu_ is applied to all places held sacred by the Maoris; it is synonymous with the _taboo_ of the South Sea Islanders. To interfere with anything to which the _tapu_ has been extended is considered an act of sacrilege.] [Footnote 3: A justice of the peace.] [Footnote 4: In Cook's time the whole native population was estimated as exceeding 100,000; in 1859 it only amounted to 56,000, of this number 53,000 fell to the North Island, and only 2283 to the Middle Island; in 1881 the number had decreased to 44,099, of which 24,370 were males, and 19,729 females.] THE FRONTIER OF THE KING COUNTRY. CHAPTER I. THE KING'S CAMP. Alexandra--Crossing the frontier--Whatiwhatihoe--The camp--King Tawhiao--The chiefs--"_Taihoa_." Alexandra, the principal European settlement on the northern frontier of the King Country, lies about one hundred miles distant from Auckland, and a little less than eight miles to the west of the Te Awamutu terminus of the southern line of railway. I reached Alexandra along a delightful road lined with the hawthorn and sweetbriar, and through a picturesque country, where quiet homesteads, surrounded by green meadows filled with sleek cattle and fat sheep, imparted to the aspect of nature an air of contentment and quiet repose. Indeed, when doing this journey in a light buggy drawn by a pair of fast horses, it seemed difficult to realize the fact that I was fast approaching the border-line of European settlement, and that a few minutes more would land me on the frontier of a vast territory which formed the last home of perhaps the boldest and most intelligent race of savages the world had ever seen. In fact, when approaching Alexandra from the Te Awamutu road, with its neat white houses, embowered amidst gardens and groves of trees, and with its church-spire pointing towards heaven, I seemed to be entering a quiet English village; and had it not been that the eye fell now and again upon a dark, statuesque figure, wrapped in a blanket, and with a touch of the "noble savage" about it, it would have been somewhat difficult to dispel the pleasant illusion. The township was not large, and a school-house, two hotels, several stores, a public hall, commodious constabulary barracks surrounded by a redoubt, a postal and telegraph station, a blacksmith's forge, and about fifty houses, built for the most part of wood, formed its principal features of Anglo-Saxon civilization. On the day following my arrival at Alexandra I left, in company with a native interpreter, for Whatiwhatihoe, to present my credentials to the Maori king. Our ride across the frontier into Maoriland was a most delightful one. The steep, wooded heights of Mount Pirongia had cast off their curtain of mist, and stood revealed in their brightest hues; while the green, rolling hills at its base formed a pleasant contrast with the more sombre, fern-clad banks of the Waipa River, as it wound its devious course from the direction of Mount Kakepuku, which rose above the plain beyond in the form of a gigantic cone. The country for miles around lay stretched before the gaze, forming a varied picture of delightful scenery, and all nature appeared budding into life; while the prickly gorse, with its golden-yellow flowers, encircled Whatiwhatihoe like a _chevaux de frise_. The primitive _whares_[5] of the natives imparted a rustic appearance to the scene, as they stood scattered about the country to the south, while, as the eye wandered in the direction of the north, the white homesteads of the settlers served to mark the _aukati_[6]--frontier-line--separating the King Country from the territory of the _pakeha_.[7] The king's settlement of Whatiwhatihoe was situated on the west or opposite bank of the Waipa from Alexandra, and on a broad alluvial plain running along the base of a range of fern-clad hills. As a rule the _whares_ were built entirely of _raupo_,[8] and were scattered about the flat and on the low hills in its vicinity without any regard to regularity, and while some had a neat and even a clean look, others were less attractive both in their designs and general surroundings. They were mostly oblong in shape, with slanting roofs, which projected a few feet at one end of the building in the form of a recess, where the entrance, consisting of a low narrow doorway, was placed. Windows, in the form of small square apertures, were the exception and not the rule, and consequently the interior of these primitive domiciles was badly ventilated. A few blankets and native mats formed the principal articles of furniture, save where the owner, profiting by the advance of civilization, had gone in for _articles de vertu_ on which the "Brummagem" hall-mark might be distinctly traced. As we approached the camp the whole place presented a very animated appearance; horsemen were riding about in every direction; long cavalcades of natives, men, women, and children, were arriving from all parts of the country, to take part in the _korero_[9] to be held on the morrow; while many old tattooed savages, swathed in blankets, and plumed with _huia_ feathers to denote their chieftainship, were squatting about, puffing at short pipes with a stolid air, as they listened in mute attention to one of their number as, gesticulating wildly, and walking to and fro between two upright poles set a few paces apart, he delivered a fiery harangue upon the momentous question of throwing open their country to the advancing tide of civilization. Bevies of women and girls were busily engaged in preparing for the coming feast, and troops of children played and fought with countless pigs and innumerable mongrel dogs. While pushing our way among the assembled crowds we were met by the king's henchman, a half-caste of herculean proportions, who conducted us to the _whare runanga_, or meeting-house, an oblong structure about eighty feet long by forty broad, solidly built out of a framework of wood, and thatched with _raupo_. It was capable of holding a large number of people, and the white rush mats covering the floor gave it a clean and comfortable appearance. In the centre of this spacious hall sat the king flanked by his four wives, the principal and most attractive of whom was Pare Hauraki, a fine buxom woman with oval features and artistically tattooed lips, habited in native costume, with a _korowhai_, or cape, bound with _kiwi_ feathers, thrown carelessly across her shoulders, over which her dark raven hair fell in thick, waving clusters. A number of chiefs of the various tribes assembled, squatted in a semicircle in front of the king, who rose from his seat--a rush mat--as I approached, and motioned for me to be seated in front of him. [Illustration: THE MAORI QUEEN PARE HAURAKI.] Tawhiao was habited in European attire, consisting of a pair of dark trousers, patent leather boots, and a grey frock-coat trimmed with red braiding about the sleeves, and which at the first glance reminded me of the _redingote gris_ affected by Napoleon I., and which obtained for him the sobriquet of the "little corporal." A black _huia_ feather tipped with white adorned his hair, and in his left ear he wore a large piece of roughly polished greenstone,[10] and in his right a shark's tooth. In stature he was a little below the medium height, sparely made, but keenly knit, with a round, well-formed head; while his features, which were elaborately tattooed in a complete network of blue curved lines, were well defined in the true Maori mould; and although he had a cast in the left eye, his countenance was pleasant, and as he spoke in a slow deliberate way, he invariably displayed in his conversation a good deal of cool, calculating shrewdness. Among the principal _rangatiras_, or chiefs, present were Tu Tawhiao, the king's son, Major Te Wheoro, Manga Rewi, Te Tuhi, Te Ngakau, Wahanui, Whitiora, Hone Te Wetere, and Hone Te One. Tu Tawhiao was a tall, slim youth, with a thin, sleek face and dark moustache, and with a meek expression of countenance. He affected European costume, and had none of the strong Maori type of feature so characteristic of his father. He did not appear to be a very gifted youth, but he had a pleasing manner, and might be considered as a fair type of the anglicized Maori. Major Te Wheoro was a short, thick-set man, with heavy features and a somewhat shrewd look. He ranged himself on the European side during the war, when he gained his commission, and at the time of which I write he was one of the four Maori members of the House of Representatives. Manga Rewi, like Tawhiao, was a Maori of the old school, and with all the physical characteristics of the race about him. His chief influence appeared to arise from the fact that during the war he was one of the principal Kingite leaders. Te Ngakau was remarkably thick-set and muscular, with a firm-looking yet intelligent face. He was dressed half as a Maori and half as a European, and was remarkable for nothing so much as for the enormous development of the calves of his legs. Whitiora was an antiquated, tattooed warrior, who during the war had won his laurels when gallantly defending the Rangiriri Pa against the Imperial forces, while Hone Te Wetere was known to fame in a somewhat doubtful way in connection with the White Cliffs massacre. The most notable, however, of all the chiefs present was undoubtedly Wahanui, of the Ngatimaniapoto tribe. Standing over six feet, and of enormous build, he had a peculiar air about him which seemed to mark him as one born to command. His features, slightly tattooed about the mouth--which was singularly large--bore a remarkable appearance of intelligence, while his head, covered with thick white hair, was round and massively formed. He impressed me very favourably during the interview, and when speaking, as he did at some length upon the political condition of the King Country, he seemed to possess not only a great power of language, but a singularly persuasive manner which was at once both courteous and dignified. He appeared to exercise a weighty influence over the king, and to act in all matters as the "power behind the throne," but he had evidently a conservative turn of mind, and had he been born in England, I think he would have developed into a nobleman of very pronounced Tory principles. [Illustration: WAHANUI. (_Chief of the Ngatimaniapoto Tribe._)] When the king had learned the object of my mission, and that I had come to obtain his authority to explore the Maori territory, he was careful to inquire what other countries I had visited, and whether I had before travelled in other parts of the world with no other view than to see mountains, rivers, and plains. "The Maori," he remarked, "never undergoes fatigue for such a purpose as that, but I know," he continued, with a slight touch of _naïveté_, "the _pakeha_ is different to the Maori, he has the 'earth hunger,' and likes to see new places. If you wish to go into the country, you may do so when the meeting is over, but it is not good that you should go until the Maori has spoken with the _pakeha_ at the _korero_, therefore I say wait, '_taihoa_.'" [Illustration: MANGA REWI. (_A Chief of the Ngatimaniapoto Tribe._)] The latter word sounded somewhat unpleasant to my ears, as I knew with the Maoris it was their gospel, and was synonymous with the Spanish proverb, "Never do to-day what may be done to-morrow." I took the king at his word, but before I left his presence I mentally recorded a vow that, if I could not get into the King Country at the north, I would get into it at the south, which I eventually did a few months afterwards, as the sequel of this narrative will show. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 5: _Whare_ is the native name for a house or hut.] [Footnote 6: The _aukati_ signifies the boundary of a _tapued_ or sacred district.] [Footnote 7: _Pakeha_ is a term used by the Maoris to designate Europeans; it means a stranger, or a person from a distant country.] [Footnote 8: For a synopsis of the principal _flora_ met with during the journey, see Appendix.] [Footnote 9: The word _korero_ (to speak) is here applied as a general term to the meeting.] [Footnote 10: The _pounamu_, or greenstone (nephrite), a species of jade, is much prized by the Maoris as an ornament, either for the neck or ears. It is only found on the west coast of the Middle Island, the native name for which is _Wahipounamu_, or Land of the Greenstone.] CHAPTER II. THE KORERO. The Kingites--Half-castes--An albino--The King's speech--Maori oratory--The feast. On the morrow after my interview with the king the meeting between the Native Minister and Tawhiao, with a view to bring about more friendly relations between the two races, was arranged to take place. At the time fixed for the _korero_ the Kingites, headed by their chiefs, assembled on the flat within the settlement. They squatted about in attractive groups, and the entire assembly formed a compact semicircle composed of men, women, and children of all ages; while the bright and almost dazzling colours of their varied, and, in many instances, eccentric costumes formed an interesting picture, in which were blended the most singular and striking contrasts. Some of the men were habited entirely in European attire, others affected more becoming native costumes, and had their heads decked with feathers, while not a few were got up in a style which seemed to indicate that they were undergoing what might be considered, from a Darwinian point of view, the "transition period" between savage and civilized life. The women, of whom there were many, had donned their holiday finery, and although their flowing skirts were evidently not designed after the most fashionable model, this defect was made up in no small degree by the glowing effects of the bright colours of the variegated material out of which they were made. Crimson, yellow, and blue were the prevailing tints, and one by no means unattractive damsel had her lithe form swathed in a shawl on which were depicted all the various designs of a pack of cards. [Illustration: MAJOR TE WHEORO, M.H.R.] There were many half-castes of both sexes among the throng, and the strain of European blood, which in most cases might be distinctly traced, had evidently, by one of those singular processes of nature which it is difficult to understand, aided to produce in them here, as elsewhere, a robust and healthy race of people. Many of the girls of this class, with their swarthy complexions and well-rounded limbs, were very comely-looking, and one young lady, habited in a well-fitting purple silk dress, and with a very handsome native shawl of many colours thrown artistically across her gracefully formed shoulders, attracted the admiring glances of all present. She spoke English fluently, and with her fascinating air, dark eyes, and remarkable Spanish cast of countenance, she appeared more suited to grace the _Prado_ of Madrid than the primitive _marae_[11] of Whatiwhatihoe. In singular contrast to this attractive daughter of the King Country was an albino woman, with light flaxen hair, pink eyes, and a complexion which, if it had been washed, might have rivalled the snowy whiteness of alabaster. Her lips were marked in the ordinary Maori fashion, and, so far as her outward appearance went, she was stout and well-built, and appeared to be as fine a specimen of her kind as I had seen in any part of the world. [Illustration: TE TUHI. (_A Chief of the Waikato Tribe._)] When Tawhiao appeared in the midst of his people, he had cast aside his European costume, and had swathed himself after the native fashion in a white blanket, with broad pink stripes upon it. At the moment of the arrival of the Native Minister the king was seated by the side of his wife Pare Hauraki, and in the centre of the semicircle formed by the Waikato chiefs and other natives, and as Mr. Bryce drew near he raised himself from the ground and approached to welcome him. As soon as the friendly greetings were over, the Native Minister and the king seated themselves upon the ground face to face, and, having regarded each other for some time with an air of mutual satisfaction, Tawhiao arose, and, resuming his original position in the midst of the natives, arranged his blanket in _toga_ fashion across his breast, and raising his bare right arm, began his speech in slow, but well-delivered tones, and with the calm, confident air of one who had been accustomed to sway the multitude and to speak, as he expressed it in the figurative language of his race, "straight from his breast." His short harangue, however, was carefully framed with all the customary art of Maori diplomacy, and with a view to show that the occasion was simply one for the mutual expression of goodwill on both sides. Not the faintest reference at this time was made to his future line of policy, nor was there a single hint to indicate that any new departure was about to be initiated calculated to alter the political relationship existing between the Maori and Pakeha. It was in every sense a carefully worded discourse, and proved beyond a doubt that the trite saying of Voltaire, that language was invented to disguise our thoughts, was equally appreciated by savage as by civilized races. [Illustration: ALBINO WOMAN, KING COUNTRY.] Tawhiao's speech, however, when finally declining the proposals of the Native Minister, when, in face of all the inducements held out to him, he stoutly refused to resign his _mana_, or sovereign authority, is worthy a place here, not only as an interesting example of the Maori style of oratory, but likewise as a touching proof of the deep-rooted desire of the old king to remain at the head of his decaying race. [Illustration: WHITIORA WIROUIRU TE KOMETE. (_A Chief of the Waikato Tribe._)] Tawhiao, who spoke with evident emotion on this occasion, said: "My word is, do not speak at all; only listen" (addressed to his people). "The best way of speaking is to listen. If this European" (the Native Minister) "rises, the best thing to do is to listen. This is my word, hearken you" (to Mr. Bryce). "I approve of you administering affairs on that side--the European side. But my word is, I will jump on that side, and stand. I have nothing to say. My only reason for going on that side is to hear--to listen, so that I may know. I say I will remain in the positions of my ancestors and my parents in this island of Aotearoa.[12] I will remain here; and as for my proceedings, let me proceed along my own line. I have nothing to say; I have only to listen, so that I may know. After I have listened I will come back to this side of our line.[13] Say what you have to say. That is my thought, that I will remain here, in the place where my ancestors and fathers trod; but if I had trodden anywhere else, then I could be spoken to about it. I still adhere to the word that existed from the commencement. The queen was not divided; her rule has been obeyed. Now, say what you have to say. With me there is no trouble or darkness. What I have said to you is good; it has been said in the daylight, while the sun is shining. I do not mind falling, if only I do not fall as my cloak would fall. I can traverse all the words. This is another word of mine. I am teaching; I will remain here. You can remain on your side and administer affairs, and I will remain on my side. Let me be here, on this side of our own line. Speak while the sun is shining. It has been said for a long time that the Europeans are against me. My reply to that is, that the _pakeha_ is with me. But let me remain here at Aotearoa. I will direct my people this very day as we sit here. I will not go off in any new direction, but will be as my ancestors were." [Illustration: PAORA TU HAERE. (_Head Chief of the Ngati Whatua Tribe._)] After the Native Minister had replied to the king's speech, the present of provisions given by the government, consisting of beef, flour, sugar, and biscuits, was hauled to the front in bullock drays, and, after being piled into a heap, Major Te Wheoro stepped forward and acknowledged the donation on the part of the natives. When this ceremony was concluded, loud shouts of joyful voices were heard in the distance, and from each side of the _marae_ two separate bands of about 200 women and girls came dancing along in variegated costumes, with small baskets in their hands made of plaited flax, and filled with cooked potatoes, roasted pork, and fish. They rounded up in front of the meeting with a measured step, between a skip and a hop, and when they had deposited their burdens in a heap, and grinned immensely, as if to show their white teeth, half a dozen stalwart men came forward with roasted pigs cut in twain, or rather amputated down the centre of the spine. When these sweet luxuries had swelled the dimensions of the _kai_,[14] Te Ngakau stepped forward, and, taking up a pronged stick, or roasting-fork, formally presented this token of hospitality to the government, which in its turn, according to custom, and to avoid the incubus of a "white elephant," returned it with thanks to the natives. Feasting then became the order of the day, and joining the king's circle, we partook of the kindly fruits of the earth with unalloyed satisfaction; and as table requisites were not plentiful, we dispensed with those baubles of modern progress, and ate after the primitive mode of our forefathers. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 11: _Marae_, an open space in front of a native settlement.] [Footnote 12: _Aotearoa_ is the ancient native name for the North Island; it is equivalent to "_land of bright sunlight_."] [Footnote 13: Meaning the _Aukati_ or boundary-line separating the King Country from the European portion of the colony.] [Footnote 14: _Kai_, Maori word for food.] CHAPTER III. ASCENT OF PIRONGIA. Mount Pirongia--Geological features--The ascent--A fair prospect. [Illustration: HATI WIRA TAKAHI. (_Chief of the Ngapuhi Tribe._)] The steep, rugged heights of Mount Pirongia are at all times an attractive feature in the splendid landscape which stretches along the course of the Waikato River and thence through the valley of the Waipa to the very borders of the King Country. Rising to a height of 3146 feet above the level of the sea, the conical peaks of this grand mountain stand boldly out against the sky as they change and shift, as it were, with magical effect, when viewed from different points of vantage, now assuming the form of gigantic pyramids, now swelling into dome-shaped masses connected by long, sweeping ridges which lose themselves in deep ravines, and rolling slopes whose precipitous sides sometimes end in steep precipices, or open out into broad valleys covered from base to summit by a thick mantle of vegetation. When beheld from a distance, Pirongia appears to have been moulded by the hand of nature into the most subdued and graceful proportions, over which are constantly playing the most enchanting effects of light and shade, and it is not until one stands at the base of this stupendous mountain of eruptive rock that one fully realizes the bold features of its rugged outline, as one contemplates in wonder the work of those terrific subterranean forces which, at some period or another, caused this volcanic giant to rear its rugged head above the surrounding plains. Beneath the bright morning light, or when evening spreads its mellow tints over the heavens, the mountain is seen to its best advantage; but when the heavily laden clouds from the west sweep in from the sea, they gather round the lofty summit of Pirongia in a thick pall of vapoury mist, and then, bursting into a flood of rain, roll down its steep sides to swell the current of the Waipa. [Illustration: TAWHAO NGATUERE. (_A Chief of the Ngatikahunu Tribe._)] When viewed from a geological point of view, Pirongia formed evidently at some remote period of its history the centre of an extended volcanic action to which the extensive ranges stretching from this point in many ramifications to the west coast, and thence in the direction of Whaingaroa harbour in the north and Kawhia harbour in the south, owe their origin. When standing upon the summit of the mountain, it may be plainly seen that the Pirongia ranges diverge in all directions from a common centre, formed by the most elevated portion of the volcanic cone which constitutes the highest point of the mountain chain. For a considerable distance to the north and south, and as far west as the coast, this mountainous system extends in an almost continuous line, and assumes an elevation which varies from nearly 2000 to 3000 feet above the level of the sea, but it gradually diminishes in altitude towards the east, in the form of low hills and undulating slopes which finally merge into the broad plains which mark the upper and lower valleys of the Waipa. Throughout these extensive ranges there is little or no open country, but mountain top after mountain top, ridge after ridge, ravine after ravine, stretch away as far as the eye can reach in a confused rugged mass covered with a dense and almost impenetrable vegetation. The summit or highest point of Pirongia, which assumes the form of a large oval-shaped, though now much broken, crater, was evidently the central point of eruption of the volcanic forces which caused the various higher ranges and lower hills to radiate from this point and assume their serrated and disjointed form, and it is here, as well as in the numerous gullies and ravines which spring from it, that the geological features of the various rocks may be more distinctly traced. As in all formations of the kind in its vicinity, the igneous rocks predominate, and of these trachyte is the most common; huge masses of this rock cropping up everywhere above the surface of the mountain. Scoria, obsidian, pumice, and other volcanic rocks likewise occur, their gradual decomposition serving to form a dark rich soil, which covers the sides of the mountain and gives life to its splendid vegetation. [Illustration: A CHIEF OF THE NGATIPROA TRIBE.] When I made the ascent of Pirongia it was in the pleasant company of Mr. F.J. Moss, Member of the House of Representatives. The country around the eastern base of the mountain was composed of a series of low, fern-clad hills, intersected by small swamps and watercourses fed principally from the mountain springs. [Illustration: PARATENE TE MANU. (_A Chief of the Ngatiwai Tribe._)] The moment we left the fern hills and entered the forest all the varied beauties of its rich growth burst upon the view. The steep ascent of the mountain began almost at once, and our path lay along the precipitous ridges which sweep down on every side from its summit, clothed with a thick growth of enormous trees, and rich in all the wondrous creations of a primeval vegetation. Among the many giants of the vegetable world was the _rata_, which, clothed with its curious growth of parasitical plants, towered high above its compeers of the forest. Many of these trees were of enormous size, especially when they grew in the low, damp gullies, where they attained to a height of considerably over a hundred feet, with a girth of from thirty to forty feet at their base. A few of these giants were scattered about the high ridges, but they appeared to thrive best, and to attain their greatest girth, near the low, damp beds of the small watercourses, which, bursting from the adamantine sides of the mountain, and leaping along their rocky course, formed the only music that enlivened these bush-bound solitudes. [Illustration: TUKUKINO. (_Head Chief of the Ngatitematera._)] When we reached the summit of the mountain, we emerged from the thick forest on to an open spot which commanded a delightful prospect. Turning towards the west, we stood on the brink of a precipice which fell in a clear descent of 1000 feet into the ravine below; here and there a jutting mass of rock stood out in rugged grandeur from the adamantine wall of stone, but otherwise a thick growth of matted scrub covered the sides and bottom of this enormous fissure, and so dense and entangled was the vegetation as we looked down upon it, that it appeared quite possible to walk upon the tops of the trees without falling to the ground. Far beyond this, mountain after mountain rolled away in the distance, until the eye rested on the grand expanse of Kawhia Harbour, dotted with its broad inlets and numerous headlands, which rose in picturesque beauty above the deep-blue outline of the distant sea. North-westerly from this point the bright waters of Aotea Harbour lay embosomed in a semicircle of hills, and, beyond again, Mount Karioi rose from the borders of the ocean to an altitude of 2300 feet. East and south of this the Whanga Ranges bounded the horizon, and right opposite to Pirongia the bold peaks of Maungakawa and Maungatautari rose into view. Between this wide area there were lower hills which radiated from the mountain ranges, but it could be plainly seen that the greater portion of the country was formed of level plains dotted here and there with small lakes and extensive swamps, through which the Waikato and the Waipa, with their numerous tributaries, could be traced as they wound for miles away in the distance. Here and there upon the cultivated flats the white houses of the settlers, embowered amidst orchards and gardens, dotted the landscape, while Alexandra, Kihikihi, Hamilton, and Cambridge, and numerous other settlements, served to mark the spots where future cities may ere long grow into existence, and add wealth and prosperity to this fertile land. It was, however, when gazing in the direction of the south, where the King Country lay stretched for miles before us in all the wide, rich beauty of a virgin country, that the grandest natural scenery burst upon the view, and charmed the imagination with the thought of a bright future. The _aukati_ or boundary-line could be distinctly traced, on the one side by farms and homesteads, and on the other by the huts of the natives; but beyond these features there was nothing to denote that the territory to the north was the abode of enlightenment, and that the land to the south was a primeval wilderness still wrapped in the darkness of primitive barbarism. [Illustration: TE RAIA NGAKUTU TE TUMUHUIA. (_Head Chief of the Ngatitematera tribe. Last of the New Zealand Cannibals._)] THE LAKE COUNTRY. CHAPTER IV. AUCKLAND TO OHINEMUTU. The flank movement--Auckland Harbour--Tauranga--Whakari--The _tuatara_--_En route_--The Gate Pa--All that remains--Oropi--A grand forest--Mangorewa Gorge--Mangorewa River--A region of eternal fire. A little short of five months after the events which I have recorded in the previous chapters took place, I embarked on board the S.S. _Glenelg_, for Tauranga. I had selected to travel by this way as I had determined to reach the Lake Country by the East Coast, pass through the centre of the island, enter the King Country at its southern extremity, and, if possible, carry on my explorations northward to Alexandra. Owing to the unsatisfactory condition of the Native Question at that time, the undertaking appeared to be a hopeless one, but I resolved to give it a fair trial, and as the _Glenelg_ glided over the calm waters of Auckland Harbour, half the difficulties which had previously presented themselves to my mind seemed to disappear with the fading rays of the sun as they played over the water, cast fitful shadows athwart the romantic islands of the bay, and lit up the tall spires of the receding city. As we sped on in the golden twilight, some of the most attractive views were obtained of the renowned harbour which places the northern capital of New Zealand at the head of all antipodean cities for grandeur of scenery, and as a mart for commerce, and which, in time to come, should transform it into the Naples of the Pacific. On every side the most delightful prospects unfolded themselves; the city with its forest of houses rising and falling over hill and valley, and clustering around the tall, grassy cones, once the scene of raging volcanic fires, next crowned with Maori _pas_, and now dotted with neat villas. Small inlets and jutting points of land came constantly before the gaze; the forest-clad mountains of Cape Colville and Coromandel mounted boldly above the sea; in the east, Kawau, the island home of Sir George Grey, rose in the north, backed by the rugged peaks of the Barrier Islands; while right in the centre of this grand picture the volcanic cone of Rangitoto towered to a height of 800 feet above the wide expanse of water. Every point, each sinuous bay and jutting headland, was rich in a varied vegetation of the brightest green, and as the softly tinted light--violet, crimson, and yellow--so characteristic of New Zealand sunsets, mingled with the deep blue of the sea as the shades of evening crept on, and the stars shone forth from above--the whole surroundings, as our vessel glided rapidly on her way, combined to form an ever-changing panorama of unrivalled beauty. When, early on the following morning, we steamed into Tauranga Harbour, the sea was as smooth as a sheet of glass, the heavens were blue and cloudless, and the town, the fern-clad hills, and the mountains in the distance, completed one of the most attractive pictures of New Zealand scenery I had ever beheld. In front the neat white houses of the settlement rose from the very edge of the lake-like expanse of water, the country beyond lay stretched before the gaze in a broad expanse of green, whilst the bold outline of the coast, with its jutting headlands, extended for miles on either side. [Illustration: WHAKARI, OR WHITE ISLAND.] Tauranga is not a large place, but its situation is delightful. It is built mostly along the west shore of the harbour, and commands a splendid view of the great ocean beyond, with its picturesque islands, which rise in fantastic shape, from the broad surface of the Bay of Plenty. The harbour, which is completely landlocked, and safe in all weathers, stretches out before the town in the form of an inland lake. The rugged islands of Tuhua, Karewha, and Motiti rise abruptly from the surrounding sea, while in the distance, towards the east, the geysers and boiling springs of Whakari send up their clouds of steam. [Illustration: THE TUATARA.] Whakari, or White Island, which lies about thirty miles from the shore in the Bay of Plenty, is a cone-shaped mountain rising abruptly from the sea to an altitude of 860 feet. The crater, about a mile and a half in circumference, is in the condition of a very active solfatara, whose numerous geysers and boiling springs evolve at all times dense volumes of steam and sulphurous gases. There are large deposits of sulphur surrounding the crater, and several small warm lakes of sulphurous water. It lies in the line of active thermal action which stretches across the North Island through the Lake Country to the volcano of Tongariro, with which, according to native tradition, it is supposed to be connected by a subterranean channel. The small rocky island of Karewha in the Bay of Plenty is remarkable as being the only remaining abode of the _tuatara_ (_Hatteria punctata_,[15]) the largest lizard in New Zealand. It is a non-venomous reptile, about eighteen inches long, with a ridge of sharp-pointed spines like a fringe down its back, and which it raises or depresses at pleasure. When I left Tauranga, well mounted, _en route_ for the Lake Country, the air was delightfully fresh and balmy, and the fervid glow of the sun soon dispelled the vapoury mist that hung around. All the roads leading out of the town were white with shell, and fringed with trees, among which the tall poplar and weeping willow were conspicuous by their luxuriance, while the bright verdure contrasted pleasantly with the picturesque villas, around which all the beauties of the floral world flourished in luxuriance. Here the grass was of an emerald green, the trees looked as fresh as if growing under the influence of an English spring, the jasmine, the clematis, and the honeysuckle wound their graceful tendrils about, and whole acres of sweetbriar scented the air with its delightful perfume. The country soon opened out into broad plains and undulating hills, which rose in the form of a bold amphitheatre to the forest-clad heights beyond, until suddenly there appeared right in front of me an extensive expanse of fern. Away over the plains, down the slopes of the ravines, over the distant hills and into the valleys beyond, fern, fern, nothing but fern, rolled away in every direction as far as the eye could reach, its green, waving surface losing itself in the distance like a boundless sea. I had beheld many bits of scenery in the colony similar to this, but this wild fern-clad region had a special charm about it, for it had gained for itself a place in the history of New Zealand which will be as memorable, perhaps, in time to come as are the plains of Hastings, where Norman and Saxon fought for the mastery of Britain. The road hereabouts passed over a slight elevation which assumed the form of a circular hill about fifty feet high, but the ascent to which was very gradual from the plain below, while it was naturally flanked by deep gullies down to which the sides of the hill fall in a long sweep. There was nothing in this place to render it remarkable other than the fact that it was formerly the site of the celebrated Gate Pa,[16] and it was to the east of it, in the fern-clad flat below, just eighteen years ago, that General Cameron, with two regiments of infantry and a body of marines, numbering in all 4000 men, took up his position to storm one of the most formidable of Maori strongholds. Thoroughly equipped with all the appliances of modern warfare, the 43rd and 68th Regiments manoeuvred into position to attack a force of 500 natives armed only with the rifle and tomahawk, and entrenched behind a rude stockade of _manuka_ and fern. At first victory seemed easy for the Imperial forces, and, with such powerful allies as the bayonet and Armstrong gun, there appeared little more to do than to scale the redoubts, storm the rifle-pits, and place their colours on the summit of the Gate Pa. But with that cunning strategy which characterizes savage races in the art of war, the Maoris had hit upon a grand idea to deceive their enemies. They did not place their red fighting-flags in the _pa_ where their main forces were, as the _pakeha_ would have done, but they distributed them in outlying positions below the stockade, and then they surrounded their false encampments with barricades of plaited twigs, and covered their rifle-pits with roofs of fern. The stratagem was successful, and Cameron directed his fire against these decoys, but of course without effect. The firing continued from daylight until late in the afternoon, when a storming party was told off to rush the place. The gallant 43rd were the first to scale the stockades of the _pa_, but their leader was immediately shot down, and they retreated in disorder; while the 68th, charging the right flank of the enemy's position, were thrice repulsed and driven back under a galling fire. It was now found, just as at Balaclava, that "some one had blundered," and that the British were firing upon one another instead of upon the enemy. The natives now, surrounded within the _pa_, rallied their forces, and as the dark masses swept down upon the thin red line fighting with the bravery of despair, a panic seized the Imperial troops, and then began one of the most terrible repulses and massacres ever experienced by British arms. Every vestige of the Gate Pa has now disappeared, and nothing but a small homestead, a ploughed field, and a few Australian gum-trees mark the spot where this most disastrous of Anglo-Maori battles was fought, and yet, although peace and prosperity seemed to smile around as I passed over the old battle-field, I could imagine that I beheld the rude stronghold intact, the red coats crowding up the heights, and the flash of bayonet and tomahawk as the bullets whistled overhead and the shells burst in the air, as the fierce savages dashed forward massacring their foes with a deadly and cruel hatred, and shouting loud war-cries which drowned the British cheers in sounds of agony and death. And I could imagine all this the more vividly since it was only the night before that I had wandered past the redoubt hard by Tauranga to the small graveyard which crowned the summit of a cliff that looked out over the clear waters of the bay. Here a tall monument of pyramidal shape rose up at the further end, sacred to the memory of the officers, non-commissioned officers, and privates who had fallen in the East Coast campaign, while other smaller gravestones stood about like sentinels. Most of these monuments were simple in design, some were flat, some stood erect, and some were fashioned in the shape of crosses, but each told its glorious tale; and as I traced out the inscriptions by the light of the moon, I could read how one brave man had met death at Te Ranga, and another at the Gate Pa. About thirteen miles from Tauranga I ascended to Oropi, which stands at an elevation of over 1000 feet above the level of the sea, and at the edge of the elevated table-land which extends for a considerable distance beyond. Looking back along the road I had come, from this point a delightful view was obtained of the surrounding country, with Tauranga and its splendid harbour in the distance, while along the coast might be traced the winding outline of the Bay of Plenty, with its picturesque islands rising in rugged grandeur from the sea. The sun blazed warm when I reached Oropi, and it was a delightful change from the treeless, fern-clad country to enter the cool refreshing shade of a magnificent forest, where giant trees, tall ferns, and myriads of creeping plants and curious mosses and lichens charmed the eye by their grandeur and variety at every turn. For a long distance the road took a gradual rise of about 400 feet from Oropi, and then from a certain point at this elevation, that is to say, at an altitude of about 1500 feet above the level of the sea, it gradually descended 200 feet in the direction of the Mangorewa Gorge. It is not easy to convey an idea of the Mangorewa Gorge; but one must imagine a mighty chasm some 200 feet deep, sunk like a pit on the top of the mountains, which here rise to an altitude of about 1600 feet above the sea, the adamantine sides of the gorge falling with a clear descent of nearly 200 feet from their summit level. A sparkling stream, the Mangorewa, fringed with colossal trees, wound at the bottom of this walled ravine, and towering masses of rock rose up in the form of bold bluffs and jutting buttresses along its wild and rugged course, forming, as it were, the outline of a colossal stronghold built by the gods to guard the entrance to the wondrous country beyond. As I gained the bottom of the ravine the steep, rocky crags stood out in bold relief against the sky, the walls of rock gleamed white beneath the rich growth of mosses, trees, and ferns that fought, as it were, for life up the steep sides, while gay festoons of curious creeping plants hung from their rugged edges high in the air above. The Mangorewa River wound on its way from out a rich canopy of overhanging trees, where the ferns, mosses, and curious parasitical growth, all mingling together, shut out the rays of the sun from the vistas beyond, and where the dark, dank groves, with their gnarled branches and coiling vines, appeared like the realms of a deserted land. From the bottom of the gorge the road ascended to an altitude of 210 feet to the opposite crown of the range, and from this point a descent of 800 feet was made to the great table-land of the Lake region. It was evening when I finally emerged from the forest, and then the road descended rapidly as if into a basin surrounded by hills and mountains, among which the sharp peaks of Mount Tarawera were conspicuous by their rugged grandeur. Right in front the shining surface of Lake Rotorua caught the last rays of the setting sun, while on its shores the native _whares_ of Ohinemutu stood clustered about amidst vapoury clouds of steam, when suddenly even the water flowing from the side of the road bubbled up and smoked, and as the mists of night mingled with the vapours around, I seemed to have arrived at a region of eternal fire. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 15: For a synopsis of the New Zealand _fauna_, see Appendix.] [Footnote 16: This word is often written _pah_, but, as a consonant is never used as a terminal in the Maori language, the addition of the _h_ is an innovation.] CHAPTER V. HOT-SPRING LIFE. Ohinemutu and Lake Rotorua--Te Ruapeka--The old pa--Native baths--Delightful bathing--A curious graveyard--Pigs--Area of thermal action--Character of the springs--Chemical constituents--Noted springs--Whakarewarewa--Te Koutu Kahotawa--"Tenakoe, pakeha"--Hot and cold. The township of Ohinemutu occupies one of the grandest situations in the whole of the Lake district. It is built on a slight eminence called Pukeroa, which rises with a gradual slope from the shores of Lake Rotorua, whose bright blue waters add a romantic charm to the surrounding country. In front the broad surface of the lake spreads itself out in a circle of nearly twenty-five miles in circumference, and along the bright, sandy shore of this beautiful sheet of water small bays, fringed with trees, and jutting points, clothed with the greenest vegetation, add variety to the attractive scene; beyond these again, wide, fern-clad flats roll away to the base of the distant hills, which, rising in the form of a complete semicircle around, seemed to have formed at some period or another the area of an immense lake-basin, until the waters, bursting into the rugged gorges, swept into the valleys of the country beyond. Some of the hills fall with a gentle slope to the very brink of the water, others send out their rock-bound spurs, while some, again, mounting high above the rest, have their tall summits clothed with dense forests; while deep ravines, thick with a marvellous growth of vegetation, send down their crystal streams to mingle with the fierce waters of the boiling springs, which skirt the lake and send forth their jets and clouds of steam for miles around. The native settlement, Te Ruapeka, is situated on a long peninsula, about 100 yards wide at its broadest part, narrowing gradually towards its end, where it terminates in a sharp point, as it runs flatly out almost on a level with the waters of the lake. Every part of this strip of land, from one end to the other, is dotted about and riddled with thermal springs, some of which shoot out of the ground from small apertures, while others assume the form of large, steaming pools. They are of all degrees of temperature, from tepid heat to boiling-point; and while you may cook your food in one, you may take a delicious bath in another, and get scalded to death in a third. In former times a _pa_ stood at the further end of the peninsula, but one stormy night a rumbling noise was heard, then a sound of hissing steam, the trembling earth opened, and the _pa_ with all its people sank bodily into the depths of the lake. All the _whares_ of the settlement are built, after the native fashion, of _raupo_, with large recesses in front of the doorways, the woodwork of which is curiously carved, and forms a very good specimen of the Maori order of architecture. The _whares_ are clustered promiscuously about the springs, and it is no unfrequent occurrence to see a stalwart savage, a buxom woman with a baby in her arms, a sprightly youth, or a dark-eyed damsel come out from the carved portals of a hut in the primitive costume of our first parents, and jump into one of the many square stone baths dotted about, and with no other regard for their neighbours who may be standing or squatting around than if they were so many carved images. [Illustration: NATIVE WOMAN AND CHILD. (_Ohinemutu._)] The natives use these baths at all times of the day, and even at all times of the night--that is to say, if a man feels chilly in bed, he gets up and makes for his bath in order to get warm again. Bathing here seems to be a second nature, and the women and girls arrange afternoon bath-parties just as we might assemble our friends at an afternoon tea. There is something very delightful in bathing in the open in one of these thermal springs. I had my first and last Turkish bath in Constantinople, where the whole process had been so elaborately improved upon by all that Eastern art for luxury could devise, that to go through the ordeal was positively painful, by reason of the state of luxuriousness to which it had been wrought. Here all is primitive simplicity, ceremony is dispensed with, perfumes--at least of "Araby the blest"--are unknown. You sniff the fresh air, which in these parts feels like the elixir of life, plunge in, and sit for hours, mooning the time away in a soft, stimulating heat, beneath the glowing rays of the sun; and if you are not satisfied with this, to complete the luxury you may leave the bath, and sit down, naked as you are, on a seat of heated slabs, where you may be steamed and "vaporized" on the coldest day or the most frigid night without fear of taking cold or of being doubled up by rheumatism. Not only do the natives use the springs for bathing and curative purposes, and not only do they warm their houses by their means, and perform all their culinary duties by their aid, but they actually bury their dead among them. I went down to the further point of the native settlement, where there is a small graveyard situated among boiling springs and steaming fissures that crop up everywhere over the ground, as if the volcanic fires below were just ready to burst forth and swallow up the living with the dead. Portions of curious carvings, old canoes, and grotesque figures in wood lay scattered about in every direction, and one was apt to wonder how it was that they had not long since been destroyed or carted off to grace some antiquarian museum as relics of a rude art which is fast falling into decay. But these remnants of native industry were all _tapu_, and were as sacred in the eyes of the Maoris as would be a piece of the "true cross" on the altar of a cathedral in Catholic Spain. There was a small, dilapidated hut here filled with coffins containing the remains of several celebrated chiefs, and not far off was an oblong tomb, built of wood, surmounted by a cross, and as I gazed upon it and then upon the grotesque figures lying around, it seemed as if the darkness of heathenism had grappled here with the light of Christianity. It was sacred to the beloved wife of Rotohiko Haupapa, the giant chief of Rotorua. Immediately behind it was a spring with a temperature a little over boiling-point--in fact, anywhere in the vicinity it was only necessary to sit upon the grass, and you would find the heat from below rise up at once, or to put your finger beneath the roots, when the soil would feel hot enough to boil an egg. It appeared strange that the dead should be buried in so singular a spot (unless they had done something very naughty when in the flesh), and as the hot water bubbled up and hissed through the fissures of the rocks, it seemed to whisper forth the sighs of those below. When walking around the _whares_, and noticing the various phases of Maori hot-spring life, I saw half a dozen members of the porcine tribe come quietly along with an easy, self-satisfied air, as if they had just gone through their morning ablutions in the warm, bubbling fountains, and were going to root round for steamed potatoes, boiled cabbage, and other delicacies. Suddenly a half-naked Maori slunk out of his hut, with a long knife between his teeth. Quick as thought, and with the skill of a champion assassin, he seized the foremost pig by the hind leg. A prod from the knife, and the crimson blood of the murdered animal mingled with a rill of boiling water, which was running past in a hurry, as it were, to cool itself in the lake. A twist of the wrist, and the pig was jerked into a steaming pool, where the heated waters twirled and hissed as if in a red-hot cauldron. Out again in an instant, and then he set to work to scrape off the bristles, which came away in flakes, as if they had simply been stuck on by nature by the aid of a little glue, and the skin of the porker gleamed white as snow beneath the sun. In two minutes more he was disemboweled, and then he was placed over a steam-hole, with a couple of sacks over him, to be cooked for the evening meal. From the time that pig gaily walked the earth until the end of that terrible process, about fifteen minutes expired. The area in the immediate vicinity of Lake Rotorua where the action of the thermal springs is most active may be said to extend from Whakarewarewa on the one side to Te Koutu on the other. The distance between the two points is about three and a half miles, the thermal action extending inland for about a mile from the border of the lake to Ariki Kapakapa, celebrated for its big holes of black, boiling mud. A short distance from the eastern shore of the lake is Tikitere, a narrow valley in the centre of which is a boiling-water basin, about seventy feet in diameter, and which is surrounded in every direction by hot mud-pools and boiling springs. Close to Tikitere is Lake Rotoiti,[17] whose deep bays and jutting headlands impart to it a very beautiful appearance. Hot springs occur on its southern shore, while still further to the east of it, again, are the warm lakes known as Rotoma and Rotoehu, the waters of the two latter being rendered of a greyish, opaque colour by the action of the subaqueous springs. All the country within the existing range of thermal action, and, in fact, considerably beyond it, bears the distinctive traces of the combined work of fire and water, while the ground for miles around is covered with silicious and sulphurous deposits, together with pumice, scoria, obsidian, alum, oxide of iron, and various other products, the result of the igneous and aqueous action which is everywhere observable in the form of geysers, hot springs, boiling mud-holes, _solfataras_, and _fumaroles_, and which are known to the natives under the more general terms of _ngawha, puia_, and _waiariki_.[18] All the geysers and most of the springs are intermittent, while not a few are very erratic in their movements, subsiding in one place and breaking out in another with wonderful rapidity. The water of some of the springs is as blue and as bright as crystal, in others it is of a greenish tint, while in not a few it assumes a dirty yellow colour. Nearly every spring possesses properties peculiar to itself, and mostly all are more or less efficacious in the treatment of rheumatic and nervous complaints, and cutaneous and spinal disorders. [Illustration: NATIVE VILLAGE. (_Lake Rotoiti_). _Page 62._] Upon analysis, the springs are found to contain various chemical ingredients, but in different proportions, according to the quality or properties of the water. Among the principal chemical bodies may be mentioned the chlorides of sodium, potassium, lithium, calcium, and magnesium; the sulphates of soda, lime, potash, magnesia, alumina, and iron; the silicates of soda, lime, and magnesia. In the acids, hydrochloric, sulphuric, and muriatic are found in abundance, while both sulphuretted hydrogen and carbonic acid gas are largely evolved. The most important springs are situated at Sulphur Point--a small peninsula at the southern end of Lake Rotorua. One of the most noted is Whangapipiro, a large circular pool of hot saline water, with silicates, and with an alkaline reaction. The water, which is only a few degrees below boiling-point, is perfectly blue, and as clear as crystal, and when you look down into its deep and apparently fathomless basin, the white, alabaster-like deposits of silica hanging around its sides make it appear like a picturesque grotto formed of coral rock. Near to this bath is Te Kauhanga, or the "Pain-killer," the water of which is saline, with excess of acid and acid reaction. It is very efficacious in cases of acute rheumatism, and many marvellous cures are said to have been effected by it. Not far distant is Te Kauwhanga, a large, muddy basin, with a constant discharge of gas, which rises in the form of large bubbles upon the slimy-looking surface. The waters of this bath are slightly saline, with excess of acid and acid reaction, while the gas which is constantly evolved produces upon many, when inhaled, similar effects to those of laughing-gas. Nearer to the lake is Te Pupunitanga formed by a warm spring of transparent water, the properties of which are aluminous, and strongly acid, with acid reaction. The water of this spring is very beneficial in cases of acute rheumatism and cutaneous disorders, and when used in its natural state--that is to say, without the admixture of fresh water--it produces a tingling sensation, and causes the skin to assume for a short time the redness of a boiled lobster. The "Coffee-pot" is a hole about twelve feet in diameter, full of hot, bubbling mud of the colour of coffee, and which rolls and splutters about in a constant state of ebullition. The "Sulphur Cups," not far distant, are formed by small sulphurous springs of various degrees of temperature, which flow out of circular, cup-shaped basins, about four feet in diameter, around which the bright yellow mineral is deposited in the form of glittering crystals, while the "Cream Cups"--delicate and beautiful in formation--are fashioned out of cup-shaped craters, from the centre of each of which shoots forth a jet of sulphurous gas and steam. From Sulphur Point I rode across to Whakarewarewa. Situated about two miles to the south-west, and at the base of a range of bare hills, was a native settlement, surrounded by a wide area of thermal action. Here the geysers, hot springs, mud-holes, mud-cones, and _solfataras_ were scattered about in every direction, while the ground hissed and seethed, as it were, in fury beneath one's feet. It was just such a place where you would expect at any moment to go head-first into a mud-hole or boiling spring, or be scalded to death by a shower of hot water from the big geysers as they threw up their steaming columns of silvery liquid high into the air with a loud, rumbling sound like distant thunder. One of the largest geysers here, called by the natives Waikite, issues from a cone of silicious rock nearly fifty feet high and over a hundred feet in diameter, and in its most active moments throws up an enormous column of boiling water to a height of sixty feet. Many of the numerous springs here possess great curative properties, while the mud-holes and fumaroles are amongst the largest and most active in the district. At Te Koutu, which lies on the shores of the lake, about a mile on the north side of Ohinemutu, there is a very interesting chain of warm springs and mud-holes. This is one of the most beautiful situations on Rotorua, of which a splendid view is obtained, with the island of Mokoia in the distance, and the forest-clad mountain Ngongotaha, rising to a height of 2554 feet above the level of the sea, and just in rear of the small native settlement, which here skirts the margin of the wide expanse of water. There is one beautiful spring here, called Tupuhi, of clear, hot water, which fills a snow-white silicious basin, about ninety feet long, while within a few feet of it is a circular basin of the same kind, in which the water is only of tepid heat. It is surrounded by a mantle of green grass, and the water of the darkest blue makes it look like a big turquoise set in a border of alabaster and emeralds. I was shown round this locality by a native guide, who took me to a large hole where a warm spring, called Kahotawa, bubbled up in a mixture of greenish mud and scum. Its black sides were overgrown with ferns, and a few sticks were placed across it in a mystic, cabalistic kind of way. When we got near to it, I noticed that my guide drew back, and when I motioned for him to follow me, in order to explain the mystery, he informed me in the most solemn way that it was _tapu_ for the Maori, but not for the _pakeha_. He afterwards stated that it was sacred to an aged chief, or _rangatira_, who had been buried in it. I did not envy the old man his last resting-place, for I had never seen a grave that looked so much like a cauldron of hot turtle soup. Soon afterwards I passed in front of a _whare_ built within a few feet of the lake, where there was an open bath right in front of the doorway. It was formed of a few slabs let into the ground, like a square box, to hold the water. A small warm spring filled it, and then ran over its sides into the lake. I should not have taken any notice of this simple contrivance, had it not been for the fact that a maiden of some seventeen summers was reclining at full length in it, in the simple yet attractive costume of Eve, and with a short black pipe in her mouth. I had stepped round the corner of the hut, and was within a foot of going head-first into the bath before her well-rounded form met my gaze. She was, however, in no way disconcerted by this _contretemps_, but, fixing her dark eyes upon me, said, in the most unconcerned way imaginable, "_Tenakoe, pakeha_."[19] There was not the slightest tinge of immodesty in her manner; she simply lay shining beneath the sun, with all the grace with which nature had endowed her, looking like a beautiful bronze statue encased in a block of crystal. At some distance further on I got into a warm bath myself, which caused a delightful sensation of glowing warmth, and when I was tired of this I plunged into the cool water of the lake, which produced an effect which seemed to brace up every nerve and muscle. There is nothing which strings up the system so well as a mixed bath of this kind, and there is no place where it can be enjoyed with greater comfort or pleasure than at Te Koutu, where the springs are close to the shore, and where the waters of the lake shallow gradually over a white bed of sandy pumice. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 17: The word _roto_ in Maori is equivalent to lake. Hence Roto-rua, "lake number two;" Roto-iti, "small lake;" Roto-ma, "white lake;" Roto-ehu, "muddy lake;" Roto-mohana, "warm lake," &c.] [Footnote 18: The term _ngawha_ is used to designate non-intermittent springs and _solfataras; puia_ is applied to geysers and hot fountains; _waiariki_ means a spring suitable for bathing.] [Footnote 19: _Tenakoe, pakeha_, "I salute you, stranger," is the usual Maori salutation addressed to Europeans.] CHAPTER VI. TRADITION, IDOLATRY, AND ROMANCE. Origin of the Maoris--Te Kupe--First canoes--The _runanga_ house--Maori carving--Renowned ancestors--Tama te Kapua--Stratagem of the stilts--Legend of the whale--The Arawa canoe--Noted braves--Mokia--A curious relic--Gods of the Arawas--Mokia by night--Hinemoa--A love song. When I went to Te Ruapeka to view the _runanga_ house, it was in company with Mr. C.O. Davis, a gentleman well-known throughout the colony as an accomplished Maori scholar, and as one who has done much to advance the spiritual welfare of the natives; and it was to his kindly assistance I am indebted for much of the information I gained on that occasion respecting the singular history of the Maori race, and the remarkable legends connected with the graven images of their curious temple of ancestor-worship. From the earliest period of Maori history Te Ruapeka has been the principal home of the Ngatiwhakaue, a section of the great Arawa tribe, whose territory extends over the Lake Country to the East Coast. Attracted, as it were, from their first landing upon the island to the magnificent scenery of this portion of the newly discovered land, the Arawas made their homes among the lakes, whose very shores and mountains echo even to the present day with their songs and legends. Whence they and the remainder of their race came, or at what period they arrived from their mysterious dwelling-place beyond the sea, is one of those interesting events in connection with their history which have been lost in the dim vista of the past. The Maoris of the present day refer to Hawaiki as the fatherland of their race, and hence the proverb: _I kune mai i Hawaiki te kune kai te kune tangata_, "the seed of our coming is from Hawaiki, the seed of man"; but of the locality of this place, beside the belief that it was an island somewhere in the broad waters of the Pacific, absolutely nothing beyond conjecture is known. They have, however, a distinct tradition that their ancestors migrated to New Zealand in certain canoes, the names of which, with the principal historical events connected with them, have been handed down from father to son through countless generations,[20] and although these ancestral reminiscences may appear to the ordinary mind like a labyrinth of mythical fancies, since many of the incidents upon which they have been founded appear to have been dimmed and distorted by the march of time, yet when considered in connection with the rude monuments which serve to perpetuate their memory, they form, as it were, the missing links in the unwritten annals of a splendid, albeit savage, race of people, who by their singular intelligence and chivalrous valour will be remembered in the history of the world so long as the brilliant record of the rise and progress of the British Empire shall endure. According to general tradition, the first of the Maori race to reach Aotearoa, as the North Island was termed by its original discoverers, was Te Kupe. This hero, who may be looked upon as a kind of Maori Columbus endowed with supernatural power, is said to have severed the North Island from the Middle Island, and thus to have formed the wide channel of water now known as Cook's Strait. His achievements are thus commemorated in a characteristic native song:-- I'll sing, I'll sing of Kupe, great and brave, Who launch'd his bark and cross'd the mighty wave; He--when the world from chaos rose to birth-- Divided into continents the earth; He form'd the valleys, and the mountains too, And gave the fruitful earth its vernal hue; Alighting as a bird upon the deep, He call'd the islands from their death-like sleep; Then Kapiti and Mana[21] kiss'd the wave, And Aropaoa[22] left its ocean grave; These are the signs which my ancestor wrought, When Aotearoa first his vision caught, And now will I explore each nook and strand, And take possession of this fertile land.[23] When Te Kupe returned to Hawaiki, he gave such a glowing account of the size, beauty, and products of Aotearoa, that a fleet of canoes was immediately raised by his people to proceed to the newly discovered country.[24] Each canoe was under a separate navigator, and contained representatives of the principal Hawaikian tribes with their head chiefs and _arikis_, or high priests, and it was the final dispersion of these canoes to different parts of the North Island which gave rise to the great tribal divisions of the race as resented at the present day by the Arawas, the Ngapuhi,[25] the Waikatos, Ngatimaniapoto, Ngatituwharetoa, Ngatiawa, Ngatiruanui, Ngatihau, and others, with their various intertribal _hapus_, or families. We found the _runanga_ house to be a well-built structure, about seventy feet long, by forty feet in breadth. The carving about the portals was of a very elaborate kind, and formed an interesting specimen of native decorative art. On the left-hand side of the entrance was a grotesquely carved figure, about twenty feet high, of Pukaki, of the fifth generation of ancestors, and on the right-hand side was an equally remarkable one of Pimiomarama, also of the fifth generation.[26] At a short distance in front of the entrance was a tall square flag-staff of singular design, and at the bottom of it a figure of the chief Puruohutaiki elaborately tattooed in pink and white. He is represented as grasping a _mere_, and is said, according to Maori legend, to have been a noted ancestor in the mysterious land of Hawaiki, and to have lived three generations before Tama te Kapua, to whom the temple is dedicated. [Illustration: SPECIMEN OF MAORI CARVING.] Stepping inside the _runanga_ house, a very curious sight presented itself. The roof, high and slanting, was supported by a decorated ridge-pole, while the rafters, painted in bright colours of red, black, and white, presented all those singular varieties of curved and twisted lines which form one of the most remarkable features in the varied designs of Maori decoration. In fact, it is the wonderful blending of the circle and sweeping curve which adds to the carving and painting of this ingenious race its special and most attractive charm, and places it far beyond that of any other savage people for beauty combined with a unique and graceful simplicity. The lower walls of the temple were entirely surrounded by grotesque figures, representing renowned ancestors of the Arawa tribe, and whose genealogy dated back both before and after the landing of the first immigrants. All these singular effigies appeared at the first glance to have been carved after the same model, but, upon closer examination, it could be seen that each one had some peculiarity of feature, some distinctive turn or twist in the singular design of its elaborate carving, while each had some facial expression or bodily characteristic for which the particular hero represented was supposed to have been remarkable when in the flesh. One and all were depicted with distorted features, protruding tongues, and defiant mien, while their big staring eyes were formed of the pearly shell of the fresh-water mussel. As already stated, the _runanga_ house is dedicated to the memory of Tama te Kapua, the captain of the _Arawa_ canoe. Before the canoe landed, he acted the part of a primitive Lothario, and won the favours of the wife of Ngatoroirangi, the _ariki_,[27] or chief priest of the war craft. Indeed, he would appear to have been both a "gallant captain and a bold." The effigy of this warrior occupies a central position on the left on entering, and, curious to relate, he is represented as standing on _poutoto_, or stilts. Now one of the legends connected with the eventful life of this adventurous navigator is very remarkable. Ages ago there lived on the island of Hawaiki a chief named Uenuku, who had a garden filled with a fruit called _poporo_. Tama te Kapua went for that fruit at night-time on stilts. The tribe could not find out who it was that committed these midnight depredations. There were no foot-prints around. Taipo[28] was the man. At last they found Tama te Kapua up a tree _in flagrante delicto_, stilts and all. The natives cried out in exultation, "Ah, we will fell the tree, and catch him." Tama te Kapua replied with the greatest _sangfroid_, "If you fell the tree, and it falls on land, I shall escape; if it falls in the water, you will be able to capture me." He had, however, studied the question from a strategic point of view, and knew that it was "heads," he won; "tails," they lost. The tree fell into the water, but Tama te Kapua dodged his pursuers, and, striking out with his stilts, got off with a clean sheet. It is not, however, for the above youthful escapade that the memory of Tama te Kapua has been handed down to posterity in Maori song and legend, but rather for what may be called the "stratagem of the whale," and which in its inception appears to have been quite equal to that of the "wooden horse" of classic memory. When the crew of the _Tainui_ canoe parted company with the crew of the _Arawa_ canoe on the voyage from Hawaiki, the former came across a whale. They captured the whale, and secured it by means of a rope to a _pohutukawa_ tree on the coast, hard by Whangaparaoa. Early on the morrow the _Arawa_ canoe came along, and sighted the whale. Tama te Kapua resolved to annex the monster mammal. He could only do that, however, with any show of justice, by establishing a preemptive right to it. He was equal to the occasion. He fixed another rope to the whale, but in so subtle and crafty a way as to leave no room for doubt that the monarch of the sea had been first captured by his own crew. On the following day a dispute arose between the two crews as to who had captured the whale first, but Tama te Kapua pointed triumphantly to the way his own rope was "bent on," whereat the Tainui braves struck their colours, and sheered off. The _Tainui_ canoe passed along the coast to the Tamaki River, where it was taken across the land to the Manukau, and thence by sea to Kawhia, where it was drawn up. The _Arawa_ crew landed at Maketu, where they ate the whale. The _Arawa_ canoe is represented by a somewhat rude design upon the wall, fully manned with crew and fuglemen in full war-costume, while the prow is plumed and carved like those of the present day. The sun and moon are depicted in the heavens, and right ahead is a bright star, representing the brilliant constellation which is said to have guided Tama te Kapua and his followers to the shores of Aotearoa. Two trees, presumably intended to represent _pohutukawas_, are ahead of the canoe, and to one of these a whale is attached by a rope. There were many grotesque warriors and noted braves, around and among them was a curious carved figure of Tutanekai, the lover of Hinemoa, with his _putorino_, or flute, in his mouth, and by the magic strains of which he caused the dark syren to swim, nymph-like, to his island in the lake. It was a singular instrument, about a foot long, pointed at both ends, and flattened out in the centre like a fish. Near to him was the effigy of Uenukukopako, father of Whakatira, who was in his turn father of Tutanekai, and with his tongue hanging far out of his mouth, his eyes glaring wide, and his enormous hands pressed across his stomach, he looked as if he were still suffering from the effects of his adventures in the _Arawa_ canoe. Opposite was Whakatira, brother to Tama te Kapua. He is also represented on stilts, and is said to have been in partnership with his brother in the orchard-robbing business. Here also was Tiki, with a flute in his mouth. He was the friend and companion of Tutanekai. Near to him was Hurutirangi, grandson of Tutanekai. He is represented as grasping a curious weapon, the top of which was shaped like a bird's head. With this instrument he is said to have killed a chief called Wahiao, of another tribe. Near to the top of the central ridge-pole of the building was a curiously carved figure of the warrior Whakarra, with his feet resting on the head of a dog called _potokatawhiti_, and whose memory is curiously blended with the history of the tribe. At the bottom of the pole was a squat, dwarf-looking effigy, with slanting eyes and elongated, tattooed visage, and whose general appearance represented nothing so much as an ugly, ill-formed baby. This was Kuruaro, a chief who is said to have walked the earth six generations after Tutanekai. There were many other noted ancestors of the tribe, all hideous in appearance, yet all elaborately and marvellously carved, but it would require a volume to repeat their histories. It was on a bright morn, when in company with a native youth I stepped into a canoe and headed across Rotorua to the island of Mokia, which rose to a height of over five hundred feet from the centre of the lake. As soon as we had landed, my guide took me to a tree, into the hollow part of which the skeleton of a chief had been placed ages ago, but the forest giant, continuing to grow, had clasped the grim remnant of humanity in its firm embrace, and thus preserved the bones from decay in a very remarkable manner. We mounted through the thick fern to the summit of the island, where formerly stood a _pa_, but nothing of this remained save the graves, where some of the principal chiefs of the Ngatiwakaue await the coming of the great day, and the subterranean caves wherein the stone idols, said to have been brought from Hawaiki by the Arawas, dwell in a kind of pagan solitude, as if anxious to hide their diminished heads from the light of Christianity. There are few more delightful places in the Lake Country than Mokia--rich in Maori legend, and renowned far and wide as the scene of one of the most interesting of the many love romances of the Arawas. It rises boldly from the water, has hills and deep valleys, is rock-bound and fringed with trees, and is all that is enchanting, fairy-like, and beautiful. To view it with the sunlight playing over the glittering surface of Rotorua and sweeping over its rounded, fern-clad hills with the most charming effects of light and shade, is pleasing in the extreme, but it is at night, when the lake is as calm as the sky above, and the pale moon floats over its surface in a silvery sheen, and countless stars are mirrored forth in the depths below, that the picture is the most enchanting; for it is then the spirit of romance steals over one, and leads the imagination back instinctively as it were to the dark days of Maori history, when tattooed warriors glided over the water in swift canoes on some midnight raid, and made the welkin ring with their war-cries, when Hongi "the terrible" gladdened the hearts of his conquering Ngapuhi with cannibal feasts at the expense of the vanquished Ngatiwhakaue, when song and legend resounded from hill and dale, and when Tutanekai, by the magic of his flute, wooed the dark-skinned Hinemoa, and caused the heroine of Rotorua to act the part of a primitive Leander by swimming _in puris naturalibus_ across the lake to his island home. Now, be it known that the spirit of Hinemoa hovers around Mokoia like unto a bright halo around the sun, and the hills and the vales, the rocks and the stones, the trees, and the hot and cold springs, all whisper tales to her memory. Her home was at Ouhata, a jutting point on the shores of Rotorua, where stood a village of her tribe. She was the daughter of the chief Unukaria, and the fame of her beauty spread far and wide over the country, and poets sang of her charms, and warriors plighted their troth in her honour. Never was maiden so talked of in prose and sung of in verse. At Mokoia lived Tutanekai, a foster son of the chief Whakane, who fell sick for love of the beautiful maiden of Ouhata. The two hearts beat as one. Then, as now, the adage that "All is fair in love and war" held good, and it was agreed that Hinemoa should flee to Tutanekai, to whom she had been forbidden, under pain of death, to give her hand. The strains of his flute were to herald the beginning of operations, when the maiden was to paddle her own canoe across the water. Now when the night was calm Tutanekai took his flute, and seating himself upon a rock hard by Kaiwaka on the shore of Mokoia, the sound of his music was wafted by the breeze to the home of Hinemoa. Then Hinemoa came down to the lake to step into her canoe, but, alas! the frail craft had been hauled up high and dry upon the land. To launch it herself was impossible, and to seek assistance would be but to divulge her movements. There was no course open but to swim, and, with the innate courage of her race, she was equal to the occasion. She took six empty gourds and fastened them to her body, on either side, and then plunged from a rock into the lake. The stars and the moon shone upon her from above, but the waters were wide, and there was no guide save the music of Tutanekai, but with love at the prow she shaped her course bravely until she landed on the shores of Mokoia, at a point where a warm fountain bubbled up amidst the rocks, and which is known even unto this day as "Hinemoa's Bath." A LOVE SONG. Far o'er the lake slept romantic Mokoia, While the pale moon shone bright from above, And on a rock the brave Tutanekai Tootled his flute to the gay song of love. Softly lamenting sings he to his darling, "Come to my arms, O my sweet Hinemoa, Let not the sorrow of anguish divide us; Come, that we never may part any more." Gently the echo sped on the night air, Till spell-like it broke on the glad maiden's ear; Lightly she came to the brink of the water, And swam o'er its surface so limpid and clear; Brightly the stars shone forth from the heavens, Glittering like gems in a mantle of blue, And the strains of the flute seem'd to ripple the water, Wafted on by the wings of the wind as it blew. Swift the dark beauty swept o'er the wavelets Till she kiss'd the white sand of Mokoia's fair shore; When brave Tutanekai, ceasing his music, Cried, "Come to my arms, O my sweet Hinemoa," Lock'd in embraces, the lover and maiden Were wedded by Cupid, who flew from above, And dark Hinemoa and brave Tutanekai, 'Neath the light of the moon sang their anthem of love. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 20: As the natives had no written language, their numerous legends, fables, songs, and proverbs were transmitted by oral tradition.] [Footnote 21: Islands in Cook's Strait.] [Footnote 22: The Middle Island.] [Footnote 23: Translated from the original by Mr. C.O. Davis.] [Footnote 24: The canoes were named the _Aotea_, _Arawa_, _Tainui_, _Mata-Atua_, _Takitumu_, _Tokomaru_, and _Kurahaupo_. According to tradition, the _kumara_, sweet potato, the _taro_, the _karaka_ tree, the rat, _kiore_, and the green parrot, _kakariki_, were brought in them from Hawaiki. The _Aotea_ canoe was the first to reach the land, hence the Maori name Aotearoa was applied to New Zealand. The list of canoes, as here cited, was given to the author by Topia Turoa, head chief of the Whanganui tribes.] [Footnote 25: When a noun in the Maori language has the prefix _nga_ it refers to the plural number.] [Footnote 26: The Maoris divide their genealogical history, both before and after their migration from Hawaiki, into various generations, the duration of each of which, however, appears to be uncertain, consequently the period of their arrival in New Zealand, even by their own traditions, cannot be fixed with any degree of accuracy.] [Footnote 27: The word _ariki_ means, literally, a chief priest, or deified man; the head of a tribe is an _ariki_ by birth.] [Footnote 28: _Taipo_, the name given to an evil spirit or devil.] CHAPTER VII. EN ROUTE TO THE TERRACES. Over the mountains--Rauporoa Forest--The _hotete_--Tikitapu--Rotokakahi--Te Wairoa--The natives--Waituwhera Gorge--The boat--A distinguished traveller--Sophia--Lake Tarawera--Mount Tarawera--Te Ariki--Te Kaiwaka. The terraces, which are the most marvellous of all the wonders of the lakes, lie about twenty miles as the crow flies, in a south-easterly direction from Ohinemutu. From the latter place to Te Wairoa the distance is about thirteen miles; the other part of the journey being by water across Lake Tarawera. I found the route to be one of the most beautiful that I had ever travelled in any part of the world. Leaving Ohinemutu mounted on a good horse, my road lay along the southern shore of Lake Rotorua and thence over the mountains, through which it wound by a gradual ascent, formed by a zigzag cutting. A short distance above the mountain pass on the right was a bold gorge, formed between two fern-clad mountains, whose precipitous sides swept abruptly into the valley below, which was covered with low, round-topped hills. Through this gorge a grand view was obtained of the huge dome-shaped form of Hapurangi, farther in the distance the flat-topped, forest-clad summit of Mount Horohoro stood boldly out against the sky. Beyond this point the road passed through a fern-clad country, with mountains in the background, and from the midst of which the grand serrated peak of Mount Tarawera loomed like a grim colossus above the surrounding heights. After passing over open, undulating plains, the road entered the Rauporoa forest, one of the grandest gardens of primeval vegetation in the North Island. Whilst the trees here attained to an enormous size and the shrubs to a marvellous luxuriance, many of the rarest and most beautiful ferns of the country formed a dense undergrowth, which covered every foot of ground like a variegated carpet. Countless orchids and lichens, and creeping plants, struggled to the tops of the tallest trees which spread their giant branches over the roadway in an arched canopy of vivid green, and appeared to touch the sky as they mounted upwards to the very summits of the steep mountains which rose on every side, beneath the thick impenetrable growth which covered their rugged slopes without a single break. On my return from the terraces I rode through this grand forest alone by night. The stars shone brightly, the moon lit up the giant trunks of the trees in a soft, silvery sheen, and cast deep shadows that flitted about like spectres in the gloom; the twisting vines hung in fantastic coils overhead, and countless myriads of glowworms[29] sparkled and glittered in a thousand brilliant coruscations on every side, on the trees, among the rocks, and in the ferns, and in a way which reminded me of the gorgeous fireflies I had often admired when in the jungles of Ceylon. It was while admiring the beauties of the Rauporoa forest that I came across a specimen of what I may term one of nature's most paradoxical works; it was the _hotete_--the grub of the large night-butterfly--the _Sphæria Robertsi_, or "vegetating caterpillar." To give an idea of this singular curiosity, one must imagine a grub or caterpillar from two to three inches long, with a dark brown body, in appearance not unlike a piece of dried leather, while the legs, the feet, the eyes, and the mouth are perfect in every detail, as if the insect had been carefully stuffed and preserved. But most curious of all, from the tail end there shoots out the thin stem of a plant from six to eight inches long, perfectly rounded and smooth in form, with a rounded point, and of the same colour as the caterpillar. To explain this, it is clear that the grub, when alive, eats the seed of some unknown plant or tree, and which, germinating in its inside, when the insect buries itself in the ground for the purpose of changing into a chrysalis, gradually kills it, as it grows and feeds, as it were, upon the vitality of its body. The most remarkable feature, however, in the whole metamorphosis is not that the grub eats the seed, nor that it germinates within its body, but that the process should go on whilst the outward form of the grub remains intact, as if it underwent during the time some peculiar mode of preservation. The grub is found in this state underground, with the plant growing above the surface. It should be remarked that the latter has neither branches nor leaves, but partakes more of the character of a creeping vine. Some of the natives are of opinion that it is the seed of the _rata_ which the grub eats in this way, but the question appears to be undecided. When I suddenly emerged from the deep gloom of the forest, the azure waters of Tikitapu, or the "Blue Lake," came suddenly before my view with the most enchanting effect. Nearly circular in form, and fringed below the level of the road with a dense growth of vegetation, the tall mountains rose up above it on one side to a height of 800 feet, and cast their dark shadows upon its tranquil bosom, which lay shining in the sunlight, without a breath of wind to stir the smooth and deeply blue expanse of water. It is only about half a mile long, but for calm, picturesque beauty, it is one of the most attractive sights of this wondrous region. The road skirts it on its eastern side to its farther end, where a narrow saddle, falling from a range of bold hills, divides it from Rotokakahi, or the "Green Lake." It was sunset when I reached Rotokakahi, and the effect of the rich golden light falling upon the green-tinted waters of the lake afforded one of the grandest sights imaginable. It was one of those sunsets when the heavens assume an ethereal blue, and when the fierce orb of day is mellowed by amber mists and vapouring clouds with streaks of crimson and carmine. It was, in fact, just such a sunset as Turner or Horace Vernet would have loved to paint in brilliant and vivid tints. The lake shone out before me in a long sheet of deep-green colour, wild fern-clad mountains rose up along its course, miniature bays swept in graceful curves round their base, and high peaks and jutting headlands, fringed with spreading trees, cast their fantastic shadows upon the limpid surface of the water, around which the bright pumice rock contrasted pleasantly with the deep foliage of the vegetation as it wound along the serpentine shores of the lake. At the farther end, and right in the centre of the beautiful expanse of water, the small flat-topped island of Motutawa rose from a dense growth of _pohutukawa_ trees, and as the fleeting rays of the sun flashed over it, and the darkness came marching along, the gold and the blue and the crimson and carmine of the sky seemed to mingle with the deep-green water and variegated hues of the lake, and to produce a picture which would have enchanted the eye of the beholder even on the plains of heaven. This sunset on Rotokakahi was certainly one of the grandest effects of light and shade I have ever beheld. It was evening when I reached Te Wairoa, a native settlement situated in a deep gorge, which appeared at some time to have formed a connection between Rotokakahi and Lake Tarawera. It is hemmed in on all sides by rugged ranges, and it now only serves as a gate as it were to the wonders of the lakes beyond, and over which the great mountains known as Moerangi and Tokimiha stand as sentries. The Wairoa River, flowing out of Rotokakahi, winds through the old native settlement of Kaiteriria, and flowing in the direction of Lake Tarawera, leaps over a precipice of nearly a hundred feet in the form of a foaming cascade, about which the greenest of ferns and mosses grow in wonderful luxuriance. The settlement is small, and consists of clusters of native huts surrounded by small gardens and deep thickets of sweet-briar. [Illustration: NATIVE WOMAN, LAKE COUNTRY.] The natives of this place appeared to be robust and healthy, and I noticed among the men some very fine specimens of the noble savage. In fact, from time immemorial the men of these parts have been noted for their giant physique. At one time they were among the most warlike of the great Arawa tribe, but in these degenerate days they have a marked predilection for raw rum and strong tobacco. They formerly tilled the soil, but now they are not by any means industrious, although they fish in Tarawera sometimes, when all other food is scarce, and in the proper season they reap a fair harvest by "interviewing" tourists, whom they are fond of coaxing into their _runanga_ house, where they will undertake to sing hymns or dance the _haka_,[30] according to the inducements held out by the travelling _pakeha_. At daylight I left Te Wairoa, to cross Lake Tarawera to the Terraces. Up to this time I had been travelling only with a native guide, but a party had been formed at one of the hotels to hire the boat which is used to convey visitors across the lake, so I joined it. There were four ladies and three of the sterner sex. We strolled through the native settlement, where most of the _whares_ were hidden from view by a dense growth of sweet-briar, which wafted its pleasant odour through the balmy air, and then we followed down a steep pathway fringed with spreading trees, which led through the Waituwhera gorge to a narrow inlet of the lake, where we embarked. I had hoped to find a big war-canoe ready manned by half-naked warriors, waiting to convey us to the greatest wonder of the lakes, but, in place of that, we got into a craft built like a whale-boat, and manned by a stalwart crew of Maoris, some of whom affected striped calico shirts and white trousers, while others were satisfied with scant garments of a less attractive kind. With crew, or rather "all told," we mustered sixteen souls. There was at least one distinguished personage among the crowd, and whom I at first took to be "chief fugleman" or captain, but I soon found out that he had only come on board to get a lift across the lake. This individual was a tall, well-built old man of some seventy summers, with splendidly defined Maori features, which were elaborately tattooed after the most improved native fashion, the thin blue lines and curves running round his mouth, over his nose, and across his forehead to the very roots of his hair, and I could see at a glance that he was a grand type of a savage of the old school which is now unfortunately fast passing away. His only covering was a scant shirt, and a tartan shawl swathed tightly round his gaunt form. In one hand he carried a big hunk of bread, at which he munched as we glided along, varying the operation now and again by a drink of water from the lake, which he scooped into his mouth with the palm of his hand; while in the other he grasped, not a _mere_, as he might have done of old, but a copy of the Maori newspaper, _Te Korimako_, and which he seemed to guard with as much jealousy as a Londoner might do a copy of the _Times_ when travelling on a penny steam boat on the Thames. If the old man had guarded a _pakeha_ paper in the same way I would have taken no notice of it, because I would have imagined that he had brought it along with him to wrap up what he could not eat of his frugal repast. But the _Te Korimako_ was in his own language, and I make no doubt that the antiquated heathen knew of one or two tidbits in it that he would read and discuss round the camp fire of his tribe. He sat alongside me in the prow of the boat, and Sophia, the guide, sat crouched at my feet, and when I asked her what his name was, she replied, "Rangihewa," at which the old man smiled and said, "No, no! me Georgi Grey." At the time of the war, Rangihewa was a noted chief, and a great fighting-man. As I have already mentioned Sophia's name, which is echoed over the hills of Tarawera with as much frequency as is that of Hinemoa at Rotorua, but perhaps not with quite as much of romance, I think I cannot do better than to give a sketch of her here. In appearance, at first glance, Sophia was remarkable. She was about medium height, comely of form, with well-modelled features, a nose slightly aquiline, lips slightly tattooed, a pair of big dark eyes, and a thick cluster of raven hair, which fell in a weird way over her well-formed head and shoulders. She walked with a firm step, and with the gait of a drum-major. When she came into the boat she was shoeless and stockingless, and just below the knees fell a bright scarlet flannel petticoat, and over this again a blue skirt tucked up about her waist, a _korowhai_ or native shawl was swathed round her ample bust, her hat of plated rush was lined with pink, and turning up on one side suited her _à merveille_. In her mouth was a short black pipe, while round her neck was a cord from which depended a greenstone _tiki_,[31] and which like all other tikies I had ever seen, was modelled after the fashion of a small, flattened-out, lop-sided baby. She was a half-caste of the Ngapuhi tribe, was born at Russell, spoke English with much fluency and grace, had been twice married, and had assisted in a small way to replenish the earth by becoming the mother of fifteen children. For the past twelve years Sophia has acted the part of guide, philosopher, and friend to thousands of tourists who have visited these parts, and in this way her history has become identified with the place where she reigns almost with the power of a petty queen. As our boat glided onward to the wild chants of the Maoris, all the varied beauties of Tarawera unfolded themselves with magical effect before the view. We passed out of an arm of the lake with a picturesque headland on our port side, clothed in the greenest hues, and which was formerly the site of an old _pa_ known as Ruakiria. From this point, the broad waters of the lake opened out before us; the sun shone brightly from the cloudless sky, and the golden rays gilding the calm blue surface, and shooting through the overhanging trees that fringed the lake, reflected their gnarled branches and plumed heads in a thousand fantastic forms in the depths below. The water of Tarawera was so limpid and transparent that we could see far down below the surface and discern the big rocks and decaying giants of the forest which lay scattered about its bed as if hurled there by the throes of an earthquake, while every now and again we could behold the gleam of the shoals of fish indigenous to the lake, or the flash of the golden carp, introduced by Sir George Grey, and which here attain to a wonderful size. The lake, which is seven miles long by about five miles broad, was evidently at some period or another the centre of a widely extended volcanic action, as evidenced by the igneous rocks which line its shores, as well as by the rugged peaks which add grandeur to its scenery. On every side of the lake bold mountains, with conical peaks and serrated ridges, rose up from the very edge of the water, covered to the summits with a rich growth of giant-like vegetation, whose varied tints of green were resplendent with the bright crimson blossom of the _pohutukawa_ tree, which here attains to a colossal size. Picturesque headlands jutted out into the water, deep bays, broad valleys, and weird gorges came before the view at every turn, and the scenery was so wild, so grand, and so varied that one hardly knew which part of it to admire the most. The eastern arm of the lake formed the outlet to the Tarawera river--the Awa-o-te Atua, or "river of the gods;" beyond the grand volcanic cone of Putauaki rose to a height of over 2000 feet, while right in front of our course the majestic outline of Mount Tarawera towered in the form of a colossal, truncated cone, with steep, sloping sides, tinted with red oxide of iron and shining obsidian, which made it look as if it were just cooling from the terrific heat of volcanic fires. It appeared as if, at some period or another, this rock-bound mountain had been much higher than now, but that nature, being dissatisfied with her work, had snapped it in twain by one tremendous blow, and caused the rugged fracture to assume the shape of a gigantic spiked crown. The stupendous form of this giant mountain not only adds grandeur to Tarawera, as it rises in sublime majesty a thousand feet above the lake, but it is a beacon for miles around the lake district, over which it presides like a mighty monarch, and when "King Tarawera" frowns dark beneath his craggy diadem the natives "look out for squalls." Since time immemorial Mount Tarawera has been renowned in Maori song and legend, and, among other tales connected with it, a monster _taniwha_, or fabulous green dragon, gifted with cannibal proclivities, is said to haunt it, while in its dark caves the bones of countless warrior chiefs of the Arawas lie guarded by the mystic _tapu_. Steering our light craft, which seemed to quiver under the firm, steady stroke of her dark crew, so as to bring Mount Tarawera on our "port quarter," we entered Te Ariki, a wide inlet at the southern end of the lake, and when we had rounded the rocky headland known as Moura, the hills and valleys spread themselves out in a splendid amphitheatre of enchanting scenery, the trees and creeping vines mirrored themselves in the water, where they seemed to glide beneath us like a fairy forest as we swept along, while a cloud of steam rising in the distance told us that we were fast approaching the wonders of Rotomahana. We hauled up in front of a native village where there were one or two _whares_, and here old Rangihewa got out of the boat to wade ashore, and, wrapping his shawl about his neck, pulled up his shirt to prevent it from getting wet, but utterly regardless of consequences, and then bidding us farewell by a wave of his hand, and a tremendous grin which made his tattoo marks double up into a curious network over his face, he entered the door of a hut with a majestic gait, and with the _Te Korimako_ under his arm. Here we purchased a couple of _kits_ of _kouras_[32] from a native woman who waded into the water almost alfresco, with an india-rubber-looking baby on her back, and then we headed for the farther end of the bay, where a picturesque-looking Maori settlement added a pleasant charm to the beauties of the surrounding landscape. We landed at this point, and an attenuated, wiry old chief, as thin as a match, and with a very scant wardrobe, put off in a dilapidated canoe to bid us welcome, and to annex any stray bawbees or figs of tobacco that might fall in his way. Here the party was divided, the ladies embarking in the canoe to go up the Kaiwaka stream, and to join us at Rotomahana, while we, the sterner sex, walked a mile through the _manuka_ scrub, following the attractive red petticoat of Sophia. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 29: The New Zealand glowworm, called by the natives _Piritana_, is a small grub, inhabiting caves and damp places; it is surrounded by a slimy coating, through which radiates a brilliant phosphoric light.] [Footnote 30: _Haka_, a lewd dance, in which both men and women take part.] [Footnote 31: The _tiki_ is worn by Maori women as a kind of sacred charm.] [Footnote 32: _Koura_, a small cray-fish, common in the lakes, and much prized by the natives as an article of food.] CHAPTER VIII. THE TERRACES. Te Tarata--Beauty of the terrace--The formation--The crater--A sensational bath--Ngahapu--Waikanapanapa--A weird gorge--Te Aua Taipo--Kakariki--Te Whatapohu--Te Huka--Te Takapo--Lake Rotomahana--Te Whakataratara--Te Otukapurangi--The formation--The cauldron. When we had walked about a mile through the scrub, guided by the stately strides of Sophia, we ascended the summit of a low hill which looked down upon Lake Rotomahana, whose green-tinted waters, surrounded by clouds of steam, shone with an emerald-like brightness in the sunlight, while immediately in front of us the White Terrace, or famed Te Tarata, burst upon the view like a glittering heap of frozen snow just fresh from heaven. We were still some hundreds of yards from it, with the Kaiwaka flowing below, and although at first glance fair Te Tarata looked chaste and beautiful enough beneath the golden light, it appeared as if her proportions were somewhat cramped and stunted, and I began mentally to question the wisdom of Nature in not placing the wondrous monument of her handiwork higher up on the slope of the mountain which decked the delicate outline of the terrace in a variegated fringe of green. To my eye, the crystallized structure of pure white silica as it fell in congealed waves, as it were, from the steaming cauldron above, appeared too flat, and required height to add more effect to its grandeur, while the rugged mountain, which formed its background, as it rose above a vapoury cloud of steam, looked dwarfed and insignificant in comparison with the giant form of Mount Tarawera, which frowned in silent majesty from beneath its spiked crown, as if eager to annihilate everything that failed to come up to its own idea of ponderous beauty. Presently we descended the hill on which we stood, and crossed Kaiwaka by the canoe which had brought up the ladies, and, after picking our way through a small scrub, we suddenly came into the open, when, as if by the magic touch of an enchanter's wand, the whole scene changed, and Te Tarata, gleaming still whiter in the sun, rose in grand, yet delicate proportions high above our heads. The white ethereal vapour wreathed its summit, like a graceful summer cloud, the rugged hill which held Te Tarata, as it were, in its arms, stood out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, and Nature, true to the inspired genius of her marvellous creative power, stood revealed in all her pristine loveliness. I had seen the Himalayas and the Alps, the Blue Mountains of Tartary, the Rocky Mountains, and the Sierra Nevadas--all these were ponderously grand and awe-inspiring. I had sailed over the principal lakes of Europe and America, floated down the Nile, the Ganges, the Yangtze Kiang, the Missouri, and the Mississippi, through the thousand islands of the St. Lawrence, and up and down innumerable other rivers, all fair and beautiful. I had beheld the giant marvels of the Yosemite, and stood by the thrilling waters of Niagara; but for delicate, unique beauty, for chaste design, and sublime detail of construction never had I gazed upon so wonderful a sight as Te Tarata. It seemed as if Nature had created the wonders of the lakes and mountains of this fair region with all the marvels of fire and water after the most enchanting design of earthly beauty, and had then gone into the realms of fable and romance, and thrown in a piece of Fairyland to complete the picture; or as if the gods, when they called these sublime works into being, had fashioned Te Tarata as a throne to recline upon whilst they gazed in admiration upon the beauties of their wondrous creations. As we looked upwards the whole outline of the terrace assumed a semicircular form, which spread out at its base in a graceful curve of many hundreds of feet, as it sloped gently down to the margin of the lake. Then broad, flat, rounded steps of pure white silica rose tier above tier, white and smooth as Parian marble, and above them terrace after terrace mounted upward, rounded and semicircular in form, as if designed by the hand of man, guided by the inspiration of the Divine Architect. All were formed out of a delicate tracery of silica which appeared like lacework congealed into alabaster of the purest hue. Each lamination, or fold, of this beautiful design was clearly and marvellously defined, and as the glittering warm water came rippling over them in a continuous flow, Te Tarata sparkled beneath the sun as if bedecked with diamonds and myriads of other precious gems. Crystal pools, shaped as if to resemble the form of shells and leaves, and filled to their brims with water, blue and shining as liquid turquoise, charmed the eye as we mounted to every step, while around the edges the bright crystals of silica had formed encrustations which made them appear as if set in a margin of miniature pearls. Every successive terrace seemed to spring up in grander proportions from the one immediately below it as we approached the summit, not in formal angular-shaped steps, but in flat-topped elevations, with rounded edges and sweeping curves, from which the wet, glittering silica hung in the shape of sparkling stalactites, which, interlacing themselves and mingling together, formed a delicate and almost transparent fringe which looked like a fantastic network of icicles, so exquisitely beautiful in appearance and so delicately formed as to appear as if fashioned by the magic touch of a fairy hand. Mounting upward and upward where it seemed sacrilege for the booted foot of man to tread, and where the snowy, crisp, silicious crystal formed a carpet-like covering beneath the feet, we reached the summit, and sat down upon a cluster of rocks which rose in fantastic shape upon the very margin of the cup-shaped crater. I found the crater of Te Tarata to be formed by a milk-white circular basin, of 200 feet in diameter, filled to overflowing with boiling transparent water, in which the clear azure tints seemed to vie in splendour with the ethereal blue of the heavens. Here the hissing liquid, in a constant state of ebullition, bubbled and seethed in the form of a boiling fountain, from which a waving cloud of steam floated constantly upward, tinted with the golden rays from above, and the deep blue from beneath, while immediately behind the pool rose the steep sides of the adjacent mountain, shaped so as to form a semicircular wall, which rose from the opposite margin of the pool, striped by the action of fire and water in red and white rock, and steaming as if from the heat of the boiling fountain below. Around on every side a thick vegetation of variegated hues bordered the splendid terrace on every side; ferns, mosses, and wild flowers fringed every line and curve of its graceful outline, and the crystal white, the azure blue, the vivid green, and the golden light all mingling together, and reflecting their tints over fair Te Tarata and the lake below, produced one of the grandest and most charming scenes ever designed by the divine hand of the Creator. When we had feasted our eyes upon the chaste marvels of Te Tarata, the ladies filed slowly away, as if spellbound, while we (the sterner sex) walked leisurely down the crystal steps to about the centre of the terrace, where lay an oval-shaped basin, about forty feet long by twenty feet broad, filled to the brim with water of the purest blue. In the midst of a small clump of _manuka_, which clustered on the very margin of the terrace, as if eager to participate in its beauty, we divested ourselves of our outward garb of civilization, and stood beneath the glowing rays of the sun in the primitive costume of man free and untrammelled, as when "wild in the woods the noble savage ran." It was now that I fully realized that soft, soothing, magical effect which one invariably experiences when devoid of all restraint, one is about to partake of a pleasure which one has never experienced before. To look around at the sublime wonders of Te Tarata, and then plunge head first into the alabaster pool of liquid turquoise, and to feel that the soft, pellucid liquid that had been for thousands of years, nay, countless ages, building up that wondrous monument of unrivalled splendour would wrap me in its warm embrace, and impart, if only for a moment, its soft, soothing influence to the heated body, was a pleasure, the anticipation of which only seemed to make me the more eager to revel in its enjoyment. There was not a single speck to mar the delicate beauty of the crystal basin, the blue lustre of the water, nor the white virgin purity of the silicious pearls around its brink. One glance at the enchanting scene around me, and, as I shot beneath the shining surface, like an arrow from a bow, the soft, heated water closed over me, and for the instant I seemed to be gliding into the realms of eternal bliss, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest. The illusion, however, was only momentary, but I would have liked it to continue for the rest of my natural life, and then, in default of a better place hereafter, I would have been content to paddle in that pool to all eternity, floating on its surface, diving into its depths, and basking on the pearly margin of its brink. Its water was just warm enough to render it delightfully pleasant, and it seemed to wrap itself round the body in gently waving folds, while, as I glided from point to point, streaks, as it were, of cold water would bathe the skin with refreshing effect, and then a soft, tepid wave would impart a voluptuous sensation of glowing warmth.[33] When we had enjoyed the luxuries of the bath, we went along a winding path fringed with bush, at the back of Te Tarata, when we came suddenly upon Ngahapu, an intermittent boiling geyser, which burst forth with a loud noise from the farther side of an oval-shaped basin, about a hundred feet in circumference, and in which the heated, steaming water, in a constant state of ebullition, kept rising and falling in great hot waves, which lashed themselves into fury against the rugged sides of the cauldron with a loud hissing sound, as a column of boiling water shot high into the air. Right above this spring, on the side of a hill, a transparent jet of steam burst forth from a narrow fissure with a loud screaming noise, as if anxious to escape from its rock-bound prison-house, and blow up the surrounding country. It blew, whistled, steamed, and hissed, and shrieked away, like a fifty-horse-power engine, and the terrific pressure, acting in some way upon the rocks below, made them send forth a sound like the "thud" of a great steam-hammer. Passing along by Te Tokapo, a region of small hot springs, on the margin of Lake Rotomahana, we came to Waikanapanapa, a small lake, surrounded by gaunt-looking _manuka_ scrub, and whose thick, slimy water, of the colour of green sealing-wax, gave it the appearance of a veritable slough of despond. Just beyond Waikanapanapa we entered a rocky, desolate gorge, seamed and fissured in every direction with streams of hot water, while jets of hissing steam, bursting from its sides, marked the site of subterranean fires. The heated, quaking soil was covered with thick deposits of silica, sulphur, oxide of iron, pumice, obsidian, scoria, and other volcanic products, and, with its sulphurous atmosphere, fierce heat, and shrieking sounds, it appeared as we entered it like a short cut to Pandemonium. The high hills on each side of the gorge rose up in quaint, fantastic shape, and their rugged sides, composed of shattered volcanic rock, sent forth water and jets of steam from a thousand fissures. There was something very wild, weird, and fascinating in this strange place. All the huge rocks, boulders, and stones had been pitched and tossed about by the tremendous action of fire and water into a wild and endless confusion, and when we had so recently gazed in admiration upon the delicate, tranquil beauty of the White Terrace, it seemed as if we had got behind the scenes and into the laboratory and mysterious manufactory where all the wonders of Te Tarata had been evolved before Nature had sent them through the subterranean depths below to rise on the other side of the hill in the form of the marvellous "transformation scene" we had so recently beheld. One of the most remarkable wonders of this singular region was Te Ana Taipo, or the "Devil's Hole," a deep, circular aperture in the rocky gorge, about forty feet in diameter, from which a column of transparent steam burst from a small aperture at the bottom of the deep, funnel-shaped hole with a deafening screeching sound, like the voices of a thousand fiends. Never had I heard anything so wild and so dismal as the human-like wailings of Te Ana Taipo, and, as the thrilling noise went echoing over the hills, one expected to see an army of evil spirits spring up around, headed by his Satanic Majesty himself. Near to this was Kakariki, a boiling geyser which, beneath a cloud of steam, lashed its hot waves about and foamed with a furious sound in a rock-bound basin about sixty feet in diameter, while in close proximity Te Whatapohu, or "Pain in the Belly," a noisy intermittent spring, sent up its seething waters with a rumbling sound, which seemed to suggest that even the "bowels of the earth" had their pains and trials sometimes. Scattered over a greater portion of this fiery wilderness were innumerable _fumaroles_, all hard at work shooting out steam and vomiting black streams of liquid mud. Some of these were round, some flat, and others cup-shaped, while not a few assumed the form of a miniature volcanoes. One of the latter formation, known as Te Huka, spewed up a soapy kind of clay, which the natives eat as _kai_, and pronounce it to be very good, both as an ordinary article of diet and as a medicine in cases of diarrhoea, and I was solemnly informed by Sophia that a native in want of a meal would make a splendid repast from it. I tasted some of it off the end of a stick, and if one ground up a slate pencil, mixed it with water to the consistency of thick pap, and threw in a dash of sulphur and a little cinder grit, one would have a very good idea of what Te Huka _kai_ is like. When we had seen the wonders of the fiery region of Waikanapanapa we came back to Te Takapo, a kind of platform of silicious rock which bathed its white feet in the dark-green waters of Rotomahana. It was a very picturesque spot, dotted about with springs, some tepid, some hot, some boiling, and fringed with _manuka_ scrub. Here the natives had constructed small baths, and there were rude seats formed of slabs of rock where they could take their _siestas_ in comfort, after undergoing the soothing effects of the warm mineral water. At this point we embarked in a canoe, and headed across the lake in the direction of the Pink Terrace. Lake Rotomahana, like Tarawera, stands at an elevation of a little over 1000 feet above the level of the sea. It is one of the smallest of the group, and is about a mile long by a quarter of a mile wide. It is, however, very picturesque, not only by reason of the unequalled features presented by the terraces, but likewise on account of its steaming shores, with their countless marvels, as well as by the bold, rugged scenery which surrounds it on every side. It is the seat of a vast thermal action, which spreads out to the base of the conical hills which encircle it, and beyond which the towering mountains, as they rise thousands of feet in height, appear to have been heated and twisted about by the terrific action of volcanic fire, while the deep gorges and dark ravines seem to have formed at some period or another the channels for the streams of boiling lava. Everywhere around one sees the wondrous working of fire and water, and, although these tremendous forces appear to have nearly expended their strength in the geysers, mud-holes, and _fumaroles_, and other active evidences of subterranean work to be seen at the present day, there was no doubt a time when the whole region surrounding this curious lake was the scene of a widely extended volcanic action. There was a soft balmy stillness in the air as we glided over its singularly dark green water, which was in many places covered with large air-bubbles sent up by the hot springs from the depths below, and it was interesting to reflect that a capsize into one of these places would have resulted in one or two of us, at least, being hauled out parboiled.[34] Our primitive canoe, however, which was literally freighted to her gunwale, behaved admirably. This craft, which had been fashioned, some sixty years ago, out of a solid log of _totara_, about thirty feet long, was as staunch as the day she was launched, notwithstanding the fact that she had done good service as a kind of first-class privateer on the troubled waters of the lakes during the Maori War. We rounded a low point where was a large _solfatara_ named Te Whakataratara, whose greenish, slimy water boiled up from between enormous blocks of pure yellow sulphur and redhot-looking rocks of pumice and silicious sinter. At this moment the orb of day was shining warm and brightly over our heads, when suddenly a pink halo in front of us seemed to dazzle the eye, and in another moment Te Otukapurangi, the "Fountain of the Clouded Sky," or the Pink Terrace, rose majestically from the very edge of the shining green water of the lake in all its gorgeous beauty. Now, I have attempted to describe Te Tarata, albeit but faintly, and now that I have Te Otukapurangi before my mind it seems difficult as to which to assign the palm of beauty. Both terraces are unique in their way; both wonderful monuments of nature's grandest handiwork. It seems to me, however, that in Te Tarata we have all that is divinely sublime, ethereal, fairy-like, and lovely--a structure chaste and grand enough to serve as steps to heaven. Te Otukapurangi, on the other hand, has a rich, gorgeous, oriental look about it, which reminds one of those fanciful creations we read of in Eastern tales, and which were constructed of chalcedony, agate, alabaster, onyx, jasper, and lapis-lazuli, studded with precious gems, and inhabited by beautiful princesses, gnomes, and genii, and evolved from the fanciful minds of those gaunt, dark-skinned men who, reared on the sandy deserts of "Araby the Blest," carried fire and sword over the Eastern world, and built up an empire which rivalled in splendour even the most wondrous of their fabulous tales, which still take the mind captive, as it were, and lead it away like an _ignis fatuus_, a fleeting mirage, or a fitful dream. But there is nothing evanescent in the Pink Terrace; it is adamantine in construction, and grandly beautiful enough to have graced the approach to the Temple of Solomon the Magnificent, the Palace of the Queen of Sheba, or the Mosque of Haroun Al Raschid the Superb. The formation of Te Otukapurangi differs somewhat from that of the White Terrace, but, like Te Tarata, it is semicircular in general outline; but the successive terraces of which it is built up rise more abruptly from the lake, while they are, as a rule, higher above each other and more massive in appearance. Hence the deposits of silica have assumed the same general formation, and each terrace is gracefully and marvellously shaped, with rounded edges, which sweep about in waving curves, as if they had been fashioned after one grand and unique design. The various buttress-like masses which support the fringed edges of the terraces bend over, as it were, and form miniature grottoes, resplendent with festoons of pink-tinted silica and rose-coloured stalactites, which appear to have been woven together by nature into an intricate network, and then crystallized into their present shape, which, when examined closely, is as varied as is the whole design symmetrical and beautiful. Here the successive deposits or layers of silica rock do not assume, like those of Te Tarata, a wonderful combination of delicate lacework around the edges of the terraces, but the silicious laminations appear even thinner, and remind one of the corrugated surface of pink satin rep. On the wide platform of each succeeding terrace there are flat, irregularly-shaped tablets set in a fretwork of silica-like cords, while innumerable pools or salmon-coloured basins, all exquisitely and quaintly formed, with curving, shell-shaped margins, are resplendent with water of the purest and darkest blue. It is, however, the variegated tints of this wondrous structure which render it even more remarkable than the gracefully symmetrical proportions of its incomparable designs. As we gazed upon it, and the blue-tinted water came rippling and falling from terrace to terrace in miniature cascades, Te Otukapurangi looked radiant in its sparkling mantle of delicate pink; and as the golden rays of the sun shot far and wide, it changed with every shade of light, with brilliant hues of pink, amber, carmine, and yellow, which shone with a dazzling and almost metallic lustre as they flashed and palpitated, as it were, in the warm, glowing air, and seemed to vie in splendour with the blue of the heavens, the green tints of the lake, and the countless bright colours of the surrounding vegetation, which spread out far and wide over the surrounding hills. As we mounted terrace after terrace the mountains unfolded themselves beyond, and Kakarama, and Maungaonga-onga, and bold Tarawera, towering into the air, cast their fantastic shadows on the lake below, and as we mounted still higher and higher towards the steam-clad summit, we seemed to be ascending to some enchanted land of fable and romance; and when suddenly the vapoury cloud from the boiling cauldron rolled over our heads, tinted with all the prismatic hues of the terrace beneath, and wrapped us in its warm embrace, it seemed as if we were really entering some brilliant "castle in the air." Then, when we had struggled through the steam, and hopped in and out of pools of hot water, we reached a broad, circular platform, some seventy feet above the lake, and stood on the brink of the steaming cauldron, formed by a round alabaster-like basin, about a hundred feet in diameter. Here the deep, dark-blue water, within a few degrees of boiling-point, lay without a ripple upon its surface, which shone with the brilliancy of transparent crystal, and beneath which the silicious deposits which encrusted the sides of the crater, and assumed all the marvellous and fantastic designs of a coral grove, tinted in glowing colours of yellow, blue, and pink, looked exquisitely delicate and brilliant beneath the golden light of the sun, which, shooting through the clear, transparent liquid with a vivid power, sent its glittering shafts far down into the grotto-like recesses, which appeared beautiful and fantastic enough to serve as the abode of fairies, gnomes, and genii. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 33: The spring of Te Tarata is an intermittent geyser, which, during its active intervals, throws up a column of water to a height of over 100 feet. The crater is, however, always overflowing, and the water, which is highly charged with silica, has by a gradual process of deposition, extending probably over a long period, formed the present system of terraces. The temperature of the water varies from boiling-point to 70° Fahr. at the foot of the terrace, the summit of which is about 80 feet above the level of the lake. The geyser is said, by the natives, to be most active during the prevalence of easterly gales.] [Footnote 34: The term _Rotomahana_ means, literally, "hot lake." The mean temperature of the water is about 80° Fahr. In the vicinity of the hot springs, beneath its surface, it rises frequently to 100° Fahr.] CHAPTER IX. OHINEMUTU TO WAIRAKEI. Te Hemo Gorge--Mount Horohoro--Paeroa Mountains--Orakeikorako--Atea-Amuri--Pohaturoa--The land of pumice--Te Motupuke--The glades of Wairakei. Having visited the various lakes and other localities of interest around Ohinemutu, I started with my guide for the extensive geyser and hot-spring region of Wairakei, situated about fifty miles to the southward of the former place. As this part of the Lake Country was but little known, I determined to examine its many thermal phenomena, and afterwards to make it the final starting-point for my journey of exploration through the King Country. Our course lay along the Taupo road, which traverses a flat country up to the base of the hills which form the basin-like formation surrounding Lake Rotorua. We passed through Hariki Kapakapa, a locality of warm springs and boiling mud-holes, that spluttered and hissed at us as we rode along; while on our left dense volumes of snowy-white steam, rising from the base of the range of bare hills, marked the site of the great geysers of Whakarewarewa. From this point the road wound up the mountains to the Hemo Gorge, about two and a half miles from Ohinemutu. Looking back from the summit of the gorge, a splendid view was obtained of the Rotorua country, with the broad lake shining like a mirror beneath the morning sun, and the island of Mokoia rising from its centre radiant with vivid tints of green and gold. The ascent to the gorge was very steep, and while the fern-clad hills rose high above us on our right, on our left was a deep precipitous ravine, at the bottom of which a mountain stream rushed along its rocky bed to join the waters of Rotorua, while on its further side the rugged mountain known as Parikarangi rose high above the surrounding hills. Beyond this point the country opened out into broad valleys, fringed with conical-shaped hills, while in front the bold mountain mass of Hapurangi, swelling like an enormous dome from a grassy plain, formed a conspicuous feature for many miles around, until the gigantic mountain of Horohoro towered above a broad pumice plain. In appearance Mount Horohoro was one of the most remarkable mountains I had seen in the North Island. It rose in the form of an enormous wall, or long barrier of rock, to a height of 2400 feet above the level of the sea. Its summit, formed by a broad plateau, was clothed with a dense forest at its base, green, fern-clad slopes rolled down to the plain beneath, above them the thick bush[35] clustered like a dense fringe, as it mounted, tree above tree, to the topmost heights; while here and there enormous patches of grey rock, rugged and bare, stood out in conspicuous relief from the dark foliage of the varied vegetation. At its southern end the stupendous mountain ended abruptly in the form of a bold bluff, at the top of which was a curious mass of stone like a gigantic pillar, famed in Maori legend as "Hinemoa's rock." Across the Niho-o-te-kiore plains to the south-east of Horohoro rose the Paeroa mountains to a height of over 1000 feet, hot and quaking with internal fires, boiling mud-pools, and coiling jets of steam that burst with a hissing sound from the deeply-scarred hills. The base of this range, where the thermal action was greatest, was formed of a burnt, fiery-looking earth, broken here and there into enormous fissures, and dotted about with boiling pools and deep holes of hot, seething mud, while clouds of vapoury steam burst forth from the highest peaks. Our route continued across the plains to the native settlement of Orakeikorako, where the swift Waikato wound with many bends through a terraced valley, backed by tall, forest-clad mountains in the distance. Here both sides of the stream were thickly studded with countless steam-jets and hot springs, which produced a singular and beautiful effect as they bubbled and hissed above the sparkling course of the clear, rolling river, whose banks were fringed with thick, clustering masses of pure white silica. Here, too, every foot of ground told of a fiery, subterranean heat. The very rocks around were coloured with the most delicate tints, formed by the chemical deposits of the hot mineral waters, while the great geyser Orakeikorako, from which the village derived its name, just as we were leaving, threw up a column of boiling water to a height of fifty feet, as if to salute our departure. It burst forth, without any previous warning, from a funnel-shaped aperture within a few feet of the margin of the river. From Orakeikorako we passed over pumice plains fringed with rugged mountains and deep gorges. Some of the former were very quaint and fantastic in shape; not a few rose up in the form of pointed cones, while some were flat-topped, with deep sides, from which the white pumice gleamed with a dazzling intensity. The country fell with a gradual incline into the valley of the Waikato; and, after descending into a clear stream by a steep, narrow pass, just wide enough to allow our horses to move along, we crossed the eastern spur of Mount Ngautuku, and reached Atea-Amuri. Here the Waikato, deeply and beautifully blue, wound through a rocky valley, fringed with bold mountains which rolled away as far as the eye could reach along the course of the stream. At the crossing-place the whole volume of the river rushed over enormous rocks with a roar like thunder, while on the south bank of the stream, and right above the seething waters, a gigantic pinnacle of rock, called Pohaturoa, towered in solitary grandeur to a height of 400 feet. This curious natural monument was a striking feature for many miles around. It sprang from a level base, with steep, rolling, buttress-like sides, above which its adamantine walls shot perpendicularly upward to its rounded summit. Around it, in every direction, lay enormous boulders, some of many tons in weight, but all scattered about in the direst confusion, as if a regiment of giants, offended at its defiant look and colossal form, had endeavoured to hurl it from its pedestal by a shower of stones, but, giving up the task as hopeless, had slunk off, leaving their ponderous missiles upon the field. In former times the summit of this impregnable rock was occupied by a tribe of the Arawas, who built a formidable _pa_ there, whence they kept watch and ward over their surrounding lands. [Illustration: POHATUROA.] From the deep, trough-like valley of the Waikato we mounted to the great table-land of Taupo, and rode over level plains where the snow-white pumice gleamed bare and desolate beneath the fierce rays of the sun. Pumice, pumice, nothing but pumice, rolled away as far as the eye could discern, now stretching out in a broad and flat expanse, now rising in the form of hillocks, now towering high in the shape of conical mountains, now winding away in deep ravines--white, bare, and sterile as a boundless desert, save when the stunted tussock grass struggled, as if it were for life, with enormous stones and boulders fashioned from the white, porous rock, or where a crystal stream shaped its devious course beneath a dense growth of broad-leaved flax and waving _toetoe_ grass. At one point of the road we passed a tall peaked mountain, with pumice sides, which rose from the bottom of a deep gorge, like the bed of an ancient river, while right opposite to this, on the slope of a hill, was a curious rock, shaped like a mushroom. Through a level tract of country we reached the native settlement of Te Motupuke, with densely wooded hills in the background, which stretched out to the tall summit of Otuparataki. The forest-crowned peak of Puketarata soon rose up on our right; and passing the Maori settlement of Ouranui, we reached the steaming hills and glades of Wairakei. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 35: This term is applied by the colonists to forest country.] CHAPTER X. WAIRAKEI. The first view--The Geyser Valley--Curious sights--Tahuatahe--Terekirike--The Whistling Geyser--A nest of stone--Singular mud-holes--The Gas and Black Geyser--The Big Geyser--The great Wairakei--The Blue Lake--Hot mud-holes--Kiriohinekai--A valley of fumaroles--Te Karapiti--Te Huka Falls--Efforts to pass under the falls--A cave--An enormous fissure--Another trial--A legend. Within the extensive area of country known as Wairakei are situated the principal thermal wonders of this portion of the Lake Country. By reason of the terrace formation, so remarkable in this part of the valley of the Waikato, the whole place appeared as if it had been artificially designed by the hand of man. Small pumice terraces, with flat tops and shelving sides, so regular and distinct in outline that they seemed as if they had been fashioned but yesterday, wound about on every side, while the trees and wide patches of _manuka_ scrub imparted to the whole surroundings the appearance of an English park. Beyond, to the east, Mount Tauhara, the "Lone Lover" of the Maoris, rose forest-clad to its summit, while in the background a prairie-like expanse of open country rolled away to the distant ranges. High conical mountains, clothed with a luxuriant growth of bush, mounted up in the north, rolling hills stretched away to the west, while in the centre of the attractive landscape the Waikato River wound through its grand terraced valley to leap with a terrific roar over the Huka Falls. The Geyser Valley of Wairakei is one of the most marvellous creations of its kind to be found perhaps in any part of the world. It forms, as it were, one of the principal arteries of thermal action which would seem to extend from the volcano of Tongariro in the south through the Lake region to Whakari, the active crater in the Bay of Plenty, in the east. The bottom of the valley is situated at an elevation of 1000 feet above the level of the sea, while down its centre, which has a gradual fall to the east, a warm stream of water, known as Te Wairakei, flows rapidly on its course to join the Waikato. Its steep, winding sides rise in some places to a height of over 200 feet, and above these again flat terraces spread out, bounded by clusters of conical, fern-clad hills, which mount upward, as it were, in increasing elevation to the heights beyond. Looking down the valley from one of the elevations, one sees the winding course of the great fissure filled with a dense growth of vegetation, forced into vigorous life, as it were, by the white clouds of steam that mount into the air on every side. There is one great charm about the Geyser Valley of Wairakei, and that is that it is not a melancholy, dismal-looking place. It has not the Hades-like appearance of Tikitere nor the Valley-of-Death-like look of Whakarewarewa. One is at once struck with the varied growth of vegetation which everywhere abounds, the luxuriance of the trees, the rich beauty of the ferns, and the vivid green of the thick carpet of rare and beautiful mosses which spreads itself everywhere about, from the margin of the stream below to the very tops of the steep, smoking cliffs. Every geyser, spring, and mud-hole has its clustering vegetation, and as you grope your way through the thick undergrowth along the tortuous stream, each thermal wonder bursts suddenly upon the view with a fresh and startling beauty. As we descended into the valley by a tortuous pathway we heard the rushing of waters below, as the turbulent stream beneath swept onward over a series of miniature cascades; then the noise of hissing steam burst upon the ear, the heated ground seemed to quake beneath our feet, the boiling mud-holes sent forth a noise like the incessant "thud" of a steam-hammer, which mingled in a weird way with the loud roar and splashing of the geysers as they threw up their columns of boiling water above the trees. Gazing anywhere, up and down the valley, some of the most beautiful and curious sights presented themselves. The warm stream which gathered its waters from the overflowing geysers and springs wound its course amidst the trees, sparkling and glittering beneath the sun. In some places its sides were entirely fringed with silicious deposits, some white and beautiful like overhanging folds of lace, some dipping down into the water in the form of enormous stalactites, while others, assuming a rounded buttress-like formation, were green with ferns and dank mosses of varied hue. At another moment a rocky point came into view, and above the clustering ferns, brilliant in the soft rays of light, the tall _manuka_ trees, which here attained to wonderful proportions, cast their gnarled branches in a dense canopy overhead, and from the very water's edge, where the warm springs bubbled and hissed, to the very summit of the valley on either side the heated soil gave life to countless wonders of the vegetable world. Threading our way through the scrub over the hot, spongy soil, we came to Tahuatahi, a powerful intermittent geyser, with steep, rugged sides, flanked by enormous buttresses of white silica rock. The cauldron was formed by a deep hole, about twenty feet in circumference, from which a column of boiling water shot up now and again from a dense cloud of steam as it overflowed into the stream below. At a short distance from this point we crossed the creek, the sides of which were here covered with a thick growth of moss, which luxuriated in a kind of tropical heat, caused by the jets of steam which coiled out from small fissures in the soil on which it grew. When I inserted the thermometer about a foot beneath the soil at this spot, and right under the very roots of the moss, it rose rapidly to 210° Fahr. Further along was Terekirike, a large geyser, situated on the very margin of the stream. Its cauldron was of irregular formation, but rugged and beautiful in appearance, the rounded, boulder-like masses of which it was built up being of a delicate cream-colour, while the silicious crystals, assuming the most fantastic forms, tinged here and there with a pinkish hue, imparted to the whole a singularly beautiful and delicate appearance. Next to this was the "Whistling Geyser," which threw up a column of boiling water at the summit of a terrace of silicious rock, while next to this again was a boiling cauldron where the heated water burst forth with a loud bubbling sound. All these three geysers formed a terrace-like formation of silicious rock, which was tinted in colours of white, pink, and yellow, while the gnarled roots of the trees, and branches which had fallen to the ground, within the action of the water had been completely covered and cemented, as it were, to the rock by the silicious deposits. Here the thermal action appeared to be very active, and as soon as one geyser subsided, another would burst forth, as it were, with redoubled vigour. Passing this point we entered a thick scrub, where the ground was in a highly heated condition, and came suddenly into a bend in the creek, where the opposite sides of the valley rose perpendicularly from the water. In the centre of the place where we stood was a deep hole, from which shot up now and again a column of boiling water. Around the deep, cavernous aperture the dead branches of _manuka_ had fallen in a circle, and had interlaced and spread themselves around in the form of a large nest of the most delicate construction, while the water, falling upon the netted twigs and branches, had covered them completely with a pearly incrustation of snowy silica, converting the whole into a pure white nest of stone. Nothing but spreading trees and mosses grew around this secluded spot, and the singular structure, when we first came upon it, looked like the petrified nest of some gigantic antediluvian bird. From this curious structure, which we named the Eagle's Nest, we mounted the hot, treacherous sides of the valley to where a number of boiling mud-holes vomited forth vast quantities of white, silicious mud, of the consistency of thick gruel. All were nearly circular in form, and about six feet deep by twenty in circumference, and, while one had a pinkish tint, caused evidently by red oxide of iron, another next to it was of a milky-white colour. When the mud had become hardened, it was of the consistency of cheese, with a greasy feel, while it could be fashioned by the aid of a knife into any form. All the pools were in a constant state of ebullition, and emitted a strong odour of sulphuretted hydrogen. Close to them was a small lakelet of green, silicious water, warm and steaming. The sides of the valley in this vicinity were everywhere very hot, and when I inserted the thermometer about two feet below the surface it registered 215°, and yet on this heated soil the mosses grew luxuriantly, but all other vegetation had a somewhat stunted appearance. Lower down the valley we came upon another geyser, throwing up boiling water from a funnel-shaped hole, around which big masses of silica rock clustered in fantastic form. At the foot of this geyser, and within a yard or two of the stream, was a small pool, apparently of great depth, in which big balls of gas flashed constantly in the sun as they rose rapidly to the surface and exploded. This only occurred when the geyser was quiescent, but as soon as it became active, the pool became less troubled, as the water from above rolled over it. At a short distance from this was a geyser formed by a circular hole, which threw up constantly a big jet of hot water from a basin where the crystallized rock was covered with a black deposit. Here we jumped the stream at a very treacherous point, and again fought our way through the scrub, and round about a perfect network of hot springs and mud-holes, so close and so intricately laced together that the greatest care was necessary to prevent being boiled alive. On the southern side of the stream, we came suddenly up to the Big Geyser, which every now and again threw up vast volumes of boiling water from an oval-shaped cauldron of pure white, crystallized silica. The water, of the purest blue, flowed over a terrace-like formation, which was being gradually built up just as the famed terraces of Rotomahana must have been, each fold, or lamination, of the rock being distinctively formed with tablets beautifully designed by the silica-charged waters. Climbing up a ridge by the side of this big fountain, we peered over a precipice, which opened out beneath in a semicircular form, and at the bottom of which was a large oval-shaped spring--dark water, shining, and steaming hot, while the silicious rocks which walled it in were tinged a deep red by oxide of iron. This was a very warm though interesting region. The red and white-streaked walls of the chasm steamed and bubbled, the boiling mud-springs displayed a wonderful activity, while the green lakelet on the opposite side of the valley sent down its emerald-coloured water to mingle with Te Wairakei, which foamed and hissed as it rushed furiously over its rocky bed below. Not far from this point was the geyser known as the Great Wairakei, from which the district takes its name. According to Maori legend, it is said to have been called after an old woman who plunged into its boiling cauldron to end her days. It was formed of an oblong basin of about forty feet long by thirty feet wide, and almost circular, while at its farther end the steep sides of the steaming pool rose to a height of sixty feet, rock-bound, black, and adamantine in appearance. Perhaps, however, one of the most curious features of this geyser was that the edges of the pool were beautifully fringed with white incrustations of silica, pointed and fretted in the form of the most delicate lacework, while down beneath the water might be seen huge masses of silica rock, which had the appearance of the most fantastic coralline formations. White, yellow, and pink were the prevailing colours of these splendid incrustations, and when shining beneath the sun the contrast of the deep blue of the water and the white foam of the geyser, as it threw up its column of steaming water, was very attractive. Right in the centre of the broad basin the hot fountain surged and rolled, bursting up now and again in the form of a sparkling column, and subsiding with a loud, rumbling sound, as if in fury at the disturbing agency below. Enormous volumes of steam circled in the air, but everywhere around its hot sides a clustering vegetation struggled for life upon the heated soil. Within a short distance to the west of the Geyser Valley, and at the summit of a high range of hills, we explored another interesting region of thermal action. It was principally formed by a deep, crater-like depression, with rugged sides, composed of huge masses of trachytic and pumice rock and volcanic earth, from the numerous fissures of which issued white jets of steam. The country hereabouts bore traces of having undergone, at some period or another, considerable subterranean disturbance, and it appeared as if the crater-like depression had formed the principal seat of action. In the centre of this remarkable locality was situated a small lake of oblong shape, with steep, rock-bound, precipitous sides, which rose perpendicularly from the edge of the water to a height of about sixty feet. The water, of a thick, opaque blue, like cloudy turquoise, lay undisturbed, without a ripple upon its surface, save where innumerable gas-bubbles rose from the depths below to give off their sulphuretted hydrogen. At its western end, embowered amidst a dense growth of fern and mosses, was a picturesque cave, through which ran a cold, icy spring of delicious water. Near to the lake were several large mud-pools in a state of great activity, and still further along, close under a steep, rocky bluff, whose hot, quaking sides sent forth innumerable jets of steam, was an extensive chain of sulphur-pools, one of which was over 100 feet in diameter. In the vicinity of these pools were large deposits of bright yellow sulphur, with hematite iron, the red oxide, silica, alum, and other mineral products peculiar to thermal action. All these pools were so disposed that they formed, as it were, natural baths, and, from various tests I made, I found that the temperature averaged from 100° to 206° Fahr. The colour of the water varied in appearance from dark green to steel-grey, but all were evidently highly charged with sulphur and other minerals, and I believe that their curative properties would be found very efficacious in cutaneous and rheumatic affections. It was from the Blue Lake and the sulphur and mud-pools in its vicinity that a very remarkable spring took its rise. After passing a considerable distance underground, it wound on its way to the Waikato River. Along its entire course the country fell rapidly from the lake, and the stream in many places--which had a channel from three to six feet in width--descended at various intervals into small cascades which, falling into broad pools, formed natural baths. We bathed in one of these fountains where the water had a temperature of 110° Fahr., and as the whole volume of the stream passed over the body, it produced the most delightful sensation. The efficacy of this water for curative purposes has been long known to the Maoris, who have given it the name of Kiriohinekai, or "New Skin," from the singular properties which it possesses in the cure of cutaneous and rheumatic disorders. The water in colour was of a bluish green, and we found that our horses drank readily of it, even when in its warm state. To the south of the Kiriohinekai stream, and about a mile distant, there was another broad valley, the bottom of which was covered with innumerable _fumaroles_ that sent up their coils of steam in every direction. Here the soft, spongy, heated soil was covered with a dense growth of moss and stunted _manuka_ scrub. All the springs running over this valley were warm, and most of them were impregnated to a high degree with sulphur and alum. Here at the foot of a hill sloping towards the south was situated Te Karapiti, the largest _fumarole_ in the Lake Country. It was formed by a deep and apparently fathomless aperture, rounded like a funnel, and from which issued with a terrific force and unearthly screeching noise, a spiral column of transparent steam, which mounted high into the air as if forced upward from below by a 100-horse-power engine. So great was the force of this column of steam as it issued from the earth, that the branches of trees we threw into the funnel were at once ejected and hurled upwards with tremendous power. When I tested its heat, the thermometer rose to 220° Fahr. This curious steam-hole, which carries on its eruptions incessantly, may be distinctly seen all over the Taupo country.[36] The Huka[37] Falls form, without doubt, the most attractive sight to be seen along the whole valley of the Waikato, and there is no better way to view them than by an approach from the north through Wairakei. Journeying this way, one gets a splendid view of the deep valley of the river, as it meanders for miles on either side, and when the falls burst upon the gaze they produce a magnificent _coup d'oeil_. The river pouring out of Lake Taupo, at an elevation of 1175 feet above the level of the sea, rolls onward in a serpentine course down a picturesque terraced ravine for about five miles, when it suddenly breaks into a series of eddying cascades, and then, sweeping with a rapid current round an abrupt curve, the vast volume of water enters a channel about 150 feet long by 60 feet broad, and with perpendicular, rock-bound sides. The foaming stream thus confined shoots onward with tremendous fury into bounding rapids, until the mass of water leaps from a height of 50 feet into a circular basin below, whence it rushes onwards in its course to the sea. The fine basin into which the river falls is about 150 feet broad in its widest part; its precipitous sides rise to a height of about 60 feet, and above these again the terraced hills of pumice rise hundreds of feet higher. Around this pool the greenest and most varied vegetation clusters to the very edge of the water; enormous boulders lie scattered beneath, as if hurled into their present position by the fury of the stream, and as the bright, bluish-green water comes thundering in a glittering, foaming wave over the rocky precipice, and falls shining beneath the sun in wild, seething eddies below, amidst a cloud of diamond spray, the effect is beautiful in the extreme. [Illustration: SECTION OF VALLEY OF WAIKATO RIVER AT HUKA FALLS. A A. Table-land of pumice drift 1400 feet above sea-level. B B. Flat terrace. C. Channel cut by river through dyke of trachytic rock. D. Fall of river into lower terraced valley, 50 feet.] When I had gazed with admiration at the beauty of the Huka, I determined to ascertain whether it would be possible to pass underneath the shoot of water from one side to the other. I had done this under the Falls of Niagara, and it seemed to me that the same thing might be accomplished at the Huka, only on a smaller scale. When I suggested to my guide that we should make this trial at the risk of our necks, he did not hesitate, but, on the contrary, entered with spirit into what appeared an almost impossible undertaking. To get down on a level with the seething pool below, it was necessary for us to descend a perpendicular precipice of rock of some sixty feet in height. The only way down was by clinging on to the roots of the trees, and in this way we gained the rugged rocks beneath. Once on the margin of the river, we crept through the thick growth of fern and _manuka_, and then along steep, slippery, moss-grown boulders that bordered the eddying whirlpool. There was just sufficient room at each step to put the toes of our boots. One false step and all was over. As we crept cautiously along towards the fall, and looked upwards, it appeared much higher and grander than when we had beheld it from the precipice above, and as it came thundering towards us from a cloud of spray the effect was not only beautiful, but thrilling to a degree. With the cautious tread of a couple of cats, we crawled round the edge of the fall, so close that the outside water of the grand cascade caught us and drenched us to the skin, but it soon became apparent as we progressed under the fall that our way was barred by a barrier of rock which rose vertically up under the centre of the shoot. We discovered, however, a small cave, which extended right under the bed of the rocky channel over which the river passed, and, as we squatted down inside, the vibration caused by the terrific flow of water over our heads was so great that not only did the rocks above and around us shake, but the delicate and beautiful ferns which grew about the walls of the cave trembled like aspen leaves as they grew. As we gazed from the recesses of the cave through the falling water the effect produced by the sunlight was very beautiful, as it lit up the foaming cataract in all the colours of the rainbow. Thus baffled, I determined to try the opposite side of the fall, and on the following day we crossed the Waikato at Tapuwaeharuru, and rode across the wide pumice plain between the valley of the river and the great mountain Tauhara. It was when crossing this level tract of weird pumice country, where nothing could be seen but stunted _manuka_ and tussock grass, that we came across, and, in fact, nearly galloped into an enormous fissure, which we did not perceive until we were right on its brink. It was about three quarters of a mile long, running at right angles to the river, and over 100 feet in depth. Now, although on the hard dry plain over which we rode the vegetation was sparse and stunted, down in this chasm there was a beautiful and varied growth of mosses, trees, and ferns, all growing in unsurpassed luxuriance upon the hard pumice soil. A small stream, which came out from under the ground at the head of this deep valley, wound down its centre; and as we gazed upon the varied growth below, it looked like a veritable oasis in a wilderness. To any one anxious to act the part of a modern Quintus Curtius, I know of no better place. When we gained the Huka Falls on this side, we crawled down a steep, precipitous cliff, and by the aid of a rope let ourselves down a wall of rock some fifty feet in height, until we reached a dense growth of scrub and fern, which fringed the rocks on this side of the pool. We came suddenly into a rustic-looking spot in a cluster of bush, where the water from a spring in the cliff above dropped like a shower-bath upon our heads, and from this point we again got out to the moss-grown, slippery rocks on the margin of the river. The wind, too, being across the falls, blew clouds of spray all around us, and it was with great difficulty we crept round the body of water and right under the centre of the shoot, where the full volume of the Waikato rolled over our heads. On this side a series of rocky ledges, each about a foot wide, formed the inner wall, and these were covered everywhere with a thick growth of bright-green mosses, and there was just sufficient room for us to stand without being caught by the fall and drawn into the vortex that hissed below like a steaming cauldron, as the millions of tons of bright-blue water fell with echoing roar at our feet. So far our adventures beneath the waters of the Huka were satisfactory, but I could not recommend any one to repeat the experiment. Our researches, however, proved beyond a doubt that it is not possible to pass under the Huka Falls from one side to the other. I found that almost every object of interest in these wild regions had some weird legend attached to it, and Te Huka was not an exception to the rule. Ages ago, so the tradition goes, a number of the tribe of the Ngatihau came on a visit to the Ngatituwharetoa of Taupo. The former, being experienced canoemen, boasted of the rapids they were accustomed to shoot when navigating the Whanganui, pointing out at the same time that the Taupo natives might well sail with ease over their beautiful lake. But the Ngatituwharetoa gave their visitors to understand that they could boast of rapids that no canoe could shoot. "If you show them, we will navigate them," exclaimed the Ngatihau; and the challenge was taken up, the only stipulation being that the Taupo tribe should furnish a pilot to the head of the rapids. A war-canoe was launched, and seventy of the Ngatihau getting into it, the swift craft shot down the Waikato, then over the first rapid and over the second, when at a jutting point of rock the pilot of the Ngatituwharetoa leapt ashore, and in a second more the Ngatihau swept onward to their doom over the falls. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 36: When making the ascent of Ruapehu, Te Karapiti was distinctly visible at a distance of nearly fifty miles. It acts as a kind of weather glass to the Maoris when navigating the treacherous waters of Lake Taupo.] [Footnote 37: _Huka_ is a general term applied by the natives to the foam of the sea, and to ice and snow; it here refers to the foaming, snowy appearance of the falls.] EXPLORATION OF THE KING COUNTRY. CHAPTER XI. THE START. Reason of the journey--How I succeeded--My interpreter--Our horses--The Hursthouse difficulty--Departure from Wairakei--Tapuwaeharuru--The natives--Release of Hursthouse, and capture of Te Mahuki--The council of war. In undertaking my journey of exploration through the King Country, I was prompted by no other desire than to advance the general interests of New Zealand, by making known more fully that portion of it which was virtually a blank on the maps, and thus to add, as far as lay in my power, to the geographical and geological knowledge of a vast and important region, which was reputed to be rich in natural resources of a valuable and varied order. The object was, in fine, of a purely scientific nature, and was prosecuted throughout solely in conformity with that view. In setting out upon the undertaking--as I had selected to do the journey only in company with an interpreter, and without the protection of friendly natives, whose aid, in fact, it would have been impossible to obtain--I was aware that a difficult and, by reason of the unsatisfactory state of the native question, a dangerous task lay before me, but I was likewise aware that I was no novice in the matter of travel. I had penetrated into some of the wildest parts of Australia, explored the principal islands of the Coral Sea, been into the interior of China and of Japan, crossed the United States, visited Mexico, travelled in Canada, voyaged up the Nile, camped with the Bedouins on the plains of Arabia, and hunted in the forests of Ceylon. In all these countries, whilst exploring their natural beauties and varied resources, it was my practice to mix freely with the native races, while I made their habits and customs my special study, and with the knowledge thus acquired, it seemed to my mind that it would not be altogether impossible for me to get along with the Maoris, whose intelligence and courage had been a general theme for admiration ever since the arrival of Cook. When entering upon the journey, I determined to follow a certain line of action throughout. I resolved to ascend Tongariro, to scale the summit of Ruapehu, and then to enter the King Country at its furthest extremity, and return northward to Alexandra by the best route by which I could secure the most extended knowledge of the region to be traversed. If turned back by the natives at one point, I was prepared to try another. I was determined that no efforts should be spared to accomplish my object, and that no obstacle should impede my progress, save forcible opposition. To guard as much as possible against an occurrence of the latter kind, I resolved, above all when in contact with the tribes, to go fearlessly among them, to respect their customs, and follow, as near as possible, their mode of life, and, in fact, for the time being to become a Maori. Only in one instance was I forced to break through this rule, and that was in order to accomplish the ascent of Tongariro. This mountain, as before pointed out, is strictly _tapu_, and I was aware that all the persuasive diplomacy in the world would not secure me permission to ascend it, I therefore had to accomplish this task unbeknown to the Maoris having settlements in its vicinity. Following strictly the natives' habits, when camping with the tribes, we would at sundown turn into the _wharepunis_, or assembly-houses, in which the members of the _hapu_ meet to eat and sleep, when the small door would be closed, the solitary window scrupulously fastened up, the charcoal fire lit, and when the dismal slush lamp would give forth its flickering light, as if struggling for existence amidst the clouds of smoke which mingled with the stifling air of the apartment; then men, women, and children would squat down in their blankets, and, lighting their pipes, conversation would begin. It was on these occasions that we gained most of our information about the country and the habits and customs of the interesting people among whom we were travelling. They were always desirous of ascertaining what countries I had visited, and, with the able assistance of my interpreter, I related to them some of the principal features of interest I had seen in various parts of the world. During these descriptions not a word was ever spoken--men, women, and children sat in silence--but at the conclusion of my narrative the most extraordinary and often ludicrous questions would be asked. In turn the natives would tell us all we wished to know about their country and indicate the mineral deposits[38] which they knew to exist in various localities, while they would likewise recite legends, and sing songs in a mournful, melancholy way. Then, one by one, they would gradually settle down to sleep, and in this way, amid loud snoring and a stifling heat, we would pass away twelve dreary hours, until the cool breath of morning came and gave us relief. It was, in fact, by following this course that we gained the confidence of the natives, and made them our friends. When I was fully prepared to set out on my journey, as I could not speak a word of the native language, my next desire was to secure the services of an efficient interpreter. During my travels through the Lake Country I had become acquainted with Mr. J.A. Turner, a younger member of a family of European extraction, who from the early days of the colony had been settled near Whatiwhatihoe. It was in company with Mr. Turner that I examined the wonders of Wairakei, and made the descent under the Huka Falls. It was on that occasion, too, that I remarked his spirited love for travel and adventure, his quick perception as a guide, his thorough knowledge of the Maori language, and of native habits and customs; and while I admired his genial manner, I secretly determined that when I started on my journey to explore the King Country he would be the first man whose services I would endeavour to secure. In this I was fortunately successful. As I shall have occasion to refer frequently to the horses we took on our journey I will give their names, with a brief description of each. Charlie, the horse which I rode, was bred on the Kaingaroa Plains, east of Lake Taupo, and was caught by Turner from a mob of wild horses. He stood about fifteen hands, was of a dark iron-grey colour, and possessed good points. Tommy, ridden by Turner, was a black pony, of about fourteen hands, bred near Auckland, and, although his points were not perfect, he was strongly built, and plucky to a degree. Our sumpter-horse, also bred near Auckland, was a gaunt, white-coated animal, well built, but somewhat long in the legs, and narrow-chested. His principal failing was an inordinate appetite. Moreover, although a fine-looking horse in many ways, he had the gait of a camel, and, I think, like the "ship of the desert" is said to do, he cursed his father when going up a hill, and his Creator when coming down. When everything was in readiness, and just as we were about to start from Wairakei, an event mingled with alarm occurred in connection with the native difficulty. Several of the principal Kingite chiefs, who had up to this time remained in sullen isolation, agreed to allow Mr. Hursthouse, a government surveyor, and his assistants, with a body-guard of friendly natives, to enter a part of the northern portion of the King Country, but immediately upon the party reaching the small settlement of Te Kumi, a few miles across the frontier-line, they were set upon and made prisoners by a band of Maoris headed by Te Mahuki, a fanatical follower of Te Whiti, the Maori prophet. No sooner were the surveyors in the hands of the desperadoes, than they were taken prisoners into the settlement, stripped of every particle of clothing, brutally maltreated, and chained up in a hut where they were detained until intelligence of their capture reached Alexandra. This brutal outrage upon a government officer in the face of the many delicate phases of the Maori difficulty, was naturally received with consternation throughout the colony, as at first glance it appeared little short of an act of open rebellion on the part of the natives. A few days after this event, on the 5th of April, we set out from Wairakei, and following along the banks of the Waikato for about six miles, reached Tapuwaeharuru, a small township at the northern end of Lake Taupo. Situated far from the centres of population, this settlement is not an important place, beyond its being one of the principal strategic positions of the armed constabulary. The flat, elevated plain upon which the township is situated, is formed entirely of pumice, and has a hollow, cavernous-like sound when riding over it, a circumstance which no doubt gave rise to its native name, which signifies "the place of sounding footsteps." From time immemorial Tapuwaeharuru has been the centre of a large Maori population, and all around this portion of the lake may yet be seen the remains of old _pas_ and other evidences of the fast-decaying native race. There is still a considerable number of natives living in the vicinity, and the township is usually full of them. Many of the men are tall and finely built, and, in fact, this portion of the country has been at all times renowned for the splendid physical development of the native race, some of the tallest and most powerful men in the island hailing from these parts. The women, likewise, are comely in appearance and strongly built, while they follow the peculiar custom, which I have not seen elsewhere, of tattooing the legs as well as the lips in thin cross-lines of a dark-blue colour. We reached Tapuwaeharuru early in the day, and noticed as we entered the township that a body of the armed constabulary were at work repairing the earthwork of the redoubt. We soon learned that Hursthouse and his party had been released by a body of armed natives under Wahanui, the principal chief of the Ngatimaniapoto, and that Te Mahuki and his band had been taken prisoners to Auckland.[39] It was evident that the natives were much excited over the latter event, and the armed constabulary had received orders to hold themselves in readiness to take the field at any moment. Tawhiao, the Maori king, was on his way from the East Coast with 300 mounted Waikatos, and was expected to arrive on the following day, and it was reported by the natives that he would enter the King Country by the northern shore of the lake, and call a meeting of all the tribes to discuss the situation. At this juncture I sent Turner to sound the natives whether they thought that he could enter the King Country at Tokanu, and pass northward to visit his family at Whatiwhatihoe. Two of the natives whom he knew from Tokanu told him that he might by chance get through, but if he happened to come across any of Te Mahuki's followers or other unfriendly natives, he would probably be treated in the same way as Hursthouse, or perhaps get a bullet through him. The general impression was that the Hursthouse affair, and the imprisonment of Te Mahuki and his band, would cause a serious disturbance between the Europeans and natives. At this stage we held a council of war. It was clear there were only two alternatives--either to go on and chance everything, or beat an ignominious retreat. I made a firm stand against the latter, and Turner, realizing the position at once, said, "Wherever you go, I'll follow." That settled the question, and that night, when the moon was high, we pitched our first camp on the eastern shore of Lake Taupo. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 38: The natives at Ruakaka told us of the existence of gold in the Kaimanawa Mountains, and in the Tuhua country, as likewise of extensive deposits of coal on the Upper Whanganui River.] CHAPTER XII. THE REGION OF LAKE TAUPO. Natural phenomena--The great table-land--Position and dimensions of the lake--Watershed--Geological features--The lake an extinct crater--Crater lakes--Areas of thermal action. As during my journey through the King Country the widely extended region surrounding Lake Taupo will of necessity be brought prominently forward as being the principal centre around which my explorations were prosecuted, I will endeavour to define in general terms the leading features of this important area, in order that all my future descriptions of the country traversed may be more readily understood by the general reader. This portion of the North Island, by reason of the varied features of its natural phenomena, is without doubt one of the most wonderful and interesting fields for geographical exploration and geological research to be found in any part of the world. It is, in fact, a portion of the earth where some of the most marvellous works which mark the progress of a Divine Creation may be viewed in singular and varied contrast, and while one beholds in wonder the stupendous action of volcanic fires, one may trace the no less potent force of the snowy glacier and bounding river. Here nature, with her mighty forces of fire and water, has formed and moulded a region of extended plains pierced by colossal mountains which raise their giant heads to the region of eternal snow, while countless rivers pour down their waters into a lake possessing the dimensions of an inland sea. [Illustration: TRANSVERSE SECTION OF NORTH ISLAND FROM S.W. TO N.E. AA. S.W. fall of great central table-land to coast, geological formation near surface, pumicious grit and decomposed trachytic rock, in form of light earth, resting on strata of pumice and fluvial drift. Vegetation various native grasses, low fern and forest. B. Onetapu scoria desert, highest point of table-land, dividing northern and southern watershed. CC. Sources of Whangaehu and Waikato rivers, flowing south and north respectively. DD. Centres of volcanic upheaval. EE. General direction of great pumice deposit, forming extensive open plains. Vegetation principally tussock grass and _manuka_ scrub.] The middle portion of the North Island is formed of an extended table-land, which towards its central point, that is to say, in the vicinity of the lake margin, attains to a mean altitude of nearly 2000 feet above the level of the sea. Beyond this radius, which I may term the inner circle of the great lake basin, the plane of elevation varies in altitude, and attains its highest point at its southern division, where, on the Onetapu desert, at the eastern base of the great mountain Ruapehu, it rises to a height of over 3000 feet, from which place it inclines gradually towards the south coast, and divides the northern and southern watershed of this portion of the country. Easterly of this the table-land is intersected by the Kaimanawa mountains, and from the western base of Ruapehu it falls with a rapid descent into the valley of the Whanganui. To the north of the lake, along the upper valley of the Waikato, it has an average elevation of from 1500 to nearly 2000 feet, until it descends into a broad valley near Atea-amuri, where the river flows round to the north-west to enter the plains of the lower valley of the Waikato. Eastward of the lake the highest point of the plateau is attained near to the northern slope of the Kaimanawa mountains, whence it dips in a north-easterly course, in the direction of the Bay of Plenty. Over a large area, along the western shore of the lake, the table-land maintains a more equal elevation than near the eastern shore-line, until it reaches the head of the Waihora river, whence it inclines north-westerly, around the high mountains of Titiraupenga, until it gradually merges into the broad, low valley of the Upper Waipa. It is as near as possible in the centre of this vast area of elevation, that the enormous sheet of water forming Lake Taupo is situated. The position of the lake is in lat. 38° 37' to 38° 58' S.; long. 175° 46' to 176° 5' E. Its mean altitude above the sea, by barometrical measurements, I ascertained to be 1175 feet. The margin, or shore-line, assumes a somewhat oval shape, with a broad bay on the western side. It is twenty-four miles long in a north-easterly and south-westerly direction, and fourteen miles broad from east to west, and with a superficial area of over 300 square miles. It possesses one small island, which is situated near to its south-eastern shore, and its coast is surrounded with beautiful bays and headlands, which in some instances rise many hundreds of feet above the white pumice shore. Although the waters of the lake are comparatively shallow around a greater part of the margin, there are places where it is of an enormous depth, especially near its centre in the direction of the western bay. In describing the watershed of this wide region, I may point out that the area of the lake basin may be defined by those divisions of the country which give rise to the rivers, creeks, and other waters flowing into it, and which have their origin for the most part in the extensive mountain ranges scattered over various parts of the table-lands. Although on the most recent maps of the colony only about eight rivers, namely, the Waitahanui, Hinemaiai, Tauranga, Waimarino, Upper Waikato, Waihaha, and Waihora, are represented as flowing into the lake, I found on the western shore, in addition to other smaller streams, the Kuramanga, Kuratao, Whareroa, Mangakara, Whanganui,[40] Waikino, and Waikomiko, besides three other streams on the northern shore, the names of which I was unable to obtain. It will therefore be seen that there are not less than seventeen rivers running into this lake, with innumerable smaller streams, while it should be remarked that the only river or stream of any kind flowing out of this immense area of water is the Waikato, at the north-east end. Most of the rivers on the eastern side of the lake receive their waters from the north-western slope of the Kaimanawa mountains, and those from the west, from the Tuhua, Hauhungaroa and Hurakia ranges. Comparatively little water flows into the lake at the northern end, since the country thereabouts dips mostly in the direction of the valley of the Waikato. It is in fact at its southern end that the lake receives its greatest volume of water from the Upper Waikato river, and its numerous tributaries. This river, rising at an altitude of 7000 feet on the eastern side of Ruapehu, is fed by the snows of that mountain, and of Tongariro, as well as by the enormous watershed of a large portion of the Kaimanawa mountains, along the western base of which it runs in its winding course to the lake, receiving likewise on its way the eastern streams of the Kakaramea ranges, and the overflowing waters of Lake Rotoaira, as they descend by the Poutu river. With but one outlet to relieve it of this tremendous watershed, it is not surprising that the waters of the lake rise rapidly during the rainy season, while with the continuance of heavy winds its waves are lashed into fury, and break upon its shores with the force and roar of a raging sea. In considering the geological features of the region of Lake Taupo, it may be imagined here, as in other cases, that the primary volcanic eruptions were submarine, and that when first that portion of New Zealand now known as the North Island appeared above the surrounding sea, forced upwards by some volcanic freak of nature, the Taupo table-land rose perhaps rapidly, perhaps by slow degrees, to its greatest elevation. The volcanic eruptions which produced this phenomenon may, in short, have been instantaneous or slow in their action; but be that as it may, their work has been indelibly impressed upon the face of Nature in a way which has caused its wonderful results to last through vast periods of time. The volcanic agencies, however, did not rest here. The Plutonic fires, still active in the interior of the earth, burst through the elevated plane, and caused big mountains to rise up in the form of serrated ridges and truncated cones, which poured out their streams of lava and other kindred products over the surrounding country. Hence dotted along the Taupo volcanic zone are stupendous mountain ranges and graceful trachytic cones standing alone or rising from amidst a cluster of minor elevations to heights which vary from 1200 to nearly 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. Of the former class the most extensive are the Kaimanawa mountains and the kindred systems, with the Tuhua ranges and the wooded heights of Hauhungaroa and Hurakia, while the cone formation is exemplified in the grandest proportions in Ruapehu, Tongariro, Pihanga, Tauhara, Kakaramea, Kuharua, Puke kai-kiore, Karangahape, Haurungatahi, Hikurangi, Hurakia, and Titiraupenga, all of which indicate various centres of volcanic action. The existence of a body of water of the area of Lake Taupo, and of its form and depth in the centre of this elevated region, may be accounted for in several ways. It may have originated in the terrific throes of an earthquake, or by a fracture or break in the plateau. I am, however, of opinion that the present basin of the lake was at one time an active crater, which had its existence long prior to the period when the volcanic cones surrounding it sprang into existence, and that at the time of its activity it was considerably higher than it is at the present day, its subsidence or depression having been caused by one of those sudden changes peculiar to regions subject to volcanic disturbance. Moreover, many of the leading geological phenomena, as exemplified throughout the surrounding country, would seem to point to this conclusion. Perhaps one of the most remarkable features of the Taupo volcanic zone at the present day is its vast pumice plains, which radiate, as it were, from a common centre over an extensive area of country. The largest of these plains stretches in a north-easterly direction from the lake shore, with a gradual fall or incline in the same direction. It is through the western margin of this plain that the Waikato winds through its terraced valley, and it is around this valley that may be more distinctly seen the enormous deposits of pumice, which have been distributed far and wide, as it were, by the action of rapidly rolling waters. From every outward indication it would appear that this vast deposit of pumice rock had its origin in the once active crater forming the basin of the great lake, and that both Ruapehu and Tongariro rose above their still higher planes long after the period when the great Taupo crater now forming the cup of the lake was the principal outlet of volcanic fires in this wide field of Plutonic action. As a matter of fact the distribution of pumice drift around the enormous base of Ruapehu and Tongariro is as nothing when compared with the great pumice formation of North-Eastern Taupo, and this statement will apply equally to the plains westward and south-westward of the lake. The greatest overflow or distribution of pumice appears to have been, as before pointed out, at the north-eastern division of the lake basin, where the area of depression is greater than at any other part, and at a point over thirty miles distant from either Tongariro or Ruapehu. It was, I believe, when the fires of the great lake volcano died out that the waters rose from the subterranean springs below, and overflowing the then more elevated crater, distributed the light pumice rock over the area of country which had a gradual fall then as now in the direction in which the extensive deposits of pumice are still to be found. This enormous crater was, no doubt, at one time the highest point of the island, until its period of volcanic extinction and subsidence set in, after which stage the pent-up fires burst forth in the stupendous form of Ruapehu, and when the latter in its turn became extinct, Tongariro, with its minor system of volcanic cones, sprang into existence. [Illustration: TERRACE FORMATION AND HOT SPRINGS. (_Valley of the Waikato._)] I am not aware whether this theory of the crater basin of Lake Taupo is a new or an old one, and I only endeavour to exemplify it as it presented itself to my mind, after a careful examination of the country for many miles around the lake, and from data gained during my ascent of the highest mountains of this great volcanic centre. I may, however, likewise point out that the Taupo natives still have a well authenticated tradition, which would seem to show that even during the history of the race upon the island, the lake basin was at one period considerably higher than it is at the present day. But, beyond the above fact to support this theory, it is well known that the formation of lakes in extinct craters is common throughout the volcanic regions of the island. Lake Takapuna, near Auckland, may be taken as a notable instance. The blue lake at Wairakei, near Lake Taupo, is situated in a depressed crater, and Rotokawa, a little further to the east, is of the same formation. Lake Rotoaira, south of Taupo lake, is nothing more than a depressed crater, while there are no less than four lakes on the Tongariro mountains formed in the same way. There is likewise a lake formed by a crater on the summit of Ruapehu, while the two lakes which I discovered to the south-west of that mountain, and named respectively Rangitauaiti and Rangitauanui, were nothing more than depressed craters filled with water from subterranean springs. When treating of the many wonderful natural phenomena presented by the Taupo volcanic zone, it may not prove uninteresting to refer, if only in brief terms, to the several centres of thermal action within the immediate region of the lake. Both at its northern and southern end considerable areas of country are covered with geysers, solfataras, fumaroles, and hot springs. At a short distance below the point where the Waikato leaves the lake, the banks of the river are studded with boiling springs and fumaroles in a very active condition, while not far from its eastern margin is situated a large geyser which is constantly throwing up boiling water and emitting vast volumes of steam. At Wairakei, still further down the valley of the Waikato, these wonderful phenomena cover nearly 4000 acres of country, and take the form, as before shown, of enormous intermittent geysers, steam-holes, fumaroles, solfataras, and hot mineral springs of the most varied order; while to the north-east of Lake Taupo, Lake Rotokawa forms the centre of a wide circle of hot springs and fumaroles. On the south side of Lake Taupo, the mineral springs and geysers of Tokanu spread over a wide surface, and on the northern slope of Tongariro are some of the largest and most active boiling springs in the country, while the crater of the great mountain itself is the seat of a tremendous thermal action. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 39: A few days subsequent to the release of Mr. Hursthouse Te Mahuki marched with his band into Alexandra, and after threatening to burn down the town and to destroy the whites, both he and his followers were captured by the armed constabulary.] [Footnote 40: This river must not be confused with the Whanganui of the south, which does not flow into the lake.] CHAPTER XIII. EASTERN SHORE OF LAKE TAUPO. A grand view--True source of the Waikato--The river of "streaming water"--Our first camp--Variation of temperature--Roto Ngaio--Te Hatepe Te Poroporo--The lake beneath us--A canoe--Motutere--Tauranga--Southern shore of the lake--Delta of the Upper Waikato. When we set out from Tapuwaeharuru our course lay around the eastern shore of the lake, and as the bright blue heavens were unflecked by a single cloud, we obtained an uninterrupted view of the magnificent and varied scenery that unfolded itself like an ever-changing panorama before the gaze. I had admired the beauties of Lake Taupo on several occasions, but never before had they been presented in so clear and defined a light as on this occasion. As far as the eye could reach, the grand sheet of water stretched away in the distance in a wide expanse of blue, which appeared just a shade deeper than the sky above, while the golden rays of the sun, shining over the lake and lighting up the surrounding country with a vivid power, made the snow-capped mountains in the south stand out in bold and beautiful relief. On every side the scenery was both varied and attractive. To the west, as far as the eye could see, were the densely wooded heights of the King Country--the forbidden land we were about to enter. To the north was a level plain, above which the crater-shaped cone of Tauhara rose in rugged grandeur. To the east rolled away the wide expanse known as the Kaingaroa Plains, clothed in a mantle of waving tussock grass; while south-easterly the long line of the Kaimanawa mountains stretched across the country, their tall, pointed peaks looking like the Sierras of Southern Spain. It was, however, immediately to the south of the lake that the most enchanting _coup-d'oeil_ was to be obtained. Rising above the calm water was the solitary island of Motutaiko; beyond it the lake shore was indented with the most romantic-looking bays, above which a cluster of cone-shaped summits rose in a confused but picturesque group, overtopped by the tall form of Mount Pihanga. Beyond, in the background, the graceful cone of Tongariro, capped with a feathery cloud of steam, stood out in grand proportions; while high above all towered the stupendous form of Ruapehu--its rugged-peaked summit radiant in its fleecy mantle of snow. Although the nearest of these mountains was over twenty miles distant, they were all so clearly defined in outline as to appear not half that distance away. Taking into consideration the grand expanse of lake, the varied form of the surrounding mountains, with the active crater of Tongariro and the colossal proportions of Ruapehu--in fine, water, snow, mountain, and volcanic fires--never had I gazed upon, in any part of the world, so varied and so beautiful a scene. [Illustration: LAKE TAUPO. _Page 150._] The bay upon which Tapuwaeharuru is situated, and around which our journey began, is one of the most remarkable parts of the lake, for it is here that the Waikato River rolls out of the broad expanse of water to pursue its long, winding course to the sea. At the point where the river leaves its great natural reservoir--that is to say at the top of the lake--the depth of water is not more than from four to six feet, but a few feet beyond where the eddying waters burst forth in the form of miniature cascades, the river gradually deepens as it flows onward in a rapid course through a winding narrow valley, with wide, sloping sides, which gradually become higher and steeper until they form a precipitous terraced gorge as the stream cuts its way through the pumice table-land in a devious course to the Huka Falls, over which it plunges, to dash onward again through a still deeper valley, the bed of which at the base of the falls is a little over 100 feet below the water level of Lake Taupo.[41] The point where the river takes its rise is the only outlet of any kind around the vast margin of the lake, and it is this spot which forms, as a matter of fact, the true source of the Waikato. The great river, which enters the lake to the south, and which is supposed, by a romantic fiction of the natives, to flow through the lake without mingling with its waters, and which is erroneously styled the "Upper Waikato," is, without doubt, when considered geographically, a distinct stream of water, which is no more connected with the Waikato proper than are the numerous other streams which all add their quota to the lake waters. From the narrow outlet where the Waikato leaves the lake, it takes an almost north-easterly course for about thirty miles, when it flows north-westerly to Ngaruawahia, where, after its junction with the Waipa, it runs in an almost northerly direction until it bends again abruptly to the west, to disembogue at the West Coast. During its long winding course, it receives the waters of countless tributaries which form the great central watershed of a large portion of the island. The river in its rapid flow is still slowly but surely cutting its way through the great pumice formation, and as an evidence of this work it is no infrequent occurrence to see disintegrated masses of rock in the form of pumice drift floating upon its waters, to be carried out to sea, or deposited to form fresh strata along its winding banks. The colour of the water of the Waikato here, as elsewhere wherever the stream traverses the pumice country, is, like that of the lake, of a transparent opaline blue tint, and so clear is it that the coraline-like formation of the rocky bed--an appearance caused by the silicious encrustations upon the rocks--is distinctly visible to a great depth below the surface of the stream. Indeed in the transparent beauty of its head waters I believe this river has no equal, and while the peculiar terrace formation of its upper valley imparts to it a singularly beautiful appearance, the high wooded ranges of its lower basin are no less remarkable for their wild and rugged grandeur. [Illustration: SOURCE OF THE WAIKATO AT LAKE TAUPO.] With so many natural features, then, in its favour, it is no matter for wonder that the Waikato has from time immemorial been renowned in Maori fable and romance. Since time out of mind the rich lands surrounding it have formed the dwelling-places of the most important native tribes, whose history is linked with its name, and whose songs and legends are echoed even to this day from every hill and valley along its course. The dark race is, however, fast disappearing from its banks, the stroke of the paddle is now almost unheard upon its bosom, but the Waikato, or river of "streaming water," still shapes its swift course over its bounding rapids, and with an echoing sound which would seem to say,-- Men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. As we proceeded on our way around the north-eastern shore of the lake, we crossed a small stream called Waipahihi, which flows across a level plain from the direction of Tauhara Mountain. Here was a small native settlement, composed of a _runanga_ house and a few _whares_, in front of which some half-dozen natives were sunning themselves, while several laughing, dusky children paddled about in the clear blue water. We passed along the shore until the western side of the lake opened out into a deep bay with bold, rugged cliffs shooting up perpendicularly from the water, while the mountain scenery to the south became still more attractive towards sundown, when the heavens assumed a beautiful green and carmine tint. We kept on our course until the last ray of sunlight had died away, and the moon was already high when we pitched our first camp on the banks of the Waitahanui River, with the broad lake on one side of our tent, and a _raupo_ swamp on the other. At this camping-place, which stood on a level with the lake, we experienced for the first time one of those sudden changes of temperature which afterwards became one of the most remarkable features of the journey. At 4 p.m. the thermometer registered as high as 80° Fahr. in the shade, and at midnight it stood at 2° below freezing-point, being a variation of no less than 50° in eight hours. When we awoke in the morning the thermometer marked 4° below freezing-point. The ground was coated with a thick frost, and the water we had left standing overnight was covered with a coating of ice. The sun, however, as it swept over the lake, soon clothed us with its genial warmth, and nature looked more radiant than ever. We struck camp soon after daybreak, and forded the Waitahanui, which flowed with a very rapid current into the lake, the water, which was very clear and cold, reaching nearly over our horses' backs. The country around our track at this point consisted principally of broad flats, with here and there low ranges of pumice terraces covered with fern and _manuka_ scrub, until we came to Roto Ngaio, a small native settlement situated in a semicircle of the lake shore, which was surrounded by pumice cliffs, completely flat-topped and level, with steep, clean-cut gorges. In the centre of the settlement was a small lake, the water of which, of an intensely blue colour, reflected on its calm surface the luxuriant vegetation that grew around. Everywhere along its border were deep clusters of willow and acacia-trees; in the thick sedges which fringed the water on every side were flocks of water-fowl, while the native _whares_, dotted about beneath the trees, imparted to the whole scene a singularly picturesque appearance. From Roto Ngaio we rounded Te Kohae Point, where the shore was covered with various kinds of drift washed up by the lake, and by which it could be plainly seen that the water-line during the rainy months was considerably higher than during the dry season. The shore-line hereabout was walled in by tall cliffs of pure white pumice, which rose up perpendicularly from 200 to 300 feet in height, and there were no signs of vegetation, save the scanty growth of fern that seemed to struggle for existence along the tops of the precipices. We crossed the Hinemaiai River, which cut its way through a valley of flat-topped terraces, and at midday we camped for an hour at Tehatepe, a deserted Maori settlement, where peach, cherries, and other fruit-trees grew in picturesque confusion in a garden-like expanse of bush. At every settlement along the lake, whether occupied or deserted, we found extensive peach groves growing in the greatest luxuriance, many of the finest kinds of this delicious fruit being produced from the sterile-looking pumice lands. The view from this place, looking across the lake towards the western bay, was most charming. The day was singularly warm and bright for the season of the year, and as we sat under a deep cluster of acacia-trees, and admired the beauties of the wide expanse of calm blue water before us, there was nothing to mar the quiet tranquillity of the spot, save innumerable blowflies that swarmed around us in an unpleasantly familiar kind of way. After leaving Tehatepe, we crossed the Totara and Waipehi streams, flowing into the lake from pumice hills in the distance, and came to a jutting point, where the cliffs rose to a height of several hundred feet above us. The track led over the tops of these, but, in order to avoid taking our horses by that way, we waded into the lake amidst the boulders and rocks, with the water over the horses' backs, and after rounding several huge masses of rock and jutting points, we gained the foot of another high headland, called Te Poroporo, up which we had to climb from the water by steep and dangerous rocky ledges, over which our horses had to scramble as if going up a slippery flight of steps. Over this steep cliff the path wound higher and higher until for a long distance it attained an elevation of over 100 feet above the water, with a high cliff wall on one side and a precipitous descent into the lake below on the other. The view of the grand surroundings obtained from this elevation was beautiful in the extreme. The lake, like a vast inland sea, was spread out beneath us, while immediately below our track the shore-line was dotted with gigantic boulders, among which innumerable wild duck were disporting themselves in the pellucid water. Beyond, towards the south, the mountains towered to the skies, and Tongariro appeared to be giving off a greater cloud of steam than it had done at any time during the previous day. The picturesque island of Motutaiko lay right beneath us, the _whares_ of Tokanu could be plainly seen, backed by a cloud of vapour from the hot springs; while on the other side of the lake, in the direction of the north-east, we could discern a vapoury column rising from Te Karipiti, and big, white clouds of steam floating over the geyser valley at Wairakei. When we gained the level shore-line the country became very picturesque, the low flats ending in small valleys and low hills, many of which partook of the flat terrace formation so remarkable in the pumice country. A large canoe, filled with natives, passed by us, speeding in the direction of the western shore, the frail craft shooting rapidly over the water, with the well-timed stroke of the paddles, which moved with the regularity of clockwork to the loud refrain of the dusky voyagers as they sped on their way. At Motutere, a small, low peninsula jutting out into the lake, we found the remains of an extensive _pa_, with burial-places, and carved palisading, which lay scattered about the ground. There were likewise the remains of a _wharekarakia_, or church, a ruined monument where the first light of Christianity had dawned upon a heathen people. This place, which was most delightfully situated, bore evidence of having been at one time a populous native settlement, which had gradually dwindled away until it had become the haunt of a few wild pigs that squealed and grunted at us as we passed through the deserted cultivations, which were still marked by the peach and the rose-tree. Beyond Motutere the shore-line took a graceful curve in the form of a wide bay, with a white pumice shore, picturesque hills rising gracefully on our left, and jutting points running out in the direction of the lake. Here, too, the vegetation was more green and luxuriant, and the soil of a better quality than towards the north. We forded the Waitotaka River, a clear, rapid stream, flowing from the direction of the Kaimanawa Mountains, and a short distance farther on we came to Tauranga Taupo, a native settlement on the banks of the river of that name. Beyond, the country opened out into low, fern-clad plains, backed by low ridges of hills. The shades of evening closed around us near to this point, so we pitched our camp for the night hard by a flax swamp which here bordered the lake.[42] We struck camp soon after the first streak of dawn had swept over the snows of Ruapehu, and passed around the southern end of the lake in the direction of Tokanu. We soon reached the peninsula Motuoapa, a bold, rocky promontory connected with the mainland by a low, narrow neck. At one time a formidable _pa_ stood on this place, and many of the old earthworks may yet be distinctly traced. Its position is a most beautiful one, jutting out into the lake over a wide bay, and it reminded me at the first glance of the bold, rugged peaks one sees crowned by feudal strongholds around the lakes of the old country. At a short distance from Motuoapa we crossed the Waimarino River, which flows through a flat, swampy plain, which extends for a considerable distance inland from the southern shores of the lake. The next point of interest was the delta of the Upper Waikato, where that river flows into the lake. Here the strand was covered with a light fluvial drift and pumice sand, through which our horses struggled fetlock deep. At this point the river flows into a semicircular bay, formed by a bend in the lake shore, which was here covered with flocks of a small graceful species of seagull, called by the natives _tarapunga_. The head and breast and under part of the body of this bird were snow white, the wings of a light grey, tipped with black, and the tail white with black bars. It frequents all parts of the lake, but is found more generally at its southern end. We forded the river some little distance above the extreme point of the delta, where the bed of the stream was about forty yards in width, and where the overhanging banks, worn away by its perpetual energy, were evidently in a constant state of transition. The river, owing to the melting of the snows at Ruapehu, was coming down at a rapid rate, and the water sweeping over our horses' backs nearly carried them from under us. The bed of the river was moreover covered with large boulders, and the animals plunged desperately in their endeavours to keep their footing against the strong stream. The banks hereabout were covered with _toetoe_ grass and strewn with drift timber in those parts where the river during the heavy floods had burst its boundary and swept over the surrounding country. This is one of the most dangerous crossing-places around the lake at the time of a strong fresh, as the waters in their rapid descent from the highlands to the south carry everything in their course into the broad lake beyond. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 41: The river, after leaving the falls, flows through a deep valley, which would seem to indicate, by its peculiar trough-like character, that the bed of the stream must, at some age or another, have been considerably higher than it is at the present time, and that the river gradually cut its deep channel through the yielding pumice formation, until the great barrier of rock forming the falls was met with, since which period it has cut its lower bed some fifty feet beneath. In this lower valley the shores rise abruptly from the margin of the water to a height of from forty to sixty feet, and then merge into a series of level plateaux or terraces, which, stretching inland for some distance, are again succeeded by others of a similar kind, which, in many places, rise in regular gradations above each other, like giant steps. For miles down the valley of the river the wonderful terraced elevations, formed entirely of disintegrated pumice rock, which is everywhere rounded by the action of water, form the principal features of the country, and some of the hills which compose them are so symmetrical in form, and level and angular in outline, that they appear to have been built up by artificial means.] [Footnote 42: Throughout this day's travel we likewise, as on the previous day, experienced a great variation of temperature. At 6 a.m. the thermometer indicated 4° of frost; at 1 p.m. it registered 84° in the shade; at 3 p.m. it had fallen to 80°; at 7·30 p.m. to 64°, giving an extreme variation of 56° in seven hours.] CHAPTER XIV. TOKANU. Scenery--The springs--The natives--Old war-tracks--Te Heuheu--A Maori lament--Motutaiko--Horomatangi. Our journey of about thirty miles around the eastern shore of Lake Taupo brought us to the native settlement of Tokanu, which is situated at the extreme south-western end of the lake, and on the shores of a picturesque bay, formed on the one side by the delta of the Upper Waikato, and on the other side by a line of precipitous cliffs which rose like a solid wall of rock from the edge of the water, their tops rolling inland in the form of conical-shaped hills. To the south of the bay, and behind the native settlement, rise the Kakaramea Ranges, in a cluster of volcanic cones, in some parts clothed with a dense vegetation, while in other places the mountain sides are entirely bare, especially in the vicinity of the hot springs and _fumaroles_, which may be seen sending up their clouds of steam from various parts of the slopes. As we looked across the bay of Tokanu the scenery was resplendent in all the rich, wild beauty of this part of the country. The bay presented a wide expanse of water, broken only by the small island of Motutaiko, which seemed to rise with fairy-like beauty from the depths below. Beyond, to the east, was the bold promontory of Motuoapa and the winding sinuations of the eastern shore. To the west, on the margin of the lake, rose a green terrace-like formation, marked by the conical mountain Pukekaikiore, beyond which, again, the bold form of Karangahape rose to a height of over a thousand feet above the calm, blue water, which shone beneath the sun, without a breath of wind to disturb its surface; while right abreast of the settlement a small river, known as the Waihi, fell over a precipitous wall of rock in the form of a foaming cascade. Here, upon the sides of the fern-clad slopes and upon the level flats, amidst boiling fountains, hot springs, and _fumaroles_, the primitive-looking _whares_ of the natives were scattered about in the most picturesque confusion, but all looking out upon the lake and its beautiful surroundings, which render this curious region of thermal action one of the most charming spots in the world. The Tokanu River runs through the settlement, and it is in the vicinity of this stream that the principal springs are situated. All the springs, _solfataras_, and _fumaroles_ hereabout partake of the same character as those of the other centres of thermal action around the lake, and are used by the natives in the same way for the curative properties they possess, as well as for cooking, bathing, and other purposes. The largest and most remarkable hot spring is Te Pirori, which, from a deep, round hole, throws up a column of boiling water to a height of ten to fifteen feet, amidst dense volumes of steam. For a space of nearly three square miles one may walk over quaking soil, where bubbling springs of hot water flowing into basins of white, silicious rock, and jets of hissing steam bursting from the ground, meet one at every turn. The whole region of the Kakaramea Range to the rear of the settlement was, without doubt, at one time the scene of a vast volcanic action, and it is from the still active agencies observable in certain parts of these mountains that the existence of the present springs may be traced. Indeed, Tokanu may be said to be situated at the very foot of some of the principal extinct volcanic cones of this part of the island, and although their craters are now inactive, their steaming sides still indicate that an extensive thermal activity is yet going on within them. There is a considerable Maori population at Tokanu and in its neighbourhood, and many of the natives are remarkable for their stalwart build, a condition which no doubt arises, in no small degree, from the healthfulness of the climate, as well as from the fact that they secure the choice of a greater variety of food than that obtained by many of the less favoured tribes of the interior. The principal staple of diet, here as elsewhere, is pork and potatoes, but besides this the lake yields several varieties of fish, which are held in high esteem. The golden carp, introduced some years ago, is very plentiful, and besides it there are three distinct species common to the lake--the _kokopu_, the _koaro_, and the _inanga_, while the _koura_, or crayfish, likewise abounds. From the earliest period of Maori history Tokanu has been an important place of native settlement, and it is still one of the principal strongholds of the Ngatituwharetoa. It is likewise, at the present time, one of the most jealously-guarded entrances to the King Country. Situated, as it is, in the very centre of the island, it formed in former years the point at which the chief war-tracks converged. During the early days, when tribal wars were frequent, there were three main tracks (existing to this day) which were principally used for conveying intelligence throughout the island. One came from Whanganui, in the south, across the Rangipo table-land to Tokanu, while two others diverged from the latter place, one striking west, through that portion of the island now known as the King Country, and thence to the north. The other passed along the eastern shores of Lake Taupo, and thence to Maketu. The natives told us that in war-time men belonging to the various tribes through whose territory the tracks passed, were stationed at different points, and they, by moving rapidly from place to place when in receipt of information, conveyed it thus from one end of the island to the other in an incredibly short space of time. Besides its many other historic associations, Te Rapa, an old _pa_ near Tokanu, was the scene of the terrible catastrophe by which Te Heuheu, the great warrior chief of the Ngatituwharetoa, met his death, with sixty of his followers, by a land-slip, which overwhelmed his _pa_ during the night, in the month of May, 1846. The site of this terrific fall of earth may still be traced, while the name and fame of Te Heuheu still resounds from Tokanu even unto the lofty peaks of Tongariro, where the Maori hero, armed even in death with his spear and _mere_, awaits the sound of the last trumpet. It was in memory of Te Heuheu's untimely end that his brother, Iwikau, composed the following lament, which for poetic diction and pathos has no equal in the Maori language:[43]-- See o'er the heights of dark Tauhara's mount The infant morning wakes. Perhaps my friend Returns to me, clothed in that lightsome cloud!-- Alas! I toil alone in this lone world. Yes, thou art gone! Go, thou mighty! go, thou dignified! Go, thou who wert a spreading tree to shade Thy people when evil hover'd round! And what strange god has caused so dread a death To thee and thy companions? Sleep on, O Sire, in that dark, damp abode! And hold within thy grasp that weapon rare, Bequeath'd to thee by thy renown'd ancestor, Ngahuia, when he left the world. Turn yet this once thy bold, athletic frame! And let me see thy skin carved o'er with lines Of blue; and let me see thy face so Beautifully chisell'd into varied forms;-- Ah! the people now are comfortless and sad! The stars are faintly shining in the heavens! For "Atutahi" and "Rehua-Kai-tangata" Have disappear'd, and that fair star that shone Beside the milky way. Emblems these Of thee, O friend beloved. The Mount of Tongariro rises lonely In the South; while the rich feathers that Adorn'd the great canoe "Arawa," Float upon the wave, and women from the West look on and weep! Why hast thou left behind the valued treasures Of thy famed ancestor Rongomaihuia, And wrapp'd thyself in night? Cease thy slumbers, O thou son of Rangi! Wake up, and take thy battle-axe, and tell Thy people of the coming signs; and what Will now befall them. How the foe, tumultuous As the waves, will rush with spear uplifted; And how thy people will avenge their wrongs, Nor shrink at danger. But let the warriors Breathe awhile, nor madly covet death! Lo, thou art fallen, and the earth receives Thee as its prey! But thy wondrous fame Shall soar on high, resounding o'er the heavens![44] The small, picturesque island of Motutaiko, which forms one of the most conspicuous and attractive features when looking from Tokanu over the lake, is formed by an oblong mass of rock, with precipitous sides, which arise abruptly from the water. It is mostly covered with a dense vegetation, which casts its fantastic shadows upon the shining surface below, and altogether it is a very pretty and a very romantic-looking place. It is accessible only on one side, and the water surrounding it is said by the natives to be of enormous depth. As with most remarkable places situated in solitary positions, the superstitious mind of the Maori has made this curious island the abode of an evil spirit or _taniwha_, one Horomatangi, who appears to act the part of a kind of Neptune of the lake. He is said by the natives to live in a submerged cave on the western side of the island, where the rocks are steepest. Ever on the alert, in fine or foul weather, whenever a passing canoe goes by, he stirs up the elements, and, causing the water to surge and roll, upsets the frail bark, and carries off its living freight to his abode beneath the lake. On this account natives, when navigating the lake, steer clear of this island. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 43: Te Heuheu was the most powerful chief of his time, and exercised a widespread influence over the Maori race, who regarded him in the light of a deified being. He is said to have been a man of herculean proportions, standing seven feet high.] CHAPTER XV. THE RANGIPO TABLE-LAND. Along the delta of the Upper Waikato--Mount Pihanga--The Poutu River and Lake Rotoaira--Boundaries of the Rangipo--Scenery--A fine night--A rough time--A great storm--The _karamu_ as fodder--Banks of the Upper Waikato--Another start--More bad weather--Flooded creeks--Pangarara--Te Hau. From Tokanu we followed up the delta of the Waikato River, and passed through a swamp nearly three miles across, and where many of the muddy creeks and crossing-places were up to our horses' girths in thick black mud. The swamp, composed of a black alluvial soil of the richest kind, covered a large area to the south of the lake, and stretched far inland to the base of the low hills beyond. It was mostly covered with a dense growth of flax and _raupo_, the less swampy parts giving life to a luxuriant growth of _toetoe_ grass, which waved its feathery tufts far above our heads. Further along our track the country rose rapidly to a height of 200 feet above the delta in the form of a long ridge of barren hills. From the summit of these elevations the land fell rapidly along our course 100 feet into a hollow depression. This large area, which had the appearance of having formed at some time a portion of the lake basin, was covered with fluvial drift and enormous trachytic boulders, but wherever vegetation could spring up the tussock grass grew luxuriantly. Through the centre of this broad expanse the Waikato rolled onward with many twists and turns over its boulder-strewn bed, its winding course being marked by a luxuriant growth of tall trees and other vegetation. We passed close to the base of Mount Pihanga, which rose majestically on our right to an altitude of nearly 4000 feet, and formed a conspicuous landmark for many miles around. This splendid mountain, springing from an almost level base, is the largest volcanic cone of the Kakaramea ranges, and while its form is wonderfully symmetrical in its proportions, it is clothed from base to summit with a dense forest growth, save here and there where its clear-cut sides roll down into the plains beneath in the form of fern-clad slopes. Immediately at the summit of Pihanga is an extensive crater, the northern lip of which comes considerably down the slope of the mountain, appearing like an extensive land-slip. This mountain is personified by the Maoris as the wife of Tongariro. We had to cross the Waikato twice on its winding course, and next we forded the Poutu River, a rapid stream with deep broken banks flowing out of Lake Rotoaira, which lay a considerable distance further to our right at the southern base of Pihanga, and between that mountain and Tongariro. We had now entered upon the Rangipo table-land, and were gradually ascending that portion of it known to the natives as the Te Henga, a large tract of country covered with good soil and a luxuriant growth of low fern and native grasses. As the Rangipo table-land and the plains in its vicinity will enter largely into my description of this portion of the country, I will point out its boundaries, with a few of the grand natural features which render it one of the most remarkable regions in the world. The Rangipo plateau, which may be said to form the central division of the great highland of the interior of the island, is in reality considerably higher than the extensive elevated region immediately surrounding Lake Taupo. While the latter has a mean elevation of about 2000 feet above the level of the sea, the height of the Rangipo is over 3000 feet at its highest point on the Onetapu desert, on the eastern side of Ruapehu. This extensive plane of elevation takes its rise a short distance from the southern end of the lake, and extends in the form of broad open downs for a distance of over forty miles, when it merges into the Murimotu Plains as it falls to the south. On its eastern margin are the Kaimanawa Mountains, at the extreme base of which the Upper Waikato rolls in its winding course to join the great lake. Beyond, to the north-west, the cone-shaped summits of the Kakaramea ranges rise up, clothed with a dense vegetation, as they slope gracefully to the shores of Lake Rotoaira in the west, and beyond which there are again extensive plains fringed with dense forests, which slope gradually to the valley of the Whanganui. Right in the very centre of the table-land towers the magnificent cone of Tongariro, situated in the midst of a cluster of lower mountains, whilst close to it and separated only by a narrow valley, stands the colossal form of Ruapehu, peak rising above peak to the region of eternal snow. The greater portion of the soil of this extensive table-land is of volcanic origin, and is formed principally by the decomposition of the trachytic rocks forming the extensive volcanic system of mountains which border it on its western side, and, with the exception of the desert tract above alluded to, which is about eight miles across, it is covered for the most part with a luxuriant growth of native grasses; while it is intersected from one extent to the other by a perfect network of streams and rivers, which flow generally in an easterly direction and form tributaries of the Upper Waikato. The scenery of this splendid tract of country burst so suddenly upon us after rounding the broad base of Mount Pihanga that we seemed to have entered a wild, romantic land blessed with the grandest and most varied features of nature. To the north was Lake Taupo, with the island and bold headlands tinged with the golden rays of the setting sun; in front of us were the tall Kaimanawa Mountains clothed to their summits with sombre forests, over which the shades of evening played in a fitful kind of way, now lighting up the broad ravines, now clothing them with darkness. The wide, rolling sides of the Tongariro Mountains swept down to the plains in a series of terrace-like slopes, green with a dense growth of fern and native grasses, which, mingling with the trees on the higher ridges, gave the hills a park-like look, while, as we rode onward, the white glittering summit of Ruapehu assumed a pink rosy tint as the orb of day sank slowly to rest in the west. Our course was along the Rangipo in the direction of Tongariro, some fifteen miles distant by the way we were going to attack it, and as we were acting a kind of strategic movement we kept out to the east along the Waikato River, to avoid, if possible, being seen by the natives of Rotoaira, who keep watch and ward over the tapued mountain. Everything looked propitious for the assault which we had intended to make on the following day. When we took up our quarters for the night, the moon rose bright and clear, the stars shone brilliantly, and the snow on the dark mountains gleamed white and beautiful. By this time we were already 850 feet above Lake Taupo, or a little over 2000 feet above the level of the sea; the air was singularly clear, and the thermometer, which had marked 48° in the shade at 6 a.m., at midday had risen to 72°, and had fallen to 64° at 5 p.m., and as the wind was still from the south, and there appeared every prospect of fine weather on the morrow, we determined to start at daybreak to make the next stage for Tongariro; but alas! "the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley." The name Rangipo means, in the native language, "black, cloudy sky," a term which in former years may have had some allusion to the volcanic fires, with their clouds of smoke and ashes, which must at some period have made this place appear like a veritable Pandemonium--or it may, on the other hand, have originated in the terrific storms which still break with unabated violence on this elevated region, just as they must have done countless ages ago, when the elements above waged war with the plutonic fires below. Be that, however, as it may, the "black, cloudy sky" cast its dismal mantle around us, and our first night was ushered in with a tremendous storm of wind from the north-east, and a perfect deluge of rain. The creeks and rivers rose around us, the Waikato rolled through its rocky gorge with a sound like the roaring of a distant sea, and when daybreak came and we looked anxiously in the direction of Tongariro, both it and Ruapehu were blotted completely out of view by a dense black cloud, which hung around them like a funeral pall. Up to the time when we arrived at the Rangipo, we had enjoyed throughout our journey the most delightful weather, but this sudden break was the prelude to some of the hardest experiences of our journey. The rain poured down incessantly without a single hour's intermission, and without a single break in the clouds, the wind blowing a hurricane most of the time, and veering round to all points of the compass, but invariably coming back to the north-east or north. During the six days and nights which this storm lasted without a single intermission, we lived on from day to day in hope, which was sustained by scanty feeds of porridge and hard biscuit. We, however, managed to keep body and soul together, but our poor horses suffered severely, and it was the privations which they underwent on this occasion that told greatly upon them during the whole of the journey. The constant cold and wet to which they were exposed reduced their general tone to the lowest, and while the grass at that season possessed little or no nourishment, they had to seek their food always at the end of the tether rope. To aid them a little, we would go into the bush which skirts the Waikato, and cut the branches of the _karamu_,[45] which bears a dark green leaf and clusters of bright red berries. Of this the half-starved animals would eat voraciously, but unfortunately the supply was limited in this locality, although we afterwards met with this tree frequently throughout our journey. During our unwilling sojourn on the banks of the Waikato the long wet days and nights passed drearily and slowly away. Even on foot we could not travel far, owing to the swollen creeks, but we used sometimes to go out with the gun, and range over the splendid forests which border the Waikato along its entire length and extend over the Kaimanawa Mountains in the form of a thick and almost impenetrable growth. Here we found all the varied _flora_ peculiar to this region growing in the most luxuriant way down to the edge of the boulder-strewn river and upwards for thousands of feet to the summits of the highest mountains. Whenever we came to the many bends of the river the scenery was beautiful beyond description, by reason of its rugged grandeur, and the wonderful growth of vegetation that spread itself everywhere around, as if gaining life and strength from the rapid waters as they careered madly along. The river, in most places about 100 feet wide, descended from the steep table-land in the direction of Lake Taupo, with a rapid current, over enormous boulders of trachytic rock. Gaining force and rapidity at almost every bend, its bright foaming waters fed by the steep gorges of the Kaimanawa Mountains, the snows of Ruapehu, and the rapidly-rolling creek of Tongariro, it pursued a perfectly snake-like course at the base of the tall mountains, which rose up almost perpendicularly for thousands of feet on its eastern side, while precipitous walls of pumice rock and volcanic conglomerate formed its western boundary along the table-land. The Upper Waikato forms, in fact, the main channel for the watershed of the whole of the Rangipo table-land and the western side of the Kaimanawa Mountains for a distance of over thirty miles, and every creek and river in the country through which it passes flows into it. At one point we came to a splendid gorge through which the river dashed in low, silvery cascades. On the opposite side from where we stood, the mountains rose steeply upwards to a height of about 6000 feet, forest-clad to their summits, with a dense and beautifully varied growth, where shrubs, trees, and parasitical plants mingled themselves together in a perfect network of vegetation. The banks of the river below us fell almost perpendicularly to a depth of 300 feet, but so thick was the forest verdure as we looked down to the bottom of the deep gorge below over the tops of the gigantic trees which grew beneath, that it was only now and again that we caught a glimpse of the rushing stream as it flowed over its boulder-strewn bed. Here tree-top rose over tree-top until the beautiful vegetation mounting upwards in a dense mass mingled with the vapoury clouds that hung around. When the storm had spent its force, a gleam of sunshine dispelled the mists, and just for a time the summit of Ruapehu shone white and clear beneath the rolling clouds. We had carefully marked our intended course upon the map, and had resolved as soon as the weather should break to make direct for the southern side of Tongariro, and ascend the tapued mountain as quickly as we could, in order to give the natives, if they fell across our tracks, as short a time as possible to run us to earth. With the hope, if not altogether the prospect, of a fine day, we made another start, but not before we had been compelled, owing to the weak condition of our horses, to abandon half our provisions, and reduce our whole commissariat to the lowest proportions. Before we had journeyed a mile the bright sun disappeared; the "black, cloudy sky" of the Rangipo again gathered around us; the winds swept across the wide plains in terrific gusts; the rain poured down heavier than before; the white snow-clad summit of Ruapehu disappeared from view with the quickness of a phantom, and again the vapouring mists obscured the great mountains towards which we were travelling. We had to cross no less than five large creeks, besides smaller streams, in about four miles. The tracts down to the creeks, which had a steep fall of 200 to 300 feet below the plains, were broken about and washed away into big holes and dangerous and slippery places, and the horses were as chary of facing these treacherous inclines as they were of going into the flooded waters of the creeks themselves. The amount of water poured out by these creeks into the Waikato from the Tongariro Mountains during a flood must be seen to be fully realized. At all times the natural springs of the mountains keep them well supplied, but when heavy rains descend, the whole watershed comes down with tremendous force and volume. Wherever we crossed these rugged, boulder-strewn streams, the banks were clothed with a splendid and varied vegetation, which got denser and denser as their deep gorges led up the steep mountain sides. I noticed in these creeks that the boulders were mostly of trachytic formation, with smaller drift composed of the various volcanic rocks peculiar to the district, while embedded in their steep pumice sides might often be seen the charred remains of enormous trees, which must have lived ages ago, when some volcanic eruption swept over them. We pitched our camp at Pangarara, a deserted Maori _pa_, situated some distance off the plains, and at the edge of a secluded bush about two miles from the south-eastern foot of Tongariro. The rain still poured down as heavily as usual, and although the country was entirely open between us and the big mountain that was to be the next scene of our operations, not a vestige of it could we see. We had up to this time been detained exactly ten days, through stress of weather, whilst waiting to ascend the tapued mountain, the dull monotony of our position being only relieved by the somewhat exciting expectation that the Maoris might be down upon us at any moment. The place where we were camped formed part of a wide area of country, extending from the base of Tongariro in an easterly direction to the Waikato, and embracing a large and fertile portion of the Rangipo Plains. For time out of mind this part of the country had been a native game reserve, principally for the hunting of the _weka_ and a small white bird (I believe of the gull species) which frequents the mountains of Tongariro at certain seasons of the year. This wide territory, and a great deal more besides, was under the _mana_ of a noted chief named Te Hau, whose _pa_, was at Ruaponga. This native dignity was renowned throughout this part of the country as a man of singular intelligence; but, like most Hauhaus, he entertained an intense hatred for Anglo-Saxon laws and institutions. He appeared to act the _rôle_, among the tribes of these parts, of a Napoleon the Great, in the matter of territorial aggrandizement, and it is darkly hinted that, during the war, Te Hau and many of the rebel chiefs were in league, and that one day a terrible massacre occurred over a disputed title to an extensive area of land over which Te Hau now rules as lord and master. A strict Conservative in all matters relative to Maori laws, customs, and traditions, to have fallen in with Te Hau on his "native heath," and under the very shadow of Tongariro, which he guards with the sacred jealousy of a fanatic, would have been about as pleasant as meeting with his Satanic Majesty himself just fresh from the fires of the burning mountain. We therefore had to keep not only a keen but an anxious look-out, the more so as we had learned at Tokanu that Te Hau was on his way from the south with a large party of his followers to attend a native gathering at Rotoaira, which had been convened by some of the leading chiefs to inquire into a disputed land title; and as Pangarara was one of his usual camping-places, we were naturally the more anxious to get away from the locality as soon as possible. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 44: This lament will be found in Sir George Grey's invaluable collection of Maori songs and legends.] [Footnote 45: For this tree, see Appendix.] CHAPTER XVI. ASCENT OF TONGARIRO. Physical and geological features--Legend of Tongariro--A break in the clouds--The start for the ascent--Maories in the distance--The Waihohonu valley--The ascent--The brink of Hades--The great crater--The inner crater--The lower cones--Crater lakes--The descent--A valley of death--Tongariro by moonlight--A cold night--The start for Ruapehu. The cluster of trachytic cones constituting the Tongariro group forms collectively an almost complete circle rising from a level plateau, which near the base of the mountains has a general elevation of about 3000 feet above the level of the sea. The enormous cone with its active crater, which forms the central point of the group, springs from an almost level base, and is flanked on its western and north-eastern sides by minor conical mountains, which are connected with each other by high ridges. To the north-west a series of undulating hills roll down to the plains, while to the south a steep, flat-topped spur juts out into the plateau which bounds the mountain in that direction. With the higher mountains are connected lower undulating hills, formed principally of scoria, and covered, especially towards the plains, with a luxuriant growth of native grasses, low fern, and dwarf shrubs. Right in the very centre of this great circle of cones and extinct craters, the graceful, tapering form of the burning mountain rises from the bottom of an extensive basin-like depression, which, encircled as it is by the rugged sides of the surrounding ranges, has somewhat the appearance of an ancient crater. This beautiful mountain, as it rears its tall head high above the less elevated cones, especially when viewed from its southern side, at once strikes the beholder by its wonderfully symmetrical proportions. With a slope of about thirty to thirty-five degrees, it assumes as near as possible the exact form of a sugarloaf, without a twist or a bend to mar the grand effect of its outline. To describe it, one must imagine this huge mass built up of trachytic rock, ridges of lava, scoria, volcanic conglomerates, enormous boulders, and other igneous accumulations to a height of thousands of feet, tapering off gracefully at the summit as if moulded by the hand of man. It is not a crater of elevation in the ordinary acceptation of the term, like its colossal neighbour Ruapehu, but a complete trachytic scoria cone, which may have originated from some sudden outbreak of plutonic forces, or from a small aperture in the earth's crust throwing up particles of volcanic rock similar to those of which the mountain is composed, until, through countless ages, its action becoming by degrees more extended, it gradually built itself up to its present proportions from the matter it ejected from its fiery mouth, and thus, phoenix-like, rose into being from its own ashes. When examining the great mountain, it may be plainly seen that the ridges of trachytic lava, which form, as it were, the skeleton upon which the whole structure is raised, have generally a vertical strike from the summit to the base of the cone, converging, however, gradually towards the top, and while the edges of some are inclined so as to form an almost horizontal stratum, as shown in many of the gorges, the edges of the others stand out perpendicularly, like enormous buttresses. Although the whole mountain is covered with scoria and other volcanic _débris_, the largest deposits of the former appear to be between the lava ridges, and this is especially the case on the eastern side of the mountain, where these extensive accumulations cover a considerable area of country. Besides the active crater at the summit of the great cone, there is another to the north-eastern side of the group, known as Ketetahi, near to which there is likewise an extensive system of boiling springs. But as I visited these two latter points during another stage of my journey, I will refer more fully to them in their proper order. [Illustration: TONGARIRO. _Page 180._] After our ascent of Tongariro, and during our subsequent intercourse with the natives, we made it a practice to learn as much as we could of their many interesting legends. The legend of Tongariro was more than once repeated to us by the tribes both resident near and at a distance from the sacred mountain, and it is a remarkable fact, as showing the correctness of the oral traditions of the Maoris, that each one agreed in all particulars with the current stories. It would appear, then, that when the _Arawa_ canoe touched the newly discovered shores of Aotearoa there was among the dusky adventurers a chief who bore the title of Ngatoroirangi, a name which signifies in the Maori mythology a high priest or deified man. After the natives had formed a settlement at Maketu, Ngatoroirangi was the first to set out, in company with his slave, Ngauruhoe, to explore the new land. Striking into the interior, he crossed the plains of Taupo, and then along the lake, into which he cast his staff, which the natives state became a great _totara_ tree. He also shook his mat over the waters, and from the strips which fell from it sprang the _inanga_, a small fish which now abounds in the lake. It was dark and stormy when Ngatoroirangi came to the lake, but suddenly the clouds broke, and he beheld for the first time the giant form of Tongariro. With the keen instincts of a heaven-born explorer, the chief resolved to ascend the great mountain, in order to get a better view of the surrounding country; but the snow was deep, and the ice-bound summit of Tongariro was too much for the adventurous travellers, fresh from the sunny islands of the South Seas. Prompted by the unpleasant prospect of being frozen to death, Ngatoroirangi shouted lustily to his sisters who had tarried at Whakari (White Island), some hundred and sixty miles distant, to send him some fire. The summons was obeyed in quick time, and the sacred fire was entrusted to the hands of two _taniwhas_,[46] named respectively Te Pupu and Te Haeata, who conveyed it by a subterranean channel which is yet supposed by the natives to connect Tongariro with the still active volcanic island in the Bay of Plenty. It is related that the fire arrived in time to save the life of the adventurous Ngatoroirangi, but when he turned to comfort his slave, he found to his horror that his trusty follower had given up the ghost. At this juncture Ngatoroirangi took the sacred fire, and casting it into the extinct crater of Tongariro, the subterranean fires burst forth. On this account Ngatoroirangi named the crater Ngauruhoe, in honour of his slave--a term by which it is generally known to the natives even unto this day. The great mountain itself, however, with its surrounding cones, is more usually called Tongariro--a term which means in the native language "towards the south"--and it is a remarkable fact, as showing the significant nomenclature of the Maoris, that the compass-bearing of the volcano is as nearly as possible due north and south.[47] There can be no doubt that Tongariro is one of the largest, grandest, and most perfect volcanic cones of its kind in the world, and little wonder, therefore, that the Maoris, when gazing upon its mysterious fires, should have linked its name with their songs and legends, and have rendered it a sacred object in their mythology, just as the Japanese have done their no less beautiful Fusiyama. The morning of the 18th of April broke dull and cloudy. We were now over 3000 feet above the level of the sea at our camp at Pangarara, waiting, nay, almost praying that the dreary, dismal clouds would break and give us a gleam of sunshine. We had up to this time been detained exactly ten days through stress of weather whilst waiting to ascend the tapued mountain, the dull monotony of our position being only relieved by the somewhat exciting expectation that the Maoris might be down upon us at any moment. The thermometer, which for the three previous days had given a mean average of 57° Fahr. in the shade, suddenly fell to 43°. The omen was a good one, and we waited patiently.[48] At about ten o'clock an invigorating breeze blew direct from the south, the sun shone brilliantly, the sky was dotted here and there with bright patches of a vivid blue, and as we looked in the direction of Tongariro, the whole scene changed before our eyes like a magnificent panorama. The dark, funereal, pall-like cloud which had up to this time entirely obscured the mountain, rolled gradually away as if by enchantment, and the magnificent tapering cone, glittering with ice and snow, and crowned with its waving cloud of steam, stood out against the azure sky in grand and beautiful relief. Tongariro to be seen to advantage should be viewed from its southern side. When beheld from the north it is to a certain degree dwarfed by the mountains surrounding it in that direction, while the crater on the north and west is likewise more depressed, and coming consequently lower down the mountain, thus detracts from its apparent height. On the other hand the country to the southward is more open, and the symmetrical cone rises boldly defined above the lower scoria ridges, which rise in gradual undulations around the great volcano in that direction. I had seen many grand mountains in different parts of the world, but never had I gazed upon anything so sublimely beautiful as Tongariro appeared on this occasion; ice, snow, and steam all combining, beneath the bright sunlight, to add a magical effect to this wonderful monument of nature's handiwork. Although we did not imagine that the weather would clear so rapidly we determined to seize this, the first opportunity, and to start at once for the ascent. We were about two miles away from the base, and we had previously determined to hide our packhorse away in the bush, and to ride to the foot of Tongariro with our blankets and tent, make the ascent, and camp at the foot of the mountain at night. It took just half an hour to saddle up, and get everything prepared, and then, skirting the forest near to which we had been camped, we ascended a hill some 400 feet high, to gain the Waihohonu Valley beyond. The sun now shone warm and brightly, our course seemed clear, and all was going as merrily as the proverbial marriage-bell, when Turner hastily directed my attention to four mounted Maoris coming across the plains to our rear; but just at the moment we caught sight of them they disappeared behind a low hill. They were some distance off, but they were quite near enough to easily discern us, especially as Turner, with the white tent on his dark pony, formed a conspicuous object. Fortunately we saw no more of the natives, although we watched carefully for some time, but they nevertheless haunted us for days afterwards--during our ascent both of Tongariro and Ruapehu--as we felt fully convinced that they must have seen us, and we were likewise equally sure that they could, if they so wished, follow up our tracks, when, by the marks of the shod horses, they would have at once discovered that we were Europeans. If we had been going in any other direction the circumstances would have been as nothing, but riding as we were straight for Tongariro, we knew that that fact alone was sufficient to excite their suspicion. When we had ridden across the top of the hill we were at once out of sight, and we rode as fast as our weak horses would allow over the scoria ridges which surrounded the base of the cone. We passed on our right an enormous bluff of volcanic rocks, and then descended a steep, precipitous incline strewn with enormous boulders which at some remote age had evidently been hurled from the fiery crater. It was impossible for our horses to walk down this treacherous place with their heavy burdens on their backs, even whilst we led them, so taking them off and putting them on our own shoulders we made the animals follow us, when they picked their way over and around the big stones like cats. At the foot of the incline we gained the Waihohonu Valley, a wild, desolate-looking ravine with a winding stream running down its centre. To the left, on the opposite side of this watercourse, was a dense forest growth, while on the ground around the tussock grass and dwarfed alpine plants peculiar to this region struggled for life amidst the huge stones and small low scoria hillocks which were dispersed about in a confused but picturesque way. At the end of the cluster of forest towards the mountain a steep wall of lava-like rock rose abruptly up, and ended in high scoria ridges which closed in the valley to the south-west. Looking in a north-easterly direction, the rugged promontories and jagged edges of the broken extinct craters of the lower mountains rose high in the air, piled about in a confused mass, and coloured dark red and black by the effects of the volcanic fires which appeared to have rent and torn them asunder until they had assumed the appearance of embattled walls and crumbling ruins. The whole conformation of this valley, which was nearly two miles in length, assumed a somewhat semicircular appearance, as if, at some period or another, it had formed part of an enormous crater, out of which the gigantic cone that towered thousands of feet above us had ultimately reared its lofty summit. Although the sun shone with a dazzling splendour over us, and a light-green vegetation clothed many of the hills around, and even crept up the steep scoria sides of the great mountain itself, the Waihohonu Valley had a wild, dreary, and parched-up look, as if some fiery breath had but recently swept over it, and it was only just getting cool from the effects of the volcanic fires, which had left stupendous monuments of their work in the enormous lava ridges, which seemed to have cooled suddenly in their molten course down the steep precipices; while the gigantic boulders of black, shining, volcanic rock, which lay scattered about in every direction, looked like tremendous thunderbolts just newly hurled to earth by the hand of Titan. Not a few of these enormous stones appeared to have been rounded by the action of fire, and in some cases to have been partially melted before being sent high into the air from the fiery mouth of the crater, to fall with terrific force into their present positions. Securing our horses in the scrub, we scrambled for about a mile over huge boulders, and up rough, narrow watercourses, when, ascending a steep spur of the mountain, we reached the base of the great cone near to its south-eastern side, at a point which marked 4000 feet above the level of the sea. Gazing upwards, the steep, clean-cut sides of the tall mountain looked almost precipitous, and it was clear, at a glance, that the task to reach the summit and make the descent by nightfall would be no easy matter. Just at this part of the cone some volcanic disturbance, which had occurred probably ages ago, had poured down a stream of liquid lava, which, cooling, as it were, by some sudden blast, had congealed into a rugged and almost perpendicular ridge of dark, lustrous, adamantine-like rock in its overflow from the summit of the mountain. It was up this precipitous ridge that we had determined to fight our way. When we first began the ascent, the steep climbing told severely on our backs and legs, while the enormous protruding masses of porous lava which fringed the outside portion of the ridge, and over which we had to climb as much by our hands as by our feet, were as sharp as if they had cooled and crystallized but yesterday. Besides the cautious and often dangerous way we had to pick our footing, it was necessary to be careful, in order to avoid the many holes in the lava formation, which were just large enough to receive a man's body, and which, when we threw stones into them, appeared to be of enormous depth. As we climbed higher and higher, the shelving, colossal sides of the mountain seemed to become steeper and steeper, while the summit appeared to get further away at every step we took. Fortunately the weather kept beautifully clear, and as we mounted gradually upwards, each hundred feet or so disclosed some new and enchanting view of the surrounding country, which lay mapped out beneath us radiant in all the beauties of the creation. At an altitude of 5000 feet we obtained a magnificent view of Mount Egmont, its peaked, snow-clad summit rising like a glittering island above the vapoury cloud that hung around the lower portion of the mountain, which was a little over eighty miles away from our point of observation, the intervening country being formed of a wide expanse of broken, forest-clad ranges of minor elevation, and which appeared, judging from their numerous valleys, to have a general north-westerly and south-easterly bearing. At an altitude of 5900 feet the climbing was very steep, and at 6400 feet we could see open plains in the distance, towards the west, with patches of forest, which gave them a park-like appearance. At 6600 feet, two small blue lakes were distinctly visible immediately below us, situated on the summit of a flat-topped spur, which stretched out from the base of the great cone in the direction of the open plains beyond, while about six miles distant, in the same direction, rose the colossal form of Ruapehu, brilliant in its fleecy mantle of snow, above which its glacier-bound peaks, rising one above the other, shot up in the form of glittering cones high into the calm, clear air. This was the most extended view we had, up to this time, obtained of the mountain king of the North Island, and we gazed upon its stupendous form with increased interest, as it was to be our field of operations for the morrow. Indeed, it was from this elevated point that we carefully observed all the principal physical features of the giant mountain, and laid down our plan of the ascent, which we successfully carried out two days afterwards. At this point, too, we found the last sign of vegetation in the small alpine plant, _Gnaphalium bellidioides_.[49] At 6950 feet we found enormous icicles adhering to the rocks, the lava ridge up which we had with great difficulty kept our course, became very steep and rugged, while the climbing was exceedingly difficult and tiring. The mass of dark, black lava stood out in some places like a huge wall, and while on one side the thermometer marked 48° Fahr., on the other, where there were big clusters of icicles over a foot long, it indicated 30°. In this way we could enjoy a great variation in temperature at any moment. During the whole ascent we never allowed ourselves more than five minutes' rest at a time, as we knew that a shift of wind, which might occur at any moment, would sweep the clouds over the mountain again, when its steaming vapours would soon envelop it in an impenetrable mist. Tongariro at all times indicates sudden changes in the weather with the accuracy of a well-balanced barometer. When its vapour-cloud coils upward in the form of a feathery palm, the gods are propitious, and sunshine will be the order of the day; when it shoots out in a long streak horizontally from the crater, a change is impending; and when the vapoury cloud gathers round the summit and coils rapidly down the sides of the cone, as it does often with singular rapidity, it is time to look out for squalls. For a long distance up the mountain its rugged sides glittered with icicles, which clustered about the enormous masses of trachytic lava which cropped up everywhere around, while the ground was covered in every direction with a thick coating of frost and frozen snow. At a height of 7000 feet the whole aspect of the cone had a very bare and desolate look, and, besides the enormous boulders we encountered, we passed over a steep slope covered with volcanic conglomerate, which was very treacherous and slippery with sheets of ice. Here we had to go on all fours, and even in this way it was very difficult to keep our equilibrium sufficiently to prevent ourselves from rolling down the precipitous slopes below. We could now smell the sulphurous fumes of the crater as the clouds of steam rolled over us while we clambered over the enormous ice-bound rocks in the direction of the yawning chasm. We crawled up a frozen, steep incline on to the hot, quaking edge of the great crater, where a grand and curious sight burst upon the view. We gained the rugged summit of the cone at its highest side, but just as we did so the great cloud of steam rolling up from the enormous basin beneath us swept over us in a dense white cloud, and what with the loud bubbling of the boiling springs, the hissing, screeching sound of the great columns of steam as they burst with terrific force from the rocky vents, the unearthly gurglings of the jets of boiling mud as they shot into the air, and the strong sulphurous fumes that pervaded the atmosphere in every direction, we seemed for once in our lives to be standing on the brink of Hades. Mounting a little to the right along the hot soil that smoked beneath our feet, we gained the very topmost point of the mountain, formed by a broken, rugged peak that fell on the inner side with a precipitous descent into the boiling crater below. We were now on the windward side of the steam-cloud, and at an altitude of 7376 feet above the level of the sea. From this elevated position we had a clear and well-defined view of the whole summit of the mountain, which appeared to be permeated in every direction by a vast thermal action. The steep, broken sides of the enormous crater wound before us in the form of an almost complete circle of nearly a mile in circumference; and it could be plainly seen that, towards its north-western and western sides, it was considerably lower than on the side upon which we stood. Within the great circle, at its northern side, there was a smaller or inner crater of an almost complete rounded form, the sides of which inclined gradually towards its centre in the form of a complete funnel. This minor crater was separated from the larger one only by a narrow ridge or lip. Looking down into the main crater, which appeared to be about 400 feet in depth, its sides, rugged and broken, as it were, by the force of volcanic fires, were built up principally of enormous masses of trachytic rock, lava ridges, and beds of conglomerate, formed mostly of rounded stones and boulders fused together into a compact mass by what must, at some period or another, have been a very powerful igneous action. In fact, it could be plainly seen that the whole volcano when at the height of its eruptive force must have been the seat of a powerful volcanic activity, until gradually its exhausted fires subsided into their present state. In some places the sides of the crater were perpendicular and fell with a sheer descent, while in others they were more disturbed and broken. At the bottom of the crater there were scattered about huge rocky ridges, from the large crevices and fissures of which enormous jets of steam burst forth with a roaring, screeching noise, which echoed from the depths below like the wailings of the condemned. Hot springs sent up streams of boiling water, which ran over the rocks and then lost themselves in the hot, quaking soil, which sent them high into the air again in the form of coiling jets of vapour. Miniature cones of dark, smoking mud rose up in every direction, while around all was a seething, fused mass of almost molten matter, which appeared to require just one or two degrees more of heat to transform it into a lake of liquid lava. In every direction were large deposits of pure yellow sulphur, some of which assumed a rock-like formation; at other places it formed a crust over the steaming earth, and where the thermal action was less intense, the glittering yellow crystals covered the ground like a thick frost. No fire was visible in the crater, nor was there any indication of a very recent volcanic eruption. The whole crater of the mountain was in the state of a very extensive _solfatara_, which was evidently more active at some periods than at others. The inner or second crater, which likewise sent forth a vast volume of steam from its boiling depths, was in much the same condition of activity as the larger one, only that the deposits of sulphur literally lined its sloping sides with a bright-yellow coating, which came up to the very summit of its rim and looked like a circle of gold beneath the bright rays of the sun, which lit up the feathery steam-clouds in the most brilliant prismatic hues. We obtained a complete view of all parts of the great mountain, as likewise of the smaller volcanic cones and ridges which lay below. Looking in the direction of the north-east, and down upon the rugged clusters of minor elevations, we could see several extinct craters of considerable size; some perfect in their formation, while others had been rent and distorted by the action of volcanic fires, which had left their marks upon them in the form of enormous lava ridges and extensive deposits of scoria. In the midst of these extinct craters we could see two small blue lakes; one of a complete circular form, the other, which was only a short distance away from the first, being nearly oblong in shape. The lakes, like those on the southern side of the mountain, were evidently nothing more than extinct craters filled by subterranean springs. Beyond these lakes we could see the steam rising from the Ketetahi crater, while further along to the north was a white cloud marking the position of the boiling springs.[50] We left the summit of the cone towards sundown, but in place of descending by the route we had ascended, we came down a very steep part of the mountain on its eastern side. This precipitous slope, covered thickly with loose scoria, and strewn in parts with enormous boulders and rounded stones, was walled in on either side by two stupendous lava ridges, which ran down the mountain-side and gradually opened out towards the base in the form of a triangle. The slope of the cone was here very steep, and the scoria being fine and very loose, gave way under our feet, and caused us to slide rapidly forward for many feet at every step. Taking hold of each other's arms to better maintain our equilibrium, we took gigantic strides, each one, as the scoria slid down with us, carrying us forward from ten to fifteen feet at a time. In this way many large and small stones were set loose, until we had a whole regiment of them bounding on in front of us, and as their momentum increased at a terrific rate with every foot they rolled down the steep incline, they soon attained the velocity of cannonballs, and went crashing with tremendous force into the rock-bound valley below. So rapid, in fact, was our progress in this way, that, although our ascent from the bottom to the top of the cone had occupied us nearly six hours in hard climbing, we made the descent in a little over an hour and a half. It was dark when we reached the base of the mountain, but we managed by slow degrees to find our way over the stupendous masses of rock which lay scattered over the deep ravine forming the head of the Waihohonu Valley. Here an enormous fissure ran down along the course of the dreary-looking gorge, and as it wound along in a snake-like course, it appeared as if it had been formed by a river of lava, which had been suddenly cooled, and then as suddenly cleft in twain. We picked our way for about a couple of miles along its rugged, boulder-strewn banks, and as the shades of night closed round us the whole surroundings looked so dismal that we appeared to be passing through a veritable valley of death. When we arrived at our camping-place our first anxiety was to see that the natives had not swept down and taken our horses. Luck was, however, on our side, and we found the animals where we had left them, but very poorly off for feed. It was evident from the keen feeling of cold in the air that we were going to have a severe night, as the temperature was falling rapidly, and as the moon rose bright and clear a heavy frost set in. We lit a fire, and made a scanty meal of tea and biscuit; and as we were anxious to get clear of the tapued mountain with the first streak of dawn, we resolved not to erect our tent, in order that we might not be delayed in our rapid retreat. We therefore spread our blankets upon the ground, and made a tolerably comfortable bed on the scoria. [Illustration: TONGARIRO BY MOONLIGHT. _Page 197._] When we lay down to rest in the dreary valley with its lava-walled sides, the full moon shone brilliantly, the great cone of Tongariro, with its feathery cloud of steam, looked grandly beautiful beneath the clear silvery light, the stars hung like lamps from the cloudless heavens, and the magnificent constellation of the Southern Cross shone directly over our heads. Never in any part of the world had I seen the heavens appear so clear and radiant as when gazing upon them from the depths of this dark valley. Around us, however, on every side the whole place had a singularly wild, weird look, and a strange sense of loneliness seemed to hover around us. We were in a tapued region, which the superstitious minds of the natives had made the abode of _taniwhas_ and other evil demons. The bones of the ill-fated Te Heuheu lay somewhere upon the great mountain, and Turner suggested that the ghost of the great Maori chief might slink down upon us in the night just to test the thickness of our skulls with his greenstone _mere_. It was, however, the living which concerned us most, as we still had a kind of secret conviction that the natives we had seen in the morning had laid some plan to entrap us. Sleep, however, came at last, but the cold soon awoke us, and by midnight the whole valley was covered with a thick coating of white frost, which glistened like snow beneath the pale moonlight. I had placed my thermometer close handy, so that I might observe it during the night, and I now found that it stood at 27°; at four o'clock it marked 22°; and at six o'clock, just before sunrise, it indicated exactly twelve degrees of frost. The plants around us were completely matted together with white incrustations; the icicles rose from the ground over an inch in length, and in a way that I had never seen before; the breath froze upon the moustache and beard; the manes of our horses stood erect, the bristles about their nostrils were transformed into needle-like icicles, and their backs were covered with a crisp, white coating of frost. It did not take us long to saddle up, although we experienced some little difficulty with the buckles, owing to our fingers being numbed with the cold; but once on our horses, we rode rapidly away from Tongariro, and just as the first ray of sunlight swept over the hills we gained the plains beyond, to begin the ascent of Ruapehu. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 46: _Taniwha_, native name for a fabulous reptile supposed to inhabit deep water.] [Footnote 47: The exact position of Tongariro is-- Lat. 39° 9' 45" S. Long. 175° 38' 20" E.] [Footnote 48: Throughout the journey we found that the cold winds from the south invariably brought fine weather.] [Footnote 49: For _flora_ of Tongariro, _vide_ Appendix.] [Footnote 50: It is supposed by many that Tongariro and Whakari (White Island) are the only two remaining centres of active volcanic action in what may be termed the Australasian division of the Pacific. This in reality is not the case. The great volcanic belt which appears to extend through the Malay Archipelago may be said to stretch as far south as the New Hebrides. Thus on the island of Tanna there is an active volcano which attains to an altitude of 1500 feet above the sea. It is in a constant state of eruption, emitting vast volumes of smoke, with ashes and lava, from a crater 500 feet in depth. On the island of Ambrym, of the same group, there is likewise an active volcano, nearly equal in size to that of Tanna, while on the island of Vanikoro still further to the north, in the Santa Cruz group, there is a cone-shaped mountain in a constant state of activity. During a journey of exploration in the New Hebrides and other islands of the Coral Sea, the volcano of Tanna was ascended by the author, who read papers descriptive of the islands before the British Association, at its meeting held at the University of Glasgow in 1876.] CHAPTER XVII. ASCENT OF RUAPEHU. (_First Day._) Approaching the mountain--A field for research--Physical and geological features--Plan of attack--Curious icicles--A lava barrier--Natives in the distance--Horse camp--Scoria hills and lava ridges--The start for the snow-line--Up the great spur--Head of the spur--Our camp--A wind-storm--Ruapehu by night--A picture of the past--Waiting for sunrise--Sunrise. When we were clear of the rugged gorges of Tongariro, we rode leisurely across the beautiful open plain which separates the tapued mountain from its colossal neighbour, Ruapehu. The calm, blue heavens were unflecked by a single cloud, the sun rose bright and clear, and we heartily welcomed its genial warmth, after the terrific cold we had experienced during the previous night. Nothing could exceed the grand and unique scenery as we rode on our way. On our right rose Tongariro, its great steam-cloud radiant with tints of gold beneath the morning light, the dark reddish hue of its scoria-strewn sides mingling with the bright green of the vegetation, and producing the most charming effects of light and shade. The plain over which we rode sparkled with glittering icicles; the Mangatoetoe, a broad, rapid, boulder-strewn stream, wound rapidly down its centre, like a silver snake, on its course to join the Waikato; while right in front the long scoria slopes of Ruapehu, rising gradually from the plains around, swept upward, and upward, and upward, until they joined the ice-bound pinnacles above, and mingled with the broad expanse of frozen snow which clothed the summit of the stupendous mountain, and stretched far down its rock-bound sides. The level plain separating Tongariro from Ruapehu was not more than five miles across between the wide-spreading bases of the two mountains, and, as we gradually approached towards the latter, its gigantic proportions became every moment more distinctly visible. The low scoria slopes which stretched far and wide around its enormous base, and swept for miles out into the adjacent plains, merged, as we approached nearer, into high, undulating hills, which changed, as they rose higher and higher, into rocky spurs. The winding valleys were transformed, as they mounted up the mountain, into enormous, lava-bound ravines. Above these, again, steep precipitous slopes rose one above the other. Jagged rocks, which marked the site of ancient craters, stood out against the sky, until colossal peaks, shooting high above all, stretched themselves across the towering summit of the mountain. The whole aspect of Ruapehu, as it rose in all its grandeur above the surrounding table-land, beautiful in ice, snow, and sunshine, was so stupendous and romantically beautiful that we felt as if we had been suddenly transported among the Alps of Switzerland. [Illustration: MOUNT RUAPEHU. _Page 200._] In describing the physical and geological features of Ruapehu, I will only treat these subjects briefly at this stage, and only with a view of affording a general idea of the great mountain, the description of which will be more fully dealt with when describing the ascent of its northern peak and the exploration of the sources of the Wangaehu and Waikato Rivers on its eastern side. As during these two ascents we accomplished considerably over 10,000 feet of actual climbing over its surface, we had a good opportunity of examining this colossal monument of plutonic fires, and judging from the magnitude of the results of igneous action we then beheld, both in wonder and admiration, there can be no doubt that there is no better or more interesting field for geological research than that afforded by this marvellous centre of extinct volcanic forces. Ruapehu is situated immediately in the centre of the great table-land which forms the most elevated portion of the North Island, and in the very heart, as it were, of the extensive system of extinct volcanic cones, which constitutes one of the most remarkable and interesting features of this division of the country. The mountain, which takes rank among the largest extinct volcanoes in the world, assumes the form of an enormous truncated cone, with a far-reaching base of oblong form, and which gradually narrows towards the summit, at which point the mountain is nearly a mile in length from its northern to its southern peak. Its base, if calculated from where it springs from the level plains, may be estimated at about sixty miles in circumference. At each end of the mountain are two colossal cone-shaped peaks, and between them the minor peaks rise up in fantastic shapes, which change in outline and assume varying proportions with almost magical effect, as the mountain is beheld from different points of view. In fact, it is the succession of magnificent scenery thus produced which forms one of the grandest features of this marvellous monument of volcanic forces. For the greater part, the country surrounding Ruapehu is entirely open, and consequently the grand mountain is seen to wonderful advantage as it towers majestically to the skies. Immediately to the north are the Tongariro and Waimarino Plains, to the east is the Rangipo Table-land, in the centre of which, and stretching down the sides of the huge mountain, is the Onetapu Desert--a vast expanse of scoria, covering some fifty square miles--while to the south are the Murimotu Plains. On its lower northern and eastern slopes the mountain gives life to a vegetation in all respects similar to that found on Tongariro, but on its southern and western sides a primeval forest, in which the trees are of colossal growth, creeps almost up to the edge of the snow-line. To really realize the magnitude of this mountain king of the North Island, one must stand on its summit and look down upon its scoria-strewn base, covering millions of acres, explore its deep, rugged gorges, and examine the stupendous deposits of trachytic lava which lie in a strata of enormous thickness upon its sides, or roll down like crystallized rivers of rock from the extinct craters of the mountain, now spreading over the plains, now rising above the surface of the ground in the form of enormous, crenated ridges, which look like the walls of embattled strongholds. There can be no doubt whatever that at some remote period Ruapehu must have formed the principal centre of volcanic action in the North Island. It is of course impossible to define at what period the enormous mountain began, or even terminated, its eruptive state; but I am of opinion, as suggested in a previous chapter, that it rose into being after the extinction and subsequent subsidence of the great crater-basin now occupied by Lake Taupo. Ruapehu, unlike Tongariro, is not a true scoria cone in the sense in which the latter mountain may be classed, but a gigantic crater of elevation, which during its volcanic outbursts sent forth showers of ashes and rivers of lava which spread themselves for miles around the base of the mountain, while the surrounding region over a vast area was upheaved by the elevatory force of the stupendous fires as they burst forth from the great volcanic vent now crowned with glaciers and perpetual snow. [Illustration: SUMMIT OF RUAPEHU.] Whilst we were resting to give our half-starved horses a feed of tussock grass, I went out into the plains to sketch the great mountain, as from the position where we were it presented one of its most beautiful aspects. From this point it bore exactly ten degrees east of south, the altitude of the Mangatoetoe stream at the foot of the mountain where we were being 3450 feet above the level of the sea. We had selected this position from which to make the ascent as it was the best place to reach the great northern peak, which forms the highest point of Ruapehu. This grandly beautiful pinnacle, with its glittering mantle of snow sweeping down its sides, towered far up to the skies, its summit being crowned with what appeared to be an oblong mass of rock, which assumed, from the aspect from which we viewed it, a singular resemblance to what is known in heraldic science as the "cap of maintenance." This grand crown, placed dexterously by the hand of nature upon the very topmost summit of the great peak, was a remarkable and conspicuous object, and as its ice-bound sides glittered beneath the sun, it appeared as if set with gems. Right from the very top of this portion of the mountain, its precipitous sides and long, rolling slopes stretched down to the very foot of the plains, and it did not take us long to see that it would be impossible to make the ascent and descent from where we were in a single day. We therefore determined to ride our horses as far up the low spurs as we could, tether our animals in a convenient spot, carry our tent and other necessary equipage up to the snow-line, camp there for the night, and make the final ascent on the following day. There was a small clump of forest growing a considerable distance up the scoria ridges, and as this was the only belt of vegetation of the kind on our track, we determined to direct our course to it, in the hope of finding water and a suitable camping-place for our horses. Our route now lay over low scoria ridges, which were intersected in every direction by winding, boulder-strewn gullies, which evidently during the wet season and the melting of the snows formed, with the deep creeks, the principal channels of the watershed of the mountain, as it distributed itself from the heights above over the low country. Upon the sides of these gullies, and clustering about the vast deposits of scoria, grew a luxuriant vegetation of dwarfed alpine shrubs, while wherever the sides of the gullies were obscured from the sun the thick white frost, which had wrapped the country in its icy mantle on the previous night, rose up from the ground in the form of thick icicles, from two to three inches in length. These icicles, like those which covered the Waihohonu Valley, were the most curious I had ever seen. They rose from the small, disintegrated scoria, which everywhere covered the ground, almost in the shape of a plant with a straight stem and a fringed top; and, while some stood alone, others were clustered together, forming a thick mass of ice. It seemed, indeed, as if the moisture which had literally saturated the ground during the heavy rains we had experienced had been drawn up to the surface by the frost by a kind of capillary attraction, which had produced these miniature plants of ice. When we arrived at the small picturesque bush of _towai_-trees, we found that there was but little or no feed in its vicinity, so we only halted here for a short time to explore the surrounding country. On our right were the level plains and sinuous ridges over which we had ridden, while at some distance to our left an enormous lava ridge, like a ruined wall, cut off all further view to the south. We cut a couple of alpenstocks and a flagstaff, and next determined to take our horses still further up the mountain, to a a point where we could see the last sign of the dwarf vegetation, some of the plants of which we found our animals would eat, in default of anything better. As we made a fresh start, we saw a party of mounted natives riding along the track below, and whilst we hid our horses in a gully, we crawled to the top of a ridge and watched carefully, to see whether they would pick up our tracks. Fortunately, however, they passed on, riding hard along the track which passes through the Tongariro Plains into the heart of the King Country. At an elevation of 4450 feet, and at the very edge of the last patch of dwarfed plants that grew upon the desert-like expanse, we found a small oasis between two scoria hills, bounded on the left by the rugged lava ridge which formed the backbone, as it were, of the long, sweeping spur up which we had come. Here a few stunted shrubs and clumps of tussock grass struggled for life amidst masses of lava and scoria sand. We knew that we would have to leave our horses tethered here for something like thirty-six hours without water, whilst we did the rest of the mountain, and we calculated that, with the aid of the few straggling shrubs and bunches of tussock, there would be just sufficient food to keep the animals from starvation during that time, although we had a kind of secret conviction that the chances were immensely in favour of the latter result. After we had secured our horses in the small oasis, we went out to explore the country ahead. In every position along the steep incline up which we had to make our way we saw nothing but enormous scoria hills, stretching far and wide on every side, and which rose in long, steep ascents to the snow-line of the mountain. In every direction stupendous ridges of black trachytic lava cropped up above the surface, broken, rugged, and sharp, as if they had boiled up during some terrific volcanic convulsion, and then suddenly congealed into the most curious and fantastic shapes. Some of the enormous lava ridges, of a black metallic lustre, flowed down, as it were, from the very summit of the mountain, and stretched for miles in length over the desert below. At an altitude of 5500 feet we came to an enormous deposit of lava raising up the surface of the spur in the form of a large cluster of rocks, and on one side of which there was a sheer descent into a lava-bound ravine of 200 feet. This was a good mile and a half away from where we had left our horses, but as the ascent was gradual we determined to pack the animals with the tent and blankets up to this point, and, after taking them back to the oasis, carry the camp equipage on our own shoulders up to the snow-line, where we had resolved to camp for the night, in order to be able to begin the final ascent to the summit of the great peak at daylight on the morrow. It was late in the day when we had finally carried out this arrangement, and, after packing ourselves with the tent, blankets, and all other necessaries to the extent of about twenty-five pounds each, we set off to climb the long, dreary spur, which mounted steeply upward until it lost itself in the region of eternal snow. Heavily laden and unused as we were to the burdens of professional pack-horses, we found the climbing both trying and monotonous. The long, dismal expanse which formed the spur up which our course lay was devoid of all vegetation. Our feet sank deeply into the shifting scoria, which, fractured into small pieces, covered the sides of the mountain for miles around in a dark-grey deposit, which looked intensely dreary as the sun sank to rest and a cold, cutting wind swept down from the snow-crowned glaciers above us. At 5800 feet enormous stones lay strewn about the ground, and we crossed the lower part of a deep lava ravine which wound high up into the side of the great peak above, and ended in a precipitous bluff, where we saw what at first sight appeared to be enormous caves, with a frozen waterfall sticking out of them. It occurred to us that if they were really rocky caves, as they seemed to be, we might find shelter in them for the night from the freezing blast, so we toiled onward with our heavy burdens to an altitude of 6200 feet, when the caves turned out to be nothing more than two enormous holes in the rocky side of the mountain, and to reach which it would have required the skill of a well-trained monkey, as they had been placed by the fickle hand of nature high up at the end of a tremendous ravine, which fell with a sheer descent of hundreds of feet beneath the precipice on which we stood, and whose steep, rugged sides, built of horizontal layers of lava rock, appeared to have been twisted and distorted by some terrific volcanic convulsion. At this elevation the whole canopy of snow which covered the summit of the mountain came down almost to our feet, while enormous masses of ice and long, ponderous icicles hung in shining festoons over the frowning precipices above. We were now nearly at the head of the great spur along which we had come, and beyond which the tall peaks of the mountain still shot up to a height of nearly 4000 feet above us. The spur at this point was bounded by the great ravine before alluded to, while on the other it fell with a steep descent into a deep, winding valley, beyond which the scoria hills rolled in endless confusion down to the wide plain below. At this point the mountain was strewn in every direction with dark boulders of trachytic rock, many of which were of stupendous size, and as they were scattered about pell-mell in the most fantastic way, we seemed to have entered a weird graveyard sacred to the memory of mountain giants. The scoria ridges around us were absolutely bare, and their dark outline had a desolate look, as if some fiery wind had swept over them and blasted every sign of life. The shades of evening now closed around us, and although the wind blew in strong blasts from the south, which chilled our blood, we hailed its icy breath with as much cheerfulness as we had done the genial warmth of the sun during the day, as we knew that whilst it remained in that quarter we should have fine weather, and would be able to make the long-wished-for ascent to the summit on the morrow; but if, on the other hand, it should happen to shift into its old quarter, the storm-clouds would sweep down upon us, and put us in an unpleasant and even dangerous predicament. We determined to make this dreary locality our camping-place for the night, and by the aid of the alpenstocks and the flagstaff we had brought up with us we managed to partially erect our tent under the lee of a big boulder. But before doing so, in order to prepare a space in which to lie down, we had to clear away the snow and thick coating of frost-like icicles that covered the ground, and then, in order to keep ourselves in position, as the ground was so steep, we formed a square of large stones just big enough to hold us, and in this we laid our blankets. The alpenstocks were arranged in the form of a triangle at the outside end, the flagstaff was placed at the apex, and then jammed down in a sloping way under the boulder, and over this the tent was thrown, its sides being secured by a border of heavy stones. In this way there was just room enough for us to crawl inside. I mention these particulars because thereby hangs a tale. We had carried up just sufficient wood to make a small fire to boil the tea, and which we accomplished, after great difficulty, behind the lee of a boulder. In fact, nothing could be done unless under the shelter of one of these enormous stones; to go to the windward side was simply to have the chilling blasts pass through one like a knife, and to be half blinded with scoria sand. If I were to live for a thousand years, no waning of the intellectual powers could cause me to entirely forget the night we passed on Ruapehu. It is true we felt more secure than when camped in the wild regions of Tongariro, for we knew that the natives would not molest us at that altitude, as they have a tradition that when a man goes up Ruapehu he never comes down again; but, so far as comfort was concerned, the weird lava-bound Waihohonu Valley, with its legends of _taniwhas_ and evil demons, was a perfect paradise and "happy hunting-ground" in comparison with the wild, snowy region, where we were now camped. Our bed was, of course, very rough, and two big particles of trachytic rock formed our pillows; but all this would have passed muster, and calm, refreshing sleep would have come to us, if it had not been for the fact that the loose scoria would keep slipping and sliding from under us as we lay on our steep incline. Although the moon shone as bright as day, the wind still continued to blow in heavy gusts, which seemed to increase in violence after every lull, and as it had already shifted a point or two still further southward, it was colder than ever, while what was at one time the lee of the boulder now became almost its windward side. Our tent at this stage swayed and flapped about in an incessant way, the icy blasts blew round about and underneath us, and in such a way that it was impossible to keep warm. At midnight the terrible climax came; with a noise like the howling of a thousand fiends, a terrific gale of wind swept over the mountain. In an instant our tent was carried away from over us, the flag-pole struck Turner a frightful blow on the head, and our blankets went flying right and left. So great was the force of the wind that it was impossible to stand against it. Blinding showers of sand and scoria filled the air almost to suffocation as each successive blast swept onward with terrific force, and everything was covered with a fine scoria dust, which got into the hair, filled the eyes, caused a choking sensation about the throat, and permeated every article of clothing. It was useless to endeavour to erect our tent again, so we squatted down, Maori fashion, in our blankets behind another enormous boulder, which served to break the force of the wind. The thermometer now stood at 27°, and the gale continued to blow throughout the night with terrific fury, sweeping over the ice-bound summit of the mountain, and then down into the valleys below, carrying along in its course its dark clouds of scoria and showers of gritty sand. [Illustration: WAITING FOR SUNRISE.] It was only a few minutes past midnight when our tent blew away, and we therefore had to pass six hours under the boulder before sunrise. The thermometer now indicated six degrees of frost, which was just six degrees less than we had experienced on the previous night, but then we had no wind, and we were now 2200 feet higher than then. Unpleasant as our situation was, it had its attractions. Looking down upon the surrounding country from the great height upon which we were placed (6200 feet above the sea), a weird and curious picture presented itself to the gaze. Immediately below us, and far and wide around, in front and to the right and to the left, rolled an apparently endless expanse of boulder-strewn scoria ridges, tossed about like the wild, chaotic waves of a frozen sea, and covered with a complete network of dark hues, which marked the winding course of gullies and ravines. Still further in front, and stretching in a broad expanse far below us, was a flat, white surface, like a snowy sheet of ice. This was the Rangipo Table-land, covered with a thick coating of frost. Beyond, again, rose a dark, frowning barrier, whose rugged outline lost itself in the distance as it stretched away to the north and to the south. These were the Kaimanawa Mountains, mantled in a cloud of mist. From the broad, white plain deep down to the left rose the dark, majestic form of Tongariro, around the summit of which its white steam-cloud coiled in a feathery circle, looking like a silvery diadem beneath the light of the moon, which shone with a glittering lustre upon the snows of Ruapehu, whose lofty summit seemed to touch the star-lit canopy above, while a magnificent _aurora australis_, the most brilliant I had ever beheld, shot across the heavens from the southward, and lit up the sky with its tongue of silvery fire. It was worth all the hardships we had undergone to gaze on this grand sight alone and to commune, as it were, with the colossal wonders of nature, wrapped in the stillness and beauty of night. The whole scene, and the peculiar circumstances under which we viewed it, was one never to be forgotten, while it brought, as all grand and impressive sights will, the most vivid associations before the mind. I pictured to myself the many and extraordinary changes this wild region had gone through to arrive at the condition under which we beheld it. What singular and stupendous results had been brought about by forces and agencies now almost extinct! Time was when the colossal mountain on whose fire-scorched sides we were crouching, was made desolate by tremendous volcanic eruptions, which sent forth clouds of smoke and sulphurous gases, showers of rocks and ashes, and streams and rivers of lava. Then lurid flames lit up the hills for miles around, and darkening clouds of fiery sand swept far and wide over the surrounding country. Then a line of volcanic vents, like beacon-fires, illuminated the rocky headlands of the great mountains around, and every towering fastness rose hot and quaking with subterranean heat. Then a change came about--one of those mysterious convulsions of which we only dream--the volcanic fires ceased, and the yawning craters were filled with snow and the peaks crowned with ice, and, as the earth gradually cooled down, a glorious vegetation, moulded in the most beautiful and varied forms of the creation, spread itself far and wide over the country, and nature smiled in all her radiance upon this magnificent and romantic land. At five o'clock in the morning the thermometer indicated seven degrees of frost, and the wind still blew in fitful gusts, which covered us with sand. The cold now was intense, and, as the moon had set, the wide scope of country around us looked unpleasantly dismal beneath its pall of darkness. Our outlook was towards the east, and as the time for daylight approached we watched anxiously for the first streak of dawn. Just before six the thermometer went down half a degree, and a damp, chilly feeling pervaded the air. Darker, colder, and more dismal it grew, until suddenly, as if by enchantment, the black clouds opened in the east, and a fiery streak shot upward, bathing with its golden hues the darkened sky. At first everything around--the sky, the mountains, and the plains, the valleys, the rivers, and the lakes, the shining glaciers and the frozen snows--appeared one uniform creation of brilliant light, so brightly dazzling that the eye could scarcely bear the splendour, but as the clouds of night rolled swiftly away the glow became still more vivid, and as the blue mists rose in the valleys the tops of the distant mountains looked like islands rising from a vapoury ocean--an archipelago in a sea of gold. By degrees the bright lustre of the sun was softened with tints, first of red, and then light transparent crimson, changing through different hues, until the sky assumed a deep pure blue, which merged towards the east into glowing violet. The towering summit of Ruapehu took the colour from these changes, and every portion on which the varied tints fell appeared more beautiful than it had ever appeared before. The whole aspect of this sudden transformation from night into day was indescribably grand, and as the glowing sun warmed our nearly frozen limbs we seemed to gain fresh life and energy from the fact that another glorious day had dawned upon the earth. CHAPTER XVIII. RUAPEHU. (_Second Day._) ASCENT OF THE GREAT PEAK. The start--A lava bluff--Last signs of vegetation--Wall of conglomerate rock--The Giant Rocks--Ancient crater--Difficult climbing--A frightful precipice--The ice crown--Cutting our way over the ice--The summit--Peaks and crater--A grand _coup d'oeil_--The surrounding country--Taking landmarks--Point Victoria. As soon as we had made a hearty but very light breakfast, we started at once to make the ascent of the great peak, whose steep, snow-clad sides rose up at the end of the spur on which we had been camped. We got ourselves up as warmly as circumstances would allow. Our boots were stout, and capable of withstanding snow and ice; we wore thick overcoats belted round the waist, thick comforters round the neck, fur caps with flaps to protect the ears, while alpenstocks with flagstaff, and tomahawks to cut our way over the ice, completed our accoutrements. At an altitude of 6480 feet we wound along a steep scoria ridge, and as the wind was still blowing hard from the south, we found it very difficult to make headway. Even the light pole we had brought with us to place upon the summit became a great burden, and we each had to take spells every quarter of an hour to carry it. At 6800 feet the spur became steeper and steeper, and on one side it fell with a rapid descent of about 400 feet into a ravine below, while on the other it inclined abruptly towards the valley on our right. At 7000 feet we gained a lava bluff, which formed rugged giant steps of rock, over which we climbed with great difficulty. At 7400 feet we came to another lava ridge, which rose above a steep scoria incline, covered with small particles of trachytic rock, pumice, and obsidian. From an altitude of a little over 6000 feet we had found no vegetation, save that represented by the two small plants known as the _Ligustrum aromaticum_ and the _Gnaphalium bellidioides_, which everywhere grew side by side in sheltered positions beneath the rocks and boulders, forming, as it were, the crowning garlands of the splendid vegetation of the North Island. These small delicate plants held undisputed sway in this elevated region, and not even a clump of moss grew beyond the line which nature had defined as their snow-clad habitat. At an elevation of 8000 feet the wind blew boisterously, and swept over the steep slopes of the mountain with terrific force. Here the whole geological formation was very curious, and we came on an immense ridge of lava and scoria conglomerate, containing big stones and boulders, which appeared to have been melted and fused together by a terrific heat. Here likewise scattered about in every direction were huge masses of rock, some of which were from ten to twenty feet in height. At this elevation on our left was a stupendous mass of lava conglomerate, which rose up in the form of a solid wall over fifty feet in height, and so regular was its formation that it appeared to have been artificially formed. [Illustration: WALL OF LAVA CONGLOMERATE.] At an altitude of 8200 feet a tremendous trachytic bluff rose up for 100 feet on our right. Above this again towered a series of pointed, jagged rocks, whose dark-red sides appeared to have been rent and torn asunder by some terrific volcanic force. These curious peaked elevations, which we named the "Giant Rocks," are conspicuous features in the outline of the great mountain when viewed from the plains to the east and north. All round this region the mountain was clad with snow, and festoons of icicles glittered from every rock and precipice. When we reached 8400 feet we experienced great difficulty in climbing up a frozen scoria incline covered with great boulders of volcanic conglomerate. Looking down from this point the whole mountain had a singularly wild and rugged look, and the giant, peaked rocks shot up in the form of bold pinnacles, and seemed to mark the site of an ancient crater, where the raging volcanic fires had rent the rocks into a thousand curious forms, and turned them into a deep-red colour. At 8600 feet, we climbed up a precipitous slope of lava conglomerate, in the form of a rude terrace, upon which were gigantic boulders and masses of broken rock covered with a thick coating of ice and snow. Here it was almost impossible to stand against the wind, and we came to a steep scoria incline, covered with frozen snow as hard as ice. Up this we had to crawl on our hands and knees, as the wind sweeping around the mountain from the right, fearfully cold, and with unabated force, made it impossible to stand. The scoria ridge and masses of rock and gigantic boulders that rose up around, were covered with festoons of ice, and the whole mountain shone and glittered with a dazzling splendour. Above the white snow, the dark ridges of lava rose like stupendous walls, rugged, bare, and desolate, but adamantine and colossal in structure, as if the Architect of nature had intended them to endure for all time. All about this part of the ascent the sides of the mountain were steep and broken, and the climbing along the frozen surface was so difficult that we had to creep along the edge of the great conglomerate walls and hang on to the big stones that jutted out from their surface. We could now only go on for about five minutes at a time without stopping to rest, as we had not only to combat the difficulties of our own track, but the force of the wind, which, blowing with increased force as we mounted higher and higher, threatened at places to blow us over the precipices. Fortunately there was not a single cloud to be seen; nothing but a bright sun and a clear blue sky, from which the wind swept down cold, yet invigorating, but with tremendous force; and, indeed, so steep and slippery with ice was this part of the mountain that it was only by carefully navigating our own course, as it were, by keeping to leeward of the projecting peak above, that we were enabled to make headway. At an altitude of 8900 feet, after a hard struggle, we gained the rounded top of the great peak, and when, under the shelter of a rocky projection, we lay flat down, and peered over the frightful precipice on our left, the whole aspect of the giant mountain, as it swept with its rugged, ice-bound sides down to the wide expanse of bare scoria ravines and black lava ridges, as they wound into the dreary Onetapu Desert below, appeared grand and beautiful, as much by reason of its vast incomprehensible proportions as by the wonderful effects of light and shade produced by the brilliant sunlight as it swept from the bright glacier above into the deep gorges and winding valleys below. Even at this stage we were not yet at the summit of the mountain, for the great rocky crown which we had remarked from the plain below still towered above our heads to a height of 150 feet. We now found that this singular monument was formed by a large outcrop of lava and conglomerate rock, which appeared at some remote period, when the volcanic fires were at their fiercest stage, to have oozed up above the surface of the surrounding rocks, and then congealed into a craggy mass with a symmetrical outline, which assumed the form of a rounded bluff towards the east, and tapered gradually off towards the west. Covered with a thick crown of snow that overhung its summit like a fringe, and glittering from base to top with sheets of ice and shining icicles, it sparkled with an almost dazzling effect beneath the golden rays as they shot from above, forming a grand and befitting crown to the grand mountain. To scale this ice-bound pinnacle was our next task. Even to approach it at some parts was dangerous, for nature, in her certain but mysterious way, was doing her work as we looked on; and as the midday sun reflected its warm rays upon the icy festoons, they melted and fell with a crash at our feet, but where, at its further and shaded end, the wind blew with its cool breath the ice was as firm and as solid as iron. With the cold blasts coming now and again with the force of a perfect hurricane, we crawled on our hands and knees along the steeps of the lower end, and cut footsteps with our tomahawks in the snow and ice, which spread itself like a white sheet over the precipitous inclines over which we had to make our way before we could reach the base of the rocky mass. Up every yard we had to crawl with great caution, and, in order to steady ourselves, we linked ourselves together by holding on to the flag-pole, as in many places a single slip of the foot would have sent us rolling down the frozen steeps into eternity. The thrilling sensation caused by these adventures acted as a kind of stimulus, which was heightened by the fact that we knew when once on the summit of the ice-bound crown, not only the whole mountain, but the whole country would be beneath us. Cutting away the enormous icicles that impeded our progress, we climbed step by step up the treacherous, craggy sides of the towering mass of rock, but as we neared the top the gusts of wind swept round like a whirlwind on every side, so as to render it impossible at some points to approach the edge. Notwithstanding the wintry blasts, however, this day might be considered as a grand and a beautiful one for Ruapehu, but what the lofty crest of the great mountain must be like when storms break over it with terrific violence, when the wind howls from peak to peak, when the lightning leaps from crag to crag, when the thunder rolls and resounds through valley and ravine, when the snows descend, and darkening showers of hail and rain form bounding cataracts, no soul can tell. Once upon the summit of the rocky crown, a glorious sight burst upon the view--one unique in itself, and unequalled in sublimity. It was now one o'clock, and since the time we had left the base of the mountain on the previous morning it had taken us nearly twenty hours of actual climbing to reach this spot; and now we seemed to have entered a new world--a world where there was no sound but the sigh of the wind, where there was no sign of life; a world placed high in the sky, made up of golden sunshine, azure blue, and glittering snow and ice, but encircled as it were, by a broad expanse of green, bordered by the blue waves of the distant sea. Looking towards the south, along the summit of the mountain, which stretched away for nearly a mile in length, peak rose above peak in colossal proportions from the dazzling expanse of snow. Each grand and towering mass of rock, tinted by the extinct volcanic fires of a reddish hue, standing out clearly defined against the light-blue sky, each pointed summit shining with ice beneath the bright light with grand and almost magical effect. Immediately beneath where we stood was a steep precipice which fell perpendicularly for hundreds of feet below, and beneath this again was a wide circle of jagged rocks, marking the outline of a gigantic crater, filled to its craggy brim with snow, which was furrowed into chasms of enormous depth, the clean-cut sides of which looked white and beautiful in their winding outline. The furthest southern peak of the mountain stood out in grand relief in the distance, its rounded, cupola-shaped summit being perfect in outline, as if artificially fashioned to serve for the dome of a Mohammedan mosque. Turning from the wonders of the mountain, and looking out over the grand expanse of country which stretched far and wide on every side in all its pristine loveliness until it lost itself, as it were, in the wide expanse of ocean, just visible in the distance to the east and west, a wondrous panorama presented itself. Never had I seen a more varied and enchanting scene. I had beheld a wider expanse of country from the summit of the Rocky Mountains, gorges and precipices more stupendous in the valley of the Yosemite, and I had gazed over a land very similar in outline from the summit of Fusiyama in Japan, but never before had I stood upon a glacier-crowned height in the region of perpetual snow with an active volcano, rising thousands of feet, beneath me, nor had I ever beheld so wide an expanse of lake, mountain, and rolling plain mingling together, as it were, and forming one grand and glorious picture. This wondrous Elysium, for in its primeval beauty it looked like nothing else, with its colossal, glacier-scored mountain, had not the cold frigidity of the Alpine districts of the South Island, where Nature looks awful in its grandeur; but here was the mingling, as it were, of the torrid and the frigid zone--a land where the snow-field and the glacier rose in all their impressive sublimity above a romantic-looking country clothed in a semi-tropical vegetation, where the choicest and most varied of trees and plants grew spontaneously in an atmosphere which might rank as the most healthful and invigorating in the world. The sight was, indeed, one calculated to overawe the mind and to impress the imagination with a sense of the omnipotence of the Creator. For a radius from where we stood of over 100 miles the whole country was mapped out and clearly defined beneath us. In the north, towering to the skies, we could discern the familiar forms of Pirongia, Karioi, Maungatautari, Te Aroha, Ngongotaha, Hapurangi, and flat-topped Horohoro, with Tarawera, Putauaki, and Tauhara standing further to the east. The forms of Titiraupenga, Rangitoto, Haurakia, Tapirimoko, and Haurungatahi rose above the forests of the King Country; the pointed summit of Hikurangi shot upward from the East Coast, and snow-clad Taranaki stood like a sentinel in the west, while Pihanga and Tongariro rose majestically from the plains below--all grand, isolated peaks, standing alone, and whose united altitudes, together with that of the giant mountain on which we stood, would exceed twice the height of Himalayas above the sea. All the intervening space was covered with mountain, valley, river, plain, and lake, and was so clearly defined, that we could trace all the grand features of the country as if delineated upon a plan. In the centre of all shone the broad waters of Taupo as they stretched away like an inland sea--the winding form of Lake Rotoaira shone like a mirror in the plain below--and the miniature lakes on Tongariro looked like big turquoise set in a circle of adamant. Indeed, every feature of this wide expanse of country was both varied and beautiful. The broad, rolling expanse of plain which we had beheld during the night, with its coating of frost, was now radiant in its vivid mantle of green, which was relieved here and there by the winding rivers and rushing streams which burst from the sides of the great mountain and sped onward to join the Waikato as it wound along the base of the Kaimanawa Mountains, which rose like a series of undulating terraces, clothed with dark forests, above which their serrated peaks stood out in bold relief against the sky. Beyond the far-reaching mountains stupendous heights arose in the direction of the south-east, range after range, rolling away as far as the eye could reach to the distant Ruahine Mountains, whose stupendous outline bound the horizon in that direction. [Illustration: THE ICE CROWN, POINT VICTORIA.] It was, however, the vast country to the west that most attracted our attention. It was the forbidden land we had already entered, whose hidden wonders we were unmasking--a mysterious region which now lay stretched before us in all its primeval grandeur. We could mark its valleys and its plains and its forests and its towering mountains, and get glances of its rivers as they gleamed in the sun. To enter this unknown region, as we intended to do, at its extreme southern end, pass through the enormous forest which covers it in that direction, and thence northward to Alexandra, we knew would be just 100 miles in a direct line, but we could now plainly see by the natural features of the country that by ordinary travel it would be at least twice that distance, and would require many a hard day's journey to accomplish. We therefore, from our elevated position, took careful note of the more prominent outlines of the country, and especially of the known high mountains, which we afterwards found to be splendid guides, as many of their peculiar features could not be mistaken. When we had laid off on our map the leading features of the country through which we intended to pass, we set to work and built a cairn of rock, about four feet high, at a point which exceeded 9000 feet above the level of the sea, and on this we hoisted our flag. As this magnificent peak of Ruapehu, with its rocky crown of ice and snow, was not only the highest point of the mountain, but the very topmost summit of the North Island, we named it "Point Victoria," in honour of her Majesty the Queen. CHAPTER XIX. THE KAIMANAWA MOUNTAINS. Further plans--Across the plains--In memoriam--The Onetapu Desert--Mamanui camp--Grilled _weka_--A heavy frost--The Kaimanawas--Geological formation--A probable El Dorado--Reputed existence of gold. As we had now successfully accomplished the ascent of the two great mountains, I determined to leave the tapued district as soon as possible, and strike a south-easterly course across the Onetapu Desert to the southern base of the Kaimanawa Mountains, in order to examine the geological formation of that region. I had noticed when examining the western banks of the Waikato River, that on its opposite side, where the mountains rose in all their grandeur, the geological aspect of the country was entirely different from that of the Rangipo table-land, the geological formation of which was principally composed of fluvial drift, with a deep superimposed stratum of pumice, and over which again was a final stratum of volcanic earth, formed principally by the decomposition of the trachytic rocks forming the numerous volcanic cones which bounded the table-land on the west. Owing, however, to the flooded state of the Waikato, it was impossible to reach its opposite side, where the Kaimanawa Mountains rose in the form of a stupendous wall. I therefore resolved to head the river at its upper waters, in order to get into the Kaimanawa country in that way. On the day following our ascent of Ruapehu, we started across the plains in the direction indicated above, and as the day was fine we rode leisurely along, coaxing our half-starved horses on their way by occasional feeds from the luxuriant growth of native grasses which covered that part of the Rangipo. In this portion of the plains there was a great variety of native grasses, and among them were those known to the natives as the _parakerake_ and _pekipeki_, while the tussock grass grew in clumps often three feet in height. Dotted all over the plain likewise was a curious spiked plant, which our horses carefully avoided whenever they came in its way. This singular plant grew at the bottom, in the form of a widespreading circular tuft, composed of narrow sword-edged leaves, the ends of which were as pointed and as sharp as a lancet. From the centre of the tuft rose a stem varying from a foot to two feet in height, which bristled at the top with a spike-like thorn, while clustering all over its sides were long thin thorns, pointed, and as sharp as needles. So strong and sharp are the thorns of this plant, that the natives often use them as spurs. We had been told at Tokanu that at a certain point on these wide plains if we struck a certain native track hard by a certain stream flowing from the rugged gorges of Tongariro, we could see a pole which was strictly _tapu_ in the eyes of the Maoris. When we came to the spot, the pole was there in the form of a portion of a dead tree. Now, a melancholy tale was attached to this singular relic. During the time of the war, when the Hauhaus under Te Kooti carried fire and sword among the loyal tribes of this part of the country, a native girl, it is said, of singular beauty, was passing alone by this very spot, when one of the rebel chief's followers approaching at the same time, brutally attacked her, and having accomplished his villainous purpose, cut her throat, and rode on his way. Even the very name of this man is lost in oblivion, and his soul--well, never mind. When the girl's relatives came to search for her they found her body, and taking off her collaret, placed it on the pole, and tapued the place sacred to her memory, and this pole still standing on the wild plains now forms her only monument. But, strange to say, the collaret, rounded, tied in a knot, and in form as perfect as if taken from the blood-stained neck but yesterday, was likewise there, and Nature, as if anxious to preserve this sad relic, had covered it with a coating of fine spiral moss, which made it look not unlike one of those wreaths of immortelles we sometimes see placed on Christian graves to invoke, as it were, the blessings of Heaven. I made a sketch of this lonely monument, and when the ravages of time shall have effaced it from all ken, these simple words may serve to recall the memory of one who was loyal to her queen, and who met death at a time when war and rapine swept over the land, and when the white and the dark race fought with a deadly and cruel hatred for the mastery of these fair and attractive regions. The Onetapu Desert, or "desert of sacred sand," as its name implies, forms one of the most curious features of this region. It stretches from the eastern slope of Ruapehu to the banks of the Waikato River, across the centre of the great table-land, and covers an area of over fifty square miles. In summer it is parched and dried, and in the winter months when the snows cover it, it is both dangerous and difficult to traverse. As we neared this trackless waste, the rich vegetation of the plains gradually died away, and gave place to the stunted plants and shrubs which we had always found growing on the lower scoria deposits. This vegetation did not cover the ground in every direction, but grew in patches here and there, and often in a very attractive way. The desert, at the surface, is composed entirely of a deposit of scoria, with rounded stones and trachytic boulders above, while, in some places, rise enormous lava ridges. Here and there a trickling watercourse winds over it, but taken altogether it is a dreary, monotonous expanse, which the superstitious minds of the natives have peopled with _taniwhas_ and evil spirits. By its formation, it would appear as if Ruapehu, when in a state of activity, had distributed its showers of ashes and lava over this wide region, and it would also appear that, at the period at which this extensive deposition of scoria occurred, there must have been growing upon this very spot an extensive forest similar to that now to be found on the western side of the mountain, for, as we rode over the dreary expanse, we found the remains of enormous trees which had been converted into charcoal, as it were, at the time when the fiery ashes swept over them, and which had since become exposed, as the upper surface was denuded by the action of the water flowing down from the mountain. Towards sundown we gained the upper waters of the Waikato, which here wound across the desert in the form of a small stream coming from the direction of Ruapehu. After crossing this we struck up towards the Kaimanawa Mountains, to the Mamanui stream, where there was a deserted Maori camping-place, and where we found excellent feed for our horses. The spot where we pitched our camp stood at an elevation of 3727 feet above the sea, on the banks of the Mamanui, which wound from the mountains to form one of the many tributaries of the Waikato which have their rise in these extensive ranges. The moon shone brightly by the time we had pitched our tent, and the tall heights, towering around us with their splendid vegetation, sheltered us from the chilly blasts that swept across the plains, and, taken altogether, it was a comfortable and pleasant spot in comparison to the weird mountains upon which we had been recently camped. This night we indulged in a delicacy which up to this moment we had neither time nor opportunity to cook. When we rode out to make the ascent of Tongariro we had the good fortune, as we then deemed it, to knock over a small _weka_ or wood-hen. This diminutive bird Turner seemed to look upon as a kind of sacred offering from the gods, and he tied it to his saddle-bow, and kept a keen eye upon it, with the view of making the final sacrifice whenever we should have time to light a fire. We had now had it nearly six days in our possession, but this was in reality the first opportunity we had had of cooking it. We soon, however, had it grilling over our fire, and we ate it with avidity, regretting the while that Providence had not provided us with a full-grown bird in place of a mere fledgling. The _weka_ (_Ralus Australis_) is very plentiful in the plains around Tongariro. We passed a fairly comfortable night in this secluded spot, but it was one of the coldest we had experienced. Before midnight the whole country was covered with a thick white frost, and at four in the morning the thermometer stood as low as 27°. The Kaimanawa Mountains are situated in almost the very centre of the island, with a general north-easterly and south-westerly bearing, and attain to an elevation of about 6000 feet above the level of the sea. Stretching across the great central table-land in an extent of about eighty miles, their tall serrated peaks form a grand and beautiful feature in the many natural wonders of the surrounding country, while the primeval forests which clothe them to their summits are among the finest in the country. From whatever point of view they are beheld, they disclose the most delightful views, and when their pointed peaks are covered with the winter snows they afford the most beautiful Alpine scenery to be found in the North Island. Clothed everywhere with a dense growth of vegetation, they tower one above the other in a series of mountain terraces, whose stupendous sides are broken by enormous gorges which form the outlets of innumerable streams, while winding valleys open to the view the most romantic and attractive prospects. It is, however, the geological formation of this extensive mountain range, covering many hundreds of square miles, which is of especial interest. Unlike the volcanic cones, which form one of the most remarkable features of this division of the country, and which have their origin in a trachytic formation, the rocks comprising the Kaimanawa Mountains belong to the paleozoic order, and are composed principally of clay slate with quartz veins, brownish semi-crystallized sandstones, silicious schists, and diorites as intrusive rocks. When, upon the day after our arrival at Mamanui, we followed up the creeks where we had been camped, and ascended these mountains to a height of 4000 feet, I found all these rocks _in situ_, but, owing to the densely wooded nature of the country, it was only in the ravines that the geological formation could be examined. The clay slates were placed more or less vertically, by reason of the intrusion of the diorite bars through their plane, while the quartz I found on the slopes of the hills and in abundant quantities in the creeks, and from the auriferous indications which I noticed on all sides, I much regretted that, owing to the necessity to press on our journey, I was prevented from examining this country more closely. I am, however, firmly of opinion that this extensive range, which presents many features in common with the Sierras of California, offers to the geologist a rich field for research, and to the miner a probable El Dorado where, I believe, great treasure will be brought to light in years to come. It is more than likely that the whole of this extensive mountain range will be found upon examination to be rich in all the mineral products common to geological formations of a like kind, and that not only gold but other minerals will be found. It is likewise worthy of note that the natives of this district with whom we afterwards came in contact assured us of the existence of gold in these mountains, as likewise of a mineral which, by the description they gave of it, I judged to be silver. Although it is impossible to define by any theoretical course of reasoning what hidden treasures may exist in the fastnesses of the Kaimanawas, there can be no doubt that the whole region is well worthy an extended examination. The discovery of a payable gold-field in this locality could not fail to confer a material benefit upon the whole country. Situated as these mountains are in the centre of the island, they are easily accessible from all points; and if once the existence of remunerative auriferous deposits were established, the spread of population would follow, and in this way the vast and varied resources of an extensive portion of the colony would be developed. CHAPTER XX. SECOND ASCENT OF RUAPEHU. SOURCES OF THE WHANGAEHU AND WAIKATO RIVERS. Curious parterres--Supposed source of Whangaehu--A gigantic lava bed--A steep bluff--The Horseshoe Fall--The Bridal Veil Fall--The Twin Falls--A dreary region--Ice caves--Source of the Waikato--The descent--Our camp on the desert. Having satisfied myself as to the geological formation of the Kaimanawa Mountains, I next determined to trace up the Whangaehu and Waikato Rivers to their source in Ruapehu. Striking our camp at Mamanui, we took a south-westerly course for some distance, until we struck the Whangaehu River, which we found winding across the desert in the form of a wide, rushing stream. Once on the opposite side, we were again fairly on the Onetapu Desert, and we shaped our course in the direction of the eastern side of Ruapehu, where a tremendous ravine seemed to lead right into the very heart of the mountain. When passing over some portions of the great scoria plain, we found all of the plants and shrubs peculiar to the region growing together with dwarf trees, but all so artistically dispersed by the hand of Nature as to appear like miniature gardens, with winding walks that formed a perfect labyrinth. In fact, so beautifully and carefully designed were some of these parterres, that it was almost impossible to believe that they had not been artificially formed. Every species of plant that we had hitherto found in the district grew in them, with a vast variety of shrubs we had not before observed, while the scoria winding about the clumps of vegetation was so even as to appear as if it had been artificially rolled down. The Whangaehu River, which takes its rise in the eastern side of Ruapehu, is one of the largest streams in the colony. Bursting forth high up in the snows of the mountain, it crosses the desert in an easterly direction, and then, with the fall of the country, takes a swift bend towards the south in its course to the coast, where it joins the sea, in a distance of about sixty miles from its source. From the point where it issues from the mountain, and for many miles as it winds through the plains, its waters are rendered perfectly white from the enormous amount of alum with which they are charged. We had been informed by the natives at Tokanu that the source of this river rose in an enormous black rock, or dark bluff, which forms a conspicuous feature near the eastern base of the mountain, and it was therefore towards this point we directed our course. The whole of this side of Ruapehu appeared singularly rugged, and above the deep gorges the enormous bluffs and precipices seemed to mount one above the other to the glacier-crowned peaks above. We struck into a boulder-strewn ravine, and, after following this along for a considerable distance, we found that it brought us to the dark mass of rocks which the natives had indicated to us. It was, however, clear at once that the true source of the river was a long distance up the mountain from this point. The dark rocks, which were nothing more than enormous outcrops of lava, formed the portals, or entrance, as it were, to a still deeper gorge, which led further into the mountain, and which looked as weird and as dismal as anything Dante or Doré had ever created. When we had got fairly into this tremendous chasm, a most curious sight presented itself. Below our feet was the bed of the ravine, strewn with boulders of all sizes, which lay scattered about in endless confusion, as if hurled from the heights above by the hands of mountain giants. On our left rose an immense lava wall, over 100 feet in height, and on our right, rising from the bed of the ravine, was a wide stratum of alluvial drift, composed of sand and water-worn boulders. Resting on this stratum, just as it had cooled, was a lava stream, about 200 feet in perpendicular height, as sharp and as clear in all its proportions as if it had been cast out but yesterday from the fiery craters of the mountain. Dark, bright, and shining with a metallic lustre, it looked like a solid wall of bronze built by Cyclopean hands, the stupendous jagged ridge which crowned it resembling the rampart of an embattled fortress. This appeared to be one of the grandest specimens of a trachytic lava bed to be found in any part of the world, and it formed one of the most interesting geological phenomena I had ever beheld. Looking at this stupendous mass, one could fairly realize how widespread and how tremendous in its proportions must have been the volcanic action of Ruapehu. The stream of lava which had formed this great deposit had evidently come from one of the many central craters of the mountain, and had rolled down in a molten stream for a distance of several miles, until it had gradually cooled into its present form. When gazing up at this singular monument, it could be seen that there was not a single flaw in its whole surface to mar the general outline of its colossal proportions. Here and there from the hard metallic surface, which shone like bronze by some powerful agency difficult to comprehend, blocks of the adamantine rock had fallen into the ravine below, but even every line of their surface was as sharp and as angular as if they had been just wrought into form under our eyes. [Illustration: GREAT TRACHYTIC LAVA BED.] When we had travelled a considerable distance up to the head of this wild gorge, we found it impossible to get out of it except by the way we had come, so we headed back again, and climbed, with great difficulty and at considerable risk, up the enormous bluff forming the entrance to the gorge, the sharp edges of the lava being particularly rough on our hands. Once at the summit of the bluff, we gained a long spur which formed the top of the great bed of lava we had examined in the ravine below, and which was here about 600 yards in width, as evidenced by the rugged outcrops of black rock that rose above the surface of the ground on every side. Travelling for a short distance up this steep ridge, we descended a rocky precipice to the right into another weird gorge, where the milky waters of the Whangaehu came bounding in a rapid descent over boulders and rocky precipices. We crossed the river at this point, and we kept the stream on our left for a considerable distance up the mountain. When we had followed up this ravine for a long distance we came to another scoria spur, mounting upwards towards the mountain. About two miles up this the ravine widened out, with high lava walls on either side, while right in the centre rose a high ridge of lava, which ended in steep, sloping ridges of fine scoria. The great snow peaks beyond now came into full view, and at a height of 5300 feet the ravine opened out on our left, and over the flat terrace above a large waterfall fell from a height of 150 feet over a semicircular precipice into a deep, rocky basin, and, as the vast volume of water poured on to the great rocks beneath, it resounded through the ravine like the echo of distant thunder. We named this the "Horseshoe Fall" from the shape of the precipice over which the water fell. From the Horseshoe Fall we mounted still higher up a very steep ascent on to a flat-topped scoria spur, which immediately to the right descended into a rugged ravine over a sheer precipice of 400 feet, while to the left of the ridge, which we followed up, rolled the Whangaehu, at a depth of about 300 feet in the gorge below, and beyond which the giant form of one of the principal spurs of the mountain, built up of scoria and layers of lava, rose to a height of about 1000 feet above us. We were now high up in the mountain, and the cold wind from the snow-crowned glacier above swept over us with a chilly blast, while the colossal walls of rock, towering above on every side, cast their weird shadows around, and blocked out every ray of sunlight. We climbed for about three miles further up the dreary scoria spurs, the monotonous appearance of which was only relieved by the fantastic outcrops of lava rock, which jutted up above the surface in every direction, as if still hot and quaking with subterranean heat. One of the most remarkable features about these fantastic outcrops of lava was that time and the devastating effects of the elements to which they must have been subjected for hundreds, nay, thousands, of years, appeared to have left no traces upon them, the hard, metallic-looking surface of the rock being as sharp in outline as if it had but just got cool from the terrific heat of the stupendous fires, which had left their impress in every direction over the face of the mountain. Not a sign of vegetation was to be seen anywhere. We could not even get a glimpse of the country around, as the windings of the enormous gorge had led us, as it were, into the very heart of the mountain, and had surrounded us with its high, rugged walls. As we climbed still further to the glacier-crowned heights above us, the appearance of this wild ravine became still more desolate; rugged, craggy boulders of black rock were scattered about the slopes in every direction, and we had to climb over huge masses of rock that barred our pathway. Thick icicles now covered the ground, hung in festoons from the rocks, and bedecked the high precipices in the form of a glittering fringe, while the snow was not only on the heights above, but in the deep ravines beneath us. In the distance we could hear the loud roaring of a cataract, and, as we pressed on, the sound of the falling water resounded louder and louder, and at an altitude of 6250 feet another waterfall, far larger and more beautiful than the one we had previously discovered, burst into view. We had hoped that this would prove the source of the river, as it was now late in the day, and it was clear that we would not have much more time for climbing if we wished to gain our camp before nightfall. We soon found, however, that the great gorge still wound into the mountain for 1000 feet above, and that the true source of the river was yet further ahead. We took our first rest at this stage, and gazed in admiration at the leaping volume of water in front of us. Here, on our right, rose a gigantic bluff of lava and conglomerated rock, while round this frowning point and coursing down the steep incline of the gorge, up which we were ascending, swept the white waters of the Whangaehu, until the whole volume, concentrated into a narrow rocky channel, burst over a precipice with a fall of 300 feet into the rocky gorge below. This was one of the most beautiful and unique cascades I had ever seen. All around the craggy rocks were white with a deposit of alum from the spray of the fall, while the water, of a milky hue, poured over the precipice in a continuous frothy stream, which appeared by its whiteness like folds of delicate lace. This beautiful cascade had not the sparkle and glitter of ordinary waterfalls, but a soft, milky appearance different to anything I had ever beheld before. The big, circular, rock-bound basin, into which the water fell, was decorated around its sides with fantastic clusters of icicles, all of the same milky whiteness, and mingling as they did with the still whiter snow, they served to complete one of the most singular and attractive features of this weird ravine. We named this the "Bridal Veil Fall" on account of its peculiar lace-like appearance. [Illustration: THE BRIDAL VEIL FALL.] Leaving the Bridal Veil Fall to dart over its echoing rocks, we struck up the steep, precipitous ridge ahead, where we could still see the white waters of the river coming down, as it were, from the very summit of the mountain. Here the whole surroundings had a most wild and romantic appearance, and we seemed to have entered a dismal solitude where there was no sound but the rushing of waters as they dashed over the rocky precipices, or rolled among the stupendous boulders which lay scattered about the winding channels of the deep ravines. We pushed on as fast as we could over an enormous outcrop of lava, and when we had reached 6750 feet fresh wonders still seemed to call us onward. At this elevation we discovered two cascades falling over a steep, bluff-like precipice, and only at a short distance apart from each other. These two shoots of water, which appeared to be of the same proportions, fell from a height of about 100 feet into the ravine below, and then dashed onward to leap over the precipice of the Bridal Veil. All around the rocks were resplendent with icicles, and with the white coating of alum appeared like alabaster. We named these the "Twin Waterfalls" on account of their singular resemblance to each other. From this point of the great ravine we again mounted up precipitous rocks and lava ridges, one of which we had to climb hand over hand for a height of fifty feet. The river now, as far as we could discern, appeared to pour out of the snow as it came down in a rapid torrent through a precipitous ravine, along the side of which we crawled with difficulty. As we mounted higher the stupendous rocks, over which we had to make our way, were piled about in the most intricate confusion, and in one place we had to pass over an outcrop of trachytic rock which was broken into angular pieces, as sharp as flint, and fractured in every direction, as if it had been subjected at some period to the force of a terrific explosion. It required great care to get over this difficult point, as there was only room enough to crawl along between the wall of rock on one side, and a precipice of 200 feet on the other, which fell with a sheer descent into a big, circular, ice-bound pool, into which the milky waters of the Whangaehu poured in the form of foaming cascades. Here, around on every side, rose steep precipices, great buttresses of black lava mounted up in the form of stupendous bluffs that supported, as it were, the rampart-like heights above, while right in front of us, and towering to an altitude of over 1000 feet, was a glacier slope crowned with craggy peaks, which stood out in bold relief against the sky. This rugged locality was one of the most singular of the whole mountain. No region could be wilder or more desolate in appearance. There was nothing but the blue heavens above to relieve the frigid glare of the ice, the cold glitter of the snows, and the dreary tints of the frowning fire-scorched rocks. We now seemed to be in a new world, where solitude reigned supreme, and where Nature, casting aside her most radiant charms, looked stern and awe-inspiring in her mantle of ice and snow. Right under the snowy glacier above us were wide, yawning apertures, arched at the top, and framed, as it were, with ice, in the form of rude portals, through which the white waters of the river burst in a continuous stream. These were ice caves. Climbing over the rough boulders, and then descending into a rocky channel, where the water mounted over our knees, we entered the largest of these singular structures, when a wonderful sight met the gaze. We found ourselves in a cave of some 200 feet in circumference, whose sides of black volcanic rock were sheeted with ice, and festooned with icicles, all grandly and marvellously designed. At the further end from where we entered was a wide, cavernous opening, so dark that the waters of the river, as they burst out of it in a foaming, eddying stream down the centre of the cave in which we stood, looked doubly white, in comparison with the black void out of which they came. We were now right under the enormous glacier that covered the summit of the mountain, and the roof of the cave was formed of a mass of frozen snow, which had been fashioned by some singular law of Nature into oval-shaped depressions of about two feet in height, and a foot and a half broad, all of one uniform size, and so beautifully, and so mathematically precise in outline, as to resemble the quaint designs of a Moorish temple; while, from all the central points to which the edges of these singular designs converged, a long single icicle hung down several inches in diameter at its base, perfectly round and smooth and clear, tapering off towards its end with a point as sharp as a needle. High up on our left, in the walls of the cave, were two apertures like the slanting windows of a dungeon, through which the light streamed, giving a soft, mysterious halo to the whole scene, which looked weird and indescribably curious. We had brought candles with us, and lighting them, we pressed forward to explore the deep cavern beyond, but to do so we had to climb over sharp, slippery rocks, which were covered with a coating of ice, as if they had been glazed with glass, while the white waters streaming beneath us fell into a deep, eddying pool. We managed, after some difficulty, to cross the stream in the second cave, and to penetrate a considerable distance along the treacherous rocks into the very centre, as it were, of the great mountain; but, just as we were winding along a kind of subterranean passage, which looked like a short cut into eternity, our lights went out, owing to the water falling from above, and, as we could hear nothing but rushing waters ahead, we, with some difficulty, beat a retreat into the first cave, which looked like a fairy palace in comparison with the dark cavern we had just left. These caves were at an altitude of 7000 feet above the level of the sea, and we were now at the true source of the remarkable river. Wherever the water poured over the rocks it left a white deposit, and when we tasted it, it produced a marked astringent feeling upon the tongue, leaving a strong taste of alum, sulphur, and iron, with all of which ingredients, especially the two former, it appeared to be strongly impregnated.[51] It is a remarkable and interesting geographical fact that the waters which form the source of the Waikato River burst from the sides of Ruapehu, within a short distance of the Whangaehu, and at almost the same altitude. Both streams run almost parallel to each other for a long distance from their source, and then, as they reach the desert, they gradually diverge and divide the two great watersheds of this portion of the country, the Waikato flowing to the north into Lake Taupo, and the Whangaehu to join the sea in the south. There is, I believe, no place in the world where two great rivers may be seen rising at an altitude of over 7000 feet in the sides of a glacier-clad mountain, and rolling for miles, side by side, down its rugged slopes, the waters of the one of alabaster whiteness, and the waters of the other as pure and as limpid as crystal, and each forming the dividing waters of an area of country of nearly 100 miles in length. It had taken us nine hours to reach the ice caves, and as it was now late in the day we began to descend with all haste, in order, if possible, to reach the point where we had left our horses before nightfall. As the sun went down the wind blew with a freezing blast, and as we descended precipice after precipice, and ridge after ridge, and the tints of evening crept gradually over the dismal sides of the mountains, our course appeared long beyond measure. When we got near to the immense mass of lava we had beheld in wonder in the morning, the shades of night overtook us, and it was with great difficulty we could pick our way over the rough boulders of the dark, weird gorge, which now looked like Dante's Inferno with the fires put out. We again struck the waters of the Whangaehu, and shining as they did like a white streak in the darkness, we were enabled to follow them up until we came to our camp. We soon had our tent erected under the lee of a cluster of scrub, which served to protect us from the fury of the wind, which now swept in strong blasts across the scoria plains. Our camping-place was as near as possible in the centre of the desert, and at a point which indicated an elevation of 3000 feet above the level of the sea. It might, in fact, be considered as the highest point of the great central table-land, for it was here that the watershed divided, and flowed on the one hand to the north, and on the other to the south, as previously described. A drink of tea and a biscuit formed our only meal, and then we lay down to pass one of the roughest and most uncomfortable nights we had ever experienced. About midnight a great storm of wind swept over the plains, and dark clouds gathered over the heavens, and the rain continued to descend in torrents throughout the night. Fortunately for us, the few straggling bushes around served to break the force of the blast, otherwise everything would have been blown away. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 51: Near to this point, on the summit of the mountain, there is a lake formed by an extinct crater, filled by subterranean springs, and it is likely that the Whangaehu may in some way be connected with it. It is, however, clear that there must, of necessity, be strong subterranean springs in this portion of the mountain, to account for the large volume of water forming the source of this river, as likewise extensive deposits of alum, of some form or another, to cause the complete discoloration of the waters by that mineral. I believe that this singular river will be found to possess great medicinal properties for the cure of rheumatic affections and cutaneous disorders.] CHAPTER XXI. KARIOI. Our commissariat gives out--The Murimotu Plains--The settlement--The homestead--The welcome--Society at Karioi--The natives--The Napier Mail. When morning broke over our camp on the Onetapu Desert the rain poured down without intermission, the flood waters of the great mountain swept over the plains in every direction, and the whole country, obscured for the most part by heavy mists, looked indescribably desolate. To remain camped where we were was simply to court starvation. We were now nearly 100 miles from where we had started, and, while our horses were so weak as to be hardly able to walk, through exposure and want of proper food, our own commissariat was reduced to its lowest. Yet, up to this point, we had not accomplished one-half of our intended journey. It is true we had ascended the great mountains, and had seen their wonders, but there were still dense forests and unknown regions to be traversed. We had been told before setting out from Tapuwaeharuru that a sheep-station known as Karioi could be reached by travelling in the direction of Whanganui. This was out of our course, but there was no alternative but to make for it, in order to recruit our horses and replenish our commissariat. We therefore looked towards this place as a kind of Land of Promise, flowing with the proverbial milk and honey. Once clear of the sterile desert, we took a southerly course along the Whangaehu River, until we reached the magnificent tract of open country known as the Murimotu Plains. This wide district, which forms, as it were, the southern slope of the great central table-land, stretches in the west to the borders of the forest country which extends to the valley of the Whanganui, while to the eastward it is bounded by the lower hills which branch out in the form of extensive ridges from the southern end of the Kaimanawa Mountains. These plains, which resemble in general features those to the north of the desert forming the Rangipo plateau, are covered with a network of streams and rivers, and, for the most part, with a luxuriant growth of native grasses, the ridges and lower hills which dot them towards the east being carpeted with low fern. We travelled across the plains principally by compass bearing, and we had to cross many swollen streams in our course, the waters of one pouring in the form of a cascade into a deep circular basin. Beyond this point we again struck the Whangaehu, which had now become a wide stream, but its waters were still quite white. After a journey of nine hours, during which time the rain and wind never ceased, we sighted a "three-rail fence," which we joyously hailed as the first sign of civilization we had seen for some time. The fence proved to be the horse-paddock of the station, and following it along, we soon came to our destination. We found the various _whares_ and rustic huts composing the settlement of Karioi scattered promiscuously about the banks of the Tokiahuru River, a tributary of the Whangaehu, which wound through the station in its course to the south. The site of the settlement was most delightfully chosen, and the views from every part of it were most attractive. Upon arrival at the homestead all hands came to greet us, although nobody knew who we were, nor where we had come from; nor were we asked whether we were hungry. With true bush etiquette, that was taken as a matter of course, and we were soon invited to partake of what was to us a magnificent repast. We found the good people of Karioi true cosmopolites, ready to enter into conversation and to furnish all the news in their power in exchange for what we could tell them of the country we had passed through. Strange as it may appear, in this small settlement of whites and natives, which formed the last link in the chain of European settlement stretching from the East Coast into this portion of the country, our pleasant party at Karioi was composed of representatives of many nations. A Mr. Rees, who had come up from Whanganui, was a native of Australia, and had served in the armed constabulary at Parihaka; Mr. Newman, our host, hailed from the South of England; one of the "hands" was a New Zealander, another an Austrian, a third came from the Alpine districts of the Tyrol, and another from the Land o' Cakes, while the native race was here represented by several _hapus_ of one of the principal Whanganui tribes. To listen to the spirited description given by Mr. Rees of the Parihaka campaign, and to his delineation of Te Whiti[52] and other notable chiefs, to participate in the varied conversation upon the wonders of the surrounding country, to chat with the Tyrolese in his native tongue, and to feel that a great vacuum had been filled in our insides, was so great a change to what we had recently experienced, that we now seemed to be partaking of the pleasures of the varied society and seductive luxuries of a first-class antipodean caravansary, where hospitality was boundless and good-fellowship the order of the day. In the evening we visited the native _kainga_, and spent some time with the Maoris in the _wharepuni_. There were about twenty natives present, men, women, and children, and in the centre of the primitive apartment blazed a huge fire, which threw out a terrific heat, and rendered the place almost unbearable. The natives were mostly short of stature, with hard features, and I remarked that they spoke with a much harsher accent than those further to the north, and that they clipped many of their words in a remarkable way. When Turner inquired for an explanation of this habit, they stated that their great ancestor, Ngatoroirangi, when he came over in the _Arawa_ canoe was engaged in baling out that craft during a storm, and that whilst so doing he caught a severe cold, which caused him to speak in a sharp, halting kind of way, which has been imitated ever since by many of the Whanganui tribes, who claim descent from that celebrated chief, and who has been before alluded to in a previous chapter as the first explorer of the country. On the second evening after our arrival at Karioi, and when all hands were assembled in the homely _whare_ watching the big pots boiling for supper, in fact, when everything looked _couleur de rose_, a horseman rode up bespattered with mud from head to foot, bringing a packet of papers and a handful of letters. This was the Napier mail, and we hailed it with delight, as it was the first tidings of civilization we had obtained since we left Tapuwaeharuru, over twenty-four days past. We anxiously scanned the telegrams, to see what had arisen with regard to the Mahuki difficulty, when we learned that the native minister was about to leave Alexandra to travel by way of the Mokau River to Taranaki, in company with a body-guard of armed natives, under the chief Hone Te Wetere, that Mahuki's tribe was going to oppose his journey through that portion of the country, and that a gallows had been erected at Te Kumi, to hang the native minister and all other whites that might be caught across the _aukati_ line. This news, which was about the most exciting item of intelligence the papers contained, was discussed with much gusto. The mere idea of war in the King Country--Alexandra in flames and a minister hanged--seemed to act like magic upon the heroic hearts of the cosmopolitan community at Karioi. This new phase of the native difficulty Turner and myself treated with apparent indifference, but in reality, coming as it did at that moment, we secretly deemed it of no small concern, as we had determined to leave Karioi on the following day, re-enter the King Country at its southern end, and come out somehow across the northern frontier. In the suggestive words of the schoolboy, we never "let on;" but, as a matter of fact, from the time we left Karioi until we crossed the _aukati_ line at Alexandra, five weeks afterwards, this significant item of intelligence was our _bête noire_, as during our progress northward we could never tell from day to day what difficulties we might run into with the natives by reason of the Hursthouse-Mahuki episode. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 52: Te Whiti and Tohu, the Maori prophets, were captured in 1882, at the instance of the Government, by the armed constabulary at the native settlement of Parihaka, for inciting their followers to commit acts of lawlessness against the European settlers.] CHAPTER XXII. FOREST COUNTRY. The start from Karioi--On the track--Te Wheu maps the country--The primeval solitude--Terangakaika Forest--The flora--Difficulties of travel--The lakes--Birds--Pakihi--Mangawhero River--Gigantic vines--Fallen trees--Dead forest giants--Mangatotara and Mangatuku Rivers--A "Slough of Despond"--Dismal Swamp. We were invited to stay as long as we liked at Karioi, but as we were anxious, as the weather was breaking, to push forward as soon as possible, we had to content ourselves with two days' rest, and on the morning of the 24th of April we again set out. Having examined all the principal natural features of the country for over 200 miles northward of this point, I determined to traverse the plains to the southward of Ruapehu, and then pass through the great forest to the westward of that mountain, in order to reach the Manganui-a-te-Ao River near to its junction with the Whanganui, and afterwards proceed northward through the King Country, by the best route we could find. We had heard from the Maoris that there was an unfrequented native track, leading somewhere in the direction of the Manganui-a-te-Ao River, through the region we were going to explore, but it was at all times difficult to travel, and still more difficult to find, unless by those well acquainted with the country. We were told that it led over high mountains and steep hills, and across rivers and boggy creeks innumerable. With these difficulties ahead, we endeavoured to secure the services of a native guide to accompany us as far as Ruakaka, the Maori settlement on the Manganui-a-te-Ao, but no one among the many natives we treated with was willing to make the journey; all excusing themselves upon the plea that they did not like to undertake the responsibility of introducing Europeans into the country. At last, after considerable parleying, a native, named Te Wheu, agreed to put us on to the track for a consideration, so we set out without delay. As it was clear that we should have to traverse the great forest on foot, and have much difficult travelling, we abandoned our sumpter-horse at Karioi, together with our gun, which, up to this time, had been of little service, and reducing our camp equipage to the lowest, packed our horses with the tent and blankets, and carried just sufficient provisions to last us for three days, by which time we hoped to reach Ruakaka. We picked up our guide Te Wheu at the Whakahi _kainga_, and took a westerly course across the Murimotu Plains, which extended, in the form of a well-grassed tract of country, as far as the southern base of Ruapehu, and beyond which a thick, and apparently impenetrable, forest rose, in the form of a barrier of varied and beautiful vegetation. Near to the southern end of the great mountain we passed the Maori settlement of Ohinepu, situated on a slope, with low mounds on its western side, on which were several tombs. We crossed the Waitaki Creek, flowing southerly from the mountain, and near to a native _kainga_, situated on a rock-bound hill, beneath which the Mangaehu stream flowed like a moat. From this point, after passing a swamp, we soon hit the so-called track, which would have been impossible to find without native assistance, hidden as the entrance to it was away in the winding of the dense forest. Here the colossal trees rose up on every side, a thick undergrowth of the most varied shrubs hedged us in wherever we turned, and coiling roots of trees, and black, swampy mud, with here and there a blazed tree, was the only indication of our course. To ride through this was impossible, and we therefore had to dismount and lead our horses. Te Wheu accompanied us to the summit of a densely-wooded hill, which rose 500 feet above the plain we had recently left. Before leaving us, however, we induced him to sketch out roughly, on the ground, the lay of the country we were about to traverse, when he gave us the names and directions of the principal rivers and creeks we should have to cross. He then told us that as he was known at Ruakaka we might mention his name to the natives, but that he could not guarantee our safety, as the Maoris of that part were true Hauhaus, and objected to _pakehas_ going into their territory. As soon as Te Wheu had disappeared on his homeward track we bent on our way through the great primeval solitude. We had been so much out in the open country hitherto, that the scenery of the forest seemed at first like a pleasant change, but this idea was completely altered after a journey through it of seventy miles. The Terangakaika Forest, which extends from the western slope of Ruapehu, forms part of the wide expanse of bush country which stretches into the valley of the Whanganui, and thence, westerly, to Taranaki. It grows to within 1000 feet or so of the snow-line of the great mountain, and covers nearly the whole of its western side, as well as the wide plateau near this portion of its base. When we had got well on our way, we found this enormous wilderness spreading itself out over a perfect network of broken, rugged ranges, which in many places appeared to have been hurled about by the terrific throes of an earthquake. The soil was everywhere of the richest description, and many of the colossal trees averaged from thirty to forty feet in circumference at the base, and towered above us to a height of considerably over 100 feet, forming a grand canopy of foliage, above and beyond which nothing could be seen but the blue of the sky and the golden rays of sunlight as they lit up the bright-green tints of the splendid vegetation. Among the largest trees was the _towai_, which here attained to a larger growth than any we had previously seen, its enormous branches supporting a canopy of small, shining, green leaves, giving it a very beautiful appearance. Next to the _towai_ in size was the _rimu_, its pendulous branches making it everywhere a conspicuous and attractive feature, but it is worthy of remark that where on the volcanic soil, formed by the decomposition of rocks of that kind, the _towai_ attained to its largest size, we found that the _rimu_ grew to larger proportions on the marly soil we afterwards met with as we approached the valley of the Whanganui. It was also in the latter locality that the _rata_ likewise attained to its most colossal proportions; many of these parasitical giants clasping the enormous _rimus_ in a death-like struggle for existence. Besides these grand representatives of the vegetable world, which formed by far the greater part of the forest growth, we also found many noble specimens of the _hinau_, the _tawa_, the _miro_, and _matai_, the berries of the three former trees being scattered over many parts of our track in enormous quantities. In fact, almost all the principal trees peculiar to the forests of the North Island here flourished in wonderful luxuriance, together with an extensive variety of shrubs and ferns, while mosses, lichens, and trailing vines clothed the tall trees to the topmost branches in gay festoons of vegetation, which presented the brightest and most variegated hues. With all these marvellous creations of the vegetable world around us, we soon, however, found that travelling through the great forest wilderness was both fatiguing and difficult. There was not 100 yards of level ground, and the native track, what little there was of it, led over steep precipitous ridges, from 200 to 400 feet in height, which were constantly ascending and descending in a way which rendered our progress not only slow, but difficult and tedious. The steep ascents, up which we had to drag our animals at every turn, were as slippery as glass with the dank humidity of the surrounding vegetation, and were encumbered with the gnarled roots of trees in every direction, while the descents were in many places so precipitous that it was impossible for us to lead our horses without the risk of them rolling over on us, so we were compelled to let them go their own way down, when they would, owing to the slippery nature of the soil, slide down on their haunches and never stop until they were pulled up by a boggy creek below. These creeks, filled with thick, black mud, impeded our progress at every descent, and struck terror into our animals, so that we would often have to flog them across, when their struggles to climb the slippery ascents on the opposite side fatigued them fearfully. It was not as if we had only to encounter these difficulties now and again, but they presented themselves in the most aggravated forms at every few hundred yards of our journey, from morning until night, and for day after day. Thus, amid solitude and shade, we pursued our onward way, now plunging into the deep and gloomy chasms of the mountains, and anon rising to the opposite ascent, till the distant openings in the forest, restoring the welcome sunlight, revealed mountain and valley yet to be traversed. Our first day's journey brought us to two lakes, which Te Wheu told us we would find somewhere along our track, and which would serve as our first camping-place. A little before dusk we came suddenly out of the forest into a small, circular, open flat, fringed with _toetoe_, and covered with a luxuriant growth of native grass. On our left, a grassy ridge rose in a semicircle, and all around the open space the trees rose one above the other in the most attractive way, while a variety of shrubs dispersed about in the most picturesque order, made the place appear like a perfect garden. Right in the very centre of the natural _parterre_ was Rangitauaiti, a beautiful lake of a complete circular form, and the water of which, looking like a polished mirror, was of the deepest blue. Beyond this flat, the native name of which was Rangitanua, and separated only by a low ridge crowned with a luxuriant growth of vegetation, was another open space, in the centre of which was Rangitauanui, an oval-shaped lake larger than the former, but in which the water was of the same limpid blue. The trees on the further side rose in a dense forest growth, and as they came close down to the water, they were reflected in the depths below with grand and beautiful effect. In fact, the whole surroundings of these lakes appeared so attractive after our long journey through the forest, that we seemed to have got into a quiet corner of paradise. We remained here the following day, as much to rest ourselves as our horses, and we enjoyed the quiet romance of the place immensely. The primeval region was a perfect elysium for birds of all kinds, and at daylight the forest was alive with their warblings, and with the soft note of the _tui_ came the harsh screech of the _kaka_; flocks of pigeons circled about the tree-tops, and gaily-plumed parrots winged in a rapid flight through the air. One of the latter birds, which we found dead, had a green body and a light green breast, with a dark crimson patch on the head, and a small patch under the eye of the same colour. This was the first bird of the kind I had seen in New Zealand, and it resembled very much one of the green mountain-parrots of Australia. When we left our camp at Rangitanua it was in the hope that we should be able to reach the Manganui-a-te-Ao by nightfall, but in this calculation we were greatly out. We passed round the western end of Lake Rangitauanui and entered a boggy, densely-wooded country, where the trees, especially the _rimu_, were larger and more gigantic in proportions than any we had yet seen. The dense forest here literally rained with moisture, and, as we had to lead our horses, we were at places compelled to plunge through swamps where the big roots of trees threatened to break our legs and those of our struggling animals. We crossed a branch of the Mangawhero, and towards sundown came to a small open flat called Pakihi, surrounded entirely by the forest, and where we found excellent feed for our horses. It had taken us seven hours of hard travelling to reach this spot, and during that time we had to cross no less than ten boggy creeks, besides other streams. The Mangawhero River ran round the western side of this small oasis, the _towai_-trees forming a conspicuous feature along the banks of the stream. We camped at Pakihi for the night, the stillness of the place being only broken now and again by the shrill note of the whistling duck. We struck camp at Pakihi early on the following day, but had some difficulty in crossing the Mangawhero, which we found to be a broad, rapid, boulder-strewn stream. The banks were very steep and slippery, and when we had our horses down on one side we had great difficulty in getting them up the other. As we got again into the thick of the forest the vegetation became denser, and the _rimu_-trees, seeming to increase in size, shot up for over a hundred feet as straight as gun-barrels. Where some of these giants of the forest had fallen across our track, we had often to cut a way round them for our horses, through the thick shrub and tangled vines, the latter of which impeded our progress at every turn, by tripping us up, and winding round the legs and necks of our animals like treacherous snares. The enormous _rata_-vines had been very troublesome up to this point, but now we had to do battle not only against them, but against the supple-jacks, which we found growing everywhere in a perfect network of snakelike coils on the soft, marly soil of the country we were now in. It was nothing to have a supple-jack round the neck and a _rata_-vine round the legs at the same time, while our horses would often get so entangled that they would refuse to move until we had cut them a clear passage out of their difficulties. In many instances, owing to surrounding obstacles, there was no alternative but to make them leap over the fallen trees in our way, and when not able to do this, the animals would jump on to them and leap down like dogs. Indeed, the tricks that they had to go through to get over these and other impediments rendered them almost as clever as circus-horses. Another frequent feature we noticed was that where the great trees had apparently been lying for some time, the seeds of other trees had fallen upon them, and, germinating into life, had sent their roots down into the very heart of these decaying vegetable monsters. In this way it was no uncommon sight to see three or four different species of large trees living and flourishing upon the dead trunks of these forest giants. We crossed the Mangatotara River twice, and after passing through a very rough and broken portion of the great wilderness, we fell in with another river, called the Mangatuku, and which we had to cross three times in its winding course. Both of these streams appeared to drain a large area of country, and so dense was the vegetation along their banks that it was only here and there that a ray of sunlight shot through the thick canopy of green upon them. During this portion of our journey we came across a complete network of tracks made by herds of wild cattle, and which led us about to all points of the compass, until we found it impossible to make out in what direction we should shape our course. We climbed a tree on the summit of a high ridge, but we could see nothing but the snowy summit of Ruapehu in the distance, while all around us, in every direction, was an apparently endless expanse of forest. From this point the country began to fall rapidly, and it was evident that we were descending into the valley of the Whanganui. After nine hours of incessant travelling, from the time we left our camp in the morning, we had crossed no less than thirty boggy creeks, besides other streams, and now that dusk had overtaken us, we found it impossible to proceed any further. We were now in the midst of a swampy portion of the forest, which seemed like a veritable "Slough of Despond," and which, judging from the way the ground had been rooted up in every direction, appeared to be a kind of wild-pig elysium. Throughout the whole distance we had come, the country had been grubbed up by these animals, many of which we saw of great size, and apparently of true wild-boar ferocity. We were compelled to pitch camp in this uninviting spot, our horses faring badly, as there was little or no food for them beyond what they could get from the trees and shrubs. This was one of the most dreary places in which we had camped during our journey. The night was dark and wet, the colossal trees rose like spectres around us, the enormous vines that twisted and twirled about them like coils of vipers, were covered with grey moss, which hung in dank festoons often over two feet in length, like enormous spider-webs, and as the rain poured down from the branches above, the whole place looked as if it had been saturated with moisture for centuries. We cut down branches of the _nikau_, and made a tolerably good bed for ourselves after smoothing down the ground where the pigs had been rooting; and we named the place "Dismal Swamp" on account of the swampy nature of the country and the truly dismal character of the whole surroundings. This camp was situated at an altitude of 1700 feet above the level of the sea, or just 560 feet lower than our camp at the lakes. CHAPTER XXIII. RUAKAKA. The _wharangi_ plant--Enormous ravines--Ruakaka--Reception by the Hauhaus--The chief Pareoterangi--The parley--Hinepareoterangi--A repast--Rapid fall of country--The Manganui-a-te-Ao--Shooting the rapids--The natives--Religion--Hauhauism--Te Kooti's lament--A Hauhau hymn. We struck camp at Dismal Swamp at daybreak, and travelled on for many miles through the same character of country we had been traversing for the past five days. Before leaving us, at the entrance to the forest, Te Wheu had warned us not to allow our horses to eat a certain shrub, called by the natives "_wharangi_," which we found growing for many miles along our course, with broad, oval-shaped, light-green leaves. This plant, when eaten by horses or cattle, is said to produce stupefaction, followed by convulsions and death, the only known cure being instant bleeding from the ears. Our own animals were now ready to eat anything, and made desperate efforts to devour the foliage of the trees, and, as we went along, we had great difficulty in keeping them away from this poisonous shrub, which they would devour greedily. During this journey the boggy creeks and fallen trees became more troublesome than before, and the hills steeper and more difficult to climb. We passed along one ridge, with enormous ravines below, some of which were of circular shape, and in appearance not unlike extinct craters, while deep down in their depths, all around their sides, and up to their very topmost ridges, nothing was to be seen but a luxuriant growth of the most varied and beautiful vegetation. Here, too, the geological character of the country changed, the trachytic rocks giving place to a sandstone formation, covered with a stratum of thick, marly earth, which was so slippery in places that we could hardly manage to get along. During the greater part of the morning the rain had been pouring down in torrents, and what with the swollen condition of the creeks, the slippery nature of the soil, and the starved condition of our horses, our prospects of ever reaching Ruakaka seemed to be hopeless. At last, about two o'clock in the afternoon, we hailed with delight a break in the forest, and we came suddenly into a hilly region, where the tall fern grew higher than our horses' heads. After travelling a considerable distance through this country, we mounted to the top of a high hill, when we beheld, 200 feet beneath us, a fine, open valley, sunk like a pit, as it were, in the heart of a mountainous region, where enormous forests stretched away as far as the eye could reach on every side. Right down the centre of the valley, as far as we could see, we could trace the winding course of the Manganui-a-te-Ao, marked by precipitous cliffs of grey rock, which rose perpendicularly from the waters of the river to a height of 300 feet, while above these, again, on the further side of the stream, were terraces of rounded hills, backed by conical mountains, which mounted, one above the other, to a height of 3000 or 4000 feet, covered from base to summits with a thick mantle of luxuriant vegetation. On the side where we had emerged from the forest the valley was bounded by round-topped, fern-clad hills and flat, terrace-like formations that descended, in the form of gigantic steps, into the plain below, where the _whares_ and cultivations of the natives, stretching for miles along the course of the stream, appeared dotted about in the most picturesque way. Taken altogether, the whole place had a singularly wild appearance as we gazed upon it, and now that we could see everything from our point of vantage without being seen, we wondered what kind of a welcome we should meet with from the natives. We led our horses down the steep, slippery track into the valley, and as we were now seen by some of the Maoris, there were loud shouts that _pakehas_ had arrived, and the natives came out of the _whares_ and awaited our approach in front of the _wharepuni_. We could see at a glance that the words of Te Wheu were correct, and that the natives, so far as we could discern by outward signs, were veritable Hauhaus, alike in dress and bearing, while both men and women had a singularly wild and even savage appearance when compared with all other tribes I had seen in different parts of the country. It was likewise clear that they did not welcome us at first with any demonstrations of cordiality, and upon Turner inquiring for the chief, they replied that he was away at a wild-pig hunt, and that we must wait till he came. The natives then squatted around us, and scanned us narrowly, while we looked on with an air of apparent indifference. In the meanwhile a messenger had been despatched for the chief, whose name, we now learned, was Te Pareoterangi, and after a short delay he appeared before us, with half a dozen wild-looking natives, carrying a double-barrelled gun over his shoulder. He was a man below medium height, but of singularly massive build, broad-chested and broad-shouldered, with a well-formed head, and singularly well-moulded features. Indeed, his heavily-knit frame, intelligent air, and almost oriental cast of countenance made him stand out in marked contrast to the other natives, who were, for the most part, unlike the generality of their race, remarkable for their diminutive stature and ungainly appearance. When Te Pareoterangi came up, he squatted down with a sullen air, without going through any form of salutation, and then, after a pause, asked us what we had come for, and upon Turner telling him that he had brought the _pakeha_, who was travelling for pleasure, a titter ran round the circle, for, if we did not look it, we felt half-starved, we were drenched to the skin, and covered from head to foot with mud, and the chief, evidently realizing all the unpleasant features of our position, naively remarked, "How can the _pakeha_ travel for pleasure through such a forest as you have come?" At which an old tattooed savage observed, "Their horses are only rats; how did they get here? These _pakehas_ have singular ways." This was said with a sinister smile from the old man, and in anything but a complimentary tone. Many other questions were put to us, and the parleying kept on, by fits and starts, for a good half-hour, during which time the natives displayed no token of friendship, the only manifestations we received in this respect being from the dogs and pigs, the latter even going so far as to scratch their backs against our legs. [Illustration: RUAKAKA. _Page 272._] At last an old woman, who had been watching the proceedings keenly, and whose appearance reminded me of one of the witches in "Macbeth," suddenly rose, and stepping with an excited air into the middle of the circle, waved her bare right arm round her head, and shouted at the top of her voice, "_Haeremai! Haeremai! Haeremai!_"[53] And then turning to the natives, in an equally excited way, said, "The _pakehas_ have been following up the rivers of great names, and have come to our homes; they are hungry, and we must give them food." The words of this weird dame, whom we afterwards found was the chieftainess Hinepareoterangi, and mother of the chief of the _hapu_, acted like magic upon the natives, who at once took charge of our horses, while the women hastened to prepare a meal, old Hinepareoterangi opening the feast by presenting us with some of the finest apples I had ever tasted.[54] In a short time we were invited into the _wharepuni_, and a big tin dish of potatoes and pork was set before us, the old chieftainess remarking, "You are now in a 'Tongariro country,' and must not look for such delicacies as bread." As we had only had two meals for the past two days, and those of the most visionary description, we found this repast most acceptable. The pork, which had been preserved by being rendered down in its own fat, was delicious, while the potatoes were of the finest kind. Owing to the heavy rain and the flooded state of the Manganui-a-te-Ao, we were compelled to wait at Ruakaka for two days, during which time we visited many parts of the district. I found that the altitude of Ruakaka was 800 feet above the level of the sea, and it is worthy of remark, as showing the rapid fall of the country in this direction, that, in order to reach this place from the great central table-land where we had at first entered the forest, we had descended by the circuitous way we had come no less than 1600 feet in about forty miles. These figures will give some idea of the swift current of the Manganui-a-te-Ao, which, taking its rise near the north-western side of Ruapehu, cuts its way through a mountainous country in a deep, rock-bound channel, and receives the waters of innumerable tributaries along its entire course. The volume of water poured down by this impetuous stream, especially in the rainy season, and during the melting of the snows of Ruapehu, is something prodigious, while I believe the rapidity of its current is unequalled by any other river in New Zealand. Along its entire length its rocky bed is strewn with large boulders and masses of rock of colossal size, while its precipitous cliffs, crowned with towering, forest-clad mountains, impart to it a singularly grand and wild appearance. Besides its rapid course, it is remarkable for its windings and dangerous rapids. We found that the river was known by three native names--viz. Manganui-a-te-Ao, or "great river of light;" Te Waitahupara, and Te Wairoahakamanamana-a-Rongowaitahanui, or "the river of ever-dancing waters and steep, echoing cliffs"--while the Whanganui, into which it fell, was not only known by the latter name, but likewise as Te Wainui-a-Tarawera, or the "great waters of Tarawera." The two rivers form the principal means of communication for the natives of Ruakaka with the outer world. From the Manganui-a-te-Ao they travel in canoes to the Whanganui, and thence southward to the coast. The distance is accomplished in a few days, owing to the rapid current, but the journey up stream often takes over a month. The natives are experienced "canoemen," as they must be in order to navigate their frail canoes over the many rapids and winding turns that mark the whole course of the river, as well as that of the Whanganui. At most of the rapids the water shoots over enormous boulders and between narrow channels, and the canoes, guided by poles, are carried over the treacherous places with wonderful dexterity. As may well be imagined, the frail craft often gets upset, but the natives, who are expert swimmers, right them again with little difficulty. During our stay at Ruakaka we were guests of Pareoterangi and his family, which consisted of the old chieftainess, Hinepareoterangi, or the "woman of the heavenly crest," as her name implied; Ani, wife of Pareoterangi, a tall, gaunt woman with blunt features, and who wore her hair in short, thick ringlets about her head; Te Ahi, her daughter; and Toma, the tattooed savage who had called our horses "rats." We took up our quarters in the _wharepuni_ with these people, but the dismal, and, I may say, dirty, tenement was constantly filled with the natives, who kept continually dropping in to chat or to have a look at us. In this way we had a good opportunity of studying the manners and customs of the Hauhaus of Ruakaka, and, all things considered, they seemed to be following about the same mode of life as they must have done before the arrival of Cook, their manners still presenting that mixture of rude freedom and simplicity suggestive of the infancy of society, before art had taught men to restrain the sentiments of their nature, or to disguise the original features of their character. Shut up in the midst of their forest wilderness, and having little or no connection with the outer world, they seemed to know nothing or to care for nothing beyond their own day-to-day existence. We learned that since time immemorial this wild and secluded valley had been a place of settlement for different _hapus_ of the tribes inhabiting the region of the Whanganui River, and that those at present dwelling there were the Ngatihau, Ngatiapa, Ngatimaringi, Ngatitamakana, Ngatiatamira, Ngatiruakopiri, Ngatiikewaia, and Ngatitara. We were informed that their common ancestor was Uenuku, and that their forefathers came from Hawaiki in the _Tainui_, _Arawa_, and _Aotea_ canoes. In former times the whole valley of the Manganui-a-te-Ao was fortified with formidable _pas_, so that it was impossible for an enemy to get up the river. During the troubled times of the great war with the Europeans Ruakaka was always considered as a safe meeting-place for the Hauhau tribes of this part of the country, since the _pakehas_ did not know of its existence; and even if they had, as the natives reasonably remarked, they would never have attempted to penetrate into its fastnesses with any prospect of returning alive. I was anxious to test the religious principles of our Hauhau friends, just to see whether a ray of Christianity was to be found in this wild valley, and during an evening sitting, when the _wharepuni_ was heated like a furnace, and all the motley crowd were assembled together, I got Turner to sound the old tattooed man, who had been a noted fighting-chief during the war, upon the present and upon the hereafter. This grim, antiquated warrior would sit and listen for hours to everything that was said, but he would never venture a remark. Now and again a diabolically sinister smile would pass over his blue-lined countenance, and he would mutter a word with a puff of smoke, but beyond this he was silent. When, however, the question as to his religious scruples was put straight to him, he spoke out frankly, and said, with an air of singular _naïveté,_ "At one time I thought there were two saints in the island--Tawhiao and Te Whiti--and I waited a long time to see if they would be taken up to heaven in a chariot of fire, but I have waited so long that I am tired, and now I think that there are no saints in heaven or on earth." Old Hinepareoterangi, who was always a good talker, and displayed at all times a facetious spirit, laughed heartily at the admission of the old man, and then, looking us full in the face, she exclaimed in her wild, weird way, "We believe in nothing here, and get fat on pork and potatoes." This brought down roars of laughter from the assembled Hauhaus, and we dropped the religious question. It was, in fact, very clear that these natives were as deeply wrapped in the darkness of heathenism as were their forefathers centuries ago, and beyond a superstitious species of Hauhauism, no germ of religious teaching appeared to have found its way into their breasts. They were, however, always ready to sing Hauhau chants to the glorification of Te Whiti and Te Kooti, who appeared to be the presiding deities of these wild tribes. At night, when the wind and rain raged without, and the river rushed through its rock-bound channel with a noise like thunder, both men and women would chant these wild refrains in droning, melancholy notes, but in perfect harmony, the airs in most cases being exceedingly pretty and touching. The two following chants were sung to us by Te Pareoterangi and other natives in chorus, and were taken down in Maori verbatim by Turner. I am indebted for their spirited translation to the able pen of Mr. C.O. Davis. TE KOOTI'S LAMENT. I stood alone awhile, then moving round I heard of Taranaki's doings. The rumours Reached me here, and then I raised My hand to Tamarura,[55] that deity Above. Ah me! 'twas on the third Of March that suffering came, For then, alas! Waerangahika[56] fell; And I was shipped on board a vessel, And borne along upon the ocean. We steer for Waikawa,[57] and then we bear Away to Ahuriri,[58] to thee, McLean.[59] Ah, now I'm seated on _St. Kilda's_[60] deck, And looking back to gaze upon the scene My tears like water freely flow; now Whanganui's[61] shore is seen, now Whangaroa,[62] Where mountain waves are raising up their crests Near Wharekauri.[63] O, my people, Rest ye at home; arise and look around, And northward look. The lightsome clouds Are lingering in the sky, and wafted hither Day by day, yes, from my distant home, Turanga, from which I now am separated, Separated now from those I love. O, my people! respect the queen's authority, That we may prosper even to the end. Suffice the former things thrown in our path As obstacles. Uphold the governor's laws To mitigate the deeds of Rura, who brought Upon us all our troubles. HAUHAU HYMN. Let us arise, O people!--the whole of us arise. Lo, Tohu and Te Whiti now have reached The pits of darkness--the house of Tangaroa,[64] And gateway of the spirit-world of Miru,[65] Where men are bound all seasons of the year. The offspring, too, of David they would bind. The bright and morning star, Peace, at the end Will come, and in the times of David Feelings of vindictiveness will cease. 'Tis not from thee; it is from Moses And the Prophets--from Jesus Christ And His Apostles, that lines of demarcation Were set up to shield thee from man's wrath. The termination comes by thee, O Tohu! And while it wears a pleasing aspect, I am lighted into day. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 53: _Haeremai_ is the usual cry of welcome with the Maoris.] [Footnote 54: When afterwards we asked the natives how it was they appeared to be mistrustful of us when we first arrived, they replied that they had always been suspicious of half-castes and _pakehas_, especially since the capture of Winiata by Barlow. That Te Takaru, the murderer of Moffat, came there sometimes, and they thought we were after him. They then related to us the circumstances of Moffat's death. It would appear that the murdered man, on his last journey, came to Ruakaka, and induced several of the natives to accompany him to the Tuhua country. Moffat, who had been driven from that district by the natives, had been warned not to enter it again; but, notwithstanding this caution, he determined to revisit it, in order to prospect for gold. The party left by one of the bush tracks, and when it had nearly reached its destination, Moffat was fired upon by a native from behind a tree, and mortally wounded in the back. At the same moment he fell from his horse, when another native jumped forward, and split his skull open with a tomahawk.] [Footnote 55: Tamarura--probably a supposed angel recognized by the Hauhau parties.] [Footnote 56: Waerangahika--one of the _pas_ at Poverty Bay, which was taken by our forces.] [Footnote 57: Waikawa--now known as Open Bay.] [Footnote 58: Ahuriri--the great Maori name of Hawke's Bay.] [Footnote 59: The late Sir Donald McLean, the Superintendent of the province of Hawke's Bay (Napier).] [Footnote 60: _St. Kilda_ was the name of the vessel in which Te Kooti was transported to the Chatham Islands.] [Footnote 61: Whanganui--name of a places on the Chatham Islands.] [Footnote 62: Whangaroa--name of a place on the Chatham Islands.] [Footnote 63: Wharekauri is the native name of the Chatham Islands.] [Footnote 64: The god of the sea, and guardian of fishes.] [Footnote 65: Supposed being armed with authority in Hades.] CHAPTER XXIV. NGATOKORUA PA. Departure from Ruakaka--A legend--Rough forest--Crossing the Manganui-a-te-Ao--Scenery of the river--Mount Towai--The plains in sight--Rapid rise in the country--Ruapehu from the west--The Waimarino plains--Arrival at the _pa_--The chief's family--A Hauhau chief--_Inter alia_--Pehi on the decay of the Maoris--A war-dance--The mere. We left Ruakaka with the best wishes of the natives, Te Pareoterangi riding out some distance with us to put us in the right direction. Our course now lay easterly up the valley of the Manganui-a-te-Ao, and for thirty miles through another portion of the dense forest by which we had come to reach the settlement, but by a route far more difficult to travel, according to the account given to us of the country by the natives, who informed us that we should have to cross the Manganui-a-te-Ao ten times at various points, besides other streams and innumerable creeks, before we could again reach the open country to the north of Ruapehu. The river was still so flooded that the natives earnestly advised us to remain, old Hinepareoterangi remarking, in her jocose way, "If when you are gone the skies open and the great rains descend, I will sit by the rushing waters and wait for your horses and saddles; you will make splendid food for the eels." Notwithstanding this grim joke of the chieftainess of the "heavenly crest," as the clouds were still gathering, and another flood might detain us a week or perhaps a month at Ruakaka, and possibly prevent us from ever reaching Alexandra by the course we had planned, we determined to make a desperate effort to push through. We therefore set out without delay, and crossed the Manganui-a-te-Ao for the first time about a mile below the settlement, at a very picturesque spot, but we had to descend nearly 100 feet to the crossing-place, beyond which a higher bend of the river appeared to be nearly 100 feet above us. After gaining the opposite side we mounted above the stream to a bold bluff, where once stood a _pa_ called Rotua, which was formerly one of the most formidable strongholds of the valley, and Te Pareoterangi, when he pointed it out, told us of an interesting legend connected with it. On one occasion in years gone by the _pa_ was occupied by two tribes, named respectively the Ngatitamakana and Ngatiatamire. Being at war with other tribes, on one stormy night they were suddenly surprised by the enemy under a noted chief named Tama Turaki, when, seeing all chance of escape hopeless, they made a rope of native flax, and letting themselves down the steep cliffs into the river, took up their position in a stronghold further down the stream called Pukeatua. When, on the following day, Tama Turaki found how the enemy had escaped, he followed them with his tribe down the river in canoes, but the Ngatitamakana and Ngatiatamire, being alive to his movements, conceived the bold idea of consigning their savage pursuer into eternity by one fell swoop. With this chivalrous aim in view, they hauled an enormous mass of rock to the edge of the cliff on which the _pa_ was situated, and below which the canoes of the enemy would pass, and just as they appeared underneath the precipice the rock was hurled from above, and with a thundering crash completely annihilated Tama Turaki and his band. This enormous mass of rock, which may still be seen in the river, is known to the natives as Parekura Huripari,[66] and is looked upon by them even unto this day with that singular display of superstitious veneration which forms one of the most marked characteristics of the Maori race. When Te Pareoterangi left us, which was about two miles out of the settlement, he told us that we had a dangerous and difficult road to go, and that it would be necessary to make all speed, lest the flood should overtake us, and in that event he added, with true Maori lightheartedness, "If the river don't land you again at Ruakaka you may have to eat your horses." At the fourth crossing-place we had already mounted to an altitude of 1200 feet, but to get to this point we had traversed a hilly, broken region, covered in every direction with a dense growth of _rimu_-trees. Throughout this portion of the country, not only did the _rata_-vines coil about the giants of the forest in every direction, but the "supplejacks" kept pulling us up at every turn, while the rain, now descending in torrents, rendered the ground and enormous roots of the trees which formed a complete network beneath our feet, as slippery as glass. Although we could only lead our horses through the forest, it was necessary to ride them whenever we came to the crossing-places of the Manganui-a-te-Ao, since at these points the water was in most places over their backs, and often nearly over their heads, when they got into the big holes that everywhere dotted the rugged channel of the river. At the sixth crossing-place we had mounted to an altitude of 1460 feet, and here we were nearly coming to grief. The course across the river was, like all other places, strewn in every direction with enormous masses of rock, and the water came sweeping swiftly round a great bend, where the cliffs rose up like a stupendous wall on each side. The river here was about 100 feet wide, and in order to get across, it was necessary for our horses to climb over a series of huge boulders, and then on to the top of a big rock with a flat top, from which they had to plunge off into a deep water-hole, with a rapid only a few feet distant on the lower side. Turner, on his plucky pony, took the first leap, and my own horse following, the snowy waters, fresh from the glaciers of Ruapehu, nearly swept us out of our saddles, and, for a moment, it seemed as if the ominous joke made by old Hinepareoterangi before our departure, were about to become true. At the seventh crossing-place the bed of the river was at an altitude of 1541 feet, and here, as usual, we had fresh difficulties to encounter. The masses of rock were of great size, and, while most of the larger impediments of this nature were of trachytic formation, I noticed several water-worn boulders, composed of a fossiliferous rock, containing particles of shells, but all of which were too broken to be easily recognizable. These boulders appeared to have been washed down by the river for some distance. All along the course of the Manganui-a-te-Ao the scenery was of the wildest description; the steep cliffs and mountains towering above us in the grandest confusion. In many places the colossal trees reached their broad branches over the precipices that bordered the stream, in a vivid canopy of green, while the foaming cascades beneath echoed with a roaring sound through the deep valleys as the blue, dancing waters swept onward in their precipitous course along the winding, rock-bound ravine that formed the channel of this remarkable river. Leaving the course of the river for a time, we made a wide _détour_ to the north, and passed along a range of rugged mountains which marked an altitude of 2900 feet above the level of the sea. Here the whole country was very broken, and it was nothing but one continuous ridge after ridge and gully after gully, while we had to take our horses along precipices where there was scarcely room for them to move along, especially where they had to round the trunks and roots of the stupendous _towai_-trees, which grew in wonderful luxuriance in this elevated region. Night fairly overtook us on the mountains at a point which marked an altitude of 3500 feet above the level of the sea. The rain poured down incessantly, and we could hear the river roaring in the distance somewhere beneath us, although we had not the remotest idea where we were. We named this elevated point "Mount Towai," on account of a magnificent tree of that species which grew close to the spot where we pitched our tent. We were up by the first streak of dawn, and, climbing a tree that stretched out its trunk over the precipitous sides of Mount Towai, looked anxiously to see whether we could get a glimpse of the open plains, which we knew to be somewhere in the east. Beneath us wound the deep ravines, covered with their primeval forests, and above the hills in the distance we got a glance at a patch of open country through the dense foliage. This seemed to us like a bright oasis, which had at last come to break the dull monotony of the forest wilderness. We struck camp at once, and descending 500 feet by a steep and slippery incline, we gained the margin of the Manganui-a-te-Ao, and crossed the winding stream for the ninth time, as it rolled down a deep gorge from its source in the regions of eternal snow, as rugged and as rapid as ever. Once on the opposite side, we climbed a steep ascent, and gained the broad, open table-land at an altitude of 2850 feet. Thus, to arrive at this elevation from Ruakaka, we had travelled over hills and mountains the whole way, and yet in a distance of about thirty miles the country had risen over 2000 feet from our point of departure, which stood at an altitude of 800 feet. Now that we had done eighty miles of forest travelling since we had left the Murimotu Plains to reach the valley of the Whanganui, and had spent eight days in the primeval wilderness, it is impossible to describe with what delight we hailed the grand open country before us. During our journey through the forest--that is to say, since we first entered it from the Murimotu Plains--the weather had been mostly wet, and even when the sun shone, the moisture kept dripping from the trees like a perpetual shower-bath, and the dank, heavy feeling of the air, caused by the endless vegetation through which we could never see a hundred yards ahead, produced in the long-run a feeling of intense weariness. Now, however, all nature looked radiant before us, and the colossal form of Ruapehu, rising close to us on our right, looked grander than ever. We now viewed the great mountain from the north-west, an aspect from which we had not beheld it before, and the forests on its sides were interspersed with patches of open country, while the snow since last we had beheld it had crept down almost to the base, and, mingling with the green of the vegetation, produced the most beautiful effect as the mists of morning rolled away beneath the glowing power of the sun. The fine grassy expanse covered with a thick coating of white frost we had now entered, we afterwards found was known to the natives as the Waimarino, from the name of the river running through it, and which had its source in Haurungatahi, a large, densely wooded mountain which we could see in the distance to our right, and which formed an attractive and beautiful object in the surrounding scenery. These plains immediately to the north-west of Ruapehu were the same we had seen in this direction some weeks before, when making the ascent of Tongariro. We had been told by the natives at Ruakaka that if we kept across the plains to the south-east for about ten miles in the direction of Mount Haurungatahi, we should reach Ngatokorua, the _pa_ of Pehi Hetau Turoa, one of the principal chiefs of the Whanganui tribes. We therefore directed our course towards this place, the plains as we rode along opening out into park-like expanses, fringed with dense forests on either side. When we arrived at the _pa_, early in the day, we were received by Pehi and his people with a true Maori welcome. One of the most remarkable features in connection with this place was that everything about it had a neat and tidy appearance, unlike all other settlements we had seen. It was situated at the foot of Mount Haurungatahi, whose steep sides, clothed with dense forests, towered up behind it. This mountain, we learned, was personified by the Maoris as the wife of Ruapehu. The view in every direction from the settlement was most enchanting, forest, plain, and mountain all combining to add variety to the surroundings. We were given comfortable quarters in the _wharepuni_ in which the chief's family dwelt, and which consisted of a spacious building constructed of _totara_, and spread about with clean white mats. We found Pehi's family to consist of Ngaruma, his wife, a pleasant woman with an almost Grecian cast of countenance, although a pure Maori; Te Wao, the chief's henchman, and his wife Ngawini; Turongoiti, with his wife Rauia; Rene, another native; and Hinekura, Rora, and Pureti, the chief's three daughters. We were invited by Pehi to remain as long as we liked, and the three days we sojourned with the old chief formed the most agreeable stage of our long journey. There was only one drawback, and that was that we had to sleep with thirteen others in the _wharepuni_, and as there were always two charcoal fires kept burning, the heat was at times--especially during the first part of the night--intolerable, the thermometer often reaching as high as 100° Fahr., while outside it indicated from four to six degrees below freezing-point. Unfortunately, it was always dark by six o'clock in the evening, when the _wharepuni_ was closely fastened up, and we would have to remain twelve hours in the stifling atmosphere until daylight. At the first glance it struck me that Pehi Hetau Turoa looked and walked a chief. Taken altogether, he was the finest specimen of his race I had ever seen. In age he appeared to be sixty, or thereabouts, but his stature was that of a well-conditioned athlete. He stood about six feet three, as upright as a dart, big-boned and muscular, and in his younger days he had the reputation of being one of the strongest men of his time. His well-formed features were cast in the true Maori mould, and he had a singularly massive and well-shaped head. Over his closely clipped beard hung a thick moustache, and above this, again, the blue tattooed lines wound round his nostrils, then over his face, and ended in small circles over his brows. During the war Pehi had been a noted Hauhau leader, but, unlike most of the warriors of his race I had met with, he, as if anxious to preserve his military renown, moved about with the air of a well-drilled soldier, while he possessed at all times and in all his actions that genial yet dignified tone of manner so characteristic of the Maori of the old school. Pehi was at all times a host in himself, and being a man of singularly original and witty train of thought, his conversation was very amusing. Of an evening, when the _wharepuni_ was closed in, the whole _hapu_ would assemble, and squatting down on their mats round the small charcoal fire, the old chief would relate the most singular tales, and ask the most extraordinary questions. He recounted to us some of his experiences in the Maori war, and then asked what nation was at present at war with England? When informed that we were at that time having a brush with Egypt, he inquired if that was not the place where Christ was crucified, and when told that that incident occurred in a neighbouring country, he ejaculated, "Ah, I know I was not far out; a mile or two make no difference in a big event like that." He next inquired what manner of men the Egyptians were, and whether they danced the _haka_; and when I stated that the Egyptian dancing-girls went through gyrations very similar to those of their dark sisters at the antipodes, he replied, "Then if they dance the _haka_ we must be descended from them. I believe the Maoris are one of the lost tribes of Israel." He asked many questions about England, and the descriptions of London especially amused him, and when told that they had a railway there running underground, he expressed great surprise, and asked how it was that the _taniwha_ we called the devil didn't object to underground railways. He appeared very anxious to learn all about the government of England, and when I had given him a _résumé_ of parliamentary procedure, he pointed towards Te Wao, his henchman, who, strange to say for a Maori, was perfectly bald, and demanded, in a serio-comic way, whether bald-headed men were allowed to sit in the British Parliament, and when I pointed out that a bald-headed man enjoyed equal parliamentary privileges with one having his head covered with hair, he replied that the Maoris always looked with suspicion on bald-headed men. All joined in the laugh at this remark, with the exception of Pehi, who always looked particularly fierce and grim when he cracked his jokes or hurled his shafts of satire. Although Pehi was singularly jocund for a man of his age, yet when a serious question was put to him he knew how to answer it in a clear and deliberate way; and when I got Turner to induce the _rangatira_ to give the apparent reason for the rapid decay of his race, he spoke thus: "In former times we lived differently; each tribe had its territory. We lived in _pas_ placed high upon the mountains. The men looked to war as their only occupation, and the women and the young people cultivated the fields. We were a strong and a healthy people then. When the _pakeha_ came, everything began to die away, even the natural animals of the country. Formerly, when we went into a forest and stood under a tree, we could not hear ourselves speak for the noise of the birds; every tree was full of them. Then we had pigeons and everything in plenty; now many of the birds have died out. A few years ago there was a big green parrot in these forests; now it is gone, and lots of other things have gradually faded away. In those times the fields were well tilled, there was always plenty of provisions, and we wore few clothes, only our own mats of feathers. Then the missionaries came and took our children from the fields, and taught them to sing hymns; they changed their minds, and the fields were untilled. The children came home and quoted Gospel on an empty stomach. Then came the war between the _pakeha_ and the Maori that split up our homes, and made one tribe fight against another; and after the war came the _pakeha_ settlers, who took our lands, taught us to drink, and to smoke, and made us wear clothes that brought on disease. What race," said the old chief, "could stand against that. The Maori," he continued, "is passing away like the _kiwi_, the _tui_, and many other things, and by-and-by they will disappear just as the leaves of the trees, and nothing will remain to tell of them but the names of their mountains and their rivers." [Illustration: A CHIEF ARMED WITH "MERE" AND "HUATA."] One morning, when we were sunning ourselves in front of the _wharepuni_, I asked Pehi how the Maoris fought in battle. Without a moment's hesitation he jumped up from where he had been seated, and, casting aside his cape and appearing in nothing but a cloth around his loins, entered a small _whare_, and emerged an instant afterwards with a _huata_, or short spear, beautifully carved at the top to represent a grotesque human head, from the mouth of which the tongue protruded about three inches in the form of a spear-blade, while just below the head was a long tuft of white dog's-hair bound with flax stained a bright red. The shaft of the implement, made of _totara_ wood, and highly polished, was rounded at the top part, but widened out in an oval form with sharp, bevelled edges towards the bottom end. Flourishing this weapon about in the wildest way, jumping into the air, making the most hideous grimaces, thrusting out his tongue, and turning up his eyes till nothing but the whites were visible, the old warrior yelled and danced about like a madman, now throwing up his _huata_ in the air and catching it again, now sweeping it round in a way that seemed to carry death in every stroke, the savage, tattooed countenance of the old _rangatira_ working the while in a most diabolical fashion. He made terrific and frantic cuts at each of our heads, but so dexterous was he in the manipulation of his weapon that he arrested it in every instance when within the eighth of an inch of our skulls--which he jocosely told us were not thick enough to hurt the _huata_. [Illustration: A "MERE."] When questioned as to the use of the _mere_, he informed us that it was seldom used in war, except by the chiefs, and that it was more an emblem of rank which was handed down as an heirloom in a tribe. The greenstone _mere_ was so highly prized that to secure one in battle appeared to be considered as an act of glory, just as the taking of a stand of colours might be with us. The _mere_ was, however, always considered as a formidable weapon in fight, as a blow from it, if properly dealt, would break any bone in a man's body. When using it, it was customary to aim at the head. It was also used by the chiefs to cleave the skulls of the captured. He told us that the Maoris had never accustomed themselves to the use of the bow and arrow, and that, when fighting, they depended principally upon the _huata_ and other spears, until the Europeans taught them the use of fire-arms. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 66: Literally, the battle-ground where the rock was thrown.] CHAPTER XXV. HOT SPRINGS OF TONGARIRO. Departure from Ngatokorua--Okahakura Plains--Tongariro from the north--Source of the Whanganui--The hot springs--A marvellous sanatorium--Crater of Ketetahi--Te Perore--A strategic position--Kuwharua--Maori cakes--A grand region--Site for a public park. We left Ngatokorua with a pressing invitation to return again, and took an easterly course across the Waimarino Plains, in the direction of Tongariro, with the view of tracing up the source of the Whanganui River, which, we had learned from the natives, rose somewhere in the northern side of the volcano, and after that I had determined to examine the tapued springs and the crater of Ketetahi, which were situated a short distance further to the east on the same mountain. The whole country we passed through to reach Tongariro consisted of a series of magnificent plains, richly grassed, surrounded for the most part by forest, and dotted here and there with patches of bush that grew in the centre of the plains and bordered many of the streams. We crossed the Mangahuia and Whakapapa rivers, both swift streams, flowing in a north-westerly direction to join the Upper Whanganui. Beyond the Waimarino Plains was an equally attractive stretch of country of the same description, known as Okahakura, and through the centre of which wound the Mangatepopo River, likewise a tributary of the Whanganui. When we ascended the hills and rugged spurs which surrounded the great volcano of Tongariro on the north, we found them to be composed mostly of scoria and trachytic rock, but covered for a long distance up their sides with a thick vegetation of native grasses and dwarf shrubs. The tops of the larger spurs were, however, very rugged and barren, while the depression round the lip of the crater, which we had observed when at the summit of the great cone, was distinctly visible, and naturally made the mountain appear less elevated on this than on its southern side. The splendid cone was, however, now covered with a white canopy of snow almost to its base, while the summit here and there was tinged of a bright yellow with deposits of sulphur crystals, and as its white coil of steam floated over its gracefully pointed top the effect was beautiful in the extreme. On one of the principal spurs to the north-west of the great cone we found the source of the Whanganui bursting out through a narrow rocky gorge at an altitude of 3700 feet above the level of the sea, the water evidently arising from mountain springs, and at certain times from the melting of the snows. The river from this point runs rapidly down the winding gorges of the mountains, and, after receiving in its course the waters of numerous other streams, winds across the Okahakura Plains, and afterwards enters the dense forests of the Tuhua, and then taking a bold sweep to the north-west receives the waters of the Ongaruhe and numerous other streams, as it flows in its long course to join the sea in the south. The Whanganui, which, after the Waikato, forms the most important river of the North Island, receives the whole of the western watershed of the great central table-land, besides that of other divisions of the country. Leaving the source of the Whanganui, we took an easterly direction, and, after a long climb through the thick shrubs and boulder-strewn sides of the mountain, arrived at the great _solfatara_, the steam from which, constantly arising in the form of a dense white cloud, forms a conspicuous feature when looking towards Tongariro from the north. We ascended to an altitude of 5600 feet on to the spur where the renowned chief Te Heuheu is said to be buried, and on the summit of which were the small blue lakes we had seen from the top of the great cone, and which were now surrounded by their winter mantle of snow. Lower down on the same spur, at an altitude of 4900 feet, we found the hot springs roaring beneath us, deep down in a semicircular gorge, which was strewn about in every direction with huge boulders, as if a great flood of water had recently passed through it. We got with some difficulty down the rugged sides of this strange chasm, and soon stood in the centre of a region where boiling springs burst from the earth, where jets of steam shrieked and hissed from innumerable fissures, where enormous boiling mud-holes bubbled like heated cauldrons, and where the hot, steaming soil, covered in every direction with yellow crystals of sulphur, and glistening silicious deposits, quaked beneath our feet, as if anxious to swallow us up, so that we had to pick our way cautiously amid clouds of steam and sulphurous fumes for fear of coming to an untimely and unpleasant end. In many places fountains of hot water shot high into the air. Some of the warm springs were of a dark coffee-colour, caused apparently by the admixture of iron; others were yellow with excess of sulphur; others white with alum; while not a few were of the purest blue. Taken altogether, this weird place had an unpleasant, pandemonium-like air about it, while the noise of the hissing steam-jets was so great, as they burst with terrific force from their rocky vents, that it was impossible to hear oneself speak when near to them. Indeed, a dozen or so of railway engines letting off steam and blowing their whistles at the same time would only serve to convey a slight idea of the tremendous din. These springs, as the Maoris afterwards informed us, possessed wonderful curative properties in all cases of chronic rheumatism and cutaneous disorders, and many natives suffering from ailments of that kind come long distances to avail themselves of the thermal waters, which it would appear never fail to effect a cure. This portion of Tongariro, like all other parts, is strictly tapued against Europeans, and the natives of Rotoaira and the surrounding district guard this marvellous sanatorium with a jealous eye; but as we attacked it from the rear, they were none the wiser for our visit. A short distance beyond the springs, and near to the end of the great spur, we found the small crater known to the natives as Ketetahi, which was formed of a circular aperture emitting vast volumes of steam. We obtained a splendid view of the country towards the north from our elevated position, the rugged ranges of Te Tuhua being crowned by Hikurangi, a beautiful pyramidal-shaped mountain, with a flat top, while to the westward of it could be distinctly traced the winding course of the Ongaruhe River. We crossed the Mangatepopo River, flowing from Tongariro, and then the Whanganui, the winding course of which we had to traverse three times. Near to the second crossing-place a picturesque headland jutted out from the dense forest that bordered the plain, and upon its summit could be plainly traced the outline of rude earthworks, which were as solid as if they had been but recently erected. This was all that remained of Te Perore, which during the war formed one of Te Kooti's most formidable strongholds, and it was here that the memorable battle was fought in which Captain St. George lost his life. The Maoris are said to have suffered severely during the engagement, Te Kooti himself being wounded in the left hand by a rifle-ball. When examining this decaying remnant of the great struggle between the white and the dark race, I could not but admire the judgment which had been displayed by the Maoris in choosing this point as a strategic position. It was about 100 feet above the plain, the Whanganui River wound round it to the east, while the formation of the surrounding country was such that the enemy would be open to the fire of the besieged from every side of the _pa_ save at the rear, where the latter, if beaten, would have a splendid retreat open in the dense forests of the Tuhua, which backed the fortification at that point. Nature appeared to have done her utmost to efface all traces of the struggle, and upon the rude earthworks, once alive with the forms of tattooed warriors, now shrubs and trees waved their heads to the passing breeze. Never was there a more beautiful spot chosen for a battle, and it must have been a truly impressive sight to see the valiant Maori warriors fighting for their country under the very shadow of their sacred mountains, driving back the _pakeha_, and erecting a barrier of isolation around the grand region whose wonders we were now exploring. As we were riding on our way along the plain near to the edge of the forest we noticed that on the small elevations on our left, which fringed the bush, several _whares_ were dotted about in the most picturesque situations. When we were passing one of these rustic homesteads some natives hailed us, to know where we were going. At this we rode up the steep elevation upon which their _whare_ was placed, to have a _korero_, and to gain what information we could with regard to our future course. An old woman with a goitre upon her neck hailed us with the usual cry of welcome, while her tattooed lord, who was engaged making a trap to catch pigeons, invited us to put up our horses and rest. We were willing enough to do this, especially as there was a smell of cooking about, and our cool ride across the plains had given us our usual wolfish appetite. We were soon invited to partake of a repast of pork and potatoes, together with some cakes, made evidently of flour and water, but so hard that it was impossible to bite them, and so heavy that Turner, with every show of reason, remarked that if we happened to get unhorsed when crossing a river, we should never rise to the surface with one of those cakes in our insides. We did not take our meal in the smoky _whare_, but sat with the Maoris outside in the sun. The day was one of the finest we had experienced, and all nature appeared as if wrapped in a mantle of eternal spring. The small _kainga_ where we now were was known to the natives as Kuwharua, and stood at an elevation of 2420 feet above the level of the sea. The view from this place when looking towards the south was the finest we had beheld during our journey, if I except the marvellous panoramas beheld from the top of the Ruapehu and Tongariro. For the variety of the scenery to be obtained within the radius of ten miles from where we were, no view in the world could equal it. Beneath us was the Te Pakaru Plain, with an area of some twenty square miles, covered with a green growth of native grass, and intersected by winding mountain streams. In the south-east were the blue waters of Lake Rotoaira, backed by the cone-shaped summits of the Kakaramea Ranges, clothed with dense forests of tall trees; while beyond, stretching like a grand barrier across the country to the south, were the serrated peaks of the Kaimanawa Mountains, at whose base rolled the broad open downs of the Rangipo Table-land. Rising right in the centre of this grand picture were the wonderful mountains of Tongariro, heaped and piled about in the most fantastic and curious way, and from the midst of which shot up the white, glittering cone of the volcano crowned with its perpetual cloud of steam, while, to complete the attractive scene, the stupendous form of Ruapehu towered to the skies, peak rising above peak beneath its deep mantle of winter snow. Here was a view which, taken in as it was at one glance, exceeded in grandeur and sublimity even the most glowing creations of fairyland. Here were park-like plains of vivid green stretching from the borders of an inland sea to the shores of a romantic-looking lake, where the waters were of the deepest blue; around were steaming craters and thermal springs, colossal cone-shaped mountains towering to the regions of eternal snow, and lesser heights rising from amidst primeval forests of the grandest description, glowing and palpitating as it were, in all their beauty beneath the sunlight; and yet, singular to relate, this marvellous country, this wonder-land, as we gazed upon it, was to all intents and purposes a _terra incognita_. Here was in reality a model Switzerland under a semi-tropical sky--a region designed, as it were, by the artistic hand of nature for a national recreation-ground, where countless generations of men might assemble to marvel at some of the grandest works of the creation. With the Te Pakaru Plain proclaimed as a public domain, New Zealand would possess the finest and most unique park in the world. For healthfulness of climate, variety of scenery, and volcanic and thermal wonders, there would be no place to equal it in the northern or southern hemisphere, no spot where within so small a radius could be seen natural phenomena so varied and so remarkable. It would embrace within its boundaries the hot springs of Tongariro and those of Tokanu, and would stretch from the waters of Lake Taupo to the shores of Rotoaira. The surrounding table-land, with its millions of acres of open plains covered with rich volcanic soil, should eventually become the granary of the North Island; while the Kaimanawa Mountains and the Tuhua should give forth their mineral treasures on either side. CHAPTER XXVI. WESTERN TAUPO. Supposed forest country--The western table-land--Soil and _flora_--Terania--Okarewa--Te Kaina Valley--Maoris on the track--Pouotepiki pa--A tangi--The natives--A friendly invitation--An old warrior--The women--Our quarters. From Kuwharua our course lay along the northern portion of the Te Pakaru Plain, and between the Kakaramea Ranges and the eastern boundary of the Tuhua Forest. The whole country hereabouts had a park-like appearance, and was everywhere covered with native grasses, save the lower hills, which were mostly clothed with fern. We had now reached the western watershed of Lake Taupo, the first stream flowing in that direction being the Koromanga. Near to this point the native track by which Hochstetter passed in 1859, on his journey to Maketu by way of the eastern side of Lake Taupo, leads to Tokanu, and if we had followed it to the westward it would have been our nearest route to Alexandra; but as the country along its course had already been described by that traveller, I determined to take a different direction, in order to explore the great table-land of Western Taupo, and thence to penetrate to Alexandra by the country to the northward of the great central mountain chain ending in Titiraupenga, and which was represented on the maps of the colony as covered with forest, and on that of Hochstetter as a volcanic table-land "thickly covered with forest, and unexplored." Indeed, so little was this portion of the country known, that even at Tapuwaeharuru, where Turner questioned the natives upon the natural features of this region, he was informed that it was covered with dense bush, and that it would be impossible to travel through it for any distance, and especially on account of the numerous rivers and creeks that would have to be crossed. The information we thus gained proved to be erroneous so far as the forest was concerned, since we afterwards discovered that a broad, open table-land, averaging in height from 1700 to 2200 feet above the level of the sea, extended far inland along the whole western shore of Lake Taupo, while the enormous area of country still further to the north and westward, and described on the maps as before alluded to, turned out to be a perfectly open table-land, covered with some of the finest grassed plains in the country, and watered by numerous streams, some of which were among the largest tributaries of the Waikato River. The western table-land of Lake Taupo is bounded on the land side by the Haurungaroa and Hurakia Mountains, which stretch in a northerly direction as far as Mount Titiraupenga, and form the eastern boundary of the mountainous region which covers a large area of the central portion of the King Country. These two mountain chains attain to an altitude of 2300 to 2500 feet above the level of the sea, their eastern slopes forming the principal source of the watershed of the western division of the lake, while the inland waters, with those of the other mountains of the same system, are received mostly by the Ongaruhe River, one of the principal tributaries of the Whanganui. The whole of these ranges, which present a very broken appearance, are densely covered with luxuriant forests. The country from the eastern slopes of the Haurungaroa and Hurakia Mountains stretches in a series of open plains to the shores of the great lake, the whole western shore of which is bounded by steep, rugged cliffs, which rise perpendicularly from the water, and assume in many places the form of bold headlands, the highest of which, Mount Karangahape, attains to an altitude of about 2300 feet, while Rangituku and Pukeakikiore are volcanic cones of lesser height, still further to the south. This portion of the Taupo Table-land was in every way different, so far as its soil was concerned, from that on the north-eastern and eastern sides of the lake. The enormous deposits of pumice so remarkable in the two latter localities were absent here, the soil resembling in every respect that of the Rangipo Table-land, and this feature will apply equally to the open plain country we afterwards discovered to the north of Titiraupenga. Here, too, there was a greater variety of native grasses, while the soil, formed principally from the decomposition of the trachytic rocks of the adjacent mountains and the gradual disintegration of the stratum of pumice upon which it was deposited, was in every respect of a better kind, and, under proper cultivation, might be made to grow almost anything suited to the climate. In all the native settlements in this part of the country we found such trees as the peach, apple, acacia, and weeping willow growing in great luxuriance, while the _flora_ indigenous to the island was represented in its most varied forms. After passing many miles through an open, undulating, fern-clad country, we came to a region called Terania, surrounded by low conical hills, and traversed in every direction with well-beaten tracks, which had been made by the herds of wild horses frequenting the district, and which led over the hills and through the valleys wherever we turned. Darkness overtook us as soon as we crossed the Kuratao River, and we camped for the night near to a small stream called Okarewa, on the open table-land, which at this point had an elevation of 1700 feet above the level of the sea. We started at daylight from Okarewa, and continued a northerly course along the table-land, which was for some distance dotted about with low fern hills. We crossed the Whareroa River, and beyond this point the bold outline of Karangahape came into view in the east, in the form of a huge dome-shaped mountain, surrounded by lower hills of conical formation. The table-land now indicated a general elevation, varying from 2000 to 2200 feet, and kept very level between the two heights for a long distance, the country rising gradually in the form of undulating hills towards the dense forests to the west of our track. We forded the Mangakara, flowing from the Haurungaroa Mountains, the river being fringed at the point where we crossed it by a dense growth of bush, which grew along the precipitous sides of the stream, down which we had to ride before we reached the torrent below. Beyond the river we gained the Te Kaina Valley, which wound through the table-land, here dotted about with enormous outcrops of trachytic rock. Here the whole broad expanse of the country had a beautifully picturesque appearance, which was heightened in no small degree by the broad, shining waters of Lake Taupo in the distance. It was now clear that we were getting into a more densely populated portion of the country, and we met many Maoris of all ages and sexes along this portion of our track. Most of them were well mounted, and were journeying from the north in the direction of Tokanu and other settlements in the south. Each party greeted us, and asked us where we were from, and when told that we had come up from the Manganui-a-te-Ao, they one and all expressed surprise, and asked us how we had got through at that season of the year. Some natives travelling in our direction now joined us, and we learned from them that a _tangi_ was being held at Pouotepiki, the _pa_ which we would have to pass on the way, and that we would meet Te Heuheu there, and a number of other chiefs. We arrived at Pouotepiki late in the afternoon, and found the _pa_ situated in a beautiful position on an elevated portion of the table-land overlooking the western bay of Lake Taupo, whose rugged shores here rose up to a height of hundreds of feet above the water, in the form of precipitous cliffs, and rugged headlands which flanked the entrance to picturesque bays. As we rode up a wild and curious sight presented itself. Our approach was hailed with dismal wailing from the women, loud barking from the packs of mongrel dogs, and by the grunting of innumerable pigs. A crowd of natives at once gathered round us, and among them were some of the wildest and most villainous-looking men I had ever seen. They were not like the untutored savages we had found at Ruakaka, but in appearance a desperate, half-savage, half-civilized race of beings. There were natives from Tokanu, natives from Tuhua, from Kahakaharoa, and all the various settlements for miles around. Some wore only the blanket, others ragged clothes and battered hats, while some of the younger men, as if anxious to make a show of their smattering of civilization, were got up quite in a dandified way. When the _hongi_[67] had been performed amid tears and lamentations, half a dozen weird-looking hags stood up in a row and went through a _tangi_,[68] which lasted an hour, during which time we stood in front of them, beside the natives who had joined us on the way to the _pa_. When this part of the performance had ended, one of the new arrivals stepped to the front and delivered a long speech in honour of the deceased chief, for the repose of whose soul the _tangi_ was being held, interlarding his remarks now and again with snatches of verse, which he sang in a doleful, melancholy tone, and what with the wailing of the women, the barking of the curs, who seemed to object immensely to our presence, the grunting of the pigs that sniffed familiarly round us, and the noise made by the children, who laughed just as loudly as their elders cried, the discordant sounds became in the long-run indescribably unpleasant; still, as we were in Maoriland, and had determined to do as the Maoris did, we went through the ordeal of the _tangi_ with a reverential and solemn air. It is true we shed no tears--probably because we hadn't got them to shed--but there was no doubt about the crying so far as the women were concerned, for I watched them carefully, and I noticed that the big round tears trickled down their noses and then in a miniature cascade over their lips in the most orthodox way, but whether these tears were what we callous Christians call "crocodile tears" it is impossible for me to say. When the formal greeting was over, we were invited into the _runanga_-house, a spacious building about sixty feet long by thirty broad, in which a number of natives were squatting about in small circles, smoking and playing cards. Te Heuheu of Tokanu, the great _rangatira_ of the Ngatituwharetoa was there--a thick-set, broad-shouldered man, with an austere countenance. He was dressed in European costume, and wore a wide collaret of _kiwi_ feathers round his neck, while beside him sat his two wives, who were likewise habited in what is recognized as the attire of civilized society. I noticed that their dresses were not after the latest Parisian models, but their round hats, made entirely of _kiwi_ feathers, suited their dark countenances admirably. Both had pleasant features, and, like all the women I had seen in the country, were remarkable for their splendid teeth, which were as white and as perfect as Cleopatra's pearls, and seemed to shine in marked contrast to their blue tattooed lips. The chief Mohi, a herculean man, standing about six feet four inches, stood like a statue, wrapped in a blanket, nursing a child, and beside him was Patoro, a chief of the Ngatiraukawa, and, besides these, there were many representative men of the Ngatituwharetoa, Ngatikohera, Ngatiarekawa, Ngatitakaiahi, and Ngatihikera. Besides the natives located in the _runanga_-house there were many camped outside, both in _whares_ and tents, the principal occupation of all being smoking and playing cards, and performing the _tangi_ whenever a new arrival appeared. There was one tall, gaunt old man among the throng, with a fierce-looking, tattooed countenance, and a pointed grey beard, who never moved about without a greenstone _mere_ in his hand, and when afterwards we got into conversation with him, to ascertain the history of this implement, he told us it was the last relic of his tribe, and that the notch at the end of it had been made by cracking an enemy's skull. Judging from the impression made upon the hard stone by the skull, it occurred to me that its owner must have ranked during lifetime as a kind of champion thick-headed savage. Many of the women at this gathering were the finest, both as regards appearance and stature, we had seen during our journey, some of them being perfect giantesses in build. Among the finest and most attractive was Tapare Huia Tauaiti, the daughter of Heure Harawira, a native chief. [Illustration: NATIVE GIRL.] When the natives learned that we had travelled alone, as they termed it, "from the big mountains in the south," they invited us to remain over night, but not before they had asked us many questions as to the object of our journey, and how it was we had chosen so roundabout a way when the Maoris always made it a rule to take the shortest cut between two points. We several times felt pushed to find a reasonable reply to their queries in this respect, but Turner, with his usual diplomatic tact, invariably got out of the difficulty by remarking that when a _pakeha_ got on to a horse, like the proverbial tailor, there was no telling where he would ride to. After a very acceptable meal of pork, potatoes, and thistles,[69] which was served out to the assembled crowd in small plaited flax baskets, we were allotted quarters in the _runanga_-house, where fifty men, women, and children lay huddled together in the most promiscuous way. Never during the whole of our journey did we spend so unpleasant a night. At sundown the _runanga_-house was firmly closed, four big charcoal fires were lit, and men, women, and children smoked until the atmosphere became so stifling that it was almost impossible to breathe. The great subject of conversation was the question of native boundaries, the projected government survey through the country, and the iniquities of the Native Land Court. More than a dozen speeches were delivered on these topics, and it was amusing to see one gaunt figure after another get up in the dim light, swathed in a blanket, after the fashion of a _toga_, and deliver a long and fiery oration, to which every one would listen in rapt attention, without questioning a single statement of the speaker until he had delivered himself of all he had to say. These expressions of opinion were carried on from either side of the house far into the night, until one by one the dark forms fell off to sleep, when the snoring, coughing, and wheezing, coupled with the stifling heat, transformed the place into a veritable pandemonium. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 67: The _hongi_ is to salute by the nose. Two individuals saluting in this way grasp the right hands, and, bending forward, press the end of their noses together, uttering at the same time a whining sound.] [Footnote 68: A _tangi_ (to cry) is a lamentation for the dead. Assemblages of this kind often last over many days, during which time the corpse is laid out ready for interment. It is also a form of salutation, upon the meeting of friends, intended to lament departed kindred. The cry is a most doleful one, and when uttering it the mourners express all sorts of convulsive movements to betoken their anguish.] [Footnote 69: The sowthistle is much esteemed by the Maoris as a vegetable.] CHAPTER XXVII. THE NORTHERN TABLE-LAND. The Whanganui stream--Oruapuraho Valley--Waihaha River--Kahakaharoa--The sweetbriar--The kiwi--The moa--A gigantic lizard--Waikomiko and Waihora Rivers--Te Tihoi Plains--Scenery--Mount Titiraupenga--Mangakowiriwiri River--Mangakino River--Swimming horses--Our camp--The Maoris as travellers--A Maori joke--Good horsemen--Their knowledge of the country--Their endurance--The Waipapa--Te Toto Ranges--The Waipari--Te Tauranga--The Upper Puniu--A fine specimen of tattooing--A night at Hengia. We left Pouotepiki early on the following morning, and, as the _tangi_ was at an end, about a dozen mounted natives, who were going in the same direction as ourselves, invited us to join them. Leaving the _pa_ in a long cavalcade, we descended into a valley, and crossed the Whanganui stream flowing into Lake Taupo. Further to the north, we crossed the Waikino stream, and after passing over steep, fern-clad hills we reached the Oruapuraho Valley, formed by a wild ravine sunk like an enormous pit in the table-land. This curious place, which was about two miles long, was exactly 200 feet in depth, and was walled in on every side with perpendicular masses of trachytic and white pumice rock, which were broken here and there into the form of enormous bluffs, which jutted out in the most fantastic shapes. Winding, precipitous ravines opened out now and again in the direction of the lake and towards the mountainous country on the west, but beyond these wild gorges nothing could be seen beyond the towering walls of the deep valley, the sides of which appeared to attain, all along the course, to a general height of 200 feet, the altitude of the table-land being, both at the entrance and exit of the valley, exactly 2000 feet above the level of the sea. A small stream wound through the centre of this rock-bound ravine, about the sides of which the tussock grass and fern grew in great luxuriance, together with the _koromiko_, of which our horses ate greedily. The table-land fell to 1700 feet as we gained the Waihaha River, the name of which literally means "still waters." There was a very deep descent to it, and looking from the top of this down upon the stream, there was not a ripple upon its surface. It was, however, some hundred feet wide at the fording-place, and as the water was deep, we had to swim our horses. On the opposite side of this river, towards the east, a castellated bluff rose up to a height of nearly 200 feet, in appearance not unlike a fortified stronghold, while beyond this point the river fell in the form of a small waterfall, as it wound on its way to Lake Taupo. [Illustration: MOA AND APTERYX.] At about a mile distant from the Waihaha River, after passing through a wild, rocky gorge, where fantastic masses of rock stood up above the conical hills like monuments, we arrived at Kahakaharoa, a small _pa_ situated on a winding mountain stream called Te Pikopiko. At one time there had been a considerable native settlement here, but now the whole place was nearly abandoned. We were detained here all the following day by an incessant rain that came down in a perfect deluge, the streams rising all round us with marvellous rapidity. This was a very wild, dreary-looking place, situated in a rock-bound, inaccessible spot, right at the base of the Hurakia Mountains, and the appearance of the inhabitants seemed quite in keeping with the locality. Our horses fared badly at this camping-place, and were compelled to subsist upon the ripe berries of the sweetbriar, which here grew in wonderful luxuriance, so much so that our animals, following out the laws of natural selection, would often have to stand on their hind legs to reach the bright red fruit. Here, besides the usual diet of pork and potatoes, we were treated to roast _kiwi_. This bird (_Apteryx Australis_) is the only remaining representative of the great family of New Zealand _Struthionidæ_. It is a dwarf form of the moa, not larger than a fair-sized hen, with short, rudimentary wings, totally unfit for flying, and without a tail; it has four toes on each foot, a long bill resembling that of a snipe, while its body is covered with pendulous feathers resembling hair. Its habits are nocturnal; it lives in recesses under the roots of trees, and feeds upon insects, grubs, and the seeds of various plants; the hen lays but one egg, which for the size of the bird is extraordinarily large. These birds, which live in pairs, are still very plentiful in the dense, unfrequented ranges of the King Country.[70] Throughout the journey we always made it a practice to inquire of the natives as to whether they had ever discovered any remains of the moa,[71] but, beyond a reference to it in their traditions, little appeared to be known of it. The natives, however, at Kahakaharoa informed us that in former times the bones of this bird had been found in the swamps around Lake Rotoaira. It is also worthy of remark that we ascertained that there was a tradition among all the tribes of the existence at one time of a gigantic lizard, which is said to have inhabited the caves and rocky places of the North Island, but whether this was in fact a real or fabulous reptile, it would seem impossible to determine. We left Kahakaharoa as soon as the swollen state of the rivers would allow us, and, after crossing the Waikomiko River, continued our course in a northerly direction along the table-land which here opened out into a broad expanse of rolling plains, stretching away to the north as far as the eye could reach. We passed by the head-waters of the Waihora River, which was the last stream of any importance, forming the western watershed of Lake Taupo. Journeying still further on, we crossed the Te Tihoi Plains, a fine tract of open country extending around the mountains of Titiraupenga as far north as the banks of the Waikato River, and thence north-westerly to the Te Toto Ranges. This large area, comprising nearly 1000 square miles, was the country described upon the maps as covered with dense bush; and where we had expected to travel through primeval forests we found magnificent open plains, clothed with a rich vegetation of native grasses, and composed of some of the best soil we had met with during our journey. As we rode over these plains, the scenery was magnificent, as much by reason of the vast scope of country that stretched before us as by the variety of mountain scenery that surrounded the plains in every direction. To the north-east high, forest-clad mountains rose up one above the other in the direction of Ouranui and the valley of the Waikato, while to the west were rugged, forest-clad ranges, crowned by the towering form of Titiraupenga. This magnificent mountain, which is one of the highest peaks in the northern portion of the King Country, rises to an altitude of some 4000 feet above the level of the sea. It assumes in general outline the formation of an extensive cone, with a broad base and long sweeping sides, while its summit is surmounted by a gigantic pinnacle of rock, of a pointed form, and which serves with the great mountain as a conspicuous landmark all over the surrounding country. It is covered from base to summit with dense forests, and its enormous gorges and deep ravines give rise to many streams and rivers. For a considerable distance along our course the altitude of the table-land varied from 2000 to 2450 feet, until we struck the Mangakowiriwiri, a curious underground river flowing from Titiraupenga. This river burst through a tremendous gorge of the mountain, flanked on either side by tall precipices of rock, and then cut its way through a narrow, rocky chasm. Looking down into the deep fissure, we could just see the silver streak of water foaming nearly a hundred feet below, but in many places it passed entirely out of sight when the channel ran underground. This stream, which was 2200 feet above the sea, we were enabled to cross by means of a very narrow and very primitive footway, which the natives told us was known as the "bridge of God." From the Mangakowiriwiri, our course lay through an open, undulating country covered with a luxuriant growth of tussock and other native grasses. Here the table-land began to fall perceptibly towards the north-west, and for a long distance it averaged in altitude from 1000 to 1150 feet, and when we reached the valley of the Mangakino River it had fallen to 1000 feet. This was one of our longest journeys, the distance travelled during the day being over forty miles, so that it was moonlight when we arrived at the banks of the river. The Mangakino ran through a deep mountain gorge, and formed one of the many streams issuing from the Titiraupenga Ranges, and flowing into the Waikato. We soon found that the river was much swollen by the recent rains, and that it would be necessary to swim our horses. Four of the natives who had accompanied us from Pouotepiki were still with us, so that altogether we had to get six horses across, but the animals behaved splendidly, and swam through the icy cold water like ducks, the Maori horses showing their bush knowledge by taking the lead. Altogether it was a very dangerous crossing-place to take, especially at night-time, as the river just below the ford fell over a deep precipice with noise like thunder. Once on the opposite bank, we pitched camp for the night, and made a meal out of what we could muster between us. All we could boast of was a little flour, some of which the natives worked up into a dough in a "pannikin," and then rolling it up into long pieces between the palms of their hands, wound the pieces round sticks in a spiral fashion, and baked them in front of the fire. A few potatoes the Maoris had with them were likewise spitted and roasted in this way. The place where we camped was an exceedingly wild-looking spot, and during the night we experienced a severe frost, the thermometer descending to 28°. We struck our camp at the Mangakino before daylight, and set out on our journey at once, but, unpleasant to relate, without any breakfast, as our commissariat was now reduced to a few potatoes, which we had determined to cook when we should get further on the road. We rose from the valley of the river on to the level plains just as the first rays of the sun swept over the country in a flood of glowing light, and the air was so pure and buoyant that we soon forgot that we were journeying on an empty stomach, until we came to a stream, where we found an abundant growth of watercress, of which we ate heartily, one of the Maoris remarking with a broad grin that we had at last come "to feed like the cows." When travelling with the Maoris I could not but admire the easy, good-natured way in which they took everything--nothing disconcerted them. When impediments to travel presented themselves, the bigger the difficulties to overcome, the more ardent they appeared to surmount them. When crossing the swollen rivers, if one got a bigger ducking than the rest, they would laugh and joke at the ill-luck of their comrade, while he in his turn would enjoy the amusement as much as they did. On one occasion, when we were ascending a steep, slippery hill, the saddle-girth of one of the horses broke, and the saddle slipping aside, the rider fell heavily and rolled down a muddy bank. This brought down roars of laughter from the others, who told him not to mind himself, but that it was a pity to spoil a good horse by letting him know how easily a man could fall off his back. I always found the natives to be expert and fearless horsemen, and I believe that a cavalry regiment of well-trained and well-mounted Maoris, both for courage, endurance, and _élan_, would form one of the finest body of troops ever marshalled upon a parade-ground or a battle-field. When travelling with them, another interesting fact was that they seemed to take a pride in being able to define thoroughly all the natural features of their country. Each mountain and hill had its special name, and every valley and plain and river, down to the smallest stream, each being called after some characteristic feature or legendary tale connected with it; while every tree, plant, bird, and insect was known by a designation which betokened either its appearance or habits. A remarkable feature indicative of the endurance of the natives, was that one night they would be sleeping in a _wharepuni_ with the thermometer over 100°, and the next night they would not hesitate to lie down upon the damp ground with only a blanket over them, and with the thermometer at several degrees below freezing-point. It is true we often went through the same ordeal ourselves during the journey, but it appeared to me to be more remarkable on the part of the Maoris, as they seemed to enjoy the stifling heat of their _wharepunis_ as a positive luxury, while we looked upon it as being very much akin to a sojourn in Hades. We reached the Waipapa River near its junction with the Mangatete, and descended from the table-land, over 100 feet, to the crossing-place. This river, which was one of the largest we had met with, rushed with a rapid current through a deep rock-bound gorge from the mountains of Titiraupenga to join the Waikato, of which it formed one of the principal tributaries. We gained the crossing-place by a steep, winding descent, the mountains with their rocky bluffs on the opposite side of the river being clothed with a dense vegetation of giant trees, while to the right of the track by which we had to descend was a small mountain forming a complete cone, and which was clothed from base to summit with a luxuriant growth of fern and tall _manuka_. The whole gorge through which the river wound had a very wild and beautiful appearance, while the water, like that of the Waikato, into which it fell after crossing the plains, was as clear as crystal. Beyond the Waipapa we passed through more open country until we neared the Te Toto ranges, when mountain, hill, and valley mingled together in a most picturesque way. It took us several hours to traverse the Te Toto ranges, the track winding about in every direction, with deep ravines on either side. Here the vegetation was of the most luxuriant and varied order, but the enormous roots of the great trees made riding very difficult. We crossed the Waipari River, a large stream flowing from the Rangitoto ranges into the Waikato. The descent to the crossing-place of this river was no less than 500 feet, and we had to mount a slippery incline on the opposite side of equal altitude. Our course now lay over high fern-clad ridges, and now, for the first time, the broad valley of the Waipa was before us, with Maungatautari to the north, and Pirongia to the north-west. Towards sundown we passed along a ridge, with a tremendous rock-bound gorge beneath us, and where the enormous rocks were dispersed about in a way which resembled the ruins of a feudal stronghold. This place was formerly occupied as a _pa_, and on one occasion a great battle was fought there by the Ngatiraukawa, who were defeated by the Ngatituwharetoa and Ngatimatakore, who, it is said, feasted for days on the bodies of their enemies. A few miles beyond Tetauranga we arrived at a low hill, upon the summit of which a number of Maoris were camped in tents. As luck would have it, feeding was just going on, and we were invited to partake of a welcome meal. Although it was now evening, we determined to push on our way, and when the moon rose we started, and gained the head-waters of the Puniu River, which we crossed with the intention of camping on the opposite side; we, however, got wet in the operation, and as the place was swampy, and the night fearfully cold, we determined to ride several miles further, to Hengia _pa_, which we reached at ten o'clock, after a journey of over sixty miles, and which had kept us in the saddle for about seventeen hours. Before arrival at the settlement, the whole country was covered with a white frost, and the damp, chilly cold of the low valley of the Waipa seemed to go right into the marrow of one's bones. The natives appeared much surprised at our nocturnal raid upon them, but we were soon invited into a _whare_, where a big fire was burning, and where four men and an old woman were located with three or four mongrel dogs. One of the men, although apparently very old, was yet wiry and active, while his pinched, sharp features were tattooed in the most elaborate way up to the very roots of his hair, the thin blue lines forming a complete network over his countenance. This was the most artistically tattooed savage we had met on the journey, and Turner remarked to me that he would much like to have the old man's head to preserve as a _mokaikai_,[72] but he was cautious enough not to express this desire to the antiquated Hauhau. After we had talked over matters for some time, and the surprise occasioned by our visit had somewhat abated, our tattooed friend produced a newly-slaughtered pig from a dark corner of the _whare_, and when this was dismembered and some potatoes had been peeled by the old woman, there was soon a good meal cooking for our benefit. After we had partaken of our repast, we were invited by our entertainers to remain the night, and being only too glad to take advantage of their proffered hospitality, we took up our quarters in a corner of the primitive _whare_, which, unpleasant to relate, was literally alive with fleas. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 70: For wingless birds, see Appendix.] [Footnote 71: There were no less than six species of this extinct wingless bird-- The _Dinornis Giganteus_, height 11 feet. " _Robustus_, " 8 feet 6 in. " _Elephantopus_" 6 feet 8 in. " _Casuarinus_ " 5 feet 6 in. " _Crassus_ " 5 feet. " _Didiformus_ " 4 feet 8 in.] [Footnote 72: _Mokaikai_, a process of embalming heads, by saturating them with the pyroligneous acid of wood. This custom was at one time very common with the Maoris, who thus preserved the heads of their ancestors, the skin and tattoo marks of the face remaining perfect for many years.] CHAPTER XXVIII. THE AUKATI LINE. Manga-o-rongo--Mangatutu River--The encampment--A sumptuous repast--The _kainga_--Surrounding scenery--Old warriors--The tribes--The _Korero_--Arrival of Te Kooti--His wife--His followers--A tête-à-tête--A song of welcome--_A haka_--Departure from Manga-o-rongo--Waipa River--Valley of the Waipa--Our last difficulty. The nearest way for us to have reached civilization from Hengia would have been to travel straight to Kihikihi; but there was great talk of a native meeting to be held at Manga-o-rongo, a settlement situated at some distance further south from where we were, and as it was stated that Te Kooti and a large number of natives from all parts would be there, I determined to attend the _korero_, as much as anything to see the ex-rebel chief of whom I had heard so much, and afterwards pass to Alexandra by way of the valley of the Waipa. We left Hengia at daybreak with a party of natives, who were going in the same direction as ourselves, and took a southerly course through a district known as Wharepapa, and which led us in the direction of the Rangitoto Mountains. As we approached the valley of the Mangatutu River, the country became more undulating, until we gained the bed of the stream, which wound in a remarkably serpentine course from the Rangitoto Mountains. In the bed of the river the natives pointed out several curious kinds of stone, in form not unlike the blade of an axe, and which were formerly sharpened and used as tomahawks by the tribes of the district. The country hereabouts fell rapidly from 500 to 300 feet, and gradually became of a lesser altitude as we went on. Crossing the river, we continued our course through the open, fern-clad plains known to the natives as Manutarere, passing on our right a rock which rose like a rude monument from the centre of a circular basin of low hills. Beyond this point we passed through a native _kainga,_ known as Patokatoka, and soon afterwards reached Manga-o-rongo. A large encampment of natives was already formed, and great preparations were being made for the gathering; pigs were being slaughtered by the dozen, bevies of women and girls were busy at work with delicacies intended for the feast, while mounted natives were riding to and fro in every direction. We rode into the _kainga_ with the natives who had accompanied us from Hengia, and were received with loud shouts of _haeremai_ from the women, who danced about and circled their arms in the air in the wildest way. When the _hongi_ had been performed, and a _tangi_ had been held--for they wept here as they had done at Pouotepiki--we were invited to sit down in a circle with the natives who had accompanied us, and soon afterwards a number of women and girls, who came tripping along in Indian file, singing a wild refrain, brought us pork and potatoes and bread and _kumaras,_ in plaited flax baskets, each _hapu_ present contributing according to custom, a certain quantity, so that in a short time we had food enough around us to last us for a month. We ate heartily of the good things placed before us, but we had great fights over our banquet with the half-starved dogs assembled from all parts of the country, and which became so audacious in their efforts to obtain our luxuries, that we had to keep our whips going right and left all the time. [Illustration: NATIVE GIRL.] We remained at Manga-o-rongo for three days, during which time we had a good opportunity of examining the settlement and the general features of the surrounding country. The _kainga_, composed for the most part of a number of scattered _whares_ separated by broad patches of cultivation, was situated in a deep, basin-like depression in the upper valley of the Waipa, and upon the banks of a small river called the Manga-o-rongo, one of the principal tributaries of the Waipa. The scenery of the adjacent country was very attractive, the Rangitoto Mountains forming a beautiful and conspicuous feature to the south. The Rangitoto Mountains, the highest points of which attained to an altitude of about 2500 feet, were clothed to their summits with a dense vegetation, and flanked with lower hills covered with a luxuriant growth of fern, while winding valleys and deep ravines stretched far into the rugged fastnesses beyond. To the westward of the Rangitoto ranges were the mountains of the Kuiti, where the deep green forests were interspersed with wide stretches of open fern, which swept down to the undulating hills at their base. On all other sides the country around Manga-o-rongo was open, and presented a series of broad, rolling plains, covered with low fern, and where the dark alluvial soil was of the richest description. We were given quarters in one of the principal _wharepunis_ in the centre of the _kainga_, which was dotted around with _whares_, tents, and other contrivances for the accommodation of the various hapus attending the _korero_. In a large _whare_ close to our location were about a dozen or so of old men, who had formed a kind of headquarters of their own. They were all true-bred Maoris of the old school, of Herculean build, and they appeared to be from eighty to ninety years of age, and it occurred to me that one or two among them could have counted their moons[73] even further back than that; and as they sat squatting about in the sun, with their blankets wrapped round them, their weazened, tattooed features looked remarkably grim, surmounted, as they were in every case, by a thick growth of snow-white hair. Each one of them wore a piece of greenstone in his left ear, and all had wooden pipes, which they puffed at incessantly. It was remarkable to observe the difference in physique between these old warriors--for they had all been great fighting men during the war--and the younger natives. Although there were many stalwart and powerful fellows among the latter, in general they had not the same square build and muscular frames of the old men, who appeared to be perfect and well-conserved types of the primitive Maori race. There were many representatives of the principal tribes of the surrounding country in camp, and especially of the Waikatos and Ngatimaniapotos; but, besides these, there were sections of the Ngatiwhakatere, Ngatiraukawa, Ngatituwharetoa, Ngatihaua, and Ngatiawa. All these various tribal divisions were represented by the principal chiefs and notables, both men and women, and, when assembled together, it was easy to trace their different physical characteristics. There were many tall and powerfully-built men among the Waikatos and Ngatimaniapotos, but the women of the two latter tribes were not as sturdy in frame, nor as robust in appearance as those of the Ngatituwharetoa tribe of Taupo. In fact, the natives of the latter district were, all things considered, the finest tribes we had come across during our journey, the chiefs, especially of this division of the Arawas, being remarkable for their tall stature. [Illustration: WOMAN OF THE WAIKATO TRIBE.] The principal business of the meeting, which had brought the tribes together, was to consider a petition of the Ngatimaniapoto to Government, respecting the lands, and in which the chief Taonui, with Wahanui, had taken a leading part. Another important question was the settlement of certain tribal boundaries, and the consideration of the claim of the Ngatihaua, to a large tract of country near to the Rangitoto Mountains, and which they claimed to have acquired by conquest over the Ngatiwhakatere, a _hapu_ of the Ngatiraukawa. At this meeting the _kaingatautohe_, or debateable land, was formally surrendered to the Ngatiwhakateres, the originally conquered tribe, by the chief Hauauru, who claimed to be the direct descendant of the warriors who conquered the Ngatiwhakateres, when the territory in dispute was acquired. On the second day after our arrival at Manga-o-rongo, there was great excitement in camp as a body of about fifty horsemen, headed by a woman, were seen galloping as hard as they could come across the plain leading to the settlement. There were loud cries of _haeremai_ from the women, and shouts of Te Kooti from the men as the ex-rebel chief and his wife rode into camp at the head of a band of well-mounted though wild-looking horsemen. [Illustration: TE KOOTI. (_From a Sketch by the Author_.)] When the new arrivals had pitched the tents they had brought with them, and were squatting in a circle round the hero of Poverty Bay, I went into the camp, when Te Kooti saluted me with "_Tena koe, pakeha_," and invited me to be seated. I took in his outward appearance at a glance. He was a man apparently of about fifty years of age, over medium height, of athletic form, broad shouldered and keenly knit, and with a remarkably stern expression of countenance, which imparted to his whole visage a hard and even a cruel look. His features, cast in the true native mould, were strongly defined. His head was well formed, with a high arched forehead, and his lips were well cut and firm, while his quick, dark, piercing eyes had a restless glance about them as if their owner had been kept all his life in a chronic state of nervous excitement. He wore a moustache and long pointed beard, which, for the apparent age of the man, appeared to be prematurely grey. There were no tattoo marks about his face, but when he smiled in his sinister way every line of his expressive features seemed to be brought into play. Taken altogether, Te Kooti had a decidedly intelligent cast of countenance, in which the traits of firmness and determination appeared to be strongly marked. [Illustration: TE KOOTI'S WIFE.] His wife, who was apparently a few years younger than himself, was a strongly built, gaunt woman, with a remarkably bold expression of countenance, and I could well imagine that during the troubled times of the war she must have proved a daring and willing helpmate to her desperate lord. The followers of Te Kooti, who sat around, were mostly men of over six feet in height, powerful in build, and stern and savage-looking in countenance, and with the same air of watchfulness about them as was observable in the manner of Te Kooti, as if they, like their chief, had been ever on the _qui-vive_ for their lives during their long sojourn of outlawry in the fastnesses of the King Country. The first question put to me by Te Kooti was to inquire where I had come from, and when Turner explained to him the course of our journey he replied, "They told me as soon as I arrived that a _pakeha_ was in camp, and that he had travelled through the country; and I said, now that he has been through and seen all, let him remain. I did many a long journey," he continued, "during the war, but I never did a ride like that on one horse. I was always careful to have plenty of horses." I told him that I had seen the remains of his _pa_ at Te Perore, near Tongariro, where one of his great battles was fought; and taking his left arm out of a sling, he said, "This is what the _pakehas_ gave me there," and he showed me how a rifle-ball had struck him between the knuckle joints of the two first fingers, crippling them both. Ever since he was wounded in this way, he has always made it a rule to hide this hand as much as possible, and for that purpose he carries it constantly in a sling. He asked me whether I came from England, and when answered in the affirmative, he put many questions to me about the country, and was especially anxious to know whether the Queen was still alive, as he stated that he had often heard of her when at war with the Europeans. He then said that the Maoris did not want that war, but the _pakehas_ would fight, and the Maoris fought them. I remarked that it was now time for the two races to be as one, and that all the troubles of the past should be forgotten, and that the King Country should be opened by roads and railways. "I do not object," said Te Kooti, "to roads and railways; but," he continued, "we must hold the lands; it will not do for the natives to lose everything." I pointed out that in India a handful of _pakehas_ ruled over 200,000,000 of people, and that roads and railways had been made in that country, and the natives had benefitted. Te Kooti, without a moment's hesitation, replied, "In India the _pakeha_ rules justly; here the governments have not treated the Maoris fairly: one government has promised one thing and one another, and they have all broken faith." When I stated to him that since the formation of the colony one law and one sovereign reigned from one end of New Zealand to the other, and that that applied to the King Country as well as to any other part of the island, he replied, "That may be so. But," he continued, "you have your queen, and Tawhiao is our king. Whatever Tawhiao says, we must do." At this stage Te Kooti burst forth with a wild chant--a kind of song of welcome, which was intended as a compliment to our visit. As Te Kooti sang, his voice was singularly clear and mournful, and his intonation very distinct, while every word, as it fell from his lips, appeared to be uttered with the wild impulse of a fanatic. During this time his followers, as they had in fact done all along, sat listening in mute attention, as if anxious to hear the words of one whom they appeared to look upon as a kind of deified man, or as one endowed with a charmed life that had made him the hero of brave and extraordinary exploits, which recalled to mind some of the most daring and bloody deeds of Maori warfare, and as I listened to his wild refrain, and marked the earnest yet animated expression of his features as he sang, I could well realize the influence which such a man would exercise over the superstitious minds of the Maoris, and yet when I recalled to mind his remarkable career, his marvellous escape from the Chatham Islands with his devoted band, his desperate and bloody raid upon the settlers of Poverty Bay, and the series of daring achievements which rendered the name of Te Kooti a terror and a menace during the war that followed, I could not but help thinking that many of the Cæsars and Napoleons of history must have been made of much the same stuff as this fanatical Hauhau leader. Our last night in the King Country was celebrated by a _haka_ in Te Kooti's camp. Never had I seen anything so wild or so exciting. When the moon was up we went to a secluded spot surrounded by forest, where huge fires had been lit to assist the doubtful light of the Queen of night. The spectators squatted about in a semicircle, the ex-rebel chief taking up his position in the midst of his swarthy followers. At a signal given about fifty men entered the arena and nearly as many women. All were lightly clad; so lightly indeed that the costume of our first parents had not been greatly encroached upon. At a signal given from the leader the dancers formed themselves into ranks, and the first step was made by striking the feet heavily upon the ground, and, as the excitement produced by this movement gradually increased, the limbs trembled from the feet upwards, until every muscle in the body appeared to shake and twist, as if from the thrilling effects of a galvanic current. Then they turned their bodies to the right with a swinging jump, keeping the elbows close to the ribs and stretching out the fore-part of the arm until the hands and fingers shook and trembled as if strung together by wires. Then, they swung the body to the left in the same attitude, and then, facing to the front, threw back their heads, thrust out their tongues to the fullest extent in a menacing way, and turned up their eyes until nothing but the whites could be seen, and which, gleaming beneath the bright glow of the fires, imparted to their distorted countenances a singularly ghastly look. Next a wiry, tattooed savage jumped to the front with a loud yell, thrusting out his tongue, and distorting his features until the blue lines formed a quivering network over his face. He challenged the best dancer in the throng, at which a woman appeared upon the scene, when the pair performed a dance which no pen or pencil could describe. Then they returned into the ranks, and another couple followed, and then a third, and a fourth, until the whole crowd mingling together danced and yelled in a marvellous yet diabolical way. The dark, streaming hair of the women fell over their well-turned shoulders or swept round their heads in a circle, as the dark syrens went through the most extraordinary gyrations, with the rapidity of electrified humming-tops, while the men, twirling their weapons furiously in the air, yelled in a loud chorus which terminated in a long, deep, expressive sigh. Again and again these movements were enacted with protruding tongues, distorted faces, and fixed, staring eyes, time being marked by striking the thigh with the open left hand, so as to produce a sound which, mingling with the loud shouting of the furious dancers, added a curious effect to the wild and boisterous scene. It was a bright morning when we left Manga-o-rongo to do the last stage of our eventful journey. Although our horses had rested for two days, it was clear that they were utterly exhausted from their past fatigues, while their legs were so swollen that we could hardly get them to move along. Leaving the settlement, the whole broad valley of the Waipa lay stretched before us in the form of a wide expanse of open plain, through which the winding river, from which it derives its name, meandered in the direction of the north. The Waipa has its source on the southern side of Mount Pukeokahu, which is situated a little to the eastward of Mount Rangitoto. It winds round the western end of the Rangitoto ranges, and finally pursues its way along the Waipa Valley. Besides receiving, however, a large portion of the watershed of the Rangitoto Mountains, most of the streams from the ranges of the Kuiti flow into it, while to the west it is fed by numerous watercourses from the high coast ranges. Its principal tributaries are the Mangapu, Manga-o-Rewa, and Mangawhero, with the Puniu as the chief. Beyond the head of the river the watershed falls towards the Mokau, south of which the country is open for a considerable distance in the direction of the Tetaraka Plains, until the great central belt of forest country is reached. The whole wide valley of the Waipa lies very low, its altitude near the margin of the stream being scarcely 100 feet above the level of the sea; but the country rises gradually towards the west into undulating fern-clad hills, which mount in a kind of terrace formation, one above the other, until they reach the high wooded ranges which border the West Coast. The plains of this valley are composed for the most part of rich alluvial soil, which is everywhere covered with a dense growth of low fern. Many native cultivations and settlements are dotted about along the whole course of the river, and, taken altogether, this valley is one of the most densely populated portions of the King Country. From every point of view the scenery is most attractive, especially when looking in the direction of the north, where the tall forms of Pirongia, Maungatautari, and Kakepuku tower high above the surrounding plains. It was already night when we had nearly reached the end of our journey, and just as we drew rein at a native _whare_ to inquire the best point at which to cross the Waipa, my horse sank under me from sheer exhaustion as I sat on his back. A little coaxing got "Charlie" on to his legs again, and we hastened down to the banks of the Waipa to find that the river was almost at high flood. There was a canoe at the ford, but, as ill-luck would have it, it happened to be on the opposite side of the stream. We shouted lustily, in the hope that some one would hear us, and come and ferry us across, but there was no response but the echo of our voices, and it seemed that we would have to pass another night in the open, or swim our horses at the risk of our lives. The night was bitterly cold, and we were naturally anxious to reach our long looked-for goal, and, just as we were making preparations to swim the river, voices were heard on the other side, and in a few moments more the canoe shot across the water under the skilful guidance of three young Maori girls. It did not take us long to unsaddle, and, putting everything into the canoe with ourselves, we swam our exhausted animals across, but not before "Tommy," by being swept under the frail craft, by the force of the current, had nearly succeeded in upsetting it in the centre of the rapid stream. Once on the opposite side, we pressed upon our dark deliverers all the money we could muster, and, entering the King's settlement at Whatiwhatihoe, we crossed the _aukati_ line forming the northern boundary of the King Country, when the moon was high, on the night of the 18th of May, after a journey, which, taking all distances traversed into account, was not short of 600 miles. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 73: The Maoris count time by nights, moons, and stars. There appears to have been a kind of division of the nights into decades, as ten nights to the full moon, ten to its disappearing. The Maori year begins with the first new moon after the star _Puanga_ is seen in the morning, which is in May.] APPENDIX. POTATAU II. The ancestry and tribal connections of Matutaera Te Pukepuke Te Paue Tu Karato Te-a-Potatau Te Wherowhero Tawhiao, or Potatau II., render him the most illustrious and influential chief in New Zealand. No Maori chief is truly great unless he can trace his descent to some of those who came in the first canoes from Hawaiki. Tawhiao can do this, his ancestor being Hotonui, who came in the canoe Tainui, which made the land at Kawhia. The ancestor, however, who makes the greatest figure in the history of the family is Tapaue, who had a number of children who did well in the world, and founded quite a number of tribes who exist to this day. These children were--Te Rorokitua, who was the ancestor of the Ngatipaoa, Te Putu, Tahau, Te Apa, Huiarangi, Ratua, Hikaurua. The son of Te Putu was Tawhia, whose son was Tuata, whose son was Te Rauanganga, whose son was Te Wherowhero, whose son was the present Tawhiao. The name of Tawhiao's mother was Whakaawi, a woman of high birth of the Ngatimahutu tribe. Tawhiao's autobiographical narrative is as follows:-- "I was born at a place called Orongokoekoea, at Mokau. The whole of the Waikatos had been driven from Waikato by the invasion of Hongi, with his muskets, and the tribes had suffered greatly when the pa was taken at Matakitaki. The whole of the Waikatos were living at Mokau when I was born, from fear of Pomare. [The fall of Matakitaki took place in 1823, and Tawhiao would probably be born a year or two later.] We did not remain long at Mokau after the death of Pomare. We came back to Haurua, Kopua, and other places. I lived at Honipaka, in the Waipa. The Ngatitipa were at Haurau. Te Rauparaha had gone south long before that time, in prosecution of his conquests at Cook's Straits. Some of Rauparaha's people, however, the Ngatitoa and Ngatikoata, came to Matakitaki, and were slain there. Te Waharoa was then living at Horotiu, and did not move. The Ngapuhi did not attack him. Pomare made peace with Takurua. Waikato heard that peace had been made. At this time Te Wherowhero had gone to Taupo. Rauroha said to Pomare, 'Go back to your own country,' but Pomare would not consent. Rauroha said, 'You have made peace with me; look at Matire.' [Matire Toha was subsequently married to Kati, Te Wherowhero's brother, on the peace-making between Waikato and Ngapuhi.] Te Wherowhero wished to go to Pomare, but Te Kanawa resisted his desire, thinking there would be treachery. Pomare insisted upon going up to Waikato. He was met in battle by the Ngatitipa, the Ngatitamaoho. Te Aho, a son of Kukutai shot Pomare's fingers off, and when his people discovered that Pomare was wounded, they fled. The fight took place at Te Rore, on the Waipa, and the Ngapuhi fled to Whaingaroa. The chase continued to Te Akau, and as far as Awhitu. I remember when Matire Toha was brought to Waikato to be married to Kati. I remember the great crowds that were assembled at the time. Te Kihirini brought Matire to Waikato. She was very young then. The first Europeans we saw were at Kawhia. The first I remember was Captain Kent. The first missionaries in Waikato were Stack, Hamlin, Williams, and Morgan. The missionaries told us that we should be burned up unless we believed. I myself was baptized by the name Matutaera, at Mangere, by Mr. Burrows. "I remember a European coming to ask Te Wherowhero to sign the treaty of Waitangi. That European was the missionary, Mr. Maunsell. [The Ven. Archdeacon Maunsell.] The Maori he had with him was Tipene Tahatika. Te Wherowhero said he would not sign. Mr. Maunsell remarked to Tipene, 'This ignorant old man, if he had signed, I would have given him a blanket.' Te Wherowhero was then at Awhitu. Te Wherowhero's name was afterwards put to the treaty, but it was written by Te Kahawai, not by himself. I was at the great meeting at Remuera. That was when Fitzroy was Governor. The principal speakers were Wetere te Kauae and Te Katipa. Governor Fitzroy visited Kawhia. The Rev. Mr. Whiteley and the missionaries had been there long before that time. When Sir George Grey came, he visited Rangiawhia, Te Awamutu, and other settlements in Waikato. He had thirty Maoris as his following. Sir George Grey pointed out Mangere as a place for Te Wherowhero. He said to my father, 'Come to Mangere, the land is for you.' I never attended any of the Mission schools." In reference to the beginning of the New Zealand war, after Te Wherowhero's death, and when Tawhiao had succeeded his father as king, he narrates:-- "I was at Rawhitu, a few miles above Rangiriri, when I heard that the soldiers had crossed the Mangatawhiri. Heta Tarawhiti and a few others were with me. The Waikatos were then at Rangiriri and other places. I warned them to avoid the soldiers. When I heard that the soldiers had crossed the Mangatawhiri, I warned the Maoris to avoid the soldiers. I told them they should not meet the soldiers on the line of the Waikato river, but should go inland by Whangamarino to Paparata, and then to the Kirikiri. [Apparently this was Tawhiao's military plan, instead of constructing _pas_ on the river, like Meremere and Rangiriri. If his advice had been taken, the line of our advance, would have been threatened, and the settlements around Auckland placed in great danger.] The next thing I heard was that a battle had been fought at the Koheroa, and that the people I had sent to evade the soldiers had also gone and fought at the Koheroa. Tapihana was the chief man whom I had charged. I sent a message also to Mohi and Ihaaka (occupying the settlement at Pukekohe, the Kirikiri and adjacent places), telling them to come out from their villages. The engineer of the _pa_ at Rangiriri, who directed its formation, was Te Wharepu. I told the people that they should retire to the depth of the forest to evade the troops. The others would not consent. Te Wharepu was the leader of the others. They said, 'We will not agree; if our blood must be shed, let it be shed on our own land at Waikato.' I was at the fight at Rangiriri. Wiremu Tamehana and myself went to Rangiriri, and requested the people to move away from that place. That was the object of both Thompson[74] and myself in going. A dozen times I tried to persuade them to break up from Rangiriri, but finding that our efforts were unsuccessful, we left. The balls were then flying in all directions. I took refuge behind a flax bush. A bullet passed close to me, and struck the bush. I was not injured. I had a gun and cartridge-box. I saw some of my people escaping. I told them to be swift, and move on. They said, 'You must look after yourself; are you not in danger?' I said, 'No, I will rest a while here.' I took off my coat and vest, and, after a while, I succeeded in getting on board a canoe belonging to the Ngatitamaoho, and in making my escape. Previously ten guns were levelled at me, and a big gun also. Messengers had gone before, and told the people that I was safe." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 74: A native known as The King Maker.] THE CHIEFS. WIREMU TE WHEORO Te Morehu Maipapa comes from a distinguished line of ancestors. From a woman of celebrity, named Hourua, after whom the tribe was called, and whose worthy chief was that famous man Wiremu Te Awatora, of Raglan. Then from the renowned ancestor Tapoue, Te Wheoro becomes a near relative of Tawhiao, the present Maori King, which circumstance accounts for the fact of his taking possession of the Tiwai canoe, which conveyed the late Maori King, Potatau Te Wherowhero, from Manukau to Ngaruawahia. The father and mother of Te Wheoro resided in the earlier times at their settlement, Kaniwhaniwha, on the Waipa River, but, as was the custom, they would remove to other places, being interested in other lands, thus verifying the old Maori proverb, "_Ka mete kainga tahi; ka ora kaingarua_" (he that has but one home will be subject to failure; he that has two homes will prosper). The name of Te Wheoro's father was Te Kaingamata, and his mother's name was Ngapaoa of the Ngatihinetu tribe of Rangiaowhia. Te Wheoro's grandfather was Te Whakaete, who was acknowledged to have been of great power among the Waikatos. Te Whakaete was killed at Maungatautari by the Ngatipukenga, a war party on its way to Te Wairoa, east coast, and headed by the chief Naunau. Te Wheoro's own settlement was at Te Kohekohe, Lower Waikato, and he was always a faithful adherent of the Europeans. His valuable services were brought into requisition by General Cameron when war was declared against the Waikatos. The calamities which befell his people arising out of the war must have greatly afflicted him, for he tried very hard to divert war during the Civil Commissionership of Mr. Gorst, M.P., in the Waikato, when Sir George Grey's _Runanga_ system was introduced, and when the two Maori newspapers--the Government organ, _Te Pihoihoi_, and the Maori King organ, _Te Hokioi_--were waging a hostile war, which unhappily culminated in a breach of the peace, Manga Maniapoto having instructed his partisans to seize the press and type, which was duly carried out. Te Wheoro is called by the Maoris "_he tangata rangatira_"(a man of noble extraction), and although he is a Ngatihourua of Whaingaroa, a Ngatimahuta of Waikato-nui, and a Ngatihinetu of Rangiaowhia, his particular tribe is the Ngatinaho, the members of which acknowledge his chieftainship and _mana_, and these people acted under him during the Waikato war. Of his fidelity, friendship, and singular loyalty to Europeans before the war, during the war, and subsequently up to the present time, abundant evidence may be adduced both by Maoris and Europeans, while Government despatches and military records simply corroborate facts well known to reliable settlers. Te Wheoro is in great favour with the King party, and besides being decorated with the New Zealand war-medal, and holding a commission as Major in the Colonial forces, he is a member of the House of Representatives for the Southern Maori Electoral district of the North Island. WAHANUI, the most influential chief of the Ngatimaniapoto tribe, is a man of giant proportions, considerably over six feet in height. His name in the Maori language signifies "broad," and was given to him in reference to his enormous stature. He was educated at the "Three Kings," and was originally intended for the Church, but returning to the King Country, he took up his home at Te Kopua in the centre of his tribe, where he has remained, watching over the interests of his race. For many years he was the king's principal minister and staunchest supporter. With a singularly dignified and courteous manner, he displays a remarkable intelligence, which is heightened in no small degree by a wonderful power of oratory which he usually employs with remarkable effect at the councils of the native tribes. He is one of the largest native land-owners, the territory of his tribe extending over the most fertile portion of the King Country. MANGA REWI, a chief of the Maniapoto tribe, descended from a long line of ancestors, is a man of great intelligence, and, although now aged, is one of the most influential and respected representatives of his race. He has been throughout a strong supporter of the King Movement, and during the war was one of the most valorous and daring of Maori leaders. PATARA TE TUHI belongs to the same tribe as Tawhiao, namely, the Ngatimahuta, and is, besides, his brother-in-law. He is a clever man, and being ready with his pen, he was selected by the Kingites to edit the _Hokioi_, the newspaper which they established to advocate the Kingite cause. This paper was printed by types and a press obtained by the Maoris who went to Europe with Dr. Hochstetter and which was given to them by the Archduke Maximilian, who afterwards had such an unfortunate career in Mexico. This powerful organ came to an untimely end, the printing-office having been smashed up by an armed party under Rewi, and the plant thrown into the Waipa river. WHITIORA WIRIMU TE KOMETE, a chief of the Waikato tribe, is renowned for his bold defence of the Rangiriri _pa_ against the imperial troops. He narrates his capture with ninety of his men as follows:-- "A white flag was hoisted on board the steamer, at the Waikato river, in consequence of which he ordered the flag of truce to be hoisted in the Rangiriri _pa_, which act he supposed would have led to a parley; but, to his great astonishment, General Cameron and fifty of his men came into the _pa_, and commanded the Maoris to deliver up their arms. We could easily have shot the fifty soldiers, including the General, if we had known that their coming into the _pa_ was to deal treacherously with us. We could have maintained our post in the _pa_, and we had made up our minds to fight to the death. After admitting the soldiers into the fortress we discovered for the first time we were prisoners." PAORA TU HAERE is a chief of the Ngatiwhatua tribe. HATI WIRA TAKAHI, chief of the Ngapuhi tribe. PARATENE TE MANU, chief of the Ngatiwai tribe. TUKUKINO, head chief of the Ngatitematera, was one of the principal Hauhau leaders during the war, and one of the most active obstructionists to European Settlement. He is at present one of the most aged natives in New Zealand. TE RAIA NGAKUTU TE TUMUHUIA, chief of the Ngatitematera tribe, was the last of the New Zealand cannibals. He attacked a _pa_ at Katikati, in 1842, belonging to the Ngatiterangi, defeated the powerful chief Te Whanake, and feasted his own followers upon the slain. TE KOOTI is well known as the great Hauhau leader during the war. He is a man of singular intelligence, and still exercises a widespread influence over the tribes. He was sent as a prisoner of war, with other natives, to the Chatham Islands, and his escape from that inhospitable region with his followers, together with his massacre of the settlers at Poverty Bay, form one of the most remarkable and stirring events connected with the campaign. LIST OF THE NEW ZEALAND TRIBES, WITH THEIR LOCALITIES. These tribes, which constitute the principal divisions of the Maori race, are all subdivided into _hapus_, or tribal families, bearing often a different appellation to that of the parent tribe, to which, however, each _hapu_ claims a direct relationship. Name of Tribe. Locality. Aopouri and Rarawa North Cape to Hokianga. Ngapuhi Bay of Islands. Ngatiwhatua and Uriohau Manukau Kaipara and Waitemata. Ngatitai Firth of Thames and Auckland. Ngatipaoa Thames from Cape Colville to Katikati. Ngatierangi Katikati to Maketu and inland. Ngatiwhaka-aue Maketu and Lake Country. Ngatiraukawa Otaki Arowhenua. Waikato Valley of Waikato to Manukau. Ngatimaniapoto Valley of Waipa to Mokau. Ngatiawa West Coast from Mount Egmont to Mount Taupiri, Waikanae, Wellington, &c. Te Whakatohea Bay of Plenty and inland. Ngatipouri Cape Runaway and inland. Ngatituwharetoa Lake Taupo and centre of North Island. Ngatitama From Mokau inland. Taranaki West Coast near Mount Egmont. Ngatiruanui Waitotara and inland. Ngarauru Waitotara to Whanganui and inland. Ngatihau Whanganui and inland. Ngatiapa Rangitane, Whanganui River, and inland. Ngatitoa Near Wellington. Ngatikahungunu Table Cape to Palliser Bay, and inland. Te Urewera Taupo to Poverty Bay. Whanauapanui Cape Runaway to Bay of Plenty and inland. Rangitane Admiralty Bay and vicinity. Ngahitao South and Middle Island. THE FLORA. Synopsis of the principal _flora_ met with during the journey, arranged alphabetically in accordance with native names. TREES. Hinau.--_Eloecarpus dentatus._ A graceful tree, 20 to 30 feet high; blossoms with a white flower; produces an edible berry 1/2 inch long, pulp astringent, stone deeply furrowed; bark furnishes a black dye, common throughout the interior of the island; finest specimens met with in the Teranga forest, west of Ruapehu, at an altitude of about 2000 feet. Horoeka.--_Aralia Crassifolia._ A small tree with a narrow leaf; frequent in the forests of the Lake Country and other parts of the interior. Kahikatea.--_Podocarpus dacrydioides._ The white pine, growth 50 to 120 feet; found on the swampy lands and river-banks; berry edible, wood soft; largest trees seen in Valley of Whanganui. Karaka.--_Corynocarpus loevigatus._ A beautiful tree, 30 to 40 feet high, with glossy ovate leaves and oblong berries, which, when ripe, are of a bright red colour. The natives affirm that this tree was brought by their ancestors from Hawaiki. Seen near Tauranga and in Lake Country. Karamu.--_Coprosma lucida._ A handsome tree with dark, shining ovate leaves; growth 20 to 30 feet; berries small, bright red, and edible; foliage eaten readily by cattle and horses; widely distributed all over the central portion of North Island, especially in forests of Kaimanawa Mountains and Western Taupo; grows up to altitude of 3000 feet. Mahoe.--_Melicytus ramiflorus._ A bushy tree; growth 15 to 30 feet; frequent in forests of the interior; foliage eaten by cattle. Makomako.--_Aristotelia racemosa._ A small tree, 10 to 20 feet high; bark black; bears a small berry; bark used by natives to produce a black dye; plentiful in forests of Whanganui. Manoa.--_Dacrydium Colensoi._ Growth 10 to 50 feet; leaves an inch in length, those of the upper branches overlapping each other; wood very hard, formerly much prized by natives for the manufacture of spears and clubs; frequent in valley of Manganui a-te-Ao. Mataii.--_Podocarpus spicata._ Growth 80 to 100 foot; berries edible; common in all the forests of the interior; finest trees found in Valley of Whanganui. Miro.--_Podocarpus ferruginea._ Growth 60 to 120 feet; produces a red berry, the favourite food of the wood-pigeon; frequent throughout the interior; finest specimens met with in forests west of Ruapehu, at altitude of about 2000 feet. Nikau.--_Areca Sapida._ A beautiful and graceful palm, with ringed trunk, and bright green pinnate leaves 4 to 6 feet long, the sole representative of its genus in New Zealand; the pulp of the top portion of the stem is edible, and when young is a favourite article of food with the natives; very frequent in the forests of the interior, but appeared to attain its greatest growth and development in the damp marly soil of the Valley of the Whanganui. Pohutukawa.--_Metrosideros tormentosa._ A grand, wide-spreading tree, with gnarled trunk and twisting branches, growth 30 to 50 feet; bears in the month of December a large crimson flower; inner bark used by the natives for diarrhoea; wood hard and red; grows usually near the sea, but also inland at Lake Tarawera at altitude of over 1000 feet. Pukatea.--_Atherosperma Novæ Zelandiæ._ A straight-growing tree, with a buttressed trunk, growth 50 to 150 feet; grows to a large size in the forests west of Ruapehu, at an altitude of about 2000 feet. Rata.--_Metrosideros robusta._ A gigantic tree from 60 to 160 feet in height, base of trunk often exceeds 40 feet in circumference; blooms with a crimson flower; the trunk gives life to innumerable parasitical plants; wood hard, but not durable; inner bark powerful astringent, used by natives for diarrhoea; frequent in all the forests of the interior, the largest trees found being on the eastern side of Mount Pirongia and in the dense low-lying forests of the Valley of Whanganui. Rewarewa.--_Knightia excelsa._ A handsome tree, growth 80 to 100 feet; bears large clusters of red flowers; frequent in the Lake Country. Rimu.--_Dacrydium cupressinum_, the red pine. A noble tree, growth from 80 to 150 feet; branches pendulous; wood red, heavy, and handsome. This tree attains to its largest size in the Terangakaika Forest, west of Mount Ruapehu, where it flourishes in great abundance at an altitude varying from 2000 to 2500 feet. Tanekaha.--_Phyllocladus trichomanoides._ A celery-leaved pine, producing a tough timber-growth, from 20 to 30 feet; the bark affords a red dye which is fast becoming a valuable article of export for the purpose of colouring kid gloves; frequent in forests of Western Taupo and Te Toto ranges.[75] Tawa--_Nesodaphne Tawa._ A fine tree, growth 60 to 80 feet; leaves lance-shaped; produces an edible berry; common throughout the interior. Ti.--_Cordyline Australis._ Growth 10 to 30 feet; leaves uniform, from 2 to 3 feet long; flowers white and drooping; root edible; frequent throughout the interior, grows at an altitude of 3000 feet; frequent on Rangipo table-land. Towai.--_Fagus fusca._ One of the most beautiful of New Zealand trees, growth 80 to 140 feet; leaves 1 to 1-1/4 long, deeply serrate; forms dense forests on the Kaimanawa Mountains and other parts of interior; attains to its greatest growth on the western slopes of Mount Ruapehu, where it grows at an altitude of over 4000 feet. Totara.--_Podocarpus totara._ A fine forest tree; growth from 60 to 100 feet; met with in all parts of the interior. SHRUBS, FLOWERS, AND PLANTS. Anata.--A buttercup. Hanea.--A cress. Harakeke.--_Phormium tenax._ A New Zealand flax; flowers dark red; leaves long, drooping and narrow; the seeds may be used as a substitute for coffee; the root is employed by the natives as a purgative and worm medicine; the gum is applied to wounds and sores; the fibre of the leaf is used for rope-making and the manufacture of paper. Common throughout the interior in swampy places; growth from 4 to 8 feet. Heruna.--_Polygonum adpressum._ Kaikaiatua.--_Rabdothamnus solandri._ A plant. Kokota.--_Epilobium minuta._ A small willow-herb. Korikori.--A species of ranunculus. Koromiko.--_Veronica salcifolia._ A common shrub, with lilac or white flowers, lanceolate leaves; frequent all over interior; grows luxuriantly around southern and western region of Lake Taupo. A decoction of the leaves is valuable in dysentery. The foliage is eaten readily by cattle. Koropuku.--A plant with a red berry, common in the vicinity of Tongariro. Koru.--A blue and white flower. Kotukutuku.--_Fuchsia excorticata._ A spreading tree-like shrub, leaves ovate lanceolate; bears a purple berry, yields a dye of the same colour; met with in all parts of interior. Kowhitiwhiti.--Watercress. Kalakuta.--A white flower. Manuka.--_Leptospermum ericoides._ A tree-like shrub, widely distributed all over interior; finest specimens met with in the Geyser Valley, Wairakei. Mataroa.--A flax-plant. Matuakumara.--A plant. Nahui.--_Alternanthera denticulata._ Nene.--_Dracophyllum latifolium._ Outatoranga.--_Pimelia arenaria._ Panahi.--_Convolvulus._ Panara.--Taupo primrose. Papataniwhaniwha.--_Lagenophora Forsteri._ A plant like a daisy. Pototara.--_Cyothodes oxydrus._--A plant with a small white fragrant flower, found growing on Rangipo table-land. Piripiri whata.--_Carpodetus serratus._ Poipapa.--_Chenopodium triandrum._ Poroporo.--An edible nightshade with a white flower. Puatea.--A yellow daisy. Puwha.--_Sonchus oleraceus._ Sowthistle, much used by the natives as a vegetable. Rengarenga.--_Anthropodium cirrhatum._ A lily. Rongotainui.--A flax used for cordage and fishing-lines. Taihinu.--A white flower found at Taupo. Taretu.--A plant with blue berries. Tataramoa.--_Rubus australis._ A climbing bramble, armed with prickles, branches pendulous, leaves coriaceous; berry, red or amber-coloured; known to the colonists as the "bush lawyer;" found in all the forests of the interior; most frequent in Valley of Whanganui. Tikupenga.--_Cordyline stricta._ Titirangi.--_Veronica speciosa._ Totaratara.--A small shrub with a white flower. Tupapa.--_Lagenophora Forsteri._ Native daisy. Tutu.--_Coriaria ruscifolia._ A frequent shrub with glossy leaves and pendulous clusters of purple fruit, the seeds of which are poisonous as well as the foliage; produces a black dye. Waewaekaka.--_Gleichenia hecystophylla._ Wharangi.--_Melicope ternata._ A broad-leaved, poisonous shrub, very common in the forests of the Whanganui and Western Taupo. CREEPING, CLIMBING, AND PARASITIC PLANTS. (_Common throughout the interior._) Aka.--_Metrosideros buxifolia._ Kareao.--_Rhipogonum scandens._ A climbing wiry vine, the "supple Jack" of the colonists; leaves three to five inches long, linear, ovate; often grows in entangled masses, abundant in all the forests; largest specimens found in the swampy forests of the Whanganui. A decoction of the root forms a good substitute for sarsaparilla. Kiekie.--_Freycientia Banksii._ A plant producing an edible flower and fruit. Kohia.--_Parsiflora tetrandra._ A climbing plant. Kowharawhara.--_Astelia Banksii._ A parasitical broad-leaved grass, growing in tufts on trees, bearing an edible berry. Kowhaia.--_Edwardsia microphilla._ A passion-flower; colour, green and orange, with fragrant fruit. Mawhai.--_Sicyos Australis._ A creeping plant. Patangatanga.--_Freycientia Banksii._ Pikiarero--_Clematis_, bearing a beautiful white flower. Puawananga.--_Clematis indivisa_, bearing a white flower. FERNS. Hiaue.--Creeping _lycopodium._ Huruhuruwhenua.--_Asplenium lucidum._ Kiokio.--_Polypodium._ Kopakopa.--_Trichomanes._ A round-leaved fern. Korokio.--The smallest tree-fern. Kotote.--A small-leaved fern. Kurakura.--A small kind of _lycopodium_. Maerere.--A small-leaved fern. Makaka.--_Adianthum._ Mangapowhatu.--_Polytrichum cyphoma._ Mangemange.--_Lycopodium articulatum._ A creeping fern. Mokimoki.--Long-leaved fern. Mouku.--An edible fern. Ngutu-Karkariki.--Parrot's bill fern, so called from the form of its foot-stalk; the fronds are plume-shaped. Panaka.--_Asplenium._ A very graceful fern. Para Marattia.--_Salicina._ A large fern. Paretau.--_Asplenium obliquum._ A large-leaved fern. Puaka rimu.--The tree _lycopodium._ Raorao.--_Pteris esculenta._ A common edible fern, the root of which formed at one time the principal food of the Maori. Raumanga.--_Polypodium._ A broad-leaved fern. Tapui kotuku.--Creeping _lycopodium_. Tarakupenga.--Creeping _lycopodium_. Waewaekoukou.--_Lycopodium volubile._ A running fern. Ti Taranaki.--A fern growing on the plains, having its fructification on a separate stalk. TREE FERNS. CYATHEA. Tote.--_C. dealbata._ The "silver-tree fern;" growth, 10 to 20 feet; trunk slender and black; fronds lanceolate, 8 to 12 feet long, dark green above, silvery white below. Abundant in the interior; finest specimens seen in forests of the Lake Country. Ponga.--_C. medullaris._ The "black fern;" trunk very stout, 12 to 40 feet high, and covered with matted fibres; fronds very numerous, from 10 to 15 feet long; deep green above, pale below; abundant throughout the interior. _C. Cunninghamii._ Trunk, 12 to 15 feet high; fibrous at base; fronds, 20 to 30 in a crown, 6 to 9 feet long; bright green; frequent in the Lake Country. FLORA OF TONGARIRO AND RUAPEHU. The _flora_ of Tongariro and the surrounding region partakes of an alpine character, and is both varied and beautiful. Indeed, not only are many of the mountains forming the group clothed with a dense and attractive vegetation, but where the forests spread down to the plains, the trees and shrubs are often so disposed by Nature as to form perfect gardens, which appear to have been artificially planted. During the exploration of both Tongariro and Ruapehu, I had an opportunity of examining the varied growth of trees, shrubs, and plants; and although I was unable, under the circumstances, to make a very extensive botanical collection, I secured some of the choicest specimens of mountain plants, and afterwards obtained their native names from the Maoris. Houhou.--_Panax Colensoi_ is an abundant plant in hilly districts. Huripo.--A tall shrub, common around Tongariro, and remarkable for its foetid smell. Manao.--_Pittosporum fasciculatum_ is found in both islands. Monao.--_Cyathodes acerosa_ is plentiful throughout the whole country. Papauma.--_Griselima littoralis_ is a plentiful tree, especially in the high interior districts. Patotara.--_Leucopogon Colensoi_ is a common mountain plant found in both islands. Peki Peki.--_Clemisia spectabilis_ is an alpine plant, abundant on the open mountains of the South Island, but is seldom found in the north. Purea.--_Cassinia fluvida_ is a plentiful mountain plant on both islands. Rimu.--_Dacrydium laxifolium_ is abundant on the high mountains. It is the smallest known pine in the world. Taubinu.--_Olearia nummularifolia_ is plentiful on the mountains of the South Island, but is found less frequently in the north. Toatoa.--_Phylloctadus Alpinus_ is a sub-alpine tree, frequently met with in both islands. Towai.--_Fagus fusca._ This is the largest and by far the most attractive tree growing in the vicinity of the high mountains of this portion of the island. It is somewhat stunted around Tongariro, but attains to colossal size on the western slopes of Mount Ruapehu. Tumigi.--_Leucopogon fasciculatus_ is a shrub having small, thick leaves, with white underneath. It is very plentiful at Tongariro. Tutu.--_Coriaria mystifolia_ is common in mountains and dry places. Waewaekohu.--_Gleichenia dicarpa_ is a widely distributed mountain plant. The _Gnaphalium bellidioides_ is a mountain plant met with in both islands. This plant was the last sign of vegetable life on Tongariro, where it grew up to an altitude of 6000 feet. I also found it growing on Ruapehu, with the _Ligusticum aromaticum_, at an altitude of 7000 feet, where both these plants likewise formed the last sign of vegetation. It is worthy of remark that the natives could give no names for these latter species. GRASSES. Kakaho.--_Arundo Australis._ A tall grass or reed, very common around Lake Taupo. Karetu.--_Torresia redolens._ A sweet-smelling grass. Kopoupou.--_Scripus lacustrina._ A rush, frequent in the Lake Country. Kurikuri.--A grass with a prickly flower-head, Western Taupo. Mata.--A reed-like grass. Matarauriki.--A tussock grass, Rangipo table-land. Mouka.--A wide-leaved grass. Ngawha.--Native bulrush, frequent in Lake Country. Oioi.--_Leptocarpus fasciculus._ A common rush. Otaota.--A thin grass. Parakerake.--A fine grass, frequent at Taupo and Rangipo table-land. Pouaka.--A fine grass, emitting, when bruised, a foetid smell; found at Western Taupo. Pureirei.--A swamp-grass. Raupo.--_Typha latifolia._ A flag-rush, common everywhere in swamps and banks of rivers; used by natives for building. Tarareke.--A flax-grass. Tarapuarere.--A flowering grass. Toetoekiwi.--A low, rush-like grass, frequent in swamps. Toetoe.--_Epicacris pauciflora._ A handsome cutting grass, common in swampy places. Tupari.--A broad-leaved grass. Tutaikuri.--A swamp-grass, the native couch. Wi.--A fine grass, frequent around Lake Taupo. Wiwi.--A small swamp-rush. MOSSES, FUNGI, AND LICHENS. Hakekakeka.--A brown, edible fungus. Harori.--A white, edible fungus. Haroritui.--A tree-fungus. Hawai.--A tree-fungus. Karerarera.--A slimy plant. Karengo.--A slimy plant, growing on stones in the water. Koukou.--A tree-moss. Kokirikiri wetu.--A globular fungus. Kopura.--A scented moss, frequent in forests of Whanganui. Maru.--Stag's-horn moss. Pukurau.--_Lycopodon fontainesii_. A fungus. Tikitiwhenua.--A toad-stool. THE FAUNA. The almost total absence of land mammalia forms one of the most remarkable features in the _fauna_ of New Zealand. Of this class New Zealand can boast of only two genera: the bat--_pekapeka_ of the natives, two species--and a small indigenous rat, the _kiore_, now almost extinct. The author met with one or two specimens of the latter animal at Ruakaka, in the King Country, but there, as in other parts of the island, it has been mostly exterminated by the Norwegian or grey rat. The _kararehe_, a native dog, the origin of which is uncertain, has entirely passed away. Its remains, however, have been found with those of the _moa_ in the limestone caves of the South Island. The natives claim to have brought the _kiore_ with them on their migration from Hawaiki, and it is likely that they may have imported the dog at the same time, as a reference to it is made in connection with their earliest traditions. Of the maritime mammalia both whales and seals were formerly very numerous on the coast of the islands. There are known to be eight kinds of whales, and three of seals. The total absence of serpents and tortoises is again another notable feature. BIRDS. By far the most attractive part of the New Zealand _fauna_ is the birds, which include some of the most beautiful species of the feathered tribe. Of these the following are among the most remarkable:-- Hihipopokero.--_Turdus albifrons._ A small brown bird with a white head. Hioi.--_Ptilocinctatis._ A ground-lark, very common on the plains of the interior of North Island. Huia.--Genus _Melliphagus._ A black bird, about the size of a jay; it has two little fleshy lappets under the beak: its tail feathers, tipped with white, are much prized by the Maories as ornaments for the hair. Hurukiwi.--A wild duck. Kahu.--_Falcon harpe._ A large hawk. Kaiaia.--A sparrow-hawk. Kaka.--_Nestor, meridionalis._ A largo greenish-brown parrot. The author found this bird to be very common in the forests of the Whanganui, where its harsh note was the first sound to break the morning stillness. This family of parrots is characterized by an aquiline or overlapping beak. Kakapo.--_Strigaps habroptilus._ A ground-parrot; colour, green and yellow; it does not fly, although it has wings, but hops from branch to branch; it is nocturnal in its habits. Kakariki.--_Platycerus Novæ Zealandiæ._ A pretty, green parrot. Karewarewa.--_Falco brunnea._ A quail-hawk. Katatai.--_Ralus assimilus._ A kind of rail. Kauau.--_Graculus carunculatus._ A shag or cormorant. Kea.--A large parrot, common in the South Island. It was formerly a vegetarian, but in recent times it has developed a strong taste for flesh, and has wrought great destruction among sheep flocks. The fat surrounding the kidney appears to be its chief delight. Planting its strong claws into the woolly loins of the live sheep, it, by the aid of its powerful beak, pierces through those parts of the flesh and fat around the kidney, which it greedily devours, while the animal is powerless to resist its attacks. Kereru.--_Columbus spadicea._ A wood-pigeon. Kiwi.--Fam. _Struthionidæ._ (See Wingless Birds.) Kohihi.--_Endynamys taitensis._ A bird. Kohaperoa.--A bird of passage, the New Zealand cuckoo; it is a handsome bird, spotted like the sparrow-hawk. Kokako.--The New Zealand crow. Kororeke.--The New Zealand quail. Koriniako.--Genus _Melliphagus._ The bell-bird, one of the sweetest songsters. Kotare.--_Halcyon vagrans._ The king-fisher. Kotuku.--_Ardea flavirostris._ A large white crane. Koukou.--A small nocturnal owl, the "morepork" of the colonists. Kuruengo.--The shoveller, a duck of Lake Taupo. Mata.--A swamp-sparrow, a small brown bird with long tail feathers. Matuku.--_Botaurus melanotus._ A bittern. Mirmiro.--_Miro albifrons._ A small, graceful bird. Moa.--Fam. _Struthionidæ._ (See Wingless Birds.) Moakeroa.--A black bird with red bill and feet. Ngirungiru.--_Petroica macrocophala._ A tomtit. Parera.--_Anas superciliosa._ A wild duck. Pihana.--A little black and white bird. Pihoihoi.--The New Zealand ground-lark. Piwakawaka.--_Rhipidura flabellifera._ The fantail fly-catcher, a small graceful bird with a spreading tail. Poaka.--_Himantopis._ Pied stilt. Popokatea.--_Orthornyx heteroalytus._ The New Zealand canary bird. Poporoihewa.--A snipe-like bird. Puetoeto.--A bird living in swamps. Pukeko.--_Porophyrino melanotus._ The swamp-hen; red bill and feet, back black, breast bright blue. Putaugitange.--_Casarca variegata._ The paradise-duck. Riroriro.--Fam. _Luscindæ._ A small wren. Ruru.--_Strigidæ Athene._ An owl. Takupu.--A white gull. Tarapunga.--A small gull, frequenting Lake Taupo. Tatarihuka.--A small bird, held sacred by the Maories. Tatariki.--Fam. _Luscindæ._ A small bird. Tewakawaka.--Fam. _Rhipidura fuliginosa._ The black fantail. Titi.--_Palecanoides urinatrix._ The mutton-bird. Toetoe.--_Certhiparus Novæ Zealandiæ._ A small bird. Totoara.--The robin. Tui.--_Prosthemadera Novæ Zealandiæ._ The parson-bird. A beautiful black bird, the size of a thrush; plumage a lustrous blue-black, irradiated with green hues, pencilled with silver-grey, and white delicate hair-feathers under the throat, suggestive of a parson's tie. It has a melodious, clear note, and mocks other birds. It is easily domesticated, and may be taught to talk. Weka.--_Ralus Australis._ A large rail, the wood-hen, frequently met with on the high land of the interior. Wio.--The blue mountain duck. Wiorau.--A small grey duck, frequenting the forest streams. SEA BIRDS. The sea birds inhabiting the coasts of New Zealand are fairly numerous, and among them are two small kinds of penguin. Hawe.--A large gull, the tail-feathers of which are highly prized by the natives. Hoiho.--_Eudyptes antipodes._ A small penguin, inhabiting the coasts of the South Island. Kao.--A gull frequenting the shores at night. Karoro.--A gull. Kawan.--_Graculus carruculatus._ A shag or cormorant. Kuaka.--A small sea bird. Pekeha.--A gull. Pitoitoi.--A small sea bird. Taiko.--A gull. Takahikahi.--A sea-shore bird. Takupu.--A white gull. Tara.--_Lula Australis._ A sea swallow. Tarapunga.--A small, graceful gull, inhabiting Lake Taupo; very numerous in the vicinity of Tokanu. Titipu.--A gull. Torea.--_Hæmatopus picatus._ The oyster-catcher; has red legs and beak. Toroa.--_Diomedia exulans,_ The albatross. WINGLESS BIRDS. The almost extinct family of the _Struthionidæ_, or wingless birds, of New Zealand, forms one of the most interesting features in the _fauna_ of the country. All the members of this genus are wholly different from the common types of birds. They are remarkable for short rudimentary wings, entirely unfit for flight, and for bones nearly devoid of air cells; the leg muscles are of unusual strength and thickness; the feet are powerful and long, with three toes, while the plumage is composed of light, shaggy feathers, almost resembling hair. Before its period of extinction, the largest member of this family, known by tradition to the natives as the _moa_, was the giant of the feathered tribe, the height of the several species of this bird, as computed from its remains, being as follows:--- Feet. Inches. Dinornis Giganteus 11 0 " Robustus 8 6 " Elephantopus 6 8 " Casuarinus 5 6 " Crassus 5 0 " Didiformus 4 8 Although the remains of all those birds are of extraordinary proportions, the _Dinornis elephantopus_, or elephant-footed _moa_, is distinguished by the singularly massive construction of its leg bones. The sole remaining representative of these colossal birds is the _apteryx_ or _kiwi_ of the natives. Of this genus there are several species. The _Apteryx Australis_ was the first made known to science, in 1812. The _Apteryx Mantelli_ differs from the former kind in its smaller size, shorter toes, and longer bill and less developed wings, while its plumage is of a somewhat darker colour. The _Apteryx Owenii_ is slightly smaller than the former species, with a greyish plumage. During his journey through the interior the author found the _kiwi_ to be yet common in the Kaimanawa Mountains, the forests of the Whanganui, in the mountainous districts of Western Taupo, and at Mount Pirongia. REPTILES. In New Zealand the lizards are represented by eleven species, five of which belong to the neat genus _Naultinus_. Kakariki.--_Naultinus elegans._ A beautiful green lizard, now rarely found. Kakawariki.--_Naultinus punctatus._ A green lizard with yellow spots on the back. Mokonui.--A large lizard, said by the natives to be common on the Upper Whanganui. Tuatara.--_Halteria punctata._ A great fringed lizard, about eighteen inches long. It is now only found on the small island of Karewha, in the Bay of Plenty. Around Lake Taupo the author found small brown lizards, about two inches long; and at Pangarara, near Tongariro, lizards eight inches long, of a dark-brown colour. INSECTS. The insect life of New Zealand is represented by many curious forms. Anule.--A large caterpillar. Aweto.--A caterpillar which feeds on the _kumara_. Hara.--A large centipede, nearly six inches long. Hataretare.--Slug-snail. Hawate.--Caterpillar. Heire.--Maggot. Hotete.--_Sphæria Robertsi._ The vegetating caterpillar. Howaka.--A cerambyx. Huhu.--A boring grub. Huhu.--A moth. Hurangi.--A fly. Kukaraiti.--A grasshopper. Kapapa.--A large cerambyx. Kapokapowai.--A dragon-fly. Katipo.--A venomous spider, one kind red and one black, with a red spot on the back. Keha.--A flea. Kekeriru.--_Cimex nemoralis._ A large black wood-bug. Kekerewai.--A small green beetle. Kihikihi.--A grasshopper. Kiriwhenua.--A garden bug. Kopi.--Chrysalis. Kowhitiwhiti.--A small grasshopper. Kurikuri.--A grub which turns into a green, bronzed beetle. Kutu.--Louse. Mokoroa.--A large caterpillar. Mumatana.--A large brown beetle. Naenae.--Mosquito. Namu.--Sand-fly. Ngata.--Leech. Ngaungau.--Midge. Papapapa.--Small brown beetle. Pepeaweto.--The grub which begets the _hotete_, or vegetating caterpillar. Pepeatua.--Butterfly. Pepeturia.--Large green moth. Puawere.--Spider. Purehurehu.--Large butterfly. Puwerewere.--Spider. Rango.--Large meat-fly. Tarakihi.--Locust. Titiwai.--Small luminous earthworm. Toke.--A very long worm. Kokoriro.--Large red _weta_. Weta.--_Deinacrida heteracantha._ A beetle two and a half inches in length. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 75: Mr. G.W. Griffin, United States' Consul at Auckland, whose valuable reports upon the various commercial products of New Zealand have been recently printed by authority of the New Zealand Government, is the author of a very interesting paper upon the economic uses of this tree.] A BRIEF REFERENCE TO THE MAORI LANGUAGE. The Maori alphabet is composed of fourteen letters, namely:-- _Consonants._ H, K, M, N, P, R, T, W, NG. _Vowels._ A, E, I, O, U. _Diphthongs._ aa, ae, ai, ao, au, ee, ei, ii, oo, ou, uu. _Vowels._ _Sound._[76] a as _a_ in f_a_ther e as _a_ in f_a_re. i as _ee_ in sl_ee_p. o as _o_ in m_o_le. u as _oo_ in sh_oo_t. _Consonants._ _How named._ h _ha._ k _ka._ m _ma._ n _na._ p _pa._ r _ra._ t _ta._ w _wa._ ng _nga._ THE PARTS OF SPEECH. _The Article._ _Te_ is the definite article, _nga_ is its plural; as, _te whare_, the house; _nga whare_, the houses. The indefinite articles are _he_ and _tetahi_, a, an, or some; the plural of _tetahi_ is _etahi_, as _he kuri_, a dog; _tetahi hoe_, a paddle; _etahi waka_, canoes or some canoes. _The Noun._ The noun has two numbers, the singular and the plural, the plural being formed by the article _nga_ prefixed to the singular; as, _Te tamaiti_, the child; _nga tamaiti_, the children. _Adjectives._ The adjective does not precede the noun, as in English, but is placed immediately after it; as, _he rakau roa_, a tree long. _Pronouns._ The personal pronouns are:-- {1st person, _ahau_ or _au_, I. Singular {2nd " _koe_, thou. {3rd " _ia_, he, she, or it. {1st person, _tatau_ or _matou_, we. Plural {2nd " _koutou_, ye. {3rd " _ratou_, they. _Possessive Pronouns._ _Tahu_, mine or my. _Ta taua_, _ta maua_, _ta tatou_, or _ta matou_, ours. _Tau_, thine or thy. _Ta korua_, or _ta koutou_, yours. _Tana_, his. _Ta raua_, or _ta ratau_, theirs. _Relative Pronouns._ In the Maori there is no distinct form. _Demonstrative Pronouns._ _Singular._ _Plural._ _Tenei_, this. Enei or _anei_. _Tena_, that (next). _Ena._ _Tera_, that (farther off). _Era._ _Taua_, that (before mentioned). _Ana._ _Ia_, that. _Interrogative Pronouns._ There are three, viz.:-- _Wai_, who; _Aha_, what; _tehea_ or _ehea_, which. _Verbs._ These are of three kinds, active, neuter, and causative, each of which admits of the passive voice. The passive is formed by adding to the active one of the following terminations:--_a_, _ia_, _tia_, _hia_, _kia_, _ria_, _na_, _ina_, _ngia_. The causative verb is formed by the prefix _whaka_. _Tenses._ The present tense is formed by _ka_ before the verb, or by _e_ before and _ana_ after it. The past tense is formed by the prefix _i_. The future tense is formed by the prefix _ka_, _e_, and _tera_. _Adverbs._ _Ae_, yes, affirmation. _Kahore_, no, not, on the contrary. _Ekore_, not. _Au_ or _aua_, I do not know. _Inakaura_, a little while ago. _Inapo_, last night. _Inanahi_, yesterday. _Inaoake_, day before yesterday. _Aianei_, to-day, now, presently. _Pea_, perhaps, indeed, of course. _Ko_, then, thither. _Konei_, here, this place, this time. _Ake_, upwards, onwards. _Atu_, onwards, away. _Iho_, downwards, up above, from above. _Mai_, hither. _Tua_, behind, rather. _Mua_, before. _Roto_, within, the inside place, inland. _Waho_, without, the outside. _Puku_, secretly, without speaking. _Niamata_, in former times. _Meake_, soon, presently. _Ahea_, when, at what time. _Pehea_, how, in what way. _Oti_ else, in question, then. _Ata_, gently, deliberately. _Marie_, quietly. _Hanuga_, besides, not. _Kau_, only, alone. _Ki_, very. _Ara_, namely. _Prepositions._ _E_, by. _O_, of, belonging to. _Whaka_, towards, in the direction of. _To_, up to, as far as. _U_, according to. _Kei_, at, on, in, with. _Hei_, for, at; of time or place, to. _No_, from, belonging to. _Mo_, for, because of, on account of. _Roto_, inside, within. _Waho_, outside, without. _Tua_, other side. _Tata_, near. _Conjunctions._ _A_, and, as far as, there. _Koia_, therefore. _Oti_, or _Otira_, but, at the same time. _Ahakoa_, although, nevertheless. _Hoki_, also, for, because. _Notema_, because. _Interjections._ _Na_, or _nana_, behold! see! _E_, or _O_! oh! _Aue_, alas! _Taukiri_, exclamation of surprise. _Numerals._ _Tahi_, one. _Rua_, two. _Toru_, three. _Wha_, four. _Rima_, five. _Ono_, six. _Whitu_, seven. _Waru_, eight. _Iwa_, nine. _Tekau_, or _nga huru_, ten _Tekau ma tahi_, eleven. _Tekau ma rua_, twelve. _Tekau ma toru_, thirteen. _Tekau ma wha_, fourteen. _Tekau ma rima_, fifteen. _Tekau ma ono_, sixteen. _Tekau ma whitu_, seventeen. _Tekau ma waru_, eighteen. _Tekau ma iwa_, nineteen. _Rua tekau_, twenty. _Rua tekau ma tahi_, twenty-one. _Toru tekau_, thirty. _Toru tekau ma tahi_, thirty-one. _Wha tekau_, forty. _Wha tekau ma tahi_, forty-one. _Rima tekau_, fifty. _Rima tekau ma tahi_, fifty-one. _Ono tekau_, sixty. _Whitu tekau_, seventy. _Waru tekau_, eighty. _Iwa tekau_, ninety. _Ko tahi rau_, one hundred. _Ko tahi rau ma tahi_, one hundred and one. _Rua rau_, two hundred. _Toru rau_, three hundred. _Wha rau_, four hundred. _Rima rau_, five hundred. _Ono rau_, six hundred. _Whitu rau_, seven hundred. _Waru rau_, eight hundred _Iwa rau_, nine hundred. _Ko tahi mano_, one thousand. _Ko tahi mano ma tahi_, one thousand and one. _Rua mano_, two thousand. _Ordinal Numbers._ _Te tahi_, or _tuatahi_, the first. _Te rua_, or _tuarua_, the second. _Te tekau_, the tenth. _Te tekau ma tahi_, the eleventh. _Te rua tekau_, the twentieth. _Te toru tekau_, the thirtieth. _Te rau_, the hundredth. _Te rua o nga rau_, the two hundredth. _Useful Verbs._ To be able, _ahei_. To add, _hono_. To assemble, _huihui_. To ask, _inoi_. To believe, _whakapono_. To boil, _koropupu_. To burn, _tahu_. To call, _karanga_. To carry, _kawe_. To be calm, _aio_. To clean, _horoi_. To clear, _para_. To count, _tatau_. To curse, _kanga_. To cut off, _tope_. To cut (in two), _pounto_. To desire, _hiahia_. To dig, _ko_. To dive, _ruku_. To divide, _wehewehe_. To drive, _whiu_. To drink, _inu_. To eat, _kai_. To enter, _tomo_. To entrap, _reti_. To exchange _hokohoko_. To fetch, _tiki_. To fell (timber), _tua_. To fish, _hi_. To float, _taupua_. To gather, _kohikohi_. To go, _haere_. To be healed, _mahu_. To hear, _rongo_. To hide, _huma_. To imitate, _whakatau_. To jest, _hangarau_. To kill, _patu_. To lead, _arabi_. To light, _whakamarama_. To light up, _hopai_. To listen, _whakarongo_. To look, _rimi_. To make, _hauga_. To measure, _wharite_. To murder, _kohuru_. To pay, _utu_. To plant, _whakato_. To play, _takaro_. To plunder, _muru_. To pray, _muru_. To run, _oma_. To rest, _okioki_. To see, _kite_. To sell, _hoko_. To sew, _tui_. To shine, _tiaho_. To sing, _waiata_. To speak, _ki_. To stop, _whakamutu_. To be able, _ahei_. To sow, _rui_. To swim, _kaukoe_. To take, _tango_. To teach, _ako_. To undo, _wewete_. To watch, _mataara_. To wash, _horoi_. To work, _mahi_. To understand, _mohio_. _Useful Nouns._ Abyss, _torere_. Anger, _riri_. Boundary, _rohe_. Bridge, _arawhata_. Canoe, _waka_. Carving, _whakairo_. Child, _tamahiti_. Council, _runanga_. Dance, _haka_. Daylight, _awatea_. Dog, _kuri_. Door, _tatau_. Dust, _nehu_. Egg, _hua_. Eel, _koiro_. Feather, _how_. Fence, _taiepa_. Firewood, _ahi_. Floor-mat, _takapau_. Ford, _kauranga_. Girdle, _tatua_. Hand, _ringaringa_. Heat, _pukaka_. Hatchet, _patiti_. Jealousy, _hae_. Lake, _roto_. Landing-place, _tauranga_. Man, _tangata_. Mind, _hinengaro_. Plain, _raorao_. Precipice, _pari_. Proverb, _whakatauki_. Priest, _ariki_. Rope, _whakaheke_. Row, _rarangi_. Seaside, _tatahi_. Ship, _kaipuke_. Shoal, _tahuna_. Skin, _hiako_. Sky, _rangi_. Smoke, _auahi_. Song, _waiata_. Spear, _tao_. Speech, _reo_. Sport, _takaro_. Spring of water, _puna_. Steam, _korohu_. Summit, _teitei_. Tree, _rakau_. Valley, _wharua_. Verandah, _whakamahau_. Water, _wai_. Waterfall, _wairere_. Woman, _wahine_. Year, _tau_. _Useful Adjectives._ Abundant, _ranea_. Afraid, _wehi_. Aged, _kaumatua_. Ashamed, _whakama_. Bad, _kino_. Bald, _pakira_. Black, _pango_. Blind, _matapo_. Brave, _maia_. Bright, _kanapa_. Broad, _whanui_. Calm, _marino_. Carved, _whakairo_. Concealed, _huna_. Conceited, _whakahihi_. Confused, _porauraha_. Damp, _maku_. Dark, _pouri_. Deep, _hohonu_. Deceitful, _hangarau_. Dry, _maroke_. Fat, _momona_. False, _horihori_. Good, _pai_. Great, _Nui_. Hard, _pakeke_. Heavy, _toimaha_. High, _teiti_. Hot, _wera_. Idle, _mangere_. Light, _mama_. Loose, _korokoro_. Narrow, _whaiti_. Near, _tutata_. New, _hou_. Noisy, _turituri_. Open, _tuwhera_. Playful, _takaro_. Quarrelsome, _pakani_. Quick, _kakama_. Quiet, _marie_. Red, _whero_. Ripe, _pakari_. Round, _porotaka_. Salt, _mataitai_. Shallow, _pakupaku_. Sharp, _koi_. Short, _poto_. Slippery, _pahekeheke_. Slow, _ngoikore_. Small, _iti_. Soft, _ngawari_. Sour, _kawa_. Strong, _kaha_. Tall, _roa_. Tame, _rarata_. Thick, _matotoru_. Thin, _heroki_. Timid, _wehi_. True, _pono_. Uncooked, _kaimata_. Wasteful, _maumau_. Weak, _iwikore_. Wet, _maku_. White, _ma_. Winding, _awhiowhio_. Wild, _maka_. Wearisome, _hoha_. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 76: It may be set down as a general rule, to which there are, however, some few exceptions, that Maori words are always accented on the _first_ syllable, but compound words, or words which have the dissyllabic root doubled, have a secondary accent on the second portion of the word.] INDEX. Alexandra, 17, 44. Amnesty Act, The, 10. Animals introduced by the Maories, 71. _Aotea_ canoe, The, 70. AOTEA Harbour, 44. AOTEAROA, Meaning of, 33 Apteryx, The, 317. _Arawa_ canoe, The, 70. ARAWAS, The, 68. Area of the King Country, 1. ARIKI KAPAKAPA, 62. Ascent of Pirongia, 36. ---- Ruapehu, 199, 237. ---- Tongariro, 179. Atea-Amuri, 112. AUCKLAND, 46. Aukati, The, 1, 44, 328. Australasian volcanoes, The, 195. Bathing at the hot springs, 58. ---- at Te Koutu, 67. ----, the pleasures of, 98. Bay of Plenty, The, 48. Big Geyser, The, 121. Birds, 358. Birds, Measurements of, 318. Botany, 350. Boundaries of the King Country, 1. Bridal Veil Fall, The, 244. Bryce, Mr., 10. Cambridge, 44. Cameron, General, 6. ---- at the Gate Pa, 51. Camp of TAWHIAO, The, 20. ---- on Ruapehu, 210. Canoes, The seven, 70. Caterpillar, The vegetating, 83. Chemical constituents of the springs, 63. Coast-line of the King Country, 2. Coffee-pot, The, 64. CONFISCATIONS, The, 7. Crater lakes, 147, ---- of Te Tarata, 97. ---- of Tongariro, The, 191. Cream Cups, 64. Crown of Ruapehu, The, 221. Davis, Mr. C.O., 68. Descent of Tongariro, 195. Devil's Hole, The, 102. Discoverer of New Zealand, The first Maori, 70. Dismal Swamp, 268. Distribution of the tribes, 349. Eagle's Nest, The, 119. Earliest discoverers, The, 68. Entomology, 364. EXPLORERS OF THE KING COUNTRY, 4. Fauna, 358. Ferns, 354. Flora, 350. Flute of Tutanekai, 76. Fungi, 357. Gas in the pools, 120. Gate Pa, The, 51. Genealogy of Tawhiao, 343. Generations, The Maori, 71. Geology of the King Country, 3. ---- of Pirongia, 40. ---- of the Taupo region, 140. Geysers, 49, 62, 100, 109, 111, 116, 162. Giant Rocks, The, 219. Glacier on Ruapehu, The, 247. Glowworms, The, 82. Grasses, 357. Greenstone, The, 22. Grey, Sir George, 9, 15, 47. Hamilton, 44. Hapurangi, 110. Hariki Kapakapa, 109. HATI WIRA TAKAHI, 37. Hauhaus, The, 276. Haurungaroa Mountains, The, 305. Haurungatahi, 287. Hawaiki, The fatherland of, 69. Hemo Gorge, The, 110. Hengia, 326. HIKURANGI, The meeting at, 7. Hinemoa, The legend of, 78. Hinepareoterangi, 273. HOCHSTETTER'S EXPLORATION, 4, 304. HONE TE WETERE, 23. Hongi, The, 309. Horohoro, 110. Horomatangi, 166. Horses, Our, 135. Horseshoe Fall, The, 242. Hot springs, 56, 98, 101, 107, 109, 111, 117, 162, 193, 297. Hotete, The, 83. Huata, A, 292. Huka Falls, The, 116, 125. Hurakia Mountains, The, 305. Hursthouse affair, The, 135. Hurutirangi, 76. Hymn of the Hauhaus, 280. Insects, 364. Jade ornaments, 22. Kahakaharoa, 316. KAHOTAWA Spring, The, 66. Kai, 102. Kaimanawa Mountains, The, 229. Kainga, A, 329. Kakaramea Ranges, The, 161. Kakariki Geyser, The, 102. Kakepuku, 18. Karangahape, 306. Karioi, 254. Karioi, Mount, 44. KAWAU, 47. KAWHIA Harbour, 43. Ketetahi, 299. Kihikihi, 44. King's address, The, 33. Kings of the Maories, The, 343. Kiriohinekai, The, 124. Kiwi, The, 317. Korero at Manga-o-Rongo, 329. ----, The, at Whatiwhatihoe, 27. Kuiti Mountains, The, 331. _Kurahaupo_ canoe, The, 70. Kuruaro, 76. Kuwharua, 301. Lake Country, The, 46. Lament for Te Heuheu, 165. ---- of Te Kooti, 279. Land Court, The, 313. Language, The, 364. Legend of the Huka Falls, 130. ---- Rotua, The, 282. ---- Tongariro, The, 181. Lichens, 357. Lizard, A gigantic, 319. Lizards, 364. Love song, A, 80. McLean, Sir Donald, 9. Mamanui, 233. Mammalia, 358. MANAWAPOU, RUNANGA at, 5. Mangakara, The, 307. Mangakino, The, 321. Mangakowiriwiri, 320. Manganui-a-te-Ao, The, 270, 284. Manga-o-Rongo, 329. MANGA REWI, 23, 25, 347. Mangatotara, The, 267. Mangatuku, The, 267, 329. MANGOREWA Gorge, The, 54. Manuka-trees at Wairakei, 119. Manutarere, 329. Maories, The, 11. ----, their cheerfulness, 322. ----, cause of their decay, 291. ----, fatherland of the, 69. ----, their language, 364. ----, their life, 133. ----, their mode of fighting, 292. ----, murder of a girl, 231. ----, their origin, 68. ----, their numbers, 11. ----, a typical speech, 33. ----, tribes of the, 71. _Mata-Atua_ canoe, The, 70. MATENE TE WHIWI, 5. MAUNGAKAWA, 44. MAUNGATAUTARI, 44. Maunsell, Archdeacon, 344. Mere, use of the, 294. ----, sketch of a, 311. Mineral wealth of the Kaimanawas, 236. Moa, 317. Moffat, the murder of, 273. Mohi, 311. Mokaikai, The, 326. Mokia, Island of, 77. Morning on Ruapehu, 214. Moss, Mr. F.J., 41. Mosses, 357. Motuoapa, 159. Motutaiko, 166. Motutere, 158. Murimotu Plains, The, 253. Napier mail, The, 256, Natives Reserves Act, The, 9. New Zealand War, The, 6, 51, 345. Ngahapu, 100. NGAPUHI, a chief of the, 40. Ngatihau legend, 130. NGATIPROA, chief of the, 39. NGATIRUANUI, The, 5. NGATITEMATERA, a chief of the, 42. NGATITOA, a chief of the, 38. Ngatituwharetoa, The, 130, 164, 333. Ngatiwhakaue, The, 68. Ngatoroirangi, 181, 255. Ngatokorua Pa, 281. Ngauruhoe, 182. Ngongotaha, 65. Ohinemutu, 56. Okarewa, 307. Onetapu Desert, The, 232. Orakeikorako, 111. Origin of the Maories, 68. Ornithology, 358. Oropi, 53. Oruapuraho Valley, The, 315. Paeroa Mountains, The, 111. Pakihi, 265. Pangarara, 177 PAORA TU HAERE, 34. PARATENE TE MANU, 40. Parekura, 283. Patara te Tuhi, 347. Pehi Hetau Turoa, 288. PIG, Tragedy of a, 61. Pihanga Mount, 169. Pink Terrace, The, 105. Piritana, The, 82. PIRONGIA, 3, 18. ----, ascent of, 36. Plants of New Zealand, 352. ---- introduced by the Maories, 71. POHAERE, 20. Pohaturoa, 112. Point Victoria, 227. Political State of the King Country, 3. POTATAU I., 6. POTATAU II., 6. Pouotepiki, 308. Pukaki, 71. Pukeakikiore, 306. PUKEROA, 56. Pumice plains, The, 114. Puniu, The, 325. Puruohutaiki, 71. Putauaki, 91. Rangihewa, 88. Rangipo table-land, The, 169. Rangariri Pa, 345, 348. Rangitanua, 264. Rangitauaiti, 264. Rangitoto, 47. ---- Ranges, The, 331. Rangituku, 306. RATA Trees, The, 41. Rauporoa Forest, The, 82. Reptiles, 364. Rivers of Lake Taupo, The, 142. ROTOHIKO HAUPAPA, 60. Rotoiti Lake, 62. Rotokakahi, 84. Rotomahana, 94, 103. Roto Ngaio, 155. ROTORUA, Lake, 56. Rotua, The legend of, 282. Ruakaka, 269. RUAPEHU, 3, 287. ----, first ascent of, 199. ----, second ascent of, 237. ----, flora of, 355. Runanga at Pouotepiki, 310. ---- at Te Ruapeka, 71. Salute, The, 309. Sheep station at Karioi, 254. Shrubs, 352. Silica formations at Te Otukapurangi, 106. ---- at Te Tarata, 95. Skeleton buried in a tree, 77. Sophia the guide, 89. Sowthistle as food, The, 313. Springs, Hot, 56, 98, 101, 107, 109, 111, 117, 162, 193, 297. Stations of the tribes, 349. Stone axes, 329. Storm on Ruapehu, 211. Struthious birds, heights of, 318. Sulphur Cups, The, 64. ---- Point, 63. ---- pools, 123. Summit of Ruapehu, The, 223. Sunrise on Ruapehu, 213. Tahuatahi, 118. _Tainui_ canoe, The, 70. _Takitumu_ canoe, The, 70. Tama te Kapua, 73. ---- Turaki, 282. Tangi, The, 309. TAPU, its meaning, 4. Tapuwaeharuru, 136. TARANAKI, 3. ---- confiscation, The, 7. Tarawera, Lake, 87. ----, Mount, 91. Taupo, Lake, 139, 304. TAURANGA, 48. ---- Taupo, 159. TAWHIAO, King, 9, 15, 20, 343. Te Ana Taipo, 102. Te Ariki, 92. Tehatepe, 156. Te Hau, 178. Te Henga, 169. TE HEUHEU, 5, 6, 164, 297. Te Heuheu of Tokanu, 310. Te Huka, 102. Te Kaina Valley, The, 308. Te Karapiti, 125. Te Kauhanga, 63. TE KAUWHANGA, 64. Te Kohae Point, 156. TE KOOTI, 7, 14, 278, 334, 348. TE KOPUA, Meeting at, 9. Te Koutu, 65. Te Kupe, 70. Te Mahuki's outbreak, 136. Temple at Te Ruapeka, 71. TE NGAKAU, 23. Te Otukapurangi, 105. Te Pakaru Plain, The, 301. Te Pareoterangi, 272. Te Pirori, 162. Te Porere, 299. Te Poroporo, 157. Te Pupunitanga, 64. TE RAIA NGAKUTU, 43, 348. Terangakaikha Forest, The, 261. Terania, 307. Terekirike, 118. Terraces, The, 94. TE RUAPEKA, 57, 68. Te Takapo, 103. Te Tarata, 94. Tetauranga, 325. Te Tihoi Plains, The, 319. Te Tokapo, 100. Te Toto Ranges, The, 324. TE TUHI, 30. Te Wairoa, 85. Te Whakataratara, 104. Te Whatapohu, 102. TE WHEORO, Major, 22, 28, 346. TE WHEU, 259. TE WHITI, 14, 278. Thorny plant, A, 230. Tikitapu, 84. Tikitere, 62. Time, Maori method of reckoning, 332. Titiraupenga, 3, 320. _Tokomaru_ canoe, The, 70. Tokanu, 161. TONGARIRO, 3, 7, 179, 296. ----, flora of, 355. Towai, Mount, 286. Trachytic lava bed, 240. Traditions of the Maories, 68. Tree ferns, 355. Trees, 350. ---- in the pumice, 177. ---- in the Terangakaikha Forest, 261. Tribes of the Maories, 70. ---- at Manga-o-Rongo, 332. ---- on the Whanganui, 276. ---- and their localities, 349. TUATARA, The, 49. TUKUKINO, 42, 348. TUPUHI Spring, The, 65. Turner, Mr. J.A., 134. Tutanekai, 76. TU TAWHIAO, 22. Twin Waterfalls, The, 246. Uenuku, 277. Uenukukopako, 76. Upper Waikato, The, 143, 160, 174, 249. Vegetating caterpillar, The, 83. Victoria Point, 227. View from Ruapehu, The, 225. Vocabulary, 364. Volcanic origin of the rocks, 144. Volcanoes in Australasia, 195. Wahanui, 23, 347. Waihaha, The, 316. Waihohonu Valley, The, 186. Waihora, The, 319. Waikanapanapa, 101. Waikato, The, 115, 146, 151. ----, The Upper, 143, 160, 174, 249. ---- confiscation, The, 6. Waikite Geyser, The, 65. Waikomiko, The, 319. Waimarino, The, 287. Waipa River, The, 2, 339. Waipapa, 324. Waipahihi, The, 154. Waipari, The, 325. Wairakei, 115. Wairoa, The, 85. Waitahanui, The, 154. Waitangi, The treaty of, 344. Water-shed, A curious, 249. Weapons, 292. Whakarewarewa, 64. WHAKARI, 48. Whakarra, 76. Whakatira, 76. Whale, Legend of the, 74. WHANGA Ranges, The, 44. Whangaehu, The, 237. Whanganui River, The, 2. ---- ----, source of the, 296. ---- tribes, The, 276. Whangapipiro, 63. Wharangi shrub, The, 269. WHARES at Ohinemutu, The, 57. WHATIWHATIHOE, Meeting at, 10, 19. Whistling Geyser, The, 119. White Island, 48. ---- Terrace, The, 95. WHITIORA, 23, 348. LONDON: PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF EXPLORATIONS MADE IN THE KING COUNTRY BY J.H. KERRY-NICHOLLS 1883] Transcibers note: The folowing printers errors have been corrected; turqoise/turquoise varions/various puposes/purposes The following place/proper names have been corrected on the advise of proofreaders and after cross-referencing within the text and on-line. tangate to tangata Kamianawa to Kaimanawa Perongia to Pirongia Tuatard to Tuatara Te Motopuke to Te Motupuke Kakaramia Ranges to Kakaramea Ranges Other possible errors, because of doubt, have been left unaltered. We hope our kiwi cousins will forgive us. 
45354	----	The New Zealanders at Gallipoli BY MAJOR FRED WAITE, D.S.O., N.Z.E. _Adjutant Divisional Engineers, N.Z. & A. Division, 1914-15_ _Chief Engineer Instructor, N.Z.E.F. Training Camps, 1916-18_ SECOND EDITION [COPYRIGHT] _Printed and Published under the Authority of the New Zealand Government by_ WHITCOMBE AND TOMBS LIMITED AUCKLAND, CHRISTCHURCH, DUNEDIN AND WELLINGTON 1921 To the Memory of Our Glorious Dead. _They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe._ _They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn, At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them._ --_Laurence Binyon_ Contents. The New Zealand Popular History Series, by Sir James Allen, K.C.B. v. The New Zealanders of Anzac, by General Sir Ian Hamilton vii. To My Old Comrades, by General Sir Wm. Birdwood xv. CHAPTER I. The Concentration of the Expeditionary Force 1 II. The Voyage to Egypt 14 III. Training in Egypt 32 IV. The Defence of the Suez Canal 47 V. The Rendezvous at Mudros 64 VI. The Anzac Landing 74 VII. The First Week 86 VIII. At the Head of Monash Gully 102 IX. The Battle of Krithia 119 X. The Coming of the Mounteds 132 XI. Supplying the Needs of the Army 152 XII. Midsummer at Anzac 166 XIII. The Preparations in July 182 XIV. The Battle of Sari Bair 192 XV. The Battle of Kaiajik Aghala 245 XVI. Preparing for the End 259 XVII. The Evacuation 278 XVIII. The Return to Anzac 294 APPENDIX I. The Main Body Transports 302 II. N.Z. and A. Division Transports 303 III. Main Body Establishments 304 IV. The Men of Anzac. Decorations and Mentioned in Despatches 307 V. The Place-Names of Anzac 317 VI. A Gallipoli Diary 325 Trench Map of Anzac at end of Volume. The New Zealand Popular History Series. These popular histories of New Zealand's share in the Great War are designed to present to the people of New Zealand the inspiring record of the work of our sons and daughters overseas. It was recognized that the Official History would necessitate considerable research, would take a long time to write, and then must be largely a study of strategy and tactics; but something--that would be concise and interesting, not expensive, and available at once--seemed desirable. It was decided to avoid the style of an Official History and select as writers soldiers who had themselves fought with the N.Z.E.F. through the several campaigns; soldiers recognized by their comrades as authorities on the campaigns with which they deal; soldiers who themselves have experienced the hopes and fears, the trials and the ultimate triumph of the men in the ranks. The volumes--of which this story of Anzac is the first published--are four in number: Vol. I. "The New Zealanders at Gallipoli," by Major Fred Waite, D.S.O., N.Z.E., who served with the Main Body and the N.Z. & A. Division as a Staff Officer of Engineers. Vol. II. "The New Zealanders in France," by Colonel Hugh Stewart, C.M.G., D.S.O., M.C., who served through the campaigns in Gallipoli and France with the N.Z. Infantry. Vol. III. "The New Zealanders in Palestine," by Lieut.-Colonel C. Guy Powles, C.M.G., D.S.O., who as a Staff Officer of the N.Z. Mounted Rifles served through the campaigns in Gallipoli and Palestine. The material for this volume was collected by Major A. Wilkie, W.M.R. Vol. IV. "The War Effort of New Zealand," will deal with: (a) The minor campaigns in which New Zealanders took part; (b) Services which are not fully dealt with in the campaign volumes; (c) The story of the work at the Bases--the efforts of our Women abroad and in New Zealand, our Hospitals, the raising and the training of the men. Without rhetoric, without needless superlatives--for the stories do not need them--these volumes are placed before the people of New Zealand in the hope that a fuller realization of the difficulties encountered and eventually triumphed over will act as an inspiration to those of us who were not privileged to fight for the cause of Freedom on the battlefields of the World. [Illustration: signature] Minister of Defence. Parliamentary Buildings, Wellington, 1-12-19. The New Zealanders of Anzac. As I was on the point of starting to pay a long-promised visit to the Commander-in-Chief of our Army of the Rhine, a cabled message from the Government of New Zealand was put into my hands--a message asking me to write a Preface to the Gallipoli volume of the History of New Zealand's Share in the Great War. This preface was to be written and posted to Wellington without loss of time, as the work had already gone to press. When I set out for the Dardanelles on Friday, March 13, 1915, to command an unknown army against an unknown enemy, in an unknown country, that was an original undertaking. To write a preface to an unknown book being printed in another hemisphere--to write it from memory--in the train and in a hurry, that also is an original undertaking, and it is necessary to begin by setting forth these facts in order that my many omissions and shortcomings may have a better chance of forgiveness. Crossing the German frontier, with the edict of the New Zealand Government still in my pocket, I got out to stretch my legs at the first stop. The name of that railway station was Düren. Hardly had I alighted when my eyes fell upon the letters, "N.Z.M.R.," quite unmistakably affixed to the shoulder-strap of an officer also standing on that platform. Since the year 1915, this particular combination of capital letters has exercised upon me a certain fascination--I have to go right there. So I went, and asked the wearer of the shoulder-strap if he had been at the Dardanelles. "I have, indeed," he said. "I am Lieut.-Colonel John Studholme. I served in the Dardanelles under you, and now I am the last New Zealander in Germany." "You speak figuratively," said I. "You mean you are one of the last." "Not so," he replied. "I am not one of the last; I am the last one." Now here, thought I to myself, is a queer thing! I am told to write a preface to a history of an Army, and I meet the last item of that Army which did so much to win the Rhineland, in Rhineland; the last man of that superb band who were raised from a population of one million and lost fifteen thousand killed; whereas, to take other standards, the Belgians, justly famous as having fought so long and so valiantly for the freedom of Europe, lost thirteen thousand killed out of a population of seven millions. Once again, too, there came to me the thought of their losses at the Dardanelles:-- Total strength landed 8,556 all ranks Casualties in killed and wounded (excluding sickness) 7,447 These thoughts and the coincidence of meeting Colonel Studholme, gave me courage. I had been thinking I could not do justice to my theme, and that I must regretfully decline. Now I resolved to take my courage in both hands and go ahead; so here, with the help of my personal diary, I revive memories of my meeting with the first New Zealander. On March 29, 1915, I motored across from Mena Camp (where I had been reviewing the Australians) to Heliopolis. There was a big dust storm blowing. Godley commanded. I wrote down on the spot, "These fellows made a real good show; superb physique. Numbers of old friends, especially amongst the New Zealanders." Next day, March 30, I wrote to Lord Kitchener, "The physique of the rank and file could not be improved upon." Also: "They are all as keen as possible, and will, I am certain, render a very good account of themselves if the conditions encountered give them a fair chance." Now, the force that I had seen and admired on March 29, 1915, had sailed from far-away New Zealand early in October, 1914, so each private soldier had already travelled over land and sea further than Ulysses during his ten years' Odyssey, and further than Christopher Columbus during his discovery of America; and they had voyaged thus, not for gold or glory, but to help the Old Country and to succour the weak and the oppressed. When to-day we look round upon our wrecked and devastated world, we can see that neither the War, nor the Peace has added to the moral structure of Governments. The one great, enduring asset is this: that the rank and file of mankind, and especially the rank and file of New Zealand, let no private interest stand between them and their eagerness to strike a blow for the Right. [Illustration: [_Photo by Guy_] LIEUT.-COLONEL A. BAUCHOP, C.M.G. Otago Mounted Rifles. (_Died from wounds_).] So the New Zealanders sailed away from their own safe islands, towards danger and death, and first cast anchor at Albany, Western Australia, a pleasant, old-fashioned spot. The little force consisted of one brigade of Mounted Rifles, a Brigade of Infantry, and one Brigade of Artillery; and there, at the south-western point of the neighbouring continent, they joined the 1st Australian Division and headed, under convoy, for Egypt, arriving at Alexandria early in December. On the formation of Birdwood's Corps, a brigade of Australian Light Horse and a brigade of Australian Infantry were incorporated with them to form what was known as the New Zealand and Australian Division. This formation was trained under General Godley at Zeitoun till April, 1915, during which time a small portion of the New Zealand Brigade took part in the repulse of the Turkish attack on the Suez Canal in February. Both Sir John Maxwell and General Godley assured me, at the time of my inspection in March, that the behaviour of the New Zealanders during this trying period of straining at the leash was in every way excellent. Soon after my inspection, the last stage of the journey was begun, and leaving the mounted troops behind them, the infantry and artillery took ship and set sail for Mudros. There, for the short time remaining to them, they worked very hard at rowing, embarking, disembarking, &c., until they were almost as handy as bluejackets in the boats. Much of the success of the landing was due to this period of special preparation. On April 25, 1915, a date regarded in the Near East as the most memorable of the Great War, the New Zealand Brigade landed early in the day and fought valiantly on the northern or Suvla side of the Bay. Everything was strange and astonishing to these boys from the green, well-watered islands of the South--the enemy, the precipices, the thirst, the wounds and death around them; but no veterans have ever done better than they did during those first few hours. Then it was that they carried, occupied and held, under steadily-increasing shell and machine-gun fire, what was afterwards known as Plugge's Plateau (from Lieut.-Colonel Plugge, commanding the Auckland Battalion), and Walker's Ridge (from Brigadier-General Walker, General Birdwood's Chief-of-Staff, who commanded the New Zealand Infantry Brigade at the Landing in the absence of Brigadier-General Earl Johnston, sick). These are the prosaic facts of a feat of arms which will endure as long as heroic poetry and history are written or read. An extract from my diary, dated April 25, H.M.S. "Queen Elizabeth": "They are not charging up into this Sari Bair Ridge for money, or by compulsion. There they are--all the way from the Southern Cross--earning Victoria Crosses, every one of them." An extract from my diary dated April 26, H.M.S. "Queen Elizabeth": "Passed on the news to Birdwood: I doubt the Turks coming on again--but, in case, the 29th Division's feat of arms will be a tonic." "I was wrong. At 3 p.m., the enemy made another effort, this time on the left of our line. We shook them badly, and were rewarded by seeing a New Zealand charge. Two battalions racing due north along the coast and foothills with levelled bayonets. Then the tumult died away." On May 5 I brought the New Zealand Infantry down to Helles. They had been fighting hard at Anzac, making sorties against the Turks, but I could not do without them in the attack I was about to make--a three days' and nights' battle it turned out to be--on Achi Baba. In my diary is this entry:-- "May 7, 1915--At 4.30 I ordered a general assault: the 88th Brigade to be thrown in on the top of the 87th; the New Zealand Brigade in support; the French to conform. Our gunners were to pave the way for the infantry with what they thought they could afford." In the deadly struggle which ensued, in the night-long conflict, in the supreme effort of the next day, the New Zealanders gained great glory, as was gratefully acknowledged by me to General Godley at the time. That same month, the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade was called in to the Dardanelles. We wanted every New Zealander we could get. The brigade, destined to become so famous, was commanded by Brigadier-General Russell, now Major-General Sir Andrew Russell, K.C.B., K.C.M.G. They came dismounted, torn in two betwixt grief at parting with their horses and a longing to play their part on the Peninsula. They turned up, as is their way, in the nick of time, and were put into the trenches at once. On one of the first days of July, the Maoris appeared upon the Peninsula. General Godley had informed me that all ranks were anxious to have them, so I cabled to Lord Kitchener, and I have always been thankful that he permitted them to come along. They were received with open arms by their compatriots, and I may say here at once that they proved themselves worthy descendants of the chivalrous warriors of the olden days, and remembered, in the fiercest battles, the last words of Hongi Hika: "Be brave that you may live." [Illustration: LIEUT.-COLONEL W. G. MALONE Wellington Infantry Battalion (_Killed in action._)] No doubt the history to which these words are a preface will tell the tale of the trench warfare of June and July; here I will only remark that the New Zealanders helped themselves to a liberal allowance of all that was going in the way of bombs, onslaughts, and generally, hard knocks. On August 6, took place the great attack on Sari Bair. To the New Zealand Mounted Rifles (Brigadier-General Russell) fell the honour of covering the assault, and the New Zealand Infantry Brigade (Brigadier-General Earl Johnston) formed the right assaulting column. During the four days' desperate fighting, which included night marches through the worst country imaginable, steep, scrub-covered spurs, sheer cliffs and narrow winding ravines, these two brigades and the Maoris wrested from a brave and numerous enemy the footing on the Ridge which they held till the bitter end. Brilliant leadership was shown by Lieut.-Colonel A. Bauchop, commanding the Otago Mounted Rifles, and Lieut.-Colonel W. G. Malone, Wellington Battalion, during this battle, wherein Corporal Bassett, of the Divisional Signal Company, won a well-earned V.C. I lay a very special stress on the deeds of Bauchop and Malone. These two heroes were killed whilst leading their men with absolute contempt of danger--Bauchop after having captured what was afterwards known as Bauchop's Hill, and Malone on the very summit of Chunuk Bair. Both Bauchop and Malone were soldiers of great mark and, above all, fearless leaders of men. Where so many, living longer, have achieved distinction, it is quite necessary that New Zealand should bear the names of these two gallant soldiers in tender remembrance. Of the New Zealanders who survived, Russell was beyond doubt the outstanding personality on the Peninsula. Steady as a rock, with a clear head and a firm character, he belongs to the type of soldier who will shoulder responsibility and never leave either his men or his commander in the lurch. Chaytor, who was Assistant-Adjutant-General, did excellently well also, though, through being wounded, he did not have full time to develop merits which afterwards became so conspicuous in Palestine. The losses incurred by the brigades from this terrible and prolonged fighting for the key to the Narrows of the Dardanelles, were cruel. On September 21 and 22, Russell had further victorious fighting when he and General Cox took Kaiajik Aghala; soon afterwards the brigades were sent down to Mudros to rest and to recruit. Reinforcements arrived in due course, and, in a shorter time than would have seemed possible, the formations were ready again and keen as ever to go on. But meanwhile, in October, events had occurred which put an end to the forward fighting and extinguished the Dardanelles enterprise. The first was the sending of two of our Peninsula Divisions to Salonika. The second was an order from Home that nothing serious in the way of fighting should be undertaken. The third was the advent of a new Commander-in-Chief who was opposed to the whole of the Dardanelles idea. From that date, therefore, until the evacuation, there was no further attack. When the tragic end came, the New Zealanders, steadfast as ever, held the post of honour, and General Russell and his rearguard were the very last to leave the Northern theatre of our operations. Owing to the conditions under which my preface is being written, it will be understood that any attempt to make a list of distinguished names would be hopeless. I have just put down the half-dozen best remembered in full confidence that the historian will make good my failure in the body of the book. But there is one more officer I must mention, for although he is not a New Zealander born, he had the advantage of living there and getting to know both islands long before the War. I refer, I need hardly say, to Sir Alexander Godley, who commanded the New Zealand and Australian Division during the Dardanelles campaign. He has devoted some of the best years of his life to New Zealand, and with all his courtesy and charm of manner, has never had any traffic with indiscipline or inefficiency. If he wants his monument, let him look round at the glories won by the division in the laying of whose foundations he played a leading part. One last word: the New Zealanders have been feared by the enemy; in quarters they have made themselves beloved. Wherever they have been billeted, all the civilians say: "We want to have them again." [Illustration: signature] General Lieutenant of the Tower of London G.H.Q., Army of the Rhine, 17/8/'19. To My Old Comrades. I have been asked to write a foreword to "THE NEW ZEALANDERS AT GALLIPOLI," and it gives me the greatest pleasure to do so, providing, as it does, an opportunity of recording the affection and admiration I have, and shall always have, for those who were my comrades on the Gallipoli Peninsula. It was as a comparatively small force that we started our soldiering in Egypt towards the end of 1914. And I am sure that no soldier was ever prouder of his command than I was when, on the orders of Lord Kitchener, I took over the command of the Australian and New Zealand troops who were then arriving from their homes. Not a moment of the time spent in Egypt was wasted, for all ranks instinctively realized what was before us, and put their best work into the necessary training. I doubt if any but those who were present can conceive all that this training meant to us, and in what wonderfully good stead it stood us when the time of trial came at Gallipoli. When that time arrived, we felt that we were a really formed military body, and not merely a collection of units hastily thrown together and without any military cohesion. During that period, a strong feeling of esprit de corps was engendered throughout the force, and perhaps most important of all, a spirit of discipline, the necessity of which was realized, was inculcated in all ranks. I so well remember on that early morning of April 25, 1915, the intense keenness and anxiety on the part of all to get ashore and capture the Turkish positions without a moment's delay; and it was, I know, a source of great regret to the New Zealanders that it was to the 1st Australian Division that the honour of the first landing fell. Transports, however, followed each other rapidly, and the day had not worn long when the New Zealand infantry were ashore and attacking what afterwards became known as Russell's Top, on the left of the Australians. There and thereabouts it was destined to continue this fighting through thick scrub for many a long day, and to prove to the Turks how impossible it was to throw such men back into the sea, as they had confidently anticipated doing. [Illustration: [_Photo by Bartlett & Andrew_ MAJOR-GENERAL SIR A. J. GODLEY, K.C.B., K.C.M.G.] A short foreword like this is no place for a history of the doings of the force, to which I know full credit will be done in this and other volumes depicting New Zealand's share in the Great War. I will only say here what complete confidence I always had--without one moment of hesitation--throughout the campaign in the bravery, the steadfastness and the efficiency of the New Zealand troops. Their discipline was admirable, while never have I seen troops more willing or determined. I would that I could here mention by name even half of those who were such real comrades to me, such as General Godley, Colonels Russell, Napier Johnston, F. E. Johnston, Chaytor; Colonel McBean Stewart, of the Canterbury Battalion, who, to my great regret, was killed on the day of the landing; and Colonels Findlay, Mackesy, and Meldrum, of the Canterbury, Auckland, and Wellington Mounted Rifles respectively. There are two others who gave their lives on the Peninsula, and whom I would especially record. [Illustration: BRIGADIER-GENERAL SIR A. H. RUSSELL., K.C.B.] One of the most difficult points which we had to hold was known as Quinn's Post. The Turkish trenches there were certainly not more than ten yards from our own, and it can easily be imagined how the battle raged furiously between the two systems. The gallant Quinn, after whom the post was named, had been killed, and, later on, the Australians were replaced in their turn by the Wellington Battalion under Colonel Malone. This officer at once set himself the task of making his post as perfect and impregnable as he could, and in this task he fully succeeded. I shall never forget the real pleasure it gave me when visiting the post from time to time to realize the keenness and energy which Colonel Malone put into his work, and on every visit I found myself leaving it with greater confidence that, come what may, Quinn's Post could never be taken by an enemy, however strong. Shortly after this, Colonel Malone was, to my deep regret, and to that, I know, of his many comrades, killed while leading his battalion most gallantly in the main attack on Sari Bair on August 8. A thorough and keen soldier, his loss was great to the whole force, and I personally felt I had lost not only an excellent officer, but a really true friend. The other officer to whom I cannot refrain from making especial reference, was Colonel Bauchop, of the Otago Mounted Rifles: a more gallant and cheerier gentleman never lived. Always full of high spirits and courage--ready to undertake any enterprise, and refusing to acknowledge difficulties, he was just the type of man wanted to ensure the maintenance of high morale in such a campaign as we were carrying out at Gallipoli. For a very long time Colonel Bauchop held command of our extreme semi-detached outposts, and I know how proud he was of the great game of war in which he played so prominent a part. Perfectly fearless, he came through the fighting unscratched until August 8, when he was killed at the head of his regiment, leading it in a gallant charge on the extreme left of our old position. Surely it would be impossible for any commander not to be devoted to such men as these! What seemed to me as one of the best features of our fighting at Gallipoli was the mutual confidence and esteem which it engendered between the New Zealand and the Australian soldiers. Before this, they had had little opportunities of knowing each other. Going round, as I did, the trenches of all, it was to me a constant source of satisfaction and delight to find New Zealanders and Australians confiding in me the highly favourable opinion which, apparently to their surprise, they had formed of each other! May such a feeling continue for all time, to the great advantage of the British race in the Southern Seas. I am sure that the New Zealand troops would not wish me to conclude this foreword without mentioning the British Navy, to whom we all owe so much, and memories of whom will remain for ever with all those who served alongside of them. On our return from Gallipoli to Egypt, in 1916, the arrival of the New Zealand Rifles Brigade and the large reinforcements which had been sent from New Zealand enabled us to expand the original New Zealand Expeditionary Force into a complete division--than which, I can say with confidence, no finer or better organized division served in France. I had the honour to take this division with me to the Western Front in April, 1916. But, alas! I was not to have the honour of retaining it long under my command, for on the reconstitution of the Australian and New Zealand divisions, it was decided that the latter should leave my army corps: I need scarcely say it was a matter of the deepest personal regret to me. I sincerely wish all my old comrades happiness and success. None of us are ever likely to forget the times we spent together on Gallipoli. We sincerely mourn for those who so willingly gave their lives for the great cause in which we were fighting; but we know they have not died in vain, for they have ensured freedom and right for our children and our children's children. New Zealand may well be--as I am sure she is--justly proud of her magnificent sons, who so bravely upheld her flag and fought for her honour on the shores of the Gallipoli Peninsula. [Illustration: signature] [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE "SPHINX": GRAVES OF MEN KILLED AT THE ANZAC LANDING. "The valiant dead that gazed upon the skies, And slept in great battalions by the shore."--_Leon Gellert._ ] The New Zealanders at Gallipoli CHAPTER I. The Concentration of the Expeditionary Force. The pioneer settlers of New Zealand left the Mother Country for many reasons, but primarily because they wished for a freer existence. They certainly did not choose an easy path for themselves. They could have settled in English-speaking countries comparatively near, but they deliberately left England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland for a land thirteen thousand miles away--a land covered with virgin forest and inhabited by a proud and warlike native race. In communities that governed themselves according to their own advanced ideas, away from the baneful influence of large cities and the trammelling tendencies of hoary tradition, they wrestled with the giants of the bush, literally hewing out their homes in the wilderness. Not sparing themselves, they created a desirable and a healthy environment for their sons and daughters. Many had given up comfortable homes in the old lands so that their children and their children's children might have that freedom of life and thought and speech for which they themselves had been willing to make so many sacrifices. Would it be natural, then, when Autocracy and Greed again threatened the free peoples of Europe, that a young nation born of the early settlers of New Zealand should stand aloof? A few weeks after the dreadful tragedy of Serajevo, realizing that the freedom of the world was again challenged, and recognizing to the full the gravity of the step, New Zealand placed all her resources at the disposal of the Mother Land. The martial instincts of Maori and Pakeha were at once aroused. In the town enthusiasm was infectious; newspaper offices were besieged, and eager volunteers thronged the headquarters of each territorial unit; every shop, office and factory sent its representatives, and before the services of the Expeditionary Force were accepted by the Imperial Government the lists were full to overflowing. From the country men crowded in. The musterer and station owner alike forsook their flocks; the bushman put away his crosscut and axe; the flaxmill hand left swamp and mill and hurried to the nearest railway station. Quiet men up on the hillside watched the train coming across country with the eagerly awaited newspapers. The strain of waiting was unendurable. With the call of Old England throbbing in their ears, they left their stock unattended in the paddocks and swelled the procession to the railway station. Here eager crowds discussed the situation. It was instinctively recognized that Britain must stand by France and Belgium, and when the news of that momentous decision did come the great wave of enthusiasm swept anew over the country side. The Mobilization. In those early days of August, the naval position in the Pacific was shrouded in mystery. Rumour was alarmingly busy. It was possible that the German Pacific fleet of heavily armed cruisers might appear at any moment off the New Zealand coast. Their only superior in these waters at the outbreak of war was the battle cruiser "Australia," the "New Zealand," of course, being in the North Sea. On August 6, a message from the Secretary of State for War was received by His Excellency the Governor: "If your Ministers desire and feel themselves able to seize the German wireless station at Samoa, we should feel that this was a great and urgent Imperial service...." A force of 1,413 men immediately volunteered from territorial units in Auckland and Wellington, and sailed for their unknown destination on August 15, convoyed by three obsolescent "P" class cruisers--"Philomel," "Psyche," and "Pyramus"; joined by H.M.A.S. "Australia," H.M.A.S. "Melbourne," and the French cruiser "Montcalm" at New Caledonia, the expedition proceeded on its way, occupying German Samoa on August 29 without firing a shot. Thus early in the Great War were New Zealand soldiers, supported by the allied navies, the first to take possession of German territory in the name of King George V. [Illustration: [_From the collection of Sergt. C. B. Gibbs, N.Z.A.O.D._ BADGES OF NEW ZEALAND MOUNTED RIFLES AND DIVISIONAL UNITS THAT SERVED AT SAMOA AND GALLIPOLI. 1st Canterbury Yeomanry Cavalry M.R. 6th Manawatu M.R. 11th North Auckland M.R. Railway Battalions, N.Z.E. 2nd Wellington West Coast M.R. 7th Southland M.R. 12th Otago M.R. Post and Telegraph Corps, N.Z.E. 3rd Auckland M.R. N.Z. Army Nursing Service. 8th South Canterbury M.R. N.Z. Field Artillery N.Z. Staff Corps. N.Z. Permanent Staff 4th Waikato M.R. 9th Wellington East Coast M.R. Field Engineers, N.Z.E. N.Z. Veterinary Corps. 5th Otago Hussars M.R. 10th Nelson M.R. Signal Service, N.Z.E. N.Z. Chaplains Dept.] On August 7, 1914, the New Zealand Government cabled to the Imperial authorities offering the services of an Expeditionary Force. On August 12 the offer was accepted, and preparations were made to have the force ready to embark for Europe on August 28. More and more men offered their services. Those declared unfit by the doctor in Auckland caught the train to Wellington, and if not successful there, went on and on until they found a loophole. Family men of fifty-five shaved their faces clean and enlisted with an "apparent age" of thirty-five. One man, with an artificial eye and minus two fingers, struggled into the N.Z.M.C.; while two gallant souls--veterans of previous wars--enlisted and were accepted as quartermasters, even though they had but one arm apiece. A partial mobilization had already taken place at each regimental headquarters. The drafts, consisting mostly of men who had served in the Territorial Force and in previous wars, were sent to district concentration camps. The Auckland Mounted Rifles, Auckland Infantry Battalion, and the No. 1 Field Ambulance of the New Zealand Medical Corps were quartered in Alexandra Park, Auckland. The Wellington Mounted Rifles and the Wellington Infantry Battalion camped at the Awapuni Racecourse, near Palmerston North; here, also, were organized the N.Z. Field Artillery, the Field and Signal Troops of New Zealand Engineers, the company of Divisional Signallers, and the Mounted Field Ambulance, the men for these units being drawn in proportion from the territorial troops of the four Military Districts. Addington Park, Christchurch, was the rendezvous for the troops of the Canterbury Military District--the Canterbury Mounted Rifles Regiment and the Canterbury Infantry Battalion. The Otago Mounted Rifles Regiment and the Otago Infantry Battalion concentrated in Tahuna Park, near the Ocean Beach, Dunedin. [Illustration: [_From the collection of Sergt. C. B. Gibbs, N.Z.A.O.D._ BADGES OF INFANTRY REGIMENTS THAT SERVED AT SAMOA AND GALLIPOLI. 1st Canterbury Regiment. 6th Hauraki Regiment. 11th Taranaki Rifles Regiment. 16th Waikato Regiment. 2nd South Canterbury Regiment. 7th Wellington West Coast Regiment. 12th Nelson Regiment. 17th Ruahine Regiment. 3rd Auckland Regiment. 8th Southland Regiment. 13th North Canterbury and Westland Regiment. N.Z. Maori Contingent. 4th Otago Regiment. 9th Hawkes Bay Regiment. 14th South Otago Regiment. N.Z. Army Service Corps. 5th Wellington Regiment. 10th North Otago Regiment. 15th North Auckland Regiment. N.Z. British Section. N.Z. Medical Corps.] The territorial system of compulsory training was still in its infancy, but it was considered advisable to retain the territorial distinctions. Each of the four Military Districts was asked to supply one regiment of mounted rifles and one battalion of infantry. Each territorial regiment and battalion supplied to the Expeditionary Force a squadron and a company respectively, and these units retained their badges and the customs of their parent organizations. The organization of the Expeditionary Force was that of the headquarters of a division, divisional troops, a mounted rifles brigade, and an infantry brigade. The Auckland, Wellington, and Canterbury Mounted Rifles Regiment made, with the Field and Signal Troops and Mounted Field Ambulance, a complete mounted brigade. The Otago Mounted Rifles Regiment became divisional cavalry, and did not form part of the brigade. The four infantry battalions--Auckland, Wellington, Canterbury, and Otago--made a complete infantry brigade. The characteristic slouch hat, with the brim down all round, was adopted by the whole force; but the Otago Mounted Rifles, the New Zealand Field Artillery, and the Wellington Infantry Battalion wore their hats peaked and with four dents. After the evacuation of the Gallipoli Peninsula the entire New Zealand Division wore peaked hats, but the New Zealand Mounted Rifles remained faithful to the old style. A further distinguishing mark was the different coloured puggaree for each branch of the service. The troopers of the Mounted Rifles wore khaki and green; the gunners, red and blue; the sappers, khaki and blue; the infantry, khaki and red; the Army Service Corps, khaki and white; and the men of the Field Ambulance, khaki and maroon. [Illustration: [_Photo by Guy_ OTAGO INFANTRY ENTRAINING AT TAHUNA PARK, DUNEDIN.] Equipping the Force. The equipment of the force was no easy matter, though valuable material was obtained from the Territorial Force, which was being fitted out at the time. Most of the mounted riflemen brought their own horses to the place of concentration. If the animals were suitable, they were paid for, and became the property of the Government, but each man was allowed to ride the horse that he had brought. The saddles and equipment were mostly made in the Dominion. Day by day more material came to hand, and the men became more accustomed to manoeuvring in troops and squadrons; gradually but surely the mounted regiments evolved from very keen individual horsemen and shots to efficient military units. With the traditions of the South African campaign and the enthusiasm of the New Zealander for a good horse, the excellence of the mounted rifles was not at all surprising. The field artillery were fortunate in that they had the nucleus of batteries in the officers and men of the Royal New Zealand Artillery--professional soldiers, who, in time of peace, trained the territorial batteries and garrisoned the artillery provided for coast defence. Thanks to the energy and foresight of the dominion artillerists, the old 15-pounders had been replaced by modern 18-pounders, and more fortunate still, New Zealand had, in 1914, some of the newest 4.5 howitzers, which guns above all others were to prove their worth in the closing days of April, 1915. The horses for the gun teams were procured mostly in the Wellington District--some were well broken, others were broken to chains in the plough, a number had hardly been handled at all; but the drivers set to with a will, and soon the roads of Palmerston North were enlivened with spirited six-horse teams jingling along with their businesslike guns and limbers. The sappers of the field troop were drawn in equal proportions from the territorial field companies. There were no divisional field engineers, only a mounted brigade troop. In order to keep up with the cavalry, light collapsible boats were substituted for the heavy pontoons of the ordinary field company. No boats were available in New Zealand, the intention being to pick them up in England when the Expeditionary Force landed there. The signal troop and divisional signallers were all territorials, most of the operators being highly skilled men from the Post and Telegraph Department. Owing to the large numbers available for selection, the infantry were a magnificent body of men. Born of freedom-loving parents in a free country, nurtured in a land of plenty with a climate unsurpassed on earth, it is not surprising that the trained New Zealander is modelled like a Greek statue. To see a battalion of infantry bathing in the Manawatu River was a wonderful sight. The clean blue sky, the waving toi-toi on the fringe of native bush, the river rippling and sprawling over its gravelly bed, the thousand beautiful athletes splashing in the sun-kissed water, made an ineffaceable impression. The New Zealand infantry soldier trained at Alexandra Park, Awapuni, Addington, and Tahuna Park has long since proved his courage and steadfastness to be equal to his undeniable physique and fitness. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.O._ LOADING HORSES ON THE "STAR OF INDIA" AT AUCKLAND.] The matter of transport was a difficult one. As yet the New Zealand Army Service Corps of the Territorial Force was not organized. Men and horses were forthcoming, but suitable waggons were hard to procure. Eventually a number of waggons--some suitable and some otherwise--were purchased. Many were only a quarter-lock, and the angry drivers were sometimes heard to murmur that no place but the wide deserts of Egypt would have been sufficient to turn--much less manoeuvre--in! The personnel of the New Zealand Medical Corps was from the outset most efficient. The senior officers had mostly seen service in former campaigns; the men were enthusiastic territorials and keen young medical students who had forsaken their classes when the call came. In all branches of the service discipline was very strict. Men realized that if they transgressed they would cease to be members of the Main Body. There was no crime. All ranks understood they were chosen to represent New Zealand in the eyes of the world. Passed by the doctor, the recruit was fitted out with that wonderful receptacle, the soldier's kit bag. This was soon filled to overflowing by the combined efforts of a paternal Government and committees of enthusiastic ladies. All the uniforms and purely military kit came from the ordnance stores, but the woollen stuff--socks, underclothing and woollen caps--were the handiwork and gift of the women of New Zealand. Surely never before in history had an army so many socks and shirts! It must be admitted that in the first flush of enthusiasm some good folks showed more energy than skill in the matter of shirt making. The soldier is nothing if not adaptable, so he cut off the superfluous portion of sleeve. One was not surprised that the sergeant-major, wanting the men for physical drill, daily shouted "Fall in the kimonos." Waiting for the Escort. Through August and the first weeks of September the training and equipping went on. Four transports were lying alongside the Wellington wharves, and two ships at each of the other three ports of embarkation--Auckland, Lyttelton and Port Chalmers. Day and night carpenters laboured fitting up the troop and horse decks. On September 24, the people of Wellington assembled at Newtown Park to witness the farewell parade of the divisional troops, the Wellington Mounted Rifles Regiment, and the Wellington Infantry Battalion. After an inspection by His Excellency the Governor, the Prime Minister and the Minister of Defence, the troops marched through cheering crowds to the transports, and at half-past five that evening all but the "Maunganui" pulled out into the stream, ready to sail early next morning to join the Auckland ships at sea. During the evening of the 24th the four ships from Lyttelton and Port Chalmers joined the Wellington quota in the harbour. All night anxious relatives made endeavours to get aboard the vessels in the stream to say a last farewell or deliver a parting gift, while the people of Wellington went betimes to bed to awaken early and see the fleet steam out. [Illustration: [_Lent by F. W. Randall_ SORTING KIT-BAGS ALONGSIDE THE "ATHENIC," LYTTELTON.] But early next morning a wireless message recalled H.M.S. "Philomel," the "Waimana," and the "Star of India," which had left Auckland the night before. In Wellington the seven transports in the harbour rejoined the "Maunganui" alongside the wharves. The mounted units and horses were disembarked and scattered to camps round Wellington, there to remain until a more powerful naval escort was available. For three weeks the troops, chafing at the delay, were exercised in musketry and route marching. At nights they crowded into Wellington for a little amusement. The women of Wellington rose splendidly to the occasion. Concert parties entertained the men every night in "U" shed on the wharf. At this time the well-known Sydney Street Soldiers' Club was started. The soldier realizes that he may never come back, and that sacrifice he is prepared to make willingly. He sings and is happy because he feels--though often in an indefinite way--that he did the right thing in enlisting. But the times of waiting--whether at the base or in the front-line trench--are most irritating. Being a healthy animal, he must be doing something. It is here that soldiers' clubs, managed by understanding, sympathetic women, prove of inestimable value. For their untiring efforts the women of Wellington are entitled to the thanks of all the mothers of men concentrated in Wellington throughout the four long years of war. On October 14, the troops exercising their horses in the surf at Lyall Bay were delighted to see a big grey four-funnelled cruiser, flying the white ensign, closely followed by a huge black three-funnelled monster with the rising sun displayed. Past Somes Island and Evans Bay they steamed and dropped anchor, proving to be H.M.S. "Minotaur" and H.I.J.M.S. "Ibuki," the escort which the army was anxiously expecting. Next day the "Star of India" and "Waimana," escorted by the "Philomel," arrived in Wellington from Auckland, and proceeded to water and coal. The ten transports were now assembled, and the four cruisers made ready to convoy the precious freight on the first stage of its long journey. Many are the valuable cargoes that have left these shores, but for the first time in the history of New Zealand were nine thousand gallant souls--the flower of the young nation's manhood--going down to the sea in ships. [Illustration: [_Lent by F. W. Randall_ THE "IBUKI" AND "MINOTAUR" IN WELLINGTON HARBOUR.] By half-past three on the afternoon of Thursday, October 15, the mounted units were again embarked. The last good-byes were exchanged with relatives ashore, and night fell on Wellington Harbour with its fleet of fourteen historic ships. The morning broke beautifully fine. The fleet weighed anchor at 6 o'clock. Crowds of early risers saw the ships go out, preceded by the "Minotaur" and the "Ibuki." The first division of ships was led by the cruiser "Psyche" and the second division by the "Philomel." So the watchers on Mount Victoria saw the long grey line slip silently down the Straits. CHAPTER II. The Voyage to Egypt. While confined to the narrow waters of Cook Strait, the fleet preserved its line ahead formation, but after passing Cape Farewell the two divisions of five ships each steamed in parallel lines eight cable lengths apart. Miles ahead raced the "Minotaur," a speck on the horizon; the "Philomel" was four miles astern; while on either beam, six miles away, were the other two cruisers--the "Ibuki" to starboard and the "Psyche" to port. The weather was typical of the Tasman Sea, and both men and horses suffered a good deal from seasickness. Where there were many horses, particularly on ships like the "Orari," those who were well enough had plenty to do cleaning the horse decks and setting unsteady animals on their feet. That only four horses died out of the 3815 on board speaks volumes for the care taken in selection and the solicitude of the seasick troopers and drivers. [Illustration: [_Lent by Major Brunt, W.I.R._ RESTING ON THE BOAT DECK.] A Great Welcome at Hobart. After six weary days at sea no one was sorry to see Wednesday morning break with the rugged coast of Tasmania ahead; little wonder that the prospect of a three hours' route march on the morrow was received with jubilation. Next morning it seemed that all Hobart was astir. With packs up the infantry cut a fine figure. All along the route women and children showered flowers on the troops. Where-ever a halt was made the people brought out bunches of beautiful roses, which the soldiers carried back to grace their none too ornamental quarters. Thousands of the famous Tasmanian apples were pressed upon the men. Some enthusiasts presented the artillery with a garland on a pole, which the proud gunners carried before them as a colour. Back again at the wharf, the sellers of apples and crayfish did brisk business, and many were the commissions handed over by the sportsmen aboard to be dealt with by the celebrated Hobart house of Tattersall. When the gangways were up the people thronged the wharves, handing up parcels of cakes, sweets and apples. The regimental bands struck up "It's a long way to Tipperary," and the ships pulled out to the accompaniment of tumultuous cheering. It was three o'clock that afternoon when the ships again put to sea. The "Psyche" returned to New Zealand, and her place was taken by the "Pyramus." The long rolling swell common to the Great Australian Bight again made things very uncomfortable for the horses; to make matters worse, a thick fog descended, speed was reduced, and every few minutes the ear was assailed by the blasts of the "Minotaur" syren and the answering shrieks from the vessels of the fleet. Gradually the weather moderated and the men became steadier on their legs. Musketry practice at floating targets was initiated; where there was room on the crowded decks physical training was carried on, while the mounted men had their horses with the never-ending stables--it being recognized that the habit of absolute cleanliness in regard to both the men's and the horses' quarters should become second nature before the really hot weather was encountered. [Illustration: [_Lent by F. W. Randall_ THE WELL SET UP INFANTRY OF THE MAIN BODY PARADING AT HOBART FOR A ROUTE MARCH.] A private of the New Zealand Medical Corps died on Sunday, October 26, and next day a most impressive burial service was conducted on the "Ruapehu." At three o'clock she steamed out of her line and took station in the centre of the parallel divisions. At half-past three, when colours were hoisted and lowered to half-mast, the troops in each transport paraded with their bands. The flagship having made the signal to "Stop engines," the troops on all ships stood to attention, whereupon the "Dead March" was played, followed by a short funeral service; the body of the first soldier of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force to die overseas was reverently committed to the deep. The firing party having fired its three volleys, the solemn notes of the "Last Post" floated over the sunlit waters, the flagship signalled "11 knots," and the convoy proceeded on its way. Young Australia greets Young New Zealand. Thirteen days after leaving Wellington the New Zealand ships crept into the spacious harbour of Albany, Western Australia. Here were gathered innumerable vessels of every line trading in the Southern oceans. Not painted uniformly grey like our ships, but taken in all their glory of greens, blues and yellows, they rode on the calm water of King George's Sound packed with the adventurous spirits of the First Australian Division. The cheering and counter-cheering, the Maori war cries and answering coo-ees would have moved a stoic. Young Australia was welcoming Young New Zealand in no uncertain manner in the first meeting of those brothers-in-arms soon to be known by a glorious name as yet undreamed of. After a few days spent in replenishing supplies, the wonderful armada put out to sea. The twenty-six Australian transports steamed in three parallel divisions, being joined a day out by two Westralian transports from Fremantle. The New Zealand ships retained their old formation, the two divisions covering off the blank spaces of the Australian convoy. We parted company from the old "P" class cruisers, but got in return the two new Australian ships, the "Sydney" and the "Melbourne," long, snakey-looking craft with four rakish funnels. The "Minotaur" was still steaming away ahead, while to starboard was our old friend the "Ibuki," evidently burning bad coal, her three black funnels belching forth tremendous volumes of the blackest smoke. [Illustration: [_Lent by F. W. Randall_ AN IMPRESSIVE SUNDAY SERVICE ON THE "ATHENIC." The padre is the Rev. Canon Taylor, C.F., a frail man with an enthusiasm for serving his fellows. He served through the Gallipoli Campaign, and at Sarpi Rest Camp was tireless in his efforts to rejuvenate the listless survivors from Anzac.] Great attention was now paid to the masking of all lights by night. It was known that German cruisers were at large--notably the "Scharnhorst," "Gneisenau" and "Emden." In order to evade these ocean highwaymen the usual course was not set through the Indian Ocean. For the same reason, a strict censorship in regard to movements of ships prevailed in Australia and New Zealand. At Hobart and Albany the greatest precautions were taken. Ample proof was ultimately forthcoming that this trouble was not in vain. But the convoy was a very cumbersome thing. The cruiser leading and the cruiser acting as a rearguard were both hull down on the horizon. There was an Australian transport that most days could do nine knots with an effort; one or two erratic performers like this sorely trying the practised station-keepers of the Imperial Navy. Characteristic sailor messages were being constantly transmitted. The following is a sample:--"From H.M.S. 'Minotaur' to all transports: The attention of masters of Australian transports is again drawn to the extreme importance of keeping accurate station, especially at night. During last night the Second Division straggled to seven miles, whereas their line should be three miles in length. The Third Division straggled to six miles, whereas their line should be three miles and a half. By this careless station-keeping the masters expose their ships to an increased risk of being torpedoed by an enemy, and also involve the New Zealand convoy in the same danger. The New Zealand convoy are keeping stations at three cables apart in excellent order, and their great attention to convoy orders as regards reduction of power of lights merits my warm approval. The 'Medic' and 'Geelong' were signalling last night with lights visible at least ten miles. I again point out the necessity of reducing the power of lights by blue bunting or other means." A strange ship on the horizon always aroused great speculation; never did a cloud of smoke materialize into a ship but the stranger was already attended by one of our escorting cruisers. Thus was the R.M.S. "Osterley" of the Orient line examined, and later passed the convoy on Guy Fawkes Day, homeward bound, carrying the soldiers' Christmas mails. An air of expectancy hung over the convoy on Sunday, November 8, for on that day news arrived of the naval battle off Valparaiso, in which H.M.S. "Good Hope" and H.M.S. "Monmouth" were destroyed by a superior German force. Early that same morning the "Minotaur" signalled to the "Maunganui": "I am ordered on another service; wish you the very best of success when you land in France. Give the Germans a good shake-up. It has been a great pleasure to escort such a well-disciplined force and convoy. Good-bye." The Triumph of Australia. The flagship's place ahead was now held by the "Melbourne," with the "Ibuki" to starboard and the "Sydney" to port. With the news of the Valparaiso battle and the departure of the "Minotaur" came word that the Cocos Islands would be passed during the night, and special precautions were ordered to be taken in regard to lights. The usual sharp look-out was kept, but the hours of darkness slipped by without incident. But at 6.30 a.m. the "Melbourne" turned to port and spoke for a few minutes to her sister ship. By this time all the transports were aware of the wireless messages from the Cocos Islands signalling "S.O.S.," "Strange warship approaching." The Australian transport "Karoo" and the New Zealand transport "Arawa" picked up the following: "PNX DE WSP DE PNX NE DE NGI PFB DEO," also, "S.O.S.--Strange warship at entrance. Ignores our remarks--S.O.S., S.O.S.," then a long message, apparently in Dutch. These mixed-up messages, obviously mutilated and jammed by the hostile Telefunken, provided knotty problems for those whose duty it was to fathom the mysteries of code and cypher. [Illustration: THE LAST OF THE "EMDEN." While the "Sydney" dealt with the "Emden," the "Ibuki" and "Melbourne" lay on the threatened quarter of the convoy. The action took place out of the sight and sound of the troops on the transports, which were over seventy miles away from the Cocos Group.] The captain of the "Melbourne," being in charge of the convoy, could not go to the Cocos Islands, sixty miles away, so ordered the "Sydney" on this service. By 7 a.m. the cruiser had worked up to her speed and was rapidly lost to sight. The "Melbourne" came down to the "Sydney's" place on the threatened flank, and then the attention of the whole convoy was rivetted on the Japanese cruiser coming across from starboard around the head of the convoy. As she forged ahead through the heavy swell a great white wave streamed over her bows, being made more conspicuous by her pitch black hull and the three black funnels belching enormous columns of dense black smoke. Tearing through the indigo Indian Ocean, with her great battle flags streaming blood-red in the breeze, she became the very personification of energy and power. With the two cruisers lying handy on the threatened flank, the troops waited anxiously for news. All realized that just across the horizon a life and death struggle was taking place. No sound of battle could be heard but the spluttering of the wireless, from which it was learned at 9.30 that the enemy had been brought to action. The men could hardly contain themselves for excitement. This was intensified when, about 11 o'clock, the Japanese cruiser appeared to steam away in the direction of the fight. But at twenty minutes past eleven the wireless announced. "Enemy beached herself to prevent sinking." Restraint was thrown aside. The men cheered again and again. Messages then chased one another in quick succession: "Emden beached and done for. Am chasing merchant collier." The cheering burst out afresh, for this was the first mention of the "Emden." How the New Zealanders envied the Australians this momentous achievement of their young navy. About half an hour later came the story of the price paid for admiralty--two killed and thirteen wounded. The troops shouted themselves hoarse when they learned that the "Emden" was ashore on North Cocos Isle, and had surrendered with her foremast and three funnels down. The following message was sent from the "Maunganui": "Many congratulations from the N.Z.E.F. on result of first action of the Australian Navy." Back came a typical naval answer: "Reply to your signal of yesterday. Many thanks to New Zealand Squadron for their congratulations. It is very satisfactory that in its baptism of fire the superiority of town class cruiser over German town class light cruiser was so completely established." Four days after this most memorable day a signal announced that H.M.S. "Hampshire" was steaming fifty miles ahead of us, and to facilitate coaling and watering at Colombo, the New Zealand squadron was ordered to steam ahead of the Australians, who were left in charge of the "Ibuki." The line was crossed on the same day (November 13), and His Deep Sea Majesty King Neptune, attended by his consort and a numerous suite of barbers, bears, and orderlies, came aboard each of the transports. All deference and homage was paid, and the hoary old salt never had a busier day--eight thousand four hundred New Zealanders paying their tribute according to their respective popularity with His Majesty's attendants. A Run Ashore at Colombo. Two days steaming brought the "Hampshire" and her convoy within sight of Ceylon. This to most New Zealanders was the first far-off view of a tropical isle. As the ships steamed over an unruffled sea, the troops drank in the wonderful sight, so refreshing after the tiresome monotony of the voyage. The little brown fishing boats were thickly sprinkled over a fleckless seascape--ashore the beautiful buildings resplendent in a setting of graceful palms. Up the coast and round the breakwater the squadron picked its way through a flotilla of every conceivable variety of small craft. Inside the crowded harbour lay our old friend the "Melbourne" and a quaint five-funnelled warship--the Russian cruiser "Askold," which we were later to know so well. The work of the "Emden" had been fairly thorough--during her career she had sunk sixteen merchant ships, the Russian cruiser "Jemtchug," and the French destroyer "Mousquet"--and here in Colombo Harbour were dozens of ships which had been held up, but were again free to sail the ocean highways. About half an hour after our arrival, it was rumoured that the "Sydney" was coming, and sure enough, there were the familiar four funnels with their little white bands, and closely following her the big "Empress of Russia" with her cruiser stern. Slowly the gallant ship come round the breakwater to her moorings. As she passed the New Zealand transports it was evident that she was, as her captain described her, "nothing but an hospital of a most painful description." Wounded Germans were lying on stretchers all over the deck, and on that account the soldiers, though greatly thrilled and moved by the obvious marks of battle on the ship, stood respectfully silent at attention. [Illustration: [_Lent by F. W. Randall_ THE VICTOR. The "Sydney" steaming round Colombo breakwater after destroying the "Emden."] The prisoners, 138 in number, were distributed over the Australian and New Zealand transports, an officer and half a dozen men being placed on each ship. Many of them could speak English, having served on British merchant ships. It then became apparent that the precautions of darkening lights and a strict censorship had indeed borne fruit, for on the night of November 8, the "Emden" actually crossed the bows of our convoy, accompanied by a captured British collier, the "Buresk," heavily laden with the best Welsh coal. The raider, knowing nothing of our presence, arrived off the Cocos group early in the morning, and sent a party ashore on Direction Island to destroy the cable and the wireless station, which barely had time to send out the S.O.S. received by the fleet. The appearance of the Australian cruiser on the horizon (the Germans took her to be H.M.S. "Yarmouth") was the first intimation to the "Emden" that all was not well. The German ship put out to sea and fought her last sea fight, while the armed party ashore busied themselves with preparing the "Ayesha," a local schooner, for flight. The "Sydney" had to turn her attention to the collier, which was endeavouring to escape. On overtaking her, it was found that her sea-cocks were open, and as she could not be saved, the "Sydney" fired a couple of shots into her at the water line. Night coming on, the schooner with her adventurous crew successfully cleared the Cocos, apparently for the African coast. Such were the facts as gleaned from the German prisoners. [Illustration: [_Photo by Capt. Paddon, O.M.R._ PRISONERS FROM THE "EMDEN." The 138 prisoners were distributed among the Australian and New Zealand transports.] From the transports in Colombo Harbour 200 men at a time went ashore from each ship; each party being broken up into smaller ones of twenty men with an officer. Going ashore in the boats we pulled through clouds of lemon, chrome, and golden butterflies fluttering over the water in all directions, reminding one of yellow poplar leaves drifting to the ground in an autumn wind. Once ashore the brilliant colours and fragrant flower scents seemed like fairyland after the heat and smell of the horse decks. Along the brick-red sandy roads the rickshaw coolies pattered with their slouch-hatted loads. Under the shade of the Eastern trees the soldier snatched one hour of the real joy of living. Interested parties explored the Buddhist temples, the air heavy with incense and the scent of many flowers. Down on the Galle Face, where the cocoanut palms weep over the sea, the revelation of poverty and mendicity came as a shock to the young New Zealanders--thousands of beggars, the halt, the lame and the blind--small boys begging pennies, old men with one foot in the grave complaining in broken English, "No mother, no father, sixpence please!" [Illustration: [_Photo by Guy_ ON THE HORSE DECKS.] The New Zealand soldier away from home is prodigal with his money, and the Cingalese and Indian shopkeepers parcelled up many thousands of pounds worth of gifts, ranging from precious stones and expensive silks down to the cocoanut-wood elephants and the little green-backed beetles. The censors never left their desks, so energetic were the correspondents, but gradually the pile grew less and the mail bags more swollen; the shouting gangs of dirty coolies passed--basketful by basketful--the contents of their loaded barges into the hungry stokeholds; all water tanks were refilled, and on the morning of November 17, the New Zealand transports, escorted by the "Hampshire," headed once again for the deep water. [Illustration: [_Lent by Major Brunt, W.I.B._ THE "HAMPSHIRE." Transferring the "Emden" prisoners to the "Hampshire" at Port Said.] The Monotony of the Voyage. In a sense this was the most wearisome stage of the journey, although there was a little to interest. By day, shoals of flying fish leaped ahead of the ships, shimmered in the sunlight, and splashed again into the depths; and in the hours of darkness the stable picket gazing out of the porthole marvelled at the mass of gleaming phosphorescence. But the monotony of the warm weather and a placid sea, together with the reaction after the glorious taste of freedom at Colombo, did not make for tranquility of spirit. Even the civilian passenger in the first saloon tires of marvellous seascapes, and ship's food, however daintily served, becomes repugnant. Pity, then, the poor soldier cramped up in a transport; necessarily living on monotonous food which he must help to prepare; tending horses and cleaning up the ship; stiff from the inoculations designed to protect him in the future, and steaming steadily on (at a rate of nine knots per hour!) to a destination only vaguely guessed at. So it was a relief to reach that rocky outpost, Aden, and to learn that just on the horizon hostile Arabs and Turks were bent on making trouble. Discomforts were quickly forgotten in the thrill of nearing battle grounds. Away on those red sands we could picture Turk and Teuton scheming and planning to get possession of those priceless water cisterns. No one was allowed ashore, but the harbour was full of interest. Nine big vessels packed with South Wales Borderers and Middlesex Territorials were coaling, on their way to India. The "Ibuki" here wished us good-bye and steamed away to join the Southern Japanese squadron. [Illustration: [_Photo by Capt. Paddon, O.M.R._ "MONDAY." ] The voyage from Aden to Suez was commenced on Thursday, November 26, with the "Hampshire" escorting the entire Australian and New Zealand fleet in five divisions, the five leading ships all being in line. We passed Perim at 2.30 in the afternoon, the New Zealand ships having been ordered to steam five miles ahead of the Australians. It was anticipated that the horses would be severely tried in the Red Sea. When a following wind got up the troopers were more apprehensive, but the horses seemed determined to do honour to their native land, and there was little sickness. Ordered to Disembark in Egypt. In the Red Sea a wireless was received instructing the Force to prepare for a disembarkation in Egypt. Turkey being at war with the Allies and already threatening the Suez Canal, this turn of affairs was not surprising, but some were disappointed that anything should occur to defer our landing in France to help the sorely tried British and French Armies. At 5 o'clock on November 30, the first New Zealand ship, the "Maunganui," entered the Canal. Each ship had a little engine installed forward to provide for the powerful electric headlight fastened on the bows. The armed guard stationed on the starboard side strained their ears and eyes for any movement, but there was nothing evident except the beautiful stars, the Indian sentries pacing noiselessly up and down their sandy beats, and the incessant chatter of the little engine forward. [Illustration: [_Lent by F. W. Randall_ STEAMING INTO ALEXANDRIA.] "Who are you?" shouted a voice from the desert, and continued, "126th Baluchis here." "We're New Zealanders," was the quiet answer. "Hooray!" cried the Baluchi, "Advance Australia!" It must be said that since that December day of 1914, both Baluchi and New Zealander have gained a good deal of geographical knowledge--at the same time removing an amount of ignorance, the price of previous insularity. [Illustration: [_Lent by F. W. Randall_ DISEMBARKING AT ALEXANDRIA. In the foreground is a white "ramp" used for disembarking horses. On the outskirts of the group of soldiers may be noticed two Egyptians endeavouring to "change tho money."] From Suez to the Bitter Lakes, past all the posts we were destined to know so well; past Ismailia and the fortifications of Kantara, the transports slowly steamed. It was the New Zealander's first real glimpse of Empire. Here lining the banks were the picturesque bearded Sikhs, the native cavalry and infantry from every frontier State, and the alert Ghurka with his familiar slouch hat and short trousers. At Port Said the German prisoners of war were transferred to the "Hampshire." This was the last we saw of the famous cruiser, fated to become, on the disastrous day, July 5, 1916, off the Orkneys coast, the ocean mausoleum of that great soldier, Field-Marshal Lord Kitchener of Khartoum. Exactly seven weeks after leaving Wellington Harbour, the look-outs saw with the dawn of December 3, the great white city of Alexandria standing in a sea of mist. Slowly we forged ahead until clustering spars resolved themselves into a multitude of transports and captured sailing ships, for here were interned most of the enemy mercantile marine captured in the Eastern Mediterranean. By 8 o'clock that morning six of the New Zealand transports were alongside, and clamouring round, the long-skirted rabble of the Egyptian seaport beheld in the stalwart colonials the same material as that which wrested victory at Tel-el-Kebir and Omdurman. The poor horses were delighted to get ashore; groggy on their feet, they cut the most amusing capers. Soon men and stores, guns and horses, were en route to the railway station, where troop trains were waiting, and in a few hours were speeding across some of the most magnificent agricultural country in the world--the delta of the Nile. CHAPTER III. Training in Egypt. The first troop train, with Divisional Headquarters on board, got away late in the afternoon, and pursued its way past old Lake Mareotis, with the little brown fishing boats dotted over its waters, into the heart of the Nile Delta. In the failing light the network of irrigation canals, the graceful date palms, and the unpretentious mud houses were dimly discernible. All night long more trains were loaded and disappeared into the gloom. The Cairo-Alexandria express would be a credit to any English railway company, doing the journey of 133 miles in a little over three hours, but the troop trains, like their kindred all over the world, took a little more leisure, being about eight hours on the way, the first train reaching Zeitoun, four miles further on through Cairo, at 1 o'clock the next morning. The baggage and supplies were tumbled out into the darkness; guards were mounted; and horses and men trudged their weary way about a mile and a half along a dusty white road and across a sandy desert, eventually coming to a halt near a racecourse, to the picket fence of which the horses were made secure, while those who could lay down on the sand to snatch an hour or two of sleep. It was the Egyptian winter and the nights were exceedingly cold, but the weary men slept on. More and more trains rolled in to Helmieh and Palais de Koubbeh; more and more men and horses stumbled into the bivouac, until about 5 o'clock even the heaviest sleeper was awake and endeavouring to restore circulation until the rising sun should dissipate the morning mist. A great hunger became infectious--most men had a ration of bully beef and biscuits, but the wherewithal to make the welcome billy of tea was not forthcoming. Then the New Zealanders found real friends--friends in need--the men of the East Lancashire Territorial Division, for the generous North Countrymen arrived with steaming-dixies of tea and "summat t' eat." These were the first English troops we had "lain" alongside, and the good-fellowship so welcomely begun in the desert was strengthened later on the Gallipoli Peninsula. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ "DONKS." These big mules of the N.Z. Divisional Train were bred in North America.] Presently the sun burst triumphantly through the mist and disclosed a bivouac of thousands of men and horses lying on the edge of a limitless desert. As far as the eye could see was a yellow sandy plain. This was skirted on the Cairo side by the main Heliopolis-Suez road, which ran east and west through the camp, and was bounded on the far horizon by a range of low brown sandhills. Soon all hands were at work pitching headquarters and the supply depots south of this main road and the other units north of it. A new road at right angles to the main road was constructed in a northerly direction--on the right of which the mounted rifles, artillery and ambulance placed their tents and horse lines, while the infantry occupied the whole of the left hand side. Water-pipes had been laid on and watering troughs for horses were already on the ground, and by evening some order had been evolved, though many troops had again to bivouac in the open, realizing that, notwithstanding the poets, the sands of the desert do become very cold about 2 o'clock in the morning. By the end of a week all the ships had been cleared of men, horses and stores, and the three colonial camps had shaken down into something like order--the Australian infantry at Mena, under the shadow of the great Pyramids; the Australian Light Horse at Medi; and the New Zealanders at Zeitoun. The horses were not fit for either transport work or driving, but for a week or two were exercised in progressive work until able to stand the strain of manoeuvres. Out of nearly four thousand horses only eighty-eight failed to survive the buffetting journey through the Tasman Sea and Great Australian Bight, the sweltering heat of the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea, and the hazardous acclimatization in a hot and sandy desert--there they stood in long and polished rows, chewing the succulent berseem and munching the dry and uninviting tibbin, which apparently caused the horses much less concern than it did the anxious troopers. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ THE WATER CART ON THE DESERT.] Training commenced in earnest. Early every morning the infantry battalions paraded in full marching order and trudged through miles of sandy desert. Like so much of the soldier's life, this work was not interesting, but it was necessary; with clothing designed for a cool climate the long columns swung out along the never-ending sands, hardening the hardy ones, the cruel desert slowly but mercilessly winnowing out the few unfit. If a man had a bad knee or a weak chest, those weary sweltering marches and misty nights sought out the weak, who were sent to the Egyptian Army Hospital at Abassia, where Australian nurses of Queen Alexandra's Imperial Nursing Service nursed them tenderly back to health, or sent them broken-hearted to convalesce at Alexandria preparatory to their long sea voyage home. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ IN THE SHADE OF THE DATE PALMS.] The mounted rifles, artillery and engineers daily exercised their horses and teams until it was possible to have squadron and battery training. Out in the hot sun all day, by diligence and care, men and horses became efficient units in the great machine. The way was not always a sandy one; sometimes the route lay along the banks of the irrigation canals, past ancient sakiehs and Archimedean screws lifting the precious water into the little tributary canals that are the life of Egypt. Past fields of wheat and tomatoes; acres of beans reminding one of Thoreau's sojourn in the wilds; down scented orange groves and acacia avenues; through acres and acres of the clover known as berseem--the soldiers went their way, marvelling at the fertility of a land that produces three crops within the year. On those fresh dewy mornings, with the crows chattering noisily in the trees overhead, one realized what made Egypt triumph over Time. These simple fellaheen and their forbears had watched Hittite, Assyrian, Persian, Greek and Roman sweep through the country and ravish its beauty, to be followed in later days by Saracen and Turk with the same intent; and here, long years after, following in the great line of fighting men, but striving for freedom and not conquest, the soldiers from the Antipodes, glorying in their youth, pass the old obelisk at Heliopolis and recognize that, perhaps more than pride of race, a fertile soil and a diligent husbandry make for national longevity. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ CATTLE ON BERSEEM. Berseem is a variety of lucerne, and is the staple green food of camels, horses, cattle, goats and sheep. It helps to keep the Nile Delta fertile.] [Illustration: "LIZZIE"] It may have been because of the church parades, where men sang the hymns they knew--hymns associated with their early life and Sunday school, or perhaps during the service men let their minds wander from the dust and glare of Egypt to the green fields and the loved ones of home--but whatever the cause, Sunday was essentially the day of letter writing. On Sunday afternoons, groups of men wandered farther afield--to the mighty Pyramids of Ghizeh, there to pose on the protesting camels for the conventional photograph of tourist, sphinx and pyramid; or perchance to the Zoo at Ghezireh, with its quaint mosaic paths, its giraffes and the bewitching "Lizzie," with her radiant smile and open countenance. Crowds were fascinated by the collection of antiquities in the Egyptian Museum, and by those polished cases in which, surrounded by great sphinxes and pylons, sleep the former kings of four and five thousand years ago. It is difficult to conceive that these were ever people of flesh and blood, until the revelation of mummified queens with their tiny babies forces one to realize that they, too, once were really human in their hates and loves, their triumphs and disappointments. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ "MILK DIET." A Camel Study on the road to Helouan.] Most of the soldiers' spare time was naturally spent in Cairo. Here everything seemed to be licensed except the drinking shops--the newsboy needed a license to sell his papers; the donkey boys and donkeys, who seemed numberless, were really carefully numbered; the futile red-tarbushed police spent much of their time chasing the bootblack who dared to ply without a permit. Owing to the war, the tourist season had failed--the rich Americans had stayed at home--but in the well-paid Australians and New Zealanders the astute merchants found suitable substitutes, whom they proceeded to bleed most unmercifully. Out into the streets they came with their wares. In the natural course of affairs men hawked sugar-cane, vegetables, live poultry, sweetmeats and cakes; the clang of the liquorice-water sellers' gongs clashed with those of the lemonade man; round the cafes, where the patron sits at a little table on a footpath, men tendered their little trays of shrimps and dusty plates of strawberries--all these now supplemented by an army of boys and men trading walking-sticks and swagger canes by the thousand; antiques made out of Nile mud; ancient Dervish weapons with the dust of Birmingham still upon them; foreign postage stamps on sheets; scenic postcards and questionable pictures; dainty little fly-whisks and "pieces of the true Cross." Watching from the balconies of the fashionable hotels (every soldier is fashionable while the money lasts) the procession filling the street below was always interesting. The Rolls-Royce of the Egyptian Pasha slowing down behind a string of heavily-laden camels; a man with a performing monkey protesting against the intrusion of a flock of turkeys shepherded ahead and astern by old women--solemnly down the main street of Cairo go the old ladies with the birds; a wedding procession with a raucous band meanders past; and jostling one another on the road, shouting arbagis with their two-horse cabs, scurrying motor cyclists of the Army of Occupation, and the quaint one-horsed lorries perambulating the closely-veiled collection of ladies that go to make the modest modern harem. Like the schoolboy, the soldier dearly loves a tuck shop. Army fare is very monotonous. The soldier on trek and in the trenches constantly talks of his likes and dislikes in the matter of eating and drinking. So it was that the hotels were always crowded--a hot bath and a meal were always welcome--and the girls of Cairo were never treated more liberally and often to the daintiness of Sault's and Groppi's. The Egyptian, like the Babu, is fond of bursting into print. The comedian in the colonial forces discovered a rich new field. Eating houses purveying the fried steak and eggs and tomatoes, together with imitation Scotch whisky and Greek beer, came forth in all their glory of calico signs inscribed "The Balclutha Bar," this with a fine disregard for the prohibition tendencies of the Southern town; "The Waipukurau Reading Rooms," and the "Wellington Hotel--very cheap and breezy." Every township in Australia and New Zealand was similarly honoured! [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ ON THE TOP OF THE GREAT PYRAMID. This New Zealand officer, the two Australians, the Ghurkha officer and the two Ghurkhas are typical of the men who in August 1915, reached the highest points on the Gallipoli Peninsula--the New Zealanders on Chunuk Bair; the Australians on Abdel Rahman Bair; the Ghurkhas on Hill Q.] The most ubiquitous person was easily the bootblack. A soldier could not walk along the street without being besieged by a pestering multitude crying "Bootsa clean, sir! no good, no money; Kiwi polish, sir!" Upon sitting down in a railway station or elsewhere, one's boots would be attacked by a swarm which had to be literally kicked away. The places of amusement were very attractive. The houses that combined refreshment with entertainment were liberally patronized; the food was much appreciated, and the efforts of the artists cheerfully tolerated. In the first flush of life in a Continental city, the casinos, dancing houses and saloons were far too popular, until the nastiness of these places became apparent through the numbers on the morning sick parades, whereupon officers and men alike realized that they could not keep fit by dancing till the small hours of the morning. The soldier knows his faults, but he strongly resents armchair criticism. It is not difficult to avoid temptation if one sits quietly at home. A cabbage is not immoral, it is unmoral. It is easy to condemn the men who sometimes are not temperate in all things, but the soldier finds it easy to live a prodigal life. He reasons, perhaps quite wrongly, that he may as well eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow he may be in the casualty list. The soldier will not try to defend his conduct. He recognizes he is a man, with most of the human frailties, yet is prepared at a word and for an ideal, to place his body as a shield between his country and his country's enemies. It was decided to use the New Zealand Expeditionary Force as the nucleus of a Division. The New Zealand Infantry Brigade and the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade were to be joined by the 1st Australian Light Horse Brigade and the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, at that time on the high seas, en route to Egypt. As regards divisional troops, there was a great shortage. A Divisional Ammunition Column was an urgent necessity. A cable was sent to New Zealand asking for the despatch of a second Howitzer Battery (one was already on the water) and a Howitzer Brigade Ammunition Column as the necessary complement. A Field Company of Engineers was to be formed out of surplus reinforcements, and a cable was despatched to New Zealand for a second company. The Divisional Train was to be organized as soon as the men and mechanical transport could be obtained. The Ceylon Planters' Rifle Corps was also attached and posted to the Wellington Infantry Battalion as a fifth company. [Illustration: [_Lent by Major Brunt, W.I.B._ NEW ZEALAND FIELD ARTILLERY PASSING BAB-EL-HADID, CAIRO.] The camp rapidly acquired a well-groomed air. Patterns in stone ornamented the surroundings of each tent. Regimental crests and mottoes, representations of New Zealand birds and Maori proverbs were picked out in little coloured pebbles gathered on the desert. It was discovered that oats, rice and other grains, if soaked in water, germinated vigorously when planted in the sand. Soon among the tents of the mounted units there appeared many green patches like miniature lawns. Round the officers' messes more elaborate gardens were attempted. From Cairene florists pot plants were procured; these were plunged, pot and all, into beds made of soil carted from the Canal banks, and there, watered by the careful Arab gardener, roses and canna bloomed profusely. The newspaper boys were a never failing fount of amusement. Knowing no English but a few carefully taught swear words, these boys would stop the first slouch hat they met, and ask to have read over in English the gist of the headlines. Many an honest soldier would read the lines as printed, but it was too good a field for the wags to miss. Accordingly it was not uncommon to hear the news cried something like this: "'Time-ees Egyp.' Very good news! Captain----dead again!" One small boy made a hobby of "Very good news! 'Egyptian Times' to-morrow!" Next to the newsboys in number and popularity were the sellers of oranges. Wherever the troops went in the desert, at smoke-oh, up would come the boys with the "oringies, very beeg, very sweet," three for a half-piastre. The oranges were little ones, but with a very meaty and juicy pulp, and were most grateful and refreshing in the desert heat. So sudden was their appearance that it seemed these people, together with the boys who sold the cakes and the ones with the hard-boiled eggs, must live in the clouds and drop straight down wherever the dust cloud settled. [Illustration: "ORINGIES!"] Egypt was nominally a province of Turkey, but the Khedive, Abbas Hilma Pasha, having gone over to the Central Powers with Turkey, it was notified on December 18, 1914, that Egypt was placed under the protection of His Majesty the King. The suzerainty of Turkey over Egypt thus terminated. The person appointed to the place of the late Khedive was His Highness Prince Hussein Kamel Pasha, the eldest living prince of the family of Mohammed Ali. His Highness was to be proclaimed Sultan of Egypt at the Abdin Palace, Cairo, on the morning of December 20. The Australians and New Zealanders furnished representatives to line the streets--the Otago and Wellington Infantry Battalions with their bands doing duty for New Zealand. The detachment of Ceylon Planters' Rifles Corps also assisted in guard duty and were posted in the Abdin Square. The streets and buildings were gaily decorated--many Italian and Greek and French flags being displayed, but principally Union Jacks and ensigns and the new Egyptian flag, red with three white crescents and stars. [Illustration: THE MARCH THROUGH CAIRO. The Field Troop of New Zealand Engineers passing Shepheard's Hotel.] The authorities entrusted with holding Egypt and the Suez Canal were sorely troubled in early December in reference to the Turks proclaiming a Holy War. The Nationalists were active, but with the arrival of the colonial troops the anxiety of those responsible was greatly relieved. The suspected civilians and Turkish officers holding high command in the Egyptian Army were deported to Malta. The Egyptian understands armed strength and despises weakness. Being aware of this, it was deemed advisable to parade the troops as strong as possible and march through the most populous parts of the city. The New Zealanders were ordered to march through Cairo three days after the coronation. Leaving the camp early in the morning, the parade moved down the beautiful asphalt roads; past processions of camels laden with sugar-cane; past old women with their herds of predatory flocks of sheep and goats; past Pont Limoun and Bab-el-Hadid barracks to the Opera Square, where the General Officer Commanding His Majesty's Forces in Egypt took the salute. This far was plain sailing, but presently the head of the column dived down a narrow bazaar where four men could hardly ride abreast. Into this dark slum went the mounted men; the glistening guns of the artillery; the collapsible boats of the Field Troop; the cable waggons of the signallers; then the long line of desert-trained, sun-tanned infantry, with the ambulance and some more mounted men bringing up the rear. In the bazaars it was almost dark, and in the narrower streets, where the projecting balconies seemed to meet overhead, it was not much better. It was a relief to get to wider streets and less foul air. Lining the streets were thousands of people, all seemingly in a good humour. In the open workshops, old men working at primitive loom and lathe never even looked up. Down past the schools and colleges, where hot-headed young Nationalists were wont to air their grievances, the cavalcade clattered on its noisy way; here, perhaps, there was a little scowling. The common people--the men clad in their many-coloured robes and each wearing the red, flat-topped fez worn by every male from the Sultan to the donkey driver--made quite a splash of colour as they crowded on the sidewalk in the shade of the trees and cheered and clapped with apparent earnestness. Even as the fellaheen appreciates the fact that under British rule he has to pay his taxes only once, so the poor and working class of Egypt recognized that since these bloodless conquerors arrived from overseas, even the beggar and the seller of Turkish delight had accumulated a little hoard of piastres. The disturbances of 1919, however, show that the Egyptian of the cities is a very gullible person. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ AN EGYPTIAN PLOUGHMAN. The wooden plough is shod with a metal point. The furrow is not turned over. The earth is merely broken and pushed aside.] Christmas Eve saw the arrival of the British section of the New Zealanders, a contingent of six officers and 234 other ranks who had enlisted in England. These were men who were away from New Zealand when war broke out--some were gold-dredging in the East; some were working in the copper mines in Spain; but wherever they were--Pernambuco, Sarawak or the Andes--when the call came they hastened to the Old Country and enlisted. Engineers, sailors, painters, actors and gentlemen of leisure, they banded together in England and were organized as a machine-gun corps for France, but were eventually sent out to Egypt. Smart and well drilled, they made an excellent impression, and were just the men wanted for the nucleus of the new engineer and transport services, between which two branches they were equally divided. The Christmas dinner was eaten out of doors in the hot sun, as the new dining huts were not ready. New Year was ushered in by festivals in the city, while out on the desert the regimental bands played all the old familiar tunes, the men meanwhile holding impromptu dances under the silent desert stars. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ CHRISTMAS DINNER, 1914.] Every week the division was becoming better organized and more like the working whole. From day to day inspections were held by the subordinate commanders. Periodically, staff officers held minute inspection of units, until on two occasions the whole division was paraded for General Maxwell, the General Officer Commanding the Force in Egypt. Each day now saw an improvement. Transport was continually arriving. The division was now officially styled "The New Zealand and Australian Division," as there would be two complete Australian Brigades incorporated--the 1st Light Horse and the 4th Infantry Brigade. January 25 was a red-letter day, occupied by the New Zealand Infantry preparing the camp for the 4th Australian Brigade, due to arrive during the week. But at 5 o'clock that afternoon came the thrilling news from Army Corps Headquarters that the Infantry Brigade was needed hurriedly on the Suez Canal to support the Indian troops against an attack by the Turks, who were reported to be advancing. During that night seven days' supplies were carted to the railway stations of Helmieh and Palais de Koubbeh; ammunition was served out; men's kits were checked and deficiencies supplied. Far into the night excited soldiers talked, and scorning sleep, waited expectantly for the morrow. CHAPTER IV. The Defence of the Suez Canal. The New Zealand troops detailed to assist in the defence of the Suez Canal were the Auckland, Wellington, Canterbury and Otago Infantry Battalions and the New Zealand Field Ambulance. At 7 a.m., on January 26, the entrainment commenced; everybody working with a will, the last train cleared Helmieh Siding at 3 in the afternoon. Brigade Headquarters, the Auckland and Canterbury Battalions, and two sections of the Field Ambulance detrained at Ismailia; the Wellington and Otago Battalions and one section of the Field Ambulance going on to Kubri, about twelve miles north of Suez. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ EN ROUTE TO THE SUEZ CANAL. Tel-el-Kebir is the scene of the famous battle fought by Lord Wolseley in 1882.] A glance at the map will show that the defence of Egypt from the Turk was strengthened by two great natural obstacles--natural from a military point of view--the arid wastes of the Sinai Desert, and the chain of salt lakes connected by the Suez Canal. In those days, when trained men were not plentiful, it was natural that this long ribbon of sea water--nowhere less than sixty-five yards wide--should be selected as the line of resistance, although much elaborate fortification had been made on the eastern bank, more particularly at Kantara. In the matter of heavy artillery we had the advantage, as the Turk had to bring his guns over miles of soft sand, whereas we employed ships of the Royal Navy, which, with their powerful guns, could move up and down the defence line, easily outranging the most powerful Turkish artillery. [Illustration: EGYPT AND THE SUEZ CANAL.. This map shows how the troops defending the Suez Canal could have been quickly reinforced from the camps near Cairo.] [Illustration: "KUKRIS" The Ghurka badge and weapon.] About thirty miles south of Port Said a few low sandhills cut off Lake Menzala from the Balah Lakes. Across this narrow isthmus ran the old caravan route, through Kantara, from Syria to Egypt. This was the classical way for an army attacking Egypt. So Kantara was made extra strong and garrisoned by Indian regulars. Based on Ismailia itself were three sets of posts. A few miles north was El Ferdan, where a company and two platoons of the Auckland and Canterbury Battalions were stationed; the second group was nearer Ismailia--two posts, one called Battery Post, with two platoons of New Zealanders as part of its garrison, the other, Ismailia Ferry, with one company; in reserve at Ismailia were Brigade Headquarters, with the remainder of the Canterbury and Auckland Battalions not absorbed by the posts. Between Lake Timsah and the Great Bitter Lake was an important stretch of the Canal, only about seven miles long, but comprising the two posts of Toussoum and Serapeum. At the latter post, two platoons of the Canterbury Battalion (the 12th Nelson Company) were instrumental in helping to stave off the most determined attack ever made by the Turks on Egypt. South of Serapeum the Canal widens into the Great Bitter Lakes and the Little Bitter Lake, the defence of this part of the line naturally being entrusted to the Navy, assisted by two French cruisers. Between the lower lake and Suez, a distance of about fifteen miles, the Wellington and Otago Battalions were distributed--units at different times being posted at Shalouf, Baluchistan, Ghurka Posts, El Kubri and Suez. About midnight on the night of our arrival at Kubri, a party of Turks made a great show of liveliness, evidently to draw fire and so obtain some information as to our strength and dispositions. But nothing came of these diversions, which occurred periodically. Waiting for the Turk. Some of our posts were on the Sinai side of the Canal, some on the Egyptian side. Up and down we were connected by telephone to all these posts and the batteries. The Turkish intelligence system was very active, whatever its efficiency, for on one night the wires from Kubri were cut no less than five times, although the line was being specially watched. [Illustration: IN THE SUEZ CANAL.] The provision of desert patrols, post guards, Canal patrols, listening and examination posts, took up most of the time. The work was hard but full of interest. The Turk was not far away, and it was exhilarating making preparations for his downfall. On both sides of the Canal, trenches had to be dug and sandbagged, and strong posts of tactical importance constructed. Every day it was regretted that though the Turks were quiescent, armies of mosquitoes were extremely active. Ships of all the Allies and the neutral nations passed slowly through the Canal, carrying many civilian Australians and New Zealanders to and from the south. After the heat of Cairo, the daily dip was a great boon, particularly as the ladies on the passing vessels threw many luxuries to the soldiers in the water. Especially at Ismailia were the surroundings agreeable. The men in their spare time bathed in Lake Timsah, lolled in the shade of the high acacias, and marvelled at the masses of bougainvillea climbing in its purple glory among the dark green trees. On January 28, the "Willochra" discharged the infantry of the Second Reinforcements at Suez, from whence they travelled by rail to Cairo. The ships carrying the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, together with the New Zealand transports "Verdala" and "Knight of the Garter," steamed up through the Canal to the accompaniments of tumultous cheering, which burst forth anew when their escort was discovered to be the Australian submarine AE2, steaming awash between the banks lined with enthusiastic East Lancashires, Indians, Australians and New Zealanders. [Illustration: [_Lent by Major Brunt, W.I.R._ TRENCHES ON THE CANAL BANK.] The end of January drew near and still the Turks did not attack. Occasionally the outposts on either side saw shadowy forms and fired into the dark. Our Intelligence Department had gleaned some knowledge of the enemy's dispositions. It was known that about forty miles east of the Canal, opposite Serapeum, he was concentrating in a deep valley, from whence it was believed he intended to advance in two columns--one on Kantara and the other on Serapeum. These were the obvious routes, the only other feasible one being by way of Kubri. The troops were very fit and well dug in. Every man--English, Indian, and Colonial--was a volunteer in the strictest sense and eager to try conclusions with the enemy. On the last day of the month we were greatly cheered by the news that the "Blucher" had been sunk in the North Sea. It was discovered that the Turkish column, marching by way of the old caravan road towards Kantara, moved at nights, using the telegraph line as a guide. The Indians had prepared elaborate fortifications and wire entanglements out from Kantara, then skilfully altered the direction of the telegraph line, so that it might end in carefully concealed barbed wire and pointed stakes. [Illustration: [_Lent by Major Brunt, W.I.R._ THE TARANAKI SECTION OF KUBRI FORT. The wire running out is an alarm wire connected with the wire entanglements in front.] Affairs of outposts gradually became matters of frequency over the length of the line. The Turk was making a show of reconnaissance from Kantara to Kubri, but everywhere a warm welcome was awaiting him. Our First Battle. At last, on the night of February 2/3, it was obvious that the great attack had commenced. At Kantara the enemy made an early morning attack on the outposts, which was easily repulsed. Then their main body came down the deceiving telegraph line. To the intense delight of the Indians the enemy walked straight into the trap, and were scattered to the four winds of the desert by carefully posted machine guns. It was quite evident that Kantara would not fall. But the enemy maintained a certain measure of activity, advancing and digging in just out of range. He showed no anxiety for a closer acquaintance, but appeared content to throw a few shells at the posts and occasionally at the shipping on Lake Timsah. This continued all day, until he was evidently ordered to the attack. It was a miserably feeble effort, which rapidly converted itself into a hasty retirement. Some of the Canterburys were at El Ferdan, upon which post four small enemy field guns opened a desultory fire, but were quickly put out of action by a few well directed rounds from H.M.S. "Clio." Down at Kubri the troops were on the alert. H.M.S. "Himalaya" used her searchlights all night, flinging her ghostly beams of light far over the desert and preventing any surprise attack. A few shots were fired by the outposts, but well-directed fire from the "Himalaya" deterred the Turk from making any organized advance. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Saunders, 12th Nel. Reg._ WHERE THE ATTACK CAME. This is the part of the Canal where the pontoons were launched. The 12th Nelson Company was holding a line near the fir trees.] The only place at which a comparatively serious attack was pressed home was in the neighbourhood of Toussoum and Serapeum. On the evening of February 2, the 12th Nelson Company of the Canterbury Battalion was holding a section of 800 yards. On their left the line was taken up by the 62nd Punjabis. At about 3.25 next morning the enemy opened fire with machine guns, and at 3.30 it was evident that he was making an attack a few hundred yards on our left. Thirty men of the Nelsons were at once doubled over to assist the Indians, but were surprised to find no troops there! The enemy, in five pontoons, was already crossing the Canal! The handful of New Zealanders opened fire and drove back the boats. The other platoons of the Nelsons kept up a steady long-range fire. Soon both banks of the Canal were ablaze with the spluttering of rifles fired by soldiers undergoing their baptism of fire. The rival artilleries now came into action, and by dawn the battle raged over the two and a half miles of Canal in the neighbourhood of Toussoum and Serapeum. The Turk made attempt after attempt, but our infantry easily accounted for the men in the pontoons; the field artillery scattered the bridge-making squads; and when it was fully light, the ships' guns caused such consternation in the enemy's reserves that gradually the attack melted away. Everywhere in front of the line between Toussoum and Serapeum lay dozens of enemy dead. [Illustration: LIFTING THE PONTOONS. The fir trees on our side of the Canal are discernible. The pontoons were sunk by rifle fire. The large holes were made with axes to render the boats unserviceable.] At noon the Punjabis counter-attacked with considerable effect, took many prisoners, and cleared a large area of the enemy. In the afternoon the New Zealanders were ordered to close on the 22nd Indian Brigade Headquarters, and during this movement we suffered our first New Zealand casualties--one sergeant being wounded and a private of the 12th Nelson Company died as the result of wounds received in action--the first soldier of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force to be killed on the field of battle. The troops spent an expectant night, but nothing further materialized. [Illustration: THE FIRST MAN KILLED IN ACTION The last resting place of 6/246 Private William Arthur Ham, 12th (Nelson) Company of the Canterbury Infantry Battalion.] Captured Turkish Orders. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ CAPTURED PONTOONS AT ISMAILIA.] [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ A TURKISH PRISONER.] From daylight on the morning of the 4th, parties cleared up the battlefield, burying hundreds of Turks. Captured orders showed that the attempt was to have been made on a grand scale, but something must have sadly miscarried. The following extracts dealing with the main attack reveal Turkish Orders at their best: "By the grace of Allah we shall attack the enemy on the night of February 2/3, and seize the Canal. Simultaneously with us the right column will attack Kantara; the 68th Regiment will attack El Ferdan and Ismailia; the left column will attack Suez; and one company from the 10th Division will attack Shallufa. The champions of Islam, from Tripoli in Africa, from the left wing will advance to Serapeum and the south of Serapeum.... As soon as it is dark the heavy artillery battery will take up its position. Its task is to destroy the enemy's warships in Lake Timsah. If it gets the opportunity, it is to sink a ship at the entrance to the Canal.... Three regiments will proceed to the Camp of the Bridgemakers; the detachments will take pontoon and engineer soldiers from the companies selected as attack column.... The advances from the 'place of preparation' is to be made simultaneously in eight columns at a place to be fixed, and in a straight line; a pontoon is to be given to each squad; each squad is to send forward a party to reconnoitre.... The march to the Canal is about four or five kilometres, and is to be accomplished without halt. The pontoons are to be launched in the Canal and the passage across is to begin immediately.... The first duty of the detachments which cross is to occupy the slope of the western bank. The two companies collected on the western bank are to advance 500 or 1000 metres from the Canal and take up a favourable position facing west. After all the battalions in the first line have been mustered they are to continue the march. The 2/75th Regiment is to seize Toussoum and occupy the hill with small force. The 74th Regiment is to take the direction towards Timsah and the west, and is to advance as far as the railway line.... If the regiments meet with opposition from the enemy while occupying these positions, they are at once to execute a fierce bayonet charge.... At first I will be at the little hill on which are two sandhills; later on I shall go towards Toussoum." All of which showing that even early in the War the best laid plans of Turk and Hun went very much astray. Instead of executing fierce bayonet charges and taking up favourable positions facing west, the broken remnants of the champions of Islam had in large measure fled a considerable distance east--going so far and so quickly that an aeroplane reconnaisance of sixty miles showed great clouds of dust still hastening towards the desert sanctuary. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ BOWS OF TURKISH PONTOONS. The pontoons are of German make, as the spelling of "the home port" indicates.] [Illustration: TURKISH PRISONERS CAPTURED ON THE CANAL. This picture, which shows the physique of the Turk, was taken by Lieut. A. E. Forsythe, (12th Nelsons) who was killed on Gallipoli.] The enemy's total casualties were about 3000 in killed, wounded and prisoners. The British loss was 18 killed and 83 wounded. The naval casualties were also infinitesimal--one man killed on the "Swiftsure" and ten wounded on the "Hardinge." Thus was the enemy's much-heralded attack brought to confusion. From that day the Suez Canal, thanks to the efforts of the British and Indian troops and the Allied navies, has been open day and night to the ships of friendly nations. Three weeks of waiting ensued. There was certainly work to be done, but the Canal is just the Canal, and men get very sick of it. Any change is welcome to the soldier. It was a relief to climb into the troop trains on February 26 and eventually arrive in the old encampment near Zeitoun. Return to Zeitoun. The New Zealand and Australian Division was now feeling its feet, and towards the end of March the Third Reinforcements arrived and were promptly drafted to the units requiring them, particularly the Field Engineers and Divisional Train. Among them was a Maori contingent of 14 officers and 425 other ranks, eager to prove that they were too good for garrison duty. Egypt had never seen their betters as regards drill, physique and discipline. About this time the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force came into being. The air was full of rumours; soon it became manifest that the two Colonial Divisions--the 1st Australian Division and the New Zealand and Australian Division--were, as the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, to be called on to engage in a most important enterprise. Bustling administrative officers from the two Divisions commenced addressing their letters to Army Headquarters as A.N.Z.A.C., little realizing they were unconsciously creating a word destined to ring with glory down the ages. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ A COSMOPOLITAN ARMY. In this picture are Australian Signallers, Ceylon Rifle Planters, British, French, and Australian Officers.] How the prospect of humbling the Turk appealed to these young crusaders from the far South! What an atmosphere of anticipation pervaded the camp when it was learned that the Division was to be paraded for the last searching inspection by the illustrious soldier to whom Britain had entrusted the confounding of the Turk. There was a certain element of romance in these young, untried divisions from the New World daring to confront one of the oldest and most warlike of the Old World races. An Inspection on the Desert. Just a year before, Sir Ian Hamilton, reviewing the New Zealanders and Australians in their own lands, expressed the wish that some day these wonderful horsemen might be shown to the world. By a strange chance, here they were in Africa, soon to be led by him in their first great visit to Europe. Surrounded by his staff, here again he sees them in the desert. Squadron after squadron go the 1st Light Horse Brigade, the pride of all Australia; then the New Zealand Mounted Rifles--men from the Waikato, the Wairarapa, the Waitaki, and every country district in between--prance gaily past in a cloud of dust and locusts; following the mounted rifles come the divisional artillery, all New Zealanders--with their cap badges blackened for war and their guns bedaubed with multi-coloured paints in a manner to make an old battery sergeant-major go crazy. Here are the handy men of the army--the divisional engineers with their great pontoons, and their confreres the signallers--wise men with buzzers and telephones and other signalling paraphernalia bedecking their horses and waggons. Following the "fancy troops," in solid ranks of khaki and with bayonets flashing in the desert sun, come the infantry brigades of the Division. These are the men who trudge all day in the desert and at night dig themselves in, bivouacking and trudging on again next morning. The New Zealand Brigade marches brilliantly; every man is a prouder man than when he left New Zealand, for the infantry alone out of our Division participated in the defence of the Canal. Now come the newly joined 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, and, closely following, the waggons of the divisional train; finally the field ambulance, flying their great Red Cross flags. By this time everybody is covered with grey desert dust and the plain is obscured as if with the smoke of a great bush fire. The march past over, units make for home by the shortest route. Soon the horses are rubbed down and are munching their tibbin and crushed barley, while the men are crowding the showers preparatory to the call of the cook-house. That night we realized that at last the long-desired standard was attained--the New Zealand and Australian Division was pronounced fit for active service. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ DIVISIONAL HEAD-QUARTERS. Showing Headquarters cars and signallers on the old Suez Road. The officer in the foreground is Lt. Col. G. R. Pridham, D.S.O., R.E., the talented C.R.E. of the Division in Gallipoli and France.] A Riot in the Ezbekieh Quarter. Good Friday was a bad day for Australia and New Zealand. This was the occasion of the great riot. There were reasons for this outburst. On that holiday morning all troops were given leave for the day. There was nothing to do in the town, so some men got more than was good for them of the wretched liquors sold in those tenth-rate cafes and dancing houses. Soldiers under the influence of drink do not behave any better than their civilian brothers. They are necessarily high-spirited people and very fit. In retaliation for some real or fancied grievance, a few irresponsibles commenced throwing things out of a top-storey window. The red caps were not popular, and both sides receiving reinforcements, a melee ensued. Some fool fired the broken furniture lying in the street, and from this it was only a stage to firing the houses. An Egyptian fire brigade arrived, but the soldiers, by this time numbering thousands, cut the hoses and pelted the unfortunate firemen with their own gear. Realizing that only disgrace could come of the affair, the sane people gradually got the rioters away, and after about four hours of Bacchanalian revelry the city was again quiet. A legend has grown up that the work was a good one, and that the soldiers had determined to rid the city of those sinks of iniquity. It is almost suggested that the good work was the result of a religious revival among the troops. It must be admitted that it was a bad business; but, it may be honestly set down that throughout the four years of War there were few instances of excess participated in by New Zealand troops. Leaving Cairo. The men of the Maori contingent were disappointed to find that they were not to join up at once with the Division, and after an entertainment and haka before Sir John Maxwell, the High Commissioner of Egypt, one of their officers made an eloquent plea to be sent on active service. The promise was made that the request would be acceded to after a short term of garrison duty at Malta, for which station they left Zeitoun Camp on the evening of Easter Monday, embarking on the S.S. "Runic" at Port Said. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ KIT INSPECTION IN THE FIELD AMBULANCE LINES.] Easter Monday was a most trying day. The khamseen blew, the breakfast dishes were full of grit, horses were fidgety in the driving sandstorm, everyone's temper was on edge. Egypt is a delightful place for the tourist, who can amuse himself indoors if the conditions be undesirable without. The soldier, on the contrary, must soldier on, khamseen or no khamseen, so over the drifting wastes of sand, artillery, engineers, infantry, divisional train and ambulance, wended their several ways to their different rendezvous in the desert. This was a new idea in the matter of parades--parading by ships--all to go on the "Lutzow" mustering in one place, those for the "Katuna" in another, and so on. Men, horses and vehicles were carefully checked by the known capacity of the transports already waiting in Alexandria Harbour. Because the country was known to be mountainous and almost devoid of water it was recognized that in the initial stages of the campaign the mounted men must be left behind. This reduced the fighting strength of our division from four brigades to two. The mounted rifles for once were sorry they had horses, but hardly envied the infantrymen the daily long-distance route marches with the seventy pounds of pack and a rifle, dusty tracks, and an angry sun. Everything comes to an end, even training in Egypt. In the week following Easter, all ranks were thankful to get aboard the troop trains in the dark and disappear into the black Egyptian night. The only regret was that their comrades of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles and Australian Light Horse were left fretting in the desert camps. CHAPTER V. The Rendezvous at Mudros. Alexandria Harbour was alive with shipping--British, French, Greek, Italian and many captured vessels. Some of the latter--the "Lutzow," the "Annaberg," the "Haidar Pasha," and the "Goslar"--were requisitioned to make up the fleet of thirteen ships necessary to carry our Division. They ranged from liners like the "Lutzow," down to dirty, lice-infested tramps like the "Goslar," and had mostly lain in Alexandria Harbour for about eight months, tended only by a few Greeks, who, scrupulously observing the regulations, had thrown nothing overboard, but dumped the galley ashes and refuse on the once immaculate decks. The carpenters were still in possession of some of them, improvising horse boxes and fitting the tramps to carry more passengers than they had previously been accustomed to. As the journey took only about three days, a little congestion was not of great moment. [Illustration: ON THE QUAY AT ALEXANDRIA Vehicles, Stores, and a mountain of Hay for the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force.] Going out to take over one of the transports, two New Zealand officers had an amusing illustration of patriotism not peculiar to Egypt. The usual picket boat of the Ports and Lighthouses Administration not being available, recourse was made to one of the bumboats selling Turkish Delight and other delicacies. The two boatmen--a stolid Nubian at the bow oar, and a flashy Arab at the other--were both quite sure of one thing: "German, no good--English, very good." The Arab was a fascinating person, who gripped the thwart with his big toe at every stroke. Listening to the eloquent and reiterated denunciation of the Hun, one officer noticed that part of the stock-in-trade was brown boot polish with a German label, and drew the attention of his companion to the fact. The Arab overheard the conversation. "What!" he said, pointing to the offending polish, "that German?" "Yes," said the New Zealander. Without more ado, the Arab scooped the lot into the harbour. "That's true patriotism," the officers agreed, but were puzzled by the grinning of the suppositious patriot. "What are you laughing at, you fool? That must have cost you a lot of money!" "Aha!" came the answer, and pointing to the black man in the bows, who seemed a trifle angry, the Arab said, "It is not mine, it's hees!" [Illustration: EMBARKING HORSES.] The Otago Mounted Rifles putting horses on board at Alexandria.] Lying at anchor was the United States cruiser "Tennessee," with her huge "paper-basket" masts. For some time she had been employed around the coast of Asia Minor safeguarding American interests. Greek and Italian ships were busy bringing refugees--English, French, Jews and Armenians--fleeing from their homes in Palestine and Syria. Just outside Alexandria these unfortunates were housed in concentration camps, at one of which many Jews, mostly Russian subjects, enlisted in a transport corps styled "the Zion Mule Transport Corps," the members of which certainly looked most unhappy with their big, rough, North American pack mules. Through the Ægean Sea. On April 10, our first ships got away--the "Achaia," "Katuna," and "Itonus." The headquarters transport "Lutzow" sailed on the evening of the 12th, while the "Goslar," the lame duck of the fleet, after many vexatious troubles with her internal fittings, her messing, and her crew, finally cleared Alexandria at sunset on April 17, with the New Zealand Infantry Brigade Headquarters on board. During the three days of the voyage the troops had many experiences. Every day fire and boat drill was practised. This required a good deal of ingenuity, because on none of the transports was there much deck room. On some of the ships there were lifeboats to hold only about 20 per cent. of the troops, to say nothing of the crews. One ship had not enough lifebelts to go round. So an order was given that any man drawing a seat in a boat could not have a lifebelt as well! Yet some Germans insist that we, not they, prepared unceasingly for war! The journey was through a sea full of islands of classic interest. Some of the islands set in the clear Ægean blue were startlingly beautiful. Passing Patmos, the old monastery on the top of the rocky height stood out, clear cut, white and gleaming in the morning light. The padres were quite interested, for it was here, tradition says, that the Apostle John wrote the Book of Revelation. Past island after island rich in mythological lore, the smoking transports laboured; now and then British and French destroyers mysteriously appeared from behind a barren islet; and interesting beyond measure, we saw a good example of maritime camouflage--a town-class cruiser painted grey and black and white to resemble a storm-tossed sea. Ceaseless vigilance was imperative, as Turkish torpedo boats were wont to issue from harbours in the Asiatic coast and threaten the safety of transports. The "Manitou," carrying British troops, lost a good many killed and drowned in the confusion ensuing on the sudden appearance of a Turkish destroyer. Parading by echelon, boat and fire drill, slinging of horses and waggons--all things tending to ensure a rapid disembarkation in the face of the enemy--were assiduously practised on the voyage. Past the fertile island of Nikaria the transports picked their way and anchored one by one in the spacious outer harbour of Mudros. Mudros Harbour. Mudros is a land-locked harbour, the entrance easily controlled by a boom and a minefield. Here were gathered merchantmen from the ends of the earth--conveying the five divisions of French and British soldiers that comprised the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Here, too, were ancient and modern battleships, every pattern of torpedo boat, cruisers protected and unprotected, submarines and trawlers from the far North Sea. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ BATTLESHIPS IN MUDROS HARBOUR.] It was the flush of the Ægean spring, and the shore parties cutting grass for the horses revelled in meadows that reminded them of home. But the gaunt grey battleships and black destroyers in the bay struck a vastly different note. From one side of the ship could be seen cows and sheep and stacks of hay; from the other, the grim realities of war. Overhead the engines droned incessantly as the seaplanes circled the harbour preparatory to a reconnaissance of the Peninsula. The tents of the French gleamed white on the hillside below the group of ancient windmills, and floating across the rippling water came the stirring notes of the trumpets calling the French Territorials and Senegalese to their frequent battle practice. [Illustration: [_Photo by Sister M. Jeffery, N.Z.A.N.S._ MILLS FOR GRINDING CORN AT MUDROS.] Daily the mosquito fleet steamed out to gather information of the Turk, and returned to find more and more transports anchored in the stream. The representative of the young Australian Navy, AE2, passed down one afternoon, amid tumultuous cheering, she being recognized as the convoy to one of the early reinforcement drafts. She went out through the minefields, and in running the gauntlet of the Dardanelles, died fighting. Whenever a French ship passed, the New Zealanders lined the rails, the bands played the "Marseillaise," cheers and counter-cheers were given. The Attack on the Dardanelles. [Illustration: MAP OF GALLIPOLI AND SURROUNDING ISLANDS. From Bulair to Cape Helles is about 50 miles; from Anzac to Kephalos 15 miles; from Anzac to Helles 14 miles.] The newcomers were at once informed of the present situation and the intention of the High Command. It is not advisable here to discuss the political and strategical considerations that determined an attack on the Dardanelles--whether the campaign failed because of faulty strategy, staff work, or tactics, or because the whole conception of the operation was unsound. This is simply a soldier's narrative of events, and not a detailed and critical examination of a political and military effort. This much, however, is known: that in order to help Russia, to relieve the attacks on the Suez Canal, and to influence the wavering Balkan States, some action was imperative. It had been laid down in England that the British commander should not land his army until a naval attack had been attempted and failed. Further, he was not to commit himself to any adventurous undertakings on the Asiatic shore. On February 19 the outer defences of Sedd-el-Bahr and Kum Kale were demolished by the fleet. For a time success seemed within our grasp, but the flat trajectory of the naval guns availed them little against the forts and land defences situated inside the Straits, and on March 18, the carefully laid minefields and mobile field guns gave the coup-de-grace to the naval plan by destroying in one day the "Irresistible," the "Inflexible," and the "Ocean," together with the French battleships "Bouvet" and "Gaulois." Begotten of vacillation and hesitancy at Home, a period of local inactivity ensued. It was finally decided that a combined land and sea attack should be attempted. It was known that early in the year the Turk had six divisions distributed between Bulair, Gaba Tepe, Helles, and Kum Kale. Since then reinforcements had been constantly arriving and the fortifications greatly strengthened. The situation in France was serious--men and more men, guns and more guns, were being clamoured for. After some delay the last division of British Regulars--the 29th--were detailed for the service, and now in Mudros Harbour they were waiting in their transports. The Allied troops composing the M.E.F. were five divisions, as follows:-- A French Division (Territorials and coloured troops). The 29th Division (British Regulars). The Royal Naval Division. The 1st Australian Division. The N.Z. and A. Division (two brigades only). Of these it may be said that as seasoned soldiers the 29th Division had no superiors on earth, being of the same calibre as the famous "First Seven Divisions" of the early days in France. The remainder of the British troops were practically untried, but keen, and volunteers to a man. For heavy artillery, reliance had to be placed on the Allied Navies. For the first time in history a British army was to be supported by 12-inch and 15-inch naval guns, the latter carried by the "Queen Elizabeth." Preparing for the Attack. The troops were organized into three groups, labelled Echelon A, B, and C. Echelon A was composed of the portion first to land--men who carried three days' rations and water, 200 rounds of ammunition, their packs and entrenching tools--whose orders were to secure enough territory to enable the other troops to disembark with their horses, guns and heavy vehicles. The 18-pounders and 4.5 howitzers were also in Echelon A. Echelon B consisted of first-line transport, hold parties, and officers' horses. They would be brought ashore as the situation developed. In Echelon C were the pontoons of the Engineers, the waggons of the Field Ambulance, motor cars, cycles, and supply trains. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ A FRENCH SENEGALESE AT MUDROS. The children, of course, are Greek.] Day by day the soldiers in Echelon A assembled on the troop deck for disembarkation practice. The men with their loads seemed bulky enough, but the officers looked even worse. When trussed up with bulging haversacks, two full water bottles, a heavy Webley and ammunition, a big map case, field glasses, prismatic compass, a note book and message forms--not to mention the dozen and one small articles that they, in their innocence, considered necessary--is it any wonder that they stepped gingerly? For, once having fallen, they would have found it difficult, as did the knights of old, to rise again. About four times a day the soldier crept into his Webb equipment, struggled over the side, swayed violently on the frail rope ladder, tumbled into the waiting boat, and pulled slowly to the shore. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ THE "QUEEN ELIZABETH." The warships and transports leaving Mudros Harbour for the attack on the Peninsula.] The days passed all too quickly. Conference upon conference was held on the flagship; much interest was awakened by the issue of maps; and the thrill of intense anticipation was quickened by Sir Ian Hamilton's famous Force Order:-- "Soldiers of France and the King-- Before us lies an adventure unprecedented in modern war. Together with our comrades of the fleet we are about to force a landing upon an open beach in face of positions vaunted by our enemy as impregnable. The landing will be made good by the help of God and the Navy, the positions will be stormed, and the war brought one step nearer to a glorious close. 'Remember,' said Lord Kitchener, when bidding adieu to your commander, 'remember, once you set foot upon the Gallipoli Peninsula, you must fight the thing through to a finish.' The whole world will be watching your progress. Let us prove ourselves worthy of the great feat of arms entrusted to us." IAN HAMILTON, General. Let it never be said that the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force held its opponent cheaply. The seriousness of the situation was obvious, but the troops were imbued with the fact that with proper backing they could not fail, and whatever sacrifice should be demanded, that sacrifice would be gladly made. At 2 o'clock on the afternoon of April 24, there steamed from Mudros Harbour that great armada, led by the "Queen Elizabeth," with Sir Ian Hamilton on board. As the New Zealand transports rode at anchor near the entrance, ship after ship passed out at a few cable lengths' distance. The destroyers fussed and fumed about, while the battleships steamed steadily on to take up their position for the early morning bombardment. As each battleship, cruiser, transport and trawler slipped past, great cheers were exchanged; then night came quietly on; lights blinked and twinkled over the expanse of the great harbour; and a great hush fell on the place until about midnight, when the New Zealand ships lifted their anchors and picked their way through the minefields towards the open sea. CHAPTER VI. The Anzac Landing. Early on Sunday morning the intention of Army Headquarters was made clear by the issue of orders for the attack. A study of the map revealed three dominating land features. In the south, overlooking Cape Helles, was the great hump of Achi Baba. Inland from Suvla Bay was the tangled mass of cliffs, valleys and hills culminating in the peak of the Sari Bair system, which, from its height marked in feet, was afterwards known as "Hill 971." Lying further over near the Straits and protecting the fortress on the European side, was the mountain system known as the "Pasha Dagh" or Kilid Bahr Plateau. Both Achi Baba and Hill 971 had to be captured before attempting the plateau, which latter having fallen, we could take possession of the great fortresses of Kilid Bahr, and Chanak on the opposite shore. These two places in our hands, the passage of the fleet would be largely a matter of careful mine sweeping. In order to mystify the enemy and to encourage him to disperse his forces, two subsidiary attacks were undertaken. Away up at Bulair a fleet of empty transports, accompanied by a few men-of-war, were to make a demonstration. Down on the Asiatic coast the French were to land, reduce Kum Kale and the forts in the neighbourhood, and then withdraw. The 29th and Royal Naval Divisions were to land on several beaches at the extremity of the Peninsula and push on towards Krithia and Achi Baba, being reinforced by the French Division after its withdrawal from Kum Kale. The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps was ordered to force a landing on the beach between Gaba Tepe and Fishermen's Hut. Hill 971 itself was to be avoided, the troops endeavouring to pass over its southern under-features to the road running from Boghali and Maidos. Mai Tepe was a hill specifically mentioned. "The capture of this position would threaten and perhaps cut the line of retreat of the enemy's troops on Kilid Bahr plateau, and have far-reaching results," said the operation order. [Illustration: MAP OF GALLIPOLI PENINSULA. Illustrating the projected landings at Cape Helles, Gaba Tepe, and Kum Kale.] Passing Cape Helles. When morning fully broke the New Zealand transports were nearing Cape Helles. The big guns of the fleet were pounding the forts until the horizon seemed a mass of smoke and flame. Over against Kum Kale the French ships were hotly engaged; off Cape Helles the British stood close into the forts. Again we saw our old friend the "Askold"--now christened the "Packet of Woodbines," because of her five long funnels. The noise of the naval bombardment was truly extraordinary--the sharp crack of the lighter guns; the ear-splitting roar of the 12-inchers; and booming clearly above them all, the tremendous reports from the 15-inch guns of the "Queen Elizabeth." Watching from the rail, the soldiers were very sorry for the Turk. It seemed impossible that anything could live through such a bombardment. At the morning service, with the reverberation of the incessant gunfire assailing our ears, we found it difficult to hear the padre reading "In the midst of life we are in death." From across the water the bark of the 6-inch guns struck harshly on the singing of the soldiers' favourite hymns. [Illustration: [_Photo by Col. Hughes, C.M.G., D.S.O._ A BATTLESHIP COVERING THE TRANSPORTS. The old "London" steaming towards Anzac Cove.] Just opposite Gaba Tepe the transports slowed down. Like children kept inside on a wet day, we were very impatient. A desire to be doing something possessed all ranks. The men broke up cases and split the wood for kindling fires ashore. Every man pushed seven or eight pieces through the straps on the back of his pack. Many seized the opportunity to write the letter that most thoughtful soldiers write at the beginning of a campaign--a letter to be carried in the breast pocket and only to be forwarded by the comrade that buries him--tender farewells, simply and beautifully written, as men always do write when they are face to face with the things that really matter. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ TRANSPORTS OFF ANZAC COVE ON APRIL 25. The ship in the foreground has disembarked Echelon A and is steaming out to make room for the next transport.] In groups of four the transports, covered by the battleships, moved up to about a mile off shore, disembarked the troops of the first echelon, and then moved to the rear, letting the next four continue the manoeuvre. On our port side the old twin-funnelled "Majestic" belched a stream of 12-inch shells on the ridges; away to starboard, the four long funnels of the "Bacchante" were dimly discernible through a tremendous column of smoke. Southwards, as far as the eye could see, were transports innumerable, and closer in-shore, the angry, barking battleships. Going Ashore. The destroyers were taking their human freights as far in as they dared--and the average t.b.d. commander will dare a good deal. Over the side and down the swaying rope ladders we went for the last time. This was not a Mudros Harbour practice. We felt uncommonly clumsy and three times our ordinary size. With our hob-nailed boots we clattered about the iron deck, until it was so crowded we had perforce to stand still. Now the picket boat zone was reached. Off the destroyer and into a barge. Six barges made a tow. The little steamboat puffed and tugged, and off we swerved like a sinuous snake. The 3rd Australian Brigade made the first landing about 5 in the morning, and had cleared the first ridges. New Zealand Headquarters landed at 10 a.m.; then there was a strange hitch, and the precious hours between 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. were wasted. By this time the Turk had in some measure made up his mind about the real attack and had concentrated his guns on the beach. He only had to fire at the water's edge, consequently he had no difficulty in ranging by the map. He knew that the Landing must be in a very circumscribed area, and his ranging was good. Shells plopped in the water all round as the tows set a course for the beach. [Illustration: [_Photo by Lieut. Moritzson, M.C., M.M_ GOING ASHORE. A destroyer making ready to tow barges from the "Lutzow."] Boat after boat of wounded passed us going back to the transports they had left only a few hours before. They waved their blood-stained arms and cheered with feeble cheers. The encouragement was certainly welcome. We were now well within range. Rifle and shrapnel fire was whipping the water round the boats. About 300 yards from the shore the barges were cast loose, and each with a naval rating as coxswain, pulled vigorously for the beach. Casualties were frequent. As the boats grounded, the men tumbled out; many were hit in the water and were drowned. A major, jumping from the bows--the water was about 2 feet deep--was hit in the knee. He fell into the surf, but was hauled on board again, and the picket boat towed him back to the transport he had just left. The survivors fell in and adjusted their heavy equipment under the protection of the sandy cliff. Straight into the Battle. Up in the maze of gullies the Australians were struggling with the Turks. As each company or platoon came ashore it was rushed up to the firing line. Casualties and the broken country made control very difficult, and up where the tide ebbed and flowed, the natural leaders of men, whether they happened to be officers or privates, led their little groups to the attack or stood stubbornly at bay among the scrub-clad hills. [Illustration: [_Photo by Col. Hughes, C.M.G., D.S.O._ A GOOD TARGET FOR THE TURKS. A tow going ashore about noon of April 25.] The orders given to our Division on disembarkation were for the New Zealand Infantry Brigade to prolong the line to the left of the 1st Australian Division, and particularly to support the left of the Third Brigade, which had landed as the covering force to the Army Corps; the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade was to be held in reserve. The landing of the Auckland Battalion was completed at 12 noon. Walker's Ridge was given as its objective. By 12.30 p.m., two companies of the Canterbury Battalion were ashore, and were directed to support the Auckland Battalion. [Illustration: "IN THE AIR." A transport mule descending into a barge.] At 1 p.m., the Auckland Battalion was recalled from Walker's Ridge and brought more to the right, to occupy Plugge's Plateau, in order more directly to connect with the left of the covering brigade. The two Canterbury companies prolonged the left flank of the Auckland Battalion, in the direction of Walker's Ridge. Between 12.30 p.m. and 5 p.m. the Otago Battalion arrived and was sent up to Plugge's Plateau in support of the Auckland Battalion. When the remaining two companies of the Canterbury Battalion arrived they were sent to Walker's Ridge to prolong and reinforce the left flank. Owing to the accuracy of the enemy big-gun fire, the transports with our field guns aboard were temporarily forced to retire. The Turkish gunners were punishing us severely, and we realized to the full the bitterness of not being able to effectively retaliate. But the Indian Mountain Batteries endeared themselves to all by their sacrificing efforts. Gallantly led, these matchless gunners, with their patient mules, wheedled their guns up to seemingly inaccessible vantage points; unlimbering, they would get in a dozen effective shots and be down in the gully and up to an alternate position before their opponents could sense the situation. All along the beach, under the scanty shelter of the cliff, the wounded lay--some on stretchers, some on blankets, others on the shingle. The surgeons worked as they never had before. Wounded poured down from the hills incessantly. The picket boats towed their barges, crammed with troops, to the beach, and seemed to take away almost as many wounded. The sun went down and the ships stood over against Samothrace silhouetted in the sunset. But with the night came no peace. The Turks attacked with renewed vigour--reinforcements had arrived for them. Blowing trumpets and shouting "Allah!" they surged forward. Our fellows ran to meet them, cursing in good round English and very bad Arabic. Up there in the tangled gullies many a strange duel was fought that night. When not actually fighting, men dug for their lives. Then on would come the Turks again, shovels would be dropped, and the attack repelled. One desperate rush was stemmed by a gallant band headed by a corporal with nothing more effective than a pick-handle. A Desperate Night. As the evening wore on, the beach became one long lane of suffering soldiers. The doctors could only attend to the most severe cases. Many a man, when asked if he was badly hurt, said, bravely enough, "Oh, no!" and died quietly in the night. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ AN EARLY VIEW OF ANZAC COVE. The mule lines did not stay long unmolested. "Beachy Bill" ranged on them one day and caused awful havoc. They were then shifted up the deres for protection.] The stretcher bearers were magnificent. From the order, "Stretcher squads fall in" at the moment of landing, these men slaved on the ridges and in those valleys of torment. A man without a load can dash from cover to cover, but the stretcher bearers, with their limp and white-faced burdens, must walk steadily on, ignoring sniper and hostile gunner. From the front line it took about two and a half hours to get a patient to the hospital on the beach. Hour after hour the work went on, until after twenty hours' stretcher bearing these unheeded heroes fell in their tracks from sheer exhaustion. Volunteers took up the work, but after a few hours' rest, the gallant souls were out again--medical officers, stretcher bearers and hospital orderlies literally working themselves to death in an endeavour to mitigate the awful anguish of the wounded men of Anzac. "I shall never forget that night," said a sergeant of the N.Z.M.C., "A twelve-stone weight on the stretcher, a dark night, a little drizzling rain, groping our way down a steep incline through prickly scrub, our wounded man crying with pain and begging for a drink every few yards, incessant rifle fire, and bullets whizzing all round us." Except those who lay so very quietly up in the scrub or on the shell-swept beach, no one rested that night. The firing line was gradually becoming a little defined as the tired soldiers on both sides became exhausted. [Illustration: THE CROWDED BEACH.] [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ THE SCORED CLIFFSIDES OF WALKER'S RIDGE.] The units were inextricably mixed--Australian and New Zealand infantry clung doggedly to the hardly-won crest line. Approximately, the Australian 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Brigades held the right flank; the centre was in a state of flux, but the 4th Australian Brigade held the ridges at the head of Monash Gully; the Otago trenches grew up overlooking Monash Gully; the Aucklanders dug in along Plugge's Plateau; the Canterbury Battalion were desperately engaged on Walker's Ridge, where their gallant commander (Lieut.-Colonel Stewart) fell at the head of his men. The Wellingtons landed in the dark and went straight up to Plugge's Plateau. The gunners laboured all through the night preparing for the eagerly expected howitzers; while the sappers hastily improvized a second line of defence along Plugge's Plateau down Maclagan's Ridge to the sea. Here the last stand would be made if the worst came, but the morning broke and the outer line was still intact; picks were laid aside and the indomitable men of Anzac again took up their rifles to face the trials of the day. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ PLUGGE'S PLATEAU. Taken from Howitzer Gully, showing the road cut round the cliffside.] CHAPTER VII. The First Week. No one had slept during the night. Re-embarkation was suggested, but a conference was held and the Generals decided to hold on. The men made strenuous efforts. Those not actually fighting were employed making roads up Maclagan's Ridge in the centre, and up Walker's Ridge on the left, in order that the guns might be man-handled up to the positions selected by the artillery commanders. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ UNLOADING GUNS. The stern of the horse boats dropped in the water makes an inclined plane down which the gun is manhandled. The country was too rough for horses, but fifty men on a rope can overcome most obstacles.] About midnight, three companies of the 15th Battalion, 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, arrived and were sent up to reinforce the 1st Australian Division away on the right. They had been hardly pressed just before sunset, and orders were given that all available troops were to support the covering force (the 3rd Australian Infantry Brigade) as they arrived, and to connect up with the New Zealand Infantry Brigade on the left. During the remainder of the night, platoons and companies of the Wellington Battalion of the New Zealand Infantry Brigade, and of the 13th, 15th, and 16th Battalions of the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, were brought ashore. The troops arrived in very irregular order--some from one ship and some from another. As each platoon or company came ashore, it was immediately despatched, under the senior officer present, to support the right flank, where the 1st Australian Division was most hotly engaged. The result was that units of both divisions became hopelessly mixed up, and it was several days before they could be disentangled. By 3 a.m., the whole of the Australian 13th Battalion had arrived. The bulk of it was held temporarily in reserve. One and a half more companies of the Wellington Battalion now occupied Plugge's Plateau, above the beach, and half a company had been sent off to join the 1st Australian Division on the right. By 5 a.m., the remaining company of the Wellington Battalion had arrived, and by 6 a.m., a section of the New Zealand Howitzer Battery was brought ashore, and gladdened the heart of every infantryman as it came into action at the foot of Howitzer Gully. "Boom!" went the howitzer. "The guns, thank God! the guns!" murmured the tired soldiers. Shrapnel Gully. The Turk quickly realized that the valley running from behind Hell Spit deep into the centre of Anzac must be the channel of communication. His gunners were so assiduous that it was quickly christened Shrapnel Gully. The top of this valley was afterwards known as Monash Gully. The glory of the spring was still on the Peninsula. Birds sang in the bushes, and the fragrance of crushed wild thyme perfumed the morning air. Patches of red poppies glowed in the sheltered open places. Draped around the prickly scrub were festoons of wild honeysuckle. But down in the bottom of Shrapnel Valley was a dreadful sight. The moist earth in the old creek bed had been ploughed into mud by thousands of hurrying feet. Soldiers, in their eagerness to get forward, had thrown off their kits and equipment, and there the debris lay, punched and trampled into the mess. Dead mules were scattered about in helpless attitudes. Every few yards one met soldiers--their clothes torn by rock and scrub, their bodies mangled by bullet and bomb--stumbling down that Valley of Death to have their wounds dressed at the casualty clearing stations. A steady stream of stretcher bearers carried back limp forms; shrapnel burst high in the air; machine guns spluttered; mountain guns barked; the crash and rattle of musketry never ceased as the echoes rolled round the myriad hillsides. High over all, black specks up in the sky, but watchful as of old, the vultures gathered together, knowing full well that blood was being spilt. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ THE FIRST DUGOUTS. This picture was taken a few days after the landing, and shows the dugouts of the 4th Howitzer Battery and Divisional Engineers, near the foot of Howitzer Gully. The scrub is still uncut on the slopes of Maclagan's Ridge and Plugge's Plateau.] The drumfire down at Helles boomed all day. The old battleships, with their big guns, raked the Turkish positions, while the big 15-inchers of the "Queen Elizabeth" roared loudly above the great roll of gunfire. The moral support afforded by this ship was incalculable. "Good old Lizzie," the soldiers shouted, as her great guns spoke. Optimistic always, the men looked continually for signs of the British and French advancing from Cape Helles. When the second day's battle was at its height, the cry was raised, "Cease fire! the English troops are here," but it was only a ruse of the Turks--and the musketry battle resumed its violence. Cries of "Cease fire" and "Retreat" shouted in English, caused at first a momentary wavering, but soon the Colonial soldiers realized the deceptions, and the would-be deceivers shouted commands in vain. The End of the Second Day. The second day crept to a close, and our lines were hourly being made secure. Units were inextricably mixed, but, roughly, the Australian Division held the line south of Courtney's Post, while the N.Z. and A. Division held Courtney's and all northwards of it. No man thought of rest: to work was salvation. On top of a big yellow mound at the head of Monash Gully there was a rough cross, inscribed, "Here lie buried twenty-nine soldiers of the King." Two of these men--one an Australian of the 14th Infantry Battalion, the other a sapper of the New Zealand Engineers--had been found just below the fatal crest of Courtney's Post, with their arms still clasped around each other's waists. As they lay among the scrub, those poor lifeless bodies seemed symbolical of the new spirit that had grown up on the Peninsula. While in Egypt, the Commonwealth and Dominion soldiers had their little differences; but the first two days on the Peninsula swept away all the little jealousies and the petty meannesses. Every man helped his neighbour. There was no question of corps, or rank, or colour. By common trials, a common suffering, and a common interest, Australian, Indian, and New Zealander realized they were brothers in fact, as in arms. These first two days made great things possible within the Empire. The experience of those sweet sensations of brotherhood will be cherished and handed down as one of the priceless gifts of Anzac. [Illustration: [_Photo by Col. J. G Hughes, C.M.G., D.S.O._ HEADQUARTERS OF THE N.Z. AND A. DIVISION.] The New Zealand machine gun sections experienced a particularly trying time. They were attached to individual battalions and were not fought as a unit. The Auckland guns were pushed forward with their battalion, and somewhere at the head of Monash Gully were so hard pressed that they had to abandon one gun, which was retrieved from its hiding place two days after. The Otagos also came under a very hot fire. They, too, abandoned a gun, but never regained it, as an Australian party found it and consistently refused to give it up! Right through the campaign the Otago Regiment were one gun short, fighting only three guns. The Wellington gunners were heavily punished on April 27. They evidently pushed too far forward in their eagerness to get at the Turks, but snipers picked them off one by one, until the officer was killed and the whole of the personnel disabled, except one lad who was acting as ammunition carrier. Gradually the field artillery got their guns from the barges, and with long ropes manhandled them to their almost inaccessible positions. Tracks were cut on the hillsides, rough jetties were improvised, and dugouts were constructed. Mostly these were holes in the ground big enough for a man and his mate to get nearly into. A waterproof sheet served as roof, and when it rained, as it did nearly every night, the waterproof sheet collected and deposited on the occupants whatever water had fallen in the catchment area. Washing became a lost art. Mirrors were converted into periscopes. The previously spic-and-span New Zealand Army grew dirty-faced, unshaven, and ragged looking. The rum ration was a boon at this time, as it engendered a little warmth, and enabled one, if off duty, to get a little sleep. "Stand-to" was at 4 o'clock, half an hour before dawn, when the entire force in the trenches and on the beach stood to arms in readiness for an attack. The First Landing at Suvla. The front line having been made fairly secure, attention had to be turned to the flanks. A glance at the map will show Nibrunesi Point, near Suvla Bay, about four miles to the north of Ari Burnu, and Gaba Tepe about two miles south. On both these promontories the Turks had look-outs, from which their observers spotted the effect of artillery fire. As with glasses they could see all that occurred in Anzac Cove, it was considered necessary to destroy both look-outs. [Illustration: _[Photo by the Author_ THE FIRST TRENCHES ON THE CLIFF-EDGE NEAR RUSSELL'S TOP.] For the Gaba Tepe cutting-out expedition Australians were detailed. Nibrunesi Point was assigned to the New Zealanders. Three officers and fifty men of the Canterbury Battalion (13th Westland Company) and an officer and two N.C.O.'s of the N.Z.E. were employed. The party left Anzac Cove in the dark early one morning and steamed up the coast in a torpedo-boat destroyer. The plan was to land on the northern side of the Peninsula and work upwards to the highest point--Lala Baba. Two destroyers came close in and commanded each side of the Peninsula, whilst the old "Canopus" stood further out to sea and supported the whole. If the Turks at Anafarta behaved badly they would receive chastisement by the guns of His Majesty's Navy. The observation post itself had some attention from the big ship the day before; but it was not known whether opposition would now be met with. The instructions were to destroy the station, get any prisoners for the Intelligence Officers, and to seek for and destroy a gun that the naval airmen had reason to suspect was being placed there. The party got ashore without mishap. Day had now broken, and in three groups the attackers crept up the gullies towards the crest. It was a dewy morning, and the fresh, clean smell of the Turkish meadow flowers mingled with the scent of the wild thyme crushed with the soldiers' hobnailed boots. The place seemed deserted. There was a traversed trench just below the crest. Most of the troops had jumped it, when--crack! crack! crack! broke on the morning silence. Down dropped the Westlanders; then rushed back to the trench, and there, in the sunlight, was the picture--the trench full of squirming Turks, and standing over them with threatening bayonets the gallant boys from Greymouth. Johnny Turk had been caught napping, and the initiative of the New Zealand private soldier had sealed his fate. It was then realized that the few Turkish phrases laboriously learned did not convey much to the terrified prisoners. They quickly decided that the proper thing to do was to throw all their arms out of the trench--and out they came, rifles, knives and even safety razors. The poor Turkish wounded lay groaning in the bottom of the trench, while the unwounded, on their knees, murmured "Allah! Allah!" and passed their hands mechanically from their foreheads to their breasts and back again. A few men were left to get the wounded and prisoners down to the boat; the remainder scoured the Suvla flats in full view of the Turks on the Anafarta hills. Three small houses proved to be empty, but in them were found the kits of the guard; in one, the cells of a telephone instrument, with which the garrison communicated with their headquarters at Anafarta. The wire was cut, and a slab of guncotton placed in each of the houses to demolish them. [Illustration: [_Photo by Lieut. Moritzson, M.C., M.M., N.Z.E._ THE EVENING HATE. Shells falling among bathers off Hell Spit.] The gun position was located, but there was no gun mounted. The dead Turks were covered over in their own trench, the charges in the houses were fired, and the party, with captured papers and prisoners, re-embarked without mishap and returned at noon to Anzac. Thus was the first landing at Suvla carried out successfully by New Zealanders without a single casualty. The Australian attempt on Gaba Tepe was most unfortunate. The Turks at this place were not caught napping. As at Helles, barbed wire ran down into the water and machine guns enfiladed the landing place. After sustaining many casualties, the party withdrew, and the Turkish post on Gaba Tepe remained a thorn in the side of Anzac until the evacuation. The Nerve-Centre of Anzac. A walk along Anzac Cove was full of interest and incident. The little landing beach--a shelving strip of shingle, only twenty-five yards wide--was never safe, but in a measure it was protected from shrapnel by the height of Plugge's Plateau and the two ridges running down towards Hell Spit and Ari Burnu. The Cove became the nerve-centre of Anzac: nestling under the low cliffs on the beach were the Headquarters of the Army Corps, the hospital of the Field Ambulance, the Ordnance and Supply Depots. General Birdwood had located his Army Corps Headquarters in the little gully debouching on to the centre of the beach. Close by were the naval shore parties with their wireless plant for maintaining communication with the fleet; the Headquarters of the Australian Division were tucked away a little further up the gully. The southern extremity of Anzac Cove was christened Hell Spit. Jutting out into the water, this point got the benefit of fire from both of the flanks. Here were situated the engineers' stores of explosives and materials; working parties sent for wire, sandbags or timber, did not dwell too long in the vicinity. Close by, under the sandy cliff, the mule drivers of the Indian Supply and Transport had made their little dugouts--the waves of the Ægean lapping their very thresholds. At the foot of the track leading over the spur to Shrapnel Valley were the dressing stations of the Australian Ambulance, with their little Red Cross wharf from which the wounded were evacuated. Just opposite Army Headquarters some of the many stranded barges were made to serve as landing stages for great quantities of bully beef, jam and biscuits, which, placed in high stacks, gave some protection from the shells constantly arriving from the Olive Grove and Anafarta. Hereabout the water barge was also moored; the water being pumped ashore into tanks. The New Zealand Sector. The beach north of these stores was allotted to our Division. A little gully running up to the foot of Plugge's Plateau gave excellent cover for the New Zealand battery of 4.5 howitzers--the first New Zealand guns to get ashore, and the only howitzers at that time on the Peninsula. In those early days, infantry carrying parties were constrained to rest awhile in order to observe the shell pursue its lobbing course over Maclagan's Ridge towards the distant target. [Illustration: [_Lent by Lieut. Moritzson, M.C., M.M., N.Z.E._ MULES AT THE FOOT OF HOWITZER GULLY.] At the foot of Howitzer Gully were the New Zealand Ordnance Stores--for a time the most frequented place in Anzac. Fresh water was unobtainable for washing purposes. Continual washing of clothes in salt water made all undergarments very hard, so down to the Ordnance would the soldier go to procure new shirts and socks. Here, also, were piles of captured rifles and ammunition, and a pathetic heap of kits which had been thrown away during the first advance and since collected. A one-time famous old wrestler stood guard over these kits, and one had to establish an undeniable claim before the property was handed over. Very many of the kits were never claimed, being stained with the life-blood of those impetuous spirits who had established the Anzac line. The mule lines of the Indian Transport Corps ran along the beach in front of Divisional Headquarters. Close by, the dressing station of the New Zealand No. 1 Field Ambulance caught the streams of wounded that flowed down Howitzer Gully and from Walker's Ridge. Out in front of the hospital squatted an Indian mule driver, who spent most of his time clipping mules. Between his bursts of singing in a minor key he would cry, "Hair cut, sixpence!" The soldier, who by this time realized that more than snipers took advantage of cover, would sit on the sandy bank and have his hair cut short by the mule clippers. [Illustration: [_Lent by Col. Falla, C.M.G., D.S.O._ THE CEMETERY AT ARI BURNU.] The northern extremity of Anzac Cove never received an English name, but was always known as Ari Burnu. The beach north of this point was unsafe for traffic in the daytime, as it was within easy range of Turkish snipers. A few hundred yards along this stretch of white sand were two or three stranded boats--boats that had run in there on the day of the landing, but were stove in and their crews killed by hostile fire. There they lay, a pitiful sight, out in the glare of the noonday sun. To avoid this piece of dangerous beach by day, a communication trench commenced in Anzac Cove along by the wireless station near Ari Burnu. This trench doubled back across the point, running out towards Mule Gully and Walker's Ridge, eventually becoming part of the "Big Sap" that led towards the extreme left flank. Land was valuable at Anzac, particularly land that was safe. The parts that were exposed could not be used for dugouts or stores, so were set apart as cemeteries. Here, on the point of Ari Burnu, between the Big Sap and the sea, New Zealanders who were killed near Anzac Cove were carefully carried after dark and buried by loving comrades. The Tragic Lack of Hospital Ships. If there was one thing that showed our unpreparedness for war on a large scale, it was the neglect to anticipate accommodation for wounded. This did not apply only to the New Zealanders--British, French, Colonial and Indian suffered alike. The regimental medical officers and stretcher bearers did more than mortal men could be expected to do. But a man hit up on Walker's Ridge or at the head of Monash Gully, after receiving his field dressing at a sheltered corner of a trench or in the regimental aid post, had to be carried in the heat, down bullet-swept valleys and along the dangerous beach. Here the surgeons and orderlies of the Field Ambulances redressed the wounds, gave the men something to eat and drink, and placed them out of the sun, away from the torturing flies. Even in these Field Ambulance dressing stations men were not immune from the shrapnel which swept the beach. The Turk could not be blamed for this, as we had, of necessity, to place our hospitals wherever there was room. Streams of men constantly arrived, some walking, many on stretchers--Zionists with tears streaming down their faces, determined Colonials and pathetic-looking Indians--wounded in our cause, now separated from their fellows, and miserable because they could not understand the sahibs' language. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ THE TRAGEDY OF THE ANZAC WOUNDED. Men, sick unto death, lying in the scuppers; tired, suffering, uncomplaining men with bloodstained kits, and wounds that became septic before Alexandria was reached.] When night came, the picket boats would move into the little Red Cross wharves, and the wounded men were carried to the barges. When a tow was ready, the picket boat started on its journey for the hospital ship or transport. The high ground surrounding Anzac Cove ensured that bullets clearing the crest went many hundred yards out to sea. Some days, when Turkish firing was brisk, the sea was whipped into a white foaming line where the bullets splashed angrily into the water. Through this barrage of singing bullets the Red Cross barge must go. Picket boats or trawlers could not dodge from place to place like soldiers in Monash Gully, so they had to risk it, and take it in their course. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ HOSPITAL SHIP AND HOSPITAL CARRIER IN MUDROS.] Outside the range of these "overs" were the waiting ships. The hospital ships proper had good appliances for handling wounded. A long box would be lowered over the side, the man and the stretcher placed bodily into it, and hauled up on to the deck, where he was seized by waiting orderlies and whisked away to wards for a diagnosis, a hot bath, some very necessary insecticide, and a meal to suit his particular needs. But the hospital ships soon became overcrowded. Hundreds of men were accommodated on the decks without cots. They did not complain. They came to the war voluntarily, and took what was coming to them as a matter of course. Ask a sorely wounded man if he wanted anything, and if it was not a drink of water, it would be a laconic "Have you got a green?" He seemed more annoyed with the ration cigarettes than he was with the Turk. Presently the cry would be, "Ship full!" and the next load would be taken to an ordinary transport, dirty, full of vermin, and entirely unsuited for handling wounded. But it had to be. Nothing better was offering. So the wounded men--tossing about on the barge, seasick, with their clothes stiff with blood and their heads burning with the fever resulting from wounds--were hauled up with the improvized tackle to the dirty decks of the transport. There were few medical officers. Some came from the overworked and understaffed field ambulances ashore, and laboured like galley slaves against the tremendous inrush of broken men. Naval surgeons and dressers left their battleships and toiled heroically among the wounded Colonials. But there were not enough doctors to do a tenth of the work. In the old British way, we were paying for unpreparedness with the flesh and blood of our willing young men. On one ship, the only man with any knowledge of medicine was the veterinary officer, who, assisted by clerks and grooms of the waiting Echelon B, saved dozens of lives by prompt and careful attention. So, with a score of men dying on each ship every night, the transports crept with their cargoes of human wreckage to the port of Alexandria--the hospital ships going on to Malta, Gibraltar, or even England. In Egypt, great emergency hospitals were opened, and everything possible was done to alleviate the dreadful suffering of the heroic and uncomplaining soldiers of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. CHAPTER VIII. At the Head of Monash Gully. From the first the Turk held the high ground. Soldiers will realize what that meant. The Anzac army was as yet an untried one, and all new troops are apt to keep their heads down. This is but natural. It must not be forgotten that this was strange country to the newcomers, and that snipers lay concealed in every little dere. [Illustration: LOOKING TOWARDS BABY 700 FROM PLUGGE'S PLATEAU. This very interesting picture shows the long white line, the limit of our furthest advance. The terraces of Quinn's can be seen perched on the side of the cliff.] The Turk as a soldier was never to be despised. Centuries of history studded with names such as Kossovo in olden times and Plevna in modern, show that the Turk is a good soldier even if he is a bad governor. The operations against Turkey in this war prove that in trenches the Turk is as good a soldier as he was of old. But the natural aptitude of the Colonial as a hunter soon asserted itself, and cunning marksmen proceeded to stalk the wily snipers. As the trench systems grew up, points of vantage, screened by branches, were occupied by the best shots, accompanied by an observer with a periscope. This gave an Australian corporal of engineers an idea that was instantly availed of--the application of a periscopic attachment to the ordinary service rifle. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ BELOW POPE'S HILL: A DRESSING STATION OR THE N.Z. NO. 1 FIELD AMBULANCE.] The necessary glass for the mirrors was not available, but over on the horizon were a hundred transports waiting with stores and horses. A fleet-sweeper with a working party went out one fine morning and called on each ship. From the ornate saloons and the cabins the mirrors were removed, lowered gently to the deck of the trawler, and hurried off to Anzac Cove. There the sappers cut the mirrors into little parallelograms and slipped the pieces into the wooden frames at the requisite angles. In a few weeks the new periscopic rifle was in use all along the line, and from that time the superiority of fire was ours, and it was the Turk's turn to keep his head down. Straightening the Line. [Illustration: A SHELL BURST ON STEEL'S POST.] At the end of the first week it was obvious that our defensive line could be much improved. Between Pope's and Walker's Ridge there was a deep canyon--one of the forks at the head of Monash Gully. The Turk held the high ground looking down the canyon, so that, troops who were at Pope's, if they wanted to get around to Walker's, had to go away down Monash Gully, along the beach, and up Walker's Ridge--a distance of nearly three miles, whereas the gap in the front line between Pope's and Walker's Ridge was only about 200 yards. Again, between Pope's and Quinn's there was a ridge, so far unnamed. This ridge was practically "No Man's Land," and, if occupied by the Turks, would be a dangerous salient to us, as it looked into the back of Quinn's Post and down the head of Monash Valley. So it was decided that if the left flank of our line--that is, from Quinn's to Walker's--was flung forward, a continuous front line could be obtained and communication within the Anzac area would be much simplified. It was originally decided that this pushing forward of our line would be made on May 1, but a Turkish attack was launched that evening, and was heavily repulsed by machine guns and rifle fire from Pope's and Courtney's Posts, which enfiladed the attacking infantry. Our attack was postponed until the evening of May 2. The Canterbury Infantry were to push forward from Walker's, the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade from the head of Monash Gully, while the Otago Infantry Regiment were to attack from Pope's and link up the Australians with the Canterburys who were to advance from Walker's Ridge. Two battalions of the Royal Naval Division were to be held in reserve below Quinn's and Courtney's. To get to their appointed place by 7 p.m., the Otago Infantry had to leave Walker's Ridge on their three-mile march early in the afternoon. [Illustration: THE ATTACK ON DEAD MAN'S RIDGE. It is obvious that the further an attack is pressed on Dead Man's Ridge, the better target is presented for the enemy gunner on the flank.] At 7 p.m. the attack was launched, but the Otago Regiment had suffered considerable checks on their march round the beach and up Monash Gully. This part of Anzac was so cut up and broken as to be almost unbelievable. The Otagos had to pull themselves up part of the way on a rope fastened on the steep slope of Pope's Hill. The entire attack was carried out with great dash; but, owing to the darkness, our unfamiliarity with the country in front, and our misleading maps, we were brought to a standstill. The Canterburys found they could not get on from Walker's Ridge; some of our troops were beaten back, others, particularly the Otagos, hung on grimly through the long night. The Turk was plentifully supplied with cricket-ball hand-grenades, while we depended almost entirely on our rifles. The Christening of Dead Man's Ridge. As dawn approached, a message came back that the wounded were lying up in a gully between Pope's and Quinn's, and a party of New Zealand Engineers started to cut a track up an old watercourse to get the wounded out. They pushed on past the two battalions of the Naval Division, and asked them to use their entrenching tools on improving the track. The men, glad to do something to relieve the strain of waiting, set to work with a good will, knocking off the corners and hooking in the sides, until there was quite a passable track to get the wounded men away. The scene at the top of that gully will never be obliterated from the minds of the survivors. Men were lying all over the place, in every depression and behind every bush. These men had landed on April 25, had fought unceasingly for over a week on scanty rations and with very little sleep. Little wonder that they were exhausted, but it must be said that, apart from the men who were delirious, there was little murmuring. Hollow-eyed and with pinched faces, these Australians and New Zealanders waited doggedly. There were no wild cries of "Stretcher bearer," or "Water," or "Reinforcements." These men realized that every available man was fighting; that the doctors and orderlies were overwhelmed with casualties; that water was scarce, and no one was available to carry it; and that reinforcements would come when they could be spared. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ DEAD MAN'S RIDGE AND POPE'S HILL. Taken before the scrub was cut away. Dead Man's Ridge is on the right. The first trenches can be seen growing up along the crest of Pope's.] As grey dawn crept in, isolated parties--wild-eyed, clothes torn, and with blood-smeared bayonets--dashed back from No Man's Land to the security of the crest, where the Turk must be held should he counter-attack. One man, demented by suffering and loss of sleep, went mad and danced on the crest, cursing the Turk, defying him to come on, and then, in his madness, cursing his comrades taking cover in the improvized position of defence. One man was crying bitterly because he had lost his bayonet! The Turk eventually did attack, but thanks to the defensive line hastily prepared and the imperturbable Anzac soldiery, only one Turk got through--an officer, who tumbled into our line with a revolver bullet in his forehead. All this took place in No Man's Land, in that little gully to the left of Quinn's Post, and from that morning it was known as "Bloody Angle." The units of the Naval Division were then directed to go up the ridge between Quinn's and Pope's, and their casualties were so heavy that the name, "Dead Man's Ridge," was instinctively applied to it by association. The sorely tried Colonials could not but admit the bravery of the Royal Marine officers as they led their men up those scrub-covered slopes. They pressed straight up the goat track, and lined the ridge. As the ridge was a salient, the Turkish machine gunners from the trenches opposite our right flank opened fire, and caught the entire line of men in the back of the head. As fast as the men fell, others pressed forward to take their places. The officers suffered excessively as they encouraged their men. On occasions such as these, one realizes the devilish ingenuity of modern war--bullets streaming as from a hose, and cutting down everything in the line of fire--men and shrubs indiscriminately, until the clay slopes of Dead Man's Ridge were stained with British blood. The troops holding the safe crestline just a little to the right were fascinated by the scene--the red and yellow of the hillside, the brave men steadily climbing up to the fatal crest, the burst of machine-gun fire as it caught the soldiers on the ridge; then the awful tumble down the slope until the maimed body came to rest at the foot of the gully among the sweet wild thyme. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ THE FIRST TRENCHES AT QUINN'S POST. This picture was taken at the end of April, before the scrub was whittled into matchwood by the hail of bullets.] The machine-gun fire was too deadly. The survivors reluctantly came back to the old line, leaving Dead Man's Ridge covered with dead--our own and the Turks'. Every night for weeks comrades risked their lives to get the bodies away, but the Turk gradually established himself on the ridge, and not until Armistice Day were the burials completed. A party of the Otago Infantry had a most trying time. They did not fall back with their comrades during the darkness, and suffered severely all next day. They were hard pressed and given up for lost, but next evening managed to cut their way out through the exultant Turks. The Evolution of the Anzac Line The evolution of the Anzac front line was most interesting. Military text books lay down principles and often suggest their application to different situations. It is considered most necessary to get a good field of fire, so that the maximum loss may be inflicted on the enemy, and good communications assured for the passage of troops and the carriage of ammunition and food. Consider for a moment what really does take place. The tide of battle sways backwards and forwards until at the end of a desperate day, those of the troops left alive on both sides sink exhausted behind any natural cover--it may be a clay bank, a bush, a big stone, a natural or artificial depression in the ground. Because these men have some protection while they are firing they often escape becoming casualties. These are the men who have really established the line. Other men have got into depressions and behind crests from which they cannot fire at the enemy at all. The energetic soldiers who have gone forward to exposed places have undoubtedly performed great service, but generally at the price of death. So it happens that when night comes, the men left alive increase the cover they have by digging in; thus the front line grows up--little "possies," as the soldier calls them, deepened and connected up with those on the right and left. By daybreak a line has been constructed--not sited according to the book--it is probably in the main based on tactical strong points, but many portions of it are incorporated because of their safety--field of fire hardly being considered. Here it is that the tactical knowledge of ground is valuable, and trained officers and men are not slow to take advantage of it, thus avoiding much dangerous and laborious work later in sapping and tunnelling. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF THE ANZAC AREA IN MAY, 1915 SHOWING THE INNER AND OUTER LINES. The distance from Chatham's Post to the mouth of the Sazli Beit Dere is about 3400 yards: from the centre of Anzac Cove to Quinn's Post, in a direct line, is 1300 yards.] At the head of Monash Gully the valley forked into three steep gullies. The one to the left ran up behind Pope's Hill; the second between Pope's and Dead Man's Ridge; the third branched slightly to the right and culminated in the little ravine separating Dead Man's Ridge from Quinn's Post. Courtney's Post was just to the right of Quinn's, and was perched upon the side of a steep hill, in many places really a cliff. On this general line the fighting ebbed and flowed, and on the second day the troops began really to dig in. Harassed by snipers and bombers, the troops clung to the ground they had so pluckily won. The Anzac area now consisted roughly of two lines. Taking the sea as a base, the inner line resembled a V, starting from Hell Spit, running up Maclagan's Ridge, around to Plugge's Plateau, and then down the face of the cliff to Ari Burnu, the northern limit of Anzac Cove. This was the inner line of defence, and was never really manned, except by field guns and a howitzer or two. The outer line was shaped like a boomerang, with Quinn's Post as the apex. The fire trench started from a point about 1000 yards south of Hell Spit and ran up the crest of low ridges, thence to the hills overlooking Monash Gully to Steel's Post, Courtney's and Quinn's; next came Dead Man's Ridge and the post called Pope's Hill. Here the impassable ravine intervened, on the other side of which was the section later known as Russell's Top, whence the line took a right-angled bend down Walker's Ridge to the sea. There probably never existed a more tangled and confused line, consisting as it did of posts perched perilously on the brink of steep cliffs, often not even connected one to the other. [Illustration: HEADQUARTERS OF QUINN'S. The three officers are Colonel Johnston, N.Z.I.B.; Lieut-Col. Malone, Post Commander; and Major Ferguson, R.E., Engineer Staff Officer for No. 3 Defence Section.] Quinn's Post. Of all these posts, Quinn's became the most famous. It was the salient of the Anzac line and the nearest point to the Turk. Looking back, it is a marvel that the place ever held at all. If the enemy could have shelled it, Quinn's would not have lasted five minutes. It was first held, a ragged trench line just below the crest, by men of the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, which formed part of the N.Z. and A. Division. Those famous battalions--the 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th Australian Infantry--established themselves on the night of April 25 at the head of the gully named after their well-known Brigadier. The Turk seemed determined to regain possession of Quinn's--this would have imperilled the whole Anzac line, for the holding of Quinn's alone ensured the communications by way of Shrapnel Valley and Monash Gully. Because holding Quinn's meant holding Anzac, no labour was too great to be expended on it. Men in the bomb factory, having completed a long day's work, turned to again when it was made known that "Quinn's was short of bombs," and pathetic it was to see these hard-swearing Australian and New Zealand sappers nodding their heads and dropping off to sleep with a detonator in one hand and a piece of fuse in the other, only to wake with a start and, in the small hours of the morning, carry the product of their toil up to their beloved Quinn's--a journey of over a mile in the dark with a box of high explosives! A party of New Zealand Engineers was established in Quinn's and Pope's from the second day, and their duty was to sap forward with a deep trench through the crest, and then put T ends on the ends of the saps, thus making farther towards the Turk a new firing line which gave a better field of fire. This most dangerous work was much hindered by the enemy dropping grenades in the head of the sap. Men often had bullet holes drilled through their long-handled shovels, but despite the casualties, the work went on. To the right of Quinn's it was necessary to dig a sap through to join up with Courtney's, and after much labour and loss this work was accomplished. To the left of Quinn's was the hotly-contested Dead Man's Ridge, which, after the morning of May 3, rested in the hands of the Turk. This vantage point almost looked into the back of Quinn's, and a work of great magnitude was the construction of a sandbag wall to protect the tracks to Quinn's from the Turkish machine guns on Dead Man's Ridge. It was foreseen that if the enemy commenced mining in earnest, a fair-sized charge might blow the post off the hillside into Monash Gully. So counter-mining was decided on. There were no tunnelling companies then in the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, and the sapper field companies were too reduced by casualties to do the work. But all through the Colonial armies were miners and tunnellers--these men from Broken Hill, Coolgardie, Waihi, Westport, and other places where coal and gold are won, were formed into companies under experienced officers, and in a large measure the strenuous labours of these improvized units at Courtney's, Quinn's and Pope's saved Anzac to the British. Right through the twenty-four hours the miners sweated at the tunnel face, interested in only one thing: how far the man just relieved had driven in his last shift. There was no talk of limiting the output or of striking in Anzac, for here there was a great community of interest--each one was prepared to labour and, if needs be, to sacrifice himself in the interests of the common weal. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ COURTNEY'S POST. One of the best photographs taken of an Anzac trench system. The front line is just over the crest; the reserve trenches are near the lop left hand corner; the white earth spilled down the cliffside is from the mines running out to the front; the zig-zag track up the steep cliff is clearly shown.] Aeroplanes. Our flying men had their headquarters in Mudros Harbour. Daily they flew up and down the Peninsula, but they were sadly overworked. Mostly they were seaplanes belonging to the Navy. This was a sad handicap to our artillery ashore, for guns without aeroplanes spotting for them are almost as ineffective as a blind pugilist. [Illustration: ON THE RIGHT FLANK. Notice the deep communication trenches through the crest to the firing line, and the 25 graves in the little cemetery.] Every day out to sea the "sausage ship" could be seen with her big captive balloon observing for the naval gunners. For the first week no enemy planes were seen, but one day this new sensation appeared. Eyes were turned skyward, watching the machine, when someone cried out, "It's a German." There, sure enough, were the big black crosses instead of the familiar red, white and blue circles. A rather amusing feeling of "What do we do now?" pervaded the onlookers. It seemed to be little use going into the dugout with a waterproof sheet for a roof! But this time he was only spying out the land, and sailed away without molesting anyone. Next day he was back with a sting. As necks were craned upwards, something was seen to leave the machine, and with a succession of "Whoo! whoo! whoo!" came rapidly to earth, or rather, to water, for splash it went into the sea 200 yards from Walker's Pier. "Splash!" came another, and still another, whereupon the plane wheeled back over the Peninsula and off home. Daily the machines flew over and dropped their three bombs each, but never was any material damage done. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ LOOKING DOWN MONASH GULLY.] At the head of Monash Gully showers of steel darts, about the size of a lead pencil, were sometimes dropped, and at intervals the airman wasted his energies in the distribution of leaflets intimating that "As the English are in desperate straits, you will be well treated if you surrender soon." This was sometimes varied by a sheet on which was a picture of soldiers alleged to be Mohammedan deserters from our Indian troops, telling of the good time they were having with their co-religionists. These papers were greatly treasured by the troops as souvenirs. One of the most beautiful sights in the campaign was witnessed when one of our seaplanes was attacked by a Turkish anti-aircraft. Standing on the hillside and looking out over the blue Ægean Sea, the eye would pick up, sailing through the azure of the Mediterranean sky, the naval plane with the sun shining on its oiled-silk wings like those of a great dragon fly. Suddenly, below it, a puff of pure white smoke would open out as a silk handkerchief does when released from a closed hand. On would sail the plane, and above it would open another puff of smoke. So, with unders and overs, the picture would be limned in, until the eye got tired of watching, and the plane climbed out of range. CHAPTER IX. The Battle of Krithia. Bitter as had been the struggle at Anzac, the fight at the southern end of the peninsula was even more bloody. To the most honourable traditions of the British Army and Navy was added a further lustre. The story of the "River Clyde" and the "Lancashire Landing" are amongst the most tragic and glorious in the history of the British race. But the advance towards Achi Baba was held up some distance from the village of Krithia, and General Sir Ian Hamilton made up his mind to undertake one big final assault before the Turks could receive their reinforcements. On the night of Wednesday, May 5, the New Zealand Infantry Brigade and the 2nd Australian Infantry Brigade, were assembled on the bullet-swept Anzac beach, placed in destroyers and barges and landed just east of Cape Helles early next morning. Here was the battered "River Clyde," and on the cliff to the right Sedd-el-Bahr fort, completely wrecked by the naval guns. [Illustration: NEARING "V" BEACH, CAPE HELLES.] As the troops moved from the landing place, they saw deep Turkish trenches and formidable barbed-wire entanglements. The landscape was vastly different from the hungry hills of Anzac. This was fairly easy rolling country, intersected with sod walls, through which gaps had been worn by passing troops; most of the land was cultivated, and dotted here and there with clumps of fir trees, from behind which the French 75's and British 18-prs. threw their hail of shrapnel. Among the 18-prs. was the 3rd Battery of New Zealand Field Artillery that had lain off Anzac, but was not disembarked until landed here at Helles on May 4. This battery stayed at Helles until the middle of August. [Illustration: MAP OF CAPE HELLES SECTOR. This map shows the route taken by the New Zealand Infantry Brigade on May 6-7. On April 25, a landing at "Y2" or Gully Beach was not attempted. The troops that landed at "Y" Beach were consequently isolated and eventually withdrawn. The landing at "X" Beach was very successful and is some times spoken of as the "Implacable Landing." "W" Beach, afterwards called "Lancashire Landing," and "V" Beach, made famous by the "River Clyde," were the two most costly landings. The landing at "S" Beach in Morto Bay was successfully carried out by the 2nd South Wales Borderers, covered by the "Cornwallis" and the "Lord Nelson."] Having climbed the heights from the beach, the eye took in at once the great hump of Achi Baba, the crest just five miles away. Two ridges, like sprawling arms, ran down to the sea--one towards the Narrows, the other to the Gulf of Saros. From Sedd-el-Bahr a road traverses the centre of the Peninsula, running through the village of Krithia, which is four miles from Sedd-el-Bahr; it skirts the lower slopes to the left of Achi Baba, rounds the northern shoulder of the Kilid Bahr Plateau, and so to Maidos, on the shores of the Narrows, thirteen miles in a direct line from Sedd-el-Bahr. At Krithia, for which village most of the subsequent desperate fighting took place, the Peninsula is about three and a half miles across. Let the reader take any railway guide and select two stations four miles apart. It is hard to realize that troops like the French, the 29th Division, the Australians, the New Zealanders and the Indians should be held in such narrow limits for so many months. But with the sea on the flanks and the enemy holding the high ground, the defence of a natural fortress like Achi Baba was comparatively easy. Following on the landings of April 25, the British held the left of the line, with the French (withdrawn from Kum Kale) on the right. Coming from the cramped confines of Anzac, the New Zealanders marvelled to see French officers in blue and red riding up and down the road, and motor cyclists dashing about with signal messages. Poor Anzac could not boast of a road on which to run even a bicycle. As a relief from our inevitable khaki, the French Senegalese with their dark blue uniforms, the Zouaves with their red baggy trousers, and the French Territorials with their light blue, imparted quite a dash of colour to the scene. On May 6, the French away on the right attacked all day, while the Royal Naval Division moved a little down both sides of the Krithia Road. In the reconstitution of the British forces for the renewed assault on Krithia, a new composite division, to be used as a general reserve, was formed of the 2nd Australian Brigade, the New Zealand Brigade, and a Naval Brigade consisting of the Plymouth and Drake Battalions. [Illustration: [_British Official Photograph._ THE "RIVER CLYDE" ASHORE AT "V" BEACH. This was a most daring enterprise. The old ship was specially fitted to run ashore, when troops were to pour out of the big doors cut in her sides and fill a string of lighters towed alongside, and so to the shore to form a bridge. But the 1st Munster Fusiliers, the 2nd Hampshires and a company of the Dublin Fusiliers were subjected to a murderous fire and did not get ashore till darkness intervened. Their endurance and gallantry was a fitting complement to the bravery and devotion shown by the officers and men of the Royal Navy.] The New Zealand Brigade in Reserve. After leaving the congested beach the New Zealand Brigade pushed across country. The men were much interested in the first sight of the French 75's. Coming to rest in some fairly level fields, rough shelter trenches were dug in the moist earth. Shells flew backwards and forwards all that night, and very few men could sleep owing to the wet trenches. Everybody was a little hurt because the Australians were served with Machonochies, whereas the New Zealanders got the usual bully beef; but a few gay spirits refused to be depressed, and lustily sang "There's something in the seaside air," which was unfortunately true. On the morning of the 7th, extra ammunition and entrenching tools were issued, and the brigade started on a long trek in a north-westerly direction, eventually coming down to Gully Beach on the Gulf of Saros. After a short rest, the march was resumed. The leading files struck back again up the hill and met many Lancashires coming back wounded. Everywhere equipment was scattered. Many of our men secured sun helmets, which later were the envy of Anzac. When word came to rest for the night and dig in, the brigade pulled off the track to the sides of the valley, posted outpost groups, and endeavoured to rest for the night. But there was a good deal of confusion and noise, Ghurkas and other troops were moving up and down, and presently word came to move further up the gully. On the weary men stumbled, past a trench held by the King's Own Scottish Borderers, and eventually arrived near a small stone farmhouse on the right-hand side of the gully. On both sides of the road were some old Turkish trenches, in a filthy condition. Sticking up in the parapet was a dead man's hand, like a stop sign, seeming to indicate "this far and no farther." Backwards and forwards, this way and that, men wandered in the search for a comfortable resting place. Here the brigade passed the night, acting as a reserve to the 87th and 88th Brigades of the 29th Division, but the morning came without our men being called on. The shelter of a ruined building was seized upon for a dressing station. Near by was a large fig tree, which later served as a landmark for the last resting-place of many New Zealand soldiers. From this dressing station the wounded were carried by the stretcher-bearers some distance to the rear to the Pink Farm, whence the mule ambulances carried the suffering men over the well-worn roads to the beaches. [Illustration: [_British Official Photograph._ LANCASHIRE LANDING AT "W" BEACH. Here the 1st Lancashire Fusiliers added fresh glory to their illustrious record. The barbed wire was placed down to the water's edge and in the water. But the gallant Lancashires were not to be denied and performed prodigies of valour. The picture shows the steamers sunk to make a breakwater.] On the morning of May 8, the New Zealand Brigade was ordered to the support of the 29th Division. We were to go through the 88th Brigade, and with the 87th Brigade on our left, renew the attack on Krithia at 10.30 a.m. The advance was made in a succession of waves; the Wellingtons were on the left, the Aucklands in the centre, and the Canterburys on the right; the Otago Battalion was in reserve. After an intense bombardment by our ship's guns and field artillery, the brigade advanced from the reserve trenches at 10.30 a.m. The ground was broken, and this hindered the pace. Many were lost who might have been saved if this advance had been made before daylight. The troops pressed on despite the casualties. When the officers ordered a breather, the tired men fell down flat right out in the open. Past the Hants' trenches and the Essex trench they went steadily forward until they came to the big front-line trench held by the 29th Division. From here it was about 800 yards to the enemy main line trench, but scattered in front of his line, in every depression and behind every clump of bush, were machine guns and hosts of enemy snipers. The Daisy Patch. From this front-line trench the Regulars had advanced the day before, but had been driven back. Presently the word was passed along that the New Zealanders would prepare to charge. When some Munsters and Essex saw the preparations, they shouted, "You're not going to charge across the daisy patch, are you?" "Of course we are," the Aucklanders answered. "God help you," they said, and watched with admiration as the New Zealanders flung themselves over the top. The converging machine-gun fire from the clumps of fir trees swept the ground like a hose. This famous "daisy patch" was situated just to the left of a dry creek-bed running from near the village of Krithia down the centre of the Peninsula towards the Cape--a piece of ground about 100 yards across, absolutely devoid of cover; apparently it had once been sown with some crop, but was now overgrown with the common red poppy of the field and countless long-stemmed daisies comparable to the dog daisy of England and New Zealand. The bank of the creek afforded good cover, and the Turkish snipers took full toll of our men. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ THE NEW ZEALAND INFANTRY BRIGADE STAFF. Taken just before the "Daisy Patch" attack. The officer standing is Colonel E. F. Johnston. Major Temperly (to whom much credit is due for the good work of the Brigade) is sitting on a box, facing this way.] The troops had hardly got a quarter of the way across the patch when there burst a further terrific storm of machine-gun and rifle fire. Heavily laden with entrenching tools and equipment, the troops were exhausted and could go no farther. By 3 p.m. the thin line was digging itself in. Canterbury had advanced about 250 yards, Auckland had two companies about the same distance, but the right company had fallen back owing to heavy cross machine-gun fire from a clump of fir trees. Wellington had made good about 300 yards, but were under very heavy fire from a Turkish trench on our left front. Two companies of the Otago Regiment were sent in to help Auckland, who had lost heavily and were somewhat shaken. A squadron of armoured cars advanced in fine style up the Krithia Road, but a few Turkish trenches dug across the road damped their ardour, and they disconsolately returned to the rear. All that afternoon our men hung on under a withering fire. The wounded lying out in the open were hit again and again. Away on the right, the French could be seen pressing vigorously forward towards the crest, but were ever beaten back. Times without number they surged forward, but could not hold the ground so hardly won. Again and again that awful afternoon did the British, French, Indian, and Colonial soldiers hurl themselves forward towards the Turk. But the enemy machine guns were not to be denied; from end to end of the line the attack was undoubtedly held up. It was resolved to make one final effort before nightfall. The remaining two companies of the Otago Battalion were pushed up to support Wellington's right and Auckland's left, and a newly arrived draft of New Zealand Reinforcements was moved up into reserve. At 5 p.m., every available gun ashore and afloat opened on the Turkish lines. Never before had the troops heard such an awesome uproar--the spiteful French 75's vied with the 15-in. monsters of the Queen Elizabeth in heaping metal on the Turk. Half an hour later the whole line advanced against the Turkish lines, but it was more than flesh and blood could do to make a permanent advance. Everywhere ground was gained, but at a tremendous price. The thinned-out ranks were not strong enough to hold what had been gained. This effort had spent itself before 7 p.m. The Canterburys had gone forward some 400 yards. The Aucklands went well ahead, but lost very heavily in officers. They fell back almost to their original line. Wellington made a substantial advance, but were held up by the enemy machine guns, which before had proved troublesome. These guns were difficult to get at, as a deep nullah lay between these guns and the New Zealanders, and could only be assaulted by the 87th Brigade. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Farr, D.S.O., M.C._ A GUN OF THE 3RD BATTERY, N.Z.F.A. AT CAPE HELLES. After our experience of cover in France, the sheet of galvanized iron and row of sandbags is almost ludicrous. Notice the typical Gallipoli hair-cut and the absence of many garments.] Away on the left a fire broke out among the gorse and scrub. The Sikh wounded fared very badly in the flames. After dark it was found that the Canterburys were in direct touch with the 2nd Australian Brigade on the right. Canterbury's left was not in touch with anyone, but a second line some distance to the rear filled the gap. Our line from Wellington's right was also not in touch, but was protected by trenches of the 87th Brigade echeloned in rear. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ FRENCH TERRITORIALS BEFORE THE ADVANCE.] During the night the position gained was consolidated. The Auckland Battalion was much disorganized and split up, so was withdrawn to the reserve trenches. The casualties had been very heavy. Large numbers of wounded had to spend the night on the battlefield, as their evacuation was difficult. At 3.53 p.m. on May 9, an order was received to take over the section from our left to the Krithia Nullah. The 87th Brigade was to go into support, the line being held by the Wellingtons, Otagos, and Canterburys. Part of the 88th Brigade was also retired. The marksmen of the Canterburys took the enemy snipers by surprise, and established a moral superiority over them. The Relief of our Brigade. [Illustration: TROOPS GATHERING FIREWOOD AT SEDD-EL-BAHR.] During the next few days the weather was good, but the nights were very cold. The Turks attacked intermittently, but were definitely held. On the night of May 11, the New Zealanders were relieved by units of the East Lancashire Division, recently arrived from Egypt. This was achieved by 3 a.m. on May 12, without much confusion, whereupon the brigade moved back to its bivouac near the stone bridge on the Krithia road. Just after arriving there was a heavy fall of rain, which converted the surroundings into an absolute quagmire. The following days, however, were beautifully fine, and the men had a much-needed rest. In the reorganization it was found that the brigade had suffered a total of 771 casualties at Helles, but all ranks were greatly cheered by the appreciative comments passed by the Regular Army officers, and especially by Sir Ian Hamilton's official message: "May I, speaking out of a full heart, be permitted to say how gloriously the Australians and New Zealanders have upheld the finest traditions of our race during this struggle still in progress; at first with audacity and dash, since then with sleepless valour and untiring resource. They have already created for their countries an imperishable record of military virtue." Several days of welcome relief from the front line ensued. Men wandered through the battered forts of Sedd-el-Bahr, and marvelled at the dismantled guns and twisted ironwork. Others strolled around the fertile countryside, which was smothered with a profusion of red poppies, white daisies and blue larkspurs, as if to honour the French and British occupation. After dark on the evening of May 19, the brigade again embarked from V Beach to return to Anzac Cove, where they arrived at dawn next morning. During the disembarkation a very sad incident occurred in the Auckland Battalion, which lost another officer, he being the twenty-seventh officer incapacitated out of the original twenty-nine combatants. CHAPTER X. The Arrival of the Mounteds. During the first few days the troops were exhorted to hold on. There was no option. The line could not go forward, and it dare not go back. First it was rumoured that the East Lancashire Division, associated with us in Egypt, was coming to Anzac; then the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade from the Suez Canal; but Helles absorbed these. Worst still! On May 5 the New Zealand Infantry Brigade and the 2nd Australian Brigade were taken out of Anzac to assist in the thrust towards Krithia. On the left flank of Anzac, two weak battalions of the Royal Naval Division took over the line the New Zealand Brigade had vacated. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ THE TANGLED SLOPES OF MULE GULLY.] The Anzac position was now reorganized in four defence sections numbered from right to left. General Bridges, with the 1st Australian Division, held Sections 1 and 2--that is, from Chatham's Post on the sea up to, but not including, Courtney's Post. General Godley, with the N.Z. and A. Division, was responsible for the rest of the line. No. 3 Defence Section contained the three famous posts at the head of Monash Gully--Courtney's, Quinn's, and Pope's. Russell's Top, Walker's Ridge, No. 1 and No. 2 Posts made up No. 4 Section. General Birdwood, the Army Corps General, was at his headquarters in Anzac Cove, and each Divisional General was in charge of half the defensive line. The sections were held as follow:-- No. I Section (Colonel Sinclair-Maclagan)--3rd Australian Infantry Brigade. No. 2 Section (Brigadier-General Walker)--1st Australian Infantry Brigade. No. 3 Section (Brigadier-General Trotman, R.M.L.I.)--4th Australian Infantry Brigade; Royal Marine Brigade (Chatham and Portsmouth Battalions); 3 sections No. 1 Field Company, N.Z.E. No. 4 Section (Brigadier-General Mercer, R.M.L.I.)--Royal Naval Brigade (Nelson and Deal Battalions); 1 section No. 1 Field Company, N.Z.E. We, as a nation, are prone to underrate our efforts and laud those of our adversaries. Before and during the war it was loudly asserted that the German Secret Service and German diplomacy always outwitted the British. To-day the world knows the truth of the matter. Likewise, it was contended that the Turkish Intelligence Department was superior to ours. "Look how they always know what we are about to do," said the critics. Truly, anything planned in Egypt was bound to leak out if it had to be printed or circulated, as Egypt was always a cosmopolitan place, where it was unsafe to trust a stranger. But if the Turks knew so much, why did they not attack Walker's Ridge that anxious week in May? Any attack must have succeeded, and the thin line of single trenches once broken, Anzac must have crumpled. The enemy did nothing serious, and on May 12 the joy at Anzac was unbounded. The Mounteds had arrived! Every face on the beach was wreathed in smiles. Here they all were--without their horses, but keen, and spoiling for a fight--the Australian Light Horse; the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade, consisting of the Auckland, Wellington, and Canterbury Regiments; the field troop to reinforce the overworked 1st Field Company in its sapping and mining; the signal troop, to help with the telephone and buzzers; and the mounted field ambulance, to assist their overworked confreres with the wounded. Whatever the trudging infantry men had thought in Egypt as the mounted men swept by, to-day there was nothing but the good humoured banter of "Where's your horses?" As the eager troopers climbed the goat tracks of Walker's Ridge a great sigh of relief was heaved by the sorely tried garrison of Anzac. Never were troops more welcome. [Illustration: THE BEACH SWEEPING TOWARDS NIBRUNESI POINT.] The same day, Colonel Chauvel, with the 1st Australian Light Horse Brigade, took over No. 3 Defence Section from Brigadier-General Trotman, who embarked with the Chatham and Portsmouth Battalions that night for Cape Helles. Brigadier-General Russell relieved Brigadier-General Mercer on Walker's Ridge. The New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade took over the line from the Nelson and Deal Battalions, who also left Anzac to rejoin the Royal Naval Division at Cape Helles. The highest part of Walker's Ridge became known as Russell's Top, because, close at hand, practically in the firing line, the commander of the N.Z. Mounted Rifles Brigade established his headquarters. Hereabouts No Man's Land was very narrow. Away to the right ran the deep gully, which, passing behind the back of Pope's Hill, became Monash Gully. So far, Pope's and Russell's Top were unconnected, the Turks holding the head of this gully, which made their sniping of Monash Gully so effective. It was from here, on May 15, that a Turkish sniper mortally wounded General Bridges, as he was proceeding up Shrapnel Gully. At that time no place in the Anzac area could be considered safe. [Illustration: THE SPHINX. Owing to the steep cliffsides, the bullets could not reach the dug-outs on the slope.] To the left was another gully running down and losing itself in the ramifications of the outlying spurs of Walker's Ridge. The little flat watershed separating these two gullies ran like an isthmus across No Man's Land, and connected Russell's Top with that part of the main Turkish position known as "Baby 700" and "The Chessboard." This connecting link was known as "The Nek." Only a few yards behind our main fire trench were precipitous cliffs, which, running round to the right, culminated in a remarkable knife-edged cliff eventually known as the "Sphinx"; while to the extreme left flank these cliffs, scored with the torrential winter rains, eventually resolved themselves into broken under-features of Walker's Ridge, sprawling out and forming one side of the Sazli Beit Dere. Near the bottom of this dry watercourse was the little Fishermen's Hut, so often used as a landmark. Just south of these huts was No. 1 Post, and a few hundred yards past the valley and on the coast was the little knoll eventually to become famous as No. 2 Post. [Illustration: NO. 2 POST.] This No. 2 Post was the northern extremity of our line. Measured on the map, it was a distance of 3600 yards--just two miles--from Chatham's Post on the extreme right. As Quinn's Post was about 1000 yards from the sea, a rough calculation will show that the area of Anzac was approximately 750 acres. Seven hundred and fifty acres of prickly scrub and yellow clay, stony water-courses, sandy cliffs and rocky hill tops, land that would not support one family in comfort, yet for eight long months, men of divers races lived a Spartan life there, studding the hillsides so thickly with their rude dugouts that a Turkish shell seldom failed to find a victim. No time was lost after taking over this No. 4 Sector. The engineers had made a track for guns and mules up to Russell's Top. This road was regraded and improved in parts; trenches were deepened and made more habitable; saps were pushed out wherever the field of fire required improvement. The line from "the Top" to No. 2 Outpost was very broken, with many rough gullies intervening; secret saps were dug, and machine guns placed to cover this "dead" ground, up and down which the scouts of both sides roamed as soon as it was dark. The panorama from Walker's Ridge was magnificent. Looking across the yellow clay hills, decorated in patches with green scrub oak and prickly undergrowth, red poppies and purple rock roses, one saw the beautiful beach sweeping up towards the Suvla Flats; the Ægean Sea was generally as calm as a mill pond, dotted all over with leisurely trawlers, barges, and restless destroyers; the white hospital ships, with their green bands and red crosses, lay a few miles out to sea; over in the distance the storied isles of Imbros and Samothrace stood out in all the glory of their everchanging tints. The men of the Wellington regiments recognized a strong resemblance to the view from the Paekakariki Hill, looking out towards Kapiti and the long white stretch of the Otaki beach. [Illustration: THE SUVLA FLATS FROM WALKER'S RIDGE.] Later in the month the Otago Mounted Rifles were stationed down at No. 2 Post. Between the post and the sea was a delightful little strip of level ground, ablaze with poppies and other wild flowers, but under the eye, and within the range of the enemy. Near this outpost was discovered an old Turkish well. Elsewhere men searched for water, and sometimes found it, but when pumps were applied the flow ceased after a day or so. This, on the contrary, was a most reliable well, a godsend to the thirsty men and mules, and a most welcome addition to the scanty supply procured from the barges. Soldiers came from far and near to draw the precious water. Owing to its visibility to the snipers on the Turkish right flank, the beach between Ari Burnu and Fishermen's Hut could not be used during the day. Almost under the shadow of the Sphinx a group of boats and barges lay stranded on the beach. Late one night a party of mounteds went down and buried the remains of forty Australian infantrymen who had been killed at the April landing. The Mounted Rifles repulse a determined Attack. About the middle of May, the Turks decided that one determined effort would drive the men of Anzac into the sea. These people perched on the hillside annoyed him enormously. Never did he make an attack in the southern zone but these Colonials threatened to advance towards Maidos. News was gleaned of the withdrawal of troops from Helles and the arrival of reinforcements from Constantinople. On May 17, the "Lord Nelson" delighted all beholders by turning her big guns on to the village of Kuchuk Anafarta. All along the coast line the ships joined in, until every village behind the line, and every road running towards Helles and Anzac, was swathed in dust and flame. The Turk retaliated with guns ranging from 11in. down to .77. Their shooting was good--one Australian 18-pr. was put out of action by a direct hit. The enemy reinforcements were delayed, but with the darkness, on they came again. Next day was fairly quiet, but the sentries were warned to prepare for an attack, and during the night the reliefs slumbered behind the line with their clothes on, their rifles loaded, and their bayonets fixed. Sure enough, just after midnight, firing commenced from Chatham's Post along to No. 2 Post. Thousands of cricket-ball hand-grenades were hurled into Quinn's and other critical places. The big guns on both sides renewed their efforts. The bursts of shells in mid-air momentarily lit up the scene, intensifying the blackness of the night. But this was only the enemy's preliminary bombardment, for about 3 a.m., the watchful sentries detected forms moving cautiously in No Man's Land. Soon the attack was made in earnest at the junction of No. 2 and No. 3 Defence Sections. Then it burst in its fury on Quinn's and Russell's Top. [Illustration: PENINSULA PRESS. No. 44 SATURDAY, JULY 3rd 1915. Official News The Attack that Failed. Further details have now been received of the attack made by the Turks on the night of the 29th-30th ult. At about 2 o'clock on Wednesday morning the searchlights of H.M.S. "Scorpion" discovered half a Turkish battalion advancing near the sea, North-west of Krithia. The "Scorpion" opened fire and few of the enemy got away. Simultaneously, the enemy attacked the knoll we had captured due West of Krithia, advancing from the nullah in close formation in several lines. The attack came under artillery and enfilade rifle fire and the enemy lost heavily. The foremost Turks got within 40 yards of the parapet, but only a few returned. The Turks made several heavy bomb attacks during the night, our troops being twice driven back a short distance. In the early morning we regained these trenches by bayonet attack and they have since been strengthened. At 5.30 a.m. 2,000 Turks moving from Krithia into the ravine were scattered by machine gun fire. The operations reflect great credit on the vigilance and the accurate shooting of H.M.S. "Scorpion." The Turkish losses in the nullah and ravine are estimated at from 1,500 to 2,000 dead. At about 10 p.m. on Wednesday the Turks again attacked with bombs a portion of the most northerly trench captured by us on the 29th. An officer of the Gurkas being wounded (not dangerously as it turned out) the men became infuriated: flung all their bombs at the enemy, and then charging down out of the trench, used their kukris with great effect. About dawn the Turks once more attempted an attack over the open but nearly the whole of these attacking forces, about half a battalion, were shot down; and a final bomb attack, though commenced, failed utterly. A further report from Anzac of the enemy's attack on Tuesday and Wednesday last, on our right flank states that the action commenced with very heavy fire from midnight till 1.30 a.m. to which our men replied only by a series of cheers. The Turks then launched their attack and came right on with bayonet and bombs. Those who succeeded in getting into our saps were instantly killed, the remainder being dealt with by bomb and rifle fire from the 7th and 8th Light Horse. By 2 a.m. the enemy broke and many were killed while withdrawing. The enemy's attack was strongest on his right. They were completely taken aback by a concealed sap constructed well ahead of our main line, and their dead are lying thickly in front of this. Some got into the sap and several got across it, and all these were wiped out by fire from the main parapet farther back. Following the defeat of this attack, the enemy attacked at 3 a.m. on our left and 30 men came over the parapets in front of the right of Quinn's Post. These were duly polished off. Prisoners brought in state that three fresh battalions were employed in the main attack which was made by the personal order of Enver Pasha who, its they definitely assert, was present in the trenches on Tuesday the 20th ult. Wednesday was very quiet at Anzac, except for heavy musketry fire along our left and centre during the storm in the evening. Latest report of enemy casualties on 29th, estimates them at between 400 and 500 actually seen to fall on those areas alone that are exposed to view and exclusive of any loss inflicted by our bombardments of reverse slopes and gullies in which reserves are known to be collecting. It is manifest with what apprehension the Turks regard our latest gains and how bravely they have tried to neutralize them and at what cost. On the West Front. Paris, July 2nd. After a continuous bombardment which lasted three days, the Germans attacked the French positions in the Argonne, between the road from Binarville and the Four-de-Paris. Twice driven back, they eventually succeeded, after a third attempt in setting foot in some parts of the French lines near Bagatelle, and were repulsed everywhere else after a very fierce struggle. Two fresh attacks against the trenches to the East of the road from Binarville were defeated. A violent attack in the neighbourhood of Metzeral was completely repulsed, the Germans suffering heavy losses. (Official Report by wireless). Letters to a Turkish Soldier at the Front. The following characteristic letters, written to a Turkish soldier at the front, will be read with interest:-- "To my dear son-in-law, Hussein Aga. First, I send you my best salaams and I kiss your eyes. Your mother Atrf also kisses your eyes. Mustafa also kisses your eyes and Mrs. Kerim also sends her salaams. Your daughter Ayesha kisses your eyes. Should you inquire after our health, thank God I can tell you we are all in health, and I pray God we may continue to be so. Your letter of the 4th February we have received. Your mother kisses your eyes and Abdullah kisses both your hands. Your brother, Bairham's wife, has died--may your own life be long--but before dying she brought into the world a child. The child also has died. What can I say about the decrees of God? Your brother Bairham has also been taken as a soldier. We pray God that his health may be preserved. The money you sent has arrived. Thank God for it, for money is scarce these days. Everybody sends salaams: everybody kisses your hands and your feet. God keep you from danger." Your father, Faik. To my dear husband, Hussein Aga. I humbly beg to inquire after your blessed health. Your daughter sends her special salaams and kisses your hands. Since you left I have seen no one. Since your departure I have no peace. Your mother has not ceased to weep since you left. Your daughter declares that she is enceinte and weeps all day. We are all in a bad way. Your wife says to herself "While my husband was here we had some means." Since your departure we have received nothing at all. Please write quickly and send what money you can. All your friends kiss your hands and your feet. May God keep you and save us from the disasters of this war. Your wife, Fatima. R.E. Printing Section, G.H.Q., M.E.F. "THE PENINSULA PRESS." Printed by the R.E. Printing Section at Imbros.] The machine guns sprayed the front with a shower of lead, and for an interval the attack seemed held up, but in the grey dawn the mass advanced again. Crying on their God--"Allah! Allah! Allah!"--they surged forward in tremendous strength. From their trenches opposite Russell's Top and Turk's Point on Walker's Ridge they sallied forth in thousands. This was the first real test of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. The Turks flung themselves against the trenches held by the Auckland Mounted Regiment; but with rifle and machine-gun fire the troopers beat them off, hardly a Turk reaching the trench. This was a field day for the machine guns posted in No. 4 Section. Carefully trained by some of the greatest experts in the world, who were not slow to recognize their golden opportunities, these excellently placed weapons carried disaster into the enemy's attacks, enfilading them time and again. To the intense delight of the gunners, the Turks advanced in lines that presented ideal machine-gun targets. As the enemy had treated the Royal Naval Battalions on Dead Man's Ridge, so the Turk was now treated in return. Again and again the foe came on--by their French-grey overcoats they were identified as new picked troops from Asia. Again and again they advanced, but, caught by the loosely-strewn barb wire, they dropped like flies and were beaten to the earth by the machine guns. The din was indescribable. Above the rattle of the musketry combat and between the boom of the guns could be heard the Turk, crying on his Maker as he advanced, yelling and squealing as he retired to the Colonial shouts of "Imshi Yallah!" and the glorious battle chorus of "Ake, Ake, Kia Kaha!" [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ ON WALKER'S RIDGE. The Field Troop, N.Z.E., regrading the road to Russell's Top.] Down the gullies on the left flank the enemy came in the dark. A determined attack about the Fishermen's Hut would cut off No. 2 Post and let the Turkish hordes surge along the flat beach and low ground into the heart of Anzac. The anxious garrisons detected sounds of men scrambling down the gully. Around the posts alert ears heard the undertone of voices. It was some time before the listeners could determine the mutterings as undoubtedly Turkish. Into the mysteries of the scrub volley after volley was poured. The attackers, feeling that they were "in the air," squealed and disappeared in the direction of the Suvla Flats. When the sun was well up, from No. 2 Post Turkish reinforcements were discernible in the trenches opposite Walker's Ridge. A machine gun of the Canterbury Regiment was posted to enfilade them. The rifles of the 10th Nelson Squadron, assisted by the machine gun, brought a devastating fire to bear on a grey-coated battalion of the enemy lying in the trenches and in the depressions, evidently preparing for an advance. For a few minutes a stream of lead played up and down their ranks, causing awful havoc. The mass heaved and swayed convulsively, then broke and stampeded to the rear, assisted in their flight by the ever-watchful guns of the torpedo-boat destroyers, while the machine guns from Steel's, Courtney's, Quinn's, Pope's and Walker's, emptied belt after belt into the enemy reserves. Now was the opportunity of the field gunners. From Howitzer Gully, from Plugge's Plateau, from Walker's Ridge, the New Zealand Field Artillery shells were pumped in streams. The No. 2 Battery, N.Z.F.A., though only able to get two guns to bear, fired 598 rounds almost without intermission. The ships were having a day out, perfect targets presenting themselves all along the line. Right along the two and a third miles of front the attacks melted away--nowhere was the Anzac line penetrated. The great attempt to drive the infidel into the sea had miserably failed. Everywhere along the line Turks lay dead in heaps. The mounted men--Australians and New Zealanders alike--had demonstrated that southern-bred soldiers were as dogged in defence as they were brilliant in attack. The night was fairly quiet, but on the 20th the attack was resumed, when the machine gunners had it all their own way. Perhaps the enemy remembered the tragedy of the preceding day, for when the machine guns spluttered, the attackers broke and fled. In the afternoon a dramatic episode occurred. At different points in the Turkish trenches small white flags appeared. Linguists in the enemy's ranks made known their desire for a truce to bury their dead. At many parts in the line, particularly opposite the Auckland Mounted trenches on Walker's Ridge, some conversation was carried on in German. But observers noticed men crowding in the front line and the communication trenches. It seemed that the white flag incident was a ruse to launch a surprise attack. The white flag parties were given two minutes to get down out of sight. Down they scurried, and once more the musketry battle resumed its violence. As night came the searchlight from the warships played around the Turkish trenches and brilliantly illuminated the gullies on the flanks. Some desultory firing took place, but the Turk had no stomach for more infidel driving. Burying the Dead on Armistice Day. Next morning, the look-out on the destroyer guarding our right flank was mystified by a Turk waving a big white flag on Gaba Tepe, previous to coming out right into the open, and well within range. After the tremendous losses a few days previously, some of us thought that here at last was the long-looked-for peace. After a certain amount of justifiable hesitation on our part, a patrol went out to meet the white flag party. The groups met along the seashore, and finally, a Turkish officer, blindfolded, was escorted through the lines, past Hell Spit, and along the beach to Army Corps Headquarters. He carried no proposals for a surrender, but only for a truce to bury the dead. In the interests of both armies this was desirable, but extremely difficult to carry out. No Man's Land was very narrow, especially opposite Quinn's and the Nek, and we, for our part, did not care to have inquisitive soldiers poking about, ostensibly burying dead, but with an eagle eye upon our front line trenches. [Illustration: AN INDIAN DOCTOR SEARCHING FOR WOUNDED ON ARMISTICE DAY.] It took some days to work out the rules to be observed. They ran into many typewritten pages, but briefly they were as follow:-- 1. The suspension of arms was to be from 7.30 a.m. to 4.30 p.m., on May 24. 2. A line was to be pegged out down the centre of No Man's Land--the Turkish burying parties to work their side of the line, while we worked on our side. 3. Any dead belonging to the Turks on our side of the line were to be carried on stretchers to the centre line. The enemy was to do the same for us, so that each side would bury its own dead, and so identify them. 4. Rifles found on No Man's Land were to be collected, and immediately placed on stretchers. No man was to carry a rifle in his hand. Each side was to carry off its own rifles found in its burying area. Enemy rifles were to have the bolts removed, and were to be then carried on stretchers, and handed over to the original owners. The morning of "Armistice Day" broke with a steady drizzle. At the appointed hour fifty Turks, with Red Crescents on their arms, and fifty Australians and New Zealanders with Red Cross armlets, met on the extreme right. Each party had a staff officer and a medical officer. The men carried short stakes with little white strips of calico on the top, and, headed by the staff officers, who each walked near his own front-line trench, the party went right down the centre of No Man's Land, sticking in their little white flags. By about 10 o'clock the demarcation was complete. As the party had moved down No Man's Land, heads appeared over both parapets, and, cautiously first, and then quite boldly, the soldiers on both sides scrambled up on the parapets and experienced the uncanny sensation of safety. The burying parties struggled up the greasy clay tracks, marched out with their shovels and their stretchers, and the day's work began in earnest. And what a work! In some sectors the dead lay in heaps. In one area of about an acre, three hundred bodies were tallied--mostly Turks. "They are lying just as thick as sheep in a yard," said a Hawke's Bay boy in the demarcation party. It was soon realized that proper burials were out of the question, and that it was impossible to carry the enemy's dead to the centre line. A mutual agreement was made to cover up friend and foe, the Turk on his side and we on ours. So the Anzac dead in the Turkish area were not identified by us; these are the men who eventually were described as "Missing, believed killed" by the Court of Enquiry. [Illustration: ARMISTICE DAY, MAY 24, 1915. These two pictures were taken by Brig.-General Ryan, of the Australian Medical Corps. The top one shows the Turkish Staff Officer who brought in the flag of truce. While going through our lines he was blindfolded, according to custom, and escorted by a British Staff Officer.] [Illustration: The bottom picture shows the burying parties at work in No Man's Land.] Away in the tangled gullies on our left flank, several wounded Turks were discovered in desperate straits. These men were evidently snipers who had been hit while crawling round in the prickly scrub past Walker's Ridge. One man was picked up, and as he made gestures asking for water, an N.Z.M.C. orderly lifted his head up and discovered that his bottom jaw was almost shot away. Another wounded Turk was carried in a distance of two miles, and most inconsiderately died as the hospital was reached. Very few New Zealanders were found unburied, but there was evidence that they died game. One Aucklander was found still grasping his rifle, which was--barrel and bayonet--firmly embedded in the body of his dead opponent. By midday, the heat was tropical, and the Anzac beaches were crowded with the battalions from the trenches. The Turk was wont to boast that he would drive us into the sea. What Enver Pasha failed to do, the lice achieved, and the unique opportunity to get a safe wash was fully appreciated. Up on the hillsides the burial parties were hard at work. The chaplains never had a busier day, searching for identity discs, and reading the burial service. In some parts of the line the men mingled freely with Johnny Turk. A Melbourne medico was an object of great interest to the Turkish soldiery, as he wore the ribbons of the Medjidie and the Osmanieh, gained in a previous war when the Turk and we were allies. A German doctor in Turkish uniform asked for news of his whilom friends in Sydney. The Turks had a supply of brown bread, and many exchanges were made with the Colonials, who were very pleased to barter their flint-like biscuits for something that would not torture their tender gums. The afternoon wore on, and as 3 o'clock came, we realized that our work was nearly done--over 3000 Turks buried. By 4 p.m., everybody had returned to the trenches, and for the next half-hour deathly silence reigned. To all appearances the truce had been honourably kept. At 4.30, both sides delivered tremendous volleys at nothing in particular, and settled down quietly for the night. Thus ended one of the strangest days in the history of the campaign. [Illustration: RENOVATING GRAVES ON TURK'S POINT.] During the day we had been requested not to use binoculars, but all along the line it was noticed that Turkish and German officers were taking the bearings of our trenches and emplacements. From the Turkish trenches on the Chessboard, officers were quite obviously marking down our machine gun emplacements commanding the Nek and Russell's Top. But the New Zealand machine gun officers were equal to the Turks in cunning. During the night all the machine guns were taken down and the crews took cover. With the dawn came the searching shells of the Turkish Field Artillery. The empty emplacements were badly damaged, but as soon as the guns switched on to another target, the New Zealand gunners rebuilt their emplacements and were again ready to fire within twenty minutes of the bombardment. The Sinking of the "Triumph." In war man is often made to feel his impotence. An illustration of this occurred the day following the armistice. About midday the workers on the beach heard "Picket boat" cried in those anxious, agonized accents that characterize the cries of "Stretcher bearer" or "Wire," cries that send a shiver down the spine of the most hardened. Looking out to sea, a great column of smoke welled up from the side of the "Triumph," lying about a mile off shore from Gaba Tepe. It was obvious she was hit, for at once she commenced to heel over. Glasses revealed her decks crowded with men, her crew falling in at their stations. Swiftly from every point of the compass came the torpedo-boat destroyers--from Nibrunesi Point, Imbros and Helles. Our old friend the "Chelmer" nosed into the flank of the stricken ship, and orderly, as if on parade, the bluejackets commenced marching off. More and more boats crowded alongside to take off the crew. Steadily the vessel heeled until her masts were almost parallel with the water, her port guns sticking aimlessly into the air. Suddenly she quivered from stem to stern. Her attendants drew back quickly, as she turned completely over amidst a cloud of spray and steam, which, clearing away, revealed her red keel shining brightly against the blue Ægean Sea. Once again the destroyers and trawlers closed in to pick up the men in the water. Other destroyers, working in ever-increasing circles, engaged in a hunt for the submarine. Presently the old craft commenced to settle at the bows. Slowly and gracefully she slid into the depths, and the watchers on the Anzac hills heaved a heartfelt sigh. But out there in the blue, the gallant sailormen gave three hearty cheers as the old ship disappeared. An irrepressible cried, "Are we downhearted?" "No," roared the crew of the sunken ship, and a great volume of cheering rose from the vessels gathered round. [Illustration: THE SINKING OF THE "TRIUMPH." The old ship, surrounded by small craft, is near the horizon on the left of the picture.] This disaster cast a gloom over Anzac. To see one's friends in peril and be powerless to help caused the Colonial soldiers more pain than any previous experience. This old ship had been such a trusty friend, and now, in a short twenty minutes, she was gone! Men sat up on the hill that night, cursing the Hun and all his allies! The Taking and Losing of "Old No. 3 Post." Between the ridge of Chunuk Bair, held by the Turk, and our No. 2 Post, there were three other conspicuous pieces of high ground bounded on the north by Chailak Dere, and on the south by the Sazli Beit Dere. The highest of these was Rhododendron Ridge; the next was a little plateau appropriately named Table Top, and nearest to No. 2, really a higher peak of the same spur, was a Turkish post from which most of the deadliest sniping was carried on. It was thought advisable to occupy this ridge and deny it to the enemy. It was a hopeless position for us--away out in a salient--and should never have been attempted. On the night of May 28, a squadron of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles crept up the dere and took this sniping post by surprise at the point of the bayonet. They, in their turn, handed over to a squadron of the Wellington Mounted Regiment, who proceeded to put the post into a state of defence by entrenching it. The garrison was again relieved by a squadron of the Wellingtons (9th Wellington East Coast) on the night of May 30. Getting in about 8 o'clock at night, the men were hardly distributed along the meagre trenches when sounds of movement were heard. Presently, showers of hand-grenades descended on the post. Calling on "Allah," the enemy, numbering many hundreds, surrounded the post. The Wellingtons had no hand-grenades (the shortage of these weapons at Anzac was deplorable), so had to depend upon their rifles. Rushing up to the parapet and yelling their eerie cries, but never daring to press the attack home, throwing hand-grenades and then retreating, the Turks let the precious hours of darkness slip by. The garrison decided to make the Turks pay a big price for the post. The strain of hanging on through that awful night was tremendous. But with the welcome dawn came fresh hope. All that day the garrison lay in their trenches waiting for the final assault. The guns from the "W" Hills broke in parts of the parapet; the telephone wire to No. 2 Post was cut, and the Turk actually penetrated a section of the trench, but was driven out. Things becoming desperate--water and ammunition both running short--a message was semaphored back to Walker's Ridge, and it was decided to attempt the relief of the post at dusk. [Illustration: A VIEW FROM THE LEFT FLANK. On the left is the Sphinx; the next high ground is Plugge's Plateau, which running down to the sea resolves itself into the point of Ari Burnu.] Two Wellington squadrons went out, but were held up. Later--this was the night of May 31--two troops of the 8th (South Canterbury) Squadron and the 10th (Nelson) Squadron proceeded to fight their way from No. 2 Outpost up to this new ill-starred outpost, now known as No. 3. They joined forces with two Wellington squadrons, and with Turkish hand-grenades lighting the gully, the relief party pushed aside all opposition, got into the post, and relieved the Wellingtons. There was to be no rest for the unlucky garrison of No. 3. On came the Turks again, and the performance of the night before was repeated almost without variation, the throwing of hand-grenades, calling on "Allah!" and rushing up to the parapet, but never daring the final assault. For some hours the inferno continued. About midnight word came through from Headquarters that the post might be abandoned. The task of removing the wounded presented no small difficulties, but they having been removed down the dere, the perilous retirement commenced. In the faint moonlight, the Turks could be seen flitting hither and thither. Now that our retirement was commencing, their exultant yelling and squealing burst out afresh. Down the dere slowly came the rearguard, calmly and methodically picking off any too adventurous enemy. When the troopers reached the "Big Sap" running out past No. 1 and 2, they lined the two sides of the gully and the trench and waited for the Turk. A squadron of the Auckland Mounteds now arrived, and based on No. 2 Post and the Fishermen's Hut, the whole party made a determined stand, and enabled the 9th Squadron, who had been fighting for forty-eight hours, to be withdrawn. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ THE BIG SAP RUNNING PAST NO. 2 POST.] To the highly-strung men, many of whom had not slept for three days, the yelling of the Turks, the ghostlike sea lapping on the beach in the background, and the enemy jumping from bush to bush in the moonlight, the whole business resembled a frightful nightmare. Gradually the Turks grew tired of yelling, and retired to occupy "Old No. 3," while the weary troopers trudged along the dusty sap to their much-needed bivouac, leaving the squadron of the Auckland Mounted Rifles out watching the position until daylight. A new No. 3 Post was established by the Otago Mounted Rifles on rising ground about 200 yards north of No. 2 Post. This became the extreme right flank of the Anzac position until the great advance in August. CHAPTER XI. Supplying the Needs of the Army. The Germans selecting their time for opening the World War, it was not surprising that Britain was sadly handicapped as regards munitions and material generally. As yet the organization by the Ministry of Munitions was a thing undreamt of, and seeing that the Gallipoli campaign was considered a subsidiary one, and that all supplies available were not sufficient for the needs of the army in France, was it surprising that comparatively little attention was given to our operations in what was assumed to be a minor theatre of war? [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ THE A.S.C. DEPOT IN MONASH GULLY.] It is easy at this stage to find fault, but the fault lies not only with the lack of preparation of the Government and people of Britain, but also in a less degree with the Governments and people of the Dominions beyond the seas. We cannot be blind to the fact that democracies are short sighted, and must educate themselves to acquire long and wide vision, if they are to hold their own and exist peacefully among ambitious and designing peoples. But we must not moralize, for this narrative deals with facts, though it is just as well to remember that even now, in the days of Peace, we are making history, and at times we may be allowed to peer into the future and see visions of the Pacific in which the people of Australia and New Zealand will surely be called upon to play an important part. Academic inquiry into our unpreparedness and the causes of the shortage of supplies was of little value to the soldiers trying to defeat the enemy. The men of Anzac had often to procure their stores in a manner not strictly orthodox. The principal requirements of the army at Anzac were food and water to sustain life; ammunition--big-gun, field-gun, small-arm, and hand-grenades; while to provide some measure of shelter from the adversary and from the weather, timber and sandbags became primal necessaries. There was no hinterland from which these supplies could be drawn. Mudros, the nearest safe anchorage, was fifty miles away; Alexandria, the chief port from which most supplies must come, was distant over 500 miles. The area occupied by the troops produced no food, no timber, and only a very little hardly-won water. Few have any conception of the difficulties that had to be overcome. The difficulties were chiefly the scarcity of essential articles, but a further obstacle was the matter of transport. It was comparatively easy to get goods as far as Alexandria, to which, situated as it is on the ocean highway to the East, the largest ships brought produce from the ends of the earth. The next stage, to Lemnos, was off the beaten track, and smaller vessels were employed. At Mudros, the goods were transhipped to vessels that again had shrunk in size and were fewer in number. Here the greatest difficulty of all arose, for ships could not come within a mile of the shore. The enemy big guns ranged well out to sea, and at the Anzac piers, nothing as large as even a trawler could lie owing to the shallowness of water. The stores that had started from England or New Zealand in ocean liners, continued their long journey in trawlers manned by hardy North Sea fisherfolk; and made the final stage of all in barges towed by five small picket boats from the ships of His Majesty's Navy. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ DRAWING THE WATER RATION AT MULE GULLY. This was the principal supply for the Units on Walker's Ridge and Russell's Top. In the picture are Maori and Pakeha New Zealanders, Australians, Englishmen, and Indians.] Think of it, those five small steam boats, officered by fifteen-year-old boys and manned by half a dozen gallant sailormen, were the slender link connecting the army ashore with the world overseas. All through those strenuous months, during fair weather and foul, splashed with the spindrift of the Ægean gales, drenched with the spray from the hissing shells, the daring crews of those stout trawlers and trim picket boats, from the first tow of the landing to the last of the evacuation, made Anzac possible. The Utter Dependence on the Imperial Navy. [Illustration: [_British Official Photograph_ THE "ALBION" ASHORE OFF GABA TEPE. The "Cornwallis" is towing her off.] The Gallipoli campaign, perhaps more noticeably than any other phase of the war, demonstrated the utter dependence of the Dominions Overseas on the supreme Imperial Navy. Of what use are mighty armies if they cannot be concentrated at the decisive point at the right moment? Every New Zealander who was on Gallipoli fully recognized that without the Navy we could not have got ashore, we could not have had our daily beef and biscuits, and worse still, we could never have got safely away. How the admiration of the soldiers for the sailors was reciprocated! What a galaxy of glorious memories--the old "Majestic" and gallant "Bacchante" enveloping Walker's Ridge and Gaba Tepe in clouds of smoke and dust on the day of the landing; the dear old "Albion" ashore that momentous morning off Gaba Tepe, when the destroyers and the "Cornwallis" tugged and tugged while the old ship spat broadside after broadside at the Turkish guns on the ridge; the sleepless destroyers, with their searchlights on the flanks--the "Chelmer," the "Pincher," the "Colne," the "Usk," and a dozen others--men up and down New Zealand to-day recall those magic names and remember the hot cocoa, the new bread, the warm welcomes and the cheery freemasonry of the sea. The service of the Navy was a very personal thing, and meant more to the men of Anzac than feeble words can tell. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ AMMUNITION FROM EVERY ARSENAL IN INDIA.] The ammunition problem was an acute one. Fortunately for the supply arrangements, the big guns of the Gallipoli armies were on the warships, but the howitzers and the field guns ashore were often sadly supplied. At one time the howitzers were restricted to two shells daily. Everything had to be saved for the days on which the Turk decided to "drive the infidels into the sea." Small arm ammunition was always plentiful, and the machine gunners, thanks to the Navy, never had to go short. As far as rifles and machine guns were concerned, many of the outlying parts of the Empire were called on, and at one time Anzac Cove was inundated with thousands of small arm ammunition cases, on which were inscribed the signs of all the famous arsenals of India. When "jams"--those bugbears of machine gunners--were at first much too frequent, we overcame these difficulties by using only New Zealand-made ammunition, which proved to be less variable and more reliable than the ordinary issue. The Bomb Factory. The hand-grenade position was often desperate. For the first few months no grenades were available, and the supply had to be improvized on shore. A "bomb" factory was instituted, and here, day and night, men toiled to make the weapon so effective in the short-range fights that burst with such fury around the devoted posts of Quinn's and Courtney's. The Turk had a plentiful supply of a round, cricket-ball hand-grenade, with a patent match-head ignition, and these he literally showered on Quinn's. The Anzac factory retorted with several brands, but the most favoured one was made out of the green fuse tin from the 18-pr. guns. These tins were stout, and of the size of a condensed milk tin. Two holes were punched in the bottom for a wire to go through, and three holes in the lid--two for the wire and a larger one for the fuse. The wire came from hawsers salved from the wreckage of the trawlers off the beach. Into the centre of the tin was placed a dry gun-cotton primer or half a stick of gelignite, the detonator and a five-seconds fuse was fitted, and the remaining space packed with unexploded Turkish cartridges with the bullets cut off to let the lid close, after which the whole was secured across the top by joining the two ends of the wires. So, from the cast-off tins and wires, captured ammunition, and the engineers' stores of explosives, these grenades were manufactured to repel the apparently rejuvenated "Sick Man of Europe." A time came when the gun-cotton and gelignite got scarce, and a powder explosive called ammonal had to be used. This presented a difficulty, as the stuff had to be packeted. But an active brain came to the rescue with a suggestion that cloth might be used for the packet. It so happened that about this time a large consignment of shirts had been opened up, all cut out and in the multitude of parts that go to make a shirt, but no two parts stitched together! This material was requisitioned, cut into squares, and the explosive packed like little bags of washing blue, with the detonator and fuse inside. Another time, tins ran out. The little mountain battery fuse tin was used as a stopgap, and then, luckily for Quinn's, another rascally manufacturer sent a shipment of mildewed tobacco to Anzac. The stuff was condemned, and before the day was done the empty tins lay in the bin of the bomb factory. Thus, though they did not intend it, did the careless London shirt inspector and the bad tobacco specialist help to keep the front line of the Anzac area. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ CARRYING STORES UP WALKER'S RIDGE.] The Scarcity of Building Materials. It is questionable if any army in the field ever had too many sandbags. To keep earth walls standing at as steep a slope as possible is the object of all builders of trenches, for the steeper a wall the safer it is. "It is difficult to make war safe," says the soldier, who, being wise, does not attempt the impossible. But the same soldier takes few chances, and wherever he can build a wall or put on a roof that gives him real or fancied protection, nothing will stop him from collecting from somewhere the necessary material. The scrub did not run to the size of trees, and apart from a little firewood nothing was obtainable on shore. The much-talked-of "Olive Groves" always seemed to be in the hands of the enemy. All the timber for building purposes, for the timbering of well shafts, and the casing of mining galleries, had to be brought ashore on barges. It was carried to the engineers' store yard on Hell Spit and guarded like the Bank of England, for everybody wanted two or three pieces and a few sheets of corrugated iron for the roof of a dugout. If a staved-in boat or a shattered barge stranded on the beach, it was quickly pounced upon and carried off. [Illustration: A MAORI ON SENTRY AT THE WATER TANKS IN MULE GULLY.] One benefactor conceived the idea of tearing timber out of the fittings of the transports, and for some time working parties gathered in much spoil. If these ships had stayed much longer they would have been torn to pieces by the energetic builders of dugouts and "hospitals." The decree had gone forth that timber and sandbags could only be issued for the front line and hospitals, with the natural result--every requisition was marked "for hospital" and initialled by some strange hand, the owner of which was most likely of the humble rank of private. The man who invented barbed wire is as heartily cursed by soldiers as by dairy farmers. The sudden cry of "wire" sends a shiver down the spine of the most seasoned. For wherever wire is, machine guns are placed to enfilade it. The Turk was a great believer in wire. It was of German manufacture, and very skilfully and strongly placed. In order to make it effective, it must be made very secure. Only in positions previously prepared can the requisite work be put in. In preparing for the Gallipoli landings the Turk put it well out in the water, whereby, it being concealed, many casualties occurred. As our No Man's Land was so narrow, it was difficult to put out the ordinary high wire entanglement, the noise of driving the stakes alone putting it outside the pale of practicability. At the time the new screw-picket wiring system had not been evolved. But as something had to be done, in the workshop on the beach many "knife-rest" obstacles were made by constructing two stout wooden X's about 3 feet high, joining them by 3 x 2 distance pieces of 12 feet long, and wrapping the whole round and round and diagonally with wire. These fearsome arrangements, with much profanity from the unfortunate working party, were carried up the communication trenches--no easy task on a hot day, with a traverse to negotiate every few yards. The front line at last reached, the awkward obstacles were pushed unceremoniously over the parapet and levered out as far as possible by long props under cover of darkness. The Water Supply. Though the scored cliffsides of Gallipoli give indications of a torrential rainfall during winter, water was difficult to obtain even in April and May. Wells were sunk in all likely places and water diviners plied their uncanny calling with some success. The wells, however, did not last long, except the one near No. 2 Outpost. Greek tank steamers brought the bulk of the water from Egypt, and over by Imbros pumped it into water barges, which were towed in by the picket boats or a tug. By a manual, the water was forced into tanks on the beach, to which day and night came a stream of thirsty men with water bottles. Sometimes the barge would be holed by shellfire and the valuable load lost, or again a leak might turn the precious water brackish. Two quarts a day was often the ration--this had to be used for all purposes. Mostly it was drunk in the form of tea. Any tea left over was not wasted, but used for shaving! [Illustration: A PUMPING FATIGUE ON THE WATER BARGE.] The men in the front line had great difficulty in getting water as the carrying fatigue was often shot as it dodged up Monash Gully or the track to Walker's Ridge. Whatever the men on the beach got, those in the trenches were always desperately short. From a hygienic point of view, the sea was the salvation of the men. Everyone near the beach bathed twice a day even at the risk of "stopping one," while the men from the hills came down whenever the reliefs took over. Bully Beef and Biscuits. Food was always plentiful (except just after the Great Blizzard in November when stocks ran very low). Tinned meat, jam and hard biscuits and a mug of tea provided 99 per cent. of the meals. Thoreau once suggested that we could make ourselves rich by making our wants few. On Gallipoli this did not mean a very great effort on the part of the will, but sore gums and rebellious stomachs were the price of getting wealthy. The army biscuits can never be forgotten--their hardness was beyond belief. When made for long journeys on sailing ships, it probably was necessary to make them so that they would keep, but surely in war time the soldier could get a softer one? The white ones brought from New Zealand were quite easy and pleasant to eat, while the oatmeal ones, grated on a piece of kerosene tin, made a tolerable porridge for the mornings! But the ordinary white biscuit as supplied by the A.S.C., while it may have been full of nourishment, was so hard that it was nibbled round the edges and then tossed into No Man's Land. After a month or two, a little bread arrived periodically, and many a penitent soldier vowed he would never waste a crust again. But the perversity of the man who packed the jam! Why the cases did not come assorted no one knew. As it was, each area seemed to get its one particular variety right through a campaign. The familiar plum and apple, and the fruit of the golden apricot should never be placed before the Anzac soldier. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ "BREAD AND JAM." Two Signallers outside the Divisional Signal Office.] Fresh beef was also tried, but, considering the heat and flies, there is little wonder that the soldier suspected it of causing not a little of his internal disturbances. An article in great request was "Maconochies," a line of meat goods packed with a few slices of potatoes, carrots and beans. The tins were boiled in a petrol tin of sea water, and when turned out made a steaming mess considered far superior to the traditional "dainty dish" that was set before the king. Tinned meat is very good picnic fare, but when the meat is not a New Zealand brand but comes from somewhere in the Argentine; when it is served up for breakfast, dinner, and tea; curried or "hashed with broken biscuits"--it is apt to lose its savour, and the nominal pound (really 12 ounces) becomes more than the constitution of a New Zealander can stand. [Illustration: A SIKH WATER CARRIER.] Vegetables were always scarce--here the tinned concoction known as "Julienne" filled a gap. The mixture seemed to be all manner of vegetables flaked and dried so that they resembled multi-coloured shavings. On the principle that what does not fatten will fill, large quantities of this dried vegetable were consumed in the early days when men were strong enough to stand it. Newcomers from Egypt sometimes brought a little fruit, while scouts were always out among the sailors to induce them to bring back delicacies from the canteens of the warships off the coast. Any excuse was better than none to get alongside a hospital ship, not only for the meal that the insinuating soldier was bound to get, but for the chance of buying a loaf or a tin of milk from the canteen or the commercial-minded baker! People going to Mudros or Imbros were loaded with commissions and made the Greek traders rich by buying tinned figs, pineapples, and milk at fabulous prices, and paradoxically, fowls' eggs that were fresh and only one shilling a dozen. It was about this time that the soldier, living as frugally as any ascetic, was solemnly warned that "over-ripe fruit, such as bananas, tomatoes, oranges, and grapes should be avoided" as likely to encourage cholera! The army, weakened by dysentery, shrieked with delight! Cheese and bacon were two popular variants in the ration. It always amused the Colonial to see the Russian Jews of the Zion Mule Corps struggling up to their cook-houses with their little bags of bacon. "It is the ration!" was the stereotyped retort to the gibes of the ribald ones. The hot sun affected the cheese somewhat. Perhaps two of the most characteristic smells of Anzac were chloride of lime and the pungent aroma of over-heated Cheddar. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ MULES DUG IN UNDER THE CLIFFS IN MULE GULLY.] This is a long story about food; but it was necessary for a soldier to eat, and most of the sickness can be attributed to the monotony of the food, the flies and the heat. Little wonder that men sickened. Trenches themselves were kept scrupulously clean, but all refuse was thrown into No Man's Land in which were also innumerable dead bodies that it had been impossible to bury. So in the heat, the front line troops, after making the mess tin of tea, endeavoured to get a meal of meat or bread and jam. Countless hordes of flies settled on everything edible. The soldiers waved them off. The black cloud rose and descended among the filth on the other side of the parapet. Presently they were back again on the food,--and so on, from the jam to the corpse, and back again to the jam, flitted the insect swarm, ensuring that the germs of most things undesirable were conveyed to the soldier's system through his mouth. Whatever may be the immunity of the transport and supply services in some campaigns, it is right that acknowledgment should be made of the risks run by the carriers of stores to and on the Peninsula. Whether by the trawlers or the picket boats at sea; in the ordnance and supply stores on the beaches; or on the mule tracks of the precipitous ridges and winding valleys--the men of the Navy, the Indian Supply and Transport, the Zion Mule Transport, and of our own Australian and New Zealand Army Service Corps carried their lives in their hands, for the enemy had the range to a yard of every landing stage, dump and roadway. CHAPTER XII. Midsummer at Anzac. The most debated area in Anzac was that narrow strip of No Man's Land opposite Quinn's and Courtney's Posts, at the head of Monash Gully. The post on the other side of Courtney's was Steel's Post, just opposite which was the Turkish work known as German Officers' Trench. Hereabouts the front lines were a little farther apart. The Turk took advantage of this by bringing artillery fire to bear on Steel's and sometimes on Courtney's. Many were the anxious moments when the firing persisted a little longer than usual, as the garrisons could not help being a little apprehensive for the safety of their posts perched so perilously on the crest line. [Illustration: THE FLY NUISANCE. Flies, unlike men, love light rather than darkness. The wise soldier aired his blankets during the day and so kept the flies out while he snatched a little rest before going on work or watch. ] The lines were so close together opposite Quinn's Post that neither side could afford to try the effect of artillery on the front-line trenches. This was fortunate, for a few well-aimed high explosive shells might have tumbled the whole structure into Monash Gully. But what Quinn's lacked in artillery duels, it more than made up for with its hand-grenade fights. Here, in common with the rest of No. 3 and No. 4 Sections, the enemy held the higher ground. Every day and every night a hail of cricket-ball bombs descended on the fire trenches, those falling in the communication trenches bounding merrily down hill until brought to rest by a traverse. Aeroplanes came over now and again, ineffectually dropping bombs and little steel darts. Whatever their lying propaganda boasted, their airmen never registered a hit on post or pier. Mining at Quinn's Post. Quinn's had a fatal fascination for the Turk. During May the enemy commenced mining in earnest, and this was a serious menace to the safety of the Anzac area. Successful underground operations by the enemy would mean that Quinn's might slide down into Monash Gully, so vigorous counter-mining was resorted to. Galleries were driven out under the front-line trenches; T-heads were put on to each gallery--these heads connected up made a continuous underground gallery right round the front of the post. Using this as a base, protective galleries were driven out in the direction of the advancing tunnels of the Turk. The object of this counter-mining was to get under or near the opponent's drives, and destroy them by means of small charges, calculated to break in their tunnels, but not to make a crater in No Man's Land above. In those early days, sensitive listening appliances were not available. Underground it is very difficult to estimate the distance away of sounds recognized, for even old coal miners have little experience of parties working towards them. In constructing railway tunnels, the engineers working from both ends have the data referring to both drives. But in military mining the work of the enemy is shrouded in the "fog of war," so mining under these conditions is a most exciting process. Having driven the estimated distance to meet the enemy, the question constantly arises, "Will it pay us now to fire a camouflet?" The knowledge that the enemy is very likely considering the same question adds a little to the tension. Then the listener reports that the enemy has ceased working. "Has he gone for his explosive, or is he only changing shift?" These and countless other speculations are constantly being made by the miner of either side. Each hesitates to fire his charge too early, as it may not achieve the maximum result. But if one waits too long the enemy will achieve that maximum! So both sides speculate until one makes a decision, which is announced to the opponents by a stunning explosion and a blinding crash if the effort is successful. [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ IN MONASH GULLY: THE HEADQUARTERS OF NO. 3 DEFENCE SECTION.] Twice Turkish tunnels had been detected nearing our lines. These were destroyed by small charges sufficient to break them down, for we could not afford to use a heavy charge, as it might threaten the stability of the hillside. The Death of Major Quinn. But at 3.20 on the morning of May 29, an ear-splitting explosion brought everyone in Monash Gully to his feet. A mine had wrecked No. 3 Subsection in Quinn's Post. Instantly, the musketry and bomb duel burst into life. Flashes of flame ran round the enemy's trenches and ours. The bursting of enemy shells fitfully illuminated Monash Gully. The detonations of hand-grenades, the bursts of machine-gun fire, the spluttering of musketry, the crashes of shrapnel and high explosive thundered round and round the head of Monash Gully, echoing and re-echoing in the myriad cliffs and valleys. In the confusion, a party of about twenty Turks rushed our front trenches. At last an effort was being made to break the Anzac line. As No. 3 Subsection was blown in, the men in No. 4 Subsection were cut off from Subsections 1 and 2, but all held stubbornly on. Reinforcements hurrying up to the stricken post could see, by the light of the bursting shells, the garrison clinging doggedly to the hillside. Some of the men off duty quickly clambered up the break-neck tracks. Led by the gallant Major Quinn, the defenders pushed forward in short rushes until they were once again sheltering in the broken front-line trench of Subsection 3. The party of Turks were now isolated within the post; barricading both ends of their little section of trench, they clung to the shelter of the traverse and recess. It was now breaking dawn. The machine guns on Russell's Top and Pope's Hill swept the region in the front of Quinn's with a devastating enfilade fire; but showers of bombs indicated that the Turk was still close up to the post. Major Quinn, realizing what his post meant to Anzac, warned his men for a counterattack. Presently, the observers on Pope's and Plugge's Plateau saw the little band clamber on to the parapet, and with bayonet and bomb hurl themselves into the enemy's ranks, which momentarily wavered, then broke and fled. Back filtered the garrison, to realize that their beloved leader was mortally wounded, killed in the defence of the post that bore his immortal name. The Turks did not attack again. Anzac was still intact. But imprisoned in our lines were sixteen brave Turks, who, in the confusion after the explosion, had stormed our front-line trench. They could not be reached by bombs, but an enterprising soldier persuaded them to surrender. Hesitatingly, out they came. They had been taught to distrust "these cannibals from the South Seas," even as we had been warned against falling into Turkish hands. With many salaams and ingratiating bows they filed down the pathway, somewhat disconcerting an R.E. officer by solemnly kissing his hand. The Turks opposite Quinn's never neglected their opportunities. Their mine explosion made a fair-sized crater between the two front-line trenches. Next morning the periscope revealed a blockhouse built of solid timbers planted in the crater. This, being a direct threat to Quinn's, was too much for the section of New Zealand Engineers, who, with the men of the 4th Australian Brigade, had held the post from the first week. Two adventurous sappers volunteered to creep out across the debris of No Man's Land and demolish the menace by means of gun-cotton. This they accomplished with great skill, destroying the blockhouse and killing the occupants. The Turk, however, was persistent. Time and again he roofed over the crater; but with hairbrush bombs--two pounds of gun-cotton tied on to a wooden handle--with kerosene, benzine, and other gentle agents in the art of persuasion, the Turkish garrison were kept most unhappy, even though they were all promoted to the rank of corporal. About this time it was learned that the Ottoman soldiers had christened this set of trenches "the Slaughterhouse," but it must be said that the Turks operating in No. 3 Section, especially opposite Quinn's, earned the respect of all who fought against them. Early in June the New Zealand Infantry Brigade took over this No. 3 Defence Section. The posts once held by General Monash's famous 4th Brigade were now garrisoned by men from Auckland, Wellington, Canterbury and Otago. The New Zealand Engineers still kept up their sapping and mining. The No. 1 Company had been on duty without relief from the landing, until relieved by the No. 2 Company, which arrived on June 3, and took over the sapper work within the section. "The Agony of Anzac." A periscopic view of No Man's Land was a terrible sight--littered with jam tins, meat tins, broken rifles and discarded equipment--every few yards a dead body and hosts of buzzing flies. Chloride of lime, with its hateful associations, was scattered thickly on all decaying matter, and the scent of Anzac drifted ten miles out to sea. In this foetid atmosphere, with the miners on both sides burrowing under the posts like furtive rabbits, hand-grenade throwers carrying on their nerve-racking duels, stretcher bearers constantly carrying out the unfortunate ones, digging and improving the trenches under a scorching sun--is it any wonder that the men of Anzac were looked at almost pityingly by the reinforcements and the rare visitors from Helles and the warships? Let one of these visitors speak:-- "The soul of Anzac is something apart and distinct from any feeling one gets elsewhere. It is hard to write of its most distressing feature, which is the agony it endures. But it is quite necessary, in justice to the men, that this should be said. There is an undercurrent of agony in the whole place. The trace of it is on every face--the agony of danger, of having seen good men and great friends die or suffer, of being away from home, of seeing nothing ahead, of sweating and working under hot suns or under stars that mock. Let there be a distinct understanding that the agony is not misery. The strong man bears his agony without misery; and those at Anzac are strong. What the men endure should be known at home." It is true that the Australians and New Zealanders did not altogether realize how badly off they were. The Turk had said a landing was impossible--yet a landing had been forced. The Turk had boasted he would drive the infidel into the sea--the perspiring daredevils refused to be driven. Lack of water, lack of ammunition, monotony of food, rebellious stomachs, the loss of brothers and friends--all these things the men of Anzac triumphed over. The two young nations had found their manhood on these barren Turkish hillsides. Whatever our enemies and the benevolent neutrals thought, the Australian and New Zealand Army was confident in itself, confident in its leaders, confident in the wisdom of the High Command that deemed it necessary to prosecute the enterprise. A Sortie from Quinn's Post. Lying along the flank of the Turkish communications, the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps was a constant thorn in the side of the enemy troops journeying to reinforce the Ottoman army in the Krithia zone. The enemy kept a large general reserve with which he could reinforce his troops at either Krithia or Anzac. When the British attacked on the southern sector it was the duty of the Anzac troops to simulate an attack in force, so preventing Turkish reinforcements being sent from opposite Anzac to the south, and by making frequent sallies causing the Turkish commander to become uncertain in his mind as to the real attack. But always, in the first few months, Anzac was "playing second fiddle to Helles." [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E._ A SCENE IN MONASH GULLY. As the Turkish snipers at the head of Monash Gully could enfilade stretches of the road sandbag traverses were built at the most dangerous points.] On June 4 the redoubtable soldiers at Helles made another great attempt on Achi Baba. The Anzac troops co-operated by threatening the Turkish defences in the direction of Gaba Tepe, and by two raids, one on the trenches opposite Quinn's, the other on German Officers' Trench. At first it was the custom to capture the first-line trench and to endeavour to keep it. In practice this was rarely successful. The front line of a trench system is generally lightly held; a surprise attack by determined troops can almost rely on being successful if the element of surprise is availed of. But to take a trench is one thing; to hold it another. Remember that the rest of the front line is still held by the enemy, who, working from traverse to traverse, can bomb down it. The second and third lines are also intact, with good communication trenches leading from them to the broken firing line. Bombers can also work down these communication trenches; ammunition, food and water, and (most important of all) hand-grenades, can arrive in unlimited numbers and in comparative safety. All of these things required by the attackers lodged in the enemy's trenches must come over the bullet-swept, shrapnel-torn surface of No Man's Land. By the end of a day, unless reasonable communications can be provided, the troops who so easily captured the hotly-contested position find that they must choose between annihilation or retreat. So it was raiding grew up. This appealed more to the primitive instincts of man--the sudden dash into the enemy, the attempt to achieve the maximum amount of damage in the minimum time, and to get to the home trench again before the enemy reinforcements could arrive. This method was particularly valuable when it was considered necessary to destroy the entrances to enemy galleries, to interfere with the progress of enemy saps, and to obtain prisoners for identification by the Intelligence Department. The sortie from Quinn's Post on June 4 was a typical example of the early method. If ever an attack was organized to succeed this one was. Eager volunteers from the Auckland and Canterbury Battalions were selected to carry out the work, and at 11 p.m. a heavy artillery fire was to be directed on the surrounding communication trenches. An assaulting party of sixty men was to dash across the thirty yards of No Man's Land, take the opposing trench and transpose the Turkish parapet. Two working parties were detailed to follow the first line. These men carried filled sandbags with which to build a loopholed traverse at each end of the captured trench; other parties were to commence two communication trenches from the new work to the old. The 4th Australian Infantry Brigade was held in reserve. In the dark, the eager groups made ready to carry out their hazardous task. It is a strange impulse that prompts thoughtful men to face death so eagerly. But up there in the gloom of the dark Gallipoli night, at the very salient of the Anzac line, only twenty yards from a stubborn foe, these daring young infantrymen carefully examined their rifles and hand-grenades, finally adjusting their equipment, and peered at their wristlet watches slowly ticking off the leaden-footed minutes. Precisely at 11 p.m., Nos. 1 and 2 Batteries on Plugge's Plateau and Walker's Ridge joined with the 4th Australian Battery in shelling the Turkish communications. Our howitzers near the beach dropped shell after shell in the trenches leading to Quinn's. The 21st (Jacob's) Mountain Battery added its contribution to the din. Under cover of this noise and the darkness the two groups of attackers crept over the parapet of Quinn's, across the wreckage of No Man's Land, and fell on the Turkish garrison before the alarm could be sounded. A few Turks were bayonetted and twenty-eight taken prisoners. But every minute of darkness was priceless. About seventy yards of trench had been taken, the parapet shifted over, and the flanking traverses commenced. Now the Turks opposite Courtney's commenced to enfilade the captured position with machine-gun fire--the Australian party attacking German Officers' Trench had not been successful. Presently the Turkish counter-attack commenced. Bombs were showered on the working parties struggling to complete the traverses and communications. It was obvious that when daylight came the trench would be difficult to hold, especially if the machine-guns opposite Steel's Post were not silenced. The work in the captured trench was now complete, and the Australians were asked to carry out another attack on German Officers' Trench. This sortie failed about 3 a.m. An hour after, a bomb and fire counter-attack by the enemy destroyed our flanking traverses, wrecked the overhead cover, and pushed our men back, step by step, until we held barely thirty yards of captured trench. When dawn came the Turks became more insistent, the machine-gun fire increased in intensity, and the trench was filled from end to end with bursting hand-grenades. Our men were now taken in front and in flank by skilful grenade parties, until, at 6.30, we were finally driven down our new communication trenches to our old front line. Our gains were nil; our casualties numbered 137, including one officer and thirteen men killed. Lieut.-Colonel C. H. Brown, who as Brigadier-General Brown, was later killed in France--one of the most popular and capable officers of the New Zealand Staff Corps--was, as officer commanding Quinn's Post, severely wounded by a Turkish hand-grenade. [Illustration: THE BOMB-PROOF SHELTERS AT QUINN'S POST. The hillsides were so steep that a sufficient number of men could not be accommodated near the front line. Round cricket-ball hand grenades would bound downhill and annoy the troops, so these bomb-proofs were built. The high ground on the left of the picture is Pope's Hill. ] Eventually Quinn's became the stronghold of the line. This was not accomplished in a day or without enormous labour. But, inspired by their officers--particularly the new commander of the post, Lieut.-Colonel Malone, of the Wellingtons--the men of the New Zealand Infantry Brigade and the New Zealand Engineers made Quinn's Post comparatively safe. Iron loopholes were put in, bombing pits constructed, and wonderful bomb-proof shelters built in terraces on the hillside. It was a tremendous work. Because of the pitiless heat and the incessant sniping, the troops watched and waited during the day; but as soon as it was dark the working parties carried on their backs the sandbags, timber, iron, ammunition, hand-grenades, water and food, up that shrapnel-swept Valley of Death in order that Quinn's Post might be safe. The Last Attack on Anzac. Day by day the soldiers clinging to their posts at Anzac were filled with speculations as to the progress made at Helles. Great bombardments seemed to be of daily occurrence. Sometimes we could fancy that the great clouds of dust and smoke were rolling appreciably nearer. On June 27/28 the masses of smoke and flame seemed greater than ever. Then we learned that Helles was being attacked, and we were asked to take off a little of the strain. The extreme right of our line was now held by the 2nd Australian Light Horse Brigade, supported on the right by the veterans of the heroic early-morning landing--Maclagan's 3rd Australian Infantry Brigade. These units carried out dashing attacks on the extreme right. The diversion was entirely successful, and drew formidable Turkish reserves towards Anzac. Indeed, as the hours slipped by, it seemed that the object of the Light Horse and Infantry was more than achieved, for it was reported that more and more of the finest Turkish regulars were being concentrated opposite Anzac. On the night of June 29, about 9.10, the enemy expended thousands of rounds ineffectually against our extreme right--evidently firing at nothing in particular, as most of the bullets sailed aimlessly out to sea. This was the Turk's usual method of advertising an attack somewhere else. Sure enough, during the night that attack developed opposite Pope's and Russell's Top. The 3rd Light Horse Brigade (consisting of the 8th, 9th, and 10th Regiments) were now taking turns with the New Zealand Mounted Brigade in No. 4 Defence Section. The machine guns were never taken out of the line, Australian and New Zealand guns staying in even when their respective brigades were withdrawn to "rest." In the moonlight, about an hour after midnight, the Turk, calling on his God, surged forward to the attack on No. 4 Section. In the half light the machine gunners found the range, and mercilessly cut up the attacking waves. But they were not to be denied. On and on they pressed, right up to the parapets. Several Turks bravely jumped into our trenches and were killed. They certainly were game. Around Pope's, too, they threw wave after wave, which faded away under the hail of lead. On the Nek we had constructed several trenches, which were not yet joined up. Down between these new trenches came the enemy, only to be assailed with a cross-fire which almost annihilated the attack. Further to the left, General Russell had an excellent secret sap--a trench with no parapet to advertise its existence. Working round our left flank, the enemy blundered into this concealed trench, and lost over 250 men. Nowhere was the line broken, and the attack melted away. [Illustration: A CROSS-EXAMINATION. The officer on the left of the group is Capt. the Hon. Aubrey Herbert, M.P., our divisional interpreter; the one with his back to us is Colonel G. J. Johnston, the C.R.A. of the Division, an officer loved by his subordinates for his fairness and his enthusiasm for the guns.] What a sight No Man's Land presented that morning of June 30! The majority of the three fresh battalions of Turkish troops lay dead or wounded out there in the open; and of the dead men on the parapets, each had a rough haversack filled with dates and olives, the ever-present Turkish tobacco, and filled water-bottles. The prisoners taken said that their orders were to break the line at all costs. Enver Pasha himself was reported to be present, but prisoners' statements in matters of this kind are always open to doubt, as there is a certain amount of temptation to answer in a manner calculated to please the interrogating interpreter. This was the last attempt the enemy made to break the Anzac line. The Soldier and His Clothes. Two factors worked a change in the Army's clothing. The first was the Turk. His snipers picked out anyone wearing distinctions, with the result that officers cut off their conspicuous badges of rank and sewed small worsted stars or crowns on the shoulder-straps; otherwise, ranks were indicated on the shoulders of the shirts by indelible ink pencil. The N.C.O.'s and men took off their metal badges, the ink pencil being again in request to draw the badge and unit indications on the cap. The heat was responsible for other modifications. Tunics were the first to go, and bit by bit the soldier shed his garments until he stood only in his boots, his shortened trousers, a shirt, and a cap. Riding breeches, cut well above the knee, made a most roomy pair of shorts. While no two men wore their trousers the same length, each one seemed to pride himself on having the ends as raggedly and unevenly cut as possible. The hot sun burned the exposed parts of the body a rich brown; so, when men went in bathing, it was easy to deduce by the amount of white skin exactly what garments had been preserved. On brown backs it was amusing to see a white V, testimony that the soldier still sported a pair of braces! [Illustration: DUGOUTS ON WELLINGTON TERRACE.] For some unknown reason, slouch hats, which would have been invaluable were left behind at the base. Many of the Mounted Rifles arrived with the brims of their felt hats cut off, leaving only a little peak fore and aft, like the old-time policeman's shako. New Zealanders were forbidden to wear helmets in Egypt, but the soldier of understanding smuggled his away with him, and a very proud man he was who sported one on the Peninsula. The sailor men were very keen on getting slouch hats; many a bearded face was shaded by the broad brim of a Colonial hat. If there was one thing the soldier had enough of, and to spare, it was socks. The good people at home put a pair into every parcel. The Ordnance issued them as well. It is hard to say what socks were not used for. The soldier who wrote, "Thanks for the socks--they will come in useful," doubtless spoke the truth. Some things the men always craved for. Good Virginian tobacco and cigarettes were always welcome--the ration was of very inferior quality; sweets were always in great demand; owing to living under such primitive conditions, most watches went wrong, and were very difficult to replace; a "salt water soap" that would lather in salt water was looked for almost in vain; while tinned milk was worth any trouble and risk to procure. These were the days before the Y.M.C.A. made its welcome appearance. About this time the Intelligence Department discovered that the Turk might use gas, so primitive gas helmets were procured from England. Woe betide any luckless soldier caught without his respirator. It is not suggested that the Turk was too humane to use gas, but luckily the masks were never needed, principally because the ground was so broken, and the "prevailing" winds could not be depended on. As our front line was so closely involved with that of the enemy, the enemy certainly would have received a fair share of the poisonous fumes intended for the infidels. CHAPTER XIII. The Preparations in July. The decisive repulses in June made the Turk very chary of attacking. On our side it was evident that the forces at the disposal of Sir Ian Hamilton were not sufficient to win through. After months of desperate attack and dogged defence the month of July saw the enemy still holding the high ground at Helles and Anzac. At Anzac there was a cheery optimism. Everyone was satisfied that with reasonable reinforcements we would win through to the Narrows. [Illustration: THE BARRICADE IN THE BIG SAP.] By now the front-line trenches were secure and the units settled down to the routine of trench warfare. Troops holding the line have a good deal of time in which to talk and think. One of the most dreadful phases of soldiering is the monotony. It is then that the soldier becomes "fed up." Men at these times will growl and argue about anything. Three debatable subjects never lost their attractiveness--oysters, medals, and the horizon. The oyster question raged furiously. Perhaps the Turkish shells suggested it; perhaps the soldier was thinking of what he would eat when he got home again; but, with an Aucklander present, it was never safe to say that Stewart Island oysters were the finest in the sea. The medal question was a perennial one. What medals would be struck for the war? Would there be a different one for the different campaigns--France, West Africa, Gallipoli, and all other theatres? Would the clasps be names of actions or only dates? It was persistently rumoured that the new Sultan of Egypt would give a medal to each of the troops who lined the Cairo streets on his coronation day. The Sultan supplied the answer to this by dying before his alleged promise could be fulfilled. The great line of transports and warships stretching from Cape Suvla down to Tenedos suggested the horizon. What was the horizon? There seemed to be no end of definitions, all of which could be traversed by learned persons present. Some ships would be hull down and some with only the masts and smoke showing. This raised the question as to whether one could see past the horizon, a suggestion scouted by the majority of the debating society, but warmly applauded by an enthusiastic minority. [Illustration: [_Photo by F. H. Dawn_ SOLDIERS BATHING IN ANZAC COVE.] [Illustration: SUNSET FROM ARI BURNU.] Late in the afternoon, when the little groups assembled behind the firing line to prepare the evening meal, men would talk of their favourite foods, and speculate as to where the first big meal would be eaten when the great work was complete. Smoking the ration cigarette after tea, the New Zealander would watch the sun set behind the rose-tinted peaks of Samothrace and would picture again the sunset in his own beloved country, would hear the water tumbling and splashing in the creek, would see the sheep and horses cropping the sweet green grass of Maoriland--when "Whizz! crash!" would come the Turkish gunners' evening hate. Back with a start would the soldier come to the shells, the heat, the stench of chloride of lime, and the steadily increasing rows of little crosses on the hillside. Units not engaged in the front line were officially "resting" in Rest Gully. Paradoxically, it was an accident if one got an hour's respite there! In civil life, where labour is expensive and difficult to obtain, all means of labour-saving devices are available to do laborious work. Near the firing line there is no room or concealment for these cumbrous instruments. On the other hand, labour is plentiful. So it happens that a multiplicity of men, with primitive picks and shovels, are available for any necessary work. On the Peninsula a spell of "rest" inevitably meant being detailed for a working party. The Amenities of Anzac. The noise of battle frightened away all the little song birds that had so charmed us in the spring. But there was always something of interest. The common tortoise of Europe--with a hard shell about 12 inches long--loving a quiet place shaded from the sun, crept into our dugouts during the night, so that in addition to having nocturnal visitors who caused a certain amount of irritation and annoyance, we had these larger "Pilgrims of the Night" to create a little amusement, for there is something comical about these prehistoric, rubber-necked shell-backs. The fact that a tortoise is something like a turtle also appealed not a little to the company cook, who may be a lover of the antique, but not to such a degree that the tortoise might notice it! Out on the Suvla Flats, red foxes played in the sun with their cubs. On the prickly scrub, the little praying mantis held up her supplicating green hands and prayed as if we were all far past redemption. [Illustration: [_Photo lent by the Otago Women's Association_ OFFICERS OF THE OTAGO MOUNTED RIFLES. The officer drinking from the mess tin is Lt.-Col. Grigor, D.S.O., who commanded "C" parties of the N.Z.M.R. Brigade at the evacuation. Behind him is Colonel Bauchop, C.M.G., the commander of the outposts. ] During July the shelling seemed to increase in intensity. Perhaps it was that the Turk had more information about our dispositions and shifted his guns a little further round on the flanks to enfilade the beach. Dugouts that had previously been considered safe now had shrapnel coming in the front doors, which is disconcerting, to say the least of it. But the New Zealander, ever adaptable, drove his little dugout into the hillside at a safer angle and cheered the little trawlers as they slipped their anchors and zigzagged out of range. Early in the morning two big shells came over in pairs and dropped out to sea among the shipping. Rumour had it that they came from the "Goeben," anchored in the Straits. They certainly caused magnificent twin geysers as they plopped into the Ægean, but never once did any damage materialize. Because of their early morning regularity these guns were christened "Christians Awake." The shells really came from an old battleship, the "Hairredin Barbarossa," anchored in the Narrows between Maidos and Chanak. She had three pairs of 11in. guns, with which she carried out her early morning bombardments. Built by the Germans, she was sold to the Turks in 1910, and finally was submarined by a British submarine on August 8, the day the New Zealand Infantry Brigade dashed up to the crest of Chunuk Bair. The most deadly gun was one (or a battery of them) fired from the Olive Groves away inland from Gaba Tepe. As this gun enfiladed the beach, it became widely known as "Beachy Bill." He it was who interfered mostly with the landing of stores, and worse still, the bathing. A long range gun firing from the other flank and emplaced in the "W" Hills, was known as "Anafarta Annie." Not many of our guns had names, but the mounted regiments on Walker's Ridge appropriately dubbed an Indian mountain gun "Rumbling Rufus." During daylight the beach at Anzac Cove was practically deserted. "Beachy Bill" and his helpers attended to that. But when night came the hive buzzed and hummed. Picket boats brought in their barges, and the beach parties attacked the cargoes of stores and transferred them to the A.S.C. depots close at hand. Long convoys of pack mules and the little two-wheeled mule carts pulled in to the stores and the water-tanks, and started their adventurous journeys to the right and left flanks, and up the tortuous way to Monash Gully. The Turk had the range to a nicety, and knew quite well that if he dropped a few shells along the beach and on the communications some damage must be done. The marvel is he did not fire more. While the firing lasted the place was like Inferno, for in the darkness the shells could be seen red-hot overhead. The flash of the explosions would light up the busy scene--Indian drivers and their terrified mules inextricably mixed up with the piles of stores and water tins; mules braying and squealing, with the patient drivers striving to quieten them; the shells shrieking through the air; while the thunderous detonations punctuated the rhythmic lapping of the waves upon the beach, the moans of the wounded, and the insistent cries of "Stretcher bearer." Reinforcements Promised. After the unsuccessful attack on Krithia early in May, Sir Ian Hamilton cabled Home for two more Army Corps, pointing out that apparently we were to be left to our own resources in the campaign; the Greeks had decided not to move at all, and the Russians had been so punished by the Austro-Germans as to give up all hope of moving against Constantinople from the Black Sea. The General, in his Third Despatch to the Secretary of State for War, goes on to say:--"During June your Lordship became persuaded of the bearing of these facts, and I was promised three regular divisions, plus the infantry of two territorial divisions. The advance guard of these troops was due to reach Mudros by July 10; by August 10 their concentration was to be complete." Now let us see what troops are available for a new trial of strength with the Turk. The following troops were already on the Peninsula:-- AT HELLES: {1st Division The French Army Corps {2nd Division {29th Division (Regular Army) {42nd (East Lanes.) Division The 8th Army Corps {(Territorials) {52nd (Lowland) Division {(Territorials) General Headquarters Troops {Royal Naval Division AT ANZAC: {1st Australian Division The A. & N.Z. Army Corps {N.Z. & Australian Division NEW TROOPS PROMISED FOR AN OFFENSIVE: {10th (Irish) Division The 9th Army Corps {11th (Northern) Division {13th (Western) Division {53rd (Welsh) Division The Infantry Brigade only of {54th (East Anglian) Division All of the troops--owing to the demands of the French front--were woefully deficient in artillery. The 9th Army Corps were part of the New Army--generally known as Kitchener's Army--and, of course, had not seen service. The infantry of the 53rd and 54th Divisions were of the Territorial Force, and likewise were inexperienced in war. These were the troops it was determined to lead against seasoned soldiers--inured to hardship and fighting for their native soil--the veterans of the Turkish Regular Army. But when and where should these reinforcements be used? [Illustration: [_Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.B._ HEADQUARTERS SIGNAL OFFICE. Signallers, telephonists, and linesmen risk their lives day and night sending and carrying messages and repairing wires. Snipers watch the wire and pick off the linesmen. It is significant that the only New Zealand V.C. awarded during the campaign went to a signaller.] The time was easily settled. In war, as in many other things, there is no time like the present. The summer was well advanced; the scored hillsides gave every indication of torrential autumn and winter rains; the naval staff knew that winter storms would seriously hamper their work. But the last troops could not arrive until early in August. As darkness was essential to any surprise attack, it was necessary to carefully study the phases of the moon. It was decided that as soon as the 53rd and 54th Divisions reached the scene of operations they would be kept on their ships as a general reserve. The weather, the moon, and the anticipated arrival of these reinforcements determined August 6 as the latest date for the commencement of the operations, for by the end of the second week the moon would be unfavourable So far, we knew what troops were available, when they would arrive, and the most desirable time to use them. Next, we must examine the proposals as to where they should be used to gain the greatest advantage. Where should the Troops be Used? In his classical Third Despatch, General Sir Ian Hamilton has clearly shown the different suggestions for employing the new troops. They were resolved into four practicable schemes, which may be summarized as follows:-- (1) Every man to be thrown on to the Helles sector to force a way forward to the Narrows. This was rejected because it was difficult to deploy a large body of troops in such a confined area. Further, the whole of Krithia and Achi Baba had been specially prepared against such a frontal attack. (2) Embarkation on the Asiatic side of the Straits, followed by a march on Chanak. The number of troops available was not considered sufficient to press this to a victorious conclusion. (3) A landing at Enos or Ibriji for the purpose of seizing the Isthmus of Bulair. Against this project it was known that the Turkish lines of communication were not only by way of Bulair and down the Narrows, but also by way of the Asiatic coast across from Chanak to Kilid Bahr. The naval objections to Bulair were overwhelming: the beaches were bad, and, worse still, the strain on sea transport would be tremendous. We know how difficult it was at Anzac, but a new base at Bulair would add another fifty miles to the sea communications, already threatened by enemy submarines. (4) Reinforcement of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps combined with a new landing at Suvla Bay. There was a reasonable chance of success in first winning Hill 971, then across the low ground to Maidos. From thence both the Turkish land and sea communication might be cut. This plan was also acceptable to the naval authorities. The distance to Suvla Bay was approximately the same as to Anzac. There was also a tolerably good harbour that might be made submarine proof. The water supply would be difficult, but it was reasoned that efficient organization would mitigate this evil; in any case, it was known that this area was not so heavily entrenched as the other three suggested landing places. The total allied force was known to be inferior to the enemy, but it was thought that with skilful generalship this superiority might be nullified. The aim of strategy is to concentrate a superior force at the decisive point. The advantage is always with the attacker, as the side attacked must be in sufficient strength all along the line and must keep sufficient reserves in hand until the enemy's real attack definitely materializes. Wherever Turkish troops were stationed in large numbers it was necessary to arrange feint attacks--away on the flanks opposite Mitylene on the Asiatic coast, and away up at Bulair. Holding attacks to keep the enemy pinned down in their areas were to be carried out at Helles and at No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3 Defence Sections at Anzac. Having induced the enemy to become committed all along the general line, it was intended to burst out from the left flank of Anzac, at the same time land new troops at Suvla--the whole to push on towards Chunuk Bair, Hill Q, and Hill 971. These heights in our hands the fall of Maidos, Gaba Tepe, and eventually Kilid Bahr was only a matter of time. The strategical and tactical situation may be easier grasped diagrammatically:-- [Illustration: _TURKISH RESERVES_] The general idea was that at Bulair and Mitylene enemy forces would be immobilized, and that the Turkish reserves on the Peninsula would flow towards Helles and the right of Anzac. As soon as these reserves were committed the troops of Anzac and Suvla would press towards Hill 971 and turn the Turkish flank. In anticipation of this advance, a party of selected officers and scouts lived day and night out on the Suvla Flats and in the Turkish territory on the Sari Bair. These were the men who were selected to guide the troops over the new ground to be attacked. Two other important works were put in hand at once in the Anzac area; the first, to widen the long communication trench from Anzac to the outposts; the second, to make a road available for wheeled traffic along the beach. In order not to make the enemy suspicious, this had to be done after dark, as the entire area was under the observation and rifle fire of the enemy on the heights. Making the Beach Road. Night after night the troops who were "resting" crept with their picks and shovels along the beach, to make the necessary road. This after-dark activity is most trying--each man working as silently as possible with his rifle at his elbow. Any noise is a magnet certain to attract machine-gun fire. Even in daylight it takes careful management to collect working parties and the necessary transport at the right spot, but in the darkness and in a region where enemy scouts and snipers roamed as soon as daylight failed, the difficulties were increased a hundredfold. Sand makes a poor road. To get a reasonable result it was necessary to collect the big stones of the seashore and carry them to the shore edge of the beach and place them as a foundation; on the top of this, clay was deposited--carted from the hillside near by in the mule carts of the Indian transport service; the whole was top-dressed by the sand of the beach, and finally, the hard-worked soldiers carried petrol tins of water from the sea and poured it over the surface to make the material set. So, harassed by the splutter of machine guns night after night, and weakened by the heat of the day, the faithful souls of the working parties steadily carried the road from Anzac Cove along North Beach towards the Suvla Flats. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ THE "BIG SAP" NEAR FISHERMEN'S HUT. This view is looking back towards Walker's Ridge and was taken before the sap was widened to 5 feet.] Working on the Big Sap. To get troops quickly and secretly from Anzac to the outposts and to the foot of the deres up which the assaulting columns must approach the Turk, it was necessary to widen the communication trench known as the "Big Sap." This trench had been evolved as the outposts were established, and at many places could be enfiladed by the enemy on the heights; and nowhere was it wide enough to take troops two abreast. The pack mules used it by day, and though the soldier cared little for Turkish shells, he lived in fear of the donkey's steel-shod hoofs; it was no uncommon sight to see the soldier, disbelieving the warning "No kick! No kick!" of the Indian muleteer, climb out of the trench and risk a bullet rather than encounter a transport mule. Partly the way was through the sandhills--here the necessary width of 5 feet was easy to attain; but in the harder clay, the pioneer working parties had been content to make a narrow slit, leaving the hardest work still to do. All through July the men of No. 4 Defence Section toiled at their herculean task--the Australian Infantry of the 4th Brigade, the N.Z. Mounted Rifles and Australian Light Horse from Walker's Ridge, and best workers of all, the Maori Contingent from No. 1 Post. [Illustration: THE MAORI AT ANZAC. A convential figure carved in the clay wall of the Big Sap. The telegraph linesmen of the Signal Troop have condescended to drop their wire a little to avoid the figure.] Man is naturally a lazy animal. When men work hard, there is always some incentive. The Maori soldier, picked man that he was, wished to justify before the world that his claim to be a front-line soldier was not an idle one. Many a proud rangitira served his country in the ranks, an example to some of his Pakeha brothers. Their discipline was superb and when their turn came for working party, the long-handled shovels swung without ceasing until, just before the dawn, the signal came to pack up and get home. Where the trench was liable to enfilade fire, its direction was altered, and here and there overhead protection was built with some of the precious timber and sandbags. At every few hundred yards a recess was cut to enable troops to stand aside while mule trains or passing troops moved up or down. Leaving nothing to chance, infantry parties, two abreast, marched through the trench from end to end to ensure that nowhere would there be a check. [Illustration: [_Lent by Rev. Wainohu, C.F._ WITH THE MAORIS AT NO. 1 POST.] Now these communications were complete, and July came and went, and still there was no big attack. But vast quantities of ammunition, and piles of peculiar foodstuffs that signified Indian troops to the initiated, showed that something was in the offing. With August, the transfer of the new English troops from the neighbouring islands commenced. Before this could happen the soldiers of Anzac were called on to do one more big digging task--dugouts and shelters had to be made, and terraces formed on the already crowded hillsides, in order that the large bodies of new troops might be hidden from the enemy aeroplane observers. For the first nights of August our men worked feverishly at the terraces. Hope ran high, for here at hand was the help so long and earnestly prayed for. During the nights of August 3, 4, and 5, the beach masters and military landing officers disembarked the New Army troops intended for Anzac. After the tiresome monotony of three months' dogged holding on, months of incessant picking and shovelling, months of weakening dysentery, plagues of flies, and a burning sun, the men of the New Armies and of India were arriving, and a great blow would be struck. Sick men refused to attend sick parade in the mornings, and in the hospitals, and on the Red Cross barges, proud men wept because they were too weak to strike a blow. CHAPTER XIV. The Battle of Sari Bair. PART I. The Preliminaries. The great battle, apart from the feint attacks away at Bulair and Mitylene, was to comprise four distinct operations, all closely dependent one on the other. 1. An attack in force at Cape Helles on the afternoon of August 6. This would tend to commit Turkish reserves to an action far away from Anzac. 2. The Australian Division, holding the line from Chatham's Post to Russell's Top, was to make several attacks on the afternoon of August 6. These would serve to immobilize or distract the enemy reserves known to be concentrated at Koja Dere, behind Mortar Ridge, and at Battleship Hill. 3. A great assault by the N.Z. and Australian Division, assisted by the newly-arrived 13th Division and a brigade of Indian troops, advancing up the three deres that lead to the peak of the Sari Bair--up the Sazli Beit and the Chailak to Chunuk Bair, and up the Aghyl towards Hill Q and Koja Chemen Tepe. 4. A new landing at Suvla Bay by the 9th Army Corps, which would pass over the Suvla Flats early on the morning of August 7, and linking up with the left flank of the army from Anzac, would press up towards the height of Koja Chemen Tepe, to prolong the line towards the Anafarta villages. The Struggle at Helles. After a preliminary bombardment on the afternoon of the 6th, the infantry at Cape Helles dashed to the assault of the Turkish trenches at 3.50. Thus was the greatest battle in the Gallipoli campaign commenced by the men of Helles. The bloody and stubborn combat lasted a full week, the Turks attacking and counter-attacking with two fresh divisions. The East Lancashire Division, assisted by the war-worn 29th Division, clung tenaciously to ground they had won--in particular, a small area of vineyard about 200 yards long and 100 broad, on the west of the Krithia Road. So fierce was the fighting for this small piece of cultivated land that this week-long battle is always referred to as "The Battle of the Vineyard." The object of this attack was fully achieved. No Turkish soldier could leave for Anzac or Suvla while this blow was being threatened at Achi Baba. [Illustration: [_Lent by Col. Falla, C.M.G., D.S.O._ ANZAC COVE EARLY IN AUGUST, 1915.] The Battle of Lone Pine. Let us pass from the tragic vineyards of the south to the hungry hills of Anzac. During the afternoon of August 6, the slow bombardment of the enemy's left and centre was increased in intensity. The 1st Battery of New Zealand Field Artillery, firing from Russell's Top, was detailed to cut the wire in front of the Turkish Lone Pine trenches. The "Bacchante" searched the valleys which were believed to contain the enemy's reserves, while the monitors engaged the batteries at the back of Gaba Tepe and at the Olive Groves. This bombardment was intended to make the Turk believe that at last a determined effort was to be made from the Anzac right in the direction of Koja Dere and Maidos. The enemy felt that this was the heart thrust, and he waited in his well-placed cover for the inevitable assault. At 4.30 p.m., the New Zealand battery concentrated again on the Lone Pine trench, and the 1st Australian Infantry Brigade mustered in Brown's Dip ready for the assault. Those awful hours of waiting! Platoon commanders fidgeting with their wristlet watches that seem to tick off the minutes so slowly. Men smoke cigarette after cigarette, and talk in undertones. At last the word comes, "Get ready." Everywhere men crowd on to the firestep. "Over the top!" Men pull themselves up over the parapet and, regaining their feet, rush for the opposing parapet with its angry spurts of flame. Across that bullet-swept No Man's Land race the impetuous men of Australia. Line after line sweeps on, but not to fall into an open fire trench on to the foe. These trenches are roofed with timber, which has to be torn up. A merciless machine-gun fire mows down the attackers. Some run round the back, get into the communication trenches and fight their way into the underground fort. So, with hand-grenade and bayonet, the 1st Australian Infantry Brigade overpower the stubborn Turks within the fortress. With the cry of "Allah! Allah!" reinforcements arrive for the enemy. The weary victors again repel the foe. Night brings no peace. But the captors of Lone Pine fight on, for they know full well that by their vicarious sacrifice they have pinned down all the Turkish reserves on the Ari Burnu front, and have left a minimum of the enemy to resist the Anzac and Suvla thrust for the peaks of Sari Bair. Against German Officers' Trench. The attack at Lone Pine drew many Turkish reserves to Anzac. Everywhere the enemy was on the alert. What wonder, then, that the occupants of German Officers' Trench were ready for the 6th Australians? At 11 o'clock on the night of the 6th, mines were exploded at the end of the trench nearest the Turk. At about midnight, the artillery momentarily ceased, and the Australian infantrymen crept from the end of their tunnelled communications which had been constructed under No Man's Land. The first and second waves of men were mown down almost to a man. The attack on trenches defended with scientifically-manned machine guns was almost a forlorn hope. The Glory of the Australian Light Horse. At Quinn's, Pope's, and Russell's Top the line was held by the Australian Light Horse. In common with their brothers of the infantry, attacks from these places were to be made. Units of the 3rd Light Horse Brigade were holding Quinn's. From here, two hundred men in four lines of fifty each were to dash across No Man's Land in an endeavour to simulate a determined attack. Most of these gallant troopers died on the parapet from a hail of machine-gun fire. From Pope's it was determined to attack Dead Man's Ridge. This effort was at first a little more successful. Three trenches were occupied, but after about two hours' desperate fighting our men ran short of bombs, and tried to withdraw, losing heavily during the operation. The attack from "The Nek" was as glorious, as tragic, and, alas! as unsuccessful as from Quinn's. In the first line there were 150 men of the 8th Light Horse Regiment. When the artillery stopped, about 4.25 a.m., the Turk commenced a barrage of machine-gun fire. The Victorians clambered up on their firesteps, and at the word dashed into the awful storm of lead. Down went the whole line. But the second line, with a few scaling ladders, was ready to go over the top. Out they sped to certain death. The scaling ladders lay forlornly out on the fatal "Nek." The third line--150 men of the 10th Light Horse--followed and shared the fate of their comrades. The fourth line was stopped. Out of 450 men who started there were 435 casualties! Turkish prisoners stated that they never lost one man! Surely in military history there is no more splendid record of sacrifice than was enacted that fatal morning at Quinn's Post and Russell's Top. But the Australian effort from the right and centre of the Anzac line had borne fruit, for at Rhododendron and on the Asma Dere, New Zealanders and other Australians were advancing to the stronghold of the Turk. Down at Suvla a great British landing was proceeding almost unopposed. Part II. The Anzac Thrust for "971." The attack from the left of Anzac was perhaps one of the most complicated in history. The huge sprawling mass of the Sari Bair system was broken by a multiplicity of water-courses, the sides of which were often sheer cliffs, scored and fissured by torrential winter rains. The only possible means of approaching the peaks was by way of these water-courses. Now, it is a well-known military axiom that troops cannot pass safely through a defile until the heights are made secure; it was also known that no troops could push up through two and a half miles of these savage, scrub-covered hills and be fit to fight a battle with a fresh, determined foe at the top. So the work had to be mapped out in stages. [Illustration: A SKETCH MAP TO ILLUSTRATE THE BATTLE OF SARI BAIR. The area represented is about 5,400 yards by 3,000 yards. The distance from the mouth of the Sazli Beit Dere to the Apex is approximately 2,300 yards; and about 3,700 yards to the top of Hill 971.] Soldiers know that with more than one body of troops operating there is always a risk of someone being late. In night operations this risk is intensified. Further, it is very difficult to fit in what the staff officers call their "time and space problem." The men could not all go up one gully. They would arrive at the top a few men at a time, and could not attack on a broad enough front, but only at one point. So it was arranged that the force under the command of Major-General Godley should be divided into four columns--two to break the line and open up the lower parts of the deres; the other two following shortly after, and proceeding up the three main deres, pass through the covering forces to the assault of Chunuk Bair, Hill Q, and Koja Chemen Tepe. During the nights of August 3, 4, and 5, the New Army troops were landed at Anzac, marched along the "Big Sap" to their prepared bivouacs on the hillside, and remained under cover until the eventful night. The 29th Indian Brigade, consisting of one Sikh and three Ghurka regiments, also arrived and went to their allotted place on the left. This made available:- The N.Z. and Australian Division (less the Australian Light Horse), who were at Quinn's, Pope's, Russell's Top, and Walker's Ridge. The 13th (New Army) Division (less five battalions). The 29th Indian Infantry Brigade; and The Indian Mountain Artillery Brigade. The Organization of General Godley's Army. Right Covering Force--(Brigadier-General A. H. Russell): New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade; Otago Mounted Rifles Regiment; Maori Contingent; Field Troop, N.Z. Engineers. The task assigned to this force was to clear the lower ridges of the Sari Bair system, seizing the Turkish posts known as Old No. 3 Post, Big Table Top, and Bauchop's Hill. The advance was to commence from No. 2 and No. 3 Posts at 9 p.m. on August 6, a movement which would enable the right assaulting column to get within striking distance of Chunuk Bair with a minimum of fatigue. Left Covering Force--(Brigadier-General J. H. Travers): 4th Battalion South Wales Borderers; 5th Battalion Wiltshire Regiment; Half 72nd Field Company. Composed entirely of units from the 13th (New Army) Division, this column was to march northwards along the flat ground; then strike inland and seize Damakjelik Bair. This force would be able to hold out a helping hand to the new army landing at Suvla, and would also protect the left flank of the left assaulting column moving up the Aghyl Dere. Right Assaulting Column--(Brig.-General F. E. Johnston): New Zealand Infantry Brigade; Indian Mountain Battery (less 1 Section); 1st Field Company, N.Z. Engineers. This column was to move up the Sazli Beit Dere and the Chailak Dere, commencing to move up these gullies at 10.30 p.m. Having cleared Rhododendron Spur, an attack was to be made on Chunuk Bair, eventually holding a line from Chunuk Bair to the head of Kur Dere, behind Hill Q. Left Assaulting Column--(Brigadier-General H. V. Cox): 29th Indian Infantry Brigade; 4th Australian Infantry Brigade; Indian Mountain Battery (less 1 Section); and the 2nd Field Company, N.Z. Engineers. The leading troops of this column were to cross the mouth of the Chailak Dere at 10.30 p.m. towards Walden's Point and up the Aghyl Dere, pass through the left covering force, assault Koja Chemen Tepe, and occupy a line from Koja Chemen Tepe to the head of Kur Dere, thus joining up with the right assaulting column. Divisional Reserve: 6th Battalion South Lancashire Regiment } at the 8th Battalion Welsh Regiment (Pioneers) } Chailak Dere; 39th Infantry Brigade } at the Half 72nd Field Company } Aghyl Dere. The troops were ordered to be at the foot of the valley mentioned at 1 a.m. on the morning of August 7, to be used at the discretion of the General Officer Commanding. For artillery support, in addition to the divisional artillery already in position, there were two squadrons of H.M. Navy: (a) A southern squadron of five vessels, stationed off Gaba Tepe, detailed to fire at Chunuk Bair and the plateau on which Lone Pine was situated, and (b) A northern squadron of two monitors and two destroyers, which were to engage targets on the northern and western slopes of Sari Bair. The entire expedition was woefully deficient in heavy guns. Heavy howitzers, for searching reverse slopes, were desperately needed. A pathetic entry in General Godley's "Order of Battle" is, "Corps artillery: one 6in. howitzer!" Once again the men of Anzac were asked to do with their bayonets and rifles what should have been done with heavy guns. The Night of August 6. We must now look at the scene near No. 2 and 3 Posts. At Helles and Lone Pine the battles were raging. Turkish reserves were being called up in both places. So far everything was going well. With the fall of darkness the four Anzac columns began to prepare for their arduous night march and assault. Everybody was to travel light. Kits and tunics were discarded. In short sleeves and web equipment, with a rifle and fixed bayonet, the men may not have looked uniform, but they were animated with a spirit that would dare anything. Just before dark men sewed white patches on their backs and on their sleeves, so as to indicate in the gloom who was friend and who was foe. Officers spoke to their men. The principal injunction was to press on up the hill. If any man lost touch, he was to join the nearest party and go resolutely on. The Right Covering Force. The four regiments of New Zealand Mounted Rifles were the first to move. It was their duty to break the Turkish line for the infantry brigades. At 9.30 p.m. they were to move out from the shelter of No. 2 and No. 3. The Wellington Mounted Rifles were to take Destroyer Hill and then Table Top. The Auckland Mounted Rifles were to take Old No. 3 Post, while the Otagos by way of Wilson's Knob, and the Canterburys by way of Taylor's Hollow and Walden's Point, were to clean up the lower ridges and capture Bauchop's Hill. This should give us the line, Destroyer Hill--Table Top--Bauchop's Hill, and open up the Sazli Beit, the Chailak and the Aghyl Deres for the infantry. The Capture of Old No. 3. Old No. 3 Post was that high piece of ground taken and abandoned at the end of May. Falling down towards the sea, it resolved itself into two lower spurs, on which were our No. 2 and new No. 3 Posts. [Illustration: [_Lent by Lieut. Moritzson, M.C., M.M., N.Z.E._ ROUGH COUNTRY. Calculated to throw any troops out of direction.] Every night, as soon as it was dark, the destroyer "Colne" stood in and went through the performance of throwing her searchlight on the heavily fortified slopes of Old No. 3, and commenced a half-hour's bombardment. The light guns of the destroyer did not cause much material damage to the carefully constructed overhead cover; but it became the custom for part of the garrison to leave their trenches and retire to their dugouts in the rear of the post on the southern banks of the Chailak Dere. Now, a searchlight beam, while it illumines everything in its path, makes the surrounding darkness appear blacker and even more intensified. As the bombardment continued, the Auckland Mounted Rifles crept up the Sazli Beit Dere. In fifteen minutes the party was lying quietly at the foot of the fortress. Squadron commanders got their final instructions, and a small party of strong men, picked for their skilled work with the bayonet, crept up through the scrub towards the crest. Led by a scout, this party dodged from bush to bush until they came to a sentry post of the enemy. Silently closing in from every side, the four New Zealanders sprang upon the sentries and overpowered them. "Crack!" went a rifle. One sentry had discharged his rifle harmlessly in the air as a New Zealand bayonet did its deadly work. So far we had no casualites. Up on the crest the destroyer's shells were crashing into the barbed wire and the heavy wooden beams of the overhead cover. In a few minutes the attacking party was lying all round the crest on the southern side. Presently the guns stopped, and the searchlight faded away. This was the signal! The Aucklanders rose and, spreading fanwise, went straight for the post. Into the covered trenches dived the Mounted Riflemen. The garrison fought gamely enough, but there could only be one end to it. The main body of the garrison came pouring back from their reserve trenches towards the post; but, caught in the open, they were no match for the men from Auckland. In a short time the whole work was completely in our hands. There was now time to closely examine the post. The trenches were roofed, just like those of Lone Pine, with heavy baulks of 8 x 3 sawn timber covered with sand bags. The guns on the destroyer had made no material impression on this cover, as shells striking it had glanced off and buried themselves uphill. In the front trenches was discovered a dugout with a complete equipment for electrically firing the 28 small square iron mines placed in front of the posts. Without the destroyer ruse and the quick, clean work of the attackers, the casualties would have been very heavy; as it was, we had only twenty casualties, while close on one hundred Turks lay dead within the Post and in its neighbourhood. The Auckland Mounted Rifles had signally avenged the Mounted Brigade losses at the end of May. The Capture of Table Top. Following on the heels of the Auckland Mounted Rifles up the Sazli Beit Dere, the Wellington Regiment silently cleaned up Destroyer Hill. As the Auckland Mounted men were stealing on Old No. 3, their comrades of the Wellington Mounteds were creeping up the Chailak Dere towards Table Top. Silently up the gully went the mounted men, the 6th Squadron leading. The 2nd Squadron was to take Table Top itself, and the 9th was to hold it afterwards. The first objective was Destroyer Hill. It was quite dark, and difficult to see the way, but these gullies had been well reconnoitred by the scouts, and the column pressed on, dragging their telephone wire with them. After resting for a minute, the front line crept round a corner and came under heavy rifle fire. The leaders dashed straight at the flashes of rifle fire twenty yards away. Major Dick at the head of his men cried out "Come on, boys" when down he fell. But enough surged forward to overwhelm the party of Turks guarding the communication trench. This was really a very strenuous piece of work, for from Table Top on one side, and Baby 700 on the other, communications ran down to Destroyer Hill. As fast as the enemy here was overpowered, more Turks crowded down to be dealt with. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Janson. W.M.R._ THE PATH TO VICTORY. The Wellington Mounteds crept up this dere and advanced up the spur from where the cross is shown.] The troopers took up a position above a well-defined track and picked off the enemy as they came along it. Presently a line of men came in single file down the ridge. They were to pass just above the anxious little group of mounted riflemen who were painfully conscious of their bright white patches. Were they our men, or were they Turks? By their chattering it was discovered they were a party of a hundred Turks on surrender bent. To the relief of the 6th Squadron, they filed past to our rear talking and laughing. Meanwhile the squadron told off to assault Table Top stole quietly up to the head of the gully. With rifles spluttering in the scrub and bullets moaning on their flight out to sea, the Wellingtons scaled the steep clay sides of Table Top and went straight for the Turks. The fight did not last long. Up came the 9th and made the position secure. By his boldness and impetuosity the New Zealand Mounted man had again outclassed the enemy. The path taken was the secret of success. The 6th Squadron who had taken the first trench came at Table Top from the front, and it took them over half an hour's hard climbing--cutting steps in the clay with bayonets--to reach the top. Foresight and ingenuity, boldness and determination were alike combined in these first successful captures. A platoon of Maoris led by a Wellington officer also crept quietly up the Chailak Dere in order to get round the back of Table Top to co-operate with the Wellingtons. In the gully between Bauchop's Hill and Old No. 3 a party of Turks fired on the Maoris, who saw red and slew the Turks to a man. Chasing the enemy up the gully, the Maoris never stopped until they were round the back of Table Top, and were only with great difficulty restrained from tackling Sari Bair by themselves! Bauchop's Hill. The Otago and the Canterbury Mounted Regiments were to move off from No. 3 Post, traverse the flat ground to the northward, wheel to the right, and work up towards the high ground of Bauchop's Hill. Lying in the low ground from about 9 o'clock, the South Islanders saw the white beam of the searchlight on the scrub and heard the scream of the destroyer's shells. At 9.30 the searchlight went black out. The men rose quietly--this was the signal for which they had been waiting. The Otagos wheeled to the right toward the trenches on Wilson's Knob--trenches they had lain opposite and observed with periscopes the last two months of waiting. Spurts of rifle fire ran round the scrub above Taylor's Hollow and on Walden's Point. Pushing up the Chailak Dere, the other squadrons of the Otagos came to the heavy barbed-wire entanglements stretching right across the dere and enfiladed by fire trenches on the spur. There was nothing to be done but tear the obstruction away. A section of the Field Troop of New Zealand Engineers, gallantly led by their subaltern, attacked the wire with great determination and, after sustaining many casualties, succeeded in opening the dere to the Otagos and Maoris who pressed on up the gully towards their objective. [Illustration: LITTLE TABLE TOP. Little Table Top was of little military importance, but its water-scored cliffs are typical of the surrounding country.] The Canterburys with some Maoris in support, advanced in short rushes across the flat ground towards the trenches on the foothills. Not a shot was wasted. Bayonets alone were used. A Turkish machine gun on the spur leading to Walden's Point was responsible for many casualties, and this section of the attack was momentarily held up. "Tap, tap, tap" went the gun, exacting a heavy toll; but a subaltern, named Davidson, who gained the ridge higher up, collected a few ardent spirits, and with fixed bayonets, charged straight down the slope. The dirt thrown up by the angry bullets flicked in their faces as they ran straight for the gun. Down tumbled the subaltern, killed leading his men, but the remnants of the party fell upon the gun crew. The keen bayonets did their silent work, and the gun ceased its death-dealing tapping. Methodically and irresistibly the Otagos and Canterburys pushed up the spurs until the greater part of Bauchop's Hill was in our hands. Many a duel between surprised Turk and desperate New Zealander was fought that night in the tangled scrub. The ground was so broken, the twists in the gullies so confusing, that all cohesion was lost. But the troopers knew that their duty was to press on up the hill, so up the hill they went. Trench after trench was taken at the bayonet point by Pakeha and Maori. Presently three great cheers announced the final capture of the hill. But the losses were severe. Many officers were shot down, including gallant Colonel Bauchop, who fell mortally wounded, and Captain Bruce Hay who had taken charge of a hesitating line, was killed shortly after he had bravely rallied them and led them on. By now the Sazli Beit Dere, the Chailak Dere, and part of the Aghyl Dere was opened; the N.Z.M.R. Brigade had decisively smashed the Turkish line. The Left Covering Force. When the attack on the lower slopes of Bauchop's Hill was well under way the Left Covering Column moved out over the flat ground towards the mouth of the Aghyl Dere. Having rounded Walden's Point they at once came under the fire of the enemy. But pressing on, the advance guard of the 4th South Wales Borderers cleared all before them. The New Army men, resolutely led, were capable of great things. An hour after midnight they saw through the gloom the dark mass of the Damakjelik Bair, and quickly put the Turks to flight. The lower reaches of the Aghyl Dere were now held by us on both sides; our left flank was secure; the army landing at Suvla had a definite point to reach out to. The Right Assaulting Column. By midnight the four battalions of the New Zealand Infantry Brigade were on their way up the deres to the assault of Chunuk Bair. There had been some delay at the start, as the overs from the high ground fell among the units as they marched along to the foot of the deres. The Canterburys went by way of the Sazli Beit, and the Otagos, Aucklands and Wellingtons proceeded up the Chailak. [Illustration: [_Photo by Guy._ MAJOR FRANK STATHAM, OTAGO INFANTRY BATTALION. Who with his brother, was killed in action on Chunuk Bair.] The night was so dark and the country so rough and unreconnoitred that the leading files often crept up little branches of the main dere, and retracing their steps, caused a certain amount of confusion among the troops behind. So it happened on one of these occasions that part of the Canterburys struggled in the inky blackness of the night into a nullah that led them away from the objective. This caused a certain amount of delay, enemy rifle fire was very insistent, but clearing trench after trench, the men pushed slowly up the gullies. Stumbling over the boulders of the dry watercourse, charging each clump of scrub that spat out tongues of fire, the men of the infantry brigade pushed doggedly on. Going up the Chailak, some of the Otago Infantry lost their way and "took Table Top" only to be gruffly ordered away by the Wellington Mounteds who had taken it some hours before! Part of the other two companies of the Otago Infantry--the 8th Southland and the 10th North Otago--passed Table Top at dawn and resolutely pressed up the dere, led by Major Frank Statham, a dauntless-spirited soldier and a born leader. About an hour after dawn this small band of heroes entered the Turkish communication trench running across the lower slopes of Rhododendron Spur from the Chailak Dere. They met with little resistance--indeed on reaching a point where they could overlook the Sazli Beit Dere, they were astonished to see the valley crowded with scared Turks streaming back towards Battleship Hill. Some of the bolder spirits of the Otagos went right on to the Apex and Chunuk Bair! If there had been a dozen leaders of the Statham type--men who understood country and men of resolution--the whole of Chunuk might have been ours by nine o'clock. The enemy was certainly demoralized and on the run. A signalling officer of the Ghurkas now arrived and sent a message back to his brigade slowly proceeding up the Aghyl Dere. The broken country delayed the rest of our brigade. The Canterburys proceeding up the Sazli Beit had some trouble at Destroyer Hill because, as we know, the Turkish communication trenches all led in that direction and fresh fugitive Turks were constantly arriving. It was well light before the Canterburys reached the lower slopes of Rhododendron. These slopes were for some time called Canterbury Ridge, but the older name of Rhododendron survived. As it was now light, and the attack undoubtedly late, Chunuk could not be taken by surprise. But looking down towards the Suvla Flats, we were heartened by the great flotilla of ships and barges in Suvla Bay. Hope again ran high, for help seemed close at hand. With another effort the brigade pressed forward and reached the small depression now known as the Apex, but then christened the Mustard Plaster. Orders came that an effort must be made to take Chunuk. The machine guns of the Otago Battalion established themselves along the front, thus securing the right flank, and doing great execution to the Turks who were being driven up the gully and were seemingly not aware that we had a footing on Rhododendron. The Wellington guns were then dug in on the left of the Otagos, but lined so as to face north and thus command Chunuk Bair which our infantry must assault. The Auckland guns were just a few yards behind; those of the Canterburys had not yet arrived. The order came for the advance with only half the guns posted. There was a little hesitancy, but Major S. A. Grant gallantly rushed forward and led the Aucklands over the crest. A thousand yards of the heights, thick with Turkish rifles, carried out rapid fire on that small band of heroes. Nothing could live in it and with the exception of a few survivors who gained a deserted Turk trench 120 yards in front, the whole were either killed or wounded. The gallant Major Grant was mortally wounded, dying from his wounds that evening. At this point, if the Turks had pushed out a counter attack, they could have cleared the Apex; but the machine guns were invaluable; they cut up the crest between them and undoubtedly saved the sadly harassed line. The troops were now very tired. An advance of a little more than a mile over most difficult country had been achieved. Taking advantage of what little cover was available, the left flank threw out little parties to get in touch with the Left Assaulting Column, which, as we know, consisted of the 4th Australian Brigade and the 29th Indian Brigade. This column in pushing up the Aghyl Dere had met very strenuous opposition, but had surprised many Turks and driven them up the gully. The Aghyl Dere forks about 2000 yards from the sea; the Australians went up the northern one so that the Suvla army, after getting in touch with the New Army troops on Damakjelik Bair could push on and prolong General Monash's left. By dawn, this brigade had reached the ridge overlooking the head of the Asma Dere. The Indian Brigade, guided by Major Overton, of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, proceeded up the southern fork of the Aghyl Dere towards The Farm, which lay beneath the crest of Chunuk Bair. Poor Overton and his companion scout were killed while leading up the dere. After receiving the message from their signalling officer the right flank of the Indians felt out towards Rhododendron, and succeeded in coming into touch with the New Zealand Infantry Brigade; the 14th Sikhs felt out towards their left and came into touch with the 4th Australians. [Illustration: MAJOR OVERTON'S GRAVE.] The exhausted line made repeated efforts to get on, but the Turks were now thoroughly alive to the threatened turning movement and hastily flung fresh troops on to Abdel Rahman spur to impede the Australians, who were standing at bay in truly awful country--standing at bay with their left flank in the air--in touch with no one. The Suvla Bay was full of ships, but there seemed no movement towards the vital hills. All that day the troops lay out on the hot hillside exhausted with their heavy night march. True the ambitious programme of the operation order had not been achieved in its entirety, but a marked and valuable advance had been made. The Anzac troops felt that at last they had room to breathe, for Anzac had been very cramped. Here, after four months of waiting and watching, we were standing on new ground. There was a certain thrill and a little pardonable pride in the realization that these strongly entrenched and defended hill-sides had been taken by a citizen soldiery from the flower of the Turkish Army. There was one disagreeable disadvantage in holding these steep hills--that was the supply of water, ammunition and food. But the Indian Supply and Transport Corps was equal to the emergency. As soon as it was dark the drabis of the supply columns started with their pack mules, and though they paid a heavy toll in men and animals, undeterred they gallantly soldiered on. The Canterbury machine guns arrived at the Apex that evening. The gunners, dead beat, had carried their guns, tripods, spare parts, their own rifles and equipment, with one hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition in their pouches, and a box of ammunition between every two men. They had marched and fought the clock round. Now they had to stand by and hold the line. There was no time for sleep. It was dig, dig, dig, and bury the dead. The survivors of the Aucklands stayed out in their bomb-swept trench. The Otagos were withdrawn to the Rhododendron for reorganization. So the night passed with the Auckland Battalion in front of the Apex; the Ghurkas and the Sikhs on the ridge overlooking The Farm; the 4th Australian Brigade on the Asma Dere. The New Zealand Mounted Rifles dug in and improved their line from Destroyer Hill to Table Top and Bauchop's Hill. General Travers's force was secure on Damakjelik Bair. But the Anzac Army was not yet in touch with the troops at Suvla. Part III. The Attack of August 8. That night the whole of the attacking force was reorganized in three columns:-- Right Column--Brigadier-General F. E. Johnston. 26th Indian Mountain Battery (less one section). N. Z. Infantry Brigade. Auckland Mounted Rifles. Maori Contingent. 8th Welsh Pioneers. } from the 13th Division 7th Gloucesters. } in Reserve. The Right Column was to assault Chunuk Bair at dawn on the 8th. The Auckland Mounteds and the Maoris were to be brought up from the Right Covering Column. Centre and Left Columns--Major-General H. V. Cox. 21st Indian Mountain Battery (less one section). 4th Australian Infantry Brigade. 29th Indian Infantry Brigade. 9th Royal Warwicks. 9th Worcesters. 7th North Staffords. 6th South Lancashires. The centre of this force was to attack Hill Q; the left was to attack the Abdel Rahman spur--the two attacks converging on Koja Chemen Tepe, the highest point in the range. We must look in turn at the left, the centre, and the right. Away on the left the Australians of the 4th Brigade moved up the Asma Dere towards the lower slopes of Abdel Rahman Bair. The intention was to gain a footing, then wheel to the right, and work up this rugged northern spur towards Koja Chemen Tepe. By this time, however, Turkish reserves had accumulated all along the rear slopes of the whole mountain system. With machine guns and shrapnel the Ottoman soldiery assailed the Australians, who were presently almost surrounded. Hopelessly outnumbered, wearied with incessant fighting, the gallant 4th Brigade fell back to its former line. In the centre the men of the 39th New Army Brigade and the Indians fared little better. Pushing on past both sides of The Farm the troops assailed the lower spurs leading up to Hill Q and the left of Chunuk. But the Turkish machine gunners and riflemen were fresh from reserve. They held the high ground with all its advantages, they were fighting in a country with which they were familiar, and compelled our line to come to a definite standstill on the slopes overlooking The Farm. The Capture of Chunuk Bair. On the right things were going better. At dawn the men of the Wellington Infantry Regiment were ready again to attack the fatal crestline. The tired troops of yesterday were once again to essay the seemingly impossible. At 4.15 in the grey of the morning, the Wellington Infantry and the 7th Gloucesters, led by Lieut.-Colonel Malone, commenced the desperate struggle for Chunuk Bair. So far as the New Zealanders are concerned, August 8, 1915, was the blackest day on the Peninsula. But the prize was the strategical key to the Gallipoli Peninsula. Win the Ridge and we should win the Narrows. Open the Narrows to the Navy, and Constantinople was ours! Surely a prize worth fighting for. So from the scanty trenches on Rhododendron Spur leapt the Wellingtons and the 7th Gloucesters. By their dash and audacity the crestline was soon gained. We now had a footing on the ridge, and to cling to that foothold and extend from it was now the pressing need. The Wellingtons and Gloucesters started to dig in, but the enemy evidently made up his mind to cut the New Zealanders off. A body of snipers picked off all the machine gun crews. When Malone's battalion was seen marching along the skyline four machine guns were pushed up to him. These guns never came back. When half way up the ridge a veritable hail of lead burst round them, and they were so badly damaged that only one gun could be reconstructed from the remnants of the four; but it got into position and did good service until the whole of the gun crew were killed or wounded. Two machine guns that were to support the right flank of the attackers from the Apex were pushed forward on the slope to avoid being silhouetted against the crest line. The Turkish snipers now concentrated on these guns. Soon all the personnel were killed or wounded. A Maori machine gun close by lost their officer killed and had nine other casualties, but a few men fought their gun all day without a murmur. This was the only machine gun left in action on this flank. The devoted party on the crest was assailed with every variety of shell, hand grenades and maxims. Time after time, Turks advanced to the attack but were driven off at the point of the bayonet. The Gloucesters who had lost all their officers now came down the ridge to the help of the New Zealanders. They seemed dazed, but instinct and the example of the New Zealanders convinced them that the bayonet was the weapon for the Turk. Time and time again they charged and cleared their front. The Glory of New Zealand. This forward Turkish trench became a veritable death trap. Not far behind it was another line that resolved itself into our real line of resistance. But some ardent spirits of the Aucklands, Otagos and Wellingtons decided to stick to their forward line. No one--except the dozen badly-wounded survivors--can conceive the horrors of that awful front line trench. It was practically dark when they arrived in the early hours of the morning. When daylight came it proved to be a fatal position. About ten or fifteen yards to their front the ground sloped rapidly away into a valley until again it revealed itself about six hundred yards away. When it was light this far away hill was seen to be occupied by about a battalion of Turks--a battalion advancing to attack this forward trench of Chunuk! A few long range shots were all that could be fired. Then came the long wait while the attackers crossed the gully. To the waiting New Zealanders--the New Zealand infantrymen who had penetrated farthest into Turkey--the minutes seemed hours. But a shower of hand grenades announced the beginning of the end. From the dead ground in the front came bombs and more bombs. Away from the left came the Turkish shrapnel. To fire at all, our men had to stand up in the trench and expose themselves almost bodily to view. One by one they died on Chunuk, until after a few hours desperate struggle against overwhelming forces the only New Zealanders left alive were a dozen severely wounded. But not for a long time did the first Turk dare show his head. Then into the trench several crept with their bayonets to kill the wounded. Fortunately a Turkish sergeant arrived and saved the lives of the wounded who were carried off to the German dressing stations behind Hill Q. In all the history of the Gallipoli Campaign there is no finer story of fortitude, no finer exhibition of heroism and self-sacrifice, than was shown in this forward trench of Chunuk on that desperate August morning. Here died some of the noblest characters in the New Zealand Army. August 8 was a day of tragedy for New Zealand, but no day in our calendar shines with greater glory. All that day midst the shriek of the Turkish shrapnel, the dull booming of the British naval guns, the incessant rattle of musketry and machine gun fire, that heroic band held on. With their faces blackened with dust and sweat, with the smell of the picric acid assailing their nostrils, with their tongues parched for the lack of water, up there in the blazing heat of the August sun those gallant souls held on. The Auckland Mounted Rifles and the Maoris arrived at Rhododendron about 3 a.m. and were ordered to the firing line about 11 o'clock. The Aucklanders went out to help Colonel Malone on the ridge. On came the Turks again. The line of infantry and mounteds drove them back at the point of the bayonet. A portion of Chunuk Bair was undoubtedly ours, but at what a cost! Many of the finest young men of the Dominion lay dead upon the crest. Colonel Malone himself, one of the striking characters in the New Zealand army, was killed as he was marking out the trench line. [Illustration: THE APEX AND CHUNUK BAIR. These photographs were taken after the Armistice in 1918, and clearly show the distinction between Chunuk Bair and Hill 971, which was 1,400 yards away. No British Troops ever got on to Koja Chemen Tepe (or Hill 971). When New Zealanders say they were on "the top of 971," they mean "the ridge of Chunuk Bair." Hill Q is about 600 yards from the highest point of Chunuk Bair. Koja Chemen Tepe is 800 yards further on than the crest of Q.] [Illustration: LOOKING TOWARDS KOJA CHEMEN TEPE (HILL 971) FROM CHUNUK BAIR. Hill Q is the high ground to the right.] It was during this struggle for Chunuk Bair that Corporal Bassett of the Divisional Signallers undertook to carry the telephone line up on to the ridge and gained the first V.C. for New Zealand. In full daylight, with the approach swept by rifle and machine gun fire, with the Turkish field artillery from Abdel Rahman mercilessly searching the slopes, Bassett dashed and then crept, then dashed and crept again, up to the forward line on Chunuk. These lines were cut again and again, but Bassett and his fellow linesmen of the Signals went out day and night to mend the broken wires. No V.C. on the Peninsula was more consistently earned. This was not for one brilliant act of bravery, but for a full week of ceaseless devotion. The Maoris were sent over more to the left and most gallantly hung on to an almost untenable position in the neighbourhood of The Farm. They suffered grievous losses uncomplainingly. At dusk the Otago Infantry went out to reinforce what was left of the Wellington and Auckland Infantry, the 7th Gloucesters, and the Auckland Mounteds. Already the Otagos had suffered terribly, but throughout that awful night of August 8 all previous experiences were as nothing. It was a night of agony by thirst, of nerve-wracking bomb explosions, and of bayonet jabs in the dark. In the darkness a little much-needed water was carried out to the thirsty men. Hand grenades, food and reinforcements went out to the battered trenches; more machine guns were sent--three from the Cheshire Regiment, three from the Wiltshires, and one from the Wellington Mounted Rifles. The Cheshire guns came back as there was ample without them. This second lot of four guns was never seen again. Still another effort had to be made, for the hold we had on Chunuk had to be increased. It was the most important capture, so far, in the whole campaign; but the Suvla army still clung to the low ground at Suvla, leaving the Australians with their left flank out in the air waiting for the necessary support to carry them on to victory up the Abdel Rahman. There was no time to lose. The partial success on Chunuk must be exploited. We could not afford to wait on Suvla. The Ghurkas Attack Hill Q. Once again on the night of August 8 the columns were reorganized for the attack: No. 1 Column--Brigadier-General F. E. Johnston. 26th Indian Mountain Battery (less one Section). Auckland Mounted Rifles. Wellington Mounted Rifles. N.Z. Infantry Brigade. 7th Gloucesters. 8th Welsh Pioneers. The Wellington Mounted Rifles came up from Table Top during the night, but the other troops were already on Chunuk Bair. Their duty on the morrow was to consolidate their position, and if possible extend it. No. 2 Column--Major-General H. V. Cox. 21st Indian Mountain Battery (less one section). 4th Australian Infantry Brigade. 29th Indian Infantry Brigade. 39th Brigade (less the 7th Gloucesters). 6th Battalion South Lancashire Regiment. This column was to attack the heights of Hill Q. No. 3 Column--Brigadier-General A. H. Baldwin. 6th East Lancashires. } From the 6th Loyal North Lancashires. } 38th Brigade. 10th Hampshires. } From the 6th Royal Irish Rifles. } 29th Brigade. 5th Wiltshires. } 40th Brigade. These troops were from the Army Corps Reserve. They were to assemble in the Chailak Dere on the night of the 8th, move up to Rhododendron Spur in the dark, and getting in touch with the No. 1 Column on Chunuk Bair, move up the slopes towards Hill Q. Troops moving up defiles in the dark are always late, for so many factors seem to work adversely. Wounded men and transport mules will persist in coming down and blocking the road. Wounded men are generally past caring about the fortunes of the fight. Indian mule drivers know they have to get back to their depot and are perhaps not told the proper track to take. This, of course, is soon regulated when things are normal; but while a fight is on there is a good deal of confusion. No. 1 Column carried out its task and held on to Chunuk Bair; the Ghurkas struggled up the steeps of Hill Q, their ranks becoming visibly thinner and thinner until the watchers from the posts below wondered if there would be enough momentum to carry them to the top. But they undoubtedly did get there. The Navy now commenced firing over the crest in order to debar the Turk from pressing a counter-attack. Some of the shells fell short among the Ghurkas. Instead of getting help from Baldwin, who was only at The Farm, a few heavy shells crashed on to the summit. This was one of the tragedies of Anzac. Instead of help came our own shells. It is the price that must be paid for artillery support in broken country. These things are unavoidable--they are the misfortune of war. [Illustration: A SIKH AND A GHURKA.] But the enemy saw his chance. Launching a counterattack, the gallant handful of survivors was swept off the crest and into the valley below. Simultaneously a flood was loosed on the 4th Australians; wave after wave was hurled against the New Zealanders up on the shoulder of Chunuk Bair; flushed with success and confident in the overwhelming superiority of numbers, wave after wave of skirmishers was thrown around Baldwin's forces at The Farm until the column was well-nigh annihilated. General Baldwin himself was killed with many of his commanding officers. The survivors retired to their original position on the ridge overlooking The Farm. The only force to hold its ground was General Johnston's on Chunuk Bair, where a poor trenchline of 200 yards was occupied. Our fellows were too exhausted to dig in the hard ground and rock of the crest-line. It was impossible to put out wire. This brings us to the end of Sunday, August 9. The battle at Lone Pine was still raging. Down at Suvla, high officers were trying to infuse a little energy into an army that had become moribund. Worn out with three days and three nights of fighting under a merciless sun, with a short ration of water, suffering tremendous losses, the New Zealanders and other troops on Chunuk Bair were withdrawn for a little rest on the evening of August 9. Their place was taken by the 6th Loyal North Lancashires and the 5th Wiltshires. It was estimated that more than two battalions could not be usefully employed on the ridge. We Lose the Crest of Chunuk. At dawn on the 10th, these two battalions had disappeared! Some of the North Lancashires who escaped explained that the Wiltshires arrived tired and did not dig in; they were attacked by the Turks with knives and bombs; the Wiltshires ran in towards the Lancashires and the machine guns, and so masked their fire. So were these two battalions wiped out! About 6 a.m. the Turks delivered their famous counterattack down the slopes of Chunuk Bair, and endeavoured to get at the New Army regiments on the left of the Apex. But the four machine guns of the Canterbury Battalion were on the left front of the Apex, and the two remaining guns of the Auckland Battalion were on the Apex itself; two guns of the Wellington Battalion were back on the Rhododendron with the Maori gun and the flank gun of the Otago Infantry--these four could fire over the heads of the guns on the Apex, and commanded the whole of the approaches from Chunuk Bair. The small details of training, generally found so irksome, now proved of value. The gunners had already attended to their guns at the first streak of day. A Canterbury gunner, finding his gun difficult to adjust reported to the N.Z. Brigade Machine Gun Officer, who was sighting the gun on to the ridge when the first line of the Turkish attack came over at that very point. This gun had the range at once, and followed by keeping the sights a little in advance of the enemy. The other guns quickly took up the rat-a-tat; the range was sent to the other five guns. The N.Z. Mounted Brigade machine guns on Table Top and Bauchop's Hill also found a good target at extreme range. The New Zealand field guns, especially the howitzers, also opened up at once. [Illustration: [_Photo by Col. Falla, C.M.G., D.S.O._ A NEW ZEALAND 4.5 HOWITZER.] The Turkish line consisted of from 250 to 300 men at about one pace interval. By the time they reached a point immediately in front of the guns, the whole of the N.Z. machine guns were concentrated at that point in accordance with the orders hurriedly issued. Thus was created a death zone through which the enemy could not pass. They fell over literally like oats before a reaper. Twenty two lines came down each as true and steady as the first. They moved at a jog trot with their rifles at the port. The machine gunners with the assistance of the Navy and the Field Artillery mowed down line after line until the Turkish effort was spent. A number of Turks crawled back during the forenoon. They were not molested by the machine gunners, who admired their bravery so much as to leave them alone. The New Zealand Infantry Brigade was relieved at 2 p.m. that day, but the machine guns were left in to stiffen up the New Army regiments. At about 2.30 a.m. there was an attack and much confusion. The Turks showed on the top of the Apex, but the two flank guns of the Canterbury Battalion quickly dispersed them. Order was only restored at daylight. The presence of the N.Z. machine guns had saved the situation. The N.Z. Infantry Brigade again came in with the Aucklanders on the Apex. The next morning the Turks occupied the point of the Apex, and it was decided to take a Vickers Maxim out to the front and open up on them from an unexpected quarter. The gun was just in position when a peculiar incident occurred. An Otago man of the 5th Reinforcements was working in front of where the gun took up position. He was told to stop work when the gun was ready and to crouch down so that the gun could fire over him. Against all the rules of war he immediately lighted his pipe. The Turks, only 80 yards away, opened fire with about twenty rifles on to the light. Their rifle flashes disclosed their position and the machine gun drove them out. The New Zealand Infantry were relieved again in a short time and the machine gunners moved back to Rhododendron. On the first morning after their move back, a blockhouse was found to have been built in No Man's Land during the night. It now became plain what the Turks had been trying to do, but this had been prevented as long as the N.Z. Infantry were in possession. This blockhouse was a great nuisance to our men at the Apex, until it was summarily dealt with by the Canterburys later in the month. Part IV. The Battle of Sari Bair. The Suvla Landing. We know that the thrust towards Koja Chemen Tepe from Suvla Bay failed. Let us examine the causes of the failure. For of what use is history if we do not seek to understand its lessons? The story of the failure at Suvla Bay is not only the story of the misfortune of war. It ranks with the tragedy of Kut-el-Amara as an illustration of what must happen to a nation which accepts world-wide responsibilities and does not keep itself in a state of preparedness for possibilities. The people of the British Empire did not realize that an efficient army was the complement to a powerful navy. For battleships cannot cross deserts or climb mountains. Indeed, battleships, as every soldier who was on Gallipoli Peninsula knows, are of incalculable value for moral effect, but for supporting troops ashore in mountainous country they are almost useless. Their guns cannot get at the enemy behind the crest. Only on rare occasions can ships' guns search reverse slopes. Ships are built to fight ships--not to act as army corps artillery. No regular soldiers were available for these subsidiary operations in the East, but the next best--an army corps of the New Army--was available for this advance over broken, unreconnoitred country. The 9th Army Corps, under Lieut.-General Sir F. Stopford, was organized as follows:-- The 10th (Irish) Division (Lieut-General Sir B. Mahon) was composed of the 29th Brigade (detached for service at Anzac), the 30th Brigade, and the 31st Brigade. The 11th (Northern) Division (Major-General F. Hammersley), consisted of the 32nd, the 33rd, and the 34th Brigades. The 13th (Western) Division (Major-General F. C. Shaw), was also taken from the Suvla Army to act at Anzac. The three brigades were the 38th, 39th, and the 40th. In that four of his brigades were landed at Anzac, General Stopford did not have anything like an army corps. His divisional artillery was lamentably weak, and his corps artillery almost non-existent. True, he had the support of some warships, but as we know, this support is not so much material as moral. It was estimated that a force of 20,000 rifles would overpower a thin screen of Turks, which was reckoned at about 4000. The 53rd and 54th Territorial Division (of infantry only) were to arrive later and be used as a general reserve. The Hill Features of the Suvla Plain. The country was not so hilly as at Anzac. From Lala Baba, looking due east, one saw the high ground running from the Gulf of Saros round towards the two Anafartas and so to the underfeatures of Sari Bair near Abdel Rahman Bair. The plan of campaign was to land during the night of August 6/7 at three beaches to the north and south of Nibrunesi Point, push back the screen of enemy scouts holding the sparsely-wooded plain and rolling country, and occupy the hills about Anafarta, and so take a measure of the strain off the direct push for Koja Chemen Tepe. Having got astride the high ground near Anafarta the Turkish communications from Bulair to their Ari Burnu front would be imperilled. A reference to the map will show that the conception was a reasonable one if the country was not strongly held. Resolute troops, vigorously led, might have reasonably achieved a success. But Chance did not smile upon our efforts, and instead of closely examining the structure of this high ground inland, we must look at the tactical features much nearer the coast line. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF THE SUVLA AREA SHOWING THE LANDING BEACHES. The landing place most used in the later stages was near Cape Suvla, just inside Suvla Bay.] On the extreme left flank, and overlooking the Gulf of Saros, was the long ridge known as Kiretch Tepe Sirt. The southern foothills of this range merged into an expanse of cultivated land, bounded on the east by the Anafarta Hills, and on the west by the Salt Lake. During the winter months the Salt Lake takes all the flood waters from the surrounding hills, and the rough weather brings in the salt water. But in August the water had disappeared and there was a circular expanse of grey, sticky sand, measuring a mile across. About a mile in a south-easterly direction from Lala Baba was the tactical feature christened "Chocolate Hill." The gorse and grass on this hill caught fire during the fighting, and one part of it became a more pronounced reddish-brown than ever. The southern portion was not burnt, and is distinguished on the map as Green Hill. Standing on Chocolate Hill and looking towards the east, one saw, half left, the high ground called Scimitar Hill, and half right, the ill-starred Ismail Oglu Tepe, known to our men as "W" Hills. The "W" Hills looked down on to the valley of the Asmak Dere, which ran into the sea about two miles south of Lala Baba, and running generally in a westerly direction towards Biyuk Anafarta, threw out two forks, one to the foot of Abdel Rahman Bair, the other towards Kaiajik Aghala (Hill 60). The latter fork was the Asma Dere, which, running up past Hill 60, drained the watershed of Abdel Rahman Bair. Just to the south of the Azmak Dere, and between Kaiajik Aghala and the sea, was the high ground of Damakjelik Bair. So it was intended that the Suvla Army, pushing on across the flat plains of Suvla in the early morning, should get in touch with their New Army comrades on Damakjelik and prolong the right of the new Anzac line held by General Travers's and the 4th Australian Brigades. The Landing Beaches. The day before the battle the component parts of the Army Corps were widely scattered. Part was at Mitylene, 120 miles away; part was at Mudros, 50 miles away; the remainder at Kephalos, on Imbros, about 16 miles away. As soon as it was fully dark, these three bodies of troops were speeding on their way to Suvla. Three beaches were to be used. Beach A was in the centre of Suvla Bay. Beaches B and C were to the south of Nibrunesi--B for infantry and C for the disembarkation of artillery. At 8 o'clock on the night of the 6th, the force sailed from Kephalos with its collection of water boats, barges and lighters. At 9.30 p.m., the flotilla silently crept towards Nibrunesi, and the disembarkation commenced. The 32nd and 33rd Brigades got ashore expeditiously at Beach B and rushed Lala Baba. Then occurred the first disaster. Beach A was not reconnoitred, and the barges containing the 34th Brigade ran aground. Men jumped into the water and waded ashore. A few Turkish snipers on Hill 10 and Lala Baba crept among the troops, who were new to war. In the dark, confusion reigned. When daylight came the troops were ashore, but that was about all. There was no pressing on. The men were shaken by their experience of the night. The line ran round from Lala Baba across the flat ground to Hill 10. Trouble at the Beaches. Just as it was getting light, six battalions of the 10th Division arrived from far-distant Mitylene. These troops were to go out to the extreme left flank. They should have landed at Beach A, but owing to the shallows and the difficulties already experienced there, the Navy took them to Beach B, south of Nibrunesi! This again upset the prearranged plan. These battalions fell in and marched along the mile and a half of open beach towards the left flank, passing behind and through the men who had earlier experienced the mess caused by inefficient reconnaissance. By the time the remaining battalions of the 10th Division arrived, the Navy had found a small landing place in one of the little bays on the southern side of Suvla Point, just inside Suvla Bay. These men of the Irish Division scrambled ashore and pushed on to the high ground of Karakol Dagh. When noon came the sun beat down on those poor citizen soldiers, worn out and tired by their long sea journeys, harassed by daring snipers in the dark, not very resolutely led, not at home in this hot and dusty country, tortured by thirst, the improvized and intricate machine went to pieces at the first rough jolt. Most of that day the Suvla Army sat down and waited for something to turn up. But during the afternoon some bold spirits led two battalions of the 11th Division across the flat ground and secured a foothold on the Chocolate Hills. So, from a point above Karakol Dagh, the line ran through Hill 10 and past the Salt Lake to the Chocolate Hills, about two miles from the outpost of their New Army comrades on Damakjelik Bair. That night the Anzac troops, as we know, were holding the line Damakjelik-Asma Dere-Rhododendron Spur. The Morning of August 8. This morning--the morning when Malone stood triumphant on the crest of Chunuk Bair; when the Australians were pluckily attempting to carry Abdel Rahman--passed strangely inactive at Suvla. Following on their exhaustion and the heat of the midday sun, the men undoubtedly suffered agonies from thirst. There was water in the Suvla Plain, but no proper provision was made to take advantage of it. Instead, much effort was directed towards getting the supplies known to be somewhere at hand in ships and lighters. So one thing reacted on another--the bad landing beach at A caused exhaustion in the troops disembarked there, and was the cause of greater confusion when the troops for the left flank were landed on the right. This caused delay, which meant that more of the precious water was consumed than was allowed for. As a matter of fact, such was the lack of ordinary supervision, numbers of men landed without any water in their water-bottles at all! Those who had water consumed it during the waiting of the day. So General Stopford brought off mules to carry water in preference to artillery horses, and created a further excuse for delay--not enough supporting artillery! At the Anzac landing horses could not be landed, but willing men manhandled the guns up precipitous cliffs to their positions. No one seemed to think of this at Suvla. But the Generals in command seemed fairly satisfied with the progress of things. General Hamilton, over at Imbros, from where he could best keep touch of his widely-scattered army, got so uneasy that he could not resist hurrying to Suvla to see why the advance had been hung up. Nothing was done, but one battalion, the 6th East York Pioneers, occupied Scimitar Hill and dug in for the night. It was decided to make an advance early in the morning. Then an extraordinary incident occurred. The higher command evidently did not know where the battalions were. The 6th East Yorks were considered to be the freshest, and were ordered to the attack on another hill in the morning. This battalion had taken Scimitar Hill, but those in command did not seem to know it. Accordingly, the 6th East Yorks abandoned their position on this valuable hill without an effort and marched back to Sulajik! [Illustration: [_Lent by Rev. Wainohu, C.F._ THE ROLL CALL OF THE MAORIS AFTER THE AUGUST FIGHTING.] The Next Day--August 9. Early in the morning the 32nd Brigade attacked the hills towards Anafarta, but were repulsed and continued to occupy a line running north and south through Sulajik. This day the New Zealanders clung to the ridge of Chunuk Bair, the Ghurkas and 6th South Lancashires struggled on to Hill Q, but the Suvla Army, worn out with fatigue and thirst, lay along the low ground stretching from the Chocolate Hills towards Kiretch Tepe Sirt. In this day's attack on Scimitar Hill, serious scrub fires broke out and held the attention of the troops for the rest of the day. At noon the units fell back to a line between Sulajik and Green Hill. A New Move that Failed. General Hamilton concluded that on this right flank success would be delayed, and decided to land part of his reserve--the infantry brigades of the 54th Division--up at the new landing place near Cape Suvla, so that they might advance, with the 10th Irish Division, along Kiretch Tepe Sirt, then thrust towards Kavak Tepe and capture the line Ejelmer Bay to Anafarta, thus turning the Turkish flank. The infantry of the 53rd (Territorial) Division landed during the night of the 8/9th, and were to assist the units on the right flank. The advance of these newly-arrived territorials was a pitiable thing. Crossing the open country from Lala Baba towards the Anafarta Hills, the enemy artillery, now considerably increased, took heavy toll. The enemy again fought his sniping screen with conspicuous ability. The attack could not get on. Realizing that the troops were unequal to the situation, it was decided to dig in on a line from near the Azmak Dere, through the knoll east of the Chocolate Hill, to the ground held by the 10th Division on Kiretch Tepe Sirt. On August 11, the infantry brigades of the 54th Division were disembarked and placed in reserve. An attack on Kavak Tepe-Tekke Tepe was planned by Sir Ian Hamilton, but after a series of minor disasters the projected night march and attack was abandoned. General Stopford was now thoroughly convinced that his troops could not be expected to do more. Even if they gained the high ground, he considered that the supply of water and food would be too difficult and well-nigh impossible to arrange. There seemed nothing to do but to dig in everywhere and strengthen the line. * * * * * So ended the great battle for the heights of Sari Bair. The Turk still held the higher ground at Helles, Anzac, and Suvla. PART V. After the Battle. The Trenches on the Crest of Chunuk. There has been placed on record a statement that the trenches on the crest of Chunuk were badly sited. No soldier of experience would have made such a criticism if he understood the facts. Bare justice is due to Colonel Malone and those New Zealanders who took Chunuk and held it. It has been said that the trench line was the wrong side of the crest, and that there was not a good field of fire. What would anyone else have done? We all know that a trench should have the best field of fire. But one can easily get in a training manual what one seeks for in vain during a pitched battle! In the carefully prepared treatise, principles are laid down and their application is expounded. But the enemy is not firing bullets and hand grenades in the book. The ground in the book, too, is easy to dig. Look for a moment at this sketch of a typical crest. [Illustration] It is obvious that the trenchline we have gained is the best possible one under the circumstances. No one contends that it is the best one theoretically, but at least one has a certain amount of protection. Anyone who goes forward on to the crest itself is killed by bomb or rifle fire; anyone who goes over the enemy's side of the crest to dig posts that have a good field of fire is also sure to be killed. This, however, does not deter determined soldiers from trying. The men who did try on Chunuk were buried long after by the Turks, and cannot reply to criticism--criticism which is cheap, and, in this case, futile. The only thing to do is to dig deep zig-zag saps through the crest line, put T heads on each sap, and so get posts with a field of fire--posts that can be connected by sapping. A determined enemy--and the Turk was very determined--will not let attacking troops do exactly what they wish, otherwise war might be made safe, and the front line become more popular than it is! The fact remains that the trenches on Chunuk Bair were the only possible ones for such a situation. Those of us who have found it necessary to entrench on a crest line in close proximity to a determined foe, know that what was done on Chunuk could not have been done any better by anybody else; and there, for the present, the matter must stand. The Water Problem. The question of water was perhaps our most terrible problem during the week-long battle. It had always been one of the problems of Anzac, but that awful week in August was the culmination. In anticipation of the offensive, great efforts were made to overcome the shortage. It was known that good wells existed on the other side of the watershed where the Turkish armies bivouacked, and in the neighbourhood of Kabak Kuyu on the Suvla Plain. Until we could get these wells, we had to make extraordinary provision. From Egypt, India and England, every class of water receptacle was procured. Milk cans came from England; fantassahs from the caravans of Egypt; pakhals from India; sealed petrol tins by the thousand, filled with water from the Nile, arrived and were stacked ready for the advance. Water from a petrol tin looks rusty and tastes abominably, but it is water, and men count themselves fortunate to get it. The value of water in the campaign can be realized from one illustration. Success seemed within our grasp when we got a foothold on the crest of Chunuk. Tacticians of the Army consider that from there success should have been exploited--that all available reserves should have been thrown in there and so distributed along Hill Q to Koja Chemen Tepe. General Sir Ian Hamilton has put it on record that he was tempted to throw his reserves into the balance at Chunuk Bair, but each time the problem of the water supply dissuaded him from putting any more thirsty men at Anzac. That they were ultimately more thirsty at Suvla is part of the tragedy, which is easy to point out now, but difficult then to foresee. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ A DRESSING STATION IN THE CHAILAK DERE.] All through the fight on Chunuk Bair men's throats were parched for the want of water. Intense thirst is one of the cruellest torments man can suffer. Hot weather, hill climbing, and the excitement of fighting combine to accentuate the desire to drink. On occasions like this, the contents of two water bottles do not last long. When the New Zealand infantry went out on to Chunuk Bair, they had marched all the night before and lain out on the hillside during the torrid day. Their water was soon consumed. Water bottles were carefully collected from the dead, more carefully even than ammunition. The short supply gallantly carried up by the Indian transport service did not go far, but it saved the situation. Perhaps the success of the Australian and New Zealand divisions in this war was due to having in their ranks skilled and resourceful men who had spent most of their lives solving problems for themselves. In any case the New Zealand Engineers took advantage of the well near No. 2 and developed it to the full. Not that there were no difficulties. On one occasion the bearings got heated, metal ran out of the couplings, and the engine broke down. Spare parts could be made on the warships, but that meant delay. We were getting 1,000 gallons per hour, and pumping 20 hours a day. This meant keeping 2 divisions supplied; so one old sapper filed up a new bearing out of the gun-metal coupling off a service pump! Again, owing to the lubricating oil being so poor, the cylinder rings used to burn on to the piston, and had to be forced off. First one was broken, and then another. New rings were made by cutting up a Turkish 4.5 shell with a hack-saw! The job was a lengthy one, but as the shell was the right thickness, they proved to be A1. After that a few were always kept on hand. Not without ingenuity and knowledge born of experience did the troops at Anzac get the water denied their unfortunate comrades at Suvla. The Fifth Reinforcements. If ever mortals were projected into a hell of torture and suffering it was the men of the 5th Reinforcements. Coming straight from the transports, they arrived at No. 2 Post on August 8, and were summarily introduced to modern war. Hundreds of wounded had been carried down from the bloody slopes of Chunuk and were laid in rows in the neighbourhood of No. 2 Post, in readiness to be carried along the Big Sap, and so to the piers as soon as it was dark. These men of the 5th Reinforcements had served little apprenticeship to active service; but they had heard of the casualties of the landing at Anzac and Helles, and some have written that at first they were of the impression that these rows of wounded men were an everyday occurrence! In a sort of nightmare, not knowing whither they were going, or even the name of the dere they traversed, these men dived into the trenches on Chunuk Bair and found themselves among Wellington and Otago Infantry, Auckland and Wellington Mounteds--the heroic band of brothers clinging to Chunuk and prepared to die there. A great proportion did die there; but they held Chunuk! Into this company of heroes stumbled the men of the Fifths. They were greeted with "dig for your lives for dawn is not far away, and if you haven't got cover by then, you're dead men!" All through the night the digging, the bombing, and the shooting continued. Rifle barrels got so hot they had to be discarded, and a rifle from a dead man used. Ammunition and water were collected. Some men used three rifles, turn and turn about. [Illustration: CARRYING WOUNDED TO THE PICKET BOATS.] With dawn came the lyddite shells from the Navy. Dense rolls of yellow smoke curled round the hills. Small coloured flags were waved to indicate our position to the Navy. The suffering from thirst was terrible. When relief did come, men crowded round the wells at No. 2 and drank tin after tin of the precious water. The Valleys of Torment. During the nights of August 7, 8, 9, and 10, the wounded men of Anzac seemed to encompass the sum total of human suffering. Travelling light to avoid the heat of the day, a badly wounded man who could not walk had to lie out all through the long cold night. To men without blankets and tunics, and often without a shirt because of the noonday heat, those nights were excruciatingly cold. Those who could walk were in fairly good stead. They could reach the dressing stations near the beach, and get near the piers when the Red Cross barge came alongside. So it happened that the least wounded were always ready to be evacuated; the others had to lie in those stricken gullies until the few overworked stretcher-bearers could carry them down. The lack of facilities for evacuating wounded was as pronounced as at the landing. Of course, in war it must always happen that during big battles things will go wrong. That seems unavoidable, and conditions generally adjust themselves after a few days. But to get a parallel to the sufferings at Anzac one must go back to the days of the Crimea. [Illustration: [_Photo by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ A TRAWLER ALONGSIDE A HOSPITAL SHIP. Under the big Union Jack are six bodies; and one under the small flag. The trawler made a trip every morning out to the three mile limit, where a solemn burial service was held--the only mourners being the padre and the seven men of the trawler.] [Illustration: IN EGYPT: THE RED CROSS CARS AND THE RED CRESCENT TRAIN. The Christian Cross and the Mahommedan Crescent--for perhaps the first time in history--working together in the interests of humanity.] The Sazli Beit Dere and the Chailak Dere were crowded with walking cases; those who could not walk, waited in vain for stretcher-bearers, then born of desperation, crawled, crept, and rolled down the slopes into the gullies. Here there was a certain amount of protection against Turkish fire. Ghurkas, New Army men, and New Zealanders painfully crept towards the low ground. Perhaps the gully would lead too far away from the direction of No. 2 Post; men at the last stages of exhaustion would give up here and wait for the stretcher-bearers who could not come, for they were overwhelmed with cases nearer home. Medical officers, padres, dentists and stretcher-bearers toiled against one of the most heartbreaking experiences of the war. Up in these gullies of torment men died by the hundred--died of thirst, of awful bomb wounds and of exposure. Down near No. 2 Post was an awful sight--a thousand wounded men lying in rows and in heaps. Crash would come a Turkish shell and the already wounded would be wounded once again. Mule trains moving up and down to the Big Sap raised great clouds of fine dust that settled on everything, increasing the discomfort already caused by wounds, fever, flies and the alternating heat and cold. Barges full of mules would pull in to be disembarked. The stretcher bearers would help with the unloading, and without any cleaning, for there was no time to worry about the niceties, the serious cases would be placed on the bottom of the barge and towed out to the hospital ship or carrier. When a string of Red Cross barges would come in, the walking cases would naturally crowd up to the pier in anticipation of getting off; there was a tendency to leave the helpless man on the beach, but the medical officers and orderlies watched as well as they were able, and sent the serious cases to the hospital ships as soon as possible, the less serious ones going to Lemnos by the hospital carrier. It is difficult to conceive what clean sheets, soft food, the sight of the army nurses, and the sound of their English voices, meant to the tired men of Anzac. Worn to shadows by hardships and suffering, these men could not understand the present situation. For if their experiences had been awful, they expected little else. As pioneers in a desperate enterprise they knew the path would not be strewn with ease and comfort, but rather with danger and pain--and their expectations were realized at Anzac; but here on the hospital ships where there were warm baths, clean underclothing, and the tender ministrations of the army nurses, the suffering New Zealander was literally overwhelmed with his good fortune. CHAPTER XV. The Battle of Kaiajik Aghala. When Sir Ian Hamilton realized that he could not win through to the Narrows with the force at his disposal, he cabled to England for reinforcements. The answer came that no reinforcements could be sent. Men and all the munitions of war were wanted for the Western Front. The dominant school of thought was now in favour of a winter base at Salonika. There was a keen disappointment over the Suvla failure. The people had been told that we were only two miles from the greatest victory of the war. And that was true! But what miles? And we were now not much nearer victory than we had been before the push, for our every post was dominated by a higher Turkish one. [Illustration: [_Lent by Captain Janson, W.M.R._ AT THE FOOT OF THE CHAILAK DERE. Officers and men of the Wellington Mounted Rifles going out to Hill 60.] Sir Ian Hamilton decided to make another effort with a regrouping of the troops at his disposal. The only new troops he could call on were the 2nd Mounted Division, a body of British Yeomanry who had been doing garrison duty in Egypt. They were composed of young men who had served in the volunteer mounted service before the war and correspond to our New Zealand regiments of Mounted Rifles. They totalled about 5000 men, and were organized in four brigades (the 1st South Midland, the 2nd South Midland, the North Midland, and the London.) The 29th Division, who since their desperate landing, had borne the brunt of the fighting at Cape Helles, were moved from there to stiffen the New Army division, which were dug in along the Suvla Flats. By the night of August 20/21, all was ready for the projected attack. This was to consist of two preliminary movements. (1) The 29th Division was to move from Chocolate Hills against Scimitar Hill. Everywhere along the line the other units were to take the offensive to hold the enemy's reserves in check. The 13th Division was to attack at 3.15 p.m. The 34th Brigade was to attack on the plain near Hetman Chair. Next to it the 32nd Brigade was to get possession of a trench running from Hetman Chair towards "W" Hills. (2) The Anzac troops from Damakjelik Bair were to attack Kaiajik Aghala (Hill 60) and swing their left round to junction with the Suvla forces. A reference to the map will show that when these two points--Scimitar Hill and Kaiajik Aghala--were taken the way would be clear for a converging combined assault on Ismail Oglu Tepe, the well known "W" Hills of Anzac. From it in a south-easterly direction ran the long spur on which--some 2700 yards away--was situated the village of Biyuk Anafarta. A similar distance away, but to the northeast, lay Kuchuk Anafarta. The occupation of Ismail Oglu Tepe would not only give us possession of the valleys running up to both these villages, but would also give us uninterrupted intercourse between Anzac and Suvla, now continually under the fire of the guns on "W" Hills. The wells in the neighbourhood were also valuable to whichever side held them. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP TO ILLUSTRATE THE BATTLES FOR SCIMITAR HILL AND HILL 60. "Kuyu" is the Turkish name for well. There were many valuable wells between Kaiajik Aghala and the sea.] The Attack on Scimitar Hill. On the night of August 20/21, the 29th Division assembled at Chocolate Hills and prepared for the advance on the morrow. All that day they kept under observation their objective for the morrow--the ill-starred Scimitar. The preliminary bombardment was very heavy for Gallipoli, but a mist on the Suvla plain favoured the enemy, interfering with the aim of our gunners. At 3.15 in the afternoon the 34th Brigade reached their objective--the trenches on the plain near Hetman Chair; but the 32nd Brigade lost direction, and instead of taking the communication trench leading to the "W" Hills, went far north of it and suffered heavy casualties. The 33rd Brigade went out to retrieve the situation, but made the same mistake and failed entirely in its object. Just after 3.30, the 87th Brigade of the 29th Division, taking advantage of every bush and every fold in the ground, moved steadily from Chocolate Hill towards the Scimitar. The 1st Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers stormed the crest and chased the Turks back towards the high ground leading to Kuchuk Anafarta. But just higher than the first crest of the Scimitar were other rows of Turkish trenches. From the machine guns there, from the field guns of "W" Hills, and from Tekke Tepe, came a storm of lead. The Scimitar was swept with a devastating converging fire. [Illustration: Officers of the 29th Division in the trenches at Suvla.] The 86th Brigade was to attack the right of the Scimitar, and merge with the 87th Brigade for the attack on the crest; but the badly-directed 32nd and 33rd Brigades of the 13th Division were now scattered over the ground between Green Hill and the Scimitar. These troops got mixed with the regulars and threw them into confusion; but born of long training, led by experienced officers, companies emerged from the chaos, and pressed on to the Scimitar. Then a great fire broke out in the undergrowth and little headway could be made. At five o'clock the Yeomanry were called from the reserve at Lala Baba. With their hearts in their mouths, the watchers from the Anzac hills saw the long lines extend in open order and move across the wide expanse of plain. Right across the dry Salt lake the troopers quickly marched. The wonder is that so few casualties occurred. They had some difficulty in pressing through the scattered men of the 13th Division round the Chocolate Hills; but by 7 o'clock at least one brigade was at the foot of the Scimitar. Darkness fell as they commenced to work their way to the crest. The converging fire again swept the crest and they too suffered the fate of the Inniskillings and had to withdraw after suffering fearful loss. Scimitar Hill, which was taken so easily by the 6th East Yorks and so tragically abandoned on August 8th, cost over 5000 casualties. There was not an atom of gain, for everywhere the troops fell back to the original line. The First Attack on Kaiajik Aghala. The attack from Anzac met with better fortune. It will be remembered that the Left Covering Force occupied Damajelik Bair on the morning of August 7. The 4th Australian Brigade which fell back from Abdel Rahman had dug in along the southern bank of the headwaters of the Kaiajik Dere. [Illustration: [_Lent by N.Z. Y.M.C.A_. OCEAN BEACH AFTER THE AUGUST OFFENSIVE. This picture shows the Y.M.C.A. marquee in the centre. The road along the beach, the new wharfs from which the New Zealand brigades embarked at the evacuation, and the hospitals are plainly shown.] The line to be attacked was shaped like a boomerang. The operation was divided into two parts. (1) The 29th Indian Brigade of Ghurkas and Sikhs was to seize the important wells, principally Kabak Kuyu--the Suvla end of the boomerang. (2) The other force under Brig.-General Russell was to storm Kaiajik Aghala, which we knew as Hill 60--this was the elbow and the Anzac end of the boomerang. The troops for (2) were disposed from right to left as follows:-- (a) The 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, now reduced to about 1,400 men, had available for the attack about 400 men from the 13th and 14th Battalions. (b) The Canterbury Mounted Rifles were already on the ground, and the Otago Mounted Rifles were brought over to reinforce them. To each of these regiments a platoon of Maoris was attached. (c) Detachments of the 5th Connaught Rangers (10th Div.), the 4th South Wales Borderers (13th Div.) and the 10th Hampshires (10th Div.) were on the extreme left, where the South Wales Borderers had been since August 7 waiting for the joining up of the Suvla forces. The Indians, it must be remembered, were also part of the Anzac Army. The ravine of the Kaiajik Aghala separated the Australians and New Zealanders from their objective. This ravine gradually broadened out in front of the New Army troops, and debouched on the wide open plain around the wells of Kabak Kuyu and Susuk Kuyu. The line was to be attacked as follows:-- KABAK KUYU. 29th Indian Inf. Brigade. THE HILL OF KAIAJIK AGHALA (HILL 60) Connaughts Canterbury M.R. Otago M.R. 13th & 14th S.W. Borderers Maoris Maoris Batt. A.I.F. Hampshires (about 500 men) By some strange mischance, the artillery bombardment which was so liberal at Suvla, overlooked Hill 60 altogether. But at 3.30 the troops made ready for the advance. The 13th and 14th Australian Battalions--those veterans of Pope's and Quinn's, the men who early in August struggled on to the Abdel Rahman--dashed down the slope. Losing heavily, they raced into the gully and up the other side. Beaten by Turkish machine gun fire, they held their ground, but could not get on. The New Zealand attack had about 800 yards to go. Squadron and troop leaders spent the day observing the objective and the best lines of advance. They went back to their men, explained the position and made clear to everyone that the attack was to be by bayonet only, then bombs. The formation was to be in lines of successive troops; each ridge to be taken advantage of as a reforming point for a fresh advance. There was some wonderment at the lack of artillery fire, but punctually at 3.30, over the top went the troopers. Down the slope went the Canterburys and Otagos. Troop after troop dived into the hail of death and pushed on to the first ridge to collect their scattered fragments. Each troop made its fifty yard rushes and fell down exhausted. These men had lived for months on hard rations and were weakened by dysentery and fatigue. But on they swept again. It was a triumph of resolute minds over wasted bodies. Reaching the shelter of the gully, they reformed and commenced the steep ascent. Between the large ridge and the Turkish trench there was about 100 yards of bullet-swept scrub. Dozens of the troopers fell never to rise again; the wounded crept into positions of comparative safety. The Turkish shells set the scrub and grass on fire, but luckily there was little wind, and the little there was blew the flames away from our wounded. By now the Canterburys and Otagos had reached the first enemy trench, and a bomb fight ensued. Down the communication trench the Turk was driven. Our men came across an enemy machine gun, which was promptly turned on to the fugitives. Back came the Turk with a counter attack, but the troopers stuck like limpets to their hardly-won position. The position now was: The Indians had seized the well, and were well round the Suvla flank of Hill 60. The N.Z.M.R. had 150 yards of the Turkish trenches; but on the right, the 13th and 14th Australians could not get on. We had a precarious hold that night, as the Connaughts sent round between us and the Indians were mercilessly bombed back again. A most dramatic incident occurred when there was a sudden cry of "cease fire," and from the Turkish trenches on Kaiajik Aghala over 150 Turks issued with their hands held high in the air. They had rifles with them, but their movements and demeanour strongly suggested that they were willing to be taken prisoners. There was no one who could talk Turkish, so an interpreter was sent for. But before he arrived our men were out of the trenches trying to carry on a conversation with the Turks, who seemed perfectly friendly, but could not understand our words or signs that they must put down their arms and come quietly away. Suddenly shooting rang out on the right and left. But the O.C. Otago Mounteds went right out into No Man's Land towards the Turkish trenches, surrounded by a mob of Turks. He was convinced that we were about to make one of the biggest hauls of prisoners in the campaign. The few New Zealanders were hopelessly outnumbered, but still they tried to indicate by signs and pantomimic gestures that the Turks must first lay down their arms. By this time firing was brisk in other parts of the line. Some Turks who came to our trenches reached down to assist our fellows out, but our men pulled them in and made them prisoners, very much to their annoyance. The Otago colonel got right to the enemy's trench, and a Turkish officer tried to pull him in. This did not seem good enough, so in the grey of the morning the colonel, a lonely figure, retraced his steps across No Man's Land. Then firing became general, but not before we had captured a dozen of the enemy. To this day the senior officers who were on the spot are not certain of the Turk's intention, but as it was discovered that all the prisoners and the dead carried many bombs, it is almost certain that they did not wish to surrender. The most likely story is that a few New Army men were captured out on the Suvla Flats, and told the enemy intelligence officers that we were badly shaken and perhaps would surrender. So this party came down to conduct us into their lines. But instead of finding a place in the line--if there was one--where men were willing to give themselves up, they came upon a nest of hornets that stung them very severely. During the rest of the night, communications were dug from the old Australian trenches to their new front line on the other side of the Kaiajik Dere. The New Zealanders in the Kaiajik trenches were not in touch with the Australians on the right. The newly arrived battalion of Australian Infantry--the 18th--now came out from Anzac as reinforcements. This was at 4.30 a.m. Two companies were taken round by the Kabak well, along an old Turkish road, and sent to attack the northern flank of the hill. At first they were very successful, but the bombing tactics of the enemy were too much for the newly arrived soldiers, who had to evacuate--about 9 a.m. on the 22nd. At 11 a.m. the N.Z.M.R. again took part of those trenches on the extreme left, and built a sandbag barricade. The position now was that the front line trench on Hill 60 was held for about 200 yards by the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. This trench ran approximately round the 60 metre contour line. We built traverses to separate us from the enemy, who held the rest of the trench. This attack had fallen very heavily on the troops engaged. The Canterburys, Otagos and Maoris had severe losses--the Canterburys losing 58 per cent. of their effectives, the Otagos 65 per cent. But we had taken part of the enemy's trench, and that was something--in fact, the only thing gained in the whole line from the Asma Dere to the Chocolate Hills. We set to work on our communication trenches, and the Turks dug and dug until they made the rest of Kaiajik Aghala into a veritable redoubt. Second Assault on Kaiajik Aghala. For the next few days the units in the line carried on an incessant bomb and rifle duel, but it was decided to make one more effort to win the coveted hill. In the reorganization which took place for the second attack, the disposition was as follows:-- On the right a detachment of the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade (250 men), with 100 men of the 17th Battalion, A.I.F. In the centre, the four regiments of the N.Z. Mounted Rifles Brigade (300 men), with 100 men of the 18th Battalion, A.I.F. On the left were the 5th Connaught Rangers, totalling 250 men. This attack on Contour 60 of Kaiajik Aghala was timed for 5 p.m., with an artillery bombardment for an hour prior to that. The gunners promised 500 H.E. shells over the space of 500 yards square. In our section of the attack 5 officers and 100 men of the Canterbury Mounteds were to form the first line, with special bombing parties of 20 men of the Aucklands supporting the right and left flanks; Wellington and Otago Mounted Rifles made the second line; the 18th Battalion, A.I.F. the third line. Bayonets and bombs only were to be used. The Canterbury men took up their places in the trench at 4.30 p.m. with the other regiments in the communication trench. After a bombardment by our artillery, at 5 p.m. our men jumped out to advance and were immediately under a terribly hot fire from machine guns and rifles. But they never wavered, and with men falling everywhere they continued in one long straight line, magnificent in their courage, on into the first trench where they disappeared for 10 or 15 minutes, amongst a nest of live Turks. Finishing these off, without more hesitation, they rose again and advanced under the same withering fire, fewer in numbers, but dauntless in determination, only to meet a new foe in the enemy's shrapnel. The casualties were fearful. But still they pressed on to the second trench, then the third. Men were falling more quickly now. Yet it was a charge to stir the heart and quicken the blood of a stoic, and so forlorn it looked against such dreadful odds. The little pink flanking flags were gradually moving forward as the artillery exploded their shells just in front of them. It was noticeable that the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade had not been able to make an advance on the right, and the troops on our left were making little headway. Our machine guns now hurried forward to take up a forward position and all hung on to the ground gained as darkness set in. Wounded, slightly and severely, now began to pour into the dressing stations. It then became a bomb duel for the remainder of the night. The trenches were choked with dead and wounded Turks and our own people, and were so narrow that no stretchers could be used to send them out. During the early hours of the morning the 18th Australians continued to improve and deepen their trenches. Up and down the trenches roamed the padres of the Mounted Rifles so that they might be near the men. Chaplain Grant, the beloved padre of the Wellington Mounted Rifles laboured with a comrade attending to the wounded. He heard a man crying out in the scrub, so he took the risk and went beyond the barricade erected to divide our line from the Turks. Bandaging friend and foe, the two chaplains pushed on, but on rounding a traverse, they came suddenly on a party of Turks, and Padre Grant was killed instantly. [Illustration: [_Photo by Rev. H. L. Blamires, C.F._ PADRE GRANT OUT AT HILL 60. This picture was taken about an hour before his death.] The enemy now began to enfilade with 75m. guns from the east. Their gunners knew the range to a yard, for these were his own captured trenches he was shelling. There seemed to be no escaping these terrible guns; man after man, group after group, was destroyed, but the survivors held stubbornly on. Up in the salient held by our fellows, the Turk attacked again and again, but the Mounted Rifles stood to it. New Zealanders have a tradition that they cannot be shifted out of reasonable trenches. The 9th Light Horse, about 200 strong, were placed at General Russell's disposal and were ordered to come over from Walker's Ridge. They arrived at 10 o'clock, and an hour later two parties of 50 each, were taken over to the trenches to help hold our left. They encountered very strong opposition, and had to fall back again to a barricade, which was held by them for the rest of the night. The position was greatly improved during the day, large working parties being kept going deepening the trenches. The work was much interrupted by shell fire from Abdel Rahman Bair. [Illustration: [_Photo by Rev. H. L. Blamires, C.F._ AFTER HILL 60: THE REMNANTS OF THE AUCKLAND MOUNTED RIFLES.] At 2 p.m. the officers of the 10th Light Horse came over from Walker's Ridge and were shown the position. A plan was unfolded whereby these Light Horsemen might attack an essential piece of trench away on the left. That night the old 10th, our comrades of Walker's Ridge, came over to Kaiajik, and at 11 o'clock, in the darkness of the night, fell upon the Turks in the remainder of the trench. This was the climax. Bomb as the Turk might, he could not shift the Light Horse and Mounted Rifles. It was here that Thossell of the Light Horse got his V.C. for holding the barricade against persistent bombing attacks. The top of Kaiajik Aghala was now partly in our hands. We never gained the whole of the crest; but what we took on August 21/28 we held till the evacuation. Three machine guns and 46 prisoners were taken, as well as three trench mortars, 300 Turkish rifles, 60,000 rounds of small arm ammunition, and 500 bombs. The estimate of the Turkish losses was given at 5,000, but this is likely an exaggeration. [Illustration: ALONGSIDE THE HOSPITAL SHIP "MAHENO."] Many of the wounded in these two battles for Kaiajik Aghala were fortunate enough to be taken aboard our own Hospital Ship--the "Maheno"--which arrived off Anzac on August 26. With what joy did the soldiers welcome the clean sheets, the hot baths, the thousand and one comforts and the sight of real New Zealand girls. After the hand-to-hand struggle at Hill 60, to lie at rest on the "Maheno" and watch the nurses was like creeping quietly into heaven. CHAPTER XVI. Preparing for the End. The struggle near Kaiajik Aghala was the last pitched battle on the Peninsula. After the desperate landings in April; the trench warfare of May, June and July; the titanic efforts of August--four strenuous and bloody months--we were forced to admit that at Helles, Anzac and Suvla, we were still holding only the lower fringes of the Turkish position. The troops, weakened by continual hardships and malnutrition, were an easy prey to dysentery and similar ailments. The dressing stations were also kept busy by men troubled with septic sores. Scratched by the prickly scrub, or with a meat or jam tin, the wounds were healed with great difficulty, which was not surprising, as the men were not strong enough to throw off or resist even the most trifling ailment. [Illustration: [_Lent by Lieut Carr, A.M.R._ AN OFFICER'S DUGOUT. On the left is the soldiers pack and an empty rum jar; on the right of the "door" a petrol tin for water.] Resting at Sarpi. About the middle of September, taking advantage of the arrival of the 2nd Australian Division, it became possible to relieve the troops of the two veteran Colonial divisions, excepting the New Zealand and Australian divisional troops (artillery, engineers, A.S.C. and ambulance) who went through unrelieved right up to the evacuation. The N.Z.M.R. Brigade at Cheshire Ridge handed over to some recently arrived Australians, leaving only a few officers and men as machine gun crews. The remainder of the brigade--20 officers and 229 other ranks--were accommodated in one small barge! It was only on occasions such as this that we could comprehend our losses. The old "Osmanieh" sailed for Lemnos, and the brigade disembarked at Mudros early on September 14, and marched by road to Sarpi Camp, about three miles from the pier. This road connected Mudros with the chief town of the island, Castro. Tents were scarce, and during the night a torrential rain made everybody most unhappy. The ground was very soft, but a hot sun made things more bearable during the day. A few tents were erected for the Infantry Brigade which was expected during the day. [Illustration: A SKETCH MAP OF THE NEW ANZAC LINE. Chatham's Post to No. 3 Post were the original Anzac boundaries. The dotted line at Lone Pine, and from the Apex to Jephson's Post indicates the territory gained in August. The Anzac area went as far as Hill 60.] The infantry battalions were in the same plight as the mounted regiments. Although having absorbed the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Reinforcements, these one-thousand-strong battalions of the landing were now pathetically weak--the strongest not totalling more than 300 men. Four months of living on monotonous food, of constant hammering at the Turk, of thirst and danger and fatigue, had left its mark on the hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, but dauntless-spirited soldiers of Anzac. Arriving at night, the men of the N.Z. Infantry Brigade stumbled along the dark and dirty highway. Many of the troops slept by the wayside rather than struggle on and further weaken themselves. As there were few tents at the camping place, it turned out that the ones who did struggle on were in no sense rewarded, and to make matters worse, a real Mediterranean downpour set in. Daily more "Indian pattern" tents arrived, into which as many as forty men crept at night. Gradually the number of tents increased, the weather cleared, and the men made an effort to extract a little pleasure out of life. Here at least there was no shelling, and the food, in quality and quantity, surpassed our most sanguine expectations. For the first time on active service we tasted the luxury of canteens. Even recreational institutes sprang up. Day by day the men gained strength until they were colourable imitations of the original arrivals at Anzac. How genuinely pleased we were to get the many gifts of eatables from New Zealand, and from good friends in England and Scotland--these good people can never realize what pickles, strawberry jam, condensed milk, crisp Edinburgh shortbread, illustrated periodicals, and letters meant to those war-worn, homesick men. A gift particularly touching was a large consignment of sweets packed in tins by the school children of the Dominion. Some of the cases had evidently been stowed too near the ship's boilers, as, on being opened, there was discovered a conglomerate mass of molten sugar, tin, and little notes from the various packers. Weird mixture though it was, the sweets were most acceptable, and appreciated not only for their value, but for the kindly solicitude that prompted the service. [Illustration: A FRENCH SENEGALESE. Dressed in white with a red sash, these troops were very vain and like all negroes could not keep their hands off the henroost.] Nurses! The camp was thrilled when Canadian nurses were discovered on the island. With their wonderful ways, their delightful accents, and their cute little naval capes, the memory of those nurses working away in that hell-hole of Mudros should never be forgotten. On the road from Anzac, Suvla and Helles; on this dusty, rocky island; surrounded by that atmosphere of desolation and suffering caused by an aggregation of wounded and broken men--these girls, with no halfpenny illustrated paper to print their pictures and sing their praises, slaved away in the Mudros hospitals and saved the lives of many New Zealanders who must have perished had it not been for the devotion of the nurses. The soldiers of New Zealand can never adequately express their thanks for the magnificent work of those Canadian and Australian women at Lemnos, and the British, Australian and New Zealand nurses who toiled so heroically on those awful journeys in the hospital ships from Anzac to Mudros, Alexandria and Malta. War has some compensations, after all. One begins to realize that we are so dependent on our fellows for most of the happiness and joys of life. Between the sailormen and the Colonials, too, there was a strong bond of friendship. This became very manifest after the landings, and further intimate acquaintance strengthened those early ties. The latest expression of these feelings came from the cruisers and destroyers in the bay. The crews had a "tarpaulin muster," the result of which was a present for every man in the division of half a pound of tobacco, at a time when it was specially acceptable. Hot Baths at Thermos. Most welcome news was that, at Thermos, about three miles away, hot baths could be had. From the day when the baths were built, they could not have been more crowded. Since leaving Egypt, five months before, hot baths were unknown, unless one was lucky and sufficiently hurt to be put aboard a hospital ship. So out to Thermos hurried the men, to whom a hot bath was a boon beyond price. The little stone building was below ground level, the inside lined with marble, and with marble basins full and overflowing in each corner so that the marble floor was also awash. The procedure was to strip off and with a little dipper pour the water over oneself. Thermos became the most popular resort on the island. In the little villages, too, very good meals could be obtained--especially those delicious Continental omelettes made only in countries where eggs, tomatoes and fine herbs are estimated at their full value. The mild Greek beer was also most palatable. Mixed with the wine of the country, it made even the listless Anzacs quite hilarious. The quaint old windmills on the hill, and the church in the village square, where the gossips gathered together, were reminiscent of the Old World life made familiar to us in our youth by means of books and pictures. Indeed, some of these old villages seemed just like an ancient painting come to life. Flocks of sheep with little bells on their necks made sweet tinkling music as they wandered to and from their pasture lands; by the roadside the comely (if rather fat) Greek women worked in the fields, and winnowed in olden style their crops of grain and seeds; on the hillside the ancient windmills ground corn which made a most palatable brown bread; under the spreading tree in the village square, picturesque old patriarchs, apparently telling the tales of ancient Greece, were really discussing how much money they could extract in the shortest time from these open-handed, spendthrift warriors! [Illustration: THE MAIN STREET IN MUDROS.] The Problem of a Mixed Coinage. The troops certainly had plenty of money to spend, and indulged in orgies of tinned fish, tinned fruit, and tinned sausages from the naval canteens, supplemented by melons, grapes, figs and eggs bought from the villagers. The Mudros shopkeeper made a small fortune out of the exchange of English money. Generally we had English treasury notes for one pound and ten shillings. These were over-printed in Turkish, so that their value might be comprehended in captured villages, but so far Kuchuk Anafarta and Krithia had resisted our efforts to make them legal tender! Perhaps the strangest thing of all was the readiness with which Australian silver was accepted. A few years ago it was not legal tender in New Zealand, but away up here in the Levant, and all over Egypt, it was not questioned. The emu and kangaroo signified nothing to these simple folk, but did not the other side picture King George of England? [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author._ THE VILLAGE PUMP. A sentry on guard at Mudros. Greeks drawing water with the ubiquitous kerosene tin.] The change given for an English pound was enough to make the soldier join the scientists in praying for the early adoption of a universal coinage. French Colonials from Senegal and Tunis brought their own money with them; French territorials contributed francs and centimes to the medley; Egyptian labourers tendered their piastres and millemes; Greek, Turkish and Italian money circulated freely; English and Australian was as good as the best--so, when a man got his change, the silver would be Australian, the nickels would be endorsed with an inscription which was Greek in more ways than one, while the coppers bore on one side a meaningless Arabic scrawl and "Tunis" on the other! Welcome Reinforcements. The arrival of the 6th Reinforcements gave a tremendous fillip to the sadly depleted brigades. To the 20 officers and 200 other ranks of the N.Z.M.R. Brigade were added a draft of 30 officers and 1060 men of eager volunteers. The Infantry Brigade was reinforced in a like manner. The new men were so fresh and fit, rosy-cheeked and cheery. "Just like a lot of young schoolboys," said an officer. "I never realized before how different the newcomer was to the sun-dried, war-stained, weather-beaten Anzac." [Illustration: [_Lent by Lieut Carr, A.M.R._ AUCKLAND MOUNTED RIFLES AT LEMNOS.] With mixed feelings the units learned that they were to return to Anzac. This rest at Sarpi had been a great relief. Strengthened by the fresh blood of the reinforcements, strong in the veteran's knowledge of warfare, the troops once again embarked. "I'm glad we're going home," said one boy. Strange what we can get accustomed to call "Home"! Farewells were exchanged with the nurses, the sailormen and the Greek ladies gathered round the village pump. Lemnos was once again lost to view and the pleasant sojourn at Sarpi became only a memory. The Seething Pot of Balkan Politics. During the months of midsummer the political situation in Europe gave the staffs and soldiers of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force something to think about. We studied the Balkan situation and knew of the different candidates and parties struggling for dominance in Greece. The boy from Awarua waited anxiously for the latest election return from the islands of the Cyclades! And now the Russian armies on which we had so much depended were being hurled from line to line by the Austro-Germans. Warsaw and Brest-Litovsk fell in August; Grodno and Vilna in September. It was reluctantly admitted that no help could be expected from Russia. Meanwhile the Greek Premier, Venizelos, who had been returned to office with an overwhelming majority in June, experienced opposition from King Constantine. It was understood that the Greeks would always help the Serbians if attacked by an outside power, but to the disgust of all true lovers of freedom, the Greeks refused to move. Serbia's cup of bitterness was filled to overflowing on September 19, when a powerful Austro-German force struck again at that gallant army which but a few months before so decisively punished the Austrians. The next day Bulgaria made public a treaty (secretly signed two months before) throwing in her lot with Germany, Austria and Turkey! King Constantine, convinced that Germany must win the war on land, prevented the Greeks coming to the assistance of their traditional friends. So it was that Serbia found herself assailed on one side by the Austro-Germans, and threatened by the Bulgarians on the other. The French and British wished to help their ally, Serbia, but once again the old complaint was evident--a shortage of trained available men. See how this re-acted on the Gallipoli compaign: Sir Ian Hamilton was asked if he could now spare three Divisions! With the consent of the French, the 53rd (Welsh) Division, the 10th (Irish) Division from Suvla, and the 2nd (French) Division from Helles were sent to Salonika. Thus was the Gallipoli army despoiled to provide troops for the new venture at Salonika, whence with other allied troops, it was thought an effort could be made to save Serbia. But once again the allied help arrived in time only to fight a rearguard action, and Serbia shared the fate of Belgium. Salonika absorbed more and more British troops--troops which might have made all the difference if they had been ready and released a little earlier for the attacks on Sari Bair. On the Western Front a great effort was being made to concentrate men, ammunition, and guns, for the coming great offensive, which culminated in Neuve Chapelle, Loos, and the French attacks in Champagne. The British authorities--almost beside themselves with the demands from the Western Front; troubled by the hesitancy of the Greeks; dumbfounded by the deceitfulness of the Bulgarians; appalled by the evident collapse of the Russians; and now faced with the necessity of providing a force at Salonika, had, in taking three divisions from the Peninsula, again demonstrated that the Gallipoli campaign did not have the whole-hearted support of those responsible for its vigorous prosecution. They had not realized that, perhaps more in war than in other matters, things done by halves are never done right. [Illustration: [_Photo by Col. Falla, C.M.G., D.S.O._ WATER CARRIERS OF THE 4TH HOWITZER BATTERY. These small donkeys were purchasable in the Ægean Islands at about two pounds each.] So it was that while the troops were resting at Sarpi, the fate of the Gallipoli adventure was being decided elsewhere. All the gallantry, heroism, and sacrifice of the British, Indian, French and Colonial troops were to be sacrificed because the Allies, caught unprepared by the Central Powers, had no well-defined plan of action. Nations unprepared must always pay the price in flesh and blood. The Responsibility of Australia and New Zealand. In this matter the people of New Zealand are not one whit better than their kinsfolk of the Old Land, of Canada, of South Africa, of Australia. The people of New Zealand cannot preen themselves in the knowledge that they were prepared for war. The advocates of preparedness had been for years voices crying in the wilderness. A little reasoning here may be of value. For of what use is experience and history if we do not measure our shortcomings? Ultimately New Zealand maintained a Division in the Field. At the end of the war--in that we had twelve, instead of nine battalions of infantry--we had the strongest division in all the Allied Armies. Australia maintained five, and always four, divisions in France. Now the August offensive in Gallipoli took place just one year after war had been declared between Great Britain and Germany. Yet New Zealand--because, before the war, the people refused to comprehend the German challenge for world dominion--could not put into the field more than two brigades. It was not that the public was not warned, but the English-speaking peoples will not see that if we must do the world's work we must use worldly tools. We are men in a world of men, and despite the visionaries and the dreamers, the last appeal is to force. This may be regrettable, but unfortunately it is true! If the Australians could have placed their four magnificent divisions at Anzac and Suvla; if New Zealand could have loosed a full division at Chunuk Bair, while the Australians went for Hill 971 and Suvla--there perhaps would be no talk of "the Gallipoli failure." Admitting that the New Army divisions were not of a calibre required for desperate fighting in rough country, they were certainly better from a soldier's point of view than the excellent material not yet available from Australia and New Zealand. General Hamilton is Recalled. The story of Sir Ian Hamilton's recall is best told in his own words. After describing the battle for Kaiajik Aghala, he says: "From this date onwards up to the date of my departure on 17th October, the flow of munitions and drafts fell away. Sickness, the legacy of a desperate trying summer, took heavy toll of the survivors of so many arduous conflicts. No longer was there any question of operations on the grand scale, but with such troops it was difficult to be downhearted. All ranks were cheerful; all remained confident that so long as they stuck to their guns, their country would stick to them, and see them through the last and greatest of the crusades. "On the 11th October, Your Lordship cabled asking me for an estimate of the losses which would be involved in an evacuation of the Peninsula. On the 12th October I replied in terms showing that such a step was to me unthinkable. On the 16th October I received a cable recalling me to London for the reason, as I was informed by Your Lordship on my arrival, that His Majesty's Government desired a fresh unbiased opinion, from a responsible commander, upon the question of early evacuation." [Illustration: [_Photo by Captain Wilding, N.Z.F.A._ A GUN PIT OF THE 6TH HOWITZER BATTERY, N.Z.F.A.] The reasons for Sir Ian Hamilton's recall were not promulgated to the men on the Peninsula, but his departure was made known to the troops through a manly farewell order. The Colonial divisions were very sorry to see him go. His commanding figure, his charming personality, his warm and expressed admiration for the "ever-victorious Australians and New Zealanders" endeared him to the soldiers, who like himself, were high-spirited, brave, optimistic, and warm-hearted. "Our progress was constant, and if it was painfully slow--they know the truth." And knowing the truth we grieved to see him go. We knew that the age of miracles had passed, and that improvized machines could not stand the rough tests of war. General Munro Assumes Control. The new "responsible Commander" proved to be General Sir Charles Munro, K.C.B., a soldier of much experience in former wars, and a fine record of service on the Western Front. Until General Munro's arrival on the Peninsula at the end of October, General Birdwood acted as Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. No movement was attempted during this period. There seemed nothing to do but strengthen the line and prepare for the bad weather everyone anticipated. General Munro arrived on the Peninsula at the end of October. His duty was: (a) To report on the military situation on the Gallipoli Peninsula. (b) To express an opinion whether, on purely military grounds, the Peninsula should be evacuated, or whether another attempt should be made to carry it. (c) The number of troops that would be required-- (1) To carry the Peninsula. (2) To keep the Straits open. (3) To take Constantinople. It was not long before the General was able to report that "the positions occupied by our troops presented a military situation unique in history. The mere fringe of the coast line had been secured. The beaches and piers ... were exposed to registered and observed military fire; our entrenchments were dominated almost throughout by the Turks. The possible artillery positions were insufficient and defective. The force, in short, held a line possessing every possible military defect. The position was without depth, the communications were insecure and dependent on the weather." After reviewing the conditions of the troops--they could not get the necessary rest from shellfire as in France; they were much enervated from the diseases in that part of Europe in the summer; through their tremendous losses there was a great dearth of officers competent to lead--these and other considerations forced the General to the conclusion that the troops available on the spot could not achieve or attempt anything decisive. [Illustration: A UNIQUE PIER AT IMBROS. Ships sunk to make a pier at Kephalos. A close examination of this large vessel will reveal the deception--she is a merchant steamer with enough fake super-structure to make her look like a British dreadnought. Observe her own funnel with the outer imitation funnel removed. A fleet of these dummy warships often masqueraded in the North Sea as the British Fleet. ] On considering the possibilities of an early success by the provision of reinforcements, he came to the conclusion that "an advance from the positions we held could not be regarded as a reasonable military operation to expect;" and "even had we been able to make an advance on the Peninsula, our position would not have been ameliorated to any marked degree, and an advance to Constantinople was quite out of the question." Which brought the General to the point: "Since we could not hope to achieve any purpose by remaining on the Peninsula, the appalling cost to the nation involved in consequence of embarking on an Overseas Expedition with no base available for the rapid transit of stores, supplies, and personnel, made it [an evacuation] urgent." It must be remembered that the soldiers were not informed of these important decisions. It was essential to the plan that absolute secrecy should be observed, and that the enemy should be led to believe that an attack might take place at any time. It was now announced that the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force would consist of two distinct and separate parts--the "Salonika Army" under Lieut.-General Sir B. Mahon; and the "Dardanelles Army" under Lieut.-General Sir W. Birdwood. The Great Blizzard. With the advent of cooler weather the daily sick parades became appreciably smaller, but the men of Anzac were to have still another trial of their endurance and cheerfulness, for on November 27, the weather turned extremely cold. Next morning the troops awoke to find everything white with snow. A snowstorm is not a very disagreeable thing provided one has a comfortable home and clean streets. But at Anzac everyone lived in a dugout--clay walls, clay floor, and a clay track up to the door. The mud and slush made all the tracks as sticky as glue. Locomotion became difficult. Supplies ran short. [Illustration: [_Lent by Lieut. Carr, A.M.R._ NEW ZEALAND TROOPERS IN THE SNOW.] The blizzard was almost the fiercest enemy encountered on the Peninsula. We could fight with, and often outwit, the Turk, but against snow and slush we had very little defence. The troops were greatly indebted to some enterprising men who anticipated cold weather, and issued a small supply of whale oil with instructions how to apply it to the extremities in case of heavy frosts. This simple precaution prevented a very large number of frost-bite cases, as far as the New Zealand brigades were concerned. In comparison with the other troops we were more or less fortunate, as we occupied the higher ground on the Peninsula, and our trenches drained themselves down the slopes. But to those who had to go uphill to the trenches, the task was almost impossible. The deres which were always used as tracks became miniature rivers of mud, eventually becoming frozen and covered with snow. The troops will long remember the small hours of November 28 as they were rudely awakened by the tarpaulin roofs of their never-too-elaborate dug-outs collapsing on top of them with the weight of snow. The gale made playthings of the light craft in the Cove. Barges and launches broke from their moorings and completed their sphere of usefulness on the beach. The snow-covered hills presented a wonderful sight. Long icicles hung down from the parapets in the trenches. Comparatively few of our men suffered from frost bite, but it was really a very sad and pitiful sight to see long queues of stretcher bearers carrying the suffering men from the lower slopes. [Illustration: [_Photo by Col. Falla, O.M.G., D.S.O._ ROUGH WEATHER AT ANZAC: A STORM IN ANZAC COVE.] The poor fellows caught it very badly, especially towards Suvla Bay, as the trenches became inundated with the rushing waters. Many of the occupants were drowned. The brigades of the 29th Division held the trenches into which drained the flood waters from the Kiretch Tepe Sirt. They suffered severely. The Newfoundland contingent, now attached as a battalion to one of these famous brigades, almost revelled in the frost and snow, as might have been expected! The casualties among the Turks, according to those who surrendered at this period (and there were quite a few) must have been enormous. [Illustration: [_Photo by Capt. Fairchild, N.Z.D.C._ IN THE SNOW: ENGINEERS' DUGOUTS AT THE APEX.] The most popular place after the blizzard broke out was the ordnance stores, as everyone was in want of extra clothing--and, thank goodness, it was available. It was amusing to see sentries on duty after their experience of the first night. It would have needed a very energetic bullet to penetrate the amount of clothing worn! This is a fair sample:--Hat, balaclava cap, (two if procurable) waterproof cape, greatcoat, tunic, cardigan jacket, shirt, two singlets, two pairs of underpants, trousers, puttees, two pairs of socks, straw or paper round the feet, and a pair of trench boots! After each tour of duty a compulsory tot of rum was issued. Fortunately for all concerned perfect weather set in about December 4. This blizzard set all thinking. The chief topic of conversation was "How will we fare, supposing the bitter weather holds out for a couple of months?" as nothing in the way of stores or provisions could be landed other than in perfectly fine weather. Units who had sited their homes near the deres carved out neat villas on higher ground. Hospitals evacuated their sick as quickly as possible, and men not employed making high level roads, were busily engaged in making winter dugouts, well beneath Mother Earth--well beneath advisedly, as about this time we were almost daily informed that our airmen were locating concrete emplacements for heavy howitzers. The Turkish prisoners were also kind enough to say that a large number of heavy guns were being placed in position to blow us into the Mediterranean, which was understood to be very cold in winter. The Visit of Lord Kitchener. We did not get many callers, so the visit of Lord Kitchener of Khartoum to the Anzac battlefields started us speculating afresh and making wild conjectures. His visit, needless to say, was very secret. On landing he went straight to Russell's Top and right through the trenches on the Nek. Indians passed by the way were overawed and simply went down on their knees. Needless to say there were wonderful rumours as to what he did and said, but it was generally understood that the decision to evacuate the Peninsula was confirmed there and then. Viewing the country from the observing station of the 2nd Battery, N.Z.F.A., he was much impressed by the rough country. His time at Anzac was chiefly spent at that portion of the line held by the Australians, and it was impossible to suppress the outburst of enthusiasm when they recognized Lord Kitchener. The men cheered and he made short speeches, but did not tarry. Soon he stepped aboard the waiting motor launch and sped away north to Suvla. The Hours of Silence. A mysterious order for forty-eight hours' silence was hailed with delight by the men. No work was to be attempted, not a shot was to be fired. It was well to let the Turk believe that we could stay silent if we wanted to. If he had come on to investigate, our machine guns would have punished him severely. But he was too wary, and not prepared to put his head into our noose. He made no move. Perhaps he had a hearty laugh at our tempting him, so the ruse certainly prepared him for an occasional silence that might be priceless later on. Presently he became bolder and put out a good deal of wire. The silent period was lengthened and eventually ended at midnight of November 27/28, having lasted seventy-two hours. CHAPTER XVII. The Evacuation. Even as the military feat of the landing was unparalleled, so the situation now presenting itself to the staff was unique. Nowhere in history could be found any precedent. This was not an ordinary strategical or tactical retreat. With our farthest post about 3,000 yards from the sea; with a No Man's Land in many places only 20 yards wide; with the opposing trenches held by an unbeaten enemy--we had to disengage ourselves, march down narrow defiles, and embark from flimsy piers, each one of which was liable to be heavily shelled during the operation. This was no time for muddling through. Cool and ingenious brains propounded plan after plan. The orthodox thing would have been to attack everywhere but at Anzac and Suvla, and under cover of these diversions, seek to beat a retreat. But for many reasons this method did not commend itself. Already indiscreet people in high places had openly talked of evacuating the Peninsula. The Press of England had discussed the matter, and the Turk was bound to be suspicious. So it was decided that the enemy must be deceived as much as possible. A rumour became persistent that Lord Kitchener, with a great new army, would land and make one last grand effort on Christmas Day. Secret instructions were issued to officers that the evacuation would be accomplished in three distinct phases. First: all surplus men, supplies, and animals were to be sent away. Secondly: during December 13 and 14, a whole battalion and regiment should go out of each brigade--this alone would reduce the force by over a fourth. Thirdly: on the nights of December 19 and 20 there should embark the last rearguard, specially selected men, in numbers just strong enough to hold the line. With the memory of the blizzard and its accompanying wind--the wrecked piers at Imbros and Anzac were mute evidence of its fury--General Munro decided to accelerate the evacuation of Anzac and Suvla. On December 8, General Birdwood was ordered to prepare a detailed plan for the daring and perilous enterprise. Almost everything depended on the weather. Unless anything unforseen happened, Rear-Admiral Wemyss undertook to remove all the troops by the night of Sunday, December 19. Men who had battled on with complaints, only parading sick for treatment, now found that if they complained of the most trivial ailment they were sent away to the hospital ship. It was announced that only the fittest men were to be kept on the Peninsula during the winter. Every night saw the outgoing barges crowded to their fullest capacity; but as it grew light a great show of landing troops would be made--an effort that was not lost upon the Turks, who erected barbed wire more vigorously than ever. [Illustration: [_Lent by Lieut. Moritzson, M.C., M.M., N.Z.E._ PREPARING FOR THE EVACUATION. The small trestles prepared by the engineers, ready for the decking. They were only to be used in case of emergency.] The evidence gradually became too strong for most men. Parties visiting the beach found ordnance and supply officers astonishingly openhanded. Tinned fish, condensed milk, different varieties of jam and other rarities could be had for the carrying away. Officers' coats, leather leggings, puttees, and many pairs of boots were appropriated. Men going back to the front line looked like itinerant hawkers. Toiling up one of the deres a trooper called to a friend "How's this for evacuation?" A brigadier overheard the remark and bounced out of his dugout. "Who's that talking about evacuation? Don't you know there's an order against using the word? Anyway, there is no evacuation!" The trooper, while lugubriously examining his assortment of ordnance stores, preserved a silence so eloquent that even the attendant staff officer had to turn his face away. "What have you got to say for yourself?" said the brigadier, who felt that he was losing ground. "Nothing," said the quiet trooper, "but I never signed for these," and he held up a pair of gum boots. The brigadier retired before the evidence of such unparalleled generosity. The Order to Evacuate. On December 8 it was decided to withdraw those guns that were not required for a passive defence. On December 12, 19 guns of varying calibre, belonging to the N.Z. and A. Division, were embarked. On the same day it was announced that a Rest Camp had been formed at Imbros to which units would go in turn during the winter. Some men still thought it was all a big bluff, but were inclined to be convinced upon the departure of the 3rd and 10th Australian Light Horse Regiments, the Auckland Mounted Rifles, the Otago Infantry Battalion, the Maori Contingent, the 15th Australian Infantry Battalion and other details from the New Zealand and Australian Division. But the decision could not be concealed indefinitely, and the following order was issued on December 16: "The Army Corps Commander wishes all ranks of your Division to be now informed of the operations that are about to take place, and a message conveyed to them from him, to say that he deliberately takes them into his confidence, trusting to their discretion and high soldierly qualities to carry out a task, the success of which will largely depend on their individual efforts. If every man makes up his mind that he will leave the trenches quietly when his turn comes, and sees that everybody else does the same, and that up to that time he will carry on as usual, there will be no difficulty of any kind, and the Army Corps Commander relies on the good sense and proved trustworthiness of every man of the Corps to ensure that this is done. In case by any chance we are attacked on either days, the Army Corps Commander is confident that the men who have to their credit such deeds as the original landing at Anzac, the repulse of the big Turkish attack on May 18, the capture of Lone Pine, the Apex and Hill 60, will hold their ground with the same valour and steadfastness as heretofore, however small in numbers they may be; and he wishes all men to understand that it is impossible for the Turk to know or tell what our numbers are, even up to the last portion of "C" party on the last night, as long as we stand our ground." Officers who knew the state of affairs were greatly relieved at the decision, but sick at heart now that the blow had fallen. To give up Anzac and all that it meant! To leave the place where our brothers and friends were lying! Out there in No Man's Land graves were marked where men had fallen, but no cross had been erected, and now the chance was slipping away. Men crept out at night to pay their last visits to those lonely graves. One soldier writing home voiced the undisguised emotion of many: "My goodness, Mother, how it did go to our hearts--after all we had gone through--how we had slaved and fought--fought and slaved again--and then to think that we had been sizzled in the heat, tortured by flies and thirst, and later nearly frozen to death. It was hard to be told we must give it up. But it was not our wasted energy and sweat that really grieved us. In our hearts it was to know we were leaving our dead comrades behind. That was what every man had in his mind. We thought, too, of you people in New Zealand and what you might think of us. Believe me, it is far harder to screw one's courage up for running away than it is to screw it up for an attack!" But now that the decision had been made, everyone worked with a will. The horses and mules, valuable vehicles and guns were mostly embarked before the last two nights. The Division withdrew 53 guns in all, only 12 being left for the last night. The batteries were ordered to continue firing in "an extraordinary erratic manner" in order to mystify the enemy. The gunners were busy burying and otherwise destroying surplus stores. The enemy gunners were very energetic during the last three days. Round Russell's Top their shells arrived in myriads, and quite noticeably of better quality. Each battery was reduced until only one gun remained. The New Zealand gunners were determined that they would get all their horses away, and every gun. In order to facilitate an uninterrupted passage for the last night, resourceful and hard-working artillerymen prepared bridges and cuttings to get their beloved pieces away. The last gun from Russell's Top had to cross a perfect maze of communication trenches, but the men refused to rest until the ten improvized bridges were ready for the eventful night. Preparing for the Big Bluff. Thursday and Friday nights came, and in the darkness, crowded barges were towed out to the transports lying out to sea. On Friday night an accident occurred that certainly invited disaster. Great piles of stores in all the depots were soaked in kerosene and petrol and made ready for firing just before leaving. By some mischance the heaps at Anzac Cove burst into flame, lighting up the scene like day--with the troops waiting on the beach; the picket boats with their loads puffing in and out; and away out to sea, the waiting transports and the destroyers, ever vigilant. So light it became that the embarkation of troops had to be discontinued. Still the Turk made no sign beyond directing a few shells towards the long tongue of flame. It transpired afterwards that he was under the impression that the valuable stores had been set ablaze by his shell-fire! By day there was little rest. There seemed to be a thousand things to be done in the short time available. Much material had to be destroyed, rather than let it fall into the hands of the Turk. Ammunition was buried or dropped into the sea. Condensed milk that would have been invaluable earlier in the campaign was destroyed by punching holes in the tins with bayonets. Jar after jar of rum was smashed. Blankets by the thousand and piles of clothing were saturated with petrol ready to be burned. Everything of value to the Turk was made valueless. [Illustration: "SAFE ROAD TO BEACH."] At Suvla where there was more room than at Anzac, an inner position was prepared by the erection of a strong barbed wire fence eight feet high, with great gates across the roads. At Anzac, barricades were made in all the principal deres and communication trenches. A final covering position, manned by machine gunners, was prepared. Its left flank was on No. 1 Post, and ran by way of Walker's Ridge, across to Plugge's Plateau and so down Maclagan's Ridge to the sea, very much the line decided on when the re-embarkation after the April landing was momentarily considered. Oh! the what-might-have-beens of those eight tragic months! There were now only two nights to go, Saturday night and Sunday night. The 20,000 troops remaining at Anzac and Suvla were to be evacuated at the rate of 10,000 per night. The numbers from our division were 3491 on the second last night, and the final 3000 on the last night. The line from Suvla to Chatham's Post was held as follows: 9th Army Corps--The Suvla front up to and including, Hill 60; N.Z. & A. Division--from the right of Hill 60 to the Apex; 1st and 2nd Australian Divisions--from Walker's Ridge to Chatham's Post. The Suvla Army embarked from the piers in Suvla Bay and on the Ocean Beach. The New Zealanders and Australians on the left of Anzac had to come down the three principal deres to the piers on Ocean Beach. The Australians from the centre and right of Anzac naturally moved down Shrapnel Gully and along the beach from the extreme right towards the piers at Anzac Cove. The New Zealand Brigades were now disposed as follows: RHODODENDRON SPUR HILL 60 HILL 100 CHESHIRE RIDGE THE APEX Wellington, Otago 4th Aust. Canterbury, Wellington and Auckland Inf. Brigade and Auckland Mounted Rifles Infantry Battalions The Mounted Rifles would come down the Aghyl Dere, and the N.Z. Infantry down the Chailak Dere to the Williams Pier on North Beach. A divisional rendezvous was formed at No. 2 Post. Here the troops paraded according to a timetable, and were drafted into groups of 400--the capacity of those big motor lighters that the men had christened "beetles." All through the night of that last Saturday at Anzac the little groups assembled, and were packed into the lighters. By 4.30 a.m. on December 19, the last beetle cleared from the shore leaving the "Diehards" of the Division, only 3,000 strong, to hold the line against a mighty army. It was an anxious day, but there was much to do. Men devised all sorts of mechanism to keep rifles going mechanically after the last party had left. The favourite method was as follows: It takes a certain amount of pressure to pull the trigger of a rifle. After many experiments a device was perfected whereby an empty tin was suspended by a piece of string to the trigger of a loaded rifle. Another tin full of water, but with a small hole in it, was placed above the empty one, so that the water leaked into the bottom one, thus gradually increasing the weight until it was sufficient to pull the trigger! Actors at Anzac. In an endeavour to mystify the Turk observers, the few men left at Anzac became very energetic. With packs up they marched uphill wherever the Turk might see them. Like actors impersonating a crowd in a moving picture studio, these small bodies of men passed ostentatiously backwards and forwards until they were tired. Reinforcement drafts always went in reserve for a time after their arrival, so down in Reserve Gully and Waterfall Gully enthusiastic parties entertained themselves and mystified the enemy by spreading out blankets to dry even as the new arrivals did! The innumerable small fires that smoked incessantly were made to smoke more copiously than ever, for the Turks must fully understand that the great new army was now arriving in strength. Every man ate as much as he could of the tinned goods now so plentiful. Pennies were tossed freely in the air--"Heads for Constantinople; tails for Cairo!" Everybody was in great spirits and betrayed no anxiety. There was little departure from the normal, except that at the Apex there was heavier shelling than usual. A, B, and C Parties. The 3,000 men of the Division still to be withdrawn were divided into three: A, parties totalling 1,300; B, parties totalling 1,100; and C, parties totalling 600. All of A and B were to withdraw and embark as the parties of the preceding night--they came to the divisional rendezvous and embarked in their groups of 400. It was quickly decided that if A parties were for Alexandria, B parties must be for the Beach, and C for Constantinople. Up the deres, great wire gates had been erected so that if the force was attacked the gates would be shut down and the garrison left to its own resource--to fight where it stood and cover the retirement until 2 a.m., and then retire down the ridges to the beach. It would not be possible to come down the ordinary communication trenches in the deres, for on the sign of an attack, the great barbed gates were to be dropped into place in the entanglements and the deres themselves heavily shelled by the warships. The "last ditchers" were to be sacrificed for the army. There was no lack of volunteers. Australians and New Zealanders; New Army men and Yeomanry; men who had been there since the landing, and men who had recently arrived as reinforcements; men of Anzac and Suvla alike--vied with each other in the endeavour to become included in the "Diehards." These men--whether they came from Midlothian or Yorkshire, Queensland or far Taranaki--were all volunteers, proud of their race and the Empire, and convinced of their personal superiority over the seemingly victorious foe. Messages were left warning the Turk he was on the wrong side, exhorting him to look after our scattered graves and the unburied dead of No Man's Land, and promising to return again and punish all the allies of the Germans. A rear party of the No. 1 Field Ambulance was detailed to look after the wounded should disaster overtake the rearguard. They were each equipped with a surgical haversack containing field dressing and morphia. The dressing stations were left equipped with the necessary instruments, so that if the Turk did appreciate the situation and come over in force, the wounded might be tended by our own men. It was thought that life-boats from the Hospital Ships might be allowed to approach the shore and take away the serious cases. Luckily there were no casualties in the division, nor, in fact, in the Army Corps. [Illustration: WATCHING FOR THE TURK.] The day was fairly quiet, but at about 11 o'clock in the morning the kinema actors had so impressed the Turks that much heavy shell was dropped into the communication trenches leading from the beach, and into the gullies where the reserves usually bivouacked. Thanks to the great dugouts constructed for the winter, there were no casualties. At 4 o'clock that afternoon, the Turkish shelling increased very much in intensity. Was this a preliminary bombardment before the attack? But the shelling ceased with the sunset, and everything became normal once more. The Last Night. The sun went down that evening on a wondrously peaceful scene. The peaks of Samothrace and Imbros were bathed in the glow of a glorious golden sunset. The sea was unruffled by the faintest breeze. Faint wisps of clouds floated lazily across the sky, fitfully obscuring the moon. As soon as it was dark men became very busy. At ten minutes past six the last gun fired its last shot from Russell's Top, and its removal to the beach commenced over the temporary bridges, down through the wider trenches, past much barbed wire entanglement--over cliff-sides and down Walker's Ridge the proud gunners triumphantly brought their charge, and before eight o'clock were safely embarked on their waiting transports. Two much-worn guns--not New Zealand ones, but attached to our division--were rendered useless and abandoned. One was a 5-inch howitzer in Australian Valley, the other a 3-pounder Hotchkiss in the Aghyl Dere. All the men were travelling very light. Previous parties had taken the "Diehards" kits and impedimenta. With a rifle and bayonet and a stock of hand grenades the men of the rearguards took up their positions in the front line. Machine guns were carefully looked to. Ammunition was plentiful. If the Turk did come over he would pay a big price. As one of the normal smells of Anzac was that of tobacco smoke, men smoked packet after packet, and pipe upon pipe. Out to sea, the traffic was quite noticeable to the anxious watchers on the hillside. A and B Parties Leave. Soon after dusk the men of the A parties at Anzac and Suvla said goodbye to their comrades of B and C, marched to their respective divisional rendezvous, and passed down the sandbag-muffled piers to the waiting "beetles." Early on that last night many were confident that the Turk was completely fooled. If he had wanted to attack he would have attacked before dark; if he attacked at dawn he would be too late. If he had known, as some clever people say, that we were leaving, would it not have been a "tremendous victory" if he had come boldly on and overwhelmed the "Diehards?" He certainly would have taken no prisoners--the men of Anzac would have attended to that. But the fact is: the Turk helped us at the evacuation in the same degree as he helped us at the landing! B party commenced to leave at nine o'clock. It was very hard to go. What might happen to the waiting men of C? However, the barges were waiting and the timing could not be arranged otherwise. So, with a "Goodbye, boys! see you in Cairo!" on their lips, but with misgivings in their hearts, the second last parties left their posts and made for the rendezvous. By 11.25 all of A and B parties were safely embarked without a casualty. Those left moved quickly from place to place, firing their rifles in order to preserve the "normality" of things. The old trench mortars coughed spasmodically, and the Turks returned the compliment. Away on Walker's Ridge several very heavy bursts of firing broke out. Men could not help questioning themselves. Was Quinn's Post holding out with so numerically weak a garrison? Quinn's that had cost so much to hold all those weary months. It was hard to give up Quinn's! And Lone Pine! Where the glorious men of those veteran battalions made such a sacrifice for the sake of Anzac--and for the sake of Suvla. These last men, with their boots muffled in sandbags, crept back and meditated at Brown's Dip with its rows of silent eloquent graves. The dead men took Lone Pine from the Turks, the survivors held it against angry hordes, to-night the rearguard was to hand it quietly back! The men of the New Zealand Infantry Brigade looked out towards The Farm and the fatal crest above it, and thought of those boys who in August went straight for the ridge of Chunuk and doggedly waited for the help from the left, the help that never came. Here the last New Zealanders stood fingering their trigger guards--holding the line at the Apex, only 2,000 yards from the sea. Eight months of incessant striving, a gain of 2,000 yards of bare clay hillside, a loss of so many valuable lives! And Hill 60! Where the New Zealand Mounted Rifles had refused to be worsted when others fell back! Hill 60! Now honeycombed with galleries hewn out with such an expenditure of blood and sweat. These men of the C parties could not help feeling that the dead deserved a better fate than this. Yet what could be done? No men could have achieved more. If the men of Anzac had failed, they certainly had been faithful failures. No pains were spared to make everything appear normal. Some men went round lighting candles in the empty dugouts, others concocted placards to welcome the Turks. The soldiers bore no malice. "Goodbye Johnnie, see you soon in the Suez Canal;" and "Remember you didn't push us off, we simply went," are typical. Others were more amusing if not quite so polite! Men wandered up and down firing occasional shots, and at 11.30 the message came round to the men in the line that everywhere the plans were working without a hitch and well up to time. In front of the Apex and near Hill 60 the Turks were putting out more wire in anticipation of the big attack on Christmas Day. They evidently interpreted the shipping off the coast as the prelude to a big attack. The Last Anxious Moments. Midnight came and the firing died down as was the normal custom. Slowly the minutes crept by. One o'clock! Still there was no alarm. Some men began to feel the tension very keenly. Everybody else was safe. Would C party get away? At 1.30 the first of the C parties commenced to come in. At 1.45 the duty machine gun at the Apex fired three shots three times in rapid succession. This was the signal for all the machine guns of our infantry brigade to withdraw. With a quarter of the remaining infantry, the gunners marched down the gullies and joined up with the other detachments. The organization worked like clockwork. One party was two minutes early in the Chailak Dere and was halted by its captain until, to the second, the little party resumed its march and dovetailed into the long column now winding down the gully towards the muffled piers. At two o'clock another party left. The men of the last group were now looking anxiously at their wristlet watches, which had been carefully synchronized. At about 2.15 each man in the trenches quietly walked out into the nearest communication trench. There was little time to lose. The gate in the Chailak Dere was to be closed at 2.25. Here a staff officer carefully checked the numbers and made sure that all were accounted for. [Illustration: [_Photo by Capt. Wilding, N.Z.F.A._ OFF ANZAC: A GUN OF THE 6TH HOWITZER BATTERY.] The New Zealand Mounted Rifles. Between the 4th Australian Brigade on Cheshire Ridge and the Welsh Horse at Hill 60, were the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. They had the farthest to march from the left flank. But officers had stepped it out and carefully timed the journey from their front line trench to the pier. With careful timing of watches, they got away their A and B parties to the minute. Last of all came the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, who were steadily sticking to their schedule time of 2 miles per hour. Hand-grenades were tossed into the sea. The motor barges were quickly crowded. As the loaded "beetles" moved slowly out from Anzac a deafening roar and a blinding explosion occurred. Our great mine on the Nek had been detonated. The Turk trenches instantly burst into flame. Fires broke out among the piles of stores. The bay seemed crowded with motor barges and flotillas of trawlers. Once on the warships the men were hurried below to a meal of hot cocoa, steaming pea soup, and every delicacy the ships' stores could offer. By 3.40 a.m. the embarkation was complete. Men could, hardly realize that the work was accomplished without a terrible disaster. Restraint was thrown aside. New Zealanders from the Apex and the Lone Pine rearguard of Australians danced wild measures with the sailors on the iron decks. As the ships moved over towards Imbros, Suvla and Anzac burst into flame. All the stores were afire now and the great tongues of flame seemed to reach to the very heavens. Right along the line Turkish rifles and machine guns opened, but caused no casualties, as most of the bullets plopped harmlessly in the water. So we said good-bye to Anzac. Next morning the Turk rubbed his eyes and proclaimed a great victory. The Evacuation of Helles. It was thought that we might hold Helles as we hold Gibraltar, but Mudros was considered an easier base for a naval power. The poor souls of the 29th Division, after being withdrawn from Suvla, hardly had time to rest a day at Mudros before they were ordered to return and hold the line at Helles. They were bitterly disappointed, but were they not tried and trusted Regulars? The Territorials they relieved went back to Egypt for a New Year's dinner in peace; the brigades of the 29th went back to the firing line. This perhaps was the greatest test of the 29th, for the men were sure that the bluff of Anzac and Suvla could not be repeated. They made ready for a heavy rearguard action to cover their retirement. During the days of waiting, it rained and blew until they were perhaps the most miserable men on earth. At least they should have been--but they were British regular soldiers, and there was nothing to do but stick it. So the troops who bore the brunt of the bloodiest landing were to bear the brunt of the evacuation. But a miracle again happened! The Turk could not make up his mind when we were going, and he could not make up his mind to attack. On the night of January 9, the coup came off. There was much heavy shelling of piers and landing places, but the casualties were infinitesimal, though much equipment was lost. The enemy was again baulked of his prey! [Illustration: [_Lent by Lieut. Lockyer, W.M.R._ THE WASTAGE OF WAR. Boots dumped on the wharf at Alexandria after the evacuation.] CHAPTER XVIII. [_The illustrations in this Chapter are by Col. Findlay, C.B. and Capt. Douglas Deans of the C.M.R._] The Return to Anzac. Three years in succession the valleys of Anzac were flooded with the crimson poppies of the Aegean Spring. During these three years the New Zealanders in France and Palestine shared in the vicissitudes and the dearly-bought victories of the Allied Armies. [Illustration: THE GREAT TURKISH VICTORY MONUMENT ON THE NEK.] While the soldiers were fighting, some of the politicians of England--a few of whom had been prominent in reducing Army and Navy expenditure before the war--enquired with great deliberation into the rights and wrongs of the Gallipoli campaign. Money that would have been better spent in hand grenades in 1915 was lavishly poured out in trying to discover who was to blame for this and who should be censured for that. It may be said with pride that the people of New Zealand--and the people of Australia, too--did not indulge in recrimination. They knew that the armies were not to blame, and were content to leave it at that. While commissions investigated ancient history the triumphant Turks erected great monuments on the Peninsula--monuments to commemorate the defeat of the infidels. * * * * * But the months slipped by, and nearer and nearer crept the forces enveloping the Central Powers. The Bulgars felt the pressure first. When they finally broke and fled up the Seres Road, our airmen bombed them unmercifully. Caught in their mountain passes, they were killed in thousands by our low-flying planes. So was Bulgaria finally bombed out of the war by British airmen. On October 26, 1918, British cavalry and armoured cars entered Aleppo and cut the Constantinople-Baghdad railway. On October 29, General Marshall's forces on the Tigris severed the Turkish communications at Mosul. The Turkish armies were everywhere helpless. One day at the end of October a little launch with General Townshend on board slipped out from Chios down near Smyrna, carrying a white flag. A representative of Vice-Admiral Calthorpe, the British naval commander in the Aegean, conducted the liberated hero of Kut-el-Amara and the fully-accredited representatives of the Turkish Government to Mudros--the Mudros of our rendezvous and of our Rest Camp--where the Turkish representatives signed the Armistice terms, preparatory to an unconditional surrender. This was on the evening of October 30. The Armistice came into effect at noon on the following day. The end of 1918 saw British and French warships lying off the Golden Horn and British soldiers on guard at the forts of Chanak and Kilid Bahr. Was it not prophesied that one day a New Zealander would sit on London Bridge and survey the ruins of the metropolis? In the year of grace, 1918, the real modern New Zealanders--with the dust of the desert still on their faded tunics, complete with their wristlet watches and folding kodaks--stand on the famous Galata Bridge and snapshot the imperturbable Turkish boatman who seem but faintly interested in the doom of the Ottoman Empire. There in their old slouch hats stand the war-worn troopers--young crusaders who have contributed their full share to the humbling of those despots who for centuries have been the curse of Western Europe. [Illustration: GOING ASHORE AT MAIDOS.] Among the troops to re-occupy Gallipoli were the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, who, in December, disembarked at Maidos, and with their comrades of the 7th Australian Light Horse, did not hesitate to sit as conquerors on the giant guns of Kilid Bahr. [Illustration: THE TRIUMPH OF ANZAC. Men of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles sitting on a 14-inch gun at Kilid Bahr.] Up the valley towards Lone Pine they rode, until they came to the Turkish victory monument erected on the site of the famous Australian salient. Then over to Koja Chemen Tepe, to stand in silence where British soldiers had never stood before. This was the moment of triumph: this was the prize for which we had striven in 1915, and now, after all these years, the prize was ours--on the one hand the great forts and Point Nagara running out into the rushing waters of the Narrows; on the other side the great panorama of the Aegean Sea--Samothrace and Imbros in the distance; the Salt Lake and the fatal plains of Suvla; away South, the forbidding hump of Achi Baba; and closer in, the Anzac beaches, Russell's Top, the tangled steeps of Walker's Ridge, The Farm, and the ridge of Chunuk. These men of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles were the triumphant victors, but slowly they rode down the winding ways of dry watercourses looking for the last resting places of brothers and comrades-in-arms. Never a yard but somebody stopped and silently searched for an identification disc. [Illustration: RHODODENDRON SPUR FROM THE APEX. Notice the luxuriant growth of thistle in the old trench lines.] [Illustration: THE PROMISED LAND: THE COUNTRY BEHIND KOJA CHEMEN TEPE.] And here on the Nek was the great monument erected by the Turks in honour of their victory in December, 1915! Down the Aghyl Dere where the gallant Overton rests under the shade of the Turkish trees; out to Hill 60 where the white bones lie in heaps; along to Ari Burnu where the graves are thickly crowded; and so to Anzac Cove itself. Here, pathetic beyond words, were the skeletons of old barges and boats--rotting in the smooth white sand once pockmarked by thousands of hurrying feet; here on the sandy beaches the Turk paid the men of Anzac the greatest compliment, for they had wired the beach against another landing! Did not the daredevils say they would come back? Was it not wise to prepare for possibilities? But the soldiers who went so quietly away in December, 1915, chose to come another way as victors. This is the end of the Gallipoli campaign. The men of New Zealand were there at the start--here they are as the victors at the end. * * * * * And now that the struggle is over, now that the great guns of Chanak are silent, and the hillsides once peopled with busy men are again given over to the song birds and the wandering Turkish shepherds--what is the gain to the world? What is the gain to New Zealand? For assuredly there is some gain? Our eight months struggle--even if it grievously tried us--undoubtedly weakened the military power of the Turks. But it did more. It taught the New Zealander many things. It taught him lessons that stood him in excellent stead on the battlefields of the world. It taught him to respect his own strength and capabilities. For before the war we were an untried and insular people; after Anzac, we were tried and trusted. Before Anzac we had few standards; after Anzac, we knew that, come what may, if it were humanly possible--and often when it seemed almost impossible--New Zealanders would not be found wanting, but would prove irresistible in attack, steadfast and stubborn in defence--and what more can anyone ask of soldiers? Even as in the war we lost our insularity and found our national spirit, so at Anzac we found our brothers-in-arms, the gallant sons of Australia; and we did our work together--for if the initial "A" stands for Australia, New Zealand furnished the very necessary pivotal consonants. So in the future we must stand together and carry the white man's burden in these Southern Seas. [Illustration: A TURKISH VICTORY MONUMENT BEHIND NO. 1 POST. The design is carried out with shell-cases. The monument itself was knocked down by our troops.] And if Anzac means suffering, a hopeless longing, aching hearts and a keen sense of loss to many in this land of ours, the gain cannot be measured--for the miner at Quinn's Post did not sweat at the tunnel face in the interests of self; the middies of the picket boats and the men of the trawlers were not working for dividends; the nurses on those hospital ships did not toil the long nights through for praise or notoriety; the women who waited so bravely and patiently at home in hourly dread of the telegraph boy, thought nothing of themselves. One and all made their willing sacrifices for the common good. And that is the message of Anzac to the people of New Zealand: Place the interests of the community before the interests of self, follow in the footsteps of the early pioneers, and make New Zealand a sweeter place for the little children. [Illustration: ANZAC COVE TO-DAY.] Anzac Cove. (_From Leon Gellert's "Songs of a Campaign"_) There's a lonely stretch of hillocks: There's a beach asleep and drear. There's a battered broken fort beside the sea. There are sunken trampled graves: And a little rotting pier: And winding paths that wind unceasingly. There's a torn and silent valley: There's a tiny rivulet With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth There are lines of buried bones: There's an unpaid waiting debt: There's a sound of gentle sobbing in the South. January. 1916. New Zealand Transports of the Main Body. Port of Numbers Tons Knots Departure Units on Board Carried --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Maunganui" 7,527 16 Wellington Headquarters Staff. N.Z E.F. 38 Officers No. 3 Headquarters N.Z. Infantry Brigade 528 Men Field Troop N.Z.E. 204 Horses Wellington Infantry Battalion (West Coast Coy.) N.Z. Mounted Field Ambulance --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Tahiti" 7,585 17 Lyttelton Canterbury Mounted Rifles Regt. 30 Officers No. 4 Wellington Mounted Rifles Regt. (1 Squadron) 611 Men Canterbury Infantry Battalion (1 Company) 282 Horses --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Ruapehu" 7,885 13 Port Otago Mounted Rifles Regt. (1 Squadron) 31 Officers No. 5 Chalmers Otago Infantry Battalion (less 2 Companies and 785 Men Machine Gun Section) 244 Horses --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Orari" 6,800 12 Wellington Wellington Mounted Rifles Regt. 16 Officers No. 6 (East Coast Squadron and 2 Troops) 269 Men Surplus horses from other transports 728 Horses --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Limerick" 6,827 13 Wellington N.Z. Field Artillery Brigade (in part) 21 Officers No. 7 Wellington Infantry Battalion (No. 7 and 8 495 Men Platoons) 348 Horses --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Star of 6,800 11 Auckland Auckland Mounted Rifles Regt. 30 Officers No. 8 India" New Zealand Field Ambulance 652 Men 395 Horses --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Hawkes 7,207 13 Port Otago Mounted Rifles Regt. (less 1 Squadron) 40 Officers No. 9 Bay" Chalmers Otago Infantry Battalion (2 Companies and 930 Men Machine Gun Section) 569 Horses --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Arawa" 9,372 12 Wellington Wellington Infantry Battalion (less West Coast 59 Officers No. 10 Coy. and 7 and 8 Platoons) 1,259 Men Wellington Mounted Rifles Regt. (less 2 troops) 215 Horses Field Artillery Brigade (in part) Signal Troop N.Z.E. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Athenic" 12,234 12 Lyttelton Headquarters Mounted Rifles Brigade 54 Officers No. 11 Canterbury Mounted Rifles Regt. (2 Squadrons) 1,259 Men Canterbury Infantry Battalion (less 1 Company) 339 Horses --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- N.Z.T. "Waimana" 10,389 14 Auckland Auckland Mounted Rifles Regiment 61 Officers No. 12 Auckland Infantry Battalion 1,400 Men N.Z. Signal Company 496 Horses N.Z. Divisional Train --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In addition to the units mentioned each transport carried the usual details--Naval Transport Officer, Medical Officers, Chaplains, etc. N.Z.T. No. 1 (s.s. "Moeraki") and N.Z.T. No. 2 (s.s. "Monowai") took the Samoan Force in August, 1914. Transports Carrying the New Zealand and Australian Division from Alexandria to Gallipoli, April 1915. Name of O.C. Troops. Adjutant Transport. "ACHAIA" Major H. Hart Lieut. A. J. Cross Wellington Battalion Wellington Battalion Units on Board Wellington Infantry Battalion (2 Companies) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "ITONUS" Lt.-Col. W. G. Malone Capt. M. McDonnell Wellington Battalion Wellington Battalion Units on Board Wellington Infantry Battalion (less 2 Companies) Canterbury Infantry Battalion (2 Companies) ?] -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "KATUNA" Major F. Symon Capt. Clyde McGilp R.N.Z.A. N.Z.F.A. Units on Board Headquarters Field Artillery Brigade 1st Battery N.Z.F.A. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "LUTZOW" Lt.-Col. A. Plugge Capt. A. G. B. Price Auckland Battalion Auckland Battalion Units on Board Divisional Headquarters Auckland Infantry Battalion Divisional Signal Company (Headquarters and No. 1 Section) Canterbury Battalion (less 2 Companies) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "GOSLAR" Major F. Fergusson Capt. F. Waite Royal Engineers N.Z.E. Units on Board Headquarters Divisional Engineers. N.Z. Engineers No. 1 Field Company New Zealand Engineers Headquarters New Zealand Infantry Brigade No. 1 Field Ambulance, New Zealand Medical Corps Headquarters No. 2 Company Divisional Train and Details, N.Z.A.S.C. Divisional Signal Company (Brigade Section) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "ANNABERG" Lt.-Col. A. Moore Lieut. J. S. Reid Otago Battalion Otago Battalion Units on Board Otago Infantry Battalion -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "HAIDAR PASHA" Lt.-Col. Pope Capt. R. T. McDonald 16th Battalion 16th Battalion Units on Board 16th Battalion Australian Infantry (Headquarters and 3 Companies) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "SEEANGBEE" Major H. R. Carter Capt. C. P. Corsor 15th Battalion 15th Battalion Units on Board 13th Battalion Australian Infantry (1 Company) 15th Battalion Australian Infantry (2 Companies) 16th Battalion Australian Infantry (1 Company) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "AUSTRALIND" Lt.-Col Cannan Capt. W. C. Willis 15th Battalion 15th Battalion Units on Board 4th New Zealand Howitzer Battery and Ammunition Column 15th Battalion Australian Infantry (less 2 Companies) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "SEEANGCHUN" Lt.-Col. R. E. Courtney Capt. C. M. H Dare 14th Battalion 14th Battalion Units on Board Headquarters 4th Australian Infantry Brigade 14th Battalion Australian Infantry -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "CALIFORNIAN" Major I. T. Standish Lieut. C. Carrington R.N.Z.A. N.Z.F.A. Units on Board 3rd Battery New Zealand Field Artillery Ammunition Column, New Zealand Field Artillery Brigade 4th Australian Field Ambulance -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "ASCOT" Lt.-Col. G. J. Burnage Capt. J. H. A. Durrant 13th Battalion 13th Battalion Units on Board 13th Battalion Australian Infantry (Headquarters and 3 Companies) 4th Australian Company Divisional Train (Headquarters and Supply Section) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "SURADA" Major F. B. Sykes Lieut. V. Rogers Royal Artillery R.N.Z.A. Units on Board 2nd Battery New Zealand Field Artillery No. 2 Brigade Ammunition Column -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Establishment of Main Body, N.Z.E.F. =============================================+============================= | Expeditionary Force | Main Body, sailed Units. | October 16th, 1914. +-----------+---------+------- | | Other | | Officers. | Ranks. | Total. ---------------------------------------------+-----------+---------+------- HEADQUARTERS STAFF | 16 | 68 | 84 | | | NEW ZEALAND MOUNTED RIFLES BRIGADE-- | | | Headquarters | 6 | 28 | 34 The Auckland Mounted Rifles Regiment | 26 | 523 | 549 The Canterbury Mounted Rifles Regiment | 26 | 523 | 549 The Wellington Mounted Rifles Regiment | 26 | 523 | 549 Field Troop, N.Z.E. | 3 | 74 | 77 New Zealand Signal Troop, N.Z.E. | 1 | 32 | 33 New Zealand Mounted Field Ambulance | 8 | 70 | 78 | | | NEW ZEALAND INFANTRY BRIGADE-- | | | Headquarters | 4 | 18 | 22 The Auckland Battalion | 33 | 977| 1,010 The Canterbury Battalion | 33 | 977| 1,010 The Otago Battalion | 33 | 977| 1,010 The Wellington Battalion | 33 | 977| 1,010 | | | DIVISIONAL TROOPS-- | | | The Otago Mounted Rifles Regiment | 26 | 523 | 549 | | | _Divisional Artillery_-- | | | 1st Field Artillery Brigade-- | | | Headquarters | 5 | 38 | 43 No. 1 Field Battery | 5 | 141 | 146 No. 2 Field Battery | 5 | 141 | 146 No. 3 Field Battery | 5 | 141 | 146 No. 1 Brigade Ammunition Column | 3 | 131 | 134 | | | _Divisional Signal Service_-- | | | New Zealand Signal Company (3 Sections) | 4 | 109 | 113 | | | _Divisional Transport and Supply Units_-- | | | Divisional Train-- | | | No. 1 (Divisional Headquarters) Company | 5 | 90 | 95 Army Service Corps (attached to units) | 4 | 125 | 129 | | | _Divisional Medical Units_-- | | | New Zealand Field Ambulance No. 1 | 13 | 182 | 195 Dental Surgeons (unattached) | 10 | | 10 | | | SERVICES AND DEPARTMENTS-- | | | Veterinary Surgeons (unattached) | 3 | | 3 General Base Depot | 1 | 4 | 5 Army Pay Department | 1 | 5 | 6 Chaplains | 13 | 13 | 26 +-----------+---------+-------- Total | 351 | 7,410 | 7,761 ---------------------------------------------+-----------+---------+-------- New Units Raised during Gallipoli Campaign. Additional Units Formed in New Zealand. -------------------------------+--------------+---------+-------+--------- Unit. | Date of |Officers.|Other | Total. | Despatch. | |Ranks. | -------------------------------+--------------+---------+-------+--------- DIVISIONAL TROOPS-- | | | | _Divisional Artillery_-- | | | | 2nd Field Artillery | | | | Brigade-- | | | | Headquarters |12 June, 1915 | 1 | 38 | 39 No. 4 (Howitzer) | | | | Battery |14 Dec., 1914 | 5 | 141 | 146 No. 5 Field Battery |17 April, 1915| 5 | 141 | 146 No. 6 (Howitzer) Battery |12 June, 1915 | 5 | 141 | 146 (B) Howitzer Battery | | | | Ammunition Column | | | | (for No.6 (Howitzer) | | | | Battery) |12 June, 1915 | 1 | 40 | 41 | | | | _Divisional Engineers_-- | | | | No. 2 Field Company, N.Z.E.|17 April, 1915| 6 | 211 | 217 _Divisional Transport & | | | | Supply Units_-- | | | | Divisional Train-- | | | | No. 4 Company |17 April, 1915| 5 | 80 | 85 | | | | _Divisional Medical | | | | Units_-- | | | | New Zealand Field | | | | Ambulance No. 2 | ... | 10 | 182 | 192 | | | | SERVICES AND | | | | DEPARTMENTS-- | | | | No. 1 Stationary Hospital| 21 May, 1915 | 8 | 86 | 94 No. 2 Stationary Hospital|12 June, 1915 | 8 | 86 | 94 2 Mobile Veterinary | | | | Sections |14 Dec., 1914 | 2 | 26 | 28 2 Veterinary Sections |14 Dec., 1914 | 4 | 226 | 230 | | | | Total Additional Units | +---------+-------+---------- formed in New Zealand | | 60 | 1398 | 1458 -------------------------------+--------------+---------+-------+---------- Additional Units Formed by N.Z.E.F. (Egypt). -------------------------------+--------------+---------+-------+---------- | Date of | | Other | Unit | Formation | Officers| Ranks | Total. -------------------------------+--------------+---------+-------+---------- DIVISIONAL TROOPS-- | | | | _Divisional Artillery_-- | | | | 2nd Field Artillery | | | | Brigade-- | | | | Divisional Ammunition |} {| | | Column |} {| 5 | 233 | 238 (A)Howitzer Battery |} {| | | Ammunition Column |} {| 1 | 40 | 41 No. 2 Brigade Ammunition |} {| | | Column |} {| 1 | 46 | 47 No. 3 Brigade Ammunition |} {| 1 | 46 | Column |} {| 3 | 66 | 69 _Divisional Engineers_-- |} {| | | Headquarters |} Feb., 1915 {| 2 | 11 | 13 No. I Field Company, N.Z.E.|} {| 6 | 211 | 217 _Divisional Train_-- |} {| | | No. 2 (New Zealand Infantry|} {| | | Brigade) Company |} {| 5 | 80 | 85 No. 3 (New Zealand Mounted |} {| | | Rifles Brigade) Company |} {| 5 | 80 | 85 Total | +---------+-------+---------- TOTAL | | 28 | 767 | 795 -------------------------------+--------------+---------+-------+---------- Main Body | 351 | 7410 | 7761 Units raised during Gallipoli Campaign | 88 | 2165 | 2253 +---------+-------+---------- TOTAL (This does not include reinforcements.) | 439 | 9575 | 10014 ==============================================+=========+=======+========== [Illustration: The Staff and Senior Officers of the New Zealand and Australian Division. Reproduced from a faded photograph taken in Egypt, 1914. Those marked with a Star are now deceased. _Top Row from Left._--*Capt. C. H. J. Brown; Hon. Capt. W. T. Beck; Capt. J. W. Hutchen; Major J. A. Luxford; Lieut. Kettle; Lieut. J. Anderson; *Lieut. J. M. Richmond; Capt. H. M. Edwards; Capt. N. W. B. B. Thorns; *Lieut. C. M. Cazelet; Capt. C. H. Jess, A.I.F.; Capt. R. E. Coningham; Capt. W. P. Farr, A.I.F.; Lieut. Tahu Rhodes; Major J. G. Hughes, D.S.O. _Second Row._--*Lt.-Col. C. E. Thomas, V.D.; Lt.-Col. N. C. Hamilton; *Lt. Col. R. E. Courtney, V.D., A.I.F.; Lt.-Col. Hon. J. L. Beeston, V.D., A.I.F.; Major H. G. Reid, A.S.C.; Capt. W. S. Berry, A.I.F.; *Capt. G. A. King; Major C. G. Powles; Major A. C. Temperley; Major C. Shawe; Major G. R. Pridham, R.E.; Major E. M. Williams. A.I.F.; Capt. J. E. Hindhaugh, A.I.F. _Third Row._--Lt.-Col. P. C. Fenwick; Lt.-Col. H. Pope, A.I.F.; Lt.-Col. J. H. Cannan, A.I.F.; Lt.-Col. H. J. Burnage, A.I-F.; Lt.-Col. J. Findlay; *Lt.-Col. W. Meldrum; Lt.-Col. C. E. R. Mackesy; Lt.-Col. J. B. Meredith, A.I.F.; *Lt.-Col. F. M. Rowell, A.I.F.; Lt.-Col. R. T. Sutherland, A.I.F; Lt.-Col. R. M. Stodart, A.I.F.; Lt.-Col. G. N. Johnston, R.A.; *Lt.-Col. A. Moore, D.S.O.; *Lt.-Col. A. Bauchop, C.M.G.; *Lt.-Col. C. M. Begg; *Lt.-Col. W. G. Malone; *Lt.-Col. D. McB. Stewart. _Sitting._--Lt.-Col. J. P. McGlinn, V.D., A.I.F.; *Col. N. Manders, R.A.M.C.; Lt.-Col. W. G. Braithwaite, D.S.O; Brig.-General A. H. Russell, A.D.C.; Col. E. W. C. Chaytor, T.D.; Major-General Sir Alex. Godley, K.C.M.G., C.B.; Col. H. G. Chauvel, C.M.G., A.I.F.; Col. J. Monash, V.D., A.I.F.; *Lt. Col. F. E. Johnston; Lt.-Col. J. J. Esson; Lt.-Col. A. R. Young.] The Men of Anzac. Although this volume deals specifically with the doings of the New Zealanders at Anzac, the Colonials who were there quite recognize that they played only a part in the Great Game. They fully appreciate the magnificent work of the Navy and of their French and British comrades who braved the same dangers, and worked together against the common foe. The Men of Anzac know that a war correspondent cannot be in three places at once. What he sees he describes, and what he does not see he obviously must collect information about, and cannot do justice to. So perhaps the glory of the Anzac landing was magnified at the expense of the men who landed at Helles. Australians and New Zealanders alike agree that the Helles landing called for a greater show of discipline and self-sacrifice than was needed at Anzac--for Anzac was a surprise landing, Helles was not. But considerations of space, and the fact that volumes have already appeared dealing with the work of our British, French and Indian comrades, precludes full justice being done to their work in these pages. In our own army there are two groups of soldiers that have to a certain extent been overlooked. Even in the Colonial Armies we depended for light and a certain amount of leading on British Regular Officers--officers loaned before the war to the Colonial Forces,--and it is right that mention should be made of them here. For what in the days of its infancy would the N.Z. Expeditionary Force have been without the services of Colonel Braithwaite--"Dear Old Bill"--Colonel Johnston of the Gunners; Colonel Pridham of the R.E's; Major Temperley of the Infantry Brigade Staff, and a dozen others? They contributed much more than has been acknowledged to the initial successes of our New Zealand Army. Of the second group it is difficult to write. It may have been noticed that most of the soldiers mentioned in this volume are men who were killed in action. There is perhaps more in this than meets the eye. For the men killed in action and the mortally wounded are those who put the fear of death into the Turk--men who by their impetuosity and their eagerness to close really established the Anzac front line. This meant personal leadership and absolute contempt for death. These men were often not officers--often they were privates, but natural leaders nevertheless. They were not necessarily university men or large employers of labour--sometimes they were miners and taxi-drivers--they were of the glorious democracy of the Front Line. Anyone, whatever his rank or social standing, could have demonstrated his claim to be a leader of men at Anzac. We know that the list of decorations does not recognize all the gallant deeds performed on the field of action; and those left alive in the following list of soldiers decorated would be the first to admit that they knew of men long since killed who deserved greater reward. Think of a few of them: Lieut.-Colonel Stewart, of the Canterburys, who died on the day of the landing fighting for Walker's Ridge; Lieut.-Colonel Malone who died on the crest of Chunuk; Lieut.-Colonel Bauchop, mortally wounded in the advance that smashed the Turkish line; Major Statham, impetuous leader of men who died in the forefront of the battle--each of these admittedly heroic souls passed away without receiving a decoration. And these officers were only worthy of the men in the ranks--men who if they had lived, might have become great and famous soldiers, but who sacrificed themselves thus early in the struggle so that we who survived might carry on: Sergt. Wallace, one of our most promising Rhodes Scholars, who came straight from Oxford to a soldier's death while sapping out in front of Pope's; and the well-beloved Arthur Carbines, who, disregarding the terrors and the dangers on the crest of Chunuk, died so tragically endeavouring to rescue the body of his Colonel, the gallant Malone--these men are typical of the scores who received the small wooden cross which is the only distinction that the gallant thruster is likely to receive; and some do not have even a wooden cross, but die so far forward that they are buried by the Turks in nameless graves and to these is the greatest honour! New Zealanders decorated and mentioned in despatches. VICTORIA CROSS. Corporal Cyril Royston Guyton Bassett, N.Z. Divisional Signal Company: "For most conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty on the Chunuk Bair ridge in the Gallipoli Peninsula on the 7th August, 1915. After the New Zealand Infantry Brigade had attacked and established itself on the ridge, Corporal Bassett, in full daylight and under a continuous and heavy fire succeeded in laying a telephone-line from the old position to the new one on Chunuk Bair. He had subsequently been brought to notice for further excellent and most gallant work connected with the repair of telephone-lines by day and night under heavy fire." _London Gazette_, 15th October, 1915. [Illustration: CORPORAL C. R. G. BASSETT, V.C. (Now Lieutenant Bassett, V.C.)] KNIGHT COMMANDER OF THE MOST HONOURABLE ORDER OF THE BATH. (K.C.B.) Major-General (temp. Lieutenant-General) Sir A. J. Godley, K.C.M.G., General Officer Commanding, N.Z. Expeditionary Force. KNIGHT COMMANDER OF THE MOST DISTINGUISHED ORDER OF SAINT MICHAEL AND SAINT GEORGE. (K.C.M.G.) Colonel (temp. Brigadier-General) Sir A. H. Russell, General Officer Commanding, N.Z. Division. COMPANIONS OF THE MOST HONOURABLE ORDER OF THE BATH. (C.B.) Colonel E. W. Chaytor, N.Z. Staff Corps, New Zealand Expeditionary Force (Staff). Lieutenant-Colonel J. Findlay, Canterbury Mounted Rifles Regiment. Major (temp. Brigadier-General) F. E. Johnston, N.Z. Infantry Brigade (The Prince of Wales's Own, North Staffordshire Regiment). COMPANIONS OF THE MOST DISTINGUISHED ORDER OF SAINT MICHAEL AND SAINT GEORGE. (C.M.G.) Lieutenant-Colonel W. M. Alderman, Auckland Infantry Battalion (Commonwealth Military Forces). Lieutenant-Colonel C. M. Begg, N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieutenant-Colonel (temp. Brigadier-General) W. G. Braithwaite, D.S.O., Headquarters, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (Royal Welsh Fusiliers). Lieutenant-Colonel A. B. Charters, Otago Infantry Battalion. [Illustration: [_Photo by Bartlett & Andrew._ LIEUT.-COLONEL W. G. BRAITHWAITE, C.M.G., D.S.O. (Royal Welsh Fusiliers)] Major (temp. Lieutenant-Colonel) J. J. Esson, Staff Headquarters N.Z. Expeditionary Force. Lieutenant-Colonel P. C. Fenwick, N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieutenant-Colonel J. G. Hughes, D.S.O., Canterbury Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Reverend J. A. Luxford, Chaplain, 3rd Class, N.Z. Chaplains Department. Lieutenant-Colonel W. Meldrum, D.S.O., Wellington Mounted Rifles. Lieutenant-Colonel W. H. Parkes, M.D., N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieutenant-Colonel A. Plugge, Auckland Battalion. Major (temp. Lieutenant-Colonel) G. S. Richardson, N.Z. Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, (N.Z. Staff Corps). Lieutenant-Colonel F. Symon, N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal N.Z. Artillery). Lieutenant-Colonel R. Young, Auckland Battalion. COMPANIONS OF THE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE ORDER. (D.S.O.) Major H. E. Avery, No. 1 Company Divisional Train (N.Z. Staff Corps). Honorary Captain W. T. Beck, N.Z. Ordnance Corps (attached N.Z. Staff Corps). Major C. H. J. Brown, Canterbury Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Captain A. C. B. Critchey-Salmonson, Canterbury Battalion (Royal Munster Fusiliers). Major N. S. Falla, N.Z. Field Artillery. Captain B. S. Finn, N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieutenant-Colonel R. R. Grigor, Otago Mounted Rifles. Major N. C. Hamilton, N.Z. Army Service Corps (Army Service Corps). Major Herbert Hart, Wellington Battalion. Major N. F. Hastings, Wellington Mounted Rifles. Major H. C. Hurst, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. Major G. A. King, Headquarters N.Z.M.R, Brigade (N.Z. Staff Corps). Major Eugene Joseph O'Neill, F.R.C.S., N.Z. Medical Corps. Captain (temp. Lieutenant-Colonel) C. G. Powles, Headquarters, N.Z.M.R. Brigade (N.Z. Staff Corps). Major G. S. Smith, Otago Battalion. Major I. T. Standish, N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal N.Z. Artillery). Major (temp. Lieutenant-Colonel) F. B. Sykes, N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal Artillery) Major W. McG. Turnbull, Otago Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Major Fred Waite, N.Z. Engineers. Major R. Wyman, Auckland Mounted Rifles Regiment. Major R. Young, Wellington Battalion. MILITARY CROSS. (M.C.) Captain L. G. D. Acland, N.Z. Army Service Corps. Lieutenant W. G. A. Bishop, Otago Infantry Battalion. Captain D. B. Blair, Canterbury Mounted Rifles, (N.Z. Staff Corps). Lieutenant G. R. Blackett, Canterbury Mounted Rifle Regiment. 2nd Lieutenant R. T. R. P. Butler, N.Z. Engineers (Royal Engineers). Captain G. E. Daniell, N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal N.Z. Artillery) Reverend P. Dore, Chaplain, 4th Class, N.Z. Chaplains Department. Captain T. R. Eastwood, Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (The Rifle Brigade, Prince Consort's Own). Captain T. Farr, N.Z. Field Artillery. A. Greene, Chaplain, 4th Class (Salvation Army), N.Z. Chaplains Department. Captain R. N. Guthrie, N.Z. Medical Corps. Captain P. B. Henderson, Canterbury Infantry Regiment (N.Z. Staff Corps). Captain G. H. Holland, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 2nd Lieutenant R. McPherson, N.Z. Field Artillery. Lieutenant A. N. Oakey, N.Z. Engineers. 8/1048 Sergt.-Major A. W. Porteous, Otago Infantry Battalion. Captain J. M. Richmond, N.Z. Field Artillery (N.Z. Staff Corps). Captain J. M. Rose, Wellington Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Captain L. M. Shera, N.Z. Engineers. 2nd Lieutenant W. H. Stainton, N.Z. Maori Contingent. Captain H. Stewart, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. Captain N. W. B. B. Thoms, Headquarters N.Z. and A. Division (N.Z. Staff Corps). Lieutenant F. K. Turnbull, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant F. M. Twistleton, Otago Mounted Rifles. Captain J. A. Wallingford, Auckland Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Captain F. A. Wood, Auckland Mounted Rifles (N.Z. Staff Corps). DISTINGUISHED CONDUCT MEDAL. (D.C.M.) 4/85a Sergeant A. W. Abbey, N.Z. Engineers. 13/5 Trooper L. J. Armstrong, Auckland Mounted Rifles. 6/884 Sergeant A. A. Atkins, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 10/1731 Private C. R. Barker, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 6/194 Private H. Barlow, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 10/274 Corporal P. H. G. Bennett, Wellington Infantry Battalion 8/1370 Acting Sergeant-Major P. C. Boate, Otago Infantry Battalion. 9/129 Sergeant J. Campbell, Otago Mounted Rifles. 3/317 Private J. F. Cardno, N.Z. Medical Corps. 4/363 Sapper A. L. Caselberg, Signal Troop, N.Z. Engineers. 2/83 Driver N. Clark, N.Z. Field Artillery. 3/158 Private J. Comrie, N.Z. Field Ambulance. 13/606 Private L. Crawford-Watson, N.Z. Medical Corps. 4/506 Sapper B. L. Dignan, Divisional Signal Company, N.Z. Engineers. 2/444 Acting Sergeant C. J. K. Edwards, N.Z. Field Artillery. 4/188a Lance-Corporal F. J. H. Fear, N.Z. Engineers. 6/227 Private A. J. Findlay, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 12/1627 Sergeant J. H. Francis, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 8/465 Quartermaster-Sergeant L. S. L. L. Graham, Otago Mounted Rifles. 7/516 Corporal G. G. Harper, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 7/517 Sergeant R. P. Harper, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 8/872 Sergeant A. G. Henderson, Otago Infantry Battalion. 3/168 Private W. J. Henry, N.Z. Field Ambulance. 2/147 Acting Sergeant J. F. Hill, N.Z. Field Artillery. 4/203a Sapper E. A. Hodges, N.Z. Engineers. 2/115 Bombardier D. C. Inglis, N.Z. Field Artillery. 14/43 Sergeant F. Jenkins, N.Z. Divisional Train. 9/1316 Sergeant J. Little, Otago Mounted Rifles. 10/2228 Private F. Mahoney, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 8/33 Sergeant F. Mitchell, Otago Infantry Battalion. 3/269 Sergeant-Major F. W. Moor, N.Z. Medical Corps. 8/1302 Private R. C. McLeod, Otago Infantry Battalion. 7/764 Trooper D. J. O'Connor, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 10/1307 Private F. O. O'Connor, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 16/407 Private Tau Paranihi, Maori Contingent. 7/583 Trooper H. Pidgeon, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 2/1252 Gunner J. Rankin, N.Z. Field Artillery. 12/1015 Corporal W. J. Reid, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 6/1129 Corporal H. Rhind, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 11/442 Sergeant-Major W. Ricketts, Wellington Mounted Rifles. 6/978 Sergeant W. J. Rodger, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 4/208a Corporal C. W. Salmon, N.Z. Engineers. 4/60a Corporal C. W. Saunders, N.Z. Engineers. 6/1399 Sapper E. G. Scrimshaw, N.Z. Engineers. 3/95 Lance-Corporal W. Singleton, N.Z. Field Ambulance. 8/1837 Lance-Corporal H. D. Skinner, Otago Infantry Battalion. 12/1799 Corporal H. Spencer, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 3/447 Lance-Corporal G. Steedman, N.Z. Field Ambulance. 6/1156 Private T. Stockdill, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 10/1674 Private J. W. Swan, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 6/157 Sergeant B. N. Tavender, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 12/1062 Private G. A. Tempany, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 2/146 Bombardier J. P. Thomson, N.Z. Field Artillery. 12/472 Sergeant R. Tilsley, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 12/1020 Corporal F. W. Watson, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 4/450 Sapper K. T. Watson, N.Z. Engineers. 6/741 Private C. M. Wilson, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 14/76 Lance-Corporal J. Wimms, N.Z. Divisional Train. 11/941 Trooper J. H. Winter, Wellington Mounted Rifles. MENTIONED IN DESPATCHES. [A] Mentioned twice. [B] Mentioned three times. 4/85a 2nd Corporal A. W. Abbey, D.C.M., N.Z. Engineers. [A]Captain L. G. D. Acland, M.C., Divisional Train, N.Z. Army Service Corps. 4/513 Sergeant G. D. Alexander, N.Z. Engineers. 13/64 Sergeant F. Allsopp, Auckland Mounted Rifles. 13/5 Trooper L. J. Armstrong, D.C.M., Auckland Mounted Rifles. 10/1731 Private C. R. Barker, D.C.M., Wellington Infantry Battalion. Lance-Corporal P. G. Barratt, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Lieut.-Colonel A. Bauchop, C.M.G., Otago Mounted Rifles. Captain W. T. Beck, D.S.O., N.Z. Army Ordnance Corps (attached N.Z. Staff Corps). Lieut.-Colonel C. M. Begg, C.M.G., N.Z. Medical Corps. 3/233 Lance-Corporal T. Biggar, N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieut. W. G. A. Bishop, M.C., Otago Infantry Battalion. Lieut. G. R. Blackett, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. Captain D. B. Blair, M.C., Canterbury Mounted Rifles (N.Z. Staff Corps). 8/1370 Sergt.-Major P. C. Boate, D.C.M., Otago Infantry Battalion. 7/311 Trooper J. M. Boocock, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. [B]Lieut.-Colonel W. G. Braithwaite, C.M.G., D.S.O. (Royal Welsh Fusiliers). Major (temp. Lieut.-Colonel) C. H. J. Brown, D.S.O., Canterbury Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). 2nd Lieutenant R. T. R. P. Butler, M.C., N.Z. Engineers (Royal Engineers). 9/129 Sergeant J. Campbell, D.C.M., Otago Mounted Rifles. 10/706 Private A. V. Carbines, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 8/911 Sapper S. Carlyon, N.Z. Engineers. 13/535 Trooper N. D. Champney, Auckland Mounted Rifles. Major F. Chapman, Auckland Mounted Rifles. Lieut.-Colonel A. B. Charters, C.M.G., Wellington Infantry Battalion. Colonel E. W. C. Chaytor, C.B., N.Z. Staff Corps. 2/83 Fitter N. Clark, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Artillery. 3/158 Private J. Comrie, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Ambulance. Lieutenant A. E. Conway, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. Captain C. F. D. Cook, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 11/520 Corporal F. R. Corrie, Wellington Mounted Rifles. Lieutenant J. G. Cowan, Otago Infantry Battalion. Major E. P. Cox, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 13/606 Private L. Crawford-Watson, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Ambulance. Captain A. C. B. Critchley-Salmonson, D.S.O., Canterbury Infantry Battalion (Royal Munster Fusiliers). 10/729 Private C. Crone, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Major W. H. Cunningham, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Captain G. E. Daniell, M.C., N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal N.Z. Artillery). 12/1185 Private D. Davidson, Auckland Infantry Battalion. [A]Major T. H. Dawson, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 4/506 Sapper B. L. Dignan, D.C.M., N.Z. Engineers. Rev. P. Dore, M.C., Chaplain, 4th Class, N.Z. Chaplains' Department. 10/966 Corporal A. G. Duncan, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 3/144 Private A. F. D. East, N.Z. Medical Corps. Captain T. R. Eastwood, M.C., Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (Rifle Brigade, Prince Consort's Own). Captain H. M. Edwards, N.Z. Engineers (Royal Engineers). 7/800 Trooper J. Edwards, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. Major J. McG. Elmslie, Wellington Mounted Rifles. Major (temp. Lieut.-Colonel) J. J. Esson, C.M.G. Major N. S. Falla, D.S.O., N.Z. Field Artillery. Captain T. Farr, M.C., N.Z. Field Artillery. Major F. A. Ferguson, N.Z. Engineers (Royal Engineers). [A]6/227 Private A. J. Findlay, D.C.M., Canterbury Infantry Battalion. Lieut.-Colonel J. Findlay, C.B., Canterbury Mounted Rifles. Captain B. S. Finn, D.S.O., N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieut.-Colonel N. Fitzherbert, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 7/441 Sergeant R. A. Fleming, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 2nd Lieutenant E. N. Gabites, Otago Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant L. J. Gibbs, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 6/234 Sergeant D. D. Gill, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. [A]Major-General (temp. Lieut.-General) Sir A. J. Godley, K.C.B., K.C.M.G., General Officer Commanding N.Z. Expeditionary Force. 2nd Lieutenant T. M. P. Grace, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 9/465 Sergeant-Major L. S. L. L. Graham, D.C.M., Otago Mounted Rifles. Major S. A. Grant, Auckland Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Rev. W. Grant, Chaplain, 3rd Class, N.Z. Chaplains' Department. A. Greene, Chaplain, 4th Class (Salvation Army), M.C., N.Z. Chaplains' Department. 7/340 Sergeant A. R. Greenwood, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 3/251 Private J. Greenwood, N.Z. Medical Corps. Major R. R. Grigor, D.S.O., Otago Mounted Rifles. Captain R. N. Guthrie, M.C., N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieutenant W. Haeata, Auckland Mounted Rifles. 2nd Lieutenant C. St. C. Hamilton, Otago Infantry Battalion. [A]Lieut.-Colonel N. C. Hamilton, D.S.O., N.Z. Army Service Corps (Army Service Corps). 7/516 Corporal G. G. Harper, D.C.M., Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 7/517 Sergeant R. P. Harper, D.C.M., Canterbury Mounted Rifles. Captain E. S. Harston, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Major H. Hart, D.S.O., Wellington Infantry Battalion. Major N. F. Hastings, D.S.O., Wellington Mounted Rifles. Major W. H. Hastings, Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (92nd Punjabis, Indian Army). Captain B. S. Hay, Otago Mounted Rifles. 10/723 Private H. E. Hayden, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant C. Hayter, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 3/170 Private W. Heaver, N.Z. Field Artillery. Captain P. B. Henderson, M.C., Headquarters N.Z. Mounted Rifles Brigade (N.Z. Staff Corps). 8/1504 Private W. J. Henry, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Ambulance. 2/147 Sergeant J. Hill, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Artillery. 4537a Sergeant P. Hill, N.Z. Maori Contingent, Captain F. L. Hindley, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. Major (temp. Lieut.-Colonel) J. G. Hughes, C.M.G., D.S.O., Canterbury Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Major E J. Hulbert, N.Z. Engineers. Major H. C. Hurst, D.S.O., Canterbury Mounted Rifles Regiment. Major G. F. Hutton, Canterbury Mounted Rifles (Royal Welsh Fusiliers). 2/115 Bombardier D. Inglis, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Artillery. Captain W. Janson, Wellington Mounted Rifles. 7/128 Trooper D. Jenkins, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 10/824 Company Sergt.-Major A. Johnson, Wellington Infantry Battalion. [A]Major (temp. Brigadier-General) G. N. Johnston, N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal Artillery). 10/392 Private S. Johnston, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 3/180 Private H. W. Keesing, N.Z. Medical Corps. Captain V. A. Kelsall, Wellington Mounted Rifles. Captain G. A. King, D.S.O., Headquarters N.Z. Mounted Rifles Brigade (N.Z. Staff Corps). 2nd Lieut. J. B. Le Mottée, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. Captain R. Logan, Wellington Mounted Rifles. Rev. J. A. Luxford, Chaplain, 3rd Class, C.M.G., N.Z. Chaplains' Department. 10/2228 Private F. Mahoney, D.C.M., Wellington Infantry Battalion. [A]Lieut.-Colonel W. G. Malone, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Colonel N. Manders, N.Z. Medical Corps (Royal Army Medical Corps). 12/1710 Private C. J. Maroni, Auckland Infantry Battalion. 9/445 Sergeant-Major V. Marshall, Otago Mounted Rifles. 13/272 Trooper A. Mason, Auckland Mounted Rifles. Lieutenant-Colonel W. Meldrum, C.M.G., Wellington Mounted Rifles. 8/33 Sergeant F. Mitchell, D.C.M., Otago Infantry Battalion. 3/269 Warrant-Officer F. W. Moor, D.C.M., N.Z. Medical Corps. Lieutenant-Colonel A. Moore, D.S.O., Otago Infantry Battalion (Royal Dublin Fusiliers). Captain K. McCormick, N.Z. Medical Corps. Reverend A. Macdonald, Chaplain, 4th Class, N.Z. Chaplains Department. Major C. McGilp, N.Z. Field Artillery. 2nd Lieutenant E. J. McGregor, Auckland Mounted Rifles. Temp. 2nd Lieutenant R. McPherson, M.C., N.Z. Field Artillery. 10/1109 Private J. Neale, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Major C. R. Neale, N.Z. Veterinary Corps. 4/655 Sergeant S. Neels, N.Z. Engineers. Lieutenant M. G. R. Newbold, N.Z. Engineers. Major C. N. Newman, N.Z. Field Artillery. 4/115 Sergeant H. W. Newman, N.Z. Engineers. Lieutenant T. H. Nisbet, Otago Infantry Battalion. 12/606 Private E. L. Noakes, Auckland Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant A. N. Oakey, M.C., N.Z. Engineers. [A]Major E. J. O'Neill, D.S.O., M.B., N.Z. Medical Corps. Major P. J. Overton, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 2nd Lieutenant W. T. Palmer, Auckland Mounted Rifles. 16/407 Corporal Tau Paranihi, D.C.M., N.Z. Maori Contingent. Lieutenant-Colonel W. R. Pearless, N.Z. Medical Corps. 4/827 Sergeant A. G. Picken, N.Z. Engineers. Major W. R. Pinwill, Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (Liverpool Regiment). [A]Lieutenant-Colonel A. Plugge, C.M.G., Auckland Infantry Battalion. 8/1048 Sergeant-Major A. W. Porteous, M.C., Otago Infantry Battalion. Captain C. Guy Powles, D.S.O., Headquarters, N.Z.M.R. Brigade (N.Z. Staff Corps). Lieutenant A. H. Preston, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant-Colonel G. R. Pridham, N.Z. Engineers (Royal Engineers). 7/108 Sergeant F. L. Rees, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. Major H. G. Reid, N.Z. Army Service Corps (Army Service Corps). 10/778 Private J. R. Reid, Wellington Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant A. T. G. Rhodes, Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (Grenadier Guards). Major (temp. Lieutenant-Colonel) G. S. Richardson, C.M.G., Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (N.Z. Staff Corps), attached Royal Naval Division (Staff). Captain J. M. Richmond, M.C., N.Z. Field Artillery (N.Z. Staff Corps). 11/442 Sergeant W. Ricketts, D.C.M., Wellington Mounted Rifles. 13/438 Trooper R. R. E. Rollett, Auckland Mounted Rifles. 11/736 Sergeant B. Ronaldson, Wellington Mounted Rifles. Captain J. M. Rose, M.C., Wellington Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). [A]Colonel (temp. Brigadier-General) Sir A. H. Russell, K.C.M.G. 4/208a Corporal C. W. Salmon, D.C.M., N.Z. Engineers. 4/60a Corporal C. W. Saunders, D.C.M., N.Z. Engineers. 6/1399a Sapper E. G. Scrimshaw, D.C.M., N.Z. Engineers. Captain L. M. Shera, M.C. N.Z. Engineers. Captain A. V. Short, N. Z. Medical Corps. 9/343 Corporal A. Simon, Otago Mounted Rifles. 3/95 Lance-Corporal W. Singleton, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Ambulance. 8/1837 Lance-Corporal H. D. Skinner, D.C.M., Otago Infantry Battalion. Major G. S. Smith, D.S.O., Otago Infantry Battalion. Captain R. B. Smythe, Headquarters N.Z. and A. Division (N.Z. Staff Corps). 12/1799 Sergeant H. Spencer, D.C.M., Auckland Infantry Battalion. Major I. T. Standish, D.S.O., N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal N.Z. Artillery). Lieutenant W. H. Stainton, M.C., N.Z. Maori Contingent. Major F. H. Statham, Otago Infantry Battalion. 3/447 Lance-Corporal G. Steedman, D.C.M., N.Z. Medical Corps. 13/237 Trooper K. M. Stevens, Auckland Mounted Rifles. Captain H. Stewart, M.C., Canterbury Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant-Colonel D. McB. Stewart, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 6/1156 Private T. Stockdill, D.C.M., Canterbury Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant J. K. D. Strang, Otago Mounted Rifles. 6/770 Lance-Corporal W. H. Studley, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 10/1674 Corporal J. W. Swan, D.C.M., Wellington Infantry Battalion. Major (temp. Lieutenant-Colonel) F. B. Sykes, D.S.O., N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal Artillery). Lieutenant-Colonel F. Symon, C.M.G., N.Z. Field Artillery (Royal N.Z. Artillery). 6/157 Lance-Corporal B. N. Tavender, D.C.M., Canterbury Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant G. N. Taylor, Canterbury Mounted Rifles. 23/1213 Private G. A. Tempany, D.C.M., Auckland Infantry Battalion. Major A. C. Temperley, Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (Norfolk Regiment). Captain N. W. B. B. Thoms, M.C., Headquarters Staff, N.Z. Expeditionary Force (N.Z. Staff Corps). 6/1131 Private A. Thomson, Canterbury Infantry Battalion. 2/146 Bombardier J. P. Thomson, D.C.M., N.Z. Field Artillery. 8/494 Corporal T. A. Timpany, Otago Infantry Battalion. 9/91 Trooper A. K. Topi, Otago Mounted Rifles. 12/267 Bugler D. B. Treacher, Auckland Infantry Battalion. Lieutenant F. K. Turnbull, M.C., Wellington Infantry Battalion. Major W. McG. Turnbull, D.S.O., Otago Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). Lieutenant F. M. Twistleton, M.C., Otago Mounted Rifles. 16/161 Company Sergeant-Major H. R. Vercoe, N.Z. Maori Contingent. [A]Major F. Waite, D.S.O., N.Z. Engineers. Lieutenant W. H. Walker, N.Z. Maori Contingent. 4/72a Sergeant A. Wallace, N.Z. Engineers. Captain J. A. Wallingford, Auckland Infantry Battalion (N.Z. Staff Corps). 12/1020 Corporal F. W. Watson, D.C.M., Auckland Infantry Battalion. [A]Major J. H. Whyte, D.C.M., Wellington Mounted Rifles (N.Z. Staff Corps). 11/654 Sergeant J. W. Wilder, Wellington Mounted Rifles. Lieutenant G. L. Wilson, Otago Infantry Battalion. Captain E. R. Wilson, Wellington Infantry Battalion. 14/76 Lance-Corporal J. Wimms, D.C.M., N.Z. Divisional Train. 11/941 Trooper J. H. Winter, D.C.M., Wellington Mounted Rifles. Captain F. A. Wood, M.C., Auckland Mounted Rifles (N.Z. Staff Corps). [A]Lieutenant-Colonel R. Young, C.M.G., D.S.O., Wellington Infantry Battalion. The Place-Names of Anzac. Some unfortunate tracts of country are destined from their situations to be the battlegrounds of the world. Old world names, before this war but the memory of former campaigns, have once again become household words. So Mons and St. Quentin, Kantara and Damascus, have become familiar to the boys of the present generation, for have not their elder brothers been on police picket in the back streets of every one of them? But war sometimes chances to descend on poor, unsettled and otherwise unimportant territory. Such a place was Anzac--rough and hungry clay hillsides, no habitations in its area except the lonely Fishermen's Hut near the mouth of the Sazli Beit Dere, and a poor shepherd's hut at the foot of Monash Gully. Into this desolate country, with only a few ridges and watercourses important enough to be marked on the map, came legions of foreign soldiers who peopled every scrubby ridge and winding gully. The necessity for place-names became very pressing. Retaining such of the native ones as were shown on the maps, a multitude of Australian and New Zealand names appeared spontaneously at Anzac, just as the English and French names appeared at Helles. Difficulties often arose. An Australian unit holding a part of the line had local names for every place within the sector, whereas a New Zealand unit taking over manufactured or evolved names quite different. The preparation of a trench map or operation orders written by the Staff fixed the name for all time. Place-names like "The Sphinx" are evidence of this. Ismail Oglu Tepe with its wavy crestline, naturally became the "W" Hills of Anzac. From Walker's Ridge the description point--"W" Hills--never failed to be recognized. Most places in Anzac are named after men or units. This is natural. But sometimes accidents crept in here, too. For instance, an attack of measles made what might have been "Johnston's Ridge," into "Walker's Ridge." The word "Anzac" arrived in quite a different way. "Anzac" obviously suggested itself. But numerous stories are current as to its origin, and doubtless many of the stories are correct. Statements on this subject have been made by the two most important Generals connected with the campaign, and their claims may easily be reconciled. 1. In the "Anzac Book" General Birdwood stated that when he took over the command of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps in Egypt, he was asked to select a telegraphic code address for his Army Corps, and adopted the word "Anzac." Later on, after the landing, he was asked by General Headquarters to suggest a name for the beach, and in reply he christened it "Anzac Cove." 2. General Ian Hamilton wrote in his preface to "Crusading at Anzac, A.D. 1915," by Signaller Ellis Silas: "As the man who first, seeking to save himself trouble, omitted the five full stops and brazenly coined the word "Anzac," I am glad to write a line or two in preface to sketches which may help to give currency to that token throughout the realms of glory." In compiling this list of place-names and their origins, the aim has been to set down only those names that were generally accepted and used at Anzac. Official trench maps, operation orders, books, pamphlets, and captured Turkish maps have been searched and verified. I am greatly indebted to the work of my friend Sapper Moore-Jones in his unrivalled "Sketches Made at Anzac." Besides being works of art, these sketches are particularly valuable as showing in faithful detail the land features of the Anzac area, with many of the place-names in use during the operations. It is not necessary to burden this volume with a complete Turkish dictionary, but the following words, with their equivalents in English, may be found of value:-- Bair Spur Biyuk Large Burnu Cape Chair Meadow Dagh Mountain Dere Valley with stream Kale Fort Kuchuk Small Kuyu Well Ova Plain Sirt A Summit Tepe Hill Tekke Shrine Abdel Rahman Bair.--The great northern spur of the Sari Bair range. Anafarta.--(1) The Turkish name for the Suvla front. (2) There are two villages inland from Suvla Bay called Biyuk Anafarta and Kuchuk Anafarta. (3) A long-range gun firing from the hills was called "Anafarta Annie." Anzac.--Formed from the initial letters of Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. First used (written A. and N.Z.A.C.) in Egypt, when the Army Corps was formed. It soon became A.N.Z.A.C., and the new word was so obvious that the full stops were omitted. Anzac Cove.--The little bay where the principal landing was made on April 25, 1915. The Apex.--High up on Rhododendron Spur, and the furthest point inland retained by the Anzac forces after the attack on Chunuk Bair. An earlier name, little used, was "The Mustard Plaster." Ari Burnu.--The northern horn of Anzac Cove. The Turk called the Anzac area the Ari Burnu front. Asma Dere.--One of the upper reaches of the Azmak Dere, starting in the foothills of the Abdel Rahman Bair. Azmak Dere.--A watercourse leading from Biyuk Anafarta, running to the south of Ismail Oglu Tepe and debouching on to the Suvla flats. There is another Azmak flowing into the north of the Salt Lake at Suvla. Australian Valley.--One of the northern branches of the Aghyl Dere, named after the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade. Baby 700.--A Turkish position between The Nek and Battleship Hill. Battleship Hill.--High ground within the Turkish lines between Baby 700 and Chunuk Bair. Turkish reserves sheltered behind it, and were frequently shelled by the warships. Bauchop's Hill.--A hill between the Aghyl Dere and the Chailak Dere. Named after the gallant colonel of the Otago Mounted Rifles, who was mortally wounded here on August 8. Beach Road, The.--The road running along the sea beach from Ari Burnu toward No. 2 Post. Bedford Ridge.--A ridge opposite Cheshire Ridge on which were situated our three isolated posts: Newbury's Post, the southern one; Franklin Post, the central one; Warwick Castle, the northern one. Blamey's Meadow.--Overlooked by Tasmania Post. Named after Major Blamey, an Intelligence Officer who carried out extensive reconnaissances in Turkish territory towards Maidos. Blockhouse, The.--A Turkish position opposite the Apex. This blockhouse was built after the Turks swept us off Chunuk Bair in August. Bloody Angle.--The gully between Dead Man's Ridge and Quinn's Post. The 4th Australian Brigade and the battalions of the Royal Naval Division suffered heavy losses here on the night of May 2/3. Bolton's Hill.--Named after Colonel Bolton, 8th A. I. Battalion. On the extreme right flank; part of the front line of the Australian position. Biyuk Anafarta.--See Anafarta. Braund's Hill.--A hill behind the centre of the Australian line on the right, and overlooking Shrapnel Valley. Named after Colonel Braund, of the 2nd Australian Infantry Battalion. Colonel Braund was a member for Armidale in the New South Wales Parliament, and was killed soon after the landing. Broadway.--The wide sunken road leading from the top of Walker's Ridge round the back of the firing line on Russell's Top. Bridges' Road.--A road leading to the right from Shrapnel Valley towards Wire Gully. Named in memory of General Bridges, the Australian Divisional Commander, who was mortally wounded in Shrapnel Valley. Brighton Beach.--The long stretch of beach running southwards from Hell Spit towards Gaba Tepe. Brighton is the well-known watering place near Melbourne, named after the English seaside resort. Brown's Dip.--A depression just behind the Australian trenches opposite Lone Pine, where the Turkish and Australian dead were buried after the struggle for Lone Pine. The lower part of Brown's Dip was known as Victoria Gully. Bully Beef Gully.--A gully running up from the centre of Anzac Cove past Army Corps Headquarters. As stores on the beach would be threatened by rough weather, beef and biscuits were stacked in this valley. Bully Beef Track.--A communication trench running from the right of Russell's Top to the head of Monash Gully. Bully Cut.--A deep communication trench cut to enable troops to avoid a much-sniped section of the Aghyl Dere. Camel's Hump.--A Turkish position just below Snipers' Nest. Canterbury Gully.--A small gully between Plugge's Plateau and Shrapnel Valley, where the Canterbury Infantry Battalion rested when in reserve from Quinn's Post. Often shown on the map as Rest Gully. Canterbury Slope.--On the slopes of Rhododendron Spur. Canterbury Knob.--A famous machine gun position on the right flank of the Apex position and overlooking the head waters of the Sazli Beit Dere. Known to machine gunners as Preston's Top after the gallant Lieut. Preston (killed in France) who first placed machine guns there on August 7. Canterbury Ridge.--A name given to Rhododendron Spur during the early days of August. The Canterbury Infantry occupied this ground on the morning of August 7. Chailak Dere.--A narrow valley falling down from Chunuk Bair, past the north side of Table Top and between Bauchop's Hill and "Old No. 3 Post." Chatham's Post.--The southern limit of the Anzac line. Named after Lieut. Chatham, of the 5th Australian Light Horse. Chessboard, The.--A criss-cross network of Turkish trenches opposite Pope's Hill and Russell's Top. Cheshire Ridge.--A ridge between the upper reaches of the Chailak Dere and the southern fork of the Aghyl Dere. Named after the 8th Cheshires who were in the 40th Brigade of the 13th Division. Its respective parts were known as Upper and Lower Cheshire. Durrant's Post was in the centre. Chocolate Hills.--A range of hills inland from Suvla Bay, south of the Salt Lake. These hills were brownish red, and later swept with fire. One part was covered with scrub and, not being burnt, was known as Green Hill. Chunuk Bair.--A ridge about 860 feet high on the Sari Bair, below Hill Q, and above Rhododendron Spur. Clarke Valley.--Between Victoria Gully and Shell Green. Colonel Clarke had the 12th Australian Infantry Battalion. Cornfield, The.--A small patch of cultivated ground on the right flank just above Shell Green. Courtney's Post.--One of the three famous posts at head of Monash Gully. Lieut.-Colonel R. E. Courtney, of the 14th Australian Infantry Battalion, was in command here in May. He died at Melbourne on October 22, 1919. Daisy Patch, The.--A piece of old meadow at Cape Helles. Damakjelik Bair.--On the left of the Anzac line; the objective of the Left Covering Force on August 6. Dawkins' Point.--On Brighton Beach, about 600 yards south of Hell Spit. Named after an officer of the Australian Engineers. Dead Man's Ridge.--A much-contested Turkish salient running in between Pope's Hill and Quinn's Post. So called because of the bodies of New Zealanders, Australians, and men of the Royal Naval Division which lay there from May 2/3 until the Armistice. Destroyer Hill.--A small hill overlooking the Sazli Beit Dere and midway between Rhododendron Spur and No. 1 Post. Often heavily shelled by the torpedo destroyers. Durrant's Post.--A post on Cheshire Ridge. Major Durrant was an officer in the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade. Farm, The.--A hotly contested corner of the Chunuk Bair battlefields. Just underneath the ridge of Chunuk Bair. It eventually remained in the hands of the Turk. Fishermen's Hut.--A rude hut or huts near the coast, at the foot of the Sazli Beit Dere. Gaba Tepe.--A headland about a mile and a quarter south of the Anzac right flank. The Anzac landing was originally known as the Gaba Tepe landing. Most of the earlier gazetted decorations were prefaced "in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe," which really means Anzac. Gillespie Hill.--A part of Hill 60. On the left of the Anzac theatre. Named after Lieut.-Colonel Gillespie, of the South Wales Borderers. Hampshire Lane.--A communication trench leading from the Aghyl Dere towards Sandbag Ridge. Happy Valley.--The valley just north of Walker's Ridge, and immediately below Turk's Point. In the spring the lower reaches were a mass of flowering shrubs, beautiful grasses, and fragrant wild thyme. Hay Valley.--A southern arm of the Aghyl Dere; branching to the left it was known as Stafford Gully, and to the right, Hotchkiss Gully. Captain Bruce Hay, N.Z.S.C., was killed while leading a squadron of the Otago Mounted Rifles in the attack on Bauchop's Hill. Hell Spit.--The southern horn of Anzac Cove. Jutting out into the sea, it was a convenient mark for the Turkish gunner of the Olive Groves and Gaba Tepe. Hill Q.--Sometimes known as Nameless Peak. Midway between the heights of Hill 971 and Chunuk Bair. About 280 feet. Hill 60.--The height in metres of the hill known as Kaiajik Aghala, near which was the important well Kabak Kuyu. Hill 100.--High ground between the Asma Dere and the head of the Kaiajak Dere; held by the Otago Mounted Rifles at the evacuation. Hill 112.--Ismail Oglu Tepe, which see. Hill 971.--The most important tactical feature on Gallipoli Peninsula. The highest Peak of the Sari Bair range, 971 feet high. Known to the Turk as Koja Chemen Tepe, and shown on the later maps as Hill 305, from its height in metres. Hotchkiss Gully.--See Hay Valley. Howitzer Gully.--The northernmost gully running up towards Plugge's Plateau from Anzac Cove. Here the 4.5 Howitzer Battery, under Major Falla, made its welcome appearance the morning after the Anzac landing. Hughes Gully.--Part of the Sazli Beit Dere running to the north opposite Destroyer Hill, towards the front of Table Top. Lt.-Col. J. G. Hughes, C.M.G., D.S.O., was in command of the Canterbury Battalion during the August offensive. Ismail Oglu Tepe.--See "W" Hills. Johnston's Jolly.--A Turkish position between Lone Pine and German officers' trench. Named after Colonel G. J. Johnston, Brigadier of the 2nd Australian Artillery Brigade. Koja Chemen Tepe.--See Hill 971. Koja Dere.--A Turkish village two miles due east of Lone Pine. Here were concentrated a large proportion of the enemy's reserves. Koja Dere (sometimes spelt Kurija Dere) was the site of the Turkish Army Headquarters in the southern sector of the Ari Burnu front. Kaiajik Aghala.--See Hill 60. Kuchuk Anafarta.--See Anafarta. Kabak Kuyu.--A valuable well in the neighbourhood of Hill 60. Kur Dere.--A valley between Chunuk Bair Hill Q, on the enemy's side of the watershed. Mentioned as one of the objectives in the operation order for August 6. Lala Baba.--The highest ground between Nibrunesi Point and the Salt Lake. This observation post was raided several times by New Zealanders before the Suvla landing. On it a German flag was flown after the evacuation. Leane's Trench.--A set of Turkish trenches near Tasmania Post, taken on July 31 by Western Australian troops under Major Leane, who was killed during the operations. Little Table Top.--A small, flat-topped hill north of the original "Table Top," which was sometimes called "Big Table Top." Long Sap, The.--A communication trench running from Anzac Cove, near Ari Burnu, along the foothills out to No. 2 Post. Lone Pine.--A set of Turkish trenches south of Johnston's Jolly, taken and held by the Australians during the August fighting. Seven Victoria Crosses were won here by Australians. Malone's Gully.--A dry watercourse between Happy Valley and No. 1 Post, leading up towards Baby 700. Named after the gallant Colonel of the Wellington Infantry Battalion. Mal Tepe.--A small hill inland from Gaba Tepe, on which the Turks had guns. One of the objectives mentioned in the operation order for the Anzac landing. Monash Gully.--See Shrapnel Valley. Brigadier-General Monash commanded the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, which first held the head of Monash Gully. Mortar Ridge.-A ridge behind German Officers' Trench. Under the reverse slope of Mortar Ridge were innumerable dugouts protecting the Turkish reserves. Mule Gully.--A ravine running up behind Walker's Ridge. Under the shelter of the high banks the mules of the Indian Supply and Transport Corps were protected from fire. Mustard Plaster, The.--See the Apex. Maclagan's Ridge.--The ridge running from Plugge's Plateau down to Hell Spit. Named after the landing in honour of Colonel Sinclair Maclagan, D.S.O. Maclaurin's Hill.--Just south of Steel's Post. Colonel Maclaurin, the Brigadier of the 1st Australian Infantry Brigade, was killed in Monash Gully two days after the landing. McCay's Hill.--On the right flank, north of White Valley. Named after the Brigadier of the 2nd Australian Infantry Brigade. No. 1 Post.--On the left flank of Anzac. Sometimes known as Maori Post, from it being garrisoned by the Maori contingent. No. 2 Post.--Called Nelson Hill in the earlier days because held by the 10th (Nelson) Mounted Rifles; then taken over by the Otago Mounted Rifles; eventually became Divisional Headquarters for the August operations. No. 3 Post.--Established just north of No. 2 Outpost, when Old No. 3 was abandoned. Nameless Peak.--See Hill Q. Nek, The.--A narrow tongue of No Man's Land, running from Russell's Top towards the Turkish trenches. Nelson Hill.--See No. 2 Post. Nibrunesi Point.--The southern horn of Suvla Bay, shown on some Turkish maps as Kuchuk Kemekli. North Beach.--See Ocean Beach. Ocean Beach.--The stretch of sea shore between Ari Burnu and No. 2 Post. Sometimes known as North Beach. Old No. 3 Post.--High ground above Fishermen's Hut. Captured and held for two days by the N.Z.M.R. in May, but eventually abandoned to the Turks; retaken during the August advance. Olive Groves.--Clumps of trees inland from Gaba Tepe. "Beachy Bill" and other obnoxious Turkish guns were "dug in" in the vicinity. Otago Gully.--Near No. 3 Post. The Otago Mounted Rifles had their headquarters hereabouts during June and July. Overton Gully.--A gully named to commemorate Major Overton, Canterbury Mounted Rifles, a keen officer who directed the scouting and reconnoitering on the left flank. He was killed on August 7 while leading Cox's Indian Brigade up the Aghyl Dere. Owen's Gully.--A gully in Turkish territory between Johnston's Jolly and Lone Pine; named after Brigadier-General Cunliffe Owen, the artillery commander of the A.N.Z.A.C. Phillip's Top.--Near the bottom and on the southern side of Shrapnel Valley there was a low ridge called "The Razor Back," which, running up towards the firing line, became known as Phillip's Top, after Major Phillips, of the Australian Field Artillery. Pimple, The.--A salient in the Australian line just opposite the Turkish Lone Pine trenches; this Pimple became the Lone Pine Salient. Pine Ridge.--A Turkish position opposite the extreme right flank of Anzac. Plugge's Plateau.--The high ground immediately inland from Anzac Cove, the southern spur running down to Hell Spit being named Maclagan's Ridge. Plugge's Plateau is called after the O.C. Auckland Infantry Battalion. Point Rosenthal.--On the ridge below Bolton's Hill. Colonel Rosenthal commanded the 1st Australian Artillery Brigade. Pope's Hill.--An isolated post at the head of Monash Gully; on its right was Dead Man's Ridge; on its left a deep canyon separating Pope's from Russell's Top. Colonel Pope was the gallant white-haired commander of the famous 16th Australian Infantry Battalion. Poppy Valley.--There were many "Poppy" Valleys and "Poppy" Fields in the Anzac area, but the only one to get on the map was in the Turkish territory between Harris' Ridge and Pine Ridge, on the extreme southern flank of Anzac. Queensland Point.--That lower part of Maclagan's Ridge which resolves itself into Hell Spit. The Queensland Infantry landed here early on April 25. Quinn's Post.--At the head of Monash Gully; the most famous post in Anzac, the salient of the Anzac line. Named after Major Quinn, of the 15th Australian Infantry Battalion, who was killed defending the post. For the first few days this ground was held by Major Rankine ("Bobby") of the 14th Battalion A.I.F. He then handed over to Major Quinn. Reserve Gully.--A "rest" gully in the low ground between Plugge's Plateau and the Sphinx. It eventually became unsafe, being periodically searched by the guns from the "W" Hills. Rest Gully.--See Canterbury Gully. Rhododendron Spur.--A prominent spur running westward from Chunuk Bair, and between the Chailak Dere and the Sazli Beit Dere, the point nearest Chunuk Bair being called the Apex. It was first called Rhododendron Spur by Major Overton, who saw in the scrubby arbutus some resemblance to a rhododendron. Rose Hill.--A northern underfeature of Bauchop Hill, below Little Table Top and above Hotchkiss Gully. Guns placed here defended the ground between The Blockhouse and our position on the Apex. Major Rose was a New Zealand machine gunner in charge of the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade machine guns. Russell's Top.--The highest point of Walker's Ridge, where Brigadier-General Russell, commanding the New Zealand Mounted Rifles, had his headquarters during May, June, and July. Ryrie's Post.--On the right of the Australian line; named after Brigadier-General Ryrie, 2nd Light Horse Brigade. Sandbag Ridge.--A salient in the new Anzac line near Hill 100. Sari-Bair.--The tangled mass of hills and watercourses inland from Anzac and Suvla, culminating in Hill 971. Sazli Beit Dere.--A watercourse, dry in summer, originating in the slopes of Chunuk Bair, and entering the sea near Fishermen's Hut. Scimitar Hill.--A round hill north of the "W" Hills, on which was a curved strip of yellow earth resembling a Turkish sword; shown on some maps as Hill 70, from its height in metres. Scrubby Knoll.--A Turkish position about 1500 yards due east of Courtney's Post. Shell Green.--A small area of cleared cultivable ground on the extreme right of Anzac, between Clarke Valley and Ryrie's Post. Shrapnel Valley.--The road to the centre of the Anzac position; heavily shelled by the Turkish artillery from the first day. Known to the Turks as Kamu Kapu Dere. The upper portion of the valley was known as Monash Gully. Snipers' Nest.--A scrubby hill about 1000 yards from the sea, from which Turkish snipers made the beach north of Ari Burnu unsafe for bathing or traffic. Smyth's Post.--A post in the Australian sector, named after an Australian officer. Sphinx, The.--A peculiar knife-edge spur jutting out seawards from Walker's Ridge. During the early days it was known by many names such as the Sphinx, the Knife Edge, the Cathedral, the Snipers' Crevice, &c., until it was entered on the map as the Sphinx. A legend that from a crevice a sniper picked off men for the first few days, until shot by Captain Wallingford, the well-known machine gunner, has no foundation in fact, except that some wild pigeons which had their home there were thought to be carriers. Stafford Gully.--See Hay Valley. Steel's Post.--The post south of Courtney's, named after Major Steel, of the 14th Australian Battalion. For the first week, Courtney's and Steel's were included in Steel's Post; but Lt.-Col. Courtney took over the left section which was renamed Courtney's. Susuk Kuyu.--A well just north of Hill 60, where the Anzac forces got in touch with the Suvla forces after the Suvla landing. Table Top.--A flat-topped hill, 1400 yards inland from the sea, just south of Chailak Dere and at the foot of Rhododendron Spur; captured by the Wellington Mounted Rifles on the night of August 6/7. Tasmanian Post.--A post held by the Tasmanians on the right of the Anzac front line, just north of Ryrie's Post. Taylor's Hollow.--A depression just below Bauchop's Hill; named after Lieut. Taylor, of the 10th (Nelson) Mounted Rifles, who made numerous reconnaisances in the vicinity. Turks' Hump.--A Turkish position on the lower slopes of Gunners' Hill, opposite Canterbury Knob. Turk's Point.--Part of the left of the original Anzac line, overlooking the head of Malone's Gully. Valley of Despair, The.--A valley in Turkish hands opposite our extreme right flank, running from near Lone Pine down towards the sea. Victoria Gully.--See Brown's Dip. Walden's Point.--North of Taylor's Hollow. Waldren, whose name was always mis-spelt "Walden," was a very daring sniper who did much reconnoitering on the Suvla Flats as a machine gun officer of the Maoris. He was killed on the Apex. Walker's Ridge.--The left flank of the original Anzac line. Brigadier-General Walker was attached to Army Headquarters, but as Colonel Johnston was down with measles on the morning of the Anzac landing, General Walker took command of the Brigade. Walker's Pier.--A wharf erected north of Ari Burnu, between Mule Gully and Reserve Gully. Wanliss Gully.--A gully breaking the Anzac line just opposite German Officers' Trench. This section was at one time under the command of Colonel Wanliss, 5th Australian Infantry Battalion. Warley Gap.--The gap in the line at Sandbag Ridge. Waterfall Gully.--A small sheltered gully in Bauchop's Hill, where newcomers bivouacked. The Headquarters of a Turkish unit was captured here on August 6/7. Watson's Pier.--The first wharf built at Anzac Cove by the New Zealand Engineers. Captain Watson was an officer of the Australian Signal Service, who overlooked the work when N.Z.E. officers could not be spared. Wellington Terrace.--The cliff side under the shadow of the Sphinx, studded with dugouts; originally a rest camp for the Wellington Regiment, who saw some resemblance to their native hillsides. White's Valley.--A valley turning to the right off Shrapnel Valley, north of McCay's Hill; named after Lieut-Colonel White, of the 8th Australian Light Horse. Wine Glass Ridge.--A Turkish position opposite the Anzac right flank. Williams Pier.--A pier on North Beach. "W" Hills.--A low ridge 112 metres high, about a mile due north of Hill 60; shown on Turkish maps as Ismail Oglu Tepe, but better known to the Anzac troops as the "W" Hills. When looking north from Russell's Top, the spurs of this feature formed the line W, while the re-entrants formed the shadows. A Gallipoli Diary. War has many phases. Within the compass of a volume such as this, it is not possible to describe in detail all those events bearing on the subject of the Gallipoli campaign. Neither is it possible--though the temptation is great--to deal with the glorious achievements of our silent Allied Navies, and the accomplishments of our heroic French, British, Indian and Australian comrades. The following diary has been compiled so that the bearing of all the multifarious happenings:--naval, military, and political--may be seen in their proper setting in regard to the campaign. 1914. June 28. Assassination of Archduke Ferdinand at Serajevo. July 28. Austria declared war on Serbia. 30. Preliminary arrangements made in New Zealand for a volunteer Expeditionary Force. Aug. 2. Germany declared war on Russia. Germans entered France. Russians entered Germany. 3. Germany declared war on France. 4. Britain declared war on Germany. 5. "Goeben and "Breslau" at Messina, Italy. 7. The New Zealand Government cabled to the Imperial Government offering the services of an Expeditionary Force. 8. British Expeditionary Force landed in France. 10. "Goeben" and "Breslau" reported at Constantinople. 12. Services of N.Z.E.F. accepted by Imperial Authorities. 15. Samoan Force of 1350 New Zealanders and four guns sailed. 28. German Samoa surrendered. Sept. 24. Main Body embarked on transports. 25. Force ordered to await a more powerful escort. Oct. 14. "Minotaur" and "Ibuki" arrived in Wellington Harbour. 15. Main Body again embarked on transports. 16. Convoy sailed from Wellington. 21. Arrived at Hobart. 22. Left Hobart for Albany. 28. Arrived at Albany. Nov. 1. Australian and New Zealand convoy left Albany. British Naval defeat at Coronel. 2. Martial law proclaimed in Egypt. First shelling of the Dardanelles Forts by French and British Squadrons. 5. Britain and France officially declared war on Turkey. 9. H.M.A.S. "Sydney" destroyed the "Emden" at the Cocos Islands. 13. Convoy crossed the Equator; the "Hampshire" joined the convoy. 15. Arrived at Colombo. 17. New Zealand transports left Colombo for Aden. 25. New Zealand transports arrived at Aden. 26. Combined Australian and New Zealand convoy left Aden for Suez. 28. Received wireless to prepare for disembarkation in Egypt. 30. Arrived at Suez. Dec. 1. New Zealand ships passed through the Suez Canal. 3. Commenced disembarkation at Alexandria. 4. First troop train arrived at Helmieh station for Zeitoun Camp. 8. German Naval defeat at the Falkland Islands. Australian Light Horse Brigade and Ceylon Planters Rifle Corps attached to N.Z.E.F. 12. British Section trained on Salisbury Plain left Southampton for Egypt. 13. Lieut. Holbrook in BII. torpedoed the "Messoudieh" in the Dardanelles. 14. Second Reinforcements left New Zealand. 18. Proclamation of a British Protectorate in Egypt; the Khedive Abbas deposed. 19. His Highness Prince Hussein proclaimed Sultan of Egypt. 23. March of N.Z. Troops through the streets of Cairo. 24. British Section arrived at Zeitoun Camp. 25. Christmas Day spent on the Desert. 1915. Jan. 18. Division now styled the "New Zealand and Australian Division." 25. N.Z. Infantry Brigade ordered to Suez Canal. 26. Infantry Brigade left Zeitoun for Ismailia. and Kubri. Feb. 1. Advance parties 4th Aust. Inf. Bde. arrived at Zeitoun. 3. Turks attacked Suez Canal. New Zealanders engaged; one man died of wounds and one wounded. 14. Third Reinforcements left New Zealand. 19. Naval attack on the forts at the entrance of the Dardanelles. 26. N.Z. Infantry Brigade returned from Suez Canal to Zeitoun. March 18. End of Dardanelles Naval attack. "Queen", "Irresistible" and "Bouvet" sunk. 26. Third Reinforcements, consisting of 63 officers and 2417 other ranks arrived at Zeitoun. 29. Inspection of Division by Sir Ian Hamilton. April 9. N.Z. & A. Division, less mounted units, entrained for Alexandria. 10. First transports left for Mudros. 15. Transport "Lutzow" with Divisional Headquarters on board arrived in Mudros Harbour. 17. Fourth Reinforcements left New Zealand. 24. French, British, Australian and New Zealand transports left Mudros Harbour. 25. French landed at Kum Kale. British landed at Cape Helles. A. & N.Z. Army Corps landed at Anzac Cove; 3rd Australian Infantry Brigade forced a landing at dawn. N.Z. Divisional Headquarters and details ashore at 10 a.m.; Auckland Battalion all ashore by 12 noon; No. 1 Field Company N.Z. Engineers and Canterbury and Otago Infantry came ashore during the afternoon. Wellington Infantry landed during the night. 26. 6 a.m. two guns of N.Z. Howitzer Battery landed and came into action. Turkish counter attacks beaten off at Anzac. 27. 2nd Battery N.Z.F.A. landed at 3 a.m. Heavy attack against centre and Walker's Ridge beaten off 9.30 a.m. 28. Portsmouth and Chatham Battalions (Royal Marine Brigade) arrived 6 p.m. No. 2 Company Divisional Train arrived at night. April 29. Heavy Turkish attacks all along the Anzac Line. A Naval Brigade (Nelson and Deal Battalion) arrived at night. May 2. Turkish observation post destroyed at Lala Baba by New Zealanders. 2/3. Our attack at head of Monash Gully failed. 3. Turk warship in straits fired on transports; "Annaberg" hit. 4. Australian attack on Gaba Tepe beaten off. 5/6. N.Z. Infantry Brigade and 2nd Australian Brigade left for Cape Helles. 6. 3rd Reinforcements arrived Anzac--sent down to Helles. Combined French, British and Colonial Forces commenced attack on Krithia. 7. New Zealanders in support of 29th Division. Sinking of "Lusitania" in the Atlantic. 8. Great attack on Krithia not successful. 10. Australians at head of Monash Gully attacked Turks, but withdrew. 12. N.Z. Mounted Rifles (1500 men) arrived at Anzac to fight as Infantry. Gen. Chauvel with 1400 men of the Australian Light Horse arrived. 14. H.M.S. "Goliath" sunk at mouth of straits. Queenslanders made a sortie from Quinn's Post. 15. General Birdwood slightly wounded in the head at Quinn's Post. General Bridges mortally wounded. 16. 6-inch Howitzer with R.M.L.I. crew arrived in support of the Division. Machine Gun detachment Otago Mounted Rifles arrived. 17. 2nd Australian Infantry Brigade returned. 3 guns of 2nd Battery N.Z.F.A., man-handled up to Plugge's Plateau. 18. Heavy Turkish attacks. German Taube flew over Anzac. 19. Turks fail to drive A.N.Z. Corps into the sea. N.Z. Infantry Brigade returned from Helles. 20. Otago Mounted Rifles (dismounted) arrived. Turks first ask for an armistice. 24. Armistice Day to bury dead. 25. H.M.S. "Triumph" torpedoed off Gaba Tepe. 27. H.M.S. "Majestic" torpedoed off Cape Helles. 28. Late at night Turks fire mine in front of Quinn's Post. Canterbury Mounted Rifles take "Old No. 3 Post." 29. Attack on Quinn's Post--Major Quinn killed. Major Bruce, 26th Indian Mountain Battery killed. 31. Turk blockhouse blown up in front of Quinn's by two sappers. June 3. 2nd Field Company, N.Z.E., arrived. 4. Slight advance made at Cape Helles. Canterbury Infantry raided from Quinn's Post late at night. 5. Another sortie against German Officers' Trench opposite Courtney's post. 7. Fourth Reinforcements arrived Anzac Cove. Sortie from Quinn's Post night of 7/8th. 8. First Monitor appeared off Anzac. 10. Scouting parties of N.Z.M.R. driven back to No. 2 Post. 12. 4.5 Howitzer taken from Howitzer Gully up to Plugge's Plateau. 21. French captured the Haricot Redoubt at Cape Helles. June 28. A marked advance made in the Helles sector. 29/30. Turks again unsuccessfully endeavoured to drive the infidels into the sea. The last Turkish attack on Anzac. July 2. Determined Turkish attack at Helles unsuccessful. 4/5. Another heavy attack beaten off the British at Cape Helles. 10. Turks at Cape Helles asked for Armistice to bury their dead. Armistice refused. 11. N.Z. Hospital ship "Maheno" left Wellington. 12. General Masnou, commanding the 1st French Division at Helles, mortally wounded. 31. 200 men of the 11th West Australian Battalion took Turkish trenches opposite Tasmania Post. Aug. 3. 13th (New Army) commenced landing at Anzac. 5. Fall of Warsaw. 6/7. British delivered holding attack at Cape Helles. Australians made heroic attack at Lone Pine, Quinn's Post and Russell's Top. Old No. 3 Post retaken and Table Top and Beauchop's Hill taken by N.Z.M.R. Damakjelik Bair captured by Left Covering Force. 7. New landing at Suvla Bay before dawn. Rhododendron Spur in the hands of New Zealanders. 8. New Zealanders storm Chunuk Bair. New Army remains inactive at Suvla. Fifth Reinforcements reach Anzac and go into the firing line. 9. Ghurkas reach the Saddle between Hill Q and Chunuk Bair. New Zealanders cling to the shoulder of Chunuk Bair; relieved at night by New Army Troops. 10. New Army Troops driven from Chunuk Bair by Turkish counter attack. 11. Advance from Suvla definitely held up. 14. Sixth Reinforcements left New Zealand. 21. First attack on Hill 60. Italy declared war on Turkey. 26. "Maheno" arrived off Anzac. 27. Battle renewed for the possession of Hill 60. 28. New Zealanders held on to and consolidate their position on Hill 60. Sept. Troops go to rest camp at Sarpi. 19. Von Mackensen renewed attack on Serbia. 20. Bulgaria Treaty with Turkey announced, thus opening the Balkan corridor. 29. British and Indian troops enter Kut-el-Amara. 30. 10th (Irish) Division left Suvla for Salonika. Oct. 3. 2nd French Division left Helles for Salonika. 7. Britain offered Cyprus to Greece. 9. Belgrade captured by Austro-Germans. 11. Lord Kitchener asked Sir Ian Hamilton the estimated cost of evacuation. 12. Sir Ian Hamilton replied that evacuation was unthinkable. 14. In the House of Lords, Lord Milner and Lord Ribblesdale urged the evacuation of Gallipoli. 15. Britain declared war on Bulgaria. 16. Lord Kitchener telegraphed recalling Sir Ian Hamilton. 17. Sir Ian Hamilton issued his farewell order. 20. General Munro, in London, received instructions to proceed to the near east and take over command of the M.E.F. 23. Wreck of Marquette--10 nurses drowned. 30. General Sir Charles Munro first visits the Peninsula. Nov. 2. 4th Australian Infantry Brigade arrived from Sarpi Rest Camp. 6. Nish captured by the Austro-Germans. 10. N.Z. Mounted Rifles arrived from Mudros Rest Camp. 13. Lord Kitchener visited Anzac. 13. Mr. Winston Churchill resigned from the British Cabinet. 17. Lt.-Col. Braithwaite, D.S.O., assumed command of N.Z. Infantry Brigade. 22. Battle of Ctesiphen. 24. Period of silence ordered: lasted 72 hours. Major General Russell took over N.Z. and A. Division. 26. Major General Godley assumed command of Army Corps. 27/28. Commencement of the Great Blizzard. Dec. 3. General Townshend besieged at Kut-el-Amara. 8. General Munro ordered General Birdwood to proceed with the evacuation of Anzac and Suvla. 10/11. All sick, wounded, surplus troops, vehicles and valuable stores removed. 12. Announced at Anzac that a winter rest camp would be formed at Imbros. Surplus guns removed. 15. Detailed orders issued for the evacuation. 16. All ranks were warned of the impending operations. 19. The last night of the evacuation of Anzac and Suvla. 20. Evacuation of Anzac and Suvla completed by daylight. Troops disembarked at Lemos. 21. Brig.-Gen. F. E. Johnston returned to Mudros and took over N.Z. Infantry Brigade; Lt.-Col. W. G. Braithwaite proceeded to Egypt to take over N.Z. Rifle Brigade. Col. E. W. C. Chaytor took over N.Z. Mounted Rifle Brigade. 25. Christmas Day mostly spent at sea on transports returning to Egypt. Troops transferred to Egypt between December 21 and 31. 1916. Jan. 9. Evacuation from Cape Helles completed. 1918. Sept. 29. Surrender of Bulgaria. Oct. 31. Surrender of Turkey. A Note by the Author. Thanks are due, and are here tendered, to Generals Sir Ian Hamilton and Sir William Birdwood for their most interesting forewords. They with their authority and special knowledge, have said what might have been difficult for a New Zealand officer. I might also be permitted to say that from Sir James Allen I have received most sympathetic encouragement. Any criticisms that I have made appear without alteration, as the opinion of myself speaking for the soldiers. My only aim has been to put the case before the people of New Zealand as it occurred to the soldiers serving overseas. The writing of this volume has not been easy. The records of the New Zealanders at Gallipoli are far from complete, as Embarkation Rolls, War Diaries and Returns of Casualties were kept by soldiers who frequently became casualties; often the stress was so great that the continuity of these records was broken. As the Company or Regimental records box was sometimes lost altogether, it is difficult to reconstruct the story. But by the aid of diaries, soldiers' letters, personal experience and the willing assistance of old comrades, this story of the New Zealanders at Gallipoli has been written. It would be easier to write a history of the Crimean war, for the soldiers who fought at Inkerman are nearly all dead, but many of the veterans of Gallipoli happily survive and are keen critics. I can only throw myself on their charity. For considerable help, particularly in the later chapters, I am indebted to Major Wallingford, M.C., Lt.-Colonel Powles, C.M.G., D.S.O., Lt.-Colonel Grigor, D.S.O., Major Lampen, D.S.O., Major Blair, D.S.O., M.C., and Colonel Findlay, C.B.; to my thousand and one other helpers--distinguished generals, unknown soldiers, and harassed typists--I can only say "Thank you!" They will understand that a record of their names would be almost a nominal roll of the Main Body and the Staff of Base Records. The photographs are unique in that they were all taken by soldiers serving in the line. Working on my own collection as a basis I was fortunate enough to secure those of Captain Boxer, N.Z.M.C., and Sergeant Tite, N.Z.E., whose beautiful photographs will be found duly acknowledged. Just before going to Press I received a number of photographs taken by members of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, in December 1918, and to Colonel Findlay and Captain Douglas Deans special thanks are due. Wherever possible photographs have been acknowledged, but some of which I cannot trace the owners are included. From these I shall be glad to hear, so that acknowledgment may be made in future editions. It is only right to say that whenever I have asked a soldier or a sailor for permission to use photographs, that permission has been freely given. In not one case has there been a refusal--for that is the way of the men of Anzac. My rough maps and sketches have been transformed into works of art by A. E. West, Esq., and W. Bedkober, Esq. All distances in the Anzac area should be measured on the large folded map at the end of the volume. I cannot say how indebted I am to J. Jeffery, Esq., of Anderson's Bay, Dunedin, for valuable suggestions, and to W. Slater, Esq., who has helped me with the proofs. [Illustration Fred Waite signature] Waiwera South, November, 1919. * * * * * _Printed and Published under the Authority of the New Zealand Government by_ WHITCOMBE AND TOMBS LIMITED WELLINGTON, AUCKLAND, CHRISTCHURCH, DUNEDIN. 1921 
21316	----	The Adventures of Don Lavington, by George Manville Fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ Lindon, known as Don, is a boy in his late teens who has left school, and who lives with his mother and uncle Josiah, his father being dead, and works as a clerk in the office, the business being sugar and tobacco importation, in Bristol, England, which he does not much like. One day some money is missing from the office. It's pretty obvious who the thief is, but Uncle Josiah continues to accuse Don. Another worker has a row with his new young wife, and Don and he (Jem) decide to go away for a bit, both feeling rather ill-used. Unfortunately they are taken that night by the press-gang, and after some attempts to get away, they sail away to New Zealand. Here they manage to escape from the ship, though the search for them is keen. They fall in with some Maoris, among whom lives an Englishman, who is actually an escaped convict, but a good chap nonetheless. They assist the Maoris in their own battles against other tribes. The scene turns to some English settlers. They become friendly with our heroes. A Maori tribe attacks then, having been set up to do so by three villains, who have also escaped from the convict settlement at Norfolk Island. They hold their own, but there is a timely intervention by the police. One of the three villains turn out to have been the man who actually stole the money from Uncle Josiah's office. From this point things begin to turn out for the better, and the two heroes return to England, and all is forgiven. NH ________________________________________________________________________ THE ADVENTURES OF DON LAVINGTON, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. CHAPTER ONE. FOUR FOLK O' BRISTOL CITY. "Mind your head! Crikey! That was near, 'nother inch, and you'd ha' crushed him like an eggshell." "Well, you told me to lower down." "No, I didn't, stupid." "Yes, you did." "No, I didn't. You're half tipsy, or half asleep, or--" "There, there, hold your tongue, Jem. I'm not hurt, and Mike thought you said lower away. That's enough." "No, it arn't enough, Mas' Don. Your uncle said I was to soop'rintend, and a nice row there'd ha' been when he come back if you hadn't had any head left." "Wouldn't have mattered much, Jem. Nobody would have cared." "Nobody would ha' cared? Come, I like that. What would your mother ha' said to me when I carried you home, and told her your head had been scrunched off by a sugar-cask?" "You're right, Mas' Don. Nobody wouldn't ha' cared. You aren't wanted here. Why don't you strike for liberty, my lad, and go and make your fortun' in furren parts?" "Same as you have, Mike Bannock? Now just you look ye here. If ever I hears you trying to make Master Don unsettled again, and setting him agen his work, I tells Mr Chris'mas, and no begging won't get you back on again. Fortun' indeed! Why, you ragged, penny-hunting, lazy, drunken rub-shoulder, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" "And I arn't a bit, Jem Wimble, not a bit. Never you mind him, Master Don, you strike for freedom. Make your uncle give you your father's money, and then off you goes like a man to see life." "Now lookye here," cried the sturdy, broad-faced young fellow who had first spoken, as he picked up a wooden lever used for turning over the great sugar-hogsheads lying in the yard, and hoisting them into a trolly, or beneath the crane which raised them into the warehouse. "Lookye here, Mike Bannock, I never did knock a man down with this here wooden bar, but if you gets stirring Mas' Don again, has it you do, right across the back. Spang!" "Be quiet, Jem, and put the bar down," said Lindon Lavington, a dark, well set-up lad of seventeen, as he sat upon the head of a sugar-hogshead with his arms folded, slowly swinging his legs. "No, I sha'n't put the bar down, Mas' Don. Your uncle left me in charge of the yard, and--what yer sitting on the sugar-barrel for when there's a 'bacco hogshead close by? Now just you feel how sticky you are." Don got off the barrel, and made a face, as he proved with one hand the truth of the man's words, and then rubbed his treacly fingers against the warehouse wall. "Your mother'll make a row about that, just as my Sally does when I get molasses on my clothes." "You should teach her to lick it off, Jemmy Wimble," said the rough-looking, red-faced labourer, who had lowered down a sugar-hogshead so rapidly, that he had been within an inch of making it unnecessary to write Don Lavington's life, from the fact of there being no life to write. "You mind your own business, Mike," said Jem, indignantly. "That's what I'm a-doing of, and a-waiting for orders, Mr Jem Wimble. He's hen-pecked, Mas' Don, that what's the matter with him. Been married only three months, and he's hen-pecked. Haw-haw-haw! Poor old cock-bird! Hen-pecked! Haw-haw-haw!" Jem Wimble, general worker in the warehouse and yard of Josiah Christmas, West India merchant, of River Street, Bristol, gave Mike the labourer an angry look, as he turned as red as a blushing girl. "Lookye here," he cried angrily, as Don, who had reseated himself, this time on a hogshead crammed full of compressed tobacco-leaves from Baltimore, swung his legs, and looked on in a half-moody, half-amused way; "the best thing that could happen for Christmas' Ward and for Bristol City, would be for the press-gang to get hold o' you, and take you off to sea." "Haw-haw-haw!" laughed the swarthy, red-faced fellow. "Why don't you give 'em the word, and have me pressed?" "No coming back to be begged on then by Miss Kitty and Mas' Don, after being drunk for a week. You're a bad 'un, that's what you are, Mike Bannock, and I wish the master wouldn't have you here." "Not such a hard nut as you are, Jemmy," said the man with a chuckle. "Sailors won't take me--don't want cripples to go aloft. Lookye here, Mas' Don, there's a leg." As he spoke, the great idle-looking fellow limped slowly, with an exaggerated display of lameness, to and fro past the door of the office. "Get out, Mike," said Don, as the man stopped. "I believe that's nearly all sham." "That's a true word, Mas' Don," cried Jem. "He's only lame when he thinks about it. And now do please go on totting up, and let's get these casks shifted 'fore your uncle comes back." "Well, I'm waiting, Jem," cried the lad, opening a book he had under his arm, and in which a pencil was shut. "I could put down fifty, while you are moving one." "That's all right, sir; that's all right. I only want to keep things straight, and not have your uncle rowing you when he comes back. Seems to me as life's getting to be one jolly row. What with my Sally at home, and your uncle here, and you always down in the mouth, and Mike not sticking to his work, things is as miserable as mizzar." "He's hen-pecked, that's what he is," chuckled Mike, going to the handle of the crane. "Poor old Jemmy! Hen-pecked, that's what's the matter with him." "Let him alone, Mike," said Don quietly. "Right, Mas' Don," said the man; "but if I was you," he murmured hoarsely, as Jem went into the warehouse, "I'd strike for liberty. I knows all about it. When your mother come to live with your uncle she give him all your father's money, and he put it into the business. I know. I used to work here when you first come, only a little un, and a nice little un you was, just after your poor father died." Don's brow wrinkled as he looked searchingly at the man. "You've a right to half there is here, Mas' Don; but the old man's grabbing of it all for his gal, Miss Kitty, and has made your mother and you reg'lar servants." "It is not true, Mike. My uncle has behaved very kindly to my mother and me. He has invested my money, and given me a home when I was left an orphan." "_Kick_!" That is the nearest approach to the sound of Mike's derisive laugh, one which made the lad frown and dart at him an angry look. "Why, who told you that, my lad?" "My mother, over and over again." "Ah, poor thing, for the sake o' peace and quietness. Don't you believe it, my lad. You've been werry kind to me, and begged me on again here when I've been 'most starving, and many's the shillin' you've give me, Mas' Don, to buy comforts, or I wouldn't say to you what I does now, and werry welcome a shilling would be to-day, Mas' Don." "I haven't any money, Mike." "Got no money, my lad? What a shame, when half of all this here ought to be yourn. Oh dear, what a cruel thing it seems! I'm very sorry for you, Mas' Don, that I am, 'specially when I think of what a fine dashing young fellow like--" "Don't humbug, Mike." "Nay, not I, my lad; 'tarn't likely. You know it's true enough. You're one of the young fellows as is kep' out of his rights. I know what I'd do if I was you." "What?" "Not be always rubbing my nose again a desk. Go off to one o' them bu'ful foreign countries as I've told you of, where there's gold and silver and dymons, and birds jus' like 'em; and wild beasts to kill, and snakes as long as the main mast. Ah! I've seen some sights in furren abroad, as what I've told you about's like nothing to 'em. Look here, Mas' Don, shall I stop on for an hour and tell you what I've seen in South America?" "No, no, Mike; my uncle doesn't like you to be with me." "Ah, and well I knows it. 'Cause I tells you the truth and he feels guilty, Mas' Don." "And--and it only unsettles me," cried the boy with a despairing look in his eyes. "Get on with your work, and I must get on with mine." "Ah, to be sure," said the scoundrel with a sneer. "Work, work, work. You and me, Mas' Don, is treated worse than the black niggers as cuts the sugar-canes down, and hoes the 'bacco in the plantations. I'm sorry for you." Lindon Lavington thrust his little account book in his breast, and walked hurriedly in the direction taken by the man Jem, entering directly after a low warehouse door, where rows of sugar-hogsheads lay, and there was a murmur and buzz made by the attracted flies. Mike Bannock stood with his hands clasping the handle of the crane winch against which he leaned without moving, but his eyes were hard at work. He followed Don with them till he had disappeared through the low dark doorway, then glanced at the closed gate leading into the busy street, and then at the open office door, a few yards away. All was still, save the buzzing of the flies about the casks on that hot midsummer's day, and without the trace of a limp, the man stepped rapidly into the office, but only to dart back again in alarm, for, all at once, there was a loud rattling noise of straps, chains, and heavy harness. There was no cause for alarm. It was only the fat, sleepy horse in the trolly shafts, who, at the same time that he gave his nosebag a toss, shook himself violently to get rid of the flies which preferred his juices to the sugar oozing from many a hogshead's seams. Mike darted into the office again; the flies buzzed; the horse munched oats; the faint sound of Don's voice in converse with Jem Wimble could he heard; then there was a faint click as if a desk had been shut down softly, and Mike stepped out again, gave a hasty glance round, and the next moment was standing dreamily with his eyes half-closed, grasping the handle of the crane winch as Don returned, closely followed by Jem Wimble. "Now, Mas' Don, I'll just mark another," said Jem, "and we'll have him out." He took a lump of chalk from a ledge close by, and ascended a step ladder to a door about six feet above the spot where Mike stood, and Don stood with his book under his arm, his brow rugged, and a thoughtful look in his eyes. Just then the small door in the yard gate was opened, and a sturdy-looking grey-haired man in snuff-coloured coat and cocked hat, drab breeches and gaiters, entered unseen by the pair, who had their backs to him. "I 'member, Mas' Don, when I were out in the _Mary Anne_ five year ago. We'd got to Pannymah, when the skipper stood with his glass to his eye, looking at a strange kind o' hobjick ashore, and he says to me, `Mike, my lad--'" "You idle scoundrel! How many more times am I to tell you that I will not have my time wasted over those lying stories of yours? Lindon, am I ever to be able to trust you when business takes me away?" The words came in short sharp tones, and the speaker's dark eyes seemed to flash. The effect was marvellous. Mike began to turn the handle at a rapid rate, winding up the rope till the pair of hooks used for grasping the great hogsheads rattled with their chains against the pulley wheels of the crane, and a shout came from the warehouse,-- "Whatcher doing of? Hold hard!" "Stop, sir!" cried the stern-looking man to Mike, just as Jem appeared at the upper doorway and looked down. "Oh!" he ejaculated. "Didn't know as you was there, sir." "It is disgraceful, Lindon. The moment my back is turned you leave your desk to come and waste the men's time. I am ashamed of you." Lindon's forehead grew more wrinkled as Josiah Christmas, merchant of Bristol city, and his maternal uncle, walked into the office, whither the lad followed slowly, looking stubborn and ill-used, for Mike Bannock's poison was at work, and in his youthful ignorance and folly, he felt too angry to attempt a frank explanation. In fact, just then one idea pervaded his mind--two ideas--that his uncle was a tyrant, and that he ought to strike against his tyranny and be free. CHAPTER TWO. BLIND AS BATS. That same evening Don Lavington did not walk home with his uncle, but hung back to see Jem Wimble lock-up, and then sauntered slowly with him toward the little low house by the entrance gates, where the yard-man, as he was called, lived in charge. Jem had been in the West India merchant's service from a boy, and no one was more surprised than he when on the death of old Topley, Josiah Christmas said to him one morning,-- "Wimble, you had better take poor old Topley's place." "And--and take charge of the yard, sir?" "Yes. I can trust you, can't I?" "Oh, yes, sir; but--" "Ah! Yes. You have no wife to put in the cottage." Jem began to look foolish, and examine the lining of his hat. "Well, sir, if it comes to that," he faltered; and there was a weak comical aspect in his countenance which made Don burst out laughing. "I know, uncle," he cried, "he has got a sweetheart." "Well, Master Don," said the young man, colouring up; "and nothing to be ashamed on neither." "Certainly not," said the merchant quietly. "You had better get married, Wimble, and you can have the cottage. I will buy and lend you old Topley's furniture." Wimble begged pardon afterwards, for on hearing all this astounding news, he rushed out of the office, pulled off his leather apron, put on his coat as he ran, and disappeared for an hour, at the end of which time he returned, went mysteriously up to Don and whispered,-- "It's all right, sir; she says she will." The result was that Jem Wimble looked twice as important, and cocked his cocked hat on one side, for he had ten shillings a week more, and the furnished cottage, kept the keys, kept the men's time, and married a wife who bore a most extraordinary likeness to a pretty little bantam hen. This was three months before the scene just described, but though Jem spoke in authoritative tones to the men, it was with bated breath to his little wife, who was standing in the doorway looking as fierce as a kitten, when Jem walked up in company with his young master. "Which I will not find fault before Master Lindon, Jem," she said; "but you know I do like you to be home punctual to tea." "Yes, my dear, of course, of course," said Jem, apologetically. "Not much past time, and had to shut up first." "That's what you always say when you're late. You don't know, Master Don, what a life he leads me." "'Tain't true, Master Don," cried Jem. "She's always a-wherritting me." "Now I appeal to Master Don: was it me, sir, as was late? There's the tea ready, and the bread and butter cut, and the watercresses turning limp, and the flies getting at the s'rimps. It arn't your fault, sir, I know, and I'm not grumbling, but there never was such a place as this for flies." "It's the sugar, Sally," said Don, who had sauntered aimlessly in with Jem, and as he stared round the neat little kitchen with the pleasant meal all ready, he felt as if he should like to stay to tea instead of going home. "Yes, it's the sugar, sir, I know; and you'd think it would sweeten some people's temper, but it don't." "Which if it's me you mean, and you're thinking of this morning--" "Which I am, Jem, and you ought to be ashamed. You grumbled over your breakfast, and you reg'larly worried your dinner, and all on account of a button." "Well, then, you should sew one on. When a man's married he does expect to find buttons on his clean shirts." "Yes, and badly enough you want 'em, making 'em that sticky as you do." "I can't help that; it's only sugar." "Only sugar indeed! And if it was my last words I'd say it--there _was_ a button on the neck." "Well, I know that," cried Jem; "and what's the good of a button being on, if it comes off directly you touch it? Is it any good, Mas' Don?" "Oh, don't ask me," cried the lad, half-amused, half annoyed, and wishing they'd ask him to tea. "He dragged it off, Master Don." "I didn't." "You did, Jem, and you know you did, just to aggravate me." "Wasn't half sewn on." "It was. I can't sew your buttons on with copper wire." "You two are just like a girl and boy," cried Don. "Here you have everything comfortable about you, and a good place, and you're always quarrelling." "Well, it's his fault, sir." "No, sir, it's her'n." "It's both your faults, and you ought to be ashamed of yourselves." "I'm not," said Sally; "and I wish I'd never seen him." "And I'm sure I wish the same," said Jem despondently. "I never see such a temper." "There, Master Don," cried the droll-looking little Dutch doll of a woman. "That's how he is always going on." "There, Jem, now you've made your poor little wife cry. You are the most discontented fellow I ever saw." "Come, I like that, Master Don; you've a deal to brag about, you have. Why, you're all at sixes and sevens at home." This was such a home thrust that Don turned angrily and walked out of the place. "There!" cried Sally. "I always knew how it would be. Master Don was the best friend we had, and now you've offended him, and driven him away." "Shouldn't ha' said nasty things then," grumbled Jem, sitting down and attacking his tea. "Now he'll go straight to his uncle and tell him what a man you are." "Let him," said Jem, with his mouth full of bread and butter. "And of course you'll lose your place, and we shall be turned out into the street to starve." "Will you be quiet, Sally? How's a man to eat his tea with you going on like that?" "Turned out into the world without a chance of getting another place. Oh! It's too bad. Why did I ever marry such a man as you?" "'Cause you were glad of the chance," grumbled Jem, raising his hand to pour out some tea, but it was pushed aside indignantly, and the little woman busily, but with a great show of indignation, filled and sweetened her husband's cup, which she dabbed down before him, talking all the while, and finishing with,-- "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jem." "I am," he grumbled. "Ashamed that I was ever such a stupid as to marry a girl who's always dissatisfied. Nice home you make me." "And a nice home you make me, sir; and don't eat your victuals so fast. It's like being at the wild beast show." "That's right; go on," grumbled Jem, doubling his rate of consumption. "Grudge me my meals now. Good job if we could undo it all, and be as we was." "I wish we could," cried the little woman, whose eyes seemed to say that her lips were not telling the truth. "So do I," cried Jem, tossing off his third cup of tea; and then to his little wife's astonishment he took a thick slice of bread and butter in each hand, clapped them together as if they were cymbals, rose from the table and put on his hat. "Where are you going, Jem?" "Out." "What for?" "To eat my bread and butter down on the quay." "But why, Jem?" "'Cause there's peace and quietness there." _Bang_! Went the door, and little Mrs Wimble stood gazing at it angrily for a few moments before sitting down and having what she called "a good cry," after which she rose, wiped her eyes, and put away the tea things without partaking of any herself. "Poor Jem!" she said softly; "I'm afraid I'm very unkind to him sometimes." Just at that moment Jem was sitting on an empty cask, eating his bread and butter, and watching a boat manned by blue-jackets going off to the sloop of war lying out toward the channel, and flying her colours in the evening breeze. "Poor little Sally!" he said to himself. "We don't seem to get on somehow, and I'm afraid I'm a bit rough to her; but knives and scissors! What a temper she have got." Meanwhile, in anything but a pleasant frame of mind, Don had gone home to find that the tea was ready, and that he was being treated as a laggard. "Come, Lindon," said his uncle quietly, "you have kept us waiting some time." The lad glanced quickly round the well-furnished room, bright with curiosities brought in many a voyage from the west, and with the poison of Mike's words still at work, he wondered how much of what he saw rightfully belonged to him. The next moment his eyes lit on the soft sweet troubled face of his mother, full of appeal and reproach, and it seemed to Don that his uncle had been upsetting her by an account of his delinquencies. "It's top bad, and I don't deserve it," he said to himself. "Everything seems to go wrong now. Well, what are you looking at?" he added, to himself, as he took his seat and stared across at his cousin, the playmate of many years, whose quiet little womanly face seemed to repeat her father's grave, reproachful look, but who, as it were, snatched her eyes away as soon as she met his gaze. "They all hate me," thought Don, who was in that unhappy stage of a boy's life when help is so much needed to keep him from turning down one of the dark side lanes of the great main route. "Been for a walk, Don?" said his mother with a tender look. "No, mother, I only stopped back in the yard a little while." His uncle set down his cup sharply. "You have not been keeping that scoundrel Bannock?" he cried. "No, sir; I've been talking to Jem." "Ho!" ejaculated the old merchant. "That's better. But you might have come straight home." Don's eyes encountered his Cousin Kitty's just then, as she gave her head a shake to throw back the brown curls which clustered about her white forehead. She turned her gaze upon her plate, and he could see that she was frowning. "Yes," thought Don, "they all dislike me, and I'm only a worry and trouble to my mother. I wish I was far away--anywhere." He went on with his tea moodily and in silence, paying no heed to the reproachful glances of his mother's eyes, which seemed to him to say, and with some reason, "Don't be sulky, Don, my boy; try and behave as I could wish." "It's of no use to try," he said to himself; and the meal passed off very silently, and with a cold chill on every one present. "I'm very sorry, Laura," said her brother, as soon as Don had left the room; "and I don't know what to do for the best. I hate finding fault and scolding, but if the boy is in the wrong I must chide." "Try and be patient with him, Josiah," said Mrs Lavington pleadingly. "He is very young yet." "Patient? I'm afraid I have been too patient. That scoundrel at the yard has unsettled him with his wild tales of the sea; and if I allowed it, Don would make him quite a companion." "But, Josiah--" "There, don't look like that, my dear. I promised you I would play a father's part to the boy, and I will; but you must not expect me to be a weak indulgent father, and spoil him with foolish lenity. There, enough for one day. I daresay we shall get all right in time." "Oh, yes," cried Mrs Lavington, earnestly. "He's a true-hearted, brave boy; don't try to crush him down." "Crush him, nonsense!" cried the merchant, angrily. "You really are too bad, Laura, and--" He stopped, for just then Don re-entered the room to flush up angrily as he saw his mother in tears; and he had heard enough of his uncle's remark and its angry tone to make him writhe. "Ill using her now," he said to himself, as he set his teeth and walked to the window. The closing of the door made him start round quickly, to find that his mother was close behind him, and his uncle gone. "What has Uncle Jos been saying to you, mother?" he cried angrily. "Nothing--nothing particular, my boy," she faltered. "He has," cried Don fiercely; "and I won't have it. He may scold and abuse me as much as he likes, but I will not have him ill use you." "Ill use me, Don?" cried Mrs Lavington. "Nonsense, my dear boy. Your uncle is all that is kind and good; and he loves you very dearly, Don, if you could only try--try a little more, my dear boy, to do what he likes, and please him." "I do try, mother, but it's no good." "Don't say that, Don. Try a little harder--for my sake, dear, as well as your own." "I have tried, I am always trying, and it's of no use. Nothing pleases uncle, and the men in the yard know it." "Don, my boy, what foolish obstinate fit is this which has come over you?" said Mrs Lavington tenderly. "I'm not obstinate," he said sullenly; "only unhappy." "Is it not your own fault, my darling?" she whispered; "believe me, your uncle is one of the kindest and best of men." Don shook his head. "Are you going to prefer the opinion of the men of the yard to mine, dear?" "No, mother, but uncle is your brother, and you believe in him and defend him. You know how harsh and unkind he is to me." "Not unkind, Don, only firm and for your good. Now come, my boy, do, for my sake, try to drive away these clouds, and let us all be happy once more." "It's of no use to try, mother; I shall never be happy here, tied down to a desk. It's like being uncle's slave." "What am I to say to you, Don, if you talk like this?" said Mrs Lavington. "Believe me you are wrong, and some day you will own it. You will see what a mistaken view you have taken of your uncle's treatment. There, I shall say no more now." "You always treat me as if I were a child," said Don, bitterly. "I'm seventeen now, mother, and I ought to know something." "Yes, my boy," said Mrs Lavington gently; "at seventeen we think we know a good deal; and at forty we smile as we look back and see what a very little that `good deal' was." Don shook his head. "There, we will have no more sad looks. Uncle is eager to do all he can to make us happy." "I wish I could think so," cried Don, bitterly. "You may, my dear. And now, come, try and throw aside all those fanciful notions about going abroad and meeting with adventures. There is no place like home, Don, and you will find out some day that is true." "But I have no home till I make one," said the lad gloomily. "You have an excellent home here, Don, the gift of one who has kindly taken the place toward you of your father. There, I will listen to no more from you, for this is all foolish fighting of your worse against your better self." There was a quiet dignity in his mother's words which awed Don for the moment, but the gentle embrace given the next minute seemed to undo that which the firmness had achieved, and that night the cloud over the lad's life seemed darker than ever. "She takes uncle's side and thinks he is everything," he said gloomily, as he went to bed. "She means right, but she is wrong. Oh, how I wish I could go right away somewhere and begin life all over again." Then he lay down to sleep, but slumber did not come, so he went on thinking of many things, to fall into a state of unconsciousness at last, from which he awoke to the fact that it was day--a very eventful day for him, but he did not awaken to the fact that he was very blind. CHAPTER THREE. AN AWKWARD GUINEA. It was a busy day at the yard, for a part of the lading of a sugar ship was being stored away in Uncle Josiah's warehouses; but from the very commencement matters seemed to go wrong, and the state of affairs about ten o'clock was pretty ably expressed by Jem Wimble, who came up to Don as he was busy with pencil and book, keeping account of the deliveries, and said in a loud voice,-- "What did your uncle have for breakfast, Mas' Don?" "Coffee--ham--I hardly know, Jem." "Ho! Thought p'r'aps it had been cayenne pepper." "Nonsense!" "Ah, you may say that, but see how he is going it. 'Tarn't my fault that the dock men work so badly, and 'tarn't my fault that Mike isn't here, and--" "Don't stand talking to Wimble, Lindon," said a voice sharply, and Uncle Josiah came up to the pair. "No, don't go away, Wimble. Did Bannock say he should stay away to-day?" "Not to me, uncle." "Nor to me, sir." "It's very strange, just as we are so busy too. He has not drawn any money." "P'r'aps press-gang's got him, sir," suggested Jem. "Humph! Hardly likely!" said Uncle Josiah; and he went on and entered the office, to come out at the end of a few minutes and beckon to Don. "Lindon," he said, as the lad joined him, "I left nine guineas and a half in the little mahogany bowl in my desk yesterday. Whom have you paid?" "Paid? No one, sir." "But eight guineas are gone--missing." "Eight guineas? Missing, sir?" "Yes, do you know anything about them?" "No, sir. I--that is--yes, I remember now: I picked up a guinea on the floor, and meant to give it to you. Here it is: I forgot all about it." Don took a piece of gold from his flap waistcoat pocket, and handed it to his uncle, who looked at him so curiously that the boy grew confused. "Picked this up on the floor, Lindon?" said Uncle Josiah. "Yes, sir. It had rolled down by my desk." "It is very strange," said Uncle Josiah, thoughtfully. "Well, that leaves seven missing. You had better look round and see if you can find them." Don felt uncomfortable, he hardly knew why; but it seemed to him that his uncle looked at him doubtingly, and this brought a feeling of hot indignation into the boy's brain. He turned quickly, however, entered the office, and with his uncle looking on, searched all over the floor. "Well?" "There's nothing here, sir. Of course not," cried Don eagerly; "Mrs Wimble sweeps up every morning, and if there had been she would have found it." Uncle Josiah lifted off his cocked hat, and put it on again wrong way first. "This is a very unpleasant affair, Lindon," he said. "I can afford to lose seven guineas, or seven hundred if it came to that, but I can't afford to lose confidence in those whom I employ." Don felt hot and cold as his uncle walked to the door and called Jem; and as he waited he looked at the map of an estate in the West Indies, all fly-specked and yellow, then at the portraits of three merchant vessels in full sail, all as yellow and fly-specked as the map, and showing the peculiarity emphasised by the ingenious artist, of their sails blown out one way and their house flags another. "Surely uncle can't suspect me," he said to himself; and then the thought came again--"surely uncle can't suspect me." "Come in here, Wimble," said Uncle Josiah, very sternly. Jem took off his hat, and followed him into the office. "Some money is missing from my desk, Wimble. Have you seen it?" "Me, sir?" said Jem, stooping down and peering in all directions under the desks. "No, sir, I harn't seen it. Let's see, I don't think I've been here only when I locked up." "By some mischance I left my desk unlocked when I went out in a hurry yesterday. Lindon here has found one piece on the floor." "P'r'aps tothers is there, too," said Jem eagerly. "No; we have looked. Call your wife. Perhaps she may have found them when sweeping." "Not she, sir," said Jem. "If she had she'd ha' told me. 'Sides, how could they ha' got on the floor?" "That remains to be proved, Wimble," said Uncle Josiah, drily. "Call your wife." Jem went to the door, rubbing his ear, and as it happened, seeing his wife outside the cottage, telegraphed to her to come by working one arm about furiously. Little Mrs Wimble came up in a hurry, looking scared. "Take off that there dirty apron," whispered Jem, making a dash at the offending garment, and snatching back his hand bleeding from the scratch of the pin by which it was fastened. "Look at that," he began. "Then you shouldn't--" "Silence!" said Uncle Josiah. "Mrs Wimble, did you sweep up this room to-day?" "That I did, sir, and dusted too, and if there's any dust, it must be an--" "Hush! Don't talk so. Listen to me. Did you find any money on the floor?" "Sakes alive, sir, no." "You are quite sure?" "Oh yes, sir, quite sure. Have you dropped anything?" "Yes! No! That will do." Mrs Wimble stared. "Don't you hear?" whispered Jem. "Be off!" The little woman gave him an angry look, and then hurried from the office, looking put out and hurt. "This money must be found," said Uncle Josiah sternly, as soon as they were alone. "You are sure that you have seen no more, Lindon?" "Quite, uncle. I'm sorry I forgot about the guinea I found." "Yes!" said Uncle Josiah, giving him a quick searching look. "You are quite certain, Wimble?" "Me, sir? Oh, yes; I'm moral sartain." "I should be sorry to suspect any one, and behave unjustly, but I must have this matter cleared up. Michael Bannock is away, and I cannot conceive his being absent without money, unless he is ill. Wimble, go and see." "Yes, sir," said the yard-man, with alacrity; and he went off shaking his head, as if all this was a puzzle beyond his capacity to comprehend. "You had better go to your desk, Lindon," said Uncle Josiah, coldly. Don started, and mounted his stool, but he could not write. His brain was confused; and from time to time he glanced at the stern-looking old merchant, and tried to grasp his thoughts. "Surely uncle can't suspect me--surely he can't suspect me!" he found himself saying again, and the trouble seemed to increase till he felt as if he must speak out and say how sorry he was that he had picked up the money and forgotten all about it, when Jem returned. "He arn't ill, sir," said the man eagerly, "I found him close by, at the Little Half Moon, in the back street." "Drinking?" "Yes, sir, and treating a lot of his mates. He wanted me to have some, and when I wouldn't, he said I should, and emptied half a glass over me. See here." He held up one of his broad skirts which was liberally splashed. Uncle Josiah frowned, and took a turn or two up and down the office. Then he stopped before Jem. "Go round to Smithers the constable. You know: the man who came when the rum was broached." "Yes, sir, I know." "Ask Smithers to bring Michael Bannock round here. I must clear this matter up." "Yes, sir," said Jem; and he hurried out, while Don drew a long breath. "Uncle does not suspect me," he said to himself. "The scoundrel! He must have taken advantage of your back being turned to come in here. You did not notice anything, Lindon?" "No, uncle, and I hardly think he could have been left alone." "But the money is missing; some of it was dropped; this man is always penniless; he has not drawn his wages, and yet he is half tipsy and treating his companions. I hope I am not suspecting him wrongfully, but it looks bad, Lindon, it looks bad." The old merchant sat down and began to write. So did Don, who felt better now, and the time glided on till there were the sounds of feet heard in the yard, and directly after Mike, looking very red-eyed and flushed, entered the office, half pushed in by Jem Wimble and a hard-faced ugly man, who had a peculiar chip out of, or dent in, his nose. "Morn', master," said Mike, boisterously. "Couldn't yer get on without yer best man i' th' yard?" "Silence, sir!" cried Uncle Josiah, turning round, and glaring magisterially at the culprit. "Take yer hat off, can't yer?" cried Jem, knocking it off for him, and then picking it up and handing it. "Give man time, Jem Wimble," said Mike, with a grimace. "Want to pay me what you owes me, master?" "Hold your tongue, sir! And listen. Constable, a sum of money has been abstracted from my desk, and this man, who I believe was penniless two days ago, is now staying away from his work treating his friends." "Steady, master; on'y having a glass." "He was paying for ale with a guinea when I fetched him out, sir," said the constable. "Now, Mike, you're wanted for another ugly job, so you may as well clear yourself of this if you can." "What yer mean with your ugly job?" said the man, laughing. "You'll know soon enough; you and four more are in trouble. Now then, what money have you got on you?" "None 'tall." "Out with it." "Well, only two o' these. I did have three," grumbled the man, reluctantly taking out a couple of guineas from his pocket. "Looks bad, sir," said the constable. "Now then, where did you get them?" "What's that to you?" "Enough for Mr Christmas to charge you with robbing his desk, my lad; and this and what I've got against you will send you to Botany Bay." "What, me? Rob a good master? Not a penny." "What have you done with the rest?" continued the constable. "Never had no more, and wouldn't have had that if I'd knowed." "This will do, sir," said the constable. "You charge him here with stealing money from your desk?" "I am afraid I must," said Uncle Josiah. "What, me? Charge me?" cried the man, angrily. "Yes, Bannock, reluctantly; but it seems that you are the thief." "No: not me!" cried the man, fiercely. "It warn't me. It was him." Don started and turned pale, as the man stood pointing at him. "What do you mean?" cried Uncle Josiah. "Mean? Why, I ketched him a-helping hisself to the money, and he give me three guineas to hold my tongue." "What?" "And when I wouldn't take 'em he said if I didn't he'd say it was me; and that's the whole truth, and nothing else." "Lindon, what have you to say to this?" cried Uncle Josiah. Don thought of the guinea he had picked up, of his uncle's curious look when he gave it to him, and as he turned red and white with terror and dismay, mingled with confusion, he tried to speak, but try how he would, no words would come. CHAPTER FOUR. MIKE BANNOCK HAS A RIDE. "You wretch!" Those two words were a long time coming, but when they did escape from Lindon's lips, they made up in emphasis and force for their brevity. "Steady, Master Don, steady," said Jem, throwing his arms round the boy's waist, and holding him back. "You arn't strong enough to fight him." "Wretch? Oh! Well, I like that. Why, some men would ha' gone straight to your uncle here, and told him all about it; but I didn't, and I'd made up my mind to send him the money back, only I met two or three mates, and I had to change one of 'em to give the poor lads a drink o' ale." "You own, then, that you had my money, sir?" cried the old merchant. "Well--some on it, master. He give it me. S'pose I oughtn't to have took it, but I didn't like to come and tell you, and get the poor lad into trouble. He's so young, you see." "Uncle, it is not true!" cried Lindon, excitedly. "But you had one of the guineas in your pocket, sir." "Yes, uncle, but--" "Course he had," interrupted Mike sharply. "I told you it wouldn't do, Master Don. I begged you not to." "You villain!" cried Don, grinding his teeth, while his uncle watched him with a sidelong look. "Calling names won't mend it, my lad. I knowed it was wrong. I telled him not to, sir, but he would." This was to the constable in a confidential tone, and that functionary responded with a solemn wink. "It is not true, uncle!" cried Don again. "Oh, come now," said Mike, shaking his head with half tipsy reproach, "I wouldn't make worse on it, my lad, by telling a lot o' lies. You did wrong, as I says to you at the time; but you was so orbst'nate you would. Says as you'd got such lots of money, master, as you'd never miss it." Uncle Josiah gave vent to a sound resembling a disgusted grunt, and turned from the speaker, who continued reproachfully to Don,-- "What you've got to do, my lad, is to go down on your bended knees to your uncle, as is a good master as ever lived--and I will say that, come what may--and ask him to let you off this time, and you won't do so any more." "Uncle, you won't believe what he says?" cried Don wildly. Uncle Josiah did not reply, only looked at him searchingly. "He can't help believing it, my lad," said Mike sadly. "It's werry shocking in one so young." Don made a desperate struggle to free himself from Jem's encircling arms, but the man held fast. "No, no, my lad; keep quiet," growled Jem. "I'm going to spoil the shape of his nose for him before he goes." "Then you don't believe it, Jem?" cried Don, passionately. "Believe it, my lad? Why, I couldn't believe it if he swore it 'fore a hundred million magistrits." "No, that's allus the way with higgerant chaps like you, Jem Wimble," said Mike; "but it's all true, genelmen, and I'm sorry I didn't speak out afore like a man, for he don't deserve what I did for him." "Hah!" ejaculated Uncle Josiah, and Don's face was full of despair. "You charge Mike Bannock, then, with stealing this money, sir," said the constable. "Yes, certainly." "What?" roared Mike, savagely, "charge me?" "That will do," said the constable, taking a little staff with a brass crown on the end from his pocket. "No nonsense, or I shall call in help. In the King's name, my lad. Do you give in?" "Give in? What for? I arn't done nothing. Charge him; he's the thief." Don started as if the word _thief_ were a stinging lash. Jem loosed his hold, and with double fists dashed at the scoundrel. "You say Master Don's a thief!" "Silence, Wimble! Stand back, sir," cried Uncle Josiah, sternly. "But, sir--" "Silence, man! Am I master here?" Jem drew back muttering. "Charge him, I say," continued Mike, boisterously; "and if you won't, I will. Look here, Mr Smithers, I charge this 'ere boy with going to his uncle's desk and taking all the gold, and leaving all the silver in a little hogamee bowl." "You seem to know all about it, Mike," said the constable, grimly. "Course I do, my lad. I seed him. Caught him in the werry act, and he dropped one o' the guineas, and it run away under the desk, and he couldn't find it." "You saw all that, eh?" said the constable. "Every bit of it. I swears to it, sir." "And how came you to be in the office to see it?" "How come I in the office to see it?" said Mike, staring; "how come I in the office to see it?" "Yes. Your work's in the yard, isn't it?" "Course it is," said Mike, with plenty of effrontery; "but I heerd the money jingling like, and I went in to see." "And very kind of you too, Mike," said the constable, jocularly. "Don't you forget to tell that to the magistrates." "Magistrits? What magistrits? Master arn't going to give me in custody, I know." "Indeed, but I am, you scoundrel," cried Uncle Josiah, wrathfully. "You are one of the worst kind of thieves--" "Here, take that back, master." "Worst kind of scoundrels--dogs who bite the hand that has fed them." "I tell yer it was him," said Mike, with a ferocious glare at Don. "All right, Mike, you tell the magistrates that," said the constable, "and don't forget." "I arn't going 'fore no magistrits," grumbled Mike. "Yes, you are," said the constable, taking a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. "Now then, is it to be quietly?" Mike made a furious gesture. "Just as you like," said the constable. "Jem Wimble, I call you in the King's name to help." "Which I just will," cried Jem, with alacrity; and he made at Mike, while Don felt a strange desire tingling in his veins as he longed to help as well. "I gives in," growled Mike. "I could chuck the whole lot on you outer winder, but I won't. It would only make it seem as if I was guilty, and it's not guilty, and so I tell you. Master says I took the money, and I says it was that young Don Lavington as is the thief. Come on, youngster. I'll talk to you when we're in the lock-up." Don looked wildly from Mike to his uncle, whose eyes were fixed on the constable. "Do you charge the boy too, sir?" Uncle Josiah was silent for some moments. "No! Not now!" Lindon's heart leapt at that word "_no_!" But it sank again at the "_not now_." "But the case is awkward, sir," said the constable. "After what this man has said we shall be obliged to take some notice of the matter." "'Bliged to? Course you will. Here, bring 'im along. Come on, mate. I can tell you stories all night now about my bygones. Keep up yer sperrits, and I daresay the magistrits 'll let you off pretty easy." "If there is any charge made against my young clerk,"--Don winced, for his uncle did not say, "against my nephew,"--"I will be answerable for his appearance before the magistrates. That will be sufficient, I presume." "Yes, sir, I suppose that will do," said the constable. "But I s'pose it won't," said Mike. "He's the monkey and I'm only the cat. You've got to take him if you does your dooty, and master 'll be answerable for me." "Exactly," said the constable; "come along." "Nay, but this arn't fair, master. Take one, take all. You bring us both." "Come along." "If you don't bring that there young un too, I won't go," exclaimed the scoundrel, fiercely. _Click_! A short struggle, and then _click_ again, and Mike Bannock's hands were useless, but he threw himself down. "Fair play, fair play," he cried, savagely; "take one, take all. Are you going to charge him, master?" "Take the scoundrel away, Smithers, and once more I will be bail--before the magistrates, if necessary--for my clerk's appearance," cried Uncle Josiah, who was now out of patience. "Can I help?" "Well, sir, you could," said the constable, grimly; "but if you'd have in three or four of your men, and a short step ladder, we could soon carry him off." "No man sha'n't carry me off," roared Mike, as Jem ran out of the office with great alacrity, and returned in a very short time with three men and a stout ladder, about nine feet long. "That's the sort, Wimble," said the constable. "Didn't think of a rope, did you?" "Did I think of two ropes?" said Jem, grinning. "Ah!" ejaculated the constable. "Now, Mike Bannock, I just warn you that any violence will make your case worse. Take my advice, get up and come quietly." "Take young Don Lavington too, then, and I will." "Get up, and walk quietly." "Not 'less you takes him." "Sorry to make a rumpus, sir," said the constable, apologetically; "but I must have him out." "The sooner the better," said Uncle Josiah, grimly. "I am ready to go, uncle," said Don, quietly. "I am not afraid." "Hold your tongue, sir!" said the merchant, sternly; "and stand out of the way." "Now, Mike," said the constable, "this is the third time of asking. Will you come quiet?" "Take him too," cried Mike. "Ready with those ropes, Wimble. You two, ready with that there. Now, Mike Bannock, you've been asked three times, and now you've got to mount that ladder." "Any man comes a-nigh me," roared Mike, "I'll--" He did not say what, for the constable dashed at him, and by an ingenious twist avoided a savage kick, threw the scoundrel over on his face, as he lay on the floor, and sat upon him, retaining his seat in spite of his struggles. "Step the first," said the constable, coolly. "Now, Wimble, I want that ladder passed under me, so as to lie right along on his back. Do you see?" "Yes, sir," cried Jem, eagerly; and taking the ladder as the constable sat astride the prostrate scoundrel, holding down his shoulders, and easing himself up, the ladder was passed between the officer's legs, and, in spite of a good deal of heaving, savage kicking, and one or two fierce attempts to bite, right along till it was upon Mike's back, projecting nearly two feet beyond his head and feet. "Murder!" yelled Mike, hoarsely. "What? Does it hurt, my lad? Never mind; you'll soon get used to it." The constable seated himself upon the ladder, whose sides and rounds thoroughly imprisoned the scoundrel in spite of his yells and struggles to get free. "Now then, Wimble, I've got him. You tie his ankles, one each side, tightly to the ladder, and one of you bind his arms same way to the ladder sides. Cut the rope. Mr Christmas will not mind." The men grinned, and set to work so handily that in a few moments Mike was securely bound. "Now then," said the constable, "I'll have one round his middle; give me a piece of rope; I'll soon do that." He seized the rope, and, without rising, rapidly secured it to one side of the ladder. "Now," he said, "raise that end." This was done, the rope passed under Mike, drawn up on the other side, hauled upon till Mike yelled for mercy, and then knotted twice. "There, my lads," said the constable, rising; "now turn him over." The ladder was seized, turned, and there lay Mike on his back, safely secured. "Here, undo these," he said, sullenly. "I'll walk." "Too late, Mike, my boy. Now then, a couple of men head and tail. Let the ladder hang at arm's length. Best have given in quietly, and not have made yourself a show, Mike." "Don't I tell you I'll walk?" growled the prisoner. "And let us have all our trouble for nothing? No, my lad, it's too late. Ready there! Up with him. Good morning, sir. March!" The men lent themselves eagerly to the task, for Mike was thoroughly disliked; and a few minutes later there was a crowd gathering and following Mike Bannock as he was borne off, spread-eagled and half tipsy, to ponder on the theft and his chances in the cold damp place known in Bristol as the lock-up. Don Lavington stood in the office, waiting for his uncle to speak. CHAPTER FIVE. A STUBBORN DISPOSITION. "Stop!" Don had taken his hat, and, seeing his uncle apparently immersed in a letter, was about to yield to his curiosity and follow the constable, when, as he reached the door, his uncle's word thundered out and made him turn and go on with his writing in response to a severe look and a pointing finger. From time to time the boy looked up furtively as he sat, and wondered why his uncle did not say anything more about the money. But the time glided on, and the struggle between his desire to speak out frankly and his indignant wounded pride continued. A dozen times over he was on the point of crossing to the stern-looking old man, and begging him to listen and believe, but Uncle Josiah sat there with the most uncompromising of expressions on his face, and Don dared not speak. He dared not trust himself for very shame, as the incident had so upset him, that he felt sure that he must break down and cry like a child if he attempted to explain. After a time there was the sound of voices talking and laughing, and the click of the heavy latch of the gate. Then through the open windows came the deep _burr burr_ of Jem's bass, and the shrill inquiring tones of Sally Wimble, as she eagerly questioned her lord. Then there were steps, some of which passed the office door; and Don, as he sat with his head bent over a ledger, knew exactly whose steps those were, and where the makers of those steps were going to the different warehouses in the great yard. Directly after Jem's foot was heard, and he tapped at the door, pushed it a little way, and waited. "Come in," said Uncle Josiah, sharply. Jem entered, doffing his cocked hat, and casting a sympathising look at Don, who raised his head. Then seeing that his employer was deeply immersed in the letter he was writing, Jem made a series of gesticulations with his hat, supplemented by some exceedingly queer grimaces, all meant as a kind of silent language, which was very expressive, but quite incomprehensible to Don. "Well?" said Uncle Josiah, sharply. "Beg pardon, sir! Thought you'd like to hear how we got on?" "Well?" "Went pretty quiet, sir, till we got about half-way there, and then he begun kicking like mad--leastways he didn't kick, because his legs was tied, but he let go all he could, and it was hard work to hold the ladder." "And he is now safely locked up?" "Yes, sir, and I've been thinking, sir, as he must have took that money when Master Don here was up in the warehouse along o' me." "I daresay we shall find all out by-and-by, Wimble," said the old merchant, coldly. "That will do, now." Jem looked uneasily at Don, as he turned his hat round to make sure which was the right way on, and moved slowly toward the door. "Which, begging your pardon, sir, you don't think now as--" "Well?" said the old merchant, sharply, for Jem had stopped. "Think as Mrs Wimble picked up any of the money, sir?" "No, no, my man, of course not." "Thankye, sir, I'm glad of that; and if I might make so bold, sir, about Master Don--" "What do you wish to say, man?" "Oh, nothing, sir, only I'm quite sure, sir, as it was all Mike Bannock's doing, and--" "I think you had better go on with your work, Wimble, which you do understand, and not meddle with things that are beyond you." "Certainly, sir, certainly," said Jem, quickly. "Just going, sir;" and giving Don a sympathetic look, he hurried out, but had hardly closed the door before he opened it again. "Beg pardon, sir, Mrs Lavington, sir, and Miss Kitty." Don started from his stool, crimson with mortification. His mother! What would Uncle Josiah say? Jem Wimble gave Don another look full of condolence before he closed the door, leaving Mrs Lavington and her niece in the office. Mrs Lavington's face was full of anxiety and care, as she glanced from her son to her brother and back again, while Kitty's was as full of indignant reproof as she darted an angry look at Don, and then frowned and looked straight down at the floor. "Well?" said the old merchant, coldly, "why have you come? You know I do not like you to bring Kitty here to the business place." "I--I heard--" faltered Mrs Lavington, who stood in great awe of her brother when he was in one of his stern moods. "Heard? Well, what did you hear?" "Such terrible news, Josiah." "Well, well, what?" "Oh, my brother!" she exclaimed, wildly, as she stepped forward and caught his hand, "tell me it is not true." "How can I tell you what is not true when I don't know what you are talking about," cried the old man, impatiently. "My dear Laura, do you think I have not worries enough without your coming here?" "Yes, yes; I know, dear." "And you ought to know that I shall do what is just and right." "I am sure of that, Josiah, but I felt obliged to come. Kitty and I were out shopping, and we met a crowd." "Then you should have turned down a side street." "But they were your men in the midst, and directly after I saw little Sally Wimble following." "Oh, she was, was she?" cried the old man, glad of some one on whom to vent his spleen. "That woman goes. How dare she leave the gates when her husband is out? I shall be having the place robbed again." "Yes, that is what she said, Josiah--that you had been robbed, and that Don--my boy--oh, no, no, no; say it is not true." Mrs Lavington looked wildly from one to the other, but there was a dead silence, and in a few minutes the poor woman's manner had entirely changed. When she first spoke it was as the timid, shrinking, affectionate woman; now it was as the mother speaking in defence of her child. "I say it is not true," she cried. "You undertook to be a father to my poor boy, and now you charge him with having robbed you." "Laura, be calm," said the old merchant, quietly; "and you had better take Kitty back home and wait." "You have always been too stern and harsh with the poor boy," continued Mrs Lavington, without heeding him. "I was foolish ever to come and trust to you. How dare you charge him with such a crime?" "I did not charge him with any crime, my dear Laura," said the old merchant, gravely. "Then it is not true?" "It is true that I have been robbed, and that the man whom Lindon has persisted in making his companion, in spite of all I have said to the contrary, has charged him with the base, contemptible crime of robbing the master who trusted him." "But it is not true, Josiah; and that is what you always do, treat my poor boy as if he were your servant instead of your nephew--your sister's boy." "I treat Lindon as if he were my son when we are at home," said the old man, quietly. "When we are here at the office I treat him as my clerk, and I trust him to look after my interests, and to defend me from dishonest people." Don looked up, and it was on his lips to say, "Indeed, uncle, I always have done so," when the old man's next words seemed to chill and harden him. "But instead of doing his duty by me, I have constantly had to reprove him for making a companion of a man whom I weakly, and against my better judgment, allowed in the yard; and the result is I have been robbed, and this man accuses Lindon of committing the robbery, and bribing him to silence." "But it is not true, Josiah. My son could not be guilty of such a crime." "He will have every opportunity of disproving it before the magistrates," said Uncle Josiah, coldly. "Magistrates!--my boy?" exclaimed Mrs Lavington, wildly. "Oh, no, no, no, brother; you will not proceed to such extremities as these. My boy before the magistrates. Impossible!" "The matter is out of my hands, now," said the old merchant, gravely. "I was bound to charge that scoundrel labourer with the theft. I could not tell that he would accuse your son of being the principal in the crime." "But you will stop it now for my sake, dear. Don, my boy, why do you not speak, and beg your uncle's forgiveness?" Don remained silent, with his brow wrinkled, his chin upon his breast, and a stubborn look of anger in his eyes, as he stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning back against his desk. "Do you hear me, Don? Tell your uncle it is not true, and beg him to help you clear yourself from this disgrace." The lad made no reply, merely crossing his legs, and made his shoe-buckles rasp together as he slowly moved his feet. "Don!" He looked up strangely, met his mother's earnest appealing gaze, and for the moment his better nature prevailed; but as he looked from her to his uncle, and saw the old man's grey eyes fixed upon him searchingly, a feeling of obstinate anger swept over him again, and made him set his teeth, as something seemed to whisper to him, "No; you told the truth, and he would not believe you. Let him prove you guilty if he can!" It was not the first time in history that a boy had stubbornly fought against his better self, and allowed the worst part of his nature to prevail. "Do you not hear me, Don?" cried his mother. "Why do you not speak?" Don remained silent, and Kitty, as she looked at him, angrily uttered an impatient ejaculation. "Don, my son, for my sake speak to your uncle. Do you not hear me?" "Yes, mother." "Then appeal to him to help you. Ask him to forgive you if you have done wrong." "And she believes me guilty, too," thought Don, as he scowled at his feet. "But you have not done wrong, my boy. I, your mother, will not believe it of you." Don's better self began to force down that side of his mental scale. "You may have been weak and foolish, Don, but nothing worse." The evil scale went down now in turn, and with it the foolish, ignorant boy's heart sank low. "Come, Don." "I've nothing more to say, mother." "Nothing more to say!" cried Mrs Lavington, wildly. "Oh, yes, yes, you have much to say, my boy. Come, throw away this wilful pride and obstinacy." "I wish I could," thought Don one moment. "It is as cruel as it is unjust," he thought the next; and he felt more obstinately full of pride than ever. "Don, I command you to speak," said Mrs Lavington, whose manner now began to change; but unfortunately the stern tone she adopted had the wrong effect, and the wrinkles in the boy's face grew deeper, and the position more strained. If Uncle Josiah, who had never had boys of his own, had come down from the lofty perch he had assumed, taken the boy's hand, and said in kindly and frank tones, "Come, Don, my boy, there are troubles enough in life, clouds sufficient to obscure too much sunshine; speak out, let's have all this over, and clear the storm away,"--if he had said something like that, Don would have melted, and all would have been well; but accustomed to manage men with an iron rule, Uncle Josiah had somehow, in spite of his straightforward, manly, and just character, seemed to repel the boy whose charge he had taken, and instead now of making the slightest advance, he said to himself, "It is not my duty to eat humble pie before the obstinate young cub. It will be a severe lesson for him, and will do him good." So the breach widened. Don seemed to grow sulky and sullen, when he was longing to cast himself upon his mother's neck. The poor woman felt indignant at her son's conduct, and the last straw which broke the camel's back was laid on the top of the load by Kitty, who, moved by a desire to do good, made matters far worse by running across to Don, and in an impetuous way catching his hands and kissing him. "Don, dear!" she cried. The boy's face lit up. Here was some one who would believe him after all, and he responded to her advances by grasping her hands tightly in his. "Do, do speak, Don dear, and beg father to forgive you," she cried. "Tell him it was a mistake, and that you will never do so again." Don let fall her hands, the deep scowl came over his brow again, and he half turned away. "No, no, Don, dear," she whispered; "pray don't be obstinate. Confess that you did it, and promise father to do better in the future. He will forgive you; I know he will." Don turned his back with an impatient gesture, and Kitty burst into tears, and went slowly to her aunt, to whose hands she clung. "Laura, dear," said Uncle Josiah, gravely, "I think we had better bring this painful interview to an end. You may rest assured that I shall do what is just and right by Don. He shall have every opportunity for clearing himself." "I am not guilty," cried Don, fiercely throwing back his head. "I thought so this morning, my boy," said the old merchant, gravely. "Your conduct now is making me think very differently. Laura, I will walk home with you, if you please." "Josiah! Don, my boy, pray, pray speak," cried Mrs Lavington, piteously. Don heard her appeal, and it thrilled him, but his uncle's words had raised up an obstinacy that was stronger than ever, and while longing to throw himself in his mother's arms--passionately longing so to do--his indignant pride held him back, and he stood with his head bent, as in obedience to her brother Mrs Lavington took his arm, and allowed him to lead her out of the office, weeping bitterly the while. Don did not look up to meet his mother's yearning gaze, but for months and years after he seemed to see that look when far away in the midst of peril, and too late he bitterly upbraided himself for his want of frankness and power to subdue his obstinate pride. "He thinks me guilty!" he said to himself, as he stood with his head bent, listening, and unaware of the fact that some one was still in the room, till a light step came towards him, his hand was caught, and his cheek rapidly kissed. "Kitty!" "Coming, father." Then there was a rapid step, the door closed, and Don stood in the same attitude, listening to the steps on the gravel, and then to the bang of the wicket-gate. Alone with his thoughts, and they were many and strange. What should he do? Go right away, and--and-- "Mas' Don." He looked up, and Jem stood at the door. CHAPTER SIX. JEM WIMBLE TALKS SENSE. "May I come in?" Don nodded. "The master's gone, and took the ladies 'long with him. Why, don't look like that, my lad. Your uncle don't think you took the money?" Don nodded. "But your mother don't, sir?" "Yes, Jem, she believes me guilty too." "I never did!" cried Jem, excitedly. "But sure-_lie_ Miss Kitty don't?" "Yes, Jem, they all think I'm a thief. Everybody does," cried Don, passionately. "No, everybody don't," said Jem, fiercely; "so don't talk like that, Mas' Don. Why, even I couldn't ha' stole that money--me, as is only yard-man, and nothing o' no consequence t'other day. So if I couldn't ha' done it, I'm quite sure as you, as is a young gentleman born and bred, couldn't." "But they think I did. Everybody thinks so." "Tell yer everybody don't think so," cried Jem, sharply. "I don't, and as for them, they've all got dust in their eyes, that's what's the matter with them, and they can't see clear. But didn't you tell 'em as you didn't?" "Yes, Jem," said Don, despondently; "at first." "Then why didn't you at last, too? Here, cheer up, my lad; it'll all blow over and be forgotten, same as the row was about that sugar-hogshead as I let them take away. I don't say shake hands 'cause you're like master and me only man, but I shakes hands with you in my 'art, my lad, and I says, don't be down over it." "You couldn't shake hands with a thief, you mean, Jem," said Don, bitterly. "Look here, Mas' Don, I can't punch your head because, as aforesaid, you're young master, and I'm only man; but for that there same what you said just now I hits you in my 'art. Thief indeed! But ah, my lad, it was a pity as you ever let Mike come into the office to tell you his lies about furren parts." "Yes, Jem, it was." "When you might ha' got all he told you out o' books, and the stories wouldn't ha' been quite so black." "Ah, well, it's all over now." "What's all over?" "My life here, Jem. I shall go right away." "Go? What?" "Right away. Abroad, I think." "And what'll your mother do?" "Forget me, I hope. I always was an unlucky fellow Jem." "What d'yer mean? Run away?" "Yes, I shall go away." "Well, that's clever, that is. Why, that's just the way to make 'em think you did it. Tshah! You stop like a man and face it out." "When everybody believes me guilty?" "Don't be so precious aggrawatin', my lad," cried Jem, plaintively. "Don't I keep on a-telling you that I don't believe you guilty. Why, I'd just as soon believe that I stole our sugar and sold bundles of tobacco-leaves to the marine store shops." Don shook his head. "Well, of all the aggrawatin' chaps I ever did see, you're 'bout the worst, Mas' Don. Don't I tell you it'll be all right?" "No, Jem, it will not be all right. I shall have to go before the magistrates." "Well, what of that?" "What of that?" cried Don, passionately. "Why, that scoundrel Mike will keep to his story." "Let him!" cried Jem, contemptuously. "Why, who'd ever believe him i' preference to you?" "My uncle--my mother--my cousin." "Not they, my boy. They don't believe it. They only think they do. They're sore just now, while it's all fresh. To-morrow by this time they will be a-hanging o' themselves round about your neck, and a-askin' of your pardon, and kissin' of you." "No, Jem, no." "Well, I don't mean as your uncle will be kissin' of you, of course; but he'll be sorry too, and a-shaking of your hand." Don shook his head. "There, don't get wagging your head like a Chinee figger, my lad. Take it like a man." "It seems that the only thing for me to do, Jem, is to tie up a bundle and take a stick, and go and try my luck somewhere else." "And you free and independent! Why, what would you say if you was me, tied up and married, and allus getting into trouble at home." "Not such trouble as this, Jem." "Not such trouble as this, my lad? Worser ever so much, for you don't deserve it, and I do, leastwise, my Sally says I do, and I suppose I do for being such a fool as to marry her." "You ought to be ashamed to talk like that, Jem." "So ought you, Mas' Don. I've often felt as if I should like to do as you say and run right off, but I don't do it." "You have felt like that, Jem?" cried Don, eagerly. "Yes, often, my lad." "Then let's go, Jem. Nobody cares for us here. Let's go right away to one of the beautiful foreign countries Mike told me about, and begin a new life." "Shall us, Mas' Don?" "Yes; why not? Get a passage in some ship, and stop where we like. He has told me of dozens of places that must be glorious." "Then we won't go," said Jem, decidedly. "If Mike Bannock says they're fine spots, don't you believe him; they're bad 'uns." "Then let's go and select a place for ourselves," cried Don. "Lor! I do wonder at you, Mas' Don, wantin' to leave such a mother as you've got, and asking me to leave my wife. Why, what would they do?" "I don't know," said Don, sadly. "They care very little for us now. You can do as you like; I shall go." "Nay, nay, you won't, my lad." "Yes, Jem, I think I shall." "Ah, that's better! Think about it." "I should have thought that you'd be glad to come with me, Jem." "So I should, my lad; but there's a some'at as they calls dooty as allus seems to have hold on me tight. You wait a bit, and see how things turn out." "But I shall have to appear before the magistrates, and be called a thief." "Ah, well, that won't be pleasant, my lad, of course; but wait." "Then you wouldn't go with me, Jem?" "Don't tempt a man, Mas' Don, because I should like to go with you, and course I shouldn't like to go with you, because I shouldn't like you to go. There, I must get on with my work." At that very moment came the call of a shrill voice-- "Jem!" "There I told you so. She see me come in here, and she's after me because I haven't got on with my casks. Oh, how sharp she is!" Jem gave Don an intelligent nod of the head, and moved out, while the lad stood gazing at the opposite window and listened to the sharp voice addressing the foreman of the yard. "Poor Jem! He isn't happy either!" said Don, sadly, as the voices died away. "We might go right off abroad, and they'd be sorry then and think better of us. I wish I was ten thousand miles away." He seated himself slowly on his stool, and rested his arms upon the desk, folding them across his chest; and then, looking straight before him at the door, his mental gaze went right through the panels, and he saw silver rivers flowing over golden sands, while trees of the most glorious foliage drooped their branches, and dipped the ends in the glancing water. The bright sun shone overhead; the tendrils and waving grass were gay with blossoms; birds of lovely plumage sang sweetly; and in the distance, on the one hand, fading away into nothingness, were the glorious blue mountains, and away to his right a shimmering sea. Don Lavington had a fertile brain, and on the canvas of his imagination he painted panorama after panorama, all bright and beautiful. There were no clouds, no storms, no noxious creatures, no trials and dangers. All was as he thought it ought to be, and about as different from the reality as could be supposed. But Don did not know that in his youthful ignorance, and as he sat and gazed before him, he asked himself whether he had not better make up his mind to go right away. "Yes, I will go!" he said, excitedly, as he started up in his seat. "No," he said directly after, as in imagination now he seemed to be gazing into his mother's reproachful eyes, "it would be too cowardly; I could not go." CHAPTER SEVEN. DON AND JEM GO HOME TO TEA. It required no little effort on Don's part to go home that afternoon to the customary meat tea which was the main meal of the day at his uncle's home. He felt how it would be--that his uncle would not speak to him beyond saying a few distant words, such as were absolutely necessary. Kitty would avert her eyes, and his mother keep giving him reproachful looks, every one of which was a silent prayer to him to speak. The afternoon had worn away, and he had done little work for thinking. His uncle had not been back, and at last Jem's footstep was heard outside, and he passed the window to tap lightly on the door and then open it. "Come, Mas' Don," he said, cheerily, "going to work all night?" "No, Jem, no. I was just thinking of going." "That's right, my lad, because it's past shutting-up time. Feel better now, don't you?" "No, Jem, I feel worse." "Are you going to keep the yard open all the evening, Jem?" cried a shrill voice. "Why don't you lock-up and come in to tea?" "There! Hear that!" said Jem, anxiously. "Do go, Mas' Don, or I sha'n't get to the end on it. 'Nuff to make a man talk as you do." "Jem!" "Here, I'm a-coming, arn't I?" he cried, giving the door a thump with his fist. "Don't shout the ware'us down!" "Jem!" "Now did you ever hear such a aggrawatin' woman?" cried Jem. "She's such a little un that I could pick her up, same as you do a kitten, Mas' Don--nothing on her as you may say; but the works as is inside her is that strong that I'm 'fraid of her." "Jem!" He opened the door with a rush. "Ya-a-a-as!" he roared; "don't you know as Mas' Don arn't gone?" Little Mrs Wimble, who was coming fiercely up, flounced round, and the wind of her skirts whirled up a dust of scraps of matting and cooper's chips as she went back to the cottage. "See that, Mas' Don? Now you think you've all the trouble in the world on your shoulders, but look at me. Talk about a woman's temper turning the milk sour in a house. Why, just now there's about three hundred hogsheads o' sugar in our ware'us--two hundred and ninety-three, and four damages not quite full, which is as good as saying three hundred-- see the books whether I arn't right. Well, Mas' Don, I tell you for the truth that I quite frights it--I do, indeed--as she'll turn all that there sweetness into sour varjus 'fore she's done. Going, sir?" "Yes, Jem, I'm going--home," said Don; and then to himself, "Ah, I wish I had a home." "Poor Mas' Don!" said Jem, as he watched the lad go out through the gate; "he's down in the dumps now, and no mistake; and dumps is the lot o' all on us, more or less." Then Jem went in to his tea, and Don went slowly home to his, and matters were exactly as he had foreseen. His uncle was scarcely polite; Kitty gave him sharp, indignant glances when their eyes met, and then averted hers; and from time to time his mother looked at him in so pitiful and imploring a manner that one moment he felt as if he were an utter scoundrel, and the next that he would do anything to take her in his arms and try and convince her that he was not so bad as she thought. It was a curious mental encounter between pride, obstinacy, and the better feelings of his nature; and unfortunately the former won, for soon after the meal was over he hurried out of the room. "I can't bear it," he cried to himself, as he went up to his own little chamber,--"I can't bear it, and I will not. Every one's against me. If I stop I shall be punished, and I can't face all that to-morrow. Good-bye, mother. Some day you'll think differently, and be sorry for all this injustice, and then--" A tear moistened Don's eye as he thought of his mother and her tender, loving ways, and of what a pity it was that they ever came there to his uncle's, and it was not the tear that made Don see so blindly. "I can't stand it, and I will not," he cried, passionately. "Uncle hates me, and Mike Bannock's right, scoundrel as he is. Uncle has robbed me, and I'll go and fight for myself in the world, and when I get well off I'll come back and seize him by the throat and make him give up all he has taken." Don talked to himself a good deal more of this nonsense, and then, with his mind fully made up, he went to the chest of drawers, took out a handkerchief, spread it open upon the bed, and placed in it a couple of clean shirts and three or four pairs of stockings. "There," he said, as he tied them up tightly as small as he could, "I won't have any more. I'll go and start fair, so that I can be independent and be beholden to nobody." Tucking the bundle under his arm, he could not help feeling that it was a very prominent-looking package--the great checked blue and white handkerchief seeming to say, "This boy's going to seek his fortune!" and he wished that he was not obliged to take it. But, setting his teeth, he left the room with the drawers open, and his best suit, which he had felt disposed to take, tossed on a chair, and then began to descend. It was a glorious summer evening, and though he was in dirty, smoky Bristol, everything seemed to look bright and attractive, and to produce a sensation of low-spiritedness such as he had never felt before. He descended and passed his mother's room, and then went down more slowly, for he could hear the murmur of voices in the dining-room, which he had to pass to reach the front door, outside which he did not care what happened; but now he had to pass that dining-room, and go along the passage and by the stand upon which his cocked hat hung. It was nervous work, but he went on down the first flight, running his hand slowly along the hand-balustrade, all down which he had so often slid while Kitty looked on laughing, and yet alarmed lest he should fall. And what a long time ago that seemed! He had just reached the bottom flight, and was wondering what to say if the door should open and his uncle meet him with the blue bundle under his arm, when the dining-room door did open, and he dashed back to the landing and stood in the doorway of his mother's room, listening as a step was heard upon the stairs. "Kitty!" he said to himself, as he thrust against the door, which yielded to his pressure, and he backed in softly till he could push the door to, and stand inside, watching through the crack. There was the light, soft step coming up and up, and his heart began to beat, he knew not why, till something seemed to rise in his throat, and made his breath come short and painfully. His mother! She was coming to her room, and in another moment she would be there, and would find him with the bundle under his arm, about to run away. Quick as thought he looked sharply round, bundle in hand, when, obeying the first impulse, he was about to push it beneath the bedclothes, but cast aside the plan because he felt that it would be noticed, and quick as thought he tossed the light bundle up on the top of the great canopy of the old-fashioned bedstead, to lie among the gathering of flue and dust. By that time the footsteps were at the door. "What shall I say?" Don asked himself; "she will want to know why I am here." He felt confused, and rack his brains as he would, no excuse would come. But it was not wanted, for the light footstep with the rustle of silk passed on upstairs, and Don opened the door slightly to listen. His breath came thickly with emotion as he realised where his mother had gone. It was to his bedroom door, and as he listened he heard her tap lightly. "Don! Don, my boy!" came in low, gentle tones. For one moment the boy's heart prompted him to rush up and fling himself in her arms, but again his worse half suggested that he was to be scolded and disbelieved, and mentally thrusting his fingers into his ears, he stepped out, glided down the staircase in the old boyish fashion of sliding down the banister, snatched his hat from the stand, and softly stole out to hurry down the street as hard as he could go. He had been walking swiftly some five minutes, moved by only one desire--that of getting away from the house--when he awoke to the fact that he was going straight towards the constable's quarters and the old-fashioned lock-up where Mike must be lying, getting rid of the consequences of his holiday-making that morning. Don turned sharply round in another direction, one which led him towards the wharves where the shipping lay. While this was taking place, Jem Wimble had been banging the doors and rattling his keys as he locked up the various stores, feeling particularly proud and self-satisfied with the confidence placed in him. After this was done he had a wash at the pump, fetching a piece of soap from a ledge inside the workshop where the cooper's tools were kept, and when he had duly rubbed and scrubbed and dried his face and hands, he went indoors to stare with astonishment, for his little wife was making the most of her size by sitting very upright as she finished her tea. Jem plumped himself indignantly down, and began his. This was a new annoyance. Sally had scolded times out of number, and found fault with him for being so late, but this was the first time that she had ever begun a meal without his being present, and he felt bitterly hurt. "As if I could help it," he said, half aloud. "A man has his work to do, and he must do it." "Five o'clock's tea-time, and you ought to have been here." "And if I wasn't here, it was your dooty to wait for me, marm." "Was it?" cried Sally; "then I wasn't going to. I'm not going to be ordered about and ill-treated, Jem; you always said you liked your tea ready at five o'clock. I had it ready at five o'clock, and I waited till half-past, and it's now five-and-twenty to six." "I don't care if it's five-and-twenty to nineteen!" cried Jem angrily. "It's your dooty to wait, same as it's mine to shut up." "You might have shut up after tea." "Then I wasn't going to, marm." "Then you may have your tea by yourself, for I've done, and I'm not going to be trampled upon by you." Sally had risen in the loudness of her voice, in her temper, and in her person, for she had got up from her chair; but neither elevation was great; in fact, the personal height was very small, and there was something very kittenish and comic in her appearance, as she crossed the bright little kitchen to the door at the flight of stairs, and passing through, banged it behind her, and went up to her room. "Very well," said Jem, as he sat staring at the door; "very well, marm. So this is being married. My father used to say that if two people as is married can't agree, they ought to divide the house between 'em, but one ought to take the outside and t'other the in. That's what I'm a-going to do, only, seeing what a bit of a doll of a thing you are, and being above it, I'm going to take the outside myself. There's coffee bags enough to make a man a good bed up in the ware'us, and it won't be the first time I've shifted for myself, so I shall stop away till you fetches me back. Do you hear?" "Oh, yes, I can hear," replied Sally from the top of the stairs, Jem having shouted his last speech. "All right, then," said Jem: "so now we understands each other and can go ahead." Tightening up his lips, Jem rinsed out the slop-basin, shovelled in a good heap of sugar, and then proceeded to empty the teapot, holding the lid in its place with one fat finger the while. This done, he emptied the little milk jug also, stirred all well up together, and left it for a few minutes to cool, what time he took the cottage loaf from the white, well-scrubbed trencher, pulled it in two, took a handful of bread out of one half, and raising the lump of fresh Somersetshire butter on the point of a knife, he dabbed it into the hole he had made in the centre, shut it up by replacing the other half of the bread, and then taking out his handkerchief spread it upon his knee and tied the loaf tightly therein. Then for a moment or two he hesitated about taking the knife, but finally concluding that the clasp knife in his pocket would do, he laid the blade on the table, gave his tea a final stir, gulped down the basinful, tucked the loaf in the handkerchief under his left arm, his hat very much on one side, and then walked out and through the gate, which he closed with a loud bang. "Oh!" ejaculated Sally, who had run to the bedroom window, "he has gone!" Sally was quite right, Jem, her husband, was gone away to his favourite place for smoking a pipe, down on the West Main wharf, where he seated himself on a stone mooring post, placed the bundle containing the loaf beside him, and then began to eat heartily? Nothing of the kind. Jem was thinking very hard about home and his little petulant, girlish wife. Then he started and stared. "Hullo, Jem, you here?" "Why, Mas' Don, I thought you was at home having your tea." "I thought you were having yours, Jem." "No, Mas' Don," said Jem sadly; "there's my tea"--and he pointed to the bundle handkerchief; "there's my tea; leastwise I will tell the truth, o' course--there's part on it; t'other part's inside, for I couldn't tie that up, or I'd ha' brought it same ways to have down here and look at the ships." "Then why don't you eat it, man?" "'Cause I can't, sir. I've had so much o' my Sally that I don't want no wittals." Don said nothing, but sat down by Jem Wimble to look at the ships. CHAPTER EIGHT. KITTY CHRISTMAS SITS UP. "My dear Laura," said Uncle Josiah that same evening, "you misjudge me; Lindon's welfare is as dear to me as that of my little Kitty." "But you seemed to be so hard and stern with him." "That is your weak womanly way of looking at it, my dear I may have been stern, but no more so than the matter warranted. No, my dear sister, can you not see that I mean all this as a lesson for Lindon? You know how discontented he has been with his lot, like many more boys at his time of life, when they do not judge very well as to whether they are well off." "Yes, he has been unsettled lately." "Exactly, and this is due to his connection with that ne'er-do-weel scoundrel, for whom the boy has displayed an unconquerable liking. Lindon has begged the man on again four times after he had been discharged from the yard for drunkenness and neglect." "I did not know this," said Mrs Lavington. "No, I do not bring all my business troubles home. I consented because I wished Lindon to realise for himself the kind of man whose cause he advocated; but I never expected that it would be brought home to him so severely as this." "Then indeed, Josiah, you do not think Lindon guilty?" "Bah! Of course not, you foolish little woman. The boy is too frank and manly, too much of a gentleman to degrade himself in such a way. Guilty? Nonsense! Guilty of being proud and obstinate and stubborn. Guilty of neglecting his work to listen to that idle scoundrel's romancing about places he has never seen." "He is so young." "Young? Old enough to know better." "But if you could bring it home to him more gently." "I think the present way is an admirable one for showing the boy his folly. The bird who kept company with the jackdaws had his neck wrung, innocent as he was. I want Lindon to see how very near he has been to having his neck wrung through keeping company with a jackdaw. Now, my dear Laura, leave it to me. The magistrates will grasp the case at once, and Master Lindon will receive a severe admonition from some one else, which will bring him to his senses, and then we shall go on quite smoothly again." "You cannot tell how happy you have made me feel," said Mrs Lavington, as she wept silently. "Well," said Uncle Josiah, "I want to make you happy, you poor timid little bird. Now, then, try to believe that I am acting for the best." "And you will not be so stern with him?" "As far as my lights will illumine me, I will do what is right by my sister's boy, Laura--the lad I want to see grow up into a straightforward Englishman, proud of his name. There, can I say more fairly than that?" "No. I only beg that you will think of Lindon as a high-spirited boy, who, though he does not always do as you wish, is still extremely sensitive." "Proud and stubborn, eh, Laura?" "I will say no more, my own brother, only leave myself in your hands." "Yes, you may well look at the clock," said Uncle Josiah, laughing, as he put his arm round his sister, and kissed her very tenderly; "the young dog is unconscionably late." "You do not think--after what I said?" "Think? Nonsense. No, no. Lindon is too manly for that. Here, I am sure that you have a terrible headache, and you are worn out. Go to bed, and I'll sit up for the young rascal, and have a talk to him when he comes in." "No, no!" exclaimed Mrs Lavington excitedly; "I do not like you to sit up for him. I will." "Not you. Too tired out as it is. No, my dear, you shall go to bed, and I will sit up for him." "Then let neither of us sit up." "Afraid I shall scold him, eh?" "I cannot help being afraid of something of the kind, dear." "Very well, then we will both go, and let Jessie sit up." The maid was rung for, and entered. "We are going to bed, Jessie. Master Lindon has not returned yet. You will sit up until he comes in." "Yes, sir." The maid left the room, and brother and sister sat looking at each other. "Did you speak, Josiah?" said Mrs Lavington. "No; I was only thinking that I do not trust you and you don't trust me." "What do you mean?" faltered the poor woman, who looked more agitated now. "You were not going to bed, but to listen for Lindon's return, and were then going to watch whether I left my room to talk to him." Mrs Lavington was silent. "Guilty," said Uncle Josiah, smiling. "Come now, fair play. Will you go to your room and promise to stay there till breakfast time to-morrow morning, if I give you my word to do the same?" "Yes," said the shrinking woman eagerly. "That's agreed to, then. Good-night, Laura, my dear." "Good-night, Josiah." Ten minutes after all was still in the house, but matters did not turn out quite as Uncle Josiah intended. For before he was undressed, a bedroom door was opened very gently, and the creak it gave produced a low ejaculation of dismay. Then there was five minutes' interval before a slight little figure stole gently downstairs and glided into the kitchen, where round red-faced Jessie was seated in a window, her chair being opposite to what looked like a lady's back, making the most careful bows from time to time, to which the lady made no response, for it was only Jessie's cloak hanging on a peg with her old bonnet just above. The slight little figure stood in the kitchen doorway listening, and then Jessie seemed to be bowing her head to the fresh comer, who did take some notice of the courtesy, for, crossing the kitchen rapidly, there was a quick sharp whisper. "Jessie, Jessie!" No reply. "Jessie, Jessie!" "Two new and one stale," said the maid. "Oh, how tiresome! Jessie, Jessie!" "Slack baked." "Jessie!" and this time there was a shake of the maid's shoulder, and she jumped up, looking startled. "Lor, Miss Kitty, how you frightened me!" "You were asleep." "Sleep? Me, miss? That I'm sure I wasn't." "You were, Jessie, and I heard father tell you to sit up till Cousin Lindon came home." "Well, that's what I'm a-doin' of, miss, as plain as I can," said Jessie. She spoke in an ill-used tone, for it had been a busy day consequent upon a certain amount of extra cleaning, but Kitty did not notice it. "I shall stay till I hear my cousin's knock," she said; "and then run upstairs. I hope he will not be long." "So do I, Miss Kitty," said the woman with a yawn. "What's made him so late? Is it because of the trouble at the yard?" "Yes, Jessie; but you must not talk about it." "But I heerd as Master Don took some money." "He did not, Jessie!" cried Kitty indignantly. "There isn't a word of truth in it. My Cousin Lindon couldn't have done such a thing. It's all a mistake, and I want to see him come in, poor boy, and tell him that I don't believe it I'll whisper it to him just as he's going up to bed, and it will make him happy, for I know he thinks I have gone against him, and I only made believe that I did." _Snurrrg_! The sound was very gentle, and Kitty did not hear it, for she was looking intently toward the door in the belief that she had heard Don's footstep. But it was only that of some passer on his way home, and Kitty went on,-- "You mustn't talk about it, Jessie, for it is a great trouble, and aunt is nearly heart-broken, and--" _Snurg-urg_! This time there was so loud and gurgling a sound that Kitty turned sharply upon the maid, who, after emitting a painful snore, made her young mistress the most polite of bows. "Jessie! You're asleep." _Snurrg_! And a bow. "Oh, Jessie, you're asleep again. How can you be so tiresome?" _Snurrg_! Gurgled Jessie again, and Kitty gave an impatient stamp of her little foot. "How can any one sleep at a time like this?" she half sobbed. "It's too bad, that it is." Jessie bowed to her politely, and her head went up and down as if it were fixed at the end of a very easy moving spring, but when Kitty reproached her the words had not the slightest effect, and a dull stupid stare was given, of so irritating a nature that some people would have felt disposed to awaken the sleeper by administering a sound slap upon the hard round cheek. One hour, two hours, three hours passed away, and still no Don; and at last, unable to bear the company of the snoring woman longer, Kitty left her and went into the drawing-room, where, kneeling down at the end of the couch under the window, she remained watching the dark street, waiting for him who did not come. Kitty watched till the street began to look less dark and gloomy, and by degrees the other side became so plain that she could make out the bricks on the opposite walls. Then they grew plainer and plainer, and there was a bright light in the sky, for the sun was near to its rising. Then they grew less plain, then quite indistinct, for Kitty was crying bitterly, and she found herself wondering whether Don could have come in and gone to bed. A little thought told her that this was impossible, and the tears fell faster still. Where could he be? What could he be doing? Ought she to awaken her aunt? Kitty could not answer these self-imposed questions, and as her misery and despair grew greater it seemed as if the morning was growing very cold and the bricks of the houses opposite more and more obscure, and then soon after they were quite invisible, for she saw them not. CHAPTER NINE. A SOCIAL THUNDERBOLT. "Morning!" said Uncle Josiah, as, after a turn up and down the dining-room, he saw the door open and his sister enter, looking very pale and red-eyed. "Why, Laura, you have not been to bed." "Yes," she said sadly. "I kept my word, and now I feel sorry that I did, for I fell into a heavy sleep from which I did not wake till half an hour ago." "Glad of it," said her brother bluffly. "That's right, my dear, make the tea; I want my breakfast, for I have plenty of work to-day." Mrs Lavington hastily made the tea, for the urn was hissing on the table when she came down, Uncle Josiah's orders being that it was always to be ready at eight o'clock, and woe betide Jessie if it was not there. "Have--have you seen Don this morning?" "No. And when he comes down I shall not say a word. There, try and put a better face on the matter, my dear. He will have to appear at the magistrate's office, and there will be a few admonitions. That's all. Isn't Kitty late?" "Yes. Shall I send up for her?" "No; she will be down in a few minutes, I daresay, and Lindon too." The few minutes passed, and Uncle Josiah looked stern. Then he rang for the servants, and his brow grew more heavy. Neither Kitty nor Lindon down to prayers. "Shall I send up, Josiah?" "No; they know what time we have prayers," said the old man sternly; and upon the servants entering he read his customary chapter and the prayers, but no one stole in while the service was in progress, and when it was over the old merchant looked more severe than ever. Mrs Lavington looked more troubled as her brother grew more severe, but she did not speak, feeling that she might make matters worse. Just then Jessie brought in the ham and eggs, and as she took off the cover, and Mrs Lavington began to pour out tea, the old man said roughly,-- "Go and tell Miss Kitty to come down to breakfast directly." The maid left the room. "You did not send a message to Don, Josiah." "No. I suppose his lordship was very late. No business to have gone out." Uncle Josiah began his breakfast. Mrs Lavington could not taste hers. Then Jessie entered, looking startled. "If you please, sir--" "Well, if you please what?" "Miss Kitty, sir." "Yes?" "She's not in her room." "Eh?" ejaculated the old merchant. "Humph! Come down and gone for a walk, I suppose. Back soon." The breakfast went on, but there was no Kitty, no Don, and Uncle Josiah began to eat his food ferociously. At last he got up and rang the bell sharply, and Jessie responded. "What time did Master Lindon come home?" he said. "Come home, sir?" "Yes; did I not speak plainly? I said what time did Master Lindon come home?" "Please, sir, he didn't come home at all." "What!" roared Uncle Josiah, and Mrs Lavington nearly let her cup fall. "Please, sir, I sat in my chair waiting all the night." "And he has not been back?" "No, sir." "Nonsense! Go and knock at his door. Tell him to come at once." "Excuse me, Josiah," said Mrs Lavington excitedly; "let me go." Uncle Josiah grunted his consent, and Mrs Lavington hurried out into the hall, and then upstairs. "Slipped in while you were half asleep," said the old man to Jessie. "No, sir, indeed. I've been watching carefully all night." "Humph! There's half a crown for you to buy a hat ribbon, Jessie. Well," he continued as his sister entered hastily, "what does he say?" "Josiah!" cried the trembling woman, "what does this mean? Don was out when I went up yesterday evening, and he has not been to his room all night." "What?" "Neither has Kitty been to hers." Uncle Josiah thrust back his chair, and left his half-eaten breakfast. "Look here," he exclaimed in a hoarse voice; "what nonsense is this?" "No nonsense, Josiah," cried Mrs Lavington. "I felt a presentiment." "Felt a stuff and nonsense!" he said angrily. "Kitty not in her room? Kitty not been to bed? Here, Jessie!" "Yes, sir." "You did go to sleep, didn't you?" "Ye-e-e-s, sir!" "I thought as much, and,"--here tut-tut-tut--"that would not explain it. Hullo, what do you want?" This was to the cook, who tapped, opened the door, and then held up her hand as if to command silence. "Please, 'm, would you mind coming here?" she said softly. Mrs Lavington ran to the door, followed the woman across the hall, unaware of the fact that the old merchant was close at her heels. They paused as soon as they were inside the drawing-room, impressed by the scene before them, for there, half sitting, half lying, and fast asleep, with the tears on her cheeks still wet, as if she had wept as she lay there unconscious, was Kitty, for the bricks on the opposite wall had been too indistinct for her to see. "Don't wake her," said Uncle Josiah softly, and he signed to them to go back into the hall, where he turned to Jessie. "Did you see Miss Kitty last night?" "Ye-es, sir." "Where?" "She comed into the kitchen, sir." "After we had gone to bed?" "Yes, sir." "And you said nothing just now?" "No, sir, I didn't like to." "That will do. Be off," said the old man sternly. "Laura. Here!" Mrs Lavington followed her brother back into the dining-room. "The poor child must have been sitting up to watch for Lindon's return." "And he has not returned, Josiah," sobbed Mrs Lavington. "Here, stop! What are you going to do?" "I am going up to his room to see," said the sobbing woman. Uncle Josiah made no opposition, for he read the mother's thought, and followed her upstairs, where a half-open drawer told tales, and in a few moments Mrs Lavington had satisfied herself. "I cannot say exactly," she said piteously; "but he has made up a bundle of his things." "The coward!" cried Uncle Josiah fiercely. "Gone! Gone! My poor boy!" "Hush!" cried the old man sternly. "He has sneaked off like a contemptible cur. No, I will not believe it of him," he added impetuously. "Lindon has too much stuff in him to play such a despicable part. You are wrong, Laura. Come down and finish breakfast. I will not believe it of the boy." "But he has gone, Josiah, he has gone," sobbed his sister. "Then if he has, it is the yielding to a sudden impulse, and as soon as he comes to his senses he will return. Lindon will not be such a coward, Laura. Mark my words." "You are saying this to comfort me," said Mrs Lavington sadly. "I am saying what I think," cried her brother. "If I thought he had gone right off, I would say so, but I do not think anything of the kind. He may have thought of doing so last night, but this morning he will repent and come back." He took his sister's hand gently, and led her downstairs, making her resume her place at the table, and taking his own again, as he made a pretence of going on with his breakfast; but before he had eaten his second mouthful there was a dull heavy thump at the front door. "There!" cried the old man; "what did I say? Here he is." Before the front door could be opened, Kitty, who had been awakened by the knock, came in looking scared and strange. "Don," she said; "I have been asleep. Has he come back?" "Yes I think this is he," said the old man gently. "Come here, my pet; don't shrink like that. I'm not angry." "If you please, sir," said Jessie, "here's a woman from the yard." "Mrs Wimble?" "Yes, sir; and can she speak to you a minute?" "Yes, I'll come--no, show her in here. News. An ambassador, Laura," said the old man with a grim smile, as Jessie went out. "There, Kitty, my dear, don't cry. It will be all right soon." At that moment little Mrs Wimble entered, white cheeked, red-eyed, limp and miserable looking, the very opposite of the trim little Sally who lorded it over her patient husband. "Mrs Wimble!" cried Mrs Lavington, catching the little woman's arm excitedly; "you have brought some news about my son." "No," moaned Sally, with a passionate burst of sobs. "Went out tea-time, and never come back all night." "Yes, yes, we know that," said Uncle Josiah sternly; "but how did you know?" "Know, sir? I've been sitting up for him all this dreadful night." "What, for my nephew?" "No, sir, for my Jem." "Lindon--James Wimble!" said Uncle Josiah, as he sank back in his seat. "Impossible! It can't be true." CHAPTER TEN. GONE! "Speak, woman!" cried Mrs Lavington hoarsely; and she shook little Sally by the arm. "What do you mean?" "I don't know, ma'am. I'm in such trouble," sobbed Sally. "I've been a very, very wicked girl--I mean woman. I was always finding fault, and scolding him." "Why?" asked Uncle Josiah sternly. "I don't know, sir." "But he is a quiet industrious man, and I'm sure he is a good husband." "Yes, he's the best of husbands," sobbed Sally. "Then why did you scold him?" "Because I was so wicked, I suppose. I couldn't help it, sir." "But you think he has run away?" "Yes, sir; I'm sure of it. He said he would some day if I was so cruel, and that seemed to make me more cruel, and--and--he has gone." "It is impossible!" said Uncle Josiah. "He must have met with some accident." "No, sir, he has run away and left me. He said he would. I saw him go--out of the window, and he took a bundle with him, and--and--what shall I do? What shall I do?" "Took a bundle?" said Uncle Josiah, starting. "Yes, sir, and--and I wish I was dead." "Silence, you foolish little woman! How dare you wish such a thing? Stop; listen to what I say. Did my nephew Lindon come to the yard last night?" "No, sir; but him and my Jem were talking together for ever so long in the office, and I couldn't get Jem away." Uncle Josiah gave vent to a low whistle. "Please ask Master Don what my Jem said." "Do you not understand, my good woman, that my son has not been home all night?" said Mrs Lavington, piteously. "What? Not been home?" cried Sally, sharply. "Then they're gone off together." Uncle Josiah drew a long breath. "That Master Don was always talking to my poor Jem, and he has persuaded him, and they're gone." "It is not true!" cried Kitty in a sharp voice as she stood by the table, quivering with anger. "If Cousin Don has gone away, it is your wicked husband who has persuaded him. Father, dear, don't let them go; pray, pray fetch them back." Uncle Josiah's brow grew more rugged, and there were hard lines about his lips, till his sister laid her hand upon his arm, when he started, and took her hand, looking sadly down in her face. "You hear what Kitty says," whispered Mrs Lavington; "pray--pray fetch them back." Little Mrs Wimble heard her words, and gave the old merchant an imploring look. But the old man's face only grew more hard. "I am afraid it must be true," he said. "Foolish boy! Woman, your husband has behaved like an idiot." "But you will send and fetch them back, Josiah." "Don't talk nonsense, Laura," said the old man angrily. "How can I fetch them back? Foolish boy! At a time like this. Is he afraid to face the truth?" "No, no, Josiah," cried Mrs Lavington; "it is only that he was hurt." "Hurt? He has hurt himself. That man will be before the magistrates to-day, and I passed my word to the constable that Lindon should be present to answer the charge made against him." "Yes, dear, and he has been thoughtless. But you will forgive him, and have him brought back." "Have him brought back!" cried Uncle Josiah fiercely. "What can I do? The law will have him brought back now." "What? Oh, brother, don't say that!" "I must tell you the truth," said Uncle Josiah sternly. "It is the same as breaking faith, and he has given strength to that scoundrel's charge." "But what shall I do?" sobbed little Sally Wimble. "My Jem hadn't done anything. Oh, please, sir, fetch him back." "Your husband has taken his own road, my good woman," said Uncle Josiah coldly, "and he must suffer for it." "But what's to become of me, sir? What shall I do without a husband?" "Go back home and wait." "But I have no home, sir, now," sobbed Sally. "You'll want the cottage for some other man." "Go back home and wait." "But you'll try and fetch him back, sir?" "I don't know what I shall do yet," said the old man sternly. "I'm afraid I do not know the worst. There, go away now. Who's that?" There was a general excitement, for a loud knock was heard at the door. Jessie came in directly after, looking round eyed and staring. "Well, what is it?" said Uncle Josiah. "If you please, sir, Mr Smithers the constable came, and I was to tell you that you're to be at the magistrate's office at eleven, and bring Master Don with you." "Yes," said Uncle Josiah bitterly; "at the magistrate's office at eleven, and take Lindon with me. Well, Laura, what have you to say to that?" Mrs Lavington gave him an imploring look. "Try and find him," she whispered, "for my sake." "Try and find him!" he replied angrily, "I was willing to look over everything--to try and fight his battle and prove to the world that the accusation was false." "Yes, yes, and you will do so now--Josiah--brother." "I cannot," said the old man sternly. "He has disgraced me, and openly declared to the world that the accusation of that scoundrel is true." CHAPTER ELEVEN. THINKING BETTER OF IT. Don stood looking at Jem Wimble for some few minutes in silence, as if the sight of some one else in trouble did him good. Then he sat down on the stock of an old anchor, to begin picking at the red rust scales as he too stared at the ships moored here and there. The tall masts and rigging had a certain fascination for Don, and each vessel seemed to offer a way out of his difficulties. For once on board a ship with the sails spread, and the open sea before him, he might cross right away to one of those beautiful lands of which Mike had spoken, and then-- The thought of Mike altered the case directly, and he sat staring straight before him at the ships. Jem was the next to break the silence. "Thinking you'd like to go right away, Master Don?" "Yes, Jem." "So was I, sir. Only think how nice it would be somewhere abroad, where there was no Sally." "And no Uncle Josiah, Jem." "Ay, and no Mike to get you into trouble. Be fine, wouldn't it?" "Glorious, Jem." "Mean to go, Master Don?" "What, and be a miserable coward? No." "But you was a-thinking something of the kind, sir." "Yes, I was, Jem. Everybody is stupid sometimes, and I was stupid then. No. I've thought better of it." "And you won't go, sir?" "Go? No. Why, it would be like saying what Mike accused me of was true." "So it would, sir. Now that's just how I felt. I says to myself, `Jem,' I says, `don't you stand it. What you've got to do is to go right away and let Sally shift for herself; then she'd find out your vally,' I says, `and be sorry for what she's said and done,' but I knew if I did she'd begin to crow and think she'd beat me, and besides, it would be such a miserable cowardly trick. No, Mas' Don, I'm going to grin and bear it, and some day she'll come round and be as nice as she's nasty now." "Yes, that's the way to look at it, Jem; but it's a miserable world, isn't it?" "Well, I arn't seen much on it, Mas' Don. I once went for a holiday as far as Bath, and that part on it was miserable enough. My word, how it did rain! In half an hour I hadn't got a dry thread on me. Deal worse than Bristol, which isn't the most cheersome o' places when you're dull." "No, Jem, it isn't. Of course you'll be at the court to-morrow?" "I suppose so, Mas' Don. And I say they'd better ask me if I think you took that money. My! But I would give it to some on 'em straight. Can you fight, Mas' Don?" "I don't know, Jem. I never tried." "I can. You don't know what a crack I could give a man. It's my arms is so strong with moving sugar-hogsheads, I suppose. I shouldn't wish to be the man I hit if I did my best." "You mean your worst, Jem." "Course I do, Mas' Don. Well, as I was going to say, I should just like to settle that there matter with Mr Mike without the magistrates. You give him to me on a clear field for about ten minutes, and I'd make Master Mike down hisself on his knees, and say just whatever I pleased." "And what good would that do, Jem?" "Not much to him, Mas' Don, because he'd be so precious sore afterwards, but it would do me good, and I would feel afterwards what I don't feel now, and that's cheerful. Never mind, sir, it'll all come right in the end. Nothing like coming out and sitting all alone when you're crabby. Wind seems to blow it away. When you've been sitting here a bit you'll feel like a new man. Mind me smoking a pipe?" "No, Jem; smoke away." "Won't have one too, Mas' Don?" "No, Jem; you know I can't smoke." "Then here goes for mine," said Jem, taking a little dumpy clay pipe from one pocket and a canvas bag from another, in which were some rough pieces of tobacco leaf. These he crumbled up and thrust into the bowl, after which he took advantage of the shelter afforded by an empty cask to get in, strike a light, and start a pipe. Once lit up, Jem returned to his old seat, and the pair remained in the same place till it was getting dusk, and lights were twinkling among the shipping, when Jem rose and stretched himself. "That's your sort, Mas' Don," he said. "Now I feels better, and I can smile at my little woman when I get home. You aren't no worse?" "No, Jem, I am no worse." "Nothing like coming out when you're red hot, and cooling down. I'm cooled down, and so are you. Come along." Don felt a sensation of reluctance to return home, but it was getting late, and telling himself that he had nothing to do now but act a straightforward manly part, and glad that he had cast aside his foolish notions about going away, he trudged slowly back with his companion, till turning into one of the dark and narrow lanes leading from the water side, they suddenly became aware that they were not alone, for a stoutly-built sailor stepped in front of them. "Got a light, mate?" he said. "Light? Yes," said Jem readily; and he prepared to get out his flint and steel, when Don whispered something in his ear. "Ay, to be sure," he said; "why don't you take a light from him?" "Eh? Ah, to be sure," said the sailor. "I forgot. Here, Joe, mate, open the lanthorn and give us a light." Another sailor, a couple of yards away, opened a horn lanthorn, and the first man bent down to light his pipe, the dull rays of the coarse candle showing something which startled Don. "Come on, Jem," he whispered; "make haste." "Ay? To be sure, my lad. There's nothing to mind though. Only sailors." As he spoke there were other steps behind, and more from the front, and Don realised that they were hemmed in that narrow lane between two little parties of armed men. Just then the door of the lanthorn was closed, and the man who bore it held it close to Jem's face. "Well?" said that worthy, good-temperedly, "what d'yer think of me, eh? Lost some one? 'Cause I arn't him." "I don't know so much about that," said a voice; and a young-looking man in a heavy pea jacket whispered a few words to one of the sailors. Don felt more uneasy, for he saw that the point of a scabbard hung down below the last speaker's jacket, which bulged out as if there were pistols beneath, all of which he could dimly make out in the faint glow of the lanthorn. "Come away, Jem, quick!" whispered Don. "Here, what's your hurry, my lads?" said the youngish man in rather an authoritative way. "Come and have a glass of grog." "No, thank ye," said Jem; "I've got to be home." "So have we, mate," said the hoarse-voiced man who had asked for a light; "and when a horficer asks you to drink you shouldn't say no." "I knew it, Jem," whispered Don excitedly. "Officer! Do you hear?" "What are you whispering about, youngster?" said the man in the pea jacket. "You let him be." "Good-night," said Jem shortly. "Come on, Mas' Don." He stepped forward, but the young man hurried on the men, who had now closed in round them; and as Jem gave one of them a sturdy push to get off, the thrust was returned with interest. "Where are you shovin' to, mate?" growled the man. "Arn't the road wide enough for you?" "Quiet, my lad," said the officer sharply. "Here, you come below here and have a glass of grog." "I don't want no grog," said Jem; "and I should thank you to tell your men to let me pass." "Yes, by-and-by," said the officer. "Now then, my lads, sharp." A couple of men crowded on Jem, one of them forcing himself between the sturdy fellow and Don, whose cheeks flushed with anger as he felt himself rudely thrust up against the wall of one of the houses. "Here, what are you doing of?" cried Jem sharply. "Being civil," said one of the men with a laugh. "There, no nonsense. Come quiet." He might just as well have said that to an angry bull, for as he and his companion seized Jem by the arms, they found for themselves how strong those arms were, one being sent staggering against Don, and the other being lifted off his legs and dropped upon his back. "Now, Mas' Don, run!" shouted Jem. But before the words were well out of his lips, the party closed in upon him, paying no heed to Don, who in accordance with Jem's command had rushed off in retreat. A few moments later he stopped, for Jem was not with him, but struggling with all his might in the midst of the knot of men who were trying to hold him. "Mas' Don! Help, help!" roared Jem; and Don dashed at the gang, his fists clenched, teeth set, and a curious singing noise in his ears. But as he reached the spot where his companion was making a desperate struggle for his liberty, Jem shouted again,-- "No, no! Mas' Don; run for it, my lad, and get help if you can." Like a flash it occurred to Don that long before he could get help Jem would be overpowered and carried off, and with the natural fighting instinct fully raised, he struck out with all his might as he strove to get to the poor fellow, who was writhing and heaving, and giving his captors a tremendous task to hold him. "Here, give him something to keep him quiet," growled a voice. "No, no; get hold of his hands; that's right. Serve this cockerel the same. Down with him, quick!" cried the officer sharply; and in obedience to his words the men hung on to poor Jem so tenaciously that he was dragged down on the rough pavement, and a couple of men sat panting upon him while his wrists were secured, and his voice silenced by a great bandage right over his mouth. "You cowards!" Jem tried to roar, as, breathless with exertion, bleeding from a sharp back-handed blow across the mouth, and giddy with excitement and the effects of a rough encounter between his head and the wall, Don made one more attempt to drag himself free, and then stood panting and mastered by two strong men. "Show the light," said the officer, and the lanthorn was held close to Don's face. "Well, if the boy can fight like that," said the officer, "he shall." "Let us go," cried Don. "Help! He--" A jacket was thrown over his head, as the officer said mockingly,-- "He shall fight for his Majesty the king. Now, my lads, quick. Some one coming, and the wrong sort." Don felt himself lifted off his feet, and half smothered by the hot jacket which seemed to keep him from breathing, he was hurried along two or three of the lanes, growing more faint and dizzy every moment, till in the midst of a curious nightmare-like sensation, lights began suddenly to dance before his eyes; then all was darkness, and he knew no more till he seemed to wake up from a curious sensation of sickness, and to be listening to Jem Wimble, who would keep on saying in a stupid, aggravating manner,--"Mas' Don, are you there?" The question must have been repeated many times before Don could get rid of the dizzy feeling of confusion and reply,--"Yes; what do you want?" "Oh, my poor lad!" groaned Jem. "Here, can you come to me and untie this?" "Jem!" "Yes." "What does it mean? Why is it so dark? Where are we?" "Don't ask everything at once, my lad, and I'll try to tell you." "Has the candle gone out, Jem? Are we in the big cellar?" "Yes, my lad," groaned Jem, "we're in a big cellar." "Can't you find the candle?" said Don, with his head humming and the mental confusion on the increase. "There's a flint and steel on the ledge over the door." "Is there, my lad? I didn't know it," muttered Jem. "Jem, are you there?" "Yes, yes, my lad, I'm here." "Get a light, quick. I must have fallen and hurt myself; my face bleeds." "Oh, my poor dear lad!" "Eh? What do you mean? You're playing tricks, Jem, and it's too bad. Get a light." "My hands is tied fast behind me, Mas' Don," groaned Jem, "and we're pitched down here in a cellar." "What?" "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I don't mind for myself," groaned Jem, in his despair, "but what will she do?" "Jem!" "I often said I wished I could be took away, but I didn't mean it, Mas' Don; I didn't mean it. What will my Sally do?" "Jem, are you mad?" shouted Don. "This darkness--this cellar. It's all black, and I can't think; my head aches, and it's all strange. Don't play tricks. Try and open the door and let's go." "What, don't you know what it all means, Mas' Don?" groaned Jem. "No, I don't seem as if I could think. What does it mean?" "Mean, my lad? Why, the press-gang's got us, and unless we can let 'em know at home, we shall be took aboard ship and sent off to sea." "What?" The light had come--the mental light which drove away the cloud of darkness which had obscured Don Lavington's brain. He could think now, and he saw once more the dark lane, the swinging lanthorn, and felt, as it were, the struggle going on; and then, sitting up with his hands to his throbbing head, he listened to a low moaning sound close at hand. "Jem," he said. "Jem! Why don't you speak?" There was no answer, for it was poor Jem's turn now; the injuries he had received in his desperate struggle for liberty had had their effect, and he lay there insensible to the great trouble which had come upon him, while it grew more terrible to Don, in the darkness of that cellar, with every breath he drew. CHAPTER TWELVE. PRISONERS. "What's the matter?" cried Don, starting up, as there was the sound of bolts being shot back, and a light shone in upon the darkness. Don could hardly believe it possible, but it was quite true. In spite of pain and anxiety, weariness had mastered him, and he had been asleep. As the light shone in, Don could see Jem lying, apparently asleep, but in a very uncomfortable position, and that they were in a low, arched cellar, one which at some time had been used for storing casks; for in one corner there were some mouldy staves, and, close by, a barrel, whose hoops seemed to have slipped down, so that it was in a state of collapse. He had no time to see more, for half a dozen well-armed sailors came in after a bluff-looking man, who crossed at once to the prisoners. "Hold the lanthorn here," he said sharply. "Now let's have a look at you." He examined their injuries in an experienced way, roughly, but not unkindly. "All right, my lad," he said to Don; "you will not die this time. Now you." He spent longer over Jem, who roused up and looked at him curiously, as if he did not quite understand. "Been rather rough with this one, my lads." "Couldn't help it," said one of the sailors; "he fote so hard. So did this young chap too." "Nothing wrong with him, I daresay," said the bluff man. "No bones broken. All right in a day or two." Don had been silent while Jem was examined, for he felt that this man was either a doctor, or one who knew something about surgery; but as soon as he had finished, the boy, whose indignation had been growing, turned to him haughtily. "Now, sir!" he exclaimed, "have the goodness to explain the meaning of this outrage." "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" cried the bluff man. "It is nothing to laugh at, sir. I insist upon knowing why we have been ill-used and dragged here by your men." "Well crowed, my young cockerel," said the bluff man, laughing. "They said you fought well with your fists, so you can with your tongue." "Insulting us now you have us down will not save you," cried Don fiercely. "No, my lord," said the bluff man, as Jem rose up, shook his head, and stood by Don. The men laughed. "You coward!" cried Don in hot anger; "but you shall all suffer for it. My uncle will set the law to work, and have you all punished." "Really, this is growing serious," said the bluff man in mock alarm. "You will find it no laughing matter. You have made a mistake this time; so now let us go at once." "Well, I would with pleasure, my noble captain," said the bluff man, with mock solemnity; "but his Majesty is in sore need just now of some dashing young fellows who can fight; and he said to our first lieutenant, `short of men, Mr Morrison? Dear me, are you? Well then, the best thing you can do is to send round Bristol city, and persuade a few of the brave and daring young fellows there to come on board my good ship _Great Briton_, and help me till I've settled my quarrel with my enemies,' so we have persuaded you." "You are adding insult to what you have done, sir. Now let us pass. You and your miserable press-gang shall smart for this. Stand aside, sir." "What, after taking all this trouble? Hardly." "Here, I'm all right again now, Mas' Don. Press-gang, eh?" cried Jem. "Here, let me get at him." Jem made a dash at the bluff man, but his arms were seized, and he was held back, struggling hard. "Ah, I wish we had fifty of you," said the bluff man. "Don't hurt him, my lads. There, there, steady; you can't do anything. That will do. Save your strength to fight for the king." "You cowards!" cried Jem, who suddenly turned so faint that the men easily mastered him, laid him on his back, and one held him down, while another held Don till the rest had passed out, the bluff man only standing at the entrance with another holding up the light. "Come along," he shouted; and the man who held Jem left him, and ran out. "Do you hear?" cried the bluff man again. "Come along!" "How can I, when he's sticking on like a rat?" growled the man who held Don. "Did you ever see such a young ruffian?" The bluff man took a stride or two forward, gripped Don by the shoulder, and forced him from his hold. "Don't be a young fool," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "It's plucky, but it's no good. Can't you see we're seven to one?" "I don't care if you're a hundred," raged Don, struggling hard, but vainly. "Bravo, boy! That's right; but we're English, and going to be your messmates. Wait till you get at the French; then you may talk like that." He caught Don by the hips, and with a dexterous Cornish wrestling trick, raised him from the ground, and then threw him lightly beside Jem. "You'll do," he said. "I thought we'd let you go, because you're such a boy, but you've got the pluck of a man, and you'll soon grow." He stepped quickly to the entrance, and Don struggled to his feet, and dashed at him again, but only flung himself against the door, which was banged in his face, and locked. "The cowards!" panted Don, as he stood there in the darkness. "Why, Jem!" "Yes, Mas' Don." "They won't let us go." "No, Mas' Don, that they won't." "I never thought the press-gang would dare to do such a thing as this." "I did, sir. They'd press the monkeys out of a wild beast show if they got the chance." "But what are we to do?" "I d'know, sir." "We must let my uncle know at once." "Yes, sir, I would," said Jem grimly; "I'd holloa." "Don't be stupid. What's the good?" "Not a bit, sir." "But my uncle--my mother, what will they think?" "I'll tell yer, sir." "Yes?" "They'll think you've run away, so as not to have to go 'fore the magistrates." "Jem, what are you saying? Think I'm a thief?" "I didn't say that, sir; but so sure as you don't go home, they'll think you've cut away." "Jem!" cried Don in a despairing voice, as he recalled the bundle he had made up, and the drawer left open. "Well, sir, you was allus a-wanting to go abroad, and get away from the desk," said Jem ill-naturedly--"oh, how my head do ache!--and now you've got your chance." "But that was all nonsense, Jem. I was only thinking then like a stupid, discontented boy. I don't want to go. What will they say?" "Dunno what they'll say," said Jem dolefully, "but I know what my Sally will say. I used to talk about going and leaving her, but that was because I too was a hidyut. I didn't want to go and leave her, poor little lass. Too fond on her, Mas' Don. She only shows a bit o' temper." "Jem, she'll think you've run away and deserted her." "Safe, Mas' Don. You see, I made up a bundle o' wittles as if I was a-going, and she saw me take it out under my arm, and she called to me to stop, but I wouldn't, because I was so waxy." "And I made up a bundle too, Jem. I--I did half think of going away." "Then you've done it now, my lad. My Sally will think I've forsook her." "And they at home will think of me as a thief. Oh, fool--fool--fool!" "What's the use o' calling yourself a fool, Mas' Don, when you means me all the time? Oh, my head, my head!" "Jem, we must escape." "Escape? I on'y wish we could. Oh, my head: how it do ache." "They will take us off to the tender, and then away in some ship, and they will not know at home where we are gone Jem, get up." "What's the good, sir? My head feels like feet, and if I tried to stand up I should go down flop!" "Let me help you, Jem. Here, give me your hand. How dark it is? Where's your hand?" "Gently, my lad; that's my hye. Arn't much use here in the dark, but may want 'em by-and-by. That's better. Thank ye, sir. Here, hold tight." "Can't you stand, Jem?" "Stand, sir? Yes: but what's the matter? It's like being in a round-about at the fair." "You'll be better soon." "Better, sir? Well, I can't be worse. Oh, my head, my head! I wish I'd got him as did it headed up in one of our barrels, I'd give him such a roll up and down the ware'us floor as 'ud make him as giddy as me." "Now try and think, Jem," said Don excitedly. "They must not believe at home that we are such cowards as to run away." "No, sir; my Sally mustn't think that." "Then what shall we do?" "Try to get out, sir, of course." "Can you walk?" "Well, sir, if I can't, I'll crawl. What yer going to do?" "Try the door. Perhaps they have left it unlocked." "Not likely," said Jem. "Wish I'd got a candle. It's like being a rat in a box trap. It _is_ dark." "This way, Jem. Your hand." "All right, sir. Frontards: my hands don't grow out o' my back." "That's it. Now together. Let's get to the wall." There was a rustling noise and then a rattle. "Phew! Shins!" cried Jem. "Oh, dear me. That's barrel staves, I know the feel on 'em. Such sharp edges, Mas' Don. Mind you don't tread on the edge of a hoop, or it'll fly up and hit you right in the middle." _Flip_! "There, I told you so. Hurt you much, my lad?" "Not very much, Jem. Now then; feel your way with me. Let's go all round the place, perhaps there's another way out." "All right, sir. Well, it might be, but I say as it couldn't be darker than this if you was brown sugar, and shut up in a barrel in the middle o' the night." "Now I am touching the wall, Jem," said Don. "I'm going to feel all round. Can you hear anything?" "Only you speaking, my lad." "Come along then." "All right, Mas' Don. My head aches as if it was a tub with the cooper at work hammering of it." Don went slowly along the side of the great cellar, guiding himself in the intense darkness by running: his hands over the damp bricks; but there was nothing but bare wall till he had passed down two sides, and was half-way along the third, when he uttered a hasty ejaculation. "It's all right, Jem. Here is a way into another cellar." "Mind how you go, sir. Steady." "Yes, but make haste." "There's a door," whispered Don. "Loose my hand." He hastily felt all over the door, but it was perfectly blank, not so much as a keyhole to be found, and though he pressed and strained at it, he could make no impression. "It's no use, Jem. Let's try the other door." "I don't believe there are no other door," said Jem. "That's the way out." "No, no; the way out is on the other side." "This here is t'other side," said Jem, "only we arn't over there now." "I'm sure it can't be." "And I'm sure it can be, my lad. Nothing arn't more puzzling than being shut up in the dark. You loses yourself directly, and then you can't find yourself again." "But the door where the men went out is over there." "Yah! That it arn't," cried Jem. "Don't throw your fisties about that how. That's my nose." "I'm very sorry, Jem. I did not mean--" "Course you didn't, but that's what I said. When you're in the dark you don't know where you are, nor where any one else is." "Let's try down that other side, and I'll show you that you are wrong." "Can't show me, my lad. You may make me feel, but you did that just now when you hit me on the nose. Well? Fun' it?" "No, not yet," said Don, as he crept slowly along from the doorway; and then carefully on and on, till he must have come to the place from which they started. "No, not yet," grumbled Jem. "Nor more you won't if you go on for ever." "I'm afraid you're right, Jem." "I'm right, and I arn't afraid," said Jem; "leastwise, save that my head's going on aching for ever." Don felt all round the cellar again, and then heaved a sigh. "Yes; there's only one door, Jem. Could we break it down?" "I could if I'd some of the cooper's tools," said Jem, quietly; "but you can't break strong doors with your fisties, and you can't get out of brick cellars with your teeth." "Of course, we're underground." "Ay! No doubt about that, Mas' Don." "Let's knock and ask for a pencil and paper to send a message." Jem uttered a loud chuckle as he seated himself on the floor. "I like that, Mas' Don. 'Pon my word I do. Might just as well hit your head again the wall." "Better use yours for a battering ram, Jem," said Don, angrily. "It's thicker than mine." There was silence after this. "He's sulky because of what I've said," thought Don. "Oh, my poor head!" thought Jem. "How it do ache!" Then he began to think about Sally, and what she would say or do when she found that he did not come back. Just at the same time Don was reflecting upon his life of late, and how discontented he had been, and how he had longed to go away, while now he felt as if he would give anything to be back on his old stool in the office, writing hard, and trying his best to be satisfied with what seemed to be a peaceful, happy life. A terrible sensation of despair came over him, and the idea of being dragged off to a ship, and carried right away, was unbearable. What were glorious foreign lands with their wonders to one who would be thought of as a cowardly thief? As he leaned against a wall there in the darkness his busy brain pictured his stern-looking uncle telling his weeping mother that it was a disgrace to her to mourn over the loss of a son who could be guilty of such a crime, and then run away to avoid his punishment. "Oh! If I had only been a little wiser," thought Don, "how much happier I might have been." Then he forced himself to think out a way of escape, a little further conversation with Jem making him feel that he must depend upon himself, for poor Jem's injury seemed to make him at times confused; in fact, he quite startled his fellow-prisoner by exclaiming suddenly,-- "Now where did I put them keys?" "Jem!" "Eh? All right, Sally. 'Tarn't daylight yet." "Jem, my lad, don't you know where you are?" "Don't I tell you? Phew! My head. You there, Mas' Don?" "Yes, Jem. How are you?" "Oh, lively, sir, lively; been asleep, I think. Keep a good heart, Mas' Don, and--" "Hist! Here they come," cried Don, as he saw the gleam of a light through the cracks of the door. "Jem, do you think you could make a dash of it as soon as they open the door?" "No, Mas' Don, not now. My head's all of a boom-whooz, and I seem to have no use in my legs." "Oh!" ejaculated Don despairingly. "But never you mind me, my lad. You make a run for it, dive down low as soon as the door's open. That's how to get away." _Cling_! _clang_! Two bolts were shot back and a flood--or after the intense darkness what seemed to be a flood--of light flashed into the cellar, as the bluff man entered with another bearing the lanthorn. Then there was a great deal of shuffling of feet as if heavy loads were being borne down some stone steps; and as Don looked eagerly at the party, it was to see four sailors, apparently wounded, perhaps dead, carried in and laid upon the floor. A thrill of horror ran through Don. He had heard of the acts of the press-gangs as he might have heard of any legend, and then they had passed from his mind; but now all this was being brought before him and exemplified in a way that was terribly real. These four men just carried in were the last victims of outrage, and his indignation seemed to be boiling up within him when the bluff-looking man said good-humouredly,-- "That's the way to get them, my lad. Those four fellows made themselves tipsy and went to sleep, merchant sailors; they'll wake up to-morrow morning with bad headaches and in His Majesty's Service. Fine lesson for them to keep sober." Don looked at the men with disgust. A few moments before he felt indignant, and full of commiseration for them; but the bluff man's words had swept all that away. Then, crossing to where the man stood by the lanthorn-bearer, Don laid his hand upon his arm. "You are not going to keep us, sir?" he said quietly. "My mother and my uncle will be very uneasy at my absence, and Jem--our man, has a young wife." "No, no; can't listen to you, my lad," said the bluff man; "it's very hard, I know, but the king's ships must be manned--and boyed," he added with a laugh. "But my mother?" "Yes, I'm sorry for your mother, but you're too old to fret about her. We shall make a man of you, and that chap's young wife will have to wait till he comes back." "But you will let me send a message to them at home?" "To come and fetch you away, my lad? Well, hardly. We don't give that facility to pressed men to get away. There, be patient; we will not keep you in this hole long." He glanced at the four sleeping men, and turned slowly to go, giving Don a nod of the head, but, as he neared the door he paused. "Not very nice for a lad like you," he said, not unkindly. "Here, bring these two out, my lads; we'll stow them in the warehouse. Rather hard on the lad to shut him up with these swine. Here, come along." A couple of the press-gang seized Don by the arms, and a couple more paid Jem Wimble the same attention, after which they were led up a flight of steps, the door was banged to and bolted, and directly after they were all standing on the floor of what had evidently been used as a tobacco warehouse, where the lanthorn light showed a rough step ladder leading up to another floor. "Where shall we put 'em, sir?" said a sailor. "Top floor and make fast," said the bluff man. "But you will let me send word home?" began Don. "I shall send you back into that lock-up place below, and perhaps put you in irons," said the man sternly. "Be content with what I am doing for you. Now then, up with you, quick!--" There was nothing for it but to obey, and with a heavy heart Don followed the man with the lanthorn as he led the way to the next floor, Jem coming next, and a guard of two well-armed men and their bluff superior closing up the rear. The floor they reached was exactly like the one they had left, and they ascended another step ladder to the next, and then to the next. "There's a heap of bags and wrappers over yonder to lie down on, my lads," said the bluff man. "There, go to sleep and forget your troubles. You shall have some prog in the morning. Now, my men, sharp's the word." They had ascended from floor to floor through trap-doors, and as Don looked anxiously at his captors, the man who carried the lanthorn stooped and raised a heavy door from the floor and held it and the light as his companions descended, following last and drawing down the heavy trap over his head. The door closed with a loud clap, a rusty bolt was shot, and then, as the two prisoners stood in the darkness listening, there was a rasping noise, and then a crash, which Don interpreted to mean that the heavy step ladder had been dragged away and half laid, half thrown upon the floor below. Then the sounds died away. "This is a happy sort o' life, Mas' Don," said Jem, breaking the silence. "What's to be done next? Oh! My head, my head!" "I don't know, Jem," said Don despondently. "It's enough to make one wish one was dead." "Dead! Wish one was dead, sir? Oh, come. It's bad enough to be knocked down and have the headache. Dead! No, no. Where did he say them bags was?" "I don't know, Jem." "Well, let's look. I want to lie down and have a sleep." "Sleep? At a time like this!" "Why not, sir? I'm half asleep now. Can't do anything better as I see." "Jem," said Don passionately, "we're being punished for all our discontent and folly, and it seems more than I can bear." "But we must bear it, sir. That's what you've got to do when you're punished. Don't take on, sir. P'r'aps, it won't seem so bad when it gets light. Here, help me find them bags he talked about." Don was too deep in thought, for the face of his mother was before him, and he seemed to see the agony she suffered on his account. "Justly punished," he kept muttering; "justly punished, and now it is too late--too late." "Here y'are, Mas' Don," cried Jem; "lots of 'em, and I can't help it, I must lie down, for my head feels as if it was going to tumble off." Don heard him make a scuffling noise, as if he were very busy moving some sacks. "There!" Jem cried at last; "that's about it. Now, Mas' Don, I've made you up a tidy bed; come and lie down." "No, Jem, no; I'm not sleepy." "Then I must," muttered Jem; and after a little more scuffling noise all was still for a few minutes, after which there was a regular heavy breathing, which told that the great trouble he was in had not been sufficient to keep Jem Wimble awake. Don stood for some time in the darkness, but by degrees a wretched feeling of weariness came over him, and he sat down painfully upon the floor, drawing his knees up to his chin, embracing them, and laying his head upon them. He wanted to think of his position, of his folly, and of the trouble which it had brought upon him. Jem's heavy breathing came regularly from somewhere to his left, and he found himself, as he crouched together there in the darkness, envying the poor fellow, much as he was injured. "But then he has not so much on his mind as I have," thought Don. "Once let me get clear away from here, how different I will be." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. HOW TO ESCAPE? _Rumble_! _Bump_! Don started and stared, for something had shaken him as if a sudden blow had been given against the floor. What did it all mean? Where was he? What window was that through which the sun shone brightly, and why was he in that rough loft, in company with a man lying asleep on some sacks? Memory filled up the vacuum directly, and he knew that his head was aching, and that he had been fast asleep. _Crash_! That was a bolt shot back, and the noise which awakened him must have been the big step ladder placed against the beam beneath the trap-door. As Don watched he saw the trap, like a square piece of the floor, rise up slowly, and a rough, red face appear, framed in hair. "Ship ahoy!" shouted the owner of the face. "What cheer, messmates? Want your hot water?" Just then the man, whose hands were out of sight, and who had kept on pushing up the trap-door with his head, gave it a final thrust, and the door fell over with a loud _flap_, which made Jem Wimble sit up, with his face so swollen and bruised that his eyes were half-closed; and this and his dirty face gave him an aspect that was more ludicrous than strange. "What's the matter?" he said sharply. "Who are you? I--where--was--to me. Have I been a-dreaming? No: we're pressed!" "Pressed you are, my lads; and Bosun Jones has sent you up some hot slops and soft tack. There you are. Find your own tablecloth and silliver spoons." He placed a large blue jug before them, in which was some steaming compound, covered by a large breakfast cup, stuck in the mouth of the jug, while on a plate was a fair-sized pile of bread and butter. "There you are, messmates; say your grace and fall to." "Look here," said Don quickly. "You know we were taken by the press-gang last night?" "Do I know? Why, didn't I help?" "Oh!" ejaculated Don, with a look of revulsion, which he tried to conceal. "Look here," he said; "if you will take a message for me to my mother, in Jamaica Street, you shall have a guinea." "Well, that's handsome, anyhow," said the man, laughing. "What am I to say to the old lady?" "That we have been seized by the press-gang, and my uncle is to try and get us away." "That all?" "Yes, that's all. Will you go?" "Hadn't you better have your breakfuss?" "Breakfast? No," said Don. "I can't eat." "Better. Keep you going, my lad." "Will you take my message?" "No, I won't." "You shall have two guineas." "Where are they?" "My mother will gladly give them to you." "Dessay she will." "And you will go?" "Do you know what a bosun's mate is, my lad?" "I? No. I know nothing about the sea." "You will afore long. Well, I'll tell you; bosun's mate's a gentleman kep' aboard ship to scratch the crew's backs." "You are laughing at me," cried Don angrily. "Not a bit of it, my lad. If I was to do what you want, I should be tied up to-morrow, and have my back scratched." "Flogged?" "That's it." "For doing a kind act? For saving my poor mother from trouble and anxiety?" "For not doing my dooty, my lad. There, a voyage or two won't hurt you. Why, I was a pressed man, and look at me." "Main-top ahoy! Are you coming down?" came from below. "Ay, ay, sir!" shouted the sailor. "Wasn't that the man who had us shut up here?" cried Don. "To be sure: Bosun Jones," said the man, running to the trap and beginning to descend. "You'll take my message?" "Nay, not I," said the man, shaking his head. "There, eat your breakfuss, and keep your head to the wind, my lads." _Bang_! The door was shut heavily and the rusty bolt shot. Then the two prisoners listened to the descending footsteps and to the murmur of voices from below, after which Don looked across the steaming jug at Jem, and Jem returned the stare. "Mornin', Mas' Don," he said. "Rum game, arn't it?" "Do you think he'll take my message, Jem?" "Not a bit on it, sir. You may take your oath o' that." "Will they take us aboard ship?" "Yes, sir, and make sailors on us, and your uncle's yard 'll go to rack and ruin; and there was two screws out o' one o' the shutter hinges as I were going to put in to-day." "Jem, we must escape them." "All right, Mas' Don, sir. 'Arter breakfast." "Breakfast? Who is to eat breakfast?" "I am, sir. Feels as if it would do me good." "But we must escape, Jem--escape." "Yes, sir; that's right," said Jem, taking off the cup, and sniffing at the jug. "Coffee, sir. Got pretty well knocked about last night, and I'm as sore this morning as if they'd been rolling casks all over me. But a man must eat." "Eat then, and drink then, for goodness' sake," cried Don impatiently. "Thankye, sir," said Jem; and he poured out a cup of steaming coffee, sipped it, sipped again, took three or four mouthfuls of bread and butter, and then drained the cup. "Mas' Don!" he cried, "it's lovely. Do have a cup. Make you see clear." As he spoke he refilled the mug and handed it to Don, who took it mechanically, and placed it to his lips, one drop suggesting another till he had finished the cup. "Now a bit o' bread and butter, Mas' Don?" Don shook his head, but took the top piece, and began mechanically to eat, while Jem partook of another cup, there being a liberal allowance of some three pints. "That's the way, sir. Wonderful what a difference breakfuss makes in a man. Eat away, sir; and if they don't look out we'll give them press-gang." "Yes, but how, Jem? How?" "Lots o' ways, sir. We'll get away, for one thing, or fasten that there trap-door down; and then they'll be the prisoners, not us. 'Nother cup, sir? Go on with the bread and butter. I say, sir, do I look lively?" "Lively?" "I mean much knocked about? My face feels as if the skin was too tight, and as if I couldn't get on my hat." "It does not matter, Jem," said Don, quietly. "You have no hat." "More I haven't. I remember feeling it come off, and it wasn't half wore out. Have some more coffee, Mas' Don. 'Tarnt so good as my Sally makes. I'd forgot all about her just then. Wonder whether she's eating her breakfast?" Don sighed and went on eating. He was horribly low-spirited, but his youthful appetite once started, he felt the need of food, and kept on in silence, passing and receiving the cup till all was gone. "That job's done," said Jem, placing the jug on the plate, and the cup in the mouth of the jug. "Now then, I'm ready, Mas' Don. You said escape, didn't you, sir?" "Yes. What shall we do?" "Well, we can't go down that way, sir, because the trap-door's bolted." "There is the window, Jem." "Skylights, you mean, sir," said Jem, looking up at the sloping panes in the roof. "Well, let's have a look. Will you get a-top o' my shoulders, or shall I get a-top o' yourn?" "I couldn't bear you, Jem." "Then up you gets, my lad, like the tumblers do at the fair." It seemed easy enough to get up and stand on the sturdy fellow's shoulders, but upon putting it to the test, Don found it very hard, and after a couple of failures he gave up, and they stood together looking up at the sloping window, which was far beyond their reach. "Dessay it's fastened, so that we couldn't open it," said Jem. "The fox said the grapes were sour when he could not get at them, Jem." "That's true, Mas' Don. Well, how are we to get up?" They looked round the loft, but, with the exception of the old sacking lying at one end, the place was bare. "Here, come to the end, Jem, and let me have another try," said Don. "Right, sir; come on," cried Jem; and going right to the end of the loft, he bent his body a little and leaned his hands against the wall. This simplified matters. "Stand fast, Jem," cried Don, and taking a spring, he landed upon his companion's broad back, leap-frog fashion, but only to jump off again. "What's the matter, Mas' Don?" "Only going to take off my shoes." "Ah, 'twill be better. I didn't grumble before, but you did hurt, sir." Don slipped off his shoes, uttered a word or two of warning, and once more mounted on Jem's back. It was easy then to get into a kneeling, and then to a standing, position, the wall being at hand to steady him. "That's your sort, Mas' Don. Now hold fast, and step up on to my shoulders as I rise myself up; that's the way," he continued, slowly straightening himself, and placing his hands behind Don's legs, as he stood up, steadily, facing the wall. "What next, Jem?" "Next, sir? Why, I'm going to walk slowly back under the window, for you to try and open it, and look out and see where we are. Ready?" "Yes." "Hold tight, sir." "But there's nothing to hold by, Jem, when you move away." "Then you must stand fast, sir, and I'll balance you like. I can do it." Don drew a long breath, and felt no faith, for as soon as Jem moved steadily from the wall, his ability in balancing was not great. "Stand firm, sir. I've got you," he said. "Am I too heavy, Jem?" "Heavy? No, sir; I could carry two on you. Stand fast; 'tarn't far. Stand fast. That's your sort. Stand--oh!" Everything depended upon him, and poor Jem did his best; but after three or four steps Don felt that he was going, and to save himself from a fall he tried to jump lightly down. This would have been easy enough had not Jem been so earnest. He, too, felt that it was all wrong, and to save his companion, he tightened his hold of the calves of Don's legs as the lad stood erect on his shoulders. The consequence was that he gave Don sufficient check as he leaped to throw him off his balance; and in his effort to save him, Jem lost his own, and both came down with a crash and sat up and rubbed and looked at each other. "Arn't hurt, are you, Mas' Don?" "Not hurt?" grumbled Don. "I am hurt horribly." "I'm very sorry, sir; so am I. But I arn't broke nowhere! Are you?" "Broken? No!" said Don rising. "There, let's try again." "To be sure, sir. Come, I like that." "Look here, Jem. When you straighten up, let me steady myself with my hands on the sloping ceiling there; now try." The former process was gone through, after listening to find all silent below; and Don stood erect once more, supporting himself by the wall. "Now edge round gently, Jem. That's right." Jem obeyed, and by progressing very slowly, they got to within about ten feet of the window, which Don saw that he could reach easily, when the balance was lost once more. "Don't hold, Jem!" cried Don; and he leaped backwards, to come down all right this time. By no means discouraged, they went back to the end; and this time, by progressing more slowly, the window was reached, and, to their great delight, Don found that it was fastened inside, opening outwards by means of a couple of hinges at the highest end, and provided with a ratchet, to keep it open to any distance required. "Can you bear me if I try to open it, Jem?" "Can I? Ah!" Jem was a true bearer, standing as fast as a small elephant as Don opened the window, and then supporting himself by a beam which ran across the opening, thrust out his head and surveyed the exterior. He was not long in making out their position--in the top floor of a warehouse, the roof sloping, so that escape along it was impossible, while facing him was the blank wall of a higher building, evidently on the other side of a narrow alley. Don looked to right, but there was no means of making their position known so as to ask for help. To the left he was no better off, and seeing that the place had been well chosen as a temporary lock-up for the impressed men, Don prepared to descend. "Better shut the window fust, Mas' Don." The suggestion was taken, and then Don leaped down and faced his fellow-prisoner, repeating the information he had roughly communicated before. "Faces a alley, eh?" said Jem. "Can't we go along the roof." "I don't believe a cat could go in safety, Jem." "Well, we aren't cats, Mas' Don, are we? Faces a alley, eh? Wasn't there no windows opposit'?" "Nothing but a blank wall." "Well, it's all right, Mas' Don. We'd better set to work. Only wants a rope with one end fastened in here, and then we could slide down." "Yes," said Don gloomily; "the window is unfastened, and the way clear, but where's the rope?" "There," said Jem, and he pointed to the end of the loft. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. WORKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. "There. Those sacks?" "That's it, Mas' Don. I've got my knife. You got yourn?" "Yes." "Then here goes, then, to unravel them sacks till we've got enough to make a rope. This loft's a capital place to twist him. It's all right, sir, only help me work away, and to-night we'll be safe home." "To-night, Jem? Not before?" "Why, we sha'n't have the rope ready; and if we had, it would be no use to try by daylight. No, sir; we must wait till it's dark, and work away. If we hear any one coming we can hide the rope under the other sacks; so come on." They seated themselves at the end of the loft, and worked away rapidly unravelling the sacking and rolling the yarn up into balls, each of which was hidden as soon as it became of any size. As the hours went on, and they were not interrupted, the dread increased that they might be summoned to descend as prisoners before they had completed their work; but Jem's rough common sense soon suggested that this was not likely to be the case. "Not afore night, Mas' Don," he said. "They won't take us aboard in the day. We're smuggled goods, we are; and if they don't mind, we shall be too many for them. 'Nother hour, and I shall begin to twist up our rope." About midday the same sailor came up and brought them some bread and meat. "That's right, my lads," he said. "You're taking it sensible, and that's the best way. If we've any luck to-night, you'll go aboard afore morning. There, I mustn't stop." He hurried down, closing and fastening the trap, and Jem pointed to the food. "Eat away, Mas' Don, and work same time. Strikes me we sha'n't go aboard afore close upon daylight, for they've got us all shut up here snug, so as no one shall know, and they don't dare take us away while people can see. Strikes me they won't get all the men aboard this time, eh, Mas' Don?" "Not if we can prevent it," said Don, with his hand upon the rough piece of sacking which covered his share of the work. "Think it's safe to begin again?" "Ay! Go on. Little at a time, my lad, and be ready to hide it as soon as you hears a step." In spite of their trouble, they ate with a fair appetite, sharpened perhaps by the hope of escape, and the knowledge that they must not be faint and weak at the last moment. The meal was finished, and all remaining silent, they worked on unravelling the sacking, and rolling up the yarn, Don thinking of home, and Jem whistling softly a doleful air. "If we don't get away, Mas' Don," he said, after a pause, "and they take us aboard ship and make sailors of us--" "Don't talk like that, Jem! We must--we will get away." "Oh, yes, it's all very well to talk, Mas' Don, but it's as well to be prepared for the worst. Like as not we sha'n't get away, and then we shall go aboard, be made sailors, and have to fight the French." "I shall not believe that, Jem, till it takes place." "I shall, my lad, and I hope when I'm far away as your mother, as is a reg'lar angel, will do what's right by my Sally, as is a married woman, but only a silly girl after all, as says and does things without thinking what they mean. I was horrid stupid to take so much notice of all she said, and all through that I'm here." "Haven't we got enough ready, Jem?" said Don, impatiently, for his companion's words troubled him. They seemed to fit his own case. "Yes, I should think that will do now, sir, so let's begin and twist up a rope. We sha'n't want it very thick." "But we shall want it very strong, Jem." "Here goes, then, to make it," said Jem, taking the balls of yarn, knotting the ends together, and then taking a large piece of sack and placing it beside him. "To cover up the stuff if we hear any one coming, my lad. Now then, you pay out, and I'll twist. Mustn't get the yarn tangled." Don set to work earnestly, and watched his companion, who cleverly twisted away at the gathered-up yarn, and then rolled his work up into a ball. The work was clumsy, but effective, and in a short time he had laid up a few yards of a very respectable line, which seemed quite capable of bearing them singly. Foot by foot the line lengthened, and the balls of yarn grew less, when just in the middle of their task Don made a dash at Jem, and threw down the yarn. "Here, what yer doing? You'll get everything in a tangle, sir." "Hush! Some one coming." "I can't hear him." "There is, I tell you. Listen!" Jem held his head on one side like a magpie, and then shook it. "Nobody," he said; but hardly had he said the words than he dabbed the rope under him, and seized upon the yarn, threw some of the old sacks upon it, and then laid his hand on Don's shoulder, just as the trap-door was raised softly a few inches, and a pair of eyes appeared at the broad crack. Then the trap made a creaking noise, and a strange sailor came up, to find Jem seated on the floor tailor-fashion, and Don lying upon his face, with his arms crossed beneath his forehead, and some of the old sacking beneath him. The man came up slowly, and laid the trap back in a careful way, as if to avoid making a noise, and then, after a furtive look at Jem, who gave him a sturdy stare in return, he stood leaning over the opening and listening. Footsteps were heard directly after, and a familiar voice gave some order. Directly after the bluff-looking man with whom they had had so much dealing stepped up into the loft. "Well, my lads," he said, "how are the sore places?" Jem did not answer. "Sulky, eh? Ah, you'll soon get over that. Now, my boy, let's have a look at you." He gave Don a clap on the shoulder, and the lad started up as if from sleep, and stared at the fresh comer. "Won't do," said the bluff man, laughing. "Men don't wake up from sleep like that. Ah! Of course: now you are turning red in the face. Didn't want to speak to me, eh? Well, you are all right, I see." Don did not attempt to rise from where he half sat, half lay, and the man gave a sharp look round, letting his eyes rest; for a few moments upon the window, and then turning them curiously upon the old sacking. To Don's horror he approached and picked up a piece close to that which served for a couch. "How came all this here?" he said sharply. "Old stuff, sir. Been used for the bales o' 'bacco, I s'pose," said the furtive-looking man. "Humph. And so you have made a bed of it, eh? Let's have a look." The perspiration stood on Don's forehead. "Well," said the bluff man, "why don't you get up? Quick!" He took a step nearer Don, and was in the act of stooping to take him by the arm, when there was a hail from below. "Ahoy!" shouted the sailor, bending over the trap-door. "Wants Mr Jones," came up. "Luff wants you, sir," said the man. "Right. There, cheer up, my lads; you might be worse off than you are," said the bluff visitor pleasantly. Then, clapping Don on the shoulder, "Don't sulk, my lad. Make the best of things. You're in the king's service now, so take your fate like a man." He nodded and crossed to the trap. "Ahoy, there! Below there! I'm coming.--Can't expect a bosun to break his neck." He said these last words as his head and shoulders were above the floor, and gave the prisoners a friendly nod just as his eyes were disappearing. "Come along, my lad," he said, when he was out of sight. "Ay! Ay!" growled the furtive-looking man, slowly following, and giving those he left behind a very peculiar smile, which he lengthened out in time and form, till he was right down the ladder, with the trap-door drawn over and resting upon his head. This he slowly lowered, till only his eyes and brow were seen, and he stayed like that watching for a minute, then let the lid close with a _flap_, and shut him, as it were, in a box. "Gone!" said Jem. "Lor', how I should ha' liked to go and jump on that there trap just while he was holding it up with his head. I'd ha' made it ache for him worse than they made mine." "Hist! Don't talk so loud," whispered Don. "He listens." "I hope he's a-listening now," said Jem, loudly; "a lively smiling sort of a man. That's what he is, Mas' Don. Sort o' man always on the blue sneak." Don held up his hand. "Think they suspect anything, Jem?" he whispered. "Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't, Mas' Don. That stoutish chap seemed to smell a rat, and that smiling door-knocker fellow was all on the spy; but I don't think he heared anything, and I'm sure he didn't see. Now, then, can you tell me whether they're coming back?" Don shook his head, and they remained thinking and watching for nearly an hour before Jem declared that they must risk it. "One minute," said Don; and he went on tip-toe as far as the trap-door, and lying down, listened and applied his eyes to various cracks, before feeling convinced that no one was listening. "Why, you didn't try if it was fastened," cried Jem; and taking out his knife, he inserted it opposite to the hinges, and tried to lever up the door. It was labour in vain, for the bolt had been shot. "They don't mean to let us go, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Come on, and let's get the rope done." They returned to the sacking, lifted it up, and taking out the unfinished rope, worked away rapidly, but with the action of sparrows feeding in a road--one peck and two looks out for danger. Half-a-dozen times at least the work was hidden, some sound below suggesting danger, while over and over again, in spite of their efforts, the rope advanced so slowly, and the result was so poor, that Don felt in despair of its being done by the time they wanted it, and doubtful whether if done it would bear their weight. He envied Jem's stolid patience and the brave way in which he worked, twisting, and knotting about every three feet, while every time their eyes met Jem gave him an encouraging nod. Whether to be successful or not, the making of the rope did one thing-- it relieved them of a great deal of mental strain. In fact, Don stared wonderingly at the skylight, as it seemed to him to have suddenly turned dark. "Going to be a storm, Jem," he said. "Will the rain hurt the rope?" "Storm, Mas' Don? Why, it's as clear as clear. Getting late, and us not done." "But the rope must be long enough now." "Think so, sir?" "Yes; and if it is not, we can easily drop the rest of the way." "What! And break our legs, or sprain our ankles, and be caught? No let's make it another yard or two." "Hist! Quick!" They were only just in time, for almost before they had thrown the old sacking over the rope, the bolt of the trap-door was thrust back, and the sinister-looking sailor entered with four more, to give a sharp look round the place, and then roughly seize the prisoners. "Now, then!" cried Jem sharply, "what yer about? Arn't going to tie us up, are you?" "Yes, if you cut up rough again," said the leader of the little party. "Come on." "Here, what yer going to do?" cried Jem. "Do? You'll see. Not going to spoil your beauty, mate." Don's heart sank low. All that hopeful labour over the rope thrown away! And he cast a despairing look at Jem. "Never mind, my lad," whispered the latter. "More chances than one." "Now then! No whispering. Come along!" shouted the sinister-looking man, fiercely. "Come on down. Bring 'em along." Don cast another despairing look at Jem, and then marched slowly toward the opening in the floor. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A DESPERATE ATTEMPT. Just as the prisoners reached the trap-door a voice came from below. "Hold hard there, my lads. Bosun Jones has been down to the others, and he says these here may stop where they are." "What for?" "Oh, one o' the four chaps we brought in last night's half wild, and been running amuck. Come on down." "Yah!" growled the sinister sailor, scowling at Jem, as if there were some old enmity between them. "I say, don't," said Jem mockingly. "You'll spoil your good looks. Say, does he always look as handsome as that?" The man doubled his fist, and made a sharp blow at Jem, and seemed surprised at the result; for Jem dodged, and retorted, planting his fist in the fellow's chest, and sending him staggering back. The man's eyes blazed as he recovered himself, and rushed at Jem like a bull-dog. Obeying his first impulse, Don, who had never struck a blow in anger since he left school, forgot fair play for the moment, and doubled his fists to help Jem. "No, no, Mas' Don; I can tackle him," cried Jem; "and I feel as if I should like to now." But there was to be no encounter, for a couple of the other sailors seized their messmate, and forced him to the trap-door, growling and threatening all manner of evil to the sturdy little prisoner, who was standing on his defence. "No, no, mate," said the biggest and strongest of the party; "it's like hitting a man as is down. Come on." There was another struggle, but the brute was half thrust to the ladder, and directly after the trap was closed again, and the bolt shot. "Well, I never felt so much like fighting before--leastwise not since I thrashed old Mike behind the barrel stack in the yard," said Jem, resuming his coat, which he had thrown off. "Did you fight Mike in the yard one day?" said Don wonderingly. "Why, Jem, I remember; that's when you had such a dreadful black eye." "That's right, my lad." "And pretended you fell down the ladder out of floor number six." "That's right again, Mas' Don," said Jem, grinning. "Then that was a lie?" "Well, I don't know 'bout it's being a lie, my lad. P'r'aps you might call it a kind of a sort of a fib." "Fib? It was an untruth." "Well, but don't you see, it would have looked so bad to say, `I got that eye a-fighting?' and it was only a little while 'fore I was married. What would my Sally ha' said if she know'd I fought our Mike?" "Why, of course; I remember now, Mike was ill in bed for a week at the same time." "That's so, Mas' Don," said Jem, chuckling; "and he was werry ill. You see, he come to the yard to work, after you'd begged him on, and he was drunk as a fiddler--not as ever I see a fiddler that way. And then, i'stead o' doing his work, he was nasty, and began cussing. He cussed everything, from the barrow and truck right up to your uncle, whose money he took, and then he began cussing o' you, Mas' Don; and I told him he ought to be ashamed of hisself for cussing the young gent as got him work; and no sooner had I said that than I found myself sitting in a puddle, with my nose bleeding." "Well?" said Don, who was deeply interested. "Well, Mas' Don, that's all." "No, it isn't, Jem; you say you fought Mike." "Well, I s'pose I did, Mas' Don." "`Suppose you did'?" "Yes; I only recklect feeling wild because my clean shirt and necktie was all in a mess. I don't recklect any more--only washing my sore knuckles at the pump, and holding a half hun'erd weight up again my eye." "But Mike stopped away from work for a week." "Yes, Mas' Don. He got hisself a good deal hurt somehow." "You mean you hurt him?" "Dunno, Mas' Don. S'pose I did, but I don't 'member nothing about it. And now look here, sir; seems to me that in half-hour's time it'll be quite dark enough to start; and if I'd got five guineas, I'd give 'em for five big screws, and the use of a gimlet and driver." "What for?" "To fasten down that there trap." "It would be no good, Jem; because if they found the trap fast, they'd be on the watch for us outside." "Dessay you're right, sir. Well, what do you say? Shall we begin now, or wait?" Don looked up at the fast darkening skylight, and then, after a moment's hesitation,-- "Let's begin now, Jem. It will take some time." "That's right, Mas' Don; so here goes, and good luck to us. It means home, and your mother, and my Sally; or going to fight the French." "And we don't want to be obliged to fight without we like, Jem." "That's true," said Jem; and going quickly to the trap, he laid his ear to the crack and listened. "All right, my lad. Have it out," he said; and the sacks were cast aside, and the rope withdrawn. "Will it bear us, Jem?" "I'm going to try first, and if it'll bear me it'll bear you." "But you can't get up there." "No, but you can, my lad; and when you're there you can fasten the rope to that cross-bar, and then I can soon be with you. Ready?" "Wait till I've got off my shoes." "That's right; stick 'em in your pockets, my lad. Now then, ready?" Don signified his readiness. Jem laid him a back up at the end wall. Don mounted, and then jumped down again. "What's the matter?" "I haven't got the rope." "My: what a head I have!" cried Jem, as Don tightly knotted the rope about his waist; and then, mounting on his companion's back once more, was borne very slowly, steadying himself by the sloping roof, till the window was reached. "Hold fast, Jem." "Right it is, my lad." There was a clicking of the iron fastening, the window was thrust up higher and higher, till it was to the full extent of the ratchet support, and then by passing one arm over the light cross-beam, which divided the opening in two, Don was able to raise himself, and throw his leg over the front of the opening, so that the next minute he was sitting on the edge with one leg down the sloping roof, and the other hanging inside, but in a very awkward position, on account of the broad skylight. "Can't you open it more?" said Jem. "No; that's as far as the fastening will hold it up." "Push it right over, Mas' Don, so as it may lie back against the roof. Mind what you're doing, so as you don't slip. But you'll be all right. I've got the rope, and won't let it go." Don did as he was told, taking tightly hold of the long cross central bar, and placing his knees, and then his feet, against the front of the opening, so that he was in the position of a four-footed animal. Then his back raised up the hinged skylight higher and higher, till, holding on to the cross-bar with one hand, and the ratchet fastening with the other, he thrust up and up, till the skylight was perpendicular, and he paused, panting with the exertion. "All right, Mas' Don; I've got the rope. Now lower it down gently, till it lies flat on the slope. That's the way; steady! Steady!" _Bang_! _crash_! _jingle_! "Oh, Mas' Don!" "I couldn't help it, Jem; the iron fastening came out. The wood's rotten." For the skylight had fallen back with a crash, and some of the broken glass came musically jingling down, some of it sliding along the tiles, and dropping into the alley below. There was a dead silence, neither of the would-be evaders of the enforced king's service moving, but listening intently for the slightest sound. "Think they heared it, Mas' Don?" said Jem, at last, in a hoarse whisper. "I can't hear anything," replied Don, softly. They listened again, but all was wonderfully quiet. A distant murmur came from the busy streets, and a clock struck nine. "Why, that's Old Church," said Jem in a whisper. "We must be close down to the water side, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem. Shall we give it up, or risk it?" "I'll show you d'reckly," said Jem. "You make that there end fast round the bar. It isn't rotten, is it?" "No," said Don, after an examination; "it seems very solid." And untying the rope from his waist, he knotted it to the little beam. The next minute Jem gave a heavy drag at the rope, then a jerk, and next swung to it, going to and fro for a few seconds. "Hold a ton," whispered Jem; and reaching up as high as he could, he gripped the rope between his legs and over his ankle and foot, and apparently with the greatest ease drew himself up to the bar, threw a leg over and sat astride with his face beaming. "They sha'n't have us this time, Mas' Don," he said, running the rope rapidly through his hands until he had reached the end, when he gathered it up in rings, till he had enough to throw beyond the sloping roof. "Here goes!" he whispered; and he tossed it from him into the gathering gloom. The falling rope made a dull sound, and then there was a sharp gliding noise. One of the broken fragments of glass had been started from where it had lodged, and slid rapidly down the tiles. They held their breath as they waited to hear it fall tinkling beyond on the pavement; but they listened in vain, for the simple reason that it had fallen into the gutter. "All right, Mas' Don! Here goes!" said Jem, and he lowered the rope to its full extent. "Hadn't I better go first, and try the rope, Jem?" "What's the good o' your going first? It might break, and then what would your mother say to me? I'll go; and, as I said afore, if it bears me, it'll bear you." "But, if it breaks, what shall I say to little Sally?" "Well, I wouldn't go near her if I was you, Mas' Don. She might take on, and then it wouldn't be nice; or she mightn't take on, and that wouldn't be nice. Hist! What's that?" "Can't hear anything, Jem." "More can I. Here, shake hands, lad, case I has a tumble." "Don't, don't risk it, Jem," whispered Don, clinging to his hand. "What! After making the rope! Oh, come, Mas' Don, where's your pluck? Now then, I'm off; and when I'm down safe, I'll give three jerks at the line, and then hold it steady. Here goes--once to be ready, twice to be steady, three times to be--off!" Don's heart felt in his mouth as his companion grasped the rope tightly, and let himself glide down the steep tiled slope, till he reached the edge over the gutter; and then, as he disappeared, dissolving--so it seemed--into the gloom, Don's breath was held, and he felt a singular pain at the chest. He grasped the rope, though, as he sat astride at the lower edge of the opening; and the loosely twisted hemp seemed to palpitate and quiver as if it were one of Jem's muscles reaching to his hands. Then all at once the rope became slack, as if the tension had been removed, and Don turned faint with horror. "It's broken!" he panted; and he strained over as far as he could without falling to hear the dull thud of his companion's fall. Thoughts fly fast, and in a moment of time Don had seen poor Jem lying crushed below, picked up, and had borne the news to his little wife. But before he had gone any further, the rope was drawn tight once more, and as he held it, there came to thrill his nerves three distinct jerks. "It's all right!" he panted; and grasped the rope with both hands. "Now then," he thought, "it only wants a little courage, and I can slide down and join him, and then we're free." Yes; but it required a good deal of resolution to make the venture. "Suppose Jem's weight had unwound the rope; suppose it should break; suppose--" "Oh, what a coward I am!" he muttered; and swinging his leg free, he lay upon his face for a moment, right upon the sloping tiles and then let the rope glide through his hands. It was very easy work down that slope, only that elbows and hands suffered, and sundry sounds suggested that waistcoat buttons were being torn off. But that was no moment for studying trifles; and what were waistcoat buttons to liberty? Another moment, and his legs were over the edge, and he was about to attempt the most difficult part of the descent, grasping beforehand, that as soon as he hung clear of the eaves, he should begin to turn slowly round. "Now for it," he said; and he was about to descend perpendicularly, when the rope was suddenly jerked violently. There was a loud ejaculation, and Jem's voice rose to where he hung. "No, no, Mas' Don. Back! Back! Don't come down." Then, as he hung, there came the panting and noise of a terrible struggle far below. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. PRISONERS AGAIN. Don's grasp tightened on the rope, and as he lay there, half on, half off the slope, listening, with the beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead, he heard from below shouts, the trampling of feet and struggling. "They've attacked Jem," he thought. "What shall I do? Go to his help?" Before he could come to a decision the noise ceased and all was perfectly still. Don hung there thinking. What should he do--slide down and try to escape, or climb back? Jem was evidently retaken, and to escape would be cowardly, he thought; and in this spirit he began to draw himself slowly back till, after a great deal of exertion, he had contrived to get his legs beyond the eaves, and there he rested, hesitating once more. Just then he heard voices below, and holding on by one hand, he rapidly drew up a few yards of the rope, making his leg take the place of another hand. There was a good deal of talking, and he caught the word "rope," but that was all. So he continued his toilsome ascent till he was able to grasp the edge of the skylight opening, up to which he dragged himself, and sat listening, astride, as he had been before the attempt was made. All was so still that he was tempted to slide down and escape for no sound suggested that any one was on the watch. But Jem! Poor Jem! It was like leaving him in the lurch. Still, he thought, if he did get away, he might give the alarm, and find help to save Jem from being taken away. "And if they came up and found me gone," he muttered, "they would take Jem off aboard ship directly, and it would be labour in vain." "Oh! Let go!" The words escaped him involuntarily, for whilst he was pondering, some one had crept into the great loft floor, made a leap, and caught him by the leg, and, in spite of all his efforts to free himself, the man hung on till, unable to kick free, Don was literally dragged in and fell, after clinging for a moment to the cross-beam, heavily upon the floor. "I've got him!" cried a hoarse voice, which he recognised. "Look sharp with the light." Don was on his back half stunned and hurt, and his captor, the sinister-looking man, was sitting upon his chest, half suffocating him, and evidently taking no little pleasure in inflicting pain. Footsteps were hurriedly ascending; then there was the glow of a lanthorn, and directly after the bluff-looking man appeared, followed by a couple of sailors, one of whom bore the light. "Got him?" "Ay, ay! I've got him, sir." "That's right! But do you want to break the poor boy's ribs? Get off!" Don's friend, the sinister-looking man, rose grumblingly from his captive's chest, and the bluff man laughed. "Pretty well done, my lad," he said. "I might have known you two weren't so quiet for nothing. There, cast off that rope, and bring him down." The sinister man gripped Don's arm savagely, causing him intense pain, but the lad uttered no cry, and suffered himself to be led down in silence to floor after floor, till they were once more in the basement. "Might have broken your neck, you foolish boy," said the bluff man, as a rough door was opened. "You can stop here for a bit. Don't try any more games." He gave Don a friendly push, and the boy stepped forward once more into a dark cellar, where he remained despairing and motionless as the door was banged behind him, and locked; and then, as the steps died away, he heard a groan. "Any one there?" said a faint voice, followed by the muttered words,--"Poor Mas' Don. What will my Sally do? What will she do?" "Jem, I'm here," said Don huskily; and there was a rustling sound in the far part of the dark place. "Oh! You there, Mas' Don? I thought you'd got away." "How could I get away when they had caught you?" said Don, reproachfully. "Slid down and run. There was no one there to stop you. Why, I says to myself when they pounced on me, if I gives 'em all their work to do, they'll be so busy that they won't see Mas' Don, and he'll be able to get right away. Why didn't you slither and go?" "Because I should have been leaving you in the lurch, Jem; and I didn't want to do that." "Well, I--well, of all--there!--why, Mas' Don, did you feel that way?" "Of course I did." "And you wouldn't get away because I couldn't?" "That's what I thought, Jem." "Well, of all the things I ever heared! Now I wonder whether I should have done like that if you and me had been twisted round; I mean, if you had gone down first and been caught." "Of course you would, Jem." "Well, that's what I don't know, Mas' Don. I'm afraid I should have waited till they'd got off with you, and slipped down and run off." "I don't think you'd have left me, Jem." "I dunno, my lad. I should have said to myself, I can bring them as 'ud help get Mas' Don out; and gone." Don thought of his own feelings, and remained silent. "I say, Mas' Don, though, it's a bad job being caught; but the rope was made strong enough, warn't it?" "Yes, but it was labour in vain." "Well, p'r'aps it was, sir; but I'm proud of that rope all the same. Oh!" Jem uttered a dismal groan. "Are you hurt, Jem?" "Hurt, sir! I just am hurt--horrible. 'Member when I fell down and the tub went over me?" "And broke your ribs, and we thought you were dead? Yes, I remember." "Well, I feel just the same as I did then. I went down and a lot of 'em fell on me, and I was kicked and jumped on till I'm just as if all the hoops was off my staves, Mas' Don; but that arn't the worst of it, because it won't hurt me. I'm a reg'lar wunner to mend again. You never knew any one who got cut as could heal up as fast as me. See how strong my ribs grew together, and so did my leg when I got kicked by that horse." "But are you in much pain now?" "I should just think I am, Mas' Don; I feel as if I was being cut up with blunt saws as had been made red hot first." "Jem, my poor fellow!" groaned Don. "Now don't go on like that, Mas' Don, and make it worse." "Would they give us a candle, Jem, do you think, if I was to knock?" "Not they, my lad; and I don't want one. You'd be seeing how queer I looked if you got a light. There, sit down and let's talk." Don groped along by the damp wall till he reached the place where his companion lay, and then went down on his knees beside him. "It seems to be all over, Jem," he said. "Over? Not it, my lad. Seems to me as if it's all just going to begin." "Then we shall be made sailors." "S'pose so, Mas' Don. Well, I don't know as I should so much mind if it warn't for my Sally. A man might just as well be pulling ropes as pushing casks and winding cranes." "But we shall have to fight, Jem." "Well, so long as it's fisties I don't know as I much mind, but if they expect me to chop or shoot anybody, they're mistook." Jem became silent, and for a long time his fellow-prisoner felt not the slightest inclination to speak. His thoughts were busy over their attempted escape, and the risky task of descending by the rope. Then he thought again of home, and wondered what they would think of him, feeling sure that they would believe him to have behaved badly. His heart ached as he recalled all the past, and how much his present position was due to his own folly and discontent, while, at the end of every scene he evoked, came the thought that no matter how he repented, it was too late--too late! "How are you now, Jem?" he asked once or twice, as he tried to pierce the utter darkness; but there was no answer, and at last he relieved the weariness of his position by moving close up to the wall, so as to lean his back against it, and in this position, despite all his trouble, his head drooped forward till his chin rested upon his chest, and he fell fast asleep for what seemed to him only a few minutes, when he started into wakefulness on feeling himself roughly shaken. "Rouse up, my lad, sharp!" And looking wonderingly about him, he clapped one hand over his eyes to keep off the glare of an open lanthorn. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. ON BOARD. It was a strange experience, and half asleep and confused, Don could hardly make out whether he was one of the captives of the press-gang, or a prisoner being conveyed to gaol in consequence of Mike Bannock's charge. All seemed to be darkness, and the busy gang of armed men about him worked in a silent, furtive way, hurrying their prisoners, of whom, as they all stood together in a kind of yard behind some great gates, there seemed to be about a dozen, some injured, some angry and scowling, and full of complaints and threats now that they were about to be conveyed away; but every angry remonstrance was met by one more severe, and sometimes accompanied by a tap from the butt of a pistol, or a blow given with the hilt or flat of a cutlass. "This here's lively, Mas' Don," said Jem, as he stood beside his companion in misfortune. "I want to speak to the principal officer," said Don, excitedly. "We must not let them drive us off as if we were sheep." "Will you take a bit of good advice, my lad?" said a familiar voice at his ear. "If it is good advice," said Don, sharply. "Then hold your tongue, and go quietly. I'll speak to the lieutenant when we get aboard." Don glanced sharply at the bluff-looking boatswain who had spoken, and he seemed to mean well; but in Don's excitement he could not be sure, and one moment he felt disposed to make a bold dash for liberty, as soon as the gates were opened, and then to shout for help; the next to appeal to his fellow-prisoners to make a bold fight for liberty; and while these thoughts were running one over another in his mind, a sharp order was given, the gates were thrown open, and they were all marched down a narrow lane, dimly lit by one miserable oil lamp at the end. Almost as they reached the end the familiar odour, damp and seaweedy, of the tide reached Don's nostrils; and directly after he found himself being hurried down a flight of wet and slippery stone steps to where a lanthorn showed a large boat, into which he was hurried along with the rest. Then there was the sensation of movement, as the boat rose and fell. Fresh orders. The splash of oars. A faint creaking sound where they rubbed on the tholes, and then the regular measured dip, dip, and splash, splash. "Tide runs sharp," said a deep voice. "Give way, my lads, or we shall be swept by her; that's it." Don listened to all this as if it were part of a dream, while he gazed wildly about at the dimly-seen moving lights and the black, shadowy-looking shapes of the various vessels which kept on looming up, till after gradually nearing a light away to his left, the boat was suddenly run up close to a great black mass, which seemed to stand up out of the water that was lapping her sides. Ten minutes later the boat in which he had come off was hanging to the davits, and he, in company with his fellows, was being hurried down into a long low portion of the 'tween decks, with a couple of lanthorns swinging their yellow light to and fro, and trying to make haloes, while an armed marine stood sentry at the foot of the steps leading up on deck. Every one appeared too desolate and despondent to say much; in fact, as Don sat upon the deck and looked at those who surrounded him, they all looked like so many wounded men in hospital, or prisoners of war, in place of being Englishmen--whose duty henceforth was to be the defence of their country. "Seems rum, don't it?" said Jem in a whisper. "Makes a man feel wild to be laid hold on like this." "It's cruel! It's outrageous!" cried Don, angrily. "But here we are, and--what's that there noise?" said Jem, as a good deal of shouting and trampling was heard on deck. Then there was a series of thumps and more trampling and loud orders. "Are they bringing some more poor wretches on board, Jem?" "Dunno. Don't think so. Say, Mas' Don, I often heared tell of the press-gang, and men being took; but I didn't know it was so bad as this." "Wait till morning, Jem, and I hope we shall get justice done to us." "Then they'll have to do it sharp, for it's morning now, though it's so dark down here, and I thought we were moving; can't you feel?" Jem was quite right; the sloop was under weigh. Morning had broken some time; and at noon that day, the hope of being set at liberty was growing extremely small, for the ship was in full sail, and going due west. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. JEM IS HUNGRY. The first time the pressed men were mustered Don was well prepared. "You leave it to me, Jem," he whispered. "I'll wait till our turn comes, and then I shall speak out to the officer and tell him how we've been treated." "You'd better make haste, then, Mas' Don, for if the thing keeps on moving like this, I sha'n't be able to stand and hear what you have to say." For a good breeze was blowing from the south coast, sufficient to make the waves curl over, and the sloop behave in rather a lively way; the more so that she had a good deal of canvas spread, and heeled over and dipped her nose sufficiently to admit a great wave from time to time to well splash the forward part of the deck. Don made no reply, for he felt white, but he attributed it to the mental excitement from which he suffered. There were thirty pressed men on deck, for the most part old sailors from the mercantile marine, and these men were drafted off into various watches, the trouble to the officers being that of arranging the fate of the landsmen, who looked wretched in the extreme. "'Pon my word, Jones," said a smart-looking, middle-aged man in uniform, whom Don took to be the first lieutenant, "about as sorry a lot of Bristol sweepings as ever I saw." "Not bad men, sir," said the petty officer addressed. "Wait till they've shaken down into their places." "Now's your time, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "Now or never." Don was on the alert, but just as the officer neared them the vessel gave a sudden pitch, and of the men standing in a row the minute before, not one remained upon his feet. For it seemed as if the deck had suddenly dropped down; and as Don and Jem rolled over into the lee scuppers, they were pretty well doused by the water that came splashing over the bows, and when, amidst a shout of laughter from the sailors, the order was given for them to get up and form in line again, Jem clung tightly to Don, and said, dolefully,-- "It's of no use, Mas' Don; I can't. It's like trying to stand on running barrels; and--oh, dear me!--I do feel so precious bad." Don made no reply, but caught at the side of the vessel, for everything around seemed to be swimming, and a peculiarly faint sensation had attacked him, such as he had never experienced before. "There, send 'em all below," said the officer, who seemed half angry, half-amused. "Pretty way this is, of manning His Majesty's ships. There, down with you. Get 'em all below." Don did not know how he got below. He had some recollection of knocking the skin off his elbows, and being half dragged into a corner of the lower deck, where, for three days, he lay in the most abjectly miserable state, listening to the sighs and groans of his equally unfortunate companions, and the remarks of Jem, who kept up in his waking moments a running commentary on the miseries of going to sea. "It's wuss than anything I ever felt or saw," he muttered. "I've been ill, and I've been in hospital, but this here's about the most terrible. I say, Mas' Don, how do you feel now?" "As if I'd give anything to have the ship stopped, for us to be set ashore." "No, no, you can't feel like that, Mas' Don, because that's exactly how I feel. I am so ill. Well, all I can say is that it serves the captain and the lieutenant and all the rest of 'em jolly well right for press-ganging me." "What do you mean?" said Don, dolefully. "Why, that they took all that trouble to bring me aboard to make a sailor of me, and they'll never do it. I'm fit to go into a hospital, and that's about all I'm fit for. Sailor? Why, I can't even stand upright on the precious deck." "Well, my lads," said a hearty voice just then; "how long are you going to play at being old women? Come, rouse a bit." "No, thankye, sir," said Jem, in a miserable tone. "Bit? I haven't bit anything since I've been aboard." "Then rouse up, and bite something now," cried the boatswain. "Come, my lad," he continued, turning to Don, "you've got too much stuff in you to lie about like this. Jump up, and come on deck in the fresh air." "I feel so weak, sir; I don't think I could stand." "Oh, yes, you can," said the boatswain. "That's better. If you give way to it, you'll be here for a week." "Are we nearly there, sir?" said Jem, with a groan. "Nearly there? You yellow-faced lubber. What do you mean?" "Where we're going to," groaned Jem. "Nearly there? No. Why?" "Because I want to go ashore again. I'm no use here." "We'll soon make you of some use. There, get up." "But aren't we soon going ashore?" "If you behave yourself you may get a run ashore at the Cape or at Singapore; but most likely you won't leave the ship till we get to China." "China?" said Jem, sitting up sharply. "China?" "Yes, China. What of that?" "China!" cried Jem. "Why, I thought we were sailing round to Plymouth or Portsmouth, or some place like that. China?" "We're going straight away or China, my lad, to be on that station for some time." "And when are we coming back, sir?" "In about three years." "Mas' Don," said Jem, dolefully; "let's get up on deck, sir, and jump overboard, so as to make an end of it." "You'd better not," said the boatswain, laughing at Jem's miserable face. "You're in the king's service now, and you've got to work. There, rouse up, and act like a man." "But can't we send a letter home, sir?" asked Don. "Oh, yes, if you like, at the first port we touch at, or by any ship we speak. But come, my lad, you've been sea-sick for days; don't begin to be home sick. You've been pressed as many a better fellow has been before you. The king wants men, and he must have them. Now, young as you are, show that you can act like a man." Don gave him an agonised look, but the bluff boatswain did not see it. "Here, you fellows," he cried to the rest of the sick men; "we've given you time enough now. You must get up and shake all this off. You'll all be on deck in a quarter of an hour, so look sharp." "This here's a nice game, Mas' Don. Do you know how I feel?" "No, Jem; but I know how I feel." "How's that, sir?" "That if I had been asked to serve the king I might have joined a ship; but I've been dragged here in a cruel way, and the very first time I can get ashore, I mean to stay." "Well, I felt something like that, Mas' Don; but they'd call it desertion." "Let them call it what they like, Jem. They treated us like dogs, and I will not stand it. I shall leave the ship first chance. You can do as you like, but that's what I mean to do." "Oh, I shall do as you do, Mas' Don. I was never meant for a sailor, and I shall get away as soon as I can." "Shall you?" said a voice that seemed familiar; and they both turned in the direction from which it came, to see a dark figure rise from beside the bulk head, where it had lain unnoticed by the invalids, though if they had noted its presence, they would have taken it for one of their fellow-sufferers. "What's it got to do with you?" said Jem, shortly, as he scowled at the man, who now came forward sufficiently near the dim light for them to recognise the grim, sinister-looking sailor, who had played so unpleasant a part at the _rendez-vous_ where they were taken after being seized. "What's it got to do with me? Everything. So you're goin' to desert, both of you, are you? Do you know what that means?" "No; nor don't want," growled Jem. "Then I'll tell you. Flogging, for sartain, and p'r'aps stringing up at the yard-arm, as an example to others." "Ho!" said Jem; "do it? Well, you look the sort o' man as is best suited for that; and just you look here. Nex' time I ketches you spying and listening to what I say, I shall give you a worse dressing down than I give you last time, so be off." "Mutinous, threatening, and talking about deserting," said the sinister-looking sailor, with a harsh laugh, which sounded as if he had a young watchman's rattle somewhere in his chest. "Nice thing to report. I think this will do." He went off rubbing his hands softly, and mounted the ladder, Jem watching him till his legs had disappeared, when he turned sharply to Don. "Him and me's going to have a regular set-to some day, Mas' Don. He makes me feel warm, and somehow that bit of a row has done me no end o' good. Here, come on deck, and let's see if he's telling tales. Come on, lad. P'r'aps I've got a word or two to say as well." Don had not realised it before, but as he followed Jem, he suddenly woke to the fact that he did not feel so weak and giddy, while, by the time he was on deck, it as suddenly occurred to him that he could eat some breakfast. "I thought as much," said Jem. "Lookye there, Mas' Don. Did you ever see such a miserable sneak?" For there, not half-a-dozen yards away, was the sinister-looking sailor talking to the bluff boatswain. "Oh, yes, of course," said the latter, as he caught sight of the recruits. "So does every man who is pressed, and if he does not say it, he thinks it. There, be off." The ill-looking sailor gave Jem an ugly look and went aft, while the boatswain turned to Don. "That's right," he said. "Make a bit of an effort, and you're all the better for it. You'll get your sea legs directly." "I wish he'd tell us where to get a sea leg o' mutton, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "I _am_ hungry." "What's that?" said the boatswain. "Only said I was hungry," growled Jem. "Better and better. And, now, look here, you two may as well set to work without grumbling. And take my advice; don't let such men as that hear either of you talk about desertion again. It doesn't matter this time, but, by-and-by, it may mean punishment." CHAPTER NINETEEN. A CONVERSATION. The gale was left behind, and the weather proved glorious as they sped on towards the tropics, both going through all the drudgery to be learned by Government men, in company with the naval drill. There was so much to see and learn that Don found it impossible to be moody; and, for the most part, his homesickness and regrets were felt merely when he went to his hammock at nights; while the time spent unhappily there was very short, for fatigue soon sent him to sleep. The boatswain was always bluff, manly, and kind, and following out his advice, both Jem and Don picked up the routine of their life so rapidly as to gain many an encouraging word from their officers--words which, in spite of the hidden determination to escape at the first opportunity, set them striving harder and harder to master that which they had to do. "Yes," Jem used to say, "they may be civil, but soft words butters no parsnips, Mas' Don; and being told you'll some day be rated AB don't bring a man back to his wife, nor a boy--I mean another man--back to his mother." "You might have said boy, Jem; I'm only a boy." "So'm I, Mas' Don--sailor boy. You seem getting your head pretty well now, Mas' Don, when we're up aloft." "That's what I was thinking of you, Jem." "Well, yes, sir, tidy--tidy like, and I s'pose it arn't much worse than coming down that there rope when we tried to get away; but I often feel when I'm lying out on the yard, with my feet in the stirrup, that there's a precious little bit between being up there and lying down on the deck, never to get up again." "You shouldn't think of it, Jem. I try not to." "So do I, but you can't help it sometimes. How long have we been at sea now?" "Six months, Jem." "Is it now? Don't seem so long. I used to think I should get away before we'd been aboard a week, and it's six months, and we arn't gone. You do mean to go if you get a chance?" "Yes, Jem," said Don, frowning. "I said I would, and I will." "Arn't it being a bit obstinate like, Mas' Don?" "Obstinate? What, to do what I said I'd do?" "Well, p'r'aps not, sir; but it do sound obstinate all the same." "You like being a sailor then, Jem?" "Like it? Being ordered about, and drilled, and sent aloft in rough weather, and all the time my Sally thousands o' miles away? Well, I do wonder at you, Mas' Don, talking like that." "It was your own fault, Jem. I can't help feeling as I did. It was such a cruel, cowardly way of kidnapping us, and dragging us away, and never a letter yet to tell us what they think at home, after those I sent. No, Jem, as I've said before, I'd have served the king as a volunteer, but I will not serve a day longer than I can help after being pressed." "T'others seem to have settled down." "So do we seem to, Jem; but perhaps they're like us, and only waiting for a chance to go." "Don't talk out loud, Mas' Don. I want to go home: but somehow I sha'n't quite like going when the time does come." "Why not?" "Well, some of the lads make very good messmates, and the officers arn't bad when they're in a good temper; and I've took to that there hammock, Mas' Don. You can't think of how I shall miss that there hammock." "You'll soon get over that, Jem." "Yes, sir, dessay I shall; and it will be a treat to sit down at a decent table with a white cloth on, and eat bread and butter like a Christian." "Instead of tough salt junk, Jem, and bad, hard biscuits." "And what a waste o' time it do seem learning all this sailoring work, to be no use after all. Holy-stoning might come in. I could holy-stone our floor at home, and save my Sally the trouble, and--" Jem gave a gulp, then sniffed very loudly. "Wish you wouldn't talk about home." Don smiled sadly, and they were separated directly after. The time went swiftly on in their busy life, and though his absence from home could only be counted in months, Don had shot up and altered wonderfully. They had touched at the Cape, at Ceylon, and then made a short stay at Singapore before going on to their station farther east, and cruising to and fro. During that period Don's experience had been varied, but the opportunity he was always looking for did not seem to come. Then a year had passed away, and they were back at Singapore, where letters reached both, and made them go about the deck looking depressed for the rest of the week. Then came one morning when there was no little excitement on board, the news having oozed out that the sloop was bound for New Zealand, a place in those days little known, save as a wonderful country of tree-fern, pine, and volcano, where the natives were a fierce fighting race, and did not scruple to eat those whom they took captive in war. "Noo Zealand, eh?" said Jem. "Port Jackson and Botany Bay, I hear, Jem, and then on to New Zealand. We shall see something of the world." "Ay, so we shall, Mas' Don. Bot'ny Bay! That's where they sends the chaps they transports, arn't it?" "Yes, I believe so." "Then we shall be like transported ones when we get there. You're right, after all, Mas' Don. First chance there is, let me and you give up sailoring, and go ashore." "I mean to, Jem; and somehow, come what may, we will." CHAPTER TWENTY. A NATURALISED NEW ZEALANDER. Three months had passed since the conversation in the last chapter, when after an adverse voyage from Port Jackson, His Majesty's sloop-of-war under shortened sail made her way slowly towards what was in those days a land of mystery. A stiff breeze was blowing, and the watch were on deck, ready for reducing sail or any emergency. More were ready in the tops, and all on board watching the glorious scene unfolding before them. "I say, Mas' Don, look ye there," whispered Jem, as they sat together in the foretop. "If this don't beat Bristol, I'm a Dutchman." "Beat Bristol!" said Don contemptuously; "why, it's as different as can be." "Well, I dunno so much about that," said Jem. "There's that mountain yonder smoking puts one in mind of a factory chimney. And look yonder too!--there's another one smoking ever so far off. I say, are those burning mountains?" "I suppose so, unless it's steam. But what a lovely place!" There were orders for shortening sail given just then, and they had no more opportunity for talking during the next quarter of an hour, when, much closer in, they lay in the top once more, gazing eagerly at the glorious prospect of sea and sky, and verdant land and mountain. The vessel slowly rounded what appeared to be a headland, and in a short time the wind seemed to have dropped, and the sea to have grown calm. It was like entering a lovely lake; and as they went slowly on and on, it was to find that they were forging ahead in a perfect archipelago, with fresh beauties opening up each minute. The land was deliciously green, and cut up into valley, hill, and mountain. One island they were passing sent forth into the clear sunny air a cloud of silvery steam, which floated slowly away, like a white ensign spread to welcome the newcomers from a civilised land. At their distance from the shore it was impossible to make out the individual trees, but there seemed to be clumps of noble pines some distance in, and the valleys were made ornamental with some kind of feathery growth. "Well, all I've got to say, Mas' Don, is this here--Singpore arn't to be grumbled at, and China's all very well, only hot; but if you and me's going to say good-bye to sailoring, let's do it here." "That's exactly what I was thinking, Jem," replied Don. "Say, Mas' Don, p'r'aps it arn't for me, being a servant and you a young master, to make remarks." "Don't talk nonsense, Jem; we are both common sailors." "Well then, sir, as one sailor to another sailor, I says I wish you wouldn't get into bad habits." "I wish so too, Jem." "There you are again!" said Jem testily. "What do you mean?" "Why, so sure as I thinks something sensible and good, you always ketches me up and says you had thought it before." "Nonsense, Jem! Well, have it your way. I quite agree with you." "No, I won't, sir; you're master. Have it your way. I quite agree with you. Let's go ashore here." "If you can get the chance, Jem.--How lovely it looks!" "Lovely's nothing to it, sir. Mike used to brag about what he'd seen in foreign countries, but he never see anything to come up to this." "I don't think any one could see a more beautiful place, Jem." "But I don't like the look o' that, sir." "Of what?" "That there yonder. That smoke." "What, on that little island? No, Jem; it's steam." "Well, don't you know what that means?" "No." "Then I've got something at last as you arn't got first!" cried Jem excitedly, as he sheltered his eyes from the glare of the sun. "Yes; that's it's, sure. Cooking!" "Cooking? What's cooking?" "That place where the steam is, Mas' Don. I say, you know what they do here? That's the place where they do it." "Do what?" "Cook people. That's the spot, safe." "Nonsense!" said Don laughing. "Ah! You may call it nonsense, Mas' Don; but if them sort o' things is done here, I think we'd better stop on board." Just at that moment the captain, who was busy with his spyglass examining the place and looking for a snug anchorage, suddenly gave an order, which was passed on, and with the rapidity customary on board a man-of-war, the stout boarding nettings, ready for use on an emergency, were triced up to the lower rigging, so that before long the vessel, from its bulwarks high up toward the lower yards, presented the appearance of a cage. While this was going on, others of the men stood to their arms, guns were cast loose and loaded, and every precaution taken against a surprise. The reason for all this was that quite a fleet of long canoes, propelled by paddles, suddenly began to glide out from behind one of the islands, each canoe seeming to contain from eighty to a hundred men. The effect was beautiful, for the long, dark vessels, with their grotesque, quaintly carved prows and sterns, seemed to be like some strange living creatures working along paths of silver, so regularly went the paddles, turning the sea into lines of dazzling light. The men were armed with spears and tomahawks, and as they came nearer, some could be seen wearing black feathers tipped with white stuck in their hair, while their dark, nearly naked bodies glistened in the sun like bronze. "Are they coming to attack us, Jem?" said Don, who began to feel a strange thrill of excitement. "Dessay they'd like to, Mas' Don; but it strikes me they'd think twice about it. Why, we could sail right over those long thin boats of theirs, and send 'em all to the bottom." Just then there was an order from the deck, and more sail was taken in, till the ship hardly moved, as the canoes came dashing up, the men of the foremost singing a mournful kind of chorus as they paddled on. "Ship ahoy!" suddenly came from the first canoe. "What ship's that?" "His Majesty's sloop-of-war _Golden Danae_," shouted back the first lieutenant from the chains. "Tell your other boats to keep back, or we shall fire." "No, no, no: don't do that, sir! They don't mean fighting," came back from the boat; and a big savage, whose face was blue with tattooing, stood up in the canoe, and then turned and spoke to one of his companions, who rose and shouted to the occupants of the other canoes to cease paddling. "Speaks good English, sir," said the lieutenant to the captain. "Yes. Ask them what they want, and if it's peace." The lieutenant shouted this communication to the savage in the canoe. "Want, sir?" came back; "to trade with you for guns and powder, and to come aboard." "How is it you speak good English?" "Why, what should an Englishman speak?" "Then you are not a savage?" "Now do I look like one?" cried the man indignantly. "Of course; I forgot--I'm an Englishman on a visit to the country, and I've adopted their customs, sir--that's all." "Oh, I see," said the lieutenant, laughing; "ornaments and all." "May they come aboard, sir?" "Oh, yes; if they leave their arms." The man communicated this to the occupants of the boat, and there was a good deal of excited conversation for a time. "That fellow's a runaway convict for certain, sir," said the lieutenant. "Shall we get him aboard, and keep him?" "No. Let him be. Perhaps he will prove very useful." "The chiefs say it isn't fair to ask them to come without their arms," said the tattooed Englishman. "How are they to know that you will not be treacherous?" "Tell them this is a king's ship, and if they behave themselves they have nothing to fear," said the captain. "Stop! Six of them can come aboard armed if they like. You can lead them and interpret." "I'll tell them, sir; but I won't come aboard, thank you. I'm a bit of a savage now, and the crew might make remarks, and we should quarrel." He turned to the savages, and the captain and lieutenant exchanged glances, while directly after the canoe was run alongside, and half-a-dozen of the people sprang up the side, and were admitted through the boarding netting to begin striding about the deck in the most fearless way. They were fine, herculean-looking fellows, broad-shouldered and handsome, and every man had his face tattooed in a curious scroll-like pattern, which ended on the sides of his nose. Their arms were spears and tomahawks, and two carried by a stout thong to the wrist a curiously carved object, which looked like a model of a paddle in pale green stone, carefully polished, but which on closer inspection seemed to be a weapon for using at close quarters. As they paraded the deck, with their quick eyes grasping everything, they made no scruple about placing their faces close to those of the sailors, and then drawing themselves up with a conscious look of satisfaction and self-esteem, as they compared their physique with that of their visitors. One of them, a great fellow of about six feet three, and stout and muscular in proportion, stopped suddenly in front of Jem, at whom he seemed to frown, and turned to Don, upon whose chest he laid the back of his hand. "Pakeha," he said in a deep voice; "Ngati pakeha." "Tell him he's another, Mas' Don," said Jem. The savage turned fiercely upon Jem, gripping Don's arm the while. "Pakeha," he said; "Ngati pakeha. Maori pakeha. My pakeha!" Then to Don--"You my pakeha. Give me powder--gun." "Don't you wish you may get it, old chap?" said Jem. "Wants you to give him powder and gun." The savage nodded approval. "Yes," he said; "powder-gun--you give." A call from one of his companions summoned the savage away, and he joined them to partake of some rum and water, which the captain had had prepared on their behalf. "Won't you come up and have some rum?" said the lieutenant to the tattooed Englishman in the boat. "No, thank you; but you may send me down the bottle if you like, sir. Look here! Shall I show you where you can anchor?" The lieutenant glanced at his superior officer, and in answer to his nod turned to the man again. "Can you show us a safe anchorage?" "I can show you half-a-dozen, all safe," said the man. "When you like, I'll lead the way." "A boat shall follow you, and take soundings." The first cutter was manned with a well-armed crew, and the lieutenant stepped in--Don and Jem being two of the number. The tattooed Englishman shouted something to the men busy on the ship, and they unwillingly left the deck, slipped down into their canoe, and this led off, followed by the first cutter. "Give way, my lads!" said the lieutenant; "and mind this: there must be no straying off in any shape whatever--that is, if we land. These fellows seem friendly, but we are only a few among hundreds, and I suppose you know what your fate would be if they got the upper hand." "Make tattooed chiefs of us seemingly, sir," said Jem. "Or hot joints," said the officer laconically. "Ready there with that lead." The men rowed steadily on after the first canoe, and the man with the lead kept on making casts, but getting no bottom except at an excessive depth, as they went on, the scene growing more beautiful as each point was passed. The other canoes followed, and a curious thrill ran through Don, as he felt how helpless they would be if the savages proved treacherous, for the boat and her crew could have been overpowered at once; and the lieutenant was evidently uneasy, as he saw that they were taken right round to the back of a small island, gradually losing sight of the ship. But he had his duty to do, and keeping a strict watch, after passing the word to his men to have their arms ready, he made them row on, with the lead going all the time. It was a curious experience, and Don's heart beat as he thought of the possibility of escaping from the boat, and taking to the shore, wondering the while what would be the consequences. The man in the leading canoe was evidently well treated, and quite one in authority; and if they landed and joined these people, why should not he and Jem become so too? These were a few of the passing thoughts suggested by the novelty and beauty of the place, which seemed ten times more attractive to those who had been for months cooped up on shipboard; but the toil in which he was engaged kept Don from taking more than a casual glance ashore. Bosun Jones sat at the tiller side by side with the lieutenant, and scraps of their conversation reached Don's ears. "Well, sir," said the former, "as you say, we're out of the reach of the sloop's guns; but if anything happens to us, we may be sure that the captain will take pretty good revenge." "And a deal of good that will do us, Jones," said the lieutenant. "I believe that scoundrel is leading us into a trap." "If he is, sir, I hope for one chance at him," said the boatswain; "I don't think I should miss my man." The leading canoe went on for quite a quarter of a mile after they had passed out of sight of the ship, the cutter following and taking soundings all the way, till they seemed to be quite shut in by high land, and the water was as smooth as a lake. There, about five hundred yards from the shore, the canoe stopped, and almost at the same moment the water shallowed, so that the man in the bows got soundings in ten fathoms; directly after, nine; then eight; and eight again, at which depth the water seemed to remain. "Come, that's honest leading!" said the lieutenant, brightening; "as snug a berth as a ship could be in. Why, Jones, what a position for a port!" "This do, sir?" shouted the tattooed Englishman. "You'll be quite in shelter here, and the water keeps the same right up to the shore." A few more soundings were taken, and then the boat returned to the ship, which made her way in and anchored before night, with the canoes hanging about, and some of the chiefs eagerly besieging the gangway to be allowed on deck. But special precautions were taken; sentries were doubled; and, as if feeling that the fate of all on board depended upon his stringent regulations, the captain only allowed about half-a-dozen of the savage-looking people to come on board at a time. By a little management Don had contrived that Jem should have the hammock next to his; and that night, with the soft air playing in through the open port-hole, they listened to the faint sounds on shore, where the savages were evidently feasting, and discussed in a whisper the possibility of getting away. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. AN INVITATION. It seemed to Don that the object of the captain in coming to New Zealand was to select and survey portions of the coast for a new settlement; and for the next few days well-armed boat parties were out in all directions sounding, and in two cases making short journeys inland. "I say," said Jem one morning, as he and Don stood gazing over the side of the ship at the verdant shores. "Well, Jem, what do you say?" "Has that ugly-looking chap Ramsden been telling tales about us?" "I don't know; why?" "Because here's a fortnight we've been at anchor, and since the first day neither of us has been out in a boat." "Hasn't been our turn, Jem." "Well, p'r'aps not, sir; but it do seem strange. Just as if they thought we should slip away." "And I suppose we've given up all such thoughts as that now." "Oh, have we?" said Jem sarcastically; and then there was silence for a time, till Jem, who had been watching the steam rise from the little island about a quarter of a mile away, exclaimed, "Wonder what's being cooked over yonder, Mas' Don. I know; no, I don't. Thought it was washing day, but it can't be, for they don't hardly wear any clothes." "It's volcanic steam, Jem. Comes out of the earth." "Get along with you, Mas' Don. Don't get spinning yarns." "I'm telling you the truth, Jem." "Are you, sir? Well, p'r'aps it's what you think is the truth, I say, arn't it lovely out here? How I should like to have a cottage just on that there point, and my Sally to keep it tidy. Hullo! What's up?" The boatswain's shrill pipe was heard just then, and a boat's crew was summoned to take an exploring party ashore. To Don's great delight, he and Jem formed part of the boat's crew; and at last he felt that he was to see something of the beautiful place, which grew more attractive every time he scanned the coast. This time the captain was going to land; and, as the men were provided with axes, it seemed that they were about to make their way into the woods. The natives had been most friendly, bringing off and receiving presents; but, all the same, no precautions were omitted to provide for the safety of the ship and crew. It was a glorious morning, with hardly a breath of wind stirring, and the savages were lolling about on the shore. Their canoes were run up on the sands, and there was an aspect of calm and repose everywhere that seemed delightful. But the boat's crew had little time given them for thinking. The captain and a midshipman of about Don's age took their places in the stern sheets, Bosun Jones seized the tiller, the word was given, the oars splashed the water simultaneously, and the boat sped over the calm surface of the transparent sea, sending the shoals of fish darting away. The boat's head was set in quite a fresh direction, and she was run ashore a little way from the mouth of a rushing river, whose waters came foaming down through blocks of pumice and black masses of volcanic stone. As the boat's head touched the shore, the men leaped over right and left, and dragged her a short distance up the black glistening heavy sand, so that the captain could land dry-shod. Then preparations were made, arms charged, and Bosun Jones gave Don a friendly nod before turning to the captain. "Will you have this lad, sir, to carry a spare gun for you?" "Yes," said the captain; "a good plan;" and Don's eyes sparkled. "No," said the captain the next moment; "he is only a boy, and the walking will be too hard for him. Let him and another stay with the boat." Don's brow clouded over with disappointment, but it cleared a little directly after as he found that Jem was to be his companion; and as the party marched off toward where the forest came down nearly to the sea, they, in obedience to their orders, thrust the boat off again, climbed in, and cast out her grapnel a few fathoms from the shore. "I am disappointed," said Don, after they had sat in the boat some time, watching their companions till they had disappeared. "Oh, I dunno, Mas' Don; we've got some beef and biscuit, and somewhere to sit down, and nothing to do. They, poor fellows, will come back hot and tired out." "Yes; but's it's so dull here." "Well, I dunno 'bout that," said Jem, looking lazily round at the glorious prospect of glistening sea, island and shore, backed up by mountains; "I call it just lovely." "Oh, it's lovely enough, Jem; but I want to go ashore." "Now if you call my cottage dull inside the yard gates at Bristol, I'm with you, Mas' Don; but after all there's no place like home." There was a dead silence, during which Don sat gazing at a group of the savages half-a-mile away, as they landed from a long canoe, and ran it up the beach in front of one of the native _whares_ or dwellings. "Why, Jem!" Don exclaimed suddenly, "why not now?" "Eh?" said Jem, starting from watching a large bird dive down with a splash in the silvery water, and then rise again with a fish in its beak; "see that, Mas' Don?" "Yes, yes," exclaimed Don impatiently; "why not now?" "Why not now, Mas' Don?" said Jem, scratching his head; "is that what you call a connundydrum?" "Don't be stupid, man. I say, why not now?" "Yes, I heared you say so twice; but what does it mean?" "We're quite alone; we have a boat and arms, with food and water. Why not escape now?" "Escape, Mas' Don? What, run away now at once--desert?" "It is not running away, Jem; it is not deserting. They have robbed us of our liberty, and we should only be taking it back." "Ah, they'd preach quite a different sarmon to that," said Jem, shaking his head. "Why, you are never going to turn tail?" "Not I, Mas' Don, when the time comes; but it don't seem to have come yet." "Why, the opportunity is splendid, man." "No, Mas' Don, I don't think so. If we take the boat, 'fore we've gone far they'll ketch sight of us aboard, and send another one to fetch us back, or else make a cock-shy of us with the long gun." "Then let's leave the boat." "And go ashore, and meet our messmates and the captain." "Go in another direction." "Out of the frying-pan into the fire," said Jem, grinning. "Say, Mas' Don, how do they cook their food?" "Don't talk nonsense, Jem; that's only a traveller's tale. I believe the people here will behave kindly to us." "Till we got fat," said Jem, chuckling; "and then they'd have a tuck out. No, thank ye, Mas' Don; my Sally wouldn't like it. You see, I'm nice and plump and round now, and they'd soon use me. You're a great long growing boy, thin as a lath, and it'd take years to make you fit to kill, so as it don't matter for you." "There is a chance open to us now for escape," said Don bitterly; "to get right away, and journey to some port, where we could get a passage to England as sailors, and you treat it with ridicule." "Not I, Mas' Don, lad." "You do, Jem. Such a chance may never occur again; and I shall never be happy till I have told my mother what is the real truth about our going away." "But you did write it to her, Mas' Don." "Write! What is writing to speaking? I thought you meant to stand by me." "So I do, Mas' Don, when a good chance comes. It hasn't come yet." "Ahoy!" A hail came out of the dense growth some fifty yards away. "There," said Jem, "you see we couldn't get off; some one coming back." "Ahoy!" came again; "boat ahoy!" "Ahoy! Ahoy!" shouted back Jem, and the two boat-keepers watched the moving ferns in front of them, expecting to see the straw hat of a messmate directly; but instead there appeared the black white-tipped feathers, and then the hideously tattooed bluish face of a savage, followed directly after by another, and two stalwart men came out on to the sands, and began to walk slowly down toward the boat. "Cock your pistol, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, "quiet-like; don't let 'em see. They've got their spears and choppers. Precious ready too with their _ahoys_." "Why, it's that tattooed Englishman, Jem, and that savage who called me his pakeha." "And like his impudence!" said Jem. "You're right though, so it is." "Morning, mate," said the Englishman, who, save that he was a little lighter in colour than his hideous-looking companion, could hardly be distinguished from him. "Morning, my hearty," said Jem. "What is it? Want a passage home?" "Do I want what?" growled the man. "Not I; too well off here." "Wouldn't be safe to go back, p'r'aps," said Jem meaningly. The man darted a fierce look at him, which told that the shaft had hit its mark. "Never you mind about that," he said surlily. "But you are a lifer, and have run away, haven't you?" continued Jem, in a bantering tone. The man's aspect was for the moment so fierce that Don involuntarily stole his hand towards the pistol at his side. But his countenance softened directly after. "That's neither here nor there, mate," said the man. "There's been chaps sent out abroad who were innocent, and others who have been punished more than they deserved; and you aren't the sort of fellow to go talking like that, and making trouble for a fellow who never did you any harm." "Not I," said Jem; "it's no business of mine." "And he isn't the fellow to make trouble," put in Don. "That he isn't," said the man, smiling. "'Sides I'm a Maori chief now, and I've got a couple of hundred stout fellows who would fight for me. Eh, Ngati?" he said, addressing some words in the savage tongue. "Pah, ha, ha!" roared the great fellow beside him, brandishing his spear; and seizing the greenstone paddle-like weapon, which hung from his neck, in his left hand, as he struck an attitude, turned up his eyes till the whites only were visible, distorted his face hideously, and thrust out his great tongue till it was far below his chin. "Brayvo! Brayvo! Brayvo!" cried Jem, hammering the side of the boat; "brayvo, waxworks! I say, mate, will he always go off like that when you pull the string?" "Yes," said the Englishman, laughing; "and two hundred more like him." "Then it must be a werry pretty sight indeed; eh, Mas' Don?" "Ah, it's all very well to laugh," said the Englishman good-humouredly; "but when they mean mischief, it's heads off and a feast." "Eh?" cried Jem. "They'll kill a man, and cook him and eat him after." "Gammon!" "Gammon, eh?" cried the Englishman; and he turned to his savage companion with a word or two. The savage relapsed into his former quiescent state, uttered a loud grunt, and smacked his lips. "And so you do do that sort of thing?" said Jem, grinning. "You look in pretty good condition, mate." "No!" said the Englishman fiercely. "I've joined them, and married, and I'm a pakeha Maori and a great chief, and I've often fought for them; but I've never forgotten what I am." "No offence meant, old chap," said Jem; and then from behind his hand he whispered to Don,-- "Look out, my lad; they mean the boat." "No, we don't," said the Englishman, contemptuously; "if we did we could have it. Why, I've only to give the word, and a hundred fellows would be out in a canoe before you knew where you were. No, my lad, it's peace; and I'm glad of a chance, though I'm happy enough here, to have a talk to some one from the old home. Never was in the west country, I suppose? I'm an Exeter man." "I've been in Exeter often," said Don eagerly; "we're from Bristol." The Englishman waded rapidly into the sea, his Maori companion dashing in on the other side of the boat, and Jem and Don seized their pistols. "Didn't I tell you it was peace?" said the Englishman, angrily. "I only wanted to shake hands." "Ho!" said Jem, suspiciously, as their visitor coolly seated himself on the gunwale of the boat, his follower taking the opposite side, so as to preserve the balance. "Enough to make you think we meant wrong," said the Englishman; "but we don't. Got any tobacco, mate?" "Yes," said Jem, producing his bag. "'Tarn't very good. Say, Mas' Don, if he came to see us in Bristol, we could give him a bit o' real old Charlestown, spun or leaf." "Could you, though?" said the man, filling his pipe. "Yes; my uncle is a large sugar and tobacco merchant," said Don. "Then how came you to be a sailor boy? I know, you young dog; you ran away. Well, I did once." "No, no," said Don, hastily; "we did not ran away; we were pressed." "Pressed?" said the Englishman, pausing in the act of striking a light on one of the thwarts of the boat. "You needn't believe unless you like," said Jem, sourly, "but we were; dragged off just as if we were--well, never mind what. Feel here." He bent forward, took the man's hand, and placed it upon the back of his head. "That's a pretty good scar, isn't it? Reg'lar ridge." "Yes; that was an ugly crack, mate." "Well, that's what I got, and a lot beside. Young Mas' Don here, too, was awfully knocked about." "And you stood it?" "Stood it?" said Don, laughing. "How could we help it?" "Made you be sailors, eh, whether you would or no?" "That's it," said Jem. "Well, you can do as you like," said the man; "but I know what I should do if they'd served me so." "Cutoff?" said Jem. "That's it, mate. I wouldn't ha' minded being a sailor, but not be made one whether I liked or no." "You weren't a sailor, were you?" said Don. "I? No; never mind what I was." "Then we had better cut off, Mas' Don," said Jem, grinning till his eyes were shut; "and you and me 'll be painted like he is in fast colours, and you shall be a chief, and I'll be your head man." "To be sure," said the Englishman; "and you shall have a wife." "Eh?" cried Jem fiercely; "that I just won't. And, Mas' Don, if we ever do get back, don't you never say a word to my Sally about this here." "No, Jem, not I." "But you'll leave the ship, mate?" "Well, I dunno," said Jem, thoughtfully. "Will that there pattern all over your face and chest wash off?" "Wash off? No." "Not with pearl-ash or soda?" "No, not unless you skinned me," said the man, laughing. "Well, that part arn't tempting, is it, Mas' Don?" Don shook his head. "And then about that other part, old chap--cannibalism? I say, that's gammon, isn't it?" "What do you mean?" "Why, you know--the cooking a fellow and eating him. How dull you are!" "Dull? You be here a few years among these people, talking their lingo, and not seeing an Englishman above once in two years, and see if you wouldn't be dull." "But is that true?" "About being cannibals? Yes it's true enough," said the man seriously; "and very horrid it is; but it's only when there's war." He had succeeded in striking a light now, and was smoking placidly enough on the boat's edge, but dreamily thoughtful, as if he were recalling matters that were past. "Has he ever--been at war?" said Don, altering the fashion of his inquiry when it was half uttered. "Often." "And--? You know," said Jem, who felt no delicacy about the matter. The Englishman nodded his head slowly, and sent forth a tremendous puff of smoke, while his companion moved toward Don, and smiled at him, tapping him on the shoulder with his hand, and seeming to nod approval. "Pakeha!" he said, excitedly; "my pakeha; Maori pakeha." "What does he mean by that?" said Don, after he had suffered these attentions patiently for a few minutes. "Means he wants you to be his pakeha." "Yes: my pakeha; Maori pakeha!" cried the chief eagerly. "But what is a pakeha?" "Why, you're a pakeha, I'm a pakeha. They call foreigners pakehas; and he wants to claim you as his." "What, his slave?" cried Don. "No, no; he means his foreign brother. If you become his pakeha, he will be bound to fight for you. Eh, Ngati?" The savage gave vent to a fierce shout, and went through his former performance, but with more flourish, as if he were slaying numbers of enemies, and his facial distortion was hideous. "Well, when I was a little un, and went to school," said Jem, "I used to get spanks if I put out my tongue. Seems as if it's a fine thing to do out here." "Yes; it's a way they have when they're going to fight," said the Englishman thoughtfully. "S'pose it would mean trouble if I were to set you on to do it; but it wouldn't be at all bad for me if you were both of you to leave the ship and come ashore." "To be cooked?" said Jem. "Bah! Stuff! They'd treat you well. Youngster here's all right; Ngati would make him his pakeha." "My pakeha," cried the chief, patting Don again. "Much powder; much gun." "Pupil of mine," said the Englishman, smiling; "I taught him our lingo." "What does he mean?" said Don; "that he'd give me a big gun and plenty of powder?" The Englishman laughed. "No, no; he wants you to bring plenty of guns and powder ashore with you when you come." "When I come!" said Don, thoughtfully. "I sha'n't persuade you, my lad; but you might do worse. You'd be all right with us; and there are Englishmen here and there beginning to settle." "And how often is there a post goes out for England?" "Post? For England? Letters?" "Yes." "I don't know; I've been here a long time now, and I never had a letter and I never sent one away." "Then how should I be able to send to my Sally." "Dunno," said the man. "There, you think it over. Ngati here will be ready to take care of you, youngster; and matey here shall soon have a chief to take care of him." "I don't know so much about that," said Jem. "I should be ready enough to come ashore, but you've got some precious unpleasant ways out here as wouldn't suit me." "You'd soon get used to them," said the Englishman, drily; "and after leading a rough life, and being bullied by everybody, it isn't half bad to be a chief, and have a big canoe of your own, and make people do as you like." "But then you're a great powerful man," said Don. "They'd obey you, but they wouldn't obey me." "Oh, yes, they would, if you went the right way to work. It isn't only being big. They're big, much bigger all round than Englishmen, and stronger and more active. They're not afraid of your body, but of your mind; that's what they can't understand. If I was to write down something on a bit of wood or a leaf--we don't often see paper here--and give it to you to read, and you did the same to me, that gets over them: it's a wonder they can't understand. And lots of other things we know are puzzles to them, and so they think us big. You consider it over a bit, my lad; and if you decide to run for it, I'll see as you don't come to no harm." "And him too?" "Oh, yes; he shall be all right too; I'll see to that." "Shouldn't be too tempting for 'em, eh? Should I?" said Jem. "Not for our tribes here," said the Englishman, laughing; "but I may as well be plain with you. If we went to war with some of the others, and they got hold of you--" "Say, Mas' Don," said Jem interrupting the speaker, "I don't like being a sort of white nigger aboard ship, and being kept a prisoner, and told it's to serve the king; but a man can go into the galley to speak to the cook without feeling that he's wondering which jynte of you he shall use first. No thankye; it's a werry lovely country, but I want to get home to my Sally some day; and if we cut and run here, I'm afraid I never should." "You turn it over in your own minds, both of you, my lads. There, my pipe's out, and I think we'll go. Stop here long?" "Do you mean the ship, or here with the boat?" "Here with the boat," said the Englishman, holding out his hand. "Till our party comes back," said Jem. "I may see you again," said the Englishman; and shaking hands, he said a few words to his companion, and then began to wade ashore. The savage smiled and shook hands in turn, after which he patted Don on the shoulder again. "My pakeha," he said, sharply; "Maori pakeha--my." He followed his leader; and Don and Jem watched them till they disappeared amongst the abundant growth. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. DON'S DECISION. "It's tempting, Jem," said Don. "Yes, Mas' Don; and it's untempting, too. I had a book once about manners and customs of foreign parts, but it didn't say things so plain as you've found 'em here." "Yes, I'm afraid it won't do, Jem. Even if we got away from the ship, it might be to a life that would be worse." "That's it, sir, as I said afore, `out of the frying-pan into the fire.' Wonder how long they'll be 'fore they come back." "Not till sundown. I say, shall we try it or sha'n't we?" Jem scratched his head, and seemed to be hesitating. "I don't know what to say, Jem. If they treated us well on board, I should be disposed to say let's put up with our life till we get back home." "But then they don't treat us well, Mas' Don. I don't grumble to you, but it's a reg'lar dog's life I lead; bully and cuss and swear at you, and then not even well fed." "But we are to be paid for it, Jem," said Don, bitterly. "Paid, Mas' Don!" replied Jem, contemptuously. "What paying will make up for what we go through?" "And I suppose we should have prize-money if we fought and took a French ship." "But then we're sent right out here, Mas' Don, where there's no French ships to fight; and if there were, the prize-money is shared among them as aren't killed." "Of course." "Well, how do we know as we shouldn't be killed? No, Mas' Don, they don't behave well to us, and I want to get home again, and so do you." "Yes, Jem." "P'r'aps it's cowardly, and they'll call it desertion." "Yes, Jem." "But we sha'n't be there to hear 'em call it so." "No, Jem." "Therefore it don't matter, Mas' Don; I've thought this all over hundreds o' times when you've been asleep." "And I've thought it over, Jem, hundreds of times when you've been asleep." "There you go again, sir, taking the ideas out of a man's brain. You shouldn't, Mas' Don. I always play fair with you." "Yes, of course you do." "Well, then, you ought to play fair with me. Now look here, Mas' Don," continued Jem, seating himself on the gunwale of the boat, so as to let his bare feet hang in the water. "'Ware sharks, Jem," said Don quickly. Jem was balanced on the edge, and at those words he threw himself backward with his heels in the air, and after he had struggled up with some difficulty, he stood rubbing his head. "Where 'bouts--where 'bouts, sir?" "I did not see a shark, Jem, but the place swarms with them, and I thought it was a risk." "Well, I do call that a trick," grumbled Jem. "Hit my nut such a whack, I did, and just in the worst place." "Better than having a leg torn off, Jem. Well, what were you going to say?" "Bottom of the boat's nearly knocked it all out of my head," said Jem, rubbing the tender spot. "What I meant to say was that I was stolen." "Well, I suppose we may call it so." "Stolen from my wife, as I belongs to." "Yes, Jem." "And you belongs to your mother and your Uncle Josiah, so you was stolen, too." "Yes, Jem, if you put it in that way, I suppose we were." "Well, then," said Jem triumphantly, "they may call it cowardly, or desertion, or what they like; but what I say is this, a man can't be doing wrong in taking stolen goods back to them as they belong to." "No, Jem, I s'pose not." "Very well then, Mas' Don; the question is this--Will you or won't you?" "I will, Jem." "First chance?" "Yes, I am decided." "That's a bargain then, my lad. So shake hands on it. Why! How rough and hard and tarry your hands have grown!" "Look out, Jem!" Don caught hold of the grapnel rope ready to haul up and get away from the shore, but Jem seized his hand. "It's all right, Mas' Don. Only them two running back with a basket, and I'm in that sort o' way of thinking that they've only got to coax me a bit, and swear as there shall be no tattooing and meat-pie nonsense, and I'd go ashore with them now." "No, Jem, that would not do till we know a little more of them, and I can't help hesitating now it comes to the point." "That's just what I felt, Mas' Don," said Jem, with a perplexed look on his face. "Come, Jem, who's stealing some one else's ideas now?" "Like fruit?" said the tattooed Englishman, coming down to the water's edge. "That depends," said Jem, dubiously. "What is it?" "Karaka," said their new friend, offering a basket of an olive-like fruit. "Good to eat?" "Yes; try it." "S'pose you eat some first," said Jem suspiciously. The Englishman laughed, and took some of the fruit, and began to chew it. "Afraid these would drug you so that I could steal the boat?" "I didn't know," said Jem sulkily. "Wouldn't be the first who has stolen a boat, I suppose." Don took some of the berries, and began to eat, and this emboldened Jem, who tasted one in a very suspicious and doubting way. "Hullo!" he said, with his countenance brightening; "know what these here taste like, Mas' Don?" "Very mellow apple?" "No; like the medlars that grew in my grandmother's garden." "That's right!" said the Englishman; and his New Zealand companion began to select the best and ripest of the fruit from the basket and handed them to Don, watching him eat with what was meant for a pleasant smile; but as his face resembled one that had been carved in a piece of mahogany, and afterwards ornamented with streaks and scrolls, the effect was more repellent than attractive. "My pakeha," said the great fellow with a childlike show of satisfaction; and he looked from one to the other and laughed. "Here, he's took to you regular, youngster; only look out, for he'll want _utu_ for it some time. Eh, Ngati? Utu?" "_Utu_, _utu_" said the chief, smiling. "What's utu?" said Jem, in a surly tone. "Payment." "Oh, then we'll give him a bit of 'bacco." He offered the New Zealander his tobacco-bag, which was quietly annexed with a smile. "There, we'll leave you the fruit. They're good eating, my lads, and if at any time before you go, you feel disposed to settle down with us, there's plenty of room, and it won't be very long before you'll grow into chiefs." He nodded, and then said a few words to his companion, who smiled at the two strangers in turn, after which they went off together into the forest, and were gone. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem. "Don't know whether it arn't safer aboard ship after all." "Why do you say that?" cried Don. "Because whenever that black chap looks at me, he gives me the shivers." "Why?" "Seems to me that he's too fond of you, Mas' Don, and as if he was thinking how good you'd be." "Nonsense!" cried Don, who was enjoying the fruit. "Have some more of these. I wonder whether there are any more good kinds of fruit grow ashore." "Sure to be." "Do you think if we left the ship, Jem, and found our way right along the coast to some place where we could live till the ship had gone, and then wait till another ship came, we could get enough to eat?" "Dessay we could." "Because if we did, we should be quite independent, and could do as we liked." "To be sure, that's the way it seems to me; but just now, Mas' Don, I can only think of one thing." "What's that, Jem?" "How to get a bit of sleep, for the sun has made me as drowsy as a beedle." "Well, then, sit down and sleep." Jem wanted no persuasion, and in five minutes he was breathing very heavily, while Don sat watching the beauties of nature, the clouds of steam floating above the volcanic island, the wondrous sheen of the sea in the sun, the great lace-like tree-ferns which drooped over the mossy growth at the forest edge, and the beautiful butterflies which floated about like gaily-painted flowers in the golden light. Every now and then there was the sweet note of some bird ringing clearly in the air; then a loud and piercing screech heralded the coming of a parrot or cockatoo, which seemed tame enough to care little for the stranger who was watching its actions. Then all would be still again--a dreamy, sleepy stillness that was wonderfully attractive to Don as he sat with his eyes half-closed. In the distance he could see some of the Maoris coming and going in a listless, careless way, as if their life was a very pleasant indolence without a care. It was very beautiful and wonderfully attractive. On board the ship there were hard work, hard living, peremptory orders, and what seemed to the proud boy a state of slavery, while on shore offered itself a life of ease where there would be no battling with storm, and risk of war or shipwreck. Why should he not take advantage of this or some other opportunity, and steal ashore? It would be desertion, and setting aside the punishment held out to the one who forsook his ship after being forced into His Majesty's navy, there was a feeling troubling Don that it would be dishonourable to go. On the other side there was home, the strong desire to be free, and a love of adventure prompting him to escape. "No," he said decidedly at last; "it would be cowardly and base to desert. They treat me badly, but not hardly enough to make me run away. I'll stop and bear it like a man." Somehow Don felt lighter in heart after coming to this determination; and after looking round and wondering how long the explorers would be before they returned, and also wishing he could have been of the party, he leaned his elbows on the side of the boat and gazed down into the clear water, and through it at the beautiful lace-like pattern made by the sun, casting the netted shadow of the ripples on the soft pebbly sand. Now and then a shoal of fish glided in and dashed away. Then one brilliantly decked in gold and silver and blue came floating by, and Don watched it eagerly, wishing the while that he had a line. He was leaning over the side in this way, gazing down at the water, now about four feet deep where the boat had swung, when he became aware of something pale and shadowy some little distance off. Looking at it in a sloping direction made the ocean water seem so dense that he could not make out what it was for some little time. At first it seemed to be a dimly-seen patch of seaweed; then it appeared to be too regular and rounded, and it struck him that it must be a large transparent jelly-fish floating in with the tide, till he made out that it was continued backward from him, and that it was larger than he had imagined; and as he looked the object gradually grew plainer and more distinct. It was still shadowy and grey, and had a peculiar, strange attraction, which made him lean more over the side till a curious nightmare-like sensation came over him, and as he realised that the object was alive, and that he was looking down at two strange dull eyes, he felt that he could not shrink back, although the creeping chilly feeling which came over him seemed like a warning of danger. Then it all appeared more like a dream, in which he was striving hard to get away, and all the time obliged to crouch there gazing at that creature whose eyes were fixed upon him, and which imperceptibly grew plainer to his sight. The intensity of the position grew more and more painful during what appeared to be a long time. He tried to call to Jem, who was asleep not six feet away, but his mouth felt dry. He endeavoured to reach out and kick him, but he could not stir, and still the creature advanced till, all at once, there was a tremendous disturbance in the water; something seemed to rise and strike him a violent blow in the chest, and the next moment he was seated in the bottom of the boat, which was rocking violently, and staring stupidly at Jem, who sat up staring back. "What yer do that for?" cried Jem angrily. "I'd only just closed my eyes." "I did not do anything," faltered Don, shivering. "Yes, you did!" cried Jem. "Asked me to sit up and watch, and I'd ha' done it. Needn't ha' played tricks." "I--I--" "There, don't say you didn't, Mas' Don. Boat's rocking now, and you'd better swab up that water. Nice row there'd be if the skipper come back and found the boat all wet." Jem picked up the swab and began to remove the water himself, and in doing so he noticed Don's face. "Why, hullo, Mas' Don! What's the matter? You look as white as--Why, what now?" Jem was about to lean over the side and wring the swab, when Don sprang astern and dragged him back. "Look! Look!" he cried, pointing. Jem followed the direction of the pointing finger, and shrank away with a shudder. "What? A shark!" he exclaimed. "Yes; it rose at me out of the water, and struck me in the chest, and I fell back, and so did he." "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem, as he seized the boathook, and rested it on the gunwale. "Don't touch, it," whispered Don; "it may spring out of the water at you." "It had better not," said Jem. "Hah!" He drove the boathook down with all his might, striking the great fish just as it was slowly rising toward the surface, close to the boat; and so well aimed was the stroke, that there was a tremendous swirl in the water, the side near Jem resounded with a heavy blow from the fish's tail, and the boathook seemed to be snatched out of the striker's hand to go slowly sailing away oceanward. "Look at that!" cried Jem. "Why, I must have driven it right into him. How are we to get it back?" "Watch it," said Don, excitedly. "It will come out and float directly." Don's prophecy did not come to pass, for as they watched, they saw about a foot of the boathook shaft stand sloping out of the water, and go here and there in a curious manner. "Let's row after it," suggested Don. "Wouldn't be no good, Mas' Don; and we've got nothing to fight him with but pistols. Let him be, and the thing will soon wriggle out." Jem proved as far wrong as his companion, for, after a time, as they watched and saw the end of the shaft bob here and there; it suddenly disappeared about fifty yards away. "Why, Mas' Don," said Jem, laughing, "it's like fishing; and after biting ever so long, the float's gone right under water. Now's your time. Strike!" "And we've no line," said Don, who was beginning to get rid of his nervous sensation. "No, we haven't a line," said Jem. "Keep your eye on the place where he went down; we mustn't lose that hitcher. Say, it won't do to try and swim ashore. That's a shark, that is, and a big one, too. Did he hurt you?" "Not much. It was like a tremendous blow with somebody's fist. Look!" "Told you so!" cried Jem. "Here he comes with a rush to give us back the boathook." "Or to attack the boat," said Don, as the end of the shaft suddenly appeared away to their right; and then came rapidly nearer in a direct line for where they were. "Not he," said Jem sturdily. "Too stupid." All the same, there was soon a peculiar rising in the water coming direct for them, as the boathook seemed to plough through the sea, which rapidly grew shallower. Onward it came, nearer and nearer, till Jem gave a warning shout, and placed one foot on the side ready to plunge overboard. "Don't do that, Jem; it's certain death!" cried Don. "Don't you stop, Mas' Don; that's certain death, too. Let's swim ashore. Now, my lad, now, now. Don't stop a fellow; don't!" Jem shouted these words excitedly, as Don clung to him and held him back, gazing wildly all the time at the disturbed water, as the great fish swiftly approached, till, just as it was within a few yards, the shallowness of the water seemed to startle it, making it give quite a bound showing half its length, and then diving down with a kind of wallow, after which the occupants of the boat saw the wooden pole go trailing along the surface, till once more it was snatched, as it were, out of sight. "Don't seem as if he's going to shake it out," said Jem. "You must have driven the spike in right over the hook, and it acts like a barb. What a blow you must have given!" "Well, I hit as hard as I could," said Jem. "He was coming at me. Can you see it now?" "No." "Keep a sharp look-out; it's sure to come up sometime." The sharp look-out was kept; but they did not see the boathook again, though they watched patiently till nearly sundown, when a hail came from the woods; and as the boat-keepers got up the grapnel and ran the light vessel in shore, the captain and his men appeared slowly to their left, and came down as if utterly wearied out. "Look at 'em, Mas' Don; they've been having a fight." Jaded, their clothes torn in all directions, coated with mud, and with their faces smeared and scored, the blood stains on their cheeks and hands gave the returning party all the appearance of those who had been engaged in a fight for life. But it had only been an encounter with the terrible thorns and spines of the wild land they had explored, and the wounds, much as they had bled, were but skin deep. The boat-keepers leaped out, and ran the stern in as close as they could, and the captain was in the act of stepping in, placing a hand on Don's shoulder to steady himself, worn out as he was with his long tramp, when it seemed to Don that he felt the cold, slimy touch of a shark gliding up against his bare legs, and with a start of horror he sprang sidewise, with the result that the captain, who was bearing down upon the lad's shoulder, fell sidewise into the sea. "You clumsy idiot!" cried the captain; and forgetting himself in his annoyance, worn out as he was, and irritable from his great exertions, he caught at Don's extended hand, and then as he rose struck the boy a heavy blow with his doubled fist right in the chest. Don staggered heavily, fell into the water, and then struggled up drenched as the captain was before him. Then, forgetting in his hot rage everything about their relative positions and the difference in age, the boy made for the tall, frowning officer before him, and would have struck him in his blind wrath but for Bosun Jones, who had seen everything, and now hastily interposed. "No, no, my boy," he said. "Keep back, you are too wet to do any good. Allow me, sir." Don shrank back, realising the heinousness of the social sin he was about to commit, and a dead silence fell on the group, the men staring wonderingly as the captain accepted Bosun Jones' help, stepped into the boat, and stood wringing himself. "Why, the young dog was going to strike me!" cried the captain. "Surely not, sir," said the boatswain hastily. "Only going to help you, sir." "Help me! I believe he was going to hit out. Here, sir, what made you start away like that?" "He thought it was a shark, sir," cried Jem. "One's been about the boat all the aft'noon." "Hold your tongue, sir!" cried the captain sternly. "Here, you boy, what made you flinch!" "Thought I felt the shark touch me, sir," said Don, sullenly. "Oh, then I am to be thrown into the water because you are a cowardly young idiot," cried the captain. "I'll talk to you to-morrow. In with you, my lads, and give way." "There's no boathook!" cried the coxswain; and on the keepers being called to account, their story was received with such manifest doubt, that Don writhed and sat sullenly in his place in the boat, as it was rowed back to the sloop. "Rather an absurd story that, Jones--about the boathook," said the captain as he stepped on board. "Mind it is reported to-morrow morning. I believe the young scoundrel was going to strike me." "But you struck him first," said the boatswain to himself, as he saw the captain descend. "Hot-headed young rascal. Ah! Here, Lavington, what about that boathook? Let's have the simple truth. One of the Maoris stole it, and you were afraid to speak?" "I was not afraid to speak the truth, sir," said Don; "and I told it." "But that's such a wild story. Your messmate could not have driven it into a shark over the hook." "I don't know whether it was driven in over the hook, sir," replied Don; "but it stuck in the fish's back and would not come out." The boatswain looked at him thoughtfully, while Don waited to hear his words. "Look here, Lavington," he said, "I liked you, my lad, from the first, and I should be sorry for you to be in serious trouble. I have been your friend, have I not?" "I can't see much friendship in dragging one away from home," said Don, coldly. "I had my duty to do, young man, and a sailor is not allowed to ask questions as to what's right or wrong." "But I was treated like a criminal," said Don. "You were treated far better than pressed men are as a rule especially those who try to break away. But I can't argue that with you. You and your companion are king's men now, or king's boys, and have to do your duty. Let's come back to to-day's work. The captain's offended, and I want to save you from trouble if I can." "It's very kind of you, sir," said Don. "Now tell me this. Do you know what you were going to do when the captain knocked you backwards?" Don was silent. "Well, I'll tell you," said the boatswain. "You were going to strike him again. That's the truth, is it not?" Don remained silent. "It is the truth. Well, have you any idea of what a bit of madness that would have been here?" Don shook his head. "Why, my good lad, you could not commit a greater crime. It means death." "Does it, sir?" "Does it, sir! Why, goodness me, my lad, you must be half mad." "People are sometimes, sir, when they are hit." "Yes, that's true enough; but you must master your temper. Save all that sort of thing up till you fight the French, and then you will be allowed to grow quite mad if you like. Now once more, about that boathook. You did not lose it?" "Yes, sir; we did lose it." "Ah, I thought so." "Because the great fish carried it off." "Humph! Well, go and get yourself dry. If you are lucky, you will hear no more about this, only have the cost of the boathook deducted out of your pay, and perhaps the captain will have forgotten all about your conduct by to-morrow." "What did he say to you?" said Jem, as Don went below. Don told him. "Pay for the boathook?" said Jem. "Well, I'll do that, my lad. But what did he say--the skipper would forget it by to-morrow?" "Yes, Jem." "I hope he will." "But I can't forget that he hit me," said Don sternly. "Now, now, Mas' Don, you mustn't speak like that." "And you must not speak like that, Jem,--_Master Don_. You'll have some of the men hear you." "Well, I'll mind; but you mustn't think any more about that, my lad. He's captain, and can do as he likes. You were going to hit him, weren't you?" "Yes, Jem, I'm afraid I was. I always feel like that if I'm hurt." "But you mustn't now you're a sailor. Say, my lad, things looks rather ugly, somehow. Think the captain will punish you?" "We shall see, Jem." "But hadn't we better--I say, my lad," he whispered, "we could swim ashore." "And the shark?" "Ugh! I forgot him. Well, take a boat, and get right away, for I've been thinking, Mas' Don, it's a very horrid thing to have hit your officer." "But I didn't hit him. He hit me." "But you were going to, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "Strikes me the time's come for running away." Don shook his head. "Why, you was red hot on it the other day, my lad." "Yes, but I've been thinking a great deal about it since, Jem; and it seems to me that it would be too cowardly to run now we are king's sailors." "But not if you were going to be punished for doing nothing." "N-o, Jem," said Don hesitatingly. "And for being hit as the captain hit you." "N-no, Jem; but--but somehow--There, don't say any more about it now." CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. BEFORE THE CAPTAIN. Bosun Jones was right in his hint. The captain forgot all about Don's offence as soon as he was comfortable and rested. He had struck out in his hasty irritation, but his anger soon passed, and had the matter been brought to his notice again, he would have laughed, and said that it was the boy's nature to resent being struck, and that he would make the better sailor. The time passed pleasantly enough in the beautiful harbour, and every day a boat went ashore with a surveying or exploring party, all of whom were examined and cross-examined by their messmates on their return, as to the habits of the New Zealand savages, and many a yarn was invented about the Maoris' acts. Both Don and Jem found their messmates rough, but good-tempered enough, and the days glided by rapidly; but the opportunity was never given Don for joining one of the exploring parties. In every case he was told he was too much of a boy. "Never mind, Mas' Don. You'll grow into a man some day," Jem used to say. The Maoris were quite friendly, and the very stringent rules made at first were relaxed. The officers and men who went ashore were always armed, and limits were placed to the number of savages allowed to visit the ship; but the boarding netting was dispensed with, and it was not deemed necessary to double the sentries. More than once parties of men were allowed on shore, and upon these occasions Don and Jem encountered the tattooed Englishman. "Haven't made up your minds to come and join us?" he said, laughing; and Don shook his head. "Ah, well! I won't persuade you, my lad. P'r'aps you're best where you are. But if you do make up your mind, come to me." "How should we find you?" said Jem, who was careful to acquire knowledge that might be useful. "Ask the first man you see for Tomati Paroni, and he'll bring you to me." "Tomati Paroni," said Don thoughtfully; "is that New Zealand for Tom-- Tom--?" "Tom Brown," said the chief, laughing. "They have all sorts of English words like that." The country was so beautiful, and the shore presented so many attractions, that the officers kept a strict watch over the men for fear of desertion; but there was something which acted more as a deterrent than anything that the officers could say or do, and that was the report that the natives were cannibals. "Lots of 'em would desert," Jem said one night, as he lay in his hammock so close to Don's that they touched, "only--" "Well, only what?" said Don. "They say they'd rather stick on board, and be roasted and basted by the captain and officers, than by the blacks." "They're not blacks, Jem; and I don't believe about the cannibal work." "Well, they arn't blacks certainly, Mas' Don; but I'm pretty suspicious about the other thing. I once thought as Tomati was laughing at us, but it's all true. Why, what d'yer think I see only yes'day?" "Numbers of things. But what in particular?" "Why, one of the big chiefs who come ashore in that long canoe. You know; the one with a figure-head with its tongue sticking out?" "Yes; I know." "Well, he'd got a flute." "What of that? Men have flutes at home. Uncle Josiah had one." "What was it made on?" whispered Jem. "Box-wood, with ivory mountings." "Well, this chiefs flute was of ivory altogether--I mean, of bone." "Well?" "Guess what bone it was." "How can I tell?" "Bone of a man's leg, Mas' Don; and he killed the man whose bone it was." "How do you know?" "Why, Tomati telled me." "Yes, but it might not be true; perhaps the man was boasting." Don was wearied out with a long day's work, and soon dropped off asleep, to be roused up by the men to take the morning watch. Jem and he rolled unwillingly out of their hammocks, and went on deck, to find all dark; and soon after, cold and uncomfortable, they were leaning over the bulwarks together, talking as they scanned the smooth black sea, and the faint outlines of forest and mountain along the silent shore. "This is what I hate in being a sailor," grumbled Jem. "No sooner have you got comfortably off to sleep, and begun giving your mind to it, than you're roused up to keep some watch." "Yes, it is wearisome, Jem." "Wearisome's nothing to it. I was dreaming, Mas' Don, when they routed us up." "So was I, Jem." "What was you dreaming about, Mas' Don?" "Home." "Hah!" said Jem, with a sigh; "so was I. Wonder what my Sally's doing now." "Sitting down to tea, Jem." "What! In the middle of the night?" "It's the middle of the afternoon now, perhaps, Jem, on the other side of the world." "Dessay it is, sir, if you says so; but I never can understand that kind of talk. Say, my lad, how dark it is! Why if four or five of those great war canoes liked to come out now, with a lot of fighting men aboard, they could take this here ship before we could cry Jack Robinson. Look yonder. Isn't that one stealing out from behind that island?" "No, Jem; I see nothing but shadow." "Then p'r'aps it arn't; but I'm always thinking I see 'em coming out full of men." "Fancy, Jem." "So it is, I s'pose. Know how long we're going to stop here, Mas' Don?" "No, Jem. Getting tired of it?" "Tired? Ay, lad. I want to go home." That morning, about a couple of hours after the watch had been relieved, Don was on deck, when he saw one of the long war canoes, with its hideously carved prow and feather-decorated occupants, come sweeping along close to the shore and dash right away at great speed. "Wish we was in her," sighed a voice at his ear. Don turned sharply, to find Jem gazing longingly after the flashing paddles of the canoe, one of which was waved at him as they passed. "What for, Jem?" "To get away from here, Mas' Don. Wish you'd alter your mind. I want to see my Sally once more." "Here, you two! This way," said a severe voice; and the stern-looking master came up. "This way. The captain wants a word with both of you." "The captain?" began Don, as his old trouble flashed into his mind. "That will do. Now then, this way," said the master sternly; and he led them to the quarter-deck, where the captain was standing, with a couple of the officers by his side, and, a little distance in front, Ramsden, the sinister-looking seaman who, since the night they were pressed, had always seemed to bear the two Bristolians ill-will. Don and Jem saluted, and stood before their officer, who looked them over searchingly, his eyes resting on theirs in a fierce, penetrating way that was far from pleasant. Then, turning from them contemptuously, he signed to Ramsden to come forward. "Now," he said sharply, "repeat what you told me just now." "Yes, sir. I had to go below yes'day evening when, as I was going along 'tween the 'ammocks, I hears the word _desert_ and I was that took aback, sir, I--" "Ah! You are the sort of man who would be took aback on hearing such a word," said the first lieutenant, with a sneer. "Yes, sir," said Ramsden. "Let him speak," said the captain, scowling to hide a smile. "Soon as I heard that word _desert_, I felt stopped short like; and then I heard voices making plans for going ashore." "What did they say?" "Can't rec'lect what they said exactly, sir; only as one talked about a boat, and the other about a canoe. It was Lavington as asked about the canoe; and just now, sir, they was watching a canoe that went by, and they exchanged signals." "Yes, I saw them watching that canoe," said the captain, fixing his eyes on Jem. "Yes, sir; and one of the chiefs waved a paddle to them." The captain nodded, and Ramsden was going on with his charge, when he was stopped. "That will do, my man," said the captain; "I know quite enough. Now look here," he continued, turning to Don and Jem, "I am compelled to believe what this man says, for I saw enough to corroborate his testimony; but I will give you an opportunity for defending yourselves. Is what he says true?" Don's lips parted to say it was only about half true; but a feeling of agonised shame checked his words. There was too much truth in it for him to make a bold denial, so he remained silent; and Jem, taking his cue from his companion, was silent too. "Come," said the captain, "I like that. There is honesty in it, my lads; and as you are both young, and pressed men, I will not be so severe as I might for such an offence as yours." "Didn't commit no offence," said Jem sturdily. "Silence, sir! Now then, you know, I suppose, that though we are living a peaceful life out here, these are war times, and the punishment of deserters is--death." Jem started, but Don did not stir. "Now you are both very young, and you have worked so well, and with so much promise of making yourselves sailors, that I should be sorry for you--either of you--to be guilty of such a mad trick as desertion. If you tried it, you would almost certainly be retaken, and--the punishment must follow. If, on the other hand, you escaped, it would be into the savage country before you, where you would fall into the hands of some enemy tribe, who would kill you both like dogs. I daresay you have heard what takes place afterwards, when the Maori tribes have taken prisoners?" Jem shuddered, but Don made no sign. "Ah! I see you know," continued the captain, "so I need say little more. I am satisfied that you will neither of you be guilty of such an act of madness as you contemplated, especially now that I tell you that I stop at nothing which the law gives me power to do for the preservation of the discipline of my ship. These two lads," he said, turning to give an order, "will be placed in irons for the present." He made a sign, and the two prisoners were taken below deck, and placed in irons. "Better than being hung, my lads," said the armourer gruffly; and soon after they were alone, with a sentry on duty not far from where they were seated. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. TOMATL'S PROMISE. "Wonder whether Mike ever had a taste of this sort o' thing, Mas' Don," said Jem, after they had sat in silence some time, Don's face not inviting any attempt at conversation. "He never said anything about being in irons when he spun yarns about adventures." "Jem!" said Don indignantly; and as if it only wanted his companion's words to start him in a furious outburst of passion; "it is shameful! It is a cruel indignity and disgrace." "Hush, hush, my lad! Don't take it that way. They arn't so werry heavy, and they don't hurt much." "Hurt? Not hurt much? Why, they are treating us as if we were thieves." "What, being ironed, sir? Well, it do seem a bit hard." "It's cruel! It's horrible! And he had no right to do it for such an offence." "Steady, my lad, steady. The sentry 'll hear you, and have his turn, p'r'aps, at telling tales." "But he had no right to do this, I say." "P'r'aps not, Mas' Don; but skippers does just what they please when they're out at sea in war time. I thought he was going to hang us once." "He would not dare," said Don. "Well, if he did, I should have liked to have a few words first with Mr Ramsden; for of all the mean, dirty, sneaking chaps I ever set eyes on, he's about the worst." "A mean, cowardly spy!" cried Don. "Ah, that's it; so he is, Mas' Don; a mean, cowardly spy. I couldn't think o' them words, but they're just what he is.--Say, Mas' Don." "Don't, don't, don't, Jem." "Don't what, Mas' Don?" "Don't do that. _Master Don_. It sounds so foolish, and it's ridiculous, seeing what we are." "All right, my lad, I'll be careful; but what I wanted to say was, would there be any harm in taking Master Ramsden by his waistband, and dropping him some night over into the sea?" "Do you want to commit murder, Jem?" "Do I want to commit murder? Nay, Mas' Don, gently, gently; don't talk to a man like that. I only meant to give him a ducking." "Amongst the sharks?" "Ugh! I forgot all about the sharks, Mas' Don. I say, think there are many of 'em about?" "They say there are plenty, and we saw a monster, Jem." "So we did, my lad; so we did, and a nice lot o' worry he's got us in through stealing that boathook. But, look here, how do you feel now?" "Heart-sick and tired of it all, Jem. I wish we had run off when we had the chance." "You do?" "I do. See how we have been served: dragged from our homes, roughly used; bullied and ill-treated; and with that man's word taken before ours. It's too bad--too bad." "Well, it is, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "But you see it was awkward. You couldn't swear as you hadn't thoughts of deserting." "Deserting?" said Don hotly. "I will not have it called deserting. I say it is only claiming our liberty, when we have been seized upon and treated like slaves." "What a weather-cocky way you have got, Mas' Don. Only t'other day you was all on the other tack, and says, says you, `It's deserting, and cowardly,' and a lot more to that tune, and the way you went on at me, sir, made my hair curl." "I had not had this last blow, Jem. I had not been put in irons then like a common thief." "Silence, below there!" cried an angry voice. "Sentry, stop that talking by the prisoners." The marine marched slowly toward them, and growled out his orders. Then, settling his head in his stiff stock, he faced round and marched away. "All right, Jolly," said Jem, good-humouredly; and then drawing closer to his companion in misfortune, he went on talking in a whisper. "Say, Mas' Don, do you mean it now?" "Mean what?" "Going? It's now or never. If we waits till we goes off to sea again our chance is gone." "I mean it, Jem." "That's a good bargain, my lad," said Jem, slapping him on the knee. "Then the sooner we're off the better." "How can we go?" "How? Easy enough. Get on deck, slide down a rope over the side when it's dark." "In irons?" "They don't weigh much. We could get hold of an oar or two, or lower down a grating, and hold on by that till we'd swam ashore." "And the sharks, Jem?" "Oh, those sharks!" cried Jem, pettishly. "I always forget them. I wish there wasn't such a thing as a shark on the face of the earth. Well, we must try some other way." "That's easy enough to say, Jem; but what way is there?" "Oh, I don't know yet, Mas' Don; but they say, `where there's a will there's a way.' P'r'aps I can think it out. 'Member that big case as was too wide to come into the lower warehouse?" "Yes." "Well, your uncle said he'd be obliged to have the doorposts cut, but I thought that out after I'd measured it, and I found that it would just go in at the top warehouse doors if we hauled it up with the crane." "You used to call it winding anything up, Jem." "Ay, but I hadn't been to sea then, Mas' Don. Well, didn't I have that there case up to the top floor, and then lower it down through all the traps, and get it into the ground floor without the door being cut; and when your uncle come in, he stared, and asked me how I'd managed it?" "Yes, I remember it all," said Don sadly. "Look here, you two. I don't want to be hard," said the marine; "but you'll get me into a row. Now, are you going to clap on the hatchways, or am I to report you?" "All right, Jolly; we won't talk any more," said Jem; and he kept his word that night. There was no release next day, and very drearily it passed till towards evening, when Jem waited till the sentry's back was turned, and put his lips to Don's ear. "I've got it, Mas' Don," he said. "What, can you see your way to escape?" "I've hit it out, my lad. Look here. Do you know them's men's irons you've got on?" "Yes. They don't make irons for boys." "Then look here, my lad; it may mean a bit of skin off; but all you've got to do is to squeeze your feet through those rings, and then I'll be bound to say a thin slip of a fellow like you can creep out of the iron round your waist." "I don't think so, Jem. I'm stouter than you fancy." "Oh no, you're not, and I dessay it'll be a tight fit; but you do it." "And suppose I do get out of them, what about you?" "About me, Mas' Don? Ah, I don't know about me; but you could get right away, slide down the rope, get the gig up alongside--" "When it's swinging from the davits, Jem?" "There you go again," grumbled Jem. "I never did see such a fellow for chucking stumbling-blocks all over the place for a man to hit his shins against." "Then propose something possible. And besides, you don't suppose I'm going away without you." "But I can't get my irons off, and you can get yours." "I don't know that," said Don, trying; and, to his great surprise, finding that he could drag the ring over his ankle without much difficulty. "There, I told you so. Slip it on again 'fore the sentry sees." The marine was not likely to see, for the place was very dark where they sat, and for a long time they discussed the matter in a whisper, but only to be obliged to come to the conclusion that it was impossible to escape, unless Don would go alone. "Well, if you won't go alone, you won't, Mas' Don," said Jem, in an ill-used tone; "but I do say as it's shabby of you, after I've thought about it so much." The second night of their imprisonment passed slowly, and they were cudgelling their brains next day, when they were summoned on deck, received a severe reprimand, and, after their irons had been taken off, were told to go to their duty. Then a week passed of land surveying and chart making, during which time the intercourse with the natives had been kept on a very friendly footing; and then a rumour ran round the ship that they were to sail after a certain channel had been sounded and the chart made. "It's all over, Mas' Don," said Jem gloomily. "We shall go sailing away all over the world, and be took by the French, and never see home again!" Don made no reply, but went about his duty gloomily enough till toward afternoon, when a canoe came off from the shore, manned by about fifty of the New Zealanders, and with Tomati and Ngati in the stern. These two were soon on board, and were entertained by the captain, who made them several useful presents. How he managed it Don hardly knew himself, but he contrived to get close behind the tattooed Englishman, and said softly, just as the officers were laughing and watching Ngati, who was going through his war-dance for their delectation, and distorting his features to the greatest extent,-- "Could you come after dark to-night in your canoe, and take us ashore?" "Hist! Mind what you're saying," replied the man, clapping his legs loudly, as if to encourage his companion to fresh exertions and distortions of his countenance. "I want to come," said Don softly, in the midst of the applause. "I daren't do it, my lad. They'd come down after me if I did; but I'll send Ngati. He'll come in his little canoe." Don's heart beat wildly at these words, and he had no chance to say more, for Tomati went toward the officers, talked with them for a while; and then, as Don watched, he saw him go to the big chief, clap him on the shoulder, and say something which made the great fellow smile. The New Zealanders seemed to show more interest in the appointments of the ship than they had displayed before, and the officers were civil enough to them, exchanging presents, and getting from the dusky warriors greenstone ornaments and weapons in exchange for powder and tobacco. Don's heart had ceased to beat, and he was thinking despondently that he might as well give up all idea of evasion, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and looking up, it was to encounter the hideous face of the big chief, who said, with a peculiar laugh,-- "My pakeha. Bring gunpowder plenty. Wait by big ship. Dark." It was not a very clear promise, but Don realised that it meant a chance of escape, and his eyes flashed with excitement, as the chief went on. "Plenty gunpowder. Bring, bring. My pakeha." He went off directly to where some of his fellows were standing about the deck, and hardly realising whether the chief was to be depended on, Don was about to go in search of Jem, when he felt a chill of despair, for, as he turned, he encountered the sinister countenance of Ramsden, his eye fixed upon him in a watchful way, and a satisfied smile playing about his lips. Did he hear? Did he know? If he did, Don felt certain that the scoundrel would go and report all to one of the officers, and so get it to the captain's ears. Still there was hope. He might not have heard, and as to the New Zealand men speaking to him, they were doing that to nearly every sailor they encountered on the deck. Still he felt that it would be better not to be seen speaking to Jem, and he crossed to another part of the ship, and stood watching the leave-taking of the visitors, who descended into their canoe laden with presents and the objects they had obtained by barter. Tomati was the last to descend, and he was standing in the gangway with a bottle of rum and a canister of powder in his hands, when Don heard the first lieutenant say to him jocularly,-- "I say, my fine fellow: I believe if the truth was known, you slipped off from Norfolk Island, and took up your residence here." The man made no answer for a few moments, but stood looking the officer full in the face. "What island did you say, sir?" he said at last. "Norfolk Island. Am I right?" "I'm a chief of this tribe, sir," said the man sturdily, "and these are my people. I'm not an Englishman now." He went down into his canoe, and it darted away, propelled by fifty paddles, while the lieutenant turned away laughing, and went to the captain. "That man's an escaped convict, or I'm a Dutchman, sir," he said; and they went forward talking. Don cast an eye round for Jem, but he was not in sight. Ramsden was though; and, go where he would for the rest of that day, Don always woke to the fact that this man was at hand, apparently taking no notice, but watching him. It seemed as if he would never have a chance to speak to Jem about what had passed; but at last Ramsden went below, and after a little inquiry Don learned that Jem was aloft in the foretop, helping a couple more men at repairing some of the toggles and reef points of a sail. Don ran up as fast as his skill would allow, and had hardly reached the top when Ramsden came back on deck, and began seeking him out. Don paused, out of sight now, to watch the man in turn, and saw him go from place to place, looking about searchingly, and undoubtedly for him. "Hullo, my lad!" said Jem cheerily; "come to help?" Don shook his head, and remained watching the progress of the men, but giving Jem a meaning look from time to time, sufficient to stimulate his curiosity, and make him on the _qui vive_. Then to avoid suspicion, he hurried down, and had hardly reached the deck again before Ramsden, who had again been below, came once more on deck, and remained watching him till dark. "Let's get under the lee of this bulwark," said Don, when at last he found an opportunity for speaking to Jem alone. "We shall get in a row if we are seen," said Jem. "But it's too dark for us to be seen," whispered Don; and this seeming to be the case, they went into the shadow cast by one of the quarter boats, and lay down. "What is it, Mas' Don?" said Jem in a whisper, as soon as they had satisfied themselves that they were alone. Don related what had passed; but Jem did not seem to take to it. "No," he said; "he is not likely to come, and if he did, they'd hear his canoe, and nail him. What time did he say?" "Time? There was no time named." "Then how shall we know, my lad? We can't watch for him all night." "Why not?" said Don excitedly. "It seems to be our last chance." "Well, I dunno," said Jem, gloomily; "it don't seem to me like a chance at all. But I'll do what you do, my lad. I'll stand by you." "Then let's begin our watch at once, after we've put a rope overboard from the forechains, so as to slip down when the canoe comes." "And what then?" "Then, Jem, we must swim to it, and they'll take us aboard." "And the sharks, my lad?" "Sharks!" said Don despairingly. "I'd forgotten them." "That's what I used to do, but you always remembered." "Jem," said Don, after a pause, "we must chance the sharks. They will not see us in the dark." "But if--No; I won't show the white feather, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Come on, and we'll get a rope over to starboard and larboard too." "No need, Jem," said Don. "The canoe is sure to come from the land side." "All right, sir. Come on, and don't say another word." Jem crept away, keeping in the shadow, and moving very slowly, so as not to attract the attention of the watch, and Don followed, while, as soon as he had gone a few yards, what looked like a dog slowly crept by on all fours close beneath the bulwark, after getting up from a crouching position just by where the pair had been discussing their chances of escape. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. THE ALARM. There were so many opportunities for lying _perdu_ on the deck of a man-of-war on a dark night that the shadowy figure had no difficulty in keeping pretty close to Don Lavington and his companion as, decided now upon their course of action, they laid hold upon a stout line where it was coiled up, and after running a sufficiency over the side to touch water, made it fast close to the main chains. This done, they went cautiously forward so as to avoid the watch, and after being nearly seen, more than once, succeeded in getting a second line over the side close to the fore chains, in happy unconsciousness of the fact that the shadowy-looking figure was watching every movement. As is the fashion aboard a man-of-war, the actors in this scene were barefooted, and thus able to pass quietly along the well-scrubbed deck; but unfortunately for them, the sailor playing the spy had the same advantage, and kept them in view unnoticed and unheard. Now he was lying under the bulwarks, and so close that Jem's foot almost touched his shoulder. Another time he was lying in one of the boats slung from the davits--then behind a coil of rope--behind the cook's galley--in the lee of a cask--once in a water barrel which was to be filled with the icy fluid of the river which came down from one of the mountains; always, with the activity of a monkey, contriving to be somewhere close at hand, till they stood at last, silent and watchful, about mid-way between the fore and main chains, peering out into the darkness shoreward and listening for the faintest sound from off the sea. It was a wonderfully still night, and though out to the east the restless waves beat heavily on reef and shore, their action here was a slow heaving and curling over on the black metallic sand with a sound that to those on shipboard was like a whisper, but whose movement could be seen by a faint line of lambent light just in the blackest part to leeward of the ship, where sea touched shore. Sometimes this was so faint as to be hardly visible to the best-trained sight; at others it was as if some phosphorescent serpent was gliding swiftly along the sands, and it was in this direction that Don strained his eyes in the hope of catching sight of Ngati's canoe, whose paddles would churn up the water and shed on either side a faint golden light. On board there were the customary anchor lanterns, and the faint glow thrown up from the skylights; but these seemed to have scarcely any effect upon the darkness, which hung down like a pall over the vessel, and Don's spirits rose as he felt how well they were concealed. Then they sank once more, for Jem placed his lips close to his ear and whispered,-- "It's too dark, my lad; we shall never be able to see the canoe if she comes." Just then Don pressed his arm, and they listened together to what sounded like a faint sawing noise, which stopped and was renewed several times, and was followed by a slight splash. The sounds came from forward, apparently somewhere in the direction of the foreshrouds; but though they listened intently it was heard no more. "Fish," said Jem in a whisper, "trying to climb up into the ship, and then tumbled back into the sea." "Nonsense!" said Don, shortly. "Now you look to the left, and I'll look to the right." "Right, my lad. I'll look, but she won't come." The searching scrutiny went on, and to Don, as he strained his eyes, it seemed as if all kinds of uncouth-looking monsters kept looming up out of the sea and disappearing; and though from time to time he told himself that it was all fancy, the various objects that his excited vision formed were so real that it was hard to believe that they were only the coinage of his fancy. He turned and looked on board at the various lights, faintly-seen, with the result that his eyes were rested, while he listened to the monotonous talking of the watch and an occasional burst of laughter from the gunroom, or the regular murmur from the forecastle. Then he watched shoreward again for the faint golden flash made by the paddles of Ngati's canoe. No lambent glow, no sound of paddling, not even a murmur from the shore, where the native huts were gathered together, and the great _whare_ stood with its singularly carved posts representing human form over human form in strange combinations, with grotesque heads, pearly shell eyes, and tongues protruding from distorted mouths. Then Jem caught Don's arm in turn, for there was a splash far away to the left, below where, faintly-seen, a great sugar-loaf mountain rose high into the heavens. The splash was not repeated, but, just as they had given up listening for it, once more the dull sawing sound came out of the darkness, but this time, instead of being forward it was away aft--how far they could not tell, for in the darkness sounds, like lights, may be close at hand or a couple of hundred yards away--it is hard to tell which. The faint sawing went on for some time, ceased, and was renewed, to finish as before with a curious rustling and a splash. "What can that be, Jem?" whispered Don. "Not going to wenture an observation again," replied Jem, sourly. Then all was still save the murmurs of voices inboard, and Don stood pressed against the bulwark listening intently, and thinking that before they went below to their hammocks they must haul up the lines again and coil them down, or their appearance would betray that something had been going on. How long they had been waiting since the last sound was heard, Don could not tell; but all was so wonderfully still that the silence was oppressive; and after arriving at the conclusion that the canoe would not come, as from the utter absence of light or movement ashore it was evident that none of the natives were stirring, he turned to Jem. "Asleep?" he whispered. "I arn't a horse, am I?" was the surly reply. "Nice place to go to sleep standing up, Mas' Don.--Think he'll come?" "I in afraid not, now." "What shall us do?" Don was silent. "Say, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, after a thoughtful pause, "seems a pity to waste them ropes after--" "Hist!" Don's hand was on his lips, for voices were heard from aft, and directly after they heard the captain say,-- "Yes; extremely dark. Think we shall have a storm?" "No," said the first lieutenant, "the glass is too high. Very dark indeed." Then two faint sparks of light could be seen, indicating that the speakers were smoking, and the low murmuring of their voices suggested that they were chatting carelessly together. "Keep your hand down, Mas' Don," said Jem in a whisper, after removing it. "They can't hear us, and if they did they'd think it was the watch. Say, look here, seems a pity to waste them ropes after we've got 'em down ready." "Yes, Jem, it does." "Such a short way to slide down, and no fear o' their breaking, same as there was in that cock-loft. What d'yer say?" "What to?" "Let's slide down and swim for it. 'Tarn't quarter of a mile. You could do that easy." "Yes, Jem; I think so." "And I'd help you if you got tired. Let's go." "But the sharks." "There I goes again. I always forgets them sharks; but look here, my lad, it's dark as pitch." "Quite, Jem." "We can't see twenty yards afore us, not clear." "Not ten, Jem." "Well, that's through the air. We couldn't see an inch through water." "What of that?" "More couldn't the sharks." "Think not, Jem?" "I feel 'bout sure on it. Look here, Mas' Don, I arn't got any money, but if I had, I'd wager half-a-guinea that all the sharks are at home and fast asleep; and if there's any of 'em shut out and roaming about in the streets--I mean in the sea--it's so dark that they couldn't see more than an inch before their noses; so let's open our knives ready, in case one should come, so that we could dive down and stab him, same as the natives do, and then swim on ashore. I'll risk it: will you?" Don was silent for a few moments. "Don't say _yes_, my lad, if you'd rayther not," said Jem, kindly. "I don't want to persuade you." "I'm ready, Jem. I was thinking whether it was right to let you go." "Oh, never you mind about me, my lad. Now, look here, shall us one go down each rope, or both down one?" "Both down this one close here, and whoever goes down first can wait for the other. Yes, Jem; I'll go first." "When?" "Now, at once." "Hoo--ray!" whispered Jem in Don's ear, so sharply that it produced a strange tickling sensation. "Open your knife, Jem." "Right, my lad; I'm ready." "This way, then. Hist!" Don caught Jem's arm in a firm grip as he was moving along the deck, each feeling somewhat agitated at the daring venture of exchanging firm planks for the treacherous sea, infested as they knew it was by horrible creatures which could tear them limb from limb. Jem had heard a sound at the same moment, and he needed no telling that he should listen. For from some distance off along the shore there was a faint splash, and, as they strained their eyes in the direction from whence it had come, they could see flashes of pale light, which they knew were caused by paddles. "It's them, Jem," whispered Don, excitedly. "We must not start yet till the canoe is close up. I wish I had told him that I would make some signal." "It'll be all right, my lad," said Jem huskily. "Give 'em time. Think the watch 'll see 'em?" "I hope not," panted Don, as he strained his eyes in the direction of the faintly flashing paddles, which seemed to be moved very cautiously. "Think it is them, Jem?" "Who could it be?" "Might it be a war canoe coming to try and capture the ship?" "Not it," said Jem sturdily; "it's Ugly, as put out his tongue, coming to help us away. My, Mas' Don, how I should like to chop him under the chin next time he does that pretty trick of his." "Silence, man! Listen, and look out. Let's get close to the rope first." They crept softly toward the rope hanging down from the main chains, ready to their hand, and, as they crept, the dark figure that had seemed to be spying over their movements crept too, but on toward the quarter-deck, where the captain and the first lieutenant were lolling over the rail, and talking gently as they smoked--rather a rare custom in those days. "It's the canoe, Jem," whispered Don; "and it's coming closer." They strained their eyes to try and make out the men in the long, low vessel, but it was too dark. They could not even hear the plash of a paddle, but they knew that some boat--that of friend or foe--was slowly coming toward the ship, for the flashing of the paddles in the phosphorescent water grew more plain. "Ready, Jem?" "Yes, I'm ready, lad. Rope's just where you stand." "What!" cried the captain's voice loudly, and then there was a quick murmur of talking. "What's that mean, Mas' Don?" "Don't know. Some order." "Boat ahoy!" cried one of the watch forward, and there was a buzz of excitement which told that the paddling of the canoe had been seen. "Watch there forward!" roared the captain. "Ay, ay, sir," came back. "Follow me, Jem; we must swim to her now." "I'm after you, my lad." "Jem!" in a tone of despair. "What is it!" "The rope's cut!" "What? So it is. Never mind. After me! There's the one in the forechains." In the midst of a loud buzz of voices, and the pad, pad--pad, pad of bare feet on the deck, Jem and Don reached the forechains; and Jem ran his hand along in the darkness till he felt the knot by which he had secured the rope. "Here she is, Mas' Don. Now, then, over with you quick, or I shall be a-top of your head." "I've got it," whispered Don. Then in a voice full of despair,-- "This is cut, too!" At the same moment the captain's voice rang out,-- "Look out there, you in the watch forward; two men are trying to leave the ship!" CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. WHAT MR. JONES THOUGHT. "What's to be done, Mas' Don?" whispered Jem, whom this second proof of treachery against them seemed to have robbed of the power to act. "This way," cried a voice, which they recognised as Ramsden's. "By the forechains." "Oh, if I had hold of you," snarled Jem, as he ground his teeth. "Do you hear me?" whispered Don. "Come on." He spoke from where he stood on the bulwark, holding by one of the shrouds, and offering his hand to Jem, who could not see it, but climbed to his side. "Header?" he whispered. "Yes.--Off!" Don gave the word as he glanced in the direction where he believed the canoe to lie; and then, raising his hands above his head, he sprang right off the bulwark into the sea. _Splash_! A moment's pause and then-- _Splash_! Jem had followed suit, and there was a faint display--if the expression is allowable--of water fireworks, as innumerable pinhead-like beads of light flashed away in every direction. "Lanthorns here!" cried the captain. "Sentries, quick! This way." He reached the spot from which Don and Jem had taken their daring leap, and in less than a minute the light of a couple of lanthorns was thrown upon the sea. "Come back!" roared the captain, "or I fire. Marines, make ready." The lanthorns' light gleamed further on the sea as those who held them clambered up the shrouds and held them at arms' length, and then dimly-seen were the backs of the heads of the two swimmers, who made the water swirl as they struck out with all their might. "Do you hear, you scoundrels?" roared the captain again. "Come back, or I fire." There was no reply and the heads began to grow more faint in the gloom, while now the news had spread through the ship, and officers and men came tumbling up the companion ladder and out of their cabins. "Marines, present--fire!" cried the captain. There were two sharp clicks and as many tiny showers of sparks. That was all. "Why, you were not loaded!" cried the captain, fiercely, "Where is the lieutenant? Where is the sergeant? Load, you scoundrels, load!" The men grounded arms, and began to load quickly, the thudding of their iron ramrods sounding strangely in the still night air. "Pipe away the first cutter!" cried the captain. "Mr Rogerson, bring those scoundrels back." The shrill pipe of the boatswain was heard, and there was a rush of feet as the captain shouted again,-- "Present--fire!" There was a sharp flash, a loud report, and the captain stamped with rage. "Fire, you scoundrel, fire!" he roared at the second man, who was about to lower his clumsy musket, after tugging in vain at the trigger, when the piece went off, and the bullet fled skyward, sending the nearest lanthorn held up in the shrouds out of its holder's hand, to fall with a splash in the sea, and float for a few moments before it filled and sank, the candle burning till the water touched the wick. "'Pon my word!" cried the captain. "Nice state of discipline. Now you--fire again. And you, sir, load. Can you see the men, marines?" "No, sir. Right out of sight." "Then fire where they were when you saw them last." "But they won't be there now, sir." "Silence, you scoundrel! How dare you? Fire!" _Bang_. "Now you: are you ready?" "Yes, sir." "Fire!" _Bang_. "Load again!" cried the captain. "Now, you scoundrels, come back or you shall have a volley." A strange noise came off the sea. "Hark! What's that?" cried the captain. "A cry for help!" "No, sir." "What was it, then?" "Beg pardon, sir; but I think it was one on 'em a-larfin'." The captain gave the speaker--one of the warrant officers--a furious look. "Now, then, is that boat going to be all night?" he shouted. "All ready, sir. Lower away." The boat kissed the sea with a faint splash; she was thrust off; and as the oars dropped and the men gave way the cutter went rapidly through the water, at a rate which would have soon made the fugitives prisoners but for the fact that boat and swimmers were taking different directions, and the distance between them increased at every stroke. "They've taken no lanthorn!" cried the captain. "Surely no one's orders were ever worse obeyed." "Shall I call them back, sir?" said the second lieutenant. "No, no; let them find it out for themselves. Here, marines, ten of you load. Quick, my lads, clear the way from up here." "Make ready, take good aim at the scoundrels--present--fire!" This time the whole of the pieces went off with a loud rattle, which brought lights out in the New Zealand village, and a buzz of excitement came from the men. "More lanthorns there!" cried the captain. "See them?" he cried, to the officer in the boat. "Not yet, sir." "Take a sweep round to the southward. They're more there." "Ay, ay, sir!" came faintly out of the darkness; and the dull rattle of the oars reached those on deck. "I'll have those two back, dead or alive!" cried the captain, stamping about in his rage. "Pipe down the second cutter." His orders were obeyed, and in a short time, with a lanthorn in bow and stern, the second boat touched the water, and rowed off, the officer in command receiving instructions to bear off more still to the southward, and finally sweep round so as to meet the first boat. Directly this was started a happy thought seemed to strike the captain, who had a third boat lowered, with instructions to row right ashore, land the men, and divide them in two parties, which would strike off to right and left, stationing a man at every fifty yards; and these were to patrol the beach to and fro, keeping watch and a sharp look out for the fugitives. "That will checkmate them, Mr Jones," he said. "I wish I had thought of this before. Now go." Mr Bosun Jones was in command of this boat, and he gave orders to his men, the oars splashed, and away they went into the darkness, their lights growing fainter and fainter, till they seemed to be mere specks in the distance; but they did not die out, and as those left on deck watched the progress, they saw the lanthorns of the last boat become stationary, and knew that the men had reached the shore, while the lanthorns of the second cutter were faintly visible, moving slowly far away to the south. The captain rubbed his hands with satisfaction, and kept walking to the gangway and using his night-glass without any greater result than that of seeing a couple of faint specks of light, when he got the boats' lanthorns into the field. Then he listened in the hope of hearing shouts, which would suggest the capture of the fugitives; but half an hour--an hour--glided by, and all was still. The buzz and cries which had arisen from the collection of huts had ceased, and the lights shown there had been extinguished, while the darkness which hung over the sea appeared to grow more dense. At last there was a hail about a hundred yards away, and the officer in the first boat answered the captain's eager inquiry. "No, sir; no luck. Not a sign of any one. I'm afraid--" "They have got ashore and escaped?" "No, sir," said the lieutenant, gravely; "I don't think a man could swim ashore in this darkness and escape." "Why, the distance is very short!" "Yes, sir; but there are obstacles in the way." "Obstacles?" "Well, sir, I've seen some tremendous sharks about in the clear water; and I don't think any one could get any distance without having some of the brutes after him." A terrible silence followed this declaration, and the captain drew his breath hard. "Come aboard," he said. "It is too dark for further search to be made." The boat was rowed alongside, the falls lowered, the hooks adjusted, and she was hoisted up and swung inboard. "I'd give anything to capture the scoundrels," said the captain, after walking up and down for a few minutes with the lieutenant; "but I don't want the poor fellows to meet with such a fate as that. Do you think it likely?" "More than likely, sir," said the lieutenant, coldly. The captain turned aft, made his way to the quarter-deck, and remained there attentively watching shoreward to where he could faintly see the lights of the last boat. "We must leave further search till morning," muttered the captain; and giving his order, signal lamps were run up to recall the boats; and before very long they were answered, and the lanthorns of Bosun Jones' boat could soon after be seen heading slowly for the ship, the second boat following her example a few minutes later. "No signs of them, Mr Jones?" said the captain, as his warrant officer reached the deck to report himself. "No, sir," said the boatswain, sadly; "but I heard a sound, and one of my men heard it too." "A sound? What sound?" "Like a faint cry of distress, sir." "Yes; and what did you make of that?" The boatswain was silent a moment. "The harbour here swarms with sharks, sir, and the cry sounded to me like that of a man being drawn under water." "No, no; no, no; not so bad as that," said the captain, rather excitedly. "They've got to shore, and we will have them back to-morrow. The people will give them up either by threats or bribes." "I hope so, sir," said the boatswain, coldly. And, then, as he went below, "Poor lad! I'd have given a year of my life rather than it should have happened. This pressing is like a curse to the service." By this time the officer in the last boat had reported himself, the crews were dismissed, the watch set, and all was silence and darkness again. About dawn the captain, after an uneasy night, came on deck, glass in hand, to search the shore, and try to make out some sign of the fugitives; but just as he had focussed his glass, he caught sight of some one doing the very same thing, and going softly to the bows he found that the officer busy with the glass was Bosun Jones, who rose and saluted his superior. "See anything, Mr Jones?" the captain said. "No, sir; only the regular number of canoes drawn up on the beach." "Have you thought any more about what you said you heard last night?" "Yes, sir, a great deal." "But you don't think the poor lad met such a fate as you hinted at?" "Yes, sir, I do," said the boatswain sternly; "and I feel as if I had helped to bring him to such a death." "Mr Jones," said the captain, haughtily, "you merely did your duty as a warrant officer in the king's service. If that unfortunate boy met such a disastrous fate, it was in an attempt to desert." The captain closed his glass with a loud snap, and walked away, while Bosun Jones stood with his brow knit and his lips compressed, gazing straight before him as the sun rose and shed a flood of light over the glorious prospect. But to the bluff petty officer everything seemed sad and gloomy, and he went below seeing nothing but the frank, manly features of young Don Lavington, as he muttered to himself,-- "Not a chance of escape. Poor boy! Poor boy!" CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE FUGITIVES. Don and Jem plunged almost simultaneously into the black, cold water, and felt the sea thundering in their ears. Then Jem, being broader and stouter than his companion, rose to the surface and looked round for Don; but a few seconds of agony ensued before the water parted and the lad's head shot up into the faint light shed by the lanthorns. "Now for it, Mas' Don," whispered Jem; "think as it's a race, and we're going to win a cup at a 'gatta. Slow and sure, sir; slow and sure, long, steady strokes, and keep together." "They're calling to us to stop, Jem," whispered Don. "Let 'em call, Mas' Don. Somebody else seems a-calling of me, and that's my Sally. Oh, don't I wish I hadn't got any clothes." "Can they see us?" whispered Don, as they swam steadily on. "I don't believe they can, sir; and if they can, they won't see us long. Shouldn't be surprised if they lowered a boat." "Ah! Look out!" whispered Don. "Shall we dive?" For he heard the clicking of the muskets as they missed fire. "Well, I do call that cowardly," said Jem, as he heard the order to load; "shooting at a couple of poor fellows just as if they was wild duck." "Swim faster, Jem," said Don, as he gazed back over his shoulders at the lights as the shots rang out. "No, no; swim slower, my lad. They can't see us; and if they could, I don't believe as the men would try and hit us. Ah! Not hit, are you?" "No, Jem; are you?" "Not a bit of it, my lad. There they go again. Steady. We're all right now, unless a boat comes after us. We shall soon get ashore at this rate, and the tide's helping up, and carrying us along." "Toward shore, Jem, or out to sea?" "Shore, of course," said Jem, as he swam on his side, and kept an eye on the faint lights of the ship. "Say, Mas' Don, they won't hang us, will they, if they ketches us?" "What made you say that?" "Because here comes a boat after us.--Hear the skipper?" "Yes; but the canoe--where is the canoe?" Don raised himself, and began to tread water, as he looked in the direction where they had seen the water flash beneath the paddles. "I dunno, my lad. Can't see nothing but the lights of the ship. Better swim straight ashore. We sha'n't be able to see no canoe to-night." They swam steadily on, hearing only too plainly the plans made for their recapture. The orders, the creaking of the falls, even the plash made by the boats, as they kissed the water, and the dull rattle of the oars in the rowlocks was carried in the silence of the night distinctly to their ears, while the regular plash, plash, plash, as the oars dipped, sent a thrill through Don, and at times seemed to chill his energy. But these checks were almost momentary. There was a sense of freedom in being away from the ship, and, in spite of the darkness, a feeling of joyous power in being able to breast the long heaving swell, and pass on through the water. "Better not talk, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as they swam; "sound goes so easily over the water." "No, I'm not going to talk," said Don; "I want all my breath for swimming." "Don't feel tired, do you?" "Not a bit." "That's right, lad. Stick to it steady like. Their lanthorns aren't much good. Don't you be skeart; we can see them plain enough, but they can't see us." "But it seems as if they could," whispered Don, as they saw a man standing up in the bows of one of the boats, holding a lanthorn on high. "Yes, seems," whispered Jem; "but there's only our heads out of water, and only the tops o' them sometimes. Say, that must ha' been fancy about the canoe." "No, Jem; she's somewhere about." "Glad on it: but I wish she'd come and pick us up." They swam on silently toward the shore, listening to the shouts of the men, and watching alternately the lights of the boats and those of the ship. All at once a curious noise assailed Don's ear. "What's the matter, Jem?" he whispered, in alarm. "Matter?" said Jem, greatly to his relief. "Nothing, as I knows on." "But that noise you made?" "I didn't make no noise." "You did, just now." "Why, I was a-larfin' quiet-like, so as to make no row." "Oh!" "Thinking about them firing a volley at us in the dark. Wonder where the bullets went?" "Don't talk, Jem; they may hear us." "What! A whisper like that, my lad? Not they. Boats is a long way off, too, now." The excitement had kept off all sense of fear, and so far Don had not seemed to realise the peril of their position in swimming through the darkness to land; for even if there had been a canoe coming to their help, the lowering of the boats seemed to have scared its occupants away, and though the sea was perfectly calm, save its soft, swelling pulsation, there were swift currents among the islands and points, which, though easily mastered by canoe or boat with stout rowers, would carry in an imperceptible manner a swimmer far from where he wished to go. But they swam steadily on for some time longer, Jem being the first to break the silence. "Say, Mas' Don," he whispered, "did you hear oars?" "No, Jem." "I thought I did. I fancy one of the boats put off without a lanthorn. Weren't there three?" "Yes, I think so." "Well, you can see two of 'em easy like." "Yes, Jem; I can see." "Then there's another cruising about in the dark, so we must be careful." There was another interval of steady swimming, during which they seemed to get no nearer to the shore, and at last Jem spoke again. "Say, Mas' Don, don't you feel as if you'd like a cup o' tea?" "No." "I do. I'm as dry as sawdus'. S'pose we're nearly there, but I can't touch bottom. I tried just now." They swam on, with the lights of the boat farther off than ever, and the ship more distant still. "Getting tired, Jem?" "N-no. Could go on for about another week. Are you?" "My clothes seem so heavy. Can you see the shore?" "I can see the beach right afore us, but can't tell how nigh it is. Never mind about your clothes, my lad; but they're a great noosance at a time like this. Take your strokes long, and slow as you can." "That's what I'm doing, Jem, but--do you think it's much further?" "Now, lookye here, Mas' Don; if ever there was a good-tempered chap it was--I mean is--Jem Wimble; but if you gets talking like that, you aggravates me to such a degree that I must speak." Jem spoke angrily, and with unwonted excitement in his manner. "Is it much furder, indeed? Why, of course it arn't. Swim steady, and wait." Jem closed in as much as was possible after raising himself in the water, and scanning the distant shore; and as he did so a cold chill of dread--not on his own account--ran through him, for he felt that they were certainly no nearer shore than they were before. "Throw your left shoulder a little more forward, Mas' Don," he said calmly; "there's a p'int runs out here, I think, as'll make the journey shorter." Don obeyed in silence, and they swam on, with Jem watchfully keeping his eyes upon his companion, who was now deeper in the water. "Jem," said Don, suddenly. "Yes, Mas' Don. Take it coolly, my lad. We're getting close there. Oh, what a lie!" he added to himself, with a chill of misery unnerving him. "Jem." "Ay, ay, Mas' Don." "If you escape--" "If I escape!" whispered Jem, angrily. "Now, what's the use o' your talking like that? Escape, indeed! Why, I feel as if I could live in the water, if I had plenty to eat and drink." "Listen to me," said Don, hoarsely. "If you escape, tell my mother I always loved her, even when I was obstinate. Tell her we didn't run away, and that--that I didn't take that money, Jem. You'll tell her that?" "I won't tell her nor nobody else nothing of the sort," said Jem. "I'm too busy swimming to think o' no messages, and so are you. Steady-- steady. Bit tired, lad?" "Tired, Jem? My arms feel like lead." "Turn over and float a bit, dear lad, and rest yourself." "No," said Don. "If I turn over I shall be too helpless to keep up, and I can't turn back.--Jem, I'm beat out." "You're not!" cried Jem, in so loud and angry a voice, that the occupants of the pursuing boats must have heard them if they had been near. "You've got to keep on swimming steady, as I tells you, and if you says another word to me 'bout being beat, I'll give you such a shove aside o' the head as'll duck you under." Don made no answer, but swam on feebly, with the water rising over his lips at every stroke; and as Jem swam by him he could hear the lad's breath come quickly, and with a hoarse, panting sound. "And I can't leave him, even to; save myself," groaned Jem. "Oh, Sally, Sally, my gal, I did love you very true; and if I never see you again, good-bye--good-bye!" It seemed to poor Jem Wimble that his thoughts were so heavy that they sank him lower in the water; but he had a buoyant heart, which is the surest and best of life preservers; and taking a long breath, and setting his teeth, he swam on. "Not so very far now, Mas' Don," he said. "You feel better now, don't you?" "Jem." "Yes, lad." "It's getting darker. I want to keep on, but I can't. Can you shake hands?" "No!" cried Jem, fiercely. "You turn over and float." Don uttered a sigh, and obeyed in a feeble way, while Jem ceased his striking out for shore, and placed one arm under Don's neck. "It's all right, my lad. Don't lose heart," he said. "It's wonderful easy to float; but you're tired. It's your clothes does it. You're a wonderful good swimmer, Mas' Don; but the wonderflest swimmers can't swim for ever in clothes. That's resting you, arn't it? I'm fresh as a lark, I am. So 'll you be dreckly, lad. Keep cool. Just paddle your hands a bit. We're close in shore, only it's so dark. We've done 'em. Boats is right away." "Are they--are they right away, Jem?" "Yes, my lad, thank goodness!" Don groaned. "Don't do that, my lad. You do make me savage when you won't be plucky. Why, you can swim miles yet, and you shall, as soon as you're rested. I say, how savage the capen will be when he finds he can't ketch us!" "Jem, my lad," said Don, quietly; "don't talk to me as if I were a child. It's very good of you, and--kind--but--but I'm done, Jem--I'm done." "You're not!" cried Jem, savagely. "Say that again, and I'll hit you in the mouth. You arn't done, and it's the way with you. You're the obsnittest chap as ever was. You've got to swim ashore as soon as you're rested, and I say you shall." Don made no reply, but he floated with his nostrils clear of the water, and smiled as he gazed straight up in the dark sky. "There. It was time I spoke," continued Jem. "Some chaps loses heart about nothing." "Nothing, Jem?" "Well, next to nothing, my lad. Why, mussy me! What a fuss we are making about a few hundred yards o' smooth water. I've swum twice as far as this. Rested?" Don made no reply. "Ah, you will be soon. It's the clothes, my lad. Now look here, Mas' Don. You take my advice. Never you try a long swim again like this with your clothes on. They makes a wonderful deal of difference." "Jem," said Don, interrupting him. "Ay, ay, my lad." "Are the boats very far away?" "Well, a tidy bit; say half-mile." "Then swim ashore and leave me; save yourself." "Oh, that's it, is it?" "And tell my mother--" "Now, look here," cried Jem. "I should look well going and telling your mother as I left you in the lurch; and my Sally would spit at me, and serve me right. No, Mas' Don, I've tried it easy with you, and I've tried it hard; and now I says this: if you've made up your mind to go down, why, let's shake hands, and go down together, like mates." "No, no; you must swim ashore." "Without you?" "Jem, I can do no more." "If I leaves you, Mas' Don--Ahoy! Boat!--boat!" Jem meant that for a sturdy hail; but it was half choked, for just at that moment Don made a desperate effort to turn and swim, lost his remaining nerve, and began to beat the water like a dog. "Mas' Don, Mas' Don, one more try, dear lad, one more try!" cried Jem, passionately; but the appeal was vain. He, with all his sturdy manhood, strength hardened by his life of moving heavy weights, was beaten in the almost herculean task, and he knew at heart that Don had struggled bravely to the very last, before he had given in. But even then Don responded to Jem's appeal, and ceased paddling, to make three or four steady strokes. "That's it! Brave heart! Well done, Mas' Don. We shall manage it yet. A long, steady stroke--that's it. Don't give up. You can do it; and when you're tired, I'll help you. Well done--well done. Hah!" Jem uttered a hoarse cry, and then his voice rose in a wild appeal for help, not for self, but for his brave young companion. "Boat! Boat!" he cried, as he heard Don, deaf to his entreaties, begin the wild paddling action again; and he passed his arm beneath his neck, to try and support him. But there was no reply to his wild hail. The boats were out of hearing, and the next minute the strangling water was bubbling about his lips, choking him as he breathed it in; and with the name of his wife on his lips, poor Jem caught Don in a firm grip with one hand, as he struck wildly out with the other. Four or five steady strokes, and then his arm seemed to lose its power, and his strokes were feeble. "Mas' Don," he groaned; "I did try hard; but it's all over. I'm dead beat, too." CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. FRIENDLY ATTENTIONS. A peculiar pale light played and flashed from the surface of the black water which was being churned up by the desperate struggles of the drowning pair. It was as if myriads of tiny stars started into being where all was dark before, and went hurrying here and there, some to the surface, others deep down into the transparent purity of the sea. A minute before Jem Wimble had kept command of himself, and swam as a carefully tutored man keeps himself afloat; that minute passed, all teaching was forgotten in a weak, frantic struggle with the strangling water which closed over their heads. A few moments, during which the phosphorescent tiny creatures played here and there, and then once more the two helpless and nearly exhausted fugitives were beating the surface, which flashed and sent forth lambent rays of light. But it was not there alone that the phosphorescence of the sea was visible. About a hundred yards away there was what seemed to be a double line of pale gold liquid fire changing into bluish green, and between the lines of light something whose blackness was greater than the darkness of the sea or night. There was a dull low splashing, and at every splash the liquid fire seemed to fly. The double line of fire lengthened and sparkled, till it was as so much greenish golden foam reaching more and more toward where the drowning pair were struggling. Then came a low, growling, grinding sound, as if the long lines of light were made by the beating fins of the dark object, which was some habitant of the deep roused from slumbers by the light of the golden foam formed by those who drowned. And it rushed on and on to seize its prey, invisible before, but now plainly seen by the struggles and the resulting phosphorescent light. Long, low, and with its head raised high out of the water, horrent, grotesque and strange, the great sea monster glided along over the smooth sea. Full five-and-twenty fins aside made the water flash as it came on, and there was, as it were, a thin new-moon-like curve of light at its breast, while from its tail the sparkling phosphorescence spread widely as it was left behind. The low grumbling sound came again, but it was not heard by those drowning, nor was the light seen as it glided on nearer and nearer, till it reached the spot. One dart from the long raised neck, one snap of the fierce jaws--another dart and another snap, and the sea monster had its prey, and glided rapidly on, probably in search of more in its nightly hunt. Nothing of the kind! The long creature endued with life darted on, but the long neck and horned head were not darted down, but guided past those who where drowning. Everything was stiff and rigid but the playing fins. But there was another dull, low grunt, the fins seemed to cease by magic; and, instead of being snapped up by the monster's mouth, the two sufferers were drawn in over its side. Then the water flashed golden again, the monster made a curve and rushed through the water, and sped away for miles till, in obedience to another grunting sound, it turned and dashed straight for a sandy beach, resolving itself into a long New Zealand war canoe, into which Don and Jem had been drawn, to lie half insensible till the beach was neared when Jem slowly and wonderingly sat up. "Where's Mas' Don?" he said in a sharp ill-used tone. "Here he is," said a gruff voice, and Jem looked wonderingly in a savage's indistinctly seen face, and then down in the bottom of the long canoe, into which they had been dragged. "Mas' Don--don't say you're drowned, Mas' Don," he said pitifully, with a Somersetshire man's bold attempt at the making of an Irish bull. "My pakeha! My pakeha!" said a deep voice; and Jem became aware of the fact that the big chief he had so often seen on board the ship, and who had come to them with the present of fruit when they were guarding the boat, was kneeling down and gently rubbing Don. "Is he dead?" said Jem in a whisper. "No, not this time," said the gruff voice out of the darkness. "Pretty nigh touch, though, for both of you. Why didn't you hail sooner?" "Hail sooner?" said Jem. "Yes. We came in the canoe to fetch you, but you didn't hail, and it was too dark to see." "We couldn't hail," said Jem, sulkily. "It would have brought the boats down upon us." "Ah, so it would," said the owner of the gruff voice. "There's three boats out after you." "And shall you give us up?" "Give you up? Not I. I've nothing to do with it; you must talk to him." "My pakeha!" cried the big chief excitedly. "That isn't his name, is it?" said Jem. "No. Nonsense! Pakeha means white man. I was a pakeha once." "Let me help him up," said Jem eagerly. "My pakeha! My pakeha!" said the chief, as if putting in a personal claim, and ready to resist Jem's interference. The difficulty was ended by Don giving himself a shake, and slowly rising. "Jem! Where's Jem?" "Here! All right, Mas' Don. We're in the canoe." "Hah!" ejaculated Don; and he shuddered as if chilled. "Where are the boats?" "Miles away," said the tattooed Englishman. "But look here, I'm only on board. This is Ngati's doing. I know nothing about you two." "My pakeha! My pakeha!" cried the chief. "Lookye here," cried Jem, speaking in the irritable fashion of those just rescued from drowning; "if that there chief keeps on saying, `_My pakeha_' at me in that there aggravating way, I shall hit him in the mouth." "Ah! You're rusty," said the tattooed Englishman. "Man always is when he's been under water." "I dunno what you mean by being rusty," said Jem snappishly. "What I say is, leave a man alone." "All right!" said the Englishman. "I'll let you alone. How's your young mate?" "My head aches dreadfully," said Don; "and there's a horrible pain at the back of my neck." "Oh, that'll soon go off, my lad. And now what are you going to do?" "Do?" interrupted Jem. "Why, you don't mean to give us up, do you?" "I don't mean to do anything or know anything," said the man. "Your skipper'll come to me to-morrow if he don't think you're drowned, or--I say, did you feel anything of 'em?" "Feel anything--of what?" said Don. "Sharks, my lad. The shallow waters here swarm with them." "Sharks!" cried Don and Jem in a breath. "Yes. Didn't you know?" "I'd forgotten all about the sharks, Jem," said Don. "So had I, my lad, or I dursen't have swum for it as we did. Of course I thought about 'em at first starting, but I forgot all about 'em afterwards." "Jem," said Don, shuddering; "what an escape!" "Well, don't get making a fuss about it now it's all over, Mas' Don. Here we are safe, but I must say you're the wussest swimmer I ever met.--Here, what are they going to do?" "Run ashore," said the Englishman, as there was a buzz of excitement among the New Zealanders, many of whom stepped over into the shallow water, and seized the sides of the boat, which was rapidly run up the dark shore, where, amidst a low gobbling noise, the two wet passengers were landed to stand shivering with cold. "There you are," said the Englishman, "safe and sound." "Well, who said we weren't?" grumbled Jem. "Not you, squire," continued the Englishman. "There; I don't know anything about you, and you'd better lie close till the ship's gone, for they may come after you." "Where shall we hide?" said Don eagerly. "Oh, you leave it to Ngati; he'll find you a place where you can lie snug." "Ngati," said the owner of the name quickly, for he had been listening intently, and trying to grasp what was said. "Ngati! My pakeha." "Oh, I say: do leave off," cried Jem testily. "Pakeha again. Say, Mas' Don, him and I's going to have a row before we've done." The chief said something quickly to the Englishman, who nodded and then turned to the fugitives. "Ngati says he will take you where you can dry yourselves, and put on warm things." "He won't be up to any games, will he?" said Jem. "No, no; you may trust him. You can't do better than go with him till the search is over." The Englishman turned to a tall young savage, and said some words to him, with the result that the young man placed himself behind Don, and began to carefully obliterate the footprints left by the fugitives upon the sand. Don noticed this and wondered, for in the darkness the footprints were hardly perceptible; but he appreciated the act, though he felt no one but a native would distinguish between the footprints of the two people. "My pakeha," said Ngati just then, making Jem wince and utter an angry gesticulation. "Gunpowder, gun, pow-gun, gun-pow." "Eh?" said Jem harshly. "My pakeha, powder-gun. Pow-gun, gun-pow. No?" "He says his pakeha was to have brought plenty of guns and powder, and he has not brought any." "No," said Don, shivering as he spoke. "The guns are the king's. I could not bring any." The New Zealand chief seemed to comprehend a good deal of his meaning, and nodded his head several times. Then making a sign to a couple of followers, each took one of Don's arms, and they hurried him off at a sharp run, Jem being seized in the same way and borne forward, followed by the rest of the men who were in the boat. "Here, I say. Look here," Jem kept protesting, "I arn't a cask o' sugar or a bar'l o' 'bacco. Let a man walk, can't yer? Hi! Mas' Don, they're carrying on strange games here. How are you getting on?" Don heard the question, but he was too breathless to speak, and had hard work to keep his feet, leaving everything to the guidance of his companions, who kept on for above a quarter of a mile before stopping in a shadowy gully, where the spreading ferns made the place seem black as night, and a peculiar steaming sulphurous odour arose. But a short time before Don's teeth were chattering with the cold, but the exercise circulated his blood; and now, as his eyes grew more used to the obscurity, he managed to see that they were in a rough hut-like place open at the front. The sulphurous odour was quite strong, the steam felt hot and oppressive, and yet pleasant after the long chilling effect of the water, and he listened to a peculiar gurgling, bubbling noise, which was accompanied now and then by a faint pop. He had hardly realised this when he felt that his clothes were being stripped from him, and for a moment he felt disposed to resist; but he was breathless and wearied out, and rough as was the attention, it struck him that it was only preparatory to giving him a dry blanket to wear till his drenched garments were dry, and hence he suffered patiently. But that was not all, for, as the last garment was stripped off, Ngati said some words to his people, and before he could realise what was going to be done, Don felt himself seized by four men, each taking a wrist or ankle, and holding him suspended before Ngati, who went behind him and supported his head. "Hah!" ejaculated Ngati, with a peculiar grunt. His men all acted with military precision, and, to Don's astonishment, he found himself plunged into a rocky basin of hot water. His first idea was to struggle, but there was no need. He had been lowered in rapidly but gently, and he felt Ngati place the back of his head softly against a smooth pleasantly-warm hollowed-out stone, while the sensation, after all he had gone through, was so delicious that he uttered a sigh of satisfaction. For now he realised the hospitality of the people who had brought him there, and the fact that to recover him from the chill of being half drowned, they had brought him to one of their hot springs, used by them as baths. Don uttered another sigh of satisfaction, and as he lay back covered to his chin in the hot volcanic water, he began to laugh so heartily that the tears came into his eyes. For the same process was going on in the darkness with Jem, who was a less tractable patient, especially as he had taken it into his thick head that it was not for his benefit that he was to be plunged into a hot water pool, but to make soup for the New Zealanders around. "Mas' Don!" he cried out of the darkness, "where are you? I want to get out of this. Here, be quiet, will yer? What yer doing of? I say. Don't. Here, what are you going to do?" Don wanted to say a word to calm Jem's alarms, but after the agony he had gone through, it seemed to him as if his nerves were relaxed beyond control, and his companion's perplexity presented itself to him in so comical a light, that he could do nothing but lie back there in his delicious bath, and laugh hysterically; and all the while he could hear the New Zealanders gobbling angrily in reply to Jem's objections, as a fierce struggle went on. "That's your game, is it? I wouldn't ha' thought it of a set who calls theirselves men. Shove me into that hot pot, and boil me, would you? Not if I knows it, you don't. Hi! Mas' Don! Look out! Run, my lad. They're trying to cook me alive, the brutes. Oh, if I only had a cutlash, or an iron bar." Don tried to speak again, but the words were suffocated by the gurgle of laughter. "Poor old Jem!" he thought. "I tell you, you sha'n't. Six to one, eh? Leave off. Mas' Don, they're going to scald me like a pig in a tub. Hi! Help!" There was the sound of a struggle, a loud splash, and then silence, followed by Jem's voice. "Oh!" he ejaculated. "Then why didn't you say so? How was I to know you meant a hot bath? Well, it arn't bad.--Mas' Don!" "Yes." "What! Ha' you been there all the time?" "Yes." "What yer been doing of?" "Laughing." "Larfin'? Are they giving you a hot bath?" "Yes." "Arn't it good?" "Glorious!" "I thought they was going to scald me like a pig, so as to eat me afterwards. Did you hear me holler?" "Hear you? Yes.--How delicious and restful it feels." "Ah, it do, my lad; but don't you let any on it get into your mouth. I did, and arn't good. But I say; what's it mean? Seems so rum to me coming to meet us in a canoe and bringing us ashore, and giving us hot baths. I don't seem to understand it. Nobody does such things over at home." As they lay in the roughly-made stone slab baths, into which the volcanic water effervesced and gurgled, the followers of Ngati came and went busily, and a curious transformation came over the scene--the darkness seemed to undergo a change and become grey. Then as Don watched, he saw that above his head quite a cloud of steam was floating, through which a pale, sad light began to penetrate; and as he watched this, so pleasant and restful was the sensation that he felt as if he could sleep, till he took into consideration the fact that if he did, his body would become relaxed, and he would slip down with his head beneath the surface. As it grew lighter rapidly now, he could make out that the roughly thatched roof was merely stretched over a rough rocky nook in which the hot spring bubbled out of the mountain slope, and here a few rough slabs had been laid together, box-fashion, to retain the water and form the bath. Before he had more than realised the fact that Jem was in a shelter very similar to his own, the huge New Zealander was back with about a dozen of his men, and himself bearing a great native flax cloth marked with a broad pattern. Just as the sun had transformed everything without, and Don was gazing on a glorious prospect of lace-like tree-fern rising out of the steaming gully in which he stood, Jem Wimble came stalking out of the shelter where he had been dressing--a very simple operation, for it had consisted in draping himself in a great unbleached cloth--and looking squat and comical as a man in his circumstances could look. Ngati was close at hand with his men all standing in a group, and at first sight it seemed as if they were laughing at the little, stoutly-built, pink-faced man, but, on the contrary, they were smiles of admiration. "I couldn't ha' believed it, Mas' Don," said Jem; "I feel as fresh as a daisy, and--well, I never did! Mas' Don, what a guy you do look!" Don, after a momentary thought that he looked something like one of the old Romans in a toga, just as he had seen them in an engraving, had been so taken up with the beauty of the ferny gully, with the sun gilding here and there the steamy vapour which rose from the hot springs, that he had thought no more of his personal appearance till Jem spoke. "Guy?" he said, laughing, as he ran his eye over Jem. "I say, did you ever hear the story of the pot and the kettle?" "Yes, of course; but I say, my lad, I don't look so rum as you, do I?" "I suppose you look just about the same, Jem." "Then the sooner they gets our clothes dry and we're into 'em again, the sooner we shall look like human beings. Say, Mas' Don, it's werry awkward; you can't say anything to that big savage without him shouting `pakeha.' How shall we ask for our clothes?" "Wait," said Don. "We've got to think about getting further away." "Think they'll send to look for us, Mas' Don?" "I should say they would." "Well, somehow," said Jem, "I seem to fancy they'll think we're drowned, and never send at all. But, look here; what's all this yaller stuff?" "Sulphur." "What, brimstone? Why, so it is. Think o' their buying brimstone to lay down about their hot baths. I know!" cried Jem, slapping his thigh, "they uses it instead of coal, Mas' Don; burns it to make the water hot." "No, no, Jem; that's natural sulphur." "So's all sulphur nat'ral." "But I mean this is where it is found, or comes." "G'long with you." "It is, Jem; and that water is naturally hot." "What, like it is at Bath?" "To be sure." "Well, that caps all. Some one said so the other day aboard ship, but I didn't believe it. Fancy a set o' savages having hot water all ready for them. I say, though, Mas' Don, it's very nice." Just then Ngati came up smiling, but as Jem afterwards said, looking like a figure-head that was going to bite, and they were led off to a _whare_ and furnished with a good substantial meal. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. AN UNWELCOME RECOGNITION. "It arn't bad," said Jem; "but it's puzzling." "What is?" said Don, who was partaking of broiled fish with no little appetite. "Why, how savages like these here should know all about cooking." The breakfast was eaten with an admiring circle of spectators at hand, while Ngati kept on going from Don to his tribesmen and back again, patting the lad's shoulder, and seeming to play the part of showman with no little satisfaction to himself, but with the effect of making Jem wroth. "It's all very well, Mas' Don," he said, with his mouth full; "but if he comes and says `my pakeha' to me, I shall throw something at him." "Oh, it's all kindly meant, Jem." "Oh, is it? I don't know so much about that. If it is, why don't they give us back our clothes? Suppose any of our fellows was to see us like this?" "I hope none of our fellows will see us, Jem." "Tomati Paroni! Tomati Paroni!" shouted several of the men in chorus. "Hark at 'em!" cried Jem scornfully. "What does that mean?" The explanation was given directly, for the tattooed Englishmen came running up to the _whare_. "Boats coming from the ship to search for you," he said quickly, and then turned to Ngati and spoke a few words with the result that the chief rushed at the escaped pair, and signed to them to rise. "Yes," said the Englishman, "you had better go with him and hide for a bit. We'll let you know when they are gone." "Tell them to give us our clothes," said Jem sourly. "Yes, of course. They would tell tales," said the Englishman; and he turned again to Ngati, who sent two men out of the _whare_ to return directly with the dried garments. Ngati signed to them to follow, and he led them, by a faintly marked track, in and out among the trees and the cleared patches which formed the natives' gardens, and all the while carefully avoiding any openings through which the harbour could be seen. Every now and then he turned to speak volubly, but though he interpolated a few English words, his meaning would have been incomprehensible but for his gestures and the warnings nature kept giving of danger. For every here and there, as they wound in and out among the trees, they came upon soft, boggy places, where the ground was hot; and as the pressure of the foot sent hissing forth a jet of steam, it was evident that a step to right or left of the narrow track meant being plunged into a pool of heated mud of unknown depth. In other places the hot mud bubbled up in rounded pools, spitting, hissing, and bursting with faint cracks that were terribly suggestive of danger. Over these heated spots the fertility and growth of the plants was astounding. They seemed to be shooting up out of a natural hothouse, but where to attempt to pass them meant a terrible and instant death. "Look out, Mas' Don! This here's what I once heard a clown say, `It's dangerous to be safe.' I say, figgerhead, arn't there no other way?" "Ship! Men! Catchee, catchee," said Ngati, in a whisper. "Hear that, Mas' Don? Any one'd think we was babbies. Ketchy, ketchy, indeed! You ask him if there arn't no other way. I don't like walking in a place that's like so much hot soup." "Be quiet, and follow. Hist! Hark!" Don stopped short, for, from a distance, came a faint hail, followed by another nearer, which seemed to be in answer. "They're arter us, sir, and if we're to be ketched I don't mean to be ketched like this." "What are you going to do, Jem?" "Do?" said Jem, unrolling his bundled-up clothes, and preparing to sit down, "make myself look like an ornery Chrishtun." "Don't sit down there, Jem!" cried Don, as Ngati gave a warning cry at the same moment, and started back. But they were too late, for Jem had chosen a delicately green mossy and ferny patch, and plumped himself down, to utter a cry of horror, and snatch at the extended hands. For the green ferny patch was a thin covering over a noisome hole full of black boiling mud, into which the poor fellow was settling as he was dragged out. "Fah!" ejaculated Jem, pinching his nose. "Here, I've had 'most enough o' this place. Nice sort o' spot this would be to turn a donkey out to graze. Why, you wouldn't find nothing but the tips of his ears to-morrow morning." Another hail rang out, and was answered in two places. "I say, Mas' Don, they're hunting for us, and we shall have to run." He made signs to the chief indicative of a desire to run, but Ngati shook his head, and pointed onward. They followed on, listening to the shouts, which came nearer, till Ngati suddenly took a sharp turn round a great buttress of lava, and entered a wild, narrow, forbidding-looking chasm, where on either side the black, jagged masses of rock were piled up several hundred feet, and made glorious by streams which coursed among the delicately green ferns. "Look's damp," said Jem, as Ngati led them on for about fifty yards, and then began to climb, his companions following him, till he reached a shelf about a hundred feet up, and beckoned to them to come. "Does he think this here's the rigging of a ship, and want us to set sail?" grumbled Jem. "Here, I say, what's the good of our coming there?" The chief stamped his foot, and made an imperious gesture, which brought them to his side. He pointed to a hole in the face of the precipice, and signed to them to go in. "Men--boat," he said, pointing, and then clapping his hand to his ear as a distant hail came like a whisper up the gully, which was almost at right angles to the beach. "He wants us to hide here, Jem," said Don; and he went up to the entrance and looked in. A hot, steamy breath of air came like a puff into his face, and a strange low moaning noise fell upon his ear, followed by a faint whistle, that was strongly suggestive of some one being already in hiding. "I suppose that's where they keeps their coals, Mas' Don," said Jem. "So we've got to hide in the coal-cellar. Why not start off and run?" "We should be seen," said Don anxiously. "Don't let us do anything rash." "But p'r'aps it's rash to go in there, my lad. How do we know it isn't a trap, or that it's safe to go in?" "We must trust our hosts, Jem," replied Don. "They have behaved very well to us so far." There was another hail from the party ashore, and still Jem hesitated. "I don't know but what we might walk straight away, Mas' Don," he said, glancing down at the garb he wore. "If any of our fellows saw us at a distance they'd say we was savages, and take no notice." "Not of our white faces, Jem? Come, don't be obstinate; I'm going on." "Oh, well, sir, if you go on, o' course I must follow, and look arter you; but I don't like it. The place looks treacherous. Ugh! Wurra! Wurra! Wurra!" That repeated word represents most nearly the shudder given by Jem Wimble as he followed Don into the cave, the chief pointing for them to go farther in, and then dropping rapidly down from point to point till he was at the bottom, Jem peering over the edge of the shelf, and watching him till he had disappeared. "Arn't gone to tell them where we are, have he, Mas' Don?" "No, Jem. How suspicious you are!" "Ah, so'll you be when you get as old as I am," said Jem, creeping back to where Don was standing, looking inward. "Well, what sort of a place is it, Mas' Don?" "I can't see in far, but the cavern seems to go right in, like a long crooked passage." "Crooked enough, and long enough," grumbled Jem. "Hark!" Don listened, and heard a faint hail. "They're coming along searching for us, I suppose." "I didn't mean that sound; I meant this. There, listen again." Don took a step into the cave, but went no farther, for Jem gripped his arm. "Take care, my lad. 'Tarn't safe. Hear that noise?" "Yes; it is like some animal breathing hard." "And we've got no pistols nor cutlashes. It's a lion, I know." "There are no lions here, Jem." "Arn't there? Then it's a tiger. I know un. I've seen 'em. Hark!" "But there are no tigers, nor any other fierce beasts here, Jem." "Now, how can you be so obstinate, Mas' Don, when you can hear 'em whistling, and sighing and breathing hard right in yonder. No, no, not a step farther do you go." "Don't be so foolish, Jem." "'Tarn't foolish, Mas' Don; and look here: I'm going to take advantage of them being asleep to put on my proper costoom, and if you'll take my advice, you'll do just the same." Don hesitated, but Jem took advantage of a handy seat-like piece of rock, and altered his dress rapidly, an example that, after a moment or two of hesitation, Don followed. "Dry as a bone," said Jem. "Come, that's better. I feels like a human being now. Just before I felt like a chap outside one of the shows at our fair." He doubled up the blanket he had been wearing, and threw it over his arm; while Don folded his, and laid it down, so that he could peer over the edge of the shelf, and command the entrance to the ravine. But all was perfectly silent and deserted, and, after waiting some time, he rose, and went a little way inside the cavern. "Don't! Don't be so precious rash, Mas' Don," cried Jem pettishly, as, urged on by his curiosity, Don went slowly, step by step, toward what seemed to be a dark blue veil of mist, which shut off farther view into the cave. "I don't think there's anything to mind, or they wouldn't have told us to hide here." "But you don't know, my lad. There may be dangerous wild critters in there as you never heard tell on. Graffems, and dragons, and beasts with stings in their tails--cockatoos." "Nonsense! Cockatrices," said Don laughing. "Well, it's all the same. Now, do be advised, Mas' Don, and stop here." "But I want to know what it's like farther in." Don went slowly forward into the dim mist, and Jem followed, murmuring bitterly at his being so rash. "Mind!" he cried suddenly, as a louder whistle than ordinary came from the depths of the cave, and the sound was so weird and strange that Don stopped short. The noise was not repeated, but the peculiar hissing went on, and, as if from a great distance, there came gurglings and rushing sounds, as if from water. "I know we shall get in somewhere, and not get out again, Mas' Don. There now, hark at that!" "It's only hot water, the same as we heard gurgling in our bath," said Don, still progressing. "Well, suppose it is. The more reason for your not going. P'r'aps this is where it comes from first, and nice place it must be where all that water's made hot. Let's go back, and wait close at the front." "No; let's go a little farther, Jem." "Why, I'm so hot now, my lad, I feel as if I was being steamed like a tater. Here, let's get back, and--" "Hist!" Don caught his arm, for there was another whistle, and not from the depths of the dark steamy cave, but from outside, evidently below the mouth of the cave, as if some one was climbing up. The whistle was answered, and the two fugitives crept back a little more into the darkness. "Ahoy! Come up here, sir!" shouted a familiar voice, and a hail came back. "Here's a hole in the rocks up here," came plainly now. "Ramsden," whispered Don in Jem's ear. They stole back a little more into the gloom, Jem offering no opposition now, for it seemed to them, so plainly could they see the bright greenish-hued daylight, and the configuration of the cavern's mouth, that so sure as any one climbed up to the shelf and looked in they would be seen. Impressed by this, Don whispered to Jem to come farther in, and they were about to back farther, when there was a rustling sound, and the figure of a man appeared standing up perfectly black against the light; but though his features were not visible, they knew him by his configuration, and that their guess at the voice was right. "He sees us," thought Don, and he stood as if turned to stone, one hand touching the warm rocky side of the cave, and the other resting upon Jem's shoulder. The man was motionless as they, and his appearance exercised an effect upon them like fascination, as he stood peering forward, and seeming to fix them with his eyes, which had the stronger fancied effect upon them for not being seen. "Wonder whether it would kill a man to hit him straight in the chest, and drive him off that rock down into the gully below," said Jem to himself. "I should like to do it." Then he shrank back as if he had been struck, for the sinister scoundrel shouted loudly,-- "Ahoy there! Now, then out you come. I can see you hiding." CHAPTER THIRTY. A DETERMINED ENEMY. Don drew a long breath and took a step forward to march out and give himself up, but Jem's hands clasped him round, a pair of lips were placed to his ear, and the yard-man's voice whispered,-- "Stand fast. All sham. He can't see." Don paused, wondering, and watched the dark figure in the entrance to the cave, without dismay now, till, to his surprise, the man began to whistle softly. "Likely place too," he muttered. "Are you coming up here, sir?" "What is it?" "Likely looking cave, sir; runs right in; looks as if they might be hiding in here." There was a rattling and rustling of stones and growth, and then the man at the entrance stooped down and held out his hands to assist some one to ascend, the result being that the broad heavy figure of Bosun Jones came into view. "Not likely to be here, my lad, even if they were in hiding; but this is a wild goose chase. They're dead as dead." "P'r'aps so, sir; but I think they're in hiding somewhere. Praps here." "Humph! No. Poor fellows, they were drowned." "No, sir, I don't think it," said Ramsden. "Those niggers looked as if they knew something, and that tattooed fellow who has run away from Norfolk Island has encouraged them to desert. As like as not they may be in here listening to all I say." "Well then, go in and fetch them out," said the boatswain. "You can go in while I have a rest." Don's heart beat fast at those words, for he heard a loud hissing sound beside him, caused by Jem drawing in his breath; and the next moment, as he held his arm, he felt a thrill, for it seemed as if Jem's muscles had tightened up suddenly. Then there was a hot breath upon his cheek, and a tickling sensation in his ear beyond; Jem's lips seemed to settle themselves against it, and the tickling sensation was renewed, as Jem whispered,-- "I've cleared my decks for action, Mas' Don. It was that beggar as told on us. You stand aside when he comes on." Don twisted his head round, caught Jem by the shoulder, and favoured him with the same buzzing sensation as he whispered,-- "What are you going to do?" Jem re-applied his lips to Don's ear. "I'm going to make him very sorry he ever come to sea. Once I gets hold of him I'll make him feel like a walnut in a door." "Don't look a very cheerful place, Mr Jones," came from the mouth of the cavern. "Afraid to go in?" "Afraid, sir? You never knew me afraid." "Well, in you go and fetch them out," said the boatswain with a laugh. "If you don't come back I shall know that the Maoris have got you, and are saving you for the pot." From where Don and Jem stood in the darkness they could see their spying sinister friend give quite a start; but he laughed off the impression the boatswain's words had made, and began to come cautiously on, feeling his way as a man does who has just left the bright sunshine to enter a dark place. Jem uttered a loud hiss as he drew his breath, and Ramsden heard it and stopped. "Mr Jones," he said sharply. "Well?" "Think there's any big snakes here? I heard a hiss." "Only steam from a hot spring. No snakes in this country." "Oh!" ejaculated Ramsden: and he came cautiously on. Don felt Jem's arm begin to twitch, and discovery seemed imminent. For a few moments he was irresolute, but, knowing that if they were to escape they must remain unseen, he let his hand slide down to Jem's wrist, caught it firmly, and began to back farther into the cave. For a few moments he had to drag hard at his companion but, as if yielding to silently communicated superior orders Jem followed him slowly, step by step, with the greatest of caution, and in utter silence. The floor of the cave was wonderfully smooth, the rock feeling as if it had been worn by the constant passage over it of water, and using their bare feet as guides, and feeling with them every step, they backed in as fast as Ramsden approached, being as it were between two dangers, that of recapture, and the hidden perils, whatever they might be, of the cave. It was nerve-stirring work, for all beyond was intense darkness, out of which, as they backed farther and farther in, came strange whisperings, guttural gurglings, which sounded to Don as if the inhabitants of the place were retiring angrily before their disturbers, till, driven to bay in some corner, they turned and attacked. But still Don held tightly by Jem's wrist, and mastering his dread of the unknown, crept softly in, turning from time to time to watch Ramsden, who came on as if some instinct told him that those he sought for were there. "Found 'em?" shouted the boatswain; and his voice taught the hiding pair that the cave went far in beyond them, for the sound went muttering by, and seemed to die away as if far down a long passage. "Not yet, but I think I can hear 'em," replied Ramsden. "You can hear a self-satisfied fool talking," said the boatswain, ill-humouredly. "So can Mr Jones," muttered the man. "Hear you. That's what I can hear." "What are you muttering about?" "I think I can hear 'em, sir. Now then, you two, give up. It'll be the worse for you if you don't." Don's hand tightened on his companion's wrist, and they stood fast, for Ramsden was stopping in a bent attitude, listening. There was nothing to be heard but the whisperings and gurglings, and then they saw him draw his cutlass and come on. Jem's muscles gave another jerk, but he suffered himself to be drawn farther and farther into the cave, till they must have been quite two hundred yards from the mouth; and now, for the first time, the almost straight line which it had formed, changed, and they lost sight of the entrance, but could see the shadow of their enemy cast upon the glistening wall of the place, down which the water seemed to drip, giving it the look of glass. All at once Don, as he crept back, felt his left foot, instead of encountering the smooth rock floor, go down, and as he quickly withdrew it and felt nearer to him, it was to touch the edge of what seemed a great crack crossing the floor diagonally. As he paused, he felt that it might be a "fault" of a few inches in width or depth, or a vast chasm going right down into the bowels of the mountain! "There's a hole here," he whispered to Jem. "Hold my hand." Jem gripped him firmly, and he reached out with one leg, and felt over the side outward and downward; and, just as he was coming to the conclusion that the place was terribly deep, and a shudder at the danger was running through him, he found that he could touch bottom. He was in the act of recovering himself, so as to try how wide the crack or fault might be, when a peculiar strangling sensation attacked him, and he felt that he was falling. The next thing he felt was Jem's lips to his ear, and feeling his whisper,-- "Hold on, lad. What's the matter?" He panted and drew his breath in a catching way for a few minutes before whispering back,-- "Nothing. Only a sudden giddiness." Jem made no comment, but gripped his hand tightly, and they stood listening, for the shadow cast faintly on the walls was motionless, and it was evident that their enemy was listening. "I'm going on, Ramsden," said the boatswain. "Come along!" "All right, sir. Join you as soon as I've got my prisoners." "Hold 'em tight," shouted the boatswain, and then there was a loud rustling sound, followed by the words faintly heard, "Look sharp. It's of no use fooling there." Don could hear Ramsden mutter something, but he did not seem to be coming on; and mastering the dull, sluggish feeling, accompanied by a throbbing headache, the lad stole cautiously back to where he could look round and see their approaching enemy between them and the light. To his intense surprise he found the man had his back to them, and was retiring; but as he watched, Ramsden made an angry gesticulation, turned sharply and came on again, but seemed to catch his foot against a projecting piece of rock, stumble and fall forward, his cutlass flying two or three yards on before him with a loud jingling noise. What followed riveted Don to the spot. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. GOOD FOR EVIL. Ramsden struggled to his feet as if with an effort, and stood holding his hand to his head, evidently hurt. The next moment he stepped forward, staggering slightly, stooped to pick up his cutlass, and fell forward, uttered a groan, rose up again, and fell down once more, this time to lie without motion. "Jem," whispered Don, "look at that!" "Was looking," whispered back Jem. "Hit his head; sarve him right." Ramsden did not move, and the two fugitives stood anxiously watching. "What shall we do?" "Wait! He'll soon come round and go. May as well sit down." Jem lowered himself to a sitting position, and was in the act of trying to rest on his elbow when he gasped quickly two or three times, and caught at Don, who helped him to a kneeling position, from which he struggled up. "Hah!" he ejaculated; "just as if some one caught me by the throat. Oh, how poorly I do feel. Just you put your head down there, Mas' Don." Don stood thinking and trying to grasp what it meant. Then, with some hazy recollection of dangers encountered in old wells, he bent down cautiously and started up again, for it gradually dawned upon both that for about two feet above the floor there was a heavy stratum of poisonous gas, so potent that it overcame them directly; and it was into this they had plunged as soon as they had stooped down. "Why, Jem," panted Don; "it stops your breath!" "Stops your breath? It's just as if a man got hold of you by the throat. Why, if I'd stopped in that a minute I should never have got up again." "But--but, that man?" whispered Don. "What, old Ramsden? Phew! I'd forgot all about him. He's quiet enough." "Jem, he must be dying." "I won't say, `good job, too,' 'cause it wouldn't be nice," said Jem, with a chuckle. "What shall us do?" "Do?" cried Don. "We must help him." "What, get him out? If we do, he'll be down on us." "We can't help that, Jem. We must not leave a fellow-creature to die," replied Don; and hurrying forward, he gave a glance toward the mouth of the cave, to satisfy himself that the good-natured boatswain was not there, and then, holding his breath, he stooped down and raised Ramsden into a sitting posture, Jem coming forward at once to help him. "Goes ag'in the grain, Mas' Don," he muttered; "but I s'pose we must." "Must? Yes! Now, what shall we do?" "Dunno," said Jem; "s'pose fresh air'd be best for him." "Let's get him to the mouth, then," said Don. "But the boatswain 'll see us, and we shall be took." "I can't help that, Jem; the man will die here." "Well, we don't want him. He's a hennymee." "Jem!" "Oh, all right, Mas' Don. I'll do as you say, but as I says, and I says it again, it goes ag'in the grain." They each took one hand and placed their arms beneath those of the prostrate man; and, little as they stooped, they inhaled sufficient of the powerful gas to make them wince and cough; but, rising upright, taking a full breath and starting off, they dragged Ramsden backwards as rapidly as they could to where the fresh air blew into the mouth of the cave, and there they laid the man down. But before doing so, Don went upon his knees, and placing his face close to the rocky floor, inhaled the air several times. "It seems all right here," he said. "Try it, Jem." "Oh! I'll try it," said Jem, grumpily; "only I don't see why we should take so much trouble about such a thing as this." "Yes; it's all right," he said, after puffing and blowing down by the ground. "Rum, arn't it, that the air should be bad yonder and not close in here!" "The cave goes downward," said Don; "and the foul air lies in the bottom, just as it does in a well. Do you think he's dead?" "Him dead!" said Jem, contemptuously; "I don't believe you could kill a thing like that. Here, let's roll up one of these here blanket things and make him a pillow, and cover him up with the other, poor fellow, so as he may get better and go and tell 'em we're here." "Don't talk like that, Jem!" cried Don. "Why not? Soon as he gets better he'll try and do us all the harm he can." "Poor fellow! I'm afraid he's dead," whispered Don. "Then he won't want no more cutlashes and pistols," said Jem, coolly appropriating the arms; "these here will be useful to us." "But they are the king's property, Jem." "Ah! Well, I dessay if the king knew how bad we wanted 'em, he'd lend 'em to us. He shall have 'em again when we've done with them." As he spoke Jem helped himself to the ammunition, and then stood looking on as Don dragged Ramsden's head round, so that the wind blew in his face. "How I should like to jump on him!" growled Jem. "I hate him like poison, and I would if I'd got on a pair o' boots. Shouldn't hurt him a bit like this." "Don't talk nonsense, Jem. Mr Jones might hear us. Let's hail; he can't be very far off." "I say, Mas' Don, did our ugly swim last night send you half mad?" "Mad? No!" "Then, p'r'aps it's because you had no sleep. Here's a chap comes hunting of us down with a cutlash, ready to do anything; and now he's floored and we're all right, you want to make a pet on him. Why, it's my belief that if you met a tiger with the toothache you'd want to take out his tusk." "Very likely, Jem," said Don, laughing. "Ah, and as soon as you'd done it, `thankye, my lad,' says the tiger, `that tooth's been so bad that I haven't made a comf'table meal for days, so here goes.'" "And then he'd eat me, Jem." "That's so, my lad." "Ah, well, this isn't a tiger, Jem." "Why, he's wuss than a tiger, Mas' Don; because he do know better, and tigers don't." "Ramsden, ahoy!" came from below them in the ravine. "Oh, crumpets!" exclaimed Jem. "Now we're done for. All that long swim for nothing." "Back into the cave," whispered Don. "Perhaps they have not seen us." He gave Jem a thrust, they backed in a few yards, and then stood watching and listening. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. CLOSE SHAVING. "Think he's insensible, or only shamming?" said Jem. "Insensible--quite! I'm afraid he's dead." "I arn't," muttered Jem. "You might cut him up like a heel; legs and arms and body, and every bit of him would try and do you a mischief." "I'm afraid, though, that he knew we were in here, and that as soon as he comes to, he'll tell the others." "Not he. It was only his gammon to frighten us into speaking if we were there." "Ramsden, ahoy!" came again from below; and then from a distance came another hail, which the same voice answered--evidently from some distance below the mouth of the cave. "Ramsden! Here, my man; come along, they're not in there." "Hear that, Jem? Mr Jones." "Oh yes, I hear," growled Jem. "He don't know yet; but wait a bit till old Ram tells him." "We couldn't slip out yet, Jem?" "No; o' course not. They'd see us now. Look!" Jem was about to draw back, but feeling that a movement might betray them, Don held him fast, and they stood there in the shadow of the cave, looking on, for the boatswain's head appeared as he drew himself up the precipitous place, and then stepped on the shelf. "Here, come out, sir! Are you asleep? Hah!" He caught sight of the prostrate sailor, and bent down over him. "Why, Ramsden, man!" he cried, as he tore open his sailor's shirt and placed his hand upon his throat. Then, starting up, he sent forth a tremendous hail. "Ahoy!" "Ahoy!" came back from several places, like the echoes of his call. "Come on here! Quick!" he shouted, with his hands to his mouth. "Ahoy!" came from a distance; and from nearer at hand, "Ay, ay, sir; ay, ay!" From where Don and Jem stood they could see the boatswain's every movement, as, after once more feeling the sailor's throat and wrist, he bent over him and poured water from his bottle between his lips, bathed his forehead and eyes, and then fanned him with his hat, but without effect. Then he looked out anxiously and hailed again, the replies coming from close by; and soon after first one and then another sailor, whose faces were quite familiar, climbed up to the shelf, when the boatswain explained hastily how he had left his companion. "Some one knocked him down?" said one of his men. "No; he's not hurt. I should say it's a fit. More water. Don't be afraid!" Each of the men who had climbed up carried a supply, and a quantity was dashed over Ramsden's face with the effect that he began to display signs of returning consciousness, and at last sat up and stared. "What's matter, mate?" said one of the men, as Don prepared to hurry back into the darkness, but longed to hear what Ramsden would say. It was a painful moment, for upon his words seemed to depend their safety. "Matter? I don't know--I--" He put his hand to his head. "Here, take a drink o' this, mate," said one of the men, and Ramsden swallowed some water with avidity. "Arn't seen a ghost, have you?" "I recollect now, Mr Jones. You left me in that hole." "And called to you to come out." "Yes, but--" Don's heart beat furiously. They were discovered, and now the betrayal was to come. "Well, what happened?" said the boatswain. "I felt sure that those two were in this place, and I went on farther into the darkness till I kicked against something and fell down." "Out here and stunned yourself." "No, no; in there! I'd got up and picked up my cutlash, and then something seemed to choke me, and I went down again." Jem squeezed Don's arm, for they both felt more hopeful. "And then one of they chaps came and give you a crack on the head?" said a sailor. Don's heart sank again. "Nonsense!" said his old friend, the boatswain. "Foul air. He must have staggered out and fallen down insensible." Jem gripped Don's arm with painful force here. "How do you feel? Can you walk?" Ramsden rose slowly, and staggered, but one of the men caught his arm. "I--I think I can." "Well, we must get you down to the boat as soon as we can walk, if you are able. If you can't, we must carry you." "But them chaps," said one of the party, just as Don and Jem were beginning to breathe freely. "Think they're in yonder, mate?" "I--I think so," said Ramsden faintly. "You had better search." "What! A place full of foul air?" said the boatswain, greatly to Don's relief. "Absurd! If Ramsden could not live in there, how could the escaped men? Here, let's get him down." "Ay, ay, sir. But I say, mate, where's your fighting tools? What yer done with them?" Don made an angry gesticulation, and turned to Jem, who had the pistols and cutlass in his hand and waistbelt, and felt as if he should like to hurl them away. "He must have dropped them inside. Here, one of you come with me and get them." Don shrank back into the stony passage as a man volunteered, but the boatswain hesitated. "No," he said, to Don's great relief; "I can't afford to run risks for the sake of a pair of pistols." "Let me go in," said the man. "I'm not going to send men where I'm afraid to go myself," said the boatswain bluntly. "Come on down." The boatswain led the way, and Ramsden was helped down, the man who had volunteered to go in the cavern to fetch the pistols manoeuvring so as to be last, and as soon as the party had disappeared over the shelf he gave a glance after them, and turned sharply. "Foul air won't hurt me," he said; and he dived right in rapidly to regain the pistols and cutlass, so as to have the laugh of his messmates when they returned on board. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. ANOTHER ALARM. "It's all over," thought Don, as the man came on, with discovery inevitable if he continued at his present rate. They were about fifty feet from the entrance, and they felt that if they moved they would be heard; and, as if urged by the same impulse, they stood fast, save that Jem doubled his fist and drew back his arm ready to strike. All at once the man stopped short. "He sees us," said Don, mentally. But he was wrong, for the sailor thrust his fingers into his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, which ran echoing through the place in a curiously hollow way. "That's a rum un," he said, with a laugh. "Blow some o' the foul air out. Wonder how far he went in?" He walked on slowly, and then stopped short as if he saw the hiding pair; but there was no gesture made, and of course his face was invisible to the fugitives, to whom he seemed to be nothing but a black figure. "Plaguey dark!" ejaculated the man aloud. _Hiss-s-s-s_! A tremendously loud sibillation came out of the darkness--such a noise as a mythical dragon might have made when a stranger had invaded his home. The effect was instantaneous. The young sailor spun round and darted back to the mouth of the cave, where he half lowered himself down over the shelf facing toward the entry, and supporting himself with one hand, shook his fist. "You wait till I come back with a lanthorn!" he cried. "I'll just show you. Don't you think I'm scared." _Whos-s-s-s-s_ came that hissing again, in a loud deep tone this time, and the sailor's head disappeared, for he dropped down and hastily descended after his messmates, flushed and excited, but trying hard to look perfectly unconcerned, and thoroughly determined to keep his own counsel as to what he had heard, from a perfect faith in the effect of the disclosure--to wit, that his companions would laugh at him. Inside the cave Jem was leaning up against the wall, making strange noises and lifting up first one foot and then the other. He seemed to be suffering agonies, for he puffed and gasped. "Jem, be quiet!" whispered Don, shaking him sharply. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Jem, lifting up his bare feet alternately, and setting them down again with a loud pat on the rock. "Be quiet! They may hear you." "Hit me then! Give it me. Ho, ho, ho!" "Jem, we are safe now, and you'll undo it all if you're not quiet." "Knock me then, Mas' Don. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Hi: me; a good un, dear lad. Ho, ho, ho, ho!" "Oh, do be quiet! How can you be such an ass?" "I dunno! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Did you see him run, Mas' Don? I--oh dear, I can't help it. Do knock me down and sit on me, dear lad--I never--oh dear me!" Jem laughed till Don grew angry, and then the sturdy little fellow stopped short and stood wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. "I couldn't help it, Mas' Don," he said. "I don't think I ever laughed so much before. There, I'm better now. Shan't have any more laugh in me for a twelvemonth. Hiss! Whoss-s-s!" He made the two sounds again, and burst into another uncontrollable fit of laughter at the success of his ruse; but this time Don caught him by the throat, and he stopped at once. "Hah!" he ejaculated, and wiped his eyes again. "Thankye, Mas' Don; that's just what you ought to ha' done before. There, it's all over now. What are you going to do?" "Watch them," said Don, laconically; and he crept to the mouth of the cave, and peered cautiously over the edge of the shelf, but all was quiet; and beyond a distant hail or two, heard after listening for some minutes, there was nothing to indicate that the search party had been there. "We must be well on the look-out, Jem. Your stupid trick may bring them back." "Stoopid? Well, I do like that, Mas' Don, after saving us both as I did." "I'd say let's go on at once, only we might meet some of them." "And old `My pakeha' wouldn't know where to find us. I say, Mas' Don, what are we going to do? Stop here with these people, and old Tomati, or go on at once and shift for ourselves?" "We cannot shift for ourselves in a country like this without some way of getting food." "Hush!" exclaimed Jem sharply. "What's the matter?" cried Don, making for the inner part of their hiding-place. "No, no; don't do that. It's all right, Mas' Don, only don't say anything more about food. I feel just now as if I could eat you. It's horrid how hungry I am." "You see then," said Don, "how helpless we are." "Yes; if it was only a biscuit I wouldn't mind just now, for there don't seem to be nothing to eat here, nor nothing to drink." They stood leaning against the rocky wall, not caring to risk sitting down on account of the foul air, and not daring to go to the mouth of the cave for fear of being seen, till Don suggested that they should steal there cautiously, and lie down with their faces beyond the cavern floor. This they did, glad of the restful change; but hours passed and no sounds met their ears, save the hissing and gurgling from the interior of the cave, and the harsh screech of some parrot or cockatoo. Every time a louder hiss than usual came from the interior, Jem became convulsed, and threatened another explosion of laughter, in spite of Don's severely reproachful looks; but in every case Jem's mirthful looks and his comic ways of trying to suppress his hilarity proved to be too much for Don, who was fain to join in, and they both laughed heartily and well. It is a curious fact, one perhaps which doctors can explain, and it seems paradoxical. For it might be supposed that when any one was hungry he would feel low-spirited, but all the same there is a stage in hunger when everything around the sufferer seems to wear a comic aspect, and the least thing sets him off laughing. This was the stage now with Jem and Don, for, the danger being past, they lay there at the mouth of the hole, now laughing at the recollection of the sailor's fright, now at the cries of some parrot or the antics of a cockatoo which kept sailing round a large tree, whose hold on the steep rocky side of the ravine was precarious in the extreme. The presence of white people seemed to cause the bird the greatest of wonder, and to pique his curiosity, and after a flit here and a flit there, he invariably came near and sat upon a bare branch, from which he could study the aspect of the two intruders. He was a lovely-looking bird as far as the tints of the plumage went; but his short hooked beak, with a tuft of feathers each side, and forward curved crest, gave him a droll aspect which delighted Jem, as the bird came and sat upon a twig, shrieking and chattering at them in a state of the greatest excitement. "Look at his starshers, Mas' Don," said Jem, as the bird's side tufts half covered the beak and then left it bare. "Look at his hair, too. Hasn't he brushed it up in a point? There, he heared what I said, and has laid it down again. Look at him! Look at him! Did you ever see such a rum one in your life?" For at that minute, after turning its head on one side for a good look, and then on the other, so as to inspect, them again, the bird seemed to have an idea that it might gain a little more knowledge from a fresh point of view, and to effect this turned itself completely upside down, hanging by its soft yoke toes, and playing what Jem called a game of _peep-to_! This lasted for some minutes, and then the bird squatted upon the bough in a normal position, set up its feathers all over, and began to chatter. "Hark at him, Mas' Don. He's calling names. There, hit me if he didn't. Did you hear him?" "I heard him chatter." "Yes; but I mean calling us that `My pakeha--my pakeha!' that he did." "Nonsense!" "Ah, you may say nonsense, but parrots and cockatoos is werry strange birds. Wonderful what they knows and what they says." "I don't believe they know what they say, Jem." "Ah! That's because you're so young, Mas' Don. You'll know better some day. Parrots is as cunning as cunning. Well, now, did you ever see the likes of that? He's laughing and jeering at us." For at that moment the bird began to bob its head up and down rapidly, gradually growing more excited, and chattering all the while, as it ended by dancing first on one leg and then on the other, in the most eccentric fashion. "I should like to have that bird, Jem," said Don at last. "Should you? Then you wouldn't have me along with you." "I don't like him. I like a bird as can behave itself and whistle and sing and perch; but I don't like one as goes through all them monkey tricks. Wish I'd got a stone, I'd try and knock him off his perch." _Chur-r-r-r_! Shrieked the bird, and it let itself fall over backwards, dropping down head over heels like a tumbler pigeon, or an unfortunate which had been shot, and disappearing among the leaves far below. "There!" cried Jem, triumphantly; "now, what do you say to that? Heard what I said, he did, and thought I was going to throw." "Nonsense, Jem!" "Ah! You may call it nonsense, Mas' Don, because you don't know better, but you didn't see him fall." "Yes, I saw him fall, and--hist! Creep back; there's some one coming!" The secret of the bird's sudden disappearance was explained for there was a rustling among the ferns far behind, as if some large body was forcing its way along the ravine; and as Jem backed slowly into the cavern, Don cautiously peered from behind a mass of stone into the hollow, to see that some one or something was approaching rapidly, as if with the intention of scaling the rock, and climbing to where they lay. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN. "It's all over with us, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as soon as they were some little distance in the retreat. "That blackguard Ramsden's sure, after all, that we're in here, and that Tom Hoppers has come to his senses, and felt it was me as hissed at him, and they're coming to hunt us out." "Let's hope not, Jem." "Yah! What's the good o' hoping." _Churr-urrt_ shrieked the cockatoo from far below. "There now," said Jem. "Hark at that! He's telling 'em we're in here, and coming on before to show 'em the way." "What nonsense, Jem!" _Churr-ur_! Shrieked the cockatoo, ever so much nearer. "Well, do you call that nonsense?" whispered Jem. "The bird's being cheered on; some one coming." _Churr_--_churr_--_churr-ur-ur_! Shrieked the cockatoo nearer, nearer, and then right in front of the cave, as it flew by. "All right, Mas' Don; I arn't going to hargue. You think your way, and I'll think mine; but if that wasn't saying in New Zealandee as those two misfortunate chaps is hiding in this here hole, I never lived in Bristol city, and I don't know sugar from tobacker." "Hist!" whispered Don. _Hiss-s-s-s_ came from far in the depths of the cave. _Gurgle-urgle-gugg-pap_! Went something of a liquid kind. "Here, I can't stand this here, Mas' Don," whispered Jem; "let's make a rush of it; and get right away in the woods." "Hush! There's some one coming," whispered Don, drawing his companion farther back into the darkness. "All right, Mas' Don! Take me in again where the bad air is; poison us both. Good-bye, Sally, my gal. It's all over now; but I forgives you. Shake hands, Mas' Don. I don't bear you no ill-will, nor nobody else. Here they come." There was a rustling and panting noise, and they were on the tip-toe of expectation, when there was a heavy concussion, a deep-toned roar, and then an echoing rumble as the sound reverberated among the mountains. Then utter silence. Jem gripped Don's arm with force, and stared at him wildly. "Well!" whispered Don. "It was only a gun from the ship to recall the boats." Jem stooped down and gave his leg a slap. "You are a clever one, Mas' Don, and no mistake. Why, o' course it is. I never thought it was that." "What did you think it was, then?" "Some o' them hot water-works gone off, _bang_! And blown up the mountain.--There!" He pointed to a hideous-looking head appearing above the edge of the shelf, and seen by the evening light as it fell athwart it, the countenance with its blue lines and scrolls ending in curls on either side of the nose was startling enough to make any one fear danger. The owner of the face climbed up to the shelf, followed by another bronzed figure, when Don recognised the second as the tattooed Englishman, while there was no mistake about the first, for he made Jem give an angry grunt as a human voice shouted,-- "My pakeha." "Somebody calling you, Mas' Don?" "My pakeha!" shouted the New Zealander again. "Jemmeree Wimbee." "Eh! Here, I say, call a fellow by his right name!" cried Jem, stepping forward. The chief met him with advancing step, and caught him by the shoulders, and before Jem could realise what he was going to do, placed his blue nose against that which was coppery white, and gave it a peculiar rub. "Here, I say, don't!" cried Jem, struggling to free himself, when the chief seized Don in turn, and bent down and served him the same. "Don't you stand it, Mas' Don. Hit out." "Don't you, youngster," said the Englishman. "It's only his friendly way." "Yes, that's what they say at home when a big dog goes at you, and nearly rolls you over," grumbled Jem. "I say, have you got anything to eat?" "Not here, but plenty at Ngati's place. I'm glad to see you both safe, my lads. It gave me quite a turn when he told me he'd hidden you in here." "Why?" said Don sharply. "Well, I'll tell you, my lad. There's a kind o' bad steam lies along the bottom farther in, and if a man was to lie down on the floor and go to sleep, I don't s'pose he'd ever wake again. Come along!" "Where are the men from the ship?" "Gone off with their mates. Didn't you hear the gun?" Don nodded. "They've been searching all over for you. Can't make out whether you two got to shore, or were chopped up by the sharks out yonder. They won't come again till to-morrow, and you'll be safe till then. You must be hungry." "Hungry?" said Jem, with a mocking laugh. "Hungry? Lookye here: you'd better take me where there's something, or it won't be safe. I heard tell as people ate one another out here, and I didn't believe it, but I do now. I'm ready for anything or anybody; so come along." Ngati took possession of Don, and led the way, evidently very proud of his young companion; whilst Jem followed with the Englishman down the gully slope, and then in and out among the trees, ferns, and bushes, till the dangerous hot and mud springs were passed, and the _whare_ was reached. Then the weary fugitives were seated before what seemed to them a banquet of well-cooked fish, fruits, and roots, with a kind of hasty pudding preparation, which was far from bad. "Feel better, now?" said the Englishman, after he had sat and smoked till they had done. "Better? Yes, I'm better," said Jem; "but I should like to know one thing." "Well, what is it?" "Will they go on feeding us like this?" "Yes; and if they don't, I will." "But--it don't--it don't mean any games, does it?" said Jem, in a doubting tone. "You mean making game of you?" said the Englishman with a broad grin. "Yes, hare or fezzun," said Jem. The Englishman laughed, and turned to Don. "I'll see if you can't have a better hiding-place to-night. That was very dangerous, and I may as well tell you to mind where you go about here, for more than one poor fellow has been smothered in the hot mud holes, and scalded to death." "Is the water so hot as that?" said Don. "Hot? Why, those vegetables and things you ate were cooked in one of the boiling springs." "Phew!" whistled Jem. They sat talking in the moonlight afterwards, listening to the tattooed Englishman, who spoke about what he had heard from the ship's crew. Among other things the news that they might sail at any time. Don started, and the tattooed Englishman noticed it. "Yes," he said; "that means going away and leaving you two behind. You don't seemed pleased." Don looked up at him earnestly. "No," he said; "I didn't at first. Don't think me ungrateful after what you've done." "I don't, my lad," said the man, kindly; "I know what you feel. It's like being shut away from every one you know; and you feel as if you were going to be a savage, and never see England again. I felt something like that once; but I didn't come out like you did. Ah, well, that's neither here nor there. You're only a boy yet, with plenty o' time before you. Make yourself as happy as you can; these chaps are not so very bad when they don't want to get fighting, and I daresay you and me will be good enough friends. Eh? Hullo! What's the matter?" He leaped to his feet, and Don, Jem, and the New Zealand savages about them did the same, for half-a-dozen of Ngati's followers came running up with news, which they communicated with plenty of gesticulations. "What are they a-saying on, Mas' Don? I wish I could speak New Zealandee." "Two boats' crews are coming ashore from the ship. I wish you two was brown and tattooed." Jem glanced wildly at Don. "Come on," said the Englishman. "I must see if I can't hide you before they come. What?" This last was to a fresh man, who ran up and said something. "Quick, my lads," said the Englishman. "Your people are close at hand." CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. LEFT BEHIND. Tomati hurried out, followed by Don, but the latter was thrust back into the hut directly, Tomati stretching out his arms so as to spread his blanket wide to act as a screen, under cover of which Don and Jem were half pushed, half backed into the large gathering hut of the tribe, Ngati giving some orders quickly, the result of which was that Don and Jem were hustled down into a sitting position and then thrown upon their faces. "Here, I'm not going to--" "Hush, Jem. You'll be heard," whispered Don. "Yes, but--lookye here." There was no time to say more. The first lieutenant of the ship, with a middy, Bosun Jones, and about twenty men came marching up, to find a group of Ngati's men seated in a close circle, their blankets spread about them and their heads bent forward, grunting together, and not so much as looking round. The men were halted, and the lieutenant addressed the tattooed Englishman. "Well!" he said; "where are our two men?" "Ask the sharks," said the renegade, shortly. "Humph! Yes. I suppose we shall have to. Poor wretches! The captain thought we'd have a last look round. But mind this, if they turn up here, you and your men will detain them till we come back. I shall hold you responsible." The Englishman grunted after the fashion of one of the savages. "I suppose you don't want to come home, eh?" "No; I'm comfortable enough here as an emigrant." "An emigrant, eh? Look here, Master Tomati, if I did my duty, I suppose I should take you aboard, and hand you over to the authorities." "What for?" said the Englishman, surlily. "Escaping from Norfolk Island. That's right, isn't it?" "Look here!" said the Englishman; "do you know, sir, that this is one of the worst parts of the coast, and that the people here think nothing of attacking boats' crews and plundering them, and making them prisoners, and often enough killing and eating 'em?" "Threatening, eh?" said the lieutenant. "Not I. But I'm a chief, and the people here would do everything I told them, and fight for me to a man." "Then you are threatening." "No, sir; I only wanted to remind you that your boats' crews have come and gone in peace; that you have been allowed to go about ashore, and been supplied with fruit and vegetables, and never a thing missed." "That's true enough," said the lieutenant. "Well, what of that? A king's ship well-armed would keep a larger tribe than yours quiet!" "Oh! Oh!" came from the group of natives. "Yes, I repeat it," said the lieutenant sharply. "They can understand English, then?" "Of course they do," said the tattooed man calmly, though he looked uneasily at the group; "and as to your ship, sir, what's the good of that if we were to fight you ashore?" "Do you want to fight, then?" said the lieutenant sharply. "It doesn't seem like it, when I've kept my tribe peaceful toward all your crew, and made them trade honestly." "Out of respect to our guns." "Can you bring your guns along the valleys and up into the mountains?" "No; but we can bring plenty of well-drilled fighting men." "Oh! Oh!" came in quite a long-drawn groan. "Yes," said the lieutenant looking toward the group, "well-drilled, well-armed righting men, who would drive your people like leaves before the wind. But I don't want to quarrel. I am right, though; you are an escaped convict from Norfolk Island?" "Yes, I am," said the man boldly; "but I've given up civilisation, and I'm a Maori now, and the English Government had better leave me alone." "Well, I've no orders to take you." "Oh! Oh!" came again from the group: and Tomati turned sharply round, and said a few words indignantly in the Maori tongue, whose result was a huddling closer together of the men in the group and utter silence. "They'll be quiet now," said Tomati. "They understand an English word now and then." "Well, I've no more to say, only this--If those two men do come ashore, or you find that they have come ashore, you've got to seize them and make them prisoners. Make slaves of them if you like till we come again, and then you can give them up and receive a good reward." "I shall never get any reward," said Tomati, grimly. "Poor lads! No," said the boatswain; "I'm afraid not." Just then there was a sharp movement among the Maoris, who set up a loud grunting noise, which drew the attention of the lieutenant, and made the men laugh. "It's only their way," said the Englishman gruffly. "Ah, a queer lot. Better come back to civilisation, my man," said the lieutenant. "At Norfolk Island, sir?" "Humph!" muttered the lieutenant; and facing his men round, he marched them back to the boats, after which they spent about four hours making soundings, and then returned to the ship. Almost before the sailors were out of hearing, there was a scuffle and agitation in the group, and Jem struggled from among the Maoris, his face hot and nearly purple, Don's not being very much better. "I won't stand it. Nearly smothered. I won't have it," cried Jem furiously. "Don't be so foolish, Jem. It was to save us," said Don, trying to pacify him. "Save us! Well they might ha' saved us gently. Look at me. I'm nearly flat." "Nonsense! I found it unpleasant; but they hid us, and we're all right." "But I arn't all right, Mas' Don; I feel like a pancake," cried Jem, rubbing and patting himself as if he were so much paste or clay which he wanted to get back into shape. "Don't be so stupid, Jem!" "Stoopid? 'Nough to make any man feel stoopid. I was 'most stuffocated." "So was I." "Yes, but you hadn't got that big, `my pakeha' chap sitting on you all the time." "No, Jem, I hadn't," said Don, laughing. "Well, I had, and he weighs 'bout as much as a sugar-hogshead at home, and that arn't light." "But it was to hide us, Jem." "Hide us, indeed! Bother me if it didn't seem as if they was all hens wanting to sit on one egg, and that egg was me. I know I shall never get right again." "Oh yes, you will," laughed Don. "Ah, it's all werry well for you to laugh, Mas' Don; but if my ribs hadn't been made o' the best o' bone, they'd ha' cracked like carrots, and where should I ha' been then?" "Hurt, mate?" said Tomati, coming up and laughing at Jem, who was rubbing himself angrily. "Just you go and be sat upon all that time, and see if you won't feel hurt," grumbled Jem. "Why, it hurts your feelings as much as it does your body." "Ah, well, never mind. You're quite safe now." Tomati walked away to speak to one of his men. "Quite safe now, he says, Mas' Don. Well, I don't feel it. Hear what he said to the fust lufftenant; this was the worst part of the coast, and the people were ready to rob and murder and eat you?" "I didn't hear all that, Jem," said Don quietly. "I heard him say that they were a warlike, fighting people; but that doesn't matter if they are kind to us." "But that's what I'm feared on," said Jem, giving himself a jerk. "Afraid of them being kind?" "Ay, feared of them liking us too well. Pot." "Pot?" "Yes, Pot. Don't you understand?" "No." "Pot. P--O--T, Pot." "Well, of course, I know that; but what does it mean?" "Why, they've sat upon you, Mas' Don, till your head won't work; that's what's the matter with you, my lad. I mean treat us as if we was chyce fat sheep." "Nonsense, Jem!" "Oh, is it? Well, you'll see." "I hope not," said Don, laughing. "Ah, you may laugh, my lad, but you won't grin that day when it comes to the worst." News was brought in soon after of the boats being busy taking soundings, and that night Don and Jem sat screened by the ferns high up on the mountain side, and saw the sloop of war with her sails set, and looking golden in the setting sun, gliding slowly away toward the north-east, careening slightly over before a brisk breeze, which grew stronger as they reached out farther beyond the shelter of the land; and in spite of hints from Tomati, and calls from Ngati, neither could be coaxed down till, just as it was growing dusk, Don rose and turned to his companion. "Have we done right, Jem?" "What, in getting away from being slaves aboard ship? Why, o' course." Don shook his head. "I don't know," he said, sadly. "We are here right away on the other side of the world amongst savages, and I see no chance of getting away back home." "Oh, but we arn't tried yet, my lad." "No, we haven't tried, Jem." "My pakeha! My pakeha!" came from below. "There he goes again!" growled Jem. "Do tell Tomati to ask him to call you something else. I know I shall get in a row if you don't." "You must not get into any quarrel, Jem," said Don, thoughtfully; "for we ought to keep the best of friends with these people. Ahoy!" An answering cry came back, and they began to descend with the darkness coming on and a strange depression of spirit troubling Don, as he felt more and more as if for the first time in their lives he and Jem Wimble were thoroughly alone in the world. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. SOMETHING TO DO. "'Tarn't so bad, Mas' Don," said Jem, about a month later. "Never felt so clean before in my life. Them hot baths is lovely, and if we could get some tea and coffee, and a bit o' new bread and fresh butter now and then, and I could get my Sally out here, I don't know as I should much mind stopping." "And what about the pot, Jem?" "Tchah! That was all gammon. I don't b'lieve they ever did anything o' the sort. When's Tomati coming back? Tomati, Jemmaree, Donni-Donni. Pretty sort of a language. Why, any one could talk New Zealandee." "I wish I could, Jem." "Well, so you could if you tried. All you've got to do is to riddle-me-ree the words a bit. I'm getting on first rate; and what I like in these people is that they never laughs at you when you makes a mistake." They had been furnished with a snug hut, close to one of the roughly-made hot water baths, and were fairly well supplied with food, which they augmented by going out in Ngati's canoe, and catching abundance of fish, to the Maori's great delight; for he gazed with admiration at the skilful methods adopted by Jem, who was no mean angler. "And the best of the fun is, Mas' Don, that the fishes out here are so stupid. They take any bait a'most, and taken altogether they're not such bad eating. Wonder what shark would be like?" Don shuddered, and they both decided that they would not care to try. Ngati of the fiercely savage face and huge size proved to be one of the most amiable of men, and was after them every morning, to go out in the forest collecting fruit, or to dam up some stream to catch the fresh-water fish, or to snare birds. "He do cap me," Jem would say. "Just look at him, Mas' Don. That there chap's six foot four at least, half as broad again across the chest as I am, and he's got arms like a helephant, while to look at him with his blue face you'd say he was 'bout the fiercest-looking fighting man you ever see; and yet, when you come to know him inside, he's just like a big boy, and so good-tempered I could do anything with him." "And only the other day you looked upon him as quite an enemy." "Ay, I did, Mas' Don, but I don't now. Them there artful birds is my mortal enemies. They parrots and cockatoos is cunning and wicked enough, but them little birds is imps, that's what they are." Jem shook his head and frowned, and no more was said then, for they were packing up a basket, and going up into the mountains to get fruit, taking provisions enough to last them for the day. Their hut was right in the middle of the little village, and the Maoris treated them in the most friendly manner, smiling at them in an indolent fashion as they lolled about the place, doing very little except a little gardening; for their wants were few, and nature was kind in the abundance she gave for a little toil. This life soon had its effects upon Jem, who began to display a disposition to idle too. "Seems so nat'ral, Mas' Don," he would say. "I don't see why a man should be always letting sugar-hogsheads down out of waggons, and rolling 'em about and getting them into warehouses. Why can't we take it coolly, same as they do?" "Because we don't want to stand still, Jem," said Don quietly. "You and I are not savages." "Well, no, Mas' Don, that's true; but it's very pleasant to take it as coolly as they do. Why, these chaps, the whole lot of 'em, live just as if it was always holidays, and a hot water bath thrown in." "Uncle Josiah used to say that people soon got tired of having holidays." "Your Uncle Josiah soon got tired o' giving holidays, Mas' Don. I never, as you know, wanted many, but he always looked rat-traps at me if I asked for a day. Here you can have as many as you like." "Well, let's take one to-day, Jem," said Don. "Fill another basket with something to eat, take a couple of bags, and we'll go right away into the forest, and bring back as much fruit as we can." "I'll be all ready in no time," said Jem, cheerily; and at the end of three minutes he was equipped, and they started off together, to find Ngati half lying on the sands in company with about a dozen more of his tribe, all of whom gave the pair a friendly smile and a wondering look at the trouble they seemed to take to obtain fruit, when some of the women or girls could have done the task just as well. "They are about the idlest set of chaps I ever did see, Mas' Don," said Jem, as they trudged cautiously along through the ferny woodlands, where traces of volcanic action were wonderfully plentiful. "But they work when there's any need for it, I daresay," said Don. "See how vigorously they can row, and how energetic they are when they go through the war-dance." "Oh! Any stoopid could jump about and make faces," replied Jem. "I wonder whether they really could fight if there was a row?" "They look as if they could, Jem." "Looks arn't much good in fighting, Mas' Don. Well, anyhow, they're big and strong enough. Look! What a pity we haven't got a gun. Might have shot a pig and had some pork." He pointed to about half-a-dozen good-sized pigs, which had scurried across the path they followed, and then disappeared among the ferns. "Rum thing, it always seems to me that there's nothing here except pigs. There must be, farther in the woods. Mind that hole, my lad." Don carefully avoided stepping into a bubbling patch of hot mud right in their path, and, wondering what would be the consequences of a step in, he went on, in and out, among dangerous water holes and mud springs. Cockatoos whistled overhead, and parrots shrieked, while every now and then they came upon a curious-looking bird, whose covering resembled hair more than feathers, as it cocked its curved bill towards them, and then hurriedly disappeared by diving in amongst the dense low growth. "Look at that!" said Jem. "Ostrich?" "Ostrich!" cried Don contemptuously. "Why, an ostrich is eight feet high." "Not when he's young," said Jem. "That's a little one. Shouldn't wonder if there's some more." "You may be right, Jem, but I don't think there are ostriches here." "Well, I like that," said Jem, "when we've just seen one. I knew it directly. There used to be a picture of one in my old reading-book when I was at school." They trudged on for some distance in silence. "What yer thinking 'bout, Mas' Don?" "Home," said Don, quietly. "Oh! I say, don't think about home, Mas' Don, because if you do, I shall too; it do make me so unked." "I can't help it, Jem. It doesn't seem natural to settle down here, and go on week after week. I get asking myself, what we are doing it for." "To catch fish, and find fruit and keep ourselves alive. Say, Mas' Don, it's under them trees they digs up the big lumps of gum that they burn. Ah, there's a bit." Jem stooped and picked out from among the rotten pine needles a piece of pale yellowish-looking gum of the size of his fist. "That'll do for a light for us," Don said. "Take it back." "Going to," said Jem laconically. "We may want it 'fore long." "Here's another bit," said Don, finding a similar sized piece, and thrusting it into the basket. "Couldn't we make some matches, Jem?" "Couldn't we make some matches? Why, of course we could. There's plenty of brimstone, I'm going to try and manage a tinder-box after a time." They again walked on in silence, climbing higher and higher, till, coming to an opening, they both paused in silent admiration of the view spread out before them, of river, lake, and mountain, whose top glistened like silver, where glacier and snow lay unmelted in spite of the summer heat. "Wouldn't you like to go up there, Mas' Don?" said Jem, after a few moments' silence. "Go? I'd give anything to climb up there, Jem. What a view it must be." "Ah, it must, Mas' Don; but we won't try it to-day; and now, as we've been on the tramp a good two hours, I vote we sit down and have a bit of a peck." Don agreed, and they sat down at the edge of the wood to partake of the rather scanty fare which they spread on the ground between them. "Yes, it would be fine," said Jem, with his mouth and hands full. "We ought to go up that mountain some day. I've never been up a mountain. Hi! Wos!" This was shouted at another of the peculiar-looking little birds which ran swiftly out of the undergrowth, gave each in turn a comical look, and then seized a good-sized piece of their provender and ran off. "Well, I call that sarce," said Jem; "that's what I calls that. Ah, if I'd had a stone I'd soon have made him drop that." "Now," said Don laughing, "do you call that an ostrich?" "To be sure I do!" cried Jem. "That proves it. I've read in a book as ostriches do steal and swallow anything--nails, pocket-knives, and bits o' stone. Well! I never did!" Jem snatched off his cap and sent it spinning after another rail which had run up and seized a fruit from their basket, and skimmed off with its legs forming a misty appearance like the spokes of a rapidly turning wheel. "Sarce is nothing to it, Mas' Don. Why, that little beggar's ten times worse than the old magpie we used to have in the yard. They're so quick, too. Now, just look at that." Either the same or another of the little birds came out of the undergrowth, peering about in the most eccentric manner, and without displaying the least alarm. "Just look at him, Jem." "Look at him, Mas' Don? I am a-looking at him with all my eyes. He's a beauty, he is. Why, if I was a bird like that with such a shabby, dingy looking, sooty suit o' clothes, I know what I'd do." "What would you do?" "Why, I'd moult at once. Look at the rum little beggar. Arn't he comic? Why, he arn't got no wings and no tail. Hi! Cocky, how did you get your beak bent that way? Look as if you'd had it caught in a gate. Have another?" Jem took up a large raspberry-like fruit that he had picked some time before, and held it out to the bird, which stopped short, and held its head down comically, looking first at Jem, and then at the berry. With a rapid twist it turned its head on the other side, and performed the same operation with the left eye. "Well, he is a rum un!" cried Jem, laughing. "Look! Mas' Don, look!" Don was watching the eccentric-looking little creature, which ran forward rapidly, and then paused. "Why, 'tarn't a wild bird at all!" cried Jem. "It's one of the `my pakeha' chap's cocks an' hens. Well, I ham blessed!" For rapid almost as thought, and before Jem could recover from his surprise, the bird had darted forward, seized the fruit, and was off a dozen yards before he had darted out his hand after it. "Too late, Jem." "Yes, Mas' Don, too late that time; but I mean to ketch that chap, just to show him he arn't so clever as he thinks. You sit still, and go on eating, and don't take no notice, and look out--look out." "Oh!" ejaculated Don. For at that moment one of the birds had come up behind him, and almost before he had heard Jem's warning cry, he was made aware of the bird's presence by a sharp dig of its beak in the hand holding a portion of his dinner, which was carried rapidly away. "Magpies is nothing to 'em," cried Jem. "But wait a bit, my fine fellows, and you shall see what you shall see. Pass that there basket, Mas' Don. Ah! That's a good bait for my gentleman. Look at 'em. I can see three peeping out of the bushes. They're a-watching to see what I'm going to do." "Three! I can see four, Jem." "More for me to ketch, Mas' Don. Wonder whether they're good to eat? I say, do you think they can understand English?" Don laughed, and went on with his dinner, as Jem began to play fox, by putting a tempting-looking berry in his hand, stretching it out to the full extent of his arm, and then lying back among the ferns. "Now then, don't take no notice, Mas' Don. Let you an' me keep on feeding, and that'll 'tract 'em out." Don was already quietly "feeding," and he rested his back against a piece of stone, watching intently all the while. Two of the birds began to approach directly, while the others looked on as if deeply interested. The approach of the advance force was particularly curious, for they came on picking here and picking there, as if they had not the slightest intention of going near the fruit in Jem's hand; but in spite of several feints of going right away, always getting nearer, while Jem munched away, using his left hand, and keeping his eyes half shut. They had not long to wait, for one of the birds manoeuvred until it was a few feet away, then made a rush, caught the berry from Jem's hand, which closed with a snap, the second bird made a dart and caught the berry from the first bird's beak, and Jem sat up holding a few feathers, staring after the birds, one of which cried out in a shrill piping tone. "Yes, I'll give you pepper next time, my fine fellow!" cried Jem. "Nearly had you. My word, Mas' Don, they are quick. Give's another berry." Jem baited his natural trap again, and went on with his meal; but he had scared away the birds for the time being, and they came no more. "The worst of eating, Jem, is that it makes you lazy." "And not want to move, Mas' Don. Yes, it do. But it's my 'pinion as this was meant for a lazy country, else the water wouldn't be always on the bile, ready for use." "Think that's fire?" said Don, after a dreamy pause, during which he had lain back gazing at the brilliant silver-tipped mountain, above which floated a cloud. "No," said Jem. "I should say as there's a big hot water place up yonder, and that there's steam. Yes, one do feel lazy here; but it don't matter, Mas' Don; there's no bosun, and no master and lufftenant and captain to order you about. I rather likes it, only I seem to want my Sally here. Wonder what she'd say to it?" "We must get away from it, Jem." "But we arn't got no boat, and it takes pretty nigh a hunderd men to row one of them canoes." "We must make a long journey through the country, Jem, right beyond those mountains, and sooner or later we shall come to a place where there are Englishmen, who will help us to get a passage in a ship." Jem shook his head. "I don't believe there's any Englishmen here, Mas' Don." "I do. I think I've read that there are; and if we do not find any, we shall have seen the place, and can come back here." "He talks just like as if he was going for a ride to Exeter by the Bristol waggon! Ah, well, just as you like, Mas' Don, only don't let's go this afternoon, it's all too nice and comfortable. I don't want to move. Say, wonder whether there's any fish in that lake?" "Sure to be, Jem, and hundreds of wonders to see if we journey on." "Dessay, my lad, dessay; but it's werry wonderful here. Look along that hollow place where the big fir trees is growing." "Lovely, Jem. What a beautiful home it would make." "Say, Mas' Don, let's make our fortunes." "How?" "Let's set up in trade, and deal in wood. Lookye yonder, there's fir trees there, that if we cut 'em down and trimmed 'em, they'd be worth no end o' money in Bristol, for ships' masts." "Yes, Jem," said Don drily; "and how are you going to get them there?" "Ah!" said Jem, scratching his head. "Never thought of that." There was half an hour's drowsy silence. The sun shone down with glorious power, and the lizards rustled among the large stones. From the forest behind there came the buzz of insects, and the occasional cry of some parrot. Save for these sounds all was wonderfully still. And they sat there gazing before them at the hundreds of acres of uncultivated land, rich in its wild beauty, unwilling to move, till Don said suddenly,-- "Yes, Jem; this is a lazy land. Let's be up and doing." "Yes, Mas' Don. What?" "I don't know, Jem; something useful." "But there arn't nothing useful to do. I couldn't make a boat, but I think I could make a hogshead after a fashion; but if I did, there arn't no sugar to put in it, and--" "Look, Jem!" "What at, Mas' Don? Eh?" he continued as he followed his companion's pointing hand. "Why, I thought you said there was no beasts here." "And there are none." "Well, if that arn't a drove o' cattle coming down that mountain side, I'm a Dutchman." "It does look like it, Jem," said Don. "It seems strange." "Look like it, Mas' Don? Why, it is. Brown cattle, and you can see if you look at the sun shining on their horns." "Horns! Jem!" cried Don, excitedly; "they're spears!" "What?" "And those are savages." "So they are!" cried Jem. "Why, Mas' Don, that there don't mean a fight, do it?" "I don't know, Jem. But they can't see us, can they?" "No. These here bushes shades us. Let's creep back through the wood, and go and tell 'em down below. They don't know, p'r'aps, and we may get there first." "We must," said Don quickly. "Jem, I'm sure of it. You can see the spears quite plainly, and perhaps it's a war-party out from some other tribe. Quick, lad, quick! We can get there first." "And if it's a false alarm, they'll laugh at us, Mas' Don." "Let them. They won't laugh if there's danger in the way." Don caught up the basket and backed into the shelter of the trees, keeping in a stooping position, while Jem followed, and now, with all the sensation of indolence gone, they hurried along the rugged and dangerous path, to spread the alarm in the village far below, where they had left the inmates dreaming away their existence in happy ignorance of the danger so close at hand. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. A PERILOUS DESCENT. The heat was terrible, and it seemed to Don as if the difficulties met with in their outward journey had been intensified on their return. Thorns caught in their garments, and, failing these, in their flesh. Twice over Jem stepped a little too much off the faint track, and had narrow escapes of plunging into pools of hot mud, whose presence was marked by films of strange green vegetation. Then they mistook their way, and after struggling along some distance they came out suddenly on a portion of the mountain side, where to continue their course meant that they must clamber up, descend a sheer precipice of at least a hundred feet by hanging on to the vine-like growths and ferns, or return. They stopped and stared at each other in dismay. "Know where we went wrong, Mas' Don?" said Jem. "No; do you?" "Not I, my lad. Think it must ha' been where I had that last slip into the black hasty pudding." "What shall we do, Jem? If we go back we shall lose an hour." "Yes! Quite that; and 'tarn't no good to climb up here. I could do it; but it's waste o' time." "Could we get down here?" "Oh, yes," said Jem drily; "we could get down easy enough; only the thing is, how should we be when we did get down?" "You mean we should fall to the bottom?" "Well, you see, Mas' Don," said Jem, rubbing one ear as he peered down; "it wouldn't be a clean fall, 'cause we should scrittle and scruttle from bush to bush, and ketch here and snatch there. We should go right down to the bottom, sure enough, but we might be broke by the time we got there." "Jem, Jem, don't talk like that!" cried Don angrily. "Do you think it possible to go down?" "Well, Mas' Don, I think the best way down would be with our old crane and the windlass tackle." "Do you dare climb down?" "Ye-es, I think so, Mas' Don; only arn't there no other way?" "Not if we want to save them down at the village." "Well, but do we want to save 'em, Mas' Don? They're all werry well, but--" "And have been very kind to us, Jem. We must warn them of danger." "But, lookye here, Mas' Don, s'pose it arn't danger. Pretty pair o' Bristol noodles we shall look, lying down at the bottom here, with all our legs and arms broke for nothing at all." Don stood gazing at his companion, full of perplexity. "Think it is real danger, Mas' Don?" "I'm afraid so. You heard Tomati say that there were desperate fights sometimes." "Don't call him Tomati; I 'ates it," growled Jem. "Well, I s'pose it is danger, then." "And we must look the matter in the face, Jem. If we go back those people will be at the village before us. Perhaps we shall meet them, and be made prisoners; but if we go on here, we shall save an hour, perhaps two. Yes, I shall climb down." "No, no; let me go first, Mas' Don." "Why?" "Because I shall do to tumble on if you do let go, or any bush breaks." "Here seems to be about the best place, Jem," said Don, without heeding his companion's last remark; and, setting his teeth, he lowered himself down, holding on by the bushes and aerial roots of the various tough, stunted pieces of vegetation, which clung to the decomposing volcanic rock. Jem's face puckered up as he set his teeth, and watched Don descend a few feet. Then, stooping over, he said cheerily,-- "That's the way, Mas' Don; take it cool, stick tight, and never think about the bottom. Are you getting on all right?" "Yes." "That's your sort. I'm coming now." Jem began to whistle as he lowered himself over the edge of the precipice, a few feet to Don's right; and directly after he began to sing merrily,-- "`There was a man in Bristol city, Fol de rol de riddle-lol-de-ri. And that's the first o' this here ditty, Fol de rol de-riddle-lol-de-ri.' "Say, Mas' Don, 'tarn't so bad, after all." "It's terrible, Jem!" panted Don, "Can we do it?" "Can we do it? Ha, ha, ha!" cried Jem. "Can we do it? Hark at him! We're just the boys as can do it. Why, it arn't half so bad as being up on the main-top gallant yard. "`Fol de rol de-riddle-lol-de-ri.'" "Don't make that noise, Jem, pray." "Why not, my lad? That's your sort; try all the roots before you trust 'em. I'm getting on splen--" _Rush_! "Jem!" "All right, Mas' Don! Only slipped ten foot of an easy bit to save tumbles." "It isn't true. I was looking at you, and I saw that root you were holding come out of the rock." "Did you, Mas' Don? Oh, I thought I did that o' purpose," came from below. "Where are you?" "Sitting straddling on a big bit o' bush." "Where? I can't see you." "Here, all right. 'Tarn't ten foot, it's about five and twenty-- "`De-riddle-lol-de-ri.'" "Jem, we must climb back. It is too risky." "No, we mustn't, Mas' Don; and it arn't a bit too risky. Come along, and I'll wait for you." Don hesitated for a minute, and then continued his descent, which seemed to grow more perilous each moment. "Say, Mas' Don," cried Jem cheerily, "what a chance for them birds. Couldn't they dig their bills into us now!" "Don't talk so, Jem. I can't answer you." "Must talk, my lad. Them fern things is as rotten as mud. Don't you hold on by them. Steady! Steady!" "Yes. Slipped a little." "Well, then, don't slip a little. What's your hands for? "`There was a man in Bristol city, Fol de rol de--'" "Say, Mas' Don, think there's any monkeys here?" "No, no." "'Cause how one o' they would scramble down this precipit. Rather pricky, arn't it?" "Yes; don't talk so." "All right! "`De-riddle-liddle-lol.' "I'm getting on first rate now, Mas' Don--I say." "Yes!" "No press-gang waiting for us down at the bottom here, Mas' Don?" "Can you manage it, Jem?" "Can I manage it? Why, in course I can. How are you getting on?" Don did not reply, but drew a long breath, as he slowly descended the perilous natural ladder, which seemed interminable. They were now going down pretty close together, and nearly on a level, presence and example giving to each nerve and endurance to perform the task. "Steady, dear lad, steady!" cried Jem suddenly, as there was a sharp crack and a slip. "Piece I was resting on gave way," said Don hoarsely, as he hung at the full length of his arms, vainly trying to get a resting-place for his feet. Jem grasped the position in an instant, but remained perfectly cool. "Don't kick, Mas' Don." "But I can't hang here long, Jem." "Nobody wants you to, my lad. Wait a minute, and I'll be under you, and set you right. "`There was a man in Bristol city,'" he sang cheerily, as he struggled sidewise. "`Fol de--' I say, Mas' Don, he was a clever one, but I believe this here would ha' bothered him. It's hold on by your eyelids one minute, and wish you was a fly next." "Jem." "Hullo, lad?" "If I let go and dropped, how far should I fall?" "'Bout two foot ten," said Jem, after a glance below them at the sheer precipice. "Then I had better drop." "If you do you will knock me to the bottom, so just you hold on till I tells you." Jem kept up his jocular way of speaking; but if any one could have looked on, he would have seen that his face was curiously mottled with sallow, while his hands were trembling when at liberty, and that there was a curiously wild, set look in his eyes. "There, Mas' Don," he said cheerily, as he finished climbing sidewise till he was exactly beneath. "Now, one moment. That's it." As he spoke he drew himself up a little, taking fast hold of the stem of a bush, and of a projecting stone, while he found foot-hold in a wide crevice. "Now then, rest your foot on my shoulders. There you are. That's the way. Two heads is better than one." "Can you bear my weight, Jem?" "Can I bear your weight? Why? You may stand there for a week. Now just you rest your wristies a bit, and then go on climbing down, just as if I warn't here." The minute before Don had felt that he could bear the strain no longer. Now the despairing sensation which came over him had gone, his heart felt lighter as he stood on Jem's shoulders, and sought another hold for his hands lower down. The wild, fluttering pulsation ceased, and he grew composed. "I'm rested now, Jem," said Don. "Of course you are, my lad. Well, then, now you can climb down aside me. 'Tarn't so much farther to the bottom." "Can you reach out far enough for me to come between you and the rock?" "Just you try, Mas' Don." By this time Don had found a fresh hold for his feet; and nerving himself, he descended slowly, Jem forcing himself out, so that there was enough room for any one to pass; but as Don cleared him, and got right below, the bush to which Jem clung with one hand came slowly out of the interstices of the stones, and but for the exercise of a large amount of muscular power and rigidity of will, he would have swung round and fallen headlong. "I'm all right now, Jem!" cried Don from below. "Glad of it, my lad," muttered Jem, "because I arn't." "Come along down now." "How, Mas' Don?" said Jem grimly. "The same way as I did." "Oh! All right; but the bush I held on by is gone." "Well take hold of another." "Just you get from under me, Mas' Don." "Why? What do you mean?" "I'm too heavy to ketch like a cricket ball. That's all, my lad." "Oh, Jem, don't say you are in danger." "Not I, my lad, if you don't want me to; but it is awk'ard. Stand clear," he shouted. "I'm coming down. No, I arn't," he said directly after, as he made a tremendous effort to reach a tough stem below, failed, and then dropped and caught it, and swung first by one hand and then by two. "I say, Mas' Don, I thought I was gone." "You made my heart seem to jump into my mouth." "Did I, lad? Well, it was awk'ard. I was scared lest I should knock you off. Felt just as I did when the chain broke, and you could see the link opening, and a big sugar-hogshead threatening to come down. All right now, my lad. Let's get on down. Think we're birds' nesting, Mas' Don, and it'll be all right." Don had to nerve himself once more, and they steadily lowered themselves from tuft to tuft, and from stone to stone, with more confidence, till they were about thirty feet from the foot, when farther progress became impossible, for, in place of being perpendicular, the cliff face sloped inward for some distance before becoming perpendicular once more. "Well, I do call that stoopid," said Jem, as he stared helplessly at Don. "What are we going to do now?" "I don't know, Jem. If we had a bit of rope we could easily descend." "And if we'd got wings, Mas' Don, we might fly." "We must climb back, Jem, as--Look here, would these trees bear us?" "Not likely," said Jem, staring hard at a couple of young kauri pines, which grew up at the foot of the precipice, and whose fine pointed tops were within a few feet of where they clung. "But if we could reach them and get fast hold, they would bend and let us down." "They'd let us down," said Jem drily; "but I don't know 'bout bending." Don clung to the face of the rock, hesitating, and wondering whether by any possibility they could get down another way, and finding that it was absolutely hopeless, he made up his mind to act. "It is next to impossible to climb up, Jem," he said. "Yes, Mas' Don." "And we can't get down." "No, Mas' Don. We shall have to live here for a bit, only I don't know how we're going to eat and sleep." "Jem." "Yes, Mas' Don." "I'm going to jump into that tree." "No, Mas' Don, you mustn't risk it." "And if it breaks--" "Never mind about the tree breaking. What I don't like is, s'pose you break." "I shall go first, and you can try afterwards." "No, no, Mas' Don; let me try first." Don paid no heed to his words, but turned himself completely round, so that he held on, with his back to the stony wall, and his heels upon a couple of rough projections, in so perilous a position that Jem looked on aghast, afraid now to speak. In front of Don, about nine feet away, and the top level with his feet, was the tree of which he had spoken. As far as support was concerned, it was about as reasonable to trust to a tall fishing-rod; but it appeared to be the only chance, and Don hesitated no longer than was necessary to calculate his chances. "Don't do it, Mas' Don. It's impossible, and like chucking yourself away. Let's climb up again; it's the only chance; and if we can't get to the village in time, why, it arn't our fault. No, my lad, don't!" As the last words left his lips, Don stood perfectly upright, balancing himself for a few moments, and then, almost as if he were going to dive into the water, he extended his hands and sprang outward into space. Jem Wimble uttered a low groan. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. DON'S REPORT. In the case of a leap like that made by Don, there was no suspense for the looker on, for the whole affair seemed to be momentary. Jem saw him pass through the air and disappear in the mass of greenery with a loud rushing sound, which continued for a few moments, and then all was still. "He's killed; he's killed!" groaned Jem to himself; "and my Sally will say it was all my fault." He listened eagerly. "Mas' Don!" he shouted. "Hullo, Jem! I say, would you drop if you were me?" "Drop? Then you arn't killed?" "No, not yet. Would you drop?" "I don't know what you mean." "I'm hanging on to the end of that young tree, and it keeps going up and down like a spring, and it won't go any nearer than about twelve feet from the ground. Would you drop?" _Whish_! _Rush_! _Crash_! _Thud_! The young tree sprang up again, cleaving a way for itself through the thick growth, and standing nearly erect once more, ragged and sadly deprived of its elegant proportions, just as a dull sound announced Don's arrival on _terra firma_. "All right, Jem!" he cried. "Not hurt. Look here; spread your arms out well and catch tight round the tree as you jump at it. You'll slip down some distance and scratch yourself, but you can't hurt much." "I hear, Mas' Don," said Jem, drawing a long breath full of relief. "I'm a-coming. It's like taking physic," he added to himself; "but the sooner you takes it, the sooner it's down. Here goes! Say, Mas' Don, do you ketch hold o' the tree with your hands, or your arms and legs?" "All of them. Aim straight at the stem, and leap out boldly." "Oh, yes," grumbled Jem; "it's all very well, but I was never 'prenticed to this sort o' fun.--Below!" "A good bold jump, Jem. I'm out of the way." "Below then," said Jem again. "Yes, jump away. Quick!" But Jem did not jump. He distrusted the ability of the tree to bear his weight. "Why don't you jump?" "'Cause it seems like breaking my neck, which is white, to save those of them people in the village, which is black, Mas' Don." "But you will not break your neck if you are careful." "Oh, yes! I'll be careful, Mas' Don; don't you be 'fraid of that." "Well, come along. You're not nervous, are you, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, reg'lar scared; but, below, once more. Here goes! Don't tell my Sally I was afraid if I do get broke." Possibly Jem would have hesitated longer, but the stump of the bush upon which he stood gave such plain intimation of coming out by the roots, that he thought it better to leap than fall, and gathering himself up, he plunged right into the second kauri pine, and went headlong down with a tremendous crash. For he had been right in his doubts. The pine was not so able to bear his weight as its fellow had been to carry Don. He caught it tightly, and the tree bent right down, carrying him nearly to the earth, where he would have done well to have let go; but he clung to it fast, and the tree sprang up again, bent once more, and broke short off, Jem falling at least twenty feet into the bushes below. "Hurt, Jem?" cried Don, forcing his way to his side. "Hurt? Now is it likely, Mas' Don? Hurt? No. I feel just like a babby that's been lifted gently down and laid on a feather cushion. That's 'bout how I feel. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Here, give's a hand. Gently, dear lad; I'm like a skin full o' broken bones. Help me out o' this tangle, and let's see how much of me's good, and how much 'll have to be throwed away. Eggs and bacon! What a state I'm in!" Don helped him as tenderly as he could out into an open space, and softly assisted him to lie down, which Jem did, groaning, and was perfectly still for a few moments flat there on his back. "Are you in much pain, Jem?" said Don, anxiously. "Horrid, lad, horrid. I think you'd better go on and warn 'em, and come and fetch me arterwards; only don't forget where I am, and not find me. Look! There's two o' them birds coming to see what's the matter." "I can't leave you, Jem. You're of more consequence to me than all the New Zealanders in the place." "Am I, Mas' Don? Come, that's kindly spoke of you. But bother that tree! Might ha' behaved as well to me as t'other did to you." "Where do you feel in pain, Jem?" "Where? It's one big solid slapping pain all over me, but it's worst where there's a big thorn stuck in my arm." "Let me see." "No; wait a bit. I don't mean to be left alone out here if I can help it. Now, Mas' Don, you lift that there left leg, and see if it's broke." Don raised it tenderly, and replaced it gently. "I don't think it's broken, Jem." "Arn't it? Well, it feels like it. P'r'aps it's t'other one. Try." Don raised and replaced Jem's right leg. "That isn't broken either, Jem." "P'r'aps they're only crushed. Try my arms, my lad." These were tried in turn, and laid down. "No, Jem." "Seems stoopid," said Jem. "I thought I was broke all over. It must be my back, and when a man's back's broke, he feels it all over. Here, lend us a hand, my lad; and I'll try and walk. Soon see whether a man's back's broke." Don offered his arm, and Jem, after a good deal of grunting and groaning, rose to his feet, gave himself a wrench, and then stamped with first one leg and then with the other. "Why, I seems all right, Mas' Don," he said, eagerly. "Yes, Jem." "Think it's my ribs? I've heared say that a man don't always know when his ribs is broke." "Do you feel as if they were, Jem?" "Oh, yes; just exactly. All down one side, and up the other." "Could you manage to walk as far as the village? I don't like to leave you." "Oh, yes; I think I can walk. Anyhow I'm going to try. I say, if you hear me squeak or crack anywhere, you'll stop me, won't you?" "Of course." "Come on then, and let's get there. Oh, crumpets! What a pain." "Lean on me." "No; I'm going to lean on myself," said Jem, stoutly. "I'm pretty sure I arn't broke, Mas' Don; but feel just as if I was cracked all over like an old pot, and that's werry bad, you know, arn't it? Now then, which way is it?" "This way, Jem, to the right of the mountain." "Ah, I suppose you're right, Mas' Don. I say, I can walk." "Does it hurt you very much?" "Oh, yes; it hurts me horrid. But I say, Mas' Don, there arn't many chaps in Bristol as could have failed down like that without breaking theirselves, is there?" "I think it's wonderful, Jem." "That's what I think, Mas' Don, and I'm as proud of it as can be. Here, step out, sir; works is beginning to go better every minute. Tidy stiff; but, I say, Mas' Don, I don't believe I'm even cracked." "I am glad, Jem," cried Don. "I felt a little while ago as if I would rather it had been me." "Did you, though, Mas' Don? Well, that's kind of you, that it is. I do like that. Come along. Don't you be afraid. I can walk as fast as you can. Never fear! Think we shall be in time?" "I don't know, Jem. I was in such trouble about you that I had almost forgotten the people at the village." "So had I. Pain always makes me forget everything, 'speshly toothache. Why, that's the right way," he cried, as they turned the corner of a steep bluff. "Yes, and in a quarter of an hour we can be there; that is, if you can walk fast?" "I can walk fast, my lad: look. But what's quarter of a hour? I got muddled enough over the bells board ship--three bells, and four bells, and the rest of it; but out here there don't seem to be no time at all. Wonder how near those fellows are as we see. I am glad I arn't broke." In about the time Don had said, they came to the path leading to the ravine, where the cave pierced the mountain side. A few minutes later they were by the hot bath spring, and directly after, to Don's great delight, they came upon Tomati. "I was coming to look for you two," he said. "You had better not go far from the _whare_. Two of the tribes have turned savage, and are talking about war." Don interrupted him, and told him what they had seen. "So soon!" he said hurriedly. "Is it bad news, then?" asked Don, anxiously. "Bad, my lads! Bad as it can be." "Then that was a war-party we saw?" "Yes; come on." He then put his hands to his mouth and uttered a wildly savage yell, whose effect was instantaneous. It was answered in all directions, and followed by a shrieking and wailing chorus from the women and children, who came trooping out of their huts, laden with household treasures, and hurrying up one particular path at the back of the village, one which neither Don nor Jem had intruded upon, from the belief that it led to some temple or place connected with the Maoris' religion. A few minutes before the men were idling about, lying on the black sand, sleeping, or eating and drinking in the most careless, indolent way. Now all were in a state of the wildest excitement, and as Don saw the great stalwart fellows come running here and there, armed with spear and stone axe, he felt that he had misjudged them, and thought that they looked like so many grand bronze figures, suddenly come to life. Their faces and nearly naked bodies were made hideous with tattooing marks; but their skins shone and the muscles stood out, and as they all grouped together under the orders of Tomati and Ngati, both Don and Jem thought that if the party they had seen were coming on to the attack, the fighting might be desperate after all. In less time than it takes to tell, men had been sent out as scouts; and pending their return, Tomati led the way up the path, after the women and children, to where, to Don's astonishment, there was a strong blockaded enclosure, or _pah_, made by binding great stakes together at the tops, after they had been driven into the ground. There was but one entrance to the enclosure, which was on the summit of a rock with exceedingly steep sides, save where the path zigzagged to the top; and here every one was soon busy trying to strengthen the place, the spears of the men being laid against the stockade. "May as well help," said Jem, sturdily. "I'm not going to fight, but I don't mind helping them to take care of themselves." They set to and aided in every way they could, Ngati smiling approval, patting Don on the back, and then hurrying away to return with two spears, which he handed to the two young men. "My pakeha!" he said; and Jem gave an angry stamp, and was about to refuse to take the weapon, when there was a yell of excitement from all in the _pah_, for one of the scouts came running in, and as he came nearer, it could be seen that he was bleeding from a wound in the shoulder, and that he had lost his spear. As if nerved by this sight, Don and Jem seized the spears offered for their defence. "Yes, Mas' Don," said Jem; "we shall have to try and fight; seems to me as if the war's begun!" A wild shriek followed his words, and Don saw that they were but too true. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. WAR. Tomati soon showed the reason for his elevation to the position of chief among the Maoris, for, in addition to being a man of commanding presence and great strength, his adventurous life had given him quickness and decision in his actions, which told with a savage race none too ready to discriminate. He rushed out of the _pah_, and caught the man by the shoulder, questioned him, turned him over to a couple of his friends to be doctored, and then in a loud voice informed the excited crowd that the danger was not imminent, following up this announcement with orders to go on strengthening the stockade. He was instantly obeyed, his cool manner giving his followers confidence; and they went on working hard at securing certain spots and strengthening the entrance, but always with their spears close at hand. There was another shout from a sentry, and again the whole tribe was electrified, women and children huddling under shelter, and the warriors seizing their weapons. This time a scout came running in uninjured and with his spear to announce the nearer approach of the enemy. Tomati received his news coolly enough, and then, after a word or two with Ngati, signed to the man to join the defenders, while two fresh scouts were sent out to spy the neighbourhood, and keep the chiefs well informed of the coming danger. Ngati's eyes seemed to flash, and there was a savage rigidity in his countenance that suggested hard times for the man who attacked him; but he seemed to place the most implicit confidence in Tomati, obeying his slightest suggestion, and evidently settling himself into the place of lieutenant to the white captain. After the first wailing and tears, the women and children settled down in their shelter quite as a matter of course, and as if such an event as this were no novelty in their social history. Once within the _pah_, and surrounded by stout fighting men on whom they could depend, they seemed quite satisfied, and full of confidence in the result of an attack, and this took Jem's notice. "Can't be much danger," he said, half contemptuously, "or these here wouldn't take it so coolly." "But it looks as if there was going to be a desperate fight." "Tchah! Not that, Mas' Don." "But look at that scout who ran in. He was hurt." "So is a boy who has had his head punched, and whose nose bleeds. There won't be no real fighting, my lad. I mean men being killed, and that sort o' thing." "Think not, Jem?" "Sure of it, my lad. T'other side 'll come up and dance a war-dance, and shake their spears at our lot. Then our lot 'll dance up and down like jack-jumpers, and make faces, and put out their tongues at 'em, and call 'em names. I know their ways; and then they'll all yell out, and shout; and then the others 'll dance another war-dance, and shout in Noo Zealandee that they'll kill and eat us all, and our lot'll say they'd like to see 'em do it, and that'll be all." Don shook his head. The preparations looked too genuine. "Ah, you'll see," continued Jem. "Then one lot 'll laugh, and say you're obliged to go, and t'other lot 'll come back again, and they'll call one another more names, and finish off with killing pigs, and eating till they can't eat no more." "You seem to know all about it, Jem." "Well, anybody could know as much as that," said Jem, going to the side and taking up a bundle formed with one of the native blankets, which he began to undo. "What have you got there?" "You just wait a minute," said Jem, with a dry look. "There! Didn't know that was the arm chest, did you?" He unrolled and took out a cutlass and two pistols, with the ammunition, and looked up smilingly at Don. "There!" he said, "what do you think o' them?" "I'd forgotten all about them, Jem." "I hadn't, my lad. There you are. Buckle on that cutlash." "No; you had better have that, Jem. I should never use it." "Oh, yes, you would, my lad, if it was wanted. On with it." Don reluctantly buckled on the weapon, and Jem solemnly charged the pistols, giving Don one, and taking the other to stick in his own waistbelt. "There," he said, retaking the spear given to him. "Don't you feel like fighting now?" "No, Jem; not a bit." "You don't?" "No. Do you?" "Well, if you put it in that way," said Jem, rubbing his ear, "I can't say as I do. You can't feel to want to do much in that way till some one hurts you. Then it's different." "It's horrible, Jem!" "Well, I suppose it is; but don't you get looking like that. There'll be no fighting here. I say, Mas' Don, it would be a bit of a game, though, to stick the pynte of this here spear a little way into one of the savages. Wonder what he'd say." "Ah! My pakeha!" cried a voice just behind them; and they turned sharply, to find themselves face to face with Ngati, who patted Don on the shoulder, and then pointed to his cutlass and pistol. "Hah!" he ejaculated, with a deep breath; and then, without warning, snatched Don's spear from his hand, threw himself into a series of wild attitudes, and went through the action of one engaged in an encounter with an enemy, stabbing, parrying, dodging, and darting here and there in a way that suggested instant immolation for the unfortunate he encountered. "Look at him, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "Look at him pretending. That's the way they fight. By-an'-by, you'll see lots o' that, but you mark my words, none on 'em won't go nigh enough to hurt one another." Ngati ceased as suddenly as he had begun, returned the spear to Don, and seemed to intimate that he should go through the same performance. "You wait a bit, old chap!" cried Jem. "We don't fight that way." "Hah!" ejaculated Ngati, and he ran across to a portion of the _pah_ where several of his warriors were busily binding some of the posts more securely. "It do make me laugh," said Jem; "but I s'pose all that bouncing helps 'em. Poor things. Mas' Don, you and I ought to be werry thankful as we was born in Bristol, and that Bristol's in old England. Say, shall you give any one a chop if it does come to a fight?" Don shook his head. Jem laughed. "If it warn't for wasting the powder, I tell you what we'd do. Get up a-top yonder where we could lean over the palings, wait till the other chaps comes up, and then shoot over their heads with the pistols. That'd make some of 'em run." There was another shout here, for two of the scouts came running in, and every man seized his spear, and darted to the spot he was expected to defend. "Why, Mas' Don, how they can run! Look at 'em. An Englishman wouldn't run like that from a dozen men. Here, let's chuck these spears away. We sha'n't want 'em. An Englishman as has got fists don't want no spears. Look! Look!" The two scouts had come running in very swiftly till they were about a hundred yards from the gateway of the _pah_, when they stopped short and faced about as two of the enemy, who were in chase, dashed at them, spear in hand. Then, to Jem's astonishment, a sharp passage of arms occurred; the spears clashed together, there was a wonderful display of thrusting and parrying, and the two enemies fell back, and the scouts continued their retreat to the shelter of the fort. "What do you think of that, Jem?" said Don excitedly. "That was real fighting." "Real?" cried Jem; "it was wonderful!" and he spoke huskily. "Why, both those chaps was wounded, and these here's got it, too." The two scouts were both gashed about the arms by their enemies' spears, but they came bravely in, without making any display, and were received by cheers, Tomati going up to each in turn, and gripping his hand. Just then the Englishman caught sight of his compatriots, and came across to them quickly. "Hullo!" he said, with a grim smile, "cleared for action, and guns run out?" "Yes, we're ready," said Jem. "Going to fight on our side?" "Well, I don't know," said Jem, in a dubious kind of way. "Fighting arn't much in my line." "Not in yours neither, youngster. There, I daresay we shall soon beat them off. You two keep under shelter, and if things go against us, you both get away, and make for the mountain. Go right into that cave, and wait till I join you." "But there will not be much fighting, will there--I mean real fighting?" said Jem. "I don't know what you mean by real fighting, squire; but I suppose we shall keep on till half of us on both sides are killed and wounded." "So bad as that?" "P'r'aps worse," said the man grimly. "Here, shake hands young un, in case we don't have another chance. If you have to run for it, keep along the east coast for about a hundred miles; there's white men settled down yonder. Good-bye." Tomati shook hands heartily, and went off to his righting men, who were excitedly watching the level below the _pah_, to which part it was expected the enemy would first come. Don joined them, eager to see how matters were going, and hopeful still, in spite of Tomati's words, that matters would not assume so serious an aspect; but just then a hand was laid upon his arm. "I was out of it, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "They do bounce a deal. But there's going to be real fighting on. One of those poor fellows who came running in, and stood up as if nothing was wrong, is dead." "Dead?" "Yes, my lad. Spear went right through his chest. Hark at 'em!" There was a low wailing noise from the corner of the _pah_, where the two men were sheltered, and Don felt a chill of horror run through him. "Then it is going to be quite a savage battle, Jem?" "'Fraid so, my lad--no, I don't mean 'fraid--think so. Now, look here, Mas' Don, it won't be long first, so you'd better go and lie down behind them high palings, where you'll be safe." "And what are you going to do?" "Stop here and see what there is to see." "But you may be hurt." "Well, Mas' Don," said Jem bitterly; "it don't much matter if I am. Run along, my lad." "I'm going to stop with you, Jem." "And suppose you're hurt; what am I to say to your mother? Why, she'd never forgive me." "Nor me either, Jem, if I were to go and hide, while you stood out here." "But it's going to be real dangerous, Mas' Don." "It will be just as dangerous for you, Jem. What should I say to your wife if you were hurt?" "Don't know, Mas' Don," said Jem sadly. "I don't think she'd mind a deal." "You don't mean it, Jem!" cried Don sharply. "Now, are you coming into shelter?" "No," said Jem, with a peculiarly hard, stern look in his face. "I'm going to fight." "Then I shall stay too, Jem." "Won't you feel frightened, Mas' Don?" "Yes, I suppose so. It seems very horrible." "Yes, so it is, but it's them others as makes it horrible. I'm going to give one on 'em something for spearing that poor chap. Look out, Mas' Don; here they come!" There was a fierce shout of defiance as the scouts came running in now as hard as they could, followed by a body of about two hundred naked warriors, whose bronzed bodies glistened in the sunshine. They came on in a regular body, running swiftly, and not keeping step, but with wonderful regularity, till they were about fifty yards from the _pah_, when, after opening out into a solid oblong mass to show a broader front, they stopped suddenly as one man, dropped into a half-kneeling position, and remained perfectly motionless, every savage with his head bent round, as if he were looking over his left shoulder, and then turning his eyes to the ground, and holding his weapon diagonally across his body. The whole business was as correctly gone through as if it was a manoeuvre of some well-drilled European regiment, and then there was an utter silence for a few minutes. Not a sound arose from either side; enemies and friends resembled statues, and it was as if the earth had some great attraction for them, for every eye looked down instead of at a foe. Don's heart beat heavily. As the band of heavy warriors came on, the air seemed to throb, and the earth resound. It was exciting enough then; but this was, in its utter stillness, horribly intense, and with breathless interest the two adventurers scanned the fierce-looking band. All at once Jem placed his lips close to Don's ear, and whispered,-- "Dunno what to say to it all, Mas' Don. P'r'aps it's flam after all." "No, Jem; they look too fierce," whispered back Don. "Ay, my lad, that's it; they look so fierce. If they didn't look so precious ugly, I should believe in 'em a bit more. Looks to me as if they were going to pretend to bite, and then run off." A sudden yell rose from the attacking party just then, and three of the enemy rushed forward to the front, armed with short-handled stone tomahawks. They seemed to be chiefs, and were men of great height and bulk, but none the less active; and as they advanced, a low murmur of dismay was started by such of the women as could command a view of what was going on outside. This seemed to be communicated to all the rest, women and children taking up the murmur, which rose to a piteous wail. This started the pigs and dogs which had been driven into the protection of the _pah_, and the discord was terrible. But meanwhile, partly to encourage their followers, partly to dismay those they had come to attack, the three leaders rushed wildly to and fro before the opening to the fort, brandishing their stone axes, grimacing horribly, putting out their tongues, and turning up their eyes, till only the whites were visible. "It's that 'ere which makes me think they won't fight," said Jem, as he and Don watched the scene intently. "Don't talk, Jem. See what they are going to do. Are we to shoot if they do attack?" "If you don't they'll give it to us," replied Jem. "Oh, what a row!" For at that moment there was a terrible and peculiar cry given from somewhere behind the little army, and the three men gave place to one who rushed from behind. The cry was given out three times as the man indulged in a similar set of wild evolutions to those which had been displayed by the three leaders, and with his eyes showing only the whites, he too thrust out his tongue derisively. "If I was only near enough to give you a chop under the chin!" grumbled Jem. Then he grasped and cocked the pistol he held, for the chief in front suddenly began to stamp on the ground, and shouted forth the beginning of his war-song. Up leaped the whole of the enemy, to shake their spears as they yelled out the chorus, leaping and stamping with regular movement, till the earth seemed to quiver. The acts of the chief were imitated, every man seeming to strive to outdo his fellows in the contortions of their countenances, the protrusion of their tongues, and the way in which they rolled and displayed the whites of their eyes. There was quite a military precision in the stamping and bounding, while the rhythm of the wild war-song was kept with wonderful accuracy. "Feel scared, Mas' Don?" whispered Jem. "I did at first, Jem," replied Don; "but they seem such a set of ridiculous idiots, that I am more disposed to laugh at them." "That's just how I feel, my lad, only aggrawated like, too. I should like to go among 'em with a big stick. I never see such faces as they make. It is all flam; they won't fight." The war-song went on as if the enemy were exciting themselves for the affray, and all the time the men of Tomati and Ngati stood firm, and as watchful as could be of their foes, who leaped, and stamped, and sang till Jem turned to Don, and said in a low voice,-- "Look here, Mas' Don, it's my opinion that these here chaps never grew inside their heads after they was six or seven. They've got bodies big enough, but no more brains than a little child. Look at that six-foot-four chap making faces at us; why, it's like a little boy. They won't fight." It seemed so to Don, and that it was all going to be an attempt to frighten the tribe he was with. But all the same, the enemy came by degrees nearer and nearer, as they yelled and leaped; and a suspicion suddenly crossed Don's mind that there might be a motive in all this. "Jem, they mean to make a rush." "Think so, Mas' Don?" "Yes, and our people know it. Look out!" The followers of Tomati had thoroughly grasped the meaning of the indirect approach, just as a man who has practised a certain manoeuvre is prepared for the same on the part of his enemy, and they had gradually edged towards the entrance to the _pah_, which was closed, but which naturally presented the most accessible way to the interior. The howling chorus and the dancing continued, till, at a signal, the rush was made, and the fight began. Jem Wimble's doubts disappeared in an instant; for, childish as the actions of the enemy had been previously, they were now those of desperate savage men, who made no account of their lives in carrying out the attack upon the weaker tribe. With a daring that would have done credit to the best disciplined forces, they darted up to the stout fence, some of them attacking the defenders, by thrusting through their spears, while others strove to climb up and cut the lashings of the _toro-toro_, the stout fibrous creeper with which the palings were bound together. One minute the enemy were dancing and singing, the next wildly engaged in the fight; while hard above the din, in a mournful booming bleat, rang out the notes of a long wooden horn. The tumult increased, and was made more terrible by the screaming of the women and the crying of the children, which were increased as some unfortunate defender of the _pah_ went down before the spear-thrusts of the enemy. The attack was as daring and brave as could be; but the defence was no less gallant, and was supplemented by a desperate valour, which seemed to be roused to the pitch of madness as the women's cries arose over some fallen warrior. A spear was thrust through at the defenders; answering thrusts were given, but with the disadvantage that the enemy were about two to one. Tomati fought with the solid energy of his race, always on the look-out to lead half-a-dozen men to points which were most fiercely assailed; and his efforts in this way were so successful that over and over again the enemy were driven back in spots where they had made the most energetic efforts to break through. As Don and Jem looked on they saw Tomati's spear darted through the great fence at some savage who had climbed up, and was hacking the lashings; and so sure as that thrust was made, the stone tomahawk ceased to hack, and its user fell back with a yell of pain or despair. Ngati, too, made no grotesque contortions of his face; there was no lolling out of the tongue, or turning up of the eyes, for his countenance was set in one fixed stare, and his white teeth clenched as he fought with the valour of some knight of old. "I would not ha' thought it, Mas' Don," said Jem excitedly. "Look at him; and I say--oh, poor chap!" This last was as Jem saw a fine-looking young Maori, who was defending a rather open portion of the stockade, deliver a thrust, and then draw back, drop his spear, throw up his arms, and then reel and stagger forward, to fall upon his face--dead. "They'll be through there directly, Mas' Don!" cried Jem, hoarsely, as Don stooped upon one knee to raise the poor fellow's head, and lay it gently down again, for there was a look upon it that even he could understand. "Through there, Jem?" said Don, rising slowly, and looking half stunned with horror. "Yes, my lad; and Tomati's busy over the other side, and can't come. Arn't it time us two did something?" "Yes," said Don, with his face flushing, as he gave a final look at the dead Maori. "Ah!" Both he and Jem stopped short then, for there was a yell of dismay as Ngati was seen now to stagger away from the fence, and fall headlong, bleeding from half-a-dozen wounds. An answering yell came from outside, and the clatter of spear and tomahawk seemed to increase, while the posts were beginning to yield in the weak spot near where the two companions stood. "Come on, Jem!" cried Don, who seemed to be moved by a spirit of excitement, which made him forget to feel afraid; and together they ran to where two men, supported by their companions outside, were hacking at the _toro-toro_, while others were fiercely thrusting their spears through whenever the defenders tried to force the axe-men down. "Pistols, Jem, and together, before those two fellows cut the lashings." "That's your sort!" cried Jem; and there was a sharp _click, click_, as they cocked their pistols. "Now, Jem, we mustn't miss," said Don. "Do as I do." He walked to within three or four yards of the great fence, and rested the butt of the spear he carried on the ground. Then, holding the pistol-barrel against the spear-shaft with his left hand, thus turning the spear into a support, he took a long and careful aim at a great bulky savage, holding on the top of the fence. Jem followed his example, and covered the other; while the enemy yelled, and thrust at them with their spears, yelling the more excitedly as it was found impossible to reach them. "Let me give the word, Mas' Don!" cried Jem, whose voice shook with excitement. "Mind and don't miss, dear lad, or they'll be down upon us. Ready?" "Yes," said Don. "Here goes, then," cried Jem. "Fire! Stop your vents." The two pistols went off simultaneously, and for a few moments the smoke concealed the results. Then there was a tremendous yelling outside, one that was answered from within by the defenders, who seemed to have become inspirited by the shots; for either from fright, or from the effects of the bullets, the two great Maoris who were cutting the lashings were down, and the defenders were once more at the fence, keeping the enemy back. "Load quickly, Jem," said Don. "That's just what I was a-going to say to you, Mas' Don." "Well done, my lads! That's good!" cried a hoarse voice; and Tomati was close to them. "Keep that up; but hold your fire till you see them trying to get over, and wherever you see that, run there and give 'em a couple of shots. Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" he roared, as he rushed away to encourage his followers, just as Jem had rammed home his charge, and examined the priming in the pistol pan. "That's just what we will do," said Jem; "only I should like to keep at it while my blood's warm. If I cool down I can't fight. Say, Mas' Don, I hope we didn't kill those two chaps." "I hope they're wounded, Jem, so that they can't fight," replied Don, as he finished his priming. "Quick! They're getting up yonder." They ran across to the other side of the _pah_, and repeated their previous act of defence with equally good result; while the defenders, who had seemed to be flagging, yelled with delight at the two young Englishmen, and began fighting with renewed vigour. "Load away, Mas' Don!" cried Jem; "make your ramrod hop. Never mind the pistol kicking; it kicks much harder with the other end. Four men down. What would my Sally say?" "Hi! Quick, my lads!" shouted Tomati; and as Don looked up he saw the tattooed Englishman, who looked a very savage now, pointing with his spear at one corner of the place. Don nodded, and ran with Jem in the required direction, finishing the loading as they went. It was none too soon, for three of the enemy were on the top of the fence, and, spear in hand, were about to drop down among the defenders. _Bang_! Went Jem's pistol, and one of the savages fell back. _Bang_! Don's shot followed, and the man at whom he aimed fell too, but right among the spears of the defenders; while the third leaped into the _pah_, and the next moment lay transfixed by half-a-dozen weapons. "I don't like this, Jem," muttered Don, as he loaded again. "More don't I, my lad; but it's shoot them or spear us; so load away." Jem words were so much to the point, that they swept away Don's compunction, and they hastily reloaded. All around were the yelling and clashing of spears; and how many of the attacking party fell could not be seen, but there was constantly the depressing sight of some brave defender of the women and children staggering away from the fence, to fall dead, or to creep away out of the struggle to where the weeping women eagerly sought to staunch his wounds and give him water. "That's splendid, my lads! That's splendid! Ten times better than using a spear," cried Tomati, coming up to them again. "Plenty of powder and ball?" "Not a very great deal," said Don. "Be careful, then, and don't waste a shot. They can't stand that." "Shall we beat them off?" said Don, after seeing that his pistol was charged. "Beat them off? Why, of course. There you are again. Look sharp!" Once more the two pistols cleared the attacking Maoris from the top of the fence, where they were vainly trying to cut through the lashings; and, cheered on by these successes, the defenders yelled with delight, and used their spears with terrible effect. But the attacking party, after a recoil, came on again as stubbornly as ever, and it was plain enough to those who handled the firearms that it was only a question of time before the besieged would be beaten by numbers; and Don shuddered as he thought of the massacre that must ensue. He had been looking round, and then found that Jem was eyeing him fixedly. "Just what I was a-thinking, Mas' Don. We've fought like men; but we can't do impossibles, as I says to your uncle, when he wanted me to move a molasses barrel. Sooner we cuts and runs, the better." "I was not thinking of running, Jem." "Then you ought to have been, my lad; for there's them at home as wouldn't like us two to be killed." "Don't! Don't! Jem!" cried Don. "Come on. There's a man over! Two-- three--four! Look!" He ran toward the side, where a desperate attack was being made, and, as he said, four men were over, and others following, when once more the pistols sent down a couple who had mounted the fence, one of them being shot through the chest, the other dropping on seeing his companion fall, but with no further hurt than the fright caused by a bullet whistling by his ear. The four who were over made a desperate stand, but Tomati joined in the attack, and the daring fellows soon lay weltering in their blood; while, as Don rapidly loaded once more, he saw that Tomati was leaning on his spear, and rocking himself slowly to and fro. "Are you hurt?" said Don, running up, and loading as he went. "Hurt, my lad? Yes: got it horrid. Look here, if you and him see a chance make for the mountain, and then go south'ard." "But shall we be beaten?" "We are beaten, my lad, only we can't show it. I'm about done." "Oh!" "Hush! Don't show the white feather, boy. Keep on firing, and the beggars outside may get tired first. If not--There, fire away!" He made a brave effort to seem unhurt, and went to assist his men; while once more Don and Jem ran to the side, and fired just in time to save the lashings of the fence; but Jem's pistol went off with quite a roar, and he flung the stock away, and stood shaking his bleeding fingers. "Are you hurt, Jem?" "Hurt! He says, `Am I hurt?' Why, the precious thing bursted all to shivers; and, oh, crumpets, don't it sting!" "Let me bind it up." "You go on and load; never mind me. Pretty sort o' soldier you'd make. D'yer hear? Load, I say; load!" "Can't, Jem," said Don sadly; "that was my last charge." "So it was mine, and I rammed in half-a-dozen stones as well to give 'em an extra dose. Think that's what made her burst?" "Of course it was, Jem." "Bad job; but it's done, and we've got the cutlash and spears. Which are you going to use?" "The spear. No; the cutlass, Jem." "Bravo, my lad! Phew! How my hand bleeds." "I'm afraid we shall be beaten, Jem." "I'm sure of it, my lad. My right hand, too; I can't hit with it. Wish we was all going to run away now." "Do you, Jem?" "Ay, that I do; only we couldn't run away and leave the women and children, even if they are beaten." A terrible yelling and shrieking arose at that moment from behind where they stood, and as they turned, it was to see the whole of the defenders, headed by Tomati, making a rush for one portion of the fence where some of the stout poles had given way. A breach had been made, and yelling like furies, the enemy were pouring through in a crowd. CHAPTER FORTY. DEFEATED. Two minutes at the outside must have been the lapse of time before the last spear held up in defence of the _pah_ was lowered by its brave owner in weakness, despair, or death. Tomati's men fought with desperate valour, but they were so reduced that the enemy were four to one; and as they were driven back step by step, till they were huddled together in one corner of the _pah_, the slaughter was frightful. Stirred to fury at seeing the poor fellows drop, both Don and Jem had made unskilful use of their weapons, for they were unwillingly mingled with the crowd of defenders, and driven with them into the corner of the great enclosure. One minute they were surrounded by panting, desperate men, using their spears valorously, as the Greeks might have used theirs in days of old; then there came a rush, a horrible crowding together, a sensation to Don as if some mountain had suddenly fallen on his head to crush out the hideous din of yelling and despairing shrieks, and then all was darkness. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was still darkness, but the stars were shining brightly overhead, when Don opened his eyes again to begin wondering why his head should ache so terribly, and he should feel so cold. Those thoughts were only momentary, for a colder chill ran through him as on both sides of where he lay a low moaning sound arose, as of some one in pain. "Where am I?" he thought. "What is the matter?" Then he realised what had happened, for a familiar voice said almost in a whisper,-- "Poor little Sally! I wish she was here with a bit of rag." "Jem!" "Mas' Don! Oh! Thank the Lord! Amen! I thought--I thought--Oh! Oh!" A choking sensation rose in Don's throat, for he could hear close beside him the brave, true fellow sobbing like a woman. "Jem! Jem, old chap!" whispered Don. "Don't, pray don't do that." "I'm a-trying not to as hard as ever I can," whispered the poor fellow hoarsely; "but I've been bleeding like a pig, Mas' Don, and it's made me as weak as a great gal. You see I thought as you was dead." "No, no, Jem; I'm here safe, only--only my head aches, and I can't get my hands free." "No, my lad, more can't I. We're both tied up, hands and legs." "But the others? Where is Tomati?" "Don't ask me, my lad." "Oh, Jem!" There was a few minutes' awful silence, during which the low moaning sound went on from different places close at hand. "Where is Ngati?" whispered Don at last. "Half killed, or dead, Mas' Don," said Jem, sadly. "We're reg'lar beat. But, my word, Mas' Don, I am sorry." "Sorry? Of course." "Ah! But I mean for all I said about the poor fellows. I thought they couldn't fight." "The women and children, Jem?" "All prisoners, 'cept some as would fight, and they--" "Yes--go on." "They served them same as they did those poor chaps as wouldn't give in." "How horrible!" "Ah, 'tis horrid, my lad; and I've been wishing we hadn't cut and run. We was better off on board ship." "It's of no use to talk like that, Jem. Are you much hurt?" "Hand's all cut about with that pistol busting, and there's a hole through my left shoulder, as feels as if it had been bored with a red hot poker. But there, never mind. Worse disasters at sea, Mas' Don. Not much hurt, are you?" "I don't know, Jem. I can remember nothing." "Good job for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem." "Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?" "Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no food. I am too miserable to be hungry." "So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I could eat wood." They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire. "Wonder where they'll take us?" said Jem, at last. "To their _pah_, I suppose," replied Don, dreamily. "I s'pose they'll give us something to eat when we get there, eh?" "I suppose so, Jem. I don't know, and I feel too miserable even to try and think." "Ah," said Jem; "that's how those poor women and the wounded prisoners feel, Mas' Don; but they're only copper-coloured blacks, and we're whites. We can't afford to feel as they do. Look here, my lad, how soon do you think you'll be strong enough to try and escape?" "I don't know, Jem." "I say to-morrow." "Shall you be fit?" Jem was silent for a few minutes. "I'm like you, Mas' Don," he said. "I dunno; but I tell you what, we will not say to-morrow or next day, but make up our minds to go first chance. What do you say to that?" "Anything is better than being in the power of such wretches as these, Jem; so let's do as you say." Jem nodded his head as he sat in the bottom of the canoe in the broad moonlight, and Don watched the soft silver sea, the black velvet-looking shore, and the brilliant stars; and then, just as in his faintness, hunger, and misery, he had determined in his own mind that he would be obliged to sit there and suffer the long night through, and began wondering how long it would be before morning, he became aware of the fact that Nature is bounteously good to those who suffer, for he saw that Jem kept on nodding his head, as if in acquiescence with that which he had said; and then he seemed to subside slowly with his brow against the side. "He's asleep!" said Don to himself. "Poor Jem! He always could go to sleep directly." This turned Don's thoughts to the times when, after a hard morning's work, and a hasty dinner, he had seen Jem sit down in a corner with his back against a tub, and drop off apparently in an instant. "I wish I could go to sleep and forget all this," Don said to himself with a sigh--"all this horror and weariness and misery." He shook his head: it was impossible; and he looked again at the dark shore that they were passing, at the shimmering sea, and then at the bronzed backs of the warriors as they paddled on in their drowsy, mechanical way. The movement looked more and more strange as he gazed. The men's bodies swayed very little, and their arms all along the line looked misty, and seemed to stretch right away into infinity, so far away was the last rower from the prow. The water flashed with the moonlight on one side, and gleamed pallidly on the other as the blades stirred it; and then they grew more misty and more misty, but kept on _plash_--_plash_--_plash_, and the paddles of the line of canoes behind echoed the sound, or seemed to, as they beat the water, and Jem whispered softly in his ear,-- "Don't move, Mas' Don, my lad, I'm not tired!" But he did move, for he started up from where his head had been lying on Jem's knees, and the poor fellow smiled at him in the broad morning sunshine. Sunshine, and not moonshine; and Don stared. "Why, Jem," he said, "have I been asleep?" "S'pose so, Mas' Don. I know I have, and when I woke a bit ago, you'd got your head in my lap, and you was smiling just as if you was enjoying your bit of rest." CHAPTER FORTY TWO. TOMATI ESCAPES. "Have they been rowing--I mean paddling--all night, Jem?" said Don, as he looked back and saw the long line of canoes following the one he was in. "S'pose so, my lad. Seems to me they can go to sleep and keep on, just as old Rumble's mare used to doze away in the carrier's cart, all but her legs, which used to keep on going. Them chaps, p'r'aps, goes to sleep all but their arms." A terrible gnawing sensation was troubling Don now, as he looked eagerly about to see that they were going swiftly along the coast line; for their captors had roused themselves with the coming of day, and sent the canoes forward at a rapid rate for about an hour, until they ran their long narrow vessels in upon the beach and landed, making their prisoners do the same, close by the mouth of a swift rocky stream, whose bright waters came tumbling down over a series of cascades. Here it seemed as if a halt was to be made for resting, and after satisfying their own thirst, leave was given to the unhappy prisoners to assuage theirs, and then a certain amount of the food found in the various huts was served round. "Better than nothing, Mas' Don," said Jem, attacking his portion with the same avidity as was displayed by his fellow-prisoners. "'Tarn't good, but it'll fill up." "Look, Jem!" whispered Don; "isn't that Tomati?" Jem ceased eating, and stared in the direction indicated by Don. "Why, 'tis," he whispered. "Don't take no notice, lad, or they'll stop us, but let's keep on edging along till we get to him. Will you go first, or follow me?" "I'll follow you," whispered Don; and Jem began at once by changing his position a little as he went on eating. Then a little more, Don following, till they had placed a group of the miserable, apathetic-looking women between them and the warriors. These women looked at them sadly, but made no effort to speak, only sat watching them as they crept on and on till they were close upon the recumbent figure which they had taken to be the tattooed Englishman. "Why, if this is so easy, Mas' Don," said Jem, "why couldn't we get right among the trees and make for the woods?" "Hush! Some one may understand English, and then our chance would be gone. Go on." Another half-dozen yards placed them close beside the figure they had sought to reach, and as he lay beside him, Don touched the poor fellow on the breast. "Tomati!" he whispered, "is that you?" The man turned his head feebly round and stared vacantly--so changed that for a moment they were in doubt. But the doubt was soon solved, for the poor wounded fellow said with a smile,-- "Ay, my lad; I was--afraid--you were--done for." "No, no; not much hurt," said Don. "Are you badly wounded?" Tomati nodded. "Can I do anything for you?" "No," was the reply, feebly given. "It's all over with me at last; they will fight--and kill one another. I've tried--to stop it--no use." Jem exchanged glances with Don, for there was something terrible in the English chiefs aspect. "Where are they taking us?" said Don, after a pause. "Down to Werigna--their place. But look here, don't stop to be taken there. Go off into the woods and journey south farther than they go. Don't stay." "Will they kill us if we stay?" whispered Don. "Yes," said Tomati, with a curious look. "Run for it--both." "But we can't leave you." Tomati smiled, and was silent for a few minutes. "You will not--leave me," he whispered, as he smiled sadly. "I--shall escape." "I am glad," whispered Don. "But Ngati?--where is Ngati?" "Crawled away up the mountain. Badly wounded, but he got away." "Then he has escaped," whispered Don joyfully. "Yes. So must you," said Tomati, shivering painfully. "Good lads, both." "I don't like to leave you," said Don again. "Ah! That's right. Don, my lad, can you take hold--of my hand--and say--a prayer or two. I'm going--to escape." A thrill of horror ran through Don as he caught hold of the Englishman's icy hand, and the tears started to his eyes as in a broken voice he repeated the old, old words of supplication; but before his lips had formed half the beautiful old prayer and breathed it into the poor fellow's ear, Don felt his hand twitched spasmodically, and one of the chiefs shouted some order. "Down, Mas' Don! Lie still!" whispered Jem. "They're ordering 'em into the boat again. Think we could crawl into the bush from here?" "No, Jem; it would be impossible." "So it would, lad, so it would; but as he said, poor chap, we must take to the woods. Think any of these would come with us?" Don shook his head despairingly, as he longed to look in Tomati's face again, but he dared not stir. A few minutes later they were once more in the leading canoe, which was being urged rapidly over the smooth sea, and it was a long time before Don could frame the words he wished to say. For whenever he tried to speak there was a strange choking sensation in his throat, and he ended by asking the question mutely as he gazed wildly in his companion's face. "Tomati, Mas' Don?" said Jem sadly. Don nodded. "Ah, I thought that was what you meant, my lad. Didn't you understand him when he spoke?" "No--yes--I'm afraid I did," whispered back Don. "Yes, you did, my lad. He meant it, and he knew it. He has got away." Don gazed wildly in Jem's eyes, and then bent his head low down to hide the emotion he felt, for it was nothing to him then that the English chief was an escaped convict from Norfolk Island. He had been a true friend and defender to them both; and Don in his misery, pain, and starvation could only ask himself whether that was the way that he must escape--the only open road. It was quite an hour before he spoke again, and then hardly above his breath. "Jem," he said, "shall we ever see our dear old home again?" Jem looked at him wistfully, and tried to answer cheerily, but the paddles were flashing in the sun, and the canoe was bearing them farther and farther away to a life of slavery, perhaps to a death of such horror that he dared not even think of it, much less speak. CHAPTER FORTY THREE. A SEARCH IN THE DARK. Two days' more water journey within easy reach of the verdant shore, past inlet, gulf, bay, and island, round jagged points, about which the waves beat and foamed; and then, amidst shouting, singing, and endless barbaric triumphal clamour, the captured canoes with their loads of prisoners and spoil were run up to a black beach, where a crowd of warriors with their women and children and those of the little conquering army eagerly awaited their coming. Utterly worn out, the two English prisoners hardly had the spirit to scan the beautiful nook, through which a foaming stream of water dashed, at whose mouth lay several large war canoes, and close by which was the large open _whare_ with its carven posts and grotesque heads, quite a village of huts being scattered around. Similarly placed to that which he had helped to defend, Don could see upon a shoulder of the hill which ran up behind the _whare_, a great strongly made _pah_, ready for the tribe to enter should they be besieged by some enemy. But the whole scene with its natural beauty, seemed accursed to Don, as he was half dragged out of the canoe, to stagger and fall upon the sands--the fate of many of the wounded prisoners, who made no resistance, but resigned themselves to their fate. A scene of rejoicing ensued, in the midst of which fires which had been lighted as soon as the canoes came in sight, were well used by the women who cooked, and before long a banquet was prepared, in which three pigs and a vast number of potatoes formed the principal dishes. But there was an abundance of fruit, and bowls of a peculiar gruel-like food, quantities of which were served out to the wretched prisoners, where they squatted together, as dismal a group as could be imagined, and compared their own state with that of the victors, whose reception was almost frantic, and whose spoil was passed from hand to hand, to be marvelled at, or laughed at with contempt. At another time Don would have turned with disgust from the unattractive mess offered to him, but hunger and thirst made him swallow it eagerly, and the effect was wonderful. A short time before he had felt ready to lay down and die; but, after partaking of the food, he was ready to accept Jem's suggestion that they should bathe their hands and faces in the rushing water that foamed by close at hand, the conquerors being too much occupied with their singing and feasting to pay much heed to them. So they crept to the rocky edge of the clear, sparkling water, and to their surprise found that it was quite warm. But it was none the less refreshing, and as they half lay afterwards on the sun-warmed rock at the side, watching suspiciously every act of their new masters, in dread of that horror which sent a chill through both, they felt the refreshing glow send new life and strength through them, and as if their vigour were returning with every breath they drew. "Feel better, Mas' Don?" "Yes, much." "So 'm I. If it wasn't for the hole in my shoulder, and it being so stiff, I shouldn't be long before I was all right." "Does it pain you very much?" "Come, that's better, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Better?" "Yes; you're looking up again, and taking a bit o' interest in things. You quite frightened me, you seemed so down. My shoulder? Well, it do give it me pretty tidy. I thought I should have had to squeal when I was washing just now. But my legs are all right, Mas' Don. How's yourn?" "My legs?" "Yes. How soon shall we be ready to cut away?" "Hush!" "Oh! There's no one here understands English. When shall it be-- to-night?" "First time there is an opportunity, Jem," said Don, softly. "That's so, my lad; so every time you get a chance, you eat; and when you don't eat you drink, and lie down all you can." "Do you think any of the men here would try to escape with us?" Jem shook his head. "I don't understand 'em, Mas' Don. Seems to me that these chaps are all fight till they're beaten; but as soon as they're beaten, they're like some horses over a job: they won't try again. No, they're no good to help us, and I suppose they mean to take it as it comes." The two lay in silence now, watching the proceedings of their captors, who were being feasted, till there was a sudden movement, and about a dozen men approached them, spear in hand. At a shouted order the prisoners, wounded and sound, rose up with the women and children; and as patiently and apathetically as possible, allowed themselves to be driven up the hill-side to the strongly-built _pah_, through whose gateway they entered, and then threw themselves wearily down in the shadow of the great fence, while their captors secured the entrance, and a couple of them remained on guard. "Do I look like a sheep, Mas' Don?" said Jem, as he threw himself on the earth. "Sheep? No, Jem. Why?" "Because I feels like one, my lad. Driven in here like one of a flock, and this place just like a great pen; and here we are to be kept till we're wanted for--Oh, don't look like that, Mas' Don. It was only my fun. I say, you look as white as a wax image." "Then don't talk that way," said Don, hoarsely. "It is too horrible." "So it is, dear lad; but it seems to me that they only want to keep us now for slaves or servants. They're not going to, eh?" "No, Jem," said Don looking at the great fence. "Yes, that's just what I think, my lad. Posts like this may keep in Noo Zealanders, but they won't keep in two English chaps, will they?" "Do you think if we got away in the woods, we could manage to live, Jem?" "I think, my lad, if we stop in this here _pah_, we can't manage to at all, so we'll try that other way as soon as we can." "Do you think it will be cowardly to leave these poor creatures in the power of the enemy?" "If we could do 'em any good by staying it would be cowardly; but we can't do 'em any good. So as soon as you like, as I said before, I'm ready for a start. Why, there's fern roots, and fruit, and rivers, and the sea--Oh, yes, Mas' Don, I think we could pick up a living somehow, till we reached a settlement, or friendly tribe." Night began to fall soon afterward, and half-a-dozen women came in, bearing more bowls of the gruel-like food, and a couple of baskets of potatoes, which were set down near the prisoners, along with a couple of great vessels of water. "Didn't think I wanted any more yet," said Jem, after eating heartily, for there was an abundance. "Go on, Mas Don; 'tarn't so bad when you're used to it, but a shovel full of our best West Indy plarntation sugar wouldn't ha' done it any harm to my thinking." "I have eaten all I care for, Jem," said Don, wearily; and he sat gazing at the great fence which kept them in. "No," said Jem, softly; "not there, Mas' Don. Just cast your eyes a bit more to the left. There's quite a rough bit, and if we couldn't climb it, I'm not here." "But what about your shoulder?" "I'll climb it with one hand, Mas' Don, or know the reason why." "But the men on sentry?" "Tchah! They think we're all too done up and cowardly to try to get away. I've been thinking it all over, and if you're the same mind as me, off we go to-night." Don's heart beat fast, and a curious feeling of timidity came over him, consequent upon his weakness, but he mastered it, and, laying his hand on his companion's arm, responded,-- "I am ready." "Then we'll make our hay while the sun shines, and as soon as it's dark," said Jem, earnestly, and unconscious of the peculiarity of his use of the proverb. "Let's lie still just as the others do, and then, I'm sorry for 'em; but this here's a case where we must help ourselves." Jem lay there on his back as if asleep, when three stalwart Maoris came round soon after dusk, and took out the bowls which had held the food. They were laughing and talking together, as if in high glee, and it was apparently about the success of the festival, for they looked at their prisoners, whom they then seemed to count over, each in turn touching the poor creatures with the butt ends of their long spears. Don felt the hot blood surge through his veins as one of the three guards gave him a harsh thrust with his spear, but he did not wince, only lay back patiently and waited till the men had gone. They secured the way into the _pah_, after which they squatted down, and began talking together in a low voice. Don listened to them for a time, and then turned over to where Jem lay as if asleep. "Is it dark enough?" he whispered. "Plenty. I'm ready." "Can you manage to get over?" "I will get over," said Jem, almost fiercely. "Wait a little while, Mas' Don." "I can't wait, Jem," he whispered. "I feel now as if I must act. But one minute: I don't like leaving these poor creatures in their helplessness." "More do I; but what can we do? They won't stir to help themselves. Only thing seems to me is to get away, and try and find some one who will come and punish the brutes as brought us here." Don's heart sank, but he knew that his companion's words were those of truth, and after a little hesitation he touched Jem with his hand, and then began to crawl slowly across the open space toward the fence. He looked back to make sure that Jem was following, but the darkness was so thick now, that even at that short distance he could not see him. Just then a touch on his foot set him at rest, and he crept softly on, listening to the low muttering of the men at the gate, and wondering whether he could find the rough part of the fence to which Jem had directed his attention. As he crept on he began to wonder next whether the prisoners would miss them, and do or say anything to call the attention of the guard; but all remained still, save that the Maoris laughed aloud at something one of them had said. This gave him confidence, and ceasing his crawling movement, he rose to his hands and feet, and crept on all fours to the fence, where he rose now to an erect position, and began to feel about for the rough post. Jem was up and by him directly after. Don placed his lips to his ear. "Whereabouts was it?" "Somewhere 'bout here. You try one way, and I'll try the other," whispered Jem; and then Don gripped his arm, and they stood listening, for a faint rustling sound seemed to come from outside. The noise was not repeated; but for quite half an hour they remained listening, till, gaining courage from the silence--the Maori guard only speaking from time to time, and then in a low, drowsy voice--Don began to follow Jem's suggestion, feeling post after post, and sometimes passing his arm through. But every one of the stout pales he touched was smooth and unclimbable without some help; and thinking that perhaps he had missed the place, he began to move back in the darkness, straining his ears the while to catch any sound made by his companion. But all was perfectly still, and every pale he touched was smooth and regular, set, too, so close to the next that there was not the slightest chance of even a child creeping through. All at once there was a rustling sound on his left. "Jem has found it," he thought; and he pressed forward toward where he had parted from Jem, passing one hand along the pales, the other extended so as to touch his companion as soon as they were near. The rustling sound again close at hand; but he dare not speak, only creep on in the dense blackness, straining his eyes to see; and his ears to catch his companion's breath. "Ah!" Don uttered a sigh of satisfaction, for it was painful to be alone at such a time, and he had at last touched the strong sturdy arm which was slightly withdrawn, and then the hand gripped him firmly. Don remained motionless, listening for the danger which must be threatening, or else Jem would have spoken; but at last the silence became so irksome that the prisoner raised his left hand to grasp Jem's wrist. But it was not Jem's wrist. It was bigger and stouter; and quick as thought Don ran his hand along the arm to force back the holder of his arm, when to his horror, he found that the limb had been thrust through one of the openings of the fence, and he was a prisoner to some fierce chief who had suspected the design to escape, held in so strong a grip, that had he dared to struggle to free himself, it would not have been possible to drag the fettered arm away. "Jem! Help!" was on his lips, but he uttered no cry, only breathlessly listened to a deep panting from the outer side of the _pah_. CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. AFTER SUSPENSE. What would happen? A powerful savage had hold of him firmly, had caught him just as he was about to escape; and the next thing would be that he would feel a spear driven through the opening between the pales, and that spear would run him through and through. His first idea was to give warning of the danger, but he dared not call, and Jem was apparently beyond hearing of the rustling and panting noise which could still be heard. Directly after Don determined to wrest his arm away, and dart back into the darkness. But the hand which held him still gripped with a force which made this impossible; and in despair and dread he was about to fling himself down, when Jem came gliding up out of the darkness, and touched his cold, wet face. "I've found the post, Mas' Don!" he whispered. Don caught him with his disengaged hand, and placed Jem's against the arm which held him. For a few moments Jem seemed unable to grasp the situation, for nothing was visible. Then he placed his lips once more close to Don's ear. "Wait a moment till I've opened my knife." "No, no," whispered Don in a horrified tone. "It is too dreadful." "Then let's both try together, and wrench your arm away." A peculiar hissing sound came at that moment from the outside of the _pah_, and Don felt his arm jerked. "My pakeha! My pakeha!" "Why, it's Ngati!" whispered Don joyfully; and he laid his disengaged hand on the massive fist which held him. The grasp relaxed on the instant, and Don's hand was seized, and held firmly. "It's Ngati, Jem," whispered Don, "come to help us." "Good luck to him!" said Jem eagerly; and he felt for the chiefs great hand, to pat it, and grasp it in a friendly way. His grasp was returned, and then they listened as Ngati put his face to the opening, and whispered a few words, the only part of which they could understand being,-- "My pakeha. Come." "Yes; we want to come," whispered Don. "Tomati. Gone," came back, and then the chief said something rapidly in his own tongue. Don sighed, for he could not comprehend a word. "It's no good trying, Mas' Don," whispered Jem; "and if we don't try to get away, we mayn't have a chance to-morrow. Let's--Here it is. Quick! I've got it. You climb up first, get over the top, and hang by your hands, and wait till I come. We must both drop together, and then be off. Oh, if we could only make him understand. What a fool of a language his is." Don could not even then help thinking that Ngati might have said the same, but he did not lose a moment. Loosening his hold of the chiefs hand, he whispered,-- "Pakeha. Come." Then giving himself up to the guidance of Jem, his hands were placed upon a rough post, and he began to climb, Jem helping him, somewhat after the fashion in which he had once assisted him to reach the window. Then, almost noiselessly, he reached the top, climbed over with ease by the aid of the lashings, and getting a tight hold of the strong fibrous bands, he lowered himself down to await Jem's coming. Ngati was more intelligent than Don had expected, for directly after he felt two great warm hands placed under to support his bare feet. These were raised and lowered a little; and, seizing the opportunity, he let himself sink down, till Ngati placed his feet upon two broad shoulders, and then Don felt himself seized by the hips, and lifted to the ground. As this went on Don could feel the post he had climbed vibrating, and though he could not see, he could tell that Jem had mounted to the top. "Where are you?" whispered Jem. "Look out! Ngati will help you." Jem grasped the situation, and the chief caught his feet, lowering him slowly, when all at once something seemed to spring out of the darkness, knocking Don right over, and seizing Ngati. That it was one of the guards there could be no doubt, for the man raised the alarm, and held on to the prisoner he had made, Jem going down awkwardly in turn. He and Don could have fled at once, but they could not leave their New Zealand friend in the lurch; and as the struggle went on, Jem had literally to feel his way to Ngati's help, no easy task in the darkness when two men are struggling. At last he was successful, and got a grip of one of the combatants' throat; but a hoarse, "No, pakeha!" told him of his mistake. He rectified it directly, getting his arm round the neck of the guard, tightening his grasp, and with such good effect, that Ngati wrenched himself free, and directly after Don heard one heavy blow, followed by a groan. "My pakeha!" "Here!" whispered Don, as they heard the rapid beating of feet, shouts below, in the _pah_, and close at hand. Ngati seized Don's hand, and after stooping down, thrust a spear into it. Then, uttering a grunt, he placed another spear in Jem's hand, the spoils of their fallen enemy, and leaving him for a moment, he felt along the fence for his own weapon. He spoke no more, but by means of action made Don understand that he would go first, holding his spear at the trail, he grasping one end, Don the other. Jem was to do likewise, and thus linked together they would not be separated. All this took time, and during the brief moments that elapsed it was evident that the whole tribe was alarmed, and coming up to the _pah_. "All right, Mas' Don! I understand. It's follow my leader, and old `my pakeha' to lead." Ngati did not hesitate a moment, but went rapidly down the steep descent, straight for the river, apparently right for where some of the yelling tribe were advancing. All at once the New Zealand chief stopped short, turned quickly, and pressed his hands firmly on Don's shoulder; for voices were heard just in front, and so near, that the lad feared that they must be seen. But he grasped the chief's idea, and lay flat down, Jem following his example; and almost as they crouched to the ground, a group of the enemy ran up so close, that one of them caught his foot against Jem, and fell headlong. Fortunately Jem was too much startled to move, and, muttering angrily, the man sprang up, not--as Don expected--to let drive with a spear at his companion, but attributing his fall to some stone, or the trunk of a tree, he ran on after his companions. Then Ngati rose, uttered a few words, whose import they grasped, and once more they hurried on straight for the river. It was their only chance of escape, unless they made for the sea, and chanced finding a small canoe on the sands. But that was evidently not Ngati's intention. Over the river seemed to be the only way not likely to be watched; and, going straight for it, he only paused again close to its brink, listening to the shouting going on but a very short distance from where they stood. While Don listened, it sounded to him as if the Maoris were literally hunting them down, the men spreading out like a pack of dogs, and covering every inch of ground so closely that, unless they escaped from where they were, capture was absolutely certain. As they stood panting there, Ngati caught Don's hand, and tightened it round the spear, following this up by the same action with Jem. "He means we are to hold tight, Jem." "Is he going to take us across this tumbling river, Mas' Don?" "It seems so." "Then I shall hold tight." Before them they could faintly make out the foaming water, and though the distance was not above twenty or thirty yards, the water ran roaring over great stones in so fierce a torrent, that Don felt his heart sink, and shrank from the venture. But on the other side of the torrent was freedom from a death so horrible that the boy shuddered at the thought, and without hesitation he tightened his hold on the spear, and followed the great Maori as he stepped boldly into the rushing stream. It was a new sensation to Don as he moved on with the water over his waist, and pressing so hard against him, that but for the support of the spear-shaft, he must have been swept away. Sturdy even as Jem was, he, too, had a terribly hard task to keep his footing; for his short, broad figure offered a great deal of surface to the swift current, while the rugged stony bed of the river varied in depth at every step. They had a tower of strength, though, in Ngati, who, in spite of the wounds he had received, seemed as vigorous as ever; and though Don twice lost his footing, he clung tightly to the spear, and soon fought his way back to a perpendicular position. But even towers of strength are sometimes undermined and give way. It was so here. They were about half-way across the river, whose white foam gave them sufficient light to enable them to see their way, when, just as Ngati came opposite to a huge block of lava, over which the water poured in tremendous volume, he stepped down into a hole of great depth, and, in spite of his vast strength and efforts to recover himself, he was whirled here and there for a few moments by the power of the fall. Both Don and Jem stood firm, though having hard work to keep their footing, and drew upon the spear-shaft, to which Ngati still held. But all at once there was a sharp jerk, quite sufficient to disturb Don's balance, and the next moment Ngati shot along a swift current of water, that ran through a narrow trough-like channel, and Don and Jem followed. Rushing water, a sensation of hot lead in the nostrils, a curious strangling and choking, with the thundering of strange noises in the ears. Next a confused feeling of being knocked about, turned over and beaten down, and then Don felt that he was in swift shallow water amongst stones. He rose to his feet to find, as soon as he could get his breath regularly, that he had still hold of the spear-shaft, and that he had been swept down nearly to the sandy level, over which the river ran before joining the sea. A minute later and he was walking over the soft, dry sand, following Ngati on the further shore, the great chief plodding on in and out among bushes and trees as if nothing had happened. The shouting of those in search was continued, but between them and the enemy the torrent ran, with its waters roaring, thundering, and plashing as they leaped in and out among the rocks toward the sea; and now that they were safely across, Don felt hopeful that the Maoris would look upon the torrent as impassable, and trust to their being still on the same side as the _pah_. As they trudged on, dripping and feeling bruised and sore, Jem found opportunities for a word here and there. "Thought I was going to be drownded after all, Mas' Don," he whispered. "I knocked my head against a rock, and if it wasn't that my skull's made o' the strongest stuff, it would ha' been broken." "You had better not speak much, Jem," said Don softly. "No, my lad; I won't. But what a ducking! All the time we were going across, it ran just as if some one on the left was shoving hard. I didn't know water could push like that." "I expected to be swept away every moment." "I expected as we was going to be drownded, and if I'm to be drownded, I don't want it to be like that. It was such a rough-and-tumble way." Don was silent. "Mas' Don." "Yes." "But, of course, I don't want to be drownded at all." "No, Jem; of course not. I wonder whether they'll follow us across the river." "They'll follow us anywhere, Mas' Don, and catch us if they can. Say, Mas' Don, though, I'm glad we've got old `my pakeha.' He'll show us the way, and help us to get something to eat." "I hope so, Jem." "Say, Mas' Don, think we can trust him?" "Trust him, Jem! Why, of course." "That's all very well, Mas' Don. You're such a trusting chap. See how you used to trust Mike Bannock, and how he turned you over." "Yes; but he was a scoundrel. Ngati is a simple-hearted savage." "Hope he is, Mas' Don; but what I'm feared on is, that he may be a simple-stomached savage." "Why, what do you mean, Jem?" "Only as he may turn hungry some day, as 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried Jem. The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if in pain. Then, smiling, he twisted some strands of grass into a band, fastened the end to the palm basket, and gently lowered it, full of eggs, into the sapphire depths, a jet of steam and a series of bubbles rising to the surface as the basket sank. "Why, Jem," said Don laughing, "you wanted to bathe in the big copper." "How was I to know that this was a foreign out-door kitchen?" replied Jem laughing. "And the water's boiling hot," added Don. "You can see it bubbling just at this end." "Think o' that now!" said Jem. "I say, what a big fire there must be somewhere down b'low. Strikes me, Mas' Don, that when I makes my fortun' and buys an estate I sha'n't settle here." "No, Jem. `There's no place like home.'" "Well, home's where you settle, arn't it? But this won't do for me. It's dangerous to be safe." Meanwhile, Ngati was listening intently, but, save the hissing of steam, the gurgling of boiling water, and the softened roar that seemed now distant, now close at hand, there was nothing to be heard, so he signed to them to sit down and rest. He set the example, and Don followed, to lie upon his back, restfully gazing up at the blue sky above, when Jem, who had been more particular about the choice of a place, slowly sat down, remained stationary for a few moments, and then sprang up, uttering a cry of pain. "Why, that stone's red hot!" he cried. This was not the truth, but it was quite hot enough to make it a painful seat, and he chose another. "Well, of all the rum places, Mas' Don!" He said no more on the subject, for just then Ngati rose, and carefully drew the bag of eggs from the boiling pool. "And I called him a pig!" said Jem, self-reproachfully. "No: no pig," said Ngati, who caught the word. "Well, I didn't say there was, obstinit," said Jem. "Here, give us an egg. Fruit and young wood's all werry well; but there's no spoons and no salt!" In spite of these drawbacks, and amid a series of remarks on the convenience of cooking cauldrons all over the place, Jem made a hearty meal of new laid eggs, which they had just finished when Ngati looked up and seized his spear. "What's the matter?" cried Don listening. Ngati pointed, and bent down, holding his hand to his ear. "I can hear nothing," said Jem. Ngati pointed down the ravine again, his keen sense having detected the sound of voices inaudible to his companions. Then carefully gathering up the egg shells, so as to leave no traces, he took the bag with the rest of the eggs, and led the way onward at a rapid rate. The path grew more wild and rugged, and the roar increased as they ascended, till, after turning an angle in the winding gully, the sound came continuously with a deep-toned, thunderous bellow. "There, what did I tell you?" said Jem, as the top of the mountain was plainly in view, emitting steam, and about a mile distant. "That's the chimney roaring." "It's a great waterfall somewhere on ahead," replied Don; and a few yards farther on they came once more upon the edge of the river, which here ran foaming along at the bottom of what was a mere jagged crack stretching down from high up the mountain, and with precipitous walls, a couple of hundred feet down. Ngati seemed more satisfied after a while, and they sat down in a narrow valley they were ascending to finish the eggs, whose shells were thrown into the torrent. "I should like to know where he's going to take us," said Jem, all at once. "It does not matter, so long as it is into safety," said Don. "For my part, I--Lie down, quick!" Jem obeyed, and bending low, Don seized the Maori's arm, pointing the while down the way they had come at a couple of naked savages, leaping from stone to stone, spear armed, and each wearing the white-tipped tail feathers of a bird in his hair. Ngati saw the danger instantly, fell flat on his breast, and signing to his companions to follow, began to crawl in and out among the rocks and bushes, making for every point likely to afford shelter, while, in an agony of apprehension as to whether they had been seen, Don and Jem followed painfully, till the chief halted to reconnoitre and make some plan of escape. It was quite time, for the Maoris had either seen them or some of the traces they had left behind; and, carefully examining every foot of the narrow valley shelf along which they had climbed, were coming rapidly on. Don's heart sank, for it seemed to him that they were in a trap. On his right was the wall-like side of the gully they ascended; on his left the sheer precipice down to the awful torrent; before them the sound of a mighty cataract; and behind the enemy, coming quickly and stealthily on. CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. A DANGEROUS PHASE. Ngati took all in at a glance, and signing to his companions to follow, he again lay down, creeping on for a short distance, trailing his spear, till they were well behind a pile of rocks. Here he gave a sharp look round at the _cul de sac_ into which they had been driven, and without hesitation crept to their left to where the rocky wall descended to the raging torrent. To him the place seemed to have no danger, as he passed over the edge and disappeared, but to Don it was like seeking death. "We can never do it, Jem," he said. "Must, Mas' Don. Go on." Don looked at him wildly, and then in a fit of desperation he lowered himself over the edge, felt a pair of great hands grasp him by the loins, and, as he loosened his hold, he was dropped upon a rough ledge of rock, where he stood giddy and confused, with the torrent rushing furiously along beneath his feet, and in front, dimly-seen through a mist which rose from below, he caught a glimpse of a huge fall of water which came from high up, behind some projecting rocks, and disappeared below. The noise of falling water now increased, reverberating from the walls of rock; the mist came cool and wet against his face, and, hurried and startled, Don stood upon the wet, rocky shelf, holding on tightly, till Ngati laid his hand upon his shoulder, passed round him, and then, signing to him to follow, went on. Don's first thought was of Jem, and looking behind him, there was his companion close to where he stood. Jem nodded to him to go on, just as a faint shout arose from somewhere above; and this seemed to nerve him to proceed over the slippery stones to where Ngati was passing round a corner, holding tightly by the rock, which he seemed to embrace. The way was dangerous in the extreme--a narrow ledge of the most rugged kind with a perpendicular moss-covered wall on the right, and on the left, space, with far below the foaming torrent, a glance at which seemed to produce vertigo. To stand still seemed to be worse than going on, and taking it to his comfort that what one man could do another might, Don reached the corner, but hesitated again, for there seemed to be no foot-hold whatever. But as he hesitated a great brown hand came round, ready to grasp his firmly; and with this help he made the venture, pressing himself close against the rock and creeping on. He was just in the most perilous part, well out over the torrent, when his left foot slipped, and a horrible chill ran through him, as he felt that he was falling into the chasm below to instant death. He held on with his right hand, and strove to press his breast against the rock, but the effort was vain; his right hand slipped from the crevice in which it was thrust, his right foot glided over the wet moss, and he slipped down, hung for a moment or two over the foaming waters, and then felt himself swung up and on to a broad ledge, upon which Ngati was standing. The Maori took it as a matter of course, signed to him to get up, and passed his hand round the rock once more to assist Jem. A curious sensation ran through Don as he watched for Jem's coming, and trembling and unnerved, it seemed to him that watching another's peril was more painful than suffering oneself. But in spite of his wounded shoulder Jem came round the point slowly and carefully, but with his brow rugged from the pain he suffered as Ngati held him firmly by his injured arm. As soon as he was in safety Jem passed his hand across his wet forehead and bit his lip, whilst once more signing to them to follow, Ngati led on. The way now was downward from rock to rock, and, terrible though it looked, the danger was less, for there was ample foot-hold and an abundance of bushy stems and fern fronds ready to their hands. The falls were again invisible, and they pressed on toward where another shoulder of the rocks jutted out, hiding the falling waters, whose noise was now so deafening that, had they wished to speak, a shout close to the ear would hardly have been heard. Big as the Maori was, he seemed to be as active as a goat, and picking the easiest ways over the mist-moistened stones, he led his companions lower and lower down the rock wall till, when they reached the next projection, and on passing round, it was to find themselves in what was little more than a huge rock pit, facing a mass of water which fell from quite two hundred feet above them into a vast cauldron of white foam, which chafed and roared and cast up clouds of spray as it whirled round and then rushed out of the narrow opening along the jagged gash by whose side they had come. The appearance of the vast body of water falling in one clear bound was bewildering, while the noise, as it reverberated from the rocky sides, produced a feeling of awe which made Don stand motionless till Ngati passed him, and sheltering his face behind a tuft of fern, peered round the corner they had just passed. He withdrew his head, looking fierce and determined, signed once more to Don to follow, and went on climbing carefully along the sides of the huge pit. "Where can he be going now?" thought Don, as he caught sight of a refulgent rainbow spanning the falls, and his eyes rested upon the brilliant, sun-illumined greens of fern, bush, and grass, with pendent mosses, all luxuriating in the heat and moisture of the wind-sheltered place. These were but momentary glances, for his whole thoughts seemed to be taken up by the struggle for life imperilled in a hundred ways. For still Ngati climbed on, turning every now and then to extend his hand or spear-shaft to Don when the place was unusually difficult; and by this means they went on and on till first they were on a level with the side of the fall, then partially shielded by it, and at last, when the Maori paused, unable to proceed farther either up or down, they were standing upon a projecting mass of rock with the great veil of water between them and the daylight, one vast curve of hundreds of tons of greenish water falling, ever falling, into the chasm below. It was dim with a greenish light where they stood, and the mist wetted them as they glanced sidewise along the way by which they had come, to see whether their enemies were in pursuit; but after watching for some time Ngati smiled and shook his head. "No," he said, or seemed to say, for they could only judge by the movement of his lips. "No," and he shook his head, and seating himself, gazed calmly and placidly at the water, as if there were no such thing as danger. In fact, to the great savage there was no such thing as peril in any of the objects of nature. Full of strength and calm matter-of-fact courage, climbing rocks or making his way into such a place as this was a very commonplace affair. His idea of danger was in the sight of enemies thirsting for his blood. Now that they were out of reach, and he believed that he had thrown them off the scent, he was perfectly content, and ready to smile at the perfection of the hiding-place he had sought. "Can you hear me, Jem?" said Don at last, after they had sat on the wet stones for some time, watching the falling water and listening to the thunderous roar. "Yes, if you shout quite close?" "Isn't it an awful place?" "Ay, 'tis." "Do you think we shall escape?" "I was thinking what a good job it was that we had managed a good feed." "How are we to get away again?" "Dunno. P'r'aps there's another way out." "I hope so. It will be horrible to have to go back as we came." Jem nodded, and began to nibble the dry skin at the side of his finger nails, looking up thoughtfully at the translucent arch. Then he nodded to Don as if he wished to speak, and Don put his ear close to Jem's lips. "Think there's much more on it to come down?" "More, Jem?" "Yes. 'Cause when it's all run out, they'll be able to see us." "I should think it is always falling like this, Jem." "Oh!" No more was said, and they sat patiently waiting for danger or freedom, whichever might be in store for them. Ngati held out his great fist from time to time to shake hands in a congratulatory way, and the hours glided on till it began to grow dark, and another horror assailed Don. It was evident that they must pass the night there in the cold and damp, for to attempt to escape in the dark would be madness, and how would it be if they dropped off to sleep and slipped? He shuddered at the thought, and sat in silence gazing at Ngati, who waited calmly till the shadows of evening had quite filled the chasm, when he rose, and it was evident that he did not consider escape in the darkness impossible, for, grasping Don's arm, he uttered the one word "Come!" and led the way out from beneath the watery arch, to stand, as soon as they were quite clear, shading his eyes and gazing through the transparent gloom in search of their enemies. Apparently satisfied, he tapped both on the shoulder, and with a shudder of dread Don followed him along the side of the gulf. CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. NGATI'S DISGUISE. The return journey proved to be less perilous than the descent. The awful chaos of water was beneath them, but invisible, the darkness being so intense that everything was hidden but the mass of rock over and by which they climbed. In addition, the exertion and busy action after the long waiting seemed to keep them from thinking of anything but the task on which they were engaged. So that, to Don's surprise, he found himself on the outer side of the dangerous corner, with the gulf left behind, and then clambering on and on by the side of the torrent chasm, past the other perilous parts, and before he could realise the fact, they were all together on the shelf, crouching down. Here Ngati slowly raised his head, to stand gazing over the edge at the level above, watching for a long time before stooping again, and uttering a low grunt. He mounted directly, bent down and extended a hand to each in turn, and then taking the lead, went cautiously onward to get out of the deep rift, and find a place that would enable them to reach the higher ground. It was still dark, but not so dense but that they could pick their way, and they passed on till they reached the hot spring, a little beyond which Ngati believed that they could strike up to the left, and cross the mountain to reach the plains beyond. Another half-hour was devoted to retracing their steps, when Don stopped short, his ear being the first to detect danger. They were passing the mud spring, whose gurgling had startled them in coming, and for a moment Don thought that a sound which he had heard came from the thin greyish-black mud; but it was repeated, and was evidently the laugh of some one not far away. Ngati pressed their arms; and signing to them to lie down and wait, he crept onward, to be absent about a quarter of an hour, when he returned to say a few words in his native tongue, and then squat down and bury his face in his hands, as if in thought. "They're just in front, Mas' Don. I keep hearing of 'em," whispered Jem. "Sometimes I hear 'em one way, sometimes the other." "That is through the echoes, Jem. How are we to manage now?" Ngati answered the question in silence, for, rising quickly, after being deep in thought, he silently picked some grass and moss, rolled it into a pear shape, and bound it on the end of his spear. Then holding the weapon up high, he bent his body in a peculiar way, and stalked off slowly, turning and gazing here and there, and from time to time lowering his spear, till, as he moved about in the shadowy light, he had all the appearance of some huge ostrich slowly feeding its way along the mountain slope. "Moa! Moa!" he whispered, as he returned. "Jemmeree moa; my pakeha moa." "He wants us to imitate great birds, too, Jem," said Don, eagerly. "Can you do that?" "Can I do it?" said Jem. "O' course; you shall see." Ngati seemed delighted that his plan was understood, and he rapidly fashioned rough balls to resemble birds' heads for his companions' spears, and made them turn up their trousers above the knee, when, but for their white appearance, they both looked bird-like. But this difficulty was got over by Ngati, who took it as a matter of course that they would not object, and rapidly smeared their hands, legs, and faces with the slimy mud from the volcanic pool. "Well, of all the nasty smells!" whispered Jem. "Oh, Mas' Don, are you going to stand this? He has filled my eyes with mud." "Hush, Jem!" whispered Don. "But shall we come across any hot baths by-and-by?" "Silence, Jem!" "All right, Mas' Don, you're master, but this is--oh, bad eggs!" Ngati held up his hand for silence, and then whispering the word "Moa" again, he imitated the movements of a gigantic bird, signing to them to do likewise. Don obeyed, and in spite of the peril they were in, could hardly help laughing, especially when Jem kept up an incessant growling, like that of some angry animal. Ngati was evidently satisfied, for he paused, and then pointing forward, strode slowly through the low bushes, with Don and Jem following and imitating his movements as nearly as they could. As they walked on they could hear the murmur of voices, and this sound increased as Ngati went slowly forward, bearing off to the left. It seemed to Don that they were going straight into danger, and his heart beat with excitement as the talking suddenly stopped, and there was a rustling sound, as if several men had sprung to their feet. But Ngati did not swerve from his course, going slowly on, and raising the spear from time to time, while a low excited whispering went on. "What will they do?" thought Don; "try to spear us, or surround and seize us?" The Maoris did neither. Ngati knew the dread his fellow-countrymen possessed for anything approaching the supernatural, and in the belief that they would be startled at the sight of the huge birds known only to them by tradition, he had boldly adopted the disguise--one possible only in the darkness; and so far his plan was successful. To have attempted to pass in their ordinary shape meant either capture or death; but there was the chance that they might succeed like this. They went on in the most deliberate way, both Don and Jem following in Ngati's steps, but at every whisper on their right Don felt as if he must start off in a run; and over and over again he heard Jem utter a peculiar sigh. A harder test of their endurance it would have been difficult to find, as in momentary expectation of a rush, they stalked slowly on, till the whispering grew more distant, and finally died away. All at once Ngati paused to let them come up, and then pointed in the direction he intended to go, keeping up the imitation of the bird hour after hour, but not letting it interfere with their speed, till, feeling toward morning that they were safe, he once more halted, and was in the act of signing to his companions to cease their clumsy imitation, when a faint sound behind put him on his guard once more. The task had been in vain. They had passed the Maoris, and were making for the farther side of the mountains, but their enemies had been tracking them all the night, and the moment day broke, they would see through the cunning disguise, and dash upon them at once. They all knew this, and hastened on, as much to gain time as from any hope of escape, till just at daybreak, when, panting and exhausted, they were crossing a patch of brush, they became aware that the Maoris had overcome their alarm at the sight of the gigantic birds, and were coming on. CHAPTER FORTY NINE. UNWELCOME ACQUAINTANCES. "We shall have to turn and fight, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as they were labouring through the bushes. "They're close on to us. Here, why don't Ngati stop?" There was a faint grey light beginning to steal in among the ferns as they struggled on, keeping up the imitation still, when a shout rose behind, and the Maoris made a rush to overtake them. At that moment from a dark patch of the bush in front three shots were fired in rapid succession. Don stopped short in the faint grey light, half stunned by the echoing reverberations of the reports which rolled away like thunder, while there was a rushing noise as of people forcing their way in rapid flight through the bush. But he hardly heeded this, his attention being taken up by the way in which Ngati dropped heavily to the ground, and just behind him Jem fell as if struck by some large stone. A terrible feeling of despair came over Don as, feeling himself between two parties of enemies, he obeyed the natural instinct which prompted him to concealment, and sank down among the ferns. What should he do? Run for his life, or stay to help his wounded companions, and share their fate? He stopped and listened to a peculiar sound which he knew was the forcing down of a wad in a gun-barrel. Then the strange hissing noise was continued, and he could tell by the sounds that three guns were being loaded. The natives, as far as he knew, had no guns, therefore these must be a party of sailors sent to shoot them down; and in the horror of being seen and made the mark for a bullet, Don was about to creep cautiously into a denser part of the bush, when he stopped short, asking himself whether he was in a dream. "All primed?" cried a hoarse voice, which made Don wonder whether he was back in his uncle's yard at Bristol. "Ay, ay." "Come on, then. I know I brought one of 'em down. Sha'n't want no more meat for a month." "Say, mate, what are they?" "I d'know. Noo Zealand turkeys, I s'pose." "Who ever heard of turkey eight or nine foot high!" growled one of the approaching party. "Never mind who heard of 'em; we've seen 'em and shot 'em. Hallo! Where are they? Mine ought to be about here." "More to the left, warn't it, mate?" "Nay, it was just about here." There was a loud rustling and heavy breathing as if men were searching here and there, and then some one spoke again--the man whose voice had startled Don. "I say, lads, you saw me bring that big one down?" "I saw you shoot at it, Mikey; but it don't seem as if you had brought it down. They must ha' ducked their heads, and gone off under the bushes." "But they was too big for that." "Nay, not they. Looked big in the mist, same as things allus do in a fog." "I don't care; I see that great bird quite plain, and I'm sure I hit him, and he fell somewhere--hah!" There was the sharp _click_, _click_ of a gun being cocked, and a voice roared out,-- "Here, you, Mike Bannock, don't shoot me." There was a loud rustling among the ferns, and then Jem shouted again. "Mas' Don--Ngati! Why--hoi--oh! It's all right!" The familiar voice--the name Mike Bannock, and Jem's cheery, boyish call, made Don rise, wondering more than ever whether this was not a dream. The day was rapidly growing lighter, and after answering Jem's hail, Don caught sight of him standing under a tree in company with three wild, gaunt-looking men. "Mas' Don! Ahoy! Mas' Don!" "I'm here, Jem, but mind the Maoris." "I forgot them!" cried Jem. "Look out! There was a lot of savages arter us." The three men darted behind trees, and stood with their guns presented in the direction of the supposed danger, Don and Jem also seeking cover and listening intently. "Were you hit, Jem?" "No, my lad; were you?" "No. Where's Ngati?" "I'm afraid he has got it, my lad. He went down like a stone." "But Mike! How came he here?" "I d'know, my lad. Hi! Stop! Don't shoot. Friends." Ngati, who came stalking up through the bush, spear in hand, had a narrow escape, for two guns were presented at him, and but for the energetic action of Don and Jem in striking them up, he must have been hit. "Oh, this is a friend, is it?" said Mike Bannock, as he gave a tug at his rough beard, and turned from one to the other. "Arn't come arter me, then?" "No, not likely," said Jem. "Had enough of you at home." "Don't you be sarcy," growled Mike Bannock; "and lookye here, these gentlemen--friends of mine!"--he nodded sidewise at the two fierce-looking desperadoes at his side--"is very nice in their way, but they won't stand no fooling. Lookye here. How was it you come?" "In a ship of war," said Don. "Ho! Then where's that ship o' war now?" "I don't know." "No lies now," said the fellow fiercely; "one o' these here gentlemen knocked a man on the head once for telling lies." "Ah," growled one of the party, a short, evil-looking scoundrel, with a scar under his right eye. "Hear that?" cried Mike Bannock. "Now, then, where's that there ship?" "I tell you I don't know," said Don sharply. "Whorrt!" shouted Mike, seizing Don by the throat; but the next moment a sharp blow from a spear handle made him loosen his hold, and Ngati stood between them, tall and threatening. "Here, come on, mates, if you don't want to be took!" cried Mike, and his two companions raised the rusty old muskets they bore. "Put them down, will yer?" cried Jem. "Lookye here, Mike Bannock: Mas' Don told you he didn't know where the ship was, and he don't. We've left her." "Ah!" growled Mike, looking at him suspiciously. "Now, look here: don't you try none of your games on me." "Look here!" cried Jem fiercely; "if you give me any of your impudence, Mike Bannock, I'll kick you out of the yard." "Haw-haw!" laughed Mike. "This here arn't Bristol, little Jemmy Wimble, and I'm a free gen'leman now." "Yes, you look it," said Don, contemptuously. "You scoundrel! How did you come here?" "Don't call names, Mr Don Lavington, sir," whined the ruffian. "How did I come here? Why, me and these here friends o' mine are gentlemen on our travels. Arn't us, mates." "Ay: gen'lemen on our travels," said the more evil-looking of the pair; "and look here, youngster, if you meets any one who asks after us, and whether you've seen us, mind you arn't. Understand?" Don looked at him contemptuously, and half turned away. "Who was there after you?" said Mike Bannock, suspiciously. "Some of a tribe of Maoris," replied Jem. "No one else?" "No." "Ah, well, we arn't afeared of them." He patted the stock of his gun meaningly. "Soon make a tribe of them run home to their mothers. See them big birds as we shot at? And I say, young Lavington, what have you been doing to your face? Smudging it to keep off the flies?" Don coloured through the grey mud, and involuntarily clapped his hand to his face, for he had forgotten the rough disguise. "Never you mind about his face," said Jem grinning. "What birds?" "Them great birds as we shot at," said Mike. "I brought one of 'em down." "You! You couldn't hit a haystack," said Jem. "You hit no bird." "Ask my mates!" cried Mike eagerly. "Here you, Don Lavington, you usen't to believe me when I told you 'bout big wild beasts and furrin lands. We see three birds just here, fourteen foot high." "You always were a liar, Mike," said Don contemptuously. "You did not see any bird fourteen feet high, because there are no such things. You didn't see any birds at all." "Well, of all--" began Mike, but he stopped short as he heard Don's next words,-- "Come, Jem! Come, Ngati! Let's get on." He stepped forward, but after a quick exchange of glances with his companions, Mike stood in his way. "No you don't, young un; you stops along of us." "What!" cried Don. "We're three English gen'lemen travelling in a foreign country among strangers, and we've met you two. So we says, says we, folks here's a bit too handy with their spears, so it's as well for Englishmen when they meet to keep together, and that's what we're going to do." "Indeed, we are not!" cried Don. "You go your way, and we'll go ours." "That's our way," said Mike quickly. "Eh, mates?" "Ay. That's a true word." "Then we'll go the way you came," cried Don. "Nay, you don't; that's our way, too." "The country's open, and we shall go which way we like," cried Don. "Hear, hear, Mas' Don!" cried Jem. "You hold your tongue, old barrel cooper!" cried Mike. "You're going along of us; that's what you're going to do." "That we are not!" cried Don. "Oh, yes, you are, so no nonsense. We've got powder and shot, and you've only got spears, and one gun's equal to fifty spears." "Look here, sir!" cried Don sternly, "I don't want any words with such a man as you. Show me the way you want to take, and we'll go another." "This here's the way," said Mike menacingly. "This is the way we're going, and you've got to come with us." "Jem; Ngati; come on," said Don. "Oh, then you mean to fight, do you?" growled Mike. "Come on then, mates. I think we can give 'em a lesson there." "Mas' Don," whispered Jem, "it's no good to fight again guns, and my shoulder's a reg'lar dummy. Let's give in civil, and go with them. We'll get away first chance, and it do make us six again' any savages who may come." "Savages!" said Don angrily; "why, where would you get such savages as these? The Maoris are gentlemen compared to them." "That's my 'pinion again, Mas' Don; but we'd better get on." "But why do they want us with them?" "Strikes me they're 'fraid we shall tell on them." "Tell on them?" "Yes; it's my belief as Master Mike's been transported, and that he's contrived to get away with these two." "And we are to stop with three such men as these?" "Well, they arn't the sort of chaps I should choose, Mas' Don; but they say they're gen'lemen, so we must make the best of it. All right, Mike, we're coming." "That's your sort. Now, then, let's find my big bird, and then I'm with you." "Yah! There's no big bird," said Jem. "We was the birds, shamming so as to get away from the savages." "Then you may think yourself precious lucky you weren't shot. Come on." Mike led the way, and Don and his companions followed, the two rough followers of Mike Bannock coming behind with their guns cocked. "Pleasant that, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Like being prisoners again. But they can't shoot." "Why did you say that, Jem?" said Don anxiously. "Because we're going to make a run for it before long, eh, my pakeha?" "My pakeha," said Ngati, laying his hand on Don's shoulder, and he smiled and looked relieved, for the proceedings during the last half-hour had puzzled him. Don took the great fellow's arm, feeling that in the Maori chief he had a true friend, and in this way they followed Mike Bannock round one of the shoulders of the mountain, towards where a jet of steam rose with a shrieking noise high up into the air. CHAPTER FIFTY. HOW TO ESCAPE? It was in quite a little natural fortress that Mike stopped, the way being in and out through a narrow rift that must have been the result of some earthquake, and when this was passed they were in a sheltered nook, at one side of which the face of a precipice hung right over, affording ample protection from the wind and rain. Through quite a cranny a stream of perfectly clear water trickled, and on the other side was a small deep pool, slowly welling over at one side, the steam rising therefrom telling that it was in some way connected with the noisy jet which rose outside. "There, young Don Lavington, that's where we lives, my lad, and you've got to stay with us. If you behave well, you shall have plenty to eat and drink. If you don't, mind one o' my mates don't bring you down as he would a bird." Don glanced round wonderingly, and tried to grasp why it was that Mike Bannock was there, the only surmise upon which he could take hold being the right one--Jem's: that Mike was a transported man who had taken to the bush. He had just come to this conclusion when Jem turned to him. "Shall I ask him that, Mas' Don?" "Ask him what?" "What I think. Depend upon it he was sent out to Botany Bay, and run off to this country." "No, no, Jem; don't ask." "He can't have come out here honest, Mas' Don. Look at him, there arn't a honest hair in his head." "But we don't want to offend him, Jem." "Don't we? Tell you what we do want, Mas' Don; we want to get hold o' them old rusty muskets and the powder and shot, and then we could make them sing small. Eh? What say?" This was in answer to something said in a low voice by Ngati, who looked from one to the other inquiringly. Ngati spoke again, and then struck his fist into his hand with a look of rage and despair. "Yes, I feel the same," said Don, laying his hand upon the great fellow's arm. "I'd give anything to be able to understand what you say, Ngati." The chief smiled, as if he quite comprehended; and grasped Don's hand with a friendly grip, offering the other to Jem. "It's all right, old boy," said the latter. "We can't understand each other's lingo, but we know each other's hearts. We've got to wait a bit and see." A week passed rapidly away, during which, in his rougher moods, Mike treated his prisoners as if they were slaves, calling upon Ngati to perform the most menial offices for the little camp, all of which were patiently performed after an appealing look at Don, who for the sake of gaining time gave up in every way. Jem grumbled, but he did what he was told, for the slightest appearance of resistance was met by a threatening movement with the muskets, which never left the men's hands. They were fairly supplied with food; fish from the streams and from a good-sized lake, Ngati proving himself to be an adept at capturing the large eels, and at discovering fresh supplies of fruit and roots. But in a quiet way, as he watched his English companions like a dog, he always seemed to comprehend their wishes, and to be waiting the time when they should call upon him to fly at their tyrants and then help them to escape. "Didn't know I was coming out to look after you, did you, young Don?" said Mike one evening. "King sent me out o' purpose. Told one of the judges to send me out here, and here I am; and I've found you, and I ought to take you home, but I won't. You always liked furrin countries, and I'm going to keep you here." "What for?" said Don. "To make you do for me what I used to do for you. I was your sarvant; now you're mine. Ups and downs in life we see. Now you're down and I'm up; and what d'yer think o' that, Jem Wimble?" "Think as you was transported, and that you've took to the bush." "Oh, do you?" said Mike, grinning. "Well, never mind; I'm here, and you're there, and you've got to make the best of it." To make the best of it was not easy. The three convicts, after compelling their prisoners to make the resting-place they occupied more weather-proof and warm, set them to make a lean-to for themselves, to which they were relegated, but without arms, Mike Bannock having on the first day they were at work taken possession of their weapons. "You won't want them," he said, with an ugly grin; "we'll do the hunting and fighting, and you three shall do the work." Jem uttered a low growl, at which Mike let the handle of one of the spears fall upon his shoulder, and as Jem fiercely seized it, three muskets were presented at his head. "Oh, all right," growled Jem, with a menacing look. "Yes, it's all right, Jem Wimble. But look here, don't you or either of you cut up rough; for if you do, things may go very awkward." "I should like to make it awkward for them, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as the convicts turned away; "but never mind, I can wait." They did wait, day after day, working hard, ill fed, and suffering endless abuse, and often blows, which would have been resented by Ngati, but for a look from Don; and night by night, as they gathered together in their little lean-to hut, with a thick heap of fern leaves for their bed their conversation was on the same subject--how could they get the muskets and spears, and escape. There was no further alarm on the part of the Maoris, who seemed, after they had been discouraged in their pursuit, and startled by the guns, to have given up all intention of recapturing the escaped prisoners. "If we could only get the guns and spears, Jem," said Don one evening for the hundredth time. "Yes, and I'd precious soon have them," replied Jem; "only they're always on the watch." "Yes, they're too cunning to leave them for a moment. Was any one ever before so unlucky as we are?" "Well, if you come to that," said Jem, "yes. Poor old Tomati, for one; and it can't be very nice for Ngati here, who has lost all his tribe." Ngati looked up sharply, watching them both intently in the gloomy cabin. "But he don't seem to mind it so very much." "What do you say to escaping without spears?" "Oh, I'm willing," replied Jem; "only I wouldn't be in too great a hurry. Those chaps wouldn't mind having a shot at us again, and this time they might hit." "What shall we do then?" "Better wait, Mas' Don. This sort o' thing can't last. We shall soon eat up all the fruit, and then they'll make a move, and we may have a better chance." Don sighed and lay with his eyes half-closed, watching one particular star which shone in through the doorway. But not for long. The star seemed to grow misty as if veiled by a cloud; then it darkened altogether; so it seemed to Don, for the simple reason that he had fallen fast asleep. It appeared only a minute since he was gazing at the star before he felt a hand pressed across his mouth, and with a horrible dread of being smothered, he uttered a hoarse, stifled cry, and struggled to get free; but another hand was pressed upon his chest, and it seemed as if the end had come. CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. NGATI'S GOAL. Just as in the case of a dream, a long space of time in the face of a terrible danger seems to pass in what is really but a few moments. Don, in an agony of apprehension, was struggling against the hands which held him, when a deep voice whispered in his ear,-- "My pakeha." "Ngati!" Don caught the hands in his, and sat up slowly, while the chief awakened Jem in the same manner, and with precisely the same result. "Why, I thought it was Mike Bannock trying to smother me," grumbled Jem, sitting up. "What's the matter?" "I don't know, Jem. Ngati just woke me in the dark, and--Oh! Ngati!" His hands trembled, and a curious feeling of excitement coursed through his veins, as at that moment he felt the stock of a gun pressed into his hands, Jem exclaiming the next moment as he too clasped a gun. "But there arn't no powder and--Yes, there is." Jem ceased speaking, for he had suddenly felt that there was a belt and pouch attached to the gun-barrel, and without another word he slipped the belt over his shoulder. "What do you mean, Ngati?" whispered Don hastily. "Go!" was the laconic reply; and in an instant the lad realised that the Maori had partly comprehended his words that evening, had thought out the full meaning, and then crept silently to the convicts' den, and secured the arms. Don rose excitedly to his feet. "The time has come, Jem," he whispered. "Yes, and I dursen't shout hooroar!" Ngati was already outside, waiting in the starlight; and as Don stepped out quickly with his heart beating and a sense of suffocation at the throat, he could just make out that the Maori held the third musket, and had also three spears under his arm. He handed one of the latter to each, and then stood listening for a few moments with his head bent in the direction of the convicts' resting-place. The steam jet hissed, and the vapour rose like a dim spectral form; the water gurgled and splashed faintly, but there was no other sound, and, going softly in the direction of the opening, Ngati led the way. "We must leave it to him, Jem, and go where he takes us," whispered Don. "Can't do better," whispered back Jem. "Wait just a moment till I get this strap o' the gun over my shoulder. It's awkward to carry both gun and spear." "Wait till we get farther away, Jem." _Crash_! A flash of fire, and a report which echoed like thunder from the face of the rocks. Jem, in passing the sling of the musket over his head, had let it fall upon the stones with disastrous effect. "Run, Mas' Don; never mind me." "Are you hurt?" "Dunno." Jem was in a stooping posture as he spoke, but he rose directly, as there was a rush heard in the direction of the convicts' lair, and catching Don's hand they ran off stealthily after Ngati, who had returned, and then led the way once more. Not a word was spoken, and after the first rush and the scramble and panting of men making for the rocks, all was very still. Ngati led on, passing in and out among tree and bush, and mass of rock, as if his eyes were quite accustomed to the darkness, while, big as he was, his bare feet made no more sound than the paws of a cat. Both Don and Jem followed as silently as they could, but they could not help catching against the various obstacles, and making noises which produced a warning "Hssh!" from their leader. As they passed on they listened intently for sounds of pursuit, but for awhile there were none; the fact being that at the sound of the shot the convicts believed that they were attacked, and rushing out, they made for the mountain. But as no further shots were heard, they grew more bold, and, after waiting listening for awhile, they stole back to the shed that should have been occupied by Don and his friends; where, finding them gone, they hurried into their own place, found that the arms were taken, and, setting up a shout, dashed off in pursuit. The shout sent a shiver through Don and Jem, for it sounded terribly near, and they hurried on close to the heels of Ngati, forgetful for the moment of the fact that they were armed, and their pursuers were weaponless. After a time the sounds from the camp, which had been heard plainly on the night wind, ceased, and for the first time Don questioned Jem as to his injury. "Where are you hurt, Jem?" "Shoulder," said that worthy, laconically. "Again?" "No; not again." "But I mean when the gun went off." "In my head, Mas' Don." "Ah! We might stop now. Let me bind it up for you." "No, no; it don't bleed," replied Jem, gruffly. "I mean hurt inside my head, 'cause I could be such a stoopid as to let this here gun fall." "Then you are not wounded?" "Not a bit, my lad; and if you'll stop now, I think I'll try and load again." But Ngati insisted on pushing on, and kept up a steady walk right south in the direction of the star which had shone in through the doorway. It was weary work, for the night was very black beneath the trees, but every step was taking them farther from their enemies, and though they stopped to listen again and again, they heard no sound of pursuit. Morning dawned at last, bringing light to their spirits as well as to their eyes; and for three days they travelled on due south by mountain and lake, hot spring and glorious valley, now catching a glimpse of the sea, now losing it again. Ngati seemed to have some definite object which he could not explain; and when Don tried to question him, the great fellow only laughed and trudged on. They did not fare badly, for fruit, roots, and wild fowl were plentiful, fish could be obtained, and with glorious weather, and the dying out of the pain of their wounds, the journey began to be pleasant. "There's only one thing I'm afraid of, Mas' Don," said Jem; "and that is that those convicts will smell us out." But as time went on that fear grew less, and just at sunset one evening, as Ngati turned the shoulder of one of the mountains and stood pointing, Don set up a shout which Jem echoed, for there beneath them in a valley, and about a quarter of a mile from the shimmering sea, lay a cluster of cottages, such as could only have been built by Europeans, and they realised now what had been the Maori's thoughts in bringing them there. CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. DON HAS A HEADACHE. "Escaped from the Maoris, and then from a party of men you think were runaway convicts?" said the broad-shouldered, sturdy occupant of the little farm which they reached just at dusk. "Ah, well, we can talk about that to-morrow, my lads. It's enough for me that you are Englishmen. Come in." "I cannot leave our friend," said Don quietly, as he laid his hand on Ngati's arm. "What, the savage!" said the farmer, rubbing his ear. "Well, we--oh, if he's your friend, that's enough." They had no occasion to complain of the hospitality, for the farmer, who had been settled there, with a few companions only, for about four years, was but too glad to see fresh faces, and with a delicacy hardly to be expected from one leading so rough a life he refrained from asking any questions. Don was glad, for the next morning he rose with a peculiar aching sensation in the head, accompanied by alternate fits of heat and cold. The next day he was worse, but he kept it to himself, laughing it off when they noticed that he did not eat his breakfast, and, to avoid further questioning, he went out after a time to wander up the valley into the shady woodland and among the tree-ferns, hoping that the rest and cool shadowy calm of the primaeval forest would prove restful and refreshing. The day was glorious, and Don lay back listening to the cries of the birds, dreaming of home, and at times dozing off to sleep after his restless night. His head ached terribly, and was confused, and at times, as he lay back resting against a tuft of fern, he seemed to be back at Bristol; then in an instant he thought he must be in the Maoris' _pah_, wondering whether there could be any truth in Jem's fancies as to why they were being kept. Then there was a dull time of blank weariness, during which he saw nothing, till he seemed to be back in the convicts' lurking-place, and he saw Mike Bannock thrusting his head out from among the leaves, his face brown and scarred, and eyes glistening, as he looked from place to place. It was all so real that Don expected to see the scoundrel step out into the open, followed by his two companions. And this did happen a few minutes later. Mike Bannock, armed with a heavy club, and followed by his two brothers in crime, crept out. Then it seemed to be no longer the convicts' home, and Don started from his dreamy state, horrified at what he saw, for the scoundrels had not seen him, and were going cautiously toward the little settlement, whose occupants were all away hunting, fishing, and attending to their crops. Don alone was close at hand, and he in so semi-delirious and helpless a state, that when he tried to rise he felt as if it would be impossible to warn his friends of their danger, and prevent these ruffians from making their descent upon the pleasant little homes around. An acute pain across the brows made Don close his eyes, and when he re-opened them his head was throbbing, his mind confused, and as he looked hastily round, and could see nothing but the beautiful verdant scene, he felt that he had been deceived, and as if the figures that had passed out of the dense undergrowth had been merely creatures of his imagination. He still gazed wildly about, but all was peaceful, and not a sound save the birds' notes fell upon the ear. "It must have been fancy," he thought. "Where is Jem?" He sank back again in a strangely excited state, for the idea that, in his fleeing to this peaceful place, he had been the means of bringing three desperate men to perhaps rob, and murder, and destroy, where all was repose and peace, was too terrible to bear. One minute he was certain that it was all fancy, just as he had dreamed again and again of Mike and his ruffianly companions; the next he was as sure that what he had seen was real. "I'll go and find some one," he said hastily; and, rising feebly to his feet, he set off for the farm, but only to catch wildly at the trees to save himself from falling. The vertigo passed off as quickly as it came on. "How absurd!" he said, with a faint laugh. "A moment's giddiness. That's all." He started again, but everything sailed round, and he sank upon the earth with a groan to try and make out whether it was all fancy or a dream. In a moment he seemed to be back at home with a bad headache, and his mother passing softly to and fro, while Kitty, full of sympathy, kept soaking handkerchiefs in vinegar and water to cool his heated brow. Then, as he lay with his eyes tightly closed, Uncle Josiah came into the room, and laid his hand pityingly upon his shoulder. Don gazed up at him, to see that it was Ngati's hideously tattooed countenance close to his, and he looked up confused and wondering at the great chief. Then the recollection of the convicts came back, and a spasm of horror shot through his brain. If it was true, what would happen at the little farm? He raised himself upon his elbow, and pointed in the direction of the house. "Ngati," he said excitedly, "danger!" The chief looked at him, then in the direction in which he pointed; but he could understand nothing, and Don felt as if he were trying to get some great dog to comprehend his wishes. He had learned scores of Maori words, but now that he wanted to use them, some would not come, and others would not fit. "Ngati!" he cried again piteously, as he pointed toward the farm, "pakehas--bad pakehas." The chief could understand pakehas--white men, but he was rather hazy about bad, whether it did not mean good, and he gave a low grunt. "Bad pakehas. Fight. Jem," panted Don. Ngati could see that something was wrong, but in his mind it seemed to be connected with his English friend's health, and he laid his hand upon Don's burning brow. "Bad pakehas--go!" cried Don. "What shall I do? How am I to make him understand? Pakehas. Jem. Help!" At that Ngati seemed to have a glimmering of what his companion meant, and nodding quickly, he went off at a trot toward the farm. "He'll bring some one who can understand," said Don to himself; and then he began to feel that, after all, it was a dream consequent upon his being so ill, and he lay back feeling more at ease, but only to jump up and stare wildly toward where the farm lay. For, all at once, there rose a shout, and directly after a shot was heard, followed by another and another. Then all was still for a few minutes, till, as Don lay gazing wildly toward where he had seen Ngati disappear, he caught sight of a stooping figure, then of another and another, hurrying to reach cover; and as he recognised the convicts, he could make out that each man carried a gun. He was holding himself up by grasping the bough of a tree, and gazing wildly at Mike and his brutal-looking friends; but they were looking in the direction of the farm as they passed, and they did not see him. Then the agonising pain in his head seemed to rob him of the power to think, and he sank back among the ferns. Don had some consciousness of hearing voices, and of feeling hands touching him; but it was all during a time of confusion, and when he looked round again with the power to think, he was facing a tiny unglazed window, the shutter which was used to close it standing below. He was lying on a rough bed formed of sacking spread over dried fern leaves, and the shed he was in had for furniture a rough table formed by nailing a couple of pieces of board across a tub, another tub with part of the side sawn out formed an armchair; and the walls were ornamented with bunches of seeds tied up and hung there for preservation, a saddle and bridle, and some garden tools neatly arranged in a corner. Don lay wondering what it all meant, his eyes resting longest upon the open window, through which he could see the glorious sunshine, and the leaves moving in the gentle breeze. He felt very happy and comfortable, but when he tried to raise his head the effort was in vain, and this set him wondering again, till he closed his eyes and lay thinking. Suddenly he unclosed them again to lie listening, feeling the while that he had been asleep, for close beside him there was some one whistling in a very low tone--quite a whisper of a whistle--a familiar old Somersetshire melody, which seemed to carry him back to the sugar yard at Bristol, where he had heard Jem whistle that tune a score of times. This set him thinking of home, his mother, and Cousin Kitty. Then of stern-looking Uncle Josiah, who, after all, did not seem to have been unkind. "Poor Mas' Don! Will he ever get well again?" a voice whispered close to his ear. "Jem!" "Oh, Mas' Don! Oh! Oh! Oh! Thank the great Lord o' mussy. Amen! Amen! Amen!" There was the sound of some one going down heavily upon his knees, a pair of clasped hands rested on Don's breast; and, as he turned his eyes sidewise, he could see the top of Jem's head as the bed shook, and there was the sound of some one sobbing violently, but in a choking, smothered way. "Jem! Is that you? What's the matter?" whispered Don feebly. "And he says, `What's the matter?'" cried Jem, raising his head, and bending over Don. "Dear lad, dear lad; how are you now?" "Quite well, thank you, Jem, only I can't lift up my head." "And don't you try, Mas' Don. Oh, the Lord be thanked! The Lord be thanked!" he muttered. "What should I ha' done?" "Have--have I been ill, Jem?" "I'll, Mas' Don? Why, I thought you was going to die, and no doctor, not even a drop of salts and senny to save your life." "Oh, nonsense, Jem! I never thought of doing such a thing! Ah, I remember now. I felt poorly. My head was bad." "Your head bad? I should think it was bad. Dear lad, what stuff you have been saying." "Have I, Jem? What, since I lay down among the ferns this morning?" "This morning, Mas' Don! Why, it's close upon a month ago." "What?" "That's so, my lad. We come back from cutting wood to find you lying under a tree, and when we got here it was to find poor old `my pakeha' with a shot-hole in him, and his head all beaten about with big clubs." "Oh, Jem!" "That's so, Mas' Don." "Is he better?" "Oh, yes; he's getting better. I don't think you could kill him. Sort o' chap that if you cut him to pieces some bit or another would be sure to grow again." "Why, it was Mike Bannock and those wretches, Jem." "That's what we thought, my lad, but we couldn't find out. It was some one, and whoever it was took away three guns." "I saw them, Jem." "You see 'em?" "Yes, as I lay back with my head so bad that I couldn't be sure." "Ah, well, they found us out, and they've got their guns again; but they give it to poor Ngati awful." Just then the window was darkened by a hideous-looking face, which disappeared directly. Then steps were heard, and the great chief came in, bending low to avoid striking his head against the roof till he reached the rough bedside, where he bent over Don, and patted him gently, saying softly, "My pakeha." CHAPTER FIFTY THREE. DON SPEAKS OUT. A healthy young constitution helped Don Lavington through his perilous illness, and in another fortnight he was about the farm, helping in any little way he could. "I'm very sorry, Mr Gordon," said Don one evening to the young settler. "Sorry? What for, my lad?" he said. "For bringing those convicts after us to your place, and for being ill and giving you so much trouble." "Nonsense, my lad! I did begin to grumble once when I thought you were going to be ungrateful to me for taking you in." "Ungrateful!" "Yes, ungrateful, and trying to die." "Oh!" said Don smiling. "Nice mess I should have been in if you had. No church, no clergyman, no doctor, no sexton. Why, you young dog, it would have been cruel." Don smiled sadly. "I am really very grateful, sir; I am indeed, and I think by to-morrow or next day I shall be strong enough to go." "What, and leave me in the lurch just as I'm so busy! Why, with the thought of having you fellows here, I've been fencing in pieces and making no end of improvements. That big Maori can cut down as much wood as two men, and as for Jem Wimble, he's the handiest fellow I ever saw." "I am very glad they have been of use, sir. I wish I could be." "You're right enough, boy. Stop six months--a year altogether--and I shall be very glad of your help." This set Don at rest, and he brightened up wonderfully, making great strides during the next fortnight, and feeling almost himself, till, one evening as he was returning from where he had been helping Jem and Ngati cut up wood for fencing, he fancied he saw some animal creeping through the ferns. A minute's watching convinced him that this was a fact, but he could not make out what it was. Soon after, as they were seated at their evening meal, he mentioned what he had seen. "One of the sheep got loose," said Gordon. "No, it was not a sheep." "Well, what could it have been? There are no animals here, hardly, except the pigs which have run wild." "It looked as big as a sheep, but it was not a pig," said Don thoughtfully. "Could it have been a man going on all fours?" "Hullo! What's the matter?" cried Gordon looking up sharply, as one of his two neighbours came to the door with his wife. "Well, I doan't know," said the settler. "My wife says she is sure she saw a savage creeping along through the bush behind our place." "There!" said Don excitedly. "Here's t'others coming," said Jem. For at that moment the other settler, whose log-house was a hundred yards below, came up at a trot, gun in hand, in company with his wife and sister. "Here, look sharp, Gordon," he said; "there's a party out on a raid. We came up here, for we had better join hands." "Of course," said Gordon. "Come in; but I think you are frightening yourselves at shadows, and--" He stopped short, for Jem Wimble dashed at the door and banged it to just as Ngati sprang to the corner of the big log kitchen and caught up a spear. "Mike and them two beauties, Mas' Don!" cried Jem. "Then it's war, is it?" said Gordon grimly, as he reconnoitred from the window. "Eight--ten--twelve--about thirty Maori savages, and three white ones. Hand round the guns, Don Lavington. You can shoot, can't you?" "Yes, a little." "That's right. Can we depend on Ngati? If we can't, he'd better go." "I'll answer for him," said Don. "All right!" said Gordon. "Look here, Ngati,"--he pointed out of the window and then tapped the spear--"bad pakehas, bad--bad, kill." Ngati grunted, and his eyes flashed. "Kill pakehas--bad pakehas," he said in a deep, fierce voice. "Kill!" Then tapping the Englishmen one by one on the shoulder, "Pakeha good," he said smiling, and then taking Don by the arm, "My pakeha," he added. "That's all right, sir," said Jem; "he understands." "Now then, quick! Make everything fast. We can keep them out so long as they don't try fire. And look here, I hate bloodshed, neighbours, but those convict scoundrels have raised these poor savages up against us for the sake of plunder. Recollect, we are fighting for our homes-- to defend the women." A low, angry murmur arose as the guns were quickly examined, ammunition placed ready, and the rough, strong door barricaded with boxes and tubs, the women being sent up a rough ladder through a trap-door to huddle together in the roof, where they would be in safety. "So long as they don't set us afire, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "What's that?" said Gordon sharply. "Jem fears fire," said Don. "So do I, my lad, so we must keep them at a distance; and if they do fire us run all together to the next house, and defend that." Fortunately for the defenders of the place there were but three windows, and they were small, and made good loop-holes from which to fire when the enemy came on. The settlers defended the front of the house, and Don, Jem and Ngati were sent to the back, greatly to Jem's disappointment. "We sha'n't see any of the fun, Mas' Don," he whispered, and then remained silent, for a shout arose, and they recognised the voice as that of Mike Bannock. "Now then you," he shouted, "open the door, and give in quietly. If you do, you sha'n't be hurt. If you make a fight of it, no one will be left alive." "Look here!" shouted back Gordon; "I warn you all that the first man who comes a step farther may lose his life. Go on about your business before help comes and you are caught." "No help for a hundred miles, matey," said the savage-looking convict; "so give in. We want all you've got there, and what's more, we mean to have it. Will you surrender?" For answer Gordon thrust out his gun-barrel, and the convicts drew back a few yards, and conversed together before disappearing with their savage followers into the bush. "Have we scared them off?" said Gordon to one of the settlers, after ten minutes had passed without a sign. "I don't know," said the other. "I can't help thinking--" "Look out, Mas' Don!" _Bang_! _bang_! Two reports from muskets at the back of the house, where the attacking party had suddenly shown themselves, thinking it the weakest part; and after the two shots about a dozen Maoris dashed at the little window, and tried to get in, forcing their spears through to keep the defenders at a distance; and had not Ngati's spear played its part, darting swiftly about like the sting of some monster, the lithe, active fellows would, soon have forced their way in. Directly after, the fight began at the front, the firing growing hot, and not without effect, for one of the settlers went down with a musket bullet in his shoulder, and soon after Gordon stood back, holding his arm for Don to bind it up with a strip off a towel. "Only a spear prick," he said coolly, as he took aim with his gun directly after; and for about an hour the fight raged fiercely, with wounds given and taken, but no material advantage on either side. "Be careful and make every shot tell," said Gordon, as it was rapidly growing dark; then backing to the inner door as he reloaded, he spoke for a few seconds to Don. "We shall beat them off, sir," said Don cheerily. "Yes, I hope so, my lad," said the settler calmly. "You see you are of great use." "No, sir; it's all my fault," replied Don. "Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as Don returned, "look out of the window; mind the spears; then tell me what you see." "Fire!" said Don after a momentary examination. He was quite right. A fire had been lit in the forest at the back, and ten minutes after, as Mike Bannock's voice could be heard cheering them, the Maoris came on, hurling burning branches on to the roof of the little log-house. For a few minutes there was no result. Then there arose a yell, for the roof had caught, the resinous pine burned strongly, the smoke began to curl in between the rafters, and the women were helped down. To extinguish the flames was impossible, and would even have been as vain a task had they been outside ready with water. "How long will she last before she comes down?" said one of the settlers. "We can stop in here for a quarter, perhaps half an hour longer," said Gordon; "and then we must make a dash for your place." "Yes," said the settler, "and they know it. Look!" By the increasing light from the burning house, the savages could be seen with their white leaders preparing for a rush. Just then Don and his two companions were forced to leave the little lean-to, whose roof was burning furiously, and it was only by closing the rough door of communication that the besieged were able to remain in the big kitchen. "It won't last five minutes, my lads," said Gordon. "Be ready, women. I'll throw open the door. We men will rush out and form up. You women run down to the right and make for Smith's. We shall give them a volley to check them, and run after you." "Ready?" "Ay." "All loaded?" "Ay," came in a deep despairing growl. "Down with these boxes and tubs then. You, Don, you are young and weak; go with the women." "No," said Don; "I shall go with you men." "Brayvo, Mas' Don!" whispered Jem. "What a while they are opening that door! We shall be roasted, my lad, after all, and these wretches 'll pick our bones." The door was flung open, and the enemy uttered a yell of delight as the little party of whites ran out of the burning house. "Now, women!" cried Gordon. "No: stop!" roared Don. _Crash_! A heavy volley from the right, and the besiegers made a rush for the left. _Crash_! A heavy volley met them on the left, fired diagonally from half behind the blazing house. Then there was a cheer, echoed by a second, and two parties of blue-jackets were in among the Maoris, who fled, leaving half their number wounded and prisoners on the ground, while Don and his friends helped the women out into the open, away from the signs of bloodshed, which looked horrible in the light from the blazing house. "A little too late," said the officer in command of the detachment. "Too late to save my house, sir, but in time to save our lives," said Gordon, grasping his hand. "I wish I had been sooner; but it's rough work travelling through the bush, and we should not have come, only we heard the shouting, and saw the glow of your burning house." No time was lost in trying to extinguish the fire after a guard had been set over the prisoners, the men under the officers' orders working hard with the few buckets at command; but the place was built of inflammable pine, which flared up fiercely, and after about a quarter of an hour's effort Gordon protested against further toil. "It's of no use, sir," he said. "All labour in vain. I've not lost much, for my furniture was only home made." "I'm sorry to give up, but it is useless," said the officer. Jem crept close up to his companion. "I say, Mas' Don, I thought it was some of our chaps from the sloop at first, but they're from the _Vixen_ frigate. Think they'll find us out?" "I hope not, Jem," replied Don; "surely they will not press us again." "Let's be off into the bush till they're gone." "No," said Don; "I'm sorry I left the ship as I did. We will not run away again." Meanwhile preparations were made for bivouacking, the officer determining to rest where they were that night; and after seeing his men stored in two of the barns, and sentries placed over the prisoners in another, at one of the settlers' places, one log-house being given up to the wounded, he joined the little English gathering, where the settlers' wives, as soon as the danger was past, had prepared a comfortable meal. After an uneventful night, the morning broke cheerily over the tiny settlement, where the only trace of the attack was at Gordon's, whose rough log-house was now a heap of smoking ashes. The sailors had breakfasted well, thanks to the settlers' wives, and were now drawn up, all but the prisoners' guard, while the officer stood talking to Gordon and his neighbours with Don and Jem standing close by; for in spite of Jem's reiterated appeals, his companion refused to take to the bush. "No, Jem," Don said stubbornly; "it would be cowardly, and we're cowards enough." "But s'pose they find us out? That there officer's sure to smell as we're salts." "Smell? Nonsense!" "He will, Mas' Don. I'm that soaked with Stockholm tar that I can smell myself like a tub." "Nonsense!" "But if they find out as we deserted, they'll hang us." "I don't believe it, Jem." "Well, you'll see, Mas' Don; so if they hang you, don't you blame me." "Well, Mr Gordon, we must be off," said the officer. "Thank you once more for all your hospitality." "God bless you, sir, and all your men, for saving our lives," said the settler warmly; and there was a chorus of thanks from the other settlers and their wives. "Nonsense, my dear sir; only our duty!" said the officer heartily. "And now about our prisoners. I don't know what to do about the Maoris. I don't want to shoot them, and I certainly don't want to march them with us down to where the ship lies. What would you do, Mr Gordon?" "I should give them a knife apiece, shake hands with them, and let them go." "What, to come back with the said knives, and kill you all when we're gone!" "They will not come back if you take away the scoundrels who led them on," said Don sharply. "How do you know?" said the officer good-humouredly. "Because," said Don, colouring, "I have been living a good deal with them, both with a friendly tribe and as a prisoner." "And they did not eat you?" said the officer laughing. "There, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, "hear that?" "I think you are right, youngster," continued the officer, "and I shall do so. Mr Dillon, bring up the prisoners." This was to a master's mate, who led off a guard, and returned with the captives bound hands behind, and the Maoris looking sullen and haughty, while the three whites appeared at their very worst--a trio of the most vile, unkempt scoundrels possible to see. They were led to the front, scowling at every one in turn, and halted in front of the officer, who, after whispering to the master's mate, gave orders to one of the seamen. This man pulled out his great jack knife, opened it, and being a bit of a joker, advanced toward the Maoris, grinding his teeth and rolling his eyes. The savages saw his every act, and there was a slight tremor that seemed to run through them all; but the next instant they had drawn themselves up stern and defiant, ready to meet their fate at the seaman's knife. "No, no. No, pakeha. No kill," said a deep angry voice; and as every one turned, Ngati stalked forward as if to defend his enemies. But at the same moment the man had cut the first Maori's bands, and then went on behind the rank, cutting the line that bound seven, who stood staring wildly. The next minute a seaman came along bearing a sheaf of spears, which he handed, one by one, to the astonished savages, while their wonder reached its height, as the master's mate presented to each a knife, such as were brought for presents to the natives. "Now," said the officer, addressing them, "I don't understand you, and I don't suppose you understand my words; but you do my deeds. Then, in the king's name, you are free; and if you ever take any English prisoners, I hope you will behave as well to them as we have behaved to you. There, go." He finished by pointing away to the north; but instead of going they stood staring till Ngati came forward, and said a few words in their own tongue. The effect was electric; they all shouted, brandished their spears, danced wildly, and ended by throwing down their weapons before the officer, seizing him by the arms, and rubbing noses with him. He submitted laughingly till the Maoris picked up their spears, and stood looking on, apparently quite satisfied that they were safe. "Here, hi, Jack!" cried a hoarse brutal voice. "Look sharp, we want to get rid of these cords; where's your knife?" "Wait a little while, my friends," said the officer sarcastically; "as soon as we get to the ship, you shall have them changed for irons." "Whorrt!" cried Mike. "We were out in search of three convicts who murdered a couple of the guard, and escaped from Norfolk Island in a boat. I have fallen upon you by accident, and I have you safe." "Norfolk Island! Where's Norfolk Island, mate?" said Mike coolly. "Never heard o' no such place," said his vilest-looking companion, gruffly. "Memory's short, perhaps," said the officer. "But convicts; we're not convicts," growled Mike. "Gentlemen, p'r'aps, on your travels?" "Yes, that's it," said Mike with effrontery. "Ah! Well then, I shall have to take you on beard His Majesty's ship _Vixen_, where you will probably be hung at the yard-arm for inciting the ignorant Maoris to attack peaceful settlers. Forward, my lads!" "Here stop!" roared Mike with a savage grin. "What for?" said the officer sternly. "Arn't you going to take them, too?" "Take whom--the Maoris? No; but for you they would have let these people be in peace. Forward!" "No, no; I mean them two," said Mike savagely, as he pointed--"them two: Don Lavington and Jem Wimble." "Halt!" cried the officer. "Do you know these men?" he said suspiciously. "There, I told you so, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "I know that man," said Don firmly. "I only know the others by their making us prisoners out in the bush." "Where did you know him?" said the officer--"Norfolk Island?" "No, sir; at Bristol. He worked as labourer in my uncle's yard." "That's right enough," said Mike; "and him and Jem Wimble was pressed, and went to sea." "Ay, ay!" said the officer quickly. "And they deserted, and took to the bush." "Hah!" ejaculated the officer. "From the sloop of war. The captain asked us to keep an eye open for two lads who had deserted." "Hor--hor--hor!" laughed Mike maliciously; "and now you've got 'em; Mr Gentleman Don and Master Jemmy Wimble." "If your hands warn't tied," cried Jem fiercely, "I'd punch your ugly head!" "Is this true, young man?" said the officer sternly. "Did you desert from His Majesty's sloop?" Don was silent for a moment, and then stepped forward boldly. "Yes!" he said. "Ah, Mas' Don, you've done it now," whispered Jem. "I was cruelly seized, beaten, and dragged away from my home, and Jem here from his young wife. On board ship we were ill-used and persecuted; and I'm not ashamed to own it, I did leave the ship." "Yes, and so did I!" said Jem stoutly. "Humph! Then I'm afraid you will have to go with me as prisoners!" said the officer. "Hor--hor--hor! Here's a game! Prisoners! Cat-o'-nine tails, or hanging." "Silence, you scoundrel!" roared the officer. "Forward with these prisoners." Mike and his companions were marched on out of hearing, and then, after a turn or two, the officer spoke. "It is true then, my lads, you deserted your ship?" "I was forced to serve, sir, and I left the ship," said Don firmly. "Well, sir, I have but one course to pursue." "Surely you will not take them as prisoners, sir?" cried Gordon warmly--"as brave, true fellows as ever stepped." "I can believe that," said the officer; "but discipline must be maintained. Look here, my lads: I will serve you if I can. You made a great mistake in deserting. I detest pressing men; but it is done, and it is not my duty to oppose the proceeding. Now, will you take my advice?" "What is it, sir?" "Throw yourself on our captain's mercy. Your ship has sailed for China; we are going home short-handed. Volunteer to serve the king till the ship is paid off, and perhaps you will never hear of having deserted. What do you say?" "The same as Jem Wimble does, sir. I can volunteer, and fight, if you like; but I can't bear to be forced." "Well said!" cried the officer, smiling at Don's bit of grandiloquence; and, an hour later, after an affectionate parting from Ngati, who elected to stay with Gordon, Don and Jem were Jacks once more, marching cheerily with the main body, half a mile behind the guard in charge of the convicts. CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. HOME. It was a non-adventurous voyage home, after the convicts had been placed in the hands of the authorities at Port Jackson; and one soft summer evening, after a run by coach from Plymouth, two sturdy-looking brown young sailors leaped down in front of the old coaching hotel, and almost ran along the busy Bristol streets to reach the familiar spots where so much of their lives had been passed. Don was panting to get back into his mother's arms, but they had to pass the warehouse, and as they reached the gates Jem began to tremble. "No, no; don't go by, Mas' Don. I dursen't go alone." "What, not to meet your own wife?" "No, Mas' Don; 'tarn't that. I'm feared she's gone no one knows where. Stand by me while I ask, Mas' Don." "No, no, Jem. I must get home." "We've stood by one another, Mas' Don, in many a fight and at sea, and on shore. Don't forsake your mate now." "I'll stay, Jem," said Don. "Mas' Don, you are a good one!" cried Jem. "Would you mind pulling the bell--werry gently? My hand shakes so, I shall make a noise." Don gave the bell a tremendous peal, when Jem looked at him reproachfully, and seemed ready to run away, as the lesser gate was snatched angrily open, and a shrill voice began,-- "What d'you mean by ringing like--" "Sally!" "Jem!" Don gave Jem a push in the back, which sent him forward into the yard, pulled the gate to, and ran on as hard as he could to his uncle's house. He had laughed at Jem when he said his hand trembled, but his own shook as he took hold of the knocker, and gave the most comical double rap ever thumped upon a big front door. There was a click; the door was thrown open by one who had seen the brown young sailor pass the window, and Don Lavington was tightly held in his mother's arms, while two little hands held his, and Kitty jumped up to get a kiss placed upon his cheek. The explanations were in full swing as, unheard by those in the parlour, the front door was opened by a latch-key, and that of the parlour followed suit, for Uncle Josiah to stand looking smilingly at the group before him. When at last he was seen, Don started up and gazed dubiously in the grave, stern face before him, recalling in those brief moments scene after scene in the past, when he and his uncle had been, as Jem expressed it, "at loggerheads again," and his life had seemed to him a time of misery and care. His first coherent thoughts were as to what he should say--how he should enter into full explanations of his movements since that eventful night when he encountered the press-gang. It was better to attack, he thought, than to await the coming on of his adversary, and he had just made up his mind to the former course of action, when all his plans and words were blown to the wind, and there was no need for either attack or defence, for the old man advanced with extended hand. "Don, my lad," he said quietly, "I've felt the want of you badly at the office. Glad to see you back." "I ought to tell you, sir--" "Ah, well explain all by-and-by, my boy," said the old man. "I know that you can't have been to blame; and, look here, time back you were as stubborn as could be, and thought you were ill-used, and that I was your enemy. You've been round the world since then, and you are bigger, and broader, and wiser now than you were." "I hope so, uncle." "And you don't believe that I ever was your enemy?" "I believe, uncle, that I was very foolish, and--and--" "That's enough. P'r'aps I was a bit too hard, but not so hard as they are at sea. You haven't got to go again?" "No, uncle." "Then God bless you, my boy! I'm glad to have you back." Don could not speak, only hold his weeping mother to his breast. It was some time before Don was able to begin his explanations, and the account of what had passed; and when he did it was with his mother sitting on his right, holding his hand in both of hers, and with his cousin seated upon his left, following her aunt's suit, while the old Bristol merchant lay back in his chair smoking his evening pipe, a grim smile upon his lips, but a look of pride in his eyes as if he did not at all disapprove of Don's conduct when he was at sea. "But I ought not to have deserted uncle?" said Don, interrogatively. "Well, my boy," said the old merchant thoughtfully, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and rubbing his stubbly cheek with the waxy end, "I hardly know what to say about that, so we'll let it rest." "Confound all press-gangs!" said Uncle Josiah that night, as they were parting for bed. "But I don't know, Don, perhaps this one was a blessing in disguise." "Then I hope, uncle, that the next blessing will come without any disguise at all. But, mother, you found my bundle?" "Your bundle, my dear?" "The one I threw up on the top of the bed-tester, when I was foolish enough to think of running away." "My dear Don, no." They went to the chamber; Don leaped on the edge of the bed, reached over, and brought down the bundle all covered with flue. "Don, my darling!" "But I had repented, mother, and--" "Hush! No more," said Uncle Josiah firmly; "the past is gone. Here's to a happy future, my boy. Good-night." THE END. 
27977	----	AUSTRAL ENGLISH A DICTIONARY OF AUSTRALASIAN WORDS, PHRASES AND USAGES with those Aboriginal-Australian and Maori words which have become incorporated in the language and the commoner scientific words that have had their origin in Australasia by Edward E. Morris M.A., Oxon. Professor of English, French and German Languages and Literatures in the University of Melbourne. 1898 INTRODUCTION CONTENTS I. ORIGIN OF THE WORK First undertaken to help O.E.D. The Standard Dictionary II. TITLE AND SCOPE OF THE BOOK Not a Slang Dictionary III. SOURCES OF NEW WORDS:-- 1. Altered English 2. Words quite new to the language:-- (a) Aboriginal Australian (b) Maori IV. THE LAW OF HOBSON-JOBSON Is Austral English a corruption? V. CLASSIFICATION OF WORDS VI. QUOTATIONS. THEIR PURPOSE VII. BOOKS USED AS AUTHORITIES VIII.SCIENTIFIC WORDS IX. ASSISTANCE RECEIVED X. ABBREVIATIONS:-- 1. Of Scientific Names 2. General I. ORIGIN OF THE WORK. About a generation ago Mr. Matthew Arnold twitted our nation with the fact that "the journeyman work of literature" was much better done in France--the books of reference, the biographical dictionaries, and the translations from the classics. He did not especially mention dictionaries of the language, because he was speaking in praise of academies, and, as far as France is concerned, the great achievement in that line is Littre and not the Academy's Dictionary. But the reproach has now been rolled away--<i>nous avons change tout cela</i>--and in every branch to which Arnold alluded our journeyman work is quite equal to anything in France. It is generally allowed that a vast improvement has taken place in translations, whether prose or verse. From quarter to quarter the <i>Dictionary of National Biography</i> continues its stately progress. But the noblest monument of English scholarship is <i>The New English Dictionary on Historical Principles</i>, founded mainly on the materials collected by the Philological Society, edited by Dr. James Murray, and published at the cost of the University of Oxford. The name <i>New</i> will, however, be unsuitable long before the Dictionary is out of date. Its right name is the <i>Oxford English Dictionary</i> (`O.E.D.'). That great dictionary is built up out of quotations specially gathered for it from English books of all kinds and all periods; and Dr. Murray several years ago invited assistance from this end of the world for words and uses of words peculiar to Australasia, or to parts of it. In answer to his call I began to collect; but instances of words must be noted as one comes across them, and of course they do not occur in alphabetical order. The work took time, and when my parcel of quotations had grown into a considerable heap, it occurred to me that the collection, if a little further trouble were expended upon it, might first enjoy an independent existence. Various friends kindly contributed more quotations: and this Book is the result. In January 1892, having the honour to be President of the Section of "Literature and the Fine Arts" at the Hobart Meeting of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science, I alluded to Dr. Murray's request: A body like this Section, composed of men from different parts of scattered colonies, might render valuable help in organising the work of collecting authorities for our various peculiar words and usages. Twenty or thirty men and women, each undertaking to read certain books with the new dictionary in mind, and to note in a prescribed fashion what is peculiar, could accomplish all that is needed. Something has been done in Melbourne, but the Colonies have different words and uses of words, and this work is of a kind which might well extend beyond the bounds of a single city. At first it may seem as if our words were few, as if in the hundred years of Australian life few special usages have arisen; but a man with a philological turn of mind, who notes what he hears, will soon find the list grow. Some philologers speak, not perhaps very satisfactorily, of being "at the fountains of language": we can all of us testify to the birth of some words within our own memory, but the origin of these, if not noted, will in time be lost. There are many other words which the strictest cannot condemn as slang, though even slang, being the speech of the people, is not undeserving of some scientific study; words, for instance, which have come into the language from the Aborigines, and names of animals, shrubs, and flowers. It might even be possible, with sufficient co-operation, to produce an Australian dictionary on the same lines as the <i>New English Dictionary</i> by way of supplement to it. Organisation might make the labour light, whilst for many it would from its very nature prove a pleasant task. These suggestions were not carried out. Individuals sent quotations to Oxford, but no organisation was established to make the collection systematic or complete, and at the next meeting of the Association the Section had ceased to exist, or at least had doffed its literary character. At a somewhat later date, Messrs. Funk and Wagnall of New York invited me to join an "Advisory Committee on disputed spelling and pronunciation." That firm was then preparing its <i>Standard Dictionary</i>, and one part of the scheme was to obtain opinions as to usage from various parts of the English-speaking world, especially from those whose function it is to teach the English Language. Subsequently, at my own suggestion, the firm appointed me to take charge of the Australian terms in their Dictionary, and I forwarded a certain number of words and phrases in use in Australia. But the accident of the letter A, for Australian, coming early in the alphabet gives my name a higher place than it deserves on the published list of those co-operating in the production of this <i>Standard Dictionary</i>; for with my present knowledge I see that my contribution was lamentably incomplete. Moreover, I joined the Editorial Corps too late to be of real use. Only the final proofs were sent to me, and although my corrections were reported to New York without delay, they arrived too late for any alterations to be effected before the sheets went to press. This took the heart out of my work for that Dictionary. For its modernness, for many of its lexicographical features, and for its splendid illustrations, I entertain a cordial admiration for the book, and I greatly regret the unworthiness of my share in it. It is quite evident that others had contributed Australasian words, and I must confess I hardly like to be held responsible for some of their statements. For instance-- "<i>Aabec</i>. An Australian medicinal bark said to promote perspiration." I have never heard of it, and my ignorance is shared by the greatest Australian botanist, the Baron von Mueller. "<i>Beauregarde</i>. The Zebra grass-parrakeet of Australia. From F. beau, regarde. See BEAU n. and REGARD." As a matter of fact, the name is altered out of recognition, but really comes from the aboriginal <i>budgery</i>, good, and <i>gar</i>, parrot. "<i>Imou-pine</i>. A large New Zealand tree. . . . called <i>red pine</i> by the colonists and <i>rimu</i> by the natives." I can find no trace of the spelling "Imou." In a circular to New Zealand newspapers I asked whether it was a known variant. The <i>New Zealand Herald</i> made answer--"He may be sure that the good American dictionary has made a misprint. It was scarcely worth the Professor's while to take notice of mere examples of pakeha ignorance of Maori." "Swagman. [Slang, Austral.] 1. A dealer in cheap trinkets, etc. 2. A swagger." In twenty-two years of residence in Australia, I have never heard the former sense. "<i>Taihoa</i>. [Anglo-Tasmanian.] No hurry; wait." The word is Maori, and Maori is the language of New Zealand, not of Tasmania. These examples, I know, are not fair specimens of the accuracy of the Standard Dictionary, but they serve as indications of the necessity for a special book on Australasian English. II. TITLE AND SCOPE OF THE BOOK. In the present day, when words are more and more abbreviated, a "short title" may be counted necessary to the welfare of a book. For this reason "Austral English" has been selected. In its right place in the dictionary the word <i>Austral</i> will be found with illustrations to show that its primary meaning, "southern," is being more and more limited, so that the word may now be used as equivalent to <i>Australasian</i>. "Austral" or "Australasian English" means all the new words and the new uses of old words that have been added to the English language by reason of the fact that those who speak English have taken up their abode in Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand. Hasty inference might lead to the remark that such addition is only slang, but the remark is far from being accurate; probably not one-tenth of the new vocabulary could fairly be so classified. A great deal of slang is used in Australasia, but very much less is generated here than is usually believed. In 1895 a literary policeman in Melbourne brought out a small <i>Australian Slang Dictionary</i>. In spite of the name, however, the compiler confesses that "very few of the terms it contains have been invented by Australians." My estimate is that not one word in fifty in his little book has an Australian origin, or even a specially Australian use. The phrase "Australasian English" includes something much wider than slang. Those who, speaking the tongue of Shakspeare, of Milton, and of Dr. Johnson, came to various parts of Australasia, found a Flora and a Fauna waiting to be named in English. New birds, beasts and fishes, new trees, bushes and flowers, had to receive names for general use. It is probably not too much to say that there never was an instance in history when so many new names were needed, and that there never will be such an occasion again, for never did settlers come, nor can they ever again come, upon Flora and Fauna so completely different from anything seen by them before. When the offshoots of our race first began to settle in America, they found much that was new, but they were still in the same North Temperate zone. Though there is now a considerable divergence between the American and the English vocabulary, especially in technical terms, it is not largely due to great differences in natural history. An oak in America is still a <i>Quercus</i>, not as in Australia a <i>Casuarina</i>. But with the whole tropical region intervening it was to be expected that in the South Temperate Zone many things would be different, and such expectation was amply fulfilled. In early descriptions of Australia it is a sort of commonplace to dwell on this complete variety, to harp on the trees that shed bark not leaves, and the cherries with the stones outside. Since the days when "Adam gave names to all cattle and to the fowl of the air and to every beast of the field" never were so many new names called for. Unfortunately, names were not given by the best educated in the community, but often by those least qualified to invent satisfactory names: not by a linguist, a botanist, an ornithologist, an ichthyologist, but by the ordinary settler. Even in countries of old civilisation names are frequently conferred or new words invented, at times with good and at times with unsatisfactory results, by the average man, whom it is the modern fashion to call "the man in the street." Much of Australasian nomenclature is due to "the man in the bush" --more precise address not recorded. Givers of new names may be benefactors to their language or violators of its purity and simplicity, but in either case they are nearly always, like the burial-place of Moses, unknown. III. SOURCES OF NEW WORDS. Of Australasian additions to the English language there are two main sources, which correspond to the twofold division of them into new words and new uses of old words. 1. Altered English. The commoner origin of Australasian English words is the turning and twisting of an already existing English name. The settler saw a fruit somewhat like a cherry. Though he knew well that it was not a cherry, he christened it the "native cherry." It may here be remarked that the prefix native is not a satisfactory distinguishing adjective. Native bear, native cherry, may teach the young Australian that the bear and the cherry so named are not as the bear of the Arctic Regions or the cherry of Europe. But in the British Museum the label does not help much. The settler heard a bird laugh in what he thought an extremely ridiculous manner, its opening notes suggesting a donkey's bray--he called it the "laughing jackass." His descendants have dropped the adjective, and it has come to pass that the word "jackass" denotes to an Australian something quite different from its meaning to other speakers of our English tongue. The settler must have had an imagination. Whip-bird, or Coach-whip, from the sound of the note, Lyre-bird from the appearance of the outspread tail, are admirable names. Another class of name brought the Australian word nearer to its English use. "Robin" for instance is applied to birds of various species not known in Europe. Bird-names, fish-names, plant-names, are sometimes transferred to new species, sometimes to a new genus, sometimes to an entirely different Natural Order, bearing a resemblance to the original, either real or fancied, as for instance "Magpie." It is hardly necessary to dwell longer on this point, for almost every page of the Dictionary bears witness to it. 2. Words new to the Language. (a) Aboriginal Australian. Many of the new Australasian words are taken from the languages of the aborigines, often with considerable alteration due to misunderstanding. Such words are either Australian or Maori. Whilst in New Zealand careful attention has been paid by competent scholars to the musical Maori language, it can hardly be claimed that the Australian family of languages has ever been scientifically studied, though there is a heap of printed material--small grammars and lists of words--<i>rudis indigestaque moles</i>. There is no doubt that the vocabularies used in different parts of Australia and Tasmania varied greatly, and equally little doubt that the languages, in structure and perhaps originally in vocabulary, were more or less connected. About the year 1883, Professor Sayce, of Oxford, wrote a letter, which was published in <i>The Argus</i>, pointing out the obligation that lay upon the Australian colonies to make a scientific study of a vanishing speech. The duty would be stronger were it not for the distressing lack of pence that now is vexing public men. Probably a sum of L300 a year would suffice for an educated inquirer, but his full time for several years would be needed. Such an one should be trained at the University as a linguist and an observer, paying especial attention to logic and to Comparative Philology. Whilst the colonies neglect their opportunities, and Sibylla year by year withdraws her offer, perhaps "the inevitable German" will intervene, and in a well-arranged book bring order out of the chaos of vocabularies and small pamphlets on the subject, all that we have to trust to now. The need of scientific accuracy is strong. For the purposes of this Dictionary I have been investigating the origin of words, more or less naturalised as English, that come from aboriginal Australian, in number between seventy and a hundred. I have received a great deal of kind assistance, many people taking much trouble to inform me. But there is a manifest lack of knowledge. Many supplied me with the meanings of the words as used in English, but though my appeal was scattered far and wide over Australia (chiefly through the kindness of the newspapers), few could really give the origin of the words. Two amongst the best informed went so far as to say that Australian words have no derivation. That doctrine is hard to accept. A word of three syllables does not spring complete from the brain of an aboriginal as Athene rose fully armed from the head of Zeus. It is beyond all doubt that the vocabularies of the Aborigines differed widely in different parts. Frequently, the English have carried a word known in one district to a district where it was not known, the aboriginals regarding the word as pure English. In several books statements will be found that such and such a word is not Aboriginal, when it really has an aboriginal source but in a different part of the Continent. Mr. Threlkeld, in his <i>Australian Grammar</i>, which is especially concerned with the language of the Hunter River, gives a list of "barbarisms," words that he considers do not belong to the aboriginal tongue. He says with perfect truth-"Barbarisms have crept into use, introduced by sailors, stockmen, and others, in the use of which both blacks and whites labour under the mistaken idea, that each one is conversing in the other's language." And yet with him a "barbarism" has to be qualified as meaning "not belonging to the Hunter District." But Mr. Threlkeld is not the only writer who will not acknowledge as aboriginal sundry words with an undoubted Australian pedigree. (b) Maori. The Maori language, the Italian of the South, has received very different treatment from that meted out by fate and indifference to the aboriginal tongues of Australia. It has been studied by competent scholars, and its grammar has been comprehensively arranged and stated. A Maori Dictionary, compiled more than fifty years ago by a missionary, afterwards a bishop, has been issued in a fourth edition by his son, who is now a bishop. Yet, of Maori also, the same thing is said with respect to etymology. A Maori scholar told me that, when he began the study many years ago, he was warned by a very distinguished scholar not to seek for derivations, as the search was full of pitfalls. It was not maintained that words sprang up without an origin, but that the true origin of most of the words was now lost. In spite of this double warning, it may be maintained that some of the origins both of Maori and of Australian words have been found and are in this book recorded. The pronunciation of Maori words differs so widely from that of Australian aboriginal names that it seems advisable to insert a note on the subject. Australian aboriginal words have been written down on no system, and very much at hap-hazard. English people have attempted to express the native sounds phonetically according to English pronunciation. No definite rule has been observed, different persons giving totally different values to represent the consonant and vowel sounds. In a language with a spelling so unphonetic as the English, in which the vowels especially have such uncertain and variable values, the results of this want of system have necessarily been very unsatisfactory and often grotesque. Maori words, on the other hand, have been written down on a simple and consistent system, adopted by the missionaries for the purpose of the translation of the Bible. This system consists in giving the Italian sound to the vowels, every letter--vowel and consonant--having a fixed and invariable value. Maori words are often very melodious. In pronunciation the best rule is to pronounce each syllable with a nearly equal accent. Care has been taken to remember that this is an Australasian <i>English</i> and not a Maori Dictionary; therefore to exclude words that have not passed into the speech of the settlers. But in New Zealand Maori is much more widely used in the matter of vocabulary than the speech of the aborigines is in Australia, or at any rate in the more settled parts of Australia; and the Maori is in a purer form. Though some words and names have been ridiculously corrupted, the language of those who dwell in the bush in New Zealand can hardly be called <i>Pigeon English</i>, and that is the right name for the "lingo" used in Queensland and Western Australia, which, only partly represented in this book, is indeed a falling away from the language of Bacon and Shakspeare. IV. LAW OF HOBSON-JOBSON. In many places in the Dictionary, I find I have used the expression "the law of Hobson-Jobson." The name is an adaptation from the expression used by Col. Yule and Mr. Burnell as a name for their interesting Dictionary of Anglo-Indian words. The law is well recognised, though it has lacked the name, such as I now venture to give it. When a word comes from a foreign language, those who use it, not understanding it properly, give a twist to the word or to some part of it from the hospitable desire to make the word at home in its new quarters, no regard, however, being paid to the sense. The most familiar instance in English is <i>crayfish</i> from the French <i>ecrevisse</i>, though it is well known that a crayfish is not a fish at all. Amongst the Mohammedans in India there is a festival at which the names of "Hassan" and "Hosein" are frequently called out by devotees. Tommy Atkins, to whom the names were naught, converted them into "Hobson, Jobson." That the practice of so altering words is not limited to the English is shown by two perhaps not very familiar instances in French, where "Aunt Sally" has become <i>ane sale</i>, "a dirty donkey," and "bowsprit" has become <i>beau pre</i>, though quite unconnected with "a beautiful meadow." The name "Pigeon English" is itself a good example. It has no connection with pigeon, the bird, but is an Oriental's attempt to pronounce the word "business." It hardly, however, seems necessary to alter the spelling to "pidjin." It may be thought by some precisians that all Australasian English is a corruption of the language. So too is Anglo-Indian, and, <i>pace</i> Mr. Brander Matthews, there are such things as Americanisms, which were not part of the Elizabethan heritage, though it is perfectly true that many of the American phrases most railed at are pure old English, preserved in the States, though obsolete in Modern England; for the Americans, as Lowell says, "could not take with them any better language than that of Shakspeare." When we hear railing at slang phrases, at Americanisms, some of which are admirably expressive, at various flowers of colonial speech, and at words woven into the texture of our speech by those who live far away from London and from Oxford, and who on the outskirts of the British Empire are brought into contact with new natural objects that need new names, we may think for our comfort on the undoubted fact that the noble and dignified language of the poets, authors and preachers, grouped around Lewis XIV., sprang from debased Latin. For it was not the classical Latin that is the origin of French, but the language of the soldiers and the camp-followers who talked slang and picked words up from every quarter. English has certainly a richer vocabulary, a finer variety of words to express delicate distinctions of meaning, than any language that is or that ever was spoken: and this is because it has always been hospitable in the reception of new words. It is too late a day to close the doors against new words. This <i>Austral English Dictionary</i> merely catalogues and records those which at certain doors have already come in. V. CLASSIFICATION OF THE WORDS. The Dictionary thus includes the following classes of Words, Phrases and Usages; viz.-- (1) Old English names of Natural Objects--Birds, Fishes, Animals, Trees, Plants, etc.--applied (in the first instance by the early settlers) either to new Australian species of such objects, or to new objects bearing a real or fancied resemblance to them--as <i>Robin, Magpie, Herring, Cod, Cat, Bear, Oak, Beech, Pine, Cedar, Cherry, Spinach, Hops, Pea, Rose</i>. (2) English names of objects applied in Australia to others quite different-as <i>Wattle</i>, a hurdle, applied as the name of the tree <i>Wattle</i>, from whose twigs the hurdle was most readily made; <i>Jackass</i>, an animal, used as the name for the bird <i>Jackass</i>; <i>Cockatoo</i>, a birdname, applied to a small farmer. (3) Aboriginal Australian and Maori words which have been incorporated unchanged in the language, and which still denote the original object--as <i>Kangaroo, Wombat, Boomerang, Whare, Pa, Kauri</i>. (4) Aboriginal Australian and Maori words which have been similarly adopted, and which have also had their original meaning extended and applied to other things--as <i>Bunyip, Corrobbery, Warrigal</i>. (5) Anglicised corruptions of such words--as <i>Copper-Maori, Go-ashore, Cock-a-bully, Paddy-melon, Pudding-ball, Tooky-took</i>. (6) Fanciful, picturesque, or humorous names given to new Australasian Natural Objects--as <i>Forty-spot, Lyre-bird, Parson-bird, and Coach-whip</i> (birds); <i>Wait-a-while</i> (a tangled thicket); <i>Thousand-jacket, Jimmy Low, Jimmy Donnelly, and Roger Gough</i> (trees); <i>Axe-breaker, Cheese-wood, and Raspberry Jam</i> (timbers); <i>Trumpeter, Schnapper and Sergeant Baker</i> (fishes); <i>Umbrella-grass</i> and <i>Spaniard</i> (native plants), and so on. (7) Words and phrases of quite new coinage, or arising from quite new objects or orders of things--as <i>Larrikin, Swagman, Billy, Free-selector, Boundary-rider, Black-tracker, Back-blocks, Clear-skin, Dummyism, Bushed.</i> (8) Scientific names arising exclusively from Australasian necessities, chiefly to denote or describe new Natural Orders, Genera, or Species confined or chiefly appertaining to Australia--as <i>Monotreme, Petrogale, Clianthus, Ephthianura, Dinornis, Eucalypt, Boronia, Ornithorhynchus, Banksia</i>. (9) Slang (of which the element is comparatively small)-- as <i>Deepsinker, Duck-shoving, Hoot, Slushy, Boss-cockie, On-the-Wallaby</i>. VI. QUOTATIONS. With certain exceptions, this Dictionary is built up, as a Dictionary should be, on quotations, and these are very copious. It may even be thought that their number is too large. It is certainly larger, and in some places the quotations themselves are much longer, than could ever be expected in a general Dictionary of the English Language. This copiousness is, however, the advantage of a special Dictionary. The intention of the quotations is to furnish evidence that a word is used as an English word; and many times the quotation itself furnishes a satisfactory explanation of the meaning. I hope, however, I shall not be held responsible for all the statements in the quotations, even where attention is not drawn to their incorrectness. Sundry Australasian uses of words are given in other dictionaries, as, for instance, in the parts already issued of the <i>Oxford English Dictionary</i> and in <i>The Century</i>, but the space that can be allotted to them in such works is of necessity too small for full explanation. Efforts have been made to select such quotations as should in themselves be interesting, picturesque, and illustrative. In a few cases they may even be humorous. Moreover, the endeavour has been constant to obtain quotations from all parts of the Australasian Colonies--from books that describe different parts of Australasia, and from newspapers published far and wide. I am conscious that in the latter division Melbourne papers predominate, but this has been due to the accident that living in Melbourne I see more of the Melbourne papers, whilst my friends have sent me more quotations from books and fewer from newspapers. The quotations, however, are not all explanatory. Many times a quotation is given merely to mark the use of a word at a particular epoch. Quotations are all carefully dated and arranged in their historical order, and thus the exact chronological development of a word has been indicated. The practice of the `O.E.D.' has been followed in this respect and in the matter of quotations generally, though as a rule the titles of books quoted have been more fully expressed here than in that Dictionary. Early quotations have been sought with care, and a very respectable antiquity, about a century, has been thus found for some Australasian words. As far as possible, the spelling, the stops, the capitals, and the italics of the original have been preserved. The result is often a rich variety of spelling the same word in consecutive extracts. The last decade has been a very active time in Australian science. A great deal of system has been brought into its study, and much rearrangement of classification has followed as the result. Both among birds and plants new species have been distinguished and named: and there has been not a little change in nomenclature. This Dictionary, it must be remembered, is chiefly concerned with vernacular names, but for proper identification, wherever possible, the scientific name is added. In some cases, where there has been a recent change in the latter, both the new and the older names are recorded. VII. AUTHORITIES. The less-known birds, fishes, plants, and trees are in many cases not illustrated by quotations, but have moved to their places in the Dictionary from lists of repute. Many books have been written on the Natural History of Australia and New Zealand, and these have been placed under contribution. Under the head of Botany no book has been of greater service than Maiden's <i>Useful Native Plants</i>. Unfortunately many scientific men scorn vernacular names, but Mr. Maiden has taken the utmost pains with them, and has thereby largely increased the utility of his volume. For Tasmania there is Mr. Spicer's <i>Handbook of Tasmanian Plants</i>; for New Zealand, Kirk's <i>Forest Flora</i> and Hooker's <i>Botany</i>. For Australian animals Lydekker's <i>Marsupials and Monotremes</i> is excellent; especially his section on the Phalanger or Australian <i>Opossum</i>, an animal which has been curiously neglected by all Dictionaries of repute. On New Zealand mammals it is not necessary to quote any book; for when the English came, it is said, New Zealand contained no mammal larger than a rat. Captain Cook turned two pigs loose; but it is stated on authority, that these pigs left no descendants. One was ridden to death by Maori boys, and the other was killed for sacrilege: he rooted in a tapu burial-place. Nevertheless, the settlers still call any wild-pig, especially if lean and bony, a "Captain Cook." For the scientific nomenclature of Australian Botany the <i>Census of Australian Plants</i> by the Baron von Mueller (1889) is indispensable. It has been strictly followed. For fishes reliance has been placed upon Tenison Woods' <i>Fishes and Fisheries of New South Wales</i> (1882), on W. Macleay's <i>Descriptive Catalogue of Australian Fishes</i> (Proceedings of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales, vols. v. and vi.), and on Dr. Guenther's <i>Study of Fishes</i>. For the scientific nomenclature of Animal Life, the standard of reference has been the <i>Tabular List of all the Australian Birds</i> by E. P. Ramsay of the Australian Museum, Sydney (1888); <i>Catalogue of Australian Mammals</i> by J. O. Ogilby of the Australian Museum, Sydney (1892); <i>Catalogue of Marsupials and Monotremes</i>, British Museum (1888); <i>Prodromus to the Natural History of Victoria</i> by Sir F. McCoy. Constant reference has also been made to Proceedings of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales, Proceedings and Transactions of the Royal Societies of Victoria and Tasmania, and to the journal of the Field Naturalist Club of Victoria. The birds both in Australia and New Zealand have been handsomely treated by the scientific illustrators. Gould's <i>Birds of Australia</i> and Buller's <i>Birds of New Zealand</i> are indeed monumental works. Neither Gould nor Sir Walter Buller scorns vernacular names. But since the days of the former the number of named species of Australian birds has largely increased, and in January 1895, at the Brisbane Meeting of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science, a Committee was appointed to draw up a list of vernacular bird-names. By the kindness of a member of this Committee (Mr. A. J. Campbell of Melbourne) I was allowed the use of a list of such vernacular names drawn up by him and Col. Legge for submission to the Committee. VIII. SCIENTIFIC WORDS. The example of <i>The Century</i> has been followed in the inclusion of sundry scientific names, especially those of genera or Natural Orders of purely Australasian objects. Although it is quite true that these can hardly be described as Australasian <i>English</i>, it is believed that the course adopted will be for the general convenience of those who consult this Dictionary. Some of these "Neo-Latin" and "Neo-Greek" words are extraordinary in themselves and obscure in their origin, though not through antiquity. In his <i>Student's Pastime</i>, at p. 293, Dr. Skeat says "Nowhere can more ignorant etymologies be found than in works on Botany and `scientific' subjects. Too often, all the science is reserved for the subject, so that there is none to spare for explaining the names." A generous latitude has also been taken in including some words undoubtedly English, but not exclusively Australasian, such as <i>Anabranch</i>, and <i>Antipodes</i>, and some mining and other terms that are also used in the United States. Convenience of readers is the excuse. <i>Anabranch</i> is more frequently used of Australian rivers than of any others, but perhaps a little pride in tracking the origin of the word has had something to do with its inclusion. Some words have been inserted for purposes of explanation, e.g. <i>Snook</i>, in Australasia called <i>Barracouta</i>, which latter is itself an old name applied in Australasia to a different fish; and <i>Cavally</i>, which is needed to explain <i>Trevally</i>. IX. ASSISTANCE RECEIVED. There remains the pleasant duty of acknowledging help. Many persons have given me help, whose names can hardly be listed here. A friend, an acquaintance, or sometimes even a stranger, has often sent a single quotation of value, or an explanation of a single word. The Editors of many newspapers have helped not a little by the insertion of a letter or a circular. To all these helpers, and I reckon their number at nearly 200, I tender my hearty thanks. Various officers of the Melbourne Public Library, and my friend Mr. Edward H. Bromby, the Librarian of this University, have rendered me much assistance. I have often been fortunate enough to obtain information from the greatest living authority on a particular subject: from the Baron von Mueller, from Sir Frederick M'Coy, or from Mr. A. W. Howitt. [Alas! since I penned this sentence, the kind and helpful Baron has been taken from us, and is no longer the greatest living authority on Australian Botany.] My friend and colleague, Professor Baldwin Spencer, a most earnest worker in the field of Australian science, gave many hours of valuable time to set these pages right in the details of scientific explanations. Mr. J. G. Luehmann of Melbourne has kindly answered various questions about Botany, and Mr. A. J. North, of Sydney, in regard to certain birds. Mr. T. S. Hall, of the Biological Department of this University, and Mr. J. J. Fletcher, of Sydney, the Secretary of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales, have rendered me much help. The Rev. John Mathew, of Coburg, near Melbourne, has thrown much light on aboriginal words. The Rev. E. H. Sugden, Master of Queen's College in this University, has furnished a large number of useful quotations. His name is similarly mentioned, <i>honoris causa</i>, in Dr. Murray's Preface to Part I. of the `O. E. D.' Mr. R. T. Elliott of Worcester College, Oxford, has given similar help. The Master himself,--the Master of all who engage in Dictionary work,--Dr. Murray, of Oxford, has kindly forwarded to me a few pithy and valuable comments on my proof-streets. He also made me a strong appeal never to pass on information from any source without acknowledgment. This, the only honest course, I have striven scrupulously to follow; but it is not always easy to trace the sources whence information has been derived. When gaps in the sequence of quotations were especially apparent on the proofs, Mr. W. Ellis Bird, of Richmond, Victoria, found me many illustrative passages. For New Zealand words a goodly supply of quotations was contributed by Miss Mary Colborne-Veel of Christchurch, author of a volume of poetry called <i>The Fairest of the Angels</i>, by her sister, Miss Gertrude Colborne-Veel, and by Mr. W. H. S. Roberts of Oamaru, author of a little book called <i>Southland in</i> 1856. In the matter of explanation of the origin and meaning of New Zealand terms, Dr. Hocken of Dunedin, Mr. F. R. Chapman of the same city, and Mr. Edward Tregear of Wellington, author of the <i>Maori Polynesian Dictionary</i>, and Secretary of the Polynesian Society, have rendered valuable and material assistance. Dr. Holden of Bellerive, near Hobart, was perhaps my most valued correspondent. After I had failed in one or two quarters to enlist Tasmanian sympathy, he came to the rescue, and gave me much help on Tasmanian words, especially on the Flora and the birds; also on Queensland Flora and on the whole subject of Fishes. Dr. Holden also enlisted later the help of Mr. J. B. Walker, of Hobart, who contributed much to enrich my proofs. But the friend who has given me most help of all has been Mr. J. Lake of St. John's College, Cambridge. When the Dictionary was being prepared for press, he worked with me for some months, very loyally putting my materials into shape. Birds, Animals, and Botany he sub-edited for me, and much of the value of this part of the Book, which is almost an Encyclopaedia rather than a Dictionary, is due to his ready knowledge, his varied attainments, and his willingness to undertake research. To all who have thus rendered me assistance I tender hearty thanks. It is not their fault if, as is sure to be the case, defects and mistakes are found in this Dictionarv. But should the Book be received with public favour, these shall be corrected in a later edition. EDWARD E. MORRIS. The University, Melbourne, February 23, 1897 LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS OF NAMES Ait. . . . Aiton. Andr. . . . Andrews. B. and L. . Barere and L. Bail. . . . Baillon. Bechst. . . Bechstein. Benth. . . Bentham. Bl. . . . Bleeker. Bodd. . . . Boddaert Bp. ) ) . Bonaparte. Bonap. ) R. Br. . . Robert Brown Brong. . . Brongniart. Cab. . . . Cabanis. Carr. . . . Carriere. Castln. . . Castelnau. Cav. . . . Cavanilles. Corr. . . . Correa. Cunn. ) ) . A. Cunningham A. Cunn. ) Cuv. . . . Cuvier. De C. . . . De Candolle. Dec. . . . Decaisne. Desf. . . . Desfontaines. Desm. . . . Desmarest. Desv. . . . Desvaux. De Tarrag. . De Tarragon Diet. . . . Dietrich. Donov. . . Donovan. Drap. . . . Drapiez. Dryand. . . Dryander. Endl. . . . Endlicher. Fab. . . . Fabricius. Forsk. . . Forskael. Forst. . . Forster. F. v. M. . . Ferdinand von Mueller G. Forst. . G. Forster. Gaertn. . . Gaertner. Gaim. . . . Gaimard. Garn. . . . Garnot. Gaud. . . Gaudichaud. Geoff. . . Geoffroy. Germ. . . Germar. Gmel. . . Gmelin. Guich. . . Guichenot. Gunth. . . Guenther. Harv. . . Harvey. Hasselq. . . Hasselquin. Haw. . . . Haworth. Hens. . . Henslow. Herb. . . Herbert. Homb. . . Hombron. Hook. . . J. Hooker. Hook. f. . . Hooker fils. Horsf. . . Horsfield. Ill. . . . Illiger. Jacq. . . . Jacquinot. Jard. . . . Jardine. L. and S. . Liddell and Scott. Lab. ) ) . Labillardiere. Labill. ) Lacep. . . Lacepede. Lath. . . . Latham. Lehm. . . Lehmann. Less. . . Lesson. L'herit. . . L'Heritier. Licht. . . Lichtenstein. Lindl. . . Lindley. Linn. . . . Linnaeus. Macl. . . . Macleay. McC. . . . McCoy. Meissn. . . Meissner. Menz. . . Menzies. Milne-Ed. . Milne-Edwards. Miq. . . . Miquel. Parlat. . . Parlatore. Pers. . . . Persoon. Plan. ) ) . Planchol. Planch. ) Poir. . . Poiret. Q. . . . Quoy. Rafll. . . Raffles. Rein. . . . Reinwardt. Reiss. . . Reisseck. Rich. ) ) . Richardson. Richards.) Roxb. . . Roxburgh Sal. . . . Salvadori. Salisb. . . Salisbury. Schau. . . Schauer. Schl. ) ) . Schlechten Schlecht.) Selb. . . . Selby. Ser. . . . Seringe. Serv. . . . Serville. Sieb. . . . Sieber. Sm. . . . Smith. Sol. . . . Solander. Sow. . . . Sowerby. Sparrm. . . Sparrman. Steph. . . Stephan. Sundev. . . Sundevall. Sw. ) ) . Swainson. Swains. ) Temm. . . Temminck. Thunb. . . Thunberg. Tul. . . . Tulasne. V. and H. . Vigors and Horsfield. Val. . . . Valenciennes. Vent. . . . Ventenat. Vieill. . . Vieillot. Vig. . . . Vigors. Wagl. . . . Wagler. Water. . . Waterhouse. Wedd. . . . Weddell. Willd. . . Willdenow. Zimm. . . . Zimmermann. OTHER ABBREVIATIONS q.v. <i>quod vide</i>, which see. i.q. <i>idem quod</i>, the same as. ibid. <i>ibidem</i>, in the same book. i.e. <i>id est</i>, that is. sc. <i>scilicet</i>, that is to say. s.v. <i>sub voce</i>, under the word. cf. <i>confer</i>, compare. n. noun, adj. adjective. v. verb. prep. preposition. interj. interjection. <i>sic</i>, "thus," draws attention to some peculiarity of diction or to what is believed to be a mistake. N.O. Natural Order. sp. a species, spp. various species. A square bracket [ ] shows an addition to a quotation by way of comment. O.E.D. "Oxford English Dictionary," often formerly quoted as "N.E.D." or "New English Dictionary." AUSTRALASIAN DICTIONARY A <hw>Absentee</hw>, <i>n</i>. euphemistic term for a convict. The word has disappeared with the need for it. 1837. Jas. Mudie, `Felonry of New South Wales,' p. vii.: "The ludicrous and affected philanthropy of the present Governor of the Colony, in advertising runaway convicts under the soft and gentle name of <i>absentees</i>, is really unaccountable, unless we suppose it possible that his Excellency as a native of Ireland, and as having a well-grounded Hibernian antipathy to his absentee countrymen, uses the term as one expressive both of the criminality of the absentee and of his own abhorrence of the crime." <hw>Acacia</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. a genus of shrubs or trees, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. The Australian species often form thickets or scrubs, and are much used for hedges. The species are very numerous, and are called provincially by various names, e.g. "Wattle," "Mulga," "Giddea," and "Sally," an Anglicized form of the aboriginal name <i>Sallee</i> (q.v.). The tree peculiar to Tasmania, <i>Acacia riceana</i>, Hensl., (i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, is there called the <i>Drooping Acacia</i>. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 202: "We possess above a hundred and thirty species of the acacia." 1839. Dr. J. Shotsky, quoted in `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 5, p. 5, col. 2: "Yet, Australian sky and nature awaits and merits real artists to portray it. Its gigantic gum and acacia trees, 40 ft. in girth, some of them covered with a most smooth bark, externally as white as chalk. .. ." 1844. L. Leichhardt, Letter in `Cooksland,' by J. D. Lang, p. 91: "Rosewood Acacia, the wood of which has a very agreeable violet scent like the Myal Acacia (<i>A. pendula</i>) in Liverpool Plains." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 149: "The Acacias are innumerable, all yielding a famous bark for tanning, and a clean and excellent gum." 1869. Mrs. Meredith, `A Tasmanian Memory,' p. 8: "Acacias fringed with gold." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 24: "The name Acacia, derived from the Greek, and indicative of a thorny plant, was already bestowed by the ancient naturalist and physician Dioscorides on a Gum-Arabic yielding North-African Acacia not dissimilar to some Australian species. This generic name is so familiarly known, that the appellation `Wattle' might well be dispensed with. Indeed the name Acacia is in full use in works on travels and in many popular writings for the numerous Australian species . . . Few of any genera of plants contain more species than Acacia, and in Australia it is the richest of all; about 300 species, as occurring in our continent, have been clearly defined." <hw>Acrobates</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the Australian genus of <i>Pigmy Flying-Phalangers</i>, or, as they are locally called, <i>Opossum-Mice</i>. See <i>Opossum-Mouse, Flying-Mouse, Flying-Phalanger</i>, and <i>Phalanger</i>. The genus was founded by Desmarest in 1817. (Grk. <i>'akrobataes</i>, walking on tiptoe.) <hw>AEpyprymnus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of the <i>Rufous Kangaroo-Rat</i>. It is the tallest and largest of the Kangaroo-Rats (q.v.). (Grk. <i>'aipus</i>, high, and <i>prumnon</i>, the hinder part.) <hw>Ailuroedus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for the genus of Australian birds called <i>Cat-birds</i> (q.v.). From Grk. <i>'ailouros</i>, a cat, and <i>'eidos</i>, species. <hw>Ake</hw>, <i>n</i>. originally Akeake, Maori name for either of two small trees, (1) <i>Dodonaea viscosa</i>, Linn., in New Zealand; (2) <i>Olearia traversii</i>, F. v. M., in the Chatham Islands. Ake is originally a Maori <i>adv</i>. meaning "onwards, in time." Archdeacon Williams, in his `Dictionary of New Zealand Language,' says <i>Ake</i>, <i>Ake</i>, <i>Ake</i>, means " for ever and ever." (Edition 182.) 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p.133: "Akeake, <i>paulo post futurum</i>" 1835. W. Yale, `Some Account of New Zealand,' p. 47: "Aki, called the <i>Lignum vitae</i> of New Zealand." 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 43: "The ake and towai . . . are almost equal, in point of colour, to rosewood." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook to New Zealand,' p. 131: "Ake, a small tree, 6 to 12 feet high. Wood very hard, variegated, black and white; used for Maori clubs; abundant in dry woods and forests." <hw>Alarm-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name no longer used in Australia. There is an African Alarm-bird. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 9: "<i>Lobivanellus lobatus</i> (Lath.), Wattled Pewit, Alarm Bird of the Colonists." <hw>Alectryon</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand tree and flower, <i>Alectryon excelsum</i>, De C., Maori name <i>Titoki</i> (q.v.); called also the <i>New Zealand Oak</i>, from the resemblance of its leaves to those of an oak. Named by botanists from Grk. <i>'alektruown</i>, a cock. 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' I. 7, p. 16: "The early season could not yet Have ripened the alectryon's beads of jet, Each on its scarlet strawberry set." <hw>Alexandra Palm</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland tree, <i>Ptychosperma alexandrae</i>, F. v. M. A beautifully marked wood much used for making walking sticks. It grows 70 or 80 feet high. <hw>Alluvial</hw>, <i>n</i>. the common term in Australia and New Zealand for gold-bearing alluvial soil. The word is also used adjectivally as in England. 1889. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 403: "The whole of the alluvial will be taken up, and the Terrible Hollow will re-echo with the sound of pick and shovel." <hw>Ambrite</hw> (generally called <B>ambrit</B>), <i>n</i>. Mineral [from amber + ite, mineral formative, `O.E.D.'], a fossil resin found in masses amidst lignite coals in various parts of New Zealand. Some identify it with the resin of <i>Dammara australis</i>, generally called <i>Kauri gum</i> (q.v.). 1867. F. von Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 79: "Although originating probably from a coniferous tree related to the Kauri pine, it nevertheless has been erroneously taken for Kauri gum."--[Footnote]: "It is sufficiently characterised to deserve a special name ; but it comes so near to real <i>amber</i> that it deserves the name of <i>Ambrite</i>." [This is the earliest use of the word.] <hw>Anabranch</hw>, <i>n</i>. a branch of a river which leaves it and enters it again. The word is not Australian, though it is generally so reckoned. It is not given in the `Century,' nor in the `Imperial,' nor in `Webster,' nor in the `Standard.' The `O.E.D.' treats <i>Ana</i> as an independent word, rightly explaining it as <i>anastomosing</i>, but its quotation from the `Athenaeum' (1871), on which it relies,is a misprint. For the origin and coinage of the word, see quotation 1834. See the aboriginal name <i>Billabong</i>. 1834. Col.Jackson, `Journal of Royal Geographical Society,' p. 79: "Such branches of a river as after separation re-unite, I would term <i>anastomosing-branches</i>; or, if a word might be coined, <i>ana-branches</i>, and the islands they form, <i>branch-islands</i>. Thus, if we would say, `the river in this part of its course divides into several <i>ana-branches</i>,' we should immediately understand the subsequent re-union of the branches to the main trunk." Col. Jackson was for a while Secretary and Editor of the Society's Journal. In Feb. 1847 he resigned that position, and in the journal of that year there is the following amusing ignorance of his proposed word-- 1847. `Condensed Account of Sturt's Exploration in the Interior of Australia--Journal of the Royal Geographical Society,' p. 87: "Captain Sturt proposed sending in advance to ascertain the state of the Ana branch of the Darling, discovered by Mr. Eyre on a recent expedition to the North." No fewer than six times on two pages is the word <i>anabranch</i> printed as two separate words, and as if <i>Ana</i> were a proper name. In the Index volume it appears "Ana, a branch of the Darling." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 35: "The river itself divided into anabranches which . . . made the whole valley a maze of channels." 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. i. p. 298: "What the Major calls, after the learned nomenclature of Colonel Jackson, in the `Journal of the Geographical Society,' anabranches, but which the natives call billibongs, channels coming out of a stream and returning into it again." 1871. `The Athenaeum,' May 27, p. 660 (' O.E.D.'): "The Loddon district is called the County of Gunbower, which means, it is said, an ana branch [sic]." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' p. 48: "A plain bordering an ana-branch sufficient for water." <hw>Anchorwing</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name, <i>Falco melanogenys</i>, Gould. The Black-cheeked Falcon, so called because of the resemblance of the wings outspread in flight to the flukes of an anchor. <hw>Anguillaria</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the vernacular names used for the common Australian wild flower, <i>Anguillaraa australis</i>, R. Br., <i>Wurmbsea dioica</i>, F. v. M., N.O. <i>Liliaceae</i>. The name <i>Anguillarea</i> is from the administrator of the Botanic Gardens of Padua, three centuries ago. There are three Australian forms, distinguished by Robert Brown as species. The flower is very common in the meadows in early spring, and is therefore called the <i>Native Snow Drop</i>. In Tasmania it is called <i>Nancy</i>. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' 67: "Spotted Anguillaria. Nancy. The little lively white flower with blue spots in the centre, about 2 inches high, that everywhere enlivens our grassy hills in spring, resembling the Star of Bethlehem." 1878. W. R. Guilfoyle, `Australian Botany,' p. 83: "Native Snowdrop. <i>Anguillaria Australis</i>. The earliest of all our indigenous spring-flowering plants. . . . In early spring our fields are white with the flowers of this pretty little bulbous-rooted plant." <hw>Ant-eater</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) i.q. <i>Ant-eating-Porcupine</i>. See <i>Echidna</i>. (2) The <i>Banded Ant-eater</i> (q.v.). <hw>Ant-eater, Banded</hw>. See <i>Banded Ant-eater</i>. <hw>Antechinornys</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for the genus with the one species of <i>Long legged Pouched-Mouse</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>'anti</i>, opposed to, <i>'echivos</i>, hedgehog, and <i>mus</i>, mouse, sc. a mouse different to the hedgehog.) It is a jumping animal exclusively insectivorous. <hw>Antipodes</hw>, <i>n</i>. properly a Greek word, the plural of <i>'antipous</i>, lit. "having feet opposed." The ancients, however, had no knowledge of the southern hemisphere. Under the word <i>perioikos</i>, Liddell and Scott explain that <i>'antipodes</i> meant "those who were in opposite parallels and meridians." The word <i>Antipodes</i> was adopted into the Latin language, and occurs in two of the Fathers, Lactantius and Augustine. By the mediaeval church to believe in the antipodes was regarded as heresy. `O.E.D.' quotes two examples of the early use of the word in English. 1398. `Trevisa Barth. De P. R.,' xv. lii. (1495), p. 506: "Yonde in Ethiopia ben the Antipodes, men that have theyr fete ayenst our fete." 1556. `Recorde Cast. Knowl.,' 93: "People . . . called of the Greeks and Latines also <i>'antipodes</i>, <i>Antipodes</i>, as you might say Counterfooted, or Counterpasers." Shakspeare uses the word in five places, but, though he knew that this "pendent world" was spherical, his Antipodes were not Australasian. In three places he means only the fact that it is day in the Eastern hemisphere when it is night in England. `Midsummer Night's Dream,' III. ii. 55: "I'll believe as soon This whole earth may be bored, and that the moon May thro' the centre creep and so displease His brother's noontide with the Antipodes." `Merchant of Venice,' V. 127: "We should hold day with the Antipodes If you would walk in absence of the sun." `Richard II.,' III. ii. 49: "Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, Whilst we were wandering with the Antipodes." In `Henry VI.,' part 3, I. iv. 135, the word more clearly designates the East: "Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the South to the Septentrion." [<i>sc</i>. the North.] But more precise geographical indications are given in `Much Ado,' II. i. 273, where Benedick is so anxious to avoid Beatrice that he says-- "I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on. I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair of the great Kam's beard; do you any embassage to the Pygmies rather than hold three words conference with this harpy." Now the Pygmies lived on the Upper Nile, near Khartoum, Prester John in India, and the great Kam (Khan) in Tartary. The word <i>Antipodes</i> in modern use is applied rather to places than to people. Geographically, the word means a place exactly opposite on the surface of the globe, as Antipodes Island (Eastward of New Zealand), which is very near the opposite end of the diameter of the globe passing through London. But the word is often used in a wider sense, and the whole of Australasia is regarded as the Antipodes of Great Britain. The question is often asked whether there is any singular to the word Antipodes, and `O.E.D.' shows that <i>antipode</i> is still used in the sense of the exact opposite of a person. <i>Antipod</i> is also used, especially playfully. The adjectives used are <i>Antipodal</i> and <i>Antipodean</i>. 1640. Richard Brome [Title]: "The Antipodes; comedy in verse." [Acted in 1638, first printed 4t0. 1640.] <hw>Ant-orchis</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian and Tasmanian orchid, <i>Chiloglottis gunnii</i>, Lind. <hw>Apple</hw> and <hw>Apple-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. The names are applied to various indigenous trees, in some cases from a supposed resemblance to the English fruit, in others to the foliage of the English tree. The varieties are-- Black or Brush Apple-- <i>Achras australis</i>, R. Br. Emu A.-- <i>Owenia acidula</i>, F. v. M.; called also <i>Native Nectarine</i> and <i>Native Quince</i>. <i>Petalostigma quadriloculare</i>, F. v. M.; called also <i>Crab-tree</i>, <i>Native Quince</i>, <i>Quinine-tree</i> (q.v.) Kangaroo A.-- See <i>Kangaroo Apple</i>. Mooley A. (West N.S.W. name)-- <i>Owenia acidula</i>, F. v. M. Mulga A.-- The Galls of <i>Acacia aneura</i>, F. v. M. Oak A.-- Cones of <i>Casuarina stricta</i>, Ait. Rose A.-- <i>Owenia cerasifera</i>, F. v. M. 1820. John Oxley, `Journal of Two Expeditions into the Interior of New South Wales,' p. 187: "The blue gum trees in the neighbourhood were extremely fine, whilst that species of Eucalyptus, which is vulgarly called the apple-tree . . . again made its appearance. . . ." 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 260: "It builds its nest of sticks lined with grass in <i>Iron-bark</i> and <i>Apple-trees</i> (a species of <i>Angophora</i>)." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 200: "The apple-trees resemble the English apple only in leaf." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 195: "In looking down upon the rich flats below, adjoining the stream, I was perpetually reminded of a thriving and rich apple-orchard. The resemblance of what are called apple-trees in Australia to those of the same name at home is so striking at a distance in these situations, that the comparison could not be avoided, although the former bear no fruit, and do not even belong to the same species." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 52: "I have heard of men employed in felling whole apple-trees (<i>Angophera lanceolata</i>) for the sheep." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. iv. p. 132; "Red Apple, Quonui, affects salt grounds." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Phillipsland,' p. 256: "The plains, or rather downs, around it (Yass) are thinly but most picturesquely covered with `apple-trees,' as they are called by the colonists, merely from their resemblance to the European apple-tree in their size and outline, for they do not resemble it in producing an edible fruit." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 32: "The musk-plant, hyacinth, grass-tree, and kangaroo apple-tree are indigenous." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 219: "Pomona would indignantly disown the apple-tree, for there is not the semblance of a pippin on its tufted branches." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 113: "Sandy apple-tree flats, and iron-bark ridges, lined the creek here on either side." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 158: "The desolate flats where gaunt apple-trees rot." <HW>Apple-berry</HW>, <i>n</i>. the fruit of an Australian shrub, <i>Billardiera scandens</i>, Smith, N.O. <i>Pittosporeae</i>, called by children "dumplings." 1793. J. E. Smith, `Specimen of Botany of New Holland,' pp. 1, 3: "<i>Billardiera scandens</i>. Climbing Apple Berry. . . . The name Billardiera is given it in honour of James Julian la Billardiere, M.D., F.M.L.S., now engaged as botanist on board the French ships sent in search of M. de la Peyrouse." <hw>Apple-gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Apple-scented gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Apteryx</hw>, <i>n</i>. [Grk. <i>'a</i> privative and <i>pterux</i>, a wing.] A New Zealand bird about the size of a domestic fowl, with merely rudimentary wings.See <i>Kiwi</i>. 1813. G. Shaw, `Naturalist's Miscellany.' c. xxiv. p. 1058 (`O.E.D.'): "The Southern Apteryx." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 137: "The present Apterix or wingless bird of that country (New Zealand)." 1851. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 300 [Letter from Rev. W. Colenso, Waitangi, Hawke's Bay, New Zealand, Sept. 4, 1850: "You enquire after an <i>Apteryx</i>. How delighted should I be to succeed in getting you one. Three years ago Owen expressed a similar wish, and I have repeatedly tried, but failed. Yet here they still are in the mountain forests, though, doubtless, fast hastening towards extinction. I saw one in its wild state two years ago in the dense woods of the interior; I saw it clearly. . . . Two living specimens were lately taken by the Acheron, steamer, to Sydney, where they died; these were obtained at the Bay of Islands, where also I once got three at one time. Since then I have not been able to obtain another, although I have offered a great price for one. The fact is, the younger natives do not know how to take them, and the elder ones having but few wants, and those fully supplied, do not care to do so. Further, they can only be captured by night, and the dog must be well trained to be of service." 1874. F. P. Cobbe, in `Littell's Age,' Nov. 7, p. 355 (`Standard'): "We have clipped the wings of Fancy as close as if she were an Apteryx.' <hw>Arbutus, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wax-Cluster</i>. <hw>Ardoo</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Nardoo</i>. <hw>Artichoke</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the plant <i>Astelia Alpina</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. <hw>Ash</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name, with various epithets, is applied to the following different Australasian trees-- Black Ash-- <i>Nephelium semiglaucum</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>; called also <i>Wild Quince</i>. Black Mountain A.-- <i>Eucalyptus leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Blue A.-- <i>Elaeodendron australe</i>, Vent., <i>N.O. Celastrinae</i>. Blueberry A.-- <i>Elaeocarpus holopetalus</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. Brush Apple-- <i>Acronychia baueri</i>, Schott. (of Illawarra, N.S.W.). Crow's A.-- <i>Flindersia australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. Elderberry A. (of Victoria)-- <i>Panax sambucifolius</i>, Sieb., <i>N.O. Araliaceae</i>. Illawarra A.-- <i>Elaeocarpus kirtonia</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. Moreton Bay A.-- <i>Eucalyptus tessellaris</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Mountain A. (see <i>Mountain Ash</i>). New Zealand A. (see <i>Titoki</i>). Pigeonberry A.-- <i>Elaeocarpus obovatus</i>, G. Don., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. Red A.-- <i>Alphitonia excelsa</i>, Reiss, <i>N.O. Rhamnaceae</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 75: "The Moreton Bay Ash (a species of <i>Eucalyptus</i>). ..was here also very plentiful." <hw>Assigned</hw>, <i>past part</i>. of <i>verb</i> to assign, to allot. Used as <i>adj</i>. of a convict allotted to a settler as a servant. Colloquially often reduced to "signed." 1827. `Captain Robinson's Report,' Dec. 23: "It was a subject of complaint among the settlers, that their assigned servants could not be known from soldiers, owing to their dress; which very much assisted the crime of `bush-ranging.'" 1837. J. D. Lang, `New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 31 "The assigned servant of a respectable Scotch family residing near Sydney." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 75: "Of the first five persons we saw to Van Diemen's Land, four were convicts, and perhaps the fifth. These were the assigned servants of the pilot." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 324: "Under the old practice, the convicts, as soon as they arrived from Britain, were assigned among the various applicants. The servant thus assigned was bound to perform diligently, from sunrise till sunset, all usual and reasonable labour." <hw>Assignee</hw>, <i>n</i>. a convict assigned as a servant. The word is also used in its ordinary English sense. 1843. `Penny Cyclopaedia,' vol. xxv. p. 139, col. 2: "It is comparatively difficult to obtain another assignee,--easy to obtain a hired servant." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 324: "Any instance of gross treatment disqualified him for the future as an assignee of convict labour." <hw>Assignment</hw>, <i>n</i>. service as above. 1836. C. Darwin, `Journal of Researches' (1890), c. xix. p. 324: "I believe the years of assignment are passed away with discontent and unhappiness." 1852. John West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 126: "That form of service, known as assignment, was established by Governor King in 1804." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 117: "The assignment system was then in operation, and such as obtained free grants of land were allowed a certain proportion of convicts to bring it into cultivation." <hw>Asthma</hw> Herb, Queensland, <i>n. Euphorbia pilulifera</i>, Linn. As the name implies, a remedy for asthma. The herb is collected when in flower and carefully dried. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 183: "This plant, having obtained some reputation in Australasia in certain pulmonary complaints, has acquired the appellation to the Colonies of `Queensland Asthma Herb'. Nevertheless, it is by no means endemic in Australasia, for it is a common tropical weed." <hw>Aua</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand fish, <i>Agonostoma forsteri</i>, Bleek. Another Maori name is <i>Makawhiti</i>; also called <i>Sea-Mullet</i> and sometimes <i>Herring</i>; (q.v.). It is abundant also in Tasmanian estuaries, and is one of the fishes which when dried is called <i>Picton Herring</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Maray</i> and <i>Mullet</i>. <i>Agonostoma</i> is a genus of the family <i>Mugilidae</i> or <i>Grey-Mullets</i>. <hw>Aurora australis</hw>, <i>n.</i> the Southern equivalent for <i>Aurora borealis</i>. 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 214: "Sept. 5, 1788. About half after six in the evening, we saw an <i>Aurora Australis</i>, a phenomenon uncommon in the southern hemisphere." <hw>Austral</hw>, <i>adj</i>. "Belonging to the South, Southern. Lat. <i>Australis</i>, from <i>auster</i>, south-wind." (`O.E.D.') The word is rarely used in Australasia in its primary sense, but now as equivalent to Australian or Australasian. 1823. Wentworth's Cambridge poem on `Australasia': "And grant that yet an Austral Milton's song, Pactolus-like, flow deep and rich along, An Austral Shakespeare rise, whose living page To Nature true may charm in every age; And that an Austral Pindar daring soar, Where not the Theban Eagle reach'd before." 1825. Barron Field, `First Fruits of Australian Poetry,' Motto in Geographical Memoir of New South Wales, p. 485: "I first adventure. Follow me who list; And be the second Austral harmonist." <i>Adapted from Bishop Hall</i>. 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 184: "For this, midst Austral wilds I waken Our British harp, feel whence I come, Queen of the sea, too long forsaken, Queen of the soul, my spirit's home."--Alien Song. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 43: "Every servant in this Austral Utopia thinks himself a gentleman." 1868. C. Harpur, `Poems' (ed. 1883), p. 215: "How oft, in Austral woods, the parting day Has gone through western golden gates away." 1879. J. B. O'Hara, `Songs of the South,' p. 127: "What though no weird and legendary lore Invests our young, our golden Austral shore With that romance the poet loves too well, When Inspiration breathes her magic spell." 1894. Ernest Favenc [Title]: "Tales of the Austral Tropics." 1896. [Title]: "The Austral Wheel--A Monthly Cycling Magazine, No. 1, Jan." 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 53 "Our Austral Spring." [Title of an article describing Spring in Australia.] <hw>Australasia</hw>, <i>n</i>. (and its adjectives), name "given originally by De Brosses to one of his three divisions of the alleged <i>Terra australis</i>." (`O.E.D.') Now used as a larger term than Australian, to include the continent of Australia, New Zealand, Tasmania, Fiji and islands. For peculiar use of the name for the Continent in 1793, see <i>Australia</i>. 1756. Charles de Brosses, `Histoire des Navigations aux Terres Australes,' tom. i. p. 80: "On peut de meme diviser le monde austral inconnu en trois portions. .. .L'une dans l'ocean des Indes au sud de l'Asie que j'appellerai par cette raison australasie." 1766. Callander, `Terra Australis,' i. p. 49 (Translation of de Brosses)(`O.E.D.): "The first [division] in the Indian Ocean, south of Asia, which for this reason we shall call Australasia." 1802. G. Shaw, `Zoology,' iii. p. 506 (`O.E.D.'): "Other Australasian snakes." 1823. Subject for English poem at Cambridge University: `Australasia.' [The prize (Chancellor's Medal) was won by Winthrop Mackworth Praed. William Charles Wentworth stood second.] The concluding lines of his poem are: "And Australasia float, with flag unfurl'd, A new Britannia in another world." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 77: "How far had these ideas been acted upon by the Colonists of Austral Asia?" [sic.] 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. 1. p. 109: "`The Austral-Asiatic Review,' by Murray, also made its appearance [in Hobart] in February, 1828." 1855. Tennyson, `The Brook,' p. 194: " Katie walks By the long wash of Australasian seas Far off, and holds her head to other stars, And breathes in converse seasons." [Altered in Edition of 1894 to "breathes in April-autumns."] 1857. Daniel Bunce [Title]: "Australasiatic reminiscences." 1864. `The Australasian,' Oct. 1, First Number [Title]: "The Australasian." 1880. Alfred R. Wallace [Title]: "Australasia." [In Stanford's `Compendium of Geography and Travel.'] 1881. David Blair [Title]: "Cyclopaedia of Australasia." 1890. E. W. Hornung, `Bride from the Bush,' p. 29: "It was neither Cockney nor Yankee, but a nasal blend of both: it was a lingo that declined to let the vowels run alone, but trotted them out in ill-matched couples, with discordant and awful consequences; in a word, it was Australasiatic of the worst description." 1890. `Victorian Consolidated Statutes,' Administration and p.obate Act, Section 39: "`Australasian Colonies,' shall mean all colonies for the time being on the main land of Australia. ..and shall also include the colonies of New Zealand, Tasmania and Fiji and any other British Colonies or possessions in Australasia now existing or hereafter to be created which the Governor in Council may from time to time declare to be Australasian Colonies within the meaning of this Act." 1895. Edward Jenks [Title]: "History of the Australasian Colonies." 1896. J. S. Laurie [Title]: "The Story of Australasia." <hw>Australia</hw>, <i>n</i>., and <hw>Australian</hw>, <i>adj</i>. As early as the 16th century there was a belief in a <i>Terra australis</i> (to which was often added the epithet <i>incognita</i>), literally "southern land," which was believed to be land lying round and stretching outwards from the South Pole. In `Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society of Australasia,' Sydney, Jan. 1892, is printed a paper read at the Geographical Congress at Berne, by E. Delmar Morgan, on the `Early Discovery of Australia.' This paper is illustrated by maps taken from `Nordenskiold's Atlas.' In a map by Orontius Finoeus, a French cosmographer of Provence, dated 1531, the <i>Terra australis</i> is shown as "Terra Australis recenter inventa, sed nondum plene cognita." In Ortelius' Map, 1570, it appears as "Terra Australis nondum cognita." In Gerard Mercator's Map, 1587, as "Terra Australis" simply. In 1606 the Spaniard Fernandez de Quiros gave the name of <i>Terra Australis del Espiritu Santo</i> to land which he thought formed part of the Great Southland. It is in fact one of the New Hebrides. The word "<i>Australian</i> " is older than "<i>Australia</i>" (see quotations, 1693 and 1766). The name <i>Australia</i> was adapted from the Latin name <i>Terra Australis</i>. The earliest suggestion of the word is credited to Flinders, who certainly thought that he was inventing the name. (See quotation, 1814.) Twenty-one years earlier, however, the word is found (see quotation, 1793); and the passage containing it is the first known use of the word in print. Shaw may thus be regarded as its inventor. According to its title-page, the book quoted is by two authors, the <i>Zoology</i>, by Shaw and the <i>Botany</i> by Smith. The <i>Botany</i>, however, was not published. Of the two names--<i>Australia</i> and <i>Australasia</i>--suggested in the opening of the quotation, to take the place of New Holland, Shaw evidently favoured <i>Australia</i>, while Smith, in the `Transactions of the Linnaean Society,' vol. iv. p. 213 (1798), uses <i>Australasia</i> for the continent several times. Neither name, however, passed then into general use. In 1814, Robert Brown the Botanist speaks of "<i>Terra Australis</i>," not of "<i>Australia</i>." "Australia" was reinvented by Flinders. <i>Quotations for " Terra Australis"</i>-- 1621. R. Burton, `Anatomy of Melancholy' (edition 1854), p. 56: "For the site, if you will needs urge me to it, I am not fully resolved, it may be in <i>Terra Australis incognita</i>, there is room enough (for of my knowledge, neither that hungry Spaniard nor Mercurius Britannicus have yet discovered half of it)." Ibid. p. 314: "<i>Terra Australis incognita</i>. ..and yet in likelihood it may be so, for without all question, it being extended from the tropic of Capricorn to the circle Antarctic, and lying as it doth in the temperate zone, cannot choose but yield in time some flourishing kingdoms to succeeding ages, as America did unto the Spaniards." Ibid. p. 619: "But these are hard-hearted, unnatural, monsters of men, shallow politicians, they do not consider that a great part of the world is not yet inhabited as it ought, how many colonies into America, <i>Terra Australis incognita</i>, Africa may be sent?" <i>Early quotations for "Australian</i>" 1693. `Nouveau Voyage de la Terre Australe, contenant les Coutumes et les Moeurs des Australiens, etc.' Par Jaques Sadeur [Gabriel de Foigny]. [This is a work of fiction, but interesting as being the first book in which the word <i>Australiens</i> is used. The next quotation is from the English translation.] 1693. `New Discovery, Terra Incognita Australis,' p. 163 (`O.E.D.'): "It is easy to judge of the incomparability of the Australians with the people of Europe." 1766. Callander, `Terra Australis' (Translation of De Brosses), c. ii. p. 280: "One of the Australians, or natives of the Southern World, whom Gonneville had brought into France." <i>Quotations for "Australia</i>" 1793. G. Shaw and I. E. Smith, `Zoology and Botany of New Holland,' p. 2: "The vast Island or rather Continent of Australia, Australasia, or New Holland, which has so lately attracted the particular attention of European navigators and naturalists, seems to abound in scenes of peculiar wildness and sterility; while the wretched natives of many of those dreary districts seem less elevated above the inferior animals than in any other part of the known world; Caffraria itself not excepted; as well as less indued with the power of promoting a comfortable existence by an approach towards useful arts and industry. It is in these savage regions however that Nature seems to have poured forth many of her most highly ornamented products with unusual liberality." 1814. M. Flinders, `Voyage to Terra Australis,' Introduction, p. iii. and footnote: "I have . . . ventured upon the readoption of the <i>original Terra Australis</i>, and of this term I shall hereafter make use, when speaking of New Holland [<i>sc</i>. the West] and New South Wales, in a collective sense; and when using it in the most extensive signification, the adjacent isles, including that of Van Diemen, must be understood to be comprehended." [Footnote]: "Had I permitted myself any innovation upon the original term, it would have been to convert it into Australia; as being more agreeable to the ear, and an assimilation to the names of the other great portions of the earth." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 9: "New South Wales (or Australia, as we colonials say)." 1839. C. Darwin, `Naturalist's Voyage' (ed. 1890), p. 328: "Farewell, Australia! You are a rising child, and doubtless some day will reign a great princess in the South; but you are too great and ambitious for affection, yet not great enough for respect. I leave your shores without sorrow or regret." 1852. A Liverpool Merchant [Title]: "A Guide to Australia and the Gold Regions." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. viii. (new ed.) p. 152: "The colonies are determined to be separate. Australia is a term that finds no response in the patriotic feeling of any Australian. . . . But this will come to an end sooner or later. The name of Australia will be dearer, if not greater, to Australian ears than the name of Great Britain." [Mr. Trollope's prophecy has come true, and the name of Australia is now dearer to an Australian than the name of his own separate colony. The word "Colonial" as indicating Australian nationality is going out of fashion. The word "Australian" is much preferred.] 1878. F. P. Labilliere, `Early History of the Colony of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 184: "In a despatch to Lord Bathurst, of April 4th, 1817, Governor Macquarie acknowledges the receipt of Captain Flinders's charts of `Australia.' This is the first time that the name of Australia appears to have been officially employed. The Governor underlines the word. . . . In a private letter to Mr. Secretary Goulbourn, M.P., of December 21st, 1817, [he]says . . . `the Continent of Australia, which, I hope, will be the name given to this country in future, instead of the very erroneous and misapplied name hitherto given it of New Holland, which, properly speaking, only applies to a part of this immense Continent.'" 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 64: "It is pleasant to reflect that the name Australia was selected by the gallant Flinders; though, with his customary modesty, he suggested rather than adopted it." 1895. H. M. Goode, `The Argus,' Oct. 15, p. 7, col. 4: "Condemning the absurd practice of using the word `Colonial' in connection with our wines, instead of the broader and more federal one, `Australian.' In England our artists, cricketer, scullers, and globe-trotters are all spoken of and acknowledged as Australians, and our produce, with the exception of wine, is classed as follows:--Australian gold and copper, Australian beef and mutton, Australian butter, Australian fruits, &c." Ibid. p. 14: "Merops or Bee-Eater. A tribe [of birds] which appears to be peculiarly prevalent in the extensive regions of Australia." <hw>Australian</hw> flag, <i>n</i>. Hot climate and country work have brought in a fashion among bushmen of wearing a belt or leather strap round the top of trousers instead of braces. This often causes a fold in the shirt protruding all round from under the waistcoat, which is playfully known as "the Australian flag." Slang. <hw>Australioid</hw> and <hw>Australoid</hw>, <i>adj</i>. like Australian, sc. aboriginal--a term used by ethnologists. See quotations. 1869. J. Lubbock, `Prehistoric Times,' vol. xii. p. 378: "The Australoid type contains all the inhabitants of Australia and the native races of the Deccan." 1878. E. B. Tylor, `Encyclopaedia Britannica,' vol. ii. p. 112: "He [Professor Huxley] distinguishes four principal types of mankind, the Australioid, Negroid, Mongoloid, and Xanthochroic, adding a fifth variety, the Melanochroic. The special points of the Australioid are a chocolate-brown skin, dark brown or black eyes, black hair (usually wavy), narrow (dolichocephalic) skull, brow-ridges strongly developed, projecting jaw, coarse lips and broad nose. This type is best represented by the natives of Australia, and next to them by the indigenous tribes of Southern India, the so-called coolies." <hw>Austral Thrush</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Port-Jackson Thrush</i>. <hw>Avocet</hw>, <i>n</i>. a well-known European bird-name. The Australian species is the Red-necked A., <i>Recurvirostra nova-hollandiae</i>, Vieill. <hw>Aweto</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a vegetable-caterpillar of New Zealand. See quotation. 1889. E. Wakefield, `New Zealand after Fifty Years,' p. 81: ". . . the <i>aweto</i>, or vegetable-caterpillar, called by the naturalists <i>Hipialis virescens</i>. It is a perfect caterpillar in every respect, and a remarkably fine one too, growing to a length in the largest specimens of three and a half inches and the thickness of a finger, but more commonly to about a half or two-thirds of that size. . . . When full-grown, it undergoes a miraculous change. For some inexplicable reason, the spore of a vegetable fungus <i>Sphaeria Robertsii</i>, fixes itself on its neck, or between the head and the first ring of the caterpillar, takes root and grows vigorously . . . exactly like a diminutive bulrush from 6 to 10 inches high without leaves, and consisting solely of a single stem with a dark-brown felt-like head, so familiar in the bulrushes . . . always at the foot of the <i>rata</i>." 1896. A. Bence Jones, in `Pearson's Magazine,' Sept., p. 290: "The dye in question was a solution of burnt or powdered resin, or wood, or the aweto, the latter a caterpillar, which, burrowing in the vegetable soil, gets a spore of a fungus between the folds of its neck, and unable to free itself, the insect's body nourishes the fungus, which vegetates and occasions the death of the caterpillar by exactly filling the interior of the body with its roots, always preserving its perfect form. When properly charred this material yielded a fine dark dye, much prized for purposes of moko." [See <i>Moko</i>.] <hw>Axe-breaker</hw>, <i>n</i>. name of a tree, <i>Notelaea longifolia</i>, Vent., <i>N.O. Jasmineae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 579: "Axe-breaker. Wood hard, close-grained and firm. Its vernacular name emphasizes its hardness." B <hw>Baal</hw>, or <hw>Bail</hw>, <i>interj</i>. and <i>adv</i>. "An aboriginal expression of disapproval." (Gilbert Parker, Glossary to `Round the Compass in Australia,' 1888.) It was the negative in the Sydney dialect. 1893. J. F. Hogan, `Robert Lowe,' p. 271, quoting from `The Atlas' (circa 1845): "Traces, however, of the Egyptian language are discoverable among the present inhabitants, with whom, for instance, the word `Bale' or `Baal' is in continual use . . . ." [Evidently a joke.] <hw>Babbler</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name. In Europe, "name given, on account of their harsh chattering note, to the long-legged thrushes." (`O.E.D.') The group "contains a great number of birds not satisfactorily located elsewhere, and has been called the ornithological waste-basket." (`Century.') The species are-- The Babbler-- <i>Pomatostomus temporalis</i>, V. and H. Chestnut-crowned B.-- <i>P. ruficeps</i>, Hart. Red-breasted B.-- <i>P. rubeculus</i>, Gould. White-browed B.-- <i>P. superciliosus</i>, V. and H. <hw>Back-blocks</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) The far interior of Australia, and away from settled country. Land in Australia is divided on the survey maps into blocks, a word confined, in England and the United States, to town lands. (2) The parts of a station distant from the <i>frontage</i> (q.v.). 1872. Anon. `Glimpses of Life in Victoria,' p. 31: ". . . we were doomed to see the whole of our river-frontage purchased. . . . The back blocks which were left to us were insufficient for the support of our flocks, and deficient in permanent water-supply. . . ." 1880. J. Mathew, Song--`The Bushman': "Far, far on the plains of the arid back-blocks A warm-hearted bushman is tending his flocks. There's little to cheer in that vast grassy sea: But oh! he finds pleasure in thinking of me. How weary, how dreary the stillness must be! But oh! the lone bushman is dreaming of me." 1890. E. W. Horning, `A Bride from the Bush,' p. 298: "`Down in Vic' you can carry as many sheep to the acre as acres to the sheep up here in the `backblocks.'" 1893. M. Gaunt, `English Illustrated, `Feb., p. 294: "The back-blocks are very effectual levellers." 1893. Haddon Chambers, `Thumbnail Sketches of Australian Life,' p. 33 "In the back-blocks of New South Wales he had known both hunger and thirst, and had suffered from sunstroke." 1893. `The Australasian,' Aug. 12, p. 302, col. 1: "Although Kara is in the back-blocks of New South Wales, the clothes and boots my brother wears come from Bond Street." <hw>Back-block</hw>, <i>adj</i>. from the interior. 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `Sydneyside Saxon,' vol. xii. p. 215: "`What a nice mare that is of yours!' said one of the back-block youngsters." <hw>Back-blocker</hw>, <i>n</i>. a resident in the back-blocks. 1870. `The Argus,' March 22, p. 7, col. 2 "I am a bushman, a back blocker, to whom it happens about once in two years to visit Melbourne." 1892. E. W. Hornung, `Under Two Skies,' p. 21: "As for Jim, he made himself very busy indeed, sitting on his heels over the fire in an attitude peculiar to back-blockers." <hw>Back-slanging</hw>, <i>verbal n</i>. In the back-blocks (q.v.) of Australia, where hotels are naturally scarce and inferior, the traveller asks for hospitality at the <i>stations</i> (q.v.) on his route, where he is always made welcome. There is no idea of anything underhand on the part of the traveller, yet the custom is called <i>back-slanging</i>. <hw>Badger</hw>, <i>n</i>. This English name has been incorrectly applied in Australia, sometimes to the Bandicoot, sometimes to the Rock-Wallaby, and sometimes to the Wombat. In Tasmania, it is the usual bush-name for the last. 1829. `The Picture of Australia,' p. 173: "The <i>Parameles</i>, to which the colonists sometimes give the name of badger. . . ." 1831. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 265: "That delicious animal, the wombat (commonly known at that place [Macquarie Harbour] by the name of <i>badger</i>, hence the little island of that name in the map was so called, from the circumstance of numbers of that animal being at first found upon it)." 1850. James Bennett Clutterbuck, M.D., `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 37: "The rock Wallaby, or Badger, also belongs to the family of the Kangaroo; its length from the nose to the end of the tail is three feet; the colour of the fur being grey-brown." 1875. Rev. J. G. Wood, `Natural History,' vol. i. p. 481: "The Wombat or Australian Badger as it is popularly called by the colonists. . . ." 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 8: "With the exception of wombats or `badgers,' and an occasional kangaroo . . . the intruder had to rely on the stores he carried with him." ibid. p. 44: "Badgers also abound, or did until thinned out by hungry prospectors." <hw>Badger-box</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang name for a roughly- constructed dwelling. 1875. `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Tasmania,' September, p. 99 [`Port Davey in 1875,' by the Hon. James Reid Scott, M.L.C.]: "The dwellings occupied by the piners when up the river are of the style known as `Badger-boxes,' in distinction from huts, which have perpendicular walls, while the Badger-box is like an inverted V in section. They are covered with bark, with a thatch of grass along the ridge, and are on an average about 14 x 10 feet at the ground, and 9 or 10 feet high." <hw>Bail</hw>, <i>n</i>. "A framework for securing the head of a cow while she is milked." (`O.E.D.') This word, marked in `O.E.D.' and other Dictionaries as Australian, is provincial English. In the `English Dialect Dictionary,' edited by Joseph Wright, Part I., the word is given as used in "Ireland, Northamptonshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, Hampshire and New Zealand." It is also used in Essex. 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 83: "In every milking yard is an apparatus for confining a cow's head called a `bail.' This consists of an upright standiron, five feet in height, let into a framework, and about six inches from it another fixed at the heel, the upper part working freely in a slit, in which are holes for a peg, so that when the peg is out and the movable standiron is thrown back, there is abundance of room for a cow's head and horns, but when closed, at which time the two standirons are parallel to each other and six inches apart, though her neck can work freely up and down, it is impossible for her to withdraw her head . . ." 1874. W. M. B., `Narrative of Edward Crewe,' p. 225: "The former bovine female was a brute to manage, whom it would have been impossible to milk without a `bail.' To what man or country the honour of this invention belongs, who can tell? It is in very general use in the Australian colonies; and my advice to any one troubled with a naughty cow, who kicks like fury during the process of milking, is to have a bail constructed in their cow-house." <hw>Bail up</hw>, <i>v</i>. (1) To secure the head of a cow in a bail for milking. (2) By transference, to stop travellers in the bush, used of bushrangers. The quotation, 1888, shows the method of transference. It then means generally, to stop. Like the similar verb, <i>to stick up</i> (q.v.), it is often used humorously of a demand for subscriptions, etc. 1844. Mrs. Chas. Meredith, `Notes and Sketches of New South Wales,' p. 132: "The bushrangers . . . walk quickly in, and `bail up,' i.e. bind with cords, or otherwise secure, the male portion." 1847. Alex. Marjoribanks, `Travels in New South Wales,' p. 72: ". . . there were eight or ten bullock-teams baled up by three mounted bushrangers. Being baled up is the colonial phrase for those who are attacked, who are afterwards all put together, and guarded by one of the party of the bushrangers when the others are plundering." 1855 W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. ii. p. 309: "So long as that is wrong, the whole community will be wrong,-- in colonial phrase, `bailed up' at the mercy of its own tenants." 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 192: "`Come, sir, immediately,' rejoined Murphy, rudely and insultingly pushing the master; `bail up in that corner, and prepare to meet the death you have so long deserved.'" 1879. W. J. Barry, `Up and Down,' p. 112: "She bailed me up and asked me if I was going to keep my promise and marry her." 1880. W. Senior, `Travel and Trout,' p. 36: "His troutship, having neglected to secure a line of retreat, was, in colonial parlance, `bailed up.'" 1880. G. Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p.133: "The Kelly gang . . . bailed up some forty residents in the local public house." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 76: "Did I ever get stuck-up? Never by white men, though I have been bailed up by the niggers." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 105: "A little further on the boar `bailed up' on the top of a ridge." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 368: "One of the young cows was a bit strange with me, so I had to shake a stick at her and sing out `Bail up' pretty rough before she'd put her head in. Aileen smiled something like her old self for a minute, and said, `That comes natural to you now, Dick, doesn't it ?' I stared for a bit and then burst out laughing.It was a rum go, wasn't it? The same talk for cows and Christians. That's how things get stuck into the talk in a new country. Some old hand like father, as had been assigned to a dairy settler, and spent all his mornings in the cow-yard, had taken to the bush and tried his hand at sticking up people. When they came near enough of course he'd pop out from behind a tree, with his old musket or pair of pistols, and when he wanted `em to stop, `Bail up, d-- yer,' would come a deal quicker and more natural-like to his tongue than `Stand.' So `bail up' it was from that day to this, and there'll have to be a deal of change in the ways of the colonies, and them as come from `em before anything else takes its place between the man that's got the arms and the man that's got the money." <hw>Bailing-up Pen</hw>, <i>n</i>. place for fastening up cattle. 1889. R. M. Praed, `Romance of Station,' vol. i. c. ii. [`Eng. Dial. Dict.']: "Alec was proud of the stockyard and pointed out . . . the superior construction of the `crush,' or branding lane, and the bailing-up pen." <hw>Bald-Coot</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name, <i>Porphyrio melanotus</i>, Temm.; Blue, <i>P. bellus</i>, Gould. The European bald-coot is <i>Fulica atra</i>. <hw>Ballahoo</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied to the <i>Garfish</i> (q.v.) by Sydney fishermen. The word is West Indian, and is applied there to a fast-sailing schooner; also spelled <i>Bullahoo</i> and <i>Ballahou</i>. <hw>Balloon-Vine</hw> <i>n</i>. Australian name for the common tropical weed, <i>Cardiospermum halicacabum</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>: called also <i>Heart-seed, Heart-pea</i>, and <i>Winter-cherry</i>. It is a climbing plant, and has a heart-shaped scar on the seed. <hw>Balsam of Copaiba Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied to the Australian tree, <i>Geijera salicifolia</i>, Schott, <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>, because the bark has the odour of the drug of that name. <hw>Bamboo-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian cane-like grass, <i>Glyceria ramigera</i>, F. v. M. ; also called <i>Cane Grass</i>. Largely used for thatching purposes. Stock eat the young shoots freely. <hw>Banana</hw>, <i>n</i>. There are three species native to Queensland, of which the fruit is said to be worthless-- <i>Musa Banksii</i>, F. v. M. <i>M. Hillii</i>, F. v. M. <i>M. Fitzalani</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Scitamineae</i>. The <i>Bananas</i> which are cultivated and form a staple export of Queensland are acclimatized varieties. <hw>Banana-land</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang name for Queensland, where bananas grow in abundance. <hw>Banana-lander</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang for a Queenslander (see above). <hw>Banded Ant-eater</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a small terrestrial and ant-eating marsupial, <i>Myrmecobius fasciatus</i>, Waterh, found in West and South Australia. It is the only species of the genus, and is regarded as the most closely allied of all living marsupials to the extinct marsupials of the Mesozoic Age in Europe. It receives its name banded from the presence along the back of a well-marked series of dark transverse bands. 1871. G. Krefft, `Mammals of Australia': "The <i>Myrmecobius</i> is common on the West Coast and in the interior of New South Wales and South Australia: the Murrumbidgee River may be taken as its most eastern boundary." 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' p. 340: "Thus we have here [W. Australia] alone the curious little banded ant-eater (<i>Myrmecobius fasciatus</i>), which presents the nearest approach in its dentition to the most ancient known mammals whose remains are found in the oolite and Trias of the Mesozoic epoch." <hw>Banded-Kangaroo</hw>, i.q. <i>Banded-Wallaby</i>. See <i>Lagostrophus</i> and <i>Wallaby</i>. <hw>Banded-Wallaby</hw>, <i>n</i>. sometimes called <i>Banded-Kangaroo</i>. See <i>Lagostrophus</i> and <i>Wallaby</i>. <hw>Bandicoot</hw>, <i>n</i>. an insect-eating marsupial animal; family, <i>Peramelidae</i>; genus, <i>Perameles</i>. "The animals of this genus, commonly called <i>Bandicoots</i> in Australia, are all small, and live entirely on the ground, making nests composed of dried leaves, grass and sticks, in hollow places. They are rather mixed feeders; but insects, worms, roots and bulbs, constitute their ordinary diet." (`Encyclopaedia Britannica,' 9th edit., vol. xv. p. 381.) The name comes from India, being a corruption of Telugu <i>pandi-kokku</i>, literally "pig-dog," used of a large rat called by naturalists <i>Mus malabaricus</i>, Shaw, <i>Mus giganteus</i>, Hardwicke; <i>Mus bandis coota</i>, Bechstein. The name has spread all over India. The Indian animal is very different from the Australian, and no record is preserved to show how the Anglo-Indian word came to be used in Australia. The Bandicoots are divided into three genera--the <i>True Bandicoots</i> (genus <i>Perameles</i>, q.v.), the <i>Rabbit Bandicoots</i> (genus <i>Peragale</i>, q.v.), and the <i>Pig-footed Bandicoots</i> (q.v.) (genus <i>Choeropus</i>, q.v.). The species are-- Broadbent's Bandicoot-- <i>Perameles broadbenti</i>, Ramsay. Cockerell's B.-- <i>P. cockerelli</i>, Ramsay. Common Rabbit B.-- <i>Peragale lagotis</i>, Reid. Desert B.-- <i>P. eremiana</i>, Spencer. Doria's B.-- <i>Perameles dorerana</i>, Quoy & Gaim. Golden B.-- <i>P. aurata</i>, Ramsay. Gunn's B.-- <i>P. gunni</i>, Gray. Less Rabbit B.-- <i>Peragale minor</i>, Spencer. Long-nosed B.-- <i>Perameles nasuta</i>, Geoffr. Long-tailed B.-- <i>P. longicauda</i>, Peters & Doria. North-Australian B.-- <i>P. macrura</i>, Gould. Port Moresby B.-- <i>P. moresbyensis</i>, Ramsay. Raffray's B.-- <i>P. rafrayana</i>, Milne-Edw. Short-nosed B.-- <i>P. obesula</i>, Shaw. Striped B.-- <i>P. bougainvillii</i>, Quoy & Gaim. White-tailed Rabbit B.-- <i>P. lesicura</i>. Thomas. Pig-footed B.-- <i>Choeropus castanotis</i>, Gray. 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales', vol. ii. p. 188 (Bass's Diary at the Derwent, January 1799): "The bones of small animals, such as opossums, squirrels, kangooroo rats, and bandicoots, were numerous round their deserted fire-places." 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description o New South Wales,' p. 3: "The animals are, the kangaroo, native dog (which is a smaller species of the wolf), the wombat, bandicoot, kangaroo-rat, opossum, flying squirrel, flying fox, etc. etc." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 316 "The bandicoot is about four times he size of a rat, without a tail, and burrows in the ground or in hollow trees." 1832. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii. p. 28: "The bandicoot is as large as a rabbit. There are two kinds, the rat and the rabbit bandicoot." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 233: "The common people are not destitute of what Wordsworth calls `the poetry of common speech,' many of their similes being very forcibly and naturally drawn from objects familiarly in sight and quite Australian. `Poor as a bandicoot,' `miserable as a shag on a rock.'" Ibid. p. 330: "There is also a rat-like animal with a swinish face, covered with ruddy coarse hair, that burrows in the ground--the bandicoot. It is said to be very fine eating." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 26: "The bandicoot is the size of a large rat, of a dark brown colour; it feeds upon roots, and its flesh is good eating. This animal burrows in the ground, and it is from this habit, I suppose, that when hungry, cold, or unhappy, the Australian black says that he is as miserable as the bandicoot." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals, p. 92: "The bandicoots are good eating even for Europeans, and in my opinion are the only Australian mammals fit to eat. They resemble pigs, and the flesh tastes somewhat like pork." <hw>Bangalay</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Sydney workmen's name for the timber of <i>Eucalyptus botrioides</i>, Smith. (See <i>Gum</i>.) The name is aboriginal, and by workmen is always pronounced <i>Bang Alley</i>. <hw>Bangalow</hw>, <i>n</i>. an ornamental feathery-leaved palm, <i>Ptychosperma elegans</i>, Blume, <i>N.O. Palmeae</i>. 1851. J. Henderson, `Excursions in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p.229 "The Bangalo, which is a palm. . . The germ, or roll of young leaves in the centre, and near the top, is eaten by the natives, and occasionally by white men, either raw or boiled. It is of a white colour, sweet and pleasant to the taste." 1884. W. R. Guilfoyle, `Australian Botany,' p. 23: "The aborigines of New South Wales and Queensland, and occasionally the settlers, eat the young leaves of the cabbage and bangalo palms." 1886. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 193: You see he was bred in a bangalow wood, And bangalow pith was the principal food His mother served out in her shanty." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 592: "Bangalow. . . . The small stems sometimes go under the name of `Moreton Bay Canes.' It is a very ornamental, feathery-leaved palm." <hw>Bang-tail muster</hw>. See quotation. 1887. W. S. S. Tyrwhitt, `The New Churn in the Queensland Bush,' p. 61: "Every third or fourth year on a cattle station, they have what is called a `bang tail muster'; that is to say, all the cattle are brought into the yards, and have the long hairs at the end of the tail cut off square, with knives or sheep-shears. . . The object of it is. . .to find out the actual number of cattle on the run, to compare with the number entered on the station books." <hw>Banker</hw>, <i>n</i>. a river full up to the top of the banks. Compare Shakspeare: "Like a proud river, peering o'er his bounds." (`King John,' III. i. 23.) 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol, iii. p. 175 "The Murrumbidgee was running a `banker'--water right up to the banks." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. vii. p. 52: "The driver stated that he had heard the river was `a banker.'" 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 45: "The creeks were bankers, and the flood Was forty miles round Bourke." Ibid. p. 100: "Till the river runs a banker, All stained with yellow mud." <hw>Banksia</hw>, <i>n</i>. "A genus of Australian shrubs with umbellate flowers,--now cultivated as ornamental shrubs in Europe." (`O.E.D.') Called after Mr. Banks, naturalist of the <i>Endeavour</i>, afterwards Sir Joseph Banks. The so-called <i>Australian Honeysuckle</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Bottle-brush</i>. 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 221: "The different species of banksia. The finest new genus hitherto found in New Holland has been destined by Linnaeus, with great propriety, to transmit to posterity the name of Sir Joseph Banks, who first discovered it in his celebrated voyage round the world." 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 557: "A few berries, the yam and fern root, the flowers of the different banksia, and at times some honey, make up the whole vegetable catalogue." 1829. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of the Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 312: "Scrubs where the different species of banksia are found, the flowers of which I (Mr. Caley) have reason to think afford it sustenance during winter." 1833. C. Sturt, `South Australia,' vol. ii. c. ii. p. 30: "Some sandhills . . . crowned by banksias." 1845. J. Q. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 39: "Many different species of banksia grow in great plenty in the neighbourhood of Sydney, and from the density of their foliage are very ornamental." 1846. L. Leichhardt, quoted by J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 331: "The table-land is covered by forests of stringy-bark, of melaleuca-gum, and banksia." 1851. `Quarterly Review,' Dec., p. 40: "In this they will find an extremely rich collection of bottle-brush-flowered, zigzag-leaved, grey-tinted, odd-looking things, to most eyes rather strange than beautiful, notwithstanding that one of them is named <i>Banksia speciosa</i>. They are the `Botany Bays' of old-fashioned gardeners, but are more in the shrub and tree line than that of flowering pots. <i>Banksia Solandei</i> will remind them to turn to their `Cook's Voyages' when they get home, to read how poor Dr. Solander got up a mountain and was heartily glad to get down again." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 46: "The banksias are of historic interest, inasmuch as the genus was dedicated already by the younger Linne in 1781 to Sir Joseph Banks, from whom the Swedish naturalist received branchlets of those species, which in Captain Cook's first voyage more than 100 years ago (1770) were gathered by Banks at Botany-Bay and a few other places of the east coast of Australia." 1887. J. Bonwick, `Romance of the Wool Trade,' p. 228: "A banksia plain, with its collection of bottle-brush-like-flowers, may have its charms for a botanist, but its well-known sandy ground forbids the hope of good grasses." <hw>Baobab</hw>, <i>n. a</i> tree, native of Africa, <i>Adansonia digitata</i>. The name is Ethiopian. It has been introduced into many tropical countries. The Australian species of the genus is <i>A. gregorii</i>, F. v. M., called also <i>Cream of Tartar</i> or <i>Sour Gourd-tree</i>, <i>Gouty-stem</i> (q.v.), and <i>Bottle-tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Barber</hw>, or <hw>Tasmanian Barber</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name for the fish <i>Anthias rasor</i>, Richards., family <i>Percidae</i>; also called <i>Red-Perch</i>. See <i>Perch</i>. It occurs in Tasmania, New Zealand, and Port Jackson. It is called <i>Barber</i> from the shape of the <i>praeoperculum</i>, one of the bones of the head. See quotation. 1841. John Richardson, `Description of Australian Fish,' p. 73: "<i>Serranus Rasor</i>.-- Tasmanian Barber. . . . The serrature of the preoperculum is the most obvious and general character by which the very numerous Serrani are connected with each other . . . The Van Diemen's Land fish, which is described below, is one of the `Barbers,' a fact which the specific appellation <i>rasor</i> is intended to indicate; the more classical word having been previously appropriated to another species. . . Mr. Lempriere states that it is known locally as the `red perch or shad.'" [Richardson also says that Cuvier founded a subdivision of the <i>Serrani</i> on the characters of the scales of the jaws, under the name of `les Barbiers,' which had been previously grouped by Block under the title <i>Anthias</i>.] <hw>Barcoo-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian grass, <i>Anthistiria membranacea</i>, Lindl. One of the best pasture grasses in Queensland, but growing in other colonies also. <hw>Barcoo Rot</hw>, <i>n.</i> a disease affecting inhabitants of various parts of the interior of Australia, but chiefly bushmen. It consists of persistent ulceration of the skin, chiefly on the back of the hands, and often originating in abrasions. It is attributed to monotony of diet and to the cloudless climate, with its alternations of extreme cold at night and burning heat by day. It is said to be maintained and aggravated by the irritation of small flies. 1870. E. B. Kennedy, `Four Years in Queensland,' p. 46: "Land scurvy is better known in Queensland by local names, which do not sound very pleasant, such as `Barcoo rot,' `Kennedy rot,' according to the district it appears in. There is nothing dangerous about it; it is simply the festering of any cut or scratch on one's legs, arms or hands. . . They take months to heal. . . Want of vegetables is assigned as the cause." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 58: "In Western Queensland people are also subject to bad sores on the hand, called Barcoo-rot." <hw>Barcoo Vomit</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sickness occurring in inhabitants of various parts of the high land of the interior of Australia. It is characterized by painless attacks of vomiting, occurring immediately after food is taken, followed by hunger, and recurring as soon as hunger is satisfied. The name <i>Barcoo</i> is derived from the district traversed by the river Barcoo, or Cooper, in which this complaint and the <i>Barcoo Rot</i> are common. See Dr. E. C. Stirling's `Notes from Central Australia,' in `Intercolonial Quarterly Journal of Medicine and Surgery,' vol. i. p. 218. <hw>Bargan</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name of the Come-back <i>Boomerang</i> (q.v.). (Spelt also <i>barragan</i>.) 1892. J. Fraser, `Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 70: "The `come-back' variety (of boomerang) is not a fighting weapon. A dialect name for it is bargan, which word may be explained in our language to mean `bent like a sickle or crescent moon.'" <hw>Barking Owl</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird not identified, and not in Gould (who accompanied Leichhardt). 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition, p. 47: "The glucking-bird and the barking-owl were heard throughout the moonlight night." <hw>Barrack</hw>, <i>v</i>. to jeer at opponents, to interrupt noisily, to make a disturbance; with the preposition "for," to support as a partisan, generally with clamour. An Australian football term dating from about 1880. The verb has been ruled unparliamentary by the Speaker in the Victorian Legislative Assembly. It is, however, in very common colloquial use. It is from the aboriginal word <i>borak</i> (q.v.), and the sense of jeering is earlier than that of supporting, but jeering at one side is akin to cheering for the other. Another suggested derivation is from the Irish pronunciation of "Bark," as (according to the usually accepted view) "Larrikin" from "larking." But the former explanation is the more probable. There is no connection with soldiers' "barracks;" nor is it likely that there is any, as has been ingeniously suggested, with the French word <i>baragouin</i>, gibberish. 1890. `Melbourne Punch,' Aug. 14, p. 106, col. 3: "To use a football phrase, they all to a man `barrack' for the British Lion." 1893. `The Age,' June 17, p. 15, col. 4: "[The boy] goes much to football matches, where he barracks, and in a general way makes himself intolerable." 1893. `The Argus,' July 5, p. 9, col. 4, Legislative Assembly: "<i>Mr. Isaacs</i>:. . . He hoped this `barracking' would not be continued." [Members had been interrupting him.] 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), Sept. 9, p. 1, col. 6: "He noticed with pleasure the decrease of disagreeable barracking by spectators at matches during last season. Good-humoured badinage had prevailed, but the spectators had been very well conducted." <hw>Barracker</hw>, <i>n</i>. one who barracks (q.v.). 1893. `The Age,' June 27, p. 6, col. 6: "His worship remarked that the `barracking' that was carried on at football matches was a mean and contemptible system, and was getting worse and worse every day. Actually people were afraid to go to them on account of the conduct of the crowd of `barrackers.' It took all the interest out of the game to see young men acting like a gang of larrikins." 1894. `"The Argus,' Nov. 29, p. 4, col. 9: "The `most unkindest cut of all' was that the Premier, who was Mr. Rogers's principal barracker during the elections, turned his back upon the prophet and did not deign to discuss his plan." <hw>Barracks</hw>, <i>n</i>. a building on a station with rooms for bachelors. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 100 "A roomy, roughly-finished building known as the `barracks.' . . . . Three of the numerous bedrooms were tenanted by young men, . . . neophytes, who were gradually assimilating the love of Bush-land." <hw>Barracouta</hw>, or <hw>Barracoota</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name, under its original spelling of <i>Barracuda</i>, was coined in the Spanish West Indies, and first applied there to a large voracious fish, <i>Sphyraena pecuda</i>, family <i>Sphyraenidae</i>. In Australia and New Zealand it is applied to a smaller edible fish, <i>Thyrsites atun</i>, Cuv. and Val., family <i>Trichiuridae</i>, called <i>Snook</i> (q.v.) at the Cape of Good Hope. It is found from the Cape of Good Hope to New Zealand. 1845. `Voyage to Port Philip,' p. 40: "We hook the barracuda fish." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fishes of New South Wales,' p. 69: "<i>Sphyrenidae</i>. The first family is the barracudas, or sea-pike." [Footnote]: "This name is no doubt the same as Barracouta and is of Spanish origin. The application of it to <i>Thyrsites atun</i> in the Southern seas was founded on some fancied resemblance to the West Indian fish, which originally bore the name, though of course they are entirely different." (2) The word is used as a nickname for an inhabitant of Hobart; compare <i>Cornstalk</i>. <hw>Barramunda</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish, i.q. <i>Burramundi</i> (q.v.). <hw>Basket-Fence</hw>, <i>n.</i> Local name for a stake-hedge. See quotation. 1872. G. S. Baden-Powell, `New Homes for the Old Country,' p. 208: "For sheep, too, is made the `basket fence.' Stakes are driven in, and their pliant `stuff' interwoven, as in a stake hedge in England." <hw>Bastard Dory</hw> and <hw>John Dory</hw> (q.v.), spelt also <HW>Dorey</HW>, <i>n</i>. an Australian fish, <i>Cyttus australis</i>, family <i>Cyttidae</i>; the Australian representative of <i>Zeus faber</i>, the European "John Dory," and its close relative, is called <i>Bastard Dorey</i> in New Zealand, and also <i>Boar-fish</i> (q.v.). 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 387: "<i>Histiopterus</i>. . . .The species figured attains to a length of twenty inches, and is esteemed as food. It is known at Melbourne by the names of `Boar-fish' or `Bastard Dorey' (fig.), <i>Histiopterus recurvirostris</i>." <hw>Bastard Trumpeter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. See <i>Morwong, Paper-fish</i>, and <i>Trumpeter</i>. In Sydney it is <i>Latris ciliaris</i>, Forst., which is called <i>Moki</i> in New Zealand; in Victoria and Tasmania, <i>L. forsteri</i>, Casteln. 1883. `Royal Commission on the Fisheries of Tasmania,' p. 35: "The bastard trumpeter (<i>Latris Forsteri</i>). . . .Scarcely inferior to the real trumpeter, and superior to it in abundance all the year round, comes the bastard trumpeter. . . This fish has hitherto been confounded with <i>Latris ciliaris</i> (Forst.); but, although the latter species has been reported as existing in Tasmanian waters, it is most probably a mistake: for the two varieties (the red and the white), found in such abundance here, have the general characters as shown above. . . They must be referred to the <i>Latris Forsteri</i> of Count Castelnau, which appears to be the bastard trumpeter of Victorian waters." <hw>Bat-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name in England is given to a fish of the family <i>Maltheidae</i>. It is also applied to the Flying Gurnard of the Atlantic and to the Californian Sting-ray. In Australia, and chiefly in New South Wales, it is applied to <i>Psettus argenteus</i>, Linn., family <i>Carangidae</i>, or Horse Mackerels. Guenther says that the "Sea Bats," which belong to the closely allied genus <i>Platax</i>, are called so from the extraordinary length of some portion of their dorsal and anal fins and of their ventrals. <hw>Bathurst Bur</hw>, <i>n</i>. Explained in quotation. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 261: "The Bathurst bur (<i>Xanthium spinosuzn</i>), a plant with long triple spines like the barbary, and burs which are ruinous to the wool of the sheep--otherwise, itself very like a chenopodium, or good-fat-hen." <hw>Bats-wing-coral</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Australian wood <i>Erythrina vespertilio</i>, Bentham, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 426: "Batswing Coral. . . .The wood is soft, and used by the aborigines for making their `heilamans,' or shields. It is exceedingly light and spongy, and of the greatest difficulty to work up to get anything like a surface for polishing." <hw>Bauera</hw>, <i>n</i>. a shrub, <i>Bauera rubioides</i>, Andr., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>, the <i>Scrub Vine</i>, or <i>Native Rose</i>; commonly called in Tasmania "Bauera,"and celebrated for forming impenetrable thickets in conjunction with "cutting grass," <i>Cladium psittacorum</i>, Labill. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 70: "Bauera rubiaefolia. Madder leaved Bauera. A pretty little plant with pink flowers. This genus is named after the celebrated German draughtsman, whose splendid works are yet unrivalled in the art, especially of the Australian plants which he depicted in his voyage round New Holland with Capt. Flinders in the Investigator." 1888. R. M. Johnston, `Geology of Tasmania,' Intro. p. vi.: "The Bauera scrub . . . is a tiny, beautiful shrub . . . Although the branches are thin and wiry, they are too tough and too much entangled in mass to cut, and the only mode of progress often is to throw one's self high upon the soft branching mass and roll over to the other side. The progress in this way is slow, monotonous, and exhausting." 1891. `The Australasian,' April 4, p. 670, col. 2: "Cutting-grass swamps and the bauera, where a dog can't hardly go, Stringy-bark country, and blackwood beds, and lots of it broken by snow." 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 7: "Interposing the even more troublesome Bauera shrub; whose gnarled branches have earned for it the local and expressive name of `tangle-foot' or `leg ropes.' [It] has been named by Spicer the `Native Rose.'" <hw>Beal</hw>, <hw>Bool</hw>, or <hw>Bull</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sweet aboriginal drink. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i.: "A good jorum of <i>bull</i> (washings of a sugar bag)" [given to aborigines who have been working]. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. ii. p. 288: "The flowers are gathered, and by steeping them a night in water the natives made a sweet beverage called `bool.'" 1878. R. Brough Smyth, `Aborigines of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 210: "In the flowers of a dwarf species of banksia (<i>B. ornata</i>) there is a good deal of honey, and this was got out of the flowers by immersing them in water. The water thus sweetened was greedily swallowed by the natives. The drink was named <i>beal</i> by the natives of the west of Victoria, and was much esteemed." <hw>Beal</hw> (2), <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Belar</i> (q.v.). <hw>Bean, Queensland</hw>, or <hw>Leichhardt</hw>, or <hw>Match-box</hw>, <i>n. Entada scandens</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. Though this bean has two Australian names, it is really widely distributed throughout the tropics. A tall climbing plant; the seeds are used for match-boxes. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 425: "The seeds are about two inches across, by half-an-inch thick, and have a hard woody and beautifully polished shell, of a dark brown or purplish colour. These seeds are converted into snuff-boxes, scent-bottles, spoons, etc., and in the Indian bazaars they are used as weights. (`Treasury of Botany.') In the colonies we usually see the beans of this plant mounted with silver, as match-boxes. The wood itself is soft, fibrous, and spongy." <hw>Bean-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Moreton Bay Chestnut, Castanospermum australe</i>, Cunn. and Fraser, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; a tall tree with red flowers and large seed-pods. The timber of young specimens has beautiful dark clouding. <hw>Bear, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. the colonists' name for an animal called by the aborigines Koala, Koolah, Kool-la, and Carbora (<i>Phascolarctus cinereus</i>). It is a tree-climbing marsupial, about two feet in length, like a small bear in its heavy build. Its food is the young leaves of the Eucalyptus, and it is said that the Native Bear cannot be taken to England because it would die on board ship, owing to there being no fresh gum leaves. The writers are incorrect who call the animal a sloth. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 317 "Our coola (sloth or native bear) is about the size of an ordinary poodle dog, with shaggy, dirty-coloured fur, no tail, and claws and feet like a bear, of which it forms a tolerable miniature. It climbs trees readily and feeds upon their leaves." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 57: "The bear (phascolomys) of the colonists is in reality a species of sloth, and partakes of all the characteristics of that animal; it is of the marsupial order, and is found chiefly in the neighbourhood of thickly timbered high land; its flesh is used by the aborigines for food, but is tough and unpalatable; its usual weight is from eight to twelve pounds." [Note: <i>Phascolomys</i> is the name of the Wombat, not the Bear.] 1854. G. H. Hayden, `The Australian Emigrant,' p. 126: "The luckless <i>carbora</i> fell crashing through the branches." [Footnote] "The native name of an animal of the sloth species, but incorrectly called by the colonists a bear." 1855. W. Blandowski, `Transactions of Philosophical Society of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 68: "The koala or karbor (<i>Phascolarctus cinereus</i>) frequents very high trees, and sits in places where it is most sheltered by the branches. . . . Its fur is of the same colour as the bark . . . like the cat has the power of contracting and expanding the pupil of the eye . . . . Its skin is remarkably thick . . . dense woolly fur . . . . The natives aver that the koala never drinks water." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 448: "They were soon entirely out of provisions, but found a sort of substitute by living on the native bear (<i>Phascolarctus cinereus</i>), which was plentiful even in the forests." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 214: "Look, high up in the branches of that tall tree is a native bear! It sits motionless. It has something the appearance of a solemn old man. How funny his great ears and Roman nose look! He sits on the branch as if it was a chair, holding with hand-like claws the surrounding twigs." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 9: "We learned that a koala or native bear (<i>Phascolarctus cinereus</i>) was sitting on a tree near the but of a shepherd . . . not a dangerous animal. It is called `native bear,' but is in no wise related to the bear family. It is an innocent and peaceful marsupial, which is active only at night, and sluggishly climbs the trees, eating leaves and sleeping during the whole day. As soon as the young has left the pouch, the mother carries it with her on her back. The Australian bear is found in considerable numbers throughout the eastern part of the continent, even within the tropical circle." <hw>Bearded Lizard</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Jew Lizard</i>. <hw>Beardie</hw>, or <hw>Beardy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. In Scotland the name is applied to the Bearded Loach, <i>Nemachilus barbatus</i>, of Europe; in New South Wales the name is given to the fish <i>Lotella marginata</i>, Macl., of the family <i>Gadidae</i>, or Cod-fishes, which is also called <i>Ling</i> (q.v.). <hw>Beaver-rat</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aquatic rodent, something like the English water-rat, genus <i>Hydromys</i>. 1864. `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land' [paper by Morton Allport], p. 62: "Common to both fresh and brackish water is the yellow bellied beaver-rat or musk-rat (<i>Hydromys chrysogaster</i>)." <hw>Beech</hw>, <i>n</i>. There is only one true Beech in Australia, <i>Fagus cunninghamii</i>, Hook, <i>N.O. Cupuliferae</i>; but the name is applied to many other kinds of Australian trees, viz.-- (1) Simply to <i>Cryptocarya glaucescens</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Laurineae</i>, called also Black Sassafras, White Laurel, She Beech, and Black Beech. <i>Flindersia australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>, called also Flindosa Ash, Crow's Ash, and Rasp-pod, and invariably Myrtle to Tasmania. Gmelina leichhardtii, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Verbenaceae</i>. <i>Monotoca elliptica</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. <i>Phyllanthus ferdinandi</i>, Muell. and Arg., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>, called also Pencil Cedar in Southern New South Wales. <i>Schizomeria ovata</i>, D. Don, <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>, called also Corkwood, Light-wood, Coachwood, and White Cherry. <i>Trochocarpa laurina</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Epacrideae, called</i> also Brush Cherry, and Brush Myrtle. (2) With various epithets the name is also used as follows-- Evergreen Beech-- <i>Fagus cunninghamii</i>, Hook, <i>N.O. Cupuliferae</i>, called also Myrtle and Negro-head Beech. Flindosy B.-- <i>Flindersia schottiana</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>, called also Ash and Stave-wood. Indian B.-- <i>Pongamia glabra</i>, Vent., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, B. Fl. Mountain B.-- <i>Lomatia longifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. Native B.-- <i>Callicoma serratifolia</i>, Andr., <i>N.O. Saxifragiae</i>, "one of the trees called by the early colonists `Black Wattle,' from the fancied resemblance of the flowers to those of some of the wattles." (Maiden, p. 389.) Negro-head B., i.q. Evergreen B. (q.v. supra). Queensland B.-- <i>Gmelina leichhardtii</i> , F. v. M., <i>N.O. Verbenaceae</i>, a tall valuable timber-tree. Red B.-- <i>Tarrietia trifoliata</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Sterculiaceae</i>. She B.-- <i>Cryptocazya obovata</i>, R. Br., <i>H.0. Laurineae</i>, B. Fl., called also Bastard Sycamore. White B.-- <i>Elaeocarpus kirtoni</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>, called also Mountain Ash. (3) In New Zealand, there are six species of true beeches, which according to Kirk are as follows-- Blair's B.-- <i>Fagus blairii</i>, T. Kirk. Entire-leaved B.-- <i>F. solandri</i>, Hook. f. Mountain B.-- <i>F. cliffortioides</i>, Hook. f. Pointed-leaved B.-- <i>F. apiculata</i>, Colenso. Silver B.-- <i>F. Menziesii</i>, Hook. f. Tooth-leaved B.-- <i>F. fusca</i>, Hook. f. All these, however, are commonly called <i>Birches</i>. See also the words <i>Ash, Myrtle, Sassafras</i>. <hw>Bee-eater</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name. The European Bee-eater is <i>Merops apiaster</i>; the Australian species is <i>Merops ornatus</i>, Lath. The bird was called "<i>M. phrygius</i>, the Embroidered Merops," by Shaw. 1793. G. Shaw, `Zoology [and Botany] of New Holland,' p. 14: "Specific character.--Black Merops varied with yellow. The bird figured in its natural size on the present plate is a species of Merops or Bee-eater; a tribe which appears to be peculiarly prevalent in the extensive regions of Australia, since more birds of this genus have been discovered than of any other, except the very numerous one of Psittacus." [The birds, however, have been since this date further differentiated, and are now all classed in other genera, except the present species.] 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 144: "The wattled bee-eater, of which a plate is annexed, fell in our way during the course of the day. . . . Under the eye, on each side, is a kind of wattle of an orange colour. . . This bird seems to be peculiar to New Holland." Ibid. p. 190: "We this day shot a knob-fronted bee-eater (see plate annexed). This is about the size of a black-bird." [Description follows.] <hw>Beef-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. the timber of various Australian trees, especially of the genus <i>Casuarina</i>, and some of the Banksias; often used as a synonym of <i>She-oak</i> (q.v.). The name is taken from the redness of the wood. 1826. J. Atkinson, `Agriculture and Grazing in New South Wales,' p. 31: "The wood is well known in England by the names of Botany Bay wood, or beef wood.The grain is very peculiar, but the wood is thought very little of in the colony; it makes good shingles, splits, in the colonial phrase, from heart to bark . . ." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. c. i. p. 22: "They seemed to be covered with cypresses and beef-wood." 1846. C. Holtzapffel, `Turning,' vol. i. p. 74: "Beef wood. Red-coloured woods are sometimes thus named, but it is generally applied to the Botany-Bay oak." 1852. G. C. Munday, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 219: "A shingle of the beef-wood looks precisely like a raw beef-steak." 1856. Capt. H. Butler Stoney, `A Residence in Tasmania,' p. 265: "We now turn our attention to some trees of a very different nature, <i>Casuarina stricta</i> and <i>quadrivalvis</i>, commonly called He and She oak, and sometimes known by the name of beef-wood, from the wood, which is very hard and takes a high polish, exhibiting peculiar maculae spots and veins scattered throughout a finely striated tint . . ." 1868. Paxton's `Botanical Dictionary,' p. 116: "Casuarinaceae,or Beefwoods. Curious branching, leafless trees or shrubs, with timber of a high order, which is both hard and heavy, and of the colour of raw beef, whence the vulgar name." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants.' (See `Index of vernacular names.') <hw>Belar</hw>, <i>n</i>. (various spellings, <i>Belah, billa, beela, beal</i>), an aboriginal name for the tree <i>Casuarina glauca</i>. The colonists call the tree Bull-oak, probably from this native name. 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 18: "A voice in the beela grows wild in its wail." 1868. J. A. B., `Meta,' p. 19: "With heartfelt glee we hail the camp, And blazing fire of beal." [Footnote]: "Aboriginal name of the gum-tree wood." 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. vi. p. 110: "These scrubs . . . sometimes crown the watersheds as `belar.'" <hw>Bell-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to several birds, from their note, like the tinkling of a bell. In Australia, a Honey-eater, <i>Myzantha melanophrys</i>, Gould ('Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 80), the `Australian Bell-bird' (the same bird as <i>Myzantha flavirostris</i>, V. and H.), chiefly found in New South Wales; also <i>Oreoica gutturalis</i>, Gould (vol. ii. pl. 81), the `Bell-bird' of Western Australia; and <i>Oreoica cristata</i>, Lewin. In New Zealand, <i>Anthornis melanura</i>, Sparrm., chief Maori names, <i>Korimako</i> (q.v.) in North, and <i>Makomako</i> in South. Buller gives ten Maori names. The settlers call it <i>Moko</i> (q.v.). There is also a Bell-bird in Brazil. 1774. J. Hawkesworth, `Voyages,' vol. ii. p. 390 [Journal of Jan. 17, 1770): "In the morning we were awakened by the singing of the birds; the number was incredible, and they seemed to strain their throats in emulation of each other. This wild melody was infinitely superior to any that we had ever heard of the same kind; it seemed to be like small bells most exquisitely tuned, and perhaps the distance, and the water between, might be no small advantage to the sound. Upon enquiry we were informed that the birds here always began to sing about two hours after midnight, and continuing their music till sunrise were, like our nightingales, silent the rest of the day." [This celebrated descriptive passage by Dr. Hawkesworth is based upon the following original from `Banks's Journal,' which now, after an interval of 122 years, has just been published in London, edited by Sir J. D. Hooker.] 1770. J. Banks, `Journal,' Jan. 17 (edition 1896): "I was awakened by the singing of the birds ashore, from whence we are distant not a quarter of a mile. Their numbers were certainly very great. They seemed to strain their throats with emulation, and made, perhaps, the most melodious wild music I have ever heard, almost imitating small bells, but with the most tunable silver sound imaginable, to which, maybe, the distance was no small addition. On inquiring of our people, I was told that they had observed them ever since we had been here, and that they began to sing about one or two in the morning, and continue till sunrise, after which they are silent all day, like our nightingales." 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. viii. p. 84: "The cry of the bell-bird seems to be unknown here." 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 319: "Mr. Caley thus observes on this bird: `Dell-bird or Bell-bird. So called by the colonists. It is an inhabitant of bushes, where its disagreeable noise (disagreeable at least to me) [but not to the poets] may be continually heard; but nowhere more so than on going up the harbour to Paramatta, when a little above the Flats.'" 1835. T. B. Wilson, `Voyage Round the World,' p. 259: "During the night, the bell bird supplied, to us, the place of the wakeful nightingale . . . a pleasing surprise, as we had hitherto supposed that the birds in New Holland were not formed for song." 1839. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' p. 23: "Every bough seemed to throng with feathered musicians: the melodious chimes of the bell-bird were specially distinct." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 102: "Look at the bell-bird's nest, admire the two spotted salmon coloured eggs." Ibid. ('Verses written whilst we lived in tents'), p. 171: "Through the Eucalyptus shade, Pleased could watch the bell-bird's flutter, Blending with soft voice of waters The delicious tones they utter." 1846. Lady Martin, `Bush journey, 1846, Our Maoris,' p. 93: "We did hear the birds next morning as Captain Cook had described --first the bell-bird gave its clear, full note, and then came such a jargoning as made one's heart glad." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 81: "<i>Oreoica gutturalis</i>, Gould. Crested Oreoica. <i>Bell-bird</i>, Colonists of Swan River [Western Australia]. . . I find the following remarks in my note-book-- `Note, a very peculiar piping whistle, sounding like <i>weet-weet-weet-weet-oo</i>, the last syllable fully drawn out and very melodious. . . . In Western Australia, where the real Bell-bird is never found, this species has had that appellation given to it,--a term which must appear ill-applied to those who have heard the note of the true Bell-bird of the brushes of New South Wales, whose tinkling sound so nearly resembles that of a distant sheep-bell as occasionally to deceive the ears of a practised shepherd." 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 93: "Every now and then we stood, by common consent, silent and almost breathless, to listen to the bell-bird, a dingy little fellow, nearly as large as a thrush with the plumage of a chaffinch, but with such a note! How can I make you hear its wild, sweet, plaintive tone, as a little girl of the party said `just as if it had a bell in its throat;' but indeed it would require a whole peal of silver bells to ring such an exquisite chime." 1868. F. Napier Broome, `Canterbury Rhymes,' second edition, p. 108: "Where the bell-bird sets solitudes ringing, Many times I have heard and thrown down My lyre in despair of all singing." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 21: "Listen to the bell-bird. Ping, ping, sounds through the vast hushed temple of nature." 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 81: "The bell-bird, with metallic but mellow pipe, warns the wanderer that he is near water in some sequestered nook." 1886. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 8: "And softer than slumber and sweeter than singing, The notes of the bell-bird are running and ringing." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 85: "<i>Anthornis melanura</i>. Chatham Island Bell-bird (<i>A. Melanocephala</i>), the Bell-bird--so-called from the fanciful resemblance of one of its notes to the distant tolling of a bell." 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 119: "Bell-bird, Korimako,or Makomako (<i>Anthornis melanura</i>), is still common in many parts of the South Island--e.g. in the neighbourhood of Dunedin; but has almost disappeared from the North Island. Its song is remarkably fine." 1893. W. P. Reeves, `The Passing of the Forest,' `Review of Reviews,' Feb. 1893, p. 45: "Gone are the forest birds, arboreal things, Eaters of honey, honey-sweet in song; The tui, and the bell-bird--he who sings That brief rich music one would fain prolong.' 1896. G. A. Keartland, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Part II., Zoology, <i>Aves</i>, p. 74: "In the north they [Oreoica] are frequently called `Bell-birds,' but bear no resemblance to <i>Manorhina melanophrys</i> in plumage, shape, or note. The Oreoica is such an accomplished ventriloquist that it is difficult to find." <hw>Bell-bottomed</hw>, <i>adj</i>. a particular fashion of trouser affected by the <i>larrikin</i> (q.v.). 1891. `The Argus,' Dec. 5, p. 13, col. 2: "Can it be that the pernicious influence of the House is gradually tingeing the high priests of the bell-bottomed ballottee with conservatism!" <hw>Bell-Frog, Golden</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Golden Bell-Frog</i>. <hw>Bell-topper</hw>, <i>n</i>. The ordinary Australian name for the tall silk-hat. 1860. W. Kelly, `Life in Victoria,' p. 268 [Footnote]: "Bell-topper was the derisive name given by diggers to old style hat, supposed to indicate the dandy swell." <hw>Benjamin</hw>, <i>n</i>. a husband, in Australian pigeon-English. 1870. Chas. H. Allen, `A Visit to Queensland and her Goldfields,' p. 182: "There are certain native terms that are used by the whites also as a kind of colonial slang, such as `yabber,' to talk; `budgeree,' good; `bale,' no; `yan,' to go; `cabon,' much; and so on. "With the black people a husband is now called a `benjamin,' probably because they have no word to their own language to express this relationship." <hw>Benjamin-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. also called <i>Weeping Fig</i> in Queensland, Ficus benjaminea, Linn., <i>N.O. Urticaceae</i>. <hw>Bent-grass</hw>. <i>n</i>. See <i>Grass</i>. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 65: <i>"Agrostis virginica</i>. Virginian Agrostis, or Bent-grass. . . . Many species of this genus go under the general name of Bent-grass. Their roots spread along among light and sandy soil in which they generally grow with joints like the Squitch or Couch grass of England." <hw>Berigora</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a bird of genus <i>Falco</i>, from <i>beri</i>, claw, and <i>gora</i>, long. See <i>Hawk</i> 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 185: "The native name of this bird which we have adopted as its specific name, is <i>Berigora</i>. It is called by the settlers <i>Orange-speckled Hawk</i>." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' I. i. pl. 11: "<i>Hieracidea berigora</i>. Brown Hawk. Berigora, Aborigines of New South Wales. Orange-speckled Hawk of the Colonists." <hw>Berley</hw>, <i>n</i>. term used by Australian fishermen for ground bait. It is probably of aboriginal origin. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish and Fisheries of New South Wales,' p. 75: "With hook and line along the rocks of our sea-coast these fishes are caught, but the bait should be crabs. It is usual to wrench legs and shell off the back, and cast them out for Berley." 1896. `Badminton Magazine,' August, p. 201: "I would signal to the sharks by opening and washing out a few of the largest fish at the boat's head, sometimes adding bait chopped small to serve for what Australian fishermen call Berley." <hw>Betcherrygah</hw>, <i>n</i>. bird-name, <i>Melopsittacus undulatus</i>, Shaw. See Budgerigar. <hw>Bettongia</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of Prehensile-tailed <i>Kangaroo-Rats</i>, whose aboriginal name is <i>Bettong</i>. They are the only ground-dwelling marsupials with prehensile tails, which they use for carrying bunches of grasses and sticks. See <i>Kangaroo-Rat</i>. <hw>Biddy-biddy</hw>, or <hw>Biddybid</hw>, <i>n</i>. a corruption of Maori name <i>piripiri</i>. It is a kind of bur. 1880. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open, `New Zealand Country Journal,' vol. xii. p. 95: "Piri-piri (<i>acaena sanguisorbe</i>) by settlers has been converted or corrupted into biddy-biddy; a verb has been formed on it, which is in very constant use for a good part of the year at least. To biddy, is to rid one of burrs, as `I'll just biddy my clothes before I come in.' Small birds are occasionally found in a wretched state of discomfort in which they appear a moving mass of burrs. Parroquets, pipets, and the little white-eyes, have been found victims suffering from these tenacious burrs of the piri-piri, just moving little brown balls unable to fly till picked up and released from their bonds." 1896. `Otago Witness,' Jan. 23, vol. ii. p. 36: "Yes, biddybids detract very materially from the value of the wool, and the plant should not be allowed to seed where sheep are depastured. They are not quite so bad as the Bathurst burr, but they are certainly in the same category." <hw>Biddy</hw>, <i>v</i>. See <i>Biddy-biddy, n</i>. <hw>Bidgee Widgee</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a Tasmanian <i>Bur</i> (q.v.). <hw>Bidyan Ruffe</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fresh-water fish of New South Wales, <i>Therapon richardsonii</i>, Castln., family <i>Percidae</i>. Mr. J. Douglas Ogilby, Assistant Zoologist at the Australian Museum, Sydney, says in a letter "The Bidyan Ruffe of Sir Thomas Mitchell is our <i>Therapon ellipticus</i>, Richards (<i>T. richardsonii</i>, Castln.). Found in all the rivers of the Murray system, and called <i>Kooberry</i> by the natives." It is also called the <i>Silver Perch</i> and sometimes <i>Bream</i>. 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 95 [Note]: "Bidyan is the aboriginal name." Ibid. vol. i. p. 135: "Abundance of that which the men commonly called bream (<i>Cernua bidyana</i>), a very coarse but firm fish, which makes a groaning noise when taken out of the water." <hw>Big-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. The name is used locally for various fishes; in Australia it is <i>Eleotris nudiceps</i>, Castln., family <i>Gobiidae</i>, a river fish. Of the genus <i>Eleotris</i>, Guenther says that as regards form they repeat almost all the modifications observed among the Gobies, from which they differ only in having the ventral fins non-coalescent. See <i>Bull-head</i> (2). <hw>Billabong</hw>, <i>n</i>. an effluent from a river, returning to it, or often ending in the sand, in some cases running only in flood time. In the Wiradhuri dialect of the centre of New South Wales, East coast, <i>billa</i> means a river and <i>bung</i> dead. See <i>Bung. Billa</i> is also a river in some Queensland dialects, and thus forms part of the name of the river Belyando. In the Moreton Bay dialect it occurs in the form <i>pill</i> , and in the sense of `tidal creek.' In the `Western Australian Almanack' for 1842, quoted in J. Fraser's `Australian Language,' 1892, Appendix, p. 50, <i>Bilo</i> is given for <i>River</i>. <i> Billabong</i> is often regarded as a synonym for <i>Anabranch</i> (q.v.); but there is a distinction. From the original idea, the <i>Anabranch</i> implies rejoining the river; whilst the <i>Billabong</i> implies continued separation from it; though what are called <i>Billabongs</i> often do rejoin. 1862. W. Landsborough, `Exploration of Australia,' p. 30: "A dried-up tributary of the Gregory, which I named the Macadam." [Footnote]: "In the south, such a creek as the Macadam is termed a <i>billy-bonn</i> [sic], from the circumstance of the water carrier returning from it with his pitcher (<i>billy</i>) empty (<i>bong</i>, literally dead)." 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia, vol. i. p. 298: "What the Major calls, after the learned nomenclature of Colonel Jackson, in the `Journal of the Geographical Society,' anabranches, but which the natives call billibongs, channels coming out of a stream and returning into it again." 1880. P. J. Holdsworth, `Station Hunting on the Warrego:' "In yon great range may huddle billabongs." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 25: "What a number of swallows skim about the `billabongs' along the rivers in this semi-tropical region." 1893. `The Argus,' April 8, p. 4, col. 1: "Let's make a start at once, d'ye hear; I want to get over to the billabong by sunrise." <hw>Billet</hw>, <i>n</i>. an appointment, a position; a very common expression in Australia, but not confined to Australia; adapted from the meaning, "an official order requiring the person to whom it is addressed to provide board and lodging for the soldier bearing it." (`O.E.D.') 1890. E. W. Hornung, `A Bride from the Bush,' p. 267: "If ever she went back to Australia, she'd remember my young man, and get him a good billet." <hw>Billy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tin pot used as a bushman's kettle. The word comes from the proper name, used as abbreviation for William. Compare the common uses of `Jack,' `Long Tom,' `Spinning Jenny.' It came into use about 1850. It is not used in the following. 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 48: "He then strikes a light and makes a fire to boil his kettle and fry his bacon." About 1850, the billy superseded the <i>quart-pot</i> (q.v.), chiefly because of its top-handle and its lid. Another suggested derivation is that billy is shortened from <i>billycan</i>, which is said to be bully-can (sc. Fr. <i>bouili</i>). In the early days "<i>boeuf bouilli</i>" was a common label on tins of preserved meat in ship's stores. These tins, called "bully-tins," were used by diggers and others as the modern billy is (see quotation 1835). A third explanation gives as the origin the aboriginal word <i>billa</i> (river or water). 1835. T. B. Wilson, `Voyage Round the World,' p. 238: "An empty preserved meat-canister serving the double purpose of tea-kettle and tea-pot." [The word <i>billy</i> is not used, but its origin is described.] 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. i. p. 202: "A tin pan bearing the familiar name of a billy." 1871 J. J. Simpson, `Recitations,' p. 5: "He can't get a billy full for many a mile round." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 41: "A billy (that is a round tin pitcher with a lid) in his hand." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 69: "A tin can, which the connoisseurs call for some reason or other a `billy.'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' p. 24: "A very black camp-kettle, or billy, of hot tea." 1892. `The Australasian,' April 9, p. 707, col. 4: "How we praised the simple supper (we prepared it each in turn), And the tea! Ye gods! 'twas nectar. Yonder billy was our urn." <hw>Billy-can</hw>, <i>n.</i> a variation of the above, more used by townsmen than bushmen. 1892. `The Australasian,' April 9, p. 707, col. 4: "But I said, `Dear friend and brother, yonder billy-can is mine; You may confiscate the washing that is hanging on the line, You may depredate the larder, take your choice of pot and pan; But, I pray thee, kind sundowner, spare, oh spare, my billy-can.'" <hw>Bingy</hw> [<i>g</i> soft], <i>n</i>. stomach or belly. Aboriginal. The form at Botany Bay was <i>bindi</i>; at Jervis Bay, <i>binji</i>. 1851. Rev. David Mackenzie, `Ten Years in Australia,' p. 140: "They lay rolling themselves on the ground, heavily groaning in pain, and with their hands rubbing their bellies, exclaiming, `Cabonn buggel along bingee' (that is, I am very sick in the stomach)." <hw>Birch</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand, the trees called birches are really <i>beeches</i> (q.v.), but the term birch is used very vaguely; see quotation 1889. In Tasmania, the name is applied to <i>Dodonaea ericifolia</i>, Don., <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>. 1853. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 125: "White-birch of Nelson and Otago (from colour of bark), Black-heart Birch of Wellington, <i>Fagus solandri</i>, Hook, a lofty, beautiful ever-green tree, 100 feet high. Black-birch (Tawhai) of Auckland and Otago (from colour of bark), Red-birch of Wellington and Nelson (from colour of timber), <i>Fagus fusca, N.O. Cupuliferae</i>, a noble tree 60 to 90 feet high." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 91: "Like all small-leaved forest trees it [<i>Fagus solandri</i>, Hook. f.] is termed `birch' by the bushman. . . . It is not too much to say that the blundering use of common names in connection with the New Zealand beeches, when the timber has been employed in bridges and constructive works, has caused waste and loss to the value of many thousands of pounds." <hw>Bird-catching Plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand shrub or tree, <i>Pisonia brunoniana</i>, Endl., <i>N.O. Nyctagineae</i>; Maori name, <i>Parapara</i>. 1883. R. H. Govett, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xvi. Art. xxviii. p. 364:: "A Bird-killing Tree. . . . In a shrub growing in my father's garden at New Plymouth, two Silver-eyes (<i>Zosterops</i>) and an English Sparrow had been found with their wings so glued by the sticky seed-vessels that they were unable to move, and could only fly away after having been carefully washed." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 293: "It is sometimes termed the `birdcatching plant' by settlers and bushmen . . . It will always be a plant of special interest, as small birds are often found captured by its viscid fruits, to which their feathers become attached as effectively as if they were glued." <hw>Bird's-nest fungus</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small fungus of the genus <i>Cyathus</i>, four species of which occur in Queensland. <hw>Bitter-Bark</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Petalostigma quadrilo</i> culare, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Euphorbiacea</i>. Called also <i>Crab-tree, Native Quince, Emu apple</i>, and <i>Quinine-tree</i>. The bark contains a powerful bitter essence, which is used medicinally. The name is also applied to <i>Tabernaemontana orientalis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Apocyneae</i>, and to <i>Alstonia constricta</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Aporynacece</i>, which is also called Feverbark. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 204: "Bitter Bark. This small tree has an intensely bitter bark, and a decoction of it is sometimes sold as `bitters." <hw>Bitter-Leaf</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the <i>Native Hop</i>. See <i>Hops</i> and <i>Hopbush</i>. <hw>Bittern</hw>, <i>n</i>. bird-name well known in England. The Australian species are-- The Bittern-- <i>Botaurus paeciloptilus</i>, Wagl. Black B.-- <i>Butoroides flavicollis</i>, Lath. Green B.-- <i>B. javanica</i>, Horsfield. Little B.-- <i>Ardetta pusilla</i>, Vieill. <hw>Blackberry, Native</hw>, or <hw>Bramble</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Raspberry</i>. Three species of the genus <i>Rubus</i> occur in Queensland--<i>Rubus moluccanus</i>, Linn., <i>R. parvifolius</i>, Linn., <i>R. rosifolius</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Rosaceae</i> See also <i>Lawyer</i>. <hw>Blackbird</hw>, <i>n</i>. "A cant name for a captive negro, or Polynesian, on board a slave or pirate ship." (`O.E.D.') But no instance is given of its use for a negro. 1871. `Narrative of the Voyage of the Brig Carl' [pamphlet] "They were going to take a cruise round the islands `black-bird' catching." 1872. `The Argus,' Dec. 21, Supplement, p. 2, col. 1 [Chief Justice's charge in the case of the `Carl Outrage']: "They were not going pearl-fishing but blackbird-hunting. It is said you should have evidence as to what blackbird-hunting meant. I think it is a grievous mistake to pretend to ignorance of things passing before our eyes everyday. We may know the meaning of slang words, though we do not use them. Is there not a wide distinction between blackbird-hunting and a legitimate labour-trade, if such a thing is to be carried on? What did he allude to? To get labourers honestly if they could, but, if not, any way?" 1881. `Chequered Career,' p.188 (`O.E.D.') "The white men on board know that if once the `blackbirds' burst the hatches . . . they would soon master the ship." <hw>Black-birding</hw>, <i>n</i>. kidnapping natives of South Sea islands for service in Queensland plantations. 1871. `Narrative of the Voyage of the Brig Carl' [pamphlet]: "All the three methods, however, of obtaining labour in the South Seas--that which was just and useful, that which was of suspicious character, and that which was nothing, more or less, than robbery and murder--were in use the same time, and all three went by the same general slang term of `blackbirding,' or `blackbird catching.'" 1872. Rev. H. S. Fagan, `The Dark Blue' (Magazine), June, p. 437: "Well, you see how it is that C is not safe, even though he is a missionary bishop, after A has made the name of missionary an offence by his ingenious mode of `black-birding.'" 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 78: "In the early days of sugar-planting there may have been black-birding, but it was confined to a very few, and it is done away with altogether now." <hw>Black-birding</hw>, <i>adj</i>. 1883. `The Academy,' Sept. 8, p. 158 (`O.E.D.') "[He] slays Bishop Patteson by way of reprisal for the atrocities of some black-birding crew." <hw>Blackboy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a grass-tree. Name applied to all species of the genus <i>Xanthorroea</i>, but especially to <i>X. preissii</i>, Endl., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. Compare <i>Maori-head</i>. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discovery in Australia,' ii. 4, 132: "Black Boy . . . gum on the spear, resin on the trunk." Ibid. ii. 12, 280 [Note] "These trees, called blackboys by the colonists, from the resemblance they bear in the distance to natives." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 92: "Gas admirably fitted for domestic purposes had been extracted from the shrub called the `blackboy.' I regret to state that the gas . . . is not . . . at present known in the colony." 1886. R. Henty, `Australiana,' p. 15: "The common grass-tree or `blackboy,' so called from its long dark stem and dark seed head (when dry)." 1896. `The Australasian,' Feb. 15, p. 313 (with an Illustration): "The Blackboy trees are a species of grass-tree or <i>Xanthorrhoea</i>, exuding a gummy substance used by the blacks for fastening glass and quartz-barbs to their spears. Many years ago, when coal was scarce in Western Australia, an enterprising firm . . . erected a gas-making plant, and successfully lit their premises with gas made from the Blackboy." 1896. Modern: A story is told of a young lady saying to a naval officer:-- "I was this morning watching your ship coming into harbour, and so intently that I rode over a young blackboy." The officer was shocked at her callousness in expressing no contrition. <hw>Black-Bream</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian fish, <i>Chrysophrys australis</i>, Gunth., family <i>Sparidae</i>, or Sea-Breams; called in Tasmania <i>Silver-Bream</i>, the fish there called <i>Black-Bream</i> being another of the <i>Sparidae</i>, <i>Girella tricuspidata</i>, Cuv. and Val. See <i>Tarwhine</i> and <i>Black-fish</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 42: "<i>Chrysophrys</i> comprises the tarwhine and black-bream of the Sydney fishermen. . . . We have two species in Australia. . . . The black-bream, <i>C. australis</i>, Gunth., and the tarwhine, <i>C. sarba</i>, Forsk. . . . The Australian bream is as common on the south as on the east coast. It affords excellent sport to anglers in Victoria." <hw>Blackbutt</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Eucalyptus pilularis</i>, Smith, Victoria; <i>E. regnans</i>, F. v. M., New South Wales; a timber tree, a gum. Another name is <i>Flintwood</i>. The lower part of the trunk is black. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 49: "The range . . . having with the exception of the Blackbutt all the trees . . . of Moreton Bay." 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings among Gum-trees,' p. 86: "'Tis there the `blackbut' rears its head." 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue, Economic Woods,' p. 30: "A tree of considerable size. . . The bark smooth and falling off in flakes upward, and on the branches." 1897. `The Age,' Feb. 22, p. 5, col. 3: "Mr. Richards stated that the New South Wales black butt and tallow wood were the most durable and noiseless woods for street-paving, as well as the best from a sanitary point of view." <hw>Black-Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand fish, <i>Notothenia angustata</i>. <hw>Blackfellow</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal Australian. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discovery in Australia,' i. 4, 74: "The native Miago . . . appeared delighted that these `black fellows,' as he calls them, have no throwing sticks." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 9: "The well-known tracks of blackfellows are everywhere visible." 1871. Dingo, `Australian Rhymes,' p. 14: "Wurragaroo loved Wangaraday In a blackfellow's own peculiar way." <hw>Black-Fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Tasmanian species so called is <i>Athyrium australe</i>, Presl., <i>N.O. Polypodeae</i>. <hw>Black-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given, especially in Sydney, to the sea-fishes <i>Girella simplex</i>, Richards (see <i>Ludrick</i>), and <i>Girella tricuspidata</i>, Cuv. and Val.; also to a fresh-water fish all over Australia, <i>Gadopsis marmoratus</i>, Richards. <i>G. marmoratus</i> is very common in New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia, and parts of Tasmania. There are local varieties. It is much esteemed as a food fish, but is, like all mud fishes, rich and oily. <i>Girella</i> belongs to the family <i>Sparida</i>, or Sea-Breams, and <i>Gadopsis</i> to the <i>Gadopsidae</i>, a family allied to that containing the Cod fishes. The name was also formerly applied to a whale. 1853. C. St. Julian and E. K. Silvester, `Productions, Industry, and Resources of New South Wales,' p. 115: "There is a species of whale called by those engaged in the south sea fishing the <i>Black-fish</i> or <i>Black-whale</i>, but known to the naturalist as the Southern Rorqual, which the whalemen usually avoid." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 100 "Nothing is better eating than a properly cooked black-fish. The English trout are annihilating them, however." <hw>Black-Line</hw>. See <i>Black-War</i>. <hw>Black-Perch</hw>, <i>n.</i> a river fish of New South Wales. <i>Therapon niger</i>, Castln., family <i>Percidae</i>. A different fish from those to which the name is applied elsewhere. See <i>Perch</i>. <hw>Black-and-white Ringed Snake</hw>. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Black Rock-Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian fish, chiefly of New South Wales, <i>Serranus daemeli</i>, Gunth.; a different fish from the <i>Rock-Cod</i> of the northern hemisphere. The Serrani belong to the family <i>Percidae</i>, and are commonly called "Sea-perches." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 33: "The genus <i>Serranus</i> comprises most of the fishes known as `rock cod.'. . . One only is sufficiently useful as an article of food to merit notice, and that is the `black rock cod' (<i>Serranus damelii</i>, Guenther), without exception the very best of all our fishes." <hw>Black-Snake.</hw> See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Black-Swan.</hw> See <i>Swan</i>. <hw>Black Thursday</hw>, the day of a Victorian conflagration, which occurred on Feb. 6, 1851. The thermometer was 112 degrees in the shade. Ashes from the fire at Macedon, 46 miles away, fell in Melbourne. The scene forms the subject of the celebrated picture entitled "Black Thursday," by William Strutt, R.B.A. 1859. Rev. J. D. Mereweather, `Diary of a Working Clergyman in Australia,' p. 81: "Feb. 21 . . . Dreadful details are reaching us of the great bush fires which took place at Port Phillip on the 6th of this month . . . . Already it would seem that the appellation of `Black Thursday' has been given to the 6th February, 1851, for it was on that day that the fires raged with the greatest fury." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillman, `Australian Life,' p. 39: "The old colonists still repeat the most terrible stories of Black Thursday, when the whole country seemed to be on fire. The flames leaped from tree to tree, across creeks, hills, and gullies, and swept everything away. Teams of bullocks in the yoke, mobs of cattle and horses, and even whole families of human beings, in their bush-huts, were completely destroyed, and the charred bones alone found after the wind and fire had subsided." <hw>Black-Tracker</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal employed in tracking criminals. 1867. `Australia as it is,' pp. 88-9: "The native police, or `black trackers,' as they are sometimes called, are a body of aborigines trained to act as policemen, serving under a white commandant--a very clever expedient for coping with the difficulty . . . of hunting down and discovering murderous blacks, and others guilty of spearing cattle and breaking into huts . . ." 1870. `The Argus,' March 26, p. 5, col. 4: "The troopers, with the assistance of two black trackers, pursued the bushrangers . . ." 1870. Ibid. April 13, p. 6, col. 7: . . . two members of the police force and a black tracker . . . called at Lima station . . ." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xvii. p. 165: "Get the black-trackers on the trail." 1893. `The Argus,' April 8, p. 4, col. 3 . "Only three weeks before he had waddied his gin to death for answering questions put to her by a blacktracker, and now he advanced to Charlie . . . and said,. . . `What for you come alonga black fella camp?'" 1896. `The Argus,' March 30, p. 6, col. 9: "About one hundred and fifty horsemen have been out to-day in addition to the local police. The black-trackers arrived by the train last night, and commenced work this morning." <hw>Black-Trevally</hw>. See <i>Trevally</i>. <hw>Black-War</hw>, or <hw>Black-Line</hw>, a military operation planned in 1830 by Governor Arthur for the capture of the Tasmanian aborigines. A levy <i>en masse</i> of the colonists was ordered. About 5000 men formed the "black line," which advanced across the island from north to south-east, with the object of driving the tribes into Tasman's Peninsula. The operation proved a complete failure, two blacks only being captured at a cost to the Government of L 30,000. 1835. H. Melville, `History of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 103: "The parties forming the `black line,' composed, as they were, of a curious melange of masters and servants, took their respective stations at the appointed time. As the several parties advanced, the individuals along the line came closer and closer together --the plan was to keep on advancing slowly towards a certain peninsula, and thus frighten the Aborigines before them, and hem them in." 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol, ii. p. 54: "Thus closed the Black War. This campaign of a month supplied many adventures and many an amusing tale, and, notwithstanding the gravity of his Excellency, much fun and folly . . . . Five thousand men had taken the field. Nearly L 30,000 had been expended, and probably not much less in time and outlay by the settlers, and two persons only were captured." <hw>Black Wednesday</hw>, <i>n</i>. a political phrase for a day in Victoria (Jan. 9, 1878), when the Government without notice dismissed many Civil Servants, including heads of departments, County Court judges and police magistrates, on the ground that the Legislative Council had not voted the money for their salaries. 1878. `Melbourne Punch,' May 16, vol. xlvi. p. 195 [Title of Cartoon]: "In Memoriam. Black Wednesday, 9th January 1878." 1896. `The Argus,' [Sydney telegram] Aug. 18, p. 6, col. 4: "The times in the public service at present reminded him of Black Wednesday in Victoria, which he went through. That caused about a dozen suicides among public servants. Here it had not done so yet, but there was not a head of a department who did not now shake in his shoes." <hw>Blackwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber, <i>Acacia melanoxylon</i>, R. Br.; often called <i>Lightwood</i>; it is dark in colour but light in weight. 1828. `Report of Van Diemen's Land Company,' Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land, 1832,' p. 118 "Without a tree except a few stumps of blackwood." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' p. 21: "Grassy slopes thickly timbered with handsome Blackwood trees." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 359: "Called `Blackwood' on account of the very dark colour of the mature wood." 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue, Economic Woods,' p. 4: "Blackwood, Lightwood--rather frequent on many rich river-flats . . . .It is very close-grained and heavy, and is useful for all purposes where strength and flexibility are required." <hw>Bladder Saltbush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland shrub, <i>Atriplex vesicarium</i>, Heward, <i>N.O. Salsolaceae</i>. The Latin and vernacular names both refer to "the bladdery appendage to fruiting perianth." (Bailey.) See <i>Saltbush</i>. <hw>Blandfordia</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the <i>Gordon-Lily</i> (see under <i>Lily</i>). The plant was named after George, Marquis of Blandford, son of the second Duke of Marlborough. The Tasmanian aboriginals called the plant <i>Remine</i>, which name has been given to a small port where it grows in profusion on the west coast. <hw>Bleeding-Heart</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Kennedya</i> (q.v.). 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 53: "The trailing scarlet kennedyas, aptly called the `bleeding- heart' or `coral-pea,' brighten the greyness of the sandy peaty wastes." <hw>Blight</hw>. See <i>Sandy-blight</i>. <hw>Blight-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name in New Zealand for the <i>Zosterops</i> (q.v.). Called also <i>Silver-eye</i> (q.v.), <i>Wax-eye</i>, and <i>White-eye</i> (q.v.). It is called Blight-bird because it eats the blight on trees. 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 130: "The white-eye or blight-bird, with cheerful note, in crowded flocks, sweeps over the face of the country, and in its progress clears away multitudes of small insect pests." 1885. A. Hamilton, `Native Birds of Petane, Hawke's Bay,' `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. p. 125: "<i>Zosterops lateralis</i>, white-eye, blight-bird. One of our best friends, and abundant in all parts of the district." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' (2nd ed.) vol. i. p. 82: "By the settlers it has been variously designated as Ring-eye, Wax-eye, White-eye, or Silver-eye, in allusion to the beautiful circlet of satiny-white feathers which surrounds the eyes; and quite as commonly the `Blightbird' or `Winter-migrant.' . . . It feeds on that disgusting little aphis known as American blight, which so rapidly covers with a fatal cloak of white the stems and branches of our best apple-trees; it clears our early cabbages of a pestilent little insect, that left unchecked would utterly destroy the crop; it visits our gardens and devours another swarming parasite that covers our roses." <hw>Blind Shark</hw>, or <hw>Sand Shark</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Shovel-nose</i> (q.v.). 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods `Fish and Fisheries of New South Wales, p. 97: "<i>Rhinobatus granulatus</i> or shovel-nose, which is properly speaking a Ray, is called here the blind or sand shark, though, as Mr. Hill remarks, it is not blind. He says `that it attains the length of from 6 to 7 feet, and is also harmless, armed only with teeth resembling small white beads secured closely upon a cord; it however can see tolerably well, and searches on sandy patches for crustaceae and small shell fish.'" 1886. J. Douglas-Ogilby, `Catalogue of the Fishes of New South Wales,' p. 5: "Rhinobatus Granulatus . . . I have not seen a New South Wales example of this fish, which appears to have been confounded with the following by writers on the Australian fauna. <i>Rhinobatus Bongainvillei</i>, Muell and Heule, <i>Habitat</i> Port Jackson. <i>Shovel-nosed Ray of</i> Sydney fishermen." <hw>Blind-your-Eyes</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Milky Mangrove</i>. See <i>Mangrove</i>. , doing the</hw>, <i>v</i>. lounging in the fashionable promenade. In Melbourne, it is Collins Street, between Elizabeth and Swanston Streets. In Sydney, "The Block" is that portion of the city bounded by King, George, Hunter, and Pitt Streets. It is now really two blocks, but was all in one till the Government purchased the land for the present Post Office, and then opened a new street from George to Pitt Street. Since then the Government, having purchased more land, has made the street much wider, and it is now called Martin's Place. 1869. Marcus Clarke, `Peripatetic Philosopher,' (in an Essay on `Doing the Block') (reprint), p. 13: "If our Victorian youth showed their appreciation for domestic virtues, Victorian womanhood would `do the Block' less frequently." 1872. `Glimpses of Life in Victoria by a Resident,' p. 349: "A certain portion of Collins street, lined by the best drapers' and jewellers' shops, with here and there a bank or private office intervening, is known as `the Block,' and is the daily resort of the belles and beaux. . . ." 1875. R. and F. Hill, `What We Saw in Australia,' p. 267: "To `do the block' corresponds in Melbourne to driving in Hyde Park." 1876. Wm. Brackley Wildey, `Australasia and the Oceanic Region,' p. 234: "The streets are thronged with handsome women, veritable denizens of the soil, fashionably and really tastefully attired, `doing the block,' patrolling Collins-street, or gracefully reclining in carriages. . . ." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 126: "You just do as I tell you, and we'll go straight off to town and `do the block.'" 1894. `The Herald' (Melbourne), Oct. 6, p. 6, col. 1: "But the people doing the block this morning look very nice." <hw>Block, on the</hw>.(1) On the promenade above referred to. 1896. `The Argus,' July 17, p. 4. col. 7: " We may slacken pace a little now and again, just as the busy man, who generally walks quickly, has to go slowly in the crowd on the Block." (2) Term in mining, fully explained in `The Miner's Right,' chapters vii. and viii. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' p. 86: "I declare the Liberator Lead to be `on the block.'" `Extract from Mining Regulation 22' (Ibid. p. 77): "The ground shall be open for taking up claims in the block form." <hw>Blood-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the <i>Sanguineous Honey-eater</i>. See <i>Honey-eater</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 63: <i>"Myzomela sanguinolenta</i>, Sanguineous Honey-eater. Blood-bird of the Colonists of New South Wales." <hw>Blood-sucker</hw>, <i>n</i>. popular name for certain species of Lizards belonging to the genus <i>Amphibolurus (Grammatophora</i>). Especially applied to <i>A. muricata</i>, Shaw. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 37: "Another description of lizard is here vulgarly called the `bloodsucker.' " 1890. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Natural History of Victoria,' Dec. 12, pl. cxi.: "Why the popular name of `Bloodsucker' should be so universally given to this harmless creature by the Colonists (except on the locus a non lucendo principle) I cannot conceive." 1890. A. H. S. Lucas, `Handbook of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' Melbourne, p. 70: "Two species of `blood sucker' so absurdly designated." <hw>Blood-wood</hw>, or <hw>Blood-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied, with various epithets, to many of the <i>Gum-trees</i> (q.v.), especially to--(1) <i>Eucalyptus corymbosa</i>, Smith, sometimes called Rough-barked bloodwood; (2) <i>E. eximia</i>, Schauer, Mountain or Yellow bloodwood; (3) <i>Baloghia lucida</i>, Endl., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>, called Brush Bloodwood. The sap is blood-red, running copiously when cut across with a knife. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 271: "The natives tell me it breeds in the winter in Mun'ning-trees or Blood-trees of the colonists (a species of <i>Eucalyptus</i>)." 1847. L.Leichhardt,' Overland Expedition,' p. 292: "The bergue was covered with fine bloodwood trees, stringy-bark, and box." 1892. A. J. North, `Proceedings of Linnaean Society,' New South Wales, vol. vii. series 2, p. 396: "I traced her to a termite nest in a bloodwood tree (<i>Eucalyptus corymbosa</i>)." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' 448: "It [<i>E. eximia</i>] is called `bloodwood,' partly because kino exudes in the concentric circles of the wood . . . partly because its fruits are in shape very similar to those of <i>E. corymbosa</i>." <hw>Blow</hw>, <i>n</i>. stroke of the shears in sheep-shearing. 1890. `The Argus,' September 20, p. 13, col. 7: "The shearers must make their clip clean and thorough. If it be done so incompetently that a `second blow' is needed, the fleece is hacked." <hw>Blow,/2/</hw> <i>n</i>. braggadocio, boasting. 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' viii. p. 71: "Is there not very much that the Australian may well be proud of, and may we not commend him for a spice of blow?" 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `Sydney-Side Saxon,' p. 77: "He can walk as fast as some horses can trot, cut out any beast that ever stood on a camp, and canter round a cheese-plate. This was a bit of blow." 1893. `The Australasian,' Aug. 12, p. 102, col. 1: "Now Digby Holland will think it was mere Australian blow." <hw>Blow</hw>, <i>v</i>. to boast; abbreviated from the phrase "to blow your own trumpet." The word is not Australian though often so regarded. It is common in Scotland and in the United States. 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 387: "The blast of the trumpet as heard in Victoria is louder than all the blasts--and the Melbourne blast beats all the other blowing of that proud colony. My first, my constant, my parting advice to my Australian cousins is contained in two words, `don't blow.'" <hw>Blower</hw>, <i>n</i>. a boaster. (See <i>Blow, v</i>.) 1890. Rolf Boldrewood,' A Colonial Reformer,' p. 411: "A regular Sydney man thinks all Victorians are blowers and speculators." <hw>Blowing</hw>, <i>verbal n</i>. boasting. 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 387: "A fine art much cultivated in the colonies, for which the colonial phrase of `blowing' has been created." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 9: "Blowing (that is, talking loudly and boastingly on any and every subject)." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 45: "He was famous for `blowing' in Australian parlance . . . of his exploits." <hw>Bluebell</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given in Tasmania to the flower <i>Wahlenbergia gracilis</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Campanulaceae</i>. <hw>Blueberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Currant</i> (q.v.). The name is also given to <i>Dianella longifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. <hw>Blueberry Ash</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Victorian tree, <i>Elaeocarpus holopetalus</i>, F. v. M. 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue, Economic Woods,' p. 15: "Blueberry Ash or Prickly Fig. A noble tree, attaining a height of 120 feet. Wood pale, fine-grained; exquisite for cabinet work." <hw>Blue-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian forage plant, a kind of Salt-bush, <i>Kochia pyrainidata</i>, Benth, <i>N.O. Chenopodiaceae</i>. 1876. W. Harcus. `South Australia,' p. 124: "[The country] would do splendidly for sheep, being thickly grassed with short fine grass, salt and blue bush, and geranium and other herbs." <hw>Blue-Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a New Zealand fish, <i>Percis colias</i>, family <i>Trachinidae</i>. Called also in New Zealand <i>Rock-Cod</i> (q.v.). The fish is of a different family from the <i>Cod</i> of the northern hemisphere. <hw>Blue-creeper</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the creeper, <i>Comesperma volubile</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Campanulaceae</i>. <hw>Blue-eye</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird name. <i>The Blue faced Honey-eater</i> (q.v.). 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 68: "<i>Entomyza cyanotis</i>, Swains. Blue-faced <i>Entomyza</i>. Blue-eye of the colonists." <hw>Blue-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Sydney to <i>Girella cyanea</i>, of the family <i>Sparidae</i>, or Sea-Breams. It is different from the <i>Blue-fish</i> of the American coasts, which is of the family <i>Carangidae</i>. <hw>Blue-Groper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of New South Wales and Tasmania, <i>Cossyphus gouldii</i>, one of the <i>Labridae</i> or Wrasses, often called <i>Parrot-Fish</i> in Australia. Called also <i>Blue-head</i> in Tasmania. Distinct from the fish called the <i>Groper</i> (q.v). <hw>Blue-gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Gum</i>. It is an increasing practice to make a single word of this compound, and to pronounce it with accent on the first syllable, as `wiseman,' `goodman.' <hw>Blue-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian name for the fish called the <i>Blue-Groper</i> (q.v.) <hw>Blue Lobelia</hw>, <i>n</i>. The indigenous species in Tasmania which receives this name is <i>Lobelia gibbosa</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Campanulaceae</i>. <hw>Blue-pointer</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given in New South Wales to a species of Shark, <i>Lamna glauca</i>, Mull. and Heule, family <i>Lamnidae</i>, which is not confined to Australasia. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 95: "On the appearance of a `blue pointer' among boats fishing for schnapper outside, the general cry is raised, `Look out for the blue pointer.' . . . These are high swimming fishes, and may be readily seen when about pushing their pursuits; the beautiful azure tint of their back and sides, and independent manner they have of swimming rapidly and high among the boats in search of prey, are means of easy recognition, and they often drive the fishermen away." <hw>Bluestone</hw>, <i>n</i>. a kind of dark stone of which many houses and public buildings are built. 1850. `The Australasian' (Quarterly), Oct. [Footnote], p. 138: "The ancient Roman ways were paved with polygonal blocks of a stone not unlike the trap or bluestone around Melbourne." 1855. R. Brough Smyth, `Transactions of Philosophical Society, Victoria,' vol. i. p. 25: "The basalt or `bluestone,' which is well adapted to structural purposes, and generally obtains where durability is desired." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook to New Zealand,' p. 62: "Basalts, locally called `bluestones,' occur of a quality useful for road-metal, house-blocks, and ordinary rubble masonry." 1890. `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Tasmania,' p. xx. [Letter from Mr. S. H. Wintle]: "The newer basalts, which in Victoria have filled up so extensively Miocene and Pliocene valleys, and river channels, are chiefly vesicular Zeolitic <i>dolerites</i> and <i>anaemesites</i>, the former being well represented by the light-coloured Malmsbury `bluestone' so extensively employed in buildings in Melbourne." <hw>Blue-tongued Lizard</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to <i>Tiliqua nigroluteus</i>, Gray, a common Australian and Tasmanian lizard belonging to the family <i>Scincidae</i>. The name is derived from its blue-coloured tongue, and on account of its sluggish habits it is also often called the Sleepy lizard. 1887. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Dec. 14, pl. 131: "Not uncommon about Melbourne, where it is generally called the `Blue-tongued Lizard,' or `Sleepy Lizard.'" <hw>Blue-wing</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sportsman's name (as in England) for the bird called the <i>Shoveller</i> (q.v.). <hw>Bluey</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A blue blanket commonly used by swagmen in Australia. He wraps his bundle in it, and the whole is called a <i>Swag</i> (q.v.). <i>To hump bluey</i> means to go on the tramp, carrying a swag on the back. (2) In the wet wildernesses of Western Tasmania a rough shirt or blouse is made of this material, and is worn over the coat like an English smock-frock. Sailors and fishermen in England call it a "Baltic shirt." 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 16, p. 13, col. 2: "We shall have to hump bluey again." 1891. R. Wallace, `Rural Economy and Agriculture of Australia and New Zealand,' p. 73: "`Humping bluey' is for a workman to walk in search of work." 1891. W. Tilley, `The Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 29: "Leehan presents an animated scene . . . . Heavily laden drays, pack-horses and mules, form constant processions journeying from Dundas or Trial; miners with their swags, surveyors in their `blueys' . . . all aid effectively in the panorama." <hw>Board</hw>, <i>n</i>. term used by shearers. See quotation. 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), Dec. 23, p. 6, col. 1: "`The board' is the technical name for the floor on which the sheep are shorn." <i>With a full board</i>, with a full complement of shearers. 1894. `The Herald,' Oct. 6, p. 1. Col. 2: "The secretary of the Pastoralists' Association . . . reports that the following stations have started shearing with full boards." <hw>Boar-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied in England to various dissimilar fishes which have projecting snouts. (`Century.') In New Zealand it is given to <i>Cyttus australis</i>, family <i>Cyttidae</i>, which is related to the <i>John Dory</i> (q.v.). This name is sometimes applied to it, and it is also called <i>Bastard Dory</i> (q.v.). In Melbourne the <i>Boar-fish</i> is <i>Histiopterus recurvirostris</i>, family <i>Percidae</i>, and <i>Pentaceropsis recurvirostris</i>, family <i>Pentacerotidae</i>. Mrs. Meredith, in `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' 1880 (pl. vi.), figures <i>Histiopterus recurvirostris</i> with the vernacular name of <i>Pig-faced Lady</i>. It is a choice edible fish. <hw>Boil down</hw>, <i>v</i>. to reduce a statement to its simplest form; a constant term amongst pressmen. Over the reporters' table in the old `Daily Telegraph' office (Melbourne) there was a big placard with the words-"Boil it down." The phrase is in use in England. `O.E.D.' quotes `Saturday Review,' 1880. The metaphor is from the numerous boiling-down establishments for rendering fat sheep into tallow. See quotation, 1878. 1878. F. P. Labilliere, `Early History of the Colony of Victoria,' vol. ii. p. 330: "The first step which turned the tide of ill-fortune was the introduction of the system of boiling down sheep. When stock became almost worthless, it occurred to many people that, when a fleece of wool was worth from half-a-crown to three shillings in England, and a sheep's tallow three or four more, the value of the animal in Australia ought to exceed eighteenpence or two shillings. Accordingly thousands of sheep were annually boiled down after shearing . . . until . . . the gold discovery; and then `boiling down,' which had saved the country, had to be given up. . . . The Messrs. Learmonth at Buninyong . . . found it answered their purpose to have a place of their own, instead of sending their fat stock, as was generally done, to a public `boiling down' establishment." 1895. `The Argus,' Aug. 17, p. 8, col. 2: "Boiled down, the matter comes to this." <hw>Bonduc Nuts</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name in Australia for the fruit of the widely distributed plant <i>Caesalpina bonducella</i>, Flem., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. Called <i>Molucca Beans</i> in Scotland and <i>Nicker Nuts</i> elsewhere. <hw>Bonito</hw>, <i>n</i>. Sir Frederick McCoy says that the <i>Tunny</i>, the same fish as the European species <i>Thynnus thynnus</i>, family <i>Scombridae</i>, or Mackerels, is called <i>Bonito</i>, erroneously, by the colonists and fishermen. The true <i>Bonito</i> is <i>Thynnus pelamys</i>, Linn., though the name is also applied to various other fishes in Europe, the United States, and the West Indies. <hw>Bony-Bream</hw>, i.q. <i>Sardine</i> (q.v.). <hw>Boobook</hw>, <i>n</i>. an owl. <i>Ninox boobook</i> (see <i>Owl</i>); <i>Athene boobook</i> (Gould's `Birds of Australia,' vol.i. pl. 32)." From cry or note of bird. In the Mukthang language of Central Gippsland, BawBaw, the mountain in Gippsland, is this word as heard by the English ear." (A. W. Howitt.) In South Australia the word is used for a <i>mopoke</i>. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 188: "The native name of this bird, as Mr. Caley informs us, is Buck'buck. It may be heard nearly every night during winter, uttering a cry, corresponding with that word. . . .The lower order of the settlers in New South Wales are led away by the idea that everything is the reverse in that country to what it is in England : and the cuckoo, as they call this bird, singing by night, is one of the instances which they point out." 1894. `The Argus,' June 23, p. 11, col. 4: "In most cases--it may not be in all--the familiar call, which is supposed to sound like `More-pork,' is not the mopoke (or podargus) at all, but the hooting of a little rusty red feather-legged owl, known as the Boobook. Its double note is the opposite of the curlew, since the first syllable is dwelt upon and the second sharp. An Englishman hearing it for the first time, and not being told that the bird was a `more-pork,' would call it a night cuckoo." <hw>Booby</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name. Used in Australia for the <i>Brown-Gannet</i>. See <i>Gannet</i>. <hw>Boobyalla</hw>, or <hw>Boobialla</hw>, <i>n</i>. the aboriginal name for the tree <i>Acacia longifolia</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, also called <i>Native Willow</i>. A river in Tasmania bears the name of Boobyalla, the tree being plentiful on the coast. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p63: <i>"Acacia sophora</i>. Sophora podded Acacia or Booby-aloe. This species forms a large shrub on the sand-hills of the coast." 1843. J. Backhouse, `Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies,' p. 59: "The sandbanks at the mouth of Macquarie Harbour are covered with Boobialla, a species of <i>Acacia</i>, the roots of which run far in the sand." 1855. J. Milligan, `Vocabulary of Dialects of the Aboriginal Tribes of Tasmania,' `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Tasmania,' vol. iii. p. 238: "Wattle tree--seaside. (<i>Acacia Maritinia</i>) Boobyallah." 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' vol. ii. p. 62: "Boobyalla bushes lay within the dash of the ceaseless spray." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 359: "Boobyalla . . . an excellent tree for binding coast-sands." 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue, Economic Woods,' p. 4: "On the coast it is known by the native name, Boobyalla." <hw>Boomah</hw>, or <hw>Boomer</hw>, <i>n</i>. name of a very large kangaroo, <i>Macropus giganteus</i>, Shaw. The spelling "boomah" seems due to a supposed native origin. See quotation, 1872, the explanation in which is probably erroneous. It is really from the verb to boom, to rush with violence. 1830. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 110: "Snapped the boomah's haunches, and he turned round to offer battle." 1833. Lieut. Breton, `Excursions in New South Wales, Western Australia, and Van Diemen's Land,' p. 251: "Boomah. Implies a large kangaroo." Ibid. p. 254: "The flying gin (gin is the native word for woman or female) is a boomah, and will leave behind every description of dog." 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 244: "The Great or Forest Kangaroo (Macropus giganteus), the `Forester' of the Colonists. . . .The oldest and heaviest male of the herd was called a `Boomer,' probably a native term." 1853. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 325: "The forester (<i>Macropus major</i>, Shaw), the male being known by the name of `boomer,' and the young female by that of `flying doe,' is the largest and only truly gregarious species." 1854. G. H. Haydon, `The Australian Emigrant,' p. 124: "It was of an old man kangaroo,a regular boomer." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 169: "An officer from Van Diemen's Land told me that he had once killed in that colony a kangaroo of such magnitude, that, being a long way from home, he was unable, although on horseback, to carry away any portion except the tail, which alone weighed thirty pounds. This species is called the boomah, and stands about seven feet high." 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. i. p. 47: "Sometimes starting a grand boomah, or great red kangaroo." 1862. F. J. Jobson, `Australia,' c. v. p. 124: "Some of the male kangaroos, called `boomers,' were described as being four or five feet high." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' p. 55: "The Boomer starts, and ponders What kind of beasts we be." 1867. W. Richardson, `Tasmanian Poems,' p. 26: "The dogs gather round a `boomer' they've got." 1872. Mrs. E. Millett, `An Australian Parsonage,' p. 195: "A tall old <i>Booma</i>, as the natives call the male kangaroo, can bring his head on a level with the face of a man on horseback. . . . A kangaroo's feet are, in fact, his weapons of defence with which, when he is brought to bay, he tears his antagonists the dogs most dreadfully, and instances are not wanting of even men having been killed by a large old male. No doubt this peculiar method of disposing of his enemies has earned him the name of <i>Booma</i>, which in the native language signifies to strike." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 16: "As he plunged into the yellow waters, the dogs were once more by his side, and again the `boomer' wheeled, and backed against one of the big trees that stud these hollows." Applied generally to something very large. 1885. `Australasian Printers' Keepsake,' p. 76: "When the shades of evening come, I choose a boomer of a gum." <hw>Boomerang</hw>, <i>n</i>. a weapon of the Australian aborigines, described in the quotations. The origin of the word is by no means certain. One explanation is that of Mr. Fraser in quotation, 1892. There may perhaps be an etymological connection with the name <i>woomera</i> (q.v.), which is a different weapon, being a throwing stick, that is, an instrument with which to throw spears, whilst the <i>boomerang</i> is itself thrown; but the idea of throwing is common to both. In many parts the word is pronounced by the blacks bummerang. Others connect it with the aboriginal word for "wind," which at Hunter River was <i>burramaronga</i>, also <i>boomori</i>. In New South Wales and South Queensland there is a close correspondence between the terms for wind and boomerang. 1827. Captain P. P. King, `Survey of Intertropical and West Coasts of Australia,' vol. i. p. 355: "Boomerang is the Port Jackson term for this weapon, and may be retained for want of a more descriptive name." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 108: "We gambolled all the way up, throwing small pieces of bark at each other, after the manner of the native youths, who practise this with a view of strengthening their arms, and fitting them for hurling a curious weapon of war called a `bomering,' which is shaped thus:" \ \ / / Ibid. p. 280: "Around their loins was the opossum belt, in one side of which they had placed their waddies, with which they meant to break the heads of their opponents, and on the other was the bomering, or stick, with which they threw their spears." [This is a confusion between <i>boomerang</i> and <i>woomera</i> (q.v.). Perhaps Mr. Dawson wrote the second word, and this is a misprint.] 1839. Major T. L. `Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' vol. ii. p. 348: "The bommereng, or their usual missile, can be thrown by a skilful hand, so as to rise upon the air, and thus to deviate from the usual path of projectiles, its crooked course being, nevertheless, equally under control." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 186: "The admirable dexterity with which they fling the bomerangs. To our thinking the thrower was only sending the instrument along the ground, when suddenly, after spinning along it a little way, it sprung up into the air, performing a circle, its crescent shape spinning into a ring, constantly spinning round and round, until it came and fell at his feet." 1845. O. Wendell Holmes, `Modest Request' (in Poems): "Like the strange missile which the Australian throws, Your verbal boomerang slaps you on the nose." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 39: "This instrument, called a bommereng, is made of wood, and is much like the blade of a scimitar. I believe it has been introduced into England as a plaything for children." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 57: "The boomerang is an extraordinary missile, formed in the shape of a crescent, and when propelled at an object, apparently <i>point blank</i>, it turns in any direction intended by the thrower, so that it can actually be directed in this manner against a person standing by his side. The consummate art visible in its unnatural-looking progression greatly depends upon the manner in which it is made to rebound from the ground when thrown." 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. p. 107; "He [Sir Thomas Mitchell] applied to the screw propeller the revolving principle of the boomerang of the Australian natives." 1867. G. G. McCrae, `Balladeadro,' p. 25: "While circling thro' the air there sang The swift careering boomerang." 1888. A. Seth, `Encyclopaedia Britannica,' vol. xxiv. p. 530, col. 2: "He [Archbishop Whately] was an adept in various savage sports, more especially in throwing the boomerang." 1889. P. Beveridge, `Aborigines of Victoria and Riverina,' p. 49: "Boomerang: a thin piece of wood, having the shape of a parabola, about eighteen inches or two feet long from point to point, the curve being on the thin side. Of the broad sides of the missile one is slightly convex, the other is flat. The thin sides are worked down finely to blunt edges. The peculiar curve of the missile gives it the property of returning to the feet of the thrower. It is a dangerous instrument in a melee. Of course the wood from which it is made is highly seasoned by fire. It is therefore nearly as hard as flint." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 49: [A full description of the use of the boomerang is given, with illustrations.] "The boomerang is a curved, somewhat flat, and slender weapon, made from a hard and heavy wood, Brigalow (<i>Acacia excelsa</i>), or Myall (<i>Acacia pendula</i>), but the best one I found was made of a lighter kind of wood. The curving of the boomerang, which often approaches a right angle, must be natural, and in the wood itself. One side is perfectly flat, and the other slightly rounded. The ends are pointed." 1890. G. W. Rusden, `Proceedings, Royal Colonial Institute,' vol. xxii. p. 62: "You hardly ever see an allusion in the English Press to the boomerang which does not refer to it as a weapon of war which returns to the thrower, whereas the returning boomerang is not a weapon of war, and the boomerang which is a weapon of war does not return to the thrower. There are many kinds of boomerang--some for deadly strife, some for throwing at game, and the returning boomerang, which is framed only for amusement. If a native had no other missile at hand, he would dispatch it at a flight of ducks. Its circular course, however, makes it unfit for such a purpose, and there is a special boomerang made for throwing at birds. The latter keeps a straight course, and a native could throw it more than two hundred yards." 1892. J. Fraser, `The Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 69: "The name bumarang has always hitherto been written boomerang; but, considered etymologically, that is wrong, for the root of it is buma--strike, fight, kill; and -ara, -arai, -arang, are all of them common formative terminations." 1893. `The Argus,' July 1, p. 8, col. 7: "`I tell you, sir,' said Mr. Healy at an Irish political meeting, `that there are at the present moment crystallizing in this city precedents which will some day come home to roost like a boomerang.'" <hw>Boongary</hw>, <i>n</i>. the tree-kangaroo of North Queensland, a marsupial tree-climber, about the size of a large wallaby, <i>Dendrolagus lumholtzii</i>, Collett. A native name. <i>Bangaray</i> = Red Kangaroo, in Governor Hunter's vocabulary of the Port Jackson dialect (1793). 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 226: "The tree-kangaroo is without comparison a better-proportioned animal than the common kangaroo. The fore-feet, which are nearly as perfectly developed as the hind-feet, have large crooked claws, while the hind-feet are somewhat like those of a kangaroo, though not so powerful. The sole of the foot is somewhat broader and more elastic on account of a thick layer of fat under the skin. In soft ground its footprints are very similar to those of a child. The ears are small and erect, and the tail is as long as the body of the animal. The skin is tough, and the fur is very strong and beautiful. . . . Upon the whole the boongary is the most beautiful mammal I have seen in Australia. It is a marsupial, and goes out only in the night. During the day it sleeps in the trees, and feeds on the leaves." <hw>Bora</hw>, <i>n</i>. a rite amongst the aborigines of eastern Australia; the ceremony of admitting a young black to the rights of manhood. Aboriginal word. The word <i>bur</i>, given by Ridley, means not only girdle but `circle.' In the man-making ceremonies a large circle is made on the ground, where the ceremonies take place. 1875. W. Ridley, `Kamilaroi,' p. 24: "Girdle--bor or bur. Hence Bora, the ceremony of initiation into manhood, where the candidate is invested with the belt of manhood." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 24: "The great mystery of the Blacks is the Bora--a ceremony at which the young men found worthy receive the rank of warriors." 1892. J. Fraser, `Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 6: "These ceremonies are . . . called the Bora." <hw>Borage, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a plant, <i>Pollichia zeylanica</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Boragineae</i>. The so-called <i>Native Borage</i> is not endemic to Australia. In India it is used as a cure for snake bites. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 124: "The native borage (<i>Trichodesina zeylanica</i>, R. Br.)." <hw>Borak</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal word of New South Wales, meaning banter, chaff, fun at another's expense. (See quotation, 1845.) Prior to 1870 the word was much in use on the stations in New South Wales. About 1870 Victorian farmers' sons took shearing work there, and brought back the word with them. It was subsequently altered to <i>barrack</i> (q.v.). 1845. C. Griffith, `Present State and Prospects of the Port Phillip District of New South Wales,' p. 162: "The following is a specimen of such eloquence:--`You pilmillally jumbuck, plenty sulky me, plenty boom, borack gammon,' which, being interpreted, means--`If you steal my sheep I shall be very angry, and will shoot you and no mistake.'" 1856. W. W. Dobie, `Recollections of a Visit to Port Phillip, Australia, in 1852-55' p. 93: ". . . he gravely assured me that it was `merrijig' (very good), and that `blackfellow doctor was far better than whitefellow doctor.' In proof of which he would say, `Borak you ever see black fellow with waddie (wooden) leg. Bungalallee white fellow doctor cut him leg, borak black fellow stupid like it that." 1885. `Australasian Printers' Keepsake,' p. 75: "On telling him my adventures, how Bob in my misery had `poked borack' at me. . . ." 1888. Alfred J.Chandler,' Curley' in `Australian Poets,' 1788-1888, ed. Sladen, p. 100: "Here broke in Super Scotty, `Stop Your borak, give the bloomin' man a show.'" 1893. `The Argus,' Aug. 26, p. 13, col. 1: "It does not do for a man whose mission it is to wear stuff and a horse-hair wig to `poke borak' at that venerable and eminently respectable institution--the law, and still worse is it for a practising barrister to actually set to work, even in the most kindly spirit, to criticise the judges, before whom at any moment he may be called upon to plead." <hw>Borboby</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Corrobbery</i> (q.v.), but the word is rare. 1890. Carl Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals' [Title of illustration], p. 122: "A warrior in great excitement just before Borboby commences." <hw>Boree</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the tree <i>Acacia pendula</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; a variety of <i>Myall</i>, probably from Queensland aboriginal word <i>Booreah</i>, fire. It would be preferred by black or white man as firewood over any other timber except <i>giddea</i> (q.v.). 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 363: "Weeping, or true myall. It is sometimes called bastard gidgee in Western New South Wales. Called boree by aboriginals, and often boree, or silver-leaf boree, by the colonists of Western New South Wales. Nilyah is another New South Wales name." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' iii. p. 30: "Myall and boree belts of timbers." 1893. `The Times,' [Reprint] `Letters from Queensland,' p. 6o: "The timber, of course, when seen close at hand is strange. Boree and gidyah, coolibah and whitewood, brigelow, mulgah, and myall are the unfamiliar names by which you learn to recognise the commonest varieties." <hw>Borer</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to an Australian insect. See quotation. 1876. W. Harcus, `South Australia,' p. 110: "There is another destructive insect called the `borer,' not met with near the sea-coast, but very active and mischievous inland, its attacks being chiefly levelled against timber. This creature is about the size of a large fly." <hw>Boronia</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific and vernacular name of a genus of Australian plants, certain species of which are noted for their peculiar fragrance. The genus is especially characteristic of West Australia, to which out of fifty-nine species thirty-three are confined, while only five are known in Tasmania. Boronia belongs to the <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 72: <i>"Boronia variabilis</i>. A beautiful little heath-like plant growing about the Cascade and other hills round about Hobart Town. . . . This genus is named after Borone, an Italian servant of the late Dr. Sibthorp, who perished at Athens. . . .Another species found in Van Diemen's Land is the Lemon plant of the mountains." 1896. `The Melburnian,' vol. xxii., No. 3, August 28, p. 53: "Winter does not last for ever, and now at each street corner the scent of boronia and the odour of wattle-blossom greet us from baskets of the flower-girl." <hw>Boss-cockie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a slang name in the bush for a farmer, larger than a Cockatoo (see <i>Cockatoo, n</i>. 2), who employs other labour as well as working himself. <hw>Botany Bay</hw>, <i>n</i>. lying to the south of the entrance to Port Jackson, New South Wales, the destination of the first two shiploads of convicts from England. As a matter of fact, the settlement at Botany Bay never existed. The "First Fleet," consisting of eleven sail under Governor Phillip, arrived at Botany Bay on January 18, 1788. The Governor finding the place unsuitable for a settlement did not land his people, but on January 25 removed the fleet to Port Jackson. On the next day (January 26) he landed his people at Sydney Cove, and founded the city of Sydney. The name, however, citing to popular imagination, and was used sometimes as the name of Australia. Seventy years after Governor Phillip, English schoolboys used "go to Botany Bay" as an equivalent to "go to Bath." Captain Cook and his naturalists, Banks and Solander, landed at Botany Bay, and the name was given (not at first, when the Bay was marked Stingray, but a little later) from the large number of plants collected there. 1770. `Captain Cook's Original Journal,' ed. by Wharton, 1893, p. 247: "6 May. . . .The great quantity of plants Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander found in this place occasioned my giving it the Name of Botany Bay." 1789. [Title]: "The Voyage of Governor Phillip to Botany Bay," published in London. 1789. Captain Watkin Tench [Title]: "A Narrative of the Expedition to Botany Bay," published in London. 1793 G. Barrington [Title]: "Voyage to Botany Bay," [published in London.] This was the popular book on the new settlement, the others being high priced. As Lowndes says, "A work of no authority, but frequently printed." Barrington, the pickpocket, whose name it bears, had nothing to do with it. It was pirated from Phillip, Collins, etc. It went through various editions and enlargements to 1810 or later. After 1795 the name was altered to `Voyage to New South Wales.' 1798. D. Collins, `Account of the English Colony in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 502: "The word `Botany Bay' became a term of reproach that was indiscriminately cast on every one who resided in New South Wales." 1840. Thos. Hood, `Tale of a Trumpet: "The very next day She heard from her husband at Botany Bay." 1851. Rev. David Mackenzie, `Ten Years in Australia,' p. 50: ". . . a pair of artificially black eyes being the Botany Bay coat of arms." 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' Vol. ii. p. 91: "Some gentlemen, on a visit to a London theatre, to draw the attention of their friends in an opposite box, called out <i>cooey</i>; a voice in the gallery answered `Botany Bay!'" 1894. `Pall Mall Budget,' May 17, p. 20, col. 1: "The owner of the ship was an ex-convict in Sydney--then called Botany Bay--who had waxed wealthy on the profits of rum, and the `shangai-ing' of drugged sailors." <hw>Botany-Bay Greens</hw>, <i>n</i>. a vegetable common to all the colonies, <i>Atriplex cinereum</i>, Poir, <i>N.O. Salsolaceae</i>. 1810. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 263: "Botany Bay greens are abundant; they much resemble sage in appearance; and are esteemed a very good dish by the Europeans." 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 134: "I do not think it necessary to enter upon any description of the Barilla shrubs (<i>Atriplex halimus, Rhagodur billardiera</i>; and <i>Salicornia arbuscula</i>), which, with some others, under the promiscuous name of Botany Bay greens, were boiled and eaten along with some species of seaweed, by the earliest settlers, when in a state of starvation." 1835. Ibid. p. 69: "Atriplex Halimus. Barrilla. Botany Bay Greens. This is the plant so common on the shores of Cape Barren and other islands of the Straits, from which the alkaline salt is obtained and brought up in boats to the soap manufactory at Hobart Town. It has been set down as the same plant that grows on the coast of Spain and other parts of Europe." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 9: "Once used as a pot-herb in New South Wales. Leichhardt used a species of <i>Atriplex</i> as a vegetable, and spoke very highly of it." <hw>Botany-Bay Oak</hw>, or <hw>Botany-Bay Wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a trade name in England for the timber of <i>Casuarina</i>. See <i>Beef-wood</i>. <hw>Bottle-brush</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to various species of <i>Callistemon</i> and <i>Melaleuca</i>, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; the <i>Purple Bottle-brush</i> is <i>Melaleuca squamea</i>, Lab. The name is also more rarely given to species of <i>Banksia</i>, or <i>Honeysuckle</i> (q.v.). The name <i>bottle-brush</i> is from the resemblance of the large handsome blossoms to the brush used to clean out wine-bottles. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 359: "Red Bottle-brush. The flowers of some species of <i>Callistemon</i> are like bottle-brushes in shape." <hw>Bottle-Gourd</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian plant, <i>Lagenaria vulgaris</i>, Ser., <i>N.O. Cucurbitaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 192: "Bottle Gourd. This plant, so plentiful along the tropical coast of Queensland, is said to be a dangerous poison. It is said that some sailors were killed by drinking beer that had been standing for some time in a bottle formed of one of these fruits. (F. M. Bailey.)" <hw>Bottle-Swallow</hw>, <i>n</i>. a popular name for the bird <i>Lagenoplastis ariel</i>, otherwise called the <i>Fairy Martin</i>. See <i>Martin</i>. The name refers to the bird's peculiar retort shaped nest. <i>Lagenoplashs</i> is from the Greek <i>lagaenos</i>, a flagon, and <i>plautaes</i>, a modeller. The nests are often constructed in clusters under rocks or the eaves of buildings. The bird is widely distributed in Australia, and has occurred in Tasmania. <hw>Bottle-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, various species of <i>Sterculia</i>, i.q. <i>Kurrajong</i> (q.v.). So named from its appearance. See quotations. 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 264: "The sterculia, or bottle-tree, is a very singular curiosity. It generally varies in shape between a soda-water and port-wine bottle, narrow at the basis, gradually widening at the middle, and tapering towards the neck." 1848. L. Leichhardt, Letter in `Cooksland, by J. D. Lang, p. 91: "The most interesting tree of this Rosewood Brush is the true bottle-tree, a strange-looking unseemly tree, which swells slightly four to five feet high, and then tapers rapidly into a small diameter; the foliage is thin, the crown scanty and irregular, the leaves lanceolate, of a greyish green; the height of the whole tree is about forty-five feet." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 127: "It was on this range (Lat. 26 degrees, 42') that Mitchell saw the bottle-tree for the first time. It grew like an enormous pear-shaped turnip, with only a small portion of the root in the ground." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 60: "A `Kurrajong.' The `Bottle-tree' of N.E. Australia, and also called `Gouty-stem,' on account of the extraordinary shape of the trunk. It is the `Binkey' of the aboriginals. "The stem abounds in a mucilaginous substance resembling pure tragacanth, which is wholesome and nutritious, and is said to be used as an article of food by the aborigines in cases of extreme need. A similar clear jelly is obtainable by pouring boiling water on chips of the wood." <hw>Bottom</hw>, <i>n</i>. in gold-mining, the old river-bed upon which the wash-dirt rests, and upon which the richest alluvial gold is found; sometimes called the gutter. 1887. H. H. Hayter, `Christmas Adventure,' p. 5: "We reached the bottom, but did not find gold." <hw>Bottom</hw>, <i>v</i>. to get to the bedrock, or clay, below which it was useless to sink (gold-mining). 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria,' c. xv. p. 219: "In their anxiety to bottom their claims, they not seldom threw away the richest stuff." <hw>Boundary-rider</hw>, <i>n</i>. a man who rides round the fences of a station to see that they are in order. 1890. E. W. Hornung, `A Bride from the Bush,' p. 279: "A boundary-rider is not a `boss' in the Bush, but he is an important personage in his way. He sees that the sheep in his paddock draw to the water, that there is water for them to draw to, and that the fences and gates are in order. He is paid fairly, and has a fine, free, solitary life." 1892. `Scribner's Magazine,' Feb., p. 147: "The manager's lieutenants are the `boundary-riders,' whose duty it is to patrol the estate and keep him informed upon every portion of it." <hw>Bower-bird</hw> <i>n</i>. Australian bird. See quotation, 1891. See <i>Ptilonorhynchinae</i>. The following are the varieties--- Fawn-breasted Bower-bird-- <i>Chlamydoderea cerviniventris</i>, Gould. Golden B.-- <i>Prionodura newtoniana</i>, De Vis. Great B.-- <i>Chlambydodera nuchalis</i>, Gould (`Birds of Australia,' vol.iv. pl. 9). Queensland B.-- <i>C. orientalis</i>, Gould. Satin B.-- <i>Ptilonorhynchus violaceus</i>, Vieillot. Spotted B.-- <i>Chlamydodera maculata</i>, Gould (ibid. pl. 8). Yellow-spotted B.-- <i>C. gutttata</i>, Gould. And the <i>Regent-bird</i> (q.v.). 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 140: "The same person had the last season found, to his surprise, the playhouse, or bower, of the Australian satin bower-bird." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 28: "Any shred of glass or metal which arrests the eye or reflects the rays of the sun is a gem in the bower-bird's collection, which seems in a sense to parody the art decorations of a modern home." 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "In one is a representation of the playing place of the spotted bowerbird. These bowers are quite independent of the birds' nests, which are built on neighbouring trees. They first construct a covered passage or bower about three feet long, and near it they place every white or bright object they can find, such as the bleached bones of animals, pieces of white or coloured stone, feathers, shells, etc., etc.; the feathers they place on end. When these curious playing places were first discovered, they were thought to be made by the native women for the amusement of their children. More than a bushel of small pieces of bleached bones or shells are often found at one of these curious sporting places. Sometimes a dozen or more birds will assemble, and they delight in chasing each other through the bower and playing about it." <hw>Box</hw>, <hw>Box-tree</hw>, <hw>Box-gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied to many <i>Eucalypts</i>, and to a few trees of the genus <i>Tristania</i>, as given below, all of the <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, chiefly from the qualities of their timber, which more or less resembles "Boxwood." Most of these trees also bear other vernacular names, and the same tree is further often described vernacularly as different kinds of <i>Box. China-, Heath</i>-, and <i>Native-Box</i> (q.v. below) are of other Natural Orders and receive their names of <i>Box</i> from other reasons. The following table is compiled from Maiden:-- Bastard Box-- <i>Eucalyptus goniocalyx</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. largiflorens</i>, F. v. M. (called also <i>Cooburn</i>); <i>E. longifolia</i>, Link.; <i>E. microtheca</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. polyanthema</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. populifolia</i>, Hook. (called also Bembil or Bimbil Box and Red Box); <i>Tristania conferta</i>, R. Br.; <i>T. laurana</i>, R. Br., all of the <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Black Box-- <i>Eucalyptus obliqua</i>, L'Herit.; <i>E. largiflorens</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. microtheca</i>, F. v. M. Brisbane Box--- <i>Tristania conferta</i>, R. Br. Broad-leaved Box-- <i>Eucalyptus acmenoides</i>, Schau. Brown Box-- <i>Eucalyptus polyanthema</i>, Schau. Brush Box-- <i>Tristania conferta</i>, R. Br. China Box-- <i>Murraya exotica</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i> (not a tree, but a perfume plant, which is found also in India and China). Dwarf, or Flooded Box-- <i>Eucalyptus microtheca</i>, F. v. M. (Also called Swamp Gum, from its habit of growing on land inundated during flood time. An aboriginal name for the same tree is <i>goborro</i>.) Grey Box-- <i>Eucalyptus goniocalyx</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. hemiphloia</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. largiflorens</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. polyanthema</i>, Schau.; <i>E. saligna</i>, Smith. Gum-topped Box-- <i>Eucalyptus hemiphloia</i>, F. v. M. Heath Box-- <i>Alyxia buxifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Apocyneae</i> (called also <i>Tonga-beanwood</i>, owing to its scent) Iron-bark Box-- <i>Eucalyptus obliqua</i>, L'Herit. Narrow-leaved Box-- <i>Eucalyptus microtheca</i>, F. v. M. Native Box-- <i>Bursaria spinosa</i>, Cav., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. (Called also <i>Box-thorn</i> and <i>Native-Olive</i>. It is not a timber-tree but a forage- plant. See quotation, 1889.) Poplar Box-- <i>Eucalyptus populifolia</i>, Hook. Red Box-- <i>Eucalyptus populifolia</i>, Hook.; <i>E. polyanthema</i>, Schau.; <i>Tristania conferta</i>, R. Br. Thozet's Box-- <i>Eucalyptus raveretiana</i>, F. v. M. White Box-- <i>Eucalyptus hemiphloia</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. odorata</i>, Behr.; <i>E. populifolia</i>, Hook.; <i>Tristania conferta</i>, R. Br. Yellow Box-- <i>Eucalyptus hemiphloia</i>, F. v. M. <i>E. largiflorens</i>, F. v. M. <i>E. melliodora</i>, A. Cunn. 1820. John Oxley, `Two Expeditions,' p. 126: "The country continued open forest land for about three miles, the cypress and the bastard-box being the prevailing timber; of the former many were useful trees." 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions, vol. ii. p. 55: "The small kind of tree . . . which Mr. Oxley, I believe, terms the dwarf-box, grows only on plains subject to inundation . . . . It may be observed, however, that all permanent waters are invariably surrounded by the `yarra.' These peculiarities are only ascertained after examining many a hopeless hollow, where grew the `goborro' only; and after I had found my sable guides eagerly scanning the `yarra' from afar, when in search of water, and condemning any view of the `goborro' as hopeless during that dry season." [See <i>Yarra</i>, a tree.] 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. p. 6: "Belts of open forest land, principally composed of the box-tree of the colonists, a species of eucalyptus (in no respect resembling the box of Europe)." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 15: "The Honey-Eucalypt (<i>Eucalyptus melliodora</i>). This tree passes by the very unapt vernacular name Yellow Box-tree, though no portion of it is yellow, not even its wood, and though the latter resembles the real boxwood in no way whatever. Its systematic specific name alludes to the odour of its flowers, like that of honey, and as the blossoms exude much nectar, like most eucalypts, sought by bees, it is proposed to call it the small-leaved Honey-Eucalypt, but the Latin name might as easily be conveyed to memory, with the advantage of its being a universal one, understood and used by all nations." 1881. A.C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 46: "Poor country, covered with ti-tree, box, and iron-bark saplings, with here and there heavy timber growing on sour-looking ridges." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 7: "The clumps of box-gums clinging together for sympathy." 1888. J. Howlett Ross, `Laureate of the Centaurs,' p. 41: "Box shrubs which were not yet clothed with their creamy-white plumes (so like the English meadowsweet)." 1889. P. Beveridge, `Aborigines of Victoria and Riverina,' p. 59: "These spears are principally made from a tall-growing box (one of the eucalypts) which often attains to an altitude of over 100 feet; it is indigenous to the north-western portion of the colony, and to Riverina; it has a fine wavy grain, consequently easily worked when in a green state. When well seasoned, however, it is nearly as hard as ebony." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 121: "Native box is greedily eaten by sheep, but its thorny character preserves it from extinction upon sheep-runs: usually a small scrub, in congenial localities it developes into a small tree." <hw>Box</hw>, <i>n</i>. See succeeding <i>verb</i>. 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 67: "Great care must of course be taken that no two flocks come into collision, for a `box,' as it is technically called, causes an infinity of trouble, which is the reason that the stations are so far apart." <hw>Box</hw>, <i>v</i>. to mix together sheep that ought to be kept separate apparently from "to box" in the sense of to shut up in narrow limits (`O.E.D.' v. i. 5); then to shut up together and so confuse the classification; then the sense of shutting up is lost and that of confusion remains. 1881. A.C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 253: "All the mobs of different aged lambs which had been hitherto kept apart were boxed up together." 1889. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 356: "After they'd got out twenty or thirty they'd get boxed, like a new hand counting sheep, and have to begin all over again." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 84: "At nightfall, the fifteen flocks of sheep were all brought in, and `boxed,' or mixed together, to Ernest's astonishment." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 166: "He must keep tally when the sheep are being counted or draughted, I'm not sure which, and swear--no, he needn't swear--when they get boxed." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 54: "But the travelling sheep and the Wilga sheep were boxed on the Old Man Plain. 'Twas a full week's work ere they drafted out and hunted them off again." <hw>Boxer</hw>, <i>n</i>. This word means in Australia the stiff, low-crowned, felt hat, called a <i>billy-cock</i> or <i>bowler</i>. The silk-hat is called a <i>bell-topper</i> (q.v.). 1897. `The Argus,' Jan. 9, p. 14, col. 2: "And will you wear a boxer that is in a battered state ? I wonder, will you--now that you're a knight?" <hw>Box-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand wood, <i>Olea lanceolata</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Jasminea</i> (Maori name, <i>Maire</i>). Used by the `Wellington Independent' (April 19, 1845) for woodcuts, and recommended as superior to box-wood for the purpose. See also <i>Box, n</i>. <hw>Boyla</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal word for a sorcerer. 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. i. p. 384: "The absolute power of boylas or evil sorcerers . . . he chanted gloomily:-- Oh, wherefore would they eat the muscles? Now boylas storm and thunder make. Oh, wherefore would they eat the muscles ?" <hw>Bramble, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Blackberry</i>. <hw>Bread, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a kind of fungus. "The sclerotium of <i>Polyporus mylitta</i>, C. et M. Until quite recently the sclerotium was known, but not the fructification. It was thought probable that its fruit would be ascomycetous, and on the authority of Berkeley it was made the type of a genus as <i>Mylitta Australis</i>. It is found throughout Eastern Australia and Tasmania. The aborigines ate it, but to the European palate it is tough and tasteless, and probably as indigestible as leather." (L. Rodway.) 1843. James Backhouse, `Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies,' p. 40: "Natural Order. Fungi. . . . <i>Mylitta Australis</i>. Native Bread. This species of tuber is often found in the Colony, attaining to the size of a child's head: its taste somewhat resembles boiled rice. Like the heart of the Tree-fern, and the root of the Native Potato, cookery produces little change." 1848. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 157: "11th October, 1848 . . . Specimens of the <i>fungus</i> known as `native bread,' <i>Mylitta Australis</i>, lay upon the table. A member observed that this substance, grated and made into a pudding with milk alone, had been found by him very palatable. Prepared in the same way, and combined with double its weight of rice or sago, it has produced a very superior dish. It has also been eaten with approval in soup, after the manner of <i>truffle</i>, to which it is nearly allied." 1857. Dr. Milligan, in Bishop Nixon's `Cruise of the Beacon,' p. 27: "But that which afforded the largest amount of solid and substantial nutritious matter was the <i>native bread</i>, a fungus growing in the ground, after the manner of the truffle, and generally so near the roots of trees as to be reputed parasitical." 1896. `Hobart Mercury,' Oct. 30, p. 2, last col.: "A large specimen of `native bread,' weighing 12 lb., has been unearthed on Crab Tree farm in the Huon district, by Mr. A. Cooper. It has been brought to town, and is being examined with interest by many at the British Hotel. It is one of the fungi tribe that forms hard masses of stored food for future use." <hw>Breadfruit-tree</hw>, name given by the explorer Leichhardt to the Queensland tree, <i>Gardenia edulis</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Rubiaceae</i>. <hw>Breakaway</hw>, <i>n</i>.(1) A bullock that leaves the herd. 1893. `The Argus,' April 29, p. 4, col. 4: "The smartest stock horse that ever brought his rider up within whip distance of a breakaway or dodged the horns of a sulky beast, took the chance." (2) The panic rush of sheep, cattle, or other animals at the sight or smell of water. 1891: "The Breakaway," title of picture by Tom Roberts at Victorian Artists' Exhibition. <hw>Bream</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied in Australia to various species of <i>Chrysophrys</i>, family <i>Sparidae</i>, and to other fishes of different families. The <i>Black-Bream</i> (q.v.) is <i>C. australis</i>, Gunth. The <i>Bony-Bream</i> is also called the <i>Sardine</i> (q.v.). The <i>Silver-Bream</i> (q.v.) or <i>White-Bream</i> is <i>Gerres ovatus</i>, Gunth., family <i>Percidae</i>. The <i>Red-Bream</i> is a Schnapper (q.v.) one year old. The popular pronunciation is <i>Brim</i>, and the fishes are all different from the various fishes called <i>Bream</i> in the northern hemisphere. See also <i>Tarwhine</i> and <i>Blue-fish</i>. <hw>Brickfielder</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Originally a Sydney name for a cold wind, blowing from the south and accompanied by blinding clouds of dust; identical with the later name for the wind, the <i>Southerly Buster</i> (q.v.). The brickfields lay to the south of Sydney, and when after a hot wind from the west or north-west, the wind went round to the south, it was accompanied by great clouds of dust, brought up from the brickfields. These brickfields have long been a thing of the past, surviving only in "Brickfield Hill," the hilly part of George Street, between the Cathedral and the Railway Station. The name, as denoting a cold wind, is now almost obsolete, and its meaning has been very curiously changed and extended to other colonies to denote a very hot wind. See below (Nos. 2 and 3), and the notes to the quotations. 1833. Lieut. Breton, R.N., `Excursions in New South Wales and Van Diemen's Land,' p. 293: "It sometimes happens that a change takes place from a hot wind to a `brickfielder,' on which occasions the thermometer has been known to fall, within half an hour, <i>upwards of fifty degrees</i>! That is to say, from above 100 degrees to 50 degrees! A brickfielder is a southerly wind, and it takes its local name from the circumstances of its blowing over, and bringing into town the flames [sic] of a large brick-field: it is nearly as detestable as a hot wind." [Lieut. Breton must have had a strong imagination. The brickfields, at that date, were a mile away from the town, and the bringing in of their <i>flames</i> was an impossibility. Perhaps, however, the word is a misprint for <i>fumes</i>; yet even then this earliest quotation indicates part of the source of the subsequent confusion of meaning. The main characteristic of the true brickfielder was neither <i>flames</i> nor <i>fumes</i>,--and certainly not heat,--but choking dust.] 1839. W. H. Leigh, `Reconnoitering Voyages, Travels, and Adventures in the new Colony of South Australia,' etc., p. 184: "Whirlwinds of sand come rushing upon the traveller, half blinding and choking him,--a miniature sirocco, and decidedly cousin-german to the delightful sandy puffs so frequent at Cape Town. The inhabitants call these miseries `Brickfielders,' but why they do so I am unable to divine; probably because they are in their utmost vigour on a certain hill here, where bricks are made." [This writer makes no allusion to the temperature of the wind, whether hot or cold, but lays stress on its especial characteristic, the dust. His comparison with the sirocco chiefly suggests the clouds of sand brought by that wind from the Libyan Desert, with its accompanying thick haze and darkness (`half blinding and choking'), rather than its relaxing warmth.] 1844. John Rae, `Sydney Illustrated,' p. 26: "The `brickfielder' is merely a colonial name for a violent gust of wind, which, succeeding a season of great heat, rushes in to supply the vacuum and equalises the temperature of the atmosphere; and when its baneful progress is marked, sweeping over the city in thick clouds of brick-coloured dust (from the brickfields), it is time for the citizens to close the doors and windows of their dwellings, and for the sailor to take more than half his canvas in, and prepare for a storm." [Here the characteristic is again <i>dust</i> from the brickfields, as the origin of the name, with cold as an accompaniment.] 1844. Mrs.Meredith, `Notes and Sketches of New South Wales,' p. 44: "These dust winds are locally named `brickfielders,' from the direction in which they come" [i.e. from neighbouring sandhills, called the brickfields]. [Here <i>dust</i> is the only characteristic observed, with the direction of the wind as the origin of its name.] 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 4: "The greatest peculiarity in the climate is what is called by colonists a brickfielder. This wind has all the characteristics of a sirocco in miniature . . . . Returning home, he discovers that the house is full of sand; that the brickfielder has even insinuated itself between the leaves of his books; at dinner he will probably find that his favourite fish has been spoiled by the brickfielder. Nor is this all; for on retiring to rest he will find that the brickfielder has intruded even within the precincts of his musquito curtains." [Here again its <i>dust</i> is noted as the distinguishing feature of the wind, just as sand is the distinguishing feature of the `sirocco' in the Libyan Desert, and precipitated sand,--`blood rain' or `red snow,'--a chief character of the sirocco after it reaches Italy.] 1847. Alex. Marjoribanks, `Travels in New South Wales,' p. 61: "The hot winds which resemble the siroccos in Sicily are, however, a drawback . . . but they are almost invariably succeeded by what is there called a `brickfielder,' which is a strong southerly wind, which soon cools the air, and greatly reduces the temperature." [Here the cold temperature of the brickfielder is described, but not its <i>dust</i>, and the writer compares the hot wind which precedes the brickfielder with the sirocco. He in fact thinks only of the heat of the sirocco, but the two preceding writers are thinking of its sand, its thick haze, its quality of <i>blackness</i> and its suffocating character,--all which applied accurately to the true <i>brickfielder</i>.] 1853. Rev. H. Berkeley Jones, `Adventures in Australia in 1852 and 1853,' p. 228: "After the languor, the lassitude, and enervation which some persons experience during these hot blasts, comes the `Brickfielder,' or southerly burster." [Cold temperature noticed, but not <i>dust</i>.] 1853. `Fraser's Magazine,' 48, p. 515: "When the wind blows strongly from the southward, it is what the Sydney people call a `brickfielder'; that is, it carries with it dense clouds of red dust or sand, like brick dust, swept from the light soil which adjoins the town on that side, and so thick that the houses and streets are actually hidden; it is a darkness that may be felt." [Here it is the <i>dust</i>, not the temperature, which determines the name.] (2) The very opposite to the original meaning,--a severe hot wind. In this inverted sense the word is now used, but not frequently, in Melbourne and in Adelaide, and sometimes even in Sydney, as the following quotations show. It will be noted that one of them (1886) observes the original prime characteristic of the wind, its <i>dust</i>. 1861. T. McCombie,' Australian Sketches,' p. 79: "She passed a gang of convicts, toiling in a broiling `brickfielder.'" 1862. F. J. Jobson, `Australia with Notes by the Way,' p. 155: "The `brickfielders' are usually followed, before the day closes, with `south-busters' [sic.]." 1886. F. Cowan, `Australia, a Charcoal Sketch': "The Buster and Brickfielder: austral red-dust blizzard; and red-hot Simoom." This curious inversion of meaning (the change from cold to hot) may be traced to several causes. It may arise-- (a) From the name itself. People in Melbourne and Adelaide, catching at the word <i>brickfielder</i> as a name for a <i>dusty</i> wind, and knowing nothing of the origin of the name, would readily adapt it to their own severe hot north winds, which raise clouds of dust all day, and are described accurately as being `like a blast from a furnace,' or `the breath of a brick-kiln.' Even a younger generation in Sydney, having received the word by colloquial tradition, losing its origin, and knowing nothing of the old brickfields, might apply the word to a hot blast in the same way. (b) From the peculiar phenomenon.--A certain cyclonic change of temperature is a special feature of the Australian coastal districts. A raging hot wind from the interior desert (north wind in Melbourne and Adelaide, west wind in Sydney) will blow for two or three days, raising clouds of dust; it will be suddenly succeeded by a `<i>Southerly Buster'</i> from the ocean, the cloud of dust being greatest at the moment of change, and the thermometer falling sometimes forty or fifty degrees in a few minutes. The Sydney word <i>brickfielder</i> was assigned originally to the latter part--the <i>dusty</i> cold change. Later generations, losing the finer distinction, applied the word to the whole dusty phenomenon,and ultimately specialized it to denote not so much the extreme dustiness of its later period as the more disagreeable extreme heat of its earlier phase. (c) From the apparent, though not real, confusion of terms, by those who have described it as a `sirocco.'--The word <i>sirocco</i> (spelt earlier <i>schirocco</i>, and in Spanish and other languages with the <i>sh</i> sound, not the <i>s</i>) is the Italian equivalent of the Arabic root <i>sharaga</i>, `it rose.' The name of the wind, <i>sirocco</i>, alludes in its original Arabic form to its rising, with its cloud of sand, in the desert high-lands of North Africa. True, it is defined by Skeat as `a hot wind,' but that is only a part of its definition. Its marked characteristic is that it is <i>sand-laden</i>, densely hazy and black, and therefore `choking,' like the <i>brickfielder</i>. The not unnatural assumption that writers by comparing a <i>brickfielder</i> with a <i>sirocco</i>, thereby imply that a <i>brickfielder</i> is a hot wind, is thus disposed of by this characteristic, and by the notes on the passages quoted. They were dwelling only on its choking <i>dust</i>, and its suffocating qualities,--`a miniature sirocco.' See the following quotations on this character of the sirocco:-- 1841. `Penny Magazine,' Dec. 18, p. 494: "The Islands of Italy, especially Sicily and Corfu, are frequently visited by a wind of a remarkable character, to which the name of sirocco, scirocco, or schirocco, has been applied. The thermometer rises to a great height, but the air is generally thick and heavy . . . . People confine themselves within doors; the windows and doors are shut close, to prevent as much as possible the external air from entering; . . . but a few hours of the <i>tramontane</i>, or north wind which generally succeeds it, soon braces them up again. [Compare this whole phenomenon with (b) above.] There are some peculiar circumstances attending the wind. . . . Dr. Benza, an Italian physician, states:--`When the sirocco has been impetuous and violent, and followed by a shower of rain, the rain has carried with it to the ground an almost impalpable red micaceous sand, which I have collected in large quantities more than once in Sicily. . . . When we direct our attention to the island of Corfu, situated some distance eastward of Sicily, we find the sirocco assuming a somewhat different character. . . . The more eastern sirocco might be called a refreshing breeze [sic]. . . . The genuine or black sirocco (as it is called) blows from a point between south-east and south-south-east.'" 1889. W. Ferrell, `Treatise on Winds,' p. 336: "The dust raised from the Sahara and carried northward by the sirocco often falls over the countries north of the Mediterranean as `blood rain,' or as `red snow,' the moisture and the sand falling together. . . .The temperature never rises above 95 degrees." 1889. `The Century Dictionary,' s.v. Sirocco: "(2) A hot, dry, dust-laden wind blowing from the highlands of Africa to the coasts of Malta, Sicily and Naples. . . . During its prevalence the sky is covered with a dense haze." (3) The illustrative quotations on <i>brickfielder</i>, up to this point, have been in chronological consecutive order. The final three quotations below show that while the original true definition and meaning, (1), are still not quite lost, yet authoritative writers find it necessary to combat the modern popular inversion, (2). 1863. Frank Fowler, `The Athenaeum,' Feb. 21, p. 264, col. 1: "The `brickfielder' is not the hot wind at all; it is but another name for the cold wind, or southerly buster, which follows the hot breeze, and which, blowing over an extensive sweep of sandhills called the Brickfields, semi-circling Sydney, carries a thick cloud of dust (or `brickfielder') across the city." [The writer is accusing Dr. Jobson (see quotation 1862, above) of plagiarism from his book `Southern Lights and Shadows.'] 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' vol. ii. p. 11: "A dust which covered and penetrated everything and everywhere. This is generally known as a `brickfielder.'" 1896. `Three Essays on Australian Weather,' `On Southerly Buster,' by H. A. Hunt, p. 17: "In the early days of Australian settlement, when the shores of Port Jackson were occupied by a sparse population, and the region beyond was unknown wilderness and desolation, a great part of the Haymarket was occupied by the brickfields from which Brickfield Hill takes its name. When a `Southerly Burster' struck the infant city, its approach was always heralded by a cloud of reddish dust from this locality, and in consequence the phenomenon gained the local name of `brickfielder.' The brickfields have long since vanished, and with them the name to which they gave rise, but the wind continues to raise clouds of dust as of old under its modern name of `Southerly Burster." <hw>Bricklow</hw>, <i>n</i>. obsolete form of <i>Brigalow</i> (q.v.). <hw>Brigalow</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. Spellings various. Native name, <i>Buriargalah</i>. In the Namoi dialect in New South Wales, <i>Bri</i> or <i>Buri</i> is the name for <i>Acacia pendula</i>, Cunn.; <i>Buriagal</i>, relating to the <i>buri; Buriagalah</i> == place of the <i>buri</i> tree. Any one of several species of <i>Acacia</i>, especially <i>A. harpophylla</i>, F. v. M., <i>H.O. Leguminosae</i>. J. H. Maiden (`Useful Native Plants,' p. 356, 1889) gives its uses thus: "Wood brown, hard, heavy, and elastic; used by the natives for spears, boomerangs, and clubs. The wood splits freely, and is used for fancy turnery. Saplings used as stakes in vineyards have lasted twenty years or more. It is used for building purposes, and has a strong odour of violets.' 1846. L. Leichhardt, quoted by J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 312: "Almost impassable bricklow scrub, so called from the bricklow (a species of acacia)." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 4: "The Bricklow Acacia, which seems to be identical with the Rosewood Acacia of Moreton Bay; the latter, however, is a fine tree, 50 to 60 feet high, whereas the former is either a small tree or a shrub. I could not satisfactorily ascertain the origin of the word Bricklow, but as it is well understood and generally adopted by all the squatters between the Severn River and the Boyne, I shall make use of the name. Its long, slightly falcate leaves, being of a silvery green colour, give a peculiar character to the forest, where the tree abounds."--[Footnote]: "<i>Brigaloe</i> Gould." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 79: "Good-bye to the Barwan and brigalow scrubs." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 190: "Now they pass through a small patch of Brigalow scrub. Some one has split a piece from a trunk of a small tree. What a scent the dark-grained wood has!" 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia;' vol. iv. p. 69: "There exudes from the Brigalow a white gum, in outward appearance like gum-arabic, and even clearer, but as a `sticker' valueless, and as a `chew-gum' disappointing." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 23: "The glare of a hard and pitiless sky overhead, the infinite vista of saltbush, brigalow, stay-a-while, and mulga, the creeks only stretches of stone, and no shelter from the shadeless gums." <hw>Brill</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small and very bony rhomboidal fish of New Zealand, <i>Pseudorhombus scaphus</i>, family <i>Pleuronectidae</i>. The true <i>Brill</i> of Europe is <i>Rhombus levis</i>. <hw>Brisbane Daisy</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Daisy, Brisbane</i>. <hw>Bristle-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to certain Australian Reed-warblers. They are--<i>Sphenura brachyptera</i>, Latham; Long-tailed B.--<i>S. longirostris</i>, Gould; Rufous-headed B.--<i>S. broadbentii</i>, McCoy. See <i>Sphenura</i>. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 232: "He (Mr. Caley) calls it in his notes `Bristle Bird.'" <hw>Broad-leaf</hw>, <i>n</i>. a settlers' name for <i>Griselinia littoralis</i>, Raoul; Maori name, <i>Paukatea</i>. 1879. W. N. Blair, `Building Materials of Otago,' p. 155: "There are few trees in the [Otago] bush so conspicuous or so well known as the broad-leaf. . . . It grows to a height of fifty or sixty feet, and a diameter of from three to six; the bark is coarse and fibrous, and the leaves a beautiful deep green of great brilliancy." 1879. J. B. Armstrong, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xii. Art. 49, p. 328: "The broadleaf (<i>Griselinia littoralis</i>) is abundant in the district [of Banks' Peninsula], and produces a hard red wood of a durable nature." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 103: "The rough trunks and limbs of the broadleaf." <hw>Broker</hw>, <i>n</i>. Australian slang for a man completely ruined, stonebroke. 1891. `The Australasian,' Nov. 21, p. 1014: "We're nearly `dead brokers,' as they say out here. Let's harness up Eclipse and go over to old Yamnibar." <hw>Bronze-wing</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird with a lustrous shoulder, <i>Phaps chalcoptera</i>, Lath. Called also <i>Bronze-wing Pigeon</i>. 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 145: "One of the gold-winged pigeons, of which a plate is annexed. [Under plate, Golden-winged Pigeon.] This bird is a curious and singular species remarkable for having most of the feathers of the wing marked with a brilliant spot of golden yellow, changing, in various reflections of light, to green and copper-bronze, and when the wing is closed, forming two bars of the same across it." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii. p. 31: "The pigeons are by far the most beautiful birds in the island; they are called bronze-winged pigeons." 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. ii. p. 57: "Mr. Fitzpatrick followed his kangaroo hounds, and shot his emus, his wild turkeys, and his bronze-wings." 1865. `Once a Week.' `The Bulla-Bulla Bunyip.' "Hours ago the bronze-wing pigeons had taken their evening draught from the coffee-coloured water-hole beyond the butcher's paddock, and then flown back into the bush to roost on `honeysuckle' and in heather." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 122: "Another most beautiful pigeon is the `bronze-wing,' which is nearly the size of the English wood-pigeon, and has a magnificent purply-bronze speculum on the wings." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 33: "Both the bronze-wing and Wonga-Wonga pigeon are hunted so keenly that in a few years they will have become extinct in Victoria." 1893. `The Argus,' March 25, p. 4, col. 6: "Those who care for museum studies must have been interested in tracing the Australian quail and pigeon families to a point where they blend their separate identities in the partridge bronze-wing of the Central Australian plains. The eggs mark the converging lines just as clearly as the birds, for the partridge-pigeon lays an egg much more like that of a quail than a pigeon, and lays, quail fashion, on the ground." <hw>Brook-Lime</hw>, <i>n</i>. English name for an aquatic plant, applied in Australia to the plant <i>Gratiola pedunculata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Scrophularinae</i>. Also called <i>Heartsease</i>. <hw>Broom</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to the plant <i>Calycothrix tetragona</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. <hw>Broom, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber, <i>Viminaria denudala</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 612: "Native broom. Wood soft and spongy." <hw>Broom, Purple</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for <i>Comesperma retusum</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Polygaleae</i>. <hw>Brown Snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Brown-tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. bird-name for the <i>Tasmanian Tit</i>. See <i>Tit</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii, pl. 54: "<i>Acanthiza Diemenensis</i>, Gould. Brown-tail, colonists of Van Diemen's Land." <hw>Brown Tree-Lizard</hw>, <i>n</i>. of New Zealand, <i>Naultinus pacificus</i>. <hw>Browny</hw> or <hw>Brownie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a kind of currant loaf. 1890. E. D. Cleland, `The White kangaroo,' p. 57: "Cake made of flour, fat and sugar, commonly known as `Browny.'" 1890. `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 57: "Four o'clock. `Smoke O!' again with more bread and brownie (a bread sweetened with sugar and currants)." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass,' p. 36: "Roast mutton and brownie are given us to eat." <hw>Brumby, Broombie</hw> (spelling various), <i>n</i>. a wild horse. The origin of this word is very doubtful. Some claim for it an aboriginal, and some an English source. In its present shape it figures in one aboriginal vocabulary, given in Curr's `Australian Race' (1887), vol. iii. p. 259. At p. 284, <i>booramby</i> is given as meaning "wild" on the river Warrego in Queensland. The use of the word seems to have spread from the Warrego and the Balowne about 1864. Before that date, and in other parts of the bush ere the word came to them, wild horses were called <i>clear-skins</i> or <i>scrubbers</i>, whilst <i>Yarraman</i> (q.v.) is the aboriginal word for a quiet or broken horse. A different origin was, however, given by an old resident of New South Wales, to a lady of the name of Brumby, viz. "that in the early days of that colony, a Lieutenant Brumby, who was on the staff of one of the Governors, imported some very good horses, and that some of their descendants being allowed to run wild became the ancestors the wild horses of New South Wales and Queensland." Confirmation of this story is to be desired. 1880. `The Australasian,' Dec. 4, p. 712, col. 3: "Passing through a belt of mulga, we saw, on reaching its edge, a mob of horses grazing on the plains beyond. These our guide pronounced to be `brumbies,' the bush name here [Queensland] for wild horses." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 176: "The wild horses of this continent known all over it by the Australian name of `brumbies.'" Ibid. p. 178: "The untamed and `unyardable' scrub brumby." 1888. R. Kipling, `Plain Tales from the Hills,' p. 160: "Juggling about the country, with an Australian larrikin; a `brumby' with as much breed as the boy. . . . People who lost money on him called him a `brumby.'" 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms.' p. 67: "The three-cornered weed he rode that had been a `brumbee.'" 1895. `Chambers' Journal,' Nov. 2, Heading `Australian Brumbie Horses': "The brumbie horse of Australia, tho' not a distinct equine variety, possesses attributes and qualities peculiar to itself, and, like the wild cattle and wild buffaloes of Australia, is the descendant of runaways of imported stock." 1896. `Sydney Morning Herald,' (Letter from `J. F. G.,' dated Aug. 24): "Amongst the blacks on the Lower Balonne, Nebine, Warrego, and Bulloo rivers the word used for horse is `baroombie,' the `a' being cut so short that the word sounds as `broombie,' and as far as my experience goes refers more to unbroken horses in distinction to quiet or broken ones (`yarraman')." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 156: "Yet at times we long to gallop where the reckless bushman rides In the wake of startled brumbies that are flying for their hides." <hw>Brush</hw>, <i>n</i>. at first undergrowth, small trees, as in England; afterwards applied to larger timber growth and forest trees. Its earlier sense survives in the compound words; see below. 1820. Oxley, `New South Wales' (`O.E.D.'): "The timber standing at wide intervals, without any brush or undergrowth." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' (2nd ed.) vol. i. p. 62: "We journeyed . . . at one time over good plains, at another through brushes." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. i. Introd. p. 77: "Jungle, or what in New South Wales would be called brush." Ibid. vol. v. Pl. 59: "Those vast primeval forests of New South Wales to which the colonists have applied the name of brushes." 1853. Chas. St. Julian and Edward K. Silvester, `The Productions, Industry, and Resources of New South Wales,' p. 20: "What the colonists term `brush' lands are those covered with tall trees growing so near each other and being so closely matted together by underwood, parasites, and creepers, as to be wholly impassable." 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 67, note: "Brush was allotted to the growth of large timber on alluvial lands, with other trees intermixed, and tangled vines. The soil was rich, and `brushland' was well understood as a descriptive term. It may die away, but its meaning deserves to be pointed out." <hw>Brush-Apple</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Apple</i>. <hw>Brush-Bloodwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Bloodwood</i>. <hw>Brush-Cherry</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Trochocarpa laurina</i>, R. Br., and <i>Eugenia myrtifolia</i>, Simms. Called also <i>Brush-Myrtle</i>. <hw>Brush-Deal</hw>, <i>n</i>. a slender Queensland tree, <i>Cupania anacardioides</i>, A. Richard. See <i>Brush</i>, above. <hw>Brusher</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Bushman's name, in certain parts, for a small wallaby which hops about in the bush or scrub with considerable speed. "To give brusher," is a phrase derived from this, and used in many parts, especially of the interior of Australia, and implies that a man has left without paying his debts. In reply to the question "Has so-and-so left the township? "the answer, "Oh yes, he gave them brusher," would be well understood in the above sense. <hw>Brush-Kangaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Wallaby</i> (q.v.). 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. viii. p. 273: "A place . . . thickly inhabited by the small brush-kangaroo." 1830. `Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society,' i. 29: "These dogs . . . are particularly useful in catching the bandicoots, the small brush kangaroo, and the opossum." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 28: "The brush-kangaroo . . . frequents the scrubs and rocky hills." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. iii. p. 24: "Violet was so fast that she could catch the brush-kangaroo (the wallaby) within sight." <hw>Brush-Myrtle</hw>, i.q. <i>Brush-Cherry</i> (q.v.) <hw>Brush-Turkey</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Turkey</i>. <hw>Brush-Turpentine</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the tree <i>Syncarpia leptopetala</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, called also <i>Myrtle</i> (q.v.). <hw>Bubrush</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wonga</i> and <i>Raupo</i>. <hw>Buck</hw>, <i>v</i>. Used "intransitively of a horse, to leap vertically from the ground, drawing the feet together like a deer, and arching the back. Also transitively to buck off." (`O.E.D.') Some say that this word is not Australian, but all the early quotations of <i>buck</i> and cognate words are connected with Australia. The word is now used freely in the United States; see quotation, 1882. 1870. E. B. Kennedy, `Four Years in Queensland,' p. 193: "Having gained his seat by a nimble spring, I have seen a man (a Sydney native) so much at his ease, that while the horse has been `bucking a hurricane,' to use a colonial expression, the rider has been cutting up his tobacco and filling his pipe, while several feet in the air, nothing to front of him excepting a small lock of the animal's mane (the head being between its legs), and very little behind him, the stern being down; the horse either giving a turn to the air, or going forward every buck." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 131: "`Well,' said one, `that fellow went to market like a bird.' `Yes,' echoed another, `Bucked a blessed hurricane.' `Buck a town down,' cried a third. `Never seed a horse strip himself quicker,' cried a fourth." 1882. Baillie-Grohman, `Camps in the Rockies,' ch. iv. p. 102 ('Standard'): "There are two ways, I understand, of sitting a bucking horse . . . one is `to follow the buck,' the other `to receive the buck.'" 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 55: "The performance is quite peculiar to Australian horses, and no one who has not seen them at it would believe the rapid contortions of which they are capable. In bucking, a horse tucks his head right between his fore-legs, sometimes striking his jaw with his hind feet. The back meantime is arched like a boiled prawn's; and in this position the animal makes a series of tremendous bounds, sometimes forwards, sometimes sideways and backwards, keeping it up for several minutes at intervals of a few seconds." <hw>Buck</hw>, <i>n</i>. See preceding verb. 1868. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 224: "I never saw such bucks and jumps into the air as she [the mare] performed." 1886. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 206: "For, mark me, he can sit a buck For hours and hours together; And never horse has had the luck To pitch him from the leather." <hw>Bucker</hw>, <hw>Buck-jumper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a horse given to bucking or buck-jumping. 1853. H. Berkeley Jones, `Adventures in Australia in 1852 and 1853,' [Footnote] p. 143: "A `bucker' is a vicious horse, to be found only in Australia." 1884. `Harper's Magazine,' July, No. 301, p. 1 (`O.E.D.'): "If we should . . . select a `bucker,' the probabilities are that we will come to grief." 1893. Haddon Chambers, `Thumbnail Sketches of Australian Life,' p. 64: "No buck jumper could shake him off." 1893. Ibid. p. 187: "`Were you ever on a buck-jumper?' I was asked by a friend, shortly after my return from Australia." <hw>Buck-jumping</hw>, <hw>Bucking</hw>, <i>verbal nouns</i>. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 43: "At length it shook off all its holders, and made one of those extraordinary vaults that they call <i>buck-jumping</i>." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' vol. ii. p. 212: "That same bucking is just what puzzles me utterly." 1859. Rev. J. D. Mereweather, `Diary of a Working Clergyman in Australia and Tasmania, kept during the years 1850-1853,' p. 177: "I believe that an inveterate buckjumper can be cured by slinging up one of the four legs, and lunging him about severely in heavy ground on the three legs. The action they must needs make use of on such an occasion somewhat resembles the action of bucking; and after some severe trials of that sort, they take a dislike to the whole style of thing. An Irishman on the Murrumbidgee is very clever at this schooling. It is called here `turning a horse inside out.'" 1885. Forman (Dakota), item 26, May 6, 3 (`O.E.D.'): "The majority of the horses there [in Australia] are vicious and given to the trick of buck jumping." [It may be worth while to add that this is not strictly accurate.] 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 94: "`I should say that buck jumping was produced in this country by bad breaking,' said Mr. Neuchamp oracularly. `Don't you believe it, sir. Bucking is like other vices--runs in the blood.'" <hw>Buck-shot</hw>, <i>n</i>. a settlers' term for a geological formation. See quotation. 1851. `The Australasian Quarterly,' p. 459: "The plain under our feet was everywhere furrowed by <i>Dead men's graves</i>, and generally covered with the granulated lava, aptly named by the settlers <i>buck-shot</i>, and found throughout the country on these trappean `formations. <i>Buck-shot</i> is always imbedded in a sandy alluvium, sometimes several feet thick." <hw>Buddawong</hw>, <i>n</i>. a variation of <i>Burrawang</i> (q.v.). 1877. Australie, `The Buddawong's Crown,' `Australian Poets,' 1788-1888, ed. Sladen, p. 39: "A Buddawong seed-nut fell to earth, In a cool and mossy glade, And in spring it shot up its barbed green swords, Secure 'neath the myrtle's shade. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And the poor, poor palm has died indeed. But little the strangers care, `There are zamias in plenty more,' they say, But the crown is a beauty rare." <hw>Budgeree</hw>, <i>adj</i>. aboriginal word for good, which is common colloquially in the bush. See <i>Budgerigar</i>. 1793. J.Hunter, `Port Jackson,' p. 195: "They very frequently, at the conclusion of the dance, would apply to us . . . for marks of our approbation . . . which we never failed to give by often repeating the word <i>boojery</i>, good; or <i>boojery caribberie</i>, a good dance." <hw>Budgerigar</hw>, or <hw>Betcherrygah</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the bird called by Gould the <i>Warbling Grass-parrakeet</i>; called also <i>Shell-parrot</i> and <i>Zebra- Grass-parrakeet</i>. In the Port Jackson dialect <i>budgeri</i>, or <i>boodgeri</i>, means good, excellent. In `Collins' Vocabulary' (1798), boodjer-re = good. In New South Wales <i>gar</i> is common as first syllable of the name for the white cockatoo, as <i>garaweh</i>. See <i>Galah</i>. In the north of New South Wales <i>kaar</i>= white cockatoo. The spelling is very various, but the first of the two above given is the more correct etymologically. In the United States it is spelt <i>beauregarde</i>, derived by `Standard' from French <i>beau</i> and <i>regarde</i>, a manifest instance of the law of <i>Hobson -Jobson</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 297: "The betshiregah (<i>Melopsittacus Undulatus</i>, Gould) were very numerous." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. Pl. 44: "<i>Melopsittacus Undulatus</i>. Warbling Grass-Parrakeet. Canary Parrot--colonists. <i>Betcherrygah</i>--natives of Liverpool Plains." 1857. Letter, Nov.17, in `Life of Fenton J. A. Hort' (1896), vol. i. p. 388: "There is also a small green creature like a miniature cockatoo, called a Budgeragar, which was brought from Australia. He is quaint and now and then noisy, but not on the whole a demonstrative being." 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. i. p. 48: "Young paroquets, the green leeks, and the lovely speckled budgregores." 1865. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 7: "I saw several pairs of those pretty grass or zebra parroquets, which are called here by the very inharmonious name of `budgereghars.'" 2890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. xiv. p. 127: "The tiny budgeriegar, sometimes called the shell parrot." <hw>Bugle</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the Australian plant <i>Ajuga australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Labiatae</i>. <hw>Bugler</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given in Tasmania to the fish <i>Centriscus scolopax</i>, family <i>Centriscidae</i>; called in Europe the <i>Trumpet-fish</i>, <i>Bellows-fish</i>, the latter name being also used for it in Tasmania. The structure of the mouth and snout suggests a musical instrument, or, combined with the outline of the body, a pair of bellows. The fish occurs also in Europe. <hw>Bugong</hw>, or <hw>Bogong</hw>, or <hw>Bougong</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian moth, <i>Danais limniace</i>, or<i> Agrotis spina</i>, eaten by the aborigines. 1834. Rev. W. B. Clarke, `Researches in the Southern Gold Fields of New South Wales' (second edition), p. 228: "These moths have obtained their name from their occurrence on the `Bogongs' or granite mountains. They were described by my friend Dr. Bennett in his interesting work on `New South Wales,' 1832-4, as abundant on the Bogong Mountain, Tumut River. I found them equally abundant, and in full vigour, in December, coming in clouds from the granite peaks of the Muniong Range. The blacks throw them on the fire and eat them." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 355: "The westward range is called the Bougongs. The blacks during summer are in the habit of coming thus far to collect and feed on the great grey moths (bougongs) which are found on the rocks." 1871. `The Athenaeum,' May 27, p. 660: "The Gibbs Land and Murray districts have been divided into the following counties: . . . Bogong (native name of grubs and moths)." 1878. R. Brough Smyth, `The Aborigines of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 207 "The moths--the Bugong moths(<i>Agrolis suffusa</i>) are greedily devoured by the natives; and in former times, when they were in season, they assembled in great numbers to eat there, and they grew fat on this food." [Also a long footnote.] 1890. Richard Helms, `Records of the Australian Museum,' vol. i. No. 1: "My aim was to obtain some `Boogongs,' the native name for the moths which so abundantly occur on this range, and no doubt have given it its name." 1896. `Sydney Mail,' April 4, Answers to Correspondents: "It cannot be stated positively, but it is thought that the name of the moth `bogong' is taken from that of the mountain. The meaning of the word is not known, but probably it is an aboriginal word." <hw>Bull-a-bull</hw>, or <hw>Bullybul</hw>, <i>n</i>. a child's corruption of the Maori word <i>Poroporo</i> (q.v.), a flowering shrub of New Zealand. It is allied to the <i>Kangaroo-Apple</i> (q.v.). 1845. `New Plymouth's National Song,' in Hursthouse's `New Zealand,' p. 217: "And as for fruit, the place is full Of that delicious bull-a-bull." <hw>Bullahoo</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Ballahoo</i>. <hw>Bull-ant</hw>, <i>n</i>. contracted and common form of the words <i>Bull-dog Ant</i> (q.v.). <hw>Bull-dog Ant</hw>, <i>n</i>. (frequently shortened to <i>Bull-dog</i> or <i>Bull-ant</i>), an ant of large size with a fierce bite. The name is applied to various species of the genus <i>Myrmecia</i>, which is common throughout Australia and Tasmania. 1878. Mrs. H. Jones, `Long Years in Australia,' p. 93: "Busy colonies of ants (which everywhere infest the country). . . One kind is very warlike--the `bull-dog': sentinels stand on the watch, outside the nest, and in case of attack disappear for a moment and return with a whole army of the red-headed monsters, and should they nip you, will give you a remembrance of their sting never to be forgotten." 1888. Alleged `Prize Poem,' Jubilee Exhibition: "The aborigine is now nearly extinct, But the bull-dog-ant and the kangaroo rat Are a little too thick--I think." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 142: "Where the wily free-selector walks in armour-plated pants, And defies the stings of scorpion and the bites of bull-dog ants." <hw>Bull-dog Shark</hw>, i.q. <i>Bull-head</i> (1) (q.v.). <hw>Bull-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied to many fishes of different families in various parts of the world, none of which are the same as the following two. (1) A shark of Tasmania and South Australia of small size and harmless, with teeth formed for crushing shells, <i>Heterodontus phillipi</i> , Lacep., family <i>Cestraciontidae</i>; also called the <i>Bull-dog Shark</i>, and in Sydney, where it is common, the <i>Port-Jackson Shark</i> : the aboriginal name was <i>Tabbigan</i>. (2) A freshwater fish of New Zealand, <i>Eleotris gobioides</i>, Cuv.and Val., family <i>Gobiidae</i>. See <i>Bighead</i>. <hw>Bulln-Bulln</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal name for the Lyre-bird (q.v.). This native name is imitative. The most southerly county in Victoria is called <i>Buln-Buln</i>; it is the haunt of the Lyre-bird. 1857. D. Bunce, `Travels with Leichhardt in Australia,' p. 70: "We afterwards learned that this was the work of the Bullen Bullen, or Lyre-bird, in its search for large worms, its favourite food." 1871. `The Athenaeum,' May 27, p. 660: "The Gipps Land and Murray districts have been divided into the following counties: . . . Buln Buln (name of Lyre-bird)." <hw>Bull-Oak</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Oak</i>. <hw>Bullocky</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. a bullockdriver." In the bush all the heavy hauling is done with bullock-drays. It is quite a common sight up the country to see teams of a dozen and upwards." (B. and L.) 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xii. p. 121: "By George, Jack, you're a regular bullocky boy." <hw>Bull-puncher</hw>, or <hw>Bullock-puncher</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang for a bullockdriver. According to Barrere and Leland's `Slang Dictionary,' the word has a somewhat different meaning in America, where it means a drover. See <i>Punch</i>. 1872. C. N. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 49: "The `bull-puncher,' as bullock-drivers are familiarly called." 1873. J. Mathew, song `Hawking,' in `Queenslander,' Oct. 4: "The stockmen and the bushmen and the shepherds leave the station, And the hardy bullock-punchers throw aside their occupation." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 143: "These teams would comprise from five to six pairs of bullocks each, and were driven by a man euphoniously termed a `bull-puncher.' Armed with a six-foot thong, fastened to a supple stick seven feet long. . . ." <hw>Bull-rout</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of New South Wales, <i>Centropogon robustus</i>, Guenth., family <i>Scorpaenidae</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 48: "It emits a loud and harsh grunting noise when it is caught. . . . The fisherman knows what he has got by the noise before he brings his fish to the surface. . . . When out of the water the noise of the bull-rout is loudest, and it spreads its gills and fins a little, so as to appear very formidable. . . . The blacks held it in great dread, and the name of bull-rout may possibly be a corruption of some native word." <hw>Bull's-eye</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of New South Wales, <i>Priacanthus macracanthus</i>, Cuv.and Val. <i>Priacanthus</i>, says Guenther, is a percoid fish with short snout, lower jaw and chin prominent, and small rough scales all over them and the body generally. The eye large, and the colour red, pink, or silvery. 1884. E. P. Ramsay, `Fisheries Exhibition Literature,' vol. v. p. 311: "Another good table-fish is the `bull's-eye,' a beautiful salmon-red fish with small scales. . . . At times it enters the harbours in considerable numbers; but the supply is irregular." <hw>Bulls-wool</hw>, <i>n</i>. colloquial name for the inner portion of the covering of the <i>Stringybark-tree</i> (q.v.). This is a dry finely fibrous substance, easily disintegrated by rubbing between the hands. It forms a valuable tinder for kindling a fire in the bush, and is largely employed for that purpose. It is not unlike the matted hair of a bull, and is reddish in colour, hence perhaps this nickname, which is common in the Tasmanian bush. <hw>Bully</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian fish, <i>Blennius tasmanianus</i>, Richards., family <i>Blennidae</i>. <hw>Bulrush</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wonga</i> and <i>Raupo</i>. <hw>Bung, to go</hw>, <i>v</i>. to fail, to become bankrupt. This phrase of English school-boy slang, meaning to go off with an explosion, to go to smash (also according to Barrere and Leland still in use among American thieves), is in very frequent use in Australia. In Melbourne in the times that followed the collapse of the land-boom it was a common expression to say that Mr. So-and-so had "gone bung," sc. filed his schedule or made a composition with creditors; or that an institution had "gone bung," sc. closed its doors, collapsed. In parts of Australia, in New South Wales and Queensland, the word "bung" is an aboriginal word meaning "dead," and even though the slang word be of English origin, its frequency of use in Australia may be due to the existence of the aboriginal word, which forms the last syllable in <i>Billabong</i> (q.v.), and in the aboriginal word <i>milbung</i> blind, literally, eye-dead. (a) The aboriginal word. 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 430: "A place called Umpie Bung, or the dead houses." [It is now a suburb of Brisbane, Humpy-bong.] 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 175 [in Blacks' pigeon English]: "Missis bail bong, ony cawbawn prighten. (Missis not dead, only dreadfully frightened.)" 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 73: "But just before you hands 'im [the horse] over and gets the money, he goes bong on you" (i.e. he dies). 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p: 142: "Their [the blacks'] ordinary creed is very simple. `Directly me bung (die) me jump up white feller,' and this seems to be the height of their ambition." 1895. `The Age,' Dec. 21, p. 13, col. 6: "`Then soon go bong, mummy,' said Ning, solemnly. `Die,' corrected Clare. You mustn't talk blacks' language.' `Suppose you go bong,' pursued Ning reflectively, `then you go to Heaven.'" (b) The slang word. 1885. `Australian Printers' Keepsake,' p. 40: "He was importuned to desist, as his musical talent had `gone bung,' probably from over-indulgence in confectionery." 1893. `The Argus,' April 15 (by Oriel), p. 13, col. 2: "Still change is humanity's lot. It is but the space of a day Till cold is the damask cheek, and silent the eloquent tongue, All flesh is grass, says the preacher, like grass it is withered away, And we gaze on a bank in the evening, and lo, in the morn 'tis bung." 1893. Professor Gosman, `The Argus,' April 24, p. 7, col. 4: "Banks might fail, but the treasures of thought could never go `bung.'" 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), April 25, p. 2, col. 4: "Perhaps Sydney may supply us with a useful example. One member of the mischief-making brotherhood wrote the words `gone bung' under a notice on the Government Savings Bank, and he was brought before the Police Court charged with damaging the bank's property to the extent of 3d. The offender offered the Bench his views on the bank, but the magistrates bluntly told him his conduct was disgraceful, and fined him L 3 with costs, or two months' imprisonment." <hw>Bunga</hw> or <hw>Bungy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand settlers' corruption of the Maori word <i>punga</i> (q.v.). <hw>Bunt</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland fungus growing on wheat, fetid when crushed. <i>Tilletia caries</i>, Tul., <i>N.O. Fungi</i>. <hw>Bunya-Bunya</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal word. [<i>Bunyi</i> at heads of Burnett, Mary, and Brisbane rivers, Queensland; <i>baanya</i>, on the Darling Downs.] An Australian tree, <i>Araucaria bidwillii</i>, Hooker, with fruit somewhat like <i>Bertholletia excelsa</i>, <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. Widgi-Widgi station on the Mary was the head-quarters for the fruit of this tree, and some thousands of blacks used to assemble there in the season to feast on it; it was at this assembly that they used to indulge in cannibalism ; every third year the trees were said to bear a very abundant crop. The Bunya-Bunya mountains in Queensland derive their name from this tree. 1843. L. Leichhardt, Letter in `Cooksland, by J. D. Lang, p. 82: "The bunya-bunya tree is noble and gigantic, and its umbrella-like head overtowers all the trees of the bush." 1844. Ibid. p. 89: "The kernel of the Bunya fruit has a very fine aroma, and it is certainly delicious eating." 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 25: "The Bunya-Bunya or <i>Araucaria</i> on the seeds of which numerous tribes of blacks are accustomed to feed." 1879. W. R. Guilfoyle, `First Book of Australian Botany,' p. 58: "A splendid timber tree of South Queensland, where it forms dense forests, one of the finest of the Araucaria tribe, attaining an approximate height of 200 feet. The Bunya-Bunya withstands drought better than most of the genus, and flourishes luxuriantly in and around Melbourne." 1887. J. Mathew, in Curr's `Australian Race,' vol. iii. p. 161: [A full account.] "In laying up a store of bunyas, the blacks exhibited an unusual foresight. When the fruit was in season, they filled netted bags with the seeds, and buried them." 1889. Hill, quoted by J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 7: "The cones shed their seeds, which are two to two and a half inches long by three-quarters of an inch broad; they are sweet before being perfectly ripe, and after that resemble roasted chestnuts in taste. They are plentiful once in three years, and when the ripening season arrives, which is generally in the month of January, the aborigina&ls assemble in large numbers from a great distance around, and feast upon them. Each tribe has its own particular set of trees, and of these each family has a certain number allotted, which are handed down from generation to generation with great exactness. The bunya is remarkable as being the only hereditary property which any of the aborigines are known to possess, and it is therefore protected by law. The food seems to have a fattening effect on the aborigines, and they eat large quantities of it after roasting it at the fire." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 377: "The `Bunya-bunya' of the aboriginals--a name invariably adopted by the colonists." 1892. J. Fraser, `Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 50: "The Bunya-bunya tree, in the proper season, bears a fir cone of great size--six to nine inches long-and this, when roasted, yields a vegetable pulp, pleasant to eat and nutritious." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 19, p. 7, col. 1: "There is a beautiful bunya-bunya in a garden just beyond, its foliage fresh varnished by the rain, and toning from a rich darkness to the very spring tint of tender green." <hw>Bunyip</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) the aboriginal name of a fabulous animal. See quotations. For the traditions of the natives on this subject see Brough Smyth, `Aborigines of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 435. 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 391: "Certain large fossil bones, found in various parts of Australia Felix, have been referred by the natives, when consulted on the subject by the colonists, to a huge animal of extraordinary appearance, called in some districts the Bunyup, in others the Kianpraty, which they assert to be still alive. It is described as of amphibious character, inhabiting deep rivers, and permanent water-holes, having a round head, an elongated neck, with a body and tail resembling an ox. These reports have not been unattended to, and the bunyup is said to have been actually seen by many parties, colonists as well as aborigines. . . .[A skull which the natives said was that of a `piccinini Kianpraty' was found by Professor Owen to be that of a young calf. The Professor] considers it all but impossible that such a large animal as the bunyup of the natives can be now living in the country. [Mr. Westgarth suspects] it is only a tradition of the alligator or crocodile of the north." 1849. W. S. Macleay, `Tasmanian journal,' vol. iii. p. 275: "On the skull now exhibited at the Colonial Museum of Sydney as that of the Bunyip." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 214: "Did my reader ever hear of the Bunyip (fearful name to the aboriginal native!) a sort of `half-horse, half-alligator,' haunting the wide rushy swamps and lagoons of the interior?" 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 258: "The river is too deep, child, and the Bunyip lives in the water under the stones." 1865. `Once a Week,' Dec. 31, p. 45, The Bulla Bulla Bunyip': "Beyond a doubt, in `Lushy Luke's' belief, a Bunyip had taken temporary lodgings outside the town. This <i>bete noire</i> of the Australian bush Luke asserted he had often seen in bygone times. He described it as being bigger than an elephant, in shape like a `poley' bullock, with eyes like live coals, and with tusks like a walrus's. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "What the Bunyip is, I cannot pretend to say, but I think it is highly probable that the stories told by both old bushmen and blackfellows, of some bush beast bigger and fiercer than any commonly known in Australia, are founded on fact. Fear and the love of the marvellous may have introduced a considerable element of exaggeration into these stories, but I cannot help suspecting that the myths have an historical basis." 1872. C. Gould, `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Tasmania,' 1872, p. 33: "The belief in the Bunyip was just as prevalent among the natives in parts hundreds of miles distant from any stream in which alligators occur. . . . Some other animal must be sought for." . . . [Gould then quotes from `The Mercury' of April 26, 1872, an extract from the `Wagga Advertiser']: "There really is a Bunyip or Waa-wee, actually existing not far from us . . . in the Midgeon Lagoon, sixteen miles north of Naraudera . . . I saw a creature coming through the water with tremendous rapidity . . . . The animal was about half as long again as an ordinary retriever dog, the hair all over its body was jet black and shining, its coat was very long." [Gould cites other instances, and concludes that the Bunyip is probably a seal.] 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 202: "In the south-eastern part of Australia the evil spirit of the natives is called <i>Bunjup</i>, a monster which is believed to dwell in the lakes. It has of late been supposed that this is a mammal of considerable size that has not yet been discovered . . . is described as a monster with countless eyes and ears. . . . He has sharp claws, and can run so fast that it is difficult to escape him. He is cruel, and spares no one either young or old." 1894. `The Argus,' June 23, p. 11, col. 4: "The hollow boom so often heard on the margin of reedy swamps --more hollow and louder by night than day--is the mythical bunyip, the actual bittern." (2) In a secondary sense, a synonym for an impostor. 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 214: "One advantage arose from the aforesaid long-deferred discovery --a new and strong word was adopted into the Australian vocabulary: Bunyip became, and remains a Sydney synonoyme for <i>impostor, pretender, humbug</i>, and the like. The black fellows, however, unaware of the extinction, by superior authority, of their favourite <i>loup-garou</i>, still continue to cherish the fabulous bunyip in their shuddering imagination." 1853. W. C. Wentworth--Speech in August quoted by Sir Henry Parkes in `Fifty Years of Australian History' (1892), vol. i. p. 41: "They had been twitted with attempting to create a mushroom, a Brummagem, a bunyip aristocracy; but I need scarcely observe that where argument fails ridicule is generally resorted to for aid." <hw>Burnet, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given in Australia to the plant <i>Acaena ovina</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Rosaceae</i>. <hw>Burnett Salmon</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the names given to the fish <i>Ceratodus forsteri</i>, Krefft. See <i>Burramundi</i>. <hw>Burnt-stuff</hw>, <i>n</i>. a geological term used by miners. See quotation. 1853. Mrs. Chas. Clancy, `Lady's Visit to Gold Diggings,' p. 112: "The top, or surface soil, for which a spade or shovel is used, was of clay. This was succeeded by a strata almost as hard as iron--technically called `burnt-stuff'--which robbed the pick of its points nearly as soon as the blacksmith had steeled them at a charge of 2s. 6d. a point." <hw>Bur</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Tasmania the name is applied to <i>Acaena rosaceae</i>, Vahl., <i>N.O. Rosaceae</i>. <hw>Burramundi</hw>, or <hw>Barramunda</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fresh-water fish, <i>Osteoglossum leichhardtii</i>, Guenth., family <i>Osteoglossidae</i>, found in the Dawson and Fitzroy Rivers, Queensland. The name is also incorrectly applied by the colonists to the large tidal perch of the Fitzroy River, Queensland, <i>Lates calcarifer</i>, Guenth., a widely distributed fish in the East Indies, and to <i>Ceratodus forsteri</i>, Krefft, family <i>Sirenidae</i>, of the Mary and Burnett Rivers, Queensland. Burramundi is the aboriginal name for <i>O. leichhardtii</i>. The spelling <i>barramunda</i> is due to the influence of <i>barracouta</i> (q.v.). See <i>Perch</i>. 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 189: "There is a fish too at Rockhampton called the burra mundi,-- I hope I spell the name rightly,--which is very commendable." 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 357: "<i>Ceratodus</i>. . . . Two species, <i>C. forsteri</i> and <i>C. miolepis</i>, are known from fresh-waters of Queensland. . . . Locally the settlers call it `flathead,' `Burnett or Dawson salmon,' and the aborigines `barramunda,' a name which they apply also to other largescaled fresh-water fishes, as the <i>Osteoglossum leichhardtii</i>. . . . The discovery of <i>Ceratodus</i> does not date farther back than the year 1870." 1882. W. Macleay, `Descriptive Catalogue of Australian fishes' ('Proceedings of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales,' vol. vi. p. 256): "<i>Osteoglossum leichhardtii</i>, Gunth. Barramundi of the aborigines of the Dawson River." 1892. Baldwin Spencer, `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Victoria,' vol. iv. [Note on the habits of <i>Ceratodus forsterii</i>] "It has two common names, one of which is the `Burnett Salmon' and the other the `Barramunda" . . . the latter name . . . is properly applied to a very different form, a true teleostean fish (<i>Osteoglossum leichhardtii</i>) which is found . . . further north . . . in the Dawson and Fitzroy . . . Mr. Saville Kent states that the Ceratodus is much prized as food. This is a mistake, for, as a matter of fact, it is only eaten by Chinese and those who can afford to get nothing better." <hw>Burrawang</hw>, or <hw>Burwan</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian nut-tree, <i>Macrozamia spiralis</i>, Miq. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 221: "The burwan is a nut much relished by our natives, who prepare it by roasting and immersion in a running stream, to free it from its poisonous qualities." 1851. J. Henderson, `Excursions in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 238 "The Burrowan, which grows in a sandy soil, and produces an inedible fruit, resembling the pine-apple in appearance." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 41: "Burrawang nut, so called because they used to be, and are to some extent now, very common about Burrawang, N.S.W. The nuts are relished by the aboriginals. An arrowroot of very good quality is obtained from them." <hw>Bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. Not originally an Australian application. "Recent, and probably a direct adoption of the Dutch <i>Bosch</i>, in colonies originally Dutch" (`O.E.D.'), [quoting (1780) Forster, in `Phil. Trans.' lxxi. 2, "The common Bush-cat of the Cape;" and (1818) Scott, `Tapestr. Chamber,' "When I was in the Bush, as the Virginians call it"]. "Woodland, country more or less covered with natural wood applied to the uncleared or untitled districts in the British Colonies which are still in a state of nature, or largely so, even though not wooded; and by extension to the country as opposed to the towns." (`O.E.D.') 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 48: "I have spent a good deal of my time in the woods, or bush, as it is called here.' 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 85: "With the exception of two or three little farms, comprising about 20 or 30 acres of cultivation, all was `bush' as it is colonially called. The undergrowth was mostly clear, being covered only with grass or herbs, with here and there some low shrubs." 1837. J. D. Lang, `New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 253: "His house was well enough for the bush, as the country is generally termed in the colony." 1855. From a letter quoted in Wathen's `The Golden Colony,' p. 117: "`The Bush,' when the word is used in the towns, means all the uninclosed and uncultivated country . . . when in the country, `the Bush' means more especially the forest. The word itself has been borrowed from the Cape, and is of Dutch origin." 1857. `The Argus,' Dec. 14, p. 5, col. 7: "`Give us something to do in or about Melbourne, not away in the bush,' says the deputation of the unemployed." 1861. T. McCombie,' Australian Sketches,' p. 123: "At first the eternal silence of the bush is oppressive, but a short sojourn is sufficient to accustom a neophyte to the new scene, and he speedily becomes enamoured of it." 1865. J. F. Mortlock, `Experiences of a Convict,' p. 83: "The `bush,' a generic term synonymous with `forest' or `jungle,' applied to all land in its primaeval condition, whether occupied by herds or not." 1872. A. McFarland, `Illawarra and Manaro,' p. 113: "All the advantages of civilized life have been surrendered for the bush, its blanket and gunyah." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 250: "The technical meaning of the word `bush.' The bush is the gum-tree forest, with which so great a part of Australia is covered, that folk who follow a country life are invariably said to live in the bush. Squatters who look after their own runs always live in the bush, even though their sheep are pastured on plains. Instead of a town mouse and a country mouse in Australia, there would be a town mouse and a bush mouse; but mice living in the small country towns would still be bush mice." Ibid. c. xx. p. 299: "Nearly every place beyond the influence of the big towns is called `bush,' even though there should not be a tree to be seen around." 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 67, n.: "Bush was a general term for the interior. It might be thick bush, open bush, bush forest, or scrubby bushterms which explain themselves." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 40: "The first thing that strikes me is the lifeless solitude of the bush. . . . There is a deep fascination about the freedom of the bush." 1890. E. W. Hornung [Title]: "A Bride from the Bush." 1896. `Otago Daily Times,' Jan. 27, p. 2, col. 5: "Almost the whole of New South Wales is covered with bush. It is not the bush as known in New Zealand. It is rather a park-like expanse, where the trees stand widely apart, and where there is grass on the soil between them." <hw>Bush</hw>, <i>adj</i>. or <i>in composition</i>, not always easy to distinguish, the hyphen depending on the fancy of the writer. 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 75: "The round trundling of our cart wheels, it is well known, does not always improve the labours of Macadam, much less a bush road." 1848. Letter by Mrs. Perry, given in Canon Goodman's `Church in Victoria, during Episcopate of Bishop Perry,'p. 75: "A hard bush sofa, without back or ends." 1849. J. Sidney, `Emigrants' Journal, and Travellers' Magazine,' p. 40 (Letter from Caroline Chisholm): "What I would particularly recommend to new settlers is `<i>Bush Partnership'</i>--Let two friends or neighbours agree to work together, until three acres are cropped, dividing the work, the expense, and the produce--this partnership will grow apace; I have made numerous bush agreements of this kind . . . I never knew any quarrel or bad feeling result from these partnerships, on the contrary, I believe them calculated to promote much neighbourly good will; but in the association of a large number of strangers, for an indefinite period, I have no confidence." 1857. W. Westgarth, `Victoria,' c. xi. p. 250: "The gloomy antithesis of good bushranging and bad bush-roads." [Bush-road, however, does not usually mean a made-road through the bush, but a road which has not been formed, and is in a state of nature except for the wear of vehicles upon it, and perhaps the clearing of trees and scrub.] 1864. `The Reader,' April 2, p. 40, col. 1 (`O.E.D.'): "The roads from the nascent metropolis still partook mainly of the random character of `bush tracks.'" 1865. W. Hewitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. p. 211: "Dr. Wills offered to go himself in the absence of any more youthful and, through bush seasoning, qualified person." 1880. `Blackwood's Magazine,' Feb., p. 169 [Title]: "Bush-Life in Queensland." 1881. R. M. Praed, `Policy and Passion,' c. i. p. 59: "The driver paused before a bush inn." [In Australia the word "inn" is now rare. The word "hotel" has supplanted it.] 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv.p. 3: "Not as bush roads go. The Australian habit is here followed of using `bush' for country, though no word could be more ludicrously inapplicable, for there is hardly anything on the way that can really be called a bush." 1894. `Sydney Morning Herald' (exact date lost): "Canada, Cape Colony, and Australia have preserved the old significance of Bush--Chaucer has it so--as a territory on which there are trees; it is a simple but, after all, a kindly development that when a territory is so unlucky as to have no trees, sometimes, indeed, to be bald of any growth whatever, it should still be spoken of as if it had them." 1896. Rolf Boldrewood, in preface to `The Man from Snowy River': "It is not easy to write ballads descriptive of the bushland of Australia, as on light consideration would appear." 1896. H. Lawson, `While the Billy boils,' p. 104: "About Byrock we met the bush liar in all his glory. He was dressed like--like a bush larrikin. His name was Jim." <hw>Bush-faller</hw>, <i>n</i>. one who cuts down timber in the bush. 1882. `Pall Mall Gazette,' June 29, p. 2, col. 1: "A broken-down, deserted shanty, inhabited once, perhaps, by rail-splitters or bush-fallers." [`O.E.D.,' from which this quotation is taken, puts (?) before the meaning; but "To fall" is not uncommon in Australia for "to fell."] <hw>Bush-fire</hw>, <i>n</i>. forests and grass on fire in hot summers. 1868. C. Dilke, `Greater Britain,' vol. ii. part iii. c. iii. p. 32: "The smoke from these bush-fires extends for hundreds of miles to sea." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xxii. p. 156: "A reserve in case of bush-fires and bad seasons." <hw>Bush-lawyer</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A Bramble. See <i>Lawyer</i>. (2) Name often used for a layman who fancies he knows all about the law without consulting a solicitor. He talks a great deal, and `lays down the law.' 1896. H. G. Turner, `Lecture on J. P. Fawkner': "For some years he cultivated and developed his capacity for rhetorical argument by practising in the minor courts of law in Tasmania as a paid advocate, a position which in those days, and under the exceptional circumstances of the Colony, was not restricted to members of the legal profession, and the term Bush Lawyer probably takes its origin from the practice of this period." <hw>Bush-magpie</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, more commonly called a <i>Magpie</i> (q.v.). 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 235: ". . . the omnipresent bush-magpie. Here he may warble all the day long on the liquid, mellifluous notes of his Doric flute, fit pipe indeed for academic groves . . . sweetest and brightest, most cheery and sociable of all Australian birds." <hw>Bushman</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Settler in the bush. Used to distinguish country residents from townsfolk. 1852. `Blackwood's Magazine,' p. 522 (`O.E.D.'): "Where the wild bushman eats his loathly fare." 1880. J. Mathew, song, `The Bushman:' "How weary, how dreary the stillness must be! But oh! the lone bushman is dreaming of me." 1886. Frank Cowan: `Australia; a Charcoal Sketch': "The bushman . . . <i>Gunyah</i>, his bark hovel; <i>Damper</i>, his unleavened bread baked in the ashes; <i>Billy</i>, his tea-kettle, universal pot and pan and bucket; <i>Sugar-bag</i>, his source of saccharine, a bee-tree; <i>Pheasant</i>, his facetious metaphoric euphism for Liar, quasi Lyre-bird; <i>Fit for Woogooroo</i>, for Daft or Idiotic; <i>Brumby</i>, his peculiar term for wild horse; <i>Scrubber</i>, wild ox; <i>Nuggeting</i>, calf-stealing; <i>Jumbuck</i>, sheep, in general; an <i>Old-man</i>, grizzled wallaroo or kangaroo; <i>Station, Run</i>, a sheep- or cattle-ranch; and <i>Kabonboodgery</i>--an echo of the sound diablery for ever in his ears, from dawn to dusk of Laughing Jackass and from dusk to dawn of Dingo--his half-bird -and-beast-like vocal substitute for Very Good. . . ." 1896. H.Lawson, `While the Billy boils,' p. 71: "He was a typical bushman, . . . and of the old bush school; one of those slight active little fellows, whom we used to see in cabbage-tree hats, Crimean shirts, strapped trousers, and elastic-side boots." (2) One who has knowledge of the bush, and is skilled in its ways. A "good bushman" is especially used of a man who can find his way where there are no tracks. 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, Founder of Victoria,' pp. 78, 79: "It is hardly likely that so splendid a bushman as Mr. Batman would venture upon such an expedition had he not been well. In fact a better bushman at this time could not be met with." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 3: "The worst bushman had to undertake the charge of the camp, cook the provisions, and look after the horses, during the absence of the rest on flying excursions." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 40: "Very slight landmarks will serve to guide a good bushman, for no two places are really exactly alike." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 78: "One of the best bushmen in that part of the country: the men said he could find his way over it blindfold, or on the darkest night that ever was." (3) Special sense. See quotation. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 80: "Some were what is termed, <i>par excellence</i>, bushmen--that is, men who split rails, get posts, shingles, take contracts for building houses, stockyards, etc.--men, in fact, who work among timber continually, sometimes felling and splitting, sometimes sawing." <hw>Bushmanship</hw>, <i>n</i>. knowledge of the ways of the bush. 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 261: "A good laugh at the bushmanship displayed." <hw>Bushranger</hw>, <i>n</i>. one who ranges or traverses the bush, far and wide; an Australian highwayman; in the early days usually an escaped convict. Shakspeare uses the verb `to range' in this connection. "Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen In murders and in outrage, boldly here." (`Richard II.,' III. ii. 39.) "Ranger" is used in modern English for one who protects and not for one who robs; as `the Ranger' of a Park. 1806. May 4, `Sydney Gazette' or `New South Wales Advertiser, given in `History of New South Wales,' p. 265: "Yesterday afternoon, William Page, the bushranger repeatedly advertised, was apprehended by three constables." 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description of New South Wales,' p. 166: [The settlements in Van Diemen's Land have] "been infested for many years past by a banditti of runaway convicts, who have endangered the person and property of every one. . . . These wretches, who are known in the colony by the name of bushrangers. . ." 1820. Lieut. Chas. Jeffreys, `Van Dieman's [sic] Land,' p. 15: "The supposition . . . rests solely on the authority of the Bush Rangers, a species of wandering brigands, who will be elsewhere described." 1838. T. L. `Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 9: "Bushrangers, a sub-genus in the order banditti, which happily can now only exist there in places inaccessible to the mounted police." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 81: "This country [Van Diemen's Land] is as much infested as New South Wales with robbers, runaway convicts, or, as they are termed, Bush-rangers." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 77: "The whole region was infested by marauding bands of bush-rangers, terrible after nightfall." 1887. J. F. Hogan, `The Irish in Australia, p. 252: "Whilst he was engaged in this duty in Victoria, a band of outlaws--'bushrangers' as they are colonially termed-- who had long defied capture, and had carried on a career of murder and robbery, descended from their haunts in the mountain ranges." <hw>Bush-ranging</hw>, <i>n</i>. the practice of the Bushranger (q.v.). 1827. `Captain Robinson's Report,' Dec. 23 "It was a subject of complaint among the settlers, that their assigned servants could not be known from soldiers, owing to their dress; which very much assisted the crime of `bush-ranging.'" <hw>Bush-scrubber</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bushman's word for a boor, bumpkin, or slatternly person. See <i>Scrubber</i>. 1896. Modern. Up-country manservant on seeing his new mistress: "My word! a real lady! she's no bush-scrubber!" <hw>Bush-telegraph</hw>, <i>n</i>. Confederates of bushrangers who supply them with secret information of the movements of the police. 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 507: "The police are baffled by the false reports of the confederates and the number and activity of the bush telegraphs." 1893. Kenneth Mackay, `Out Back,' p. 74: "A hint dropped in this town set the bush telegraphs riding in all directions." <hw>Bushwoman</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation. 1892. `The Australasian,' April 9, p. 707, col. 1: "But who has championed the cause of the woman of the bush-- or, would it be more correct to say bushwoman, as well as bushman?--and allowed her also a claim to participate in the founding of a nation?" <hw>Bush-wren</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wren</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 108: [A full description.] <hw>Bushed</hw>, <i>adj., quasi past participle</i>, lost in the bush; then, lost or at a loss. 1661. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 115: "I left my seat to reach a shelter, which was so many miles off, that I narrowly escaped being `bushed.'" 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. i. p. 283: "The poor youth, new to the wilds, had, in the expressive phrase of the colonials, got bushed, that is, utterly bewildered, and thus lost all idea of the direction that he ought to pursue." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 29: "I get quite bushed in these streets." 1896. `The Argus,' Jan. 1, p. 4, col. 9: "The Ministry did not assume its duty of leading the House, and Mr. Higgins graphically described the position of affairs by stating that the House was `bushed;' while Mr. Shiels compared the situation to a rudderless ship drifting hither and thither." <hw>Bustard</hw>, <i>n</i>. "There are about twenty species, mostly of Africa, several of India, one of Australia, and three properly European." (`Century.') The Australian variety is <i>Eupodotis australis</i>, Gray, called also <i>Wild Turkey</i>, <i>Native Turkey</i>, and <i>Plain Turkey</i>. See <i>Turkey</i>. <hw>Buster, Southerly</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is a corruption of `burster,' that which bursts. A sudden and violent squall from the south. The name, used first in Sydney, has been adopted also in other Australian cities. See <i>Brickfielder</i>. 1863. F. Fowler, in `Athenaeum,' Feb. 21, p. 264, col. 1: "The cold wind or southerly buster which . . . carries a thick cloud of dust . . . across the city." 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 587: "<i>Southerly Busters</i> by `Ironbark.'" 1886. F. Cowan, `Australia, a Charcoal Sketch': "The Buster and Brickfielder: austral red-dust blizzard; and red-hot Simoom." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' p. 40: "Generally these winds end in what is commonly called a `southerly buster.' This is preceded by a lull in the hot wind; then suddenly (as it has been put) it is as though a bladder of cool air were exploded, and the strong cool southerly air drives up with tremendous force. However pleasant the change of temperature may be it is no mere pastime to be caught in a `southerly buster,' but the drifting rain which always follows soon sets matters right, allays the dust, and then follows the calm fresh bracing wind which is the more delightful by contrast with the misery through which one has passed for three long dreary days and nights." 1893. `The Australasian,' Aug. 12, p. 302, col. 1: "You should see him with Commodore Jack out in the teeth of the `hard glad weather,' when a southerly buster sweeps up the harbour." 1896. H. A.Hunt, in `Three Essays on Australian Weather' (Sydney), p. 16: An Essay on Southerly Bursters, . . . with Four Photographs and Five Diagrams." [Title of an essay which was awarded the prize of L 25 offered by the Hon. Ralph Abercrombie.] <hw>Butcher</hw>, <i>n</i>. South Australian slang for a long drink of beer, so-called (it is said) because the men of a certain butchery in Adelaide used this refreshment regularly; cf. "porter" in England, after the drink of the old London porters. <hw>Butcher-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is in use elsewhere, but in Australia it is applied to the genus <i>Cracticus</i>. The varieties are-- The Butcher-bird-- <i>Cracticus torquatus</i>, Lath.; formerly <i>C. destructor</i>, Gould. Black B.-- <i>C. quoyi</i>, Less. Black-throated B.-- <i>C. nigrigularis</i>, Gould. Grey B. (Derwent Jackass)-- <i>C. cinereus</i>, Gould (see <i>Jackass</i>). Pied B.-- <i>C. picatus</i>, Gould. Rufous B.-- <i>C. rufescens</i>, De Vis. Silver-backed B.-- <i>C. argenteus</i>, Gould. Spalding's B.-- <i>C. spaldingi</i>, Masters. White-winged B.-- <i>C. leucopterus</i>, Cav. The bird is sometimes called a <i>Crow-shrike</i>. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 213: "Mr. Caley observes--Butcher-bird. This bird used frequently to come into some green wattle-trees near my house, and in wet weather was very noisy; from which circumstance it obtained the name of `Rain-bird.'" 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. Pl. 52: "<i>Cracticus Destructor</i>. Butcher Bird, name given by colonists of Swan River, a permanent resident in New South Wales and South Australia. I scarcely know of any Australian bird so generally dispersed." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 50: "Close to the station one or two butcher-birds were piping their morning song, a strange little melody with not many notes, which no one who has heard it will ever forget." <hw>Buttercup</hw>, <i>n</i>. The familiar English flower is represented in Australia and Tasmania by various species of <i>Ranunculus</i>, such as <i>R. lappaceus</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Ranunculaceae</i>. <hw>Butter-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given in Australia to <i>Oligorus mitchellii</i>, Castln. (see <i>Murray Perch</i>); in Victoria, to <i>Chilodactylus nigricans</i>, Richards. (see <i>Morwong</i>); in New Zealand, to <i>Coridodax pullus</i>, Forst., called also <i>Kelp-fish</i>. The name is in allusion to their slippery coating of mucus. See <i>Kelp-fish</i>. 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip,' vol. iii. p. 44: "In the bay are large quantities of . . . butter-fish." 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 533: "The `butter-fish,' or `kelp-fish' of the colonists of New Zealand (<i>C. pullus</i>), is prized as food, and attains to a weight of four or five pounds." <hw>Butterfly-conch</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian name for a marine univalve mollusc, <i>Voluta papillosa</i>, Swainson. <hw>Butterfly-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand sea-fish, <i>Gasterochisma melampus</i>, Richards., one of the <i>Nomeidae</i>. The ventral fins are exceedingly broad and long, and can be completely concealed in a fold of the abdomen. The New Zealand fish is so named from these fins; the European Butterfly-fish, <i>Blennius ocellaris</i>, derives its name from the spots on its dorsal fin, like the eyes in a peacock's tail or butterfly's wing. <hw>Butterfly-Lobster</hw>, <i>n</i>. a marine crustacean, so called from the leaf-like expansion of the antennae. It is "the highly specialized macrourous decapod <i>Ibacus Peronii</i>." (W. A. Haswell.) 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 248: "Those curious crustaceans that I have heard called `butterfly lobsters'. . . the shell of the head and body (properly known as the carapace) expands into something like wing-forms, entirely hiding the legs beneath them." <hw>Butterfly-Plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small flowering plant, <i>Utricularia dichotoma</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Leutibularina</i>. <hw>Button-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Schaenus sphaerocephalus</i>, Poiret, <i>N.O. Cyperaceae</i>. The grass is found covering barren boggy land in Tasmania, but is not peculiar to Tasmania. So called from the round shaped flower (capitate inflorescence), on a thin stalk four or five feet long, like a button on the end of a foil. <hw>Buzzard</hw>, <i>n</i>. an English bird-name applied in Australia to <i>Gypoictinia melanosternon</i>, Gould, the Black-breasted Buzzard. C <hw>Cabbage Garden</hw>, a name applied to the colony of Victoria by Sir John Robertson, the Premier of New South Wales, in contempt for its size. 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' p. 30: "`The cabbage garden,' old cynical Sir John Robertson, of New South Wales, once called Victoria, but a garden notwithstanding. Better at any rate `the cabbage garden' than the mere sheep run or cattle paddock." <hw>Cabbage-Palm</hw>, <i>n.</i> same as <i>Cabbage-tree</i> (1) (q.v.). <hw>Cabbage-tree</hw>, <i>n</i> (1)Name given to various palm trees of which the heart of the young leaves is eaten like the head of a cabbage. In Australia the name is applied to the fan palm, <i>Livistona inermis</i>, R. Br., and more commonly to <i>Livistona australis</i>, Martius. In New Zealand the name is given to various species of Cordyline, especially to <i>Cordyline indivisa</i>. See also <i>Flame-tree</i> (2). 1769. `Capt. Cook's Journal,' ed. Wharton (1893), p. 144: "We likewise found one Cabage Tree which we cut down for the sake of the cabage." 1802. G.Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 60: "Even the ships crews helped, except those who brought the cabbage trees." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. c. iv. p. 132: "Cabbage-tree . . . grew in abundance." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 72: "Several of my companions suffered by eating too much of the cabbage-palm." 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. i. p. 414: "Clumps of what the people of King George's Sound call cabbage-trees." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 240: "There stands an isolated `cabbage-tree' (Ti of the natives; <i>Cordyline Australis</i>) nearly thirty feet high, with ramified branches and a crown of luxuriant growth." (2) A large, low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, made out of the leaves of the Cabbage-tree (<i>Livistona</i>). 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' 335: "This hat, made of white filaments of the cabbage-tree, seemed to excite the attention of the whole party." 1852. G. F. P., `Gold Pen and Pencil Sketches,' xv.: "With scowl indignant flashing from his eye, As though to wither each unshaven wretch, Jack jogs along, nor condescends reply, As to the price his cabbage-tree might fetch." 1864. `Once a Week,' Dec. 31, p. 45, The Bulla Bulla Bunyip': "Lushy Luke endeavoured to sober himself by dipping his head in the hollowed tree-trunk which serves for the water-trough of an up-country Australian inn. He forgot, however, to take off his `cabbage-tree' before he ducked, and angry at having made a fool of himself, he gave fierce orders, in a thick voice, for his men to fall in, shoulder arms, and mark time." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. pp. 160, 161: "The cabbage-palm was also a new species, called by Mr. Brown the <i>Livistonia inermis</i>. It was abundant; but the cabbage (the heart of the young budding leaves) too small to be useful as an article of food, at least to a ship's company. But the leaves were found useful. These dried and drawn into strips were plaited into hats for the men, and to this day the cabbage-tree hat is very highly esteemed by the Australians, as a protection from the sun, and allowing free ventilation." [Note]: "A good cabbage-tree hat, though it very much resembles a common straw hat, will fetch as much as L3." 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 527: ". . . trousers, peg-top shaped, and wore a new cabbage-tree hat." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 33: "A brand-new cabbage-tree hat protected his head." <hw>Cabbage-tree Mob</hw>, and <hw>Cabbagites</hw>, obsolete Australian slang for modern <i>Larrikins</i> (q.v)., because wearing cabbage-tree hats. 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes `(edition 1855), p. 17: "There are to be found round the doors of the Sydney Theatre a sort of `loafers' known as the <i>Cabbage-tree mob</i>,--a class who, in the spirit of the ancient tyrant, one might excusably wish had but one nose in order to make it a bloody one. . . . Unaware of the propensities of the cabbagites he was by them furiously assailed." <hw>Cad</hw>, <i>n</i>. name in Queensland for the <i>Cicada</i> (q.v.). 1896. `The Australasian,' Jan. 11, p. 76, col. 1: "From the trees sounds the shrill chirp of large green cicada (native cads as the bushmen call them)." <hw>Caddie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bush name for the slouch-hat or wide-awake. In the Australian bush the brim is generally turned down at the back and sometimes all round. <hw>Cadet</hw>, <i>n</i>. term used in New Zealand, answering to the Australian <i>Colonial Experience</i>, or <i>jackaroo</i> (q.v.). 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 68: "A cadet, as they are called--he is a clergyman's son learning sheepfarming under our auspices." 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 6: "The military designation of cadet was applied to any young fellow who was attached to a sheep or cattle station in the same capacity as myself. He was `neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring,' neither master nor man. He was sent to work with the men, but not paid." <hw>Caloprymnus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus called the <i>Plain Kangaroo-Rat</i>. (Grk. <i>kalos</i>, beautiful, and <i>prumnon</i>, hinder part.) It has bright flanks. See <i>Kangaroo-Rat</i>. <hw>Camp</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A place to live in, generally temporary; a rest. 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' pp. 46, 47: " I was shown my camp, which was a slab but about a hundred yards away from the big house. . . . I was rather tired, and not sorry for the prospect of a camp." (2) A place for mustering cattle. 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 64: "All about the run, at intervals of fire or six miles, are cattle-camps, and the cattle that belong to the surrounding districts are mustered on their respective camps." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 26: "There was never his like in the open bush, And never his match on the cattle-camps." (3) In Australia, frequently used for a camping-out expedition. Often in composition with "out," a <i>camp-out</i>. 1869. `Colonial Monthly,' vol. iv.p. 289: "A young fellow with even a moderate degree of sensibility must be excited by the novelty of his first `camp-out' in the Australian bush." 1880. R. H. Inglis, `Australian Cousins,' p. 233: "We're going to have a regular camp; we intend going to Port Hocking to have some shooting, fishing, and general diversion." (4) A name for Sydney and for Hobart, now long obsolete, originating when British military forces were stationed there. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 70: "It is the old resident--he who still calls Sydney, with its population of twelve thousand inhabitants, <i>the camp</i>,--that can appreciate these things: he who still recollects the few earth-huts and solitary tents scattered through the forest brush surrounding Sydney Cove (known properly then indeed by the name of `The Camp')." 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 193: "Living during the winter in Hobarton, usually called `the camp,' in those days." <hw>Camp</hw>, <i>v</i>. (1) Generally in composition with "out," to sleep in the open air, usually without any covering. Camping out is exceedingly common in Australia owing to the warmth of the climate and the rarity of rain. 1867. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 125: "I like to hear of benighted or belated travellers when they have had to `camp out,' as it is technically called." 1875. R. and F. Hill, `What we saw in Australia,' p. 208: "So the Bishop determined to `camp-out' at once where a good fire could be made." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 43: "There is room here for fifty, rolled up on the floor; and should that fail them, there is no end of other places; or the bush, as a fall back, where, indeed, some of them prefer camping as it is." 1891. `The Australasian,' Nov. 14, p. 963, col. 1: `A Lady in the Kermadecs': "For three months I `camped out' there alone, shepherding a flock of Angoras." (2) By extension, to sleep in any unusual place, or at an unusual time. 1893. `Review of Reviews' (Australasian ed. ), March, p. 51: "The campaign came to an abrupt and somewhat inglorious close, Sir George Dibbs having to `camp' in a railway carriage, and Sir Henry Parkes being flood-bound at Quirindi." 1896. Modern: "Visitor,--`Where's your Mother?' `Oh, she's camping.'" [The lady was enjoying an afternoon nap indoors.] (3) To stop for a rest in the middle of the day. 1891. Mrs. Cross (Ada Cambridge), `The Three Miss Kings,' p. 180: "We'll have lunch first before we investigate the caves--if it's agreeable to you. I will take the horses out, and we'll find a nice place to camp before they come." (4) To floor or prove superior to. <i>Slang</i>. 1886. C. H. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 207: "At punching oxen you may guess There's nothing out can camp him. He has, in fact, the slouch and dress, Which bullock-driver stamp him." <hw>Camphor-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber; the wood of <i>Callitris (Frenea) robusta</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. Called also <i>Light, Black, White, Dark</i>, and <i>Common Pine</i>, as the wood varies much in its colouring. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Canajong</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian aboriginal name for the plants called <i>Pig-faces</i> (q.v.). 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 44: "Pig-faces. It was the <i>canajong</i> of the Tasmanian aboriginal. The fleshy fruit is eaten raw by the aborigines: the leaves are eaten baked." <hw>Canary</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A bird-name used in New Zealand for <i>Clitonyx ochrocephala</i>, called also the <i>Yellow-head</i>. Dwellers in the back-blocks of Australia apply the name to the <i>Orange-fronted Ephthianura (E. aurifrons</i>, Gould), and sometimes to the <i>White-throated Gerygone (Gerygone albigularis</i>). 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 56: "<i>Clitonyx Ochrocephala</i>. Yellow-head. `Canary' of the colonists." (2) Slang for a convict. See quotations. As early as 1673, `canary-bird' was thieves' English for a gaol-bird. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 117: "Convicts of but recent migration are facetiously known by the name of <i>canaries</i>, by reason of the yellow plumage in which they are fledged at the period of landing." 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' c. ii. p. 72: "The prisoners were dressed in yellow-hence called `canary birds.'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. vi. p. 49: "Can't you get your canaries off the track here for about a quarter of an hour, and let my mob of cattle pass ?" <hw>Candle-nut</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given in Queensland to the fruit of <i>Aleurites moluccana</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. The nuts are two or more inches diameter. The name is often given to the tree itself, which grows wild in Queensland and is cultivated in gardens there under the name of <i>A. triloba</i>, Forst. It is not endemic in Australia, but the vernacular name of <i>Candle-nut</i> is confined to Australia and the Polynesian Islands. 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 472: "Candle-nut. The kernels when dried and stuck on a reed are used by the Polynesian Islanders as a substitute for candles, and as an article of food in New Georgia. These nuts resemble walnuts somewhat in size and taste. When pressed they yield a large proportion of pure palatable oil, used as a drying-oil for paint, and known as country walnut-oil and artists' oil." <hw>Cane-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Bamboo-grass</i> (q.v.). <hw>Cape-Barren Goose</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Goose</i>. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 114, [Footnote]: "The `Cape Barren Goose' frequents the island from which it takes its name, and others in the Straits. It is about the same size as a common goose, the plumage a handsome mottled brown and gray, somewhat owl-like in character." [Cape Barren Island is in Bass Strait, between Flinders Island and Tasmania. Banks Strait flows between Cape Barren Island and Tasmania. The easternmost point on the island is called Cape Barren.] <hw>Cape-Barren Tea</hw>, <i>n</i>. a shrub or tree, <i>Correa alba</i>, Andr., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 134: "<i>Leptospermum lanigerum</i>, hoary tea-tree; <i>Acacia decurrens</i>, black wattle; <i>Correa alba</i>, Cape Barren tea. The leaves of these have been used as substitutes for tea in the colony." <hw>Cape Lilac</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Lilac</i>. <hw>Cape Weed</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Europe, <i>Roccella tinctoria</i>, a lichen from the Cape de Verde Islands, from which a dye is produced. In New Zealand, name given to the European cats-ear, <i>Hypaechoris radicata</i>. In Australia it is as in quotation below. See `Globe Encyclopaedia,' 1877 (s.v.). 1878. W. R. Guilfoyle, `First Book of Australian Botany,' p. 60: "Cape Weed. <i>Cryptostemma Calendulaceum</i>. (Natural Order, <i>Compositae</i>.) This weed, which has proved such a pest in many parts of Victoria, was introduced from the Cape of Good Hope, as a fodder plant. It is an annual, flowering in the spring, and giving a bright golden hue to the fields. It proves destructive to other herbs and grasses, and though it affords a nutritious food for stock in the spring, it dies off in the middle of summer, after ripening its seeds, leaving the fields quite bare." <hw>Caper-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian tree of this name is <i>Capparis nobilis</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Capparideae</i>. The <i>Karum</i> of the Queensland aboriginals. The fruit is one to two inches in diameter. Called also <i>Grey Plum</i> or <i>Native Pomegranate</i>. The name is also given to <i>Capparis Mitchelli</i>, Lindl. The European caper is <i>Capparis spinosa</i>, Linn. 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue, Economic Woods,' p. 10: "Native Caper Tree or Wild Pomegranate. Natural Order, <i>Capparideae.</i> Found in the Mallee Scrub. A small tree. The wood is whitish, hard, close-grained, and suitable for engraving, carving, and similar purposes. Strongly resembles lancewood." <hw>Captain Cook</hw>, or <hw>Cooker</hw>, <i>n</i>. New Zealand colonists' slang. First applied to the wild pigs of New Zealand, supposed to be descended from those first introduced by Captain Cook; afterwards used as term of reproach for any pig which, like the wild variety, obstinately refused to fatten. See <i>Introduction</i>. 1879. W. Quin, `New Zealand Country Journal,' vol. iii. p. 55: "Many a rare old tusker finds a home in the mountain gorges. The immense tusks at Brooksdale attest the size of the wild boars or Captain Cooks, as the patriarchs are generally named." 1894. E. Wakefield, `New Zealand after Fifty Years,' p. 85: "The leanness and roughness of the wild pig gives it quite a different appearance from the domesticated variety; and hence a gaunt, ill-shaped, or sorry-looking pig is everywhere called in derision a `Captain Cook.'" <hw>Carbora</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for (1) the <i>Native Bear</i>. See <i>Bear</i>. (2) A kind of water worm that eats into timber between high and low water on a tidal river. <hw>Cardamom</hw>, <i>n</i>. For the Australian tree of this name, see quotation. 1890. C. Lumholtz,' Among Cannibals,' p. 96: "The Australian cardamom tree." [Footnote]: "This is a fictitious name, as are the names of many Australian plants and animals. The tree belongs to the nutmeg family, and its real name is <i>Myristica insipida</i>. The name owes its existence to the similarity of the fruit to the real cardamom. But the fruit of the <i>Myristica has</i> not so strong and pleasant an odour as the real cardamom, and hence the tree is called <i>insipida</i>." <hw>Carp</hw>, <i>n</i>. The English fish is of the family <i>Cyprinidae</i>. The name is given to different fishes in Ireland and elsewhere. In Sydney it is <i>Chilodactylus fuscus</i>, Castln., and <i>Chilodactylus macropterus</i>, Richards.; called also <i>Morwong</i> (q.v.). The <i>Murray Carp</i> is <i>Murrayia cyprinoides</i>, Castln., a percoid fish. <i>Chilodactylis</i> belongs to the family <i>Cirrhitidae</i>, in no way allied to <i>Cyprinidae</i>, which contains the European carps. <i>Cirrhitidae</i>, says Guenther, may be readily recognized by their thickened undivided lower pectoral rays, which in some are evidently auxiliary organs of locomotion, in others, probably, organs of touch. <hw>Carpet-Shark</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Wobbegong</i> (q.v.) <hw>Carpet-Snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large Australian snake with a variegated skin, <i>Python variegata</i>, Gray. In Whitworth's `Anglo-Indian Dictionary,' 1885 (s.v.), we are told that the name is loosely applied (sc. in India) to any kind of snake found in a dwelling-house other than a cobra or a dhaman. In Tasmania, a venomous snake, <i>Hoplocephalus curtus</i>, Schlegel. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Carrier</hw>, <i>n</i>. a local name for a water-bag. 1893. A. F. Calvert, `English Illustrated,' Feb., p. 321: "For the water-holders or `carriers' (made to fit the bodies of the horses carrying them, or to `ride easily' on pack-saddles)." <hw>Carrot, Native</hw>, (1) <i>Daucus brachiatus</i>, Sieb., <i>N.O. Umbelliferae</i>. Not endemic in Australia. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 64: "The native carrot . . . was here withered and in seed." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 124: "Native carrot. Stock are very fond of this plant when young. Sheep thrive wonderfully on it where it is plentiful. It is a small annual herbaceous plant, growing plentifully on sandhills and rich soil; the seeds, locally termed `carrot burrs,' are very injurious to wool, the hooked spines with which the seeds are armed attaching themselves to the fleece, rendering portions of it quite stiff and rigid. The common carrot belongs, of course, to this genus, and the fact that it is descended from an apparently worthless, weedy plant, indicates that the present species is capable of much improvement by cultivation." (2) In Tasmania <i>Geranium dissectum</i>, Linn., is also called "native carrot." <hw>Cascarilla, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber, <i>Croton verreauxii</i>, Baill., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 408: "Native cascarilla. A small tree; wood of a yellowish colour, close-grained and firm." <hw>Cassowary</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is Malay, the genus being found in "the Islands in the Indian Archipelago." (`O.E.D.') The Australian variety is <i>Casuarius australis</i>, Waller. The name is often erroneously applied (as in the first two quotations), to the Emu (q.v.), which is not a Cassowary. 1789. Governor Phillip, `Voyage,' c. xxii. p. 271: "New Holland Cassowary. [Description given.] This bird is not uncommon to New Holland, as several of them have been seen about Botany Bay, and other parts. . . . Although this bird cannot fly, it runs so swiftly that a greyhound can scarcely overtake it. The flesh is said to be in taste not unlike beef." 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. xi. p. 438: "The cassowary of New South Wales is larger in all respects than the well-known bird called the cassowary." 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia' (Supplement): "<i>Casuarius Australis</i>, Wall., Australian Cassowary, sometimes called Black Emu." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 73: "One day an egg of a cassowary was brought to me; this bird, although it is nearly akin to the ostrich and emu, does not, like the latter, frequent the open plains, but the thick brushwood. The Australian cassowary is found in Northern Queensland from Herbert river northwards, in all the large vine-scrubs on the banks of the rivers, and on the high mountains of the coasts." Ibid. p. 97. "The proud cassowary, the stateliest bird of Australia . . . this beautiful and comparatively rare creature.'" 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "The Australian cassowary. . . . They are somewhat shorter and stouter in build than the emu." <hw>Casuarina</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of a large group of trees common to India, and other parts lying between India and Australasia, but more numerous in Australia than elsewhere, and often forming a characteristic feature of the vegetation. They are the so-called <i>She-oaks</i> (q.v.). The word is not, however, Australian, and is much older than the discovery of Australia. Its etymology is contained in the quotation, 1877. 1806. `Naval Chronicles,' c. xv. p. 460: "Clubs made of the wood of the Casuarina." 1814. R. Brown, `Botany of Terra Australis,' in M. Flinders' `Voyage to Terra Australis,' vol. ii. p. 571: "Casuarinae. The genus <i>Casuarina</i> is certainly not referable to any order of plants at present established . . . it may be considered a separate order. . . . The maximum of Casuarina appears to exist in Terra Australis, where it forms one of the characteristic features of the vegetation." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 160: "The dark selvage of casuarinas fringing its bank." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 10: "The vegetation assumed a new character, the eucalyptus and casuarina alternating with the wild cherry and honeysuckle." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 34: "The scientific name of these well-known plants is as appropriate as their vernacular appellation is odd and unsuited. The former alludes to the cassowary (Casuarius), the plumage of which is comparatively as much reduced among birds, as the foliage of the casuarinas is stringy among trees. Hence more than two centuries ago Rumph already bestowed the name Casuarina on a Java species, led by the Dutch colonists, who call it there the Casuaris-Boom. The Australian vernacular name seems to have arisen from some fancied resemblance of the wood of some casuarinas to that of oaks, notwithstanding the extreme difference of the foliage and fruit; unless, as Dr. Hooker supposes, the popular name of these trees and shrubs arose from the Canadian `Sheack.'" 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 397: "From a fancied resemblance of the wood of casuarinas to that of oak, these trees are called `oaks,' and the same and different species have various appellations in various parts." 1890. C. Lumholtz; `Among Cannibals,' p. 33: "Along its banks (the Comet's) my attention was drawn to a number of casuarinas--those leafless, dark trees, which always make a sad impression on the traveller; even a casual observer will notice the dull, depressing sigh which comes from a grove of these trees when there is the least breeze.'" <hw>Cat-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. In America the name is given to <i>Mimus carolinensis</i>, a mocking thrush, which like the Australian bird has a cry resembling the mewing of a cat. The Australian species are-- The Cat-bird-- <i>Ailuraedus viridis</i>, Lath. Spotted C.-- <i>Ailuraedus maculosus</i>, Ramsay. <i>Pomatostomus rubeculus</i>, Gould. Tooth-billed C.-- <i>Scenopaeus dentirostris</i>, Ramsay. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 11: "Its loud, harsh and extraordinary note is heard; a note which differs so much from that of all other birds, that having been once heard it can never be mistaken. In comparing it to the nightly concert of the domestic cat, I conceive that I am conveying to my readers a more perfect idea of the note of this species than could be given by pages of description. This concert, like that of the animal whose name it bears, is performed either by a pair or several individuals, and nothing more is required than for the hearer to shut his eyes from the neighbouring foliage to fancy himself surrounded by London grimalkins of house-top celebrity." 1888. D.Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 36: "One of the most peculiar of birds' eggs found about the Murray is that of the locally-termed `cat-bird,' the shell of which is veined thickly with dark thin threads as though covered with a spider's web." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals.' p. 96: "The cat-bird (<i>AEluraedus maculosus</i>), which makes its appearance towards evening, and has a voice strikingly like the mewing of a cat." 1893. `The Argus,' March 25: "Another quaint caller of the bush is the cat-bird, and its eggs are of exactly the colour of old ivory." 1896. G. A. Keartland, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' pt. ii. Zoology, p. 92: "Their habit of mewing like a cat has gained for them the local cognomen of cat-birds." <hw>Cat-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied in the Old World to various fishes of the family <i>Siluridae</i>, and also to the Wolf-fish of Europe and North America. It arises from the resemblance of the teeth in some cases or the projecting "whiskers" in others, to those of a cat. In Victoria and New South Wales it is a fresh-water fish, <i>Copidoglanis tandanus</i>, Mitchell, brought abundantly to Melbourne by railway. It inhabits the rivers of the Murray system, but not of the centre of the continent. Called also <i>Eel-fish</i> and <i>Tandan</i> (q.v.). In Sydney the same name is applied also to <i>Cnidoglanis megastoma</i>, Rich., and in New Zealand <i>Kathetostoma monopterygium</i>. <i>Cnidoglanis</i> and <i>Cnidoglanis</i> are Siluroids, and <i>Kathetostoma</i> is a"stargazer," i.e. a fish having eyes on the upper surface of the head, belonging to the family <i>Trachinidsae</i>. 1851. J. Henderson, `Excursions in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 207: "The Cat-fish, which I have frequently caught in the McLeay, is a large and very ugly animal. Its head is provided with several large tentacatae, and it has altogether a disagreeable appearance. I have eat its flesh, but did not like it." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 213 [Footnote]: "Mr. Frank Buckland . . . writing of a species of rock-fish, says--`I found that it had a beautiful contrivance in the conformation of its mouth. It has the power of prolongating both its jaws to nearly the extent of half-an-inch from their natural position. This is done by a most beautiful bit of mechanism, somewhat on the principle of what are called `lazy tongs.' The cat-fish possesses a like feature, but on a much larger scale, the front part of the mouth being capable of being protruded between two and three inches when seizing prey.'" <hw>Cat, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small carnivorous marsupial, of the genus <i>Dasyurus</i>. The so-called native cat is not a cat at all, but a marsupial which resembles a very large rat or weasel, with rather a bushy tail. It is fawn-coloured or mouse-coloured, or black and covered with little white spots; a very pretty little animal. It only appears at night, when it climbs fences and trees and forms sport for moonlight shooting. Its skin is made into fancy rugs and cloaks or mantles. The animal is more correctly called a <i>Dasyure</i> (q.v.). The species are-- Black-tailed Native Cat <i>Dasyurus geoffroyi</i>, Gould. Common N.C. (called also <i>Tiger Cat</i>, q.v.)-- <i>D. viverrimus</i>, Shaw. North Australian N.C.-- <i>D. hallucatus</i>, Gould. Papuan N.C.-- <i>D. albopienetatus</i>, Schl. Slender N.C.-- <i>D. gracilis</i>, Ramsay. Spotted-tailed N.C. (called also Tiger Cat)-- <i>D. maculatus</i>, Kerr. 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 67: "The native cat is similar [to the Tiger Cat; q.v.] but smaller, and its for is an ashy-grey with white spots. We have seen two or three skins quite black, spotted with white, but these are very rare." 1885. H. H.Hayter, `Carboona,' p. 35: "A blanket made of the fur-covered skins of the native cat." 1894. `The Argus,' June 23, p. 11, col. 4: "The voices of most of our night animals are guttural and unpleasing. The 'possum has a throaty half-stifled squeak, the native cat a deep chest-note ending with a hiss and easily imitated." [See <i>Skirr</i>.] <hw>Catholic Frog</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to a frog living in the inland parts of New South Wales, <i>Notaden bennettii</i>, Guenth., which tides over times of drought in burrows, and feeds on ants. Called also "Holy Cross Toad." The names are given in consequence of a large cross-shaped blackish marking on the back. 1801. J. J. Fletcher, `Proceedings of the Linnaean Society, New South Wales,' vol. vi. (2nd series), p. 265: "<i>Notaden bennettii</i>, the Catholic frog, or as I have heard it called the Holy Cross Toad, I first noticed in January 1885, after a heavy fall of rain lasting ten days, off and on, and succeeding a severe drought." <hw>Cat's Eyes</hw>, <i>n</i>. Not the true <i>Cat's-eye</i>, but the name given in Australia to the opercula of <i>Turbo smaragdus</i>, Martyn, a marine mollusc. The operculum is the horny or shelly lid which closes the aperture of most spiral shell fish. <hw>Cat's-head Fern</hw>, <i>n. Aspidium aculeatum</i>, Sw.: 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 220: "The cat's-head fern; though why that name was given to it I have not the remotest idea. . . . It is full of beauty--the pinnules so exquisitely formed and indented, and gemmed beneath with absolute constellations of <i>Spori Polystichum vestitum</i>." <hw>Catspaw</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian plant, <i>Trichinium spathulatum</i>, Poir., <i>N.O. Amarantaceae</i>. <hw>Cat's Tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wonga</i>. <hw>Cattle-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree, <i>Atalaya hemiglauca</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Sapindacea</i>. It is found in South Australia, New South Wales, and Queensland, and is sometimes called <i>Whitewood</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 117: "Cattle-bush . . . The leaves of this tree are eaten by stock, the tree being frequently felled for their use during seasons of drought." <hw>Cattle-duffer</hw>, <i>n</i>. a man who steals cattle (usually by altering their brands). See also <i>Duffer</i>. 1886. `Melbourne Punch,' July 15, Cartoon Verses: "Cattle-duffers on a jury may be honest men enough, But they're bound to visit lightly sins in those who cattle duff." <hw>Cattle-racket</hw>, <i>n</i>. Explained in quotation. 1852. `Settlers and Convicts; or Recollections of Sixteen Years' Labour in the Australian Backwoods,' p. 294: "A Cattle-racket. The term at the head of this chapter was originally applied in New South Wales to the agitation of society which took place when some wholesale system of plunder in cattle was brought to light. It is now commonly applied to any circumstance of this sort, whether greater or less, and whether springing from a felonious intent or accidental." <hw>Caustic-Creeper</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to <i>Euphorbia drummondii</i>, Boiss., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 127: "Called `caustic-creeper' in Queensland. Called `milk-plant' and `pox-plant' about Bourke. This weed is unquestionably poisonous to sheep, and has recently (Oct. 1887) been reported as having been fatal to a flock near Bourke, New South Wales. . . . When eaten by sheep in the early morning, before the heat of the sun has dried it up, it is almost certain to be fatal. Its effect on sheep is curious. The head swells to an enormous extent, becoming so heavy that the animal cannot support it, and therefore drags it along the ground; the ears suppurate. (Bailey and Gordon.)" <hw>Caustic-Plant</hw>, or <hw>Caustic-Vine</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Sarcostemma australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Asclepiadea</i>. Cattle and sheep are poisoned by eating it. <hw>Cavally</hw>, <i>n</i>. the original form of the Australian fish-name <i>Trevally</i> (q.v.). The form <i>Cavally</i> is used to Europe, but is almost extinct in Australia; the form <i>Trevally</i> is confined to Australia. <hw>Cedar</hw>,</hw> n</i>. The true Cedar is a Conifer (<i>N.O. Coniferae</i>) of the genus <i>Cedrus</i>, but the name is given locally to many other trees resembling it in appearance, or in the colour or scent of their wood. The New Zealand <i>Cedar</i> is the nearest approach to the true <i>Cedar</i>, and none of the so-called Australian <i>Cedars</i> are of the order <i>Coniferae</i>. The following are the trees to which the name is applied in Australia:-- Bastard Pencil Cedar-- <i>Dysoxylon rfum</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. Brown C.-- <i>Ehretia acuminata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Asperifoliae</i>. Ordinary or Red C.-- <i>Cedrela australis</i>, F. v. M. <i>Cedrela toona</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. [<i>C. toona</i> is the "Toon" tree of India: its timber is known in the English market as Moulmein Cedar; but the Baron von Mueller doubts the identity of the Australian Cedar with the "Toon" tree; hence his name <i>australis</i>.] Pencil C.-- <i>Dysoxylon Fraserianum</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. Scrub White C.-- <i>Pentaceras australis</i>, Hook. and Don., <i>N.O. Rutacea</i>. White C.-- <i>Melia composita</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. Yellow C.-- <i>Rhus rhodanthema</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Anacardiacae</i>. In Tasmania, three species of the genus <i>Arthrotaxis</i> are called Cedars or Pencil Cedars; namely, <i>A. cupressoides</i>, Don., known as the King William Pine; <i>A. laxifolza</i>, Hook., the Mountain Pine; and <i>A. selaginoides</i>, Don., the Red Pine. All these are peculiar to the island. In New Zealand, the name of Cedar is applied to <i>Libocedrus bidwillii</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>; Maori name, <i>Pahautea</i>. 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions, vol. i. p. 328: "The cedar of the colony (<i>Cedrela toona</i>, R. Br.), which is to be found only in some rocky gullies of the coast range." 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 63: "Besides being valuable as a timber-producing tree, this red cedar has many medicinal properties. The bark is spoken of as a powerful astringent, and, though not bitter, said to be a good substitute for Peruvian bark in the cure of remitting and intermitting fevers." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 123: "Pahautea, Cedar. A handsome conical tree sixty to eighty feet high, two to three feet in diameter. In Otago it produces a dark-red, freeworking timber, rather brittle . . . frequently mistaken for totara." <hw>Celery, Australian</hw>, or <hw>Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Apium australe</i>, Thon. Not endemic in Australia. In Tasmania, <i>A. prostratum</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Umbelliferae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 7: "Australian Celery. This plant may be utilised as a culinary vegetable. (Mueller.) It is not endemic in Australia." <hw>Celery-topped Pine</hw>. <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. The tree is so called from the appearance of the upper part of the branchlets, which resemble in shape the leaf of the garden celery. 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 9: "The tanekaha is one of the remarkable `celery-topped pines,' and was discovered by Banks and Solander during Cook's first voyage." <hw>Centaury, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a plant, <i>Erythraea australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Gentianeae</i>. In New South Wales this Australian Centaury has been found useful in dysentery by Dr. Woolls. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 175: "Native centaury . . . is useful as a tonic medicine, especially in diarrhoea and dysentery. The whole plant is used and is pleasantly bitter. It is common enough in grass-land, and appears to be increasing in popularity as a domestic remedy." <hw>Centralia</hw>, <i>n</i>. a proposed name for the colony <i>South Australia</i> ,(q.v.). 1896. J. S. Laurie, `Story of Australasia,' p. 299: "For telegraphic, postal, and general purposes one word is desirable for a name--e.g. why not Centralia; for West Australia, Westralia; for New South Wales, Eastralia?" <hw>Cereopsis</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of the genus of the bird peculiar to Australia, called the <i>Cake Barren Goose</i>. See <i>Goose</i>. The word is from Grk. <i>kaeros</i>, wax, and <i>'opsis</i>, face, and was given from the peculiarities of the bird's beak. The genus is confined to Australia, and <i>Cereopsis novae-hollandiae</i> is the only species known. The bird was noticed by the early voyagers to Australia, and was extraordinarily tame when first discovered. <hw>Channel-Bill</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a bird resembling a large cuckoo, <i>Scythrops novae-hollandiae</i>, Lath. See <i>Scythrops</i>. <hw>Cheesewood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree, so-called in Victoria (it is also called <i>Whitewood</i> and <i>Waddywood</i> in Tasmania), <i>Pittosporum bicolor</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 588: "Cheesewood is yellowish-white, very hard, and of uniform texture and colour. It was once used for clubs by the aboriginals of Tasmania. It turns well, and should be tested for wood engraving. (`Jurors' Reports, London International Exhibition of 1862.') It is much esteemed for axe-handles, billiard-cues, etc." <hw>Cherry, Herbert River</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland tree, <i>Antidesma dallachyanum</i>, Baill., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. The fruit is equal to a large cherry in size, and has a sharp acid flavour. <hw>Cherry, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Exocarpus cupressiformis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Santalaceae</i>. 1801. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 242: "Of native fruits, a cherry, insipid in comparison of the European sorts, was found true to the singularity which characterizes every New South Wales production, the stone being on the outside of the fruit." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 411: "The shrub which is called the native cherry-tree appears like a species of cyprus, producing its fruit with the stone united to it on the outside, the fruit and the stone being each about the size of a small pea. The fruit, when ripe, is similar in colour to the Mayduke cherry, but of a sweet and somewhat better quality, and slightly astringent to the palate, possessing, upon the whole, an agreeable flavour." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1851, p. 219: "The cherry-tree resembles a cypress but is of a tenderer green, bearing a worthless little berry, having its stone or seed outside, whence its scientific name of <i>exocarpus</i>." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 33: "We also ate the Australian cherry, which has its stone, not on the outside, enclosing the fruit, as the usual phrase would indicate, but on the <i>end</i> with the fruit behind it. The stone is only about the size of a sweet-pea, and the fruit only about twice that size, altogether not unlike a yew-berry, but of a very pale red. It grows on a tree just like an arbor vitae, and is well tasted, though not at all like a cherry in flavour." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 40: "The principal of these kinds of trees received its generic name first from the French naturalist La Billardiere, during D'Entrecasteaux's Expedition. It was our common <i>Exocarpus cupressiformis</i>, which he described, and which has been mentioned so often in popular works as a cherry-tree, bearing its stone outside of the pulp. That this crude notion of the structure of the fruit is erroneous, must be apparent on thoughtful contemplation, for it is evident at the first glance, that the red edible part of our ordinary exocarpus constitutes merely an enlarged and succulent fruit-stalklet (pedicel), and that the hard dry and greenish portion, strangely compared to a cherry-stone, forms the real fruit, containing the seed." 1889. J. H. `Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 30: "The fruit is edible. The nut is seated on the enlarged succulent pedicel. This is the poor little fruit of which so much has been written in English descriptions of the peculiarities of the Australian flora. It has been likened to a cherry with the stone outside (hence the vernacular name) by some imaginative person." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 19, p. 7, col. 1: "Grass-trees and the brown brake-fern, whips of native cherry, and all the threads and tangle of the earth's green russet vestment hide the feet of trees which lean and lounge between us and the water, their leaf heads tinselled by the light." <hw>Cherry-picker</hw>, <i>n</i>. bird-name. See quotation. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. p. 70: "<i>Melithreptus Validirostris</i>, Gould. Strong-billed Honey-eater [q.v.]. Cherry-picker, colonists of Van Diemen's Land." <hw>Chestnut Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Chewgah-bag</hw>, <i>n</i>. Queensland aboriginal pigeon-English for <i>Sugar-bag</i> (q.v.). <hw>Chinkie</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang for a Chinaman. "John," short for John Chinaman, is commoner. 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 233: "The pleasant traits of character in our colonialised `Chinkie,' as he is vulgarly termed (with the single variation `Chow')." <hw>Chock-and-log</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. a particular kind of fence much used on Australian stations. The <i>Chock</i> is a thick short piece of wood laid flat, at right-angles to the line of the fence, with notches in it to receive the <i>Logs</i>, which are laid lengthwise from <i>Chock</i> to <i>Chock</i>, and the fence is raised in four or five layers of this <i>chock-and-log</i> to form, as it were, a wooden wall. Both chocks and logs are rough-hewn or split, not sawn. 1872. G. S. Baden-Powell,'New Homes for the Old Country,' p. 207: "Another fence, known as `chock and log,' is composed of long logs, resting on piles of chocks, or short blocks of wood." 1890. `The Argus.' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 5: "And to finish the Riverine picture, there comes a herd of kangaroos disturbed from their feeding-ground, leaping through the air, bounding over the wire and `chock-and-log' fences like so many india-rubber automatons." <hw>Choeropus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for the genus of Australian marsupial animals with only one known species, called the <i>Pigfooted-Bandicoot</i> (q.v.), and see <i>Bandicoot</i>. (Grk. <i>choiros</i>, a pig, and <i>pous</i>, foot.) The animal is about the size of a rabbit, and is confined to the inland parts of Australia. <hw>Christmas</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. As Christmas falls in Australasia at Midsummer, it has different characteristics from those in England, and the word has therefore a different connotation. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' p. 184: "Sheep-shearing in November, hot midsummer weather at Christmas, the bed of a river the driest walk, and corn harvest in February, were things strangely at variance with my Old-World notions." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 164: "One Christmas time when months of drought Had parched the western creeks, The bush-fires started in the north And travelled south for weeks." <hw>Christmas-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Ceratopetalum gummiferum</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>. Called also <i>Christmas-tree</i> (q.v.), and <i>Officer-bush</i>. 1888. Mrs. McCann, `Poetical Works,' p. 226: "Gorgeous tints adorn the Christmas bush with a crimson blush." <hw>Christmas-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, it is the same as <i>Christmas-bush</i> (q.v.). In New Zealand, it is <i>Metrosideros tomentosa</i>, Banks, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; Maori name, <i>Pohutukawa</i> (q.v.). 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 240: "Some few scattered Pohutukaua trees (<i>Metrosideros tomentosa</i>), the last remains of the beautiful vegetation . . . About Christmas these trees are full of charming purple blossoms; the settler decorates his church and dwelling with its lovely branches, and calls the tree `Christmas-tree'! " 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 186: "The Christmas-tree is in a sense the counterpart of the holly of the home countries. As the scarlet berry gives its ruddy colour to Christmas decorations in `the old country,' so here the creamy blossoms of the Christmas-tree are the only shrub flowers that survive the blaze of midsummer." 1889. E. H. and S. Featon, `New Zealand Flora,' p. 163: "The Pohutukawa blossoms in December, when its profusion of elegant crimson-tasselled flowers imparts a beauty to the rugged coast-line and sheltered bays which may fairly be called enchanting. To the settlers it is known as the `Christmas-tree,' and sprays of its foliage and flowers are used to decorate churches and dwellings during the festive Christmastide. To the Maoris this tree must possess a weird significance, since it is related in their traditions that at the extreme end of New Zealand there grows a Pohutukawa from which a root descends to the beach below. The spirits of the dead are supposed to descend by this to an opening, which is said to be the entrance to `Te Reinga.'" <hw>Chucky-chucky</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal Australian name for a berry; in Australia and New Zealand, the fruit of species of <i>Gaultheria</i>. See <i>Wax Cluster</i>. 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 146: "To gather chucky-chuckies--as the blacks name that most delicious of native berries." 1891. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' `New Zealand Country Journal,' vol. xv. p. 198: "When out of breath, hot and thirsty, how one longed for a handful of chuckie-chucks. In their season how good we used to think these fruits of the <i>gaultheria</i>, or rather its thickened calyx. A few handfuls were excellent in quenching one's thirst, and so plentifully did the plant abound that quantities could soon be gathered. In these rude and simple days, when housekeepers in the hills tried to convert carrots and beet-root into apricot and damson preserves, these notable women sometimes encouraged children to collect sufficient chuckie-chucks to make preserve. The result was a jam of a sweet mawkish flavour that gave some idea of a whiff caught in passing a hair-dresser's shop." <hw>Chum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>New Chum</i>. <hw>Chy-ack</hw>, <i>v</i>. simply a variation of the English slang verb, <i>to cheek</i>. 1874. Garnet Walch, `Adamanta,' Act ii. sc. ii. p. 27: "I've learnt to chi-ike peelers." [Here the Australian pronunciation is also caught. Barere and Leland give "chi-iked (tailors), chaffed unmercifully," but without explanation.] 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 742 : "The circle of frivolous youths who were yelping at and chy-acking him." 1894. E. W. Hornung, `Boss of Taroomba,' p. 5: "It's our way up here, you know, to chi-ak each other and our visitors too." <hw>Cicada</hw>, <i>n</i>. an insect. See <i>Locust</i>. 1895. G. Metcalfe, `Australian Zoology,' p. 62: "The Cicada is often erroneously called a locust. . . . It is remarkable for the loud song, or chirruping whirr, of the males in the heat of summer; numbers of them on the hottest days produce an almost deafening sound." <hw>Cider-Tree</hw>, or </hw>Cider-Gum, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to <i>Eucalyptus gunnii</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. 1830. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 119: "Specimens of that species of eucalyptus called the cider-tree, from its exuding a quantity of saccharine liquid resembling molasses. . . . When allowed to remain some time and to ferment, it settles into a coarse sort of wine or cider, rather intoxicating if drank to any excess." <hw>City</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Great Britain and Ireland the word City denotes "a considerable town that has been, (a) an episcopal seat, (b) a royal burgh, or (c) created to the dignity, like Birmingham, Dundee, and Belfast, by a royal patent. In the United States and Canada, a municipality of the first class, governed by a mayor and aldermen, and created by charter." (`Standard.') In Victoria, by section ix. of the Local Government Act, 1890, 54 Victoria, No. 1112, the Governor-in-Council may make orders, #12: "To declare any borough, including the city of Melbourne and the town of Geelong, having in the year preceding such declaration a gross revenue of not less than twenty thousand pounds, a city." <hw>Claim</hw>, <i>n</i>. in mining, a piece of land appropriated for mining purposes: then the mine itself. The word is also used in the United States. See also <i>Reward-claim</i> and <i>Prospecting-claim</i>. 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria,' c. xiv. p. 213: "A family named Cavanagh . . . entered a half-worked claim." 1863. H. Fawcett, `Political Economy,' pt. iii. c. vi. p. 359 (`O.E.D.'): "The claim upon which he purchases permission to dig." 1887. H. H. Hayter, `Christmas Adventure,' p. 3: "I decided . . . a claim to take up." <hw>Clay-pan</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given, especially in the dry interior of Australia, to a slight depression of the ground varying in size from a few yards to a mile in length, where the deposit of fine silt prevents the water from sinking into the ground as rapidly as it does elsewhere. 1875. John Forrest, `Explorations in Australia,' p. 260: "We travelled down the road for about thirty-three miles over stony plains; many clay-pans with water but no feed." 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, vol. i. p. 17: "One of the most striking features of the central area and especially amongst the loamy plains and sandhills, is the number of clay-pans. These are shallow depressions, with no outlet, varying in length from a few yards to half a mile, where the surface is covered with a thin clayey material, which seems to prevent the water from sinking as rapidly as it does in other parts." <hw>Clean-skins</hw>, or <hw>Clear-skins</hw>, <i>n</i>. unbranded cattle or horses. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 206: "These clean-skins, as they are often called, to distinguish them from the branded cattle." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xv. p. 109: "Strangers and pilgrims, calves and clear-skins, are separated at the same time." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' p. 82: "`Clear-skins,' as unbranded cattle were commonly called, were taken charge of at once." 1893. `The Argus,' April 29, p.4, col. 4: "As they fed slowly homeward bellowing for their calves, and lowing for their mates, the wondering clean-skins would come up in a compact body, tearing, ripping, kicking, and moaning, working round and round them in awkward, loblolly canter." <hw>Clearing lease</hw>, <i>n</i>. Explained in quotation. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. x. p. 321: "[They] held a small piece of land on what is called a clearing lease--that is to say, they were allowed to retain possession of it for so many years for the labour of clearing the land." <hw>Clematis</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific and vernacular name of a genus of plants belonging to the <i>N.O. Ranunculaceae</i>. The common species in Australia is <i>C. aristata</i>, R. Br. 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 124: "The beautiful species of <i>clematis</i> called <i>aristata</i>, which may be seen in the months of November and December, spreading forth its milk-white blossoms over the shrubs . . . in other places rising up to the top of the highest gum-trees." <hw>Clianthus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for an Australasian genus of plants, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, containing only two species--in Australia, <i>Sturt's Desert Pea</i> (q.v.), <i>C. dampieri</i>; and in New Zealand, the <i>Kaka-bill</i> (q.v.), <i>C. puniceus</i>. Both species are also called <i>Glory-Pea</i>, from Grk. <i>kleos</i>, glory, and <i>anthos</i>, a flower. 1892. `Otago Witness,' Nov.24, `Native Trees': "Hooker says the genus <i>Clianthus</i> consists of the Australian and New Zealand species only, the latter is therefore clearly indigenous. `One of the most beautiful plants known' (Hooker). Sir Joseph Banks and Dr. Solandel found it during Cook's first voyage." <hw>Climbing-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Hopping-fish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Climbing-Pepper</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pepper</i>. <hw>Clitonyx</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of a genus of New Zealand birds, including the <i>Yellow-head</i> (q.v.) and the <i>White-head</i> (q.v.); from Greek <i>klinein</i>, root <i>klit</i>, to lean, slant, and <i>'onux</i>, claw. The genus was so named by Reichenbach in 1851, to distinguish the New Zealand birds from the Australian birds of the genus <i>Orthonyx</i> (q.v.), which formerly included them both. <hw>Clock-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Laughing Jachass</i>. See <i>Jackass</i>. <hw>Clock, Settlers'</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Clock-bird</i>, (q.v.) <hw>Cloudy-Bay Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand name for the <i>Ling</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Cod</i>. <hw>Clover-Fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the plant called <i>Nardoo</i> (q.v.). <hw>Clover, Menindie</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian fodder plant, <i>Trigonella suavissima</i>, Lind., <i>N.O. Leguminoseae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 143: `From its abundance in the neighbourhood of Menindie, it is often called Menindie-clover.' It is the `Australian shamrock' of Mitchell. This perennial, fragrant, clover-like plant is a good pasture herb." <hw>Clover-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian tree, called also <i>Native Laburnun</i>. See under <i>Laburnum</i>. <hw>Coach</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bullock used as a decoy to catch wild cattle. This seems to be from the use of coach as the University term for a private tutor. 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. vi. p. 110: "To get them [sc. wild cattle] a party of stockmen take a small herd of quiet cattle, `coaches.'" <hw>Coach</hw>, <i>v</i>. to decoy wild cattle or horses with tame ones. 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. vi. p. 121: "Here he [the wild horse] may be got by `coaching' like wild cattle." <hw>Coach-whip Bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Psophodes crepitans</i>, V. and H. (see Gould's `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 15); Black-throated C.B., <i>P. nigrogularis</i>, Gould. Called also <i>Whipbird</i> and <i>Coachman</i>. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 330: "This bird is more often heard than seen. It inhabits bushes. The loud cracking whip-like noise it makes (from whence the colonists give it the name of coachwhip), may be heard from a great distance." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 158: "If you should hear a coachwhip crack behind, you may instinctively start aside to let <i>the mail</i> pass; but quickly find it is only our native coachman with his spread-out fantail and perked-up crest, whistling and cracking out his whip-like notes as he hops sprucely from branch to branch." 1844. Mrs. Meredith, `Notes and Sketches of New South Wales,' p. 137: "Another equally singular voice among our feathered friends was that of the `coachman,' than which no title could be more appropriate, his chief note being a long clear whistle, with a smart crack of the whip to finish with." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 177: "The bell-bird, by the river heard; The whip-bird, which surprised I hear, In me have powerful memories stirred Of other scenes and strains more dear; Of sweeter songs than these afford, The thrush and blackbird warbling clear." --Old Impressions. 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 71: "The coach-whip is a small bird about the size of a sparrow, found near rivers. It derives its name from its note, a slow, clear whistle, concluded by a sharp jerking noise like the crack of a whip." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. ii. p. 76: "The whip-bird, whose sharp wiry notes, even, are far more agreeable than the barking of dogs and the swearing of diggers." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 24: "That is the coach-whip bird. There again. Whew-ew-ew-ew-whit. How sharply the last note sounds." 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. vi. p. 54: "The sharp st--wt of the whip-bird . . . echoed through the gorge." 1888. James Thomas, `May o' the South,' `Australian Poets 1788-1888' (ed. Sladen), p. 552: "Merrily the wagtail now Chatters on the ti-tree bough, While the crested coachman bird `Midst the underwood is heard." <hw>Coast</hw>, <i>v</i>. to loaf about from station to station. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' xxv. 295: "I ain't like you, Towney, able to coast about without a job of work from shearin' to shearin'." <hw>Coaster</hw>, <i>n</i>. a loafer, a <i>Sundowner</i> (q.v.). 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' viii. 75: "A voluble, good-for-nothing, loafing impostor, a regular `coaster.'" <hw>Cobb</hw>, <i>n</i>. sometimes used as equivalent to a coach. "I am going by Cobb." The word is still used, though no Mr. Cobb has been connected with Australian coaches for many years. See quotation. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 184: "Mr. Cobb was an American, and has returned long ago to his native country. He started a line of conveyances from Melbourne to Castlemaine some time after the gold discoveries. Mr. Cobb had spirit to buy good horses, to get first-class American coaches, to employ good Yankee whips, and in a couple of years or so he had been so extensively patronised that he sold out, and retired with a moderate fortune." [But the Coaching Company retained . . . the style of Cobb & Co.] 1879 (about). `Queensland Bush Song': "Hurrah for the Roma Railway! Hurrah for Cobb and Co.! Hurrah, hurrah for a good fat horse To carry me Westward Ho!" <hw>Cobbler</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) The last sheep, an Australian shearing term. (2) Another name for the fish called the <i>Fortescue</i> (q.v.) 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), Dec. 23, p. 6, col. 1: "Every one might not know what a `cobbler' is. It is the last sheep in a catching pen, and consequently a bad one to shear, as the easy ones are picked first. The cobbler must be taken out before `Sheep-ho' will fill up again. In the harvest field English rustics used to say, when picking up the last sheaf, `This is what the cobbler threw at his wife.' `What?' `The last,' with that lusty laugh, which, though it might betray `a vacant mind,' comes from a very healthy organism." <hw>Cobblers-Awl</hw>, <i>n</i>. bird-name. The word is a provincial English name for the <i>Avocet</i>. In Tasmania, the name is applied to a <i>Spine-Bill</i> (q.v.) from the shape of its beak. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 61: "<i>Acanthorhynchus tenuirostris</i>, Lath., Slender-billed Spine-bill. <i>Cobbler's Awl</i>, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land. <i>Spine-bill</i>, Colonists of New South Wales." <hw>Cobbler's Pegs</hw>, name given to a tall erect annual weed, <i>Erigeron linifolius</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Compositae</i> and to <i>Bidens pilosus</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. <hw>Cobbra</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal word for head, skull. [<i>Kabura</i> or <i>Kobbera</i>, with such variations as Kobra, Kobbera, Kappara, Kopul, from Malay Kapala, head: one of the words on the East Coast manifestly of Malay origin.--J. Mathew. Much used in pigeon converse with blacks. `Goodway cobra tree' = `Tree very tall.'] Collins, `Port Jackson Vocabulary,' 1798 (p. 611), gives `Kabura, ca-ber-ra.' Mount Cobberas in East Gippsland has its name from huge head-like masses of rock which rise from the summit. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 31: "The black fellow who lives in the bush bestows but small attention on his cobra, as the head is usually called in the pigeon-English which they employ." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xiii. p. 134: "I should be cock-sure that having an empty cobbra, as the blacks say, was on the main track that led to the grog-camp." <hw>Cock-a-bully</hw>, <i>n</i>. a popular name for the New Zealand fish <i>Galaxias fasciatus</i>, Gray, a corruption of its Maori name <i>Kokopu</i> (q.v.). 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 3: "During my stay in New Zealand my little girl caught a fish rather larger than an English minnow. Her young companions called it a `cock-a bully.' It was pretty obvious to scent a corruption of a Maori word, for, mark you, cock-a-bully has no meaning. It looks as if it were English and full of meaning. Reflect an instant and it has none. The Maori name for the fish is `kokopu'" <hw>Cockatiel</hw>, <hw>-eel</hw>, <i>n</i>. an arbitrary diminutive of the word Cockatoo, and used as another name for the Cockatoo-Parrakeet, <i>Calopsitta novae-hollandiae</i>, and generally for any Parrakeet of the genus <i>Calopsitta</i>. (`O.E.D.') <hw>Cockatoo</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Bird-name. The word is Malay, <i>Kakatua</i>. (`O.E.D.') The varieties are-- Banksian Cockatoo-- <i>Calyptorhynchus banksii</i>, Lath. Bare-eyed C.-- <i>Cacatua gymnopis</i>, Sclater. Black C.-- <i>Calyptorhynchus funereus</i>, Shaw. Blood-stained C.-- <i>Cacatua sanguinea</i>, Gould. Dampier's C.-- <i>Licmetis pastinator</i>, Gould. Gang-gang C.-- <i>Callocephalon galeatum</i>, Lath. [See <i>Gang-gang</i>.] Glossy C.-- <i>Calyptorhynchus viridis</i>, Vieill. Long-billed C.-- <i>Licmetis nasicus</i>, Temm. [See <i>Corella</i>.] Palm C.-- <i>Microglossus aterrimus</i>, Gmel. Pink C.-- <i>Cacatua leadbeateri</i>, V. & H. (Leadbeater, q.v.). Red-tailed C.-- <i>Calyptorhynchus stellatus</i>, Wagl. Rose-breasted C.-- <i>Cacatua roseicapilla</i>, Vieill. [See <i>Galah</i>. Gould calls it <i>Cocatua eos</i>. White C.-- <i>Cacatua galerita</i>, Lath. White-tailed C.-- <i>Calyptorhynchus baudinii</i>, Vig. See also <i>Parrakeet</i>. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions, vol. ii. p. 62: "We saw to-day for the first time on the Kalare, the redtop cockatoo (Plyctolophus Leadbeateri)." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' c. viii. p. 272: "The rose-breasted cockatoo (<i>Cocatua eos</i>, Gould) visited the patches of fresh burnt grass." Ibid. p. 275: "The black cockatoo (<i>Calyptorhynchus Banksii</i>) has been much more frequently observed of late." 1857. Daniel Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 175: "Dr. Leichhardt caught sight of a number of cockatoos; and, by tracking the course of their flight, we, in a short time, reached a creek well supplied with water." 1862. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. ix. p. 331: "White cockatoos and parroquets were now seen." 1890. `Victorian Statutes, Game Act, Third Schedule': "Black Cockatoos. Gang-gang Cockatoos. [Close season.] From the 1st day of August to the 10th day of December next following in each year." 1893. `The Argus,' March 25, p.4, col. 6: "The egg of the blood-stained cockatoo has not yet been scientifically described, and the specimen in this collection has an interest chiefly in that it was taken [by Mr. A. J. Campbell] from a tree at Innamincka waterholes, not far from the spot where Burke the explorer died." (2) A small farmer, called earlier in Tasmania a <i>Cockatooer</i> (q.v.). The name was originally given in contempt (see quotations), but it is now used by farmers themselves. Cocky is a common abbreviation. Some people distinguish between a <i>cockatoo</i> and a <i>ground-parrot</i>, the latter being the farmer on a very small scale. Trollope's etymology (see quotation, 1873) will not hold, for it is not true that the cockatoo scratches the ground. After the gold fever, <i>circa</i> 1860, the selectors swarmed over the country and ate up the substance of the squatters; hence they were called <i>Cockatoos</i>. The word is also used adjectivally. 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings among the Gum-trees,' p. 154: "Oi'm going to be married To what is termed a Cockatoo-- Which manes a farmer." 1867. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 110: "These small farmers are called cockatoos in Australia by the squatters or sheep-farmers, who dislike them for buying up the best bits on their runs; and say that, like a cockatoo, the small freeholder alights on good ground, extracts all he can from it, and then flies away, to `fresh fields and pastures new.' . . . However, whether the name is just or not, it is a recognised one here; and I have heard a man say in answer to a question about his usual `occupation, `I'm a cockatoo.'" 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 135: "The word cockatoo in the farinaceous colony has become so common as almost to cease to carry with it the intended sarcasm. . . . It signifies that the man does not really till his land, but only scratches it as the bird does." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 32: "It may possibly have been a term of reproach applied to the industrious farmer, who settled or perched on the resumed portions of a squatter's run, so much to the latter's rage and disgust that he contemptuously likened the farmer to the white-coated, yellow-crested screamer that settles or perches on the trees at the edge of his namesake's clearing." 1889. `Cornhill Magazine,' Jan., p. 33: "`With a cockatoo' [Title]. Cockatoo is the name given to the small, bush farmer in New Zealand." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xliii. p. 377: "The governor is a bigoted agriculturist; he has contracted the cockatoo complaint, I'm afraid." 1893, `The Argus,' June 17, p. 13, col. 4: "Hire yourself out to a dairyman, take a contract with a rail-splitter, sign articles with a cockatoo selector; but don't touch land without knowing something about it." <hw>Cockatoo</hw>, <i>v. intr</i>. (1) To be a farmer. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. xx. p. 245: "Fancy three hundred acres in Oxfordshire, with a score or two of bullocks,and twice as many black-faced Down sheep. Regular cockatooing." (2) A special sense--to sit on a fence as the bird sits. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' c. xviii. p. 224: "The correct thing, on first arriving at a drafting-yard, is to `cockatoo,' or sit on the rails high above the tossing horn-billows." <hw>Cockatooer</hw>, <i>n</i>. a variant of <i>Cockatoo</i> (q.v.), quite fallen into disuse, if quotation be not a nonce use. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 137: "A few wretched-looking huts and hovels, the dwellings of `cockatooers,' who are not, as it might seem, a species of bird, but human beings; who rent portions of this forest . . . on exorbitant terms . . . and vainly endeavour to exist on what they can earn besides, their frequent compulsory abstinence from meat, when they cannot afford to buy it, even in their land of cheap and abundant food, giving them some affinity to the grain-eating white cockatoos." <hw>Cockatoo Fence</hw>, <i>n</i>. fence erected by small farmers. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xxii. p. 155: "There would be roads and cockatoo fences . . . in short, all the hostile emblems of agricultural settlement." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. xiv. p. 120: "The fields were divided by open rails or cockatoo fences, i.e. branches and logs of trees laid on the ground one across the other with posts and slip-rails in lieu of gates." <hw>Cockatoo Bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Currant</i> (q.v). <hw>Cockatoo Orchis</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the Orchid, <i>Caleya major</i>, R. Br. <hw>Cock-eyed Bob</hw>, a local slang term in Western Australia for a thunderstorm. 1894. `The Age,' Jan. 20, p. 13, col. 4: "They [the natives of the northwest of Western Australia] are extremely frightened of them [sc. storms called <i>Willy Willy</i>, q.v.], and in some places even on the approach of an ordinary thunderstorm or `Cock-eyed Bob,' they clear off to the highest ground about." <hw>Cockle</hw>, <i>n</i>. In England the name is given to a species of the familiar marine bivalve mollusc, <i>Cardium</i>. The commonest Australian species is <i>Cardium tenuicostatum</i>, Lamarck, present in all extra-tropical Australia. The name is also commonly applied to members of the genus <i>Chione</i>. <hw>Cock-Schnapper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish; the smallest kind of <i>Schnapper</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Count-fish</i>. 1882. Rev. I. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 41: "The usual method of estimating quantity for sale by the fisherman is, by the schnapper or count-fish, the school-fish, and squire, among which from its metallic appearance is the copper head or copper colour, and the red bream. Juveniles rank the smallest of the fry, not over an inch or two in length, as the cock-schnapper. The fact, however, is now generally admitted that all these are one and the same genus, merely in different stages of growth." <hw>Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. This common English name of the <i>Gadus morrhua</i> is applied to many fishes in Australia of various families, Gadoid and otherwise. In Melbourne it is given to <i>Lotella callarias</i>, Guenth., and in New South Wales to several fishes of the genus <i>Serranus</i>. <i>Lotella</i> is a genus of the family <i>Gadidae</i>, to which the European Cod belongs; <i>Serranus</i> is a Sea perch (q.v.). See <i>Rock Cod, Black Rock Cod, Red Rock Cod, Black Cod, Elite Cod, Red Cod, Murray Cod, Cloudy Bay Cod, Ling, Groper, Hapuku, and Haddock</i>. <hw>Coffee-Bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a settlers' name for the New Zealand tree the <i>Karamu</i> (q.v.). Sometimes called also </hw>Coffee-plant. <hw>Coffer-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Trunk-fish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Coffee Plant</hw>, or <hw>Coffee Berry</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the Tasmanian <i>Native Holly</i> (q.v.). <hw>Colonial Experience</hw>, <i>n</i>. and used as <i>adj</i>. same as <i>cadet</i> (q.v.) in New Zealand; a young man learning squatting business, gaining his colonial experience. Called also <i>jackaroo</i> (q.v.). 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 95: "You're the first `colonial experience' young fellow that it ever occurred to within my knowledge." <hw>Colonial Goose</hw>, <i>n</i>. a boned leg of mutton stuffed with sage and onions. In the early days the sheep was almost the sole animal food. Mutton was then cooked and served in various ways to imitate other dishes. <hw>Colour</hw>, <i>n</i>. sc. of gold. It is sometimes used with `good,' to mean plenty of gold: more usually, the `colour' means just a little gold, enough to show in the dish. 1860. Kelly, `Life in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 222: ". . . they had not, to use a current phrase, `raised the colour.'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood. `Miner's Right,' c. xiv. p. 149: "This is the fifth claim he has been in since he came here, and the first in which he has seen the colour." 1891. W. Lilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 14: "After spending a little time there, and not finding more than a few colours of gold, he started for Mount Heemskirk." <hw>Convictism</hw>, <i>n</i>. the system of transportation of convicts to Australia and Van Diemen's Land, now many years abolished. 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 309: "May it remain nailed to the mast until these colonies are emancipated from convictism." 1864. `Realm,' Feb. 24, p.4 (`O.E.D.'): "No one who has not lived in Australia can appreciate the profound hatred of convictism that obtains there." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 16: "They preferred to let things remain as they were, convictism included." <hw>Coobah</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal name for the tree <i>Acacia salicina</i>, Lindl., <i>N.O.Leguminosae</i>. See <i>Acacia</i>. The spellings vary, and sometimes begin with a K. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' v. 46: "A deep reach of the river, shaded by couba trees and river-oaks." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xxviii. p. 400: "The willowy coubah weeps over the dying streamlet." <hw>Coo-ee</hw>, or <hw>Cooey</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>interj</i>. spelt in various ways. See quotations. A call borrowed from the aborigines and used in the bush by one wishing to find or to be found by another. In the vocabulary of native words in `Hunter's Journal,' published in 1790, we find "Cow-ee = to come." 1827. P. Cunningham, `New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 23: "In calling to each other at a distance, the natives make use of the word <i>Coo-ee</i>, as we do the word <i>Hollo</i>, prolonging the sound of the <i>coo</i>, and closing that of the <i>ee</i> with a shrill jerk. . . . [It has] become of general use throughout the colony; and a newcomer, in desiring an individual to call another back, soon learns to say `<i>Coo-ee'</i> to him, instead of Hollo to him." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 162: "He immediately called `coo-oo-oo' to the natives at the fire." 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 84: "There yet might be heard the significant `<i>cooy'</i> or `quhy,' the true import of which was then unknown to our ears." 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' p. 46: "Although Mr. Brown made the woods echo with his `cooys.'" [See also p. 87, note.] 1845. Clement Hodgkinson, `Australia from Port Macquarie to Moreton Bay,' p. 28: "We suddenly heard the loud shrill <i>couis</i> of the natives." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 231: "Their cooieys are not always what we understand by the word, viz., a call in which the first note is low and the second high, uttered after sound of the word cooiey. This is a note which congregates all together and is used only as a simple `Here.'" 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 91: "Like the natives of New South Wales, they called to each other from a great distance by the <i>cooey</i>; a word meaning `come to me.' The Sydney blacks modulated this cry with successive inflexions; the Tasmanian uttered it with less art. It is a sound of great compass. The English in the bush adopt it: the first syllable is prolonged; the second is raised to a higher key, and is sharp and abrupt." 1862. W. Landsborough, `Exploration of Australia,' [Footnote] p. 24: "<i>Coo-oo-oo-y</i> is a shrill treble cry much used in the bush by persons wishful to find each other. On a still night it will travel a couple of miles, and it is thus highly serviceable to lost or benighted travellers." 1869. J. F. Townend, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 155: "The jingling of bells round the necks of oxen, the cooey of the black fellow . . . constituted the music of these desolate districts." 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 82: "Hi! . . . cooey! you fella . . . open 'im lid." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 183: "A particular `cooee' . . . was made known to the young men when they were initiated." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of the Goldfields,' p. 40: "From the woods they heard a prolonged cooee, which evidently proceeded from some one lost in the bush." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 276: "Two long farewell coo-ees, which died away in the silence of the bush." 1890. E. W. Hornung, `A Bride from the Bush,' p. 184: "The bride encircled her lips with her two gloved palms, and uttered a cry that few of the hundreds who heard it ever forgot--`coo-ee!' That was the startling cry as nearly as it can be written. But no letters can convey the sustained shrillness of the long, penetrating note represented by the first syllable, nor the weird, die-away wail of the second. It is the well-known bushcall,the `jodel' of the black fellow." <hw>Cooee, within</hw>, <i>adv</i>. within easy distance. 1887. G. L. Apperson, in `All the Year Round,' July 30, p. 67, col. 1 (`O.E.D.'): "A common mode of expression is to be `within cooey' of a place. . . . Now to be `within cooey' of Sydney is to be at the distance of an easy journey therefrom." 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), June 26, p. 2, col. 6: "Witness said that there was a post-office clock `within coo-ee,' or within less than half-a-mile of the station." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 80: "Just to camp within a cooey of the Shanty for the night." <hw>Cooee</hw>, <i>v.intr</i>. to utter the call. 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 81: "Our sable guides `cooed' and `cooed' again, in their usual tone of calling to each other at a distance." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition, p. 115: "Brown cooyed to him, and by a sign requested him to wait for us." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Phillipsland,' p. 85 [Footnote]: "Cooey is the aboriginal mode of calling out to any person at a distance, whether visible or not, in the forest. The sound is made by dwelling on the first syllable, and pronouncing the second with a short, sharp, rising inflexion. It is much easier made, and is heard to a much greater distance than the English <i>holla</i>! and is consequently in universal use among the colonists. . . . There is a story current in the colony of a party of native-born colonists being in London, one of whom, a young lady, if I recollect aright, was accidentally separated from the rest, in the endless stream of pedestrians and vehicles of all descriptions, at the intersection of Fleet Street with the broad avenue leading to Blackfriars Bridge. When they were all in great consternation and perplexity at the circumstance, it occurred to one of the party to <i>cooey</i>, and the well-known sound, with its ten thousand Australian associations, being at once recognised and responded to, a reunion of the party took place immediately, doubtless to the great wonderment of the surrounding Londoners, who would probably suppose they were all fit for Bedlam." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 90: "They [the aborigines] warily entered scrubs, and called out (cooyed) repeatedly in approaching water-holes, even when yet at a great distance." 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 91: "A female, born on this division of the globe, once stood at the foot of London Bridge, and cooyed for her husband, of whom she had lost sight, and stopped the passengers by the novelty of the sound; which however is not unknown in certain neighbourhoods of the metropolis. Some gentlemen, on a visit to a London theatre, to draw the attention of their friends in an opposite box, called out cooey; a voice in the gallery answered `Botany Bay!'" 1880 (circa). `Melbourne Punch,' [In the days of long trains]: "George, there's somebody treading on my dress; cooee to the bottom of the stairs." <hw>Coo-in-new</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for "a useful verbenaceous timber-tree of Australia, <i>Gmelina leichhardtii</i>, F. v. M. The wood has a fine silvery grain, and is much prized for flooring and for the decks of vessels, as it is reputed never to shrink after a moderate seasoning." (`Century.') Usually called <i>Mahogany-tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Coolaman</hw> or <hw>Kooliman</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal word, Kamilaroi Dialect of New South Wales. [W. Ridley, `Kamilaroi,' p. 25, derives it from <i>Kulu</i>, seed, but it is just as likely from <i>Kolle</i>, water.--J. Mathew.] A hollowed knot of a tree, used as a seed vessel, or for holding water. The word is applied to the excrescence on the tree as well as to the vessel; a bush hand has been heard to speak of a hump-backed man as `cooliman-backed.' 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 269: "Three koolimans (vessels of stringy bark) were full of honey water, from one of which I took a hearty draught." 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings among the Gum-trees,' p. 37: "And the beautiful Lubrina Fetched a Cooliman of water." [In Glossary.] Cooliman, a hollow knot of a tree for holding water. 186. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia, vol. ii. p. 24: "Koolimans, water vessels. . . The koolimans were made of the inner layer of the bark of the stringy-bark tree." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 185: "Coolaman, native vessel for holding water." 1885. Mrs. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 76: "Cooliman, a vessel for carrying water, made out of the bark which covers an excrescence peculiar to a kind of gum-tree." <hw>Cooper's-flag</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name in New Zealand for <i>Raupo</i> (q.v.). <hw>Coopers-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. the timber of an Australian tree, <i>Alphitonia excelsa</i>, Reiss, <i>N.O. Rhamneae</i>. The wood becomes dark with age, and is used for coopers' staves and various purposes. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 373: "Variously called Mountain-ash, Red-ash, Leather-jacket, and Coopers-wood." <hw>Coordaitcha</hw>. See <i>Kurdaitcha</i>. <hw>Coot</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English birdname; the Australian species is <i>Fulica australis</i>, Gould. See also <i>Bald-Coot</i>. <hw>Copper-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Copper Maori</hw>. This spelling has been influenced by the English word <i>Copper</i>, but it is really a corruption of a Maori word. There is a difference of opinion amongst Maori scholars what this word is. Some say <i>Kapura</i>, a common fire used for cooking, in contradistinction to a `chief's fire,' at which he sat, and which would not be allowed to be defiled with food. Others say <i>Kopa</i>. The Maori word <i>Kopa</i> was (1) <i>adj</i>. meaning <i>bent</i>, (2) <i>n</i>. <i>angle</i> or <i>corner</i>, and (3) the native oven, or more strictly the hole scooped out for the oven. 1888. T. Pine, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' `A local tradition of Raukawa,' vol. xxi. p. 417: "So they set to work and dug holes on the flat, each hole about 2 ft. across and about 1 1/2 ft. deep, and shaped something like a Kopa Maori." 1889. H. D. M. Haszard, ibid. `Notes on some Relics of Cannibalism,' vol. xxii. p. 104: "In two distinct places, about four chains apart, there were a number of <i>Kapura Maori</i>, or native ovens, scattered about within a radius of about forty feet." <hw>Coprosma</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific and vernacular name fora large genus of trees and shrubs of the order <i>Rubiaceae</i>. From the Greek <i>kopros</i>, dung, on account of the bad smell of some of the species. See quotation. The Maori name is <i>Karamu</i> (q.v.). Various species receive special vernacular names, which appear in their places in the Dictionary. 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 110: "<i>Corosma</i> comprises about forty species, of which at least thirty are found in New Zealand, all of which are restricted to the colony except <i>C. pumila</i>, which extends to Australia. Five species are found in Australia, one of which is <i>C. pumila</i> mentioned above. A few species occur in the Pacific, Chili, Juan Fernandez, the Sandwich Islands, &c." <hw>Coral</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Batswing-Coral</i>. <hw>Coral-Fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Victoria to <i>Gleichenia circinata</i>, Swartz, called in Bailey's list <i>Parasol-Fern</i>. See <i>Fern</i>. <hw>Coral-Flower</hw>, <i>n</i>. a plant, <i>Epacris</i> (q.v.), <i>Epacris microphylla</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. <hw>Coral-Pea</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Kennedya</i> (q.v.). 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 53: "The trailing scarlet kennedyas, aptly called the `bleeding-heart' or `coral pea,' brighten the greyness of the sandy, peaty wastes." <hw>Coranderrk</hw>, <i>n</i>. the aboriginal name for the Victorian <i>Dogwood</i> (q.v.). An "aboriginal station," or asylum and settlement for the remaining members of the aboriginal race of Victoria, is called after this name because the wood grew plentifully there. <hw>Cordage-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to a <i>Kurrajong</i> (q.v.). The name <i>Sida pulchella</i> has been superseded by <i>Plagianthus sidoides</i>, Hook. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 108: "Sida pulchella. Handsome Sida. Currijong or cordage tree of Hobart Town. . . . The bark used to be taken for tying up post and rail fences, the rafters of huts, in the earlier periods of the colony, before nails could be so easily procured." <hw>Corella</hw>, <i>n</i>. any parrot of the genus <i>Nymphicus</i>; the word is dim. of late Lat. <i>cora = korh</i>, a girl, doll, etc. The Australian Corella is <i>N. novae-hollandiae</i>, and the name is also given to <i>Licmetus nasicus</i>, Temm, the <i>Long-billed Cockatoo</i> (q.v.). It is often used indiscriminately by bird-fanciers for any pretty little parrot, parrakeet, or cockatoo. <hw>Cork-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Bat's-wing Coral</i>. <hw>Corkwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand tree, <i>Entelea arborescens</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. Maori name, <i>Whau</i>. 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 45: "The whau . . . is termed corkwood by the settlers on account of its light specific gravity." <hw>Cormorant</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. In Australia the name is applied to the following birds:-- Black Cormorant-- <i>Graculus novae-hollandiae</i>, Steph. Little C.-- <i>G. melanoleucus</i>, Vieill. Little-black C.-- <i>G. stictocephalus</i>, Bp. . Pied C.-- <i>G. varius</i>, Gm. White-breasted Cormorant-- <i>G. leucogaster</i>, Gould. White-throated C.-- <i>G. brevirostris</i>, Gould. <hw>Cornstalk</hw>, <i>n</i>. a young man or a girl born and bred in New South Wales, especially if tall and big. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 116: "The colonial-born, bearing also the name of cornstalks (Indian corn), from the way in which they shoot up." 1834. Geo. Benett, `Wanderings in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 341: "The Australian ladies may compete for personal beauty and elegance with any European, although satirized as `Cornstalks,' from the slenderness of their forms." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 68: "Our host was surrounded by a little army of `cornstalks.'. . . The designation `cornstalk' is given because the young people run up like the stems of the Indian corn." 1869. W. R. Honey, `Madeline Clifton,' Act III. sc. v. p. 30: "Look you, there stands young cornstalk." 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 526: "If these are the heroes that my cornstalk friends worship so ardently, they must indeed be hard up for heroes." 1893. Haddon Chambers, `Thumbnail Sketches of Australian Life,' p. 217: "While in the capital I fell in with several jolly cornstalks, with whom I spent a pleasant time in boating, fishing, and sometimes camping out down the harbour." <hw>Correa</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of a genus of Australian plants of the <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>, so named after Correa de Serra, a Portuguese nobleman who wrote on rutaceous plants at the beginning of the century. They bear scarlet or green and sometimes yellowish flowers, and are often called Native Fuchsias (q.v.), especially <i>C. speciosa</i>, Andrews, which bears crimson flowers. 1827. R. Sweet, `Flora Australasica,' p. 2: "The genus was first named by Sir J. E. Smith in compliment to the late M. Correa de Serra, a celebrated Portuguese botanist." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 384: "The scarlet correa lurked among the broken quartz." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 70: "With all wish to maintain vernacular names, which are not actually misleading, I cannot call a correa by the common colonial name `native fuchsia,' as not the slightest structural resemblance and but little habitual similarity exists between these plants; they indeed belong to widely different orders." Ibid.: "All Correas are geographically restricted to the south-eastern portion of the Australian continent and Tasmania, the genus containing but few species." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 23: "I see some pretty red correa and lilac." [Footnote]: "<i>Correa speciosa</i>, native fuchsia of Colonies." <hw>Corrobbery</hw>, <i>n</i>. This spelling is nearest to the accepted pronunciation, the accent falling on the second syllable. Various spellings, however, occur, viz.--<i>Corobbery, Corrobery, Corroberry, Corroborree, Corrobbory, Corroborry, Corrobboree, Coroboree, Corroboree, Korroboree, Corroborri, Corrobaree</i>, and <i>Caribberie</i>. To these Mr. Fraser adds <i>Karabari</i> (see quotation, 1892), but his spelling has never been accepted in English. The word comes from the Botany Bay dialect. [The aboriginal verb (see Ridley's `Kamilaroi and other Australian Languages,' p. 107) is korobra, to dance; in the same locality boroya or beria means to sing; probably koro is from a common Australian word for emu.--J. Mathew.] (1) An aboriginal name for a dance, sacred, festive, or warlike. 1793. Governor Hunter, `Port Jackson, p. 195: "They very frequently, at the conclusion of the dance, would apply to us . . . for marks of our approbation . . . which we never failed to give by often repeating the word <i>boojery</i>, good; or <i>boojery caribberie</i>, a good dance." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 280: "Dancing with their corrobery motion." Ibid. p. 311: "With several corrobery or harlequin steps." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. ii. c. iii. p. 55: "They hold their corrobbores (midnight ceremonies)." 1836. C. Darwin, `Journal of the Voyage of the Beagle' (ed. 1882), c. xix. p. 450: "A large tribe of natives, called the white cockatoo men, happened to pay a visit to the settlement while we were there. These men as well as those of the tribe belonging to King George's Sound, being tempted by the offer of some tubs of rice and sugar were persuaded to hold a `corrobery' or great dancing party." [Description follows.] 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. ii. p. 4: "There can be little doubt that the corrobboree is the medium through which the delights of poetry and the drama are enjoyed in a limited degree, even by these primitive savages of New Holland." 1844. Mrs. Meredith. `Notes and Sketches of New South Wales,' p. 91: "Great preparations were made, as for a grand corrobory, or festival, the men divesting themselves of even the portions of clothing commonly worn, and painting their naked black bodies in a hideous manner with pipe-clay. After dark, they lit their fires, which are small, but kept blazing with constant additions of dry bark and leaves, and the sable gentry assembled by degrees as they completed their evening toilette, full dress being painted nudity. A few began dancing in different parties, preparatory to the grand display, and the women, squatting on the ground, commenced their strange monotonous chant, each beating accurate time with two boomerangs. Then began the grand corrobory, and all the men joined in the dance, leaping, jumping, bounding about in the most violent manner, but always in strict unison with each other, and keeping time with the chorus, accompanying their wild gesticulations with frightful yells, and noises. The whole `tableau' is fearfully grand! The dark wild forest scenery around--the bright fire-light gleaming upon the savage and uncouth figures of the men, their natural dark hue being made absolutely horrible by the paintings bestowed on them, consisting of lines and other marks done in white and red pipe-clay, which gives them an indescribably ghastly and fiendish aspect--their strange attitudes, and violent contortions and movements, and the unearthly sound of their yells, mingled with the wild and monotonous wail-like chant of the women, make altogether a very near approach to the horribly sublime in the estimation of most Europeans who have witnessed an assembly of the kind." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 103: "They have no instrument of music, the corobery's song being accompanied by the beating of two sticks together, and by the women thumping their opossum rugs.'" 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 447 [Footnote]: "These words, which were quite as unintelligible to the natives as the corresponding words in the vernacular language of the white men would have been, were learned by the natives, and are now commonly used by them in conversing with Europeans, as English words. Thus <i>corrobbory</i>, the Sydney word for a general assembly of natives, is now commonly used in that sense at Moreton Bay; but the original word there is <i>yanerwille</i>. <i>Cabon</i>, great; <i>narang</i>, little; <i>boodgeree</i>, good; <i>myall</i>, wild native, etc. etc., are all words of this description, supposed by the natives [of Queensland] to be English words, and by the Europeans to be aboriginal words of the language of that district." [The phrase "general assembly" would rise naturally in the mind of Dr. Lang as a Presbyterian minister; but there is no evidence of anything parliamentary about a corrobbery.] 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 78: "The exact object or meaning of their famous corrobboree or native dance, beyond mere exercise and patience, has not as yet been properly ascertained; but it seems to be mutually understood and very extensively practised throughout Australia, and is generally a sign of mutual fellowship and good feeling on the part of the various tribes." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 100: "When our blacks visited Sydney, and saw the military paraded, and heard the bands, they said that was `white fellows' corrobbory.'" 185. E. Stone Parker, `Aborigines of Australia,' p. 21: "It is a very great mistake to suppose . . . that there is any kind of religious ceremony connected with the ordinary corrobory. . . . I may also remark that the term corrobory is not a native word." [It is quite certain that it is native, though not known to Mr. E. Stone Parker.] 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 49: [In Tasmania] "the assembling of the tribes was always celebrated by a grand <i>corroboree</i>, a species of bestial <i>bal masque</i>. On such occasions they presented a most grotesque and demon-like appearance, their heads, faces, and bodies, liberally greased were besmeared alternately with clay and red ochre; large tufts of bushy twigs were entwined around their ankles, wrists, and waists; and these completed their toilet." 1879. J. D. Woods, `Native Tribes of South Australia,' Introduction, pp. xxxii. and xxxiii.: "The principal dance is common all over the continent, and `corrobboree' is the name by which it is commonly known. It is not quite clear what a corrobboree is intended to signify. Some think it a war-dance--others that it is a representation of their hunting expeditions--others again, that it is a religious, or pagan, observance; but on this even the blacks themselves give no information." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 41: "The good fortune to witness a <i>korroboree</i>, that is a festive dance by the natives in the neighbourhood." 1892. J. Fraser, `The Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 21: "`Karabari' is an aboriginal name for those dances which our natives often have in the forests at night. Hitherto the name has been written corrobboree, but etymologically it should be karabari, for it comes from the same root as `karaji,' a wizard or medicine-man, and `bari' is a common formative in the native languages. The karabari has been usually regarded as a form of amusement . . . these dances partake of a semi-religious character." [Mr. Fraser's etymology is regarded as far-fetched.] (2) The song that accompanied the dance. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 323: "I feared he might imagine we were afraid of his incantations, for he sang most lamentable corroborris." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 68: ". . . listen to the new corroborree. Great numbers arrive; the corroborree is danced night after night with the utmost enthusiasm. . . .These corroborrees travel for many hundreds of miles from the place where they originated. . . .These composers [of song and dance] pretend that the Spirit of Evil originally manufactured their corroborree." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillman, `Australian Life,' p. 132: "The story was a grand joke among the blacks for many a day. It became, no doubt, the theme for a `corroberee,' and Tommy was always after a hero amongst his countrymen." (3) By transference, any large social gathering or public meeting. 1892. `Saturday Review,' Feb.' 13, p. 168, col. 2: "A corrobory of gigantic dimensions is being prepared for [General Booth's] reception [in Australia]." (`O.E.D.') 1895. Modern: "There's a big corrobbery on to-night at Government House, and you can't get a cab for love or money." (4) By natural transference, a noise, disturbance, fuss or trouble. 1874. Garnet Walch, `Adamanta,' Act II. sc. ii. p. 27: "How can I calm this infantile corroboree?" 1885. H. O. Forbes, `Naturalist's Wanderings,' p. 295: "Kingfishers . . . in large chattering corrobories in the tops of high trees." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 242: "The boy raises the most awful corroboree of screams and howls, enough for a whole gang of bushrangers, if they went in for that sort of thing." 1897. `The Herald,' Feb. 15, p. i, col. 1: "Latest about the Cretan corroboree in our cable messages this evening. The situation at the capital is decidedly disagreeable. A little while ago the Moslems threw the Christians out and took charge. Now the last report is that there is a large force of Christians attacking the city and quite ready, we doubt not, to cut every Moslem throat that comes in the way." <hw>Corrobbery</hw>, <i>v</i>. (1) To hold a corrobbery. 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 61: "They began to corrobery or dance. (p. 206): They `corroberried,' sang, laughed, and screamed." 1885. R. M. Pried, `Australian Life,' p. 22: "For some time the district where the nut [bunya] abounds is a scene of feasting and corroboreeing." (2) By transference to animals, birds, insects, etc. 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 257: "The mosquitoes from the swamps corroboreed with unmitigated ardour." 1871. C. Darwin, `Descent of Man' (2nd ed. 1885), p. 406: "The <i>Menura Alberti</i> [see <i>Lyrebird</i>] scratches for itself shallow holes, or, as they are called by the natives, corroborying places, where it is believed both sexes assemble." (3) To boil; to dance as boiling water does. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 43: "`Look out there! `he continued; `quart-pot corroborree,' springing up and removing with one hand from the fire one of the quart-pots, which was boiling madly, while with the other he dropped in about as much tea as he could hold between his fingers and thumb." Ibid. p. 49: "They had almost finished their meal before the new quart corroborreed, as the stockman phrased it." <hw>Corypha-palm</hw>, <i>n</i>. an obsolete name for <i>Livistona inermis</i>, now called <i>Cabbage-tree</i> (q.v.). 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 49: "The bottle-tree and the corypha-palm were frequent." <hw>Cottage</hw>, <i>n</i>. a house in which all the rooms are on the ground-floor. An auctioneer's advertisement often runs--"large weatherboard cottage, twelve rooms, etc.," or "double-fronted brick cottage." The cheapness of land caused nearly all suburban houses in Australia to be built without upper storeys and detached. <hw>Cotton-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to two trees called <i>Salt-bush</i> (q.v.). (1) <i>Bassia bicornis</i>, Lindl. (2) <i>Kochia aphylla</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Salsolaceae</i>. S. Dixon (<i>apud</i> Maiden, p. 132) thus describes it-- "All kinds of stock are often largely dependent on it during protracted droughts, and when neither grass nor hay are obtainable I have known the whole bush chopped up and mixed with a little corn, when it proved an excellent fodder for horses." 1876. W. Harcus, `South Australia,' p. 126: "This is a fine open, hilly district, watered, well grassed, and with plenty of herbage and cotton-bush." <hw>Cotton-shrub</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given in Tasmania to the shrub <i>Pimelea nivea</i>, Lab., <i>N.O</i>. Thymeleae. <hw>Cotton-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Hibiscus teliaceus</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 624: "The fibre of the bark [cotton-tree] is used for nets and fishing-lines by the aborigines." <hw>Cotton-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. the timber of an Australian tree, <i>Bedfordia salicina</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. Called <i>Dog-wood</i> (q.v.) in Tasmania. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p.386: "The `dog-wood' of Tasmania, and the `cotton-wood' of Southern New South Wales, on account of the abundant down on the leaves. A hard, pale-brown, well-mottled wood, said by some to be good for furniture. It emits a foetid smell when cut." <hw>Coucal</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name, "mentioned probably for the first time in Le Vaillant's `Oiseaux d'Afrique,' beginning about 1796; perhaps native African. An African or Indian spear-headed cuckoo: a name first definitely applied by Cuvier in 1817 to the birds of the genus <i>Centropus</i>." (`Century.') The Australian species is <i>Centropus phasianellus</i>, Gould, or <i>Centropus phasianus</i>, Lath. It is called also <i>Swamp-pheasant</i> (q.v.), and <i>Pheasant-cuckoo</i>. <hw>Count-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large <i>Schnapper</i> (q.v.). See <i>Cock-Schnapper</i>. 1874. `Sydney Mail,' `Fishes and Fishing in New South Wales': "The ordinary schnapper or count fish implies that all of a certain size are to count as twelve to the dozen, the shoal or school-fish eighteen or twenty-four to the dozen, and the squire, thirty or thirty-six to the dozen--the latter just according to their size, the redbream at per bushel." <hw>Count-muster</hw>, <i>n</i>. a gathering, especially of sheep or cattle in order to count them. 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 1: "The old man's having a regular count-muster of his sons and daughters, and their children and off side relatives-that is, by marriage." <hw>Cowdie</hw>, <i>n</i>. an early variant of <i>Kauri</i> (q.v.), with other spellings. 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 143: "The native name `Kauri' is the only common name in general use. When the timber was first introduced into Britain it was termed `cowrie' or `kowdie-pine'; but the name speedily fell into disuse, although it still appears as the common name in some horticultural works." <hw>Cowshorns</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian orchid, <i>Pterostylis nutans</i>, R. Br. <hw>Cow-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a native tree of New Zealand. Maori name, <i>Karaka</i> (q.v.). 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 346: "The karaka-tree of New Zealand (<i>Corynocarpus laevigata</i>), also called kopi by the natives, and cow-tree by Europeans (from that animal being partial to its leaves), grows luxuriantly in Sydney." <hw>Crab</hw>, <i>n</i>. Of the various Australian species of this marine crustacean, <i>Scylla serrata</i> alone is large enough to be much used as food, and it is seldom caught. In Tasmania and Victoria, <i>Pseudocarcinus gigas</i>, called the King-Crab, which reaches a weight of 20 lbs., is occasionally brought to market. There is only one fresh-water crab known in Australia--<i>Telphusa transversa</i>. 1896. Spencer and Hall, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Zoology, p. 228: "In the case of <i>Telphusa transversa</i>, the fresh-water crab, the banks of certain water holes are riddled with its burrows." <hw>Crab-hole</hw>, <i>n</i>. a hole leading into a pit-like burrow, made originally by a burrowing crayfish, and often afterwards increased in size by the draining into it of water. The burrows are made by crayfish belonging to the genera <i>Engaeus</i> and <i>Astacopsis</i>, which are popularly known as land-crabs. 1848. Letter by Mrs. Perry, given in Canon Goodman's `Church in Victoria, during Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 72: "Full of crab holes, which are exceedingly dangerous for the horses. There are holes varying in depth from one to three feet, and the smallest of them wide enough to admit the foot of a horse: nothing more likely than that a horse should break its leg in one. . . . These holes are formed by a small land-crab and then gradually enlarged by the water draining into them." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 368: "This brute put his foot in a crabhole, and came down, rolling on my leg.'' 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for the Mail,' p. 49: "Across the creek we went . . . now tripping over tussocks, now falling into crab holes." <hw>Crab-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Bitter-bark</i> (q.v.). <hw>Cradle</hw>, <i>n</i>. common in Australia, but of Californian origin. "A trough on rockers in which auriferous earth or sand is shaken in water, in order to separate and collect the gold." (`O.E.D.') 1849. `Illustrated London News,' Nov. 17, p. 325, col. 1 (`O.E.D.'): [This applies to California, and is before the Australian diggings began]: "Two men can keep each other steadily at work, the one digging and carrying the earth in a bucket, and the other washing and rocking the cradle." 1851. Letter by Mrs. Perry, quoted in Canon Goodman's `Church in Victoria during Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 171: "The streets are full of cradles and drays packed for the journey." 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria,' c. xv. p. 215: "Cradles and tin dishes to supply the digging parties." 1865. F. H. Nixon, `Peter Perfume,' p. 56: "They had cradles by dozens and picks by the score." 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 154: "The music of the puddling mill, the cradle, and the tub." <hw>Cradle</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. to wash auriferous gravel in a miner's cradle. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. 21, p. 197: "The laborious process of washing and `cradling' the ore." <hw>Crake</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The Australian varieties are-- Little Crake-- <i>Porzana palustris</i>, Gould. Spotless C.-- <i>P. tabuensis</i>, Gmel. Spotted C.-- <i>P. fluminea</i>, Gould. White-browed C.-- <i>P. cinereus,</i> Vieill. See also <i>Swamp-crake</i>. <hw>Cranberry, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <hw>Ground-berry</hw>; name given to three Australian shrubs. (1) <i>Styphelia</i> (formerly <i>Lissanthe) humifusa</i>, Persoon, <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. 1834. J. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 133: "<i>Astroloma humifusum</i>. The native cranberry has a fruit of a green, reddish, or whitish colour, about the size of a black currant, consisting of a viscid apple-flavoured pulp inclosing a large seed; this fruit grows singly on the trailing stems of a small shrub resembling juniper, bearing beautiful scarlet blossoms in autumn." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 8: "Commonly called `ground-berry.' In Tasmania the fruits are often called native cranberries. The fruits of these dwarf shrubs are much appreciated by school-boys and aboriginals. They have a viscid, sweetish pulp, with a relatively large stone. The pulp is described by some as being apple-flavoured, though I have always failed to make out any distinct flavour." (2) <i>Styphelia sapida</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. 1866. `Treasury of Botany,' p. 688 (`O.E.D.'): <i>"Lissanthe sapida</i>, a native of South-eastern Australia, is called the Australian Cranberry, on account of its resemblance both in size and colour to our European cranberry, <i>Vaccinium Oxyconos</i>." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 39: "Native cranberry. The fruit is edible. It is something like the cranberry of Europe both in size and colour, but its flesh is thin, and has been likened to that of the Siberian crab. [Found in] New South Wales." (3) <i>Pernettya tasmanica</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Ericeae</i> (peculiar to Tasmania). <hw>Crane</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. In Australia used for (1) the Native-Companion (q.v.), <i>Grus australianus</i>, Gould; (2) various Herons, especially in New Zealand, where the varieties are--Blue Crane (<i>Matuku</i>), <i>Ardea sacra</i>, Gmel.; White Crane (<i>Kotuku</i>), <i>Ardea egretta</i>, Gmel. See <i>Kotuku</i> and <i>Nankeen Crane</i>. The Cranes and the Herons are often popularly confused. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 53: "<i>Ardea Novae-Hollandiae</i>, Lath., White-fronted Heron, Blue Crane of the colonists. <i>Herodias Jugularis</i>, Blue Reef Heron, Blue Crane, colonists of Port Essington." 1848. Ibid. pl. 58: "<i>Herodias Immaculata</i>, Gould [later melanopus], Spotless Egret, White Crane of the colonists." 1890. `Victorian Consolidated Statutes, Game Act,' 3rd Schedule: "[Close Season.] All Birds known as Cranes such as Herons, Egrets, &c. From First day of August to Twentieth day of December following in each year." <hw>Craw-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a variant of <i>Crayfish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Crawler</hw>, <i>n</i>. that which crawls; used specially in Australia of cattle. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 217: "Well-bred station crawlers, as the stockmen term them from their peaceable and orderly habits." <hw>Cray-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australasian <i>Cray-fish</i> belong to the family <i>Parastacidae</i>, the members of which are confined to the southern hemisphere, whilst those of the family <i>Potamobiidae</i> are found in the northern hemisphere. The two families are distinguished from one another by, amongst other points of structure, the absence of appendages on the first abdominal segment in the <i>Parastacidae</i>. The Australasian cray-fishes are classified in the following genera--<i>Astacopsis</i>, found in the fresh waters of Tasmania and the whole of Australia; <i>Engaeus</i>, a land-burrowing form, found only in Tasmania and Victoria; <i>Paranephrops</i>, found in the fresh waters of New Zealand; and <i>Palinurus</i>, found on the coasts of Australia and New Zealand. The species are as follows :-- (1) <i>The Yabber or Yabbie Crayfish</i>. Name given to the commonest fresh-water Australian Cray-fish, <i>Astacopsis bicarinatus</i>, Gray. This is found in waterholes, but not usually in running streams, over the greater part of the continent, and often makes burrows in the ground away from water, and may also do great damage by burrowing holes through the banks of dams and reservoirs and water-courses, as at Mildura. It was first described as the <i>Port Essington Crayfish</i>. 1845. Gray, in E. J. Eyre's `Expeditions into Central Australia,' vol. i. p. 410: "The Port Essington Cray fish. <i>Astacus bicarinatus</i>." 1885. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Dec. 2, pl. 29: "They are commonly known about Melbourne by the native name of Yabber or Yabbie." (2) <i>The Murray Lobster or the Spiny Cray-fish</i>. Name given to the largest Australian fresh-water Cray-fish, <i>Astacopsis serratus</i>, Shaw, which reaches a length of over twelve inches, and is found in the rivers of the Murray system, and in the southern rivers of Victoria such as the Yarra, the latter being distinguished as a variety of the former and called locally the <i>Yarra Spiny Cray-fish</i>. 1890. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Dec. 8, pl. 160: " Our plate 160 illustrates a remarkable variety of the typical <i>A. serratus</i> of the Murray, common in the Yarra and its numerous affluents flowing southwards." (3) <i>The Tasmanian Cray</i>-fish. Name given to the large fresh-water Cray-fish found in Tasmania, <i>Astacopsis franklinii</i>; Gray. (4) <i>The Land-crab</i>. Name applied to the burrowing Cray-fish of Tasmania and Victoria, <i>Engaeus fossor</i>, Erich., and other species. This is the smallest of the Australian Cray-fish, and inhabits burrows on land, which it excavates for itself and in which a small store of water is retained. When the burrow, as frequently happens, falls in there is formed a <i>Crab-hole</i> (q.v.). 1892. G. M. Thomson, `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Tasmania,' p. 2: "Only four of the previously described forms are fresh-water species, namely: <i>Astacopsis franklinii</i> and <i>A. tasmanicus</i>, <i>Engaeus fossor</i> and <i>E. cunicularius</i>, all fresh-water cray fishes." (5) <i>New Zealand Fresh-water Cray-fish</i>. Name applied to <i>Paranephrops zealandicus</i>, White, which is confined to the fresh water of New Zealand. 1889. T. J. Parker, `Studies in Biology' (Colonial Museum and Geological Survey Department, New Zealand), p. 5: "Paranephrops which is small and has to be specially collected in rivers, creeks or lakes." (6) <i>Sydney Cray-fish</i>. Name given to the large salt-water Cray-fish, rarely called Craw-fish, or Spiny Lobster, found along the Sydney coast, <i>Palinurus huegeli</i>, Heller. 1890. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Dec. 16, pl. 159: "This species, which is the common Sydney Craw-fish, is easily distinguished from the southern one, the <i>P. Lalandi</i>, which is the common Melbourne Craw-fish." (7) <i>Southern Rock-Lobster or Melbourne Crayfish</i>. Name given to the large salt-water Cray-fish, sometimes called Craw-fish, found along the southern coast and common in the Melbourne market, <i>Palinurus lalandi</i>, Lam. 1890. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Dec. 15, pl. 150: "I suggest the trivial name of Southern Rock Lobster for this species, which abounds in Victoria, Tasmania and New Zealand, as well as the Cape of Good Hope . . . does not appear to have been noticed as far north as Sydney." The name <i>Craw-fish</i> is merely an ancient variant of <i>Cray-fish</i>, though it is said by Gasc, in his French Dictionary, that the term was invented by the London fishmongers to distinguish the small <i>Spiny Lobster</i>, which has no claws, from the common <i>Lobster</i>, which has claws. The term <i>Lobster</i>, in Australia, is often applied to the <i>Sydney Cray-fish</i> (see 7, above). <hw>Creadion</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name given by Vieillot in 1816 to a genus of birds peculiar to New Zealand, from Greek <i>kreadion</i>, a morsel of flesh, dim. of <i>kreas</i>, flesh. Buller says, "from the angle of the mouth on each side there hangs a fleshy wattle, or caruncle, shaped like a cucumber seed and of a changeable bright yellow colour." ('Birds of New Zealand,' 1886, vol. i. p. 18.) The <i>Jack-bird</i> (q.v.) and <i>Saddle-back</i> (q.v.) are the two species. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 404: "Family <i>Sturnidae</i>--Tieki (<i>Creadion Carunculatus</i>). This is a beautiful black bird with a chestnut band across the back and wings; it has also a fleshy lappet on either side of the head. The <i>tieki</i> is considered a bird of omen: if one flies on the right side it is a good sign; if on the left, a bad one." <hw>Cream of Tartar tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Baobab</i> (q.v.). <hw>Creek</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small river, a brook, a branch of a river. "An application of the word entirely unknown in Great Britain." (`O.E.D.') The `Standard Dictionary' gives, as a use in the United States, "a tidal or valley stream, between a brook and a river in size." In Australia, the name brook is not used. Often pronounced crick, as in the United States. Dr. J. A.H. Murray kindly sends the following note:--"Creek goes back to the early days of exploration. Men sailing up the Mississippi or other navigable river saw the mouths of tributary streams, but could not tell with out investigation whether they were confluences or mere inlets, creeks. They called them creeks, but many of them turned out to be running streams, many miles long--tributary rivers or rivulets. The name <i>creek</i> stuck to them, however, and thus became synonymous with tributary stream, brook." 1793. Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 516: "In the afternoon a creek obliged them to leave the banks of the river, and go round its head, as it was too deep to cross: having rounded the head of this creek. . ." 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 228: "They met with some narrow rivers or creeks." 1809. Aug. 6, `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 327: "Through Rickerby's grounds upon the riverside and those of the Rev. Mr. Marsden on the creek." 1826. Goldie, in Bischoff's `Van Diemen's Land' (1832), p. 162: "There is a very small creek which I understand is never dry." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 17: "The creeks and rivers of Australia have in general a transitory existence, now swollen by the casual shower, and again rapidly subsiding under the general dryness and heat of the climate." 1854. `Bendigo Advertiser,' quoted in `Melbourne Morning Herald,' May 29: "A Londoner reading of the crossing of a creek would naturally imagine the scene to be in the immediate neighbourhood of the coast, instead of being perhaps some hundreds of miles in the interior, and would dream of salt water, perriwinkles and sea-weed, when he should be thinking of slimy mud-holes, black snakes and gigantic gum-trees." 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' c. iv. p. 134: "The little rivulet, called, with that singular pertinacity for error which I have so often noticed here, `the creek.'" 1865. Lady Barker, `Station Life in, New Zealand,' p. 29: "The creek, just like a Scotch burn, hurrying and tumbling down the hillside to join the broader stream in the valley." 1870. P. Wentworth, `Amos Thorne,' i. p. 11: "A thirsty creek-bed marked a line of green." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 39: "In the rivers, whether large watercourses, and dignified by the name of `river,' or small tributaries called by the less sounding appellation `creeks." 1887. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. i. p. 41: "Generally where the English language is spoken a creek means a small inlet of the sea, but in Australia a creek is literally what it is etymologically, a crack in the ground. In dry weather there is very little water; perhaps in the height of summer the stream altogether ceases to run, and the creek becomes a string of waterholes; but when the heavens are opened, and the rain falls, it reappears a river." <hw>Creeklet</hw>, <i>n</i>. diminutive of Creek. 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 91: "One small creeklet day by day murmurs." <hw>Creeper</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name (sc. <i>Tree-creeper</i>) is given to several New Zealand birds of the genus <i>Certhiparus</i>, <i>N.O. Passeres</i>. The Maori names are <i>Pipipi, Toitoi</i>, and <i>Mohona</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 51: "<i>Certhiparus Novae Zelandiae</i>, Finsch. New Zealand Creeper." [A full description.] <hw>Cronk</hw>, <i>adj</i>. Derived from the German <i>krank</i>--sick or ill. (1) A racing term used of a horse which is out of order and not "fit" for the contest; hence transferred to a horse whose owner is shamming its illness and making it "run crooked" for the purpose of cheating its backers. (2) Used more generally as slang, but not recognized in Barere and Leland's `Slang Dictionary.' 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), July 4, p. 2, col. 7: "He said he would dispose of the cloth at a moderate figure because it was `cronk.' The word `cronk,' Mr. Finlayson explained, meant `not honestly come by.'" <hw>Crow</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The Australian species is--White-eyed, <i>Corvus coronoides</i> V. and H. In New Zealand (Maori name, <i>Kokako</i>) the name is used for the Blue-wattled Crow, <i>Glaucopis wilsoni</i> and for the (N. island) Orange-wattled, <i>G. cinerea</i>, Gmel. (S. island). <hw>Crow-shrike</hw>, <i>n</i>. Australian amalgamation of two common English bird-names. The <i>Crow-shrikes</i> are of three genera, <i>Strepera, Gymnorrhima</i>, and <i>Cracticus</i>. The varieties of the genus Strepera are-- Black Crow-shrike-- <i>Strepera fuliginosa</i>, Gould. Black-winged C.-- <i>S. melanoptera</i>, Gould. Grey C.-- <i>S. cuneicaudata</i>, Vieill. Hill C.-- <i>S. arguta</i>, Gould. Leaden C.-- <i>S. plumbea</i>, Gould. Pied C.-- <i>S. graculina</i>, White. Birds of the genus <i>Gymnorrhina</i> are called <i>Magpies</i> (q.v.). Those of the genus <i>Cracticus</i> are called <i>Butcher-birds</i> (q.v.). <hw>Crush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a part of a stockyard. See quotations. 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 69: "A crush, which is an elongated funnel, becoming so narrow at the end that a beast is wedged in and unable to move." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 87: "There were some small yards, and a `crush,' as they call it, for branding cattle." <hw>Cuckoo</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The Australian birds to which it is applied are-- Black-eared Cuckoo-- <i>Mesocalius osculans</i>, Gould. Bronze C.-- <i>Chalcoccyx plagosus</i>, Lath. Brush C.-- <i>Cacomantis insperatus</i>. [Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl.87.] Chestnut-breasted C.-- <i>C. castanei-ventris</i>, Gould. Fantailed C.-- <i>C. flabelliformis</i>, Lath. Little-bronze C.-- <i>Chalcoccyx malayanus</i>, Raffles. Narrow-billed bronze C.-- <i>C. basalis</i>, Hors. Oriental C.-- <i>Cuculus intermedius</i>, Vahl. Pallid C.-- <i>Cacomantis pallidus</i> and <i>C. canorus</i>, Linn. Square-tailed C.-- <i>C. variolosus</i>, Hors. Whistling-bronze C.-- <i>Chalcoccyx lucidus</i>, Gmel. In New Zealand, the name is applied to <i>Eudynamis taitensis</i> (sc. of Tahiti) Sparm., the Long-tailed Cuckoo; and to <i>Chrysococcyx lucidus</i>, Gmel., the Shining Cuckoo. The name <i>Cuckoo</i> has sometimes been applied to the <i>Mopoke</i> (q.v.) and to the <i>Boobook</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Pheasant-cuckoo</i>. 1855. G. W. Rusden, `Moyarra,' Notes, p. 30: "The Australian cuckoo is a nightjar, and is heard only by night." 1868. W. Carleton, `Australian Nights,' p. 19: "The Austral cuckoo spoke His melancholy note, `Mopoke.'" 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 118: "There are two species of the Longtailed Cuckoo (<i>Eudynamis taitensis</i>), and the beautiful Bronze or Shining Cuckoo (<i>Chrysococcyx lucidus</i>). They are both migratory birds. The Long-tailed Cuckoo spends its winter in some of the Pacific islands, the Shining Cuckoo in Australia." <hw>Cuckoo-shrike</hw>, <i>n</i>. This combination of two common English bird-names is assigned in Australia to the following-- Barred Cuckoo-shrike <i>Graucalus lineatus</i>, Swains. Black-faced C.-- <i>G. melanops</i>, Lath. Ground C.-- <i>Pteropodocys phasianella</i>, Gould. Little C.-- <i>Graucalus mentalis</i>, Vig. and Hors. Small-billed C.-- <i>G. parvirostris</i>, Gould. White-bellied C.-- <i>G. hyperleucus</i>, Gould. <hw>Cucumber-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Grayling</i> (q.v.). <hw>Cucumber-Mullet</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Grayling</i> (q.v.). <hw>Cultivation paddock</hw>, <i>n</i>. a field that has been tilled and not kept for grass. 1853. Chas. St. Julian and Ed. K. Silvester, `The Productions, Industry, and Resources of New South Wales,' p. 170: "Few stations of any magnitude are without their `cultivation paddocks,' where grain and vegetables are raised . . ." 1860. A Lady, `My Experiences in Australia,' p. 173: "Besides this large horse paddock, there was a space cleared of trees, some twenty to thirty acres in extent, on the banks of the creek, known as the `Cultivation Paddock,' where in former days my husband had grown a sufficient supply of wheat for home consumption." 1893. `The Argus,' June 17, p. 13, col. 4: "How any man could have been such an idiot as to attempt to make a cultivation paddock on a bed of clay passed all my knowledge.' <hw>Curlew</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The Australian species is <i>Numenius cyanopus</i>, Vieill. The name, however, is more generally applied to <i>AEdicnemus grallarius</i>, Lath. 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 43: "They rend the air like cries of despair, The screams of the wild curlew." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 18: "Truly the most depressing cry I ever heard is that of the curlew, which you take no notice of in course of time; but which to us, wet, weary, hungry, and strange, sounded most eerie." 1890. `Victorian Statutes, Game Act, Third Schedule': "Southern Stone Plover or Curlew." 1894. `The Argus,' June 23, p. 11, col. 4: "The calling of the stone plover. It might as well be a curlew at once, for it will always be a curlew to country people. Its first call, with the pause between, sounds like `Curlew'--that is, if you really want it to sound so, though the blacks get much nearer the real note with `Koo-loo,' the first syllable sharp, the second long drawn out." 1896. Dr. Holden, of Hobart, `Private letter,' Jan.: "There is a curlew in Australia, closely resembling the English bird, and it calls as that did over the Locksley Hall sand-dunes; but Australians are given to calling <i>AEdicnemus grallarius</i> Latham (our Stone Plover), the `curlew,' which is a misnomer. This also drearily wails, and after dark." <hw>Currajong</hw> or <hw>Currijong</hw>, i.q. <i>Kurrajong</i> (q.v.). <hw>Currant, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to various shrubs and trees of the genus <i>Coprosma</i>, especially <i>Coprosma billardieri</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Rubiare</i>(e; also to <i>Leucopogon richei</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>, various species of <i>Leptomeria</i>, <i>N.O. Santalaceae</i>, and <i>Myoporum serratum</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myoporineae</i>. The names used for <i>M. serratum</i>, chiefly in South Australia, are <i>Blueberry Tree</i>, <i>Native Juniper</i>, <i>Native Myrtle</i>, <i>Palberry</i>, and <i>Cockatoo Bush</i>. See also <i>Native Plum</i>. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 220: "Our native currants are strongly acidulous, like the cranberry, and make an excellent preserve when mixed with the raspberry." 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 133: "<i>Leucopogon lanceolatum</i>. A large bush with numerous harsh leaves, growing along the sea shore, with some other smaller inland shrubs of the same tribe, produces very small white berries of a sweetish and rather herby flavour. These are promiscuously called white or native currants in the colony." ["The insignificant and barely edible berries of this shrub are said to have saved the life of the French botanist Riche, who was lost in the bush on the South Australian coast for three days, at the close of the last century." (Maiden.) The plant is now called <i>L. Richei</i>.] 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 19: "Native Currant. . . . This plant bears a small round drupe, about the size of a small pea. Mr. Backhouse states that (over half a century ago) when British fruits were scarce, it was made into puddings by some of the settlers of Tasmania, but the size and number of the seeds were objectionable." <hw>Currant, Plain</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Plain Currant</i>. <hw>Currency</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Name given especially to early paper-money in the Colonies, issued by private traders and of various values, and in general to the various coins of foreign countries, which were current and in circulation. Barrington, in his `History of New South Wales `(1802), gives a table of such specie. 1824. Edward Curr, `Account of the Colony of Van Diemen's Land,' p.5: "Much of this paper-money is of the most trifling description. To this is often added `payable in dollars at 5s. each.' Some . . . make them payable in Colonial currency." [p. 69, note]: "25s. currency is about equal to a sovereign." 1826. Act of Geo. IV., No. 3 (Van Diemen's Land): "All Bills of Exchange, Promissory Notes . . . as also all Contracts and Agreements whatsoever which shall be drawn and circulated or issued, or made and entered into, and shall be therein expressed . . . to be payable in Currency, Current Money, Spanish Dollars . . . shall be . . . Null and Void." 1862. Geo. Thos. Lloyd, `Thirty-three years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 9: "Every man in business . . . issued promissory notes, varying in value from the sum of fourpence to twenty shillings, payable on demand. These notes received the appellation of paper currency. . . . The pound sterling represented twenty-five shillings of the paper-money." (2) Obsolete name for those colonially-born. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. (Table of Contents): "Letter XXI.--<i>Currency</i> or <i>Colonial-born</i> population." Ibid. p. 33: "Our colonial-born brethren are best known here by the name of <i>Currency</i>, in contradistinction to <i>Sterling</i>, or those born in the mother-country. The name was originally given by a facetious paymaster of the 73rd Regiment quartered here--the pound currency being at that time inferior to the pound sterling." 1833. H. W. Parker, `Rise, Progress, and Present State of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 18: "The Currency lads, as the country born colonists in the facetious nomenclature of the colony are called, in contradistinction to those born in the mother country." 1840. Martin's `Colonial Magazine,' vol. iii. p. 35: "Currency lady." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 68: "Whites born in the colony, who are also called `the currency'; and thus the `Currency Lass' is a favourite name for colonial vessels." [And, it may be added, also of Hotels.] 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 6: "A singular disinclination to finish any work completely, is a striking characteristic of colonial craftsmen, at least of the `currency' or native-born portion. Many of them who are clever, ingenious and industrious, will begin a new work, be it ship, house, or other erection, and labour at it most assiduously until it be about two-thirds completed, and then their energy seems spent, or they grow weary of the old occupation, and some new affair is set about as busily as the former one." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 35: "English girls have such lovely complexions and cut out us poor currency lasses altogether." Ibid. p. 342: "You're a regular Currency lass . . . always thinking about horses." <hw>Cushion-flower</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Hakea laurina</i>, R. Br. See <i>Hakea</i>. <hw>Cut out</hw>, <i>v</i>. (1) To separate cattle from the rest of the herd in the open. 1873. Marcus Clarke, `Holiday Peak, &c.,' p. 70: "The other two . . . could cut out a refractory bullock with the best stockman on the plains." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. x. p. 72: "We . . . camped for the purpose of separating our cattle, either by drafting through the yard, or by `cutting out' on horse-back." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 70: "Drafting on the camp, or `cutting out' as it is generally called, is a very pretty performance to watch, if it is well done." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. ii. p. 13: "Tell him to get `Mustang,' he's the best cutting-out horse." 1893. `The Argus,' April 29, p. 4. col. 4: "A Queenslander would have thought it was as simple as going on to a cutting-out camp up North and running out the fats." (2) To finish shearing. 1890. `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 6: "When the stations `cut out,' as the term for finishing is, and the shearers and rouseabout men leave." <hw>Cutting-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Cladium psittacorum</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Cyperaceae</i>. It grows very long narrow blades whose thin rigid edge will readily cut flesh if incautiously handled; it is often called <i>Sword-grass</i>. 1858. T. McCombie `History of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 8: "Long grass, known as cutting-grass between four and five feet high, the blade an inch and a half broad, the edges exquisitely sharp." 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 42: "Travelling would be almost impossible but for the button rush and cutting grass, which grow in big tussocks out of the surrounding bog." 1894. `The Age,' Oct. 19, p. 5, col. 8: "`Cutting grass' is the technical term for a hard, tough grass about eight or ten inches high, three-edged like a bayonet, which stock cannot eat because in their efforts to bite it off it cuts their mouths." D <hw>Dabchick</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The New Zealand species is <i>Podiceps rufipectus</i>. There is no species in Australia. <hw>Dacelo</hw>, <i>n</i>. Name given by "W. E. Leach, 1816. An anagram or transposition of Lat. <i>Alcedo</i>, a Kingfisher." (`Century.') Scientific name for the <i>Jackass</i> (q.v.). <hw>Dactylopsila</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the Australian genus of the Striped Phalanger, called locally the <i>Striped Opossum</i>; see <i>Opossum</i>. It has a long bare toe. (Grk. <i>daktulos</i>, a finger, and <i>psilos</i>, bare.) <hw>Daisy, Brisbane</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland and New South Wales plant, <i>Brachycome microcarpa</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. <hw>Daisy, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian flower, <i>Brachycome decipiens</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. <hw>Daisy Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. two Tasmanian trees, <i>Astur stellulatus</i>, Lab., and <i>A. glandulosus</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. The latter is called the <i>Swamp-Daisy-Tree</i>. <hw>Dam</hw>, <i>n</i>. In England, the word means a barrier to stop water in Australia, it also means the water so stopped, as `O.E.D.' shows it does in Yorkshire. 1873. Marcus Clarke, `Holiday Peak, &c.,' p. 76: "The dams were brimming at Quartz-borough, St. Roy reservoir was running over." 1892. `Scribner's Magazine,' Feb., p. 141: "Dams as he calls his reservoirs scooped out in the hard soil." 1893. `The Leader,' Jan. 14: "A boundary rider has been drowned in a dam." 1893. `The Times,' [Reprint] `Letters from Queensland,' p. 68: "At present few stations are subdivided into paddocks smaller than 20,000 acres apiece. If in each of these there is but one waterhole or dam that can be relied upon to hold out in drought, sheep and cattle will destroy as much grass in tramping from the far corners of the grazing to the drinking spot as they will eat. Four paddocks of 5,000 acres each, well supplied with water, ought to carry almost double the number of sheep." 1896. `The Argus,' March 30, p. 6, col. 9: "[The murderer] has not since been heard of. Dams and waterholes have been dragged . . . but without result." <hw>Dammara</hw>, <i>n</i>. an old scientific name of the genus, including the <i>Kauri Pine</i> (q.v.). It is from the Hindustani, <i>damar</i>, `resin.' The name was applied to the <i>Kauri Pine</i> by Lambert in 1832, but it was afterwards found that Salisbury, in 1805, had previously constituted the genus <i>Agathis</i> for the reception of the <i>Kauri Pine</i> and the Dammar Pine of Amboyna. This priority of claim necessitated the modern restoration of <i>Agathis</i> as the name of the genus. <hw>Damper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large scone of flour and water baked in hot ashes; the bread of the bush, which is always unleavened. [The addition of water to the flour suggests a more likely origin than that given by Dr. Lang. See quotation, 1847.] 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 190 "The farm-men usually make their flour into flat cakes, which they call <i>damper</i>, and cook these in the ashes . . ." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. ii. c. viii. p. 203: "I watched the distorted countenances of my humble companions while drinking their tea and eating their damper." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketches of New South Wales,' p. 103: "Damper (a coarse dark bread)." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 122: "I must here enlighten my readers as to what `damper' is. It is the bread of the bush, made with flour and water kneaded together and formed into dough, which is baked in the ashes, and after a few months keeping is a good substitute for bread." [The last clause contains a most extraordinary statement-- perhaps a joke. Damper is not kept for months, but is generally made fresh for each meal. See quotation, 1890, Lumholtz.] 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 122: "A cake baked in the ashes, which in Australia is usually styled a damper." [Footnote]: "This appellation is said to have originated somehow with Dampier, the celebrated navigator." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 284: "`Damper' is a dough made from wheat-flour and water without yeast, which is simply pressed flat, and baked in the ashes; according to civilized notions, rather hard of digestion, but quite agreeable to hungry woodmen's stomachs." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 20: "At first we had rather a horror of eating damper, imagining it to be somewhat like an uncooked crumpet. Experience, however, showed it to be really very good. Its construction is simple, and is as follows. Plain flour and water is mixed on a sheet of bark, and then kneaded into a disc some two or three inches thick to about one or two feet in diameter, great care to avoid cracks being taken in the kneading. This is placed in a hole scraped to its size in the hot ashes, covered over, and there left till small cracks caused by the steam appear on the surface of its covering. This is a sign that it is nearly done, and in a few minutes the skilful chef will sound it over with his "Wedges of damper (or bread baked in hot ashes) were cut from time to time from great circular flat loaves of that palatable and wholesome but somewhat compressed-looking bread." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 32: "Damper is the name of a kind of bread made of wheat flour and water. The dough is shaped into a flat round cake, which is baked in red-hot ashes. This bread looks very inviting, and tastes very good as long as it is fresh, but it soon becomes hard and dry." <hw>Damson, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also Native Plum, an Australian shrub, <i>Nageia spinulosa</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 53: "Native Damson or Native Plum. This shrub possesses edible fruit, something like a plum, hence its vernacular names. The Rev. Dr. Woolis tells me that, mixed with jam of the Native Currant (<i>Leptomeria acida</i>), it makes a very good pudding." <hw>Dandelion, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a flowering plant, <i>Podolepis acuminata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. <hw>Daphne, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber, <i>Myoporum viscorum</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myoporineae</i>; called also <i>Dogwood</i> and <i>Waterbush</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 575: "Native Daphne. . . . Timber soft and moderately light, yet tough. It is used for building purposes. It dresses well, and is straight in the grain." <HW>Darling Pea</HW>, <i>n</i>. an Australian plant, <i>Swainsonia galegifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; i.q. <i>Indigo Plant</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Poison-bush</i>. The Darling Downs and River were named after General (later Sir Ralph) Darling, who was Governor of New South Wales from Dec. 19, 1825 to Oct. 21, 1831. The "pea" is named from one of these. <hw>Darling Shower</hw>, <i>n</i>. a local name in the interior of Australia, and especially on the River Darling, for a dust storm, caused by cyclonic winds. <hw>Dart</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Plan, scheme, idea [slang]. It is an extension of the meaning--"sudden motion." 1887. J. Farrell, `How: he died,' p. 20: "Whose `dart' for the Looard Was to appear the justest steward That ever hiked a plate round." 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 9, p. 4, col. 2: "When I told them of my `dart,' some were contemptuous, others incredulous." 1892. Rolf Boldrewood, `Nevermore,' p. 22: "Your only dart is to buy a staunch horse with a tip-cart." (2) Particular fancy or personal taste. 1895. Modern: "`Fresh strawberries eh!--that's my dart,' says the bushman when he sees the fruit lunch in Collins-street." <hw>Darter</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English name for birds of the genus <i>Plotus</i>. So called from the way it "darts" upon its prey. The Australian species is <i>Plotus novae- hollandiae</i>, Gould. <hw>Dasyure</hw>, and <hw>Dasyurus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of Australian animals called <i>Native Cats</i>. See under <i>Cat</i>. The first form is the Anglicized spelling and is scientifically used in preference to the misleading vernacular name. From the Greek <i>dasus</i>, thick with hair, hairy, shaggy, and <i>'oura</i>, tail. They range over Australia, Tasmania, New Guinea, and the adjacent islands. Unlike the <i>Thylacine</i> and <i>Tasmanian Devil</i> (q.v.), which are purely terrestrial, the <i>Dasyurus</i> are arboreal in their habits, while they are both carnivorous and insectivorous. The Thylacine, Tasmanian Devil, Pouched Mice, and Banded Ant-eater have sometimes been incorrectly classed as <i>Dasyures</i>, but the name is now strictly allotted to the genus <i>Dasyurus</i>, or <i>Native Cat</i>. <hw>Date, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland fruit, <i>Capparis canescens</i>, Banks, <i>N.O. Capparideae</i>. The fruit is shaped like a pear, and about half an inch in its largest diameter. It is eaten raw by the aborigines. <hw>Deadbeat</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, it means a man "down on his luck," "stone-broke," beaten by fortune. In America, the word means an impostor, a sponge. Between the two uses the connection is clear, but the Australian usage is logically the earlier. <hw>Dead-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, a recent slang term, meaning "a certainty." The metaphor is from pigeon-shooting, where the bird being let loose in front of a good shot is as good as dead. <hw>Dead-finish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a rough scrubtree. (1)<i>Albizzia basaltica</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. (2) <i>Acacia farnesiana</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. See quotation, 1889. 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia', p. 272: "On the eastern face of the coast range are pine, red cedar, and beech, and on the western slopes, rose-wood, myall, dead-finish, plum-tree, iron-wood and sandal-wood, all woods with a fine grain suitable for cabinet-making and fancy work." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 355: "Sometimes called by the absurd name of `Dead Finish.' This name given to some species of Acacia and Albizzia, is on account of the trees or shrubs shooting thickly from the bottom, and forming an impenetrable barrier to the traveller, who is thus brought to a `dead finish' (stop)" 1893. `The Times,' [Reprint] `Letters from Queensland,' p. 60: "The hawthorn is admirably represented by a brush commonly called `dead finish.'" [p. 61]: "Little knolls are crowned with `dead finish' that sheep are always glad to nibble." <hw>Dead-wood Fence</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian fence, so called, is very different from the fence of the same name in England. It is high and big, built of fallen timber, logs and branches. Though still used in Australia for fencing runs, it is now usually superseded by wire fences. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 157: "A `dead-wood fence,' that is, a mass of timber four or five feet thick, and five or six high, the lower part being formed of the enormous trunks of trees, cut into logs six or eight feet long, laid side by side, and the upper portion consisting of the smaller branches skilfully laid over, or stuck down and twisted." 1872. G. Baden-Powell, `New Homes for the Old Country,' p. 207: "A very common fence is built by felling trees round the space to be enclosed, and then with their stems as a foundation, working up with the branches, a fence of a desirable height." <hw>Deal, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber, <i>Nageia elata</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. For other vernacular names see quotation. 1869. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 589: "Pine, white pine, called she-pine in Queensland; native deal, pencil cedar. This tree has an elongated trunk, rarely cylindrical; wood free from knots, soft, close, easily worked, good for joiners' and cabinet-work; some trees afford planks of great beauty. (Macarthur.) Fine specimens of this timber have a peculiar mottled appearance not easily described, and often of surpassing beauty." [See also <i>Pine</i>.] <hw>December</hw>, <i>n</i>. a summer month in Australia. See <i>Christmas</i>. 1885. J. Hood, `Land of the Fern,' p. 34: "Warm December sweeps with burning breath Across the bosom of the shrinking earth." <hw>Deepsinker</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) The largest sized tumbler; (2) the long drink served in it. The idea is taken from deep-sinking in a mining shaft. 1897. `The Argus,' Jan. 15, p. 6, Col 5: "As athletes the cocoons can run rings round the beans; they can jump out of a tumbler--whether medium, small, or deepsinker is not recorded." <hw>Deep Yellow-Wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Rhus rhodanthema</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Anacardiaceae</i>. A tree with spreading head; timber valuable. See <i>Yellow-Wood</i>. <hw>Deferred Payment</hw>, <i>n</i>. a legal phrase. "Land on deferred payment"; "Deferred payment settler"; "Pastoral deferred payment." These expressions in New Zealand have reference to the mode of statutory alienation of Crown lands, known in other colonies as conditional sale, etc., i.e. sale on time payment, with conditions binding the settler to erect improvements, ending in his acquiring the fee-simple. The system is obsolete, but many titles are still incomplete. <hw>Dell-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Bell-bird</i> (q.v.). <hw>Dendrolagus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of Australian marsupials called <i>Tree-Kangaroos</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>dendron</i>, a tree, and <i>lagows</i>, a hare.) Unlike the other kangaroos, their fore limbs are nearly as long as the hinder pair, and thus adapted for arboreal life. There are five species, three belong to New Guinea and two to Queensland; they are the Queensland Tree-Kangaroo, <i>Dendrolagus lumholtzi</i>; Bennett's T.-k., <i>D. bennettianus</i>; Black T.-k., <i>D. ursinus</i> : Brown T.-k., <i>D. inustus</i>; Doria's T.-k., <i>D. dorianus</i>. See <i>Kangaroo</i>. <hw>Derry</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang. The phrase "to have a down on" (see <i>Down</i>) is often varied to "have a derry on." The connection is probably the comic-song refrain, "Hey derry down derry." 1896. `The Argus,' March 19, p. 5, col. 9: "Mr. Croker: Certainly. We will tender it as evidence. (To the witness.) Have you any particular `derry' upon this Wendouree?--No; not at all. There are worse vessels knocking about than the Wendouree." <hw>Dervener</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation, and <i>Derwenter</i>. 1896. `The Argus,' Jan. 2, p. 3, col. 4, Letters to the Editor: "`Dervener.'--An expression used in continental Australia for a man from the Derwent in Tasmania. Common up till 1850 at least.--David Blair." Ibid. Jan. 3, p. 6, col. 6: "With respect to `dervener,' the word was in use while the blue shirt race existed [sc. convicts], and these people did not become extinct until after 1860.--Cymro-Victoria." <hw>Derwenter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a released convict from Hobart Town, Tasmania, which is on the River Derwent. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xx. p. 140: "An odd pair of sawyers, generally `Derwenters,' as the Tasmanian expirees were called." <hw>Desert Lemon</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Native Kumquat</i>, <i>Atalantia glauca</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Rutacea</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 8: "The native kumquat or desert lemon. The fruit is globular, and about half an inch in diameter. It produces an agreeable beverage from its acid juice." <hw>Desert-Oak</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Casuarina decaisneana</i>, F. v. M. See <i>Casuarina</i> and <i>Oak</i>. 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, p. 49: "We had now amongst these sandhills come into the region of the `Desert Oak' (<i>Casuarina Decaisneana</i>). Some of the trees reach a height of forty or fifty feet, and growing either singly or in clumps form a striking feature amongst the thin sparse scrub. . . . The younger ones resemble nothing so much as large funeral plumes. Their outlines seen under a blazing sun are indistinct, and they give to the whole scene a curious effect of being `out of focus.'" <hw>Devil, Tasmanian</hw>, <i>n</i>. an animal, <i>Sarcophilus ursinus</i>, Harris. Formerly, but erroneously, referred to the genus <i>Dasyurus</i> (q.v.), which includes the <i>Native Cat</i> (see under <i>Cat</i>): described in the quotations. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii. p. 29: "The devil, or as naturalists term it, <i>Dasyurus ursinus</i>, is very properly named." 1853. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 323: "The devil (<i>Dasyurus ursinus</i>, Geoff.), about the size of a bull terrier, is an exceedingly fierce and disgusting-looking animal, of a black colour, usually having one white band across the chest, and another across the back, near the tail. It is a perfect glutton, and most indiscriminate in its feeding." 1862. F. J. Jobson, `Australia,' c. vii. p. 186: "<i>Dasyurus ursinus</i>--a carnivorous marsupial. Colonists in Tasmania, where only it exists . . . called it the `devil,' from the havoc it made among their sheep and poultry." 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "In the next division is a pair of Tasmanian devils (<i>Dasyurus ursinus</i>); these unprepossessing-looking brutes are hated by every one in Tasmania, their habitat, owing to their destructiveness amongst poultry, and even sheep. They are black in colour, having only a white band across the chest, and possess great strength in proportion to their size." <hw>Devil's Guts</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given in Australia to the <i>Dodder-Laurel</i> (see <i>Laurel</i>), <i>Cassytha filiformis</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Lauraceae</i>. In Tasmania the name is applied to <i>Lyonsia straminea</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Apocyneae</i>. 1862. W. Archer, `Products of Tasmania,' p. 41: "Lyonsia (<i>Lyonsia straminea</i>, Br.). Fibres of the bark fine and strong. The lyonsia is met with, rather sparingly, in dense thickets, with its stems hanging like ropes among the trees." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `useful Native Plants,' p. 14: "This and other species of Cassythia are called `dodder-laurel.' The emphatic name of `devil's guts' is largely used. It frequently connects bushes and trees by cords, and becomes a nuisance to the traveller." [This plant is used by the Brahmins of Southern India for seasoning their buttermilk. (`Treasury of Botany.')] Ibid. p. 162: "It is also used medicinally." <hw>Devil-on-the-Coals</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Bushman's name for a small and quickly-baked damper. 1862. Rev. A. Polehampton, `Kangaroo Land,' p. 77: "Instead of damper we occasionally made what is colonially known as `devils on the coals.' . . . They are convenient when there is not time to make damper, as only a minute or so is required to bake them. They are made about the size of a captain's biscuit, and as thin as possible, thrown on the embers and turned quickly with the hand." <hw>Diamond Bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name. In the time of Gould this name was only applied to <i>Pardalotus punctatus</i>, Temm. Since that time it has been extended to all the species of the genus <i>Pardalotus</i> (q.v.). The broken colour of the plumage suggested a sparkling jewel. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 238: "We are informed by Mr. Caley that this species is called diamond bird by the settlers, from the spots on its body. By them it is reckoned as valuable on account of its skin." <hw>Diamond Snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Queensland and New South Wales, <i>Pythonon spilotes</i>, Lacep.; in Tasmania, <i>Hoplocephalus superhus</i>, Gray, venomous. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Digger</hw>, <i>n</i>. a gold-miner. The earliest mines were alluvial. Of course the word is used elsewhere, but in Australia it has this special meaning. 1852. Title: "Murray's Guide to the Gold Diggings.--The Australian Gold Diggings; where they are, and how to get at them; with letters from Settlers and Diggers telling how to work them. London: Stewart & Murray) 1852." 1853. Valiant, `Letter to Council,' given in McCombie's `History of Victoria' (1853), c. xvi. p. 248: "It caused the diggers, as a body, to pause in their headlong career." 1855. W. Howitt, `Land, Labour, and Gold,' vol. ii. p. 148, Letter xxx: "Buckland River, January 29th, 1854. The diggers here are a very quiet and civil race, at the same time that they are a most active and laborious one. . . . The principal part of the diggers here are from the Ovens." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. ii. p. 31: "Drink success to the digger's trade, And break up to the squatter's." 1896. H. Lawson, `While the Billy boils,' p. 148: "His Father's Mate had always been a general favourite with the diggers and fossickers, from the days when he used to slip out first thing in the morning and take a run across the frosty flat in his shirt." <hw>Digger's Delight</hw>, <i>n</i>. a flower, <i>Veronica perfoliata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Scrophularaneae</i>, described in quotations. 1878. W. R. Guilfoyle, `First Book of Australian Botany,' p. 64: "Digger's Delight, <i>Veronica perfoliata</i>, <i>N.O. Scrophularineae</i>. A pretty, blue-flowering shrub, with smooth stem-clasping leaves; found in the mountainous districts of Victoria and New South Wales, and deriving its common name from a supposition that its presence indicated auriferous country. It is plentiful in the elevated cold regions of Australia." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 147: "Such native flowers as the wild violet, the shepherd's purse, or the blue-flowered `digger's delight.' This latter has come, perhaps, with the seeds from some miner's holding amongst the iron-barks in the gold country, and was once supposed to grow only on auriferous soils. When no one would think of digging for gold in this field, the presence of the flower is, perhaps, as reliable an indication of a golconda underneath as the reports and information on the strength of which many mining companies are floated." <hw>Diggerdom</hw>, <i>n</i>. collective noun, the diggers. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 43: "Diggerdom is gloriously in the ascendant here." <hw>Diggeress</hw>, <i>n</i>. a digger's wife. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 43: "The digger marching off, followed by his diggeress, a tall, slim young woman, who strode on like a trooper. . . . Open carriages driving about, crowded with diggers and their diggeresses." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. ii. p. 36: "I'm tir'd of being a diggeress, And yearn a farmer's home to grace." <hw>Diggings</hw>, <i>n</i>. a place where gold-mining is carried on. The word is generally regarded as singular. Though common in Australia, it is very old, even in the sense of a place where digging for gold is carried on. 1769. De Foe's `Tour of Great Britain,' i. 39 (`O.E.D.'): "King Henry VIII. was induced to dig for Gold. He was disappointed, but the Diggings are visible at this Day." 1852. J. Morgan, `Life and Adventures of William Buckley' (published at Hobart), p. 183 [quoting from the `Victoria Commercial Review,' published at Melbourne, by Messrs. Westgarth, Ross, & Co., under date September 1, 1851]: "The existence of a `goldfield' was not ascertained until May last. . . . Numbers of persons are daily `prospecting' throughout this Colony and New South Wales in search of gold. . . .In Victoria, as well as in New South Wales, regular `diggings' are now established." 1852. Murray, `The Australian Gold Diggings: where they are and how to get at them,' p. 1; "It cannot but be acceptable to the crowds of intending colonists and gold seekers, to present them with a picture of the `Progress of the Diggins,' [sic] drawn by the diggers." 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria,' c. xv. p. 234: "Immigrants who had not means to start to the diggings." 1870. J. O. Tucker, `The Mute,' p. 48: "Ye glorious diggings `neath a southern clime! I saw thy dawn." [`Ye,' `thy.' Is this singular or plural?] 1887. H. H. Hayter, `Christmas Adventure,' p. i: "Fryer's creek, a diggings more than 90 miles from Melbourne." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. vii. p. 71: "It was a goldfield and a diggings in far-away Australia." <hw>Dilli</hw>, later <hw>Dilly-bag</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal word, coming from Queensland, for a bag made either of grasses or of fur twisted into cord. <i>Dhilla</i> is the term for hair in Kabi dialect, Mary River, Queensland. <i>Dirrang</i> and <i>jirra</i> are corresponding words in the east of New South Wales. The aboriginal word <i>dilli</i> has been tautologically increased to <i>dilly-bag</i>, and the word is used by bushmen for a little bag for odds-and-ends, even though made of calico or holland. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 90: "In their `dillis' (small baskets) were several roots or tubers." Ibid. p. 195: "A basket (dilli) which I examined was made of a species of grass." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 34: "I learned too at the camp to plait dilly-bags." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvii. p. 210: "Mayboy came forward dangling a small dilly-bag." 1896. A.J. North, `Report of Australian Museum,' p. 26: "Dilly-bag (partly wool and partly grass)." <hw>Dingle-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> a poetical name for the Australian <i>Bell-bird</i> (q.v.). 1870. F. S. Wilson, `Australian Songs,' p. 30: "The bell-like chimings of the distant dingle-bird." 1883. C. Harpur, `Poems,' p. 78: "I . . . list the tinkling of the dinglebird." <hw>Dingo</hw>, <i>n</i>. the native dog of Australia, <i>Canis dingo</i>. "The aborigines, before they obtained dogs from Europeans, kept the dingo for hunting, as is still done by coast tribes in Queensland. Name probably not used further south than Shoalhaven, where the wild dog is called Mirigang." (A. W. Howitt.) 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 280: [A dingo or dog of New South Wales. Plate. Description by J. Hunter.] "It is capable of barking, although not so readily as the European dogs; is very ill-natured and vicious, and snarls, howls, and moans, like dogs in common. Whether this is the only dog in New South Wales, and whether they have it in a wild state, is not mentioned; but I should be inclined to believe they had no other; in which case it will constitute the wolf of that country; and that which is domesticated is only the wild dog tamed, without having yet produced a variety, as in some parts of America." 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 614 [Vocab.]: "Jungo---Beasts, common name. Tein-go---Din-go. Wor-re-gal---Dog." 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description of New South Wales,' p. 62: "The native dog also, which is a species of the wolf, was proved to be fully equal in this respect [sport] to the fox; but as the pack was not sufficiently numerous to kill these animals at once, they always suffered so severely from their bite that at last the members of the hunt were shy in allowing the dogs to follow them." 1834. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar,' p. 55: "Tigko---a bitch." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes `(1855), p. 153: "I have heard that the dingo, warragal or native dog, does not hunt in packs like the wolf and jackal." 1860. William Story, `Victorian Government Prize Essays,' p. 101: "The English hart is so greatly superior, as an animal of chase, to that cunning poultry thief the fox, that I trust Mister Reynard will never be allowed to become an Australian immigrant, and that when the last of the dingoes shall have shared the fate of the last English wolf, Australian Nimrods will resuscitate, at the antipodes of England, the sterling old national sport of hart hunting, conjointly with that of African boks, gazelles, and antelopes, and leave the fox to their English cousins, who cannot have Australian choice." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 103: "In the neighbourhood of Brisbane and other large towns where they have packs, they run the dingoes as you do foxes at home." 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 113: "The arms of the Wimmera should be rabbit and dingo, `rampant,' supporting a sun, `or, inflamed.'" 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 71: "Dingoes, the Australian name for the wild dogs so destructive to sheep. They were . . . neither more nor less than wolves, but more cowardly and not so ferocious, seldom going in large packs. They hunted kangaroos when in numbers, or driven to it by hunger; but usually preferred smaller and more easily obtained prey, as rats, bandicoots, and 'possums." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 38: "On the large stations a man is kept whose sole work it is to lay out poison for the dingo. The black variety with white breast generally appears in Western Queensland along with the red." 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "The dingo of northern Australia can be distinguished from his brother of the south by his somewhat smaller size and courageous bearing. He always carries his tail curled over his back, and is ever ready to attack any one or anything; whilst the southern dingo carries his tail low, slinks along like a fox, and is easily frightened. The pure dingo, which is now exceedingly rare in a wild state, partly through the agency of poison, but still more from the admixture of foreign breeds, is unable to bark, and can only express its feelings in long-drawn weird howls." 1894. `The Argus,' June 23, p. l1, col. 4: "Why is the first call of a dingo always apparently miles away, and the answer to it--another quavering note slightly more shrill--so close at hand? Is it delusion or distance?" <hw>Dinornis</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name given by Professor Owen to the genus of huge struthious birds of the post-Pliocene period, in New Zealand, which survive in the traditions of the Maoris under the name of <i>Moa</i> (q.v.). From the Greek <i>deinos</i>, terrible, and <i>'ornis</i>, bird. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. Intro. p. xviii: "The specimens [fossil-bones] transmitted . . . were confided to the learned Professor [Owen] for determination; and these materials, scanty as they were, enabled him to define the generic characters of <i>Dinornis</i>, as afforded by the bones of the hind extremity." Ibid. p. xxiv: "Professor Owen had well-nigh exhausted the vocabulary of terms expressive of largeness by naming his successive discoveries <i>ingens, giganteus, crassus, robustus</i>, and <i>elephantopus</i>, when he had to employ the superlative <i>Dinornis maximus</i> to distinguish a species far exceeding in stature even the stately <i>Dinornis giganteus</i>. In this colossal bird . . . some of the cervical vertebrae almost equal in size the neck-bones of a horse! The skeleton in the British Museum . . . measures 11 feet in height, and . . . some of these feathered giants attained to a still greater stature." <hw>Dipper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a vessel with a handle at the top of the side like a big tin mug. That with which one dips. The word is not Australian, but is of long standing in the United States, where it is used as a name for the constellation of the <i>Great Bear</i>. 1893. `Australasian Schoolmaster,' Feb.: "These answers have not the true colonial ring of the following, which purports to be the remark of the woman of Samaria: `Sir, the well is very deep, and you haven't got a dipper.'" <hw>Dips</hw>, <i>n</i>. Explained in quotation. 1859. G. Bunce, `Travels with Leichhardt,' p. 161: ". . . Dr. Leichhardt gave the party a quantity of dough boys, or as we called them, dips. . ." [p. 171]: "In this dilemma, Dr. Leichhardt ordered the cook to mix up a lot of flour, and treated us all to a feed of dips. These were made as follows:--a quantity of flour was mixed up with water, and stirred with a spoon to a certain consistency, and dropped into a pot of boiling water, a spoonful at a time. Five minutes boiling was sufficient, when they were eaten with the water in which they were boiled." <hw>Dirt</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, any alluvial deposit in which gold is found; properly <i>Wash-dirt</i>. The word is used in the United States. See quotation, 187. 1853. Mrs. Chas. Clancy, `Lady's Visit to the Gold Diggings,' p. 109: "And after doing this several times, the `dirt,' of course, gradually diminishing, I was overjoyed to see a few bright specks." 1857. Borthwick, `California,' [Bartlett, quoted in `O.E.D.'] p. 120: "In California, `dirt' is the universal word to signify the substance dug; earth, clay, gravel, or loose slate. The miners talk of rich dirt and poor dirt, and of stripping off so many feet of `top dirt' before getting to `pay-dirt,' the latter meaning dirt with so much gold in it that it will pay to dig it up and wash it." 1870. J. O. Tucker, `The Mute,'p. 40: "Others to these the precious dirt convey, Linger a moment till the panning's through." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xiv. p. 142: "We were clean worked out . . . before many of our neighbours at Greenstone Gully, were half done with their dirt." Ibid. c. xviii. p. 177: "We must trust in the Oxley `dirt' and a kind Providence." <hw>Dish</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. a small and rough vessel in which gold is washed. The word is used in the United States. 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 17: "I have obtained good dish prospects after crudely crushing up the quartz." <hw>Dishwasher</hw>, <i>n</i>. an old English bird-name for the Water-Wagtail; applied in Australia to <i>Seisura inquieta</i>, Lath., the <i>Restless Fly-catcher</i> (q.v.). <i>Seisura</i> is from Grk. <i>seiein</i> (to shake), and <i>'oura</i> (a tail), being thus equal in meaning to Wagtail. Also called <i>Dishlick, Grinder</i>, and <i>Razor-grinder</i> (q.v.). 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of the Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 250: "This bird is called by the colonists Dishwasher. It is very curious in its actions. In alighting on the stump of a tree it makes several semi-circular motions, spreading out its tail, and making a loud noise somewhat like that caused by a razor-grinder when at work." <hw>Distoechurus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of the New Guinea Pentailed-Phalanger, or so-called <i>Opossum-mouse</i> (q.v.). It has a tail with the long hairs arranged in two opposite rows, like the vanes of a feather.(Grk. <i>distoichos</i>, with two rows, and <i>'oura</i>, a tail.) <hw>Diver</hw>, <i>n</i>. common bird-name used in Australia for a species of Grebe. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vii. pl. 80: "<i>Podiceps australis</i>, Gould; Australian Tippet Grebe; Diver of the Colonists." <hw>Doctor</hw>, <i>n</i>. word used in the South Australian bush for "the cook." 1896. `The Australasian,' June 13, p. 1133, col. 1: "`The doctor's in the kitchen, and the boss is in the shed; The overseer's out mustering on the plain; Sling your bluey down, old boy, for the clouds are overhead, You are welcome to a shelter from the rain.'" <hw>Dodder Laurel</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Devil's Guts</i> (q.v.). <hw>Dog-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name belongs to various fishes of distinct families, chiefly sharks. In Australia, it is used for the fish <i>Scyllium lima</i>, family <i>Scylliidae</i>. In New South Wales it is <i>Scyllium maculatum</i>, Bl. The <i>Sprite Dog-fish</i> of New Zealand is <i>Acanthias maculatus</i>, family <i>Spinacidae</i>. The <i>Spotted Dog-fish</i> of New South Wales is <i>Scyllium anale</i>. The <i>Dusky Dogfish</i> of New South Wales is <i>Chiloscyllium modestum</i>, Gunth., and there are others in Tasmania and Australia. <hw>Dogleg</hw>, <i>adj</i>. applied to a primitive kind of fence made of rough timber. Crossed spars, which are the doglegs, placed at intervals, keep in place a low rail resting on short posts, and are themselves fixed by heavy saplings resting in the forks above. 1875. R. and F. Hill, `What we saw in Australia,' p. 61: ". . . we made acquaintance with the `dog's leg' fence. This is formed of bare branches of the gum-tree laid obliquely, several side by side, and the ends overlapping, so that they have somewhat the appearance that might be presented by the stretched-out legs of a crowd of dogs running at full speed. An upright stick at intervals, with a fork at the top, on which some of the cross-branches rest, adds strength to the structure." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 13: "While the primaeval `dog-leg' fence of the Victorian bush, or the latter-day `chock and log' are no impediments in the path of our foresters." [sc. kangaroos; see <i>Forester</i>.] 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 71: "As we rode up we could see a gunyah made out of boughs, and a longish wing of dog leg fence, made light but well put together." <hw>Dog's Tongue</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the plant <i>Cynoglossum suaveolens</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Asperifoliae</i>. <hw>Dogwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. various trees and their wood; none of them the same as those called <i>dogwood</i> in the Northern Hemisphere, but their woods are used for similar purposes, e.g. butchers' skewers, fine pegs, and small pointed wooden instruments. In Australia generally, <i>Jacksonia scoparia</i>, R. Br., also <i>Myoporum platycarpum</i>, R. Br. In Tasmania, <i>Bedfordia salicina</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>, which is also called <i>Honeywood</i>, and in New South Wales, <i>Cottonwood</i> (q.v.), and the two trees <i>Pomaderris elliptica</i>, Lab., and <i>P. apetala</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Rhamnaceae</i>, which are called respectively <i>Yellow</i> and <i>Bastard Dogwood</i>. See also <i>Coranderrk</i>. In parts of Tasmania, <i>Pomaderris apetala</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Rhamn/ac?/eae</i>, is also called <i>Dogwood</i>, or <i>Bastard Dogwood</i>. 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 16: "There is a secluded hollow of this kind near Kangaroo Bottom, near Hobart Town, where the common dogwood of the colony (pomaderris apetala) has sprung up so thick and tall, that Mr. Babington and myself having got into it unawares one day, had the greatest difficulty imaginable to get out after three or four hours' labour. Not one of the plants was more than six inches apart from the others, while they rose from 6 to 12 yards in height, with leaves at the top which almost wholly excluded the light of the sun." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 11: "Iron-bark ridges here and there, with spotted gum, with dogwood (<i>Jacksonia</i>) on a sandy soil." (p. 20): "A second creek, with running water, which from the number of dogwood shrubs (<i>Jacksonia</i>), in the full glory of their golden blossoms, I called `Dogwood Creek.'" 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue--Economic Woods,' p. 46: "Native dogwood, a hard, pale-brown, well-mottled wood; good for turnery." <hw>Dogwood Poison-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales name; the same as <i>Ellangowan Poison-bush</i> (q.v.). <hw>Dollar</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Holy Dollar</i>. <hw>Dollar-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the <i>Roller</i> (q.v.). See quotations. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 202: "The settlers call it dollar-bird, from the silver-like spot on the wing." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia;' vol. ii. pl. 17: "<i>Eurystomus Australis</i>, Swains., Australian Roller. Dollar Bird of the Colonists. During flight the white spot in the centre of each wing, then widely expanded, shows very distinctly, and hence the name of Dollar Bird.'" 1851. I. Henderson, `Excursions in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 183: "The Dollar-bird derives its name from a round white spot the size of a dollar, on its wing. It is very handsome, and flies in rather a peculiar manner. It is the only bird which I have observed to perform regular migrations; and it is strange that in such a climate any one should do so. But it appears that the dollar-bird does not relish even an Australian winter. It is the harbinger of spring and genial weather." <hw>Dollar-fish</hw> <i>n</i>. a name often given formerly to the <i>John Dory</i> (q.v.), from the mark on its side. See quotation, 1880. The name <i>Dollar-fish</i> is given on the American coasts to a different fish. 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 451: "The fishermen of Roman Catholic countries hold this fish in special respect, as they recognize in a black round spot on its side the mark left by the thumb of St. Peter, when he took the piece of money from its mouth." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 62: "The dory has been long known, and when the currency of the colony was in Mexican coin it was called a `dollar-fish.'" <hw>Dorca-Kangaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Dorcopsis</i> and <i>Kangaroo</i>. <hw>Dorcopsis</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of a genus of little Kangaroos with pretty gazelle-like faces. (Grk. <i>dorkas</i>, a gazelle, and <i>'opsis</i>, appearance.) They are called <i>Dorca-Kangaroos</i>, and are confined to New Guinea, and form in some respects a connecting link between <i>Macropus</i> and the <i>Tree-Kangaroo</i> (q.v.). There are three species--the Brown Dorca Kangaroo, <i>Dorcopsis muelleri</i>; Grey D., <i>D. luctuosa</i>, Macleay's D., <i>D. macleayi</i>. See <i>Kangaroo</i> (e). <hw>Dottrel</hw>, <i>n</i>. formerly <i>Dotterel</i>, common English bird-name, applied in Australia to <i>Charadrius australis</i>, Gould. Black-fronted Dottrel-- <i>Charadrius nigrifrons</i>, Temm. Double-banded D.-- <i>C. bicincta</i>, Jord. and Selb. Hooded D.-- <i>C. monacha</i>, Geoff. Large Sand D.-- <i>C. (AEgialitis)</i> geoffroyi, Wag. Mongolian Sand D.-- <i>C. (AEgialitis) mongolica</i>, Pallas. Oriental D.-- <i>C. veredus</i>, Gould. Red-capped Dottrel-- <i>Charadrius ruficapilla</i>, Temm.; called also <i>Sand-lark</i>. Red-necked D.-- <i>C. (AEgialitis) mastersi</i>, Ramsay. Ringed D.-- <i>C. hiaticula</i>, Linn. [See also Red-knee.] <hw>Dove</hw>, <i>n</i>. a well-known English bird-name, applied in Australia to the-- Barred-shouldered Dove-- <i>Geopelia humeralis</i>, Temm. Ground D.-- <i>G. tranquilla</i>, Gould. Little D.-- <i>G. cuneata</i>, Lath. [See also Ground-dove.] <hw>Dove-Petrel</hw>, <i>n</i>. a well-known English bird-name. The species in the-Southern Seas are-- <i>Prion turtur</i>, Smith. Banks D.-P.-- <i>P. banksii</i>, Smith. Broad-billed D.-P.-- <i>P. vittata</i>, Forst. Fairy D.-P.-- <i>P. ariel</i>, Gould. <hw>Dover</hw>, <i>n</i>. a clasp knife, by a maker of that name, once much used in the colonies. 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 418: "In plates and knives scant is the shepherd's store, `Dover' and pan are all, he wants no more." 1893. April 15, `A Traveller's Note': "`So much a week and the use of my Dover' men used to say in making a contract of labour." 1894. `Bush Song' [Extract]: "Tie up the dog beside the log, And come and flash your Dover." <hw>Down</hw>, <i>n</i>. a prejudice against, hostility to; a peculiarly Australian noun made out of the adverb. 1856. W. W. Dobie, `Recollections of a Visit to Port Philip,' p. 84: ". . . the bushranger had been in search of another squatter, on whom `he said he had a down'. . ." 1884. J. W. Bull, `Early Life in South Australia,' p. 179: "It was explained that Foley had a private `down' on them, as having stolen from him a favourite kangaroo dog." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia, vol. iv. p. 180: "They [diggers] had a `dead down' on all made dishes." 1893. Professor Gosman, `The Argus,' April 24, p. 7, col. 4: "That old prejudice in the minds of many men to the effect that those who represented the churches or religious people had a regular down upon freedom of thought." 1893. `The Age,' June 24, p. 5, col. 1: "Mr. M. said it was notorious in the department that one of the commissioners had had `a down' on him." 1893. R. L. Stevenson, `Island Nights' Entertainments,' p. 46: "`They have a down on you,' says Case. `Taboo a man because they have a down on him'' I cried. `I never heard the like.'" <hw>Down</hw>, <i>adv</i>. "To come, or be down," is the phrase used in Australian Universities for to be "plucked," or "ploughed," or "spun," i.e., to fail in an examination. It has been in use for a few years, certainly not earlier than 1886. The metaphor is either taken from a fall from a horse, or perhaps from the prize-ring. The use has no connection with being "sent down," or "going down," at Oxford or Cambridge. <hw>Draft</hw>, <i>v</i>. to separate and sort cattle. An adaptation of the meaning "to select and draw off for particular service," especially used of soldiers. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. vi. p. 46: "I should like to be drafting there again." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Squatter's Dream,' p. 2: "There were those cattle to be drafted that had been brought from the Lost Waterhole." <hw>Draft</hw>, <i>n</i>. a body of cattle separated from the rest of the herd. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. ii. p. 22: "A draft of out-lying cattle rose and galloped off." <hw>Drafter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a man engaged in drafting cattle. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xviii. p. 227: "They behave better, though all the while keeping the drafters incessantly popping at the fence by truculent charges." <hw>Drafting-gate</hw>, <i>n</i>. gate used in separating cattle and sheep into different classes or herds. 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 16, p. 4, col. 7: "But the tent-flap seemed to go up and down quick as a drafting-gate." <hw>Drafting-stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. a stick used in drafting cattle. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. x. p. 72: "We . . . armed ourselves with drafting-sticks and resolutely faced it." <hw>Drafting-yard</hw>, <i>n</i>. a yard for drafting cattle. 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 16, p. 13, col. 1: "There were drafting-yards and a tank a hundred yards off, but no garden." <hw>Dray</hw>, <i>n</i>. an ordinary cart for goods. See quotation, 1872. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. Intro. p. xlix: "They send their produce to the market . . . receiving supplies for home consumption on the return of their drays or carts from thence." 1872. C. H. Eden, "My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 31: "A horse dray, as known in Australia, is by no means the enormous thing its name would signify, but simply an ordinary cart on two wheels without springs." [There are also spring-drays.] 1886. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 41: "One told by camp fires when the station drays Were housed and hidden, forty years ago." <hw>Dromicia</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the Australian <i>Dormouse Phalangers</i>, or little <i>Opossum</i>- or <i>Flying-Mice</i>, as they are locally called. See <i>Opossum</i>, <i>Opossum-mouse</i>, and <i>Phalanger</i>. They are not really the "Flying"-Mice or Flying-phalanger, as they have only an incipient parachute, but they are nearly related to the <i>Pigmy Petaurists</i> (q.v.) or small <i>Flying-Phalangers</i>. (Grk. <i>dromikos</i>, good at running, or swift.) <hw>Drongo</hw>, <i>n</i>. This bird-name was "given by Le Vaillant in the form <i>drongeur</i> to a South African bird afterwards known as the Musical Drongo, <i>Dicrurus musicus</i>, then extended to numerous . . . fly-catching, crow-like birds." (`Century.') The name is applied in Australia to <i>Chibia bracteata</i>, Gould, which is called the <i>Spangled Drongo</i>. 1895. W. 0. Legge, `Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science' (Brisbane), p. 448: "There being but one member of the interesting Asiatic genus <i>Drongo</i> in Australia, it was thought best to characterize it simply as the <i>Drongo</i> without any qualifying term." <hw>Drop</hw>, <i>n</i>. (Slang.) To "have the drop on" is to forestall, gain advantage over, especially by covering with a revolver. It is curious that while an American magazine calls this phrase Australian (see quotation), the `Dictionary of Slang'--one editor of which is the distinguished American, Godfrey C. Leland--says it is American. It is in common use in Australia. 1894. `Atlantic Monthly,' Aug., p. 179. "His terrible wife, if we may borrow a phrase from Australia, `had the drop on him' in every particular." <hw>Drooping Acacia</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Acacia</i>. <hw>Drove</hw>, <i>v</i>. to drive travelling cattle or sheep. 1890. A. J. Vogan, `Black Police,' p. 334: "I don't know how you'd be able to get on without the `boys' to muster, track, and drove." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River' [Poem `In the Droving Days'], p. 95: "For though lie scarcely a trot can raise, He can take me back to the droving days." <hw>Drum</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bundle; more usually called a <i>swag</i> (q.v.). 1866. Wm. Starner, `Recollections of a Life of Adventure,' vol. i. p. 304 ". . . and `humping his drum' start off for the diggings to seek more gold." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 17: "They all chaffed us about our swags, or donkeys, or drums, as a bundle of things wrapped in a blanket is indifferently called." 1886. Frank Cowan, `Australia, Charcoal Sketch,' p. 31: "The Swagman: bed and board upon his back--or, having humped his drum and set out on the wallaby . . ." <hw>Drummer</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales name for the fish <i>Girella elevata</i>, Macl., of the same family as the <i>Black-fish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Dry-blowing</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Western Australian term in gold-mining. 1894. `The Argus,' March 28, p. 5, col. 5: "When water is not available, as unfortunately is the case at Coolgardie, `dry blowing' is resorted to. This is done by placing the pounded stuff in one dish, and pouring it slowly at a certain height into the other. If there is any wind blowing it will carry away the powdered stuff; if there is no wind the breath will have to be used. It is not a pleasant way of saving gold, but it is a case of Hobson's choice. The unhealthiness of the method is apparent." <hw>Duboisine</hw>, <i>n</i>. an alkaloid derived from the plant <i>Duboisia myoposides</i>, <i>N.O. Sofanaceae</i>, a native of Queensland and New South Wales. It is used in medicine as an application to the eye for the purpose of causing the pupil to dilate, in the same way as atropine, an alkaloid obtained from the belladonna plant in Europe, has long been employed. Duboisine was discovered and introduced into therapeutics by a Brisbane physician. <hw>Duck</hw>, <i>n</i>. the well-known English name of the birds of the <i>Anatinae, Fuligulinae</i>, and other series, of which there are about 125 species comprised in about 40 genera. The Australian genera and species are--- Blue-billed Duck-- <i>Erismatura australis</i>, Gould. Freckled D.-- <i>Stictonetta naevosa</i>, Gould. Mountain D. (the Shel-drake, q.v.). Musk D. (q.v.)-- <i>Biziura lobata</i>, Shaw. Pink-eared D., or Widgeon (q.v.)-- <i>Malacorhynchus membranaceus</i>, Lath. Plumed Whistling D.-- <i>Dendrocygna eytoni</i>, Gould. Whistling D.-- <i>D. vagans</i>, Eyton. [Each species of the <i>Dendrocygna</i> called also by sportsmen Tree-duck.] White-eyed D., or Hard-head (q.v.)-- <i>Nyroca australis</i>, Gould. Wild D.-- <i>Anas superciliosa</i>, Gmel. Wood D. (the Maned Goose; see <i>Goose</i>). The following is a table of the ducks as compiled by Gould nearly fifty years ago. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vii: Plate <i>Anas superciliosa</i>, Gmel. Australian Wild Duck . . . 9 <i>Anas naevosa</i>, Gould, Freckled Duck . . . 10 <i>Anas punctata</i>, Cuv. Chestnut-breasted Duck . . . 11 <i>Spatula Rhyncotis</i>, Australian Shoveller . . . 12 <i>Malacorhynchus membranaceus</i>, . . . 13 Membranaceous Duck <i>Dendrocygna arcuata</i>, Whistling Duck (q.v.) . . . 14 <i>Leptolarsis Eytoni</i>, Gould, Eyton's Duck . . . 15 <i>Nyroca Australis</i>, Gould, White-eyed Duck . . . 16 <i>Erismatura Australis</i>, Blue-billed Duck . . . 17 <i>Biziura lobata</i>, Musk Duck . . . 18 The following is Professor Parker's statement of the New Zealand <i>Ducks</i>. 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 117: "There are eleven species of Native Ducks belonging to nine genera, all found elsewhere, except two--the little Flightless Duck of the Auckland Islands (genus <i>Nesonetta</i>) and the Blue Mountain Duck (<i>Hymenolaemus</i>). Among the most interesting of the non-endemic forms, are the Paradise Duck or Sheldrake (<i>Casarca variegata</i>), the Brown Duck (<i>Anas chlorotis</i>), the Shoveller or Spoonbill Duck (<i>Rhynchaspis variegata</i>), and the Scaup or Black Teal (<i>Fuligula Novae-Zealandiae</i>)." <hw>Duckbill</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Platypus</i>. Sometimes also called <i>Duckmole</i>. <hw>Duckmole</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Platypus</i>. 1825. Barron Field, `First Fruits of Australian Poetry,' in `Geographical Memoirs of New South Wales,' p. 496: "When sooty swans are once more rare, And duck-moles the museum's care." [Appendix : "Water or duck-mole."] 1875. Schmidt, `Descent and Darwinism,' p. 237: "The Ornithorhyncus or duck-mole of Tasmania." <hw>Duck-shoving</hw>, and <hw>Duckshover</hw>, <i>n</i>. a cabman's phrase. In Melbourne, before the days of trams, the wagonette-cabs used to run by a time-table from fixed stations at so much (generally 3<i>d</i>.) a passenger. A cabman who did not wait his turn on the station rank, but touted for passengers up and down the street in the neighbourhood of the rank, was termed a <i>Duck-shover</i>. 1870. D. Blair, `Notes and Queries,' Aug. 6, p. 111: "Duck-shoving is the term used by our Melbourne cabmen to express the unprofessional trick of breaking the rank, in order to push past the cabman on the stand for the purpose of picking up a stray passenger or so." 1896. `Otago Daily Times,' Jan. 25, p. 3, col. 6: "The case was one of a series of cases of what was technically known as `duck shoving,' a process of getting passengers which operated unfairly against the cabmen who stayed on the licensed stand and obeyed the by-law." <hw>Dudu</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a pigeon, fat-breasted, and very good eating. 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (3rd ed. 1855), c. vii. p. 170: "In the grassland, a sort of ground pigeon, called the dudu, a very handsome little bird, got up and went off like a partridge, strong and swift, re-alighting on the ground, and returning to cover." <hw>Duff</hw>, <i>v</i>. to steal cattle by altering the brands. 1869. E. Carton Booth, `Another England,' p. 138: "He said there was a `duffing paddock' somewhere on the Broken River, into which nobody but the owner had ever found an entrance, and out of which no cattle had ever found their way--at any rate, not to come into their owner's possession. . . . The man who owned the `duffing paddock' was said to have a knack of altering cattle brands . . ." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. xiv. p. 162: "I knew Redcap when he'd think more of duffing a red heifer than all the money in the country." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydneyside Saxon,' p. 95: "As to the calves I'm a few short myself, as I think that half-caste chap of yours must have `duffed.'" <hw>Duffer</hw>, <i>n.</i> a cattle stealer, i.q. <i>Cattle-duffer</i> (q.v.). 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xxv. p. 352: "What's a little money . . . if your children grow up duffers and planters?" <hw>Duffer</hw>2, <i>n</i>. a claim on a mine which turns out unproductive, called also <i>shicer</i> (q.v.). [This is only a special application of the slang English, <i>duffer</i>, an incapable person, or a failure. Old English <i>Daffe</i>, a fool] 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 193: "It was a terrible duffer anyhow, every ounce of gold got from it cost L 20 I'll swear." 1864. J Rogers, `New Rush,' p. 55: "Tho' <i>duffers</i> are so common And golden gutters rare, The mining sons of woman Can much ill fortune bear." 1873. A.Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 291: "A shaft sunk without any produce from it is a duffer. . . . But of these excavations the majority were duffers. It is the duffering part of the business which makes it all so sad.So much work is done from which there is positively no return." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 266: "The place is then declared to be a `duffer,' and abandoned, except by a few fanatics, who stick there for months and years." 1891. `The Australasian,' Nov. 21, p. 1014: "Another duffer! Rank as ever was bottomed! Seventy-five feet hard delving and not a colour!" <hw>Duffer out</hw>, <i>v</i>. A mine is said to duffer out, when it has ceased to be productive. 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 279: "He then reported to the shareholders that the lode had `duffered out,' and that it was useless to continue working." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 73: "Cloncurry has, to use the mining parlance, duffered out." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. vi. p. 58: "`So you're duffered out again, Harry,' she said." <hw>Dugong Oil</hw>, <i>n</i>. an oil obtained in Australia, from <i>Halicore dugong</i>, Gmel., by boiling the superficial fat. A substitute for cod-liver oil. The dugongs are a genus of marine mammals in the order <i>Sirenia</i>. <i>H. dugong</i> inhabits the waters of North and North-east Australia, the southern shores of Asia, and the east coast of Africa. The word is Malay. <hw>Dug-out</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name imported into New Zealand from America, but the common name for an ordinary Maori canoe. <hw>Duke Willy</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Whistling Dick</i>. <hw>Dummy</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) In Australia, when land was thrown open for <i>selection</i> (q.v.), the squatters who had previously the use of the land suffered. Each squatter exercised his own right of selection. Many a one also induced others to select nominally for themselves, really for the squatter. Such selector was called a dummy. The law then required the selector to swear that he was selecting the land for his own use and benefit. Some of the dummies did not hesitate to commit perjury. Dictionaries give "dummy, <i>adj</i>. fictitious or sham." The Australian noun is an extension of this idea. Webster gives "(<i>drama</i>) one who plays a merely nominal part in any action, sham character." This brings us near to the original <i>dumby</i>, from <i>dumb</i>, which is radically akin to German <i>dumm</i>, stupid. 1866. D. Rogerson, `Poetical Works, p. 23: "The good selectors got most of the land, The dummies being afraid to stand." 1866. H. Simcox, `Rustic Rambles, p. 21: "See the dummies and the mediums, Bagmen, swagmen, hastening down." 1872. A. McFarland, `Illawarra and Manaro,' p. 125: "Since free selection was introduced, a good many of the squatters (they say, in self-defence) have, in turn, availed themselves of it, to secure `the eyes' or water-holes of the country, so far as they could by means of `dummies,' and other blinds." 1879. R. Niven, `Fraser's Magazine,' April, p. 516: "This was the, in the colony, well-known `dummy' system. Its nature may be explained in a moment. It was simply a swindling transaction between the squatter on the one hand and some wretched fellow on the other, often a labourer in the employment of the squatter, in which the former for a consideration induced the latter to personate the character of a free selector, to acquire from the State, for the purpose of transferring to himself, the land he most coveted out of that thrown open for selection adjoining his own property." 1892. `Scribner's Magazine,' Feb. p. 140: "By this device the squatter himself, all the members of the family, his servants, shepherds, boundary-riders, station-hands and rabbiters, each registered a section, the dummies duly handing their `selection' over to the original holder for a slight consideration." (2) Colloquial name for the grip-car of the Melbourne trams. Originally the grip-car was not intended to carry passengers: hence the name. 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), p. 5, col. 5: "Linked to the car proper is what is termed a dummy." 1897. `The Argus,' Jan. 2, p. 7, col. 5: "But on the tramcar, matters were much worse. The front seat of the dummy was occupied by a young Tasmanian lady and her cousin, and, while one portion of the cart struck her a terrible blow on the body, the shaft pinned her by the neck against the front stanchion of the dummy." <hw>Dummy</hw>, <i>v</i>. to obtain land in the way above described. 1873. A.Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. vi. p. 101: "Each partner in the run has purchased his ten thousand, and there have been many Mrs. Harrises. The Mrs. Harris system is generally called dummying--putting up a non-existent free-selector--and is illegal. But I believe no one will deny that it has been carried to a great extent." 1896. `The Champion' (Melbourne), Jan. 11: "The verb `to dummy' and the noun `dummyism' are purely Australian, quotations to illustrate the use of which can be obtained from `Hansard,' the daily papers, and such works as Epps' monograph on the `Land Tenure Systems of Australasia.'" <hw>Dummyism</hw>, <i>n</i>. obtaining land by misrepresentation. See <i>Dummy, n</i>. 1875. `The Spectator' (Melbourne), June 19, p. 8, col. 2: "`Larrikinism' was used as a synonym for `blackguardism,' and `dummyism' for perjury." 1876. `The Argus,' Jan. 26, p. 6, col. 6: "Mr. Bent thought that a stop should be put to all selection and dummyism till a land law was introduced." 1887. J. F. Hogan, `The Irish in Australia, p. 98: "This baneful and illegal system of land-grabbing is known throughout the colonies by the expressive name of `dummyism,' the persons professing to be genuine selectors, desirous of establishing themselves on the soil, being actually the agents or the `dummies of the adjoining squatters." <hw>Dump</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small coin formerly used in Australia and Tasmania. Its history is given in the quotations. In England the word formerly meant a heavy leaden counter; hence the expression, "I don't care a dump." See <i>Holy Dollar</i>. 1822. `Hobart Town Gazette,' December 14: "Government Public Notice.--The Quarter Dollars, or `Dumps,' struck from the centre of the Spanish Dollar, and issued by His Excellency Governor Macquarie, in the year 1813, at One Shilling and Threepence each, will be exchanged for Treasury Bills at Par, or Sterling money." 1823. `Sydney Gazette,' Jan. ['Century']: "The small colonial coin denominated dumps have all been called in. If the dollar passes current for five shillings the dump lays claim to fifteen pence value still in silver money." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 44 "He only solicits the loan of a `dump,' on pretence of treating his sick gin to a cup of tea." Ibid. p. 225: "The genuine name of an Australian coin, in value 1<i>s</i>. 3<i>d</i>." 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 141: "Tattered promissory notes, of small amount and doubtful parentage, fluttered about the colony; dumps, struck out from dollars, were imitated by a coin prepared without requiring much mechanical ingenuity." 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' c. iii. p. 131: "The Spanish dollar was much used. A circular piece was struck out of the centre about the size of a shilling, and it was called a `dump.'" 1879. W. J. Barry, `Up and Down,' p. 5: "The coin current in those days (1829) consisted of ring- dollars and dumps, the dump being the centre of the dollar punched out to represent a smaller currency." 1893. `The Daily News' (London), May 11, p. 4: "The metallic currency was then [1819-25] chiefly Spanish dollars, at that time and before and afterwards the most widely disseminated coin in the world, and they had the current value of 5<i>s</i>. But there were too few of them, and therefore the centre of them was cut out and circulated under the name of `dumps' at 1<i>s</i>. 3<i>d</i>. each, the remainder of the coin--called by way of a pun, `holy dollars'--still retaining its currency value of 5<i>s</i>." <hw>Dump</hw>, <i>v</i>. to press closely; applied to wool. Bales are often marked "not to be dumped." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 98: "The great object of packing so close is to save carriage through the country, for however well you may do it, it is always re-pressed, or `dumped,' as it is called, by hydraulic pressure on its arrival in port, the force being so great as to crush two bales into one." 1875. R. and F. Hill, `What we saw in Australia,' p. 207: "From the sorting-tables the fleeces are carried to the packing-shed; there, by the help of machinery, they are pressed into sacks, and the sacks are then themselves heavily pressed and bound with iron bands, till they become hard cubes. This process is called `dumping.'" <hw>Dumplings</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Apple-berry</i> (q.v.). <hw>Dundathee</hw>, or <hw>Dundathu Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Queensland species (<i>Agathis robusta</i>, Sal.) of the <i>Kauri Pine</i> (q.v.); and see <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Dungaree-Settler</hw>, <i>n</i>. Now obsolete. See quotation. 1852. Anon, `Settlers and Convicts; or, Recollections of Sixteen Years' Labour in the Australian Backwoods,' p. 11: "The poor Australian settler (or, according to colonist phraseology, the Dungaree-settler; so called from their frequently clothing themselves, their wives, and children in that blue Indian manufacture of cotton known as <i>Dungaree</i>) sells his wheat crop." <hw>Dunite</hw>, <i>n</i>. an ore in New Zealand, so called from Dun mountain, near Nelson. 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 56: "Chrome ore. This ore, which is a mixture of chromic iron and alumina, is chiefly associated with magnesian rock, resembling olivine in composition, named Dunite by Dr. Hochstetter." <hw>Dust</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang for flour. 1893. Dec. 12, `A Traveller's Note': "A bush cook said to me to-day, we gave each sundowner a pannikin of dust." <hw>Dwarf-box</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Eucalyptus microtheca</i>, F. v. M. See <i>Box</i>. This tree has also many other names. See Maiden's `Useful Native Plants,' p. 495. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. c. i. p. 22: "Dwarf-box and the acacia pendula prevailed along the plains." E <hw>Eagle</hw>, <i>n.</i> There are nine species of the true Eagle, all confined to the genus <i>Haliaetus</i>, such as the <i>Baldheaded Eagle (H. leucocephalus)</i>, the national emblem of the United States. (`Century.') In Australia the name is assigned to-- Little Eagle-- <i>Aquila morphnoides</i>, Gould. Wedge-tailed E. (Eagle-hawk)-- <i>A. audax</i>, Lath. Whistling E.-- <i>Haliaetus sphenurus</i>, Vieill. White-bellied Sea E.-- <i>H. leucogaster</i>, Gmel. White-headed Sea E.-- <i>Haliaster girrenera</i>, Vieill. <hw>Eaglehawk</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian name for the bird <i>Uroaetus</i>, or <i>Aquila audax</i>, Lath. The name was applied to the bird by the early colonists of New South Wales, and has persisted. In `O.E.D.' it is shown that the name was used in Griffith's translation (1829) of Cuvier's `Regne Animal' as a translation of the French <i>aigle-autour</i>, Cuvier's name for a South American bird of prey of the genus <i>Morphnus</i>, called <i>Spizaetus</i> by Vieillot; but it is added that the word never came into English use. See <i>Eagle</i>. There is a town in Victoria called Eaglehawk. The Bendigo cabmen make the name a monosyllable, "Glawk." 1834. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar, p. 56: "The large eaglehawk, which devours young kangaroos, lambs, etc." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. i. pl. 1: "<i>Aquila Fucosa</i>, Cuv., [now <i>A. audax</i>, Lath.] Wedge-tailed eagle. Eaglehawk, Colonists of New South Wales." 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 106: "We knew it was dying, as two large eaglehawks were hovering about over it." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 251: "The hair of a person is tied on the end of the throwing-stick, together with the feathers of the eagle hawk." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia', p. 106: "Since the destruction of native dogs and eagle-hawks by the squatters, who stocked the country with sheep, the kangaroos have not a single natural enemy left." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 35: "On the New South Wales side of the river the eagle-hawk is sometimes so great a pest amongst the lambs that the settlers periodically burn him out by climbing close enough to the nest to put a fire-stick in contact with it." <hw>Eagle-hawking</hw>, <i>n.</i> bush slang: plucking wool off dead sheep. <hw>Eagle-Ray</hw>, <i>n.</i> name belonging to any large <i>Ray</i> of the family <i>Myliobatidae</i>; the New Zealand species is <i>Myliobatis nieuhofii</i>. <hw>Eastralia</hw>, <i>n.</i> recent colloquial name, fashioned on the model of <i>Westralia</i> (q.v.), used in West Australia for the Eastern Colonies. In Adelaide, its application seems confined to New South Wales. <hw>Ebony</hw>, <i>n.</i> a timber. The name is applied in Australia to two species of <i>Bauhinia</i>, <i>B. carronii</i>, F. v. M., and <i>B. hookeri</i>, F. v. M., N.O. Leguminosae. Both are called Queensland or Mountain Ebony. <hw>Echidna</hw>, <i>n.</i> a fossorial Monotreme, in general appearance resembling a Porcupine, and often called <i>Spiny Ant-eater</i> or <i>Porcupine</i>, or <i>Porcupine Ant-eater</i>. The body is covered with thick fur from which stiff spines protrude; the muzzle is in the form of a long toothless beak; and the tongue is very long and extensile, and used largely for licking up ants; the feet are short, with strong claws adapted for burrowing. Like the Marsupials, the Echidna is provided with a pouch, but the animal is oviparous, usually laying two eggs at a time, which are carried about in the pouch until the young ones are hatched, when they are fed by a secretion from mammary glands, which do not, however, as in other mammals, open on to a nipple. The five-toed Echidnas (genus <i>Echidna</i>) are found in New Guinea, Australia, and Tasmania, while the three-toed Echidnas (genus <i>Proechidna</i>) are confined to New Guinea. The species are--Common E., <i>Echidna aculeata</i>, Shaw; Bruijn's E., <i>Proechidna bruijni</i>, Peters and Doria; Black-spined E., <i>Proechidna nigro-aculeata</i>, Rothschild. The name is from Grk. <i>'echidna</i>, an adder or viper, from the shape of the long tongue. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 29: "The native porcupine or echidna is not very common." 1843. J.Backhouse, `Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies,' p. 89: "The Porcupine of this land, Echidna hystrix, is a squat species of ant-eater, with short quills among its hair: it conceals itself in the day time among dead timber in the hilly forests." 1851. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 178: "Mr. Milligan mentioned that one of the Aborigines of Tasmania reports having often discovered the nest of the <i>Echidna Setosa</i>, porcupine or ant eater, of the colony; that on several occasions <i>one egg</i> had been found in it, and never more: this <i>egg</i> has always been found to contain a <i>foetus</i> or chick, and is said to be round, considerably less than a tennis ball, and without a shell. The mother is said to sit continuously (for a period not ascertained) in the manner of the common fowl over the eggs; she does not leave the young for a considerable time after having hatched it; at length, detaching it from the small teat, she moves out hurriedly and at long intervals in quest of food, the young one becoming, at each successive return, attached to the nipple. . . The Platypus (<i>Ornithorhyncus paradoxus</i>) is said to lay two eggs, having the same external membranous covering, but of an oblong shape." 1860. G. Bennett,' Gatherings of a Naturalist in Australasia,' p. 147: "The Porcupine Ant-eater of Australia (<i>Echidna hystrix</i>) (the native Porcupine or Hedgehog of the colonists), and the Ornithorhynchus, to which it is allied in internal organization, form the only two genera of the order <i>Monotremata</i>." 1888. Cassell's' Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 230: "Among the gigantic boulders near the top he may capture the burrowing ant-eating porcupine, though if perchance he place it for a moment in the stoniest ground, it will tax all his strength to drag it from the instantaneous burrow in which it will defiantly embed itself." 1892. A.Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 273: "The echidna is an animal about a foot or 18 inches long, covered with spines like a hedgehog. It lives chiefly upon ants. With its bill, which is like a duck's but narrower, it burrows into an ant's-hill, and then with its long, whip-like, sticky tongue, draws the ants into its mouth by hundreds." 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia and Monotremata,' p. 247: "In order to enable them to procure with facility their food of ants and their larvae, echidnas are provided with very large glands, discharging into the mouth the viscid secretion which causes the ants to adhere to the long worm-like tongue when thrust into a mass of these insects, after being exposed by the digging powers of the claws of the echidna's limbs. . . . When attacked they roll themselves into a ball similar to the hedgehog." <hw>Echu</hw>, <i>n.</i> the name of an Australian bird which has not been identified. The word does not occur in the ornithological lists. 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems--Evening Hymn,' p. 53: "The echu's songs are dying with the flute-bird's mellow tone." 1896. `The Australasian,' Jan. 11, p. 73, col. 1: "`Yeldina' (Rochester) writes--While I was on the Murray, a few days before Christmas last, some miles below <i>Echuca</i>, my attention was attracted to the melancholy note, as of a bird which had lost its mate, calling ee-k-o-o, e-e-koo, which was repeated several times, after which a pause, then ee-koo, ee-ko, coolie, coolie, ee-koo. This happened in the scrub at sunset, and came, I think, from a bird smaller than the Australian minah, and of a greenish yellowish hue, larger, but similar to the members of the feathered tribe known to young city `knights of the catapult' as greenies. It was while returning to camp from fishing that I noticed this bird, which appeared of solitary habits." "`Crossbolt' (Kew) writes--The echu is probably identical with a handsome little bird whose peculiar cry `e-e-choo' is familiar to many bush ramblers. It is the size of a small wood-swallow; black head, back, wings, and tail more or less blue-black; white throat; neck and breast light to rich brown. The female is much plainer, and would scarcely be recognized as the mate of the former. The melodious `e-e-choo' is usually answered from a distance, whether by the female or a rival I cannot say, and is followed by a prolonged warbling." <hw>Eel</hw>, <i>n.</i> The kinds present in Australia are-- Common Eel-- <i>Anguilla australis</i>, Richards. Conger E.-- <i>Conger labiatus</i>, Castin., and <i>Gonorhynchus grayi</i>, Richards. Green E. (New South Wales)-- <i>Muroena afra</i>, Bl. Silver E.-- <i>Muroenesox cinereus</i>, Forsk.; also called the Sea-eel (New South Wales). <i>Conger wilsoni</i>, Castln. (Melbourne). The New Zealand Eels are-- Black Eel-- <i>Anguilla australis</i>, Richards. Conger E.-- <i>Conger vulgaris</i>, Cuv. Sand E.-- <i>Gonorynchus grayi</i>, Richards. Serpent E.-- <i>Ophichthys serpens</i>, Linn. Silver E.-- <i>Congromuroena habenata</i>, Richards. Tuna E.-- <i>Anguilla aucklandii</i>, Richards. The Sand Eel does not belong to the Eel family, and is only called an Eel from its habits. <hw>Eel-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Plotosus tandanus</i>, Mitchell. Called also <i>Catfish</i> (q.v.), and <i>Tandan</i> (q.v.). 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. pl. 5, p.. 44 and 95 [Note]: "<i>Plotosus tandanus</i>, tandan or eel-fish. Tandan is the aboriginal name." <hw>Egret</hw>, <i>n.</i> an English bird-name. The following species are present in Australia, some being European and others exclusively Australian-- Lesser Egret-- <i>Herodias melanopus</i>, Wagl. Little E.-- <i>H. garzetta</i>, Linn. Pied E.-- <i>H. picata</i>, Gould. Plumed Egret-- <i>H. intermedia</i>, v. Hasselq. White E.-- <i>H. alba</i>, Linn. <hw>Elder</hw>, <i>n.</i> See next word. <hw>Elderberry, Native</hw>, <i>n.</i> The two Australian species of the Elder are <i>Sambucus gaudichaudiana</i>, De C., and <i>S. xanthocarpa</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Caprifoliaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 56: "Native elderberry. The fruit of these two native elders is fleshy and sweetish, and is used by the aborigines for food." <hw>Elephant-fish</hw>, <i>n.</i> a fish of New Zealand, South Australian, and Tasmanian waters, <i>Callorhynchus antarcticus</i>, Lacep., family <i>Chimaeridae</i>. "It has a cartilaginous prominence of the snout, ending in a cutaneous flap" (Gunth.), suggesting a comparison with an elephant's trunk. Called also <i>King of the Herrings</i> (q.v.). 1802. G. Barrington, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 388: "The sea affords a much greater plenty, and at least as great a variety as the land; of these the elephant fish were very palatable food." <hw>Ellangowan Poison-bush</hw>, <i>n.</i> a Queensland name for <i>Myoporum deserti</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Myoporinae</i>,; called "Dogwood Poison-bush" in New South Wales. Ellangowan is on the Darling Downs in Queensland. Poisonous to sheep, but only when in fruit. <hw>Emancipatist</hw>, and <hw>Emancipist</hw>, <i>n</i>. (the latter, the commoner), an ex-convict who has served out his sentence. The words are never used now except historically. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 118: "Emigrants who have come out free from England, and emancipists, who have arrived here as convicts, and have either been pardoned or completed their term of servitude." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 302: "Men who had formerly been convicts, but who, after their period of servitude had expired, were called `emancipists.'" 1837. Jas. Mudie, `Felonry of New South Wales,' p. vii: "The author begs leave to record his protest against the abuse of language to the misapplication of the terms <i>emancipists</i> and <i>absentees</i> to two portions of the colonial felonry. An emancipist could not be understood to mean the emancipated but the emancipator. Mr. Wilberforce may be honoured with the title of emancipist; but it is as absurd to give the same appellation to the emancipated felons of New South Wales as it would be to bestow it upon the emancipated negroes of the West Indies." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 69: "The same emancipist will, however, besides private charity, be among the first and greatest contributors to a new church." 1852. `Fraser's Magazine,' vol. xlvi. p. 135: "The convict obtained his ticket-of-leave . . . became an emancipist . . . and found transportation no punishment." <hw>Emu</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian bird, <i>Dromaius novae-hollandiae</i>, Lath. There is a second species, Spotted Emu, <i>Dromaius irroratus</i>, Bartlett. An earlier, but now unusual, spelling is <i>Emeu</i>. <i>Emeus</i> is the scientific name of a New Zealand genus of extinct struthious birds. The word <i>Emu</i> is not Australian, but from the Portuguese <i>Ema</i>, the name first of the Crane, afterwards of the Ostrich. Formerly the word <i>Emu</i> was used in English for the Cassowary, and even for the American Ostrich. Since 1885 an <i>Emu</i> has been the design on the twopenny postage stamp of New South Wales. 1613. `Purchas Pilgrimmage,' pt. I. Vol v. c. xii. p. 430 (`O.E.D.'): "The bird called Emia or Eme is admirable." 1774. Oliver Goldsmith, `Natural History,' vol. iii. p. 69, Book III. c. v. [Heading] "The Emu." 1788. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 53: "A bird of the ostrich genus, but of a species very different from any other in the known world, was killed and brought in. Its length was between seven and eight feet; its flesh was good and thought to resemble beef. It has obtained the name of the New South Wales Emu." 1789. Captain W. Tench, `Expedition to Botany Bay,' p. 123: "The bird which principally claims attention is a species of ostrich, approaching nearer to the emu of South America than any other we know of." 1793 Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 69: "Some were of opinion that it was the emew, which I think is particularly described by Dr. Goldsmith from Linneus: others imagined it to be the cassowary, but it far exceeds that bird in size . . . two distinct feathers grew out from every quill." 1802. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 307: "These birds have been pronounced by Sir Joseph Banks, of whose judgment none can entertain a doubt, to come nearer to what is known of the American ostrich than to either the emu of India or the ostrich of Africa." 1804. `Rev. R. Knopwood's Diary' (J. J. Shillinglaw-- `Historical Records of Port Phillip,' 1879), p. 115: [At the Derwent] 26 March, 1804--"They caught six young emews [sic], about the size of a turkey, and shot the old mother." 1832. J. Bischof, `Van Diemen's Land,' p. 165: "We saw an emu track down the side of a hill." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. i. c. ix. p.276 "The face of the emu bears a most remarkable likeness to that of the aborigines of New South Wales." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 160: "They will pick up anything, thimbles, reels of cotton, nails, bullets indiscriminately: and thus the proverb of `having the digestion of an emu' has its origin." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. I: "<i>Dromaius Novae Hollandiae</i>. The Emu. New Holland Cassowary.--'Governor Phillips' Voyage, 1789.'" 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 42: "The emu strides with such rapidity over the plains as to render its capture very difficult even by the swiftest greyhound." 1872. C. H. Eden, "My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 52: "A couple of grave-looking emus. These wobble away at an ungainly but rapid pace directly they sight us, most probably vainly pursued by the dray dogs which join us farther on, weary and unsuccessful--indeed the swiftest dog finds an emu as much as he can manage." 1878. A. Newton, in `Encyclopedia Britannica' (9th edit.), vol. viii. p. 173: "Next to the ostrich the largest of existing birds, the common emeu. . .'' 1881. A.C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 210: ". . . points out two emus to John. . . . They resemble ostriches, but are not so large, and the tail droops more. . . . John can distinguish every point about them, from their black cast-iron looking legs, to the bare neck and small head, with its bright eye and strong flat beak." 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Game Act, Third Schedule': "Emu. [Close Season.] From the 14th day of June to the 20th day of December following in each year." 1893. `The Argus,' March 25,p. 4, col. 5: "The chief in size is the egg of the cassowary, exactly like that of the emu except that the colour is pale moss green instead of the dark green of the emu." <hw>Emu-Apple</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Apple</i>. <hw>Emu-Bush</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian shrub, <i>Eremophila longifolia</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myoporineae</i>. 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 206: "Emu-tree. A small Tasmanian tree; found on low marshy ground used for turners' work." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 317: "Emu-bush. Owing to emus feeding on the seeds of this and other species. <i>Heterodendron oleaefolium</i>, Desf." Ibid. p. 132: "The seeds, which are dry, are eaten by emus." <hw>Emu-Wren</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird-name. See <i>Malurus</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 31: "<i>Stipituras Malachurus</i>, Less. Emu Wren. The decomposed or loose structure of these [tail] feathers, much resembling those of the emu, has suggested the colonial name of Emu-Wren for this species, an appellation singularly appropriate, inasmuch as it at once indicates the kind of plumage with which the bird is clothed, and the Wren-like nature of its habits." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 213: "The delicate little emeu wren." 1865. Lady Barker (letter from `Melbourne), `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 8: "Then there is the emu-wren, all sad-coloured, but quaint, with the tail-feathers sticking up on end, and exactly like those of an emu, on the very smallest scale, even to the peculiarity of two feathers growing out of the same little quill." <hw>Eopsaltria</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific name for the genus of Australian birds called <i>Shrike-Robins</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>'aeows</i>, dawn, and <i>psaltria</i>, a female harper.) <hw>Epacris</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific name of the typical genus of the order <i>Epacrideae</i>, a heath-like flower of which there are twenty- five species, mostly Australian. From Greek <i>'epi</i>, upon, and <i>'akron</i>, top (the flowers grow in spikes at the top of the plant). In Australia they are frequently confused with and called <i>Ericas</i>. <hw>Ephthianura</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific name of a genus of very small Australian birds, anglicized as Ephthianure. For species see quotation, 1848. A fourth species has been discovered since Gould's day, <i>E. crocea</i>, Castln. and Ramsay, which inhabits Northern Australia. The name was first given by Gould, in the `Proceedings of the Zoological Society of 1837,' p. 148, as a <i>genus novum</i>. The origin of the word is not certain, but as the tail is unusually small, it is suggested that the name is from the Greek 'oura, tail, and Homeric imperfect 3rd person sing. <i>'ephthien</i>, wasted away, from <i>phthiow</i> (= <i>phthinow</i>). [The word occurs <i>Iliad</i> xviii. 446.] //phthio is ONLY in Homer!! Iliad AND Odyssey GJC// 1848. J. Gould,' Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 64: "<i>Ephthianura Albifrons</i>, White-fronted Ephthianura," pl. 65. "<i>Aurifrons</i>, Gould, Orange-fronted E.," pl. 66. "<i>Tricolor</i>, Gould, Tricoloured E.'" 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Game Act, Third Schedule': "Close season.--Ephthianuras. The whole year." <hw>Escapee</hw>, <i>n.</i> one who has escaped. Especially used of French convicts who escape from New Caledonia. The word is formed on the model of <i>absentee, refugee</i>, etc., and is manifestly influenced by Fr. <i>e/chappe/</i>. <i>Escaper</i> is the historical English form. (See Bible, 2 Kings ix. 15, margin.) //He means, of course, the so-called Authorised Version" which reads, ftn. 5: "let no escaper go, etc." Even though the Revised Version was published in 1885. GJC// 1880. `Melbourne Argus,' July 22, p. 2, col. 3 (`O.E.D.'): "The ten New Caledonia escapees . . . are to be handed over to the French consul." <hw>Eucalyn</hw>, <i>n.</i> a sugar obtained, together with laevulose, by fermentation of <i>melitose</i> (q.v.) with yeast, or by boiling it with dilute acids. <hw>Eucalypt</hw>, <i>n.</i> shortened English form of <i>Eucalyptus</i> used especially in the plural, <i>Eucalypts. Eucalypti</i> sounds pedantic. 1880. T. W. Nutt, `Palace of Industry,' p. 11: "Stems of the soaring eucalypts that rise Four hundred friendly feet to glad the skies." 1887. J. F. Hogan, `The Irish in Australia,' p. 126: "There is no unmixed good, it is said, on this mundane sphere, and the evil that has accompanied the extensive settlement of Gipps Land during recent years is to be found in the widespread destruction of the forests, resulting in a disturbance of the atmospheric conditions and the banishment of an ever-active agent in the preservation of health, for these eucalypts, or gum-trees, as they are generally called, possess the peculiar property of arresting fever-germs and poisonous exhalations. They have been transplanted for this especial purpose to some of the malaria-infested districts of Europe and America, and with pronounced success. Australia, to which they are indigenous, has mercilessly hewn them down in the past, but is now repenting of its folly in that respect, and is replanting them at every seasonable opportunity." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 270: "Throughout the whole of Australia the prevailing trees are eucalypts, known generally as gum-trees on account of the gum which they secrete, and which may be seen standing like big translucent beads on their trunks and branches." <hw>Eucalyptene</hw>, <i>n.</i> the name given by Cloez to a hydrocarbon obtained by subjecting <i>Eucalyptol</i> (q.v.) to dehydration by phosphorus pentoxide. The same name has also been given by other chemists to a hydrocarbon believed to occur in eucalyptus oil. <hw>Eucalyptian</hw>, <i>adj</i>. playfully formed; not in common use. 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads,' p. 8: "Gnarl'd, knotted trunks Eucalyptian Seemed carved, like weird columns Egyptian, With curious device--quaint inscription And hieroglyph strange." <hw>Eucalyptic</hw>, <i>adj</i>. full of gumtrees. 1873. J. Brunton Stephens, `Black Gin, etc.,' p.6: "This eucalyptic cloisterdom is anything but gay." <hw>Eucalyptol</hw>, <i>n.</i> a volatile oil of camphor-like smell, extracted from the oil of <i>Eucalyptus globulus</i>, Labill., <i>E. amygdalina</i>, Labill., etc. Chemically identical with cineol, got from other sources. <hw>Eucalyptus</hw>, <i>n.</i> the gum tree. There are 120 species, as set forth in Baron von Mueller's `Eucalyptographia, a Descriptive Atlas of the Eucalypts of Australia.' The name was first given in scientific Latin by the French botanist L'Heritier, in his <i>Sertum Anglicum</i>, published in 1788. From the Greek <i>'eu</i>, well, and <i>kaluptein</i>, to cover. See quotation, 1848. <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. The French now say <i>Eucalyptus</i>; earlier they called it <i>l'acajou de la nouvelle Hollande</i>. The Germans call it <i>Schoenmutze</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. 1823. Sidney Smith, `Essays,' p. 440: "A London thief, clothed in Kangaroo's skins, lodged under the bark of the dwarf eucalyptus, and keeping sheep, fourteen thousand miles from Piccadilly, with a crook bent into the shape of a picklock, is not an uninteresting picture." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. c. ii. p. 80: "A large basin in which there are stunted pines and eucalyptus scrub." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 132: "The scientific term Eucalyptus has been derived from the Greek, in allusion to a lid or covering over the blossom, which falls off when the flower expands, exposing a four-celled capsule or seed-vessel." 1851. G. W. Rusden, `Moyarra,' canto i. p. 8: "The eucalyptus on the hill Was silent challenge to his skill." 1879. `Temple Bar,' Oct., p. 23 ('0. E. D.'): "The sombre eucalypti . . . interspersed here and there by their dead companions." 1886. J. A. Froude, `Oceana,' p. 118: "At intervals the bush remained untouched, but the universal eucalyptus, which I had expected to find grey and monotonous, was a Proteus it shape and colour, now branching like an oak or a cork tree, now feathered like a birch, or glowing like an arbutus with an endless variety of hue--green, orange, and brown." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right, c. v. p. 46: "A lofty eucalyptus . . . lay with its bared roots sheer athwart a tiny watercourse." <hw>Euro</hw>, <i>n.</i> one of the aboriginal names for a <i>Kangaroo</i> (q.v.); spelt also <i>Yuro</i>. 1885. Mrs. Praed, `Head Station,' p. 192: "Above and below . . . were beetling cliffs, with ledges and crannies that afforded foothold only to yuros and rock-wallabies." <hw>Exclusionist</hw>, <i>n.</i> and <i>adj</i>. See quotation. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. pp. 118-19: ". . . one subdivision of the emigrant class alluded to, is termed the <i>exclusionist</i> party, from their strict exclusion of the emancipists from their society." <hw>Exileism</hw>, <i>n.</i> a word of same period as <i>Exiles</i> (q.v.). 1893. A. P. Martin, `Life of Lord Sherbrooke,' vol. i. p. 381: "A gentleman who was at this time engaged in pastoral pursuits in New South Wales, and was therefore a supporter of exileism.'" <hw>Exiles</hw>, <i>n.</i> euphemistic name for convicts. It did not last long. 1847, A. P. Martin, `Life of Lord Sherbrooke' (1893), vol. i. p. 378: "The cargoes of criminals were no longer to be known as `convicts,' but (such is the virtue in a name!) as `exiles.' It was, as Earl Grey explained in his despatch of Sept 3, 1847, `a scheme of reformatory discipline.'" 1852. G. B. Earp, `Gold Colonies of Australia,' p. 100: "The convict system ceased in New South Wales in 1839; but `exiles' as they were termed, i.e. men who had passed their probation at home, were forwarded till 1843." <hw>Expiree</hw>, <i>n.</i> a convict whose term of sentence had expired. 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (ed. 1885), p. 107: "A hireling convict - emancipist, expiree, or ticket of leave." <hw>Expiree</hw>, <i>adj</i>. See preceding. 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 271: "Very many of their servants, being old hands or expiree convicts from New South Wales and Van Diemen's Land, are thoroughly unprincipled men." 1883. E. M. Curr, `Recollections of Squatting in Victoria' (1841-1351), p. 40: "Hiring men in Melbourne in 1841 was not by any means an agreeable job, as wages were high, and labourers (almost all old gaol-birds and expiree convicts) exceedingly independent and rowdy." F <hw>Fairy Gardens</hw>, <i>n.</i> a miner's term, explained in quotation. 1852. F. Lancelott, `Australia, as it is', vol. ii. p. 221: "On the south-eastern portion of this county is the world-famed Burra Burra copper mine. . . . Some of the cuttings are through solid blocks of ore, which brilliantly glitter as you pass with a lighted candle, while others are formed in veins of malachite, and from their rich variegated green appearance are not inaptly called by the miners `Fairy gardens.'" <hw>Fake-mucker</hw>, <i>n.</i> a Tasmanian name for the <i>Dusky Robin</i> (<i>Petroica vittata</i>). See <i>Robin</i>. <hw>Falcon</hw>, <i>n.</i> English bird-name. The Australian species are-- Black Falcon-- <i>Falco subniger</i>, Gray. Black-cheeked F.-- <i>F. melanogenys</i>, Gould. Grey F.-- <i>F. hypoleucus</i>, Gould. Little F.-- <i>F. lunulatus</i>, Lath. See also Nankeen-Hawk. <hw>Fantail</hw>, <i>n.</i> bird-name applied in England to a pigeon; in Australia and New Zealand, to the little birds of the genus <i>Rhipidura</i> (q.v.). It is a fly-catcher. The Australian species are-- <i>Rhipidura albiscapa</i>, Gould. Black-and-White Fantail (called also the <i>Wagtail</i>, q.v.)-- <i>R. tricolor</i>, Vieill. Dusky F.-- <i>R. diemenensis</i>, Sharpe. Northern F.-- <i>R. setosa</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Pheasant F.-- <i>Rhipidura phasiana</i>, De Vis. Rufous F.-- <i>R. rufifrons</i>, Lath. Western F.-- <i>R. preissi</i>, Cab. White-tailed F.-- <i>R. albicauda</i>, North. Wood F.-- <i>R. dryas</i>, Gould. The New Zealand species are-- Black F.-- <i>Rhipidura fuliginosa</i>, Sparrm. (Tiwaiwaka). Pied F.-- <i>R. flabellifera</i>, Gmel. (Piwakawaka). In Tasmania, the <i>R. diemenensis</i> is called the Cranky Fantail, because of its antics. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Journal,' vol. ii. p. 80: "We also observed the . . . fantailed fly-catcher (<i>Rhipidura</i>)." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 69: "The Red Fantail, ever flitting about with broadly expanded tail, and performing all manner of fantastic evolutions, in its diligent pursuit of gnats and flies, is one of the most pleasing and attractive objects in the New Zealand forest. It is very tame and familiar." <hw>Farinaceous City</hw>, or <hw>Village</hw>, <i>n.</i> a playful name for Adelaide. The allusion is to wheat being the leading export of South Australia. 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 184: "[Adelaide] has also been nicknamed the Farinaceous City. A little gentle ridicule is no doubt intended to be conveyed by the word." <hw>Fat-cake</hw>, <i>n.</i> ridiculous name sometimes applied to <i>Eucalyptus leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M., according to Maiden (`Useful Native Plants,' p. 471). <hw>Fat-hen</hw>, <i>n.</i> a kind of wild spinach. In England the name is applied to various plants of thick foliage. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 40: "The fat-hen (Atriplex) . . ." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 120: "Another wild vegetable brew in the sandy beds of the rivers and creeks, called `fat-hen.' It was exactly like spinach, and not only most agreeable but also an excellent anti-scorbutic, a useful property, for scurvy is not an unknown thing in the bush by any means." 1881. A.C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 156: "Boiled salt junk, with <i>fat-hen</i> (a kind of indigenous spinach)." 1889. J. M. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 16: "<i>Chenopodium murale</i>, Linn., Australian spinach. Bentham considers this may have been introduced." <hw>Felonry</hw>, <i>n.</i> See quotation. 1837. Jas. Mudie, `Felonry of New South Wales,' p. 6: "The author has ventured to coin the word <i>felonry</i>, as the appellative of an order or class of persons in New South Wales--an order which happily exists in no other country in the world. A legitimate member of the tribe of appellatives . . . as peasantry, tenantry, yeomanry, gentry." 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria,' c. xv. p. 24: "The inundation of the Australian colonies with British Felonry." 1888. Sir C. Gavan Duffy, `Contemporary Review,' vol. liii. p.14 [`Century']: "To shut out the felonry of Great Britain and Ireland." <hw>Ferns</hw>. The following list of Australian ferns is taken from `The Fern World of Australia,' by F. M. Bailey of Brisbane (1881), omitting from his list all ferns of which the vernacular and scientific names coincide with the names of ferns elsewhere. Bat's-wing Fern-- <i>Pteris incisa</i>, Thunb. Black Tree F. of New Zealand-- <i>Cyathea medullaris</i>, Sw. Blanket F.-- <i>Grammitis rutaefolia</i>, R. Br. Braid F.-- <i>Platyzoma microphyllum</i>, R. Br. Caraway F.-- <i>Athyrium umbrosum</i>, J. Sm. Curly F.-- <i>Cheilanthes tenuifolia</i>, Sw. Deer's-tongue F.-- <i>Acrostichum conforme</i>, Sw. Ear F.-- <i>Pteris falcata</i>, R. Br. Elk's-horn F.-- <i>Platycerium alcicorne</i>, Desv. Fan F.-- <i>Gleichenia flabellata</i>, R. Br. Golden Swamp F.-- <i>Acrostichum aureum</i>, Linn. Grass-leaved F. (q.v.)-- <i>Vittaria elongata</i>, Sw. *Hare's-foot F.-- <i>F. Davallia pyxidata</i>, Cav. Jersey F.-- <i>Grammitis leptophylla</i>, Sw. *Lady F.-- <i>Aspidium aculeatum</i>, Sw. *Maiden-hair F.-- <i>Adiantum</i>, spp. Meadow-rue Water F.-- <i>Ceratoptoris thalictroides</i>, Brong. Parasol F.-- <i>Gleichenia circinata</i>, Sw. Pickled-cabbage F.-- <i>Lomaria capensis</i>, Willd. Potato F. (q.v.)-- <i>Marattia fraxinea</i>, Sm. Prickly F. (q.v.)-- <i>Alsophila australis</i>, R. Br. Prickly-tree Fern-- <i>Alsophila leichhardtiana</i>, F. v. M. Ribbon F.-- <i>Ophioglossum pendulum</i>, Linn. Shiny F.-- <i>Polypodium aspidoides</i>, Bail. Snake's-tongue F.-- <i>Lygodium</i>, spp. The following are not in Baileys List: Parsley F.-- <i>Cheilanthes tenuifolia</i>, Sw. (Name Parsley applied to a different Fern elsewhere.) Sword F.-- <i>Grammitis australis</i>, R. Br. Umbrella F., Tasmanian name for Fan F. (q.v.). Other ferns not in this list appear elsewhere. See also <i>Ferntree</i>. ____ * Elsewhere the name is applied to a different species. ---- <hw>Fern-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> a New Zealand bird of the genus <i>Sphenoecus</i>. Also called <i>Grass-bird</i>, and <i>New Zealand Pipit</i>. There are three species-- The Fern-bird-- <i>Sphenoecus punctatus</i>, Gray. Chatham Island F.-b.-- <i>S. rufescens</i>, Buller. Fulvous F.-b.-- <i>S. fulvus</i>, Gray. 1885. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. p. 125: "The peculiar chirp of the <i>fern bird</i> is yet to be heard among the tall fern." 1885. A. Hamilton, `Native Birds of Petane, Hawke's Bay': "Fern-bird. The peculiar chirp of this lively little bird is yet to be heard among the tall fern, though it is not so plentiful as in days gone by." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 59: "Fern Bird . . . This recluse little species is one of our commonest birds, but is oftener heard than seen. It frequents the dense fern of the open country and the beds of Raupo." <hw>Fern-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> Name applied to various species of ferns which grow to a large size, the stem in the fully grown plant reaching often a height of many feet before the leaves are given off. Such Tree-ferns clothe the sides of deep and shady gullies amongst the hills, and give rise to what are known as Fern-tree gullies, which form a very characteristic feature of the moister coastal Ranges of many parts of Australia. The principal <i>Fern-trees</i> or <i>Tree-ferns</i>, as they are indiscriminately called, of Australia and Tasmania are-- <i>Dicksonia antarctica</i>, Lab.; <i>Alsophila australis</i>, R. Br.; <i>Todea africana</i>, Willd.; <i>Cyathea cunninghami</i>, J. Hook.; <i>Alsophila excelsa</i>, R. Br.; the last named, however, not occurring in Tasmania or Victoria. 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 164: "We entered a beautiful fern-tree grove, that also concealed the heavens from view, spreading like a plantation or cocoa-nut tree orchard, but with far more elegance and effect." 1839. C. Darwin, `Voyage of Beagle' (ed. 1890), p. 177: "Tree-ferns thrive luxuriantly in Van Diemen's Land (lat. 45 degrees), and I measured one trunk no less than six feet in circumference. An arborescent fern was found by Forster in New Zealand in 46 degrees, where orchideous plants are parasitical on the trees. In the Auckland Islands, ferns, according to Dr. Dieffenbach, have trunks so thick and high that they may be almost called tree-ferns." 1857. F. R. Nixon (Bishop of Tasmania), `Cruise of the Beacon,' p. 26: "With these they [i.e. the Tasmanian Aborigines] mingled the core or pith of the fern trees, <i>Cibotium Bollardieri</i> and <i>Alsophila Australis</i> (of which the former is rather astringent and dry for a European palate, and the latter, though more tolerable, is yet scarcely equal to a Swedish turnip.)" 1870. S. H. Wintle, `Fragments of Fern Fronds,' p. 39: "Where the feet of the mountains are bathed by cool fountains, The green, drooping fern trees are seen." 1878. William Sharp, `Australian Ballads,' `Canterbury Poets' (Scott, 1888), pp. 180-81: "The feathery fern-trees make a screen, Where through the sun-glare cannot pass-- Fern, gum, and lofty sassafras." "Under a feathery fern-tree bough A huge iguana lies alow." 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 83: "There were mossy fern-trees near me, With their graceful feathered fronds, Which they slowly waved above me, Like hoar magicians' wands." 1893. A.R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 53: "Here are graceful palms rising to 70 or even 100 feet; the Indian fig with its tortuous branches clothed with a drapery of curious parasites; while graceful tree ferns, 30 feet high, flourish in the damp atmosphere of the sheltered dells." <hw>Fern-tree Gully</hw>. See <i>Fern-tree</i> and <i>Gully</i>. <hw>Fever-bark</hw>, <i>n.</i> another name for <i>Bitter-bark</i> (q.v.). <hw>Fibrous Grass</hw>, <i>n.</i> a Tasmanian grass (see <i>Grass</i>), <i>Stipa semiibarbata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. 1862. W. Archer, `Products of Tasmania,' p. 41: "Fibrous grass (<i>Stipa semibarbata</i>, Br.). After the seed has ripened the upper part of the stem breaks up into fibre, which curls loosely and hangs down waving in the wind." <hw>Fiddle-back</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in Australia to the beetle, <i>Schizorrhina australasiae</i>. <hw>Fiddler</hw>, <i>n.</i> a New South Wales and Victorian name for a species of Ray, <i>Trygonorhina fasciata</i>, Mull. and Heule, family <i>Rhinobatidae</i>. <hw>Fig-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird-name. <i>Sphecotheres maxillaris</i>, Lath.; Yellow bellied, <i>S. flaviventris</i>, Gould. <i>S. maxillaris</i> is also called <i>Mulberry-bird</i> (q.v.). <hw>Fig-eater</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird, i.q. <i>Grape-eater</i> (q.v.). <hw>Fig-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> The name is applied in Australia to the following species:-- Blue Fig-- <i>Elaeocarpus grandis</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. Clustered F.-- <i>Ficus glomerata</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Urticaceae</i>. Moreton Bay F.-- <i>P. macrophylla</i>, Desf., <i>N.O. Urticaciae</i> //sic. check//. Prickly F.-- <i>Elaeocarpus holopetalus</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. Purple F., or White F., or Rough-leaved F., or Flooded F. [Clarence River]-- <i>Ficus scabra</i>, G. Forst., <i>N.O. Urticaciae</i>. Ribbed F.-- <i>F. pleurocarpa</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Urticaciae</i>. Rusty F., or Narrow-leaved F. [or Port Jackson]-- <i>F. rubiginosa</i>, Desf., <i>N.O. Urticaciae</i>; called also Native Banyan. 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p.119: "And I forget how lone we sit beneath this old fig-tree." 1870. F. S. Wilson, `Australian Songs,' p. 115: "The fig-tree casts a pleasant shade On the straggling ferns below." 1882. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 537: "Moreton Bay fig. This noble-looking tree has a wood which is sometimes used, though it is very difficult to season." [It is a handsome evergreen with dark leaves, larger than those of a horse-chestnut, much used as an ornament in street and gardens, especially in Sydney and Adelaide. The fig is not edible.] 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right, c. 44, p. 380: "The . . . venerable church with its alleys of araucaria and Moreton Bay fig-trees." <hw>File-fish</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in New Zealand to the fish <i>Monacanthus rudis</i>, Richards, family <i>Sclerodermi</i>; in New South Wales to species of the genus <i>Balistes</i>. The first of the spines of the dorsal fin is roughened in front like a file. <i>Balistes maculatus</i> is the "Spotted File-fish" of Sydney. It is closely allied to the genus <i>Monacanthus</i>, called <i>Leather-jacket</i> (q.v.), which is much more numerously represented in Australasia. <hw>Finch</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird-name, first applied in Australia, in 1848, by Gould, to the genus <i>Poephila</i> (Grass-lover), and since extended to other genera of birds. The species are-- Banded Finch-- <i>Stictoptera bichenovii</i>, Vig. and Hors. Black-ringed F.-- <i>S. annulosa</i>, Gould. Black-rumped F.-- <i>Poephila atropygialis</i>, Diggles. Black-throated F.-- <i>P. cincta</i>, Gould. Chestnut-breasted F.-- <i>Munia castaneothorax</i>, Gould. Chestnut-eared F.-- <i>Taeniopygia castanotis</i>, Gould. Crimson F.-- <i>Neochmia phaeton</i>, Homb. and Jacq. Fire-tailed F.-- <i>Zonaeginthus bellus</i>, Lath. Gouldian F.-- <i>Poephila gouldiae</i>, Gould. Long-tailed F.-- <i>P. acuticauda</i>, Gould. Masked F.-- <i>P. personata</i>, Gould. Painted F.-- <i>Emblema picta</i>, Gould. Plum-head F.-- <i>Aidemosyne modesta</i>, Gould. Red-browed F.-- <i>AEgintha temporalis</i>, Lath. Red-eared F.-- <i>Zonaeginthus oculatus</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Red-tailed F.-- <i>Bathilda ruficauda</i>, Gould. Scarlet-headed F.-- <i>Poephila mirabilis</i>, Homb. and Jacq. Spotted-sided F.-- <i>Staganopleura guttata</i>, Shaw. White-Breasted F.-- <i>Munia pectoralis</i>, Gould. White-eared F.-- <i>Poephila leucotis</i>, Gould. Yellow-rumped F.-- <i>Munia flaviprymna</i>, Gould. <hw>Fire-stick</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to the lighted stick which the Australian natives frequently carry about, when moving from camp to camp, so as to be able to light a fire always without the necessity of producing it by friction. The fire-stick may be carried in a smouldering condition for long distances, and when traversing open grass country, such as the porcupine-grass covered districts of the interior, the stick is used for setting fire to the grass, partly to destroy this and partly to drive out the game which is hiding amongst it. The <i>fire-stick </i> (see quotations) is also used as emblematic of the camp-fire in certain ceremonies. 1847. J. D. Lang,' Cooksland,'p. 126, n.: "When their fire-stick has been extinguished, as is sometimes the case, for their jins or vestal virgins, who have charge of the fire, are not always sufficiently vigilant." 1896. F. J. Gillen, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Anthropology, pt. iv. p. 170: "Carrying fire-sticks, they place rings, woven of fur and vegetable down, round the boy's neck and arms and sometimes over and under the shoulders; the fire-sticks are then handed to him, the lubras saying: Take care of the fire; keep to your own camp.'" <hw>Firetail</hw>, <i>n.</i> name applied in Victoria to the bird <i>AEgintha temporalis</i>, Lath.; and in Tasmania to <i>Zonaeginthus (Estrelda) bellus</i>, Lath. In New South Wales, <i>AE. temporalis</i> is known as the Red-head. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 78: "<i>Estrelda Bella</i>, Fire-tailed finch. Fire-tail, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land." <hw>Fire-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> a tree of New Zealand; another name for <i>Pohutukawa</i> (q.v.). For <i>Queensland Fire-tree</i>, see <i>Tulip-tree</i>. <hw>Fireweed</hw>, <i>n.</i> a name given to several weeds, such as <i>Senecio lautus</i>, Sol., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>; so called because they spring up in great luxuriance where the forest has been burned off. <hw>Fish-hawk</hw>, <i>n.</i> English name applied to <i>Pandion leucocephalus</i>, Gould; called also the Osprey. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. i. pl. 6: "<i>Pandion Leucocephalus</i>, Gould, White-headed osprey. Little fish hawk, Colonists of New South Wales. Fish-hawk, Colonists of Swan River.'' <hw>Fist</hw>, <i>v</i>. to use the hands. The word is not unknown in English in the sense of to grip. (Shakspeare, `Cor.' IV. v. 124) 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 366: "`Fist it,' a colonial expression, which may convey to the uninitiated the idea that knives, forks, plates, etc., are unknown in the bush; such was formerly the case, but the march of improvement has banished this peculiar simplicity." <hw>Five-corners</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to the fruit of an Australian tree and to the tree itself, <i>Syphelia triflora</i>, Andr., N.O. Epacrideae. There are many species of <i>Styphelia</i> (q.v.), the fruit of several being edible. 1889. J. H. Maiden,' Useful Native Plants,' p. 61: "Five-corners. These fruits have a sweetish pulp with a large stone. They form part of the food of the aboriginals, and are much appreciated by school boys. When from a robust plant they are of the size of a large pea, and not at all bad eating." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 158: "Still I see in my fancy the dark-green and blue Of the box-covered hills where the five-corners grew." <hw>Flame-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> The name is given in India and elsewhere to several trees with bright scarlet, or crimson, flowers. In Australia, two different trees are called <i>Flame-trees</i>-- (1) A tree of Eastern Australia, with profuse bright coral-like flowers, <i>Brachychiton acerifolium</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Sterculiaceae</i>. (2) A tree of Western Australia, with brilliant orange-coloured flowers, <i>Nuytsia floribunda</i>, <i>N.O. Loranthaceae</i>; which is also called <i>Tree Mistletoe</i>, and, locally, a <i>Cabbage-tree</i>. 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 96: "There are flame-trees showing in spring vivid patches of crimson." <hw>Flannel Flower</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian flower, <i>Actinotus helianthi</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. It ranges from Gippsland to Southern Queensland, but is particularly abundant in New South Wales. Sometimes called the <i>Australian Edelweiss</i>. For the reason of the name see quotation. 1895. J. H. Maiden, `Flowering Plants of New South Wales,' p. 9: "We only know one truly local name for this plant, and that is the `Flannel Flower'--a rather unpoetical designation, but a really descriptive one, and one universally accepted. It is, of course, in allusion to the involucre, which looks as if it were snipped out of white flannel. It is also known to a few by the name of Australian Edelweiss." <hw>Flathead</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to several Australian marine fishes, <i>Platycephalus fuscus</i>, Cuv. and Val., and other species of <i>Platycephalus</i>, family <i>Cottidae</i>. The Red Flathead is <i>P. bassensis</i>, Cuv.and Val., and the Rock F. is <i>P. laevigatus</i>, Cuv.and Val. See also <i>Tupong</i> and <i>Maori-chief</i>. 1793. Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 410 (Aboriginal Vocabulary): "Paddewah, a fish called a flathead." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 32: "The market of Hobart Town is supplied with small rock cod, flatheads, and a fish called the perch." <hw>Flat Pea</hw>, <i>n.</i> a genus of Australian flowering plants, <i>Platylobium</i>, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. 1793. `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. ii. p. 350: "Its name I have deduced from <i>platus</i>, broad, and <i>lobos</i>, a pod." "P. formosum. Orange flat-pea . . . A figure of this . . . will soon be given in the work I have undertaken on the botany of New Holland." [The figure referred to will be found at p. 17 of the `Specimen of the Botany of New Holland.'] <hw>Flax, Native</hw>, <i>n.</i> The European flax is <i>Linum usitatissimum</i>, <i>N.O. Liniae</i>. There is a species in Australia, <i>Linum marginale</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Linaceae</i>, called <i>Native Flax</i>. In New Zealand, the <i>Phormium</i> is called <i>Native Flax</i>. See next word. 1889. J. M. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 626: "`Native flax.' Although a smaller plant than the true flax, this plant yields fibre of excellent quality. It is used by the blacks for making fishing-nets and cordage." <hw>Flax, New Zealand</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Phormium tenax</i>, <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. A plant yielding a strong fibre. Called also, in New Zealand, <i>Native Flax</i>, and <i>Flax Lily</i>. 1807. J. Savage, `Some account of New Zealand,' p. 56: "Small baskets made of the green native flax." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i, p. 63: "The plant is called <i>Phormium tenax</i> by naturalists. The general native name for the plant, we are told, is `korari,' but each sort, and there are ten or twelve, has its distinctive name. Any portion of the leaf, when gathered, becomes here `kie kie,' or literally, `tying stuff.' The operation of scraping is called `kayo,' the fibre when prepared, `muka.'" [Mr. Tregear says that Wakefield's statements are mistaken.] 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 23: "His robe of glossy flax which loosely flows." 1861. C. C. Bowen, `Poems,' p. 57: "And flax and fern and tutu grew In wild luxuriance round." 1870. T. H. Braiui, `New Homes,' c. viii. p. 375: "The native flax (<i>Phormium tenax</i>) is found in all parts of New Zealand; it grows to the height of about nine feet." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' v.3, p. 93: "In flowing vest of silky flax, undyed." 1893. `Murray's Handbook to New Zealand,' p. 29: "The so-called native flax (<i>phormium tenax</i>)." <hw>Flax-blade</hw>, <i>n.</i> the leaf of the <i>New Zealand Flax</i> (q.v.). 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' i. 5, p. 11: "With flax-blades binding to a tree The Maid who strove her limbs to free." <hw>Flax-bush</hw>, <i>n.</i> the bush of the <i>New Zealand Flax</i>. 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' Intro. p. v: "I had . . . to pass a night . . . under the shade of a flax-bush." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' x. 4, p. 171: "And the louder flax-bushes With their crowding and crossing Black stems, darkly studded With blossoms red-blooded." <hw>Flax-flower</hw>, <i>n.</i> the flower of the <i>New Zealand Flax</i> (q.v.). 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' xiv. 3, p. 221: "little isles Where still the clinging flax-flower smiles." <hw>Flax-leaf</hw>, <i>n.</i> the blade of the <i>New Zealand Flax</i> (q.v.). 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori' p. 69: "Zephyrs stirred the flax-leaves into tune. <hw>Flax-lily</hw>, <i>n.</i> (1) An Australian fibre plant, <i>Dianella laevis</i>, var. <i>aspera</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. (2) <i>Phormium tenax</i>. See <i>Flax, New Zealand</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 621: "Flax-lily. The fibre is strong, and of a silky texture. The aboriginals formerly used it for making baskets, etc. All the colonies except Western Australia." <hw>Flindosa</hw>, and <hw>Flindosy</hw>, <i>n.</i> two trees called <i>Beech</i> (q.v.). <hw>Flintwood</hw>, <i>n.</i> another name for <i>Blackbutt</i> (q.v.), <i>Eucalyptus pillularis</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 502: "From the great hardness of the wood it is often known as flintwood." <hw>Flounder</hw>, <i>n.</i> The Flounders in Australia are-- In Sydney, <i>Pseudorhombus russelli</i>, Gray; in Melbourne, <i>Rhombosolea victoriae</i>, Castln.; in New Zealand and Tasmania, <i>R. monopus</i>, Gunth. Maori name, Patiki; family <i>Pleuronectidae</i>. They are all excellent eating. 1876. P. Thomson, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. ix. art. lxvii., p. 487: "Patiki (flounder). Flounders are in the market all the year." <hw>Flower-pecker</hw>, <i>n.</i> bird-name used elsewhere, but in Australia assigned to <i>Dicaeum hirundinaceum</i>, Lath. <hw>Flowering Rush</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to the rush or reed, <i>Xyris operculata</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Xyrideae</i>. <hw>Flute-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> another name for the bird <i>Gymnorrhina tibicen</i>, Lath. Called also <i>Magpie</i> (q.v.). 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 53: "The flute-bird's mellow tone." <hw>Fly-catcher</hw>, <i>n.</i> bird-name used elsewhere. The Australian species are-- Black-faced Flycatcher-- <i>Monarcha melanopsis</i>, Vieill. Blue F.-- <i>Myiagra concinna</i>, Gould. Broad-billed F.-- <i>M. latirostris</i>, Gould. Brown F. [called also Jacky Winter (q.v.)] <i>Micraeca fascinans</i>, Lath. Leaden F.-- <i>Myiagra rubecula</i>, Lath. Lemon-breasted F.-- <i>Micraeca flavigaster</i>, Gould. Lesser Brown F.-- <i>M. assimilis</i>, Gould. Little F.-- <i>Seisura nana</i>, Gould. Pale F.-- <i>Micraeca pallida</i>. Pearly F.-- <i>Monarcha canescens</i>, Salvad. Pied Fly-catcher-- <i>Arses kaupi</i>, Gould. Restless F.-- <i>Seisura inquieta</i>, Lath. [called also <i>Razor- grinder</i>, q.v., and <i>Dishwasher</i>, q.v.] Satin F.-- <i>Myiagra nitida</i>, Gould [called <i>Satin-robin</i>, q.v., in Tasmania] Shining F.-- <i>Piezorhynchus nitidus</i>, Gould. Spectacled F.-- <i>P. gouldi</i>, Gray. White-bellied F.-- <i>P. albiventris</i>, Gould. White-eared F.-- <i>P. leucotis</i>, Gould. Yellow-breasted F.-- <i>Machaerhynchus flaviventer</i>, Gould. 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 161: "We this day caught a yellow-eared fly-catcher (see annexed plate). This bird is a native of New Holland." [Description follows.] Fly-eater, <i>n.</i> the new vernacular name for the Australian birds of the genus <i>Gerygone</i> (q.v.), and see <i>Warbler</i>. The species are-- Black-throated Fly-eater-- <i>Gerygone personata</i>, Gould. Brown F.-- <i>G. fusca</i>, Gould. Buff-breasted F.-- <i>G. laevigaster</i>, Gould. Green-backed F.-- <i>G. chloronota</i>, Gould. Large-billed F.-- <i>G. magnirostris</i>, Gould. Southern F.-- <i>G. culicivora</i>, Gould. White-throated F.-- <i>G. albogularis</i>, Gould. Yellow-breasted F.-- <i>G. flavida</i>, Ramsay. 1895. W. O. Legge, `Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science `(Brisbane), p. 447: "[The habits and habitats of the genus as] applied to <i>Gerygone</i> suggested the term Fly-<i>eater</i>, as distinguished from Fly-<i>catcher</i>, for this aberrant and peculiarly Australasian form of small Fly-catchers, which not only capture their food somewhat after the manner of Fly-catchers, but also seek for it arboreally." <hw>Flyer</hw>, <i>n.</i> a swift kangaroo. 1866. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' second series, p. 172: "I may here state that the settlers designate the old kangaroos as `old men' and `old women,' the full-grown animals are named `flyers,' and are swifter than the British hare." <hw>Flying-Fox</hw>, <i>n.</i> a gigantic Australian bat, <i>Pteropus poliocephalus</i>, Temm. It has a fetid odour and does great damage to fruits, and is especially abundant in New South Wales, though often met with in Victoria. Described, not named, in first extract. 1793. Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 507: "The head of this bat strongly resembles that of a fox, and the wings of many of them extend three feet ten inches. . . . [Description of one domesticated.] . . . They are very fat, and are reckoned by the natives excellent food. . . . It was supposed more than twenty thousand of them were seen within the space of one mile." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 315: "One flying fox is an immense bat, of such a horrific appearance, that no wonder one of Cook's honest tars should take it for the devil when encountering it in the woods." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 310: ". . . a flying fox, which one of them held in his hand. It was, in fact, a large kind of bat, with the nose resembling in colour and shape that of a fox, and in scent it was exactly similar to it. The wing was that of a common English bat, and as long as that of a crow, to which it was about equal in the length and circumference of its body." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 97: "Some of the aborigines feed on a large bat popularly called `the flying fox.' . . We found the filthy creatures, hanging by the heels in thousands, from the higher branches of the trees." 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 102: "The shrill twitter of the flying fox, or vampire bat, in the bush around us." 1871. Gerard Krefft, `Mammals of Australia': "The food on which the `Foxes' principally live when garden fruit is not in season, consists of honey-bearing blossoms and the small native figs abounding in the coast-range scrubs. . . . These bats are found on the east coast only, but during very dry seasons they occur as far west as the neighbourhood of Melbourne." 1881. A.C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 20: "A little further on they came to a camp of flying foxes. The huge trees on both sides of the river are actually black with them. The great bats hang by their hooked wings to every available branch and twig, squealing and quarrelling. The smell is dreadful. The camp extends for a length of three miles. There must be millions upon millions of them." <hw>Flying-Mouse</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Opossum-mouse</i> and <i>Flying-Phalanger</i>. <hw>Flying-Phalanger</hw>, <i>n.</i> included in the class of <i>Phalanger</i> (q.v.). The "flying" Phalangers "have developed large parachute-like expansions of skin from the sides of the body, by means of which they are able to take long flying leaps from bough to bough, and thus from tree to tree. While the great majority of the members of the family are purely vegetable feeders, . . . a few feed entirely or partly on insects, while others have taken to a diet of flesh." (R. Lydekker.) They include the so-called <i>Flying-Squirrel</i>, <i>Flying-Mouse</i>, etc. There are three genera-- Acrobates (q.v.), called the <i>Flying-Mouse</i>, and <i>Opossum-Mouse</i> (q.v.). <i>Petauroides</i> commonly called the <i>Taguan</i>, or <i>Taguan Flying-Squirrel</i>. <i>Petaurus</i> (q.v.), commonly called the <i>Flying Squirrel</i>. The species are-- Lesser F.-Ph.-- <i>Petaurus breviceps</i>. Papuan Pigmy F.-Ph.-- <i>Acrobates pulchellus</i> (confined to Northern Dutch New Guinea). Pigmy F.-Ph.-- <i>A. pygmaeuss</i>. Squirrel F.-Ph.-- <i>Petaurus sciureus</i>. Taguan F.-Ph.-- <i>Petauroides volans</i>. Yellow-bellied F.-Ph.-- <i>P. australis</i>. <hw>Flying-Squirrel</hw>, <i>n.</i> popular name for a Flying-Phalanger, <i>Petaurus sciureus</i>, Shaw, a marsupial with a parachute-like fold of skin along the sides by which he skims and floats through the air. The name is applied to entirely different animals in Europe and America. 1789. Governor Phillip, `Voyage to Botany Bay,' c. xv. p. 151: "Norfolk Island flying squirrel." [With picture.] 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i.: "The flying squirrels are of a beautiful slate colour, with a fur so fine that, although a small animal, the hatters here give a quarter dollar for every skin." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 37: "The squeal and chirp of the flying squirrel." 1850. R. C. Gunn, `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 253: "In the year 1845 I drew the attention of the Tasmanian Society to the interesting fact that the <i>Petaurus sciureus</i>, or Flying Squirrel, of Port Phillip, was becoming naturalized in Van Diemen's Land. . . . No species of <i>Petaurus</i> is indigenous to Tasmania. . . . It does not appear from all that I can learn, that any living specimens of the <i>Petaurus schireus</i> were imported into Van Diemen's Land prior to 1834; but immediately after the settlement of Port Phillip, in that year, considerable numbers of the flying squirrel were, from their beauty, brought over as pets by the early visitors." 1851. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 78: "The flying squirrel, another of the opossum species of the marsupial order, is a beautiful little creature, and disposed over the whole of the interior of New South Wales: its fur is of a finer texture than that of the opossum." 1855. W. Blandowski, `Transactions of Philosophical Society of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 70: "The common flying squirrel (<i>Petaurus sciureus</i>) is very plentiful in the large gum trees near the banks of a creek or river, and appears to entertain a peculiar aversion to the high lands." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 90: "Flying squirrel." [Footnote]: "The marsupial flying phalanger is so called by the Australians." <hw>Fly-Orchis</hw>, <i>n.</i> name applied in Tasmania to the orchid, <i>Prasophyllum patens</i>, R. Br. <hw>Forest</hw>, <i>n.</i> See quotation. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' vol i. p. 71 [Footnote]: "A `forest' means in New South Wales an open wood with grass. The common `bush' or `scrubb' consists of trees and saplings, where little grass is to be found." [It is questionable whether this fine distinction still exists.] <hw>Forester</hw>, <i>n.</i> the largest Kangaroo, <i>Macropus giganteus</i>, Zimm. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii. p. 27: "There are three or four varieties of kangaroos; those most common are denominated the forester and brush kangaroo." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 423: "I called this river the `Red Kangaroo River,' for in approaching it we first saw the red forester of Port Essington." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 67: "And the forester snuffing the air Will bound from his covert so dark." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 15: "We have never had one of the largest kind--the Forester Kangaroo (<i>Macropus gigantes</i>)--tame, for they have been so hunted and destroyed that there are very few left in Tasmania, and those are in private preserves, or very remote out-of-the-way places, and rarely seen. . . . The aborigines called the old father of a flock a Boomer. These were often very large: about five feet high in their usual position, but when standing quite up, they were fully six feet . . . and weighing 150 or 200 pounds." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xix. p. 181: "The dogs . . . made for them as if they had been a brace of stray foresters from the adjacent ranges." <hw>Forest-Oak</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Oak</i>. Forget-me-not, <i>n.</i> The species of this familiar flower is <i>Myosotis australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Asperifoliae</i>. <hw>Fortescue</hw>, or <hw>40-skewer</hw>, <i>n.</i> a fish of New South Wales, <i>Pentaroge marmorata</i>, Cuv. and Val., family <i>Scorpaenidae</i>; called also the <i>Scorpion</i>, and the <i>Cobbler</i>. All its names allude to the thorny spines of its fins. The name <i>Fortescue</i> is an adaptation of <i>Forty-skewer</i> by the law of Hobson-Jobson. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 49: "Of this fish Mr. Hill says: The scorpion or Fortescue, as these fish are popularly termed by fishermen, have been known for a long time, and bear that name no doubt in memory of the pain they have hitherto inflicted; and for its number and array of prickles it enjoys in this country the <i>alias</i> `Forty-skewer' or `Fortescure.' " 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 228: "<i>Fortescue</i> is a terrible pest, lurking among the <i>debris</i> in the nets and all but invisible, its spines standing erect in readiness for the unwary finger. And so intense is the pain inflicted by a stab, that I have seen a strong man roll on the ground crying out like a madman." <hw>Forty-legs</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to a millipede, <i>Cermatia smithii</i>. <hw>Forty-spot</hw>, <i>n.</i> name for a bird, a <i>Pardalote</i> (q.v.). Pardalote itself means spotted "like the pard." See also <i>Diamond-bird</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 37: "<i>Pardalotus quadragintus</i>, Gould, Forty-spotted pardalote. Forty-spot, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land." 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 5: "`Lyre bird' is obvious; so, too, is `forty-spot'; only one wonders why the number 40 was pitched upon. Was it a guess? Or did the namer first shoot the bird and count?" <hw>Fossick</hw>, <i>v. intrans</i>. to dig, but with special meanings. Derived, like <i>fosse</i>, a ditch, and <i>fossil</i>, through French from Lat. <i>fossus</i>, perfect part. of <i>fodere</i>, to dig. <i>Fossicking</i> as pres. part., or as verbal noun, is commoner than the other parts of the verb. (1) To pick out gold. 1852. W. H. Hall, `Practical Experiences at the Diggings in Victoria,' p. 16: "Or fossicking (picking out the nuggets from the interstices of the slate formation) with knives and trowels." (2) To dig for gold on abandoned claims or in waste-heaps. 1865. F. H. Nixon, `Peter Perfume,' p. 59: "They'll find it not quite so `welly good' As their fossicking freak at the Buckland." 1873. A.Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. xix. p. 286: "Here we found about a dozen Chinamen `fossicking' after gold amidst the dirt of the river, which had already been washed by the first gold-seekers." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 22: "He commenced working along with several companions at surface digging and fossicking." 1894. `The Argus,' March 14, p. 4, col. 6: "The easiest and simplest of all methods is `fossicking.' An old diggings is the place for this work, because there you will learn the kind of country, formation, and spots to look for gold when you want to break new ground. `Fossicking' means going over old workings, turning up boulders, and taking the clay from beneath them, exploring fissures in the rock, and scraping out the stuff with your table knife, using your pick to help matters. Pulling up of trees, and clearing all soil from the roots, scraping the bottoms of deserted holes, and generally keeping your eye about for little bits of ground left between workings by earlier miners who were in too great a hurry looking after the big fish to attend much to small fry." (3) To search for gold generally, even by stealing. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 60: "A number of idle and disorderly fellows had introduced a practice which was termed `fossicking.' . . . In the dead hours of midnight they issued forth, provided with wax tapers, and, entering upon the ground, stole the auriferous earth." (4) To search about for anything, to rummage. 1870. S. Lemaitre, `Songs of Goldfields,' p. 14: "He ran from the flat with an awful shout Without waiting to fossick the coffin lid out." 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 2, p. 4, col. 3: "Half the time was spent in fossicking for sticks." 1891. `The Argus,' Dec. 19, p. 4, col. 2: "I was . . . a boy fossicking for birds' nests in the gullies." 1893. `The Australasian,' Jan. 14: "The dog was fossicking about." <hw>Fossicker</hw>, <i>n.</i> one who fossicks, sc. works among the tailings of old gold-mines for what may be left. 1853. C. Rudston Read, `What I heard, saw, and did at the Australian Gold Fields,' p. 150: "The man was what they called a <i>night fossicker</i>, who slept, or did nothing during the day, and then went round at night to where he knew the claims to be rich, and stole the stuff by candle-light." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 87: "I can at once recognize the experienced `fossickers,' who know well how to go to work with every chance in their favour." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. ii. p. 32: "Steady old <i>fossickers</i> often get more Than the first who open'd the ground." 1869. R. Brough Smyth, `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 612: "A fossicker is to the miner as is the gleaner to the reaper; he picks the crevices and pockets of the rocks." 1891. `The Australasian,' Nov. 21, p. 1015: "We had heard that, on this same field, years after its total abandonment, a two hundred ounce nugget had been found by a solitary fossicker in a pillar left in an old claim." 1891. `The Argus,' Dec. 19, p. 4, col. 2: "The fossickers sluiced and cradled with wonderful cradles of their own building." <hw>Four-o'clock</hw>, <i>n.</i> another name for the <i>Friar-bird</i> (q.v.). <hw>Free-select</hw>, <i>v</i>. to take up land under the Land Laws. See <i>Free-selector</i>. This composite verb, derived from the noun, is very unusual. The word generally used is <i>to select</i>. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xix. p. 134: "Everything which he could have needed had he proceeded to free-select an uninhabited island." <hw>Free-selection</hw>, <i>n.</i> (1) The process of selecting or choosing land under the Land Laws, or the right to choose. Abbreviated often into <i>Selection</i>. See <i>Free-selector</i>. 1865. `Ararat Advertiser' [exact date lost]: "He was told that the areas open for selection were not on the Geelong side, and one of the obliging officials placed a plan before him, showing the lands on which he was free to choose a future home. The selector looked vacantly at the map, but at length became attracted by a bright green allotment, which at once won his capricious fancy, indicating as it did such luxurious herbage; but, much to his disgust, he found that `the green lot' had already been selected. At length he fixed on a yellow section, and declared his intention of resting satisfied with the choice. The description and area of land chosen were called out, and he was requested t0 move further over and pay his money. `Pay?' queried the fuddled but startled <i>bona fide</i>, `I got no money (hic), old `un, thought it was free selection, you know.'" 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' ii. 87: "A man can now go and make his free selection before survey of any quantity of land not less than 40 nor more than 320 acres, at twenty shillings an acre." 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 743: "You may go to nine stations out of ten now without hearing any talk but `bullock and free-selection.'" 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 82: "His intention . . . was to take up a small piece of land under the system of `free-selection.'" 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xx. p. 162: "This was years before the free-selection discovery." (2) Used for the land itself, but generally in the abbreviated form, <i>Selection</i>. 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' vol. vi, p. 56: "I've only seen three females on my selection since I took it up four years last November." <hw>Free-selector</hw>, <i>n.</i> (abbreviated often to <i>Selector</i>), one who takes up a block of Crown land under the Land Laws and by annual payments acquires the freehold. [320 acres to Victoria, 640 in New South Wales.] 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. i. p. 21: "Free selectors we shall be When our journey's end we see." 1866. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 9: "The very law which the free selector puts in force against the squatter, the squatter puts in force against him; he selected upon the squatter's run, and the squatter selects upon his grazing right." 1873. Ibid. p. 33: "Men who select small portions of the Crown lands by means of land orders or by gradual purchase, and who become freeholders and then permanently wedded to the colony." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 33: "The condition of the free-selector--that of ownership of a piece of land to be tilled by the owner--is the one which the best class of immigrants desire." 1875. `Melbourne Spectator,' June 12, p. 70, col. 2: "A public meeting of non-resident selectors has been held at Rushworth." 1884. Marcus Clarke, `Memorial Volume,' p. 85: "A burly free selector pitched his tent in my Home-Station paddock and turned my dam into a wash." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xii. p. 116: "No, no; I've kept free-selectors out all these years, and as long as I live here I'll do so still." <hw>Freezer</hw>, <i>n.</i> a sheep bred and raised in order that its mutton may be frozen and exported. 1893. J. Hotson, Lecture in `Age,' Nov.30, p. 7, col. 2: "In the breeding of what are in New Zealand known as `freezers' there lies a ready means of largely increasing the returns from our land." <hw>Fresh-water Herring</hw>, <i>n.</i> In Sydney, the fish is <i>Clupea richmondia</i>, Macl. Elsewhere in Australia, and in Tasmania, it is another name for the <i>Grayling</i> (q.v.). <hw>Fresh-water Perch</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in Tasmania to the fish <i>Microperca tasmaniae</i>. <hw>Friar-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian bird, of the genus called <i>Philemon</i>, but originally named <i>Tropidorhynchus</i> (q.v.). It is a honey-eater, and is also called <i>Poor Soldier</i> and other names; see quotation, 1848. The species are-- Friar-Bird-- <i>Philemon corniculatus</i>, Lath. [Called also <i>Leather-head</i>, q.v.] Helmeted F.-- <i>P. buceroides</i>, Swains. Little F.-- <i>P. sordidus</i>, Gould. Silvery-crowned F.-- <i>P. argenticeps</i>, Gould. Yellow-throated F.- <i>P. citreogularis</i>, Gould. Western F.-- <i>P. occidentalis</i>, Ramsay. 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 615 (Vocab.): "Wirgan,--bird named by us the friar." 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 324: "<i>Friar</i>,--a very common bird about Paramatta, called by the natives `<i>coldong</i>:' It repeats the words `poor soldier' and `four o'clock' very distinctly." 1845. `Voyage to Port Phillip,' p. 53: "The cheerful sedge-wren and the bald-head friar, The merry forest-pie with joyous song." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 58: "<i>Tropidorhynchus Corniculatus</i>, Vig. and Hors. "From the fancied resemblance of its notes to those words, it has obtained from the Colonists the various names of `Poor Soldier,' `Pimlico,' `Four o'clock,' etc. Its bare head and neck have also suggested the names of `Friar Bird,' `Monk,' `Leather Head,' etc." 1855. W. Blandowski, `Transactions of the Philosophical Society of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 64: "The <i>Tropidorhynchus corniculatus</i> is well known to the colonists by the names `poor soldier,' `leather-headed jackass,' `friar-bird,' etc. This curious bird, in common with several other varieties of honey-eaters, is remarkable on account of its extreme liveliness and the singular resemblance of its notes to the human voice." <hw>Frilled-Lizard</hw>, <i>n.</i> See quotation. 1875, G. Bennett, `Proceedings of Royal Society of Tasmania,' p. 56: "Notes on the <i>Chlamydosaurus</i> or frilled-lizard of Queensland (C. Kingii.) " <hw>Frogsmouth</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian bird; genus <i>Podargus</i>, commonly called <i>Mopoke</i> (q.v.). The mouth and expression of the face resemble the appearance of a frog. The species are-- Freckled Frogsmouth-- <i>Podargus phaloenoides</i>, Gould. Marbled F.-- <i>P. marmoratus</i>, Gould. Plumed F.-- <i>P. papuensis</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Tawney F.-- <i>P. strigoides</i>, Lath. 1895. W. O. Legge, `Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science' (Brisbane), p. 447: "The term `Frogsmouth' is used in order to get rid of that very objectionable name <i>Podargus</i>, and as being allied to the other genera <i>Batrachostomus</i> and <i>Otothrix</i> of the family <i>Steatorninae</i> in India. It is a name well suited to the singular structure of the mouth, and presumably better than the mythical title of `Goatsucker.' `Night-hawk,' sometimes applied to the <i>Caprimulginae</i>, does not accord with the mode of flight of the genus <i>Podargus</i>." <hw>Frontage</hw>, <i>n.</i> land along a river or creek, of great importance to a station. A use common in Australia, not peculiar to it. 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July i8, p. 3, col. 7: ". . . has four miles frontage to the Yarra Yarra." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. iii. p. 29: "Jack was piloted by Mr. Hawkesbury through the `frontage' and a considerable portion of the `back' regions of Gondaree." <hw>Frost-fish</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in Australia and New Zealand to the European <i>Scabbard-fish</i>, <i>Lepidopus caudatus</i>, White. The name is said to be derived from the circumstance that the fish is found alive on New Zealand sea-beaches on frosty nights. It is called the <i>Scabbard-fish</i> in Europe, because it is like the shining white metal sheath of a long sword. <i>Lepidopus</i> belongs to the family <i>Trichiuridae</i>, it reaches a length of five or six feet, but is so thin that it hardly weighs as many pounds. It is considered a delicacy in New Zealand. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 51: "The frost-fish . . . the most delicately flavoured of all New Zealand fishes, is an inhabitant of deep water, and on frosty nights, owing probably to its air-bladders becoming choked, it is cast up by the surf on the ocean-beach." <hw>Fruit-Pigeon</hw>, <i>n.</i> The name is given to numerous pigeons of the genera <i>Ptilinopus</i> and <i>Carpophaga</i>. In Australia it is assigned to the following birds:-- Allied Fruit-Pigeon-- <i>Ptilinopus assimilis</i>, Gould. Purple-breasted F.-P.-- <i>P. magnifica</i>, Temm. Purple-crowned F.-P.-- <i>P. superbus</i>, Temm. Red-crowned F.-P.-- <i>P. swainsonii</i>, Gould. Rose-crowned F.-P.-- <i>P. ewingii</i> Gould. White-headed F.-P.-- <i>Columba leucomela</i>, Temm. And in New Zealand to <i>Carpophaga novae-zealandiae</i>, Gmel. (Maori name, <i>Kereru Kuku</i>, or <i>Kukupa</i>.) <hw>Fryingpan-Brand</hw>, <i>n.</i> a large brand used by cattle-stealers to cover the owner's brand. See <i>Duffer</i> and <i>Cattle-Duffer</i>. 1857. Frederic De Brebant Cooper, `Wild Adventures in Australia,' p. 104: ". . . This person was an `old hand,' and got into some trouble on the other side (i.e. the Bathurst side) by using a `frying-pan brand.' He was stock-keeping in that quarter, and was rather given to `gulley-raking.' One fine day it appears he ran in three bullocks belonging to a neighbouring squatter, and clapt his brand on the top of the other so as to efface it." <hw>Fuchsia, Native</hw>, <i>n.</i> The name is applied to several native plants. (1) In Australia and Tasmania, to various species of <i>Correa</i> (q.v.), especially to <i>Correa speciosa</i>, And., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. (2) In Queensland, to <i>Eremophila maculata</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O</i>. <i>Myoporineae</i>. (3) In New Zealand, to <i>Fuchsia excorticata</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Onagrariae</i>. (Maori name, <i>Kotukutuktu</i>, q.v.). See also <i>Tooky-took</i> and <i>Konini</i>. 1860. Geo. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist in Australasia,' pp. 371-2: "The Correa virens, with its pretty pendulous blossoms (from which it has been named the `Native Fuchsia'), and the Scarlet Grevillea (G. coccinea) are gay amidst the bush flowers." 1880. Mrs.Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 23: "I see some pretty red correa and lilac." [Footnote]: "Correa speciosa--native fuchsia of Colonies." 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 374: "<i>E. maculata</i>. A . . . shrub called native fuchsia, and by some considered poisonous, by others a good fodder bush." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 126: "<i>E. maculata</i>. . . . Called `Native Fuchsia' in parts of Queensland." 1892. `Otago Witness,' Nov. 24, `Native Trees': "A species of native fuchsia that is coming greatly into favour is called [Fuchsia] Procumbens. It is a lovely pot plant, with large pink fruit and upright flowers." <hw>Full up of</hw>, <i>adj</i>. (slang), sick and tired of. "Full on," and "full of," are other forms. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xxiii. p. 213: "She was `full up' of the Oxley, which was a rowdy, disagreeable goldfield as ever she was on." <hw>Furze, Native</hw>, <i>n.</i> a shrub, <i>Hakea ulcina</i>, R. Br. See <i>Hakea</i>. <hw>Futtah</hw>, <i>n.</i> a settlers' corruption of the Maori word <i>Whata</i> (q.v.). 1895. W.S. Roberts, `Southland in 1856,'p. 28: "These stores were called by the Europeans <i>futters</i>,--but the Maori name was Whata." 1896. `Southland Daily News,' Feb. 3: "`Futtah is familiar as `household words.' There were always rats in New Zealand--that is, since any traditions of its <i>fauna</i> existed. The original ones were good to eat. They were black and smooth in the hair as the mole of the Old Country, and were esteemed delicacies. They were always mischievous, but the Norway rat that came with the white man was worse. He began by killing and eating his aboriginal congener, and then made it more difficult than ever to keep anything eatable out of reach of his teeth. Human ingenuity, however, is superior to that of most of the lower animals, and so the `futtah' came to be--a storehouse on four posts, each of them so bevelled as to render it impossible for the cleverest rat to climb them. The same expedient is to-day in use on Stewart Island and the West Coast --in fact, wherever properly constructed buildings are not available for the storage of things eatable or destructible by the rodents in question." G <hw>Galah</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird.(The accent is now placed on the second syllable.) Aboriginal name for the <i>Cacatua roseicapilla</i>, Vieill., the <i>Rose-breasted Cockatoo</i>. See <i>Cockatoo</i>. With the first syllable compare last syllable of <i>Budgerigar</i> (q.v.) 1890. `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 5: "They can afford to screech and be merry, as also the grey, pink-crested galahs, which tint with the colours of the evening sky a spot of grass in the distance." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. xiv. p. 127: "The galahs, with their delicate grey and rose-pink plumage, are the prettiest parrots." 1891. Francis Adams, `John Webb's End,' p. 191: "A shrieking flock of galahs, on their final flight before they settled to roost, passed over and around him, and lifting up his head, he saw how all their grey feathers were flushed with the sunset light, their coloured breasts deepening into darkest ruby, they seemed like loosed spirits." <hw>Gallows</hw>, <i>n.</i> Explained in quotation. Common at all stations, where of course the butchering is done on the premises. 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 64: "The gallows, a high wooden frame from which the carcases of the butchered sheep dangle." <hw>Gang-gang</hw>, or <hw>Gan-gan</hw>, <i>n.</i> the aboriginal word for the bird <i>Callocephalon galeatum</i>, Lath., so called from its note; a kind of cockatoo, grey with a red head, called also <i>Gang-gang Cockatoo</i>. See <i>Cockatoo</i>. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. Intro. p. xxxviii: "Upon the branches the satin-bird, the gangan, and various kinds of pigeons were feeding." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pl. 14: "<i>Callocephalon Galeatum</i>, Gang-gang Cockatoo, Colonists of New South Wales." <hw>Gannet</hw>, <i>n.</i> the English name for the <i>Solan Goose</i> and its tribe. The Australian species are-- The Gannet-- <i>Sula serrator</i>, Banks. Brown G. (called also <i>Booby</i>)-- <i>S. leucogastra</i>, Bodd. Masked G.-- <i>S. cyanops</i>, Sunder. Red-legged G.-- <i>S. piscator</i>, Linn. The species in New Zealand is <i>Dysporus serrator</i>, Grey; Maori name, <i>Takapu</i>. <hw>Garfish</hw>, <i>n.</i> In England the name is applied to any fish of the family <i>Belonidae</i>. The name was originally used for the common European <i>Belone vulgaris</i>. In Melbourne the Garfish is a true one, <i>Belone ferox</i>, Gunth., called in Sydney "Long Tom." In Sydney, Tasmania, and New Zealand it is <i>Hemirhamphus intermedius</i>, Cantor.; and in New South Wales, generally, it is the river-fish <i>H. regularis</i>, Gunth., family <i>Sombresocidae</i>. Some say that the name was originally "Guard-fish," and it is still sometimes so spelt. But the word is derived from x<i>Gar</i>, in Anglo-Saxon, which meant spear, dart, javelin, and the allusion is to the long spear-like projection of the fish's jaws. Called by the Sydney fishermen <i>Ballahoo</i>, and in Auckland the <i>Piper</i> (q.v.). 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 288: "Charley brought me . . . the head bones of a large guard-fish." 1849. Anon., `New South Wales: its Past, Present, and Future Condition,' p. 99: "The best kinds of fish are guard, mullet, and schnapper." 1850. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip,' c. iii. p. 44: "In the bay are large quantities of guard-fish." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June I9, p. 81, col.1: "Common fish, such as trout, ruffies, mullet, garfish." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 83: "Of the garfishes we have four species known to be found on our coasts. One, <i>Hemirhamphus regularis</i>, is the favourite breakfast fish of the citizens of Sydney. <i>H. melanochir</i>, or `river garfish,' is a still better fish, but has become very scarce. <i>H. argentcus</i>, the common Brisbane species . . . and <i>H. commersoni</i>." <hw>Gastrolobium</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific name of a genus of Australian shrubs, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, commonly known as <i>Poison Bushes</i> (q.v.). The species are-- <i>Gastrolobium bilobum</i>, R. Br. <i>G. callistachys</i>, Meissn. <i>G. calycium</i>, Benth. <i>G. obovatum</i>, Benth. <i>G. oxylobioides</i>, Benth. <i>G. spinosum</i>, Benth. <i>G. trilobum</i>, Benth. All of which are confined to Western Australia. The species <i>Gastrolobium grandiflorum</i>, F. v. M. (also called <i>Wall-flower</i>), is the only species found out of Western Australia, and extends across Central Australia to Queensland. All the species have pretty yellow and purple flowers. The name is from the Greek <i>gastaer, gastros</i>, the belly, and <i>lobion</i>, dim. of <i>lobos</i>, "the capsule or pod of leguminous plants." (`L. & S.') <hw>Geebung</hw>, or <hw>Geebong</hw>, <i>n.</i> aboriginal name for the fruit of various species of the tree <i>Persoonia</i>, and also for the tree itself, <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 221: "The jibbong is another tasteless fruit, as well as the five corners, much relished by children." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition, p. 478: "We gathered and ate a great quantity of gibong (the ripe fruit of Persoonia falcata)." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' c. vi,. p. 176, 3rd edition 1855: "The geebung, a native plum, very woolly and tasteless." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 113: "We gathered the wild raspberries, and mingling them with geebongs and scrub berries, set forth a dessert." 1885. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 255: "You won't turn a five-corner into a quince, or a geebung into an orange." 1889. J. M. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 584: "A `geebung' (the name given to the fruits of <i>Persoonias</i>, and hence to the trees themselves)." <hw>Gerygone</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific and vernacular name of a genus of small warblers of Australia and New Zealand; the new name for them is <i>Fly-eater</i> (q.v.). In New Zealand they are called <i>Bush-warblers</i>, <i>Grey-warblers</i>, etc., and they also go there by their Maori name of <i>Riro-riro</i>. For the species, see <i>Fly-eater</i> and <i>Warbler</i>. The name is from the Greek <i>gerugonae</i>, "born of sound," a word used by Theocritus. 1895. W. O. Legge, `Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science' (Brisbane), p. 447: "[The habits and habitats of the genus] <i>Gerygone</i> suggested the term Fly-<i>eater</i>, as distinguished from Fly-<i>catcher</i>, for this aberrant and peculiarly Australasian form of small Fly-catchers, which not only capture their food somewhat after the manner of Fly-catchers, but also seek for it arboreally." <hw>Ghilgai</hw>, <i>n.</i> an aboriginal word used by white men in the neighbourhood of Bourke, New South Wales, to denote a saucer-shaped depression in the ground which forms a natural reservoir for rainwater. <i>Ghilgais</i> vary from 20 to 100 yards in diameter, and are from five to ten feet deep. They differ from <i>Claypans</i> (q.v.), in being more regular in outline and deeper towards the centre, whereas <i>Claypans</i> are generally flat-bottomed. Their formation is probably due to subsidence. <hw>Giant-Lily</hw>, <i>n.</i> See under <i>Lily</i>. <hw>Giant-Nettle</hw>, i.q. <i>Nettle-tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Gibber</hw>, <i>n.</i> an aboriginal word for a stone. Used both of loose stones and of rocks. The <i>G</i> is hard. 1834. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar,' p. x. [In a list of `barbarisms']: "Gibber, a stone." [<i>Pace</i> Mr. Threlkeld, the word is aboriginal, though not of the dialect of the Hunter District, of which he is speaking.] 1852. `Settlers and Convicts; or Recollections of Sixteen Years' Labour in the Australian Backwoods,' p. 159: "Of a rainy night like this he did not object to stow himself by the fireside of any house he might be near, or under the `gibbers' (overhanging rocks) of the river. . . ." 1890. A .J. Vogan, `Black Police,' p. 338: "He struck right on top of them gibbers (stones)." 1894. Baldwin Spencer, in `The Argus,' Sept. 1, p. 4, col. 2: "At first and for more than a hundred miles [from Oodnadatta northwards], our track led across what is called the gibber country, where the plains are covered with a thin layer of stones--the gibbers--of various sizes, derived from the breaking down of a hard rock which forms the top of endless low, table-topped hills belonging to the desert sandstone formation." <hw>Gibber-gunyah</hw>, <i>n.</i> an aboriginal cave-dwelling. See <i>Gibber</i> and <i>Gunyah</i>, also <i>Rock-shelter</i>. 1852. `Settlers and Convicts; or, Recollections of Sixteen Years' Labour in the Australian Backwoods,' p. 211: "I coincided in his opinion that it would be best for us to camp for the night in one of the ghibber-gunyahs. These are the hollows under overhanging rocks." 1863. Rev. R. W. Vanderkiste, `Lost, but not for Ever,' p. 210: "Our home is the gibber-gunyah, Where hill joins hill on high, Where the turrama and berrambo Like sleeping serpents lie." 1891. R. Etheridge, jun., `Records of the Australian Museum,' vol. i. no. viii. p. 171: "Notes on Rock Shelters or Gibba-gunyahs at Deewhy Lagoon." <hw>Giddea</hw>, <hw>Gidya</hw>, or <hw>Gidgee</hw>, <i>adj</i>. aboriginal word of New South Wales and Queensland for-- (1) a species of <i>Acacia, A. homalophylla</i>, Cunn. The original meaning is probably <i>small</i>, cf. <i>gidju</i>, Warrego, Queensland, and <i>kutyo</i>, Adelaide, both meaning small. (2) A long spear made, from this wood. 1878. `Catalogue of Objects of Ethno-typical Art in National Gallery, Melbourne,' p. 46: "<i>Gid-jee</i>. Hardwood spear, with fragments of quartz set in gum on two sides and grass-tree stem. Total length, 7 feet 8 inches." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 51: "Gidya scrubs." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 357: "<i>A. homalophylla</i>. A `Spearwood.' Called `Myall' in Victoria. . . . Aboriginal names are . . . Gidya, Gidia, or Gidgee (with other spellings in New South Wales and Queensland). This is the commonest colonial name . . . much sought after for turner's work on account of its solidity and fragrance. . . . The smell of the tree when in flower is abominable, and just before rain almost unbearable." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvii. p. 211: "I sat . . . watching the shadows of the gydya trees lengthen, ah! so slowly." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 37: "Kind of scrub, called by the colonists gydya-scrub, which manifests itself even at a distance by a very characteristic, but not agreeable odour, being especially pungent after rain." 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Home Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, p. 22: "We camped beside a water-pool on the Adminga Creek, which is bordered for the main part by a belt of the stinking acacia, or giddea (<i>A. homalophylla</i>). When the branches are freshly cut it well deserves the former name, as they have a most objectionable smell." <hw>Gill-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> an occasional name for the <i>Wattle-bird</i> (q.v.). 1896. `Menu' for October 15: "Gill-bird on Toast." <hw>Gin</hw>, <i>n.</i> a native word for an aboriginal woman, and used, though rarely, even for a female kangaroo. See quotation 1833. The form <i>gun</i> (see quotation 1865) looks as if it had been altered to meet <i>gunae</i>, and of course generate is not derived from <i>gunae</i>, though it may be a distant relative. In `Collins's Vocabulary' occurs "din, a woman." If such a phonetic spelling as <i>djin</i> had been adopted, as it well might have been, to express the native sound, where would the <i>gunae</i> theory have been? 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' Vocabulary, p. 612: "Din--a woman." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 152: "A proposition was made by one of my natives to go and steal a gin (wife)." Ibid. p. 153: "She agrees to become his gin." 1833. Lieut. Breton, R.N., `Excursions in New South Wales,' p. 254: "The flying gin (gin is the native word for woman or female) is a boomall, and will leave behind every description of dog." 1834. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar,' p. x: "As a barbarism [sc. not used on the Hunter], jin--a wife." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 8: "A gin (the aboriginal for a married woman)." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 367: "Gin, the term applied to the native female blacks; not from any attachment to the spirit of that name, but from some (to me) unknown derivation." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. I. c. iv. p. 74: "Though very anxious to . . . carry off one of their `gins,' or wives . . . he yet evidently holds these north men in great dread." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,'p. 126, n.: "When their fire-stick has been extinguished, as is sometimes the case, for their jins or vestal virgins, who have charge of the fire, are not always sufficiently vigilant." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 98: "Gins--native women--from <i>gune</i>, mulier, evidently!" 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. 2, p. 46: "The females would be comely looking gins, Were not their limbs so much like rolling-pins." 1865. S. Bennett, `Australian Discovery,' p. 250: "Gin or gun, a woman. Greek <i>gunae</i> and derivative words in English, such as generate, generation, and the like." 1872. C. H. Eden, `MY Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 118: "The gins are captives of their bow and spear, and are brought home before the captor on his saddle. This seems the orthodox way of wooing the coy forest maidens. . . . All blacks are cruel to their gins." 1880. J. Brunton Stephens, `Poems' [Title]: "To a black gin." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 23: "Certain stout young gins or lubras, set apart for the purpose, were sacrificed." <hw>Ginger, Native</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian tree, <i>Alpinia caerulea</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Scitamineae</i>. The globular fruit is eaten by the natives. 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 296: "Fresh green leaves, especially of the so-called native ginger (<i>Alpinia caerulea</i>)." <hw>Give Best</hw>, <i>v</i>. Australian slang, meaning to acknowledge superiority, or to give up trying at anything. 1883. Keighley, `Who are You?' p. 87: "But then--the fact had better be confessed, I went to work and gave the schooling best." 1887. J. Farrell, `How he Died,' p. 80: "Charley gave life best and died of grief." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xviii. p. 174: "It's not like an Englishman to jack up and give these fellows best." <hw>Globe-fish</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to the fish <i>Tetrodon hamiltoni</i>, Richards., family <i>Gymnodontes</i>. The <i>Spiny Globe-fish</i> is <i>Diodon</i>. These are also called <i>Toad-fish</i> (q.v.), and <i>Porcupine-fish</i> (q.v.). The name is applied to other fish elsewhere. <hw>Glory Flower</hw>, or <hw>Glory Pea</hw>, i.q. <i>Clianthus</i> (q.v.). <hw>Glory Pea</hw>, i.q. <i>Clianthus</i> (q.v.). <hw>Glucking-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird so named by Leichhardt, but not identified. Probably the <i>Boobook</i> (q.v.), and see its quotation 1827; see also under <i>Mopoke</i> quotation, <i>Owl</i>, 1846. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 23: "The musical note of an unknown bird, sounding like `gluck gluck' frequently repeated, and ending in a shake . . . are heard from the neighbourhood of the scrub." Ibid. p. 29: "The glucking bird--by which name, in consequence of its note, the bird may be distinguished--was heard through the night." Ibid. p. 47: "The glucking-bird and the barking owl were heard throughout the moonlight nights." Ibid. pp. 398, 399: "During the night, we heard the well-known note of what we called the `Glucking bird,' when we first met with it in the Cypress-pine country at the early part of our expedition. Its re-appearance with the Cypress-pine corroborated my supposition, that the bird lived on the seeds of that tree." <hw>Glue-pot</hw>, <i>n.</i> part of a road so bad that the coach or buggy sticks in it. 1892. `Daily News,' London (exact date lost): "The Bishop of Manchester [Dr. Moorhouse, formerly Bishop of Melbourne], whose authority on missionary subjects will not be disputed, assures us that no one can possibly understand the difficulties and the troubles attendant upon the work of a Colonial bishop or clergyman until he has driven across almost pathless wastes or through almost inaccessible forests, has struggled through what they used to call `glue-pots,' until he has been shaken to pieces by `corduroy roads,' and has been in the midst of forests with the branches of trees falling around on all sides, knowing full well that if one fell upon him he would be killed." <hw>Goai</hw>, <i>n.</i> common name in southern island of New Zealand for <i>Kowhai</i> (q.v.), of which it is a corruption. It is especially used of the timber of this tree, which is valuable for fencing. The change from <i>K</i> to <i>G</i> also took place in the name Otago, formerly spelt Otakou. 1860. John Blair, `New Zealand for Me,': "The land of the <i>goai</i> tree, mapu, and pine, The stately <i>totara</i>, and blooming wild vine." 1863. S. Butler, `First Year in Canterbury Settlement,' p. 104: "I remember nothing but a rather curiously shaped gowai-tree." <hw>Goanna</hw>, <hw>Guana</hw>, and <hw>Guano</hw>, <i>n.</i> popular corruptions for <i>Iguana</i>, the large Lace-lizard (q.v.), <i>Varanus varius</i>, Shaw. In New Zealand, the word <i>Guano</i> is applied to the lizard-like reptile <i>Sphenodon punctatum</i>. See <i>Tuatara</i>. In Tasmania, the name is given to <i>Taliqua schincoides</i>, White, and throughout Australia any lizard of a large size is popularly called a <i>Guana</i>, or in the bush, more commonly, a <i>Goanna</i>. See also <i>Lace-lizard</i>. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. viii. p. 285: "Among other reptiles were found . . . some brown guanoes." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present state of Australia,' p. 118: "At length an animal called a guana (a very large species of lizard) jumped out of the grass, and with amazing rapidity ran, as they always do when disturbed, up a high tree." 1864. J. Ropers, `New Rush,' p. 6: "The shy guana climbs a tree in fear." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 99: "A goanna startled him, and he set to and kicked the front of the buggy in." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 139: "And the sinister `gohanna,' and the lizard, and the snake." <hw>Go-ashore</hw>, <i>n.</i> an iron pot or cauldron, with three iron feet, and two ears, from which it was suspended by a wire handle over the fire. It is a corruption of the Maori word <i>Kohua</i> (q.v.), by the law of Hobson-Jobson. 1849. W. Tyrone Power, `Sketches in New Zealand with Pen and Pencil,' p. 160: "Engaged in the superintendence of a Maori oven, or a huge gipsy-looking cauldron, called a `go-ashore.'" 1877. An Old Colonist, `Colonial Experiences,' p. 124: "A large go-ashore, or three-legged pot, of the size and shape of the cauldron usually introduced in the witch scene in Macbeth." 1879. C. L. Innes, `Canterbury Sketches,' p. 23: "There was another pot, called by the euphonious name of a `Go-ashore,' which used to hang by a chain over the fire. This was used for boiling." <hw>Goborro</hw>, <i>n.</i> aboriginal name for <i>Eucalyptus microtheca</i>, F. v. M. See <i>Dwarf-box</i>, under <i>Box</i>. <hw>Goburra</hw>, and <hw>Gogobera</hw>, <i>n.</i> variants of <i>Kookaburra</i> (q.v.). <hw>Goditcha</hw>. See <i>Kurdaitcha</i>. <hw>Godwit</hw>, <i>n.</i> the English name for birds of the genus <i>Limosa</i>. The Australian species are-- Black-tailed G.,-- <i>Limosa melanuroides</i>, Gould; Barred-rumped G.,-- <i>L. uropygialis</i>, Gould. <hw>Gogobera</hw>, and <hw>Goburra</hw>, <i>n.</i> variants of <i>Kookaburra</i> (q.v.). <hw>Gold</hw>-. The following words and phrases compounded with "gold" are Australian in use, though probably some are used elsewhere. <hw>Gold-bearing</hw>, <i>verbal adj</i>. auriferous. 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 13: "A new line of gold-bearing quartz." <hw>Gold-digging</hw>, <i>verbal n.</i> mining or digging for gold. 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Gold. fields,' p. 36: "There were over forty miners thus playing at gold-digging in Hiscock's Gully." <hw>Gold-digger</hw>, <i>n.</i> 1852. J. Bonwick [Title]: "Notes of a Gold-digger." <hw>Gold-fever</hw>, <i>n.</i> the desire to obtain gold by digging. The word is more especially applied to the period between 1851 and 1857, the early Australian discovery of gold. The term had been previously applied in a similar way to the Californian excitement in 1848-49. Called also <i>Yellow fever</i>. 1888. A. J. Barbour, `Clara,' c. ix. p. 13: "The gold fever coursed through every vein." <hw>Gold-field</hw>, <i>n.</i> district where mining for gold is carried on. 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria, c. xv. p. 215: "All were anxious to get away for the gold fields." 1880. G. Sutherland, [Title] `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 19: "Edward Hargreaves, the discoverer of the Australian goldfields . . . received L15,000 as his reward." <hw>Gold-founded</hw>, <i>part. adj</i>. founded as the result of the discovery of gold. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. ix. p. 91: "I rode up the narrow street, serpentine in construction, as in all gold-founded townships." <hw>Gold-hunter</hw>, <i>n.</i> searcher after gold. 1852. G. S. Rutter [Title]: "Hints to Gold-hunters." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. v. p. 48: "I was not as one of the reckless gold-hunters with which the camp was thronged." <hw>Gold-mining</hw>, <i>verbal n.</i> 1852. J. A.Phillips [Title]: "Gold-mining; a Scientific Guide for Australian Emigrants." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 23: "He had already had quite enough of gold-mining." <hw>Gold-seeking</hw>, <i>adj</i>. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xv. p. 150: "The great gold-seeking multitude had swelled . . . to the population of a province." <hw>Golden Bell-Frog</hw>, <i>n.</i> name applied to a large gold and green frog, <i>Hyla aurea</i>, Less., which, unlike the great majority of the family <i>Hylidae</i> to which it belongs, is terrestrial and not arboreal in its habits, being found in and about water-holes in many parts of Australia. 1881. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Dec. 6, pl. 53: "So completely alike was the sound of the Bell-frogs in an adjoining pond at night to the noise of the men by day." <hw>Golden-chain</hw>, <i>n.</i> another name for the <i>Laburnum</i> (q.v.). <hw>Golden-eye</hw>, <i>n.</i> the bird <i>Certhia lunulatu</i>, Shaw; now called <i>Melithreptus lunulatus</i>, Shaw, and classed as <i>White-naped Honey-eater</i> (q.v.). 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 315: "`This bird,' Mr. Caley says, `is called Golden-eye by the settlers. I shot it at Iron Cove, seven miles from Sydney, on the Paramatta road.'" <hw>Golden-Perch</hw>, <i>n.</i> a fresh-water fish of Australia, <i>Ctenolates ambiguus</i>, Richards., family <i>Percidae</i>, and <i>C. christyi</i>, Castln.; also called the <i>Yellow-belly</i>. <i>C. ambiguus</i> is common in the rivers and lagoons of the Murray system. <hw>Golden-Rosemary</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Rosemary</i>. <hw>Golden-Wattle</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Wattle</i>. 1896. `The Argus,' July 20, p. 5, col. 8: "Many persons who had been lured into gathering armfuls of early wattle had cause to regret their devotion to the Australian national bloom, for the golden wattle blossoms produced unpleasant associations in the minds of the wearers of the green, and there were blows and curses in plenty. In political botany the wattle and blackthorn cannot grow side by side." 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 53: "The last two weeks have been alive with signs and tokens, saying `Spring is coming, Spring is here.' And though this may not be the `merry month of May,' yet it is the time of glorious Golden Wattle,--wattle waving by the river's bank, nodding aloft its soft plumes of yellow and its gleaming golden oriflamme, or bending low to kiss its own image in the brown waters which it loves." <hw>Goodenia</hw>, <i>n.</i> the scientific and popular name of a genus of Australian plants, closely resembling the <i>Gentians</i>; there are many species. The name was given by Sir James Smith, president of the Linnaean Society, in 1793. See quotation. 1793. `Transactions of the Linn.can Society,' vol. ii. p. 346: "I [Smith] have given to this . . . genus the name of Goodenia, in honour of . . . Rev. Dr. <i>Goodenough</i>, treasurer of this Society, of whose botanical merits . . . example of Tournefort, who formed Gundelia from Gundelscheimer." [Dr. Goodenough became Bishop of Carlisle; he was the grandfather of Commodore Goodenough.] 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 188: "A species of <i>Goodenia</i> is supposed to be used by the native gins to cause their children to sleep on long journeys, but it is not clear which is used." <hw>Goodletite</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific name for a matrix in which rubies are found. So named by Professor Black of Dunedin, in honour of his assistant, William Goodlet, who was the first to discover the rubies in the matrix, on the west coast. 1894. `Grey River Argus,' September: "Several sapphires of good size and colour have been found, also rubies in the matrix--Goodletite." <hw>Goondie</hw>, <i>n.</i> a native hut. <i>Gundai</i> = a shelter in the Wiradhuri dialect. It is the same word as <i>Gunyah</i> (q.v.). 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvii. p. 204: "There were a dozen `goondies' to be visited, and the inmates started to their work." <hw>Goose</hw>, <i>n.</i> English bird-name. The Australian species are-- Cape Barren Goose-- <i>Cereopsis novae-hollandiae</i>, Lath. [Gould (`Birds of Australia,' vol. vii. pl. 1) calls it the Cereopsis Goose, or Cape Barren Goose of the Colonists.] Maned G. (or Wood-duck, q.v.)-- <i>Branta jubata</i>, Lath. Pied G.-- <i>Anseranus melanoleuca</i>, Lath. Called also Magpie-Goose and Swan-Goose. 1843. J. Backhouse, `Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies,' p. 75: "Five pelicans and some Cape Barren Geese were upon the beach of Preservation Island [Bass Strait]." <hw>Goose-teal</hw>, <i>n.</i> the English name for a very small goose of the genus <i>Nettapus</i>. The Australian species are-- Green,-- <i> Nettapus pulchellus</i>, Gould; White-quilled,-- <i>N. albipennis</i>, Gould. <hw>Gooseberry-tree</hw>, Little, <i>n.</i> name given to the Australian tree <i>Buchanania mangoides</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Anacardiaceae</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition, p. 479: "My companions had, for several days past, gathered the unripe fruits of <i>Coniogeton arborescens</i>, R. Br., which, when boiled, imparted an agreeable acidity to the water. . . . When ripe, they became sweet and pulpy, like gooseberries. . . . This resemblance induced us to call the tree `the little gooseberry-tree.' " <hw>Gordon Lily</hw>, <i>n.</i> See under <i>Lily</i>. <hw>Gouty-stem</hw>, <i>n.</i> the Australian <i>Baobab-tree</i> (q.v.), <i>Adansonia gregori</i>, F. v. M. According to Maiden (p. 60), <i>Sterculia rupestris</i>, Benth., is also called Gouty-stem, on account of the extraordinary shape of the trunk. Other names of this tree are the <i>Sour-gourd</i>, and the <i>Cream-of-tartar</i> tree. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. II. c. iii. p. 115: "The gouty-stem tree . . . bears a very fragrant white flower, not unlike the jasmine." [Illustration given at p. 116.] 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 2S9 [Note]: "This tree is distinguished by the extraordinary swollen appearance of the stem, which looks as though the tree were diseased or the result of a freak of nature. The youngest as well as the oldest trees have the same deformed appearance, and inside the bark is a soft juicy pulp instead of wood, which is said to be serviceable as an article of food. The stem of the largest tree at Careening Bay was twenty-nine feet in girth; it is named the <i>Adansonia digitata</i>. A species is found in Africa. In Australia it occurs only on the north coast." <hw>Government</hw>, <i>n.</i> a not unusual contraction of "Government service," used by contractors and working men. <hw>Government men</hw>, <i>n.</i> an obsolete euphemistic name for convicts, especially for assigned servants (q.v.). 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 122: "Three government men or convicts." 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 127: "Government men, as assigned servants were called." <hw>Government stroke</hw>, <i>n.</i> a lazy style of doing work, explained in quotations. The phrase is not dead. 1856. W. W. Dobie, `Recollections of a Visit to Port Phillip,' p. 47: "Government labourers, at ten shillings a-day, were breaking stones with what is called `the Government stroke,' which is a slow-going, anti-sweating kind of motion. . . ." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. ix. [near end] p. 163: "In colonial parlance the government stroke is that light and easy mode of labour--perhaps that semblance of labour--which no other master will endure, though government is forced to put up with it." 1893. `Otago Witness,' December 2r, p. 9, col. 1: "The government stroke is good enough for this kind of job." 1897. `The Argus,' Feb. 22, p. 4, col. 9: "Like the poor the unemployed are always with us, but they have a penchant for public works in Melbourne, with a good daily pay and the `Government stroke' combined." <hw>Grab-all</hw>, <i>n.</i> a kind of net used for marine fishing near the shore. It is moored to a piece of floating wood, and by the Tasmanian Government regulations must have a mesh of 2 1/4 inches. 1883. Edward O. Cotton, `Evidence before Royal Commission on the Fisheries of Tasmania,' p. 82: "Put a graball down where you will in `bell-rope' kelp, more silver trumpeter will get in than any other fish." 1883. Ibid. p. xvii: "Between sunrise and sunset, nets, known as `graballs,' may be used." <hw>Grammatophore</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific name for "an Australian agamoid lizard, genus <i>Grammatophora</i>." (`Standard.') <hw>Grape, Gippsland</hw>, <i>n.</i> called also <i>Native Grape</i>. An Australian fruit tree, <i>Vitis hypoglauca</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Viniferae</i>; called Gippsland Grape in Victoria. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 66: "Native grape; Gippsland grape. This evergreen climber yields black edible fruits of the size of cherries. This grape would perhaps be greatly improved by culture. (Mueller.)" <hw>Grape, Macquarie Harbour</hw>, or <hw>Macquarie Harbour Vine</hw> (q.v.), <i>n</i>. name given to the climbing shrub <i>Muehlenbeckia adpressra</i>, Meissn. <i>N.O. Polygonaceae</i>. Called <i>Native Ivy</i> in Australia. See under <i>Ivy</i>. <hw>Grape-eater</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird, called formerly <i>Fig-eater</i>, now known as the <i>Green-backed White-eye</i> (q.v.), <i>Zosterops gouldi</i>, Bp. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 82: "<i>Zosterops chloronotus</i>, Gould, Green-backed Z.; Grape and Fig-eater, Colonists of Swan River." <hw>Grass</hw>, <i>n.</i> In Australia, as elsewhere, the name <i>Grass</i> is sometimes given to plants which are not of the natural order <i>Gramineae</i>, yet everywhere it is chiefly to this natural order that the name is applied. A fair proportion of the true <i>Grasses</i> common to many other countries in the world, or confined, on the one hand to temperate zones, or on the other to tropical or sub-tropical regions, are also indigenous to Australia, or Tasmania, or New Zealand, or sometimes to all three countries. In most cases such grasses retain their Old World names, as, for instance, <i>Barnyard</i>- or <i>Cock-spur Grass</i> (<i>Panicum crus-galli</i>, Linn.); in others they receive new Australian names, as <i>Ditch Millet</i> (<i>Paspalum scrobitulatum</i>, F. v. M.), the `Koda Millet' of India; and still again certain grasses named in Latin by scientific botanists have been distinguished by a vernacular English name for the first time in Australia, as <i>Kangaroo Grass</i> (<i>Anhistiria ciliata</i>, Linn.), which was "long known before Australia became colonized, in South Asia and all Africa" (von Muller), but not by the name of the <i>Kangaroo</i>. Beyond these considerations, the settlers of Australia, whose wealth depends chiefly on its pastoral occupation, have introduced many of the best Old-World pasture grasses (chiefly of the genera <i>Poa</i> and <i>Festuca</i>), and many thousands of acres are said to be "laid down with English grass." Some of these are now so wide-spread in their acclimatization, that the botanists are at variance as to whether they are indigenous to Australia or not; the <i>Couch Grass</i>, for instance (<i>Cynodon dactylon</i>, Pers.), or <i>Indian Doub Grass</i>, is generally considered to be an introduced grass, yet Maiden regards it as indigenous. There remain, "from the vast assemblage of our grasses, even some hundred indigenous to Australia" (von Muller), and a like number indigenous to New Zealand, the greater proportion of which are endemic. Many of these, accurately named in Latin and described by the botanists, have not yet found their vernacular equivalents; for the bushman and the settler do not draw fine botanical distinctions. Maiden has classified and fully described 158 species as "Forage Plants," of which over ninety have never been christened in English. Mr. John Buchanan, the botanist and draughtsman to the Geographical Survey of New Zealand, has prepared for his Government a `Manual of the Indigenous Grasses of New Zealand,' which enumerates eighty species, many of them unnamed in English, and many of them common also to Australia and Tasmania. These two descriptive works, with the assistance of Guilfoyle's Botany and Travellers' notes, have been made the basis of the following list of all the common Australian names applied to the true <i>Grasses</i> of the <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. Some of them of very special Australian character appear also elsewhere in the Dictionary in their alphabetical places, while a few other plants, which are grasses by name and not by nature, stand in such alphabetical place alone, and not in this list. For facility of comparison and reference the range and habitat of each species is indicated in brackets after its name; the more minute limitation of such ranges is not within the scope of this work. The species of <i>Grass</i> present in Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand are-- 1. Alpine Rice Grass-- <i>Ehrharta colensoi</i>, Cook. (N.Z.) 2. Alpine Whorl G.-- <i>Catabrosa antarctica</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 3. Bamboo G.-- <i>Glyceria ramigera</i>, F. v. M. (A.) Called also <i>Cane Grass</i>. <i>Stipa verticillata</i>, Nees.(A.) 4. Barcoo G. (of Queensland)-- <i>Anthistiria membranacea</i>, Lindl. (A.) Called also <i>Landsborough Grass</i>. 5. Barnyard G.-- <i>Panicum crus-galli</i>, Linn. (A., not endemic.) Called also <i>Cockspur Grass</i>. 6. Bayonet G.-- <i>Aciphylla colensoi</i>.(N.Z.) Called also <i>Spear-Grass</i> (see 112), and <i>Spaniard</i> (q.v.). 7. Bent G.--Alpine-- <i>Agrostis muellerii</i>, Benth. (A., N.Z., not endemic.) <i>Deyeuxia setifolia</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 8. Bent G.--Australian-- <i>Deyeuxia scabra</i>, Benth. (A., T., N.Z.) 9. Bent G.--Billardiere's-- <i>D. billardierii</i>, R. Br. (A., T., N.Z.) 10. Bent G.--Brown-- <i>Agrostis carina</i>, Linn. (N.Z.) 11. Bent G.--Campbell Island-- <i>A. antarctica</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 12. Bent G.--Dwarf Mountain-- <i>A. subululata</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 13. Bent G.--Oat-like-- <i>Deyeuxia avenoides</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 14. Bent G.--Pilose-- <i>D. pilosa</i>, Rich. (N.Z.) 15. Bent G.--Slender-- <i>Agrostis scabra</i>, Willd. (A., T., N.Z.) 16. Bent G.--Spiked-- <i>Deyeuxia quadriseta</i>, R. Br. (A., T., N.Z.) Called also <i>Reed Grass</i>. 17. Bent G.--Toothea-- <i>D. forsteri</i>, Kunth. (A., T., N.Z.) 18. Bent G.--Young's-- <i>D. youngii</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 19. Blady G.-- <i>Ipperata arundinacea</i>, Cyr. (A.) 20. Blue G.-- <i>Andropogon annulatus</i>, Forst. (A.) <i>A. pertusus</i>, Willd. (A.) <i>A. sericeus</i>, R. Br. (A.) 21. Brome G.--Seaside.-- <i>8romus arenarius</i>, Labill. (A., N.Z.) Called also <i>Wild Oats</i>. 22. Canary G.-- <i>Phalaris canariensis</i>. (A.) 23. Cane G.-- (i.q. <i>Bamboo Grass</i>. See 3.) 24. Chilian G.-- (i.q. <i>Rat--tailed Grass</i>. See 97.) 25. Cockspur G.-- (i.q. <i>Barnyard Grass</i>. See 5.) 26. Couch G.-- <i>Cynodon dactylon</i>, Pers. (A., not endemic.) Called also <i>Indian Doub Grass</i>. 27. Couch G.--Native-- <i>Distichlys maritima</i>, Raffinesque. (A.) 28. Couch G.--Water-- <i>(i.q</i>. Seaside Millet. See 50.) 29. Feather G.-- <i>(Several species</i> of Stipa. See 101.) 30. Fescue G.--Hard-- <i>Festuca duriuscula</i>, Linn. (Australasia, not endemic.) 31. Fescue G.--Poa-like-- <i>F. scoparia</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 32. Fescue G.--Sandhill-- <i>F. littoralis</i>, R. Br., var. <i>triticoides</i>, Benth. (A., T., N.Z.) 33. Fescue G.--Sheeps'-- <i>F. ovina</i>, Linn. (A., T.) 34. Finger G.--Cocksfoot-- <i>Panicum sanguinale</i>, Linn. (A., not endemic.) Called also <i>Hairy Finger Grass</i>, and <i>Reddish Panic Grass</i>. 35. Finger G.--Egyptian-- <i>Eleusine aegyptica</i>, Pers. (A., not endemic.) 36. Finger G.--Hairy-- <i>(i.q</i> .Cocksfoot Finger Grass. See 33.) 37. Foxtail G.-- <i>(i.q</i>. Knee jointed Foxtazl Grass. See 42.) 38. Hair G.--Crested-- <i>Koeleria cristata</i>, Pers. (A., T., N.Z.) 39. Hair G.--Turfy-- <i>Deschampia caespitosa</i>, Beavo. (N.Z., not endemic.) 40. Holy G.-- <i>Hierochloe alpina</i>, Roem. & Schult. (Australasia, not endemic.) 41. Indian Doub G.-- (i.q. <i>Couch Grass</i>. See 26.) 42. Kangaroo G. (A., T., not endemic)-- <i>Andropogon refractus</i>, R. Br. <i>Anthistiria avenacea</i>, F. v. M. (Called also <i>Oat Grass</i>.) <i>A. ciliata</i>, Linn. (Common K.G.) <i>A. frondosa</i>, R. Br. (Broad-leaved K.G.) 43. Knee-jointed Fox-tail G.-- <i>Alopecurus geniculatus</i>, Linn. (Australasia, not endemic.) 44. Landsborough G.-- (i.q. Barcoo Grass. See 4.) 45. Love G.--Australian-- <i>Eragrostis brownii</i>, Nees. (A.) 46. Manna G.-- <i>Glyceria fluitans</i>, R. Br. (A.,T.) 47. Millet--Australian-- <i>Panicum decompositum</i>, R. Br. (A., not endemic.) Called also <i>Umbrella Grass</i>. 48. Millet--Ditch-- <i>Paspalum scrobitulatum</i>, F. v. M. (A., N.Z., not endemic.) The <i>Koda Millet</i> of India. 49. Millet--Equal-glumed-- <i>Isachne australis</i>, R. Br. (A., N.Z., not endemic.) 50. Millet-Seaside-- <i>Paspalum distichum</i>, Burmann. (A., N.Z., not endemic.) Called also <i>Silt Grass</i>, and <i>Water Couch Grass</i>. 51. Mitchell G.-- <i>Astrebla elymoides</i>, F. v. M. (A., <i>True Mitchell Grass</i>.) <i>A. pectinata</i>, F. v. M. (A.) <i>A. tritzcoides</i>, F. v. M. (A.) 52. Mouse G.-- (i.q.) <i>Longhaired Plume Grass</i>. See 72.) 53. Mulga G.-- <i>Danthonia racemosa</i>, R. Br. (A.) <i>Neurachnea Mitchelliana</i>, Nees. (A.) 54. New Zealand Wind G.-- <i>Apera arundinacea</i>, Palisot. (N.Z., not endemic.) 55. Oat G.-- <i>Anthistiria avenacea</i>, F. v. M. (Called also <i>Kangaroo Grass</i>. See 41.) 56. Oat G.--Alpine-- <i>Danthonia semi</i>-annularis, R. Br., var. <i>alpina</i>. (N.Z.) 57. Oat G.--Buchanan's-- <i>D. buchanii</i>; Hook. f. (N.Z.) 58. Oat G.--Few-flowered-- <i>D. pauciflora</i>, R. Br. (A., T., N.Z.) 59. Oat G.--Hard-- <i>D. pilosa</i>, R. Br., var. stricta. (N.Z.) 60. Oat G.--Naked-- <i>D. nuda</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 61. Oat G.--New Zealand-- <i>D. semi</i>-annularis, R. Br. (A., T., N.Z.) 62. Oat G.--Purple-awned-- <i>D. pilosa</i>, R. Br. (A., T., N.Z.) 63. Oat G.--Racemed-- <i>D. pilosa</i>, R. Br., var. racemosa. (N.Z.) 64. Oat G.--Shining-- <i>Trisetum antarcticum</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 65. Oat G.--Sheep-- <i>Danthonia semi</i>-annularis, R. Br., var. gracilis.(N.Z.) 66. Oat G.--Spiked-- <i>Trisetum subspicatum</i>, Beauv. (Australasia, not endemic.) 67. Oat G.--Thompson's Naked-- <i>Danthonia thomsonii</i> (new species). 68. Oat G.--Wiry-leaved-- <i>D. raoulii</i>, Steud, var. Australis, Buchanan. (N.Z.) 69. Oat G.--Young's-- <i> Trisetum youngii</I>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) <i>70. Panic</i> G.--Reddish-- (i.q. <i>Cocksfoot Finger-Grass</i>. See 34.) 71. Panic G.--Slender-- <i>Oplismenus salarius</i>, var. Roem. and Schult. (A., N.Z., not endemic.) 72. Paper G.--Native-- <i>Poa caespitosa</i>, Forst. (A., T., N.Z.) Called also <i>Wiry Grass</i>, <i>Weeping Polly</i>, and <i>Tussock Poa Grass</i>; and, in New Zealand, <i>Snow Grass</i>. 73. Plume G.--Long-haired-- <i>Dichelachne crinita</i>, Hook. f. (A., T., N.Z.) 74. Plume G.--Short-haired-- <i>D. sciurea</i>, Hook. f. (A., T., N.Z.) 75. Poa G.--Auckland Island-- <i>Poa foliosa</i>, Hook. f., var. <i>a</i>. (N.Z.) 76. Poa G.--Brown-flowered-- <i>P. lindsayi</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 77. Poa G.--Brown Mountain <i>P. mackayi</i> (new species). (N.Z.) 78. Poa G.--Colenso's-- <i>P. colensoi</i>, Hook. f.(N.Z.) 79. 79. Poa G.--Common Field-- <i>P. anceps</i>, Forst., var. <i>b</i>, foliosa, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 80. Pea G.--Dense-flowered <i>P. anceps</i>, Forst., var. <i>d, densiflora</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 81. Poa G.--Dwarf-- <i>P. pigmaea</i> (new species). (N.Z.) 82. Pea G.--Hard short-stemmed-- <i>P. anceps</i>, Forst., var. <i>c, brevicalmis</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 83. Poa G.--Kirk's-- <i>P. kirkii</i> (new species). (N.Z.) 84. Poa G.--Large-flowered-- <i>P. foliosa</i>, Hook. f., var. <i>B</i>. (N.Z.) 85. Poa G.--Little-- <i>P. exigua</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 86. Poa G.--Minute-- <i>P, foliosa</i>, Hook. f., var. <i>C</i>. (N.Z.) 87. Poa G.--Minute Creeping-- <i>P. pusilla</i>, Berggren. (N.Z.) 88. Pea G.--Nodding Plumed-- <i>P. anceps</i>, Forst., var. <i>A, elata</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 89. Poa G.--One-flowered-- <i>P. unifora</i> (new species). (N.Z.) 90. Poa G.--Short-glumed-- <i>P. breviglumus</i>, Hook. f.(N.Z.) 91. Poa G.--Slender-- <i>P. anceps</i>, Forst., var. <i>E, debilis</i>, Kirk, Ms. (N.Z.) 92. Poa G.--Small Tussock-- <i>P. intemedia</i> (new species). (N.Z.) 93. Poa G.--Tussock-- <i>P. caespitosa</i>, Forst. (A., T., N.Z. See 71.) 94. Poa G.--Weak-stemmed-- <i>Eragrostis imbebecilla</i>, Benth. (A., N.Z.) 95. Poa G.--White-flowered-- <i>Poa sclerophylla</i>, Berggren. (N.Z.) 96. Porcupine G. (q.v.)-- <i>Triodia (various</i> species). 97. Rat-tailed G.-- <i>Sporobulus indicus</i>, R. Br. (A., N.Z., not endemic.) Called also <i>Chilian Grass</i>. <i>Ischaeum laxum</i>, R. Br. (A.) 98. Reed G.-- <i>Pragmites communis</i>, Trin. (N.Z. See 16.) 99. Rice G.-- <i>Leersia hexandria</i>, Swartz. (A.) 100. Rice G.--Bush-- <i>Microtaena avenacea</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 101. Rice G.--Knot-jointed-- <i>M. polynoda</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 102. Rice G.--Meadow-- <i>M. stipoides</i>, R. Br. (A.,T., N.Z.) Called also <i>Weeping Grass</i>. 103. Roly-Poly G.-- <i>Panicum macractinum</i>, Benth. (A.) 104. Rough-bearded G.-- <i>Echinopogon ovatus</i>, Palisot. (A., T., N.Z.) 105. Sacred G.-- <i>Hierochloe redolens</i>, R. Br. (Australasia, not endemic.) Called also <i>Scented Grass</i>, and <i>Sweet-scented</i> Grass. 106. Scented G.-- <i>Chrysopogon parviforus</i>, Benth. (A.) See also 105. 107. Seaside Brome G.-- <i>(i.q</i>. Brome Grass. See 21.) 108. Silt G.-- <i>(i.q</i>. Seaside Millet. See 50.) 109. Seaside Glumeless G.-- <i>Gymnostychum gracile</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 110. Snow G. (q.v.)-- <i>(i.q</i>. Paper Grass. See 72.) (N.Z.) 111. Spear G. (q.v.)-- <i>Aciphylla colensoi</i>. (N.Z.) Called also <i>Spaniard</i> (q.v.). <i>Heteropogon contortus</i>, Roem. and Shult. (N.Z.), and all species of <i>Stipa</i> (A., T.). 112. Spider G.-- <i>Panicum divaricatissimum</i>, R. Br. (A.) 113. Spinifex G. (q.v.)-- <i>Spinifex hirsutus</i>, Labill. (A., T., N.Z., not endemic.) Called also <i>Spiny Rolling Grass</i>. 114. Star G.--Blue-- <i>Chloris ventricosa</i>, R. Br. (A.) 115. Star G.--Dog's Tooth-- <i>C. divaricata</i>, R. Br. (A.) 116. Star G.--Lesser-- <i>C. acicularis</i>, Lindl. (A.) 117. Sugar G.-- <i>Pollinia fulva</i>, Benth.(A.) 118. Summer G.-- (i.q. <i>Hairy-Finger Grass</i>. See 36.) 119. Sweet G.-- <i>Glyceria stricta</i>, Hook. f. (A., T., N.Z.) 120. Sweet-scented G.-- (i.q. <i>Sacred Grass</i>. See 105.) 121. Traveller's G. (<i>N.O. Aroideae</i>).-- (i.q. <i>Settlers' Twine</i>, q.v.) 122. Tussock G.-- (See 93 and 72.) 123. Tussock G.-- Broad-leaved Oat-- <i>Danthonia flavescens</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 124. Tussock G.--Erect Plumed-- <i>Arundo fulvida</i>, Buchanan. (N.Z.) Maori name, <i>Tot-toi</i> (q.v.). 125. Tussock G.--Narrow-leaved Oat-- <i>Danthonia raoulii</i>, Steud. (N.Z.) 126. Tussock G.--Plumed-- <i>Arundo conspicua</i>, A. Cunn. (N.Z.) Maori name, <i>Toi-toi</i> (q.v.). 127. Tussock G.--Small-flowered Oat-- <i>Danthonia cunninghamii</i>, Hook. f. (N.Z.) 128. Petrie's Stipa G.-- <i>Stipa petriei</i> (new species). See 101. /?111?/ (N.Z.) 129. Umbrella G.-- (i.q. <i>Australian Millet</i>. See 47.) 130. Wallaby G.-- <i>Danthonia penicileata</i>, F. v. M. (A., N.Z.) 131. Weeping G.-- (i.q. <i>Meadow Rice</i> Grass. See 102.) 132. Weeping Polly G.-- (i.q. <i>Paper Grass</i>. See 72.) 133. Wheat G.--Blue-- <i>Agropyrum scabrum</i>, Beauv. (A., T., N.Z.) 134. Wheat G.--Short-awned-- <i>Triticum multiflorum</i>, Banks and Sol. (N.Z.) 135. White-topped G.-- <i>Danthonia longifolia</i>, R. Br. (A.) 136. Windmill G.-- <i>Chloris truncata</i>, R. Br. (A.) 137. Wire G.-- <i>Ehrharta juncea</i>, Sprengel; a rush-like grass of hilly country. (A., T., N.Z.) <i>Cynodon dactylum</i>, Pers.; so called from its knotted, creeping, wiry roots, so difficult to eradicate in gardens and other cultivated land. (Not endemic.) See 26. 138. Wiry G.--. (i.q. <i>Paper Grass</i>. See 72.) 139. Wiry Dichelachne G.-- <i>Stipa teretefolia</i>, Steud. (A., T., N.Z.) 140. Woolly-headed G.-- <i>Andropogon bombycinus</i>, R. Br. (A.) 141. Vandyke G.-- <i>Panicum flavidum</i>, Retz. (A.) <hw>Grass-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> In New Zealand, <i>Sphenoeacus //sic. otherwhere Sphenaeacus GJC// punctatus</i>, Gray, the same as <i>Fern-bird</i> (q.v.); in Australia, <i>Megalurus (Sphenaeacus) gramineus</i>, Gould. <hw>Grass-leaved Fern</hw>, <i>n. Vittaria elongata</i>, Swartz, <i>N.O. Filices</i>. 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 693: "Grass-leaved fern. . . . Frond varying in length from a few inches to several feet, and with a breadth of from one to five lines. . . . This curious grass-like fern may be frequently seen fringing the stems of the trees in the scrubs of tropical Queensland, in which situation the fronds are usually very long." <hw>Grass-Parrakeet</hw>, <i>n.</i> a bird of the genus <i>Euphema</i>. The Australian species are-- Blue-winged Parrakeet <i>Euphema aurantia</i>, Gould. Bourke's P.-- <i>E. bourkii</i>, Gould. Grass-P.-- <i>E. elegans</i>, Gould. Orange-bellied P.-- <i>E. chrysogastra</i>, Lath. Orange-throated P.-- <i>E. splendida</i>, Gould. Red-shouldered P.-- <i>E. pulchella</i>, Shaw. Warbling Grass-P.-- Gould's name for <i>Budgerigar</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Rock-Parrakeet (Euphema petrophila</i>, Gould), which is sometimes classed as a <i>Grass-Parrakeet</i>. <hw>Grass-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> (2) The name applied to trees of the genus <i>Xanthorrhoea, N.O. Liliaceae</i>, of which thirteen species are known in Australia. See also <i>Richea</i>. (2) In New Zealand <i>Pseudopanax crassifolium</i>, Seemann, <i>N.O. Araleaceae</i>. When young, this is the same as <i>Umbrella-tree</i>, so called from its appearance like the ribs of an umbrella. When older, it grows more straight and is called <i>Lancewood</i> (q.v.). (3) In Tasmania, besides two species of <i>Xanthorrhoea</i> the <i>Grass-tree</i> of the mainland, the <i>Richea dracophylla</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>, found on Mount Wellington, near Hobart, is also known by that name, whilst the <i>Richea pandanifolia</i>, Hook., found in the South-west forests, is called the <i>Giant Grass-tree</i>. Both these are peculiar to the island. (4) An obsolete name for <i>Cordyline australis</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>, now more usually called <i>Cabbage- tree</i> (q.v.). 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 153: "A grass tree grows here, similar in every respect to that about Port Jackson." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 347: "Yielding frequently a very weak and sour kind of grass, interspersed with a species of bulrush called grass-trees, which are universal signs of poverty.": 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' Vol II. c. iii. p. 54: "The grass-tree is not found westward of the mountains." 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. ii. p. 303: "We approached a range of barren hills of clay slate, on which grew the grass-tree (<i>Xanthorhoea</i>) and stunted eucalypti." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 74: "The shimmering sunlight fell and kissed The grass-tree's golden sheaves." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 132: "Here and there, in moist places, arises isolated the `grass-tree' or `cabbage-tree' (Ti of the natives; <i>Cordyline Australis</i>)." 1874. Garnet Walch, `Head over Heels,' p. 80: "The grass-trees in front, blame my eyes, Seemed like plumes on the top of a hearse." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 119: "How strikingly different the external features of plants may be, though floral structure may draw them into congruity, is well demonstrated by our so-called grass-trees, which pertain truly to the liliaceous order. These scientifically defined as Xanthorhoeas from the exudation of yellowish sap, which indurates into resinous masses, have all the essential notes of the order, so far as structure of flowers and fruits is concerned, but their palm-like habit, together with cylindric spikes on long and simple stalks, is quite peculiar, and impresses on landscapes, when these plants in masses are occuring, a singular feature." 1879. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia' (ed. 1893), p. 52: "The grass trees (<i>Xanthorrhoea</i>) are a peculiar feature to the Australian landscape. From a rugged stem, varying from two to ten or twelve feet in height, springs a tuft of drooping wiry foliage, from the centre of which rises a spike not unlike a huge bulrush. When it flowers in winter, this spike becomes covered with white stars, and a heath covered with grass trees then has an appearance at once singular and beautiful." 1882. A. Tolmer, `Reminiscences,' vol, ii. p. 102: "The root of the grass-tree is pleasant enough to eat, and tastes something like the meat of the almond-tree; but being unaccustomed to the kind of fare, and probably owing to the empty state of our stomachs, we suffered severely from diarrhoea." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 43: "Grass-trees are most comical-looking objects. They have a black bare stem, from one to eight feet high, surmounted by a tuft of half rushes and half grass, out of which, again, grows a long thing exactly like a huge bullrush. A lot of them always grow together, and a little way off they are not unlike the illustrations of Red-Indian chiefs in Fenimore Cooper's novels." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 59: "It [<i>Pseudopanax crassifolium</i>, the <i>Horoeka</i>] is commonly called lance-wood by the settlers in the North Island, and grass-tree by those in the South. This species was discovered during Cook's first voyage, and it need cause no surprise to learn that the remarkable difference between the young and mature states led so able a botanist as Dr. Solander to consider them distinct plants." 1896. Baldwin Spencer. `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, p. 98: "As soon as the came upon the Plains we found ourselves in a belt of grass trees belonging to a species not hitherto described (<i>X. Thorntoni</i>). . . . The larger specimens have a stem some five or six feet high, with a crown of long wiry leaves and a flowering stalk, the top of which is fully twelve feet above the ground." [Compare <i>Blackboy</i> and <i>Maori-head</i>. <hw>Grayling</hw>, <i>n.</i> The Australian fish of that name is <i>Prototroctes maroena</i>, Gunth. It is called also the <i>Fresh-water Herring</i>, <i>Yarra Herring</i> (in Melbourne), <i>Cucumber-Fish</i>, and <i>Cucumber-Mullet</i>. The last two names are given to it from its smell. It closely resembles the English Grayling. 1880. W. Senior, `Travel and Trout,' p. 93: "These must be the long-looked-for cucumber mullet, or fresh- water herring. . . . `The cucumber mullet,' I explain, `I have long suspected to be a grayling.'" 1882. Rev._I. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 109: "Though not a fish of New South Wales, it may be as well to mention here the Australian grayling, which in character, habits, and the manner of its capture is almost identical with the English fish of that name. In shape there is some difference between the two fish. . . . A newly caught fish smells exactly like a dish of fresh-sliced cucumber. It is widely distributed in Victoria, and very abundant in all the fresh-water streams of Tasmania. . . . In Melbourne it goes by the name of the Yarra herring. There is another species in New Zealand." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 206: "The river abounds in delicious grayling or cucumber fish, rather absurdly designated the `herring' in this [Deloraine] and some other parts of the colony [Tasmania]." <hw>Grebe</hw>, <i>n.</i> common English bird-name, of the genus <i>Podiceps</i>. The species known in Australia are-- Black-throated Grebe-- <i>Podiceps novae-hollandiae</i>, Gould. Hoary-headed G.-- <i>P. nestor</i>, Gould. Tippet G.-- <i>P. cristataes</i>, Linn. But Buller sees no reason for separating <i>P. cristatus</i> from the well-known <i>P. cristatus</i> of Europe. Some of the <i>Grebes</i> are sometimes called <i>Dabchicks</i> (q.v.). 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 285: "The Crested Grebe is generally-speaking a rare bird in both islands." <hw>Greenhide</hw>, <i>n.</i> See quotation. <i>Greenhide</i> is an English tannery term for the hide with the hair on before scouring. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 27: "Drivers, who walked beside their teams carrying over their shoulders a long-handled whip with thong of raw salted hide, called in the colony `greenhide.'" <hw>Greenie</hw>, <i>n.</i> a school-boys' name for <i>Ptilotis penicillata</i>, Gould, the White-plumed Honey-eater. 1896. `The Australasian,' Jan. 11, p. 73, col. 1: "A bird smaller than the Australian minah, and of a greenish yellowish hue, larger, but similar to the members of the feathered tribe known to young city `knights of the catapult' as greenies." 1897. A. J. Campbell (in `The Australasian,'Jan. 23), p. 180, col. 5: "Every schoolboy about Melbourne knows what the `greenie' is--the white-plumed honey-eater (P. penicillata). The upper-surface is yellowish-grey, and the under-surface brownish in tone. The white-plumed honey-eater is common in Victoria, where it appears to be one of the few native birds that is not driven back by civilisation. In fact, its numbers have increased in the parks and gardens in the vicinity of Melbourne." <hw>Green-leek</hw>, <i>n.</i> an Australian Parrakeet. See quotation. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pl. 15: "<i>Polytelis Barrabandi</i>, Wagl., Barraband's Parrakeet; Green-leek of the colonists of New South Wales." 1855. R. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 123: "We observed m the hollow trees several nests of the little green paroquet,--here, from its colour, called the leek." <hw>Green Lizard</hw>, <i>n.</i> sometimes called the <i>Spotted Green Lizard</i>, a New Zealand reptile, <i>Naultinus elegans</i>, Gray. <hw>Green Oyster</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in Queensland to the sea-weed <i>Ulva lactuca</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Algae</i>. From being frequently found attached to oysters, this is sometimes called "Green Oyster." (Bailey.) See <i>Oyster</i>. <hw>Greenstone</hw>, <i>n.</i> popular name of <i>Nephrite</i> (q.v.). Maori name, <i>Pounamu</i> (q.v.). 1859. A.S. Thomson, `Story of New Zealand,' p. 140: "The greenstone composing these implements of war is called nephrite by mineralogists, and is found in the Middle Island of New Zealand, in the Hartz, Corsica, China and Egypt. The most valuable kind is clear as glass with a slight green tinge." 1889. Dr. Hocken, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 181: "This valued stone--pounamu of the natives--nephrite, is found on the west coast of the South Island. Indeed, on Captain Cook's chart this island is called `T'Avai Poenammoo'--Te wai pounamu, the water of the greenstone." 1892. F. R. Chapman, `The Working of Greenstone by the Maoris' (New Zealand Institute), p. 4: "In the title of this paper the word `greenstone' occurs, and this word is used throughout the text. I am quite conscious that the term is not geologically or mineralogically correct; but the stone of which I am writing is known by that name throughout New Zealand, and, though here as elsewhere the scientific man employs that word to describe a totally different class of rock, I should run the risk of being misunderstood were I to use any other word for what is under that name an article of commerce and manufacture in New Zealand. It is called `pounamu' or `poenamu' by the Maoris, and `jade,' `jadeite,' or `nephrite' by various writers, while old books refer to the `green talc' of the Maoris." <hw>Green-tops</hw>, <i>n.</i> Tasmanian name for the Orchid, <i>Pterostylis pedunculata</i>, R. Br. <hw>Green-tree Ant</hw>, <i>n.</i> common Queensland Ant. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 294: "It was at the lower part of the Lynd that we first saw the green-tree ant; which seemed to live in small societies in rude nests between the green leaves of shady trees." <hw>Green Tree-snake</hw>, <i>n.</i> See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Grevillea</hw>, <i>n.</i> a large genus of trees of Australia and Tasmania, <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>, named in honour of the Right Hon. Charles Francis Greville, Vice-President of the Royal Society of London. The name was given by Robert Brown in 1809. The `Century' Dictionary gives Professor Greville as the origin of the name but "Professor Robert K. Greville of Edinburgh was born on the 14th Dec., 1794, he was therefore only just fourteen years old when the genus <i>Grevillea</i> was established." (`Private letter from Baron F. von Mueller.') 1851. `Quarterly Review,' Dec., p. 40: "Whether <i>Dryandra, Grevillea, Hakea</i>, or the other <i>Proteaceae</i>, all may take part in the same glee-- "It was a shrub of orders grey Stretched forth to show his leaves." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia, vol. iii. p. 138: "Graceful grevilleas, which in the spring are gorgeous with orange-coloured blossoms." <hw>Grey-jumper</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to an Australian genus of sparrow-like birds, of which the only species is <i>Struthidea cinerea</i>, Gould; also called <i>Brachystoma</i> and <i>Brachyporus</i>. <hw>Grey Nurse</hw>, <i>n.</i> a New South Wales name for a species of Shark, <i>Odontaspis americanus</i>, Mitchell, family <i>Lamnidae</i>, which is not confined to Australasia. <hw>Gridironing</hw>, <i>v</i. a term used in the province of Canterbury, New Zealand. A man purchased land in the shape of a gridiron, knowing that nobody would take the intermediate strips, which later he could purchase at his leisure. In other provinces free-selection (q.v.) was only allowed after survey. <hw>Grinder</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Razor-grinder</i> and <i>Dishwasher</i>. <hw>Groper</hw>, <i>n.</i> a fish. In Queensland, <i>Oligorus terrae-reginae</i>, Ramsay; in New Zealand, <i>O. gigas</i>, "called by the Maoris and colonists `<i>Hapuku</i>,'" (Guenther)--a large marine species. <i>Oligorus</i> is a genus of the family <i>Percidae</i>, and the <i>Murray-Cod</i> (q.v.) and <i>Murray Perch</i> (q.v.) belong to it. There is a fish called the Grouper or <i>Groper</i> of warm seas quite distinct from this one. See <i>Cod, Perch, Blue-Groper</i> and <i>Hapuku</i>. <hw>Ground-berry</hw>, i.q. <i>Cranberry</i> (q.v.).: <hw>Ground-bird</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in Australia to any bird of the genus <i>Cinclosoma</i>. The species are-- Chestnut-backed Ground-bird-- <i>Cinclosoma castaneonotum</i>, Gould. Chestnut-breasted G.-b.-- <i>C. castaneothorax</i>, Gould. Cinnamon G.-b.-- <i>C. cinnamomeum</i>, Gould. Northern, or Black-vented G.-b.-- <i>C. marginatum</i>, Sharpe. Spotted G.-b.-- <i>C. punctatum</i>, Lath., called by Gould <i>Ground-Dove</i> (q.v.). <hw>Ground-Dove</hw>, <i>n.</i> (1) Tasmanian name for the <i>Spotted Ground-bird</i> (q.v.). 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 4: "<i>Cinclosoma punctatum</i>, Vig. and Horsf., Spotted Ground-thrush. In Hobart Town it is frequently exposed for sale in the markets with bronze-wing pigeons and wattle-birds, where it is known by the name of ground-dove . . . very delicate eating." (2) The name is given by Gould to three species of <i>Geopelia</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pls. 72, 73, 74: "<i>Geopelia humeralis</i>, Barred-shouldered Ground-dove" (pl. 72); "<i>G. tranquilla</i>" (pl. 73); "<i>G. cuneata</i>, Graceful Ground-dove" (pl. 74). <hw>Ground-Lark</hw>, <i>n.</i> (1) In New Zealand, a bird also called by the Maori names, <i>Pihoihoi</i> and <i>Hioi</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 63: "<i>Anthus Novae Zelandiae</i>, Gray, New Zealand Pipit; Ground-Lark of the Colonists." (2) In Australia, the Australian Pipit (<i>Anthus australis</i>) is also called a <i>Ground-lark</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 73: "<i>Anthus Australis</i>, Vig. and Horsf., Australian Pipit. The Pipits, like many other of the Australian birds, are exceedingly perplexing." <hw>Ground-Parrakeet</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Parrakeet</i> and <i>Pezoporus</i>. <hw>Ground-Parrot</hw>, <i>n.</i> (1) The bird <i>Psittacus pulchellus</i>, Shaw. For the Ground Parrot of New Zealand, see <i>Kakapo</i>. 1793. G. Shaw, `Zoology [and Botany] of New Holland,' p. 10: "Long-tailed green Parrot, spotted with black and yellow,. . . the Ground Parrot." 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 278: "The settlers call it ground-parrot. It feeds upon the ground." Ibid. p. 286: "What is called the ground-parrot at Sydney inhabits the scrub in that neighbourhood." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 298: "The ground-parrot, green, with mottlings of gold and black, rose like a partridge from the heather, and flew low." (2) Slang name for a small farmer. See <i>Cockatoo</i>, <i>n.</i> (2). <hw>Ground-Thrush</hw>, <i>n.</i> name of birds found all over the world. The Australian species are-- <i>Geocincla lunulata</i>, Lath. Broadbent Ground-Thrush-- <i>G. cuneata</i>. Large-billed G.-- <i>G. macrorhyncha</i>, Gould. Russet-tailed G.-- <i>G. heinii</i>, Cab. <hw>Grub</hw>, <i>v</i>. to clear (ground) of the roots. To grub has long been English for to dig up by the roots. It is Australian to apply the word not to the tree but to the land. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 185: "Employed with others in `grubbing' a piece of new land which was heavily timbered." 1868. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Memory of 1834,' p. 10: "A bit of land all grubbed and clear'd too." <hw>Guana</hw>, or <hw>Guano</hw>, <i>n.</i> i.q. <i>Goanna</i> (q.v.). <hw>Guard-fish</hw>, <i>n.</i> Erroneous spelling of <i>Garfish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Gudgeon</hw>, <i>n.</i> The name is given in New South Wales to the fish <i>Eleotris coxii</i>, Krefft, of the family of the Gobies. <hw>Guitar Plant</hw>, a Tasmanian shrub, <i>Lomatia tinctoria</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. <hw>Gull</hw>, <i>n.</i> common English name for a sea-bird. The Australian species are-- Long-billed Gull-- <i>Larus longirostris</i>, Masters. Pacific G.-- <i>L. pacificus</i>, Lath. Silver G.-- <i>L. novae-hollandiae</i>, Steph. Torres-straits G.-- <i>L. gouldi</i>, Bp. <hw>Gully</hw>, <i>n.</i> a narrow valley. The word is very common in Australia, and is frequently used as a place name. It is not, however, Australian. Dr.Skeat (`Etymological Dictionary') says, "a channel worn by water." Curiously enough, his first quotation is from `Capt. Cook's Third Voyage,' b. iv. c. 4. Skeat adds, "formerly written <i>gullet</i>: `It meeteth afterward with another gullet,' i.e. small stream. Holinshed, `Description of Britain,' c. 11: F. goulet, `a gullet . . . a narrow brook or deep gutter of water.' (Cotgrave.) Thus the word is the same as gullet." F. <i>goulet</i> is from Latin <i>gula. Gulch</i> is the word used in the Pacific States, especially in California. 1773. `Hawkesworth's Voyages,' vol. iii. p. 532--Captain Cook's First Voyage, May 30, 1770: "The deep gullies, which were worn by torrents from the hills." 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 214: "A man, in crossing a gully between Sydney and Parramatta, was, in attempting to ford it, carried away by the violence of the torrent, and drowned." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 17: "The gums in the gully stand gloomy and stark." 1867. A.L. Gordon, `Sea-spray, etc.,' p. 134: "The gullies are deep and the uplands are steep." 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for the Mail,' p. 16: "The terrible blasts that rushed down the narrow gully, as if through a funnel." <hw>Gully-raker</hw>, <i>n.</i> a long whip. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 40: "The driver appealing occasionally to some bullock or other by name, following up his admonition by a sweeping cut of his `gully-raker,' and a report like a musket-shot." <hw>Gum</hw>, or <hw>Gum-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> the popular name for any tree of the various species of <i>Eucalyptus</i>. The word <i>Gum</i> is also used in its ordinary English sense of exuded sap of certain trees and shrubs, as e.g. <i>Wattle-gum</i> (q.v.) in Australia, and <i>Kauri-gum</i> (q.v.) in New Zealand. In America, the gum-tree usually means "the <i>Liquidambar styraciflua</i>, favourite haunt of the opossum and the racoon, whence the proverbial <i>possum up a gum-tree</i>." (`Current Americanisms,' s.v. <i>Gum</i>) The names of the various Australian Gum-trees are as follows-- Apple Gum, or Apple-scented Gum-- <i>Eucalyptus stuartiana</i>, F. v. M. Bastard G.-- <i>Eucalyptus gunnii</i>, Hook. Bastard Blue G.-- <i>E. leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M. (South Australia). Bastard White G.-- <i>E. gunnii</i>, Hook. (South Australia); <i>E. radiata</i> (Tasmania). Black G.-- <i>E. stellulata</i>, Sieb. Black-butted G.-- <i>E. pillularis</i>, Smith (Victoria); <i>E. regnans</i>, F. v. M. (New South Wales). See <i>Blackbutt</i>. Blue G. [see also Blue-Gum] <i>E. botryoides</i>, Smith (New South Wales); <i>E. diversicolor</i>, F. v. M. [Karri]; <i>E. globulus</i>, Labill.; <i>E. goniocalyx</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M. (South Australia) [Ironbark]; <i>E. saligna</i>, Smith; <i>E. tereticornis</i>, Smith; <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. (West New South Wales). Botany Bay G,-- <i>E. resinifera</i>, Smith. Brittle G.-- <i>E. haemastonza</i>, Smith; <i>E. micrantha</i>, Smith. Brown G.-- <i>E. robusta</i>, Smith. Cabbage G.-- <i>E. sieberiana</i>, F. v. M. (Braidwood, New South Wales). Cider G.-- <i>E. gunnii</i>, Hook. (Tasmania). Citron-scented G.-- <i>E. maculata</i>, Hook. Creek G.-- <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht (West New South Wales). Curly White G.-- <i>E. radiata</i> (Tasmania). Dark Red G.-- <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht. Desert G.-- <i>E. eudesmoides</i>, F. v. M. (Central Australia); <i>E. gracilis</i>, F. v. M. Drooping G.-- <i>E. pauciflora</i>, Sieb. (Drooping Gum in Tasmania is <i>E. risdoni</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; the tree is peculiar to Tasmania); <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. (New South Wales). Flood, or Flooded G.-- <i>E. gunnii</i>, Hook. (Bombala, New South Wales); <i>E. microtheca</i>, F. v. M. (Carpentaria and Central Australia); <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht; <i>E. saligna</i>, Smith; <i>E. tereticornis</i>, Smith (New South Wales). Fluted G.- <i>E. salubris</i>, F. v. M. Forest G.-- <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht (South Australia). Giant G.-- <i>E. amygdalina</i>, Labill. Gimlet G.-- <i>E. salubris</i>, F. v. M. Green G.-- <i>E. stellulata</i>, Sieb. (East Gippsland). Grey G.-- <i>E. crebra</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. goniocalyx</i>, F. v. M. (New South Wales, east of Dividing range); <i>E. punctata</i>, De C. (South Coast of New South Wales); <i>E. raveretiana</i>, F.v.M; <i>E. resinifera</i>, Smith; <i>E. saligna</i>, Smith (New South Wales); <i>E. tereticornis</i>, Smith (New South Wales); <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill (Sydney); Honey-scented G.-- <i>E. melliodora</i>, Cunn. Iron G.-- <i>E. raveretiana</i>, F. v. M. Lemon-scented, or Lemon G.-- <i>E. citriodora</i>, Hook. f. Lead G.-- <i>E. stellulata</i>, Cunn. Mallee G.-- <i>E. dumosa</i> (generally called simply Mallee, q.v.). Mountain G.-- <i>E. tereticornis</i>, Smith (South New South Wales). Mountain White G.-- <i>E. pauciflora</i>, Sieb. (Blue Mountains). Nankeen G.-- <i>E. populifolia</i>, Hook. (Northern Australia). Olive Green G.-- <i>E. stellulata</i>, Cunn. (Leichhardt's name). Pale Red G.-- <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht. Peppermint G.-- <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. Poplar-leaved G.-- <i>E. polyanthema</i>, Schau. Red G.-- <i>E. amygdalina</i>, Labill. (Victoria); <i>E. calophylla</i>, R. Br.; <i>E. gunnii</i>, Hook. (Bombala); <i>E. melliodora</i>, Cunn. (Victoria); <i>E. odorata</i>, Behr (South Australia); <i>E. punctata</i>, De C.; <i>E. resinifera</i>, Smith; <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht; <i>E. stuartiana</i>, F. v. M. (Tasmania); <i>E. tereticornis</i>, Smith (New South Wales). Ribbon G.-- <i>E. amygdalina</i>, Labill. Ribbony G. <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. Risdon G.-- <i>E. amygdalina</i>, Labill. River G.-- <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht (New South Wales, Queensland, and Central Australia). River White G.-- <i>E. radiata</i>. Rough-barked, or Rough G.-- <i>E. botryoides</i>, Smith (Illawarra). Rusty G.-- <i>E. eximia</i>, Schau. Scribbly G.-- <i>E. haemastoma</i>, Smith. Scribbly Blue G.-- <i>E. leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M. (South Australia). Scrub G.-- <i>E. cosmophylla</i>, F. v. M. Slaty G.-- <i>E. saligna</i>, Smith (New South Wales); <i>E. tereticornis</i>, Smith (New South Wales and Queensland); <i>E. largiflorens</i>, F. v. M. Spotted G.-- <i>E. capitellata</i>, Smith (New England); <i>E. goniocalyx</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. haemastonza</i>, Smith; <i>E. maculata</i>, Hook. Sugar G.-- <i>E. corynocalyx</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. gunnii</i>, Hook. Swamp G.-- <i>E. gunnii</i>, Hook.; <i>E. microtheca</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. pauciflora</i>, Sieb.; <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. (Tasmania). Weeping G.-- <i>E. pauciflora</i>, Sieb. (Tasmania); <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. (New South Wales). White G.-- <i>E. amygdalina</i>, Labill.; <i>E. gomphocephala</i>, De C. (Western Australia); <i>E. goniocalyx</i>, F. v. M. ; E. haemastoma, Smith; <i>E. hemiphloia</i>, F. v. M. (Sydney); <i>E. leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M. (South Australia); <i>E. pauciflora</i>, Sieb.; <i>E. populifolia</i>, Hook. (Queensland); <i>E. radiata</i> (New South Wales); <i>E. redunca</i>, Schau. (Western Australia); <i>E. robusta</i>, Schlecht. (South Australia); <i>E. saligna</i>, Smith (New South Wales); <i>E. stellulata</i>, Cunn.; <i>E. stuartiana</i>, F. v. M. (Victoria); <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. White Swamp G.-- <i>E. gunnii</i>, Hook. (South Australia). Yellow G.-- <i>E. punctata</i>, De C. York G.-- <i>E. foecunda</i>, Schau. (Western Australia). This list has been compiled by collating many authorities. But the following note on <i>Eucalyptus amygdalina</i> (from Maiden's `Useful Native Plants,' p. 429) will illustrate the difficulty of assigning the vernacular names with absolute accuracy to the multitudinous species of <i>Eucalyptus</i>-- "<i>Eucalyptus amygdalina</i>, Labill., Syn. <i>E. fissilis</i>, F. v. M.; <i>E. radiata</i>, Sieb.; <i>E. elata</i>, Dehn.; <i>E. tenuiramis</i>, Miq.; <i>E. nitida</i>, Hook, f.; <i>E. longifolia</i>, Lindl. ; <i>E. Lindleyana</i>, DC.; and perhaps <i>E. Risdoni</i>, Hook, f.; <i>E. dives</i>, Schauer.--This Eucalypt has even more vernacular names than botanical synonyms. It is one of the `Peppermint Trees' (and variously `Narrow-leaved Peppermint,' `Brown Peppermint,' `White Peppermint,' and sometimes `Dandenong Peppermint'), and `Mountain Ashes' of the Dandenong Ranges of Victoria, and also of Tasmania and Southern New South Wales. It is also called `Giant Gum' and `White Gum.' In Victoria it is one of the `Red Gums.' It is one of the New South Wales `Stringybarks,' and a `Manna Gum.' Because it is allied to, or associated with, `Stringybark,' it is also known by the name of `Messmate.' . . . A variety of this gum (<i>E. radiata</i>) is called in New South Wales `White Gum' or `River White Gum.' . . . A variety of <i>E. amygdalina</i> growing in the south coast district of New South Wales, goes by the name of `Ribbon Gum,' in allusion to the very thin, easily detachable, smooth bark. This is also E. radiata probably. A further New South Wales variety goes by the name of `Cut-tail' in the Braidwood district. The author has been unable to ascertain the meaning of this absurd designation. These varieties are, several of them, quite different in leaves, bark, and timber, and there is no species better than the present one to illustrate the danger in attempting to fit botanical names on Eucalypts when only the vernacular names are known." Various other trees not of the genus Eucalyptus are also sometimes popularly called <i>Gums</i>, such as, for instance-- Broad-leaved Water Gum-- <i>Tristania suavolens</i>, Smith. Orange G.-- <i>Angophora lanceolata</i>, Cave. Water G.-- <i>Callistemon lanceolatus</i>, DeC. <i>Tristania laurina</i>, R. Br. <i>T. neriifolia</i>, R. Br. And others. In addition to this, poets and descriptive writers sometimes apply epithets, chiefly denoting colour or other outward appearance, which are not names of distinct species, such as <i>Cinnamon, Morrell, Salmon, Cable, Silver</i>, etc. [See quotation under <i>Silver Gum</i>.] 1642. Abel Tasman, `Journal of the Voyage to the Unknown Southland' (Translation by J. B. Walker in `Abel J. Tasman: His Life, etc.' 1896) [Under date Dec. 2, 1642, after describing the trees at Fredrik Hendrik's Bay (now Blackman's Bay, Forestier's Peninsula, Tasmania) 2 to 21/2 fathoms thick, 60 to 65 feet to the first branch, and with steps 5 feet apart cut in them, Tasman says that they found] "a little gum, fine in appearance, which drops out of the trees, and has a resemblance to gum lac (gomma lacca)." 1770. `Captain Cook's Journal' (ed. Wharton, 1893), p. 245: "May 1st.--We found two sorts of gum, one sort of which is like gum dragon, and is the same, I suppose, Tasman took for gum lac; it is extracted from the largest tree in the woods. "May 6th.--The biggest trees are as large or larger than our oaks in England, and grow a good deal like them, and yield a reddish gum; the wood itself is heavy, hard, and black like <i>Lignum vitae</i>." 1788. Governor Phillip (Despatch, May 15) in `Historical Records of New South Wales', vol. i. pt. ii. p. 128: "What seeds could be collected are sent to Sir Joseph Banks, as likewise the red gum taken from the large gum-tree by tapping, and the yellow gum which is found on the dwarf palm-tree." 1789. Captain Watkin Tench, `Narrative of the Expedition to Botany Bay,' p. 119: "The species of trees are few, and . . . the wood universally of so bad a grain, as almost to preclude the possibility of using it. . . . These trees yield a profusion of thick red gum (not unlike the <i>Sanguis draconis</i>)." 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 231: "The red gum-tree, <i>Eucalyptus resinifera</i>. This is a very large and lofty tree, much exceeding the English oak in size." 1793. Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 69: "I have likewise seen trees bearing three different kinds of leaves, and frequently have found others, bearing the leaf of the gum-tree, with the gum exuding from it, and covered with bark of a very different kind." 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description of New South Wales,' p. 66: "Full-sized gums and iron barks, alongside of which the loftiest trees in this country would appear as pigmies, with the beefwood tree, or, as it is generally termed, the forest oak, which is of much humbler growth, are the usual timber." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 200: "The gum-trees are so designated as a body from producing a gummy resinous matter, while the peculiarities of the bark usually fix the particular names of the species--thus the blue, spotted, black-butted, and woolly gums are so nominated from the corresponding appearance of their respective barks; the red and white gums, from their wood; and the flooded gums from growing in flooded land." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. II. c. iii. p. 108: "The silvery stems of the never-failing gum-trees." 1857. H. Parkes, `Murmurs of Stream,' p. 56: "Where now the hermit gum-tree stands on the plain's heart." 1864. J. S. Moore, `Spring Life Lyrics,' p. 114: "Amid grand old gums, dark cedars and pines." 1873. A.Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. xiii. p. 209: "The eternal gum-tree has become to me an Australian crest, giving evidence of Australian ugliness. The gum-tree is ubiquitous, and is not the loveliest, though neither is it by any means the ugliest, of trees." 1877. F. v. Muller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 7: "The vernacular name of gum-trees for the eucalypts is as unaptly given as that of most others of our native plants, on which popular appellations have been bestowed. Indeed our wattles might far more appropriately be called gum-trees than the eucalypts, because the former exude a real gum (in the chemical meaning of the word); whereas the main exudation from the stems and branches of all eucalypts hardens to a kino-like substance, contains a large proportion of a particular tannin (kino-tannic acid), and is to a great extent or entirely soluble in alcohol, thus very different from genuine gum." 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 176: "Golden, 'mid a sunlit forest, Stood the grand Titanic forms Of the conquerors of storms; Stood the gums, as if inspired, Every branch and leaflet fired With the glory of the sun, In golden robes attired, A grand priesthood of the sun." 1889. P. Beveridge, `Aborigines of Victoria and Riverina,' p. 61: "Nearly all the eucalyptus species exude gum, which the natives utilise in the fabrication of their various weapons as Europeans do glue. The myall and mimosa also exude gum; these the natives prefer before all other kinds when obtainable, they being less brittle and more adhesive than any of the others." i891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "This is an exact representation of the camps which were scattered over the country not more than fifty years ago, and inhabited by the original lords of the soil. The beautiful she-oak and red-gum forest that used to clothe the slopes of Royal Park was a very favourite camping-ground of theirs, as the gum-tree was their most regular source of food supply. The hollows of this tree contained the sleek and sleepy opossum, waiting to be dragged forth to the light of day and despatched by a blow on the head. It was to the honey-laden blossoms of this tree that the noisy cockatoos and parrots used to flock. Let the kangaroo be wary and waterfowl shy, but whilst he had his beloved gum-tree, little cared the light-hearted black." 1892. `The Times,' [Reprint] `Letters from Queensland,' p. 2: "The immense extent of gum-trees stretches indefinitely, blotting out the conception of anything but its own lightly-timbered pasture. It has not even the gloom and impressiveness which we associate in England with the name of forest land, for the trees are thinly scattered, their long leaves hang vertically from the branches, and sunlight filters through with sufficient force to promote the growth of the tussocked grass beneath. The whole would be indescribably commonplace, but that the vastness becomes at last by its own force impressive." The following quotations illustrate special uses of the word in composition. <i>Apple Gum</i>-- 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 283: "On the small flats the apple-gum grew." Ibid. c. viii. p. 264: "Another Eucalyptus with a scaly butt . . . but with smooth upper trunk and cordate ovate leaves, which was also new to me; we called it the Apple-gum." <i>Blue Gum</i>-- 1802. D.Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 235: "The blue gum, she-oak, and cherry-tree of Port Jackson were common here." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' p. 22: "The Blue Gum is found in greater abundance; it is a loose-grained heavy wood." 1851. James Mitchell, `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 125: "The name blue gum appears to have been derived from the bluish gray colour of the whole plant in the earliest stages of its growth, which is occasioned by a covering of dust or bloom similar to that upon the sloe or damson." 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 199: "I love to see the blue gums stand Majestically tall; The giants of our southern woods, The loftiest of all." <i>Black-butted Gum</i>-- 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. II. c. viii. p. 236: "One species . . . resembling strongly the black-butted gum." <i>Cable Gum</i>-- 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. II. c. iv. p. 132: "Cable-gum . . . like several stems twisted together, abundant in interior." <i>Cider Gum</i> (or <i>Cider Tree</i>)-- 1830. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 119: "That species of eucalyptus called the <i>cider tree</i>, from its exuding a quantity of saccharine liquid resembling molasses. Streaks of it were to be seen dripping down the bark in various parts, which we tasted, and found very palatable. The natives have a method at the proper season of grinding holes in the tree, from which the sweet juice flows plentifully, and is collected in a hole at the root. We saw some of these covered up with a flat stone, doubtless to prevent the wild animals from coming to drink it. When allowed to remain some time, and to ferment, it settles into a coarse sort of wine or cider, rather intoxicating." <i>Cinnamon Gum</i>-- 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 19, p. 7, col. 1: "A forest only fit for urban gnomes these twisted trunks. Here are no straight and lofty trees, but sprawling cinnamon gums, their skin an unpleasing livid red, pock-marked; saplings in white and chilly grey, bleeding gum in ruddy stains, and fire-black boles and stumps to throw the greenery into bright relief." <i>Drooping Gum</i>-- 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. II. c. xii. p. 387: "The trees, which grew only in the valleys, were small kinds of banksia, wattles and drooping gums." <i>Flooded Gum</i>-- 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 7: "Large flooded gum-trees (but no casuarinas) at the low banks of the lagoons." <i>Lemon-scented Gum</i>-- 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 265: "Among the <i>Eucalypti</i> or gum-trees growing in New South Wales, a species named the lemon-scented gum-tree, <i>Eucalyptus citriodora</i>, is peculiar to the Wide Bay district, in the northern part of the colony." <i>Mountain Gum</i>-- 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. I. c. iii, p. 118: "The cypresses became mixed with casuarina, box and mountain-gum." <i>Red Gum</i> [see also <i>Red-gum</i>]-- 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. xi. p. 461: "The red gum-tree. This is a very large and lofty tree, much exceeding the English oak in size." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 33: "Red gum, a wood which has of late years been exported to England in great quantities; it has all the properties of mahogany." 1868. W. Carleton, `Australian Nights,' p. 14: "While she, the younger, went to fill Her red-gum pitcher at the rill." 1870. J. O. Tucker, `The Mute,' etc., p. 85: "Then the dark savage `neath the red gum's shade Told o'er his deeds." 1890. `The Argus,' June 14, p. 4, col. I "Those of the leaden hue are red gums." <i>Rough Gum</i>-- 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. I. c. iii. p. 118: "The rough-gum abounded near the creek." <i>Rusty Gum</i>-- 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 48: "The range was openly timbered with white gum, spotted gum, Iron-bark, rusty gum and the cypress pine." <i>Salmon Gum</i>-- 1893. `The Australasian,' Aug. 3, p. 252, col. 4: "The chief descriptions are salmon, morrel and white gums, and gimlet-wood. The bark of the salmon gum approaches in colour to a rich golden brown, but the satin-like sheen on it has the effect of making it several shades lighter, and in the full glare of the sun it is sufficiently near a rich salmon tint to justify its name." <i>Silver Gum</i>-- 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 113: "When so many of our Australian trees were named `gums,' a distinguishing prefix for each variety was clearly necessary, and so the words red, blue, yellow, white and scarlet, as marking some particular trait in the tree, have come into everyday use. Had the pioneer bush botanist seen at least one of those trees at a certain stage in its growth, the term `silver gum' would have found expression." <i>Spotted Gum</i>-- 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 11: "Ironbark ridges here and there with spotted gum . . . diversified the sameness." <i>Swamp Gum</i>-- 1853. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii, p. 132 [James Mitchell, <i>On the Strength of Timber</i>, etc., read Nov.12, 1851]: "The Swamp Gum grows to the largest size of any of this family in Van Diemen's Land. Its growth is nearly twice as rapid as that of the Blue Gum: the annular layers are sometimes very large; but the bark, and the whole tree indeed, is so like the Blue Gum, as not to be easily distinguished from it in outward appearance. It grows best in moist places, which may probably have given rise to its name. Some extraordinary dimensions have been recorded of trees of this species. I lately measured an apparently sound one, and found it 21 feet in circumference at 8 feet from the ground and 87 feet to the first branches. Another was 18 1/2 feet in circumference at 10 feet from the ground, and 213 feet to the highest branch or extreme top. A third reached the height of 251 feet to the highest branch: but I am told that these are pigmies compared to the giants of even the Blue Gum species found in the southern districts." 1880. Garnet Watch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 100: "Groups of native trees, including the black wattle, silver box, messmate, stringy bark, and the picturesque but less useful swamp gum." <i>Water Gum</i>-- 1847. L. Leichhhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 387: "Long hollows surrounded with drooping tea-trees and the white watergums." <i>Weeping Gum</i>-- 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 169: "A kind of <i>Eucalyptus</i>, with long drooping leaves, called the `Weeping Gum,' is the most elegant of the family." <i>White Gum</i>-- 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p, 278: "The natives tell me that it [the ground-parrot] chiefly breeds in a stump of a small White Gum-tree." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 48: "The range was openly timbered with white gum." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 471: "<i>E. leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M. The `blue or white gum' of South Australia and Victoria is a gum-tree with smooth bark and light-coloured wood (hence the specific name). The flowers and fruit of <i>E. leucoxylon</i> are very similar to those of <i>E. sideroxylon</i>, and in this way two trees have been placed under one name which are really quite distinct. Baron Mueller points out that there are two well-marked varieties of <i>E. leucoxylon</i> in Victoria. That known as `white-gum' has the greater portion of the stem pale and smooth through the outer layers of the bark falling off. The variety known chiefly as the `Victorian Ironbark,' retains the whole bark on the stem, thus becoming deeply fissured and furrowed, and very hard and dark coloured." <i>Yellow Gum</i>-- 1848. T. L. Mitchell, `Tropical Australia,' p. 107: "We this day passed a small group of trees of the yellow gum, a species of eucalyptus growing only on the poor sandy soil near Botany Bay, and other parts of the sea-coast near Sydney." <i>York Gum</i>-- 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. II. c. iv. p. 132: "York gum . . . abundant in York on good soil." <hw>Gum-</hw> (<i>In Composition</i>). See <i>Gum</i>. 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 134: "I said to myself in the gum-shadowed glen." 1868. W. L. Carleton, `Australian Nights,' p. 1: "To see the gum-log flaming bright Its welcome beacon through the night." 1890. `The Argus,' August 2, p. 4, col. 3: "Make a bit of a shelter also. You can always do it with easily-got gum-boughs." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvii. p. 201: "The edge of the long, black, gum-shrouded lagoon." <hw>Gummy</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to a shark of Victorian and Tasmanian waters, <i>Mustelus antarcticus</i>, Gunth., and called <i>Hound</i> (q.v.) in New South Wales, Victoria, and New Zealand. The word <i>Gummy</i> is said to come from the small numerous teeth, arranged like a pavement, so different from the sharp erect teeth of most other sharks. The word <i>Hound</i> is the Old World name for all the species of the genus <i>Mustelus</i>. This fish, says Hutton, is much eaten by the Maoris. <hw>Gum-sucker</hw>, <i>n.</i> slang for Victorian-born, not now much used; but it is not always limited to Victorians. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 201: "The acacias are the common wattles of this country; from their trunks and branches clear transparent beads of the purest Arabian gum are seen suspended in the dry spring weather, which our young currency bantlings eagerly search after and regale themselves with." [The practice of `gum-sucking' is here noticed, though the word does not occur.] 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 24: "If he had not been too 'cute to be bitten twice by the over-'cute `gumsuckers,' as the native Victorians are called." 1890. `Quiz `(Adelaide), Dec. 26: "Quiz will take good care that the innocent Australians are not fooled without a warning. Really L. and his accomplices must look upon gumsuckers as being pretty soft." <hw>Gunyah</hw>, <i>n.</i> aboriginal name for a black-fellow's hut, roughly constructed of boughs and bark; applied also to other forms of shelter. The spelling varies greatly: in Col. Mundy's book (1855) there are no fewer than four forms. See <i>Humpy</i> and <i>Gibber</i>. What Leichhardt saw (see quotation 1847) was very remarkable. 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' in an aboriginal vocabulary of Port Jackson, p. 610: "Go-nie--a hut." 1830. R.Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 70: "One of their gunyers (bark huts)." Ibid. p. 171: "A native encampment, consisting of eight or ten `gunyers.' This is the native term for small huts, which are supported by three forked sticks (about three feet long) brought together at the top in a triangular form: the two sides towards the wind are covered by long sheets of bark, the third is always left open to the wind." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. I. c. ii. p. 78: "We observed a fresh-made gunneah (or native hut)." 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' c. ii. p. 35: "Three huts, or gunyahs, consisted of a few green boughs, which had just been put up for shelter from the rain then falling." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 10: "Their only habitation . . . is formed by two sheets of bark stripped from the nearest tree, at the first appearance of a storm, and joined together at an angle of 45 degrees. This, which they call a gunnya, is cut up for firewood when the storm has passed." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 238: "Behind appears a large piece of wood hooded like a `gunnya' or `umpee.'" 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 290: "We saw a very interesting camping place of the natives, containing several two-storied gunyas." 1852. `Settlers and Convicts; or, Recollections of Sixteen Years' Labour in the Australian Backwoods,' p. 211: "I coincided in his opinion that it would be best for us to camp for the night in one of the ghibber-gunyahs. These are the hollows under overhanging rocks." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' ed. 1855, p. 164: "A sloping sheet of bark turned from the wind--in bush lingo, a break-weather--or in guneeahs of boughs thatched with grass." [p. 200]: "Guneah." [p. 558]: "Gunneah." [p. 606]: "Gunyah." 1860. G.Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 114 [Footnote]: "The name given by the natives to the burrow or habitation of any animals is `guniar,' and the same word is applied to our houses." 1880. P. J. Holdsworth, `Station, Hunting': "hunger clung Beneath the bough-piled gunyah." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 19: "The sleepy blacks came out of their gunyahs." [p. 52]: "A gunya of branches." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. ii. p. 16: "Where this beautiful building now stands, there were only the gunyahs or homes of the poor savages." 1890. A. J. Vogan, `Black Police,' p. 98: "One of the gunyahs on the hill. . . . The hut, which is exactly like all the others in the group,--and for the matter of that all within two or three hundred miles,--is built of sticks, which have been stuck into the ground at the radius of a common centre, and then bent over so as to form an egg-shaped cage, which is substantially thatched on top and sides with herbage and mud." <hw>Gunyang</hw>, <i>n.</i> the aboriginal word for the <i>Kangaroo Apple</i> (q.v.), though the name is more strictly applied not to <i>Solanum aviculare</i>, but to <i>S. vescum</i>. 1877. F. von Muller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 106: "The similarity of both [<i>S. vescum</i> and <i>S. aviculare</i>] to each other forbids to recommend the fruit of the Gunyang as edible." 1878. W. R. Guilfoyle, `Australian Botany,' p. 73: "Kangaroo Apple, <i>Solanum aviculare</i>. . . . The Gunyang (<i>Solanum vescum</i>) is another variety found in Victoria." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 222: "A couple of tiny streams trickle across the plains to the sea, a dwarfed ti-tree, clinging low about the ground, like the gunyang or kangaroo apple, borders the banks." <hw>Gurnard</hw>, <i>n.</i> i.q. <i>Gurnet</i> (q.v.). <hw>Gurnet</hw>, <i>n.</i> The species of <i>Trigla</i> found in British waters, called <i>Gurnards</i> are of the family of <i>Cottidae</i>. The word <i>Gurnet</i> is an obsolete or provincial form of Gurnard, revived in Australia, and applied to the fish <i>Centropogon scorpoenoides</i>, Guich., family <i>Scorpoenidae</i>. The original word <i>Gurnard</i> is retained in New Zealand, and applied to the new species <i>Trigla kumu</i> (<i>kumu</i> being the Maori name), family <i>Cottidae</i>. The <i>Flying Gurnet</i> is <i>Trigla polyommata</i>, Richards., found on all the Australian coasts from New South Wales to Western Australia, family <i>Cottidae</i>. It is a distinct species, not included in the British species. They have large pectoral fins, but are not known to possess the power of supporting themselves in the air like the "flying fish" which belong to other genera. Sir Fredk. McCoy says that <i>Sebastes Percoides</i>, Richards., is called Gurnet, or Garnet-perch, by the fishermen and dealers, as well as the more common <i>Neosebastes scorpoenoides</i>, Guich., and <i>Scorpoena panda</i>, Richards. <hw>Gutter</hw>, <i>n.</i> in Australian goldmining, "the lower and auriferous part of the channel of an old river of the Tertiary period " (`Century'). "The lowest portion of a lead. A gutter is filled with auriferous drift or <i>washdirt</i>, which rests on the palaeozoic bed-rock." (Brough Smyth, `Glossary of Mining Terms.') 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' p. 55: "Duffers are so common And golden gutters rare." 1871. J. J. Simpson, `Recitations,' p. 23: "Privations and hardships you all have to suffer Ere you can expect to get on to the gutter." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. viii. p. 81: "If we happened to drop right down on the `gutter' or main course of the lead, we were all right." 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p.23: "The Company . . . are putting in a drive to strike the old Shakspeare gutter." 1891. `The Australasian,' Nov. 21, p. 1015: "Evidently both claims had been driving for a `gutter.' One of them had got to the end of its tether before reaching it." <hw>Gutter-flags</hw>, <i>n.</i> Flags fixed on the surface to denote where the course of a gutter or lead underground has been discovered." (Brough Smyth, `Glossary of Mining Terms.') <hw>Gweeon</hw>, <i>n.</i> a stone tomahawk of the aborigines. <i>Gweh-un</i>, in Mukthang language, Gippsland. Apparently a remnant of a term occurring along the east side of Australia; <i>Burgoin</i>, New South Wales; <i>bulgoon</i> and <i>balgon</i>, Burdekin River, Queensland; related to <i>balgoungo</i>, to chop. <hw>Gymnobelideus</hw>, <i>n.</i> the scientific name of the genus confined to Australia of <i>Squirrel Phalangers</i>, or <i>Squirrel Opossums</i>, as they have been called. See <i>Opossum</i>. The name was given by Sir Frederick McCoy in 1867. Only two specimens have been found, and they are in the Melbourne Museum of Natural History. There is only one species, <i>G. leadbeateri</i>, M'Coy. In general form they resemble the so-called <i>Australian Flying Squirrel</i> (q.v.), save for the absence of the parachute. They have large naked ears. (Grk. <i>gymnos</i>, naked, and Latin, <i>belideus</i>, the Flying-Phalanger or Squirrel.) <hw>Gymnorrhina</hw>, <i>n.</i> the scientific name of the Australian genus of <i>Piping Crow-Shrikes</i>, called locally by the vernacular name of <i>Magpies</i> (q.v.). They have the nostrils and beak unfeathered. (Grk. <i>gymnos</i>, naked, and <i>rhis</i>, nose.) For the species see under <i>Magpie</i>. H <hw>Haddock</hw>, <i>n.</i> The New Zealand <i>Haddock</i> is <i>Gadus australis</i>, Hutton, <i>Pseudophycis barbatus</i>, Gunth., and <i>Merlucius gayi</i>, Guich., or <i>australis</i>, Hutton, all belonging to the family <i>Gadidae</i> or Cod-fishes. The European species of <i>Merlucius</i> is known as the "Hake." <hw>Haeremai</hw>, <i>interj</i>. Maori term of welcome, lit. come hither; <i>haere</i> is the verb. It has been colloquially adopted. 1769. J. Hawkesworth, `Voyages,' vol. iii. p. 229 (ed. 1785): "When they came near enough to be heard, they waved their hands, and called out `Horomai.' These ceremonies we were told were certain signs of their friendly disposition." 1832. `Henry Williams' Journal,' in H. Carleton's `Life of Henry Williams,' p. 112: "After breakfast we went to them all; they were very glad to see us, and gave us the usual welcome, `Haeremai! Haeremai!'" 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' p. 249: "As I ascended the steep hill with my train, scarcely any greeting was addressed to me, no shouts of haeremai, so universal a welcome to the stranger, were to be heard." 1863. F. E. Maning (<i>The Pakeha-Maori</i> ), `Old New Zealand,' p. 14: "The boat nears the shore, and now arises from a hundred voices the call of welcome, `Haere mai! haere mai! hoe mai!' Mats, hands, and certain ragged petticoats all waving in the air in sign of welcome. Then a pause. Then, as the boat came nearer, another burst of haere mai! But unaccustomed as I was then to the Maori salute, I disliked the sound. There was a wailing, melancholy cadence that did not strike me as being the appropriate note of welcome." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' (English edition) p. 438: "Rev. Mr. Chapman received me at his garden gate with a hearty welcome, the natives shouted their friendly `haeremai,' and ere long we were all in comfortable shelter beneath the missionary's roof." 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 34: "Haire mai ho! 'tis the welcome song Rings far on the summer air." <hw>Hair-trigger</hw>, <i>n.</i> a Tasmanian name for any plant of genus <i>Stylidium</i>. Called also <i>Trigger-plant</i>, and <i>Jack in a Box</i> (q.v.). 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 71: "The <i>Stylidium</i>, or as we named it, the `Hair-trigger,' is common all over the colony." <hw>Haka</hw>, <i>n.</i> Maori word for a dance. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' p. 198: "A haka was now performed by about one hundred and fifty men and women. They seated themselves in ranks in one of the courtyards of the pa, stripped to the waist. An old chieftainess, who moved along the ranks with regular steps, brandishing an ornamental spear in time to her movements, now recited the first verse of a song in a monotonous, dirge-like measure. This was joined in by the others, who also kept time by quivering their hands and arms, nodding their heads and bending their bodies in accordance with each emphasis and pause." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' c. xvi. p. 409 (3rd ed. 1855): "I witnessed a national spectacle which was new to me--a sort of incantation performed by women alone--the haka, I think it is called." 1872. A.Domett, `Ranolf,' XV. c. vi. p. 242: "The <i>haka</i>-dances, where she shone supreme." 1873. `Appendix to Journal of House of Representatives,' G. I, B., p. 8: "Thursday was passed by them [the natives] in feasting and hakas." 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 34: "A rushing throng in the furious haka share." 1896. `Otago Witness,' Jan. 23, p. 50, col. 5: "He also received a visit from three or four hostile natives, who, with blood-curdling yells, duly performed the indispensable haka." <hw>Hakea</hw>, <i>n.</i> the scientific name given, in honour of Baron Hake of Hanover, to "a large Australian genus of plants belonging to the follicular section of the <i>Proteaceae</i>, tribe <i>Grevilleae</i>, and distinguished from Grevillea by its axillary inflorescence and samaroid seeds. The species, nearly 100 in number [Maiden's index to `Useful Native Plants' gives sixteen], are all evergreen shrubs, or small trees, with alternate coriaceous, variously lobed, often spiny leaves. They are ornamental in cultivation, and several have acquired special names--<i>H. ulicina</i>, Native Furze; <i>H. laurina</i>, Cushion-flower; <i>H. acicularis</i> (<i>Lissosperma</i>), Native Pear; <i>H. flexilis</i>, Twine-bush." (`Century.') 1877. F. v. Muller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 50: "<i>Proteaceae</i> are more extensively still represented in Victoria by the well known genera Grevillea and Hakea, the former dedicated to the Right Hon. C. F. Greville, of Paddington, the latter genus named in honour of Baron Hake, of Hanover, both having been alike patrons of horticulture at the end of the last century." 1897. `The Australasian,' Jan. 30, p. 226, col. 3: "Recently, according to `Nature,' Mr. G. M. Thomson, an eminent authority on New Zealand botany, has shown that one of the genera, namely Hakea, though absent at present from the islands [of New Zealand], formerly existed there. Plant remains were found at St. Bathans, in a bed of clay, which have been identified by him as Hakea. The question of the identification of fossil plants is always a difficult one, but as Mr. Thomson announces that he has obtained fruit capsules and leaves there can be but little doubt as to the correctness of his determinations. Hitherto the genus has been regarded as Australian only, and about 100 species are known, of which no less than 65 are West Australian. It would seem then that the Hakeas had obtained a footing in Eastern Australia before the connection with New Zealand had disappeared, and that probably the genus is a far older one than had been anticipated. Why, after finding its way to New Zealand, it should have died out there is a question to which no answer can as yet be supplied." <hw>Hand-fish</hw>, <i>n.</i> a Tasmanian fish, <i>Brachionichthys hirsutus</i>, Lacep., family <i>Pediculati</i>. The name is used in the northern hemisphere for a different fish, which is also called there the <i>Frog-fish</i> and <i>Toad-fish</i>. The name arises from a fancied resemblance of the profile of the fish to a human hand. It is also called <i>Frog-fish</i> and <i>Tortoise-shell fish</i>. Mrs. Meredith calls it <i>Tortoise-shell Fish</i> from its colour, when figuring it in `Tasmanian Friends and Foes' under its former scientific name of <i>Cheironectes Politus</i>. The surface of its skin is hirsute with minute spines, and the lobe at the end of the detached filament of the dorsal fin--called the fintacle--hangs loose. The scientific names of the genus are derived from Grk. <i>brachiown</i>, "the arm," and <i>cheir</i>, "the hand." The armlike pectoral fins are used for holding on to stones or seaweed. 1850. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' Jan. 9, vol. i. p. 268: "A little spotted fish belonging to the genus <i>Chironectes</i> . . . Mr. Champ writes thus respecting the frog fish:-- `It was found in the sea at Port Arthur by a person who was with me, and when caught had all the appearance of having four legs, from the position and shape of the fins; the two longest of which, from the sort of elbow in them, and the division into (rays) what resemble fingers, seem to form a connecting link between fins and legs or arms.'" 1880. Mrs.'Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 249: "It has fins like feet; one small pair where pectoral fins usually are, and a larger pair, with absolute elbows to them, and apparently shoulder-blades too, only those do not belong to the fore pair of feet! A very antipodean arrangement truly! The markings on the body and on the delicate pellucid fins are like tortoise-shell." <hw>Hand, Old</hw>, <i>n.</i> one who has been a convict. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 141: "The men who have been convicts are termed `old hands'; they are mostly rude, rough men, with no moral principle or religious feeling, and who have little sympathy for humanity." 1865. J. O. Tucker, `Australian Story,' c. i. p. 85: "Reformed convicts, or, in the language of their proverbial cant, `old hands.'" 1865. F. H. Nixon, `Peter Perfume,' p. 102: "`Boshman' in the old-hand vernacular signifies a fiddler." ["Bosh in gypsy means music and also violin." -Barrere and Leland.] 1885. J. Rae, `Chirps by an Australian Sparrow,' p. 99: "The old hands were quite tidy too With hats of cabbage-tree." <hw>Hang up</hw>, v. to tie up a horse. 1860. W. Kelly, `Life in Victoria,' p. 49 [Footnote]: "In Melbourne there are posts sunk in the ground almost opposite every door. . . . Fastening your horse to one of these posts is called `hanging him up.'" 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 32: "We got off, hung our horses up to a tree." 1890. E. W. Hornung, `Bride from the Bush,' p. 296: "The mail-boy is waiting impatiently in the verandah, with his horse `hung up' to one of the posts." <hw>Hapalote</hw>, <i>n.</i> Anglicized form of Hapalotis (Grk. <i>hapalos</i>, soft, and <i>'ous, 'owtis</i>) ear), a peculiar Australian genus of rodents of the mouse family. They are called <i>Jumping Mice</i>, and have soft ears, and enlarged hind limbs like the jerboa, but are not marsupial like the kangaroo. There are many species. <hw>Hapu</hw>, <i>n.</i> Maori word for sub-tribe; sometimes even, family. 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand, the Britain of the South,' vol. i. p. 162: "The 70,000 semi-civilised natives now in New Zealand are divided into some dozen chief tribes, and into numerous sub-tribes and `harpu.'" 1873. `Appendix to Journals of House of Representatives,' vol. iii. G. 7, p. 87: "Were not all your hapu present when the money was paid? My hapu, through whom the land Nvas claimed, were present: we filled the room." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 171: "An important structure that engaged the united labours of the hapu." 1887. J. White, `Ancient History of the Maori,' vol. i. p. 290: "Each of which is subdivided again into <i>Hapu</i>, or smaller communities." 1891. Rev. J. Stacks, `Report of Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' vol. iii. sect. G. p. 378: "On arriving in New Zealand, or Ao-tea-roa, the crews of the colonizing fleet dispersed themselves over the length and breadth of these islands, and formed independent tribes or nations, each of which was divided into hapus and the hapus into families." <hw>Hapuku</hw>, <i>n.</i> Maori name for a fish, <i>Oligorus gigas</i>, Gunth., called later <i>Polyprion prognathus</i> (see quotation, 1895), pronounced <i>hapuka</i>, frequently corrupted into <i>habuka</i>, the <i>Groper</i> (q.v.). It is variously called a <i>Cod</i>, a <i>Perch</i> and a <i>Sea-Perch</i>. See quotations. 1845 (about). `New Plymouth's National Song,' Hursthouse's `New Zealand,' p 217: "Lowing herds on every side, Hapuka in every tide." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui, p. 411: "Hapuku, or whapuku, commonly called the cod, but a much richer fish in flavour: externally it more resembles the salmon, and is known in New Holland as the dew or Jew-fish. It attains a large size and is considered the best fish of New Zealand." 1862. Anon., `From the Black Rocks on Friday,' `All the Year Round,' May 17, 1862, No. 160: "A kind of codfish called by the natives whapuku or hahpuka." 1878. P. Thomson, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. XI. art. lii. p. 383: "The hapuka, or groper, was in pretty regular supply." 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 392: "The second (Oligorus gigas) is found in the sea, on the coast of New Zealand, and called by the Maoris and colonists `Hapuku' . . . Dr. Hector, who has had opportunities of examining it in a fresh state, has pointed out anatomical differences from the Murray Cod." 1880. W. Colenso, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. XIII. art. ii. p. 46: "A feast of good things prepared--eels, and hapuku (codfish), and taro." 1884. W. D. Hay, in the `Field,' May 10, p. 637, col. 1: "The pakirikiri(<i>Percis colias</i>) is the fish to which settlers in the north of New Zealand generally give the name of whapuka." 1895. `Oxford English Dictionary' (s.v.Cod): "In New Zealand, a serranoid fish <i>Polyprion prognathus</i>, called by the Maories hapuku." <hw>Hardhead</hw>, n, the English sportsman's name for the ruddy duck <i>(Erismatura rubida</i>). Applied by sportsmen in Australia to the White-eyed Duck, <i>Nyroca australis</i>, Gould. See <i>Duck</i>. <hw>Hardwood</hw>, <i>n.</i> The name is applied to many Australian timbers something like teak, but especially to <i>Backhousia bancroftii</i>, F. v. M. and Bailey, N.O. Myrtaceae. In Tasmania, it means any gum-timber (<i>Eucalyptus</i>). It is in constant and universal use for building and fencing in Australia. 1888. Candish, `Whispering Voices,' p. 108: "Sitting on a block of hardwood . . . is the gray-haired forest feller." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. iii. p. 24: "It was a hammer-like piece of hardwood above a plate of tin." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 93: "A hardwood slab-door weighs a goodish deal, as any one may find out that has to hump it a hundred yards." Hardyhead, <i>n.</i> name given in Sydney to the fish <i>Atherina pinguis</i>, Lacep., family <i>Atherinidae</i>. <hw>Hare-Kangaroo</hw>, <i>n.</i> a small Kangaroo, resembling the British hare. Called also <i>Hare-Wallaby</i>. The scientific name is <i>Lagorchestes</i> (q.v.). 1871. G. Krefft, `Mammals of Australia': "The Hare-kangaroos, so called from their resemblance to that well known rodent, are the fleetest of the whole tribe, and though they do not exceed a common hare in bulk, they can make clear jumps of eight and ten feet high." <hw>Hare-Wallaby</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Hare-Kangaroo, Wallaby</i>, and <i>Lagorchestes</i>. <hw>Harlequin-Pigeon</hw>, <i>n.</i> formerly referred to the genus <i>Peristera</i>, but now to the genus <i>Phaps</i>. It is commonly called in the interior the "flock" pigeon. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 296: "Large flocks of <i>Peristera histrionica</i> (the harlequin- pigeon) were lying on the patches of burnt grass on the plains." <hw>Harmonic Thrush</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Port Jackson Thrush</i>. <hw>Harpagornis</hw>, <i>n.</i> a scientific name for a partly fossilised, huge raptorial bird of New Zealand. From Greek HARPA? <i>harpax</i> robbing, and <i>'ornis</i>, a bird. 1878. A. Newton, `Encyclopaedia Britannica,' vol. iii. p. 731: "There is a harpagornis, a bird of prey of stature sufficient to have made the largest dinornis its quarry." <hw>Harrier</hw>, <i>n.</i> English bird-name (that which harries), assigned in New Zealand to <i>Circus gouldii</i>, Bonap. (also called <i>Swamp-hawk</i>), and in Australia to <i>C. assimilis</i>, Jard. and Selb., or <i>C. approximans</i>, Bonap., called <i>Spotted Harrier</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 206: "<i>Circus Gouldi</i>, Bonap., New Zealand harrier, or Gould's harrier." <hw>Hat, Black</hw>, <i>n.</i> slang for a new immigrant. 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. xxviii. p. 277: "Lord! if I were Mr. Dyson Maddox, I'd never let it be said that a black hat had cut me out sweetheartin'." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. iii. p. 21: "A `black hat' in Australian parlance means a new arrival." <hw>Hat, Old</hw>. See <i>Old-hat</i>. <hw>Hatter</hw>. (1) A solitary miner--miner who works without a mate partner: sc. one who has everything under his own hat. 1869. Brough Smyth, `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 613 (`Glossary of Mining Terms'): "One who works alone. He differs from the fossicker who rifles old workings, or spends his time in trying abandoned washdirt. The hatter leads an independent life, and nearly always holds a claim under the bye-laws." 1884. R. L. A.Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 267: "Oh, a regular rum old stick; . . . he mostly works a `hatter.' He has worked with mates at times, and leaves them when the claim is done, and comes up a `hatter' again. He's a regular old miser." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' p. 37: "Instead of having to take to fossicking like so many `hatters' --solitary miners." (2) By extension to other professions. 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), Aug. 28, p. i. col. 7: "He had been a burglar of the kind known among the criminal classes as `a hatter.' That is to say, he burgled `on his own hook,' never in a gang. He had never, he told me, burgled with a companion." <hw>Hatteria</hw>, <i>n.</i> scientific name for a genus of reptiles containing a Lizard peculiar to New Zealand, the only living representative of the order <i>Rhynchocephalinae</i>. See <i>Tuatara</i>. <hw>Hatting</hw>, <i>quasi pres. partic</i>., solitary mining. See <i>Hatter</i>. 1891. `The Age,' Nov. 25, p. 6, col. 7: "Two old miners have been hatting for gold amongst the old alluvial gullies." <hw>Hat-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to a species of <i>Sterculia</i>, the Bottle-trees (q.v.). <hw>Hau-hau</hw>, <i>n.</i> a Maori superstition. This superstition arose in Taranaki in 1864, through the crazy fancies of the chief Te Ua, who communed with angels and interpreted the Bible. The meaning of the word is obscure, but it probably referred to the wind which wafted the angels to the worshippers whilst dancing round an erect pole. Pai Marire was another name for the superstition, and signifies "good and peaceful." (See Gudgeon's `War in New Zealand,' p. 23 sq.; also Colenso's pamphlet on `Kereopa,' p. 4.) <hw>Hawk</hw>, <i>n.</i> This common English bird-name is applied in Australia to many species-- Brown-Hawk-- <i>Hieracadiea orientalis</i>, Sehl. Crested-H.-- <i>Baza subcristata</i>, Gould. Eagle-H.-- <i>Another name</i> for Wedge-tailed Eagle. (See <i>Eagle</i> and <i>Eagle-hawk</i>.) Fish-H.-- Another name for <i>Osprey</i>. (See <i>Fish-hawk</i>.) Gos-H.-- <i>Astur approximans</i>, V. and H. Grey Gos-H.-- <i>A. cinereus</i>, Vieill. Lesser Gos-H.-- <i>A. cruentus</i>, Gould. Lesser White Gos-H.-- <i>A. leucosomus</i>, Sharpe. Red Gos-H.-- <i>A. radiatus</i>, Lath. Sparrow-H.-- <i>Accipiter cirrhocephalus</i>, Vieill. Striped Brown-H.-- <i>Hieracidea berigora</i>, V. and H. [See <i>Berigora</i>.] Swamp-H. [See <i>Harrier</i>.] White Gos-H.-- <i>Astur novae-hollandiae</i>, Gm. See also <i>Nankeen-Hawk</i>, and <i>Night-Hawk</i>. In New Zealand, the varieties appear in the quotation, 1889. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 206: [A complete description.] 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 117: "Of the three species recognized, two, the quail-hawk (<i>Harpa Novae Zealandiae</i>) and the bush-hawk (<i>H. ferox</i>) [or sparrow-hawk], belong to a genus peculiar to New Zealand." [The third is the New Zealand harrier, <i>Circus Gouldi</i>, also found in Australia.] <hw>Hazel</hw>, <i>n.</i> name applied in Victoria to the tree <i>Pomaderris apetala</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Rhamnaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden. `Useful Native Plants,' p. 590: "Called `hazel' in `Victoria. A tall shrub, or small tree. The wood is excellent, of a beautiful satiny texture, and adapted for carvers' and turners' work. [Grows in] all the colonies except Western Australia and Queensland." <hw>Head</hw>, <i>n.</i> the rammer for crushing quartz in gold-mining. 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p.7: "Forty additional heads will be shortly added to the crushing power, bringing the battery up to sixty heads." <hw>Head-Station</hw>, <i>n.</i> the principal buildings, including the owner's or manager's house, the hut, store, etc., of a sheep or cattle run. 1885. Mrs. Campbell Praed [Title]: "The Head Station." <hw>Heart-Pea</hw>, <i>n.</i> i.q. <i>Balloon-Vine</i> (q.v.). <hw>Heartsease</hw>, <i>n.</i> i.q. <i>Brooklime</i>, (q.v.). <hw>Heartseed</hw>, <i>n.</i> i.q. <i>Balloon-Vine</i> (q.v.) <hw>Heartwood</hw>. <i>n.</i> See <i>Ironwood</i>. <hw>Heath</hw>, <i>n.</i> In Tasmania, where the Epacris is of very beautiful colour, this name is popularly used for <i>Epacris impressa</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. See <i>Epacris</i>. <hw>Hedgehog-Fruit</hw>, <i>n.</i> Popular name applied to the fruit of <i>Echinocarpus australis</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. The tree is also called <i>Maiden's Blush</i> (q.v.). <hw>Hedge-Laurel</hw>, <i>n.</i> a name given to the tree <i>Mapau</i> (q.v.), an evergreen shrub of New Zealand, of the genus <i>Pittosporum</i> (q.v.). It has dark glossy foliage and handsome flowers, and is planted and cultivated in the form of tall garden hedges. See also <i>Laurel</i>. <hw>Hei-tiki</hw>, <i>n.</i> Maori name for a neck ornament made of greenstone (q.v.). 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 151: "The latter idea [that they are representatives of gods] was conceived from the hei-tiki being taken off the neck, laid down . . . and then wept and sung over." 1889. Dr. Hocken, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 81: "Hei means ornament for the neck. Tiki was the creator of man, and these are the representations of him. By a sort of license, they are occasionally taken to represent some renowned ancestor of the possessor; but wooden Tikis, some of immense size, usually represented the ancestors, and were supposed to be visited by their spirits. These might be erected in various parts of a pa, or to mark boundaries, etc. The Maories cling to them as sacred heirlooms of past generations, and with some superstitious reverence." <hw>Helmet-Orchis</hw>, <i>n.</i> This English name is applied in Australia to the orchid <i>Pterostylis cucullata</i>, R. Br. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 168: "I also found three varieties of a singular green orchis, of a helmet shape, growing singly, on rather tall slender footstalks." <hw>Hemp, Queensland</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to the common tropical weed <i>Sida rhombifolia</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>. Called also <i>Paddy Lucerne</i>, and in other colonies <i>Native Lucerne</i>, and <i>Jelly Leaf</i>. It is not endemic in Australia. <hw>Hemp-bush, <i>n.</i></hw> the plant <i>Plagianthus pulchellus</i>, A. Gray, N.O. Halvaceae, native of Australia and New Zealand. Though not true hemp (<i>cannabis</i>), it yields a fibre commercially resembling it. <hw>He-Oak</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Oak</i> and <i>She-Oak</i>. Heron, <i>n.</i> common English bird-name. The species present in Australia are-- Ashy Reef H.-- <i>Demiegretta asha</i>, Sykes. Great-billed H.-- <i>Ardea sumatrana</i>, Rafll. Grey H.-- <i>A. cinerea</i>, Linn. Night H.-- <i>Nycticorax caledonicus</i>, Lath. Reef H.-- <i>Demiegretta sacra</i>, Gmel. White-fronted H.-- <i>Ardea novae-hollandiae</i>, Lath. White-necked H.-- A. pacifica, Lath. The Cranes and the Herons are often popularly confused. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' p. 11: "There did I shoot . . . a blue crane--the Australian heron." <hw>Herring</hw>, <i>n.</i> Various species of <i>Clupeidae</i>, to which the European Herring belongs, are known by this name in Australasia, and the word is also applied to an entirely different fish, <i>Prototroctes maraena</i>, Gunth., the <i>Yarra Herring</i>, <i>Freshwater Herring</i>, <i>Grayling</i> (q.v.), or <i>Cucumber-Mullet</i>, found in the rivers of Victoria or Tasmania. The <i>Clupeidae</i> are <i>Clupea sagax</i> (called also <i>Maray</i>, q.v., and <i>Pilchard</i>), <i>C. sundaica</i>, <i>C. hypselosoma</i> Bleek., <i>C. novae-hollandiae</i>, Cuv, and Val., <i>C. vittata</i>, Castln, (called the <i>Smelt</i>, q.v.), and others. In Western Australia <i>Chatoessus erebi</i>, Richards., is called the <i>Perth Herring</i>. See also <i>Picton Herring</i>, <i>Aua</i>, and <i>Sardine</i>. <hw>Herring-cale</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in New South Wales to the fish Olistherops brunneus, Macl., family Labridae, or Wrasses. <hw>Hickory</hw>, <i>n.</i> The name <i>Hickory</i> is originally American, and is derived from the North-American Indian; its earliest form was <i>Pohickery</i>. The tree belongs to the genus <i>Carya</i>. The wood is excellent for gig-shafts, carriage-poles, fishing-rods, etc. The name is applied in Australia to various trees whose wood is suitable for similar purposes. In Tasmania, the name <i>Hickory</i> is given to <i>Eriostemon squameus</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Rutacea</i>. <i>Native Hickory</i>, or Hickory-Acacia, is <i>Acacia leprosa</i>, Sieb., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, and in the southern part of New South Wales, <i>Acacia melanoxylon</i>. (Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 358.) 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. v. p. 35: "The beautiful umbrageous blackwood, or native hickory, one of the handsomest trees in Australia." <hw>Hickory-Eucalypt</hw>, <i>n.</i> one of the names for the tree <i>Eucalyptus punctata</i>, DeC., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Called also <i>Leather-jacket</i> (q.v.). <hw>Hickory-Wattle</hw>, <i>n.</i> a Queensland name for <i>Acacia aulacocarpa</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; called <i>Hickory</i> about Brisbane. <hw>Hielaman</hw>, <i>n.</i> a word of Sydney and neighbourhood. The initial <i>h</i>, now frequently used by the natives, is not found in the earliest forms. The termination <i>man</i> is also English. Elimang (Hunter), e-lee-mong (Collins), hilaman (Ridley). A narrow shield of an aboriginal, made of bark or wood. Notice Mr. Grant's remarkable plural (1881 quotation). 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 612: "E-lee-mong-shield made of bark." 1834. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar,' p. 5: "As an initial, <i>h</i> occurs in only a few words, such as hilaman, a `shield.'" Ibid. p. 10: "As a barbarism, `hillimung-a shield.'" [A barbarism means with Mr. Threlkeld little more than "not belonging to the Hunter district."] 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' vol. ii. p. 349: "There is much originality in the shield or hieleman of these people. It is merely a piece of wood, of little thickness, and two feet, eight inches long, tapering to each end, cut to an edge outwards, and having a handle or hole in the middle, behind the thickest part." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1355), p. 102: "The hieleman or shield is a piece of wood, about two and a half feet long, tapering to the ends, with a bevelled face not more than four inches wide at the broadest part, behind which the left hand passing through a hole is perfectly guarded." 1865. S. Bennett, `Australian Discovery,' p. 251: "Hieleman, a shield. Saxon, heilan; English, helm or helmet (a little shield for the head)." [This is a remarkable contribution to philological lore. In no dictionary is the Saxon "heilan" to be found, and a misprint may charitably be suspected. There is no doubt that the <i>h</i> is an English Cockney addition to the aboriginal word. It would need an ingenious fancy to connect "e-leemong" with "helm."] 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin, etc.,' p. 26: "No faint far hearing of the waddies banging Of club and heelaman together clanging, War shouts and universal boomeranging." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 66: "Nullah-nullahs, paddy-melon sticks, boomerangs, tomahawks, and <i>heelimen</i> or shields lay about in every direction." <hw>Hielaman-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> another name for the <i>Bats-wing Coral</i> (q.v.), <i>Erythrina vespertilio</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 426: "`Heilaman [sic] tree.' The wood is soft, and used by the aborigines for making their `heilamans' or shields." <hw>Hinau</hw>, <i>n.</i> Maori name for the New Zealand tree, <i>Elaeocarpus dentatus</i>, Vahl., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 317: "Another export was much talked of. This was the bark of the hinau, a large forest tree which abounds all over the country near Cook's Strait. The natives extract from this bark the black dye for their mats." 1873. `Catalogue of Vienna Exhibition': "Hinau--a white wood used for turner's work." Ibid.: "The natives produce the black dye for their flax-work, for which purpose the bark is first bruised and boiled for a short time. When cold the flax is put into the mixture . . . it is then steeped thoroughly for two days in red swamp mud, rich in peroxide of iron." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 130: "Hinau, a small tree about fifty feet high and eighteen inches thick in stem, with brown bark which yields a permanent blue-black dye, used for tanning . . . used by Maoris for colouring mats and baskets. Wood a yellowish brown colour and close-grained; very durable for fencing and piles." <hw>Hoki</hw>, <i>n.</i> a New Zealand fish, <i>Coryphaenoides novae-zelandiae</i>. <i>Coryphaenoides</i> belongs to the family <i>Macruridae</i>, which are deep-sea Gadoids. See <i>Tasmanian Whip-tail</i>. <hw>Holly, Native</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given in Australia to the tree <i>Lomatia ilicifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>, and in Tasmania to <i>Coprosma hirtella</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Rubiaceae</i>; called also <i>Coffee Plant</i>. <hw>Holly, Smooth</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to the tree <i>Hedycarya angustifolia</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Monimiaceae</i>; called also <i>Native Mulberry</i>. <hw>Hollyhock-tree</hw>, <i>n.</i> name given to <i>Hibiscus splendens</i>, Fraser, <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>. <hw>Holy City</hw>, <i>n.</i> a nickname for Adelaide. See <i>Farinaceous City</i>. 1875. R. and F. Hill, `What we Saw in Australia,' p. 264: ". . . including so many churches that we are at a loss to understand why Adelaide should, in virtue of her supposed superabundance, be nicknamed by her neighbours the Holy City." <hw>Holy-cross Toad</hw>, <i>n.</i> See <i>Catholic Frog</i>. <hw>Holy-Dollar</hw>, <i>n.</i> punning name for a dollar out of which a <i>Dump</i> (q.v.) had been punched. 1822. `Hobart Town Gazette,' Aug. 10 [Proclamation by Sir Thomas Brisbane, Governor-in-Chief of New South Wales and its dependencies, then including Van Diemen's Land] "Whereas in the Year of our Lord 1813, it was deemed expedient to send a Quantity of Spanish Dollars to the Colony. . . . And whereas His Excellency, the then Governor, thought proper to direct, that every such Dollar, with a small circular Piece of Silver, struck out of its Centre, should be current within this Territory, and every part thereof, for the Sum of Five Shillings." [These were called <i>holy (holey) dollars</i>, or ring dollars, though the name does not occur in the above quotation.] 1857. D. Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 59: "We were more particularly struck with the character and various kinds of currency [in Tasmania in 1833]. Our first change for a pound consisted of two dumps, two holy dollars, one Spanish dollar, one French coin, one half-crown, one shilling, and one sixpence." <hw>Honey-Ant</hw>, n. name given to various species of Ants, in which the body of certain individuals becomes enormously distended by sweet food with which they are fed by the worker ants, for whom this store of honey serves as a food supply. When the side of the distended abdomen is tapped, the ant passes the `honey' out of its mouth, and it is then eaten. Three species are known in Australia, <i>Camponotus inflatus</i>, Lubbock; <i>C. cowlei</i>, Froggatt; and <i>C. midas</i>, Froggatt. The aboriginal name of the first is `Yarumpa.' 1896. W. W. Froggatt, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' pt. ii. p. 386: "Our Australian honey ants belong to the genus Camponotus, members of which are found to all parts of the world, and are known as `sugar-ants,' from their fondness for all kinds of sweets." <hw>Honey-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. See next word. <hw>Honey-eater</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, with a tongue specially adapted for being formed into a tube for the absorption of honey from flowers. The name is applied to the following species-- Banded Honey-eater-- <i>Myzomela pectoralis</i>, Gould. Black H.-- <i>M. nigra</i>, Gould. Black-chinned H.-- <i>Melithreptus gularis</i>, Gould. Black-headed H.-- <i>M. melanocephalus</i>, Gould. Blue-faced H.-- <i>Entomyza cyanotis</i>, Swain. [See Blue-eye.] Bridled H.-- <i>Ptilotis frenata</i>, Ramsay. Broadbent H.-- <i>Stigmatops alboauricularis</i>, Ramsay. Brown H.-- <i>S. ocularis</i>, Gould. Brown-backed H.-- <i>Glyciphila modesta</i>, Gray. Brown-headed H.-- <i>Melithreptus brevirostrus</i>. Cockerill H.- <i>Ptilotis cockerelli</i>, Gould. Crescent H.-- <i>Meliornis australasiana</i>, Shaw. Dusky H.-- <i>Myzomela obscura</i>, Gould. Fasciated H.-- <i>Ptilotis fasciogularis</i>, Gould. Fuscous H.-- <i>P. fusca</i>, Gould. Gay H.-- <i>Melithreptus vinitinatus</i>, Gould. Golden-backed H.-- <i>M. latior</i>, Gould. Helmeted H.-- <i>Ptilotis cassidix</i>, Jard. Least H.-- <i>Stigmatops subocularis</i>, Long-billed H.-- <i>Meliornis longirostris</i>, Gould. Moustached H.-- <i>M. mystacalis</i>, Gould. New Holland H.-- <i>M. novae</i>-hollandiae, Lath. Painted H.-- <i>Entomophila picta</i>, Gould. Pied H.-- <i>Certhionyx leucomelas</i>, Cuv. Red-headed Honey-eater-- <i>Myzomela erythrocephala</i>, Gould. Red-throated H.-- <i>Entomophila rufigularis</i>, Rufous-breasted H.-- <i>E. albigularis</i>, Gould. Sanguineous H.-- <i>Myzomela sanguineolenta</i>, Lath. [See Blood-bird.] Singing H.-- <i>Ptilotis vittata</i>, Cuv. Spiny-cheeked H.-- <i>Acanthochaea rufigularis</i>, Gould. Streak-naped H.-- <i>Ptilotis filigera</i>, Gould. Striped H.-- <i>Plectorhyncha lanceolata</i>, Gould. Strong-billed H.-- <i>Melithreptus validirostris</i>, Gould. [See also Cherry picker.] Tawny-crowned H.-- <i>Glyciphila fulvifrons</i>, Lewin. Varied H.-- <i>Ptilotis versicolor</i>, Gould. Warty-faced H.-- <i>Meliphaga phrygia</i>, Lath. (Called also the Mock Regent-bird, q.v.) Wattle-cheeked H.-- <i>Ptilotis cratitia</i>, Gould. White-breasted H.-- <i>Glyciphila fasciata</i>, Gould. White-cheeked H.-- <i>Meliornis sericea</i>, Gould. White-eared H.-- <i>Ptilotis leucotis</i>, Lath. White-fronted H.-- <i>Glyciphila albifrons</i>, Gould. White-gaped H.-- <i>Stomiopora unicolor</i>, Gould. White-naped H.-- <i>Melithreptus lunulatus</i>, Shaw. [See also Golden-Eye.] White-plumed H.-- <i>Ptilotis penicillata</i>, Gould. White-quilled H.-- <i>Entomyza albipennis</i>, Gould. White-throated H.-- <i>Melithreptus albogularis</i>, Gould. Yellow H.-- <i>Ptilotis flavescens</i>, Gould. Yellow-eared H.-- <i>P. lewini</i>, Swains. Yellow-faced H.-- <i>P. chrysops</i>, Lath. Yellow-fronted H.-- <i>P. plumula</i>, Gould. Yellow-plumed H.-- <i>P. ornata</i>, Gould. Yellow-spotted H.-- <i>P. gracilis</i>, Gould. Yellow-streaked H.-- <i>P. macleayana</i>, Ramsay. Yellow-throated H.-- <i>P. flavicollis</i>, Vieill. Yellow-tinted H.-- <i>P. flava</i>, Gould. Yellow-tufted H.-- <i>P. auricomis</i>, Lath. Gould enumerated the species, nearly fifty years ago, in his `<i>Birds of</i> Australia' (vol. iv.) as follows:-- Plate <i>Meliphaga Novae-Hollandiae</i>, Vig. and Horsf, New Holland Honey-eater ... ... ... ... 23 <i>M. longirostris</i>, Gould, Long-billed H. ... 24 <i>M. sericea</i>, Gould, White-cheeked H. ... ... 25 <i>M. mystacalis</i>, Gould, Moustached H. ... ... 26 <i>M. Australasiana</i>, Vig. and Horsf, Tasmanian H. 27 <i>Glyciphila fulvifrons</i>, Swains., Fulvous-fronted H. ... ... 28 <i>G. albifrons</i>, Gould, White-fronted H. ... 29 <i>G. fasciata</i>, Gould, Fasciated H. ... ... 30 <i>G. ocularis</i>, Gould, Brown H. ... ... 31 <i>Ptilotis chrysotis</i>, Yellow-eared H.... ... 32 <i>P. sonorus</i>, Gould, Singing H. ... ... 33 <i>P. versicolor</i>, Gould, Varied H. ... ... 34 <i>P. flavigula</i>, Gould, Yellow-throated H. ... 35 <i>P. leucotis</i>, White-eared H. ... ... 36 <i>P. auricomis</i>, Yellow-tufted H. ... ... 37 <i>P. cratilius</i>, Gould, Wattle-cheeked H. ... 38 <i>P. ornatus</i>, Gould, Graceful Ptilotis ... 39 <i>P. plumulus</i>, Gould, Plumed P. ... ... 40 <i>P. flavescens</i>, Gould, Yellow-tinted H. ... 41 <i>P. flava</i>, Gould, Yellow H. ... ... 42 <i>P. penicillatus</i>, Gould, White-plumed H. ... 43 <i>P. fuscus</i>, Gould, Fuscous H. ... ... 44 <i>P. chrysops</i>, Yellow-faced H. ... ... 45 <i>P. unicolor</i>, Gould, Uniform H. ... ... 46 <i>Plectorhyncha lanceolata</i>, Gould, Lanceolate H. 47 <i>Zanthomyza Phrygia</i>, Swains., Warty-faced H. .. 48 <i>Melicophila picata</i>, Gould, Pied H. ... ... 49 <i>Entomophila pitta</i>, Gould, Painted H. ... 50 <i>E. albogularis</i>, Gould, White-throated H. ... 51 <i>E. rufogularis</i>, Gould, Red-throated H. ... 52 <i>Acanthogenys rufogularis</i>, Gould, Spiny-cheeked H. ... 53 <i>Anthochaera inauris</i></i>, Wattled H. ... ... 54 <i>A. Carunculata</i>, Wattled H. ... ... 55 [Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 106.] <i>Myzomela sanguinolenta</i>, Sanguineous H. ... 63 <i>M. erythrocephala</i>, Gould, Red-headed H. ... 64 <i>M. pectoralis</i>, Gould, Banded H. ... ... 65 <i>M. nigra</i>, Gould, Black H. ... ... 66 <i>M. obscura</i>, Gould, Obscure H. ... ... 67 <i>Entomyza cyanotis</i>, Swains., Blue-faced Entomyza 68 <i>E. albipennis</i>, Gould, White-pinioned H. ... 69 <i>Melithreptus validirostris</i>, Gould, Strong-billed H. ... ... 70 <i>M. gularis</i>, Gould, Black-throated H. ... 71 <i>M. lunulatus</i>, Lunulated H. ... ... 72 <i>M. brevirostris</i>, Gould, <i>M. chloropsis</i>, Gould, Swan River H. ... 73 <i>M. albogularis</i>, Gould, White-throated H. (as well as pl. 51) ... ... 74 <i>M. melanocephalus</i>, Gould, Black-headed H. ... 75 <i>Myzantha garrula</i>, Vig. and Horsf, Garrulous H. 76 <i>M. obscura</i>, Gould, Sombre H. ... ... 77 <i>M. lutea</i>, Gould, Luteous H. ... ... 78 In the Supplement of 1869 Gould adds-- Plate <i>Ptilotis cassidix</i>, Jard., Helmeted H. ... 39 <i>P. fasciogularis</i>, Gould, Fasciated H. ... 40 <i>P. notata</i>, Gould, Yellow-spotted H. ... 41 <i>P. filigera</i>, Gould, Streaked H. ... 42 <i>P. Cockerelli</i>, Gould, Cockerell's H. ... 43 <i>Tropidorhynchus buceroides</i>, Helmeted H. ... 44 [Note.--The Brush Wattle-birds, Friar-birds, Spine-bills, and the Yellow-throated Minah, are known as Honey-eaters, and the whole series are sometimes called Honey-birds.] 1897. A. J. Campbell (in `The Australasian,' Jan. 23), p. 180, col. i: "The honey-eaters or meliphagous birds are a peculiar and striking feature in Australian ornithology. As Gould points out, they are to the fauna what the eucalypts, banksias, and melaleucas are to the flora of Australia. They are closely adapted to feeding on these trees. That great author asks:-- `What can be more plain than that the brushlike tongue is especially formed for gathering the honey from the flower-cups of the eucalypti, or that their diminutive stomachs are especially formed for this kind of food, and the peculiar insects which constitute a portion of it?'" <hw>Honey-Eucalypt</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Box-tree, Yellow</i>. <hw>Honey-flower</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Lambertia formosa</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. iv. p. 101: "They . . . returned . . . dreadfully exhausted, having existed chiefly by sucking the wild honey-flower and shrubs." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 37: "`Honey-flower' or `honeysuckle,' a plant as well known to small boys about Sydney as to birds and insects. It obtains its vernacular name on account of the large quantity of a clear honey-like liquid the flowers contain. After sucking some quantity the liquid generally produces nausea and headache." <hw>Honey-plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to <i>Richea scoparia</i> Hook., <i>N.O. Epacris</i>. <hw>Honeysuckle</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the <i>Banksias</i> (q.v.); also called <i>Bottle-brush</i> (q.v.). The species are-- Coast Honeysuckle-- <i>Banksia integrifolia</i>, Linn. Common H.-- <i>B. marginata</i>, Cav. Heath H.-- <i>B. serrata</i>, Linn. New Zealand H.-- <i>Knightia excelsa</i>, R.Br. Silvery H.-- <i>Grevillea striata</i>, R.Br. Tasmanian H.-- <i>Banksia margirata</i>, Cav. /sic. Probably marginata/ 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 125: "Some scattered honeysuckles, as they, are called, but which, being specimens of a ligneous evergreen shrub (<i>Banksia Australis</i>), my English reader will please not to assimilate in his mind's eye in any respect with the woodbine." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 84: "The honeysuckle (<i>Banksia integrifolia</i>) will greatly disappoint those who, from its name, expect to see anything similar to the sweet-scented climbers of English hedges and gardens--this being a tree attaining to thirty or forty feet in height, with spiral yellow flowers. The blossoms at the proper seasons yield a great quantity of honey, which on a dewy morning may be observed dropping from the flowers." 1848. Letter by Mrs. Perry, given in Goodman's `Church in Victoria during Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 83: "In the course of our journey today we passed through a thin wood of honeysuckle trees, for, I should think, about three miles. They take their name from the quantity of honey contained in the yellow cone-shaped flower, which is much prized and sucked by the natives--the aborigines, I mean." 1852. Mrs. Meredith, 'My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 164: "The honeysuckle-tree (<i>Banksia latifolia</i>) is so unreasonably named . . . so very unlike any sort or species of the sweet old flower whose name it so unfittingly bears. . . . The blossoms form cones, which when in full bloom, are much the size and shape of a large English teazel, and are of a greenish yellow. . . . The honeysuckle trees grow to about thirty feet in height." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 10: "<i>Banksia</i>, spp., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. The name `honeysuckle' was applied to this genus by the early settlers, from the fact that the flowers, when in full bloom, contain, in a greater or lesser quantity, a sweet, honey-like liquid, which is secreted in considerable quantities, especially after a dewy night, and is eagerly sucked out by the aborigines." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 271: "It [banksia] is called the `honeysuckle' by the people of Australia, though it has no resemblance to an English honeysuckle. Many of the banksias grow into stately trees." <hw>Honeywood</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the tree <i>Bedfordia salicina</i>, DeC., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>; also there called <i>Dogwood</i> (q.v.). <hw>Hoop-Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the tree <i>Araucaria cunninghami</i> or <i>Moreton-Bay Pine</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Hoot</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang term for compensation, payment, money; characteristic corruption of Maori <i>Utu</i> (q.v.) 1896. `Truth' (Sydney), Jan. 12: "There are several specimens of bush slang transplanted from the Maori language. `Hoot' is a very frequent synonym for money or wage. I have heard a shearer at the Pastoralist Union office in Sydney when he sought to ascertain the scale of remuneration, enquire of the gilt-edged clerk behind the barrier, `What's the hoot, mate?' The Maori equivalent for money is <i>utu</i>, pronounced by the Ngapuhi and other northern tribes with the last syllable clipped, and the word is very largely used by the kauri-gum diggers and station hands in the North Island. The original meaning of <i>utu</i> in Maori is `revenge.' When the missionaries first settled in New Zealand, they found that the savage inhabitants had no conception of any recompense except the grim recompense of blood. Under Christianizing influences the natives were induced to forego the blood-revenge for injuries, on receiving a solatium in goods or land, and so <i>utu</i> came to have the double meaning of revenge and recompense, and eventually became recognized as the Maori word for money." <hw>Hop-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. "the name for all species of <i>Dodonaea</i>" (Maiden, p. 417), <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>. 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Queensland Flora,' Synopsis, p. 82: "The capsules of many <i>Dodonaeas</i> are used for hops, and thus the shrubs are known as hop-bushes in Queensland." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 621: "`Hop-bush,' called `switch-sorrel' in Jamaica, and according to Dr. Bennett, `apiri' in Tahiti. Found in all the colonies." <hw>Hopping-fish</hw>, or <hw>Climbing-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of the north of New South Wales and of Queensland, P<i>eriophthalmus australis</i>, Castln., family <i>Gobiidae</i>. Called also <i>Skipper</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 27: "On the confines of the northern boundaries of New South Wales may be seen a very remarkable Goby called the `Hopping-fish.' The pectoral fins are developed into regular legs, with which the fish hops or leaps along the mud flats . . . The eyes are on the top of the head, and very prominent, and moreover they can be thrust very far out of their sockets, and moved independently of one another, thus the fish can see long distances around, and overtake the small crabs in spite of the long stalks to their optics. It is a tropical form, yet it is said to be found on the mud-flats of the Richmond River." <hw>Hops, Native</hw>, or <hw>Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, the fruit of the <i>Hop-bush</i> (see above), <i>Dodonaea</i> spp. In Tasmania, <i>Daviesia latifolia</i>, R.Br., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, and called also there <i>Bitter-Leaf</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 23: "`Native hops,' on account of the capsules bearing some resemblance to hops, both in appearance and taste. In the early days of settlement the fruits of these trees were extensively used, yeast and beer of excellent quality being prepared from them. They are still so used to a small extent. <i>D. attenuata</i>, A. Cunn., for instance, was largely used in the Western District. In times of drought cattle and sheep eat them." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 7: "The wild-hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full Of wombat-holes, and any slip was death." <hw>Horizontal</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian shrub, <i>Anodopetalum biglandulosum</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>. Horizontal Scrub, peculiar to the island, occurs in the western forests; it derives its name from the direction of the growth of its lower stems, and constitutes a tedious obstacle to the progress of the traveller. 1888. R. M. Johnston, `Geology of Tasmania' [Introd. p. vii: "The Horizontal is a tall shrub or tree. . . . Its peculiar habit--to which it owes its name and fame--is for the main stem to assume a horizontal and drooping position after attaining a considerable height, from which ascend secondary branches which in turn assume the same horizontal habit. From these spring tertiary branchlets, all of which interlock, and form . . . an almost impenetrable mass of vegetation." 1891. `The Australasian,' April 4: "That stuff as they calls horizontal, a mess of branches and root." <hw>Hornerah</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a throwing-stick; a dialectic variation of Woomera (q.v.). a nonce-use. 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 20: "I observed, too, that they used a stick, shaped thus __, \ called the hornerah (which assists them in throwing the spear)." <hw>Horn-Ray</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand and Australian <i>Ray</i>, the fish <i>Rhinobatus banksii</i>, Mull and Heule. In this genus of Rays the cranial cartilage is produced into a long rostral process (Guenther): hence the name. <hw>Horopito</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand shrub, <i>Drimys axillaris</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Magnoliaceae</i>; called also <i>Pepper-tree</i> (q.v.). 1847. G. F. Angas, `Savage Life and Scenes in Australia and New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 17: A delicious fragrance, like that of hyacinth and jessamine mingled, filled the warm still air with its perfume. It arose from the petals of a straggling shrub, with bright green shining leaves resembling those of the nutmeg-tree; and a profusion of rich and delicate blossoms, looking like waxwork, and hanging in clusters of trumpet-shaped bells: I observed every shade of colour amongst them, from pinkish white to the deepest crimson, and the edges of the petals were irregularly jagged all round. The natives call this plant horopito." Ibid. p. 75: "The fuchsia and the <i>horopito</i> were also abundant." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 129: "Horopito, pepper-tree, winter's bark. A small slender evergreen tree, very handsome. Whole plant aromatic and stimulant; used by the Maoris for various diseases. Wood very ornamental in cabinet-work." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 1: "The Horopito, or pepper-tree of the settlers, is an ornamental shrub or small tree occurring in woods, on the margin of which it is sometimes found in great abundance." <hw>Horse-Mackerel</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied in Sydney to the fish <i>Auxis ramsayi</i>, Castln., family <i>Scombridae</i>. In New Zealand it is <i>Caranx</i> (or <i>Trachurus) trachurus</i>, Cuv. and Val., which is the same fish as the Horse-Mackerel of England. This is called <i>Yellow-tail</i> on the Australian coasts. See <i>Trevally</i>. <hw>Horseradish-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to <i>Codonocarpus cotinifolius</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Phytolaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 164: "`Quinine-tree,' `medicine-tree' of the interior. Called also `horse-radish tree' owing to the taste of the leaves. The bark contains a peculiar bitter, and no doubt possesses medicinal properties. The taste is, however, quite distinct from quinine." <hw>Horseshoe-Fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in New Zealand to the fern <i>Marattia fraxinia</i>, Sm., called in Australia the <i>Potato-Fern</i>. See under <i>Fern</i>. <hw>Hot Wind</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian meteorological phenomenon. See quotations, especially 1879, A. R. Wallace. The phrase is of course used elsewhere, but its Australian use is peculiar. The hot wind blows from the North. Mr. H. C. Russell, the Government Astronomer of New South Wales, writes--"The hot wind of Australia is a circulation of wind about the anticyclone in the rear of which, as it moves to the east, there is a strong force of wind from north to north- west, which blowing over the heated plains of the interior gathers up its excessive temperature and carries it to the southern colonies. They seldom last more than two or three days in Sydney, and the great heat by which they are remembered never lasts more than a few hours of one day, and is always a sign of the end, which is an inrush of southerly wind, the circulation forming the front of the new incoming anticyclone." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' Vol. II. c. iii. p. 66: "This was the only occasion upon which we felt the hot winds in the interior." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' Vol. II. c. vi. p. 243: "These squalls generally succeed the hot winds that prevail at this season in South Australia, coming from the interior." Footnote--"During the hot winds we observed the thermometer, in the direct rays of the sun, to be 135 degrees." 1846. Ibid. c. xii. p. 403: "A hot wind set in; . . . at one time the thermometer at the public offices [Adelaide] was 158 degrees." 1849. C. Sturt, `Expedition into Central Australia,' vol. ii. p. 90: "I sought shelter behind a large gum tree, but the blasts of heat were so terrific that I wondered the very grass did not take fire. . . . Everything, both animate and inanimate, gave way before it: the horses stood with their backs to the wind, and their noses to the ground, without the muscular strength to raise their heads; the birds were mute, and the leaves of the trees, under which we were sitting, fell like a snow shower around us. At noon I took a thermometer, graduated to 127 degrees, out of my box, and observed that the mercury was up to 125 degrees. Thinking that it had been unduly influenced, I put it in the fork of a tree close to me, sheltered alike from the wind and the sun. In this position I went to examine it about an hour afterwards, when I found that the mercury had risen to the top of the instrument, and that its further expansion had burst the bulb. . . . We had reached our destination, however, before the worst of the hot wind set in." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 25: "The immediate cause of the hot winds has given rise to much speculation. . . . The favourite theory is that they are generated in the sandy plains of the interior, which becoming powerfully heated, pour their glowing breath upon the fertile regions of the south." 1871. Dingo, `Australian Rhymes,' p. 7: "A hot wind swift envelopes me In dust from foot to head." 1879. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' (1893) vol. i. p. 39: "They are evidently produced by the sinking down to the surface of that north-westerly current of heated air which . . . is always passing overhead. The exact causes which bring it down cannot be determined, though it evidently depends on the comparative pressure of the atmosphere on the coast and in the interior. Where from any causes the north-west wind becomes more extensive and more powerful, or the sea breezes diminish, the former will displace the latter and produce a hot wind till an equilibrium is restored. It is the same wind passing constantly overhead which prevents the condensation of vapour, and is the cause of the almost uninterrupted sunny skies of the Australian summer." 1879. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' p. 40: "Scientific men, however, tell us that those hot winds are just what make Australia so healthy a climate--that they act as scavengers, and without them the death-rate of the colonies would be alarmingly great." <hw>Hot-windy</hw>,<i> adj</i>. See above. 1871. Dingo, `Australian Rhymes,' p. 18: "A spell that still makes me forget The dust and the hot-windy weather." <hw>Houhere</hw>, or <hw>Hohere</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Hoheria populnea</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>; called also <i>Lacebark</i> (q.v.) and xeRibbonwood (q.v.). 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 130: "Houhere, ribbonwood of Dunedin. [The name is now more general.] An ornamental shrub-tree ten to thirty feet high. Bark fibrous and used for cordage, and affords a demulcent drink. Wood splits freely for shingles, but is not durable. . . . Bark used for making a tapa cloth by the Maoris in olden times." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 87: "In one or other of its varied forms the `houhere' is found in nearly every district in N.Z. It is everywhere admired for its handsome foliage, and the beauty of its pure white flowers, which are produced in vast profusion during the early winter months. . . . The bark is capable of division into a number of layers. . . . By settlers all forms are termed `ribbonwood,' or less frequently `lace-bark'--names which are applied to other plants; they are also termed `thousand-jacket.'" 1895. `Longman's Geography Reader for New Zealand,' p. 231: "The houhere is a small tree with beautiful white flowers, and the bark splits up into thin layers which look like delicate lace; hence the plant is called lace-bark or ribbon-wood by the colonists." <hw>Houi</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for New Zealand tree, Ribbonwood (q.v.), <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>, kindred to <i>Hoheria, Plagianthus Betulinus</i>, sometimes called <i>Howi</i>. In Maori, the verb <i>houwere</i> means to tie, to bind: the outer bark was used for tying. <hw>Hound</hw>, <i>n</i>. (sometimes <hw>Smooth Hound</hw>), the Old World name for all the sharks of the genus <i>Mustelus</i> ("the Hell-hound of the Deep"); applied specially in New South Wales and New Zealand to the species <i>Mustelus antarcticus</i>, Guenth., also called <i>Gummy</i> (q.v.). <hw>Hovea</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of shrubs. "After Anthony Pantaleon Hove, a Polish botanist. A small genus of highly ornamental leguminous shrubs, from Australia, having blue or purple flowers in axillary clusters, or very short racemes, alternate simple leaves, and short turgid pods." (`Century.') <hw>Huia</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand bird, like a starling, <i>Heteralocha acutirostris</i>, Gould, of limited occurrence, chiefly found in North Island; having beak straight and short in the male, long and curved in female. The tail feathers are highly prized for ornament by the Maoris. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 91: "The huia is a black bird about as large as a thrush, with long thin legs and a slender semi-circular beak, which he uses in seeking in holes of trees for the insects on which he feeds. In the tail are four long black feathers tipt with white. These feathers are much valued by the natives as ornaments for the hair on great occasions. . . . The natives attracted the birds by imitating the peculiar whistle, from which it takes the name of huia." 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 36: "One snow-tipped hui feather graced his hair." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 7: [A full description.] <hw>Hump, to</hw>, <i>v</i>. to shoulder, carry on the back; especially, to <i>hump the swag</i>, or <i>bluey</i>, or <i>drum</i>. See <i>Swag, Bluey, Drum</i>. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 226: "He `humped his swag,' in digger's phrase, that is, shouldered his pack and disappeared in the woods." 1857. `Geelong Advertiser,' quoted in `Argus,' Oct. 23, p. 5, col. 3: "The despised old chum bought his swag, `humped it,' grumbled of course." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 93: "A hardwood slab-door weighs a goodish deal, as any one may find out that has to hump it a hundred yards." 1893. Haddon Chambers, `Thumbnail Sketches of Australian Life,' p. 224: "I `humped my swag'--i.e. tied my worldly possessions, consisting of a blanket, a pannikin, and an odd pair of boots, upon my back-and `footed it' for the capital." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 134: "But Bill preferred to hump his drum A-paddin' of the hoof." <hw>Hump</hw>, <i>n</i>. a long walk with a swag on one's back. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. 3, p. 46: "We get a fair share of exercise without a twenty-mile hump on Sundays." <hw>Humpy</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) a native hut. The aboriginal word is Oompi; the initial h is a Cockney addition, and the word has been given an English look, the appearance of the huts suggesting the English word <i>hump</i>. [The forms <i>himbing</i> and <i>yamba</i> occur along the East coast of Australia. Probably it is kindred with <i>koombar</i>, bark, in Kabi dialect, Mary River, Queensland.] The old convict settlement in Moreton Bay, now broken up, was called Humpy Bong (see <i>Bung</i>), sc. <i>Oompi Bong</i>, a dead or deserted settlement. The aboriginal names for hut may be thus tabulated Gunyah ) . . . New South Wales. Goondie ) Humpy (Oompi) . . . Queensland. Mia-mia . . . Victoria and Western Australia. Wurley (Oorla) . . . South Australia. Whare . . . New Zealand. 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 228: "A `gunyia' or `umpee.'" 1873. J. Brunton Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 16: "Lo, by the `humpy' door, a smockless Venus." (2) Applied to a settler's house, very small and primitive. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 133: "To dwell in the familiar old bark `humpy,' so full of happy memories. The roof was covered with sheets of bark held down by large wooden riders pegged in the form of a square to one another." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 57: "A lonely hut . . . and a kitchen--a smaller humpey--at the back." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' p. 247: "He's to bed in the humpy." 1893. Gilbert Parker, `Pierre and his People,' p. 135: "Shon McGann was lying on a pile of buffalo robes in a mountain hut,--an Australian would call it a humpey." <hw>Hungry Quartz</hw>, <i>n</i>. a miner's term for unpromising <i>Quartz</i> (q.v.) <hw>Huon-Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large Tasmanian evergreen tree, <i>Dacrydium franklinii</i>, Hook, <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. The timber is prized in cabinet-work, being repellent to insects, durable, and fairly easy to work; certain pieces are beautifully marked, and resemble bird's-eye maple. The Huon is a river in the south of Tasmania, called after a French officer. See Pine. 1800. J. J. Labillardiere, `Voyage a la Recherche de la Perouse,' tom. i., Introd. p. xi: "Ces deux flutes recurent des noms analogues au but de l'entreprise. Celle que montoit le general, Dentrecasteaux, fut nommee la Recherche, et l'autre, commandee par le major de vaisseau, Huon Kermadec, recut le nom de l'Esperance. . . . Bruny Dentrecasteaux [fut le] commandant de l'expedition, [et] Labillardiere [fut le] naturaliste." [Of these gentlemen of France and their voyage the names Bruni Island, D'Entrecasteaux Channel, Recherche Bay, Port Esperance, Kermandie [sic] River, Huon Island, Huon River, perpetuate the memory in Southern Tasmania, and the Kermadec Islands in the Southern Ocean.] 1820. C. Jeffreys, R.N., `Geographical and Descriptive Delineations of the Island of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 28: "On the banks of these newly discovered rivers, and the harbour, grows the Huon Pine (so called from the river of that name, where it was first found)." 1829. `The Tasmanian Almanack,' p. 87: "1816. Huon pine and coal discovered at Port Davey and Macquarie Harbour." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' Vol. ii. p. 23: "Huon-pine is by far the most beautiful wood found in the island." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' (edition 1855) p. 515: "Knots of the beautiful Huon pine, finer than bird's-eye maple for ornamental furniture." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 71: "The river was named the Huon, and has since become celebrated for the production which yields the pretty cabinet-wood known as Huon pine." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. xii. p. 102: "The huon-pine is of immense height and girth." <hw>Hut</hw>, <i>n</i>. the cottage of a shepherd or a miner. The word is English but is especially common in Australia, and does not there connote squalor or meanness. The "Men's Hut" on a station is the building occupied by the male employees. 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 11, pt. 1, c. 3: "At the head station are a three-roomed hut, large kitchen, wool-shed, etc." 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania,' p. 21: "If a slab or log hut was required to be erected . . . a cart-load of wool was pitchforked from the wasting heap, wherewith to caulk the crevices of the rough-hewn timber walls." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. vi. p. 42: "`The hut,' a substantial and commodious structure, arose in all its grandeur." 1890. Id. `Miner's Right,' c. vi. p. 62: "Entering such a hut, as it is uniformly, but in no sense of contempt, termed--a hut being simply lower in the scale than a cottage--you will find there nothing to shock the eye or displease the taste." 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 29: "Bark and weatherboard huts alternating with imposing hotels and stores." <hw>Hut-keep</hw>, <i>v</i>. to act as hut-keeper. 1865. S. Sidney, `Three Colonies of Australia,' p. 380 "At this, as well as at every other station I have called at, a woman `hutkeeps,' while the husband is minding the sheep." 1890. `Melbourne Argus,' June 14th, p. 4, col. 2: "`Did you go hut-keeping then?' `Wrong again. Did I go hut-keeping? Did you ever know a hut-keeper cook for sixty shearers?'" <hw>Hut-keeper</hw>, <i>n</i>. Explained in quotations. 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 285: "Old men, unfit for anything but to be hut-keepers who were to remain at home to prevent robbery, while the other inhabitants of the hut were at labour." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. II. c. iii. p. 458 "My object was to obtain these heads, which the . . . hut-keeper instantly gave." 1853. G. Butler Earp, `What we Did in Australia,' p. 17: "The lowest industrial occupation in Australia, viz. a hut-keeper in the bush . . . a station from which many of the wealthiest flockmasters in Australia have risen." 1883. E. M. Curr, `Recollections of Squatting in Victoria' (1841-1851), p. 21: "A bush hut-keeper, who baked our damper, fried our chops." <hw>Hyacinth, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian flower, <i>Thelymitra longifolia</i>, R. and G. Forst., <i>N.O. Orchideae</i>. <hw>Hyaena</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Thylacine</i>, and <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i>. <hw>Hypsiprymnodon</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of the Australian animal called <i>Musk Kangaroo</i>. (Grk. hupsiprumnos, with a high stern.) A very small, rat-like, arboreal kangaroo, about ten inches long. The strong musky odour from which it takes its vernacular name is perceptible in both sexes. 1874. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 73: "The third and last subfamily (Hypsiprymnodontidae) of the Macropodidae is represented solely by the remarkable creature known, from its strong scent, as the Musk-kangaroo." I <hw>Ibis</hw>, <i>n</i>. There are twenty-four species of this bird distributed over all the warmer parts of the globe. Those present in Australasia are-- Glossy (Black, or Bay) Ibis-- <i>Ibis falcinellus</i>, Linn. Straw-necked I.-- <i>Geronticus spinnicollis</i>, Jameson. White I.-- <i>Threskiornis strictipennis</i>, Gould. Of these the last two are confined to Australia, the first is cosmopolitan. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 155: "All they had for supper and breakfast were a straw-coloured ibis, a duck and a crow." Ibid. p. 300: "Crows were feasting on the remains of a black Ibis." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi.: "<i>Geronticus spinicollis</i>, straw-necked ibis (pl. 45). This beautiful ibis has never yet been discovered out of Australia, over the whole of which immense country it is probably distributed." "<i>Threskiornis strictipennis</i>, white ibis" (pl. 46). "<i>Ibis falcinellus</i>, Linn., glossy ibis" (pl. 47). 1892. `The Australasian,' April 9, p. 707, col. 4: "When the hoarse-voiced jackass mocked us, and the white-winged ibis flew Past lagoons and through the rushes, far away into the blue." <hw>Ice-Plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian name for <i>Tetragonia implexicoma</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Ficoideae</i>, B. Fl. Various species of <i>Tetragonia</i> are cultivated as <i>Spinach</i> (q.v.). 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 63: "Called `ice-plant' in Tasmania. Baron Mueller suggests that this plant be cultivated for spinach. [Found in] all the colonies except Queensland." <hw>Identity, Old</hw>, <i>n</i>. phrase denoting a person well known in a place. a term invented in Dunedin, New Zealand, in 1862, in a popular topical song, by Mr. R. Thatcher, an improvisator. In the song the "Old Identity," the former resident of Dunedin, was distinguished from the "New Iniquity," as the people were termed who came from Australia. 1879. W. J. Barry, `Up and Down,' p. 197: "The old identities were beginning to be alive to the situation." 1894. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Oct.: "It is permissible to wonder about the origin of the phrase `an old identity.' Surely no man, however old, can be an identity? An entity he is, or a nonentity; an individual, a centenarian, or an oldest inhabitant; but identity is a condition of sameness, of being identical with something. One can establish one's identity with that of some one who is being sought or sued, but once established it escapes us." <hw>Inaka</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. See <i>Inanga</i>. <hw>Inanga</hw> or <hw>Inaka</hw>, <i>n</i>. (the <i>ng</i> as in the word <i>singer</i>, not as in <i>finger</i>), a New Zealand fish, <i>Galaxias attenuatus</i>, or <i>Retropinna richardsoni</i>. It is often called the <i>Whitebait</i> and <i>Minnow</i>, and in Tasmania the larger variety is called <i>Jolly-tail</i>. The change from <i>Inanga</i> to <i>Inaka</i> is a dialectal Maori variation, answering exactly to the change from North Island Kainga to South Island Kaik (q.v.). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 100: "This fish is called hinanga [sic.], and resembles Blackwall white-bait in size and flavour. Its colour is a pinkish white, spotted with black." 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 3: "About the same size as this fish [the cockabully] is the `inaka' much used for bait. Indeed, it is called the New Zealand whitebait. A friend from Victoria having used this bait, I asked him to spell the name of the fish, and he wanted to make it like the patriarch who `walked with God' --Enoch-a. The more correct shape of the Maori word is inanga; but in the South Island `k' often takes the place of that distinctive Maori letter `ng,' as `kainga' becomes kaik; ngaio, kaio." <hw>Inchman</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the <i>Bull-dog Ant</i> (q.v.), from its length, which is sometimes nearly an inch. <hw>Indians</hw>, pl. <i>n</i>. early and now obsolete name for the Aboriginals in Australia and even for the Maoris. 1769. J. Banks, `Journal,' Oct. 21 (Sir J. D. Hooker edition), p. 191: "We applied to our friends the Indians for a passage in one of their canoes." [These were Maoris.] 1770. Ibid. April 28: "During this time, a few of the Indians who had not followed the boat remained on the rock opposite the ship, threatening and menacing with their pikes and swords." [These were Australian Aboriginals.] 1825. Barron Field, `Geographical Memoirs of New South Wales,' p. 437: "Some of the Indians have also seriously applied to be allowed convict labourers, as the settlers are, although they have not patience to remain in the huts which our Government has built for them, till the maize and cabbage that have been planted to their hands are fit to gather." 1830. `The Friend of Australia,' p. 244: "It is the observation of some writers, that the system pursued in Australia for educating the children of the Indians is not attended with success. The black children will never do any good there, until some other plan is commenced . . ." <hw>Indigo, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. all the species of <i>Swainsonia</i>, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, are called "Native Indigos." See <i>Indigo-plant</i>. In Tasmania, the Native Indigo is <i>Indigofera australis</i>, Willd., <i>N.O</i>. <i>Leguminosae</i>. The plants are also called <i>Indigo-plant</i> and <i>Darling-pea</i> (q.v.). <i>Swainsonia</i> belongs to the same N.O. as <i>Indigofera tinctoria</i>, which furnishes the Indigo of commerce. 1826. J. Atkinson, `Agriculture and Grazing in New South Wales,' p. 24: "Indigo brushes are not very common; the timber in these is generally white or blackbutted gum; the ground beneath is covered with the native indigo, a very beautiful plant, with a light purple flower." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 140: "The `darling-pea' or `indigo-plant' is a dreaded plant from the great amount of loss it has inflicted on stockowners. Its effect on sheep is well known; they separate from the flock, wander about listlessly, and are known to the shepherds as ` pea-eaters,' or `indigo-eaters.' When once a sheep takes to eating this plant it seldom or never fattens, and may be said to be lost to its owner. The late Mr. Charles Thorn, of Queensland, placed a lamb which had become an `indigo-eater' in a small paddock, where it refused to eat grass. It, however, ate the indigo plant greedily, and followed Mr. Thorn all over the paddock for some indigo he held in his hand." <hw>Indented Servants</hw>, <i>n</i>. same as <i>Assigned</i> (q.v.) Servants. 1810. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 352: "Public Notice. Secretary's Office, Sydney, July 21, 1810. A ship being daily expected to arrive here from England with female convicts, whom it is His Excellency the Governor's intention to distribute among the settlers, as indented servants. . . ." <hw>Ink-plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the "toot," a New Zealand shrub, <i>Coriaria thymifolia</i>, <i>N.O. Coriarieae</i>. Called Ink-plant on account of its juice, which soon turns to black. There is also an European Ink-plant, <i>Coriaria myrtifolia</i>, so that this is only a different species. <hw>Ironbark</hw>, <i>n</i>. Early settlers gave this name to several large Eucalypts, from the hardness of their bark, especially to <i>E. leucoxylon</i>, F. v. M., and <i>E. resinifera</i>, Smith. In Queensland it is applied to <i>E. siderophloia</i>, Benth. See also Leguminous Ironbark, and Lemon-scented Ironbark. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. viii. p. 263: "A species of gum-tree, the bark of which on the trunk is that of the ironbark of Port Jackson." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 183: "It was made out of a piece of bark from a tree called ironbark (nearly as hard when dry as an English elm-board)." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. ii. p. 45: "But this gradually changed to an ironbark (<i>Eucalyptus resinifera</i>) and cypress-pine forest." 187. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees', p. 199: "The Ironbark-tree (<i>Eucalyptus resinifera</i>) is . . . widely spread over a large part of Australia. . . . A lofty forest tree of moderate circumference. . . . It is believed to have been named as above by some of the earliest Australian settlers on account of the extreme hardness of its bark; but it might with equal reason have been called ironwood. The wood is of a deep red colour, very hard, heavy, strong, extremely rigid, and rather difficult to work . . . used extensively in shipbuilding and engineering works in Australia; and in this country (England) it is employed in the mercantile navy for beams, keelsons, and . . . below the line of flotation." 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 77: "The ironbark (<i>Eucalyptus sideroxylon</i>) became from its durability a synonym for toughness." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xxvii. p. 248: "The corrugated stems of the great ironbark trees stood black and columnar." 1893. `The Age,' May 11, p. 7, col. 3, (advt.): "Monday, 15th May.--Supply in one or more contracts of not less than 20 beams of 400 ironbark or box beams for cattle pits, delivered at any station. Particulars at the office of the Engineer for Existing Lines." With qualifications. <i>Silver-leaved</i>-- 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 65: "The silver-leaved ironbark (<i>Eucalyptus pulverulentus</i>) was here coming into blossom." <i>Narrow-leaved</i>-- 1847. Ibid. p. 154: "The narrow-leaved ironbark [grew] on a lighter sandy soil." <hw>Iron hand</hw>, a term of Victorian politics. It was a new Standing Order introducing what has since been called the Closure, and was first moved in the Victorian Legislative Assembly on Jan. 27, 1876. 1876. `Victorian Hansard,' Jan. 20, vol. xxiii. p. 2002: "They [the Government] have dealt with the Opposition with a velvet glove; but the iron hand is beneath, and they shall feel it." 1884. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. iii. p. 406: "The <i>cloture</i>, or the `iron hand,' as McCulloch's resolution was called, was adopted in Victoria, for one session." <hw>Ironheart</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand tree, <i>Metrosideros tomentosa</i>, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; native name, <i>Pohutukawa</i>. 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 311: "It was the `downy ironheart' That from the cliffs o'erhanging grew, And o'er the alcove, every part, Such beauteous leaves and blossoms threw." "<i>Note</i>.--This most lovely tree is common about the northern coasts and cliffs of the North Island and the banks of Lake Tarawera." <hw>Ironwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is used of many hard-wooded trees in various parts of the world. The Australian varieties are-- Ironwood (Queensland)-- <i>Acacia excelsa</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; <i>Melaleuca genistifolia</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Ironwood (North Queensland)-- <i>Myrtus gonoclada</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Ironwood (North New South Wales)-- <i>Olea paniculata</i>, R.Br., <i>N.O. Jasmineae</i>. Ironwood (Tasmania)-- <i>Notelaea ligustrina</i>, Vent., <i>N.O. Jasmineae</i>. Scrub Ironwood-- <i>Myrtus hillii</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. For <i>Ironwood</i> of New Zealand, see <i>Puriri</i>. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. xii. p. 479: "A club of iron-wood, which the cannibals had left in the boat." 1823. W. B. Cramp, `Narrative of a Voyage to India,' p. 17: ". . . they have a short club made of iron wood, called a waday, and a scimeter made of the same wood." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 579: "`Ironwood' and `Heartwood' of Tasmania; `Spurious Olive,' `White Plum' of Gippsland. An exceedingly hard, close-grained wood, used for mallets, sheaves of blocks, turnery, etc. The heartwood yields a very peculiar figure ; it is a very fair substitute for lignum-vitae." <hw>Irriakura</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal name for the tubers of <i>Cyperus rotundus</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Cyperaceae</i>, adopted by white men in Central Australia. 1896. E. C. Stirling, `Home Expedition in Central Australia,' Anthropology, p. 60: "<i>Cyperus rotundus</i>. In almost every camp we saw large quantities of the tunicated tubes of this plant, which are generally called `Erriakura' or `Irriakura' by the Arunta natives. . . Even raw they are pleasant to the taste, having an agreeable nutty flavour, which is much improved by the slight roasting." <hw>Ivory-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber, <i>Siphonodon australe</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Celastrinae</i>. <hw>Ivy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a child's name for the ivy-leaf geraniums, especially the double pink-flowered one called Madame Kruse. In Australia the warm climate makes these all evergreens, and they are trained over fences and walls, sometimes to the height of twenty or thirty feet, supplanting the English ivy in this use, and covered with masses of flowers. <hw>Ivy, Native</hw>, an Australian plant, <i>Muehlenbeckia adpressa</i>, Meissn., <i>N.O. Polygonaceae</i>; called also <i>Macquarie Harbour Vine</i>, or <i>Grape</i>. The name is widely applied also to the acclimatised Cape Ivy, or German Ivy (<i>Senecio scandens</i>). 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 46: "`Native Ivy,' Macquarie Harbour Vine or Grape of Tasmania. The currant-like fruits are sub-acid, and were, and perhaps still are, used for tarts, puddings, and preserves; the leaves taste like sorrel." <hw>Ivy, Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian creeper, <i>Platylobium triangulare</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. <hw>Ivy-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. New Zealand tree, genus <i>Panax</i>, <i>N.O. Araliacae</i>; Maori name, <i>Horoeka</i>. It is also called <i>Lancewood</i> (q.v.). 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New' Zealand,' p. 127: "Horoeka, ivy-tree. an ornamental, slender, and sparingly-branched tree. Wood close-grained and tough." J <hw>Jabiru</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word comes from Brazil, and was first given there to the large stork <i>Mycteria (Xenorhynchus) Americana</i>. The Australian species is <i>M. australis</i>, Lath. It has the back and neck dark grey, changing on the neck to scarlet. There is a black-necked stork in Australia (<i>Xenorhynchus asiaticus</i>), which is also called the <i>Jabiru</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 194: "We saw a Tabiroo [sic] (<i>Mycteria</i>)." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 195: "In October, 1858, I succeeded in purchasing a fine living specimen of the New Holland Jabiru, or Gigantic Crane of the colonists (<i>Mycteria Australis</i>)" 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 323: "The splendid Australian jabiru (<i>Mycteria Australis</i>), and I had the good fortune to shoot on the wing a specimen of this beautiful variety of the stork family." <hw>Jacana</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Brazilian word for a bird of the genus <i>Parra</i> (q.v.). The Australian species is the Comb-crested Jacana, <i>Parra gallinacea</i>, Temm. It is also called the <i>Lotus-bird</i> (q.v.). <hw>Jack in a Box</hw>, i.q. <i>Hair-trigger</i> (q.v.). 1854. `The Home Companion,' p. 554: "When previously mentioning the elegant <i>Stylidium graminifolium</i> (grass-leaved Jack-in-a-box), which may be easily known by its numerous grassy-like radical leaves, and pretty pink flowers, on a long naked stem, we omitted to mention a peculiarity in it, which is said to afford much amusement to the aborigines, who are, generally speaking, fond of, and have a name for, many of the plants common in their own territories. The stigma lies at the apex of a long column, surrounded and concealed by the anthers. This column is exceedingly irritable, and hangs down on one side of the flower, until it is touched, when it suddenly springs up and shifts to the opposite side of the blossom or calyx." 1859. D. Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 26: "<i>Stylidium</i> (native Jack in a box). This genus is remarkable for the singular elasticity of the column stylis, which support the anthers, and which being irritable, will spring up if pricked with a pin, or other little substance, below the joint, before the pollen, a small powder, is shed, throwing itself suddenly over, like a reflex arm, to the opposite side of the flower. Hence the colonial designation of Jack in a box." <hw>Jack the Painter</hw>, <i>n</i>. very strong bush-tea, so called from the mark it leaves round the drinker's mouth. 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 163: "Another notorious ration tea of the bush is called Jack the Painter--a very green tea indeed, its viridity evidently produced by a discreet use of the copper drying-pans in its manufacture." 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 418: "The billy wins, and `Jack the Painter' tea Steams on the hob, from aught like fragrance free." 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 113 "Special huts had to be provided for them [the sundowners], where they enjoyed eleemosynary rations of mutton, damper, and `Jack the Painter.'" <hw>Jackaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name for a Colonial Experience (q.v.), a young man fresh from England, learning squatting; called in New Zealand a Cadet (q.v.). Compare the American "tenderfoot." A verse definition runs: "To do all sorts and kinds of jobs, Help all the men Jacks, Bills or Bobs, As well as he is able. To be neither boss, overseer, nor man, But a little of all as well as he can, And eat at the master's table." The word is generally supposed to be a corruption (in imitation of the word Kangaroo) of the words "Johnny Raw." Mr. Meston, in the `Sydney Bulletin,' April 18, 1896, says it comes from the old Brisbane blacks, who called the pied crow shrike (<i>Strepera graculina</i>) "tchaceroo," a gabbling and garrulous bird. They called the German missionaries of 1838 "jackeroo," a gabbler, because they were always talking. Afterwards they applied it to all white men. 1880. W. Senior, `Travel and Trout,' p. 19: "Jackaroos--the name given to young gentlemen newly arrived from home to gather colonial experiences." 1881. A. C. Grant `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 53: "The young jackaroo woke early next morning." [Footnote]: "The name by which young men who go to the Australian colonies to pick up colonial experience are designated." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 85: "Of course before starting on their own account to work a station they go into the bush to gain colonial experience, during which process they are known in the colony as `jackaroos.'" 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydneyside Saxon,' p. 74: "We went most of the way by rail and coach, and then a jackaroo met us with a fine pair of horses in a waggonette. I expected to see a first cousin to a kangaroo, when the coachdriver told us, instead of a young gentleman learning squatting." 1894. `Sydney Morning Herald' (date lost): "`Jack-a-roo' is of the same class of slang; but the unlucky fellow--often gentle and soft-handed--who does the oddwork of a sheep or cattle station, if he finds time and heart for letters to any who love him, probably writes his rue with a difference." <hw>Jackaroo</hw>, <i>v</i>. to lead the life of a Jackaroo. 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 152: "I've seen such a lot of those new chums, one way and another. They knock down all their money at the first go-off, and then there's nothing for them to do but to go and jackaroo up in Queensland." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. xix. p. 239: "A year or two more Jackerooing would only mean the consumption of so many more figs of negro-head, in my case." <hw>Jackass-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. another Sydney name for the <i>Morwong</i> (q.v.). <hw>Jackass, Laughing</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) The popular name of an Australian bird, <i>Dacelo gigas</i>, Bodd, the Great Brown Kingfisher of Australia; see <i>Dacelo</i>. To an Australian who has heard the ludicrous note of the bird and seen its comical, half-stupid appearance, the origin of the name seems obvious. It utters a prolonged rollicking laugh, often preceded by an introductory stave resembling the opening passage of a donkey's bray. But the name has been erroneously derived from the French <i>jacasse</i>, as to which Littre gives "<i>terme populaire. Femme, fille qui parle beaucoup</i>." He adds, that the word <i>jacasse</i> appears to come from <i>jacquot</i>, a name popularly given to parrots and magpies, our "Poll." The verb <i>jacasser</i> means to chatter, said of a magpie. The quotation from Collins (1798) seems to dispose of this suggested French origin, by proving the early use of the name <i>Laughing Jackass</i>. As a matter of fact, the French name had already in 1776 been assigned to the bird, viz. <i>Grand Martin-pecheur de la Nouvelle Guinee</i>. [See Pierre Sonnerat, <i>`Voyage a la Nouvelle Guinee</i>' (Paris, 1776), p. 171.] The only possibility of French origin would be from the sailors of La Perouse. But La Perouse arrived in Botany Bay on January 26, 1788, and found Captain Phillip's ships leaving for Sydney Cove. The intercourse between them was very slight. The French formed a most unfavourable idea of the country, and sailed away on March 10. If from their short intercourse, the English had accepted the word <i>Jackass</i>, would not mention of the fact have been made by Governor Phillip, or Surgeon White, who mention the bird but by a different name (see quotations 1789, 1790), or by Captain Watkin Tench, or Judge Advocate Collins, who both mention the incident of the French ships? The epithet "laughing" is now often omitted; the bird is generally called only a <i>Jackass</i>, and this is becoming contracted into the simple abbreviation of Jack. A common popular name for it is the <i>Settlers'-Clock</i>. (See quotations--1827, Cunningham; 1846, Haydon; and 1847, Leichhardt.) The aboriginal name of the bird is <i>Kookaburra</i> (q.v.), and by this name it is generally called in Sydney; another spelling is <i>Gogobera</i>. There is another bird called a <i>Laughing Jackass</i> in New Zealand which is not a Kingfisher, but an <i>Owl, Sceloglaux albifacies</i>, Kaup. (Maori name, <i>Whekau</i>). The New Zealand bird is rare, the Australian bird very common. The so-called <i>Derwent Jackass</i> of Tasmania is a <i>Shrike (Cracticus cinereus</i>, Gould), and is more properly called the <i>Grey Butcher-bird</i>. See <i>Butcher-bird</i>. 1789. Governor Phillip, `Voyage,' p. 287: Description given with picture, but under name "Great Brown Kingsfisher" [sic]. Ibid. p. 156: Similar bird, with description and picture, under name "Sacred King's Fisher." 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 137: "We not long after discovered the Great Brown King's Fisher, of which a plate is annexed. This bird has been described by Mr. Latham in his `General Synopsis of Birds,' vol. ii. p. 603. Ibid. p. 193: "We this day shot the Sacred King's-Fisher (see plate annexed)." 1798. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 615, (Vocabulary): "Gi-gan-ne-gine. Bird named by us the Laughing Jackass. Go-con-de--inland name for it." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 232: "The loud and discordant noise of the laughing jackass (or settler's-clock, as he is called), as he takes up his roost on the withered bough of one of our tallest trees, acquaints us that the sun has just dipped behind the hills." 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 204: "The settlers call this bird the Laughing Jackass. I have also heard it called the Hawkesbury-Clock (clocks being at the period of my residence scarce articles in the colony, there not being one perhaps in the whole Hawkesbury settlement), for it is among the first of the feathered tribes which announce the approach of day." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 71: "The laughing jackass, or settler's-clock is an uncouth looking creature of an ashen brown colour . . . This bird is the first to indicate by its note the approach of day, and thus it has received its other name, the settler's clock." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 234: "I usually rise when I hear the merry laugh of the laughing- jackass (<i>Dacelo gigantea</i>), which, from its regularity, has not been unaptly named the settlers'-clock." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 18: "<i>Dacelo Gigantea</i>, Leach, Great Brown King Fisher; Laughing Jackass of the Colonists." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 58: "You are startled by a loud, sudden cackling, like flocks of geese, followed by an obstreperous hoo! hoo! ha! ha! of the laughing jackass (<i>Dacelo gigantea</i>) a species of jay." [Howitt's comparison with the jay is evidently due to the azure iridescent markings on the upper part of the wings, in colour like the blue feathers on the jay.] 1862. F. J. Jobson, `Australia,' c. vi. p. 145: "The odd medley of cackling, bray, and chuckle notes from the `Laughing Jackass.'" 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 18: "At daylight came a hideous chorus of fiendish laughter, as if the infernal regions had been broken loose--this was the song of another feathered innocent, the laughing jackass--not half a bad sort of fellow when you come to know him, for he kills snakes, and is an infallible sign of the vicinity of fresh-water." 1880. T. W. Nutt, `Palace of Industry,' p. 15: "Where clock-bird laughed and sweet wildflowers throve." [Footnote] "The familiar laughing jackass." 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 13: "Dense forests, where the prolonged cacchinations of that cynic of the woods, as A. P. Martin calls the laughing jackass, seemed to mock us for our pains." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 37: "The harsh-voiced, big-headed, laughing jackass." 1881. D. Blair, `Cyclopaedia of Australasia,' p. 202: "The name it vulgarly bears is a corruption of the French word Jacasser, `to chatter,' and the correct form is the `Laughing Jacasse.'" [No. See above.] 1885. `Australasian Printers' Keepsake,' p. 76: "Magpies chatter, and the jackass Laughs Good-morrow like a Bacchus." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' [telling an old story] p. 155: "The Archbishop inquired the name of a curious bird which had attracted his attention. `Your grace, we call that the laughing jackass in this country, but I don't know the botanical [sic] name of the bird." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals, p. 27: "Few of the birds of Australia have pleased me as much as this curious laughing jackass, though it is both clumsy and unattractive in colour. Far from deserving its name jackass, it is on the contrary very wise and also very courageous. It boldly attacks venomous snakes and large lizards, and is consequently the friend of the colonist." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 265: "`There's a jackass--a real laughing jackass on that dead branch. They have such a queer note; like this,, you know--' and upon her companion's startled ears there rang forth, all of a sudden, the most curious, inimitable, guttural, diabolical tremolo it had ever befallen them to hear." 1890. `Victorian Statutes-Game Act, Third Schedule': "[Close season.] Great Kingfisher or Laughing Jackass. The whole year. all Kingfishers other than the Laughing Jackass. From the 1st day of August to the 20th day of December next following in each year." (2) The next quotations refer to the New Zealand bird. 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 122: "<i>Athene Albifacies</i>, wekau of the Maoris, is known by some up-country settlers as the big owl or <i>laughing jackass</i>." "The cry of the laughing jackass . . . Why it should share with one of our petrels and the great <i>Dacelo</i> of Australia the trivial name of laughing jackass, we know not; if its cry resembles laughter at all, it is the uncontrollable outburst, the convulsive shout of insanity; we have never been able to trace the faintest approach to mirthful sound in the unearthly yells of this once mysterious night-bird." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 198: "<i>Sceloglaux albifacies</i>, Kaup., Laughing Owl; Laughing Jackass of the Colonists." [The following quotation refers to the <i>Derwent Jackass</i>.] 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 110: "You have heard of . . . the laughing jackass. We, too, have a `jackass,' a smaller bird, and not in any way remarkable, except for its merry gabbling sort of song, which when several pipe up together, always gives one the idea of a party of very talkative people all chattering against time, and all at once." <hw>Jack-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of the South Island of New Zealand, <i>Creadion cinereus</i>, Buller. See also <i>Saddle-back</i> and <i>Creadion</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 23: "It has become the habit to speak of this bird as the Brown Saddle-back; but this is a misnomer, inasmuch as the absence of the `saddle' is its distinguishing feature. I have accordingly adopted the name of Jack-bird, by which it is known among the settlers in the South Island. Why it should be so called I cannot say, unless this is an adaptation of the native name <i>Tieke</i>, the same word being the equivalent, in the Maori vernacular, of our Jack." <hw>Jack Shay</hw>, or Jackshea, <i>n</i>. a tin quart-pot. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 209: "Hobbles and Jack Shays hang from the saddle dees." [Footnote]: "A tin quart-pot, used for boiling water for tea, and contrived so as to hold within it a tin pint-pot." 1890. `The Argus,' June14, p. 4, col. 1: "Some of his clothes, with his saddle, serve for a pillow; his ration bags are beside his head, and his jackshea (quart-pot) stands by the fire." <hw>Jacky Winter</hw>, <i>n</i>. the vernacular name in New South Wales of the Brown Flycatcher, <i>Microeca fascinans</i>, a common little bird about Sydney. The name has been ascribed to the fact that it is a resident species, very common, and that it sings all through the winter, when nearly every other species is silent. See Flycatcher. <hw>Jade</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Greenstone</i>. <hw>Jarrah</hw>, <i>n</i>. anglicised form of <i>Jerryhl</i>, the native name of a certain species of Eucalyptus, which grows in the south of Western Australia, east and south-east of Perth. In Sir George Grey's Glossary (1840), Djar-rail; Mr. G. F. Moore's (1884), Djarryl. (<i>Eucalyptus marginata</i>, Donn.) The name <i>Bastard-Jarrah</i> is given to <i>E. botryoides</i>, Smith, which bears many other names. It is the <i>Blue-Gum</i> of New South Wales coast-districts, the <i>Bastard-Mahogany</i> of Gippsland and New South Wales, and also <i>Swamp Mahogany</i> in Victoria and New South Wales, and occasionally <i>Woolly-Butt</i>. 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 102: "It may be that after all the hopes of the West-Australian Micawbers will be realised in jarrah-wood." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 189: "The Jarrah or Mahogany-tree is also found in Western Australia. The wood is red in colour, hard, heavy, close in texture, slightly wavy in the grain, and with occasionally enough figure to give it value for ornamental purposes; it works up quite smoothly and takes a good polish." 188. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia, vol. i. p. 77: "The jarrah of Western Australia (<i>Eucalyptus marginata</i>) has a peculiar reputation for its power to defy decay when submerged and exposed to the attacks of the dreaded teredo, and has been largely exported to India." 1888. R. Kipling, `Plain Tales from the Hills,' p. 163 ". . . the awful butchery . . . of the Maribyrnong Plate. The walls were colonial ramparts--logs of <i>jarrah</i> spiked into masonry--with wings as strong as Church buttresses." [Jarrah is not a Victorian, but a West-Australian timber, and imported logs are not used by the V.R.C., but white or red gum. For making "jumps," no logs are "spiked into masonry," and the Maribyrnong Plate is not a "jump-race."] 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 415: "Mr. W. H. Knight, twenty years ago, gave evidence as to the value of the jarrah. . . . It is found that piles driven down in the Swan River were, after being exposed to the action of wind, water, and weather for forty years, as sound and firm as when put into the water. . . . It completely resists the attacks of the white ants, where stringy-bark, blue-gum, white-gum, and black-wood are eaten through, or rendered useless, in from six to twelve years." 1896. `The Times' (weekly edition), Dec. 4, p. 822, col. 1: "The jarrah, <i>Eucalyptus marginata</i>, stands pre-eminent as the leading timber tree of the Western Australian forests. For constructive work necessitating contact with soil and water jarrahwood has no native equal. A jarrah forest is dull, sombre, and uninteresting to the eye. In first-class forests the trees attain a height of from 90 ft. to 120 ft., with good stems 3 ft. to 5 ft. in diameter. The tree is practically confined to the south-western division of the colony, where the heaviest rains of the season fall. As a rule, jarrah is found either intermixed with the karri tree or in close proximity to it." <hw>Jasmine, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian plant, <i>Ricinocarpus pinifolius</i>, Desf., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 286: "Native Jasmine. This plant yields abundance of seeds, like small castor oil seeds. They yield an oil." <hw>Jelly-leaf</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Queensland Hemp</i> (q.v.). <hw>Jelly-plant</hw>, a sea-weed, <i>Eucheuma speciosum</i>, J. Agardh, <i>N.O. Algae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 28: "Jelly-plant of Western Australia. This is a remarkable sea-weed of a very gelatinous character [used by] the people of Western Australia for making jelly, blanc-mange, etc. Size and cement can also be made from it. It is cast ashore from deep water." <hw>Jemmy Donnelly</hw>, <i>n</i>. a ridiculous name given to three trees, <i>Euroschinus falcatus</i>, Hook, <i>N.O. Anacardiaceae</i>; <i>Myrsine variabilis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myrsinaceae</i>; and <i>Eucalyptus resinifera</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. They are large timber trees, highly valued in Queensland. <hw>Jerrawicke</hw>, <i>n</i>. obsolete name for Colonial beer. 1857. J. Askew, `A Voyage to Australia and New Zealand,' p. 272: "There were always a number of natives roaming about. There might be about 150 in all, of the Newcastle tribe. They were more wretched and filthy, and if possible, uglier than those of Adelaide. . . . All the earnings of the tribe were spent in tobacco and jerrawicke (colonist-made ale)." 1857. Ibid. p. 273: "A more hideous looking spectacle can hardly be imagined than that presented by these savages around the blazing fire, carousing among jerrawicke and the offal of slaughtered animals.'" <hw>Jew-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied in New South Wales to two or more different species, <i>Sciaena antarctica</i>, Castln., and <i>Glaucosoma hebraicum</i>, Richards. <i>Sciaena antarctica</i>, Castln., is the King-fish of the Melbourne market. <i>Sciaena</i> is called Dew-fish in Brisbane. It belongs to the family <i>Sciaenidae</i>. The Australian species is distinct from <i>S. aquila</i>, the European "Maigre" or "Meagre," but closely resembles it. <i>Glaucosoma</i> belongs to the <i>Percidae</i>. The Silver Jew-fish of New South Wales is thought to be the same as the <i>Teraglin</i> (q.v.), <i>Otolithus atelodus</i>, Guenth., also of the family <i>Sciaeidae</i>. Tenison Woods (in `Fish and Fisheries of New South Wales,' 1882, p. 34) says the Jew-fish of New South Wales is sometimes <i>Glaucosoma scapulare</i>, Ramsay; and <i>Glaucosoma hebraicum</i>, Richards., is the Jew-fish of Western Australia (a marine fish). Fishes on the American coasts, different from these, are there called <i>Jew-fishes</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 40: "The water-holes abounded with jew-fish and eels." <hw>Jew-Lizard</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large Australian lizard, <i>Amiphibolurus barbatus</i>, Cuv.; called also <i>Bearded Lizard</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 89: "A small <i>Chlamydophorus</i> (Jew-lizard of the Hunter) was also seen." [The Hunter is a river of New South Wales.] 1890. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Natural History of Victoria,' Decade xiii. pl. 121: "This is commonly called the Jew Lizard by colonists, and is easily distinguished by the beard-like growth of long slender spires round the throat . . . when irritated, it inflates the body to a considerably increased size, and hisses like a snake exciting alarm; but rarely biting." 1893. `The Argus,' July 22, p. 4, col. 5: "The great Jew-lizards that lay and laughed horribly to themselves in the pungent dust on the untrodden floors." <hw>Jil-crow-a-berry</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Anglicised pronunciation and spelling of the aboriginal name for the indigenous <i>Rat-tail Grass</i>, <i>Sporobolus indicus</i>, R. Br. <hw>Jimmy</hw>, <i>n</i>. obsolete name for an immigrant, a word which was jocularly changed into Jimmy Grant. The word `immigrant' is as familiar in Australia as `emigrant' in England. 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 211: "`What are these men that we are going to see?' `Why one,' said Lee, is a young Jimmy--I beg your pardon, sir, an emigrant, the other two are old prisoners.'" 1867. `Cassell's Magazine,' p. 440: "`I never wanted to leave England,' I have heard an old Vandemonian observe boastfully. `I wasn't like one of these `Jemmy Grants' (cant term for `emigrants'); I could always earn a good living; it was the Government as took and sent me out." [The writers probably used the word <i>immigrant</i>, which, not being familiar to the English compositor, was misprinted <i>emigrant</i>. The "old Vandemonian" must certainly have said <i>immigrant</i>.] <hw>Jimmy Low</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the many names of a Timber-tree, <i>Eucalyptus resinifera</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 208: "The `Red,' or `Forest Mahogany,' of the neighbourhood of Sydney. These are bad names, as the wood bears no real resemblance to the true mahogany. Because the product of this tree first brought Australian kino into medical notice, it is often in old books called `Botany Bay Gum-tree.' Other names for it are Red gum, Grey gum, Hickory, and it perpetuates the memory of an individual by being called `Jimmy Low.'" <hw>Jingle</hw>, <i>n</i>. a two-wheeled vehicle, like an Irish car, once common in Melbourne, still used in Brisbane and some other towns: so called from the rattle made by it when in motion. The word is not Australian, as is generally supposed; the `Century' gives "a covered two-wheeled car used in the south of Ireland." 1862. Clara Aspinall, `Three Years in Melbourne,' p. 122: "An omnibus may be chartered at much less cost (gentlemen who have lived in India <i>will</i> persist in calling this vehicle a <i>jingle</i>, which perhaps sounds better); it is a kind of dos-a-dos conveyance, holding three in front and three behind: it has a waterproof top to it supported by four iron rods, and oilskin curtains to draw all round as a protection from the rain and dust." 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 44: "During my stay in Melbourne I took a jingle, or car, and drove to St. Kilda." 1865. Lady Barker, writing from Melbourne, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 12: "A vehicle which was quite new to me--a sort of light car with a canopy and curtains, holding four, two on each seat, dos-a-dos, and called a jingle--of American parentage, I fancy. One drive in this carriage was quite enough, however." 1869. Marcus Clarke, `Peripatetic Philosopher,' p. 14: "Some folks prefer to travel Over stones and rocks and gravel; And smile at dust and jolting fit to dislocate each bone. To see 'em driving in a jingle, It would make your senses tingle, For you couldn't put a sixpence 'twixt the wheel and the kerb-stone." 1887. Cassell's 'Picturesque Australasia,' vol. i. p. 64: "In former days the Melbourne cab was a kind of Irish car, popularly known as a jingle. . . . The jingle has been ousted by the one-horse waggonette." 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. iv. p. 30: "The Premier hailed a passing jingle." [This was in Brisbane.] <hw>Jinkers</hw>, <i>n</i>. a contrivance much used in the bush for moving heavy logs and trunks of trees. It consists of two pairs of wheels, with their axle-trees joined by a long beam, under which the trunks are suspended by chains. Its structure is varied in town for moving wooden houses. Called in England a "whim." 1894. `The Argus,' July 7, p. 8, col. 4: "A rather novel spectacle was to be seen to-day on the Ballan road in the shape of a five-roomed cottage on jinkers. . . . Mr. Scottney, carrier of Fitzroy, on whose jinkers the removal is being made . . ." Jirrand, <i>adj</i>. an aboriginal word in the dialect of Botany Bay, signifying "afraid." Ridley, in his vocabulary, spells it jerron, and there are other spellings. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 59: "The native word <i>jirrand</i> (afraid) has become in some measure an adopted child, and may probably puzzle our future Johnsons with its <i>unde derivatur</i>." 1889. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 316: "When I saw the mob there was I didn't see so much to be jerran about, as it was fifty to one in favour of any one that was wanted." <hw>Jo-Jo</hw>, <i>n</i>. name used by Melbourne larrikins for a man with a good deal of hair on his face. So called from a hairy-faced Russian "<i>dog man</i>" exhibited in Melbourne about 1880, who was advertised by that name. <hw>Job's</hw> Tears. The seeds of <i>Coix lachryma</i>, which are used for necklace-making by the native tribes on the Cape York peninsula, are there called <i>Job's tears</i>. <hw>Joe, Joe-Joe, Joey</hw>, interjection, then a <i>verb</i>, now obsolete. Explained in quotations. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 400: "The well-known cry of `Joe! Joe!'--a cry which means one of the myrmidons of Charley Joe, as they familiarly style Mr. [Charles Joseph] La Trobe,--a cry which on all the diggings resounds on all sides on the appearance of any of the hated officials." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 135: "The cry of `Joey' would rise everywhere against them." [Footnote]: "To `Joey' or `Joe' a person on the diggings, or anywhere else in Australia, is to grossly insult and ridicule him." 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 165: "In the early days of the Australian diggings `Joe' was the warning word shouted out when the police or gold commissioners were seen approaching, but is now the chaff for new chums." 1865. F. H. Nixon, `Peter Perfume,' p. 58: "And Joe joed them out, Tom toed them out." 1891. `The Argus,' Dec. 5, p. 13, col. 4: "`The diggers,' he says, `were up in arms against the Government officials, and whenever a policeman or any other Government servant was seen they raised the cry of "Joe-Joe."' The term was familiar to every man in the fifties. In the earliest days of the diggings proclamations were issued on diverse subjects, but mostly in the direction of curtailing the privileges of the miners. These were signed, `C. Joseph La Trobe,' and became known by the irreverent--not to say flippant --description of `Joes.' By an easy transition, the corruption of the second name of the Governor was applied to his officers, between whom and the spirited diggers no love was lost, and accordingly the appearance of a policeman on a lead was signalled to every tent and hole by the cry of `Joe-Joe.'" <hw>Joey</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A young kangaroo. 1839. W. H. Leigh, `Reconnoitring Voyages in South Australia' pp. 93-4: "Here [in Kangaroo Island] is also the wallaba . . . The young of the animal is called by the islanders a joe." 1861. T. McCombie, I`Australian Sketches,' p. 172: "The young kangaroos are termed joeys. The female carries the latter in her pouch, but when hard pressed by dogs, and likely to be sacrificed, she throws them down, which usually distracts the attention of the pack and affords the mother sufficient time to escape." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 10: "Sometimes when the flying doe throws her `joey' from her pouch the dogs turn upon the little one." 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 29: "At length the actual fact of the Kangaroo's birth, which is much as that of other mammals, was carefully observed at the London Zoo, and the budding fiction joined the myths that were. It was there proved that the little `joey' is brought into the world in the usual way, and forthwith conveyed to the comfortable receptacle and affixed to the teat by the dam, which held the lifeless-looking little thing tenderly in her cloven lips." (2) Also slang used for a baby or little child, or even a young animal, such as a little guinea-pig. Compare "kid." (3) A hewer of wood and drawer of water. 1845. J. A. Moore, `Tasmanian Rhymings,' p. 15: "He was a `joey,' which, in truth, Means nothing more than that youth Who claims a kangaroo descent Is by that nomenclature meant." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 198: "I'm not going to be wood-and-water Joey, I can tell ye." <hw>John Dory</hw>, or <hw>Dorey</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. This name is applied in New South Wales and Tasmania to <i>Cyttus (Zeus) australis</i>, Richards., family <i>Cyttidae</i>, which is nearly the same as <i>Zeus faber</i>, the "John Dory" of Europe. Others call <i>C. australis</i> the <i>Bastard Dorey</i> (q.v.), and it is also called the <i>Boar-fish</i> (q.v.) and <i>Dollar-fish</i> (q.v.). 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 451: "`John Dorys' are found in the Mediterranean, on the eastern temperate shores of the Atlantic, on the coasts of Japan and Australia. Six species are known, all of which are highly esteemed for the table. The English name given to one of the European species (<i>Zeus Faber</i>) seems to be partly a corruption of the Gascon `Jau,' which signifies cock, `Dory' being derived from the French <i>Doree</i>, so that the entire name means Gilt-cock. Indeed, in some other localities of southern Europe it bears the name of <i>Gallo</i>. The same species occurs also on the coasts of South Australia and New Zealand." <hw>Johnny</hw>-cake. <i>n</i>. The name is of American origin, originally given by the negroes to a cake made of Indian corn (maize). In Australia it is a cake baked on the ashes or cooked in a frying-pan. (See quotations.) The name is used in the United States for a slightly different cake, viz. made with Indian meal and toasted before a fire. 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' p. 154: "The dough-cakes fried in fat, called `Johnny-cakes.'" 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 20: "Johnny-cakes, though they are smaller and very thin, and made in a similar way [sc. to dampers: see <i>Damper</i>]; when eaten hot they are excellent, but if allowed to get cold they become leathery." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance of Australia,' p. 3: "Johnny-cakes are made with nothing but flour, but there is a great art in mixing them. If it is done properly they are about the lightest and nicest sort of bread that can be made; but the efforts of an amateur generally result in a wet heavy pulp that sticks round one's teeth like bird-lime." 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 16, p. 13, col. 1: "Here I, a new chum, could, with flour and water and a pinch of baking-powder, make a sweet and wholesome johnny cake." 1892. Mrs. Russell, `Too Easily Jealous,' p. 273 : "Bread was not, and existed only in the shape of johnny-cakes --flat scones of flour and water, baked in the hot ashes." 1894. `The Argus,' March 10, p. 4, col. 6: "It is also useful to make your damper or `Johnny-cake,' which serves you in place of yeast bread. A Johnny-cake is made thus:--Put a couple of handfuls of flour into your dish, with a good pinch of salt and baking soda. Add water till it works to a stiff paste. Divide it into three parts and flatten out into cakes about half an inch thick. Dust a little flour into your frying-pan and put the cake in. Cook it slowly over the fire, taking care it does not burn, and tossing it over again and again. When nearly done stand it against a stick in front of the fire, and let it finish baking while you cook the other two. These, with a piece of wallaby and a billy of tea, are a sweet meal enough after a hard day's work." <hw>Jolly-tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the larger variety of the fish <i>Galaxias attenuatus</i>, Jenyns, and other species of <i>Galaxias</i> called <i>Inanga</i> (q.v.) in New Zealand. <i>Galaxias weedoni</i> is called the <i>Mersey Jolly-tail</i>, and <i>Galaxias atkinsoni</i>, the <i>Pieman Jolly-tail</i>. Pieman and Mersey are two Tasmanian rivers. See <i>Mountain-Trout</i>. <hw>July</hw>, <i>n</i>. a winter month in Australia. See <i>Christmas</i>. 1888. Mrs. M'Cann, `Poetical Works,' p. 235: "Scarce has July with frigid visage flown." <hw>Jumbuck</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal pigeon-English for sheep. Often used in the bush. The origin of this word was long unknown. It is thus explained by Mr. Meston, in the `Sydney Bulletin,' April 18, 1896: "The word `jumbuck' for sheep appears originally as <i>jimba, jombock, dombock</i>, and <i>dumbog</i>. In each case it meant the white mist preceding a shower, to which a flock of sheep bore a strong resemblance. It seemed the only thing the aboriginal mind could compare it to." 1845. C. Griffith, `Present State and Prospects of the Port Phillip District of New South Wales,' p. 162: "The following is a specimen of such eloquence: `You pilmillally jumbuck plenty sulky me, plenty boom, borack gammon,' which being interpreted means, `If you shoot my sheep I shall be very angry, and will shoot you and no mistake.'" 1855. W. Ridley, `Transactions of Philological Society,' p. 77: "When they adopt English words ending in mutes, the blacks drop the mute or add a vowel: thus, <i>jimbugg</i>, a slang name for sheep, they sound <i>jimbu</i>." [It was not English slang but an aboriginal word.] 1893. `The Argus,' April 8, p. 4, col. 1: "Mister Charlie, jumbuck go along of grass, blood all there, big dog catch him there, big jumbuck, m'me word, neck torn." 1896. `The Australasian,' June 6, p. 1085, col. 1: "Jumbuck (a sheep) has been in use from the earliest days, but its origin is not known." <hw>Jump</hw>, to, <i>v</i>. to take possession of a claim (mining) on land, on the ground that a former possessor has abandoned it, or has not fulfilled the conditions of the grant. The word is also used in the United States, but it is very common in Australia. Instead of "you have taken my seat," you have <i>jumped</i> it. So even with a pew. a man in England, to whom was said, "you have jumped my pew," would look astonished, as did that other who was informed, "Excuse me, sir, but you are occupewing my py." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 31: ". . . on condition that he occupies it within twenty-four hours: should this rule not be observed, the right of the original holder is lost, and it may be occupied (or `jumped' as it is termed) by any other person as a deserted claim." 1861. `Victorian Hansard,' vol. vii. p. 942 (May 21): "<i>Mr. Wood</i>: Some of the evils spoken of seemed indeed only to exist in the imagination of the hon. and learned gentleman, as, for instance, that of `jumping,' for which a remedy was already given by the 77th section of the present Act. "<i>Mr. Ireland</i>: Yes; after the claim is `jumped.'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' p. 37: "If such work were not commenced within three days, any other miners might summarily take possession of or jump the claim." ibid. p. 52: "Let us have the melancholy satisfaction of seeing Gus's pegs, and noting whether they are all <i>en regle</i>. If not, we'll `jump' him." Ibid. p. 76: "In default of such advertisement, for the general benefit, they were liable, according to custom and practice, to have their claim `jumped,' or taken forcible possession of by any party of miners who could prove that they were concealing the golden reality." 1875. `Melbourne Spectator,' August 21, p. 189, col. 3: "Jumping selections . . . is said to be very common now in the Winmera district." <hw>Jumpable</hw>, <i>adj</i>. open to another to take. See <i>Jump</i>. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, Melbourne Memories,' c. xvi. p. 114: "The heifer station was what would be called in mining parlance `an abandoned claim' and possibly `jumpable.'" Jumper, <i>n</i>. one who <i>jumps</i> a claim. See <i>Jump</i>. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xii. p. 127: "Come along, my noble jumper, you've served your injunction." <hw>Jumping-mouse</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hapalote</i>. <hw>June</hw>, <i>n</i>. a winter month in Australia. See <i>Christmas</i>. 1886. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 132: "Twenty white-haired Junes have left us Grey with frost and bleak with gale." <hw>Jungle-hen</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a mound-building bird, <i>Megapodius tumulus</i>, Gould. See also <i>Megapode</i>. The Indian Jungle-fowl is a different bird. 1890. Carl Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 97: "But what especially gives life and character to these woods are the jungle-hens (mound-builders) . . . The bird is of a brownish hue, with yellow legs and immensely large feet; hence its name <i>Megapodius</i>." <hw>Juniper, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Currant</i> (q.v.). K <hw>Kahawai</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the fish <i>Arripis salar</i>, Richards.; called in Australia and New Zealand <i>Salmon</i> (q.v.). <hw>Kahikatea</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Podocarpus dacrydioides</i>, A. Rich., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. Also called <i>White-Pine</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. The settlers' pronunciation is often <i>Kackatea</i>. There is a Maori word Kahika, meaning ancient. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor. `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 439: "White-pine, <i>Podocarpus dacrydioides</i>--Kahikatea, kahika, korol. This tree is generally called the white-pine, from the colour of its wood. The kahikatea may be considered as nearly the loftiest tree in the New Zealand forest; it often attains a height of little less than two hundred feet, and in that respect rivals the noble kauri, but the general appearance is not very pleasing." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Trees,' p. 304: "The kahikatea or kakaterra-tree (<i>Dacrydium excelsum</i> or <i>taxifolium</i>). This majestic and noble-looking tree belongs to the natural order of <i>Taxaceae</i>, more commonly known by the name of Joint Firs. Height 150 to 180 feet, rising sixty feet and upward without a branch." 1876: W. Blair, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. ix. art. 10, p. 160: "This timber is known in all the provinces, except Otago, by the native name of `kahikatea'. I think we should adopt it also, not only on account of being more euphonious, but for the reason that so many timbers in other parts of the world are called white-pine." 1873. `Appendix to Journal of House of Representatives,' vol. iii. G. 7, p. 11: "On the purchased land stands, or lately stood, a small kahikatea bush. . . . The wood appears to have been of no great money value, but the natives living in Tareha's pa depended upon it for their supply of fire-wood." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 124: [It is Sir James Hector who assigns the tree to <i>Coniferae</i>, not <i>Taxaceae</i>.] 1888. Cassell's' Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 210: "The White Pine or kahikatea is a very beautiful tree, and droops its dark feathery foliage in a way which recalls the graceful branches of the English elm-tree." <hw>Kahikatoa</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for /a/ New Zealand shrub, but no longer used by the settlers. 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 126: "Kahikatoa, <i>tea-tree</i> of Cook. <i>Leptospermum scoparium</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>." <hw>Kahikomako</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name [shortened into <i>kaikomako</i>] for a New Zealand timber, <i>Pennantia corymbosa</i>, <i>N.O. Olacineae</i>; called also <i>Ribbonwood</i> (q.v.). 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 130: "Kahikomako, a small, very graceful tree, with white sweet-smelling flowers; height twenty to thirty feet. Wood used by the Maoris for kindling fires by friction." <hw>Kai</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for <i>food</i>; used also in the South Sea islands. <i>Kai-kai</i> is an English adaptation for feasting. 1807. J. Savage, `Some Account of New Zealand,' Vocab. p. 75: "Kiki . . . food." [The <i>i</i> has the English not the Italian sound.] 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 157: "Kai, <i>s</i>. victuals, support, etc.; <i>a</i>. eatable." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 29: "He explained to us that every one would cry very much, and then there would be very much kai-kai or feasting." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 95: "Kai, the general word for food, is not used at Rotorua, because it was the name of a great chief, and the word tami has been substituted for it." 1895. Louis Becke and J. D. Fitzgerald, `The Maori in Politics,' `Review of Reviews,' June 20, p. 621: "We saw some thirty men and women coming towards us, singing in chorus and keeping step to the music. In their hands they carried small baskets woven of raupo reeds, containing kai, or food. This was the `kai' dance." <hw>Kainga</hw>, and <hw>Kaika</hw>, <i>n</i>. now generally <i>kaik</i>, and pronounced <i>kike</i>, a Maori settlement, village. <i>Kainga</i> is used in the North, and is the original form; <i>Kaika</i> is the South Island use. It is the village for dwelling; the <i>pa</i> is for fighting in. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 157: "Kainga. A place of residence, a home," etc. 1873. Lt.-Colonel St. John, `Pakeha Rambles through Maori Lands,' p. 164 [Heading of Chapter x.]: "How we live in our kainga." 1896. `Otago Witness,' Jan. 23, p. 50, col. 5: "A cosy-looking kainga located on the bank of a picturesque bend of the river." Ibid. p. 52, col. 1: "We steamed on slowly towards Tawhitinui, a small kainga or kaik, as it is called in the South island." 1884. `Maoriland,' p. 84: "The drive may be continued from Portobello to the Maori kaik." <hw>Kaio</hw>, <i>n</i>. popular corruption in the South Island of New Zealand of <i>Ngaio</i> (q.v.). <hw>Kaitaka</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for the best kind of native mat. 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 157: "Requiring from three to four months' close sitting to complete one of their kaitakas--the finest sort of mat which they make. This garment has a very silky appearance." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 244: "Pukaro ended by flinging over my shoulders a very handsome kaitaka mat, which he had been wearing while he spoke." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 205: "Highly prized and beautiful kaitaka mats." <hw>Kaiwhiria</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for New Zealand tree, <i>Hedycarya dentata</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Monimiaceae</i>. Porokaiwhiri is the fuller name of the tree. 1883. /J./ Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 129 "Kaiwhiria, a small evergreen tree, twenty to thirty feet high; the wood is finely marked and suitable for veneering." <hw>Kaka</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for a parrot. The word is imitative of a parrot's cry. It is now always used to denote the <i>Brown Parrot</i> of New Zealand, <i>Nestor meridionalis</i>, Gmel. 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 54: "Kaka--a bird of the parrot kind; much larger than any other New Zealand parrot." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 259: "The kaka, a large russet parrot, of excellent flavour, and very abundant in many places." 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 40: "The bright red feathers from under the wing of the kaka or large parrot." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' [Notes] p. 79: "The kaka is a kind of parrot of a reddish grey colour, and is easily tamed when taken young." 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 93: "The hoarse croak of the ka-ka, as it alighted almost at our feet, and prepared, quite careless of our vicinity, to tear up the loose soil at the root of a tall tree, in search of grubs." 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' (Supplement): "<i>Nestor hypopolius</i>, ka-ka parrot." 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 38: "I heard mocking kakas wail and cry above thy corse." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 150: "<i>Nestor meridionalis</i>, kaka parrot." Ibid. p. 158: "Sprightly in its actions, eminently social, and more noisy than any other inhabitant of the woods, the kaka holds a prominent place among our native birds." <hw> Kaka-bill</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand plant, the <i>Clianthus</i> (q.v.), so called from the supposed resemblance of the flower to the bill of the <i>Kaka</i> (q.v.). Called also <i>Parrot-bill</i>, <i>Glory-Pea</i>, and <i>Kowhai</i> (q.v.). 1842. W. R. Wade, `Journey in New Zealand,' [Hobart Town]. p. 196: "Kowai ngutukaka [parrot-bill kowai]; the most elegant flowering shrub of the country." 1892. `Otago Witness,' Nov. 24, `Native Trees': "A plantation of a shrub which is in great demand in England and on the Continent, and is greatly neglected here--the <i>Clianthus puniceus</i>, or scarlet glory pea of New Zealand, locally known as kaka beak." <hw>Kakapo</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the Night-parrot, <i>Stringops habroptilus</i>, Gray. Called also <i>Owl-parrot</i>. See <i>Kaka</i>. The syllable <i>po</i> is Maori for <i>night</i>. Compare <i>Katipo</i> (q.v.). 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia' (Supplement): "<i>Strigops habroptilus</i>, G. R. Gray, Kakapo, native name." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 149: "<i>Stringops</i>, owl-parrot--ground-parrot of the colonists." 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 117: "Although possessing large wings, it is flightless, its breast-muscles being so small as to be practically useless. Its habits are nocturnal, and it has a ring of feathers arranged round the eye, giving it a curious resemblance to an owl, whence the name owl-parrot is often applied to it." 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 445: "Another remarkable bird is the owl parrot (<i>Stringops habroptilus</i>) of a greenish colour, and with a circle of feathers round the eye as in the owl. It is nocturnal in its habits, lives in holes in the ground under tree-roots or rocks." 1896. `Otago Witness,' June 11, p. 53: "The Kakapo is one of our most unique birds." <hw>Kakariki</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a green Parrakeet. There are two species, <i>Platycercus novae zelandiae</i>, Sparrm., and <i>P. auriceps</i>, Kuhl. See <i>Parrakeet</i>. The word <i>kakariki</i> means literally little parrot, <i>kaka</i> (q.v.) and <i>iki</i> (little), the <i>r</i> is intrusive. It is applied also to a green lizard. In Maori it becomes later an adjective, meaning `green.' 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 404: "The Kakariki . . . (<i>platycercus novae zeal</i>.) is a pretty light green parrot with a band of red or yellow over the upper beak and under the throat. This elegant little bird is about the size of a small thrush." 1894. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxvii. p. 95 [Note]: "The name <i>Kakarika</i> (indicative of colour) is applied alike to the green lizard and to the green Parrakeet of our woods." <hw>Kamin</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal word, explained in quotation. It is probably local. 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 89: "If he [the Australian black] has to climb a high tree, he first goes into the scrub to fetch a piece of the Australian calamus (<i>Calamus australis</i>), which he partly bites, partly breaks off; he first bites on one side and breaks it down, then on the other side and breaks it upwards--one, two, three, and this tough whip is severed. At one end of it he makes a knot, the other he leaves it as it is. This implement, which is usually from sixteen to eighteen feet long, is called a kamin." <hw>Kanae</hw>, <i>n</i>. (trisyll.) Maori name for a fish of New Zealand, the Silver-Mullet, <i>Mugil perusii</i> or <i>argenteus</i>. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (C.M.S.), p. 158: "Kanae, s. The mullet fish." 1888. Order in Council, New Zealand, Jan. 10, `Regulations under the Fisheries Conservation Act': "The months of December, January, and February in each year are here prescribed a close season for the fish of the species of the mugil known as mullet or kanae." <hw>Kanaka</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. a labourer from the South Sea Islands, working in Queensland sugar-plantations. The word is Hawaiian (Sandwich Islands). The kindred words are given in the following extract from Fornander's Polynesian Race' (1885), vol. iii. p. 154: "<i>Kanaka</i>, <i>s</i>. Hawaiian, man, human, mankind, a common man in distinction from chiefs. Samoan, New Zealand [sc. Maori], Tongan, <i>tangata</i>, man. Tahitian, <i>taata</i>, man." In the original word the accent is on the first syllable, which accent Mr. Rudyard Kipling preserves (see quotation, 1893), though he has changed the word in his reprint of the poem in `The Seven Seas'; but the usual pronunciation in Australia is to accent the second syllable. 1794. J. J. Jarves, `History of Hawaiian Islands,' printed at Honolulu (1872), p. 82: "[On 21st Feb. 1794.] A salute was then fired, and the natives shouted, `Kanaka no Beritane'--we are men of Britain." 1852. A. Miller, `Narrative of United States Exploring Expedition,' c. ii. p. 142: "On Monday (Nov. 16, 1840) our gentlemen formed themselves into two parties, and started on horseback for their journey. One party consisted of Messrs. Reade, Rich, and Wall, with eight kanakas and two guides." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. viii. p. 133: "Queensland at present is supplying itself with labour from the South Sea Islands, and the men employed are called Polynesians, or canakers, or islanders." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia, p. 162: "The word `kanaka' is really a Maori word, signifying a man, but in Australia it has come to be applied exclusively to the inhabitants of the South Sea Islands." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Head Station,' p. 9: "The kanaka reverences women and adores children. He is loyal in heart, affectionate of disposition, and domestic in his habits." 1888. H. S. Cooper, `The Islands of the Pacific,' p. 5: "The kanakas, who at present populate Hawaii, are, as a rule, well made and intelligent. That there is a cross of the Malay and Indian blood in them few can doubt." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 64: "Natives of the South Sea Islands, who in Australia are called kanakas--a capable and intelligent race, especially to this kind of work [on plantations], for they are strong, and endure the tropical heat far better than the whites." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 298: "Thus, it is maintained by the planters, the kanaka, necessary as he is to the conditions of North Queensland, opens up avenues of skilled labour for the European, and makes population and commerce possible where otherwise there would be complete stagnation." 2892. `The Times,' Dec. 28: "The principal open-air labour of the sugar plantations is furnished by kanakas, who are the native inhabitants of certain groups of South Sea Islands not at present under the protection of any European flag." 1893. R. L. Stevenson, `Island Night's Entertainments,' p. 41: "What we want is a man-of-war--a German, if we could--they know how to manage kanakas." 1893. Rudyard Kipling, `Banjo Song': "We've shouted on seven-ounce nuggets, We've starved on a kanaka's pay." 1893. C. H. Pearson, `National Life and Character,' p.32: "In Australasia . . . the Maori, the Kanaka, and the Papuan are dying out. We cannot close our eyes to the fact that certain weak races--even when, like the kanaka, they possess some very high qualities--seem to wither away at mere contact with the European. . . . The kanakas (among whom we may include the Maories)." <hw>Kangaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) an aboriginal word. See <i>Marsupial</i>. (a) The Origin of the Name. The name was first obtained in 1770, while H.M.S. <i>Endeavour</i> lay beached at the Endeavour River, where Cooktown, Queensland, now is. The name first appears in print in 1773, in the book brought out by the relatives of Mr. Parkinson, who was draughtsman to Banks the naturalist, and who had died on the voyage. The object of this book was to anticipate the official account of Cook's Voyage by Hawkesworth, which appeared later in the same year. It is now known that Hawkesworth's book was like a rope twisted of four strands, viz. Cook's journal, the diaries of the two naturalists, Banks and Solander, and <i>quartum quid</i>, the Johnsonian pomposity of Dr. Hawkesworth. Cook's journal was published in 1893, edited by Captain Wharton, hydrographer to the Admiralty; Banks's journal, in 1896, edited by Sir J. D. Hooker. Solander's journal has never been printed. When Englishmen next came to Australia in 1788, it was found that the word <i>Kangaroo</i> was not known to the natives round Port Jackson, distant 1500 miles to the South of Cooktown. In fact, it was thought by them to be an English word. (See quotation, Tench, 1789.) It is a question whether the word has belonged to any aboriginal vocabulary since. "Capt. Philip P. King, the explorer, who visited that locality [sc. Endeavour River] forty-nine years after Cook, relates in his `Narrative of the Survey of the Intertropical and Western Coasts of Australia,' that he found the word kangaroo unknown to the tribe he met there, though in other particulars the vocabulary he compiled agrees very well with Captain Cook's." (Curr's `Australian Race,' vol. i. p. 27.) In the fourth volume of Curr's book a conspectus is given of the words used in different parts of Australia for various objects. In the list of names for this animal there are a few that are not far from <i>Kangaroo</i>, but some inquirers suspect the accuracy of the list, or fancy that the natives obtained the words sounding like <i>Kangaroo</i> from English. It may be assumed that the word is not now in use as an aboriginal word. Has it, then, disappeared? or was it an original mistake on the part of Banks or Cook ? The theory of a mistake has obtained widely. It has figured in print, and finds a place in at least one dictionary. Several correspondents have written that the word <i>Kangaroo</i> meant "I don't understand," and that Banks mistook this for a name. This is quite possible, but at least some proof is needed, as for instance the actual words in the aboriginal language that could be twisted into this meaning. To find these words, and to hear their true sound, would test how near the explanation hits the mark. Banks was a very careful observer, and he specially notes the precautions he took to avoid any mistake in accepting native words. Moreover, according to Surgeon Anderson, the aborigines of Van Diemen's Land described the animal by the name of <i>Kangaroo</i>. (See quotation, 1787.) On the other hand, it must be remembered that it is an ascertained fact that the aborigines taboo a word on the death of any one bearing that word as a proper name. (See quotation under <i>Nobbler</i>, 1880.) If, therefore, after Cook's visit, some man called <i>Kangaroo</i> died, the whole tribe would expunge <i>Kangaroo</i> from its vocabulary. There is, however, some evidence that the word was much later in use in Western Australia. (See quotation, 1835.) It is now asserted that the word is in use again at the very part of Queensland where the <i>Endeavour</i> was beached. Lumholtz, in his `Amongst Cannibals' (p. 311), gives it in his aboriginal vocabulary. Mr. De Vis, of the Brisbane Museum, in his paper before the Geographical Society at Brisbane (1894), says that "in point of fact the word `kangaroo' is the normal equivalent for kangaroo at the Endeavour River; and not only so, it is almost the type-form of a group of variations in use over a large part of Australia." It is curiously hard to procure satisfactory evidence as to the fact. Mr. De Vis says that his first statement was "made on the authority of a private correspondent; "but another correspondent writes from Cooktown, that the blacks there have taken <i>Kangaroo</i> from English. Inquiries inserted in each of the Cooktown newspapers have produced no result. Mr. De Vis' second argument as to the type-form seems much stronger. A spoken language, unwritten, unprinted, must inevitably change, and change rapidly. A word current in 1770 would change rather than disappear, and the root consonants would remain. The letters <i>ng</i> together, followed by <i>r</i>, occur in the proportion of one in thirteen, of the names for the animal tabulated by Curr. It is a difficult matter on which to speak decidedly, but probably no great mistake was made, and the word received was a genuine name of the animal. See further the quotations, 1896. (b) The Plural of the Word. There seems to be considerable doubt as to the plural of the word, whether it should take <i>s</i> like most English words, or remain unchanged like <i>sheep, deer</i>. In two consecutive pages of one book the two plurals are used. The general use is the plural in <i>s</i>. See 1793 Hunter, 1845 Balfour, and 1880 Senior; sportsmen frequently use the form <i>Kangaroo</i>. [Since 1888 a kangaroo has been the design on the one-shilling postage stamp of New South Wales.] 1815. `History of New South Wales,' (1818) PP. 460-461: "Throughout the general course of the journey, kangaroos, emus, ducks, etc. were seen in numbers." "Mr. Evans saw the kangaroo in immense flocks." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 49: "The kangaroos are too subtle and shy for us to get near." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 125: "In the afternoon we saw some kangaroos and wallaby, but did not succeed in killing any." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. iii. p. 23: "Though kangaroo were plentiful, they were not overwhelming to number." (c) Kangaroo in French. 1777. Buffon, `Supplement a l'Histoire Naturelle,' tom. iv. `Table des Matieres': "Kanguros, espece de grosse Gerboise qui se trouve dans les terres australes de la Nouvelle Hollande." 1800. J. J. Labillardiere, `Voyage a la recherche de La Perouse,' tom. i. p. 134: [Under date April 24, 1792.] "Un de nos chasseurs trouva un jeune kangourou sur les bords de la mer." 1880. H. de Charency, `Recherches sur les Dialectes Tasmaniens,' p. 21: "Kangourou. Ce mot semble d'origine non Australienne, comme on l'a soutenu, mais bien Tasmanienne." 1882. Littre, `Dictionnaire de la Langue Francaise' (s.v.): "Kanguroo ou kangarou. On ecrit aussi kangarou et kangourou." 1882. A. Daudet, `Jack,' p. 131: Il regardait les kangaroos dresses sur leurs pattes, si longues qu'elles ont l'agilite et l'elan d'une paire d'ailes." 1890. Oscar Comettant [Title]: "Au Pays des Kangourous." (d) Kangaroo in German--<i>Kaenguruh</i>: 1892. R. V. Lendenfeld, `Australische Reise,' p. 46: "Die Kaenguruh hoben in dem Augenblick, als sie das Geheul hoerten, die Koepfe hoch and witterten, blickten and loosten in alle Richtungen." Notice that both in French and German the <i>u</i> sound of the middle syllable is preserved and not changed as in English to <i>a</i>. (e) The species. The name <i>Kangaroo</i> is applied to the following larger species of the genus <i>Macropus</i>, the remaining species being called <i>Wallabies</i>-- Antilopine Kangaroo-- <i>Macropus antilopinus</i>, Gould. Great Grey K., or Forester-- <i>M. giganteus</i>, Zimm. Great Red K.-- <i>M. rufus</i>, Desm. Isabelline K.-- <i>M. isabellinus</i>, Gould. Owen's K.-- <i>M. magnus</i>, Owen. Wallaroo, or Euro-- <i>M. robustus</i>, Gould. The name <i>Kangaroo</i> is also applied to certain other species of Marsupials belonging to the genus <i>Macropus</i>, but with a qualifying adjective, such as <i>Dorca</i>-, <i>Tree</i>-, <i>Rat</i>-, <i>Musk</i>-, etc.; and it is applied to species of the genera <i>Dorcopsis</i>, <i>Dendrolagus, Bettongia</i>, and <i>Hypsiprymnodon</i>. The <i>Brush-Kangaroo</i> (q.v.) is another name for the <i>Wallaby</i> (q.v.), and the <i>Rat-Kangaroo</i> is the stricter scientific appellation of <i>Kangaroo-Rat</i> (q.v.). The <i>Banded-Kangaroo</i> is a <i>Banded-Wallaby</i> (see <i>Lagostrophus</i>). See also <i>Dorca-Kangaroo</i>, <i>Tree-Kangaroo</i>, <i>Musk-Kangaroo</i>, <i>Dorcopsis, Dendrolagus</i>, <i>Bettongia, Hypsiprymnodon</i>, <i>Rock-Wallaby</i>, <i>Paddy-melon</i>, <i>Forester</i>, <i>Old Man</i>,, <i>Joey</i>, and <i>Boomah</i>. (f) The Use of the Word. 1770. `Capt. Cook's Journal' (edition Wharton, 1893), p. 244: May 1st. An animal which must feed upon grass, and which, we judge, could not be less than a deer." [p. 280]: "June 23rd. One of the men saw an animal something less than a greyhound; it was of a mouse colour, very slender made, and swift of foot." [p. 294]: August 4th. "The animals which I have before mentioned, called by the Natives Kangooroo or Kanguru." [At Endeavour River, Queensland.] 1770. Joseph Banks, `Journal' (edition Hooker, 1896), p. 287: "<i>July</i> 14.--Our second Lieutenant had the good fortune to kill the animal that had so long been the subject of our speculations. To compare it to any European animal would be impossible, as it has not the least resemblance to any one that I have seen. Its forelegs are extremely short, and of no use to 1t in walking; its hind again as disproportionally long; with these it hops seven or eight feet at a time, in the same manner as the jerboa, to which animal indeed it bears much resemblance, except in size, this being in weight 38 lbs., and the jerboa no larger than a common rat." Ibid. p. 301: "<i>August</i> 26.--Quadrupeds we saw but few, and were able to catch but few of those we did see. The largest was called by the natives <i>kangooroo</i>; it is different from any European, and, indeed, any animal I have heard or read of, except the jerboa of Egypt, which is not larger than a rat, while this is as large as a middling lamb. The largest we shot weighed 84 lbs. It may, however, be easily known from all other animals by the singular property of running, or rather hopping, upon only its hinder legs, carrying its fore-feet close to its breast. In this manner it hops so fast that in the rocky bad ground where it is commonly found, it easily beat my greyhound, who though he was fairly started at several, killed only one, and that quite a young one." 1773. Sydney Parkinson, `Journal of a Voyage,' p. 149: "Kangooroo, the leaping quadruped." [A description given at p. 145.] 1773. J. Hawkesworth, `Voyages,' vol. iii. p. 577: "July 14, 1770. Mr. Gore, who went out this day with his gun, had the good fortune to kill one of the animals which had been so much the subject of our speculation. An idea of it will best be conceived by the cut, plate xx., without which the most accurate verbal description would answer very little purpose, as it has not similitude enough to any animal already known to admit of illustration by reference. In form it is most like the gerbua, which it also resembles in its motion, as has been observed already, for it greatly differs in size, the gerbua not being larger than a common rat, and this animal, when full grown, being as big as a sheep: this individual was a young one, much under its full growth, weighing only thirty-eight pounds. The head, neck, and shoulders are very small in proportion to the other parts of the body; the tail is nearly as long as the body, thick near the rump, and tapering towards the end: the fore-legs of this individual were only eight inches long, and the hind-legs two-and-twenty: its progress is by successive leaps or hops, of a great length, in an erect posture; the fore-legs are kept bent close to the breast, and seemed to be of use only for digging: the skin is covered with a short fur, of a dark mouse or grey colour, excepting the head and ears, which bear a slight resemblance to those of a hare. In form it is most like the gerbua. This animal is called by the natives `kangaroo.'" [This account, it will be seen, is based on the notes of Banks.] 1774. Oliver Goldsmith, `Animated Nature,' Book VII. c. xvi., The Gerbua,' [in four-vol. ed., vol. iii. p. 30]: "But of all animals of this kind, that which was first discovered and described by Mr. Banks is the most extraordinary. He calls it the kanguroo; and though from its general outline and the most striking peculiarities of its figure it greatly resembles the gerbua, yet it entirely differs, if we consider its size, or those minute distinctions which direct the makers of systems in assorting the general ranks of nature. The largest of the gerbua kind which are to be found in the ancient continent do not exceed the size of a rabbit. The kanguroo of New Holland, where it is only to be found, is often known to weigh above sixty pounds, and must consequently be as large as a sheep. Although the skin of that which was stuffed and brought home by Mr. Banks was not much above the size of a hare, yet it was greatly superior to any of the gerbua kind that have been hitherto known, and very different in many particulars. The snout of the gerbua, as has been said, is short and round, that of the discovered animal long and slender; the teeth also entirely differ, for as the gerbua has but two cutting teeth in each jaw, making four in all, this animal, besides its cutting teeth, has four canial teeth also; but what makes a more striking peculiarity, is the formation of its lower jaw, which, as the ingenious discoverer supposes, is divided into two parts which open and shut like a pair of scissors, and cut grass, probably this animal's principal food. The head, neck, and shoulders are very small in proportion to the other parts of the body; the tail is nearly as long as the body; thick near the rump and tapering towards the head and ears, which bear a slight resemblance to those of the hare. We are not told, however, from the formation of its stomach to what class of quadrupeds it belongs: from its eating grass, which it has been seen to do, one would be apt to rank it among the ruminating animals; but from the canial teeth which it is found to have, we may on the other hand suppose it to bear some relation to the carnivorous. Upon the whole, however, it can be classed with none more properly than with the animals of the gerbua kind, as its hind-legs are so much longer than the fore; it moves also precisely in the same manner, taking great bounds of ten or twelve feet at a time, and thus sometimes escaping the fleetest greyhound, with which Mr. Banks pursued it. One of them that was killed proved to be good food; but a second, which weighed eighty-four pounds, and was not yet come to its full growth, was found to be much inferior." 1787, Surgeon Anderson, quoted by W. Eden, in `History of New Holland' (second edition), p. 71: "However, we must have a far more intimate acquaintance with the languages spoken here [Van Diemen's Land] and in the more northern parts of New Holland, before we can pronounce that they are totally different; nay, we have good grounds for the opposite opinion; for we found that the animal called kangaroo at Endeavour River was known under the same name here." 1781. T. Pennant, `History of Quadrupeds,' vol. i. p. 306: No. 184. [A Scientific Description of the Kangaroo.] 1789. Governor Phillip, `Voyage': [p. 106]: "The kangaroo." [p. 168]: "Skeleton of the head of the kangaroo." [At each of these places there is a description and a picture. Under each picture the name is spelt "Kangooroo." At p. 289 there is a further note on the kanguroo. In the text at p. 149 the spelling " Kangooroo " is adopted.] Ibid. p. 104: "The kanguroo, though it resembles the jerboa in the peculiarity of using only the hinder legs in progression, does not belong to that genus." Ibid, p. 168: "Since stating the dimensions of the kanguroo, in page 106, Lord Sydney has received from Governor Phillip a male of a much larger size. . . . Lieutenant Shortland describes them as feeding in herds of about thirty or forty, and assures us that one is always observed to be apparently upon the watch at a distance from the rest." 1789. Watkin Tench, `Account of the Settlement of Port Jackson,' p. 171: "Kangaroo was a name unknown to them [the aborigines of Port Jackson] for any animal, until we introduced it. When I showed Colbee [an aboriginal] the cows brought out in the Gorgon he asked me if they were kangaroos." 1793. Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 66: "The animal described in the voyage of the <i>Endeavour</i>, called the kangaroo (but by the natives patagorang), we found in great numbers." Ibid. p. 568: "I had a kanguroo on board, which I had directions to carry to Lord Grenville, as a present for his Majesty.--Nov. 26, 1791." [There is no statement whether the animal reached England.] Ibid. p. 402: "In rowing up this branch, we saw a flock of about thirty kangaroos or paderong, but they were only visible during their leaps, as the very long grass hid them from our view." 1809. G. Shaw, `Zoological Lectures,' vol. i. p. 94: "The genus <i>Macropus</i> or kangaroo . . . one of the most elegant as well as curious animals discovered in modern times." [Under the picture and in list of contents: Kanguroo.] 1814. M. Flinders, `Voyage to Terra Australis,' Introd. p. lxiii: "An animal found upon one of the islands is described [by Dampier, `Voyage to New Holland,' vol. iii. p. 123] as `a sort of raccoon, different from that of the West Indies, chiefly as to the legs; for these have very short fore legs; but go jumping upon them' [not upon the short fore, but the long hind legs, it is to be presumed] `as the others do; and like them are very good meat.' This appears to have been the small kangaroo, since found upon the islands which form the road; and if so, this description is probably the first ever made of that singular animal" [though without the name]. 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description of New South Wales,' p. 57: "Coursing the kangaroo and emu forms the principal amusement of the sporting part of the colonists. (p. 68): The colonists generally pursue this animal [kangaroo] at full speed on horseback, and frequently manage, notwithstanding its extraordinary swiftness, to be up at the death." 1833. Charles Lamb, `Essays of Elia' [edition 1895], p. 151, `Distant Correspondents': "The kangaroos--your Aborigines--do they keep their primitive simplicity un-Europe-tainted, with those little short fore puds, looking like a lesson framed by nature to the pick-pocket! Marry, for diving into fobs they are rather lamely provided <i>a priori</i>; but if the hue and cry were once up, they would show as fair a pair of hind-shifters as the expertest loco motor in the colony." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. I. c. iii. p. 106: "Those that were noticed were made of the red kangaroo-skin." 1834. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar of the Language spoken by the Aborigines, at Hunter's River,' p. 87: "Kong-go-rong, The Emu, from the noise it makes, and likely the origin of the barbarism, kangaroo, used by the English, as the name of an animal, called Mo-a-ne." 1835. T. B. Wilson, `Narrative of a Voyage round the World, etc.' p. 212: "They [natives of the Darling Range, W.A.] distinctly pronounced `kangaroo' without having heard any of us utter that sound: they also called it <i>waroo</i>, but whether they distinguished `kangaroo' (so called by us, and also by them) from the smaller kind, named `<i>wallabi</i>,' and by them `<i>waroo</i>,' we could not form any just conclusion." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 23: "Kangaroos are of six different species, viz. the forester, the flyer, the wallaby, the wallaroo, the kangaroo-rat, and the kangaroo-mouse." [This is of course merely a popular classification.] 1845. J. A. Moore, `Tasmanian Rhymings,' p. 15: "A kangaroo, like all his race, Of agile form and placid face." 1861. W. M. Thackeray, `Roundabout Papers', p.83: "The fox has brought his brush, and the cock has brought his comb, and the elephant has brought his trunk and the kangaroo has brought his bag, and the condor his old white wig and black satin hood." 1880. W. Senior, `Travel and Trout,' p. 8: "To return to the marsupials. I have been assured that the kangaroos come first and eat off the grass; that the wallabies, following, grub up the roots." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 114: "Sometimes a kangaroo would come down with measured thud, thud, and drink, and then return without noticing the human beings." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 118: "According to the traditions of the bush--not always reliable--the name of kangaroo was given under a misconception. An aborigine being asked by one of the early discoverers the name of the animal, replied, `Kangaroo' (`I don't know'), and in this confession of ignorance or misapprehension the name originated. It seems absurd to suppose that any black hunter was really ignorant of the name of an animal which once represented the national wealth of Australians as the merino does to-day." [The tradition is not quite so ridiculous, if the answer meant--"I don't know what you mean,--I don't understand you." See above.] 1891. `Guide Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "In this enclosure is a wooden model of a kangaroo of ancient times. This is copied from a restoration by Professor McCoy, who was enabled to represent it from fossil remains which have been unearthed at various places in Australia." 1896. E. Meston, `Sydney Bulletin,' April 18: "The origin of the word `kangaroo' was published by me six years ago. Captain Cook got it from the Endeavor River blacks, who pronounce it to-day exactly as it is spelled in the great navigator's journal, but they use it now only for the big toe. Either the blacks in Cook's time called the kangaroo `big toe' for a nick-name, as the American Indians speak of the `big horn,' or the man who asked the name of the animal was holding it by the hind foot, and got the name of the long toe, the black believing that was the part to which the question referred." 1896. Rev. J. Mathew, Private Letter, Aug. 31: "Most names of animals in the Australian dialects refer to their appearance, and the usual synthesis is noun + adjective; the word may be worn down at either end, and the meaning lost to the native mind. "A number of the distinct names for <i>kangaroo</i> show a relation to words meaning respectively <i>nose, leg, big</i>, <i>long</i>, either with noun and adjective to combination or one or other omitted. "The word <i>kangaroo</i> is probably analysable into <i>ka</i> or <i>kang</i>, <i>nose</i> (or <i>head</i>), and <i>goora</i>, <i>long</i>, both words or local equivalents being widely current." (2) Wild young cattle (a special use)-- 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 290: "A stockyard under six feet high will be leaped by some of these kangaroos (as we term them) with the most perfect ease, and it requires to be as stout as it is high to resist their rushes against it." (3) Used playfully, and as a nickname for persons and things Australian. An Australian boy at an English school is frequently called "Kangaroo." It is a Stock Exchange nickname for shares in Western Australian gold-mining companies. 1896. `Nineteenth Century' (Nov.), p. 711: "To the 80,000,000 Westralian mining shares now in existence the Stock Exchange has long since conceded a special `market'; and it has even conferred upon these stocks a nickname--the surest indication of importance and popularity. And that `Kangaroos,' as they were fondly called, could boast of importance and popularity nobody would dare to gainsay." (4) A kind of chair, apparently from the shape. 1834. Miss Edgeworth, `Helen,' c. xvi. (`Century'): "It was neither a lounger nor a dormeuse, nor a Cooper, nor a Nelson, nor a Kangaroo: a chair without a name would never do; in all things fashionable a name is more than half. Such a happy name as Kangaroo Lady Cecilia despaired of finding." <hw>Kangarooade</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Kangaroo hunt; nonce word. See quotation. 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings among the Gum Trees,' p. 86: "The Kangarooade--in three Spirts." [Title of a poem.] <hw>Kangaroo-Apple</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian and Tasmanian fruit, <i>Solanum aviculare</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Solanaceae</i>. The name is also applied to <i>S. vescum</i>, called the <i>Gunyang</i> (q.v.). In New Zealand, the fruit is called <i>Poroporo</i> (q.v.). 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual, p. 133: `<i>Solanum laciniatum</i>, the kangaroo-apple, resembling the apple of a potato; when so ripe as to split, it has a mealy sub-acid taste." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 85: "The kangaroo-apple (<i>Solanum laciniatum</i>) is a fine shrub found in many parts of the country, bearing a pretty blue flower and a fruit rather unpleasant to the taste, although frequently eaten by the natives, and also by Europeans." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 132: "The kangaroo-apple comes from a bush or small tree bearing blue blossoms, which are succeeded by apples like those of the potato. They have a sweetish flavour, and when ripe may be boiled and eaten, but are not greatly prized." 1857. F. R. Nixon (Bishop), `Cruise of Beacon,' p. 28: "Of berries and fruits of which they partook, the principal were those of <i>Solanum laciniatum</i>, or kangaroo-apple, when dead ripe." 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 105: "<i>Solanum aviculare</i>, on which our colonists have very inappropriately bestowed the name <i>Kangaroo-apple</i>, while in literal scientific translation it ought to be called Bird's Nightshade, because Captain Cook's companions observed in New Zealand that birds were feeding on the berries of this bush." <hw>Kangaroo-Dog</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large dog, lurcher, deerhound, or greyhound, used for hunting the <i>Kangaroo</i>. 1806. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 265: "Shortly before the <i>Estramina</i> left the River Derwent, two men unfortunately perished by a whale-boat upsetting, in which they were transporting four valuable kangaroo-dogs to the opposite side, none of which ever reached the shore." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 141: "The kind of dog used for coursing the kangaroo is generally a cross between the greyhound and the mastiff or sheep-dog; but in a climate like New South Wales they have, to use the common phrase, too much lumber about them. The true bred greyhound is the most useful dog: he has more wind; he ascends the hills with more ease; and will run double the number of courses in a day. He has more bottom in running, and if he has less ferocity when he comes up with an `old man,' so much the better, as he exposes himself the less, and lives to afford sport another day." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 31: "They . . . are sometimes caught by the kangaroo-dogs." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 126: "A fine kangaroo-dog was pointed out to us, so fond of kangarooing that it goes out alone, kills the game, and then fetches its master to the dead animals." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 422: "With the gun over his shoulder, and the kangaroo-dog in a leash by his side." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' c. iii. p. 35: "On every station, also, a large kind of greyhound, a cross of the Scotch greyhound and English bulldog, called the kangaroo-dog, which runs by sight, is kept for the purpose of their destruction." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 91: "Kangaroo-dogs are a special breed, a kind of strong greyhound." 1893. `The Argus,' April 8, p. 4, col. 1: "That big, powerful, black kangaroo-dog Marmarah was well worth looking at, with his broad, deep chest, intelligent, determined eyes, sinews of a gymnast, and ribs like Damascus steel. On his black skin he bore marks of many honourable fights; the near side showed a long, whitish line where the big emu he had run down, tackled single-handed, and finally killed, had laid him open. His chest and legs showed numerous grey scars, each with a history of its own of which he might well be proud." <hw>Kangaroo-Fly</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small Australian fly, <i>Cabarus</i>. See quotations. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. I. c. ii. p. 71: "Our camp was infested by the kangaroo-fly, which settled upon us in thousands." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 313 [Note]: "Rather smaller than the house-fly, it acts with such celerity that it has no sooner settled on the face or hands than it inflicts instantaneously a painful wound, which often bleeds subsequently. It is called by the colonists the kangaroo-fly; and though not very common, the author can testify that it is one of the most annoying pests of Australia." <hw>Kangaroo-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to several species of grasses of the genera <i>Anthistiria</i> and <i>Andropogon</i>, chiefly from their height, but also because, when they are young and green in spring, the <i>Kangaroo</i> feeds on them. <i>Andropogon</i> is more like a rush or sedge, and is sometimes so high as to completely conceal horses. See <i>Grass</i>. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 209: "Of native grasses we possess the oat-grass, rye-grass, fiorin, kangaroo-grass, and timothy,--blady grass growing in wet, flooded, alluvial spots, and wire-grass upon cold, wet, washed clays." 1838. `Report of Van Diemen's Land Company,' in J. Bischoff's `Van Diemen's Land' (1832), c. v. p. 119: "The grasses were principally timothy, foxtail, and single kangaroo." 1845. T. L. Mitchell, `Tropical Australia, p. 88: "A new species of <i>Anthistiria</i> occurred here, perfectly distinct from the kangaroo grass of the colony." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 131: "The most conspicuous of the native <i>Gramineae</i> that so widely cover the surface of Australia Felix." 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 36: "Where are the genial morning dews of former days that used to glisten upon and bespangle the vernal-leaved kangaroo grass?" 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania,' p. 393: "Between the Lake River and Launceston . . . I was most agreeably surprised in beholding the novel sight of a spacious enclosure of waving kangaroo grass, high and thick-standing as a good crop of oats, and evidently preserved for seed." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 8: "Not even a withered wisp of kangaroo-grass." (p. 193): "The long brown kangaroo-grass." 1891. `The Argus,' Dec. 19, p. 4, col. 2: "Had they but pulled a tuft of the kangaroo-grass beneath their feet, they would have found gold at its roots." <hw>Kangaroo-hop</hw>, <i>n</i>. a peculiar affected gait. See quotation. 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), May 22, p. 27, col. 2: "The young lady that affects waterfalls, the Grecian-bend, or the kangaroo hop." <hw>Kangaroo-Hound</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Kangaroo-Dog</i> (q.v.). 1865. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 28: "A large dog, a kangaroo-hound (not unlike a lurcher in appearance)." <hw>Kangarooing</hw>, vb. <i>n</i>. hunting the kangaroo. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' p. 257: "In chasing kangaroos, or, as it is technically termed, `kangarooing,' large powerful dogs are used . . ." 1870. E. B. Kennedy, `Four Years in Queensland,' p. 194: "You may be out Kangarooing; the dogs take after one [a kangaroo], and it promises to be a good course." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 15: "We were sick of kangarooing, like the dogs themselves, that as they grew old would run a little way and then pull up if a mob came jump, jump, past them." <hw>Kangaroo-Mouse</hw>, <i>n</i>. more strictly called the <i>Pouched-Mouse</i> (q.v.). 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 256: "It is a long chain from the big forester, down through the different varieties of wallaby to the kangaroo-rat, and finally, to the tiny interesting little creature known on the plains as the `kangaroo-mouse'; but all have the same characteristics." <hw>Kangaroo-net</hw>, <i>n</i>. net made by the natives to catch the kangaroo. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 45: "I found . . . four fine kangaroo-nets, made of the bark of sterculia." <hw>Kangaroo-Rat</hw>, or <hw>Rat-Kangaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name applied to species of Marsupials belonging to the following genera, viz.-- (1) <i>Potorous</i>, (2) <i>Caloprymnus</i>, (3) <i>Bettongia</i>, (4) <i>AEpyprymnus</i>. (1) The first genus (<i>Potorous</i>, q.v.) includes animals about the size of a large rat; according to Gould, although they stand much on their hind-legs they run in a totally different way to the kangaroo, using fore and hind-legs in a kind of gallop and never attempting to kick with the hind-feet. The aboriginal name was <i>Potoroo</i>. The species are three--the Broad-faced Kangaroo-Rat, <i>Potorous platyops</i>, Gould; Gilbert's, <i>P. gilberti</i>, Gould; Common, <i>P. tridactylus</i>, Kerr. They are confined to Australia and Tasmania, and one Tasmanian variety of the last species is bigger than the mainland form. There is also a dwarf Tasmanian variety of the same species. (2) A second genus (<i>Caloprymnus</i>, q.v.) includes the <i>Plain Kangaroo-Rat</i>; it has only one species, <i>C. campestris</i>, Gould, confined to South Australia. The epithet plain refers to its inhabiting plains. (3) A third genus (<i>Bettongia</i>, q.v.) includes the Prehensile-tailed Rat-Kangaroos and has four species, distributed in Australia and Tasmania-- Brush-tailed Kangaroo-Rat-- <i>Bettongia penicillata</i>, Gray. Gaimard's K.-R.-- <i>B. gaimardi</i>, Desm. Lesueur's K.-R.-- <i>B. lesueuri</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Tasmanian K.-R.-- <i>B. cuniculus</i>, Ogilby. (4) A fourth genus (<i>AEpyprymnus</i>, q.v.) includes the Rufous Kangaroo-Rat. It has one species, <i>AE. rufescens</i>, Grey. It is the largest of the Kangaroo-Rats and is distinguished by its ruddy colour, black-backed ears, and hairy nose. [Mr. Lydekker proposes to call the animal the <i>Rat- Kangaroo</i> (see quotation, 1894), but the name <i>Kangaroo- Rat</i> is now so well-established that it does not seem possible to supersede it by the, perhaps, more correct name of <i>Rat-Kangaroo</i>. The introduction of the word <i>Kangaroo</i> prevents any possibility of confusion between this animal and the true rodent, and it would seem to be a matter of indifference as to which word precedes or follows the other.] 1788. Governor Phillip (Despatch, May 15), in `Historical Records of New South Wales,' vol. I. pt. ii. p. 135: "Many trees were seen with holes that had been enlarged by the natives to get at the animal, either the squirrel, kangaroo rat, or opossum, for the going in of which perhaps they wait under their temporary huts, and as the enlarging these holes could only be done with the shell they used to separate the oysters from the rocks, must require great patience." 1793 Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 61: "As most of the large trees are hollow by being rotten in the heart, the opossum, kangaroo-rat, squirrel, and various other animals which inhabit the woods, when they are pursued, commonly run into the hollow of a tree." 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. xi. p. 430: "The poto roo, or kangaroo-rat. . . . This curious animal which is indeed a miniature of the Kangaroo." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 28: "The kangaroo-rat is a small inoffensive animal and perfectly distinct from the ordinary species of rat." 1836. C. Darwin, `Naturalist's Voyage,' c. xix. p. 321: "The greyhounds pursued a kangaroo-rat into a hollow tree, out of which we dragged it; it is an animal as large as a rabbit, but with the figure of a kangaroo." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 37: "The kangaroo-rat is twice the size of a large English water-rat, and of the same colour, measuring nearly two feet in length." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1853), p. 157: "Two or three of the smallest kind, called the kangaroo-rat-- about the size of a hare, and affording pretty good coursing." 1860. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 195: "One of the skin aprons . . . made from the skin of a kangaroo-rat." 1879. C. W. Schurmann, `Native Tribes of Australia--Port Lincoln Tribe,' p. 214: "The natives use this weapon [the <i>Waddy</i>] principally for throwing at kangaroo-rats or other small animals." 1890. A. H. S. Lucas, `Handbook of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' Melbourne, p. 63: "The Victorian Kangaroo rat is <i>Bettongia cuniculus</i>." 1894. R.Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 63: "The rat-kangaroos, often incorrectly spoken of as kangaroo-rats." <hw>Kangaroo-skin</hw>, <i>n</i>. either the leather for the tanned hide, or the complete fur for rugs and wraps. 1806. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 258: "The fitness of the kangaroo-skin for upper leathers will no doubt obtain preference over most of the imported leather, as it is in general lighter and equally durable." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 106: "I used always to strip and preserve the pelt, for it makes good and pretty door-mats, and is most useful for pouches, leggings, light-whips, or any purpose where you require something strong and yet neater than green hide. I have seen saddles covered with it, and kangaroo-skin boots are very lasting and good." <hw>Kangaroo-tail Soup</hw>, <i>n</i>. soup made from the kangaroo-tail. 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description of New South Wales,' p. 58: "The tail of the forest kangaroo in particular makes a soup which, both in richness and flavour, is far superior to any ox-tail soup ever tasted." 1865. Lady Barker, writing from Melbourne, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 14: "The soups comprised kangaroo-tail--a clear soup not unlike ox-tail, but with a flavour of game." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xxxv. p. 312: "Kangaroo-tail and ox-tail soup disputed pre-eminence." <hw>Kangaroo-Thorn</hw>, <i>n</i>. an indigenous hedge-plant, <i>Acacia armata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; called also <i>Kangaroo Acacia</i>. <hw>Kapai</hw>, <i>adj</i>. Maori word for <i>good</i>, used by the English in the North Island of New Zealand; e.g. "That is a kapai pipe." "I have a kapai gun." 1896. `New Zealand Herald,' Feb. 14 (Leading Article): "The Maori word which passed most familiarly into the speech of Europeans was `kapai,' `this is good.'" <hw>Kapu</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a stone adze. The Maori word means the hollow of the hand. The adze is so called from its curved shape. (Williams, `Maori Dict.') 1889. `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 140: "Kapu,, or adze." <hw>Karaka</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a tree, <i>Corynocarpus laevigata</i>, Forst. <i>N.O. anacardiaceae</i>; also called <i>Cow-tree</i> (q.v.), forty feet high, with orange- coloured berries, two to three inches long. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 226: "Two or three canoes were hauled up under some karaka trees, which formed a pleasant grove in a sort of recess from the beach." Ibid. vol. i. p. 233: "The karaka-tree much resembles the laurel in its growth and foliage. It bears bright orange-coloured berries about the size and shape of damsons, growing in bunches. The fruit is sickly and dry; but the kernel forms an important article of native food." 1859. A. S. Thomson, `Story of New Zealand,' p. 157: "The karaka fruit is about the size of an acorn. The pulp is eaten raw; the kernel is cooked in the oven for ten days, and then steeped for several weeks in a running stream before it is fit for use. Karaka berries for winter use are dried in the sun. The kernel is poisonous uncooked." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 108: "The thick karakas' varnished green." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 102: "The karaka with its brilliantly polished green leaves and golden yellow fruit." 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 35: "Bring the heavy karaka leaf, Gather flowers of richest hue." 1892. `Otago Witness,' Nov. 10. (Native Trees): "<i>Corynocarpus laevigata</i> (generally known by the name of karaka). The fruit is poisonous, and many deaths of children occur through eating it. Mr. Anderson, a surgeon who accompanied Captain Cook, mentions this tree and its fruit, and says the sailors ate it, but does not say anything about it being poisonous. The poison is in the hard inner part, and it may be that they only ate the outer pulp." <hw>Karamu</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for several species of the New Zealand trees of the genus <i>Coprosma</i>, <i>N.O. Rubiaceae</i>. Some of the species are called <i>Tree-karamu</i>, and others <i>Bush-karamu</i>; to the latter (<i>C. lucida</i>, Kirk) the name <i>Coffee-plant</i>, or <i>Coffee-bush</i>, is also applied. 1874. J. White, `Te Rou, or the Maori at Home,' p. 221: "Then they tied a few Karamu branches in front of them and went towards the settlement." 1876. J. C. Crawford, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. IX. art. lxxx. p. 545: "I have seen it stated that coffee of fine flavour has been produced from the karamu, <i>coprosma lucida</i>." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 132: "Karamu. an ornamental shrub-tree; wood close-grained and yellow; might be used for turnery." 1887. T. F. Cheeseman, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. XX. art. xxii. p. 143: "The first plant of interest noted was a new species of <i>coprosma</i>, with the habit of the common karamu." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 275: "`Karamu' is applied by the Maoris to several species of <i>Coprosma</i>, amongst which, I believe, this [<i>C. arborea</i>] is included, but it is commonly termed `tree-karamu' by bushmen and settlers in the North." 1891. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' `New Zealand Country Journal,' vol. xv. p. 105: "Of these fruits that of the karamu, (Coprosma lucida), seemed to be amongst the first to be selected." <hw>Kareau</hw> or <hw>Kareao</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for <i>Supplejack</i> (q.v.). <hw>Karmai</hw>, <i>n</i>. used by settlers in South Island of New Zealand for <i>Towhai</i> (q.v.), a New Zealand tree, <i>Weinmannia racemosa</i>, Forst. <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>. Kamahi is the Maori, and <i>Karmai</i>, or <i>Kamai</i>, the corruption. 1876. W. N. Blair, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. ix. p. 148: "As will be seen by the tables of names, kamai is called black birch in the Catlin River District and Southland, which name is given on account of a supposed resemblance to the `birches,' or more correctly `beeches,' a number of which occur in that locality. I cannot understand how such an idea could have originated, for except in the case of the bark of one there is not the slightest resemblance between the birches and kamai. Whatever be the reason, the misapplication of names is complete, for the birches are still commonly called kamai in Southland." <hw>Karoro</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a Black-backed Gull, <i>Larus dominicanus</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 47: [Description.] <hw>Karri</hw> or <hw>Kari</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name (Western Australia) for <i>Eucalyptus diversicolor</i>. F. v. M. 1870. W. H. Knight, `Western Australia: Its History, Progress, Condition, etc.,' p. 38: "The Karri (<i>eucalyptus colossea</i>) is another wood very similar in many respects to the tuart, and grows to an enormous size." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 196: "The kari-tree is found in Western Australia, and is said to be very abundant . . . of straight growth and can be obtained of extraordinary size and length. . . . The wood is red in colour, hard, heavy, strong, tough, and slightly wavy or curled in the grain." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 444: "Commonly known as `karri,' but in its native habitat as blue-gum. . . . The durability of this timber for lengthened periods under ground yet remains to be proved." 1896. `The Inquirer and Commercial News,' [Perth] July 3, p. 4, col. 5: "Mr. J. Ednie Brown, conservator of forests . . . expresses astonishment at the vastness of the karri forests there. They will be in a position to export one thousand loads of karri timber for street-blocking purposes every week." 1896. `The Times' (Weekly Edition), Dec. 4, p. 822, col. 1: "Karri, <i>Eucalyptus diversicolor</i>, is the giant tree of Western Australia. an average tree has a height of about 200ft., and a diameter of 4 ft. at 3 ft. or 4 ft. above the ground. The tree is a rapid grower, and becomes marketable in 30 or 40 years, against 50 years for jarrah. Karri timber is being largely exported for London street-paving, as its surface is not easily rendered slippery." <hw>Katipo</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small venomous spider of New Zealand and Australia. The name is Maori. The scientific name is <i>Latrodectus scelio</i>, Thorel.In New Zealand, it is generally found on the beach under old driftwood; but in Australia it is found widely scattered over the Continent, and always frequents dark sheltered spots. The derivation may be from <i>Kakati</i>, verb, to sting, and <i>po</i>, night. Compare <i>Kakapo</i>. It is a dark-coloured spider, with a bright red or yellowish stripe. 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 440: "A small black spider with a red stripe on its back, which they [the natives of New Zealand] call katipo or katepo." 1870. Sir W. Buller, before Wellington Philosophical Society, quoted in `The Katipo,' Jan. 1, 1892, p. 2: "I have satisfied myself that in common with many other venomous creatures it (the katipo) only asserts its dreaded power as a means of defence, or when greatly irritated, for I have observed that on being touched with the finger it instantly folds its legs, rolls over on its back, and simulates death, remaining perfectly motionless till further molested, when it attempts to escape, only using its fangs as the <i>dernier ressort</i>." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals, p. 39: "Another spider (<i>Lathrodectus scelio</i>), which is very common here and everywhere in Queensland, is very dangerous even to men. It is a small black animal, of the size of our house-spider, with a brilliant scarlet mark on its back." 1891. C. Frost, `Victorian Naturalist,' p. 140: "I also determined, should opportunity occur, to make some further experiments with the black and red spider <i>Latrodectus scelio</i> . . . I found suspended in the web of one of this species a small lizard . . . which doubtless had been killed by its bite." 1892. Jan. 1, `The Katipo,' a Journal of Events in connection with the New Zealand Post Office and Telegraph Services. On p. 2 of the first number the Editor says: "If hard words could break bones, the present lot of the proprietors of `The Katipo' would be a sorry one. From certain quarters invectives of the most virulent type have been hurled upon them in connection with the title now bestowed upon the publication--the main objections expressed cover contentions that the journal's prototype is a `repulsive,' `vindictive,' and `death-dealing reptile,' `inimical to man,' etc. ; and so on, <i>ad infinitum</i>." [The pictorial heading of each number is a katipo's web, suggestive of the reticulation of telegraph wires, concerning which page 3 of the first number says: "The Katipo spider and web extends its threads as a groundwork for unity of the services."] 1895. H. R. Hogq, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia, Zoology, p. 322: "This spider, popularly known as the red streaked spider, is found all over Victoria and New South Wales, and is recorded from Rockhampton and Bowen on the Queensland Coast, and from the North Island of New Zealand, where it is known by the Maoris as the Katipo." <hw>Kauri</hw>, or <hw>Cowry</hw>, or <hw>Kauri-Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the tree <i>Agathis australis</i>, Sal. (formerly <i>Dammara A</i>.), <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. Variously spelt, and earlier often called <i>Cowdie</i>. In `Lee's New Zealand Vocabulary,' 1820, the spelling <i>Kaudi</i> appears. Although this tree is usually called by the generic name of <i>Dammara</i> (see quotation, 1832), it is properly referred to the genus <i>Agathis</i>, an earlier name already given to it by Salisbury. There is a Queensland Kauri (<i>Dammara robusta</i>, F. v. M.). See <i>Pine</i>. 1823. R. A. Cruise, `Ten Months in New Zealand,' p. 145: "The banks of the river were found to abound with cowry; and . . . the carpenter was of opinion that there could be no great difficulty in loading the ship. The timber purveyor of the Coromandel having given cowry a decided preference to kaikaterre, . . . it was determined to abandon all further operations." 1835. W. Yate, `True Account of New Zealand,' p. 37: "As a shrub, and during its youthful days, the kauri is not very graceful . . . but when it comes to years of maturity, it stands unrivalled for majesty and beauty." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 285: "The kauri (<i>Dammera</i> [sic] <i>Australis</i>) is coniferous, resinous, and has an elongated box-like leaf." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 349: "When Captain Cook visited New Zealand (nearly a century after the discovery of the <i>Dammara</i> of Amboyna), he saw, upon the east coast of the Northern Island, a tree, called by the natives Kowrie; it was found to be a second species of <i>Dammara</i>, and was named <i>D. australis</i>." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 140: "The Kauri-pine is justly styled the Queen of the New Zealand forest . . . the celebrated and beautiful Kauri." 1874. W. M. B., `Narrative of Edward Crewe,' p. 169: "The kauri is the only cone-bearing pine in New Zealand. The wood is of a yellow colour, wonderfully free from knots, and harder than the red-pine of the Baltic. Beautifully mottled logs are sometimes met with, and are frequently made up into furniture." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 295: "The Kaurie or Cowdie-Pine (<i>Dammara Australis</i>) is a native of and is found only in New Zealand. . . . A tall and very handsome tree with a slightly tapering stem. . . . For masts, yards, etc., is unrivalled in excellence, as it not only possesses the requisite dimensions, lightness, elasticity, and strength, but is much more durable than any other Pine." [The whole of chap. 37 is devoted to this tree.] 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 47: "As some tall kauri soars in lonely pride, So proudly Hira stood." 1886. J. A. Froude, `Oceans,' p. 318: "Only the majestic Kauri tolerated no approaches to his dignity. Under his branches all was bare and brown." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 143: "The Native name `Kauri' is the only common name in general use. When the timber was first introduced into Britain it was termed `cowrie' or `kowdie-pine'; but the name speedily fell into disuse, although it still appears as the common name in some horticultural works." 1890. Brett, `Early History of New Zealand,' p. 115: "`The Hunter' and `Fancy' loaded spars for Bengal at the Thames in 1798." . . . "These two Indian vessels in the Thames were probably the earliest European ships that loaded with New Zealand Timber, and probably mark the commencement of the export Kauri trade." <hw>Kauri-gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. the resin which exudes from the <i>Kauri</i> (q.v.), used in making varnish. 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 140: "In the year 1859 the amount of timber exportation from the Province of Auckland was L 34,376; that of kauri-gum exported L 20,776." 1874. G. Walch, `Head over Heels,' p. 15: "He paid his passage with kauri-gum." 1893. `Murray's Handbook to New Zealand,' p. 62: "The industry which will most interest the tourist is the Kauri-gum. . . . The resin or gum which they [the Kauri-trees] contained fell into the ground as the trees died, and (not being soluble in water) has remained there ever since. Men go about with spears which they drive into the ground, and if they find small pieces of gum sticking to the end of the spear, they commence digging, and are often rewarded by coming on large lumps of gum." <hw>Kava</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is Tongan for-- (1) An ornamental shrub, <i>Piper methysticum</i>, Miq.; also <i>Macropiper latifolium</i>, Miq. See <i>Kawa-kawa</i>. (2) A narcotic and stimulant beverage, prepared from the root of this plant, which used to be chewed by the natives of Fiji, who ejected the saliva into a <i>Kava</i> bowl, added water and awaited fermentation. The final stage of the manufacture was accompanied by a religious ceremonial of chanting. The manufacture is now conducted in a cleaner way. Kava produces an intoxication, specially affecting the legs. 1858. Rev. T. Williams, `Fiji and the Fijians,' vol. i. p. 141: "Like the inhabitants of the groups eastward, the Fijians drink an infusion of the <i>Piper methysticum</i>, generally called <i>Ava</i> or <i>Kava</i>--its name in the Tongan and other languages. Some old men assert that the true Fijian mode of preparing the root is by grating, as is still the practice in two or three places; but in this degenerate age the Tongan custom of chewing is almost universal, the operation nearly always being performed by young men. More form attends the use of this narcotic on Somosomo than elsewhere. Early in the morning the king's herald stands in front of the royal abode, and shouts at the top of his voice, `<i>Yagona</i>!' Hereupon all within hearing respond in a sort of scream, `<i>Mama</i>!'--`Chew it!' At this signal the chiefs, priests, and leading men gather round the well-known bowl, and talk over public affairs, or state the work assigned for the day, while their favourite draught is being prepared. When the young men have finished the chewing, each deposits his portion in the form of a round dry ball in the bowl, the inside of which thus becomes studded over with a large number of these separate little masses. The man who has to make the grog takes the bowl by the edge and tilts it towards the king, or, in his absence, to the chief appointed to preside. A herald calls the king's attention to the slanting bowl, saying, `Sir, with respects, the <i>yagona</i> is collected.' If the king thinks it enough, he replies, in a low tone, `<i>Loba</i>'--`Wring it--an order which the herald communicates to the man at the bowl in a louder voice. The water is then called for and gradually poured in, a little at first, and then more, until the bowl is full or the master of the ceremonies says, `Stop!' the operator in the meantime gathering up and compressing the chewed root." 1888. H. S. Cooper, `The Islands of the Pacific,' p. 102: "Kava is the name given to a liquor produced by chewing the root of a shrub called angona, and the ceremonious part of the preparation consists in chewing the root." <hw>Kawa-kawa</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for an ornamental shrub of New Zealand, <i>Macropiper excelsum</i>. In Maori, Kawa = "unpleasant to the taste, bitter, sour." (Williams.) The missionaries used to make small beer out of the <i>Kawa-kawa</i>. 1850. Major Greenwood, `Journey from Taupo to Auckland,' p. 30: "The good missionary . . . thrust upon us . . . some bottles of a most refreshing light beverage made from the leaves of the kawa-kawa tree, which in taste much resembled ginger-beer." 1877. Anon., `Colonial Experiences, or Incidents of Thirty-four Years in New Zealand,' p. 104: "Our tea was made from the dried leaves of a native shrub, of a very spicy flavour, and known as the kawakawa, too pungent if used fresh and green." 1896. `Otago Witness,' June 4, p. 49: "The tints of <i>kawa</i>, of birch and broadleaf, of <i>rimu</i> and <i>matai</i> are blended together into one dark indivisible green." <hw>Kawau</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a Shag, <i>Phalacrocorax novae-hollandiae</i>, Steph. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 145: [Description given.] <hw>Kea</hw>, <i>n</i>. a parrot of New Zealand, <i>Nester notabilis</i>, Gould. For its habits see quotations. 1862. J. Von Haast, `Exploration of Head Waters of Waitaki, 1862,'-in `Geology of Westland' (published 1879), p. 36: "What gave still greater interest to the spot was the presence of a number of large green alpine parrots (<i>Nestor notabilis</i>), the kea of the natives, which visited continually the small grove of beech-trees near our camp." 1880. `Zoologist' for February, p. 57: "On the 4th of November last the distinguished surgeon, Mr. John Wood, F.R.S., exhibited before the Pathological Society of London the colon of a sheep, in which the operation known as Colotomy had been performed by a Parrot . . . the species known as the `Kea' by the Maoris, the `Mountain Parrot' of the colonists, <i>Nestor notabilis</i> of Gould. Only five species . . . are known, one of which (<i>Nestor productus</i>) has lately become extinct; they only occur in New Zealand and Norfolk Island. They were formerly classed among the <i>Trichoglossinae</i> or brush-tongued parrots . . . more nearly allied to true <i>Psittaci</i> . . . Its ordinary food consists of berries and insects; but since its Alpine haunts have been reached by the tide of civilization, it has acquired a taste for raw flesh, to obtain which it even attacks living animals." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 176: "We have the hoary-headed nestors, amongst which are found the noisy honey-loving kaka, the hardy kea, that famous sheep- killer and flesh-eater, the dread of many an Alpine sheep farmer." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 166: "<i>Nestor notabilis</i>, Gould, Kea-parrot, Mountain-parrot of the Colonists." 1888. `Antipodean Notes,' p. 74: "The Kea picks the fat which surrounds the kidneys. . . . Various theories have been started to explain how this parrot has become carnivorous." [Two pages are devoted to the question.] 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 19: "The kea-parrot. . . . The kea is pretty to look at, having rich red and green plumage, but it is a cruel bird. It is said that it will fasten on the back of a living sheep and peck its way down to the kidney-fat, for which this parrot has a special fancy. No tourist need feel compunction about shooting a kea." 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 445: "Another very interesting group of birds are the large dull colonial parrots of the genus Nestor, called kea or kaka by the natives from their peculiar cries. Their natural food is berries . . . but of late years the kea (<i>Nestor notabilis</i>), a mountain species found only in the South Island, has developed a curious liking for meat, and now attacks living sheep, settling on their backs and tearing away the skin and flesh to get at the kidney fat." 1895. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 26, p. 3, col. 1: "There is in the Alpine regions of the South Island a plant popularly called the `vegetable sheep,' botanically named <i>Raoulia</i>. From the distance of even a few yards it looks like a sheep. It grows in great masses, and consists of a woolly vegetation. A large specimen of this singular plant was exhibited in the Colonial and Indian Exhibition. It is said that the kea was in the habit of tearing it up to get at the grubs which harbour within the mass, and that mistaking dead sheep for vegetable sheep it learned the taste of mutton. A more enterprising generation preferred its mutton rather fresher." <hw>Kelp-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand, also called <i>Butter-fish</i> (q.v.), <i>Coridodax pullus</i>, Forst. In Tasmania, <i>Odax baleatus</i>, Cuv. and Val.; called also <i>Ground Mullet</i> by the fishermen. In Victoria, <i>Chironemus marmoratus</i>, Gunth. <i>Coridodax</i> and <i>Odax</i> belong to the family <i>Labridae</i> or Wrasses, which comprises the <i>Rock-Whitings</i>; <i>Chironemus</i> to the family <i>Cirrhitidae</i>. The name is also given in New Zealand to another fish, the <i>Spotty</i> (q.v.). These fishes are all different from the Californian food- fishes of the same name. 1841. J. Richardson, `Description of Australian Fishes,' p. 148: "This fish is known at Port Arthur by the appellation of `Kelp-fish,' I suppose from its frequenting the thickets of the larger fuci." <hw>Kennedya</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of a genus of perennial leguminous herbs of the bean family-named, in 1804, after Mr. Kennedy, a gardener at Hammersmith, near London. There are seventeen species, all natives of Australia and Tasmania, many of them cultivated for the sake of their showy flowers and berries. Others lie near the ground like a vetch; <i>K. prostrata</i> is called the <i>Coral Pea</i> (q.v.), or <i>Bleeding Heart</i>, or <i>Native Scarlet Runner</i>, or <i>Running Postman</i>. Another species is called <i>Australian Sarsaparilla</i>. See <i>Sarsaparilla</i>. 1885. R. M. Praed, `The Head Station,' p. 294: "Taking off his felt hat, he twisted round it a withe of crimson Kennedia, then put it on again." <hw>Kestrel</hw>, <i>n</i>. the common English name for a falcon. According to Gould the Australian species is identical with <i>Cerchneis tinnunculus</i>, a European species, but Vigors and Horsfield differentiate it as <i>Tinnunculus cenchroides</i>. 1893. `The Argus,' March 25, p. 4, col. 5: "The kestrel's nest we always found in the fluted gums that overhung the creek, the red eggs resting on the red mould of the decaying trunk being almost invisible." Kia ora, <i>interj</i>. Maori phrase used by English in the North Island of New Zealand, and meaning "Health to you!" A private letter (1896) says--"You will hear any day at a Melbourne bar the first man say <i>Keora ta-u</i>, while the other says <i>Keora tatu</i>, so replacing "Here's to you!" These expressions are corruptions of the Maori, <i>Kia ora taua</i>, "Health to us too!" and <i>Kia ora tatou</i>, "Health to all of us!" <hw>Kie-kie</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a climbing plant, <i>Freycinetia banksii</i>, <i>N.O. Pandanaceae</i>; frequently pronounced <i>ghi-ghi</i> in the North Island of New Zealand, and <i>gay-gie</i> in the South Island. 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' p. 77: "The trees were . . . covered with a kind of parasite plant, called a keekee, having a thick cabbage-like stock." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf' (Notes), p. 505: "Kie-kie (parasite). . . . A lofty climber; the bracts and young spikes make a very sweet preserve." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 20: "The unused food . . . of our little camp, together with the empty kie-kie baskets." [sc. baskets made of <i>kie-kie</i> leaves.] <hw>Kiley</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal word in Western Australia for a flat weapon, curved for throwing, made plane on one side and slightly convex on the other. A kind of boomerang. 1839. Nathaniel Ogle, `The Colony of Western Australia,' p. 57: "In every part of this great continent they have the koilee, or boomerang . . ." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. 1. c. iv. p. 72: "One of them had a kiley or bomerang." 1872. Mrs. E. Millett, `An Australian Parsonage; or, The Settler and the Savage in Western Australia,' p. 222: "The flat curved wooden weapon, called a <i>kylie</i>, which the natives have invented for the purpose of killing several birds out of a flock at one throw, looks not unlike a bird itself as it whizzes (or <i>walks</i> as natives say) through the air in its circular and ascending flight. . ." 1885 Lady Barker, `Letters to Guy,' p. 177: "More wonderful and interesting, however, is it to see them throw the kylie (what is called the boomerang in other parts of Australia), a curiously curved and flat stick, about a foot long and two or three inches wide. . . . There are heavier `ground kylies,' which skim along the ground, describing marvellous turns and twists, and they would certainly break the leg of any bird or beast they hit; but their gyrations are nothing compared to those of a good air-kylie in skilful hands." <hw>Kinaki</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Maori word for food eaten with another kind to give it a relish. Compare Grk. <i>'opson</i>. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 164: "Kinaki. Victuals, added for variety's sake." 1873. `Appendix to Journal of House of Representatives,' vol. iii. G. 1, p. 5: "If it be a Maori who is taken by me, he will also be made into a kinaki for my cabbage." 1878. R. C. Barstow, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. XI. art. iv. p. 71: "Fifty years ago it would have been a poor hapu that could not afford a slave or two as a kinaki, or relish, on such an occasion." <hw>King-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand a sea-fish, <i>Seriola lalandii</i> (Maori, Haku), sometimes called the <i>Yellow-tail</i>; in Victoria, <i>Sciaena antarctica</i>, Castln. Called <i>Jew-fish</i> (q.v.) in New South Wales. Tenison Woods says the King-fish of Port Jackson must not be confounded with the King-fish of Victoria or the King-fish of Tasmania (<i>Thyrsites micropus</i>, McCoy). The Port Jackson King-fish belongs to a genus called "Yellow-tails" in Europe. This is <i>Seriola lalandii</i>, Cuv. and Val. <i>Seriola</i> belongs to the family <i>Carangidae</i>, or <i>Horse- Mackerels</i>. <i>Thyrsites</i> belongs to the family <i>Trichiuridae</i>. The "Barracouta" of Australasia is another species of <i>Thyrsites</i>, and the "Frost-fish" belongs to the same family. The <i>Kingfish</i> of America is a different fish; the name is also applied to other fishes in Europe. 1876. P. Thomson, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. XI. art. lii. p. 381: "The king-fish, <i>Seriola Lalandii</i>, put in no appearance this year." 1883. `Royal Commission on Fisheries of Tasmania,' p. 11: "<i>Thyrsites Lalandii</i>, the king-fish of Tasmania: migratory. Appear in immense numbers at certain seasons (December to June) in pursuit of the horse-mackerel. Caught with a swivelled barbless hook at night. Voracious in the extreme--individuals frequently attacking each other, and also the allied species, the barracouta." <hw>Kingfisher</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. Gould mentions thirteen species in Australia. The Australian species are-- Blue Kingfisher-- <i>Halcyon azurea</i>, Lath. Fawn-breasted K.-- <i>Dacelo cervina</i>, Gould. Forest K.-- <i>Halcyon macleayi</i>, Jard. and Selb. Laughing jackass (q.v.)-- <i>Dacelo gigas</i>, Bodd. Leach's K.-- <i>D. leachii</i>, Vig. and Hors. Little K.-- <i>Halcyon pusilla</i>, Temm. Mangrove K.-- <i>H. sordidus</i>, Gould. Purple K.-- <i>H. pulchra</i>, Gould. Red-backed K.-- <i>H. pyrropygius</i>, Gould. Sacred K.-- <i>H. sanctus</i>, Vig. and Hors. White-tailed K.-- <i>Tanysiptera sylvia</i>, Gould. Yellow-billed K.-- <i>Syma flavirostris</i>, Gould. There is a Kingfisher in New Zealand (<i>Halcyon vagans</i>, Less.) considered identical by many with <i>H. sanctus</i> of Australia, but concluded by Butler to be a distinct species. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 121: [A full description.] <hw>King of the Herrings</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Elephant-fish</i> (q.v.). 1890. A. H. S. Lucas, `Handbook of the Australasian Association' (Melbourne), p. 72: "The King of the Herrings, <i>Callorhynchus antarcticus</i>, is fairly common with us." <hw>King-Parrot</hw>. See <i>Parrot</i>. 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 317: This creek [King Parrot Creek] was named after a beautiful parrot which was then seen for the first time. It is a bird of magnificent plumage, with crimson feathers on the body, and blue wings, both of gorgeous hue, and no other colour except a little black. The name, King Parrot, is variously applied to several birds in different arts of Australia; the one described is common." <hw>King William Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian tree. See <i>Cedar</i>. <hw>Kino</hw>, <i>n</i>. a drug; the dried juice, of astringent character, obtained from incisions in the bark of various trees. In Australia it is got from certain Eucalypts, e.g. <i>E. resinifera</i>, Smith, and <i>E. corymbosa</i>, Smith. "It is used in England under the name of <i>Red-gum</i> in astringent lozenges for sore throat." (`Century.') See <i>Red Gum</i>. The drug is Australian, but the word, according to Littre, is "<i>Mot des Indes orientales</i>." <hw>Kipper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a youth who has been initiated, i.e. been through the <i>Bora</i> (q.v.). It is a Queensland word. In Kabi, Queensland, the form is <i>kivar</i>: on the Brisbane River, it is <i>kippa</i>, whereas in the Kamilaroi of New South Wales the word is <i>kubura</i>. 1853. H. Berkeley Jones, `Adventures in Australia in 1852 and 1853,' p. 126: "Around us sat `Kippers,' i.e. `hobbledehoy blacks.'" 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 24: "The young men receive the rank of warriors, and are henceforth called kippers." Kit, <i>n</i>. a flexible Maori basket; not the English <i>kit</i> used by soldiers, but the Maori word kete, a basket. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 199: "<i>Kete</i> (Maori), pa-kete (Anglo-Maori), basket, kit (Eng.)." 1856. E. B. Fitton, `New Zealand,' p. 68: "The natives generally bring their produce to market in neatly made baskets, plaited from flax and known by the name of `Maori kits.'" 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand, the Britain of the South,' vol. i. p. 180: "The kit is a large plaited green-flax basket." 1877. An Old Colonist, `Colonial Experiences,' p. 31: "Potatoes were procurable from the Maoris in flax kits, at from one to five shillings the kit." 1884. Lady Martin, `Our Maoris,' p. 44: "They might have said, as an old Maori woman long afterwards said to me, `Mother, my heart is like an old kete (i.e. a coarsely-woven basket). The words go in, but they fall through.'" <hw>Kite</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The species in Australia are-- Allied Kite-- <i>Milvus affanis</i>, Gould. Black-shouldered K.-- <i>Elanus axillaris</i>, Lath. Letter-winged K.-- <i>E. scriptus</i>, Gould. Square-tailed K.-- <i>Lophoictinia isura</i>, Gould. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 321: "We had to guard it by turns, whip in hand, from a host of square-tailed kites (<i>Milvus isiurus</i>)." 1895. G. A. Keartland, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Zoology, p. 55: "At any stockyard or station passed Kites were seen . . . at Henbury one female bird was bold enough to come right into camp and pick up the flesh thrown to it from birds I was skinning." <hw>Kiwi</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a wingless struthious bird of New Zealand, the <i>Apteryx</i> (q.v.), so called from the note of the bird. The species are-- Large Grey Kiwi (Roa roa, generally shortened to <i>Roa</i>, q.v.)-- <i>Apteryx haastii</i>, Potts. Little Grey K.-- <i>A. oweni</i>, Gould. North Island K.-- <i>A. bulleri</i>, Sharpe. South Island K. (Tokoeka)-- <i>A. australis</i>, Shaw and Nodder. See Buller, `Birds of New Zealand' (1888), vol. ii. p. 308. 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 58: "Kiwi--the most remarkable and curious bird in New Zealand." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 2: "<i>Apteryx Australis</i>, Shaw, Kiwi kiwi." [Australis here equals Southern, not Australian.] 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 181: "The Kiwi, however, is only the last and rather insignificant representative of the family of wingless birds that inhabited New Zealand in bygone ages." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 232: "'Twas nothing but that wing-less, tail-less bird, The <i>kiwi</i>." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 35: "The fact that one collector alone had killed and disposed of above 2000 specimens of the harmless kiwi." 1889. Professor Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 116: "The Kiwi, although flightless, has a small but well-formed wing, provided with wing quills." <hw>Knockabout</hw>, <i>adj</i>. a species of labourer employed on a station; applied to a man of all work on a station. Like <i>Rouseabout</i> (q.v.). 1876. W. Harcus, `Southern Australia,' p. 275: "Knockabout hands, 17s. to 20S. per week." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 80: "They were composed chiefly of what is called in the bush `knockabout men'--that is, men who are willing to undertake any work, sometimes shepherding, sometimes making yards or driving." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' xvi. p. 118: "I watched his development through various stages of colonial experience--into dairyman, knockabout man, bullock-driver, and finally stock-rider." <hw>Knock-down</hw>, <i>v</i>. generally of a cheque. To spend riotously, usually in drink. 1869. Marcus Clarke, `Peripatetic Philosopher' (reprint), p. 80: "Last night! went knocking round with Swizzleford and Rattlebrain. C'sino, and V'ri'tes. Such a lark! Stole two Red Boots and a Brass Hat. Knocked down thirteen notes, and went to bed as tight as a fly!" 1871. J. J. Simpson, `Recitations,' p. 9: "Hundreds of diggers daily then were walking Melbourne town, With their pockets fill'd with gold, which they very soon knock'd down." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 6: "Cashed by the nearest publican, who of course never handed over a cent. A man was compelled to stay there and knock his cheque down `like a man'" 1885. H. Finch-Hatton,' Advance Australia,' p. 222: "A system known as `knocking down one's cheque' prevails all over the unsettled parts of Australia. That is to say, a man with a cheque, or a sum of money in his possession, hands it over to the publican, and calls for drinks for himself and his friends, until the publican tells him he has drunk out his cheque." 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. xviii. p. 182: "The illiterate shearer who knocks down his cheque in a spree." <hw>Koala</hw>, <hw>Coola</hw>, or <hw>Kool-la</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for <i>Native Bear</i> (q.v.); genus, <i>Phascolarctus</i> (q.v.). A variant of an aboriginal word meaning a big animal. In parts of South Australia koola means a kangaroo. 1813. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 432: "The koolah or sloth is likewise an animal of the opossum species, with a false belly. This creature is from a foot and a half to two feet in length, and takes refuge in a tree, where he discovers his haunt by devouring all the leaves before he quits it." 1849. J. Gould, `Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London,' November: "The light-coloured mark on the rump, somewhat resembling that on the same part of the Koala . . . the fur is remarkable for its extreme density and for its resemblance to that of the Koala." <hw>Kohekohe</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, sometimes called Cedar, <i>Dysoxylum spectabile</i>, Hook (<i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>). 1883. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 127: "Kohekohe. A large forest tree, forty to fifty feet high. Its leaves are bitter, and used to make a stomachic infusion: wood tough, but splits freely." <hw>Kohua</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word, for (1) a Maori oven; (2) a boiler. There is a Maori <i>verb Kohu</i>, to cook or steam in a native oven (from a noun <i>Kohu</i>, steam, mist), and an <i>adj</i>. <i>Kohu</i>, concave. The word is used by the English in New Zealand, and is said to be the origin of <i>Goashore</i> (q.v.). <hw>Kokako</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Blue-wattled Crow</i>. See under <i>Crow</i> and <i>Wattle-bird</i>. 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 194: "The Orange-wattled Crow, or wattled bird, kokako of the Maoris, Glaucopis cinerea, Gml., still seems to be an almost unknown bird as to its nesting habits. . . . The kokako loving a moist temperature will probably soon forsake its ancient places of resort." <hw>Kokopu</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand fish; any species of <i>Galaxias</i>, especially <i>G. fasciatus</i>; corrupted into <i>Cock-a-bully</i> (q.v.). See <i>Mountain Trout</i>. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 106: "Kokopu. Name of a certain fish." 1886. R. A. Sherrin, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 138: "`Kokopu,' Dr.Hector says, `is the general Maori name for several very common fishes in the New Zealand streams and lakes, belonging to the family of <i>Galaxidae</i>.'" <hw>Kokowai</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for Red Ochre, an oxide of iron deposited in certain rivers, used by the Maoris for painting. It was usually mixed with shark oil, but for very fine work with oil from the berries of the <i>titoki</i> (q.v.). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 124: "His head, with the hair neatly arranged and copiously ornamented with feathers, reclined against a carved post, which was painted with kokowai, or red ochre." 1878. R. C. Barstow, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. XI. art. iv. p. 75: "Kokowai is a kind of pigment, burnt, dried, and mixed with shark-liver oil." <hw>Konini</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for (1) the fruit of the New Zealand fuchsia, <i>Fuchsia excorticata</i>, Linn. (2) A settlers' name for the tree itself. See <i>Kotukutuku</i>. 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 114: "The berries of the konini . . . ripening early furnish some part of its (bell-bird's) food supply." (p. 146): "Rather late in August, when the brown-skinned konini begins to deck its bare sprays with pendulous flowers." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 53: "Mr. Colenso informs me that it [<i>Fuchsia excorticata</i>] is the Kohutuhutu and the Kotukutuku of the Maoris, the fruit being known as Konini, especially in the South Island and the southern part of the North Island. The settlers sometimes term it Kotukutuku or Konini, but more generally fuchsia." <hw>Kooberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the <i>Bidyan Ruffe</i> (q.v.). <hw>Kookaburra</hw>, <i>n</i>. (also <hw>Gogobera</hw> and <hw>Goburra</hw>), the aboriginal name for the bird called the <i>Laughing Jackass</i> (q.v.). The first spelling is that under which the aboriginal name now survives in English, and is the name by which the bird is generally called in Sydney. 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 123: "And wild goburras laughed aloud Their merry morning songs." 1870. F. S. Wilson, `Australian Songs,' p. 167: "The rude rough rhymes of the wild goburra's song." 1886. E. M. Curr, `Australian Race,' p. 29: "The notes of this bird are chiefly composed of the sounds <i>ka</i> and <i>koo</i>, and from them it takes its name in most of the languages . . . It is noticeable in some localities that <i>burra</i> is the common equivalent of <i>people</i> or <i>tribe</i>, and that the Pegulloburra . . . the Owanburra, and many other tribes, called the laughing- jackass--kakooburra, kakaburra, kakoburra, and so on; literally the <i>Kakoo people</i>." [Mr. Curr's etymology is not generally accepted.] 1890. `The Argus,' Oct. 25, p. 4, col 5: "You might hear the last hoot of the kookaburra then." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 26, p. 5, col. 4: "But what board will intervene to protect the disappearing marsupials, and native flora, the lyre-bird, the kookaburra, and other types which are rapidly disappearing despite the laws which have been framed in some instances for their protection?" 1894. E. P. Ramsay, `Catalogue of Australian Birds in the Australian Museum at Sydney,' p. 2, s.v. <i>Dacelo</i>: "Gogobera, aborigines of New South Wales." <hw>Koradji</hw>, or <hw>Coradgee</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a wise man, sorcerer, or doctor. In the south-east of New South Wales, it means one of the tribal wizards, usually called "blackfellow- doctors." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 14: "The coradgees, who are their wise men, have, they suppose, the power of healing and foretelling. Each tribe possesses one of these learned pundits, and if their wisdom were in proportion to their age, they would indeed be Solons." 1865. S. Bennett, `Australian Discovery,' p. 250: "Kiradjee, a doctor; Grk. <i>cheirourgos</i>. Persian, khoajih. English, surgeon. Old English (obsolete), chirurgeon." [Curious and impossible etymology.] 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia, vol. i. p. 287: "One who seemed a coradge, or priest, went through a strange ceremony of singing, and touching his eyebrows, nose, and breast, crossing himself, and pointing to the sky like an old Druid." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 23: "The korradgees, or medicine men, are the chief repositories (of the secrets of their religion)." 1892. J. Fraser, `Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 63: "For some diseases, the kar'aji, or native doctor when he is called in, makes passes with his hand over the sick man, much in the same way as a mesmerist will do . . . Our Australian karaji is highly esteemed, but not paid." <hw>Korari</hw>, <i>n</i>. often pronounced <i>Koladdy</i> and <i>Koladdy</i>, and spelt variously; the Maori word for the flowering stem of <i>Phormium tenax</i>, J. and G. Forst. (q.v.), generally used for making a <i>mokihi</i> (q.v.). There is a Maori noun, <i>kora</i>, a small fragment; and a verb <i>korari</i>, to pluck a twig, or tear it off. 1879. `Old Identity' [Title]: "The Old Identities of the Province of Otago." [p. 53]: "A <i>kolladie</i> (the flower stalk of the flax, about seven feet long) carried by each, as a balancing pole or staff." 1893. Daniel Frobisher, `Sketches of Gossipton,' p. 75: "But now the faithful brute is gone; Through bush and fern and flax <i>koladdy</i>, Where oft he bunny pounced upon, No more will follow me, poor Paddy." <hw>Korero</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori for a conference, a conversation. The verb means "to tell, to say, to address, to speak, to talk." (`Williams' Maori Dictionary,' 4th. ed.) 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 168: "Korero, <i>s</i>. a speaking; <i>v. n</i>. speaking." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 78: "There were about sixty men assembled, and they proceeded to hold a `korero,' or talk on the all-important subject." Ibid. p. 81: "With the exception of an occasional exclamation of `korero, korero,' `speak, speak,' which was used like our `hear, hear,' in either an encouraging or an ironical sense, or an earnest but low expression of approval or dissent, no interruption of the orators ever took place." 1863. T. Moser, `Mahoe Leaves,' p. 30: "As he had to pass several pahs on the road, at all of which there would be `koreros.'" (p. 31): "Had been joined by a score or more of their acquaintances, and what between `koreros' and `ko-mitis,' had not made any further progress on their journey." 1896. `Otago Witness,' Jan. 23, p. 42, col. 3: "All this after a very excited `korero' on the empty dray, with the surging and exciting crowd around." <hw>Korimako</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Bell-Bird</i> (q.v.). 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 402: "The korimako, or kokorimako (<i>Anthornis melanura</i>). This bird is the sweetest songster of New Zealand, but is not distinguished by its plumage, which is a yellowish olive with a dark bluish shade on each side of the head." Ibid. p. 75: "In the first oven [at the Maori child's naming feast] a korimako was cooked; this is the sweetest singing bird of New Zealand; it was eaten that the child might have a sweet voice and be an admired orator." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 202: "The <i>korimako</i>, sweetest bird Of all that are in forest heard." 1888. W. W. Smith, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. XXI. art. xxi. p. 213: "<i>Anthornis melanura</i>, korimako or bell-bird. In fine weather the bush along the south shores of Lake Brunner re-echoes with the rich notes of the tui and korimako, although both species have disappeared from former haunts east of the Alps." <hw>Koromiko</hw>, <i>n</i>. a white flowering arborescent Veronica of New Zealand, <i>Veronica salicifolia</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Scrophularineae</i>. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' P. 454: "Koromiko, a very ornamental plant, but disappearing before the horse. It bears a tapering-shaped flower of a purplish white." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 2: "Just a ditch, With flowering koromiko rich." 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 21: "The early breeze That played among the koromiko's leaves." 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby,' p. 16: "Fostered by the cool waters of a mountain rivulet, the koromiko grows by the side of the poisonous tutu bushes." Korora, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a <i>Blue Penguin</i>, <i>Spheniscus minor</i>, Gmel. See <i>Penguin</i>. <hw>Korrumburra</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the common blow-fly, which in Australia is a yellow-bottle, not a blue-bottle. 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 54: "Odd `Korrumburras' dodge quickly about with cheerful hum. Where they go, these busy buzzy flies, when the cold calls them away for their winter vac. is a mystery. Can they hibernate? for they show themselves again at the first glint of the spring sun." <hw>Kotuku</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>White Crane</i> of the Colonists, which is really a <i>White Heron</i> (<i>Ardea egretta</i>). See <i>Crane</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 124: [A full description.] <hw>Kotukutuku</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand tree, <i>Fuchsia excorticata</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Onagrariea</i>; written also <i>Kohutuhutu</i>. This name is not much used, but is corrupted into <i>Tookytook</i> (q.v.). See <i>Konini</i> and <i>Fuchsia</i>. 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 127: "Kotukutuku. The fruit is called <i>konini</i>. A small and ornamental tree, ten to thirty feet high . . . a durable timber. . . . The wood might be used as dye-stuff . . . Its fruit is pleasant and forms principal food of the wood-pigeon." <hw>Kowhai</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name given to-- (1) Locust-tree, <i>Yellow Kowhai</i> (<i>Sophora tetraptera</i>, Aiton, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>). (2) Parrot-bill, <i>Scarlet Kowhai</i> (<i>Clianthus puniceus</i>, <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>), or <i>Kaka-bill</i> (q.v.). Variously spelt <i>Kowai</i> and <i>Kohai</i>, and corrupted into <i>Goai</i> (q.v.) by the settlers. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 58: "The kohai too, a species of mimosa covered with bright yellow blossoms, abounds in such situations where the stunted growth is an almost unvarying sign of constant inundation." [Mr. Wakefield was mistaken. The Kohai is not a mimosa.] 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 261: "`Tis the <i>Kowhai</i>, that spendthrift so golden But its kinsman to Nature beholden, For raiment its beauty to fold in, Deep-dyed as of trogon or lory, How with parrot-bill fringes 'tis burning, One blood-red mound of glory!" 1873. `New Zealand Parliamentary Debates,' No. 16, p. 863: "Kowai timber, thoroughly seasoned, used for fencing posts, would stand for twelve or fourteen years; while posts cut out of the same bush and used green would not last half the time." 1882. T. H. Potts, 'Out in the Open,' p. 146: "The head of the straight-stemmed kowhai is already crowned with racemes of golden blossoms." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 131: "Kowhai--a small or middling-sized tree. . . . Wood red, valuable for fencing, being highly durable . . . used for piles in bridges, wharves, etc." 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 21: "The dazzling points of morning's lances Waked the red kowhai's drops from sleep." <hw>Kuku</hw>, or <hw>Kukupa</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand <i>Fruit-pigeon</i> (q.v.), <i>Carpophaga novae-zelandiae</i>, Gmel. Called also <i>Kereru</i>. The name is the bird's note. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 170: "Kuku, s. the cry of a pigeon." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 406: "Family <i>Columbidae</i>--kereru, kukupa (kuku, <i>Carpophaga Novae Zealandiae</i>), the wood-pigeon. This is a very fine large bird, the size of a duck; the upper part of the breast green and gold, the lower a pure white, legs and bill red. It is a heavy flying bird, and very stupid, which makes it an easy prey to its enemies. The natives preserve large quantities in calabashes, taking out the bones; these are called kuku." Ibid. p. 183: "The pigeon bears two names--the kuku and kukupa, which are common to the isles." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 115: "The kukupa . . . was just the bird created expressly for the true cockney sportsman--the one after his heart . . . for if not brought down by the first shot, why he only shakes his feathers and calmly waits to be shot at again!" 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 45: "The kuku, plaintive, wakes to mourn her mate." <hw>Kumara</hw>, or <hw>Kumera</hw>, <i>n</i>. (pronounced Koomera), a Maori word for an edible root, the yam or sweet potato, <i>Ipomaea batatas</i>, <i>N.O. Convolvulaceae</i>. There are numerous varieties. It should be added that it is doubtful whether it grows wild in New Zealand. 1773. Sydney Parkinson, `Journal of a Voyage to the South Seas' (see extract in `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' `Manibus Parkinsonibus Sacrum,' W. Colenso, vol. x. art. ix. p. 124): "Several canoes came alongside of the ship, of whom we got some fish, kumeras or sweet potatoes, and several other things." 1828. `Henry William Diarys' (in Life by Carleton), p. 69: "Kumara had been planted over the whole plain." 1830. Ibid. p. 79: "We passed over the hill, and found the assailants feasting on the kumara, or sweet potato, which they just pulled up from the garden at which they had landed." 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 49: "He saw some fine peaches and kumaras or sweet potatoes." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' c. xi. p. 273 (3rd edition, 1855) "The kumara or sweet potato is a most useful root." 1863. F. E. Maning (Pakeha Maori), `Old New Zealand,' p. 51: "Behind the pigs was placed by the active exertion of two or three hundred people, a heap of potatoes and kumera, in quantity about ten tons, so there was no lack of the raw material for a feast." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 430: "Now the autumn's fruits Karaka,--taro,--kumera,--berries, roots Had all been harvested with merry lays And rites of solemn gladness." 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 18: "Some more dainty toothsome dish Than the kumera and fish." <hw>Kumquat, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Atalantia glauca</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>, i.q. <i>Desert Lemon</i> (q.v.). <hw>Kurdaitcha</hw>, <hw>Coordaitcha</hw>, or <hw>Goditcha</hw>, <i>n</i>. a native term applied by white men to a particular kind of shoe worn by the aborigines of certain parts of Central Australia, and made of emu feathers matted together. The two ends are of the same shape, so that the direction in which the wearer has travelled cannot be detected. The wearer is supposed to be intent upon murder, and the blacks really apply the name to the wearer himself. The name seems to have been transferred by white men to the shoes, the native name for which is <i>interlin</i>~a, or <i>urtathurta</i>. 1886. E. M. Curr, `Australian Race,' vol. i. p. 148: "It was discovered in 1882 . . . that the Blacks . . . wear a sort of shoe when they attack their enemies by stealth at night. Some of the tribes call these shoes <i>Kooditcha</i>, their name for an invisible spirit. I have seen a pair of them. The soles were made of the feathers of the emu, stuck together with a little human blood, which the maker is said to take from his arm. They were about an inch and a half thick, soft, and of even breadth. The uppers were nets made of human hair. The object of these shoes is to prevent those who wear them from being tracked and pursued after a night attack." 1896. P. M. Byrne, `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Victoria,' p. 66: "The wearing of the Urtathurta and going Kurdaitcha luma appears to have been the medium for a form of vendetta." <hw>Kurrajong</hw>, <i>n</i>. or <hw>Currajong</hw> (spelt variously), the aboriginal name for various Australian and Tasmanian fibrous plants; see quotations, 1825 and 1884. They are the-- Black Kurrajong-- <i>Sterculia diversifolia</i>, G. Don., and <i>Sterculia quadrifida</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Sterculiaceae</i>. Brown K.-- <i>Commersonia echinata</i>, R. and G. Forst.; also, <i>Brachychiton gregorii</i>; both belonging to <i>N.O. Sterculiaceae</i>. Green K.-- <i>Hibiscus heterophyllus</i>, Vent., <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>. Tasmanian K.-- <i>Plagianthus sidoides</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>. Others are <i>Trema aspera</i>, Blume, <i>N.O. Urticeae</i>; and <i>Sterculia rupestris</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Urticeae</i>. Some of the varieties are also called <i>Bottle-trees</i>, and, in Tasmania, <i>Cordage-trees</i> (q.v.). 1823. `Uniacke's Narrative of Oxley's Expedition,' quoted by J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 408: "The nets used for fishing [by the natives] are made by the men from the bark of the kurrajong (<i>Hibiscus heterophyllus</i>), a shrub which is very common to the swamps." 1825. Barron Field, Glossary, in `Geographical Memoirs of New South Wales,' p. 502: "Currijong or Natives' cordage tree (Hibiscus heterophyllus)." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii. p. 25: "The curragong is sometimes found; its inner bark may be manufactured into ropes." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 149: "The currajong (<i>Sterculia</i>)is used for cordage, and makes strong, close, but not very durable ropes." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' vol. iii. p. 91: "Dillis neatly worked of koorajong bark." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 214: "In such a valley in which stands a spreading corrijong (<i>Sterculia diversifolia</i>), which has a strong resemblance to the English oak, I constantly found a flock of sheep." 1862. W. Archer, `Products of Tasmania,' p. 41: "Currajong (<i>Plagianthus sidoides</i>, Hook). The fibres of the bark are very strong. It is a large shrub, found chiefly on the southern side of the Island, in various and shady places, and grows rapidly." 1878. Rev. W. W. Spicer, `Handbook of the Plants of Tasmania,' p. 104: "<i>Plagianthus sidoides</i>, Hooker. Currijong, <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>. Peculiar to Tasmania." 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 77: "The currejong of the forest, and the casuarina which lines the rivers, stand with brighter green in cheering contrast to the dulness of surrounding leaves." 1881,. W. R. Guilfoyle, `Australian Botany' (second edition), p. 162: "The aborigines apply the name Kurrajong, or Currijong, to some [Pimeleas]; but it would appear that this native name is indiscriminately given to any plant possessing a tough bark." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 138: "Quaint currajongs . . . very like in form to the stiff wooden trees we have all played with in childish days." L <hw>Laburnum, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Tasmanian <i>Clover-tree, Goodenia lotifolia</i>, Sal., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. <hw>Laburnum, Sea-coast</hw>, <i>n</i>. also called <i>Golden Chain</i>, <i>Sophora tomentosa</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; a tall, hoary shrub. <hw>Lace-bark</hw>, <hw>Lacey-bark</hw>, or <hw>Lacewood</hw>, <i>n</i>. names for Ribbonwood (q.v.). The inner bark of the tree is like fine lace. 1876. W. N. Blair, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. IX. art. x. p. 175: "Ribbonwood, <i>Plagianthus betulinus</i>, botanical name, Hooker; Whauwhi, Maori name, according to Hector; lace-bark tree, settlers' name, according to Buchanan." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open': "The soft, bright-foliaged ribbonwood (lace-bark, <i>Plagianthus</i>) contrasts with the dusky hue of the dark-leaved fagus." <hw>Lace-Lizard</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Hydrosaurus (Varanus) varius</i>. See <i>Goanna</i>. 1881. F. McCoy, `Prodomus of the Natural History of Victoria,' Dec. 4: "Although the present Lace Lizard is generally arboreal, climbing the forest trees with ease, and running well on the ground, it can swim nearly as well as a Crocodile." <hw>Lagorchestes</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for a genus of Australian marsupial mammals, called the <i>Hare- Wallabies</i> or <i>Hare-Kangaroos</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>lagows</i>, a hare, and <i>'orchestaes</i>, a dancer.) They live on plains, and make a "form" in the herbage like the hare, which they resemble. <hw>Lagostrophus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus containing the animal called the <i>Banded-Wallaby</i>. (Grk. <i>lagows</i>, a hare, and <i>strophos</i>, a band or zone.) Its colour is a greyish-brown, with black and white bands, its distinguishing characteristic. It is sometimes called the <i>Banded-Kangaroo</i>, and is found at Dirk Hartog's Island, and on one or two islands in Shark's Bay, and in West Australia. For its interesting habits see R. Lyddeker's `Marsupialia.' <hw>Lake-Trout</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian fish, <i>Galaxias auratus</i>, family <i>Galaxidae</i>. See <i>Mountain- Trout</i>. <hw>Lamb down</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. (1) To knock down a cheque or a sum of money in a spree. There is an old English verb, of Scandinavian origin, and properly spelt <i>lamm</i>, which means to thrash, beat. 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 51: "It is the Bushman come to town-- Come to spend his cheque in town, Come to do his lambing down." 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 4, col. 2: "The lambing down of cheques." 1890. Ibid. Aug. 9, p. 4, col. 5: "The old woman thought that we were on gold, and would lamb down at the finish in her shanty." (2) To make a man get rid of his money to you; to clean him out." 1873. Marcus Clarke, `Holiday Peak, etc.,' p. 21: "The result was always the same--a shilling a nobbler. True, that Trowbridge's did not `lamb down' so well as the Three Posts, but then the Three Posts put fig tobacco in its brandy casks, and Trowbridge's did not do that." 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p.30: "The operation--combining equal parts of hocussing, overcharging, and direct robbery--and facetiously christened by bush landlords `lambing down.'" 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 16, p. 4, col. 7: "One used to serve drinks in the bar, the other kept the billiard-table. Between them they lambed down more shearers and drovers than all the rest on the river." <hw>Lamprey</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian Lampreys are species of the genera <i>Mordacia</i> and <i>Geotria</i>, of the same family as the "Lampreys" of the Northern Hemisphere. <hw>Lancelet</hw>, <i>n</i>. The fishes of this name present in Australasia are-- In Queensland, <i>Epigonichthys cultellus</i>, Peters, family <i>Amplingae</i>; in Victoria and New South Wales, species of <i>Heteropleuron</i>. <hw>Lancewood</hw>, <i>n</i>. There are many lancewoods in various parts of the world. The name, in Australia, is given to <i>Backhousia myrtifolia</i>, Hook. and Harv., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; and in New Zealand, to <i>Panax crassifolium</i>, Dec. and Plan., <i>N.O. Araliaceae</i>, known as <i>Ivy- tree</i>, and by the Maori name of <i>Horoeka</i> (q.v.). <hw>Landsborough Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. a valuable Queensland fodder grass of a reddish colour, <i>Anthistiria membranacea</i>, Lindl., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. See <i>Grass</i>. <hw>Lantern, Ballarat</hw>, <i>n</i>. a local term. See quotation. 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for the Mail,' p. 21: "I may explain that a `Ballarat Lantern' is formed by knocking off the bottom of a bottle, and putting a candle in the neck." <hw>Lark</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird name. The Australian species are-- Brown Song Lark-- <i>Cincloramphus cruralis</i>, Vig. and Hors. Bush L.-- <i>Mirafra horsfieldii</i>, Gould. Field L.-- <i>Calamanthus campestris</i>, Gould. Ground L.-- <i>Anthus australis</i>, Vig. and Hors. (Australian Pipit), <i>A. novae-zelandae</i>, Gray (New Zealand Pipit). Lesser Bush L.-- <i>Mirafra secunda</i>, Sharpe. Little Field L.-- <i>Cathonicola sagittata</i>, Lath. Magpie L.-- <i>Grallina picata</i>, Lath.; see <i>Magpie-Lark</i>. Rufous Song L.-- <i>Cincloramphus rufescens</i>, Vig. and Hors. Striated Field L.-- <i>Calamanthus fuliginosus</i>, Vig. and Hors. See <i>Ground-Lark</i>, <i>Sand-Lark</i>, <i>Pipit</i>, and <i>Magpie-Lark</i>. <hw>Larrikin</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word has various shades of meaning between a playful youngster and a blackguardly rough. Little streetboys are often in a kindly way called <i>little larrikins</i>. (See quotations, 1870 and 1885.) Archibald Forbes described the larrikin as "a cross between the Street Arab and the Hoodlum, with a dash of the Rough thrown in to improve the mixture." (`Century.) The most exalted position yet reached in literature by this word is in Sir Richard Burton's `Translation of the Arabian Nights' (1886-7), vol. i. p. 4, <i>Story of the Larrikin and the Cook</i>; vol. iv. p. 281, <i>Tale of First Larrikin</i>. The previous translator, Jonathan Scott, had rendered the Arabic word, <i>Sharper</i>. There are three views as to the origin of the word, viz.-- (1) That it is a phonetic spelling of the broad Irish pronunciation, with a trilled <i>r</i> of the word <i>larking</i>. The story goes that a certain Sergeant Dalton, about the year 1869, charged a youthful prisoner at the Melbourne Police Court with being "<i>a-larrr-akin</i>' about the streets." The Police Magistrate, Mr. Sturt, did not quite catch the word--"A what, Sergeant?"--"A larrikin', your Worchup." The police court reporter used the word the next day in the paper, and it stuck. (See quotation, `Argus,' 1896.) This story is believed by 99 persons out of 100; unfortunately it lacks confirmation; for the record of the incident cannot be discovered, after long search in files by many people. Mr. Skeat's warning must be remembered--"As a rule, derivations which require a story to be told turn out to be false." (2) That the word is thieves' English, promoted like <i>swag</i>, <i>plant</i>, <i>lift</i>, etc., into ordinary Australian English. Warders testify that for a number of years before the word appeared in print, it was used among criminals in gaol as two separate words, viz.--<i>leary</i> ('cute, fly, knowing), and <i>kinchen</i> (youngster),--`<i>leary kinchen </i>,'--shortened commonly into `<i>leary kin</i>' and `<i>leary kid</i>.' Australian warders and constables are Irish, almost to a man. Their pronunciation of `<i>leary kin</i>' would be very nearly `<i>lairy kin</i>,' which becomes the single word <i>larrikin</i>. (See quotation, 1871.) It is possible that Sergeant Dalton used this expression and was misunderstood by the reporter. (3) The word has been derived from the French <i>larron</i> (a thief), which is from the Latin <i>latronem</i> (a robber). This became in English <i>larry</i>, to which the English diminutive, <i>kin</i>, was added; although this etymology is always derided in Melbourne. 1870. `The Daily Telegraph' (Melbourne), Feb. 7, p. 2, col. 3: "We shall perhaps begin to think of it in earnest, when we have insisted upon having wholesome and properly baked bread, or a better supply of fish, and when we have put down the `roughs' and `larrikins.'" 1870. `The Age,' Feb. 8, p. 3, col. 1: "In sentencing a gang of `larrikins' who had been the terror of Little Bourke-street and its neighbourhood for several hours on Saturday night, Mr. Call remarked. . ." 1870. `The Herald,' April 4, p.3, col. 2: ". . . three larikins who had behaved in a very disorderly manner in Little Latrobe-street, having broken the door of a house and threatened to knock out the eye of one of the inmates." 1870. Marcus Clarke, `Goody Two Shoes,' p. 26: "He's a lively little larrikin lad, and his name is Little Boy Blue." 1871. `The Argus,' Sept. 19, p.5, col. 4: "In San Francisco, the vagabond juveniles who steal, smash windows, and make themselves generally obnoxious to the respectable inhabitants, instead of being termed `larrikins,' as in Victoria, are denominated `hoodleums.' The name is more musical than the one in vogue here, and probably equally as descriptive, as its origin appears to be just as obscure as that of the word `larrikin.' This word, before it got into print, was confined to the Irish policemen, who generally pronounced it `lerrikan,' and it has been suggested that the term is of Hibernian origin, and should be spelt lerrichaun.'" 1871. Sir George Stephen, Q.C., `Larrikinism,' a Lecture reported in `Prahran Telegraph,' Sept. 23, p. 3, col. 1: What is Larrikinism? It is a modern word of which I can only guess the derivation, . . . nor can I find any among the erudite professors of slang who adorn our modern literature who can assist me. Some give our police the credit of coining it from the `larking' of our school boys, but I am inclined to think that the word is of Greek origin--<i>Laros</i>, a cormorant--though immediately derived from the French `<i>larron</i>' which signifies a thief or rogue. If I am right, then larrikin is the natural diminutive form in English phraseology for a small or juvenile thief. . . . This however is, I must acknowledge, too severe a construction of the term, even if the derivation is correct; for I was myself, I frankly confess it, an unquestionable larrikin between 60 and 70 years ago. . . . Larrikinism is not thieving, though a road that often leads to it. . . . Is it a love of mischief for mischief's sake? This is the theory of the papers, and is certainly a nearer approach to the true solution." 1871. `Figaro,' in `Prahran Telegraph,' Sept. 30, p. 7, col. 3: "A local contemporary has . . . done his `level best' to help me out of my `difficulty' with respect to the word Larrikin. He suggests that <i>lerrichan</i> should read <i>leprichaun </i>, a mischievous sprite, according to Irish tradition. . . . We think we may with more safety and less difficulty trace the word to the stereotype [sic] reply of the police to the magisterial question--`What was he doing when you apprehended him?' `Oh! larriking (larking) about, yer Wurtchip.'" 1872. J. S. Elkington, `Tenth Report of Education, Victoria,' dated Feb. 14: "My inquiries into the origin and habits of that troublesome parasite the larrikin (if I may adopt Constable Dalton's term) do not make me sanguine that compulsory primary instruction can do much for him, unless indirectly." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), May 15, p. 21, col. 3: "On Sunday night an unfortunate Chinaman was so severely injured by the Richmond larrikins that his life was endangered." 1875. David Blair, in `Notes and Queries,' July 24, p. 66: "Bedouins, Street Arabs, Juvenile Roughs in London; <i>Gamins </i> in Paris; Bowery Boys in New York; Hoodlums to San Francisco; Larrikins in Melbourne. This last phrase is an Irish constable's broad pronunciation of `larking' applied to the nightly street performances of these young scamps, here as elsewhere, a real social pestilence." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 338: "There is not a spare piece of ground fit for a pitch anywhere round Melbourne that is not covered with `larrikins' from six years old upwards." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' p. 159: "It has become the name for that class of roving vicious young men who prowl about public-houses and make night hideous in some of the low parts of our cities. There is now the bush `larrikin' as well as the town `larrikin,' and it would be difficult sometimes to say which is the worse. Bush `larrikins' have gone on to be bushrangers." 1890. `The Argus,' May 26, p. 6, col. 7: "He was set upon by a gang of larrikins, who tried to rescue the prisoner." 1891. `Harper s Magazine,' July, p. 215, col. 2: "The Melbourne `larrikin' has differentiated himself from the London `rough,' and in due season a term had to be developed to denote the differentiation." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 12, p. 13, col. 2: "Robert Louis Stevenson, in a recent novel, `The Wrecker,' makes the unaccountable mistake of confounding the unemployed Domain loafer with the larrikin. This only shows that Mr. Stevenson during his brief visits to Sydney acquired but a superficial knowledge of the underlying currents of our social life." 1896. J. St. V. Welch, in `Australasian Insurance and Banking Record,' May 19, p. 376: "Whence comes the larrikin? that pest of these so-called over-educated colonies; the young loafer of from sixteen to eight-and-twenty. Who does not know him, with his weedy, contracted figure; his dissipated pimply face; his greasy forelock brushed flat and low over his forehead; his too small jacket; his tight-cut trousers; his high-heeled boots; his arms--with out-turned elbows--swinging across his stomach as he hurries along to join his `push,' as he calls the pack in which he hunts the solitary citizen---a pack more to be dreaded on a dark night than any pack of wolves--and his name in Sydney is legion, and in many cases he is a full-fledged voter." 1896. W. H. Whelan, in `The Argus,' Jan. 7, p. 6, col. 3: "Being clerk of the City Court, I know that the word originated in the very Irish and amusing way in which the then well-known Sergeant Dalton pronounced the word larking in respect to the conduct of `Tommy the Nut,' a rowdy of the period, and others of both sexes in Stephen (now Exhibition) street. "Your representative at the Court, the witty and clever `Billy' O'Hea, who, alas! died too early, took advantage of the appropriate sound of the word to apply it to rowdyism in general, and, next time Dalton repeated the phrase, changed the word from verb to noun, where it still remains, anything to the contrary notwithstanding. I speak of what I do know, for O'Hea drew my attention to the matter at the time, and, if I mistake not, a reference to your files would show that it was first in the `Argus' the word appeared in print." ("We can fully confirm Mr. Whelan's account of the origin of the word `larrikin.'"--Ed. `Argus.') [But see quotation from `Argus,' 1871.] <hw>Larrikin</hw>, <i>adj</i>. 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 522: "Marks the young criminals as heroes in the eyes not only of the ostensible larrikin element . . ." <hw>Larrikinalian</hw>, <i>adj</i>. (Not common.) 1893. `Evening Standard,' July 5, p. 4, col. 4 (Leading Article): "In the larrikinalian din which prevailed from start to finish . . ." <hw>Larrikiness</hw>, <i>n</i>. a female larrikin. 1871. `Collingwood Advertiser and Observer,' June 22, p. 3, col. 5: "Evidence was tendered as to the manner of life led by these larikinesses . . . The juvenile larrikin element being strongly represented in court, all the boys were ordered out." 1871. Sir George Stephen, Q.C., `Larrikinism,' a Lecture reported in `Prahran Telegraph,' Sept. 23, p. 3, col. 1: "I know many a larrikiness to whose voice I could listen by the hour with all my heart, without the least fear of her stealing it, even if it were worth the trouble." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 224: "I have not found the larrikin [in Brisbane]. . . . The slouch-hat, the rakish jib, the drawn features are not to be seen; nor does the young larrikiness--that hideous outgrowth of Sydney and Melbourne civilization--exist as a class." <hw>Larrikinism</hw>, <i>n</i>. the conduct of <i>larrikins</i> (q.v.). 1870. `The Australian' (Richmond, Victoria), Sept. 10, p. 3, col. 3: "A slight attempt at `larrikinism' was manifested. . . . " 1871. J. J. Simpson, `Recitations and Rhymes,' p. 17: "Melbourne larrikinism is still very bad, By the papers each day we are told." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June 19, p. 80, col. 2: "He took as his theme the `Dialect of Victoria,' which was coarse and vulgar to a degree. `Larrikinism' was used as a synonym for `blackguardism.'" 1876. A. P. Martin, `Sweet Girl-Graduate,' p. 20: "There is no doubt that its rising generation afforded material for letters in the newspapers, under the headings `Larrikinism,' or, `What shall we do with our boys?'" 1893. `The Argus,' Feb. 23: "Outbreaks of larrikinism are not always harmless ebullitions of animal spirits. Sometimes they have very serious results." <hw>Laughing Jackass</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Jackass</i>. <hw>Launce</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian species of this fish is <i>Congrogradus subducens</i>, Richards., found in North- West Australia. The <i>Launces</i> or <i>Sand-eels</i> of the Northern Hemisphere belong to a different group. <hw>Laurel</hw>, <i>n</i>. The English tree name is applied in Australia to various trees, viz.-- Alexandrian Laurel-- <i>Calophyllum inophyllum</i>, Linn:, <i>N.O. Guttiferae</i>; not endemic in Australia. Diamond-leaf L.-- <i>Pittosporum rhombifolium</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. Dodder L.-- <i>Cassytha filiformis</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Lauraceae</i>; called also Devil's Guts, not endemic in Australia. Hedge L. (q.v.)-- <i>Pittosporum eugenioides</i>, Cunn. Moreton Bay L.-- <i>Cryptocarya australis</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Lauraceae</i>; called also Grey Sassafras. Native L.-- <i>Pittosporum undulatum</i>, Andr., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>; called also <i>Mock Orange</i> (q.v.). <i>Panax elegans</i>, C. Moore and F. v. M., <i>N.O. Araliaceae</i>; which is also called Light or White Sycamore. White L.-- <i>Cryptocarya glaucescens</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Lauraceae</i>; for other names see <i>Beech</i>. In Tasmania, the name Native Laurel is applied to <i>Anopterus glandulosus</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>. Peculiar to Tasmania. The New Zealand Laurel is <i>Laurelia novae-zelandiae</i>; called also <i>Sassafras</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 292: "Native Laurel, [also called] `Mock Orange.' This tree is well worth cultivating on a commercial scale for the sake of the sweet perfume of its flowers." <hw>Lavender, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian tree, <i>Styphelia australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. <hw>Lawyer</hw>, <i>n</i>. One of the English provincial uses of this word is for a thorny stem of a briar or bramble. In New Zealand, the name is used in this sense for the <i>Rubus australis</i>, <i>N.O. Rosaceae</i>, or Wild Raspberry-Vine (Maori, <i>Tataramoa</i>). The words <i>Bush-Lawyer</i>, <i>Lawyer-Vine</i>, and <i>Lawyer-Palm</i>, are used with the same signification, and are also applied in some colonies to the <i>Calamus australis</i>, Mart. (called also <i>Lawyer- Cane</i>), and to <i>Flagellaria indua</i>, Linn,, similar trailing plants. 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. ii. p. 157: "<i>Calamus Australis</i>, a plant which Kennedy now saw for the first time. . . It is a strong climbing palm. From the roots as many as ninety shoots will spring, and they lengthen out as they climb for hundreds of feet, never thicker than a man's finger. The long leaves are covered with sharp spines; but what makes the plant the terror of the explorers, is the tendrils, which grow out alternately with the leaves. Many of these are twenty feet long, and they are covered with strong spines, curved slightly downwards." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 135: "<i>Rubus Australis</i>, the thorny strings of which scratch the hands and face, and which the colonists, therefore, very wittily call the `bush-lawyer.'" 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 71: "Torn by the recurved prickles of the bush-lawyer." 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby,' p. 16: "Trailing `bush-lawyers,' intermingled with coarse bracken, cling lovingly to the rude stones." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 103: "In the mountain scrubs there grows a very luxuriant kind of palm (<i>Calamus Australis</i>), whose stem of a finger's thickness, like the East Indian Rotang-palm, creeps through the woods for hundreds of feet, twining round trees in its path, and at times forming so dense a wattle that it is impossible to get through it. The stem and leaves are studded with the sharpest thorns, which continually cling to you and draw blood, hence its not very polite name of lawyer-palm." 1891. A. J. North, `Records of Australian Museum,' vol. i. p. 118: "Who, in the brushes of the Tweed River, found a nest placed on a mass of `lawyer-vines' (<i>Calamus Australis</i>)." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 256: "`Look out,' said my companion, `don't touch that lawyer-vine; it will tear you properly, and then not let you go.' Too late; my fingers touched it, and the vine had the best of it. The thorns upon the vine are like barbed spears, and they would, in the language of the Yankee, tear the hide off a crocodile." 1892. `The Times,' [Reprint] `Letters from Queensland,' p. 7: "But no obstacle is worse for the clearer to encounter than the lawyer-vines where they are not burnt off. These are a form of palm which grows in feathery tufts along a pliant stalk, and fastens itself as a creeper upon other trees. From beneath its tufts of leaves it throws down trailing suckers of the thickness of stout cord, armed with sets of sharp red barbs. These suckers sometimes throw themselves from tree to tree across a road which has not been lately used, and render it as impassable to horses as so many strains of barbed wire. When they merely escape from the undergrowth of wild ginger and tree-fern and stinging-bush, which fringes the scrub, and coil themselves in loose loops upon the ground, they are dangerous enough as traps for either man or horse. In the jungle, where they weave themselves in and out of the upright growths, they form a web which at times defies every engine of destruction but fire." <hw>Lawyer-Cane</hw>, <hw>Lawyer-Palm</hw>, and <hw>Lawyer-Vine</hw>. See <i>Lawyer</i>. <hw>Lead</hw>, <i>n</i>. (pronounced <i>leed</i>), a mining term. In the Western United States and elsewhere, the term lead in mining is used as equivalent for lode. In Australia, the word <i>lead</i> is only used in reference to alluvial mining, and signifies the old river-bed in which gold is found. 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June 19, p. 75, col. 2: "There was every facility for abstracting the gold in the rich lead of a neighbour." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 272 [Note]: "The expression `deep lead' refers to those ancient river-courses which are now only disclosed by deep-mining operations." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. v. p. 55: "Taking the general matter of `leads' or dead rivers, it chiefly obtained that if gold were found on one portion of them, it extended to all the claims within a considerable distance." <hw>Lead, to strike the</hw>. See above. Used figuratively for to succeed. 1874. Garnet Walch, `Head over Heels,' p. 74: "We could shy up our caps for a feller, As soon as he struck the lead." <hw>Leadbeater</hw>, <i>n</i>. applied to a <i>Cockatoo</i>, <i>Cacatua leadbeateri</i>, Vig., called <i>Leadbeaters Cockatoo</i> by Major Mitchell (q.v.). 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. xiv. p. 127: "The birds are very beautiful--the Blue Mountain and Lowrie parrots . . . leadbeater, and snow-white cockatoos." <hw>Leaf-insect</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Phasmid</i>. <hw>Lease</hw>, <i>n</i>. a piece of land leased for mining purposes. In England, the word is used for the document or legal right concerning the land. In Australia, it is used for the land itself. Compare <i>Right-of-way</i>. 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 15: "A nice block of stone was crushed from Johnson's lease." <hw>Lease in perpetuity</hw>, a statutory expression in the most recent land legislation of New Zealand, indicating a specific mode of alienating Crown lands,. It is a lease for 999 years at a permanent rental equal to 4% on the capital value, which is not subject to revision. <hw>Leather-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Friar-bird</i> (q.v.), <i>Philemon corniculatus</i>, Lath. See <i>Tropidorhynchus</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 461: "The Leatherhead with its constantly changing call and whistling." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 58: "The leather-heads utter their settled phrase `Off we go! off we go!' in the woods, or they come to suck honey from the <i>Melianthus major</i>, which stands up like a huge artichoke plant, tipped with dark red plumes of flowers." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 233: "Among the Honey-suckers is that singular-looking bird, the Leatherhead, or Bald-headed Friar (<i>Tropidorhynchus corniculatus</i>); it is commonly seen upon the topmost branches of lofty trees, calling `Poor Soldier,' `Pimlico,' `Four o'clock,' and uttering screaming sounds. It feeds upon insects, wild fruits, and any sweets it can procure from the flowers of the Banksia and Gum-trees." <hw>Leather-Jacket</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A name applied popularly and somewhat confusedly to various trees, on account of the toughness of their bark-- (a) <i>Eucalyptus punctata</i>, De C., Hickory Eucalypt (q.v.); (b) <i>Alphitonia excelsa</i>, Reiss., or Cooperswood; (c) <i>Ceratopetalum</i>, or Coachwood; (d) <i>Cryptocarya meissnerii</i>, F. v. M.; (e) <i>Weinmannia benthami</i>, F. v. M. (2) A fish of the family <i>Sclerodermi</i>, <i>Monacanthus ayraudi</i>, Quoy. and Gaim., and numerous other species of <i>Monocanthus</i>. Leather-Jackets are wide-spread in Australian seas. The name is given elsewhere to other fishes. See <i>File-fish</i> and <i>Pig-fish</i>. 1770. `Capt. Cook's Journal,' edition Wharton, 1893, p. 246: "They had caught a great number of small fish, which the sailors call leather jackets, on account of their having a very thick skin; they are known in the West Indies." 1773. `Hawkesworth's Voyages,' vol. iii. p. 503--'Cook's First Voyage,' May 4, 1770 (at Botany Bay): "Small fish, which are well known in the West Indies, and which our sailors call Leather jackets, because their skin is remarkably thick." 1789. W. Tench, `Expedition to Botany Bay, p. 129: "To this may be added bass, mullets, skaits, soles, leather-jackets, and many other species." (3) A kind of pancake. 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 151: "A plentiful supply of `leatherjackets' (dough fried in a pan)." 1853. Mossman and Banister, `Australia Visited and Revisited,' p. 126: "Our party, upon this occasion, indulged themselves, in addition to the usual bush fare, with what are called `Leather jackets,' an Australian bush term for a thin cake made of dough, and put into a pan to bake with some fat. . . The Americans indulge in this kind of bread, giving them the name of `Puff ballooners,' the only difference being that they place the cake upon the bare coals . . ." 1855. R. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 117: "The leather-jacket is a cake of mere flour and water, raised with tartaric acid and carbonate of soda instead of yeast, and baked in the frying-pan; and is equal to any muffin you can buy in the London shops." <hw>Leather-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Pinkwood</i> (q.v.). <hw>Leawill</hw>, or <hw>Leeangle</hw> (with other spellings), <i>n</i>. aboriginal names for a native weapon, a wooden club bent at the striking end. The name is Victorian, especially of the West; probably derived from <i>lea</i> or <i>leang</i>, or <i>leanyook</i>, a tooth. The aboriginal forms are <i>langeel</i>, or <i>leanguel</i>, and <i>lea-wil</i>, or <i>le-ow-el</i>. The curve evidently helped the English termination, angle. 1845. Charles Griffith, `Present State and Prospects of the Port Phillip District of New South Wales,' p. 155: "The liangle is, I think, described by Sir Thomas Mitchell. It is of the shape of a pickaxe, with only one pick. Its name is derived from another native word, leang, signifying a tooth. It is a very formidable weapon, and used only in war." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. II. c. xiii. p. 479: "A weapon used by the natives called a Liangle, resembling a miner's pick." 1863. M. K. Beveridge,' Gatherings among the Gum-trees,' p. 56: "Let us hand to hand attack him With our Leeawells of Buloite." Ibid. (In Glossary) p. 83: "<i>Leeawell</i>, a kind of war club." 1867. G. Gordon McCrae, `Mimba,' p. 9: "The long liangle's nascent form Fore-spoke the distant battle-storm." 1886. R. Henty, `Australiana,' p. 21: "His war-club or leeangle." 1889. P. Beveridge, `Aborigines of Victoria and Riverina, p. 67: "Of those [waddies] possessing--we might almost say---a national character, the shapes of which seem to have come down generation after generation, from the remotest period, the Leawill is the most deadly-looking weapon. It is usually three feet long, and two and a half inches thick, having a pointed head, very similar both in shape and size to a miner's driving pick; in most cases the oak (Casuarina) is used in the manufacture of this weapon; it is used in close quarters only, and is a most deadly instrument in the hands of a ruthless foe, or in a general melee such as a midnight onslaught." <hw>Leeangle</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Leawill</i> (q.v.). <hw>Leek</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small parrot. See <i>Greenleek</i>. <hw>Leek, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a poisonous Australian plant, <i>Bulbine bulbosa</i>, Haw., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. Called also <i>Native Onion</i>. Its racemes of bright yellow flowers make the paddocks gay in spring. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 121: "`Native Onion,' `Native Leek.' Mr. W. <i>n</i>. Hutchinson, Sheep Inspector, Warrego, Queensland, reports of this plant: `Its effects on cattle are . . . continually lying down, rolling, terribly scoured, mucous discharge from the nose.'" <hw>Leg</hw>, <i>n</i>. mining term. a peculiar form of quartz-reef, forming a nearly vertical prolongation of the saddle. 1890. `The Argus,' June x6th, p. 6, col. 1: "It may also be observed that in payable saddle formations a slide intersects the reef above the saddle coming from the west, and turning east with a wall of the east leg, where the leg of reef is observed to go down deeper, and to carry a greater amount of gold than in ordinary cases." <hw>Legitimacy</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation. [Old and now unused slang.] 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 16: "Legitimacy--a colonial term for designating the cause of the emigration of a certain portion of our population; i.e. having legal reasons for making the voyage." [So also at p. 116, "Legitimates"] <hw>Leguminous Ironbark</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given by Leichhardt to the Queensland tree <i>Erythrophaeum laboucherii</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. See Ironbark. <hw>Leichhardt</hw>, or <hw>Leichhardt-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber-tree, <i>Morinda citrifolia</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Rubiaceae</i>; called also Canary-wood and Indian Mulberry. In Queensland, the name is applied to <i>Sarcocephalus cordatus</i>, Miq., <i>N.O. Rubiaceae</i>, a large timber-tree of North Queensland, much used in building. 1874. M. K. Beveridge, `Lost Life,' p. 40: "Groaning beneath the friendly shade That by a Leichhardt-tree was made." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia, p. 258: "The Leichhardt is a very symmetrical tree, that grows to a height of about sixty feet, and has leaves rather like a big laurel." <hw>Leichhardt-Bean</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Bean</i>. <hw>Leichhardt's Clustered-Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Clustered Fig</i>. See <i>Fig</i>. <hw>Lemon, Desert</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Desert Lemon</i>. <hw>Lemon-scented Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Lemon-scented Ironbark</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to the Queensland tree <i>Eucalyptus staigeriana</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. See <i>Ironbark</i>. The foliage of this tree yields a large quantity of oil, equal in fragrance to that of lemons. <hw>Lemon-Sole</hw>, <i>n</i>. In England, the name is applied to an inferior species of <i>Sole</i>. In New South Wales, it is given to <i>Plagusia unicolor</i>, Mad., of the family <i>Pleuronectidae</i> or <i>Flat-fishes</i>. In New Zealand, it is another name for the New Zealand <i>Turbot</i> (q.v.). <hw>Lemon, Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. a timber tree, <i>Canthium latifolium</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Rubiaceae</i>; called also <i>Wild Orange</i>. <hw>Lemon-Wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the names given by settlers to the New Zealand tree called by Maoris <i>Tarata</i> (q.v.), or <i>Mapau</i> (q.v.). It is <i>Pittosporum eugenoides</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. <hw>Leopard-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Flindersia maculosa</i> (or <i>Strezleckiana</i>), F. v. M., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>; called also <i>Spotted-Tree </i>(q.v.), and sometimes, in Queensland, <i>Prickly Pine</i>. <hw>Lerp</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal word belonging to the Mallee District of Victoria (see <i>Mallee</i>). Sometimes spelt <i>leurp</i>, or <i>laap</i>. The aboriginal word means `sweet.' It is a kind of manna secreted by an insect, Psylla eucalypti, and found on the leaves of the Mallee, <i>Eucalyptus dumosa</i>. Attention was first drawn to it by Mr. Thomas Dobson (see quotations). A chemical substance called <i>Lerpamyllum</i> is derived from it; see Watts' `Dictionary of Chemistry,' Second Supplement, 1875, s.v. 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 73: "The natives of the Wimmera prepare a luscious drink from the laap, a sweet exudation from the leaf of the mallee (<i>Eucalyptus dumosa</i>)." 1850. T. Dobson, `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 235: "The white saccharine substance called `lerp,' by the Aborigines in the north-western parts of Australia Felix, and which has attracted the attention of chemists, under the impression that it is a new species of manna, originates with an insect of the tribe of <i>Psyllidae</i>, and order <i>Hemiptera</i>." 1850. Ibid. p. 292:: "Insects which, in the larva state, have the faculty of elaborating from the juices of the gum-leaves on which they live a glutinous and saccharine fluid, whereof they construct for themselves little conical domiciles." 1878. R. Brough Smyth, `The Aborigines of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 211: "Another variety of manna is the secretion of the pupa of an insect of the <i>Psylla</i> family and obtains the name of <i>lerp</i> among the aborigines. At certain seasons of the year it is very abundant on the leaves of <i>E. dumosa</i>, or mallee scrub . . ." <hw>Lift</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. to drive to market from the run. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. iv. p. 45: "I haven't lifted a finer mob this season." 1890. `The Argus,' June 14, p. 4, col. 2: "We lifted 7000 sheep." <hw>Light-horseman</hw>, <i>n</i>. obsolete name for a fish; probably the fish now called a <i>Sweep</i> (q.v.). 1789. W. Tench, `Expedition to Botany Bay,' p. 129: "The French once caught [in Botany Bay] near two thousand fish in one day, of a species of grouper, to which, from the form of a bone in the head resembling a helmet, we have given the name of light horseman." 1793. J. Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 410 [Aboriginal Vocabulary]: "Woolamie, a fish called a light-horseman." [But see <i>Wollomai</i>.] 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. iv. p. 78: "A boat belonging to the Sirius caught near fifty large fish, which were called light-horsemen from a bone that grew out of the head like a helmet." <hw>Lightwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to various trees. See <i>Blackwood</i>. It is chiefly applied to <i>Acacia melanoxylon</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. See quotations, 1843 and 1889. 1843. I. Backhouse. `Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies,' p. 48: "Lightwood--<i>Acacia Melanoxylon</i> . . . It derives its name from swimming in water, while the other woods of V. D. Land, except the pines, generally sink. In some parts of the Colony it is called Blackwood, on account of its dark colour." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 515: "Some immense logs of `light wood,' <i>a non lucendo</i>, darker than mahogany." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' p. 17: "Arms so brown and bare, to look at them Recalls to mind the lightwood's rugged stem." 1866. H. Simcox, `Rustic Rambles,' p. 54: "The numerous lightwood trees with sombre shade Tend to enhance the richness of the glade." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xv. p. 111: "The ex-owner of Lyne wished himself back among the old lightwood trees." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 359: "Called `Blackwood' on account of the very dark colour of the mature wood. It is sometimes called `Lightwood' (chiefly in South Tasmania, while the other name is given in North Tasmania and other places), but this is an inappropriate name. It is in allusion to its weight as compared with Eucalyptus timbers. It is the `Black Sally' of Western New South Wales, the `Hickory' of the southern portion of that colony, and is sometimes called `Silver Wattle.' This is considered by some people to be the most valuable of all Australian timbers. It is hard and close-grained; much valued for furniture, picture-frames, cabinet-work, fencing, bridges, etc., railway, and other carriages, boat-building, for tool-handles, gun-stocks, naves of wheels, crutches, parts of organs, pianofortes (sound-boards and actions), etc." <hw>Light Yellow-wood</hw>, i.q. <i>Long-Jack</i> (q.v.). <hw>Lignum</hw> (1), or <hw>Lignum-Vitae</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied to several trees, as <i>Myrtus acmenioides</i>, F. v. M., called also <i>White Myrtle</i>; <i>Acacia falcata</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, called also <i>Hickory</i> and <i>Sally</i>; but chiefly to <i>Eucalyptus polyanthema</i>, Schau., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 505: "[<i>E. polyanthema</i>.] The `Red Box' of South-eastern Australia. Called also `Brown Box,' `Grey Box,' and `Bastard Box.' `Poplar-leaved Gum' is another name, but it is most commonly known as `Lignum Vitae' because of its tough and hard wood. Great durability is attributed to this wood, though the stems often become hollow in age, and thus timber of large dimensions is not readily afforded. It is much sought after for cogs, naves and felloes; it is also much in demand for slabs in mines, while for fuel it is unsurpassed. (Mueller.) Its great hardness is against its general use." (2) A bushman's contraction for any species of the wiry plants called polygonum. 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' [writing of the Lachlan district, New South Wales] p. 180: "The poor emus had got down into the creek amongst the lignum bushes for a little shade . . . I do not know what a botanist would call them; they are something like cane, but with large leaves, which all animals are fond of, and they grow about eight feet high in the creeks and gullies." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 135: "By mulga scrub and lignum plain." <hw>Lilac</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Australia to the tree <i>Melia composita</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>, called <i>Cape Lilac</i>. It is not endemic in Australia, and is called "Persian Lilac "in India. In Tasmania the name of <i>Native Lilac</i> is given to <i>Prostanthera rotundifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Labiatae</i>, and by Mrs. Meredith to <i>Tetratheca juncea</i>, Smith, of the Linnean Order, <i>Octandria</i>. 1793. J. E. Smith, `Specimen of Botany of New Holland,' p. 5: "<i>Tetratheca juncea</i>, Rushy Tetratheca [with plate]." 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 69: "A little purple flower, which is equally common, so vividly recalls to my mind, both by its scent and colour, an Old-World favorite, that I always know it as the native Lilac (<i>Tetratheca juncea</i>)." <hw>Lily, Darling</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bulbous plant, <i>Crinum flaccidum</i>, Herb., <i>N.O. Amaryllideae</i>; called also the <i>Murray Lily</i>. (See <i>Lily, Murray</i>.) 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 20: "The `Darling Lily.' This exceedingly handsome white-flowered plant, which grows back from the Darling, has bulbs which yield a fair arrowroot. On one occasion, near the town of Wilcannia, a man earned a handsome sum by making this substance when flour was all but unattainable." <hw>Lily, Flax</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Flax-Lily</i>, and <i>Flax, New Zealand</i>. <hw>Lily, Giant</hw>-, or <hw>Spear</hw>-, <i>n</i>. a fibre plant, <i>Doryanthes excelsa</i>, Corr., <i>N.O. Amaryllideae</i>. 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 339: "The Doryanthes excelsa, a gigantic Lily of Australia, is a magnificent plant, with a lofty flowering spike. The bunches or clusters of crimson flowers are situated in the summit of the flowering spike . . . The diameter of a cluster of blossoms is about 14 inches . . . The flower-buds are of a brilliant crimson, and the anthers of the stamens are, in the recently expanded flower, of a dark-green colour." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 621: "`Spear Lily.' `Giant Lily.' The leaves are a mass of fibre, of great strength, which admits of preparation either by boiling or maceration, no perceptible difference as to quality or colour being apparent after heckling. Suitable for brush making, matting, etc." <hw>Lily, Gordon</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian plant and its flower, <i>Blandfordia marginata</i>, Herb., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>, and other species of <i>Blandfordia</i> (q.v.). 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 72: "Blandfordia nobilis. This splendid plant is common on the west coast and on the shores of the Mersey. It bears a head of pendulous scarlet blossoms tipped with yellow, one inch long, rising out of a stalk of from 1 1/2 to 3 feet long, from between two opposite series of strapshaped leaves. It is named after George [Gordon] Marquis of Blandford, son of the second Duke of Marlborough." <hw>Lily, Murray</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Darling Lily</i>. See above. 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 119: "This showy genus <i>Crinum</i> furnishes also Victoria with a beautiful species, the Murray Lily (<i>Crinum flaccidum</i>), not however to be found away from the Murray-River southward." <hw>Lilly-Pilly</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a large timber tree, <i>Eugenia smithii</i>, Poir., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. The bark is rich in tanning. Sometimes called <i>Native Banana</i>. 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 327: "The Lillypilly-trees, as they are named by the colonists, consist of several species of <i>Acmena</i>, and are all of elegant growth and dense and handsome foliage." 1879. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Proceedings of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales,' p. 134: "<i>Eugenia Smithii</i>, or Lilli pilli, and <i>Melodorum Leichhardtii</i> are also fair eating. The latter goes by the name of the native banana though it is very different from a banana, and in reality allied to the custard apple." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 29: "`Lilly Pilly.' The fruits are eaten by aboriginals, small boys, and birds. They are formed in profusion, are acidulous and wholesome. They are white with a purplish tint, and up to one inch in diameter." <hw>Lily, Rock</hw>, <i>n</i>. an orchid, <i>Dendrobium speciosum</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Orchideae</i>. although not a Lily, it is always so called, especially in Sydney, where it is common. 1879. H. <i>n</i>. Moseley, `Notes by Naturalist on Challenger,' p. 270: "A luxuriant vegetation, with huge masses of Stagshorn Fern (<i>Platycerium</i>) and `rock-lilies' (orchids), and a variety of timbers, whilst there are Tree-ferns and small palms in the lateral shady gullies." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 22: "`Rock Lily.' The large pseudobulbs have been eaten by the aboriginals; they contain little nutritive matter." <hw>Lily, Water</hw>, <i>n</i>. There are several indigenous native varieties of the <i>N.O. Nymphaeceae</i>--<i>Cabombia peltata</i>, Pursh; <i>Nymphaea gigantea</i>, Hook. (<i>Blue Water-lily</i>). <hw>Lily, Yellow</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for <i>Bulbine bulbosa</i>, Haw., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. See <i>Leek, Native</i>. <hw>Lime, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Citrus australasica</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>; called also <i>Finger Lime</i> and <i>Orange</i>. But the appellation of <i>Native Lime</i> is more generally given to <i>Citrus australis</i>, Planch., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 16: "`Native Lime. Orange.' The fruit, which is an inch and a half in diameter, and almost globular, yields an agreeable beverage from its acid juice." <hw>Ling</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. The name is given in England to various fishes, from their length. In New Zealand and Tasmania, it is applied to <i>Genypterus blacodes</i>, Forst.; also called <i>Cloudy Bay Cod</i>. <i>Lotella marginata</i>, Macl., is called <i>Ling</i>, in New South Wales, and <i>Beardie</i>. <i>Genypterus</i> belongs to the <i>Ophidiidae</i> and <i>Lotella</i> to the next family, the <i>Gadidae</i>. <hw>Lobster</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is often carelessly used in Australia for the <i>Crayfish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Lobster's</hw>-Claw, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Sturt's Desert Pea</i> (q.v.). <hw>Locust</hw>, <i>n</i>. name popularly but quite erroneously applied to insects belonging to two distinct orders. (1) Insects belonging to the order <i>Hemiptera</i>. The great black Cicada, <i>Cicada moerens</i>, Germ., and the great green Cicada, <i>Cyclochila australasiae</i>, Donov. (2) Insects belonging to the order <i>Orthoptera</i>, such as the great green gum-tree grasshopper, <i>Locusta vigentissima</i>, Serv., or the Australian yellow-winged locust, <i>Oedipoda musica</i>, Fab. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. I. c. ix. p. 285: "The trees swarmed with large locusts (the <i>Cicada</i>), quite deafening us with their shrill buzzing noise." 1862. F. J. Jobson, `Australia,' c. iv. p. 104: "We heard everywhere on the gumtrees the cricket-like insects--usually called locusts by the colonists--hissing their reed-like monotonous noise." 1869. J. Townend, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 155: "The perpetual song of unnumbered locusts." 1885. H. H. Hayter, `Carboona,' p. 5: "The deaf'ning hum of the locusts." 1885. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Natural History of Victoria,' Dec. 5, pl. 50: "Our <i>Cicada moerens</i> . . . produces an almost deafening sound from the numbers of the individuals in the hottest days and the loudness of their noise." "This species (<i>Cyclochila Australasiae</i>) is much less abundant than the <i>C. moerens</i>, and seems more confined to moist places, such as river banks and deep ravines and gullies." 1889. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Natural History of Victoria,' Dec. 11, pl. 110: "The great size of the muscular thighs of the posterior pair of feet enables the Locusts to jump much higher, further, and more readily than Grasshoppers, giving an example of muscular power almost unparalleled in the animal kingdom." 1896. F. A. Skuse, `Records of Australian Museum,' vol. ii. No. 7, p. 107: "What are commonly styled `locusts' in this country are really <i>Cicadae</i>, belonging to a totally distinct and widely separated order of insects. And moreover the same kind of <i>Cicada</i> is known by different names in different localities, such as `Miller,' `Mealyback,' etc. The true locusts belong to the grasshoppers, while the <i>Homopterous Cicadidae</i> have been known as <i>Cicadas</i> from times of remote antiquity." <hw>Locust-tree</hw>, of New Zealand. See <i>Kowhai</i>. <hw>Logan-Apple</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small Queensland tree, with an acid fruit, <i>Acronychia acidia</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. <hw>Log-hut</hw>, <i>n</i>. Log-cabin is American. Log-hut is Australian. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 178: "Not more than ten settlers had been able to erect dwellings better than log-huts." [This was in Sydney, 1796.] 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. I. c. ix. p. 287: "Captain Fyans was living in a log-hut on the banks of the Marabool river." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. vi. p. 61: "Log-huts, with the walls built American fashion, of horizontal tree-trunks." <hw>Log-Runner</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, called also a Spinetail. The species are-- Black-headed-- <i>Orthonyx spaldingi</i>, Ramsay; Spinetailed-- <i>O. spinicauda</i>, Temm., called also <i>Pheasant's Mother</i>. See <i>Orthonyx</i>. <hw>Logs</hw>, <i>n. pl.</i> the Lock-up. Originally, in the early days, a log-hut, and often keeping the name when it was made a more secure place. Sometimes, when there was no lock-up, the prisoners were chained to heavy logs of trees. 1802. G.Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 184: "The governor resolved on building a large log prison both at Sydney and Paramatta, and `as the affair cried haste,' a quantity of logs were ordered to be sent in by the various settlers, officers and others." [p. 196]: "The inhabitants of Sydney were assessed to supply thatch for the new gaol, and the building was enclosed with a strong high fence. It was 80 feet long, the sides and ends were of strong logs, a double row of which formed each partition. The prison was divided into 22 cells. The floor and the roof were logs, over which was a coat eight inches deep of clay." 1851. Letter from Mrs. Perry, given in Canon Goodman's `Church of Victoria during Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 164: "One [sentry] at the lock-up, a regular American log-hut." [sic. But in America it would have been called a log-cabin.] 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 193: "Let's put him in the Logs . . . The lock-up, like most bush ones, was built of heavy logs, just roughly squared, with the ceiling the same sort." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydneyside Saxon,' p. 111: "`He'll land himself in the logs about that same calf racket if he doesn't lookout, some day.' `Logs!' I says. `There don't seem to be many about this part. The trees are all too small.'" <hw>Log up</hw>, <i>v</i>. to make a log-support for the windlass. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. v. p. 54: "We . . . had logged up and made a start with another shaft." <hw>Lolly</hw>, <i>n., pl</i>. <hw>Lollies</hw>. The English word lollipop is always shortened in Australia, and is the common word to the exclusion of others, e.g. <i>sweets</i>. Manufacturers of sweetmeats are termed Lolly-makers. 1871. J. J. Simpson, `Recitations,' p. 24: "Lollies that the children like." 1874. Garnet Walch, `Head over Heels,' p. 18: "Common children fancy lollies, Eat them 'gainst their parents' wills." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 16: "I thankfully expended the one in bile-producing cakes and lollies." 1893. `Evening Standard' (Melbourne), Oct. 18, p. 6, col. 2: "Mr. Patterson (musing over last Saturday's experiences): You're going to raise the price of lollies. I'm a great buyer of them myself. (Laughter.) If you pay the full duty it will, doubtless, be patriotic for me to buy more when I go amongst the juveniles." <hw>Long-fin</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the fish <i>Caprodon schlegelii</i>, Gunth., and in New South Wales to <i>Anthias longimanus</i>, Gunth. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 33: "The long-fin, <i>Anthias Iongimanus</i>, Gunth., is a good fish that finds its way to the market occasionally . . . may be known by its uniform red colour, and the great length of the pectoral fins." <hw>Long-Jack</hw>, name given to the tree <i>Flindersia oxleyana</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>; called also Light Yellow-Wood. <hw>Long-sleever</hw>, <i>n</i>. name for a big drink and also for the glass in which it is contained. Perhaps in allusion to its tall, tapering, long shape. 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 83: "Their drivers had completed their regulation half-score of `long-sleevers' of `she-oak.'" <hw>Long-Tom</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Sydney to <i>Belone ferox</i>, Gunth., a species of <i>Garfish</i> which has both jaws prolonged to form a slender beak. See <i>Garfish</i>. <hw>Long-Yam</hw>. See <i>Yam</i>. <hw>Look</hw>, <i>v. tr.</i> to examine. 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. vi. p. 105: "Plains are scoured and every piece of timber looked." [sc. looked-over.] <hw>Lope</hw>, <i>n</i>. a slow and steady gallop. From Dutch verb <i>loopen</i>, to leap, to run. The word is American rather than Australian. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 35: "Every body gallops here, or at least goes at a canter--which they call the Australian lope." <hw>Loquat</hw>, a Chinese word meaning "Rush-orange," <i>Photinia japonica</i>. Being highly ornamental and bearing a pleasant stony juicy fruit of the colour and size of a small orange, it has been introduced into nearly all Australian gardens. The name <i>Native Loquat</i> has been given to an indigenous shrub, <i>Rhodomyrtus macrocarpa</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. <hw>Lorikeet</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name, little <i>Lory</i> (q.v.). The species in Australia are-- Blue-bellied Lorikeet-- <i>Trichoglossus novae-hollandiae</i>, Gmel. Blue-faced L.-- <i>Cyclopsitta macleayana</i>, Ramsay. Little L.-- <i>Trichoglossus pusillus</i>, Shaw. Musk L.-- <i>T. concinnus</i>, Shaw. Purple-crowned L.-- <i>T. porphyrocephalus</i>, Dietr. Red-collared L.-- <i>T. rubritorqus</i>, Vig. and Hors. Red-faced L.-- <i>Cyclopsitta coxenii</i>, Gould. Scaly-breasted L.-- <i>Trichoglossus chlorolepidotus</i>, Kuhl. Swift L.-- <i>Lathamus discolor</i>, Shaw. Varied L.-- <i>Trichoglossus versicolor</i>, Vig. The following table gives Gould's classification in 1848:-- 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. Plate <i>Lathamus discolor</i>, Swift Lorikeet ... ... 47 <i>Trichoglossus Novae-Hollandiae</i>, Jard. and Selb., Swainson's L. ... ... ... ... ... ... 48 <i>T. rubritorquis</i>, Vig. and Horsf., Red-collared L. 49 <i>T. chlorolepidotus</i>, Scaly-breasted L. ... 50 <i>T. versicolor</i>, Vig., Varied L. ... ... 51 <i>T. concinnus</i>, Musky L. ... ... ... ... 52 <i>T. porphyrocephalus</i>, Dict., Porphyry-crowned L. 53 <i>T. pusillus</i>, Little L. ... ... ... ... 54 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 13, col. 4: "On the hill-sides the converse of the lorikeets as they drain the honeycups and swing and chatter in low undertones the whole day long." <hw>Lory</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name. The word is Malay. (See `Encyclopaedia Britannica,' vol. xv.) It is often spelt <i>Lowrie</i> in Australia. The species in Australia are-- Crimson-winged Lory-- <i>Aprosmictus coccineopterus</i>, Gould. King L.-- <i>A. scapulatus</i>, Bechst. Red-winged Lory-- <i>A. erythropterus</i>, Gmel. 1848. Gould's `Birds of Australia,' vol. v.: "<i>Aprosmictus scapulatus</i>, king lory; <i>erythropturus</i>, red-winged lory." <hw>Lotus-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Parra gallinacea</i>, Temm.; called also the <i>Jacana</i> (q.v.), and the <i>Parra</i> (q.v.). 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 22: "The most striking bird on the lagoon is doubtless the beautiful <i>Parra gallinacea</i>, which in Australia is called the lotus-bird. It sits on the leaves that float on the water, particularly those of the water-lily." <hw>Lowan</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal birdname for <i>Leipoa ocellata</i>, Gould. The name is used for the bird in Victoria and in the south-east district of South Australia. In the Mallee district, it is called <i>Mallee-bird</i>, <i>Mallee fowl</i>, <i>Mallee-hen</i> (q.v.); in South Australia, <i>Native Pheasant</i> (q.v.); and in various parts of Australia, the <i>Scrub-Turkey</i>. The county called Lowan, after the bird, is in the Mallee country in the west of Victoria. See <i>Turkey</i>. 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 171: "The Lowan (Mallee-hen, they're mostly called). The Lowan eggs--beautiful pink thin-shelled ones they are, first-rate to eat, and one of 'em a man's breakfast." 1890. A. H. S. Lucas, `Handbook of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' Melbourne, p. 68: "To the dry, arid Mallee Scrub of the Western District is a radical change of scene. There the so-called Mallee hen, or Native name, Lowan (<i>Leipoa ocellata</i>), loves to dwell." 1896. `The Argus,' Aug. 4, p. 5, col. 2: "The postmaster at Nhill had drawn the attention of the Deputy Postmaster-General to the large number of letters which are received there addressed to `Lowan.' It should be understood that this is the name of a county containing several postal districts, and correspondents should be more specific in their addresses." <hw>Lowrie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name. An Australian variant of <i>Lory</i> (q.v.). 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 40: "A great many species of the parrot are found; and of these the King Parrot is the most beautiful, and that called the Lowrie is perhaps the most docile." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' p. 127: "The birds are very beautiful--the Blue Mountain and Lowrie parrots . . .' <hw>Lubra</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a black woman. The name comes from Tasmania, appearing first in the form <i>loubra</i>, in a vocabulary given in the `Voyage de Decouvertes de l'Astrolabe' (Paris, 1834), vol. vii. p. 9, and was obtained from a Tasmanian woman, belonging to Port Dalrymple on the Tamar River. It is probably a compound of the Tasmanian words <i>loa</i> or <i>lowa</i>, a woman, and <i>proi</i> (with variants), big. In Victoria, the use of the word began at the Hopkins River and the vicinity, having been introduced by settlers from Tasmania, but it was generally adopted south of the Murray. North of the Murray the native women were called <i>Gins</i> (q.v.). Both words are now used indiscriminately. 1855. W. Blandowski, `Transactions of Philosophical Society of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 73 : "The young man who wishes to marry has first to look out for a wife amongst the girls or <i>leubras</i> of some neighbouring tribe." 1864. H. Simcox, `Outward Bound," p. 87: "Many lubras so black with their load on their back." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life," p. 23: "Certain stout young gins or lubras, set apart for that purpose, were sacrificed." 1891. `The Argus,' Nov. 7, p. 13, col. 4: "A few old lubras sufficiently dirty and unprepossessing." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 28: "Naked, and not ashamed, the old men grey-bearded and eyes bright, watched the cooking of the fish, and the younger, with the lubras, did the honours of reception." <hw>Lucerne, Native</hw>, or <hw>Paddy</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Queensland Hemp</i>. See <i>Hemp</i>. 1895. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 95: "And now lies wandering fat and sleek, On the Lucerne flats by the Homestead Creek." <hw>Luderick</hw>, or <hw>Ludrick</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal Gippsland name for a local variety of the fish <i>Girella simplex</i>, Richards., the <i>Black-fish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Lugg</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish not identified. "Lug, a kind of fish." (`Walker,' 1827) 1802. Flemming, `Journal of the Exploration of C. Grimes' (at Port Phillip), ed. by J. J. Shillinglaw, Melbourne, 1897, p. 27: "Many swans, ducks and luggs." <hw>Lyonsia</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian plant. See <i>Devil's guts</i>. <hw>Lyre-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, originally called the <i>Bird of Paradise of New South Wales</i>; then called a <i>Native Pheasant</i>, or <i>Mountain Pheasant</i>, and still generally called a <i>Pheasant</i> by the Gippsland bushmen. The name Lyre-bird apparently began between 1828 and 1834. It is not used by Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales' (1828), vol. i. p. 303. See <i>Menura</i>. The species are-- The Lyre-bird-- <i>Menura superba</i>, Davies. Albert L.-b.-- <i>M. alberti</i>, Gould. Victoria L.-b.-- <i>M. victoriae</i>, Gould. Since 1888 the <i>Lyre-bird</i> has been the design on the eight-penny postage-stamp of New South Wales. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 435: "The Bird of Paradise of New South Wales [with picture]. This elegant bird, which by some is called the Bird of Paradise, and by others the Maenura Superba, has a straight bill, with the nostrils in the centre of the beak." 1802. D. Collins, `History of English Colony of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 335: "<i>Menura superba</i>." [But not the name lyre-bird]. 1834. Geo. Bennett, `Wanderings in New South Wales, etc.,' /vol./ i. p. 277: "The `Native or Wood-pheasant,' or `Lyre bird' of the colonists, the `Menura superba' of naturalists, and the `Beleck, beleck,' and `Balaugara' of the aboriginal tribes, is abundant about the mountain ranges, in all parts of the colony." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 132: "Numerous pheasants (<i>Menura superba</i>). These birds are the mocking-birds of Australia, imitating all the sounds that are heard in the bush in great perfection. They are about the size of a barn-door fowl, and are not remarkable for any beauty either in the shape or colour, being of a dirty brown, approaching to black in some parts; their greatest attraction consists in the graceful tail of the cock bird, which assumes something the appearance of a lyre, for which reason some naturalists have called them lyre-birds." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 14: "<i>Menura superba</i>, Davies, Lyre-bird; Pheasant of the Colonists. Were I requested to suggest an emblem for Australia amongst its birds, I should without the slightest hesitation select the <i>Menura</i> as the most appropriate, being strictly peculiar to Australia." 1864. J. S. Moore, `Spring-Life Lyrics;' p. 92: "Shy as the lyre-bird, hidden away, A glittering waif in the wild." 1867. G. G. McCrae, `Balladeadro,' p. 30: "There the proud lyre-bird spreads his tail, And mocks the notes of hill and dale Whether the wild dog's plaintive howl Or cry of piping water-fowl." 1872. A. McFarland, `Illawarra Manaro,' p. 54: "The Lyre-bird may yet be seen--more frequently heard--amongst the gullies and ravines. It has the power of imitating every other bird, and nearly every sound it hears in the bush-even that of a cross-cut saw." 1886. J. A. Fronde, `Oceana,' p. 146: "Here, too, for the first time, we saw a lyre-bird, which some one had just shot, the body being like a coot's, and about the same size, the tail long as the tail of a bird of paradise, beautifully marked in bright brown, with the two chief feathers curved into the shape of a Greek lyre, from which it takes its name." 1890. `Victorian Statutes'--Game Act, Third Schedule: [Close Season.] "Lyre Birds. The whole year." 1893. `The Age,' Aug. 7, p. vi, col. 9: "There are more reasons than one why the lyre-bird should be preserved. From a purely utilitarian point of view it is of value, for it is insectivorous and preys upon insects which are apt to prefer orchard fruit to their natural bush food. But the bird has as well a national and sentimental value. Next to the emu it is the most typical Australian bird. It is peculiar to Australia, for in no other country is it to be seen. Comparatively speaking it is a <i>rara avis</i> even in Australia itself, for it is only to be found in the most secluded parts of two colonies--Victoria and New South Wales. It is the native pheasant. The aborigines call it `Beleck-Beleck,' and whites call it the `lyre-bird' from the shape of its tail; the ornithologists have named it <i>Menura</i>. There are three species--the <i>Victoriae</i> of this colony, and the <i>Alberta</i> and <i>superba</i> of New South Wales. The general plumage is glossy brown, shaded with black and silver grey, and the ornate tail of the male bird is brown with black bars. They live in the densest recesses of the fern gullies of the Dividing Range with the yellow-breasted robin, the satin-bird, and the bell-bird as their neighbours. They are the most shy of birds, and are oftener heard than seen. Their notes, too, are heard more frequently than they are recognized, for they are consummate mimics and ventriloquists. They imitate to perfection the notes of all other birds, the united voicing of a flock of paraquetts [sic], the barking of dogs, the sawing of timber, and the clink of the woodman's axe. Thus it is that the <i>menura</i> has earned for itself the title of the Australian mocking-bird. Parrots and magpies are taught to speak; as a mimic the lyre-bird requires no teacher." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 9. p. 9, col. 1: "If the creature was lovely its beauty was marketable and fatal--and the lyre-bird was pursued to its last retreats and inveigled to death, so that its feathers might be peddled in our streets." M <hw>Mackerel</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, <i>Scomber antarcticus</i>, Castln., said to be identical with <i>Scomber pneumatophorus</i>, De la Roche, the European mackerel; but rare. In New Zealand, <i>Scomber australasicus</i>, Cuv. and Val. <hw>Macquarie Harbour Grape</hw>, or <hw>Macquarie Harbour Vine</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Tasmanian name for <i>Muhlenbeckia adpressa</i>, Meissn. <i>N.O. Polygonaceae</i>; called <i>Native Ivy</i> in Australia. See <i>Ivy</i> and <i>Grape</i>. 1831. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 265: "That valuable plant called the <i>Macquarie harbour grape</i>. It was so named by Mr. Lempriere, late of the Commissariat at that station, who first brought it into notice as a desirable acquisition in our gardens." 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 133: "<i>Polygonum adpressum</i>. The Macquarie harbour vine, either as an insignificant trailing plant, or as a magnificent climber, according to the soil and situation, is found on the coast of various parts of Van Diemen's Land, and also as far inland as within about four miles of New Norfolk. This plant has a small but sweet fruit, formed of the thickened divisions of the calyx of the flower, inclosing a triangular seed of unpleasant flavour." <hw>Macquarie Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Macropus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for the typical genus of <i>Macropodidae</i>, established by Shaw in 1800. From the Greek <i>makropous</i>, long-footed. It includes the <i>Kangaroo</i> (q.v.) and <i>Wallaby</i> (q.v.). <i>M. giganteus</i>, Zimm., is the Giant Kangaroo, or <i>Forester</i> (q.v.). <hw>Mado</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Sydney fish, <i>Therapon cuvieri</i>, Bleek; called also <i>Trumpeter-Perch</i>. <i>Atypus strigatus</i>, Gunth., is also called <i>Mado</i> by the Sydney fishermen, who confound it with the first species. The name is probably aboriginal. <hw>Magpie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a black-and-white Crow-Shrike, present all over Australia. He resembles the English Magpie in general appearance, but has not the long tail of that bird, though he shares with him his kleptomania. He is often called the <i>Bush-magpie</i> (q.v.) by townsfolk, to distinguish him from the tamed specimens kept in many gardens, or in cages, which are easily taught to talk. The species are-- Black-backed Magpie-- <i>Gymnorhina tibicen</i>, Lath.; called also <i>Flute-Bird</i> (q.v.). Long-billed M.-- <i>G. dorsalis</i>, Campbell. White, or Organ M.-- <i>G. organicum</i>, Gould; called also <i>Organ-bird</i> (q.v.). White-backed M.-- <i>G. leuconota</i>, Gould. In Tasmania, the name is also applied to the-- Black Magpie-- <i>Strepera fuliginosa</i>, Gould; and <i>S. arguta</i>, Gould. 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffr/e/y Hamlyn,' vol. ii. p. 314 [Footnote]: "Magpie, a large, pied crow.Of all the birds I have ever seen, the cleverest, the most grotesque, and the most musical. The splendid melody of his morning and evening song is as unequalled as it is indescribable." 1869. B. Hoare, `Figures of Fancy,' p. 97: "Gay magpies chant the livelong day." 1886. T. Heney, `Fortunate Days,' p. 47: "The magpie swells from knoll or silent brake His loud sweet tune." 1887. `Melbourne Punch,' March 31: "The magpie maketh mute His mellow fluent flute, Nor chaunteth now his leuconotic hymn." <hw>Magpie-Goose</hw>, <i>n</i>. a common name for the Australian Goose, <i>Anseranus melanoleuca</i>, Lath.; called also <i>Swan-goose</i>, and <i>Pied goose</i>. See <i>Goose</i>. <hw>Magpie-Lark</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian black-and-white bird (<i>Grallina picata</i>, Lath.), resembling the Magpie in appearance, but smaller; called also <i>Pee-wee</i>, and <i>Mudlark</i>, from its building its nest of mud. 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 235: "The little magpie-lark. . . . His more elegant and graceful figure remains in modest silence by the hedgerow in the outskirts." <hw>Magpie-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. a West Australian, Victorian, and Tasmanian fish, <i>Chilodactylus gibbosus</i>, Richards.; not a true Perch, but of family <i>Cirrhitidae</i>. <hw>Magra</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the sling or pouch in which the gins carry their children on their backs. 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 185: "Other lesser brats were in magras, gipsy-like, at their mothers' backs." On p. 191, Mr. Howitt uses the form "mogra." <hw>Mahoe</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand Whitewood-tree, <i>Melicytus ramiflorus</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Violarieae</i>. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 447: "Mahoe (<i>Melicytus ramiflorus</i>) grows to the height of about fifty feet, and has a fine thin spiral leaf." 1863. Thomas Moser, `Mahoe Leaves': [Title of a volume of articles about the Maoris.] 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 130: "Mahoe, hinahina. A small tree twenty to thirty feet high; trunk often angular and seven feet in girth. The word is soft and not in use. . . . Leaves greedily eaten by cattle." <hw>Mahogany</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name, with varying epithets, is applied to several Australian trees, chiefly <i>Eucalypts</i>, on account of the redness or hardness of their timber, and its applicability to purposes similar to that of the true Mahogany. The following enumeration is compiled from Maiden's `Useful Native Plants' Mahogany, <i>Tristania conferta</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; called also White Box, Red Box, Brush Box, Bastard Box, Brisbane Box. This bark is occasionally used for tanning. Bastard Mahogany, or Gippsland Mahogany, or Swamp Mahogany, <i>Eucalyptus botryoides</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. The Blue Gum of New South Wales coast districts. Bastard Mahogany of Gippsland and New South Wales; called also Swamp Mahogany in Victoria and New South Wales. It also bears the names of Bastard Jarrah, and occasionally Woolly Butt. Sydney workmen often give it the name Bangalay, by which it was formerly known by the aboriginals of Port Jackson. It is one of four colonial timbers recommended by the Victorian Carriage Timber Board for use in the construction of railway carriages. Specimens from Gippsland (Gippsland Mahogany) are spoken of as "a timber of good colour, as strong as Blue Gum." Mahogany, or Bastard Mahogany, <i>Eucalyptus marginata</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Universally known as <i>Jarrah</i>. In Western Australia it also bears the name of Mahogany, or Bastard Mahogany. Forest or Red Mahogany, Eucalyptus resinifera, Smith, N.O. Myrtaceae; called also Jimmy Low (q.v.). Forest Mahogany, <i>Eucalyptus microcorys</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. In Queensland it is known as Peppermint, the foliage being remarkably rich in volatile oil. But its almost universal name is <i>Tallow Wood</i> (q.v.). North of Port Jackson it bears the name of <i>Turpentine Tree</i> (q.v.), and Forest Mahogany. Tom Russell's Mahogany, <i>Lysicarpus ternifolius</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. Swamp Mahogany, or White Mahogany, <i>Eucalyptus robusta</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, B. Fl. This tree is known as White, or Swamp Mahogany, from the fact that it generally grows in swampy ground. It is also called Brown Gum. This timber is much valued for shingles, wheelwrights'work, ship-building, and building purposes generally. As a timber for fuel, and where no great strength is required, it is excellent, especially when we consider its adaptability to stagnant, swampy, or marshy places. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. iv. p. 132: "Mahogany, Jarrail, Eucalyptus, grows on white sandy land." Ibid. vol. ii. c. iv. p. 231: "Part of our road lay through a thick mahogany scrub." <hw>Mai</hw>, or <hw>Matai</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand tree, now called <i>Podocarpus spicata</i>. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 440: "Matai, mai (<i>Dacrydium mai</i>), a tree with a fine thick top, and leaf much resembling that of the yew. The wood is of a slightly reddish colour, close-grained, but brittle, and peculiarly fragrant when burnt. . . . Highly prized for fuel, and also much used for furniture, as it works up easily and comes next to the totara for durability." 1876. W. <i>n</i>. Blair, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. ix. art. x. p. 157: "I have in this paper adhered to the popular name of black-pine for this timber, but the native name matai is always used in the north." <hw>Maiden's</hw> Blush, <i>n</i>. name given to the Australian tree <i>Echinocarpus australis</i>, Benth., <i>N.O.</i> <i>Tiliaceae</i>; and sometimes applied to <i>Euroschinus falcatus</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Anacardiaceae</i>. The timber is of a delicate rosy colour when cut. The fruit is called <i>Hedgehog-fruit</i> (q.v.). In Tasmania, the name is applied to <i>Convolvulus erubescens</i>, Sims., order <i>Convolvulaceae</i>. <hw>Maire</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Maori name applied to three kinds of trees; viz.-- (1) <i>Santalum cunninghamii</i>, Hook., a sandal-wood; 2) <i>Olea</i> of various species (formerly <i>Fusanus</i>); (3) <i>Eugenia maire</i>, A. Cunn., native box-wood, but now usually confined to <i>N.O. Santalaceae</i>. 1835. W. Yate, `Some Account of New Zealand,' p. 41: "Mairi--a tree of the <i>Podocarpus</i> species." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, pp. 132-33: "Maire--a small tree ten to fifteen feet high, six to eight inches in diameter; wood hard, close-grained, heavy, used by Maoris in the manufacture of war implements. Has been used as a substitute for box by wood-engravers. Black maire, <i>N.O. Jasmineae</i>;also Maire-rau-nui, <i>Olea Cunninghamii</i>. Hook., fil., Black M., forty to fifty feet high, three to four feet in diameter, timber close-grained, heavy, and very durable." <hw>Major Buller</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to one of the fruits of the Geebong tribe. See <i>Geebong</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 82: "The Sergeant Baker in all probability got its local appellation to the early history of the colony (New South Wales), as it was called after a sergeant of that name in one of the first detachments of a regiment; so were also two fruits of the Geebong tribe (<i>Persoonia</i>); one was called Major Buller, and the other Major Groce, and this latter again further corrupted into Major Grocer." <hw>Major Groce</hw>, or <hw>Major Grocer</hw>, name given to one of the fruits of the Geebung tribe. See <i>Geebung</i>, /or <i>Geebong</i>/ and quotation under <i>Major Buller</i>. <hw>Major Mitchell</hw>, <i>n</i>. vernacular name of a species of Cockatoo, <i>Cacatua leadbeateri</i>, Vig. It was called after the explorer, Major (afterwards Sir Thomas) Mitchell, who was Surveyor- General of New South Wales. The cry of the bird was fancifully supposed to resemble his name. See <i>Leadbeater</i>. <hw>Make a light</hw>, expressive pigeon-English. An aboriginal's phrase for to look for, to find. "You been make a light yarraman this morning?" i.e. Have you found or seen the horses this morning? 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' vol. ii. p. 185 [Footnote]: "`Make a light,' in blackfellow's gibberish, means simply `See.'" <hw>Mako</hw>, <i>n</i>. originally <i>Makomako</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Aristotelia racemosa</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>, often but incorrectly called Mokomoko. 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 130: "Mako, a small handsome tree, six to twenty feet high, quick-growing, with large racemes of reddish nodding flowers. Wood very light and white in colour." <hw>Mako/2/</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Tiger- Shark</i>. See <i>Shark</i>. The teeth of the Mako are used for ornaments by the Maoris. <hw>Mallee</hw>, <i>n.</i> and <i>adj</i>. an aboriginal word. Any one of several scrubby species of Eucalyptus in the desert parts of South Australia and Victoria, especially <i>Eucalyptus dumosa</i>, Cunn., and <i>E. oleosa</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O</i>. <i>Myrtaceae</i>. They are also called <i>Mallee Gums</i>. Accent on the first syllable. The word is much used as an adjective to denote the district in which the shrub grows, the "<i>Mallee District</i>," and this in late times is generally shortened into <i>The Mallee</i>. Compare "The Lakes" for the Lake-district of Cumberland. It then becomes used as an epithet of Railways, Boards, Farmers, or any matters connected with that district. 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 73: "The natives of the Wimmera prepare a luscious drink from the laap, a sweet exudation from the leaf of the mallee (<i>Eucalyptus dumosa</i>" 1854. E. Stone Parker, `Aborigines of Australia,' p. 25: "The immense thickets of <i>Eucalyptus dumosa</i>, commonly designated the `Malle' scrub." 1857. W. Howitt,' Tallangetta,' vol. ii. p. 2: "This mallee scrub, as it is called, consists of a dense wood of a dwarf species of gum-tree, <i>Eucalyptus dumosa</i>. This tree, not more than a dozen feet in height, stretches its horizontal and rigid branches around it so as to form with its congeners a close, compact mass." 186. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia, vol. i. p. 214 (Oxley's Expedition in 1817): "The country, in dead flats, was overspread with what is now called mallee scrub, that is, the dwarf spreading eucalyptus, to which Mr. Cunningham gave the specific name of <i>dumosa</i>, a most pestilent scrub to travel through, the openings betwixt the trees being equally infested with the detestable malle-grass." 1883. `The Mallee Pastoral Leases Act, 1883,' 47 Vict. No. 766, p. 3: "The lands not alienated from the Crown and situated in the North-Western district of Victoria within the boundaries set forth in the First Schedule hereto, comprising in all some ten millions of acres wholly or partially covered with the mallee plant, and known as the Mallee Country, shall be divided into blocks as hereinafter provided." 1890. `The Argus,' June 13, p. 6, col. 2: "Mallee Selections at Horsham. A special Mallee Board, consisting of Mr. Hayes, head of the Mallee branch of the Lands Department, and Mr. Porter." 1893. `The Argus,' April 24, p. 7, col. 5: "In the Mallee country there is abundance of work, cutting down mallee, picking up dead wood, rabbit destruction, etc. 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 46: "One of the most common terms used by explorers is `Mallee' scrub, so called from its being composed of dwarf species of Eucalyptus, called `Mallee' by the natives. The species that forms the `mallee' scrub of South Australia is the <i>Eucalyptus dumosa</i>, and it is probable that allied species receive the same name in other parts of the country." 1897. `The Argus,' March 2, p. 7, col. 1: "The late Baron von Mueller was firmly convinced that it would pay well in this colony, and especially in the mallee, to manufacture potash." <hw>Mallee-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, <i>Leipoa ocellata</i>, Gould. Aboriginal name, the <i>Lowan</i> (q.v.); see <i>Turkey</i>. <hw>Mallee-fowl</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Mallee-bird</i> (q.v.). <hw>Mallee-hen</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Mallee-bird</i> (q.v.). 1890. `Victorian Statutes-Game Act, Third Schedule': [Close Season.] "Mallee-hen, from 1st day of August to the 20th day of December next following in each year." 1895. `The Australasian,' Oct.5, p. 652, col. 1: ". . . the economy of the lowan or mallee-hen. . . . It does not incubate its eggs after the manner of other birds, but deposits them in a large mound of sand . . . Shy and timid. Inhabits dry and scrubs. In shape and size resembles a greyish mottled domestic turkey, but is smaller, more compact and stouter in the legs." <hw>Mallee-scrub</hw>, <i>n</i>. the "scrub," or thicket, formed by the <i>Mallee</i> (q.v.). 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 22: "The flat and, rarely, hilly plains . . . are covered chiefly with thickets and `scrub' of social plants, generally with hard and prickly leaves. This `scrub,' which is quite a feature of the Australian interior, is chiefly formed of a bushy Eucalyptus, which grows somewhat like our osiers to a height of 8 or 10 feet, and often so densely covers the ground as to be quite impenetrable. This is the `Mallee scrub' of the explorers; while the still more dreaded `Mulga scrub' consists of species of prickly acacia, which tear the clothes and wound the flesh of the traveller." <hw>Malurus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for a genus of Australian warblers. Name reduced from <i>Malacurus</i>, from the Grk. <i>malakos</i>, soft, and <i>'oura</i>, a tail. The type-species is <i>Malurus cyaneus</i> of Australia, the <i>Superb Warbler</i> or <i>Blue-Wren</i>. See <i>Superb Warbler</i>, <i>Wren</i>, and <i>Emu-Wren</i>. All the <i>Maluri</i>, of which there are fifteen or sixteen species, are popularly known as Superb Warblers, but are more correctly called Wrens. 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 136: "The <i>Wrens</i> and <i>Warblers</i>--chiefly <i>Maluri</i>, with the allied <i>Amytis</i> and <i>Stipiturus</i>--are purely Australian. They are feeble on the wing but swift of foot." <hw>Mana</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Maori word for power, influence, right, authority, prestige. See chapter on <i>Mana</i>, in `Old New Zealand' (1863), by Judge Maning. 1843. E. Dieffenbach, `Travels in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 371: "<i>Mana</i>--command, authority, power." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 279: "The natives feel that with the land their `mana,' or power, has gone likewise; few therefore can now be induced to part with land." 1863. F. E. Maning (Pakeha Maori), `Old New Zealand,' Intro. p. iii: "The Maoris of my tribe used to come and ask me which had the greatest `mana' (i.e. fortune, prestige, power, strength), the Protestant God or the Romanist one." 1873. `Appendix to Journal of House of Representatives,' G. i, B. p. 8: "The Government should be asked to recognize his mana over that territory." 1881. J. L.Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 166: "We should be glad to shelter ourselves under the mana-- the protection--of good old Kanini." 1892. `Otago Witness,' Dec 22, p. 7, col. 1: "A man of great lineage whose personal mana was undisputed." 1896. `New Zealand Herald,' Feb. 14 [Leading Article]: "The word `mana,' power, or influence, may be said to be classical, as there were learned discussions about its precise meaning in the early dispatches and State papers. It may be said that misunderstanding about what <i>mana</i> meant caused the war at Taranaki." <hw>Mangaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a small flying phalanger with exquisitely fine fur. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 217: "Descending from the branches of an ironbark tree beside him, a beautiful little mangaroo floated downwards on out-stretched wings to the foot of a sapling at a little distance away, and nimbly ascending it was followed by his mate." <hw>Mangi</hw>, or <hw>Mangeao</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Litsea calicaris</i>, Benth. and Hook. f. 1873. `Catalogue of Vienna Exhibition': "Mangi--remarkably tough and compact, used for ship-blocks and similar purposes." <hw>Mango</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Dog-fish</i> (q.v.), a species of shark. <hw>Mangrove</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied to trees belonging to different natural orders, common in all tropical regions and chiefly littoral. Species of these, <i>Rhizophorea mucronata</i>, Lamb, and <i>Avicennia officinalis</i>, Linn., are common in Australia; the latter is also found in New Zealand. <i>Bruguiera rheedii</i>, of the <i>N.O. Rhizophoreae</i>, is called in Australia <i>Red Mangrove</i>, and the same vernacular name is applied to <i>Heritiera littoralis</i>, Dryand., <i>N.O. Sterculiaceae</i>, the <i>Sundri</i> of India and the <i>Looking-glass Tree</i> of English gardeners. The name <i>Milky Mangrove</i> is given, in Australia, to <i>Excaecaria agallocha</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>, which further goes by the names of <i>River Poisonous Tree</i> and <i>Blind-your-Eyes</i>--names alluding to the poisonous juice of the stem. The name <i>River Mangrove</i> is applied to <i>AEgiceras majus</i>, Gaertn., <i>N.O. Myrsineae</i>, which is not endemic in Australia. In Tasmania, <i>Native Mangrove</i> is another name for the <i>Boobialla</i> (q.v.) <hw>Mangrove-Myrtle</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied by Leichhardt to the Indian tree <i>Barringtonia acutangula</i>, Gaertn. (<i>Stravadium rubrum</i> De C.), <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 289: "As its foliage and the manner of the growth resemble the mangrove, we called it the mangrove-myrtle." <hw>Manna</hw>, <i>n</i>. the dried juice, of sweet taste, obtained from incisions in the bark of various trees. The Australian manna is obtained from certain Eucalypts, especially <i>E. viminalis</i>, Labill. It differs chemically from the better known product of the Manna-Ash (<i>Fraxinus ornus</i>). See <i>Lerp</i>. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 99: "Several of the species yield an exudation in the spring and summer months, which coagulates and drops from the leaves to the ground in small irregular shaped snow white particles, often as large as an almond [?]. They are sweet and very pleasant to the taste, and are greedily devoured by the birds, ants, and other animals, and used to be carefully picked up and eaten by the aborigines. This is a sort of Manna." 1878. R. Brough Smyth, `The Aborigines of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 211: "Two varieties of a substance called manna are among the natural products . . . one kind . . . being secreted by the leaves and slender twigs of the <i>E. viminalis</i> from punctures or injuries done to these parts of the tree. . . . It consists principally of a kind of grape sugar and about 5 %. of the substance called mannite. Another variety of manna is the secretion of the pupa of an insect of the <i>Psylla</i> family and obtains the name of <i>lerp</i> among the aborigines. At certain seasons of the year it is very abundant on the leaves of <i>E. dumosa</i>, or mallee scrub . . ." 1878. W. W. Spicer, `Handbook of Plants of Tasmania, p. viii: "The Hemipters, of which the aphids, or plant-lice, are a familiar example, are furnished with stiff beaks, with which they pierce the bark and leaves of various plants for the purpose of extracting the juices. It is to the punctures of this and some other insects of the same Order, that the sweet white manna is due, which occurs in large quantities during the summer months on many of the gum-trees." <hw>Manna-Grass</hw>. See <i>Grass</i>. <hw>Manna-Gum</hw>. See <i>Manna</i> and <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Manoao</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, Yellow-pine, <i>Dacrydium colensoi</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 192: "The wood of the manoao is of a light-brown colour." <hw>Manucode</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is in English use for the bird-of- paradise. It is Malay (<i>manuk-dewata</i> = bird of the gods). The species in Australia is <i>Manucodia gouldii</i>, Grey. See also <i>Rifle-bird</i>. <hw>Manuka</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for <i>Tea-tree</i> (q.v.). Properly, the accent is on the first syllable with broad <i>a</i>. Vulgarly, the accent is placed on the second syllable. There are two species in New Zealand, <i>white</i> and <i>red</i>; the first, a low bush called Scrub-Manuka, <i>L. scoparium</i>, R. and G. Forst., the <i>Tea-tree</i> used by Captain Cook's sailors; the second, a tree <i>Leptospermum ericoides</i>, A. Richard. 1840. J. S. Polack, `Manners and Customs of the New Zealanders,' p. 258: "This wood, called by the southern tribes <i>manuka</i>, is remarkably hard and durable, and throughout the country is an especial favourite with the natives, who make their spears, paddles, fishing rods, etc., of this useful timber." 1842. W. R. Wade, `Journey in Northern Island of New Zealand,' p. 75: "The Manuka, or, as it is called in the northern part of the island, Kahikatoa (<i>leptospermum scoparium</i>), is a mysterious plant, known in Van Diemen's Land as the tea tree." 1843. E. Dieffenbach, `Travels in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 28: "The manuka supplies the place of the tea-shrub." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 270: "[The house] was protected from the weather by a wooden railing filled in with branches of the manuka. This is a shrub very abundant in some parts. The plant resembles the teaplant in leaves and flower, and is often used green by the whalers and traders for the same purpose." 1851. Mrs.Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 46: "It is generally made of manuka a very hard, dark, close-grained and heavy wood." 1867. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 121: "The manuka, a sort of scrub, has a pretty blossom like a diminutive Michaelmas daisy, white petals and a brown centre, with a very aromatic odour; and this little flower is succeeded by a berry with the same strong smell and taste of spice. The shepherds sometimes make an infusion of these when they are very hard up for tea; but it must be like drinking a decoction of cloves." 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking about in New Zealand,' p. 70: "Chiefly covered with fern and tea-tree (manuka) scrub." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 149: "Then to a copse of manuka retreat, Where they could safely, secretly commune." [Domett has the following note--"`A large shrub or small tree; leaves used as tea in Tasmania and Australia, where the plant is equally abundant' (Hooker). In the poem it is called indiscriminately manuka, broom, broom-like myrtle, or leptosperm. The settlers often call it `tea-broom.'"] 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for the Mail,' p. 23: "A tremendous fire of broadleaf and manuka roared in the chimney." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 123: "Manuka is a shrub which is rampant throughout New Zealand. If it were less common it would be thought more beautiful. In summer it is covered with white blossom: and there are few more charming sights than a plain of flourishing manuka." <hw>Maomao</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand sea-fish, <i>Ditrema violacea</i>. 1886. R. A. Sherrin, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 67: "The delicious little maomao may be caught at the Riverina Rocks in immense quantities." <hw>Maori</hw>, <i>n</i>. (pronounced so as to rhyme with <i>Dowry</i>). (1) The name used to designate themselves by the Polynesian race occupying New Zealand when it was discovered by the white man, and which still survives. They are not aboriginal as is commonly supposed, but migrated into New Zealand about 500 years ago from Hawaii, the tradition still surviving of the two great canoes (<i>Arawa</i> and <i>Tainui</i>) in which the pioneers arrived. They are commonly spoken of as the <i>Natives</i> of New Zealand. (2) The language of the Maori race. (3) <i>adj</i>. applied to anything pertaining to the Maoris or their language. See <i>Pakeha</i>. There is a discussion on the word in the `Journal of Polynesian Society,' vol. i. no. 3, vol. ii. no. 1, and vol. iii. no. i. Bishop Williams (4th ed.) says that the word means, "of the normal or usual kind." The Pakehas were not men to whom the natives were accustomed. So Maori was used as opposed to the Europeans, the white-skins. <i>Kuri Maori</i> was a name used for a dog after the arrival of other quadrupeds called also <i>kuri</i>. <i>Wai maori</i> was freshwater, ordinary as opposed to sea-water. Another explanation is that the word meant "indigenous," and that there are kindred words with that meaning in other Polynesian languages. First, "indigenous," or "of the native race," and then with a secondary meaning, "ours." (See Tregear's Maori Comparative Dictionary,' s.v.) The form of the plural varies. The form <i>Maoris</i> is considered the more correct, but the form <i>Maories</i> is frequently used by good writers. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 194: "The Maori language is essentially a poor one, and possesses in particular but few words which express abstract ideas." 1859. A. S. Thomson, `Story of New Zealand,' vol. i. c. iii. p. 51: "No light is thrown on the origin of the New Zealanders from the name Maori which they call themselves. This word, rendered by linguists `native,' is used in contradistinction to pakeha, or stranger." 1864. Crosbie Ward, `Canterbury Rhymes,' `The Runaways' (2nd edition), p. 79: "One morn they fought, the fight was hot, Although the day was show'ry; And many a gallant soldier then Was bid <i>Memento Maori</i>." 1891. Jessie Mackay, `The Sitter on the Rail, and other Poems,' p. 61: "Like the night, the fated Maori Fights the coming day; Fights and falls as doth the kauri Hewn by axe away." (4) Name given in New South Wales to the fish, <i>Cosis lineolatus</i>, one of the <i>Labridae</i>, or Wrasses. <hw>Maori-Cabbage</hw>, <i>n</i>. the wild cabbage of New Zealand, <i>Brassica spp</i>., <i>N.O. Cruciferae</i>, said to be descended from the cabbages planted by Captain Cook. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 206.: "Every recollection of Cook is interesting. . . . But the chief record of his having been on the island is the cabbage and turnip which he sowed in various places: these have spread and become quite naturalized, growing everywhere in the greatest abundance, and affording an inexhaustible supply of excellent vegetables." 1863. S. Butler, `First Year in Canterbury Settlement,' p. 131: "The only plant good to eat is Maori cabbage, and that is swede turnip gone wild, from seed left by Captain Cook." 1880. W. Colenso, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xiii. art. i. p. 31 [`On the Vegetable Food of the Ancient New Zealanders']: "The leaves of several smaller plants were also used as vegetables; but the use of these in modern times, or during the last forty or fifty years, was commonly superseded by that of the extremely useful and favourite plant--the Maori cabbage, <i>Brassica oleracea</i>, introduced by Cook (nani of the Maoris at the north, and rearea at the south), of which they carefully sowed the seeds." <hw>Maori-chief</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a New Zealand Flathead-fish, <i>Notothenia maoriensis</i>, or <i>coriiceps</i>. The name arises from marks on the fish like tattooing. It is a very dark, almost black fish. 1877. P. Thomson, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. x. art. xliv. p. 330: "Some odd fishes now and then turn up in the market, such as the Maori-chief, cat-fish, etc." 1878. Ibid. vol. xi. art. lii. p. 381: "That very dark-skinned fish, the Maori-chief, <i>Notothenia Maoriensis</i> of Dr. Haast, is not uncommon, but is rarely seen more than one at a time." 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 5: "Resemblances are strange things. At first it would seem improbable that a fish could be like a man, but in Dunedin a fish was shown to me called Maori Chief, and with the exercise of a little imagination it was not difficult to perceive the likeness. Nay, some years ago, at a fishmonger's in Melbourne, a fish used to be labelled with the name of a prominent Victorian politician now no more. There is reason, however, to believe that art was called in to complete the likeness." <hw>Maori-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. a swamp tussock, so called from a fancied resemblance to the head of a Maori. (Compare <i>Black-boy</i>.) It is not a grass, but a sedge (<i>carex</i>). 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 169: "A boggy creek that oozed sluggishly through rich black soil, amongst tall raupo, maori-heads, and huge flax-bushes." 1892. W. McHutcheson, `Camp Life in Fiordland,' p. 34: "Amid the ooze and slime rose a rank growth of `Maori heads.'" <hw>Maori-hen</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Weka</i> (q.v.). <hw>Maoriland</hw>, <i>n</i>. a modern name for New Zealand. It is hardly earlier than 1884. If the word, or anything like it, such as <i>Maoria</i>, was used earlier, it meant "the Maori parts of New Zealand." It is now used for the whole. 1873. J. H. St. John [Title]: "Pakeha Rambles through Maori Lands." 1874. J. C. Johnstone [Title]: "Maoria: a sketch of the Manners and Customs of the Aboriginal Inhabitants of New Zealand." 1884. Kerry Nicholls [Title]: "The King Country, or Explorations in New Zealand. A Narrative of 600 Miles of Travel through Maoriland." 1884. [Title]: "Maoriland: an Illustrated Handbook to New Zealand." 1886. Annie R. Butler [Title] "Glimpses of Maori Land." 1890. T. Bracken [Title]: "Musings in Maori Land." 1896. `The Argus,' July 22, p. 4, col. 8: "Always something new from Maoriland! Our New Zealand friends are kindly obliging us with vivid illustrations of how far demagogues in office will actually go." <hw>Maorilander</hw>, <i>n</i>. modern name for a white man born in New Zealand. 1896. `Melbourne Punch,' April 9, p. 233, col. 2: "Norman is a pushing young Maorilander who apparently has the Britisher by the right ear." <hw>Maori, White</hw>, New Zealand miners' name for a stone. See quotation. 1883. `A Citizen,' `Illustrated Guide to Dunedin,' p. 169: "Tungstate of lime occurs plentifully in the Wakatipu district, where from its weight and colour it is called <i>White Maori</i> by the miners." <hw>Mapau</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Maori name for several New Zealand trees; called also <i>Mapou</i>, and frequently corrupted by settlers into <i>Maple</i>, by the law of Hobson-Jobson. The name is applied to the following-- The Mapau-- <i>Myrsine urvillei</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Myrsineae</i>; sometimes called <i>Red Mapau</i>. Black M.-- <i>Pittosporum tenuifolium</i>, Banks and Sol., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>; Maori name, <i>Tawhiri</i>. White M.-- <i>Carpodetus serratus</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>; <i>Pittosporum eugenoides</i>, A. Cunn.; Maori name, <i>Tarata</i> (q.v.); called also the <i>Hedge-laurel</i> (q.v.), <i>Lemon-wood</i>, and <i>New Zealand Oak</i>. See <i>Oak</i>. The first of these trees (<i>Myrsine urvillei</i>) is, according to Colenso, the only tree to which the Maoris themselves give the name <i>Mapau</i>. The others are only so called by the settlers. 1868. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. i., `Essay on Botany of Otago,' p. 37: "White Mapau, or Piripiri-whata (<i>Carpodetus serratus</i>), an ornamental shrub-tree, with mottled-green leaves, and large cymose panicles of white flowers. . . . Red Mapau (Myrsine Urvillei), a small tree common at Dunedin. Wood dark red, very astringent, used as fence stuff." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 132: "Tawiri, white-mapou, white-birch (of Auckland). A small tree, ten to thirty feet high; trunk unusually slender; branches spreading in a fan-shaped manner, which makes it of very ornamental appearance; flower white, profusely produced. The wood is soft and tough." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 75: "By the settlers it is frequently called `black mapou' on account of the colour of the bark. . . . With still less excuse it is sometimes called `black maple,' an obvious corruption of the preceding." <hw>Maple</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand, a common settlers' corruption for any tree called <i>Mapau</i> (q.v.); in Australia, applied to <i>Villaresia moorei</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Olacineae</i>, called also the <i>Scrub Silky Oak</i>. See <i>Oak</i>. <hw>Maray</hw>, <i>n</i>. New South Wales name for the fish <i>Clupea sagax</i>, Jenyns, family <i>Clupeidae</i> or <i>Herrings</i>, almost identical with the English pilchard. The word <i>Maray</i> is thought to be an aboriginal name. Bloaters are made of this fish at Picton in New Zealand, according to the Report of the Royal Commission on Fisheries of New South Wales, 1880. But <i>Agonostoma forsteri</i>, a Sea-Mullet, is also when dried called the <i>Picton Herring</i> (q.v). See <i>Herring</i> and <i>Aua</i>. <hw>Marble-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the <i>Tupong</i> (q.v.) in Geelong. <hw>Marble-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to a whitish-coloured mottled timber, <i>Olea paniculata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Jasmineae</i>; called also <i>Native Olive</i> and <i>Ironwood</i>. <hw>Mark, a good</hw>, Australian slang. 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 233: "I wondered often what was the meaning of this, amongst many other peculiar colonial phrases, `Is the man a good mark?' I heard it casually from the lips of apparently respectable settlers, as they rode on the highway, `Such and such a one is a good mark,"--simply a person who pays his men their wages, without delays or drawbacks; a man to whom you may sell anything safely; for there are in the colony people who are regularly summoned before the magistrates by every servant they employ for wages. They seem to like to do everything publicly, legally, and so become notoriously not `good marks.'" [So also "bad mark," in the opposite sense.] <hw>Mariner</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to a marine univalve mollusc, either <i>Elenchus badius</i>, or <i>E. bellulus</i>, Wood. The <i>Mariner</i> is called by the Tasmanian Fishery Commissioners the "Pearly Necklace Shell"; when deprived of its epidermis by acid or other means, it has a blue or green pearly lustre. The shells are made into necklaces, of which the aboriginal name is given as <i>Merrina</i>, and the name of the shell is a corruption of this word, by the law of Hobson-Jobson. Compare <i>Warrener</i>. 1878. `Catalogue of the Objects of Ethnotypical Art in the National Gallery' (Melbourne), p. 52: "Necklace, consisting of 565 shells (<i>Elenchus Bellulus</i>) strung on thin, well-made twine. The native name of a cluster of these shells was, according to one writer, <i>Merrina</i>." <hw>Marsh</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for a meadow. See quotation. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 163: "Perhaps my use of the common colonial term `marsh' may be misunderstood at home, as I remember that I myself associated it at first with the idea of a swamp; but a `marsh' here is what would in England be called a meadow, with this difference, that in our marshes, until partially drained, a growth of tea-trees (<i>Leptospermum</i>) and rushes in some measure encumbers them; but, after a short time, these die off, and are trampled down, and a thick sward of verdant grass covers the whole extent: such is our `marsh.'" <hw>Marsupial</hw>, <i>adj</i>. See the Noun. <hw>Marsupial</hw>, <i>n</i>. an animal in which the female has an abdominal pouch in which the young, born in a very immature state, are carried. (Lat. Marsupium = a pouch.) At the present day Marsupials are only found in America and the Australian region, the greater number being confined to the latter. See quotation 1894, Lydekker. 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 129: "The marsupial type exhibits the economy of nature under novel and very interesting arrangements. . . . Australia is the great head-quarters of the marsupial tribe." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 5: "I believe it was Charles Lamb who said, the peculiarity of the small fore-feet of the Kangaroo seemed to be for picking pockets; but he forgot to mention the singularity characterizing the animal kingdom of Australia, that they have pockets to be picked, being mostly marsupial. We have often amused ourselves by throwing sugar or bread into the pouch of the Kangaroo, and seen with what delight the animal has picked its own pocket, and devoured the contents, searching its bag, like a Highlander his sporran, for more." [See <i>Kangaroo</i>, quotation 1833.] 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 106: "An Act known as the Marsupial Act was accordingly passed to encourage their destruction, a reward of so much a scalp being offered by the Government. . . . Some of the squatters have gone to a vast expense in fencing-in their runs with marsupial fencing, but it never pays." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 29: "One of the sheep-owners told me that in the course of eighteen months he had killed 64,000 of these animals (marsupials), especially wallabies (<i>Macropus dorsalis</i>) and kangaroo- rats (<i>Lagorchestes conspicillatus</i>), and also many thousands of the larger kangaroo (<i>Macropus giganteus</i>)." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 5, p. 9, col. 1: "In South Australia the Legislature has had to appoint a close season for kangaroos, else would extinction of the larger marsupials be at hand. We should have been forced to such action also, if the American market for kangaroo-hides had continued as brisk as formerly." 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 1: "The great island-continent of Australia, together with the South-eastern Austro-Malayan islands, is especially characterized by being the home of the great majority of that group of lowly mammals commonly designated marsupials, or pouched-mammals. Indeed, with the exception of the still more remarkable monotremes [q.v.], or egg-laying mammals, nearly the whole of the mammalian fauna of Australia consists of these marsupials, the only other indigenous mammals being certain rodents and bats, together with the native dog, or dingo, which may or may not have been introduced by man." 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 30: "The presence of a predominating marsupial order in Australia has, besides practically establishing the long isolation of that continent from the rest of the globe, also given rise to a number of ingenious theories professing to account for its survival to this last stronghold." <hw>Marsupial Mole</hw>, <i>n</i>. the only species of the genus <i>Notoryctes</i> (q.v.), <i>N. typhlops</i> [from the Greek <i>notos</i>, `south' (literally `south wind'), and rhunchos, a `snout']; first described by Dr. Stirling of Adelaide (in the `Transactions of the Royal Society of South Australia,' 1891, p. 154). Aboriginal name, <i>Urquamata</i>. It burrows with such extraordinary rapidity in the desert-sands of Central Australia, to which it is confined, that, according to Mr. Lydekker, it may be said to swim in the sand as a porpoise does in the water. <hw>Marsupial Wolf</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Thylacine</i> and <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i>. <hw>Martin, <i</hw>>n</i>. a bird common in England. The species in Australia are-- Tree, <i>Petrochelidon nigricans</i>, Vieill.; Fairy, <i>Lagenoplastes ariel</i>, Gould; called also <i>Bottle-Swallow</i> (q.v.). 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 128: ". . . the elegant little Fairy Martins (<i>Lagenoplastes ariel</i>), which construct a remarkable mud nest in shape not unlike a retort." <hw>Mary</hw>, <i>n</i>. used in Queensland of the aborigines, as equivalent to girl or woman. "A black Mary." Compare "<i>Benjamin</i>," used for husband. <hw>Matagory</hw>, <i>n</i>. a prickly shrub of New Zealand, <i>Discaria toumatou</i>, Raoul.; also called <i>Wild Irishman</i> (q.v.). The Maori name is <i>Tumatahuru</i>, of which <i>Matagory</i>, with various spellings, is a corruption, much used by rabbiters and swagmen. The termination <i>gory</i> evidently arises by the law of Hobson-Jobson from the fact that the spikes draw blood. 1859. J. T. Thomson, in `Otago Gazette,' Sept. 22, p. 264: "Much over-run with the scrub called `tomata-guru.'" Alex. Garvie, ibid. p. 280: "Much of it is encumbered with matakura scrub." 1892. W. McHutcheson, `Camp Life in Fiordland,' p. 8: "Trudging moodily along in Indian file through the <i>matagouri</i> scrub and tussock." 1896. `Otago Witness,' 7th May, p. 48: "The tea generally tastes of birch or Matagouri." <hw>Matai</hw>, often abridged to <i>Mai</i>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Podocarpus spicata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. Black-pine of Otago. 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 124: "Mr. Buchanan has described a log of matai that he found had been exposed for at least 200 years in a dense damp bush in North-East Valley, Dunedin, as proved by its being enfolded by the roots of three large trees of Griselinia littoralis." <hw>Match-box Bean</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the ripe hard seed of the <i>Queensland Bean</i>, <i>Entada scandens</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. A tall climbing plant. The seeds are used for match-boxes. See under <i>Bean</i>. <hw>Matipo</hw>, <i>n</i>. another Maori name for the New Zealand trees called <i>Mapau</i> (q.v.). 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand' (ed. 1886), p. 94: "The varieties of matapo, a beautiful shrub, each leaf a study, with its delicate tracery of black veins on a yellow-green ground." 1879. J. B. Armstrong, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxi. art. xlix. p. 329: "The tipau, or matipo (pittosporum tenuifolium), makes the best ornamental hedge I know of." 1879. `Tourist,' `New Zealand Country Journal,' vol. iii. p. 93: "An undergrowth of beautiful shrubs, conspicuous amongst these were the Pittosporum or Matipo, which are, however, local in their distribution, unlike the veronicas, which abound everywhere." <hw>Meadow Rice-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Grass</i>. <hw>Mealy-back</hw>, <i>n</i>. a local name for the <i>Locust</i> (q.v.). <hw>Medicine-tree</hw>, i.q. <i>Horse-radish Tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Megapode</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of Australian birds with large feet--the <i>Mound-birds</i> (q.v.). From Greek <i>megas</i>, large, and <i>pous, podos</i>, a foot. They are also called <i>Scrub fowls</i>. <hw>Melitose</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name given by Berthelot to the sugar obtained from the manna of <i>Eucalyptus mannifera</i>. Chemically identical with the raffinose extracted from molasses and the gossypose extracted from cotton-seeds. 1894. `The Australasian,' April 28, p. 732, col. 1: [Statement as to origin of melitose by the Baron von Mueller.] "Sir Frederick M'Coy has traced the production of mellitose also to a smaller cicade." <hw>Melon</hw>, <i>n</i>. Besides its botanical use, the word is applied in Australia to a small kangaroo, the <i>Paddy-melon</i> (q.v.). <hw>Melon-hole</hw>, <i>n</i>. a kind of honey-combing of the surface in the interior plains, dangerous to horsemen, ascribed to the work of the <i>Paddy-melon</i>. See preceding word, and compare the English <i>Rabbit-hole</i>. The name is often given to any similar series of holes, such as are sometimes produced by the growing of certain plants. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 9: "The soil of the Bricklow scrub is a stiff clay, washed out by the rains into shallow holes, well known by the squatters under the name of melon-holes." Ibid. p: 77: "A stiff, wiry, leafless, polyganaceous plant grows in the shallow depressions of the surface of the ground, which are significantly termed by the squatters `Melon-holes,' and abound in the open Box-tree flats." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' p. 220: "The plain is full of deep melon-holes, and the ground is rotten and undermined with rats." <hw>Menindie Clover</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Clover</i>. <hw>Menura</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of the <i>Lyre-bird</i> (q.v.), so called from the crescent-shaped form of the spots on the tail; the tail itself is shaped like a lyre. (Grk. <i>maen</i>, moon, crescent, and <i>'oura</i>, tail.) The name was given by General Davies in 1800. 1800. T. Davies, `Description of Menura superba,' in `Transactions of the Linnaean Society' (1802), vol. vi. p. 208: "The general colour of the under sides of these two [tail] feathers is of a pearly hue, elegantly marked on the inner web with bright rufous-coloured crescent-shaped spots, which, from the extraordinary construction of the parts, appear wonderfully transparent." <hw>Mere</hw>, or <hw>Meri</hw>, <i>n</i>. (pronounced <i>merry</i>), a Maori war-club; a <i>casse-te^te</i>, or a war-axe, from a foot to eighteen inches in length, and made of any suitable hard material--stone, hard wood, whalebone. To many people out of New Zealand the word is only known as the name of a little trinket of <i>greenstone</i> (q.v.) made in imitation of the New Zealand weapon in miniature, mounted in gold or silver, and used as a brooch, locket, ear-ring, or other article of jewelry. 1830. J. D. Lang, `Poems' (edition 1873), p. 116: "Beneath his shaggy flaxen mat The dreadful marree hangs concealed." 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 48: "The old man has broken my head with his meri." 1859. A. S. Thomson, `Story of New Zealand,' p. 140: "Of these the greenstone meri was the most esteemed. It weighs six pounds, is thirteen inches long, and in shape resembles a soda-water bottle flattened. In its handle is a hole for a loop of flax, which is twisted round the wrist. Meris are carried occasionally in the girdle, like Malay knives. In conflicts the left hand grasped the enemy's hair, and one blow from the meri on the head produced death." 188]. J. Bonwick, `Romance of Wool Trade,' p. 229: "A land of musket and meri-armed warriors, unprovided with a meat supply, even of kangaroo." 1889. Jessie Mackay, `The Spirit of the Rangatira,' p. 16: "He brandished his greenstone mere high, And shouted a Maori battle-cry." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. iii. p. 33: "`No, no, my peg; I thrust it in with this meri,' yells Maori Jack, brandishing his war-club." <hw>Merinoes, Pure</hw>, <i>n</i>. a term often used, especially in New South Wales, for the `very first families,' as the pure merino is the most valuable sheep. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 116: "Next we have the <i>legitimates</i> . . . such as have <i>legal</i> reasons for visiting this colony; and the <i>illegitimates</i>, or such as are free from that stigma. The <i>pure merinos</i> are a variety of the latter species, who pride themselves on being of the purest blood in the colony." <hw>Mersey Jolly-tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Jolly-tail</i>. <hw>Message-stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. The aboriginals sometimes carve little blocks of wood with various marks to convey messages. These are called by the whites, <i>message-sticks</i>. <hw>Messmate</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to one of the Gum-trees, <i>Eucalyptus amygdalina</i>, Labill., and often to other species of Eucalypts, especially <i>E. obliqua</i>, L'Herit. For origin of this curious name, see quotation, 1889. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 429: "It is also known by the name of `Messmate,' because it is allied to, or associated with, <i>Stringy-bark</i>. This is probably the tallest tree on the globe, individuals having been measured up to 400 ft., 410 ft., and in one case 420 ft., with the length of the stem up to the first branch 295 ft. The height of a tree at Mt. Baw Baw (Victoria) is quoted at 471 ft." 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 13, col1. 4: "Away to the north-east a wooded range of mountains rolls along the skyline, ragged rents showing here and there where the dead messmates and white gums rise like gaunt skeletons from the dusky brown-green mass into which distance tones the bracken and the underwood." <hw>Mia-mia</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal hut. The word is aboriginal, and has been spelt variously. <i>Mia-mia</i> is the most approved spelling, <i>mi-mi</i> the most approved pronunciation. See <i>Humpy</i>. 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 103: "There she stood in a perfect state of nudity, a little way from the road, by her miam, smiling, or rather grimacing." 1852. Letter from Mrs. Perry, given in Canon Goodman's Church in Victoria during Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 167: "We came upon the largest (deserted) native encampment we had ever seen. One of the mia-mias (you know what that is by this time--the <i>a</i> is not sounded) was as large as an ordinary sized circular summer-house, and actually had rude seats all round, which is quite unusual. It had no roof, they never have, being mere break-weathers, not so high as a man's shoulder." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 366: "They constructed a mimi, or bower of boughs on the other, leaving portholes amongst the boughs towards the road." 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria,' c. vii. p. 96: "Their thoughts wandered to their hunting-grounds and mia-mias on the Murray." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 15: [Notice varied spelling in the same author.] "Many of the diggers resided under branches of trees made into small `miams' or `wigwams.'" 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 42: "The next day I began building a little `mi-mi,' to serve as a resting-place for the night in going back at any time for supplies." 1883. E. M. Curr, `Recollections of Squatting in Victoria' (1841-1851), p. 148: "Of the mia-mias, some were standing; others had, wholly or in part, been thrown down by their late occupants." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 32: "A few branches thrown up against the prevailing wind, in rude imitation of the native mia-mia." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' p. 111: "[The blacks] would compel [the missionaries] to carry their burdens while travelling, or build their mia-mias when halting to camp for the night; in fact, all sorts of menial offices had to be discharged by the missionaries for these noble black men while away on the wilds!" [Footnote]: "Small huts, made of bark and leafy boughs, built so as to protect them against the side from which the wind blew." <hw>Micky</hw>, <i>n</i>. young wild bull. "Said to have originated in Gippsland, Victoria. Probably from the association of bulls with Mickeys, or Irishmen." (Barere and Leland.) 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xviii. p. 217: "The wary and still more dangerously sudden `Micky,' a two-year-old bull." <hw>Micky/2/</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand, a corruption of <i>Mingi</i> (q.v.). <hw>Midwinter</hw>, <i>n</i>. The seasons being reversed in Australia, Christmas occurs in the middle of summer. The English word <i>Midsummer</i> has thus dropped out of use, and "Christmas," or <i>Christmas-time</i>, is its Australian substitute, whilst <i>Midwinter</i> is the word used to denote the Australian winter-time of late June and early July. See <i>Christmas</i>. <hw>Mignonette, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian flower, <i>Stackhousia linariaefolia</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O</i>. <i>Stackhouseae</i>. <hw>Mihanere</hw>, <i>n</i>. a convert to Christianity; a Maori variant of the English word <i>Missionary</i>. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. pp. 11, 12: "The mihanere natives, as a body, were distinctly inferior in point of moral character to the natives, who remained with their ancient customs unchanged. . . . A very common answer from a converted native, accused of theft, was, `How can that be? I am a mihanere.' . . . They were all mihanere, or converts." <hw>Milk-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tall Queensland shrub, <i>Wrightia saligna</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Apocyneae</i>; it is said to be most valuable as a fodder-bush. <hw>Milk-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name, in Australia, is given to a marine animal belonging to the class <i>Holothurioidea</i>. The Holothurians are called <i>Sea-cucumbers</i>, or <i>Sea-slugs</i>. The <i>Trepang</i>, or <i>be^che-de-mer</i>, eaten by the Chinese, belongs to them. Called also <i>Tit-fish</i> (q.v.). 1880. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Proceedings of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales,' vol. v. pt. ii. p. 128: "Another species [of Trepang] is the `milk fish' or `cotton fish,' so called from its power of emitting a white viscid fluid from its skin, which clings to an object like shreds of cotton." <hw>Milk-plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Caustic Creeper</i> (q.v.). <hw>Milk-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand tree, <i>Epicarpurus microphyllus</i>, Raoul. 1873. `Catalogue of Vienna Exhibition': "Milk-tree . . . a tall slender tree exuding a milky sap: wood white and very brittle." <hw>Milk-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Northern Territory name for <i>Melaleuca leucadendron</i>, Linn.; called also <i>Paperbark-tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Miller</hw>, <i>n</i>. a local name for the <i>Cicada</i>. See <i>Locust</i> (quotation, 1896). <hw>Millet</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to several Australian grasses. The Koda Millet of India, <i>Paspalum scrobiculatum</i>, Linn., is called in Australia <i>Ditch Millet</i>; <i>Seaside Millet</i> is the name given to <i>Paspalum distichum</i>, Linn., both of the <i>N.O.</i> <i>Gramineae</i>. But the principal species is called <i>Australian Millet</i>, <i>Native Millet</i>, and <i>Umbrella Grass</i>; it is <i>Panicum decompositum</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>; it is not endemic in Australia. 1896. `The Australasian,' March 14, p. 488, col. 5: "One of the very best of the grasses found in the hot regions of Central Australia is the Australian millet, <i>Panicum decompositum</i>. It is extremely hardy and stands the hot dry summers of the north very well; it is nutritious, and cattle and sheep are fond of it. It seeds freely, was used by the aborigines for making a sort of cake, and was the only grain stored by them. This grass thrives in poor soil, and starts into rapid growth with the first autumn rains." <hw>Mimosa</hw>, <i>n</i>. a scientific name applied to upwards of two hundred trees of various genera in the Old World. The genus <i>Mimosa</i>, under which the Australian trees called <i>Wattles</i> were originally classed, formerly included the Acacias. These now constitute a separate genus. <i>Acacia</i> is the scientific name for the <i>Wattle</i>; though even now an old colonist will call the <i>Wattles "Mimosa</i>." 1793. J. E. Smith, `Specimen of Botany of New Holland,' p. 52: "This shrub is now not uncommon in our greenhouses, having been raised in plenty from seeds brought from Port Jackson. It generally bears its fragrant flowers late in the autumn, and might then at first sight be sooner taken for a <i>Myrtus</i> than a <i>Mimosa</i>." 1802. Jas. Flemming, `Journal of Explorations of Charles Grimes,' in `Historical Records of Port Phillip' (ed. 1879, J. J. Shillinglaw), p. 25: "Timber; gum, Banksia, oak, and mimosa of sorts, but not large except the gum." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 202: "Gum-arabic, which exudes from the mimosa shrubs." 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 18, p. 4, col. 2: "`Cashmere' shawls do not grow on the mimosa trees." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 38: "The mimosa is a very graceful tree; the foliage is of a light green colour. . . . The yellow flowers with which the mimosa is decked throw out a perfume sweeter than the laburnum; and the gum . . . is said not to be dissimilar to gum-arabic." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 175: "But, Yarra, thou art lovelier now, With clouds of bloom on every bough; A gladsome sight it is to see, In blossom thy mimosa tree. Like golden-moonlight doth it seem, The moonlight of a heavenly dream; A sunset lustre, chaste and cold, A pearly splendour blent with gold." "<i>To the River Yarra</i>." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 255: "The other exports of Australia Felix consist chiefly of tallow, cured beef and mutton, wheat, mimosa-bark, and gumwood." 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 34: "The mimosa--although it sadly chokes the country--when in flower, fills the air with fragrance. Its bark is much used for tanning purposes; and the gum that exudes from the stem is of some value as an export, and is used by the blacks as food." 1870. F. S. Wilson, `Australian Songs,' p. 29: "I have sat, and watched the landscape, latticed by the golden curls, Showering, like mimosa-blooms, in scented streams about my breast." <hw>Minah</hw>, <i>n</i>. (also <hw>Myna</hw>, <hw>Mina</hw>, and <hw>Minah-bird</hw>, and the characteristic Australian change of <hw>Miner</hw>). From Hindustani <i>maina</i>, a starling. The word is originally applied in India to various birds of the Starling kind, especially to <i>Graculus religiosa</i>, a talking starling or grackle. One of these Indian grackles, <i>Acridotheres tristis</i>, was acclimatised in Melbourne, and is now common to the house-tops of most Australian towns. He is not Australian, but is the bird generally referred to as the <i>Minah</i>, or <i>Minah- bird</i>. There are <i>Minahs</i> native to Australia, of which the species are-- Bell-Mina-- <i>Manorhina melanophrys</i>, Lath. Bush-M.-- <i>Myzantha garrula</i>, Lath. Dusky-M.-- <i>M. obscura</i>, Gould. Yellow-M.-- <i>M. lutea</i>, Gould. Yellow-throated M.-- <i>M. flavigula</i>, Gould. 1803. Lord Valentia, `Voyages,' vol. i. p. 227 [Stanford]: "During the whole of our stay two minahs were talking most incessantly." 1813. J. Forbes, `Oriental Memoirs,' vol. i. p. 47 [Yule]: "The mynah is a very entertaining bird, hopping about the house, and articulating several words in the manner of the starling." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 40: "While at other times, like the miners (genus, <i>Myzantha</i>), it soars from tree to tree with the most graceful and easy movement." Ibid. vol. iv. pl. 76: "<i>Myzantha garrula</i>, Vig. and Horsf, Garrulous Honey-eater; miner, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land, <i>M. flavigula</i>, Gould, Yellow-Throated miner." 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' vol. i. p. 33: "His common name . . . is said to be given from his resemblance to some Indian bird called mina or miner." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 72: "The Indian minah is as much at home, and almost as presumptuous, as the sparrow." (p. 146): "Yellow-legged minahs, tamest of all Australian birds." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 265: "The plaintive chirp of the mina." <hw>Miner's</hw> Right, <i>n</i>. the licence to dig for gold. See quotation. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' p. 1: "A miner's right, a wonderful document, printed and written on parchment, precisely as follows." [A reduced facsimile is given.] Ibid. p. 106: "You produce your Miner's Right . . . The important piece of parchment, about the size of a bank-cheque, was handed to the Court." <hw>Mingi</hw>, <i>n</i>. originally <i>mingi mingi</i>, Maori name for a New Zealand shrub or small tree, <i>Cyathodes acerosa</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. In south New Zealand it is often called <i>Micky</i>. <hw>Minnow</hw>, <i>n</i>. name sometimes given to a very small fish of New Zealand, <i>Galaxias attenuatus</i>, Jenyns, family <i>Galaxidae</i>; called also <i>Whitebait</i> (q.v.). The Maori name is <i>Inanga</i> (q.v.). <hw>Mint, Australian</hw> or <hw>Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a plant, <i>Mentha australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Labiatea</i>. This herb was largely used by the early colonists of South Australia for tea. Many of the plants of the genus <i>Mentha</i> in Australia yield oil of good flavour, among them the common Pennyroyal. <hw>Mint-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, the tree is <i>Prostanthera lasiantha</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Labiateae</i>. <hw>Mirnyong</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a shell-mound, generally supposed to be Victorian, but, by some, Tasmanian. 1888. R. M. Johnston, `Geology of Tasmania,' p. 337: "With the exception of their rude inconspicuous flints, and the accumulated remains of their feasts in the `mirnyongs,' or native shell-mounds, along our coasts, which only have significance to the careful observer, we have no other visible evidence of their former existence." 1893. R. Etheridge, jun., `Transactions of the Royal Society of South Australia,' p. 21 [Title of Paper]: "The Mirrn-yong heaps at the North-West bank of the River Murray." <hw>Miro</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Maori name for a <i>Robin</i> (q.v.), and adopted as the scientific name of a genus of New Zealand Robins. The word is shortened form of <i>Miro-miro</i>. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 403: "Miro-miro (<i>Miro albifrons</i>). A little black-and-white bird with a large head; it is very tame, and has a short melancholy song. The miro toi-toi (<i>muscicapa toi-toi</i>) is a bird not larger than the tom-tit. Its plumage is black and white, having a white breast and some of the near feathers of each wing tinged with white." 1879. W. Colenso, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xii. art. vii. p. 119: "Proverb 28: <i>Ma to kanohi miro-miro</i>, [signifying] `To be found by the sharp-eyed little bird.' Lit. `For the miro-miro's eye.' Used as a stimulus to a person searching for anything lost. The miro-miro is the little petroica toi-toi, which runs up and down trees peering for minute insects in the bark." 1882. W. L. Buller, `Manual of the Birds of New Zealand,' p. 23: "The Petroeca Iongipes is confined to the North Island, where it is very common in all the wooded parts of the country; but it is represented in the South Island by a closely allied and equally common species, the <i>miro albifrons</i>." (2) Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Podocarpus ferruginea</i>, Don., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>; the Black-pine of Otago. 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 308: "The miro-tree (<i>Podocarpus ferruginea</i>) is found in slightly elevated situations in many of the forests in New Zealand. Height about sixty feet. The wood varies from light to dark-brown in colour, is close in grain, moderately hard and heavy, planes up well, and takes a good polish." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 163: "The Miro is a valuable tree, common in all parts of the colony. . . . It is usually distinguished by its ordinary native name." <hw>Mistletoe</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to various species of trees of several genera-- (1) In Australia, generally, to various species of <i>Loranthus</i>, <i>N.O. Loranthaceae</i>. There are a great number, they are very common on the Eucalypts, and they have the same viscous qualities as the European <i>Mistletoes</i>. (2) In Western Australia, to <i>Nuytsia floribunda</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Loranthaceae</i>, a terrestrial species attaining the dimensions of a tree--the <i>Flame-tree</i> (q.v.) of Western Australia--and also curiously called there a <i>Cabbage- tree</i>. (3) In Tasmania, to <i>Cassytha pubescens</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Lauraceae</i>. 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings, p. 43: "The English mistletoe is the well-known <i>Viscum album</i>, whereas all the Victorian kinds belong to the genus <i>Loranthus</i>, of which the Mediterranean <i>L. Europaeus</i> is the prototype. The generic name arose in allusion to the strap-like narrowness of the petals." [Greek <i>lowron</i>, from Lat. <i>lorum</i>, a thong, and <i>'anthos</i>, a flower.] <hw>Mitchell-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian grass, <i>Astrebla elymoides</i>, <i>A. triticoides</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. Two other species of <i>Astrebla</i> are also called "Mitchell-grasses." See <i>Grass</i>. 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 660: "Used for food by the natives. The most valuable fodder-grass of the colony. True Mitchell-grass." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 78: "Mitchell-grass. The flowering spikes resemble ears of wheat. . . . It is by no means plentiful." <hw>Moa</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is Maori, and is used by that race as the name of the gigantic struthious bird of New Zealand, scientifically called <i>Dinornis</i> (q.v.). It has passed into popular Australasian and English use for all species of that bird. A full history of the discovery of the Moa, of its nature and habits, and of the progress of the classification of the species by Professor Owen, from the sole evidence of the fossil remains of its bones, is given in the Introduction to W. L. Buller's `Birds of New Zealand,' Vol. i. (pp. xviii-xxxv). 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of New Zealand Language' (Church Missionary Society), p. 181: "Moe [sic], a bird so called." 1839. `Proceedings of Zoological Society,' Nov. 12: [Description by Owen of <i>Dinornis</i> without the name of Moa. It contained the words-- "So far as my skill in interpreting an osseous fragment may be credited, I am willing to risk the reputation for it, on the statement that there has existed, if there does not now exist, in New Zealand a Struthious bird, nearly, if not quite equal in size to the Ostrich."] 1844. Ibid. vol. iii. pt. iii. p. 237: [Description of <i>Dinornis</i> by Owen, in which he names the Moa, and quotes letter from Rev. W. (afterwards Bishop) Williams, dated Feb. 28, 1842, "to which they gave the name of Moa."] 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 137: "The new genus Dinornis, which includes also the celebrated moa, or gigantic bird of New Zealand, and bears some resemblance to the present Apteryx, or wingless bird of that country . . . The New Zealanders assert that this extraordinary bird was in existence in the days of their ancestors, and was finally destroyed by their grandfathers." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand' (English translation), p. 214: "First among them were the gigantic wingless Moas, <i>Dinornis</i> and <i>Palapteryx</i>, which seem to have been exterminated already about the middle of the seventeenth century." [Query, eighteenth century?] 1867. Ibid. p. 181: "By the term `Moa' the natives signify a family of birds, that we know merely from bones and skeletons, a family of real giant-birds compared with the little Apterygides." [Footnote]: "Moa or Toa, throughout Polynesia, is the word applied to domestic fowls, originating perhaps from the Malay word mua, a kind of peasants [sic]. The Maoris have no special term for the domestic fowl." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' Introduction, p. lvi. [Footnote]: "I have remarked the following similarity between the names employed in the Fijian and Maori languages for the same or corresponding birds: Toa (any fowl-like kind of bird) = Moa (<i>Dinornis</i>)." <hw>Mob</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large number, the Australian noun of multitude, and not implying anything low or noisy. It was <i>not</i> used very early, as the first few of the following quotations show. 1811. G. Paterson, `History of New South Wales,' p. 530: "Besides herds of kangaroos, four large wolves were seen at Western Port." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia': [p. 110]: "Herds of kangaroos." [p. 139]: "An immense herd of kangaroos." [p. 196]: "Flocks of kangaroos of every size." 1835. T. B. Wilson, `Voyage round the World,' p. 243: "We started several flocks of kangaroos." 1836. Dec. 26, Letter in `Three Years' Practical Experience of a Settler in New South Wales,' p.44: "A man buying a flock of sheep, or a herd of cattle . . . While I watched the mop I had collected." [This, thus spelt, seems the earliest instance.] 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 6: "Droves of kangaroos." Of <i>Men</i>-- [But with the Australian and not the ordinary English signification.] 1874. W. M. B., `Narrative of Edward Crewe,' p. 223: "A contractor in a large way having a mob of men in his employ." 1890. `The Argus,' Aug.16, p.13, Col. 2: "It doesn't seem possible to get a mob of steady men for work of that sort now." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. ix. p. 69: "He, tho' living fifty miles away, was one of the `Dunmore mob,' and aided generally in the symposia which were there enjoyed." Of <i>Blackfellows</i>-- 1822. J. West, `History of Tasmania' (1852), vol. ii. p. 12: "The settlers of 1822 remember a number of natives, who roamed about the district, and were known as the `tame mob'; they were absconders from different tribes." 1830. Newspaper (Tasmanian), March, (cited J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 42): "A mob of natives appeared at Captain Smith's hut, at his run." 1835. H. Melville, `History of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 75: "A mob of some score or so of natives, men, women, and children, had been discovered by their fires." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia', p. 107: "A whole crowd of men on horseback get together, with a mob of blacks to assist them." 1892. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 134: "At the side of the crowd was a small mob of blacks with their dogs, spears, possum rugs, and all complete." Of <i>Cattle</i>-- 1860. R. Donaldson, `Bush Lays,' p. 14: "Now to the stockyard crowds the mob; 'Twill soon be milking time." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 70: "A number of cattle collected together is colonially termed a mob." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 105: "A mixed mob of cattle--cows, steers, and heifers-- had to be collected." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 120: "`Mobs' or small sub-divisions of the main herd." Of <i>Sheep</i>-- 1860. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 169: "It was more horrible to see the drowning, or just drowned, huddled-up `mob' (as sheep en masse are technically called) which had made the dusky patch we noticed from the hill." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), May 22, p. 34, col. 2: "A mob of sheep has been sold at Belfast at 1s. 10d. per head." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 83 "The army of sheep--about thirty thousand in fifteen flocks-- at length reached the valley before dark, and the overseer, pointing to a flock of two thousand, more or less, said, `There's your mob.'" Of <i>Horses</i>-- 1865. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 27: "All the animals to make friends with, mobs of horses to look at." 1879. W. J. Barry, `Up and Down,' p. 197: "I purchased a mob of horses for the Dunstan market." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 111: "The stockman came suddenly on a mob of nearly thirty horses, feeding up a pleasant valley." Of <i>Kangaroos</i>-- 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 59: "The `old men' are always the largest and strongest in the flock, or in colonial language `mob.'" 1864. `Once a Week,' Dec. 31, p. 45, `The Bulla Bulla Bunyip': "About a mile outside the town a four-rail fence skirted the rough track we followed. It enclosed a lucerne paddock. Over the grey rails, as we approached, came bounding a mob of kangaroos, headed by a gigantic perfectly white `old man,' which glimmered ghostly in the moonlight." Of <i>Ducks</i>-- 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia, p. 99: "They [the ducks] all came in twos and threes, and small mobs." Of <i>Clothes</i>-- 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 22, p. 2, col. 6: "They buttoned up in front; the only suit to the mob which did so." Of <i>Books</i>-- 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 72: "If it was in your mob of books, give this copy to somebody that would appreciate it." <i>More generally</i>-- 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 20: "A number of cattle together is here usually termed a `mob,' and truly their riotous and unruly demeanour renders the designation far from inapt; but I was very much amused at first, to hear people gravely talking of `a mob of sheep,' or `a mob of <i>lambs</i>,' and it was some time ere I became accustomed to the novel use of the word. Now, the common announcements that `the cuckoo hen has brought out a rare mob of chickens,' or that `there's a great mob of quail in the big paddock,' are to me fraught with no alarming anticipations." 1853. H. Berkeley Jones, `Adventures in Australia,' p. 114: "`There will be a great mob of things going down to-day,' said one to another, which meant that there would be a heavy cargo in number; we must remember that the Australians have a patois of their own." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xiii. p. 135: "What a mob of houses, people, cabs, teams, men, women and children!" <hw>Mocking-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given in Australia to the <i>Lyre-bird</i> (q.v.), and in New Zealand to the <i>Tui</i> (q.v.). <hw>Mock-Olive</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree. Called also <i>Axe-breaker</i> (q.v.). <hw>Mock-Orange</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, i.q. <i>Native Laurel</i>. See <i>Laurel</i>. <hw>Mogo</hw>, <i>n</i>. the stone hatchet of the aborigines of New South Wales. 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 204: "I heard from the summit the mogo of a native at work on some tree close by." 1868. W. Carleton, `Australian Nights,' p. 20: "One mute memorial by his bier, His mogo, boomerang, and spear." <hw>Moguey</hw>, <i>n</i>. English corruption of <i>Mokihi</i> (q.v.). 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 52: "Moguey, a Maori name for a raupo or flax-stick raft." <hw>Moki</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for the <i>Bastard Trumpeter</i> (q.v.) of New Zealand, <i>Latris ciliaris</i>, Forst., family <i>Cirrhitidae</i>. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 182: "Moki, <i>s</i>. A fish so called." <hw>Mokihi</hw>, or <hw>Moki</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a raft; sometimes anglicised as <i>Moguey</i>. 1840. J. S. Polack, `Manners and Customs of New Zealanders,' vol. ii. p. 226: "In the absence of canoes, a quantity of dried bulrushes are fastened together, on which the native is enabled to cross a stream by sitting astride and paddling with his hands; these humble conveyances are called moki, and resemble those made use of by the Egyptians in crossing among the islands of the Nile. They are extremely buoyant, and resist saturation for a longer period." 1858. `Appendix to Journal of House of Representatives,' c. iii. p. 18: "We crossed the river on mokis. By means of large mokis, carrying upwards of a ton. . . . Moki navigation." 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby,' p. 82: "For the benefit of the unlearned in such matters, let me here explain that a `Mokihi' is constructed of Koradies, <i>Anglice</i>, the flowering stalks of the flax,--three faggots of which lashed firmly in a point at the small ends, and expanded by a piece of wood at the stern, constitute the sides and bottom of the frail craft, which, propelled by a paddle, furnishes sufficient means of transport for a single individual." <hw>Moko</hw>, <i>n</i>. the system of tattooing practised by the Maoris. See <i>Tattoo</i>. It is not a fact--as popularly supposed--that the "moko" was distinctive in different families; serving, as is sometimes said, the purpose of a coat-of-arms. The "moko" was in fact all made on the same pattern--that of all Maori carvings. Some were more elaborate than others. The sole difference was that some were in outline only, some were half filled in, and others were finished in elaborate detail. 1769. J. Banks, `Journal,' Nov. 22 (Sir J. D. Hooker's edition, 1896), p. 203: "They had a much larger quantity of <i>amoca</i> [sic] or black stains upon their bodies and faces. They had almost universally a broad spiral on each buttock, and many had their thighs almost entirely black, small lines only being left untouched, so that they looked like striped breeches. In this particular, I mean the use of <i>amoca</i>, almost every tribe seems to have a different custom." 1896. `The Times' (Weekly Edition), July 17, p. 498 col. 3: "In this handsome volume, `Moko or Maori Tattooing,' Major-General Robley treats of an interesting subject with a touch of the horrible about it which, to some readers, will make the book almost fascinating. Nowhere was the system of puncturing the flesh into patterns and devices carried out in such perfection or to such an extent as in New Zealand. Both men and women were operated upon among the Maoris." <hw>Moko-moko</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Maori name for the Bell-bird (q.v.), <i>Anthornis melanura</i>, Sparrm. 1888. A. W. Bathgate, `Sladen's Australian Ballads,' p. 22: [Title]: "To the Moko-moko, or Bell-bird." [Footnote]: "Now rapidly dying out of our land," sc. New Zealand. (2) Maori name for the lizard, <i>Lygosoma ornatum</i>, Gray, or <i>Lygosoma moko</i>, Durn. and Bib. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 182: "Moko-moko, a small lizard." <hw>Mole, Marsupial</hw>. See <i>Marsupial Mole</i>. <hw>Moloch</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian lizard, <i>Moloch horridus</i>, Gray; called also <i>Mountain Devil</i> (q.v.). There is no other species in the genus, and the adjective (Lat. <i>horridus</i>, bristling) seems to have suggested the noun, the name probably recalling Milton's line (`Paradise Lost,' i. 392) "First Moloch, horrid king, besmeared with blood." Moloch was the national god of the Ammonites (1 Kings xi. 7), and was the personification of fire as a destructive element. 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, p. 41: "Numerous lizards such as the strange <i>Moloch horridus</i>, the bright yellow, orange, red and black of which render it in life very different in appearance from the bleached specimens of museum cases." <hw>Mongan</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the animal named in the quotation. 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 173: "Jimmy, however, had, to my great delight, found mongan (<i>Pseudochirus herbertensis</i>), a new and very pretty mammal, whose habitat is exclusively the highest tops of the scrubs in the Coast Mountains." <hw>Monk</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Friar Bird</i> (q.v.). <hw>Monkey-Bear</hw>, or <hw>Monkey</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Bear</i>. See <i>Bear</i>. 1853. C. St. Julian and E. K. Silvester, `The Productions, Industry, and Resources of New South Wales,' p. 30: "The <i>Kola</i>, so called by the aborigines, but more commonly known among the settlers as the native bear or monkey, is found in brush and forest lands . . ." 1891. Mrs. Cross (Ada Cambridge), `The Three Miss Kings,' p. 9: "A little monkey-bear came cautiously down from the only gum-tree that grew on the premises, grunting and whimpering." <hw>Monkey-shaft</hw>, <i>n</i>. "A shaft rising from a lower to a higher level (as a rule perpendicularly), and differing from a blind-shaft only in that the latter is sunk from a higher to a lower level." (Brough Smyth's `Glossary.') 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 69: "They began to think they might be already too deep for it, and a small `monkey'-shaft was therefore driven upwards from the end of the tunnel." <hw>Monkeys</hw>, <i>n</i>. bush slang for sheep. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 88: "No one felt better pleased than he did to see the last lot of `monkeys,' as the shearers usually denominated sheep, leave the head-station." <hw>Monotreme</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of an order of Australian mammals (<i>Monotremata</i>). "The Monotremes derive their name from the circumstance that there is, as in birds and reptiles, but a single aperture at the hinder extremity of the body from which are discharged the whole of the waste-products, together with the reproductive elements; the oviducts opening separately into the end of this passage, which is termed the cloaca. [Grk. <i>monos</i>, sole, and <i>traema</i>, a passage or hole.] Reproduction is effected by means of eggs, which are laid and hatched by the female parent; after [being hatched] the young are nourished by milk secreted by special glands situated within a temporary pouch, into which the head of the young animal is inserted and retained. . . . It was not until 1884 that it was conclusively proved that the Monotremes did actually lay eggs similar in structure to those of birds and reptiles." (R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia and Monotremata,' 1894, p. 227.) The Monotremes are strictly confined to Australia, Tasmania, and New Guinea. They are the <i>Platypus</i> (q.v.), and the <i>Echidna</i> (q.v.), or <i>Ant-eating Porcupine</i>. <hw>Mooley-Apple</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Emu-Apple</i> (q.v.) <hw>Moor-hen</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name (<i>Gallinula</i>). The Australian species are-- the Black, <i>Gallinula tenebrosa</i>, Gould; Rufous-tailed, <i>G. ruficrissa</i>, Gould. 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 169: "The Rail-like bird, the Black-tailed Tribonyx, or Moor-Hen of the colonists, which, when strutting along the bank of a river, has a grotesque appearance, with the tail quite erect like that of a domestic fowl, and rarely resorts to flight." [The Tribonyx is called <i>Native Hen</i>, not <i>Moorhen</i>.] <hw>Moon</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. a process in opossum-shooting, explained in quotations. 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 182: "`Mooning' opossums is a speciality with country boys. The juvenile hunter utilises the moon as a cavalry patrol would his field-glass for every suspected point." 1890. E. Davenport Cleland, `The White Kangaroo,' p. 66: "They had to go through the process known as `mooning.' Walking backwards from the tree, each one tried to get the various limbs and branches between him and the moon, and then follow them out to the uttermost bunch of leaves where the 'possum might be feeding." <hw>Mopoke</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for an Australian bird, from its note "Mopoke." There is emphasis on the first syllable, but much more on the second. Settlers very early attempted to give an English shape and sense to this name. The attempt took two forms, "<i>More pork</i>," and "<i>Mopehawk</i>"; both forms are more than fifty years old. The <i>r</i> sound, however, is not present in the note of the bird, although the form <i>More-pork</i> is perhaps even more popular than the true form <i>Mopoke</i>. The form <i>Mope-hawk</i> seems to have been adopted through dislike of the perhaps coarser idea attaching to "pork." The quaint spelling <i>Mawpawk</i> seems to have been adopted for a similar reason. The bird is heard far more often than seen, hence confusion has arisen as to what is the bird that utters the note. The earlier view was that the bird was <i>Podargus cuvieri</i>, Vig. and Hors., which still popularly retains the name; whereas it is really the owl, <i>Ninox boobook</i>, that calls "morepork" or "mopoke" so loudly at night. Curiously, Gould, having already assigned the name <i>Morepork</i> to <i>Podargus</i>, in describing the <i>Owlet Night-jar</i> varies the spelling and writes, "little <i>Mawepawk</i>, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land." The New Zealand Morepork is assuredly an owl. The <i>Podargus</i> has received the name of <i>Frogmouth</i> and the <i>Mopoke</i> has sometimes been called a <i>Cuckoo</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Boobook</i>, <i>Frogsmouth</i>. The earliest ascertained use of the word is-- 1827. Hellyer (in 1832), `Bischoff, Van Diemen's Land,' p. 177: "One of the men shot a `more pork.'" <i>The Bird's note</i>-- 1868. Carleton, `Australian Nights,' p. 19: "The Austral cuckoo spoke His melancholy note--`Mo-poke.'" 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs and Wattle Bloom,' p. 236: "Many a still night in the bush I have listened to the weird metallic call of this strange bird, the mopoke of the natives, without hearing it give expression to the pork-shop sentiments." <i>Podargus</i>-- 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 4: "<i>Podargus Cuvieri</i>, Vig. and Horsf, More-pork of the Colonists." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 33: "We are lulled to sleep by the melancholy, sleep-inspiring, and not disagreeable voices of the night bird <i>Podargus</i>-- `More-pork! more-pork!'" 1890. `Victorian Statutes-Game Act, Third Schedule.': "<i>Podargus</i> or Mopoke. [Close Season.] The whole year." <i>Vague name of Cuckoo</i>-- 1854. G. H. Haydon, `The Australian Emigrant,' p. 110: "The note of the More-pork, not unlike that of a cuckoo with a cold." 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. i. p. 98: "The distant monotone of the more-pork--the nocturnal cuckoo of the Australian wilds." <i>Incorrect</i>-- 1858. W. H. Hall, `Practical Experiences at the Diggings in Victoria,' p. 22: "The low, melancholy, but pleasing cry of the Mope-hawk." 1877. William Sharp, `Earth's Voices': "On yonder gum a mopoke's throat Out-gurgles laughter grim, And far within the fern-tree scrub A lyre-bird sings his hymn." [This is confusion worse confounded. It would seem as if the poet confused the <i>Laughing Jackass</i> with the <i>Mopoke</i>, q.v.] 1878. Mrs. H. Jones, `Long Years in Australia,' p. 145: "How the mope-hawk is screeching." <i>Owl</i>-- 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 71: "A bird of the owl species, called by the colonists morepork, and by the natives whuck-whuck, derives both its names from the peculiarity of its note. At some distance it reminds one of the song of the cuckoo; when nearer it sounds hoarse and discordant." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 1: "<i>AEgotheles Novae-Hollandiae</i>, Vig. and Horsf, Owlet Nightjar; Little Mawepawk, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land." 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 253: "The Mawpawk, More Pork, or Mope Hawk, is common in most parts of the colony, and utters its peculiar two-syllable cry at night very constantly. Its habits are those of the owl, and its rather hawkish appearance partakes also of the peculiarities of the goat-sucker tribe. . . . The sound does not really resemble the words `more pork,' any more than `cuckoo,' and it is more like the `tu-whoo' of the owl than either." 1859. D. Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 14: "Just as our sportsman, fresh from the legal precincts of Gray's Inn Square, was taking a probably deadly aim, the solitary and melancholy note of `More-pork! more-pork!' from the Cyclopean, or Australian owl, interfered most opportunely in warding off the shot." 1864. `Once a Week,' Dec. 31, p. 45. `The Bulla Bulla Bunyip': "The locusts were silent, but now and then might be heard the greedy cry of the `morepork,' chasing the huge night-moths through the dim dewy air." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 274: "Owls are also numerous, the Mopoke's note being a familiar sound in the midnight darkness of the forest." <i>By transference to a man</i>.-- 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 233: "`A more-pork kind of a fellow' is a man of cut-and-dry phrases, a person remarkable for nothing new in common conversation. This by some is thought very expressive, the more-pork being a kind of Australian owl, notorious for its wearying nightly iteration, `More pork, more pork'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xiii. p. 125: "What a regular more-pork I was to be sure to go and run my neck agin' a roping-pole." <hw>Morepork</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) The Australian bird, or birds, described under <i>Mopoke</i> (q.v.). (2) The New Zealand Owl, formerly <i>Athene novae-zelandiae</i>, Gray; now <i>Spiloglaux novae-zelandiae</i>, Kaup. 1849. W. T. Power, `Sketches in New Zealand,' p. 74: "This bird gave rise to a rather amusing incident in the Hutt Valley during the time of the fighting. . . . A strong piquet was turned out regularly about an hour before daybreak. On one occasion the men had been standing silently under arms for some time, and shivering in the cold morning air, when they were startled by a solemn request for `more pork.' The officer in command of the piquet, who had only very recently arrived in the country, ordered no talking in the ranks, which was immediately replied to by another demand, distinctly enunciated, for `more pork.' So malaprop a remark produced a titter along the ranks, which roused the irate officer to the necessity of having his commands obeyed, and he accordingly threatened to put the next person under arrest who dared make any allusion to the unclean beast. As if in defiance of the threat, and in contempt of the constituted authorities, `more pork' was distinctly demanded in two places at once, and was succeeded by an irresistible giggle from one end of the line to the other. There was no putting up with such a breach of discipline as this, and the officer, in a fury of indignation, went along the line in search of the mutinous offender, when suddenly a small chorus of `more pork' was heard on all sides, and it was explained who the real culprits were." 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 100: "The last cry of a very pretty little owl, called from its distinctly uttered words the `more-pork.'" 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 84: "Sleeping alone where the more-pork's call At night is heard." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 192: "<i>Spiloglaux Novae-Zelandiae</i>, Kaup., More-pork of the colonists. Every New Zealand colonist is familiar with this little owl, under the name of `morepork.'" <hw>Moreton-Bay</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name formerly given to the district of New South Wales which is now the colony of Queensland. The Brisbane river (on which is situated Brisbane, the capital of Queensland) enters it. See below. <hw>Moreton-Bay Ash</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Ash</i>. <hw>Moreton-Bay Chestnut</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Bean-tree</i>. <hw>Moreton-Bay Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Fig</i>. <hw>Moreton-Bay Laurel</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Laurel</i>. <hw>Moreton-Bay Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See Pine. <hw>Moriori</hw>, <i>n</i>. a people akin to, but not identical with, the Maoris. They occupied the Chatham Islands, and were conquered in 1832 by the Maoris. In 1873, M. Quatrefages published a monograph, `Moriori et Maori.' <hw>Morwong</hw>, <i>n</i>. the New South Wales name for the fish <i>Chilodactylus macropterus</i>, Richards.; also called the <i>Carp</i> (q.v.) and <i>Jackass-fish</i>, and in New Zealand by the Maori name of <i>Tarakihi</i>. The Melbourne fishermen, according to Count Castelnau, call this fish the <i>Bastard Trumpeter</i> (q.v.), but this name is also applied to <i>Latris forsteri</i>, Castln. See also <i>Trumpeter</i> and <i>Paper-fish</i>. The <i>Red Morwong</i> is <i>Chilodactylus fuscus</i>, Castln., also called <i>Carp</i> (q.v.). The <i>Banded Morwong</i> is <i>Chilodactylus vittatus</i>, Garrett. <hw>Moses, Prickly</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bushman's name for <i>Mimosa</i> (q.v.). 1887. `The Australian,' April: "I cannot recommend . . . [for fishing rods] . . . that awful thing which our philosopher called `prickly moses.'" <hw>Moulmein Cedar</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Cedar</i>. <hw>Mound-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. the jungle-hen of Australia. The birds scratch up heaps of soil and vegetable matter, in which they bury their eggs and leave them to be hatched by the heat of decomposition. Scientifically called <i>Megapodes</i> (q.v.). 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 76: "Next to these, as a special Australian type. . . . come the bush-turkeys or mound-makers . . . all these birds have the curious reptilian character of never sitting on their eggs, which they bury under mounds of earth or decaying vegetable matter, allowing them to be hatched by the heat of the sun, or that produced by fermentation." <hw>Mountain</hw>- (as epithet): Mountain-Apple-tree-- <i>Angophora lanceolata</i>, Cav., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. M.-Ash-- A name applied to various Eucalypts, and to the tree <i>Alphitonia excelsa</i>, Reiss. M.-Beech-- The tree <i>Lomatia longifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.0. Proteaceae</i>. M.-Bloodwood-- The tree <i>Eucalyptus eximia</i>, Schau. M.-Cypress-pine-- The tree <i>Frenela parlatori</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.0. Coniferae</i>. M.-Ebony-- See <i>Ebony</i>. M.-Gentian-- The name is applied to the Tasmanian species, <i>Gentiana saxosa</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Gentianeae</i>. M.-Gums-- See <i>Gum</i>. M.- Oak-- See <i>Oak</i>. M.-Parrot-- Another name for the <i>Kea</i> (q.v.). M.-Rocket-- The name is applied to the Tasmanian species <i>Bellendena montana</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. M.-Tea-tree-- See <i>Tea-tree</i>. <hw>Mountain-Devil</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the strange-looking Australian lizard, <i>Moloch horridus</i>, Gray. See <i>Moloch</i>. Also called <i>Spiny Lizard</i>. 1853. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii. p. 515 [November 9]: "A spirit preparation of the Spiny Lizard (<i>Moloch horridus</i>) of Western Australia." <hw>Mountain Thrush</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian thrush, <i>Oreocincla lunulata</i>, Gould. See <i>Thrush</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 7: "<i>Oreocincla lunulatus</i>, Mountain Thrush, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land. In all localities suitable to its habits and mode of life, this species is tolerably abundant, both in Van Diemen's Land and in New South Wales; it has also been observed in South Australia, where however it is rare." <hw>Mountain-Trout</hw>, <i>n</i>. species of <i>Galaxias</i>, small cylindrical fishes inhabiting the colder rivers of Australasia, Southern Chili, Magellan Straits, and the Falkland Islands. On account of the distribution of these fish and of other forms of animals, it has been suggested that in a remote geological period the area of land above the level of the sea in the antarctic regions must have been sufficiently extended to admit of some kind of continuity across the whole width of the Pacific between the southern extremities of South America and Australia. <hw>Mud-fat</hw>, <i>adj</i>. fat as mud, very fat. 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 142: "There's half this fine body of veal, mud-fat and tender as a chicken, worth a shilling a pound there." <hw>Mud-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of Westland, New Zealand, <i>Neochanna apoda</i>, Gunth. Guenther says <i>Neochanna</i> is a "degraded form of <i>Galaxias</i> [see <i>Mountain-Trout</i>], from which it differs by the absence of ventral fins. This fish has hitherto been found only in burrows, which it excavates 1n clay or consolidated mud, at a distance from water." <hw>Mud-lark</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the Magpie-lark, <i>Grallina picata</i> (q.v.). <hw>Mulberry-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the Australian bird <i>Sphecotheres maxillaris</i>, Lath.; called also <i>Fig-bird</i> (q.v.). 1891. A. J. North, `Records of the Australian Museum,' vol. i. no. 6, p. 113: "Southern Sphecotheres. Mr. Grime informs me it is fairly common on the Tweed River, where it is locally known as the `Mulberry-bird,' from the decided preference it evinces for that species of fruit amongst many others attacked by this bird." Mulberry, Native, <i>n</i>. name given to three Australian trees, viz.-- <i>Hedycarya cunninghami</i>, Tull., <i>N.O. Monimiaceae</i>. Called also <i>Smooth Holly</i>. <i>Piturus propinquus</i>, Wedd., <i>N.O. Urticeae</i>. Called also <i>Queensland Grasscloth Plant</i>. <i>Litsaea ferruginea</i>, Mart., <i>N.O. Laurineae</i>. Called also <i>Pigeonberry-tree</i>. The common English garden fruit-tree is also acclimatised, and the Victorian Silk Culture Association, assisted by the Government, are planting many thousands of the <i>White Mulberry</i> for silk culture. <hw>Mulga</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal word. (1) Name given to various species of Acacia, but especially <i>A. aneura</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.0. Leguminosae</i>. See also <i>Red Mulga</i>. 1864. J. McDouall Stuart, `Explorations in Australia,' p. 154: "We arrived at the foot nearly naked, and got into open sandy rises and valleys, with mulga and plenty of grass, amongst which there is some spinifex growing." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. ii. p. 126, Note: "Mulga is an Acacia. It grows in thick bushes, with thin twigs and small leaves. Probably it is the most extensively distributed tree in all Australia. It extends right across the continent." 1888. Baron F. von Mueller, `Select Extra-tropical Plants' [7th ed.], p. 1: "Acacia aneura, F. v. M. Arid desert interior of extra-tropic Australia. A tree never more than 25 feet high. The principal `Mulga' tree. . . . Cattle and sheep browse on the twigs of this and some allied species, even in the presence of plentiful grass, and are much sustained by such acacias in seasons of protracted drought." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 43: "Not a drop of rain! And for many and many a day the jackaroo will still chop down the limbs of the mulga-tree, that of its tonic leaves the sheep may eat and live." 1894. `The Argus,' Sept. 1, p. 4, col. 2: "The dull green of the mulga-scrub at their base." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 85: "Flax and tussock and fern, Gum and mulga and sand, Reef and palm--but my fancies turn Ever away from land." (2) A weapon, made of mulgawood. (a) A shield. 1878. `Catalogue of Ethnotypical Art in the National Gallery' (Melbourne), p. 19: "<i>Mulga</i>. Victoria. Thirty-six inches in length. This specimen is 37 inches in length and 5 inches in breadth at the broadest part. The form of a section through the middle is nearly triangular. The aperture for the hand (cut in the solid wood) is less than 4 inches in length. Ornamentation :Herring-bone, the incised lines being filled in with white clay. Some figures of an irregular form are probably the distinguishing marks of the owner's tribe. This shield was obtained from Larne-Gherin in the Western District." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 349: "Mulga is the name of a long narrow shield of wood, made by the aboriginals out of acacia-wood." (b) In one place Sir Thomas Mitchell speaks of it as a club. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. ii. p. 267: "The malga [sic] . . . with which these natives were provided, somewhat resembled a pick-axe with one half broken off." <hw>Mulga-Apple</hw>, <i>n</i>. a gall formed on the Mulga-tree, <i>Acacia aneura</i>, F. v. M. (q.v.). See also <i>Apple</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 3: "In Western New South Wales two kinds of galls are found on these trees. One kind is very astringent, and not used; but the other is less abundant, larger, succulent and edible. These latter galls are called `mulga-apples,' and are said to be very welcome to the thirsty traveller." 1889. E. Giles, `Australia Twice Traversed,' p. 71: "The mulga bears a small woody fruit called the mulga apple. It somewhat resembles the taste of apples and is sweet." <hw>Mulga-down</hw>, <i>n</i>. hills covered with <i>Mulga</i>. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvii. p. 201: "Fascinating territories of limitless mulga-downs." <hw>Mulga-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian grass, <i>Danthonia penicillata</i>, F. v. M.; also <i>Neurachne mitchelliana</i>, Nees. See also <i>Grass</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 82: "Mulga Grass. . . . Peculiar to the back country. It derives its vernacular name from being only found where the mulga-tree (<i>Acacia aneura</i> and other species) grows; it is a very nutritious and much esteemed grass." <hw>Mulga-scrub</hw>, <i>n</i>. thickets of <i>Mulga-trees</i>. 1864. J. McDouall Stuart, `Explorations in Australia,' p. 190: "For the first three miles our course was through a very thick mulga scrub, with plenty of grass, and occasionally a little spinifex." 1875. John Forrest, `Explorations in Australia,' p. 220: "Travelled till after dark through and over spinifex plains, wooded with acacia and mulga scrub, and camped without water and only a little scrub for the horses, having travelled nearly forty miles." 1876. W. Harcus, `South Australia,' p. 127: "The road for the next thirty miles, to Charlotte Waters Telegraph Station, is characterized by mulga-scrub, open plains, sand-hills, and stony rises poorly grassed." 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 47: "Still more dreaded by the explorer is the `Mulga' scrub, consisting chiefly of dwarf acacias. These grow in spreading irregular bushes armed with strong spines, and where matted with other shrubs form a mass of vegetation through which it is impossible to penetrate." <hw>Mulga-studded</hw>, <i>adj</i>. with Mulga growing here and there. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvii. p. 201: "The frown on the face of the mulga-studded lowlands deepened." <hw>Mullet</hw>, <i>n</i>. Various species of this fish are present in Australasia, all belonging to the family <i>Mugilidae</i>, or Grey-Mullets. They are the-- Flat-tail Mullet-- <i>Mugil peronii</i>, Cuv. and Val. Hard-gut M.-- <i>M. dobula</i>, Gunth. Sand-M., or Talleygalanu-- <i>Myxus elongatus</i>, Gunth. (called also <i>Poddy</i> in Victoria). Sea-M.-- <i>M. grandis</i>, Castln. In New Zealand, the Mullet is <i>Mugil perusii</i>, called the Silver-Mullet (Maori name, <i>Kanae</i>); and the Sea-Mullet, <i>Agonostoma forsteri</i> (Maori name, <i>Aua</i>, q.v.); abundant also in Tasmanian estuaries. The Sand-Mullet in Tasmania is <i>Mugil cephalotus</i>, Cuv. and Val. See also <i>Red-Mullet</i>. 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Fisheries Act, Second Schedule': [Close Season.] "Sand-mullet or poddies." <hw>Mullock</hw>, <i>n</i>. In English, the word is obsolete; it was used by Chaucer in the sense of refuse, dirt. In Australia, it is confined to" `rubbish, dirt, stuff taken out of a mine--the refuse after the vein-stuff is taken away' (Brough Smyth's `Glossary')." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. ii. p. 26: "A man each windlass-handle working slow, Raises the mullock from his mate below." 1874. Garnet Walch, `Head over Heels, p. 77: "But still we worked on--same old tune For nothin' but mullock come up." <hw>Mullock over</hw>, <i>v</i>. Shearing slang. See quotation. 1893. `The Age,' Sept. 23, p. 14, col. 4: "I affirm as a practical shearer, that no man could shear 321 sheep in eight hours, although I will admit he might do what we shearers call `mullock over' that number; and what is more, no manager or overseer who knows his work would allow a shearer to do that number of sheep or lambs in one day." <hw>Munyeru</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the small black seeds of <i>Claytonia balonnensis</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Portulaceae</i>, which are ground up and mixed with water so as to form a paste. It forms a staple article of diet amongst the Arunta and other tribes of Central Australia. 1896. E. C. Stirling, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Anthropology, p. 56: "In these districts `Munyeru' takes the place of the spore cases of `Nardoo' (<i>Marsilea quadrifolia</i>), which is so much used in the Barcoo and other districts to the south and east, these being treated in a similar way." <hw>Murray-Carp</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Carp</i>. <hw>Murray-Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. an important fresh-water food-fish, <i>Oligorus macquariensis</i>, Cuv. and Val., called <i>Kookoobal</i> by the aborigines of the Murrumbidgee, and <i>Pundy</i> by those of the Lower Murray. A closely allied species is called the <i>Murray-Perch</i>. Has been known to reach a weight of 120 lbs. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' vol. i. p. 95: "We soon found that this river contained . . . the fish we first found in the Peel, commonly called by the colonists `the cod,' although most erroneously, since it has nothing whatever to do with malacopterygious fishes." 1880. Guenther, `Introduction to Study of Fishes,' p. 392 (`O.E.D.'): "The first (<i>Oligorus macquariensis</i>) is called by the colonists `Murray-cod,' being plentiful in the Murray River and other rivers of South Australia. It attains to a length of more than 3 feet and to a weight of nearly 100 lbs." <hw>Murray-Lily</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Lily</i>. <hw>Murray-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. a freshwater fish, <i>Oligorus mitchelli</i>, Castln., closely allied to <i>Oligorus macquariensis</i>, the Murray-Cod, belonging to the family <i>Percidae</i>. 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 124: "Our noble old 1400-mile river, the Murray, well christened the Nile of Australia, . . . produces `snags,' and that finny monster, the Murray cod, together with his less bulky, equally flavourless congener, the Murray perch." <hw>Murr-nong</hw>, <i>n</i>. a plant. The name used by the natives in Southern Australia for <i>Microseris forsteri</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. 1878. R. Brough Smyth, `Aborigines of Victoria,' p. 209: "Murr-nong, or `Mirr-n'yong', a kind of yam (<i>Microseris Forsteri</i>) was usually very plentiful, and easily found in the spring and early summer, and was dug out of the earth by the women and children." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 45: "Murr-nong, or `Mirr n'yong' of the aboriginals of New South Wales and Victoria. The tubers were largely used as food by the aboriginals. They are sweet and milky, and in flavour resemble the cocoa-nut." <hw>Murrumbidgee Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Mushroom</hw>, <i>n</i>. The common English mushroom, <i>Agaricus campestris</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Fungi</i>, abounds in Australia, and there are many other indigenous edible species. <hw>Musk-Duck</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Australian bird, <i>Biziura lobata</i>, Shaw. See <i>Duck</i>. 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 30: "The ungainly musk-duck paddles clumsily away from the passing steamer, but hardly out of gunshot, for he seems to know that his fishy flesh is not esteemed by man." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 159: "That's a musk duck: the plumage is very sombre and loose looking--not so thick as most other ducks; the tail, too, is singular, little more than a small fan of short quills. The head of the male has a kind of black leathery excrescence under the bill that gives it an odd expression, and the whole bird has a strange odour of musk, rendering it quite uneatable." <hw>Musk-Kangaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hypsiprymnodon</i> and <i>Kangaroo</i>. <hw>Musk-Parrakeet</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian parrakeet. See <i>Parrakeet</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pl. 5: "<i>Trichoglossus Concinnus</i>, Vig. and Horsf. (<i>Australis</i>, Wagl.), Musky-Parrakeet; Musk-Parrakeet, Colonists of New South Wales, from the peculiar odour of the bird." <hw>Musk-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied to <i>Marlea vitiense</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Cornaceae</i>, with edible nuts, which is not endemic in Australia, and to two native trees of the <i>N.O. Compositae</i>--<i>Aster argophyllus</i>, Labill., called also <i>Musk-wood</i>, from the scent of the timber; and <i>Aster viscosus</i>, Labill., called also the <i>Dwarf Musk-tree</i>. 1848. Letter by Mrs. Perry, given in Canon Goodman's `Church in Victoria during the Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 71: "Also there is some pretty underwood, a good deal of the musk-tree--which is very different from our musk-plant, growing quite into a shrub and having a leaf like the laurel in shape." 1888. Mrs. M'Cann, `Poetical Works,' p. 143: "The musk-tree scents the evening air Far down the leafy vale." <hw>Musk-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Musk-tree</i>. <hw>Mussel</hw>, <i>n</i>. Some Australasian species of this mollusc are-- <i>Mytilus latus</i>, Lamark., Victoria, Tasmania, and New Zealand; <i>M. tasmanicus</i>, Tenison Woods, Tasmania; <i>M. rostratus</i>, Dunker, Tasmania and Victoria; <i>M. hirsutus</i>, Lamark., Tasmania, South Australia, Victoria, New Zealand; <i>M. crassus</i>, Tenison-Woods, Tasmania. Fresh-water Mussels belong to the genus <i>Unio</i>. <hw>Mutton-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is ordinarily applied to the Antarctic Petrel, <i>AEstrelata lessoni</i>. In Australasia it is applied to the Puffin or Short-tailed Petrel, <i>Puffinus brevicaudus</i>, Brandt. The collection of the eggs of this Petrel, the preparation of oil from it, the salting of its flesh for food, form the principal means of subsistence of the inhabitants, half-caste and other, of the islands in Bass Straits. 1839. W. Mann, `Six Years' Residence in the Australian Provinces,' p. 51: "They are commonly called <i>mutton</i> birds, from their flavour and fatness; they are migratory,and arrive in Bass's Straits about the commencement of spring, in such numbers that they darken the air." 1843. J. Backhouse, `Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies' (1832), p. 73: "Mutton birds were in such vast flocks, that, at a distance, they seemed as thick as bees when swarming." Ibid. p. 91: "The Mutton-birds, or Sooty Petrels, are about the size of the Wood Pigeon of England; they are of a dark colour, and are called `Yola' by the natives." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. p. 264: "The principal occupation of these people during this month of the year is taking the Sooty Petrel, called by the Colonists the Mutton Bird, from a fancied resemblance to the taste of that meat." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 47: "The mutton-bird, or sooty petrel . . . is about the size of the wood-pigeon of England, and is of a dark colour. These birds are migratory, and are to be seen ranging over the surface of the great southern ocean far from land . . . Many millions of these birds are destroyed annually for the sake of their feathers and the oil of the young, which they are made to disgorge by pressing the craws." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 382: "The titi, or mutton-bird, is a seabird which goes inland at night just as the light wanes. The natives light a bright fire, behind which they sit, each armed with a long stick. The titis, attracted by the light, fly by in great numbers, and are knocked down as quickly as possible; thus in one night several hundreds are often killed, which they preserve in their own fat for future use." 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand the Britain of the South,' vol. i. p. 121: "The young titi (mutton-bird), a species of puffin, is caught by the natives in great quantities, potted in its own fat, and sent as a sort of `<i>pa^te de foie gras</i>' to inland friends." 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 232: "The natives in the South [of Stewart's Island] trade largely with their brethren in the North, in supplies of the mutton- bird, which they boil down, and pack in its own fat in the large air-bags of sea-weed." 1879. H. <i>n</i>. Moselep `Notes by Naturalist on Challenger, p. 207: "Besides the prion, there is the `mutton-bird' of the whalers (<i>AEstrelata lessoni</i>), a large Procellanid, as big as a pigeon, white and brown and grey in colour." 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 49: "The crest of the Cape [Wollomai] is a favourite haunt of those elegant but prosaically-named sea-fowl, the `mutton-birds.'. . One of the sports of the neighbourhood is `mutton-birding.' 1888. A. Reischek, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxi. art. xlix. p. 378: "Passing through Foveaux Strait, clothed with romantic little islands, we disturbed numerous flocks of mutton-birds (<i>Puffinus tristis</i>), which were playing, feeding, or sleeping on the water." 1891. `The Australasian,' Nov. 14, p. 963, col. 1 (`A Lady in the Kermadecs'): "The mutton-birds and burrowers come to the island in millions in the breeding season, and the nesting-place of the burrowers is very like a rabbit-warren; while the mutton-bird is content with a few twigs to do duty for a nest." 1891. Rev. J. Stack, `Report of Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' vol. iii. p. 379: "Wild pigeons, koko, tui, wekas, and mutton-birds were cooked and preserved in their own fat." <hw>Mutton-bird Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree, <i>Senecio rotundifolius</i>, Hook.: so called because the mutton-birds, especially in Foveaux Straits, New Zealand, are fond of sitting under it. <hw>Mutton-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a marine univalve mollusc, <i>Haliotis naevosa</i>, Martyn: so called from its flavour when cooked. The empty earshell of Haliotis<i></i>, especially in New Zealand, <i>Haliotis iris</i>, Martyn, is known as <i>Venus' Ear</i>; Maori name, <i>Paua</i> (q.v.). A species of the same genus is known and eaten at the Cape and in the Channel Islands. (French name <i>Ormer</i>, sc. <i>Oreille de mer</i>.) 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish and Fisheries of New South Wales,' p. 92: "Then mutton fish were speared. This is the ear-shell fish (<i>Haliotis naevosa</i>), which was eagerly bought by the Chinese merchants. Only the large muscular sucking disc on foot is used. Before being packed it is boiled and dried. About 9d. per lb. was given." Myall, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. aboriginal word with two different meanings; whether there is any connection between them is uncertain. (1) <i>n</i>. An acacia tree, <i>Acacia pendula</i>, A. Cunn., and its timber. Various species have special epithets: <i>Bastard, Dalby, True</i>, <i>Weeping</i>, etc. 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 38: "The myall-tree (<i>Acacia pendula</i>) is the most picturesque tree of New South Wales. The leaves have the appearance of being frosted, and the branches droop like the weeping willow. . . . Its perfume is as delightful, and nearly as strong, as sandal-wood." (p. 10): "They poison the fish by means of a sheet of bark stripped from the Myall-tree (<i>Acacia pendula</i>)." 1846. T. L. Mitchell, Report quoted by J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 495: "The myall-tree and salt-bush, <i>Acacia pendula</i> and <i>salsolae</i> [sic], so essential to a good run, are also there." 1864. J. S. Moore, `Spring Life Lyrics,' p. 170: "The guerdon's won! What may it be? A grave beneath a myall-tree." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 193 [Note]: "This acacia, which has much the habit of the weeping willow, is found very extensively on the wet, alluvial flats of the west rivers. It sometimes forms scrubs and thickets, which give a characteristic appearance to the interior of this part of Australia, so that, once seen, it can never be again mistaken for scenery of any other country in the world. The myall scrubs are nearly all of <i>Acacia pendula</i>." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 280: "The myall-wood weapons made at Liverpool Plains were exchanged with the coast natives for others." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 46: "<i>Lignum-vitae</i> and bastard-myall bushes were very common." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 115: "Weeping or true Myall. . . . Stock are very fond of the leaves of this tree [<i>Acacia pendula</i>], especially in seasons of drought, and for this reason, and because they eat down the seedlings, it has almost become exterminated in parts of the colonies." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' p. 27: "A strip of the swaying, streaming myall, of a colour more resembling blue than black." 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 4, col. 2: "The soft and silvery grace of the myalls." 1890. E. D. Cleland, `The White Kangaroo,' p. 50: "Miall, a wood having a scent similar to raspberry jam, and very hard and well-grained." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 130: "Stock-whips with myall handles (the native wood that smells like violets)." (2) <i>adj</i>. and <i>n</i>. wild, wild natives, used especially in Queensland. The explanation given by Lumholtz (1890) is not generally accepted. The word <i>mail</i>, or <i>myall</i>, is the aboriginal term for "men," on the Bogan, Dumaresque, and Macintyre Rivers in New South Wales. It is the local equivalent of the more common form <i>murrai</i>. 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 41: "On my arrival I learnt from the natives that one party was still at work a considerable distance up the country, at the source of one of the rivers, called by the natives `Myall,' meaning, in their language, Stranger, or a place which they seldom or never frequent." 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 192: "This tribe gloried in the name of `Myall,' which the natives nearer to the colony apply in terror and abhorrence to the `wild blackfellows,' to whom they usually attribute the most savage propensities." 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' Aug. i, p. 4, col. 4: "Even the wildest of the Myall black fellows--as cannibals usually are--learned to appreciate him." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 447: "Words quite as unintelligible to the natives as the corresponding words in the vernacular language of the white men would have been, were learned by the natives, and are now commonly used by them in conversing with Europeans, as English words. Thus <i>corrobbory</i>, the Sydney word for a general assembly of natives, is now commonly used in that sense at Moreton Bay; but the original word there is <i>yanerwille</i>. <i>Cabon</i>, great; <i>narang</i> little; <i>boodgeree</i>, good; <i>myall</i>, wild native, etc. etc., are all words of this description, supposed by the natives to be English words, and by the Europeans to be aboriginal words of the language of that district." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 171: "A more intimate acquaintance with the ways and customs of the whites had produced a certain amount of contempt for them among the myalls." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 209: "I had many conversations with native police officers on the subject of the amelioration of the wild myalls." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 150: "Suddenly he became aware that half-a-dozen of these `myalls,' as they are called, were creeping towards him through the long grass. Armed with spears and boomerangs . . ." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 76: "These so-called civilized blacks look upon their savage brethren with more or less contempt, and call them myall." [Footnote]: "A tree (<i>Acacia pendula</i>) which grows extensively in the less civilized districts is called by the Europeans <i>myall</i>. This word was soon applied by the whites as a term for the wild blacks who frequented these large remote <i>myall</i> woods. Strange to say, the blacks soon adopted this term themselves, and used it as an epithet of abuse, and hence it soon came to mean a person of no culture." 1893. M. Gaunt, `English Illustrated,' March, p. 367: "He himself had no faith in the myall blacks; they were treacherous, they were cruel." (3) By transference, wild cattle. 1893. `The Argus,' April 29, p. 4, col. 4, `Getting in the Scrubbers': "To secure these myalls we took down sixty or seventy head of quiet cows, as dead homers as carrier pigeons, some of them milking cows, with their calves penned up in the stockyard." <hw>Myrmecobius</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of the Australian genus with only one species, called the <i>Banded Ant-eater</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>murmaex</i>, an ant, and <i>bios</i> life.) <hw>Myrtle</hw>, <i>n</i>. The true <i>Myrtle, Myrtus communis</i>, is a native of Asia, but has long been naturalised in Europe, especially on the shores of the Mediterranean. The name is applied to many genera of the family, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, and has been transferred to many other trees not related to that order. In Australia the name, with various epithets, is applied to the following trees-- <i>Backhousia citriodora</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, called the <i>Scrub Myrtle</i> and <i>Native Myrtle</i>. <i>Backhousia myrtifolia</i>, Hook. and Herv., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, called <i>Scrub Myrtle</i>, or <i>Native Myrtle</i>, or <i>Grey Myrtle</i>, and also <i> Lancewood</i>. <i>Diospyrus pentamera</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Ebenaceae</i>, the <i>Black Myrtle</i> and <i>Grey Plum</i> of Northern New South Wales. <i>Eugenia myrtifolia</i>, Sims, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, known as <i>Native Myrtle</i>, <i>Red Myrtle</i> and <i>Brush Cherry</i>. <i>Eugenia ventenatii</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, the <i>Drooping Myrtle</i> or <i>Large-leaved Water-gum</i>. <i>Melaleuca decussata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. <i>Melaleuca genistifolia</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, which is called <i>Ridge Myrtle</i>, and in Queensland <i>Ironwood</i>. <i>Myoporum serratum</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myoporineae</i>, which is called <i>Native Myrtle</i>; and also called <i>Blue-berry Tree</i>, <i>Native Currant</i>, <i>Native Juniper</i>, <i>Cockatoo-Bush</i>, and by the aborigines <i>Palberry</i>. <i>Myrtus acmenioides</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, which is the <i>White Myrtle</i> of the Richmond and Clarence Rivers (New South Wales), and is also called <i>Lignum-vitae</i>. <i>Rhodamnia argentea</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, called <i>White Myrtle</i>, the <i>Muggle-muggle</i> of the aboriginals of Northern New South Wales. <i>Syncarpia leptopetala</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, which is called <i>Myrtle</i> and also <i>Brush-Turpentine</i>. <i>Tristania neriifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, called <i>Water Myrtle</i>, and also <i>Water Gum</i>. <i>Trochocarpa laurina</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>, called <i>Brush-Myrtle</i>, <i>Beech</i> and <i>Brush Cherry</i>. In Tasmania, all the <i>Beeches</i> are called Myrtles, and there are extensive forests of the Beech <i>Fagus cunninghamii</i>, Hook., which is invariably called "Myrtle" by the colonists of Tasmania. 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 206: Table of Tasmanian Woods. Hgt. Dia. Where found. Use. ft. in. Scented Myrtle 15 6 Low, marshy Seldom used Red " 40 12 Swampy As pine White " 20 9 Low, marshy House-carpentry Yellow " 20 9 " " do. Brown " 20 30 " " do. and joiners' planes N <hw>Nailrod</hw>, <i>n</i>. a coarse dark tobacco smoked by bushmen. The name alludes to the shape of the plug, which looks like a thin flat stick of liquorice. It is properly applied to the imported brand of "Two Seas," but is indiscriminately used by up-country folk for any coarse stick of tobacco. 1896. H. Lawson, `While the Billy boils,' p. 118: "`You can give me half-a-pound of nailrod,' he said, in a quiet tone.'" <hw>Nail-tailed Wallaby</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Onychogale</i>. <hw>Namma hole</hw>, <i>n</i>. a native well. <i>Namma</i> is an aboriginal word for a woman's breast. 1893. `The Australasian,' August 5, p. 252, col. 4: "The route all the way from York to Coolgardie is amply watered, either `namma holes' native wells) or Government wells being plentiful on the road." 1896. `The Australasian,' March 28, p. 605, col. 1: "The blacks about here [far west of N.S.W.] use a word nearly resembling `namma' in naming waterholes, viz., `numma,' pronounced by them `ngumma,' which means a woman's breast. It is used in conjunction with other words in the native names of some waterholes in this district, e.g., `Tirrangumma' = Gum-tree breast; and ngumma-tunka' = breast-milk, the water in such case being always milky in appearance. In almost all native words beginning with <i>n</i> about here the first <i>n</i> has the <i>ng</i> sound as above." <hw>Nancy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the flower <i>Anguillaria</i> (q.v.). <hw>Nankeen Crane</hw>, or <hw>Nankeen Bird</hw>, or <hw>Nankeen Night Heron</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Australian bird <i>Nycticorax caledonicus</i>, Gmel. Both the Nankeen Bird and the Nankeen Hawk are so called from their colour. Nankeen is "a Chinese fabric, usually buff, from the natural colour of a cotton grown in the Nanking district" of China. (`Century.') 1838. James, `Six Months in South Australia, p. 202: "After shooting one or two beautiful nankeen birds." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 121: "The nankeen crane (<i>Nycticorax caledonicus</i>), a very handsome bright nankeen-coloured bird with three long white feathers at the back of the neck, very good eating." <hw>Nankeen Gum</hw>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Nankeen Hawk</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, <i>Tinnunculus cenchroides</i>, Vig. and Hors., which is otherwise called <i>Kestrel</i> (q.v.). 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of the Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 184: "`This bird,' as we are informed by Mr. Caley, `is called Nankeen Hawk by the settlers. It is a migratory species.'" <hw>Nannygai</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for an Australian fish, <i>Beryx affinis</i>, Gunth. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 52: "Amongst the early colonists it used also to be called `mother nan a di,' probably a corruption of the native name, mura ngin a gai." 1884. E. P. Ramsay, `Fisheries Exhibition Literature,' vol. v. p. 308: "Known among the fishermen of Port Jackson as the `nannagai,' or as it is sometimes spelt `nannygy.' It is a most delicious fish, always brings a high price, but is seldom found in sufficient numbers." <hw>Nardoo</hw>, or <hw>Nardu</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal word for the sporocarp of a plant, <i>Marsilea quadrifolia</i>, Linn., used as food by the aboriginals, and sometimes popularly called <i>Clover-fern</i>. The explorers Burke and Wills vainly sought the means of sustaining life by eating flour made from the spore-cases of nardoo. "Properly <i>Ngardu</i> in the Cooper's Creek language (Yantruwunta)." (A. W. Howitt.) Cooper's Creek was the district where Burke and Wills perished. In South Australia <i>Ardoo</i> is said to be the correct form. 1861. `Diary of H. J. Wills, the Explorer,' quoted in Brough Smyth's `Aborigines of Victoria,' p. 216: "I cannot understand this nardoo at all; it certainly will not agree with me in any form. We are now reduced to it alone, and we manage to get from four to five pounds a day between us. . . . It seems to give us no nutriment. . . . Starvation on nardoo is by no means very unpleasant, but for the weakness one feels and the utter inability to move oneself, for, as far as appetite is concerned, it gives me the greatest satisfaction." 1862. Andrew Jackson, `Burke and the Australian Exploring Expedition of 1860,' p. 186: "The [wheaten] flour, fifty pounds of which I gave them, they at once called `whitefellow nardoo,' and they explained that they understood that these things were given to them for having fed King." 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. p. 247: "They now began to inquire of the blacks after the nardoo seed, imagining it the produce of a tree; and received from the natives some of their dried narcotic herbs, which they chew, called pitchery. They soon found the nardoo seed in abundance, on a flat, and congratulated themselves in the idea that on this they could subsist in the wilderness, if all other food failed, a hope in which they were doomed to a great disappointment." 1877. F. von Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 130: "Of <i>Marsiliaceae</i> we have well known examples in the nardoo (<i>Marsilea quadrifolia</i>, with many varieties), the foliage resembling that of a clover with four leaflets." 1878. R. Brough Smyth, `Aborigines of Victoria,' p. 209: "They seem to have been unacquainted generally with the use, as a food, of the clover-fern, Nardoo, though the natives of the North Western parts of Victoria must have had intercourse with the tribes who use it, and could have obtained it, sparingly, from the lagoons in their own neighbourhood." 1879. J. D. Wood, `Native Tribes of South Australia,' p. 288: "Ardoo, often described by writers as Nardoo. A very hard seed, a flat oval of about the size of a pea. It is crushed for food." 1879 (about). `Queensland Bush Song': "Hurrah for the Roma Railway! Hurrah for Cobb and Co.! Hurrah, hurrah for a good fat horse To carry me Westward Ho! To carry me Westward Ho! my boys; That's where the cattle pay, On the far Barcoo, where they eat nardoo, A thousand miles away." 1879. S. Gason, in `The Native Tribes of South Australia,' p. 288: "<i>Ardoo</i>. Often described in news papers and by writers as Nardoo. A very hard seed, a flat oval of about the size of a split pea; it is crushed or pounded, and the husk winnowed. In bad seasons this is the mainstay of the native sustenance, but it is the worst food possible, possessing very little nourishment, and being difficult to digest." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Proceedings of the of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales,' p. 82 [Botanical Notes on Queensland]: "<i>Sesbania aculeata</i>. The seeds of this plant are eaten by the natives. It grows in all warm or marshy places in Queensland. By many it is thought that this was the Nardoo which Burke and Wills thought came from the spores of a <i>Marsilea</i>. It is hard to suppose that any nourishment would be obtained from the spore cases of the latter plant, or that the natives would use it. Besides this the spore-cases are so few in number." 1890. E. D. Cleland, `White Kangaroo,' p. 113: "The great thing with the blacks was nardoo. This is a plant which sends up slender stems several inches high; at the tip is a flower-like leaf, divided into four nearly equal parts. It bears a fruit, or seed, and this is the part used for food. It is pounded into meal between two stones, and is made up in the form of cakes, and baked in the ashes. It is said to be nourishing when eaten with animal food, but taken alone to afford no support." <hw>Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. This word, originally applied, as elsewhere, to the aboriginal inhabitants of Australia, is now used exclusively to designate white people born in Australia. The members of the "Australian Natives' Association" (A.N.A.), founded April 27, 1871, pride themselves on being Australian-born and not immigrants. Mr. Rudyard Kipling, in the `Times' of Nov. 1895, published a poem called " The Native-Born," sc. born in the British Empire, but outside Great Britain. As applied to Plants, Animals, Names, etc., the word <i>Native</i> bears its original sense, as in "Native Cabbage," "Native Bear," "Native name for," etc., though in the last case it is now considered more correct to say in Australia "Aboriginal name for," and in New Zealand "Maori name for." 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' c. v. p. 161: "Three Sydney natives (`currency' not aboriginal) were in the coach, bound for Melbourne." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 43: "They were long and wiry natives from the rugged mountain side." <hw>Native</hw>, or <hw>Rock-Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to the fish called <i>Schnapper</i>, after it has ceased to "school." See <i>Schnapper</i>. <hw>Native Arbutus</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wax-cluster</i>. <hw>Native Banana</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Lilly-pilly</i> (q.v.). <hw>Native Banyan</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Ficus rubiginosa</i>. See <i>Fig</i>. <hw>Native Bear</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Bear</i>. <hw>Native Beech</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Beech</i>. <hw>Native Blackberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Blackberry</i>. <hw>Native Borage</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Borage</i>. <hw>Native Box</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Box</i>. <hw>Native Bread</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Bread</i>. <hw>Native Broom</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Broom</i>. <hw>Native Burnet</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Burnet</i>. <hw>Native Cabbage</hw>, <i>n</i>. The <i>Nasturtium palustre</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Cruciferae</i>, is so called, but in spite of its name it is not endemic in Australia. In New Zealand, the name is sometimes applied to the <i>Maori Cabbage</i> (q.v.). <hw>Native Carrot</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Carrot</i>. <hw>Native Cascarilla</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Cascarilla</i>. <hw>Native Cat</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Cat</i>. <hw>Native Celery</hw>, or <hw>Australian Celery</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Celery</i>. <hw>Native Centaury</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Centaury</i>. <hw>Native Cherry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Cherry</i>. <hw>Native-Companion</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird-name, <i>Grus australasianus</i>, Gould. See also <i>Crane</i>. 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 125: "Here we saw the native-companion, a large bird of the crane genus . . . five feet high, colour of the body grey, the wings darker, blue or black." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 38: "With native-companions (<i>Ardea antigone</i>) strutting round." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 48: "<i>Grus Australasianus</i>, Gould, Australian Crane; Native-Companion of the Colonists." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 146: "A handsome tame `native-companion,' which had been stalking about picking up insects, drew near. Opening his large slate-coloured wings, and dancing grotesquely, the interesting bird approached his young mistress, bowing gracefully from side to side as he hopped lightly along; then running up, he laid his heron-like head lovingly against her breast." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 21: "The most extraordinary of Riverina birds is the native-companion." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 145: "A row of native-companions, of course, standing on one leg-- as is their wont--like recruits going to drill." [Query, did the writer mean going "through" drill.] 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne,' p. 23: "In this paddock are some specimens of the Native Companion, whose curious habit of assembling in groups on the plains and fantastically dancing, has attracted much attention. This peculiarity is not confined to them alone, however, as some of the other large cranes (notably the crowned cranes of Africa) display the same trait." <hw>Native Cranberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Cranberry</i>. <hw>Native Currant</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Currant</i>. <hw>Native Daisy</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Daisy</i>. <hw>Native Damson</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Damson</i>. <hw>Native Dandelion</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Dandelion</i>. <hw>Native Daphne</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Daphne</i>. <hw>Native Date</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Date</i>. <hw>Native Deal</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Deal</i>. <hw>Native Dog</hw>, <i>n</i>. Another name for the <i>Dingo</i> (q.v.). <hw>Native Elderberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Elderberry</i>. <hw>Native Flag</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Flax, Native</i>, and <i>New Zealand</i>. <hw>Native Fuchsia</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Fuchsia</i>. <hw>Native Furze</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hakea</i>. <hw>Native Ginger</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Ginger</i>. <hw>Native Grape</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Grape, Gippsland</i>. <hw>Native-hen</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to various species of the genus <i>Tribonyx</i> (q.v.). The Australian species are-- <i>Tribonyx mortieri</i>, Du Bus., called by Gould the <i>Native Hen</i> of the Colonists; Black-tailed N.-h., <i>T. ventralis</i>, Gould; and in Tasmania, <i>Tribonyx gouldi</i>, Sclater. See <i>Tribonyx</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 71: "<i>Tribonyx Mortierii</i>, Du Bus., native-hen of the colonists." <hw>Native Hickory</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hickory</i>. <hw>Native Holly</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Holly</i>. <hw>Native Hops</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hops</i>. <hw>Native Hyacinth</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hyacinth</i>. <hw>Native Indigo</hw>. <i>n</i>. See <i>Indigo</i>. <hw>Native Ivy</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Ivy</i>, and <i>Grape, Macquarie Harbour</i>. <hw>Native Jasmine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Jasmine</i>. <hw>Native Juniper</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Native Currant</i>. See under <i>Currant</i>. <hw>Native Kumquat</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Desert Lemon</i> (q.v.). <hw>Native Laburnum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Laburnum</i>. <hw>Native Laurel</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Laurel</i>. <hw>Native Lavender</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Lavender</i>. <hw>Native Leek</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Leek</i>. <hw>Native Lilac</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian plant. See <i>Lilac</i>. <hw>Native Lime</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Lime</i>. <hw>Native Lucerne</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Queensland Hemp</i>. See under <i>Hemp</i>. <hw>Native Mangrove</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian name for the <i>Boobialla</i> (q.v.). <hw>Native Mignonette</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Mignonette</i>. <hw>Native Millet</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Millet</i>. <hw>Native Mint</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Mint</i>. <hw>Native Mistletoe</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Mistletoe</i>. <hw>Native Mulberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Mulberry</i>. <hw>Native Myrtle</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Myrtle</i>. <hw>Native Nectarine</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Emu-Apple</i>. See under <i>Apple</i>. <hw>Native Oak</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Oak</i>. <hw>Native Olive</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Olive</i> and <i>Marblewood</i>. <hw>Native Onion</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Native Leek</i>. See <i>Leek</i>. <hw>Native Orange</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Orange</i>. <hw>Native Passion-flower</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Passion-flower</i>. <hw>Native Peach</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Quandong</i> (q.v.). <hw>Native Pear</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hakea</i> and <i>Pear</i>. <hw>Native Pennyroyal</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pennyroyal</i>. <hw>Native Pepper</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pepper</i>. <hw>Native Plantain</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Plantain</i>. <hw>Native Plum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Plum, Wild</i>. <hw>Native Pomegranate</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Orange, Native</i>. <hw>Native Potato</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Potato</i>. <hw>Native Quince</hw>, <i>n</i>. Another name for <i>Emu-Apple</i>. See <i>Apple</i>. <hw>Native Raspberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Raspberry</i>. <hw>Native Rocket</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Rocket</i>. <hw>Native Sandalwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Sandalwood</i> and <i>Raspberry-Jam Tree</i>. <hw>Native Sarsaparilla</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Sarsaparilla</i>. <hw>Native Sassafras</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Sassafras</i>. <hw>Native Scarlet-runner</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Kennedya</i>. <hw>Native Shamrock</hw>. <i>n</i>. See <i>Shamrock</i>. <hw>Native Sloth</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Bear</i>. See <i>Bear</i>. <hw>Native Speedwell</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Speedwell</i>. <hw>Native Tamarind</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Tamarind-tree</i>. <hw>Native Tiger</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i>. <hw>Native Tobacco</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Tobacco</i>. <hw>Native Tulip</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Waratah</i>. <hw>Native Turkey</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Wild Turkey</i>. A vernacular name given to <i>Eupodotis australis</i>, Gray, which is not a turkey at all, but a true <i>Bustard</i>. See <i>Turkey</i>. <hw>Native Vetch</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Vetch</i>. <hw>Native Willow</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Boobialla</i> and <i>Poison-berry Tree</i>. <hw>Native Yam</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Yam</i>. <hw>Necho</hw>, and <hw>Neko</hw>. See <i>Nikau</i>. <hw>Nectarine, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Emu-Apple</i>. See <i>Apple</i>. <hw>Needle-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to two Australian trees, <i>Hakea leucoptera</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>; called also <i>Pin-bush</i> and <i>Water-tree</i> (q.v.) and <i>Beefwood</i>; <i>Acacia rigens</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i> (called also <i>Nealie</i>). Both trees have fine sharp spines. <hw>Negro-head</hw> Beech, <i>n</i>. See <i>Beech</i>. <hw>Neinei</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for New Zealand shrub, <i>Dracophyllum longifolium</i>, R. Br., also <i>D. traversii</i>, <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. 1865. J. Von Haast, `A Journey to the West Coast, 1865' (see `Geology of Westland,' p. 78): "An undescribed superb tree like <i>Dracophyllum</i>, not unlike the <i>D. latifolium</i> of the North Island, began to appear here. The natives call it <i>nene</i>. (Named afterwards <i>D. traversii</i> by Dr. Hooker.) It has leaves a foot long running out into a slender point, of a reddish brown colour at the upper part, between which the elegant flower- panicle comes forth." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 128: "Neinei, an ornamental shrub-tree, with long grassy leaves. Wood white, marked with satin-like specks, and adapted for cabinet-work." 1888. J. Adams, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxi. art. ii. p. 40: "On the flat and rounded top the tallest plants are stunted neinei." <hw>Nephrite</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Greenstone</i>. <hw>Nestor</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of New Zealand Parrots. See <i>Kaka</i> and <i>Kea</i>. 1863. S. Butler, `First Year in Canterbury Settlement,' p. 58: "There was a kind of dusky, brownish-green parrot too, which the scientific call a Nestor. What they mean by this name I know not. To the unscientific it is a rather dirty-looking bird, with some bright red feathers under its wings. It is very tame, sits still to be petted, and screams like a parrot." <hw>Nettle-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. Two species of <i>Laportea</i>, <i>N.O. Urticaceae</i>, large scrub-trees, are called by this name--Giant Nettle, <i>L. gigas</i>, Wedd., and Small-leaved Nettle, <i>L. photiniphylla</i>, Wedd.; they have rigid stinging hairs. These are both species of such magnitude as to form timber-trees. A third, <i>L. moroides</i>, Wedd., is a small tree, with the stinging hairs extremely virulent. See also preceding words. /??/ 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 34: "In the scrubs is found a tree, commonly called the nettle- tree (<i>Urtica gigas</i>). It is often thirty feet in height, and has a large, broad, green leaf. It is appropriately named; and the pain caused by touching the leaf is, I think, worse than that occasioned by the sting of a wasp." <hw>Never, Never Country</hw>, or <hw>Never, Never Land</hw>. See quotations. Mr. Cooper's explanation (1857 quotation) is not generally accepted. 1857. F. de Brebant Cooper, `Wild Adventures in Australia,' p. 68: "With the aid of three stock-keepers, soon after my arrival at Illarrawarra, I had the cattle mustered, and the draft destined for the Nievah vahs ready for for the road." [Footnote]: "Nievah vahs, sometimes incorrectly pronounced never nevers, a Comderoi term signifying unoccupied land." 1884. A. W. Stirling, `The Never Never Land: a Ride in North Queensland,' p. 5: "The `Never Never Land,' as the colonists call all that portion of it [Queensland] which lies north or west of Cape Capricorn." 1887. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. i. p. 279: "In very sparsely populated country, such as the district of Queensland, known as the Never Never Country--presumably because a person, who has once been there, invariably asseverates that he will never, never, on any consideration, go back." 1890. J. S. O'Halloran, Secretary Royal Colonial Institute, <i>apud</i> Barrere and Leland: "The Never, Never Country means in Queensland the occupied pastoral country which is furthest removed from the more settled districts." 1890. A. J. Vogan, `The Black Police,' p. 85: "The weird `Never, Never Land,' so called by the earliest pioneers from the small chance they anticipated, on reaching it, of ever being able to return to southern civilization." <hw>Newberyite</hw>, <i>n</i>. [Named after J. Cosmo Newbery of Melbourne.] "A hydrous phosphate of magnesium occurring in orthorhombic crystals in the bat-guano of the Skipton Caves, Victoria." (`Century.') <hw>New Chum</hw>, <i>n</i>. a new arrival, especially from the old country: generally used with more or less contempt; what in the United States is called a `tenderfoot.' 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 99: "He was also what they termed a `new chum,' or one newly arrived." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 366: "`New Chum,' in opposition to `Old Chum.' The former `cognomen' peculiarizing [sic] the newly-arrived Emigrant; the latter as a mark of respect attached to the more experienced Colonist." 1855. `How to Settle in Victoria,' p. 15: "They appear to suffer from an apprehension of being under- sold, or in some other way implicated by the inexperience of, as they call him, the `new chum.'" 1865. `Once a Week,' `The Bulla Bulla Bunyip': "I was, however, comparatively speaking, a `new chum,' and therefore my explanation of the mystery met with scant respect." 1874. W. M. B., `Narrative of Edward Crewe,' p. 17: "To be a new chum is not agreeable--it is something like being a new boy at school--you are bored with questions for some time after your arrival as to how you like the place, and what you are going to do; and people speak to you in a pitying and patronizing manner, smiling at your real or inferred simplicity in colonial life, and altogether `sitting upon' you with much frequency and persistence." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Head Station,' p. 32: "A new chum is no longer a new chum when he can plait a stock-whip." 1886. P. Clarke [Title]: "The New Chum in Australia." 1887. W. S. S. Tyrwhitt [Title]: "The New Chum in the Queensland Bush." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 152: "I've seen such a lot of those new chums, one way and another. They knock down all their money at the first go-off, and then there's nothing for them to do but to go and jackaroo up in Queensland." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 4: "The buggy horse made a bolt of it when a new-chum Englishman was driving her." 1892. Mrs. H. E. Russell, `Too Easily jealous,' p. 155: "One man coolly told me it was because I was a new chum, just as though it were necessary for a fellow to rusticate for untold ages in these barbarous solitudes, before he is allowed to give an opinion on any subject connected with the colonies." <hw>New Chumhood</hw>, <i>n</i>. the period and state of being a <i>New Chum</i>. 1883. W. Jardine Smith, in `Nineteenth Century,' November, p. 849: "The `bumptiousness' observable in the early days of `new chumhood.'" <hw>New Holland</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name, now extinct, first given to Australia by Dutch explorers. 1703. Capt. William Dampier,' Voyages,' vol. iii. [Title]: "A Voyage to New Holland, &c., in the Year 1699." 1814. M. Flinders, `Voyage to Terra Australis,' Intro. p. ii: "The vast regions to which this voyage was principally directed, comprehend, in the western part, the early discoveries of the Dutch, under the name of New Holland; and in the east, the coasts explored by British navigators, and named New South Wales." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 2: "The Spaniards at the commencement of the seventeenth century were the discoverers of New Holland; and from them it received the name of Australia. It subsequently, however, obtained its present name of New Holland from the Dutch navigators, who visited it a few years afterwards." [The Spaniards did <i>not</i> call New Holland <i>Australia</i> (q.v.). The Spaniard Quiros gave the name of <i>Australia del Espiritu Santo</i> to one of the New Hebrides (still known as Espiritu Santo), thinking it to be part of the `Great South Land.' See Captain Cook's remarks on this subject in `Hawkesworth's Voyages,' vol. iii. p. 602.] 1850. J. Bonwick, `Geography for Australian Youth,' p. 6: "Australasia, or Australia, consists of the continent of New Holland, or Australia, the island of Tasmania, or Van Diemen's Land, and the islands of New Zealand." [In the map accompanying the above work `<i>Australia</i>' is printed across the whole continent, and in smaller type <i>`New Holland</i>' stretches along the Western half, and `<i>New South Wales</i>' along the whole of the Eastern.] <hw>New South Wales</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name of the oldest and most important colony in Australia. The name "New Wales" was first given by Captain Cook in 1770, from the supposed resemblance of the coast to that of the southern coast of Wales; but before his arrival in England he changed the name to "New South Wales." It then applied to all the east of the continent. Victoria and Queensland have been taken out of the parent colony. It is sometimes called by the slang name of <i>Eastralia</i>, as opposed to <i>Westralia</i> (q.v). <hw>New Zealand</hw>, <i>n</i>. This name was given to the colony by Abel Jansz Tasman, the Dutch navigator, who visited it in 1642. He first called it <i>Staaten-land</i>. It is now frequently called <i>Maoriland</i> (q.v.). <hw>New Zealand Spinach</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Spinach</i>. <hw>Ngaio, <i</hw>>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Myoporum laetum</i>, Forst.; generally corrupted into <i>Kaio</i>, in South Island. 1873. `Catalogue of Vienna Exhibition': "Ngaio: wood light, white and tough, used for gun-stocks." 1876. J. C. Crawford, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. ix. art. xiv. p. 206: "A common New Zealand shrub, or tree, which may be made useful for shelter, viz. the Ngaio." 1880. W. Colenso, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xiii. art. i. p. 33: "The fruits of several species of Rubus, and of the Ngaio (<i>Myoporum laetum</i>), were also eaten, especially by children." 1892. `Otago Witness,' Nov. 3, `Native Trees': "<i>Myoporum Laetum (Ngaio</i>). This is generally called kio by colonists. It is a very rapid-growing tree for the first five or six years after it has been planted. They are very hardy, and like the sea air. I saw these trees growing at St. Kilda, near Melbourne, thirty years ago." <hw>Nicker Nuts</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Bonduc Nuts</i> (q.v.). <hw>Nigger</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian black or aboriginal. [Of course an incorrect use. He is not a negro, any more than the Hindoo is.] 1874. M. C., `Explorers,' p. 25: "I quite thought the niggers had made an attack." 1891. `The Argus,' Nov. 7, p. 13, col. 5: "The natives of Queensland are nearly always spoken of as `niggers' by those who are brought most directly in contact with them." <hw>Nigger-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Name given in New Zealand to hard blackstones found at the Blue Spur and other mining districts. They are prized for their effectiveness in aiding cement-washing. The name is applied in America to a round piece of basic igneous rock. (2) Name used in Queensland for blocks of coral above water. 1876. Capt. J. Moresby, R. N., `Discoveries and Surveys in New Guinea,' pp. 2-3: "The gigantic Barrier Reef is submerged in parts, generally to a shallow depth, and traceable only by the surf that breaks on it, out of which a crowd of `nigger heads,' black points of coral rock, peep up in places . . ." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 111: "Abundantly on the Queensland coast, especially on the coral reefs, where all the outstanding blocks of coral (nigger-heads) are covered with them." <hw>Nightjar</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name, applied in Australia to the following species-- Large-tailed Nightjar-- <i>Caprimulgus macrurus</i>, Hors. Little N.-- <i>AEgotheles novae-hollandiae</i>, Gould. Spotted N.-- <i>Eurostopodus guttatus</i>, Vig. and Hors. White-throated N.-- <i>E. albogularis</i>, Vig. and Hors. <hw>Nikau</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand palm-tree, <i>Areca sapida</i>, <i>N.O. Palmeae</i>. Spelt also <i>Necho</i> and <i>Neko</i>. 1843. `An Ordinance for imposing a tax on Raupo Houses, Session II. No. xvii. of the former legislative Council of New Zealand': [From A. Domett's collection of Ordinances, 1850.] "Section 2. . . . there shall be levied in respect of every building constructed wholly or in part of <i>raupo, nikau, toitoi</i>, <i>wiwi, kakaho</i>, straw or thatch of any description [ . . . L20]." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 270: [The house was] "covered with thick coating of the leaves of the nikau (a kind of palm) and tufts of grass." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' [Note] p. 75: "The <i>necho</i> or <i>neko</i> is a large tree-like plant known elsewhere as the mountain cabbage." 1862. `All the Year Round,' `From the Black Rocks on Friday,' May 17, No. 160: "I found growing, as I expected, amongst the trees abundance of the wild palm or nikau. The heart of one or two of these I cut out with my knife. The heart of this palm is about the thickness of a man's wrist, is about a foot long, and tastes not unlike an English hazel-nut, when roasted on the ashes of a fire. It is very nutritious." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 86: "The pale green pinnate-leaved nikau." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 210: "With the exception of the kauri and the nekau-palm nearly every tree which belongs to the colony grows in the `seventy-mile bush' of Wellington." <hw>Nipper</hw>, <i>n</i>. local name in Sydney for <i>Alphaeus socialis</i>, Heller, a species of prawn. <hw>Nobbler</hw>, <i>n</i>. a glass of spirits; lit. that which nobbles or gets hold of you. Nobble is the frequentative form of <i>nab</i>. No doubt there is an allusion to the bad spirits frequently sold at bush public-houses, but if a teetotaler had invented the word he could not have invented one involving stronger condemnation. 1852. G. F. P., `Gold Pen and Pencil Sketches,' canto xiv.: "The summit gained, he pulls up at the Valley, To drain a farewell `nobbler' to his Sally." 1859. Frank Fowler, `Southern Lights and Shadows,' p. 52: "To pay for liquor for another is to `stand,' or to `shout,' or to `sacrifice.' The measure is called a `nobbler,' or a `break-down.'" 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 201: "A nobbler is the proper colonial phrase for a drink at a public-house." 1876. J. Brenchley, `May Bloom,' p. 80: "And faster yet the torrents flow Of nobblers bolted rapidly." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 249: "When cruising about . . . with a crew of Kurnai . . . I heard two of my men discussing where we could camp, and one, on mentioning a place, said, speaking his own language, that there was `le-en (good) nobler.' I said, `there is no nobler there.' He then said in English, `Oh! I meant water.' On inquiry I learned that a man named Yan (water) had died shortly, before, and that not liking to use that word, they had to invent a new one." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 36: "Only to pull up again at the nearest public-house, to the veranda of which his horse's bridle was hung until he had imbibed a nobbler or two." <hw>Nobblerise</hw>, v. to drink frequent <i>nobblers</i> (q.v.). 1864. J. Rogers, `The New Rush,' p. 51: "And oft a duffer-dealing digger there Will nobblerize in jerks of small despair . ." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 268: "The institution of `nobblerising' is carried out in far different places." <hw>Noddy</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English name for the sea-bird. The species observed in Australia are-- The Noddy-- <i>Anous stolidus</i>, Linn. Black-cheeked N.-- <i>A. melanogenys</i>, Gray. Grey N.-- <i>A. cinereus</i>, Gould. Lesser N.-- <i>A. tenuirostris</i>, Temm. White-capped N.-- <i>A. leucocapillus</i>, Gould. <hw>Nonda</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a tree, <i>Parinarium Nonda</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Rosaceae</i>, of Queensland. It has an edible, mealy fruit, rather like a plum. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 315: "We called this tree the `Nonda,' from its resemblance to a tree so called by the natives in the Moreton Bay district." <hw>Noogoora Bur</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland plant, <i>Xanthium strumarium</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. <hw>Noon-flower</hw>, <i>n</i>. a rare name for the <i>Mesembryanthemum</i>. See <i>Pig-face</i>. 1891. `The Argus,' Dec. 19, p. 4, col. 2: "The thick-leaved noon-flower that swings from chalk cliffs and creek banks in the auriferous country is a delectable salad." <hw>Norfolk Island Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Note</hw>, <i>n</i>. short for Bank-note, and always used for a one-pound note, the common currency. A note = L1. 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. ii. p. 28: "A note's so very trifling, it's no sooner chang'd than gone; For it is but twenty shillings." 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for Mail,' p. 39: "And even at half fifty notes a week You ought to have made a pile." 1884. Marcus Clarke, `Memorial Volume,' p. 92: "I lent poor Dick Snaffle a trotting pony I had, and he sold him for forty notes." <hw>Notornis</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of New Zealand allied to the <i>Porphyrio</i> (q.v.), first described from a fossil skull by Professor Owen (1848), and then thought to be extinct, like the Moa. Professor Owen called the bird <i>Notornis mantelli</i>, and, curiously enough, Mr. Walter Mantell, in whose honour the bird was named, two years afterwards captured a live specimen; a third specimen was captured in 1879. The word is from the Greek <i>notos</i>, south, and <i>'ornis</i>, bird. The Maori names were <i>Moho</i> and <i>Takahe</i> (q.v.). <hw>Notoryctes</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus to which belongs the <i>Marsupial Mole</i> (q.v.). <hw>Nugget</hw>, <i>n</i>. a lump of gold. The noun nugget is not Australian, though often so supposed. Skeat (`Etymological Dictionary,' s.v.) gives a quotation from North's `Plutarch' with the word in a slightly different shape, viz., <i>niggot</i>. "The word nugget was in use in Australia many years before the goldfields were heard of. A thick-set young beast was called `a good nugget.' A bit of a fig of tobacco was called `a nugget of tobacco.'" (G. W. Rusden.) 1852. Sir W. T. Denison, `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen s Land,' vol. ii. p. 203: `In many instances it is brought to market in lumps, or `nuggets' as they are called, which contain, besides the gold alloyed with some metal, portions of quartz or other extraneous material, forming the matrix in which the gold was originally deposited, or with which it had become combined accidentally." 1869. Marcus Clarke, `Peripatetic Philosopher' (reprint), p. 51: "They lead a peaceful, happy, pastoral life--dig in a hole all day, and get drunk religiously at night. They are respected, admired, and esteemed. Suddenly they find a nugget, and lo! the whole tenor of their life changes." <hw>Nugget</hw>, v. Queensland slang. See quotation. 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. iii. p. 25: "To nugget: in Australian slang, to appropriate your neighbours' unbranded calves." Ibid. c. xviii. p. 182: "If he does steal a calf now and then, I know several squatters who are given to nuggeting." <hw>Nuggety</hw>, <i>adj</i>. applied to a horse or a man. Short, thick-set and strong. See G. W. Rusden's note under <i>Nugget</i>. 1896. Private Letter, March 2: "<i>Nuggety</i> is used in the same sense as <i>Bullocky</i> (q.v.), but with a slight difference of meaning, what we should say `compact.' <i>Bullocky</i> has rather a sense of over-strength inducing an awkwardness of movement. <i>Nuggety</i> does not include the last suggestion." <hw>Nulla-nulla</hw>, <i>n</i>. (spellings various) aboriginal name. A battle club of the aborigines in Australia. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' vol. i. p. 71: "He then threw a club, or <i>nulla-nulla</i>, to the foot of the tree." 1853. C. Harpur, `Creek of the Four Graves': "Under the crushing stroke Of huge clubbed nulla-nullas." 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 61: "Lay aside thy nullah-nullahs Is there war betwixt us two?" 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 9: "The blacks . . . battered in his skull with a nulla-nulla." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 11: "They would find fit weapons for ghastly warriors in the long white shank-bones gleaming through the grass--appropriate gnulla-gnullas and boomerangs." 1889. P. Beveridge, `Aborigines of Victoria and Riverina,' p. 67: "The nulla-nulla is another bludgeon which bears a distinctive character . . . merely a round piece of wood, three feet long and two and a half inches thick, brought to a blunt point at the end. The mallee is the wood from which it is generally made." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 72: "I frequently saw another weapon, the `nolla-nolla' or club, the warlike weapon of the Australian native most commonly in use. It is a piece of hard and heavy wood sharpened to a point at both ends. One end is thick and tapers gradually to the other end, which is made rough in order to give the hand a more secure hold; in using he weapon the heavy end is thrown back before it is hurled." 1892. J. Fraser, `Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 73: "One of the simplest of Australian clubs, the `nulla-nulla' resembles the root of a grass-tree in the shape of its head . . . in shape something like a child's wicker-rattle." <hw>Nut</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Slang. Explained in quotation. 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 60: "The peculiar type of the Australian native (I do not mean the aboriginal blackfellow, but the Australian white), which has received the significant <i>sobriquet</i> of `The Nut,' may be met with to all parts of Australia, but more particularly . . . in far-off inland bush townships. . . . What is a Nut? . . . Imagine a long, lank, lantern jawed, whiskerless, colonial youth . . . generally nineteen years of age, with a smooth face, destitute of all semblance of a crop of `grass,' as he calls it in his vernacular." (2) Dare-devil, etc. "Tommy the Nut" was the <i>alias</i> of the prisoner who, according to the story, was first described as "a-larrikin," by Sergeant Dalton. See <i>Larrikin</i>. <hw>Nut, Bonduc</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Bonduc Nut</i>. <hw>Nut, Burrawang</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Burrawang</i>. <hw>Nut, Candle</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Candle-nut</i>. <hw>Nut, Nicker</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Bonduc Nut</i>. <hw>Nut, Queensland</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Queensland Nut</i>. <hw>Nut, Union</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Union Nut</i>. <hw>Nut-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian plant, <i>Cyperus rotundus</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Cyperaceae</i>. The specific and the vernacular name both refer to the round tubers of the plant; it is also called <i>Erriakura</i> (q.v.). <hw>Nutmeg, Queensland</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Queensland Nutmeg</i>. <hw>Nut-Palm</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree, <i>Cycas media</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Cycadeae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 21: "Nut-Palm. Employed by the aborigines as food. An excellent farina is obtained from it." O Oak, <i>n</i>. The Oak of the Northern Hemisphere (<i>Quercus</i>) is not found among the indigenous trees of Australia; but the name <i>Oak</i> is applied there to the trees of the genus <i>Casuarina</i> (q.v.), and usually in the curious form of <i>She-Oak</i> (q.v.). The species have various appellations in various parts, such as <i>Swamp-Oak</i>, <i>River-Oak</i>, <i>Bull-Oak</i>, <i>Desert-Oak</i>; and even the word <i>He-Oak</i> is applied sometimes to the more imposing species of <i>She-Oak</i>, though it is not recognised by Maiden, whilst the word <i>Native Oak</i> is indiscriminately applied to them all. The word <i>Oak</i> is further extended to a few trees, not <i>Casuarinae</i>, given below; and in New Zealand it is also applied to <i>Matipo</i> (q.v.) and <i>Titoki</i>, or <i>Alectryon</i> (q.v.). The following table of the various trees receiving the name of Oak is compiled from J. H. Maiden's `Useful Native Plants'-- Bull-Oak-- <i>Casuarina equisetifolia</i>, Forst.; <i>C. glauca</i>, Sieb. Forest-O.-- <i>Casuarina equisetifolia</i>, Forst.; <i>C. suberosa</i>; Otto and Diet.; <i>C. torulosa</i>, Ait. Mountain-O.-- Queensland name for <i>Casuarina torulosa</i>, Ait. River Black-O.-- <i>Casuarina suberosa</i>, Otto and Diet. River-O.-- <i>Callistemon salignus</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; <i>Casuarina cunninghamii</i>, Miq.; <i>C. distyla</i>, Vent.; <i>C. stricta</i>, Ait.; <i>C. torulosa</i>, Ait. Scrub Silky-O.-- <i>Villaresia moorei</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Olacineae</i>. Called also <i>Maple</i>. She-Oak:-- Coast S.-O.-- <i>Casuarina stricta</i>, Desert S.-0.-- <i>C. glauca</i>, Sieb. Erect S.-O.-- <i>C. suberosa</i>, Otto and Diet. River S.-O.-- <i> C. glauca</i>, Sieb. Scrub S.-O.-- <i>C. cunninghamii</i>, Miq. Stunted S.-O.-- <i>C. distyla</i>, Vent. Shingle-O.-- <i>Casuarina stricta</i>, Ait.; <i>C. suberosa</i>, Otto and Diet. Silky-O.-- <i>Stenocarpus salignus</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>; called also <i>Silvery-Oak</i>. See also <i>Grevillea</i> and <i>Silky-Oak</i>. Swamp-O.-- <i>Casuarina equisetifolia</i>, Forst.; <i>C. glauca</i>, Sieb.; <i>C. suberosa</i>, Otto and Diet.; <i>C. stricta</i>, Ait.; called also <i>Saltwater Swamp-Oak</i>. White-O.-- <i>Lagunaria patersoni</i>, G. Don., <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>. <i>Botany-Bay Oak</i>, or <i>Botany-Oak</i>, is the name given in the timber trade to the <i>Casuarina</i> . The `Melbourne Museum Catalogue of Economic Woods' (1894) classes the <i>She-Oak</i> in four divisions-- Desert She-Oak-- <i>Casuarina glauca</i>, Sieb. Drooping S.-O.-- <i>C. quadrivalvis</i>, Labill. Shrubby S.-O.-- <i>C. distyla</i>, Vent. Straight S.-O.-- <i>C. suberosa</i>, Otto. 1770. Captain Cook, `Journal,' Sunday, May 6 (edition Wharton, 1893, pp. 247, 248): "The great quantity of plants Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander found in this place occasioned my giving it the name of Botany Bay. . . . Although wood is here in great plenty, yet there is very little Variety; . . . Another sort that grows tall and Strait something like Pines--the wood of this is hard and Ponderous, and something of the Nature of America live Oak." 1770. R. Pickersgill, `Journal on the Endeavour' (in `Historical Records of New South Wales'), p. 215: "May 5, 1770.--We saw a wood which has a grain like Oak, and would be very durable if used for building; the leaves are like a pine leaf." 1802. Jas. Flemming, `Journal of Explorations of Charles Grimes,' in `Historical Records of Port Phillip' (edition 1879, J. J. Shillinglaw), p. 22: "The land is a light, black-sand pasture, thin of timber, consisting of gum, oak, Banksia, and thorn." [This combination of timbers occurs several times in the `Journal.' It is impossible to decide what Mr. Flemming meant by Oak.] 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 38: "We found lofty blue-gum trees (<i>Eucalyptus</i>) growing on the flats near the Peel, whose immediate banks were overhung by the dense, umbrageous foliage of the casuarina, or `river-oak' of the colonists." 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 38: "The river-oak grows on the banks and rivers, and having thick foliage, forms a pleasant and useful shade for cattle during the heat of the day; it is very hard and will not split. The timber resembles in its grain the English oak, and is the only wood in the colony well adapted for making felloes of wheels, yokes for oxen, and staves for casks." 1846. C. Holtzapffel, `Turning,' p. 75: "Botany-Bay Oak, sometimes called Beef-wood, is from New South Wales. . . . In general colour it resembles a full red mahogany, with darker red veins." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 323: "The <i>Casuarina</i> trees, with their leafless, thin, thread-like, articulated branches, have been compared to the arborescent horse-tails (<i>Equisetaceae</i>), but have a much greater resemblance to the Larch-firs; they have the colonial name of Oaks, which might be changed more appropriately to that of Australian firs. The dark, mournful appearance of this tree caused it to be planted in cemeteries. The flowers are unisexual; the fruit consists of hardened bracts with winged seeds. The wood of this tree is named Beef-wood by the colonists." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 56: "The wail in the native oak." 1878. W. R. Guilfoyle, `First Book of Australian Botany,' p. 54: "It may here be remarked that the term `oak' has been very inaptly--in fact ridiculously--applied by the early Australian settlers; notably in the case of the various species of <i>Casuarina</i>, which are commonly called `she-oaks." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 252: "They chose a tall He-oak, lopped it to a point." 1885. J. Hood, `Land of the Fern,' p. 53: "The sighing of the native oak, Which the light wind whispered through." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 27: "A peculiar class of trees, called by the scientific name of <i>Casuarina</i>, is popularly known as oaks, `swamp-oaks,' `forest-oaks,' `she-oaks,' and so forth, although the trees are not the least like oaks. They are melancholy looking trees, with no proper leaves, but only green rods, like those of a pine-tree, except that they are much longer, and hang like the branches of a weeping-willow." <hw>Oak-Apple</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Cone of the <i>Casuarina</i> or <i>She-Oak</i> tree. 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 32: "The small apple of this tree (she-oak) is also dark green . . . both apple and leaf are as acid as the purest vinegar. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 15: "In cases of severe thirst, great relief may be obtained from chewing the foliage of this and other species [of <i>Casuarina</i>], which, being of an acid nature, produces a flow of saliva--a fact well-known to bushmen who have traversed waterless portions of the country. This acid is closely allied to citric acid, and may prove identical with it. Children chew the young cones, which they call `oak-apples.'" <hw>Oamaru Stone</hw>, <i>n</i>. Oamaru is a town on the east coast of the South Island of New Zealand. It produces a fine building stone. 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand', p. 64: "A white, granular limestone, called the Oamaru stone, is worked in extensive quarries in the Oamaru district. . . . A considerable quantity has been exported to Melbourne." <hw>Oat-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Anthistiria avenacea</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. A species of <i>Kangaroo- Grass</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Grass</i>. <hw>Oat-shell</hw>, <i>n</i>. the shell of various species of <i>Columbella</i>, a small marine mollusc used for necklaces. <hw>Oats, Wild</hw>, an indigenous grass, <i>Bromus arenarius</i>, Labill, <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>.Called also <i>Seaside Brome-Grass</i>. "It makes excellent hay." (Maiden, p. 79.) <hw>Officer Plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Christmas-Bush</i> (q.v.), so called "because of its bright red appearance." (Maiden, p. 404.) <hw>Old Chum</hw>, <i>n</i>. Not in common use: the opposite to a new chum. 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 366: "`New chum,' in opposition to `old chum.' The former `cognomen' peculiarizing [sic] the newly-arrived emigrant; the latter as a mark of respect attached to the more experienced colonist." <hw>Old Hat</hw>, a Victorian political catch-word. 1895. `The Argus,' May 11, p. 8, col. 3: "Mr. Frank Stephen was the author of the well-known epithet `Old Hats,' which was applied to the rank and file of Sir James M'Culloch's supporters. The phrase had its origin through Mr. Stephen's declaration at an election meeting that the electors ought to vote even for an old hat if it were put forward in support of the M'Culloch policy." <hw>Old Lady</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a moth, <i>Erebus Pluto</i>. <hw>Old Man</hw>, <i>n</i>. a full-grown male Kangaroo. The aboriginal corruption is <i>Wool-man</i>. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 160: "To your great relief, however, the `old man' turns out to possess the appendage of a tail, and is in fact no other than one of our old acquaintances, the kangaroos." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 141: "If he (greyhound) has less ferocity when he comes up with an `old man,' so much the better. . . . The strongest and most courageous dog can seldom conquer a wool-man alone, and not one in fifty will face him fairly; the dog who has the temerity is certain to be disabled, if not killed." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 33: "Mr. Gilbert started a large kangaroo known by the familiar name of `old man.'" 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 172: "The settlers designate the old kangaroos as `old men' and `old women;' the full-grown animals are named `flyers,' and are swifter than the British hare." 1864. W. Westgarth, `Colony of Victoria,' p. 451: "The large kangaroo, the `old man,' as he is called, timorous of every unwonted sound that enters his large, erected ears, has been chased far from every busy seat of colonial industry." 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 39: "Where the kangaroo gave hops, The old man fleetest of the fleet." 1893. `The Times,' [Reprint] `Letters from Queensland,' p. 66: "The animals, like the timber, too, are strange. Kangaroo and wallaby are as fond of grass as the sheep, and after a pelican's yawn there are few things funnier to witness than the career of an `old man' kangaroo, with his harem after him, when the approach of a buggy disturbs the family at their afternoon meal. Away they go, the little ones cantering briskly, he in a shaggy gallop, with his long tail stuck out for a balance, and a perpetual see-saw maintained between it and his short front paws, while the hind legs act as a mighty spring under the whole construction. The side and the back view remind you of a big St. Bernard dog, the front view of a rat. You begin an internal debate as to which he most resembles, and in the middle of it you find that he is sitting up on his haunches, which gives him a secure height of from five to six feet, and is gravely considering you with the air of the old man he is named from." Old-Man, <i>adj</i>. large, or bigger than usual. Compare the next two words. 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 233: "I stared at a man one day for saying that a certain allotment of land was `an old-man allotment': he meant a large allotment, the old-man kangaroo being the largest kangaroo." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 7: "Who that has ridden across the Old-Man Plain . . ." <hw>Old-Man Fern</hw>, a Bush-name in Tasmania for the <i>Tree-fern</i> (q.v.). <Mhw>Old-Man Salt-Bush</hw>, <i>Atriplex nummularium</i>, Lindl. See <i>Salt-Bush</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 118: "One of the tallest and most fattening and wholesome of Australian pastoral salt-bushes; also highly recommended for cultivation, as natural plants. By close occupation of the sheep and cattle runs, have largely disappeared, and as this useful bush is not found in many parts of Australia, sheep and cattle depastured on saltbush country are said to remain free of fluke, and get cured of Distoma-disease, and of other allied ailments (Mueller)." <hw>Old-Wife</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales fish, <i>Enoplosus armatus</i>, White, family <i>Percidae</i>. The local name <i>Old-Wife</i> in England is given to a quite different fish, one of the Sea-Breams. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 32: "The `old-wife' (<i>Enoplosus armatus</i>, White) is another fish which from its small size is not esteemed nearly so highly as it ought to be. It is a most exquisite fish." <hw>Olive, Mock</hw>, i.q. <i>Axe-breaker</i> (q.v.). <hw>Olive, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the many names given to four trees-- <i>Bursaria spinosa</i>, Cav., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>,; <i>Elaeocarpus cyaneus</i>, Ait., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>; <i>Notelaea ovala</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Jasmineae</i>,; and, in Queensland, to <i>Olea paniculata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Jasmineae</i>,, a tree of moderate size, with ovoid fruit resembling a small common Olive. <hw>Olive, Spurious</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the tree <i>Notelaea ligustrina</i>, Vent. See <i>Ironwood</i>. <hw>On</hw>, <i>prep</i>. Used for <i>In</i>, in many cases, especially of towns which sprang from Goldfields, and where the original phrase was, e.g. "on the Ballarat diggings, or goldfield." Thus, an inhabitant still speaks of living <i>On</i> Ballarat, <i>On</i> Bendigo; <i>On</i> South Melbourne (formerly Emerald Hill). 1869. J. F. Blanche, `The Prince's Visit,' p. 21: "When came Victoria's son on Ballarat." 1896. H. Lawson, `While the Billy boils, etc.' p. 3: "After tea they would sit on a log of the wood-heap, . . and yarn about Ballarat and Bendigo--of the days when we spoke of being `on' a place oftener than `at' it: <i>on</i> Ballarat, <i>on</i> Gulgong, <i>on</i> Lambing Flat, <i>on</i> Creswick." <hw>Onion, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Leek</i>. See <i>Leek</i>. <hw>Onychogale</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus containing the <i>Nail-tailed Wallabies</i> (q.v.). They derive their name from the presence of a peculiar horny appendage to their tails. (Grk. <i>'onux, 'onuchos</i>, a claw, and <i>galae</i>, a weasel.) For the species, see <i>Wallaby</i>. <hw>Opossum</hw>, <i>n</i>. The marsupial animal, frequent all over Australia, which is called an <i>Opossum</i>, is a <i>Phalanger</i> (q.v.). He is not the animal to which the name was originally applied, that being an American animal of the family <i>Didelphyidae</i>. See quotations below from `Encycl. Brit.' (1883). Skeat (`Etym. Dict.') says the word is West Indian, but he quotes Webster (presumably an older edition than that now in use), "Orig. opassom, in the language of the Indians of Virginia," and he refers to a translation of Buffon's Natural History' (Lond. 1792), Vol. i. p. 214. By 1792 the name was being applied in Australia. The name opossum is applied in Australia to all or any of the species belonging to the following genera, which together form the sub-family <i>Phalangerinae</i>, viz.--<i>Phalanger, Trichosurus</i>, <i>Pseudochirus, Petauroides</i>, <i>Dactylopsila, Petaurus</i>, <i>Gymnobelideus, Dromicia</i>, <i>Acrobates</i>. The commoner forms are as follows:-- Common Dormouse O.-- <i>Dromicia nana</i>, Desm. Common Opossum-- <i>Trichosurus vulpecula</i>, Kerr. Common Ring-tailed-O.-- <i>Pseudochirus peregrinus</i>, Bodd. Greater Flying-O.-- <i>Petauroides volans</i>, Kerr. Lesser Dormouse O.-- <i>Dromicia lepida</i>, Thomas. Lesser Flying-O.-- <i>Petaurus breviceps</i>, Water. Pigmy Flying-O.- <i>Acrobates pygmaeus</i>. Short-eared-O.-- <i>Trichosurus caninus</i>, W. Ogilby. Squirrel Flying-O., or Flying Squirrel-- <i>Petaurus sciureus</i>, Shaw. Striped O.-- <i>Dactylopsila trivirgata</i>, Gray. Tasmanian, or Sooty O.-- <i>Trichosurus vulpecula</i>, var. <i>fuliginosus</i>. Tasmanian Ring-tailed-O.-- <i>Pseudochirus cooki</i>, Desm. Yellow-bellied Flying-O.-- <i>Petaurus australis</i>, Shaw. Of the rare little animal called Leadbeater's Opossum, only one specimen has been found, and that in Victoria; it is <i>Gymnobelideus leadbeateri</i>, and is the only species of this genus. 1608. John Smith, `Travels, Adventures, and Observations in Europe, Asia, Africke, and America, beginning about 1593, and continued to 1629;' 2 vols., Richmond, U.S., reprinted 1819; vol. i. p. 124 [On the American animal; in the part about Virginia, 1608]: "An Opassom hath a head like a Swine,--a taile like a Rat, and is of the bigness of a Cat. Under the belly she hath a bagge, wherein she lodgeth, carrieth and suckleth her young." [This is the American opossum. There are only two known genera of living marsupials outside the Australian region.] 1770. `Capt. Cook's Journal' (edition Wharton, 1893), p. 294 [at Endeavour River, Aug. 4, 1770]: "Here are Wolves, Possums, an animal like a ratt, and snakes." 1770. J. Banks, `Journal,' July 26, (edition Hooker, 1896, p. 291): "While botanising to-day I had the good fortune to take an animal of the opossum (<i>Didelphis</i>) tribe; it was a female, and with it I took two young ones. It was not unlike that remarkable one which De Buffon has described by the name of <i>Phalanger</i> as an American animal. It was, however, not the same. M. de Buffon is certainly wrong in asserting that this tribe is peculiar to America, and in all probability, as Pallas has said in his <i>Zoologia</i>, the <i>Phalanger</i> itself is a native of the East Indies, as my animals and that agree in the extraordinary conformation of their feet, in which they differ from all others." 1789. Governor Phillip, `Voyage to Botany Bay,' p. 104: "The pouch of the female, in which the young are nursed, is thought to connect it rather with the opossum tribe." [p. 147]: "A small animal of the opossum kind." [p. 293]: "Black flying-opossum. [Description given.] The fur of it is so beautiful, and of so rare a texture, that should it hereafter be found in plenty, it might probably be thought a very valuable article of commerce." 1793. J. Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 68: "The opossum is also very numerous here, but it is not exactly like the American opossum: it partakes a good deal of the kangaroo in the strength of its tail and make of its fore-legs, which are very short in proportion to the hind ones; like that animal it has the pouch, or false belly, for the safety of its young in time of danger." 1798. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' fol. i. p. 562: "At an early age the females wear round the waist a small line made of the twisted hair of the opossum, from the centre of which depend a few small uneven lines from two to five inches long. This they call bar-rin." 1809. G. Shaw, `Zoological Lectures,' vol. i. p. 93: "A still more elegant kind of New Holland opossum is the petaurine opossum . . . has the general appearance of a flying-squirrel, being furnished with a broad furry membrane from the fore to the hind feet, by the help of which it springs from tree to tree. . . . Known in its native regions by the name of hepoona roo." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 67: "Their food consists of fish when near the coasts, but when in the woods, of oppossums [sic], bandicoots, and almost any animal they can catch." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 143: "The sharp guttural noises of opossums." Ibid. p. 174 [`The Native Woman's Lament']: "The white man wanders in the dark, We hear his thunder smite the bough; The opossum's mark upon the bark We traced, but cannot find it, now." 1853. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 324: "The opossums usually abound where grass is to be found, lodging by day in the holes and hollows of trees. The most common species is the <i>Phalangista vulpina</i> (Shaw), under which are placed both the black and grey opossums. . . . The ringtail opossum (<i>Phalangista</i> or <i>Hepoona Cookii</i>, Desm.) is smaller, less common, and less sought after, for dogs will not eat the flesh of the ringtail even when roasted." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 200: "Dogs, immediately on coming into the Australian forest, become perfectly frantic in the pursuit of opossums." 1883. `Encyclopaedia Britannica' (ed. 9) [On the Australian animal], vol. xv. p. 382: "A numerous group, varying in size from that of a mouse to a large cat, arboreal in their habits and abundantly distributed throughout the Australian region . . . have the tail more or less prehensile. . . . These are the typical phalangers or `opossums,' as they are commonly called in Australia. (Genus <i>Phalangista</i>.)" Ibid. p. 380 [On the American animal]: "The <i>Didelphidae</i>, or true opossums, differ from all other marsupials in their habitat, being peculiar to the American continent. They are mostly carnivorous or insectivorous in their diet, and arboreal in habits." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 11: "Among the colonists the younger generation are very zealous opossum hunters. They hunt them for sport, going out by moonlight and watching the animal as it goes among the trees to seek its food." 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "We see two fine pairs of the Tasmanian sooty opossum (<i>Phalangista fuliginosa</i>); this species is unapproached by any other in regard to size and the beauty of its fur, which is of a rich, fulvous brown colour. This opossum is becoming scarce in Tasmania on account of the value of its fur, which makes it much sought after. In the next compartment are a pair of short-eared opossums (<i>P. canina</i>), the mountain opossums of Southern Australia. The next is a pair of vulpine opossums; these are the common variety, and are found all over the greater part of Australia, the usual colour of this kind being grey." 1893. `Melbourne Stock and Station Journal,' May 10 (advertisement): "Kangaroo, wallaby, opossum, and rabbit skins. . . . Opossum skins, ordinary firsts to 7s. 6d; seconds to 3s.; thirds to 1s. 6d; silver greys up to 9s. per doz.; do. mountain, to 18s. per doz." <hw>Opossum-Mouse</hw>, <i>n</i>. the small Australian marsupial, <i>Acrobates pygmaeus</i>, Shaw; more correctly called the <i>Pigmy Flying-Phalanger</i>. See <i>Flying- Phalanger</i>. This is the animal generally so denoted, and it is also called the <i>Flying-Mouse</i>. But there is an intermediate genus, <i>Dromicia</i> (q.v.), with no parachute expansion on the flanks, not "flying," of which the name of <i>Dormouse-Phalanger</i> is the more proper appellation. The species are the-- Common Dormouse-Phalanger-- <i>Dromicia nana</i>, Desm. Lesser D.-Ph.-- <i>D. lepida</i>, Thomas. Long-tailed D.-Ph.-- <i>D. caudata</i>, M. Edw. Western D.-Ph.-- <i>D. concinna</i>, Gould. One genus, with only one species, the <i>Pentailed-Phalanger</i>, <i>Distaechurus pennatus</i>, Peters, is confined to New Guinea. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' p. 28: "The opossum-mouse is about the size of our largest barn-mouse." 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 118: "Resembling a common mouse in size, and hence known to the colonists as the flying-mouse or opossum-mouse, this little animal is one of the most elegant of the Australian marsupials." <hw>Opossum-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a timber-tree, <i>Quintinia sieberi</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>. <hw>Orange</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Lime</i>, <i>Citrus australis</i>. See <i>Lime</i>. <hw>Orange, Mock</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Laurel</i>. See <i>Laurel</i>. <hw>Orange, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to two Australian trees. (1) <i>Capparis mitchelli</i>, Lindl., <i>N.O. Capparideae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 12: "`Small Native Pomegranate,' `Native Orange.' The fruit is from one to two inches in diameter, and the pulp, which has an agreeable perfume, is eaten by the natives." (2) <i>Citriobatus pauciflorus</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 16: "`Native Orange,' `Orange Thorn.' The fruit is an orange berry with a leathery skin, about one inch and a half in diameter. It is eaten by the aboriginals." <hw>Orange, Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Wild Lemon</i>. See under <i>Lemon</i>. <hw>Orange-Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Orange-spotted Lizard</hw> (of New Zealand), <i>Naultinus elegans</i>, Gray. <hw>Orange-Thorn</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Orange, Native</i>(2). <hw>Orange-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. The <i>New Zealand Orange-Tree</i> is a name given to the <i>Tarata</i> (q.v.), from the aromatic odour of its leaves when crushed. <hw>Organ-Bird</hw>, or <hw>Organ-Magpie</hw>, <i>n</i>. other names for one of the <i>Magpies</i> (q.v.). 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 48: "<i>Gymnorrhina organicum</i>, Gould, Tasmanian crow-shrike; Organ-Bird and White-Magpie of the Colonists. Resembling the sounds of a hand-organ out of tune." 1848. T. L. Mitchell, `Tropical Australia,' p. 176: "The burita, or <i>Gymnorrhina</i>, the organ-magpie, was here represented by a much smaller bird." <hw>Ornithorhynchus</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Platypus</i> (q.v.). <hw>Orthonyx</hw>, <i>n</i>. a scientific name of a remarkable Australian genus of passerine birds, the spine-tails. It long remained of uncertain position . . . and finally it was made the type of a family, <i>Orthonycidae</i>. In the type species, <i>O</i>. spinacauda . . . the shafts of the tail-feathers are prolonged beyond the legs. (`Century.') Thename is from the Greek <i>'orthos</i>, straight, and <i>'onux</i>, a claw. See <i>Log-Runner</i> and <i>Pheasant's Mother</i>. <hw>Osprey</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Fish-Hawk</i> (q.v.). <hw>Ounce</hw>, <i>n</i>. used as <i>adj</i>. Yielding an ounce of gold to a certain measure of dirt, as a dish-full, a cradle-full, a tub-full, etc. Also used to signify the number of ounces per ton that quartz will produce, as "ounce-stuff," "three-ounce stuff," etc. Out-run, <i>n</i>. a sheep-run at a distance from the <i>Head-station</i> (q.v.). 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. vi. p. 47 (1890): "They'd come off a very far out-run, where they'd been, as one might say, neglected." <hw>Out-station</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sheep or cattle station away from the <i>Head-station</i> (q.v.). 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 11, p. 1, col. 3: "There are four out-stations with huts, hurdles . . . and every convenience." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. 8, p. 231: "The usual fare at that time at the out-stations--fried pork and kangaroo." 1870. Paul Wentworth, `Amos Thorne,' c. iii. p. 26: "He . . . at last on an out-station in the Australian bush worked for his bread." <hw>Overland</hw>, <i>v</i>. to take stock across the country. 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. xiii. p. 232: "Herds used to be taken from New South Wales to South Australia across what were once considered the deserts of Riverina. That used to be called `overlanding.'" 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. ix. p. 74: "Several gentlemen were away from the two nearest stations, `overlanding,' i.e. taking sheep, cattle, and flour to Melbourne." <hw>Overlander</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) In the days before railways, and when much of the intervening country was not taken up, to travel between Sydney and Melbourne, or Melbourne and Adelaide, was difficult if not dangerous. Those who made either journey were called <i>Overlanders</i>. In this sense the word is now only used historically, but it retains the meaning in the general case of a man taking cattle a long distance, as from one colony to another. (2) A slang name for a <i>Sundowner</i> (q.v.). 1843. Rev. W. Pridden, `Australia: Its History and Present Condition,' p. 335: "Among the beings which, although not natives of the bush, appear to be peculiar to the wilds of Australia, the class of men called Overlanders must not be omitted. Their occupation is to convey stock from market to market, and from one colony to another." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. c. vi. p. 237: "The Eastern extent of the country of South Australia was determined by the overlanders, as they call the gentlemen who bring stock from New South Wales." 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 11: "Overlanders from Sydney and Melbourne to Adelaide were making great sums of money." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. ix. p. 69: "He gave us the advice of an experienced overlander." 1880. A. J. Vogan, `Black Police,' p. 262: "An `overlander,'--for, as you havn't any of the breed in New Zealand, I'll explain what that is,--is Queensland-English for a long-distance drover; and a rough, hard life it generally is. . . . Cattle have to be taken long distances to market sometimes from these `up-country' runs." 1890. `Melbourne Argus,' June 7, p. 4, col. 1: "Then came overlanders of another sort--practical men who went out to develop and not to explore." <hw>Owl</hw>, <i>n</i>. an English bird-name. The species in Australia are-- Boobook Owl-- <i>Ninox boobook</i>, Lath. Chestnut-faced O.-- <i>Strix castanops</i>, Gould. Grass O.-- <i>S. candida</i>, Tickell. Lesser Masked O.-- <i>S. delicatula</i>, Lath. Masked O.-- <i>S. novae-hollandiae</i>, Steph. Powerful O.-- <i>Ninox strenua</i>, Gould. Sooty O.-- <i>Strix tenebricosa</i>, Gould. Spotted O.-- <i>Ninox maculata</i>, Vig. and Hors. Winking O.-- <i>N. connivens</i>, Lath. In New Zealand, the species are--Laughing Jackass, or L. Owl, <i>Sceloglaux albifacies</i>, Kaup (Maori name, <i>Whekau</i>, q.v.), and the Morepork, formerly <i>Athene novae-zelandiae</i>, Gray, now <i>Spiloglaux novae-zelandiae</i>, Kaup. (See <i>Morepork</i>.) See also <i>Barking Owl</i>. <hw>Owl-Parrot</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of New Zealand. See <i>Kakapo</i>. <hw>Oyster</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian varieties are--Mud-Oyster, <i>Ostrea angasi</i>, Sow. (sometimes considered only a variety of <i>O. edulis</i>, Linn., the European species): New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania, South Australia. <i>O. rutupina</i>, Jeffreys, "the native" of Colchester, England, is a variety and occurs in Tasmania. Drift-O., <i>O. subtrigona</i>, Sow., called so because its beds are thought to be shifted by storms and tides: New South Wales and Queensland. Rock-O., <i>O. glomerata</i>, Gould, probably the same species as the preceding, but under different conditions: all Eastern Australia. And other species more or less rare. See also <i>Stewart Islander</i>. Australian oysters, especially the Sydney Rock-Oyster, are very plentiful, and of excellent body and flavour, considered by many to be equal if not superior to the Colchester native. They cost 1s. a dozen; unopened in bags, they are 6d. a dozen--a contrast to English prices. <hw>Oyster-Bay Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. 1857. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 155: "16 August, 1848 . . . A sample of the white resin of the Oyster Bay Pine (<i>Callitris Australis</i>, Brown) lay on the table. The Secretary stated that this tree has only been met with along a comparatively limited and narrow strip of land bordering the sea on the eastern coast of Tasmania, and upon Flinders and Cape Barren Islands in Bass's Straits; that about Swanport and the shores of Oyster Bay it forms a tree, always handsome and picturesque, and sometimes 120 feet in height, affording useful but not large timber, fit for all the ordinary purposes of the house carpenter and joiner in a country district." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 222: "Those most picturesque trees, the Oyster Bay pines, which, vividly green in foliage, tapering to a height of eighty or one hundred feet, and by turns symmetrical or eccentric in form, harmonise and combine with rugged mountain scenery as no other of our trees here seem to do." <hw>Oyster-catcher</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The Australasian species are--Pied, <i>Haematopus longirostris</i>, Vieill.; Black, <i>H. unicolor</i>, Wagler; and two other species--<i>H. picatus</i>, Vigors, and <i>H. australasianus</i>, Gould, with no vernacular name. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. vii. p. 174: "Our game-bag was thinly lined with small curlews, oyster-catchers, and sanderlings." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 274: "Slim oyster-catcher, avocet, And tripping beach-birds, seldom met Elsewhere." P <hw>Pa</hw>, or <hw>Pah</hw>, <i>n</i>. The former is now considered the more correct spelling. A Maori word to signify a native settlement, surrounded by a stockade; a fort; a fighting village. In Maori, the verb <i>pa</i> means, to touch, to block up. <i>Pa</i> = a collection of houses to which access is blocked by means of stockades and ditches. 1769. `Captain Cook's Journal' (edition Wharton, 1893), p. 147: "I rather think they are places of retreat or stronghold, where they defend themselves against the attack of an enemy, as some of them seemed not ill-design'd for that purpose." Ibid. p. 156: "Have since learnt that they have strongholds--or hippas, as they call them--which they retire to in time of danger." [Hawkesworth spelt it, Heppahs; <i>he</i> = Maori definite article.] 1794. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 175: "[On the coast of New Zealand] they passed many huts and a considerable <i>hippah</i>, or fortified place, on a high round hill, from the neighbourhood of which six large canoes were seen coming towards the ship." 1842. W. R. Wade, `Journey in New Zealand' (Hobart Town), p. 27: "A native pa, or enclosed village, is usually surrounded by a high stockade, or irregular wooden fence, the posts of which are often of great height and thickness, and sometimes headed by the frightful carving of an uncouth or indecent image." 1858. `Appendix to Journal of House of Representatives,' E-4, p. 4: "They seem, generally speaking, at present inveterate in their adherence to their dirty native habits, and to their residence in pas." 1859. A. S. Thomson, M.D., `Story of New Zealand,' p. 132: "The construction of the war pas . . . exhibits the inventive faculty of the New Zealanders better than any other of their works. . . . Their shape and size depended much on the nature of the ground and the strength of the tribe. They had double rows of fences on all unprotected sides; the inner fence, twenty to thirty feet high, was formed of poles stuck in the ground, slightly bound together with supple-jacks, withes, and torotoro creepers. The outer fence, from six to eight feet high, was constructed of lighter materials. Between the two there was a dry ditch. The only openings in the outer fence were small holes; in the inner fence there were sliding bars. Stuck in the fences were exaggerated wooden figures of men with gaping mouths and out-hanging tongues. At every corner were stages for sentinels, and in the centre scaffolds, twenty feet high, forty feet long, and six broad, from which men discharged darts at the enemy. Suspended by cords from an elevated stage hung a wooden gong twelve feet long, not unlike a canoe in shape, which, when struck with a wooden mallet, emitted a sound heard in still weather twenty miles off. Previously to a siege the women and children were sent away to places of safety." 1863. T. Moser, `Mahoe Leaves,' p. 14: "A pah is strictly a fortified village, but it has ceased to be applied to a fortified one only, and a collection of huts forming a native settlement is generally called a pah now-a-days." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 22: "They found the pah well fortified, and were not able to take it." 1879. Clement Bunbury, `Fraser's Magazine, June, p. 761: "The celebrated Gate Pah, where English soldiers in a panic ran away from the Maoris, and left their officers to be killed." 1889. Cassell's' Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 46: "A sally was made from the pah, but it was easily repulsed. Within the pah the enemy were secure." <hw>Pachycephala</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for the typical genus of <i>Pachycephalinae</i>, founded in 1826 by Vigors and Horsfield. It is an extensive group of thick-headed shrikes, containing about fifty species, ranging in the Indian and Australian region, but not in New Zealand. The type is <i>P. gutturalis</i>, Lath., of Australia. (`Century.') They are singing-birds, and are called <i>Thickheads</i> (q.v.), and often <i>Thrushes</i> (q.v.). The name is from the Greek <i>pachus</i>, thick, and <i>kephalae</i>, the head. <hw>Packer</hw>, <i>n</i>. used for a pack-horse. 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for Mail,' p. 59: "The boys took notice of a horse, some old packer he looked like." 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 4, col. 1: "The Darling drover with his saddle-horses and packers." <hw>Paddock</hw>. (1) 1n England, a small field; in Australia, the general word for any field, or for any block of land enclosed by a fence. The `Home-paddock' is the paddock near the Homestation, and usually very large. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. vi. p. 148: "There is one paddock of 100 acres, fenced on four sides." 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 25, p. 3, col. 6: "A 300-acre grass paddock, enclosed by a two-rail fence." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 42: "The paddocks are so arranged that hills may afford shelter, and plains or light-timbered flats an escape from the enormous flies and other persecuting enemies." 1892. `Scribner's Magazine,' Feb., p. 141: "`Paddocks,' as the various fields are called (some of these `paddocks' contain 12,000 acres)." (2) An excavation made for procuring wash-dirt in shallow ground. A place built near the mouth of a shaft where quartz or wash-dirt is stored. (Brough Smyth, `Glossary of Mining Terms,' 1869.) 1895. `Otago Witness,' Nov. 21, p. 22, col. 5: "A paddock was opened at the top of the beach, but rock-bottom was found." <hw>Paddock</hw>, v. to divide into paddocks. 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. xx. p. 302: "When a run is paddocked shepherds are not required; but boundary riders are required." <hw>Paddy Lucerne</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Queensland Hemp</i>. See under <i>Hemp</i>. <hw>Paddymelon</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name of a small <i>Wallaby</i> (q.v.), <i>Macropus thetidis</i>, Less. It is certainly a corruption of an aboriginal name, and is spelt variously <i>pademelon, padmelon</i>, and <i>melon</i> simply. (See <i>Melon-holes</i>.) This word is perhaps the best instance in Australia of the law of Hobson-Jobson, by which a strange word is fitted into a language, assuming a likeness to existing words without any regard to the sense. The Sydney name for kangaroo was <i>patagorang</i>. See early quotations. This word seems to give the first half of the modern word. <i>Pata</i>, or <i>pada</i>, was the generic name: <i>mella</i> an adjective denoting the species. <i>Paddymalla</i> (1827) marks an intermediate stage, when one-half of the word had been anglicised. At Jervis Bay, New South Wales, the word <i>potalemon</i> was used for a kangaroo. 1793. J. Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 547: "The pattagorang and baggaray frequently supplied our colonists with fresh meals, and Governor Phillip had three young ones, which were likely to live: he has not the least doubt but these animals are formed in the false belly." 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 548: "The pat-ta-go-rang or kangooroo was (bood-yer-re) good, and they ate it whenever they were fortunate enough to kill one." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 310: "The wallabee and paddymalla grow to about sixty pounds each." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 212: "Had hunted down a paddymelon (a very small species of kangaroo, which is found in the long grass and thick brushes)." 1845. Clement Hodgkinson, `Australia, from Port Macquarie to Moreton Bay,' p. 45: "The brush-kangaroos or pademellas were thus gradually enclosed." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 47: "A small species of the kangaroo tribe, called by the sealers paddymelon, is found on Philip Island, while none have been seen on French Island." 1851. J. Henderson, `Excursions in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 129: "The small kind of kangaroo, however, called by the natives `Paddy Melon,' and which inhabits the dense brushes or jungles, forms a more frequent, and more easily obtained article of food." 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings,' p. 41: "An apron made from skin of Paddie-Melon." 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 107: "In the scrub beyond, numbers of a small kind of kangaroo called `Paddy- Mellans,' resort." [Footnote] "I cannot guarantee the spelling." 1888. Cassell's' Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 90: "The kangaroo and his relatives, the wallaby and the paddymelon." 1890. A. H. S. Lucas, `Handbook of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' p. 62: "<i>Onychogale fraenatus</i> and its ally <i>O. lunatus</i>. Mr. Le Souef reports that the former are fairly numerous in the Mallee country to the north-west of the Colony, and are there known as Pademelon." [This seems to be only a local use.] 1893. J. L. Purves, Q.C., in `The Argus,' Dec. 14, p. 9, col. 7: "On either side is a forest, the haunt of wombats and tree-bears, and a few paddymelons." <hw>Paddymelon-Stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. a stick used by the aborigines for knocking <i>paddymelons</i> (q.v.) on the head. 1851. J. Henderson, `Excursions in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 129: "These are hunted in the brushes and killed with paddy mellun sticks with which they are knocked down. These sticks are about 2 feet long and an inch or less in diameter." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 56: "Nulla-mullahs, paddy-melon sticks, boomerangs, tomahawks, and heelimen or shields lay about in every direction." <hw>Pah</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Pa</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pake</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a coarse mat used against rain. A sack thrown over the shoulders is called by the settlers a <i>Pake</i>. <hw>Pakeha</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a white man. The word is three syllables, with even accent on all. A Pakeha Maori is an Englishman who lives as a Maori with the Maoris. Mr. Tregear, in his `Maori Comparative Dictionary,' s.v. <i>Pakepakeha</i>, says: "Mr. John White [author of `Ancient History of the Maoris'] considers that <i>pakeha</i>, a foreigner, an European, originally meant `fairy,' and states that on the white men first landing sugar was called `fairy-sand,' etc." Williams' `Maori Dictionary' (4th edit.) gives, "a foreigner: probably from <i>pakepakeha</i>, imaginary beings of evil influence, more commonly known as <i>patupaiarehe</i>, said to be like men with fair skins." Some express this idea by "fairy." Another explanation is that the word is a corruption of the coarse English word, said to have been described by Dr. Johnson (though not in his dictionary), as "a term of endearment amongst sailors." The first <i>a</i> in Pakeha had something of the <i>u</i> sound. The sailors' word would have been introduced to New Zealand by whalers in the early part of the nineteenth century. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 187: "Pakeha, <i>s</i>. an European; a white man." 1832. A. Earle, `Narrative of Nine Months' Residence in New Zealand,' p. 146: "The white taboo'd day, when the packeahs (or white men) put on clean clothes and leave off work" [sc. Sunday]. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 73: "We do not want the missionaries from the Bay of Islands, they are pakeha maori, or whites who have become natives." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' canto iii. p. 44: "Aiding some vile pakehas In deeds subversive of the laws." 1876. F. E. Maning [Title]: "Old New Zealand, by a Pakeha Maori." 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of the Maori,' p. 15: "Long ere the pale pakeha came to the shrine." <hw>Palberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. a South Australian name for the <i>Native Currant</i>. See <i>Currant</i>. The word is a corruption of the aboriginal name <i>Palbri</i>, by the law of Hobson-Jobson. <hw>Palm, Alexandra</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland timber-tree, <i>Ptychosperma alexandrae</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Palmeae</i>. <hw>Palm, Black</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland timber-tree, <i>Ptychosperma normanbyi</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Palmeae</i>. <hw>Palm, Cabbage</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Cabbage-tree</i> (q.v.) <hw>Palm Nut</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Nut</i>. <hw>Palm, Walking-Stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland plant, <i>Bacularia monostachya</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Palmeae</i>. So called because the stem is much used for making walking-sticks. <hw>Panel</hw>, <i>n</i>. the part between two posts in a post-and-rail fence. See also <i>Slip-panel</i>. 1876. A. L. Gordon, `Sea-spray,' p. 148: "In the jar of the panel rebounding, In the crash of the splintering wood, In the ears to the earth-shock resounding, In the eyes flashing fire and blood." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xviii. p. 226: "A panel of fencing is not quite nine feet in length." <hw>Pan</hw>, or <hw>Pan-wash</hw>, <hw>Pan-out</hw>, <hw>Pan-off</hw>, <i>verbs</i>, to wash the dirt in the pan for gold. Some of the forms, certainly <i>pan-out</i>, are used in the United States. 1870. J. O. Tucker, `The Mute,' p. 40: "Others to these the precious dirt convey, Linger a moment till the panning's through." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Gold fields,' p. 4: "On the very day of their arrival they got a lesson in pan-washing." Ibid. p. 36: "All the diggers merely panned out the earth." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. vii. p. 79: "These returned gnomes having been brought to light, at once commenced to pan off according to the recognized rule and practice." <hw>Pannikin</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small tin cup for drinking. The word is not Australian. Webster refers to Marryat and Thackeray. The `Century' quotes Blackmore. This diminutive of <i>pan</i> is exceedingly common in Australia, though not confined to it. 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 200: "He went to the spring and brought me a pannican full." (p. 101): "Several tin pannicans." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 87: "We caught the rain in our pannikins as it dropt from our extended blankets." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 190: "There is a well-known story of two bullock-drivers, who, at a country public-house on their way to the town, called for a dozen of champagne, which they first emptied from the bottles into a bucket, and then deliberately drank off from their tin pannikins." 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 6: "He was considered sufficiently rewarded in having the `honour' to drink his `pannikin' of tea at the boss's deal table." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 44: "A small pannikin full of gold dust." <hw>Pannikin-boss</hw>, or <hw>Pannikin-overseer</hw>, <i>n</i>. The term is applied colloquially to a man on a station, whose position is above that of the ordinary station-hand, but who has no definite position of authority, or is only a `boss' or overseer in a small way. <hw>Papa</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a bluish clay found along the east coast of the North Island. <hw>Paper-bark Tree</hw>, or <hw>Paper-barked Tea-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. Called also <i>Milk-wood</i> (q.v.). Name given to the species <i>Melaleuca leucodendron</i>, Linn. Its bark is impervious to water. 1842. `Western Australia,' p. 81: "There is no doubt, from the partial trial which has been made of it, that the wood of the <i>Melaleuca</i>, or tea-tree, could be rendered very serviceable. It is sometimes known by the name of the paper-bark tree from the multitudinous layers (some hundreds) of which the bark is composed. These layers are very thin, and are loosely attached to each other, peeling off like the bark of the English birch. The whole mass of the bark is readily stripped from the tree. It is used by the natives as a covering for their huts." [Compare the New Zealand <i>Thousand-jacket</i>.] 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries of Australia,' vol. i. c. v. p. 106: "The face of the country was well but not too closely covered with specimens of the red and white gum, and paper-bark tree." 1847. E. W. Landor, `The Bushman; or, Life in a New Country,' p. 212: "Fish and other things are frequently baked in the bark of the papertree." 1857. J. Askew, `Voyage to Australia and New Zealand,' p. 433: "The dead bodies are burnt or buried, though some in North Australia place the corpse in the paper bark of the tea-tree, and deposit it in a hollow tree." <hw>Paper-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name. See <i>Bastard Trumpeter</i> and <i>Morwong</i>. 1883. `Royal Commission on Fisheries of Tasmania,' p. xxxvi: "The young [of the bastard trumpeter] are always coloured, more or less, like the red, and are known by some as `paper-fish.' The mature form of the silver bastard is alone caught. This is conclusive as favouring the opinion that the silver is simply the mature form of the red." <hw>Paradise, Bird of</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name, originally applied in Australia to the <i>Lyre-bird</i> (q.v.), now given to <i>Manucoda gouldii</i>, Gray. Called also the <i>Manucode</i> (q.v.). 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 300: "By him [Wilson, a convict] the first bird of paradise ever seen in this country had been shot." [This was the <i>Lyre-bird</i>.] <hw>Paradise-Duck</hw>, <i>n</i>. bird-name applied to the New Zealand duck, <i>Casarca variegata</i>, Gmel. See <i>Duck</i> quotation, 1889, Parker. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. 1. p. 57: "These (wild ducks of different sorts) are principally the black, the grey, the blue-winged, and the paradise-duck, or `pu tangi tangi,' as it is called by the natives. The last is nearly as large as a goose, and of beautiful plumage." <hw>Paradoxus</hw>, <i>n</i>. a shortened form of the former scientific name of the Platypus, <i>Paradoxus ornithorrhynchus</i>. Sometimes further abbreviated to <i>Paradox</i>. The word is from the Greek <i>paradoxos</i>, `Contrary to opinion, strange, incredible.' (`L. & S.') 1817. O'Hara, `The History of New South Wales,' p. 452: "In the reaches or pools of the Campbell River, the very curious animal called the paradox, or watermole, is seen in great numbers." <hw>Paramatta</hw>/sic/, <i>n</i>. "A fabric like merino, of worsted and cotton. So named from <i>Paramatta</i>, a town near Sydney, New South Wales." (Skeat, `Etymological Dictionary,' s.v.) According to some, the place named <i>Parramatta</i> means, in the local Aboriginal dialect, "eels abound," or "plenty of eels." Others rather put it that <i>para</i> = fish, and <i>matta</i>= water. There is a river in Queensland called the Paroo, which means "fish-river." NOTE.--The town Parramatta, though formerly often spelt with one <i>r</i>, is now always spelt with two. 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 367: "A peculiar tweed, made in the colony, and chiefly at Paramatta, hence the name." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 19: "Paramattas, fine cloths originally made from the Paramatta wool, with silk warps, though now woollen." <hw>Pardalote</hw>, <i>n</i>. anglicised form of the scientific bird-name <i>Pardalotus</i> (q.v.), generally called <i>Diamond birds</i> (q.v.); a genus of small short-tailed birds like the Flycatchers. The species are-- Black-headed Pardalote-- <i>Pardalotus melanocephalus</i>, Gould. Chestnut-rumped P.-- <i>P. uropygialis</i>, Gould. Forty-spotted P.-- <i>P. quadragintus</i>, Gould; called also <i>Forty-Spot</i> (q.v.). Orange-tipped P.-- <i>P. assimilis</i>, Ramsay. Red-browed P.-- <i>P. rubricatus</i>, Gould. Red-tipped P.-- <i>P. ornatus</i>, Temm. Spotted P.-- <i>P. punctatus</i>, Temm.; the bird originally called the <i>Diamond Bird</i> (q.v.). Yellow-rumped P.-- <i>P. xanthopygius</i>, McCoy. Yellow-tipped P.-- <i>P. affinis</i>, Gould.-- 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 35: "No species of the genus to which this bird belongs is more widely and generally distributed than the spotted pardalote, <i>Pardalotus punctatus</i>." <hw>Pardalotus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of Australian birds, called <i>Diamond birds</i> (q.v.), and also <i>Pardalotes</i> (q.v.), from Grk. <i>pardalowtos</i>, spotted like the pard. <hw>Parera</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the genus <i>Duck</i> (q.v.). 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 407: "Family, <i>Anatida</i>--Parera, turuki (<i>Anas superciliosa</i>), the duck; very similar to the wild duck of England." <hw>Parra</hw>, <i>n</i>. a popular use for the fuller scientific name <i>Parra gallinacea</i>. Called also the <i>Jacana</i> (q.v.), and the <i>Lotus-bird</i> (q.v.). 1893. `The Argus,' March 25, p. 4, col. 6: "The egg of the comb-crested parra shines amongst its neighbours so vividly that it at once catches the eye, and suggests a polished agate rather than an egg. The bird itself is something of a gem, too, when seen skipping with its long water-walking claws over the floating leaves of pink and blue water-lilies." <hw>Parrakeet</hw>, <i>n</i>. (various spellings). From French. Originally from Spanish <i>periquito</i>, dim. of sp. <i>perico</i>, a little parrot. Hence used generally in English to signify any small parrot. The Australian species are-- Alexandra Parrakeet-- <i>Spathopterus (Polytelis) alexandra</i>, Gould. Beautiful P.-- <i>Psephotus pulcherrimus</i>, Gould. Black-tailed P.-- <i>Polytelis melanura</i>, Vig. and Hors.; called also <i>Rock-pebbler</i>. Blue-cheeked P.-- <i>Platycercus amathusiae</i>, Bp. Cockatoo P.-- <i>Calopsittacus novae-hollandiae</i> Gmel. Crimson-bellied P.-- <i>Psephotus haematogaster</i>, Gould. Golden-shouldered P.-- <i>Psephotus chrysopterygius</i>, Gould. Green P.-- <i>Platycercus flaviventris</i>, Temm. Ground P.-- <i>Pezoporus formosus</i>, Lath. Mallee P.-- <i>Platycercus barnardi</i>, Vig. and Hors. Many-coloured P.-- <i>Psephotus multicolor</i>, Temm. Night P.-- <i>Pezoporus occidentalis</i>, Gould. Pale-headed P:-- <i>Platycercus pallidiceps</i>, Vig. Pheasant P.-- <i>P. adelaidensis</i>, Gould. Red-backed P.-- <i>Psephotus haematonotus</i>, Gould. Red-capped P.-- <i>P. spurius</i>, Kuhl. Rock P.-- <i>Euphema petrophila</i>, Gould. Smutty P.-- <i>Platycercus browni</i>, Temm. Yellow P.-- <i>P. flaveolus</i>, Gould. Yellow-banded P. <i>P. zonarius</i>, Shaw. Yellow-cheeked P. <i>P. icterotis</i>, Temm. Yellow-collared P.-- <i>P. semitorquatus</i>, Quoy and Gaim.; called also <i>Twenty-eight</i> (q.v.). Yellow-mantled P.-- <i>P. splendidus</i>, Gould. Yellow-vented P.-- <i>Psephotus xanthorrhous</i>, Gould. See also <i>Grass-Parrakeet</i>, <i>Musk-Parrakeet</i>, <i>Rosella</i>, and <i>Rosehill</i>. The New Zealand Green Parrakeet (called also <i>Kakariki</i>, q.v.) has the following species-- Antipodes Island P.- <i>Platycercus unicolor</i>, Vig. Orange-fronted P.-- <i>P. alpinus</i>, Buller. Red-fronted P.-- <i>P. novae-zelandiae</i>, Sparrm. Rowley's Parrakeet-- <i>Platycercus rowleyi</i>, Buller. Yellow-fronted P.-- <i>P. auriceps</i>, Kuhl. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Journal,' p. 80: "The cockatoo-parrakeet of the Gwyder River (<i>Nymphicus Novae-Hollandiae</i>, Gould)." 1867. A. G. Middleton, `Earnest,' p. 93: "The bright parroquet, and the crow, black jet, For covert, wing far to the shade." 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 118: "There are three species of parrakeet, the red-fronted (<i>Platycercus Novae-Zelandiae</i>), the yellow-fronted <i>(P. auriceps</i>), and the orange-fronted <i>(P. alpinus</i>). The genus <i>Platycercus</i> is found in New Zealand, New Guinea, and Polynesia." <hw>Parrot-bill</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Kaka-bill</i>. <hw>Parrot-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Australia to <i>Pseudoscarus pseudolabrus</i>; called in the Australian tropics <i>Parrot-perch</i>. In Victoria and Tasmania, there are also several species of Labricthys. In New Zealand, it is <i>L. psittacula</i>, Rich. <hw>Parrot-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Parrot-fish</i>. <hw>Parrot's-food</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the plant <i>Goodenia ovata</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Goodeniaceae</i>. <hw>Parsley, Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Apium leptophyllum</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Umbelliferae</i>. Parsley grows wild in many parts of the world, especially on the shores of the Mediterranean, and this species is not endemic in Australia. <hw>Parsnip, Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. a poisonous weed, <i>Trachymene australis</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Umbelliferae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 142: "Recently (Dec. 1887) the sudden death of numbers of cattle in the vicinity of Dandenong, Victoria, was attributed to their having eaten a plant known as the wild parsnip. . . . Its action is so powerful that no remedial measures seem to be of any avail." <hw>Parson-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. the New Zealand bird <i>Prosthemadera novae-zelandiae</i>, Gmel.; Maori name, <i>Tui</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Poe</i>. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 401: "Cook named this beautiful and lively bird the parson and mocking-bird. It acquired the first name from its having two remarkable white feathers on the neck like a pair of clergyman's bands." [Mr. Taylor is not correct. Cook called it the Poe-bird (q.v.). The name `Parson-bird' is later.] 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand the Britain of the South,' vol. i. p. 118: "The most common, and certainly the most facetious, individual of the ornithology is the tui (parson-bird). Joyous Punchinello of the bush, he is perpetual fun in motion." 1858. C. W., `Song of the Squatters,' `Canterbury Rhymes' (2nd edit.), p. 47: "So the parson-bird, the tui, The white-banded songster tui, In the morning wakes the woodlands With his customary music. Then the other tuis round him Clear their throats and sing in concert, All the parson-birds together." 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 93: "The tui, or parson-bird, most respectable and clerical-looking in its glossy black suit, with a singularly trim and dapper air, and white wattles of very slender feathers--indeed they are as fine as hair--curled coquettishly at each side of his throat, exactly like bands." 1888. Dr. Thomson, apud Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 95: "Sitting on the branch of a tree, as a <i>pro tempore</i> pulpit, he shakes his head, bending to one side and then to another, as if he remarked to this one and to that one; and once and again, with pent-up vehemence, contracting his muscles and drawing himself together, his voice waxes loud, in a manner to awaken sleepers to their senses." 1890. W. Colenso, `Bush Notes,' `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxxiii. art. lvii. p. 482: "It is very pleasing to hear the deep rich notes of the parson-bird--to see a pair of them together diligently occupied in extracting honey from the tree-flowers, the sun shining on their glossy sub-metallic dark plumage." <hw>Partridge-Pigeon</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian pigeon. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 8: "The partridge-pigeon (<i>Geophaps scripta</i>) abounded in the Acacia groves." <hw>Partridge-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Cabbage-Palm</i> (q.v.). <hw>Passion-flower, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. Several species of the genus <i>Passiflora</i> are so called in Australia; some are indigenous, some naturalised. 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 398: "The native passion-flower, scarlet and orange, was tangled up with the common purple sarsaparilla and the English honeysuckle and jessamine." <hw>Pastoralist</hw>, <i>n</i>. The squatters are dropping their old name for this new one. A Pastoralist is a sheep or cattle-farmer, the distinction between him and an Agriculturist being, that cultivation, if he undertakes it at all, is a minor consideration with him. 1891. March 15 [Title]: "The Pastoralists' Review," No. 1. 1892. `Scribner's Magazine,' Feb., p. 147: "A combination has been formed by the squatters under the name of the Pastoralists' Union." <hw>Patagorang</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the aboriginal names for the <i>Kangaroo</i> (q.v.), and see <i>Paddy-melon</i>. <hw>Pataka</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for storehouse, supported on a post to keep off rats. See <i>Whata</i>. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 283: "We landed at the pataka, or stage." <hw>Patiki</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for the <i>Flounder</i> (q.v.). The accent is on the first syllable of the word. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of the Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 190: "Patiki, <i>s</i>. a fish so called." 1844. F. Tuckett, `Diary,' May 31: "A fine place for spearing soles or <i>patike</i> (the best of fish)." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 412: "Patiki, common name for the sole and flat-fish; the latter is found in rivers, but decreases in size as it retires from the sea." 1879. Captain Mair, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xii. art. xlvi. p. 316: "Large patiki, flat-fish, are occasionally speared up the river." <hw>Patriot</hw>, <i>n</i>. Humorously applied to convicts. 1796. In `History of Australia,' by G. W. Rusden (1894), p. 49 [Footnote]: "In 1796 the Prologue (erroneously imputed to a convict Barrington, but believed to have been written by an officer) declared: `True patriots we, for be it understood We left our country for our country's good.'" <hw>Patter</hw>, <i>v</i>. to eat. Aboriginal word, and used in pigeon- English, given by Collins in his vocabulary of the Port Jackson dialect. Threlkeld says, <i>ta</i> is the root of the verb, meaning "to eat." 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. ii. c. vii. p. 223: "He himself did not patter (eat) any of it." <hw>Patu</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori generic term for all hand-striking weapons. The <i>mere</i> (q.v.) is one kind. 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 82: "It (fern-root) was soaked, roasted, and repeatedly beaten with a small club (patu) on a large smooth stone till it was supple." <hw>Paua</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for the <i>Mutton- fish</i> (q.v.). Also used as the name for Maori fishhooks, made of the <i>paua</i> shell; the same word being adopted for fish, shell, and hook. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 191: "Paua, <i>s</i>. a shell-fish so called." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 416: "Pawa (<i>Haliotis iris</i>), or mutton-fish. This beautiful shell is found of considerable size; it is used for the manufacture of fish-hooks." 1855. Ibid. p.397: "The natives always tie a feather or two to their paua, or fish-hooks." 1877. W. L. Buller, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. x. art. xix. p. 192: "Elaborately carved, and illuminated with <i>paua</i> shell." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 162: "Immense piles of paua shells (<i>Haliotis iris</i>), heaped up just above the shore, show how largely these substantial molluscs were consumed." <hw>Payable</hw>, <i>adj</i>. In Australia, able to be worked at a profit: that which is likely to pay; not only, as in England, due for payment. 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 38: "We . . . expect to strike a payable lead on a hill near . . . A shaft is bottomed there, and driving is commenced to find the bottom of the dip." 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 15: "Good payable stone has been struck." 1894. `The Argus,' March 28, p. 5, col. 5: "Good payable reefs have been found and abandoned through ignorance of the methods necessary to obtain proper results." <hw>Pea, Coral</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Coral Pea</i>. <hw>Pea, Darling</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Darling Pea</i>. <hw>Pea, Desert</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Sturt's Desert Pea</i>. <hw>Pea, Flat</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Flat Pea</i>. <hw>Pea, Glory</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Clianthus</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pea, Heart</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Balloon-Vine</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pea-plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. The term is applied sometimes to any one of various Australian plants of the <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. <hw>Peach-berry</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian berry, <i>Lissanthe strigosa</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. <hw>Peach, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Quandong</i> (q.v.), and for <i>Emu-Apple</i> (q.v.). 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings, p. 42: "The so-called native Peach-tree of our desert tracts is a true <i>Santalum, S. acuminatum</i>." <hw>Peacocking</hw>, vb. <i>n</i>. Australian slang. To <i>peacock</i> apiece of country means to pick out the <i>eyes</i> of the land by selecting or buying up the choice pieces and water-frontages, so that the adjoining territory is practically useless to any one else. 1894. W. Epps, `Land Systems of Australasia,' p. 28: "When the immediate advent of selectors to a run became probable, the lessees endeavoured to circumvent them by dummying all the positions which offered the best means of blocking the selectors from getting to water. This system, commonly known as `peacocking' . . ." <hw>Pear, Native</hw>, name given to a timber-tree, <i>Xylomelum pyriforme</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i> (called also <i>Wooden Pear</i>), and to <i>Hakea acicularis</i>. See <i>Hakea</i>. 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 219: "The pear-tree is, I believe, an eucalyptus, and bears a pear of solid wood, hard as heart of oak." [It is <i>not</i> a eucalypt.] <hw>Pear, Wooden</hw>, i.q. <i>Native Pear</i>. See above. <hw>Pearl-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. a rare marine fish of New South Wales, excellent for food, <i>Glaucosoma scapulare</i>, Ramsay, family <i>Percidae</i>. <hw>Pedgery</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Pituri</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pee-wee</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales name for the <i>Magpie-Lark</i> (q.v.). <hw>Peg-out</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. to mark out a gold-claim under the Mining Act, or a <i>Free-Selection</i> (q.v.) under the Land Act, by placing pegs at the corners of the land selected. Used also metaphorically. 1858. W. H. Hall, `Practical Experiences at the Diggings in Victoria,' p. 23: "I selected an unoccupied spot between two holes . . . pegged out eight square feet, paid the licence fee." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 58: "He was in high hopes that he might be one of the first to peg out ground on the goldfield." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' c. iii. p. 32: "The pegging out, that is, the placing of four stout sticks, one at each corner, was easy enough." 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 8: "Making their way to Heemskirk, where they were the first to peg out land for ten." Ibid. Preface: "The writer . . . should be called on to defend his conduct in pegging out an additional section on the outskirts of the field of literature." <hw>Pelican</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name. The pelicans occur in nearly all temperate or tropical regions. The Australian species is <i>Pelecanus conspicillatus</i>, Temm. 1885. R. M. Praed, `Head Station,' p. 256 [Title of chapter 39]: "Where the pelican builds her nest." <hw>Penguin</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The species in Australia are-- Crested Penguin-- <i>Catarractes chrysocome</i>, Lath. Fairy P.-- <i>Eudyptula undina</i>, Gould. Little P.-- <i>E. minor</i>, Forst. For the New Zealand species, see the quotation, and also <i>Korora</i>. 1889. Professor Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 119: "The Penguins are characteristic Southern Hemisphere sea-birds, being represented in the Northern by the Puffins. They are flightless, but their wings are modified into powerful fins or flappers. Among the most interesting forms are the following-- the King Penguin, <i>Aptenodytes longirostris</i>; Rock Hopper P., <i>Pygoscelis taeniatus</i>; Yellow-Crowned P., <i>Eudyptes antipodum</i>; Crested P., <i>E. pachyrhynchus</i>; Little Blue P., <i>E. minor</i> and <i>undina</i>." <hw>Pennyroyal, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Mentha gracilis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Labiatae</i>. Much more acrid than the European species of <i>Mentha</i>; but used widely as a herbal medicine. Very common in all the colonies. See also <i>Mint</i>. <hw>Pepper, Climbing</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Piper novae-hollandiae</i>, Miq., <i>N.O. Piperaceae</i>. Called also Native Pepper, and <i>Native Pepper-vine</i>. A tall plant climbing against trees in dense forests. <hw>Peppermint</hw>, or <hw>Peppermint-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to various Eucalypts, from the aromatic nature of their leaves or extracted essence. See quotation below from White, 1790. There are many species, and various vernacular names, such as <i>Brown Peppermint</i>, <i>Dandenong P</i>., <i>Narrow-leaved P</i>., <i>White P</i>., etc. are given in various parts to the same species. See Maiden's note on <i>Eucalyptus amygdalina</i>, under <i>Gum</i>. Other vernacular names of different species are <i>Bastard-Peppermint</i>, <i>Peppermint-Box</i>, <i>Peppermint-Gum</i>. 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales' (Appendix by Dr. Smith or John Hunter), pp. 226-27: "The Peppermint Tree, <i>Eucalyptus piperita</i>. . . . The name of peppermint-tree has been given to this plant by Mr. White on account of the very great resemblance between the essential oil drawn from its leaves and that obtained from the Peppermint (<i>Mentha piperita</i>) which grows in England. This oil was found by Mr. White to be much more efficacious in removing all cholicky complaints than that of the English Peppermint, which he attributes to its being less pungent and more aromatic." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 23: "The peppermint, so called from the leaves imparting to the taste that flavour, grows everywhere throughout the island." 1874. Garnet Walch, I Head over Heels,' p. 75: "Well, mate, it's snug here by the logs That's peppermint--burns like a match." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 30: "A woody gully filled with peppermint and stringy-bark trees." 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 231: "The peppermints rose like pillars, with funereal branches hung, Where the dirge for the dead is chanted, And the mourning hymn is sung." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 116: "Down among the roots of a peppermint bush." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' 439: "It [<i>Eucalyptus capitella</i>, Smith] is one of the numerous `peppermints' of New South Wales and Victoria, and is noteworthy as being the first eucalypt so called, at any rate in print." <hw>Pepper, Native</hw>, i.q. <i>Climbing Pepper</i> (see above), <i>Piper Novae-Hollandiae</i>, Miq. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 198: "`Native Pepper.' An excellent tonic to the mucous membrane. . . . One of the largest native creepers, the root being at times from six inches to a foot in diameter. The plant climbs like ivy to the tops of the tallest trees, and when full-grown weighs many tons, so that a good supply of the drug is readily obtainable." <hw>Pepper-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to two trees, neither of which are the true pepper of commerce (<i>Piper</i>). They are-- (1) <i>Schinus molle</i>, which is a native of South America, of the Cashew family, and is largely cultivated for ornament and shade in California, and in the suburbs and public parks and gardens of all Australian towns where it has been naturalised. It is a very fast growing evergreen, with feathery leaves like a small palm or fern, drooping like a weeping willow. It flowers continuously, irrespective of season, and bears a cluster of red-berries or drupes, strongly pungent,-whence its name. (2) The other tree is indigenous in Australia and Tasmania; it is <i>Drimys aromatica</i>, F. v. M., formerly called <i>Tasmania aromatica</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Magnoliaceae</i>. In New Zealand the name is applied to <i>Drimys</i> /corr./ <i>axillaris</i>, Forst. (Maori, <i>Horopito</i>; q.v.). 1830. `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 65: "A thick grove of the pepper-shrub, <i>Tasmania fragrans</i> of Smith. It grows in a close thicket to the height of from six to ten feet. When in blossom, in the spring months of November or December, the farina of the flower is so pungent, especially if shaken about by the feet of horses or cattle, that it is necessary to hold a handkerchief to the nose in order to avoid continual sneezing." 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' vol. ii. p. 280: "We also found the aromatic tree, <i>Tasmania aromatica</i>. . . . The leaves and bark of this tree have a hot, biting, cinnamon-like taste, on which account it is vulgarly called the pepper-tree." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 231: "The handsome red-stemmed shrub known as native pepper. . . . Something like cayenne and allspice mixed, . . . the aromatic flavour is very pleasant. I have known people who, having first adopted its use for want of other condiments, continue it from preference." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 138: "Bright green pepper-trees with their coral berries." <hw>Peragale</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of Australian marsupial animals called <i>Rabbit- Bandicoots</i>. See <i>Bandicoot</i>. (Grk. <i>paera</i>, a bag or wallet, and <i>galae</i>, a weasel.) <hw>Perameles</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for the typical genus of the family of Australian marsupial animals called <i>Bandicoots</i> (q.v.), or <i>Bandicoot-Rats</i>. The word is from Latin <i>pera</i> (word borrowed from the Greek), a bag or wallet, and <i>meles</i> (a word used by Varro and Pliny), a badger. <hw>Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. This English fish-name is applied with various epithets to many fishes in Australia, some of the true family <i>Percidae</i>, others of quite different families. These fishes have, moreover, other names attached to them in different localities. See <i>Black Perch</i>, <i>Fresh-water P</i>., <i>Golden P</i>., <i>Magpie P</i>., <i>Murray P</i>., <i>Pearl P</i>., <i>Red P</i>., <i>Red Gurnet P</i>., <i>Rock P</i>., <i>Sea P</i>., <i>Parrot Fish</i>, <i>Poddly</i>, <i>Burramundi</i>, <i>Mado</i>, and <i>Bidyan Ruffe</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 31: "<i>Lates colonorum</i>, the perch of the colonists . . , really a fresh-water fish, but . . . often brought to the Sydney market from Broken Bay and other salt-water estuaries. . . . The perch of the Ganges and other East Indian rivers (<i>L. calcarifer</i>) enters freely into brackish water, and extends to the rivers of Queensland." [See <i>Burramundi</i>. <i>L. colonorum</i> is called the <i>Gippsland Perch</i>, in Victoria.] 1882. Ibid. p. 45: "The other genus (<i>Chilodactylus</i>) is also largely represented in Tasmania and Victoria, one species being commonly imported from Hobart Town in a smoked and dried state under the name of `perch.'" <hw>Perish, doing a</hw>, modern slang from Western Australia. See quotation. 1894. `The Argus,' March 28, p. 5, col. 4: "When a man (or party) has nearly died through want of water he is said to have `done a perish.'" <hw>Perpetual Lease</hw>, though a misnomer, is a statutory expression in New Zealand. Under the former Land Acts, the grantee of a perpetual lease took a term of thirty years, with a right of renewal at a revalued rent, subject to conditions as to improvement and cultivation, with a right to purchase the freehold after six years' occupation. <hw>Perriwinkle</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation. The most popular form in Melbourne is <i>Turbo undulatus</i>, Chemnitz. <i>T. constricta</i> is also called the <i>Native Whelk</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish and Fisheries of New South Wales,' p. 122: "<i>Trochocochlea constricta</i>, Lam., is used as a substitute for the British perriwinkle, but it is only consumed to a very small extent." <hw>Perth Herring</hw>, i.q. <i>Sardine</i> (q.v.), and see <i>Herring</i>. <hw>Petaurist</hw>, <i>n</i>. the general name for a <i>Flying-Phalanger</i> (q.v.), <i>Flying-Opossum</i> (q.v.), <i>Australian Flying-Squirrel</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>petauristaes</i>, a rope-dancer or tumbler). See <i>Petaurus</i>. <hw>Petauroides</hw>, <i>n</i>. a genus closely allied to <i>Petaurus</i> (q.v.), containing only one species, the <i>Taguan Flying-Phalanger</i>. <hw>Petaurus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name given by Shaw in 1793 to the Australian genus of <i>Petaurists</i> (q.v.), or so-called <i>Flying-Squirrels</i> (q.v.), or <i>Flying-Phalangers</i> (q.v.), or <i>Flying-Opossums</i>. The name was invented by zoologists out of Petaurist. In Greek, <i>petauron</i> was the perch or platform from which a "rope-dancer" stepped on to his rope. `L. & S.' say probably from <i>pedauros</i>, Aeolic for <i>meteowros</i>, high in air. <hw>Pething-pole</hw>, <i>n</i>. a harpoon-like weapon used for pething (pithing) cattle; that is, killing them by piercing the spinal cord (pith, or provincial peth). 1886. P. Clarke, `New Chum in Australia,' p. 184 (`Century'): "So up jumps Tom on the bar overhead with a long pething-pole, like an abnormally long and heavy alpenstock, in his hand; he selects the beast to be killed, stands over it in breathless . . . silence, adjusts his point over the centre of the vertebra, and with one plunge sends the cruel point with unerring aim into the spinal cord." <hw>Petrogale</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for a <i>Rock-Wallaby</i> (q.v.). The name was given by J. E. Gray, in the `Magazine of Natural History' (vol. i. p. 583), 1837. (Grk. <i>petra</i>, rock, and <i>galae</i>, a weasel.) <hw>Pezoporus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of a genus of Parrakeets peculiar to Australia, of which one species only is known, <i>P. formosus</i>, the Ground Parrakeet, or <i>Swamp Parrakeet</i>. From Grk. <i>pezoporos</i>, "going on foot." It differs from all the other <i>psittaci</i> in having a long hind toe like that of a lark, and is purely terrestrial in its habits. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. i. pl. 46: "<i>Pezoporus Formosus</i>, Ill., Ground-parrakeet; Swamp-parrakeet, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land; Ground-parrakeet, New South Wales and Western Australia." <hw>Phalanger</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for the animal called an <i>Opossum</i> (q.v.) in Australia, and including also the <i>Flying-squirrel</i> (q.v.), and other Marsupials. See also <i>Flying-Phalanger</i>. The word is sometimes used instead of <i>Opossum</i>, where precise accuracy is desired, but its popular use in Australia is rare. The Phalangers are chiefly Australian, but range as far as the Celebes. The word is from the Greek <i>phalanx</i>, one meaning of which is the bone between the joints of the fingers or toes. (The toes are more or less highly webbed in the <i>Phalanger</i>.) 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' p. 249: "The cry of the night-bird, the rustle of the phalangers and the smaller marsupials, as they glided through the wiry frozen grass or climbed the clear stems of the eucalypti." 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "A pair of the Short-headed Phalanger (<i>Belideus breviceps</i>) occupy the next division." 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 75: "The second great family of the herbivorous Diprotodont Marsupials is typically represented by the creatures properly known as phalangers, which the colonists of Australia persist in misnaming opossums. It includes however several other forms, such as the Flying-Phalangers [q.v.] and the Koala [q.v.]." <hw>Phascolarctus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of the <i>Koala</i> (q.v.) or <i>Native Bear</i>, of which there is only one species, <i>P. cinereus</i>. It is, of course, marsupial.(Grk. <i>phaskowlos</i>, a leather apron, and <i>'arktos</i>, a bear.) See <i>Bear</i>. <hw>Phascologale</hw>, <i>n</i>. contracted often to <i>Phascogale</i>: the scientific name for the genus of little marsupials known as the <i>Kangaroo-Mouse</i> or <i>Pouched-Mouse</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>phaskowlos</i>, a leather apron, and <i>galae</i>, a weasel.) "The pretty little animals belonging to the genus thus designated, range over the whole of Australia and New Guinea, together with the adjacent islands and are completely arboreal and insectivorous in their habits. The [popular] name of <i>Pouched-Mouse</i> is far from being free from objection, yet, since the scientific names of neither this genus nor the genus <i>Sminthopsis</i> lend themselves readily for conversion into English, we are compelled to use the colonial designation as the vernacular names of both genera. . . . The largest of the thirteen known species does not exceed a Common Rat in size, while the majority are considerably smaller." (R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 166.) 1853. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 324: "The phascogales are small insectivorous animals found on the mountains and in the dense forest-parts of the island, and little is known of their habits." <hw>Phascolome</hw>, and <hw>Phascolomys</hw>, <i>n</i>. The first is the anglicised form of the second, which is the scientific name of the genus called by the aboriginal name of <i>Wombat</i> (q.v.) (Grk. <i>phaskowlos</i> = leathern bag, and <i>mus</i> = mouse.) <hw>Phasmid</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name for the insects of the genus <i>Phasma</i> (Grk. <i>phasma</i> = an appearance), of the family <i>Phasmidae</i>, curious insects not confined to Australia, but very common there. The various species are known as <i>Leaf-insects</i>, <i>Walking leaves</i>, <i>Stick-caterpillars</i>, <i>Walking-sticks</i>, <i>Spectres</i>, etc., from the extraordinary illusion with which they counterfeit the appearance of the twigs, branches, or leaves of the vegetation on which they settle. Some have legs only, which they can hold crooked in the air to imitate twigs; others have wings like delicate leaves, or they are brilliant green and covered with thorns. They imitate not only the colour and form of the plant, but its action or motion when swayed slightly by the wind. 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 209: "A span-long Phasmid then he knew, Stretching its fore-limbs like a branching twig." <hw>Pheasant</hw>, <i>n</i>. This common English bird-name is applied in Australia to two birds, viz.-- (1) The <i>Lyre-bird</i> (q.v.). (2) The <i>Lowan</i> (q.v.), and see <i>Turkey</i>. For Pheasant-fantail, see <i>Fantail</i>. 1877 (before). Australie, `From the Clyde to Braidwood,' quoted in `Australian Ballads and Rhymes' (edition Sladen, p. 10): ". . . Echoing notes Of lyre-tailed pheasants, in their own rich notes, Mocking the song of every forest-bird." 1885. Wanderer, `Beauteous Terrorist, etc., p. 60: "And have we no visions pleasant Of the playful lyre-tail'd pheasant?" <hw>Pheasant-Cuckoo</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Coucal</i> (q.v.), <i>Centropus phasianellus</i>, Gould. See also <i>Swamp-Pheasant</i>. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. vi. p. 125: "I shot over the island and enjoyed some very fair sport, especially with the pheasant-cuckoo." <hw>Pheasant's Mother</hw>, <i>n</i>. an old name of an Australian bird. See <i>Orthonyx</i>. 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 180: "That remarkable little bird, the `Pheasant's Mother' of the colonists, or Spine-tailed Orthonyx (<i>Orthonyx spinicauda</i>), about which also ornithologists have some difference of opinion respecting its situation in the natural system:' <hw>Philander</hw>, <i>n</i>. an old scientific name, now abandoned, for certain species of the Kangaroo family. The word was taken from the name of the explorer, <i>Philander de Bruyn</i>. See quotation. 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 36: "Aru Island Wallaby. <i>Macropus brunnii</i>, Cuvier (1817). <i>Didelphys brunnii</i>, Schreber (1778). . . Distribution.-- Aru and Kei Islands. This species has an especial interest as being the first member of the Kangaroo-family known to Europeans, specimens having been seen in the year 1711 by [Philander de] Bruyn living in the gardens of the Dutch Governor of Batavia. They were originally described under the name of Philander or Filander." <hw>Phormium</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of the genus to which <i>New Zealand Flax</i> (<i>P. tenax</i>) belongs. See <i>Flax</i>. (Grk. <i>phormion</i>, dim. of <i>phormos</i>, anything plaited of reeds or rushes.) <hw>Pialler</hw>, v. used as pigeon-English, especially in Queensland and New South Wales, in the sense of <i>yabber</i>, to speak. 1834. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar,' p. 10: [As a barbarism] "<i>piyaller</i>, to speak." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Head Station,' p. 314: "Hester seized the shrinking black and led him forward, wildly crying that she would `pialla' the Great Spirit, so that no evil should befall him." <hw>Piccaninny</hw>, and <hw>Pickaninny</hw>, <i>n</i>. a little child. The word is certainly not Australian. It comes from the West Indies (Cuban <i>piquinini</i>, little, which is from the Spanish <i>pequeno</i>, small, and <i>nino</i>, child). The English who came to Australia, having heard the word applied to negro children elsewhere, applied it to the children of the aborigines. After a while English people thought the word was aboriginal Australian, while the aborigines thought it was correct English. It is pigeon-English. 1696. D'Urfey's `Don Quixote,' pt. iii. c. v. p. 41 (Stanford): "Dear pinkaninny [sic], If half a guiny To Love wilt win ye." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 12: "`I tumble down pickaninny here,' he said, meaning that he was born there." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 103: "Two women, one with a piccaninny at her back." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 520: "Bilge introduced several old warriors . . . adding always the number of piccaninies that each of them had." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 305: "We can even trace words which the Europeans have imported from the natives of other countries--for example <i>picaninny</i>, a child. This word is said to have come originally from the negroes of Africa, through white immigrants. In America the children of negroes are called picaninny. When the white men came to Australia, they applied this name to the children of the natives of this continent." <hw>Piccaninny</hw>, used as <i>adj</i>. and figuratively, to mean little. 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 104: "The hut would be attacked before `piccaninny sun.'" [Footnote]: "About daylight in the morning." 1884. J. W. Bull, `Early Life in South Australia,' p. 69: [An Englishman, speaking to blacks] "would produce from his pocket one of his pistols, and say, `Picaninny gun, plenty more.'" <hw>Pick-it-up</hw>, <i>n</i>. a boys' name for the <i>Diamond bird</i> (q.v.). 1896. G. A. Keartland, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' part ii. Zoology, Aves, p. 69: "<i>Pardalotus ornatus</i> and <i>Pardalotus affinis</i> give forth a treble note which has secured for them the name of `Pick-it-up' from our country boys." <hw>Picnic</hw>, <i>n</i>. Besides the ordinary meaning of this word, there is a slang Australian use denoting an awkward adventure, an unpleasant experience, a troublesome job. In America the slang use is "an easy or agreeable thing." (`Standard.') The Australasian use is an ironical inversion of this. 1896. Modern: "If a man's horse is awkward and gives him trouble, he will say, `I had a picnic with that horse,' and so of any misadventure or disagreeable experience in travelling. So also of a troublesome business or other affair; a nursemaid, for instance, will say, `I had a nice picnic with Miss Nora's hair.'" <hw>Picton Herring</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name for several fishes when dried (like "kipper"), especially for the <i>Sea-Mullet</i>, or <i>Makawhiti</i> or <i>Aua</i> (q.v.) (Maori names); and for the New South Wales fish called <i>Maray</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pieman Jolly-tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Jolly-tail</i>. <hw>Pig-Dog</hw>, <i>n</i>. a dog used in hunting wild pigs. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. ii. p. 6: "The pig-dogs are of rather a mongrel breed, partaking largely of the bull-dog, but mixed with the cross of mastiff and greyhound, which forms the New South Wales kangaroo-dog" [q.v.] 1877. R. Gillies, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. x. art. xliii. p. 321: "A pig-dog of the bull-terrier breed." <hw>Pigeon</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian species are-- Bronze-wing Pigeon (q.v.)-- <i>Phaps chalcoptera</i>, Lath. Brush Bronze-wing P.-- <i>P. elegans</i>, Temm. Crested P.-- <i>Ocyphaps lophotes</i>, Temm. Flock or Harlequin Bronze-wing (called also <i>Squatter</i>, q.v.)-- <i>Phaps histrionica</i>, Gould. Little-Green P.-- <i>Chalcophaps chrysochlora</i>, Wagl. Naked-eye Partridge-P.-- <i>Geophaps smithii</i>, Jard. and Selb. Nutmeg P.-- <i>Carpophaga spilorrhoa</i>, G. R. Gray. Partridge-P.-- <i>Geophaps scripta</i>, Temm. Pheasant-tailed P.-- <i>Macropygia phasianella</i>, Temm. Plumed P.-- <i>Lophophaps plumifera</i>, Gould. Red-plumed Pigeon-- <i>Lophophaps ferruginea</i>, Gould. [He gives vernacular "Rust-coloured."] Rock P.-- <i>Petrophassa albipennis</i>, Gould. Top-knot P.-- <i>Lopholaimus antarcticus</i>, Shaw. White-bellied Plumed P.-- <i>Lophophaps leucogaster</i>, Gould. Wonga-wonga P. (q.v.)-- <i>Leucosarcia picata</i>, Lath. See also <i>Fruit-Pigeon</i>, <i>Harlequin Pigeon</i>, <i>Partridge-Pigeon</i>, <i>Torres Straits Pigeon</i>. For New Zealand Pigeon, see <i>Kuku</i>. <hw>Pigeon-berry Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Mulberry</i>. See <i>Mulberry</i>. <hw>Pig-face</hw>, <hw>Pig-faces</hw>, and <hw>Pig's-face</i>, or <i>Pig's-faces</i>. Names given to an indigenous "iceplant," <i>Mesembryanthemum aequilaterale</i>, Haw., <i>N.O. Ficoideae</i>, deriving its generic name from the habit of expanding its flower about noon. 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 133: "<i>Mesembryanthemum aequilaterale</i>, pig faces; called by the aborigines by the more elegant name of canagong. The pulp of the almost shapeless, but somewhat ob-conical, fleshy seed vessel of this plant, is sweetish and saline; it is about an inch and a half long, of a yellowish, reddish, or green colour." 1844. Mrs. Meredith, `Notes and Sketches of New South Wales,' p. 45: "Great green mat-like plants of the pretty <i>Mesembryanthemum aequilaterale</i>, or fig-marigold, adorned the hot sandy banks by the road-side. It bears a bright purple flower, and a five-sided fruit, called by the children `pig-faces.'" 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 132: "The pig's face is an extremely common production of the Australian soil, growing like a thick and fleshy grass, with its three-sided leaf and star-shaped pink or purple flower, occupying usually a rocky or dry light soil." 1879. C. W. Schuermann, in `The Native Tribes of South Australia,' p. 217: "Though this country is almost entirely destitute of indigenous fruits of any value to an European, yet there are various kinds which form very valuable and extensive articles of food for the aborigines; the most abundant and important of these is the fruit of a species of cactus, very elegantly styled pig's-faces by the white people, but by the natives called karkalla. The size of the fruit is rather less than that of a walnut, and it has a thick skin of a pale reddish colour, by compressing which, the glutinous sweet substance inside slips into the mouth." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 44: "Pig-faces. It was the <i>canajong</i> of the Tasmanian aboriginal. The fleshy fruit is eaten raw by the aborigines: the leaves are eaten baked." <hw>Pig-faced Lady</hw>, <i>n</i>. an old name in Tasmania for the <i>Boar-fish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pig-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the fish <i>Agriopus leucopaecilus</i>, Richards., in Dunedin; called also the <i>Leather-jacket</i> (q.v.). In Sydney it is <i>Cossyphus unimaculatus</i>, Gunth., a Wrasse, closely related to the Blue-groper. In Victoria, <i>Heterodontus phillipi</i>, Lacep., the <i>Port Jackson Shark</i>. See <i>Shark</i>. <hw>Pig-footed Bandicoot</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to <i>Choeropus castanotis</i>, Gray, an animal about the size of a rabbit, belonging to the family <i>Peramelidae</i>, which includes all the bandicoots. It lives in the sandy, dry interior of the continent, making a small nest for itself on the surface of the ground out of grass and twigs. The popular name is derived from the fact that in the fore-feet the second and third toes are alone well developed, the first and fifth being absent, and the fourth very rudimentary, so that the foot has a striking resemblance to that of a pig. See also <i>Bandicoot</i>. 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Expeditions into Eastern Australia,' p. 131: "The feet, and especially the fore feet, were singularly formed, the latter resembling those of a hog." 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' p. 68: "Another peculiar form, the Choeropus, or pig-footed bandicoot." <hw>Pigmeater</hw>, <i>n</i>. a beast only fit for pigs to eat: one that will not fatten. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xiv. p. 105: "Among them was a large proportion of bullocks, which declined with fiendish obstinacy to fatten. They were what are known by the stock-riders as `ragers' [q.v.] or `pig-meaters.'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 218: "`Pig-meaters!' exclaimed Ernest; `what kind of cattle do you call those? Do bullocks eat pigs in this country?' `No, but pigs eat them, and horses too, and a very good way of getting rid of rubbish.'" <hw>Piharau</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for <i>Geotria chilensis</i>, Gray, a New Zealand <i>Lamprey</i> (q.v.). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 15: "We procured an abundant supply of piarau, a `lamprey,' which is taken in large numbers in this river, and some others in the neighbourhood, when the waters are swollen." <hw>Pihoihoi</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand bird, the Ground-lark (q.v.). The word has five syllables. <hw>Pike</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied in Australia and Tasmania to two species of marine fish--<i>Sphyraena obtusata</i>, Cuv. and Val.; <i>S. novae-hollandiae</i>; Gunth. See also <i>Sea-pike</i>. <hw>Pilchard</hw>, <i>n</i>. The fish which visits the Australian shores periodically, in shoals larger than the Cornish shoals, is <i>Clupea sagax</i>, Jenyns, the same as the Californian Pilchard, and closely related to the English Pilchard, which is <i>Clupea pilchardus</i>. <hw>Pilgrims, Canterbury</hw>, <i>n</i>. The first settlers in Canterbury, New Zealand, were so called in allusion to the pilgrims to the shrine of St. Thomas Becket. Chaucer's `Canterbury Tales' were told by such pilgrims. The name was given probably by Mr. William Lyon, who in 1851 wrote the `Dream.' See quotation, 1877. 1865. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 20: "The `Pilgrims,' as the first comers are always called. I like the name; it is so pretty and suggestive." 1877. W. Pratt, `Colonial Experiences or Incidents of Thirty-four Years in New Zealand,' p. 234: "In the `Dream of a Shagroon,' which bore the date Ko Matinau, April 1851, and which first appeared in the `Wellington Spectator' of May 7, the term `Pilgrim' was first applied to the settlers; it was also predicted in it that the `Pilgrims' would be `smashed,' and the Shagroons left in undisputed possession of the country for their flocks and herds." <hw>Pilot-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. This name is given to a sea-bird of the Caribbean Islands. In Australia it is applied to <i>Pycnoptilus floccosus</i>, Gould. 1893. `The Argus,' March 25, p. 4, col. 6: "Here, close together, are eggs of the lyre-bird and the pilot-bird--the last very rare, and only found quite lately in the Dandenong Ranges, where the lyre-bird, too, has its home." <hw>Pimelea</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a large genus of shrubs or herbs, <i>N.O. Thymeleaceae</i>. There are over seventy species, all confined to Australia and New Zealand. They bear terminal or axillary clusters of white, rose, or yellow flowers, and being very beautiful plants, are frequently cultivated in conservatories. A gardener's name for some of the species is <i>Rice-flower</i>. Several of the species, especially <i>P. axiflora</i>, F. v. M., yield excellent fibre, and are among the plants called <i>Kurrajong</i> (q.v.); another name is <i>Toughbark</i>. For etymology, see quotation, 1793. 1793. J. E. Smith, `Specimen of Botany of New Holland,' p. 32: "Gaertner . . . adopted the name of <i>Pimelea</i> from the manuscripts of Dr. Solander. It is derived from <i>pimelae</i>, fat, but is rather a pleasantly sounding than a very apt denomination, unless there may be anything oily in the recent fruit." <hw>Pimlico</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Friar-bird</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pin-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Needle-bush</i> (q.v.) <hw>Pinch-out</hw>, v. to thin out and disappear (of gold-bearing). This use is given in the `Standard,' but without quotations; it may be American. 18W. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 22: "Sometimes 100 to 200 tons of payable quartz would be raised from one of these so-called reefs, when they would pinch out, and it would be found that they were unconnected with other leaders or veins." <hw>Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Pines are widely distributed in Australasia, and include some of the noblest species. The name, with various epithets, is given to a few other trees besides those of the Natural Order <i>Coniferae</i>,; the following is a list of the various <i>Pines</i> in Australasia. They belong to the Natural Order <i>Coniferae</i>,, unless otherwise indicated-- Black Pine-- <i>Frenela endlicheri</i>, Parlat. <i>Irenela robusta</i>,A. Cunn. (Of Otago)-- <i>Podocarpus ferruginea</i>,Don.; Maori name, <i>Miro</i> (q.v.).; <i>P. spicata</i>, R. Br.; Maori name, <i>Mai</i>, or <i>Matai</i> (q.v.). Celery-topped P. (q.v.)-- (In Australia)-- <i>Phyllocladus rhomboidalis</i>, Rich. (In New Zealand)-- <i>P. trichomanoides</i>, Don.; Maori name, <i>Tanekaha</i> (q.v.); <i>P. glauca</i>, and <i>P. alpinus</i>; Maori name, <i>Toatoa</i>, and often also called <i>Tanekaha</i>. Colonial P.-- <i>Araucaria cunninghamii</i>, Ait. Common P.-- <i>Frenela robusta</i>, A. Cunn. Cypress P.-- <i>Frenela endlicheri</i>, Parlat. <i>F. rhomboidea</i>, Endl. <i>F. robusta</i> (var. <i>microcarpa</i>), A. Cunn. <i>F. robusta</i> (var. <i>verrucosa</i>), A. Cunn. Dark P.-- (In Western New South Wales)-- <i>Frenela robusta</i>, A. Cunn. Dundathu P.-- <i>Dammara robusta</i>, F. v. M. Hoop P.-- <i>Araucaria cunninghamii</i>, Ait. Huon P. (q.v.)-- <i>Dacrydium franklinii</i>, Hook. Illawarra Mountain P.-- <i>Frenela rhomboidea</i>, Endl. Kauri P. (q.v.) <i>Agathis australis</i>, Salis. Lachlan P.-- <i>Frenela robusta</i>, A. Cunn. Light P.-- (Of Western New South Wales)-- <i>Frenela rhomboidea</i>, Endl. Macquarie P.-- <i>Dacrydium franklinii</i>, Hook. Mahogany Pine-- <i>Podocarpus totara</i>, A. Cunn.; Maori name, <i>Totara</i>, (q.v.). Moreton Bay P.-- <i>Araucaria cunninghamii</i>, Ait. Mountain Cypress P.-- <i>Frenela parlatorii</i>, F. v. M. Murray P.-- <i>Frenela endlicheri</i>, Parlat. Murrumbidgee P.-- <i>Frenela robusta</i>, A. Cunn. New Caledonian P.-- (Of New Caledonia and the New Hebrides)-- <i>Araucaria cookii</i>, Cook. Norfolk Island P.-- <i>Araucaria excelsa</i>, Hook. Oyster Bay P. (q.v.)-- (In Tasmania)-- <i>Frenela rhomboidea</i>, Endl. Port Macquarie P.-- <i>Frenela macleayana</i>, Parlat. Prickly P.-- (In Queensland)-- <i>Flindersia maculosa</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>; called also <i>Leopard Tree</i> (q.v.). Queensland Kauri P.-- <i>Dammara robusta</i>, F. v. M. Red P.-- (In Australia)-- <i>Frenela endlicheri</i>, Parlat. (In New Zealand)-- <i>Dacrydium cupressinum</i>, Soland; called also <i>Rimu</i> (q.v.). Rock P.-- (In Western New South Wales)-- <i>Frenela robusta</i> (var. <i>verrucosa</i>), A. Cunn. Screw P.-- <i>Pandanus odoratissimus</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Pandaneae</i>; not endemic in Australia. Scrub P.-- <i>Frenela endlicheri</i>, Parlat. She P.-- <i>(In Queensland</i>)-- <i>Podocarpus elata</i>, R. Br. Silver P.-- <i>Dacrydium colensoi</i>, Hook.; i.q. <i>Yellow Pine</i>. Stringy Bark P.-- <i>Frenela parlatorei</i>, F. v. M. Toatoa P.-- <i>Phyllocladus alpinus</i>, Hook.; Maori name, <i>Toatoa</i> (q.v.). White P.-- (In Australia)-- <i>Frenela robusta</i>, A. Cunn. <i>F. robusta</i> (var. <i>microcarpa</i>), A. Cunn. <i>Podocarpus elata</i>, R. Br. (In New Zealand)-- <i>P. dacryoides</i>, A. Rich.; Maori name, <i>Kahikatea</i> (q.v.). Yellow P.-- <i>Dacrydium colensoi</i>, Hook.; Maori name, <i>Manoao</i> (q.v.). 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' p. 180: "The Green Forest . . . comprises myrtle, sassafras, celery-top pine, with a little stringy-bark." 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol- i. p. 51. "On the little hill beside the river hung pines (<i>Callitris pyramidalis</i>) in great abundance." <hw>Piner</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Tasmania, a man employed in cutting Huon Pine. 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 43: "The King River is only navigable for small craft . . . Piners' boats sometimes get in." <hw>Pinkwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name for a Tasmanian wood of a pale reddish mahogany colour, <i>Eucryphia billardieri</i>, Sparrm., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>,, and peculiar to Tasmania; also called <i>Leatherwood</i>; and for the <i>Wallaby- bush</i>, <i>Beyera viscosa</i>, Miq., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>, common to all the colonies of Australasia. <hw>Piopio</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a thrush of New Zealand, <i>Turnagra crassirostris</i>, Gmel. See <i>Thrush</i>. <hw>Pipe</hw>, <i>n</i>. an obsolete word, explained in quotations. 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 105: "These were the days of `pipes.' Certain supposed home truths . . . were indited in clear and legible letters on a piece of paper which was then rolled up in the form of a pipe, and being held together by twisting at one end was found at the door of the person intended to be instructed on its first opening in the morning." 1852. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 107: "Malice or humour in the early days expressed itself in what were called <i>pipes</i>--a ditty either taught by repetition or circulated on scraps of paper: the offences of official men were thus hitched into rhyme. These pipes were a substitute for the newspaper, and the fear of satire checked the haughtiness of power." <hw>Pipe-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. common fishname. The species present in Australia and New Zealand is <i>Ichthyocampus filum</i>, Gunth., family <i>Syngnathidae</i>, or <i>Pipe-fishes</i>. <hw>Piper</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Auckland name for the <i>Garfish</i> (q.v.). The name is applied to other fishes in the Northern Hemisphere. 1872. Hutton and Hector, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 118: "Angling for garfish in Auckland Harbour, where it is known as the piper, is graphically described in `The Field,' London, Nov. 25, 1871. . . . the pipers are `just awfu' cannibals,' and you will be often informed on Auckland wharf that `pipers is deeth on piper.'" <hw>Pipi</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name of a shellfish, sometimes (erroneously) called the cockle, <i>Mezodesma novae-zelandiae</i>. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 193: "Pipi, <i>s</i>. a cockle." 1881. J. L.Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 107: "With most deliciously cooked kumeras, potatoes and peppies" [sic]. Ibid. p. 204: "The <i>dernier ressort</i>--fern-root, flavoured with fish and pippies." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p.25: "Each female is busily employed in scraping the potatoes thoroughly with pipi-shells." <hw>Piping-Crow</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied sometimes to the <i>Magpie</i> (q.v.). 1845. `Voyage to Port Phillip,' etc., p. 53: "The warbling melops and the piping crow, The merry forest fill with joyous song." <hw>Pipit</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Ground-Lark</i> (q.v.). <hw>Pitau</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Tree-fern</i>. In Maori, the word means--(1) Soft, tender, young shoots. The verb <i>pihi</i> means "begin to grow"; <i>pi</i> means "young of birds," also "the flow of the tide." (2) Centre-fronds of a fern. (3) Name of a large fern. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 57: "The pitau, or tree-ferns, growing like a palm-tree, form a distinguishing ornament of the New Zealand forest." <hw>Pitchi</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a wooden receptacle hollowed out of a solid block of some tree, such as the <i>Batswing Coral</i> (<i>Erythrina vespertio</i>), or <i>Mulga</i> (<i>Acacia aneura</i>), and carried by native women in various parts of Australia for the purpose of collecting food in, such as grass seed or bulbs, and sometimes for carrying infants. The shape and size varies much, and the more concave ones are used for carrying water in. The origin of the word is obscure; some think it aboriginal, others think it a corruption of the English word <i>pitcher</i>. 1896. E. C. Stirling, `Home Expedition in Central Australia, Anthropology, pt. iv. p. 99: "I do not know the origin of the name `Pitchi,' which is in general use by the whites of the parts traversed by the expedition, for the wooden vessels used for carrying food and water and, occasionally, infants." <hw>Pitta</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is <i>Telugu</i> for the Indian Ant-thrush; a few species are confined to Australia; they are-- Blue-breasted Pitta-- <i>Pitta macklotii</i>, Mull. and Schleg. Noisy P.-- <i>P. strepitans</i>, Temm. Rainbow P.-- <i>P. iris</i>, Gould. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 1: "<i>Pitta strepitans</i>, Temm., Noisy Pitta. There are also Rainbow Pitta, Pitta iris, and Vigor's Pitta, <i>P. Macklotii</i>. 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia' (Supplement): "<i>Pitta Macklotii</i>, Mull. and Schleg." <hw>Pittosporum</hw>, <i>n</i>. a genus of plants so called from the viscous pulp which envelops the seeds. (Grk. <i>pitta</i>, pitch, and <i>sporos</i>, seed.) There are about fifty species, which are found in Africa and Asia, but chiefly in Australasia. They are handsome evergreen shrubs, and some grow to a great height; the white flowers, being very fragrant, have been sometimes likened to orangeblossoms, and the rich evergreen leaves obtain for some of them the name of Laurels. They are widely cultivated in the suburbs of cities as ornamental hedges. See <i>Mock-Orange</i>, <i>Hedge-Laurel</i>, <i>Native Laurel</i>, etc. <hw>Pituri</hw>, or <hw>Pitchery</hw>, <i>n</i>. Native name for <i>Duboisia hopwoodii</i>, F. v. M., a shrub growing in the sand-hills of certain districts of Queensland, New South Wales, and Central Australia. The leaves are chewed as a narcotic by the natives of many parts, and form a valuable commodity of barter. In some parts of Central Australia the leaf is not chewed, but is only used for the purpose of making a decoction which has the power of stupefying emus, which under its influence are easily captured by the natives. Other spellings are <i>Pitchiri</i>, <i>Pedgery</i>, and <i>Bedgery</i>. Perhaps from <i>betcheri</i>, another form of <i>boodjerrie</i>, good, expressing the excellent qualities of the plant. Compare <i>Budgerigar</i>. 1863. `Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' April, p. 1: "`Pitcherry,' a narcotic plant brought by King, the explorer, from the interior of Australia, where it is used by the natives to produce intoxication. . . . In appearance it resembled the stem and leaves of a small plant partly rubbed into a coarse powder. . . . On one occasion Mr. King swallowed a small pinch of the powder, and described its effects as being almost identical with those produced by a large quantity of spirits." 1883. F. M. Bailey,' Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 350: "Pitury of the natives. The leaves are used by the natives of Central Australia to poison emus, and is chewed by the natives as the white man does the tobacco." 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 101: "In one part of Central Australia the leaves and twigs of a shrub called pidgery by the natives are dried and preserved in closely woven bags. . . . A small quantity has an exhilarating effect, and pidgery was highly prized." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 49: "The leaves contain a stimulant, which possesses qualities similar to those of tobacco and opium, and are chewed by several tribes in the interior of Australia. Pituri is highly valued as a stimulant, and is taken for barter far and wide." 1890. A. S. Vogan, `Black Police,' p. 94: "One of the virtues that the native drug Pitchurie is supposed to possess when used by the old men is the opening up of this past life, giving them the power and perquisites of seers." 1893. Mr. Purcell, `Lecture before Geographical Society, Sydney,' Jan.: "Mr. Purcell had travelled over nearly the whole of Queensland, and had only seen the plant growing in a very limited area west of the Mullyan River, 138th meridian of east long., and on the ranges between the 23rd and 24th parallel of south latitude. He had often questioned the Darling blacks about it, and they always replied by pointing towards the north west. The blacks never, if they could possibly help it, allowed white men to see the plant. He himself had not been allowed to see it until he had been initiated into some of the peculiar rites of the aborigines. Mr. Purcell showed what he called the pitchery letter, which consisted of a piece of wood covered with cabalistic marks. This letter was given to a pitchery ambassador, and was to signify that he was going to the pitchery country, and must bring back the amount of pitchery indicated on the stick. The talisman was a sure passport, and wherever he went no man molested the bearer. This pitchery was by no means plentiful. It grew in small clumps on the top of sandy ridges, and would not grow on the richer soil beneath. This convinced him that it never grew in any other country than Australia. The plant was cooked by being placed in an excavation in which a fire had been burning. It then became light and ready for transport. As to its use in the form of snuff, it was an excellent remedy for headaches, and chewed it stopped all craving for food. It had been used with success in violent cases of neuralgia, and in asthma also it had proved very successful. With regard to its sustaining properties, Mr. Purcell mentioned the case of a blackboy who had travelled 120 miles in two days, with no other sustenance than a chew of pitchery." <hw>Pivot City, The</hw>, a nickname for Geelong. 1860. W. Kelly, `Life in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 160 [Footnote]: "The Pivot City is a sobriquet invented by the citizens to symbolize it as the point on which the fortunes of the colony would culminate and revolve. They also invented several other original terms--a phraseology christened by the Melbourne press as the Geelongese dialect." <hw>Piwakawaka</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Pied Fantail</i> (<i>Rhipidura flabellifera</i>, Gray). 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 57: "Piwakawaka, or tirakaraka. This restless little bird is continually on the wing, or hopping from twig to twig." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 403: "Piwakawaka, tirakaraka, the fantailed fly-catcher, a pretty, restless, lively bird; very sociable, and fond of displaying its beautiful little fan-tail. It has a head like the bullfinch, with one black-and-white streak under the neck coming to a point in the centre of the throat. Wings very sharp and pointed. It is very quick and expert in catching flies, and is a great favourite, as it usually follows the steps of man. It was sacred to Maui." 1885. A. Reischek, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. art. xviii. p. 102: "Rhipidura--fantail (Piwakawaka). Every one admires the two species of these fly-catchers, and their graceful evolutions in catching their prey." 1890. C. Colenso, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute: Bush Notes,' vol. xxiii. art. lvii. p. 482: "During this extended visit of mine to the woods, I have noticed the piwakawaka, or fly-catcher (<i>Rhipidura flabellifera</i>). This interesting little flycatcher, with its monotonous short cry, always seems to prefer making the acquaintance of man in the forest solitudes." 1895. W. S.Roberts, `Southland in 1856,' p. 53: "The pied fantail, Piwakawaka (Rhipidura flabellifera) is the best flycatcher New Zealand possesses, but it will not live in confinement. It is always flitting about with broadly expanded tail in pursuit of flies. It frequently enters a house and soon clears a room of flies, but if shut in all night it frets itself to death before morning." <hw>Plain</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australian use, the word not only implies flatness, but treelessness. 1824. Edward Curr, `Account of the Colony of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 55: "The district called Macquarie Plains, the greater part of which rises into hills of moderate height, with open and fertile valleys interspersed, while the plains bear a strong resemblance to what are called sheep downs in England." 1848. T. L. Mitchell, `Tropical Australia,' p. 136: "The country was grassy, and so open as almost to deserve the colonial name of `plain.'" 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 250: "Squatters who look after their own runs always live in the bush, even though their sheep are pastured on plains." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 73: "One day an egg of a cassowary was brought to me; this bird, although it is nearly akin to the ostrich and emu, does not, like the latter, frequent the open plains, but the thick brushwood. The Australian cassowary is found in Northern Queensland from Herbert river northwards, in all the large vine-scrubs on the banks of the rivers, and on the high mountains of the coasts." <hw>Plain Currant</hw>, <i>n</i>. a wild fruit, <i>Grewia polygama</i>, Roxb., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 295: "I found a great quantity of ripe Grewia seeds, and on eating many of them, it struck me that their slightly acidulous taste, if imparted to water, would make a very good drink; I therefore . . . boiled them for about an hour; the beverage . . . was the best we had tasted on our expedition." <hw>Plain Wanderer</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, <i>Pedionomus torquatus</i>, Gould. <hw>Plant</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. and <i>n</i>. common in Australia for <i>to hide</i>, and for the thing hidden away. As remarked in the quotations, the word is thieves' English. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 59: "A number of the slang phrases current in St. Giles's <i>Greek</i> bid fair to become legitimatized in the dictionary of this colony: <i>plant, swag</i>, <i>pulling up</i>, and other epithets of the Tom and Jerry school, are established-- the dross passing here as genuine, even among all ranks." 1848. Letter by Mrs. Perry, given in `Canon Goodman's Church in Victoria during the Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 78: ". . . Shady Creek, where he `planted' some tea and sugar for his brother on his return. Do you know what `planting' is? It is hiding the tea, or whatever it may be, in the hollow of a tree, or branch, or stone, where no one is likely to find it, but the one for whom it is meant." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 22: "Some refreshments planted there for us by the Major--for that is the colonial phrase, borrowed from the slang of London burglars and thieves, for any article sent forward or left behind for consumption in spots only indicated to those concerned--after the manner of the ca^ches of the French Canadian trappers on the American prairies. To `spring' a plant is to discover and pillage it." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 36: "The way he could hide, or, as it is called in the bush, `plant' himself, was something wonderful." 1889. Cassell's' Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 178: "The gold had not been handed over to the Commissioner at all, but was planted somewhere in the tent." 1893. `The Age,' May 9, p. 5, col. 4: "A panic-smitten lady plants her money." [Title of short article giving an account of an old lady during the bank panic concealing her money in the ground and being unable to find it.] <hw>Plantain, Native</hw>, an Australian fodder plant, <i>Plantago varia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Plantagineae</i>. <hw>Plant-Caterpillar</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Australasia to species of caterpillars which are attacked by spores of certain fungi; when chrysalating in the earth the fungus grows inside the body of the caterpillar, kills the latter, and then forces its way out between the head joints, and sends an upgrowth which projects beyond the surface of the ground and gives rise to fresh spores. Many examples are known, of which the more common are--<i>Cordyceps robertsii</i>, Hook., in New Zealand; <i>Cordyceps gunnii</i>, Berk, in Tasmania; <i>Cordyceps taylori</i>, Berk, in Australia. See <i>Aweto</i>. 1892. M. C. Cooke, `Vegetable Wasps and Plant Worms,' p. 139: "The New Zealanders' name for this plant-caterpillar is `Hotete,' `Aweto,' `Weri,' and `Anuhe.'. . The interior of the insect becomes completely filled by the inner plant, orthallus (mycelium): after which the growing head of the outer plant or fungus, passing to a state of maturity, usually forces its way out through the tissue of the joint between the head and the first segment of the thorax . . . it is stated that this caterpillar settles head upward to undergo its change, when the vegetable developes /sic/ itself." <hw>Planter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a cattle-thief, so called from hiding the stolen cattle. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xxv. p. 352: "What's a little money . . . if your children grow up duffers [sc. cattle-duffers, q.v.] and planters?" <hw>Platycercus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of a genus of Parrakeets, represented by many species. The word is from the shape of the tail. (Grk. <i>platus</i>, broad, and <i>kerkos</i>, tail.) The genus is distributed from the Malay Archipelago to the Islands of the Pacific. The name was first given by Vigors and Horsfield in 1825. See <i>Parrakeet</i> and <i>Rosella</i>. <hw>Platypus</hw>, <i>n</i>. a remarkable <i>Monotreme</i> (q.v.), in shape like a Mole, with a bill like a Duck. Hence its other names of <i>Duck-bill</i> or <i>Duck-Mole</i>. It has received various names--<i>Platypus anatinus</i>, <i>Duck-billed Platypus</i>, <i>Ornithorhynchus</i>, <i>Ornithorhynchus paradoxus</i>, <i>Paradoxus</i>, <i>Water-mole</i>, etc. (Grk. <i>platus</i> = broad, <i>pous</i> = foot, <i>'ornithos</i> = of a bird, <i>runchos</i> = beak or bill.) The name <i>Platypus</i> is now the name by which it is always popularly known in Australia, but see quotation from Lydekker below (1894). From the British Museum Catalogue of Marsupials and Monotremes (1888), it will be found that the name <i>Platypus</i>, given by Shaw in 1799, had been preoccupied as applied to a beetle by Herbst in 1793. It was therefore replaced, in scientific nomenclature, by the name <i>Ornithorhynchus</i>, by Blumenbach in 1800. In view of the various names, vernacular and scientific, under which it is mentioned by different writers, all quotations referring to it are placed under this word, <i>Platypus</i>. The habits and description of the animal appear in those quotations. From 1882 to 1891 the <i>Platypus</i> figured on five of the postage stamps of Tasmania. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. xi. p. 425: "This animal, which has obtained the name of <i>Ornithorhynchus paradoxus</i>, is still very little known." 1802. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 35: [List of Engravings.] "<i>Ornithorhynchus paradoxus</i>." [At p. 63]: <i>"Ornithorhynchus</i> (an amphibious animal of the mole kind)." 1809. G. Shaw, `Zoological Lecturer,' vol. i. p. 78: "This genus, which at present consists but of a single species and its supposed varieties, is distinguished by the title of <i>Platypus</i> or <i>Ornithorhynchus</i>. . . Its English generic name of duckbill is that by which it is commonly known." 1815. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 447: "In the reaches or pools of the Campbell River, the very curious animal called the paradox, or watermole, is seen in great numbers." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 325: "I cannot omit to mention likewise the <i>Ornithorynchus</i>, that remarkable animal which forms a link between the bird and beast, having a bill like a duck and paws webbed similar to that bird, but legs and body like those of a quadruped, covered with thick coarse hair, with a broad tail to steer by." 1836. C. Darwin, `Naturalist's Voyage,' c. xix. p. 321: "Had the good fortune to see several of the <i>Ornithorhynchus paradoxus</i>. . . . Certainly it is a most extraordinary animal; a stuffed specimen does not at all give a good idea of the appearance of the head and beak when fresh, the latter becoming hard and contracted." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 131: "The specimen which has excited the greatest astonishment is the <i>Ornithorynchus paradoxus</i>, which, fitted by a series of contrivances to live equally well in both elements, unites in itself the habits and appearance of a bird, a quadruped, and a reptile." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 42: "Platypus, water-mole or duckbill." 1860. G.Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 96: "The <i>Ornithorhynchus</i> is known to the colonists by the nme of the watermole, from some resemblance which it is supposed to bear to the common European mole (<i>Talpa Europoea</i>, Linn.)" 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 95: "When first a preserved skin was sent to England, it excited great distrust, being considered a fraud upon the naturalist. . . It was first described and figured by Shaw in the year 1799, in the `Naturalist's Miscellany,' vol. x., by the name of <i>Platypus anatinus</i>, or Duck-billed Platypus, and it was noticed in Collins's `New South Wales' 2nd ed. [should be vol. ii. <i>not</i> 2nd ed.], 4to. p. 62, 1802, where it is named <i>Ornithorhyncus paradoxus</i>, Blum. . . There is a rude figure given of this animal in Collins's work." 1884. Marcus Clarke, `Memorial Volume,' p. 177: "The Platypus Club is in Camomile Street, and the Platypi are very haughty persons." 1890. `Victorian Statutes--the Game Act' (Third Schedule): [Close Season.] "Platypus. The whole year." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 30: "In the Dee river . . . I observed several times the remarkable platypus (<i>Ornithorhynchus anatinus</i>) swimming rapidly about after the small water-insects and vegetable particles which constitute its food. It shows only a part of its back above water, and is so quick in its movements that it frequently dives under water before the shot can reach it." 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "In the next division the platypus and its burrows are shown. These curious oviparous animals commence their long burrows under water, and work upwards into dry ground. The nest is constructed in a little chamber made of dry leaves and grass, and is very warm and comfortable; there is a second entrance on dry ground. The young are found in the months of September and October, but occasionally either a little earlier or later; generally two or three at a time." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 273: "The platypus is covered with fur like an otter, and has four webbed feet, like those of a duck, and a black duck-like bill. It makes a burrow in a river bank, but with an opening below the level of the water. It swims and dives in quiet shady river-bends, and disappears on hearing the least noise." 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 233: "The duck-bill was originally described under the name of <i>Platypus anatinus</i>, which was Anglicised into duck-billed platypus, but since the generic name [<i>Platypus</i>] had been previously employed for another group of animals, it had, by the rules of zoological nomenclature, to give place to the later <i>Ornithorhynchus</i>, although Shaw's specific name of<i>anatina</i> still holds good. On these grounds it is likewise preferable to discard the Anglicised term Duck-billed Platypus in favour of the simpler Duck-bill or Duck-Mole." [Mr. Lydekker is a scientific Englishman, who has not lived in Australia, and although the names of <i>Duck-bill</i> and <i>Duck-mole</i> are perhaps preferable for more exact scientific use, yet by long usage the name Platypus has become the ordinary vernacular name, and is the one by which the animal will always be known in Australian popular language.] <hw>Plover</hw>, <i>n</i>. The bird called the Plover exists all over the world. The species present in Australia are-- Black-breasted Plover-- <i>Sarciophorus pectoralis</i>, Cuv. Golden P.-- <i>Charadrius fulvus</i>, Gmel. Grey P.-- <i>C. helveticus</i>, Linn. Long-billed Stone P.-- <i>Esacus magnirostris</i>, Geoff. Masked P.-- <i>Lobivanellus personatus</i>, Gould. Spur-winged P.-- <i>Lobivanellus lobatus</i>, Lath. Stone P.-- <i>OEdicnemus grallarius</i>, Lath. And in New Zealand--Red-breasted Plover, <i>Charadrius obscurus</i>, Gmel. (Maori name, <i>Tututuriwhata</i>); Crook-billed, <i>Anarhynchus frontalis</i>, Quoy and Gaim. The authorities vary in the vernacular names and in the scientific classification. See also <i>Sand-Plover</i> and <i>Wry-billed-Plover</i>. <hw>Plum</hw>, <i>n</i>. sometimes called <i>Acacia Plum</i>, a timber tree, <i>Eucryphia moorei</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>; called also <i>Acacia</i> and "<i>White Sally</i>." <hw>Plum, Black</hw>, <i>n</i>. the fruit of the tree <i>Cargillia australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Ebenaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 14: "The fruits are of the size of a large plum and of a dark purple colour. They are eaten by the aboriginals." <hw>Plum, Burdekin</hw>, or <hw>Sweet Plum</hw>, <i>n</i>. a timber tree, <i>Spondias pleiogyna</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Anacardiaceae</i>. Wood like American walnut. <hw>Plum, Grey</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A timber-tree. One of the names for <i>Cargillia pentamera</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Ebenaceae</i>. Wood used for tool-handles. (2) Provincial name for the <i>Caper-Tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Plum, Native</hw>, or <hw>Wild Plum</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Brush-Apple</i>. See <i>Apple</i>. The <i>Native Plum</i>, peculiar to Tasmania, and called also <i>Port-Arthur Plum</i>, is <i>Cenarrhenes nitida</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. <hw>Plum, Queensland</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Sweet Plum</i> (q.v. infra). <hw>Plum, Sour</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Emu-Apple</i> (q.v.). <hw>Plum, Sweet</hw>, <i>n</i>. a wild fruit, <i>Owenia venosa</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 49: "Queensland Plum, Sweet Plum. This plant bears a fine juicy red fruit with a large stone. . . . It is both palatable and refreshing." <hw>Plum, White</hw>, <i>n</i>. local name for <i>Acacia</i> (q.v.). <hw>Plum, Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Native Plum</i> (q.v.). <hw>Plum-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. the tree, <i>Buchanania mangoides</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Anacardiaceae</i>. <hw>Podargus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of a genus of Australian birds, called the <i>Frogsmouth</i> (q.v.) and <i>Mopoke</i>. From Grk. <i>podargos</i>, swift or white-footed. (Hector's horse in the `Iliad' was named Podargus.--`Il.' viii. 185.) 1890. `Victorian Statutes-Game Act' (Third Schedule): [Close Season.] "Podargus or Mopokes, the whole year." <hw>Poddly</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand and Australian fish, <i>Sebastes percoides</i>, Richards.; called in Victoria <i>Red-Gurnet Perch</i>. The name is applied in England to a different fish. 1872. Hutton and Hector, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 108: "The pohuia-karou is the proper sea-perch of these waters, that name having been applied by mistake to a small wrasse, which is generally called the spotty or poddly." <hw>Poddy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Victorian name for the <i>Sand-Mullet</i>. See <i>Mullet</i>. <hw>Poe</hw>, <i>n</i>. same as <i>Tui</i> (q.v.) and <i>Parson-bird</i> (q.v.). The name, which was not the Maori name, did not endure. 17]7. Cook's' Voyage towards the South Pole and round the World' [2nd Voyage], vol. i. pp. 97, 98: "Amongst the small birds I must not omit to particularise the wattlebird, poy-bird. . . . The poy-bird is less than the wattle-bird; the feathers of a fine mazarine blue, except those of its neck, which are of a most beautiful silver-grey. . . . Under its throat hang two little tufts of curled snow-white feathers, called its poies, which being the Otaheitean word for ear-rings occasioned our giving that name to the bird, which is not more remarkable for the beauty of its plumage than for the sweetness of its note." [In the illustration given it is spelt <i>poe-bird</i>, and in the list of plates it is spelt <i>poi</i>.] 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. i. p. 111: "This bird they called the Wattlebird, and also the Poy-bird, from its having little tufts of curled hair under its throat, which they called poies, from the Otaheitan word for ear-rings. The sweetness of this bird's note they described as extraordinary, and that its flesh was delicious, but that it was a shame to kill it." <hw>Pohutukawa</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a magnificent New Zealand tree, <i>Metrosideros tomentosa</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, called Christmas-tree and Fire-tree by the settlers. There is a Maori <i>verb, pohutu</i>, to splash. <i>Kawa (n</i>.) is a sprig of any kind used in religious ceremonies; the name would thus mean <i>Splashed sprig</i>. The wood of the tree is very durable, and a concoction of the inner bark is useful in dysentery. 1835. W. Yate, `Some Account of New Zealand,' p. 46: "Pohutukawa (<i>Callistemon ellipticus</i>). This is a tree of remarkably robust habits and diffuse irregular growth." 1855. G. Grey, `Polynesian Mythology,' p. 142: "On arrival of Arawa canoe, the red flowers of the pohutakawa were substituted for the red ornaments in the hair." 1862. `All the Year Round,' `From the Black Rocks on Friday,' May 17, 1862, No. 160: "In the clefts of the rocks were growing shrubs, with here and there the larger growth of a pohutukawa, a large crooked-limbed evergreen tree found in New Zealand, and bearing, about Christmas, a most beautiful crimson bloom. The boat-builders in New Zealand use the crooked limbs of this tree for the knees and elbows of their boats." 1873. `Catalogue of Vienna Exhibition': "Pohutukawa for knees, ribs, and bent-pieces, invaluable to ship-builder. It surpasses English oak. Confined to Province of Auckland." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 310: "The pohutukawa-tree (<i>Metrosideros tomentosa</i>) requires an exposed situation . . . is crooked, misshapen. . . . The natives speak of it (the timber) as very durable." 1886. J. A. Fronde, `Oceana,' p. 308: "Low down on the shore the graceful native Pokutukawa [sic] was left undisturbed, the finest of the Rata tribe--at a distance like an ilex, only larger than any ilex I ever saw, the branches twisted into the most fantastic shapes, stretching out till their weight bears them to the ground or to the water. Pokutukawa, in Maori language, means `dipped in the sea-spray.' In spring and summer it bears a brilliant crimson flower." <hw>Pointers</hw>, <i>n</i>. two of the bullocks in a team. See quotation. 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 36: "Twelve bullocks is the usual number in a team, the two polers and the leaders being steady old stagers; the pair next to the pole are called the `pointers,' and are also required to be pretty steady, the remainder being called the `body bullocks,' and it is not necessary to be so particular about their being thoroughly broken in." <hw>Poison-berry Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Pittosporum phillyroides</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 588: "Butter-Bush of Northern Australia; Willow-Tree of York Peninsula; Native Willow, Poison-berry Tree (South Australia). The berries are not poisonous--only bitter." <hw>Poison-Bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a genus of poisonous Australian shrubs, <i>Gastrolobium</i> (q.v.). Out of the thirty-three described species of the genus <i>Gastrolobium</i>, only one is found out of Western Australia; <i>G. grandiflorum</i>, F. v. M., is the poison-bush of the Queensland interior and of Central Australia. The name is also given to <i>Swainsonia Greyana</i>, Lindl., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. The <i>Darling-Pea</i> (q.v.), or <i>Indigo-Plant</i> (q.v.), has similar poisonous effects to the <i>Gastrolobium</i>. These species of Gastrolobium go under the various names of <i>Desert Poison-Bush</i>, <i>York-Road Poison-Bush</i>, <i>Wallflower</i>; and the names of <i>Ellangowan Poison-Bush</i> (Queensland), and <i>Dogswood Poison-Bush</i> (New South Wales), are given to <i>Myoporum deserti</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Myoporineae</i>, while another plant, <i>Trema aspera</i>, Blume., <i>N.O. Urticaceae</i>, is called <i>Peach-leaved Poison-Bush</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 129: "These plants are dangerous to stock, and are hence called `Poison Bushes.' Large numbers of cattle are lost annually in Western Australia through eating them. The finest and strongest animals are the first victims; a difficulty of breathing is perceptible for a few minutes, when they stagger, drop down, and all is over with them. . . . It appears to be that the poison enters the circulation, and altogether stops the action of the lungs and heart." Ibid. p. 141: "This plant [<i>S. greyana</i>] is reported to cause madness, if not death itself, to horses. The poison seems to act on the brain, for animals affected by it refuse to cross even a small twig lying in their path, probably imagining it to be a great log. Sometimes the poor creatures attempt to climb trees, or commit other eccentricities." <hw>Poison-Tree</hw>, or <hw>Poisonous Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Milky Mangrove</i>. See <i>Mangrove</i>. The <i>Scrub Poison-Tree</i> is <i>Exsaecaria dallachyana</i>, Baill., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. <hw>Pomegranate, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Caper-tree</i>(q.v.). <hw>Pomegranate, Small Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Native Orange</i>. See <i>Orange</i>. <hw>Pongo</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the <i>Flying-Squirrel</i> (q.v.). 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 149: "Then an old 'possum would sing out, or a black-furred flying-squirrel--pongos, the blacks call `em--would come sailing down from the top of an ironbark tree, with all his stern sails spread, as the sailors say, and into the branches of another, looking as big as an eagle-hawk." <hw>Poor-Soldier</hw>, or <hw>Soldier-Bird</hw> (q.v.), <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Friar-bird</i> (q.v.), and so named from its cry. <hw>Poplar</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Queensland, a timber-tree, <i>Carumbium populifolium</i>, Reinw., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. In Central Australia, the <i>Radish-tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Poplar-Box</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Box</i>. <hw>Poplar-leaved Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Porangi</hw>, <i>adj</i>. Maori word for <i>sad, sorry</i>, or <i>sick</i>; <i>cranky</i>. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 137: "The combatants . . . took especial pains to tell us that it was no fault of ours, but the porangi or `foolishness' of the Maori." Ibid. vol. ii. p. 238: "Watanui said E Abu was porangi, `a fool.'" 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 435: "`Twas nothing--he was not to mind her--she Was foolish--was `<i>porangi</i>'--and would be Better directly--and her tears she dried." 1882. R. C. Barstow, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xv. art. liii. p. 423: "A man who told such marvellous stories that he was deemed to be porangi or insane." <hw>Porcupine, Ant-eating</hw>, i.q. <i>Echidna</i> (q.v.). <hw>Porcupine-Bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird inhabiting the <i>Porcupine-Grass</i> (q.v.) of Central Australia; the <i>Striated Grass Wren</i>, <i>Amytis striata</i>, Gould. See <i>Wren</i>. 1886. G. A. Keartland, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Part ii. Zoology, <i>Aves</i>, p. 79: "<i>Amytis Striata</i>, Gould. Striated Wren. . . . They are found almost throughout Central Australia wherever the porcupine grass abounds, so much so, that they are generally known as the `Porcupine bird.'" <hw>Porcupine-Fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to several species of the genus <i>Diodon</i>, family <i>Gymnodontes</i>, poisonous fishes; also to <i>Dicotylichthys punctulatus</i>, Kaup., an allied fish 1n which the spines are not erectile as in <i>Diodon</i>, but are stiff and immovable. <i>Chilomycterus jaculiferus</i>, Cuv., another species, has also stiff spines, and <i>Atopomycterus nycthemerus</i>, Cuv., has erectile spines. See <i>Toad-fish</i> and <i>Globe-fish</i>. <hw>Porcupine-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name given to certain species of <i>Triodia</i>, of which the more important are <i>T. mitchelli</i>, Benth., <i>T. pungens</i>, R. Br., and <i>T. irritans</i>, R. Br. This grass forms rounded tussocks, growing especially on the sand-hills of the desert parts of Australia, which may reach the size of nine or ten feet in diameter. The leaves when dry form stiff, sharp-pointed structures, which radiate in all directions, like knitting-needles stuck in a huge pincushion. In the writings of the early Australian explorers it is usually, but erroneously, called <i>Spinifex</i> (q.v.). The aborigines collect the resinous material on the leaves of <i>T. pungens</i>, and use it for various purposes, such as that of attaching pieces of flint to the ends of their yam-sticks and spear-throwers. 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 284: "It [<i>Triodia</i>] grows in tufts like large beehives, or piles of thrift grass, and the leaves project out rigidly in all directions, just like <i>Chevaux-de-frise</i>. Merely brushing by will cause the points to strike into the limbs, and a very short walk in such country soon covers the legs with blood. . . . Unfortunately two or three species of it extend throughout the whole continent, and form a part of the descriptions in the journal of every explorer." 1880 (before). P. J. Holdsworth, `Station-hunting on the Warrego,' quoted in `Australian Ballads and Rhymes' (ed. Sladen), p. 115: "Throughout that night, Cool dews came sallying on that rain-starved land, And drenched the thick rough tufts of bristly grass, Which, stemmed like quills (and thence termed porcupine), Thrust hardily their shoots amid the flints And sharp-edged stones." 1889. E. Giles, `Australia Twice Traversed,' vol. i. p. 76: "No porcupine, but real green grass made up a really pretty picture, to the explorer at least." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 148: "These were covered with spinifex, or porcupine-grass, the leaves of which are needle-pointed." 1896. R. Tate, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Botany, p. 119: "In the Larapintine Region . . . a species of Triodia (`porcupine grass' or, incorrectly, `spinifex' of explorers and residents) dominates sand ground and the sterile slopes and tops of the sandstone table-lands." <hw>Porcupine-grass Ant</hw>, <i>n</i>. popular name given to <i>Hypoclinea flavipes</i>, Kirby, an ant making its nest round the root of the Porcupine grass (<i>Triodia pungens</i>), and often covering the leaves of the tussock with tunnels of sandgrains fastened together by resinous material derived from the surface of the leaves. 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Home Expedition in Central Australia.' "Watching the Porcupine-grass ants, which are very small and black bodies with yellowish feet, I saw them constantly running in and out of these chambers, and on opening the latter found that they were always built over two or more Coccidae attached to the leaf of the grass." <hw>Porcupine-Parrot</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation. 1896. G. A. Keartland, `Report of the Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Part ii. Zoology, <i>Aves</i>, p. 107: "Geopsittacus occidentalis. Western Ground Parrakeet. . . . As they frequent the dense porcupine grass, in which they hide during the day, a good dog is necessary to find them. They are locally known as the `Porcupine Parrot.'" <hw>Poroporo</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the flowering shrub <i>Solanum aviculare</i>, Forst.; called in Australia, <i>Kangaroo Apple</i>. Corrupted into <i>Bullybul</i> (q.v.). /See, rather, Bull-a-bull/ 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand, the Britain of the South, p. 136: "The poroporo, the nicest or least nasty of the wild fruits, is a sodden strawberry flavoured with apple-peel; but if rashly tasted an hour before it is ripe, the poroporo is an alum pill flavoured with strychnine." 1880. W. Colenso, `Transactions New Zealand Institute,' vol. xiii. art. i. p. 32: "The large berry of the poro-poro (<i>Solanum aviculare</i>) was also eaten; it is about the size of a small plum, and when ripe it is not unpleasant eating, before it is ripe it is very acrid. This fruit was commonly used by the early colonists in the neighbourhood of Wellington in making jam." <hw>Porphyrio</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Sultana-bird, or Sultana. The bird exists elsewhere. In Australia it is generally called the <i>Swamp-Hen</i> (q.v.). 1875. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 213: "The crimson-billed porphyrio, that jerking struts Among the cool thick rushes." 1890. `Victorian Statutes-the Game Act' (Third Schedule): [Close Season.] ". . . Land-rail, all other members of the Rail family, Porphyrio, Coots, &c. From the First day of August to the Twentieth day of December following." <hw>Port-Arthur Plum</hw>. See <i>Plum, Native</i>. <hw>Port-Jackson Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Fig</i>. <hw>Port-Jackson Shark</hw>, <i>Heterodontus phillipii</i>, Lacep., family <i>Cestraciontidae</i>; called also the <i>Shell-grinder</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 10: "The <i>Cestracion</i> or Port Jackson shark (<i>Heterodontus</i>)." Ibid. p. 97: "It was supposed that Port Jackson alone had this shark . . . It has since been found in many of the coast bays of Australia." <hw>Port-Jackson Thrush</hw>, <i>n</i>. the best known bird among the Australian <i>Shrike-thrushes</i> (q.v.), <i>Colluricincla harmonica</i>, Lath.; called also the <i>Austral Thrush</i>, and <i>Harmonic Thrush</i> by Latham. It is also the <i>C. cinerea</i> of Vigors and Horsfield and the <i>Turdus harmonicus</i> of Latham, and it has received various other scientific and vernacular names; Colonel Legge has now assigned to it the name of <i>Grey Shrike-Thrush</i>. Gould called it the "Harmonious Colluricincla." 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 157: "The Port-Jackson thrush, of which a plate is annexed, inhabits the neighbourhood of Port Jackson. The top of head blueish-grey; back is a fine chocolate brown; wings and tail lead-colour; under part dusky white. . . . The bill, dull yellow; legs brown." 1822. John Latham, `General History of Birds,' vol. v. p. 124: "Austral Thrush. [A full description.] Inhabits New South Wales." [Latham describes two other birds, the <i>Port Jackson Thrush</i> and the <i>Harmonic Thrush</i>, and he uses different scientific names for them. But Gould, regarding Latham's specimens as all of the same species, takes all Latham's scientific and vernacular names as synonyms for the same bird.] 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 74: "The Colluricincla harmonica is one of the oldest known of the Australian birds, having been described in Latham's `Index Ornithologicus,' figured in White's `Voyage' and included in the works of all subsequent writers." <hw>Port-Macquarie Pine</hw>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Post-and-Rail Tea</hw>, slang name for strong bush-tea: so called because large bits of the tea, or supposed tea, float about in the billy, which are compared by a strong imagination to the posts and rails of the wooden fence so frequent in Australia. 1851. `The Australasian' (a Quarterly), p. 298: "<i>Hyson-skin</i> and <i>post-and-rail</i> tea have been superseded by Mocha, claret, and cognac." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 163: "A hot beverage in a tin pot, which richly deserved the colonial epithet of `post-and-rail' tea, for it might well have been a decoction of `split stuff,' or `ironbark shingles,' for any resemblance it bore to the Chinese plant." 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' c. i. p. 28: "The shepherd's wife kindly gave us the invariable mutton-chop and damper and some post-and-rail tea." 1883. Keighley, `Who are you?' p. 36: "Then took a drink of tea. . . . Such as the swagmen in our goodly land Have with some humour named the `post-and-rail.'" <hw>Potato-Fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fern (<i>Marattia fraxinea</i>, Smith) with a large part edible, sc. the basal scales of the frond. Called also the <i>Horseshoe-fern</i>. <hw>Potato, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sort of Yam, <i>Gastrodia sesamoides</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Orchideae</i>. 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 131: "Produces bulb-tubers growing one out of another, of the size, and nearly the form, of kidney potatoes; the lowermost is attached by a bundle of thick fleshy fibres to the root of the tree from which it derives its nourishment. These roots are roasted and eaten by the aborigines; in taste they resemble beet-root, and are sometimes called in the colony native potatoes." 1857. F. R. Nixon, `Cruise of the Beacon,' p. 27: "And the tubers of several plants of this tribe were largely consumed by them, particularly those of <i>Gastrodi sessamoides</i> [sic], the native potato, so called by the colonists, though never tasted by them, and having not the most remote relation to the plant of that name, except in a little resemblance of the tubers, in shape and appearance, to the kidney potato." <hw>Potoroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a <i>Kangaroo-Rat</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Potorous</i> and <i>Roo</i>. 1790. John White, `Journal of a Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 286: "The Poto Roo, or Kangaroo Rat." [Figure and description.] "It is of a brownish grey colour, something like the brown or grey rabbit, with a tinge of a greenish yellow. It has a pouch on the lower part of its belly." <hw>Potorous</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of the <i>Kangaroo-Rats</i> (q.v.). The aboriginal name was <i>Potoroo</i>; see <i>Roo</i>. They are also called <i>Rat-Kangaroos</i>. <hw>Pouched-lion</hw>, or <hw>Marsupial Lion</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large extinct <i>Phalanger</i> (q.v.), <i>Thylacoleo carnifex</i>, Owen. The popular name was given under the idea, derived from the presence of an enormous cutting-tooth, that the animal was of fierce carnivorous habits. But it is more generally regarded as closely allied to the phalangers, who are almost entirely vegetarians. <hw>Pouched-Mouse</hw>, <i>n</i>. the vernacular name adopted for species of the genera <i>Phascologale</i> (q.v.), <i>Sminthopsis, Dasyuroides</i> and <i>Antechinomys</i>. They are often called <i>Kangaroo-mice</i> (q.v.). The species are-- Brush-tailed Pouched-Mouse-- <i>Phascologale penicillata</i>, Shaw. Chestnut-necked P.-M.-- <i>P. thorbechiana</i>, Schl. Crest-tailed P.-M.-- <i>P. cristicauda</i>, Krefft. Fat-tailed P.-M.-- <i>P. macdonnellensis</i>, Spencer. Freckled P.-M.--- <i>P. apicalis</i>, Gray. Lesser-tailed P.-M.-- <i>P. calura</i>, Gould. Little P.-M.-- <i>P. minima</i>, Geoff. Long-tailed P.-M.-- <i>P. longicaudata</i>, Schleg. Orange-bellied P.-M.-- <i>P. doria</i>, Thomas. Pigmy P.-M.-- <i>P. minutissima</i>, Gould. Red-tailed P.-M.-- <i>P. wallacii</i>, Grey. Swainson's P.-M.-- <i>P. swainsoni</i>, Water. Yellow-footed Pouched-Mouse-- <i>Phascologale flavipes</i>, Water. The <i>Narrow-footed Pouched-Mice</i> belong to the genus <i>Sminthopsis</i>, and differ from the <i>Phascologales</i> in being entirely terrestrial in their habits, whereas the latter are usually arboreal; the species are-- Common Narrow-footed Pouched-Mouse-- <i>Sminthopsis murina</i>, Water. Finke N.-f. P.-M.-- <i>S. larapinta</i>, Spencer. Sandhill N.-f. P.-M.-- <i>S. psammophilus</i>, Spencer. Stripe-faced N.-f. P.-M.-- <i>S. virginiae</i>, De Tarrag. Thick-tailed N.-f. P.-M.-- <i>S. crassicaudata</i>, Gould. White-footed N.-f. P.-M. <i>S. leucopus</i>, Grey. The third genus, <i>Dasyuroides</i>, has only one species-- Byrne's Pouched-Mouse, <i>D. byrnei</i>, Spencer. The fourth genus, <i>Antechinomys</i>, has only one known species--the <i>Long-legged Jumping Pouched-Mouse</i>, <i>A. laniger</i>, Gould. <hw>Pounamu</hw>, or <hw>Poenamu</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for <i>Nephrite, Jade</i>, or <i>Greenstone</i> (q.v.). In the second spelling the <i>e</i> is hardly sounded. 1773. Hawkesworth, `Cook's Voyages,' vol. ii. p. 400: "Two Whennuas or islands [afterwards called New Zealand] which might be circumnavigated in a few days, and which he called Tovy Poenammoo; the literal translation of this word is `the water of green talc,' and probably if we had understood him better we should have found that Tovy Poenammoo was the name of some particular place where they got the green talc or stone of which they make their ornaments and tools, and not a general name for the whole southern district." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 362: "A magnificent Mere punamu, a battle-axe, fifteen inches long, and cut out of the most beautiful, transparent nephrite, an heirloom of his illustrious ancestors, which he kept as a sacred relic." 1881. J. L. Campbell [Title of book describing early days of New Zealand]: "Poenamo." <hw>Pratincole</hw>, <i>n</i>. The bird called a <i>Pratincole</i> (inhabitant of meadows: Lat. <i>pratum</i> and <i>incola</i>) exists elsewhere, and more often under the familiar name of <i>Chat</i>. The Australian species are--<i>Glareola grallaria</i>, Temm.; Oriental, <i>G. orientalis</i>, Leach. <hw>Pre-empt</hw>, <i>n</i>. a slang abbreviation for pre-emptive right. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xxiv. p. 322: "My friend has the run and the stock and the pre-empts all in his own hands." <hw>Pretty-Faces</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fancy name for a small kangaroo. Not very common. 1887. W. S. S.Tyrwhitt, `The New Chum in the Queensland Bush,' p. 145: "Kangaroos are of several different kinds. First, the large brown variety, known as kangaroo proper; next the smaller kind, known as pretty faces or whip tails, which are rather smaller and of a grey colour, with black and white on the face." <hw>Prickfoot</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian plant, <i>Eryngium vesiculosum</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Umbelliferae</i>. <hw>Prickly Fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Alsophila australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Filices</i>. 1862. W. Archer, `Products of Tasmania,' p. 41: "Prickly fern-tree (<i>Alsophila Australis</i>, Br.). This very handsome ferntree occasionally attains a height of thirty feet. It is not, by any means, so common a fern-tree as <i>Dicksonia antarctica</i> (Lab.)." <hw>Prickly Mimosa</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Mimosa</i> and <i>Prickly Moses</i>, under <i>Moses</i>. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 6: <i>Acacia verticillata</i>. Whorl leaved Acacia, or Prickly Mimosa, so called from its sharp pointed leaves standing out in whorls round the stem like the spokes of a wheel." <hw>Prickly Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Prickly Wattle</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wattle</i>. <hw>Primage</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is of old commercial use, for a small sum of money formerly paid to the captain or master of the ship, as his personal perquisite, over and above the freight charges paid to the owners or agents, by persons sending goods in a ship. It was called by the French <i>pot-de-vin du maitre</i>,--a sort of <i>pourboire</i>, in fact. Now-a-days the captain has no concern with the freight arrangements, and the word in this sense has disappeared. It has re-appeared in Australia under a new form. In 1893 the Victorian Parliament imposed a duty of one per cent. on the <i>Prime</i>, as the Customs laws call the first entry of goods. This tax was called <i>Primage</i>, and raised such an outcry among commercial men that in 1895 it was repealed. <hw>Primrose, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given in Tasmania to <i>Goodenia geniculata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Goodeniaceae</i>. There are many species of <i>Goodenia</i> in Australia, and they contain a tonic bitter which has not been examined. <hw>Prion</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sea-bird. See <i>Dove-Petrel</i>. (Grk. <i>priown</i>, a saw.) The sides of its bill are like the teeth of a saw. 1885. W. O. Legge, `Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science' (Brisbane), p. 448: "The name Prion, as almost universally applied elsewhere to the Blue Petrels, has been kept [in Australia] as an English name." <HW>Prop</HW>, <i>v</i>. of a horse: to stop suddenly. 1870. E. B. Kennedy, `Four Years in Queensland,' p. 194: "Another man used to teach his horse (which was free from vice) to gallop full speed up to the verandah of a house, and when almost against it, the animal would stop in his stride (or prop), when the rider vaulted lightly over his head on to the verandah." 1880. W. Senior, `Travel and Trout,' p.52: "How on a sudden emergency the sensible animal will instantaneously check his impetuosity, `prop,' and swing round at a tangent." 1884. Rolf Boldrewood,' Melbourne Memories,' c. xxi. p. 152: "Traveller's dam had an ineradicable taste for propping." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 153: "His horse propped short, and sent him flying over its head." <hw>Prop</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sudden stop. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xvi. p. 115: "The `touchy' mare gave so sudden a `prop,' accompanied by a desperate plunge, that he was thrown." <hw>Prospect</hw>, v. to search for gold. In the word, and in all its derivatives, the accent is thrown back on to the first syllable. This word, in such frequent use in Australia, is generally supposed to be of Australian origin, but it is in equal use in the mining districts of the United States of America. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 10: "The forest seemed alive with scouts `prospecting.'" 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. i. p. 18: "Behold him, along with his partner set out, To <i>prospect</i> the unexplor'd ranges about." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' p. 46: "A promising place for prospecting. Yet nowhere did I see the shafts and heaps of rock or gravel which tell in a gold country of the hasty search for the precious metal." 1894. `The Argus,' March 10, p. 4, col. 6: "The uses of the tin dish require explanation. It is for prospecting. That is to say, to wash the soil in which you think there is gold." <hw>Prospect</hw>, <i>n</i>. the result of the first or test-dish full of wash-dirt. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' c. v. p. 54: "The first prospect, the first pan of alluvial gold drift, was sent up to be tested." 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 17: "I have obtained good dish prospects after crudely crushing up the quartz." <hw>Prospecting</hw>, <i>verbal n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. See <i>Prospect, v</i>. 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 16: "Prospecting in my division is on the increase." Ibid. p. 13: "The Egerton Company are doing a large amount of prospecting work." <hw>Prospecting Claim</hw> = the first claim marked in a gold-lead. See <i>Reward Claim</i>. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' c. v. p. 53: "This, however, would be but half the size of the premier or prospecting claim." <hw>Prospector</hw>, <i>n</i>. one who searches for gold on a new field. See <i>Prospect, v</i>. 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 19: "The Government prospectors have also been very successful." 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 11: "He incidentally mentioned his gold find to another prospector . . . The last went out to the grounds and prospected, with the result that he discovered the first payable gold on the West Coast, for which he obtained a reward claim." <hw>Pseudochirus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of Ring-tailed Phalangers. (See <i>Opossum</i>.) They have prehensile tails, by which they hold in climbing, as with a hand. (Grk. <i>pseudo-</i>, false, and <i>cheir</i>, hand.) <hw>Psophodes</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of a genus of birds peculiar to Australia, and represented there by two species. See <i>Coach-whip Bird</i>. The name comes from the bird's peculiar note. (Grk. <i>psophowdaes</i>, noisy.) <hw>Ptilonorhynchinae</hw>, <i>n</i>. pl. scientific name assigned to the Australian group of birds called the <i>Bower-birds</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>ptilon</i>, a feather, <i>rhunchos</i>, a beak.) <hw>Pudding-ball</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish; corruption of the aboriginal name of it, <i>puddinba</i> (q.v.), by the law of Hobson-Jobson. 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 96: "The species of fish that are commonest in the Bay (Moreton) are mullet, bream, puddinba (a native word corrupted by the colonists into pudding-ball) . . . The puddinba is like a mullet in shape, but larger, and very fat; it is esteemed a great delicacy." 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407 col. 4: "`Pudding-ball' is the name of a fish. It has nothing to do with pudding, nothing with any of the various meanings of ball. The fish is not specially round. The aboriginal name was `pudden-ba.' <i>Voila tout</i>." <hw>Pukeko</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the bird <i>Porphyrio melanonotus</i>, the <i>Swamp-Hen</i> (q.v.). 1896. `Otago Witness,' June 11, p. 51: "Two <i>pukaki</i> [sic] flew across their path." <hw>Punga</hw>, <i>n</i>. the trunk of the tree-fern that is known as <i>Cyathea medullaris</i>, the "black fern " of the settlers. It has an edible pith. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 115: "Some of the trees were so alarmed that they held down their heads, and have never been able to hold them up since; amongst these were the ponga (a fern-tree) and the kareao (supple-jack), whose tender shoots are always bent." 1888. J. White, `Ancient History of Maori,' vol. iv. p. 191: "When Tara-ao left his pa and fled from the vengeance of Karewa, he and his people were hungry and cut down ponga, and cooked and ate them." 1888. J. Adams, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxi. art. ii. p. 36: "The size and beauty of the puriri, nikau, and ponga (<i>Cyathea medullaris</i>) are worthy of notice." 1892. E. S. Brookes, `Frontier Life,' p. 139: "The Survey Department graded a zigzag track up the side to the top, fixing in punga steps, so that horses could climb up." <hw>Punga-punga</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the pollen of the <i>raupo</i> (q.v.). 1880. W. Colenso, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xiii. art. i. p. 28: "Another curious article of vegetable food was the punga-punga, the yellow pollen of the raupo flowers. To use it as food it is mixed with water into cakes and baked. It is sweetish and light, and reminds one strongly of London gingerbread." <hw>Puriri</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand tree, <i>Vitex littoralis</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Verbenaceae</i>; called also <i>New Zealand Oak</i>, <i>New Zealand Teak</i>, and <i>Ironwood</i>. It is very hard. 1842. W. R. Wade, `Journey in New Zealand' (Hobart Town), p. 200: "Puriri, misnamed <i>Vitex littoralis</i>, as it is not found near the sea-coast." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 311: "The Puriri Tree (<i>Vitex littoralis</i>). The stems . . . vary from straight to every imaginable form of curved growth. . . The fruit, which is like a cherry, is a favourite food of the woodpigeon." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 86: "A deep ravine, over which grey-stemmed purtris stretched out afar their gnarled trunks, laden with deep green foliage, speckled with the warm gleam of ruddy blossoms." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 102: "The darker, crimped and varnished leaf of the puriri, with its bright cherry-like berry." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 209: "The Puriri . . . on account of the strength of its timber it is sometimes termed by the settlers `New Zealand Oak,' but it would be far more correct to name it `New Zealand Teak.'" <hw>Purple Berry</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian name for <i>Billardiera longiflora</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. See <i>Pittosporum</i>. 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 11 [Note]: "<i>Billardiera longiflora</i>, the well-known beautiful climber, with pale greenish bell-flowers and purple fruit." [Also pl. i.] <hw>Purple Broom</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Broom</i>. <hw>Purple Coot</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Swamp-Hen</i> (q.v.). <hw>Purple Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Fig-tree</i>. <hw>Push</hw>, <i>n</i>. a gang. The word is of late very common in Australia. It was once a prison term. Barrere and Leland quote from M. Davitt's `Leaves from a Prison Diary,' "the upper ten push." In Thieves' English it is--(1) a crowd; (2) an association for a particular robbery. In Australia, its use began with the <i>larrikins</i> (q.v.), and spread, until now it often means clique, set, party, and even jocularly so far as "the Government House Push." 1890. `The Argus,' July 26, p. 4, col. 3: "`Doolan's push' were a party of larrikins working . . . in a potato paddock near by." 1892. A topical song by E. J. Lonnen began: "I've chucked up my Push for my Donah." 1893. `The Australasian,' June 24, p. 1165, col. 4: "He [the young clergyman] is actually a member of every `push' in his neighbourhood, and the effect has been not to degrade the pastor, but to sweeten and elevate the `push.'" 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' June 26, p. 8, col. 7: "For a long time past the `push' at Miller's Point, which consists of young fellows for the most part under twenty-one years of age, have been a terrible source of annoyance, and, indeed, of actual danger. A few years ago the police by resolute dealings with the larrikin pest almost put it down in the neighbourhood, the part of it which was left being thoroughly cowed, and consequently afraid to make any disturbance. Within the past eighteen months or two years the old `push' has been strengthened by the addition of youths just entering on manhood, who, gradually increasing in numbers, have elbowed their predecessors out of the field. Day by day the new `push' has become more daring. From chaffing drunken men and insulting defenceless women, the company has taken to assault, to daylight robbery." 1893. `The Argus,' July 1, p. 10, col. 7: "The Premier, in consultation with the inspector-general of the police, has made arrangements to protect life and property against the misconduct of the lawless larrikin `pushes' now terrorising Sydney." 1894. `Sydney Morning Herald' (date lost): "The word larrikin is excellently descriptive of the irresponsible, mischievous, anti-social creature whose eccentric action is the outcome of too much mutton. This immoral will-o'-the-wisp, seized with a desire to jostle, or thump, or smash, combines for the occasion with others like himself, and the shouldering, shoving gang is well called a push." <hw>Pyrrholaemus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of the genus of the Australian birds called the <i>Red-throats</i>; from Grk. <i>purros</i>, "flame-coloured," "red," and <i>laimos</i>, "throat." Q <hw>Quail</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird which exists under some form all over the world. The Australian species are-- Black-breasted Quail-- <i>Turnix melanogaster</i>, Gould. Brown Q.-- <i>Synoicus australis</i>, Lath. [Called also <i>Swamp-Quail</i>.] Chestnut-backed Q.-- <i>Turnix castanotus</i>, Gould. Chestnut-bellied Q.-- <i>Excalfatoria australis</i>, Gould. Little Q.-- <i>Turnix velox</i>, Gould. Painted Q.-- <i>T. varies</i>, Lath. [<i>Haemipodius melinatus</i>, Gould.] Red-backed Q.-- <i>T. maculosa</i>, Gould. Red-chested Q.-- <i>T. pyrrhothorax</i>, Gould. Stubble Q.-- <i>Coturnix pectoralis</i>, Gould. In New Zealand there is a single species, <i>Coturnix novae-zelandiae</i>, Quoy and Gaim. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. vii. p. 259: "It is known to the colonists as the painted quail; and has been called by Mr. Gould . . . <i>Haemipodius melinatus</i>." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 298: "The painted quail, and the brush quail, the largest of Australian gamebirds, I believe, whirred away from beneath their horses' feet." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 67: "The swamp fowl and timorous quail . . . Will start from their nests." 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 117: "This group also is represented by a single species, the New Zealand quail (<i>Coturnix Novae-Zelandiae</i>), belonging to a widely distributed genus. It was formerly very abundant in New Zealand; but within the last fifteen or twenty years has been completely exterminated, and is now only known to exist on the Three Kings Island, north of Cape Maria Van Diemen." <hw>Quail-Hawk</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the bird <i>Falco</i>, or <i>Harpa novae-zelandiae</i>. See <i>Hawk</i>. 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 37: "In New Zealand the courageous family of the <i>Raptores</i> is very feebly represented; the honourable post of head of the family in all fairness must be assigned to the falcon, which is commonly known by the name of the quail- or sparrow-hawk, not that it is identical with, or that it even bears much resemblance to, the bold robber of the woods of Great Britain--`the hardy sperhauke eke the quales foe,' as Chaucer has it." <hw>Quandong</hw>, <i>n</i>. (various spellings) aboriginal name for--(1) a tree, <i>Santalum acuminatum</i>, De C., <i>S. persicarium</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Santalaceae</i>. In the Southern Colonies it is often called the <i>Southern Quandong</i>, and the tree is called the <i>Native Peach-Tree</i> (q.v.). The name is given to another large scrub-tree, <i>Elaeocarpus grandis</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. The fruit, which is of a blue colour and is eaten by children, is also called the <i>Native Peach</i>. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' p. 135: "In all these scrubs on the Murray the <i>Fusanus acuminatus</i> is common, and produces the quandang nut (or kernel)." 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. i. p. 41: "Abundance of fig, and medlar and quince trees, cherries, loquots, quondongs, gooseberry, strawberry, and raspberry trees." 1867. G. G. McCrae, `Balladeadro,' p. 10: "Speed thee, Ganook, with these swift spears-- This firebrand weeping fiery tears, And take this quandang's double plum, 'Twill speak alliance tho' 'tis dumb." 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. xx. p. 199: "They came upon a quantong-tree, and pausing beneath it, began to pick up the fallen fruit. . . . There were so many berries, each containing a shapely nut, that Honoria might string a dozen necklaces." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. ix. p. 79: "I have forgotten to mention the quandong, a shrub bearing a fruit the size and colour of cherries." (2) The fruit of this tree, and also its kernel. 1885. J. Hood, `Land of the Fern,' p. 53: "She had gone to string on a necklet of seeds from the quongdong tree.' 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. xix. p. 196: "Miss Longleat was wild after quandongs." [Footnote]: "A berry growing in the scrub, the kernels of which are strung into necklaces." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 9: "Another fruit of fraudulent type growing on the plains is the quandong. Something in shape and colour like a small crab-apple, it is fair enough to the eye, but in taste thoroughly insipid." <hw>Quart-pot</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tin vessel originally imported as a measure, and containing an exact imperial quart. It had no lid, but a side handle. Before 1850 the word <i>Quart-pot</i>, for a kettle, was as universal in the bush as "<i>Billy</i>" (q.v.) is now. The billy, having a lid and a wire handle by which to suspend it over the fire, superseded the quart-pot about 1851. In addition to the <i>Billy</i>, there is a <i>Quart-pot</i> still in use, especially in South Australia and the back-blocks. It has two sidehandles working in sockets, so as to fold down flat when travelling. The lid is an inverted <i>pannikin</i> fitted into it, and is used as a drinking-cup. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 43: "`Look out there!' he continued; `quart-pot corroborree,' springing up and removing with one hand from the fire one of the quart-pots, which was boiling madly." <hw>Quart-pot Tea</hw>, <i>n</i>. Explained in quotations. Cf. <i>Billy-tea</i>. 1878. Mrs. H. Jones, `Long Years in Australia,' p. 87: "Ralph, taking a long draught of the quart-pot tea, pronounced that nothing was ever like it made in teapots, and Ethel thought it excellent, excepting that the tea-leaves were troublesome." 188. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia, p. 111: "`Quart-pot' tea, as tea made in the bush is always called, is really the proper way to make it. . . . The tea is really made with boiling water, which brings out its full flavour, and it is drunk before it has time to draw too much." <hw>Quartz</hw>, <i>n</i>. a mineral; the common form of native silica. It is abundantly diffused throughout the world, and forms the common sand of the sea-shore. It occurs as veins or lodes in metamorphic rocks, and it is this form of its presence in Australia, associated with gold, that has made the word of such daily occurrence. In fact, the word <i>Quartz</i>, in Australian mining parlance, is usually associated with the idea of <i>Gold-bearing Stone</i>, unless the contrary be stated. Although some of the following compound words may be used elsewhere, they are chiefly confined to Australia. 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 21: "Quartz is the mother of gold, and wherever there is an abundance of it, gold may reasonably be expected to exist somewhere in the neighbourhood." 1890. `The Argus,' June 16, p. 6. col. 1: "Two runaway apprentices from a ship are said to have first crushed quartz." 1890. R. A. F. Murray, `Reports and Statistics of the Mining Department [of Victoria] for the Quarter ending 31st December': "The quartz here is very white and crystalline, with ferruginous, clayey joints, and--from a miner's point of view--of most unpromising or `hungry' appearance." <hw>Quartz-battery</hw>, <i>n</i>. a machine for crushing quartz, and so extracting gold. 1890. `The Argus,' July 26, p. 4, col. 4: "There was a row [noise] like a quartz-battery." <hw>Quartz-blade</hw>, <i>n</i>. blade of a miner's knife used for picking lumps of gold out of the stone. 1891. `The Argus,' Dec. 19, p. 4, col. 2: "They had slashed open his loins with a quartz-blade knife." <hw>Quartz-crushing</hw>, <i>adj</i>. See <i>Quartz</i>. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xxxix. p. 341: "The dull reverberating clash of the quartz-crushing batteries." <hw>Quartz-field</hw>, <i>n</i>. a non-alluvial goldfield. 1890. `The Argus,' June 16, p. 6, col. 1: "Our principal quartz-field." <hw>Quartz-lodes</hw>, and <hw>Quartz-mining</hw>. See <i>Quartz</i>. 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 32: "He chose the piece which the New North Clunes now occupy for quartz-mining; but the quartz-lodes were very difficult to follow." <hw>Quartz-reefer</hw>, <i>n</i>. a miner engaged in <i>Quartz-reefing</i>, as distinguished from one digging in alluvial. See above. <hw>Quartz-reefing</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) The operation of mining. See <i>Reef</i>, verb. (2) A place where there is gold mixed with quartz. 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' c. iv. p. 133: "You'd best go to a quartz-reefin'. I've been surfacing this good while; but quartz-reefin's the payinest game, now." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xxix. p. 263: "[He] had located himself in a quartz-reefing district." <hw>Queensland</hw>, <i>n</i>. a colony named after the Queen, on the occasion of its separation from New South Wales, in 1859. Dr. J. D. Lang wanted to call it "Cooksland," and published a book under that title in 1847. Before separation it was known as "the Moreton Bay District." <hw>Queensland Asthma-Herb</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Asthma-Herb</i>. <hw>Queensland Bean</hw>. <i>n</i>. See <i>Bean</i>. <hw>Queensland Beech</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Beech</i>. <hw>Queensland Ebony</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Ebony</i>. <hw>Queensland Hemp</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Hemp</i>. <hw>Queensland Kauri</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Dundathu Pine</i>. See <i>Kauri</i> and <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Queensland Nut</hw>, <i>n</i>. a wild fruit-tree, <i>Macadamia ternifolia</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 40: "`Queensland Nut.' This tree bears an edible nut of excellent flavour, relished both by Aborigines and Europeans. As it forms a nutritious article of food to the former, timber-getters are not permitted to fell the trees. It is well worth extensive cultivation, for the nuts are always eagerly bought." <hw>Queensland Nutmeg</hw>, <i>n</i>. a timber-tree, <i>Myristica insipida</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myristiceae</i>. Not so strongly aromatic as the true nutmeg. <hw>Queensland Plum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Plum, Sweet</i>. <hw>Queensland Poplar</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Poplar</i>. <hw>Queensland Sorrel</hw>, <i>n</i>. a plant, <i>Hibiscus heterophyllus</i>, Vent., <i>N.O. Malvaceae</i>, chewed by the aborigines, as boys chew English Sorrel. <hw>Queenwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a timber-tree, <i>Davidsonia pruriens</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. <hw>Quince, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Bitter-bark</i>, <i>Emu-Apple</i>, and <i>Quinine-tree</i>, all which see. <hw>Quince, Wild</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Black Ash-tree</i>. See <i>Ash</i>. <hw>Quinine-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Horseradish Tree</i> (q.v.), and used also for the <i>Bitter-bark</i> or <i>Emu-Apple Tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Quoll</hw>, <i>n</i>. the aboriginal name for the <i>Native Cat</i> (q.v.), but not now in use. 1770. J. Banks, `Journal,' Aug. 26 (edition Hooker, 1896), p. 301: "Another animal was called by the natives <i>je-quoll</i>; it is about the size of, and something like, a pole-cat, of a light brown, spotted with white on the back, and white under the belly. . . . I took only one individual." Ibid. p. 323: "They very often use the article ge, which seems to answer to our English <i>a</i>, as <i>ge gurka</i>--a rope." [In Glossary]: "Gurka--a rope." /?/ R <hw>Rabbiter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a man who lives by trapping rabbits, or who is employed to clear stations from them. 1892. E. W. Hornung, `Under Two Skies,' p. 114: "He would give him a billet. He would take him on as a rabbiter, and rig him out with a tent, camp fixings, traps, and perhaps even a dog or two." <hw>Rabbit-rat</hw>, <i>n</i>. name sometimes given to a<i>hapalote</i> (q.v.), in New South Wales. <hw>Radish-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian timber-tree, <i>Codonocarpus cotinifolius</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Phytolaceae</i>; called also <i>Poplar</i> in Central Australia. 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue--Economic Woods,' No. 61: "Radish-Tree: occurs in the Mallee-scrub very sparingly; attaining a height of thirty feet. The poplar of the Central Australian explorers. Whole tree strong-scented." <hw>Rager</hw>, <i>n</i>. an old and fierce bullock or cow, that always begins to rage in the stock-yard. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xiv. p. 105: "Amongst them was a large proportion of bullocks, which declined with fiendish obstinacy to fatten. They were what are known by the stockriders as `ragers,' or `pig-meaters'" [q.v.]. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvi. p. 196: "Well, say a hundred off for ragers.'" <hw>Rail</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English birdname. There are many varieties in New Zealand and Australia, especially in the former colony, and the authorities differ as to whether some should be classed as distinct species. Some are common to Australasia, others endemic in New Zealand or Australia; their distribution in this respect is marked below in parentheses. Several species receive more than one vernacular name, as the following list shows-- Banded Rail (N.Z. and A.)-- <i>Rallus philippensis</i>, Linn. Chestnut-bellied R. (A.)-- <i>Eulabeornis castaneiventris</i>, Gould. Dieffenbach's R. (see quotation below)-- <i>Rallus dieffenbachii</i>, Gray. Hutton's R. (N.Z.)-- <i>Cabalus modestus</i>, Hutton. Land R. (N.Z. and A.)-- <i>Rallus philippensis</i>, Linn. Marsh R. (Australasia)-- <i>Ortygometra tabuensis</i>, Finsch. and Hard. Pectoral R. (N.Z. and A.)-- <i>Rallus philippensis</i>, Linn. Red-necked R. (A.)-- <i>Rallina tricolor</i>, Gray. Slate-breasted R. (A.)-- <i>Hypotaenidia brachipus</i>, Swains. Swainson's R. (N.Z. and A.)-- <i>Rallina brachipus</i>, Swains. Swamp R. (Australasia)-- <i>Ortygometra tabuensis</i>, Finsch. and Hard. Tabuan R. (Australasia)-- <i>O. tabuensis</i>, Finsch. and Hard. Weka R. (N.Z. See <i>Weka</i>.)-- See also <i>Takahe</i> and <i>Notornis</i>. 1888. W.L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' p. 121: "Dieffenbach's Rail. . . . This beautiful Rail was brought from the Chatham Islands by Dr. Dieffenbach in 1842, and named by Mr. Gray in compliment to this enterprising naturalist. The adult specimen in the British Museum, from which my description was taken, is unique, and seems likely to remain so." 1893. Prof Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 116: "Hutton's rail, the third of the endemic rails . . . is confined to the Chatham Islands." <hw>Rain-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is popularly given in many parts of the world to various birds. The <i>Rain-bird</i> of Queensland and the interior is the Great Cuckoo or Channel-bill (<i>Scythrops novae-hollandiae</i>, Lath., q.v.). 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 283: "We discovered a nest of full-fledged birds of the Australian Shrike or Butcher-bird, also called Rain-bird by the colonists (<i>Vanga destructor</i>). They were regarded by our companions as a prize, and were taken accordingly to be caged, and instructed in the art of whistling tunes, in which they are great adepts." <hw>Rainbow-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand fish, <i>Heteroscharus castelnaui</i>, Macl. <hw>Rama-rama</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand shrub, <i>Myrtus bullata</i>, Banks and Sol. The name is used in the North Island. It is often corrupted into <i>Grama</i>. <hw>Rangatira</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a chief, male or female; a master or mistress (Williams); therefore an aristocrat, a person of the gentle class, distinguished from a <i>tau-rikarika</i>, a nobody, a slave. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 200: "Ranga tira, a gentleman or lady." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 173: "I took care to tell them that the rangatira, or `chief' missionaries, would come out with the settlers." Ibid. c. ii. p. 461: "Rangatira is Maori for `chief,' and Rangatira-tango is therefore truly rendered `chieftainship.'" 1893. `Otago Witness, `Dec. 21, p. 11: "Te Kooti is at Puketapu with many Rangatiras; he is a great warrior,--a fighting chief. They say he has beaten the pakehas" (q.v.). <hw>Ranges</hw>, <i>n</i>. the usual word in Australia for "mountains." Compare the use of "<i>tiers</i>" in Tasmania. <hw>Rangy</hw>, <i>adj</i>. mountainous. 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 89: "He tramps over the most rangy and inaccessible regions of the colonies." 1883. E. M. Curr, `Recollections of Squatting in Victoria' (1841-1851), p. 46: "The country being rangy, somewhat scrubby, and destitute of prominent features." <hw>Raspberry, Wild</hw>, or <hw>Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Rubus gunnianus</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Rosaceae</i>; peculiar to Tasmania, and so called there. In Australia, the species is <i>Rubus rosafolius</i>, Smith. See also <i>Lawyer</i> and <i>Blackberry</i>. <hw>Raspberry-jam Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to <i>Acacia acuminata</i>, Benth., especially of Western Australia. Though Maiden does not give the name, he says (Useful Native Plants,' p. 349), "the scent of the wood is comparable to that of raspberries." 1846. L. Leichhardt, quoted by J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 328: "Plains with groves or thickets of the raspberry-jam-tree." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. iv. p. 132: "Raspberry-jam . . . acacia sweet-scented, grown on good ground." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. ii. p. 68: "The other trees besides the palm were known to the men by colonial appellations, such as the bloodwood and the raspberry-jam. The origin of the latter name, let me inform my readers, has no connection whatever with any produce from the tree." 1896. `The Australasian,' Feb. 15, p. 313: "The raspberry-jam-tree is so called on account of the strong aroma of raspberries given out when a portion is broken." [On the same page is an illustration of these trees growing near Perth, Western Australia.] <hw>Rasp-pod</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a large Australian tree, <i>Flindersia australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. <hw>Rat</hw>, <i>n</i>. True Rodents are represented in Australia and Tasmania by six genera; viz., <i>Mus</i>, <i>Conilurus (= Hapalotis</i>), <i>Xeromys, Hydromys, Mastacomys</i>, <i>Uromys</i>, of which the five latter are confined to the Australian Region. The genus <i>Hydromys</i> contains the <i>Eastern Water Rat</i>, sometimes called the <i>Beaver Rat</i> (<i>Hydromys chrysogaster</i>, Geoffroy), and the <i>Western Water Rat</i> (<i>H. fulvolavatus</i>, Gould). <i>Conilurus</i> contains the <i>Jerboa Rats</i> (q.v.). <i>Xeromys</i> contains a single species, confined to Queensland, and called <i>Thomas' Rat</i> (<i>Xeromys myoides</i>, Thomas). <i>Mastacomys</i> contains one species, the <i>Broad-toothed Rat</i> (<i>M. fuscus</i>, Thomas), found alive only in Tasmania, and fossil in New South Wales. <i>Uromys</i> contains two species, the <i>Giant Rat</i> (<i>U. macropus</i>, Gray), and the <i>Buff-footed Rat</i> (<i>U. cervinipes</i>, Gould). <i>Mus</i> contains twenty-seven species, widely distributed over the Continent and Tasmania. 1851. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 301: "The Secretary read the following extracts from a letter of the Rev. W. Colenso to Ronald C. Gunn, Esq., of Launceston, dated Waitangi, Hawke's Bay, New Zealand, 4th September, 1850:-- `I have procured two specimens of the ancient, and all but quite extinct, New Zealand Rat, which until just now (and notwithstanding all my endeavours, backed, too, by large rewards) I never saw. It is without doubt a true <i>Mus</i>, smaller than our English black rat (<i>Mus Rattus</i>), and not unlike it. This little animal once inhabited the plains and <i>Fagus</i> forests of New Zealand in countless thousands, and was both the common food and great delicacy of the natives-- and already it is all but quite classed among the things which were." 1880. A. R. Wallace, `Island Life,' p. 445: "The Maoris say that before Europeans came to their country a forest rat abounded, and was largely used for food . . . Several specimens have been caught . . . which have been declared by the natives to be the true Kiore Maori--as they term it; but these have usually proved on examination to be either the European black rat or some of the native Australian rats . . . but within the last few years many skulls of a rat have been obtained from the old Maori cooking-places and from a cave associated with moa bones, and Captain Hutton, who has examined them, states that they belong to a true Mus, but differ from the <i>Mus rattus</i>." <hw>Rata</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for two New Zealand erect or sub-scandent flowering trees, often embracing trunks of forest trees and strangling them: the Northern Rata, <i>Metrosideros robusta</i>, A. Cunn., and the Southern Rata, <i>M. lucida</i>, Menz., both of the <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. The tree called by the Maoris <i>Aka</i>, which is another species of <i>Metrosederos (M. florida</i>), is also often confused with the Rata by bushmen and settlers. In Maori, the <i>adj</i>. <i>rata</i> means red-hot, and there may be a reference to the scarlet appearance of the flower in full bloom. The timber of the <i>Rata</i> is often known as <i>Ironwood</i>, or <i>Ironbark</i>. The trees rise to sixty feet in height; they generally begin by trailing downwards from the seed deposited on the bark of some other tree near its top. When the trailing branches reach the ground they take root there and sprout erect. For full account of the habit of the trees, see quotation 1867 (Hochstetter), 1879 (Moseley), and 1889 (Kirk). 1843. E. Dieffenbach, `Travels in New Zealand,' p. 224: "The venerable rata, often measuring forty feet in circumference and covered with scarlet flowers--while its stem is often girt with a creeper belonging to the same family (<i>metrosideros hypericifolia</i>?)." 1848. Rev. R. Taylor, `Leaf from the Natural History of New Zealand,' p. 21: "Rata, a tree; at first a climber; it throws out aerial roots; clasps the tree it clings to and finally kills it, becoming a large tree (metrosideros robusta). A hard but not durable wood." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' canto 1, p. 14: "Unlike the neighbouring rata cast, And tossing high its heels in air." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 135: "The Rata (<i>Metrosideros robusta</i>), the trunk of which, frequently measuring forty feet in circumference, is always covered with all sorts of parasitical plants, and the crown of which bears bunches of scarlet blossoms." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 264: "Nay, not the Rata! howsoe'er it bloomed, Paling the crimson sunset; for you know, Its twining arms and shoots together grow Around the trunk it clasps, conjoining slow Till they become consolidate, and show An ever-thickening sheath that kills at last The helpless tree round which it clings so fast." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 310: "The Rata-Tree (<i>Metrosideros robusta</i>). This magnificent tree. . . . height 80 to 100 feet . . . a clear stem to 30 and even 40 feet . . . very beautiful crimson polyandrous flowers . . . wood red, hard, heavy, close-grained, strong, and not difficult to work." 1879. H. <i>n</i>. Moseley, `Notes of a Naturalist on Challenger,' p. 278: One of the most remarkable trees . . . is the Rata. . . . This, though a Myrtaceous plant, has all the habits of the Indian figs, reproducing them in the closest manner. It starts from a seed dropped in the fork of a tree, and grows downward to reach the ground; then taking root there, and gaining strength, chokes the supporting tree and entirely destroys it, forming a large trunk by fusion of its many stems. Nevertheless, it occasionally grows directly from the soil, and then forms a trunk more regular in form." 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 39: "That bark shall speed where crimson ratas gleam." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 210: "The foliage of many of the large trees is quite destroyed by the crimson flowering rata, the king of parasites, which having raised itself into the upper air by the aid of some unhappy pine, insinuates its fatal coils about its patron, until it has absorbed trunk and branch into itself, and so gathered sufficient strength to stand unaided like the chief of forest trees, flaunting in crimson splendour." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 263: "It is invariably erect, never climbing, although bushmen and settlers frequently state that it climbs the loftiest trees, and sooner or later squeezes them to death in its iron clasp. In proof of this they assert that, when felling huge ratas, they often find a dead tree in the centre of the rata: this is a common occurrence, but it by no means follows that this species is a climber. This error is simply due to imperfect observation, which has led careless observers to confuse <i>Metrosideros florida</i> [the Akal which is a true climber, with M. robusta." 1892. `Otago Witness,' Nov. 10 [`Native Trees']: "Rata, or Ironwood. It would be supposed that almost every colonist who has seen the rata in bloom would desire to possess a plant." 1893. `The Argus,' Feb. 4 [Leading Article]: "The critic becomes to the original author what the New Zealand rata is to the kauri. That insidious vine winds itself round the supporting trunk and thrives on its strength and at its expense, till finally it buries it wholly from sight and flaunts itself aloft, a showy and apparently independent tree." <hw>Rat-tail Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to-- (1) <i>Ischaemum laxum</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 92: "Rat-tail Grass. An upright, slender growing grass; found throughout the colony, rather coarse, but yielding a fair amount of feed, which is readily eaten by cattle." (2) <i>Sporobolus indicus</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 109: "Rat-tail Grass. A fine, open, pasture grass, found throughout the colonies. Its numerous penetrating roots enable it to resist severe drought. It yields a fair amount of fodder, much relished by stock, but is too coarse for sheep. The seeds form the principal food of many small birds. It has been suggested as a paper-making material." [See <i>Grass</i>.] <hw>Raupo</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand bulrush, <i>Typha angustifolia</i>, Linn. The leaves are used for building native houses. The pollen, called <i>Punga-Punga</i> (q.v.), was collected and made into bread called <i>pua</i>. The root was also eaten. It is not endemic in New Zealand, but is known in many parts, and was called by the aborigines of Australia, <i>Wonga</i>, and in Europe "Asparagus of the Cossacks." Other names for it are <i>Bulrush</i>, <i>Cat's Tail</i>, <i>Reed Mace</i>, and <i>Cooper's Flag</i>. 1827. Augustus Earle, `Narrative of Nine Months' Residence in New Zealand,' `New Zealand Reader,' p. 67: "Another party was collecting rushes, which grow plentifully in the neighbourhood, and are called raupo." 1833. Henry Williams's Diary, `Carleton's Life,' p. 151: "The Europeans were near us in a raupo whare [rush-house]." 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 205: "To engage the natives to build raupo, that is, rush-houses." 1842. W. R. Wade, `A Journey in the North Island of New Zealand,' `New Zealand Reader,' p. 122: "The raupo, the reed-mace of New Zealand, always grows in swampy ground. The leaves or blades when full grown are cut and laid out to dry, forming the common building material with which most native houses are constructed." 1843. `An Ordinance for imposing a tax on Raupo Houses, Session II. No. xvii. of the former Legislative Council of New Zealand': [From A. Domett's collection of Ordinances, 1850.] "Section 2. . . . there shall be levied in respect of every building constructed wholly or in part of <i>raupo, nikau</i>, <i>toitoi, wiwi, kakaho</i>, straw or thatch of any description [ . . . L20]." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 380: "These [the walls], nine feet high and six inches thick, were composed of neatly packed bunches of raupo, or bulrushes, lined inside with the glazed reeds of the tohe-tohe, and outside with the wiwi or fine grass." 1860. R. Donaldson, `Bush Lays,' p. 5: "Entangled in a foul morass, A raupo swamp, one name we know." 1864. F. E. Maning (Pakeha Maori), `The War in the North,' p. 16: "Before a war or any other important matter, the natives used to have recourse to divination by means of little miniature darts made of rushes or reeds, or often of the leaf of the cooper's flag (raupo)." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 308: "The favourite material of the Maoris for building purposes is Raupo (<i>Typha</i>), a kind of flag or bulrush, which grows in great abundance in swampy places." 1877. Anon., `Colonial Experiences, or Incidents of Thirty-Four Years in New Zealand,' p. 10: "It was thatched with raupo or native bulrush, and had sides and interior partitions of the same material." <hw>Raven</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name. The Australian species is <i>Corvus coronoides</i>, Vig. and Hors. <hw>Razor-grinder</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name, <i>Seisura inquieta</i>, Lath. Called also <i>Dishwasher</i> and <i>Restless Fly-catcher</i>. See <i>Fly-catcher</i>. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol.ii. p. 159: "Neither must you be astonished on hearing the razor-grinder ply his vocation in the very depths of our solitudes; for here he is a flying instead of a walking animal." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 87: "<i>Seisura Inquieta</i>, Restless Flycatcher; the Grinder of the Colonists of Swan River and New South Wales." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 332: "The razor-grinder, fitly so called from making a grinding noise as it wavers in one position a foot or two from the ground." <hw>Ready up</hw>, <i>v</i>. See quotation. 1893. `The Age,' Nov. 25, p. 13, col. 2: "<i>Mr. Purees</i>: A statement has been made that is very serious. It has been said that a great deal has been `readied up' for the jury by the present commissioners. That is a charge which, if true, amounts to embracery. "<i>His Honor</i>: I do not know what `readying up' means. "<i>Mr. Purves</i>: It is a colonial expression, meaning that something is prepared with an object. If you `ready up' a racehorse, you are preparing to lose, or if you `ready up' a pack of cards, you prepare it for dealing certain suits." <hw>Red Bass</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of Moreton Bay (q.v.), <i>Mesoprion superbus</i>, Castln., family <i>Percidae</i>. <hw>Redberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to Australian plants of the genus <i>Rhagodia</i>, bearing spikes or panicles of red berries. Called also <i>Seaberry</i>. See also <i>Saloop-bush</i>. <hw>Red-bill</hw>, <i>n</i>. bird-name given to <i>Estrelda temporalis</i>, Lath. It is also applied to the <i>Oyster-catchers</i> (q.v.); and sometimes to the <i>Swamp-Hen</i> (q.v.). 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 345: "Lieut. Flinders taking up his gun to fire at two red-bills . . . the natives, alarmed, ran to the woods." 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of the Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 259: "`This bird,' says Mr. Caley, `which the settlers call Red-bill, is gregarious, and appears at times in very large flocks. I have killed above forty at a shot.'" 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 82: "<i>Estrelda temporalis</i>. Red-eyebrowed Finch. Red-Bill of the Colonists." `<hw>Red Bream</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the <i>Schnapper</i> when one year old. See <i>Schnapper</i>. <hw>Red Cedar</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Cedar</i>. 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 434: "M'Leay river, New South Wales, Lat. 30 degrees 40'. This forest was found to contain large quantities of red cedar (Cedrela toona) and white cedar (Melia azederach), which, though very different from what is known as cedar at home, is a valuable wood, and in much request by the colonists." <hw>Red Currant</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Native Currant</i> of Tasmania, <i>Coprosma nitida</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Rubiaceae</i>. See <i>Currant, Native</i>. <hw>Red Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A tree. See <i>Gum</i>. The two words are frequently made one with the accent on the first syllable; compare <i>Blue-gum</i>. (2) A medicinal drug. An exudation from the bark of <i>Eucalyptus rostrata</i>, Schlecht, and other trees; see quotation, 1793. Sir Ranald Martin introduced it into European medical practice. 177 J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 178: "At the heart they [the trees] are full of veins, through which an amazing quantity of an astringent red gum issues. This gum I have found very serviceable in an obstinate dysentery." Ibid. p. 233: "A very powerfully astringent gum-resin, of a red colour, much resembling that known in the shops as Kino, and, for all medical purposes, fully as efficacious." 1793. J. E. Smith, `Specimen of Botany of New Holland,' p. 10: "This, Mr. White informs us, is one of the trees (for there are several, it seems, besides the <i>Eucalyptus resinifera</i>, mentioned in his Voyage, p. 231) which produce the red gum." [The tree is <i>Ceratopetalum gummiferum</i>, Smith, called by him <i>Three-leaved Red-gum Tree</i>. It is now called <i>Officer Plant</i> or <i>Christmas-bush</i> (q.v.).] 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 42: "The usual red gum was observed oozing out from the bark, and this attracted their notice, as it did that of every explorer who had landed upon the continent. This gum is a species of kino, and possesses powerful astringent, and probably staining, qualities." <hw>Red Gurnet-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Victoria to the fish <i>Sebastes percoides</i>, Richards., family <i>Scorpaenidae</i>. It is also called <i>Poddly</i>; <i>Red Gurnard</i>, or <i>Gurnet</i>; and in New Zealand, <i>Pohuikaroa</i>. See <i>Perch</i> and <i>Gurnet</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 48: "<i>Sebastes percoides</i>, a fish of a closely allied genus of the same family [as <i>Scorpaena cruenta</i>, the red rock-cod]. It is caught at times in Port Jackson, but has no local name. In Victoria it is called the Red Gurnet-perch." <hw>Redhead</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Firetail</i>. <hw>Red-knee</hw>, <i>n</i>. sometimes called the <i>Red-kneed Dottrel</i>, <i>Charadrius ruftveniris</i>, formerly <i>Erythrogonys cinctus</i>, Gould. A species of a genus of Australian plovers. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 21: "<i>Erythrogonys Cinctus</i>, Gould; Banded Red-knee." <hw>Red Mulga</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a species of Acacia, <i>A. cyperophylla</i>, F. v. M., owing to the red colour of the flakes of bark which peel off the stem. See <i>Mulga</i>. 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Home Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, pt. i. p. 16: "We crossed a narrow belt of country characterized by the growth along the creek sides of red mulga. This is an Acacia (<i>A. cyperophylla</i>) reaching perhaps a height of twenty feet, the bark of which, alone amongst Acacias, is deciduous and peels off, forming little deep-red coloured flakes." <hw>Red Mullet</hw>, <i>n</i>. New South Wales, <i>Upeneoides vlamingii</i>, Cuv. and Val., and <i>Upeneus porosus</i>, Cuv. and Val., family <i>Mullidae</i>. See <i>Mullet</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 38: "The name of this family is a source of much confusion. It is derived from the Latin word <i>mullus</i>, which in the form of `Mullet' we apply to the well-known fishes of quite a different family, the <i>Mugilidae</i>. Another fish to which the term `Red-Mullet' is applied is of the family <i>Cottidae</i> or Gurnards." <hw>Red Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the fish <i>Anthias rasor</i>, Richards.; also called the Barber. In Australia, it is <i>Anthias longimanus</i>, Gunth. <hw>Red Rock-Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in New South Wales to the fish <i>Scorpaena cardinalis</i>, Richards., family <i>Scorpaenidae</i>, marine fishes resembling the Sea-perches. <i>S. cardinalis</i> is of a beautiful scarlet colour. <hw>Red-streaked Spider</hw>, or <hw>Black-and-red Spider</hw>, an Australasian spider (<i>Latrodectus scelio</i>, Thorel.), called in New Zealand the <i>Katipo</i> (q.v.). <hw>Red-throat</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small brown Australian singing-bird, with a red throat, <i>Pyrrholaemus brunneus</i>, Gould. <hw>Reed-mace</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Wonga</i> and <i>Raupo</i>. <hw>Reef</hw>, <i>n</i>. term in gold-mining; a vein of auriferous quartz. Called by the Californian miners a vein, or lode, or ledge. In Bendigo, the American usage remains, the words <i>reef, dyke</i>, and <i>vein</i> being used as synonymous, though reef is the most common. (See quotation, 1866.) In Ballarat, the word has two distinct meanings, viz. the <i>vein</i>, as above, and the <i>bed-rock</i> or <i>true-bottom</i>. (See quotations, 1869 and 1874.) Outside Australia, a <i>reef</i> means "a chain or range of rocks lying at or near the surface of the water." (`Webster.') 1858. T. McCombie, `History of New South Wales,' c. xiv. p. 213: "A party . . . discovered gold in the quartz-reefs of the Pyrenees [Victoria]." 1860. W. Kelly, `Life in Victoria,' vol. ii. p. 148: "If experience completely establishes the fact, at least, under existing systems, that the best-paying reefs are those that are largely intersected with fissures--more inclined to come out in pebbles than in blocks--or, if I might coin a designation, `rubble reefs,' as contradistinguished from `boulder reefs,' showing at the same time a certain degree of ignigenous discoloration . . . still, where there are evidences of excessive volcanic effect . . . the reef may be set down as poor . . ." 1866. A. R. Selwyn, `Exhibition Essays,' Notes on the Physical Geography, Geology, and Mineralogy of Victoria: "Quartz occurs throughout the lower palaeozoic rocks in veins, `dykes' or `reefs,' from the thickness of a thread to 130 feet." 1869. R. Brough Smyth, `Goldfields Glossary,' p. 619: "Reef. The term is applied to the tip-turned edges of the palaeozoic rocks. The reef is composed of slate, sandstone, or mudstone. The bed-rock anywhere is usually called the reef. A quartz-vein; a lode." 1874. Reginald A. F. Murray, `Progress Report, Geological Survey, Victoria,' vol. i. p. 65 [Report on the Mineral Resources of Ballarat]: "This formation is the `true bottom,' `bed rock' or `reef,' of the miners." 1894. `The Argus,' March 28, p. 5, col. 5: "In looking for reefs the experienced miner commences on the top of the range and the spurs, for the reason that storm-waters have carried the soil into the gullies and left the bed-rock exposed." <hw>Reef</hw>, <i>v</i>. to work at a reef. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. iii. p. 30: "The University graduate . . . was to be seen patiently sluicing, or reefing, as the case might be." [See also <i>Quartz-reefing</i>.] <hw>Regent-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) An Australian Bower-bird, <i>Sericulus melinus</i>, Lath., named out of compliment to the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV. (therefore named before 1820). 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 161: "Mr. Gilbert observed the female of the Regent-bird." (2) <i>Mock Regent-bird</i>, now <i>Meliphaga phrygia</i>, Lath. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 48: "<i>Zanthomyza Phrygia</i>, Swains., Warty-faced Honey-eater [q.v.]; Mock Regent-Bird, Colonists of New South Wales." <hw>Remittance-man</hw>, <i>n</i>. one who derives the means of an inglorious and frequently dissolute existence from the periodical receipt of money sent out to him from Europe. 1892. R. L. Stevenson, `The Wrecker,' p. 336: "<i>Remittance men</i>, as we call them here, are not so rare in my experience; and in such cases I act upon a system." <hw>Rewa-rewa</hw>, <i>n</i>. pronounced <i>raywa</i>, Maori name for the New Zealand tree <i>Knightia excelsa</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>, the Honey-suckle of the New Zealand settlers. Maori verb, <i>rewa</i>, to float. The seed-vessel is just like a Maori canoe. 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand, the Britain of the South,' vol. i. p. 143: "Rewarewa (honeysuckle), a handsome flowering tree common on the outskirts of the forests. Wood light and free-working: the grain handsomely flowered like the Baltic oak." 1878. R. C. Barstow, `On the Maori Canoe,' `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xi. art. iv. p. 73: "Dry <i>rewarewa</i> wood was used for the charring." 1880. W. Colenso, `Traditions of the Maoris,' `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xiii. p. 53: "The boy went into the forest, and brought back with him a seed-pod of the rewarewa tree (<i>Knightia excelsa</i>). . . . He made his way to his canoe, which was made like the pod of the rewarewa tree." 1983. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 129: "Rewarewa, a lofty, slender tree, 100 feet high. Wood handsome, mottled red and brown, used for furniture and shingles, and for fencing, as it splits easily. It is a most valuable veneering wood." <hw>Reward-Claim</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Australian legal term for the large area granted as a "reward" to the miner who first discovers valuable gold in a new district, and reports it to the Warden of the Goldfields. The first great discovery of gold in Coolgardie was made by Bayley in 1893, and his reward-claim, sold to a syndicate, was known as "Bayley's Reward." See also <i>Prospecting Claim</i>, and <i>Claim</i>. 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 11: "Prospected with the result that he discovered the first payable gold on the West Coast, for which he obtained a reward claim." <hw>Rhipidura</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of Australasian birds, called <i>Fantail</i> (q.v.). They are Fly-catchers. The word is from Grk. <i>rhipidos</i>, `of a fan,' and <i>'oura</i>, `a tail.' <hw>Ribbed Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Fig</i>. <hw>Ribbonwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. All species of <i>Plagianthus</i> and <i>Hoheria</i> are to the colonists <i>Ribbonwood</i>, especially <i>Plagianthus betulinus</i>, A. Cunn., and <i>Hoheria populnea</i>, A. Cunn., the bark of which is used for cordage, and was once used for making a demulcent drink. Alpine Ribbon-wood, <i>Plagianthus lyalli</i>, Hook. Other popular names are <i>Houhere</i>, <i>Houi</i> (Maori), <i>Lace-bark</i> (q.v.), and <i>Thousand-Jacket</i> (q.v.). <hw>Ribgrass</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the <i>Native Plantain</i>. See <i>Plantain</i>. <hw>Rice-flower</hw>, <i>n</i>. a gardeners' name for the cultivated species of <i>Pimalea</i> (q.v.). The <i>Rice-flowers</i> are beautiful evergreens about three feet high, and bear rose-coloured, white, and yellow blooms. <hw>Rice-shell</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied elsewhere to various shells; in Australia it denotes the shell of various species of <i>Truncatella</i>, a small marine mollusc, so called from a supposed resemblance to grains of rice, and used for necklaces. <hw>Richea</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian <i>Grasstree</i> (q.v.), <i>Richea pandanifolia</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. 1850. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' May 8, vol. i. p. 278: "A section . . . of the stem of the graceful palm-like Richea (<i>Richea pandanifolia</i>), found in the dense forests between Lake St. Clair and Macquarie Harbour, where it attains the height of 40 to 50 feet in sheltered positions,--the venation, markings, and rich yellow colouring of which were much admired." 1878. Rev. W. W. Spicer, `Handbook of the Plants of Tasmania,' p. 125: Richea pandanifolia, H. Giant Grass Tree. Peculiar to Tasmania. Dense forests in the interior and SW." <hw>Ridge-Myrtle</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Myrtle</i>. <hw>Rifle-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. sometimes called also <i>Rifleman</i> (q.v.); a bird of paradise. The male is of a general velvety black, something like the uniform of the Rifle Brigade. This peculiarity, no doubt, gave the bird its name, but, on the other hand, settlers and local naturalists sometimes ascribe the name to the resemblance they hear in the bird's cry to the noise of a rifle being fired and its bullet striking the target. The <i>Rifle-bird</i> is more famed for beauty of plumage than any other Australian bird. There are three species, and they are of the genus <i>Ptilorhis</i>, nearly related to the Birds of Paradise of New Guinea, where also is found the only other known species of <i>Ptilorhis</i>. The chief species is <i>Ptilorhis paradisea</i>, Lath., the other two species were named respectively, after the Queen and the late Prince Consort, <i>Victoriae</i> and <i>Alberti</i>, but some naturalists have given them other generic names. As to the name, see also quotation, 1886. See <i>Manucode</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 194: "We saw . . . a rifle-bird." 1886. `Encyclopaedia Britannica,' vol. xx. p. 553: "Rifleman-Bird, or Rifle-Bird, names given . . . probably because in coloration it resembled the well-known uniform of the rifle-regiments of the British army, while in its long and projecting hypochondriac plumes and short tail a further likeness might be traced to the hanging pelisse and the jacket formerly worn by the members of those corps."-- [Footnote]: "Curiously enough its English name seems to be first mentioned in ornithological literature by Frenchmen--Lesson and Garnot--in 1828, who say (<i>Voy. `Coquille,' Zoologie</i>, p. 669) that it was applied `pour rappeler que ce fut un soldat de la garnison [of New South Wales] qui le tua le premier,' which seems to be an insufficient reason, though the statement as to the bird's first murderer may be true." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 171: "It was an Australian bird of paradise, the celebrated Rifle-bird (<i>Ptilorhis victoriae</i>), which, according to Gould, has the most brilliant plumage of all Australian birds." <hw>Rifleman</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of New Zealand, <i>Acanthidositta chloris</i>, Buller; Maori name, <i>Titipounamu</i>. See quotation. The name is sometimes applied also to the <i>Rifle-bird</i> (q.v.). 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 113: "<i>Acanthidositta chloris</i>, Buller. The rifleman is the smallest of our New Zealand birds. It is very generally distributed." [Footnote]: "This has hitherto been written <i>Acanthisitta</i>; but Professor Newton has drawn my attention to the fact of its being erroneous. I have therefore adopted the more classic form of <i>Acanthidositta</i>, the etymology of which is <i>'akanthid</i>,--crude form of <i>'akanthis</i> = Carduelis, and <i>sitta</i> = sitta." 1888. W. Smith, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxi. art. xxi. p. 214: "<i>Acanthisitta chloris</i> (Rifleman). The feeble note of this diminutive bird is oftener heard in the bush than the bird is seen." <hw>Right-of-Way</hw>, <i>n</i>. a lane. In England the word indicates a legal right to use a particular passage. In Australia it is used for the passage or lane itself. 1893. `The Argus,' Feb. 3: "The main body of the men was located in the right-of-way, which is overlooked by the side windows of the bureau." <hw>Rimu</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Dacrydium cupressinum</i>, <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>; also called <i>Red pine</i>. <i>Rimu</i> is generally used in North Island; <i>Red pine</i> more generally in the South. See <i>Pine</i>. 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 40: "Rimu. This elegant tree comes to its greatest perfection in shaded woods, and in moist, rich soil." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 117: "He lay Couched in a rimu-tree one day." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 306: "The Rimu Tree. Height, eighty to 100 feet, fully forty to fifty feet clear of branches . . . moderately hard . . . planes up smoothly, takes a good polish, would be useful to the cabinetmaker." 1879. Clement Bunbury, `Fraser's Magazine,' June, p. 761: "Some of the trees, especially the rimu, a species of yew, here called a pine, were of immense size and age." <hw>Ring</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. (1) To cut the bark of a tree round the trunk so as to kill it. The word is common in the same sense in English forestry and horticulture, and only seems Australasian from its more frequent use, owing to the widespread practice of clearing the primeval forests and generally destroying trees. "Ringed" is the correct past participle, but "rung" is now commonly used. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. x. p. 315: "What they call ringing the trees; that is to say, they cut off a large circular band of bark, which, destroying the trees, renders them easier to be felled." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 56: The gum-trees, ringed and ragged, from the mazy margins rise." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. xx. p. 312: "Trees to be `rung.' The ringing of trees consists of cutting the bark through all round, so that the tree cease to suck up the strength of the earth for its nutrition, and shall die." 1883. E. M. Curr, `Recollections of Squatting in Victoria' (1841-1851), p. 81: "Altogether, fences and tree-ringing have not improved the scene." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 58: "The trees are `rung,' that there may be more pasture for the sheep and cattle." (2) To make cattle move in a circle. [Though specifically used of cattle in Australia, the word has a similar use in England as in Tennyson's `Geraint and Enid' . . . "My followers ring him round: He sits unarmed."--Line 336.] 1874. W. H. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. vi. p. 111: "They are generally `ringed,' that is, their galop is directed into a circular course by the men surrounding them." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 126: "I'll tell you what, you'll have to ring them. Pass the word round for all hands to follow one another in a circle, at a little distance apart." (3) To move round in a circle. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' p. 20: "The cattle were uneasy and `ringed' all night." (4) To make the top score at a shearing-shed. See <i>Ringer</i>. 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 136: "The man that `rung' the Tubbo shed is not the ringer here." <hw>Ring-bark</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. Same meaning as <i>Ring</i> (1). 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 204: "The selector in a timbered country, without troubling himself about cause and effect, is aware that if he destroys the tree the grass will grow, and therefore he `ring-barks' his timber." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 9: "Our way led us through a large but not dense wood of leafless gumtrees. My companion told me that the forest was dead as a result of `ring-barking.' To get the grass to grow better, the settler removes a band of bark near the root of the tree. In a country where cattle-raising is carried on to so great an extent, this may be very practical, but it certainly does not beautify the landscape. The trees die at once after this treatment, and it is a sad and repulsive sight to see these withered giants, as if in despair, stretching their white barkless branches towards the sky." 1893. `Thumbnail Sketches of Australian Life,' p. 232: "We were going through ring-barked country. You don't know what that is? Well, those giant gum-trees absorb all the moisture and keep the grass very poor, so the squatters kill them by ring-barking--that is, they have a ring described round the trunk of each tree by cutting off a couple of feet of bark. Presently the leaves fall off; then the rest of the bark follows, and eventually the tree becomes nothing but a strange lofty monument of dry timber." <hw>Ring-dollar</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation; and see <i>Dump</i> and <i>Holy Dollar</i>. 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' c. iii. p. 131: "The Spanish dollar was much used. A circular piece was struck out of the centre about the size of a shilling . . . and the rest of the dollar, called from the circular piece taken out a `ring-dollar,' was valued at four shillings." <hw>Ring-eye</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the many names for the birds of the genus <i>Zosterops</i> (q.v.). <hw>Ringer</hw>, <i>n</i>. a sheep-shearing term. See quotations. Mr. Hornung's explanation of the origin (quotation, 1894) is probably right. See <i>Rings</i>. 1890. `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 6: "A `ringer' being the man who by his superior skill and expertness `tops the score'--that is, shears the highest number of sheep per day." 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), Dec. 23, p. 6, col. 1: "Whence came the term `ringer,' as applied to the quickest shearer, I don't know. It might possibly have some association with a man who can get quoits on to the peg, and again, it might not, as was remarked just now by my mate, who is camped with me." 1894. E. W. Hornung, `Boss of Taroomba,' p. 101: "They call him the ringer of the shed. That means the fastest shearer--the man who runs rings round the rest, eh?" 1894. `Geelong Grammar School Quarterly,' April, p. 26: "Another favourite [school] phrase is a `regular ringer.' Great excellence is implied by this expression." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 162: "The Shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong, After the hard day's shearing, passing the joke along The `ringer' that shore a hundred, as they never were shorn before, And the novice who toiling bravely had tommyhawked half a score." <hw>Ring-neck</hw>, <i>n</i>. the equivalent of <i>Jackaroo</i> (q.v.). A term used in the back blocks in reference to the white collar not infrequently worn by a <i>Jackaroo</i> on his first appearance and when unaccustomed to the life of the bush. The term is derived from the supposed resemblance of the collar to the light- coloured band round the neck of the Ring-neck Parrakeet. <hw>Rings, to run round</hw>: to beat out and out. A picturesque bit of Australian slang. One runner runs straight to the goal, the other is so much better that he can run round and round his competitor, and yet reach the goal first. 1891. `The Argus,' Oct.10, p. 13, col. 3: "Considine could run rings round the lot of them." 1897. `The Argus,' Jan. 15, p. 6, col. 5: "As athletes the cocoons can run rings round the beans; they can jump out of a tumbler." <hw>Ring-tail</hw>, or <hw>Ring-tailed Opossum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pseudochirus</i> and <i>Opossum</i>. <hw>Rinka-sporum</hw>, <i>n</i>. a mis-spelt name for the Australian varieties of the tribe of <i>Rhyncosporeae</i>, <i>N.O. Cyperaceae</i>. This tribe includes twenty-one genera, of which <i>Rhynchospora</i> (the type), <i>Schaenus</i>, <i>Cladium</i>, and <i>Remirea</i> are widely distributed, and the others are chiefly small genera of the Southern Hemisphere, especially Australia. (`Century.') 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 93: "Rinka-sporum, a mass of white bloom." <hw>Riro-riro</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird. Maori name for the Grey-Warbler of New Zealand, <i>Gerygone flaviventris</i>, Gray. See <i>Gerygone</i>. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 44: [A full description.] 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 163: "A little wren managed to squeeze itself through, and it flew off to Kurangai-tuku, and cried, `Kurangai-tuku, the man is riro, riro, riro!'--that is, gone, gone, gone. And to this day the bird is known as the riro-riro." <hw>River-Oak</hw>. See <i>Oak</i>. <hw>Roa</hw>, <i>n</i>. another Maori name for the largest or <i>Brown Kiwi</i> (q.v.). In Maori the word <i>roa</i> means long or big. <hw>Roaring Horsetails</hw>, <i>n</i>. a slang name for the <i>Aurora Australis</i>. <hw>Robin</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name, in consequence of their external resemblance to the familiar English bird, is applied, in Australia, to species of the various genera as follows:-- Ashy-fronted Fly-Robin-- <i>Heteromyias cinereifrons</i>, Ramsay. Buff-sided R.-- <i>Poecilodryas cerviniventris</i>, Gould. Dusky R.-- <i>Amaurodryas vittata</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Flame-breasted Robin-- <i>Petroica phoenicea</i>, Gould. Hooded R.-- <i>Melanodryas bicolor</i>, Vig. and Hors. Pied R.-- <i>M. picata</i>, Gould. Pink-breasted R.-- <i>Erythrodryas rhodinogaster</i>, Drap. Red-capped R.-- <i>Petroica goodenovii</i>, Vig. and Hors. Red-throated R.-- <i>P. ramsayi</i>, Sharp. Rose-breasted R.-- <i>Erythrodryas rosea</i>, Gould. Scarlet-breasted R.-- <i>Petroica leggii</i>, Sharp. Scrub R.-- <i>Drymodes brunneopygia</i>, Gould. White-browed R. <i>Poecilodryas superciliosa</i>, Gould. White-faced Scrub-R.-- <i>Drymodes superciliaris</i>, Gould. The New Zealand species are-- Chatham Island Robin-- <i>Miro traversi</i>, Buller. North Island R.-- <i>M. australis</i>, Sparrm. South Island R.-- <i>M. albifrons</i>, Gmel. Gould's enumeration of the species is given below. [See quotations, 1848, 1869.] See also <i>Shrike-Robin</i>, <i>Scrub-Robin</i>, and <i>Satin-Robin</i>. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of the Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 242: "`This bird,' Mr. Caley says, `is called yellow-robin by the colonists. It is an inhabitant of bushes'" 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii: Plate <i>Petroica superciliosa</i>, Gould, White-eyebrowed Robin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 <i>Drymodes brunneopygia</i>, Gould, Scrub Robin. . 10 <i>Eopsaltria leucogaster</i>, Gould, White-bellied Robin . . . . . . . 13 1864. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 263: "Very soon comes a robin. . . . In the bush no matter where you pitch, the robin always comes about, and when any other of his tribe comes about, he bristles up his feathers, and fights for his crumbs. . . . He is not at all pretty, like the Australian or European robin, but a little sober black and grey bird, with long legs, and a heavy paunch and big head; like a Quaker, grave, but cheerful and spry withal." [This is the Robin of New Zealand.] 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 93: "The New Zealand robin was announced, and I could see only a fat little ball of a bird, with a yellowish-white breast." 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia' [Supplement]: <i>Drymodes superciliaris</i>, Gould, Eastern Scrub Robin. <i>Petroica cerviniventris</i>, Gould, Buff-sided Robin. <i>Eopsaltria capito</i>, Gould, Large-headed Robin. <i>E. leucura</i>, Gould, White-tailed Robin. 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 239: "The large red-breasted robin, kinsman true Of England's delicate high-bred bird of home." 1880. Mrs.Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 123: "The Robin is certainly more brilliantly beautiful than his English namesake. . . . Black, red and white are the colours of his dress, worn with perfect taste. The black is shining jet, the red, fire, and the white, snow. There is a little white spot on his tiny black-velvet cap, a white bar across his pretty white wings, and his breast is, a living flame of rosy, vivid scarlet." 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 235: "Here, too, the `careful robin eyes the delver's toil,' and as he snatches the worm from the gardener's furrow, he turns to us a crimson-scarlet breast that gleams in the sun beside the golden buttercups like a living coal. The hues of his English cousin would pale beside him ineffectual." 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 54: "The flame-breasted robin no longer lingers showing us his brilliant breast while he sings out the cold grey afternoons in his tiny treble. He has gone with departing winter." <hw>Rock-Cod</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Red-Cod</i> in New Zealand, <i>Pseudophycis barbatus</i>, Gunth., family <i>Gadidae</i>. In New Zealand the <i>Blue-Cod</i>(q.v.) is also called <i>Rock-Cod</i>. Species of the allied genus <i>Lotella</i> are also called <i>Rock-Cod</i> in New South Wales. See <i>Beardy</i> and <i>Ling</i>. 1883. `Royal Commission on the Fisheries of Tasmania,' p. 40: "A variety known to fishermen as the deep-water, or Cape-cod. . . . It would appear that the latter is simply the mature form of the `rock-cod,' which enters the upper waters of estuaries in vast numbers during the month of May. . . The rock-cod rarely exceeds 2 1/2 lbs. weight." <hw>Rocket, Native</hw>, a Tasmanian name for <i>Epacris lanuginosa</i>, Lab., <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. See <i>Epacris</i>. <hw>Rock Lily</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Lily</i>. <hw>Rock-Ling</hw>, <i>n</i>. a marine fish. The Australian R. is <i>Genypterus australis</i>, Castln., family <i>Ophidiidae</i>. The European R. belongs to the genera <i>Onos</i> and <i>Rhinonemus</i>, formerly <i>Motella</i>. Of the genus <i>Genypterus</i>, Guenther says they have an excellent flesh, like cod, well adapted for curing. At the Cape they are known by the name of "Klipvisch," and in New Zealand as <i>Ling</i>, or <i>Cloudy-Bay Cod</i>. <hw>Rock-Native</hw>, or <hw>Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to the fish called a <i>Schnapper</i> when it has ceased to "school." See <i>Schnapper</i>. <hw>Rock-Parrakeet</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian <i>Grass-Parrakeet</i>(q.v.), <i>Euphema petrophila</i>, Gould. It gets its name from its habitat, the rocks and crags. <hw>Rock-Pebbler</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Black-tailed Parrakeet</i>. See <i>Parrakeet</i>. <hw>Rock-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name given in Melbourne to the fish <i>Glyphidodon victoriae</i>, Gunth., family <i>Pomacentridae</i>, or <i>Coral-fishes</i>. It is not a true Perch. <hw>Rock-shelter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a natural cave-dwelling of the aborigines. See <i>Gibber-Gunyah</i>. 1891. R. Etheridge, jun., in `Records of the Australian Museum,' vol. i. No. viii. p. 171 (`Notes on Rock Shelters or Gibba-gunyahs at Deewhy Lagoon'): ". . . The Shelters are of the usual type seen throughout the Port Jackson district, recesses in the escarpment, overhung by thick, more or less tabular masses of rock, in some cases dry and habitable, in others wet and apparently never used by the Aborigines." <hw>Rock-Wallaby</hw>, <i>n</i>. the popular name for any animal of the genus <i>Petrogale</i> (q.v.). There are six species-- Brush-tailed Rock-Wallaby-- <i>Petrogale penicillata</i>, Gray. Little R.-W.-- <i>P. concinna</i>, Gould. Plain-coloured R.-W.-- <i>P. inornata</i>, Gould. Rock-W., or West-Australian R.-W.-- <i>P. lateralis</i>, Gould. Short-eared R.-W.-- <i>P. brachyotis</i>, Gould. Yellow-footed R.-W.-- <i>P. xanthopus</i>, Gray. See <i>Wallaby</i>. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. viii. p. 58: "A light, active chap, spinning over the stones like a rock wallaby." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 119: "They rode and rode, but Warrigal was gone like a rock wallaby." 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 43: "The Rock-Wallabies are confined to the mainland of Australia, on which they are generally distributed, but are unknown in Tasmania. Although closely allied to the true Wallabies, their habits are markedly distinct, the Rock-Wallabies frequenting rugged, rocky districts, instead of the open plains." <hw>Roger Gough</hw>, <i>n</i>. an absurd name given to the tree <i>Baloghia lucida</i>, Endl., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 382: "Scrub, or brush bloodwood, called also `Roger Gough.'" 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 5: "Who were Messrs. James Donnelly, James Low, and Roger Gough that their names should have been bestowed on trees? Were they growers or buyers of timber? Was the first of the list any relative of the Minnesota lawyer who holds strange views about a great cryptogram in Shakespeare's plays? Was the last of the three any relative of the eminent soldier who won the battles of Sobraon and Ferozeshah? Or, as is more probable, were the names mere corruptions of aboriginal words now lost?" <hw>Roll up</hw>, <i>v. intr</i>. to gather, to assemble. 1887. J. Farrell, `How he died,' p. 26: "The miners all rolled up to see the fun." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xx. p. 185: "At the Warraluen and other gold towns, time after time the ominous words `roll up' had sounded forth, generally followed by the gathering of a mighty crowd." <hw>Roll-up</hw>, <i>n</i>. a meeting. See preceding verb. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xxxv. p. 308: "Making as much noise as if you'd hired the bell-man for a roll-up?" <hw>Roly-poly Grass</hw>, or <i>Roley-poley</i>, <i>n</i>. name given to <i>Panicum macractinium</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>; and also to <i>Salsola Kali</i>, Linn., <i>N.O. Salsolaceae</i>. See <i>Grass</i>. 1859. D. Bunce, `Travels with Dr. Leichhardt in Australia,' pp. 167-8: "Very common to these plains, was a large-growing <i>salsolaceous</i> plant, belonging to the <i>Chenopodeaceae</i>, of Jussieu. These weeds grow in the form of a large ball. . . . No sooner were a few of these balls (or, as we were in the habit of calling them, `rolly-poleys') taken up with the current of air, than the mules began to kick and buck. . . ." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. ii. p. 468: "A salsolaceous plant growing in the form of a ball several feet high. In the dry season it withers, and is easily broken off and rolled about by the winds, whence it is called roley-poly by the settlers." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 100: "Roly-Poly Grass. This species produces immense dry and spreading panicles; it is perennial, and seeds in November and December. It is a somewhat straggling species, growing in detached tufts, on sand-hills and sandy soil, and much relished by stock." 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, p. 13: "On the loamy flats, and even gibber plains, the most noticeable plant is <i>Salsola kali</i>, popularly known as the Rolly-polly. It is, when mature, one of the characteristically prickly plants of the Lower Steppes, and forms great spherical masses perhaps a yard or more in diameter." <hw>Roman-Lamp Shell</hw>, name given in Tasmania to a brachiopod mollusc, <i>Waldheimia flavescens</i>, Lamarck. <hw>Roo</HW>, a termination, treated earlier as the name of an animal. It is the termination of <i>potoroo, wallaroo</i>, <i>kangaroo</i>. See especially the last. It may be added that it is very rare for aboriginal words to begin with the letter `r.' 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales' [Observations at the end, by Mr. John Hunter, the celebrated surgeon]: Plate p. 272--A kangaroo. Description of teeth. Plate p. 278--Wha Tapoua Roo, about the size of a Racoon [probably an opossum]. Plate p. 286--A Poto Roo or Kangaroo-Rat. Plate p. 288--Hepoona Roo. <hw>Rope</hw>, v. tr. to catch a horse or bullock with a noosed rope. It comes from the Western United States, where it has superseded the original Spanish word <i>lasso</i>, still used in California. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. xxi. p. 150: "You could `rope' . . . any Clifton colt or filly, back them in three days, and within a week ride a journey." <hw>Ropeable</hw>, <i>adj</i>. (1) Of cattle; so wild and intractable as to be capable of subjection only by being roped. See preceding word. (2) By transference: intractable, angry, out of temper. 1891. `The Argus,' Oct. 10, p. 13, col. 4: "The service has shown itself so `ropeable' heretofore that one experiences now a kind of chastened satisfaction in seeing it roped and dragged captive at Sir Frederick's saddle-bow." 1896. Modern. In school-boy slang: "You must not chaff him, he gets so ropeable." <hw>Roping-pole</hw>, <i>n</i>. a long pole used for casting a rope over an animal's head in the stockyard. 1880. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. iv. p. 44: "I happened to knock down the superintendent with a roping-pole." 1895. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 125: "I'm travelling down the Castlereagh and I'm a station-hand, I'm handy with the ropin'-pole, I'm handy with the brand, And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day, But there's no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh." <hw>Rosary-shell</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Europe, the name is applied to any marine gastropod shell of the genus <i>Monodonta</i>. In Australia, it is applied to the shell of <i>Nerita atrata</i>, Lamarck, a marine mollusc of small size and black colour used for necklaces, bracelets, and in place of the "beads" of a rosary. <hw>Rose</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the Australian shrub, <i>Boronia serrulata</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. It has bright green leaves and very fragrant rose-coloured flowers. <hw>Rose-Apple</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Sweet Plum</i>. See under <i>Plum</i>. <hw>Rose-bush</hw>, a timber-tree, <i>Eupomatia laurina</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Anonaceae</i>. <hw>Rose-hill</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given by Gould as applied to two Parrakeets-- (1) <i>Platycercus eximius</i>, Vig. and Hors., called by the Colonists of New South Wales, and by Gould, the <i>Rose-hill Parrakeet</i>. (2) <i>Platycercus icterotis</i>, Wagl., called by the Colonists of Swan River, Western Australia, the <i>Rose-hill</i>, and by Gould the <i>Earl of Derby's Parrakeet</i>. The modern name for both these birds is <i>Rosella</i> (q.v.), though it is more specifically confined to the first. <i>`Rose-hill</i>' was the name of the Governor's residence at Parramatta, near Sydney, in the early days of the settlement of New South Wales, and the name <i>Rosella</i> is a settler's corruption of <i>Rose-hiller</i>, though the erroneous etymology from the Latin <i>rosella</i> (sc. `a little rose') is that generally given. The word <i>Rosella</i>, however, is not a scientific name, and does not appear as the name of any genus or species; it is vernacular only, and no settler or bushman is likely to have gone to the Latin to form it. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pl. 27: "<i>Platycercus eximius</i>, Vig. & Hors. <i>Rose-hill Parrakeet</i>; Colonists of New South Wales." Ibid. vol. v. pl. 29: "<i>Platycercus icterotis</i>, Wagl. The Earl of Derby's Parrakeet; <i>Rose-hill</i> of the Colonists [of Swan River]." <hw>Rosella</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A bird, <i>Platycercus eximius</i>, the <i>Rosehill</i> (q.v.). 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 80: "The common white cockatoo, and the Moreton Bay Rosella parrot, were very numerous." 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 99: "Saw the bright rosellas fly, With breasts that glowed like sunsets In the fiery western sky." 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 13, col. 5: "The solitudes where the lorikeets and rosellas chatter." 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 60: "As [the race] sweeps past the Stand every year in a close bright mass the colours, of the different clubs, are as dazzling and gay in the sun as a brilliant flight of galahs and rosellas." (2) In Northern Australia, it is a slang name for a European who works bared to the waist, which some, by a gradual process of discarding clothing, acquire the power of doing. The scorching of the skin by the sun produces a colour which probably suggested a comparison with the bright scarlet of the parrakeet so named. <hw>Rosemary</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the shrub <i>Westringia dampieri</i>, R. Br., <i>N.0. Labiatae</i>. 1703. W. Dampier, `Voyage to New Holland,' vol. iii. p. 138: "There grow here 2 or 3 sorts of Shrubs, one just like Rosemary; and therefore I call'd this <i>Rosemary Island</i>. It grew in great plenty here, but had no smell." [This island is in or near Shark's Bay] <hw>Rosemary, Golden</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the plant <i>Oxylobium ellipticum</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. <hw>Rosemary, Wild</hw>, a slender Australian timber-tree, <i>Cassinia laevis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. <hw>Rose, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Bauera</i> (q.v.). <hw>Rosewood</hw>, name given to the timber of three trees. (1) <i>Acacia glaucescens</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; called also <i>Brigalow, Mountain Brigalow</i>, and <i>Myall</i>. (2) <i>Dysoxylon fraserianum</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>; called also <i>Pencil Cedar</i>. (3) <i>Eremophila mitchelli</i>, Benth. <i>N.O. Myoporinae</i>; called also <i>Sandalwood</i>. 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 203: "One or two trees of a warmer green, of what they call `rosewood,' I believe gave a fine effect, relieving the sober greyish green of the pendent acacia." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition' p. 4: "The Rosewood Acacia of Moreton Bay." <hw>Rough</hw>, or <hw>Roughy</hw>, or <hw>Ruffy</hw>, or <hw>Ruffie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Victorian fish, <i>Arripis georgianus</i>, Cuv. and Val., family <i>Percidae</i>. <i>Arripis</i> is the genus of the Australian fish called Salmon, or Salmon-trout, <i>A. salar</i>, Gunth. See <i>Salmon</i>. 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June 19, 1881: "Common fish, such as trout, ruffies mullet . . . and others." 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Fisheries, Second Schedule' [Close Season]: "Rough, or Roughy." <hw>Rough Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Fig-tree</i>. <hw>Rough-leaved Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Fig-tree</i>. <hw>Round</hw>, <i>v. trans</i>., contraction of the verb to <i>round-up</i>, to bring a scattered herd together; used in all grazing districts, and common in the Western United States. 1894. `The Argus,' June 23, p. 11, col. 4: "A friend of mine who has spent many a night rounding the mob on lonely Queensland cattle camps where hostile blacks were as thick as dingoes has a peculiar aversion to one plain covered with dead gums, because the curlews always made him feel miserable when crossing it at night." <hw>Round Yam</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Burdekin Vine</i>. See under <i>Vine</i>. <hw>Rouseabout</hw>, <i>n</i>. a station-hand put on to any work, a Jack of all work, an `odd man.' The form `roustabout' is sometimes used, but the latter is rather an American word (Western States), in the sense of a labourer on a river boat, a deck-hand who assists in loading and unloading. 1887. J. Farrell, `How he died,' p. 19: "It may be the rouseabout swiper who rode for the doctor that night, Is in Heaven with the hosts of the Blest, robed and sceptred, and splendid with light." 18W. `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 6: "The `rouseabouts' are another class of men engaged in shearing time, whose work is to draft the sheep, fill the pens for the shearers, and do the branding. . . . The shearers hold themselves as the aristocrats of the shed; and never associate with the rouseabouts." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 58: "While we sat there, a rouseabout came to the door. `Mountain Jim's back,' he said. There was no `sir' in the remark of this lowest of stationhands to his master." 1894. `Sydney Morning Herald' (date lost): "A rougher person--perhaps a happier--is the rouseabout, who makes himself useful in the shearing shed. He is clearly a man of action. He is sometimes with less elegance, and one would say less correctly, spoken of as a roustabout." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 98 [Title of poem, `Middleton's Rouseabout']: "Flourishing beard and sandy, Tall and robust and stout; This is the picture of Andy, Middleton's Rouseabout." <hw>Rowdy</hw>, <i>adj</i>. troublesome. Common slang, but unusual as applied to a bullock or a horse. 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 69: "Branding or securing a troublesome or, colonially, a `rowdy' bullock." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River, p. 125: "And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day." <hw>Rua</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word (used in North Island) for a pit, cave or hole. A place for storing roots, such as potatoes, etc. Formerly some of these <i>rua</i> had carved entrances. <hw>Ruffy</hw> or <hw>Ruffie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. See <i>Rough</i> or <i>Roughy</i>. <hw>Run</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Tract of land over which sheep or cattle may graze. It is curious that what in England is called a sheep-walk, in Australia is a sheep-run. In the Western United States it is a sheep-ranch. Originally the squatter, or sheep-farmer, did not own the land. It was unfenced, and he simply had the right of grazing or "running" his sheep or cattle on it. Subsequently, in many cases, he purchased the freehold, and the word is now applied to a large station property, fenced or unfenced. (See quotation, 1883.) 1826. Goldie, in Bischoff's `Van Diemen's Land' (1832), p. 157: "It is generally speaking a good sheep-run." 1828. Report of Van Diemen's band Company, in Bischoff's `Van Diemen's Land' (1832), p. 117: "A narrow slip of good sheep-run down the west coast." 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 8, p. 4, col. 3: "The thousand runs stated as the number in Port Phillip under the new regulations will cost L12,800,000." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 367: "`Runs,' land claimed by the squatter as sheep-walks, open, as nature left them, without any improvement from the squatter." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 78: "The runs of the Narran wide-dotted with sheep, And loud with the lowing of cattle." 1864. W. Westgarth, `Colony of Victoria,' p. 273: "Here then is a squatting domain of the old unhedged stamp. The station or the `run,' as these squatting areas are called, borders upon the Darling, along which river it possesses a frontage of thirty-five lineal miles, with a back area of 800 square miles." 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, Founder of Victoria,' p. 34: "The desire of some to turn Van Diemen's Land into a large squatter's run, by the passing of the Impounding Act, was the immediate cause, he told us, of his taking up the project of a poor man's country elsewhere." 1870. `/Delta/,' `Studies in Rhyme,' p. 26: "Of squatters' runs we've oft been told, The People's Lands impairing." 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 73 [Note]: "A run is the general term for the tract of country on which Australians keep their stock, or allow them to `run.'" (2) The bower of the <i>Bowerbird</i> (q.v.). 1840. `Proceedings of the Zoological Society,' p. 94: "They are used by the birds as a playing-house, or `run,' as it is termed, and are used by the males to attract the females." <hw>Run-about</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. <i>Run-abouts</i> are cattle left to graze at will, and the <i>runabout</i>-yard is the enclosure for homing them. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xviii. p. 218: "`Open that gate, Piambook,' said Ernest gravely, pointing to the one which led into the `run-about' yard." <hw>Run-hunting</hw>, exploring for a new run. See <i>Run</i>. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. xix. p. 238: "What do you say if I go run-hunting with you?" <hw>Running-Postman</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian plant, i.q. <i>Coral-Pea</i>. See <i>Kennedya</i>. <hw>Ruru</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand bird, the <i>More-pork</i>, <i>Athene novae-zelandiae</i>, Gmel. (q.v.). 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 45: "The ruru's voice re-echoes, desolate." <hw>Rush</hw>, v. (1) Of cattle: to charge a man. Contraction for to <i>rush-at</i>. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 122: "When not instigated by terror, wild cattle will seldom attack the traveller; even of those which run at him, or `rush,' as it is termed, few will really toss or gore, or even knock him down." (2) To attack sheep; i.e. to cause them to <i>rush about</i> or <i>away</i>. 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 153: "Sometimes at night this animal [the dingo] will leap into the fold amongst the timid animals [sheep] and so `rush' them--that is, cause them to break out and disperse through the bush." (3) To break through a barrier (of men or materials). Contraction for to <i>rush past</i> or <i>through</i>; e.g. to rush a cordon of policemen; to rush a fence (i.e. to break-down or climb-over it). (4) To take possession of, or seize upon, either by force or before the appointed time. Compare <i>Jump</i>. 1896. Modern: "Those who had no tickets broke through and rushed all the seats." "The dancers becoming very hungry did not stand on ceremony, but rushed the supper." (5) To flood with gold-seekers. 1887. H. H. Hayter, `Christmas Adventure,' p. 3: "The Bald Hill had just been rushed, and therefore I decided to take up a claim." <hw>Rush</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) The hurrying off of diggers to a new field. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 86: "We had a long conversation on the `rush,' as it was termed." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' pt. i., p. 19: "Arouse you, my comrades, for <i>rush</i> is the word, Advance to the strife with a pick for a sword." 1890. `The Argus,' June 13, p. 6, col. 2: "Fell Timber Creek, where a new rush had set in." (2) A place where gold is found, and to which consequently a crowd of diggers "rush." 1855. William Howitt, `Land, Labour and Gold; or Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 172: "It is a common practice for them to mark out one or more claims in each new rush, so as to make sure if it turn out well. But only one claim at a time is legal and tenable. This practice is called shepherding." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), May 22, p. 34, col. 1: "The Palmer River rush is a perfect swindle." 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for Mail,' p. 34: "Off we set to the Dunstan rush, just broken out." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 92: "Morinish, was a worked-out rush close to Rockhampton, where the first attempt at gold-digging had been made in Queensland." (3) A stampede of cattle. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 102: "A confused whirl of dark forms swept before him, and the camp, so full of life a minute ago, is desolate. It was `a rush,' a stampede." <hw>Rush-broom</hw>, <i>n</i>. Australian name for the indigenous shrub <i>Viminaria denudata</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. The flowers are orange-yellow. In England, it is cultivated in greenhouses. <hw>Rusty Fig</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Fig-tree</i>. S <hw>Saddle, Colonial</hw>, <i>n</i>. 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 53: "The colonial saddle is a shapeless, cumbersome fabric, made of rough leather, with a high pommel and cantle, and huge knee-pads, weighing on an average twenty pounds. The greatest care is necessary to prevent such a diabolical machine from giving a horse a sore back." [Mr. Finch-Hatton's epithet is exaggerated. The saddle is well adapted to its peculiar local purposes. The projecting knee-pads, especially, save the rider from fractured knee-caps when galloping among closely timbered scrub. The ordinary English saddle is similarly varied by exaggeration of different parts to suit special requirements, as e.g. in the military saddle, with its enormous pommel; the diminutive racing saddle, to meet handicappers' "bottom-weights," etc. The mediaeval saddle had its turret-like cantle for the armoured spearman.] <hw>Saddle-Back</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of the North Island of New Zealand, <i>Creadion carunculatus</i>, Cab. See also <i>Jack-bird</i> and <i>Creadion</i>. 1868. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' Essay on Ornithology, by W. Buller, vol. i. p. 5: "The <i>Saddle-back</i> (Creadion carunculatus) of the North is represented in the South by C. cinereus, a closely allied species." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 64: "It is the sharp, quick call of the saddle-back." 1886. A. Reischek, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xix. art. xxiii. p. 102: "The bird derives its popular name from a peculiarity in the distribution of its two strongly contrasting colours, uniform black, back and shoulders ferruginous, the shoulders of the wings forming a saddle. In structure it resembles the starling (<i>Sturnidae</i>); it has also the wedge bill." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 18: "<i>Creadion Carunculatus</i>. This bird derives its popular name from a peculiarity in the distribution of its too strongly contrasted colours, black and ferruginous, the latter of which covers the back, forms a sharply-defined margin across the shoulders, and sweeps over the wings in a manner suggestive of saddle-flaps." <hw>Sagg</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name given in Tasmania to the plant <i>Xerotes longifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Junceae</i>, and also to the White Iris, <i>Diplarhena morcaea</i>. <hw>Saliferous</hw>, <i>adj</i>. salt-bearing. See <i>Salt-bush</i>. The word is used in geology in ordinary English, but the botanical application is Australian. 1890. E. W. Hornung, `A Bride from the Bush,' p. 277: "You have only to cover the desert with pale-green saliferous bushes, no higher than a man's knee." <hw>Sallee</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for many varieties of the <i>Acacia</i> (q.v.). <hw>Sally</hw>, <hw>Sallow</hw>, <i>n</i>. corruptions of the aboriginal word <i>Sallee</i> (q.v.). There are many varieties, e.g. <i>Black-Sally</i>, <i>White-Sally</i>, etc. <hw>Salmon</hw>, <i>n</i>. The English Salmon is being acclimatised with difficulty in Tasmania and New Zealand; the <i>Trout</i> more successfully. But in all Australian, New Zealand, and Tasmanian waters there is a marine fish which is called Salmon; it is not the true Salmon of the Old World, but <i>Arripis salar</i>, Gunth., and called in New Zealand by the Maori name <i>Kahawai</i>. The fish is often called also <i>Salmon-Trout</i>. The young is called <i>Samson-fish</i> (q.v.). 1798. D. Collins, `Account of the English Colony of New South Wales,' p. 136: [Sept. 1790.] "Near four thousand of a fish, named by us, from its shape only, the Salmon, being taken at two hauls of the seine. Each fish weighed on an average about five pounds." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 93: "The kawai has somewhat of the habits of the salmon, entering during spring and summer into the bays, rivers, and fresh-water creeks in large shoals." 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 393: "<i>Arripis salar</i>, South Australia. Three species are known, from the coasts of Southern Australia and New Zealand. They are named by the colonists Salmon or Trout, from their elegant form and lively habits, and from the sport they afford to the angler." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 35: "<i>Arripis salar</i>, Gunth., is in the adult state the salmon of the Australian fishermen, and their salmon trout is the young. . . . The most common of all Victorian fishes . . . does not resemble the true salmon in any important respect . . . It is the <i>A. truttaceus</i> of Cuvier and Valenciennes." <hw>Salmon-Trout</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Salmon</i> (q.v.). <hw>Saloop-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to an erect soft-stemmed bush, <i>Rhagodia hastata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Salsolaceae</i>, one of the Australian Redberries, two to three feet high. See <i>Redberry</i> and <i>Salt-bush</i>. <hw>Salsolaceous</hw>, <i>adj</i>. belongs to the natural order <i>Salsolaceae</i>. The shrubs of the order are not peculiar to Australia, but are commoner there than elsewhere. 1837. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 906: "Passing tufts of samphire and <i>salsolaceous</i> plants." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' c. xlii. (`Century'): "It is getting hopeless now . . . sand and nothing but sand. The salsolaceous plants, so long the only vegetation we have seen, are gone." <hw>Salt-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. the wild alkaline herb or shrub, growing on the interior plains of Australia, on which horses and sheep feed, of the <i>N.O. Salsolaceae</i>. The genera are <i>Atriplex, Kochia</i>, and <i>Rhagodia</i>. Of the large growth, <i>A. nummularium</i>, Lindl., and of the dwarf species, <i>A. vesicarium</i>, Heward, and <i>A. halimoides</i>, Lindl., are the commonest. Some species bear the additional names of <i>Cabbage Salt-bush</i>, <i>Old-Man Salt-bush</i>, <i>Small Salt-bush</i>, <i>Blue-bush</i>, <i>Cotton-bush</i>, <i>Saloop-bush</i>, etc. Some varieties are very rich in salt. <i>Rhagodia parabolica</i>, R. Br., for instance, according to Mr. Stephenson, who accompanied Sir T. Mitchell in one of his expeditions, yields as much as two ounces of salt by boiling two pounds of leaves. 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' c. ii. p. 89: "This inland salt-bush country suits the settler's purpose well." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 144: "The ground is covered with the sage-coloured salt-bush all the year round, but in the winter it blooms with flowers." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. xxi. p. 262: "How glorious it will be to see them pitching into that lovely salt-bush by the lake." 1892. E. W. Hornung, `Under Two Skies,' p. 11: "The surrounding miles of salt-bush plains and low monotonous scrub oppressed her when she wandered abroad. There was not one picturesque patch on the whole dreary run." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 92: "Over the miles of the salt-bush plain-- The shining plain that is said to be The dried-up bed of an inland sea. . . . . . . . . . . . . For those that love it and understand, The salt-bush plain is a wonderland." <hw>Samson-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Sydney to <i>Seriola hippos</i>, Gunth., family <i>Carangidae</i>; and in Melbourne to the young of <i>Arripis salar</i>, Richards., family <i>Percidae</i>. See <i>Salmon</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 60: "The samson-fish (Senola hippos, Gunth.) is occasionally caught. The great strength of these fishes is remarkable, and which probably is the cause that gave it the name of Samson-fish, as sailors or shipwrights give to the name of a strong post resting on the keelson of a ship, and supporting the upper beam, and bearing all the weight of the deck cargo near the hold, <i>Samson-post</i>." <hw>Sandalwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to many Australian trees from the strong scent of their timber. They are -- Of the <i>N.O. Santalaceae</i>-- <i>Exocarpos latifolia</i>, R. Br.; called <i>Scrub-Sandalwood</i>. <i>Fusanus spicatus</i>, R. Br.; called <i>Fragrant Sandalwood</i>. <i>Santalum lanceolatum</i>, R. Br. <i>S. obtusifodum</i>, R. Br. <i>Santalum persicarium</i>, F. v. M.; called <i>Native Sandalwood</i>. Of the <i>N.O. Myoporinae</i>-- <i>Eremophila mitchelli</i>, Benth.; called also <i>Rosewood</i> and <i>Bastard-Sandalwood</i>. <i>E. sturtii</i>, R. Br.; called curiously the <i>Scentless Sandalwood</i>. <i>Myoporum platycarpum</i>, R. Br.; called also <i>Dogwood</i> (q.v.). Of the <i>N.O. Apocyneae</i>-- <i>Alyxia buxifolia</i>, R. Br.; called <i>Native Sandalwood</i> in Tasmania. <hw>Sandfly-bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. Australian name for the indigenous tree <i>Zieria smithii</i>, Andr., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. Called also <i>Turmeric</i>, and in Tasmania, <i>Stinkwood</i>. <hw>Sand-Lark</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Australia to the Red-capped Dottrel, <i>Charadrius ruficapilla</i>, Temm. 1867. W. Richardson, `Tasmanian Poems,' pref. p. xi: "The nimble sand-lark learns his pretty note." <hw>Sandpiper</hw>, <i>n</i>. About twenty species of this familiar sea-bird exist. It belongs especially to the Northern Hemisphere, but it performs such extensive migrations that in the northern winter it is dispersed all over the world. (`Century.') The species observed in Australia are-- Bartram's Sandpiper-- <i>Tringa bartrami</i>. Common S.-- <i>Actitis hypoleucos</i>, Linn. Great S.-- <i>Tringa crassirostris</i>, Temm. and Schleg. Grey-rumped S.-- <i>T. brevisses</i>. <hw>Sandplover</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of New Zealand. According to Professor Parker, only two genera of this common bird are to be found in New Zealand. There is no bird bearing the name in Australia. See <i>Plover</i> and <i>Wry-billed Plover</i>. 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 116: "But two genera of the group [Wading Birds] are found only in New Zealand, the Sandplover and the curious Wry-billed Plover." <hw>Sand-stay</hw>, <i>n</i>. a characteristic name for the <i>Coast Tea-Tree</i>, <i>Leptospermum laevigatum</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. See <i>Tea-Tree</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 642: "Sandstay. Coast Tea-Tree. This shrub is the most effectual of all for arresting the progress of driftsand in a warm climate. It is most easily raised by simply scattering in autumn the seeds on the sand, and covering them loosely with boughs, or, better still, by spreading lopped-off branches of the shrub itself, bearing ripe seed, on the sand. (Mueller.)" <hw>Sandy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian fish, <i>Uphritis urvillii</i>, Cuv. and Val, family <i>Trachinidae</i>; also called the <i>Fresh-water Flathead</i>. See <i>Flathead</i>. <hw>Sandy-blight</hw>, <i>n</i>. a kind of ophthalmia common in Australia, in which the eye feels as if full of sand. Called also shortly, <i>Blight</i>. Shakspeare has <i>sand-blind</i> (<i>M. of V</i>. II. ii. 31); Launcelot says-- "0 heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not." On this, the American commentator, Mr. Rolfe, notes-- "<i>Sand-blind</i>. Dim of sight; as if there were sand in the eye, or perhaps floating before it. It means something more than purblind." "As if there were sand in the eye,"--an admirable description of the Australian <i>Sandy-blight</i>. 1869. J. F. Blanche, `The Prince's Visit,' p. 20: "The Prince was suff'ring from the sandy blight." 1870. E. B. Kennedy, `Four Years in Queensland,' p. 46: "Sandy-blight occurs generally in sandy districts in the North Kennedy; it may be avoided by ordinary care, and washing the eyes after a hot ride through sandy country. It is a species of mild ophthalmia." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 78: "He had pretty near lost his eyesight with the sandy blight, which made him put his head forward when he spoke, as if he took you for some one else, or was looking for what he couldn't find." <hw>Sarcophile</hw>, and <hw>Sarcophilus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of carnivorous marsupial animals of which the <i>Tasmanian Devil</i> (q.v.) is the only known living species.(Grk. <i>sarkos</i>, flesh, and <i>philein</i>, to love.) <hw>Sardine</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Australia to a fresh-water fish, <i>Chatoessus erebi</i>, Richards., of the herring tribe, occurring in West and North-West Australia, and in Queensland rivers, and which is called in the Brisbane river the <i>Sardine</i>. It is the <i>Bony Bream</i> of the New South Wales rivers, and the <i>Perth Herring</i> of Western Australia. <hw>Sarsaparilla, Australian</hw> or <hw>Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) An ornamental climbing shrub, <i>Hardenbergia monophylla</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. Formerly called <i>Kennedya</i> (q.v.). (2) <i>Smilax glycyphylla</i>, Smith, <i>N.0. Liliaceae</i>. 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 114: "Native Sarsaparilla. The roots of this beautiful purple- flowered twiner (<i>Hardenbergia monophylla</i>) are used by bushmen as a substitute for the true sarsaparilla, which is obtained from a widely different plant." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 189: "Commonly, but wrongly, called `Native Sarsaparilla.' The roots are sometimes used by bushmen as a substitute for the true sarsaparilla (<i>Smilax</i>), but its virtues are purely imaginary. It is a common thing in the streets of Sydney, to see persons with large bundles of the leaves on their shoulders, doubtless under the impression that they have the leaves of the true Sarsaparilla, <i>Smilax glycyphylla</i>." 1896. `The Argus,' Sept. 8, p. 7, col. 1: "He will see, too, the purple of the sarsaparilla on the hill-sides, and the golden bloom of the wattle on the flats, forming a beautiful contrast in tint. Old diggers consider the presence of sarsaparilla and the ironbark tree as indicative of the existence of golden wealth below. Whether these can be accepted as indicators in the vegetable kingdom of gold below is questionable, but it is nevertheless a fact that the sarsaparilla and the ironbark tree are common on most of Victoria's goldfields." <hw>Sassafras</hw>, <i>n</i>. corruption of <hw>Saxafas</hw>, which is from <hw>Saxifrage</hw>. By origin, the word means "stone-breaking," from its medicinal qualities. The true <i>Sassafras</i> (<i>S. officinale</i>) is the only species of the genus. It is a North-American tree, about forty feet high, but the name has been given to various trees in many parts of the world, from the similarity, either of their appearance or of the real or supposed medicinal properties of their bark. In Australia, the name is given to-- <i>Atherosperma moschatum</i>, Labill., <i>N.0. Monimiaceae</i>; called <i>Native Sassafras</i>, from the odour of its bark, due to an essential oil closely resembling true Sassafras in odour. (Maiden.) <i>Beilschmiedia obtusifolia</i>, Benth., <i>N.0. Lauraceae</i>; called <i>Queensland Sassafras</i>, a large and handsome tree. <i>Cryptocarya glaucescens</i>, R. Br., <i>N.0. Lauraceae</i>; the <i>Sassafras</i> of the early days of New South Wales, and now called <i>Black Sassafras</i>. <i>Daphnandra micrantha</i>, Benth., <i>N.0. Monimiaceae</i>, called also <i>Satinwood</i>, and <i>Light Yellow-wood</i>. <i>Doryphora sassafras</i>, Endl., <i>N.0. Monimiaceae</i>. Grey Sassafras is the <i>Moreton-Bay Laurel</i>. See <i>Laurel</i>. The New Zealand Sassafras is <i>Laurelia novae-zelandiae</i>. 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 134: "The leaves of these have been used as substitutes for tea in the colony, as have also the leaves and bark of <i>Cryptocarya glaucescens</i>, the Australian sassafras." 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. ii. p. 166: "The beautiful Tasmanian sassafras-tree is also a dweller in some parts of our fern-tree valleys. . . . The flowers are white and fragrant, the leaves large and bright green, and the bark has a most aromatic scent, besides being, in a decoction, an excellent tonic medicine. . . . The sawyers and other bushmen familiar with the tree call it indiscriminately `saucifax,' `sarserfrax,' and `satisfaction.'" 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 206: "A Tasmanian timber. Height, 40 ft.; dia., 14 in. Found on low, marshy ground. Used for sashes and doorframes." 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue--Economic Woods,' No. 36: "<i>Atherosperma moschatum</i>, Victorian sassafras-tree, <i>N.O. Monimiaceae</i>." <hw>Satin-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Satin Bower-bird</i>. See <i>Bower-bird</i>. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 264: The natives call it Cowry, the colonists Satin-Bird." <hw>Satin-Robin</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the <i>Satin Fly-catcher</i>, <i>Myiagra nitida</i>, Gould. <hw>Satin-Sparrow</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Satin-Robin</i> (q.v.). <hw>Satinwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied to two Australian trees from the nature of their timber--<i>Xanthoxylum brachyacanthum</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>, called also <i>Thorny Yellow-wood</i>; <i>Daphnandra micrantha</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Monimiaceae</i>, called also <i>Light Yellow-wood</i> and <i>Sassafras</i> (q.v.). <hw>Saw-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a species of Ray, <i>Pristis zysron</i>, Bleek, the Australasian representative of the <i>Pristidae</i> family, or <i>Saw-fishes</i>, Rays of a shark-like form, with long, flat snouts, armed along each edge with strong teeth. 1851. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 223 [J. E. Bicheno, June 8, 1850, <i>in epist</i>.]: "Last week an old fisherman brought me a fine specimen of a Saw-fish, caught in the Derwent. It turned out to be the <i>Pristis cirrhatus</i>,--a rare and curious species, confined to the Australian seas, and first described by Dr. Latham in the year 1793." <hw>Sawyer</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Name applied by bushmen in New Zealand to the insect <i>Weta</i> (q.v.). (2) A trunk embedded in the mud so as to move with the current--hence the name: a snag is fixed. (An American use of the word.) See also <i>Snag</i>. 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 22: "By Fitzroy's rugged crags, Its `sawyers' and its snags, He roamed." <hw>Sceloglaux</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus containing the New Zealand bird called the <i>Laughing Owl</i> (see under <i>Jackass</i>). The name was given by Kaup in 1848; the bird had been previously classed as <i>Athene</i> by Gray in 1844. It is now nearly extinct. Kaup also gave the name of Spiloglaux to the <i>New Zealand Owl</i> at the same date. The words are from the Greek <i>glaux</i>, an owl, <i>spilos</i>, a spot, and <i>skelos</i>, a leg. <hw>Scent-wood</hw>, a Tasmanian evergreen shrub, <i>Alyxia buxifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Apocyneae</i>, of the dogbane family. <hw>Schnapper</hw>, <i>n</i>. or <hw>Snapper</hw>, a fish abundant in all Australasian waters, <i>Pagrus unicolor</i>, Cuv. and Val. The latter spelling was the original form of the word (one that snaps). It was gradually changed by the fishermen, perhaps of Dutch origin, to <i>Schnapper</i>, the form now general. The name <i>Snapper</i> is older than the settlement of Australia, but it is not used for the same fish. `O.E.D.,' s.v. <i>Cavally</i>, quotes: 1657. R. Ligon, `Barbadoes,' p. 12: "Fish . . . of various kinds . . . Snappers, grey and red; Cavallos, Carpians, etc." The young are called <i>Cock-schnapper</i> (q.v.); at a year old they are called <i>Red-Bream</i>; at two years old, <i>Squire</i>; at three, <i>School-Schnapper</i>; when they cease to "school" and swim solitary they are called <i>Natives</i> and <i>Rock-Natives</i>. Being the standard by which the "catch" is measured, the full-grown <i>Schnappers</i> are also called <i>Count-fish</i> (q.v.). In New Zealand, the <i>Tamure</i> (q.v.) is also called <i>Schnapper</i>, and the name <i>Red-Schnapper</i> is given to <i>Anthias richardsoni</i>, Gunth., or <i>Scorpis hectori</i>, Hutton. See quotation, 1882. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 68: "King-fish, mullet, mackarel, rockcod, whiting, snapper, bream, flatheads, and various other descriptions of fishes, are all found plentifully about." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. p. 261: "The kangaroos are numerous and large, and the finest snappers I have ever heard of are caught off this point, weighing sometimes as much as thirty pounds." [The point referred to is that now called Schnapper Point, at Mornington, in Victoria.] 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 39: "The genus <i>Pagrus</i>, or as we term it in the vernacular, `schnapper,' a word of Dutch origin . . . The schnapper or snapper. The schnapper (<i>Pagrus unicolor</i>, Cuv. and Val.) is the most valuable of Australian fishes, not for its superior excellence . . . but for the abundant and regular supply . . . At a still greater age the schnapper seems to cease to school and becomes what is known as the `native' and `rock-native,' a solitary and sometimes enormously large fish." 1896 `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 5: "The fish, snapper, is so called because it snapped. The spelling with `ch' is a curious after-thought, suggestive of alcohol. The name cannot come from schnapps." <hw>School-Schnapper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish. A name given to the <i>Schnapper</i> when three years old. See <i>Schnapper</i>. <hw>Scorpion</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the New South Wales fish <i>Pentaroge marmorata</i>, Cuv. and Val.; called also the <i>Fortescue</i> (q.v.), and the <i>Cobbler</i>. <hw>Scotchman</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand name for a smaller kind of the grass called <i>Spaniard</i> (q.v.). 1895. W. S. Roberts, `Southland in 1856,' p. 39: "As we neared the hills speargrass of the smaller kind, known as Scotchmen,' abounded, and although not so strong and sharp-pointed as the `Spaniard,' would not have made a comfortable seat." 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 5: ". . . national appellations are not satisfactory. It seems uncivil to a whole nation--another injustice to Ireland--to call a bramble a wild Irishman, or a pointed grass, with the edges very sharp and the point like a bayonet, a Spaniard. One could not but be amused to find the name Scotchman applied to a smaller kind of Spaniard.' <hw>Scribbly-Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. also called <i>White-Gum</i>, <i>Eucalyptus haemastoma</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 174: "Scribbly or White-Gum. As regards timber this is the most worthless of the Queensland species. A tree, often large, with a white, smooth, deciduous bark, always marked by an insect in a scribbly manner." <hw>Scrub</hw>, <i>n</i>. country overgrown with thick bushes. Henry Kingsley's explanation (1859), that the word means shrubbery, is singularly misleading, the English word conveying an idea of smallness and order compared with the size and confusion of the Australian use. Yet he is etymologically correct, for <i>Scrobb</i> is Old English (Anglo-Saxon) for shrub; but the use had disappeared in England. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. c. i. p. 21: "We encamped about noon in some scrub." 1838. T. L. Mitchell,' Three Expeditions,' vol. i. p. 213: "A number of gins and children remained on the borders of the scrub, half a mile off." 1844. J A. Moore, `Tasmanian Rhymings' (1860), p. 13: "Here Nature's gifts, with those of man combined, Hath [sic] from a scrub a Paradise defined." 1848. W. Westgarth, "Australia Felix,' p. 24: "The colonial term scrub, of frequent and convenient use in the description of Australian scenery, is applicable to dense assemblages of harsh wild shrubbery, tea-tree, and other of the smaller and crowded timber of the country, and somewhat analogous to the term jungle." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' vol. ii. p. 155 [Footnote]: "<i>Scrub</i>. I have used, and shall use, this word so often that some explanation is due to the English reader. I can give no better definition of it than by saying that it means `shrubbery.'" 1864. J. McDouall Stuart, `Exploration in Australia,' p. 153: "At four miles arrived on the top, through a very thick scrub of mulga." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. v. p. 78: "Woods which are open and passable--passable at any rate for men on horseback--are called bush. When the undergrowth becomes, thick and matted, so as to be impregnable without an axe, it is scrub." [Impregnability is not a necessary point of the definition. There is "light" scrub, and "heavy" or "thick" scrub.] 1883. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. i. p. 67 [Note]: "Scrub was a colonial term for dense undergrowth, like that of the mallee-scrub." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 7: "Where . . . a belt of scrub lies green, glossy, and impenetrable as Indian bungle." (p. 8): "The nearest scrub, in the thickets of which the Blacks could always find an impenetrable stronghold." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 36: "A most magnificent forest of trees, called in Australia a `scrub,' to distinguish it from open timbered country." 1890. J. McCarthy and R. M. Praed, `Ladies' Gallery,' p. 252: "Why, I've been alone in the scrub--in the desert, I mean; you will understand that better." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 374: "One more prominent feature in Australian vegetation are the large expanses of the so-called `scrub' of the colonists. This is a dense covering of low bushes varying in composition in different districts, and named according to the predominating element." 1893. A. R. Wallace, `Australasia,' vol. i. p. 46: "Just as Tartary is characterised by its steppes, America by its prairies, and Africa by its deserts, so Australia has one feature peculiar to itself, and that is its `scrubs.'. . . One of the most common terms used by explorers is `Mallee' scrub, so called from its being composed of dwarf species of Eucalyptus called the `Mallee' by the Natives. . . . Still more dreaded by the explorer is the `Mulga' scrub, consisting chiefly of dwarf acacias." 1894. E. Favenc, `Tales of the Austral Tropics,' p. 3: "Even more desolate than the usual dreary-looking scrub of the interior of Australia." [p. 6]: "The sea of scrub." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Manfrom Snowy River,' p. 25: "Born and bred on the mountain-side, He could race through scrub like a kangaroo." <hw>Scrub</hw>, <i>adj</i>. and in composition. The word scrub occurs constantly in composition. See the following words. 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 113: "We gathered the wild raspberries, and mingling them with gee-bongs, and scrub-berries, set forth a dessert." <hw>Scrub-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to two Australian birds, of the genus <i>Atrichia</i>. (Grk. <i>'atrichos</i> = without hair.) They are the Noisy Scrub-bird, <i>Atrichia clamosa</i>, Gould, and the Rufous S.-b., <i>A. rufescens</i>, Ramsay. 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' `Supplement,' pl. 26: "The Scrub-bird creeps mouse-like over the bark, or sits on a dripping stem and mocks all surrounding notes." <hw>Scrub-cattle</hw>, <i>n</i>. escaped cattle that run wild in the <i>scrub</i>, used as a collective plural of <i>Scrubber</i> (q.v.). 1860. A. L. Gordon, `The Sick Stockrider' [in `Bush-Ballads,' 1876], p. 8: "'Twas merry 'mid the blackwoods, when we spied the station roofs, To wheel the wild scrub-cattle at the yard, With a running fire of stock-whips and a fiery run of hoofs, Oh! the hardest day was never then too hard." <hw>Scrub-Crab</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland fruit. The large dark purple fruit, two inches in diameter, of <i>Sideroxylon australe</i>, Benth. and Hook., <i>N.O. Saponaceae</i>; a tall tree. <hw>Scrub-dangler</hw>, <i>n</i>. a wild bullock. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvi. p. 193: "He is one of those infernal scrub-danglers from the Lachlan, come across to get a feed." <hw>Scrub-fowl</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to birds of the genus <i>Megapodius</i>. See <i>Megapode</i>. <hw>Scrub-Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Scrub-hen</hw>, i.q. <i>Scrub fowl</i>. <hw>Scrub-Ironwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Ironwood</i>. <hw>Scrub-Myrtle</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Myrtle</i>. <hw>Scrub-Oak</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Oak</i>. <hw>Scrub-Pine</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Pine</i>. <hw>Scrub-Poison-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Poison-tree</i>. <hw>Scrub-rider</hw>, <i>n</i>. a man who rides through the <i>scrub</i> in search of <i>Scrub-cattle</i> (q.v.). 1881. A. C. Giant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 278: "A favourite plan among the bold scrub-riders." <hw>Scrub-Robin</hw>, <i>n</i>. the modern name for any bird of the genus <i>Drymodes</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 10: "<i>Drymodes Brunneopygia</i>, Gould, Scrub-Robin. I discovered this singular bird in the great Murray Scrub in South [sc. Southern] Australia, where it was tolerably abundant. I have never seen it from any other part of the country, and it is doubtless confined to such portions of Australia as are clothed with a similar character of vegetation." 1895. W. O. Legge, `Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science' (Brisbane), p. 447: "As regards portions of Gould's English nomenclatures, such as his general term `Robin' for the genera <i>Petroica, Paecilodryas</i>, <i>Eopsaltria</i>, it was found that by retaining the term `Robin' for the best known member of the group (<i>Petroica</i>), and applying a qualifying noun to the allied genera, such titles as Tree-robin, Scrub-robin, and Shrike-robin were easily evolved." <hw>Scrub-Sandalwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Sandalwood</i>. <hw>Scrub-Tit</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Tit</i>. <HW>Scrub-tree</HW>, <i>n</i>. any tree that grows in the scrub. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 219: "Almost all the Scrub-trees of the Condamine and Kent's Lagoon were still to be seen at the Burdekin." <hw>Scrub-Turkey</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, <i>Leipoa ocellata</i>, Gould; aboriginal name, the <i>Lowan</i> (q.v.). See <i>Turkey</i>. <hw>Scrub-Vine</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Native Rose</i>. See <i>Bauera</i> (q.v.). <hw>Scrub-Wren</hw>, <i>n</i>. any little bird of the Australian genus <i>Sericornis</i>. The species are-- Brown Scrub-Wren-- <i>Sericornis humilis</i>, Gould. Buff breasted S.-W.-- <i>S. laevigaster</i>, Gould. Collared S.-W.-- <i>S. gutturalis</i>, Gould. Large-billed Scrub-Wren-- <i>Sericornis magnirostris</i>, Gould. Little S.-W.-- <i>S. minimus</i>, Gould. Spotted S.-W.-- <i>S. maculatus</i>, Gould. Spotted-throated S.-W.-- <i>S. osculans</i>, Gould. White-browed S.-W.-- <i>S. frontalis</i>, Vig. & Hors. Yellow-throated S.-W.-- <i>S. citreogularis</i>, Gould. <hw>Scrubber</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) a bullock that has taken to the scrub and so become wild. See <i>Scrub-cattle</i>. Also formerly used for a wild horse, now called a <i>Brumby</i> (q.v.). 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' c. xxix: "The captain was getting in the scrubbers, cattle which had been left to run wild through in the mountains." 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. vi. p. 110: "There are few field-sports anywhere . . . equal to `hunting scrubbers.'" 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 93: "Out flew the ancient scrubber, instinctively making towards his own wild domain." 1887. W. S. S. Tyrwhitt, `The New Chum in the Queensland Bush,' p. 151: "There are also wild cattle, which are either cattle run wild or descendants of such. They are commonly called `scrubbers,' because they live in the larger scrubs." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 405: "Here I am boxed up, like a scrubber in a pound, year after year." 1893. `The Argus,' April 29, p. 4, col. 4 (`Getting in the Scrubbers'): "The scrubbers, unseen of men, would stay in their fastnesses all day chewing the cud they had laid up the night before, and when the sun went down and the strident laugh of the giant kingfisher had given place to the insidious air-piercing note of the large-mouthed podargus, the scrub would give up its inhabitants." (2) A starved-looking or ill-bred animal. (3) The word is sometimes applied to mankind in the slang sense of an "outsider." It is used in University circles as equivalent to the Oxford "smug," a man who will not join in the life of the place. See also <i>Bush-scrubber</i>. 1868. `Colonial Monthly,' vol. ii. p. 141 [art. `Peggy's Christening]: "`I can answer for it, that they are scrubbers--to use a bush phrase--have never been brought within the pale of any church.' "`Never been christened?' asked the priest. "`Have no notion of it--scrubbers, sir--never been branded.'" <hw>Scrubby</hw>, <i>adj</i>. belonging to, or resembling scrub. 1802. Jas. Flemming, `Journal of the Exploration of C. Grimes' [at Port Phillip, Australia], ed. by J. J. Shillinglaw, 1879, Melbourne, p. 17: "The land appeared barren, a scrubby brush." [p. 221: "The trees low and scrubby." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 19: "To-day I . . . passed a scrubby ironbark forest.". 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 216: "A scrubby country is a stockman's abhorrence, as there he cannot ride, at least at any pace." 1868. J. A. B., `Meta,' c. i. p. 9: "'Twere madness to attempt to chase, In such a wild and scrubby place, Australia's savage steer." <hw>Scrubdom</hw>, <i>n</i>. the land of scrub. 1889. C. A. Sherard, `Daughter of South,' p. 29: "My forefathers reigned in this scrubdom of old." <hw>Scythrops</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of birds belonging to the <i>Cuculidae</i>, or Cuckoos (from Grk. <i>skuthrowpos</i> = angry-looking). The only species known is peculiar to Australia, where it is called the <i>Channel-Bill</i>, a name given by Latham (`General History of Birds,' vol. ii.). White (1790) calls it the <i>Anomalous Hornbill</i> (`Journal 1790,' pl. at p. 142). <hw>Sea-Berry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Red-berry</i>. <hw>Sea-Dragon</hw>, <i>n</i>. any Australian fish of any one of the three species of the genus <i>Phyllopteryx</i>, family <i>Syngnathidae</i>. The name of the genus comes from the Greek <i>phullon</i> = a leaf, and <i>pterux</i> = a wing. This genus is said by Guenther to be exclusively Australian. "Protective resemblance attains its highest degree of development," he says, in this genus. "Not only their colour closely assimilates that of the particular kind of sea-weed which they frequent, but the appendages of their spines seem to be merely part of the fucus to which they are attached. They attain a length of twelve inches." (`Study of Fishes,' p. 683.) The name, in England, is given to other and different fishes. The species <i>P. foliatus</i> is called the <i>Superb Dragon</i> (q.v.), from the beauty of its colours. <hw>Sea-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied to different fishes--in Sydney, to the <i>Morwong</i> (q.v.) and <i>Bull's</i>-eye (q.v.); in New Zealand, to <i>Sebastes percoides</i>, called <i>Pohuiakawa</i> (q.v.); in Melbourne, to <i>Red-Gurnard</i> (q.v.). See <i>Red Gurnet-Perch</i>. <hw>Sea-Pig</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small whale, the <i>Dugong</i>. See under <i>Dugong-oil</i>. 1853. S. Sidney, `Three Colonies of Australia,' p. 267: "The aborigines eagerly pursue the dugong, a species of small whale, generally known to the colonists as the sea-pig." <hw>Sea-Pike</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of New South Wales, <i>Lanioperca mordax</i>, Gunth., of the family <i>Sphyraenidae</i>. The name belongs to the Sydney fish-market. <hw>Select</hw>, v. i.q. <i>Free-select</i> (q.v.). <hw>Selection</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Free-selection</i> (q.v.). <hw>Selector</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Free-selector</i> (q.v.). <hw>Sergeant Baker</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a fish of New South Wales, <i>Aulopus purpurissatus</i>, Richards., family <i>Scopelidae</i>. 1882. Rev. J E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 82: "The Sergeant Baker in all probability got its local appellation in the early history of the colony (New South Wales), as it was called after a sergeant of that name in one of the first detachments of a regiment; so were also two fruits of the Geebong tribe (<i>Persoonia</i>); one was called Major Buller, and the other Major Groce, and this latter again further corrupted into Major Grocer." <hw>Settler's</hw> Clock (also <hw>Hawkesbury Clock</hw>), <i>n</i>. another name for the bird called the <i>Laughing-Jackass</i>. See <i>Jackass</i>. 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 114: "From its habit of starting its discordant paean somewhere near sunrise and, after keeping comparatively quiet all through the hotter hours, cackling a `requiem to the day's decline,' the bird has been called the <i>Settler's</i> clock. It may be remarked, however, that this by no means takes place with the methodical precision that romancers write of in their letters home." <hw>Settlers' Matches</hw>, <i>n</i>. name occasionally applied to the long pendulous strips of bark which hang from the Eucalypts and other trees, during decortication, and which, bec oming exceedingly dry, are readily ignited and used as kindling wood. 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 84: "In the silence of the darkness and the playing of the breeze, That we heard the settlers' matches rustle softly in the trees." 1896. `The Australasian,' June 13, p. 1133, col. 1: "<i>Re</i> settlers' matches, torches, the blacks in the South-east of South Australia always used the bark of the she-oak to carry from one camp to another; it would last and keep alight for a long time and show a good light to travel by when they had no fire. A fire could always be lighted with two grass trees, a small fork, and a bit of dry grass. I have often started a fire with them myself." <hw>Settler's Twine</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fibre plant, <i>Gymnostachys anceps</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Aroideae</i>, called also <i>Travellers' Grass</i>. Much used by farmers as cord or string where strength is required. <hw>Shag</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English birdname for a <i>Cormorant</i> (q.v.). Gould, fifty years ago, enumerates the following as Australian species, in his `Birds of Australia' (vol. vii.)-- Plate <i>Phalacrocorax Carboides</i>, Gould, Australian Cormorant, Black Shag, Colonists of W.A. . . . . . 66 <i>P. Hypoleucus</i>, Pied C., Black and White Shag, Colonists of W. A. . . . . . . . . . 68 <i>P. Melanoleucus</i>, Vieill., Pied C., Little Shag, Colonists of W.A. . . . . . . . . . 70 <i>P. Punctatus</i>, Spotted C., Crested Shag (Cook), Spotted Shag (Lapham) . . . . . . . . . 71 <i>P. Leucogaster</i>, Gould, White-breasted C. . . 69 <i>P. Stictocephalus</i>, Bp., Little Black C. . . 67 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 185: "Shags started from dead trees lying half immersed." <hw>Shagroon</hw>, <i>n</i>. When the province of Canterbury, in New Zealand, was first settled, the men who came from England were called <i>Pilgrims</i>, all others <i>Shagroons</i>, probably a modification of the Irish word <i>Shaughraun</i>. 1877. W. Pratt, `Colonial Experiences of Incidents of Thirty-four Years in New Zealand,' p. 234: "In the `Dream of a Shagroon,' which bore the date Ko Matinau, April 1851, and which first appeared in the `Wellington Spectator' of May 7, the term `Pilgrim' was first applied to the settlers; it was also predicted in it that the `Pilgrims' would be `smashed' and the Shagroons left in undisputed possession of the country for their flocks and herds." <hw>Shake</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. to steal. Very common Australian slang, especially amongst school-boys and bushmen. It was originally Thieves' English. 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. ii. p. 9: "The tent of a surgeon was `shook,' as they style it--that is, robbed, during his absence in the daytime." 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 418: "Crimean shirts, blankets, and all they `shake,' Which I'm told's another name for `take.'" <hw>Shamrock, Australian</hw>, <i>n</i>. a perennial, fragrant, clover-like plant, <i>Trigonella suavissima</i>, Lindl., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; excellent as forage. Called also <i>Menindie Clover</i> (aboriginal name, <i>Calomba</i>). See <i>Clover</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 143: "It is the `Australian shamrock' of Mitchell." <hw>Shamrock, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a forage plant, <i>Lotus australis</i>, Andr., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. Called <i>Native Shamrock</i> in Tasmania. <hw>Shanghai</hw>, <i>n</i>. a catapult. Some say because used against Chinamen. The reason seems inadequate. 1863. `The Leader,' Oct. 24, p. 17, col. 1: "Turn, turn thy shanghay dread aside, Nor touch that little bird." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), May 15, p. 22, col. 1: "The lads had with them a couple of pistols, powder, shot, bullets, and a shanghai." 1875. Ibid. July 17, p. 123, col. 3: "The shanghai, which, as a secret instrument of mischief, is only less dangerous than the air-gun." 1884. `Police Offences Act, New Zealand,' sec. 4, subsec. 23: "Rolls any cask, beats any carpet, flies any kite, uses any bows and arrows, or catapult, or shanghai, or plays at any game to the annoyance of any person in any public place." 1893. `The Age,' Sept. 15, p. 6, col. 7: "The magistrate who presided on the Carlton bench yesterday, has a decided objection to the use of shanghais, and in dealing with three little boys, the eldest of whom was but eleven or twelve years of age, charged with the use of these weapons in the Prince's Park, denounced their conduct in very strong terms. He said that he looked upon this crime as one of the worst that a lad could be guilty of, and if he had his own way in the matter he would order each of them to be lashed." 1895. C. French, Letter to `Argus,' Nov. 29: "Wood swallows are somewhat sluggish and slow in their flight, and thus fall an easy prey to either the gun or the murderous and detestable `shanghai.'" <hw> Shanghai-shot</hw>, <i>n</i>. a short distance, a stone's-throw. 1874. Garnet Walch, `Head over Heels' [Introduction to Tottlepot Poems]: "His parents . . . residing little more than a Shanghai-shot from Romeo Lane, Melbourne." <hw>Shanty</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) a hastily erected wooden house; (2) a public-house, especially unlicensed: a sly-grog shop. The word is by origin Keltic (Irish). In the first sense, its use is Canadian or American; in the last, Australian. In Barrere and Leland it is said that circus and showmen always call a public-house a shanty. 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June 26, p. 91, col. 1: "These buildings, little better than shanties, are found in . . . numbers." 1880. Garnet Walch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 9: "We read of the veriest shanties letting for L2 per week." 1880. W. Senior, `Travel and Trout,' p. 15: "He becomes a land-owner, and puts up a slab-shanty." 1880. G. <i>n</i>. Oakley, in `Victoria in 1880,' p. 114: "The left-hand track, past shanties soaked in grog, Leads to the gaol." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 103: "The faint glimmering light which indicates the proximity of the grog shanty is hailed with delight." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 221: "I have seen a sober man driven perfectly mad for the time being, by two glasses of so-called rum, supplied to him at one of these shanties." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. vi. p. 64: "Any attempt to limit the licensing produced . . . a crop of shanties, or sly-grog shops." 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 9, p. 4, col. 2: "The old woman thought that we were on gold, and would lamb down at the finish in her shanty." <hw>Shanty-Keeper</hw>, <i>n</i>. keeper of a sly-grog shop. 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for Mail,' p. 45: "Mrs. Smith was a shanty-keeper's wife." 1887. J. Farrell, `How he died,' p. 72: "The shanty-keeper saw the entering strangers." <hw>Shantywards</hw>, adv. 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 2, p. 13, col. 4: "Looking . . . over the fence shantywards." <hw>Shark</hw>, <i>n</i>. Some of the Australasian species are identical with those of Europe. Varieties and names which differ are-- Blue Shark (New South Wales)-- <i>Carcharias macloti</i>, Mull. and Heule. Hammer S. (N.S.W.)-- <i>Zygaena malleus</i>, Shaw. One-finned S. (N.S.W.)-- <i>Notidanus indicus</i>, Cuv. Port Jackson S. (q.v.)-- <i>Heterodontus phillipii</i>, Lacep.; called also the <i>Shell-grinder</i>. Saw-fish S.-- <i>Pristiophorus cirratus</i>, Lath. School S. (N.S.W.)-- <i>Galeus australis</i>, Macl.; called also <i>Tope</i> (q.v.). Shovel-nosed S. (N.S.W.)-- <i>Rhinobatus granulatus</i>, Cuv.; also called the <i>Blind-Shark</i>, or <i>Sand-Shark</i>. Tiger S. (N.S.W.)-- <i>Galeocerdo rayneri</i>, Macdon. and Barr. White S.-- <i>Carcharodon rondeletii</i>, Mull. and Heule; called also the <i>White-Pointer</i>. The Sharks of New Zealand are-- Black Shark-- <i>Carcharodon melanopterus</i> (Maori name <i>Keremai</i>). Brown S.-- <i>Scymnus lichia</i>. Great S.-- <i>Carcharias maso</i>. Hammer-head S.-- <i>Zygaena malleus</i> (Maori name, <i>Mangopare</i>). Port-eagle S.-- <i>Lamna cornutica</i> Spinous S.-- <i>Echinorhinus spinosus</i>. Tiger S.-- <i>Scymnus sp</i>. (Maori name, <i>Mako</i>). See also <i>Blue-Pointer</i>, <i>Whaler</i>, and <i>Wobbegong</i>. <hw>Shearer's Joy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to colonial beer. 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 22: "It was the habit afterwards among the seven to say that the officers of the <i>Eliza Jane</i> had been indulging in shearer's joy." <hw>She-Beech</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Beech</i>. <hw>Shed</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word generally signifies the <i>Woolshed</i> (q.v.). A large, substantial, and often expensive building. 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 143: "There's 20 hungry beggars wild for any job this year, An' 50 might be at the shed while I am lyin' here." 1896. `Melbourne Argus,' April 30, p. 2, col. 5: "There is a substantial and comfortable homestead, and ample shed accommodation." <hw>Sheep-pest</hw>, <i>n</i>. a common Australian weed, <i>Acama ovina</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Rosaceae</i>, found in all the colonies; so called because its fruit adheres by hooked spines to the wool of sheep. <hw>Sheep-run</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Run</i>. <hw>Sheep-sick</hw>, <i>n</i>. Used of pastures exhausted for carrying sheep. Compare English screw-sick, paint-sick, nail-sick, wheat-sick, etc. 1895. `Leader,' August 3, p. 6, col. 1: "It is the opinion of many practical men that certain country to which severe losses have occurred in recent years has been too long carrying sheep, and that the land has become what is termed `sheep sick,' and from this point of view it certainly appears that a course of better management is most desirable." <hw>Sheep-wash</hw> (used as verb), to wash sheep. The word is also used as a noun, in its ordinary English senses of (1) a lotion for washing sheep; (2) the washing of sheep preparatory to shearing: (3) the place where the sheep are washed, also called the `sheep-dip.' 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 184: "He can't dig or sheep-wash or plough <i>there</i>." <hw>Sheldrake</hw>, or <hw>Shieldrake</hw>, <i>n</i>. the common English name of ducks of the genera <i>Tadorna</i> and <i>Casarca</i>. The Australian species are--<i>Casarca tadornoides</i> Jard., commonly called the <i>Mountain</i> Duck; and the White-headed S., <i>Tadorna radjah</i>, Garnot. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 217: "Charley shot the sheldrake of Port Essington (Tadorna Rajah)." <hw>Shell-grinder</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Port-Jackson Shark</i> (q.v.). <hw>She-Oak</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A tree of the genus <i>Casuarina</i> (q.v.). The timber, which is very hard and makes good fuel, was thought to resemble oak. See <i>Oak</i>, and quotation from Captain Cook. The prefix <i>she</i> is used in Australia to indicate an inferiority of timber in respect of texture, colour, or other character; e.g. <i>She-beech</i>, <i>She-pine</i>. The reason for <i>He-oak</i> is given in quotation 1835. <i>Bull-oak</i>, <i>Marsh-oak</i>, <i>Swamp-oak</i>, were invented to represent variations of the Casuarina. Except in its timber, the She-oak is not in the least like an oak-tree (<i>Quercus</i>). The spelling in quotation 1792 makes for this simple explanation, which, like that of <i>Beef-eater</i> in English, and <i>Mopoke</i> in Austral-English, was too simple; and other spellings, e.g. <i>Shea-oak</i>, were introduced, to suggest a different etymology. <i>Shiak</i> (quotation, 1853) seems to claim an aboriginal origin (more directly claimed, quotation, 1895), but no such aboriginal word is found in the vocabularies. In quotations 1835, 1859, a different origin is assigned, and a private correspondent, whose father was one of the first to be born of English parents in New South Wales, says that English officers who had served in Canada had named the tree after one that they had known there. A higher authority, Sir Joseph D. Hooker (see quotation, 1860), says, "I believe adapted from the North-American <i>Sheack</i>." This origin, if true,is very interesting; but Sir Joseph Hooker, in a letter dated Jan. 26, 1897, writes that his authority was Mr. Gunn (see quotation, 1835). That writer, however, it will be seen, only puts "is said to be." To prove the American origin, we must find the American tree. It is not in the `Century,' nor in the large `Webster,' nor in `Funk and Wagnall's Standard,' nor in either of two dictionaries of Americanisms. Dr. Dawson, director of the Geological Survey of Canada, who is thoroughly acquainted with Indian folk-lore and languages, and Mr. Fowler, Professor of Botany in Queen's University, Kingston, say that there is no such Indian word. 2792. G. Thompson, in `Historical Records of New South Wales,' vol. ii. (1893) p. 799: "There are two kinds of oak, called the he and the she oak, but not to be compared with English oak, and a kind of pine and mahogany, so heavy that scarce either of them will swim." 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 166 (Bass' diary at Port Dalrymple, Tasmania, Nov. 1798): "The She oaks were more inclined to spread than grow tall." 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 134 "<i>Casuarina torulosa</i>, the she-oak. The young fruit and young shoots afford an agreeable acid by chewing, which allays thirst." 1835. Ross, `Hobart-town Almanack,' p. 75 [Article said by Sir Joseph Hooker (Jan. 26, 1897) to be by Mr. Ronald Gunn]: "Casuarina torulosa? She-oak. C. stricta? He-oak. C. tenuissima? Marsh-oak. The name of the first of these is said to be a corruption of Sheac, the name of an American tree, producing the beef wood, like our Sheoak. The second species has obtained the name of He-oak in contradistinction of She-oak, as if they constituted one dioecious plant, the one male and the other female, whereas they are perfectly distinct species." 1842. `Western Australia,' p. 80: "The Shea-oak (a corruption of sheak, the native name for this, or a similar tree, in Van Diemen's Land) is used chiefly for shingles." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 91: "Then to cut down the timber, gum, box, she-oak, and wattle-trees, was an Herculean task." 1847. J. D. Lang, "Phillipsland,' p. 95: "They are generally a variety of <i>Casuarinae</i>, commonly called she-oak by the colonists, and the sighing of the wind among the sail-needle-like leaves, that constitute their vegetation, produces a melancholy sound." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 219: "Most of the trees of this colony owe their names to the sawyers who first tested their qualities; and who were guided by the colour and character of the wood, knowing and caring nothing about botanical relations. Thus the swamp-oak and she-oak have rather the exterior of the larch than any quercine aspect." 1853. S. Sidney, `Three Colonies of Australia,' p. 277: "A dull scene, sprinkled with funereal shiak or `she-oak trees.'" Ibid. p. 367: "Groves of shea-oaks, eucalyptus and mimosa." 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. i. p. 24: "Trees of a peculiar character--the Casuarinas or Shiacks-- part of which, with their more rigid and outstretched branches, resemble pine-trees, and others, with theirs drooping gracefully, resembling large trees of bloom." 1859. D. Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 33: "The trees forming the most interesting groups were the <i>Casuarina torulosa</i>, she-oak, and <i>C. stricta</i>, he-oak. . . . The name of the first is said to have been derived from `sheeac,' the name of an American tree producing the beef-wood like our she-oak. <i>C. stricta</i>, or he-oak, has been named in contradistinction to the sexes, as if they constituted one dioecious plant, whereas they are two perfectly distinct species." 1860. J. D. Hooker, `Botany of the Antarctic Voyage,' part iii. [Flora Tasmaniae], p. 348: "<i>Casuarina suberosa</i>. This is an erect species, growing 15 feet high. . . It is well known as the `He-oak,' in contradistinction to the <i>C. quadrivalvis</i>, or `She-oak,' a name, I believe, adapted from the North American `Sheack' though more nearly allied botanically to the Northern Oaks than any Tasmanian genus except <i>Fagus</i>, they have nothing to do with that genus in habit or appearance, nor with the Canadian `Sheack.'" 1864. J. McDouall Stuart, `Explorations in Australia,' p. 150: "Within the last mile or two we have passed a few patches of Shea-oak, growing large, having a very rough and thick bark, nearly black. They have a dismal appearance." 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, Founder of Victoria,' p.103: "Even Batman's hill, the memorial of his ancient encampment, has been levelled; and the she-oaks upon that grassy mound no longer sigh in the breeze a dirge for the hero of exploration." 1869. `The Argus,' May 25, p. 5, col. 2: "The she-oak trees, of which there are large quantities in the sandy soil of the salt-bush country, proved very serviceable during the late drought. Some of the settlers caused thousands of she-oaks to be stripped of their boughs, and it was a sight to see some of the famishing cattle rushing after the men who were employed in thus supplying the poor animals with the means of sustaining life. The cattle ate the boughs and the bark with the greatest avidity, and the bushman's axe as it felled the she-oak was music to their ears." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 258: "She-oaks are scraggy-looking poles of trees, rather like fir-trees." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 203: "The rough bark of the she-oak and its soft sappy wood . . ." 1890. `The Argus,' June 14, p. 4, col. 2: "I came to a little clump of sheoaks, moaning like living things." 1895. `Notes and Queries,' Aug. 3, p. 87: "The process followed by the Australian colonists when they converted a native word for the Casuarina trees into `she-oak.'" 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 204: "The creek went down with a broken song, 'Neath the she-oaks high; The waters carried the song along, And the oaks a sigh." (2) Slang name for colonial beer. 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 83: "Their drivers had completed their regulation half-score of `long-sleevers' of `she-oak.'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood,' Miner's Right,' c. vi. p. 59: "Then have a glass of beer--it's only she-oak, but there's nothing wrong about it." <hw>She-Oak nets</hw>, nets placed on each side of a gangway from a ship to the pier, to prevent sailors who have been indulging in <i>she-oak</i> (beer) falling into the water. <hw>Shepherd</hw>, <i>v</i>. (1) to guard a mining claim and do a little work on it, so as to preserve legal rights. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 135: "Few of their claims however are actually `bottomed,' for the owners merely watch their more active contemporaries." (Footnote): "This is termed `shepherding' a claim." 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 11: "All the ground . . . is held in blocks which are being merely shepherded." (2) By transference from (1). To follow or hang about a person in the hopes of getting something out of him. Compare similar use of <i>shadow</i>. 1896. Modern: "The robbers knowing he had so much coin about him, determined to shepherd him till an opportunity occurred of robbery with impunity." <hw>Shepherd</hw>, <i>n</i>. a miner who holds a claim but does not work it. 188-. `Argus' (date lost): "The term `jumper,' being one of reproach, brought quite a yell from the supporters of the motion. Dr. Quick retorted with a declaration that the Grand Junction Company were all `shepherds,' and that `shepherds' are the worse of the two classes. The `jumpers' sat in one gallery and certain representatives or deputy `shepherds' in the other. Names are deceitful. . . . The Maldon jumpers were headed by quite a venerable gentleman, whom no one could suspect of violent exercise nor of regrettable designs upon the properties of his neighbours. And the shepherds in the other gallery, instead of being light-hearted beings with pipes and crooks--<i>a la</i> Watteau and Pope--looked unutterable things at the individuals who had cast sheep's eyes on their holding." <hw>Shicer</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) An unproductive <i>claim</i> or mine: a <i>duffer</i>. From the German <i>scheissen</i>. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 135: "A claim without gold is termed a `shicer.'" 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' c. ix. p. 256: "It's a long sight better nor bottoming a shicer." 1863. `Victorian Hansard,' May 10, vol. ix. p. 571: "Mr. Howard asked whether the member for Collingwood knew the meaning of the word `shicer.' Mr. Don replied in the affirmative. He was not an exquisite, like the hon. member (laughter), and he had worked on the goldfields, and he had always understood a shicer to be a hole with no gold." 1870. S. Lemaitre, `Songs of Goldfields,' p. 15: "Remember when you first came up Like shicers, innocent of gold." 1894. `The Argus,' March 10, p. 4, col. 7: "There are plenty of creeks in this country that have only so far been scratched--a hole sunk here and there and abandoned. No luck, no perseverance; and so the place has been set down as a duffer, or, as the old diggers' more expressive term had it, a `shicer.'" (2) Slang. By transference from (1). A man who does not pay his debts of honour. 1896. Modern: "Don't take his bet, he's a regular shicer." <hw>Shingle-splitting</hw>, <i>vb. n</i>. obsolete Tasmanian slang. 1830. `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 89: "When a man gets behindhand with his creditors in Hobart Town, and rusticates in the country in order to avoid the unseasonable calls of the Sheriff's little gentleman, that delights to stand at a corner where four streets meet, so as the better to watch the motions of his prey, he is said to be shingle-splitting." <hw>Shirallee</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang term for a swag or bundle of blankets. <hw>Shout</hw>, v. to stand treat. (1) Of drink. (2) By transference, of other things. The successful digger used to <i>call</i> passers-by to drink at his expense. The origin may also be from noisy bar-rooms, or crowded bar-parlours, where the man who was to pay for the liquor or refreshment called or <i>shouted</i> for the waiter or barman. When many men drink together the waiter of course looks for payment from the man who first calls or <i>shouts out</i> for him to give him the order. Or is "pay the shout" a variant of "pay the shot," or tavern reckoning? In its first sense the word has reached the United States, and is freely employed there. 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 335: "And so I shouted for him and he shouted for me." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 80: "Gentlemen required a great deal of attendance, did not `shout' (the slang term for ordering grog) every quarter of an hour, and therefore spent comparatively nothing." 1867. A. L. Gordon, `Sea-Spray' (Credat Judaeus), p. 139: "You may shout some cheroots, if you like; no champagne For this child.' 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 268: "This `shouting,' as `treating' is termed in the colonies, is the curse of the Northern goldfields. If you buy a horse you must shout, the vendor must shout, and the bystanders who have been shouted to [more usual, for] must shout in their turn." 1885. D. Sladen, `In Cornwall, etc.,' p. 156 [Title, `The Sigh of the Shouter']: "Give me the wealth I have squandered in `shouting.'" 1887. J. F. Hogan, `The Irish in Australia, p. 149:. "Drinking is quite a common practice, and what is familiarly known as `shouting' was at one time almost universal, though of late years this peculiarly dangerous evil has been considerably diminished in extent. To `shout' in a public-house means to insist on everybody present, friends and strangers alike, drinking at the shouter's expense, and as no member of the party will allow himself to be outdone in this reckless sort of hospitality, each one `shouts' in succession, with the result that before long they are all overcome by intoxication." 1891. W. Tilley, `Wild West of Tasmania,' p. 30: "Some heavy drinking is indulged in through the `shouting' system, which is the rule." 1893. E. W. Hornung, `Tiny Luttrell,' vol. ii. c. xv. p. 98: "To insist on `shouting' Ruth a penny chair overlooking the ornamental water in St. James's Park." (p.99): "You shall not be late, because I'll shout a hansom too." <hw>Shout</hw>, <i>n</i>. a free drink. 1864. H. Simcox, `Outward Bound,' p. 81: "The arms are left and off they go, And many a shout they're treated to." 1874. Garnet Walch, Head over Heels,' p. 83: "I . . . gave the boys round a spread an' a shout." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 78: "Two lucky diggers laid a wager which of them should treat the assembled company with the largest shout.'" <hw>Shoveller</hw>, <i>n</i>. the English name for the duck <i>Spatula clypeata</i>, Linn., a species also present in Australia. The other Australian species is <i>Spatula rhynchotis</i>, Lath., also called <i>Blue-wing</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vii. pl. 12: "<i>Spatula Rhynchotis</i>, Australian Shoveller." <hw>Shovel-nose</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales species of Ray-fish, <i>Rhinobatus bougainvillei</i>, Cuv.; called also the <i>Blind Shark</i>, and <i>Sand Shark</i>. In the Northern Hemisphere, the name is given to three different sharks and a sturgeon. <hw>Shrike</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name, generally used in Australia in composition. See <i>Crow-Shrike</i>, <i>Cuckoo-Shrike</i>, <i>Shrike-Robin</i>, <i>Shrike-Thrush</i>, and <i>Shrike-Tit</i>. <hw>Shrike-Robin</hw>, <i>n</i>. a genus of Australasian Shrikes, <i>Eopsaltria</i> (q.v.). The species are-- Grey-breasted Shrike-Robin-- <i>Eopsaltria gularis</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Large-headed S.-R.-- <i>E. capito</i>, Gould. Little S.-R.-- <i>E. nana</i>, Mull. White-breasted S.-R.-- <i>E. georgiana</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Yellow-breasted S.-R.-- <i>E. australis</i>, Lath. 1895. W. O. Legge, `Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science' (Brisbane), p. 447: "As regards portions of Gould's English nomenclatures, such as his general term `Robin' for the genera <i>Petroica, Paecilodryas</i>, <i>Eopsaltria</i>, it was found that by retaining the term `Robin' for the best known member of the group (<i>Petroica</i>), and applying a qualifying noun to the allied genera, such titles as Tree-robin, Scrub-robin, and Shrike-robin were easily evolved." <hw>Shrike-Thrush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a genus of Australasian Shrikes, <i>Collyriocincla</i> (q.v.). The species are-- Bower's Shrike-Thrush-- <i>Collyriocincla boweri</i>, Ramsay. Brown S.-T.-- <i>C. brunnea</i>, Gould. Buff-bellied S.-T.-- <i>C. rufiventris</i>, Gould. Grey S.-T.-- <i>C. harmonica</i>, Lath.; called also <i>Port Jackson Thrush</i> (q.v.). Little Shrike-Thrush-- <i>Collyriocincla parvula</i>, Gould. Pale-bellied S.-T.-- <i>C. pallidirostris</i>, Sharpe. Rufous-breasted S.-T.-- <i>C. rufigaster</i>, Gould. Whistling S.-T.-- <i>C. rectirostris</i>, Jard. and Selb.; see <i>Duke Willy</i>. 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 54: "With gathering shadows the spotted thrush of England gives forth from the top-most pine branch his full and varied notes; notes which no Australian bird can challenge, not even the shrike-thrush on the hill side, piping hard to rival his song every bright spring morning." <hw>Shrike-Tit</hw>, <i>n</i>. a genus of Australian Shrikes, <i>Falcunculus</i> (q.v.). The species are--<i>Falcunculus frontatus</i>, Lath.; White-bellied S.-T., <i>F. leucogaster</i>, Gould. 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Game Act' (Third Schedule): "Shrike-tit. [Close season.] From the 1st day of August to the 10th day of December next following in each year." <hw>Shrimp</hw>, <i>n</i>. The only true shrimp (<i>Crangon</i>) which Australian waters are known to possess is found in the Gulf of St. Vincent, South Australia. (Tenison-Woods.) In Tasmania, the Prawn (<i>Penoeus spp</i>.) is called a <i>Shrimp</i>. 1883. `Royal Commission, Report on Fisheries of Tasmania,' p. 9: "The prawn (<i>Penoeus</i> sp.), locally known among fishermen as the shrimp, abounds all around our coasts." <hw>Sida-weed</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. Queensland Hemp. See <i>Hemp</i>. <hw>Signed Servant</hw>, <i>n</i>. obsolete contraction for <i>Assigned Servant</i> (q.v.). <hw>Silky-Oak</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree, often tall, <i>Grevillea robusta</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>, producing a useful timber in demand for various purposes. See <i>Grevillea</i>, <i>Maple</i>, and <i>Oak</i>. <hw>Silver</hw>, or <hw>Silver-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for <i>Caranx georgianus</i>, Cuv. and Val., family <i>Carangidae</i>, the <i>White</i> or <i>Silver Trevally</i>. See <i>Trevally</i>. 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June 19, 1881: "Common fish such as . . . garfish, strangers, silvers, and others." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 252 [Footnote]: "To convey anything like a correct idea of this extremely beautiful fish, it should be `laid in' with a ground of burnished silver, and the delicate tints added. The skin is scaleless, and like satin, embossed all over in little raised freckles, and with symmetrical dark lines, resembling the veining of a leaf. In quality they are a good deal like mullet." <hw>Silver-Belly</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given (1) in New South Wales, to the fish <i>Silver-Bream</i> (q.v.); (2) in Tasmania, to various species of <i>Atherinidae</i>. <hw>Silver-Bream</hw>, or <hw>White-Bream</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales fish, <i>Gerres ovatus</i>, Gunth., family <i>Percidae</i>; also called <i>Silver-Belly</i> (q.v.). For another use, see <i>Trevally</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 43: "Mr. Hill, in the series of essays already referred to, speaks of a silver-bream or white-bream. It is probable he refers to <i>Gerres ovatus</i>, a common fish of very compressed form, and very protractile mouth. They probably never enter fresh-water. . . . It is necessary to cook the silver-belly, as it is often called, perfectly fresh." <hw>Silver-Eye</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name. Same as <i>Wax-eye</i>, <i>White-eye</i>, or <i>Blight-bird</i> (q.v.). 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 77: "<i>Zosterops caerulescens</i>, Lath. I have myself arrived at the conclusion that the Silver-eye, although identical with the Australian bird, is in reality an indigenous species." 1888. James Thomas, `To a Silver Eye:' `Australian Poets 1788-1888' (edition Sladen), p. 550: "Thou merry little silver-eye, In yonder trailing vine, I, passing by this morning, spied That ivy-built nest of thine." <hw>Silver Jew-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales name for the young of the fish called <i>Teraglin</i>, or of the true <i>Jew-fish</i> (q.v.); it is uncertain which. <hw>Silver-leaf Boree</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Boree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Silver-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fresh-water fish, i.q. <i>Bidyan Ruffe</i> (q.v.). <hw>Silver-tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bush term for a "swell": a man who goes to the manager's house, not to the men's hut. See <i>Hut</i>. 1890. A. J. Vogan, `The Black Police,' p. 116: "A select circle of long-limbed members of those upper circles who belong to the genus termed in Australian parlance `silver-tailed,' in distinction to the `copper-tailed' democratic classes." <hw>Silver-Trevally</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Trevally</i>. <hw>Sittella</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian genus of small creeping-birds, called also <i>Tree-Runners</i> (q.v.). <i>Sittella</i> is the Latin diminutive of <i>sitta</i>, which is from the Greek <i>sittae</i>, a woodpecker, whose habits the <i>Tree-runners</i> or <i>Sittellae</i> have. Gould's enumeration of the species is given in quotation. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv.: "<i>Sittella chrysoptera</i>, Orange-winged Sittella; <i>S. leucocephala</i>, Gould, White-headed S.; <i>S. leucoptera</i>,Gould, White-winged S.; <i>S. pileata</i>, Gould, Black-capped S.; <i>S. tenuirostris</i>, Gould, Slender-billed S. 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia' (Supplement): "<i>Sittella Striata</i>, Gould, Striated Sittella." 1875. Gould and Sharpe, `Birds of New Guinea,' vol. iii. pl. 28: "<i>Sittella albata</i>, Pied Sittella." 1890 `Victorian Statutes-Game Act' (Third Schedule): "Sittellas. [Close season.] From the first day of August to the 10th day of December next following in each year." 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 136: "Four species of <i>Sitilla</i> [sic] which, except that they do not lay their eggs in hollow trees, bear some resemblance to our nuthatch." <hw>Skate</hw>, <i>n</i>. The New Zealand fish called a <i>Skate</i> is <i>Raja nasuta</i>, a different species of the same genus as the European Skate. <hw>Skipjack</hw>, or <hw>Skipjack-Pike</hw>, <i>n</i>. This fish, <i>Temnodon saltator</i>, Cuv. and Val., is the same as the British and American fish of that name. It is called <i>Tailor</i> (q.v.) in Sydney. The name <i>Skipjack</i> used also to be given by the whalers to the Australian fish <i>Trevally</i> (q.v.). 1872. Hutton and Hector, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 111: "It is quoted by Richardson that this fish [trevally], which he says is the Skipjack of the sealers, used to be a staple article of food with the natives." <hw>Skipper</hw>, i.q. <i>Hopping fish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Skirr</hw>, <i>n</i>. imitative. 1884. Marcus Clarke, `Memorial Volume,' p. 127: "How many nights have I listened to the skirr of the wild cats." <hw>Skirting</hw>, <i>n</i>. generally used in the plural. In sheep-shearing, the inferior parts of the wool taken from the extremities. 1890. `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 7: "At the `skirting-table' we will stand for a little while, and watch while the fleece just brought in is opened out by the `roller,' and the inferior portions removed." <hw>Skullbanker</hw>, or <hw>Scowbanker</hw>, <i>n</i>. a slang name in Australia for a loafer, a tramp. 1866. A. Michie, `Retrospects and Prospects of the Colony,' p. 9: "A skull-banker is a species of the genus loafer--half highwayman, half beggar. He is a haunter of stations, and lives on the squatters, amongst whom he makes a circuit, affecting to seek work and determining not to find it." <hw>Slab</hw>, <i>n</i>. In English, the word slab, as applied to timber, means "an outside piece taken from a log in sawing it into boards, planks, etc." (`Webster.') In Australia, the word is very common, and denotes a piece of timber, two or three inches thick a coarse plank, axe-hewn, not sawn. Used for the walls of rough houses. 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 25, p. 3 col. 5: A substantial slab building with verandah." 1845. `Voyage to Port Phillip,' p. 52: "His slab-built hut, with roof of bark." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. ix. p. 266: "The house in which this modern Robinson Crusoe dwelt was what is called a Slab Hut, formed of rough boards and thatched with grass." 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' c. iv. p. 130: "A bare, rough, barn-like edifice built of slabs." 1869. J. Townend, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 155: "We passed through Studley Park, with here and there a slab house or tent." 1874. G. Walch, `Head over Heels,' p. 81: "The moonlight . . . poured on the hut, slabs an' roof." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 8: "The hut was built of logs and slabs." [p. 73]: "The usual bush-hut of slabs and bark." [p.144]:"The neighbours congregated in the rough hut of unplaned slabs." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `The Miner's Right,' c. vi. p. 61: "Slab huts of split heavy boards, Australian fashion, placed vertically." <hw>Slab</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. mining term: to keep up the sides of a shaft with timber slabs. 1871. J. J. Simpson, `Recitations,' p. 24: "So dig away, drive away, slab and bail." <hw>Sleepy Lizard</hw>, i.q. <i>Blue-tongued Lizard</i> (q.v.). <hw>Slip-panel</hw>. Same as <i>Slip-rail</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Panel</i>. 1893. `The Australasian,' Aug.12, p. 302, col. 1: "Take him round by the water-hole and wait for me at the slip-panels." <hw>Slip-rail</hw>, <i>n</i>. part of a fence so fitted that it can be removed so as to serve as a gate. Used also for the gateway thus formed. Generally in the plural. Same as <i>Slip- panel</i>. 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads From the Wreck,' p. 24: "Down with the slip-rails; stand back." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 43: "He [a horse] would let down the slip-rails when shut into the stockyard, even if they were pegged, drawing the pegs out with his teeth." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 79: "Many men rode through the sliprails and turned out their horses." 1891. Canon Goodman, `Church in Victoria during Episcopate of Bishop Perry,' p. 98: "Some careless person had neglected to replace the slip-rails of the paddock into which his horses had been turned the previous evening." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 104: "Then loudly she screamed: it was only to drown The treacherous clatter of slip-rails let down." <hw>Sloth, Native</hw>, i.q. <i>Native Bear</i>. See <i>Bear</i>, and <i>Koala</i>. <hw>Slusher</hw>, or <hw>Slushy</hw>, <i>n</i>. cook's assistant at shearing-time on a station. 1890. `The Argus,' Sept.20, p.13, col. 6: "`Sundays are the most trying days of all,' say the <i>cuisiniers</i>, `for then they have nothing to do but to growl.' This man's assistant is called `the slusher.' 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 162: "The tarboy, the cook, and the slushy, the sweeper that swept the board, The picker-up, and the penner, with the rest of the shearing horde." 1896. `The Field,' Jan. 18, p. 83, col. 1: "He employs as many `slushies' as he thinks necessary, paying them generally L1 per week." <hw>Slush-lamp</hw>, <i>n</i>. a lamp made by filling an old tin with fat and putting a rag in for wick. The word, though not exclusively Australian, is more common in the Australian bush than elsewhere. Compare English <i>slush-horn</i>, horn for holding grease; <i>slush-pot</i>, pot for holding grease, etc. 1883. J. Keighley, `Who are You?' p. 45: "The slush-lamp shone with a smoky light." 1890. `The Argus,' Sept.20, p.13, col. 6: "Occasionally the men will give Christy Minstrel concerts, when they illuminate the wool-shed with slush-lamps, and invite all on the station." <hw>Smelt</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given, in Melbourne, to the fish <i>Clupea vittata</i>, Castln., family <i>Clupeidae</i>, or <i>Herrings</i> (q.v.); in New Zealand and Tasmania, to <i>Retropinna richardsonii</i>, Gill, family <i>Salmonidae</i>. Its young are called <i>Whitebait</i> (q.v.). The <i>Derwent Smelt</i> is a Tasmanian fish, H<i>aplochiton sealii</i>, family <i>Haplochitonidae</i>, fishes with an adipose fin which represent the salmonoids in the Southern Hemisphere; <i>Prototroctes</i> is the only other genus of the family known (see Grayling). <i>Haplochiton</i> is also found in the cold latitudes of South America. <hw>Sminthopsis</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name for the genus of <i>Narrow-footed Pouched Mice</i>, which, like the English field-mice, are entirely terrestrial in their habits. See <i>Pouched Mouse</i>. In Homer's' Iliad,' Bk. I. ver. 39, <i>Smintheus</i> is an epithet of Apollo. It is explained as "mouse-killer," from <i>sminthos</i>, a field-mouse, said to be a Cretan word. <hw>Smoke</hw>, v. (slang). See quotation. 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' June 26, p. 8, col. 8: "He said to the larrikins, `You have done for him now; you have killed him.' `What!' said one of them, `do not say we were here. Let us smoke.' `Smoke,' it may be explained, is the slang for the `push' to get away as fast as possible." <hw>Smooth Holly</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Holly</i>. <hw>Snailey</hw>, <i>n</i>. bullock with horn slightly curled. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. ix. p. 68: "Snaileys and poleys, old and young, coarse and fine, they were a mixed herd in every sense." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 133: "There's a snaily Wallanbah bullock I haven't seen this two years." <hw>Snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian land snakes belong principally to the four families, <i>Typhlopidae, Boidae</i>, <i>Colubridae</i>, and <i>Elapidae</i>. The proportion of venomous to non-venomous species increases from north to south, the five species known in Tasmania being all venomous. The smallest forms, such as the "blind" or "worm" snakes, are only a few inches in length, while the largest Python may reach a length of perhaps eighteen feet. Various popular names have been given to different species in different colonies, the same name being unfortunately not infrequently applied to quite distinct species. The more common forms are as follows:-- <i>Black Snake</i>. Name applied in Australia to <i>Pseudechis porphyriacus</i>, Shaw, which is more common in the warmer parts, and comparatively rare in the south of Victoria, and not found in Tasmania. In the latter the name is sometimes given to dark-coloured varieties of <i>Hoplocephalus curtus</i>, and in Victoria to those of <i>H. superbus</i>. The characteristic colour is black or black-brown above and reddish beneath, but it can be at once distinguished from specimens of H. superbus, which not infrequently have this colour, by the presence of a double series of plates at the hinder end, and a single series at the anterior end of the tail, whereas in the other species named there is only a single row along the whole length of the tail underneath. 1799. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales' (edition 1802), vol. ii. p. 189 [Bass Diary at the Derwent, Tasmania]: "The most formidable among the reptiles was the black snake with venomous fangs." [This refers to some species of Hoplocephalus, and not to the Australian Black Snake, which does not occur in Tasmania.] <i>Black and white ringed Snake</i>. Name applied to <i>Vermicella annulata</i>, Gray, the characteristic colouration of which consists of a series of alternating dark and light rings. It is found especially in the dry, warmer parts of the interior. <i>Brown Snake</i>. Name given to three species of the genus <i>Diemenia</i>-- (1) the Common Brown Snake, <i>D. superciliosa</i>, Fischer; (2) the small-scaled Brown Snake, <i>D. microlepidota</i>, McCoy; and (3) the shield-fronted Brown Snake, <i>D. aspidorhyncha</i>, McCoy. All are venomous, and the commonest is the first, which is usually known as the Brown Snake. 1890. A. H. S. Lucas, `Handbook of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' Melbourne, p. 71: "The most abundant of these are the tiger snake, <i>Hoplocephalus curtus</i>, the most widespread, active, and dangerous of them all: the brown snake, <i>Diemenia superciliosa</i>, pretty generally distributed." <i>Carpet Snake</i>. Name applied in Australia to <i>Python variegata</i>, Gray, a non-venomous snake reaching a length of ten feet. The name has reference to the carpet-like pattern on the scales. The animal crushes its prey to death, and can hang from branches by means of its prehensile tail. In Tasmania, the name is unfortunately applied to a venomous snake, <i>Hoplocephalus curtus</i>, Schlegel. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' c. i. p. 16: "Brown brought a carpet snake and a brown snake with yellow belly." 1878. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Decade ii. pl. 13: "The pattern has some resemblance to some of the commoner sorts of Kidderminster carpets, as suggested by the popular name of Carpet Snake . . . the name . . . is, unfortunately, applied to the poisonous Tiger Snake in Tasmania, producing some confusion." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals, p. 294: "One of the snakes most common is the Australian python (<i>Morelia variegata</i>), the largest snake found in Australia, which here in Northern Queensland may even attain a length of more than twenty feet." <i>Copper-head Snake</i>. Name applied in Australia to <i>Hoplocephalus superbus</i>, Gunth., a venomous snake which is very common in Tasmania, where it is often called the <i>Diamond Snake</i> (q.v.). In Victoria, it is often confused with the Black Snake; unlike the latter, it is more common in the south than in the north. It derives its popular name from the colour of the head. 1885. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Natural History of Victoria,' Decade i. pl. 2: "In Tasmania the name Diamond snake is unfortunately given to this species, for that name properly belongs to a perfectly harmless snake of New South Wales, so that the numerous experiments made in Tasmania to test the value of some pretended antidotes, were supposed in London to have been made with the true Diamond snake, instead of, as was the case, with this very poisonous kind. . . . I have adopted the popular name `copperhead' for this snake from a well-known vendor of a supposed antidote for snake-bites." 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 54: "Those heather lands round Caulfield and Oakleigh where the copperhead snake basks, coiled on the warm silver sand." <i>Death-adder</i>; also called <i>Deaf-adder</i>. An Australian snake, <i>Acanthophis antarctica</i>. It is usually found in hot sandy districts, and is supposed to be the most venomous of the Australian snakes. Large specimens reach a length of upwards of three feet, the body having a diameter of about two inches: at the end of the tail is a short spine popularly known as the animal's "sting." 1878. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Decade ii. pl. 12: "The popular name seems to be indifferently Death Adder or Deaf Adder. The harmless horny spine at the end of the tail is its most dangerous weapon, in the popular belief." <i>Diamond-Snake</i>. Name applied in New South Wales and Queensland to <i>Python spilotes</i>, Lacep., a non-venomous snake reaching a large size. In Tasmania the same name is given to <i>Hoplocephalus superbus</i>, Gray, a venomous snake more properly called the <i>Copperhead Snake</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 78: "Charley killed a diamond snake, larger than any he had ever seen before." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip,' c. iii. p. 43: "The diamond snake is that most dreaded by the natives." 1869. G. Krefft, `The Snakes of Australia,' p. 29: "Diamond snakes are found in almost every kind of country that offers them sufficient shelter." 1895. G. Metcalfe, `Australian Zoology,' p. 27: "As a rule, diamond snakes have almost every scale of the body marked with a yellow spot in the centre. . . . The abdominal plates are yellow, and more or less blotched with black, and many species . . . have a number of diamond-shaped yellow spots upon the body, formed by a few of the lighter scales, and hence their name has probably arisen." <i>Green Tree-Snake</i>. Name given, owing to its colour, to the commonest Australian tree-snake, <i>Dendrophis punctulata</i>, Gray. It is a non-venomous form, feeding on frogs, young birds, and eggs, and rarely exceeds the length of six feet. 1869. G. Krefft, `The Snakes of Australia,' p. 24: "Young and half grown Tree Snakes are olive-green above and light brown below . . . when angry, the body of this serpent expands in a vertical direction, whilst all venomous snakes flatten their necks horizontally. The green Tree snake, in a state of excitement is strongly suggestive of one of the popular toys of childhood." <i>Little Whip-Snake</i>. Name applied to a small venomous species of snake, <i>Hoplocephalus flagellum</i>, McCoy. Common in parts of Victoria, but not exceeding a foot in length. 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' vol. ii. c. xxvii. p. 190: "He wished it had been a whip-snake instead of a magpie." 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. xx. p. 199: "A whip-snake . . . reared itself upon its lithe body, and made a dart at Barrington's arm." 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c. iii. p. 24: "I saw a large `whip-snake' lying on the path." <i>Tiger-Snake</i>. Name applied in Australia and Tasmania to <i>Hoplocephalus curtus</i>, Schlegel, but this species is often also known in the latter as the <i>Carpet Snake</i> (q.v.). The popular name is derived from the cross-banded colouring along the body, and also from its activity. It varies much in colour from a dark olive green to a light yellowish brown, the darker cross bands being sometimes almost indistinguishable. It may reach a length of four feet, and is viviparous, producing about thirty young ones in January or February. 1875. `The Spectator' (Melbourne), Aug. 21, p. 190, col. 1: "On Tuesday a tiger-snake was seen opposite the door of the Sandridge police court." 1885. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Decade i. pl. 3: "This species, which goes under the colonial name in Victoria of Tiger snake, from its tawny cross banded colouring and ferocity, is well known to frequently inflict bites rapidly fatal to men and dogs. . . . In Tasmania this is popularly called `Carpet snake,' a name which properly belongs to the harmless snake so called on the mainland." <i>Two-hooded Furina-Snake</i>. Name applied to a small, venomous snake, <i>Furina bicuculata</i>, McCoy. 1879. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Decade iii. pl. 32: "Furina bicuculata (McCoy). The Two-hooded Furina-snake. . . . This rare and beautiful little snake is a clear example of the genus Furina." <i>White-lipped-Snake</i>. Name given to a small venomous species of <i>whip-snake</i>, <i>Hoplocephalus coronoides</i>, Gunth., found in Tasmania and Victoria, and reaching a length of about eighteen inches. 1890. A. H. S. Lucas, `Handbook of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,' Melbourne, p. 71: "Whip snakes, <i>H. flagellum</i> and <i>H. coronoides</i>." <i>Worm-Snake</i>. Name given to various species of the genus <i>Typhlops</i>, comprising small, non-venomous, smooth, round-bodied snakes, which burrow in warm sandy soil, and feed upon insects such as ants. The eyes are covered over by translucent plates, and the tail scarcely tapering at all, and sometimes having two black spots, gives the animal the appearance of having a head at each end. The commoner forms are the <i>Blackish Worm-Snake</i> (<i>Typhlops nigrescens</i>, Gray), and <i>Schlegel's Worm-Snake</i> (<i>T. polygrammicus</i>, Schlegel). 1881. F. McCoy, `Prodromus of the Zoology of Victoria,' Decade vi. pl. 103: "The `Blackish Worm snake' is not uncommon in the northern warmer parts of the colony. . . . These worm snakes are perfectly harmless, although, like the Slow-Worms and their allies in other countries, they are popularly supposed to be very poisonous." <hw>Sneeze-weed</hw>, <i>Myriogyne minuta</i>, Less., <i>Cotula</i> or <i>Centipeda cunninghamii</i>, De C., and many other botanical synonyms. A valuable specific for <i>Sandy-Blight</i> (q.v.). 1877. F. v. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 58: "The Sneeze-weed (<i>Cotula</i> or <i>Centipeda Cunninghamii</i>). A dwarf, erect, odorous herb . . . can be converted into snuff." 1886. Dr. Woolls, in `Sydney Morning Herald,' Dec. 25 (quoted by Maiden): "Dr. Jockel is, I believe, the first medical man in Australia who has proved the value of <i>Myriogyne</i> in a case of ophthalmia. This weed, growing as it does on the banks of rivers and creeks, and in moist places,, is common in all the Australian colonies and Tasmania, and it may be regarded as almost co-extensive with the disease it is designed to relieve." <hw>Snipe</hw>, <i>n</i>. The species of Snipe known in Australia are--<i>Scolopax australis</i>, Lath.; Painted S., <i>Rhynchaea australis</i>, Gould. This bird breeds in Japan and winters in Australia. The name is also used as in the quotation. 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 210: "Along the shore are flocks of a species of bird which some sportsmen and the game-sellers in the city are pleased to call snipe. They are probably tringa, a branch of the sea-plover family." <hw>Snook</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied in the Old World to various fishes, including the <i>Garfish</i> (q.v.). At the Cape of Good Hope, it is applied to <i>Thyrsites atun</i>, Cuv. and Val., and this name for the same fish has extended to New Zealand, where (as in all the other colonies) it is more generally called the <i>Barracouta</i> (q.v.). Under the word Cavally, `O.E.D.' quotes-- 1697. Dampier, `Voyage,' vol. i: "The chiefest fish are bonetas, snooks, cavallys." Snook is an old name, but it is doubtful whether it is used in the Old World for the same fish. Castelnau says it is the snook of the Cape of Good Hope. 1872. Hutton and Hector, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 14, under `Thyrsites Atun, Barracoota': "This is, I believe, the fish called snoek in Cape Colony." 1880. Guenther, `Study of Fishes,' p. 436: "<i>Th. atun</i> from the Cape of Good Hope, South Australia, New Zealand, and Chili, is preserved, pickled or smoked. In New Zealand it is called `barracuda' or `snoek,' and exported from the colony into Mauritius and Batavia as a regular article of commerce." <hw>Snowberry</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the <i>Wax-cluster</i> (q.v.). <hw>Snow-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Poa caespitosa</i>, G. Forst., another name for <i>Wiry grass</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Grass</i>. 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for the Mail,' p. 31: "Tethering my good old horse to a tussock of snow-grass." <hw>Snow-line</hw>, <i>n</i>. In pastoralists' language of New Zealand, "above the snow-line" is land covered by snow in winter, but free in summer. <hw>Soak</hw>, or <hw>Soakage</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Western and Central Australian term. See quotation. 1895. `The Australasian,' Sept. 7, p. 461, col. 1: "`Inquirer.'--The term soak in Western Australia, as used on maps and plans, signifies a depression holding moisture after rain. It is also given to damp or swampy spots round the base of granite rocks. Wells sunk on soaks yield water for some time after rain. All soaks are of a temporary character." <hw>Soak-hole</hw>, <i>n</i>. an enclosed place in a stream in which sheep are washed. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 82: "Parallel poles, resting on forks driven into the bed of the water-hole, were run out on the surface of the stream, forming square soak-holes, a long, narrow lane leading to the dry land." <hw>Soldier</hw>, or <hw>Soldier-Ant</hw>, <i>n</i>. "one of that section of a colony of some kinds of ants which does the fighting, takes slaves, etc." (`Century Dict.') In Australia, the large red ants are called <i>Soldier-Ants</i>. Compare <i>Bulldog-Ant</i>. 1854. G. H. Haydon, `The Australian Emigrant,' p. 59: "It was a red ant, upwards of an inch in length--`that's a soldier, and he prods hard too.'" 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. p. 308: "The pain caused by a wound from this grass-seed is exactly like that from the bite of a soldier-ant." <hw>Soldier-bird</hw>, or <hw>Poor Soldier</hw>, or <hw>Old-Soldier bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Friar-bird</i> (q.v.). 1859. D. Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 62: "The notes peculiar to the <i>Ornithorhynchus paradoxus</i>, or <i>platypus</i>, wattle-bird, and leather-head, or old soldier bird, added in no small degree to the novelties. . . . The wattle-bird has been not inaptly termed the `what's o'clock,'--the leather-head the `stop where-you-are.'" [Mr. Bunce's observations are curiously confused. The `Soldier-bird' is also called `Four o'clock,' but it is difficult to say what `wattle bird' is called `what's o'clock'; the `notes' of the platypus must be indeed `peculiar.'] 1896. Mrs. Langloh Parker, `Australian Legendary Tales,' p. 108 [Title of Tale]: "Deegeenboyah the Soldier-bird." <hw>Sole</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to various Australian fishes. In Sydney, to <i>Synaptura nigra</i>, Macl.; in Melbourne, to <i>Rhombosolea bassensis</i>, Castln.; in New Zealand, to <i>Rhombosolea monopus</i>, Gunth., and <i>Peltorhamphus novae-zelandiae</i>, Gunth.; in Tasmania, to <i>Ammotretis rostratus</i>, Gunth., family <i>Pleuronectidae</i>. <i>Rhombosolea monopus</i> is called the <i>Flounder</i>, in Tasmania. See also <i>Lemon-Sole</i>. <hw>Solomon's</hw> Seal, <i>n</i>. Not the Old World plant, which is of the genus <i>Polygonatum</i>, but the Tasmanian name for <i>Drymophila cyanocarpa</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Liliacea</i>; also called Turquoise Berry. <hw>Sonny</hw>, <i>n</i>. a common nominative of address to any little boy. In Australia, the word is not infrequently pronounced as in the quotation. The form of the word came from America. 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 10: "But maybe you're only a Johnnie, And don't know a horse from a hoe? Weel, weel, don't get angry, my Sonny, But, really, a young `un should know." <hw>Sool</hw>, <i>v</i>. Used colloquially--(1) to excite a dog or set him on; (2) to worry, as of a dog. Common in the phrase "Sool him, boy!" Shakspeare uses "tarre him on" in the first sense. Shakspeare, `King John,' IV. i. 117: "And like a dog that is compelled to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on." 1896. Mrs. Langloh Parker, `Australian Legendary Tales,' p. 90: "She went quickly towards her camp, calling softly, `Birree gougou,' which meant `Sool 'em, sool 'em,' and was the signal for the dogs to come out." <hw>Sorrel, Queensland</hw>. See <i>Queensland Sorrel</i>. <hw>Sour-Gourd</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Baobab</i> (q.v.). <hw>Sour-Plum</hw>, <i>n</i>. the <i>Emu-apple</i>. See <i>Apple</i>. <hw>South Australia</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name of a colony, established in 1836, with Adelaide as its capital. It is not a good name, for it is not the most southerly colony, and the "Northern Territory" forms a part of South Australia. Central Australia would be a better name, but not wholly satisfactory, for by Central Australia is now meant the central part of the colony of South Australia. The name <i>Centralia</i> has been proposed as a change. <hw>Southern Cross</hw>, <i>n</i>. The constellation of the Southern Cross is of course visible in places farther north than Australia, but it has come to be regarded as the astronomical emblem of Australasia; e.g. the phrase "beneath the Southern Cross " is common for "in Australia or New Zealand." 1863. S. Butler, `First Year in Canterbury Settlement,' p. 13: "The southern cross is a very great delusion. It isn't a cross. It is a kite, a kite upside down, an irregular kite upside down, with only three respectable stars and one very poor and very much out of place. Near it, however, is a truly mysterious and interesting object called the coal sack: it is a black patch in the sky distinctly darker than all the rest of the heavens. No star shines through it. The proper name for it is the black Magellan cloud." 1868. Mrs. Riddell, `Lay of Far South,' p. 4: "Yet do I not regret the loss, Thou hast thy gleaming Southern Cross." 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. iv. p. 35: "The Southern Cross rose gem-like above the horizon." <hw>Spade-press</hw>, <i>n</i>. a make-shift wool-press in which the fleeces are rammed down with a spade. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xvii. p. 202: "The spade-press--that friendly adjunct of the pioneer squatter's humble wool-shed." <hw>Spaniard</hw>, <i>n</i>. a prickly bushy grass of New Zealand, <i>Aciphylla colensoi</i>. 1857. `Paul's Letters from Canterbury,' p. 108: "The country through which I have passed has been most <i>savage</i>, one mass of <i>Spaniards</i>." 1862. J. Von Haast, `Geology of Westland,' p. 25: "Groves of large specimens of <i>Discaria toumatoo</i>, the Wild Irishman of the settlers, formed with the gigantic <i>Aciphylla Colensoi</i>, the Spaniard or Bayonet-grass, an often impenetrable thicket." 1863. S. Butler, `First Year of Canterbury Settlement,' p. 67: "The Spaniard (spear-grass or bayonet-grass) `piked us intil the bane,' and I assure you we were hard set to make any headway at all." 1875. Lady Barker, `Station Amusements in New Zealand,' p. 35: "The least touch of this green bayonet draws blood, and a fall <i>into</i> a <i>Spaniard</i> is a thing to be remembered all one's life." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 287: "Carefully avoiding contact with the long-armed leaves of Spaniards (<i>Aciphylla</i>), which here attain the larger dimensions, carrying flower-spikes up to six feet long." 1890. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxiii. p. 197: "Here were rats which lived under the dead leaves of the prickly `<i>Spaniard</i>,' and possibly fed on the roots. The <i>Spaniard</i> leaves forked into stiff upright fingers about 1 in. wide, ending in an exceedingly stiff pricking point." 1896. `Otago Witness,' May 7, p. 48 "Prickly as the points of the Spaniard." <hw>Spear-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to several grasses whose spear-like seeds spoil the wool of sheep, but which are yet excellent forage plants. They are--(1) all the species of <i>Stipa</i>; (2) <i>Heteropogon contortus</i>, Roem. and Schult., and others (see quotations); (3) and in New Zealand, one or two plants of the umbelliferous genus <i>Aciphylla</i>; also called <i>Spaniard</i> (q.v.). 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 44: "Very disagreeable, however, was the abundance of burr and of a spear-grass (<i>Aristida</i>)." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. ii. p. 463 [Note]: "On the south coast there is a grass seed which has similar properties. The seeds are sharp and covered with fine barbs, and once they penetrate the skin they will work their way onwards. They catch in the wool of sheep, and in a short time reach the intestines. Very often I have been shown the omentum of a dead sheep where the grass seeds were projecting like a pavement of pegs. The settlers call it spear-grass, and it is, I believe, a species of <i>Anthistiria</i>." 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. v. p. 86: "Sheep in paddocks cannot be so well kept clear of spear-grass." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 90: "<i>Heteropogon contortus</i>, Spear Grass. A splendid grass for a cattle-run, as it produces a great amount of feed, but is dreaded by the sheep-owner on account of its spear-like seeds." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 23: "A nocuous kind of grass, namely the dreaded spear-grass (<i>Andropogon contortus</i>), which grows on the coast, and which rendered sheep-raising impossible." <hw>Spear-Lily</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Lily</i>. <hw>Spearwood</hw>, the wood of three trees so called, because the aborigines made their spears from it--<i>Acacia doratoxylon</i>, A. Cunn., <i>A. homalophylla</i>, A. Cunn., both <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; and <i>Eucalyptus doratoxylon</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. <hw>Speedwell, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. The English <i>Speedwell</i> is a <i>Veronica</i>. There is a Tasmanian species, <i>Veronica formosa</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Scrophulariaceae</i>. <hw>Spell</hw>, <i>n</i>. In England, a turn at work or duty; in Australasia, always a period of rest from duty. It is quite possible that etymologically <i>Spell</i> is connected with Ger. <i>spielen</i>, in which case the Australasian use is the more correct. See `Skeat's Etymological Dictionary.' 1865. J. O. Tucker, `Australian Story,' c. i. p. 84: "The only recompense was . . . to light his pipe and have a `spell.'" 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 84: "Having a spell--what we should call a short holiday." <hw>Spell</hw>, <i>v</i>. to rest. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. p. 42: "In order to spell the oars, we landed at a point on the east side." 1880. G. <i>n</i>. Oakley, in `Victoria in 1880,' p. 114: "He `spelled' upon the ground; a hollow gum Bore up his ample back and bade him rest; And creaked no warning when he sat upon A war-ant's nest." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xxiv. p. 328: "There's a hundred and fifty stock-horses there, spelling for next winter's work." 1896. Baldwin Spencer, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Narrative, p. 48: "We camped beside a water-pool containing plenty of fish, and here we spelled for a day to allow some of us to go on and photograph Chamber's Pillar." <hw>Sphenura</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of Australian birds called the <i>Bristle-Birds</i> (q.v.). From Grk. <i>sphaen</i>, "a wedge," and <i>'oura</i>, "a tail." The name was given by Sir Frederick McCoy. <hw>Spider</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Katipo</i>. <hw>Spider-Orchis</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the Orchid <i>Caladenia pulcherrima</i>, F. v. M. <hw>Spiloglaux</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Sceloglaux</i>. <hw>Spinach, Australian</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to species of <i>Chenopodium</i>, <i>N.O. Salsolaceae</i>; called also <i>Fat-hen</i>. The name is also applied to various wild pot herbs. <hw>Spinach, New Zealand</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Tetragonia expansa</i>, Murr., <i>N.O. Ficoideae</i>; called also <i>Iceplant</i>, in Tasmania. It is a trailing <i>Fig-marigold</i>, and was discovered in New Zealand by Captain Cook, though it is also found in Japan and South America. Its top leaves are eaten as spinach, and Cook introduced it to England, where it is also known as <i>Summer Spinach</i>. <hw>Spine-bill</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian "Honey-eater," but not now so classed. There are two species-- The Slender Spine-bill-- <i>Acanthorhynchus tenuirostris</i>, Gould; inhabiting Australia and Tasmania, and called <i>Cobbler's Awl</i> in the latter colony. White-eyebrowed S.-- <i>A. superciliosus</i>, Gould; of Western Australia. Though related to the genus <i>Myzomela</i>, the pattern of their colouration differs widely. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 61: "<i>Acanthorhynchus tenuirostris</i>. Slender-billed Spine-bill. <i>Cobbler's</i> Awl, Colonists of Van Diemen's Land." Ibid. pl. 62: "<i>Acanthorhynchus superciliosus</i>, Gould. White-eyebrowed Spine-bill." <hw>Spinetail</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, <i>Orthonyx spinicauda</i>; called also <i>Pheasant's Mother</i> (q.v.), <i>Log-runner</i> (q.v.). The name is used elsewhere for different birds. See <i>Orthonyx</i>. <hw>Spinifex</hw>, <i>n</i>. a grass known in India, China, and the Pacific, but especially common on Australasian shores. The word means, literally, <i>thorn-making</i>, but it is not classical Latin. "The aggregated flowers form large clusters, and their radiating heads, becoming detached at maturity, are carried by the wind along the sand, propelled by their elastic spines and dropping their seeds as they roll." (Mueller.) This peculiarity gains for the <i>Hairy Spinifex</i> (<i>Spinifex hirsutus</i>, Labill.) the additional name of <i>Spiny Rolling Grass</i>. See also quotation, 1877. This chief species (<i>S. hirsutus</i>) is present on the shores of nearly all Australasia, and has various synonyms--<i>S. sericeus</i>, Raoul.; <i>S. inermis</i>, Banks and Sol.; <i>Ixalum inerme</i>, Forst.; <i>S. fragilis</i>, R.B., etc. It is a "coarse, rambling, much-branched, rigid, spinous, silky or woolly, perennial grass, with habitats near the sea on sandhills, or saline soils more inland." (Buchanan.) The <i>Desert Spinifex</i> of the early explorers, and of many subsequent writers, is not a true <i>Spinifex</i>, but a <i>Fescue</i>; it is properly called <i>Porcupine Grass</i> (q.v.), and is a species of <i>Triodia</i>. The quotations, 1846, 1887, 1890, and 1893, involve this error. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. vi. p. 209: "In the valley was a little sandy soil, nourishing the Spinifex." 1877. Baron von Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 125: "The Desert Spinifex of our colonists is a Fescue, but a true <i>Spinifex</i> occupies our sand-shores; . . . the heads are so buoyant as to float lightly on the water, and while their uppermost spiny rays act as sails, they are carried across narrow inlets, to continue the process of embarking." 1887. J. Bonwick, `Romance of Wool Trade,' p. 239: "Though grasses are sadly conspicuous by their absence, saline plants, so nutritious for stock, occur amidst the real deserts of Spinifex." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 43: "On the broad sandy heights . . . the so-called spinifex is found in great abundance. This grass (<i>Triodia irritans</i>) is the traveller's torment, and makes the plains, which it sometimes covers for hundreds of miles, almost impassable. Its blades, which have points as sharp as needles, often prick the horses' legs till they bleed." 1893. A. F. Calvert, `English Illustrated Magazine,' Feb., p. 325: "They evidently preferred that kind of watercress to the leaves of the horrid, prickly Spinifex, so omnipresent in the north-western district." 1896. R. Tate, `Horne Expedition in Central Australia,' Botany, p. 119: "A species of Triodia (`porcupine grass,' or incorrectly `spinifex' of explorers and residents) dominates sandy ground and the sterile slopes and tops of the sandstone table-lands." <hw>Spiny-Lizard</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Mountain Devil</i> (q.v.). <hw>Split-stuff</hw>, <i>n</i>. timber sawn into lengths and then split. 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 159: "`Sawed stuff' and `split stuff,' by which is meant timber which is <i>sawn</i> into regular forms and thicknesses, as flooring boards, joints, battens, &c., and that which is <i>split</i> into `posts and rails,' slabs, or paling. Some of the species of <i>eucalyptus</i>, or gum-trees, are peculiarly adapted for splitting. The peppermint-tree (<i>Eucalyptus piperita</i>) and the `Stringy Bark' are remarkable for the perfectly straight grain which they often exhibit, and are split with surprising evenness and regularity into paling and boards for `weather-boarding' houses and other purposes, in lengths of six or eight feet by one foot wide, and half or one-third of an inch thick. . . . Any curve in a tree renders it unfit for splitting, but the crooked- grained wood is best for sawing. . . . All houses in the colony, with few exceptions, are roofed with split shingles." <hw>Splitter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a wood-cutter, cutting timber in the bush, and splitting it into posts and rails, palings or shingles. See quotation under <i>Split-stuff</i>. 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 105: "There were two splitters located near us . . . they had a licence to split timber on the crown lands." 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads--Wolf and Hound,' p. 32: "At the splitter's tent I had seen the track Of horse hoofs, fresh on the sward." <hw>Spoonbill</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird-name widely used. The Australian species are-- Royal Spoonbill-- <i>Platalea regia</i>. Yellow-billed S.-- <i>P. flavipes</i>. <i>P. regia</i> has a fine crest in the breeding season; hence the name. 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings among Gum-trees,' p. 79: "The sun is sinking in the western sky, And ibises and spoonbills thither fly. <hw>Spotted-tree</hw>. Same as <i>Leopard-tree</i> (q.v.). 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 216: "Spotted or Leopard Tree. The gum from this tree forms good adhesive mucilage. It reminds one strongly of East-India gum-arabic of good quality. During the summer months large masses, of a clear amber-colour, exude from the stem and branches. It has a very pleasant taste, is eaten by the aboriginals, and forms a very common bushman's remedy in diarrhoea." <hw>Spotted-Orchis</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian name for the Orchid <i>Dipodium punctatum</i>, R. Br. <hw>Spotting</hw>, <i>n</i>. New Zealand equivalent for the Australian "picking the eyes out," and "peacocking." Under <i>Free-selection</i> (q.v.), the squatter spotted his run, purchasing choice spots. <hw>Spotty</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand fish, a Wrass, <i>Labrichthys bothryocosmus</i>, Richards.; also called <i>Poddly</i> (q.v.), and <i>Kelp-fish</i> (q.v.). 1878. P. Thomson, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xi. art. lii. p. 384: "Wrasse, parrot-fish, and spotties are often in the market. There are two kinds of spotties, a big and a little. The wrasse and the parrot-fish are mostly caught outside amongst the kelp, and these, with the spotty, are indiscriminately called kelp-fish by the fishermen." <hw>Sprag</hw>, <i>n</i>. In gold-mining. See quotation. The word is used in England, applied to coal-mining. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. iii. p. 23: "A `sprag,' being a stout piece of hard wood, was inserted between the rope and the iron roller on which the rope ran." <hw>Squat</hw>, v. to be a squatter (q.v.) in any of the senses of that word. 1846. Feb. 11, `Speech by Rev. J. D. Lang,' quoted in `Phillipsland,' p. 410: In whatever direction one moves out of Melbourne, whether north, east, or west, all he sees or hears is merely a repetition of this colonial note--`I squat, thou squattest, he squats; we squat, ye or you squat, they squat.'. . . <i>Exeunt omnes</i>. `They are all gone out a-squatting.'" 1846. T. H. Braim, `History of New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 236: "The regulations . . . put an end to squatting within the boundaries of location, and reduced it to a system without the boundaries." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 136: "The Speaker squats equally and alternately on the woolsack of the House and at his wool-stations on the Murrumbidgee. One may squat on a large or small scale, squat directly or indirectly, squat in person or by proxy." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' p. 68: "Some spot, Found here and there, where cotters squat With self-permission." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 119: "Squatting, in its first phase, was confined to the region round about Sydney; it was not until the pass through the Blue Mountains was discovered that the flocks and herds of the colonists began to expand." <hw>Squattage</hw>, <i>n</i>. a squatter's station. The word can hardly be said to have prevailed. 1864. W. Westgarth, `Colony of Victoria,' p. 272: "The great Riverine district, which is one vast series of squattages . . . the toil and solitude of a day's journey between the homesteads of adjacent squattages." <hw>Squatter</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) One who squats; that is, settles on land without a title or licence. This is an English use. 1835. T. A. Murray (Evidence before Legislative Council of New South Wales on Police and Gaols): "There are several parties of squatters in my neighbourhood. I detected, not long since, three men at one of their stations in the act of slaughtering one of my own cattle. I have strong reason to suspect that these people are, in general, illicit sellers of spirits." 1835. W. H. Dutton (Evidence before same Committee): "These persons (squatters) are almost invariably the instigators and promoters of crime, receivers of stolen property, illegal vendors of spirits, and harbourers of runaways, bushrangers, and vagrants." 1843. Rev. W. Pridden, `Australia Its History and Present Condition,' pp. 332-3: "The <i>squatters</i>, as they are called, are men who occupy with their cattle, or their habitations, those spots on the confines of a colony or estate which have not yet become any person's private property. By the natural increase of their flocks and herds, many of these squatters have enriched themselves; and having been allowed to enjoy the advantages of as much pasture as they wanted in the bush, without paying any rent for it to the government, they have removed elsewhere when the spot was sold, and have not unfrequently gained enough to purchase that or some other property. Thus . . . the squatter has been converted into a respectable settler. But this is too bright a picture to form an average specimen. . . . Unfortunately, many of these squatters have been persons originally of depraved and lawless habits, and they have made their residence at the very outskirts of civilization a means of carrying on all manner of mischief. Or sometimes they choose spots of waste land near a high road . . . there the squatters knock up what is called a `hut.' In such places stolen goods are easily disposed of, spirits and tobacco are procured in return." Ibid. p. 334: "The rich proprietors have a great aversion to the class of squatters, and not unreasonably, yet they are thus, many of them, squatters themselves, only on a much larger scale. . ." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. ix. p. 260: "This capital of Australia Felix had for a long time been known to some squatters from Tasmania." 1846. T. H. Braim, `History of New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 235: "A set of men who were to be found upon the borders of every large estate, and who were known by the name of squatters. These were ticket-of-leave holders, or freedmen who erected a but on waste land near a great public road, or on the outskirts of an estate." 1897. Australian Steam Navigation Company, `Guide Book,' p. 29: "Nowaday squatters may be interested and possibly shocked on learning that in March, 1836, a petition was being largely signed for the prevention of `squatting, through which so much crime was daily occurring,' inasmuch as `squatting' was but another term for sly grog selling, receiving stolen property, and harbouring bushrangers and assigned servants. The term `squatter,' as applied to the class it now designates--without which where would Australia now be?--was not in vogue till 1842." (2) A pastoral tenant of the Crown, often renting from the Crown vast tracts of land for pasturage at an almost nominal sum. The term is still frequently, but incorrectly, used for a man rearing and running stock on freehold land. <i>Pastoralist</i> is now the more favoured term. 1840. F. P. Labillicre, `Early History of the Colony of Victoria' (edition 1878), vol. ii. p. 189: "In a memorandum of December 19th, 1840, `on the disposal of Lands in the Australian Provinces,' Sir George Gipps informs the Secretary of State on the subject, and states that,--'A very large proportion of the land which is to form the new district of Port Phillip is already in the licensed occupation of the Squatters of New South Wales, a class of persons whom it would be wrong to confound with those who bear the same name in America, and who are generally persons of mean repute and of small means, who have taken unauthorized possession of patches of land. Among the Squatters of New South Wales are the wealthiest of the land, occupying, with the permission of the Government, thousands and tens of thousands of acres. Young men of good families and connexions in England, officers of the army and navy, graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, are also in no small number amongst them.'" 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' July 8, p. 3, col. 3: "The petitioner has already consigned the whole country to the class squatter in perpetuity." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 165: "The squatters of Australia Felix will meet on horseback, upon Batman's Hill, on the 1st of June, for the purpose of forming a Mutual Protection Society. From the Murray to the sea-beach, from the Snowy Mountains to the Glenelg, let no squatter be absent." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 366: "`Squatters.' A word not to be found in `Johnson's Dictionary'; of Canadian extraction, literally to sit on the haunches: in Australia a term applied to the sheep farmers generally; from their being obliged frequently to adopt that position." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition' (Introd.), p. 15: "We were received with the greatest kindness by my friends the `squatters,' a class principally composed of young men of good education, gentlemanly habits, and high principles." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 168: "The Port Phillip squatters, as occupants of the territory of New South Wales, were afterwards required to take out an annual depasturing licence in terms of a Colonial Act passed at Sydney." (p. 246): "The modern squatters, the aristocratic portion of the colonial community." 1851. `Australasian,' p. 298: "In 1840 the migratory flockmaster had become a settled squatter. A wretched slab but is now his home; for furniture he has a rough bush-made table, and two or three uncouth stools." 1861. T. McCombie, Australian Sketches,' p. 128: "The term squatter was applied in the first instance to signify, as in America, such as erected huts on unsold land. It thus came to be applied to all who did not live on their own land, to whom the original and more expressive name of settler continued to be applied. When the owners of stock became influential from their education and wealth, it was thought due to them to change this term for one more suitable to their circumstances, as they now included in their order nearly every man of mark or wealth in Australia. The Government suggested the term `tenants of the Crown,' the press hinted at `licensed graziers,' and both terms were in partial use, but such is the prejudice in favour of what is already established, that both were soon disused, and the original term finally adopted." 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 478: "The term `squatter' . . . is thus derived:--A flock-master settling in Australia could drive his stock to, and occupy, any tract of country, which, from its extent and pastoral capabilities, might meet his comprehensive views; always provided, that such lands had not been already appropriated. . . . Early flock-masters were always confirmed in their selection of lands, according to the quantity of stock they possessed. . . . The Victorian Squatter who can number but five or six thousand sheep is held to be a man of no account. . . . Those only, who can command the shearing of from ten to forty thousand fleeces annually, are estimated as worthy of any note." 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 47: "The squatters (as owners of sheepstations are called)." 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, Founder of Victoria,' p. 94: "In the language of the times, Messrs. Evans, Lancey, and subsequently J. P. Fawkner, were squatters. That term is somewhat singular as applied to the latter, who asserts that he founded the colony to prevent its getting into the hands of the squatters. The term was then applied to all who placed themselves upon public lands without licence." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 265: "It is not too much to say that all the early success of Australia was due to the squatters of New South Wales, who followed the steps of Captain McArthur." 1878. `The Australian,' vol. i. p. 532: "I have been a super, a small freeholder, and a middling-sized squatter, at different times." 1889. Rev. J. H. Zillmann, `Australian Life,' p. 165: "The Squatters are the large leaseholders and landed proprietors of the colony, whose cry has always been that the country was unfit for agricultural settlement, and only adapted for the pastoral pursuits in which they were engaged. . . . It is true the old squatter has been well-nigh exterminated." 1893. J. F. Hogan, `Robert Lowe,' p. 36: "The pastoral enterprise of the adventurous squatters. Originally unrecognized trespassers on Crown lands. . . ." (3) Applied as a nickname to a kind of <i>Bronze-wing Pigeon</i> (q.v.). 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 122: "On the plains you find different kinds of pigeons, the squatters being most common--plump, dust-coloured little fellows, crouching down to the ground quite motionless as you pass. I have frequently killed them with my stock-whip." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 114: "Gentle little squatter-pigeons cooed lovingly in answer to their mates on all sides." <hw>Squatterarchy</hw>, <i>n</i>. squatters collectively. 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. iii. p. 25: "The Squatterarchy of the Koorong rose up in a body and named its hero, martyr." <hw>Squatterdom</hw>, <i>n</i>. the state of being a squatter, or collective word for squatters; the squatter-party. 1866 (circiter). `Political parody': "The speaker then apologised, the Members cried, Hear, Hear; And e'en the ranks of squatterdom could scarce forbear to cheer." 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, Founder of Victoria,' p. 94: "Writes to another at a distance upon the subject of squatterdom." <hw>Squatting</hw>, adj. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition' (Introd.), p. 13: "During my recent excursions through the squatting districts, I had accustomed myself to a comparatively wild life." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Cooksland,' p. 268: "The large extent of land occupied by each Squatting Station." 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 4, col. 2: "A gathering of the squatting and bush life of Australia." <hw>Squattocracy</hw>, <i>n</i>. squatters collectively. 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 118: "Throughout the Colony generally, English are the most numerous, then the Scotch, then the Irish, amongst the Squattocracy." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 59: "The howl for the abolition of the squattocracy had not yet been fostered under the malign influence of shortsighted politicians." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Head Station,' p. 35 (`Century'): "The bloated squattocracy represents Australian conservatism." 1890. E. W. Hornung, `A Bride from the Bush,' p. 243: "The hearty, hospitable manner of the colonial `squatocracy.'" 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. iv. p. 42: "He trusted to pass into the ranks of the Squatocracy." <hw>Squattocratic</hw>, <i>adj</i>. connected with previous word. 1854. `Melbourne Morning Herald,' Feb. 18, p. 4, col. 5: "Squattocratic Impudence." [A heading.] <hw>Squeaker</hw>, <i>n</i>. a vernacular name applied to various birds from their cries. See quotations. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 45: "<i>Strepera Anaphonensis</i>, Grey Crow-shrike; Squeaker of the Colonists." 1855. W. Blandowski, `Transactions of Philosophical Society, Victoria,' vol. i. p. 63: "The Squeaker (<i>Strepera anaphonensis</i>) is a shy and solitary bird, living entirely on the flats, and is remarkable on account of its frequenting only the same locality. He is hence easily distinguished from the <i>Gymnorhina tibicen</i>, whose shrill and piping voice is so well known on all the high lands." 1896. A. J. North, `List of Insectivorous Birds of New South Wales,' part i. p. 1: "A local name is often more apt to mislead and confuse than to assist one in recognizing the particular species on which it is bestowed. This is chiefly due to the same local name being applied to two or more species.For instance, <i>Corcorax melanorhamphus</i>, <i>Xerophila leucopsis</i>, and <i>Myzantha garrula</i> are all locally known in different parts of the Colony by the name of `Squeaker.'" <hw>Squid</hw>, <i>n</i>. a marine animal. The Australian species is <i>Sepioteuthis australis</i>, Quoy and Gaim. 1883. `Report of the Royal Commission on the Fisheries of Tasmania,' p. xi: "None of the Squid family seems to be sought after, although certain kinds are somewhat abundant in our waters. It is stated by the New South Wales Fisheries Enquiry Commission, 1880, that `the cephalopods might be made a source of a considerable profit for exportation to Japan and China. In both these countries all animal substances of a gelatinous character are in great request, and none more than those of the cuttle-fish tribe; the squid (<i>Sepioteuthis australis</i>) is highly appreciated, and in consequence is highly prized. The cuttle-fish (<i>sepia</i>) is of rather inferior quality, and the star-fish of the fishermen (<i>octopus</i>) not used at all.'" 1892. R L. Stevenson, `The Wrecker,' p. 345: "You can't fill up all these retainers on tinned salmon for nothing; but whenever I could get it, I would give 'em squid. Squid's good for natives, but I don't care for it, do you?-- or shark either." <hw>Squire</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the fish called <i>Schnapper</i> at two years old. See <i>Schnapper</i>. <hw>Squirrel</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Flying-Squirrel</i>. <hw>Stamper</hw>, or <hw>Stamphead</hw>, <i>n</i>. "A cast-iron weight, or head, fixed on to a shank or lifter, and used for stamping or reducing quartz to a fine sand." (Brough Smyth, `Glossary.') The word is used elsewhere as a term in machinery. In Australia, it signifies the appliance above described. The form <i>stamphead</i> is the earlier one. The shorter word <i>stamper</i> is now the more usual. 1869. J. F. Blanche, `Prince's Visit,' p. 25: "For steam and stampers now are all the rage." 1880. A. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 76: "The battery was to have eight stampers." 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 11: "This, with the old battery, brings the number of stampers up to sixty." Ibid. p. 15: "A battery of twenty-six stamp heads." <hw>Star of Bethlehem</hw>. The Old World plant is <i>Ornithogalum umbellatum</i>; the name is given in Australia to <i>Chamaescilla corymbosa</i>, and in Tasmania to <i>Burchardia umbellata</i>, R. Br., both of the <i>Liliaceae</i>. <hw>Star-fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Victoria to <i>Gleichenia flabellata</i>, R. Br.; called also <i>Fan-fern</i>. See <i>Fern</i>. <hw>Starling</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name. The Australian species is the <i>Shining Starling</i>, <i>Calornis metallica</i>. The common English starling is also acclimatised. <hw>Start</hw>, <i>n</i>. The young Australian has a fine contempt for the English word <i>to begin</i>, which he never uses where he can find any substitute. He says <i>commence</i> or <i>start</i>, and he always uses <i>commence</i> followed by the infinitive instead of by the verbal noun, as "The dog commenced to bark." 1896. Modern talk in the train: "The horse started to stop, and the backers commenced to hoot." <hw>Station</hw>, <i>n</i>. originally the house with the necessary buildings and home-premises of a sheep-run, and still used in that sense: but now more generally signifying the run and all that goes with it. <i>Stations</i> are distinguished as <i>Sheep-stations</i> and <i>Cattle-stations</i>. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. (Introd.): "They . . . will only be occupied as distant stock-stations." 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 120: "Their [squatters'] huts or houses, gardens, paddocks, etc., form what is termed a station, while the range of country over which their flocks and herds roam is termed a run." 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, Founder of Victoria,' p. 35: "The lecturer assured his audience that he came here to prevent this country being a squatting station." 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads,' p. 17: "The sturdy station-children pull the bush flowers on my grave." 1890. E. D. Cleland, `The White Kangaroo,' p. 4: "Station--the term applied in the colonies to the homesteads of the sheep-farmers or squatters." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood,'Miner's Right,' c. xviii. p. 171: "Men who in their youth had been peaceful stockmen and station-labourers." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 125: "I'm travelen' down the Castlereagh and I'm a station-hand, I'm handy with the ropin' pole, I'm handy with the brand, And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day, But there's no demand for a stationhand along the Castlereagh." <hw>Station-jack</hw>, <i>n</i>. a form of bush cookery. 1853. `The Emigrant's Guide to Australia.' (Article on Bush-Cookery, from an unpublished MS. by Mrs. Chisholm], pp. 111-12: "The great art of bush-cookery consists in giving a variety out of salt beef and flour . . . let the Sunday share be soaked on the Saturday, and beat it well . . . take the . . . flour and work it into a paste; then put the beef into it, boil it, and you will have a very nice pudding, known in the bush as `<i>Station jack</i>.'" <hw>Stavewood</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Flindosy Beech</i>. See <i>Beech</i>. <hw>Stay-a-while</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tangled bush; sometimes called <i>Wait-a-while</i> (q.v.). <hw>Steamer</hw>, <i>n</i>. obsolete name for a colonial dish. See quotation. 1820. Lieut. C. Jeffreys, R.N., `Geographical and Descriptive Delineations of the Island of Van Dieman's Land,' p. 69: "Their meal consisted of the hindquarters of a kangaroo cut into mincemeat, stewed in its own gravy, with a few rashers of salt pork; this dish is commonly called a steamer." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 309: "Our largest animals are the <i>Kangaroos</i> . . . making most delicious stews and steaks, the favourite dish being what is called a <i>steamer</i>, composed of steaks and chopped tail, (with a few slices of salt pork) stewed with a very small quantity of water for a couple of hours in a close vessel." <hw>Stewart Islander</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to the oyster, <i>Ostrea chiloensis</i>, Sowerby; so called because it is specially abundant on Stewart Island off the south coast of New Zealand. The Stewart Island forms are mud oysters, those of Sydney Cove growing on rock. See <i>Oyster</i>. <hw>Stick-Caterpillar</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Phasmid</i>. <hw>Stick-up</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. (1) The regular word for the action of bushrangers stopping passers-by on the highway and robbing them. (2) In the case of a bank or a station, simply to rob. 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. xiii. p. 502: "It was only the previous night that he had been `stuck up' with a pistol at his head." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. ii. p. 187: "Unless the mail came well armed, a very few men could `stick it up,' without any trouble or danger." 1857. `Melbourne Punch,' Feb. 19, p. 26, col. 1: "I have been stuck up, trampled in the mud." 1869. J. Townend, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 140: "Five or six bushrangers took up a position about a mile from town, and (to use a colonial phrase) `stuck up' every person that passed." 1869. Mrs. W. M. Howell, `The Diggings and the Bush,' p. 93: "The escort has been `stuck up,' and the robbers have taken notes to the value of L700, and two thousand ounces of gold." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 253: "We had a revolver apiece in case of being `stuck up' on the road." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 168: "We could make more money in one night by `sticking up' a coach or a bank than in any other way in a year . . . Any one who has been stuck up himself knows that there's not much chance of doing much in the resisting line." [The operation is then explained fully.] 1890. Lyth, `Golden South,' c.viii. p. 68: "Accounts of bushrangers `sticking up' stations, travellers, and banks were very frequent." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 26, p. 4. col. 6: "The game of sticking up hotels used to be in the old days a popular one, and from the necessary openness of the premises the practice was easy to carry out." (3) Humorously applied to a collector or a beggar. In `Twenty- five Years of St. Andrews' (vol. ii. p. 87), A. K. H. B. tells a story of a church dignitary, who was always collecting money for church building. When a ghost appeared at Glamis Castle, addressing the ghost, the clergyman began--that "he was most anxious to raise money for a church he was erecting; that he had a bad cold and could not well get out of bed; but that his collecting-book was on the dressing-table, and he would be `extremely obliged' for a subscription." An Australian would have said he "stuck up" the ghost for a subscription. 1890. E. W. Hornung, `A Bride from the Bush,' p. 297: "You never get stuck up for coppers in the streets of the towns." (4) Bring a kangaroo to bay. 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. iii. p. 24: "We knew that she had `stuck up' or brought to bay a large forester." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 15: "The fiercest fighter I ever saw `stuck up' against a red gum-tree." (5) Simply to stop. 1863. S. Butler, `First Year in Canterbury Settlement,' p. 68: "This [waterfall] `stuck us up,' as they say here concerning any difficulty." 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 4, col. 2: "We are stuck up for an hour or more, and can get a good feed over there." (6) To pose, to puzzle. 1896. Modern: "I was stuck up for an answer." "That last riddle stuck him up." 1897. `The Australasian,' Jan. 2, p. 33, col. 1: "The professor seems to have stuck up any number of candidates with the demand that they should `construct one simple sentence out of all the following.'" <hw>Sticker-up</hw>, <i>n</i>. sc. a bushranger. 1879. W. J. Barry, `Up and Down,' p. 197: "They had only just been liberated from gaol, and were the stickers-up, or highwaymen mentioned." <hw>Sticker-up/2</hw>, <i>n</i>. a term of early bush cookery, the method, explained in first quotation, being borrowed from the aborigines. 1830. `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 112: "Which he cooked in the mode called in colonial phrase a sticker up. A straight twig being cut as a spit, the slices were strung upon it, and laid across two forked sticks leaning towards the fire." 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 55: "Here I was first initiated into the bush art of `sticker-up' cookery . . . the orthodox material here is of course kangaroo, a piece of which is divided nicely into cutlets two or three inches broad and a third of an inch thick. The next requisite is a straight clean stick, about four feet long, sharpened at both ends. On the narrow part of this, for the space of a foot or more, the cutlets are spitted at intervals, and on the end is placed a piece of delicately rosy fat bacon. The strong end of the stick-spit is now stuck fast and erect in the ground, close by the fire, to leeward; care being taken that it does not burn." ". . . to men that are hungry, stuck-up kangaroo and bacon are very good eating." . . . "our `sticker-up' consisted only of ham." 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 103: "Pounds of rosy steaks . . . skilfully rigged after the usual approved fashion (termed in Bush parlance a sticker-up'), before the brilliant wood fire, soon sent forth odours most grateful to the hungered way-worn Bushmen." <hw>Stilt</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name. In New Zealand, the species are-- The Black Stilt-- <i>Himantopus novae-zelandiae</i>, Gould; Maori name, <i>Kaki</i>. Pied S., or Whiteheaded S.-- <i>H. leucocephalus</i>, Gould; Maori name, <i>Tutumata</i>. White-necked S.-- <i>H. albicollis</i>, Buller. <i>H. leucocephalus</i> (the <i>White-headed Stilt</i>) is also present in Australia, and the world-wide species, <i>H. pectoralis</i>, Du Bus. (the Banded Stilt), is found through all Australasia. <hw>Stingareeing</hw>, <i>n</i>. the sport of catching <i>Stingrays</i>, or <i>Stingarees</i>. 1872. Hutton and Hector, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 121: "It has been recently discovered by the writer of the animated article in the `Field' on Fishing in New Zealand [London, Nov. 25, 1871], that `stingareeing' can be made to afford sport of a most exciting kind." <hw>Stinging-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland name for the <i>Giant Nettle</i>, or <i>Nettle-tree</i> (q.v.) 1890. A. J. Vogan, `The Black Police,' p. 209: "The stinging-tree, . . . the most terrible of all vegetable growths. This horrible guardian of the Queensland jungle stands from five to fifteen feet in height, and has a general appearance somewhat similar to that of a small mulberry-tree. Their peculiarly soft and inviting aspect is caused by an almost invisible coating of microscopic cillia, and it is to these that the dangerous characteristics of the plant are due. The unhappy wanderer in these wilds, who allows any part of his body to come in contact with those beautiful, inviting tongues of green, soon finds them veritable tongues of fire, and it will be weeks, perhaps months, ere the scorching agony occasioned by their sting is entirely eradicated." <hw>Sting-moth</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian moth, <i>Doratifera vulnerans</i>. The larva has at each end of the body four tubercles bearing stinging hairs. (`Standard.') <hw>Stinkwood</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to various woods in different parts of the world, from their unpleasant smell. In Tasmania, it is applied to the timber of <i>Zieria smithii</i>, Andr., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' p. 175: "The timber in this district I found to be principally myrtle, sassafras, and stinkwood." <hw>Stint</hw>, <i>n</i>. English bird-name. The Australian species are-- Curlew Stint-- <i>Tringa subarquata</i>, Gmel. Little S.-- <i>T. ruficollis</i>. Sharp-tailed S.-- <i>T. acuminata</i>, Horsf. <hw>Stitch-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of New Zealand. See quotation. 1885. Hugh Martin, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. art. xxii. p. 112: "<i>Pogonornis cincta</i> (Hihi, Matahiore, stitch-bird), North Island." [From a list of New Zealand birds that ought to be protected.] 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 101: "<i>Pogonornis cincta</i>, Gray. [A full description.]" 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 119: "Stitch-bird (<i>Pogonornis cincta</i>), formerly abundant in the North Island, but now extinct on the main-land, and found only in some of the outlying islets. The rarest and one of the most beautiful of native Passerines." <hw>Stock</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word has many meanings. In the one from which the Australian compounds are made, it denotes horses, cattle, or sheep, the farmer's stock in trade. Of course, this use is not peculiar to Australia, but it is unusually common there. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. ix. p. 320: "The cattle suffered much, and some of both the public and private stock perished." <hw>Stock-agent</hw>, <i>n</i>. more usually in the form Stock and Station-agent. The circumstances of Australian life make this a common profession. <hw>Stock-holder</hw>, <i>n</i>. a grazier; owner of large herds of cattle, or flocks of sheep. 1820. Lieut. Chas. Jeffreys, `Delineations of Van Dieman's Land' [sic], p. 25: "Near this is the residence of D. Rose, Esq., formerly an officer of the 73rd regiment, and now a large land and stockholder." 1824. E. Curr, `Account of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 83: "The most negligent stock-holders now carefully house their wool, and many take the trouble to wash their sheep." <hw>Stock-horse</hw>, <i>n</i>. horse accustomed to go after cattle used in mustering and cutting-out (q.v.). 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. vi. p. 122: "The Australian stock-horse is a wonderful animal. . . . He has a wonderful constitution, splendid feet, great endurance, and very good temper." 1890. `The Argus,' June 14, p.4, col. 1: "A twenty-year-old stock-horse." <hw>Stock-hut</hw>, <i>n</i>. the hut of a stock-man. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. ii. c. ii. p. 21: "We crossed the Underaliga creek a little below the stock-hut." <hw>Stock-keep</hw>, <i>v</i>. a quaint compound verb. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. x. p. 96 (1890): "`What can you do, young man?' `Well, most things . . . fence, split, milk, drive bullocks, stock-keep, plough." <hw>Stock-keeper</hw>, <i>n</i>. equivalent to a shepherd, or herdsman. 1821. Governor Macquarie, `Government Notice,' June 30, 1821, in E. Curr's `Van Diemen's Land' (1824), p. 154: "To yard the flocks at night . . . for the purpose of keeping the stock-keepers in check, and sufficient shepherds should be kept to ensure constant attention to the flock." 1828. Governor Arthur in J. Bischoff's `Van Diemen's Land,' 1832, p. 185: "Every kind of injury committed against the defenceless natives by the stock-keepers." <hw>Stock-man</hw>, <i>n</i>. used in Australia for a man employed to look after stock. 1821. Governor Macquarie, `Government Notice,' June 30, 1821, in E. Curr's `Van Diemen's Land' (edition 1824), p. 155: "It is the common practice with owners of flocks to allow their shepherds to acquire and keep sheep . . . it affords to the stock-men a cover frequently for disposing dishonestly of sheep belonging to their master." 1822. G. W. Evans, `Description of Van Diemen's Land,' p. 68: "At its junction there is a fine space, named by the stockmen Native Hut Valley." 1833. C. Sturt,' Southern Australia,'vol. i. c. i. p. 6: "He was good enough to send for the stockman (or chief herdsman)." 1846. J L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. xii. p. 402: "An exchange of looks I caught the overseer and stockman indulging in." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' p. 96: "Here and there a stockman's cottage stands." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 5: "Would you still exchange your comfortable home and warm fireside . . . for a wet blanket, a fireless camp, and all the other etceteras of the stockman's life?" 1886. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 17: "One stooped--a stockman from the nearer hills To loose his wallet strings." <hw>Stock-rider</hw>, <i>n</i>. a man employed to look after cattle, properly on an unfenced station. 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads' [Title]: "The Sick Stock-rider." 1892. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 33: "`Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we marched on without impediment,' said a lithe-limbed stock-rider, bearded like a pard, as he lit his pipe--the bushman's only friend. And this was once a fellow of St. John's, Cambridge." <hw>Stock-riding</hw>, <i>n</i>. the occupation of a <i>Stock-rider</i> (q.v.). 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 260 [Footnote]: "Like other Australian aborigines, the Kurnai have a natural aptitude for stock-riding." <hw>Stock-route</hw>, <i>n</i>. When land is first let in surveyed blocks to a <i>Squatter</i> (q.v.), and is, of course, unfenced, the lessee is required by law to leave passages through it from two to four chains wide, at certain intervals, as a right-of-way for travelling sheep and cattle. These are called Stock-routes. He may fence these routes if he chooses--which he very rarely does--but if he fences across the route he must provide gates or s<i>lip-rails</i> (q.v.), or other free passage. 1896. `The Argus,' May 21, p. 5, Col. 1: "To-day the Land Board dealt with the application for the re-appraisement of the Yantara pastoral holding. The manager said that owing to deterioration of the feed through the rabbits, from 9 to 10 acres were required to carry a sheep. . . . Thirteen trial wells had been put down on the holding, all of which had bottomed on a drift of salt water. Four stock routes passed through the area, one being the main stock route from South-western Queensland. . . . Wild dogs had been troublesome since the February rains. . . . There were Government bores on the run." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 51: "Now Saltbush Bill was a drover tough, as ever the country knew, He had fought his way on the Great Stock Routes from the sea to the Big Barcoo." <hw>Stock-up</hw>, <i>v</i>. complete the number of animals on a station, so that it may carry its full complement. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. vii. p. 68: "I shall decide to stock up as soon as the fences are finished." <hw>Stock-whip</hw>, <i>n</i>. whip for driving cattle. See quotations. 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. i. p. 100: "The stock-whip, with a handle about half a yard long and a thong of three yards long, of plaited bullock-hide, is a terrible instrument in the hands of a practised stockman. Its sound is the note of terror to the cattle; it is like the report of a blunderbuss, and the stockman at full gallop will hit any given spot on the beast that he is within reach of, and cut the piece away through the thickest hide that bull or bison ever wore." 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads,' p. 14: "With a running fire of stock-whips and a fiery run of hoofs." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 76: "The stock-whip, which bears such a prominent part in all dealings with cattle, is from twelve to fourteen feet in length, with a short light handle of about fourteen inches long, to which it is attached by a leather keeper as on a hunting crop. . . . The whip is made of a carefully selected strip of green hide, great attention having been paid to curing it." <hw>Stocks-man</hw>, <i>n</i>. an unusual form for <i>Stock-man</i> (q.v.). 1862. F. J. Jobson, `Australia,' c. vi. p. 145: "We saw the stocksman seated upon his bony long-limbed steed." <hw>Stone-lifter</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Melbourne name for the fish <i>Kathetostoma laeve</i>, Bl., family T<i>rachinidae</i>, one of the genera of the "Stargazers" (<i>Uranoscopina</i>), which have eyes on the surface of the head. <hw>Stonewall</hw>, <i>v. intr</i>. (1) A Parliamentary term: to make use of the forms of the House so as to delay public business. (2) To obstruct business at any meeting, chiefly by long-winded speeches. (3) To play a slow game at cricket, blocking balls rather than making runs. 1876. `Victorian Hansard,' Jan., vol. xxii. p. 1387: "Mr. G. Paton Smith wished to ask the honourable member for Geelong West whether the six members sitting beside him (Mr. Berry) constituted the `stone wall' that had been spoken of? Did they constitute the stone wall which was to oppose all progress--to prevent the finances being dealt with and the business of the country carried on? It was like bully Bottom's stone wall. It certainly could not be a very high wall, nor a very long wall, if it only consisted of six." 1884. G. W. Rusden, `History of Australia,' vol. iii. p. 405: "Abusing the heroic words of Stonewall Jackson, the Opposition applied to themselves the epithet made famous by the gallant Confederate General." 1894. `The Argus,' Jan. 26, p. 3, col. 5: "The Tasmanians [sc. cricketers] do not as a rule stonewall." <hw>Stonewood</hw>, <i>n</i>. <i>Callistemon salignus</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; called also the <i>River Tea-tree</i>. 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue--Economic Woods,' No. 48: "Stonewood." <hw>Store</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bullock, cow, or sheep bought to be fattened for the market. 1874. W. H. L. Ranken, `Dominion of Australia,' c. xiii. p. 233: "They then, if `stores,' pass to the rich salt-bush country of Riverina." <hw>Store-cattle</hw>, <i>n</i>. lean cattle bought to be fattened for the market; often contracted to <i>stores</i> (q.v.). 1885. R. M. Praed, `Head-Station,' p. 74: "Oh, we're not fit for anything but store-cattle: we are all blady grass." <hw>Stranger</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Victoria and Tasmania to the <i>Rock-Whiting</i>, <i>Odax richardsoni</i>, Gunth., family <i>Labridae</i>. The <i>Stranger</i>, which is a marine fish, is caught occasionally in the fresher water of the upper estuary of the Derwent; hence its name. See <i>Whiting</i>. 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June 19, 1881, p. 1: "Common fish such as . . . garfish, strangers, silvers, and others.' <hw>Stringy-bark</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) any one of various <i>Gums</i>, with a tough fibrous bark used for tying, for cordage, for roofs of huts, etc. 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 37: "The string bark [sic] tree is also useful, and its bark, which is of a fibrous texture, often more than an inch in thickness, parts easily from the wood, and may be obtained ten or twelve feet in length, and seven or eight in breadth." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 73: "The natives appear also to like the fruit of the pandanus, of which large quantities are found in their camps, soaking in water contained in vessels formed of stringy-bark." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 27: "In truth, the forests of Australia (consisting principally of woods of iron-bark, stringy-bark, and other species of the Eucalyptus) seen at a distance, just before sunset, are noble objects--perfect pictures." 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Thirty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 29: "The stringy bark tree is so named from the ropy nature of its bark, which is frequently used for tying on the rods and thatch of sheds, huts, and barns in the country." 1862. W. Archer, `Products of Tasmania,' p. 39: "Gum-topped String-bark, sometimes called white gum (<i>Eucalyptus gigantea</i>, var.). A tree resembling the Blue Gum in foliage, with rough bark similar to Stringy Bark towards the stem." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 237: "Stringy-bark trees were also seen--so called, because the rough bark has a brown tenacious fibre, like that of the cocoanut, which can be split off in sheets to make the roofs of houses, or unravelled into a fibre that will tie like string." 1868. Carleton, `Australian Nights,' p. 2: "The mia-mia that the native dark Had formed from sheets of stringy bark." 1873. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 204: "The Stringy-bark tree is of straight growth, and takes its name from the strip-like character of its bark. . . . The wood is of a brown colour, hard, heavy, strong and close in the grain. It works up well . . . in ship-building, for planking, beams, keels and keelsons, and in civil architecture for joists, flooring, etc. Upon the farms it is used for fences and agricultural implements: it is also employed for furniture and for all ordinary purposes." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 196: "Down to the waist they are all wound round with frayed stringy-bark in thick folds." 1894. `The Age,' Oct. 19, p. 5, col. 8: "Granite and stringy-bark are always associated with `hungry' country." (2) Bush slang for bad whisky. 1890. A. J. Vogan, `The Black Police,' p. 217: "<i>Stringy-bark</i>, a curious combination of fusil oil and turpentine, labelled `whisky.'" <hw>Stringy-bark</hw>, <i>adj</i>. equivalent to "bush." 1833. Oct. `New South Wales Magazine,' vol. 1. p. 173: ". . . the workmanship of which I beg you will not scrutinize, as I am but, to use a colonial expression, `a stringy-bark carpenter.'" 1853. C. Rudston Read, `What I Heard, Saw, and Did at the Australian Gold Fields,' p. 53: ". . . after swimming a small river about 100 yards wide he'd arrive at old Geordy's, a stringy bark settler . . ." <hw>Sturt's Desert Pea</hw>, <i>n</i>. a beautiful creeper, <i>Clianthus dampieri</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, which will only grow in very dry, sandy soil. It is sometimes called <i>Lobster's Claw</i>, from its clusters of brilliant scarlet flowers with black-purple centres, like a lobster's claw. Called also <i>Glory Pea</i> (q.v.). See <i>Clianthus</i>. 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 29: "Amongst which appears the beautiful Clianthus, known to the colonists as Sturt's desert pea." [Footnote]: "Woodward in `Dampier's Voyages,' vol. iii. cap. 4, pl. 2. The plant is there called <i>Colutea Novae-Hollandiae</i>. Its name now is <i>Clianthus Dampieri</i>. R. Brown proposed the name of <i>Eremocharis</i>, from the Greek <i>'eraemos</i>, desert." [Dampier's voyage was made in 1699, and the book published in 1703. Mr. Woodward contributed notes on the plants brought home by Dampier.] <hw>Stump-jump Plough</hw>, <i>n</i>. a farm implement, invented in Australia, for ploughing the wheat-lands, which are often left with the stumps of the cleared trees not eradicated. 1896. `Waybrook Implement Company' (Advt.): "It is only a very few years since it came into use, and no one ever thought it was going to turn a trackless scrub into a huge garden. But now from the South Australian border right through to the Murray, farms and comfortable homesteads have taken the place of dense scrub. This last harvest, over three hundred thousand bags of wheat were delivered at Warracknabeal, and this wonderful result must, in the main, be put down to the Stump-jump Plough. It has been one of the best inventions this colony has ever been blessed with." <hw>Stump-tailed Lizard</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian lizard, <i>Trachydosaurus rugosus</i>, Gray. <hw>Styphelia</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of a genus of shrubby plants of New Zealand and Australia, of the <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. It contains the <i>Five-Corners</i> (q.v.). 1793. J. E. Smith, `Specimen of the Botany of New Holland,' p. 46: "We adopt Dr. Solander's original name <i>Styphelia</i>, derived from <i>stuphelos</i>, harsh, hard, or firm, expressive of the habit of the whole genus and indeed of the whole natural order." <hw>Sucker</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in New Zealand to the fish <i>Diplocrepis puniceus</i>, Rich., family <i>Gobiesocidae</i>. This is a family of small, marine, littoral fishes provided with a ventral disc, or adhesive apparatus. Other genera of the family occur in Australasia. <hw>Sugar</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang for money. It may be doubted if it is specially Australian. 1887. J. Bonwick, `Romance of Wool Trade,' p. 273 (quoting `Victoria, the El Dorado'): "I hear him sing out `sold again, and got the sugar' (a colonial slang word for ready money); `half a sheep for a shilling.'" <hw>Sugar-Ant</hw>, <i>n</i>. a small ant, known in many parts of Australia by this name because of its fondness for sweet things. 1896. `The Melbournian,' Aug. 28, p. 53: "The sun reaches a sugar-ant and rouses him from his winter sleep. Out he scurries, glad to greet the warmth, and tracks hurriedly around. He feels the sun, but the cold damp ground tells him the time is not yet come when at evening he will sally forth in long columns over the soft warm dust in search of the morrow's meal; so, dazzled by the unaccustomed glare, he seeks his hiding-place once more." <hw>Sugar-bag</hw>, <i>n</i>. nest of honey, and the honey. 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 67: "The regular sharp chop-chop of the tomahawks could be heard here and there, where some of them had discovered a sugar-bag (nest of honey) or a 'possum on a tree." Ibid. vol. ii. p. 129: "The tiny bee which manufactures his adored chewgah-bag." [Footnote: "Sugar-bag--the native pigeon-English word for honey."] <hw>Sugar-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian grass, <i>Erianthus fulvus</i>, Kunth., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 106: "The `Sugar Grass' of colonists, so called on account of its sweetness; it is highly productive, and praised by stockowners. Cattle eat it close down, and therefore it is in danger of extermination, but it is readily raised from seed." <hw>Sugar-Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian Gum, <i>Eucalyptus corynocalyx</i> of South Australia and North-Western Victoria. The foliage is sweet, and attractive to cattle. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Sultana-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name for the <i>Swamp-Hen</i> (q.v.), <i>Porphyrio melanonotus</i>, Temm. 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 223: "Black sultana-birds, blue-breasted as deep ocean." <hw>Summer-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Old Colonists' name for the <i>Wood-swallows</i>. See <i>Swallow</i>. In Tasmania it is applied to a species of Shrike, <i>Graucalus melanops</i>, Lath. The name refers to the migratory habits of both birds. 1895. C. French, Government entomologist, letter to `Argus,' Nov. 29: "The wood-swallows, known to us old colonists as summer birds, are migratory, making their appearance about September and disappearing about the end of January." <hw>Summer Country</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand (South Island), country which can be used in summer only; mountain land in Otago and Canterbury, above a certain level. <hw>Sun-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. a common name of various birds. Applied in Australia to <i>Cinnyris frenata</i>, Mull. 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia' (Supplement), pl. 45: "`This pretty Sun-bird,' says Mr. MacGillivray, `appears to be distributed along the whole of the northeast coast of Australia, the adjacent islands, and the whole of the islands in Torres Straits.'" <hw>Sundew</hw>, <i>n</i>. There are many species of this flower in Australia and Tasmania, most of them peculiar to Australasia; <i>Drosera</i> spp., <i>N.O. Droseraceae</i>. 1888. `Cassell's Picturesque Australasia,' vol. ii. p. 236: "Smooth, marshy meadows, gleaming with the ruby stars of millions of tiny little sundews." <hw>Sundowner</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tramp who takes care to arrive at a station at sundown, so that he shall be provided with `<i>tucker</i>' (q.v.) at the squatter's cost: one of those who go about the country seeking work and devoutly hoping they may not find it. 1880. G. <i>n</i>. Oakley, in `Victoria in 1880,' p. 114 [Title of poem of seventeen stanzas]: "<i>The Sundowner</i>." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 32: "When the real `sundowner' haunts these banks for a season, he is content with a black pannikin, a clasp knife, and a platter whittled out of primaeval bark." 1890. `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 5: "Sundowners are still the plague of squatocracy, their petition for `rashons' and a bed amounting to a demand." 1891. F. Adams, `John Webb's End,' p. 34: "`Swagsmen' too, genuine, or only `sundowners,'--men who loaf about till sunset, and then come in with the demand for the unrefusable `rations.'" 1892. `Scribner's Magazine,' Feb., p. 143: "They swell the noble army of swagmen or sundowners, who are chiefly the fearful human wrecks which the ebbing tide of mining industry has left stranded in Australia." [This writer does not differentiate between <i>Swagman</i> (q.v.) and <i>Sundowner</i>.] 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 12, p. 8, col. 7: "Numbers of men who came to be known by the class name of `sundowners,' from their habit of straggling up at fall of evening with the stereotyped appeal for work; and work being at that hour impossible, they were sent to the travellers' hut for shelter and to the storekeeper or cook for the pannikin of flour, the bit of mutton, the sufficiency of tea for a brew, which made up a ration." 1896. `Windsor Magazine,' Dec., p. 132: "`Here,' he remarked, `is a capital picture of a Queensland sundowner.' The picture represented a solitary figure standing in pathetic isolation on a boundless plain. `A sundowner?' I queried. `Yes; the lowest class of nomad. For days they will tramp across the plains carrying, you see, their supply of water. They approach a station only at sunset, hence the name. At that hour they know they will not be turned away.' `Do they take a day's work?' `Not they! There is an old bush saying, that the sundowner's one request is for work, and his one prayer is that be may not find it.'" <hw>Super</hw>, <i>n</i>. short for superintendent, sc. of a station. 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads,' p. 23: "What's up with our super to-night? The man's mad." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. ix. p. 83: "That super's a growlin' ignorant beggar as runs a feller from daylight to dark for nothing at all." 1890. `The Argus,' June 10, p. 4, col. 1: "He . . . bragged of how he had bested the super who tried to `wing him' in the scrub." <hw>Superb-Dragon</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian marine fish, <i>Phyllopteryx foliatus</i>, Shaw. See <i>Sea-Dragon</i>. 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' pl. 7: "`Superb-Dragon--Phyllopteryx Foliatus.' This is one of the `Pipe fishes,' order <i>Lophobranchii</i>. It has been compared to the ghost of a seahorse (<i>Hippocampus</i>) with its winding sheet all in ribbons around it; and the tattered cerements are like in shape and colour to the seaweed it frequents, so that it hides and feeds in safety. The long ends of ribs which seem to poke through the skin to excite our compassion are really `protective resemblances,' and serve to allure the prey more effectually within reach of these awful ghouls. Just as the leaf-insect is imitative of a leaf, and the staff insect of a twig, so here is a fish like a bunch of seaweed. (Tenison-Woods.)" [Compare <i>Phasmid</i>.] <hw>Superb-Warbler</hw>, <i>n</i>. any Australian bird of the genus <i>Malurus</i> (q.v.), especially <i>M. cyaneus</i>, the <i>Blue Wren</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 80: "We also observed the Superb Warbler, <i>Malurus cyaneus</i>, of Sydney." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iii. pl. 18: "<i>Malurus Cyaneus</i>, Vieill., Blue Wren; Superb Warbler of the Colonists." 1896. F. G. Aflalo, `Natural History of Australia,' p. 136: "The best known are . . . and the <i>Blue Wren</i> or <i>Superb Warbler</i> (<i>Malurus cyaneus</i>), both of which I have repeatedly watched in the Sydney Botanic Gardens. . . . They dart about the pathways like mice, but rarely seem to fly. There are a dozen other Superb Warblers." <hw>Supple-jack</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word is English in the sense of a strong cane, and is the name of various climbing shrubs from which the canes are cut; especially in America. In Australia, the name is given to similar creeping plants, viz.--<i>Ventilago viminalis</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Rhamnaceae</i>; <i>Clematis aristata</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Ranunculaceae</i>. In New Zealand, to <i>Ripogonum</i> (spp.). 1818. `History of New South Wales,' p. 47: "The underwood is in general so thick and so bound together by that kind of creeping shrub called supple-jack, interwoven in all directions, as to be absolutely impenetrable." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 218: "After a tedious march . . . along a track constantly obstructed by webs of the kareau, or supple-jack, we came to the brow of a descent." 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand, the Britain of the South,' vol. i. p. 135: "Supple-jack snares, root-traps, and other parasitical impediments." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 135: "Two kinds of creepers extremely molesting and troublesome, the so-called `supple-jack' of the colonists (<i>Ripogonum parviflorum</i>), in the ropelike creeping vines of which the traveller finds himself every moment entangled." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 11: "The tangles black Of looped and shining supple jack." 1874. W. M. B., `Narrative of Edward Crewe,' p. 199: The supple-jack, that stopper to all speedy progression in the New Zealand forest." 1881. J.L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 154: "Forty or fifty feet of supple-jack. This creeper is of the thickness of your finger, and runs along the ground, and goes up the trees and springs across from one tree to the other, spanning great gaps in some mysterious manner of its own--a tough, rascally creeper that won't break, that you can't twist in two, that you must cut, that trips you by the foot or the leg, and sometimes catches you by the neck . . . so useful withal in its proper places." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 71: "Threading with somewhat painful care intricacies formed by loops and snares of bewildering supple-jacks, that living study of Gordian entanglement, nature-woven, for patient exercise of hand and foot." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 309: "Laced together by creepers called supple-jacks, which twine and twist for hundreds of yards, with stems as thick as a man's wrist, so as to make the forests impassable except with axes and immense labour." <hw>Surfacing</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Wash-dirt lying on the surface of the ground. (2) <i>verbal n</i>. Gold-digging on the surface of the ground. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 133: "What is termed `surfacing' consists of simply washing the soil on the surface of the ground, which is occasionally auriferous." 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' c. iv. p. 133: "I've been surfacing this good while; but quartz-reefin's the payinest game, now." 1866. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches' [Second Series], p. 133: "What is termed `surfacing' consists of simply washing the soil on the surface of the ground, which is occasionally auriferous." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Miner's Right,' c. xv. p. 153: "They have been mopping up some rich surfacing." 1894. `The Argus,' March 28, p. 5. col. 5: "`Surfacing' or `loaming.' Small canvas bags are carried by the prospector, and top soil from various likely-looking spots gathered and put into them, the spots being marked to correspond with the bags. The contents are then panned off separately, and if gold is found in any one of the bags the spot is again visited, and the place thoroughly overhauled, even to trenching for the reef." <hw>Swag</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Used in the early days, and still by the criminal class, in the ordinary sense of Thieves' English, as booty, plunder. 1837. J. Mudie, `Felonry of New South Wales,' p. 181: "In short, having brought with her a supply of the `swag,' as the convicts call their ill-gotten cash, a wife seldom fails of having her husband assigned to her, in which case the transported felon finds himself his own master." 1879. R. H. Barham, `Ingoldsby Legends' (Misadventures at Margate): "A landsman said, `I <i>twig</i> the drop,--he's been upon the mill, And `cause he <i>gammons</i> so the <i>flats</i>, ve calls him Veepin' Bill.' He said `he'd done me very brown, and neatly <i>stowed</i> the <i>swag</i>,' -That's French, I fancy, for a hat,--or else a carpet-bag." (2) A special Australian use: a tramp's bundle, wrapt up in a blanket, called a <i>Bluey</i> (q.v.). Used also for a passenger's luggage. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 59: "A number of the slang phrases current in St. Giles's <i>Greek</i> bid fair to become legitimatized in the dictionary of this colony: <i>plant, swag</i>, <i>pulling up</i>, and other epithets of the Tom and Jerry school, are established--the dross passing here as genuine, even among all ranks." 1853. S. Sidney, `Three Colonies of Australia,' p. 361: "His leathern overalls, his fancy stick, and his `swag' done up in mackintosh." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 384: "There were others with huge swags suspended from a pole, with which they went on, like the Children of Israel carrying the gigantic bunches of the grapes of Canaan." 1865. J. O. Tucker, `Australian Story,' c. i. p. 86: "The cumbrous weight of blankets that comprised my swag." 1867. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 127: "A pair of large double blankets to make the tent of,--that was one swag, and a very unwieldy one it was, strapped knapsack fashion, with straps of flax leaves." 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, Founder of Victoria,' p. 51: "Three white men, the Sydney natives, and Batman, who carried his swag the same as the rest, all armed." 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 9: "With my rug and blankets on my back (such a bundle being called a `swag')." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 285: "Swag, which consists of his personal properties rolled up in a blanket." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 33: "His cumbrous attire and the huge swag which lay across the seat." 1888. A. Reischek, in Buller's `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 93: "With the hope that there would now be a few fine days, I at once packed up my swag with provisions, ammunition, blanket, &c." 1892. `The Australasian,' May 7, p. 903, col. 1: "Kenneth, in front, reminded me comically of Alice's White Knight, what with the billies dancing and jingling on his back, and the tomahawk in his belt, and his large swag in front." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 95: "I suppose he's tramping somewhere, Where the bushmen carry swags, Cadging round the wretched stations With his empty tucker-bags." <hw>Swag</hw>, <i>v</i>. to tramp the bush, carrying a swag. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 5: "There was the solitary pedestrian, with the whole of his supplies, consisting of a blanket and other necessary articles, strapped across his shoulders--this load is called the `swag,' and the mode of travelling `swagging it.'" <hw>Swag-like</hw>, <i>adv</i>. in the fashion of a swag. 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 2, p. 4, col. 2: "He strapped the whole lot together, swag-like." <hw>Swagger</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Swagman</i> (q.v.). Specially used in New Zealand. The word has also the modern English slang sense. 1875. Lady Barker, `Station Amusements in New Zealand,' p. 154: "Describing the real swagger, clad in flannel shirt, moleskin trowsers, and what were once thick boots." 1890. `The Century,' vol. xli. p. 624 (`Century'): "Under the name of swagger or sundowner the tramp, as he moves from station to station in remote districts, in supposed search for work, is a recognized element of society." 1893. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 21, p. 6, col. 3: "Once a footsore swagger came along, and having gone to the house to ask for `tucker,' soon returned. He took his swag from his shoulders and leant it against the Tree; then he busied himself gathering the small sticks and dried leaves lying about on every side." 1896. `The Argus,' March 23, p.5, col. 1: "The minister's house is the sure mark for every stone-broke swagger in search of clothes or victuals." 1896. `Southern Standard' (New Zealand), [page not given]: "An ardent young lady cyclist of Gore, who goes very long journeys on her machine, was asked by a lady friend if she was not afraid of swaggers on the road. `Afraid of them?' she said, `why, I take tea with them!'" 1896. `The Champion,' Jan. 4, p. 3, col. 3: "He [Professor Morris] says that `swagger' is a variant of `swagman.' This is equally amusing and wrong." [Nevertheless, he now says it once again.] <hw>Swaggie</hw>, <i>n</i>. a humorous variation on swagman. 1892. E. W. Horning, `Under Two Skies,' p. 109: "Here's a swaggie stopped to camp, with flour for a damper, and a handful of tea for the quart-pot, as safe as the bank." <hw>Swagman</hw>, <i>n</i>. a man travelling through the bush carrying a <i>Swag</i> (q.v.), and seeking employment. There are variants, <i>Swagger</i> (more general in New Zealand), <i>Swaggie</i>, and <i>Swagsman</i>. The <i>Sundowner</i>, <i>Traveller</i>, or New Zealand <i>Tussocker</i>, is not generally a seeker for work. 1890. `The Argus,' June 7, p. 4, col. 2: "The regular swagman carrying his ration bags, which will sometimes contain nearly twenty days' provender in flour and sugar and tea." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 156: "We pulled up a swagman. He was walking very slow; he was a bit lame too. His swag wasn't heavy, for he had only a rag of a blue blanket, a billy of water in his hand, and very little else." 1893. `The Herald' (Melbourne), Jan. 25: "Under the electric light in the quadrangle of the Exhibition they will give tableaux, representing the murder of a swagman by a native and the shooting of the criminal by a black tracker." 1897. `The Argus,' Jan. 11, p. 7, col. 2: "The Yarra has claimed many swagman in the end, but not all have died in full travelling costume . . . a typical back-blocks traveller. He was grey and grizzled, but well fed, and he wore a Cardigan jacket, brown moleskin trousers, blucher boots, and socks, all of which were mended with rough patches. His knife and tobacco, his odds and ends, and his purse, containing 14 1/2d., were still intact, while across his shoulder was a swag, and the fingers of his right hand had tightly closed round the handle of his old black billy-can, in which were some scraps of meat wrapped in a newspaper of the 5th inst. He had taken with him his old companions of the roads--his billy and his swag." <hw>Swagsman</hw>, <i>n</i>. a variant of <i>Swagman</i> (q.v.). 1879 J. Brunton Stephens, `Drought and Doctrine' (Works, p. 309): "Rememberin' the needful, I gets up an' quietly slips To the porch to see--a swagsman--with our bottle at his lips." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 89: "One of these prospecting swagsmen was journeying towards Maryborough." 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 111: "Idleness being the mainspring of the journeys of the Swagsman (Anglice, `tramp')." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xix. p. 235: "The able-bodied swagsmen hasten towards Rainbar." <hw>Swallow</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird-name. The species observed in Australia are-- The Swallow-- <i>Hirundo neoxena</i>, Gould. Black-and-white S.-- <i>Cheramaeca leucosternum</i>, Gould. Black-faced Wood S.-- <i>Artamus melanops</i>, Gould. Eastern S.-- <i>Hirundo javanica</i>, Sparrm. Grey-breasted Wood S.-- <i>Artamus cinereus</i>, Vieill. Little Wood S.-- <i>A. minor</i>, Vieill. Masked Wood S.-- <i>Artamus personatus</i>, Gould. White-bellied Wood S.-- <i>A. hypoleucus</i>. White-browed Wood S.-- <i>A. superciliosus</i>, Gould. White-rumped Wood S.-- <i>A. leucogaster</i>, Valenc. Wood S.-- <i>A. sordidus</i>, Lath. <i>Artamus</i> is often wrongly spelt <i>Artemus</i>. The <i>Wood-Swallows</i> are often called <i>Summer-birds</i> (q.v.). <hw>Swamp-Broom</hw>, <i>n</i>. a rush-broom, <i>Viminaria denudata</i>, Sm., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. See <i>Swamp-Oak</i>. <hw>Swamp-Daisy-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Daisy-tree</i>. <hw>Swamp-Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Swamp-Hawk</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the New Zealand <i>Harrier</i>. See <i>Harrier</i>. <hw>Swamp-Hen</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australasian bird, <i>Porphyrio melanonotus</i>, Temm. (often incorrectly shortened to <i>Melanotus</i>). Called sometimes the <i>Porphyrio</i> (q.v.); Maori name, <i>Pukeko</i>. Called also the <i>Swamp-Turkey</i>, the <i>Purple Coot</i>, and by New Zealand colonists, <i>Sultana-bird</i>, <i>Pukaki</i>, or <i>Bokaka</i>, the last two being corruptions of the Maori name. For a West-Australian variety of the <i>Porphyrio</i>, see quotation (1848). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' c. i. p. 228: "The pukeko is of a dark-blue colour, and about as large as a pheasant. The legs, the bill, and a horny continuation of it over the front of the head, are of a bright crimson colour. Its long legs adapt it for its swampy life; its flight is slow and heavy, resembling that of a bittern." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 70: "<i>Porphyrio Bellus</i>, Gould, Azure breasted <i>Porphyrio</i>; Swamp-Hen, Colonists of Western Australia." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 79: [A full description.] <hw>Swamp-Mahogany</hw>, <i>n</i>. a timber tree, <i>Eucalyptus botryoides</i>, Sm. See <i>Gum</i> and <i>Mahogany</i>. 1886. T. Heney, `Fortunate Days,' p. 50: "Swamp mahogany's floor-flowered arms." <hw>Swamp-Oak</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A broomlike leguminous shrub or small tree, <i>Viminaria denudata</i>, Sm. (also called <i>Swamp-broom</i>). (2) A tree of the genus <i>Casuarina</i>, especially <i>C. paludosa</i>. See <i>Oak</i>. 1833. C. Sturt, I Southern Australia,'vol. i. c. i. p. 53: "Light brushes of swamp-oak, cypress, box and acacia pendula." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Phillipsland,' p. 257: "Its banks (Murrumbidgee) are fringed with the beautiful swamp-oak, a tree of the <i>Casuarina</i> family, with a form and character somewhat intermediate between that of the spruce and that of the Scotch fir, being less formal and Dutch-like than the former, and more graceful than the latter." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. i. p. 324: "A stream, whose winding channel could be traced by the particularly dark verdure of the swamp-oak (<i>Casuarina paludosa</i>) on its banks." 1866. Miss Parkes, `Poems,' p. 40: "Your voice came to me, soft and distant seeming, As comes the murmur of the swamp-oak's tone." 1870. F. S. Wilson, `Australian Songs,' p. 100: "Softly the swamp-oak Muttered its sorrows to her and to me." 1883. C. Harpur, `Poems,' p. 47: "Befringed with upward tapering feathery swamp-oaks." <hw>Swamp-Pheasant</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Pheasant-cuckoo</i>. Another name for the <i>Coucal</i> (q.v.). 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 60: "A <i>Centropus phasianellus</i> (the swamp-pheasant of Moreton Bay) was shot." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 116: "Far down the creek, on one of the river-oaks which grow in its bed, a swamp-pheasant utters its rapid coocoo-coo-coo-coo- coo-cook." 1887. R. M. Praed, `Longleat of Kooralbyn,' c. xvi. p. 102: "The gurgling note of the swamp-pheasant." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 94: "The bird <i>Centropus</i>, which is common in all Queensland, is found here in great numbers. Although it really is a cuckoo, the colonists call it the `swamp-pheasant,' because it has a tail like a pheasant. It is a very remarkable bird with stiff feathers, and flies with difficulty on account of its small wings. The swamp-pheasant has not the family weakness of the cuckoo, for it does not lay its eggs in the nests of other birds. It has a peculiar clucking voice which reminds one of the sound produced when water is poured from a bottle." <hw>Swamp-Sparrow</hw>, <i>n</i>. a nickname in New Zealand for the <i>Fern-bird</i> (q.v.). 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 60: "These beds of rushes which form blind water-courses during the winter season, are dry in summer and are then a favourite resort for the Swamp-Sparrow as this bird is sometimes called." Ibid. vol. ii. p. 255: "The melancholy cry of the Fern-bird is so general and persistent that its nick-name of Swamp Sparrow is not undeserved." <hw>Swan, Black</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird--<i>Cycnus niger</i>, Juvenal; <i>Cygnus atratus</i>, Gould; <i>Chenopsis atrata</i>, Wagl., sometimes miscalled <i>Chenopis</i>. The river upon which Perth, Western Australia, is situated, is called the Swan River, and the colony was long known as the Swan River Settlement. It has expanded into Western Australia, the emblem of which colony is still the <i>Black Swan</i>. Since 1855 the <i>Black Swan</i> has been the device on the postage stamps of Western Australia. 82 A.D. (circiter). `Juvenal, Sat.' vi. 164: "Rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cycno." 1700 (circiter). J. Locke, in `Johnson's Dictionary' (9th edition, 1805), s.v. Swan: "The idea which an Englishman signifies by the name Swan, is a white colour, long neck, black beak, black legs, and whole feet, and all these of a certain size, with a power of swimming in the water, and making a certain kind of noise." 1789. Governor Phillip, `Voyage,' p. 98: "A black swan, which species, though proverbially rare in other parts of the world, is here by no means uncommon . . . a very noble bird, larger than the common swan, and equally beautiful in form . . . its wings were edged with white: the bill was tinged with red." 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 137: "We found nine birds, that, whilst swimming, most perfectly resembled the <i>rara avis</i> of the ancients, a black swan." 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' p. 146: "Large ponds covered with ducks and black swans." 1847. J. D. Lang, `Phillipsland,' p. 115: "These extensive sheets of glassy water . . . were absolutely alive with black swans and other water fowl . . . There must have been at least five hundred swans in view at one time on one of the lakes. They were no `rara avis' there." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vii. pl. 6: "<i>Cygnus Atratus</i>, Black Swan. The first notice on record respecting the existence of the Black Swan occurs in a letter written by Mr. Witsen to Dr. M. Lister about the year 1698, in which he says, `Here is returned a ship, which by our East India Company was sent to the south land called <i>Hollandea Nova</i>'; and adds that Black Swans, Parrots and many Sea-Cows were found there." 1856. J. S. Mill, `Logic' [4th edition], vol. i. bk. iii. c. iii. p. 344: "Mankind were wrong, it seems, in concluding that all swans were white. . . . As there were black swans, though civilized people had existed for three thousand years on the earth without meeting with them." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), May 29, p. 45, col. 3: "The presence of immense flocks of black swans is also regarded as an indication of approaching cold weather." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 22: "The musical whoop of the black swan is sometimes heard as the wedge-shaped flock passes over." 1895. G. Metcalfe, `Australian Zoology,' p. 64: "Strzelecki states that the black swan was discovered in 1697 by Vlaming. . . . In 1726 two were brought alive to Batavia, having been procured on the West Coast of Australia, near Dirk Hartog's Bay. Captain Cook observed it on several parts of the coast." <hw>Swan-River Daisy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a pretty annual plant, <i>Brachycome iberidifolia</i>, Benth., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>, of Western Australia. The heads are about an inch broad, and have bright blue rays, with paler centre. It is cultivated in flower gardens, and is well suited for massing. (`Century.') <hw>Sweep</hw>, <i>n</i>. a marine fish of the Australian coasts, called by this name in Sydney. It is <i>Scorpis aequipinnis</i>, Richards., family <i>Squamipinnes</i>. This family has the soft, and frequently also the spinous, part of their dorsal and anal fins so thickly covered with scales, that the boundary between fins and body is entirely obliterated. <i>S. aequippinnis</i> is possibly the <i>Light-horseman</i> (q.v.) of early Australian writers. <hw>Sweet Tea</hw>. See <i>Tea</i>. <hw>Swift</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, the species of this common bird are--Spine-tailed Swift, <i>Chaetura caudacuta</i>, Lath.; White-rumped S., <i>Micropus pacificus</i>, Lath. <hw>Swing-gate</hw>, <i>n</i>. Used in its ordinary English sense, but specially applied to a patent gate for drafting sheep, invented by Mr. Lockhart Morton. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. ix. p. 91: "Mr. Stangrove . . . has no more idea of a swing-gate than a shearing-machine." <hw>Sword-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand, <i>Arundo conspicua</i>; in Australia, <i>Cladium psittacorum</i>, Labill. It is not the same as the English plant of that name, and is often called <i>Cutting Grass</i> (q.v.). 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 172: "The great plumes far and wide of the sword-grass aspire." <hw>Sword-Sedge</hw>, a sedge on Australian coasts, <i>Lepidosperma gladiatum</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Cyperaceae</i>, useful for binding sea-sand, and yielding a good material for paper. 1877. Baron von Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 124: "Lepidosperma is nearly endemically Australian. Lepidosperma gladiatum, the great Swords-edge [sic] of our coasts, furnishes an admirable material for writing paper." [It is curious that <i>Swords-edge</i> makes most ingenious sense, but it is evidently a misprint for Sword-sedge.] <hw>Sycamore Tree</hw>. See <i>Laurel</i>. In New South Wales, the name is given to <i>Brachyciton luridus</i>, C. Moore, <i>N.O. Sterculiaceae</i>. <hw>Sycoceric</hw>, <i>adj</i>. belonging to a waxy resin obtained from the <i>Port-Jackson Fig</i>; see under <i>Fig</i>. (From Grk. <i>sukon</i>, "fig," and <i>kaeros</i>, "wax.") <hw>Sycoceryl</hw>, <i>n</i>. a supposed element of the sycoceric compounds. See <i>Sycoceric</i>. T <hw>Taboo</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Tapu</i>. <hw>Tagrag-and-Bobtail</hw>, <i>n</i>. a species of sea-weed. See quotation. 1866. S. Hannaford, `Wild Flowers of Tasmania,' p. 80: "It is a wiry-stemmed plant, with small mop-like tufts, which hold water like a sponge. This is <i>Bellotia Eriophorum</i>, the specific name derived from its resemblance to the cotton-grass. Harvey mentions its colonial name as `<i>Tagrag and Bobtail</i>,' and if it will enable collectors the more easily to recognise it, let it be retained." <hw>Taiaha</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Maori word for a chief's walking-staff, a sign of office, sometimes used in fighting, like a quarterstaff. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 139: "The men are placed at equal intervals along either side to paddle, and they keep excellent stroke to the song of two leaders, who stand up and recite short alternate sentences, giving the time with the taiaha, or long wooden spear. The taiaha is rather a long-handled club than a spear. It is generally made of manuka, a very hard, dark, close-grained and heavy wood. The taiaha is about six feet long, etc." 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 46: "The taiaha is rather a long-handled club than a spear." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 299: "A taiaha, or chiefs staff." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 80: "In his right hand he brandished a taiaha, a six-foot Maori broadsword of hard wood, with its pendulous plume of feathers hanging from the hilt." 1889. Major Wilson and Edward Tregear, `On the Korotangi,' `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxii. art. lxii. p. 505: "Many famous tribal heirlooms are hidden and lost to posterity. The Rev. Mr. Buller mentions a famous taiaha, of great mana, as having been buried and lost in this way, lest it should fall into the power of opposing tribes, and cause disaster to the original owner." <hw>Taihoa</hw>, Maori phrase, meaning "Wait a bit." Much used in some circles in New Zealand. The `Standard' gives it wrongly as "Anglo-Tasmanian," probably because Mr. Wade's book was published in Hobart. 1842. W. R. Wade, `Journey in New Zealand' (Hobart Town), p.66: "`Taihoa.' This word has been translated, By and by; but in truth, it has all the latitude of directly,--presently, --by and by,--a long time hence,--and nobody knows when . . . the deliberate reply is, `Taihoa'. . . this patience-trying word. . . ." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 87: "That irritatingly provoking word, `taihoa.'" [p. 88]: "The drawled-out t-a-i-h-o-a fell upon the ear." [p. 266] [Title of chapter]: "I learn what Taihoa means." [p.271]: "Great is the power of taihoa." [p. 276]: "The imperturbable taihoa, given to us with the ordinary placid good-humour." <hw>Tail</hw>, <i>v. tr</i>. to herd and tend sheep or cattle: lit. to follow close behind the tail. 1844. `Port Phillip Patriot,' Aug. 5, p. 3, col. 6: "I know many boys, from the age of nine to sixteen years, tailing cattle." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 153: "The stockman, as he who tends cattle and horses is called, despises the shepherd as a grovelling, inferior creature, and considers `tailing sheep' as an employment too tardigrade for a man of action and spirit." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. xix. p. 239: "`The cattle,' no longer `tailed,' or followed daily, as a shepherd does sheep." <hw>Tailing</hw>, <i>adj</i>. consisting of <i>tailings</i> (q.v.). 1890. `Goldfields of Victoria,' p. 21: "From recent assays of the tailing-sand, scarcely one quarter of the pyrites has been extracted." <hw>Tailings</hw>, <i>n</i>. "The detritus carried off by water from a crushing machine, or any gold-washing apparatus." (Brough Smyth, `Glossary of Mining Terms.') Not limited to Australia. 1891. `The Argus,' June 16, p. 6, col. 2: "A hundred and fifty tons of tailings are treated at the Sandhurst pyrites works every month." <hw>Tailor</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in New South Wales to the fish <i>Temnodon saltator</i>, Cuv. and Val. It is called <i>Skipjack</i> (q.v.) in Melbourne, a name by which it is also known in America and Britain. Those of large size are called "Sea-tailors." It belongs to the family <i>Carangidae</i>, or <i>Horse-Mackerels</i> (q.v.). <hw>Taipo</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand word for devil, often applied by settlers to a vicious horse or as a name for a dog. There is a dangerous river, the Taipo, on the west coast. There is considerable dispute as to whether the word is true Maori or not. The Rev. T. G. Hammond of Patea says-- "No such Maori word as taipo, meaning devil, exists. It would mean evening-tide--tai-po. Probably the early sailors introduced attached meaning of devil from the Maori saying, `Are you not afraid to travel at night?' referring to the danger of tidal rivers." On the other hand, Mr. Tregear says, in his `Maori Comparative Dictionary,' s.v.-- "Taepo, a goblin, a spectre. Cf. <i>tae</i>, to arrive; <i>po</i>, night." The Rev. W. Colenso says, in his pamphlet on `Nomenclature' (1883), p. 5: "Taepo means to visit or come by night,--a night visitant,--a spectral thing seen in dreams,--a fancied and feared thing, or hobgoblin, of the night or darkness; and this the settlers have construed to mean the Devil!--and of course their own orthodox one." <i>Taipo</i> or <i>taepo</i> is also a slang term for a surveyor's theodolite among the Maoris, because it is the "land-stealing devil." 1848. Rev. R. Taylor, `Leaf from the Natural History of New Zealand,' p. 43: "Taipo, female dreamer; a prophetess; an evil spirit." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 49: "There is the <i>Taringa-here</i>, a being with a face like a cat; and likewise another, called a <i>Taipo</i>, who comes in the night, sits on the tops of houses, and converses with the inmates, but if a woman presumes to open her mouth, it immediately disappears." 1878. B. Wells, `History of Taranaki,' p. 3: "The similarity in sound and meaning of the Egyptian word <i>typhon</i> with that of the Maori <i>taipo</i>, both being the name of the Spirit of Evil, is also not a little remarkable." [Ingenious, but worthless.] 1886. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' `New Zealand Country journal,' vol. x. p. 262: "His wife became seriously affected, declaring that <i>Taipo</i> had entered into her. Reasoning was wholly useless. She declared that Taipo was in the smoke of the wood, which smoke she had inhaled; soon she became prostrated by illness and was expected to die." 1887. J. C. Crawford, `Travels in New Zealand and Australia,' p. 107: "After dinner Watkins requested the loan of a tomahawk to defend himself on going up to the Pa on the hill above. He said he knew that there was a <i>taipo</i> (devil) about; he felt it in his head." 1888. P. W. Barlow, `Kaipara,' p. 48: "They were making the noises I heard to drive away the `Taipo,' a sort of devil who devotes his attention exclusively to Maoris, over whom, however, he only possesses power at night." 1891. W. H. Roberts, `Southland in 1856,' p. 72: "They believed it was the principal rendez-vous of the fallen angel (Taipo) himself." 1896. Modern. Private Letter (May): "<i>Taipo</i>, for instance, of course one knows its meaning, though it has been adopted chiefly as a name as common as `Dash' or `Nero' for New Zealand dogs; all the same the writers upon Maori superstitions seem to have no knowledge of it. Polach, Dieffenbach, Nicholas, Yates, call their evil spirits <i>whiros</i> or <i>atuas</i>. Tepo, the place of darkness, is the nearest they have come to it. I think myself it is South Island Maori, often differing a little in spelling and use; and so very much the larger proportion of New Zealand literature is the literature of the North." <hw>Tait</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Western Australian animal, properly called the <i>Long-snouted Phalanger</i>, <i>Tarsipes rostratus</i>, the only species of its genus. See <i>Phalanger</i> and <i>Opossum</i>. It is about the size of a mouse, and lives almost entirely on honey, which it extracts from flowers. 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 120: "The Long-snouted Phalanger, which derives its scientific name from a certain resemblance of its hind feet to those of a Malayan Lemur-like animal known as the Tarsier, is one of the most interesting of the phalangers. . . . Known to the natives by the names of <i>Tait</i> and <i>Nulbenger</i>, it is, writes Gould, `generally found in all situations suited to its existence, from Swan River to King George's Sound.'" <hw>Takahe</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for an extinct New Zealand Rail, <i>Notornis mantelli</i>, Owen. See <i>Notornis</i>. 1889. Prof. Parker, 'Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 116: "The Takahe is the rarest of existing native birds, if indeed it is not already extinct." <hw>Takapu</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the bird <i>Dysporus serrator</i>, Banks, a <i>Gannet</i> (q.v.). <hw>Take (a man) down</hw>, Australian sporting slang. (1) To induce a man to bet, knowing that he must lose. (2) To advise a man to bet, and then to "arrange" with an accomplice (a jockey, e.g.) for the bet to be lost. (3) To prove superior to a man in a game of skill. 1895. `The Argus,' Dec. 5, p. 5, col. 2: "It appeared that [the plaintiff] had a particular fancy for a [certain] horse, and in an evil hour induced [the defendant] to lay him a wager about this animal at the long odds of two shillings to threepence. When the horse had romped triumphantly home and [the plaintiff] went to collect his two shillings [the defendant] accused him of having `taken him down,' stigmatised him as a thief and a robber, and further remarked that [the plaintiff] had the telegram announcing the result of the race in his pocket when the wager was made, and in short refused to give [the plaintiff] anything but a black eye." <hw>Talegalla</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the <i>Brush-Turkey</i>, and the scientific name for that bird, viz., <i>Talegalla lathami</i>, Gray. See <i>Turkey</i>. <hw>Tallow-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for one of the <i>Stringy-barks</i> (q.v.), <i>Eucalyptus microcorys</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. The timber, which is hard, gives forth an oily substance: hence the name. The tree reaches a great height. Also called <i>Turpentine-tree</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Peppermint</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 493: "In Queensland it is known as `Peppermint,' the foliage being remarkably rich in volatile oil. But its almost universal name is Tallow-wood. North of Port Jackson it bears the name of `Turpentine Tree' and `Forest Mahogany.' The aboriginals of the Brisbane River, Queensland, call it `tee.'" Ibid. p. 494: "Tallow-wood.--Used . . . for flooring, e.g. in ball-rooms; for this purpose it is selected on account of its greasy nature. This greasiness is most marked when it is fresh cut. (General Report, Sydney International Exhibition, 1879.)" 1897. `The Argus,' Feb. 22, p. 5, col. 4 (Cable message from London): "Mr. Richards stated that the New South Wales black butt and tallow wood were the most durable and noiseless woods for street-paving." <hw>Tallygalone</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of New South Wales, <i>Myxus elongatus</i>, Gunth., a genus of the family <i>Mugilidae</i>, or <i>Grey-Mullet</i>. The word is also spelled <i>talleygalann</i>, and <i>tallagallan</i>. Also called <i>Sand-Mullet</i>. <hw>Tamarind-Tree</hw>, name given to <i>Diploglottis cunninghamii</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>; called also <i>Native Tamarind</i>. "A tall tree. The flesh of the fruit is amber and of delightful acid flavour." (Bailey.) <hw>Tambaroora</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Queensland game. More generally known as "A shilling in and the winner shouts." From a town in Queensland. 1882. A. J. Boyd, `Old Colonials,' p. 63: "The exciting game of tambaroora . . . Each man of a party throws a shilling, or whatever sum may be mutually agreed upon, into a hat. Dice are then produced, and each man takes three throws. The Nut who throws highest keeps the whole of the subscribed capital, and out of it pays for the drinks of the rest." <hw>Tamure</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for the New Zealand <i>Schnapper</i> fish (q.v.). 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 206: "Tamure <i>s</i>. Bream fish." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 93: "There are many other sorts of fish, including the tamure, or snapper, the manga, or barracouta, the mango, or dog-fish, of which the natives catch large quantities, and the hapuka. This last fish is caught in pretty deep water, near reefs and rocks. It often attains a great size, attaining as much as 112 pounds. It bears a considerable resemblance to the cod in form, but is, however, of far finer flavour." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 413: "Tamure, kouarea (the snapper), is a large fish like the bream." 1879. W. Colenso, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xii. art. vii. p. 118: "The tamure is the snapper (Pagrus unicolor), a common fish on all the coasts." <hw>Tandan</hw>, <i>n</i>. the aboriginal name for the <i>Catfish (q</i>.v.) or <i>Eel-fish</i> (q.v.), <i>Copidoglanis tandanus</i>, Mitchell (or <i>Plotosus tandanus</i>). Mitchell, who first discovered and described the Cat-fish, called it the <i>Tandan</i>, or <i>Eel-fish</i>. 1838. T. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' pp. 44, 45, pl. 5: "In this piece of water we caught some small fish, two of them being of a rather singular kind, resembling an eel in the head and shape of the tail." [p. 45]: "On my return to the camp in the evening, I made a drawing of the eel fish which we had caught early in the day (fig. 2, pl. 5)." <hw>Tanekaha</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name of a New Zealand tree; also called <i>Celery-topped Pine</i>, <i>Phyllocladus trichomanoides</i>, Don., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 306: "The Tanakaha Tree (<i>Podocarpus asplenifolius</i>) is found scattered over a large portion of the northern island of New Zealand. . . Height, sixty to eighty feet. . . The wood is close and straight in the grain. . . It works up well, is tough and very strong; so much so that the New Zealanders say it is the `strong man' among their forest trees." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 125: "Tanakaha. A slender, handsome tree, sixty feet high; trunk rarely exceeds three feet in diameter; wood pale, close-grained, and excellent for planks and spars; resists decay in moist positions in a remarkable manner." <hw>Tangi</hw>, <i>n</i>. (pronounced <i>Tang-y</i>) Maori word for a lamentation, a cry, or dirge. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 207: "Tangi, <i>s</i>. a cry or lamentation." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 194: "They wrapped the mutilated corpse in his red blanket, and bore it, lashed to a tree, to the village, where the usual tangi took place." 1873. Lieut.-Colonel St. John, `Pakeha Rambles through Maori Lands,' p. 154: "Shortly afterwards a `tangi' was held over those of the party whose remains could be identified." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p.191: "Perhaps some old woman did a quiet tangi over his grave." 1883. F. S. Renwick, `Betrayed,' p. 41: "'Tis the tangi floats on the seaborne breeze, In its echoing notes of wild despair." <hw>Taniwha</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a mythical monster. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 207: "Taniwa, <i>s</i>. a sea-monster so called." 1842. W. R. Wade, `Journey in New Zealand' (Hobart Town), p. 34: "Hearing us use the word <i>tapu</i>, as we looked towards it, one of our boatmen quickly repeated that the place was tapued for the tanewa (a water demon). `And I wonder,' was his irreverent addition, `what this same tanewa may be! An old pot leg, perhaps!'" 1896. `Otago Witness,' Jan. 23, p. 51, col. 2: "The river at one time is reported as having been infested with taniwhas--gigantic fish that used to swallow the natives--and a Maori pointed out a deep pool under some willows, and told me his grandfather had been seized by one of these monsters at that spot, dragged to the bottom and eaten. This taniwha, which was about forty feet in length and had a long mane, was in the habit of sometimes standing almost erect in the water, and frightening the women and children out of their wits. It had a tremendous-sized head, and its mouth somewhat resembled the beak of a very large bird. Its neck was about six feet in circumference and was covered with scales, as likewise its body down to its tail, which was formed by a series of fin-shaped projections, and somewhat resembled in form the tail of a grey duck. It had two short legs which were as big around as the body of a half-grown pig, and with one kick it could knock a hole through the stoutest canoe." <hw>Tannergrams</hw>, <i>n</i>. very recent New Zealand slang. On 1st of June, 1896, the New Zealand Government reduced the price of telegrams to sixpence (slang, a `tanner') for twelve words. 1896. `Oamaru Mail,' June 13: "Tannergrams is the somewhat apt designation which the new sixpenny telegrams have been christened in commercial vernacular." <hw>Tappa</hw>, <i>n</i>. South-sea Island word. A native cloth made from the bark of the Paper-mulberry, <i>Broussonetia papyrifera</i>, Benth. 1886. `Art journal: Exhibition Supplement,' p. 24: "The Tappa, or native cloth [of Fiji], made from the bark of a tree. . . Has been extensively used in the draping of the court." 1888. H. S. Cooper, `The Islands of the Pacific,' p. 9: "Tappa, a native cloth of spotless white, made from the bark of the mulberry-tree.' <hw>Tapu</hw>, <i>adj</i>. a Maori word, but common also to other Polynesian languages. The origin of the English word <i>taboo</i>. It properly means `prohibited.' There was a sacred <i>tapu</i>, and an unclean <i>tapu</i>. What was consecrated to the gods was forbidden to be touched or used by the people. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 208: "Tapu, <i>a</i>. sacred, inviolable." 1835. W. Yate, `Some Account of New Zealand,' p. 84: "This system of consecration--for that is the most frequent meaning of the term `tapu'--has prevailed through all the islands of the South Seas, but nowhere to a greater extent than in New Zealand." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 194: "They wrapped the mutilated corpse in his red blanket, and bore it, lashed to a tree, to the village, where the usual tangi took place after it had been deposited in the wahi tapu, or sacred ground.'" 1859. A. S. Thomson, M.D., `Story of New Zealand,' p. 100: "The primary meaning of the Maori word <i>tapu</i> is `sacred'; <i>tabut</i> is a Malay word, and is rendered `the Ark of the Covenant of God'; <i>taboot</i> is a Hindoo word signifying `a bier,' `a coffin,' or `the Ark of the Covenant'; <i>ta</i> is the Sanscrit word `to mark,' and <i>pu</i> `to purify.'" [There is no authority in this polyglot mixture.] 1879. Clement Bunbury, `Fraser's Magazine,' June, `A Visit to the New Zealand Geysers,' p. 767: "I had not much time to examine them closely, having a proper fear of the unknown penalties incurred by the violation of anything `tapu' or sacred." 1893. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 21, p. 10, col. 1: "He seeks treasures which to us are tapu." <hw>Tapu</hw>, <i>n</i>. the state of being consecrated or forbidden. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 25: "We found no natives, the cove being under tapu, on account of its being the burial-place of a daughter of Te Pehi, the late chief of the Kapiti, or Entry Island, natives." 1847. A. Tennyson, `Princess,' canto iii. l. 261: ". . . Women up till this Cramp'd under worse than South-Sea-Isle taboo, Dwarfs of the gynaeceum." 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 24: "But chiefly thou, mysterious Tapu, From thy strange rites a hopeful sign we draw." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 281: "The tapu, which either temporarily or permanently renders sacred an object animate or inanimate, is the nearest approach to the Hindoo religious exclusive-ism." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 89: "His sole `tapu' a far securer guard Than lock and key of craftiest notch and ward." Ibid. p. 100: "Avenge each minor breach of this taboo." <hw>Tapu</hw>, <i>v</i>. originally to mark as sacred, and later to place under a ban. English, <i>taboo</i>. 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 284: "The tapued resting-place of departed chieftains." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), May 29, p. 40, col. 2: "I . . . found the telegraph office itself tabooed." 1893. R. L. Stevenson, `Island Nights' Entertainments,' p. 39: "By Monday night I got it clearly in my head I must be tabooed." <hw>Tara</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) Maori name for the birds <i>Sterna caspia</i>, Pallas, and <i>S. frontalis</i>, Gray, the Sea-Swallow, or <i>Tern</i> (q.v.). (2) A Tasmanian aboriginal name for the fern <i>Pteris aquilina</i>, L., <i>N.O. Polypodeae</i>. 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 129: "The most extensively diffused eatable roots of Van Diemen's Land are those of the tara fern . . . greatly resembles <i>Pteris aquilina</i>, the common fern, brake, breckon, or brackin, of England . . . it is known among the aborigines by the name of tara . . . the root of the tara fern possesses much nutritive matter." <hw>Taraire</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree; formerly <i>Nesodaphne tarairi</i>, Hook., now <i>Beilschmiedia tarairi</i>, Benth. and Hook., <i>N.O. Laurineae</i>. 1873. `Catalogue of Vienna Exhibition': "Tarairi. Used for most of the purposes for which sycamore is applied in Europe." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 129: "Tarairi. A lofty forest tree, sixty to eighty feet high, with stout branches. Wood white, splits freely, but not much valued." <hw>Tarakihi</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for the fish <i>Chilodactylus macropterus</i>, Richards.; called in Sydney the <i>Norwong</i> (q.v.). <hw>Tarata</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand tree <i>Pittosporum eugenioides</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>; called also <i>Mapau</i>, <i>Maple</i>, etc. See <i>Mapau</i>. 1876. W. <i>n</i>. Blair, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. ix., art. x. p. 143: "A small tree seldom exceeding thirty feet in height, and twelve inches in diameter. It has pale green shining leaves and purple flowers. The wood of a dirty white colour, is tough and fibrous." 1879. J. B. Armstrong, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xii. art. xlix. p. 329: "The tarata or Lemon-wood, a most beautiful tree, also used for hedges." 1889. E. H. and S. Featon, `New Zealand Flora,' p. 35: "The Tarata. This elegant tree is found on the east coast of both islands. It attains a height of from twenty to thirty feet, and has a stem from twelve to eighteen inches in diameter. It is known to the settlers in some parts as `Lemon-wood.' When displaying its profuse masses of pale golden flowers, it is very pretty." <hw>Tare, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied in Tasmania to the plant <i>Swainsonia lessertiaefolia</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. <hw>Taro</hw>, <i>n</i>. a familiar food plant, <i>Colocasia</i> species, widely cultivated in tropical regions, especially in Polynesia. The word is Polynesian, and much used by the Maoris. 1846. J. Lindley, `Vegetable Kingdom,' p. 128 [Stanford]: "Whole fields of <i>Colocasia macrorhyza</i> are cultivated in the South Sea Islands under the name tara or kopeh roots." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 374: "Many a bed, That late in such luxurious neatness spread, Of melons, maize and taro--now a wreck." 1878. Lady Brassey, `Voyage in the Sunbeam,' p. 263: "A good-looking man was busy broiling beef-steaks, stewing chickens and boiling <i>taro</i>, and we had soon a plentiful repast set before us." <hw>Tarsipes</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific generic name of the <i>Tait</i> (q.v.). <hw>Tarwhine</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian fish, <i>Chrysophrys sarba</i>, Forsk. See <i>Black-Bream</i>. It is somewhat difficult to distinguish the fish from its close relation the Black-Bream, <i>Chrysophrys australis</i>, Gunth. Both are excellent food, and frequently abundant in brackish waters. <hw>Tar-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given by the Otago bushmen to the tree <i>Darrydium colensoi</i>, Hook.; Maori name, <i>Manoao</i> (q.v.). (Kirk, `Forest Flora,' p. 189.) <hw>Tasmania</hw>, <i>n</i>. island and colony, formerly called Van Diemen's Land. The new name, from that of the Dutch navigator, Abel Jansen Tasman, was officially adopted in 1853, when the system of transportation ceased. The first quotations show it was in popular use much earlier. 1820. Lieut. Charles Jeffreys, `Delineation of the Island of Van Dieman's Land,' p. 1: "Van Dieman's Land, or Tasmania, is an island of considerable extent." 1823. `Godwin's Emigrant's Guide to Van Diemen's Land, more properly called Tasmania': [Title.] 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 8: "Over Van Diemen's Land (or Tasmania, as we love to call it here), New South Wales enjoys also many advantages." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 491: "Tasmania is a more musical <i>alias</i> adopted by the island. It has been given in titular distinction to the first bishop, my excellent and accomplished friend Dr. Nixon, and will doubtless be its exclusive designation when it shall have become a free nation." 1892. A. and G. Sutherland, `History of Australia,' p. 41: "The wild country around the central lakes of Tasmania." <hw>Tasmanian</hw>, <i>adj</i>. belonging or native to Tasmania. 1825. A. Bent, `The Tasmanian Almanack for the Year of our Lord 1825' [Title.] <hw>Tasmanian</hw>, <i>n</i>. an inhabitant of Tasmania, a colonist. The word is also used of the aborigines, the race of whom is now extinct. <hw>Tasmanian Devil</hw>, <i>n</i>. the only species of the genus <i>Sarcophilus</i> (q.v.), <i>S. ursinus</i>. 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 156: "Like many of its kindred, the Tasmanian Devil is a burrowing and nocturnal animal. In size it may be compared to a Badger, and owing to its short limbs, plantigrade feet, and short muzzle, its gait and general appearance are very Badger or Bear-like." <hw>Tasmanian Tiger</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Native Wolf</i>, <i>Marsupial Wolf</i>, <i>Zebra Wolf</i>, and <i>Hyaena</i>; genus, <i>Thylacinus</i> (q.v.). It is the largest carnivorous marsupial extant, and is so much like a wolf in appearance that it well deserves its vernacular name of <i>Wolf</i>, though now-a-days it is generally called <i>Tiger</i>. There is only one species, <i>Thylacinus cynocephalus</i>, and the settlers have nearly exterminated it, on account of its fierce predatory habits and the damage it inflicts on their flocks. The Tasmanian Government pays L1 for every one destroyed. The Van Diemen's Land Company in the North-West of the Island employs a man on one of its runs who is called the "tiger-catcher." 1813. `History of New South Wales' (1818), p. 430: "About Port Dalrymple an animal was discovered which bore some resemblance to the hyena both in shape and fierceness; with a wide mouth, strong limbs, sharp claws and a striped skin. Agreeably to the general nature of New South Wales quadrupeds, this animal has a false belly. It may be considered as the most formidable of any which New South Wales has been yet found to produce, and is very destructive; though there is no instance of its attacking the human species." 1832. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 85: "During our stay a native tiger or hyena bounded from its lair beneath the rocks." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Friends and Foes,' p. 65: "There is another charming fellow, which all the people here call the Tiger, but as a tiger is like a great cat, and this beast is much more like a dog, you will see how foolish this name is. I believe naturalists call it the dog-faced opossum, and that is not much better . . . the body is not a bit like that of an opossum." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 273: "The `Tasmanian tiger' is of the size of a shepherd's dog, a gaunt yellow creature, with black stripes round the upper part of its body, and with an ugly snout. Found nowhere but in Tasmania, and never numerous even there, it is now slowly disappearing." <hw>Tasmanian Whiptail</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian fish, <i>Coryphaenoides tasmaniae</i>, family <i>Macruridae</i>, or deep-sea Gadoids, an altogether different fish from <i>Myliobatis aquila</i>, the <i>Eagle</i> or <i>Whiptail Ray</i>, which also occurs in Tasmania, but is found all over the world. <hw>Tasmanite</hw>, <i>n</i>. a mineral. "A resinous, reddish-brown, translucent, hydrocarbon derivative (C40H6202S), found in certain laminated shales of Tasmania, <i>Resiniferous shale</i>." (`Standard.') <hw>Tassel-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a thread-fish of Queensland, of the genus <i>Polynemus</i>, family <i>Polynemidae</i>. Polynemoid fish have free filaments at the humeral arch below the pectoral fins, which Guenther says are organs of touch, and to be regarded as detached portions of the fin; in some the filaments or threads are twice as long as the fish. <hw>Tassy</hw>, <i>n</i>. a pet name for Tasmania. 1894. `The Argus,' Jan. 26, p. 3, col. 5: "To-day Tassy--as most Victorian cricketers and footballers familiarly term our neighbour over the straits--will send a team into the field." <hw>Tattoo</hw>, <i>v</i>. and <i>n</i>. to mark the human body with indelible pigments. The word is Polynesian; its first occurrence in English is in Cook's account of Tahiti. The Tahitian word is <i>Tatau</i>, which means tattoo marks on the human skin, from <i>Ta</i>, which means a mark or design. (Littre.) The Maori verb, <i>ta</i>, means to cut, to tattoo, to strike. See <i>Moko</i>. 1773. `Hawkesworth's Voyages' (Cook's First Voyage; at Tahiti, 1769), vol. ii. p. 191: "They have a custom of staining their bodies . . . which they call <i>Tattowing</i>. They prick the skin, so as just not to fetch blood, with a small instrument, something in the form of a hoe. . . . The edge is cut into sharp teeth or points . . . they dip the teeth into a mixture of a kind of lamp-black . . . The teeth, thus prepared, are placed upon the skin, and the handle to which they are fastened being struck by quick smart blows, they pierce it, and at the same time carry into the puncture the black composition, which leaves an indelible stain." 1777. Horace Walpole, `Letters,' vol. vi. p. 448: "Since we will give ourselves such torrid airs, I wonder we don't go stark and tattoo ourselves." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 109: "A very famous artist in tatu came with the party, and was kept in constant and profitable employment. Everybody, from the renowned warrior to the girl of twelve years old, crowded to be ornamented by the skilful chisel. . . . The instruments used were not of bone, as they used formerly to be; but a graduated set of iron tools, fitted with handles like adzes, supplied their place. . . . The staining liquid is made of charcoal." 1847. A. Tennyson, `Princess,' canto ii. l. 105: ". . . Then the monster, then the man; Tattoo'd or woaded, winter-clad in skins, Raw from the prime, and crushing down his mate." 1859. A. S. Thomson, `Story of New Zealand,' vol. i. c. iv. p. 74: "First among the New Zealand list of disfigurations is tattooing, a Polynesian word signifying a repetition of taps, but which term is unknown in the language of the New Zealanders; <i>moko</i> being the general term for the tattooing on the face, and <i>whakairo</i> for that on the body." [But see Moko.] 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 17: "Lips no stain of tattoo had turned azure." Ibid. p. 104: "A stick knobbed with a carved and tattoo'd wooden head." 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 3: "Thy rugged skin is hideous with tattooing." <hw>Tawa</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand tree, <i>Nesodaphne tawa</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Laurineae</i>. The newer name is <i>Beilschmiedia tawa</i>, Benth. and Hook. f. Allied to <i>Taraire</i> (q.v.). A handsome forest tree with damson-like fruit. 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 129: "Tawa. A lofty forest tree, sixty to seventy feet high, with slender branches. The wood is light and soft, and is much used for making butter-kegs." <hw>Tawara</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the flower of the <i>Kie-kie</i> (q.v.), <i>Freycinetia Banksii</i>. <hw>Tawhai</hw>, or <hw>Tawai</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for several species of New Zealand Beech-trees, <i>N.O. Cupuliferae</i>. The settlers call them <i>Birches</i> (q.v.). 1873. `Catalogue of Vienna Exhibition': "Tawhai. Large and durable timber, used for sleepers." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 125: "Tawhai, Red-birch (from colour of bark). A handsome tree, eighty to one hundred feet high. <i>Fagus Menziesii</i>, Hook. [also called large-leaved birch]. Tawhai, Tawhairaunui, Black-birch of Auckland and Otago (from colour of bark), <i>Fagus fusca</i>, Hook." <hw>Tawhiri</hw>, or <hw>Tawiri</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Black Mapau</i>. A name applied to the tree <i>Pittosporum tenuifolium</i>, <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. It is profusely covered with a fragrant white blossom. See <i>Mapau</i>. 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 108: "Its floor . . . with faint tawhiri leaves besprent " 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 21: "The early breeze that . . . stole The rich Tawhiri's sweet perfume." <hw>Tea</hw>, n.-- <i>Billy-tea</i>, or <i>Bush-tea</i>. Tea made in a <i>billy</i> (q.v.). There is a belief that in order to bring out the full flavour it should be stirred with a gum-stick. <i>New Zealand tea</i>. Tea made of the leaves of <i>Manuka</i> (q.v.). <i>See Tea</i>-tree. <hw>Sweet-tea</hw>, or <hw>Botany-Bay tea</hw>, or <i>Australian tea</i>. (Called also Native Sarsaparilla. See <i>Sarsaparilla</i>.) A plant, <i>Smilax glycyphylla</i>, Smith., <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. 1788. D. Considen, letter to Sir Joseph Banks, Nov. 18, in `Historical Records of New South Wales,' vol. i. part ii. p. 220: "I have sent you some of the sweet tea of this country, which I recommend, and is generally used by the marines and convicts. As such it is a good anti-scorbutic, as well as a substitute for that which is more costly." 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 195: "The sweet-tea, a creeping kind of vine . . . the taste is sweet, exactly like the liquorice-root of the shops. Of this the convicts and soldiers make an infusion which is tolerably pleasant, and serves as no bad succedaneum for tea." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 203: "`Sweet tea' . . . The decoction made from its leaves . . . is similar in properties, but more pleasant in taste, than that obtained from the roots of <i>S. officinalis</i>, or Jamaica sarsaparilla. The herb is a common article of trade among Sydney herbalists." <hw>Tea-broom</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand name for the <i>Tea-tree</i> (q.v.). 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' [Notes] p. 505: "Manuka. . . . The settlers often call it `tea-broom.'" <hw>Teak</hw>, <i>n</i>. The original Teak is an East Indian timber-tree, <i>Tectina grandis</i>, but the name has been transferred to other trees in different parts of the world, from a similarity in the hardness of their wood. In Australia, it is given to <i>Dissiliaria baloghioides</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>; to <i>Endiandra glauca</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>; and to <i>Flindersia Bennettiana</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. In New Zealand, it is <i>Vitex littoralis</i>; Maori name, <i>Puriri</i> (q.v.). <hw>Teal</hw>, <i>n</i>. the common English name given to the small ducks of the genus <i>Querquedula</i>. In Australia, the name is applied to <i>Anas castanea</i>, Eyton; and to the <i>Grey Teal</i>, <i>A. gibberifrons</i>, Mull. See also <i>Goose-teal</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 291: "Brown returned with . . . four teals (<i>Querquedula castanea</i>)." [The old name.] <hw>Tea-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. (Very frequently, but erroneously, spelt <i>Ti-tree</i>, and occasionally, more ridiculously still, <i>Ti-tri</i>, q.v.) A name given in Australia, New Zealand, and Tasmania to several species of trees and shrubs whose leaves were used by Captain Cook's sailors, by escaped convicts, and by the early settlers as a ready substitute for the leaves of the Chinese Tea-plant (<i>Thea chinensis</i>) for making tea. The trees of the genera <i>Leptospermum</i> and <i>Melaleuca</i> were the earliest used, in Australia and New Zealand, in this way. When in blossom, the branches of many species, with their little white flowers, and the general appearance of their leaves, bear a strong resemblance to those of the true Tea-plant. Their leaves, though exceedingly aromatic, have not, however, the same flavour. Nevertheless, it was probably this superficial likeness which first suggested the experiment of making an infusion from them. Some of the species of <i>Leptospermum</i> and <i>Melaleuca</i> are so closely allied, that their names are by some botanists interchanged and used as synonyms for the same plant. Although not all of the species of these two genera were used for making tea, yet, as a tree-name, the word <i>Tea-tree</i> is indifferently and loosely used to denote nearly all of them, especially in the form <i>Tea-tree scrub</i>, where they grow, as is their habit, in swamps, flat-land, and coastal districts. Other trees or plants to which the name of <i>Tea-tree</i> was occasionally given, are species of the genera <i>Kunzea</i> and <i>Callistemon</i>. The spelling <i>Ti-tree</i> is not only erroneous as to the origin of the name, but exceedingly misleading, as it confuses the Australian <i>Tea-tree</i> with another <i>Ti</i> (q.v.) in Polynesia (<i>Cordyline ti</i>). This latter genus is represented, in Australia and New Zealand, by the two species <i>Cordyline australis</i> and <i>C. indivisa</i>, the <i>Cabbage-trees</i> (q.v.), or <i>Cabbage palms</i> (q.v.), or <i>Ti-palms</i> (q.v.), or <i>Ti</i> (q.v.), which are a marked feature of the New Zealand landscape, and are of the lily family (<i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>), while the genera <i>Leptospermum</i> and <i>Melaleuca</i> are of the myrtle family (<i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>). As to the species of the Australian <i>Tea-tree</i>, that first used by Cook's sailors was either--<i>Leptospermum scoparium</i>, R. and G. Forst., or <i>L. lanigerum</i>, Smith. The species most used for infusions was-- <i>L. fravescens</i>, Smith (syn. <i>L. thea</i>, Willd., and <i>Melaleuca thea</i>, Willd.). The <i>Coast Tea-tree</i>, common on the Victorian shores, and so useful as a sand-binder, is-- <i>L. laevigatum</i>, F. v. M. The <i>Common Australian Tea-tree</i> (according to Maiden) is <i>Melaleuca leucodendron</i>, Linn.; called also <i>White Tea-tree</i>, <i>Broad-leaved T.-t.</i>, <i>Swamp T.-t</i>., and <i>Paper-bark T.-t</i>. The name, however, as noted above, is used for all species of <i>Melaleuca</i>, the <i>Swamp Tea-tree</i> being <i>M. ericifolia</i>, Smith, and the <i>Black</i>, or <i>Prickly-leaved Tea-tree</i>, <i>M. styphelioides</i>, Smith. Of the other genera to which the name is sometimes applied, <i>Kunzea pedunculata</i>, F. v. M., is called <i>Mountain Tea-tree</i>, and <i>Callistemon salignus</i>, De C., is called-- <i>Broad-leaved</i>, or <i>River Tea-tree</i>. In New Zealand, the Maori name <i>Manuka</i> (q.v.) is more generally used than <i>Tea-tree</i>, and the tree denoted by it is the original one used by Cook's sailors. Concerning other plants, used in the early days for making special kinds of infusions and drinking them as <i>tea</i>, see under <i>Tea</i>, and <i>Cape-Barren Tea</i>. 1777. Cook's `Voyage towards the South Pole and Round the World' [2nd Voyage], vol. i. p. 99: "The beer certainly contributed not a little. As I have already observed, we at first made it of a decoction of the spruce leaves; but finding that this alone made the beer too astringent, we afterwards mixed with it an equal quantity of the tea plant (a name it obtained in my former voyage from our using it as tea then, as we also did now), which partly destroyed the astringency of the other, and made the beer exceedingly palatable, and esteemed by every one on board." [On page 100, Cook gives a description of the tea-plant, and also figures it. He was then at Dusky Bay, New Zealand.] 1790. J. White, `Voyage to New South Wales,' p. 229: "Tea Tree of New South Wales, <i>Melaleuca</i> (?) <i>Trinervia</i>. This is a small shrub, very much branched. . . . It most nearly approaches the <i>Leptospermum virgatum</i> of Forster, referred by the younger Linnaeus, perhaps improperly, to <i>Melaleuca</i>." 1820. C. Jeffreys, R.N., `Geographical and Descriptive Delineations of the Island of Van Dieman's Land,' p. 133: "Of course they [the Bushrangers] are subject to numerous privations, particularly in the articles of tea, sugar, tobacco, and bread; for this latter article, however, they substitute the wild yam, and for tea they drink a decoction of the sassafras and other shrubs, particularly one which they call the tea-tree bush." 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description of New South Wales,' p. 175: "On Monday the bushrangers were at a house at Tea-tree Brush." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 200: "The leaves of the tea-tree furnished the colonists with a substitute for the genuine plant in the early period of the colony, and from their containing a saccharine matter required no sugar." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 78: "This boy got some bark from a tree called the tea-tree, which makes excellent torches." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 25: "The tea-tree grows in wet situations . . . the leaves infused make a pleasant beverage, and with a little sugar form a most excellent substitute for tea." 1834. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 134: "<i>Leptospermum lanigerum</i>, Hoary tea-tree; <i>Acacia decurrens</i>, Black wattle; <i>Conaea alba</i>, Cape-Barren tea. The leaves of these have been used as substitutes for tea in the colony, as have also the leaves and bark of <i>Cryptocarya glaucescens</i>, the Australian Sa<i>s</i>afras" (sic) [q.v.]. 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 39: "The Australian myrtles, or tea-trees, are to be found in thick clusters, shading rocky springs. . . . Its leaves I have seen made into a beverage called tea. It, however, was loathsome, and had not the slightest resemblance to any known Chinese tea." 1845. R. Howitt, `Australia,' p. 85: "Often we had to take the boat down the river several miles, to cut reeds amongst the tea-tree marshes, to thatch our houses with." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix;' p. 33: "A great quantity of the tea-tree (<i>Leptospermum</i>) scrubs, which formerly lined both banks of the Yarra." (p. 84): "It is allied to the myrtle family (<i>Melaleuca</i>) . . . A decoction of the leaves is a fair substitute for tea, yielding a beverage of a very aromatic flavour." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i. p. 210: "Dense with tea-trees and wattles shrouding the courses of the stream." 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 126: "Half-hidden in a tea-tree scrub, A flock of dusky sheep were spread." 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads,' p. 14: "Through the tea-tree scrub we dashed." 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 70: "Chiefly covered with fern and tea-tree (manuka) scrub." 1871. T. Bracken, `Behind the Tomb,' p. 60: "Sobbing through the tea-tree bushes, Low and tender, loud and wild, Melancholy music gushes." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 2o6: <i>Table of Tasmanian woods found in low marshy ground</i>. Hgt. Dia. Used. Swamp Tea-tree 12 ft. 6 in. Useless. Tea-tree 30 " 9 " } Turners' and } Agricultural Musk Tea-tree 12 " small } Implements. 1877. Baron von Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 18: "We have among them [the Myrtaceae] . . . the native tea-trees, inappropriately so called, as these bushes and trees never yield substitutes for tea, although a New Zealand species was used in Captain Cook's early expedition, to prepare a medicinal infusion against scurvy; these so-called tea-trees comprise within our colony [Victoria], species of Leptospermum, Kunzea, Melaleuca and Callistemon, the last-mentioned genus producing flowers with long stamens, on which the appellation of `Bottle-brushes' has been bestowed." 1880. W. Senior, `Travel and Trout,' p. 78: "Numerous flowering shrubs, such as the tea-tree, native lilac, and many another that varies the colour and softly scents the atmosphere." 1880. Mrs.Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 221: "Thickets of tea-tree, white with lovely hawthorn-like flowers." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 19: "Along the water's edge, noble titrees, whose drooping branches swept the stream, formed a fringe, the dark green of their thick foliage being relieved." 1883. C. Harpur, `Poems,' p. 78: "Why roar the bull-frogs in the tea-tree marsh?" 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 84: "Shading a brook the tea-trees grew, Spangled with blossoms of whitish hue, Which fell from the boughs to the ground below, As fall from heaven the flakes of snow." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 112: "The bottle-brush flowers of the ti-trees." 1888. Baron Ferdinand von Mueller, `Select Extra-Tropical Plants,' p. 221: "The somewhat aromatic leaves of <i>Liscoparium</i> (Forster) were already in Captain Cook's Expedition used for an antiscorbutic Tea, hence the name tea-tree for this and some allied plants." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 76: "The intrusive ti-tree. . . . The dark line of ti-tree in the foreground . . ." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' pp. 235, 236: "<i>Leptospermum scoparium</i>, Forster, the <i>Manuka</i>. . . . It is commonly termed `tea-tree' by the settlers, but must not be confounded with the `ti' or `toi' of the Maories, which is a handsome palm-lily, <i>Cordyline australis</i>, often termed `cabbage-tree' by the bushmen." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 38: "<i>Leptospermum scoparium</i>, Tea Tree. It is said that this is the shrub the leaves of which were utilized by the crews of Captain Cook's ships for the purpose of making `tea,' and that they were also used with spruce leaves in equal quantity for the purpose of correcting the astringency in brewing a beer from the latter. It is exceedingly common about Sydney, so large quantities would therefore be available to the sailors. Species of this genus are exceedingly abundant not far from the coast, and the leaves would be very readily available, but the taste of the infusion made from them is too aromatic for the European palate." [In Maiden's admirable book slips are very rare. But he is mistaken here in the matter of the abundance of the tree at Sydney having any reference to the question. Captain Cook had but one ship, the <i>Endeavour</i>; and it never entered Port Jackson. It is true that <i>L. scoparium</i> was the tree used by Cook, but he was then at Dusky Bay, New Zealand, and it was there that he used it. See quotations 1777 and 1877.] 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 24: "The well-known <i>Melaleuca Leucadendron</i>, called by the colonists tea-tree, from which is extracted what is known in medicine as cajeput oil." 1893. `The Australasian,' Jan 14: "The ti-tree on either side of the road was in bloom, its soft, fluffy, creamy bushes gathering in great luxuriance on the tops of the taller trees, almost hiding the green." 1893. `The Argus,' April 29, p. 4, col. 4: "There was many a shorthorned Hereford hidden in the innermost recesses of that tick and sand-fly infested ti-tree that knew not the cunning of a stockman's hand." 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue--Economic Woods': "No. 133, Coast tea-tree, <i>Leptospermum laevigatum</i>, F. v. M. No. 142, Swamp tea-tree, <i>Melaleuca ericifolia</i>, Smith." <hw>Teetee</hw>. Same as <i>Ti-Ti</i> (q.v.). <hw>Telopea</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of the genus containing the flower called the <i>Waratah</i> (q.v.), from the Greek <i>taelowpos</i>, `seen from afar,' in allusion (as the author of the name, Robert Brown, himself says) to the conspicuous crimson flowers. The name has been corrupted popularly into <i>Tulip</i>, and the flower is often called the <i>Native Tulip</i>. 1835. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 110: "The beautiful crimson flowering shrub, with dark green rhododendron-like leaves, which grows in the upper region of Mount Wellington. . . . The generic name is derived from <i>telopos</i>, seen at a distance. It has been corrupted into tulip tree, to which it bears not the least resemblance." <hw>Tena koe</hw>, a Maori salutation used in North Island of New Zealand. Lit. "That is you," and meaning "How do you do?" <i>Tena</i> and <i>Tera</i> both mean `<i>that</i>'; but <i>tena</i> implies the idea of nearness, `that near you,' <i>tera</i> the idea of distance, `that (or there) away yonder.' Hence, while Tena koe is a welcome, Tera koe would be an insult. <hw>Tench</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang term, used during the days of transportation, for the Hobart Town Penitentiary, or Prisoners' Barracks--a corruption of "<i>'tentiary</i>," which is for <i>Penitentiary</i>. It is now obsolete. 1859. Caroline Leakey, `The Broad Arrow,' vol. ii. p. 32: "Prisoners' barracks, sir--us calls it Tench." <hw>Teraglin</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish of New South Wales, <i>Otolithus atelodus</i>, Gunth. The name <i>Teraglin</i> is stated to be aboriginal. Sometimes called <i>Jew-fish</i> (q.v.). <hw>Thickhead</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name applied to the Australian birds of the genus <i>Pachycephala</i> (q.v.). They are often called <i>Thrushes</i>. The species are-- The Banded Thickhead <i>Pachycephala pectoralis</i>, Vig. and Hors. Black T.-- <i>P. melanura</i>, Gould. Gilbert's T.-- <i>P. gilbertii</i>, Gould. Grey-tailed T.-- <i>P. glaucura</i>, Gould (confined to Tasmania). Lunated T.-- <i>P. falcata</i>, Gould. Olivaceous T.-- <i>P. olivacea</i>, Vig. and Hors. (confined to Tasmania). Pale-breasted T.-- <i>P. pallida</i>, Ramsay. Plain-coloured T.-- <i>P. simplex</i>, Gould. Red-throated T.-- <i>P. rufigularis</i>, Gould. Rufous-breasted T.-- <i>P. rufiventris</i>, Lath. Shrike-like T.-- <i>Pachycephala lanoides</i>, Gould. Torres-straits T.-- <i>P. fretorum</i>, De Vis. Western T.-- <i>P. occidentalis</i>, Ramsay. White-throated T.-- <i>P. gutturalis</i>, Lath.; called also the <i>Thunder-bird</i> (q.v.). 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Game Act' (Third Schedule): "Thick-heads. [Close season.] From the first day of August to the twentieth day of December next following in each year." <hw>Thornback</hw>, <i>n</i>. special name for one of the Stingrays, <i>Raia lemprieri</i>, Richards., or <i>Raja rostata</i>, Castln., family <i>Raijdae</i>. 1875. `Melbourne Spectator,' Aug. 28, p. 201, col. 3: "A thornback skate . . . weighing 109 lbs., has been caught . . . at North Arm, South Australia." <hw>Thousand-Jacket</hw>, <i>n</i>. a North Island name for <i>Ribbon-wood</i> (q.v.), a New Zealand tree. Layer after layer of the inner bark can be stripped off. 1888. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iii. p. 210: "Koninny [sic], raupo, toi-toi, supplejack, thousand-jacket, and the like, are names of things known well enough to the inhabitants of Napier and Taranaki, but to the average stay-at-home Englishman they are nouns which only vexatiously illustrate the difference between names and things." 1889. T. Kirk, `Flora of New Zealand,' p. 87: "Hoheria populnea. The Houhere. Order--Malvaceae. . . In the north of Auckland the typical form is known as `houhere'; but Mr. Colenso informs me the varieties are termed `houi' and `whau-whi' in the south . . . By the settlers all the forms are termed `ribbon-wood,' or less frequently `lace-bark'-- names which are applied to other plants: they are also termed `thousand-jacket.'" 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 5: "`Thousand-jacket' is a picturesque name for a many-named New Zealand tree, the bark of which peels, and peels, and peels again, though in the number chosen there is certainly a note of exaggeration." <hw>Throwing-stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. native Australian weapon, by means of which the spear is thrown. See <i>Woomera</i>. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. i. p. 12: "The principals who perform it come from, Cammer-ray, armed with shields, clubs, and throwing-sticks." Ibid. c. i. p. 26: "The throwing-stick is used in discharging the spear. The instrument is from two to three feet in length, with a shell on one end and a hook on the other." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. p. 72: "Natives . . . seemingly ignorant of the use of the throwing-stick." 1879. J. D. Woods, `Native Tribes of South Australia,' Introd. p. xviii: "The spear is propelled by a wommerah or throwing-stick, having at one end a kangaroo's tooth, fixed so as to fit into a notch at the end of the spear. This instrument gives an amount of leverage far beyond what would be excited by unaided muscular strength." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 251: "It is supposed that if the hair of a person is tied on the end of the throwing-stick. . . and roasted before the fire with some kangaroo fat, the person to whom it belonged will pine away and die." 1885. H. H. Hayter, `Carboona,' p. 24: "Warrk Warrk, having a dart on his throwing-stick ready adjusted, hurled it." <hw>Thrush</hw>, <i>n</i>. This common English bird-name is applied in Australia and New Zealand to four different genera of birds, viz.-- (1) <i>Collyriocincla</i>, the Shrike-Thrushes (q.v.); the name <i>Collyriocincla</i> is a compound of two Greek bird-names, <i>kolluriown</i> /corr. from kolluriowu in Morris/, `a bird, probably of the <i>thrush</i> kind, Arist. H. A. 9, 23, 2' (`L. & S.' /1869 p.864/), and <i>kigalos</i>, `a kind of <i>wag-tail</i> or <i>water-ousel</i>' (`L. & S.'). The next two genera are derived in a similar way from <i>gaer</i>, earth, and <i>'opos</i>, mountain. (2) <i>Geocincla</i>, the Ground-Thrushes (q.v.). (3) <i>Oreocincla</i>, the Mountain-Thrush (q.v.). (4) <i>Pachycephala</i> (q.v.); called Thrushes, but more often Thickheads (q.v.). (5) <i>Turnagra</i> (the New Zealand Thrushes), viz.-- <i>T. hectori</i>, Buller, North Island Thrush. <i>T. crassirostris</i>, Gmel., South Island Thrush. The name <i>Thrush</i> was also applied loosely, by the early writers and travellers, to birds of many other genera which have since been more accurately differentiated. The common English thrush has been acclimatised in Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand. <hw>Thunder-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. an early name for one of the <i>Thickheads</i> (q.v.), or <i>Pachycephalae</i> (q.v.). See also quotation, 1896. 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 239: "`This species,' Mr. Caley says, `is called <i>Thunder-bird</i> by the colonists. . . . The natives tell me, that when it begins to thunder this bird is very noisy.'" 1848. J. Gould,' Birds of Australia,' vol. ii. pl. 64: "<i>Pachycephala Gutturalis</i>, Thunder Bird, Colonists of New South Wales." 1896. A. J. North, `List of the Insectivorous Birds of New South Wales,' part i. p. 3: "Pachycephala gutturalis, <i>Latham</i>. `Yellow-breasted Thick-head.' . . . From its habit of starting to sing immediately after a clap of thunder, the report of a gun, or any other loud and sudden noise, it is known to many residents of New South Wales as the Thunder-bird.' "Pachycephala rufiventris, <i>Latham</i>. `Rufous-breasted Thickhead.' . . . Also known as the `Thunder-bird.'" <hw>Thunder-dirt</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand, a gelatinous covering of a fungus (<i>Ileodictyon cibarium</i>) formerly eaten by the Maoris. <hw>Thylacine</hw>, and <hw>Thylacinus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of the genus of the animal called variously the <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i> (q.v.), <i>Hyaena</i>, <i>Tasmanian Wolf</i>, <i>Zebra Wolf</i>, and <i>Marsupial Wolf</i>. The first spelling is the Anglicised form of the word. (Grk. <i>thulakos</i>, a pouch, and <i>kuown</i>, a dog.) 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 153: "The Thylacine appears to be generally found among caverns and rocks and the deep and almost impenetrable glens in the neighbourhood of the highest mountains of Tasmania." <hw>Ti</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name of various species of trees of the genus <i>Cordyline</i>, <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>. It exists in the Pacific Islands as <i>C. Ti</i>, and in New Zealand the species are <i>C. australis</i> and <i>C. indivisa</i>. It is called in New Zealand the <i>Cabbage-tree</i> (q.v.), and the heart used to be eaten by the settlers. The word is Polynesian. In Hawaiian, the form is <i>Ki</i>; in Maori, <i>Ti</i>. Compare <i>Kanaka</i> (q.v.) and <i>Tangata</i>. By confusion, <i>Tea</i>, in <i>Tea-tree</i> (q.v.), is frequently spelt <i>Ti</i>, and <i>Tea-tree</i> is sometimes spelt <i>Ti-tri</i> (q.v.). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 58: "In these natural shrubberies, too, and especially in wet situations, a kind of cabbage-tree, called ti by the natives, flourishes to great abundance." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor,' Te Ika a Maui,' p. 435: "The ti (<i>Cordyline australis</i> or <i>Dracoena australis</i>) is found in great abundance. Though so common, it has a very foreign look . . . the leaf is that of a flag, the flower forms a large droop and is very fragrant." 1866. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 52: "Ti-ti palms are dotted here and there, and give a foreign and tropical appearance to the whole." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 297: "An abundance of narrow strips of the tough, fibrous leaves of the ti-palm." 1890. W. Colenso, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. art. lvii. p. 486: "In these plains stand a number of cabbage-trees (<i>Cordyline Australis</i>), the ti-trees of the Maori. These often bear only a single head of long narrow harsh leaves at the top of their tall slender stems, but sometimes they are slightly branched, the branches also only bearing a similar tuft." 1892. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 22, p. 7, col. 2: "A small grove of ti-palms or cabbage-tree." <hw>Tiaki</hw> (spelt also <hw>Tieke</hw>), <i>n</i>. Maori name for the <i>Saddle-back</i> or <i>Jack-bird</i> (q.v.). 1835. W. Yate, `Account of New Zealand,' p. 56: "Tiaki or purourou. This elegant bird is about the size of the sky-lark." <hw>Tieke</hw>, <i>n</i>. Same as <i>Tiaki</i> (q.v.). <hw>Tiers</hw>, <i>pl. n</i>. used in Tasmania as the usual word for mountains, in the same way as the word <i>Ranges</i> (q.v.) in Australia. 1876. W. B. Wildey, `Australasia and Oceanic Region,' p. 320: "Two chains of mountains, the eastern and western tiers, run through it nearly north and south." 1891. `The Australasian,' April 4, p. 670, col. 2: "That stuff as they calls horizontal, a mess of branches and root, The three barren tiers; and the Craycroft, that 'ud settle a bandicoot." <hw>Tiersman</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian word for one who lives in the <i>Tiers</i> (q.v.). 1852. F. Lancelott, `Australia as it is,' vol. ii. p. 115: "Splatters, or, as they are commonly called tiersmen, reside in the forest of stringy bark . . ." <hw>Tiger-Cat</hw>, <i>n</i>. special name applied to the <i>Common</i> and <i>Spotted-tailed Native Cat</i>. See under <i>Cat</i>. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 52: "The skins of the . . . opossum, tiger-cat, and platypus . . . are exported." 1852. Ronald C. Gunn, `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. ii. p. 11: "<i>Dasyurus maculatus</i>, Shaw. . . . The <i>Spotted Martin</i>, Phillip's `Voy. to Botany Bay, p. 276. Martin Cat,' pl. 46. `Tiger Cat' of the Colonists of Tasmania, to which island it is confined. It is distinguished from <i>D. viverrinus</i>, the `Native Cat' of the Colonists, by its superior size and more robust form; also from the tail being spotted as well as the body." 1891. `Guide to the Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "After the opossums comes a specimen of the tiger-cat (<i>Dasyurus maculatus</i>); this animal, which is so destructive to poultry, is well known throughout the country in Victoria." <hw>Tiger, Tasmanian</hw>. See <i>Thylacine</i> and <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i>. <hw>Tiger-Snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Tihore</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a species of New Zealand flax. Name used specially in the North Island for the best variety of <i>Phormium</i> (q.v.). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 286: "The species of <i>Phormium tenax</i> thus cultivated is the tihore, literally the `skinning' flax. This name describes the ease with which it submits to the scraping process." <hw>Tiki</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the Creator of man, and thence taken to represent an ancestor. The Maoris made large wooden images to represent their <i>Tiki</i>, and gave the name of <i>Tiki</i> to these images. Later they were made in miniature in greenstone (q.v.), and used as neck ornaments. See <i>Heitiki</i>. <hw>Tit</hw>, <i>n</i>. common English bird name. Applied in Australia to the following species-- Broad-tailed Tit-- <i>Acanthiza apicalis</i>, Gould. Brown T.-- <i>A. pusilla</i>, Lath. Buff T.-- <i>Geobasileus reguloides</i>, V. and H. Chestnut-rumped T.-- <i>Acanthiza uropygialis</i>, Gould. Little T.-- <i>A. nana</i>, Vig. and Hors. Plain T.-- <i>A. inornata</i>, Gould. Red-rumped T.-- <i>A. pyrrhopygia</i>, Gould. Scaly-breasted T.-- <i>A. squamata</i>, De Vis. Scrub T.-- <i>Sericornis magna</i>, Gould. Striated T.-- <i>Acanthiza lineata</i>, Gould. Tasmanian T.-- <i>A. diemenensis</i>, Gould; called also <i>Brown-tail</i>. Yellow-rumped T.-- <i>Geobasileus chrysorrhoea</i>, Quoy and Gaim. See also <i>Tree-tit</i>. <hw>Tit-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given in North Australia to the Sea-slug, or Trepang; because the appearance of its tentacles suggests the teat of a cow. 1880. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Proceedings of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales,' vol. v. pt. ii. p. 128: "G. F. Jaeger, in 1833, . . . enumerates four [species of <i>Trepang</i>), viz. <i>Trepang edulis</i>, <i>T. ananas</i>, <i>T. impatiens</i> and <i>T. peruviana</i>. The first of these is certainly found on the reefs, and is called by the fishermen `redfish.' . . . Next to this is the `tit-fish' . . . studded with somewhat distant large tentacles, which project nearly an inch or so." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 22: "They were engaged in smoking a large haul of `tit' fish, which they had made on a neighbouring reef." <hw>Ti-ti</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the sea-bird <i>Pelecanoides urinatrix</i>, Gmel., the Diving-petrel. Spelt also <i>tee-tee</i>. 1891. `The Australasian,' Nov. 14, p. 963, col. 1 (`A Lady in the Kermadecs'): "The petrels--there are nine kinds, and we have names of our own for them, the black burrower, the mutton-bird, the white burrower, the short-billed ti-ti, the long-billed ti-ti, the little storm petrel, and three others that we had no names for--abound on the island." <hw>Tititpunamu</hw>, <i>n</i>. (spelt also <hw>Tititipunamu</hw>), <i>n</i>. Maori name for the bird <i>Acanthidositta chloris</i>, Sparm., the <i>Rifleman</i> (q.v.). It has many other Maori names. <hw>Titoki</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand tree, <i>Alectryon excelsum</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>. Also called New Zealand Oak and New Zealand Ash. See <i>Alectryon</i>. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 317: "The berry of the titoki tree might be turned to account. The natives extract a very fine oil from it." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 253: The youth, with hands beneath his head, Against a great titoki's base." 1877. Anon., `Colonial Experiences or Incidents of Thirty-four Years in New Zealand,' p: 16: "For this purpose, titoki was deemed the most suitable timber, from its hardness and crooked growth resembling English oak." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 131: "Titoki, a beautiful tree with large panicles of reddish flowers . . . Wood has similar properties to ash. Its toughness makes it valuable for wheels, coachbuilding, etc." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 183: "It is sometimes termed `the New Zealand ash,' doubtless on account of its resembling that tree in the shape of its foliage and in the toughness of its wood, but it is most generally known as the `titoki.'" 1896. `Otago Witness,' June 23, p. 42, col. 2: "The saddling-paddock and the scales are surrounded by a fence made of stout titoki saplings, on which are perched the knowing." <hw>Ti-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. erroneous spelling of <i>Tea-tree</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Manuka</i>. <hw>Titri</hw>, <i>n</i>. corruption for <i>Tea-tree</i> (q.v.), from the fancy that it is Maori, or aboriginal Australian. On the railway line, between Dunedin and Invercargill, there is a station called "<i>Titri</i>," evidently the surveyor's joke. 1895. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 19, p. 23, col. 3: "Our way lay across two or three cultivations into a grove of handsome titri. Traversing this we came to a broad, but shallow and stony creek, and then more titri, merging into light bush." <hw>Toad-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New Zealand, a scarce marine fish of the family <i>Psychrolutidae</i>, <i>Neophrynichthys latus</i>. In Australia, the name is applied to <i>Tetrodon hamiltoni</i>, Richards., and various other species of <i>Tetrodon</i>, family <i>Gymnodontes</i>, poisonous fishes. Toad-fishes are very closely allied to Porcupine-fishes. "Toads" have the upper jaw divided by a median suture, while the latter have undivided dental plates. See <i>Porcupine-fish</i> and <i>Globe-fish</i>, 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 89: "The Poisonous or <i>Toad Fish</i> of Van Diemen's Land. (<i>Communicated by James Scott, Esq. R.N. Colonial Surgeon</i>). . . . The melancholy and dreadful effect produced by eating it was lately instanced in the neighbourhood of Hobart Town, on the lady of one of the most respectable merchants, and two children, who died in the course of three hours . . . The poison is of a powerful sedative nature, producing stupor, loss of speech, deglutition, vision and the power of the voluntary muscles, and ultimately an entire deprivation of nervous power and death." 1844. J. A. Moore, `Tasmanian Rhymings,' p. 24: "The toad-fish eaten, soon the body dies." <hw>Toatoa</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name of New Zealand tree, <i>Phyllocladus glauca</i>, Carr., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>. The Mountain Toatoa is <i>P. alpinus</i>, Hook. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 120: "The toa toa, a small tree which is much prized by the natives for walking-sticks, and only grows, they say, in the neighbourhood of Tonga Riro. The stick underneath the bark is of a bright red colour, which takes a fine polish." <hw>Tobacco, Colonial</hw>. See <i>Tobacco, Native</i>. <hw>Tobacco, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia generally, a true Tobacco, <i>Nicotiana suaveolens</i>, Lehm., <i>N.O. Solanaceae</i>; readily eaten as a forage plant by stock. In Queensland, the name is also applied to <i>Pituri</i> (q.v.). In Tasmania, the name is given to <i>Cassinia billardieri</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Compositae</i>. Various American tobaccos are also naturalised, and their growing and manufacture is an industry. Tobacco manufactured in the colonies, whether from imported American leaf or from leaf grown in the colonies, is called <i>Colonial Tobacco</i>. 1848. T. L. Mitchell, `Tropical Australia,' p. 64: "In the rich soil near the river-bed, we saw the yellowish flowers of the native tobacco, <i>Nicotiana suaveolens</i>." <hw>Toe-ragger</hw>, <i>n</i>. In the bush a term of abuse; though curiously in one or two parts of New South Wales the word "toey," which is derived from it, is a term of praise, a "swell." The word has been explained as of convict origin, that the rags were used to soothe the galling of fetters; but the explanation is not satisfactory, for the part galled by the irons would not be the toe, but the ankle. A writer in `Truth' has cleared up the word (see quotation). It is of Maori origin. Away from Maoriland "toe-rigger" had no meaning, and a false meaning and origin were given by the change of vowel. 1896. `Truth' (Sydney), Jan. 12: "The bushie's favorite term of opprobrium `a toe-ragger' is also probably from the Maori. Amongst whom the nastiest term of contempt was that of <i>tau rika rika</i>, or slave. The old whalers on the Maoriland coast in their anger called each other toe-riggers, and to-day the word in the form of toe-ragger has spread throughout the whole of the South Seas." <hw>Toe-toe</hw>, and <hw>Toi-toi</hw>, Maori name of several species of native grass of the genus <i>Arundo</i>, especially <i>Arundo conspicua</i>, A. Cunn. <i>Toe-toe</i> is the right spelling in Maori, given in Williams' `Maori Dictionary.' In English, however, the word is frequently spelt <i>toi-toi</i>. It is also called <i>Prince of Wales' feather</i>. 1843. `An Ordinance for imposing a tax on Raupo Houses, Session II. No. xvii. of the former Legislative Council of New Zealand': [From A. Domett's collection of Ordinances, 1850.] "Section 2. . . . there shall be levied in respect of every building constructed wholly or in part of <i>raupo, nikau, toitoi</i>, <i>wiwi kakaho</i>, straw or thatch of any description [ . . . L20]." 1849. C. Hursthouse, `Settlement of New Plymouth,' p. 13: "A species of tall grass called `toetoe.'" 1861. C. C. Bowen, `Poems,' p. 57: "High o'er them all the toi waved, To grace that savage ground." 1867. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 110: "Thatching it with tohi, or swamp-grass." 1892. `The Katipo,' Jan. i. [sic] p. 3 [description of the Title-cut]: "The toi toi and <i>Phorinium tenax</i> in the corners are New Zealand emblems." 1895. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 19, p. 6, col. 3: "Where Christmas lilies wave and blow, Where the fan-tails tumbling glance, And plumed toi-toi heads the dance." <hw>Tohora</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a whale. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 136: "Fable of the Kauri (pine-tree) and Tohora (whale)." 1878. W. Colenso, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xi. art. iv. pt. 2, p. 90: "Looking at it as it lay extended, it resembled a very large whale (nui tohora)." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 21: "In the open sea, and to the south, the most prized whale next to the sperm is the black whale, or tohora (<i>Eubalaena Australis</i>), which is like the right whale of the North Sea, but with baleen of less value." <hw>Tohunga</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a wise man. "Perhaps from Maori verb <i>tohu</i>, to think." (Tregear's `Polynesian Dictionary.') <i>Tohu</i>, a sign or omen; hence <i>Tohunga</i>, a dealer in omens, an augur. 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf and Amohia,' p. 102: "But he whose grief was most sincere The news of that unwonted death to hear, Was Kangapo, the Tohunga--a Priest And fell Magician famous far and near." 1873. `Appendix to Journals of House of Representatives,' G. 1, B. p. 9: "I am a tohunga who can save the country if you will follow my advice." 1878. F. E. Maning, `Heke's War, told by an Old Chief,' `New Zealand Reader,' p. 153: "Amongst these soldiers there was not one tohunga--not a man at all experienced in omens--or they must have had some warning that danger and defeat were near." 1893. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 21, p. 10, col. 2: "She would consult a tohunga. The man she selected-- one of the oldest and most sacred of the Maori priests, prophet, medicine-man, lawyer and judge." <hw>Tolmer's Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fibrous plant, <i>Lepidosperma gladiatum</i>, Labill., <i>N.O. Cyperaceae</i>, suitable for manufacture of paper. It is not a true grass, and is classed by Maiden (`Useful Native Plants,' p. 626) under fibres. 1882. A. Tolmer, `Reminiscences,' p. 298: "The plant that has since by courtesy borne my name (Tolmer's grass)." <hw>Tomahawk</hw>, <i>n</i>. a word of North-American Indian origin, applied in English to the similarly shaped short one-handed axe or hatchet. The word is not frequent in England, but in Australia the word <i>hatchet</i> has practically disappeared, and the word <i>Tomahawk</i> to describe it is in every-day use. It is also applied to the stone hatchet of the Aboriginals. A popular corruption of it is <i>Tommy-axe</i>. 1802. G. Barrington, `History of New South Wales,' c. xii. p. 466: "A plentiful assortment of . . . knives, shirts, toma-hawkes [sic], axes, jackets, scissars [sic], etc., etc., for the people in general." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 259: "We . . . observed recent marks of the stone tomahawk of the natives." 1851. G. W. Rusden, `Moyarra,' canto i. 17, p. 25: "One hand he wreathed in Mytah's hair, Whirled then the tomahawk in air." 1870. E. B. Kennedy, `Fours /sic/ Years in Queensland,' p. 721: "They [the Aboriginals] cut out opossums from a tree or sugar bag (wild honey) by means of a tomahawk of green stone; the handle is formed of a vine, and fixed in its place with gum. It is astonishing what a quantity of work is got through in the day with these blunt tomahawks." 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 60: "Lay aside thy spears (I doubt them); Lay aside thy tomahawk." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 206: "The aborigines have obtained iron tomahawks." 1880. G. Sutherland, `Tales of Goldfields,' p. 73: "Men had to cleave out a way for themselves with tomahawks." 1888. A. Reischek, in Buller's `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 94: "The snow had been blown together, and was frozen so hard that I had to take my tomahawk to chop it down so as to get softer snow to refresh myself with a wash." <hw>Tomahawk</hw>, <i>v</i>. tr. to cut sheep when shearing them. 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 147: "Shearers were very scarce, and the poor sheep got fearfully `tomahawked' by the new hands." 1872. C. H. Eden, `My Wife and I in Queensland,' p. 96: "Some men never get the better of this habit, but `tomahawk' as badly after years of practice as when they first began." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 162: "The Shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong, After the hard day's shearing, passing the joke along The `ringer' that shore a hundred, as they never were shorn before, And the novice who toiling bravely had tommyhawked half a score." <hw>Tommy-axe</hw>, <i>n</i>. a popular corruption of the word <i>Tomahawk</i> (q.v.); it is an instance of the law of Hobson-Jobson. <hw>Tom Russell's Mahogany</hw>. See <i>Mahogany</i>. <hw>Tomtit</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied in New Zealand to two New Zealand birds of the genus <i>Myiomoira</i>, the species being <i>M. toitoi</i>, Garnot, in North Island; <i>M. macrocephala</i>, Gmel., in South Island. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 39: [A full description.] <hw>Tonquin Bean-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian variety of <i>Native Sandalwood</i>; also called <i>Tonga Beanwood</i>. 1862. W. Archer, `Products and Resources of Tasmania,' p. 41: "`Tonga Bean-wood (<i>Alyxia buxifolia</i>, Br.). The odour is similar to that of the <i>Tonga Bean</i> (<i>Dipteryx odorata</i>). A straggling seaside shrub, three to five inches in diameter." <hw>Tooart</hw>, or <hw>Tewart</hw>, <i>n</i>. a West Australian name for <i>Eucalyptus gomphocephala</i>, or <i>White Gum</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' c. iv. p. 181: `Another valuable tree is the tooart, a kind of white gum." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 187: "The Tewart Tree (<i>Eucalyptus</i>), a variety of the White Gum, found principally in the Swan River and King George's Sound District of Western Australia. . . . Of straight growth and noble dimensions. The wood is of a yellowish or straw colour, hard, heavy, tough, strong and rigid. . . . It is used in ship-building for beams, keelsons, stern-posts, engine-bearers, and for other works below the line of flotation." <hw>Tookytook</hw>, <i>n</i>. a corruption of <i>Kotukutuku</i> (q.v.), a Maori name equivalent to <i>Konini</i>, the fruit of the <i>Fuchsia-tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Toot</hw>, <i>n</i>. the anglicised spelling of the Maori word <i>Tutu</i> (q.v.). <hw>Tooted</hw>, quasi <i>past participle</i> from <i>Toot</i>. The cattle are <i>tooted</i>, sc. poisoned by the <i>Toot</i>. 1863. G. Butler, `Canterbury Settlement,' p. 98: "As, then, my bullocks could not get tuted." 1891. T. H. Potts, `New Zealand Country Journal,' p. 201: "His hearty salutation in its faultiness proved to be about on a par with `rummy-rum,' `triddy' and `toot.' The last word reminds me of a man near by who was even judged to be somewhat vain of his Maori accent and pronunciation. With one word he was indeed very particular, he could not bring himself to use that manifest corruption `toot.' With him it was ever `tutu.' He had to make rather a boggle or dodge of it when he used the colonial made verb formed on his favourite Maori noun." <hw>Tooth-shell</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied, in Europe, to any species of <i>Dentalium</i> and allied genera having a tooth-shaped shell. In Australia, it is the shell of <i>Marinula pellucida</i>, Cooper, a small marine mollusc used for necklaces. <hw>Tope</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australasian Shark, <i>Galeus australis</i>, Macl. It differs somewhat from <i>Galeus canis</i>, the <i>Tope</i> of Britain. Called also the <i>School-Shark</i>, in Australia. <hw>Top-knot Pigeon</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, <i>Lopholaimus antarcticus</i>, Shaw. 1891. Francis Adams, `John Webb's End,' p. 33: "Flying for a moment beside a lovely, melodious <i>top-knot pigeon</i>." <hw>Torea</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for all the New Zealand species of the <i>Oyster-catchers</i> (q.v.). <hw>Torpedo</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish, well known elsewhere, and also called elsewhere, the <i>Numb-fish</i> and <i>Cramp fish</i>. For the Australian species, see quotation. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 100: "Our Torpedo or Electric Ray is <i>Hypnos subnigrum</i>, that of Tasmania is <i>Narcine Tasmaniensis</i>." <hw>Torres-Straits Pigeon</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation. 1893. Saville Kent, `Great Barrier Reef,' p. 123: "Making a bag of the famous Torres Straits pigeons (<i>Myristicivora spilorrhoa</i>), a large white variety, highly esteemed for the table, which, arriving from the north [that is New Guinea], is distributed from October until the end of March throughout the tree-bearing islets and mainland coast, as far south as Keppel Bay." <hw>Tortoise-shell Fish</hw>. See <i>Hand-fish</i>. <hw>Totara</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a lofty-spreading New Zealand tree, <i>Podocarpus totara</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Coniferae</i>,. In Maori, the accent falls on the first syllable; but in English use it is often placed on the second, and from Mr. Polack's spelling it must have been so as early as 1840. Called also <i>Mahogany-pine</i>. There are several other species, e.g. <i>P. vivalis</i>, Hook., the <i>Mountain Totara</i>; called also <i>Mahogany Pine</i>. See <i>Mahogany</i>, and <i>Pine</i>. 1832. G. Bennett, in Lambert's `Genus Pinus,' vol. ii. p. 190: "This is an unpublished species of <i>Podocarpus</i>, called Totara by the natives. . . . The value placed on this tree by the natives is sometimes the occasion of quarrels, terminating in bloodshed, if it is cut down by any except the party by whom it is claimed. . . It is not unusual for the trees to descend from father to son." 1840. J. S. Polack, `Manners and Customs of New Zealanders,' vol. i. p. 227: "The totarra or red-pine." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 221: "The totara is one of the finest trees in the forest, and is the principal wood used by the natives, whether for canoes, houses, or fencing." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' [Notes] p. 80: "The place received its name from a number of large totara trees." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 134: "Totara (<i>Podocarpus totara</i>) and Matai (<i>Podocarpus spicata</i>) are large and beautiful trees found in every forest." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 107: "One lone totara-tree that grew Beneath the hill-side." 1875. T. Laslett, `Timber and Timber Trees,' p. 308: "The Totara Tree (<i>Taxus</i> or <i>Podocarpus totara</i>). Height, eighty to ninety feet. The wood is red in colour, close, straight, fine and even in grain . . . a good substitute for mahogany." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 227: "With the exception of the kauri, the totara affords the most valuable timber in New Zealand, but unlike the kauri it is found almost throughout the colony." <hw>Towai</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for New Zealand tree, <i>Weinmannia racemosa</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>, i.q. <i>Kamahai</i> in south of South Island, and <i>Tawhero</i> in North Island (Wellington). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 95: "Its banks . . . are covered almost wholly with the towai. This tree has very small dark leaves.It is used for ship- building, and is called by Englishmen the `black birch.'" 1851. Mrs. Wilson, `New Zealand,' p. 43: "The ake . . . and towai (<i>Leiospermum racemosum</i>) are almost equal, in point of colour, to rosewood." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 132: "Towhai, Kamahi. A large tree; trunk two to four feet in diameter, and fifty feet high. Wood close-grained and heavy, but rather brittle. . . . The bark is largely used for tanning. The extract of bark is chemically allied to the gum kino of commerce, their value being about equal." <hw>Township</hw>, <i>n</i>. a village, a possible future town. In the United States, the word has a definite meaning--a district, subordinate to a county, the inhabitants having power to regulate their local affairs; in Australia, the word has no such definite meaning. It may be large or small, and sometimes consists of little more than the post-office, the public-house, and the general store or shop. 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 7: "The timber of a hundred and twenty acres was cut down . . . a small township marked out, and a few huts built." 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' vol. ii. p. 40: "It used to seem to me a strange colonial anomaly to call a very small village a `township,' and a much larger one a `town.' But the former is the term applied to the lands reserved in various places for future towns." 1873. J. B. Stephens, `Black Gin,' p. 79: "There's a certain township and also a town,-- (For, to ears colonial, I need not state That the two do not always homologate)." 1888. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 439: [Mr. Parker is a Canadian who lived four years in Australia] "A few words of comparison here. A pub of Australia is a tavern or hotel in Canada; a township is a village; a stock-rider is a cow-boy; a humpy is a shanty; a warrigal or brombie 1s a broncho or cayuse; a sundowner is a tramp; a squatter is a rancher; and so on through an abundant list." 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 276: "Villages, which are always called `townships,' spring up suddenly round a railway-station or beside some country inn." 1894. `Sydney Morning Herald' (date lost): "A township--the suffix denotes a state of being--seems to be a place which is not in the state of being a town. Does its pride resent the impost of village that it is glad to be called by a name which is no name, or is the word loosely appropriated from America, where it signifies a division of a county? It is never found in England." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 38: "There stands the town of Dandaloo-- A township where life's total sum Is sleep, diversified with rum." <hw>Traveller</hw>, <i>n</i>. used specifically for a <i>Swagman</i>, a <i>Sundowner</i>. See quotation. 1868. Marcus Clarke, `Peripatetic Philosopher' (Reprint), p. 41: "At the station where I worked for some time (as `knock-about-man') three cooks were kept during the `wallaby' season--one for the house, one for the men, and one for the travellers. Moreover, `travellers' would not unfrequently spend the afternoon at one of the three hotels (which, with a church and a pound, constituted the adjoining township), and having `liquored up' extensively, swagger up to the station, and insist upon lodging and food--which they got. I have no desire to take away the character of these gentlemen travellers, but I may mention as a strange coincidence, that, was the requested hospitality refused by any chance, a bush-fire invariably occurred somewhere on the run within twelve hours." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 12, p. 8, col. 7: "Throughout the Western pastoral area the strain of feeding the `travellers,' which is the country euphemism for bush unemployed, has come to be felt as an unwarranted tax upon the industry, and as a mischievous stimulus to nomadism." 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 8, p. 249, col. 2: ". . . never refuses to feed travellers; they get a good tea and breakfast, and often 10 to 20 are fed in a day. These travellers lead an aimless life, wandering from station to station, hardly ever asking for and never hoping to get any work, and yet they expect the land-owners to support them. Most of them are old and feeble, and the sooner all stations stop giving them free rations the better it will be for the real working man. One station-owner kept a record, and he found that he fed over 2000 men in twelve months. This alone, at 6d. a meal, would come to L100, but this is not all, as they `bag' as much as they can if their next stage is not a good feeding station." <hw>Travellers' Grass</hw>, i.q. <i>Settler's Twine</i> (q.v.). <hw>Tree-creeper</hw>, <i>n</i>. popular name applied to members of an old Linnaean genus of birds. The Australian species are enumerated by Gould in quotation. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv.: Plate <i>Climacteris scandens</i>, Temm., Brown Tree-creeper . 93 <i>C. rufa</i>, Gould, Rufous T. . . . . . . . . 94 <i>C. erythrops</i>, Gould, Red-eyebrowed T. . . . . 95 <i>C. melanotus</i>, Gould, Black-backed T. . . . . 96 <i>C. melanura</i>, Gould, Black-tailed T. . . . . . 97 <i>C. picumnus</i>, Temm., Whitethroated T. . . . . 98 <hw>Tree-fern</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Fern-tree</i>. <hw>Tree-Kangaroo</hw>, called <i>Boongary</i> (q.v.) by the aboriginals. See <i>Dendrolagus</i> and <i>Kangaroo</i>. <hw>Tree-Runner</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Sittella</i> (q.v.). The species are-- Black-capped Tree-Runner-- <i>Sittella pileata</i>, Gould. Orange-winged T.-- <i>S. chrysoptera</i>, Lath. Pied T.-- <i>S. albata</i>, Ramsay. Slender-billed T.-- <i>S. tenuirostris</i>, Gould. Striated T.-- <i>S. striata</i>, Gould. White-headed T.-- <i>S. leucocephala</i>, Gould. White-winged T.-- <i>S. leucoptera</i>, Gould. But see Gould's earlier (1848), under <i>Sittella</i>. <hw>Tree-Tit</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word tit is terminally applied to many little English birds. In Australia, this new compound has been adopted for the two species, Short-billed Tree-tit, <i>Smicrornis brevirostris</i>, Gould, and Yellow-tinted Tit, <i>S. flavescens</i>, Gould. <hw>Tremandra</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of a genus of Australian plants, the <i>Purple Heath-flower</i>. Name given by R. Brown in 1814, from the remarkably tremulous anthers. (Lat. <i>tremere</i>, to tremble, and Grk. <i>'anaer</i>, <i>'andros</i> a man, taken as equivalent to "anther.") <hw>Trevally</hw>, or <hw>Trevalli</hw>, or <hw>Trevalla</hw>, or <hw>Travale</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian fish. In various localities the name is applied to several fishes, which are most of them of the family <i>Carangidae</i>, or <i>Horse-Mackerels</i>. An Old-World name for the Horse-Mackerels is <i>Cavalli</i> (Ital. <i>cavallo</i>, a little horse). <i>Trevalli</i> is sometimes called <i>Cavalli</i>; this was probably its original name in Australia, and <i>Trevalli</i> a later corruption. The different kinds are-- Black Trevally-- <i>Teuthis nebulosa</i>, Quoy, family <i>Teuthididae</i> (a New South Wales fish). Mackerel T. (so called in Tasmania)-- <i>Neptonemus dobula</i>, Gunth., family <i>Carangidae</i>. Silver T.-- Another Tasmanian name for the White Trevally, <i>Caranx georgianus</i> (see below). Snotgall T.-- <i>Neptonemus travale</i>, Casteln. (in Victoria); <i>N. brama</i>, Gunth. in Tasmania); both of the family of <i>Carangidae</i>. White T.-- <i>Caranx georgianus</i>, Cuv. and Val., family <i>Carangidae</i>; (so called in New South Wales, New Zealand, and Tasmania; in Victoria it is called <i>Silver Bream</i>). <i>Teuthis javus</i>, Linn., family <i>Tuethididae</i>. The Maori name for the <i>Trevally</i> is <i>Awara</i>, and in Auckland it is sometimes called the <i>Yellow-Tail</i> (q.v.). See also quotation, 1886. Guenther says, the genus <i>Teuthis</i> is readily recognised by the peculiar structure of the ventral fins, which have an outer and an inner spine and three soft rays between. 1769. `Capt. Cook's Journal' (edition Wharton, 1893), p. 164: "Several canoes came off to the ship, and two or three of them sold us some fish--cavallys as they are called--which occasioned my giving the Islands the same name." 1886. R. A. Sherrin, `Fishes of New Zealand,' p. 99: "Dr. Hector says: `The trevalli is the arara of the Maoris, or the trevalli or cavalli of the fishermen . . . In Auckland it is sometimes called the yellow-tail, but this name appears to be also used for the king-fish. The fish known as trevalli in the Dunedin market is a different fish, allied to the warehou.'" 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Fisheries Act' (Second Schedule): "Travale." <hw>Triantelope</hw>, <i>n</i>. a European comic variation of the scientific name <i>Tarantula</i>. It is applied in Australia to a spider belonging to a quite different genus, <i>Voconia</i>, a perfectly harmless spider, though popularly supposed to be poisonous. It has powerful mandibles, but will attack nobody unless itself attacked. 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 173: "The tarantulas, or `triantelopes,' as the men call them, are large, ugly spiders, very venomous." 1860. A Lady, `My Experiences in Australia,' p. 151: "There is no lack of spiders either, of all sorts and sizes, up to the large tarantula, or <i>tri-antelope</i>, as the common people persist in calling it." <hw>Tribonyx</hw>, <i>n</i>. There are several species of this bird in Australia and Tasmania, where they go by the name of <i>Native Hen</i>, and sometimes, erroneously, <i>Moor-hen</i> (q.v.). For the species, see <i>Native Hen</i>. No species of <i>Tribonyx</i> has been found wild in New Zealand, though other birds have been mistaken for the genus. 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. (Introd.), p. xiv: "I ought perhaps here to refer to a species mentioned in the former Introduction as a newly discovered addition to the New Zealand <i>Avifauna</i>, but now omitted from the list . . ." Ibid. p. liv: "<i>Tribonyx</i> has never actually occurred in a wild state [in New Zealand]." Ibid. p. 90: "<i>Tribonyx</i>, a bird incapable of flight, but admirably adapted for running." <hw>Trichosurus</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of a genus of the <i>Phalangers</i> (q.v.), or Australian <i>Opossums</i> (q.v.). (Grk. <i>trichos</i>, of hair, and <i>'oura</i>, tail.) <hw>Trickett</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang name for a long drink of beer in New South Wales, after Trickett, the New South Wales champion sculler. <hw>Trigger-plant</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Hairtrigger</i> (q.v.) plant; called also <i>Jack-in-a-box</i>. <hw>Trigonia</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bivalve marine mollusc with a nacreous interior, much admired in Tasmania and used for pendants and necklaces, <i>Trigonia margaritacea</i>, Lamarck, of the order <i>Pectinaceae</i>. It is the largest <i>trigonia</i> occurring in Australasia, and the only one found in Tasmania. Numerous extinct species are characteristic of the Mesozoic rocks. The only living species existing are confined to Australia. <hw>Trooper</hw>, <i>n</i>. a mounted policeman. The use is transferred from the name for a private soldier in a cavalry regiment. The <i>Native troopers</i>, or <i>Black police</i>, in Queensland, are a force of aboriginal police, officered by white men. 1858. T. McCombie, `History of Victoria,' c. viii. p. 100: "A violent effort [was] made by the troopers on duty to disperse an assemblage which occupied the space of ground in front of the hustings." 1864. J. Rogers, `New Rush,' p. 51: "A trooper spies him snoring in the street." 1868. J. A. B., `Meta,' canto iii. ver. 20, p. 72: "The felon crew . . . hard pressed by troopers ten." <hw>Tropic-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. The English name is applied because the bird is usually seen in the tropics. The species observed in Australia are--Red-tailed, <i>Phaeton rubricaudus</i>, Bodd.; White-tailed, <i>P. candidus</i>, Briss. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,'vol. vii. pl. 73: "<i>Phaeton Phoenicurus</i>, Gmel., Red-tailed Tropic Bird; New Holland Tropic Bird, Latham, `General History, vol. x. p. 448." <hw>Tropidorhynchus</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name of a genus of birds peculiar to Australia and New Guinea. The typical species has a knob on the bill, and the head and neck destitute of feathers. From Grk. <i>tropis</i>, the keel of a ship, and <i>rhunchos</i>, "beak." They are called <i>Friar Birds</i> (q.v.), and the generic name of <i>Tropidorhynchus</i> has been replaced by <i>Philemon</i> (q.v.). <hw>Trout</hw>, <i>n</i>. The English Trout has been naturalised in Australia. In Tasmania, the name of <i>Trout</i>, or <i>Mountain-Trout</i>, is also given to species of the genus <i>Galaxias</i>. See <i>Salmon</i>. <hw>Trumpeter</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A fish of Tasmanian, New Zealand, and Australian waters, but chiefly of Hobart-- <i>Latris hecateia</i>, Richards., family <i>Cirrhitidae</i>, much esteemed as a food-fish, and weighing sometimes 50 or 60 lbs. The name is probably from the noise made by the fish when taken out of the water. The name was formerly given to a different fish in Western Australia. See also <i>Bastard-Trumpeter</i>, <i>Morwong</i>, and <i>Paper-fish</i>. 1834. M. Doyle, `Letters and Journals of G. F. Moore, Swan River Settlement,' p. 191: "Many persons are trying to salt fish, which are very numerous in the river about and below Perth, as you must have seen by one of my letters, in which I mentioned our having taken 10,000 at one draught of the seine; these are of the kind called herrings, but do not look very like them; they make a noise when out of the water, and on that account are also called trumpeters." 1870. T. H. Braim, `New Homes,' vol. ii. p. 65: "The finest kinds are the guard-fish of the mainland and the trumpeter of the Derwent in Tasmania." 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 45: "The first of these [Latris] is the genus of the well-known `Hobart Town trumpeter,' a fish deservedly of high reputation." (2) An obsolete name in Tasmania for the black <i>Crow-Shrike</i> (q.v.), <i>Strepera fuliginosa</i>, Gould. 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' p. 177: "We also occasionally heard the trumpeter or black magpie." <hw>Trumpeter-Perch</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Mado</i> (q.v.). <hw>Trumpeter-Whiting</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Whiting</i>, quotation 1882. <hw>Tuan</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the <i>Flying-Squirrel</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Pongo</i>. 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 57: "The flying-squirrel, or tuan, is much sought after for its fine fur; of these there are two kinds, a large one of a dark colour, only found 1n the mountains; and a smaller description found in all parts of the colony, and better known by the native name, tuan." 1859. H. Kingsley, `Geoffrey Hamlyn,' p. 274: "The Touan, the little grey flying-squirrel, only begins to fly about at night, and slides down from his bough sudden and sharp." <hw>Tuatara</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name of a New Zealand lizard, or reptile, <i>Hatteria punctata</i>, Gray; called also <i>Sphenodon puntatum</i>. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 218: "Tua tira, a species of lizard." 1863. `Mahoe Leaves,' p. 47: "A small boy of a most precocious nature, who was termed `tua tara,' from a horrid sort of lizard that the natives abhor." 1890. `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition': "The Tuatara is the largest existing New Zealand reptile. It is closely allied to the Lizards; but on account of certain peculiarities of structure, some of which tend to connect it with the Crocodiles, is placed by Dr. Guenther in a separate order (<i>Rhynchocephalina</i>)." <hw>Tucker</hw>, <i>n</i>. Australian slang for food. <i>To tuck in</i> is provincial English for to eat, and <i>tuck</i> is a school-boy word for food, especially what is bought at a pastrycook's. <i>To make tucker</i> means to earn merely enough to pay for food. 1874. Garnet Walch, `Head over Heels,' p. 73: "For want of more nourishing tucker, I believe they'd have eaten him." 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for the Mail,' p. 33: "We heard of big nuggets, but only made tucker." 1890. `The Argus,' June 14, p. 14, col. 1: "When a travelling man sees a hut ahead, he knows there's water inside, and tucker and tea." 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 83: "I took my meal in the hut, but we'd both the same kind of tucker." <hw>Tui</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand bird, <i>Prosthemadera novae-zelandae</i>, Gray; called the <i>Parson-bird</i> (q.v.), and earlier the <i>Poe</i> (q.v.). Another name is the <i>Koko</i>, and the young bird is distinguished as <i>Pi-tui</i>, or <i>Pikari</i>. It is also called the <i>Mocking bird</i>. 1835. W. Yate, `Some Account of New Zealand,' p. 52: "Tui. This remarkable bird, from the versatility of its talents for imitation, has by some been called `the Mocking-Bird.'" 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 80: "The little birds were chiefly the tui, or mocking-bird. It resembles a blackbird in size and plumage, with two graceful bunches of white feathers under the neck. It abounds in the woods, and is remarkably noisy and active . . . it imitates almost every feathered inhabitant of the forest, and, when domesticated, every noise it hears." 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 170: "I saw several birds named the Tooi; they are black, about the size of a starling, and are sometimes called Parson-birds, as they have two white feathers like clergymen's bands in front of them." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 166: "One of the prettiest creatures is the tui, Parson-Bird of the colonists (<i>Prosthemadera Novae-Zelandae</i>), which roves about in the lofty, leafy crowns of the forest-trees." 1881. J. L. Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 102: "The tui, with his grand, rich note, made the wood musical." 1884. T. Bracken, `Lays of Maori,' p. 21: "Woo the Bell-bird from his nest, to ring The Tui up to sing his morning hymns." Ibid. p. 101: "I hear the swell Of Nature's psalms through tree and bush, From tui, blackbird, finch and thrush." 1889. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. i. facing p. 94.: [A plate entitled] "Tui, or parson-bird." Ibid. pp. 94-100: [A full description.] 1893. D. Frobisher, `Sketches of Gossipton,' p. 61: As the forest soft echoes brought back their sweet chorus, The <i>tuis</i> seemed silent from envy and spleen." <hw>Tulip, Native</hw>, i.q. <i>Waratah</i> (q.v.); and see <i>Telopea</i>. <hw>Tulip-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given, in Australia, to <i>Stenocarpus cunninghamii</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>, on account of the brilliancy of its bright-red flowers; called also <i>Queensland Fire-tree</i>. <hw>Tulip-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given, in Australia, to <i>Aphnanthe philipinensis</i>, Planch., <i>N.O. Urticaceae</i>, and to the timber of <i>Harpullia pendula</i>, Planch., <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>. It is, further, a synonym for the <i>Emu-Apple</i>. 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 39: "The tulip-wood, with its variegated flowers and delightful perfume, grows in abundance." <hw>Tumata-kuru</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for plant better known as <i>Wild Irishman</i> (q.v.), <i>Discaria toumatou</i>, Raoul. "A thorny plant, very difficult to handle." (Vincent Pyke.) <i>Tumatagowry</i>, or <i>Matagory</i> (q.v.), is the Southern corruption of contractors, labourers, and others. 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby,' p. 16: "Upon the arid flats, patches of Tumatu-kuru, and of a purple-flowering broom, struggle to maintain a scraggy existence." 1889. T. Kirk, `Forest Flora of New Zealand,' p. 283: "The tumatakuru merits a place in this work rather on account of its value in the past than of its present usefulness. In the early days of settlement in the South Island this afforded the only available timber in many mountain-valleys, and was frequently converted by hand sawyers for building purposes; being of great durability, it was found very serviceable, notwithstanding its small dimensions: the formation of roads has deprived it of value by facilitating the conveyance of ordinary building timber." <hw>Tuna</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Eel</i>. <hw>Tupakihi</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Tutu</i> (q.v.). <hw>Tupara</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori corruption of "two-barrel." Compare the aboriginal word <i>Whilpra</i> (q.v.). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 109: "He had previously despatched a messenger to me, begging me to bring some tupara, or `two-barrel.'" 1881. J. L.Campbell, `Poenamo,' p. 137: "They were labouring under the `tupera fever' [in 1840]. The percussion-gun had made its appearance, and the natives were not slow to see how much more effectual a weapon it was than the old flint `brown-bess.' And when they saw the tupera, double-barrelled gun, the rage at once set in to possess it." <hw>Tupong</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a Southern Australian fish, <i>Aphritis bassii</i>, Castln., family <i>Trachinidae</i>. Mr. J. Bracebridge Wilson says it is called <i>Marble-fish</i> in the Geelong district. It is also known as the <i>Freshwater Flathead</i>. <hw>Tupuna</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word, meaning ancestor, progenitor, male or female. Often used in the Land Courts in the question: "Who are your tupuna?" 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 113: "I asked his permission to ascend Tonga Riro . . . But he steadily refused, saying, `I would do anything else to show you my love and friendship, but you must not ascend my tepuna, or ancestor.'" 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 202: "Tupuna, to stand, to spring; an ancestor; hence Tu-pu, to grow." 1863. F. Maning (Pakeha Maori), `Old New Zealand,' p. 196: "One evening a smart, handsome lad came to tell me his <i>tupuna</i> was dying . . . The tribe were ke poto or assembled to the last man about the dying chief." <hw>Turbot</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to a New Zealand fish, called also <i>Lemon-Sole</i> (q.v.) or <i>Yellow-belly</i> (q.v.), <i>Ammotretis guntheri</i>. 1876. `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. viii. p. 215: "Turbot--a fish not uncommon in the Dunedin market, where it goes by the name of `lemon-sole.'" <hw>Turkey</hw>, <i>n</i>. This common English bird-name is applied in Australia to three birds, viz.-- (1) To the bird <i>Eupodotis australis</i>, Gray, which is a true <i>Bustard</i>, but which is variously called the <i>Native Turkey</i>, <i>Plain Turkey</i> (from its frequenting the plains), and <i>Wild Turkey</i>. (2) To the bird <i>Talegalla lathami</i>, Gould, called the <i>Brush Turkey</i> (from its frequenting the brushes), <i>Wattled Turkey</i> and <i>Wattled Talegalla</i> (from its fleshy wattles), and sometimes, simply, <i>Talegalla</i>. By Latham it was mistaken for a Vulture, and classed by him as the <i>New Holland Vulture</i>. (`General History of Birds,' 1821, vol. i. p. 32.) (3) To the bird <i>Leipoa ocellata</i>, Gould, called the <i>Scrub-Turkey</i> (from its frequenting the Scrubs, the <i>Lowan</i> (its aboriginal name), the <i>Native Pheasant</i> (of South Australia); in the Mallee district it is called <i>Mallee-bird</i>, <i>Mallee-fowl</i>, <i>Mallee-hen</i>. In the following quotations the number of the bird referred to is placed in square brackets at the end. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 14: "We passed several nests of the Brush-Turkey (<i>Talegalla Lathami</i>, Gould)." [2.] 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 260: "Several native bustards (<i>Otis Novae Hollandiae</i>, Gould) were shot." [1.] 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vi. pl. 4: "<i>Otis Australasianus</i>, Gould, Australian Bustard; Turkey, Colonists of New South Wales; Native Turkey, Swan River." [1.] 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pl. 77: "<i>Talegalla Lathami</i>, Wattled Talegalla; Brush-Turkey of the Colonists." [2.] 1872. C. H. Eden, `My wife and I in Queensland,' p. 122: "The bird that repaid the sportsman best was the plain turkey or bustard (<i>Otis Australasianus</i>), a noble fellow, the male weighing from eighteen to twenty pounds. They differ from the European birds in being good flyers. . . . The length of the wings is very great, and they look like monsters in the air." [1.] 1872. Ibid. p. 124: "The scrub-turkey (<i>Talegalla Lathami</i>) is a most curious bird; its habitat is in the thickest scrubs. In appearance it much resembles the English hen turkey, though but little larger than a fowl." [2.] 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 214: "Look at this immense mound. It is a scrub-turkey's nest. Thirty or forty lay their eggs in it. One could hardly imagine they could gather such a huge pile of sticks and earth and leaves. They bury their eggs, and heap up the nest until the laying time ceases. The moist heap heats and incubates the eggs. The young turkeys spring out of the shell, covered with a thick warm coat, and scratch their way into daylight, strong and able to provide food for themselves." [3.] 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "The bustard (<i>Eupodotis Australis</i>) is known by the colonists as the native turkey. It is excellent eating and is much sought after on that account. The hen bird lays only one egg, depositing it on the bare ground. Formerly they were numerous in the neighbourhood of Melbourne, but they have now been driven further inland; they are still abundant on the western plains and on the open Saltbush country of the Lower Murray. They are difficult to approach on foot, but it is easy to get within gunshot of them on horseback or driving. The natives used formerly to capture them in an ingenious manner by means of a snare; they approached their intended victim against the wind under cover of a large bush grasped in the left hand, while in the right was held a long slender stick, to the end of which was fastened a large fluttering moth, and immediately below a running noose. While the bird, unconscious of danger, was eyeing and pecking at the moth, the noose was dexterously slipped over its head by the cunning black, and the astonished bird at once paid the penalty of its curiosity with its life." [1.] 1891. Ibid.: "In the first division are several specimens of the Brush-Turkey (<i>Talegalla Lathami</i>) of Australia. These birds have excited world-wide interest in scientific circles, by their ingenious mode of incubating. They construct a large mound of vegetable mould and sand; mixed in such proportions that a gentle heat will be maintained, which hatches the buried eggs. The young chicks can look after themselves shortly after bursting the egg-shell." [2.] 1892. A. Sutherland, `Elementary Geography of British Colonies,' p. 274: "The brush-turkeys, which are not really turkeys but birds of that size, build big mounds of decaying vegetable matter, lay their eggs on the top, cover them over with leaves, and leave the whole to rot, when the heat of the sun above and of the fermentation below, hatches the eggs, and the young creep out to forage for themselves without ever knowing their parents." [2.] 1893. Professor H. A. Strong, in `Liverpool Mercury,' Feb. 13: "The well-known `wild turkey' of Australian colonists is a bustard, and he has the good sense to give a wide berth to the two-legged immigrants indeed the most common method of endeavouring to secure an approach to him is to drive up to him in a buggy, and then to let fly. The approach is generally made by a series of concentric circles, of which the victim is the centre. His flesh is excellent, the meat being of a rich dark colour, with a flavour resembling that of no other game bird with which I am acquainted." [1.] 1893. `The Argus,' March 25, p. 3, col. 5: "The brush-turkey (<i>Talegalla</i>), another of the sand-builders, lays a white egg very much like that of a swan, while the third of that wonderful family, the scrub-hen or <i>Megapode</i>, has an egg very long in proportion to its width." [2.] <hw>Turmeric</hw>, i.q. <i>Stinkwood</i> (q.v.); also applied occasionally to <i>Hakea dactyloides</i>, Cav., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. See Hakea. <hw>Turnip-wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. the timbers of the trees <i>Akania hillii</i>, J. Hook., <i>N.O. Sapindaceae</i>, and <i>Dysoxylon Muelleri</i>, Benth., N.O. Meliaceae, from their white and red colours respectively. <hw>Turpentine, Brush</hw>, name given to two trees-- <i>Metrosideros leptopetala</i>, F. v. M., also called <i>Myrtle</i>; and <i>Rhodamnia trinervia</i>, Blume, both <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. <hw>Turpentine-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is applied to many trees in Australia yielding a resin, but especially to the tree called <i>Tallow-Wood</i> (q.v.), <i>Eucalyptus microcorys</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>; to <i>Eucalyptus punctata</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, called also <i>Leather- Jacket</i>, <i>Hickory</i>, <i>Red</i>-, and <i>Yellow-Gun</i>, and <i>Bastard-Box</i>; and to <i>E. stuartiana</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. In New Zealand, it is also applied to the <i>Tarata</i>. See <i>Mapau</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 523: "[<i>E. Stuartiana</i> is] frequently called Turpentine Tree, or Peppermint Tree. In Victoria it is known as Apple Tree, Apple-scented Gum, White Gum, and Mountain Ash. It is the Woolly Butt of the county of Camden (New South Wales). Occasionally it is known as Stringybark. It is called Box about Stanthorpe (Queensland), Tea Tree at Frazer's Island (Queensland), and Red Gum in Tasmania." <hw>Turquoise-Berry</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Solomon's Seal</i> (q.v.). <hw>Tussock-grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tussock is an English word for a tuft of grass. From this a plant of the lily family, <i>Lomandra longifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Lilaceae</i>, is named <i>Tussock-grass</i>; it is "considered the best native substitute for esparto." (`Century.') 1884. Rolf Boldrewood, `Melbourne Memories,' c. v. p. 38: "The roof was neatly thatched with the tall, strong tussock-grass." <hw>Tussocker</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New Zealand name for a <i>Sundowner</i> (q.v.). 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby': "Now, a `sun-downer,' or `tussocker'--for the terms are synonymous--is a pastoral loafer; one who loiters about till dusk, and then makes for the nearest station or hut, to beg for shelter and food." <hw>Tutu</hw>, or <hw>Toot</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a shrub or small tree, <i>Coriaria ruscifolia</i>, Linn., or <i>C. sarmentosa</i>, Forst., of New Zealand, widely distributed. It bears greenish flowers, and shiny pulpy black berries. From these the Maoris make a wine resembling light claret, taking care to strain out and not to crush the seeds, which are poisonous, with an action similar to that of strychnine. It goes also by the name of <i>Wineberry-bush</i>, and the Maori name is Anglicised into <i>Toot</i>. In Maori, the final <i>u</i> is swallowed rather than pronounced. In English names derived from the Maori, a vowel after a mute letter is not sounded. It is called in the North Island <i>Tupakihi</i>. In Maori, the verb <i>tutu</i> means to be hit, wounded, or vehemently wild, and the name of the plant thus seems to be connected with the effects produced by its poison. To "eat your toot": used as a slang phrase; to become acclimatised, to settle down into colonial ways. 1857. R. Wilkin, in a Letter printed by C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand,' p. 372: "The plant called `tutu' or `toot' appears to be universal over New Zealand. If eaten by sheep or cattle with empty stomachs, it acts in a similar manner to green clover, and sometimes causes death; but if partaken of sparingly, and with grass, it is said to possess highly fattening qualities. None of the graziers, however, except one, with whom I conversed on the subject, seemed to consider toot worth notice; . . . it is rapidly disappearing in the older settled districts and will doubtless soon disappear here." 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand,' p. 395: "The wild shrub Tutu (<i>Coriaria ruscifolia</i>), greedily devoured by sheep and cattle, produces a sort of `hoven' effect, something like that of rich clover pastures when stock break in and over feed. . . . Bleeding and a dose of spirits is the common cure. . . Horses and pigs are not affected by it." 1861. C. C. Bowen, `Poems,' p. 57: "And flax and fern and tutu grew In wild luxuriance round." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 139: "The toot-plant, tutu or tupakihi of the Maoris (<i>Coriaria sarmentosa</i>, Forst. = <i>C. ruscifolia</i>, L.), is a small bush, one of the most common and widely distributed shrubs of the islands. [New Zealand.] It produces a sort of `hoven' or narcotic effect on sheep and cattle, when too greedily eaten. It bears a fruit, which is produced in clusters, not unlike a bunch of currants, with the seed external, of a purple colour. The poisonous portion of the plant to man are the seeds and seedstalks, while their dark purple pulp is utterly innoxious and edible. The natives express from the berries an agreeable violet juice (carefully avoiding the seed), called native wine." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 103: "The tutu-tree, Whose luscious purple clusters hang so free And tempting, though with hidden seeds replete That numb with deadly poison all who eat." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand,' p. 131: "Tupakihi, tree tutu. A perennial shrub ten to eighteen feet high; trunk six to eight inches in diameter. The so-called berries (fleshy petals) vary very much in succulence. . . . The juice is purple, and affords a grateful beverage to the Maoris; and a wine, like elderberry wine, has been made from them. The seeds and leaves contain a poisonous alkaloid, and produce convulsions, delirium and death, and are sometimes fatal to cattle and sheep." 1884. Alfred Cox, `Recollections,' p. 258: "When footpaths about Christchurch were fringed with tutu bushes, little boys were foolish enough to pluck the beautiful berries and eat them. A little fellow whose name was `Richard' ate of the fruit, grew sick, but recovered. When the punster heard of it, he said, `Ah! well, if the little chap had died, there was an epitaph all ready for him, <i>Decus et tutamen</i>. Dick has ate toot, amen.'" 1889. G. P. Williams and W. P. Reeves, `Colonial Couplets,' p. 20: "You will gather from this that I'm not `broken in,' And the troublesome process has yet to begin Which old settlers are wont to call `eating your tutu;' (This they always pronounce as if rhyming with boot)." 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby, p. 16 [Footnote]: "The poisonous tutu bushes. A berry-bearing, glossy-leaved plant, deadly to man and to all animals, except goats." 1891. T. H. Potts, `New Zealand Country Journal,' vol. xv. p. 103: "The Cockney new chum soon learnt to `eat his toot,' and he quickly acquired a good position in the district." <hw>Twenty-eight</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the <i>Yellow-collared Parrakeet</i>. Named from its note. See <i>Parrakeet</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pl. 19: "<i>Platycercus Semitorquatus</i>, Quoy and Gaim., Yellow-collared Parrakeet; Twenty-eight Parrakeet, Colonists of Swan River. It often utters a note which, from its resemblance to those words, has procured for it the appellation of `twenty-eight' Parrakeet from the Colonists; the last word or note being sometimes repeated five or six times in succession." <hw>Twine Bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Hakea flexilis</i>. See <i>Hakea</i>. <hw>Twine, Settler's</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Settler's Twine</i>. <hw>Two-hooded Furina-Snake</hw>. See under <i>Snake</i>. U <hw>Umbrella-bush</hw>, <i>Acacia osswaldi</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 363: "Often called `Umbrella-Bush,' as it is a capital shade tree. A small bushy tree." 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue--Economic Woods,' No. 17: "The plant is exquisitely adapted for tall hedges. It is often called the `umbrella tree,' as it gives a capital shade. The heart-wood is dark, hard, heavy and close-grained." <hw>Umbrella-grass</hw>, i.q. <i>Native Millet</i>, <i>Panicum decompositum</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. See <i>Millet</i>. It is called <i>Umbrella-grass</i>, from the shape of the branches at the top of the stem representing the ribs of an open umbrella. <hw>Umbrella-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to <i>Brassaia actinophylla</i>, Endl., <i>N.O. Araliaceae</i>, from the large leaves being set, like umbrella-ribs, at the top of numerous stems. <hw>Umu</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word, signifying a native oven. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 75: "The tangi had terminated; the umu or `cooking holes' were smoking away for the feast." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika, a Maui,' p. 389: "The native oven (umu hangi) is a circular hole of about two feet in diameter and from six to twelve inches deep." 1872. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. v. p. 96: ". . . being all in and around the <i>umus</i> (or native ovens) in which they had been cooked." 1882. S. Locke, `Traditions of Taupo,' `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xv. art. liv. p. 440: "They killed Kurimanga the priest and cooked him in an oven, from which circumstance the place is called Umu-Kuri." 1889. S. P. Smith, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxii. p. 98: "An oven of stones, exactly like a Maori umu or hangi." 1893. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxvi. p. 432: "The <i>oumu</i> or haangi, in which food was cooked, was only a hole scooped in the ground, of a size proportioned to that which was to be cooked." <hw>Union Nut</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fine cabinet timber, <i>Bosistoa sapindiformis</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. <hw>"Unlock the lands."</hw> A political cry in Victoria, meaning open up for <i>Free-selection</i> (q.v.) the lands held by squatters on lease. 1887. J. F. Hogan, `The Irish in Australia,' p. 290: "The democratic party, that had for its watchword the expressive phrase, `Unlock the lands.'" <hw>Unpayable</hw>, <i>adj</i>. not likely to pay for working; not capable of yielding a profit over working expenses. (A very rare use.) 1896. `The Argus,' Dec. 26, p. 5, col. 3: "Unpayable Lines.--The Commissioner of Railways has had a return prepared showing the results of the working of 48 lines for the year ending 30th June, 1896. Of these, 33, covering 515 miles, do not pay working expenses, and are reckoned to be the worst lines in the colony." <hw>Utu</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Maori word for "Return, price paid, reward, ransom, satisfaction for injuries received, reply." (Williams.) Sometimes corrupted by Englishmen into <i>Hoot</i> (q.v.). 1840. J. S. Polack, `Manners and Customs of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 63: "Utu or payment is invariably expected for any injustice committed, and is exacted in some shape, the sufferer feeling debased in his own opinion until he obtains satisfaction. The <i>Utu</i>, similar to the <i>tapu</i>, enters into everything connected with this people." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 29: "He asserted that we should pay for the tapu; but suggested as an amendment that the utu or `payment' should be handed to him." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 252: "Utu, which may be freely translated `blood for blood,' is with him [the Maori] a sacred necessity. It is the <i>lex talionis</i> carried out to the letter. The exact interpretation of the formidable little word `Utu' is, I believe, `payment.'" 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 61: "The learned commissioner's court was instantly besieged by bands of natives vociferating for more `utu' (payment), and threatening the settlers with the tomahawk if more `utu' were not instantly accorded." 1872. A. Domett, `Ranolf,' p. 470: "Besides that, for such shining service done, A splendid claim, he reckoned, would arise For `<i>utu</i>'--compensation or reward." 1873. H. Carleton, `Life of Henry Williams,' p. 79: "Blood for blood, or at least blood money, is Maori law. Better the blood of the innocent than none at all, is a recognised maxim of the Maori law of utu." V <hw>Vandemonian</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. belonging to Van Diemen's land, the old name of Tasmania; generally used of the convicts of the early days; and the <i>demon</i> in the word is a popular application of the law of Hobson-Jobson. Now obsolete. 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' (edition 1855), p. 533: "The Van Diemonians, as they unpleasingly call themselves, or permit themselves to be called, are justly proud of their horse-flesh." 1853. S. Sidney, `Three Colonies of Australia' (2nd edit.), p. 171: "One of the first acts of the Legislative Assemblies created by the Australian Reform Bill of 1850 was to pass . . . acts levelled against Van Diemonian expirees." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Victoria,' vol. i, p. 367: "Unquestionably some of the Van Diemenian convicts." 1867. `Cassell's Magazine,' p. 440: "`I never wanted to leave England,' I have heard an old Vandemonian observe boastfully. `I wasn't like one of these `Jemmy Grants' (cant term for `emigrants'); I could always earn a good living; it was the Government as took and sent me out." <hw>Vandemonianism</hw>, <i>n</i>. rowdy conduct like that of an escaped convict; the term is now obsolete. 1863. `Victorian Hansard,' April 22, vol. ix. p. 701: "Mr. Houston looked upon the conduct of hon. gentlemen opposite as ranging from the extreme of vandemonianism to the extreme of nambypambyism." <hw>Van Diemen's Land</hw>, the name given to the colony now called Tasmania, by Abel Jansz Tasman, the Dutch navigator, in 1642, after Anthony Van Diemen, Governor-General of the Dutch East Indies. The name was changed to <i>Tasmania</i> (q.v.) in 1853, on the granting of Responsible Government. <hw>Vedalia</hw>, <i>n</i>. a genus of greedily predatory ladybirds. The <i>V. cardinalis</i> of Australia was imported by the United States Government from Australia and New Zealand into California in 1888-89, in order to kill the <i>fluted scale</i> (<i>Icerya purchasi</i>), a fruit-pest. It destroyed the scale in nine months. <hw>Velvet-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the fish <i>Holoxenus cutaneus</i>, Gunth., family <i>Cirrhitidae</i>. The skin is covered with minute appendages, so soft to the touch as to suggest velvet; the colour is deep purplish red. <hw>Verandah</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, the heat of the sun makes verandahs much commoner than in England. They are an architectural feature of all dwelling-houses in suburb or in bush, and of most City shops, where they render the broad side-walks an almost continuous arcade. "Under the Verandah " has acquired the meaning, "where city men most do congregate." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. xxvii. p. 418: "In Melbourne there is the `verandah'; in Sandhurst there is a `verandah'; in Ballaarat there is a `verandah.' The verandah is a kind of open exchange--some place on the street pavement, apparently selected by chance, on which the dealers in mining shares do congregate." 1895. Modern. Private Letter of an Australian on Tour: "What I miss most in London is the <i>Verandahs</i>. With this everlasting rain there is no place to get out of a shower, as in Melbourne. But I suppose it pays the umbrella-makers." <hw>V-hut</hw>, a term used in the province of Canterbury, New Zealand. See quotations. 1857. R. B. Paul, `Letters from Canterbury,' p. 57: "The form is that of a <i>V hut</i>, the extremities of the rafters being left bare, so as to form buttresses to the walls" (of the church). 1863. S. Butler, `First Year in Canterbury,' p. 73: "I am now going to put up a V-hut on the country that I took up on the Rangitata. . . . It consists of a small roof set up on the ground; it is a hut all roof and no walls." 1879. C. L.Innes, `Canterbury Sketches,' p. 20: "In case my readers may not know what a `V' hut is like, I will describe one:--It is exactly as if you took the roof off a house and stood it on the ground, you can only stand upright in the middle." 1896. Jan. A Traveller's note: "Not long ago a Canterbury lady said--`I was born in a V-hut, and christened in a pie-dish.'" <hw>Victoria</hw>, <i>n</i>. the name of the smallest of all the Australian colonies. It was separated from New South Wales in 1851, when it was named after Queen Victoria. Sir Thomas Mitchell had before given it the name of "Australia Felix," and Dr. J. D. Lang wanted the name "Phillipsland." He published a book with that title in 1847. Previous to separation, the name used was "the Port Phillip District of New South Wales." <hw>Village Settlement</hw>, the system, first adopted in New Zealand, whence it spread to the other colonies, of settling families on the land in combination. The Government usually helps at first with a grant of money as well as granting the land. <hw>Vine</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, the word is loosely applied to many trailing or creeping plants, which help to form scrubs and thickets. In the more marked cases specific adjectives are used with the word. See following words. 1849. J. P. Townsend, `Rambles in New South Wales,' p. 22: "With thick creepers, commonly called `vines.'" 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. ii. p. 21: "Impenetrable vine-scrubs line the river-banks at intervals." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 25: "Vitis in great abundance and of many varieties are found especially in the scrubs, hence the colonists call this sort of brush, vine-scrub." <hw>Vine, Balloon</hw>. See <i>Balloon Vine</i>. <hw>Vine, Burdekin</hw>. Called also <i>Round Yam</i>, <i>Vitis opaca</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Ampelideae</i>. <hw>Vine, Caustic</hw>, i.q. <i>Caustic-Plant</i> (q.v.). <hw>Vine, Lawyer</hw>. See <i>Lawyer</i>. <hw>Vine, Macquarie Harbour</hw>, or <hw>Macquarie Harbour Grape</hw> (q.v.). Same as <i>Native Ivy</i>. See <i>Ivy</i>. 1891. `Chambers' Encyclopaedia,' s.v. <i>Polygonaeae</i>: "<i>Muhlenbeckia adpressa</i> is the Macquarie Harbour Vine of Tasmania, an evergreen climbing or trailing shrub of most rapid growth, sometimes 60 feet in length. It produces racemes of fruit somewhat resembling grapes or currants, the nut being invested with the large and fleshy segments of the calyx. The fruit is sweetish and subacid, and is used for tarts." 1884. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains,' p. 99: "How we saw the spreading myrtles, Saw the cypress and the pine, Saw the green festoons and bowers Of the dark Macquarie vine, Saw the blackwoods and the box-trees, And the spiral sassafrases, Saw the fairy fern-trees mantled With their mossy cloak of grasses." <hw>Vine, Native Pepper</hw>. See <i>Climbing Pepper</i>, under <i>Pepper</i>. <hw>Vine, Wonga Wonga</hw>. See <i>Wonga Wonga Vine</i>. W <hw>Waddy</hw>. (1) An aboriginal's war club. But the word is used for wood generally, even for firewood. In a kangaroo hunt, a man will call out, "Get off and kill it with a waddy," i.e. any stick casually picked up. In pigeon-English, "little fellow waddy" means a small piece of wood. In various dictionaries, e.g. Stanford, the word is entered as of aboriginal origin, but many now hold that it is the English word <i>wood</i> mispronounced by aboriginal lips. L. E. Threlkeld, in his `Australian Grammar,' at p. 10, enters it as a "barbarism "--"<i>waddy</i>, a cudgel." A `barbarism,' with Threlkeld, often means no more than `not in use on the Hunter River'; but in this case his remark may be more appropriate. On the other hand, the word is given as an aboriginal word in Hunter's `Vocabulary of the Sydney Dialect' (1793), and in Ridley's `Kamilaroi' (1875), as used at George's River. The Rev. J. Mathew writes: "The aboriginal words for <i>fire</i> and <i>wood</i> are very often, in fact nearly always, interchangeable, or interchanged, at different places. The old Tasmanian and therefore original Australian term for wood and fire, or one or the other according to dialect, is <i>wi</i> (wee) sometimes <i>win</i>. These two forms occur in many parts of Australia with numerous variants, <i>wi</i> being obviously the radical form. Hence there were such variants as <i>wiin, waanap</i>, <i>weenth</i> in Victoria, and at Sydney <i>gweyong</i>, and at Botany Bay <i>we</i>, all equivalent to fire. <i>Wi</i> sometimes took on what was evidently an affixed adjective or modifying particle, giving such forms as <i>wibra, wygum, wyber</i>, <i>wurnaway</i>. The modifying part sometimes began with the sound of <i>d</i> or <i>j</i> (into which of course <i>d</i> enters as an element). Thus modified, <i>wi</i> became <i>wadjano</i> on Murchison River, Western Australia; <i>wachernee</i> at Burke River, Gulf of Carp.; <i>wichun</i> on the Barcoo; <i>watta</i> on the Hunter River, New South Wales; <i>wudda</i> at Queanbeyan, New South Wales. These last two are obviously identical with the Sydney <i>waddy</i> = `wood.' The argument might be lengthened, but I think what I have advanced shows conclusively that <i>Waddy</i> is the Tasmanian word <i>wi</i> + a modifying word or particle." 1814. Flinders, `Voyage,' vol. ii. p. 189: "Some resembling the whaddie, or wooden sword of the natives of Port Jackson." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 20: "It is amusing to see the consequential swagger of some of these dingy dandies, as they pass lordly up our streets, with a waddie twirling in their black paws." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 66: "Such a weapon as their waddy is: it is formed like a large kitchen poker, and nearly as heavy, only much shorter in the handle. The iron-bark wood, of which it is made, is very hard, and nearly as heavy as iron." 1844. Mrs. Meredith, `Notes and Sketches of New South Wales,' p. 106: "The word `waddie,' though commonly applied to the weapons of the New South Wales aborigines, does not with them mean any particular implement, but is the term used to express wood of any kind, or trees. `You maan waddie 'long of fire,' means `Go and fetch firewood.'" 1845. J. O. Balfour, `Sketch of New South Wales,' p. 17: "The Lachlan black, who, with his right hand full of spears, his whaddie and heleman in his left, was skipping in the air, shouting his war cry." 185o. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 54: "A waddy, a most formidable bludgeon." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 101: "The waddy is a heavy, knobbed club about two feet long, and is used for active service, foreign or domestic. It brains the enemy in the battle, or strikes senseless the poor gin in cases of disobedience or neglect." 1864. `Once a Week,' Dec. 31, p. 45, `The Bulla Bulla Bunyip': "The landlord swore to the apparition of a huge blackfellow flourishing a phantasmal `waddy.'" 1879. C. W. Schuermann, `Native Tribes of Australia--Port Lincoln Tribe,' p. 214: "The wirris, by the whites incorrectly named waddies, are also made of gum saplings; they are eighteen inches in length, and barely one inch in diameter, the thin end notched in order to afford a firm hold for the hand, while towards the other end there is a slight gradual bend like that of a sword; they are, however, without knobs, and every way inferior to the wirris of the Adelaide tribes. The natives use this weapon principally for throwing at kangaroo-rats or other small animals." 1886. R. Henty, `Australiana,' p. 18: "The `waddy' is a powerful weapon in the hands of the native. With unerring aim he brings down many a bird, and so materially assists in replenishing the family larder." 1892. J. Fraser, `Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 74: "A general name for all Australian clubs is `waddy,' and, although they are really clubs, they are often used as missiles in battle." (2) The word is sometimes used for a walking-stick. <hw>Waddy</hw>, <i>v. trans</i>. to strike with a waddy. 1855. Robert Lowe (Viscount Sherbrooke), `Songs of the Squatters,' canto ii. st. 7: "When the white thieves had left me, the black thieves appeared, My shepherds they waddied, my cattle they speared." 1869. `Victorian Hansard,' Nov. 18, vol. ix. p. 2310, col. 2: "They were tomahawking them, and waddying them, and breaking their backs." 1882. A. Tolmer, `Reminiscences,' p. 291: "In the scuffle the native attempted to waddy him." 1893. `The Argus,' April 8, p. 4, col. 3: "Only three weeks before he had waddied his gin to death for answering questions asked her by a blacktracker." 1896. A. B. Paterson, `Man from Snowy River,' p. 45: "For they waddied one another, till the plain was strewn with dead, While the score was kept so even that they neither got ahead." <hw>Waddy Wood</hw>, or <hw>White Wood</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Tasmania to the tree <i>Pittosporum bicolor</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>; from which the aboriginals there chiefly made their Waddies. 1851. `Papers and Proceedings of the Royal Society of Van Diemen's Land,' vol. i. p. 156: "11th October, 1848. . . a sample of a very fine close-grained white timber, considered by him suitable for wood-engraving purposes, obtained in a defile of Mount Wellington. It seems to be the young wood of <i>Pittosporum bicolor</i>, formerly in high estimation amongst the Aborigines of Tasmania, on account of its combined qualities of density, hardness, and tenacity, as the most suitable material of which to make their warlike implement the waddie." <hw>Wagtail</hw>, or <hw>Wagtail Fly-catcher</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, <i>Rhipidura tricolor</i>, the <i>Black-and-white Fantail</i>, with black-and-white plumage like a pied wagtail. See also quotation, 1896. The name is applied sometimes in Gippsland, and was first used in Western Australia as a name for the <i>Black-and-white Fantail</i>. See <i>Fantail</i>. 1885. R. M. Praed, `Head-Station,' p. 24: "He pointed to a Willy-wagtail which was hopping cheerfully from stone to stone." 1896. A. J. North, `List of the Insectivorous Birds of New South Wales,' pt i. p. 13: "Salltoprocta motacilloides, <i>Vig. and Horsf</i>. `Black and White Fantail.' `Water Wagtail.'. . . From this bird's habit of constantly swaying its lengthened tail feathers from side to side it is locally known in many districts as the `Willy Wagtail.'" <hw>Wahine</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a woman. The <i>i</i> is long. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 29: "Having enquired how many (wives) the Kings of England had, he laughed heartily at finding they were not so well provided, and repeatedly counted `four wahine' (women) on his fingers." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), p. 289: "A group of whyenees and piccaninnies." 1893. `Otago Witness,' Dec. 21, p. 11, col. 5: "It is not fit that a daughter of the great tribe should be the slave-wife of the pakeha and the slave of the white wahine." <hw>Waipiro</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for spirits,-- literally, stinking water, from <i>piro</i>, stinking, and <i>wai</i>, water. In New Zealand geography, the word <i>Wai</i> is very common as the first part of many names of harbours, lakes, etc. Compare North-American Indian <i>Fire-water</i>. 1845. W. Brown, `New Zealand and its Inhabitants,' p. 132: "Another native keeps a grog-shop, and sells his <i>waipero</i>, as he says, to <i>Hourangi</i> drunken pakehas." 1863. F. Maning (Pakeha Maori), `Old New Zealand,' p. 169: "He would go on shore, in spite of every warning, to get some water to mix with his <i>waipiro</i>, and was not his canoe found next day floating about with his paddle and two empty case bottles in it?" 1873. Lt.-col. St. John, `Pakeha Rambles through Maori Lands,' p. 167: "When we see a chance of getting at waipiro, we don't stick at trifles." 1887. The Warrigal, `Picturesque New Zealand,' `Canterbury Weekly Press,' March 11: "The priest was more than epigrammatic when he said that the Maoris' love for `waipiro' (strong waters) was stronger than their morals." <hw>Wairepo</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the fish called <i>Stingray</i>. <hw>Wait-a-while</hw>, <i>n</i>. also called <i>Stay-a-while</i>: a thicket tree. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 306: "<i>Acacia colletioides</i>, A. Cunn., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>, `Wait-a-while' (a delicate allusion to the predicament of a traveller desirous of penetrating a belt of it)." <hw>Waka</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for canoe. <i>Waka huia</i> is a box for keeping feathers, originally the feathers of the <i>huia</i> (q.v.). 1874. W. M. Baynes, `Narrative of Edward Crewe,' p. 81: "`Whaka' is the native name, or rather the native genetic term, for all canoes, of which there are many different kinds, as tete, pekatu, kopapa, and others answering in variety to our several descriptions of boats, as a `gig,' a `whaleboat,' a `skiff,' a `dingy,' etc." 1878. R. C. Barstow, `On the Maori Canoe,' `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xi. art. iv. p. 72: "Canoes may be divided into four classes; <i>Waka-taua</i> or <i>Waka-hitau</i> were canoes, fully carved; the <i>Waka-tetee</i>, which, generally smaller, had a plain figure-head and stern; <i>Waka-tiwai</i>, an ordinary canoe of one piece, and the <i>kopapa</i> or small canoe, usually used for fishing, travelling to cultivation, etc." <hw>Wakiki</hw>, <i>n</i>. shell money of the South Sea Islands. <hw>Waler</hw>, <i>n</i>. Anglo-Indian name for an Australian horse imported from New South Wales into India, especially for the cavalry. Afterwards used for any horse brought from Australia. 1863. B. A. Heywood, `Vacation Tour at the Antipodes,' p. 134: "Horses are exported largely from Australia to India even. I have heard men from Bengal talk of the `Walers,' meaning horses from New South Wales." 1866. G. 0. Trevelyan, `Dawk Bungalow,' p. 223 [Yule's `Hobson Jobson']: "Well, young Shaver, have you seen the horses? How is the Waler's off fore-leg?" 1873. `Madras Mail,' June 25 [Yule's `Hobson Jobson']: "For sale. A brown Waler gelding." 1888. R. Kipling, `Plain Tales from the Hills,' p. 224: "The soul of the Regiment lives in the Drum-Horse who carries the silver kettle-drums. He is nearly always a big piebald Waler." 1896. `The Melburnian,' Aug. 28, p. 62: "C. R. Gaunt is Senior Subaltern of the 4th (Royal Irish) Dragoon Guards, at present stationed at Rawul Pindi in India. He won the Regimental Cup Steeplechase this year on an Australian mare of his own. Australian horses are called `Walers' in India, from the circumstance of their being generally imported from New South Wales." <hw>Walking-Leaf</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Phasmid</i>. <hw>Walking-stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Phasmid</i>. <hw>Walking-stick Palm</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Palm</i>. <hw>Wallaby</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name used for the smaller kinds of Kangaroos of the genus <i>Macropus</i> (q.v.), formerly classed as <i>Halmaturus</i>. An aboriginal word. See Collins, 1798, below. (<i>Wolbai</i>, in the Kabi dialect of South Queensland, means a young creature.) Also spelt <i>Walloby, Wallabee</i>, and <i>Wallobi</i>. As in the case of <i>Kangaroo</i> (q.v.), the plural is a little uncertain, <i>Wallaby</i> or <i>Wallabies</i>. Some of them are sometimes called <i>Brush-Kangaroos</i> (q.v.). The following are the species-- Agile Wallaby-- <i>Macropus agilis</i>, Gould. Aru Island W.-- <i>M. brunnii</i>, Schraeber. Black-gloved W.-- <i>M. irma</i>, Jourd. Black-striped W.-- <i>M. dorsalis</i>, Gray. Black-tailed W.-- <i>M. ualabatus</i>, Less. and Garm. Branded W.-- <i>M. stigmaticus</i>, Gould. Cape York W.-- <i>M. coxeni</i>, Gray. Dama W.-- <i>M. eugenii</i>, Desm. Pademelon-- <i>M. thetidis</i>, Less. Parma W.-- <i>M. parma</i> , Waterh. Parry's W.-- <i>M. parryi</i>, Bennett. Red-legged W.-- <i>M. wilcoxi</i>, McCoy. Red-necked W., Grey's W.-- <i>M. ruficollis</i>, Desm. Rufous-bellied W.-- <i>M. billardieri</i>, Desm. Short-tailed W.-- <i>M. brachyurus</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Sombre W.-- <i>M. brownii</i>, Ramsay. In addition, there are six species of <i>Rock-Wallaby</i> (q.v.), genus <i>Petrogale</i> (q.v.). See also <i>Paddymelon</i>. Three species of <i>Nail-tailed Wallabies</i>, genus <i>Onychogale</i> (q.v.), are confined to Australia. They are the Nail-tailed Wallaby, <i>Onychogale unguifera</i>, Gould; Bridled W., <i>O. frenata</i>, Gould; Crescent W., <i>O. lunata</i>, Gould. Three species of <i>Hare-Wallabies</i> (genus <i>Lagorchestes</i>, q.v.), confined to Australia, are the Spectacled Hare-Wallaby, <i>Lagorchestes conspiculatus</i>, Gould; Common H. W., <i>L. leporoides</i>, Gould; Rufous H. W., <i>L. hirsutus</i>, Gould. One species, called the <i>Banded-Wallaby</i> (genus, <i>Lagostrophus</i>, q.v.), confined to Western Australia, is <i>L. fasciatus</i>, Peron and Less. For etymology, see <i>Wallaroo</i>. 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 614 [Vocabulary]: "Wal-li-bah--a black kangaroo." 1830. R. Dawson' `Present State of Australia,' p. 111: "In the long coarse grass with which these flats are always covered, a species of small kangaroo is usually found, which the natives call the `wallaby.' Their colour is darker than that of the forest kangaroo, approaching almost to that of a fox, and they seat themselves in the grass like a hare or a rabbit." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 28: "The wallabee is not very common." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. ix. p. 267: "The Wallaby are numerous on this part of the island." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 49: "Rock wallabies were very numerous." Ibid. c. xii. p. 418: "They returned with only a red wallabi (<i>Halmaturus agilis</i>)." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 37: "The rock Wallaby, or Badger, also belongs to the family of the kangaroo; its length from the nose to the end of the tail is three feet; the colour of the fur being grey-brown." 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 12: "Sipping doubtfully, but soon swallowing with relish, a plate of wallabi-tail soup." 1865. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `History of the Discovery and Exploration of Australia,' vol. ii. p. 18: "Eyre succeeded in shooting a fine wallaby." [Note]: "A small kind of kangaroo, inhabiting the scrub." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' c. vii. p. 117: "I have also been frowned upon by bright eyes because I could not eat stewed wallabi. Now the wallabi is a little kangaroo, and to my taste it is not nice to eat even when stewed to the utmost with wine and spices." 1880. Garnet Watch, `Victoria in 1880,' p. 7: "To hear . . . that wallabies are `the women of the native race' cannot but be disconcerting to the well-regulated colonial mind." [He adds a footnote]: "It is on record that a journalistically fostered impression once prevailed, to high English circles, to the effect that a certain colonial Governor exhibited immoral tendencies by living on an island in the midst of a number of favourite wallabies, whom he was known frequently to caress." 188x. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 213: "Now one hears the pat-pat-pat of a wallaby." 1885. J. B. Stephens, `To a Black Gin,' p. 5: "Of tons of 'baccy, and tons more to follow,-- Of wallaby as much as thou could'st swallow,-- Of hollow trees, with 'possums in the hollow." 1886. J. A. Froude, `Oceana,' p. 309: "My two companions . . . went off with the keeper [sic] to shoot wallaby. Sir George (Grey) has a paternal affection for all his creatures, and hates to have them killed. But the wallaby multiply so fast that the sheep cannot live for them, and several thousands have to be destroyed annually." 1888. Sir C. Gavan Duffy, in the `Contemporary Review,' vol. liii. p. 3: "`Morality!' exclaimed the colonist. `What does your lordship suppose a wallaby to be?' `Why, a half-caste, of course.' `A wallaby, my lord, is a dwarf kangaroo!'" <hw>Wallaby-Bush</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tall shrub or tree, <i>Beyeria viscosa</i>, Miq., <i>N.O. Euphorbiaceae</i>. Same as the <i>Pinkwood</i> of Tasmania. <hw>Wallaby-Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian grass, <i>Danthonia penicillata</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 82: "`Wallaby Grass.' This perennial artificial grass is useful for mixed pasture." <hw>Wallaby-skin</hw>, the skin, with the hair on it, of the wallaby, prized as a warm and ornamental fur for rugs. 1890. `The Argus,' June13, p.6, col. 2: "A quantity of hair, a wallaby-skin rug. <hw>Wallaby track, On the</hw>, or <hw>On the Wallaby</hw>, or <hw>Out on the Wallaby</hw>, or simply <hw>Wallaby</hw>, as <i>adj</i>. [slang]. Tramping the country on foot, looking for work. Often in the bush the only perceptible tracks, and sometimes the only tracks by which the scrub can be penetrated, are the tracks worn down by the <i>Wallaby</i>, as a hare tramples its "form." These tracks may lead to water or they may be aimless and rambling. Thus the man "<i>on the wallaby</i>" may be looking for food or for work, or aimlessly wandering by day and getting food and shelter as a <i>Sundowner</i> (q.v.) at night. 1869. Marcus Clarke, `Peripatetic Philosopher' (Reprint), p. 41: "The Wimmera district is noted for the hordes of vagabond `loafers' that it supports, and has earned for itself the name of `The Feeding Track.' I remember an old bush ditty, which I have heard sung when <i>I</i> was on the `Wallaby.' . . . At the station where I worked for some time (as `knockabout man') three cooks were kept during the `wallaby' season--one for the house, one for the men, and one for the travellers." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Colonial Reformer,' p. 82: "`What is the meaning of `out on the wallaby'?' asked Ernest. `Well, it's bush slang, sir, for men just as you or I might be now, looking for work or something to eat; if we can't get work, living on the country, till things turn round a little.'" Ibid. p. 388: "Our friends who pursue the ever-lengthening but not arduous track of the wallaby in Australia." 1893. Gilbert Parker, `Pierre and his People,' p. 242: "The wallaby track? That's the name in Australia for trampin' west, through the plains of the Never Never Country, lookin' for the luck o' the world." 1894. Longmans' `Notes on Books' (May 31), p. 206: "`On the Wallaby: a Book of Travel and Adventure.' `On the Wallaby' is an Australianism for `on the march,' and it is usually applied to persons tramping the bush in search of employment." 1894. Jennings Carmichael, in `Australasian,' Dec. 22, p. 1127, col. 5: "A `wallaby' Christmas, Jack, old man!-- Well, a worse fate might befall us! The bush must do for our church to-day, And birds be the bells to call us. The breeze that comes from the shore beyond, Thro' the old gum-branches swinging, Will do for our solemn organ chords, And the sound of children singing." 1896. H. Lawson, `When the World was Wide,' p. 134: "Though joys of which the poet rhymes Was not for Bill an' me I think we had some good old times Out on the Wallaby." <hw>Wallaroo</hw>, <i>n</i>. native name for a large species of Kangaroo, the mountain kangaroo, <i>Macropus robustus</i>, Gould. The black variety of Queensland and New South Wales is called locally the <i>Wallaroo</i>, the name <i>Euro</i> being given in South and Central Australia to the more rufous- coloured variety of the same species. In the aboriginal language, the word <i>walla</i> meant `to jump,' and <i>walla-walla</i> `to jump quickly.' 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i.: "The wallaroo, of a blackish colour, with coarse shaggy fur, inhabiting the hills." 1846. C. P. Hodgson, `Reminiscences of Australia,' p. 157: "Some very fierce and ready to attack man, such as the large mountain `wolloroo.'" 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 481: "Charley shot a Wallooroo just as it was leaping, frightened by our footsteps, out of its shady retreat to a pointed rock." [On p. 458, Leichhardt spells <i>Wallurus</i>, plural] 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 50: "The Wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass." 1868 (before). C. Harpur, `Creek of the Four Graves'(edition 1883), p. 49: "Up the steep, Between the climbing forest-growths they saw, Perched on the bare abutments of the hills, Where haply yet some lingering gleam fell through, The wallaroo look forth." [Footnote]: "A kind of large kangaroo, peculiar to the higher and more difficult mountains." 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 328: "A wallaroo, a peculiar kind of kangaroo (<i>Macropus robustus</i>), which was kept tame at a station, showed a marked fondness for animal food, particularly for boiled salt beef. A dove had been its companion, and these two animals were the best of friends for half-a-year, when the wallaroo one day killed its companion and partly ate it." 1895. `The Australasian,' June 22, 1181, col. 1 [Answers to Correspondents]: "Professor Baldwin Spencer kindly deals with the question as follows:--What is the distinction between a wallaroo and a wallaby?--A wallaroo is a special form of kangaroo (<i>Macropus robustus</i>) living in the inland parts of Queensland and New South Wales. Wallaby is the name given to several kinds of smaller kangaroos, such as the common scrub wallaby (<i>Macropus ualabatus</i>) of Victoria. The wallaroo is stouter and heavier in build, its fur thicker and coarser, and the structure of its skull is different from that of an ordinary wallaby." <hw>Wallflower, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for <i>Pultenaea subumbellata</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. In Australia, used as another name for one of the <i>Poison- Bushes</i> (q-v.). <hw>Wandoo</hw>, <i>n</i>. Western Australian aboriginal word for the <i>White Gum-tree</i> of Western Australia, <i>Eucalyptus redunca</i>, Schauer, <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. It has a trunk sometimes attaining seventeen feet in diameter, and yields a hard durable wood highly prized by wheelwrights. <hw>Waratah</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian flower. There are three species, belonging to the genus <i>Telopea</i>, <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>. The New South Wales species, <i>T. speciosissima</i>, R. Br., forms a small shrub growing on hill-sides, as does also the Tasmanian species, <i>T. truncata</i>, R. Br.; the Victorian species, <i>T. oreades</i>, F. v. M., called the <i>Gippsland Waratah</i>, grows to a height of fifty feet. It has a bright crimson flower about three inches in diameter, very regular. Sometimes called the <i>Australian</i> or <i>Native Tulip</i>. As emblematic of Australia, it figures on certain of the New South Wales stamps and postcards. The generic name, <i>Telopea</i> (q.v.), has been corrupted into <i>Tulip</i> (q.v.). Its earliest scientific generic name was <i>Embothrium</i>, Smith. 1793. E. Smith, `Specimen of Botany of New Holland,' p. 19: "The most magnificent plant which the prolific soil of New Holland affords is, by common consent both of Europeans and Natives, the Waratah." 1801. Governor King, in `Historical Records of New South Wales' (1896), vol, iv. p. 514 (a Letter to Sir Joseph Banks): "I have also sent in the Albion a box of waratahs, and the earth is secured with the seed." 1802. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 66: "Bennillong assisted, placing the head of the corpse, near which he stuck a beautiful war-ra-taw." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 98: [Description, but not the name.] "A plant called the gigantic lily also flourishes on the tops of these mountains, in all its glory. Its stems, which are jointy, are sometimes as large as a man's wrist, and ten feet high, with a pink and scarlet flower at the top, which when in full blossom (as it then was) is nearly the size of a small spring cabbage." 1830. `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 66: "Interspersed with that magnificent shrub called warratah or tulip-tree, and its beautiful scarlet flowers." 1857. D. Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 44: "The most common of them was, however, the Telopia [sic] Tasmaniensis, or waratah, or scarlet tulip tree, as it has been occasionally termed by stock-keepers." 1864. J. S. Moore, `Spring Life Lyrics,' p. 115: "The lily pale and waratah bright Shall encircle your shining hair." 1883. D. B. W. Sladen, `Poetry of Exiles': "And waratah, with flame-hued royal crown, Proclaim the beauties round Australia's own." 1885. Wanderer, `Beauteous Terrorist,' etc., p. 62: "And the waratahs in state, With their queenly heads elate, And their flamy blood-red crowns, And their stiff-frill'd emerald gowns." 1888. D. Macdonald, I Gum Boughs,' p. 188: "Outside the tropical Queensland forests, the scarlet flowering gum of Western Australia, and the Waratah, of Blue Mountains fame, are its [i.e. the wattle's] only rivals." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 5, p. 9, col. 1: "The memory of many residents runs back to the time when the waratah and the Christmas-bush, the native rose and fuchsia, grew where thickly-peopled suburbs now exist. . . . The waratah recedes yearly." 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Sept. 2, p. 5, col. 6: "The wattles and waratahs are creditable instances of the value of our Australian flowers for art purposes, and the efforts of the artists to win recognition for their adaptability as subjects for the artist's brush are deserving of acknowledgment." <hw>Warbler</hw>, <i>n</i>. This English birdname is applied loosely to many birds of different genera in Australia and New Zealand. The majority of the Australian Warblers have now had other names assigned to them. (See <i>Fly-eater</i> and <i>Gerygone</i>.) The name has been retained in Australia for the following species-- Grass Warbler-- <i>Cisticola exilis</i>, Lath. Grey W.-- <i>Gerygone flaviventris</i>, Gray. Long-billed Reed W.-- <i>Calamoherpe longirostris</i>, Gould. Reed W.-- <i>Acrocephalus australis</i>, Gould. Rock W.-- <i>Origma rubricata</i>, Lath. In New Zealand, it is now only specifically applied to the-- Bush Warbler-- <i>Gerygone silvestris</i>, Potts. Chatham Island W.-- <i>G. albofrontata</i>, Gray. Grey W.-- <i>G. flaviventris</i>, Gray; Maori name, <i>Riro-riro</i>. 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,'. 119: "Grey Warbler (<i>Gerygone flaviventris</i>) also belongs to an Australian genus. It is remarkable for its curious and beautifully formed nest, and as being the foster-parent to the Longtailed Cuckoo, which lays its eggs in the Warbler's nest." <hw>Warden</hw>, <i>n</i>. The term is applied specifically to the Government officer, with magisterial and executive powers, in charge of a goldfield. 1861. Mrs. Meredith, `Over the Straits,' c. iv. p. 141: "The chief official in a digging settlement, the padra [sic] of the district, is entitled the warden." <hw>Warehou</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the fish <i>Neptonemus brama</i>, Gunth., called <i>Snotgall-Trevally</i> in Tasmania, and called also <i>Sea-Bream</i>. See <i>Trevally</i>. <hw>Warrener</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied by Tasmanian children to the larger specimens of the shells called <i>Mariners</i> (q.v.). The name is an adaptation, by the law of Hobson-Jobson, from a Tasmanian aboriginal word, <i>Yawarrenah</i>, given by Milligan (`Vocabulary,' 1890), as used by tribes, from Oyster Bay to Pittwater, for the ear-shell (<i>Haliotis</i>). The name has thus passed from shell to shell, and in its English application has passed on also to the marine shell, <i>Turbo undulatus</i>. <hw>Warrigal</hw>, <i>n</i>. and <i>adj</i>. an aboriginal word, originally meaning a Dog. Afterwards extended as an adjective to mean <i>wild</i>; then used for a <i>wild horse</i>, <i>wild natives</i>, and in bush-slang for a worthless man. The following five quotations from vocabularies prove the early meaning of the word in the Port Jackson district, and its varying uses at later dates elsewhere. 1793. Governor Hunter, `Port Jackson,' p. 411: "Warregal--a large dog." 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 614 [Vocab.]: "Wor-re-gal--dog." 1859. D. Bunce, `Language of Aborigines of Victoria,' p. 17: "Ferocious, savage, wild--warragul." (adj.) Ibid. p. 46: "Wild savage--worragal." (noun.) 1879. Wyatt, `Manners of Adelaide Tribes,' p. 21: "Warroo=wild." The quotations which follow are classed under the different meanings borne by the word. (1) <i>A Wild Dog</i>. 1855. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' p. 153: "I have heard that the dingo, warragal or native dog, does not hunt in packs like the wolf and jackal." 1880. J. Holdsworth, `Station Hunting': "To scoop its grassless grave Past reach of kites and prowling warrigals." 1887. `Illustrated Australian News,' March 5: [A picture of two dingoes, and beneath them the following quotation from Kendall--]: "The warrigal's lair is pent in bare Black rocks, at the gorge's mouth." 1888. `Australian Ballads and Rhymes' (edition Sladen),, p. 297: "The following little poem, entitled `The Warrigal' (Wild Dog) will prove that he (H. Kendall) observed animal life as faithfully as still life and landscape: `The sad marsh-fowl and the lonely owl Are heard in the fog-wreath's grey, Where the Warrigal wakes, and listens and takes To the woods that shelter the prey.'" 1890. G. A. Sala, in `The Argus,' Sept. 20, p. 13, col. 1: "But at present warrigal means a wild dog." 1891. J. B. O`Hara, `Songs of the South,' p. 22: "There, night by night, I heard the call The inharmonious warrigal Made, when the darkness swiftly drew Its curtains o'er the starry blue." (2) <i>A Horse</i>. 1881. `The Australasian,' May 21, p. 647, col. 4 ["How we ran in `The Black Warragal'": Ernest G. Millard, Bimbowrie, South Australia]: "You must let me have Topsail today, Boss,. If we're going for that Warrigal mob." 1888. Gilbert Parker, `Round the Compass in Australia,' p. 44: "Six wild horses--warrigals or brombies, as they are called--have been driven down, corralled, and caught. They have fed on the leaves of the myall and stray bits of salt-bush. After a time they are got within the traces. They are all young, and they look not so bad." 1890. `The Argus, `June 14, p.4, col. 2: "Mike will fret himself to death in a stable, and maybe kill the groom. Mike's a warrigal he is." (3) Applied to <i>Aborigines</i>. [See Bunce quotation, 1859.] 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. xii. p. 249: "He's a good shot, and these warrigal devils know it." 1896. Private Letter from Station near Palmerville, North Queensland: "Warrigal. In this Cook district, and I believe in many others, a blackfellow who has broken any of the most stringent tribal laws, which renders him liable to be killed on sight by certain other blacks, is <i>warri</i>, an outlaw." (4) As adjective meaning wild. 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Colonial Reformer,' c. viii. p. 68: "Here's a real good wholesome cabbage--warrigal cabbage the shepherds call it." <hw>Warrina</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Warrener</i>. <hw>Washdirt</hw>, <i>n</i>. any alluvial deposit from which gold is obtained by washing; or "the auriferous gravel, sand, clay, or cement, in which the greatest proportion of gold is found." (Brough Smyth's `Glossary,' 1869.) Often called <i>dirt</i> (q.v.). 1896. `Melbourne Argus,' April 30, p. 7, col. 6: "In colour the washdirt is of a browner and more iron-stained appearance than the white free wash met across the creek." <hw>Waterbush</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, i.q. <i>Native Daphne</i>. See <i>Daphne</i>. <hw>Watergrass</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for <i>Manna grass</i>, <i>Poa fluitans</i>, Scop., <i>N.O. Gramineae</i>. <hw>Water-Gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Water-hole</hw>, <i>n</i>. The word <i>pond</i> is seldom used in Australia. Any pond, natural or artificial, is called a <i>Water-hole</i>. The word also denotes a depression or cavity in the bed of an intermittent river, which remains full during the summer when the river itself is dry. 1833. C. Sturt, `Southern Australia,' vol. i. c. ii. p. 80: "There was no smoke to betray a water-hole." 1853. S. Sidney, `Three Colonies of Australia,' p. 245: "The deep pools, called colonially `water-holes.'" 1862. F. J. Jobson, `Australia,' c. vii. p. 181: "`Water-holes' appeared at intervals, but they seemed to have little water in them." 1864. J. McDouall Stuart, `Explorations in Australia,' p. 58: "About four miles from last night's camp the chain of large water-holes commences, and continues beyond tonight's camp." 1875. Wood and Lapham, `Waiting for the Mail,' p. 15: "The water-hole was frozen over, so she was obliged to go on farther, where the water ran." 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), June 26, p. 94, col. 1: "A bottomless water-hole, about 300 feet wide, exists at Maryvale homestead, Gipps Land." 1878. Mrs. H. Jones, `Broad Outlines of Long Years in Australia,' p. 97: "`That will be another water-hole.' `What an ugly word . . . why don't you call them pools or ponds?' `I can't tell you why they bear such a name, but we never call them anything else, and if you begin to talk of pools or ponds you'll get well laughed at.'" 1896. `The Argus,' March 30, p. 6, col. 9: [The murderer] has not since been heard of. Dams and waterholes have been dragged . . . but without result." <hw>Water-Lily</hw>. See <i>Lily</i>. <hw>Water-Mole</hw>, i.q. <i>Platypus</i> (q.v.). <hw>Water-Myrtle</hw>, an Australian tree, <i>Tristania neriifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. <hw>Water-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree from which water is obtained by tapping the roots, <i>Hakea leucoptera</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>; called also <i>Needle-bush</i>. The quotation describes the process, but does not name the tree. 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' p. 199: "I expressed my thirst and want of water. Looking as if they understood me, they [the aboriginals] hastened to resume their work, and I discovered that they dug up the roots for the sake of drinking the sap . . . They first cut these roots into billets, and then stripped off the bark or rind, which they sometimes chew, after which, holding up the billet, and applying one end to the mouth, they let the juice drop into it." <hw>Wattle</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given to very many of the various species of <i>Acacia</i> (q.v.), of which there are about 300 in Australia, besides those in Tasmania and New Zealand. There is no English tree of that name, but the English word, which is common, signifies "a twig, a flexible rod, usually a hurdle; . . . the original sense is something twined or woven together; hence it came to mean a hurdle, woven with twigs; Anglo-Saxon, <i>watel</i>, a hurdle." (Skeat.) In England the supple twigs of the osier-willow are used for making such hurdles. The early colonists found the long pliant boughs and shoots of the indigenous <i>Acacias</i> a ready substitute for the purpose, and they used them for constructing the partitions and outer-walls of the early houses, by forming a "wattling" and daubing it with plaster or clay. (See <i>Wattle-and-dab</i>.) The trees thus received the name of <i>Wattle-trees</i>, quickly contracted to Wattle. Owing to its beautiful, golden, sweet-scented clusters of flowers, the <i>Wattle</i> is the favourite tree of the Australian poets and painters. The bark is very rich in tannin. (See <i>Wattle-bark</i>.) The tree was formerly called <i>Mimosa</i> (q.v.). The following list of vernacular names of the various <i>Wattles</i> is compiled from Maiden's `Useful Native Plants'; it will be seen that the same vernacular name is sometimes applied to several different species-- Black Wattle-- <i>Acacia binervata</i>, De C., of Illawarra and South. <i>A. decurrens</i>, Willd., older colonists of New South Wales. <i>A. cunninghamii</i>, Hook. <i>A. nervifolia</i>, Cunn. Broad-leaved W.-- <i>A. pycnantha</i>, Benth. Broom W.-- <i>A. calamifolia</i>, Sweet. Feathery W.-- <i>A. decurrens</i>, Willd. Golden W. (q.v.)-- <i>A. pycnantha</i>, Benth.; in Victoria, South Australia, and Tasmania. It is also called <i>Green Wattle</i>, and also, for the sake of distinction between some other tan-bark wattles, the <i>Broad-leaved Wattle</i>. <i>A. longifolia</i>, Willd.; in New South Wales and Queensland. Green W.-- <i>A. decurrens</i>, Willd., older colonists New South Wales. <i>A. pycnantha</i>, Benth. <i>A. discolor</i>, Willd.; so called in Tasmania, and called also there <i>River Wattle</i>. Hickory W.-- <i>A. aulacocarpa</i>, Cunn. Prickly W.-- <i>A. sentis</i>, F. v. M. <i>A. juniperina</i>, Willd. Silver W.-- <i>A. dealbata</i>, Link. <i>Silver Wattle</i>, owing to the whiteness of the trunk, and the silvery or ashy hue of its young foliage. <i>A. decurrens</i>, Willd. <i>A. melanoxylon</i>, R. Br. (Blackwood). <i>A. podalyriafolia</i>, Cunn.; called <i>Silver Wattle</i>, as it has foliage of a more or less grey, mealy, or silvery appearance. Weeping W.-- <i>A. saligna</i>, Wendl. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 201: "The acacias are the common wattles of this country, their bark affording excellent tan, as well as an extract to export to England; while from their trunks and branches clear transparent beads of the purest Arabian gum are seen suspended in the dry spring weather, which our young currency bantlings eagerly search after and regale themselves with." 1827. Vigors and Horsfield, `Transactions of Linnaean Society,' vol. xv. p. 328: "One of my specimens . . . I shot in a green wattle-tree close to Government House." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' c. ii. p. 23: "The black and silver Wattle (the <i>Mimosa</i>), are trees used in housework and furniture." 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 134: "<i>Leptospermum lanigerum</i>, hoary tea-tree, <i>Acacia decurrens</i>, and black wattle; <i>Corraea alba</i>, Cape Barren tea. The leaves of these have been used as substitutes for tea in the colonies." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. ii. c. iv. p. 132: "Black wattle . . . indication of good soil . . . produce gum." 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849.' p. 32: "Few, indeed, of the native Australian flowers emit any perfume except the golden and silver wattle (the <i>Mimosae</i> tribe): these charm the senses, and fully realize the description we read of in the `Arabian Nights' Entertainments' of those exotics, the balmy perfume of which is exhaled far and near." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 337: "These trees were termed `Wattles,' from being used, in the early days of the colony, for forming a network or wattling of the supple twigs for the reception of the plaster in the partitions of the houses." 1862. W. Archer, `Products of Tasmania,' p. 40: "Silver Wattle (<i>Acacia dealbata</i>, Lindl.), so called from the whiteness of the trunk and the silvery green of the foliage." 1862. G. T. Lloyd, `Twenty-three Years in Tasmania and Victoria,' p. 33: "The mimosa, or wattle, . . . ushers in the Spring with its countless acres of charming and luxuriant yellow and highly scented blossom . . . The tanning properties of its bark are nearly equal in value to those of the English oak." 1867. A. G. Middleton, `Earnest,' p. 132: "The maidens were with golden wattles crowned." 1877. F. V. Mueller, `Botanic Teachings,' p. 24: "The generic name [Acacia] is so familiarly known, that the appellation `Wattle' might well be dispensed with. Indeed the name Acacia is in full use in works on travels and in many popular writings for the numerous Australian species." 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 837: "Called `Silver Wattle.' The bark, which is used for tanning, is said to give a light colour to leather; value, L3 10s. per ton." 1885. H. Finch-Hatton, `Advance Australia,' p. 43: "A dense clump of wattles, a sort of mimosa--tall, feathery, graceful trees, with leaves like a willow and sweet-scented yellow flowers." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 349: "The ordinary name for species of the genus <i>Acacia</i> in the colonies is `Wattle.' The name is an old English one, and signifies the interlacing of boughs together to form a kind of wicker-work. The aboriginals used them in the construction of their abodes, and the early colonists used to split the stems of slender species into laths for `wattling' the walls of their rude habitations." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 122: "It pleased him yearly to see the fluffy yellow balls bedeck his favourite trees. One would have said in the morning that a shower of golden shot had bespangled them in the night-time. Late in the autumn, too, an adventurous wattle would sometimes put forth some semi-gilded sprays--but sparsely, as if under protest." 1896. J. B. O`Hara, `Songs of the South' (Second Series), p. 22: "Yet the spring shed blossoms around the ruin, The pale pink hues of the wild briar rose, The wild rose wasted by winds that blew in The wattle bloom that the sun-god knows." <hw>Wattle-and-Dab</hw>, a rough mode of architecture, very common in Australia at an early date. The phrase and its meaning are Old English. It was originally <i>Wattle-and-daub</i>. The style, but not the word, is described in the quotation from Governor Phillip, 1789. 1789. Governor Phillip, `Voyage to Botany Bay,' p. 124: "The huts of the convicts were still more slight, being composed only of upright posts, wattled with slight twigs, and plaistered up with clay." 1836. Ross, `Hobart Town Almanack,' p. 66: "<i>Wattle and daub</i>. . . . You then bring home from the bush as many sods of the black or green wattle (<i>acacia decurrens</i> or <i>affinis</i>) as you think will suffice. These are platted or intertwined with the upright posts in the manner of hurdles, and afterwards daubed with mortar made of sand or loam, and clay mixed up with a due proportion of the strong wiry grass of the bush chopped into convenient lengths and well beaten up with it, as a substitute for hair." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 201: "The hut of the labourer was usually formed of plaited twigs or young branches plastered over with mud, and known by the summary definition of `wattle and dab.'" 1852. Mrs. Meredith, `My Home in Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 179: "Wattles, so named originally, I conceive, from several of the genus being much used for `wattling' fences or huts. A `wattle and dab' but is formed, in a somewhat Robinson Crusoe style, of stout stakes driven well into the ground, and thickly interlaced with the tough, lithe wattle-branches, so as to make a strong basket-work, which is then dabbed and plastered over on both sides with tenacious clay mortar, and finally thatched." 1879. W. J. Barry, `Up and Down,' p. 21: "It was built of what is known as `wattle and dab,' or poles and mud, and roofed with the bark of the gum-tree." 1883. E. M. Curr, `Recollections of Squatting,' p. 5: "Others were of weather boards, wattle and dab, or slabs." <hw>Wattle-bark</hw>, <i>n</i>. the bark of the wattle; much used in tanning, and forms a staple export. 1875. `Spectator' (Melbourne), Aug. 14, p. 178 col. 2: "A proprietor of land at Mount Gambier has refused L4000 for the wattle-bark on his estate." 1877. [? Exact date lost.] `Melbourne Punch': "What'll bark? Why, a dog'll." 1883. F. M. Bailey, `Synopsis of Queensland Flora,' p. 140: "The bark of this species is used in tanning light skins, but the bark is considered weak in tannin, and only worth thirty shillings per ton in Queensland. Called `Black-wattle bark.'" 1893. `Melbourne Stock and Station Journal,' May 10 [advt.]: "Bark.--There is a moderate inquiry for good descriptions, but faulty are almost unsaleable:--Bundled Black Wattle, superior, L5 to L6 per ton; do. do., average, L3 to L4 10s. per ton; chopped Black Wattle, L5 to L6 5s. per ton; ground, approved brands, up to L8 per ton; do., average, L5 to L6 per ton." 1896. `The Leader,' a weekly column: "Kennel Gossip. By Wattle Bark." <hw>Wattled Bee-eater</hw>. See <i>Bee-eater</i>. <hw>Wattle-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird, so called from the wattles or fleshy appendages hanging to his ear. In the <i>Yellow</i> species they are an inch long. The species are-- Brush Wattle-bird-- <i>Anelobia mellivora</i>, Lath. Little W.-- <i>A. lunulata</i>, Gould. Red W.-- <i>Acanthochaera carunculata</i>, Lath. Yellow W.-- <i>A. inauris</i>, Gould. The earlier scientific names occur in the quotation, 1848. In New Zealand, the <i>Kokako</i> (q.v.) is also called a <i>Wattle-bird</i>, and the name used to be applied to the <i>Tui</i> (q.v.). 1820. W. C. Wentworth, `Description of New South Wales,' p. 152: "The wattle-bird, which is about the size of a snipe, and considered a very great delicacy." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv.: "<i>Anthochaera inauris</i>, Wattled Honey-eater; Wattled Bird of the Colonists of Van Diemen's Land" (pl. 54). "<i>A. Carunculata</i>, Wattled Bird of the Colonists; the <i>Merops Carunculatus</i> of older writers "(pl. 55). "<i>A. Mellivora</i>, Vig. and Horsf., Bush Wattle Bird" (pl. 56). "<i>A. Lunulata</i>, Gould, Little Wattle Bird, Colonists of Swan River" (pl. 57). 1857. W. Howitt, `Tallangetta,' vol. ii. p. 11: "Kangaroo-steaks frying on the fire, with a piece of cold beef, and a wattle-bird pie also ready on the board." 1859. D. Bunce, `Australasiatic Reminiscences,' p. 62: "The notes peculiar to the <i>Ornithorhynchus paradoxus</i>, or <i>platypus</i>, wattle-bird, and leather-head, or old soldier bird, added in no small degree to the novelties. . . . The wattle-bird has been not inaptly termed the `what's o'clock,'--the leather-head the `stop-where-you-are.'" 1864. E. F. Hughes, `Portland Bay,' p. 9: "Tedious whistle of the Wattle-bird." 186. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia, vol. i. p. 111: "This bird they called the Wattle-bird, and also the Poy-bird, from its having little tufts of curled hair under its throat, which they called poies, from the Otaheitan word for ear-rings. The sweetness of this bird's note they described as extraordinary, and that its flesh was delicious, but that it was a shame to kill it." 1885. J. Hood, `Land of Fern,' p. 36: "The wattle-bird, with joyous scream Bathes her soft plumage in the cooling stream." 1871. T. Bracken, `Behind the Tomb,' p. 79: "The wattle-bird sings in the leafy plantation." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 119: "The pretty, graceful wattle-birds are . . . much esteemed for the table, cooked as snipe and woodcocks are in England . . . Our pretty, elegant wattle-bird wears a pair of long pendant drops, shaded from the deepest amber to white, lovelier than any goldsmith's work. Its greyish plumage, too, is very beautiful; the feathers on the breast are long, pointed, and tinted with golden yellow." 1890. Tasma, `In her Earliest Youth,' p. 265: "The droll double note of the wattle-bird." 1890. `Victorian Statutes-Game Act' (Third Schedule): "Close season. All Honey-eaters (except Wattle-birds and Leatherheads); from 1st day of August to loth day of December." <hw>Wattle-gold</hw>, <i>n</i>. poetic name for the blossom of the <i>Wattle</i>. 1870. A. L. Gordon, `Bush Ballads, Dedn., p. 9: "In the spring, when the wattle-gold trembles `Twixt shadow and shine." 1883. Keighley, `Who are You?' p. 54: "My wealth has gone, like the wattle-gold You bound one day on my childish brow." <hw>Wattle-gum</hw>, <i>n</i>. the gum exuding from the <i>Wattles</i>. 1862. W. Archer, `Products of Tasmania,' p. 41: "Wattle-Gum, the gum of the Silver Wattle (<i>Acacia dealbata</i>, Lindl.), is exceedingly viscous, and probably quite as useful as Gum-Arabic. The gum of the Black Wattle (<i>Acacia mollissima</i>, Willd.), which is often mixed with the other, is very often inferior to it, being far less viscous." <hw>Wax-cluster</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian shrub, <i>Gaultheria hispida</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Ericaceae</i>. A congener of the English winter-green, or American checkerberry, with white berries, in taste resembling gooseberries; called also <i>Chucky-chucky</i> (q.v.), and <i>Native Arbutus</i>. 1834. Ross, `Van Diemen's Land Annual,' p. 133: "<i>Gaultheria hispida</i>. The wax-cluster, abundant in the middle region of Mount Wellington, and in other elevated and moist situations in the colony. This fruit is formed by the thickened divisions of the calyx, enclosing the small seed vessel; when it is ripe it is of a snowy white. The flavour is difficult to describe, but it is not unpleasant. In tarts the taste is something like that of young gooseberries, with a slight degree of bitterness." 1880. Mrs. Meredith, `Tasmanian Friends and Foes,' p. 11 [Footnote]: "<i>Gaultheria hispida</i>.--The `Snowberry' or `Wax cluster' is also called native Arbutus, from the form of the white flowers which precede the fruit. The latter is of a peculiar brioche-like form, and as the deep clefts open, the crimson seed-cells peep through." <hw>Wax-Eye</hw>, i.q. one of the many names for the bird called <i>Silver-Eye</i>, <i>White-Eye</i>, <i>Blight-Bird</i>, etc. See <i>Zosterops</i>. <hw>Waybung</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for an Australian Chough, <i>Corcorax melanoramphus</i>, Vieill. <hw>Weaver-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. The English name <i>Weaver-bird</i>, in its present broad sense as applied to a wide variety of birds, is modern. It alludes to their dexterity in "weaving" their nests. It is applied in Australia to <i>Callornis metallica</i>, a kind of Starling. 1890. C. Lumholtz, `Among Cannibals,' p. 96: "The elegant, metallic-looking, `glossy starlings' (Callornis metallica) greedily swoop, with a horrible shriek, upon the fruit of the Australian cardamom tree. The ingenious nests of this bird were found in the scrubs near Herbert Vale--a great many in the same tree. Although this bird is a starling, the colonists call it `weaver-bird.'" <hw>Wedge-bill</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian bird. This English name for a species of humming-bird is applied in Australia to <i>Sphenostoma cristata</i>, Gould. 1890. `Victorian Statutes--Game Act' (Third Schedule): "Wedge-bill. [Close season.] From 1st day of August to 10th day of December next following in each year." <hw>Weeping-Gum</hw>. See <i>Gum</i>. <hw>Weeping-Myall</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian tree, <i>Acacia pendula</i>, Cunn., <i>N.O. Leguminosae</i>. See <i>Myall</i>. <hw>Weka</hw>, <i>n</i>. the Maori name for the <i>Wood-hen</i> (q.v.) of New Zealand, so called from its note. There are two species-- South-Island Weka, or Wood-hen-- <i>Ocydromus australis</i>, Strick. North-Island W., or W.-h.-- <i>Ocydromus brachypterus</i>, Buller. The specimens intergrade to such an extent that precise limitation of species is extremely difficult; but Sir W. L. Buller set them out as these two in 1878, regarding other specimens as varieties. The birds are sometimes called <i>Weka-Rails</i>, and the Maori name of <i>Weka-pango</i> is given to the <i>Black Wood-hen</i> (<i>0. fuscus</i>, Du Bus.). 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 95: "Two young weka, or wood-hens, about as large as sparrows . . . were esteemed a valuable addition to our scanty supper." 1864. R. L. A. Davies, `Poems and Literary Remains' (edition 1884), p. 263: "Wood-hens, or Waikas, are a great stand-by in the bush. Their cry can be imitated, and a man knowing their language and character can catch them easily. They call each other by name, pronounced `Weeka,' latter syllable being shrill and prolonged, an octave higher than the first note. . . . The wood-hen is about the size of a common barn-door fowl; its character is cunning, yet more fierce than cunning, and more inquisitive than either." 1865. Lady Barker, `Station Life in New Zealand,' p. 28: "Until the numbers of the wekas are considerably reduced. They are very like a hen pheasant without the long tail-feathers, and until you examine them you cannot tell they have no wings, though there is a sort of small pinion among the feathers, with a claw at the end of it. They run very swiftly, availing themselves cleverly of the least bit of cover." 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 167: "Another famous bird of chase with the natives is the weka (<i>Ocydromus Australis</i>), or the wood-hen, belonging to the class of rails, which have already become quite scarce upon North Island. In the grassy plains and forests of the Southern Alps, however, they are still found in considerable numbers. It is a thievish bird, greedy after everything that glistens; it frequently carries off spoons, forks, and the like, but it also breaks into hen-coops, and picks and sucks the eggs." 1882. T. H. Potts, `Out in the Open,' p. 286: "Fortunately, the weka bears so obnoxious a character as an evil-doer that any qualm of conscience on the score of cruelty is at once stilled when one of these feathered professors of <i>diablerie</i> is laid to rest." 1888. W. L. Buller, `Birds of New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 105: [A full description.] 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby,' p. 82: "We-ki! we-ki! we-ka! Three times the plaintive cry of the `wood-hen' was heard. It was a preconcerted signal." <hw>Weka, Rail</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Weka</i>. <hw>Well-in</hw>, <i>adj</i>. answering to `well off,' `well to do,' `wealthy'; and ordinarily used, in Australia, instead of these expressions. 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 1: "He's a well-in squatter that took up runs or bought them cheap before free-selection, and land-boards, and rabbits, and all the other bothers that turn a chap's hair grey before his time." <hw>Western Australia</hw>, the part of the Continent first sighted in 1527 by a Portuguese, and the last to receive responsible government, in 1890. It had been made a Crown colony in 1829. <hw>Westralia</hw>, <i>n</i>. a common abbreviation for <i>Western Australia</i> (q.v.). The word was coined to meet the necessities of the submarine cable regulations, which confine messages to words containing not more than ten letters. 1896. `The Studio,' Oct., p. 151: "The latest example is the El Dorado of Western Australia, or as she is beginning to be more generally called `Westralia,' a name originally invented by the necessity of the electric cable, which limits words to ten letters, or else charges double rate." 1896. `Nineteenth Century,' Nov., p. 711 [Title of article]: "The Westralian Mining Boom." <hw>Weta</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a New Zealand insect-- a huge, ugly grasshopper, <i>Deinacrula megacephala</i>, called by bushmen the <i>Sawyer</i>. 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 123: "The weta, a suspicious-looking, scorpion-like creature, apparently replete with `high concocted venom,' but perfectly harmless." 1863. S. Butler, `First Year in Canterbury Settlement,' p. 141: "One of the ugliest-looking creatures that I have ever seen. It is called `Weta,' and is of tawny scorpion-like colour, with long antenna and great eyes, and nasty squashy-looking body, with (I think) six legs. It is a kind of animal which no one would wish to touch: if touched, it will bite sharply, some say venomously. It is very common but not often seen, and lives chiefly among dead wood and under stones." 1888. J. Adams, `On the Botany of Te Moehau,' `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xxi. art. ii. p. 41: "Not a sound was heard in that lonely forest, except at long intervals the sharp noise produced by the <i>weta</i>." <hw>W. F.'s</hw>, old Tasmanian term for wild cattle. 1891. James Fenton, `Bush Life in Tasmania Fifty Years Ago,' p. 24: "Round up a mob of the wildest W.F.'s that ever had their ears slit." [Note]: "This was the brand on Mr. William Field's wild cattle." <hw>Whalebone-Tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Mint-Tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Whaler</hw>, <i>n</i>. used specifically as slang for a <i>Sundowner</i> (q.v.); one who cruises about. 1893. `Sydney Morning Herald,' Aug. 12, p. 8. col. 8: "The nomad, the `whaler,' it is who will find the new order hostile to his vested interest of doing nothing." <hw>Whaler/2</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Sydney to the Shark, <i>Carcharias brachyurus</i>, Gunth., which is not confined to Australasia. <hw>Whare</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a house; a dissyllable, variously spelt, rhyming with `quarry.' It is often quaintly joined with English words; e.g. a <i>sod-whare</i>, a cottage built with sods. In a Maori vocabulary, the following are given: <i>whare-kingi</i>, a castle; <i>whare-karakia</i>, a church; <i>whare-here</i>, the lock-up. 1820. `Grammar and Vocabulary of Language of New Zealand' (Church Missionary Society), p. 225: "Ware, <i>s</i>. a house, a covering." 1833. `Henry Williams' Journal: Carleton's Life,' p. 151: "The Europeans who were near us in a raupo <i>whare</i> (rush house)." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 26: "We were much amused at seeing the ware-puni, or sleeping- houses, of the natives. These are exceedingly low, and covered with earth, on which weeds very often grow. They resemble in shape and size a hot-bed with the glass off." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes,' c. x. p. 265 (Third Edition, 1855): "Sitting in the sun at the mouth of his warree, smoking his pipe." 1854. W. Golder, `Pigeons' Parliament,' [Notes] p. 76: "I fell upon what I thought a good place on which to fix my warre, or bush-cottage." 1857. `Paul's Letters from Canterbury,' p. 89: "Then pitch your tent, or run up a couple of grass <i>warres</i> somewhat bigger than dog-kennels." 1871. C. L. Money, `Knocking About in New Zealand,' p. 33: "The old slab wharry." Ibid. p. 132: "The village was sacked and the wharries one after another set fire to and burnt.'" 1877. Anon., `Colonial Experiences or Incidents of Thirty-Four Years in New Zealand,' p. 87: "In the roughest colonial whare there is generally one or more places fitted up called bunks." 1882. R. C. Barstow, `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xv. art. liii. p. 428: "Raupo whares were put up." 1889. `Cornhill Magazine,' Jan., p. 35: "Ten minutes more brought us to my friend's `whare,'--the Maori name for house." 1886. `Otago Witness,' Jan. 23, p. 42: "The pas close at hand give up their population,--only the blind, the sick, and the imbecile being left to guard the grimy, smoke-dried whares." <hw>Whata</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori word for a storehouse on posts or other supports, like a <i>Pataka</i> (q.v.). <i>Futtah</i> (q.v.) is a corruption, probably of Irish origin. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 167: "In one corner was a ware-puni, occupied by Barrett and his family, and in the middle a wata, or `storehouse,' stuck upon four poles about six feet high, and only approachable by a wooden log with steps cut in it." 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 57: "A chief would not pass under a stage or wata (a food-store)." Ibid. p. 468: "Wata, stand or raised platform for food: <i>Fata</i>, Tahaiti." [Also an illustration, "an ornamental food-store," p. 377.] 1891. Rev. J. Stack, `Report of Australasian Association for Advancement of Science,' #G. vol. iii. p. 378: "The men gathered the food and stored it in Whatas or store- rooms, which were attached to every chief's compound, and built on tall posts protect the contents from damp and rats." <hw>Whau</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the New Zealand Cork-tree, <i>Entelea arborescens</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Tiliaceae</i>. <hw>Whee-Whee</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird not identified. 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 232: "In the morning the dull monotonous double note of the whee-whee (so named from the sound of its calls), chiming in at regular intervals as the tick of a clock, warns us . . . it is but half an hour to dawn." <hw>Whekau</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for the bird <i>Sceloglaux albifacies</i>, Gray, a New Zealand owl, which is there called the <i>Laughing-Jackass</i>. See <i>Jackass</i>. 1869. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia' [Supplement]: "<i>Sceloglaux Albifacies</i>, Wekau. Another of the strange inhabitants of our antipodal country, New Zealand. An owl it unquestionably is, but how widely does it differ from every other member of its family." 1885. A. Reischek, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. art. xiii. p. 97: "<i>Athene albifacies</i>, Laughing owl (whekau). Owls are more useful than destructive, but this species I never saw in the north or out-lying islands, and in the south it is extremely rare, and preys mostly on rats." 1885. `Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. p. 101: "Already several species have disappeared from the mainland . . . or are extremely rare, such as . . . Laughing owl (Whekau)." <hw>Whelk</hw>, or <hw>Native Whelk</hw>, <i>n</i>. a marine mollusc, <i>Trochocochlea constricta</i>. See <i>Perriwinkle</i>. <hw>Whilpra</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation, and compare the Maori word <i>Tupara</i> (q.v.) 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kumai,' p. 211: "The term whilpra being a corruption of wheelbarrow, which the Lake Torrens natives have acquired from the whites as the name for a cart or waggon." <hw>Whio</hw>, <i>n</i>. (originally <hw>Whio-Whio</hw>), also<hw>Wio</hw>, Maori name for the New Zealand Duck, <i>Hymenolaemus malacorhynchus</i>, Gmell., called the <i>Blue-Duck</i> or <i>Mountain Duck</i> of New Zealand. See <i>Duck</i>, Professor Parker's quotation, 1889. The bird has a whistling note. The Maori verb, <i>whio</i>, means to whistle. 1855. Rev. R. Taylor, `Te Ika a Maui,' p. 407: "Wio (<i>Hymenolaemus malacorhynchus</i>), the blue duck, is found abundantly in the mountain-streams of the south part of the North Island, and in the Middle Island. It takes its name from its cry." 1877. W. Buller, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. x. art. xix. p. 199: "Captain Mair informs me that the wio is plentiful in all the mountain-streams in the Uriwera country. When marching with the native contingent in pursuit of Te Kooti, as many as forty or fifty were sometimes caught in the course of the day, some being taken by hand, or knocked over with sticks or stones, so very tame and stupid were they." 1885. H. Martin, `Transactions of New Zealand Institute,' vol. xviii. art. xxii. p. 113: "<i>Hymenolaemus malacorhynchus</i>, Whio, Blue Duck. Both Islands." [From a list of New Zealand birds that ought to be protected.] <hw>Whip-bird</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Coach-whip</i>. <hw>Whip-snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. or <i>Little Whip-Snake</i>. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Whip-stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. variety of dwarf <i>Eucalypt</i>; one of the Mallees; forming thick scrub. 1874. M. C., `Explorers,' p. 123: "He had lost his way, when he would fain have crost A patch of whip-stick scrub." <hw>Whip-tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. (1) A fancy name for a small Kangaroo. See <i>Pretty-Faces</i>, quotation. (2) A Tasmanian fish; see under <i>Tasmanian Whiptail</i>. <hw>Whistling Dick</hw>, <i>n</i>. Tasmanian name for a <i>Shrike-Thrush</i>. Called also <i>Duke- Willy</i>. 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,'vol. ii. pl. 77: "<i>Colluricincla Selbii</i>, Jard., Whistling Dick of the Colonists of Van Diemen's Land." <hw>Whistling Duck</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Duck</i>. The bird named below by Leichhardt appears to be a mistake; vide Gould's list at word <i>Duck</i>. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 287: "The <i>Leptotarsis</i>, Gould (whistling duck), which habitually crowd close together on the water." <hw>Whitebait</hw>, <i>n</i>. a fish; not, as in England, the fry of the herring and sprat, but in Victoria, <i>Engraulis antarcticus</i>, Castln.; and in New Zealand, the young fry of <i>Galaxias attenuatus</i>, Jenyns (<i>Inanga</i>, q.v.). The young of the <i>New Zealand Smelt</i> (q.v.), <i>Retropinna richardsonii</i>, Gill, are also called <i>Whitebait</i>, both in New Zealand and in Tasmania. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 85: "Anchovies or <i>Engraulis</i> have a compressed body with a very wide lateral mouth, and a projecting upper jaw. Scales large. We have two species--<i>E. antarcticus</i>, Casteln., and <i>E. nasutus</i>, Casteln. The first-named species is by many erroneously believed to be identical, or at most a variety of <i>E. encrassicholus</i> of Europe. Count Castelnau states that it is very common in the Melbourne market at all seasons, and goes by the name of `whitebait.'" 1883. `Royal Commission on Fisheries of Tasmania, p. iv: "<i>Retropinna Richardsonii</i>, whitebait or smelt. Captured in great abundance in the river Tamar, in the prawn nets, during the months of February and March, together with a species of <i>Atherina</i>, and <i>Galaxias attenuatus</i>, and are generally termed by fishermen whitebait. Dr. Guenther had formerly supposed that this species was confined to New Zealand; it appears, however, to be common to Australia and Tasmania." <hw>Whitebeard</hw>, <i>n</i>. name applied to the plant <i>Styphelia ericoides</i>, <i>N.O. Epacrideae</i>. <hw>White-Eye</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for the bird called variously <i>Silver-Eye</i>, <i>Wax-Eye</i>, <i>Blight-Bird</i>, etc., <i>Zosterops</i> (q.v.). 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. iv. pl. 81: "<i>Zosterops Dorsalis</i>, Vig. and Horsf, Grey-backed <i>Zosterops</i>; White-eye, Colonists of New South Wales." 1896. `The Australasian,' Nov. 14, p. 461: "The unique migration on the part of the white-eyes has not been satisfactorily accounted for. One authority invents the ingenious theory that the original white-eyes went to New Zealand after the memorable `Black Thursday' of Australia in 1851." <hw>White-face</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name applied to the Australian bird, <i>Xerophila leucopsis</i>, Gould. Another species is the <i>Chestnut-breasted White face</i>, <i>X. pectoralis</i>, Gould. <hw>White Gallinule</hw>, <i>n</i>. one of the birds of the family called <i>Rails</i>. The <i>White Gallinule</i> was recorded from New South Wales in 1890, and also from Lord Howe Island, off the coast, and from Norfolk Island. The modern opinion is that it never existed save in these two islands, and that it is now extinct. It was a bird of limited powers of flight, akin to the New Zealand bird, <i>Notornis mantilli</i> which is also approaching extinction. Only two skins of the White Gallinule are known to be in existence. 1789. Governor Phillip,' Voyage to Botany Bay,' p. 273 and fig.: "White Gallinule. This beautiful bird greatly resembles the purple Gallinule in shape and make, but is much superior in size, being as large as a dunghill fowl. . . . This species is pretty common on Lord Howe's Island, Norfolk Island, and other places, and is a very tame species." 1882. E. P. Ramsay, `Proceedings of the Linnaean Society of New South Wales,' p. 86: "The attention of some of our early Naturalists was drawn to this Island by finding there, the now extinct `White Gallinule,' then called (<i>Fulica alba</i>), but which proves to be a species of <i>Notornis</i>." <hw>White-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. a bird of New Zealand, <i>Clitonyx albicapilla</i>, Buller. Found in North Island, but becoming very rare. See <i>Clitonyx</i>. <hw>White-lipped Snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>White-Pointer</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales name for the <i>White-Shark</i>. See <i>Shark</i>. <hw>White-top</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Flintwood</i> (q.v.). <hw>White-Trevally</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian fish. See <i>Trevally</i>. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish and Fisheries of New South Wales,' p. 59: "<i>Caranx georgianus</i>, the `white trevally.' . . There are several other species of Caranx in Port Jackson. In Victoria it is called silver bream. Count Castelnau says it is very beautiful when freshly taken from the water, the upper part being a light celestial blue or beautiful purple, the lower parts of a silvery white with bright iridescent tinges . . . There is another fish called by this name which has already been described amongst the <i>Teuthidae</i>, but this is the White Trevally as generally known by New South Wales fishermen." <hw>Whitewood</hw>, <i>n</i>. another name for <i>Cattle-Bush</i> (q.v.). A Tasmanian name for <i>Pittosporum bicolor</i>, Hook., <i>N.O. Pittosporeae</i>. Called <i>Cheesewood</i> in Victoria, and variously applied, as a synonym, to other trees; it is also called <i>Waddy-wood</i> (q.v.). <hw>Whiting</hw>, <i>n</i>. Four species of the fish of the genus <i>Sillago</i> are called <i>Whiting</i> in Australia (see quotation). The <i>New Zealand Whiting</i> is <i>Pseudophycis breviusculus</i>, Richards., and the <i>Rock-Whiting</i> of New South Wales is <i>Odax semifaciatus</i>, Cuv. and Val., and <i>O. richardsonii</i>, Gunth.; called also <i>Stranger</i> (q.v.). <i>Pseudophycis</i> is a Gadoid, <i>Sillago</i> belongs to the <i>Trachinidae</i>, and <i>Odax</i> to the family <i>Labridae</i> or Wrasses. 1882. Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods, `Fish of New South Wales,' p. 65: "The `whitings' are not like those of Europe. There are, in all, four Australian species--the common sand-whiting <i>(Sillago maculata</i>), abundant on the New South Wales coast; the trumpeter-whiting (<i>S. bassensis</i>), also abundant here, and the most common species in Brisbane; <i>S. punctata</i>, the whiting of Melbourne, and rare on this coast; and <i>S. ciliata</i>." <hw>Widgeon</hw>, <i>n</i>. the common English name for a Duck of the genus <i>Mareca</i>, extended generally by sportsmen to any wild duck. In Australia, it is used as another name for the <i>Pink-eyed</i> (or <i>Pink-eared</i>) <i>Duck</i>. It is also used, as in England, by sportsmen as a loose term for many species of Wild-Duck generally. <hw>Wild Dog</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Dingo</i> (q.v.). <hw>Wild Geranium</hw>, <i>n</i>. In Australia, the species is <i>Pelargonium australe</i>, Willd., <i>N.O. Geraniaceae</i>. <hw>Wild Irishman</hw>, a spiny New Zealand shrub, <i>Discaria toumatou</i>, Raoul, <i>N.O. Rhamneae</i>. The Maori name is <i>Tumata-Kuru</i> (q.v.). 1867. F. Hochstetter, `New Zealand,' p. 133: "Certain species of <i>Acyphilla</i> and <i>Discaria</i>, rendering many tracts, where they grow in larger quantities, wholly inaccessible. On account of their slender blades terminating in sharp spines the colonists have named them `spear-grass,' `wild Irishman,' and `wild Spaniard.'" [This is a little confused. There are two distinct plants in New Zealand-- (1) <i>Discaria toumatou</i>, a spiny shrub or tree; called <i>Tumatakuru Matagory</i>, and <i>Wild Irishman</i>. (2) <i>Aciphylla colensoi</i>, a grass, called <i>Sword-grass</i>, <i>Spear grass</i>, <i>Spaniard</i>, and <i>Scotchman</i>. 1875. Lady Barker, `Station Amusements in New Zealand,' p. 35: "Interspersed with the <i>Spaniards</i> are generally clumps of `<i>Wild Irishman</i>'--a straggling sturdy bramble, ready to receive and scratch you well if you attempt to avoid the <i>Spaniard</i>'s weapons." 1883. J. Hector, `Handbook of New Zealand, p. 131: "Tumata kuru, Wild Irishman. A bush or small tree with spreading branches; if properly trained would form a handsome hedge that would be stronger than whitethorn. The species were used by the Maoris for tattooing." 1892. Malcolm Ross, `Aorangi,' p. 37: "Almost impenetrable scrub, composed mainly of wild <i>Irishman</i> (Discaria toumatou) and Sword-grass (Aciphylla Colensoi)." 1896. `The Australasian,' Aug. 28, p. 407, col. 5: ". . . national appellations are not satisfactory. It seems uncivil to a whole nation--another injustice to Ireland--to call a bramble a wild Irishman, or a pointed grass, with the edges very sharp and the point like a bayonet, a Spaniard. One could not but be amused to find the name Scotchman applied to a smaller kind of Spaniard." <hw>Wild Parsnip</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Parsnip</i>. <hw>Wild Rosemary</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Rosemary</i>. <hw>Wild Turkey</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Turkey</i>. <hw>Wild Yam</hw>, <i>n</i>. a parasitic orchid, <i>Gastrodia sesamoides</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Orchideae</i>. <hw>Wilga</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree. Called also <i>Dogwood</i> and <i>Willow</i>, <i>Geijera parviflora</i>, Lindl., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>. Adopted by the colonists from the aboriginal name. 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 123: "We rode out through a wilga scrub." (p. 230): "She'd like to be buried there--under a spreading wilga tree." <hw>Willow Myrtle</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree, <i>Agonis flexuosa</i>, De C., <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>, with willow-like leaves and pendent branches, native of West Australia, and cultivated for ornament as a greenhouse shrub. <hw>Willow, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Boobialla</i> (q.v.), and also another name for the <i>Poison-berry Tree</i> (q.v.). <hw>Willy-Wagtail</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Wagtail</i> (q.v.). <hw>Willy Willy</hw>, <i>n</i>. native name for a storm on North-west of Australia. 1894. `The Age,' Jan. 20, p. 13, col. 4 [Letter by `Bengalee']: "Seeing in your issue of this morning a telegraphic report of a `willy willy' in the north-west portion of West Australia, it may be of interest to hear a little about these terrific storms of wind and rain. The portion of the western coast most severely visited by these scourges is said to be between the North-wet Cape and Roebuck Bay; they sometimes reach as far south as Carnarvon and north as far as Derby. The approach of one of these storms is generally heralded by a day or too of hot, oppressive weather, and a peculiar haze. Those having barometers are warned of atmospheric disturbances; at other times they come up very suddenly. The immense watercourses to be seen in the north-west country, the bed of the Yule River, near Roebourne, for instance, and many other large creeks and rivers, prove the terrible force and volume of water that falls during the continuance of one of these storms. The bed of the Yule River is fully a mile wide, and the flood marks on some of the trees are sufficient proof of the immense floods that sometimes occur. Even in sheltered creeks and harbours the wind is so violent that luggers and other small craft are blown clean over the mangrove bushes and left high and dry, sometimes a considerable distance inland. The willy willy is the name given to these periodical storms by the natives in the north-west." 1895. C. M. Officer, Private Letter: "In the valley of the Murray between Swan Hill and Wentworth, in the summer time during calm weather, there are to be seen numerous whirlwinds, carrying up their columns of dust many yards into the air. These are called by the name willy willy." <hw>Windmill J.P.</hw>, expression formerly used in New South Wales for any J.P. who was ill-educated and supposed to sign his name with a cross x. <hw>Wine-berry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Tutu</i>. In Australia, the name is given to <i>Polyosma cunninghamii</i>, Benn., <i>N.O. Saxifrageae</i>. <hw>Winery</hw>, <i>n</i>. an establishment for making wines. An American word which is being adopted in Australia. 1893. `The Argus,' Oct. 6, p. 7, col. 6 [Letter headed `Wineries']: "I would suggest that the idea of small local wineries, each running on its own lines, be abandoned, and one large company formed, having its headquarters in Melbourne with wineries in various centres. The grapes could be brought to these depots by the growers, just as the milk is now brought to the creameries." <hw>Winter Cherry</hw>, <i>n</i>. See <i>Balloon Vine</i>. <hw>Winter Country</hw>, in New Zealand (South Island), land so far unaffected by snow that stock is wintered on it. <hw>Wire-grass</hw>, and <hw>Wiry-grass</hw>. See <i>Grass</i>. 1883. E. M. Curr, `Recollections of Squatting in Victoria' (1841-1851), p. 81: "Sparsely-scattered tussocks of the primest descriptions; the wire-grass, however, largely predominating over the kangaroo-grass." <hw>Wirrah</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a fish of New South Wales, <i>Plectropoma ocellatum</i>, Gunth. 1884. E. P. Ramsav. `Fisheries Exhibition Literature,' vol. v. p. 311: "Another of the <i>Percidae</i> . . . the wirrah of the fishermen, is more plentiful. It is when first caught a handsome fish, of a pale olive-brown or olive-green colour, with numerous bright blue dots on spots of a lighter tint." <hw>Witchetty</hw>, <i>n</i>. native name for the grub-like larva of one or more species of longicorn beetles. The natives dig it out of the roots of shrubs, decaying timber and earth, in which it lives, and eat it with relish. It is sometimes even roasted and eaten by white children. 1894. R. Lydekker, `Marsupialia,' p. 191: "Dr. Stirling writes . . . [The marsupial mole] was fed on the `witchetty' (a kind of grub) . . . two or three small grubs, or a single large one, being given daily." <hw>Wiwi</hw>, <i>n</i>. Maori name for a jointed rush. 1842. W. R. Wade, `A Journey in the Northern Island of New Zealand,' `New Zealand Reader,' p. 122: "The roof is usually completed with a thick coating of wiwi (a small rush), and then the sides receive a second coating of raupo, and sometimes of the wiwi over all." 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 380: "[The walls] were lined outside with the wiwi or fine grass." [See also <i>Raupo</i>, 1843 quotation.] <hw>Wiwi/2</hw>, <i>n</i>. slang name for a Frenchman, from "<i>Oui, Oui</i>!" 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 94: "If I had sold the land to the white missionaries, might they not have sold it again to the Wiwi (Frenchmen) or Americans." 1857. C. Hursthouse, `New Zealand, the Britain of the South,' vol. i. p. 14: "De Surville's painful mode of revenge, and the severe chastisement which the retaliatory murder of Marion brought on the natives, rendered the Wee-wees (Oui, oui), or people of the tribe of Marion, hateful to the New Zealanders for the next half-century." 1859. A. S. Thomson, `Story of New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 236: "Before the Wewis, as the French are now called, departed." 1873. H. Carleton, `Life of Henry Williams,' p. 92: "The arrival of a French man-of-war was a sensational event to the natives, who had always held the Oui-oui's in dislike." 1881. Anon., `Percy Pomo,' p. 207: "Has [sic] the Weewees puts it." <hw>Wiwi/3</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a native weapon. 1845. Charles Griffith, `Present State and Prospects of the Port Phillip District of New South Wales,' p. 155: "The wiwi is an instrument not so well known. It is composed of a long straight withy, about two feet long, to which is attached a head, made of a piece of wood four inches long, in the shape of two cones joined together at the base . . . This they strike against the ground, at a little distance to one side of them, whence it rises at right angles to its first direction, and flies with the swiftness of an arrow for about one hundred yards, and at a height of about ten feet from the ground." <hw>Wobbegong</hw>, <i>n</i>. a New South Wales aboriginal name for a species of Shark, <i>Crassorhinus barbatus</i>, Linn., family <i>Scyllidae</i>; also known as the <i>Carpet-Shark</i>, from the beautifully mottled skin. The fish is not peculiar to Australia, but the name is. <hw>Wobbles</hw>, <i>n</i>. a disease in horses caused by eating palm-trees in Western Australia. 1896. `The Australasian,' Feb. 15, p. 319: "The palm-trees for years cost annoyance and loss to farmers and graziers. Their stock being troubled with a disease called `wobbles,' which attacked the limbs and ended in death. A commission of experts was appointed, who traced the disease to the palms, of which the cattle were very fond." <hw>Wolf</hw>, <i>n</i>. called also <i>Native Wolf</i>, <i>Marsupial Wolf</i> and <i>Zebra Wolf</i>, <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i> and <i>Hyaena</i>; genus, <i>Thylacinus</i> (q.v.). It is the largest carnivorous marsupial extant, and is so much like a wolf in appearance that it well deserves its vernacular name of <i>Wolf</i>, though now-a-days it is generally called <i>Tiger</i>. See <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i>. 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "The first occupants we notice in this cage are two marsupial wolves, <i>Thylacinus cynocephalus</i>, or Tasmanian tigers as they are commonly called. These animals are becoming scarce, as, owing to their destructiveness among sheep, they are relentlessly persecuted by run-holders." <hw>Wollomai</hw>, <i>n</i>. the aboriginal name of the fish called <i>Schnapper</i> (q.v.). In 1875 a horse named <i>Wollomai</i> won the Melbourne Cup. Since then numerous houses and estates have been named <i>Wollomai</i>. <hw>Wombat</hw>, <i>n</i>. a marsupial animal of the genus <i>Phascolomys</i> (q.v.). It is a corruption of the aboriginal name. There are various spellings; that nearest to the aboriginal is <i>womback</i>, but the form <i>wombat</i> is now generally adopted. The species are--the Common Wombat, <i>Phascolomys mitchelli</i>, Owen; Tasmanian W., <i>P. ursinus</i>, Shaw; Hairy-nosed W., <i>P. latifrons</i>, Owen. 1798. M. Flinders, `Voyage to Terra Australis (1814),' Intro. p. cxxviii, `Journal,' Feb. 16: "Point Womat, a rocky projection of Cape Barren Island, where a number of the new animals called womit were seen, and killed." Ibid. p. cxxxv: "This little bear-like quadruped is known in New South Wales, and called by the natives, <i>womat, wombat</i>, or <i>womback</i>, according to the different dialects, or perhaps to the different renderings of the wood rangers who brought the information . . . It burrows like the badger." 1799. D. Collins, `Account of New South Wales (1802),' vol. ii. p. 153 [`Bass's Journal,' Jan.]: "The <i>Wom-bat</i> (or, as it is called by the natives of Port Jackson, the <i>Womback</i>,) is a squat, thick, short-legged, and rather inactive quadruped, with great appearance of stumpy strength, and somewhat bigger than a large turnspit dog." 1802. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' vol. ii. p. 156: "In the opinion of Mr. Bass this Wombat seemed to be very oeconomically made." 18x3. `History of New South Wales' 0818), p. 431: "An animal named a wombat, about the size of a small turnspit-dog, has been found in abundance in Van Diemen's Land, and also, though less frequently, in other parts of New South Wales. Its flesh has in taste a resemblance to pork." 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 318: "The wombat, a large animal of the size of a mastiff, burrowing in the ground, feeding on grass and roots and attaining considerable fatness." 1832. J. Bischoff, `Van Diemen's Land,' p. 175: "The dogs had caught . . . two badgers or woombacks." 1846. G. H. Haydon, `Five Years in Australia Felix,' p. 58: "The Wombat is a large kind of badger, which burrows in the ground to a considerable depth, and is taken by the blacks for food; it makes a noise, when attacked in its hole, something similar to the grunting of a pig." 1848. W. Westgarth, `Australia Felix,' p. 129: "Mere rudimentary traces (of a pouch) in the pig-like wombat." 1853. J. West, `History of Tasmania,' vol. i. p. 325: "The Wombat, commonly called in the colony Badger (<i>Phascolomys wombat</i>, Peron.), is an animal weighing forty to eighty pounds, having a large body with short legs. Notwithstanding its burrowing habits, and the excessive thickness and toughness of its skin, it is usually so easily killed that it is becoming less and less common." 1855. W. Blandowski, `Transactions of Philosophical Society of Victoria,' vol. i. p. 67: "Wombat. This clumsy, but well-known animal (<i>Phascolomys wombat</i>), during the day conceals himself in his gloomy lair in the loneliest recesses of the mountains, and usually on the banks of a creek, and at night roams about in search of food, which it finds by grubbing about the roots of gigantic eucalypti." 1855. W. Howitt, `Two Years in Vic. toria,' vol. i. p. 211: "The wombat resembles a large badger in the shortness of its legs, but has a little of the pig and the bear in its shape, hair, and movements." 1862. W. M. Thackeray, `Roundabout Papers,' p. 82: "Our dear wambat came up and had himself scratched very affably. . . . "Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw; Then I saw the wambat waddle in the straw." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kumai,' p. 265: "Wombat is cooked, then opened and skinned." 1888. D. Macdonald, `Gum Boughs,' p. 81: "The wombat is very powerful, and can turn a boulder almost as large as itself out of the way when it bars the road." 1889. Cassell's `Picturesque Australasia,' vol. iv. p. 183: "There are large numbers of wombats in the district, and these animals, burrowing after the fashion of rabbits, at times reach great depths, and throw up large mounds." 1894. `The Argus,' June 23, p. 11, col. 4: "The wombat's grunt is strictly in harmony with his piggish appearance." <hw>Wombat-hole</hw>, <i>n</i>. hole made by <i>Wombat</i> (q.v.). 1891. Mrs. Cross (Ada Cambridge), `The Three Miss Kings,' p. 181: "He took them but a little way from where they had camped, and disclosed in the hillside what looked like a good-sized wombat or rabbit-hole." <hw>Wommera</hw>. See <i>Woomera</i>. <hw>Wonga</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for the bulrush, <i>Typha angustifolia</i>, Linn. It is the same as the <i>Raupo</i> (q.v.) of New Zealand, and is also known as <i>Bulrush</i>, <i>Cat's Tail</i> and <i>Reed Mace</i>, and in Europe as the `Asparagus of the Cossacks.' For etymology, see next word. <hw>Wonga-wonga</hw>, <i>n</i>. an Australian pigeon, <i>Leucosarcia picata</i>, Lath.; it has very white flesh. The aboriginal word <i>wonga</i> is explained as coming from root signifying the idea of `quiver motion,' `sudden springing up' and the word is thus applied as a name for the <i>bulrush</i>, the <i>vine</i>, and the <i>pigeon</i>. Some, however, think that the name of the pigeon is from the bird's note. In Gippsland, it was called by the natives <i>Wauk-wauk-au</i>, sc. `that which makes <i>wauk-wauk</i>.' 1827. P. Cunningham, `Two Years in New South Wales,' vol. i. p. 321: "We have a large pigeon named the Wanga-wanga, of the size and appearance of the ringdove, which is exquisite eating also." 1846. J. L. Stokes, `Discoveries in Australia,' vol. i. c. x. p. 314: "At Captain King's table I tasted the Wonga-wonga pigeon." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. v. pl. 63: "<i>Leucosarcia Picata</i>, Wonga-wonga, Aborigines of New South Wales; White-fleshed and Wonga-wonga Pigeon, Colonists of New South Wales." 1852. G. C. Mundy, `Our Antipodes' (edition 1855), c. i. p. 12: "A delicate wing of the Wonga-wonga pigeon." 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 174: "Nothing can surpass in delicacy the white flesh of the Wonga-wonga (<i>Leucosarcia picata</i>)." 1881. A. C. Grant, `Bush Life in Queensland,' vol. i. p. 213: "Hark! there goes a Wonga-wonga, high up in the topmost branches of the great cedar." 1891. `Guide to Zoological Gardens, Melbourne': "The Wonga-Wonga (<i>Leucosarcia Picata</i>) is also represented. This Pigeon, though less bright in plumage than the last-named, exceeds it in size; both are excellent eating." <hw>Wonga-wonga Vine</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name for the hardy, evergreen climber, <i>Tecoma australis</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Bignoniaceae</i>. There are several varieties, all distinguished by handsome flowers in terminal panicles. They are much cultivated in gardens and for ornamental bower-trees. <hw>Woodhen</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to several birds of New Zealand of the Rail family, and of the genus <i>Ocydromus</i>; some of them are called by the Maori name of <i>Weka</i> (q.v.). The species are-- Black Woodhen-- <i>Ocydromus fuscus</i>, Du Bus.; Maori name, <i>Weka-pango</i>. Brown W.-- <i>O. earli</i>, Gray. Buff W.-- <i>O. australis</i>, Gray; called also <i>Weka</i>. North-Island W.-- <i>O. brachypterus</i>, Buller; called also <i>Weka</i>. South-Island W.-- Same as <i>Buff W</i>.; see above. 1845. E. J. Wakefield, `Adventures in New Zealand,' vol. ii. p. 95: "Two young weka, or wood-hens, about as large as sparrows . . . were esteemed a valuable addition to our scanty supper." 1889. Vincent Pyke, `Wild Will Enderby,' p. 82: "We-ka! we-ka! we-ka! Three times the plaintive cry of the `wood hen `was heard. It was a preconcerted signal." <hw>Wood-duck</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given by the colonists of New South Wales and "Swan River" to the <i>Maned Goose</i>, <i>Branta jubata</i>, Latham. 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 147: "The wood-duck (<i>Bernicla jubata</i>) abounded on the larger water-holes." 1848. J. Gould, `Birds of Australia,' vol. vii. pl. 3: "<i>Bernicla jubata</i>, Maned Goose; Wood-Duck, Colonists of New South Wales and Swan River." <hw>Wood Natives</hw>, or <hw>Wood Savages</hw>, obsolete names for the Australian aborigines. 1817. O'Hara, `History of New South Wales,' p. 161: ". . . robbed by a number of the inland or wood natives . . ." Ibid. p. 201: "The combats of the natives near Sydney were sometimes attended by parties of the inland or wood savages." <hw>Wooden Pear</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tree peculiar to New South Wales and Queensland, <i>Xylomelum pyriforme</i>, Smith, <i>N.O. Proteaceae</i>; called also <i>Native Pear</i>. 1860. G. Bennett, `Gatherings of a Naturalist,' p. 322: "The Wooden Pear-tree of the colonists (<i>Xylomelum pyriforme</i>) is peculiar to Australia; its general appearance is very ornamental, especially when the tree is young; the flowers grow in clusters in long spikes, but are not conspicuous. This tree attains the height of from fifteen to twenty feet, and a circumference of six to eight feet. It is branchy; the wood is of dark colour, and being prettily marked, would form an ornamental veneering for the cabinet-maker. When young, in the Australian bush, this tree bears a close resemblance to the young Warratah, or Tulip-tree (<i>Telopea speciosissima</i>)." 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 615: "Native Pear-Wooden Pear. This moderate-sized tree produces a dark-coloured, prettily-marked wood. It is occasionally used for making picture-frames, for ornamental cabinet-work, for veneers, and walking-sticks. When cut at right-angles to the medullary rays it has a beautiful, rich, sober marking." <hw>Woollybutt</hw>, a name given to one of the Gum trees, <i>Eucalyptus longifolia</i>, Link. See <i>Gum</i>. 1843. James Backhouse, `Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies,' p. 445 (October 1836.): "One called here the Woolly Butted Gum seems identical with the black butted gum of Tasmania." 1894. `Melbourne Museum Catalogue Economic Woods,' p. 28: "The Woollybutt grown at Illawarra is in very high repute for wheelwright's work " <hw>Woolly-headed Grass</hw>, <i>n</i>. an indigenous Australian grass, <i>Andropogon bombycinus</i>, R. Br. 1889. J. H. Maiden, `Useful Native Plants,' p. 72: "Woolly-headed Grass, a valuable pasture-grass, highly spoken of by stock-owners, and said to be very fattening." <hw>Wool-man</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal mispronunciation of <i>old man</i> (q.v.). 1830. Robert Dawson, `The Present State of Australia,' p. 139: "The male kangaroos were called by my natives old men, `wool-man,' and the females, young ladies, `young liddy.'" <hw>Wool-shed</hw>, <i>n</i>. the principal building of a station, at which the shearing and wool-packing is done. Often called the <i>Shed</i>. 1850. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip,' vol. ii. p. 23: "In some instances the flood has swept away the wool-sheds." 1851. `Australasian' [Quarterly], vol. i. p. 298: ". . . we next visit the `wool-shed,' and find the original slab-built shed has been swept away, to make room for an imposing erection of broad-paling . . ." 1873. A. Trollope, `Australia and New Zealand,' vol. i. p. 126: "The wool-shed is a large building open on every side, with a high-pitched roof,--all made of wood and very rough. The sheep are driven in either at one end or both, or at three sides, according to the size of the station and the number of sheep to be shorn. They are then assorted into pens, from which the shearers take them on to the board;--two, three or four shearers selecting their sheep from each pen. The floor, on which the shearers absolutely work, is called `the board.'" 1890. `The Argus,' Aug. 9, p. 4, col. 1: "You would find them down at Reed's wool-shed now." <hw>Woomera</hw>, <i>n</i>. an aboriginal name for a <i>throwing-stick</i> (q.v.); spelt in various ways (seven in the quotations), according as different writers have tried to express the sound of the aboriginal word. 1793. Governor Hunter, `Voyage,' p. 407 [in a Vocabulary]: "<i>Womar</i>--a throwing stick." 1798. D. Collins, `Account of English Colony in New South Wales,' p. 613: "Wo-mer-ra--throwing stick." 1814. L. E. Threlkeld, `Australian Grammar' [as spoken on Hunter's River, etc.], p. 10: "As a barbarism--wommerru, a weapon." 1830. R. Dawson, `Present State of Australia,' p. 240: "Pieces of hard iron-bark to represent their war weapon, the womerah . . . the whirling womerahs." 1839. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia,' vol. ii. p. 342: "The spear is thrown by means of a <i>wammera</i>, which is a slight rod, about three feet long, having at one end a niche to receive the end of a spear." 1847. L. Leichhardt, `Overland Expedition,' p. 492: "But showed the greatest reluctance in parting with their throwing-sticks (wommalas)." 185o. J. B. Clutterbuck, `Port Phillip in 1849,' p. 58: "They employ also, as a warlike weapon, a smaller kind of spear or javelin, which is discharged by means of a notched stick called a Woomera; and with this simple artillery I have seen them strike objects at 150 yards' distance. They also employ this minor spear in capturing the Bustard." 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings among the Gum-trees,' p. 13: "Then the Wamba Wamba warriors, Sprang unto their feet with Tchgrels Ready fitted to their Womrahs." Ibid. (In Glossary) pp. 84, 85: "<i>Tchgrel</i>, reed spear. <i>Womrah</i>, spear heaver." 1868. J. Bonwick, `John Batman, the Founder of Victoria,' p. 20: "Taking with him, therefore, on board the Port Phillip, presents of spears, wommeras, boomerangs, and stone tomahawks, he tried to get from the Williamstown waters." 1889. P. Beveridge, `Aborigines of Victoria and Riverina,' p. 48: "Spears all ready shipped, that is, having the hook of the Womerar (throwing-stick) placed in the small cavity made for that purpose in the end of the spear, with both raised in readiness for launching at the object." 1892. J. Fraser, `Aborigines of New South Wales,' p. 73: "The `womara' is an instrument of wood, from twenty-four to thirty inches long, and a little thicker than a spear. Unlike the spear, it is not thrown at the enemy in battle, but remains always in the black man's hand . . . he ornaments it profusely, back and front. . . . The point is turned up, exactly like the point of a lady's crochet needle. . . . The spears have a dimpled hole worked in their butt end, which hole receives the point of the hook end of the `throw-stick.'" <hw>Worm-Snake</hw>, <i>n</i>. See under <i>Snake</i>. <hw>Wrasse</hw>, <i>n</i>. This English name for many fishes is given, in New Zealand, to <i>Labrichthys bothryocosmus</i>, Richards. Called also <i>Poddly, Spotty</i>, and <i>Kelp-fish</i>. <hw>Wreck-fish</hw>, <i>n</i>. The Australian species is <i>Polyprion ceruleum</i>, family Percoidae. Guenther says that the European species has the habit of accompanying floating wood. Hence the name. <hw>Wren</hw>, <i>n</i>. This common English bird-name is assigned in Australia to birds of several genera, viz.-- Banded Wren-- <i>Malurus splendens</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Black-backed W.-- <i>M. melanotus</i>, Gould. Blue W.-- <i>M. cyaneus</i>, Lath. Blue-breasted W.-- <i>M. pulcherrimus</i>, Gould. Bower's W.-- <i>M. cruentatus</i>, Gould. Chestnut-rumped Ground W.-- <i>Hylacola pyrrhopygia</i>, Vig. and Hors. Emu-wren (q.v.)-- <i>Stipiturus malachurus</i>, Lath. Goyder's Grass W.-- <i>Amytis goyderi</i>, Gould. Grass W.-- <i>A. textilis</i>, Quoy and Gaim.; called by Gould the <i>Textile Wren</i>. Large-tailed Grass W.-- <i>A. macrura</i>, Gould. Longtailed W.-- <i>Malurus gouldii</i>, Sharpe. Lovely W.-- <i>M. amabilis</i>, Gould. Orange-backed W.-- <i>M. melanocephalus</i>, Vig. and Hors. Purple-crowned W.-- <i>M. coronatus</i>, Gould. Red-rumped Ground W.-- <i>Hylacola cauta</i>, Gould. Red-winged W.-- <i>Malurus elegans</i>, Gould. Silvery Blue W.-- <i>M. cyanochlamys</i>, Gould. Striated Grass W.-- <i>Amytis striatus</i>, Gould; called also the <i>Porcupine bird</i> (q.v.). Turquoise W.-- <i>Malurus callainus</i>, Gould. Variegated W.-- <i>M. lamberti</i>, Vig. and Hors. White-backed W.-- <i>M. leuconotus</i>, Gould. White-winged W.-- <i>M. leucopterus</i>, Quoy and Gaim. See also <i>Scrub-Wren</i>. In New Zealand, the name is applied to the Bush-Wren, <i>Xenicus longipes</i>, Gmel., and the Rock (or Mountain) Wren, <i>X. gilviventris</i>, von Pelz. <hw>Wry-billed Plover</hw>, <i>n</i>. a very rare bird of New Zealand, <i>Anarhynchus frontalis</i>, Quoy and Gaim. 1889. Prof. Parker, `Catalogue of New Zealand Exhibition,' p. 116: "The curious wry-billed plover . . . the only bird known in which the bill is turned not up or down, but to one side--the right." <hw>Wurley</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for an aboriginal's hut. For other words expressing the same thing, see list under <i>Humpy</i>. In the dialect of the South-East of South Australia <i>oorla</i> means a house, or a camp, or a bird's nest. 1862. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 110: "Seeking, hoping help to find; Sleeping in deserted wurleys." 1865. W. Howitt, `Discovery in Australia,' vol. ii. p. 233: "Immediately went across to the blacks' wurleys, where I found King sitting in a but which the natives had made for him." 1879. G. Taplin, `Native Tribes of South Australia,' p. 12, and Note: "In case of a man having two wives, the elder is always regarded as the mistress of the hut or wurley. The word <i>wurley</i> is from the language of the Adelaide tribe. The Narrinyeri word is <i>mante</i>. I have used `wurley' because it is more generally understood by the colonists." 1880. P. J. Holdsworth, `Station Hunting on the Warrego': "`My hand Must weather-fend the wurley'. This he did. He bound the thick boughs close with bushman's skill, Till not a gap was left where raging showers Or gusts might riot. Over all he stretched Strong bands of cane-grass, plaited cunningly." 1886. H. C. Kendall, `Poems,' p. 42 "He took His axe, and shaped with boughs and wattle-forks A wurley, fashioned like a bushman's roof." X <hw>Xanthorrhoea</hw>, <i>n</i>. scientific name for a genus of Australian plants, <i>N.O. Liliaceae</i>, having thick palm-like trunks. They exude a yellow resin. (Grk. <i>Xanthos</i>, yellow, and <i>rhoia</i>, a flow, sc. of the resin.) They are called <i>Black Boys</i> and <i>Grass-trees</i> (q.v.). Y <hw>Yabber</hw>, <i>n</i>. Used for the talk of the aborigines. Some think it is the English word <i>jabber</i>, with the first letter pronounced as in German; but it is pronounced by the aborigines <i>yabba</i>, without a final <i>r</i>. <i>Ya</i> is an aboriginal stem, meaning to speak. In the Kabi dialect, <i>yaman</i> is to speak: in the Wiradhuri, <i>yarra</i>. 1874. M. K. Beveridge, `Lost Life,' pt. iii. p. 37: "I marked Much yabber that I did not know." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 28: "Longing to fire a volley of blacks' yabber across a London dinner-table." 1886. R. Henty, `Australiana,' p. 23: "The volleys of abuse and `yabber yabber' they would then utter would have raised the envy of the greatest `Mrs. Moriarty' in the Billingsgate fishmarket." 1888. Rolf Boldrewood, `Robbery under Arms,' p. 55: "Is it French or Queensland blacks' yabber? Blest if I understand a word of it." <hw>Yabber</hw>, <i>v. intr</i>. (See noun.) 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 19: "They yabbered unsuspiciously to each other." 1887. J. Farrell, `How he died,' p. 126: "He's yabbering some sort of stuff in his sleep." <hw>Yabby</hw>, <i>n</i>. properly <i>Yappee</i>, aboriginal name for a small crayfish found in water-holes in many parts of Australia, <i>Astacopsis bicarinatus</i>. The Rev. F. A. Hagenauer gives <i>Yappy</i>, in `Curr's Australian Race,' vol. iii. p. 554, as a Gippsland word. Such variants as the following occur--<i>Yappitch, kapich</i>, <i>yabbechi, yaabity</i>. The distinction between the thin and thick consonants is usually uncertain. 1894. `The Argus,' Oct. 6, p. 11, col. 2: "In the case of small crayfish, called `yabbies,' . . . these may be found all over Australia, both in large and small lagoons. These creatures, whilst nearing a drought, and as the supply of water is about to fail, burrow deeply in the beds of the lagoons, water-holes, or swamps, piling up the excavations on the surface over their holes, which I take, amongst other reasons, to be a provision against excessive heat." 1897. `The Australasian,' Jan. 30, p. 224, col. 4: "The bait used is `yabby,' a small crayfish found in the sand on the beach at low tide. The getting of the bait itself is very diverting. The yabbies are most prized by fish and fishermen, and the most difficult to obtain. The game is very shy, and the hunter, when he has found the burrow, has to dig rapidly to overtake it, for the yabby retires with marvellous rapidity, and often half a dozen lifts of wet sand have to be made before he is captured. There is no time to be lost. In quite twenty-five per cent. of the chases the yabbies get away through flooding and collapse of the hole." <hw>Yakka</hw>, v. frequently used in Queensland bush-towns. "You yacka wood? Mine, give 'im tixpence;"--a sentence often uttered by housewives. It is given by the Rev. W. Ridley, in his `Kamilaroi, and other Australian Languages,' p. 86, as the Turrubul (Brisbane) term for <i>work</i>, probably cognate with <i>yugari, make</i>, same dialect, and <i>yengga, make</i>, Kabi dialect, Queensland. It is used primarily for <i>doing work of any kind</i>, and only by English modification (due to "hack") for <i>cut</i>. The spelling <i>yacker</i> is to be avoided, as the final <i>r</i> is not heard in the native pronunciation. <hw>Yam</hw>, <i>n</i>. a West Australian tuber, <i>Dioscorea hastifolia</i>, Ness., <i>N.O. Dioscorideae</i>. "One of the hardiest of the Yams. The tubers are largely consumed by the local aborigines for food; it is the only plant on which they bestow any kind of cultivation." (Mueller, <i>apud</i> Maiden, p. 22.) <hw>Yam, Long</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tuber, <i>Discorea transversa</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Dioscorideae</i>. "The small tubers are eaten by the aborigines without any preparation." (Thozet, apud Maiden, p. 23.) <hw>Yam, Native</hw>, <i>n</i>. a tuber, <i>Ipomaea</i> spp., <i>N.O. Convolvulaceae</i>. The tubers are sometimes eaten by the aboriginals. <hw>Yam, Round</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Burdekin Vine</i>, under <i>Vine</i>. <hw>Yam-stick</hw>, <i>n</i>. See quotation 1882, Tolmer. 1863. M. K. Beveridge, `Gatherings,' p. 27. "One leg's thin as Lierah's yamstick." 1880. Fison and Howitt, `Kamilaroi and Kurnai,' p. 195: "Behind the pair stands the boy's mother holding her `yam-stick' erect, resting on the ground." 1882. A. Tolmer, `Reminiscences,' vol. ii. p. 101: "The natives dig these roots with the yam-stick, an indispensable implement with them made of hard wood, about three feet in length, thick at one end and edged; it is likewise used amongst the aboriginal tribes of South Australia, like the waddy, as a weapon of offence." 1890. Rolf Boldrewood, `Squatter's Dream,' c. iii. p. 31: "Why, ole Nanny fight you any day with a yam-stick." <hw>Yama</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a tree; probably a variant of <i>Yarrah</i> (q.v.). 1838. T. L. Mitchell, `Three Expeditions,' vol. ii. p. 54: "The `Yama,' a species of the eucalyptus inhabiting the immediate banks, grew here, as on the Darling, to a gigantic size. . . . The `yama' is certainly a pleasing object, in various respects; its shining bark and lofty height inform the traveller at a distance of the presence of water; or at least the bed of a river or lake." <hw>Yan Yean</hw>, <i>n</i>. the reservoir from which Melbourne obtains its water supply: hence commonly used for water from the tap. 1871. Dogberry Dingo, `Australian Rhymes and jingles,' p. 8: "O horror! What is this I find? The Yan Yean is turned off." <hw>Yarra-Bend</hw>, <i>n</i>. equivalent to the English word <i>Bedlam</i>. The first lunatic asylum of the colony of Victoria stood near Melbourne on a bend of the river Yarra. <hw>Yarrah</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a species of Eucalyptus, <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht; often called the <i>River Gum</i>, from its habit of growing along the banks of watercourses, especially in the dry interior of the continent. According to Dr. Woolls (<i>apud</i> Maiden, p. 511), <i>Yarrah</i> is "a name applied by the aboriginals to almost any tree." The word is not to be confused with <i>Jarrah</i> (q.v.). As to etymology, see <i>Yarraman</i>. <hw>Yarra-Herring</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given in Melbourne to a fresh-water fish, <i>Prototroctes maraena</i>, Gunth.; called also <i>Grayling</i> (q.v.). <hw>Yarraman</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name for a horse. Various etymologies are suggested; see quotation, 1875. The river "Yarra Yarra" means ever flowing, sc. fast. [A possible derivation is from <i>Yaran</i>, a common word in New South Wales and South Queensland, and with slight variation one of the most common words in Australia, for beard and sometimes hair. The mane would suggest the name. --J. Mathew.] 1848. T. L. Mitchell, `Tropical Australia,' p. 270: "It was remarkable that on seeing the horses, they exclaimed `Yarraman,' the colonial natives' name for a horse, and that of these animals they were not at all afraid, whereas they seemed in much dread of the bullocks." 1875. W. Ridley, `Kamilaroi and other Australian Languages,' p. 21: "Horse-yaraman. All the Australians use this name, probably from the neighing of the horse, or as some think from `yira' or `yera,' teeth (<i>teeth</i>), and `man' (<i>with</i>)." Ibid. p. 104: "Language of George's River. Horse--yaraman (from `yara,' throw fast)." 1885. R. M. Praed, `Australian Life,' p. 4: "Yarraman being the native word for horse." <hw>Yarran</hw>, <i>n</i>. aboriginal name adopted by the colonists for several <i>Acacias</i> (q.v.)--<i>Acacia homalophylla</i>, A. Cunn., called also <i>Spearwood</i>; <i>A. linifolia</i>, Willd., called also <i>Sally</i>; <i>A. pendula</i>, A. Cunn., called also <i>Boree</i>, and <i>Weeping</i> or <i>True Myall</i> (see <i>Myall</i>). 1891. Rolf Boldrewood, `A Sydney-side Saxon,' p. 99: "That infernal horse . . . pretty near broke my leg and chucked me out over a yarran stump." <hw>Yate</hw>, or <hw>Yate-tree</hw>, <i>n</i>. a large West Australian tree, <i>Eucalyptus cornuta</i>, Labill., yielding a hard tough elastic wood considered equal to the best ash. <hw>Yellow-belly</hw>, <i>n</i>. In New South Wales, the name is given to a fresh-water fish, <i>Ctenolates auratus</i>; called also <i>Golden-Perch</i>. See <i>Perch</i>. In Dunedin especially, and New Zealand generally, it is a large flounder, also called <i>Lemon-Sole</i>, or <i>Turbot</i> (q.v.). <hw>Yellow Fever</hw>, sc. the gold-fever. 1861. T. McCombie, `Australian Sketches,' p. 47: "Evident symptoms of the return of the `yellow' fever, and a journey to the new goldfields seemed to be the only cure." <hw>Yellow-head</hw>, <i>n</i>. name given to a bird of New Zealand, <i>Clitonyx ochrocephala</i>, or <i>Native Canary</i> (q.v.), common in South Island. See <i>Clitonyx</i>. <hw>Yellow Jacket</hw>, <i>n</i>. a name given to various gum-trees, and especially to <i>Eucalyptus melliodora</i>, Cunn., <i>E. ochrophlora</i>, F. v. M., and <i>E. rostrata</i>, Schlecht, all of the <i>N.O. Myrtaceae</i>. They all have a smooth yellowish bark, and many other names are applied to the same trees. <hw>Yellow Lily</hw>, <i>n</i>. a Tasmanian name for the <i>Native Leek</i>. See <i>Leek</i>. <hw>Yellow-tail</hw>, <i>n</i>. The name is given in Victoria to the fish <i>Caranx trachurus</i>, Cuv. and Val.; the <i>Horse-Mackerel</i> (q.v.) of England. In New South Wales, it is <i>Trachurus declivis</i>, a slightly different species, also called <i>Scad</i>; but the two fish are perhaps the same. <i>Seriola grandis</i>, Castln., also of the <i>Carangidae</i> family, is likewise called <i>Yellow-tail</i> in Melbourne. In New Zealand, the word is used for the fish <i>Latris lineata</i>, of the family of <i>Sciaenidae</i>, and is also a name for the <i>King-fish</i>, <i>Seriola lalandii</i>, and for the <i>Trevally</i>. <hw>Yellow Thyme</hw>, <i>n</i>. a herb, <i>Hibbertia serpyllifolia</i>, R. Br., <i>N.O. Dilleneaceae</i>. <hw>Yellow-wood</hw>, a name applied to several Australian trees with the epithets of <i>Dark, Light, Deep</i>, etc., in allusion to the colour of their timber, which is allied to <i>Mahogany</i>. They are--<i>Acronychia laevis</i>, Forst., <i>N.O. Rutaceae</i>; <i>Rhus rhodanthema</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Anacardiaciae</i>; <i>Flindersia oxleyana</i>, F. v. M., <i>N.O. Meliaceae</i>. See also <i>Satin-wood</i>. <hw>Yuro</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Euro</i> (q.v.). Z <hw>Zebra</hw>-fish, <i>n</i>. name given to the fish <i>Neotephraeops zebra</i>, Richards. <hw>Zebra-Wolf</hw>, <i>n</i>. i.q. <i>Tasmanian Wolf</i>, or <i>Tasmanian Tiger</i> (q.v.). <hw>Zelanian</hw>, a scientific term, meaning `pertaining to New Zealand,' from <i>Zelania</i>, a Latinised form of <i>Zealand</i>. <hw>Zosterops</hw>, <i>n</i>. the scientific name of a genus of Australian birds, often called also popularly by that name, and by the names of <i>Wax-eye</i>, <i>White-eye</i>, <i>Silver-eye</i> (q.v.), <i>Ring-eye</i>, <i>Blight-bird</i> (q.v.), etc. From the Greek <i>zowstaer</i>, a girdle, `anything that goes round like a girdle' (`L. & S.'), and <i>'owps</i>, the eye; the birds of the genus have a white circle round their eyes. The bird was not generally known in New Zealand until after <i>Black Thursday</i> (q.v.), in 1851, when it flew to the Chatham Islands. Some observers, however, noted small numbers of one species in Milford Sound in 1832. New Zealand birds are rarely gregarious, but the <i>Zosterops</i> made a great migration, in large flocks, from the South Island to the North Island in 1856, and the Maori name for the bird is `The Stranger' (<i>Tau-hou</i>). Nevertheless, Buller thinks that the species <i>Z. caerulescens</i> is indigenous in New Zealand. (See under <i>Silver-eye</i>, quotation 1888.) The species are-- <i>Zosterops caerulescens</i>, Lath. Green-backed Z.-- <i>Z. gouldi</i>, Bp.; called also <i>Grape-eater</i>, and <i>Fig-eater</i> (q.v.). Gulliver's Z.-- <i>Z. gulliveri</i>, Castln. and Ramsay. Pale-bellied Z.-- <i>Z. albiventer</i>, Homb. and Jacq. Yellow Z.-- <i>Z. lutea</i>, Gould. Yellow-rumped Z.-- <i>Z. westernensis</i>, Quoy and Gaim. Yellow-throated Z.-- <i>Z. flavogularis</i>, Masters. 1897. A. J. Campbell (in `The Australasian,' Jan. 23), p. 180, col. 3: "I have a serious charge to prefer against this bird [the Tawny Honeyeater] as well as against some of its near relatives, particularly those that inhabit Western Australia, namely, the long-billed, the spine-billed, and the little white-eye or zosterops. During certain seasons they regale themselves too freely with the seductive nectar of the flaming bottle-brush (<i>Callistemon</i>). They become tipsy, and are easily caught by hand under the bushes.In the annals of ornithology I know of no other instance of birds getting intoxicated." Edward E. Morris Austral English: A Dictionary of Australasian Words Phrases and Usages